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mossy-rock-in-a-field · 4 months

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Several weeks ago, my retirement-age mother requested that I play Baldur’s Gate 3 for her because she has trouble with controllers/keyboards and wanted “to see what all the fuss is about with that cute wizard boy.” For context, my mother and I have done this sort of thing in the past with certain RPGs (dragon age, mass effect, etc.), but it’s been a few years since she’s personally requested a game like this. Basically, I control her Tav but let her make all the choices so she can determine how the story plays out without worrying about mechanics. She treats it like a choose-your-own-adventure book.

Anyway, here is a list of some of the things my mother has said and/or chosen to do throughout the course of BG3 in no particular order:

She is (obviously) romancing Gale. She is quite smitten with him and his passion for books and learning; she also thinks he’s polite and qualifies as “relationship material.” She also REALLY likes the things he’s said about his cat so far (my mom is a cat lady), so I know she’s gonna flip shit when we meet Tara in Act III.

She’s playing a normal druid Tav with a generally good alignment. Her favorite spell is Spike Growth because she thinks it’s hilarious whenever enemies walk into the AOE and die. I usually end up having to cast it at least once per battle per her request. Sometimes twice.

Contrary to her alignment, my mother tasks me with robbing every single chest, crate, barrel, and burlap sack we come across; this also includes people and their pockets. The party is always at max carrying capacity. ALWAYS. She doesn’t like selling things because “what if I need them.” The camp stash is in literal shambles. There is no hope of organizing it. She’s got like fifty seven sets of rags and a billion pieces of random silverware.

She MUST talk to every animal and corpse in the game. I think five hours of her total playtime so far (47ish) has been spent speaking to animals as many times as humanly possible. Like, I was thorough in my own playthroughs, but this is on a whole other level.

She did NOT get Volo’s lobotomy, but she did let Auntie Ethel take her eye in hopes of a cure for the tadpole. I did not understand the logic then. I still do not understand it now.

She is far more interested in fashion than equipment stats. Do you have any idea how much gold I’ve had to spend on dyes just to make things match? SO much. Same vibe as that “please someone help me balance my finances my family is starving” tweet but instead of candles it’s thirty thousand fucking bottles of black and furnace red dye.

We broke the prisoners out of Moonrise, but they got on the boat too early and bugged the fight by leaving Astarion and Karlach behind. Wulbren Bongle somehow got stuck in combat mode even after engaging the cutscene on the docks below Last Light; he he kept trying to run ALL THE WAY BACK TO MOONRISE nine fucking meters at a time while I frantically tried to finish the fight with the Warden, otherwise Wulbren would have run straight into the shadow curse. (I would’ve let him go; fuck Wulbren Bongle, all my homies hate Wulbren Bongle. But my mom didn’t know that, and she wanted to keep him safe. So.)

She had me reload a save like eighteen times to save the giant eagles on top of Rosymorn Monastery. Wouldn’t even let me do non-lethal damage just to get past things. I think getting that warhammer for the dawnmaster puzzle took us like an hour and a half alone. (Yes, I know you can use any warhammer, but SHE didn’t.)

She’s started keeping an irl notebook to keep track of her quests between play sessions. She writes down ideas and strategies when she thinks of them during the week, then brings them to her next game session at my house. I think she wrote about three pages on possible approaches to the goblin fortress alone.

She insists that I pet Scratch and the owlbear cub before every single long rest, no exceptions. Sometimes I have to do it multiple times until she is absolutely sure that the animals know exactly how much she loves and cherishes them. She has also commissioned a crocheted owlbear plush from a friend of hers and is very excited.

I’m sure there’s a bunch of stuff I’m forgetting, but those are some fun things I thought of. She’s enjoying the game and is telling all of her retired friends to get it and play it for themselves. She asked me “what is Discord” yesterday and I think my life flashed before my eyes.

anyway shout out to my mom for being neat

Part 2 — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale #gale of waterdeep #astarion #gale dekarios #laq talks #I talk #she stares at me real hard after she makes a choice too #like squinting to see if my expression gives anything away #if it was a good or bad call #I keep my face blank as shit it’s hilarious #I have not told her I’m writing fanfic for this game #nor will I ever #jesus christ

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procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics · 9 months

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snowfall

summary: when she’s young and in between foster families, she meets a scrawny kid named Simon. Simon sits to the side while the other kids play, and she gives him her sandwich. When he leaves, forced to go back to his dad, she feels bad for him.

Then, when she gets older, she realizes that Simon was the lucky one. He made it out.

notes: based on the song snowfall, bc I’ve been listening to it and thinking about this fic a lot lately

warnings: mentions of abuse, human trafficking and childhood trauma. Violence. Allusions to smut? Afab!reader

taglist: @majesticwren @obsessiveformiyatwins (hmu to be added to any taglist!)

masterlist | requests are OPEN!

You’re back to square one, where you always end up when a foster family lets you go. A big, grey house that was built in the sixties and not once painted afterwards, that’s square one. Makeshift beds and damp rooms, showers that smell of piss and food that has the consistency of cardboard.

The house is so terrible on the inside that everyone flees into the parking lot, a barely better place to be. In the dirt-poor areas of Manchester, it’s all anyone can ask for. The younger kids play with chalk or run around, chasing each other, while the ones your age pass cigarettes and other stuff to each other.

None of you know each other’s names, but you’ve all seen each other in passing. Kids that were left on their own, that don’t trust easy won’t talk to each other either. Not really.

It’s rare to see a new face, so the teen sitting off to the side while the others talk catches you by surprise.

He’s massively tall already, but scrawny as hell, his hair in the awkward stage between short and being grown out. His eyes flit around, meeting no one else’s.

“Haven’t seen you before.” You greet, and he barely looks up. You offer him your name, and he pauses before he responds.

“Simon.” He says finally. There’s a short silence, broken by his rumbling stomach, and you hand him your sandwich without thinking twice. You’re not a big fan of tomatoes. He hesitates, inspecting it before he takes a bite. He barely nods as you tell him you don’t like tomatoes, and you doubt he even heard you.

“What are you doing here? Never seen you before.” You attempt, trying to make conversation. He shrugs in response, and you don’t pry further.

Simon sticks to you like glue in the days afterwards, a silent shadow that towers over you. Timmy, a kid that joined a gang after feeling overly confident, tries to approach you twice, but apparently, Simon’s glower is more intimidating than his stature.

After a week and a half, a social worker interrupts a game of Uno between you and Simon, pulling him away for a conversation. That usually means one of two things: going home, or going to a family of strangers.

You never get to find out which one it is, because Simon doesn’t say goodbye. You tell yourself that he made it home, or at least made it out. He seems like the type.

***

Against your hopes, and in line with all odds, you don’t make it out. Bouncing between foster families leaves you frustrated, angry and alone. A recipe for disaster, and you know it. Two years after Simon left the grey house that smelled like a germaphobe’s nightmare, you did as well.

Barely eighteen, with no one to back you up and not a single penny on your name, that went to shit quicker than you might have thought, and you found yourself exactly where you did not want to end up: the crime scene of Manchester.

It started off with little favors. Timmy convinced you. He said it wasn’t hard to sell drugs. That you’d only have to do it a few times, and then you’d have enough money to start yourself off with a real job. Something honest.

Something that would finally get you some real security. A sense of permanence.

Over the years, little favors turned into bigger favors.

Timmy, of course, didn’t know batshit about anything, and he certainly did not care to look into things more than he had to for you. And by the time your idiot, barely not-adolescent brain realized that, you were in too deep.

You’d done everything wrong, because selling drugs for a few days ‘wouldn’t hurt anyone’.

That was how you ended up as the cliché character of anti-everything prevention movies they showed you, back in the grey house. Abused, beaten-up, trafficked, sold, and not even out of your twenties.

Each time you thought about it, you wanted to laugh at yourself, to try and stop yourself from missing the gray house and the exhausted social workers that weren’t paid enough to care for any of you.

Just this time, you couldn’t go back to the gray house. You weren’t a child anymore. This time, people came for you to make sure that you’d pay them back what you owed them. Technically, what Timmy owed them.

They, whoever they were, took you away from Manchester, the only semblance of home you’d ever known. You found yourself in an abandoned cargo hall, freezing cold. From what you could see, it was snowing outside, the chill creeping inside. The girl next to you was out like a light, either from drugs, exhaustion, the cold, or a combination of all three.

You could make peace with the fact that you would never get out. You could just accept it, like you’d accepted everything else in your life. A voice in your head screamed that it wasn’t fair, and it felt like that scream was becoming more and more real. There was a ridiculous notion in the back of your mind, telling you to get up.

It bled into the screech from the gates of the cargo hall, protesting as they were opened. Your captors pointed their guns, but thick, white smoke filled the building, and you felt yourself become suddenly sleepy.

The last thing you saw were shadowy figures storming the hall, gunfire ringing out, smoke filling your nose and mouth.

***

When you came to, the smoke had dissipated, but you were still in the cargo hall. A group of men in camouflage walked around the hall, checking the men that were lying on the floor. One of them approached you and the others.

Almost automatically, you slinked backwards, out of his reach, but he gave you a soft smile.

He was young, too young to be in a place like this, with a sweet expression on his face that felt too saccharine to belong in the midst of this violence.

“I’m Gaz.” He said. “I’m with the British army, and we’re here to take you home. Are you hurt?”

Varying reactions came from the people around you, and you felt yourself numbly nodding. Home. Had a God heard your prayer and then decided to turn it into a joke?

The doctors arrived a while later, taking a look at everyone that had been with you. Some of the girls around you were drug addicts, and going into withdrawal was never pretty. The cargo hall quickly filled with the stench of vomit and cold sweat, but it meant that you got the time to look at the men that had stormed the hall. A gruff man with sideburns, a Scot with a mohawk that was chattering away with Gaz and-

He was hulking, a mountain that wore a skull instead of a face. You’d never met someone like him in your life, but he paused when he saw you, and you knew that he’d seen you before, this behemoth of a man.

***

It takes two more days before you’re back in England, but it doesn’t feel like a homecoming. Some of the girls have people waiting for them, parents, children, boyfriends, girlfriends to run into their arms and hold. Some are like you. No one comes, and they leave on their own.

You want to follow them. You can’t go back to Manchester. You’ll only return for your papers, if those still exist, and then you’ll leave.

You’re about to finally lift your feet from the cold, concrete floor when you feel a pair of eyes burning into your back.

Turning around, you see it’s the one they call Ghost. He’s standing off to the side, and it reminds you of something. You can’t figure out what it is, even though you try so so hard to just remember.

“Thank you for getting us out of there.” You blurt out, and he looks like he wants to say something, his jaw almost cramping together as he makes a tiny movement. You think it’s towards you.

“I owed you for the sandwich.” He says. The shrug looks forced, and you know that he can’t bring himself to say something more honest. “No tomatoes, of course.”

The seconds it takes you to understand seem to tick by outside of your brain, like a clock hammering with each moment passed. Then, your jaw falls slack.

“Simon?” you ask, too loudly, and the Scot named Soap snaps his head around to stare at you.

He doesn’t reply, and he doesn’t have to. You recognize his height, his eyes, the awkward standing off to the side so suddenly that it hits you like a fucking train. How couldn’t you see it before?

This is Simon. The kid that-

“You left without saying fucking anything!” you accuse, and you’re sure the others think you’re exes.

He just nods, and that almost infuriates you. But he made it out. He made something of himself, and you have to respect that. It’s all you want, always slipping away from your grasp, and Simon got it. Carved it out for himself, by the looks of it.

And finally, after an eternity, Simon steps forward and holds out a bag with the yellow-and-green subway logo on it.

“Hope you like it.” He mumbles, and it’s an almost adorable gesture. There’s no tomatoes, as he promised. Someone remembered something from your childhood.

You take the bag, and then you take the step separating you and hug him tightly. Are you overstepping a boundary? Is he going to push you off roughly?

He doesn’t hug you back, but he does allow you to wrap your arms around him (or, as much as you can do that with his new size).

His teammates stare, but you don’t let go. Not for a while.

“You got a place to stay?” he asks, when the others have gotten over the shock of your interaction. There’s genuine concern in his eyes, and a part of you hopes that you’re special in this, because you helped him too. Somehow.

“McDonalds is always open, and I’ve got…” you reach into your pocket, finding a crumpled note. “Enough for a large drink.”

He shakes his head. He offers his apartment, his home up to you and you should say no because he could traffic you, or rape you, or hurt you just enough to make you drag yourself back to Timmy.

You get into the car with him, and your mind screams danger. Your gut’s feeling alright though, so you ignore it.

The first change beyond the obvious of his massive frame that you notice is that he’s gotten even quieter. While you drag yourself up the dark staircase with some effort, he stays true to his name, not a single scrape coming from his combat boots.

In the apartment, he switches on the light, and you take in the spartan interior. A small kitchen, a sofa, a TV, a coffeetable with a mug still on it. No dinnertable, but three pictures on the refrigerator.

A young boy, a woman that reminds you of the younger Simon (maybe his mother?) and his teammates. Gaz, Soap, the older guy, two men that you don’t recognize, standing in scenery that looks almost tropical.

He lets you stare, before he quietly shows you the bathroom. You let the lock click behind you, even though you know that wouldn’t make much of an obstacle for the person he’s become.

You shower as quickly as you can, slipping back into your underwear. You hesitate for a moment, and then you grab the big, fluffy bathrobe hanging over the towel rack. Someone had vomited on your shirt, and you refused to put it on again.

The robe was too big for you, black with white skulls on it, and you highly doubted that Simon had bought it for himself. Maybe the Scot that cracked jokes with, or rather at him, had bought it for him and he’d caved to using it.

When you walked out, Simon was pulling clean sheets over the bed in his bedroom. He lifted his head when he heard you, and even through the balaclava, you knew he was lifting a brow at you.

“You’re wearing Soap’s bathrobe.” He commented.

“Someone vomited on my shirt.”

Simon did not reply, but he did turn around to rummage in his closet, throwing you one of his old shirts. You went back into the bathroom to put it on, and decided to not comment on the fact that it looked like a midi dress on you.

He closed the door behind him when he went to sleep, and the click of the lock felt a little insulting to you. Yet, you couldn’t expect him to trust you.

Sleep did not come easy to you, and when it did, you only had nightmares.

After a particularly bad one, you woke up with a start, only to find yourself face-to-face with one of your captors, face hid behind a balaclava, and you screamed.

Only after a few moments did you realize that it was Simon.

Between your panicked apologizing, and his nervous tea-making, it took a while for either of you to speak.

“I’m sorry for not telling you I was leaving.” He said finally, sitting across from you on the sofa, and still managing to take up three fourths of it.

“You didn’t have to. You didn’t know me.” You replied.

“I clung to you.” He said under his breath, as if it was an admittance of weakness.

“I liked it. Made me feel less alone.”

Your hands found each other in the dark, his fingers curling around yours and you swore that you could feel his heart hammer in his wrist.

“I don’t want to go to Manchester alone.” You whispered. It was an admittance of defeat.

“I’ll go with you.” Simon replied. He had no incentive to.

In the dark, it didn’t feel as preposterous or dangerous to move closer to him. He stilled when your knee bumped against his leg, and you held your breath, waiting for his rejection.

It didn’t come, only a shaky breath from Simon that gave the smallest of hints about how he was feeling. His hand was still holding yours, warm and a little rough, but it felt real. It made you move closer, to try and lean into his touch.

His hand slipped from yours, and for a moment, you thought that you’d done something wrong, but then you felt it on your waist, and Simon pulled you onto his lap. Your hands flew to his chest to steady yourself, and you could feel his hammering heart beating under his shirt.

Simon was so massive that he engulfed you, drowned out everything around you, and you loved it. There was nothing but him, and that didn’t scare you. It made you feel unfathomably safe.

He hugged you suddenly, a mirror gesture to what you’d done at the airport, his thick arms wrapping around you, pulling you even closer, until your lips were almost on his and he looked up at you with something in his eyes that you couldn’t place, because no one had ever looked at you like that.

You couldn’t help kissing him. Slowly, asking, almost begging, you peeled up the lower half of his balaclava, waiting for him to tell you to stop. Instead, even in the darkness, you knew that the stubble on his jaw was blonde, because it was impossible to forget someone like him. Your lips found his and it felt so right that your hands snaked up to his jaw, cradling his face in the hope that he’d know you cared for him.

Simon returned your kiss equally as hungry, demanding the air you breathed from you, his embrace swallowing you, and you wanted to give it all to him. Your hands shook as you reached to slip them over the band of his sweats, still unsure if he’d reject you, or let you do it.

Cautiously, your hands slipped under his t-shirt first, his skin feeling like it was burning in comparison to your cold fingers, warm to the touch, and safe.

“I thought about you a lot.” You admitted between kisses. “Wanted to know what happened to you.”

Simon stilled at that, his gaze shifting, warping from one unreadable expression to another.

“Nothin’ good.” He replied finally. You felt like an idiot. Like you’d just ruined the moment.

“I’m sorry.” You said, because you had no idea what else to say. His hand found yours, and you felt like whatever was going to happen to you, it was going to be okay.

#simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley x you #cod: mwii #cod x reader #cod mw2 #ghost cod #ghost cod x reader #ghost cod x you

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arlathvhenan · 3 months

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There’s something that’s been bothering me in retrospect now that I’ve played all three Dragon Age games. It pertains to the Mage/Templar conflict, but specifically as it’s portrayed in DA 2 and DAI.

It’s not the ‘both sides’ issue. Yes, I do take issue with that aspect, but it’s been discussed at length already. What I haven’t seen discussed much is that in both games, the narratives essentially gloss over the existence of children. I find this a bit dishonest considering it’s been definitively established that Mage Circles invariably have children in them.

We know that Mages are taken away to circles as children. We’ve also seen Mage children at the Circle Tower in Origins. A major part of Wynne’s backstory involved her getting fatally injured while defending the children who were still trapped in the tower when a horde of abominations was running loose. Anders was twelve years old when the Templars took him, which is a pretty standard backstory for Circle Mages and Apostates alike. So if you decide to side against the Mages, the implication is that you’ll be actively fighting and killing children.

Then there’s the rookie Templars. I’m not sure if there’s a canonically agreed upon age when Templars are typically recruited, but Cullen was supposedly thirteen when he was formally recruited. Then by age eighteen he’d been given his first marching orders. People might not generally consider eighteen to be a child anymore, but that’s still incredibly young.

I understand not wanting to go that dark, but for a game that wants you to make tough decisions about morally complicated issues then I wish it didn’t sanitize something this critical. Glossing over the involvement of children in situations that would actively affect them feels kind of cowardly. DA is one of those franchises that’s all about the consequences of your actions. I think it’s fair to want a more honest picture of those consequences.

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #da 2 #da origins #da inquisition #dragon age inquisition #discourse

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discount-shades · 1 year

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Sleepy Baby Part 1

a/n: I got this in my head and couldn’t find another fic that mentioned it. This is the first fic I've ever written.

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin/reader

Warning: brief mentions of car crash and cheating

Word Count: 1100 ish

Summary: Jake must defend his call sign to a stranger, and he is on a timer.

Previous Masterlist Next

You checked the timer on your phone for the third time, sighing at the 32 minutes remaining. One hour, every week, socializing with strangers. That was the deal you made with your therapist.

Eighteen months after a horrific car crash killed your fiancé and childhood best friend your therapist suggested you ‘get back out there.’ It wasn’t just their deaths that you were working through in your twice monthly therapy sessions. It was the fact that she was blowing him when they crashed. You thought that was something that only happened in movies and tv shows. Your grief was… complicated.

So here you were at the bar of the week nursing a whiskey sour until the timer on your phone said you could go home. You surreptitiously glance around. Judging by the uniforms of the other patrons and the décor the Hard Deck was a military bar. You massage your temples and check your phone again, 29 minutes to go.

“Need some company while you wait for your date?” You glance to your left at the southern drawl. An unfairly handsome man in a uniform with green eyes is looking down at you and you stare a little too long. “I’ve been watching you check your phone,” he explains, “he’s an idiot to keep you waiting.“

“I'm not expecting company,” you roll your eyes at him. “But thank you for assuming I’m being stood up. It was definitely the vibe I was going for.” You take another sip of your drink so you have something to do with your hands.

A slow smile breaks out across his face. “In that case I’m Hangman.”

“I'm sorry your parents hated you.”

At your deadpan response he chuckles. “It’s my call sign,” he explains smugly. “I'm a fighter pilot.” He is easily the most attractive man in the bar and he knows it, and there is something about his inflated ego that makes you want to pop it. Just a little.

“Hangman like the spelling game?” you ask and he nods and brushes your arm, leaning into you.

You hum noncommittally, cocking your head as you look at him. “You know some schools discourage playing hangman.” You tell him. “They don’t want to encourage violence in children so they play Sleepy Baby instead.”

“Sleepy Baby?” He asks in confusion, leaning back.

“Yeah, you draw a baby in a crib instead of a man on the gallows,” you grin at his scandalized expression. “You could change your pilot name to Sleepy Baby, so you don’t scare the children and all.”

“Darling, you are the only one I’d let call me ‘baby’.” You laugh at his smooth recovery. “What’s your name, beautiful?” He is charming despite his ego and his intense stare is giving you butterflies.

“Tic-tac-toe.”

“Imma call you Hugs and Kisses and you can call me Baby.” You can’t help but laugh at his confidence.

“So if you are not waiting for anyone why are you always checking on your phone?” The pilot sits down beside you leaning forward again so his knees brush against yours.

You contemplate your answer before deciding that fuck it, you will be at another bar next week and will never see the handsome pilot again so might as well be honest. “My therapist has suggested that I should ‘socialize with adults that are not coworkers or the children I work with.’” You explain. “So one hour a week I must socialize.” You wave your hand vaguely at the bar.

“Are you one of those teachers banning hangman?” He asks in mock outrage, graciously glossing over most of your explanation.

“Child Activity Coordinator at a local library actually, but yeah I’ve been know to play a few rounds of Sleepy Baby.” You say with a shrug.“ Some parents get upset at certain things and it’s easier just to avoid it than die on the hill of hangman. Plus there was one little boy who would cry when the man was hung so it was best to avoid the tears.”

“He would cry every time?” The green eyed pilot has a fond smile on his face.

You nodded. “I mean the same kid also cried when someone stole his imaginary kitten so some things can’t be helped but sometimes it’s just easier to avoid it.” You said with a grin remembering the moment.

“It’s hard to believe we live in a world where imaginary kittens aren’t even safe.” He shakes his head solemnly and you burst out laughing. The unexpected arrival of the cocky pilot has been a delightful addition to your evening.

“So one hour a week?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. “How much time do I have left?”

You check your phone, “you have 17 minutes, Flyboy.” You grin. “So what made you join the AirForce?”

He looks offended. “Darling, I'm a Naval Aviator.”

You blink blankly at him. “I was genuinely not aware the Navy had pilots.”

“The navy has aircraft carriers,” he grins “who do you think flies the planes?”

“Honestly, I never thought about it and I think I just assumed it was a Navy / Air Force cooperation situation.” You trail off still thinking before shrugging. “I guess you learn something new every day.”

“I could teach you something else,” he sends you a flirty wink.

“I think I’ve reached my knowledge quota for the day,” you laugh back. “But what did you learn today?”

“That my call sign breaks the heart of little boys and their stolen imaginary kittens, and I could use a therapist that suggests going to a bar.”

“Good news Sleepy Baby, I don't think you needed the help to make it here.”

You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket notifying you that your hour is up and a not so small part of you is disappointed. You pull your phone out and hold up the timer to the pilot in front of you. “That’s time.”

“Can I get your number?” He asks hopefully as you gather your purse and finish your drink. “We could spend the full hour together next time, therapists advice on socializing and all.”

“I’ll pass this time, but next time, who knows?” You say as you stand, feeling a little sad that you will never see him again.

“As long as you remember, Hugs and Kisses, I’m in the Navy.”

You look up at him grinning. “Don’t worry, I’ll remember.”

As you leave you walk by the jukebox glancing down and see the perfect song on the track lists. You hit the number grinning to yourself as you walk to the door.

When you reach the exit you turn around and find the green eyed pilot has made his way back to some others in uniforms at the pool table. “Hey Baby,” you call out over the noise of the bar. You grin when he looks up eagerly as the Village People begins to play over the jukebox. “This song’s for you!” You shoot him a mock salute as you walk out the door.

#jake hangman seresin #hangman #hangman/reader #jake seresin #top gun fanfiction #top gun x reader #topgun maverick #top gun hangman #top gun maverick #hangman top gun

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wildfloweronwheels · 1 year

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There is a video I found from back when I was three, you’re setting up a paint set in the kitchen and talking to me. I’m five years old, it’s getting cold, I’ve got my big coat on. She said I was seven and you were nine, I looked at you like the stars that shine in the sky like pretty lights. I hit my peak at seven. I’m thirteen now and don’t know how my friends could be so mean. At fourteen there’s just so much you can’t do and you can’t wait to move out one day and call your own shots. Cause when you’re fifteen and somebody tells you they love you, you’re gonna believe them. Good thing my daddy made me get a boating licence when I was fifteen. Well, I was sixteen when suddenly I wasn’t that little girl you used to see. I’m crazier for you then I was at sixteen, lost in a film scene. Secret jokes all alone, sixteen and wild. Seventeen and crazy, running wild, wild. It’s like I’m seventeen, no one understands. I’m only seventeen, I don’t know anything but I know I miss you. How can a person know everything at eighteen but nothing at twenty two? Don’t you think nineteen’s too young to be played by your dark twisted games when I loved you so? And I damn sure never would’ve danced with the devil at nineteen. It’s supposed to be fun, turning twenty one. I don’t know about you but I’m feeling twenty two. She’s still twenty three inside her fantasy. Oh, twenty five years old, oh how were you to know? Thirty two and still growing up now, who you are is not what you did. She said, I’ll be eighty seven, you’ll be eighty nine, I’ll still look at you like the stars that shine in the sky.

Every time Taylor Swift references an age in a song

#taylor swift #web weaving #the best day #mary’s song #never grow up #fifteen #no body no crime #all of the girls you loved before #miss americana and the heartbreak prince #I think he knows #starlight #Betty #dear john #would’ve could’ve should’ve #all too well 10 min version #22 #right where you left me #dancing with our hands tied #nothing new

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starsandhughes · 7 months

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Penalty Box Series— Quinn's Birthday Edition

23-24 Season Masterlist

yourusername

liked by _quinnhughes, jackhughes, and 13,437 others

yourusername “sharing the same family tree doesn’t often make people stay. find family in the ones who make you laugh uncontrollably. find family in the ones who take your side but also talk you through your wrongdoings. find family in the ones who would hop on a plane & fly across countries the moment you needed them. find family in the ones who rejoice in you, especially when you’re unsure of yourself. find the ones who will face the fire with you.” (amanda lovelace)

sorry for the extra long poem, but the “hop on a plane” line was way too spot on for me to not use it.

quinn, you have not just been my best friend for fourteen years, but you’ve been my big brother for over eighteen years. you saved me from my darkest hours, and taught me how to save myself. you were the first person i ever gave a present to, and i remember freaking out to mom when she had to explain to me what birthday parties were and that people got presents for them. i picked out that captain america action figure all by myself and i still remember how happy you were. i think my love language is gift giving because of you.

i feel like i’ve been playing a game of “go fish” my whole life. i didn’t have any of the same card when i was younger. life kept telling me to “go fish,” and i kept pulling a card that didn’t help. and then i met jack, and suddenly i had a pair of kings. i quickly found luke to be the most precious thing on the planet, and he always made me smile. he was my third king.

you quickly started to treat me like your own sister. you walked me to class, and you always brought me a snack on days i didn’t have breakfast with all of you. you were the first person to ever hug me when i was crying. i didn’t have that at my house. at just five years old, i didn’t know that i could be comforted, and you showed me that i could be. that i deserved to be. you were my fourth king. you completed my first book. you were the start of me winning the game.

and now you’re 24, and i’ve got many more piles of books in my go fish game, and most of them are because of you. i am who i am because of many people, but you, quintin jerome, helped me start to find myself.

i love you more than every word in every language! happy birthday, best friend💙 and good luck tonight!

tagged _quinnhughes

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_quinnhughes it’s been amazing growing up together, sissy💙 thank you, and i love you, too!

yourusername i’m totally not crying <3

_quinnhughes but i love you despite your tendency to cry! it’s endearing

yourusername i’m totally crying <3

_quinnhughes yep, there’s my girl

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes you’re putting me through a lot right now

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras happy birthday to me!

user3 happy quinn day!

jackhughes @_quinnhughes *in schmidt’s voice* 24! happy birthday, huggy bear!

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes thank you, i can feel the sentiment from edmonton

jackhughes @_quinnhughes that’s brotherly love, baby!

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes i love you, too?

yourusername @_quinnhughes i do believe that’s what the fool was trying to say

jackhughes @_quinnhughes nailed it! i do love you! @.yourusername *insert curse word here*

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes @/yourusername you know the rules! you two are nice to each other on my birthday! i don’t care that you’re across the country!

jackhughes @/yourusername ily soulmate

yourusername @/jackhughes ilym soulmate

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes @/yourusername great job! now no betting today because it’s my birthday and i make the rules! and sissy, best friend contract!

yourusername i-

jackhughes @_quinnhughes meanie

_quinnhughes @/jackhughes @/yourusername we’ll call it a birthday present

yourusername mmf

jackhughes mmf

lhughes_06 @/jackhughes @/yourusername @_quinnhughes i feel left out so i also love you guys!

yourusername @/lhughes_06 awww i love you, lukey moosey! 🫶

_quinnhughes @/lhughes_06 i love you, too!

jackhughes @/lhughes_06 you sap, i love you, too, lukey!

user34 i’m crying so hard right now omg😭 happy birthday, captain!

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes HAPPY BIRTHDAY, QUINNER! thank you for letting me love your sister and best friend! love you, man! enjoy 24

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras thank you! and love you, too, z! thank you for treating sissy well all these years

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes i wouldn’t dare treat her any other way. you raised a great girl

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras i tried my best

yourusername @/trevorzegras @_quinnhughes i’m gonna vomit cry i’m so obsessed with you two being nice

trevorzegras @/yourusername we’re always nice!

_quinnhughes @/yourusername please don’t vomit cry or i’ll have to get meaner

trevorzegras oh

user7 AHH HE’S GROWING UP SO FAST! HAPPY BIRTHDAY, QUINNY!

lhughes_06 @_quinnhughes happy birthday! you’re my favorite sibling of the day! i love you, quinny! maybe you’ll grow this year!

_quinnhughes @/lhughes_06 thank you, i love you, too! (i do not love the jab at my height)

lhughes_06 @_quinnhughes (i’m just doing my brotherly duties)

yourusername @/lhughes_06 (you took all the tall genes!)

lhughes_06 @/yourusername (i was born last?)

yourusername @/lhughes_06 (mom was saving them for you)

_quinnhughes @/yourusername this part of your personality was not my doing

yourusername @_quinnhughes me being funny? that was all me, bubba. you’re welcome🥰

_quinnhughes @/yourusername yeah, okay, let’s go with that as my intention

user66 crying in the club? nah. sobbing in the club.

user23 huggy bear is growing up too fast😭

_eliaspettersson @_quinnhughes happy birthday, cap! 🎉🎈🎁

_quinnhughes @_eliaspettersson thank you, petey!

yourusername @_quinnhughes wait i just realized the first present i ever got you was captain america and now you’re captain canada 😭

_quinnhughes @/yourusername i love you so much, but please don’t call me captain canada

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes too late

jackhughes LONG LIVE CAPTAIN CANADA

_quinnhughes i prefer captain meme over this…

jackhughes LONG LIVE THAT TOO

user5 *plays the scene in borhap where freddie sings happy birthday to himself*

user88 oh to be a fly on the wall when the canucks embarrass quinn with a terrible rendition of happy birthday

_alexturcotte @_quinnhughes HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BILLET BROTHER! love you, man! good luck tonight!

_quinnhughes @_alexturcotte i love you, too, turc! thank you

yourusername @_alexturcotte quinn didn’t live with us when you lived with us… but okay

_alexturcotte @/yourusername he did in my heart

_quinnhughes @/yourusername shhhh it’s okay

user65 are we not going to address that quinn’s birthday party was the first one sissy experienced????

colemcward @_quinnhughes happy birthday, dad!🎉

_quinnhughes thank you, son!

yourusername @/colemcward I MISS YOU! SWEARZIES I’LL COME SEE YOU PLAY THIS SEASON!

colemcward @/yourusername I MISS YOU, TOO! YOU BETTER!

_quinnhughes @/colemcward swearzies is sissy for “i’ll move mountains and sneak onto cargo planes if i have to just to see you play”

colemcward @_quinnhughes is that exact definition? is there a mom dictionary?

_quinnhughes @/colemcward there’s mo dictionary

trevorzegras @/colemcward you learn as you go

colemcward @_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras she’s never actually snuck onto a cargo plane, right?

_quinnhughes @/colemcward not that we know of

user40 AHHH HAPPY QUINTIN DAY!!

user70 THAT SECOND PIC! long live the yankees hat!! happy birthday!

colecaufield @_quinnhughes you’re getting old! congratulations! happy birthday, man, i hope you crush it tonight

_quinnhughes @/colecaufield thank you…?

yourusername @_quinnhughes i’ll fix him, hold on

colecaufield @_quinnhughes happy birthday, quinner! love you! destroy those robot oilers again!

yourusername close enough

_quinnhughes @/colecaufield love you, too😂

_eliaspettersson added this to their story

_quinnhughes added this to their story

jackhughes added this to their story

lhughes_06 added this to their story

_alexturcotte added this to their story

#penalty box series: quinn hughes edition #penalty box series #quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes insta edit #trevor zegras #trevor zegras x reader #jack hughes #luke hughes #alex turcotte #cole caufield #cole mcward #vancouver canucks #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #quinn hughes x reader

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daydreamingleclerc · 2 years

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two plus two is four - mick schumacher

summary: in which, your boyfriend finds out you’re pregnant after you play a game of pregnancy test roulette.

warnings: a little bit of smut midway through it nothing too graphic, swearing, babies, confusion, uncles charles, carlos, este and seb!

requested: no

notes: yes... i’ve written yet another self indulgent pregnancy fic... anyway....

huddled over the bathroom counter, the four of you - charlotte, elena, isabel and you - kept eager eyes on the pregnancy tests sitting on the counter.

it was a funny idea you’d seen circling around on tiktok, a group of friends would all take a pregnancy test, write their initials on it, mix them around and take one from the counter to see if any of the members were pregnant.

it was a stupid decision right from the get-go, especially considering none of you could wait until you got back to the closest house, so you took them in the shopping center bathroom.

“what’re we gonna do if any of us are pregnant?” charlotte asked, nibbling at her finger ever so slightly.

“nothing, because we won’t be,” you shrugged, but your face quickly lit up in a smirk, “why? have you got something you want to say, lottie?”

she scowled over at you, the back of her knuckles skimming your bare shoulder as she attempted to shove you, but missed. isabel frowned — she’d just had a baby, a gorgeous baby girl called zoe, who was spending the day with her daddy at the beach, and she really wasn’t prepared for another.

“zoe’s only six months,” she sighed, “i think carlos might faint if i’m pregnant again.”

“are you?” you asked, wiggling around your eyebrows in isabel’s direction. she shrugged her shoulders, and you could see the genuine panic on her face, and when she didn’t answer straight away, the panic in her body language became clear.

“i know i’m not pregnant,” elena said quietly after a few minutes, “because unlike you—” she pointed at the three of you, “—esteban and i are safe.”

“mick and i are safe!” you laughed, swatting her hand away. for a minute, you’d truly convinced yourself that you had nothing to worry about, that your life wasn’t about to completely change — but oh, how wrong you were.

charlotte’s phone dinged and the alarm chimed, signifying that the two minutes were up. the initials were on the back of everyone’s tests and you made sure to have a different one to your own — you had charlotte’s, charlotte had isabel’s, isabel had elena’s and elena had yours.

“times up, i’ll read it out first, ready?” you asked, and when they all nodded, charlotte looked at you with eager, yet anxious eyes, “charlotte sine, you are not pregnant.”

she did a little dance around on the spot, and then turned her attention to isabel, who — much to her relief — was not pregnant. “thank god for that,” she sighed, whispering something in spanish that you didn’t understand.

elena too, wasn’t pregnant, and in hindsight you wanted to scream at her for being so smug. you were almost one hundred percent certain yours would come back negative, until — “Y/N, you’re pregnant.”

“what?!”

the silence was deafening, and you felt as if your knees were going to give way underneath you. “elly, please tell me you’re joking,” you breathed steadily. the three girls all huddled around the stick in elena’s hands, while you stood opposite, gripping the counter so harshly your fingers turned completely white.

“Y/N, she’s not joking,” charlotte whispered, pulling the test from elena’s hands and handing it out to you, “see.”

despite charlotte’s shaky hands, you could clearly see a second line. you racked your brain in your panic, frustrating yourself when you couldn’t pinpoint a night it could’ve happened — but that’s because it didn’t happen at night.

“i’m gonna be sick,” you groaned, kicking open the door of the closest cubicle and leaning over the bowl. elena was quick to grab your hair, and isabel kneeled beside you and rubbed your back soothingly. “i’m twenty three, mick and i have only been together for eighteen months, he’s gonna completely freak if i tell him i’m pregnant!”

“maybe he won’t,” isabel hummed, playing devils advocate, but she soon changed the subject when you shot her a look full of daggers. “do you know how this happened?”

you shrugged your shoulders, resting your cheek on the cool china of the toilet seat — this was officially the lowest moment of your adult life. “about six weeks ago,” you felt awkward giving the details of your sex life to them, especially in a public bathroom, but you’d just vomited horrendously, so you were sure it would only get better. “we’re normally so careful, but there was one morning where we thought we’d be fine — but he pulled out and everything,” you furrowed your eyebrows, “how am i gonna tell him?”

“maybe it’s a false pregnancy,” charlotte offered, “it might help to do another one just so we have a definitive answer,” she furrowed her eyebrows, “have you not skipped a period?”

you shook your head, “i don’t get periods, lottie, and if i do they’re always months apart,” you could feel a horrendous amount of vomit sitting inside of your stomach, waiting to be brought up but you fought it off, “i didn’t even think i could have kids, how am i gonna tell him without him freaking out?”

isabel and elena looked at one another – you were being stupid. elena had heard countless times from mick about how much he loved you, and how much he wished you would stay in his life forever. elena believed – and on some level, she may have been right – that mick already knew you were pregnant.

“all he ever does is talk about you and family and how much he adores you,” elena reassured you, her other hand stroking at your palm, “i promise that mick will be ecstatic, just look at the way he treats zoe,” she paused, looking at isa, “that man was born to be a father, i’m telling you, Y/N.��

“okay, maybe you're right,” for a moment, the three girls almost took a sigh of relief, “but what if he walks away when i tell him i am gonna go through with this? what then?”

“then…” charlotte trailed off, before kneeling down beside you and joining the three of you on the floor, “then that little boy or girl will have three aunts and three uncles who adore the pants off of them.”

“really?” you perked up, a soft, but exhausted smile on your lips.

“oh yeah,” isa smiled, “we won’t let you do this all on your own.”

despite isabel saying that she and the girls wouldn’t let you go through this pregnancy alone, there was one thing you had to do without them – your first scan.

several weeks had passed since that day, and mick was none the wiser. you weren’t one hundred percent sure how or why he hadn’t cottoned on, but you made sure to wear clothing that was a slightly looser fit than usual, and you were careful not to slip up. nobody apart from the girls – and carlos – knew; as a father himself, he realised quickly that you’d had a change in demeanor and it didn’t take long for the ball to drop.

you’d planned for an afternoon where you could all get together, nothing big or important, just for you and mick, with the girls, charles, carlos, esteban, sebastian and hanna. as much as you wanted mick’s parents and sister, as well as your own parents, you thought it might’ve been slightly too overwhelming for your boyfriend, especially if he frowned upon you making the decision to keep his child.

carlos had done his best to keep the boys from even clocking it, dragging them all to golf early that morning to give you some peace and quiet. sebastian and hanna arrived together, along with their kids, earlier than you’d asked them to. isa, elena and charlotte were already there too, making the livingroom look admirable.

seb’s children snuck away almost as soon as they arrived to go and play with angie and bobby after giving you a cuddle. “i told you guys not to get here until three thirty,” you smiled, giving each of them a kiss on the cheek.

“we know,” sebastian laughed, handing you a present, “but we thought we’d come early to congratulate you on the pregnancy.”

“how did you–”

“—because we’ve been there too, Y/N, the invite was frantic, you’re wearing slightly loose fitting clothes and you’re so worried you’re gonna slip up, you’ve gone quiet,” he chuckled, kissing your cheek, “mick’ll be a great dad.”

“let’s hope he doesn’t freak out first.” you sighed, running your hands over your face. before sebastian could comfort you anymore, the doorbell chimed. isabel, charlotte and elena all emerged at the living room door, and ushered sebastian and hanna inside.

“did somebody order a bouquet?” mick asked you when you swung open the door, a big, bright toothy grin covering his face as he held a big, red bouquet of roses in front of you.

“what’re these for?” you asked him, taking the bouquet and admiring the beautiful flowers. mick just smiled, kissing your cheek and stroking your chin.

“no reason,” he said, “i just love you.”

everybody surrounding you could’ve gagged there and then at his sweetness, at the delicate nature in which he treated you. you couldn’t help but smile, a real, genuine smile that lit up the apples of your cheeks. “i love you too, mick.”

carlos, charles and esteban piled into the house, just like they always did after mick brought them back after a round of golf. “i promised them we’d cook dinner,” he said, his hand resting on the small of your back as he followed you into the kitchen, “‘s that okay?”

“mhm,” you nodded, barely even listening to him as he spoke. he rested his chin on your shoulder and wrapped his arms around your waist as you sorted the roses, and you wondered then if he could sense the pregnancy. “i invited the girls round anyway while you were all out, and sebastian’s popped in too.”

“oh, so that’s why angie and bobby haven’t come up to say hello.” he scrunched his nose, and you leaned around and pressed your lips to his.

mick’s lips pressed against your neck and you shivered in his embrace, the feeling all too familiar — and you knew where you’d end up if he carried on. “mick, c’mon we’ve got guests,” you giggled, attempting to wriggled away from his lips but you failed, allowing him to work his way down your neck softly, “we can’t leave them waiting.”

mick hummed against your neck, running his hands along the waistband of your leggings. at this point as of the last 10 days, you’d stop him because you were worried he would feel the bump; but it was hardly noticeable even to you.

he carried on, dipping his fingers underneath the waistband and kissing down your neck once more. “believe me, if you were wearing one of their jersey’s i think they’d understand,” his middle finger circled your clit and you shivered, too wrapped up in the moment to even stop him as your eyes fluttered closed, “besides, charles is a good cook, we can let him do it.”

“i’m not cooking dinner so you guys can fuck,” charles piped up from the kitchen doorway. your face went bright red, and mick shielded you while simultaneously pulling his arm from your leggings. “god, you’re insufferable.”

“don’t act like you and charlotte aren’t any better,” you rolled your eyes, continuing with separating the roses as if that never even happened, “remember bali?”

charles’ face lit up in a gradual smirk as he thought back to the time where you were all on holiday together and as you left for the beach without charles and charlotte, you were the unlucky one who forgot your sunglasses and ventured into the villa only to find them going at it full throttle on the floor beside the pool.

you and mick followed everybody into the living room and watched with grotesque faces as everybody swapped sex stories and charles told everybody about the gruesome discovery he walked into in the kitchen. mick pulled you down beside him, so you were nuzzled next to him on his armchair in the corner of the room that was reminiscent of his fathers, just about big enough for the two of you.

he began to sense an element of nervousness within you, one which he’d never really seen before. you were fidgety, and you were quiet — which was rare in itself, because you were normally always the one who brought out the stories.

“are you okay?” mick whispered, running his fingers on your stomach underneath his shirt.

you shifted, almost certain that he knew about the baby. charlotte and carlos caught onto what was going on, your hushed tones and fidgety movements, and they watched you eagerly.

“mick, there’s something i need to tell you,” you said, your voice barely a whisper yet the whole room had eyes on you. panic flashed across mick’s face, worried as to what you were going to say. “i, uh, i don’t really know how to tell you.” your eyes burned with tears, and for a moment mick thought you were going to tell him that there was somebody else, and that the somebody else in question was in this room. he could see your hands shaking, and your voice wobbled every time you tried to speak.

“you haven’t cheated on me, have you?” he asked, and immediately you shook your head; no. he breathed a sigh of relief and instinctively you brought a hand up to rest on his chin. mick kissed your thumb, “baby, you can tell me, whatever it is, i won’t be mad, you know that.”

mick’s hands came to rest on your cheeks now, his thumbs situated under your eyes so they could rub away any tears. everyone watched you eagerly, their anticipation hanging so heavily it was ready to burst at any moment.

“mickie, baby,” you whispered, kissing his palms, and using the nickname only he allowed you to give him; not even his mother was allowed to call him that. “i’m pregnant.”

as soon as the words left your lips, it felt like a huge weight off of your shoulders, but for everyone else it was unexpected. isa began to sob, and carlos wrapped a hand around her shoulders as the pair reminisced. charles’ mouth swung open, his jaw almost hitting the floor as he listened to the words leave your mouth, and esteban had to ask elena, sebastian and hanna if he’d heard you correctly.

mick’s face lit up almost immediately, although at first he had a look of disbelief in his eyes. his smile grew and grew until it couldn’t grow any wider. he brought your face closer to his, and he kissed you softly.

“du bist schwanger?” (you’re pregnant?)

“ja, mick,” you smiled back, forehead pressed against his, “i am.”

“are you sure?”

he knew the question was stupid — you wouldn’t have gotten so worked up if the answer wasn’t a definite yes.

“when did this happen?” he furrowed his eyebrows all while still smiling, “we’re always safe.”

“silverstone, baby,” you whispered, “the morning after, and we didn’t have anything with us because we were with my parents.”

mick shivered at the thought, flashbacks of the sex ran wild in his head and he had to think of something else before he embarrassed himself in front of the guests. “but i pulled out..”

“obviously not quick enough, mickie.” charles and carlos taunted, but after a quick slap from their significant others and a look of daggers from you, they kept quiet. you hopped out of mick’s lap and handed him the small bag you’d hidden down the side of one of the sofa cushions, rubbing charles’ head like a little puppy as he still sat there in disbelief.

“here,” you smiled, and admired his smile as he took it. “i had the first scan this morning.”

“how many weeks are you?”

esteban lulled you and mick out of your little bubble and you turned back to face him. mick was too engrossed in the little post-it’s you scribbled on, with a photocopy of the scan that you could point things out with. “ten,” you hummed. before you could open your mouth to continue the sentence, mick almost jumped out of the seat and took you with him.

“baby, wir haben zwillinge?”

“mick, german,” you nudged him with a giggle, with only sebastian and hanna catching the gist of what he was saying. he looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, “baby, you said it in german, say it in english.”

“we’re having twins?”

poor charles sitting in the corner almost had a heart attack, you felt for the poor boy because you felt the same when you were told at the hospital. carlos cheered, and esteban threw himself back on the sofa with his hands over his face in disbelief at the fact that he would now, undoubtedly, be an uncle to two schumacher babies. seb just smiled on at you and mick proudly; you really would be great parents.

“yes, mickie, we’re having twins,” you kissed him softly, “surprise.”

he wrapped his arms around you and in turn you nuzzled yourself in the crook of his neck. “i love you,” he whispered, “and our babies.”

“i love you too, mick,” you kissed his nose, and started laughing at the outpour of noise that was coming from behind you. “our babies will be loved for all of eternity, and not just by us.”

“god forbid we ever ban them from seeing these guys,” he laughed, “you and i will no longer be their favourites.”

you kissed his nose once more, “that’s not a bad thing.”

“no, in fact, it’s perfect,” he said, “but maybe now we can persuade charles to cook dinner so we can finish what we started in the kitchen earlier.”

#mick schumacher #mick schumacher blurb #mick schumacher one shot #mick schumacher blurbs #mick schumacher smut #mick schumacher fluff #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x y/n #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher fanfic #formula one #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one x reader #charles leclerc #carlos sainz jr #sebastian vettel #esteban ocon

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flowercrowngods · 3 months

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i’ve decided to send an ask for each story you posted in the wip game kdnehdhs who did this to you? lives rent free in my brain 💛💛 (@a-little-unsteddie)

thank you so much 🥰🤍 still slowly working my way through the asks, so have a few more words to make up for the wait 🫶

who did this to you (pt.4) // tales of blue part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | read on ao3 🌷 preceding snippet no 1. | no. 2

Finally, finally, the familiar sound of Wayne‘s old truck rounding the corner into the trailer park interrupts the tense silence that seems to have fallen over all of Forest Hills tonight, and Eddie has half a mind to run out there, run toward them and get the whole story. Just to be sure that everything is fine. Just to be sure that Steve’s still… That he’s still there.

He stays right where he is, though, staring at Buckley‘s wild hair, feeling her shadow walk over him as Wayne pulls up to their driveway and stops. She is right in the centre of the headlights, but still she doesn’t move. Eddie wants to scream at her. Wants to nudge her and shove her out of the way — imagines it, imagines all the alternate universes in which he finds her wide eyes scared and unseeing as Wayne‘s voice sounds behind them, telling them that Steve didn’t make it.

Except in this one, Wayne said they’re coming home. In this one, shit like that doesn’t happen to eighteen year-old boys and their friends.

Aside from that girl. Barbara Holland.

Eddie swallows, his eyes flitting between bright lights to the silhouette of Buckley right in their centre. Like a doe, he thinks. Terrified of what she’ll find.

Don’t you wanna know? Eddie wants to ask her. Don’t you wanna see? What are you afraid of? What did you see? Who is he, Robin, and who are you? Why the fuck won’t you move?

In the end, it is the sound of a car door slamming shut that snaps Buckley out of her stupor, and she all but flies off the steps towards the truck. Towards where Eddie can vaguely make out the shape of a badly bruised face, the play of light and darkness not enough to conceal the deep purple splotches or the sluggishness of his movements as he raises his head. Turning toward Buckley like a flower to the sun.

She presses her hand to the window for a second, just looking at him — and Eddie is glad he can’t see either of their faces. He has a feeling that what he’d see there would haunt him forever.

#steddie fic #steddie #who did this to you #who did this to you part 4 #make me write ask game #i don’t. i don’t know why this is suddenly so dark. but maybe it’s because eddie‘s not important anymore #and he knows. but he wants to crawl his way back to being in the situation just as badly as he wants to run from it #and i think that’s just. scary. petrifying. he doesn’t need to be brave now he doesn’t need to be strong for anyone.#because robin and steve have each other now and he knows snd its fine bc he doesn’t know them yknow but.#i also think eddie just wants to sit on the floor again and not be part of anything. and at the same time take care of these two.#he also wants a hug. needs one. deserves one. and wayne will provide don’t worry. but eddie’s sorta dissociated from the situation now #and that’s the worst thing that can happen to anyone who’s telling a story yknow. well anyway. sorry jfjfjdhdh shutting up now

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magicfootballstuff · 1 year

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Price Tag (alessia russo x reader)

Summary: When Manchester United sign you for big money, it takes you a while to settle in. Luckily you have Alessia by your side to help you overcome your worries that you’re not worth the price they paid for you.

———

You were one of the signings of the summer.

You weren’t specifically looking for a move to the WSL - there was still a year left on your contract at PSV and you’re young enough that you figured there was no harm in waiting out that year before considering a move abroad.

But then Manchester United came in with a big offer that neither you nor your old club could turn down and suddenly you were making all the headlines.

You’re mostly used to the pressure. You’re only twenty-one but you’ve been hailed as a star since you broke into the youth sides of the Dutch national team at the age of fourteen and already have nearly thirty senior caps to your name. An article that was published when you were sixteen called you ‘the next Vivianne Miedema’ and you’ve had a spotlight on you ever since. Until now, you’ve found it pretty easy to ignore the outside eyes and just focus on being the best footballer you can possibly be.

But having your worth printed in black and white in every major sports column around Europe is a different kind of pressure.

You’re eased into the team gradually but your first few appearances are shaky. For the first time in your career you feel the need to prove yourself and it shows in the way you play. Gradually you get used to the style of play and what Marc wants from you, your nerves settle and you start more games. When you go through your stats with the trainers, it’s all good - you’ve got high rates for dribbles and tackles, you’ve created lots of chances and even got a couple of assists.

The one statistic you’re not happy with and the one that matters most is that your goal tally still stands at zero. Four months and still nothing. It’s not helped by the fact that everyone keeps saying that Manchester United have goal scorers all over the pitch, and they’re right. Maya bags two on her debut, the other new signings have all got at least a couple to their name, even defenders like Ona and Millie have scored. But you, the player with the biggest price tag, haven’t got a single one.

You try to put that right in the only way you know how - by practising long after everybody else has gone inside to get changed.

And that’s where Alessia finds you today, kicking ball after ball into the net on one of the training pitches.

“Hey,” Alessia greets you. She’s freshly showered and changed back into her normal clothes, and she continues, “I was wondering where you’d got to. A few of us are going out for lunch if you’re interested?”

You appreciate the invitation, but you can eat later. This is more important.

“Thanks, but I need to keep practising,” you reply.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anybody work as hard as you,” Alessia comments.

“Doesn’t matter how hard I work in training if there’s no end result in the game,” you respond, sending another football flying into the top corner of the net with a thwack of your boot against the leather.

“Is that what this is about?”

“Forget I said anything.”

Alessia hesitates as if she wants to probe further, but instead says, “Okay, well we’re leaving for lunch in about ten minutes. If you change your mind, just let me know and I’ll wait for you.

“Thanks,” you reply, keeping your gaze straight ahead as you fire the final ball into the net, before walking towards the goal to collect the balls for another round of shots. You can feel Alessia’s eyes burning into the back of your head as you kick the balls back out to the edge of the eighteen yard box, but by the time you’ve collected them all, she’s already on her way back towards the main building.

———

The game against Everton ends goalless. You’re fuming, mostly with yourself. You played the first eighty minutes until you were subbed off and you had at least four or five chances to put the ball in the back of the net. Sure, the opposition goalkeeper pretty much had the game of her life, but that doesn’t change the fact that you need to do better in front of goal.

You barely listen to Marc in the huddle after the game, and once he’s finished talking and dismisses you all, you can’t get off the pitch quick enough.

As you head inside, you lash out with your feet at an empty water bottle, sending the plastic clattering across the floor of the dressing room and startling a couple of your teammates in the process.

“Hey,” Alessia says, snaking a protective arm around your waist as she enters the changing room behind you, though it feels like her touch is to protect your surroundings from your temper more than anything else. “You’re not to blame for today’s result.”

“I could’ve scored,” you growl, as you sit down and start removing your boots and socks. “I had the chances. I should’ve fucking scored.”

“There were eleven of us on that pitch and none of the rest of us scored either,” Alessia points out with a shrug, sitting down beside you. “We’re all responsible for this, not just you.”

You don’t understand why she’s so nonchalant about the result. You were top of the league going into today’s match, now you’ve dropped vital points in a game that you should have won. It feels like the kind of game you’re going to look back on in a couple of months and think what if?

“Shooting practice tomorrow girls,” Mary jokes loudly, as she enters the dressing room and drops her gloves onto the bench.

You want to retaliate, maybe to throw your balled up socks at Mary or at the very least tell her to piss off, but something about Alessia’s presence at your side, her hand reaching out to touch your leg, stops you from lashing out.

———

Social media is a terrible place. You’re normally pretty good at blocking out the outside noise but when you’re already feeling shit and looking for any excuse to wallow deeper in self-pity, you go searching for the negative comments that just reinforce the idea that you’re not good enough.

It starts when the Manchester United social media pages post a clip of you from the Everton game. With no goals to shout about, they post a video of you twisting your way through two defenders and nutmegging a third as you pass the ball to Alessia on the edge of the box.

The comments are mostly positive - a few hearts and flame emojis and one person comparing you to a hurricane with the way you tore apart almost the entire Everton defence in the space of a few seconds, but then one comment in particular catches your eye.

Shame she can’t score.

After that you get sucked into a downward spiral, actively seeking out the negative opinions of fans who reaffirm how you’ve been feeling recently.

Not worth the hype or the price we paid for her

Imagine spending that much on a striker who can’t score goals!

She needs benching. Not good enough to start for United!

We spent all that money and still drew against Everton

And so it continues.

Alessia finds you half an hour later, still dressed in your training top and shorts, sitting on the floor of the shower room as the water cascades over you.

You’d already been feeling very low, but now you can add embarrassment at being caught like this on top of your misery.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” Alessia asks, rushing over to turn the shower off, before crouching down beside you. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I think I need to leave United,” you announce dramatically.

“What? Why? What’s brought this on?”

“I’m not good enough. They spent a lot of money to bring me in and I bottle it every time I’m in front of goal. I’m not bringing anything to the team, the fans don’t like me…”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you there,” interjects Alessia. “You’re an amazing footballer. You’re fast, you don’t stop running until the whistle blows, some of the passes you see are just ridiculous. Do you remember my goal in the last cup game? Your assist for that was one of the most insane things I’ve ever seen. Don’t forget that you’re still young and this is your first season in a new league. For someone still adapting, I think you’re doing an amazing job.”

“It’s been five months and I still haven’t scored a goal.”

“Your goals will come, I promise. Something tells me that when you start scoring, you’re not going to be able to stop. Until then, just keep doing what you’re doing, working hard in training and showing the world how amazing you are.”

“The fans don’t think that,” you mumble.

“Is that what this is about?” Alessia asks, raising her eyebrows. “When I scored in the Euro semi final last summer, the first thing that went through my mind was ‘Thank god I scored that because otherwise people would crucify me for missing the first shot’. And do you know what? There were still people who ignored the goal and criticised me for missing a sitter. There’ll always be people who think you’re not good enough but are you really going to listen to anonymous people on the internet? There’s a reason why United wanted to sign you, a reason why Marc keeps playing you. You bring so much to this team. Plus, I think you’re pretty great. Does that count for anything?”

You shrug, Alessia’s words doing a little to lift you out of your total despair.

The wet clothes clinging to your body are cold, and you can’t help shivering.

“Shit, you’re freezing,” Alessia says, when she notices you shudder. “Let’s get you dry, then I’m taking you out for food. My treat. Then tomorrow, if you really want, I’ll stay late with you after practice and we’ll do some shooting together. Okay?”

You let Alessia help you to your feet and she drapes a towel around your shoulders.

“Thanks, Less,” you say, through chattering teeth.

———

The international break comes at a good time. You’ve been playing alongside some of these girls for over seven years, you know your role and the style of play as well as you know your own name. You don’t have to worry about proving yourself and it helps - you get three goals and an assist across two games.

Alessia texts you after both games, despite being busy with her own training and matches for the Lionesses. She forwards you a clip of one of your goals - one where you receive the ball with your back to the goal, spin past a defender and then chip the keeper - and asks you to teach her how to do that.

The clip ends up on the Manchester United pages the next day and remembering the last time, as well as Alessia’s reminder that there will always be people who want to put you down, you stay well clear of the comment section.

The only comment that matters is Alessia’s, who shares it to her Instagram story with the caption ‘OUTRAGEOUS 😮‍💨😮‍💨’.

———

You’d been hoping to ride the wave of your international form as you return to Manchester United but you barely get the chance. Marc benches you for the next couple of games, only bringing you on late in the game when you have very limited opportunity to make a difference. United win both games comfortably and the doubtful part of your mind wonders if they won because you were dropped. Maybe Marc has finally realised that the fans on social media aren’t trolls after all, but people with the correct opinion that you’re not good enough for this team.

With the next game against title rivals Chelsea, you don’t have much optimism that you’ll be trusted to play this game, which is why nobody is more surprised than you to see your name listed on the team sheet as a starter. At the end of the meeting where Marc shares the team news, he dismisses everyone but asks you to stay behind for a minute.

“I know you were disappointed not to get many minutes in the last couple of games but you’re exactly the kind of player we need for this match,” he says, maybe sensing that you’re in the middle of a crisis of self-confidence. “Chelsea will be organised especially at the back and I want you to show me what you can do. Press everything, chase every ball. If I have to take you off after an hour because you physically can’t run any more, that’s fine. Just frustrate their defence like I know you can. That’s all I ask.”

———

The game plan works well in the first half, the only thing missing is the goal. You focus less on trying to get the goal yourself and instead concentrate on what Marc has asked of you. You can tell that the Chelsea defenders are still trying to figure out how to contain the way you link up with Alessia - each time they think they’ve got it, you switch things up and find another way to get the ball through to Alessia.

Against a lesser team, you’d definitely have scored by now. But Chelsea are reigning champions for a reason and have just about managed to keep you at bay, limiting Alessia to a couple of chances, plus one long range shot from a free kick. At the other end, the United defence has allowed Chelsea’s star-studded front line to have even less, and you go in at half time definitely feeling like this game is yours to win.

You’re not sure what was said in the Chelsea dressing room at half time, but three minutes into the second half they score. It’s the first mistake the Manchester defence have made all game but of course Kerr pounces on it and puts Chelsea ahead.

You’re furious - not specifically at anybody on your team for conceding, but furious that you can fall behind so easily after looking the more likely team to go ahead.

“Fuck that,” you growl, as you walk with Alessia towards the halfway line for the restart. “I’m not letting Chelsea win after we dominated that first half.”

Alessia nods in agreement.

“Keep doing what we did in the first half,” she says. “We’ll get back into this.”

Less than two minutes later you get the ball and drive it forwards to the edge of the box. There’s a defender right on you and the positioning is all wrong - you’re never going to find the goal yourself and you have just a split second to get the ball away before the defender tackles you, so you tap it through to Alessia, who outruns her own marker. The goalkeeper rushes at her and thinking about what you’d do in her situation, you expect her to take a risk and try to lift the ball over the keeper, but Alessia sees that you’ve continued your run into the box and you’ve now got an open goal in front of you so she passes sideways. The goalkeeper just misses the ball and you stretch out studs first, sliding across the grass as your toe makes contact with the ball and knocks it past the line.

You’ve scored some brilliant goals in your career so far but this isn’t one of them, a messy tap in made possible entirely by Alessia’s unselfishness when most probably would have gone for it themselves. But it’s your first United goal, finally off the mark after months of nothing, and all you can do is lie there on the grass and exhale in relief, closing your eyes and blocking out the roar of the crowd as you let the moment sink in.

A hand finds yours and you open your eyes to Alessia crouching over you, and you let her help you to your feet, then pull her into a celebratory hug.

“You did it,” Alessia says, beaming at you in delight, possibly the only person in the world who knows exactly how much this goal means to you.

You think back to that moment in the shower room at the training ground, where you let your mind get to such a dark place that you’d half-convinced yourself that you needed to give up playing football entirely, and know that even if Alessia hadn’t been the one to assist your goal, it wouldn’t have been possible without her by your side.

“We did it,” you correct her. “Now let’s go do it again.”

You’re reinvigorated as the game restarts. Before, in the few minutes between the two goals, it was rage that drove you. Now you feel invincible. What a statement to level the game so quickly. You can tell the whole team feels it, and Chelsea are understandably rattled at how little time they held onto their lead.

The Manchester United team from the first half is back. The defence behind you stays solid which gives you the freedom to take a few risks yourself. You feel like the lead is just within your grasp when one glance at the bench, where a couple of substitutes are taking off their bright bibs tells you that you’re probably about to be taken off. Understandably so, you’ve pushed yourself so hard that you’re beyond the pain barrier now, but you feel like you have one last push in you.

With the ball at your feet, you drive forwards. The Chelsea defender takes her eye off you for half a second, checking where Alessia is as if she expects you to slot the ball through to her in the box like you’ve been doing all game. But you take advantage of that momentary lapse and switch the ball onto your stronger foot, then curl it round the defender, past the goalkeeper’s outstretched fingers, and into the top corner.

Your emotions after the first goal had been a combination of relief and disbelief and time passed too quickly for you to fully appreciate the moment, but you’re not going to make that mistake twice. Even after the ball has hit the back of the net, you continue your run, looping around to the section of Manchester United fans in the corner of the stadium with your arms held out wide in celebration, only turning around when you feel your teammates bundle into you from behind.

Alessia finds you in the middle of it all, one hand coming up to either side of your head and her forehead resting against yours as she says, “That was unbelievable.”

As your teammates disperse, you turn back to the fans once more, gesturing with both hands for them to make more noise. They drink it right up and as you turn to jog back towards your starting position near the halfway line, you hear them starting to sing your name.

As expected, it’s only another couple of minutes before the board goes up to signal that you’re being substituted.

You walk the long way around to get back to the bench, behind the goal you’ve scored in twice, and cup your hand behind your ear as you pass the United fans, knowing they could be the difference between clinging onto the win or conceding a late equaliser. They love it and make plenty of noise, and you’re just enough of an asshole that you give the same gesture to the Chelsea fans too, earning you a nice loud boo.

When the final whistle blows without any more goals, you’re out of your seat and sprinting onto the pitch with the speed of somebody with fresh legs. You forget the agony you’ve put your body through and race straight over to Alessia, jumping on her as she lets out an unintelligible cry of victory.

You can’t remember ever feeling this much joy before. It seems ridiculous that just a few weeks ago you were feeling so low that you contemplated quitting football, leaving United, returning to the comfort of your native Netherlands. Moments like this are why you could never actually quit football, and there’s no team you’d rather do it with than Manchester United, no person you’d rather celebrate with at full time than Alessia.

After the huddle, you want to continue celebrating with your teammates and the fans, but you’re ushered away and presented with a player of the match trophy. In all honesty you don’t care about it, the three points and the miserable looks on the faces of the defeated Chelsea players are a much more rewarding prize than an individual award, but the television cameras are on you so you accept it gracefully and give a couple of lines about how proud you are of the team before they finally let you go.

You seek out Alessia again, who spots the trophy in your hands and grins at you, before you’re accosted for yet another interview, this time with the Manchester United media manager who wants to talk to you and Alessia together about the game.

You repeat what you told the Sky pundits about your love for this team and your teammates but let Alessia do most of the talking, barely able to keep your eyes off her. She’s glowing in the aftermath of the victory and completely professional in her answers. In comparison, you’re just distracted enough by Alessia’s radiance that you miss the start of another question directed at you and hope you can play it off as a language issue.

“Sorry, could you repeat?” you ask, feeling your face heat up in embarrassment.

“How much does it mean to score your first United goals in such an important match?”

“It means so much,” you answer. “I always want to play my best against every team but it definitely means a lot to help the team get the win against Chelsea and hopefully give the fans a performance they can be proud of.”

The interviewer turns back to Alessia and asks, “Alessia, how happy are you to see your teammate get her first two goals for the club?”

“I’m buzzing for her,” Alessia gushes. “What the fans don’t see is how much work goes in behind the scenes and nobody works as hard as this girl. Big games need big players and that’s exactly what she is.”

“Thank you and congratulations once again.”

With the interview over, you and Alessia return to the rest of your teammates. Kingsmeadow is rapidly emptying except for the section of away fans and while you’re still getting used to the passion of the Manchester United fans - your little shower meltdown after going too deep on social media is proof of that - they cheer as you approach and you lean into it, lifting your Player of the Match trophy aloft as you dedicate it to them and their support.

Alessia peels off to greet some of the fans closest to the billboards and you follow suit, signing a few shirts and posing for photographs until your cheeks ache from smiling.

Alessia finds you again as the stewards wrap things up and you walk back across the pitch towards the changing rooms. She’s just the right height to drape an arm around your shoulders and you melt into her embrace.

“Proud of you,” Alessia reminds you, as you enter the tunnel.

Your heart swells with affection for her, and perhaps still dizzy and delirious from the match, you stop in your tracks and turn to look at her.

“Less?”

“Yeah?” she asks, frowning at you curiously.

You fist a hand into the red material of her jersey and pull her in for the kiss you’ve been wanting to give her since she saved you from you own misery in the shower a few weeks ago. She lets out a little grunt of surprise, then relaxes into the kiss, her hands seeking out your waist as you slowly move your lips against hers.

After a few seconds, aware that while the tunnel conceals you from any lingering fans you’re hardly somewhere private, you pull back to catch your breath.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?” Alessia asks, sweeping a wild strand of hair out of your face.

“Believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself,” you shrug. “Also I’m definitely still high on adrenaline. That might have something to do with it.”

Alessia laughs.

“Better get you scoring more often then, if this is the result.”

“Yeah?” you grin at her.

Alessia’s arm winds around your shoulders again and she presses a kiss to your temple.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Is that incentive enough for you?”

You squeeze her waist, glancing down at the trophy still held in your other hand.

“Way better than winning one of these.”

#alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine

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rafecameronsslxt · 1 year

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Not so Secret

Warnings: Regular smut and over protective Rafe

Synopsis: You suddenly take an interest in your brother's best friend, Topper Thorton which leads to not so secret sex.

Topper Thorton x Reader

Minors DNI, you will be BLOCKED.

Masterlist

A/N: No because I love Austin North in general.

Words: 1,376

Topper and Rafe are playing golf while I watch. I’d left the game thirty minutes ago because of boredom. “Do you guys like to plan to match each other or?” Topper randomly throws the question in the air and hits the golf ball. Considering Rafe is my older brother by a month, and since he decides to act tough, I make him match me. He sometimes hides from me because I like to correspond with his outfits.

I see Rafe roll his eyes out of the corner of my eye. Topper lingers his eyes on my body for too long. Rafe’s shirt was a bright peach, and mine had been pinker because why would I own something as colourful as his shirt was? I also had a white pleated skirt on that was shorter than expected. Which was also a hassle even to wear because Rafe decided to have a fit about me wearing it. Unlike Rafe and Sarah’s sister and brother relationship, mine was good with Rafe, most likely because I wasn’t the favorite.

“Yes, and Rafe loves it. Don’t you?” I throw back my head laughing, and he mumbles something incoherently, hitting the golf ball hard into the air. I walk towards Topper, throwing my hands around his neck and locking them together. “He is such a brat.” My voice is a whispered hush as Rafe looks at Topper and me too close for his liking. Topper furrows his eyebrows at me for a second.

I press my soft lips to Topper’s cheek after smiling at Rafe, knowing he can’t stand you seducing his friends. Not that I’ve slept with any of them, you just have to play the game right. All the while, Topper keeps his hands to himself like the gentleman he is and is a suck-up to Rafe. My voice comes out gravelly. “Why don’t you kiss my brother while you’re at it.” I pat Toppers broad shoulders and walk away to the golf cart, getting bored.

Sometimes Topper needed to learn to be his own person and not trying to be twinning with Rafe. Despite me actually looking like a duplicate of my brother.

After what feels like an hour, they come, finally ready to leave.

Their both quiet.

I smack Rafe’s leg, knowing he “talked” with Topper. Top is eighteen, and he doesn’t need a “friendly” conversation, especially from someone like Rafe, who has a girl every other week. I hear Rafe grumble when I switch seats to the back with Topper. Finally, Rafe begins to drive.

I subtly slide my hand on Topper's thigh, analyzing his features. He doesn’t acknowledge my touch, Top’s eyes staying on the back of Rafe’s head. His silence confirms it.

For a man like Topper, he has a good poker face, so whatever Rafe had said set him straight. My hands glide over his dick and then into Topper's pants. He shifts his body, adjusting to my hand touching his cock. Topper is hard, which I hadn’t anticipated.

I run my hand and fingers all over Topper’s dick, feeling every inch of him with just my hand. “Hey, top, I think we should go to the country club tomorrow,” Rafe says nonchalantly, not knowing his little sister is giving his best friend a hand job in the back seat of a very open golf cart at night time.

The thrill drags people into messes, which is the fun part, but if Rafe had caught us, this pleasure would diminish, ending in Topper getting a beating from Rafe. Topper concurs with Rafe, but it becomes more of a mumble mixed with a moan slipping through.

Rafe turns his head back towards us. My hand quickly leaves Toppers pants, and my body starts palpitating with anxiety. “Are you good?” My brother was exasperated but eyed me specifically. “Yeah, man. I’m good.”

“Exactly, Rafe, so look at the path to our house. Don’t wreck us.” I mutter and hit the back of Rafe’s head with the hand that didn’t touch Topper's dick. “Bitch.” He rubs the back of his head, leaving me alone for the rest of the ride.

I look to Topper with a wide grin etched on my face. But, unfortunately, I don’t get the same reaction; he seems agitated.

We make it safely to my house, and I watch Rafe walk inside. I press my lips to Toppers. The desire to feel him so close has been edging me all day. He pulls away. “What the fuck was that?” His face is serious like I’d done something wrong. “What? Topper, are you seriously mad at me? Never mind, I’m leaving.” I run my hands through my soft hair and get out of the golf cart. Topper's big hands wrap around my waist, pulling me back in.

“I’m sorry. Rafe was just being an asshole.” He whispers and starts nibbling my ear. “I can sneak you into my room.” I turn my head to look into Topper’s pretty blue eyes. He kisses me slowly, such a chaste kiss.

I open the front door hearing the house's stillness, meaning everyone had gone to bed or was just in their rooms. I interlace Topper’s hand with mine and tiptoe up the stairs and into the hallway.

Topper locks my door and throws me on the bed. I laugh and put my finger over my lips. Shhh. Topper hovers his body over mine. His knee goes between my thighs, spreading my legs apart, and his plump lips come down on mine. His hands push down my skirt, throwing it onto the wooden floor somewhere. His fingers pull my silk panties to the side. Two fingers, without hesitation, instantly slip in quickly because of my cum.

An unwarranted pornographic moan falls from my lips. Topper's free hand flies to my mouth. “Honey, you can’t be loud.” Topper kisses me softly, his lips drifting down to my neck. He sucks on my flesh while I take my bottom lip between my teeth, trying to keep quiet as he fingers me roughly, his pace quickening by the second.

Topper starts making marks on my boobs, leaving rather quickly and slides his tongue down my stomach and then to my pussy. He looks up at me, his breath fanning on me. His lips wrap around my clit, and his stubble rubs against me. “Fuck- Topper.” My hips press into his face, and he chuckles, sending shivers deep into my body. His fingers curl into me, hitting my sweet spot. I cover my mouth while he flicks his tongue on my clit, and his stubble tickles me. I grab hold of his hair gently.

“Top- fuck. I’m going to-” Moans fall like a song from my red lips. I convulse around Topper's fingers, and a euphoric feeling crosses my mind. Topper gives my pussy one last lick and comes back to face level with me. He kisses me, still remnants of myself in his mouth.

I feel his tip rub up and down my slit a few times. Topper must’ve taken his pants off when he was fingering me. His pre cum and mine mixed, creating lubrication in itself. Finally, he pushes halfway in and pulls out. I whine from the loss of contact. I give him a pouty face, and he slides back in, bottoming out. His balls hit against my butt with each profound thrust.

I wrap my legs around his back. My nails scratched, making cuts into his back, but his speed didn’t slow down. At this point, my nails dug into his back, making crescent moon marks. My fingers find their way through his hair, tugging at his blonde tips. “Good?” He questions with a grunt. “Fuck yes.” I moan loudly, and his thrusts start getting sloppy.

My vagina tightens around Topper's cock. “God, you’re such a slut for me.” I nod yes, feeling pure bliss. My vision goes white for a second, and I see Topper smiling down at me while still pounding into me. “You squirted.” He whispers in my ear and then kisses me gently, and I feel his cum paint my insides.

A banging starts on my door, and the knob rattles. “Did you seriously just fuck Topper!” Rafe screams pounding his fists against my door. Topper ends with a sigh of relief still inside of me. “Can you just fucking chill out, Rafe!? Yes, Topper did that thing you mentioned too.”

#topper obx #topper thorton smut #topper thorton imagine #topper thorton x reader #outerbanks #obx topper x reader #obx fanfiction #topper fanfiction #topper thornton #rafe cameron #Topper thorton x kook!Reader

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babydollmarauders · 1 year

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TEENAGER IN LOVE — TREVOR ZEGRAS

trevor zegras x fem! hughes!reader

pt. 2

request: “hi! can i request something with trevor zegras with the prompts 20 and 23 please? thanks sm!! 💗”

20. “can we stay like this forever?”

23. “sleep over? please?”

summary: in which y/n reminisces on how her and Trevor started their secret relationship.

notes: i changed up prompt 23 a little bit to make it fit better, i hope that’s okay!

i was listening to Teenager in Love by Madison Beer quite a bit while writing this so…

Trevor and y/n are in an established relationship during the first little “present” scene.

reader is 20 in the present and 19 in the flashback.

**PRESENT**

i’ve never felt comfortable on planes. it doesn’t matter where i’m sat or what i’m wearing or who i’m with, i don’t like planes. my family knows this, my friends know this, anyone who will listen to me talk knows this, my brother however, simply does not care. and now i’m stuck on the Devils charter plane, not even sat next to Jack because he’s busy sat next to Dougie, talking about some video game they both play. so i’m left beside Jesper Bratt, who’s already asleep after only being in the air for maybe half an hour.

i didn’t intend to even tag along on this road game to California, but i moved in with Jack a couple months ago and he apparently didn’t trust me to stay in New Jersey by myself, citing his reasoning as “i don’t want any chance of you having boys in this apartment.” but the joke is on him, because he’s really just providing me with a trip to see the only guy he should be remotely worried about, Trevor.

as the only girl, growing up with three brothers, they’ve always been a bit overprotective. and by a bit, i mean a lot. even Luke, who’s a year younger than me, has had his fair share of threatening guys “in the name of my safety.” all of their friends have gotten the “if you even so much as look at my sister, i’ll make sure you never see anything again” spiel, and for a good nineteen years, their friends respected that. until Jack’s best friend, Trevor, and i were left alone for a night at the lake house last summer.

**FLASHBACK**

all the guys have left for a party down the road, they even took Luke along with them for his first party as an eighteen year old, and i’m looking forward to a quiet night of watching romcom’s on the couch with no judgment and no one complaining that “that would never happen in real life!”

decked out in one of Quinn’s oversized Canucks shirts, pajama shorts, and some fuzzy socks; i’m lounged on the couch, wrapped in a fuzzy blanket burrito. i’m just about to hit play on a movie on netflix when the front door opens and shuts and i hear footsteps getting closer to the living room. averting my gaze from the tv, i look over in time to see Trevor freeze in the doorway to the living room, and i become acutely aware of my current state of no makeup and probably looking like a dork with my blanket draped over the top of my head.

i’ve never had a problem acting normal around any of my brothers’ friends. usually, they’re all just like extended family, unwanted additional older brothers. except Trevor. when Jack first brought him home during their USNTDP days, i immediately got a schoolgirl crush. and unlike usual crushes, it’s only gotten worse with time. luckily, Quinn and Jack have never seemed to notice my awkward and shy behavior when Trevor is around, but Luke has and he’s made it his mission to send me scowls and snicker at my misfortune whenever it happens.

“oh hey.” he cocks his head in one those ‘sup’ nods and takes a glance towards the tv screen before fixing his gaze back on me.

“hey. what are you doing back already? are the others coming back too? i can go back into my room. i don’t wanna be a bother or anything.” cue the embarrassing rambles.

“nah, it’s just me. feeling kinda homesick, i don’t really wanna be at a party tonight.” he shrugs his shoulder and sits on the arm of the couch next to me. “whatcha watching?”

“oh, i was just gonna watch a romcom, but it’s fine, i can watch it in my room. you can have the tv if you want.” i have to crane my neck some to look up at him from my spot. “i can leave you alone.”

i start to stand up, still wrapped in my blanket burrito when Trevor grabs the back of the blanket and tugs me back down onto the couch. he stands and walks in front of me before taking a spot on the cushion next to me.

“so, what romcom are we watching?” he asks, kicking his legs up on the coffee table in front of us.

“you don’t have to watch it. we can watch something else, if you want.”

trevor’s only answer comes in actions, grabbing the remote from my hands and clicking play on the movie. i don’t bother to fight him anymore, allowing myself to get sucked into the movie instead.

i’m sat rigid throughout the entire movie, keeping aware of my limbs, not letting any stray too far towards the cushion beside me. and about halfway through the movie i remember how weird i must look and move the blanket onto my lap instead of wrapped around me. i can barely focus on anything other than the fact that Trevor is sitting next to me. the fact that i can smell his sandalwood cologne. that if i were to lay my hand next to me, i would almost be touching him.

once the movie ends, i expect him to put on something for himself or even just go to his room, but instead he turns to look at me.

“you okay?” he asks. my eyes widen slightly before i catch myself and revert them back to normal.

“yeah, why?” i try to sound calm, but my voice is slightly shaky, and i’m just hoping he didn’t notice.

“you seem uncomfortable. did i make you uncomfortable? did i do something?” i shake my head a little too violently for someone who’s supposed to be calm.

“no! i’m not uncomfortable! why would you think that? i’m cool.”

oh my god people who are cool do not say ‘i’m cool’, what is wrong with me? he chuckles and i can’t help the small smile that breaks out on my face at the sound.

“i was just checking.” he puts his hands up in a surrendering gesture. “we should play a game.”

“what game did you have in mind?”

“truth or dare? i don’t know, i’m just bored.”

“sure.” i have a feeling this will not end great for me, but i’m not about to let him know that.

“okay. truth or dare?” we turn and sit criss-cross on the couch, facing each other properly as i weigh my options.

“truth.” safest option. he takes a second to think about his question.

“okay, i got one. does it ever annoy you, how overprotective your brothers can be?”

“oh yeah. one hundred percent. they have all these rules for me; don’t drink unless we’re with you, no dating until you’re 30, don’t leave the house unless you tell us where you’re going, don’t crush on any of our friends. it’s overwhelming sometimes. and i can never stick up for myself because they’re so quick to hurt whoever hurts me, which is nice, yes, but it’s definitely taken a toll on how i present myself. it’s made me shy and my friends say i can be a crybaby sometimes because i’ve never had to handle problems on my own. like, don’t get me wrong, i’m grateful for my brothers, they’re always there for me, but sometimes it’s just too much. ya know?”

he nods, genuinely seeming interested in what i had to say, and my heart flutters.

“i can’t say i understand because i’m the older brother in my family, but i can imagine it can be difficult sometimes.”

“anyways, truth or dare?” he ponders his options before choosing dare. “i dare you to text the guys and tell them you just watched a romcom. and you CAN’T say it was with me.”

he groans and lets his head drop back for a few seconds before pulling his phone out of his pocket and typing for a minute. turning the screen so i can see what he just wrote, he lets me press the send button.

To: Jack-Attack, Huggy Bear, Moosey Hughes

just watched this great romcom on netflix called Set It Up. you guys should watch it. 10/10

i let my own head drop back in laughter and let out an ugly cackle.

“truth or dare? you evil little witch” his mocking insult rolls straight off my back when i see the smile on his face.

“truth again.” i shrug when he raises an eyebrow at my safe choice.

“have you ever broken any of your brothers rules?” my mind short circuits. there’s only one rule i’ve broken, and that’s by liking him. do i admit that? or do i just say no? technically, he didn’t say i have to say which rule i’ve broken, so-

“yes. but you can’t tell them that i have! it has to be our secret! they’d pester me to no end until they found out which one i broke!”

“okay, our secret. promise.” he holds his pinky out, waiting for me to link it with my own. a pinky swear. how adorable. fuck. i bring my own hand up, linking my pinky with his before breaking away and setting my hand back in my lap.

“truth or dare?” i ask.

“truth.” i take a few seconds to think of a question. how is this harder to think of than coming up with a dare?

“what’s your favorite part about the off season?” it’s a relatively boring question, but the first one i thought of.

“oh that’s easy. coming here. i love spending time with you guys.” more heart flutters, i may need to get that checked out. “truth or dare?”

“don’t kill me; truth.” i joke and he laughs again.

“i should’ve expected that, shouldn’t i? alright, if you wanna keep doing truth, i’m just gonna dig deeper and deeper until you tell me your darkest secret, y/n. which rule did you break?” my stomach drops. can i forfeit? can i plead the fifth? is that a thing that you can do in truth or dare? i wouldn’t know, this is my first time playing. i think i’m just gonna have to say it. it’s not like he’ll ever know it’s him.

“you can’t tell them! remember that!” i remind him before admitting- “having a crush on one of their friends.”

his jaw drops and he lets out a completely fake gasp.

“that is not what i was expecting. i expected you to say the drinking rule or the telling them where you go rule. how scandalous, y/n! a forbidden romance!” his jokes make me feel slightly better, at least he’s not judging me.

“yeah, yeah! it’s not like i’m dating the guy.” i defend myself. “truth or dare, Zegras?”

“dare, i’m feeling adventurous.”

“i dare you to go in Jacks room and steal my book back for me. he took it away from me because he said reading was boring and this trip isn’t allowed to be boring.” he bursts out in laughter, barely able to form words for a few minutes before he speaks again.

“oh you’ve got me doing your dirty work for you! i respect it!” he leaps up from the couch and within a couple minutes he’s back on the couch, my book in his hand. he tosses it on my lap and throws a wink my way. “one book for the lady.”

“my sanity thanks you. i can’t start another book until i’ve finished this one and it was killing me slowly.”

“truth or dare? although, i don’t know why i bother asking at this point.” i roll my eyes at his sarcasm and decide to throw him a curveball. mostly for myself though because i have a feeling i know what his next question would be if i pick truth.

“dare.” he grins, and for a second i regret my choice.

“i dare you to tell me which friend you were or are crushing on. c’mon, i can keep your secret.” he asked it anyways. what the hell. i don’t think you can do that. can you do that?

“that’s basically a truth! i picked dare! that’s cheating!”

“it is not!” now it’s his turn to defend himself. “i DARED you to tell me! i promise i won’t judge you, or laugh, or tell your brothers!”

oh god, i’m gonna have to tell him, aren’t i? i mean, i could always just say one of the other guys. i could say Alex, he’s always been the sweetest to me, so i’m sure Trevor would believe it. but then he might say something. it’s not that i wouldn’t trust him to keep it a secret if i say someone else, but Trevor has a big mouth, and sometimes he talks without thinking. he could slip up. so it’s smarter not to lie, to avoid any trouble or confusion. so i close my eyes and count to ten before i say it. here goes nothing.

“you.” i still don’t open my eyes. too afraid of his reaction. but now he’s quiet and i don’t like the silence. oh god, is he disgusted? is he trying trying to figure out how to let me down gently? “don’t get weird. you don’t have to say anything. you can just forget you heard that. pretend you didn’t hear any-“

i’m cut off by his mouth crashing down onto mine. i freeze, overthinking everything, before eventually melting into the kiss. moving my lips against his. it’s slow and sweet, and not at all the reaction i was expecting from him. we pull apart and i allow my eyes to flutter back open, watching his face as he slowly breathes in and out. he catches my eye and a wide grin spreads across his face.

“i’ve wanted to do that since high school.” his hands grip my hips and i let him pull me onto his lap, straddling him. butterflies are flying around in my stomach and my heart is pounding against my chest, but i let my body relax into his.

“really?”

“yeah.” he confirms, leaning his forehead against my own. “the first time Jack had me over to your house, he gave this whole lecture about how you were off limits. and i thought ‘no problem.’ but then i saw you, and i got to know you, and it turned out to be a big problem. you’re so beautiful, and then you turned to be this sweet, funny, amazing girl. and god, i could not get you out of my head. i still can’t.”

this time it’s my turn to plant a kiss on his lips, this one a chaste peck. i slouch down and lay my head on his chest, wrapping my arms around his waist.

“can we stay like this forever?” i ask, but before he can answer, his phone buzzes on the cushion beside us, and he picks it up and curses.

“Jack just texted to say they’ll be home soon. he said Cole is wasted and they need to put him to bed.” i pull back and nod my head, moving to get off him. but he wraps his arms around my middle and holds us chest-to-chest. “do you want me to tell him you’re asleep? you can come in my room. we can just cuddle, nothing else necessary. but i just got you, and now i just wanna hold you.”

i smile and nod again, silently saying a thank you to whatever higher entity above granted me such luck as to have him like me back.

“yeah, i’d like that.” we get off the couch and make our way to his room, remembering to turn the tv off on our way out of the living room. he opens the door to his room and allows me to enter first before he comes in.

“you can go ahead and lay down, i’m just gonna change into some sweats first.” he walks over to his opened suitcase on the floor and pulls out a pair of grey sweatpants and a t-shirt before leaving the room, going into the bathroom across the hall. i do as he says and lay down on his bed, on my side facing the door.

it’s not but a moment after he gets back into the room and shuts the door, that we hear the front door of the house open and shut, followed by multiple pairs of footsteps and some mumbling.

“jesus Cole, you could help me out here and actually move your feet.” i can hear Quinn say as he passes by Trevor’s door, i’m assuming helping Cole to his room. Trevor snickers and comes over to the bed, clicking off the lamp before laying down behind me and putting his arm around my middle, pulling me close against him. after about 15 minutes i can feel his breath start to even out, and i look over my shoulder to see his eyes fluttering open and shut, obviously having trouble staying awake.

“you can go to sleep, Trev. i’ll go to my room once i know they’re all in theirs.” i whisper.

“no. sleep over here? please? i wanna hold you tonight.” his voice is soft and low so we don’t get caught, but also laced with sleepiness. i shake my head.

“what if one of them finds us in the morning? you know how my brothers will react.” at my words, he pulls his phone out of his sweatpants pocket and taps a few times before leaning over me and plugging it in on the nightstand.

“there. i set an alarm for 7am. you know the guys won’t even wake up before 10, so that gives us plenty of time for you to go back to your room before they can catch us.” i sigh and snuggle back into him.

“alright. i’ll sleep in here.” he plants a kiss on an exposed spot between my neck and shoulder and i can feel his smile on my skin.

#trevor zegras #trevor zegras imagine #trevor zegras x reader #nhl imagine #nhl fic #faithlynn’s writings <3 #babydollmarauders #anaheim ducks #teenage dream au <3

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livwritesstuff · 5 months

Text

So I’ve made a few references to Steve being an Excel guy as an adult (because someone had to be in charge of Steve and Eddie’s money and it certainly wasn’t going to be Eddie).

He’s got the classic spreadsheets – monthly budget, college savings projections, income tracking because he and Eddie both work jobs with variable incomes (Steve is a counselor and Eddie is an author), the whole nine yards.

Steve also has some “extracurricular” spreadsheets. I’ve talked about how Steve has a spreadsheet tracking the combinations of Mario Kart racers/vehicles he tries out (there’s a ranking system involved, it’s very complex). He’s got one for his fantasy football league, obviously, and he and Moe put money on their March Madness brackets so there’s a spreadsheet for that too.

Eddie’s personal favorite is the one comparing monthly expenses by kid, which isn’t exactly a necessary metric per se, but from it stems a game Steve and Eddie secretly play: who is the most expensive Harrington daughter?

The winner tends to rotate throughout the year, but Hazel is usually their least expensive child in the long run. She does ballet, which isn’t too bad when she’s little but then she graduates to pointe shoes, and Steve had no idea that not only do pointe shoes set you back $100 minimum, they also wear out ridiculously fast, and, as he’s been told many times, you can’t wear the dead ones.

Moe usually takes that top spot in the winter – elite basketball teams aren’t cheap by any stretch of the imagination, and then in high school she gets into snowboarding, which is somehow even more expensive. She’s also consistently the reason they hit their health insurance deductible every year.

Robbie is their overall most expensive kid by a mile. She drove up their car insurance by getting into an accident a month after she got her driver's license, had braces for five years, and the prescription on her glasses has changed every eighteen months since she was seven. She’s notorious for breaking her phone, so she racks up quite a tab in that regard too (the one year they got a protection plan was also the one year she had no phone-related incidents, so they didn’t even bother renewing it – they just make her suffer with a cracked screen for a few months before they finally drag her to the mall to get it fixed). There’s also the year Eddie bought her an electric violin which was, naturally, not cheap (Eddie argues it shouldn’t count because he was the brains behind that operation).

#they all get jobs at 16 - non-negotiable #steve was hoping at least one of them would work somewhere with a dumb uniform but alas #moe works at the mountain she snowboards at #usually she operates the lift and makes sure to slow it down to a *crawl* for the best skiers #“to humble them” she says #hazel teaches the baby classes at her ballet school #robbie does reception at the joint music school/instrument shop she takes violin lessons at #steddie #liv’s steddie dads verse #steddie dads #steve harrington #eddie munson

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film-in-my-soul · 4 months

Text

Ice Ice Baby | 584 | collectivision

Summary: It’s 1990, Ice Ice Baby is on the radio and Ice can’t catch a fucking break.

Bathing In Our Love | 888 | CaptainStilinski

Summary: The bath water is warm and soothing to the muscles, the bath salts clouding the water and sending a nice tingle along Pete's skin. There's soft music playing from the record player in the bedroom, low notes drifting through the open bathroom door. By far the best part of this quiet night in though, is the man leaning back into Pete's chest.

Getting Naked | 900 | thecarlysutra / @icemankazansky

Summary: Maverick has a little "truth or strip" game in mind for him and Iceman. At least one of them should have known they were too competitive to play nice.

Occupied | 1,006 | thecarlysutra / @icemankazansky

Summary: “Come on, Iceman," Maverick said. "Haven’t you ever wanted to join the mile high club?” “You think I’ve never had sex in an airplane? I’m a pilot.” “You’re the world’s most uptight pilot, and if you’ve ever so much as brushed your hard on by accident while in the cockpit, I’ll give you every nickel in my bank account right now.”

Just Can't Replace Me | 1,231 | toucanpie

Summary: It's still pretty new, this thing where Maverick comes home to him.

Debrief | 1,232 | thedevilchicken

Summary: They've been back at Top Gun for eighteen months. Mav's been staring at Ice in the locker room for every single one of them.

Please see below for more recommendations!

bad-good ideas | 1,244 | andthentheybow / @andthentheybow

Summary: “Fancy meeting you here,” is the first thing the Maverick says when Tom wakes up. It is automatically a bad start to his day- anything involving the Maverick would constitute a bad start to his day. “Likewise,” Tom replies. He doesn’t even know where ‘here’ is, until the events of the previous day- has it even been a day?- come rushing back to him. Ron said the supervillain MIG was preparing to strike, and Tom just goes where Ron tells him to. Now, however, he’s going to have to have a long talk with his best friend about double checking his intel.

can i have what i can't touch (it's the anticipation) | 1,295 | ropememory

Summary: “What are you wearing?” Maverick asks, and Ice can’t suppress his eyeroll, the only time tonight he’s thankful he’s alone, that Maverick’s on the other side of the country and can’t comment on it, can’t goad him into doing something ill-advised.

I'll Wear Out the Words I Love You | 1,511 | Saturn / @icemav86

Summary: Two milestones in a decades-long love story

Shaping Up, Breaking Down | 1,543 | m_madeleine / @m-madeleine

Summary: Maverick has never known his limits. Not up in the air. And not in bed, either.

i’ll carry you up the stairs | 1,576 | andthentheybow / @andthentheybow

Summary: Ice feels that, as Maverick’s emergency contact, he should be used to the amount of calls he gets about his best friend and the man he’s secretly in love with. Just because he’s used to it doesn’t make him feel any better.

Patterns | 1,640 | DeeEffGee

Summary: Maverick and Iceman have a pattern, and it doesn't involve talking.

Bloom | 1,740 | ecarlysutra / @icemankazansky

Summary: Iceman Kazansky is born with chronic Hanahaki Disease. Any time he represses a feeling or hides a secret, he has symptoms. He probably needs therapy, but instead he gets flowers.

phases of the moon | 1,752 | dangerousinlove / @gohoubi

Summary: Maverick and Iceman become accustomed to the latter’s monthly transformations.

you're the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be | 1,961 | encyclopediabitch_jpeg

Summary: “Say it then,” The faintest smile, a tiny glimmer in an iris while Maverick grew bolder. “Damn you, Pete Mitchell,” “Say it,” “Fuck you,”

let's pretend (we've never been apart) | 2,043 | ropememory

Summary: Thomas Kazansky lays etched over Maverick’s heart, inside the circle of metal, and Maverick can only hope Ice feels the absence of the ring on his finger as much as Maverick feels the absence of Ice next to him.

(if only for today) i am unafraid | 2,127 | dalearden / @dale-arden

Summary: People have told him they love him before. A lot of girls, a couple of guys. Though it was never like when Ice said it. He’d played along, sometimes, just because he was that much of a screw up or because he needed to keep things going for whatever reason, but it had never made him feel anything before.

Where The Miles Are Marked In The Blood And Gold | 2,170 | Disastrous_Canasta / @disastrouscanasta

Summary: It looked normal. But so had his throat. His throat which had had a tumour. A cancerous tumour. So he kept staring at his elbow. Adjusting the angle, checking to make sure it seemed fine.

now I wake up by your side | 2,566 | quantumoddity / @mollymauk-teafleak

Summary: It's September 20th 2011 and Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell has something to tell the world. At three in the morning. Through a megaphone.

Ship to Shore | 2,829 | thecarlysutra / @icemankazansky

Summary: Maverick has been teaching at TOPGUN for about ten weeks when he gets a postcard. Things kind of go off after that.

love that doesn't have a place to rest | 3,375 | quantumoddity / @mollymauk-teafleak

Summary: Maverick is trying to adjust to the life of a Top Gun instructor, a life without Goose, a life spent trying to forget about Tom Kazansky. Who he's absolutely, definitely in love with. And who he's absolutely, definitely not allowed to be in love with. So he's lying awake at night, trying to convince himself to sleep and just push these thoughts away. Because it's not like Iceman's thinking about him, right?

Ever Higher | 3,468 | astolat / @astolat

Summary: Maybe he wouldn’t have thought of it on his own, but soon as he’d heard about it—well, it was fucking obvious, wasn’t it? There was no other way to keep climbing.

blood in the water | 3,735 | dangerousinlove / @gohoubi

Summary: After his cancer, Iceman finds out that going back to normal is harder than he thought.

come the same colors | 3,874 | susiecarter / @susiecarter

Summary: Maverick felt like shit. He wasn't going to make a production out of it.

wingspan | 3,896 | aelibia / @topgunreacts

Summary: Iceman is in love. Maverick is oblivious. And the only thing in the world that can bring them together is locked up in a bathroom.

and gamble for the sun | 3,954 | susiecarter / @susiecarter

Summary: It's like this: Maverick and the Iceman make bets, sometimes.

(I Love You) A Bushel and A Pallet | 4,083 | boasamishipper / @boasamishipper

Summary: "Only you, Mitchell," Ice says, "could possibly manage to get a concussion in a fucking Costco."

When the Rest of Heaven Was Blue | 7,244 | finistra

Summary: There exists, on VHS cassettes distributed through P.O. boxes, a BDSM flick in which Maverick doms a submissive Iceman. They meet at Top Gun a few weeks after filming.

A Shared Cup | 7,287 | susiecarter / @susiecarter

Summary: It was only a training exercise. It was only supposed to be a training exercise.

You're Gonna Be The One That Saves Me | 7,968 | orphan_account

Summary: Of all the inane things Maverick’s done—of all of the rules he’s broken, and all of the ways he’s risked his neck—falling for Iceman is both the most ludicrous and the most expected.

Tell Me Again | 8,805 | aelibia / @topgunreacts

Summary: Ice is a werewolf. Maverick is a hunter. They make it work.

on second approach | 9,540 | Addison R (beyond_belief) / @alakeeffectgirl

Summary: Pete Mitchell is the president of a successful aviation company, a job inherited from his father. When threats start to roll in, the board hires Tom Kazansky as his bodyguard.

Last Flight to Fairbanks | 18,806 | aelibia / @topgunreacts

Summary: Ice stumbled. A nearby tree kept him from being knocked prone, but the motion was enough to let a small amount of snow into his hiking boots. Soon the snow became water, and a future note in some pathologist’s autopsy notes: severe hypothermia, frostbite in the toes and feet. But he couldn’t stop yet. Maverick was still out there—here—somewhere, in the swirling mass of white on white on black bark. And he couldn’t lie down. Ice knew what happened to people who stopped to rest in the middle of a blizzard. They sat down, just for a moment, just until they caught their breath, and first sleep came, and then death. He had to keep going.

Dreams of Impact | 19,891 | thecarlysutra / @icemankazansky

Summary: Maverick's trip in Darkstar takes him further than he ever imagined possible.

Kings of the Air | 24,903 | FabulaRasa / @fabula-unica

Summary: Fighting and fucking: two things he did extraordinarily well. How could he have known what the effect would be when you combined the two?

When and Where | 25,210 | twowritehands

Summary: A world where people are given, through reoccurring dreams, 1 to 5 details of their soulbond. The face, the place, the day, the time, or the name. Average is 2 clues. Unlucky bastards get only 1. Lucky people get 3 or 4. No one gets all 5. Maverick is one lucky unlucky bastard. Even though it is his only clue, he knows exactly where he will bond with his soulmate: Charlie's house. But, as it turned out, Charlie wasn't the One at all. Now, heartbroken, Maverick wishes he didn't know that That House is The Place. Because Iceman just moved into it.

Master Reclist · Personal Masterlist · Blog Nav.

#icemav #iceman/maverick #icemav reclist #reclist #top gun reclist #fanfic reclist

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milkhwi · 1 month

Text

Casino Nights - Gambler! Chenle

Summary: Gambling and more gambling, that’s all that mattered to Chenle. The probability of him winning was always high until one day you showed up and decided to change that and his life, too.

genre: gambler! chenle x gambler! reader

word count: 2.8k

warnings: illegal gambling & swearing probably not proof read enough

a/n: originally was supposed to be a bulleted scenario but honestly,, think this came out better idk anything about gambling dont do it kids- also it’s been in my draft since 2020 omg..4 years yeah last fic ever probably i’ve retired from my good old days. idk if anyone will read this but i’m proud :3 also my longest fic of my entire career who else cheered!

masterlist。

—

Dies being rolled, cards being shuffled, chips being placed, and bets being made. The casino was always full of gamblers- especially on a Saturday night. The casino was like a second home for Chenle. Every Saturday he would be there- gambling. Chenle, only being an eighteen year old, wasn’t allowed to enter a casino. Reason: age. Of course, it was no secret that gambling at that age was illegal. But Chenle was an exception. He knows how to gamble. In fact, he’s very good at it. The only reason he was allowed in the first place was because he’s rich. Being rich was an advantage to him. He put down exactly $10 million on the line- to which of course, anyone would accept if it was that amount of money. To make things worse, he was going to gamble against one of the best known gamblers. “If I win, I’ll be allowed to gamble and get twice the amount I’m betting. Alright?” Chenle said, with no tone in his voice.

Chenle’s opponent chuckled and smirked at him, “Alright kid, it’s a bet.”

Not long after, the best gambler out there was not only dethroned by an eighteen year old, but exactly 20 million in debt. Chenle chuckled slightly, “You were really that confident, huh?” His opponent gulped, he knew this was something so embarrassing that it would even haunt him in his dreams, “You cheated, didn’t you? Let’s go again, I’ll prove you wrong.” Chenle pretended to think about it, then nodded, betting down $30 million this time.

“Watch me close if you really think I’m cheating.” Everyone watching the game taking place was already sweating. Not long after, they were neck to neck- this made Chenle’s opponent laugh, relieved about the fact that he had a higher chance of winning, but since misfortune was on his side, Chenle won.

50 million in debt.

Suddenly his opponent stood up to say something, but immediately fell to his feet. Shaking at the realization. Chenle leaned towards him- towering him, “Wanna go again? Want to try proving me wrong again?” He said as his eyes darkened.

Everyone was shocked. How could someone so young be so deadly?

From that day on, Chenle became the youngest gambler. No one really opposed the idea of him becoming a gambler- especially at the gambling den and if they did, Chenle would ask them to play a few games.

Chenle did gambling as a hobby. For fun. No one really knew how he was so good at gambling. “He’s rich so he was probably taught in order to bring money to the house” or “What do you expect? It probably runs in the fucking family.”

The truth is, the first time Chenle gambled, he was at stake of losing everything. He wasn’t driven by money. He only gambled because he wanted to see how easy it was to see someone else defeated. He didn’t use his emotions- he used logic. After that, surprisingly- he didn’t get addicted to gambling like many do. Luckily, his parents weren’t aware of what he did in his spare time and they didn’t really care, either.

His parents only cared that when he finally turned 21, he would take over the company- or when his dad retired and handed him the company. Chenle was completely fine with that but wanted to have a hobby that was amusing to the eye.

Once he got home back from gambling at an ungodly hour, he headed to his room. There was a golden envelope with his name written in calligraphy. He turned his head slightly, murmuring a slight “huh?” and opened the envelope. His eyes turned wide at the contents of the letter. He was invited to go to the most important event of the year, held once a year, the talk of the year- NCT, something anyone would die to attend. The only thing that went through his head was how much money he would make if he would gamble with the rich people attending the event.

“You’re gonna have to attend, alright?” His mother said, taking another sip from her coffee.

“I know. It’s next week, right?”

“Yes, so after your meetings and lunch go and get your suit tailored.” She smiled, and grabbed her bag heading out the door.

Chenle sighed, at the sight of the empty house and how alone he was in the morning. Once he finished his breakfast he headed out to his meetings.

The day finally arrived and his mood was going downhill. ‘It had to be on a saturday, didn’t it?’ Chenle rolled his eyes, knowing he won’t be able to go to the casino. He silently sat in the dining room waiting for his father to finish going through documents inside his office. “Your father is ready to see you.” His mother said, opening the door to the office, making Chenle stand up and head inside.

His father glanced at him and then back at his computer and continued typing. Chenle walked over to his father’s desk, causing him to stop typing and clasped his hands, “I heard your friends are also going to the event.” Chenle noded, a barely audible ‘yes’ coming out of his mouth.

“Well, besides that, put out some good words for the company and try to get us as many new customers you can.”

“Yes, father.”

Chenle’s head swayed back and forth, making his eyes flutter shut at the soft jazz music playing in the background while people talked amongst themselves. As his head was about to fall to the table, Jisung smacks the back of his head, causing him to jolt awake. Jisung laughs and says, “At this rate, you might as well go home.”

Chenle looks at his watch and sighs, “It hasn’t even been an hour.”

Jeno sits next to him and says, “Did your father tell you to promote his company?”

“Yeah- like always.”

Suddenly, two plates of food were placed in front of him, “While you’re at it, you should eat lots of food!” Jaemin grabbed one plate and started digging in.

“He’s not wrong. We’re all probably gonna be stuck here for the rest of the night.” Renjun said, trying to grab food out of Jaemin’s plate.

Chenle checks his watch again, realizing only two minutes have passed, sighing. He looked around trying to come up with a plan on how to leave without anyone noticing in order to go to the casino. He stands up waving slightly, “Anyways, I’ll catch you guys later.”

“Where are you going?” Donghyuck says, his mouth stuffed with food.

“It’s a saturday.”

All of them collectively sigh at Chenle- knowing he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to do, but allowed him to do it anyways since they were all friends.

Chenle wandered around aimlessly around the building. Trying to find an exit that was not the front door seemed harder than he thought. At times he got distracted at how many people he had to greet or how the lights oozed an unexplainable aura. He goes up the flight of stairs trying to see if there was a way out. As he looks around, he stops and gazes at you- because of how dark it is, he doesn’t recognize who you are. But all he knows is, he has never seen you before at these past parties. Even though a lot of people attend, he knows everyone by memory. He continues going up the stairs trying to get a closer look at you, trying not to lose sight of you either. He shakes his head, thinking about how he should find an exit instead.

About two hours later, he enters the gambling den and a familiar smell lingers around causing him to smile. It has only been a week but he already missed the sounds of the slots and the ambient music playing in the background. As he was walking to the furthest part of the den, he noticed how many people were causing a commotion around a table of blackjack. There you were. Betting with some random old rich man. Chenle shook his head lightly, sighing at the fact that you most likely have lost- if not thousands by now. He signals towards a dealer near your table and shifts his eyes towards you, asking what you were doing here.

“They’ve been here for an hour. And they’ve won all their games already.”

His ears perked up to that new piece of information. All games won? Chenle loves a challenge. As he walks towards your table, watching you win. He reaches his hand out, “Let’s play a simple game of poker, shall we? I heard you’re pretty good for the hour you’ve already been here.”

“You’re not afraid to lose?” You say scanning Chenle’s face.

“Absolutely not, I have faith in myself.”

You were in his territory after all, why would he be afraid? Especially if he’s never seen you around. So he put all his chips to bet.

“Already? But it’s just the first game” You furrowed your eyebrows debating whether to believe if he was really good at this game.

“One game is all I need.” Chenle said, as he sat down.

You smirked, realizing how confident he sounded, you placed all your chips down, too.

And so, the game began with the dealer handing both of you 7 cards. People were already gathering around the both of you. Watching and waiting for this weird tension to be cut. With your poker faces on, the game began, rotating from one another.

“Raise” You said, causing Chenle to look up from his cards again. Although Chenle looked unaffected from the outside, he was confused, why would you raise again? Was your hand actually that much better than his? Or were you just bluffing? His hand wasn’t all that good, but he needed to win. He always wins. But this game seemed to feel like it was taking too long.

“Raise, too” Not wanting to back down, Chenle was determined to win. He never felt like he was going to lose against you. Maybe you had a one hour win streak, but he was about to break it.

Full house. A tie. Everyone started murmuring around the table. A tie? Against the infamous Chenle? Even Chenle looked slightly upset at this. But even this had a solution, he had the highest kind of a full house, automatically winning.

“Congrats, I’m Y/n by the way. New to the area, heard the rumors, and I guess they were true! Let’s do this again next time, shall we?” Before Chenle could speak, you were heading out, and he was too stunned at the fact that he almost lost a game to some newbie.

“The Zhong Chenle.. almost lost?” Haechan said, bursting out in laughter. Jisung and Jaemin seemed to hold in their laughter in order to not hurt his ego, but hearing Heachans contagious laugh, they couldn’t hold it in.

“Guys stop laughing, this should come off as surprising instead. I mean, a newbie? And a tie at that?” Mark said, while also trying not to laugh. Jeno shook his head, looking at the ground, not wanting to add fuel to the fire.

“I lost my mind that night. I don’t know what to feel.” Chenle sighed, still astonished by what happened almost a week ago.

“Are you gonna go tonight?” Jeno asked, out of curiosity.

“Take us with you this time! I wanna see you get your ass kicked!” Renjun hit Chenle’s shoulder playfully.

He sighed and nodded, “Fine, just don’t say anything stupid.”

Night fall came, which meant gambling night! Chenle brought the boys and was looking around to see if you would show up again. And so, you did.

You walked up to Chenle, tapping him on his soldier, innocently smiling, “Hi! I sure hope you weren’t too hung up on last week’s match” To that remark, Chenle felt his neck burn up, out of embarrassment. The boys looked at him, their jaws almost dropping. They didn’t expect that to be the way the night was starting, but it was probably going to go downhill from that.

After a few games, that Chenle obviously won. Your interest in him peaked, you were the same age as him after all, and wanted to know what made him more special than the rest. But your ultimate goal was to win a game against him in less than 5 months. This caused you to show up to the den even on the days Chenle never showed up for. But of course, he found out a week after, so he started showing up more, just to see what you were up to. It was strange, really. Both of you were gamblers, but the fact that he felt a connection with you since he tied a game with you was what kept him wondering. The fact that you kept coming and blowing up thousands of dollars just to play with him was also strange. You were a good gambler, keeping Chenle invested in your games. And so, you would meet outside of the gambling den, during the daytime to eat lunch or even dinner. He learned your hobbies, besides gambling all your money away and learned you were an exchange student with rich parents in the other side of the earth that would send you pocket money every weekend to treat yourself. Of course, they didn’t know you were blowing it off to some games every weekend, as long as you kept it hidden and kept a low profile, everything would be fine.

Chenle felt like the closest person you’ve met in your life. You cherished your friendship with him, but after realizing it’s been 4 months since you’ve known him, you felt a strange sensation of wanting to be even closer to him. And you didn’t know if he felt the same. You didn’t want to risk it anyways. The fact that you managed to figure out how to beat him after 8 weeks of gambling with him and keeping up an act to let him win was something you didn’t wanna tell him. But you were going home for the summer soon and wanted to know if you were even coming back. So you decided to wait 2 more weeks and win against him officially.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving soon.” Chenle said, sitting down at your usual table.

“And I’m spending my last days at the casino, how funny is it?” You smiled feeling a sense of competitiveness rush up. “By the way, can I pick the game?”

Chenle nodded realizing they haven’t played a few certain games in a while. And one of them was poker. “Poker it is.”

As always, people were dying to see Chenle play against anyone, knowing he would win. But this time you weren’t gonna hesitate. As the dealer handed you cards, you realized you had to win no matter what.

A straight flush. Everyone cheered around you. Chenle seemed to have gotten the second highest hand out of the deck, and there was no way your bluff was going to work against him. So, you showed your cards. A royal flush. The highest hand. Everyone stood quiet. Even Chenle couldn’t believe his eyes. He clapped, slowly causing everyone around you to cheer, “I knew you could do it, I always believed you.”

As if it was the adrenaline or the amount of people around you, you suddenly spoke and said “Chenle, I like you”

People took this as a cue and fled to different directions, not wanting to know what was going to happen next. Chenle’s eyes widened slightly and chuckled lightly, “I like you too, so come back as soon as you can”

That summer, Chenle would finally take over the company, which meant he would stop gambling if he didn’t wanna risk the future of the company. And you were working under your parent’s company but managed to land a sweet deal with Chenle’s company while his father still ran it and was allowed to work back with Chenle.

Taking trips to Sin City was something you adored with Chenle. The faces of other gamblers were priceless when you or him managed to win flawlessly, and with no “record” of ever gambling before. You hardly ever lost any money, so it was only ever done for fun.

“Chenle, I want to tell you something..”

“Go on”

“I figured out how to beat you and let you win multiple times afterwards.”

“Oh, it clicked to me the first time we met, I think I got lucky the first time we met.”

“Wait- really?”

“Yeah, but I was also really lucky that we met that night, I mean what were the odds?” Chenle says, planting a kiss on your lips gently, causing both of you to reminisce about the first time you met.

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