#I’m starting to do better I’m working on it c:

[covenofagatha]

I'm a good girl, Detective (Part 3)

Word count: ~2600

Warnings: pure filth, rough sex, strap-on, blowjob, oral, lots of degradation but also softness

A/N: the part 3 no one asked for lol, just wanted a little break from sugar mommy Agatha plot to write some rough sex but part 2 for that story should be up tomorrow. Hope you guys enjoy!

You can tell by the way that the door to the house slams open that your girlfriend has had a bad day. 

All you were doing was dusting off the countertop and arranging a vase of daisies in one of Agnes’s purple t-shirts when all of a sudden, a sound reverberated through the walls. 

Keys jangle loudly as they’re thrown into the key bowl by the entrance and footstops make their way into the kitchen. You look up and give your girlfriend, who is wearing an angry expression and the pants she always looks so good in, a cheerful smile. 

She doesn’t return it. Your lips drop into a frown. 

You moved in with Agnes only about a week after that fateful night when she had finally given into your flirting and fucked you. It had been a month since then, a month since you had stopped being a prostitute and instead stayed at home while Detective Agnes Harkness went off to work everyday. 

In that month, you had learned a lot about her: favorite foods, favorite movies, how to read her moods, how sometimes she wanted to come home and make out with you for hours with you on her lap, or sometimes she wanted you to eat her out, or she wanted to fuck you roughly in the bed you shared. It depended on how the workday had gone. 

But you’re not sure you’d ever seen her like this. 

She is steaming. She had at least never not smiled back at you. 

“Baby, you okay?” You ask tentatively. Agnes had walked straight past you and grabbed a bottle of beer. She scoffs and turns around to lean against the counter so she’s facing you. You’re distracted for a second by her finger tracing the rim of the bottle but you snap back to focus on her. 

“Work was awful,” she practically growls. “Everyone I work with is completely incompetent and Chief doesn’t give a fuck, just expects me to clean up everyone’s messes.”

“Aw, I’m sorry,” you say and walk over to her. She raises an eyebrow at your proximity and you wrap your arms around her shoulders. She tenses for a moment and then the hand not holding her drink comes around you. The two of you stay like that for a beat before you ask “Is there anything I can do?” The words come out hotly muffled against her neck and you don’t miss the goosebumps that rise. 

“Hmm, that depends,” she muses thoughtfully. Confused, you pick your head out of the crook it was resting in and look at her. For the first time this evening, you see a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “Can you be a good toy and let me use you for some stress relief?” 

Dumbfounded (and immediately turned on), you nod eagerly. She cups your chin and tilts it up so she can see you better. 

“I need you to say it, doll.” 

“Fuck, please, Agnes, use me, want you to use me,” you plead frantically. All you need right now is her hands on you. 

Her eyes trace your face, looking for a hint of doubt or hesitation. When they find none, her hand slides down to your throat and she squeezes and drags your mouth to hers. She wastes no time sucking on your tongue and stealing your breath with the filthy and bruising kiss. You don’t even notice that she’s walking you backwards until you hit the wall and she slides a thigh between your legs. 

You’re already so wet – you always are, for you – so you start to grind. She breaks the kiss to lean back as much as she can and watch you move on her. Amusement is written on her face and she takes a sip of the drink still in her hand and then presses the bottle to your lips. 

Not breaking eye contact, she raises it and you open your mouth so the beer can slide down while your hips are still rubbing your cunt against her leg. It’s an act that isn’t sexual in nature, but turns you on even more just the same. You can almost feel the electricity in the air between you and she tips the bottle up even more. 

She laughs when you splutter on the drink and pulls you back in for another kiss. You whine into her mouth, needing more than just her thigh. 

And then her leg between yours is gone. You whimper before you can stop yourself at the loss of the stimulation. 

You’re still aching though. 

She walks back to put the beer bottle on the counter and then back to you, your heart rate climbing drastically. 

Before you can think, she grabs your bicep and whirls you around, shoving you against the wall. She grabs your wrists and holds them together. A moan escapes from your mouth at the roughness, which turns you on more than you thought it would. You hear her fumbling with something and then you feel cold metal click around your right wrist, and then your left. 

You gasp involuntarily. 

She handcuffed you. 

If you weren’t already dripping before, you certainly are now. 

Agnes soothingly runs a hand on your asscheek over your (her) shirt. And then she leans in, presses her body against yours, and you feel a hardness in her pants. 

Your brain short-circuits. 

She must realize you’ve caught on and she moves her hips up, grinding the toy against you. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, already dizzy with pleasure. 

“Do you remember the safe word? Because I’m going to be rough, baby,” she says right into your ear. 

You nod. “It’s ‘cake.’ Please, Agnes, want you to be rough, please use me.” You’re babbling now and you can feel her smiling against your skin. 

“Good girl,” she purrs and spins you back around. “Get on your knees.” 

The tile floor stings on your bare knees but you don’t even wince. You barely even notice it with how needy you are for her. What you do notice is the wet spot that is now on her navy pants from you rubbing yourself on her. 

“Such a desperate slut, aren’t you,” Agnes says fondly, clearly seeing it herself. 

“I am, for you,” you breathe and delight in the way her eyes darken more. 

Your mouth practically waters as she undoes her belt, button, and zipper. She doesn’t even take off her pants, just reaches in and pulls out the purple strap-on that’s come to be your favorite. You prefer it this way; it feels more dirty. 

“Were you wearing this the whole day?” You ask in awe, peering up at her just in time to watch her roll her eyes.

“Shut up and put your mouth to good use,” she snarls, hand fisting your hair and pushing you closer to the toy. 

As if you’d ever say no. You open your mouth and lightly suck on the tip. It’s weird not having the use of your hands to leverage yourself, but you’ll make do. You run your mouth up the length, not taking your eyes off Agnes, who has her head thrown back like she can feel it. You slowly engulf the toy, forcing your mouth further down, and you gag. 

“Such a good whore on her knees for me,” she groans, the hand in your hair urging you on. You can feel your saliva drooling out of your mouth as you move up and down on her, your jaw starting to hurt. “So fucking desperate for anything I give you. Such a perfect toy.” 

You made some garbled noises in agreement, never stopping your administrations. She puts her other hand on your head and starts thrusting hard, your raw throat screaming for air and tears in your eyes. However, you can hear the sounds the toy makes in your mouth and that coupled with Agnes’s moans has your underwear sticking to you and the inside of your thighs soaked. 

When it becomes too much, Agnes pulls out and you gasp for breath. She smears the strap all over your mouth and cheeks, making you more of a mess. She then clasps your cheeks and her thumbs wipe under your eyes, where you’re sure your mascara has started running. 

“Are you alright?” She murmurs. One thing that you love about Agnes is that no matter how rough she is with sex, she always checks on you and makes sure you know how much she adores you. How soft she can get is one of your favorite things about her. 

“I’m good,” you answer, voice hoarse but sincere. She seems to believe you because she hauls you up by the arm and over to the counter and shoves you down. She reaches down to move your underwear to the side and feel your pussy and chuckles meanly when she finds how ruined you are. 

“God, you’re so pathetic, aren’t you? Being on your knees for me makes you this wet, it’s embarrassing. You’re such a slut,” she sneers and slaps your ass. The impact makes you jump with a moan and your hands try and scramble to touch anything but they’re still handcuffed behind you. All you can do is whimper. “What do you want, doll?” 

You try to wiggle your hips against her hand but she pulls away and the air is cold on your cunt lips. “Want you, Aggie,” you mewl. You know what she wants to hear. “Want you to use me like the slut that I am, the slut I am only for you. Just your whore, just want you to fuck me like I need to be fucked.” 

“Good girl, princess,” she purrs and she shoves the toy inside you. You moan louder than you ever have at the stretch and your head drops to the countertop. Her hands grip your hips so hard you can’t wait to see the marks tomorrow. 

“Fuck, Aggie,” you pant and she sets a fast pace, spanking your ass every now and then. 

All you can do is make noises. You try to form words but your brain isn’t working. You get so in your head sometimes, but Agnes always has a way of making you let go. It works so well for both of you.

“God, such a good toy for me, letting me use you whenever I need,” Agnes says. “So desperate to please me, you’d do whatever I wanted, wouldn’t you?” 

You groan in response, the toy hitting every single right place inside you. It drags deliciously against your walls and she’s angling it just perfectly so every stroke has you wanting to scream. You feel so full, so good. 

She pushes the shirt you’re wearing up and begins leaving kisses and sucking marks into your back, never letting up on her bruising pace. 

“Fuck, baby, please, so close,” you say. You don’t think you could form a sentence if you tried. “So good, need more, wanna cum.” 

She reaches one hand around you and rubs your clit in tiny, little circles. You clench around the toy, even more bliss spreading through your body. You can feel the tension building in the cracks and crevices of your body and you know it’s about to snap. 

“Can I cum, please, Aggie, can I cum for you?” It has become an unspoken rule that you need her permission. 

“Cum all over my cock like the slut that you are,” she growls and it takes three more thrusts and a perfectly timed stroke of your clit and you completely come undone. Your gasps turn pitchy and high and you think you almost black out for a second. 

She doesn’t pull out right away when you finally crash back down and she peppers kisses all over your cheeks from behind. 

“How are you doing?” She checks and you smile adoringly and nuzzle your face against hers. 

“That was great, baby,” you say with complete honesty. You wince as she finally pulls out and then digs the key for the handcuffs out of her pockets. You flex your wrists when they’re finally off and she turns you around so she can hug you. 

“My beautiful girl,” she murmurs against your forehead. After staying like that for a few more minutes, just soaking each other in, you head up to the bedroom, stopping for a quick, soft make-out session on the stairs. 

“Do you feel better now, baby?” You ask once you’re both lying in bed, you wrapped in Agnes’s arms again. She had gotten you some new clothes and helped you put stuff on the marks on your wrists from the cuffs so they weren’t as painful tomorrow. 

“I do, doll. Thank you.” 

And then it strikes you that the older woman hasn’t cum yet. 

That won’t do. 

You wiggle out of Agnes’s grasp and make your way under the covers despite her protests and confusion. 

She quickly picks up what you’re trying to do when you tug at the sweatpants that she sleeps in. She raises her hips to help you move them and you let out a gasp when you see how absolutely wet she is. 

“You were going to go to sleep like this?” You say accusingly. She tangles a hand in your hair preemptively, feeling your breath against her mound. She’s so sensitive that her hips are already starting to buck. “What about relieving your stress?” 

“You were my stress release,” she answers through gritted teeth as you run your tongue up her, collecting her wetness. “Fuck, baby.”

You smirk against her and do it again. Agnes likes it slow and dragged out because you usually get her so turned on that it doesn’t take very long for her to cum. 

Her moans grow louder and more frequent as you keep doing what you’re doing, swirling your tongue around her clit and sucking and then dipping inside her pussy. Your hands rest on her thighs, occasionally digging in whenever she makes a noise or says something that turns you on again. 

“Yes, doll, just like that, that’s perfect,” she sighs, starting to ride your face. “Stick out your tongue and just let me grind against you. Let me take what I want.” 

So you do. Using her hands for leverage, Agnes drags her hips up and down your open mouth, picking up her pace. You can feel her about to cum and you moan against her pussy to help her get there. You know how sensitive she gets and you just want her to feel good. 

“Fuck, yes, baby, going to cum,” she says, her breathing becoming short and gaspy. All the tells are there and her voice breaks off as she finally cums all over your face. You lap at her through the aftershocks until she pulls you away after a few moments. She tugs you up by your hair into a long kiss. 

“Do you feel even better now?” You joke and she smiles fondly at you, moving a piece of hair out of your face. 

“I do, princess. You’re perfect.” 

Your nose wrinkles. “No, you are.” 

She chuckles lightly and kisses your lips and then your nose. “Come here, baby. Want to cuddle with you. You were so good for me today.” 

You happily snuggle into her side, content to stay that way forever.

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XXX)

Chapter 30: ‘You liked me well enough in black; I make you a gift of these objects’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Some shopping for our lovebirds that turns into Andrew fighting for his life…

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3322

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Here are my black clothes

I think now it is better to love no one than to love you. Here are my black clothes, the tired nightgowns and robes fraying in many places. Why should they hand useless as though I were going naked? You liked me well enough in black; I make you a gift of these objects. You will want to touch them with your mouth, run your fingers through the thin tender underthings and I will not need them in my new life.

Louise Glück, The First Five Book of Poems

The tailor was posh but undoubtedly talented. Then again, it was a tailor, posh was to be expected.

It was the old type of tailor, the one you saw in movies, the type that hid a secret passage to the secret service. Wooden walls covered with wooden shelves and clothes, wooden tiles on the floor, large corduroy armchairs. You walked in feeling like you didn’t belong there, like you should never have come in the first place.

Frank spotted you instantly when you walked in. You hadn’t seen each other in a few weeks, there were times when you missed him. There were times when you didn’t think of him at all… what a strange feeling… he was always in your thoughts for years…

You wished Andrew was there with you. You wondered if his classes were going well this morning, you wanted to make him a coffee and chat instead of working…

“Y/N!” Frank beamed at you, crossing the room to give you a hug. “I’ve missed you! We’ve spent too long apart!”

“Missed you too. You look well! Are you ready to choose your suit?”

“I’m so nervous,” he admitted with an uncomfortable laugh.

“It’ll be just fine.”

You said hello to Frank’s friends and family members gathered in the shop. Only a few people, including the three best men.

The tailor came in a few minutes later, started taking care of his clients. You remained quiet while the group was splitting its attention between Frank’s suit and his best men’ clothes.

The plan was simple. You had to give him terrible advice. You had to ruin the suit, make him look ridiculous. Something that Sam would hate.

That was the only way to weaken the wedding with today’s activity.

You waited patiently, watched Frank try suits on. Every piece of garment shattered your heart.

You should have been the one discovering the suit on your wedding day. You should have been the one he talked about now, asking if you would like that colour on him, hoping you would find him handsome.

He was. He was handsome. So fucking much. You wanted to shout, to claw your eyes out of their sockets with the pain of it. He was so handsome, and you should have never been here. Instead of seeing him try on all these suits, you should have been the bride hiding her dress from him. But you weren’t. You were just the friend he was turning his attention to now, asking for an advice.

And you couldn’t do it. Couldn’t ruin this for him. You were too kind-hearted for that, or perhaps, you were simply too much in pain.

You struggled to put a smile on your face.

“I think navy blue is better than green on you.”

“You think?” he asked, looking at the two shades.

“It matches your eyes better. Makes them pop.”

He smiled, bright and excited.

Had he ever smiled like this thinking of your wedding? Of marrying you?

“Thank you, Y/N. You’re always right with those things.”

“Because I pay attention.”

Your answer held more meaning than it seemed, but he didn’t notice. He never did. Not when it was you.

And you wanted revenge now. You wanted him to regret you. You wanted him to see that you were enough, that you were always enough, that Sam wasn’t better than you… even if you didn’t really believe it. Frank had chosen Sam. Andrew had been in love with her, and now that he was starting to move on, it was to be with a woman who wasn’t you.

You excused yourself, looked for the bathroom. The moment you turned the lock on your door, the tears were let free.

You looked so sad when you came back.

It was almost noon when you stepped in the office, Andrew had been waiting for you to eat his lunch. He didn’t have classes for the rest of the day, and neither did you. He was relieved about it, you clearly needed some help.

“How did it go?” he asked as you closed the door behind you.

You didn’t answer at first, instead you took the time to take off your coat, let yourself fall in your office chair and throw your head back towards the ceiling. You let out a dramatic moan, Andrew chuckled at the sound.

“That bad, huh? Did you make him choose something terrible to wear?”

You didn’t answer.

“Let me guess… you saw him in there, it broke your heart, but you didn’t lie and helped him look stunning for his wedding day.”

“How do you know? That’s exactly what happened.”

“I know you. You’re too kind to do something so mean and selfish. Hiding a few bottles of champagne is one thing, making your ex look like a fool on the most important day of his life is another.”

“I’m so pathetic. I feel so… pathetic…”

“You’re not. You’re just heartbroken.”

“Same bloody thing.”

“What can I do?”

You looked at him then, tears in your eyes and looking so sad… so damn sad…

But then you looked angry instead, wrath burning through your gaze and Andrew shuddered at the sight.

You looked gorgeous like this, despite your eyes reddened with tears. Fierce was a good look on you, it had always been…

“I’m going to make him regret me so fucking much he’ll beg to get me back.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised by your determination.

“And how do we do that?”

“By making me look so fucking good he’ll have nightmares about leaving me.”

Andrew’s heart skipped a beat. His words came out in a whisper you didn’t hear.

“You’re always gorgeous, Y/N…”

“We’re going to this party they’re throwing two weeks before the wedding. So… in…”

“Two weeks.”

“Yeah… in two weeks. God, I can’t believe it’s the end of April already. Exams will be back in no time.”

“Don’t mention that…” Andrew winced. “Besides, we’ll have to go through the conference first…”

“Did you have an answer for that by the way?”

Andrew smiled.

“Main speaker on the second day. Forty-minutes presentation.”

“That’s awesome, Andy! Congrats!”

“I’m going to hate every second of it.”

“You’ll be brilliant.”

“We’ll need to rehearse your presentation too.”

“Yes, thank you for helping me.”

“Don’t mention it. We’re a team.”

You exchanged a tender smile, one that reached gratefulness for more than professional support.

“Anyway, I’m going to go shopping after work,” you declared. “I’ll buy the most gorgeous dress for that party. And Frank will be at my fucking feet.”

Andrew chuckled at that.

“Alright, good plan.”

“Actually… can I be insufferable and ask for your help?”

“Pardon me? My help? I don’t know anything about dresses…”

“You’re a man. You know what men like. Actually, you know what? We could go now. Be back before two and work this afternoon.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

“Okay…”

Andrew gathered his things in a hurry, let you babble away while you exited the office. He didn’t mention the way your voice was shaking from time to time, how your eyes still glistened with withheld tears.

He didn’t mention any of it. He merely drove you to the shop you liked.

Andrew didn’t know what to do while you browsed through expensive dresses, selected a few, asked for his opinion. He didn’t really have any. He had no idea what he was supposed to do to make you smile again, to make you happy, to make you feel as beautiful as you truly were…

You walked in a fitting room with five different dresses to try on. There weren’t many people in the shop at this hour, only an old woman with her grand-daughter were looking for a dress for the young woman. The elder lady started chatting casually with Andrew while they both waited in front of the cabins.

“Your girlfriend is looking for a dress for a special occasion?” she asked, and Andrew fiercely blushed.

“Oh… no, she’s not… we’re not… She’s not my girlfriend.”

She gave him a look, one that annoyed him a lot.

“Right… I see…”

Andrew ignored her, her grand-daughter showing her a dress the perfect excuse not to answer.

And then he heard you calling his name in a quiet voice…

His heart didn’t just skip a few beats, it stopped altogether. Butterflies didn’t cut it, these were fireworks in his stomach.

You were standing there in an emerald dress that fell across your calves, a low cut on your cleavage that made his wildest fantasies about you seem mild.

“What do you think? I like this one.”

You turned around to show him the back, or rather, the absence of clothing on the backless dress.

Andrew couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think…

You were so… so…

“How do I look?”

You were so… so…

“…Breathtaking.”

You blinked up at him. And he tried to hide his reaction, but he couldn’t. He must have looked stunned, a deer in headlights, and he couldn’t help it. You were so…

“…Perfect.”

You raised a surprised eyebrow, a shy smile forming on your lips.

He wanted to kiss you so badly. He wanted to touch the skin of your back the dress revealed. He wanted to run his fingers along your cleavage. He wanted to tear that gorgeous dress off you…

He cleared his throat, averted his eyes so he would stop staring at you.

“Yeah… that’s… a good one.”

“I have another I like, hang on.”

He nodded, unable to look at you. He could feel warmth spreading through his body, but he would never survive the humiliation of getting a boner in the middle of a shop because you were trying dresses on…

“Not your girlfriend, huh?”

Andrew turned to the stranger, the old woman giving him a knowing smile.

“You’d better make her your girlfriend, before it’s too late.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No, of course not.”

She heaved a sigh, looking at the closed curtain of the fitting room where her grand-daughter had disappeared.

“My husband looked at me like that, you know? The way you look at her. And I can only hope my grand-child will find someone who will look at her like that, too.”

“Like what?”

“Like she is the most beautiful thing on this earth.”

She stared right into his eyes.

“The way you must be looked at when you are loved.”

Andrew struggled to swallow, looked away, fiercely blushing.

Christ, he was a desperate case. And if a stranger could notice his feelings for you, surely everyone had… what would you say if you noticed? Would you push him away? Would you break his heart?

You walked out of your cabin again, wearing a black dress this time. And Andrew tried to hide it better this time, but you looked divine. It fitted your curves perfectly, it made your body look like sin…

“What about this one?” you asked, turning around, and Andrew hated himself for being unable to stop himself from staring at your arse.

“Yeah… that’s a good one too,” he nodded, clearing his throat.

“Which one do you prefer?”

“I… I don’t know…”

“Come on! I like both. I don’t know which one to pick. What’s your favourite?”

He struggled to control his breathing, to slow down his heart.

“I… erm… I really liked the green one.”

“The green one?”

“Yeah, it… you’re gorgeous in this dress too though.”

He heard you clearing your throat too.

“Right… the green dress it is, then.”

“Yeah… okay… grand… erm, like… good…”

“Thanks, Andy.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Christ, please, don’t mention it…

“I’ll get changed real quick.”

He hummed as he nodded, still unable to look at you.

By his side, the elderly lady chuckled, and Andrew wanted to dissolve into nothing, a puddle on the ground, to simply be atomised into thin air…

You bought the dress, Andrew drove you back to Trinity in relative silence. He was too busy picturing you in these dresses again, too busy trying not to picture you in these dresses again.

When you walked back to your office though, it was obvious that you were still sad. That search for a semblance of power over a situation you couldn’t control was gone again. He let out a long exhale through his nose as he looked at you sitting behind your desk. He crossed the room, avoiding the lamp hanging from the ceiling, and gave you a soft smile.

“You’re alright, Y/N?”

You shook your head.

“I’m sorry… I just… I can’t get over it.”

“It’s okay. You’re upset, that’s all.”

“Seeing him like this… wearing these suits… he should have been wearing them for me…”

“I know. I know, Y/N.”

“I want my life back.”

“But you have one. You have one now. You don’t need him in it.”

“I feel like I need him. I feel like I… like I just messed everything up.”

“You didn’t. You didn’t mess anything up. None of this is your fault.”

“If he chose her, then I must be lacking something…”

“You’re not. Trust me, you’re not lacking anything. It’s his loss if he can’t see what’s right in front of him.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the sudden harshness of his tone.

“You don’t need him, Y/N… you… you could have better than him. You… he’s not… He’s not even paying attention to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t really care. I think he’s a little too selfish for that.”

He shook his head.

“I see you with him, you know? You’re not yourself. You’re not… babbling away about cinema, or literature, or art or this recipe you’ve just tried or… it’s like you just shut down. And you listen, and then you make a tiny summary of all the things you wanted to say… but you’re so fucking smart. You’re so fucking interesting. You’re… you shouldn’t be with someone who doesn’t care about what you have to say. And he fucking broke your heart! Why do you still want him? Why…?”

Why do you still want him, instead of me?

But he didn’t say it. He stopped, and closed his fists tightly.

Andrew was growing annoyed, angry even. And of course you noticed, he reckoned he was doing a pretty bad job at hiding his true feelings.

“Y/N… Frank… I’m not saying he’s a bad person, but…”

“But?”

“But he doesn’t deserve you.”

You raised an eyebrow, visibly unimpressed.

“Really? Why not? It’s not like I’m anything special, anyway.”

Andrew frowned hard.

“Are you listening to yourself?!” he asked with something aghast in his voice, a genuine incomprehension that surprised you. “You’re… you’re amazing. You deserve so much better than him! You deserve to be treated with respect, to have someone who actually pays attention to you, who cares about you, who listens to you when you’re talking about your passions, who’s not going to disregard what you’re saying simply because they disagree…”

But you interrupted him with a scoff.

“Perfection doesn’t exist, Andy. I’ve learned as much in life. I don’t have a choice but to settle for less than that.”

“There’s a difference between accepting someone’s faults and flaws and setting the bar so low it’s actually buried underground…”

“You’re one to talk! You’re still in love with Samantha despite how she hurt you, despite the fact that she doesn’t give two shites about your poetry or your work, about the fact that she won’t make a single fucking effort for you…”

“Who says I’m still in love with her?”

You raised a surprised eyebrow, and you were genuinely taken aback this time, Andrew could tell.

“You’re not?” you asked, your tone quieter, Andrew guessed that it was a side-effect of your surprise.

“No, I’m not. I’ve learnt my lesson. I want to move on. I… I’m moving on.”

“Wow… that’s… good… That’s really grand, Andy. Is it… because of that woman you mentioned?”

Andrew’s heart sped up, he could feel himself panicking, he closed and opened his fists multiple times in an attempt to slow down his breathing.

“I… I mean… kind of…”

“Kind of?”

“I…”

He took a deep breath, gathering his courage.

“I want to be with her. I… I just… I haven’t told her yet.”

“Why not? You should ask her on a date.”

But he shook his head.

“She won’t say yes. I know her, she won’t go on a date with me, not for now. Besides… It’s too soon… for me too, I mean. I need to put Sam behind me for good, before I can try to be with her.”

You stared at him with a blank expression… or rather, not blank. The opposite. Like you felt something but tried to show the opposite reaction. The result was unreadable to him.

“I’m glad you’re moving on.”

But your tone was flat, and you didn’t seem happy at all.

“Thanks,” Andrew answered anyway.

You heaved a tired sigh.

“Please, don’t judge me with Frank. I… you don’t understand.”

Andrew sighed too, let the air out through gritted teeth.

“No, you’re right. I don’t understand. I mean… I do. I do understand the process of grieving for a life that wasn’t fully yours to begin with, but you thought would belong to you. But that’s the thing, Y/N. You need to start grieving now. You can’t remain stuck there forever. You… You deserve to be happy. You deserve better than that. Don’t do that to yourself. Especially not for someone like him. We deserve better than this, Y/N.”

You stared at him now, tears in your eyes, a sight he wished he could banish forever. He would take all of your pain away if he could, he would suffer it in your stead.

“It’s not that easy, Andy,” you shook your head, taking a step back.

“It could be. It could be, Y/N…”

“I’ve loved him for so long…”

Andrew slowly nodded.

“You could love again, with a little bit of time. He… he doesn’t care about you, Y/N. He doesn’t… listen when you talk. He acts like he does, but he doesn’t. He’s not interested in what makes you happy…”

“Neither is Sam with you.”

“I know. I know, and I don’t want that anymore.”

“But I want Frank.”

Your voice was shaking, it didn’t sound either earnest nor convincing. Still, hearing the words broke Andrew’s heart.

After everything… how could you still want Frank… why couldn’t you want him instead?

Could you… could you ever want him?

Andrew closed his fists tightly, until he could feel the sharp pain of his nails digging crescent marks into his palm. Perhaps you would never want him. Maybe it wasn’t just about Frank, maybe it was about him… maybe he was simply… not your type, not attractive to you, not good enough.

He let out a long, painful exhale through his nose.

“Would that make you happy?” he genuinely asked, voice quiet, deeper than usual, but softer than before as well. “Is that what will make you happy?”

You stared at him for a moment, then clenched your jaw. When you answered, he couldn’t read in your eyes whether or not you were telling the truth. Maybe you were lying… against all odds, he hoped you were lying.

“Yes.”

One word, breathed out, it was enough to break his heart.

Slowly, Andrew nodded.

“Alright, we’ll do it then. We’ll go to that stupid party. We’ll make him jealous. We’ll make him see what he’s losing by choosing Sam over you. If it’s what it takes for you to be happy… As long as it makes you happy.”

“Thank you.”

He stared at you as you walked back to your desk, sat before your computer, looked at the screen.

He turned around, blinking tears away, stood in front of the window behind his desk.

As long as it would make you happy…

[sagethegremlin]

ok so this is kinda rambley and a tad venty but uh yeah long post about my mental state lately ig? idk tldr im gonna get sillier c:

ok so this is weird but i think getting all my thoughts out on a post will help me out through this but anyway i think ive had like really bad anxiety i think? about my fics lately. ive found myself being way too scared about what other people might think of them (way more than the usual voice in the back of my head at least) and i think ive been really scared of i guess no one caring, like the only way someone would care about one of my fics is if its this huge professional thing that means something. ive found myself overhyping or underhyping my wips when i shared them with friends, losing confidence in them entirely even if my friends said something nice, like it was always gonna look stupid so long as it wasnt in my head anymore.

i think the reason these feelings are so frustrating is because something as simple as writing fanfic shouldnt give me this much anxiety, to the point where im losing sleep and procrastinating important things over however good i am at writing something silly thats supposed to be for fun. and it hasnt just been about fanfic either, ive been so scared of how people perceive me online, feeling like i always have to type like im some big blog and constantly being scared of what other people think of me, which is the wrong attitude to have in a fandom space. this is supposed to be fun, and it hasnt been, and i want to change that.

ive really been wanting to say something for i think a few months now. ive noticed how much ive felt like i needed to overhype myself, and just how bad my confidence has been destroyed. theres been a person in my life for a while now that i havent been distancing myself from as much as i should have been, but now i want to try and work on finding ways to enjoy fandom spaces again. im tired of being scared of being expressive and enjoying myself.

im going to start writing more fics that i just enjoy, fucking around and just having fun, and I’ve been starting to doodle a little bit too c: i dont mean to make a post to like say anything big i guess i just kinda wanted to air out my thoughts a little bit (and i do have to admit it feels amazing to just get this all off my chest) but i guess if you read all this i wanna say i love you and i want you to do something good for your mental health today because its so hard to recognize when something is hurting you and even harder to try and fix it especially when it feels impossible but I believe in you and I love you :3

[grimmweepers]

i really do self sabotage when it comes to irl dating 😭💀

[mutalune]

really wish there was a tag that separated “I’m having Big Angry and/or Angsty Opinions about Star Wars” from “I’m goofing off with Star Wars I’m playing in the sandbox none of this is real so yes I will make my blorbo and this random glub shitto go on an adventure that makes no logical sense” posts because there’s too much of the former and not enough of the latter for my current mental state

[deus-ex-mona]

it’s ✨okay✨, right~?

[rafey-baby]

bf!rafe making his girl feel better after a particularly long day...

18+ mdni!

c/w: rafe being big and comforting, cockwarming, use of daddy

wc: 480

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

She's been particularly emotional and sensitive for the entire day because life is so hard and sometimes she just feels so hopeless; feels like a complete failure who can't do anything right.  

“Rafe, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just feel so fucking miserable sometimes. And I’m just so tired all the time,” she sniffles into his chest.

“Shh, there’s nothing wrong with you, alright? Just feeling a little overwhelmed, yeah?” He’s murmuring softly in her hair as she sobs, crocodile tears soaking his shirt.

“You’re all good. I’m here, Sweetheart. It’s just me, Rafe, alright?" His gentle voice reassures her, making her nuzzle her face into the crease of his neck, breathing in his comforting scent.

"There you go, just let it out, I’ve got you,” he settles a warm palm on her back, drawing lazy circles and smoothing a warm hand over her thigh. Big strong arms cage her to his body and he just holds her as she weeps, all exhausted and forlorn.

“I know, Sweetheart, I know. Just needed a cry, hm?” His steady heartbeat and breathing is starting to calm her down some as she rests her head on his chest, listening. And when she stops crying for a bit he mumbles tenderly. “There we go, just needed your Daddy, yeah?” 

“Rafe…” she whines out, still so restless he’s not sure how to pacify her until he feels her rocking in his lap, mindlessly rutting against the bulge in his pants. Soon enough he’s hard because how is he meant to help it when she’s gazing up at him with tear soaked eyes and swollen lips?

She just looks so pretty that he gets a desperate itch to squeeze her weakened form in his solid hands all over until she’s squealing, begging for him to stop with hearty giggles bubbling out of her throat.

"Don't worry that little head of yours so much, alright? Breaks m'heart. But I'll make it better for you," he mutters as he takes himself out; tucking his cock in her needy cunt, making her despondent crying come to a halt. He's always such a snug fit between her gummy walls and now he just stays there, stretching her out and making her feel so full.

And it works.

Her eyes cloud over some, erratic breathing evening out as she turns into something mellow, placid in his firm hold, making him smile. “That’s what you needed, huh? Just needed Daddy to stuff his cock in you, yeah?”

And she’s humming, whining, brain mushy as she wraps her hands around his sturdy abdomen and rests her head on his chest; his measured respiration and the steady beating of his heart soothing her, making her sleepy.

“There you go, Sweetheart. You’re all good. I’m right here, not going anywhere, alright?” he placates her as her eyes finally flutter shut.

[tired-biscuit]

i want to ride yuuji so bad and then start crying cause he’s so thick and big and then have his strong arms wrap around me and then he starts thrusting up and we’re both drooling and moaning that would be a dream

18+ MDNI, fem!reader // cw: good girl, good girl, GOOD GIRL!

he’s cooing at you while caressing your cheeks and wiping your tears away, and it’s all so goddamn sweet that it outright hurts; in a good way, though.

always in a good way when it’s with him.

especially because he does it so effortlessly? being kind is like second nature to someone like yuuji and it’s hard not to melt into a puddle of gooey emotions and spill even more tears when he’s looking up at you with hearts in his warm honey-coloured eyes and there’s this prominently lovestruck look on his face that makes him look even dumber than he already is.

but he’s also cute, awfully so. his hair is an absolute mess, his lips are in the colour of dark pink from all the kissing, his cheeks are flushed, and his skin burns so hot that he’s sweating like crazy underneath the thick hoodie that he’s still got on. you’ve been in such a rush to get him inside you that you’re both still completely dressed, aside from the bits of clothing that have been tugged down and pushed to the side in order to make the entire thing easier for you, of course.

however, having all these layers on is simply excruciating. the heat makes him pant and causes his chest to heave in a faster rhythm than normal; and all those breaths make it somewhat hard to get all the praise that he feels for you out of his system.

but yuuji is no quitter. so he swallows the runny saliva that keeps on gathering in his mouth between sentences and threatens to spill past the corner of his lips. it’s audible and it makes his adam’s apple bob in his throat, and yet he still manages to thank you in hushed, trembling whispers and broken grunts and moans.

he thanks you for being such a good girlfriend; for being so willing to give it a chance when it comes to riding him and taking him in all the way, despite the fact that it’s only been a couple of days since he’s taken your virginity and your most sensitive parts are still sore and tender from all the gentle pounding — but pounding nevertheless — he had done after getting his first taste.

you feel heat sear your face as you listen to the jumble of gratitude he’s putting before you and look at him from underneath your lashes, trying to not pay mind how tears still cling to them as stubbornly as ever.

this entire thing has not gone the way you’ve imagined it to go at all and it’s frustrating as hell. and how couldn’t it be? i mean, you’ve known how big he is, have known how it feels to have him inside you, but jesus fucking christ, this position is nowhere as easy as missionary had been — and even then you’d struggled a great deal.

because now, you’re the one who has to do all the work while he sits there, looking pretty, sometimes eyeing how your arousal glistens on his pubic hair, even though your clit hasn’t come anywhere near to kissing the spot from how much of a hard time you’re having when it comes to sitting on his dick entirely.

if only you could just—

“hey,” he says the word with such care as he cups your cheek that it sends butterflies twirling in your belly. his hand is just so big, it urges you to pet yourself against it like a little kitty. “you okay?” yet another look that’s brimming with concern is thrown your way. “we don’t have to do this if it’s too much, you know… just tell me.”

“did you really mean all that?” you mumble the exact moment his hands reach for your hips, clearly aiming to manhandle you into a position that you’d be able to endure a bit better.

“mean what?” he asks, glancing downwards just for a second as your hands stop his own. his cock twitches in response — he’s always been such a sucker for hand holding and this time is no exception. when your fingers intertwine, his heart sings in answer.

“that i’m a good girl?” the eye contact that you initiate in return is determined instead of anxious all of a sudden and it makes his pupils visibly dilate right in front of you.

it seems like you’re no quitter either.

“‘course i did,” yuuji replies in a heartbeat, cherishing how you squeeze around him whenever he gives you his approval, his praise. “you’re such a good girl, my good girl, the goodest girl to ever walk the good girl planet... they should make you mayor of goodie town.”

you giggle at that and his smile quivers with pleasure from how it makes your pussy tighten even more. he’s doing everything he can not to grab you, press you against his chest and just follow instinct and start slamming away.

maybe next time… maybe you’ll be ready for it next time.

“you’re so silly,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss him again, though this time on the forehead. his skin tastes salty, and while it may be wrong, knowing that you’re not the only one that’s having a hard time right now makes you feel just a little bit calmer.

unbeknownst to you, the fact that you’re more relaxed allows you to take yet another inch of him inside you. your muscles slacken and his fat cockhead drags against your walls as a result, slipping and pushing in, in, in. the ring of cloudy white slick forms just a little below the lower half of his cock now, stretching you further and making your tummy feel hot and tingly.

it’s definitely progress.

and it makes poor yuuji moan straight into your mouth.

[clockwayswrites]

One birdritch, two stones.

part idk, 10? I'm so tired. masterpost

“Mr. Drake-Wayne, do I want to know why you’re here?” Lucius drawled without looking up from his desk.

Tim plastered on a smile anyways. “Well, in an effort to learn the business as part of my internship, I thought that it was about time that I took a proper look at R&D.”

“Yes, it would be good for you to see R&D,” Lucius said as he signed something with a flourish before he folded his hands and looked up at Tim, “but you are not going to.”

“No?”

“No.”

Tim let the door close behind him and came to flop into the seat across from Lucius. “Uncle Fox—”

“That worked much better when you were small and doe-eyed.”

“Okay, let’s be honest,” Tim said with a sigh, “I’m still small and doe-eyed. None of them will let me live that fact down. I have to use what I have, Lu.”

Finally Lucius cracked a little bit of a smile. He leaned forward and pressed a discrete button on his desk. Tim knew that the button would make the office soundproof, an effect that Tim felt in the back of his ears.

“Danny Fenton— and let me be clear, it is Danny, not Daniel— Danny Fenton is one of the best people I have in R&D. I will not have you all losing me one of my best because you lot do not know how how to be subtle.”

“Lucius, we can be subtle!” Tim said, honestly offended. “We do subtle all the time. You know how well I do undercover.”

“Exactly,” Lucius said severely.

Tim tilted his head.

“Undercover you is subtle. Tim Drake-Wayne you is a menace,” Lucius said. “That last name is a pox upon common sense.”

Tim opened his mouth to argue before he slowly closed it and slumped back into his seat.

“I had been considering bringing him as the engineer for the other side of you all,” Lucius said, almost idly, “but whatever happened spooked him. He booked the end of the week off. Mr. Fenton never takes time off. Whatever you are after it will wait until after he returns, understand?”

“Understood,” Tim said with resignation.

-

The only reason that Danny didn’t screech and drop the component he was holding was because he was used to ghosts. The person who had appeared sitting on top of Danny’s cabinet like they had always been there wasn’t a ghost, but the behavior was close enough. Danny took a steadying breath and set the part carefully on one of his work benches.

“Hello.”

The off person smiled cheerfully and brought their right hand up into an almost salute.

Danny tilted his head for a moment before he brain kicked in and he repeated the motion back before pointing to the person then tapping his index to his chin and then next to his ear while purposefully screwing his face up into confusion.

They shook their head and brought their hand to their throat, turning it like they were locking a key, before making a so-so motion with their hand.

“Oh! Okay, I’m Danny,” he explained as he pointed to himself and brought his right hand in the sign for d up along his flat left hand.

They repeated Danny’s name sign with a cheerful smile before they pointed to themselves and moved the cupped hand of C over their flat left hand. They repeated the point before finger spelling out ‘Cass’.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Cass. I’m rusty at ASL, but if you can go slow for me, I’ll try my best.”

“Thank you,” Cass signed with a bright smile.

“Are you lost, or do you mean to be up there?” Danny asked.

Cass shook their head. “Comfortable. What is that?”

“Oh, what I’m working on. Well… nothing yet, not if it doesn’t work. It’s supposed to be something for improved water filtration though.”

“Explain?”

“Sure. Tap twice on the cabinet if you need my attention or have a question and I’m not looking your way, okay?” Danny asked. He waited for a nod before he grabbed what he was working on and started explaining the idea.

Thankfully the fact that WE was working on a way to further reduce industrial water pollution was no secret so as long as Danny didn’t get particularity technical, he shouldn’t get in trouble with with his NDA. Besides, whoever this was was inside a secure part of WE and did have a badge, even if it wasn’t colors that Danny recognized off the top of his head.

Cass was oddly fun to chat with and the two of them got into a rhythm of him explaining something and following it up with a question of his own. Cass did give verbal responses or reactions occasionally, but mostly Danny settled into a position where he could both work and watch them sign in his periphery at the same time. He wasn’t perfect at understanding what Cass was talking about, but they seemed happy enough to repeat things for him or finger spell when he was really lost.

“A lead role? You should be really proud of yourself, Cass! That’s amazing,” Danny said with a bright smile as he fought a stubborn tapper.

“You will come?”

Danny blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“The recital,” Cass finger spelled out before repeated, “You will come?”

“I don’t know, Cass honey,” Danny said, the endearment slipping out without him thinking about it. “That would really depend on what your adults have to say about the idea. I don’t want them to freak out because you’ve decided to befriend a random R&D flunky.”

“Luckily Cass is a very good judge of character,” said someone from behind Danny.

Fucking hell, what was it with people just appearing today? Danny gave himself a second to close his eyes before he set down his tapper and turned around.

Ancients that’s Bruce Wayne.

“I hope she hasn’t been bothering you. Cass was supposed to wait in my office while I dealt with the emergency,” Mr. Wayne said with a pointed look at his daughter. “Even if it did take longer than expected.”

Right daughter, because Danny had been talking with Cassandra Wayne for the last few hours.

“Oh, no, not at all Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Bruce. And don’t worry, she’s great company,” Danny said.

Mr. Wayne— Bruce chuckled and stepped into Danny’s office. He’d hardly moved before Cass was flinging herself off the cabinet and into her dad’s arms. As soon as she was set down, she started signing rapidly at him and Danny looked away to give them some privacy.

“Well, that is up to your new friend,” Bruce said in that sort of tone that Danny knew he was being included in the conversation now.

“Danny Fenton, but just Danny is fine,” he said.

Cass signed Danny’s name sign.

“Or that,” Danny agreed with a nod.

“Well, Danny,” Bruce said with a smile that made his eyes crinkle a little, “if you’d like, Cass would love to have you at the opening so you can see what she’s been telling you about, but if you’re busy we’d understand.”

Cass’ pout said otherwise and Danny caved quicker than a paper cocktail umbrella in a tornado. “If you can send me the date and where to buy a ticket, I’ll be there.”

“Nonsense, the ticket is on me,” Bruce said. “I’ll be sure to send you the date and time, I doubt Cass will let me forget.”

“No,” Cass signed with an overly angelic smile.

Danny chuckled and couldn’t help but wonder if all of Bruce’s children had him so thoroughly wrapped around their finger like that, or if Cass had only daughter privileges. “Well, I look forward to it. And it was very nice to get to meet you, Cass.”

“Yes! Goodbye, Danny,” Cass signed.

“Goodbye, Cass,” Danny signed back and returned the little nod Bruce sent him before they left Danny’s office.

Danny waited until they were out of sight to let out a breath. Ancients, well, that was something. Who would have thought that the first time he actually spoke to the owner of the company would be because his daughter decided water filtration was interesting an that Danny needed to learn all about ‘Swan Lake’ in return?

-

“Cass, darling,” Bruce said with a pointed look at his too smug daughter.

“He’s nice,” she explained with a shrug.

Bruce just sighed and shook his head. At least that did seem true. Bruce had watched some of the exchange between Danny and Cass and he was patient, respectful, and attentive even despite the occasional communication issue.

But that hardly answered any of what was going on.

“Just don’t overwhelm him, alright?”

Cass nodded and crossed her heart.

Bruce didn’t believe her for a moment.

---

AN: I did my best to describe the signs right/use the right ones but my knowledge is only very, very basic conversational skills so if I have anything wrong, please let me know! (I write Cass very to the point response wise when she verbally speaks, so kept that same sort of cadence here.)

Oh, since someone asked Danny is just slightly older than he would be it canon time continued normally, so late 30's. Bruce is early 40's.

[kisses4reid]

scare | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,, (part 1)

synopsis - you’re in a relationship with some one else and have a pregnancy scare, both your own reaction and spencer’s makes you realise that you’re not happy.

genre - bau!reader x spencer, friends to lovers, multi-part, pregnancy scare, reader has sort of a douche bf, one sided love (at first), angst and fluff

warnings - pregnancy talk, mentions of sex, unhealthy relationships, stress, sickness

w/c - 1.4k?? take a guess cause that’s mine.

a/n - i’ve got 9 weeks free. yeah, i have a job. and yeah, i have about 6 other hobbies i enjoy. but am i gonna make promises i can’t keep about writing more?? yeah. i am. here, enjoy. (pls lemme know abt mistakes it’s rlly late at night rn.)

The plane whirrs, small chatter from Morgan and who you assumed to be Penelope over the phone humming along with the music you try to distract yourself with. It isn’t working.

Because every song has its own special and quirky musical instrument that happens to sound like a message notification. And you keep getting your hopes up.

Your left leg started to bounce, your fingernails found their way to your anxious teeth. And Spencer noticed.

He noticed about halfway through the case, when you stopped talking as much, started drinking an influx of water, started discreetly taking pain medication. At first, he thought it was a simple stomach bug, and he knew your stomach didn’t agree with a lot of travel. But then you started getting nervous.

Spencer glanced at you a few times before moving, sitting next to you (attempting to be discreet). He can’t be discreet though, because every time he’s around you, his body does this weird thing where it can’t decide whether it should be instantly calm or instantly more nervous. Your presence stopped his fidgeting hands, his tired thoughts. But god, when he looked at you, it’s like his heart wants to see you for itself.

And right now his heart hurt, why were you scared?

You barely noticed Spencer sit down, usually you would, but your phone was annoyingly blank, silent. You turned it off and on three times, and re-entered the plane’s wifi password five times.

And now your stomach was grumbling, and not in the way that those nice small sandwiches can help out with.

“Are you okay?”

You jumped, taking your earphones out and staring at Spencer surprised. You laughed nervously, quietly, “Spencer! Sorry. Yeah, I’m fine.”

His warm eyes searched yours and for a second you could ignore the tight feeling in your chest. It made you think back around 8 months ago, when Penelope, your childhood best friend and now co-worker, created a pros and cons list for both Lloyd, and… Spencer.

It was unprofessional and inappropriate, especially when you decided to listen because you had nothing better to do. And especially when she started making some good points.

He squinted his eyes, and you sighed.

“Sorry, I’m just a bit antsy. Feeling a bit… off.”

You felt sick, and stressed, and like your thoughts were going to be the cause of your death. Because you’ve never been sick like this. And to your overworked brain, it only meant one thing.

Spencer’s a great profiler. And although the team collectively agreed to not profile each other, it becomes hard for Spencer when the girl he’s in love with is so obviously in distress. Even worse when he can’t be the hero.

“I can leave you to sleep if you want.” He says, getting up to leave.

“Oh, no. That’s okay. Honestly, I think sleeping would just make it worse.”

Ah, right. Travel sickness, Spencer thought. He gaps his mouth slightly and nods. He relaxes into the couch and looks over to you, heart picking up slightly as pieces of hair fell from your loose ponytail.

You looked over to the table he was previously sat at, the book you gifted him last Christmas open and nearly finished. You smiled to yourself, but it was bittersweet.

“You’re actually reading it?” You asked, looking back at him with slight surprise.

“Of course. I’ve read it 6 times already, it’s a great pallet cleanser- Just like you said in that Christmas card!” He smiled childishly, like he was recalling the first snow.

“I know right! It’s so simple but interesting, I mean I’ve only read it three times but to me I always found it to clear my head.”

Spencer angled himself towards you, “Did you know that the author actually interviewed his daughter’s teachers to see what ages teachers were more invested in compared to class sizes? He said in an interview that depending on a students intelligence, there’s an underlying emotional connection made between student and teacher,” he took a breath, “It plays into the intelligence to ego ratio that so many people claim isn’t true. Which I’m not trying to say you have a big ego, or that I do-“

You waved you hands, “Woah, woah. Why would I think you’re talking about me?”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Well, you’re very intelligent.”

“Oh!… Thanks for thinking I’m intelligent, or smart.” You shrugged, “But I think you insulted yourself. You don’t have a 187 IQ for nothing do you?”

“You remembered my IQ?” He laughed nervously. His smile warms your chest like a candle. Like that candle he got you randomly in April, after you mentioned your favourite one being used up by your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend. Ugh.

You smile falters for only a second, “Of course. You only mention it to every person that second guesses you.”

He nods and smiles, “Must be my ego.”

You laugh, subconsciously bumping your shoulder with his. But- Jesus. Your stomach is queasy.

“Hey, uh, do you want some travel sickness pills?” He reached over for his satchel but you grab his forearm and smile as convincingly as you can.

“No, no. We’re landing soon, but thank you.”

You’re overreacting.

That’s what he said. When you texted your boyfriend of a year and a half that you thought you were pregnant he said, You’re overreacting. Two words, two hours after your first text, on his day off.

Maybe you are. You started feeling sick on a slightly more gory case, it’s lasted ever since the case started, you get travel sick as well.

The headaches are from the computer screen and stress. The stress is from fatigue. The fatigue is because of the lack of sleep. The lack of sleep is because of the headaches.

Why do you always do this? Always thinking that there’s something wrong with you. Always being the biggest person in your own life, selfish.

But… what if?

There’s a sudden squeak from behind you, and you instantly snapped out of it. You took a deep breath and looked at your surroundings. You were at your desk, standing, the strap of your bag clutched in your hands - god, your knuckles were white. Your eyes darted in surprise and confusion, and you jumped once again when Spencer spoke into the silence.

“You okay?”

“Um…”

You didn’t look back at him, only looking down at your shoes and taking a deep breath. You plastered on a smile despite the bile collecting in your throat.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve gonna go, the bus leaves at um…”

You took out your phone. He didn’t even respond to your text asking him to pick you up.

“I’ll drive you home. But uh, I gotta pick up some groceries. I hope you don’t mind.”

He curved to your desk and gently took your bag from your hands, glancing at the way you traced your knuckles and how the leather strap now had slight wrinkles in it. He smiled, warmly. And he started walking like you rejecting the idea wasn’t an option.

Which is wasn’t, because he knew you too well.

“Well, a cucumber actually has 3% more water than watermelon. So if you really want a refreshing snack, cucumber is your man.”

You smiled and raised your eyebrows in interest. He’s had many vegetables and fruits in the basket, not a lot of protein. Explained a lot.

My man, you thought with a smile.

My man, you shivered.

“I don’t like cucumbers.” You said like it was distraction, and he nodded, picking up some kewpie mayo as he you around to the next aisle. He glanced at you,

“I know. You say it’s tasteless. I like it.” He shrugged.

“I know.” You smiled, and he smiles back.

God, you wish you could bask in it, the warmth. But your chest was still tingly, and your heart hadn’t stopped aching ever since you got excited about an email notification.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay? I noticed you’ve been tense for like… a week.” He grabbed some pasta sauce and put his hand on your shoulder to turn you around - you obviously looked too far into your own head.

“Yeah, just feeling-“

“Y/n.” He turned to you, stopping your venture into the dairy aisle. His eyes were hard, worried. The fluorescent lights swayed slightly. A worker walked by the end of the aisle with a trolley full of food.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t,” he lifted one arm, wanting to rest his hand on your upper arm, to help you, “Don’t say sorry. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I have been feeling sick. That’s true. And I’ve been stressed and, thinking a lot. A lot.”

It felt weird to nearly tell Spencer about your relationship problems. It was like complaining to a doctor about healing crystals. It was like a slap in the face. Maybe that’s why you never did tell him about it, because it was facing your fears.

It was the pros and cons list made by Penelope.

But I’m overreacting.

“It’s nothing.”

Spencer sighed. You had that habit, of nearly opening up, and then shutting the door just as he was about to walk in.

You heard his sigh.

“Okay. I gave Lloyd my car because he has the day off, and he likes going to his friends houses on his days off. And, I told him something that should probably freak him out. But he doesn’t really care. I don’t think he really cares, about anything. At least about me.”

You started walking, because holy shit you’ve never said that out loud before, and Spencer followed you,

“Y/n, if you want to tell me something-“

“I think I’m pregnant.” You stopped, and started picking at your fingers, acting as if it was admitting to not knowing your left and rights, or that you don’t really like coconut.

His eyes widen, and his heart drops. It was like his worst nightmare coming true- jesus, how could he even think about himself right now? The girl he loved felt trapped with a man she thought might be the father of her baby.

Spencer gulped, “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

You looked at each other, scared, you more than him. And then you cringed,

“God, I’m sorry Spencer. I shouldn’t have said anything-“

“No- Y/n, it’s fine. I’m glad you told me-“

“I haven’t even, like, taken a test yet-“

“Wait so-”

You spun on your heel and looked at him exasperated.

“So… let’s go get some tests.” He said (he hopes) calmly. He was really trying, to pretend to be calm and collected. That’s what you needed, a clear head to replace yours.

He paid for everything, even the 5 pregnancy tests and the over sized lollipop you put in the basket to ease your nerves later on.

The moon was high, you were about three hours late to get home now, and your head was attacking itself with rambles and aches and honestly, you were sick of it.

You shivered, huddling in your jacket and drawing only slightly closer to Spencer. His silence was like a hook, drawing you in closer and higher and taking every word you had been thinking that day to the tip of your tongue.

You looked up to him. His hair fell into his eyes, the breeze reddening his cheeks slightly.

It’s Spencer. You’ve known him for nearly 6 years, but it feels like you’ve known each other for ever. You know everything about him, and he knows everything about you. Well, not everything. He doesn’t know how you feel in your own apartment, how every anniversary had been forgotten even when it was the ‘1 year’ mark, how you felt like you were raising an over grown child who could drink.

He knows you’re strong, but admitting all that? I’d look weak.

You have looked weak in front of Spencer. He stayed overnight in your hospital room, he held you when you watched a little girl die, he wiped your tears when you watched a sad short film during your break.

You couldn’t hide anything from him.

“I don’t think I’m pregnant- Well, I mean I might be, but there’s a very low chance,” You started, Spencer’s jaw clenched for a millisecond, “I’ve just been feeling sick and… it could be because of stress from work, or just general stress- like, I don’t know.”

Spencer moved the grocery bag to his other hand.

“Kids are great, don’t get me wrong. Some people don’t get the chance to have kids. I mean…” You gulped, and Spencer finally looked down at you. But now, all you could do was stare at the car park’s concrete floor. Speaking out loud was like clearing your brain, the fog was lifting. “Lloyd doesn’t want kids. I do, at least in the future, not right now. I just hope it’s not with-“ You cut yourself off, and slow down a bit. Spencer matches your pace.

I just hope it’s not with him.

He gulps, and clears his throat, looking down at you with understanding eyes, “With everything that’s going on.”

“Yeah… yeah. You know, my job, my…” It’s no use lying to Spencer. He knows. He’s known, for a long time.

Your chest was tight, and you made eye contact with the pregnancy tests lying on top of Spencer’s groceries. The thought of going home, rushing to the bathroom, avoiding your boyfriend who was already waiting angry, made your throat close up. Because only now, when you were three hours late from work and ignoring his one attempt at a phone call, Lloyd texted, ‘I think you need to calm down.’ It was a bare minimum, and finally Spencer could see you realizing it.

No, ‘Wre you okay?’, ‘What’s making you think this?’ ‘Where are you?’

No. He was making you out to be the crazy one, the one to be over thinking, over bearing, too much.

You were confused. To put it blankly. And scared. And questioning your life decisions. And honestly you just wanted to curl up in a ball and to have Spencer make you bad cucumber salad at his warm apartment.

You looked up to Spencer but he was already looking down at you, reaching for his keys and nodding, “You can come to mine, it’ll be okay.”

taglist (open) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna @laurakirsten0502 @cultish-corner

[noyasmashing]

𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀 𝐊𝐎𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐄 ˖ ࣪ ∗ ❀

cw: pegging, hair pulling, crying, sub!kenma, gn!reader

a/n: draft from forverrrr ago but i have to post it in honor of the haikyu movie

He hated it. He despised sensation of sweat trickling down his body as his back arched to meet your thrusts. Kenma had always detested physical activity, which is precisely why you relished making him work for it, watching him bounce uselessly on your strap as you mocked the way his cock slapped against his stomach.

Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes, and moans escaped his chapped lips. His voice came out as horse cries as your hands gripped his hips, rather harshly. “Apologize, Kozume,” you commanded sternly, looking up at him. He shook his head, his bottom lip trembling. Yet he continued bouncing on your lap, sloppily and uncoordinated, squirming under your grip.

“Oh? So that’s how it’s going to be, huh?” you mused, searching his face for any emotion. He refused to apologize, knowing any sort of speech would bring on the tears he hated. But you didn’t care about that now. Roughly, you flipped him onto all fours, now getting to see the breath taking sight of his ass. Despite his slurred protests, he arched his back, presenting his pulsating hole for you to use.

“P-put it back in,” he pleaded, wriggling his hips toward you for more friction. “Not until you apologize,” you replied, choosing to tease him by running your slick strap between his cheeks. His body felt hot, the tips of his ears reddened even with his face hidden. “’m sorry,” he whined into the pillow, but you clicked your tongue, unsatisfied with his weak apology.

“Louder,” you urged, knowing the volume he could actually reach. He hesitated, then looked at you, his Adam’s apple bobbing as your stern glare conveyed everything. He stifled a moan as you teased him with a gentle thrust near his hole. “I-I’m sorry for being an ass, please [name], f-forgive me,” he forced out, trembling under your grip.

You hummed, pausing for a moment that felt like an eternity to Kenma before finally ramming your length back into his wet ring of muscles. He moaned in satisfaction, thinking he got what he wanted. But the pleasure soon turned to overstimulation as you continued pounding him roughly. Usually you would keep a slow pace, showering him in praise as he got adjusted to your girth. But this time was different. His hips tried to escape your merciless pace, but you quickly stopped him. A string of nervous gasps escaping his cracked lips.

“Where do you think you’re going? If you can’t apologize properly, I’ll make you wish you could.”

“It’s too much—it’s too much,” he whined, gripping the sheets below him in a desperate attempt to ground himself. Despite his words, you saw the way he looked back at you with his mouth agape, eyes half-lidded, his cock surely weeping on his abdomen.

“Touch yourself, baby,” you encouraged warmly, but he just shook his head. You sighed, trying to be nice, but he was being such a brat. Maybe he’d learn his lesson if you were rougher. Releasing one side of his hips, you reached up with your free hand to pull his hair.

He gasped sharply, then whimpered as you pulled back. His moans were no longer muffled, and he could hear the lewd sounds of skin slapping together more clearly now. It all added to his pleasure, and the coil in his stomach started to unwind. Even in his delirious state, he knew better than to come without asking. “C-can I…” You cut off his plea, already knowing what he was going to ask. “No, only good boys get to come when they ask.” He sobbed at that.

Covered in sweat, he couldn’t bring himself to protest. You tightened your grip on him, continuing to pound relentlessly. He was fully crying now, hands shaking as he resisted the urge to fist his cock. But he was so needy, pre-cum leaking uselessly from his tip. You could tell what he was thinking and smirked. “Go on, touch yourself, and I’ll let you come.” He looked back at you, wary of your leniency.

“You mean it?” he asked shyly. You nodded warmly. “When have I ever lied to you?” With that, his hand found its way to his puffy tip, small nervous strokes causing his whole body to shake with pleasure. Your grip on his hips lifted his lower half practically off the bed. He felt weak, coming without hesitation when a “go on” left your lips.

He moaned loudly, his voice cracking into the pillow as his milky white release sprayed onto himself and the sheets.

To his disappointment and pleasure, you didn’t stop. In fact, it felt like you sped up your thrusts, maintaining their rhythm without faltering.

“We can’t stop now. I have to make sure my baby learns his lesson.”

[luveline]

carmy! i have a request, it’s so basic but everything you write is golden. him and r are pining coworkers, and maybe someone else yells at her or upsets her or whatever and he’s like but i’m the only one allowed to shout at you and he hugs her (because you know… arms 👀)

—Carmy tries to make you feel better after a customer upsets you. fem, 1.5k 

“Fucking asshole,” Richie mutters as the door swings closed. 

Carmy would cringe if he had the energy, or a lack of self-awareness —it’s not as though he doesn’t swear like a starved sailor every other sentence. 

“Who’s the asshole?” he asks, feeling down his side for the bump of a box of cigarettes he doesn’t find. 

He’s taken to hiding them in the office. He’d love to pretend it was an act of lent, but in actuality, he never told Ritchie that the box of cigarettes left near the burner, that gave them their C-army rating, wasn’t Richie’s at all, but Carmy’s. He isn’t ever planning on having that conversation, so he’s trying not to carry a box around and leave it somewhere stupid again. 

“Fucking– you didn’t just hear that guy?” Richie asks, scowling. 

Carmy scowls back. “Yeah, that’s why I’m asking. What the fuck do you think?” 

It’s slightly too much aggression off the cuff, but Richie brings it out of him. “Some asshole just came in here and started shouting like a motherfucker because he forgot his stupid napkins. I thought Sunshine was gonna cry her eyes out.” 

Carmy clocks back in fully. “What?” 

Sunshine is the mildly sarcastic nickname Richie gave you before Carmy ever step foot in The Beef. It’s not that you’re moody, but you’re always tired, and you give these little shy smiles out to anyone who asks how you are. I’m fine, you say every time, followed by something deflective like, I’m just tired. Lack of vitamin D from working in this place. 

“Where do scumbags get off, making girls cry like that?” 

Carmy's eyes widen. “She’s crying?” 

Richie is capable of seriousness, despite himself. “Yeah,” he says, his anger swapped out for a low remorse, “I told her to go sit in the office until she’s feeling better.” 

Carmy pauses. “Should I go look in?” he asks. 

“Duh, Carmen. You’re the only one who can make her feel better. Which I resent!” He brings a rag end from his shoulder to wipe his forehead, which is gross, but whatever. “I’m fucking excellent at being a shoulder to cry on.” 

Carmy doesn’t know what that means. Richie says it like it’s obvious, but since when is Carmy the only person who can make you feel better? You’ve known everybody here far longer than you’ve known him, and sometimes Carmy thinks you probably don’t want a thing to do with him, does anybody in the kitchen? You’re smart, and you’ve been working here as long as anybody, started when you were genuinely too young and learning everything you know from the other. You have potential, like everybody here. You just didn’t get the right training, and you’re defensive (again, like everybody here). 

Carmy’s almost positive you’re gonna tell him to fuck off when he knocks the office door. He doesn’t know why he does it, nobody knocks in this shithole, but he does. Maybe he’s buying time; you’ll be feeling better when he pushes the door fully open, and he won’t have to navigate the treacherous depths of his feelings for you while he’s so busy trying to work himself out.

You sniff, muffled, like  a sleeve is held over your face. “Hello?” you ask. 

Carmy gets a burst of energy and doesn’t ask before stepping into the room. You can’t say no if he doesn’t ask, and you don’t, looking at him from the rickety office chair with distrust, and then sheepishness. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t be in here.” 

“No, no, you can come in here,” he says. He has a bad habit of pausing too long and looking too close, hands clenched in front of himself. “You can come in here. Some asshole made you cry?” 

You shake your head with tears still wet on your cheek. You’re at home in the office, all the chaos and posters and paper trails a match for you dishevelled appearance. You’ve pulled your foot onto the chair, showcasing a shoe that’s falling apart and two pairs of socks pulled to uneven heights. Your hands are a riot, none of your jewellery but a mismatch of different coloured band-aids over a multitude of wounds. And your face glows with tears, shitty light of the desk lamp casting yellow onto your teary cheeks, your lips bitten raw. 

“I’m fine,” you say. 

Carmy doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he was hoping for a better confession. “Over napkins?” 

“Said I’m s’posed to put napkins in the bag,” you say, a monotony to your voice that’s forced and weak at once. “‘Cos I’m a fucking idiot, right, who doesn’t put napkins in the bag?” You sniffle. “Whatever. Richie said he can’t come back.” 

“He can’t,” Carmy says quickly. 

He fails to follow it up. There’s an idiot in the office, for sure, and it’s not you. 

Your mouth crumples and you look away from him, something achy about you as another tear falls down your cheek to curve into the skin above your top lip, making a home at your cupid’s bow. “I’m fine.” 

“You can be upset,” he says. “This job’s… hard enough, without people making you feel like shit for shit you didn’t do.”

You respond to his warm(ish) tone with a small smile. Your tear slips down your lip. Carmy wants to wipe it off. 

“What can I do?” he asks finally.

He wishes he could make you feel better without asking, and there are parts of him that want to turn tail and run, too, but Carmy stays standing in front of the half-open door watching as tears make their way to your chin. He doesn’t know why you’re still crying. 

Maybe he does. Carmy doesn’t usually cry. He just watches things go wrong without stopping them, or keels over in the alley for long, too fast minutes as his heart pumps a bruising rhythm against his ribs. 

“I’m fine, Carmy,” you say, wiping your face roughly as you stand from the chair.  

He scratches a hand through his hair. “Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” 

“You don’t have to anything.” 

“Richie said I’m the only person who can make you feel better.” 

“You’re just the only guy who ever shouts at me,” you tease, sniffling softly as you do. 

Carmy shouldn’t yell at anyone, but he does. You’ve never cried. He wouldn’t yell at anybody if he thought it would make them upset like that, it’s just that yelling’s like talking where he comes from, and the kitchen doesn’t help. 

“So what? Am I supposed to beat that guy up?” Carmy asks. 

You laugh through what he hopes to be the last of your tears, scrubbing at your cheeks ineffectually. “Like you could beat somebody up. You’re all bark and no bite, Berzatto.” 

Sure. And he’s a loser, he’s more than aware of it; Carmy knows fifty seven different ways to prepare corn for eating and he doesn’t know a single way to make girls feel better, so he tries something he saw on TV. 

“Come here,” he says, holding his arm out insistently. “C’mere.” 

He leans in to grab you. You hold your arms out, but you still when he touches you like you're shocked. He’s a little shocked too. 

“Richie knew the guy, right?” Carmy asks. 

“He said he’s banned for life.” 

“Okay, great.” Carmy feels up your back slowly. Your arms are hesitant behind him. He’s the braver one for once, feeling at the dips and slopes of you with a greedy hand.

You smell… really good. He has a good sense of smell, can pick apart a meal's ingredients by scent alone if he’s awake enough, so he can tell you’re wearing that little solid perfume you keep in your cubby, gentle enough to not bother anybody in the kitchen, ever so slightly milky and sweet. He can also smell the salt on your cheeks. So weird to be able to smell your tears. 

Carmy pats your back and leans away. Your hands fall to your side. 

He wipes your face hesitantly, pinky to your soft cheek, until your tear stains are dry and you’re looking at him steadily.

“That was really weird,” you say. 

He panics, stepping away from you, “Fuck. Fuck, sorry.” 

You shake your head. “No, I’m just kidding. Thanks, Carmy.” 

“Dick,” he says. 

You smile brightly. Okay, his heart fell into his ass when you said it was weird, but you can tease him all day if it makes you feel better. 

“I better go tell Richie I’m okay,” you say. “Don’t you have a stock to reduce?” 

“Oh, you mean your stock?” he asks. 

Your smile makes him wanna grab your wrist, and it makes him wanna chase after you. You slink out of the office, waving a quick goodbye with your fingers, and Carmy stares at the place you’d been sitting while you cried for a couple of seconds to get a grip.  

He puts his hand on his chest and feels his pulse racing. 

“Fucking asshole,” he mutters, not sure if he means the customer or himself.

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

Drunk and Disoriented

Prompt: You interrupt Aaron’s day to tell him that you might have…been arrested.

You genuinely never thought you’d find yourself in this predicament. You were never the rowdy type, you were a straight A student from middle school all the way through college. It was just suppose to be a fun night out with some of the girls to let off a little bit of steam after a grueling week of work, but somehow it escalated to the cops being called, you put in handcuffs and now having to call your FBI husband while he’s in the middle of a case at work to explain.

After not answering his cell, you convinced the police officer to let you call one more person-though the river of tears falling from your face probably helped a little.

“Hey Y/N?” Emily’s voice greeted.

“Hey Em.” Relieved that she picked up the call, you sniffled. “Is Aaron there? Could I talk with him?”

“Yeah, of course, we’re all here. I’ll hand you over now.”

You waited until the familiar deep voice of your husband spoke before breaking down into another sob.

“Aaron- I don’t know what happened.- I was with the girls and there was a fight and I’m drunk and handcuffed.” You paused so you could gulp in a breath of air before rambling some more. “I think I might be going to jail. I can’t go to jail Aaron. Please come get me. Please.”

“Y/N. I need you to take a deep breath for me, ok sweetheart.”

You did as he said, momentarily snapping out of your panic at his stern but caring words.

“Ok.” After he audibly heard you take a breath, he continued.

“I’ll on my way. Could you hand the phone over to the officer that’s with you?”

“Yeah.”

You offered your phone to the cop that was standing a few feet from you with your hands handcuffed from the front but he just shook his head.

"I don't need to speak with him. Just tell him you'll be booked at the Alexandria Detention Center."

Before you could start crying again, Aaron's voice rang through clear to you.

"I'll see you in less than 10. Don't worry, everything will be ok."

"Ok, Aaron. I love you."

"I love you too."

You hung up and handed your phone back to the cop before he helped you up from your sitting position on the curb and assisted you to sit in the backseat of the cop car. You don't even know where your other friends ended up or if they were being carted off to jail like you.

As he got into the car and began driving, you leaned your head back and closed your eyes, trying not to become nauseous from the "spins". Your mouth was dry with a the lingering taste of tequila while your wrists were becoming sore from wringing your hands in the cuffs that seemed to be just a little too tight. You were sure you looked like a racoon from all the crying and to top it all off, you're pretty sure you left your jacket back at the bar. The strapless cocktail dress was doing nothing to keep the cold plastic and A/C from chilling you.

All of a sudden, the squad car lurches to a stop, causing you to open your eyes and look around, seeing a ton of red and blue lights.

"What the hell is this?" the cop spoke to himself before getting out.

You scooted up closer to the plastic barrier to see better and spotted 2 black SUV's stopped in front of the car, Aaron and Morgan both exiting from one and rest of the team from the other. To say that Aaron looked pissed was an understatement.

You couldn't hear what they were saying but you did see Aaron flash his badge in the officer's face and point over to you. Then like that, the officer came over and opened up the door as Aaron popped his head in.

"Come on, let's get you out of here," he said, unbuckling your seatbelt and taking your cuffed hands in his, helping you out and adjusting your dress for you as the officer quickly removed the handcuffs.

Everything was happening so fast it was making you dizzy but it didn't matter once you felt the warmth of Aaron's suit jacket wrap around your shoulders and his arm protectively pull you close as you both walked over to his SUV.

"This is so embarrassing. I'm so sorry, Aaron," you mumbled, feeling bad that you interrupted their work on catching a killer to come help you.

"Don't apologize. The officer was in the wrong. You did nothing that warranted his behavior."

His tone was sharp but you know he was still just fuming at the cop, not you. He opened the passenger door open for you but you didn't make a move to get in. Instead, you turned to face him and fall into his chest, crying for the millionth time that night. He gave you the hug you were craving and kissed the top of your head, his voice now softer and sweet in your ear.

"It's alright. You're with me now. Just take a breath."

Just like on the phone, you listened to him and stopped crying enough to take in a shaky breath and let it out as his tight embrace loosened so he could look at you.

"That's it. Deep breaths."

He wiped your face and you couldn't help but let out a little chuckle.

"I didn't know you were gonna send the whole brigade to get me. I wish I didn't look like a rabid raccoon."

He smiled and looked over at his team who were talking with the officer, surrounding him as he looked completely uncomfortable and intimidated.

"They wouldn't stay behind even if I told them to. You mean a lot to them and you needed our help. Plus, I wouldn't say rabid raccoon. More like a sleepy lemur."

He laughed at his own joke as you slapped his chest in return.

"Gonna make some sweets for them when we get home," you said, thinking out loud, wondering if you had enough flour and sugar.

"I don't think so. I'm gonna drive you home and you're going to take a hot shower, dress in one of my college t-shirts you love so much, take some Advil with lots of water and go to bed," he ordered with a look that was suppose to be stern but you could see through it.

"Mm. Fine Mr. Hotchner. Only because I am really tired. But come tomorrow, it's on."

Another small smile from him as he helped you into your seat and buckled you in, giving you a small kiss before closing your door. You watched from the side mirror as you watched him walk over to the team and most likely discuss what was happening before coming back over and getting in the drivers seat.

He held your hand and traced light patterns on your skin, almost lulling you into a sleep as you closed your eyes.

[l4ndonorizz]

cooking stream gone wrong / lando norris x reader

pairing: lando norris x reader

song: disclosure - latch

summary: cooking stream is not something lando does often, but when he does it's worth it. and gossip is his middle name.

wc: 1.3k

“Alright, we’re live!” Lando grinned at the camera, adjusting his headset as you stood beside him in the kitchen, waving to his thousands of Twitch followers tuning in for what was supposed to be a simple, fun cooking stream.

“Say hi!” he nudged you with his elbow, a cheeky smile playing on his lips.

“Hi, everyone!” you laughed, feeling a little awkward but excited at the same time. Cooking was not your strong suit, but Lando had convinced you it would be fun—how hard could making pasta be?

“So, here’s the plan,” Lando started, turning back to the camera. “We’re going to make...well, attempt to make some pasta. Easy, right? We’ve got everything set up, and—”

“And by ‘set up,’ you mean we threw everything onto the counter and hoped for the best,” you interrupted, earning a laugh from Lando as the chat started flooding with comments.

"Lando can’t even boil water."

"This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?"

"Who’s the better cook?"

Lando squinted at the screen, reading the comments. “Who’s the better cook? Honestly, neither of us, but I think I’ve got this. Easy win,” he said, confidently reaching for the flour to start mixing the dough.

“Sure, sure,” you teased, rolling your eyes. “Let’s see how that confidence holds up when we burn your kitchen.”

As you both got to work, the chaos started almost immediately. Lando spilled flour all over the counter while trying to measure it, and you couldn’t stop laughing as he attempted to save it by brushing the mess into a pile.

“Mate, I’m a racing driver, not a chef!” he exclaimed, looking at the camera as if that excused the growing disaster in front of him. The chat was already spamming laughing emojis.

“And yet, here we are,” you said, reaching for the eggs. “Okay, let’s at least try to make the dough...not a total failure.”

A few minutes later, you both had something that vaguely resembled dough, though it was sticking to your hands and the countertop. You exchanged glances, trying not to burst out laughing.

“This...doesn’t feel right,” you said, holding up your sticky hands.

Lando shook his head, grinning as he swiped some flour from the counter and smeared it across your cheek. “You’re doing great.”

You laughed, pushing him away playfully. “Seriously? You’re just making it worse!”

The chat exploded with more comments.

"What’s happening here?"

"This stream is pure chaos."

"They are so bad at this!"

“Alright, alright, let’s focus. We’re gonna make this work,” Lando said, trying to regain control of the situation. “We just need to roll it out, right?”

You nodded, grabbing the rolling pin. But, in true chaotic fashion, you accidentally knocked over the bag of flour, sending a cloud of white powder into the air. Both of you froze for a moment, staring at the mess before bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

“Okay, this is an absolute disaster,” you managed to say between laughs, wiping the flour from your face.

“Disaster? Nah, this is quality content,” Lando grinned, gesturing to the camera as he brushed the flour off his shirt. “Everyone loves a bit of chaos.”

The chat seemed to agree, with viewers sending donations and spamming messages about how this was the funniest stream they’d seen in a while.

With the dough finally rolled out (though not exactly perfectly), you both moved on to boiling the water. Lando confidently set the pot on the stove, turning up the heat.

“See? Easy,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel. “We’ve totally got this.”

“Don’t jinx it,” you warned, but the damage was already done.

Just a few minutes later, the water started boiling over, steam rising from the pot. Lando scrambled to turn down the heat while you frantically grabbed a towel to clean up the mess.

“I said don’t jinx it!” you laughed, trying to keep the chaos under control.

“Okay, okay, I might’ve messed that one up,” Lando admitted, wiping his forehead dramatically for the camera. “But we’re still going strong!”

As the chaos in the kitchen continued, you both got more and more caught up in the moment. Between the flour, the boiling water, and the laughter, it was easy to forget about the camera still rolling. The playful banter between you and Lando became more flirtatious as the minutes passed, and you couldn’t help but notice how close you were standing to each other now.

Lando leaned in, a grin on his face as he pretended to offer you a bite of the pasta that had somehow ended up slightly burnt. “Care for a taste, chef?”

You laughed, leaning back against the counter. “Oh, I’ll pass. Looks like you’re trying to poison me.”

But instead of pulling away, Lando stayed close, his hand resting gently on your waist. The playful energy shifted, and suddenly, the laughter faded, replaced by an unfamiliar tension. His eyes stayed on yours, the teasing glint in them softening as the air between you thickened.

You felt your pulse quicken, your heart racing in your chest. "Lando..." you started, unsure if you should break the moment or let it take its course.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his gaze dropped to your lips, and before you could even process it, his hand slid up your side, pulling you closer. His lips found yours, softly at first, as if testing the waters, but then something shifted, and the kiss deepened with an urgency neither of you had anticipated.

Your hands moved instinctively to his chest, your fingers curling into his shirt as you kissed him back, completely caught up in the moment. Everything else faded away—the kitchen, the mess, the stream. It was just you and Lando, lost in a kiss that felt far more intense than anything you’d ever shared before.

His hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him as the kiss grew hungrier, more desperate. You could feel the counter digging into your back, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was the warmth of his body against yours, the way his lips moved over yours, the way your heart raced uncontrollably in your chest.

Then suddenly, the shrill sound of a phone ringing pierced through the haze.

You both froze, your lips still inches apart, breathing heavily as reality crashed back into the room. Lando’s phone continued ringing, and you blinked in confusion, your mind scrambling to catch up with what had just happened.

Lando reached for his phone, glancing at the screen with wide eyes. “It’s Max,” he muttered, his voice hoarse.

Lando answered the call with trembling fingers. “Uh...hey, Max.”

“Bro,” Max’s voice came through the speaker, half-amused, half-panicked. “Are you guys seriously still streaming? Because, uh...you’re about two seconds away from getting banned for...whatever the hell you were just doing on that counter.”

Lando’s eyes widened in horror as he glanced at the camera, finally realizing that the chat was still going crazy. His hand shot out to shut off the stream, but it was too late. The damage was done.

You stood there in stunned silence, your face burning with embarrassment as you covered your mouth with your hand. How could you have forgotten about the stream?

“Well,” Lando finally said, breaking the silence after what felt like an eternity. “That...happened.”

You let out a nervous laugh, still feeling the lingering heat from the kiss. “Yeah. That definitely happened.”

Lando ran a hand through his hair, clearly still trying to process everything. He looked at you, his expression a mix of embarrassment and something else—something unspoken.

Before either of you could say anything more, he reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I guess...we’re going to have some explaining to do, huh?”

You nodded, still breathless from the chaos of the last few minutes. “Yeah. But...I don’t regret it.”

Lando grinned, a hint of that familiar mischievous spark returning. “Neither do I.”

[pitchsidestories]

el sueño de una niña (1) II Jenni Hermoso x Reader

part 2 I masterlist I word count: 2175

a/n: dear readers, the inspiration for this oneshot was Jenni Hermoso's speech at the Ballon d'Or ceremony, enjoy. 🖤💜

“Wait, I know that you’re a football player. Why did you come from my mamis bedroom?”

Jenni was on her way to sneak out of your appartement but when that small voice held her back. Curiously she turned the head around to look into the eyes of a little girl who the Spaniard estimated to be between five to six years old.

That must have been your daughter Mila Jenni thought to herself. It was the big confession after the great night the two of you had spent together.

Something in the reveal activated her flight mode, the forward’s plan was to leave and never look back. Her life was so chaotic she didn’t feel ready to be a part of a family.

Even though everything about yesterday touched her more than Jenni wanted to admit. Images of it flashed behind her eyes capturing passion, beauty and love. 

“Uhm.. you didn’t see me, okay?”, the raven-haired woman returned the question flustered.

“But you’re the Jenni Hermoso, right? The one who won the World cup with Spain.”, Mila looked at her big-eyed, her voice full of adoration.

“Yes, but don’t tell anyone.”, Jenni replied, pressing a finger to her lips to underline her words.

“Wow.”, the little girl whispered amazed.

“Sorry, I really need to leave now. I’ve a speech to write.”, the striker apologized.

This didn’t stop Mila to confide in the older woman. “I’d love to be a football player like you when I’m grown up.”

“You do?”, something of your daughter’s sincerity made Jenni stay despite her announcement earlier that she needed to go.

“Yes.”, the girl emphasized.

“Hm..”

“It’s a big dream of mine.”, Mila added smiling shily.

“You’ll have to work hard for it.”, the Spaniard told her seriously.

“I can do that.”, your daughter assured her.

“And people will try to keep you from it.. they will tear you down and hope you’ll be compliant.”, Jenni continued gravely, kneeing down so she could look into the girl’s eyes.

“Did they do that with you?”, Mila questioned empathetically, placing her small hand carefully to the dark-haired woman’s cheek.

“Yes. All my life. So, promise me one thing, okay?”, she confirmed.

“Okay?”

“Don’t let anyone tell you what you can and cannot be. Promise?”, Jenni pressed a kiss to your daughter’s fingers.

“I promise.”, Mila answered solemnly.

“If you excuse me now.”, the older woman gave her an apologetic look.

“Bye, Jenni. I hope I’ll see you back soon.”, the girl said in an optimistic tone that left no doubt that the football player would return to your appartement.

“We’ll see. Thank you though.”, Jenni answered gratefully.

“Thank you for what?”, your daughter frowned confused.

“You just gave me an idea for my speech.”, the football player’s face lit up with excitement as she spoke.

Jenni shuffled the pieces of papers once more while someone applied her make up for the Ballon D’Or ceremony.

The writing on her notes was almost illegible, she had scribbled down her thoughts way too quickly on her way to the venue. It didn’t matter. She knew now what she wanted to say on stage. Still, she refused to let go of her notes.

“Jenni, have you actually prepared a speech?”

Alexias face appeared behind her in the mirror, She was already in her suit, her hair pulled into a low bun.

Jenni was about to complain about the surprised tone of Alexias voice when Patri joined them: “No way! I thought you’d just start talking like you always do.“

Jenni raised one eyebrow at the reflection of her two Spanish teammates and grinned: “That was the initial plan but I had a better idea.“

“Did someone spark your inspiration?”, Marta asked innocently.

Once the make-up artist let go of her face, she turned towards them and nodded: “Yes. And I hope she’s watching.“

Her teammates exchanged unreadable glances without saying a word while Jenni walked past them, leading the way to the award ceremony.

For what felt like hours, they sat there and listened to men talk. Jennis gaze kept going back to the clock, willing the time to slow down or the speakers to talk faster so Mila had a chance to watch before her bedtime.

Finally, she was called up on stage to receive her award. There was applause but she knew a lot of the people weren’t satisfied with her nomination. She held onto her notes and it all faded into the background once she started speaking about the little girl that wanted to follow in her footsteps, the girl that deserved to have a safer environment to play football in.

Her teammates welcomed her back to her seat with standing ovations. Alexia nodded at her once with a set jaw while Aitana gave her an inquiring look: “You dedicated it to a young girl? Who’s that?”

“Someone I met this morning.“, Jenni replied truthfully as she sat down.

“She seems to have left quite an impression on you.“, Caroline remarked.

“She did. Sometimes I wonder why I put up with all this shit… but there are so many little girls out there that should have it better than we did back then.“

“I agree with that.“, Alexia chimed in.

Marta nodded in agreement: “Me too, obviously. We had to put up with a lot.“

“Let’s be honest, we still do.“, Aitana whispered.

Jenni answered with new-found determination: “Yes but until she gets older, we might have already changed some more things.“

“I bet we will.“, Salma said quietly, before they all went quiet again and focused on the next award recipient.

Much to the surprise of her national and former club teammates Jenni announced at the after party, the alcohol-free wine glass still resting in her hand untouched. “I think I’m going to leave.”

“Leave?”, Patri repeated puzzled.

“Yeah, this party is boring anyway.”, the striker shrugged. The other women secretly thought the same, they couldn’t celebrate like the men around them as they were having a national team game the next morning.

 Seeing Jenni step into your apartment while she still wore her glamorous dark suit jacket showing a large portion of her skin underneath felt almost unreal to you. It wasn’t that long ago when Mila and you watched the ballon d’or ceremony on tv and now she was back in flesh and blood. The football player was even more gorgeous here than on the screen.

Quickly Jenni revealed that the celebrations had bored her which was the moment you told her about your night.

“Mila stayed awake the whole time, she didn’t want to fall asleep until you were on the stage, Jenni.”

“She watched?”, the dark-haired woman asked happily.

“Yes, Mila loved everything about your speech.”, you nodded thrilled by the fact that your excitement was mirrored in the forward’s face.

“I’ve to thank her. She inspired me.”, she confessed.

“You inspired her as well.”, you admitted smiling.  

“Even if she’s the only one, I reached my goal.”, Jenni beamed.

“To be fair I think you inspired many more with your words.”, you remarked solemnly.

“I hope so.”, the dark-haired woman sighed.

“Trust me.”, you answered softly.

After a meaningful pause you added. “I almost thought you wouldn’t call or wanted to see me again back then you left without a word in the morning.”

“That would sound like me actually.”, the footballer cleared her throat nervously. She loved to play the game, haunting for the next great beauty to court and lay down in bed with before going on the haunt again, always being a restless player. All was fair in love and football.

“She’ll appreciate the thank you though, it’ll mean a lot to her.”, you said while you bit your lip.

“That’s why I’m here. I want to thank you both.”, Jenni looked at you sincerely.

“Shouldn’t you be at the grand afterparty sipping champagne and flirting with pretty women?”, you lifted an eyebrow curiously.

“Not many women there that aren’t my teammates. And I’m not allowed to drink, I’ve to be back with my national team tomorrow.”, the striker chuckled amused.

“I see.”

“And maybe I preferred to spend my time here.”, she acknowledged, one hand ran tensely through her long hair.

You considered her for a moment and nodded in the direction of Milas bedroom: “Sadly she’s already asleep…“

“That’s okay. I could stay if you let me.“

You knew you should have thought about it for longer but you couldn’t resist the thought of Jenni staying one more night: “Yes, you can. If you promise to say goodbye in the morning.“

“If I was planning to sneak out again, I wouldn’t have told you.“, Jenni half-joked.

You tilted your head: “Good point.“

“So?”

“You can stay the night.“, you finally confirmed.

Relief seemed to flash across Jennis face for a millisecond: “Thanks.“

“You’re welcome, Jenni.“

The next morning you were woken up by footsteps on the wooden floor. Your heart sank immediately, thinking it was Jenni breaking her promise so you refused to turn around. You didn’t want to watch her leave again. Instead you heard a tiny voice whisper in awe: “Jenni!”

“Woah, you’re already awake, little one. Good morning.“, Jenni yawned and stretched right next to you.

She was still here, still in your bed.

“I saw you! Last night!”, Mila said full of excitement.

“You did? And did you like my suit? It’s on that chair.“, Jenni smiled, pointing across the room.

You watched as Mila walked over and gently touched the fabric in awe.

“It’s beautiful.“

“Right? Next year I’ll take you and your mum with me.“, the football player said, winking at you as if to tell you that she knew you were awake.

While the smile fell from your face, Milas eyes lit up: “What? Really?”

“Yes, why not?”

You might have been desperate for her to stay another night but you weren’t delusional. Who knew where the two of you were in a year? Most likely not sharing a bed anymore.

“Don’t promise her too much.“, you warned the football player.

Jenni was unusually quiet before replied: “I… mean it.“

“You mean it?”

“I do. I want to keep seeing you and her.“, she said with determination.

Milas eyes had been darting back and forth between the two of you like she was watching a tennis match. “We want to keep seeing you too!”, she yelled happily.

Completely ignoring you, Jenni turned back to your daughter and pulled her onto the bed: “Would you like to see a football game in Italy tonight?”

Mila was bursting with joy: “Yes!”

“I mean isn’t that too spontaneous? Like what about the airplane tickets?“, you interjected.

“I can take care of it all. But only if that’s okay with you.“, Jenni offered while Mila put on her best puppy eyes: “Pleeease.“

Who were you to deny your daughter such a once in a lifetime opportunity?

With a hesitant nod, you finally agreed: “Okay.“

The day has flown by, Mila and you quickly packed your bag for one night, before following your lover to get on the plane. While the striker was on the team walk, your daughter and you did your own exploring the Italian surroundings. It was like a daydream from which you didn’t want to wake up.

In the evening, you could feel from the stands Jennis glances on you who was standing on the pitch with some of her friends. Next to you Mila couldn’t hide her excitement seeing her favourite players live. It genuinely warmed your heart to witness and share that special moment with your child.

“Pretty girl from next door? She’s so your type, Jenni.”, Laia Codina wiggled her eyebrows.

“That’s why she’s here.”, the forward winked at the defender.

With a smirk on her face Alexia bumped her elbow into her teammates side. “Who would’ve thought that Jennifer found herself a family.”

“Strange things happen, Ale.”, Jenni shrugged with her shoulders.

“Yes, it’s Halloween soon.”, Vicky threw in teasingly.

“Rude.”, the older striker commented smiling.

“Vicky.”, the Barcelona captain clicked her tongue reprovingly.

The test game ended in a draw, but that didn’t stop Jenni from giving you a passionate kiss.

“That wasn’t very subtle, Jenni.”, you laughed.

“I don’t care about subtle anymore.”, she clarified grinning.

“What about the others watching?”, you asked her, cheeks flushed.

“They just love to stare at pretty girls.”, Jenni stated firmly.

“Pretty girls, hm?”, you repeated. Admittedly under her intense gaze you felt more beautiful than ever before. She didn’t hide her desire towards you and wasn’t afraid to show it in the public.

“Yes.”, she confirmed.

“Kiss me again.”, you requested, your voice slightly hoarse from cheering. Before you even could finish your sentence, her lips were on yours, making both of your hearts flutter.

Everything started with a dream of a little girl which was your daughter, in which Jenni saw her younger self, Mila undoubtedly became her inspiration for the speech. The three of you would now dream together.

Keep dreaming.

gif source: https://www.tumblr.com/imverits/765621490900238336?source=share