‧₊˚♪ 𝄞₊˚⊹ haii I'm liv pronouns she/her and I specialise in writing x reader fanfics. I'm 16 years old (sorry if I don't post much school is heavy)
.☘︎ ݁˖ I mostly make sfw fluff fanfics. You can ask for nsfw but trust me, I'm TERRIBLE at it😭 (if you request nsfw give a gender pls I'm so bad at gender neutral nsfw💔💔)
⋆.𐙚 ̊ requests are open and if you have any ideas please feel free 2 request!!
Taken anons: 🍏🫀
.•°. I started writing fanfics cause:
- of my c.ai addiction and this helps me stay away from the app. fuck ai!!😼
- to help me with my writing 🥹
⋆˚✿˖° what I don't do:
- non-consensual
- adult x minor
- incest
- rough nsfw (I don't have a problem with it I just gen can't write it without tweaking 😓 I'm better with softer, intimate-based nsfw. Which I already probably won't so often)
hi!! i absolutely adore your ryan ross writing 😭 i was wondering if i could request a fluffy ryan ross x fem!reader?
reader is the type of person who absolutely melts when someone scratches her back. one day they’re just cuddling or hanging out and she shyly asks ryan if he could scratch her back for a bit. he’s a little confused at first but does it anyway, and she immediately relaxes and practically falls asleep in his lap. i feel like he’d tease her a little about how easy she is to make sleepy, but secretly think it’s really cute and end up doing it whenever she asks (or even before she asks).
thank you so much if you decide to write this!! 🫶sending loves n hearts heh
yay new anon👀👀 of course you can be 🫀 anon🥹🥹🥹🫰🫰
ryan ross x reader
warnings: just fluff, established relationship
You were curled up against Ryan, one of his arms comfortably draped around you and his head leaning back against the couch pillows. The blanket placed over the both of you made you feel his warmth more than you usually did. He had chosen some random dvd in his closet and put on a film.
You weren't quite watching, just enjoying Ryan's presence as his eyes stayed locked on the television and his fingers fidgeting with the locks of your hair.
Despite it almost hitting midnight, you couldn't fall asleep for the life of you. Turning your head to glance at Ryan, he felt your gaze and finally broke his eyes away from the television.
"Ryan?"
"mhm?" He hummed, eyes scanning over your features. His fingers shifting in your hair.
"can you..." You trailed off, honestly overthinking the question in your head.
"can I what?" He tilted his head, lips quirking up in amusement.
"don't know... scratch my back?" "or something..." You murmured quietly.
Ryan's head perked back up, he was curious...but he wasn't going to question what you wanted^^
His hand slid out of your hair and trailed behind towards your back. His short nails and calloused fingertips grazed your back as his eyes flicked back to the television. But his gaze immediately returned when he felt you practically melting towards him.
He raised an eyebrow, watching as your head fell into his lap, your fingers going limp and letting go of the light grip you had on his shirt. He had zero idea it was that easy to get you to fall asleep. But yet he couldn't help but smile.
He couldn't keep his eyes on the television anymore, his eyes staying locked on your sleeping form as his fingers still massaged your back slowly.
The next time you came over, Ryan's thoughts gripped the memory of you falling asleep by something as simple as gentle back scratching. As you laid against him once again as he wrote in some notebook. The sound of his pen scratching the paper reminded him of how easy it was to make you fall asleep.
He glanced over at you, grip releasing from the book and pen. You met his gaze, confused as to why his interest shifted so fast? But just like you craved, Ryan's nails slowly ran in circles over your back.
No, he was smiling at you in amusement. He was so only teasing. But yet, the wave of sleepiness still hit you and yet you couldn't help but relax against his touch.
Ryan watched, his chest warming up at the sight. His amused smile faded into something softer as he began feeling a little sleepy too. ^^
hii i love ur new Jon walker fic could u like write the same idea for ryro pls🥹
okok sure ofc👀👀😽😽😽
ryan ross x reader
warnings: just fluff, established relationship.
description: you wake up beside Ryan and he really doesnt want you to leave bed^^
You rolled onto a different side as you stirred awake, shifting towards whatever warmth was beside you. Your nose brushed Ryan and that's when you remembered he had fallen asleep beside you last night. As your eyes fluttered open, the sunlight shone directly into your eyes, making you flinch.
He was still sound asleep, quite a deep-sleeper; One arm awkwardly draped around you, hair all messed up around the pillow. His lips were slightly parted, his breathing soft and even.
You smiled, eyes flickering to the clock. As you kicked the comforter off and sat up, Ryan definitely subconsciously felt the absence of warmth. His arm tightened around you, trying to pull you back down into bed.
"it's really early, where you goin'?" he murmured, eyes half-lidded.
"it's not that early."
"mh.. whatever, don't go." He just mumbled, blurting out whatever his brain processed.
You caved, lying back down beside him. "Alright, fine.."
Ryan doesn't respond, he's too busy curling back up against you. Feeling your warmth radiating off of you, his body only responded with more warmth towards his chest.
He fell back asleep pretty easily. You could tell, his breathing evening out, his lips falling back into that parted shape. When you shifted, his fingers slowly dug into your clothes unconsciously like he desperately didn't want you to leave. Not like you were planning to now..^^
description: you wake up beside Jon and he doesn't want you to leave bed
Your eyes fluttered open, the early morning sunlight beaming through the window shined straight into your eyes. Feeling a familiar calming warmth beside you, you turned and saw Jon, still asleep and curled up in the comforter you shared.
With nothing else to do, your eyes scanned over his features; The sunlight that melted through the strands of his messy hair, the stubble he was yet to shave, everything.
Watching as he stirred a bit, his unconscious self only shifted closer to you. He slowly woke up, eyes blinking awake before he nuzzled himself into you. He was still really tired.
You stayed with him until you heard his breathing even out. As you slowly sat up to get out of bed, a hand grasped your arm.
"..where are you going?" Jon murmured, voice rough with sleep. His eyes were only half open but yet still desperate.
"..just gonna eat breakfast." You shrugged, slightly amused by how he was acting.
"stay." He frowned, pulling you back with all the strength he could muster up after just waking up.
Just a few more minutes didn't sound so bad, so you did, in fact, crawl back in beside him. He pulled you closer, falling back into that sleepy comfortable silence. But when five minutes turned into ten minutes and you slowly sat up once again, Jon still stood with his persistence.
"stop leaving." He mumbled, his convincing frown returning back.
"how much is 'a few more minutes' to you?" You raised an eyebrow, but despite so, you laid back down beside him.
Jon didn't answer, he was too busy curling back up beside you, his hair prickling your neck as he pressed himself against you like he had all the time in the world. ^^
summary: sam likes you. you like sam. somebody has to make a move.
word count: 7.1k
tags: gn!hunter!reader (they/them pronouns, afab); alternative!reader (i hope you love weezer because you do in this fic); early seasons!sam; mutual pining; songfic-ish; masturbation; porn with vague plot; piv; unprotected sex; fingering; public phone sex (sorta); light dirty talk; voice kink; scent kink; creampie; sam is a guilty pervert <3
a/n: inaccurate weezer timeline because i’m using songs from different albums lol just walk with me.. i swear my intentions were innocent to begin with; i can't help that it got horny!!
Your ass is hurting like a motherfucker. Dean has been aware of this fact for the past hour since you first made it known, squirming around uncomfortably in the backseat, pleading for him to either step on it or pull over for a pit stop.
“We’re almost there,” Dean gripes, glancing in the rearview mirror to find you glaring at him. “Shut your pie hole.”
“Why are we going to a record store in the first place?” Sam sighs.
Dean insisted upon going out of his way to a music store off the highway, tens of miles away from their last hunt. The drive has everybody feeling restless, even the driver in question.
“Last I recall, you were the one who kept complaining about hearing the same songs over and over,” Dean huffs, shooting his brother a look. “I’d say I’m being rather courteous to go pick out some new tracks.”
“What a gentleman,” you snort from the backseat, leaning forward. You grasp the front bench, right behind Sam’s neck, and he feels your fingers graze his collar. He swallows thickly — not that you notice. “Let me guess: you’re gonna make all the decisions and we don’t get a say in it, right?”
“That’s right, sweetheart,” Dean says, flashing you a smug grin. “My car, my rules. Take a hike if you don’t like it.”
You stick your tongue out at Dean — childish, yes, but it’s effectively vexing for his fragile ego. He huffs when he turns his attention back to the road.
Sam laughs, giving his brother a look. “You’re such a jerk, man.”
Dean is quick to follow up with: “Whatever, bitch.”
Blessedly, the Impala does eventually park outside the record store. You climb out before the Chevy has even finished rolling to a stop, much to Dean’s chagrin. Sam grins at your antics, and a minute later, he climbs out to find you stretching outside the store.
“C’mon, yoga master,” Sam teases, strolling up beside you with his hands in his hoodie pockets. “Stretch your legs when we’re inside.”
After playfully shooting the younger Winchester some side eye, you follow him into the music store. Dean has already made it in, eagerly flipping through cassettes and gawking at the plethora of options. One of the workers strolls by to talk to him in a friendly, customer-service appropriate tone — a tall, brown-skinned brunette with shiny coiled hair — and Dean turns up the charm while he chats her up. Sam wrinkles his nose at the sight, and you roll your eyes, turning around to flip through the many, many bins of vinyl records.
Sam hovers behind you, idly flipping through covers without any particular interest. You, however, take your time pulling out records, inspecting the cover art and the contents with a thoughtful hum. Sam keeps taking a peek at you from the corner of his eyes, smiling when your eyes flash with recognition.
“Oh, shit. I wish I could’ve brought my record player,” you sigh wistfully, holding up Weezer’s self-titled album. The bright blue cover shines under the buzzing fluorescents overhead.
Sam glances over from the section behind you. He squints, nodding absentmindedly. “Weezer, huh? Are they any good?”
The immediate, utter shock that crosses your features nearly makes him wince.
Gently sliding the record back into place in the bins, you turn to fully face Sam, arms crossed. “‘Are they any good?’ They’re Weezer, Sam. They’re amazing.”
An embarrassed laugh puffs out of him. He shoves his hands in his jean pockets, rocking back on his heels. “Sorry. My knowledge starts and ends with Island in the Sun.”
You gawk, jaw dropping halfway to the floor. “Are you serious? You really don’t listen to Weezer?”
Sam shrugs, wearing a shy smile that makes him look somehow even younger than he is. “I’ve only heard a little. Dean’s more of a classic rock kinda guy, so.”
You squint your eyes at him in accusation. “So you only listen to what you brother makes you listen to?” With a huff, you shake your head, already reaching into your jacket pocket for your precious iPod. “C’mere. There’s no way I’m letting you get away with this.”
A brow lifts, and Sam slowly crosses the few feet that separate him from you. If there’s one thing he knows about you, it’s that you guard your iPod with your life. Dean once tried to borrow it for a few hours while the three of you did research over a particularly tricky poltergeist, but you threatened to skin him alive and feed him to a pack of werewolves. The intensity of your reaction was enough to ward the brothers away from your beloved MP3 player like salt to a spirit.
Sam hovers over you as you shuffle through your music, eyes darting over the names and albums that fly by. You scroll with one hand, using the other to plug your earbuds in, expertly unraveling them from a knot — all whilst you ramble.
“I can’t believe you don’t listen to them! Island in the Sun is good, yeah, but you need more exposure than that. I mean, I’m definitely putting you on to the rest of that album later, but whatever. They just came out with Raditude — it’s different from their usual stuff and, like, way more pop-y, but I think you’d like it,” you say, offering Sam an earbud.
His head tilts much like a curious puppy when their owner rustles a bag of treats. “Only if you say so,” he muses. He takes the earbud from you, fingertips brushing against yours. He tries to ignore the sharp zap of electricity that ripples through him under that brief touch. Oblivious to his slightly flustered state, you land on the album in question, clicking the button on your iPod to begin playing the first track.
Your eyes flit up to catch Sam’s reactions as the first quick strums of a guitar ping through the earbuds, opening up the song to a steady tempo. He’s looking down at the tiny iPod screen, squinting at the leaping dog on the album cover. The upbeat kick of drums and Rivers Cuomo’s soft, whining voice gives way to a catchy chorus, filled out by call-and-response background vocals:
Then I said, “Girl, if you’re wondering if I want you to
(I want you to) I want you to (I want you to)
So make a move (Make a move) ‘cause I ain’t got all night.”
Without noticing, Sam inches nearer to you, encroaching on your space. The longer the track goes on, the more he finds himself stealing glances at your expression: your head bopping to the beat, lips upturned and mouthing the lyrics, eyes sparkling. The energy is infectious; he smiles at you fondly, averting his gaze back to the screen every time he catches himself staring for too long at a time.
Unbeknownst to Sam, you’re stealing glances at him, too. He’s smiling — thankfully — so he must like the song. Whether he realizes the subliminal messaging you’re sending his way is another story entirely.
By pure coincidence, you finally happen to look up at Sam at the exact moment that he looks your way. Eyes meet, but neither of you turn away. Time slows down, crawling along so even Weezer isn’t at the forefront of your mind anymore. Despite the song blasting through your eardrums, everything narrows down to you and Sam alone.
Of course, it’s only now that you realize just how close Sam is. His arm brushes against yours, hair hanging in his face as he leans in to meet your height. He’s near enough that you could reach up and touch him — kiss him, even — but you’re still waiting for Sam to catch on and make the move himself.
He’s hesitating, though, as per usual. Sam wouldn’t be Sam if he didn’t overthink every minute interaction. He leans in close, slanting his body in your direction, but he’s tight-lipped. What if he’s misreading the signs? What if he’s right but something terrible happens to you because he’s cursed? Sam can’t help but imagine you pinned to the ceiling, bloodied and on fire or dying some other miserable death all because his doomed touch fell upon you. But there you are, entirely oblivious to the worst of his shame, and he can’t stop staring at your mouth in spite of it all.
“Alright, don’t start suckin’ face in public, now,” Dean interrupts, removing the illusion of choice altogether. Sam jumps away from you so fast that the earbud falls out, swinging toward you like a pendulum. You blink, finally looking up to see Dean, who’s looking awfully smug. He lifts up a plastic bag full of new cassette tapes, rustling it in your face. “Off we go, kids.”
“Shut up,” Sam huffs under his breath, flustered and annoyed by the suggestion in Dean’s words. He walks fast, hurrying ahead of you and Dean to get even a second to collect himself. Beside you, Dean wiggles his brows, bumping shoulders with you.
“You might not be gettin’ lucky, but I am,” he jives, flashing his receipt in your face, where the cashier from earlier apparently wrote her number. “Sucks to suck, huh?”
If you could, you’d shank Dean here and now, but he bounces off to the Impala before you get the chance, whistling a chipper tune. At least one of you is getting laid.
. . .
Dean fucks off to “interrogate the locals” (read: sleep with the girl he met at the record store), and you’re being studious by doing research at the local library. Sam is left to fend for himself at the motel, given the fortune of a rare break as he flicks through the TV channels. He lets them play for a second each before popping to the next one, then the next, then the next. Sam’s thumb scrolls to the next channel on autopilot, bored out of his mind, until he lands on MTV. Miraculously, the channel is airing a Weezer music video.
Sam knows you’re busy and all, but he’s also missing your company. He’s alone, he didn’t even find any decent porn to keep him occupied, and his cellphone is just an arm’s reach away. He dials your number before he can think about it for too long and psyche himself out of it.
You pick up on the second ring, your voice soft and tinny in his ear. “Hello? Everything okay?”
“Hey,” he greets, watching the television. “Weezer’s on MTV.”
There’s a pause. You’re knee-deep in searching for leads on any new cases, jotting down possible references for later. If Sam is calling you about what he’s watching at the motel, of all things, he must be bored as all hell. You laugh, rubbing your strained eyes — you’ve been staring at the computer for way too long.
“Yeah? Which music video?”
Sam leans back against the headboard, cushioned by cheap, lumpy pillows. “Buddy Holly.”
“Oh? That’s a good one,” you muse, clearly enthusiastic. “They didn’t use CGI at all for the video, if you can believe it.”
“Really? That’s cool.” Sam’s chest gets all warm from hearing your voice crackling through his phone, sharing your little bits of trivia. He’s still a little flustered and pent up from trying to jerk off a half hour ago, and your hushed tone sounds more seductive than you intended. He swallows, shifting on the bed and desperately attempting to ignore his growing hard-on. “Have you found any leads?”
Sam’s voice sounds a little funny — like he’s straining to keep his voice even — but you blame it on your imagination or the shotty cell reception.
“Nothing much,” you sigh, lips pursed as you flip through the notes you’ve compiled so far. “Some weird stuff in Oklahoma, but I don’t know if it’s our brand of weird. I figured we could go over it later.” You glance up, lowering your voice further when one of the librarians turns her head in your general direction, no doubt hearing the noise. “You’re bored, aren’t you?”
“A little bit,” he admits, smiling even though you can’t see it. Weezer are still bopping their heads to their own music, footage from Happy Days spliced into their performance. He wishes you were here to watch this with him, even though you’ve probably seen this music video a hundred times by now. He wishes he could feel your weight in the bed beside him, the heat of your body. Sam closes his eyes for a brief moment, pretending you’re leaning into his side — the hand on his thigh isn’t his, but yours, warm and heavy upon his worn denim jeans.
You click your tongue, oblivious to Sam’s wandering hand back at the motel. “Well, maybe you should have come to the library with me, nerd. The research stuff is supposed to be your thing.”
“Hey, you’re the one who volunteered to do it,” he huffs, cock twitching beneath his jeans. Your playful disapproval stirs up an unexpected wave of heat in the pit of his stomach that rushes downward. He starts to graze his hand over his crotch — no pressure yet, just the slightest weight dragging up and down the inner seam. His voice starts to drop in pitch. “You could’ve just stayed at the motel. You know I’d have let you use my laptop.”
Your eyes roll. “Mhm, sure. For five minutes, maybe,” you tease, mindlessly scrolling through an article on the library’s computer. “You have control issues, babe. You’d probably hover over my shoulder the whole time.”
The casual pet name that slips from your lips has Sam sucking in a sharp breath. He swallows, finally pressing the heel of his palm down against his jeans. They grow tighter, his cock straining to break free from the layers separating himself from his hand — the hand that Sam is still imagining as yours.
“I wouldn’t hover,” he insists, though he hardly sounds convincing. “I’d let you do your thing.” Even Sam knows it isn’t true; he’s just arguing to hear your whispered, fluttery voice in his ear. If he tries hard enough, he swears he can almost feel your breath on his neck.
“You are so full of shit,” you mutter; the grin in your voice is obvious. “You act like you’re hiding nuclear launch codes on that thing.”
You lean forward on the desk, lightly tapping your fingers over the keyboard. The longer you sit here talking to Sam, the more you regret not staying behind at the motel; you’re in a hell of your own personal making, really. You could have done the usual thing and hung back with Sam while Dean fucked whatever poor girl he came across. Sure, you’d be stuck acting like a lovesick idiot all night, but at least you wouldn’t be the loser that chose to be all responsible instead of spending the day with the guy you’ve had a crush on for damn near a year.
Sam doesn’t respond for a minute. He’s too busy unzipping his jeans, sliding his hand down the front of his boxers. His fingers follow the shape of his cock, brushing them lightly over himself like he imagines you might do for him. When he grips himself through the thin layer of fabric, he bites his tongue, hips jerking forward instinctively.
A prolonged silence follows. You check your phone to make sure you’re still on the call; it hasn’t cut out at all. When you press your cell back to your ear, you can hear a bit of rustling and shallow breathing.
“Sam?” Your tone is hesitant, prodding. “Still there?”
He’s leaking precum, tenting his boxers. Sam swallows, and it’s audible through the phone.
“Yeah,” he grunts, cursing himself for how rough his voice comes out. He tries again, hoping to sound somewhere in the ballpark of normal. “Yeah, I’m still here.”
He really shouldn’t be doing this — if you find out that he’s jerking off to your voice, he’s royally fucked. He flubs every attempt to ask you out on a date, he goes red when you mindlessly flirt with him or call him a pet name — yet here he is, acting like a fucking pervert while you’re doing something important. Even Dean would call him a freak for acting like this. At least Sam has enough self-restraint not to take it a step further and start smelling your clothes — he’s not that stupid. Despite the thought crossing his mind, he wouldn’t risk cumming all over your underwear or whatever just to get off.
That still doesn’t justify his current predicament, though.
You hum, sensing that something strange is afoot. “Is Weezer still on?”
Sam completely forgot about the TV. When he peeks his eyes open, the image has shifted to showcase an entirely different band. He doesn’t know who they are or what the song is; his attention is far from the music right now.
“No, not anymore,” he murmurs, grinding against his palm. He tips his head back on the creaky wooden headboard. A sigh brushes past his lips before he can think to cover it.
For a few beats, you say nothing, shifting your cell phone to the other ear. You lean back in your seat, listening closely to Sam’s breathing; even over the fuzzy quality of the speaker, his sharp, baited breath crackles through clear as day. It makes you feel warm all over, thighs pressing together unconsciously. Your eyes dart around the library; you lower your voice even more, ducking behind the privacy dividers that separate the computers.
“Sam,” you murmur — and oh, if you knew what your saying his name like that did to him, you’d be on your feet right now. “What are you doing?”
He chokes, hand freezing over his erection. “N-Nothing.” A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. Even he knows that wasn’t even remotely convincing.
You huff in amusement, licking your lips thoughtfully. “It doesn’t sound like nothing,” you say, shifting in your seat. The heat between your legs is flaring up quick, spreading like a wildfire. “Are you… enjoying yourself?”
If Sam had any doubts about whether you knew what he was doing or not, that teasing question confirmed the truth. You know exactly what’s happening, and you’re toying with him like a cat to a mouse. His skin burns with a blush that explodes from head to toe. He removes his hand from his crotch in an instant, running it through his shaggy hair instead. He sputters into the phone, feeling like a complete fucking idiot loser creep. What kind of sicko gets off like this? To a person he’s not even dating, no less? It’s not like you’re some stranger — you hunt with him and Dean, you’ve known them for years, you’re a friend. He must be truly psychotic if he’s actually dumb enough to start jerking off to someone who’s basically his coworker, someone he’ll have to see in close proximity for the foreseeable future.
“I’m not— I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t let me stop you.” Your voice cuts him off, and Sam doesn’t dare to move an inch, convinced that he hallucinated the words.
“Wh… What?”
You roll your eyes, forcibly shutting down the computer and grabbing your bag from the floor beside your feet. “Keep going,” you reiterate. “I’ll be over soon.”
“What?” Sam sputters intelligently, only for the call to abruptly end. He sits up, eyes wide as he stares down at his cell phone. His hand goes slack, and it bounces off the bed and to the floor. Swallowing harshly, he shifts against the sheets, turning his gaze to the obvious tent in his pants.
You told him to keep going, but Sam isn’t so sure he can do that. If this goes how he thinks it’s going to go, he’s going to bust in his hand only to proceed to struggle to get it up again by the time you make it to the motel. He sinks back, groaning, clutching the sheets and humping the air — the only semblance of relief he’ll allow himself.
But the minutes drag on. Realistically, he knows it won’t take long for you to return to the motel room, but he was already so close to cumming from the sound of your voice; he’s barely holding on as it is.
Sam takes deep breaths. His jeans feel absolutely suffocating. It wouldn’t hurt to just relieve some pressure, right? That’s all he can do to keep from cumming in his pants, after all. With shaking hands, Sam reaches down, popping the button of his jeans, then slowly pulling the zipper down. The interlocking teeth break loose, and he lets out a sigh when his cock has a bit more room to breathe. His boxers are still too tight, but the cotton at least has some stretch to it that doesn’t make this so unbearable.
Just then, you finally bust through the door, breathing heavily. Sam jolts upright, startled by the sudden intrusion. He swings his legs to sit on the edge of the bed, hitting his skull on the headboard in the process. He scrambles to look normal and totally inconspicuous, even though his jeans are unzipped and his damp boxers have a very obvious tent in them.
“Hey,” he chokes out, taking in your appearance — frazzled, jacket slipping down your shoulders, chest heaving. He squints. “Did you—?”
“Run here? Yeah,” you confirm, kicking the door closed behind you. Your bag is haphazardly tossed on the desk near the window. It’s impossible to keep your eyes from drifting down to Sam’s clothed erection; you nod towards him, already shrugging your jacket off, draping it over the desk chair. “You didn’t finish.”
Sam is starting to think he’s on another planet. How you can be so casual about all of this is equal parts concerning and reassuring.
“No, I didn’t— I couldn’t…” He trails off, and despite how embarrassing this all is, it only gets worse when Sam blushes. He wipes at his cheeks like it might somehow remove the redness from them, but it stubbornly remains.
Your head tilts. “You couldn’t?” You approach slowly, crossing the short distance between you two until you’re standing between his legs. “What, you need help?”
Sam stares up at you. His cock twitches, straining painfully against his boxers. He almost wishes he could die on the spot to escape the shame of it all.
“I… This is so weird,” he sighs, laughing dryly to himself. He looks down, starting to cover his erection, but you get closer, nudging his knees further apart.
“Don’t do that,” you say — not scolding, exactly, but deeply dismayed by his lack of confidence. “You’re the one who seduced me with Weezer over the phone.”
Even though your words are in jest, Sam groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Yeah, that’s the weird part.”
He’s retreating in on himself before you’ve even gotten the chance to touch him yet. That won’t do, not when you ran here, sweating for twelve minutes straight just to jump his bones.
“Well, maybe I like weird,” you huff, reaching out to tip his chin back. He finally looks at you, guided by your hand; his brows are upturned, eyes all big and glinting and puppy-like. You bite your tongue to keep from telling him all the aggressively fond (and downright filthy) thoughts that press against the forefront of your mind.
“You… liked that?” He asks tentatively. Sam is half-convinced that he’s about to wake up from a wet dream, that he’ll wake to find that he’s perspiring through his clothes for a whole different reason.
His question almost makes you laugh, but this is clearly a sensitive subject — Sam is deathly allergic to realizing his own attractiveness, as you’ve long since deduced — so you nod, leaning in.
“Yeah,” you breathe, mouth hovering over his. “I like it, Sam. I like you.”
You take the leap and kiss him so hard that he nearly falls back against the bed. He sucks in a sharp breath, pulling back for a split second as if to convince himself that you’re actually here, actually wanting this. When you don’t show any sign of stopping, he finally turns his brain off and pulls you into his lap.
Teeth click together as you both fall against the bed, kissing sloppily. It’s like a switch has been flipped, because suddenly, Sam isn’t the shy, gentle giant you’re used to talking to. He sucks at your bottom lip, surprising you with the eagerness behind it. You brace your hands against the sheets, holding yourself upright as Sam’s hands grip your waist, already pushing your shirt up to feel more skin.
With your legs slotted alongside his, you’re able to press your knee against his erection while you grind on his thigh. Sam groans, hooking a finger through the belt loop of your jeans to guide your hips. The feeling is dizzying — even more so when he parts his lips, licking into your mouth.
Everything is escalating fast. The motel room feels hot; you couldn’t stand another minute in your clothes if you tried. Thankfully, Sam has the same idea, because he hastily tugs your shirt up and over your head. He helps you with your jeans, next, hands fumbling over your hips and thighs; you climb off of him for just long enough to shimmy out of the denim, kicking it to the floor.
Once you’ve crawled back into his lap, Sam yanks you closer, rolling over to lay on top with you below him. He hovers over you on the mattress, the springs squeaking under your combined weight. His mouth lands on your neck, spreading wet kisses across your skin while he shoves his jeans all the way down with one hand, kicking them off his ankles.
Sam works his way further up, kissing behind your ear; your breathing gets increasingly heavy as his tongue starts to drag up that sensitive strip near your hairline. You’re still sweaty from running all the way from the library to the motel — definitely from this, too — but Sam moans when he tastes the salt on your skin. There’s a moment where he stops kissing you to press his nose against your damp skin, inhaling deeply; he could spend forever with his face buried against your neck like this, smelling the familiar musk of your sweat. He pants heavily, the hot air making you shudder and sigh. He tugs you closer by the hips, and that’s when you feel his cock twitch against your thigh.
You start to reach for it without a second thought, gravitating towards the bulge as if compelled by some higher, hornier power. You bite your lip as your hand lands against his erection. Sam groans, his sounds unkempt as you palm him through the thin layer of his boxers. Emboldened by the noise he makes, you curl your fingers around his length, tracing the shape of him. The sizable wet patch from his precum is soaking through the cotton, making your hand damp along with it.
Sam’s mouth lands over your ear, and he licks the outline of it. Unexpectedly, it feels good. A weak whimper escapes you under the attention, your spine tingling when his hot tongue swirls around the soft appendage. You briefly forget that you were touching him, too busy melting into the sheets. When your eyes flutter shut, Sam groans again, tracing down your arm to find your hand. He gently guides you to his waistband — letting his desires be known for once in his life — and you remember exactly what you were getting to.
Your fingers break past the elastic of his boxers. The happy trail leading down to his cock is sparse; even without giving it a proper look, you can feel that he’s neatly trimmed all around. Sam’s hand leaves yours to push his boxers further down, and you wrap your hand around his length before it can spring out and hit your thigh. It’s thick and heavy, flushed at the tip from all the blood rushing south. Sam’s breath hitches in your ear as you work your fingers to the head of his cock, circling your thumb over the tip before spreading the precum down the length of him.
“Fuck,” Sam sighs, unable to help himself; he rolls his hips into your open hand. Pride swells up in your chest, and you wrap your fingers completely around him, slowly guiding your fist up and down his cock. He gives up on tonguing your ear for a minute, dropping his forehead against the bed, moaning and thrusting his hips forward. Your free hand slips around him to slide up his back — that stupidly tight shirt still on for reasons that make you want to tear it off — until your fingers card through his hair.
“When’s the last time somebody touched you?” You ask, voice low and breathy in his ear. It clearly triggers something in him; he bucks into your fist, gripping at the sheets.
His reply is shy, ears blazing red. “Can you, ah, not ask that?”
It takes a Herculean amount of effort not to grin. “I’m just asking. You’re so sensitive.”
Sam all but whimpers, shoving his face against the crumpled bedsheets. “Feels good,” he mutters, muffled against the mattress. “...Been a while.”
You lick your lips, slowing the rhythm of your hand. He huffs and puffs, trying to make up for it by canting his hips faster, but it’s of little use. He’s on the verge of begging you not to stop when you speak again: “It gets better than just my hand, you know.”
You’re lucky that you survive after saying that.
Sam pounces on you, forgoing all attempts at restraint and conveniently forgetting his own shyness. His mouth presses against yours in a hungry kiss, devouring you like you’re his last meal. You finally tug at his shirt, and — to your immediate relief — he pulls it over his head, carelessly tossing it to the floor.
Sam finally makes a move for your underwear, greedily slipping his hand under the waistband. He only gives you a brief glance to check that this is okay, that you really want more, but your hand finds his and guides it down to answer without words — just like he did for you. Sam flashes a small, grateful smile, letting his middle finger swipe through your wet folds. You moan, but the sound is quickly swallowed up by his mouth in another kiss. His long fingers experimentally run over the heat between your legs, applying gentle pressure to see what makes you tick.
Every part of you feels sensitive; you’re practically gushing all over his fingers already, and he’s barely even massaged your clit yet. He leaves teasing swipes, his hand getting stuck between your thighs when you close them around his wrist. Sam doesn’t mind at all; he still manages to slip a finger inside you despite your closed legs, and ironically, that has your legs falling open like a door off its hinges.
Sam’s kisses turn sloppy as he divides his attention between your mouth and your fluttering cunt. He pumps his finger inside you whilst using his thumb to lightly press against your clit, massaging it with tight circles. A second finger joins the first, stretching you open, and you choke on a moan. Your hands fly up to grab his bicep — which is unfairly huge — as your hips finally give up and impatiently buck against his deft fingers. He pants against your mouth, briefly reeling back to watch as you cum. It happens fast — his fingers are slipping through your folds, drowning in the release that spills onto his digits. He works you through your orgasm, rubbing his nose against your jawline while your walls pulse around his fingers; Sam only removes his hand when your legs kick against the bed, sensitive from the overstimulation.
You lay against the mattress, sighing deeply. Your arm covers your eyes for a moment, and Sam watches you breathe through it. He can’t help but tear his eyes away, trailing his gaze down your body, watching your chest rise and fall with every exhalation. He looks down at his own fingers, now shining in the light, slick with a thick layer of your cum.
Sam doesn’t give it a second thought: he lifts his hands to his own mouth, tasting you. His cock recovers quickly, springing up to nudge against your thigh, and you remove your arm to find him blissfully licking your cum off his fingers. It gets you hot all over again. He looks far too happy to lap you up like that; but you don’t know how many times he’s woken up from a wet dream about you, imagining you like this or with his head between your legs or your lips around his cock.
When he remembers to open his eyes, you’re already looking at him. He’s still savoring the taste of you when you tug him back down, dragging him into another kiss. Sam feels suddenly, terribly impatient after waiting so long to get off; he reaches for your thigh, pushing it up to spread you open, and he lines himself up with your glistening center. He presses the head of his shaft between your folds, smearing your wetness up and down his length, watching you squirm beneath him. His breath hitches, and he finally can’t take another second of waiting. He’s so hard it hurts, and he hasn’t gotten to cum once, but he’s determined to last long enough to fit himself snugly inside you.
His cock finally pierces into you, and your eyelids fall shut. He fills you up completely when he bottoms out — and even then, he’s so big that the full length of him doesn’t fit all the way inside of you. There’s still another inch hanging out, but he doesn’t try to force it in, not when you’re already being stretched thin.
Sam hovers over you, gripping the sheets beside your head. His long lashes flutter as he rolls his hips nice and slow, mindful enough even now to let you adjust. You sigh and tremble beneath him, squirming under his weight. Your hands reach around his body, fingers crawling up like spiders to grip his back. The pressure of your touch encourages him to pick things up, to go at a steady — but not distasteful — pace. He’s trying so hard to be a gentleman; he doesn’t want to get too carried away, not after he’s already spent so long pining after you and praying he might get to touch you. Sam isn’t selfish. If he’s going to get you in bed, he wants you to feel good before anything else.
You lay under him, breathing heavily, and slide your hands down to his lower back. He falters from the feeling of your possessive tug, so you raise your hips to meet his next downward thrust. He’s holding back — you can tell. His brows are upturned, eyes squeezed shut — all of his features twisted up in concentration. It’s sort of cute how courteous he is, but you’re determined to whittle him down to the shape of his desires.
“Sam,” you breathe, “you’re thinking too hard.”
Sam opens his eyes. His expression is still a little tense, his pace still dreadfully polite. He swallows harshly, fingers twitching against the bunched up bedsheets beneath your head.
“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he manages to say, cheeks burning.
You tip your head at an angle, staring up at him with a fond, lightly exasperated expression. “You won’t,” you assure him. “Please, Sam. Don’t make me beg. It’s not really my thing.”
He huffs out a flustered laugh, always so easily amused by you. He leans down to steal a kiss from you, sucking in a breath and offering a dangerously deep roll of his hips. Your hands tighten your grip on his back, pulling him closer still, and he groans into your mouth. With renewed confidence, Sam tips in to his own needs, thrusting harder, making the bed shake.
It’s not enough, not for either of you. Sam pulls out, letting his hard, leaking cock spring back against his navel. Before you can complain or ask questions, Sam turns you on your side, laying behind you. He slides one large hand between your legs, gripping your inner thigh and lifting it up. He spreads you out, using that same hand to guide the head of his cock back inside you. The tight drag of his cock through your walls — every vein and ridge — is delicious. His hand quickly returns to hold your thigh up, and he takes you from behind, groaning against the back of your neck.
The angle has Sam dizzy with want, possessing him to finally stop giving a fuck and take you the way he’s always dreamed of. He spreads you out, rocking into you viciously, punched-out moans filtering past your parted lips. He kisses behind your ear, digging his hand into the meat of your thigh while the other keeps him upright on the mattress. Underneath you, the bedsprings squeak and strain, and the heat in the dingy motel room nears a boiling point.
Sam feels his orgasm coming before he has the sense to warn you. It’s a wonder how he even managed to make it this far, given how close he was just listening to you on the phone — but now he’s about to cum inside you if he doesn’t get his shit together. He bucks his hips a few more times before beginning to reel back, carefully guiding himself out—
“Don’t,” you say quickly, reaching down to catch his wrist against your thigh. “It’s okay. Don’t move.”
If Sam could, he’d probably marry you on the spot.
Sam bucks his hips forward, sharper than before, and you gasp. He hangs his head, pressing his nose against your neck and panting like a dog. Damp skin slaps together as he nears his release. Sam can feel how you squeeze around his cock, and if your desperate whines are any indication, you must be close, too.
Pushing himself up, Sam moves to hover over you, keeping you on your side. The hand on your thigh slides up to the back of your knee, bending it as he fucks into you at an angle. You moan, close to drooling against the damn pillow as he drives you into the mattress; his own sounds grow louder, unkempt and unashamed, until Sam feels his balls tighten. He groans aloud, his free hand practically tearing a hole in the sheets as he cums inside you. His release is hot and thick, filling you to the brim.
The heat that fills you is almost enough to have you tumbling over the edge yourself. Sam is still thrusting into you, hand flying to your clit to massage it with tight circles. You choke on a moan, cheek buried in the pillow as your walls suck him in one last time, squeezing tight, before bursting open with your release. Sam lets out a shuddering breath, watching you whimper and tremble beneath his weight. His hand leaves your clit, moving back to your thigh; he squeezes it lightly, staying inside you until your breathing evens out.
Sam finally slides out of you, moving to lay by your side. You roll onto your back, shoulder to shoulder with him. His skin is warm and sticky from sweat, blotched red from his flush. Sam stares at the ceiling for a good, long while, as if expecting your body to float up and be set aflame at any moment.
But nothing happens. No demons, no fires, no mercy killings, no death. He turns his head to look at you, and you’re still right where you were minutes ago. Sensing his stare, you loll your head to the side, opening your eyes to find him already looking at you. Relief tugs at the corners of his mouth, his expression melting into its usual boyish tenderness. You squint at him, a smile of your own steadily growing.
“You look happy,” you muse. “Proud of yourself?”
He snickers, searching your expression. “Something like that,” he rasps. There’s not a hint of regret to be found. He lays on his side, draping an arm across your waist to pull you in. You sidle up to him without hesitation, caressing his forearm affectionately. How many months had you spent hoping for this? Praying you could get even a smidgeon of courage to get close to him? If this is a dream, you’d be a fool to pinch yourself awake.
Sam’s cell phone starts ringing, startling you both from the peaceful silence, and — with a disgruntled sigh — Sam rolls over to fish for his phone on the floor beside the bed. He sits on the edge of the mattress and flicks it open with his thumb, pressing it to his ear.
“Hey,” Dean greets from the other line, sounding mysteriously serious. “Have you gotten laid yet?”
Sam blanches, staring at his phone as if his brother might be able to sense the glare Sam is trying to send his way. “What? Why would you—?”
“So you did,” Dean says proudly. “I have a sixth sense for these things, man. Forward my congratulations or whatever. I’ll let you have some extra alone time, you seem like the girly pillow talk type.”
“Dean—”
“Deuces, brother.”
Dean abruptly hangs up. You sit up in bed, the sheets rumpled beneath your form. With a wrinkled nose, you lean towards Sam.
“He knows, doesn’t he?”
Sam sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. He tosses his phone on the nightstand, nodding gravely. “Apparently.”
You click your tongue, rolling your eyes. “Figures,” you mutter. “He has a sixth sense for these things.” Sam is still sitting on the edge of the bed, his back turned to you. With a low, thoughtful hum, you shimmy closer to him, laying a hand against the ridges of his spine, propping your chin up on his shoulder. “I mean, if he already knows, we could always go again. While we have time and all.”
He freezes, a renewed blush covering him from head to toe. Sam releases a wheezy laugh, running a hand through his hair and glancing your way. Your eyes are sparkling, mischievous and wanting. Sam is a weak, weak man — he turns to face you again, his confidence returning like the tide.
“Yeah? You want to?” He asks, already climbing on top of you.
Falling back against the sheets, you laugh, tossing your arms around his neck. “I want you to.”
> masterlist. > main.
tag list . . . @ravenhood2792 @sofibuddy @fuiabarcelos
warnings: fluff elements, kiss, brendon's a little shy n' awkward
description: you find a random jacket on a chair at school and at some point, end up wearing it. But it gets awkward when people start asking you if you're dating brendon🙀
You weren't quite paying attention in class; or paying attention to whoever was seated in the chair in front of yours. Cause you were dozed off, slumped over your desk, deep in sleep. You hadn't gotten much sleep last night. So that's probably why you had unintentionally fallen asleep.
As the bell rang, your peers muttered happily and your teacher watched the class empty out besides you, still asleep. Your teacher raised an eyebrow, shaking you awake. As you stirred and let your eyes flutter open, you craned your head to look up at whoever awoke you. To your surprise, it was your teacher, making you flinch.
"falling asleep in class?" She scolded, shaking her head and falling back into her desk chair. You heard the sounds of her keyboard clicking and you already knew she was about to hook you up to detention.
You glanced around the room, slowly getting out of your seat. As your eyes scanned around, it fell fixated on a red hoodie draped over the chair of the desk in front of yours. You curiously picked it up, leaving the room and glancing around for a potential owner. But all you got were students shoving into you trying to get through the crowded hallway.
Your brain struggled on what to do with the random hoodie in your hands but as the bell rang for the next period, you only availed to shoving it into your locker.
The jacket stayed in your locker for a while, just taking up space. You were too busy to give it to lost and found and honestly, you just thought of it as an emergency jacket.
But it did come to a use when you walked into detention. It hadn't been so long since the last time you were in, but god, the room was freezing. As you placed your stuff down, you dismissed yourself to get the jacket. As you slid it on it immediately warmed you up, giving off a familiar yet unfamiliar scent.
Detention was boring knowing you could be at lunch with friends right now, so the second detention ended you practically bolted outside and forgot about the jacket.
You shoved a few books into your locker but that's when some unknown guy walked up to you. "Are you dating Brendon Urie?" He asked bluntly, so random..
"No?" You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. Forgetting about the jacket, it seemed like such a weird question. "Why?"
"Nevermind." The guy mumbled, walking away and leaving you confused.
You shrugged it off, but obviously you were still left in a lot of curiosity.
As morning sunlight beamed through the windows of your school, you pushed open the school door and entered the hallway. For some reason, everyone glanced at you for a moment, but you just shoved past everyone to get to your locker.
But then it just kept happening. Another person asking you if you were dating Brendon, then another and another. It gets to a point.
They never told you why they were asking you and you were pretty sure it was just some shitty rumor. As your thoughts wandered as you took your seat for your first period, someone passed you a note from behind. About to throw it away, thinking it was trash, your eyes only grazed it to notice the writing. You pulled it closer to your face and read.
can I have my jacket back pls? :(
- brendon
You immediately understood, everything started adding up. Dang, no wonder everyone started asking whether you were dating him or not. You glanced over at him as he stared at you expectedly. You flipped the note over and started writing an answer before sliding it over to him.
it's at my house rn how?
Brendon's eyes scanned the note before he took out another sticky note and wrote down an answer.
Idk just come to my house I guess. jst go to the address ****. thats lit one of my favorite hoodies :(((
You nodded after reading it. And Brendon slowly glanced over to the teacher.
Too lazy to bring a bag, you just wore the jacket as you walked up the steps of his porch and knocked on his door. Once he opened the door, instead of just asking for the hoodie then shoving the door on you, he spoke. "Wanna come in?" He mumbled through the bite of a cookie in mouth for some reason.
As you stepped in and kicked off your shoes, he just immediately began walking to his room, like he expected you to follow. Which I mean, you did.
As the door shut and you sat beside him on his bed, he never spoke of the hoodie, how odd. "So like... do you want your jacket back...or?" You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow.
"...oh, right. sure." He nodded, watching as you took it off. As he took in his own hands, he just placed it aside, crumpling it against his pillow like it didn't matter right now.
As you stood to leave, Brendon held your arm, frowning. "uh... you don't have to leave yet.." he murmured sheepishly, like he was shy. You took your seat beside him again, tilting your head as you glanced back over at him. He hesitated, before kissing you, pulling back oh so fast like he was terrified. His eyes scanned your features, praying you didn't hate him.
But once he only got rewarded with another kiss he almost went boneless, chest warming up.
And maybe somehow he convinced you to stay over night and maybe you did wake up beside a sleepy Brendon, face buried in your shoulder and one arm awkwardly draped over you^^
this lowk just reminded me of my old classmate last year who had a pet guinea pig and everyone loved him because he would always show pictures of the guinea pig but then his parents made him get rid of the guinea pig and then suddenly everyone started hating him
Brendon comforting FTM! Reader with his gender dysphoria maybe 👀👀👀👀
Idk if I'm gonna be good at this cause I've never dealt with gender dysphoria but I love my trans people out there so I did my research and I hope I grasped your feelings😽
brendon urie x ftm!reader
warnings: just fluff, comfort, reader is female transitioning to male.
It was a pretty bad night. A thunderstorm engulfed the skies of the town and every few minutes, thunder struck loudly, keeping you up. Stuck awake, you were surrounded by your very own thoughts. Staring up at your ceiling, your head rambled on... thinking about video games all the way to how trapped you felt between genders.
You thought about all the social interactions getting called by your birth name, how your still parents described you as 'their daughter' it just felt like your birth gender was a piece in a puzzle that matched but didn't fit. You didn't feel comfortable in your body honestly. No matter how many times your friends assured you were a real boy, no amount of those reassurances didn't make you feel as comfortable in your body when it was one am and cornered by your thoughts. :(
As you slowly got out of bed, you slid into your unlaced shoes and picked up your umbrella.
The rain pattered against the material of your umbrella as your gut led you to Brendon's doorstep. It was one am... Was he even going to be awake? Your finger hovered above the doorbell before you took the chance and just pressed it reluctantly.
By your luck, Brendon was awake. He opened the door slowly, peeking to see who it was before opening it entirely. He rubbed his eyes, hair up in all directions and disheveled. Yet he still smiled a bit..
"hey." He said, voice rough with sleep. "whatcha doin' here so late?" He tilted his head
You pulled down your umbrella underneath his porch, eyes scanning over his face. "Uh...dunno. just felt weird." You murmured, fingers scratching against the back of your neck awkwardly.
"about?..." Brendon let you in, watching as you kicked off your shoes and locked the door.
You went silent, just following him to his cozy yet messy room. As he flopped down onto his bed, he watched as you took your seat on the edge of the mattress. He sat up, raising an eyebrow. "what's up?" He frowned.
You turned around to glance at him. "It's just...gender stuff." Your voice lowered, like it was an embarrassing thing to be upset about.
Brendon got the hint and crawled to sit beside you, his fingers slowly slid into your hair, he just watched you before finally finding his words. "It's alright, you're whoever you wanna be, yk?" He smiled awkwardly. "It's you, you do what you want with yourself." He mumbled, fingers carding through the strands of your hair.
His words were soft and so genuine. Maybe they didn't cure your gender dysphoria entirely but they definitely eased you for the moment. As you turned your head to Brendon and met his gaze, he held his smile before slowly pulling you into a gentle, careful hug.
He let you stay overnight, falling asleep with an arm draped over you and his legs tangled with yours.^^
warnings: stoner!frank, high school au, reader commits crimes often, reader doesn't follow rules, kiss.
description: you vandalize a wall and leave a message, and someone replies to it! this repeats until it becomes a conversation through vandalism!^^
You were tired of school, getting called into the principal's office, detention. You sat in a tight, uncomfortable chair in the back of your chemistry class, staring forward and nothing in specific; just zoning out. It was about the afternoon, yet the sun-rays still shined straight through the windows and across the desks.
Your eyes drifted to the clock every five minutes. A second felt like an hour and all you could hear was the small coughs of your peers and the annoying sound of the teacher's voice zoning on and on...
The millisecond the bell went off, you basically flew out of your chair and sprinted out the door; relieved you got out of that boring class. To your disappointment, it wasn't lunch. Instead you had math. Why not skip?
You made up your mind and skipped class, heading underneath the bleachers. As you let your bag slide off your shoulder and fall to the floor, you knelt down to unpack some spray paint. As you began tagging the wall of the back of the bleachers, you reached into your pocket for your marker. You wrote a pretty small message in red marker^^
high school sucks :(
It was simple, really stupid, and the average thing you'd see written on the side of a bathroom stall. As the bell rang, you happily skipped to the cafeteria,grateful you didn't have to go through the torture of math class.
Frank walked away from the cafeteria, heading underneath the bleachers cause he had no idea where else to stay during lunch without getting irritated by the layered sound of students talking.
As he dropped his bag to the floor and pulled out a blunt, pulling it to his lips. As he reached for his lighter; he noticed the small writing on the wall. He wrote underneath it using an orange marker..
high school sucks :(
I know, right?
He then flicked on his lighter, watching smoke drift off from the tip of the blunt. As he pulled it away from his lips, he glanced up through the creeks of the bleachers, watching his peers run across the field. The sun was boiling the grass and everyone playing across the field was sure to get sunburn.
It was around midnight, as you climbed up the fence in boredom and dropped into your school gates, you noticed how nice the school field looked underneath the stars. Shaking it off, you walked underneath the bleachers, flicking on a flashlight as you pulled out your spray paint can.
You paused, shining the light over the wall, finding an answer to the sentence you wrote about 6 hours ago. You still had the red marker on you, why not keep the small talk going?
high school sucks :(
I know, right?
you get me, everyone here lowk sucks
You felt a smile tug at your lips thinking about how you had actually received an answer writing something shitty on the wall in your favorite spot. You decided to tag somewhere else and climbed back up the school gates.
You walked through the streets only illuminated by street lights and moonlight, as you stepped into an alleyway, you noticed one of the guys from your school, smoking a blunt there. You couldn't quite put a finger on what his name was, but the back of his head was pretty recognizable given the fact you're seated behind him in two different classes.
He glanced up at you and you met his tired gaze, he was a bit dazed out; you could see it in his eyes. Probably cause he was high. He glanced at your spray paint can and didn't seem to care. He just turned away, continuing to smoke and mind his own business as you did your thing.
As you took your time and finished, just as you were about to leave, he pulled the blunt away and spoke. "Hey, what's your name again?" He snapped his fingers, trying to remember. He knew you in those two periods at school.
As you turned around and took him your name, you tilted your own head. "Forgot yours too." You smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of your neck.
"Frank." He murmured against the blunt in between his lips before he dismissed you with a wave of his hand.
Once again you were slumped over your desk in class, you had just finished a test you had mostly cheated on and glanced around at everyone unfinished. Sitting in boring silence, you stood out of your chair and told the teacher you were just going to the bathroom. You couldn't take your mind off the conversation you were starting on the wall with a stranger.
You stepped underneath the bleachers to read the wall in curiosity. Noticing the fact you had gotten another answer.
high school sucks :(
I know, right?
you get me, everyone here lowk sucks
I feel u. whats ur loker number?
You smiled to yourself at his poor spelling as you uncapped your marker and wrote down your locker number.
it's "loker" 180
loker 💔
You pocketed the marker and headed back to class. God, you were totally gonna get scolded. The teacher would definitely catch up on the fact that you've been to the 'bathroom' for ten minutes.
Frank walked into school early, way before the gates opened; only cause of his heavy curiosity about this mystery person he was interacting with through a wall. He put out his cigarette and climbed up the fence and dropped his bag down to the bottom before jumping down and hurting his side a little. As he stumbled and picked up his bag, he stepped underneath the bleachers and let his eyes scan the fresh writing on the wall.
it's "loker" 180
loker 💔
He rolled his eyes as his eyes drifted up to his spelling error. He took a mental note of your locker number and ripped out a sheet of paper from a notebook as he started writing a physical note in his orange marker.
He folded the note and walked into the school building, his eyes drifting from each locker till he reached locker 180. He slipped the note through one of the three crevices at the top of the locker and walked away, waiting for school to start.
As you stepped into school and pushed past several students in the crowded hallway just to get to your locker, you opened it to take a few books but watched as an unknown piece of paper slowly fell out of it. You bent over to pick it up, unfolding it. As your eyes scanned over the note, you recognized the familiar orange marker.
one am on the roof?
Was all the note stated.
Despite how short and non detailed the writing was, you did, in fact go to the rooftop that night. As you climbed over the familiar fence of the school you always climbed over, you walked in the direction of the building.
You walked to the staircase with roof access and made your way to the rooftop. As you slowly pushed open the trapdoor your eyes locked on a familiar figure; Frank?
He turned around, a lit blunt in between his lips; the end of it shining the same shade of orange the marker you were so familiar with did. As you stepped up and took your seat beside him, his eyes followed you.
He pulled the blunt away from his lips. "Oh, it was you." He murmured, offering the blunt to you. As you pressed it between your own lips and took a drag, you glanced over and met his gaze. The city lights were reflecting great in his hazel eyes. Once you passed the blunt back to him, he put it out.
He watched you closely, eyes scanning carefully over your features. Then he leaned in. His fingers gently traced your jaw once your lips met his. And god, he was thankful for the cleaners for never wiping off the wall of the bleachers.
His hand slid into your hair, fingers threading carefully through each strand as he pressed against you slowly. ^^
NOW PLAYING ; RYAN ROSS X READER FLOWER SHOP AU HEADCANONS
an: Heyyy guys… if you want an actual fanfic of this pls comment and I might write it 👀👀👀
✿ Ryan definitely found your flower shop in the whim while he was taking a break or just running errands and he thought your shop was cute
✿ When he saw you he definitely thought you were the most beautiful person he’s ever seen in his life time
✿ He would definitely stutter when he first tried talking to you because he was too mesmerized by your beauty
✿ After he was finally able to form words after stumbling on his words you guys really did connect since you guys had so much in common like music, shows, hobbies, etc.
✿ Ryan would come everyday not to buy flowers but to talk you and get to know you more sometimes being too caught up with talking to you he forgot why he even left his house
✿ The band definitely knows you because Ryan talks about you all day when they’re practicing even though you guys haven’t formally met yet
✿ Sometimes he’ll talk to you about the band and maybe the new songs he’s creating for the new album they’re working on
✿ He definitely tries to remember what you like, like your favorite color, food, animal and as well as what you hate
✿ If you’re too busy taking care of your shop sometimes he’ll pop in just to give you food and water making sure you stay hydrated and don’t starve yourself
✿ Ryan also makes sure you take a break even if it’s little even if you insist your fine he’ll try to push it until you finally take a break which makes him really happy and relief
hi i was wondering if you could do a tony x reader hs au where they’re dating and tony has always wanted to go to reader’s house but reader is poor and embarrassed abt it cause they haven’t told tony but tony finally convinces them to let him come over? sorry if thats too specific, if it is feel free to ignore lol
also ps, i just wanted to say i also have a c.ai addiction but ive been embarrassed to tell anyone so thank you for sharing and making me feel less alone <3
ofc!! you seem really sweet🥹✌️ I didn't notice the hs au request at first but omg that makes this fic so much more easier to write thank you😽🫰
tony perry x reader
high school au!
warnings: handholding, high school au.
You had somehow gotten Tony to be your boyfriend^^. It was unexpected but really nice, especially since he had been the one to ask you out first. He was sat beside you in your first period of every morning at school and out of boredom, he always passed you notes
You knew everything about him and he knew everything about you - almost everything. You tried your best to hide your poor relationship with money from Tony, cause you feared he'd think you were weird but yet you felt Tony was starting to catch up.
Streaks of weak sunlight beamed out the windows of the school. It was a Monday morning, and honestly it was pretty quiet. Everyone seemed tired like they didn't have enough sleep; that didn't change how hard the trip to your locker was, shoving past peers in the crowded hallway.
As you opened your locker, Tony walked up to you and smiled at the sight of you. He looked pretty sleepy this morning too. "Mornin'" He greeted, his soft smile perfecting the speech.
You glanced over as you unzipped your bag. "Morning." You replied, placing a few books into your bag.
"The hallway is quieter than usual." He pointed out, rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes
"I know, right?" You mumbled, glancing around as you shut your locker.
The bell echoed through the hall, signaling the start of the day. He offered his hand to you before escorting you all the way to the door of your shared first-period class.
As you took your seats and waited for the teacher to walk in, Tony spoke. "You know, I've never really been to your house before." He tilted his head, glancing over at you.
You paused. You had always tried to make up excuses as to why he couldn't come over, but honestly, you were starting to run out of excuses. Plus you didn't really know quite how to respond to that. "yeah, that's...strange." You mumbled, thinking of a way to change the topic.
"so..can I come over after school?" He leaned his head against his palm, watching you.
"uh... my parents have visitors?" You murmured, forced to make up something on the spot. But you cursed yourself for how obviously fake it sounded.
Of course Tony noticed, he always notices. "C'mon, I know they don't...can I come over?" He pleaded, shifting closer to you.
You internally panicked, what were you supposed to say? "I can't...i'm busy."
"with what?"
"homework."
"..what homework?"
You froze, he was really persistent. You ran a hand over your face, watching as Tony's smile faded into a small frown. "Why can't I come over?" He complained.
You didn't know how to react. Obviously you wanted him to trust you, but how would he if you refused to let him simply go into your house? "Yeah uhm...okay, fine." You muttered weakly, still hesitant.
Tony's smile slowly quirked back up as the lesson started.
The class went how it always did, yet you still felt nervous about Tony seeing your house.
As the school day came to an end and everyone packed books into their locker and went home, Tony walked side by side with you to your house. You were so scared that once he walked in he would break up with you on the spot, but he remained calm for now.
As you reached your house and paused at your porch, indicating that this block was yours, you slowly closed your eyes for his reaction. Hearing no noise of disgust, you slowly opened your eyes and looked over his features. He didn't seem to care, not even notice your fear of him breaking up with you for lack of money.
Instead, he only held your hand as you walked up to your door and unlocked it, walking through the doorway.
Maybe you didn't have to worry about him breaking up with you over wealth ^^
description: you're the photographer of panic! and Jon takes a liking to you.
You enjoyed being a photographer, it was a small, easy side quest that gave you money. And when you opened your computer and found that you had been set to be the photographer of panic! at the disco for a fair amount of money, it made you pretty happy.
As they were going on tour, you were also allowed on the tour bus for being the photographer. It sounded strange, sleeping in the same presence of people you had never spoken to before but for the money...maybe.
As you stepped onto the tour bus and sat on your assigned bunk bed, you glanced over at the entering members of the band you were shooting photography of. They seemed pretty energetic and talkative to each other. One took a seat on the bunk bed opposite to yours and glanced over at you for a split second; nothing unusual.
The first night was how you expected it, Brendon and Spencer whispering conversation till they fell asleep and Jon and Ryan falling asleep pretty fast. It was easy to get sleep, the only sound being Brendon's sleepy mumbles and the sound of the wheels rolling on the tour bus.
As the next day approached and the band stepped off the bus to walk into their first show of the tour, you were forced to follow with a few hours of sleep. As they set up the strange and waited backstage for the venue to fill, you fidgeted with your camera and sat on the floor backstage. Before you knew it, you felt someone's warmth and presence beside you. Glancing over, you met eyes with the bassist, Jon.
"hey." He greeted calmly, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
"..hey." You replied, glancing back over at your camera.
It was a little silent for a moment, although you found it awkward and uncomfortable, Jon seemed down-to-earth and pretty normal with the silence.
"don't you think it's pretty odd they would make us set up two hours before the show?" He starts, tilting his head. "I mean, it leaves us with like another extra hour left...what do we do with that?" He complains, the smile never leaving.
It felt weird, a stranger complaining to you. But you didn't mind. In fact, you kinda agreed. "I guess.. it could just be extra time to prepare?" You shrugged, putting down your camera.
"Maybe." Jon said, glancing around when he spotted Ryan's polaroid camera. Ryan was pretty obsessed with film and would most likely be upset if Jon touched his polaroid camera...but maybe just this once was fine?
Jon reached for the camera, and passed it to you, dropping it in your lap; making you tilt your head. "Wanna take a few early photos?" Jon smiled and met your gaze.
As you picked it up and examined it you slowly lifted it and suddenly snapped a photo of Jon before he was prepared, it caught him by surprise. He blinked at the sudden flash and covered his eyes. As the polaroid film slid out, you picked it out and shook it a bit. As the photo faded to colour, you let out a small laugh at the embarrassing photo of Jon.
He glanced over your shoulder and grimaced at the terrible photo of himself, he reached over and snatched it from you, fingers brushing. You two began playfully fighting over the photo, Jon holding the camera and polaroid film to his chest. Just as you reached over for the photo, he snapped a photo of you. You paused, watching the camera process the photo film fall out of the bottom.
Jon smiled even harder and passed the photo of him to you. "Fair?" He tilted his head, still holding whatever picture of you between his fingers. You slowly took his photo and let the small fight go. Jon waved you goodbye and stood up, pocketing your photo and getting ready to perform.
The performance went well, you snapped a few photos and allowed yourself backstage, maybe peeking behind the curtain to watch the band perform.
As each one of you stepped back on the tour bus post-performance, exhausted and tired; night approached.
When the lights went out and the rest of the band drifted to sleep, Jon took a seat on your bed beside you. A small streak of moonlight allowed you to see his face and the polaroid film of your face as his slowly lifted it up for your eyes. He was still teasing you on that topic hours later? Persistent.
You rolled your eyes, pulling out his own photo and showing it to him. He smiled, poking your shoulder. You pocketed it in your pajama pants instead of keeping it out in the open to protect it from Jon stealing it. As you laid back down and slid beneath your sheets, Jon refused to move, leaving you a little confused. You watched him staring above you. "Hm?" He hummed. "You're just gonna stay there all night?" You whispered, raising an eyebrow.
Jon tilted his head and laid down beside you, answering your question. He was, in fact going to stay there all night. He pulled the blanket a little higher over both of you and let you fall asleep. He watched you slowly drift off to sleep, eyes fluttering shut before he reached for the polaroid camera and snapped a photo of you sleeping. Maybe this would be good teasing material for tomorrow, but for now he just wanted to set it aside and curl up against you.
warnings: established relationship, mostly fluff, short make out.
Your boyfriend, Brendon was playing video games on the bed whilst you were sat beside him, you didn't really like sitting so close to the screen; cause it made your eyes hurt a little. Especially cause it was pretty late and the only source of light was the bright screen.
You did, in fact really like video games. But it was something about Brendon's television specifically that just made your eyes burn, like the brightness was way up too high. So you kept your head buried in his shoulder, which he didn't mind at all. He clutched the controller, focused but when he lost he groaned, tossing it down.
He glanced over at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. "C'mon, don't you wanna play something two player?" He tilted his head, shaking you a bit. His hand slid into your hair, fingers carding through the strands. When you shook your head he frowned and practically whined.
"Really? Please?" He pleaded, his eyes still fixated on you.
"I would if your tv wasn't so damn bright." You murmured, complaining quietly. Brendon's lips quirked up in amusement.
"C'mon just this once."
"Only if you find a way to turn down the brightness on your screen."
Brendon sighed in defeat, staring at you with your cheek still pressed against his shoulder. "What if i gave you reward kisses?" He teasingly offered.
"Sounds stupid." You scoffed softly, lifting your head off his shoulder to glance over at him. Your eyebrows narrowed.
"Whatever, just play a game with me." He pleaded, tilting his head. He shoved a controller into your lap.
"..Fine." You murmured, glancing up at the bright screen that caused you a small headache. Brendon smiled in victory as you both started playing. It got a little competitive but in the end you won, making Brendon groan in defeat. As promised he did, in fact turn to you and slowly press a kiss to the corner of your lips, making you raise an eyebrow.
All Brendon gave in return to your gaze was his smile despite his loss in the game. He slowly reached for your jawline as he gave you another kiss, directly on the lips. When you didn't scold him, he gave another peck... And another. Until he gave another and let it last a little longer and get a little heated.
Slowly, he forgot about the video games and moved his lips with yours. His fingers threaded through your hair as he smiled against your lips. After pulling away, he just ruffled your hair and stared at you for a moment. He turned off the television, the room going dark as he laid down with you.
He slowly curled up against you, wrapping an arm around you. He leaned into your touch as your fingers slid into his hair. He sleepily smiled and fell asleep against you.
── 🂺 first of all: the relationship begins only because you like him so much. you make your interest quite plain and he allows it. chishiya finds your presence tolerable, at times even pleasant. that’s why when you confess your feelings, he didn’t even look particularly surprised.
── 🂺 he openly admits that being in a romantic relationship is "out of character" for him. and yet, he wants to try it. think of it as a trial run.
── 🂺 your friends assume you are being delusional when you mention your couple status; and their jaws about dropped when chishiya confirms it.
── 🂺 bonds with you by playing mind stimulating games like shōgi. he sets up makeshift pieces with bottlecaps, anything he can find.
── 🂺 something that's also out of character for him is… handholding. something so ordinary, so human, that it kind of embarrasses him how much he enjoys it.
── 🂺 he is not physically affectionate. half the time you wonder if he even considers “this” as a real relationship. still, he allows certain things: your head against his shoulder. your hand sliding into his, without him pulling away. a light pat on your back as if congratulating a teammate. once, after surviving a brutal game that nearly killed everyone, he even wraps an arm around you briefly.
── 🂺 kissing is always on your side. chishiya does not initiate. not once. you’re often unsure, in fear of coming off as too pushy. when you finally lean in, he accepts it without hesitation, his lips stay completely still at first, letting you take the lead, until he finally presses back lightly, and over too quickly.
── 🂺 his idea of reassurance is deadpan and unintentionally cruel. "statistically, you are not a bad bet."
── 🂺 arguments don’t exist. or rather, you argue, he makes observations. chishiya enjoys teaching you through provocation. he makes a claim he knows you will argue with, just to see you fight for your perspective.
── 🂺 he often teaches through questions—never a direct answer or easy handout. if you struggle, he prods you with hints that force you to think. when you finally reach the conclusion yourself, he leans back, satisfied, "there it is."
── 🂺 you talk about the future sometimes. he never says "we." but rather, "when you leave this place, what will you do?" never if. always when.
── 🂺 chishiya never expected it to last. he thought you’d get tired of his evasions and tendency to deflect.
── 🂺 your relationship is his favourite paradox: it doesn’t make sense for someone like him to want it, and yet it’s the one thing he doesn’t plan an exit strategy for.
── 🂺 and if anyone asks, he’ll still shrug, still say it’s "out of character." but privately he thinks it suits him better than anything else ever has.
description: Brendon gets stuck in the rain, so he heads to reader's house^^
It was plummeting down with heavy rain and strong winds, it was a pretty big storm. And somehow, Brendon had gotten caught up in it. He had just tried to go for a regular walk on the sidewalk when the sky looked innocent and sunny but he hadn't expected it to start pouring.
He walked through the streets, passing different houses and blocks. The cold rainwater had soaked through the layers of his clothes, making him involuntarily shiver every few minutes. He didn't know why, but his gut instinct was to head to his boy best friend's house; your house.
He stepped down a few more blocks to reach yours before he climbed over the steps of your porch and reached your doorstep. He gently patted it down and waited impatiently.
When you opened the door, your view slowly focused on a shivering Brendon, his hair was sticking to his forehead and his clothes dripped down with raindrops. "Little help?" He mumbled through gritted teeth, looking up to meet your eyes.
"How the hell did this happen?" You asked, amused. Brendon's eyes narrowed and he practically whined. "Just let me in." He groaned.
You passed him a towel and let him in, his soaked through socks making him leave a few footprints across your floor even after he kicked off his shoes. He followed you towards your bedroom, where he scavenged through your closet as if it was his own. He changed clothes and plopped down on your bed, lying down against your pillow. His head fell to the side to glance at you. "Thanks" he murmured, yawning.
You sat down beside him, then laid. Brendon turned on his side facing you. The rain was still pretty loud, hitting your window. You watched the rain patter against your window until you felt warmth against your chest. You glanced back at Brendon to see him curled up against you, his eyes were already shut; like he needed to just take a nap. His legs tangled with yours and his head was pressed against you. Was this casual? Not really, but it was fine^^
Brendon was already asleep, his breathing evened out. And all you could really do was close your eyes and do the same..
warnings: just fluff lowk, Gerard is awkward and has a crush on reader.🙀
description: you get sick and Gerard comes to your house after school cause he misses u (and also has a crush on you👀)
It was a bad school day for Gerard :(
As he stepped into the school gates, he immediately ran up to your locker; but didn't find you searching through it like you usually did. He frowned, thinking you were just late. Gerard really liked you and he had spent all night thinking about seeing you today just to be disappointed.
He opened his own locker, feeling awkward without anyone around to talk to him. He shoved a few books into his bag before closing his locker shut and walking back up to yours. He glanced at the clock, then back at the school doorway; praying you were just late.
The bell rang and Gerard's heart sank, he frowned; all he wanted to do was see you. But he sadly accepted the fact you weren't coming and walked to his first period.
He ate lunch alone, sat in the library during recess and glanced at the clock again and again during his last period. Once the bell rang, indicating the end of the school day, he packed his things and practically dashed out through the doorway.
Eventually, he stood on your porch, knocking at your door while trying to balance the stash of comic books and cds he had brought along. He waited and perked up when the door slid open.
Your parent had answered the door, they were fairly familiar with Gerard; understanding he was your best friend and he came often. They just let him in, almost like he was a family member and he kicked off his shoes and walked up to your room; familiar with your house.
He knocked on your door before sliding the door open, seeing you in bed; sick. He frowned, dropping the cds and comics on the nightstand and walking up to you.
"hm?" You hummed, voice rough with sleep.
"..hey." Gerard mumbled, watching you. He pressed the back of his palm on your forehead. He looked at your face as you processed his presence.
"c'mere.." You murmured, voice sounding sore from being sick.
Gerard's chest warmed, his eyebrows raised. "oh...um..okay." he muttered sheepishly, getting under the covers with you.
He felt himself choke on air when you curled up against him. He blinked, unsure if this was actually happening, before awkwardly wrapping an arm around you.
Your breathing evened out and you fell back asleep fast. He smiled softly, watching you for a moment as your chest rose and fell. Slowly and carefully to not to wake you, he buried his face in your hair and breathed in your scent. He didn't mind catching your fever if it meant he could have this moment. He fiddled with your hair for a while, just watching you kept him entertained.
After a while he did pick up a comic and began to read it as he held you, but he still glanced at you every now and then; making him feel warm^^
