#A chopped up air filter

[amostdelectablescribbler]

WRONG *buzzer made from car horns*

the point ain’t to impress the passerby, although some do enjoy it, the point is to feel faster and cooler, regardless of how much you actually go faster. (You do. A good exhaust setup can squeeze out 5-15hp) The point is that we the car people think it sounds good and we all want (give or take) to be driving a racecar, and the sound of it is important. Mustangs wouldn’t be all too different from Camaros if you couldn’t hear the 5.0 Coyote or LS raging under the bonnet. Bugatti sounds like nothing else, same with the roaring, flame spitting v12s of Lamborghini. The Dodge Viper would be a fat Miata without the signature rumble of it’s 8.4L v10. The sound is part of it, and if you don’t like it, you’re just objectively wrong not initiated yet.

also let people have fun. if you don’t like something, that’s cool, but don’t stand under a nice bridge when you know there’s car guys around because we will drop a gear and cane it underneath to get the BIG noise. same with motorbikes, but for a different reason:

have you seen a motorbike ever? Have you seen a muffler ever? Do you think you can fit a muffler on a motorbike? The correct answer is no. You cannot. Bikes are louder because they’re in most scenarios faster and have no room to quiet down. Quiet motorbikes are electric and i call those “c4 on wheels” because that lithium battery is one slide on a rainy day away from blowing up.

in closing: let us have nice things. We don’t bitch about your econoboxes and money, let us have our expensive exhaust systems and loud bikes. Also, I have to say it;

TOUGH TITTIES, SHITASS.

Signed— car and motorbike person

i mean this from the bottom of my heart: no one is impressed by your loud ass car. actually we talked about it and we all want you dead.

[slashersidewhore]

Slashers! HC how you first meet them pt.2

Slashers x f!reader

Includes Bubba Sawyer, Bo Sinclair, Art The Clown, Stu Macher

Warnings: mentions of murder/violence, some stalking/harassment (not by slashers), ill intentions, pre-relationships, reader is a bit self deprecating, shitty friends

Bubba Sawyer

Of course you’d been dragged on a girls trip, and of course the minute the engine blew in you were shoved from the back seat onto the side of the dusty, gravel road, laughed at and told, “go find a mechanic”

God forbid your so called friends, which now you were rethinking the decision to even be here and with them, chose somewhere to travel where there was actual cell service

So here you now were, standing on an old porch that you weren’t even sure was properly attached to the house barely kept upright and covered in chipped paint

“Hello?”

A few more knocks on the creaky front door echoed out before your patience ran out, turning the handle and finding it to be unlocked

“Uh, hello? If I’m breaking and entering just let me know but this place seems abandoned”

You cupped your mouth and spoke, just to cover all your bases in case you were actually entering someone’s home, although the cobwebbed walls and moth bitten carpet spoke otherwise

“This isn’t creepy at all…”

Wandering aimlessly through the houses threshold, you searched for something that you help back on the road where all your friends were waiting

Or maybe you were just hoping this would buy you time before you had to walk 4 miles back to tell them you came up with nothing, no mechanic, no help

Your eyes glanced across the room, taking in all the items scattered about, some miscellaneous and some meticulously placed

Then your curious gaze landed on an ash tray sitting beside a moldy plate of what looked like some kind of meat

Although the fluffy possibly-poultry wasn’t what alarmed you, the smoke filtering from the end of a half smoked cigarette resting on it did

“Boys, we’ve got a fresh one”

A deep voice hollered, a rough palmed and smelly hand slapping over your mouth to muffle the hale scream that had popped from your lungs due to shock

Before you could even think to fight against the obviously strong body pinned to yours, you were being dragged towards an open basement door and thrown down the narrow, wooden staircase like a rag doll

“Take care of er’ will ya?”

The voice of your captor yelled down from the top step, slamming the door behind himself and surely locking it in the process

Disoriented and nurses a now slight headache, you mustered the energy to prop yourself up, hazy eyes bouncing about the room before they landed on what could only be described as a large, terrifying figure standing a few yards away

He wore a stained and tattered apron, brown stains you were hoping were dirt and not dried old blood

One hand gripped a cleaver, whatever he was chopping up before you entered the basement sat mutilated on a work bench, the stench of iron heavy in the air

Despite all that, the man seemed frozen, staring back at you through the eye holes in a poorly sew together mask

“I didn’t even wanna be here,”

You started before you I could stop yourself

“My so called friends dragged me out of my room a few days ago for a last minute road trip, and of course when one of them decided to bring their fuck ass car without checking it out first, it literally gave up on itself and then I get sent out to look for help but guess what! We’re in the middle of nowhere so I found this house and well it’s your house so that’s just my luck”

The man only blinked, body language clearly taken aback that you weren’t screaming bloody murder

“Just, if you’re gonna kill me, can you at least knock me out first so it doesn’t hurt?”

A loud knock at the door startled the two of you, followed by the man from earlier noisily coming down the stairs

“Why haven’t you taken care of er’ yet bubba?”

The man didn’t yell but he definitely sounded upset by this turn of events

The other man, who you now knew was called Bubba, shuffled awkwardly in his spot, rubbing the back of his head before robotically motioning to you, still sat on the floor

“You like er’ huh?

You watched the exchange quietly, although unable to contain the confusion set on you’d features

“Fine, but she’s yours to deal with, you remember what happened last time we took in a stray”

At that you pointedly turned around, staring up at the man that regarded you in terms like you were a dog

“Well I’m not a stray, technically you kidnapped me-“

Bo Sinclair

You weren’t entirely sure how you ended up in this seemingly abandoned town, one minute you were checking the map for your exit and then you missed it

Now you were here, coming to a stop as you realized you needed gas and weren’t anywhere near the hotel you had booked for the night

You definitely weren’t getting the rooms deposit back

Pulling into an empty parking lot, you pulled your phone from the passenger seat only to come up dry when the cell service was next to nothing

Then, before you could warn your heart not to jump out of your chest, a knock on your side window pulled a startled yelp from your throat

A man, not too old but not young either, stood on the other side of the car door, neutral expression morphing into a cheesy smile when your gaze met his and exchanged a few seconds of awkward, panicked staring

Brows raising in realization that the stranger, while sketchy and probably holstering a gun, could maybe help you figure out where you were and where to go

Opening the creaking door to your vehicle you pocketed your pepper spray just in case before hoping out of your seat and into the chilly night air

“You lost?”

“No, I intentionally ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere”

The man chuckled, albeit seeming taken aback by the brash sarcasm about your current situation

“Well good thing you ran into me, little lady”

The man who still carried about like this predicament was the most normal in the world smiled wider when your face pinched up in confusion, placing an open palm out to you

“I’m Bo, and you are, darlin?”

“Someone who knows not to shake hands with a complete stranger”

“Feisty”

“Oh, I’m getting there”

Despite the night breeze tickling the hairs on the back of your neck, you couldn’t help but enjoy the slight banter you were getting into

Although probably dangerous and wildly crazy to be out so late just walking around, this Bo character as charming, and something about his stare was growing increasingly comforting

“You know people don’t usually show up here, especially at night, all alone”

“But do they at least have gas in their tank? Because that’s already one up on me”

Bo threw his head back, whipping his hat off to push back the hair that fell towards his forehead in the fit of deep chuckles

“I’m normally not too inclined towards outsiders, but if you’d like a room for the night, I’d be happy to oblige little lady”

Art the clown

You strode through an alleyway, hands in your jacket pockets as you made your way back home

It was just your luck that the last night plans your friends picked for Halloween happened to be a party at the house of a guy you don’t even know

Especially your luck when only 20 minutes in you were all already abandoned, you’d ride gone and with it your phone charger

Thus, you nursed a bruised ego in a pirate costume, clutching your phone with one hand even though the battery was lost past dead

“Hey you!”

A distinctly male baritone called out from behind, you sped up not bothering to turn and face whatever stranger wanted a late night chat in the middle of an empty, dark alley

“Well that’s not very nice!”

The man responded to himself, deep chuckle furrowing worry lines between your brows

Just your luck, just your damn luck

Turning the corner to what could be described as more favorable to due the abundance of street lights and open space, the lack of people still has your nerves on overdrive

That was until you nearly ran smack into a body around the corner

Although expecting a gasp in surprise or shout in anger, all you received was a shocked expression, one such as a mime would use

Whoever this man was, was clearly wearing a very intricate costume, clown makeup done to the 9’s and a fully tailored suit to match, with a hefty, tan bag slung over one shoulder

All of your courage of wanting to leave this awful situation, and fear of what would happen if you didn’t took hold, before you knew it you were panicked and leaning forward, watching with just as much curiosity as the clown eyed you

“Listen you don’t know me, but there’s this guy following me and if you could just pretend to be, I don’t know, a friend, I would appreciate it”

The clown seemed to understand immediately, bright grin tossed on his features as the stranger that had previously had your full attention came to a stuttering halt

“Lady, I was talking to you back there”

“Oh! Sorry I just was meeting with someone and well, here they are!”

You laughed nervously, awkwardly leaning into the clown and patting at his shoulder, gazing at the stranger, you saw a look of terror cross his face right as he stumbled back a bit

“Yeah, got it”

And then he was high tailing it back the way he came

Glancing back at the costumed man you stood alone with, you caught how his face held a look of something utterly terrifying before he caught your eye, cheesy grin returning

“Thanks..”

You questioned for his name, grinning softly at the way realization of your ask spread across his face

Hand motions went left and up, down and right, then he paused, pulling the bag from his shoulder to rummage through it, pulling out what could only be described as junk, metal and rusty and junk none the less

Although the way he motioned to the item, placed it in your open palms and played a scene before you, you took to guessing

“Metal?”

“Sculpture…?”

He moved his fingers like a painter would stroke a canvas

“Art?”

That single word had the clown clapping his hands, tucking his body with a faux bow like you’d discovered something only a genius could

Laughing something genuine for the first time that night, you pondered if you should just take your chances and leave for home, or stick around a bit more with this concerning but most definitely interesting person

“So.. what else do you have in that bag?”

Stu Macher

Being the new student in a town where everyone already had friends, or at least those they only socialized with, was difficult

You’d only been here a week or so and you already wanted to move again, alas, that wasn’t exactly up to you

All you could do was hold your head high, and suck up the annoying situation you’d been tossed into

Now, a new school was bad enough, imagine your surprise would you found out there had recently been a string of grisly murders, unsolved and rampaging

Which is why you’d been an outcast since you’d appeared, like they all assumed it must be you, the murders starting, you arriving, it all was too much of a coincidence, despite the fact that it was

“Look at her, I’m telling you that girl gives off crazy”

Off handed comments like those weren’t unusual, yet today, after switching to a new class because of this exact issue, you’d had enough

“I bet she’s the killer”

“Oh yeah? And what’s your evidence?”

The girl gossiping with her friend abruptly stopped her ‘private’ conversation when she heard your quip

“Excuse me?”

You stood, in fact you stood so fast it made the chair screech across the floor, catching the attention of the rest of class

Luckily the teacher had stepped out and you could finally say what you needed without worry of authority looming over

“You know, if I’m supposedly killing students, like you say I am, why so proudly speak about it around me?”

You strode up to her desk, arms crossed with a look of disdain

She seemed taken aback, lips moving like a fish and head bobbing as she glanced between you and her friend

“Well, I-“

“If you really think I’m doing all this, why would you piss me off?”

The girl was at a loss, face paling as you simply said what you needed, before turning and grabbing your bag right as the bell went off, students funneling out behind you

Opening your locker, you startled when a body came crashing into the locker beside yours, arms crossed and looking at you with squinted eyes yet a wide grin

“So you’re the new girl?”

He wasn’t half bad looking, in fact, you found yourself heating up the longer he gazed down at you

He had this odd air about him, like someone holding too many secrets and hiding them far too out in the open, something that only seemed to allure you further

“And a murderer, haven’t you heard?”

You joked, taking out your next classes books before shutting the locker, the look on this guys face was utter curiosity, something you hadn’t received yet while being here

“Of course, just let me know what days you spree so I can avoid staying in”

Not gonna lie to y’all, I was so focused on getting this posted I haven’t spell checked or done a once over, there will and most likely are errors!

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ok I just saw your Vamp!Rhys brain rot headcanons post and I'm letting you know right now if you do not develop them into full blown chapters for Vamp!Rhys I'll literally sue for emotional damages ok thank you <3

lol I suppose I can make that happen ;)

------------------------------------------------------

Ancient Recipes

The bed is, surprisingly, empty when you awaken, the last rays of evening light filtering in through a crack in the curtains. Your hands brush absently through the cold sheets as if they could tell you where he’d disappeared off to. He’s not usually up this early.

With a yawn, you slide out of bed and yank on one of his discarded shirts, leaving the silky button down open down the middle in a half-hearted attempt at decency before padding off in search of him. 

The library and game room is empty, the curtains pulled tight, the air a little stuffy. You can hear Cassian snoring from behind his closed door and a tendril of shadow still guard’s Azriel’s door handle, telling you that he’s not off with either of them this early.

Eventually, you find yourself wandering down into the kitchen, expecting it to be empty too, but figuring it’s worth a shot. You’re surprised to find Rhys bent over the stove, shirtless, sleep pants slung low over his hips as he carefully chops a mix of vegetables. His ears twitch as you walk towards him, a sure sign that he hears your approach. 

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” he says without turning. You can hear the pout in his voice without seeing the purse of those full lips you love so much.

“Missed you,” you say as you slide your arms around his waist and bury your head between his shoulder blades.

He sets the knife down long enough to run a hand over where yours hold his waist. “I was coming right back.”

You place a kiss against his spine before leaning around him to get a better view of what he’s doing. “I didn’t know you could cook?”

“I am a thousand years old, Darling,” he purrs. “That’s a long time to not learn how to prepare a meal.”

There’s an old, hand written book propped up against the stone wall, the swirling script fading under the cruel hands of time in a language long forgotten. The pages are brittle and yellow now, the date written in the corner nearly illegible. 

“What are you making?”

Skilled hands throw in diced vegetables and dried herbs into a pot simmering with some sort of red sauce. “Something my mother used to make me,” he says softly. “These are her recipes.”

Your chest tightens. He’d told you about the hunters that had killed his mother and sister not long after that night when those hunters had come for you. He’d, understandably, been on edge since, the encounter bringing up a lot of old memories he hadn’t touched. It’s little surprise that he would try and find some solace here.

“Smells good,” you say. 

He twists and pulls you in front of him, so you can watch as he works. “Can’t find all the right ingredients,” he frowns. “Some of these spices have been lost to time. I think these will work instead. Hopefully.”

Rhys dips a wooden spoon into the bubbling liquid and brings it to your lips, “Try this for me?”

You give it a second to cool before taking a taste, the mixture both earthy and spicy, but deliciously warm. “It’s good!”

“Yes, but is it right?” He insists.

You tilt your head up to look at him, brows raised, “How would I know, Rhysand? By the sound of it, most of the things you’re missing were lost to the world before my parents were even born.”

You think if he was capable of it he might have blushed against the mistake. Instead, he kisses the top of your head. “I suppose I could ask Az.” He licks a bit of the mixture, frowning as he goes, before putting the spoon directly back into the pot. Apparently a key ingredient in ancient recipes is a little bit of saliva. 

A moment later, the shadowy vampire emerges, summoned for this oh so important errand. Azriel’s dark hair is sleep tousled, shadows swirling lazily around his bare shoulders. Any other morning with the two males looking like this you would have climbed them like a tree, but this morning is apparently for other things, as Rhys nearly flings the spoon in Azriel’s direction. 

“What am I missing?” He demands.

Az takes a taste and spits it into the sink. “What did you do?!” He all but shoves the two of you out of the way to reach for the spice rack in the cupboards above your head. “Your mother would have beat you with that spoon.”

“I know!” Rhys huffs. “What did I forget?”

Azriel starts opening old jars of dried herbs and adding them into the pot. “Egg and thyme for one thing, dumbass.”

Rhys grabs the book off the counter and looks more closely at the recipe, keeping one arm around your shoulders to have you close even so. “Oh, yeah I did forget the egg.”

Azriel cracks four of them into the mixture, before throwing in more herbs. “You’re cooking it too high too.”

Rhys brushes his lips over your hair. “Wanted to bring it to you in bed before you woke up.”

You twist and lean up on your toes to give him a proper good morning kiss. “I would have loved it anyway.”

“Human taste buds are disgusting,” Azriel huffs.

You hear Cassian’s footsteps before you see the half-awake vampire stumble into the kitchen. “Are we cooking what I think we are?”

“Not if Rhys has anything to do with it,” Azriel huffs.

“It was for Y/N!” Rhys returns. “I didn’t make enough for everyone.”

“But she’s so good at sharing,” Cassian says with a wink, his sleep thick voice enough to make heat pool between your legs. 

Rhys lifts you up and places you on the counter, beside where Azriel still chops more ingredients, so he can kiss you deeper this time. “Mine.” 

“Not with your cooking she’s not,” Azriel quips. 

Cassian tuts as he comes over to Azriel’s other side and dips a finger into the now simmering pot. Azriel smacks his hand with the back of the wooden spoon and Rhys hisses, fangs glinting in the candlelight.

“How are you supposed to take care of the little human if you can’t even cook her a decent meal?” He brings his fingers to his mouth for a taste, then frowns. “Do neither of you own any peppers at all? What is this, baby food?”

“I added the aleppo, just as the recipe said!” Rhys retorts. 

“You definitely didn’t! Your mother never made anything this bland!” Cassian insists.

“I’m following the recipe!”

Azriel snatches the book, scarred hands thumbing quickly through the pages. “I remember it being spicier.”

Rhys frowns. “Maybe we’re thinking of that other recipe she used to make?”

“No that one was for dinner,” Cassian returns. “I definitely remember a spicy breakfast dish. Especially on cold winter mornings.”

“He’s right,” Azriel chimes in, eyes still glued to the pages. 

“I mean, our tastes did change when we turned, maybe we’re the problem?” Cassian asks, running a hand over his face in thought. 

“Your tastes change when you turn?” You ask.

“A little,” Rhys says with a frown, violet eyes on the dish. “Maybe you’re right, Cass. Did you think it was spicy, Darling?” 

“A little,” you reply. “It could use more, I think, but again, I’ve never tried it before so I’m not exactly an expert.”

Cass peers into the pot. “It looks right.”

Azriel sets the book back on the counter with nothing short of reverence. “Guess it is us.”

Rhys’s face falls, it’s like watching him lose a piece of the past. You take his face in your hands and kiss the tip of his nose. “I think any mother would be proud to know that you loved something so much that you put all this effort into sharing it, whether is tastes the same or not.”

His grin is soft, like the kiss he plants on your lips, taking his time to pull out of it.

“Thank you for sharing a piece of you with me,” you say.

Azriel scoops it up into four small portions, the wooden dishes old and reminiscent of a time long passed. Not the formal dining ware they bring out at parties, but a little piece of home that managed to survive the passage of time. 

It’s delicious, Az had been right about needing the egg and thyme, it brings a more rounded flavor to the dish. But it would have been equally fine if Rhys had brought the first attempt to you in bed, simply because he loved you enough to try and make something for you even when he could not fully enjoy it himself. It tastes all the better because it’s something the four of you can share, can make new memories out of. You certainly will not forget it, not even in the coming change of your mortality. 

“Well now you’ve got me curious for what other ancient recipes you’ve been hiding,” you say as the meal comes to a close. 

“You make us sound like we’re old as dirt,” Cassian huffs. 

You wink up at Rhys as he kisses your temple. “A thousand years is a long time. What else can you make for me?”

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Yandere Frankenstein's Creature Zoro x blind baker reader

The amount of yearning in my heart while writing this was unreal. Oh, to be a humble baker in a cozy cottage with a misunderstood monster husband. I will probably come back to this to add more later.

Blind Faith

Frankenstein's Creature Zoro x Blind GN Reader

6k words

Summary: Life as a lone baker is difficult, but you luck out one morning when a stranger offers to do some work for you in exchange for food. Set in 1820's America.

Warnings: yandere if you squint but Zoro is subtle so it largely flies under the radar from reader's perspective, mentions of serious illness and death common to the era

Like many mornings, the sensation of sunlight filtering in through the windows and warming your face was what stirred you from your sleep. For a moment, you bask in the warmth of it while nestling deeper into your quilts as the crisp autumn air nips at your nose. You take a deep breath, then force yourself to rise from your bed. If you were going to get anything accomplished today, you needed to get up and get the fire going in the beehive oven outside now.

Before even attempting to get yourself readied for the day, you trudge outside to start the fire. Wind blows through your hair and whips at your clothes. It’s got some force behind it, but not to the point of being a hindrance. The path to the oven has long since been memorized, and your hand instinctively reaches for where the handle to the iron door is and pulls it open. You stick your hand in, and you’re happy to find that the embers are still warm. With any luck, you’ll be able to rekindle the fire and save yourself at least one hassle this morning. 

You hurry back to the cottage and feel around for the tools you’ll need. Your fingers brush over the bellow and poker and latch onto them. You exit your home, stopping briefly at the porch to grab an armful of firewood. Much to your chagrin, you’re reminded of how low your firewood supply has gotten when you’re forced to crouch all the way down to even feel any. You need to chop some more, but you’ll worry about that later.

Once you’re back at the oven, you push in one log, then stir the coals and embers with your poker, listening closely as they crackle gently. You drop the poker and switch to using the bellow to feed the embers the precious air that they crave. They pop and crackle louder, and you can feel more heat coming out of the oven. Then, finally, you can smell the wood burning. You load the rest of the logs into the oven one by one, prodding the coals and wood to encourage the fire to spread until a strong wave of heat is emitting from the opening. Satisfied that the fire will be able to keep itself going on its own now, you close the door and head back inside.

A similar process is repeated indoors with your fireplace, and after you have both fires taken care of, you finally focus on getting yourself ready for the day. While you fasten on your clothing, you go through a mental list of tasks that need to be done. While you wait for the oven to warm, you’ll have to get the bread dough prepared now so that it’s properly risen by the time it’s hot enough. Before that, you need to fetch some water from the nearby stream. Then you’ll tend to the chickens and cows outside. At some point today you’ll need to find the time to chop firewood, but you have no idea where exactly such time is hiding. So much to do, so little time, and absolutely no help.

You’re startled from your thoughts by a loud, firm knocking at your door. It gives you pause. The townsfolk knew that you wouldn’t have anything ready for them so early. When everything was done, you would load it into a cart to sell it in the town square, so you had no idea why someone would be here now, or frankly, at all.

Another series of knocks rings out from the front door, this time pushing you into action. You go to the door, a short trip given the small size of your cottage, wondering who could be here and for what purpose. You pull open the door, ready to greet them, only for whoever is outside to grab the handle and close the door again. For a moment, you’re stunned into silence from the unusual action. Before you can ask what on earth they hope to accomplish by shutting your own door in your face, your visitor speaks through the door.

“Don’t come out. Just listen to me.” The voice is deep and masculine. Based on how high up his voice is coming from, you can tell that this man must be awfully tall.

The request is odd, but you choose to indulge him. “Very well… Might I ask what you’re here for? I just awoke, I don’t have anything baked yet.”

“I saw you outside just now. I can see that you’re low on firewood, and I was hoping you might be willing to trade me food in turn for me chopping wood for you.”

His offer comes as a relief to you. What a perfect occurrence this was! Now you wouldn’t be fighting to make the time to do this task yourself. While you didn’t have the money to pay someone for such work, you could easily spare some food for this stranger.

“It doesn’t have to be much, I’ll take table scraps. Anything. Please consider my offer.” The man’s tone took on a hint of desperation this time around, making you feel a twinge of guilt in your heart for causing him unnecessary stress.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t just give you scraps. I’ll make sure you have a proper meal and then some if you would do that for me.” You’re quick to assure him, not wanting him to think that you would be so unappreciative of his generous offer.

A sigh of relief comes through the door, followed by a dull thud from the top of the door, “Thank you, I promise you that I’ll cut as much firewood as you could possibly need. I just have one more request to make.”

“What would that be?”

The once desperate and wary manner of speech is gone, and has become much more stern, “You need to stay inside until I’m done, and you can’t look out the windows either.” 

For a moment, you’re left speechless by his request, but you quickly find your voice, “I apologize, but I simply can’t abide by that. I have duties today that require for me to be outside. I-”

He cuts you off, now sounding frantic, “I’ll do those for you, too. Just tell me what to do.” 

“Why are you so insistent on this? I can assure you that I won’t get in your way.” As much as you want to accept his help, his behavior was rapidly becoming ridiculous. 

“You can’t look at me. I won’t do this for you if you see me.”

Again, you pause. Then you laugh. “Well, if that’s all you’re concerned of, then you can rest your heart.” You chuckle again and take his silence as your cue to keep talking, “You must not be from around here.”

“I… I’m not. I don’t understand what that has to do with anything.”

Rather than using your words, you take advantage of his guard being down to wrench the door open. You can hear him stumble and catch himself on the doorway. The wood of the porch and door creak loudly under his weight, and you can hear his breathing stop as he freezes in place. You face where you believe his face to be, hoping that you’re “looking” at him.

“It does have something to do with this conversation. If all that you’re fretting over is being seen, then you have nothing to fear from me. I am quite blind, as you -and only you- can see.”

You stand in the doorway, giving him a chance to take in what you said. You can tell that he’s very close to you now, likely hanging over you. Not only can you feel his body heat radiating off of him, but your senses are flooded by his scent. Overwhelmingly, he smelled like musk and sweat, as if he had just finished a long, laborious day of work. Alongside that, his smell reminded you of the woods. Earthy, but also carrying the distinct smell of moss. Under all that was a much shaper, less natural scent. It stung your nose and tickled the back of your throat like a potent alcohol, but stronger. 

After a few seconds of silence between you two, you can feel the rush of air in front of your face, presumably from him waving his hand in front of it. A few more seconds passed, and you heard him quietly mumble, “You can’t see me…” It’s said as a statement rather than a question, but you nod in confirmation anyway.

Wood creaks again, and suddenly his voice is closer, now coming from above your head, “And it’s just you here?”

“That is correct. I’m not quite sure what it is you’re trying to hide by not being seen, but I can promise you that your secret is safe with me.” You make an effort to keep your voice jovial, not wanting to give this anxious man any reason to be doubtful or wary of you. You hold out your hand in front of you, “Now then, do we have a deal? Firewood for food?”

There is a moment of silence, then a surprisingly large hand encases yours. It’s rough and calloused, and you’re certain that you can feel scar tissue on it. His voice is quiet, “Yes, we have a deal.” He shakes your hand, and you find it to be a remarkably gentle handshake given his apparent size. It feels like he could easily shake your entire self with one hand if he so pleased, but he doesn’t. He releases you, and you can hear the doorframe groan as he pushes himself off of it, “I’ll get started on it now.”

“Wait,” Your hand blindly juts out to grab onto him, this time landing on his wrist. Your fingers ghost over what feels like even more scar tissue, and you briefly wonder if that is what he was so worried about being seen. You can’t be sure, but you figure it’s best not to call attention to it, so you continue, “I would like to know the name of the man helping me.”

“You… want to know my name?” The way he says it makes it seem like this is the first time he’s ever been asked for his name. You nod, gently encouraging him to share it. He pauses for reasons unknown to you, then speaks again, “Zoro… you can call me that.”

“Very well. Thank you, Zoro. Your help couldn’t have come at a better time. The ax is in the shed over where the chickens are. I need to go fetch some water now, but I’ll be around after that if you require any help.” With that said, you grab the pails by the door and slip past him to go to the stream.

The path to the stream has long since been memorized. As a child, you would tag along with whichever member of your family was sent to gather water that day. You even had your own much smaller pail to bring with back then so that you could participate. There were plenty of days where you would come back with an almost -and sometimes fully- empty bucket because you shook it about too much while walking, or because you tripped over an object you couldn’t see coming. Fortunately, you’ve gotten much better at keeping steady and catching yourself when you stumble over the years.

Insects and birds chatter and sing around you as you go deeper into the forested area behind your family’s home, and before long, you can hear the bubbling rush of water coming from the stream. You close in on it, taking smaller, more cautious steps to ensure you don’t walk past the bank and into the water. Once the ground becomes more soft and unsteady, you know that you’re close enough and hold out a pail while bending down, allowing the water to flow into it. You set the first one on the bank next to you, then fill the next. As soon as they’re both filled, you pick up one in each hand and begin the walk back home. The buckets are heavy now, but at least you don’t have far to go.

By the time you’re out of the woods, you can hear the familiar sound of wood splitting as an ax cuts through it. It’s quite nice to only be listening to such an act rather than doing it yourself for once. You’ve been alone for a few years now ever since your father passed from consumption. Your mother had died years prior after letting herself waste away when your youngest sibling suffered a fatal bout of scarlet fever. Your remaining siblings had filtered out one by one, searching for better opportunities elsewhere. While you missed them terribly, you couldn’t bring yourself to resent them for leaving. Life as a humble baker was a meager existence. Your father would often go to the city for long periods of time to work industrial jobs just to make ends meet while your mother baked for the town.

Your brothers and sisters tried to convince you to join them, no doubt fretting over how you would handle life on your own considering your condition, but you’re nothing if not resilient. Your parents taught you well how to survive on your own, and the local townsfolk are kind enough to help you with the odd task that does absolutely require sight.

From the sound of it, Zoro is doing just fine on his own, so you leave him be and go inside your home. The pails of water are left by the front door, and you go into the kitchen area to gather everything you’ll need to make bread. The oven outside still needs a couple of hours to reach the proper temperature, but the house is cold this time of year, so the dough will need extra time to rise. 

Using a small bowl, you scoop out what feels like the appropriate amount of water for your task, then set it in the hot embers in the fireplace to warm up so the yeast will be able to thrive in it. While the water warms, you slip back outside to toss some more logs into the oven. You crouch down to grab the few remaining logs that should still be there from this morning, but you’re surprised to find the pile noticeably higher than you remembered it being. Had you missed some, or had Zoro really made this much progress in such a short time? You feel around a bit more, and sure enough, the log store is half full.

Well then. He’s certainly earning his meal. You’ll have to get started on his food as soon as the bread dough is taken care of at the rate he’s going. 

Realizing that you’re working against the clock, you make quick work of hauling an armful of logs to the oven and pushing them inside. Once you’re back indoors, you mix together the flour and salt for the bread, then check the temperature of the water. Finding it suitable, you mix in sugar and yeast and leave it to activate. While it’s doing that, you make your way down to the cellar to grab some vegetables and meat. The cold air of the cellar chills you, prompting you to pull your clothes around you tighter. You use your apron to hold the vegetables you’ll need, then open the cask you had recently stored some brined meat in. 

While you don’t know what Zoro’s tastes are when it comes to food, you assume he can’t be picky if he was begging for scraps. You think he’ll appreciate a hearty venison pie after working so hard.

You exit the cellar, and you’re about to go back inside when you hear your chickens milling about and clucking. You curse internally and rush into the house to drop the ingredients on the table. The surprise of Zoro’s arrival completely threw you off your usual schedule and your duties to the farm animals slipped your mind. You feel around for the bucket containing yesterday’s scraps, then make haste to the chicken coop. While the chickens primarily forage for their own food by eating the weeds and insects on the property, you know that they enjoy the scraps.

The chickens crowd around you as soon as they see the bucket, clucking excitedly and pecking at your shoes and clothes in what you’re going to assume is an expression of affection rather than impatience. You turn over the bucket and scatter its contents as best you can, instantly making the birds disperse so they can get their fill. While they’re happily eating, you open the panels on the coop to gather any eggs laid since you last checked and place them in the now empty bucket. There weren’t that many eggs today, but you have plenty in the home already, so it’s hardly a problem.

Once the chickens are tended to, you go over to the barn housing your cattle. They’re largely fed by grazing in the pasture, only being supplemented with hay during the winter. All that you need to do pressingly is let them out into the pasture. You’ll have to come out and milk the lactating cows later because they most certainly won’t let you do that until after they’ve had a chance to graze.

Climbing over the fence is an easy task for you after years of repetition. The bucket is left on the other side, and you find your way to the barn doors and unlatch them, allowing them to swing open. The cattle waste no time and exit the barn, lowing quietly as they walk past you with little acknowledgment. At least until you feel something bump against your stomach with some force. Enough to make you sway, but not so much as to lose your footing. You chuckle and reach down to pet the excitable calf.

“Good morning. Is this your way of telling me that I took too long?” You scratch the calf’s head as it moos and bumps against you repeatedly. You only had three calves this spring, but this one by far was the most friendly. She always stops to try and get you to play with her before catching up with her mother after.

She nudges you a few more times before running off to either find her mother or try to get the other calves to play. You leave the pasture and walk along the fence until you can find the bucket, then finally head back to your cottage to resume your baking. The shortest path back takes you past the stump where you usually cut firewood, and you can clearly hear Zoro continuing to plug away at the task.

As you draw near, you call out to your helper, “Is everything going well out here?”

The consistent chopping ceases. His breathing is labored, and he takes a moment to catch his breath before answering, “Yes, everything is fine.”

“That’s lovely. I really appreciate what you’re doing for me. It’s hard to make time to do this myself.” You continue walking until you’re roughly in front of him. “I hope you like venison, I’m making a pie for you.”

You can hear his hands tighten around the wooden handle of the ax. “You… You’re making a pie? For me?”

His surprise confuses you. “Of course. That was our deal, was it not? You’re chopping my firewood, and I’m making you a meal.”

Zoro falls silent as he seemingly takes the time to mull over your words, then vocalizes why he was surprised, “I didn’t think you were going to make me something. I had expected to be given raw ingredients at best.”

“What kind of baker do you take me for?” Your hands settle on your hips and you huff indignantly. “I’m already making food as it is, why wouldn’t I take the time to make something for you?”

Grass crunches under his feet as he shifts between them, “I don’t have an answer for that. Sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

The genuine confusion and remorse in his voice gives you pause and tugs at your heart. Just what has he been through to be so cynical towards people? You sigh and shift the bucket of eggs to your other hand, “Don’t apologize, I’m not truly upset.” You reach out and wave your hand around until it finds purchase on his arm, “I’m going to provide you a hot meal in exchange for your help. Not ingredients, nor table scraps, a meal. It will take some time for everything to be ready, but you’re welcome to come inside once you’re done out here until it’s finished, then we can eat.”

“We? You want to eat… together?” 

“Yes? I don’t see why not. Unless you have somewhere you need to be, in which case I’m more than willing to let you take it with you so long as you bring the dishes back.” You hadn’t even considered that he may have other commitments to tend to.

For once, his answer comes quickly. His voice is almost bashful, “No! I mean, no. I have nowhere else to be. I want to eat here if you’ll let me.”

“Of course I will. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn't really want to. I look forward to you joining me for dinner.”

Zoro says something else just above a whisper, though you can’t quite decipher it. He clears his throat, then speaks at a more audible level, “Yes. I look forward to it as well.” You can hear the scrape of wood being placed on the stump to cut it and take that as your sign to leave him be, and the chopping of wood resumes shortly thereafter. 

It’ll take a few hours for all of the food to be prepared, so you get started right away. The bread dough is mixed together and set on the mantle of the fireplace to rise. After that, you prepare some pie and tart crusts, then focus on prepping the various fillings for them. Most of the fillings were fruit based, but then you also had to prepare the venison pie separately. 

A three-legged spider pan is set by the fire with some lard in it to warm up, and you fill a pot with water and potatoes and hang it over the fire with the pot crane. While waiting for the pan to warm and the water to boil, you clean and chop everything you need for the filling. Onions, parsnips, carrots, mushroom, and venison are all mixed together and seasoned in a bowl, then poured into the now sizzling pan with some beef stock. As it all cooks, your mouth waters from the onslaught of delicious smells within your house.

After a few minutes of searing the vegetables and meat, you remove the pan from the fire and scrape its contents back into the bowl. The filling is then poured into an empty pie tin and covered with the remaining crust. You carry it back to the fireplace and set your dutch oven over some hot coals before placing the pie inside. The lid is put in place and covered with additional coals and embers, and you leave it be to bake. Normally, you would use the beehive oven outside to bake your pies, but you chose to use the dutch oven today since the other one will likely be too full when everything else is set inside.

Once everything that you planned to sell was prepared, you begin carrying it out to the oven. The loaves of bread went in first, followed by the pies, and then the small tarts. Fire licks at your hands as you push everything in with your peel, but your skin has long since grown accustomed to such heat. You finish loading the oven and close the hatch.

You take a moment to listen to your surroundings and find that you can’t hear Zoro chopping wood anymore, so he’s likely finished by now. Dinner should be completed soon, so that works out well. You go over to where the log store is and stick your hands in to see how much wood he cut only to find it overflowing. Not only is it filled to the brim, you can feel logs placed on top of as well as around it. You had heard him coming and going to the log store while you were inside, but you hadn’t realized just how much it had added up until now. You’re beginning to question if one meal truly suffices for this much work. Perhaps you’ll let him take an additional fruit pie as well.

It’s unclear where exactly he is presently, but you’re sure he’ll make himself known sooner rather than later. In the meantime, you return to your kitchen to put the finishing touches on the meal. The pot containing the potatoes is drained and you set to work mashing them with some butter, salt, and pepper.

Heavy footsteps approach the cottage, stalling momentarily before climbing up the stairs. There’s a knock on the door, much softer now than it was this morning.

“Just let yourself in!” You call out over your shoulder.

There is some hesitation from Zoro, then the door is pushed open and he steps inside. The door falls shut behind him, and he remains close to it, not yet venturing into the small home. He’s an awfully sheepish man, you’ve noticed.

“Go ahead and sit at the table, dinner is almost ready.” The potatoes feel consistently mashed by now, so you switch out the masher for a serving spoon and walk over to the table to set it down.

Floorboards groan under each step he takes as he accepts your invitation to sit down. The legs of the chair scrape across the floor as he pulls it out, then sits down. You fetch some plates, mugs, and silverware to set the table with. Zoro remains silent as you get everything in place, so you decide to make an effort to converse with him, “Thank you for taking care of the firewood for me. I ought to be set for a while now.”

“It was nothing…” Zoro’s voice is quiet and somewhat tense.

“Oh, hush. You did a great deal of work for me, take credit for it.” You reach out to pat his shoulder reassuringly. Unfortunately, you failed to take his seemingly staggering height into account. Your fingers brushed against his chest, missing his shoulder by a wide margin. It would be polite to readjust and move your hand, but you’re struck by something. “You’re not wearing a shirt. Aren’t you cold?” Winter may not be upon you yet, but the autumn air was already quite chilly.

Zoro shifts in his seat, prompting you to pull your hand back. His fingers drum against the table as he answers your question, “Don’t have one.”

“You don’t have a single shirt? Oh, that won’t do at all, you’ll catch your death out there. One moment.” You excuse yourself to the other side of the cottage. Your home is one single large room. The kitchen that doubles as a living area is on the side closest to the door, while a couple of beds are pressed up against the wall on the other side. When the house was still full, your parents slept in one while you and all your siblings piled into the other. Now it was just you sleeping in your siblings’ shared bed while your parents’ bed was left empty.

Your father’s old clothes were stored under his bed. You crouch down and feel around until you can feel the basket they’re stored in. It’s pulled out, and you rummage through the clothes until your fingers skim over the coarse wool of your father’s shirt. You pull it out and run your hands over the article to confirm that it is indeed the one you were looking for. Nostalgic memories of clutching your father’s clothes while he carried you to and fro as a child flooded your mind, though you’re quick to dismiss them. Your guest is cold and you would hate to keep him waiting.

The basket is kicked back under the bed as you return to Zoro’s side and present him with the shirt. “Here, try this on. My father wasn’t quite as sturdy as you, but I’m hopeful that it will suit you.”

His hands brush yours as he takes it from you. The fabric rustles quietly as he pulls it on. After a moment, you hear him murmur to himself, “It’s warm…”

“So it fits? I’m relieved to hear that. You’re welcome to keep it.”

“You are okay with that?” There is an element of surprise to his voice.

“I am. I’m sure my father would have wanted his old clothes to find further use. It is yours to keep.” You place your hand on his shoulder, successfully this time, and squeeze it gently. The fabric of the shirt is taut on his frame, but you assume it must fit at least somewhat comfortably if he wants to keep it.

You release his shoulder and go over to the fireplace. The venison pie should be ready by now, and you don’t want to make him go hungry any longer than necessary. You use a hook to pull the lid off the dutch oven, then pull the pie out after covering your hands with rags. The pie is placed at the approximate center of the table. “I’ll get us something to drink, and then we can eat.”

The plot of land your family owns is rife with apple trees, so you’re never lacking in apple cider. You grab one of the bottles of alcohol from the cupboard, as well as something to cut the pie with, then return to the table. You feel for the mugs, then pour a generous serving into each. The plates are loaded with food next, with Zoro’s portion being particularly large after how hard he worked today. You set his plate in front of him, then sit down across from him with your own.

In the time it took you to sit down, he had already begun to eat. The speed with which his utensils scrape against his plate indicates to you that he was absolutely ravenous, as well as seemingly unbothered by how hot the food may still be. You eat your meal at a slower pace, enjoying the savory pie and potatoes. Making conversation now feels like it would be a wasted effort. Zoro is clearly not going to want to entertain one while he’s eating like a starved man.

As the scrapes and sound of chewing slow, then eventually stop, you speak up, “Was it to your liking?” The question is asked half in jest. Partially because he ate it in what felt like seconds, but mostly because you’re fairly certain that he hardly had a chance to taste any of it.

“That was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

The genuinity of the statement strikes your heart and warms it. A smile tugs at your lips. This was far from your first compliment on your food given your profession, but the sheer conviction and reverence in his voice made it feel different. You swallow your food, then respond, “I’m glad. You’re welcome to seconds if you’re still hungry.”

Much to your relief, he forgoes questioning you for once and simply helps himself to more. You can hear him resume eating again, though at a significantly less frantic pace. After a moment, Zoro clears his throat, “I wanted to ask something of you.”

“Yes? Is there something you need?” It’s relieving that he’s finally starting to be more forthcoming after getting some food in him.

“I… I don’t have anywhere to stay. I was wondering if you would allow me to sleep in the shed. I’ll work for it. I can do whatever you need me to do. I’ll cut as much firewood as you could ever need, I’ll hunt for you, do chores for you, anything.”

“The shed? Surely you noticed the hole in the roof.” You can’t see, but even you can feel the elements coming through where the roof caved in at.

“I won’t complain. Please… Please consider it. I swear on my life that I won’t burden you. I’ll stay out of your way.”

All that you can do is balk at his request. To be so desperate and destitute that you would plead and beg just to sleep in a dilapidated shed is a level of poverty that even your poor family hadn’t known. “I can’t in good conscience let you sleep in the shed.”

His protest comes immediately, laced with pain and desperation, “Please-”

“There is an empty bed in the home. If you’re willing to bunk with a stranger, I would allow you to stay here.”

The room falls silent, and then his voice shakes as he speaks again, “You’ll let me stay in your home? In a bed?” From the way he utters the words, you almost wonder if he’s never been permitted to sleep in a bed before. Your mind whirls with questions as to how such circumstances could occur, but you quickly realize that this moment isn’t suitable for such pondering. Zoro needs an answer, and it would be cruel, in your opinion, to make him wait for it.

“I recognize that it is unusual to offer this to a stranger, but you’ve been mild mannered thus far. That, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t struggling to maintain everything around here on my own ever since my siblings left. Your help would be deeply appreciated if this arrangement is truly what you want.” You’re certain that your siblings would have a conniption if they were aware of the deal you’re making right now, but they aren’t here. The only interaction you have with them anymore is when you get one of your customers to read aloud the letters they send you. It’s unlikely that they’ll ever even know of him.

Both of your hands are abruptly encased in two much larger hands. Zoro clutches your hands like a lifeline, “That is what I want. I’ll be in your debt if you allow it.”

“There’s no need for such dramatic language. It’s hardly a debt if you’re working for your stay.” You gently squeeze his hand back.

“You don’t understand what exactly you’re doing for me… it means more than you know.”

“Then I suppose we have a deal, don’t we?”

Zoro lets out a shuddering breath as his grasp on your hands loosens, “Thank you. You won’t regret this.” He relinquishes your hands fully, and his chair creaks as he settles back into it.

Dinner resumes in a comfortable silence. This is certainly an interesting change in your life, but you have faith in this person. Zoro seems like an earnest man who has faced more than his share of strife, but you think that he’ll fit in well around here. He’s definitely most skittish about being seen, but you’re hopeful that as time goes by and he becomes more comfortable that you’ll be able to introduce him to the locals. You think the socialization would do him some good.

But, that will come at a later date. The excursion you’ll make into town after dinner to sell today’s goods will have to be a solo trip, but that’s fine. You’ve done such a task more times than you can count. The only difference today is that you’ll have someone to come home to. For now, you choose to focus on your new company and feel thankful for the positive change that you’re confident he will bring to it.

[librababe99]

Lumbered Love

❥・CW: Minors DNI, 18+, Lumberjack! Logan, Fem! Reader, strangers to friends, friends to lovers, sexual themes ❥・Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: Feeling worn from your city life, you decide to take advantage of the cabin your grandfather left you. Soon you form a connection with a rugged lumberjack who lives nearby...

The crunch of leaves beneath your boots was the only sound in the crisp morning air as you made your way through the dense forest. The towering trees formed a natural canopy above, allowing slivers of sunlight to filter through and dance on the forest floor. You’d always loved the peace that came with being in the woods, but today was different. Today, there was an undercurrent of excitement, a tingling in your fingertips, as you followed the path that would lead you to him.

Logan. 

Even the thought of his name sent a shiver down your spine. He was a man of few words, but his presence spoke volumes. Ruggedly handsome with a body carved from years of hard work, Logan was the epitome of a man who lived off the land. His thick, muscular arms and broad shoulders hinted at the strength he possessed, while his sharp eyes held a depth that made you feel as though he could see right through you.

You’d first met Logan several months ago when you’d decided to escape the chaos of city life and take a break at the cabin your grandfather had left you. It was a quaint little place, nestled deep in the woods, far from the nearest town. It was here, among the trees and the wildflowers, that you had found peace—and something more.

You hadn’t expected to see anyone when you first arrived, let alone a man like Logan. He had appeared at your door one afternoon, his flannel shirt open at the collar, revealing a dusting of dark chest hair. He’d said he lived nearby, just a short walk through the woods, and had noticed the smoke from your chimney. Polite enough to check in, yet with an air of rugged independence that made you curious.

As the weeks went by, you found yourself looking forward to his visits. Logan would stop by to chop wood or fix something around the cabin, always with a silent understanding that made you feel both safe and unsettled at the same time. He was a man of the wilderness, and his connection to nature was palpable, almost primal.

But it wasn’t just his skill with an axe or his knowledge of the woods that drew you in. It was the way he looked at you, with eyes that held a hunger that matched your own. You had caught him staring at you more than once, his gaze lingering on your curves, his jaw tightening as though he was holding something back.

You reached the clearing where Logan’s cabin stood, nestled among the trees like a well-kept secret. The scent of pine and earth filled your nostrils, grounding you as you approached. The wooden structure was simple but sturdy, much like the man who lived within it. You hesitated at the door, your heart pounding in your chest, before raising your hand to knock.

Before your knuckles could make contact, the door swung open, revealing Logan in all his rugged glory. He wore a simple grey t-shirt that clung to his broad chest, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his powerful forearms. His dark hair was tousled, and a light scruff covered his jawline, giving him an even more dangerous edge.

“Was wonderin’ when you’d show up,” Logan said, his voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver down your spine.

“I didn’t want to come too early,” you replied, your voice catching in your throat as you tried to steady your nerves. There was something in the air between you two—electric and undeniable.

He stepped aside, allowing you to enter the cabin. The space inside was warm and inviting, the fire crackling in the stone hearth casting a soft glow over the wooden walls. It was cozy, but there was something else about it that made your pulse quicken—the unmistakable scent of him that lingered in the air.

Logan moved to the small kitchen area, his movements fluid and precise as he grabbed a kettle from the stove and poured two mugs of coffee. He handed you one, his fingers brushing against yours as he did, the brief contact sparking a heat deep within you.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking a sip of the hot brew, though it did little to calm the storm brewing inside you.

Logan’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, alone in the woods, with nothing but the crackle of the fire and the pounding of your heart to fill the silence.

“You’ve been comin’ around a lot,” Logan said, his voice rough like the bark of the trees outside. His gaze was intense, piercing, as though he was searching for something in your eyes.

“I like it here,” you admitted, unable to look away from him. “It’s peaceful.”

“Peaceful, huh?” Logan’s lips quirked into a half-smile, but there was something dark and hungry in his eyes. “Is that all?”

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken desire. Your breath hitched as you realized what he was really asking. All those times you’d found excuses to visit the cabin, to be near him—it wasn’t just the peace you were seeking. It was him. His presence, his strength, his rough edges that made you feel alive in a way you hadn’t in years.

You set the coffee mug down on the table, your hand trembling slightly. “Logan…”

His name was a whisper on your lips, but it was enough. In an instant, he was there, closing the distance between you with a single, purposeful stride. His hands were on your waist, pulling you close, his body heat seeping into your skin even through the fabric of your clothes.

“You’ve got no idea how long I’ve been waitin’ for this,” Logan growled, his voice thick with need. His lips hovered just inches from yours, the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.

“Then don’t wait,” you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation.

That was all the encouragement he needed. Logan’s mouth crashed against yours, his kiss hungry and demanding. You moaned into his mouth, your hands tangling in his hair as you pressed yourself against him, needing to feel every inch of his body against yours.

Logan’s hands roamed over your body, his touch rough and possessive, as though he was claiming you as his own. You arched into him, your body responding to his every touch, his every kiss. His lips left a trail of fire down your neck, his stubble grazing your skin in a way that made you shiver with pleasure.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Logan murmured against your skin, his voice thick with desire. “I’ve been wantin’ to touch you like this since the day I met you.”

You gasped as his hands found their way under your shirt, his fingers brushing against your bare skin. The sensation was overwhelming, a tidal wave of pleasure that threatened to drown you. But you didn’t care. All that mattered was Logan—his touch, his kiss, the way he made you feel like you were the only woman in the world.

Your hands found the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift motion. The sight of his bare chest, the muscles rippling beneath his tanned skin, made your breath catch in your throat. You ran your hands over his chest, feeling the strength and power beneath your fingertips.

Logan’s eyes darkened with desire as he watched you, his hands moving to your shirt, pulling it off with the same urgency. His eyes roamed over your body, taking in every curve, every inch of skin exposed to him.

“You’re mine,” Logan growled, his voice thick with possession. His hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. “All mine.”

“Yes,” you gasped, your head falling back as his lips found your collarbone, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that made you tremble with need. “I’m yours, Logan. All yours.”

The words seemed to ignite something in him, his touch growing rougher, more demanding. He lifted you off the ground as though you weighed nothing, carrying you to the bed in the corner of the room. He laid you down gently, his body covering yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress in the most delicious way.

Logan’s lips found yours again, his kiss fierce and possessive. His hands roamed over your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You arched into him, your body aching for more, for him, for everything he had to give.

“Please, Lo,” you begged, your voice barely a whisper. “I need you.”

He growled low in his throat, his eyes dark with desire as he looked down at you. “You’re gonna get me, darlin’. Every last inch.”

And with that, he claimed you, body and soul. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you, lost in the heat of passion and the wild, untamed love that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

In Logan’s arms, you found a fire that burned hotter than anything you’d ever known. A fire that consumed you, body and soul, leaving you breathless and yearning for more. As you lay in his arms, your bodies tangled together, the world outside the cabin ceased to exist. There was only Logan, his touch, his kiss, his love, and in that moment, you knew you were exactly where you were meant to be

As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the cabin, you found yourself wrapped in Logan’s arms, his body warm and solid against yours. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, the only sound in the quiet of the evening. Your head rested on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, the rhythm grounding you in the present, in this perfect moment. 

Logan's hand traced gentle patterns along your back, his fingers grazing your skin with a tenderness that was a stark contrast to the roughness of his earlier passion. You nestled closer, feeling the rise and fall of his chest, his breathing deep and steady, mirroring your own contentment.

"How long are you stayin' this time?" he asked quietly, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through his chest.

You lifted your head to meet his gaze, your fingers absently tracing the scars that marked his body—evidence of a life lived hard and fast, of battles fought and won. "I don't know," you admitted, your voice soft. "I don’t really have a reason to go back."

Logan's eyes darkened with something you couldn’t quite read, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d said too much. But then he shifted, turning on his side to face you, his hand cupping your cheek with a gentleness that made your heart ache.

"Good," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your lips. "Stay as long as you want. Hell, stay forever if you want. This place... it’s better with you here."

Your breath caught in your throat at the vulnerability in his words. Logan wasn't a man who opened up easily, and you knew what it took for him to say something like that. You smiled, leaning into his touch, pressing a soft kiss to his palm.

"I like the sound of that," you whispered, the truth of your feelings shining through your words. "This place... it feels like home now."

Logan’s expression softened, and he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as though he never wanted to let you go. And maybe he wouldn’t. The thought sent a warm thrill through you, settling in your chest like a beacon of light.

The two of you lay there in the fading light, wrapped in each other’s arms, content to let the world outside pass by. There was no need for words; the silence between you was filled with understanding, with a connection that ran deeper than anything you had ever known.

As the night wore on, the stars began to appear in the sky, twinkling like tiny beacons in the dark expanse above. Logan shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you, his gaze filled with a tenderness that made your heart swell.

"You’ve changed somethin’ in me," he confessed, his voice rough with emotion. "I didn’t think I’d ever find somethin’ like this... like you. But here you are, and now I don’t wanna let go."

Your heart melted at his words, and you reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw. "You don’t have to," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "I’m not going anywhere. Not unless you want me to."

He shook his head, his gaze never leaving yours. "No," he said firmly, his voice resolute. "I want you here. With me. Always."

The depth of his conviction took your breath away, and tears welled up in your eyes as you pulled him down for a kiss, pouring all the love and passion you felt into that one simple act. Logan responded in kind, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that made you feel cherished, treasured.

When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his as you both caught your breath. "I love you, Logan," you whispered, the words slipping out before you could think to hold them back.

Logan’s eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, you feared you had said too much. But then his expression softened, and he smiled—a real, genuine smile that made your heart soar.

"I love you too," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion. "More than I ever thought I could."

And just like that, the final piece of the puzzle fell into place. In that moment, you knew that you had found something rare and precious, something that would last a lifetime. Logan was your home now, and you were his.

The fire in the hearth crackled softly, casting a warm glow over the two of you as you lay entwined in each other’s arms, content to simply be together. The world outside might have been vast and wild, but here, in this cabin in the woods, you had found something even more powerful—a love that was raw and untamed, yet tender and true.

As sleep began to claim you, you pressed one last kiss to Logan’s lips, your heart full to bursting with the love you felt for him. "Forever," you whispered, your voice barely audible in the quiet of the night.

"Forever," Logan echoed, his arms tightening around you as he pulled you close, his breath warm against your skin.

And with that, you drifted off to sleep, safe and secure in the arms of the man you loved, knowing that no matter what the future held, you would face it together. For you had found something in these woods—something wild and beautiful, something that would never fade.

You had found each other.

[schemmentigfs]

Blue Faces, Red Tempers.

Summary: Melissa gets a taste of her own medicine when your son pranks her by painting her face blue before your weekly dinner with the abbott crew.

just a lil crack to celebrate season four that premieres tomorrow. 🤍 (not revised!)

The house was unusually quiet, the early morning sun barely filtering through the curtains. You were already up, moving quietly around the kitchen, trying not to make too much noise. The scent of freshly chopped vegetables and simmering sauce filled the air as you prepared for tonight’s dinner.

Your work family—Janine, Gregory, Jacob, Barbara, Ava, and Mr. Johnson—were all set to come over for the traditional weekly dinner. It was supposed to be a simple gathering, a night of laughter and relaxation. You just hoped that everything would go smoothly, especially since Nicholas had a habit of turning calm moments into chaotic ones.

Melissa, of course, was still asleep. She had pulled a late night with lesson plans and was finally getting some much-needed rest. Her hair was a wild, tangled mess against the pillow, and she was sprawled out on her side, snoring softly. It was one of those rare, peaceful moments in the Schemmenti household.

At least, it was until Nicholas found his way into the bedroom.

You were too focused on stirring the sauce to notice his quiet footsteps sneaking past you. A few minutes later, you heard him giggling from down the hall, and that was when you knew—something was definitely up.

“Sweetheart?” you called out, your voice echoing softly through the house as you wiped your hands with a towel, the remnants of dinner still lingering on your fingers. When no response came, you felt a hint of concern tug at your heart, so you sighed softly and headed upstairs, your footsteps light on the wooden steps.

As you reached the top of the stairs, the familiar creak of the floorboards beneath your feet sounded like a warning. You paused for a moment outside the bedroom door, taking a deep breath to brace yourself for whatever awaited you inside.

Pushing the door open, you were greeted by a sight that was both hilarious and slightly terrifying. There lay Melissa, dead asleep, and nestled under the covers completely oblivious to the tiny artist hovering over her with a small tube of blue face paint in hand.

Your son stood at the edge of the bed, his hands clutching the object firmly. The expression on his face was one of intense concentration as he prepared to embark on his artistic mission.

A rush of laughter bubbled up in your throat, but you quickly stifled it, not wanting to startle either of them. “Nicholas Alexander Schemmenti!” you scolded calmy, trying to keep your tone light, but the amusement and concern made it difficult. “What are you doing?”

“Mommy looks like she needs some paint!”

You couldn’t help but shake your head at the sight. It was both adorable and slightly terrifying to see your daughter with a paintbrush in one hand and her imagination running wild. You stepped further into the room, prepared to intervene if the chaos escalated any further.

Nicholas was being incredibly meticulous for a newly three-year-old, his tiny fingers streaking and smudging the paint all over your wife’s face while humming to himself. He had gone for bold strokes across Melissa’s cheeks and forehead, creating a bizarrely abstract yet charming masterpiece. The older woman didn’t stir once during the entire process. Not even when Nicholas decided to add a final touch—a big blue dot on the tip of her nose.

Leaning against the wall with your arms crossed, you couldn't stop laughing with your hands over your mouth and your eyes wide. But then, you realized what kind of storm would brew when Melissa woke up. Still, the sight was too precious to ruin, so you grabbed your phone and snapped a quick photo for posterity. She wouldn't mind later, would she?

You had to stifle a snort as you watched the redhead boy beam at his creation, feeling nothing but pride at his artistic endeavor. For a moment, you contemplated waking her up gently and explaining the situation. But… you decided to let your wife get a test of her own medicine, since she was a practical joker and never got what she really deserved.

Instead, you made a quick decision. You hastily removed any mirrors from the bedroom and the bathroom Melissa normally used. If you were going to let this play out, you were going to commit. You just needed to keep her unaware for as long as possible—at least until the crew arrived.

“Come on, Nick,” you whispered, ushering him out of the room before Melissa stirred. “Let Mommy sleep.”

Nicholas looked up at you with wide eyes, smiling as if he had just completed the Mona Lisa. “She looks pretty,” he whispered back holding your hand.

You ruffled his messy curls, trying not to laugh. “Yes, she does, bud.”

—

By mid-afternoon, Melissa finally woke up, still blissfully unaware of her new ridiculous blue face. You had managed to keep her distracted for most of the day, and she hadn’t once noticed that all of the mirrors were mysteriously missing. She wandered into the living room, still groggy, yawning loudly as she scratched the back of her head.

“Hon, why didn’t you wake me up earlier?” she grumbled, leaning against the counter. “I overslept.”

“You needed it,” you said, forcing a straight face as you chopped more vegetables. Her green eyes still looked heavy and glossy with sleep, and you could tell she was trying to shake off the lingering drowsiness.

Melissa scowled a bit, rubbing at her face absentmindedly—smearing the blue paint even further across her cheek. You had to turn away quickly, pretending to fuss over the stove as a laugh bubbled in your throat. “Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled. “So, what time’s everyone comin’ over?”

“Should be here in about an hour,” you answered, working hard to suppress your amusement. “Everything’s almost ready.”

She nodded, yawning again as she headed toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna freshen up, babe,” she called over her shoulder. You immediately panicked, moving quickly to intercept her.

“No, wait! Maybe…don’t go in the bathroom yet,” you rambled, waving her off casually. “I, uh, spilled something in there, and it’s a bit of a mess.”

Melissa turned and raised an eyebrow at you. “What? You spill somethin’?” she asked skeptically.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, nodding. “It’s a bit of a disaster. Let me clean it up first.”

She narrowed her eyes, but shrugged. “Alright, whatever. But you owe me a coffee tomorrow for letting me sleep in so late.”

You let out a relieved breath as she moved to the kitchen, completely bypassing any reflective surfaces. For the next hour, you managed to keep her busy while finishing up dinner, all the while making sure she had no opportunity to discover what had been done to her face.

The doorbell rang a little after five, and soon enough, the Abbott crew trickled in. Janine and Gregory were first, followed closely by Jacob and Barbara. Ava and Mr. Johnson, true to form, came last, with the principal dramatically announcing her entrance like she was arriving at the Met Gala.

Your wife, unaware of the blue mess still decorating her face, greeted everyone with her usual no-nonsense attitude. She was grumbling about how you’d let her sleep too long and how she hadn’t had enough time to properly wake up. Everyone else, however, could hardly look her in the eye without their faces twitching in suppressed laughter and shock.

“Hey, Schemmenti!” Ava called from across the room, smirking as she eyed the eldest. “Looking real fresh today. Did you do something different?”

The redhead’s eyes narrowed as she glanced over at her. “What’re you talkin’ about, Coleman?”

Ava smirked but shrugged casually, shooting a look at the others. Janine, Jacob, and Barbara were all biting their lips, trying their hardest not to laugh. Even Gregory was barely holding it together, his eyes shifting nervously and in an awkward manner as if he was afraid of bursting out in laughter and facing Melissa’s wrath.

“Nothing, nothing,” Janine said quickly, her voice squeaky with barely restrained giggles. “You just seem… refreshed.”

The second grade teacher grunted, raising a brow. “Uh-huh. Sure, lowercase.”

You silently wrapped an arm around your wife’s waist, fighting back a chuckle. She looked absolutely ridiculous, but surprisingly adorable.“Be nice to Janine, baby.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

Barbara broke the silence, her brow furrowed in mock seriousness as she tried to hide her amusement. “Shall we eat?”

“Yeah!” The entire crew chimed in unison, laughter bubbling up as they eagerly gathered around the table, ready to dive into dinner despite Melissa’s bizarre appearance.

Dinner was set up on the dining table, and everyone gathered around, trying their hardest to act normal. Melissa sat at the head of the table, completely oblivious to the paint still streaked across her face. You were honestly amazed at how long you’d managed to keep this going.

As everyone dug into the meal, the conversation was light and casual. But beneath the surface, the tension of suppressed laughter was palpable. Everyone kept sneaking glances at Melissa, their shoulders shaking from the effort of not losing it entirely. She seemed to sense that something was off, her sharp eyes darting around the room, trying to figure out what was so funny.

You could see the gears in her head turning. She nudged you, and you gave her an innocent smile.

“You’re too quiet,” she whispered. “What’re you hiding from me?”

“Nothing. Just enjoying the night, honey.”

You shot a wink at Nicholas, who was happily sitting at Melissa’s side, munching on his mac and cheese like he hadn’t turned the dinner into a comedic spectacle.

Finally, in the middle of a conversation about some ridiculous thing Ava had said at development day, Nicholas climbed out of his high chair and wandered over to his mother. He tugged on her sleeve, a big innocent grin on his face.

“Mommy,” Nicholas said in a loud whisper. “You’re blue!”

Melissa blinked down at her, her expression deadpan. “Huh?! What’re you talkin’ about, kiddo?”

“You’re blue!” the boy spoke again, giggling and pointing at her face.

For a split second, she just stared at her son, completely confused. Then, she looked up at the table, and that’s when the dam finally broke.

It started with Jacob, who snorted so loudly that his drink nearly came out of his nose. Janine was next, practically falling out of her chair with laughter. Barbara tried to maintain her composure but failed, her laugh spilling out as she covered her mouth. Gregory chuckled quietly, while Ava leaned back in her chair, smirking like she had been waiting for this moment all night.

“What the hell is goin’ on here?” Melissa asked, her voice dripping with irritation. Her eyes flicked from one person to the next, her brow furrowed in confusion.

You couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Lissa… baby… Nick… he painted your face while you were asleep.”

There was a moment of silence as your wife processed your words. Then, her eyes widened. “What?!”

She shot up from the table, nearly knocking her chair over in her haste to get to the nearest reflective surface. She stormed down the hall and into the bathroom, where you had finally replaced the mirror. A second later, a loud, horrified yell echoed through the house and the whole neighborhood.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me!” The redhead shouted. “I look like a damn Smurf!”

Everyone at the dinner table dissolved into uncontrollable laughter, even Mr. Johnson letting out a rare chuckle. You covered your mouth, trying to stifle your giggles as Melissa stormed back into the dining room, her face freshly scrubbed but still faintly tinted blue in some spots.

She pointed at you, clearly annoyed. “You think this is funny, huh?”

You bit your lip, nodding as you approached her. “A little,” you admitted. “But you still look cute.”

She shot you a deadly glance, the look on her face practically screaming. Why didn’t you stop him? You just shrugged.

Melissa sat down at the wooden chair with a huff, her cheeks still faintly tinted blue despite her efforts to scrub it all off. She reached for her glass of wine, taking a long sip while glaring at everyone, especially Ava, who seemed the most entertained.

“I swear to God,” she muttered, shaking her head as she looked down. “One more damn laugh outta any of you, and I’ll—”

Before she could finish, another round of giggles erupted, this time from Janine, who was struggling to contain herself. Jacob, too, was snickering, his face turning red as he tried to take a sip of water. Barbara, who was usually the calm and composed one, couldn’t hide the grin spreading across her face.

“Alright, that’s it!” Melissa slammed her hand down on the table, making everyone jump. She turned to Nicholas, who was sitting beside her, completely oblivious to the chaos he had caused. Leaning over, the older woman gently placed her hands over his ears, covering them with care. “Okay, bambino, cover your ears for a second, okay? Mommy’s gotta say somethin’ to the idiots at the table.”

The toddler giggled, thinking it was a game, and nodded enthusiastically. “Okay, Mommy!” he chirped, his small hands coming up to cover his own ears under Melissa’s.

With Nick’s ears safely blocked, Melissa turned back to the group, her green eyes narrowing as she leaned in, her voice low and dripping with mock-threat. “You guys wanna keep laughin’? Keep it up. See what happens. I swear I’ll make your lives a living hell. Janine, I’ll volunteer you for every damn committee at Abbott. PTA? All you. Science fair? Hope you like buildin’ volcanoes.”

Janine immediately stopped laughing, her eyes wide as she waved her hands in defense. “Wait—Melissa, no! I—”

“Too late, Teagues,” she growled, pointing a finger at her. “You started this.”

“And you, Hill,” Melissa turned her gaze to the next target, her voice even more menacing, “I’ll throw every tech problem your way. Oh, the projector’s broken again? Guess who’s fixin’ it. All of ‘em. Every. Single. One. Even if they ain’t broken, I’ll say they are.”

Jacob’s laughter died in his throat, replaced with a nervous chuckle. “Okay, okay, message received,” the social studies teacher said, raising his hands in surrender. “No more laughing. Promise.”

“And Gregory,” Melissa said, her eyes locking onto him next. “You wanna keep smilin’ over there, huh? I’ll personally make sure you’re stuck with Ava in her damn bunker away from Janine.”

Gregory’s smirk quickly faded as Ava cackled across the table, leaning back in her chair like she had won some kind of victory. “That’s right,” she said smugly. “Ain’t nobody wants to stay with me in my bunker. Not even you, Gregory.”

The man’s face twisted into a grimace. “I-I wasn’t laughing that hard, Melissa. Really. Just… a little smile.”

“If you say so.” She narrowed her eyes, not convinced.

Finally, she turned to Ava, her annoyance reaching its peak. “And you, Ava,” she growled, her voice low and dangerous. “You’re already walkin’ on thin ice, so I don’t even gotta threaten you. You just wait—next time you leave the school for more than ten minutes, I’m tellin’ everyone about that talk you had with the man who came to inspect our school. You know the one I’m talkin’ about.”

Ava’s cocky grin faltered, her eyes widening in panic as she leaned forward. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Try me,” your wife said with a devilish grin.

At that, everyone went silent. The only sounds were the clinking of cutlery and the faint hum of the refrigerator as Melissa sat back in her chair, looking satisfied with herself. You couldn’t help but smile as you watched her regain control of the situation. Even with a face still tinged blue, Melissa Ann Caterina Schementi was a force to be reckoned with.

[landinhoe]

Balcony Bliss-Lando Norris

ღ

Prise 2, domestic relationship with Lando, enjoy !

ღ

It had been a long week for both them, with work piling up and schedules constantly in conflict. The rush of the city and the demands of their jobs had kept them apart more than they’d like, but tonight was different. Tonight, she had planned something special—a simple, romantic evening for just the two of them.

They had decided to spend the evening at home, a quiet retreat from the hustle and bustle of Monaco. The night air had a slight chill, the kind that made you want to pull someone close, and she thought it was the perfect excuse to create an intimate night in.

As the late afternoon light filtered through their apartment, casting golden hues on the walls, she was in the kitchen, carefully chopping fresh vegetables. The soft sound of a music playing in the background filled the space, adding to the cozy ambiance she had created. She wore a simple but elegant dress, one that fluttered just above her knees, the kind Lando always admired. She had lit a few candles and set the table on their balcony overlooking the city—small twinkling lights from the harbor below contrasted beautifully with the warm tones of the setting sun.

Lando arrived home from a meeting, slightly tired but eager for what his lover had planned. As soon as he walked through the door, he smelled the rich aroma of garlic, herbs, and fresh bread baking. A smile crossed his face as he loosened his tie.

“You’re just in time,” She said, glancing up from the stove. “I’ve got everything almost ready. Thought we could cook together tonight.”

Lando’s eyes softened as he moved toward her. “You look beautiful,” he said, kissing her gently on the cheek. “And cooking together sounds perfect.”

They worked side by side in the kitchen, sharing easy laughter and quiet conversations. She sautéed the vegetables and the meat in a light sauce, while Lando tossed the salad with crisp greens and a citrus vinaigrette. Every now and then, their hands would brush as they reached for something, sending a familiar spark between them, a reminder of the early days of their relationship when everything felt so new and electric.

“Let me try,” Lando said as she sprinkled sea salt over the meat. He took a small taste, nodding in approval. “Perfect.”

As the meal came together, Lando opened a bottle of crisp rosé, the pale pink wine catching the last rays of sunlight through the window. With everything ready, she led Lando out to the balcony where they had set up for the evening. A soft, woven blanket was draped across the back of a cushioned chair, and small lanterns flickered on the table, casting a warm, romantic glow over the setting.

The sun was just beginning to dip toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The Mediterranean shimmered below, a calm, endless blue that made the world feel quiet and intimate.

They sat together at the small table, close enough to feel each other’s warmth in the cooling air. She poured them both a glass of wine, and they toasted to a night free of distractions.

“To us,” Lando said, his eyes lingering on hers. “For making time for each other.”

They clinked glasses, and she leaned in, pressing her lips softly to his.

Dinner was a slow, indulgent affair. They savored each bite, taking turns feeding each other small pieces of meat, toasted bread, and salad, laughing as Lando exaggerated his bites to make her laugh. At some point during the meal, she up from her chair and gently slid into Lando’s lap. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer, the blanket draped around them like a cocoon against the chill of the evening.

“This is perfect,” she whispered, her head resting against his shoulder. She could hear the soft hum of the city below, but up here, it was just them, bathed in the fading light of the day.

“I’ve missed this,” Lando admitted softly. “I’ve missed having moments like this with you.”

“We’ll make more time for it,” she promised. “No more letting work get in the way.”

As the sun finally dipped below the horizon, they shared dessert—small, delicate slices of lemon tart that she had baked earlier that afternoon. It was sweet and tangy, the perfect way to end the meal. They took turns feeding each other bites, laughing as Lando tried to swipe a bit of whipped cream onto her nose, succeeding only in getting it on himself.

The sky was now a deep purple, with stars beginning to peek through, and the air had turned noticeably cooler. She wrapped the blanket tighter around them, snuggling into his chest. They sat in comfortable silence, watching the last of the daylight fade away, the warmth of their shared closeness and the beauty of the moment filling the air between them.

“This is all I need,” she murmured after a long pause. “Just you, me, and nights like this.”

Lando pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his fingers brushing her arm as he held her close. “I love you,” he whispered against her hair.

“I love you, too,” she replied, lifting her head to meet his gaze. The look in his eyes was soft, tender, and filled with the kind of love that deepened with time.

With the blanket wrapped around them and the stars now fully visible overhead, they stayed on the balcony long after the wine glasses were empty and the food had disappeared. The cool breeze from the sea felt refreshing, and the sound of waves lapping gently against the shore below lulled them into a peaceful contentment.

Eventually, she turned in Lando’s arms, kissing him slowly and softly, the world around them falling away. They had found each other again, beneath the demands of everyday life, in the quiet simplicity of a night spent together, cooking, laughing, and sharing something that was just theirs.

As the night grew darker and the lights of Monaco glittered below, they stayed in each other’s arms, the warmth of their love keeping the chill of the evening at bay. It was a perfect night, one they both knew they would carry with them, a reminder of how deeply they cherished each other and how easy it was to fall in love again, even after all these years.

[peachsayshi]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ domestic diaries

minors / ageless / blank blogs dni

ೃ⁀➷ notes: bite stories by peach - just a place for me to share random domestic thoughts with my faves x

ೃ⁀➷ tags: fluff; nanami kento x reader

nov. 1 - 6:37 pm

eyes dipped in adoration are drawn to your husband standing in the kitchen. your heat beats once, twice, three times faster until it fully sings. a warmth brushes your cheek, and the aroma of spice and love filter in the air.

“you’re home late,” he speaks softly, fully attuned to your presence, the tone of his voice deeper than the ocean itself, as soothing as the harmony of crashing waves.

“and you’re home early,” you reply with a sweet smile.

he looks irresistibly cozy in his chocolate brown sweater, the color bringing out the lightness in his eyes and highlighting the golden threads of his blonde locks. a grin ticks at the corner of his lip while he continues to chop the sprig of green with ease before scooping up the shredded herbs and adding them to the pot.

it doesn’t matter how much time has passed, or how long you’ve both settled into your relationship - every time you look at nanami you’re bathed in cupid’s dust. captivated in a way that no other living person would be able to recognize and reserved for only him.

you step closer, disregarding his task of meal prepping, and slot your body between him and the counter. one hand curls over the collar of his sweater, the other gliding up to the back of his head for you to brush his soft hair.

you surprise him with a kiss.

his forearm flexes as he grips the counter, his other hand curving around your waist. he naturally relaxes into you while you explore the kiss - the gesture a simple declaration of “I love you beyond comprehension”

he purrs when you teasingly arch your pelvis into him, but he quickly lifts his head, and nuzzles the tip of his nose over own to stop the kiss.

“I need to get dinner to the table, my love” he lectures playfully, smiling against your lips and feigning a level of discipline that carries little weight. “but once I’ve got you nice and fed we’ll continue with this riveting conversation…”

[brooklynn3253]

Unspoken Signals

It was a crisp autumn morning when I first felt the flicker of something different inside of me. I chalked it up to the change of seasons, the way the sunlight filtered through the remnants of summer, or perhaps even to the pumpkin spice latte I had sipped on my way to work. But something nagged at the back of my mind, whispering that it was more than just the familiar ebb and flow of life in New York City.

I worked as a graphic designer, immersed in deadlines and coffee breaks, but my mind kept drifting to thoughts of him—Bucky Barnes. His laughter echoed in my ears, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine. Seeing him was a privilege, and to be close to the legendary Winter Soldier—the man who had fought epic battles and suffered immeasurable pain—was nothing short of surreal.

Our relationship grew from friendship to something more over time, shaded with the brushstrokes of untold stories and midnight rendezvous. There was an ease when we were together, a safe harbor amidst chaos, but I never imagined it would lead to something as life-altering as… well, this.

I remember that day with clarity. Bucky surprised me with lunch at my office, his deep blue eyes sparkling with mischief. As he sat across from me, stealing bites of my sandwich, I caught the faintest hint of tension in his body language, a cue I instinctively grasped despite my distraction. He was not alone in his thoughts; there was something brewing just beneath the surface.

“Is everything alright?” I asked, my brows knitting together.

“Yeah. Just thinking,” he replied, his smile faltering slightly. I wanted to push further, but the moment passed, replaced by laughter and banter. Still, I felt that something was off, gnawing relentlessly in the back of my mind.

Days turned into weeks, and I found myself enveloped in an unseen torrent of changes. My mornings began with waves of nausea that rendered breakfast impossible, and my body felt more sensitive than usual. I even found myself craving foods I had once loathed. I hadn’t even considered that I might be pregnant. Life was chaotic, and my brain was too occupied to notice the obvious.

Bucky, however, was anything but oblivious. He had always possessed an otherworldly awareness, an attunement to the nuances of the world around him, honed by the super-soldier serum coursing through his veins.

It happened one evening when I was cooking dinner—chopping vegetables, the scent of sautéing garlic filling the air—when I heard the door creak open.

“Hey, Buck!” I called out, hardly able to conceal my delight. He stepped into the kitchen, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

He inhaled deeply, his expression changing almost instantly. A kind of restrained intensity flooded his features, and the jovial vibe vanished.

“Your... scent,” he muttered, a frown pulling at his lips. “It’s different.”

I froze, the knife in my hand tremoring ever so slightly. “Different?”

The silence thickened, crackling between us. He turned sharply, as if battling an enemy I couldn’t see.

“Y/N, I—” he began, his voice trailing off. “I think you might be pregnant.”

I blinked at him, the words landing like pebbles in still water, sending ripples of disbelief coursing through me. “What? How do you know?”

His eyes darkened, and he took a step closer. “Your pheromones... are elevated. The serum gives me an edge when it comes to detecting subtle changes.” He hesitated, searching my face for some sign of understanding. “I—”

The world spun around me as the realization dawned. The food aversions, the nausea, those sudden cravings… Could it be true? A rush of emotions swelled inside me—joy, fear, wonder, and a kind of panic that tangled together in a dizzying ballet.

“What if you’re right?” I whispered, the question heavy in the air.

Bucky took my hands, grounding me with his warmth. “Then we’ll figure it out together. No matter what,” he reassured, his brows furrowing with determination.

I felt the warmth of his touch course through me, and suddenly, all the doubts began to melt away. I had always believed we could weather any storm, together. Perhaps this was our next adventure—a journey into the unknown.

With a surge of courage, I nodded, a determined smile breaking free despite the tumult within. “Let’s go get a test.”

Hours later, standing in the small bathroom, I leaned against the cool tiles, the pregnancy test in my hand. Bucky stood behind me, uncharacteristically quiet, his presence a silent support as I watched the little window fill with color.

“Come on…” I breathed, the seconds stretching into eternity. When the results finally appeared, the world around me faded into a blur. Two lines glared back at me, unwavering, as the surge of realization crashed over me like a tidal wave.

“I’m pregnant,” I blurted, hardly able to believe the words that fled my lips.

Bucky's face broke into the widest smile, a grin that lit up the room. He wrapped his arms around me, lifting me off the ground and spinning me around as though we were dancing in a quiet dream. “This is amazing! We’re going to be parents!”

I laughed, tears of joy spilling over as he set me back down. We stood there, lost in the enormity of it all, his strong hands still resting on my waist, grounding me in the present.

“I never considered this,” I admitted softly, gazing up at his handsome face.

“Neither did I,” he replied, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his bravado. “But it’s also the greatest thing we could have ever hoped for.”

As we stood together in that little bathroom, I realized that while life would never be the same, we were not alone in this journey. With Bucky by my side, I was ready to embrace the future—uncertainties and all—with open arms.

And so, our story continued, one filled with love, laughter, and the promise of a new adventure we never saw coming, yet desperately wanted to cherish. Together, we were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

[gliphyartfan]

You can ignore this.

What about a reader that got Stockholm Syndrome and feels that they don't deserve the affection they get from the chain so they show love towards the chain by waking before most of the chain early morning and making meals for the chain and fixing clothes they find damaged. Basically reader showing affection to the chain by doing domestic things for them.

Hmmmmmm….i can’t say I’ll do well…

Well...I can say this isn’t @yanderelinkeduniverse’s (y/n) (one of my many eternal muses) so you can choose whoever you want to be the star of this one.

Hopefully I did your request justice!

But anyway: here you go my friend!

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The early morning air was cool and damp as (Y/N) carefully stirred from their bedroll, the familiar rustling of leaves and the distant call of birds filling the quiet camp.

The sky was just beginning to lighten, a soft gray hue filtering through the trees.

It was their favorite time of day, a time when everything felt calm, peaceful, and they could focus on showing their affection to the Chain in the only way they felt they could.

Quietly, (Y/N) slipped past the others. This time, it was Twilight and Time who were keeping watch on opposite sides of the camp.

Both acknowledged them with a brief glance, nodding silently as (Y/N) smiled in return.

(Y/N) didn’t notice the way their gazes lingered after they passed, how Twilight’s brow furrowed slightly in concern, or how Time’s lips tightened, his eyes narrowing at their every movement.

They reached the small pile of supplies they’d set aside for breakfast.

It was comforting to have a task, something they could do for the group. But as (Y/N) began preparing the meal, the familiar pang of guilt surfaced. Cooking was Wild’s passion, not theirs.

As they started to chop the vegetables, that guilt gnawed at them again.

‘This is something that brings him joy,’ (Y/N) thought, ‘I’m taking it from him.’ But Wild had always been so kind about it. He’d smile and tell them it was fine, that he didn’t mind.

Yet every time (Y/N) asked for permission to cook, and every time Wild gave it, the knot of guilt in their chest grew tighter.

‘He allows it’, (Y/N) tried to rationalize, stirring the pot with a slow, careful motion. ‘I’m not taking anything from him if he says it’s okay.’ And they needed to help in some way, to contribute. It was the least they could do for the Chain, who did so much for them.

But, as they worked, they failed to notice the subtle shifts around them.

Time’s watchful gaze had turned more focused, tracking every move (Y/N) made as though expecting them to falter.

Twilight’s sharp eyes followed their form, and when he shifted to check on the rest of the camp, his glance lingered a little longer than usual. Neither said anything, but there was something shared between them, an unspoken concern as they watched (Y/N) work.

The quiet was broken when Time approached them, his steps soft but deliberate. “Up early again?” His voice, as always, was gentle. His eyes, soft and affectionate.

(Y/N) looked up, offering him a small, sheepish smile. “I didn’t want to wake anyone.”

Time’s hand came to rest on their shoulder, his touch warm but firm. “You never do. You’re always so careful.” His words were meant as praise, but something in his tone made (Y/N) feel like it wasn’t quite a compliment.

Still, they took it in stride, smiling again as they continued to stir the pot.

“I’m almost done,” they said, hoping to shift the conversation. “Figured I’d finish up before everyone else wakes.”

Time’s hand didn’t leave their shoulder. His grip remained, not forceful, but strong. “You don’t have to do so much for us, you know,” he said softly, his voice carrying a strange mix of affection and something deeper.

There was a shadow of concern in his gaze, though (Y/N) didn’t notice it before it was hidden away swiftly. “We’d still care for you, even if you didn’t.”

(Y/N) smiled up at him, feeling their cheeks warm at his words. “I just… I want to help,” they said, brushing off the unease that briefly surfaced. Time smiled back, his eyes softening.

By the time breakfast was ready, the rest of the Chain began to stir.

Wild was the first to reach the fire, his hair still wild from sleep, and his eyes soft with that familiar warmth he always had when looking at (Y/N).

“Thanks for breakfast,” Wild said, his voice rough from sleep but laced with gratitude. “You didn’t have to do it, though. I could’ve handled it.”

“I know,” (Y/N) replied quickly, that familiar knot of guilt rising again. “I just… I wanted to help.”

Wild gave them a soft, almost sad smile as he reached out to gently ruffle their hair. “You always do. But don’t feel like you have to take my job, okay?” His voice was kind, but there was an undertone to it, a subtle hint that he was worried about something more than just the cooking.

(Y/N) laughed it off, feeling the guilt twist a little deeper.

‘He’s fine with it. He said so.’ But they couldn’t help the nagging voice at the back of their mind, reminding them that they were taking something precious from him. Something that he loved.

And yet… Wild never complained. None of them did.

As the rest of the group gathered for breakfast, (Y/N) found themselves sitting a little to the side, quietly watching the others eat. They didn’t notice the way the Chain’s eyes flicked back toward them, each of them sharing brief, worried looks when they thought (Y/N) wasn’t looking.

Legend’s sharp gaze lingered a little too long, narrowing slightly, as if calculating something.

Twilight’s lips pressed into a thin line, his brow furrowing in thought as he ate in silence.

(y/n) merely yawned, wondering if they shouldn’t have stood up the night before working in repairing Wild’s cloak. (It hadn’t been a cloak then, more like shreds of cloth.)

They didn’t notice, though, too focused on making sure everything had gone smoothly with breakfast, and too used to the constant presence of their protectors to see anything strange about it.

When the meal was finished, (Y/N) gathered Warriors’ tunic, noticing the small tear that had appeared near the hem.

They set about mending it, their hands moving with practiced ease. It was a small, simple task, but one they took comfort in. It felt good to help in any way they could.

But as they worked, they didn’t notice the way Warriors’ eyes followed them, a look of soft concern on his usually confident expression.

He didn’t say anything, just watched, his fingers twitching slightly as if he wanted to take the tunic from them, perhaps even the needle.

But he didn’t. Instead, he exchanged a glance with Hyrule, whose gaze flickered between (Y/N) and the fire.

“Are you alright?” Hyrule asked after a moment, his voice quiet and gentle. He sat down beside (Y/N), close but not too close, his body angled protectively as if ready to shield them from something.

(Y/N) blinked, surprised by the question. “I’m fine,” they answered quickly, offering him a reassuring smile. “Just fixing up some clothes. No big deal.”

Hyrule’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but he nodded, accepting their words even though his gaze remained fixed on them, watching carefully, as though searching for any sign of strain or exhaustion.

The Chain’s affection surrounded them constantly, soft gazes, gentle touches, and quiet reassurances, but behind it all, there was a deeper worry that (Y/N) never noticed.

They didn’t see the way Time’s brow furrowed when they stayed up late mending clothes or the way Wild watched them a little too closely when they cooked.

They didn’t notice how Twilight hovered nearby, ready to step in at a moment’s notice, or how Legend’s gaze sharpened whenever they worked too hard.

To (Y/N), this was just love. Pure, simple love.

They had long stopped questioning the oddness of the Chain’s protectiveness.

(They didn’t see the possessiveness in their eyes or the way their concern often bordered on something more obsessive.)

They were safe. They were loved. And even if they didn’t feel worthy of all the attention, all the care the Chain gave them, they couldn’t deny the warmth it brought.

(And if there was more to it than that, (Y/N) remained blissfully unaware.)

[19calicos]

i know where to look – kuroo tetsurō ˎˊ˗

✶⋆.˚ chapter nine: happy community day! ( 𖦹 )

currently playing: chop by vundabar

word count: 3.5k

cw: language, smoking joints, drinking alcohol, cigarette mention, social anxiety (not severe), overthinking, angst at the end, if it's bad i'm sorry i need to be done w this chapter so i can finally move onto the rest of this damn story 😭

besides atsumu, who's adamant about catching up on his sleep debt for volleyball's sake, the apartment is awake on the fire escape, passing around a fresh joint. it's a rare moment of quiet and tenderness, with the only sounds being the hum of a passing car every so often and a playlist suna hit shuffle on. legs were piled upon legs, and heads leaned on shoulders.

"here, yn." noya passes the joint to them, then sits up and lays stomach down on the three pairs of legs like a blanket. it's uncomfortable, but he makes it work while suna snorts in amusement.

anticipation for the coming day hangs in the air. five more hours and it'll be seven, and the household will be out setting up for the long-awaited community day. even in the middle of their high, they run hyper-focused simulations in their head of conversations with people they might see, or what they'd do if certain things went wrong. it's taxing, filing away these possibilities in their head. it makes them more nervous of what they can't predict, of what they don't know.

"your brain is thinking," suna comments slowly. they close their eyes while rolling the joint back and forth between their fingers. another hit, and they hand him the joint-turned roach.

nothing gets past his eyes after all, especially with how long he's known them for. suna takes a hit from the roach, unbothered by how the smoke stings harsher in his throat. suna's not a fan of how intense a roach smells, so instead of saving it for another joint or time, he smokes it to the filter, tosses it by his foot and steps on it to kill it.

osamu, who is normally so quiet during a sesh, chimes in from where his head rests on their shoulder. "what'cha thinking 'bout?"

"i thought you were asleep," they reply with a glance.

"almost was. but, i’m feelin' nosy."

noya laughed. “if you fell asleep, we’d leave you out here.”

they poke osamu's cheek like they're atsumu trying to annoy him, and osamu lightly shoves their face back. "i'm just trying to get myself ready for the day. thinking of things to say, what to do so that i can go in with a game plan."

"don't think too hard," suna says. "trust yourself. you're cool as fuck. you'll be okay."

he's right about them being okay. it's always easier for them to figure it out in the moment, it’s just the time leading up to going out that’s stupidly hard to deal with. it always leads them into thinking, and thinking makes them fall down a rabbit hole, and it has more times than not convinced them to cancel plans altogether.

suna has always known the right thing to say, especially to them. they think of how they used to follow him everywhere when they were younger and more withdrawn, and how they piggybacked off him so that no one could tell that they weren't actually as socially adept as they seemed. it's still the same, but they’re all supposed to be in different places for most of the day, so they know they’re on their own.

it forms a pit in their stomach, a lump in their throat.

they can't help their unease from not knowing what you’re supposed to talk about with strangers. they note to themselves to roll a couple more joints, or maybe bring an extra pack of cigarettes so that they know they have something to occupy themselves with. if anything, they could just leave under the guise of a smoke break.

even moreso, they try desperately to keep kuroo out of their head. they're excited to see him and his friends, whose mannerisms and personalities they've steadily grown accustomed to, but it's been harder to keep certain feelings about kuroo at bay when they've found themselves with him more often. in side glances during hangouts, or in observations under the guise of helping him troubleshoot tricks, they've found themselves becoming fond of his cheeky smile, how he remembers their favorite things as easily as his birthday, and the way they can see his heart beating out of his chest when he's around them.

in the haze of the smoke, they realize that the way kuroo looks at them makes them think love could be real for them, too.

they blink that away.

noya sits up from where he was laying on the group's legs. he stretches his back, touches his toes, then throws up two fingers in a peace sign. "you should sleep on it, yn. i'm gonna go to bed."

it's not long before they find themselves back in the apartment in pajamas. atsumu's snores are as loud as ever, and when the lights turn off and the doors all close for the night, they find themselves staring out the window, thinking of kuroo’s favorite things too.

the time to get ready for the day arrives with screeching duck noises from noya's alarm on the other side of the wall, followed by a yell from suna across the hall to "fucking turn that shit off!"

texts from ukai to the work chat roll in, reminding them to meet at ace in an hour. the rest of the morning is spent inhaling toaster waffles and too sweet coffee for breakfast, trading sweaters and shirts, and packing materials and supplies into the car. noya claimed aux at some point (he somehow overrode suna's connection to the speaker) and played silly mario kart music from youtube in the background of it all.

they forgo their usual passenger seat in the car in favor of a solo ten minutes skating through neighborhoods and backroads. wired earbuds tucked into their favorite hoodie stick out from the collar, blasting their ears with some songs kuroo showed them not long ago – not that they're thinking about him at all! they just liked good music, and the songs kuroo texted to them in a midnight playlist were good.

their feet feel steadier on the board than usual, and as they ollie over a bump in the road, they feel themselves breathing with the bliss of morning solitude.

the lightness in their chest stays when they arrive at the block, weaving through other vendors and volunteers that arrived for set up. popping their board into their hand and shoving it in the space between their backpack and back, they fall into place helping set up the ace and the surrounding area, arms full of boxes with bags hanging off their wrists, moving in tandem with everyone else.

kuroo is nervous. these days, he's sort of felt like how he was when he was a kid, all jittery and awkward, but for completely different reasons. laying eyes on yn is enough to make him stutter, and he's thankful that he's been able to mask it each time. he doesn't want to look lame, not in front of someone like them.

he's pacing back and forth in his room, throwing another shirt onto his bed, dissatisfied with the way none of his shirts were falling right today. everything else was fine–his flat soled vans sitting at the door, the collared jacket hanging from his chair, the baggy pants he's got on. kuroo's realized lately that after skating so much these days he kind of does want to follow the aesthetic, but he's not sure he can emotionally handle the teasing he'd get from his household at this time.

there's a knock on his door. taking his chances, kuroo shouts for whoever is on the other side to come in. kenma enters and closes the door behind him, eyebrows raised at the mess on kuroo's bed.

"wow, you're nervous," he observes. kuroo rolls his eyes. he trusts he won't be soon enough; being with them melts his nerves away somehow. it just feels natural to be by their side, and that was nothing to be nervous over, not when his smiles comes so easily and his heart goes so soft in their presence.

"can you like, just pick a shirt for me please? i can't choose one right now."

kenma eyes the collection of tees kuroo pulled from his dresser, reaches in and grabs one with a large doodle of a fish skeleton on the side of it. with the amount and variety of PR packages kenma receives from being a streamer, it's no surprise that he's developed some sense of fashion. he's more reliable than bokuto who's got flashy taste, or akaashi and oikawa who are on different ends of the style spectrum.

"thanks," kuroo says. he catches the shirt when kenma tosses it and pulls it over his head, throws his jacket on, and grabs his shoes. kenma is on his heels when they leave the room, and they're greeted by everyone else waiting in the foyer for them. iwaizumi is there too, but only for the week: uci would be on break next week and his classes ended early, so he arrived in japan the night before and was staying at their apartment.

"kuroo! lookin' like a skater!" bokuto quips. he smacks kuroo on the back and almost knocks him off balance while he's slipping his shoes on, and oikawa and akaashi chuckle at the sight. "keiji, do you think i'd look cool as a skater boy?"

"i think you'd look cute, but you'd probably twist your ankle." akaashi opens the door, hand-in-hand with bokuto, then looks over his shoulder for a moment. bokuto follows suit. "kuroo, don't forget your board."

it's in his hands right as akaashi finishes, and they set out for their short commute to community day.

"so," oikawa starts with a shit-eating grin, and throws his arm around kuroo's shoulders. "what's the plan?"

kuroo snorts out a laugh. "you're funny." then, a lovesick smile, and unsurprisingly, he starts gushing. "yn said they're running a station in front of ace. it's a paint-your-own-deck thing, so there's a bunch of plain skateboards and paint markers. it was their idea and they were super stoked about it, so i'm gonna head there first."

"woah! super stoked, that's not something you'd usually say," bokuto points out. again, kuroo rolls his eyes.

iwaizumi can't help but join in. "leave him alone, he's just hopelessly in love." oikawa laughs with delight at the tag teaming, especially since iwaizumi had yet to receive a full debrief about kuroo's crush on yn, and removes his arm from kuroo's shoulders to place around iwaizumi's.

the rest of the way is filled with kuroo dodging teases and calculations of what he'd say to them when he gets to their stall.

there's a tap on their shoulder that makes them jump in their skin and almost drop a pitch black paint marker. scattered at their feet are a few boards: the jade green one (which matched ube's eyes) was drawn with a miniature cat sleeping on top of a head of broccoli, the golden yellow one had a centered doodle of jake the dog from adventure time, and the hazy lilac one featured a halfway colored outline of a graffiti tag. each one bore their signature and the date.

in front of them suna, mattsun, makki, and konoha snicker, but suna has the most amused look out of all of them.

"yn! found you!" kuroo exclaims with a wide smile. they try to look casual, happy but not ecstatic to see him, but their even wider smile betrays them.

"hey!" they stand to give him a friendly hug. kuroo's stomach does flips, and they can't hide the pink tint of their ears. "ah, guys, meet my friend. this is kuroo. and kuroo, these are some guys that suna and i skate with sometimes."

the guys before him nod at him and give short greetings, then return to their doodles on their new decks. yn grabs the closest plain deck (coincidentally kuroo's favorite color, red) and a box of markers, and they hand it to him. both miss the way suna and the others discreetly watch them with knowing eyes and grins, ready to speculate and tease when they leave.

"you came to draw on your own board, yeah?" they ask with a shy smile.

kuroo's heart skips when they make quick eye contact before looking away again. it's a shy habit of theirs. he's seen it in class during group work when they talk to people they don't know, but he's endeared by it, and his confidence is boosted just a little bit as he thinks to himself that maybe this time it's because they find him cute too.

he takes the board markers and sits by their board-in-progress, admiring the graffiti lettering of their name on it. "hey, that's super cool. can you help me do something like that for mine?"

they oblige him without hesitation, like it's the only thing they could ever do.

there are matching beers from onigiri miya in their hands as they walk to the skate park down the block. they admire the lettering with the idea of mimicking it for a future board, completely ignoring the way kuroo looked at them with the same admiration, if not more. their own board is still on their back, and in their hand is kuroo's board that he bought from ace a few months back. kuroo holds the new one they tagged for him, proudly showing it off with his name facing out.

before the skate park, they dropped off their other finished boards at ace. ukai had looked at them with a quirked eyebrow and a glint of recognition in his eyes when they entered, and took the decks to put in the back room with an amused smile. ube, who was purring under ukai's warm hand, meowed and demanded attention from them too, delaying them from leaving by a few minutes.

their attention is caught by a call of their name–it's noya, they realize. when they look up, they see him sitting with yachi, kiyoko, and tanaka, all four of them with drinks in their hand. he waves at kuroo too, and noya raises his drink at them in a long-distance cheers. everyone follows, pausing to drink together, and then they're back to walking again.

"they look good together," kiyoko light-heartedly comments. yachi giggles in agreement, and tanaka watches the two make their way down the block.

"community day is going super well, don't you think?" kuroo asks. he thinks he's melting just seeing how happy they looked next to him. he knew before that skating is what makes them feel at home, but it's one thing to know it and another to see it. and before him, he's seeing them radiate with pure joy, rambling about some skate fact, free of their usual quietness.

they laugh with glee, and kuroo could swear it's the sweetest thing he's ever heard. "it's going better than we expected, genuinely! everyone's being respectful, and i'm seeing so many people letting kids stand on their boards. it's all we could ever want from a community day."

kuroo adds another entry to the list of things he likes about them: how they look when they’re this happy.

upon arrival at the skate park, they drop their belongings in an empty spot, boards in their hands. kuroo cheers with them again and they finish the last legs of their beers, and before he has a chance, they swipe the bottle from his hand to discard for him.

(earlier, kuroo had swiped the caps and stuffed them in his pocket. he wished he could have saved the bottles too as some cheesy keepsake, but the caps and custom deck were more than enough already.)

"let's see how your ollie's coming along, hm?" they tease. kuroo's more than happy to give it an attempt. he tries again, lands a baby one but not the next few attempts. the park and the ramps catch his eye though, and an idea brews.

he tries again, just one more time. "i gotta pop harder," kuroo corrects himself. there's an odd sense of pride that swells in their chest when they see how dedicated he is, and they feel fond watching him figure it out.

he doesn't figure it out, and he's a bit disappointed that he can't get a consistent ollie, so he redirects his energy and points over at the ramps and half pipes. "i think i can drop in there though. like i'm ready, don't you think?"

they don't say no. they have had him practicing dropping into ramps lately, so they guide him to a shallower pipe in the park that's conveniently empty, not realizing they took him by the hand until they're there. kuroo's got a giddy little smile as he stands before them, and it freaks out their heart – so they ignore it.

not right now, they think to themselves.

atsumu chuckles from his spot on the grass a distance away. he, osamu, sakusa, and hinata watch the scene unfold before them, and leans over to osamu.

"ya think we'll win the bet?" he asks, grinning like a devil.

osamu smacks his head, but he agrees. "yeah, yn's definitely gonna be the one to confess first."

sakusa stares at the twins, brows furrowed. "you're both betting on your friend's love life?"

"and they agree too. isn't that freaky? i can't think of anything else they've ever agreed on, especially with a bet." hinata adds, elbowing sakusa's side.

they set their board up with the rear wheels over the metal railing, foot on the tail to keep the board in place. kuroo observes and mimics their positioning.

"so you're going to set up the board like this, and when you drop in, you're gonna put your other foot on the front two bolts." they drop in to demonstrate, skating to the other side and coming back. there's more to say as they take a seat on their board. "it helps me when i crouch a bit so that my knees are already super bent, and when you're ready, lean over the edge with your upper body. 'kay? oh, and don't lean back too much or you'll wipe out."

kuroo's eager. he's sure of himself, and he's confident he'll get this on the first try. he's got his good luck charm next to him, since he knows he skates better when they're around after all.

"it would be funny if i can do drop in's at the park but not an ollie, huh?" he jokes. they breath out a chuckle.

in the moment of truth, kuroo doesn't hesitate, because the first lesson he was taught about skateboarding was that if you hesitate, you'll eat shit. and even though he has taken nasty falls in front of them plenty of times before, he wanted to get it right the first time, just for them.

there's a clatter from kuroo's wheels hitting the concrete as he drops in, and a whirl when he rolls across the empty pipe. it drowns out the sounds of the other skaters in the park, and all they can see is him letting the momentum guide his board to the other side, and back. they hear his laughter when he asks if they saw him nail it, that maybe he should focus on park skating instead of freestyle, but he still wants to master an ollie for them–then he goes to keep trying the drop in again, solidifying his comfort with it. they find themselves agreeing that maybe they should go to the skate park more.

when they light the joint from their pocket for him as a little reward, tasting the floral notes of the strain, they realize they've been buying prerolls that kuroo usually smokes. they hold the joint out for him to take, and in the heat of the moment, he boldly takes the joint with his lips with the same cheeky smile.

they soak in the way he glows, radiant with skater's adrenaline. their heart tugs when he sits next to them, just a little closer than just a friend, while he talks about how he's glad that he now knows how fun skating could be.

in the haze of the smoke, they have another realization. the pit of nerves in their stomach was gone this entire time, and all the other times it's been them two in the same place. they like the way he makes them feel, all relaxed and fuzzy and warm. and they feel oddly sober when they ponder it all, drinking in the way his eyes close when he smiles boyishly instead of cheekily. they realize they like how he looks when he's this happy.

but the joint doesn't seem like it's going to get them high anytime soon. their heart drops as they come down from the bliss, and the feeling is worse than any bundle of nerves they could ever have in their stomach. they look away from kuroo when they realize they can't ignore it anymore.

they love him too, and fuck, it felt like a death sentence.

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more:

⟢ hoping u all enjoyed the cameos :-) i specifically included mattsun, makki, and konoha with suna bc they were supposed to be in the skater cat fan club until i realized i didn't really know how to write them without making the jokes kind of generic. i figured they'd have a very chismis/gossipy dynamic (based off of that one official art with all the characters) but then i was like ....... what else .........

⟢ yn is familiar with everyone who had a cameo too (besides iwa.) they're friends of their roommates and have dropped by the shop before, so they're acquainted

⟢ kuroo wanted to spend the rest of community day with yn but they lied and said they were feeling overwhelmed from being around so many people all day and wanted to go recharge in the ace back room. he didn't question it bc he understands how drained they must have felt since they don't like crowds, plus he understands it from kenma too

⟢ when kuroo dropped them off at the shop and left, ukai immediately could tell that they were shutting down. yn hiding in the back room isn't a rare thing so he handed them ube and some water and just let them be, but he knew something else was up and just stayed with them

⟢ yn went home early and told the groupchat they greened out (no one believed them) (they can tell somethings up because yn used such a dumb excuse)

⟢ kuroo could not shut up during his debrief when he and his group got home

tags (open, 31/50): @eggyrocks @whorefornoodles @sereniteav @bedeater @itsdragonius @spicana @localgaytrainwreck @sunafc @scinclaitnoir @staygoldsquatchling02 @rrosiitas @yuminako @zahrawr-likes-red @walllflowerrrsss @unwindwithme @mfcherry @giocriedpower @ahdbodhr @hyenagoated @loveelylacey @chososcamgirl @iheartpinky @piapiaweee3 @azuremyst99 @csbnova @tired-jaz @samuel1004 @kennedy-brooke @wyrcan @arustydoll @illuzminate

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[rafesapologist]

the setback ─ rafe cameron; part nine

summary: it's been two years since your departure from the outer banks and rafe cameron has seemingly convinced himself that he can go on with his life as if you never happened, except now more than ever his addiction is at an all time high. whether he was snorting lines of cocaine at wild parties or drowning himself in alcohol to numb the pain, rafe couldn't escape the memories of you. despite his efforts to bury his feelings, your absence lingered like a shadow, haunting him at every turn. meanwhile, you've been navigating life outside the outer banks, trying to carve out a new path for yourself. but no matter how far you've traveled, the memories of rafe cameron still linger in your heart, leaving you with a sense of unfinished business. as you find yourself facing new challenges and opportunities, you can't help but wonder if fate will eventually bring you back to the place where it all began.

warnings: swearing, angst, topper being topper

author's note: i listened to 'one more hour' by tame impala before writing this so do what you will with that (this is a warning in itself)

As the morning sun filtered through your shut eyelids, you groaned, trying to fend off the burning light that threatened to pull you from the depths of sleep. But despite your efforts, the persistent glow seeped through, coaxing you back to consciousness.

With a reluctant sigh, you finally succumbed to wakefulness, blinking away the haze of sleep as you reached out to check the time on your phone. But just as your fingers brushed against the familiar shape of your device, the door to your room burst open with a bang, startling you from your drowsy reverie.

"Y/n, wake up!" JJ's voice echoed through the room, filled with urgency and impatience. "You've got twenty minutes before your shift at the golf course starts!"

You blinked, momentarily disoriented by the sudden intrusion. "What?" you mumbled, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you tried to process JJ's words.

"Your shift, remember?" JJ reminded you, his tone tinged with exasperation. "Our job at the golf course starts today, first shift remember?"

Realization dawned on you as the fog of sleep lifted from your mind, memories of your earlier conversation with JJ flooding back to you. "Right, my shift," you muttered, scrambling to sit up in bed as you shook off the remnants of sleep.

JJ stood in the doorway, arms crossed impatiently as he waited for you to get moving. "Come on, y/n, chop chop! We don't have all day," he urged, his tone bordering on frantic.

With a resigned sigh, you threw back the covers and swung your legs over the edge of the bed, forcing yourself to push through the grogginess that still clung to your limbs. "Alright, alright, I'm up," you grumbled, shooting JJ a half-hearted glare as you dragged yourself out of bed.

As you splashed cold water on your face, the sensation jolting you into wakefulness, you couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension gnawing at the edges of your consciousness. It had been a while since you last set foot in the golf course, since you left the familiar shores of the Outer Banks behind. And now, as you prepared to return to your old stomping grounds, a wave of uncertainty washed over you like a tidal surge.

The golf course was a haven for the kooks – the privileged elite who roamed the island with an air of entitlement that bordered on arrogance. It was a world apart from the humble simplicity of life in the Outer Banks, a world where money and status reigned supreme.

You sighed, trying to shake off the lingering doubts and fears that threatened to consume you whole. You couldn't let the expectations of others dictate your life – couldn't let the judgmental glares and whispered gossip of the kooks dictate your worth.

With a determined shake of your head, you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand. You slicked back your hair, tying it into a low ponytail to keep it out of your face as you braced yourself for the day ahead. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, steeling yourself for whatever challenges lay in store.

"It's not a big deal," you whispered to yourself, the words a silent mantra of encouragement. "It's just the golf course."

With a quick brush of your teeth, you left the bathroom feeling slightly more refreshed. Hastily throwing on your tennis skirt and tank-top uniform, you wasted no time in rushing out into the kitchen, eager to ensure that JJ was ready to go.

"Hurry up, JJ!" you called out, your voice echoing through the empty hallway as you searched for your boyfriend.

Just as you were starting to worry, JJ emerged from his room with a sheepish grin, his hair still slightly tousled from sleep. "I'm ready, I'm ready!" he exclaimed, his words punctuated by a hint of breathlessness.

You couldn't help but giggle at his disheveled appearance, shaking your head in amusement at his lack of time management when it came to getting ready. "You really need to work on your timing, JJ," you teased, unable to resist poking fun at him.

JJ rolled his eyes playfully, though there was a hint of sheepishness in his expression. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he admitted with a chuckle, his tone filled with good-natured resignation. "But hey, at least we're not late, right?"

You nodded in agreement, unable to suppress a smile at JJ's infectious enthusiasm. "Yeah, I guess you're right," you replied, feeling a sense of camaraderie with the blond as you prepared to face the day together.

As you followed JJ out of the front door and towards his motorcycle parked in the front yard, you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation building within you. Riding on the back of JJ's motorcycle always brought a rush of adrenaline, a feeling of freedom and exhilaration that you couldn't find anywhere else.

But just as you were about to hop on behind him, JJ stopped you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. Before you could protest, he swiftly placed a helmet over your head, securing it in place with practiced ease.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his gesture, a playful grin tugging at the corners of your lips. JJ had always been one to prioritize safety, even if it meant being a bit overprotective at times. But deep down, you couldn't deny the warmth that flooded your heart at his show of affection and care for you.

"Thanks, Jay," you said, your voice soft with gratitude as you adjusted the helmet, ensuring that it fit snugly over your head.

JJ flashed you a grin in response, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he climbed onto the motorcycle, revving the engine to life. "Safety first, y/n," he teased, his tone lighthearted yet sincere.

You couldn't help but laugh at his antics, feeling a sense of comfort wash over you as you settled onto the back of the motorcycle, wrapping your arms around JJ's waist as he guided the bike onto the road.

As the motorcycle roared to life and JJ guided it onto the road, you couldn't help but feel a surge of nervous energy coursing through your veins. The ride to the golf course seemed to pass in a blur, each moment tinged with a sense of urgency and anticipation that made time fly by in an instant.

You attributed the quickness of the journey to your own anxiety, the nerves coiling tightly in the pit of your stomach as you braced yourself for the day ahead. But despite the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you, there was a small sense of relief in the feeling of the wind against your skin and the warmth of JJ's body pressed close to yours.

As you clung to him, the steady rhythm of the motorcycle beneath you provided a comforting anchor, grounding you in the present moment and soothing the turmoil that churned inside you. With each passing mile, you felt the tension in your muscles begin to ease, replaced by a sense of calm and clarity that you hadn't realized you'd been craving.

And as the golf course loomed into view, the familiar sights and sounds of the bustling establishment filling the air, you couldn't help but feel a sense of disquietude wash over you.

"If you had went any faster you probably would have killed us," you quipped as you removed the bulky helmet off of your head, "I think I have whiplash."

"Yeah, whatever boosts your ego," you replied with a playful shrug, grabbing your tote bag from the bike's satchel. "I just can't believe you managed to get us our jobs back here." Shaking your head, you turned your gaze to the ground beneath you as you and JJ approached the golf course's main entrance gate.

Your heart raced a million beats per minute as you stepped foot onto the lush Bermuda grass that covered the course. Though JJ was likely still talking to you, your attention was elsewhere, your mind consumed by the memories and emotions that flooded back at the familiar sight of the golf course.

With a heavy sigh, you hauled yourself and the looming anxiety into the locker room, determined to put away your bag and clock in for your shift. The familiar routine helped to ground you, providing a sense of structure amidst the chaos of your racing thoughts.

As you stowed your belongings and straightened up your appearance, you couldn't shake the nagging feeling of apprehension that settled like a weight in the pit of your stomach. The prospect of facing whoever would show up during your shift, especially Rafe Cameron, sent a shiver down your spine.

Summoning every ounce of courage you could muster, you pulled up your socks just above your ankles, a small gesture of determination to face whatever challenges lay ahead. With a deep breath to steady your nerves, you squared your shoulders and stepped out onto the course, ready to begin your shift.

Despite the lingering unease that gnawed at the edges of your mind, you pushed aside your fears and focused on the task at hand. You had a job to do, and you were determined to do it to the best of your ability, no matter what – even if it meant coming face to face with Rafe Cameron.

As you ventured out onto the course, the warm rays of the sun danced across your glistening skin, casting a comforting glow over the lush green landscape. The figure-eight pattern of sunlight filtered through the swaying branches of the trees, creating a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow that enveloped you as you went about your duties.

The first half of your shift passed by without much incident, the familiar routine of serving drinks and catering to the whims of the patrons keeping you busy. You dealt with your fair share of middle-aged men who were more interested in flirting with a girl half their age than actually playing golf, but you handled them with ease, deftly navigating their advances with a polite yet firm demeanor.

Despite the occasional flirtatious comment or suggestive wink, you found yourself settling into a rhythm, the tasks at hand becoming second nature as you moved from one group of patrons to the next. It was smooth sailing for the most part, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude as the hours ticked by without any mishaps or run-ins with your past to corrupt your day.

As you were in the midst of refilling the cooler of drinks, lost in your own thoughts, your boss's sudden appearance jolted you back to reality. He approached with purpose, pulling you out of your reverie as he delivered the news of a large group of young men arriving to golf for the next few hours.

The request was simple – ensure their needs were met and provide exceptional service throughout their time at the course. While you obliged with a nod of understanding, internally, you couldn't help but feel a pang of apprehension at the prospect of dealing with a rowdy group of young men.

Though you maintained a professional demeanor, the thought of catering to their demands and managing their potentially unruly behavior wasn't exactly thrilling. Nevertheless, you knew it was all part of the job, and you were determined to fulfill your duties to the best of your ability, regardless of any personal reservations.

With a resigned sigh, you set aside your misgivings and prepared yourself to meet the challenge head-on. After all, you were no stranger to handling difficult patrons, and you were confident in your ability to navigate the situation with grace and professionalism. With a reassuring nod to your boss, you returned to your tasks, steeling yourself for whatever the next few hours might bring.

As you braced yourself for the impending arrival of the group, you couldn't help but feel the need to vent to JJ before diving into what promised to be a challenging few hours. You wandered around the course, scanning the area until you spotted JJ outside, meticulously polishing golf clubs hung up on the racks.

With a sense of determination, you made your way over to him, catching him by surprise with your abrupt greeting. JJ looked up, noting the irritation in your tone, and immediately sensed that something was amiss. He set down the club he was working on and turned his full attention to you, ready to listen.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his brows furrowing with concern as he regarded you.

You sighed, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as you prepared to unload your frustrations. "There's a group of kooks coming in soon, and I have a feeling they're going to be a handful," you explained, your voice tinged with exasperation.

JJ's expression hardened at the mention of the kooks, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features. He knew all too well the challenges that came with dealing with entitled tourists, especially those who frequented the golf course.

"Well, you know you can handle them," JJ reassured you, his tone firm yet supportive. "And if they give you any trouble, just let me know. I'll take care of it."

As you exchanged a nod and a small smile with JJ, appreciative of his offer of support, the sound of your boss's voice shattered the moment, calling out for you to head over to the other end of the course to greet the arriving group.

"Looks like duty calls," you remarked with a wry grin, casting a glance over your shoulder at JJ.

"Yeah, go handle those kooks. You got this," JJ replied, his tone laced with confidence.

Rolling your eyes playfully, you shot back, "Easy for you to say. You're not the one dealing with them."

With a chuckle, JJ waved you off. "Just remember, if they give you any trouble, you know where to find me." Nodding in agreement, you turned and began to make your way towards the other end of the course, your steps quickening with each stride.

Hurriedly making your way over to the other side of the golf course, you felt a sense of urgency creeping in as you fumbled to find your notepad. The weight of the impending interaction with the large group of customers loomed over you, fueling your determination to be prepared for whatever they might throw your way.

As you approached the group, you plastered on your best fake customer service voice, offering a warm greeting despite the mounting tension in your chest. "Good afternoon, gentlemen! Welcome to the golf course. How can I assist you today?" Your words flowed smoothly, practiced and polished, even as your gaze remained fixated on your skirt pocket, still searching for your notepad. With each passing moment, the pressure mounted, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration at your inability to locate the notepad.

The sound of a male voice broke through the tension, pulling you out of your internal turmoil. "No shot," the voice exclaimed, its familiarity causing your heart to skip a beat. "Y/N, is that you?"

Your head snapped up at the mention of your name, your eyes widening in disbelief as you locked gazes with the source of the voice. And there, standing before you, was none other than Topper. Time seemed to stand still as you took in his appearance, his blond hair tousled by the breeze, his features sharp and familiar.

For a moment, you couldn't believe your eyes. It felt as though you were either dreaming or on the brink of insanity. Topper, of all people, here at the golf course – it was a surreal sight to behold. Your heart raced in your chest as you stood there in stunned silence, unable to form words as you processed the unexpected encounter.

You stumbled over your words, the unexpected encounter catching you off guard. "Hey, Top…" you stammered, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find your footing in the conversation. Your gaze flickered to the ground, a feeble attempt to avoid further interaction with him, but deep down, you knew Topper thrived on drama.

His snarky remark pierced through the awkward silence, poking at your nerves with surgical precision. "I haven't seen your face in a while. How was your little trip to Barbados?" His words hung in the air, laced with an unmistakable edge as he watched you carefully, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing.

Your eyes shot up to meet his, a mix of surprise and suspicion flickering in your gaze. How did he know about your trip to Barbados? It was something you hadn't even shared with Rafe, let alone anyone else. The realization sent a shiver down your spine, a nagging sense of unease settling in the pit of your stomach as you grappled with the implications of Topper's words.

Caught off guard by the sudden interruption, you welcomed the distraction with a relieved cough, hoping to diffuse the tension that had been building between you and Topper. But before you could respond, another member of the group chimed in, his words cutting through the air like a knife.

"Wait… Holy shit, are you Rafe's ex?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with implication, as the group turned their attention to you, awaiting your response. You felt a surge of panic rise within you, unsure of how to navigate this unexpected turn of events. The truth threatened to spill from your lips, but you quickly clamped down on the impulse, your mind racing as you searched for a suitable response.

The weight of everyone's attention bore down on you, intensifying the clamminess in your palms and the heat rising to your cheeks. "Um…" you began, your voice wavering slightly as you struggled to find the right words. Your brows furrowed in concentration as you shook your head, attempting to deflect the question with a vague response. "We used to be close is all," you muttered, your tone terse as you kept your reply short and to the point.

You hoped your answer would suffice, deflecting any further inquiries about your relationship with Rafe. But deep down, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air, knowing that the truth was far more complicated than you were willing to admit.

Topper's laughter cut through the air like a knife, his amusement at your response evident in the way his laughter echoed around you. But it was his next words that struck deep, like a blow to the chest.

"That's a funny way of saying you two dated until he found out you were a backstabbing bitch."

Your eyes widened in shock at the venom in his words, feeling the sting of his insult like a physical blow. The tightness in your throat threatened to suffocate you as you struggled to process the weight of his accusation. Flinching at the sincerity in his voice, you realized with a sinking feeling that Rafe must have confided in Topper about the real reason for your breakup all those years ago.

The truth of his words hit you like a ton of bricks, stirring up a whirlwind of emotions that threatened to consume you. Anger, hurt, and betrayal mingled together, leaving you feeling raw and exposed in front of Topper and the rest of the group. You swallowed hard, fighting to keep your composure as you grappled with the devastating revelation that your past had come back to haunt you in the most unexpected of ways.

"What's going on? What are you guys laughing at-" The sound of a familiar voice cut through the laughter like a knife, bringing a sudden halt to the jovial atmosphere. Your heart sank as you recognized the voice, dread pooling in the pit of your stomach. And then, as if on cue, his face came into view, confirming your worst fears.

Rafe.

Your breath caught in your throat as you locked gazes with him, feeling a wave of emotions crash over you like a tidal wave. Guilt, fear, and a deep-seated sense of apprehension washed over you, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable in his presence.

As Rafe's eyes scanned the scene before him, confusion flickering across his features, you braced yourself for the inevitable confrontation that was sure to follow. The weight of his gaze bore down on you, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread gnawing at your insides as you waited for him to speak.

You watched with bated breath as Rafe's shoulders slumped, a flicker of recognition crossing his features as he realized the source of his friends' laughter. The sight of you, on the verge of tears, must have been a stark contrast to the jovial atmosphere he had walked into.

"Rafe! Look who we ran into. Funny, right? Who would've thought she'd show her face here after what she did." Topper's snarl pierced through the tense silence, his gesture pointing towards you as if you were some spectacle to be mocked.

Rafe's expression hardened at Topper's words, a glimmer of warning in his voice as he responded, "Top, knock it off. It's all in the past."

His words were like a lifeline in the midst of the chaos, a reminder that despite the hurt and betrayal of the past, there was still a chance for redemption and forgiveness. You felt a faint flicker of hope stir within you, tempered by the uncertainty of what lay ahead. But for now, in this moment, you clung to Rafe's words as a beacon of hope in the heat of the moment.

Topper's chuckle grated on your nerves, his persistence in dredging up the past only adding fuel to the fire of your emotions. His next words cut through the air like a knife, each syllable laced with venomous intent.

"Oh, c'mon, you hated her guts right after she left. You think I forgot all those times you said she was nothing but a heartless bitch?" Topper's jab landed with precision, causing Rafe's expression to falter, his facade of composure cracking under the weight of his friend's accusations.

Rafe's gaze immediately found yours, searching for any sign of the impact Topper's words had on you. As you met his eyes, he saw the hurt reflected in your expression, a painful reminder of the wounds that had yet to heal. Guilt washed over him like a tidal wave, hitting him with the force of a truck as he realized the depth of the pain he had caused you.

In that moment, the tension between you and Rafe was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the turmoil that lay beneath the surface. And as you held each other's gaze, the weight of the past hung heavy in the air, threatening to suffocate you both with its unresolved emotions.

Fighting back tears, you clenched your jaw, determined to maintain your composure and professionalism in front of the large group of men. With a quick nod, you shielded your emotions from the prying eyes of the boys surrounding you.

"Right. Well, if you guys need anything, I'll be over here. Enjoy your day," you replied stoically, your voice betraying none of the turmoil raging within you. Turning on your heel, you swiftly walked away, each step a silent retreat from the painful confrontation unfolding before you. Reaching a nearby golf cart, you wasted no time in packing up your belongings and drinks, your movements brisk and efficient as you prepared to escape to somewhere far away from the suffocating presence of Rafe and his friends.

"Y/N please, wait."

As you hurriedly packed up your things, a voice called out your name from behind, growing closer with each step. You recognized the voice all too well, and a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. It was Rafe.

Despite knowing it was him, you refused to turn around and acknowledge him. You couldn't bear to face him after everything that had transpired. You knew he was probably coming over to do damage control for his friend's spitefulness, but after what Topper had said, you had heard enough.

"Go away, Rafe," you muttered, your voice tinged with hurt and frustration as you continued to focus on packing up your belongings. It came out more harshly than you intended, but you couldn't bring yourself to face him, not after the pain his friend's words had caused you.

Despite your request, you knew Rafe well enough to anticipate that he wouldn't simply leave until you faced him. His stubbornness had always been both a blessing and a curse to you.

"Y/N, look, I'm sorry about what happened back there. You know Topper, he just says things," Rafe's voice broke through the tension, his tone laced with regret and sincerity.

"So you weren't calling me a heartless bitch while I was gone?" you spat, the bitterness evident in your words as you crossed your arms defensively, turning to face Rafe abruptly. The hurt and anger simmered beneath the surface, threatening to spill over at any moment.

Rafe fell silent, his blue eyes flickering back and forth between yours as he struggled to find the right words. Eventually, he sighed, a gesture of resignation as he brought a hand to his temple in frustration.

"I'm not going to lie to you and say that I didn't," he began, his voice heavy with remorse, "and I know it was wrong. But I did it because I was hurt and angry at you for leaving, okay? I shouldn't have said it, but I did, and I'm sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean it."

His admission hung in the air, the weight of his words sinking in as you processed his apology. Despite the pain and anger that still lingered within you, you couldn't deny the sincerity in Rafe's voice. He was vulnerable in that moment, his walls crumbling as he laid bare his regrets and shortcomings.

You felt a twinge of sympathy, recognizing the turmoil that must have plagued him in the aftermath of your departure. And as you looked into his eyes, you saw the flicker of remorse mirrored in his gaze, a silent plea for forgiveness that tugged at your heartstrings.

For a moment, you hesitated, unsure of how to respond to his apology. But deep down, you knew that holding onto resentment would only prolong the pain for both of you. With a sigh, you let your arms fall to your sides, the tension easing from your stance as you met Rafe's gaze with a nod of acknowledgment.

You looked up at him, a softness in your gaze as you nodded, taking in his apology and the acceptance of his words. "We can't keep hurting each other like this, Rafe," you admitted, your voice filled with a mixture of weariness and determination.

The weight of the past hung heavy between you, a reminder of the pain and heartache that had plagued your relationship. But in that moment, you felt a glimmer of hope, a longing for a future where the wounds of the past could be healed, and where you and Rafe could find a way to move forward together.

Rafe met your gaze with a solemn nod, his expression reflecting a similar sentiment. "I know, Y/N," he replied softly, his voice tinged with regret, "I don't want to keep making the same mistakes. I want to do better, for both of us." His words resonated with you, stirring a sense of hopefulness within your heart.

As you closed your eyes, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you, threatening to drown you in their intensity. The weight of your choices hung heavy on your shoulders, each one fraught with its own set of consequences. You couldn't help but feel torn between loyalty to JJ, your best friend, and the lingering feelings you still held for Rafe, your first love.

The thought of hurting either of them filled you with a profound sense of guilt and despair. You wished you could simply escape from it all, to tune out the world and retreat into solitude where the weight of your decisions couldn't reach you. But you knew that running away wasn't an option, not when the consequences of your actions were looming over you like a storm cloud on the horizon.

With a heavy heart, you knew that you had to face the reality of your situation head-on. No matter how much you wished for an easy way out, the truth was that there was no escaping the difficult choices that lay before you. And as you took another deep breath, steeling yourself for the challenges that lay ahead, you knew that you couldn't afford to remain passive any longer. It was time to confront the complexities of your heart and the tangled web of emotions that bound you to both JJ and Rafe, knowing that the path forward would be anything but easy.

"I still have things to figure out for now, Rafe," you confessed, your voice laced with uncertainty, "and I hope that you can be okay with that until I'm able to do so. I just... I don't want to hurt anyone else more than I've already done."

Rafe's gaze softened, his eyes reflecting a deep understanding of your dilemma. "I understand, Y/N," he replied gently, his voice a soothing presence amidst the turmoil of your emotions, "I'll respect your need for time and space. Just... know that I'll be here, whenever you're ready."

You offered him a small, grateful smile, the weight of your indecision still heavy on your heart. "Thank you, Rafe," you murmured, hoping that he could sense the depth of your gratitude and the complexity of your emotions.

As you drove across the expansive golf course, the hum of the cart's engine providing a steady backdrop to your turbulent thoughts, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease settle over you. The weight of the choices you faced seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment, threatening to crush you beneath their burden.

You hated the complexity of the situation, the tangled web of emotions that bound you to both JJ and Rafe. It felt like no matter which path you chose, someone would end up hurt, and the thought weighed heavily on your conscience.

Memories of your past with Rafe flashed through your mind, each one a painful reminder of the bond you once shared and the feelings that still lingered beneath the surface. Despite your efforts to move on, it seemed that the past had a way of catching up to you, refusing to let you forget the love you once knew.

And yet, as you navigated the winding paths of the golf course, you knew that you couldn't afford to dwell on the past. The present demanded your attention, and the future loomed uncertain and fraught with challenges.

You spotted JJ outside the lobby building, his expression grave as he motioned for you to come over. Your heart sank as you approached, already bracing yourself for bad news.

"What's going on, Jay?" you asked, your voice tinged with worry as you crossed your arms, waiting for his response.

"Okay, so get this. Pope just called and told me they found out that Ward is trying to track John B before he can expose all of Ward's fucked up lies. Apparently, he has a hit out on him," JJ explained urgently, his words hitting you like a punch to the gut.

Your eyes widened in horror, your arms falling to your sides as you processed the gravity of the situation. The thought of John B being in danger sent a surge of fear coursing through your veins.

"Shit," you breathed, your mind racing as you tried to comprehend the direness of the situation. "We have to do something, Jay. We can't just sit back and let Ward get away with this."

JJ fell silent for a moment, his expression telling you he was hesitant to say whatever it was that he wanted to tell you. You cocked your eyebrow, waiting for him to speak but to no avail.

"Well, what is it JJ?"

"Look, I know it's a lot to ask," JJ began, his tone hesitant as he gauged your reaction. "But we really need you to spy on Rafe again. It's the only way we can find out what Ward's next move is."

You felt a surge of confliction, the memories of your previous attempts to spy on Rafe flooding back with a pang of guilt. "Spy on Rafe?" you repeated, your voice wavering with uncertainty as you processed JJ's request.

"Yeah," JJ confirmed with a solemn nod, his expression grave. "I know it's asking a lot, but we need to know what Ward's planning. Rafe might have some insight that could help us."

Your heart sank at the thought of betraying Rafe's trust once again, but you couldn't deny the urgency of the situation. "But JJ, you know what happened last time I tried to spy on him," you reminded him, your voice tinged with apprehension.

JJ's gaze softened with understanding, his tone gentle as he replied, "I know, Y/N. I'm not asking you to do this lightly. But right now, we need all the information we can get if we're going to take down Ward and keep John B safe."

You shook your head, your gaze falling to the floor, overwhelmed by JJ's request. "JJ, this is a lot to ask... I don't know if I can do this again. I feel like I'm just hurting him all over again."

"Why does it matter if he's hurt? He's Rafe Cameron, he doesn't deserve your pity," JJ countered, his voice tinged with frustration.

You looked up at JJ, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. "I know he's made mistakes, but he's still a person, JJ. I can't just use him like some pawn in a game," you insisted, your voice tinged with anguish.

"But this isn't about him, Y/N. It's about taking down Ward and keeping John B safe," JJ argued, his tone firm.

You sighed heavily, torn between loyalty to your friends and your own moral compass. "I need some time to think about it, JJ. This isn't a decision I can make lightly," you replied, your voice wavering with uncertainty.

JJ folded his arms, frustration evident on his face. "Well, let me know when you make your decision, although I thought it should be pretty easy considering John B is your friend, too," he stated firmly, his tone laced with disappointment.

You flinched at JJ's words, feeling the weight of his expectations bearing down on you. "I know, JJ. I'll... I'll figure it out," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, unable to meet his gaze.

With that, JJ nodded stoically and turned back around to go into the building, leaving you standing there with the weight of your decision heavy on your shoulders. You took a deep breath, trying to steel yourself against the conflicting emotions swirling inside you. The gravity of the situation pressed down on you, leaving you feeling torn between loyalty to your friend and the potential consequences of betraying someone you cared about.

As you stood there, lost in your thoughts, the world seemed to blur around you, the only sound echoing in your ears being the tumultuous beating of your own heart. With each passing moment, the weight of the choice you had to make grew heavier, threatening to crush you under its burden.

But despite the overwhelming uncertainty that loomed over you, one thing remained clear – whatever decision you made would have far-reaching consequences, forever altering the course of your relationships and the trajectory of your life. And as you grappled with the weight of your choices, you couldn't help but wonder if there was any path forward that wouldn't leave you broken and alone in the end.

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[a-leg-without-fear]

Can I have a medium drip coffee with Matt please? 👀

Of course you can! One medium drip coffee, coming up!!

Exploring music is always interesting when it comes to Matthew Michael Murdock.

Two songs, almost identical in tune and rhythm, could garner vastly different reactions from him. One could make him smile softly, eyes falling closed, while he sways lightly to the beat. The other could make him screw up his lips in disgust and ask for you to turn it off immediately.

You had concocted a playlist you have named "Matt's Music." A wide range of songs, from every single genre there is, all carefully picked for Matt's reactions. If he gave even an inkling of enjoying the song, onto the playlist it went.

So, when you'd inexplicably hit shuffle while you cleaned or did laundry, the mood would drastically shift in tone from one song to the next. From "Maneater" by Hall & Oates, to "Only You" by The Platters, to "Plowed" by Sponge, to "Superstition" by Stevie Wonder. It was almost funny how wild your playlist had become after the time you've spent with Matt.

The two of you were cooking dinner. You were chopping potatoes to throw into a pot, Matt was sautéing some veggies in a large pan, and your playlist filtered quiet songs into the open apartment.

Smooth guitar and trumpets filled the air as "The Girl from Ipanema" by Frank Sinatra started playing. You glanced at Matt out of the corner of your eye. His eyes fell closed, a small smile tugging at his lips, as he started to subtly sway to the song. You felt an involuntary grin spread across your face.

He always looked so peaceful like this. In his safe space, both in the apartment and with you, doing something he enjoys, cooking, and listening to songs that don't overwhelm his senses. It was almost hypnotizing, how at ease he was.

The words slipped out before you could stop yourself, "Dance with me."

Matt tilted his head in your direction, eyes still closed. He hummed in response.

"Get over here, Mrs.Murdock."

You set down the large vegetable knife clutched in your hands and crossed the small kitchen. He shifted the pan off of its burner. Pops and sizzles ceased as the veggies were removed from the heat.

Deft, warm hands smoothed over your hips. Experienced fingers tracing the waistband of your leggings and finding their place on your waist. You looped your arms around his shoulders.

The two of you fell into step in time with the song. His hands pressed gently into your hips to guide your movements. You could hear quiet hums to the song rumbling in his broad chest.

When it came to the Spanish part of the song, a cocky grin spread across his lips. He started singing along. Perfectly. You were blown away. All the smug bastard could do was smile at you.

"Que pasa?" he asked lightly. You sighed, playfully rolling your eyes.

"Okay, avocado at law," you replied with a laugh. Matt couldn't help but join in, the two of you continuing to sway to the song.

It was peaceful. Tranquil. Right.

[eddies-whoreee]

Bite-able

Summary: Your best friend is irresistible.

CW: best friend!Eddie, best friend!reader, perv!reader, kinda sub!Eddie, allusions to sex, and lots of sexual and strong language.

A/N: This was so short I’m sorry I’ve been trying to write but I’ve had writers block. I’ve been trying to work on ideas ppl send me but I just never can finish it. The endings are hard to come up with but please keep sending your ideas I’ll try to turn them into more than just blurbs.

It was hottter than hell inside Eddie’s trailer and it was even hotter outside. You two opted for the coolest room which was his, not that you two had much to pick from the 1,000 sq ft. that you have. He had a old air conditioner that needed the filter to be changed. And a white 15 dollar box fan. “Holy shit it’s hotter than satan’s balls in here” Eddie exclaims as he sits up from his bed where he’s been working on a campaign for hours. “Duh, it’s July and Indiana it’s gonna get worse the next couple of days” you reply look up from your book, to him. You sat down on the floor on his beanbag. “Heat rises, that’s why I’m sitting on the floor” you peep directing your gaze back to the book. You hear him huff a small laugh before standing up. He stood there by his night stand rummaging through his drawer. You decide to get up and check out his campaign since you’re his favorite hellfire member you’re allowed a sneak-peak. As you approach the bed you see the various creatures he has drawn out. Just then you plop down on the bed your knees folded under you as you face Eddie. “Do you have a hair tie? At this point Im willing to chop all of this shit off” he huffs dramatically. You roll your eyes playfully before handing him the tie. “You say that every summer” you declare as you watch him go to tie his hair up. You watch the sliver of skin appear as his shirt rides up his slinky waist. Your feel your mouth hang open. You felt goosebumps cover your body making you slightly shiver. Eddie was talking about something as he collected all of his hair in one hand using the other to pull the hair tie over the hair and pull it through. His shirt playing a game with you as it covers his v-line then exposes it again. His waist looks so soft, smooth, and

Bite-able.

“Ow! What the- did you just bite me” he yelps jumping back a little arms flying to your shoulders not pushing you away just sitting there. He looked down shocked. You looked up at him then back to what you were doing. Your hands were placed on either side of his waist and your face was inches from his skin. “Well-yeah you, looked… bite-able” you stuttered to find an answer. He lets out a pant, a sigh of approval. “W-Jesus, you can’t be doing that, you could give someone a heart attack” he tries to joke how flustered he is right now. “Or in your case a boner?” You ask with an all but innocent smirk. His eyes widen as he tries to explain. You chuckle as your hands move up his shirt to drag your nails lightly across his chest making him let out a small whine. “Eddie?” You ask now inches from his neck as you teased him. He wanted so badly to feel your lips on his skin. “You want to fuck me?” You ask teasingly as you kissed up his neck while your hands groped his hard-on. “Yes please” he whimpered, becoming completely goop at your touch. “Then lock the door” you say as if it were common knowledge (which it is). He nods and waste no time in getting to the door and fumbling around with the lock. You giggle at his eagerness. As he got back to you he gripped your waist pulling you on top of him to straddle his lap. He plopped down on the bed as he pulled you into a heated kiss. You grind down on his boner making him buck into you. “Less. Clothes.” He manages through the kiss that none of you wanted to pull away from. With that you two started throwing various items of clothing off. “Y/n?” He ask panting heavily. “Yes?” You ask taking off your bra. “Bite me more”

[leclercsredhelmet]

Pretty Young Thing ⟡ Brock Purdy

A/N: Hi there! I'm back with another imagine, this time its none other than Brock Purdy! Apologies if it's a little short but I hope that you all enjoy reading this!!

"Let me love you to the max, I want to love you pretty young thing"

Offseason in the NFL meant that you had Brock glued to your side most of the time. Instead of leaving San Francisco right after the season ended, you had decided to stay for a bit and perhaps do some traveling later on after your wedding. For now, you were staying home and getting some much-needed rest. Sun filtered in through the windows in the kitchen and living room. Brock was with you in the kitchen “helping” as he had put it. His idea of helping was just sitting on the countertops as he watched you cook while occasionally hopping down to dance around the kitchen. 

Opening the oven you popped in the mac n’ cheese and closed it carefully so you wouldn’t burn yourself. “Well Mr. Purdy the food is in the oven, thanks for your help,” you said emphasizing the word help and using air quotes. Brock laughed, “I did help, I  chopped the bacon and provided entertainment,” he said with a cheeky smile. Laughing you playfully slapped him with the dish towel, “Besides I’d much rather watch you in the kitchen than disturb the perfect dish in the making,” he said. You threw your head back and laughed. “There’s that laugh, I love so much!” he exclaimed before picking you up to spin you. 

Laughing louder at the action he joined in on the laughs and set you down. Capturing your lips in a kiss his arms went around your waist and he hugged you. Pretty Young Thing came on and you smiled knowing that he’d break out in a dance. “Baby you gotta dance with me!” he exclaimed. Smiling you started to shimmy your shoulders a little and Brock spun around you to grab a wooden spoon to use as a microphone. 

With the spoon in hand, he came over and put a hand on his hip as he danced and you laughed while moving your arms around and singing. “I want to love you, pretty young thing!” you both sang and Brock did a spin and popped his hip out twice and you laughed. “Smooth moves Purdy!” you said and laughed and grabbed your waist and spun you. You landed flush against his chest and kissed him sweetly. “I have smoother moves future Mrs. Purdy,” he said and you giggled. “Cheeky Purdy, I love you,” you said. “Me too babes,” he replied.

More songs came on and you kept dancing in the kitchen while the food was ready. By the time the food was done, you took it out of the oven and he set the table. “ Pretty Young Thing has to be in the wedding reception,” Brock said and you giggled. “It’s on the list already,” you replied. “Yes!” he cheered and you laughed. “It’s crazy that we get married in four weeks,” you said. “It is, I can’t wait to be married to my girl,” he said plopping a kiss on your cheeks. “And I can’t wait either to be married to you B,” you replied laying your head on his chest. 

You proceeded to talk about what you looked forward to in the wedding and decided to finish planning your honeymoon. 

Four weeks later

Brock and you had been a married couple for seven hours already and it was blissful. The party was in full swing, Brock was somewhere off talking to his teammates while you were talking to some of the wives. “You’re going to love Costa Rica, the resort is stunning,” one of the wives said. “I’m so excited, if it was up to me I would leave tonight!” you exclaimed. The wives raised their eyebrows suggestively, “Someone’s in a rush,” Kristin said and you blushed. “I just want to enjoy my husband’s company in a beautiful place,” you said. “Not just his company,” Olivia said coyly, giggling you all drank from your cups. 

You were about to speak but the lights dimmed, a chair was placed in the middle of the dancefloor and you furrowed your brow. “I think I need to find Brock,” you said and turned to leave but Nick Bosa came up to you. “Mrs. Purdy you are urgently needed,” he said. “Is everything okay Nick?” you asked. “Come with me,” he said as he led you to the chair. “Where is my husband?” you asked. “No time for questions just stay there,” he said. You sat down and watched him dart away to some dark corner. The lights had dimmed more and you sat there puzzled. 

“What in the fuck is going on?” you muttered. Suddenly a very familiar song started playing and you chuckled. A spotlight turned on in the far corner of the room and you saw some of the players, you laughed when you saw them part and Brock was walking. The spotlight moved at the same pace as him, the volume increased and he started to dance, the team was in tow and you broke out in a fit of laughter. 

Brock was singing along and the crowd started to clap he stood a few feet away from you and did the classic spin when the chorus came on. You giggled as Brock did an intricate dance number with his teammates as the backup dancers. 

The song was over and everyone clapped, Brock kissed you passionately and you wrapped your arms around his shoulder as you kissed him back. “Did you like the dance Mrs. Purdy?” he whispered and you chuckled. “I loved it, Mr. Purdy,” you replied. 

Brock and you spent the entire night dancing with your friends and family at your wedding. 

[kachowden]

Hi uh yes I uh kinda like love Cameron and was wondering if you could tell/write more of him 👀

Tw: NSFW Themes, dubcon, patient-dr relations, manipulation.

The feeling of brown honeyed eyes on your figure would’ve been unnerving, had you believed you were the only one in the room.

Cameron, your therapist, had been oddly quiet this session. It was frightening especially after your last talk.

In a bit of an overzealous rant, you had stumbled into the discussion of…personal interests. And, with very little filter you had mentioned your fascination with the idea of men in feminine..garments.

You were embarrassed yes, of course you were, because now it struck you as weird that you had discussed such a personal thing with your therapist. Granted, the main purpose of therapy was to disclose your inner thoughts, but kinks? Sexual desires? Surely that was breaching some type of professionalism. Cameron had been oddly warm and welcoming of the discussion. Smiling gently at you with amusement. Encouraging you to further explain your..interests.

Yet now, the air felt tense and stale. You shifted slightly within your seat under the probing gaze of your therapist.

“Y/n.”

Your shoulders jumped slightly at the smooth voice. You always wondered if he drank something warm before each session, since his voice was never horse or scratchy. Always in a deep soothing lull.

Perhaps it was just naturally like that.

You flushed lightly. “Yes Cameron?”

A pleasant smile stretched on his lips, and it took a considerable amount of self control not to stare at them for too long. Cameron was attractive. Both of you were aware of that. He even at times seemed to revel in your attention.

Now seemed like one of those times, as his smile grew even wider.

“Do you wish to continue our discussion from last time?”

You noted his impossibly relaxed posture, despite the thick atmosphere.

The saliva in your throat felt thicker, like molasses, and you forced your throat to swallow it down.

Gross.

“Uhm…no thank you I don’t think..that would be appropriate..”

Your meek, awkward tone made the therapists peaceful smile darken slightly, before he raised a finely trimmed brow. A lazy hand flicked his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose, and in a flowing pattern pushed back his silky brown hair.

“And why’s that, dear?”

You shifted. Dear.

Cameron had developed a habit of calling you such endearing titles more recently. You couldn’t quite figure out the reason, though chopped it up to being simply to ease your nerves.

“Well..Cameron don’t you think it’s…just..unprofessional? For me to share those types of things with you..”

You hated the way he made you question your own reasoning. You almost felt stupid for even bringing it up.

“Isn’t the point of us meeting so regularly, to make you comfortable with me? This is therapy, you’re allowed to vent any frustrations you may have. “ your eyes darted to your lap. “Talk about any thought that enters that pretty head.”

From the corner of your eye you saw Cameron sit up from his velvety red chair, and begin moving in your direction out of sight. The tea pot was back there, so you assumed that was where he was headed.

“I..I suppose..but I’m sure you don’t want to hear about my..fantasies..right?”

You nearly jumped at how close the chuckle that poured from your therapist was.

His presence loomed over your shoulder, the space between you thin as string

“On the contrary my dear.” Nimble warm hands gently rested on your shoulders, massaging at the tense muscles. “I’m very interested in what goes on in that little brain of yours. You’ll enlighten me-“ his breath famed the shell of your ear. “Won’t you?”

This couldn’t be appropriate. There was no way this was just a patient therapist relationship anymore. Everything about this felt wrong.

But you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning back into the couch cushion, and let the soothing motions of his hands lull you.

Perhaps he was right? It couldn’t be too bad for you to discuss these things with him. It was likely others before you had been far less shy with their thoughts. You wouldn’t even want to know do the things you’re sure Cameron had heard over the years. Not that it’s likely he’s tell you anyway.

Patient confidentiality and all.

Cameron didn’t seem to take your silence well however. Almost as quick as they appeared his hands left your shoulders.

His form moved to stand in front of you, letting himself lean down, and having his hand cup yours to move it up his silky satin dress shirt.

It felt expensive.

You gaped.

“Perhaps I should help you. You seem to be having a hard time finding your words today..”

His smile was so gentle. So disarming as he sat himself in your lap, and you choked indignantly.

“Cameron-!”

The male grinned, pulling off his glasses and setting them aside gently, all while pushing your hand and dragging your fingers tips around his chest, inching them into the open collar, and onto his skin.

The feeling of him shuttering and grinding into your lap was fucken intoxicating.

Was this really happening?

“Now, sweetheart, surely now, you can tell me a bit about those interests of yours right? With that imagination of yours finally running.”

How could he possibly be acting so nonchalant about this situation?!

You had half a mind to wonder if he did this with all of his patients. But you figured he would’ve been reported by now if that were the case.

Your throat, once again thick with saliva, swallowed as your unoccupied hand made swift way to the older man’s thigh, squeezing experimentally and nearly moaning at the way he bit his lip in response, his hips shifting forward slightly. His skin was already damp with sweat, and the red of his cheeks vibrant, stunning even.

He couldn’t possibly be that sensitive. Had he been worked up since the beginning of the session?

“Oh darling, you have no idea what you do to me…I can hardly contain myself when you look at me like that…”

He was bigger than you, towering over your frame, yet he felt so fucken small in your lap. He was so goddamn pretty.

You nearly screamed when you saw him unbutton the full expanse of his shirt, and reveal the filthy secret lingerie that cupped his tits and synched his waist so sinfully.

“Pardon my indecency.”

Smug asshole.

Cameron was fucken relishing in your undivided attention, anyone would’ve been able to see it. If not from his furious blush and hazy brown eyes, then from the way his chest fluttered up in down in heavy pants, and the way a very prominent hardon that ground against your thighs.

“Now darling,” the composer of the man infront of you had seemed to dwindle slightly, through hot breaths and a remarkably, already ruined expression, his guided your hand down the expanse of his stomach, curling in slightly when your hand finally pressed into his erection. “Let’s try out some of those fantasizes of yours, hm?”