#but don’t tell people they can’t like it because i assure you they can
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Wet & Wild II
pairing: art donaldson x reader
synopsis: in which you, a swimmer, and art, a tennis champ, change each other's lives for the better when you challenge his match-like stance on life
warnings: SMUT, porn with a plot, sexually explicit language, cursing, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, nipple play, locker room sex, swimmer lingo
word count: 5.5k
part 1
tags💜: @midnightwrriting @no1runawaymilkdad @ihave-aboringlife @blahhucantmakeme @laniirackssss @blood-bloss @lmaoyani @geminiflanagansblog @ruyaas-world @hrlzy @povobsessed @stephstephstephsteph @chakin @10ava01 @lem0ns77 @velvrei @hdhdhdndhdndk
masterlist
a/n: sorry if the tags aren’t working, I tried to include everyone that wanted it. lmk if you have questions on anything. hope you enjoy!!
A week has passed since the last time you’d seen Art and you try to rid any thoughts of him from your mind as you enter the women’s locker room, the day so early that the sun has only just risen. You’d only spent a few hours with him, but he feels more important to you than a mere acquaintance, especially considering you’d let him have more of you than most people would ever get to. You try to tell yourself it won’t matter if he shows or not, but deep down you know that it will. Regardless, overthinking won’t help you in the water so you shove it down as you steadily pull on your tech suit, careful not to rip the delicate fabric. Your headphones are currently blaring your hype playlist in your ear, but you slide them off once you notice movement to your left as Chloe opens her own locker.
“You ready?” she asks you, pulling out her own racing suit from the depths of her swim bag.
“Not really,” you admit, giving up on stretching your tight suit to your full body frame for the time being as you opt for a tie-back bikini top instead. Your shoulders are ever so grateful. “I’m so nervous.”
“Why? Because of your race or your little tennis boyfriend?” she teases, lips quirking into a classic Chloe smirk. As your best friend, she was the first and only person you told about your interaction with Art at the party and, of course, she had been teasing you about it since. While during practice it was amusing, you are not in the mood for jokes right before a race, especially one of such importance.
You furrow a brow, shaking your head to signal that it’s not the time for such jests concerning the blonde. As the good friend that she is, Chloe immediately understands as she moves to help tie your suit straps, a simple task that you are unexpectedly failing at due to the pressure of the meet ahead of you.
“You’re going to do great,” Chloe comforts, placing an assuring hand on your shoulder once she’s finished with your straps. “I’m sure of it.”
“What if I don’t break the record?”
“Who cares? You can try again next time. If that’s the worst that can happen, you don’t have anything to be nervous about,” she smiles in assurance. “Besides that record is as good as yours -” she makes a gesture to your tech suit that has the most magical of time bending abilities if wielded by the right swimmer. “You’ve worked so hard for this. Nothing can stop you now.”
“Thanks Clo.” you grin at her appreciatively, and though your nerves don’t settle in the slightest, you feel more comfortable living in cohabitation with them now. They’re so much easier to manage when you’re not alone.
It’s only minutes before the rest of your team has arrived and you have hours before your event is scheduled to take place, yet it only feels like seconds before you’re being seated in the waiting room amongst your competitors, tech suit finally fully on. Rousing music plays through your headphones though you are sure to skip any songs that seem even the slightest bit romantic. You try to slip into the right headspace, the line between confident and cocky that has always aided you in not panicking just before you step up to the blocks in the past. You try to find it, using any method at your fingertips, but it’s no use. You can’t seem to find it no matter how hard you try and suddenly it feels as if the weight of the world is crashing down on you when the door opens and your event is called. You stand with the other women and together you line up behind the blocks.
The sun shines much higher up in the sky than it had been when you dove in during warm ups, blaring down to reflect off the red of your cap that bears the Stanford logo in white along with your last name. You take your rightful place behind the starting block of the middle lane, and though you already wrote your heat and lane in black sharpie on your forearm just to be sure, you can’t help but worry that you’ve already missed your race.
It’s only when the head announcer calls your event on the loudspeaker that you stop dwelling on it, her voice echoing through the stands that seem so much taller now that you're in the center with so much pressure resting solely on you. You rake though the rafters to your left, hoping to be comforted by the sight of Chloe or one of your other teammates until you realize that they are more than likely preparing for their own events in the warm up pool.
It's then, just when the swirling hurricane of emotions is hurtling toward you, that you see him. He’s seated in the first row, blonde curls circling his head like a golden crown and a wide smile lighting up his face when he sees that you’ve finally spotted him, one that you can’t help returning as he mouths sweet wishes of luck to you.
Art came. He actually came!
The storm subsides and all of a sudden you’ve lost all your inhibitions. Instead of buzzing anxiety, you are filled with a new light and the confidence of a record breaker. It’s all so clear with Art in the stands and as his presence wafts away your storm of worries, you come to the realization that you can do it. You know you can.
The whistle of an official blares through the speaker and on cue you slide on your goggles and mount the block. You’re really starting to feel the compression of your suit as you bend into your diving position, waiting for the magic words. The signal that it’s time to race and leave everything you have in the pool as you go.
“Swimmers, take your marks…”
You take one last breath before the sound blares and you dive off the block. It all comes naturally to you and with the help of your suit, you find yourself breaking out farther than ever before.
You only have a few strokes until you’re at the end of the pool when out of nowhere, the girl in the lane beside you starts to catch up to you until the two of you are neck and neck and it doesn’t escape your attention when she flips a split second before you’re able to.
You know it’s not about winning, you told Art that, but it’s as if a fire has been lit behind you and you’re suddenly determined to go for the gold. You push yourself harder than you ever have before and though you're not sure where the energy has come from, you know it’s exactly what you need. You’ve failed if you’re able to get out of the pool without stumbling.
Before long you catch up to the swimmer beside you, taking your first and only breath as you summon the last of your power, pushing through the water like a jet-ski. At once you’re behind the flags and unlike before, there’s no one beating you to the touch pad resting on the side of the ending wall as you slam your hand down and come up for air.
The crowd erupts with applause once you finish and at first you’re under the impression that it’s because of your win until your eyes glaze over at the scoreboard and nearly burst from your skull at the sight of the result.
You had accomplished your goal. There it was, a time faster than the Stanford record glowing right beside your name. But you didn’t just pass it by a few flimsy hundredths. Your new record was more than a second faster.
You can hardly believe it and you know if the proof weren’t right in front of you, there’d only be disbelief instead of this crashing wave of accomplishment and pride. Though you’re in severe oxygen debt from the race, you find yourself screaming in excitement at your gigantic accomplishment.
“We have a new record!” an official announces through the loudspeaker once the other girls have returned to the starting wall, followed by your name and new time. You search for Art again once you’re out of the water, all but failing to suppress your grin as you find him clapping in the stands and smiling down at you as if you were the most precious stone in the world.
Your teammates are filled with the same immense pride when you join them in the locker room once the meet is over. You’ve since changed from your tech suit, switching out the tight fabric for your cozy hoodie, tie-back bikini top, and a towel tied around your waist. The suit in question now hangs in your locker with the rest of your clothes that you had been in the middle of putting on before the congradulations began.
“I fucking told you!” Chloe shouts, clapping you on the back like you had just won the lottery. You imagine such a feat couldn’t match the pride you feel now.
You almost say that you can’t believe it, but the words stall on your lips. You actually can believe it, this is something you’ve been working tirelessly for. And now, after a long hard race, the record title is finally yours.
“Did I see a certain blonde in the audience?” Chloe smirks, nudging you as you wave goodbye to one of your other parting teammates.
“Maybe,” you drawl, trying your best to hide your growing grin, but the thought of the man makes you feel like flying through the air as year worth of buried emotions bubble up to the surface. You haven’t felt anything like this for a very long time.
“You know what that means…” Chloe whispers to you after you pull away from a hug with one of the other girls who like everyone else, is on her way out. The night’s party is being hosted at a house that’s a longer commute than usual in honor of the women’s tenth annual win and unlike your teammates, you aren’t in any hurry to get there knowing the a portion of the celebration will surround you.
“Drinks on you?” you guess, pretending you are clueless as to what she’s getting at. You hope it’s enough to deter her from whatever inevitably grotesque she’s about to say, but you know it’s to no avail as she laughs and shakes her head.
“Nice try,” she smiles, nudging you with her elbow. “I meant that he’s definetly going to fuck the shit out of you next time you see him.”
You cringe bashfully at her words, hitting her on the shoulder as she backs away from your shrunken form.
“Chloe!” you chide, though you both know no real anger lies within your tone. She’s been like this since the day you’d first met her: always the same old loving, indecorous Chloe.
“Just saying.” she shrugs before turning to say her goodbyes to the last lingering one of your other teammates.
You turn to open your locker, finally ready to change out of your damp towel until you’re startled by the clacking footsteps of unfamiliar tennis shoes heading in your direction. You assume it’s another random spectator who had bypassed the many signs clearly stating that the locker room is for athlete occupance only, but at once you find you’re very wrong when you turn to see who it is.
Art stands before you and though it was his decision to invade the women’s locker room, he looks as surprised as you.
“Hey,” he says, almost breathlessly. You’re thankful when you notice that Chloe is fully dressed to your left, just pulling on her knit cardigan.
She smirks smuggly at the sight of him, swinging her bag over her shoulders before sending you a wink and a swiftly muttered, “Told ya.” Without another word she exits, leaving you and Art utterly and completely alone.
“You realize this is the women’s restroom, right?” you jab as you hear Chloe shut the door behind her, though it’s all in good fun. As far as you know, no one is coming anywhere near the locker room for the next several hours.
“I was waiting outside for you,” he states, gradually lifting his hands from their tense place in the front of his jean pockets. “I thought everyone else had already come out, but I guess I was wrong.”
“That’s just Chloe,” you laugh, gesturing in the direction of the exit path your best friend had just taken. “Don’t worry, she won’t tattle.”
He chuckles, amused by your jest before he takes a slow step closer to you. Like a sparkler to your stomach, you become acutely aware of the tension between the two of you, growing like the blush colored blossoms of a cherry tree in spring. “I’ve thought about what you said.”
This makes you smile.
“And?”
“You were right.”
You’re heart flutters, so light that if it weren’t encaged within your chest you’re sure it would’ve floated away. He pauses to take another tense step in your direction, now only a foot away.
“Do you know how Tashi and I met?”
“I don’t, actually,” you say, words laced with a twinge of sarcasm.
“Right,” he laughs, realizing the folly behind his question. It was more rhetorical than anything, but he begins the story like a spider spindiling its web. “Well it was only about a year ago. We met at the US open. Patrick and I both went after her and you know what she told us?”
You wait for the answer.
“She said she’d give her number to whoever won our match. That was the first time I ever lost and it was to my best friend.”
“That’s who was at your match, wasn’t it?” you ask.
Art nods solumnly, though the pain that had been etched on his face from your last meeting has vanished, as if the thorn in his side has been replced by a budding rose.
“I didn’t know Art, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he urges. “It’s all okay now. I’ve realized that none of it matters anymore and it’s all because of you. If I’m being honest, I thought maybe if I won my match, then Tashi would leave him. But it’s not what I want anymore. I don’t want to be the winner she’s running to. I don’t want to have to earn her love.”
“What do you want?”
There’s a pause, a distinct moment where the glint in his blue eyes from the bright lights above conveys a clever message to you than any words could. Then he speaks.
“I think you know what I want.”
It’s all the confirmation you need to know that he’s finally playing the same game as you. He’s unbearably close now as his head reaches up to gently rake through your stringy wet hair. You welcome his touch, breath catching in your throat at the feeling of his fingers as his lips hover just above yours. If you’re being completely honest, you haven’t stopped fantasizing about it since the night of the party. Since the moment he had kissed you.
“You were right,” he whispers as his hot breath tickles the tips of your top lips with every placid word. “I don’t care about winning anymore. The only point I want to score is you.”
“That’s a really bad joke.” you remark, pointing out the obvious from his corny declaration. But Art doesn’t share your smirk, his face settling in an expression that’s much more sensual.
“I’m not kidding.”
You feel the immediate shift in energy as your smirk fades to parted lips and Art’s longing gaze moves downward from your eyes. What little space left between you is squashed as you allow him to pull you even closer, noses prodigy one another as Art’s fingers drift from the tips of your hair to cup the back of your head. It’s almost salivating the way he looks at you and you’re suddenly eager to remember what he tastes like.
“Can I kiss you?” he asks through a whisper, so quietly that if you hadn’t been right in front of him, you surely wouldn’t have heard it. It’s milliseconds before you’re nodding exuberantly with more urgency than a speeding ambulance (something you might need if your heart decided to beat any faster).
“Pleas-” you start, but Art’s on you before you can even get the word out, covering your lips with his until all you can taste, smell, and feel is him. Everything is him.
He’s gentle with you at first, testing the waters as his lips pass smoothly over yours. You lift up your hands to invite him in, squeezing the toned flesh of his arms before you drag them slowly up to the nape of his neck. You toy with some of the curls that rest there, twirling them between your fingers while sinking into the sounds he makes in return. He lets out a soft moan into your mouth, and at once his tongue melds with yours. You match the new intensity, swallowing each low groan.
Unlike your last encounter, it’s Art who pulls away this time, forcing you to scowl at him in confusion, eyes squinting and lips puffy. He twists his head to the left, glazing at the wide space behind him as he slowly moves the both of you backwards to the nearest flat-board bench until one of its edges grazes the top of his shin.
“What are you doing?” you ask through a whisper, leaning forward so that your lips titillate the tip of his ear which sends inadvertent shivers through his whole body. Art turns back to you, smirking as he leans in for another sloppy kiss, earning a salacious sound from you before his lips shift from yours and trailing from the corner of your mouth to the line of your open jaw where his teeth scrape against your skin. You can feel him grinning as he makes you emit the softest of moans.
“I want to make up for the other night. I said some things - I’m not proud of.”
You give a giddy chuckle as you cup his cheek, amused by the fact that he thinks his past behavior was inexcusable until Art’s head dips to suck on the tender skin of your neck and you can’t help but whine. You’re glad you have the lung capacity of a swimmer otherwise you might’ve fainted from the near constant lack of oxygen.
“Art, honestly-” a sudden gasp is ripped from you as you feel him nipping at your sweet spot, crumbling like a tin can under pressure. “-it’s fine.” you barely manage to finish your sentence.
He places a few more steady kisses to the column of your neck, working his way down to your clavicle. You tip your head back, an unintentional effect from the sensation of his lips as he lays the last just near the edge of your collarbone before raising his head to look at you and it’s almost as if he can see right through you.
“Does that mean you don’t want what I’m offering?” he questions, glancing down at the steady movement of your chest as it rises and falls beneath your hoodie. You don’t recall when in the last few minutes he managed to move his hands down to your waist, but you can feel them now as clear as ever. He grips the sides of your hoodie, nimble fingers sliding under the thick gray fabric until they find the skin beneath and his touch feels like fire, sparking flames along your hips with every small caress. It’s so hot that you aren’t sure how Tashi could pick anyone over him. You aren’t sure how anyone could deny him for that matter.
“No…” you admit and at once his hands start to travel higher and higher until they reach the bottom band of your bikini, inflaming the whole of your torso as he meets the straps still tied neatly together in the middle of your spine forming a perfect bow. His fingers follow the provided path, meeting at the center of your back as he starts to twirl one of the tails of the knot around his pointer finger.
“May I?” he asks, his tone so deceivingly politely as he gently tugs on the string. He waits patiently for your consent as his eyes pan up from your chest to your expression. You can’t get the words out, already too overwhelmed from the sizzling sensation of his touch, but you make sure to nod with the utmost enthusiasm. Who were you to tell Art Donaldson no when he was so eager to touch you? And you, in turn, were so eager to feel him.
He smiled at your agreeance and instantly unfastened the tie of your suit, pulling on the strand until the entire bow came undone. He lips pressed against yours once more before he settled down on the bench and raised the hem of your hoodie just enough to expose your stomach, peppering kisses to every inch of you.
You released your hold on him to assist in pulling the hoodie over your head, tossing it behind you where it lands in a crumple pile near the metal door of your locker. Without any tension left to hold it up, the triangle cutlets of your bikini slump to reveal two perfect pebbled nipples, leaving the towel looped around your waist as your only source of coverage.
Usually you’d feel insecure being so bare for a man that’s practically a stranger, but from the dazed look Art gives you as he takes in the sight of your figure, you find that you don’t mind it in the slightest.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Art mutters almost involuntarily, sending shock waves down straight to your core. The words came bursting out before he could find the strength to hold them back, his brain too busy processing your beauty to have any control over any sort of filter. You return your hands to his head of blonde curls just as he presses one last kiss to the center of your abdomen, exactly below your rib cage.
The movement is so sudden that you can't count the seconds that pass before he grabs at your breasts, each hand perfectly cupping the mounted flesh. His mouth is slower, trailing kisses up the valley of your chest.
His thumb works the sensitive skin encircling your nipple, running over the hardened peak in an unperceivable pattern that forces another well earned moan from your lips. It’s encouragement for his other hand that immediately drifts upwards to mirror the actions of the other. Every pinch and slight movement is like gasoline to your fire, all pouring in a downward stream to the part of you that grows more needy with every passing second. You could cry from the sensation of it all, the intensity only growing when you feel him pass his tongue over your left nipple. You try to suppress any sounds this time, teeth biting down on your lip as you curve your head back, but it forces its way out despite your efforts. You grip the hair fixed to his crown and pressure him forwards so that he remains in place.
“Shit, that feels - really good.” you praise, your phrase strung together like an old beaded bracelet as changes in pace break apart each word. When Art does part from your breasts, it’s to press wet kisses down the line of your abdomen as flickering thumbs replace his mouth. He pauses as he reaches the softest portion of your stomach, stopping just above the knot that is covering your very bare lower half, and though you don’t recall informing him about your lack of undergarments, you are sure that he already knows.
“I need to taste you,” he whispers against your skin.
He doesn’t ask you for permission anymore, but instead glances up at you from his spot on the bench and it’s everything you need to understand what he wants from you. And of course you want it. You’re sure if he wastes a second longer to tend to your throbbing center, you might just pass out in his sturdy arms.
“Please, Art, I need you,” you’re able to get out, though it’s breathy and delicate from the way that he’s rendered you.
He’s quick to oblige as he takes the top of your towel cover in between his perfect white teeth and yanks the fabric hard enough for it to fall to your feet. He’s on you in an instant, one of his hands moving to support your shaky frame as he slides a knee between yours to spread you open.
He coaxes every cry out of you with his tongue, wet and skilled as he traces it along each fold, his nose bobbing against your swollen clit not dissimilar from his left hand that still lies atop your breast. You press him closer to you as he swirls his tongue around you, over and over and never in the same way more than twice in a row. It’s overstimulation at its best, overwhelming you until you're trembling in his grasp and before you know it, you’re riding the edge of the wave to pure pleasure.
“Fuck, Art! I’m- I’m-“ you can’t even finish your sentence, he feels so good. He hums against you in amusement, the vibrations of his voice meeting your core in a melting sensation that you find yourself grinding into uncontrollably.
“On my tongue,” he promotes against you before licking a steady stripe along your center. It’s then that you know you’re done for. Your cry is almost inhuman as you leap off the edge, diving into the heart of the wave as Art finally relinquishes his hold on your breast and uses the newly unoccupied hand to pierce into your arousal, calloused fingers curling into you as he helps you down from your high. Even after you cum you know you still have more in you. And you can tell from the growing bulge in his pants that Art isn’t done with you either.
He stands to kiss you with dampened lips as the taste of your own arousal invades your senses, but you withdraw from the embrace after only a few seconds to ask him your burning question, desire already regrowing like a flooding river of need.
“Art, I need you,” you start, pulling at the canvas material of his button up. “Please, please fuck me.”
“Oh fuck,” he mumbles before pressing his mouth towards yours and back you up to the wall of lockers that are neatly arranged behind you.
Granted by his permission, you unfasten each button of his shirt until it’s enough to pull it off him which he happily helps you accomplish. You can’t tell who’s more desperate for you to feel the dense muscle of his chest as he places your palms face down on his pecs, granting you the assurance you needed to explore his body.
You take your time, squeezing and prodding just as he had done to you until one of your hands is low enough on his stomach to palm him through his light wash jeans. The soft whimper he returns is nearly enough to send you over again. He pulls back as he lets you undo his belt, eyelids fluttering after you’ve unbuttoned and unzipped the only thing keeping you from him. You’re quick to pull him out, not at all shocked by how hard he is and it’s a major ego boost knowing it’s all because of you.
“See what you do to me?” he whispers against your lips as if you needed more proof of his longing for you. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Please,” you beg. “I need to feel you.”
Art is quick to oblige as his calloused fingers grip the soft skin of your hips, so rough that you can feel every callus from his racket as he pushes you against the lockers, thrusting up into you. While he’s dying to continue, he hesitates so that you can acclimate to his size. It takes no longer than a second as you release a guttural groan and wrap a leg around his waist, aiding him in hitting even deeper within you.
“Fuck!” you cry, throwing your head back against the cold metal as Art nips at your neckline again. You’re drowning beneath the blissful rocky wave and from the sounds that he’s making, almost re-enacting one of his matches just for you, you can tell that Art is too.
It happens so quickly that your mind struggles to understand it, spinning wildly as the wave pulls you under once more along with Art who finishes in a similar amount of time. You lean into his chest, breathing heavily as you take in the heavenly scent of his undoubtedly expensive cologne and slightly wincing as he pulls out of you slowly. He ducks to pick up your fallen towel as he starts to clean you up.
The realization that it’s over doesn't quite hit you until Art helps you get dressed, buckling his belt back up only once you’re decent and in return you hand him a spare shirt so he doesn’t have to redo every button on the one you’d nearly torn off him.
“Thanks,” he smiles gratefully, pulling on your shirt which fits tighter around him than it would around you, though it’s nothing to complain about as every miniscule ripple of muscle is on display.
You’re both thinking the exact same thing as you exit the locker room, hand in hand with the same guilty expression on your face as you pass an incoming janitor who is too busy scowling to ask Art what he was doing in the women’s locker room. It’s obvious from the encounter that it won’t be your last and as Art drives you to the planned frat party, you’re even sure that it’s not the last of the night.
Time proves you right as you’re seated next to Art a few weeks later, curled into his side as you share a large plate of the appetizer combo at a local Applebees. It was the only thing open after a long day of matches and meets and steamy rendezvous in between. The two of you were going on steadier than the trunks of ancient trees as you continue to support each other, you attending all of Art’s matches ( even if it meant skipping a practice or two) and Art cheering for you at all of your meets. You’re not sure if it’s the consistent attendance, but the both of you were only getting better at your respective hobbies by the day, particularly Art who hadn’t lost a match since meeting you.
You’re both jokingly arguing over who gets the last quesadilla when a familiar woman stops near your table, joined by a man you’d never seen before, though you recognize him from several of Art's detailed stories. He straightens beside you, gathering himself to greet the new company.
“Hey guys, long time no see!”
“Art,” Patrick nods to his friend before smiling to you and offering his hand, one that you take without a second thought. “I’m Patrick.”
“I know,” you admit. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You must be Tashi.” you turn to the girl and you can’t help, but analyze the peculiarities of her expression. It’s clear she is content with her own man of choice, but something about the way she looks at you tells you that she’s still involved in the tennis philosophy you managed to screw out of Art. She looks at you like you’re a player she’s lost to. And from what Art’s told you, you're certain it’s the first time Tashi has lost.
“It’s nice to meet you.” she fakes a smile before pulling Patrick to the door, careful not to stay long enough for the conversation to lead anywhere important. It’s awkward and strange, but you know it’s for the best. You’re not particularly interested in anything she has to say anyways.
“Did you see that?” you ask, pointing in the direction of the doorway that the couple had used for an easy escape.
“What?” Art wonders, looking towards you in anticipation.
“I think she’s looking for a new winner.”
Art leans in to peck the apple of your cheek, assurance that no matter the circumstance, he’ll never be available to the likes of Tashi Duncan again.
“Must be because I’ve won,” he reasons, “-because I have you and there’s nothing she can do to separate us.”
You smile at his sweet words, praying that he never ceases to use his talent for affectionate poetry as you lean in to kiss him. Whether he wins or loses or even never plays again, you couldn’t care less about the outcome of his career. As long as Art’s happy, you’re prepared to take on any challenge you’re put up to, whether on the court or in the pool.
#art donaldson smut#art donaldson fanfic#stanford art!!!#art donaldson x female reader#art donaldson x you#art donaldson#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson fic#tashi duncan#patrick zweig#challengers 2024#challengers movie#challengers#challengers fanfic#swimmer life#swimming#smut#mike faist
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reminder that it is STILL not okay to tell people what to ship and what not to ship. “don’t ship that, [canon/popular ship] is right there-“ STOP THAT. you’re not doing anyone a favor, you’re just annoying. go get your refill, hope this helps!
#hating a ship is different because you are not obligated to like anything#but don’t tell people they can’t like it because i assure you they can#and the sooner you come to terms with that#the easier you will be to be around for everyone#because i assure you if thats how you walk with life#people have to pretend to like you and thats whats sad#jondami#damijon#timkon#konbart#batjokes#riddlebat#birdflash#superbat#stephcass#timber#jayroy#dc comics#batfam
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𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀…
Sukuna
Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader
Summary: Sukuna comes to terms with the idea of having a daughter with you.
Warnings: MDNI, smut, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, double penetration, creampie, pregnancy, slightly ooc but still a misogynist, fluff at the end
Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi
“What the hell are you doing?” Sukuna squints his eyes, looking down at you as you knit something for your baby girl. There’s no way of actually knowing the sex of your baby, but something tells you that you’re expecting a daughter. Sukuna negates the thought, assuring you that you’re carrying a son. He can’t possibly have a daughter, he’s always saying something along those lines.
“Just making a little something for our child.” You inform him, and Sukuna frowns. Your child is not going to wear something so pink because they’ll be a boy, Sukuna is sure of it. He snatches the cloth out of your hand and tosses it.
“Why pink? Are you saying we’re having a girl?” Sukuna questions, and you cross your arms. You look up at your husband, mad that he's tossed your hard work to the side.
“You have pink hair, Suku… Are you a girl?” You cock your eyebrow, and he’s not amused. He crosses both pairs of arms, rolling his eyes. Maybe he shouldn’t associate colors with a certain gender because you are right, he does have pink hair… But he also knows that you’re making a pink blanket because you think you’re having a girl.
“Make a blue one.” He orders, and you glare at him. You shake your head in response, you’re not making a blue one. He grits his teeth, grabbing the blanket that he just tossed to the side and shredding your hard work to pieces.
“Keep an eye open tonight, because when you least expect it, I’ll strangle you.” You warn him, and you’re dead serious. It’s clear that you’re carrying his child, you’ve never threatened to kill him before.
“If you even come close to it, I think I’ll fall more in love with you.” He chuckles, walking away, leaving you alone with your own anger. You let out a yell, cursing at him because the twinge of fear that you had for him completely faded a couple of months ago.
He holds no threat to you anymore. Sukuna wouldn’t have done anything to you anyway, since he hates that he loves you so dearly, but the realization that you carry his child and he’ll do no harm to you really gives you much more power and comfort. Sukuna finds humor in a very nonthreatening person, threatening to do something to him; especially when he knows that you can barely lift yourself up anymore.
He knows that you won’t even come close to succeeding in hurting him, and he laughs in amusement at the mere thought. But you’ll get him back, you know you will.
“I thought we were going to spend the day together?” Sukuna asks as he watches you get ready to go out. You never invited him anywhere, so he was shocked to hear that you weren’t at home. He isn’t well liked in public, there’s just something about being huge, having four arms and being extremely scary that people don’t like. Sukuna can kill anyone without a second thought.
“I thought so too before someone ruined the blanket that I was making for my daughter… So I had to get the materials to make it again.” You tell him, and Sukuna nearly gasps when you drop the d word. You’ve always refused to call the baby your daughter since you have no idea what the sex is, but it seems like you use it to piss him off. You click your tongue when you notice his reaction, “What? You’re so overdramatic. You’ve killed for fuck’s sake, why is saying daughter so scary to you.”
“Because we’re having a son!” He yells, getting defensive about it. You don’t understand why he gets upset at the mere suggestion that he’s having a daughter. Before you got pregnant, Sukuna never seemed to care about the gender of a hypothetical baby– Although you shouldn’t be shocked since your husband isn’t exactly the most fair when it comes to different sexes… Sukuna is a misogynist, that’s what you’re trying to get at. He treats all humans with the same disdain, but particularly women. It seems that you’ve forgotten because he doesn’t treat you the same way he treats everyone else.
“Sukuna, we’re having a daughter.” You reiterate, and you watch his eye twitch. You’re doing it to piss him off, he knows it, yet it’s working. “You wanted a baby, Sukuna. You knew there was no guarantee that you’d be having a son, but you still decided that you wanted one. You can’t cry about having a daughter.”
Sukuna takes a deep breath, surprisingly managing his anger well. He decides to leave the room, leaving you alone to do whatever the hell you want. You fuel his anger even more, yelling at him, “And don’t come back until you fix your attitude!”
You stare off into the distance, your hand resting on your bump. You begin to wonder what Sukuna will actually do, and you can’t do anything but hope that he’ll come around to the idea because you know Sukuna. He isn’t good whatsoever, he won’t hesitate to hurt her, even if she’s his own flesh and blood. You’re not sure you could stay by his side if he were to do anything, but you wouldn’t really have any other option either.
You decide to go to sleep, because thinking about it further won’t really help you in any way. You delude yourself, thinking that he’ll come around to the idea.
A large pair of arms wrap around you, waking you up from your slumber. Sukuna does it to try and be romantic, but he nearly suffocates you. You slap his arm, telling him, “Loosen the grip–”
He loosens his grip, which lets you know that he wasn’t trying to kill you. Thankfully. Sukuna would never do anything to harm you, but sometimes you swear you don’t know him much. It’s very rare when you get a heart to heart with Sukuna where he actually talks about him, he usually prefers to listen to listen, and to threaten anyone in the stories that offend you in the slightest.
“Can I say something without you getting mad?” You begin, still half asleep. Sukuna furrows his brows. Due to his lack of answer, you decide to speak, “You’re overreacting.”
“I just don’t know what I’d do with a daughter.” He confesses. He doesn’t know how he’d handle her, how to treat her fairly, how he would– He doesn’t know how he would do anything. He doesn’t know what being a woman entails so he won’t know how to teach her anything. He wants to teach her how to do everything.
“Everything you’d do with a son.” You reply. You really doubt that your child will be raised to have great morals, so there’s no point in really raising them differently. “Sukuna, how will it be different?”
“How will it not be different?” He sounds offended. There’s nothing similar between men and women. Sukuna’s hands go to your bump, his hand caressing it. “But for my heir, I guess I can make an exception.”
“Is that your way of telling me that you won’t make a fuss over the possibility of having a daughter?” You ask him, and his silence gives you an answer. Yes, Sukuna is fine with it, as fine as he can be at least.
His hand goes under your nightgown, caressing your thighs. You feel Sukuna kiss the back of your neck, and you squeeze your thighs, his large hand stuck between them. The man rarely touches you nowadays, seeing you as fragile as ever. You don’t know about the sudden change, but you certainly don’t mind.
“What changed in you?” You ask him as his hand goes up to your panties. He pushes them to the side because last time he tore something of yours, you got too mad at him so he’d rather not risk it. His fingers run through your folds before going to your clit, and you bite your bottom lip due to pure excitement.
“Was thinking about how I’d be nothing without you.” He confesses, letting you know that he didn’t come to terms with having a daughter– Sukuna is a man that fears nothing, at least that’s what you thought up until now. He fears losing you. It’s your issue… You’ve never paid attention to the love in his eyes when he speaks to you or about you. Sometimes you don’t realize just how much you mean to him. “Then I remembered how gorgeous you look carrying our son.”
“If you say that again I’ll–” You begin but Sukuna is two steps ahead of you. He pushes two large fingers inside of you. You can’t help but moan, covering your mouth immediately. One of his hands pulls your hand away, even in the dark he knows what you do. After all, you’re not just getting to know him, but he’s getting to know you too.
“Did I tell you to be fucking quiet?” He asks through gritted teeth. You have to be quiet at other times, like when the baby gets here and you risk waking them up. Now, if any of the servants hear, that’s their fucking problem. “Be loud, my love. Remind everyone who you belong to.”
“They know.” You tell him, which is quickly cut off by a moan as his fingers move faster. You feel his thumb graze your asshole, teasing you before he pushes it in. “Suku–”
“You’re not going to be able to stay quiet.” He ends up laughing. You never do because he’s just too much for you to handle. He curves his fingers so they hit your sweet spot. You shut your eyes, quickly succumbing to pleasure. You’ve missed this feeling so much, and he refuses to give it to you.
Sukuna loves when you turn into putty by his touch. It takes practically nothing to work you up, and you begin to squeeze around him. He smirks, knowing that it takes nothing for you to be practically screaming his name. Sukuna speaks into your ear, “Already so excited for me? Do you want more?”
“I need more.” Your voice sounds so demanding and Sukuna laughs. Another hand goes under your nightgown, his fingers focusing on your clit. You loudly moan his name as it all gets too much for you to handle.
“Is it too much?” He mocks you as your orgasm builds up, until you finally reach your peak, your legs shaking. Sukuna takes his fingers out, shoving the fingers that were in your cunt into your mouth, making you gag.
Sukuna lights a candle, providing some light in the room. You sit up, getting on top of him, undoing his robe. Your body yearns for more, and he smirks since he knows it. You lean down, your lips going on his, your tongue entering his mouth and pressing against his own. When you pull away from the kiss, you mutter, “I’ve missed you.”
You raise yourself, aligning the cock on the top with your pussy before slowly pushing yourself down on it. You take a moment to adjust to him since it’s been a while since the last time you’ve fucked her. You begin to bounce on him, and Sukuna spits in his palm, grabbing the cock on the bottom and teasing your asshole with the tip.
Sukuna holds you down when he begins to push the other tip in your asshole. Even though you’re expecting a child together, you’re still loud when he fills both of your holes. It’s too much for you to handle at first, but throughout the time you get used to it.
“Tight little cunt–” He groans, and he never thought that he of all people would end up touch deprived. But then he got too scared to hurt you in any way when you knew you were expecting, so he stuck to… Nothing. To suppress his dirty thoughts.
“Move.” You order, too tired to continue. Sukuna begins to move for you, thrusting slowly in and out of you. He continues at the pace you had set.
“Is it good? You’re making a fucking mess.” He says as he picks up speed. You throw your head back, one hand going down to play with your clit as he thrusts in and out of you.
“It’s so fucking good–” You answer. You’ve been needing this every single fucking night, and you’re lucky to be receiving it now. He’s finally giving into your cravings.
“You just love being filled up like a little slut, don’t you?” Sukuna’s hand goes up from your bump to your mouth, shoving two fingers into your mouth again. He feels the vibration of your moans through your tongue before you begin to twirl your tongue around his fingers.
Sukuna loves the way you take in his cocks, smiling at you at how well you take him– Of course he wouldn’t tell you though. Your hands go to his chest, using it for support as well as subconsciously digging your nails into his skin. It stings for him, but he can’t help but love it.
Sukuna does you a favor, his fingers rubbing your clit. Your eyes roll to the back of your head,
A second orgasm overtaking you. Sukuna feels you squeezing on both of his cocks, feeling himself get weak.
“Suku–” You loudly moan as you reach your second orgasm. Sukuna mocks you for it.
“What? Can’t handle it?” He asks, your nails digging deeper into his skin. He’s losing control, his thrusts getting sloppy. It’s been so long since the last time he did this– And when he finishes, he fills both of your holes with so much cum, and you swear you’re in heaven because there is no better feeling than this.
When he takes his cocks out, so much cum drips out of you. You end up falling on his chest, him wrapping a pair of large arms around you while another fixes your clothes.
“This is a nice way to apologize for misbehaving.” You comment, and Sukuna scoffs.
“Who said I was apologizing?” Sukuna is frowning, and you lightly smack his face which pisses him off more. He holds your hands so you don’t try to do anything more with them.
“I’ll take it as an apology.” You tell him. Sukuna wants to laugh, but he manages to keep a poker face. He grabs you up by your hair, putting his lips on yours.
“It was not an apology, woman. Shut your mouth.”
Bonus:
You swear that hell is freezing over because what the hell is the scene you’re witnessing. You’ve never seen Sukuna like this… You don’t think you are supposed to see him like this.
“Who’s a headstrong girl?” Sukuna is putting on a baby voice for fuck’s sake. For a daughter that he didn’t want. Your baby girl laughs, and he falls in love all over again. She’s just so fucking perfect– With her little eyes, her little nose, her little mouth, her four little arms, her soft pink hair. She’s everything to him.
“Do you need anything, Sukuna?” You approach them, but Sukuna pays little attention to you. He keeps looking down at his daughter who lays on your bed. She’s in need of a nap but Sukuna doesn’t like putting her to bed because she’s boring then.
“Yeah, how do I order another one of these?” He asks, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.
“Of what?” You respond, wondering what the hell he talks about.
“Another daughter.”
#ryomen sukuna#sukuna x reader#sukuna#sukuna ryomen#jujutsu kaisen sukuna#jjk sukuna#sukuna smut#jujutsu sukuna#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#sukuna x y/n#ryoumen sukuna#ryomen sukuna x you#sukuna ryoumen smut#sukuna x reader smut
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🎾 - #LOVE ON THE FLOOR !!
cw: unrealistic public sex on a tennis court 💀 (it’s nighttime and no one else is there), college era, afab reader, gross friends to lovers, strip tennis, soft dom!art x inexperienced!reader, vaginal fingering + titfucking + brief analingus (afab reader receiving), implied (soft) obsession & toxicity like art would marry you tomorrow, teasing (towards reader), nipple sucking (m receiving), art putting in overtime to hit on oblivious!reader, reader is so comically unaware pls just roll with it and suspend your disbelief, mandatory Patrick™️ mention, 3.5k of pure need, art’s so horny in this like 😔 (+subtle implications of him either being a manwhore or a porn addict, as a little treat), lowkey canon typical mind games, unedited
this was requested by a bot looking blog that i had to block but the idea still slapped! combined with an ask for inexperienced reader
Art Donaldson sees your instagram story that’s only a repost of a Ethel Cain song and tries not to click his heels together. It’s not like he’s happy you’re clearly going through something, but if the story is a result of what he thinks it’s a result of… then he’ll comfort you through it however he can. With his words, his tongue, babying you in the bath and washing your hair, etc. Just getting to be intimate with you at all is an opportunity he’d never turn down.
Suddenly you’re bursting into Art’s dorm like a bat out of hell, tears dotting your waterline and lower lip wobbling. His heart lurches and leaps in equal measures, his backwards cap feels like it constricts around his head as he resists the urge to fidget with it.
“He… he didn’t show up!”
Art shoots up and gets off his bed, rushing to you and rubbing his hands up and down your arms, “What are you talking about?”
He gives you a lingering hug and passes you some of your favorite fast food that he always keeps in the little fridge in his dorm. Somehow knowing that it’d be just what the doctor ordered, you’re so lucky to have such a caring friend. You two haven’t left each other’s side since you bumped him on the first day of class, bringing a clice to life by spilling your coffee all over his polo. Sometimes you still lie awake at night and cringe at yourself, trying to assure yourself that he’s stuck around your awkward ass for a reason.
You’re hiccuping through your story while munching on your chicken sandwich, “Mark acted so exicted yesterday, and now he’s stood me up. I waited in front of the café for an hour, people were staring…”
Art eyes you from his position on the bed, crowding against you due to the size and having half of his torso glued to your back. He doesn’t giggle at the adorable way you get frustrated when the pickle in your sandwich always slides out in between your teeth during a bite, but he thought about it! He reaches up and brushes his fingers against your hair, wanting to just touch it more than move it.
“I don’t know what to tell you, he’s an idiot and you’ll move on. It’s not like he’s the only person in the world.” He grumbles, not quite pouting as he hooks his chin on your shoulder.
“Okay now you’re just grumpy because I beat you at uno.” You tease, gesturing to the scattered pile of brightly colored cards on the bed.
He’s definitely made you feel better though, he always does. You both finish your food and Art stands up from the bed to grab his tennis bag. He pulls you up too and winks, saying that you can’t beat him at everything. You ask what he’s doing and he only grins, telling you to come with him. You nervously glance around as you’re pulled to race through the halls to the court. There’s a simmering feeling weaving in and out of your tightly intertwined fingers.
divider
Art lets go of your hand to drop his bag on the ground, leaving your palm feeling strangely cold without his warmth.
You’re still not sure you should even be out here, you know that you’re definitely not allowed but Art seems to sense your hesitation because he rushes towards you and cups your hands in his.
“Hey, it’s okay. You’re not gonna get in trouble or anything, y’know that?” He chuckles, gently knocking the tip of his nose against yours. “Look up for me, the moon’s really pretty tonight.”
You follow his lead and tilt your head back to gaze up at the goregous crescent moon high in the oil colored sky. You don’t notice that he’s looking at you instead, that he doesn’t say that the moon reminds him of you but he feels like the one orbiting around you instead of the other way around. Luckily there’s not a cloud in sight, just a floating city of stars with a glowing center. Art lightly pulls on your wrists, clearly wanting your attention back on him, so you comply.
You’re not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but you don’t miss the odd glint in his eyes as he narrows them slightly.
His eyelids crinkle as he smiles charmingly, “Don’t you trust me?”
You answer with your heart, “Yes, of course I do.”
He beams at you and explains the rule of the game he dragged you all the way out here to play. It’s just like a regular game of tennis so you really shouldn’t sweat it, he says. His expression shifts when he makes a show out of being unable to look you in the eye when he tells you the special rules, knowing full well you can see him try to tamper down a self satisfied laugh. Whoever scores gets to pick whatever piece of clothing the other takes off, and the loser of the game has to get completely naked if they aren’t already.
Your cheeks warm and you gawk at him, “Isn’t it weird that you’ll see me… like that?”
“So you already know you’re gonna lose, huh? And it’s not like i haven’t seen most of it before.” Art laughs, not bothering to hide the blush on his face. “You’ve seen all of me, anyway.”
It’s true, you usually laze around in nothing but your underwear and that’s been the norm for you two. Art’s no different, he’ll change in front of you and will literally walk around butt naked around your dorm. More often than not, he’ll answer the door in only a towel around his waist and sitting on his hip bones, no matter if it’s one of your other friends or a project partner. You're constantly having to text the other because you forgot that you left your toothbrush behind. You’ve never had a chance to be embarrassed by it. It’s been like that for the longest time and anytime you’ll tell Art that your friends keep asking if he’s your boyfriend, he’ll just reassure you that you guys are just really close. And isn’t that a good thing?
“Besides, I think this’ll help get you out of your shell.”
You’re embarrassed at the reminder of how inexperienced you are. Sure, you shouldn’t have a whole thing about it or whatever, but it just is kind of alienating from other people your age to not be able to say you’ve done what they’ve done. And you would’ve been able to have some stories of your own if you could manage to hold down a date. But tonight isn’t supposed to be about you wallowing, you’re supposed to be having fun. Even if the sight of your best friend in tight fitting sporty clothes makes your pussy throb.
divider
You giggle nervously when he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you, swaying you from side to side before moving his grip up to your arms.
“Relax, i’m just checking your form. Being close to you is just a bonus.” He winks and presses his stomach up against your back.
It’s so cheesy, the situation and the pose. But you lean into his touch and pretend to care about how he’s showing you the right way to hold a racket and all that, he doesn’t even really care if he’s being honest. It’s romantic though, and he can’t resist the opportunity to get a taste of what it’d be like to pin your body down with his weight. He guides you through a few “practice” swings and then throws a two finger salute at you as he jogs around the net to his side of the court.
It’s your serve, and despite you being very much a beginner, you get the first point.
Art stands there expectantly, cocking his head to the side and bouncing on his heels in anticipation. You honestly didn’t consider that you’d actually be telling your best friend to take off his clothes for you, but you’re new thing is taking shit in stride, you guess.
“So, what’s it gonna be?” He shouts and hovers his fingers around the collar of his polo, ready for you to say the word.
You take the coward’s way out, “Your shoes.”
Art frowns but obeys the rules, swiftly unlacing his sneakers and tossing them to the side. The court’s not so rough that it’d be hell on his feet, but he’d do it for you even if it was all a bunch of jagged rocks cobbled together. The game goes on with Art scoring the next point, and then the one after that. He has you discard your necklace, one of those cheesy half heart ones that matches with one he has, and your shoes as well. He doesn’t wanna scare you off, but he knows what he wants to have you take off for him.
You score the next time, down goes his pants. Without them, few things are left to the imagination. Every time he’d walk around you naked you’d always keep your face firmly glued to your phone or something. But being faced with the very… detailed outline of his bulge through his underwear, that’s another thing entirely. It looks so long against his thigh it might as well be a third leg. There’s already a little wet spot where the tip must be.
You must’ve been taking too long to ogle him, because Art yells at you to “Focus on the game, yeah?”
You’re lucky it’s not a cold night when he gets the next point and has you take off your pants, which are really just glorified shorts. You unfasten them and shimmy them down your legs, letting them pool around your ankles and kicking them away from you. You haven’t shaved today, but you know that Art doesn’t care about that sort of thing. He’s made sure to tell you as much many times when you complain about how much your back hurts after you get done with it.
Art takes his sweet time dragging his gaze down your legs, already imagining bringing them around his waist or over his shoulders. Your panties are so cute too, cupping your pussy so closely that he can see the shapes of your puffy lips from all the way on the other side of the court, a “camel toe” or whatever you call it. He thinks it’s so hot, but you’re shy about it, asking him to see how you look in jeans that are a size too small. He always does a thorough inspection.
Whoever scores next wins the game, and you’re too busy trying not to fall on your ass to put any effort into it. It’s not a real game away, and besides, it’s not like anything has to happen when the loser completely undresses. Out of the corner of your eye you see Art’s dick twitch in his briefs and you get so distracted that you freeze and miss the neon yellow-green ball hurtling past you. Art whoops and cheers as you process the fact that you lost.
“You know what that means.” Art grins from ear to ear. “Make a show out of it for me.”
divider
You don’t even mind the staring, it’s such a common thing that you’d be more pissed off if he wasn’t looking at you at all. The way his eyes devour every inch of bare skin and drop of sweat that you earned during the game. You pull your tank top up and over your head, leaving you in just your bra and panties. Your bra isn’t a frilly thing, you wear it mainly for support, but Art can’t seem to tear himself away from the view of your pushed up tits rising and falling as you breathe.
You…. don’t know what to do now, the big appeal of the game is over, you awkwardly laugh it off and bend over to pick up your clothes. Art shakes his head to snap himself out of his horny fever dream and races over to you, latching onto your wrist and stopping you from getting dressed again.
“You’re supposed to take it all off, remember?”
You drop your clothes, noticing that he still doesn’t let you go.
Heats fills your cheeks as he steps closer, delicately sliding his fingertips up the inside of your arm and around your back. He plays with the hook of your bra, gazing down at you with a look full to brim with unknown intent and purpose. He doesn’t do something as bold as unlatching it right out the gate, no, he just stares into your soul.
“I remember.” Your eyes drop down to his lips, and that’s when you know it’s over. “Can’t exactly do it myself if you’ve already got one foot in the door.”
You’ve gotta know when to fold ‘em, and all that.
Art softly smiles and loops his fingers under your bra strap. You have to remind yourself to breathe, but you don’t really get much of a chance to. Before you can stop yourself and think with your head, you’re canting up to press your lips to his. Art immediately kisses you back, chuckling into the kiss when you gasp as he expertly unhooks your bra with one hand.
In the blink of an eye, you’re flat on your back on the court, Art having hastily thrown his shirt under you while you were tangling your tongues together. He presses an array of wet open mouthed kisses down your body, paying extra special attention to the trimmed patch of hair at the top of your mound.
“Smells so good, ‘s cute, too. It figures you’d have the prettiest pussy I've ever seen.” He coos, dragging a lone finger down your slit before gently pushing it inside.
You gasp, wrenching your eyes shut tight at the intrusion. He takes good care of you, slowly sinking his finger in to the knuckle and sliding it in and out of you. He gradually adds more fingers as the minutes pass. Your walls throb around him, and if Art were a weaker man (like the guy you almost went out with) he would’ve said fuck it and plunged his dick into your cunt in one smooth stroke. But you deserve the best first time possible, and all the distractions he’s used have helped him be patient enough to refrain from humping you like a dog.
���You’re okay, you can take it. It’s nothing compared to what this pussy’s going to be taking later anyway, baby.” He hums and nuzzles his nose into where your inner thigh meets your mound.
As he’s languidly thrusting his fingers into your puffy pussy, Art strains his neck to lap at your ass. He holds one of your fat cheeks in his free hand and spreads you open, diving in to suck on the puckered hole between them. He sharpens his tongue and jabs it into your ass, his cock throbs when you let out the sweetest little squeals at the squelching and throaty noises he’s making. He can feel your hole unfurling with every slurp and suck, something that only makes him increase the speed of his long fingers in your pussy, maintaining a breathtaking steady rhythm.
Eventually his poor leaking cock can’t take anymore grinding into the ground, so Art crooks his fingers and (albeit a bit cruelly) jams them into your sweet spot. The velvet grip of your pussy strangles his digits like a dream, you’d take dick so beautifully. Your eyes fly open and your throat spasms around a mangled moan. He pulls his fingers out of your soaking wet pussy, smirking up at you as he sucks them try like a professionally trained whore. Your clit receives a loving kitten lick as an apology for neglecting it, and with that Art hovers over you at an even eye to eye level again.
“Holy shit…” You pant and flick his pebbled nipples, absentmindedly rolling them around with your thumb. “Are we really doing this?”
“Yeah, we are.” Art sighs, his head falls back as you duck down to suck his nipples into your mouth, the saliva you lathered them with dripping down your chin. He grabs the back of your head and pushes your face into his chest, arching his back.
“Relax, I bribed security and told them to fuck off for the night.”
That doesn’t concern you as much as it should, you’re too transfixed on Art wrenching your mouth off of his pecs and moving to straddle your chest.
“Can you push them together for me?” He breathes hard and grinds his weeping cock against your tits, mesmerized by how his precum makes your skin glisten.
“Oh, fuck.” He groans when you do, making quick use out of the delicious new friction the little pocket provides. “Thanks, honey.”
You keep staring at the tip of his dick, loving the little peek you get of it as he fucks your tits and it pokes your chin. You don’t even realize you’re doing it but you let your mouth hang open, angling your head down so his cockhead pecks your tongue at the end of every thrust. You make sure to lick every drop of pre cum away as it oozes out of him, looking so nice against the flushed pink skin of his tip. Art groans when he finally summons the strength to watch you do it, the sight hurtling him over the edge before he has the time or vocal ability to warn you.
His thick load jets out to land all over your tits, half of it on the lower half of your face. You’re almost sad it didn’t get high enough to clump your lashes together, it would’ve made for the perfect contact picture. Oh well, maybe next time. It’s amazing, the switch you’ve made from the shy friend to the writhing slut underneath him. You blame it on the honest to God sweet taste of his milky white cum, surprisingly making you think of the pineapples he always snatches from your plate when you eat at school together.
(Another painstaking effort made just for you, love)
It’s a miracle you get back to his dorm, some of your clothes are swapped and put on incorrectly and you both didn’t clean up at all. As soon as you reach the door, Art practically shoves you inside and onto the bed. He gets so frustrated with having to get your clothes off again that he just rips them right off of you, promising to take you to the mall tomorrow (or whenever he lets you leave the bed) to buy replacements. You literally couldn't care less if he shackles you to the wall, you need him to rearrange your guts so badly, you’d kill for it. Should you be having deep conversations about your feelings and what the future will look like? Absolutely, but your clit is clouding your sense of rationality and you don’t mind that right now.
“Do you even know how much i’ve wanted this? To fuck you so hard that we end up attached at the hip?” He bites, breaking away from your lips to suck bruises down the column of your throat. “We can have a baby- please have my baby, fuck!”
There’s something so weirdly romantic about the leftover scent of the court combined with the twinkling stars outside. Art’s moans and hands scrambling to pin you down so all you have to do is take it, you’re doing things all out of order, but this was always going to happen sooner or later. Art is a clumsy manipulator but he’s so handsome… you find yourself agreeing to every frantic declaration flying out of his mouth as he spears his long cock into your sopping wet pussy. You claw red lines into his shoulders and back, and Art nearly creams on the spot. The sting and the fact that you’re so out of it, you’re marking him up, are crossing the wires in his brain. His taut thighs burn with the effort of fucking you so far into the mattress.
You’ll get to cum four more times than he does, and by the end of it you’ll wish you never came at all. Your soul’s goikg to be so far away from your ruined mess of limbs that you won’t notice the sacred promises being muttered into your sweaty hair or pay attention to your phone being out on Do Not Disturb. You’ll be right where you should be, inevitably molded around the shape of his dick and branded by all the love bites that litter your body. You’ll think you passed out during most of them, but you’ll give him a loopy smile, hook your pinky around his, and let yourself melt away.
It feels as if your walls are still clenching around a dick that’s no longer buried to the hilt in them.
“I love you”’s are for early mornings with coffee and pancakes. Gloating to Patrick will be for hours before then, Art blocking him when you’re deep asleep and unable to mend the growing rift between them.
#sorry i made another fictional man weird 😔#art donaldson smut#art donaldson x reader#art donaldson#challengers x reader#challengers#challengers fanfiction#challengers smut#challengers fic#challengers film#challengers movie#challengers 2024#challengers x you#art donaldson x you#art donaldson challengers#mike faist x you#mike faist x reader#mike faist smut#mike faist#mike faist challengers#⚰️.deaddove#challengers imagine#art donaldson fic#art donaldson imagine
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A lot of Danes I’ve talked to express guilt at “taking advantage” of our universal healthcare and I sometimes wonder if it’s based on the knowledge that it’s not a universal right everywhere? Because these people are never “taking advantage” of it. They feel sick so they go see a doctor who then tell them there’s nothing wrong and they can relax. Stress less.
I have to see the doctor every month due to other illness which I don’t feel the least bit bad about but I fell victim to this feeling too once. At one point I started feeling pain in my chest, arm and neck and got really worried I was experiencing a hart attack or blood clot. At the same time I worried I was overreacting but my housemate convinced me to call Lægevagten, which isn’t the alarm center but more like a group of on-call doctors you can call if you have questions or worries. I told her about my symptoms and suddenly she said “Are you calling from this address?” having clearly looked it up on some sort of location gps system from my phone. I confirmed and she just said “Okay, I’m sending an ambulance” and within minutes two paramedics were at my door. They decided to take me to the nearest hospital where I spent the night going through all sorts of tests, from blood work, having radiation pumped into my lungs for a CT scan and several other X-ray images.
Nothing. They found nothing.
I felt so SO bad but before I even said anything they assured me “This is good. We’d rather people come here and nothing is wrong than people not come here when something is wrong and they end up dying. Now you don’t have to stress about this”
A few days later I realized the pain came from a sliiightly dislocated rib that randomly popped back into place while I was riding my bike.
I felt so silly but my friends reminded me that I didn’t make a huge fuss about it at the time. I just told the doctor my symptoms and she set the whole thing in motion. Like the doctors said, this is what universal healthcare is for. People need to feel like they can call for help even at the slightest sign of illness so it can be caught early. This is how you keep a population healthy.
But yeah, it’s such a silly feeling. We pay taxes to have universal healthcare so there’s no reason to feel guilty about using it. We just can’t help ourselves I suppose. (Let’s not even get into the fact my doctor diagnosed me with early diabetes “just to be on the safe side” that seemed to vanish almost immediately but it still means I get free yearly vaccinations and I have very mixed feelings about it)
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*NOT A REQUEST* just a thought I desperately needed to share….. Sukuna definitely does not like ur friends like he says u should ditch them for him and like whenever you have to leave his house early cause u promised to meet ur friend somewhere for smth he’s getting all pouty and finds ways for u to stay LIKE HES JUST SO SOFT FOR U OMGGGG🥹🥹🫡
I mean was I not supposed to write a drabble? Physically impossible-
——
“Baby, I’ll be back so soon!”
“No, you won’t.”
Sukuna doesn’t like when you leave him. It’s not uncommon for him to throw a small fit when you tell him you have to leave, when you assure him you’ll come back to him at night and curl up in his side while you both go to sleep.
But when you have plans without him? And you’re not just leaving for errands?
He’s the world’s biggest baby.
Sukuna crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe, “you’re going to be out with her all night, and I’m barely going to see you because the second you come home, you’ll be too tired! How is that fair!”
You click your tongue in adoration and make your way over to him, cupping his sharp jawline in your hands and kissing the tip of his nose, “I can’t just be all yours; sometimes, you have to share me.”
“I share you,” he snaps.
You giggle and shake your head, “you share me with choso and yuuji while youre buried in my neck- and as much as I adore it, I do unfortunately have to see other people too, honey.”
“Oh, so you don’t want me to want your company.”
“Kuna-“
“Oh no,” he begins dramatically, raising his hands in defense. “I can tell when I’m not wanted.” He huffs and makes his way away from you and to the couch, knee bouncing wildly as he tries to hide the facade that he actually, immensely, cares that you’re leaving. “Just say you hate my affection and go.”
You snort and quickly follow him to the couch, curling up beside him, “I love your affection. You know that. But I promised her we’d grab dinner, okay?”
“No.”
“And I’ll be back before you know it.”
“Don’t care.”
“Can I have a kiss goodbye?”
“No.”
You toss your arm around his shoulder and press a wet kiss to his cheek, making sure to make it noisy and dramatic, pulling back with a sticky “mwah.” When you make a move to go back in, you quickly spider your fingers up his side, making him grunt and shimmy away.
“Literally hate you,” he hisses. You laugh again and follow his body, this time aiming your kiss for his lips and humming happily when he connects it.
He sighs against your lips, “bring me home a piece of chocolate cake.”
“Okay-“
“And text me every hour, or so help me-“
“I will, baby.”
“And no later than 9, that’s too late-“
“Okay dad. Anything else?”
He pulls a face at your words before rolling his eyes and leaning back in for a kiss, “be safe. I like you or something.”
You smile and nod happily, “I will, sukuna.”
“Promise?”
You extend your pinky out to him, watching fondly as he extends his own to lock with yours, and you each kiss the tip of your finger as if to seal the promise.
“I promise.”
#he’s not above faking being sick so you’ll stay 🫶🏻#sukuna#sukuna fluff#sukuna x reader#sukuna x gn!reader#sukuna x reader fluff#sukuna imagine#sukuna jjk#sukuna ryomen#sukuna ryomen fluff#sukuna ryomen x reader#sukuna ryomen x gn!reader#sukuna ryomen x reader fluff#sukuna ryomen imagine#sukuna ryomen jjk#jjk#jjk fluff#jjk imagine#jjk x reader#jjk x reader fluff#jjk x gn!reader#jjk x gender neutral reader#jjk x you#jjk x yn#jjk x y/n
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“That’s it! I give up!” Phantom yelled. As though he had said something blasphemous, all fighting stopped as the participants stared in confusion. “You humans think you’re the paragon of all existence, proclaiming that anything different is lesser. Well we aren’t! We’re just as sentient as you are, and we have thoughts and feelings! You just choose to ignore it so you can justify your xenophobic actions!”
Phantom turned to Technus, who had frozen in shock as Phantom went on his tirade. “And you! Tell the other ghosts I’m done saving them, too, because none of you care! You don’t care if property is destroyed, or if humans get hurt, or if other ghosts get hurt! All you care about is your stupid Obsessions! You’re too caught up in your own mind to see what you’re doing to everyone around you!”
“But your Obsession is Protection, is it not? You’ve never stepped down from a fight-“ Technus began. Phantom didn’t let him finish.
“My Obsession is Space! If I had my way, I’d spend my nights stargazing, or maybe even on the moon! Instead I’m stuck cleaning up your messes because you can’t control yourselves!” Phantom growled. He glared at the crowd of people who had gathered, curious as to why all fighting had stopped.
“Humans are cruel and hateful. Ghosts are ignorant and careless. I’m tired of wasting my time protecting both sides from the other and being blamed for it. I quit. If anyone dies, or is captured, it’s no longer my problem.“
Like that, Phantom vanished.
The Fentons celebrated, not even noticing Technus make his own escape. The crowd murmured, worry just as prevalent as confidence. The few phones that were recording the event were put away, and later the footage would be checked. Unfortunately, most recordings were corrupted beyond recognition.
Most, but not all.
——————————————————
Amity Park. Ground Zero for the start of the war between the Living and the Dead. Humanity and Ghosts.
Why it had only recently escalated to this, Batman couldn’t tell. His research found that there had been a portal opened to the Realms years ago, and the laws passed just a year after that. Most of the town was stuck behind an information blackout that the government refused to give access to. Whatever happened, Constantine assured him that it was almost certainly the government’s fault.
After almost three weeks of trying to get beyond the firewalls, he finally figured it out. “Research” that claimed ghosts were nothing but evil. News articles calling “Phantom” a troublemaker. Forums that spoke about how “Phantom” ruined the town while fighting other ghosts.
A video, old and grainy but still clear enough to be used as evidence. A glowing, white-haired boy that told everyone he was done. That he was tired of fixing everything. Of saving everyone. That nobody was good, everyone was bad, and they were on their own.
They used to have a hero, but Phantom left. Without him, both sides tore at each other until there was nothing but an all-out assault. They needed to stop this, but without a mediator they would not make it through to the ghosts.
If they could find Phantom, perhaps they could fix everything before it was too late.
#Quasar AU#danny phantom#dc x dp#dp x dc#danny fenton#justice league#batman#basic summary: Danny gives up and leaves#after he leaves the ghosts grow bolder with nobody to stop them#and the hunters grow meaner#and after a lot of back and forth a ghost child is captured and killed#that makes the entire Realms rally for war#the JL are trying to figure out what made it this bad#the portal’s been open for a long time why now???#finally they see this one video#and all these news articles#and oh no#the one who was preventing the war was run off ages ago#they need to find him#and fast#part 1
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Steve lost confidence after Nancy and now cannot comprehend blatant flirting. Like he can flirt with someone if he starts it but if he’s not initiating? He’s clueless.
The Corroded Coffin boys have a very unserious bet going to see who can get Steve to finally realize he’s being flirted with because Eddie’s been trying for months without success.
Gareth brings him homemade food and tells him how good he looks.
Jeff makes them learn his favorite song so they can play it for him on stage.
Freddie even brings him flowers and Steve just turned bright red and stutters out a confused thank you.
The three of them are at wits end after a few weeks and finally all traipse into Family Video when they know just Robin is on shift by herself to ask her what the fuck is wrong with him.
She laughs so hard she nearly falls off the counter. When she collects herself finally she explains that after everything, his idea of friendship includes all the this stuff.
Flower, and affection and attention? All things that Steve does for her and anyone he loves. Fuck, I mean they sleep in the same bed half the time!
“Honestly guys, short of someone marching up to him and telling him that they wanna take him out on a date and make out with him, he’s not going to assume anything.”
This leaves the group in kind of a state of confusion, Eddie managing to look completely lost in thought.
It all comes to a head during their next band practice.
Steve joins them like he always does when he doesn’t have work, letting himself into the garage and flopping onto the couch with Gareth and Freddie.
He automatically tosses his feet over Freddie’s lap, tucking his head into Gareth’s lap in a blatant excuse to let Gareth run his fingers through his hair.
Eddie is running late, so they’re all just waiting when Gareth can’t hold it in any longer.
“Are you as dense about people flirting with you as Robin says or are you deliberately ignoring it? I can never tell.” He feels bad now because Steve has stiffened under his finger.
“What do you mean? Who’s been flirting with me?”
All three boys start to laugh but it makes Steve shrink further into himself.
“No, no. I’m sorry, we are being assholes Steve. But honestly we’ve been flirting with you for weeks! Freddie brought you handpicked flowers, I’ve been making you cookies and Jeff serenaded you on stage!” Gareth is trying not to notice as Steve’s face flushes deeper and deeper. “That’s not to mention everything about Eddie.”
Steve is quiet for a moment, voice sad as he asks them if they only were being nice to him because they were flirting with him.
Gareth’s heart breaks a bit as he assures Steve that they were only really trying to make him feel loved and were being silly.
“We wouldn’t have done any of that if we didn’t wanna be friends with you, babe. You just get really cute when you’re flirted with and we’re all only men. Can’t resist a pretty face.”
Gareth is interrupted by Eddie busting into the room wearing a tee shirt that proudly proclaims ‘PLEASE MAKE OUT WITH ME STEVE IM VERY INTO YOU!”
Steve very easily pulls himself upright, launching himself into Eddie’s arms with a grin, dragging their mouths together in a very loud kiss that gets the whole room cheering.
“I’ve been waiting for you for months, Munson.” Steve says, loud enough for the whole room to hear.
Gareth groans and throws a pillow off the couch, pegging it off Steve’s back.
“Don’t even act like he’s not been flirting with you for months! It’s not that man’s fault you’re dense!”
#Steddie#Steddie fic#Steddie ficlet#corroded coffin#gareth emerson#eddie munson#steve harrington#stranger things#my writing#Steddie Drabble#Steve Harrington is dense#silly ficlet
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𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 (part one) | neil lewis x reader
title comes from the song you already know by bombay bicycle club
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you've been best friends with neil basically your entire life, and secretly in love with him almost as long. will you ever find the courage to tell him the truth?
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 10k
𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut, angst, pining/unrequited love - 18+ only
𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | alcohol consumption, 'kid' as a petname, reader being kind of a femcel, jonathan being kind of mvp??
Neil had asked you to make sure the Thriller section was alphabetized; sometimes you thought he was just giving you tasks to look busy, but then again, you could probably use it since the employees of Gumshoe Video never looked very busy. You spent most of the day on the couches, watching whatever old bizarre gem Neil put on— sometimes you thought he only had employees other than himself so that he could pay people to sit here and watch this stuff with him.
But, the point is, you were sorting tapes. Because everyone needs their VHS thriller movies to be in perfect alphabetical order.
There actually was a customer in the store, for once, so it was better not to be on the couch anyhow. You hadn’t really noticed him when he came in, but as he wandered around the shelves, he seemed to drift towards you.
You tried to ignore him when he stopped right beside you— and kneeling to look at the lowest shelf, he towered over you— but when you stood up he got your attention.
"Need any help, sweetheart?" he asked, leaning in a little too close. "I'm kind of a movie buff."
He had a frat guy kind of look about him— polo, boat shoes, quaffed blonde hair. He could be good-looking, you thought, if he didn’t dress like a discount Abercrombie model… and if he didn’t hit on random women at the video store. "I actually work here," you corrected, barely looking up from your task. This is why we need uniforms instead of just dressing up to promote specials…
"Oh, really?" he smirked. "What made you wanna work in a place like this?"
"My best friend owns the place," you explained, "and I'm, you know… kind of a movie buff."
"Right," he said, not seeming convinced. "You like Kubrick?"
You rolled your eyes so hard you almost choked: Wow, what a deep cut. But you kept a straight-ish face when you looked at him. "Yeah, he's pretty good. Don't care for how he treats his actors, but he was certainly a visionary."
"What are your top five favorite Kubrick movies?"
You knew this guy was a tool, but you were still a bit shocked that he actually had the gall to quiz you. "Excuse me?" you scoffed incredulously.
"Can you even name five?" he asked, looking horribly proud of himself, and you straightened up as you glared at him.
"You're heterosexual, right?" you asked him, getting a confused nod. "Can you name five women you've made come?"
Neil watched the guy storm out, Lucien cringed a bit from behind the register— and Jonathan, not seeming as if he had been paying attention at all, kept laying across the couch and tossing a ball up in the air to catch and throw again.
“Okay, that’s gotta be the third this week,” Lucien groaned. “What are you saying to these guys?”
“Nothing worse than what they’re saying to me,” you assured with a frustrated, sarcastic smile.
“Listen, don’t get me wrong,” Neil began, “that guy totally deserved it— but maybe, you know… work on your demeanor with customers?”
“Wow,” you scoffed as you crossed your arms, “do you think I should smile more, too?”
“Wha— no!” Neil denied.
“Yes,” Lucien said at the same time, though he changed his answer with an awkward cough and mumble when you both shot him a look. “No, no— you’re good— you smile too much, even…”
“I don’t mean it like that,” Neil promised. “But I think half the guys that come here are just coming here to see you! Nobody even rents movies anymore.” He groaned a little, dropping his shoulders defeatedly. “Can’t you… tell them you’ll go out with them if they rent something?”
“What?!” you squeaked. “No!”
“Sales would double,” Lucien nodded.
“No,” you said again. “I’m not letting you pimp me out to sell tapes, Neil.”
“I just mean— maybe you don’t really go out with them,” he suggested. “Just… allude to the fact that you’re only interested in guys who…”
He trailed off as he searched around the shelves for a bit, smiling when he snagged a copy of The Maltese Falcon.
“— in guys who like The Maltese Falcon,” he grinned, “you know— for example. Then they rent it to impress you and we make a few bucks.”
“I am only interested in guys who like The Maltese Falcon,” you frowned, snatching the tape away and shoving it back on the shelf. “But that’s not the point.”
“Maybe you have to be more straightforward, you know,” Jonathan butted in as he sat up, “guys are dumb.”
“Yeah!” Neil agreed a little too easily.
“Just say something about how a massive VHS collection turns you on,” Lucien suggested, and you glared at him.
“Jesus!” you protested, but Neil tried to soothe you a bit.
"C'mon, kid, can't you just… flirt a little? Get our sales up?"
He'd started calling you kid since you two watched Casablanca together— which was especially stupid as you were both twelve at the time. At first you complained because he shouldn't be calling you kid with you both being kids; then you complained because neither of you were kids; and then you gave up. You still punched Lucien for trying to call you that once… you only barely let Neil get away with it anyways.
But you let Neil get away with a lot. It was a side effect of being secretly, but massively, in love with him.
It had been an issue since middle school— that was when the two of you became such good friends. Technically, you’d known each other since first grade (where you had shared your crayons, a true test of friendship at the time), and you’d sort of had a crush on him as early as elementary school (mainly because he was the only boy you could stand at the time), but it all kicked into high gear in seventh grade. That was when you became inseparable, when you got in trouble together, when you stayed up all night watching movies, when you went through all of life’s ups and downs together: you even went to prom together, platonically of course.
As for your feelings, you’d managed to hide them this long and still be his best friend, even when it sometimes felt like letting him stomp all over your heart without even trying. Honestly, the only thing harder than being in love with Neil was trying not to be in love with Neil: you adored his sense of humor, his generosity, his sensitivity— and he’d been there for you through the things you couldn’t have imagined surviving alone. That kinda stuff bonds you to somebody… and when that somebody has the most gorgeous eyes you’ve ever seen, it’s hard not to fall in love.
“Maybe I would flirt if I knew how,” you offered. “But I’m not exactly, you know, flirty.”
“How hard could it be?” Jonathan interjected. “Just, you know—”
You stared in quiet disbelief as Jonathan attempted to push his chest together with his arms. It wasn’t quite working, of course, and the rest of you watched on as he fumbled around trying to force some cleavage. “You look like an idiot,” you finally informed him after letting him do it for a minute.
“But is he wrong?” Lucien wondered.
“So, what, you guys really think that if I just went up to customers and—” you pushed your breasts together with your arms, accentuating them significantly in your tank top.
“That would work,” all three men asserted in unison before you could even finish.
“I fucking hate you guys,” you grumbled under your breath as you walked to the back, deciding to take your break in Neil’s office until these guys got their act together.
You never stayed gone for long, though— as idiotic as they could be, your friends were certainly charming. They won you back with a promise to let you pick what tape to put on, and the four of you ended up laying on the couches watching Roman Holiday.
When the movie was almost over, you rested your head on Neil’s shoulder; you guys did stuff like that, it was normal for you, but it always made your heart skip anyways.
~
This time, you were all hanging out at Jonathan’s primary workplace: the club. In fact, it was a much larger crowd than just you and the guys— plenty of your local friends and loyal supporters of Gumshoe Video, all sitting around a big table while someone’s mediocre cover band took the stage.
"So, uh, me and Denise broke up," Neil said suddenly, going back in for another swig of beer right after.
The others offered their mild shock and half-hearted condolences, but you knew it was going to happen— he'd told you before he did it. You tried to tell him that paying off a waiter to spill water on her was a weird way to prove what he already knew, but you couldn't disagree with his conclusion. She was definitely difficult, and shockingly judgemental for someone who managed to date a video store owner for this long.
“No, it’s fine, it’s fine,” he promised, “I don’t think anybody’s too surprised, right?”
There was an awkward hesitation among the group as they wondered if they should lie, or just fess up now that he was obviously accurate. You broke the silence to suggest someone go get another round of drinks for the table, and even though that was pretty much a one-man job, nearly everyone agreed and quickly shuffled off— leaving just you, Neil, and Lucien.
“I guess tonight’s your chance to meet somebody new, don’t you think?” Lucien suggested. “Get over Denise, you know.”
“I think I’m already over Denise,” Neil decided.
“And if I told you that girl back there,” Lucien returned, pointing with the hand still holding his drink, “has been looking over here at you for the past ten minutes?”
You glanced where Lucien was pointing as well, seeing a girl in a denim mini skirt and massive hoop earrings settle her eyes on Neil before looking away quickly with a lip-gloss lacquered smile.
“I think I need some help getting over Denise,” Neil agreed suddenly, patting Lucien on the back before he left the table.
You wanted to pout, but you were used to this— he was good-looking, he got a lot of attention from women in places like this… it usually didn’t work out for him, though. Certainly not never, probably more often than most guys, but… definitely not every time.
You tried not to look over too much, you didn’t want to get caught spying or, even worse, looking a little jealous— but you noticed that every time you looked over at them, Neil was talking. That was his problem, see: he never fucking shuts up. Guys, girls, anybody who will listen— if you admit to not knowing about his favorite fifty-year-old spaghetti western or the most recent pre-Code horror comedy he watched, he’ll gladly blab to you about it for ages. The first time you glanced at them, you saw her giving him doe eyes, laughing at something he said— and the last time, those eyes had glazed over and her laugh seemed more nervous and confused; you smirked to yourself. He’s still Neil…
“So, um,” you struck up a conversation with Lucien, “what about you? Anybody here catching your eye?”
“That’s actually the perfect descriptor of my type,” he replied. “Anybody.”
You snorted. “Then you should go, you know, talk to anybody?”
He shrugged and frowned a bit, and it was a simple movement but you understood completely.
The band started to play a new song, something upbeat and energetic, and you smiled. “Wanna dance with me?”
“Oh, I don’t think I’m drunk enough for that—” Lucien began to protest, but a minute later you were dragging him up by the stage. Neither of you were actually any good at dancing, mainly you were just kind of jumping and flailing around together, but it was fun and that was the point.
Eventually, more of your friends wandered in to join you; when the song ended, everyone clapped and cheered, the band bowing in gratitude. You only stole one more look over at Neil and his conversation partner, watching her interrupt his rant with a hand on his shoulder: your throat felt a little dry. You just hoped what she was saying was more like hey, my friends are leaving, I’ve gotta go and not hey, wanna come over to my place so you can keep explaining German expressionism to me?
Your heart dropped when he reached for her— what if he kissed her now? What if he wrapped her up under his arm and they walked out together? What if you had to spend the whole night thinking about him having sex with her?
“Hey, we should ask them if they know any Strokes songs!” Lucien suggested, tugging on your arm to get your attention, but your mind was elsewhere.
“Uh huh, yeah,” you mumbled blankly, and he frowned at you.
“What’s going on?” he asked, trying to look for what you were seeing; but Neil wasn’t reaching for her, he was lifting his hand to wave goodbye as she left. You beamed, even though you did feel a little bad when you saw Neil’s shoulders sink— it’s not that you wanted him to be alone forever, you were just relieved that you might have a few more moments to breathe before he got with somebody again.
“Nothing, sorry,” you answered Lucien, giving him your attention again. “What’d you say?”
“We should ask the band if they—”
And immediately, Lucien lost your focus as you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at Neil again— he was already looking at you, seeing you all on the dancefloor. You waved for him to join you, and he smiled as he made his way towards the stage. A new song began, even louder than the last, and you could blame that for not hearing Lucien’s question for the second time in a row.
Although he danced with you all for a few moments, Neil draped his arms over your and Lucien’s shoulders, nearly yelling to be heard over the music.
“You guys are coming over tonight for a movie, right?” he presumed. “Jonathan’s working ‘til late so he’s out, but—”
“Sorry, I’ve gotta be up early,” Lucien explained, “my brother and his wife are visiting, remember? We’re getting brunch and—”
“Whatever, party pooper,” Neil frowned, before suddenly smiling at you. “Guess it’s just me and you, huh, kid?”
You tried not to sigh too noticeably through your smile. “Yeah, me and you…” you agreed.
~
As you groggily blinked your eyes open, you found Neil staring at you, his face uncomfortably close to yours, with a big smile. “Mornin’, kid,” he said, raising his eyebrows.
You yelped and nearly jumped out of your skin while he laughed. “Jesus Christ, Neil!” you shouted, kicking off the blanket on you— and then you began to process where you were and why. “God,” you groaned as you held your head in your hands, while Neil kept laughing at you, “did I fall asleep on the couch again?”
It was sort of a rhetorical question— obviously you had, it would be much stranger if you woke up on the video store couch without having fallen asleep there. “Yeah,” he said, standing up and sighing a bit, “but you didn’t miss that much of the movie.”
“What happened at the end?” you asked, stretching your legs and snatching the blanket off the floor to fold up; Neil must have put it on you after you dozed off.
“No, we can finish it later,” he decided, walking up to the register, and you groaned.
“Seriously? Not even falling asleep gets me out of finishing The Man Who Laughs?”
He smiled a little as he started prepping the store for open. “Nope,” he said proudly, popping his lips on the p sound.
“It’s not that I didn’t like it,” you assured, getting up and trying to ignore the soreness in your back from sleeping on a ratty old sofa all night— you remembered helping Neil carry this thing from where he found it on the side of the road. Considering you knew where it came from, it was a wonder you ever sat on it, let alone slept on it… but this happened relatively often. Sometimes it almost felt like you slept easier here or at Neil’s apartment than your own.
You stood up and stretched your arms, sparing a glance over at him.
“Can I run home and change?” you asked, and he frowned.
“We open in ten minutes,” he noticed, “you won’t be back in time.”
“Yes, and who will serve the clamoring crowds that await our open outside?” you rolled your eyes, gesturing out the storefront to the abandoned sidewalk. “You can handle it on your own.”
“Just go to my place,” he shrugged, “it’s closer. And I think you left some jeans there anyway.”
Right— you’d borrowed a pair of his sweats to get comfy for a movie night, and forgot to take the jeans back when you left. You yourself had one of Neil’s short-sleeve button-ups at your place, when you’d both changed there for a costume party, but you let him believe it was just lost… it was too late to tell him now that you had it, ‘cause then he might ask why you kept it so long and then he might, somehow, deduce that you had been cuddling it at night from time to time…
“Right, okay,” you nodded, “but I still need a shirt.”
“Just borrow one of mine,” he said, like it was no big deal at all and didn’t make your heart skip.
For a second you wondered if you should protest— if he was still dating Denise, you probably would’ve said something. But you decided not to say anything, in case he changed his mind; you nearly bolted out of the store and down the two blocks to his apartment.
Your jeans were on the dresser, draped haphazardly in their same just-peeled-off shape you must have left them in last week. You grumbled to yourself a little about how he could’ve folded them for you so they wouldn’t be wrinkled… but then again, all his jeans were wrinkled, so he clearly didn’t know any better.
And now the fun part: picking a shirt. You smiled to yourself as you opened the drawer, perusing through t-shirts with old movie posters and semi-witty slogans… cute, sure, but those were pretty similar to what you already wore.
But the button-downs? Those were quintessential Neil, and you'd be wasting an opportunity if you didn't put one of those on.
You felt a little giddy as you opened the next drawer down and found them all folded. The first one you saw had light blue and white stripes, so you snatched it up and slipped it on.
The fit was definitely off, but you let yourself indulge in a fantasy for a moment: waking up here, in Neil's bed… in Neil's arms. You'd slip on his shirt while you went to find some breakfast, and he'd hum something about how pretty you look in his clothes, and you'd end up tangled in the sheets again not too much later.
Sighing to yourself, you buttoned the last button, leaving the two at the top undone so you didn't look too formal, and headed back to the store for opening.
Neil stared at you for a second when you walked in— at the shirt, specifically. You waited for him to say something, but he didn't. "What, should I not wear this one?" you asked, looking down at it as well, and he shook his head.
"No, no, it's fine— sorry," he mumbled, "just start sorting out last night's returns, please."
You definitely got a much stronger reaction from Jonathan, as soon as he walked in the door.
(Why was he here when he wasn't even working today? Who knows— he was just always here somehow.)
“Hey! You look even more like a lesbian than usual,” Jonathan greeted with a peppy fake-smile as he approached you, and you smirked a bit.
“Don’t blame me, it’s his shirt,” you nodded towards Neil.
“See, I told you you dress like a— wait,” Jonathan stopped mid-insult, looking back at you, then at Neil again, then at you; he pointed his fingers at each of you, crossing them back and forth. “Did… you two…?”
You narrowed your eyes, waiting for him to explain what he meant.
“Did you guys hook up?!” Jonathan accused, wide-eyed.
You felt your face getting warm, and you stammered out your denial; Neil started waving his hands in disagreement as well, but Jonathan was already on a roll.
“Oh my god!” he yelped. “The one time I miss movie night here and it gets freaky! Should’ve known better than to leave you two lovebirds alone—”
“Jonathan, we didn’t—” you choked.
“It’s not— it wasn’t—” Neil butted in. “She just borrowed my shirt! ‘Cause she— because—”
“I mean, we’ve kinda all been waiting for this to happen— but I never really thought it would,” Jonathan steamrolled along. “Well, yeah, I guess I thought it would, I just—”
“Wait wait wait, what?” Neil shook his head, stepping up closer to the two of you. “What does that mean?”
Finally, he seemed to get Jonathan’s attention, who began to nervously backtrack as both of you stared at him. “W-well, I just mean—” he started.
“And who’s ‘we all’?” Neil noticed. “This isn’t just you, thinking this?”
“I… I mean,” Jonathan scoffed, “you know— just, just some people… we thought that maybe… that since you two are so close, that you might—”
“Wow,” Neil chuckled, crossing his arms in disappointment. “You know, that’s so reductive. For a bunch of progressive, free-thinking hipsters—” he waved his hands as he said it in a mocking way— “you’re really just, like… like… you know, not! ‘Cause apparently men and women can’t really be friends?”
“No, come on, not like that,” Jonathan denied, “of course we can—”
“I mean, you’re her friend, you’re both single,” Neil noticed, gesturing between the two of you, “why don’t you two, just, you know… hook up!”
You cringed a little as Jonathan tugged at his collar nervously. “Well, I—”
“Come on, why not?” Neil went on, smiling at the suggestion even though he was clearly unamused. “I mean, she’s nice, she’s pretty, she’s got a vagina— why don’t you hit on her?”
“Hey, come on, Neil,” Jonathan sighed, “I’m well aware she’s got a vagina—”
“So what’s the problem?” Neil insisted. “Clearly you can’t just be friends with someone with a vagina—”
“I would really prefer if we didn’t talk about my vagina anymore,” you mumbled nervously.
“— how come you never hit on her, Jonny?” Neil pressed, backing him into a corner metaphorically— but also somewhat literally, he was leaning in and Jonathan was pressing his back more and more against the shelves.
“You really want me to answer that?” Jonathan replied, almost threatening. That made you furrow your brow a bit. It seemed like a rhetorical question, Neil trying to prove a point, but you didn’t expect Jonathan to have a literal answer.
“Yeah, sure,” Neil decided, “enlighten us.”
Neil glanced at you, like you were just as gung-ho about this interrogation, but you were feeling a little sick. You understood the spirit of Neil’s argument— and technically, you agreed with him— but it still stung to see him so incensed at the suggestion of you two together. You were trying not to take it personally, it wasn’t like he was disgusted by you or anything… he even said just now that you were pretty, and he’d told you that before, but… it still bothered you a little, for reasons you couldn’t quite describe and that you were sure were illogical.
“I never hit on her,” Jonathan answered, lowering his voice, “because I… I figured it would piss you off.”
That seemed to surprise you both, maybe for different reasons; you bit your lip to suppress a smile. Did Jonathan really think Neil was that protective over you? “Why would it piss me off?” Neil wondered, but he sounded a little defensive— defensive in a caught-red-handed sort of way.
“I… I don’t know,” Jonathan shrugged. “That’s just the vibe I got, okay? That she’s sorta… off-limits.”
Neil hesitated. “Well… she’s not,” he decided. “You’re grown-ups. Whatever you wanna do is none of my business— as long as you’re not being, you know, creepy or an asshole.”
“Of course,” Jonathan agreed, most of the tension settling as Neil backed up a step.
“Okay, well, ask her out then,” Neil instructed firmly.
“I didn’t say I wanted to!” Jonathan sputtered.
“Neil, Jesus!” you complained simultaneously, and he seemed to relent, shrugging as he walked back to the register.
“Sorry, sorry,” he dismissed, “just letting you know it’s… fine with me!”
You rolled your eyes a bit and looked back at Jonathan. “Sorry,” you offered him quietly, “he’s… I don’t know. He gets weird about that.”
“Oh really?” Jonathan scoffed sarcastically. “Didn’t notice.”
“The real reason you shouldn’t be hitting on me is because we’re coworkers, by the way,” you reminded him.
“Hey, I only work here part-time,” Jonathan noticed, “so I think that means it’s cool as long as we only go out part-time.”
You snorted, but he seemed to get nervous.
“You know I’m kidding, right?” he added quickly, and you nodded with a laugh.
~
"You know, I was thinking— we don't have many events at the store these days,” Neil mumbled around a bite of pretzel, watching you play your turn at Skee Ball. Normally he would put coins in the machine beside yours and try to beat your score, but the other machine was out of order and you decided to take a relay race approach. “What if we did, like, I don’t know… maybe a double feature for a couple bucks?”
“Neil, we show movies every night,” you sighed, “and we invite everybody, and ninety-nine percent of the time it’s just some combination of me, you, Jonathan, and Lucien.”
“Yeah, but this time we could do movies that more people like— a little easier to watch,” he suggested, “something that would get new people in the store.”
“New people don’t wanna sit on a musty old couch with strangers,” you reminded him, and he nodded as he chewed and swallowed his next bite.
“You’re right,” he agreed, holding the pretzel out towards you. “Wanna bite?”
You were trying to get through your skee balls pretty quick, so you just leaned your head over and chomped down on the end of one of the twists while he held it for you. You hummed in appreciation— it was pretty good, fresher than the last one you guys got here.
Visits to the arcade used to be your thing, back in high school (aside from watching movies, but that was a given). Then you slowed down with the trips, feeling a little old and out of place surrounded by kids— but the problem was, this place wasn’t filled with kids anymore. It hadn’t changed much at all since you were both in high school, and that was exactly the issue: it was old, run-down, a bit grimey… kids weren’t coming to arcades anymore anyways, they were all on the Internet apparently. So, while you and Neil sort of appreciated having the place to yourself, it also broke your heart knowing your old haunt couldn’t hold itself together forever… you two visited not just to recapture some old childhood joys, but to try to do your part to keep the business afloat.
You pretended to like being here— because you really did want to support the place, and Neil wanted to keep coming back— but it actually made you pretty fucking sad. Surrounded by all the neon, the noisy pinball machines, the Dig Dug machine that had a fifty-fifty chance of stealing your quarters, the photobooth (you still had some strips from that thing pinned to your wall, some so old that they’d faded from the sunlight that came in your window each day); it all felt sort of eerie now. You would’ve never known all those years ago how little this place would change, even though you never expected it to— you would’ve never known how little anything would change. Neil was still by your side, but still so far away… if you could talk to that fourteen-year-old girl now, you would warn her that no amount of time spent running around this place and playing Street Fighter was going to make Neil love her, or you.
But here you were anyways. “Woo!” you cheered when your final score came through: 50,765. “Beat that!”
Neil set the pretzel down on the bar-height table (on a pile of napkins, don’t worry, neither of you trusted those tables that much) and brushed the salt off his hands with a scoff. “Oh please, I can beat that with my eyes closed,” he assured as you crossed your arms.
As he put his quarters in and stepped up to the game, you smiled wide. “Alright, if you say so.”
You came up behind him and covered his eyes with your hands, making him jump and then laugh. “What are you doing?”
“Just keeping you honest,” you giggled, holding on tight even when he tried to move his head around so that he could see.
He did his best, usually struggling to even find where the balls were coming down more than rolling them decently— but after the first three went in the gutter without even scoring, you knew he didn’t stand a chance. He did score a few times, but when the buzzer went off and he lifted your hands from his eyes, he laughed at the pitiful 1,150 on the board.
“Ohh, that’s too bad,” you winced, “guess you’re just full of it.”
Still holding your hands away from his face, he spun around and twirled under your arms like you were dancing for a moment; it ended with him face-to-face with you, swinging your hands back and forth a bit to force you to twist with him slightly. “Wanna play Street Fighter next?” he suggested quickly. “I know I can beat you at that.”
The giddy joy of the moment dropped and shattered; if you thought about it too much, you probably could’ve cried right then. As pathetic, yet oddly aesthetically pleasing, as it would be to cry in an arcade, you swallowed down the emotion and smiled back at him. “Yeah, okay,” you agreed.
~
You’d been a little antsy all day— Neil seemed to notice, asking a couple times if you were okay, but you just nodded and shrugged it off. He had a sense for when you were lying; but that’s the thing, you weren’t lying, really. You just weren’t sure what to say. You weren’t sure if you should say anything. And yet, you felt a little guilty not telling him everything that was going on with you— not just guilty, but plain weird. Because you usually did tell him everything— except, you know, the thing— but you didn’t know if you should talk about this. Not that you couldn’t— but should you?
So you were sort of gnawing on your lip most of the day, keeping yourself busy with tallying late fees behind the desk, trying to keep conversation light and meaningless: thankfully, in that regard, Jonathan and Lucien made it pretty easy.
“Okay: fuck, marry, kill,” Jonathan began, “Dracula, the Mummy, and the Creature from the Black Lagoon.”
“Dude, I can’t answer that,” Lucien refused.
“Okay, then Neil, what would you do?” Jonathan changed his target.
“Um, well,” Neil pondered, “I think I’d have to kill Dracula— spare the world from that evil, you know— and I guess I’d marry the Mummy—”
“Freud would like to have a word,” Lucien butted in.
“And I’d fuck the Creature from the Black Lagoon,” he concluded, “out of morbid curiosity.”
You snorted, but didn’t look up from your clipboard. “You come up with one that Lucien will do,” Jonathan challenged Neil.
“Alright, uhh, let’s see…” Neil stalled as he thought, looking up at the ceiling and stroking his chin dramatically. “Fuck, marry, kill: Sarah Carter, Ripley, and Trinity from Matrix.”
“Okay, see, that’s a real challenge,” Lucien affirmed. “If I marry Trinity, do I have to live in the post-apocalyptic wasteland or can she live here?”
“You’d have to live in the Matrix,” Jonathan announced, like it was obvious.
“Hm,” Lucien pondered, “do I know it’s a false reality? Does she know?”
“She knows, you don’t,” Neil decided.
“Is she gonna tell me? What if she has another guy on the side in the real world?”
“Okay, you’re overthinking this,” Jonathan groaned.
“And is this the Sarah Carter that’s already had John? ‘Cause if not, I can’t kill her, or the human revolution stands no chance— but if she has him, I can’t marry her, ‘cause I’m not ready to be a stepfather—”
“You’re useless,” Jonathan informed him flatly.
“Well, it’s easy then,” you offered, still tallying fees on the printed table. “You fuck Carter, marry Ripley and kill Trinity.”
“Yeah, I guess that works,” Lucien shrugged.
“If you’re so good at this game, you should play,” Jonathan decided. You looked up from your work for once, finding Lucien looking excited at the idea and Neil looking a little nervous but intrigued.
“I’ve got one for you,” Lucien decided, looking concerningly smug. “Fuck, marry, kill: the three of us.”
Jonathan let out a giddy ‘ooh’ and Neil raised his eyebrows. “Oh— I don’t know— that’s too weird,” you shook your head, “it’s different, you’re real—”
“Wait, wait,” Neil interrupted, “now I wanna know.”
You froze for a second, wondering if you should double down on not participating, or if you should tell him the first thing that popped in your head: am I allowed to do all three to you?
Instead, you set the clipboard down and crossed your legs, and the men seemed to straighten up as they prepared for your answer. “Alright,” you said, looking at them for a lingering moment before sighing. “I think I’d fuck Jonathan, and then kill myself.”
“Yes,” Jonathan hissed, shaking his fist triumphantly.
“Dude, really?” Lucien snapped at him. “That didn’t sound like a compliment to me.”
“Don’t care, I stopped listening after ‘fuck Jonathan’,” he replied. “Alright, Neil, you’re gonna have to make good on that ‘she’s not off-limits’ promise you made to me—”
But Neil wasn’t listening to Jonathan, he was still looking at you. “Wait— you wouldn’t marry me?” Neil interrupted, putting a hand on the desk and leaning in a bit closer— he looked half-amused and half-offended, and your heart skipped a beat.
“Um…” you started to wonder how to defend yourself from that. What did he expect you to say? Yes, I’d marry you, I’ve actually been planning our wedding since junior year.
“Hold on,” Lucien stopped you, “if she fucks you and marries you, that means I’m getting killed!”
“Yeah, so?” Jonathan smirked.
“What, you don’t think I’m marriage material?” Neil laughed… but he didn’t seem like he was really joking, per se. He didn’t seem serious either, of course, but you decided to take his question seriously since he’d dared to ask it twice.
“Well,” you mumbled, “no. I don’t.”
Then he seemed a bit more serious, adjusting his posture a bit. “Why not?”
“I mean… you’re my best friend,” you reminded him, “but… you’re not reliable.”
He nodded, pursing his lips together.
“You’re not ready for marriage,” you continued. “I mean, I think you’re just as sure of that as I am.”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“And honestly? You’re a great friend and all, but… if you were my husband, I don’t think I could really… you know, trust you…”
The silence seemed a little heavy— all the men were sort of frozen for a second, you wondered if you should wave your arm around to make sure time hadn’t stopped. But they did move, Neil first in fact, as he stopped leaning on the counter and nodded a little.
“I’m just surprised that you didn’t fuck Dracula,” Jonathan said to Neil in an attempt to cut the tension, “considering your massive man-crush on Bela Lugosi.”
“Hey, that reminds me, tonight’s movie is Bela Lugosi Meets a Brooklyn Gorilla,” Neil announced, apparently shaking off whatever odd energy he’d picked up just before, “you in?”
“Yeah, sure,” Jonathan nodded, “should I bring drinks?”
“Uhh, yeah, why not?” Neil agreed.
“Is a six-pack enough?”
"Uh, maybe…” Neil considered, turning over his shoulder to look at you. “Kid, how many beers are you gonna want?”
You swallowed nervously. “Um, I… well, I’m not coming. I’ve got a date, actually.”
Of course it was just assumed that you would be there; you felt a little guilty admitting you wouldn’t, to the point that you almost considered just skipping said date and staying to avoid the awkwardness.
“Hey, great!” Jonathan said proudly, throwing his arms out wide.
“A date, huh?” Neil noticed, looking happily surprised. “Sorry, I— I didn’t know— you didn’t say anything—”
“No, it’s cool,” you shook your head, “it’s kind of a last minute thing… you know how they’re showing Rope at the Palace tonight? I met this, um, this guy the other day and we got to talking, and I asked him if he’d wanna come with me.”
“Rope, wow, that’s a great first date movie,” Neil nodded approvingly, “that sounds perfect.”
“Yeah— he hasn’t seen it, actually,” you admitted, smiling nervously, “so I guess how much he likes it will kinda be a good judge of if he’s worth going out again, right?”
Jonathan nodded approvingly, but Neil seemed skeptical. "Well, the showing isn't until nine— you can at least hang out until the movie starts, right?"
"I've gotta get home and get changed!" you explained
"You can't wear that to a date?" Julien wondered.
"No!" you scoffed, looking down at your ripped jeans and Dracula t-shirt. "Besides, I have this whole plan of what I'm gonna wear— remember when we did Bonnie and Clyde for Halloween?"
Neil was Bonnie and you were Clyde, in fact; he looked shockingly good in that blood-red lipstick, you tried to convince him to wear it again but he insisted it was a one-night-only situation.
"I figure if I wear my Clyde suit, I'll look kinda like James Stewart!"
"You're doing drag on a first date?" Lucien pressed, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh, lighten up, I'm just dressing up for the movie— I'll still, you know, try to look pretty," you assured. "What, I don't look good in a suit? 'Cause I got a lot of compliments on Halloween—"
"No, hey, go for it," Jonathan decided, "it's festive!"
"I think it's cool," Neil agreed. "Have fun, alright? And if he creeps you out or something, call the store number and I'll come get you."
"I'm not really worried about—"
"You know? Just call the store when you get home," Neil decided, "so I'll know you didn't get murdered."
"Dude, chill," you groaned. "We're going to the movies, not, I don't know… hiking off-trail in the middle of the night."
You never agreed to call, but you did him one better: you ended up coming back to the video store afterwards, a bit over two hours later. Of course, the guys were still on the couch— apparently the movie was over but they were watching anime (undoubtedly something Jonathan had brought as a palate cleanser after the movie).
They all looked over at you when you came in the front door and the little bell rang; they seemed excited to see you, and presumably to interrogate you about the date. You sighed, knowing you couldn't have expected anything else, but you'd come here hoping they'd let you watch something with them so you could stop thinking about the date.
“How’d it go, hot stuff?” Jonathan purred, and you rolled your eyes as Lucien wolf-whistled.
“Oh yeah, it was awesome, best first date ever— I’m at his place having sex with him right now,” you frowned as you tossed your purse down onto the couch, and Lucien chuckled while Neil looked a little defeated.
“Not that great, huh?” Neil noticed.
“Was he a creep?” Jonathan assumed.
“Did he think the movie was bad?” Lucien pressed.
“No, no, he was great,” you sighed, “he loved the movie. We talked about it for a bit afterwards and he seemed to really understand it.”
“Okay! That’s good, right?” Jonathan said optimistically.
“Yeah— so good that I asked him when we could do this again,” you recalled, “and he said that he didn’t wanna lead me on and he wasn’t interested in seeing me.”
“What?!” Jonathan yelped, while Neil winced a little.
“He said I was really cool and funny and easy to talk to,” you explained, “but that he didn’t feel any chemistry.”
“Chemistry?” Lucien repeated, confused.
“He means he’s not attracted to me,” you clarified.
“What?” Jonathan scoffed again. “Why not?”
“I don’t know!” you whined, but you did know. “I think I’m just, like, friend material. I’m just ‘one of the guys’, you know? Not somebody you actually wanna be with.”
“But isn’t that what every guy wants? To date somebody who’s just ‘one of the guys’?” Lucien noticed, and then paused when everyone gave him an inquisitive look. “That sounded way less gay in my head. You get what I mean, right?”
“As much as I would love to never let you live that down,” Jonathan smirked, “you’re not wrong— like, a chick who can hang. That’s the best.”
“Well, here I am! Hanging!” you snapped. “Where’s my harem of suitors just desperate to date one of the guys?!”
“I mean, you are wearing a suit…” Neil noticed, getting a little defensive when you groaned and dropped your head back. “No, no, you look cool! I mean, you look really great. I’m not sure what he wasn’t seeing.”
"Maybe he's got a girlfriend!" Jonathan suggested. "And he was gonna cheat but he chickened out."
"Maybe he's intimidated by strong women," Lucien added, sounding more like he was quoting a Cosmo than actually thinking that.
"Respectfully, guys aren't that complicated," you assured. "If he wanted me, he would. He doesn't. It's not that deep."
Neil looked away when you said that.
"Well, come take a seat on the losers couch," Jonathan offered, but Neil sitting next to him frowned.
"You think I'm a loser?" Neil protested.
"No, I was talking about that couch," Jonathan said as he pointed to the other one which Lucien was on.
"I'm not even offended," Lucien decided, patting the spot next to him. "I'd rather be a loser with you than a winner with anybody else."
You smiled and plopped down next to him, pulling your legs up on the old sofa and finding the best angle to see the TV from. "Okay, catch me up," you requested, bracing for the barrage of borderline nonsensical exposition about whatever obscure anime Jonathan was forcing on the group this time.
~
Since the store closed at eight on Tuesdays, you and Neil decided to go out for a late dinner after locking up— the nearest place you usually walked to was a little hole-in-the-wall dishing out Thai fusion, and even though there were open tables inside, you took your paper boxes outside to eat together on a bench.
You each sat up on it with your legs crossed, facing each other, while he poked at his fried rice with his fork and you stirred your noodles with the chopsticks.
“The Palace is still doing their Hitchcock screenings on Sundays,” you recalled, “I think the next one is Rear Window. We could make Lucien man the store and go see it together?”
“Yeah, let’s do it,” he smiled. “But we gotta sneak in the candy, that place is getting so overpriced…”
“Well, that’s a given,” you laughed. “When I went on my date there I had Sour Patch Kids in my bag, but I was kinda craving Reese’s by the time the movie started.
"That guy sounded like an ass, by the way," Neil announced with a frown.
"Oh, no, it's fine," you dismissed. "He was really nice, even when he blew me off, and I… I guess I wasn’t really expecting it to go anywhere, anyways.”
“Really?” Neil scoffed. “Then why’d you ask him out?”
Just in case. “I… I guess I’m trying to put myself out there more?”
“Huh? You’re trying to put out more?” Neil joked.
You rolled your eyes and unfolded your legs to kick him playfully. “You know what I mean,” you groaned.
“Yeah, yeah,” he admitted, “and I support it. It’s sort of insane that you’re still single.”
“Wow, thanks for the pep talk,” you rolled your eyes before shoving a thick swirl of spicy-sweet noodles in your mouth.
“No! I mean, like, I can’t believe you’re single,” he clarified, and you smiled somewhat awkwardly while chewing your mouthful. “You’re smart and fun and cool and pretty—”
Thanks to the food in your mouth, you didn’t have to worry about coming up with a way to respond to that, so you just shrugged.
“Seriously!” he insisted. “I mean, guys hit on you at the store— I wish somebody who actually deserved your attention would walk in that place.”
The guy I want is already there every day. Swallowing, you finally got a chance to talk to him again. “Thanks,” you sighed, “it’s fine, though. I mean, I’ve been single this long— I think I’ll survive.”
“Keep waiting for the right one, okay?” he encouraged, and your heart swelled.
“I will,” you promised, sounding more wistful than you meant to.
After a brief lull in the conversation, he cleared his throat and continued. “Hey, um, while we’re on the topic of Sunday, about the whole fuck-marry-kill thing—”
“I’m sorry,” you offered right away, “I shouldn’t have answered that. I wasn’t being serious, obviously.”
“No, I wanted to apologize,” he returned, “I shouldn’t have pressed you on your answer. It was funny. And it wasn’t like you could say you were gonna kill one of us.”
You snorted. “Yeah, that one was probably the worst of the three.”
“But I shouldn’t have asked you about what you would’ve done to me,” he shook his head, “I was making it weird. So, sorry.”
“It’s okay,” you assured. “Did you really expect me to say I would marry you?”
“No,” he admitted, “I thought you’d say you’d fuck me, marry Lucien and kill Jonathan.”
“What?” you scoffed, though you were still smiling. “Why?”
“Well, Lucien would definitely make the best husband of the three of us,” he explained, “and Jonathan was the only one who wouldn’t have gotten butthurt about you saying you’d kill him. He probably would’ve just asked you to give him a nice send-off, y’know…”
You nodded in agreement, wondering if he was going to address the obviously missing third piece of all this… he sure was staring down into his empty fried rice container with intense focus…
“And, you know, as for me,” he began sort of thinly, “I, um… I guess I just figured, you know, you’re the most comfortable with me.”
“Yeah,” you agreed, “obviously, but maybe that would make it worse? Like, at least with Jonathan, I know that if we ever did hook up or something, it probably wouldn’t mess up our friendship. ‘Cause we’re friendly and all, but it’s not so serious. But with you…”
“Uh huh, well, that’s why it’s good it’s just a game,” Neil finished for you, chucking his trash in the nearest can. “Don’t have to worry about any of that stuff. Least of all you and I being married. Talk about a disaster.”
You choked on your throat. “Yeah. No kidding…”
“Well, anyways,” he sighed, standing up from the bench and stretching for a moment, “wanna come over and see if the game’s still on?”
“Oh, um, I’m just gonna go back to my place,” you decided, throwing away the last couple bites of your food on account of your suddenly-lost appetite. “Kinda thinking I should get my sleep schedule in order.”
“That’s good,” he nodded, “I respect that. Have a good night, then, kid.”
“Yeah, you too,” you breathed, waving as he turned and walked off into the night, tucking his hands into his jean pockets.
You looked down at your lap, taking a deep breath and shutting your eyes for a second. Did he have to be so sweet just to cut you down like that? Could he have even known how it would hurt you to say that?
It’s not even like he was wrong, but you were dying to ask him why he was so sure that you and him together would be so bad. What was wrong with you that he still couldn’t see you that way?
Not interested in this repetitive thought cycle anymore, and being very familiar with where it leads, you got up and started to walk down the street. You didn’t turn to go to your apartment, though; you kept going until you heard live music— scratchy, whiny guitars and throbbing bass drums— seeping out of the club. You just needed to be somewhere familiar that wasn’t the video store or home; and, this place conveniently also had liquor.
You slipped inside— hit by a wave of sound as you entered— and took a seat at the bar, half-listening to the band that was playing, pretending to be focused at all on what was going on in the outside world rather than just spiraling into your own thoughts inside your head.
“Hey,” Jonathan nodded at you from the other side of the bar, and you nodded back. He instantly started looking for Neil— of course he would— and you deflated a bit. “You here alone?” he noticed.
“Yeah,” you shrugged.
“Wow,” he smirked, “it’s like when Peter Pan’s shadow escaped.”
You should’ve probably been offended by that, but it wasn’t worth denying— and you were more interested in getting liquored up than justifying that you did, in fact, have a life outside of Neil.
And, actually, Peter Pan was a pretty good way to describe Neil, too. Fear of commitment, leader of freaks and outcasts, daydreamer… all he needed was some green tights. “What are you drinking tonight?” Jonathan finally asked.
“What pairs well with feeling completely unattractive and unlovable?” you sighed.
“Well, that would be my drink of choice: whiskey,” he smiled, setting a bottle down in front of you. “I’ll do a shot with you.”
He poured you both a shot, and you timed it to shoot it back together; he, obviously, took it better with you, and you cringed from the acidic flavor. "Jesus, people really drink this on purpose?" you grumbled.
"Yeah, give it a few minutes," he assured, "it's gonna numb all those stupid emotions."
"I don't have a few minutes," you sighed, "do you have anything more fast-acting?"
"Yeah— a second shot," he joked, but you nodded in agreement. "Okay, shit, you're not messing around tonight."
"Nope," you agreed, watching him pour just one shot this time. "You're not doing it with me?"
"I need to pace myself, I'm here 'til two," he explained.
He slid it to you and you contemplated it for a moment, before forcing yourself to get it down as quickly as possible to avoid the burn. You still grimaced, but recovered quickly.
"Is it working yet?" he wondered.
"I guess," you answered half-heartedly.
“Well, you could always gush to the bartender about all your problems?” he offered, but you just shrugged it off. “Come on, you wouldn’t be the first tonight. And since I know you, I might actually be able to help.”
“I don’t think you can help with this one,” you assured. “This problem has been going on longer than you’ve ever been around.”
“Oh?” he pressed. “Let me guess… boy troubles?”
“Isn’t it always?” you scoffed, irritated that he saw through you that quickly— apparently your reputation of being horrible with men preceded you.
“But this is just one boy,” he presumed. “One boy who… conspicuously isn’t here tonight…”
“Is it that obvious?” you wondered with a whine, dropping your head in your hand.
“Well, if you weren’t having any issues with him, you’d be with him,” Jonathan guessed— and it wasn’t bad logic.
“But, like, does everyone know?” you wondered. “Does everyone but him know that I’m in love with him? Oh god, Jonathan, you don’t think he knows, do you?”
“Wait— love?” he repeated, and you swallowed thickly as you realized the whiskey had already gotten you to say too much. “You… you’re…”
“Okay, so I guess not everyone knows,” you mumbled.
“No, yeah, I think you managed to keep that under wraps,” he assured with a nod, eyes getting wider. “Sheesh. No, I had no clue. Now it’s even weirder that you guys aren’t together.”
“Well, he doesn’t love me,” you explained flatly.
“Did he tell you that?”
“No, god no— I mean, he tells me he loves me,” you corrected, “but he doesn’t mean— we just say that, you know, like at the end of phone calls or when one of us is sad. It’s not, like… we never meant it that way.”
“Right, okay,” Jonathan nodded as he wiped a glass— the way bartenders do when they’re listening to people— but he didn’t seem to understand entirely. “So, you’re not his type?”
“I don’t think I know what his type is,” you scoffed. “I haven’t really noticed a pattern, have you?”
“You’d have to have a few more data points to really draw any connection between them,” Jonathan laughed.
“Yeah, fair,” you smiled, “he’s only had… I don’t know, maybe four girlfriends since I’ve known him? One in high school, for a month— then Eva, they weren’t even really serious, just dating for a while. And then, uh—”
“Tanisha,” he remembered.
“Right! I liked her,” you hummed.
“What happened to her again?” he wondered.
“Got back with her ex,” you recalled.
“Wow, that blows,” Jonathan sighed.
“She told me before she told him,” you admitted. “She wanted me to tell him for her, actually, but I… I couldn’t do that to him. But I came over right after, you know, and we ate ice cream from the tub and watched movies ‘til we fell asleep.”
Jonathan made a sort of face, one you couldn’t quite interpret, and you tilted your head as he seemed to mumble to himself.
“What?” you wondered.
“Nothing, it’s just… he’s kind of an idiot,” Jonathan decided. “I don’t think he gets how lucky he is.”
You wrinkled your brows together, laughing a bit. “What do you mean?”
“Look, I’m not saying he’s, like, legally obligated to fall in love with you just because you guys get along so well,” he clarified, “even if that’s what Neil accused me of thinking— I really do think it’s fine for men and women to just be friends.”
“So, what are you saying?”
“I’m just saying… like, how do you have someone who cares about you that much, and you end up dating fucking Denise for almost a year?!”
“Well, nobody knows how he ended up with Denise,” you coughed. “That was a fucking disaster.”
“I mean, not to be crass, but, uh,” he stumbled a little over his words, “I’m surprised that you coming over after that breakup didn’t turn into a rebound, at least.”
“After eating that much ice cream?” you laughed. “That would’ve been awful.”
“But really, though,” he insisted. “I have a hard time believing the thought didn’t even cross his mind…”
“I can’t really be sure that it didn’t,” you admitted, “I’m just saying, nothing happened.”
“I guess he’s just known you too long to go for it with you,” Jonathan shrugged.
“It’s not just that— you know Neil, he’s kind of an adrenaline junkie,” you rolled your eyes, “or at least he thinks he is. He wants adventure, I guess— and he always talks about us doing spontaneous stuff but it never happens— and I’m just too familiar. Too comfortable.”
“Yeah, he does kinda have something against stability,” Jonathan agreed, “do you think it’s a divorced parents thing?”
“I don’t know, I stopped analyzing that a long time ago,” you groaned, “and I told myself I would stop trying to be what I thought he wanted, but I think I keep doing it.”
“Well, I know you know him better than anybody,” Jonathan countered, “but I know guys, and that guy… there’s no way he thinks of you as just a friend.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because he was fucking lying when he said it wouldn’t piss him off if we hooked up,” he insisted.
“You really won’t let that go, will you?” you grinned.
“Did you see his face? He couldn’t get the image out of his head!” Jonathan assured confidently. “And then that whole ‘fuck marry kill’ thing— he started getting nervous, I think.”
“Nervous about what?”
“That something could really happen with us!”
“You really think he would care?” you frowned.
“I swear to— to Ash Williams,” he decided, “that if I walked into that fucking video store, and told him that you and I did whiskey shots and you came back to my place and we did the horizontal tango, he would beat me to death with the register.”
“You swear on Ash Williams?” you repeated with a smirk, knowing that meant more than swearing on any deity would mean.
“Him and his chainsaw hand,” Jonathan assured, putting a hand over his heart to add to the bit, and you giggled.
“Well, I don’t think Neil can pick up the register,” you decided.
“In that case, you let me know the next time you wanna get back at him for something,” he offered with a wink, and you smiled at him sympathetically.
“I know you’re trying to be nice,” you sighed, “but you don’t have to do that.”
“Hey, come on,” he frowned, “I know you’ve got this I’m insecure I’m a weirdo nobody notices me thing, but you can’t actually think it would be some kind of charity work for me to sleep with you—”
“No, I don’t mean that,” you sighed, “I know I could get laid if I wanted to—”
“But you don’t wanna get laid,” he finished for you, “you wanna be loved.”
You sighed again, even harder. “Yeah,” you nodded.
“I know,” he agreed. “And you know I love you, but—”
“But not like that,” you took your turn finishing his sentence.
His only reply was raising the bottle of whiskey with a sideways smile, a silent offer to pour another shot— for both of you this time.
“Yes, please,” you hummed, watching him fill the miniature glasses with a sigh.
part 2
#neil lewis x reader#neil lewis smut#watching the detectives#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy smut#you know... eventually#but you have to get to part two for that lol
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𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒐
+ itoshi sae x f!reader | wc 2.1k | content: fluff, slight angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of jealousy/insecurities
notes: of course when i’m back i write for sae … who else is possible of holding me hostage like this ? :’)
summary: he’s stupid and stubborn and bad at being a boyfriend. you make him want to be better though. always.
itoshi sae has a bad habit.
he’s not used to relationships, or the notion of having to care for someone in a certain romantic way that tests his own boundaries. this much is apparent in the way he’s only ever had one relationship before you and it was over before he started, because he’d chosen career over his ex.
and no, the situation right now with you isn’t like that. even so, it’s tough; when you feel down for no particular reason and sae doesn’t know how to handle it. and sometimes he’s tired too and you catch him at the wrong timing and you both end up sulking the entire night.
you won’t lie—you have a bad habit too. you can’t really bring yourself to express exactly how you feel. it’s difficult to open up just like that, especially when you aren’t used to it. but sae’s especially confused with how to handle these situations, like right now.
right now; when you’re sobbing in front of him and he’s feeling frustrated. when you can’t really handle the heat well—he’s a world-renowned soccer player, one of the world eleven. and next to him, no one even knows you. not when you have a non-disclosure agreement and have to keep everything super private.
it’s funny how you thought it’d be simple. then again, you didn’t factor in all the external disturbances. it tests your patience whenever sae makes the headlines when he’s out for a simple lunch with friends and makes it to the front page with a dating rumor with a top model. it’s tough for you to hold it in when you see people shipping him with someone you can only wish to be.
insecurity just hits you sometimes.
“is it really that hard to just assure me, sae?”
that includes now, when you’ve just had a shitty day and he’s so so tired from all the events he’s had to go to now, having to parade around with that top model, all to promote a brand’s upcoming fragrance line. emotions run high, neither of you have the capacity to deal with this right now.
“look, i’m so fucking tired, can we just deal with this in the morning?”
some pessimistic part of you is telling you he’ll just brush it off in the morning—all the jealousy, the frustration. you don’t even think you can last staying mad at him for that long.
“what’s the problem with talking about it now?”
“i don’t want to talk about it now, could you just let it go for the night?”
both of your voices get higher and higher, just a hair’s breadth away from actual shouting. that’s when sae reels himself in, averting his gaze.
and there goes sae’s bad habit; grabbing his keys and walking out of your shared apartment, no umbrella even though it’s raining outside and he’ll get soaked just trying to walk to the car.
you can’t find it in yourself to tell him to stay safe because you’re all out of energy tonight. everything has been sucked dry into your anxiety, and you’re spent. now what can you even do besides curl up on the couch, wondering if you’re too much?
when your phone lights up, you catch the wallpaper—a picture of sae looking off camera while he presses a kiss on your head.
it just makes you feel worse.
he’s tired. his efforts are spent. on soccer, not you. but still. it’s exhausting. couldn’t you have just waited for a few more fucking hours?
he’s tired. so fucking tired.
“hey.”
it’s a lame greeting, but that’s all he can manage right now. shidou’s in his doorway, a cock in his brow and a very annoyed look on his face.
“oi, i got a girl here—”
“don’t care, i’ll just crash on the couch,” sae cuts him off, trudging through the door and settling himself on the leather black couch, the familiarity sinking in. he used to live here with shidou before he got together with you after all.
shidou mumbles something like suit yourself before he leaves his old roommate be, mulling over the remains of his relationship with you.
sae opens his phone, the picture of you at the beach that he snapped glaring at him in this dim light. he swallows the lump in his throat—he doesn’t know how to feel. part of him knows that you feel like shit each time he does this; you’ve made it known over at least three different occasions now. but his head’s throbbing way too much and his muscles are way too sore and all he really wanted was just to come home to you, to the peacefulness he always loves.
is he really the asshole here?
a notification pops up on his phone an hour later. sae’s first train of thought is to wonder if it’s you. but it’s nothing important. it’s just oliver going over the next training’s details. the same old thing. but then sae looks up at the date and he curses inwardly.
it’s your second year anniversary. two years since you’d dated this fickle, troublesome guy.
sae’s head ducks between his palms, elbows resting on his thighs, as he considers the weight of his words.
this morning he woke up without even so much as a greeting for you; all he knew was he’d be late for practice if he didn’t leave in exactly five minutes. he’d rushed out the door and only responded to your morning greeting with a grunt. sae didn’t spare you any time for the rest of the day either, when you’d attempted to ask him out for dinner. he left you on read before ultimately tossing his phone to the side. when he came back home you’d given him a kiss and he barely reacted, too tired to give you anything even when you showed him the big dinner spread you’d cooked.
now he’s here—in an apartment at the other end of the city that’s no longer his while he left you alone in your shared apartment, leaving the argument unresolved and letting you stew in your own thoughts.
sae lets the time fly right by, staring at the ceiling while he contemplates everything. but the answer is plain and simple to him: you.
he’s tired and he’s hopelessly invested in soccer and he shouldn’t have time for anything else in his life but he wants you. he doesn’t know nearly half the right things to do in whatever situations, but the thought that he could really possibly lose you this time is enough to overwhelm him—sae grabs his car keys and leaves just as shidou and his girl leaves the room.
“oi, made up already?” he shouts after him through his front door.
sae rolls his eyes and ignores him; all he needed was some time to himself anyway. he’s glad shidou wasn’t there to poison his head with anything (or more like, he wasn’t there to convince him to drink his guts off).
ten minutes later he’s in his car and speeding back to the apartment, back to you. because no, it’s not too hard for him to assure you—it’s what he should have done. just because he’s used to being the center of dating rumours doesn’t mean you are. just because he knows it’s nothing doesn’t mean you don’t get insecure because of them.
after all, he remembers what he told you that night he asked you to be his. that he’ll make sure you’re happy. being happy all the time isn’t realistic, but at the very least, sae should’ve known better than to keep leaving you alone with your thoughts.
he speeds through the familiar city roads, however fast he’s going just doesn’t seem fast enough. but he still makes it safely back to your shared apartment within twenty minutes, and hopefully still fast enough to make sure you’re not completely disappointed in him.
it’s still raining and the living room lights are still on and he can faintly make out where you’re pacing the room through the blinds. sae feels like a creep staring at you from his car, but his heart’s pounding loudly in his ears and he can’t help but think he’s seen that sleek black car parked next to his somewhere before.
keys out the ignition, rain pattering lightly on his head, he gets out only to meet who he knows has been there for you since day one.
“done running already?” the hostility of your best friend irks him, but he can’t say he didn’t earn it. “that’s faster than i thought.”
“reo.”
your visitor rakes his hand through his purple hair, sighing and rolling his eyes. thanks to sae’s busy schedule, he hasn’t really had time to hang out with any of your friends, and probably hence their usual animosity towards him. though, well, nagi seems to be more indifferent than anything.
“if you’re here to break up with her, don’t worry, i’ll take care of her,” reo tells him, an air of indifference surrounding him. three guesses who you go to whenever you feel upset about your relationship.
sae clenches his fists, reminding himself that reo’s your best friend and punching him would do more harm than good. “i won’t,” is all sae says before he pushes past him, already done with whatever this conversation is.
reo scoffs, “for a guy who loves her, you do a shit job of showing it.”
and although sae shuts the lobby doors right after, reo’s words stay ingrained in his head. it’s not like sae doesn’t know it, but fuck if he knows what to do about it. but when he opens the front door and is greeted by the sight of your red puffy eyes, he forgets everything. forgets the frustration and the anger and the stupid excuses in his head—they’re all secondary when it comes to you anyway.
his feet take him straight to you, pulling you against his chest and holding you tight.
“i’m sorry,” he says, and that’s the easiest it’s ever come out.
from your lack of response, sae finds himself hoping for the best, hoping that he didn’t just lose you because of his stupid impulses. but then he feels your arms wrap around his waist and he hears himself breathing a sigh of relief.
“you’re an ass, you know that?” you sniffle, and it’s kind of hard to breathe when he’s pressing against you that much but you’re more relieved than anything that you don’t really care.
sae chuckles, weakly, the tension leaving his shoulders. “i know.” he can feel you pouting without even having to look at you.
“i should really leave you,” you whine, though your actions betray your words, holding him even tighter.
“then why do you put up with me?” it’s a funny thing, how he can be afraid to lose you yet he can tell that you’re not someone who gives up so easily.
that’s exactly why he has to prove that you didn’t choose the wrong person to be with.
“i guess i’m just stupid too.”
you’re not. sae’s going to make sure no one else thinks you’re stupid for staying with him. it’s enough having your best friend think that, but that’s fine, sae’ll prove him wrong soon enough. it sucks that he’s only good for soccer, but at the rate you’re going? you’ll teach him how to be a good boyfriend. he’s two years in and learning slowly but he’ll get there.
you’re the only one who can get him there.
“no,” sae says, all of a sudden, and you pull away, confused.
“no what?”
“what you asked earlier… it isn’t too hard. i’ll work on it.”
oh, must be right before he left, when you’d asked if it was hard for him to just assure you sometimes. to be honest, you didn’t think he’d even listened. but sae is sae and he’s stubborn and stupid and a little bit of an ass, but he still listens to everything you say.
you try not to break out into a smile—you don’t want to show him how whipped you really are. “i’ll hold you to your word, then.”
sae smiles, ruffling the top of your head before slowly pulling you in again. “so… don’t leave me, okay?”
it sinks in what he’s saying. you didn’t think you’d ever hear sae say those kinds of words. but it’s unfair, really, because how can you say no when he’s like this?
“you already know i won’t.”
and somehow, you’re right. sae knows you won’t. doesn’t mean he’ll get caught lacking though.
“good then.”
because he plans on keeping you forever.
#bllk x reader#sae x reader#itoshi sae x reader#sae x you#itoshi sae x you#bllk x you#sae itoshi x reader#sae itoshi x you#bllk x y/n#bllk fluff#sae fluff#itoshi sae fluff#sae itoshi fluff#blue lock x reader#sae x y/n#itoshi sae x y/n#૪ aeri’s fics !
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family
carlos sainz jr x pregnant!reader
summary: your son has a few questions about why his little sister is in your belly, and carlos is happy to explain
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Lazy mornings with your little family were your favorite. You smiled to yourself as you woke to the hushed whispers of your husband and your son. As you turn to face the other side of the bed, you’re met with 2 pairs of brown puppy dog eyes and 2 identical smiles.
“Buenos dias, mama!” good morning mom your son screeched, proud of himself for using Spanish. “Buenos dias baby” you say through a smile. He latches on to your neck and you feel Carlos’ hand rubbing patterns on your stomach. “Morning hermosa” beautiful he says going in for a kiss. “How is little girl?” he asks. “Sleeping I think. She must be tired after all the kicking she did last night” you groan, recalling the many hours you were woken due to the relentless kicking in your stomach. “lo lamento, se amable con mami” i’m sorry, be nice to mommy he says leaning to talk to his unborn daughter. You just laugh and shake your head at the pout he has on his face, guiding him up by his chin to give him another kiss.
“Papa,” your little boy starts, breaking you and Carlos apart. “How did baby get in mommy’s belly?” he asks as he puts his hand over Carlos’ on your stomach. “Well hijo” son Carlos starts. “Me and mommy love each other, and we made your sister together because we love each other” he says, hoping it’s enough to settle your sons curiosity. “Like when you and mommy make pancakes together?” he asks, now moving to sit in his fathers lap. “No, not like when we make pancakes” he laughs. “He is just made out of love, baby. When 2 people love each other so much and want a little baby like you, they will make one. That’s all I can tell you” he says, avoiding a heavier subject. “But mommy, did it hurt when baby went in your tummy?” he now turns to you with fear in his eyes over the thought of you hurting. “No buddy it didn’t hurt” you assure him, ruffling his hair; but you don’t miss the smirk Carlos sends your way remembering the night in question. “So why does baby stay in mommy’s belly for so long?” he asks, now turning to look at Carlos for the answer. “That’s just where they grow buddy. Babies need lots of space to grow and the only place there is enough room is in a mommy’s tummy” he responds. “Oh” he hums, taking in all the information he’s learning. “But how does baby come out?” he goes on, his eyes lighting up when he gets another question. “When he is ready to come out me and Mommy will go to the hospital and the doctors will help her come out” Carlos answers. “But does it hurt?” your son asks, once again scared of you being hurt. “Only a little bit” you say, “but it is worth it because then we get to hold your little sister”.
As your son continues asking questions and Carlos continues tracing patterns across your stomach, you can’t help but smile at the little life you’ve created. Who knew one bed could hold so much love on a random morning.
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hope you guys enjoyed this short little blurb:) sorry it’s been so long since i’ve posted, there was a lot going on and then i started school but in honor of Carlos’ birthday AND pole today i figured i’d post something!! might clear my drafts out and post some more in the next week or so<3
also my inbox is open, so request anything if you have any ideas! or if you just want to talk to someone, feel free!
okay last thing, thank you all for the support, it’s so special to me to have people with the same interests reading and liking my work, i want to give you all hugs<333
#imagine#fluff#scenarios#carlos sainz#f1 fandom#f1 fic#formula 1#formula 1 imagine#formula one#carlos sainz x you#carlos sainz x y/n#carlos sainz x female reader#carlos sainz junior#formula one imagine#formula uno#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 drabble#f1 fanfic#family#pregnancy
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YOU(R SHOELACES) ARE PRETTY.
p — PARK SUNGHOON x gn! reader. g — fluff, meet cute. w — swearing, secondhand embarrassment because sunghoon doesn't know how to to talk to cute people. 706 words.
note — park sunghoon is a rizzless loser pass it on. PART TWO. if you enjoy loser! hoon, you might also enjoy this other series of mine.
you only came along with your friends to the skatepark because you had nothing better to do, but now you’re starting to regret that decision because for some reason— while you’re sitting on the stands all by yourself, minding your own damned business because you don’t know how to fucking skate— you’ve caught the attention of six to seven guys who don’t look very friendly.
what the hell? why are they staring? sweat starts to wet your palms as you duck down to untie and retie your shoelaces because their staring was really starting to make you uncomfortable. they look like a group of freaking delinquents. they’re definitely nothing but trouble.
but you regret taking your subtle glances off of them for a second too long because for some god damned reason, one of them started to roll up to you.
you feign ignorance, playing with the laces on your other foot because maybe he isn’t skating to your direction. maybe he’s going to make a turn to the ramps or some shit. maybe he’s just passing by and— of fuck, he’s literally three feet away from you now, and he’s got an ice cold face, and a very terrifying scowl, and he looks like he’s about to curb stomp you three feet into the ground.
he’s leering down at you with his hands in his pockets, posture leaned slightly back and confident. his thick eyebrows are slightly furrowed with a frown that’s housing a lollipop stick. he’s handsome, but he looks like he wants to fight you. he’s pretty, but he also looks like he’d call you a pretty stupid bitch. the kuromi band-aid on his cheek doesn’t make him any less intimidating. he takes out the lollipop from his with a pop!
you wince, ready to piss yourself in fear until you hear him say, “h—hey.”
his voice cracks. you look up.
“i think you’re— i think you—” you failed to notice the red staining his neck earlier, nor the sweat nervously trickling down his forehead. you should’ve known he’d be harmless from the cute bandaid decorating his cheek. all the fear you felt is melted every time he stumbles on his words, every time his cheeks grow increasingly pinker by the second, until he gives up and turns around to yell at the group he separated from to tell them to, “shut the fuck up!”
they’re cheering him on, “you can do it, sunghoon!” you’re more confused than you’ve ever been.
the guy you assume is named sunghoon snaps his head back down to face you, brows that were once knitted in annoyance quickly scrunching into a nervous jitter and he measures up a smile that matches his confidence— faltering and falling apart. you’re starting to feel bad.
“i just...i just wanted to say that i think you’re really—”
go on, you encourage him with a nod. you can do it. maybe you shouldn’t have tried to help him, because the moment you give him an assuring smile, ten million emotions flash through his face at once— shock, fluster, panic in shades of pink, rose, and cherry— until he ultimately settles with defeat when he sinks his head down with a pair of hands covering his face, but he can’t hide the color tinting his ears.
“i think...your shoelaces are pretty.”
his voice is muffled. he looks like he wants the ground to eat him.
“thank you?”
“no problem.”
sunghoon spins around, puts the lollipop back into his mouth, and kicks the ground once before letting the momentum from the roller skates slide him back to the direction where he came from, but he’s sliding slowly and pitifully enough for you to hear the, “oh god, oh no, i’m so fucking stupid, oh no—” sputtering from his mouth in quiet grumbles and hisses as his friends continue to cheer him on from a distance.
the back of his neck is still searing red. when he reaches his friends you watch as his legs give up and he sinks into the ground with a cry of anguish.
maybe you shouldn’t have judged the poor guy too quickly. maybe he just wanted to tell you that he thinks you(r shoelaces) are pretty.
YOU(R SHOELACES) ARE PRETTY.
© hannie-dul-set, 2023.
#violently pathetic coding sunghoon anyone who disagrees can fight me for it idc idc he may be a loser but he's MY loser#enhypen x reader#enhypen sunghoon x reader#park sunghoon x reader#sunghoon x reader#enhypen imagines#enhypen sunghoon imagines#park sunghoon imagines#sunghoon imagines#enhypen fluff#enhypen sunghoon fluff#park sunghoon fluff#sunghoon fluff
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When people are very young, they tend to say that they can’t wait to get older. This was not the case for Lexi, she knew what getting older meant. And today was her 22nd birthday. Seemingly, the years were going by faster than she wanted.
“What did I even do last year?” she thought to herself.
Still, today was a good day, a fun day, with friends and family coming over for dinner. And she had a great time! She was happy to see all those people. Then, her mother brought the cake. The guests singing Happy Birthday was depressing to Lexi, because it just meant another year going by.
“Why are there so many candles?” she thought. Twenty-two candles, one for every year. It was hard for her to look at.
“Make a wish!” said her mother. Lexi half-smiled to be polite, but she did wish something. She wished that she could stay twenty-two forever and when she blew on the candles, time froze. People were stuck mid-clap and mid-cheer.
A man in a suit had appeared. “Hello, Lexi. Happy Birthday.”
“Who are you?”
“Me? Don’t worry about me. I’m just here to make a deal.” He took a dramatic pause. “I know what you wished for Lexi and I can give it to you.”
“What’s the catch?”
“Smart girl. If you want to fulfill your wish, and I assure you I’ll keep my side of the bargain, you’ll need to empty your bowels right here and now in front of everybody…once they’re back to normal.”
“I-I don’t think I understood.”
“Yes, you understood just right. But that’s really the least of it. Because once the wish is activated, and you can’t take it back, you will need diapers. You will need them because you will have very obvious and public accidents. In fact, you’ll never use the bathroom again. Any time you need to go, you’ll stop what you’re doing, announce it loudly and do it. That’ll be out of your control. But, you will be twenty-two forever, as promised. No, no, stop pinching yourself, this is real. You can tell this is real. So what will be Lexi? You’ll have just a few seconds, so be quick.”
“No, no, wait!” cried Lexi, rising from her seat.
With that, the man snapped his fingers, disappeared and everything else returned to normal. Lexi hesitated for a moment, but felt the pressure in her stomach and decided to push.
“Are you okay, dear?” asked her mother.
It was surprisingly easy to push. She did have to grunt and turn red, but it certainly was coming out..
“I did it.” Lexi mumbled to herself. “Oh god.”
Everyone was coming to the realization of what had happened. Needless to say, they were all stunned. The smell hit them too.
“Thank you all for coming.” Lexi’s mother said. “We’ll just do some clean-up. Come on, Lexi.”
The guests looked at each other as Lexi left the room to change.
“Uh-oh! I’m making tinkles!” Lexi shouted from her bedroom. And instead of doing anything to stop it, she stared at the puddle forming at her feet. What an odd sensation. She hadn’t been able to stop herself yet felt it thoroughly as it was happening.
Soon enough, Lexi was back in diapers announcing she was making “oopsie-daisies”, “messies” or “accidents” to anyone within earshot. Like telling her boyfriend “Daddy, I had an accident!” when they were shopping at the mall, or saying “Mommy, I went in my diapie!” to her mother while eating at a restaurant. So much for being twenty-two.
#ab/dl caption#ab/dl girl#ab/dl community#ab/dl fiction#ab/dl stories#diaper stories#diaper captions
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pairing: early seasons!spencer reid x sunshine!fem!reader
genre: fluff, pining, best friends to lovers
warnings: reader struggles growing her nails out, reader gets her nails done. vietnamese women are the best at doing nails i swear (also if you get the reference you win another kiss)
wc: 1.08k
Spencer thinks you deserve all the best things in life. There are various reasons for this but the one that sticks out to him the most is that fact that you have always been exceedingly kind to him. You have always listened to him when he talks and never once tried to belittle him for any of his interests. A part of him thinks that it’s because your ages are so similar. Another part of him thinks that you’re just pitying him. He truly hopes that isn’t the case.
He makes you your coffee in the mornings. He knows how you take it– which milk you prefer, the amount of sugar. He has even gone as far as to buy your favourite instant coffee brand– the kind that are unreasonably expensive and have to be bought through a weirdly sketchy website despite its raving reviews. He remembers the way your eyes lit up as you held the familiar box excitedly and he can’t help but preen at the memory.
“Thank you for coffee, Spence,” you chirp as you spy your unofficially assigned mug on your desk. You’re wet from the rain, the shoulders of your coat darkened from where your umbrella has dripped water onto it. “Hotch would’ve killed me if I had to spend another five minutes at the kitchen. It’s not my fault my train came fifteen minutes late.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, watching as you shake your hair away from your face before warming your hands with the mug. “I did tell him that there was a correlation between rainy weather and increased train delays which could have been a reason that you were late.”
You smile, clearly amused, asking, “how did he take it?”
“He pointed out that I’m still earlier than the rest of the team,” Spencer responds sheepishly, his cheeks growing pink. “I planned my train route for when the rain would be the least heavy.”
“I should follow in your footsteps,” you muse, sipping at your coffee and sighing in relief. “You always make this better than me.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he murmurs, his hand brushing against his scarf. “I was– um, I was wondering if you wanted to get lunch together later?”
You laugh softly and he relishes in the sound. “I only just got here and you’re already asking about lunch?”
He feels his cheeks glow hotter as he scrambles to explain himself. “Well– usually– uh, JJ usually asks you so I guess I wanted to ask before she did. And you have lunch with Garcia a lot so I thought I should ask when you get here and– sorry, is that wrong?”
“No, of course not,” you assure, beaming. “I’m touched that you think that I’m so popular that you need to book an appointment with me.”
“You are popular?” He says it like a question because a part of him is genuinely baffled that you don’t realise how well liked you are. He has found that you always manage to command the attention in the room and he has seen first hand the way people would be instantly drawn to you. He finds that he is no different.
“I promise you that I am not as popular as you believe I am,” you say with another laugh. “I’m flattered though, truly. I’d love to have lunch with you.”
Spencer cannot stop smiling.
***
“You’re whipped.”
Spencer shoots JJ a look, his cheeks glowing hot with embarrassment. “I am not whipped.”
“You have been staring at her talking to Officer Deetmore for the past six minutes and twenty seven seconds,” she points out, her eyes narrowing.
“They’re probably just making small talk.”
Emily shrugs from her desk, mixing her cup noodles around. “I don’t know, I’m surprised that she can hold a conversation with someone so intellectually disinclined.”
JJ snickers. “You’re just mad that he mislabeled a file and spread the profile.”
“Intellectually disinclined.”
“Guys,” Spencer pleads, inconspicuously gesturing to you saying your farewells and already heading in their direction.
You’re smiling although it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Your arms are folded over your chest, a classic sign of discomfort, and your hands are tucked into your armpits. “Hey. What’s going on?”
“Are you alright?” Spencer asks instead of answering, soft enough as not to call attention to your little group. “What’s wrong?”
“Hm? Oh. I broke a nail.” You show him briefly– your natural nail has split at the corner just where they’re gaining length. “I’m a little bummed. It caught on the zipper of my go-bag.”
“Do you want to get your nails done after the case?” He asks, brows furrowing. “I have a nail clipper and file in my bag.”
JJ can’t help but be amused at this new fact. “You have a nail care pack in your bag? What, do you just take it around with you everywhere?”
He shrugs, ignoring the slight jab, pulling out the little pack from his satchel and handing it to you. He is well aware that you take pride in what you look like, especially your nails. You’ve told him the reason before, that your school was so strict that they wouldn’t let anyone grow their nails long and if they did they would be cut short by the nurse. He thinks that it’s borderline abuse.
“Manicures are expensive,” you murmur, your eyes downcast as you focus on clipping each of your nails to an equal length. “Are we even allowed to have our nails done?”
“Federal Enforcement Resources states under grooming guidelines that ‘Makeup (including fingernail polish and artificial nails) may be worn by employees but must be professional and must not interfere with the proper use and handling of equipment necessary for their assigned duties’,” Spencer provides helpfully. “I can pay for your nails, too, if price is the issue. The bakery I buy my banh mi from has a nail place next door. I’m sure I can get a discount.”
You laugh as you file down your nails into a smooth edge. “You want to pay for my nails?”
“Oh, um, yeah.” He nods, cheeks suddenly hot and he wipes his palms on his slacks. “If you’d let me.”
“Gosh, well, at least take me out to dinner first, Spence.” You say it with jest, your eyes lighting up with mirth.
He doesn’t seem to catch your joking tone, nodding in earnest. “Alright. After the case, how does Saturday sound? I can pick you up at 6?”
Emily and JJ are all too pleased.
reblogs are always appreciated !!
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader fluff#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds x reader fluff#criminal minds fluff#matthew gray gubler#matthew gray gubler x reader#matthew gray gubler x reader fluff#matthew gray gubler fluff
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How Do I Get You Alone? 2
Pairing: Peter Parker X Stark!Reader
Synopsis: you and Peter can’t seem to communicate effectively after the kiss
Part one
Masterlist
“Honey, can you get that? It’s Peter.” Tony asked you when FRIDAY alerted you that someone was waiting in the lobby.
“And you want me to bring him up? Why can’t you do it?” You panicked over the thought of being alone with Peter after your last conversation.
“Because I’m the belle of the ball and the belle does not bring her own guests up from the lobby. She has other people do it for her. Plus, I don’t want Peter to see my outfit until he’s up here.” Tony explained as he adjusted his tie.
“You’re such a diva. And why do you also make yourself a girl in these scenarios?” You asked as you went over to the elevator.
“Don’t call me that!” Tony called after you. You rolled your eyes and took the elevator down to the lobby. Peter had been nervously fiddling with his shirt and did a double take when you stepped off the elevator. You smiled weakly at him and smoothed down your dress.
“Oh. Hi.” Peter said as his face reddened.
“Hi. Sorry, my dad asked me to come get you.”
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“Oh. Right.” You smiled tightly. “Well, come on in. Dinners almost ready.”
“What did your dad make?” Peter asked as you stepped into the elevator.
“Well, my dad hasn’t “made” anything since he found out there weren’t real raspberries in raspberry toaster strudels. But our chef made gnocchi.”
“Fuck yes.” Peter whispered to himself.
“What was that?”
“I said that sounds delicious.” He lied. You rode up in silence for a minute as you watched him. He was keeping his eyes on the ground and you could tell he wasn’t thrilled that you were with him.
“Look, Peter, I know you’re upset about the way our conversation went the other day and I really want a chance to explain myself.” You said as you stepped in front of him.
“You don’t have to explain anything. I understand.” Peter said calmly.
“You do?”
“Yeah. The kiss was a heat of the moment thing and you just want to forget it happened. And I am totally okay with that.” Peter said and forced a smile. It wasn’t actually how he felt, just something he had told himself to say to avoid anymore crushing disappointment or awkwardness.
“You’re okay with that? With pretending it never happened?” You asked and felt the same level of disappointment Peter had felt.
“Yeah.” Peter lied. “Why wouldn’t I be? I won’t hold you to anything you did during a high pressure situation. I think we both want to move on and pretend it never happened. So let’s just forget about it.”
“If that’s what you want.” You nodded stiffly and stepped to the side so that you could hide how disappointed you felt over hearing him say that.
“If that’s what you want.” Peter shrugged and suddenly felt unsure of his plan. He was no longer confident that he correctly guessed how you wanted to proceed.
“Is that what you want?” Peter asked quietly after a beat of silence. Before you could answer, the elevator doors opened to the dinning room.
“Peter’s here!” Tony cheered. “Come in, come in. Sit down. I hope you’re hungry.”
“Always.” Peter’s smiled graciously as he sat in the seat beside Tony.
“Aw. I know, kid. Times are hard.” Tony said sympathetically and patted Peter’s hand.
“Oh, no, not like that. I eat enough food at home.” Peter assured him.
“Aw, yes you do.“ Tony cooed and patted his hand again. Meanwhile, you were about to take the seat next to Morgan when Pepper sat down. Now the only empty chair was the one next to Peter and you were not about to make this dinner anymore awkward than it already was. Peter made eye contact with you and gave you a sympathic smile.
“Oh. Sorry, mom. I was gonna sit next to Morgan and help her eat.” You said and gestured for her to move.
“I can use a fork all by myself now.” Morgan said proudly and held up a spoon.
“That’s a spoon. I should probably just pull up a chair next to her.” You said and went to go grab another chair.
“Honey, just sit next to Peter.” Pepper said and gestured to the only open seat.
“Okay. I will. But not because I want to.” You announced as you took the seat.
“Sweetheart. Manners.” Pepper whispered to you. You took the seat next to Peter and avoided eye contact.
“I’m not being rude.” You defended. “I’m just saying that I’m only sitting next to Peter because I have no other option.”
“Have you two been spending time together? Because that’s 100% something Peter would say.” Tony laughed in amusement as you and Peter panicked.
“What? Spending time together? That’s crazy. Why would we do that?” Peter sputtered out while you nodded in agreement.
“But you went to Peter’s apartment a few weeks ago, right Y/n? You told me that when I asked you why you kept changing your clothes.” Morgan asked you.
“So you remember that but can’t remember not to put both legs in the same pant leg?” You sassed her.
“Woah. The girls are fighting. It’s okay, Morgan. Pants are confusing.” Pepper assured her youngest daughter.
“Oh, so is that why you were bugging me for his address for days? You wanted to visit?” Tony asked you, making you hang your head in defeat.
“For days, huh? You must’ve really wanted to find me.“ Peter smiled in amusement as he looked over at you.
“Oh, yeah. It was all she could talk about after the earthquake. She was begging me to find your addresses but all I could remember about it was that it was an old brick building with a very strange doorman. And that describes most apartment buildings in your neck of the woods. She eventually gave up on me and had FRIDAY track your suit down. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was trying to find you so she could go kill you.” Tony shrugged and took a bite of his pasta.
“And you didn’t try to stop her?” Peter asked him.
“I like to let my daughters express themselves however they choose.” Tony answered. “But why did you need to go to his apartment, anyway, sweet pea?”
“Because I wanted to talk to him but we never exchanged numbers so I had to drop in like it was the 1950s.” You said and hoped that would stop the conversation there.
“You never exchanged numbers? That’s not good. What if you needed to contact each other for an emergency?” Pepper pointed out.
“Yeah. You should do that right now.” Tony agreed and gestured between the two of you.
“Dad, I’m not giving him my number. We’re eating dinner. We can do it later.” You grumbled. Peter couldn’t help but smirk at seeing the brattier side of you.
“What if we forget? Come on. Just exchange now. I’ll feel better knowing you guys can reach each other in case of an emergency.”
“Fine. Here.” You sighed and handed over your phone to Peter.
“What’s with the animosity?”Tony wondered. “I thought you guys finally liked each other after the earthquake?”
“Like each other? We do not like each other. That’s ridiculous.” You insisted as Peter turned bright red.
“You don’t?”Tony frowned. “But you went on and on about how Peter protected you during the earthquake. And Happy said that you asked him to tell you anytime Peter called with updates.”
“You asked Happy to tell you if I called?” Peter couldn’t help but smile as he asked you.
“I just wanted to know if you were okay.” You asked quietly.
“I’ve been fine.”Peter shrugged. “There hasn’t been another earthquake or anything.”
“Oh, no. She asked Happy for that long before the earthquake. It was a couple months ago, right princess?” Tony asked you. You glared at him and wondered if he was doing this on purpose.
“Why would you ask Happy for updates on me months ago?” Peter asked with genuine confusion now.
“I don’t know, Peter. I don’t have all the answers. I’m not Bing.”
“Ew. Who uses Bing?” Tony grimaced.
“I do. Excuse me. I’ll be right back.” You said and abruptly left the table. Everyone exchanged looks but shrugged it off and went back to eating. Peter pushed his food around with his fork for a minute before excusing himself and going after you. He found you in your room, a place he had never been in before. You were sitting on your bed and hugging a pillow to your chest as you stared at the ground. Peter knocked on the doorframe and you jumped.
“Hey. I thought you might want this.” Peter said and held up your phone.
“Oh. Thanks.” You said sheepishly and held out your hand for him to give it back.
“No problem. You got a text, by the way.” Peter said with a smirk. You looked at him curiously before reading the text on your screen.
“How are things going with lover boy?” You read out loud with zero amusement in your voice. You looked up at Peter with an annoyed look and he just shrugged.
“That’s not about you.” You scoffed.
“Oh, it’s not? Is there a different lover boy coming over that I should know about?” Peter asked sarcastically and pointed behind him.
“No. Because you don’t need to know anything about me.” You snapped and got off your bed.
“I don’t know why you’re pissed at me. I don’t think I did anything wrong here. You’re the one who kissed me.” Peter pointed out, growing angry now.
“I know I was. And I’m so sorry because I can tell how much you hated it.” You said sarcastically.
“I hated it?” Peter laughed in shock. “You’re the one who said it didn’t mean anything to you. But don’t worry, I didn’t tell anyone about it. I know how much it meant to you that no one found out.”
“Peter, I don’t care if you told your weirdo little friend about our kiss.” You whined. “I only said that so you didn’t tell Happy or my dad or something.”
“Why would I tell your dad that we kissed?”
“You told my dad when your six piece chicken nugget had eight pieces.”
“But how would that have happened? They don’t sell eight piece nuggets. It’s either four, six, or ten. There is no eight nugget option.”
“Someone probably just put a few extra in your box on accident.”
“You sound just like your dad.” Peter mumbled.
“Can we please just get through this dinner and move on with our lives?” You sighed.
“Yes. That’s fine. I know how badly you want the dinner to end so that you never have to see me again.” Peter said with a roll of his eyes.
“When did I ever say I didn’t want to see you anymore?” You asked in exasperation.
“You’ve made it pretty clear.”
“Why are you so mad at me? What did I even do to you?” You genuinely asked him.
“You kissed me!” Peter shouted and pointed to himself. You fell silent for a moment at how desperate he sounded but then fired back.
“You kissed me back.” You pointed out.
“It’s not the same.” Peter shook his head and quieted down. “That’s not the same.”
“How is that not the same?” You shrugged and folded your arms.
“Because I liked you!” Peter raised his voice again. Your eyebrows went up in surprise as he retreated into himself.
“I liked you for years and you finally kissed me and then didn’t want to talk about it. You asked me to forget it ever happened.” Peter said quietly.
“But you’re the one who said it forget about it. You’re the one who said it was just a heat of the moment thing. You’re the one who said we should pretend it never happened. I never said any of that.” You said in a soft voice. Peter looked up at you and replayed the conversation in his head. When he realized you were absolutely right, he felt guilty for yelling at you.
“Well….yes.” He said weakly. You were both silent for a long time as neither of you knew what to say. You had been avoiding eye contact with each other until you stepped closer to him.
“You liked me?” You asked him.
“Yeah. I did.” Peter shrugged and looked into your eyes. He knew there was no point in taking it back now.
“Did?” You asked in a sad voice. “Did” meant that he no longer felt that way. Before Peter could answer you, Tony appeared in the doorway.
“Hey, are you guys gonna be eating dessert because Morgan’s been eying your cake and I honestly can’t promise it’ll be there when we go back. That girl is a beast.” Tony blew out a breath. You and Peter looked at each other for a split second before looking away.
“No. I’m gonna head out early.” Peter answered. “Thank you for the dinner, Mr. Stark. It was lovely.”
“Oh, I didn’t make it.” Tony laughed. “I haven’t made anything in months. Did you know that the raspberry in raspberry toaster strudels isn’t real?”
“Goodnight, Mr. Stark.” Peter smiled weakly at him and headed for the door.
“Night, kid. Tell your yummy aunt I said hi.” Tony called after him. You let out a sigh once Peter had left and sat back down on your bed.
“What do you think about Peter?” Tony asked now that Peter was gone.
“What? I don’t think about him.” You scoffed. “I wouldn’t care even if he broke all his legs and arms and had to wear a full body cast.”
Tony let out a little chuckle and shook his head when he heard this.
“What?” You wondered.
“Nothing. I just realized why I sought Peter out to add him to the team despite him having 0 experience and almost no discernible skills outside of being sticky.”
“Why?”
“He reminds me of my daughter.” Tony said with a fond smile. You couldn’t help but smile as well and nod your head.
“Daddy…” You began and trailed off. Tony took a seat beside you and patted your hand.
“I know, kid. I know.” Tony said with a sympathetic smile.
“Was it obvious?” You asked sheepishly.
“Yes. Neither of you are good at hiding things.” Tony replied. “Also, I watched the security footage in the lab from the day of the earthquake. I’m not sure how watching him wolf down baby carrots didn’t give you the ick.”
“I don’t know either. But it was just one kiss. It didn’t mean anything. And it’s never going to happen again. I’m pretty sure he hates me now.” You sighed and looked down at your hands.
“I don’t know about that. Did you know that every time he calls to update Happy about what he’s been up to, he asks about how you’re doing?” Tony asked you.
“He does?”
“Oh, yeah.” Tony nodded. “I wouldn’t worry about him hating you. But you do need to tell him how you feel. Annoying little nerds are all over this city, but ones like him are rare.”
“And you’ll be okay with it?” You asked skeptically.
“With you having a conversation with him, yes. But if a romance begins to bud and or blossom, I’m gonna have to have a word with him.” Tony informed you.
“Fair enough. I love you, dad.” You smiled and rested your head on his shoulder.
“Love you too, kid.” Tony replied. “Now let’s go eat some cake that someone else made.
A few days after the dinner, Peter returned to the tower and went straight to the robotics lab to continue working on something for his suit. He put his earbuds in and played his music so loudly that he never heard you come in. He only noticed you when you waved your hand in front of his face to get his attention. He burned bright pink as he pulled his earbuds out.
“Oh, hi. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in. Here for another inspection?”
“No.” You said simply and Peter blushed a little at the implication that you were there to see him. You gave him an apologetic smile and he returned it to show that you weren’t there for another fight. You walked over to his side of the table and put one of his earbuds in your ears.
“What are you listening to?” You asked him.
“Oh, uh, just some indie song I found.” Peter shrugged. You pressed play on his phone and One Less Lonely Girl by Justin Bieber began to play in your ears.
“Oh. Yeah. Very indie.” You smirked and took the earbud out.
“His old stuff was really good.” Peter mumbled.
“Oh, I know. I still listen to “Somebody To Love” all the time.”
“Did you need something? Because I don’t think you came in here to talk about Justin Bieber.”
“I did, actually.”
“Oh.” Peter’s smiled dropped when he heard how serious you sounded.
“I’m kidding. Sorry. I meant to sound sarcastic but it came out really genuine.” You smiled in embarrassment.
“It’s okay. I hear thats a symptom of Bieber fever.” Peter said seriously, making you laugh.
“So, I wanted to talk about the other day. All three of ther days, actually. But it seems like you and I can’t have moments without getting interrupted.”
“Just like that girl in that Ben Afleck movie.” Peter said with a weak smile.
“What Ben Alfeck movie?”
“Girl, Interrupted.” Peter answered.
“Ben Afleck isn’t in that. Are you thinking of Gone Girl?”
“Are we gonna talk about the kiss or what?” Peter asked to change the subject.
“Yes.” You blew out a breath. “We are.”
Peter nodded and gestured to you to go first. You sighed and looked him in the eyes.
“When I came over the other day, I had a lot more to say then just asking you not to tell anyone. And the only reason I didn’t want you to tell anyone was because I didn’t want it getting back to my dad until we knew what we were. I didn’t know at that point if the kiss was a one time thing or if we were gonna be something more. I just wanted it to stay between us until I knew for sure where we stood. And I was going to tell you that I wanted to figure it out together and see where things went. But then I panicked and felt too embarrassed to explain all of that and then you looked so sad so I felt bad but then you made that joke about the seaplane and I could tell you onyl said it to make me feel better about making you feel bad so then I felt even worse and then your little friend came over and kept talking about TJ Maxx and I just had to get out of there.” You said all in one breath.
“Woah. That was the most amount of words you ever said to me at once.” Peter blinked in surprise.
“I know.”You laughed lightly. “And I’m not even done yet, believe it or not.”
“Go on. Before another natural disaster happens or a person walks in. And I honestly don’t know which would be worse.”
“Look, Peter, I never meant to make it seem like the kiss meant nothing to me. It did mean something. You mean something. I would not have kissed you if it didn’t mean anything to me.” You told him.
“So it wasn’t just a kiss just because you thought you were gonna die and needed some comfort and the only source around was your dad’s weird child friend?” He asked for reassurance.
“I did think I was gonna die.” You admitted. “I just didn’t want to die without ever getting the chance to kiss you. Which is something I had been wanting to do for a while.”
“It is?” Peter asked as you took a step closer to him and rested your hands on his chest.
“I don’t open up to people a lot. I don’t like letting my guard down. And I definitely don’t like having mushy feelings for some dumb boy that my dad found on YouTube a couple years ago.”
“Aw.” Peter said sarcastically.
“But I liked you. I have for a while.” You admitted. “And I didn’t think I could be the cool, collected, stoic bosses daughter if I had some schoolgirl crush. So I pushed it down and acted cold towards you while secretly wondering what your lips felt like.”
“And how did they feel?” Peter asked with a shy smile.
“Incredibly moisturized to the point they were almost slippery and I’m pretty sure whatever lipbalm you use has glitter in it because it was all over my face afterwards.”
“You’re welcome.” Peter smirked.
“And I’m sorry about the fight too. I had no idea how to act around you after the kiss and I kept making things worse.”
“No, the fight was my fault. I assumed you regretted the kiss and wanted to forget about it but never actually asked how you felt. I put words in your mouth and then got mad at you for them. I was just feeling emo that after all these years of pinning after you, we had a kiss that led to nothing.”
“It doesn’t have to lead to nothing.” You smiled coyly as you wrapped your arms around his torso. Peter took that as his cue to lean in and kiss you without the threat of a natural disaster looking over your heads. He couldn’t help but smile into the kiss as he put his hands on his face to pull you closer. When you pulled away, you rubbed your lips together to try to decipher the flavor of his lip balm.
“Cherry?” You asked him.
“Cherry Blossom Bliss.” He corrected. “The tube is pink and it’s shaped like lipstick.”
“I thought so.” You chuckled.
“So, what does this mean for us? Are we still keeping it a secret or should I call my seaplane guy back?” Peter asked you.
“I want to give us a try. I mean, we survived an earthquake together. I think we can survive telling my dad that we’re dating.”
“I think so too.” He grinned and leaned in to kiss you again.
“Wouldn’t it be funny if there was a tornado right now?” He asked once you pulled away. You threw your hands up in defeat and left the lab entirely.
“Come on.”Peter called after you. “It would be a little funny.”
Tag List 🏷️
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Some Canon/Not So Canon König💋HeadCanons💋 (NSFW Included • MDNI)
AN: These Are Just my thoughts and opinions of what I imagine König would be like IRL. I divided everything up into sections and there is a whole section dedicated to NSFW headcanons, so PLEASE…MDNI this is for the adults. Also, there is great mention of the words “wife” and “girlfriend” as I write this from the perspective of a woman.
Likes, Reblogs, & Positive Comments Are Greatly Appreciated 🫶🏼
Some MORE Canon/Not So Canon König 💋Headcanons💋 HERE
Enjoy! 💋
🪖General Personality/Physical Appearance🪖
♡ Contrary to popular belief, I don’t think König is 6’10, he’s definitely gigantic but I would put him at around 6’5 - 6’7.
♡ Also contrary to popular belief, I do genuinely think that social anxiety and overall insecurity is something he grows out of overtime. While overcoming all of this was no easy feat, he’s learned to be more self assured and makes sure everyone Around him knows that he is HIM. His confidence really shines through in his duties as Colonel and his physical capabilities. Some may view him as cocky or arrogant, but he’s just really proud of the work he’s done on himself 🤷🏼♀️
♡ He’s definitely a HUGE nerd, but he wears that shit with pride. He loves reading classic literature, is great at math, and probably plays dungeons and dragons. Definitely spends hours on end finishing puzzles and building shit for his cats 😂
♡ Muscular AF. Huuuuge muscular arms, toned chest and defined thighs. I don’t think he has “washboard” abs, you can see them mainly when he flexes, his tummy is a bit soft 🥰 He goes to the gym at least 5 days a week
♡ Despite wearing a mask, I think König is more than likely very handsome. Strong jawline, chiseled facial features, a perfectly imperfect smile. He’s probably got an old school charm about him, the kind that can make a woman weak in the knees with just one look, especially with those eyes 😮💨
♡ 100% a cat Dad. Most likely has an unhinged orange cat and a black cat. In general I think he adores animals and spends most of his free time with his cats
♡ Veeeeeerrry good with money. Has been saving since he joined the military and treats himself and his girlfriend or wife to many luxuries. He 100% loves to spoil the people he loves and has prepared so that they never have to want for anything.
♡ Comes off stone cold until you get to know him, but it’s mostly because he has RBF without his mask 🤣
♡ Tells like…really bad dad jokes that he can’t finish without laughing hysterically, and his laugh is so insane that it causes others to laugh
♡ He’s definitely happiest at home. He’s an introvert, but can and will go out and socialize if he needs to. Prefers a gathering at a friend or family members house as opposed to a bar or club
♡ Loves his Bier. Will usually have one after a long day of training recruits while he watches some random show he stumbled on while flipping channels.
♡ If he gets drunk everyone knows because he will start going on and on about how much he loves the people he’s around, which is something they don’t hear too often, if at all, unless you are his wife or girlfriend
💗In a Relationship/Family Life💗
♡ Again, lol, contrary to popular belief…I think König would be more attracted to a woman with voluptuous curves. Not too petite and not too curvaceous, but somewhere in between.
♡ König would be the best boyfriend ever…but he’d also be stubborn af.
♡ When arguing with his SO, he’ll often get frustrated easily and kinda shut down, but once he takes a few minutes to himself to think things through, he really enjoys communicating and having an open dialogue about whatever you were fighting about
♡ CUDDLES GALORE. He wants to be all over his girl at allllll times. Not really one for extreme PDA, but behind closed doors he cannot seem to get his hands off of you.
♡ Loves when you cook for him, and loves to cook for you. Loves it even more when you cook together!
♡ Expensive gifts for absolutely no reason at all. Will literally stand behind his SO as they browse their favourite stores online and take mental notes of the things you say you like. Don’t be surprised when that $2000 hand bag you adored shows up at your front door.
♡ Is an incredible father. Prides himself on being a hands on dad. Will do practically anything for his children, and teaches them German at a very young age. Ensures they are well equipped to handle the bullshit life may throw at them, but tries his best to prevent any of said bullshit from coming their way.
♡ Never yells at his wife or their children. Generally hates conflict and will do what he can to resolve anything.
♡ His wife/girlfriend is the most important thing in the world to him. He would do anything for her, and anything to protect her
♡ 100% scary bf privilege. You can go out and do whatever you please and no one fucks with you because they know König is only a call or text away and he can and will get rid of you without anyone even noticing
😈In the Bedroom😈
♡ Remember when I said he was gigantic? His height isn’t the only thing I’m talking about 😩😮💨🤭 That man is blessed and highly favoured.
♡ He’s at least 8 inches hard, uncut, and veiny. He doesn’t shave everything off, but he always ensures he’s well groomed.
♡ He loves making love to you, but he loves fucking you even more.
♡ Passionate as fuck. Worships every inch of your body from head to toe.
♡ He loves to tease his SO. Spends as much time as he can getting to know just what gets her hot. Watching every jolt of her body as his lips suck on certain spots. Listening to every moan and whimper as his fingers grope and squeeze her soft flesh. He wants you to be so wet you’re practically begging to take every inch of his massive cock, and even then, he won’t give it to you until you ask for it in German 🤭
♡ Could spend hours eating your pussy. Wants to make sure you cum at least 5 times before he even thinks about getting himself off. He will eat you out any time, anywhere — bedroom, laundry room, kitchen counter, you name it
♡ Loves the look on your face when you see him in uniform. He knows it gets your heart racing, and he loves fucking you with his sniper hood on.
♡ He adores the look on your face as his long thick rod stretches you open. The widening, glossy eyes, your mouth hung slightly open as his hardness fills your tight wet pussy.
♡ He loves talking dirty. “I know you like that.”, “is this what you wanted?”, “good girl, look at you taking this fat cock so well”, “such a good little slut”
♡ He loves getting rough, so long as you allow it. He loves choking you while he’s balls deep inside you, grinding his thick tip against your cervix as you let out small breathless moans
♡ Loves watching how small you are beneath him, loves watching your tits bounce up and down as he ploughs his cock into you over and over
♡ Loves watching your ass jiggle as he slams into you from behind, your hair wrapped around his wrist as he fucks you mercilessly
♡ Loves fucking you in front of a full length mirror so you can see how pretty you look taking his long fat cock
♡ Loves cumming inside you or in your pretty little mouth, on your knees while you look up at him and swallow his seed like a good girl 😍
♡ Provides the BEST aftercare. Takes a nice warm bath or shower with you, carrying you off back into bed once you’ve dried off. Plenty of cuddles in those big strong arms of his, and lots of head/cheek kisses. Whispered praises of how amazing you are, and how much he loves you. Will bring up some of your favourite snacks or chef up an entire meal for afterwards
#konig call of duty#könig x reader#konig mw2#konig cod#konig smut#headcanon#konig#konig x you#konig modern warfare#konig x reader#könig#könig call of duty#könig cod#könig fanfiction#könig headcanons#könig x you#könig mw2#könig smut#konig headcanons#cod x reader#cod modern warfare#könig x y/n#konig x y/n#headcanons#cod mwii#18+ mdni#mdni#18+ content#18+ only#18+ post
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