#Plastic Bottle Rugs

[sophialushambience]

In today’s world, sustainability and creativity go hand in hand. Finding innovative ways to repurpose materials not only helps the environment but also adds a unique touch to our homes. One such creative solution is upcycling plastic bottles into beautiful rugs. In this blog, we’ll explore how these upcycled plastic bottle rugs can transform your space into a chic and eco-friendly haven. From reducing plastic waste to adding a pop of color to your decor, these rugs are a perfect blend of style and sustainability.

[kachowden]

𝙸 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚢

| Hockey TeamVarious x Reader

Солнышко (Little Sun)

Yandere x reader (Part 1?)

—————————————————————————

An idea I have had for a while now.

So imagine yourself on a team. Except you’re not a player, no.

Actually..you’re technically not on the team because you’re one of a few people who rotates your position. You’re the mascot.

The beloved silly mascot of your team. The logo, the literal image of your hockey team. And you’re damn good too!

You get the crowds roaring, positively pumped-up for the game! And whether your team wins or loses, the highlights are always the silly little mascot who throws popcorn into the crowd or tosses shirts at unsuspecting families.

From time to time during the game you’d make your way onto the ice. Play fight with the team, steal a puck, steal a stick. Toss them to a crowd member. It was always in good fun, and the audience loved it!

And you weren’t just beloved by the fans, oh no no no, you were beloved by the team too.

So much so that at some point, the demand for your specific “mascotting” was so great, the other workers had to find a new career path. Damn shame too, you happened to like them quite a bit. But extra pay right? And it’s hard to deny how flattering it is being the fan favorite.

Of course it didn’t even cross your mind to question these circumstances, nor did you think to question the sudden increasing interactions you had with the team. Publicity, you assumed.

From number 47 dragging you onto the ice for some impromptu lessons. Still in costume might I add. Mid Play.

To number 13 laughing joyfully as he shoved you into the locker room after an intense game, and offered to wash your back for spending so long in such a sweaty suit. You denied him of course, the locker rooms weren’t meant for you! Duh.

You didn’t even question when number 1, the captain and goalie of the team, braced you against a barrier during half time, when your mask had precariously been knocked off by a rowdy fan. Nor did you see the viscous scowls directed at said fan. It was probably just keep your identity safe after all.

The score was 7 to 0 that game, in favour of your team. You weren’t sure what had pumped them up so much but whatever works right?

Course, you did get a puck to the cheek at one point and had to sub out for a bit. The players were non too happy when they discovered a different worker under your special suit. They were in a bad mood for the remainder of the game.

Number 19, who had a pension for bad behavior on the ice, sought you out specifically after the game too.

———-47—————19————1—————13———-

Your shoulders sagged tiredly against the cool wall of the changing room, blessing the AC that pumped through the units. Your jersey stuck sweatily to your skin, and you gasped with a dry mouth before a gloved hand appeared in your vision, a water bottle covered in condensation presented before you like a holy grail.

“You look like shit.” A scratchy voice scolds lightly by your ear, your eyes fluttering to glance at the rugged features of one of the team players settled besides your face, wedged deep into your personal space. The scent of sweat and body spray (axe probably) wafts into your nostrils, causing your nose to scrunch instinctively before you give a lopsided smile.

“Hey Donovan, s’nice to see you. How’s the play been?” You gratefully take the cold bottle from his grasp, finger tips grazing the rough and warm texture of his gloves before meeting the cool plastic of the team merchandise bottle. Your little mascot stared back at you in a 2D style.

“Shitty. You’re supposed to be out there, not some random loser who can’t even get the crowd excited right. Now the teams pissed and it’s your fault.” His words end in a sneer, despite the attentive way his eyes are raking across your figure for injury beyond the welt on your cheek bone. His body near touches yours and causes another wave of sweat to seep into your skin.

With a thoughtful hum and a sip of refreshing water you push yourself from the locker, stepping into the more open air and cooling yourself off, while dark brown eyes watch you beneath a furrowed, displeased brow.

“Your guys’s concern flatters me. It’s nice having such thoughtful co-workers.” Your lips smile thoughtfully, glancing at him from your shoulder.

He looks incredulous, which somehow lands on being the least aggressive expression you’ve ever seen on him.

“Co-workers?” He echoes, like the word is the most foul tasting thing that’s ever touched his tongue. “We’re teammates. Not co-workers.”

You wave your hand dismissively, back turned and unaware of the tall figure that approaches your bubble again from behind. “Well, you and the guys definitely are. Maybe even the ice scrapers, though I’d argue they’re in the same realm as me to be honest. More staff than anything yknow?” Your tone is light, you know what your position is. And of course you’re grateful to be the main mascot, but you’re aware of your replacements that stand idle at the food stands, handing out popcorn between half times.

“I mean I’m just the person in the suit, anyone could play that part. I just hope I could train the next guy that signs up for the position, gotta make sure they do my legacy justice right-“

Big hands, no longer covered by scratchy material grip into your hips, swallowing the skin in raw heat and tugging you backwards. Your feet stumble and trip for less then a second before you’ve collided into a broad chest. The feeling of a hot breath condenses on the back of your neck, covering up your barely escaped laugh and choke.

Hair tickles the side of your forehead, as Donovan leans over your shoulder. His eyes set forward to the opposing wall lockers just like your own, his thumbs rubbing thoughtless shapes into your skin. He exhales, like he’s just spent the last four hours dealing with an ill tempered toddler that he’s finally reached his wits end with.

“You’re stupid.”

Your lips part in offense, ready to defend your intelligence before you’re prematurely silenced by a new hand that joins the mass of limbs, and rests gently across your dry lips.

“Let him finish, Солнышко.”(Solnishko)*

A thick accent reverberates into your ears, your eyes darting up to meet pale blue ones that gaze back at you so sternly. White teeth peer past his lips in what was probably a smile, but looked like a show of dominance with the way his canines sunk into the bottom of his lip.

“Don’t you have a team to manage, Cap?” Donovan snarls, teeth bared with displeasure at his private time with you being interrupted. With his arms circling more around your figure in a loose version of a back hug. You stay trapped between the two behemoths that cease every noise and shift of your joints with careful hands.

Carlson smiles, a thoughtful one that softens at you, his eyes never leaving yours now that he has your full attention, something that raises Donovan’s ire significantly. “I heard our little mascot wasn’t doing to well. I wanted to check up on them. I may have heard your little conversation as well.”

The word “little” always manages to filter into Carlsons sentences. And while one could blame it on English only being his second language, his reputation for being the teams most well spoken member speaks volumes otherwise. No, the real reason would have to be the sheer height he holds above all others. The authority he possesses that seeps into the rink and every room he walks into.

It’s not a simple slip of the tongue. It’s a reminder. That he is above every one he meets. He is the captain, and what he says is absolute.

Even the way he gazes down at you screams this thought, bullying its way into your skull as your brain refuses to acknowledge the sheer possessive, demeaning energy that seeps from his figure into yours, despite the alarm bells it rings through your system.

“It breaks my heart, Солнышко. You should know better.” His thumb curves along your jaw, thoughtful again, and practiced, engulfing your entire chin in what could be a crushing grip. But it isn’t, and it never will be. Not to you anyway. “Have we not shown you how much we adore your support in the rink? Have we been too dismissive of you?” He continues, though the mocking edge is nearly unnoticeable.

Donovan’s breath huffs into the shell of your ear, his figure hunched over you like a protective cloak, eyes still staring daggers at the taller man. “You think the team can we wait for us to…help remind our dear mascot how much we care about them?”

There’s a thoughtful hum, eye contact still unbroken through each word. “I’m sure they’ll be mad they didn’t get to join…but their forms were lacking today. They could use the extra practice.”

Carlson leaned forward, sky like eyes darkening like the sea as his nose hovers mere breathes from your own. “And I’ve heard that teaching in…more intimate settings, can lead to greater success in many fields..”

.

.

.

.

.

“Again.”

“I will not think lowly of my position on the team, I will not think of myself as replaceable, because I am the best-“

“Fucking.”

“….the best fucking mascot in the world. I am irreplaceable. I am the best.”

“Very good. Again.”

“It’s been 30 minutes!”

“Well last time we did 15 and that still wasn’t enough, so now we must double our efforts, Солнышко. Again.”

“Afterwards I’ll buy you one of those pretzels you like. If you want, I guess.”

“…….yeah okay.”

[mead-iocre]

Trick or Treat | Leah Williamson x Reader

synopsis: you and your son go trick or treating and meet your neighbour

warnings: none

wc: 4.1k words

You arch, massaging away the kinks around your lower back with your fingers. At your age, you should not be getting back pain this often, but the reality is that having a good, flexible back is a privilege afforded to women who did not get pregnant at 19 years old, and are now a single mom to a very active 3 year old boy. 

You glance at the pile of boxes still stacked up against the wall and groan. The fun part of moving to a new place was knowing this was a new chapter in your life. There were new places to explore, and new people that could walk into your life to replace the ones you left behind. You forgot that having to unpack all your stuff was an essential hurdle you needed to get through first before you can even get to the fun part. 

At first, you were nervous about moving so far away, packing up your life to go to an entire continent away from home. Mom tried to talk you out of it, but you knew you needed a fresh start. And the further away the better.

You are knocked out of your thoughts by a soft thud coming from your son’s room. Since there was no crying that followed, you don’t rush out of the room but you quicken your pace regardless. You would’ve count on your rowdy child to injure himself somehow if left alone for too long.

You poke your head into the room. “Hey, bubba” 

A head of brown curls pop up from the other side of the bed. “Mama!”

The love of your life, and a tornado in the form of a little human, comes barreling over to you, struggling slightly with his little legs. It’s as if his mind is telling him to go fast, but his legs can’t catch up just yet. You crouch down to catch him before he knocks you down like a bowling pin. 

“What’cha doing?” You look around the room and sure enough there are crayons, farm animal figurines, and plastic toy tractors scattered everywhere. It was a mess, and it was only 11 am the morning. 

His room is still pretty bare aside from a small, low bed with little astronauts on his sheets, the blankets rumpled to the side from his nap earlier.

A simple dresser stands across the room, a few drawers pulled open and hurriedly filled with folded toddler clothes. Nearby, a lamp casts the only real light in the room. There's a small red spaceship-shaped rug near the bed, for little feet. In one corner, a couple of cardboard boxes that were stacked a while ago, containing toys and books, has now been tipped over.

Turning your attention to the boy in your arms, you are reminded exactly why you learned not to mind the mess. His brown eyes, with specks of green, round and framed by long dark lashes have you wrapped around his pudgy finger. He snuggles into the crook of your neck and you feel your heart melt all over again. 

“Playing dinos” 

You feel something pointy digging into your stomach, and when you feel around for the culprit, you find a plastic little t-rex in the pocket of his shorts. Obviously. 

You wave the plastic reptile at him, lightly poking one rosy cheeky with the head. “Bet you’re having fun, huh?”

Giggles ring out, and all you want to do is bottle up that sound forever. You heave him higher up your hip and use your mom privilege to rain as many kisses all over his face. 

The doorbell ringing catches your attention. You walk out of Reid's room and into the living room; allowing your wriggly son to slide off of you, to which he then promptly runs towards his basket of toys by corner of the sofa. You haven’t even opened the door yet before the unmistakable sound of wooden toy cars and blocks being dumped onto the floor can be heard. Lovely. 

You open the door and your find one of your neighbours, Liz standing on the other side. You haven’t met all your neighbours, and you probably won’t ever get the chance to considering the building has multiple floors, with multiple units on each floor, but you tried to take the time to introduce yourself to your neighbours when you see them. You blame the urge on the American in you. Making an effort to know your neighbours has always been the way you were raised.  

“Hello, Liz” You greet her. She is always so impeccably dressed and today she was sporting the comfiest looking green sweater you have ever seen. 

“Hi, dear. Just wanted to check on ya” You and Reid got the warmest welcome from her and her husband, Ben. Most of the people who live in the apartment were single professionals, or couples without kids. You could probably count with one hand the amount of families with kids that lived in the building. 

You open the door wider, inviting her into your home. She strolls in, leaving the scent of fresh lilies and ripe pear wafting in the air. “How’s the little man?”

“He’s good. He’s excited to go treat or treating tomorrow” You pull out a chair for her to sit and walk over to start the kettle. 

“I bet he is! What’s he going as?” 

You grab the tea bags and the spoons from the cupboard. “We’re still deciding, but we’ve narrowed it down to Spiderman or a Dinosaur” 

“Brilliant choices. I can’t wait to see him! You will stop by our door right?” They lived a few floors below you.

“Of course! Yours will be our first stop!” 

“Make sure you check the leaflet they gave out that tells you all the houses that are handing out candy. Remember, only the houses with pumpkins on their doors will be giving out candy” 

You nod, stirring the tea. Liz had warned you about this when you first brought it up days ago. You knew that trick or treating wasn’t a big thing in England, compared to back home but you were glad some houses around the area were planning on handing out candy. A part of you wanted your son to experience Halloween like you did growing up, but life just does not work that way. Maybe one day.

“I know. I think he’s more excited to wear his costume then actually trick or--”

You both turn when the crashing sound of wooden building blocks ring out. 

“Uh oh!” a sweet little voice calls out.

You pause for a second. No wailing, no yells for "mama", which is a good sign. It means no broken bones.

"Are you alright, bubba?”

“I’m okay!” You hear back. Then you hear the sound of wooden blocks tumbling again. He's fine.

Liz and you share a laugh before tucking into your mugs of tea. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Did you buy any candy?” Lia asks, picking up her plate and taking it to the sink. The other girls follow suit, cleaning the table free of pumpkin guts, and pumpkin carving supplies. Viv takes the intiative to wipe down the table, while Lotte starts going around with a black rubbish bag.

Leah furrows her eyebrows at the Swiss midfielder, confused. She stood up with her own plate to follow her teammates as they crowd by her kitchen.

The Swiss rolls her eyes at the questioning look from the her English teammate. One eyebrow raised so high it's nearly touching her hairline “For the trick or treaters”

“No?” Was the Arsenal defender's response.

“You won’t be having trick or treaters over?” 

“Nah. I might have an early night. Alex is having that party the night after tomorrow…” Alex always throws a halloween party every year, complete with costumes, loud music and lots and lots of drinks. Apparently this year, she rented out an entire club for the night.

Lia dries the plate that she’s been washing and places it on the rack. She turns to the English blonde, a hand on her hip. “Yeah but you know-- just in case. What if kids come knocking?”

The Arsenal defender pauses in the middle of washing her cutlery, and actually cares to think for a second. “Well then I’ll hand them a can of tuna” 

Lia gives her an unimpressed look.

Leah just shrugs. Halloween just isn't as celebrated around here. And especially not the whole trick or treating thing. “It’s trick…or treat, Lia. I reckon I should give them kids a trick once in a while” 

“The real trick would be that scowl on your face, Leah. No need to bully them with a can of tuna too” Beth pipes up, making a face, imitating her captain. 

The girls all laugh but Leah is unfazed. She's used to her "captain face" being the butt of jokes.

Lia was still not ready to let go of the topic of conversation. She presses, “I still think you should run down to the shops and grab a bag at least. Just to be safe” 

Leah fights the urge to roll her eyes. Lia was currently drying her hands with a tea towel, and the blonde has no doubt that the Swiss will use it on her if she catches an eye roll. “I’m pretty sure there are only two families with kids in the building. I could just chuck a few bags of crisps and a can of diet coke at them. It’ll be fine.” Surely she had a few packets of crisps lying around in her pantry somewhere.

“Just for that I hope you get a hundred kids knocking on your door tonight.” Lia threatens lightly. Walking over to the coat rack by the door, she picks up her coat, shrugging it on.

Leah stands off to the side as she watches her guests grab their things. “Slim chance of that happening, mate. I’m not leaving a pumpkin out tonight” 

“But we carved them for a reason” Beth points at the pumpkins all the girls are carrying in their arms. Being the only American on the team, Emily had somehow roped all the girls into carving pumpkins to celebrate the holiday. They had a fun time, and it granted everyone a chill night before tomorrows party kicks off.

“And I’m not inviting trick or treaters to my door.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The girls pile out of the door, each carrying their own freshly carved pumpkin. The girls say their goodbyes to each other by the door, promising to see each other tomorrow evening for the halloween party. Muted partings are shared by the door, and the smell of fresh pumpkin filling the hallway. Beth clutches Viv’s pumpkin in one hand while the other carries her own-- albeit struggling to keep her balance. 

“Beth, can you grab the keys from my pocket? I can’t do it while I’m holding Myle”

The blonde raises an eyebrow, gesturing at her hands that were currently occupied by two festive orange vegetables. “I’m the one holding both of our pumpkins?”

Viv shoots her lover an exasperated look. Leave it to Beth to state the obvious and leave it at that. Sometimes Viv wonders how her girlfriend survived without her for so long “Put one down then, darling” 

Beth complies, but not without exaggerating her groans as she bends towards the floor, still mindful of her knee many months later. “Maybe if you didn’t spoil the princess so much,” quick glance at the content spaniel nestled in Viv’s arms. 

“Ignore her. Mummy’s grumpy” Viv whispers to the dog. 

Beth crotches down to place one of the pumpkins on the door, right by Leah’s door. She reaches over to fish the car keys from Viv’s pocket, steals a kiss from her lover’s lips, and marches towards the elevators. Unbeknownst to her, leaving behind a lone pumpkin by the Arsenal defender's door. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Leah cracks open a can of diet coke. She glances at the time on her phone, the clock reading 8:05 pm. Unsurprisingly, she has not had any knocks on her door. Usually there would be trick or treaters around 6pm, around the time school finishes. In the years that she has been living in this building, most of the kids are done trick or treating by 8pm. Where are the hundreds of trick or treaters you wished would evade my house, Lia?

She settles on the sofa, stretching out her legs and grabbing the remote to turn on the television. When she finally settles on a live tennis match, she grabs a throw blanket and gets comfortable. 

Ding! Dong!

When her doorbell goes off, Leah doesn’t think much of it. She slips on her slippers, and drags her feet towards her front door. Pulling it open, at first she sees no one. When she lowers her eyes downwards, she is met with Spiderman. A small Spiderman, with little brown curls sticking out from underneath his face mask. He was holding a small bright orange pumpkin bucket. 

Leah is frozen at first. Partly amused by the sight of the mini Spiderman, she was also internally panicking at the fact that she cannot give this child (who looks below the age of 5) a can of diet coke. She mentally tries to remember if she had Fruitshoot or Ribena in the fridge. Of course she doesn't.

Then she hears a woman’s voice whisper from somewhere, “say trick or treat, bubba”

The little boy shuffles on his two feet. A cute little thing. “Oh. Trick or Treat!” He holds up his pumpkin bucket, already filled with mini bars chocolates and a colourful array of sweets. The bucket is practically half his size, and he falters slightly in his step trying to hold it up for so long. 

The female voice belonging to the mystery woman finally steps into her view and Leah’s heart stutters. 

Wow. She’s beautiful. 

Leah didn’t have to think to hard to come to the conclusion that this stunning woman was the little boy’s mother. Her heart drops slightly. Mentally cursing whoever the lucky bastard was that got to see this woman everyday. Obviously a pretty woman like her could not be single.

Meanwhile, you failed to notice the blonde’s blatant gawking. Far too focused on your son, and how he has now stuck his hand in his pumpkin bucket and was fishing out a mini bag of sweets. He hands you the bag of sweets with a charming smile, “Mama, open?”

You mentally patted yourself on the back for having the foresight to decide to do dinner early tonight. It meant that you did not need to worry about Reid’s appetite for the rest of the night so you took the mini bag of candy from him and ripped the bag open.

Leah couldn’t help it, but she watched your hands. She couldn’t help but steal glances at your ring finger in particular, half-expecting to see a gleam of gold or silver that would hint at a commitment or a partner waiting for you at home. Just in case. Just out of curiosity. 

But there it was—nothing. Just smooth, bare skin

There was no ring. Your ring finger was untouched, not even a hint of a tan line that some couples might get from wearing their ring for so long. 

“There you go, bub” You hand him the opened pack of fruit roll up and he eagerly grabbed for it. It was then you remembered that you were standing in front of someone’s front door. You turn your head to find the owner of the house, a tall, pretty blonde leaning against the side of the door frame. Her hair was tied up in a low ponytail, tendrils of blonde hair frame her face. She was dressed in grey sweatpants, paired with a loose black oversized sweatshirt. You eye the familiar logo on the right side of the shirt– Arsenal. The football club. She must be a fan. 

When you tear your eyes away from ogling the woman, she meets your gaze with a gleam in her eyes. As if she knows you were checking her out, and she didn’t shy away from your attention either. 

You break the eye contact, picking at your fingers, a nervous habit you never broke out of all these years later. “Hello.” 

“Hi,” Leah was rarely nervous in front of new people, but for some reason she was shifting from side to side, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Are you guys new? I mean– I would remembered you–”

She stops herself, clamping her mouth shut. She was seriously about to embarrass herself in front of not just any neighbour– but a pretty neighbour too.

You blink at her, feeling a blush creeping up your cheeks. You prayed the shitty lighting in the hallway did not make it obvious. Clearing your throat, you give her what you hoped looked like a friendly, neighbourly smile.

 “Yeah. Yeah– we moved in a little over a week ago. We live in the floor below you actually”

Leah nods, trying to make sure she was making appropriate eye contact. How many seconds is appropriate eye contact anyway? Has she even blinked yet? She shifted her gaze from your face, to the floor, back to your face, and then to the ceiling. She was totally not nervous, not even a little bit.

“It’s nice to meet you, then. I’m Leah” She takes a chance and holds out a hand, and to her utter delight, you take her hand in yours and shake it. Your hand was warm against hers, no noticeable cuts or scars which makes Leah think that your job didn’t require you to use your hands too often. Not that she was taking note or anything.

You introduce yourself, before gesturing to the mini man beside you. “It’s nice to meet you too. This is my son, Reid” 

“Oh yeah. Spiderman.”

“Trick or Treat!” Both of you startle out from your staring contest and turn to the boy by your feet. Remnants of his fruit roll-up plastered all over his cheeks and chin like a paint palette. He grinned up at you, his eyes wide with the kind of mischief only a sugar rush could inspire. 

“Trick or Treat! Trick or Treat!” he shouted gleefully, holding up his hands, sticky fingers wiggling in the air. Bits of bright colours clung to his lips, making him look even more ridiculous.

“Oh! I haven’t given you anything. Give me a minute, Spiderman”

Leah dashed to the pantry, rummaging through shelves filled with old boxes and canned goods. “No sweets, no chocolate bars, nothing!” she exclaimed, frustration mounting. She cursed herself for not heeding Lia’s advice to go out and buy a packet of sweets earlier. She opened her refrigerator, hunting through take out containers and cheeses, her mind racing through the bare options. A can of diet coke? Definitely not appropriate for a three-year-old.

Then she spotted it—a lone banana resting in the fruit basket. It was slightly overripe, but it would have to do. With an unwilling nod, Leah grabbed the banana and headed back to the door, her cheeks flushing slightly at the absurdity of it all. She was about to hand the kid of the hottest woman she has ever seen a banana. All because she couldn’t be arsed to go to the store earlier and pick up a couple bags of sweets. Shit. 

As she arrived back to the door, there you stood with your son beside you. His tiny basket held high, expectantly. “Trick or treat!” he chimed. Again. A demanding little thing.

Leah crouched down, a sheepish smile on her face. “Well, Spiderman, I don’t have any sweets…but how about this?” She presented the banana like it was the greatest treasure in the world.

The boy blinked, his eyes wide. “A banana?”

“It’s a healthy treat!” Leah said, trying to sound enthusiastic. She side-eyed you, trying to gauge your reaction. You were watching on with a palm over your mouth, trying to smother the laugh threatening to spill out. You were cute, Leah thought.

But back to the kid. “Perfect for after all that candy you’ll be eating tonight!”

Spiderman looked at the banana in her hand, then back at Leah, and finally broke into a giggle. “Okay!” He nodded, holding up his trick or treating basket so she could slip it inside. It thumped lightly on top of the small pile of sweets and chocolates. The kid peered into the bucket and giggled seeing his latest treasure sitting right on top. Leah couldn’t exactly see under the mask, but he could see his cheeks were perked up and it looked like he was smiling, so she took that as a win. She risked another glance at you, and you were smiling too-- without hiding it behind your hand this time. A big win for sure. 

You glance up towards Leah, noticing the slight flush on her cheeks and how attractive she looked when she tucked her loose hair behind her ear. It was also then that you noticed she had blue eyes.

You tuck that fun little fact in the back of your mind.

Snap yourself out of gazing at your neighbour like a creep, you pinch yourself lightly on the arm. Ouch. “Thanks for the healthy treat” 

Leah smiles hearing the teasing glint in your voice. Leaning against the doorway, she brings a hand up to massage the back of her neck, her bicep flexing nicely against her shirt. Not that you noticed, of course. 

“Yeah sorry ‘bout that” 

“Nah it’s alright. I appreciate it actually– more than candy,” You look down at your son, who was completely enamoured by his latest haul. He kept staring down at his bucket, his head halfway inside the thing already. “And he seems really happy about it” 

And as if he suddenly remembered what he was there for, Reid yanks his head out of his halloween bucket and looks up at you with wide eyes, exclaiming loudly “Mama, more candies!” 

Giving your pretty neighbour a sheepish smile, you grab Reid’s hand before he can go bouncing off to find the next door. “And that’s our cue to go. Thank you again for”

You both speak at the same time. 

“…for the banana” “the banana”

She laughs when she notices, and it's the most attractive laugh you have ever heard. It spills out naturally, unrestrained. And you find that you like the way her eyes crinkle at the ends. Her laugh was infectious as it was beautiful.

“So…uh– I’ll see you around?” Leah says, picking at the sleeves of her black sweatshirt. You want to say she sounds hopeful at the thought of you two bumping into each other in the near future because you feel the same. You hoped to see her again. “I mean– obviously we’re neighbours” 

You find yourself not being opposed to that idea at all. “Yeah. Maybe we can talk or grab a coffee sometime?”

Where the sudden bravery came from you have no idea, but the words had already left your mouth and you weren’t going to take them back. 

She smiles at you, her lips curving, and her eyes do too. “Definitely. I’d love to go for a coffee with you”

Perhaps you both stare at each other for a second too long, but that’s a secret only the both of you share. You linger, internally saddened at the thought of having to say a temporary goodbye, but you’ve got a coffee date to look forward to now. Steering your son and his Halloween bucket away from her door, you share one last smile with the pretty blonde who lives in the floor below you.

“Happy Halloween, Leah” 

“Happy Halloween, neighbour” 

You don’t hear the sound of her door closing until you and your son have turned the corner. 

here's a little bedtime story to celebrate the last night of october. this is story #3 of Butter's Meadio-cre Mayhem (the Spooky Season collection)

(if you're going to any halloween parties tonight, stay safe my loves <333)

comments and reactions are always appreciated!

・❥・- kisses, butter

*This work is my original creation. Please don’t copy, share, or translate it without asking for my permission first. Thanks for respecting that!

[formulaforza]

—if walls could talk

some things are meant to be secret (we'd fall from grace) pairing: charles leclerc x female reader warnings: 18+ minors dni. loadsss of google translated french. language, friends talking about sex, nsfw warnings under the cut :) love, mackie... 6.3k words! sometimes the only person who can help you out is a good friend. happy almost thanksgiving to all my american followers :) thankful for each and every one of you. mwah mwah mwah.

18+ because: fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, aftercare, mentions of hookups/faking it

You’re the last one to walk through the door of Charles’ apartment. Everyone else has been long comfortable, leaving imprints on the comfortable couch, footprints in the freshly-vacuumed rug, empty wine bottles and half-empty glasses on the coffee table. 

There’s always something so cold about his apartment—always empty, always dusty, filled with the remnants of his boyhood and the promise of his adult life. It has all the makings of a home, but it still feels like a house—like a museum instead of a secondhand shop. Always, except on days like tonight, when it’s filled with warm laughter and the smell of half a dozen different meals and the quiet hum of his favorite playlist. On days like today, it feels like a home. 

Nobody in the living room hears you open the door or slip off your shoes—they’re too preoccupied in their busy, lively conversation about a road closure on the way to the airport in Nice that adds twenty minutes on to the drive. You move in the opposite direction, towards the kitchen, to set your crowd offering—blue cheese stuffed shrimp—on the counter and get a wine glass from the cabinet to fill. He’s in the kitchen when you turn the corner, carefully examining the platter of Italian meatballs he’s got cooking in the oven. 

Charles looks up as soon as you set the heavy plate down on the counter. “Hé!” Hey, he greets, closing the oven door and pulling off his blue mittens to properly kiss both of your cheeks, a single arm wrapping around your middle to pull you into a quick hug. “Quand es-tu arrivé?” When did you get here?

“Tout à l'heure,” Just now, you reply, roll up the sleeves of your shirt because his kitchen is so small, and heats up so quickly when the oven is on. “Désolé, je suis en tard,” Sorry I’m late.

“T'es pas en tard,” You’re not late, he interjects, dragging a tortilla chip through someone’s dip and popping it into his mouth. With his other hand, he’s reaching into the cabinet above his head, pulling down a wine glass and handing it to you. 

“Je suis très en tard,” I am so late, you smile, take the empty wine glass with a thank you and follow suit with your own chip in the fame dip. “Je reviens directement du travail. Les crevettes sont restées dans le réfrigérateur du bureau tout l'après-midi,” I came straight from work. The shrimp sat in the office fridge all afternoon, you explain, and he scowls, raises his brows at you and at the shrimp. You chuckle, nod.  “N'en mangez pas,” Don’t eat it. 

His eyes are stuck on your cheek, which forces your hand to investigate what he might be staring at. “Quoi?” What? You ask, fingers coming up with nothing but an embarrassed heat. 

“Rien, juste... tu as un cil,” Nothing, just… you have an eyelash, he lets a sharp exhale leave through his nose, “je l'enlèverai,” I’ll get it, and then he does. Carefully, with the pad of his middle finger, he picks the eyelash from your cheek. You don’t look at him while he does it, but you are watching when he transfers it to his thumb and drops it onto the platter of shrimp with a quick flick. “Oh, non,” he feigns concern, grabs the platter from the counter, “Allons juste…” Let’s just… he laughs and holds the plate over the trash can and drops the shrimp into the plastic bag with a thump. 

“Bon appel,” good call, you laugh. 

He drags you into the living room, towards the rest of the evening festivities, with his arm tossed over your shoulder. Between that, and the whole let me get your eyelash thing minutes earlier, you’re as close to certain a person can get that he and his girlfriend are still broken up.

They go through phases, the two of them. She doesn’t like your friend group very much, and Charles doesn’t seem like he likes her all that much, but they come and go like seasons. Together one month, broken up the next week. He usually tells you, but even when he doesn’t, you usually know. He’s always touchier with you when she’s out of the picture. Not that you mind it, but. He is. 

It’s all a little more comfortable, like you’re both a little less aware of the fact that you’re the only girl in the group who isn’t spoken for, or that you’re both atrociously the other’s type.

“Regarde qui j'ai trouvé,” Look who I found, Charles announces, and you’re met with a spattering of greetings, plopping down onto the couch, slotting between Marta and an empty space that is quickly occupied by Charles. 

You both fight over the corner seat, who gets to take up more of it. He loves to sprawl out and you love to curl up. When it’s all settled, he’s spread out like he likes, and you’re curled up into the space he leaves, half leant against him with your knees pulled to your chest, sleeves pulled over your hands because it’s hot in the kitchen, but only in the kitchen. 

“J'ai entendu dire que vous avez tous les deux eu un week-end assez mouvementé,” I heard you both had quite the eventful weekend, Marta teases. She’s the only other person besides the man next to you—as far as you know—that knows about what went down last Friday night. It takes even you a moment to remember, having already relegated the mortifying details to the bottom of your soul. When you do recall, your cheeks burn with the sudden blow flow and you giggle, curl into Charles a little further than you probably should.

“Quoi?” What, Joris asks, “ce qui s'est passé?” What happened?

“Rien ne s'est passé,” Nothing happened, Charles tries to protect you from re-living the evening, but it’s no use. Now that your friends have a sniff of a story, they won’t stop until it’s told in complete, painstaking detail. So, you begin:

“J'étais en train de garder un chat le week-end dernier pour mon collègue, n'est-ce pas?” I was cat sitting for my coworker last weekend, right?

— —

You were indeed cat-sitting for a coworker last weekend. It was an orange cat whose name you never really learned, much less remembered, and you were on day three of five of cat-sitting. It’s important for the rest of the story, for later. It is. 

Anyway, you were cat-sitting on a Friday night, but that wasn’t going to stop you from going out. Your sister had invited you, something about a club and her boyfriend’s friends visiting from London. Only if I can claim a brit, you’d joked. You’d joked, right up until coming face-to-face with the twenty-something, five-foot something-but-still-taller-than-you, perfect brown hair and perfect green eyed British man that had come along for the visit. You weren’t joking after meeting him. 

Once the two of you were finally drunk enough to lose any sense of what’s good for you, you were squeezing into the back of a taxi and stumbling up the stairs of your apartment complex, the cute boy and his little kisses and touchy hands slowing the whole process down. 

We all know what a drunken Friday night hookup looks like, so. There’s no need to explore the logistics of it with someone who’s name you’ve since forgotten, who you hope is back home in London never to return. Because where the story really gets good, is after the uneventful hookup, when Mr. Brit really needed to get back to his fiends and had you walking him to your apartment door in just a towel because he didn’t have the patience to wait for you to put on some fucking clothes. 

— —

“Bon sang,” damn, Hugo laughs from the other end of the sofa, “tu es vraiment si mauvais en sexe?” Are you really that bad at sex? 

“Va te faire foutre!” Fuck you, you scoff. “Je suis incroyable en matière de sexe,” I’m amazing at sex.

“Je peux trouver quelqu'un pour vous donner des cours, si besoin,” I can find someone to give you lessons, if you need. 

You pause, blink twice, and then continue your story. “De toute façon,” Anyways.

— —

As you open the door to let him out, the cat you’ve been cat-sitting—see. It did come back to be important—darts out of the door. 

“Grab him!” You’d yelled, and the guy actually looked back at you before replying. 

“I’m allergic.”

You scoffed, hurrying past him and down the stairs after the cat. You manage to corral it in the corner of the stairwell, pick it up and return to your apartment, just in time to watch the door shut behind you. You look at the door, at the guy you’d just fucked, at the cat in your hands, and then back at the door. “That is not good,” you say.

The guy laughs. “Just open it.”

Oh, brilliant. Why hadn’t you thought of that? “It’s locked.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

By the grace of God and all things good in this world, the guy had a fully-charged phone. Unfortunately for you, of the three people with a spare key to your apartment, there was only one number you had memorized: Charles. 

You text him before you call him. It’s me, please don’t send me to voicemail, and then he did send you to voicemail twice before calling the number back. 

“Bonjour?”

“‘Bonjour?’ Mon cul!” ‘Hello?’ My ass! You greeted, the cat snarling and wiggling against your grip. You were so far beyond being in the mood for pleasantries. You just really, really wanted some fucking pants. “J'ai besoin que tu viennes ouvrir ma porte. Genre, il y a dix minutes,” I need you to come unlock my door. Like, ten minutes ago. 

“Et avec qui ai-je le plaisir de discuter?” And who do I have the pleasure of speaking with? You swear if you could, you’d punch him through the phone. You can’t, so you settle for hanging up. 

It’s at this time that Mr. Brit properly excuses himself from the evening of fun, because now that he knows you won’t stand outside your apartment in nothing but a towel for the rest of time, his conscience is clean. 

You and Charles live a sixteen minute walk from each other, and he definitely chose to walk rather than literally any other form of faster transportation. Maybe you should have disclosed your current state over the phone, but that probably would have made him walk slower. 

When he finally does trudge up the stairs, he stops three steps short of your landing at the sight of you, towel and cat and literally nothing more. “Qu'est-ce qui t'est arrivé, putain?” What the fuck happened to you? He laughs, and then finishes his walk up the stairs, holding your key out to you tauntingly. 

“Connard,” Asshole, you mutter, snatching the key away from him with your free hand and forcing it into the lock. “J'avais un gars chez moi,” I had a guy over, you add, forcing the door open with your hip. 

“Où à?” Where? He asks, following you into the apartment.

“Qu'est-ce que tu veux dire, où?” What do you mean, where? You laugh, gesture around the apartment. “Ici,” here. 

Charles frowns, scowls even. “Et il t'a laissé dehors?” And he left you out there?

You nod, gather up your clothes from the floor before they can exist there long enough to be perceived. “Tu n'es pas obligé de rester, je vais bien,” You don’t have to stay, I’m fine, you tell him, half-usher him back out the door he came through. “Je sais que ta copine va probablement me tuer,” I know your girlfriend is probably going to kill me next time she sees me.

— —

“Je ne peux pas croire qu'elle ne t'a pas tué,” I can’t believe she didn’t kill you, Ricky chuckles, looking to Charles. 

You find solace in the bottom of your wine glass, an excuse to fill the silence that follows Ricky’s comment. “En fait, nous avons rompu,” we actually broke up, Charles says, and the room falls into the same silence it always does everytime they break up. It’s not that you guys don’t like her, so much as… well. Yeah, it is that you don’t like her. But she didn’t like you guys first, so it really shouldn’t matter much that none of you like her. 

“Je suis désolé, mec,” I’m sorry, mate, Joris offers, and then everyone follows suit with half-hearted apologies they don’t mean. 

“C'est bien, vraiment,” It’s fine, really, he offers to the group. “Elle était gentille, mais elle ne l'était tout simplement pas…” she was nice, but she wasn’t… he hesitates. You take another sip of your wine. Your friends listen to him intently.  “Je ne veux pas être méchante,” I don’t want to be mean.

“Soyez méchant,” Be mean, Marta giggles. 

He laughs nervously, fidgets with his fingers, watches his rings spin. “Elle n'était pas très bonne. Elle ne pouvait pas... Je ne l'ai jamais fait, tu sais,” She wasn’t very good. She couldn’t… I didn’t ever, you know, he trails off, gesturing wildly into the space around him, anything to avoid having to say the words the entire room has picked up on. 

You roll up your sleeves, hot again. Burning. 

The teasing that follows from the guys is relentless, gets to a point where you and Marta step in, begging them to stop kicking a dead horse while Charles is in the bathroom. They do ease up, and the night continues far, far away from horrible hookup stories and mortifying relationship admissions. 

You were the last to arrive, which means you’ll be the last to leave, make sure that the whole place has been cleaned up, returned to its stiff and dusty places in the apartment before you head home for the night. 

“Juste pour que tu le saches,” just so you know, you comment, scraping the last of the left behind chip-dip into a tupperware container while he gathers up the now-stale crackers from the charcuterie board. “Je ne te crois absolument pas,” I totally don’t believe you.

He meets your eyes, confused. “Tu ne me crois pas à propos de quoi?” Don’t believe me about what?

“A propos de ne pas…” about not… you look away, direct your attention to the lid of the container. Anything but looking him in the eyes while talking about each other’s sex lives. “Tu sais. Il est impossible que vous n’ayez pas joui depuis cinq mois.” You know. There’s no way you haven’t gotten off in five months. 

You see him shake his head in your peripheral, distract himself with the task at hand the same way you had. This isn’t something the two of you talk about, and you talk about pretty much everything. Sex, though. It’s always been off-limits, especially in a situation like this, just the two of you together. “Non,” nope, he mutters. “Je souhaite,” I wish.

You roll your eyes. “Charles, regarde tes mains,” look at your hands, you say, and he does, all full of crumbs and salt and grease. “Voilà, voici la solution à ton problème. Tu peux le résoudre dès que je partirai,” there’s the solution to your problem. You can fix the issue as soon as I leave tonight.

He rolls his eyes right back, “idiote,” idiot, he says, shoves your shoulder with one of his hands and you laugh. “Je ne peux pas. C’est… je ne sais pas, c’est irrespectueux,” I can’t. It feels… I don’t know, it feels disrespectful.

You laugh, curl in on yourself at his comment because it feels so completely ridiculous. He’s a good guy, you know. You know, or you wouldn't be such good friends in the first place. You know, but that's a crazy concept even for a good guy. “Manque de respect envers ton ex-petite-amie si tu te branles après un séparer?” Disrespectful to your EX-girlfriend if you jerk off after you’ve broken up?

“Bien. Quand tu le dis comme ça,” well. When you say it like that.

“Ouis,” yeah, you chuckle, hoisting yourself up onto the counter you’d just cleared. The granite is cool even through the denim of your jeans. “Quand je dis ça comme ça, tu es un imbécile,” when I say it like that, you dumbass. 

“Pourtant,” Still though, he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. He always looks particularly boyish when he gets even the tiniest bit frustrated with you. “Tu ne comprendrais pas. Ça n'est pas pareil.” You wouldn’t get it. It’s not the same. 

Wouldn’t I? You pick at your cuticles, don’t know how to skate around the admission that you’re finishing about as often as he is—that Mr. Brit, who he’d missed by no more than ten minutes last weekend, was not exactly giving you a very eventful evening when he decided he was done for the night. 

"Je ne vois pas comment tu pourrais,” I don’t see how you could.

You nod, wish you lived in his little naive world where you always finish. “La moitié des gars de ce putain de pays ne savent pas comment faire jouir une fille. Et apparemment, les gars de Londres non plus.” Half the guys in this fucking country don’t know how to get a girl off. And apparently, neither do the guys in London.

“Vraiment?” Really?

You nod. “Je ne peux pas te dire combien de fois j'ai simulé parce que j'en avais marre que quelqu'un attaque ma lèvre gauche avec sa langue,” I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve faked it because I was tired of someone assaulting my left lip with their tongue. 

“Fuck,” He laughs. “​​Ce n'est tout simplement pas bien,” that’s just not right.

“Non, ça ne l'est pas,” no it is not.

“Tu devrais vraiment obtenir de l'aide pour ça,” you should really get some help with that.

“Et toi aussie. Je mourrais avant de laisser tes conneries arriver.” So should you, you offer. I’d die before I let that shit happen. And you would, you really would. You can’t think of something worse than dating someone for months and knowing you’ve never gotten them off once. And she knows, she has to know, because there’s no way for him to fake it. She has to know. 

There’s a pause, and you realize that somewhere on the other side of the apartment the music has stopped playing. The speaker must have died—or the phone playing through it. You realize that Charles is close, now. Really close. Has he been this close the entire time you’ve been cleaning up, close. “Le feriez?” you would?

“Cent pour cent. Une bonne petite amie le ferait—en fait,” a hundred percent. A good girlfriend would—actually, you stop yourself, scowl a bit at the idea of it all. “Une bonne petite amie n’aurait jamais ce problème en premier lieu, mais ce n’est pas la question,” a good girlfriend would never have that problem in the first place but, that’s besides the point. He smiles, the threat of a laugh, and takes a step closer, firmly between your legs, now. You put your hands on either of his shoulders, give them a firm, friendly squeeze. “Une bonne petite amie t'aurait aidé,” a good girlfriend would have helped you, you assure him, but it doesn’t sound as friendly as your gesture was. 

His hand falls to your knee, thumb moving over the fabric of your jeans there ever so softly. It sends a chill up your spine, makes you shiver. “Un bon ami pourrait m'aider,” a good friend could help me, he says, hardly above a whisper—like he thinks saying it quieter is going to make it have any less suggestion. 

You nod, gulp, your fingers intertwining behind his neck. “Un bon ami pourrait vous aider,” a good friend could help you.

“Ouis,” yeah. You’re so close now that you can feel his breath on your face, that your noses might as well slot against each other. That you might as well be kissing, even if you aren’t. You’re sure your eyes cross when they meet his. 

“Dommage que tu n'en ai pas,” shame you don’t have any of those, you tease, smile pulling on your lips, hands falling from over his shoulders to move down his chest, to feel every reaction of his muscles as you trail over his abs softly, toy with the hem of his t-shirt. 

“C'est vrai, n'est-ce pas?” It is, isn’t it? His hand moves up your leg, and you instinctively move towards the touch, move yourself closer to the edge of the counter. He moves up, up your thigh, to your hip, threatening to go further. He doesn’t, though. He stalls there, searching your eyes for the permission to be there in the first place. 

And then, just like that, he kisses you. 

It starts soft, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, but you don’t. It’s a gentle collision, tender and hesitant and exploring whatever new waters you’d just sat yourselves in. His lips are so soft against yours, so careful, so sweet, and then his tongue is slipping through your lips, settling into the kiss now that he knows you’re going to kiss back. And you do, you kiss back, until it’s all hurried and messy, noses bumping against each other, teeth scraping each other’s lips. Until you’re hazy and dizzy and have to pull apart for air. 

“Peut être,” maybe, you chuckle into his mouth, kiss him again quickly. “Peut-être que tu devrais accepter l'offre de Hugo de trouver un tuteur,” maybe you should take Hugo up on his offer to find a tutor, you joke, and his smile is sweet against your lips. 

“Peut être,” maybe…  he says, fiddles with the buttons of your jeans hurriedly, like they’re going to seal shut if he doesn’t undo the button that very moment, and then he unzips the zipper, “ou peut-être,” or maybe… 

You kiss him again. Your core aches, the knot in the pit of your stomach pulling itself tighter and tiger with each millimeter further he moves. “Tu pourrais juste,” you could just. 

“Je pourrais juste,” I could just, and he dips a hand into your pants. 

You sigh, react instantly to his touch and his lips are on your again. Your hips move against his hand like it’s the first time you’ve ever been touched—which, this whole thing feels so charged that it might as well be. Charles’ hand moves in flat circles over your clit, pushing farther, deeper, slipping a single finger inside of you. 

You hiss at the movement, kiss him harder when your breath is back, pull him hard against your lips by the back of his neck. “Putain, tu es tellement mouillé,” Fuck, you’re so wet, he says. 

You nod, talk into his mouth, “Je sais, je sais,” I know, I know.

You reach between your bodies to palm him, find him already hard in his jeans, taking in a sharp breath when you touch him there. His other hand grabs at your tits, pushing and pulling and squeezing over your shirt before finally slipping under, haphazardly pushing your bra out of the way and palming them, kissing mumbled profanities into the skin on your neck. 

He pinches your nipple between two fingers and you whine—he ruts against the counter when you do, smirks against your lips and hums whatever noise he’s attempting to swallow. 

You sigh when he pulls his hand out from your jeans, but he’s quick to get them off of you, pulling them and your underwear off as soon as you raise yourself up off the counter. It’s cold, so cold, but his hands are equally warm, burn against your body as he explores every inch of available skin. 

You work away at his jeans, pushing down his pants and underwear as far as the angle allows you to. His cock springs out of the elastic waistband and the only thing you can think is how pretty it looks, all swollen and twitching and wet with precum. It looks painful, almost, how hard he is. But so, so pretty. “C'est tellement chaud,” this is so hot, you say. 

“Tu es tellement belle,” you’re so hot, he replies. 

You’re expecting for it to all boil over, then, for him to sink into you, fill you up with his perfect pretty dick, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lowers himself to your cunt and looks at you with nauseating eye contact. “Dis moi quoi faire,” tell me what to do, he says. 

“Quoi que ce soit. Faire n'importe quoi,” Anything. Do anything, you beg. 

He does, he does—licks a long stripe through your folds, forces your head to the sky and a sweet moan from your lips. He holds your legs apart with a hand on the inside of each thigh—strong, warm, big—and fucks you with his tongue. It’s messy and natural, but every move is intentional, working towards the goal of getting you off before he even fucks you. And he will, he will, because he listens so well. 

Every direction, even the jumbled, incoherent moans that leave your mouth, even the little twitches of your legs or the way your hips move against his mouth—it's all an instruction for him. What to do. What to continue doing exactly like he’s doing. “Juste comme ça. N'arrêtez pas,” just like that. Don’t stop, you chant, and he doesn’t stop. He holds his pace, and then you’re coming in his mouth, fingers slipping on the countertop in search of some kind of grip, some kind of stability as you writhe against him.

 When you’ve come down, come back to reality and the cold countertop and his warm hands, he’s kissing you again, cock hard and twitching between your bodies. You take him in your hand and he winces, groans when you start to stroke him, to spread the precum around his tip with your thumb. “Ça fait du bien,” feels good, he mutters. 

“Laisse-moi t'aider,” Let me help you, you insist. He doesn’t need much convincing. None at all, really. 

“Est-tu toujours... sur le?” Are you still… on the, he asks, tapping your arm. 

“Mon implant? Ouais, ouais,”My implant? Yeah. yeah. 

He kisses you again, licks into your mouth in a way that feels half-illegal, like all the rules of the universe have been broken. “Tu veux que j'utilise un préservatif?” Do you want me to use a condom?

You shake your head against his lips, shrug somewhere in the distance, far away from where your mouth is on his. “Je m'en fiche, je suis propre,” I don’t care, I’m clean.

“Moi aussi,” Me too. 

"D'accord, d'accord. Putain," Okay, okay. Fuck, and then he's slapping the head of his cock against your pussy, making you quiver with every touch. He drags it over your clit, through your folds, and then he’s sinking into you. His fingers bruise into your hips as he ruts into you, you reaching down to circle you clit while he fucks you full of him. "Putain, Dieu," Fuck, God, he moans. 

“Oui c'est bien?” Yeah, it's good? You ask. 

“C'est tellement bon, putain, c'est tellement bon, tu es si sexy,” It’s so good, fuck—it’s so good, you’re so hot. You don’t know if its his words, or that the seal’s properly broken now, but right as his dick slips out of a particularly measured thrust, you’re coming around the air, shoving a finger back inside to ease the ache of emptiness, pulling it back out and guiding his cock back in. He fucks you so good. So hard. So deep, just the sounds of each others groans, of heavy sighs and skin slapping filling the room, bouncing off the walls. “Je suis près,” I’m close, he tells you. “Je suis si proche, putain. Je vais,” I’m so close, fuck. I’m gonna, he repeats, fucking into you hard. Hard, burying himself in your cunt longer and longer each time. 

“Fais-le,” Do it, you say, “laisse-moi l'avoir, je le veux,” let me have it, I want it. And then he’s coming. Hard. Bottomed out in you, groaning against your neck, and filling you up with him. Fuck, he breathes. You can’t make a distinction between a sigh versus a laugh. “Ça va?”Are you okay? He asks. 

Your breath is heavy, heart thumping in your chest, in your ears, in your toes. “Je suis,”  I’m, you laugh. “Ouais, je suis plus que… je vais bien,” Yeah, I’m more than… I’m okay, you finally sputter out into his patient eyes. You think that’s the reason you stutter—the eye contact. “Es-tu?” Are you?

“Ouais,” Yeah, he says, running a hand through his hair, nodding.  “Oui. Très bien.” Yes. Very okay.

“Bien,” Good, you nod, and then, with all the vulnerability in the world: “Étais-je bien?” Was I alright?

He smiles, moves his hand to brush your flyaways from your forehead, to stop them before they can get in your face. “Tu étais…” You were… he laughs, and there’s no mistaking it now. When he does it, you’re reminded just how full of him you still are, of the ache you’ll feel when he finally pulls out. “Je ne pense pas que quiconque puisse avoir un problème avec toi,” I don’t think anyone could have any issue with you. 

“Oh,”, you chuckle, eyes locking onto the clock hung on the kitchen wall. You can hear the second hand clicking around the same way you can hear your own pulse. “Bon alors,” Good then.

“Et moi?” And me? He asks, and pulls out slowly before you can begin to answer. There’s a silence in the room, just the clock and your heart and your breathing, his eyes glued to your cunt like he’s admiring his handy work. “C'étaient…” Those were…

“Tous deux très réels,” Both very real, you nod, biting the inside of your cheek, catching his eyes when he leans over the sink, wetting a paper towel and ringing it out. “Je ne suis pas doué pour faire semblant,” I’m not that good at faking it. 

“Bon,” Nice.

“Je ne pense pas que nous soyons le problème, alors,” I don’t think we’re the problem, then, you chuckle, eyes snapping back to the clock, mind to the feel of the counter under your fingertips. You can’t think about anything more, of any other feeling or sense of taste or smell you’re experiencing or it will be too much. 

“Non je ne pense pas,” No, I don’t think so, he continues, and starts to clean you up, warm hands on your legs again while he runs the cool paper towel through your folds. You recoil at the cold, a shiver running up your entire body and his eyes jump to yours—”Désolé,” Sorry, he mumbles. 

“C'est bon,” It’s okay, you squeak, and it sounds like you’re about an inch tall. Utter mortification will do that to you, something this fucking awkward making you incredibly aware of everything happening in the room around you, of every touch of his warm hands on your skin. A lot of things are different now. Everything is different. 

“Je, euh. Putain,” I, uh. Fuck, you resort back to what you know best, to the only thing you can think about that doesn’t spiral back to the feeling of him finishing inside you. “Je n'arrive pas à croire que je doive nettoyer à nouveau ce comptoir,” I can't believe I have to clean this counter off again. 

He laughs again, tossing the paper towel into the trash can. It sits on top of everything else like a billboard, screaming about what it had been used for. The lid on the trash can doesn’t close like it’s supposed to. “C'est à ça que tu penses en ce moment?” That’s what you’re thinking about right now?

“Ouais,” Yeah.

“Tu es tellement bizarre, putain,” You’re so fucking weird, he says, adjusting himself, tucking back into his boxers, pulling them and his jeans up to make himself proper again. You have to hop off the counter to do the same, collecting and correcting your things as fast as you can because you can feel his eyes on your figure while you dress, and it feels too intimate. 

“Je ne suis pas bizarre,” I am not weird, you quip, buttoning your jeans and pulling up the zipper, carefully fixing your shirt, your bra, smoothing all of your clothes out over your skin. 

“Tu es. Tu es tellement bizarre.” You are. You’re so weird. 

“Peu importe,” Whatever, you mumble, quickly closing the lid to the trash can. 

The night has run its course by now, and then some. You spend fifteen minutes silently moving around each other in the kitchen, the whole room quiet enough to hear a pin drop in the downstairs lobby. You spend at least ten of them cleaning off the counter, which doesn’t feel so cold anymore, at least not where you were sitting. 

“Tu peux rester, tu sais…” You can stay, y’know… he finally breaks the silence. “Si tu veux.”  If you want.

“D’accord,” Okay, you nod. “Je ne… je ne sais pas si c’est une bonne idée.” I don’t… I don’t know if that’s a good idea.

“C'est vrai, ouais,” Right, yeah, he says, and the place threatens to fall back into negative decibel levels. “Je t'entends, tout ce que tu veux.” I hear you, whatever you want. 

“Désolée,” Sorry, you choke.

“Ne le soit pas, vraiment,” Don’t be, really, he assures, but you still are, still feel like you're stepping on a little baby bug that’s on its way home to its family. It’s not that you don’t want to stay, it’s more that you… you don’t trust yourself to stay, and you don’t trust him not to turn this into a messy rebound thing. If you slept in his bed tonight and got a text next weekend that he’d gotten back together with his girlfriend, you’d feel like a piece of shit. It’s bad enough that when they do inevitably reconnect, you’re already never going to be able to look her in the eyes again. 

“Tu m'enverras un texto quand tu rentreras à la maison?” You’ll text me when you get home? He asks, standing opposite you in his doorway. 

“Bien sûr,” Of course, you nod, fidgeting with the keys on your lanyard. “Nous n’avons pas simplement ruiné notre amitié, n’est-ce pas?” We didn’t just ruin our friendship, did we?

“Non,” he answers, without leaving space for a hesitation, to really wonder about your question. 

You smile at your keys, bite back a chuckle at just how quick he’d responded to you, about how sure he seemed. “Parce que tu es une de mes personnes préférées, tu sais,” Because you’re one of my favorite people, y’know.

“Tu es ma personne préférée,” You’re my favorite person.

You swallow, and when you look up from your keys, he’s staring right back at you. The comfort in the silence is palpable, and it makes you shy, pushes a nervous laugh from your lips. Charles just nods, certain in his choice of words. It makes you even more sheepish. 

You’re completely aware that he doesn’t look at everyone like this, that he never looked at her like this. “Que s'est-il passé entre toi et elle cette fois, d'ailleurs?” What happened with you and her this time, anyway?

He sighs. “Tu veux vraiment savoir?” You really want to know?

“Ouais,” Yeah, you nod. “Je fais,” I do.

“Je euh,” I uh, his fingers fidget with each other, pulling on the joints and twisting his rings. He doesn’t look at you when he tells you, watches the metal spin around his finger. “Je suis rentré de chez toi le week-end dernier et elle attendait dehors que je la laisse entrer. J'ai complètement oublié qu'elle venait après le travail.” I came home from your place last weekend and she was waiting outside for me to let her in. I totally forgot she was coming over after work. You regret asking as soon as he starts explaining. It’s not your business, and you could have gone your whole life without knowing that you were the catalyst for it. “On s'est disputé, elle m'a dit de choisir qui était le plus important,” We got into a fight, she told me to choose who was more important, he shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like he was being asked to flip a coin, asked what color the sky was. “Je te choisi,” I chose you.

“Charles,” your head falls to the side defeatedly. You wish he never told you this, even though you asked. You wish he knew better, that you knew better.

“Je sais,” I know, he nods, and it sounds like he feels genuinely bad about the truth.  “Je suis désolé,” I’m sorry. 

“Je devrais y aller,” I should go.

“Ouais…” Yeah… he hesitates, his hand lingering around his front door, refusing to close it on you. “Ouais,” yeah.

“Juste... ne le fais pas,” Just… don’t. You stop yourself—or you try to stop yourself—from speaking. It’s unsuccessful, how could it not be when he’s staring at you intently with those big green eyes, clinging to every word that leaves your lips. “Ne te remets pas avec elle S'il te plaît,”  Don’t get back with her. Please.

“Je ne vais pas,” I won’t.

You nod, even though you know he will. He always does. They always get back together. It’s nice to pretend, though, for a few days. To pretend that anything is ever going to come of what’s happened this evening. 

“Bonne nuit, Charles,” Goodnight..

“Bonne nuit.” Goodnight.

[bluefunkybeats]

YOU NUDGE THE CHILLY GLASS BOTTLE OF ASAHI BEER AGAINST TOJI’S CHEEK as you sneak up on him from where he’s sat on a plastic chair, surveying the meat grilling on the barbecue. His face turns your way instantly, and you note how serene and unclouded he looks at times like this.

As his eyes meet your smile, he reacts with a brisk smirk, a pleased ‘tsk’, and before you know it, you’re pulled closer to his side by his hand on your waist, slowly dragging said hand up and down when he thinks the distance between you is close enough. He takes the beer bottle by its neck, his rugged hands making contact with your smaller ones in the process.

The moment turns quiet, the blue sky and its tranquility making time stop. You’re both just taking in the sizzle of meat and peering at your mildly overgrown garden.

“What’s Megumi doing?” you ask, now tousling your sweetheart’s hair.

“Lining up caterpillars again probably,” he quipped, now kneading the side of your waist with his hand.

“He did that once when he was three.”

Don’t fret, little Megumi is trying to identify some ants on a leaf, with a tiny nature pocketbook his dad bought for him in a nature reserve’s gift shop where he once took him. Well, he’s a bit moody now because he overheard his dad saying he was lining up caterpillars. Again.

[rowdyluv]

curious hands

summary: Luke’s first time pleasuring Rosey.

word count: 3.13k

warnings: MDNI, 18+, fem!rec fingering, alludes to oral, mentions of hand jobs, pet names, foul language, smut

notes: this was supposed to be released as apart of a collection where every “first” was posted together… someone forgot their password to Dropbox so everything is being rewritten!! I guess you could say “the rest is still unwritten”

The scent of freshly popped popcorn filled the cozy basement, a warm embrace that seemed to echo the comfort of the plush couch against the wall. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the string lights that had been meticulously draped over the ceiling beams a few years back, creating a cozy ambiance that was nice contrast to the stark off white walls. The TV, already on from Luke’s gaming marathon that ended not too long ago, stood tall in the corner. The television served as the only source of light in the room that didn't flicker or cast many shadows. The floor was littered with a rainbow of throw pillows and a plush rug that felt like a cloud underfoot. The setup was perfect for their weekly tradition of a romantic movie night in.

Rosey descended the stairs, her hands carefully balancing a tray of goodies. In one hand, she had a bottle of chilled water that dripped condensation onto her fingers, leaving a trail of wetness. The other hand held a bowl brimming with popcorn, the buttery scent wafting up to tickle her nose. She had also brought a brand new bag of chips hanging from her mouth, the sound of the crinkling plastic a gentle reminder of the salty delight waiting to be shared. She was wearing a simple navy Michigan tee of Luke’s, from when Quinn was there, that fell loosely around her figure, and a pair of Luke’s oversized boxers. His go to overnight tournament “pajamas” or when she stays at the Lake house pjs. The soft fabric brushed against her skin with every step, sending a shiver of anticipation through her body. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, a few stray strands framing her face which was flushed by the way Luke was looking at her. She felt like a princess in his eyes even in pajamas.

Her bare feet padded quietly on the cold, hardwood floor, carrying her to the edge of the couch where Luke sat, his eyes adverted back to the TV, his thumbs playing a rhythm on his thighs in attempt to not think of her in his clothes. In the loose on him boxers. He looked up at her, his gaze traveling from her eyes to the snacks and then back at her once again, only allowing himself to take a perusal of her this time a playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Nice look.” He smirked, leaning back and lifting his legs to rest his feet on the table.

Rosey playfully rolled her eyes, dropping the bag of chips next to him. “Thanks, I got it at this really unique place that only I can shop at Luke Hughes’s Closet.” She smiled at him before they both let out honest laughs.

“I hope no one else is shopping my closet, looks best on you.” Luke murmured against her cheek as he pressed multiple kisses against it.

The screen flickered to life as Luke hit play, the opening scene of the original Dirty Dancing unfurling before them. The music began to play, the vibrant beats of the opening credits syncing with the dance of the shadows thrown by the lights. He took the bowl of popcorn from her and placed it on the floor in between them, his eyes never leaving hers.

The first few scenes passed in a blur as they both settled into the plush couch cushions, the familiarity of the film's start bringing a sense of nostalgic comfort. But the air grew charged as the plot began to thicken, the chemistry between Baby and Johnny mirroring the unspoken tension between Luke and Rosey. He leaned back, his arm extending along the back of the couch, his fingers playing with a loose string of the throw pillow, his eyes flicking to her hand that was resting on the couch, so close to his leg.

Suddenly, Luke stood up with a stretch, the muscles in his arms flexing under the fabric of his t-shirt. "Gonna hit the bathroom real quick," he announced casually, his voice a little gruffer than usual. The sudden movement made Rosey's heart jump a beat. She tossed him a funny look, he’d never been so out there with his need to go, it’s usually a soft touch with a whisper acknowledgment. Not a loud announcement to one person.

With him out of the room, she took the opportunity to grab her phone from the table, they both tried not to be on them when together. The screen glowed a cool blue in the dimness, a blurring difference to the warm tones of the room. Her thumbs danced over the screen as she scrolled through their week's worth of texts, a blush creeping up her neck. The air thickened as she read through their playful banter, the way they had both danced around the topic of taking their relationship to the next level. The anticipation had been building like a crescendo, and she could feel the tension in the room pulsing like a heartbeat.

His words from their texts played over and over all day long in her mind like a secret melody wrote just for her, each message a teasing verse that grew bolder as the week progressed. She re-read his playful comparison of his hands to hers, the way he hinted at the size difference. Their size difference. Her breath caught as she read his words, "Just think about it, baby, how much of a difference there is between your hands and my hands it’s mostly all fingers. What do you think my fingers will feel like? Do you think I can make my pretty girl come?." Her pulse quickened, and her hand unconsciously strayed to the spot between her legs, the heat building there once again.

Her thumb hovered over the screen, tracing the line of their conversation, her heart racing as she remembered his texts from earlier that day. "I’ve been thinking about those hands of yours all week," he had written, "imagining what they'd feel like wrapped around me. Watching you use both, still struggling." She had replied with a blushing emoji, playing along with the game, but deep down, she was craving the reality of it. Was Luke really that thick or was he insinuating he was big in general?

The thought of his large, strong hands on her made her insides quiver with excitement.

The sound of Luke's footsteps returning grew louder, echoing down the hallway and into the basement. Rosey quickly slid her phone across the coffee table, her cheeks flushing a deep red, as she hoped he hadn’t noticed her distraction. The creak of the floorboards grew closer, and she swallowed hard, her eyes darting to the TV as if the plot of Dirty Dancing could somehow hold the answers to her questions.

“Ro? You feeling okay babe, you’re really flushed” Luke’s tone was laced with worry as he sat back down, grabbing her face softly.

“Yeah, yeah, yes. I’m good. I swear Lukey,” she assured him with a smile that was more of a grimace, doing her best to control her urge to make out with him right there and then. She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with the effort.

Luke studied her for a moment, his eyes searching hers for any hint of deceit. He knew her well enough to see the desire smoldering beneath the surface, but he also knew her enough to realize she was holding back. He leaned in closer, his hand gently cupping her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "You're sure?"

"Mhm hmm, swear," she replied, her voice breathy as she squirmed on the sofa, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. She shifted her weight, the fabric of the boxers rubbing against her sensitive skin, sending waves of pleasure through her body. The urge to lean into him, to feel his warmth, was overwhelming. His thumb brushed over her cheek before he placed a simple soft kiss to her lips.

“I’m sorry baby, but I don’t believe you.” His voice was gruff, both hands now held her face. “So let’s try again, Ro? Are you feeling okay?”

Rosey felt the heat from his palms and the pressure of his thumb as it grazed her cheek, a silent question hanging in the air. She took a deep breath, the room spinning slightly with her desire for him. She whispered, her voice a bit shaky. “Tell me are you all talk or did you mean all you sent me?"

"Oh, I'm definitely not all talk, baby." Luke grinned. “I want to know what this is all about. Every damn thing with you”

With that, he shifted his weight, his movements as graceful as the dancers on the screen despite his size. He leaned in, his hands sliding around her waist, lifting her slightly as he repositioned himself over her. The couch cushions gave way under them, enveloping her in a cloud of comfort as she lay on her back, Luke hovering above her.

“God, how did I end up so lucky to be with you?” Luke whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His eyes searched hers, a mix of awe and desire swirling in their depths. “You’re the prettiest person in the universe, Ro,” he managed to say, his words choking up.

Rosey's heart skipped a beat at his earnestness, her eyes welling up with unshed tears. She reached up, her hands cupping his face, her thumbs brushing against the barely there stubble that had formed over the week. "I'm the lucky one," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, “now kiss me Luke Warren”.

And with that, their mouths collided in a fiery kiss that seemed to ignite the very air around them. Luke's lips were soft yet firm, his tongue delving into her mouth with a hunger that had been building for weeks. He tasted like popcorn and something uniquely him, something that made her toes curl and her stomach flip. The heat from their bodies melded together, the fabric of the oversized shirt, boxers, and his sweatpants the only barrier to their skin.

As they kissed, Luke's hands began to roam, his touch like a gentle storm that started at her waist, tracing the curves of her hips before moving up to her breasts. “Uhh, uhm is this ok?” He breathed out. Rosey bit her lip and gave out a quiet yes to him. He cupped them softly, his thumbs flicking over her erect nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through her body. The sensation was exquisite, a sweet torture that made her arch into his touch. She could feel his heart hammering against her chest, his breaths coming in shallow pants that matched her own.

Encouraged by her response, his hands grew bolder, exploring the soft mounds of her breasts, the shirt having been the only thing separating Luke and her skin, he pushed it up to reveal her bare upper body. Luke took a moment to admire her. “I can’t believe you’re fucking mine Rosey. God you’re a gift.” Luke whispers in her ear in between soft kisses to her neck.

She gasped as his thumbs resumed the teasing to the sensitive peaks, this time skin to skin, her own hands moving to his shoulders, gripping them tightly. “Luke, please” she exasperated. The world outside of their embrace faded away, the only sounds the low murmur of the TV and the muffled gasps that filled the room.

His hands traveled lower, his fingertips skimming over her stomach, sending a shiver of anticipation through her. The fabric of the boxers was the only remaining piece of clothing between his touch and the part of her that craved it most. The heat of his palms was a nice and welcome contrast to the coolness of the room, leaving a trail of fire as they ventured closer to the juncture of her thighs.

"Can I take these off?" Luke asked running his finger tips along the edge of the waistband of the boxers she was wearing.

Rosey didn’t hesitate, she trusted Luke with her life. She didn’t verbally respond, she started removing the boxers.

Luke pulled back slightly with a chuckle, his eyes smoldering as he spoke, "Spread your legs for me, baby," his voice a low growl that sent a thrill down her spine. The command was gentle but firm, a clear indication of his need to explore her further.

Rosey complied, her legs parting as if pulled by an invisible string. . Luke's gaze dipped down to her center, his eyes darkening with desire. He took his time, dragging his gaze back up to meet hers, his intent clear. He leaned in, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth and tugging gently, a teasing nip that sent a bolt of electricity straight to her core.

As he reached down to stroke her, his hand was met with an unexpected wetness. He paused, his eyes widening in shock. "Fuck, Ro, you're so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with lust.

Rosey felt her cheeks burn even hotter as she nodded, unable to form words. She had been so lost in the moment that she hadn't realized just how turned on she was. His touch was like a branding, searing into her very soul, making her wetter with every stroke.

Luke's hand hovered over her for a moment, his thumb circling her clit with a gentle pressure that had her hips lifting off the couch. He was careful, his movements tentative as he explored her folds. It was clear that this was as new to him as it was to her, his eyes flickering between hers and the apex of her thighs, seeking continuous approval and approval.

Maybe he had done more talking than he should’ve.

Maybe he was just nervous.

Slowly, Luke pushed his middle and index fingers into her, the sensation making her gasp into his mouth. He kept his thumb in constant motion on her clit, the friction sending waves of pleasure crashing over her. The feeling of being filled by him was foreign and exhilarating, and she could feel her body tightening around his fingers, desperate for more.

Rosey's eyes fluttered closed as she focused on the sensation, her breaths coming in short, sharp pants. She felt him push deeper, stretching her gently, and she couldn’t help but whimper into his mouth. The sound seemed to spur him on, his movements becoming more deliberate as he found a rhythm that had soft calls of his name dropping from her lips.

Rosey's eyes shot open, her pupils dilated with lust. "Yes Luke," she breathed, her voice a strangled whisper. "Just like that."

Luke curled his finger inside her, the motion sending a jolt of pleasure through her body. She felt herself tighten hard around him, her hips bucking involuntarily. Each stroke was a symphony of sensation, a dance that grew more intense with every beat. His eyes never left hers, watching her reactions with an intensity that made her feel like she was the only person in the world.

Her breath hitched as he asked, "Do you like that, baby?" His voice was a gruff whisper right next to her ear, his voice filled with a need that mirrored her own. She could only nod, unable to form coherent words as the pleasure built rapidly inside her. He swiped his thumb over her clit in a slow, deliberate motion, his fingers still working their magic within her. The room spun around her, the only anchor being the feel of Luke's body pressing into hers, his warmth enveloping her like a blanket.

The pressure grew, coiling in her belly like a spring ready to snap. It was a delicious ache, a promise of something so intense it made her toes curl and her back arch. Her hips began to rock against his hand, silently begging for more, for the release that was just out of reach.

And then it hit her. The orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, making her body shake and tremble as she cried out his name. Her nails dug into his shoulders, leaving little half-moons in his skin, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he watched her with a fierce pride, his eyes never leaving hers as he continued to stroke her through the aftershocks.

As the tremors subsided, Luke pulled his hand away, his fingers glistening with her arousal. He brought them to his nose, inhaling deeply, his expression a mix of amazement and pure, unfiltered desire. "Fuck, baby," he murmured, licking his fingers clean one by one, savoring the taste of her. It was a move so primal, so erotic, that it made her insides quiver anew.

Rosey lay there, panting, her body a limp mess of satisfaction. But as she watched Luke, she felt a renewed surge of heat between her legs. He was like a teenager discovering his first dirty magazine, the way he devoured her with his eyes and savored her scent. It was both endearing and incredibly hot.

"You know, that's the first time I've ever made a girl come…well, it’s the first time I’ve ever done any of that" he said, his voice a mix of pride and awe - and a touch of embarrassment.

"But regardless I've gotta say, watching you lose control was so fucking sexy. I sort of busted in sweatpants like a teenager…” Luke’s entire face turned red.

“Does that mean I can’t.. well you know?” Rosey bashfully evades the topic.

“Oh, baby, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, but I sure as hell wouldn’t mind if you did. Maybe next week's movie night could be your turn to return the favor. Tonight though I am already spent. " Luke suggested, his voice a low rumble that sent a thrill through her body. While he spoke to her he was pulling his t-shirt off his body and covering her back up.

Rosey looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Deal," she whispered, her voice still shaky from the aftermath of her climax. The idea of getting to explore him next week was almost too much to handle, but she was eager to learn, eager to make him feel as amazing as he had made her feel.

They watched the rest of the movie in a daze, their bodies entwined on the couch. The chemistry between Baby and Johnny seemed to sizzle off the screen, but it was nothing compared to the heat that radiated from Luke and Rosey. They made out like teenagers in the back of a car, hands roaming, breaths hitching, the air thick with unspoken promises of what was to come.

[sorensolsikke]

here's some punk diy tips and ideas

[other than crusty pants and battle jacket, although we still love those greatly.]

why should you diy, when you can just find decorated items everywhere, you can ask. what if you are clumsy at painting or anything?

firstly, good questions. we diy so we don't give credit to the big companies who rule the world. we diy to get more independent from the system we dislike. we diy so to save money. to express uniqueness, recognize eachother and be recognized. and especially to have fun and feel cool. diy is not only about clothing, but anything you can set your mind on. of course, one cannot make EVERYTHING for themselves, there isn't enough time and energy. but making at least small steps are already a statement and more than nothing. also, helping small artists by buying their products is also pretty punk.

that being said, i provide you with some tips of mine, all gained from experience:

anything you drew/painted on, you will WANT TO protect. acrylic paint/markers + acrylic paint varnish/transparent nail polish/textile medium are your best friends. read after anything that's new to you.

i highly recommend working with old clothing or thrift shop finds when it comes to textiles, as it is environmentally friendly and you will stay in budget. Anyways, always make sure that the material you use isn't gonna be problematic. for example, if you want to do some patchwork, the material shouldn't decay easily (if it does, it will come off so quickly.). if you want to paint on it, it shouldn't be rugged.

you can not only draw/paint on your canvas shoes, but can also sew, embroidery (just make sure to use a thimble, plus floss instead of thread could make your work more durable), and add beads and trinkets to your shoelaces. in the case of shoes, never use glue (neither hot nor instant glue) – it will come off quickly. for some inspiration, i'll show you my shoes!

(the fake moss is literally unstoppable from falling off or getting dirty. risky idea.)

it's good to carry around water and food!! you don't even have to pay for decorative water bottles and food boxes, as you can draw on glass and plastic just fine with acrylic markers. just don't forget to paint transparent nail polish all over your drawing. in at least two layers. don't be lazy or laid-back. even posca comes off while washing the dishes. and you WANT TO save your reference pictures/final designs, as the case of emergency is likely. but after all, my water bottle is exactly fine after six months, with no accuring problem.

if your current best option to get stickers from is aliexpress or overpriced decor stores, search for local artists and shops on instagram and tiktok, as it may be their most efficent way of getting you to know them. if it seems like you have no chance, you may can still find a print shop with the option of printing on self-adhesive sheets (at least in hungary, those are pretty cheap). and if you want drawings to print out as stickers, you may use your own or –ONLY IF YOU GET PERMISSION– other artist's work. not only good for decorations for like, headphones, but for vandalism too. WAIT WAIT who said that. who said it. not me. no never

(in case that's also impossible, you can create stickers by printing out/drawing a picture, cover it up in transparent adhesive tape, and then put some two-sided adhesive tape on the white side of the pic. it won't be that durable, but it functions.)

if you want to bleach-paint clothing, get some plastic brushes!! any other brush dissolves. draw your design first with chalk!! never forget to put cardboard inside the clothing, and to wash the finished work in a washing machine before you'd put it on. prepare to be patient with the process. and it's not dangerous to touch 5%-9% household bleach, just wash your hands soon after.

if you want your crusty pants to last veryyy long, wax them. look up on youtube jeans waxing.

some more things i made for myself so to give you some inspiration: totebag with pockets, a small crystal holder cabinet, badges, and i decorated some t-shirts, button-ups, an id card case, phonecase, laptop.

theoretically speaking, there is nothing that an individual would be unable to learn how to make, when it comes to diy. you can't imagine how easy it is to bake bread at home. consuming-focused media makes people believe that it's hard to make anything. of course, everyone has to decide about their own priorities, i don't want to convince or change anyone in here. and if you have any questions, send an ask!! i hope i had been helpful.

[thy-golden-knight]

Knightly lifestyle ideas

• Carry yourself with confidence, keep your head high and your steps firm

• Always carry a pocket knife in case of emergencies

• Whenever you see a person struggling with heavy bags, especially women and the elderly, make haste to offer help

• If they refuse help, do not press further. Respecting boundaries is essential

• Decadent fur rugs in your bedchamber

• Become passionate about a sport of your choosing, be it a historical one or not

• Your home is your fortress, hence any good knight should be able perform basic repairs to keep his castle running

• Forgo the plastic: drink your water, wine and other beverages out of goblets and glassware

• Be an example to your younger siblings on how to treat other people with respect, dignity and kindness

• Treat hardships in thy life as quests to complete and dragons to slay

• Attend self-defense classes. Learn to take down opponents twice your size

• A signet ring with your family's crest / other personal symbol

• If you have a dog, train it extensively to make it your guardian and a faithful companion

• Assemble a private library full of classical masterpieces and epic poetry

• Gather up your courage and intervene if you see someone getting bullied

• Lush bathrobe in rich burgundy / navy / emerald with a golden thread

• Volunteer to be the mediator in your siblings' quarrels

• Know your way around fine dining, whether it's uncorking a bottle of champagne or using the right fork and knife

• Learn how to play a musical instrument like flute or guitar

• Study different schools of thought, religions and cultures. You might find them not so different from yours

• And overall whenever you see an opportunity to do good, take it at once. Knight's ultimate purpose is to serve, be of service to others, be it friends and loved ones or complete strangers

Part 2 here

[charnelhouse]

bad people

Gif by @jdmorganz

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!ReaderWordcount: 3kWarnings: rough sex. age gap (tho undefined). violence. oral. blood. joel being a dick. drunk sex. Summary: When it happened, it happened in the dark.

Ten Years Post Outbreak

Boston was dirty. The summer rain had been relentless, liquefying the dirt to unforgiving mud. She’d had enough of rain. Her shirt stuck to her skin, constricting her limbs and soaking her feet. She was lightheaded. She’d had a spoonful of canned peaches earlier, and the sugar smudged her tongue. 

She blinked down at her feet, the sneakers threadbare and soaked. Her eyes flitted to the wood-brown boots beside them. They dwarfed her shoes in comparison.

The man next to her was one she knew. Joel Miller.

He was rough-looking with his weathered skin and dark hair threaded with a bit of silver. He was also handsome, seemingly carved from a shard of rock. Strong. Brutal. 

Hephaestus. 

If he were a God, she’d choose Hephaestus.

The things she did know about him were both second-hand and from afar. He was mean and ruthless. He beat the shit out of a rival smuggler and blinded another. 

Tonight was purely coincidental. The rain was too hard. The soldiers were out in droves due to a recent Firefly attack. Joel had stumbled upon her hideout: a narrow storage closet that smelled like bleach. He’d turned the tiny light on, and she’d snapped like a feral cat. He’d shut it off without apologizing.

Instead, he glanced down at her, frowning, and for a split second, she thought he was going to murder her for the shelter. Instead, he tugged a large plastic bottle of brown liquid from his pack and offered it. 

Whiskey–she guessed. A homegrown brew that might make her temporarily blind. The good stuff. 

Wordlessly, she took it. The terms were met. You can share this space with me. She would have said yes regardless.

Joel sat beside her, and after she swallowed enough to burn her lungs, he accepted the whiskey again.

***

When it happened, it happened in the dark. 

They barely spoke. Instead, they passed the bottle back and forth. Both of them were loose with it. The whiskey warmed her belly, making everything somewhat bearable. Her vision became edged with gauzy sweeps of color–finger painting in the dim light. The world was bathed in butter, gold, and temporary numbness.

Thirty minutes had passed when she finally spoke. “Great weather we’re having.”

He paused, the plastic crinkling in his hand, the rim scraping against his chin. He smiled briefly.

“Used to like the rain,” he replied. “But now?” He shook his head, and she noticed the raw cut of his jaw, his patchy beard. He was someone who had worked too long in the sun, and yet she found him unbearably attractive. Rugged. A hot coal pulsing fire, and she was desperate to get warm. 

She thought of fungus. She thought of it growing in this narrow room with its perfect conditions. Humidity. Wooly heat. A petri dish. She could become it–become the sick and she could rot into the wall with Joel sitting silently beside her. She’d swell with a patchwork of pretty colors: blister-red, jaundice-green, bile-orange. 

Jesus. She was maudlin. She was drunk. 

The rain fell harder, pelting the walls of the building. She knew things were hanging on by spit and glue. She knew everything could–would–collapse eventually. No more clean-cut grass. No more distinct roads. No more potted flowers. 

Joel turned his head, his dark gaze landing on her face. The irises shimmered like a sun-drenched black top. He had somber eyes. Expressive for once. Doe-like. He stared at her as if it was the first time he actually was actually seeing her. 

She wondered if he went through life avoiding the periphery. There was only the direct line in front of him. When he came into this closet, he shoved the bottle forward and only saw her hand accept it.

He blinked at her sluggishly, his pink lips parting beneath his mustache. There was a flicker of recognition.

“You ran with Luke, right?”

Surprised, she nodded. Joel had remembered her.

Luke. Gorgeous Luke, who was the very picture of a homecoming king. A movie star. Corn-fed. Blonde hair, white teeth, and sea-glass green eyes. He had been full of hope, and there had been a time when Joel and his brother, Tommy, had worked with them. She’d stuck to the corners. Watched. Observed. Frightened out of her mind because she didn’t understand how to live anymore—how to function, barter, or be content. Luke had done it all, protected her to the best of his ability.

“You’ve gotta take a deep breath, baby,” Luke had ordered, shrouding her face between his dry, clean hands. “You adapt. You live. That’s it.”

“Good guy,” Joel offered, somewhat awkwardly. Everyone knew what had happened to Luke. She’d been surprised that many people cared at the time. The Apocalypse had occurred, but the community still gave a shit over the handsome jock with the diplomatic smile.

She huffed a laugh, and he frowned.

“He was an idiot,” she hissed–very resentful even if it had been three years. He’d left her here. 

There’d been so much blood—eggplant purple pouring out of Luke as he gurgled for her. 

Joel pushed the bottle into her hand, his knuckles brushing her palm. She took a pull and didn’t wince. “He still operated as if the rules hadn’t changed. He didn’t understand that you have to be a bad person to survive here. He trusted too easily. Far too empathetic for his own good.” She scowled as she knocked her head against the wall. It throbbed–spots of white sprouting across her vision like a fungus–

“Hey,” Joel said, leaning into her. “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

She could smell the honey-burn of whiskey on his tongue, in his beard. There was also the press of wet dog, sweat, and body odor. She was used to that. She was used to the smell of unwashed humans. Those were good scents because they didn’t carry that mildewy stench of fungi. A water-logged basement. A moss-covered stone at the edge of a pond.

She inhaled and found Joel’s hair brushed in smoke. Cigarette ash. He was closer to her, his denim sleeve rasping her bare arm. 

“You’re shivering,” he mumbled.

“I know.”

It happened within a second. An unspoken decision erupting like a metallic click of a lighter.

She was lonely—so lonely and she wanted to burn. Perhaps, he did too.

His eyes found hers, his lids heavy, and his cheeks flushed. She wasn’t sure if she moved first or he did, but she knew they didn’t kiss. He jerked to the side last minute, his mouth scraping down the side of her cheek.

He encouraged her to lie down, his chest against her breasts as he petted her hips, the outside of her thigh. He was heavy, breathing hard as he buried his face into her neck.

“Lift your hips,” he murmured as he popped the button on her jeans and rucked them down to her knees with his nose still rooted against her jaw. 

They fucked fully clothed on the filthy, cement floor. 

She pushed his jeans under his ass as he gripped his cock and smeared it against the lips of her cunt. It was clumsy and desperate, but it felt good. Everything felt good. She had to bite his shoulder when he finally breached her. He moved too quickly, sinking to the hilt as her body tried to accommodate his girth. He’d broken her in, forced her to mold to his size, and she found herself fisting his hair, biting his neck.

“You’re good,” he hummed as he slowly began to saw his hips. “Fuckin’ great, sweetheart.”

The drag of his cock sizzled her insides and spread her apart. He pinned her down and buried her with his full weight. She felt safe—blanketed by him and all of his denim.

Every thrust forced her spine up the wet floor. Her knees dug into his ribs, her ankle wrapped around the back of his calve. He smelled like a soaked garden. Soil. A brushfire. Wood. His nails were dirty, and she arched when he dug them into her waist. 

He ground against her in a way that made the wiry hairs at his groin stimulate her, his pelvic bone rubbing her clit. She climaxed a little too quickly. Embarrassingly quickly. It had been so long since Luke and Joel was big. The pain was welcome. The ache of him. She clenched around him, tightened to a knot as she cried out into his hair. His curls were caught in her breath, his beard burning her skin. 

Afterward, he stood, tucking his soft cock, shiny with her, into his jeans. The near-empty bottle of whiskey rolled against her leg. He attempted a smile that was more of a glower and shook his head a bit to clear it before backpedaling out the door.

***

It ended up working out—forced proximity. 

He needed a second hand, and anyone else found him scary. He seemed taken aback when she offered her help, perhaps surprised at her forwardness. 

We fucked. That’s it. 

But–he accepted her, begrudgingly pulling her into his plans. She was a tiny island in a sea of several. Her group had been Luke, and the others within it had done what they did to him. She’d killed them for that—no more group.

He gave her the couch in his small place. Tommy was in and out. Ships in the night, she supposed, though she didn’t know what had broken between them.

Most of the time, Joel ignored her. He seemed unable to look her in the eye, which she found hilarious. Her ego had long been snuffed out, but she couldn’t help the pinch of hurt at Joel’s coldness.

You’ve been inside me. C’mon. 

He gave her orders. She watched his back. He was someone who would know of her existence if she died. 

Would he care? She doubted it.

But he’d know she’d been there. Breathing. Alive. 

***

One midnight, Joel returned to the apartment, pissed off. She hated waiting for him, being left behind. She’d rather be out there and with him.

Luke had died alone. He’d told her to stay put, and he’d gone out and died. 

Joel had stumbled toward the couch in the dark. Forgetting she was there, he’d crashed into her, and she’d yelped. 

“Fuck,” he growled, shoving a hand through his curls. “What the hell!?”

“It’s my bed,” she murmured, and it seemed to douse his fire. He blinked at her, the moonlight turning the edges of his face silver. 

“I don’t understand,” she continued, voice a little thick with frustration. “If you don’t want me here–”

“Lie back.”

He went to his knees, hands moving under her ass and pulling it forward. He cupped it and lifted her pelvis. Shorts gone. Joel’s skin was cold from the outdoors, and he hitched her knees over his shoulders. His hair tickled her skin. He covered her cunt with his mouth and drank from her. He devoured without a hint of shame because she could hear herself on his tongue. The wet mess of her pussy. The room rang with her whimpers, and when she tried to silence them with her hand, he growled like an animal–a beast. 

Afterward, he stood up mechanically, before stalking back to his room. He left her with her shorts around her ankles, her cunt tender and soaked.

He hadn’t even wiped his lips.

***

She learned from him—what he had become. He was selfish and drowning in the bloodlust that rippled under his skin like a parasite. She got it. She found it stimulating. His philosophy of kill or be killed. His ego stroked with every fight he caused or fatal situation he inevitably won. 

Two months in, she watched him put a bullet in a newbie smuggler who had sold him pills made from chalk and sugar. 

He turned around, grabbed her hard by the back of the neck and shoved her up against a wall. He dragged her pants under her ass as he fiddled with his belt. After a distressing second, he pushed himself into her. No spit. No preparation at all. It was dry enough to hurt them both, but she still moaned. He gagged her with his palm as he fisted her hair. He fucked her in short, brutal strokes. Thump...thump….thump against the plaster wall. An even, steady rhythm. He didn’t rush it. He didn’t speak either. Just grunts. Just feral, low noises from the back of his throat. 

“Joel,” she gasped, and he pinned her with his hips. He withdrew until only the tip remained before plunging back inside her like he could fuck her guts. Maybe, he wanted to. Maybe, he wanted to punish her and remind her:

I’m a bad person. I’m the kind of person who survives in a world like this. Isn’t that what you want?

***

“How old are you?” Joel asked out of the blue; his brows knitted together in concern. 

It was a little late for that. The air between them spiked before becoming sour and viscous as jelly. He pulled his shoulders back, his expression twisting into something hesitant and concerned. 

She chewed her lip thoughtfully, wondering if she should lie for his benefit. Finally, she told him, and he grimaced. The age difference wasn’t that obscene. It wasn’t unheard of or ugly. There weren’t many people left to begin with. She’d seen him kill. He knew what she had done to avenge Luke.

Joel rubbed the scar across her belly. "Was this from the woods? After Luke?"

"You should see the other guys."

Joel grinned in a way that was so deliciously impressed. Smug. "Oh," he said, curling with glee. "Oh-I did. Had no idea a little thing like you could even think of such things."

She leaned forward, her lips hovering over his own. His hands found her ass and he encouraged her down until he was half-way inside her. He was all blood - unforgivably hard and he split her down the middle. She loved it.

"I lost my mind for a second," she revealed, deliberately flexing the walls of her pussy. He grunted and became slightly cross-eyed. "You know...” she continued. "If it had happened to you? I might have done the same."

"If I had been Luke?"

"If you had been Luke."

Suddenly, he grabbed her hard and shoved her down, impaling her on his cock until he couldn't drive further. He was in her throat--her lungs. Joel. "I wouldn't be Luke," he argued huskily as he snapped into her - once - twice. He smacked her ass and the sound rocketed through the room. "I'm a bad guy, remember?"

She tried to laugh, but it tumbled out of her like a whimper. "Still," she said between the continuous, punishing stabs of his cock. "Still--I'd avenge you."

She held her hand out, and he took it. He could wrap his whole fist around hers and she’d disappear.

“Don’t worry so much,” she warned. “You’ll get wrinkles.”

Of course, he was already well-worn. She bet he was lined and edged even before the infection. He was a constant overthinker. She knew he’d been a carpenter, but the rest was a wash—all diluted gray mass of nothin’. His life before was not something he gave her.

“Why are we holdin’ hands again?”

She lifted her shoulders, gaze wandering away from his pointed stare. “Just consoling you now that you’ve realized you’re a dirty old man.”

He squeezed until her bones trembled before rolling his eyes in a disarmingly young way. “You need to watch that mouth of yours.”

***

Joel was swollen with a fever. She touched his forehead, dragging her fingertips across his cheekbone. She traced a letter and then her name. He leaned into it, lips parting as his whiskey-damp breath brushed her skin. 

“You’re not doing too well,” she observed. His bare shoulders bulged from the edge of the blanket, and his lashes fluttered. His mouth curled as he tried to shift against the thin mattress.

“S’fine,” he slurred. 

She swallowed a scream. She wanted to burst. She could do nothing for him but wait. Hope it was a virus. Hope it was a plain old illness that had to tire itself out. 

“Let me go to the other side of town,” she murmured. “I’ll find you meds. I’m sure I can.”

His eyes snapped open at that. He attempted to sit up before groaning. “Don’t–don’t–you fuckin’ dare.” He said her name softly as he melted back into the mattress. Coughing. Moaning. “Do not go.”

He pushed his head into her lap in the blurred daze of his fever. She swept his hair away from his face, combing his fingers through his damp curls. 

If he got worse, she’d go. She’d have to. 

The next day, the fever dropped a point. Joel couldn’t fall asleep, instead trembling in the bed, sweating rivulets of sickness. 

She played him Lee Hazlewood. Your Sweet Love. She played it on repeat. It rocked him somewhat, and with her imagination, she turned the popcorned ceiling into stars and a twilight sky. 

Joel curled into her. “You smell nice,” he sighed. He held her closer, demanding warmth even though his skin was oven-hot.

In the morning, his fingers wandered down between her legs. He touched her, stroked her until she shook in his sweat-sodden sheets. The intimacy killed her. It was too much and not enough.

***

She worked one of the body disposal shifts and cut her hand on some glass. The wind was painfully cold, and the blood that bubbled up from the gash felt like hot tea. She studied it, somewhat enraptured by its brightness of it. It turned the dirty snow at her feet maroon.

She heard her name. It was muffled, and then it was louder, familiar, and seared with frustration. Joel. He gripped her hard by the arms, twisting her around. Joel handled fear terribly. Terror could only be molded into anger for him. Violence. 

He shook her. “Where have you been? I waited an hour.”

She lifted her hand to show him. She still could be childish. She wondered if she had stopped maturing after the world had ended. 

His eyes slowly crept from her face to her hand. “How?”

“Some glass,” she shrugged.

“Is—are—-,” He trailed off, audibly swallowing.

She found it off-putting. Joel was usually so collected. 

“If I were infected—they would have shot me,” she reminded him, and he sagged an inch. Of course. Of course. How silly of me. 

He rearranged his expression so that it was his usual gruff stoniness. 

“You’re freezing,” he accused as if she could help it. Boston winter. Not enough layers.

We thought the cold would stomp out the infection–the bacteria–the fungus. 

“It’s fine–”

Wordlessly, Joel wrapped his arms around her shoulders, hauling her into the heat of his chest. Surprised, she gripped the fabric of his shirt as he forced his jacket around the both of them. The sky was blue-black, and the snow clung to her hair and scalp. It coated his coffee-brown hair in powdered sugar.

She pressed her face into his sternum, nuzzling her nose into the space between his pecs. 

“Let me see your hand,” he urged. 

She gave it to him, still dripping and tender. She needed a bandage. Of course, FEDRA tested her, but they wouldn’t waste a single strip of gauze.

She heard Joel curse them under his breath before cradling her hand, fingertips barely nudging the injury. He dropped his head and kissed the vulnerable space between her thumb and index finger, and when he pulled away, there was the faintest trace of her blood on his chin.

“So weird,” she said. “So alive.”

His brow furrowed. She might be a little light-headed.

Yes. Yes. Hot-feverish blood meant her heart was pulsing, thumping with life just like Joel. His anger. His pain. What he does to her in the dark. 

“C’mere,” She grasped his face between her hands. Unshaven. Prickly. Her blood. On tiptoe, she claimed his mouth, and he accepted, even demanded more.

[trancylovecraft]

(AOEX) The Blood Of An Unwilling Covenant

PART ? OF 8: Lewin

(SIDE-STORY) (Yandere Platonic Demon Kings (Ba'al) x Reader)

SERIES SUMMARY:

BARISTA'S NOTE: Lil bit of a fun side-chapter <3 enjoy GENDER: Femme FANDOM: Blue Exorcist

☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★☀☾☁☂★

AO3 LINK, SERIES MASTERLIST,

“Lewin, Come on. I want to take the exorcist exam. I’m skilled enough, Aren’t I?”

“Yeah, Of course you are, Munchkin. But you just can’t go for the exam just yet”

“Why not..?! My teacher, You know him- Mr Okumura? He did it at thirteen! I’m fifteen now, So why can’t I?”

It was dark.

The room was enveloped in an unending black, The faint silhouettes of furniture and other assorted garbage only being able to be vaguely seen in the shadows. The lights clicked off, Bulbs only dangling from the ceiling above.

The only source of light was the faint glow from the old flat screen, Hung up on the wall as the luminescence flickered over them. The table, The rug, The old furniture, The wrappers of snacks eaten and plastic bottles of pop strewn across the room.

Lewin laid upon the couch, Elbow propping himself up on one of the arms of the couch. He breathed out, Slowly and controlled as he took in the rotten air of his apartment that he had grown so used to.

The TV continued to blather on in the background, Bumps of noise in the form of chatter, Muffled in the background. It was some dumb action movie, The kind that rolled out in theatres once, Did fairly alright and was now regulated to the late-night slot on TV networks.

An all-too talented protagonist, A sidekick comic relief, A woman whose breasts the camera focused on. Lewin huffed, At this point in the movie he would’ve been focused on them too. It was a part of the appeal of course, Lewin had no shame in admitting what he enjoyed.

But he could barely even bring his eyes to look at the screen, No.

Instead they were focused on her, [F/N].

His apprentice, Curled up beside him on the busted up sofa of his apartment. Her legs were sprawled out on the cushions, Her head resting idly on his chest. Lewin could feel the warmth of her body heat through the thick shirt he dozed in, Gentle, Yet strong.

She was fast asleep, Her eyes gently shut as the light of the TV flickered across her face, Lips parted as drool began to stain the old white shirt Lewin wore. He watched as her chest rose up and down, Slowly, Her breathing light.

[F/N] had fallen asleep during the film. Figures, Considering she had a rather tough day at school. A bag half-full of salted butterkist was cradled in her lazing arms, Crinkling as she shifted, Almost threatening to spill on the floor.

It was such a mundane sight.. Yet for some reason-

Lewin couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

He usually hated this, People sleeping on him. Lewin hated the way their weight pushed down on him, Hated the way they kept him in place, How he had to keep himself in a specific position just so they wouldn’t slip.

When he was out on a mission and a fellow exorcist happened to doze off on him, He had absolutely no problem in shoving them off however roughly. That’s just how it was, Why should he let anyone else rely on him as support?

Lewin didn’t care, Not a single bit.

“I mean, You take me out on so many missions as it is and I can barely do anything at all! Wouldn’t it be best for both of us if I just got my licence?”

“No.. No, You don’t understand. I told you, [F/N], You just can’t take the exam just yet.”

“Come on, Lew’.. I won’t even take on an upper-class demon if you don’t want me to. I just want my licence. Is that too hard to ask?”

But as [F/N] shifted against him..

Lewin’s arm was slung around her form, Keeping her cosy against his side as he lazed on the couch. He tugged her closer towards him, Lightly, Almost without thought as his thumb began to absentmindedly draw circles on her side.

His little apprentice, Lewin had never expected.. This.

She was wearing one of his old shirts, Worn out and stained on the sleeves. It wasn’t rare for her to use his clothing as pyjamas or even just everyday wear. Lewin could almost laugh, His sloppiness seemed to have rubbed off on her.

He remembered when he first brought her to his house back in Texas, Lewin hadn’t prepared for another person to be living with him so he had just tossed her a few shirts and shorts to use as nightwear.

[F/N] had taken them without a word, Picking them up with the rest of her belongings as she wandered into the spare room, Now her bedroom.

Was it wrong to say Lewin didn’t care for her at all when they first met?

“Yeah, Well that Okumura guy’s a special case, You ain’t that.”

“Oh come on..”

“No, No. Don’t give me that attitude, Kiddo. I’m your master, Right? So you listen to me when I’m speaking to you.”

“..You sound like Osceola.”

“Ha! Do I? I didn’t notice!”

The TV continued to blather on in the background, But the soft breath’s [F/N] took was all he could hear. Lewin just pulled her closer to him as he sunk back in the couch, Remote hanging out his hand as he kept her neatly tucked under his arm.

Lewin didn’t know the kind of feeling that was brewing in his chest.

It was like a weight was tugging down on his stomach, Heavy yet there was a light fluttering in his chest to chase it. How curious, Lewin could feel his heartbeat begin to mellow out, A sense of comfort washing over him.

How strange.

Lewin’s jaw was impossibly tight, His body incapable rigid. The hand that drew circles into [F/N]’s side ceased, Pausing, If only for a minute.

[F/N] had always been independent, Always been so free-spirited. She was much like him in that way, How she took things into her own hands and followed the beat of her own drum. Lewin had always appreciated those traits in others, Always seen it as a positive quality.

But..

“Please, Lew’.. I want to be an exorcist so bad, Like- An actual exorcist. I’ve got the blessing from Azazel, I got the experience out in the field- Even Osceola said I’m good enough for Upper-Class! I’m more than qualified..!”

“[F/N]..”

“So why? Why am I not allowed to take the exorcist exam?”

[F/N] wanted to go through the exorcist exam, She wanted to become an actual exorcist.

She’d been going on about it for weeks now after finding out that her teacher had done it when he was a kid. [F/N] wanted to take the goddamn exam, And by all means she certainly did have the skills for it.

Osceola was right when he said she was good enough for Upper-Class, There was no doubt that she would be able to take on an Upper-Level demon. Her penchant was enough to pacify and she had the skills and the weaponry to exorcise without a hitch. 

She was so talented, So skilled.

His little prodigy.

Lewin didn’t want her to leave.

Lewin knew he was being selfish, Of course he did, But he couldn’t bring himself to care. If she took the exam then that would mean she would become too independent, She’d be able to do so much on her own-

As soon as she hit eighteen she’d be able to leave and find herself her own place to live with the salary she makes, She’d be able to go out on missions on her own- Hell, It was expected for an Upper-Class exorcist.

In other words, She’d be able to leave him.

Lewin didn’t want that, No- Not when she made him feel like this, Make him feel so.. Tranquil, Peaceful. Lewin didn’t know if there would ever be a word to describe how he felt, How he felt about her.

Lewin leaned down, Pushing back the strands of her hair before leaving a slow peck on the crown of her forehead. A frown still lined across his face. An eye softened from behind the parting of his hair.

The feeling was.. Fraternal.

His lips moved away from her forehead, Instead choosing to rest his chin on the top of her head. Lewin wasn’t going to let her leave him, Wasn’t going to let her go.

She could go anywhere at all, She could talk with anyone she wished, She could do whatever she wanted to do as long as she came back home to him at the end of the day in one piece.

Anything she wanted.

Anything but leaving him.

Which was why he felt no shame when he outright delayed her only way out. 

“That Okumura boy was the old Paladin’s son, Of course he got to take the exam early, Paladin pulled some strings or whatever.”

“So what? You’re an Arc Knight, Right? Why can’t you do the same?”

“Yeah, I am an Arc Knight, Not The Paladin. Listen, If I could I’d get you into that exam as quickly as that but I’m unable to do anything here.”

“Then I’ll go ask Arthur-”

“Arthur won’t let you go do it either, You know him.. He barely thinks you should be allowed on missions in the first place.”

“...”

“Hey, Come on, Kid. Don’t look at me like that.”

“I.. I just want to be able to do well and assist everyone else out on missions. I don’t want to be a burden to you, Lew’..”

“You’re not a burden, Kid.. I mean, Who else would do all my paperwork?”

“Hey! Lewin, Stop that!”

“Oh.. Using my full name? Guess I’m in trouble.”

“Ugh.. I hate you..!”

Lewin laughed, If only she knew.

“Come on. There’s a movie coming on at ten, Seen the posters in theatres but never got around to watching it. Seems interesting though, Let’s go watch it.”

“Ugh.. Knowing you? It’s gonna be trash.”

“Aw, Come on! Don’t be like that, You don’t even know what movie I’m talking about!”

“Don’t need to know, I can already tell.”

“No need to be so pessimistic, Eh?”

Of course, This was only a temporary solution. Lewin knew that one day she’d be able to take the exam and there was no excuse he could give to stop her. He knew that it would come, And Lewin would cross that bridge when he got there.

But right now? This was fine.

Everything was absolutely fine.

[cherry-jamm]

Butcher x reader? Smut or not depending on your comfort level.

Due to all the side effects of the temp V and butcher being sick all the time, he’s been spending a lot of time at the hospital and there’s one nurse he interacts with all the time and develops a crush. The nurse (reader) likes him too. Eventually butcher sees her at a bar after hours one thing leads to another and they go home together.

Add on depending on how long you want it. Or maybe two stories?

You could add that Homelanders been watching butcher madly obsessed with him and he spies on him and the nurse hooking up and kidnaps her to use against him.

Homelander could use compound V on the reader making her a supe which he knows butcher hates.

Another idea I had was solider boy wanting the reader and being a moncho asshole and forcing himself on her and butcher stops him and is protective.

OR reader wants both solider boy and butcher at once and can’t choose so maybe she gets both (wink wink)

Sorry it’s a lot. Couldn’t write my own stores. Decided to pass along ideas.

Gross Misconduct

・❥・ Maybe your patient is hot, but that’s no excuse to partake in misconduct!

・❥・word count: 1.7k

・❥・warnings: hospitals, mentions of cancer, general banter, fade to black smut

・❥・Anon i ❤️ u and your ideas I plan on writing multiple of them so stay tuned, also my poor heart only wrote the sweet parts of your request I couldn't take the angst 😭

also I haven’t been in a hospital since I was five, can you tell?

There's a particular smell in a hospital. Disinfectant, stale air, and a powder smell that wouldn't go away. You held a small plastic cup in your hands, filled with a few pills in various sizes and colors. Your shoes clicked against the pale blue linoleum tiles that reflected the fluorescent lights above. You approached room 234, cautiously knocking on the door before entering. 

William Butcher had become what those in the psychiatric ward referred to as a revolving door patient. He would come into the hospital for no more than a few days at a time with a mysterious illness, then against his doctor's orders leave the hospital, only to reappear almost a week later with the same ailments. He had become a regular patient for you, he always requested your presence whenever a different nurse came to check on him. You'd be lying if you said that it didn't flatter you. He was a handsome man, tall strong, and rugged, and his accent was more attractive than you'd ever admit out loud.

"William." You greeted with a small nod and an easy smile. "Can't believe I'm stuck treating you again. What is it this time?" You teased.

"Same as last time. And I told you, call me Billy." He groaned. He sat on the bench instead of the bed, his head rested against the wall.

"I figured. You know the doctors all want you to stay here a little longer, maybe they could find the source of this. I know you don't want to hear this, but it could be cancer, it's always best to diagnose early."

"It ain't cancer." Billy sighed in that husky voice of his. "I just need a few days then I'll be back on my feet." He ran his hand through his hair. "And how've you been sweetheart?"

"I've been fine." You hummed. "You ready to take some pills? I assume you've been taking these everyday while you've been out of here?" You raise an eyebrow. 

"Yeah, yeah, I've been taking my pills." He waves his hand dismissively. You pull a water bottle out of a small fridge in his room. You set the cup and the bottle down beside him. 

"The doctors are suggesting a CT scan, or an MRI, something that might find cancer. That's the most viable option at the moment. I'm not supposed to be telling you this, really, a doctor was gonna come in later today and tell you, but I know you and I wasn't sure if you were even gonna stick around until then." You looked at him with furrowed brows, he was one of the most frustrating patients you had ever dealt with. He wasn't violent, or particularly perverted, but he was stubborn. Of course, many of your patients were stubborn, but he was different. Something about him made you want the best for him, not just in the way your field of work required, there was something personal about it. 

"You want me to get that scan?" He asked gruffly. Looking up at you standing over him. You felt your face heat up at his unrelenting stare. 

"Well, what I want doesn't matter. All I can say is that, these doctors know what they're doing, and it would do you some good to listen to them." You said matter-of-factly. He nodded. Silence fell over the room, but you could tell he didn't want you to leave.

"You- uh- you seeing anyone?" He questioned after a prolonged period of quiet, he was uncharacteristically nervous. His eyes were suddenly transfixed on the floor tiles. 

You were trained to say that it was none of his concern, but instead, your lips moved to say, "No, I'm not." The edges of your mouth quirked up into a small smile. 

"Yeah?" You found yourself swooning at his voice. 

"Yeah." You grabbed a blood pressure cuff from the wall and approached him to start taking his vitals. You raised your eyebrows and he took off his thick coat. You eyed his large biceps subtly. You wrapped the cuff around his arm and inflated the cuff. 

"How's about you let me take you on a date after this?" He smirked, looking up at you.

"You know I can't do that Mr. Butcher." You tutted. "Your blood pressure is better than it was last time you were in here." A smile forced its way on your face. "So you can listen to what the doctors say." He rolled his eyes.

"Why not? You don't like what you see?" He insisted. 

"As your nurse that would be gross misconduct. Highly against the code of ethics in this here hospital.”

"So if I wasn't your patient you'd go out with me?"

Just as you suspected Billy checked himself out of the hospital mere hours after you gave him his pills and took his vitals. God, he would be the death of you. You had just gotten home, you kicked off your shoes at the door and sunk into the couch. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you sighed before picking it up. It was your friend texting you and a few others in a group chat. 

who's gonna come with me to the bar tn 😝

Only a few minutes passed before your other friends started responding. 

I'm free tn

If we're going to Blue's I'm down

Count me innnnnnn

You rubbed your eyes. Did you really want to go out tonight? Maybe a night of fun will be good for you. 

What time? 

You asked. Pretty soon everything was arranged, all you had to do now was hopefully take a nap before you go and make sure you looked presentable. Time ticked by and you made yourself look presentable before grabbing your keys and driving to the bar.

The sun was low in the sky and cast golden shadows over the street. There was a crisp chill in the air. You pushed the door open and immediately spotted one of your friends sitting at the bar. After a while everyone arrived and you found yourselves a small table in the front corner of the bar. One right next to the window.

Time had slipped away from you as you drank and chatted with everyone until your eyes caught on a figure out of the window. Billy Butcher was walking down the street and right into the bar. There was a small bell above the door that jingled when he came in. The sound was so small that it would've been drowned out by the sounds of the bar if you hadn't have been intently listening for it. He walked in and scanned the entire place. His brown eyes looked into yours. There was a single second where the only people in the bar were you and Billy Butcher. He smirked wryly. You felt your face heat. Then as if he had no cares in the entire world he walked to the bar and ordered himself a drink. 

Your conversation became mindless chatter as you watched him. You burned holes into his back and practically studied the nape of his neck.

"What's gotten into you?" One of your friends poked your shoulder. 

"Okay, don't look now, but the man sitting at the bar is the patient I've told you guys about." Of course, all your friends turned their heads around to look for him. "He's the tall one, with the jacket." You whispered. One of your friends hummed. 

"Seems like a hunk." They giggled. "Why don't you go talk to him, buy him a drink or something?" 

"Oh no I couldn't, he's my patient!" You insisted. 

"But isn't he checked out of the hospital? That means you wouldn't be breaking any rules by flirting." 

"Until he checks back in, in a week." You scoff. 

"I say, go for it! Didn't you say he asked you out earlier?" Another friend chimed in. Your entire body felt hot with embarrassment. 

"Which one of you is gonna pick me up tomorrow morning?" You joked and downed the rest of your drink. Your friends cheered as you stood up and approached Billy.

“What are you doing here? Didn’t anyone tell you to stay home to and rest to recover?” You tease playfully. He scoffs before chuckling like he’d been expecting you to approach him. 

“A man can’t have some fun anymore?” His brown eyes graze over you in the dim light. “Whiskey’s the best medicine.” He swirls the brown liquid in his glass. You hum. 

“Well, I’d have to disagree.” You watch him take a sip of his drink. There was a beat of silence.

“You look good out of those scrubs.” He nodded. You felt yourself smile.

“You think so?” 

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.” He nodded. “So what’re you doing here?”

“I can’t have some fun anymore?” You shot his words back at him with a grin. He calls the bartender over. 

“Drink of choice?” He leans closer to ask. “It’s on me.” He winks cheekily. You order a drink and tap your fingers against the bar while waiting. “I presume you haven’t started seeing anyone in the few hours since we talked last.” He started. 

“Why does it matter?” You teased. The bartender set a drink down in front of you and you brought it to your lips to hide your smile. 

“Well, have you?” 

“I have not.” You replied simply. He smiled. 

“You got anyone else in here with you tonight?” He leaned in close. You felt your brain slip out of your ears at his accented voice and warm breath. You looked over at your friends, who had gone back to chatting, while one or two of them kept an eye on you. 

“No one that would mind if I left.” You said breathlessly. 

“Then, may I have the honor of taking you home?” You looked up at him, at a sudden loss for words. 

“You know I can’t be your nurse if we do this?” You checked in.

“Well, nobody has to know…” You shot him a look. “Yes, fine, I know you can’t be my nurse.” You smiled and nodded. 

“Lead the way Prince Charming.” 

His gruff laugh filled the space between you. He took your hand and started guiding you away from the bar and towards the door. You cast a final thumbs up towards your friends before the cold air hit your face. The street was now completely dark, only lit up by the streetlights. 

“You are going to love this.” He laughed, as he guided you to his car.

[blondewhoresworld]

silent night !

saltburn fanfic

!femreader x !felixcatton

tw: talks of hookup, hugs, alcohol use

you had never liked christmas. it was something about america. made it hard to love. the ugly decorated trees, smell of plastic and tinsel. it was always too hot for it to feel jolly. plus it was just another excuse for your family to force ugly sweaters over your head.

that had been your opinion on christmas. hated it, a grinch even. but coming to england, oxford to be exact, had slowly started to warm you. something about the freezing cold cobbled streets, hot chocolate stands, woolly hats, watching how your own breath pooled out in waves of humidity.

you would never admit it but maybe it was starting to grow on you. plus with every coming christmas came a cheesy christmas party. your college was known for them. it’s where you had met felix.

he was dressed in a way too tight, way too small santa outfit. the top undone to show off his lazy but lean chest. you had watched him all night from across the room. desperately trying to get a peek of the tattoo that would flash itself every so often.

felix had approached you first, beaming, cheeks flushed with the strong liquor. he was a towering figure. made even the tallest person look insignificant.

“you alright?” he had said, double fisted with two bottles of smirnoff mixes in his hands.

“yeah… fine.” you replied, you always loved a college party, had dressed on theme. little elf outfit, your cheeks painted pink.

“dance?” it was easy for him, one word and it was the next day and you had woken up in his twin bed.

that’s where you were now, the following year. thin cigarette in hand as you sit with your back against the cool stone wall.

“what do you mean you hate christmas?” he had his face scrunched up, trying to unscrew his eyebrow piercing. he was heading home for christmas and had already lectured you on his mothers clean cut household rules.

“it’s shitty, just an excuse for people to get drunk and put up ugly decorations.” you shrugged, taking a long drag of your cigarette and trying not to laugh at him.

“that’s the best part.” felix argued, still fiddling with the tiny metal ball. “trust me y/n you have never had a good english christmas.”

he said it with such confidence and certainty that you burst out laughing, it caused him to jolt and loose hand on his piercing. he swore under his breath and shook his head, that same crooked smile on his lips.

“don’t laugh.” he said, rolling his eyes. “if you saw my house all lit up you would change your mind. mum throws a wicked christmas eve party.”

he paused and looked at you. “where are you this year? the states?”

she shook her head. “nah, i was gonna stay here or go to my meemaw’s down in kent.”

“sick!” felix exclaimed, that posh accent still brought a smile to your lips. “you can come, i’ll get a car and everything. it will be totally chill vibes.”

it was everything but chill vibes.

you arrived late on purpose, your black cab dropping you just outside the gates.

felix wasn’t wrong so far, you had been to his house before in the summer. but now it looked stunning.

every inch was covered in warm fairy lights, fountains had frozen over, the gates had little merry christmas signs dotted all over them.

huge wreaths decorated with holly and dried out oranges were on every door and as the gates opened you could hear the music already playing.

a butler dressed in a black suit and a christmas themed tie took your things and led you into the entrance hall. that was almost showstopping.

two huge trees lay at the end of each room, both had been so carefully decorated and curated it felt scary to be so close. warm colours, red, orange, yellows covered each branch. and when you looked closer you noticed that each catton had their own personalised bauble. it was so perfect. so warm. the house itself was warm.

a table lie in the middle of the room, sat on a red intricate antique rug. it had a little miniature village on top that was playing out christmas scenes. it was genuinely like spending christmas with the windsor’s.

“y/n mate!” it was felix, he came bombarding into the room, sporting no shoes (or socks) and a large piece of tinsel wrapped around his neck. “you are so late!” he leant down and picked you up like it was nothing. it was a sweet embrace, something that made your cheeks burn.

he was clearly already tipsy but you couldn’t figure out what it was. “come, come.” he led you through the rest of the house and into the ballroom.

he had your hand tugging you along as you attempted to steal glances of the rooms. his sister sat in one room, she had let the blonde fade out of her hair and it had returned to its natural brown.

she made the small room glow, sat watching the tv with a glass of red wine in her hands. the room was so stacked with fairy lights and sofas it was hard to see her at first. she didn’t see you.

the next thing you saw was the gardens. he led you through a corridor that had huge windows. you could see everything, the fog that lingered over the grounds, each tree had been dressed up in orange lights. usually saltburn was scary at night but this was almost breathtaking.

then you were finally in the ballroom.

now that was what christmas was.

a slow and jazzy version of silent night was playing lowly as earls and sirs and ladies and lords all talked it happy drunk voices.

about seven antique rugs had been placed over the floor and every stood in their socks or bare feet. candles sat on every surface and you really began to believe you were in a harry potter book.

you passed a huge nutcracker and almost fell. felix caught you by your arm and laughed, his cheeks red. you couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or the warmth of the room.

“totally chill, hm?” he said, handing you a glass of red wine. “maybe christmas is better in england?”

you didn’t reply, just sipped the drink and took in the smell of the happy guests and the sound of the music.

ps tysm @tinytennisskirt for inspiring me to write again <33

[sorrowsofsilence]

Burning out • VI

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader

I was lost, but now I'm found Under the lights and in the sounds So let us sing and sing it loud That we're not perfect, but we're proud of who we are.

Noah Sebastian is lost. His crime-filled lifestyle is anything but perfect; but everything changes once he meets you.

Words: 6.4k

Warnings: 18+, explicit language, mentions of drugs and alcohol/drinking

Authors note: Chapter Six - An Omen is 20mg (EDITED: 09-03-24)

new? start from chapter one here

THIS IS A FANFICTION USING REAL PEOPLE IN A FICTIONAL SITUATION! I AM NOT IMPLYING THESE PEOPLE WOULD DO THE THINGS IN THE STORY OR ACT THE WAY THEY DO IN THE STORY, IN REAL LIFE! IT IS SIMPLY FICTION, AND JUST FOR FUN! THINK OF THEM AS ACTORS LOL.

+

I watched as her lashes touched the tops of her cheeks, her eyebrows releasing tension from the day, lips parted gently as sleep took over.

My eyes danced across her features, completely captivated. Y/N breathed slowly, and my hand subconsciously reached over, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear as I endeared over her.

“you’re my saving grace,” I whispered as I stroked her hair, still completely baffled this was all happening.

I watched her for a moment longer before I turned over, facing the door and her desk. My eyes trailed over to the bottle that rested on her desk, the yellow plastic alluring. Zolpidem. 700 dollars right there.

Destruction. Crime. Greed.

That is why we live like heathens That is why we live like heathens That is why we live like heathens

+++++

Silence. There was no sound.

The house had an eerie vibe, with its dark and damp interior. Her heart raced as she stood in the unknown stillness. The silence only added to her fear, causing her to carefully make her way towards the kitchen. She reached for a knife from the drawer, trying not to make any noise.

Although she wanted to call out for her parents, she was too scared of what may be lurking within the house. She then moved towards the staircase, her eyes fixed on the steps and hesitant to take the first one. But before she could move, there was a loud crash from the back door- whatever or whoever was inside was now leaving.

Her body surged with adrenaline as she sprinted towards the back door, dropping the knife along the way. She pushed open the unlocked door and saw a figure running towards the field behind her backyard. Without thinking, she screamed at the top of her lungs, her throat burning from the force of her cry. Another surge of energy pulsed through her and she ran after the figure into the darkness of the forest.

During her sprint, she stumbled and fell hard onto the grassy ground, knocking all of the breath out of her body. After catching her breath, she stood up and looked into the darkness ahead. Once again, there was nothing but silence.

The figure was unknown to her, but a wave of dread washed over her as she ran back towards the house. "Mom!" She cried out desperately, her voice bouncing off the walls and chipped paint. With determination, she climbed the stairs using both her hands and feet, adrenaline pushing her forward toward what she knew would be grief.

Her mother's name escaped her lips once more, even though she already knew that the woman's ears could not hear it. Reaching the landing, she made a sharp turn, almost slipping on the rug beneath her feet. She grabbed onto the wall for support and continued shuffling towards her mother's bedroom, tears already forming in her eyes.

"Mom!" The door was wide open, and as soon as she turned the corner, she saw the scene before her. She stumbled backwards, hitting the wall with a thud, cries pouring out of her mouth as she slid down in anguish. Sobs turned into screams of trauma and pain.

The satin sheets were already soaked with blood, and her mother's lifeless eyes stared back at her in horror. She lay across the bed in a mangled mess, bullet wounds revealing the tragic end of her life.

As tears blurred her vision, the girl frantically searched for her father but found only the figure lying limp in the corner. The once pristine wallpaper now coated in burgundy splatters left the girl frozen with fear as tears streamed down her face and she struggled to catch her breath.

She was only thirteen.

+++++

Y/N

I woke up thrashing against Noah’s grasp on my bed, my throat burning from the guttural screams that fled from my mouth. Through ringing ears, the tears poured from my memory-stained eyes as I pushed against his cage, fear engulfing me.

“Y/N!” Noah yelled, arms and legs enveloping me protectively, audible sobs erupting from my chest. The images flashed in my mind as I relived them, feeling like I was back there at that moment.

I try to stay calm Focus on my breath It’s like I drown In a sea of sand

“Y/N, I’m here!” Noah screamed, his heart pounding against me with adrenaline and worry, unsure what was going on. With his arms wrapped around my chest Noah pleaded for me to stop.

I pushed against him again, trying to break free from his grasp. He squeezed me close, shushing me as I sat between his limbs, resisting my attempts to pull away. My bedroom door burst open as Nicholas barged through the doorway, holding it open with an arm as his chest heaved, watching with wide eyes.

“What the fuck is happening?” He watched as Noah stared back with fearful eyes, shaking his head with uncertainty.

“Dude I have no idea, I just woke up to her screaming bloody murder,” Noah panted, looking down at me, trying to place his head on top of my own to comfort me.

Nicholas bit his fingernail anxiously, unsure what to do as he watched the scene unfold. Another set of footsteps dan up the stairs and Nick joined, peaking his head from behind Nicholas.

“Is everything ok?” He asked, stepping into the room.

I continued to cry into Noah’s bare chest, my vocal cords straining from the screams. Noah rocked our bodies back and forth as my wailing slowed, sobs replaced with staggered inhales.

My cheek pressed against Noah’s warm skin as he began rubbing small circles on my back, sheltering me with a tenderness I’d never felt from anyone before.

Everything’s black Everything’s cold A second is a new thought for me

“What happened?” Noah whispered after a moment, placing his mouth on my forehead gently as he spoke against me with delicate lips. My fists clenched, knuckles turning white from the hold.

“I-” I mumbled, staring at the floor as I began to zone out in shock, “The pills, they usually he-help.”

“Help what?” Noah asked, lifting his free hand to stroke his fingers through my hair, nails gently skimming across my scalp. The sensation sent shivers across my arms, Noah’s touch relaxing me as I sighed anxiously, pressing myself into his inviting body.

I sniffed, coughing on the saliva that built in my throat from my sobs, “The nightmares. I barely sleep because of them. I-” I squeezed my eyes shut as I winced, “I always have dreams about finding my parent’s bodies.”

Noah's breath hitched as he swallowed hard, his hand still gently rubbing circles on my back. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Nicholas approached us slowly and sat on the edge of the bed. He gave me a reassuring closed-mouth smile. "We're here for you if you need to talk. It can help to get things off your chest."

I looked into Nicholas' warm silver-grey eyes, feeling comforted by their inviting gaze. I took a deep breath and blinked away tears before nodding. With some effort, I pulled myself away from Noah's embrace as he reluctantly released me.

I wiped my eyes with the bottom of my palms, taking a deep breath and looking at Noah as my lip trembled in grief, “I’m so sorry.”

1 life I won’t miss 2 pills I will take 3 hours of bliss 4 more I’m in hell 5 days I’m asleep 6 that I’m insane I don’t wanna feel the pain

Noah tilted his head as his shoulders fell with empathy, his ochre eyes filling with anguish as he watched me, “You have nothing to apologize for, it just scared us. Scared me.”

Noah's gaze shifted towards Nicholas before he turned to Nick, who had made himself comfortable by sitting on the carpeted floor with his legs crossed, pulling his knees up to his chest. Nick's head slumped as he fought off sleep, his arms resting on his knees and hands clasped together. I avoided looking at them and instead focused on my blanket, picking at the fabric nervously as I struggled to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill over. My mind was racing as I tried to figure out where to start.

“Um, so,” I started, mouth quivering, “I found my parents murdered when I was thirteen.”

Noah reached over to me with an open palm. I hesitated for a moment before placing my hand on top of his own. His thumb rubbed gently over my fingers as he silently encouraged me to keep going.

“I-I remember it was an evening I had soccer practice. I walked home because my parents never came to pick me up,” My eyebrows furrowed as I stared at the floor blankly, the three pairs of eyes watching me with curiosity.

“I assumed they had forgotten to get me. They were out, attending an important dinner with my uncle, so I didn’t think much of it,” I sniffed, my free hand picking at the fabric of my satin sheets, “but when I got home, the front door was wide open and all the lights were out. I had a weird feeling and I knew something was wrong, and I knew I wasn’t alone.”

I felt their gaze burning into me to continue. None of the boys moved a muscle.

“Someone was in the house,” I shuddered, recalling the memory, “and I chased after them, but they disappeared. I knew that whoever was in there had done something. I knew my parents were dead then.”

Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, threatening to fall as I sucked in a shaky breath, the pitch of my voice shifting, “I walked up the stairs, and my parents were lying in their room.”

I closed my eyes with gritted teeth, the tears slowly trailing down my cheeks, “there was so much blood. My dad’s face was barely recognizable because of the gunshot wound.”

I began crying again at the image, my shoulders shuddering through my full-body episode.

“My mother’s eyes were still open,” I wailed, “she looked so scared, even when dead.”

The Nicks stared at me in horror, my words digging into them.

“Jesus Christ.” Through blurry vision I watched as Jolly leaned on the frame, his hand rubbing across his forehead.

I have a fear for living Cause I don’t wanna be a fuckin mess I relive in my nightmares Cause it’s the only way I can rest

Noah leaned forward, grabbing both sides of my face as he stared at me with complete agony.

His thumbs swiped underneath my eyes and across my cheeks, smearing the tears into my skin.

My body shook through my exhale and Noah pulled me into him once again, sitting me on his lap as he slowly swayed our bodies.

My ocean is made of dust And I’ve been dying here of thirst It’s like I’m diving in the mud Every time I try to reach for the worst

“I’m so sorry Y/N,” Noah whispered into my ear as he took a deep breath, sighing into my hair.

“Do you know who did it?” Nicholas asked.

I shook my head in sorrow, “it ended as a cold case. They couldn’t find any evidence-”

I then shrugged, “Or they stopped looking.”

Noah squeezed me reassuringly, and I nuzzled into him, feeling safe within his arms.

“I can’t sleep without those pills,” I said, and all the boys turned towards my gaze, looking at the yellow bottle that unknowingly taunted them, “They help me sleep, the other ones I take help the nightmares. Lately, it hasn’t been working.”

I’m not OK, I’m not the same My head’s screaming but I’m standing still Trapped in a lie that’s made of drugs I pray inside someone breaks my sleep

I felt Noah’s warm breath tickle down my neck as he held me, “I’m the one who found my dad’s body.”

My limbs stiffened at his words.

They tell me I should live Tell me I should care Tell me I should move But I don't feel safe here

Noah spoke softly, "Those images never leave you. They become the last memory you have of someone, whether you want them to or not." I closed my eyes and buried my face in his chest again, holding onto him tightly as if he was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

"It's horrible," I whispered. "I know," Noah replied, and we sat in silence for a moment, finding comfort in each other's presence.

"What time is it?" I asked as I pulled away from Noah and reached for my phone. "Oh no," my eyes widened as I realized I was supposed to start work in fifteen minutes. I scrambled out of bed, searching frantically for my clothes from the day before.

"Bye guys," I waved awkwardly at the boys who were still staring at me. Jolly immediately turned around and left, followed by the Nicks. Noah's gaze lingered on me for a moment before he too turned to give me privacy.

I hastily got dressed and tied my hair up in a messy bun. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I cringed at how swollen and red my eyes were from crying all night. But there was no time to fix that now.

Turning towards Noah, unsure of what to do next, I said, "I need to go." Should I hug him goodbye? Would that be weird? Would it be wrong not to? We stood there, silently communicating through unspoken words until he finally stood up and grabbed his clothes from my vanity.

My eyes wanted to roam over his exposed body, taking in every inch of his tattoos, but I resisted the urge and focused on getting ready to leave.

“Are you sure you’re okay to go to work?” Noah asked as he pulled his shirt over his head, tucking his hair behind his ears. He is beautiful.

I nodded, hesitating for a moment before grabbing him, pulling and absorbing him into a hug. Noah immediately rested his chin on the top of my head, squeezing me against him.

“Thank you,” I murmured, “For everything.”

Noah’s chest heaved as I let go, swinging my bag over my shoulders.

I gave him a small smile, “I’ll see you later. Don’t burn the place down.”

Noah’s breathy laugh was the last I heard as I ran down the stairs, slipping on my sneakers.

Nicholas was waiting by the door, Juice spiralling between his legs.

“You going to be alright?” He asked as he bent down to pick up Juice, cradling him in his arms.

I nodded reassuringly, smiling at him, “I’ve had many nights like this, and I’ve always got through it.”

+++++

NOAH

I let out a deep sigh, my hands rubbing against my tired face as I heard the front door shut. My heart ached for her as I saw so much of myself reflected in her struggles.

Ever since that day, I couldn't get the image of my father's lifeless body hanging from the garage ceiling out of my mind. It gave me nightmares and traumatized me, and even now, the pain still lingers. That event tore my world apart.

But lately, it's been my own life that frightens me more.

I've become what I feared the most.

As I finished getting dressed, my thoughts turned to the pills. With guilt gnawing at me, I glanced over to her desk - but quickly looked away when I noticed the bottle was no longer there.

“You looking for something?”

My brows furrowed as I turned towards Y/N’s door.

Folio entered her room quietly, closing the door gently behind him, twisting the knob to make as little sound as possible.

“What would I be looking for?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest defensively.

Nick rolled his eyes as he pulled his hand out from behind his back. The contents of the bottle shook as he opened his palm in front of me, revealing Y/N’s Zolpidem.

I ground my teeth as I confronted Nick, "What were you thinking, man? Why did you take them?"

"For money," he replied nonchalantly, giving me a contemptuous look. He waved the pills in front of me, urging me to take them.

I kept my hand firmly by my side, trying to decide between Nick's offer and the fear that gripped me. My heart pounded loudly in my chest.

"You can sell those for almost a thousand bucks," he added with a smirk.

I scoffed at his suggestion, my voice rising with anger. "Why would I betray her trust like that? Did you not just witness what I did?"

"Shh, keep your voice down," Nick growled, grabbing my hand and placing the pills on my palm.

I couldn't help but laugh. "Why? She's not even here."

"Because Nicholas actually cares about her," Folio interjected, closing my hand around the plastic bag. "Do you?"

This is the end time out of my bed It’s like I’m tryna ride an avalanche

And if time is the key then I locked myself into my own black hole

His last question rang in my ears as I looked at the contents in my hold. I twirled the case between my fingers as my eyes closed in contemplation, a breath of anguish escaping my lips through the inward conflict. Do you?

Of course, I do. I was in way too fucking deep already.

You are not a saviour if you’re telling me it’s just a phase You’re a motherfucker if you’re telling me it’s just a phase

Y/N would be broken if I took them. She needs them, clearly.

She also offered us a place to stay; I couldn’t betray her any more than I already had… but how was I supposed to get all the money by myself?

I looked at Nick as my thoughts battled.

How am I supposed to look at her again? If I do this, how will I face her again?

“I can’t do it Nick,” I closed my eyes torment, holding the bottle back toward him; but my fingers never let go.

“We’ve been at this for seven years Noah. You’ll meet another Y/N.”

His words caused my chest to ache. I don’t think I’ll meet anyone like Y/N again.

“Sell them. These, and whatever fucking else you missed out on the first night you were here,” Nick exclaimed.

“She took us in,” I almost pleaded.

“And she’s amazing for that, but you need to think about us. We are so close to being free.”

I groaned in frustration, “Fuck!”

“Make copies of the pills if you’re so worried about her then,” Nick sighed, rubbing his fingers into his eyes in annoyance, “replace them with sugar pills so she doesn’t think they’re missing.”

I bit my lip as a tinge of hope budded in my chest, attempting to push past the guilt. If she doesn’t know the pills are missing, then she wouldn’t hate me…and I could still make enough money.

You need to fuckin hear me now

“That’s a great idea- but where the hell am I supposed to get pills that look the same?” I said. What kind of monster am I for actually considering this?

No one, no one will bring me down

“Get some vitamins or some shit from the pharmacy, it’s not that hard. She could use some vitamin A or some iron or shit. Whatever.” Nick shrugged, leaning his back against the door.

“Maybe you should rob one of the pharmacies?” Nick suggested.

I shook my head, “Too risky. There are cameras.”

“I know there’s a small pharmacy in Chinatown on Thirteenth Street. It’s super old, so the cameras may only be outside,” Nick watched me with careful eyes, “Drugs are the way to make cash.”

“I’ll give you the number of one of Jolly’s old dealers. I’m sure he can hook you up with a decent price.”

Nick was right. There was no way I was going to make enough cash by breaking into houses and stealing shit.

I left that afternoon, carrying all of Y/N’s pill bottles towards a pharmacy in the middle of town. Guilt ate me alive as I opened the door.

There was no turning back now.

I found various vitamins that looked similar enough to her pills. Grabbing all of them I went up to the counter, paying the cashier.

“Vitamin deficient?” She laughed, trying to make a joke.

I hummed in reply while she scanned the items, avoiding her gaze out of fear that she could see through me. I paid quickly, snatching my change from her hand. My palms were already sweaty with anticipation as I asked, "Uh, can I use the bathroom?" She narrowed her eyes at my nervous behaviour but still handed me the bag and pointed towards the back left corner. Giving her a brief smile, even though it felt forced, I made my way to the bathroom and locked the door behind me. Leaning against the wall, defeated, I slid down to sit on the cool tile floor. This was a terrible idea. How could I have done this to her?

I’m not ok, I’m not the same My head’s screaming but I’m standing still

My leg bounced nervously as my stomach churned. I opened my backpack, grabbing ziplock bags that were labelled with each drug’s name and how much was in each pill.

Spilling the containments into the appropriate bags, I began replacing the pills with the vitamin look likes, filling the capsule with lies and deceit.

How long would this placebo last before she found out?

I put the bottles back into my bag and made sure they were secure. My head hung low, and I tried to hold back the tears of shame that threatened to spill over. I shoved the plastic bags into my cargo pants before standing up and looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. I gripped the edges of the sink, feeling the tension build as I stared at my reflection and the white ceramic bowl beneath it. Angry thoughts raced through my mind as my chest rose and fell rapidly, and I squeezed my eyes shut. It was all D's fault; if our lives weren't in danger, I wouldn't have to resort to this.

My life. Jolly’s. Ruffilo’s. Folio’s.

Y/N’s wasn’t- not because of D.

But because of me.

Why am I screwing her over, when I know how she doesn’t deserve it?

I turned the handles of the sink, letting the water fill the bowl as I splashed myself, trying to pull myself out of my delusion.

I needed to do this, I was so close to being done. I could make it up to her if she’d still take me. If she finds out.

The angel on my shoulder told me not to do this.

The devil reminded me of my pain.

I left the bathroom, walking past the aisles of products.

Trapped in a lie that’s made of drugs I pray inside, pray

“Have a good da-” The woman at the counter got cut off as I slammed the store door, my breath heaving as I marched down the sidewalk. Dark grisly clouds covered the sky, rolling in as they carried the beginning of a storm.

That I’m not alone, that you realize Sometimes a word could save a life

I stared straight ahead, eyes resentful and broken through the wind. There was no going back. Destruction.

I’m not okay, I’m not the same

My phone buzzed as I turned the corner.

Folio: He says he’ll meet you in the ally right before the pier

Me: Got it

Folio: Did you bring your mask? Gloves?

Me: Yep.

As I walked I swung my backpack around, grabbing the leather gloves and mask. Raindrops began falling from the sky in an uneven pattern. Shoving the mask in my sweater pocket I threw my hood over the top of my head. My legs carried me determined toward the alleyway before the pier, chest aching.

I chewed the inside of my cheek in remorse, resisting the urge to draw blood from the skin, knowing the sensation would distract me from my racing mind. I didn’t deserve to be distracted. I needed to feel everything.

Folio: Stay safe Noah. Don’t fuck it up.

Shit I don’t know where I wake up I might still be in a bad dream, a dark dream

As I approached the ally way I ducked between cars, pulling my black ski mask over my head, concealing my identity.

Silence is healthy violence, and I became deaf, I became drunk with my sorrows Alone in the night and 20 milli’

I walked between the brick buildings, small puddles forming between the cracks of cement. The ashy scent embedded around me as the dampened pavement absorbed the sky’s tears.

I lost my feet in the dark water that takes me towards Lucifer, hell

I stood behind one of the garbage bins, head snapping forward and back as I looked around for the man who would do my bidding.

“Name?”

My eyes squinted through the rain as a man in a yellow balaclava turned from a hidden corner, approaching me slowly.

“Who sent you?” I asked, knowing better than to answer first.

The man chuckled at my mistrust, stopping a few feet away from me, “Folio.”

“Good,” I nodded, reaching into my cargo pants, and pulling out the baggies, “Sebastian.”

He nodded, giving me a grin. My eyes immediately noticed the sheen from his teeth, the set of grills layered on the bottom reflecting the remaining light that shone through the clouds.

“What do you have to offer?” He asked, taking a step forward.

“40mg of Adderall, almost full bottle; 8mg of Zolpidem; half bottle; and 12mg of diazepam, almost full bottle,” I held out the bags. Crime.

He eyed them for a moment before smiling at me, “So where are the bottles then?”

I sighed, reaching into my backpack to pull out the plastic, and his eyes widened.

“You have more?” He asked.

I shook my head, “No. These are filled with vitamins now.” I handed him the bottle to inspect the packaging, showing that they were legitimate.

The man hummed, “Sly dog. Smart move,” he spun the bottle between his fingers, reading the label, “sucks to be whoever Y/N Y/L/N is.”

I felt my brows clench as a snarl grew on my face, angry that he used her name aloud.

“Let me check the real pills,” He nodded towards the bags, handing me back the bottle of placebos.

The masked man pulled out a small box from his pocket, pulling out a vial of fluid and some paper strips.

I scoffed, rolling my eyes, “You have a testing kit? Out here?”

He laughed, “Well, when you’ve been in this business for as long as I have, you have the proper tools.”

“Fair enough,” I shrugged, “They’re prescription, so they aren’t laced with shit.”

He nodded, “I believe you, but I’m still gonna check.”

The man opened one capsule from each bag, mixing the smallest amount into the solution he held before placing a drop on each testing strip. After a few moments, the strips changed colour and he smiled, the gold within his mouth flashing.

“It’s pure,” He said, rummaging through his bag before pulling out a wad of cash, “How does 2,200 sound?”

I had to hold my mouth shut, the price leaving me shocked, “Y-yea. That’s great.”

I held out my hand as he gave me the money, my fingers running across the top before placing it in my pocket.

“If you can get me more like this, I’ll up the price next time,” The man said, holding his hand out, waiting for me to accept his transaction, “People pay good money for pure shit.”

Next time.

I wrapped my gloved fingers around his own, sealing the deal of Greed.

“Folio will give you my number,” He said, pulling away.

“What can I call you?” I asked as I turned around, preparing to walk away.

“Vincent.” He said, grinning again as I listened to his footsteps splash against the puddles as he departed, “See ya, Sebastian, pleasure doing business.”

+

I got back to Y/N’s quickly, rushing up the stairs and heading straight for the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, placing the faux pills back in their designated spots. Fabricated homes.

As I closed the cabinet my heart almost fell out of my chest, Nicholas standing right at the bathroom door.

“What are you doing?” He asked, folding his arms.

“Uh-” I said, out of breath, “Nothing.”

“You sold them didn’t you?” Nicholas frowned, running his fingers along his brows in disappointment.

“I had to,” I explained, facing him.

He shook his head, “You couldn’t find drugs anywhere else? She gave us her home.”

“Maybe she shouldn’t have been so trusting,” I said, staring at the laminate flooring beneath my feet.

Nicholas scoffed, “Oh, so you’re going to blame her?”

I peered into his eyes as we battled silently, both our bodies stiff as we exchanged opinions.

“You’re going to regret it, Noah.”

“Yea, no shit,” I muttered, “But the twenty-two hundred bucks I got will be worth it.”

Nicholas’ eyes widened for a second before he stared at me angrily again, “Will it?”

I watched him, my fists clenching.

“Will it be worth it when you lose her?”

I gritted my teeth as he spoke.

“Will it be worth it when you have nothing, again?”

“Why do you care?” I yelled, my voice raising as my frustration grew. Ruffilo’s words were right; he was right.

His eyes softened as he turned, letting me out of the bathroom. I pushed my shoulder into him as I slid past his body, walking down the stairs.

“Noah,” Nicholas called out after me before following me, “It matters because I haven’t seen you light up around someone like that in years. If ever.”

I turned around to face him at the bottom of the stairs.

“I-I barely know her!” I said angrily.

“Do you not see how you look at her? Do you not see how you fucking held her this morning? Someone who doesn’t care, wouldn’t do that. You gave her your everything.”

My heart clenched, avoiding his gaze and words, “She doesn’t need to know. I’ll tell her when I’ve paid off our debt.”

“And when the pills don’t work?” He laughed, shoulders lifting as he threw his hands up in the air.

Anger Sadness Laughter Madness

“I don’t know!” I raised my voice again, mimicking his actions.

“She is already completely whipped for you-” Nicholas said quietly, his posture softening.

I looked away again, running my fingers behind my neck.

“-and you’re already wrapped around her finger.”

We are one step away from total decay Slipping Falling Closer to biting the concrete We are one step away You can't call this living

“I’m not the good guy,” I gazed up at my brother, his eyes saddening at my words.

I exhaled heavily as I walked toward the basement door, heading down to meet Jolly and Folio in the basement, signalling the end of my conversation.

Nicholas was the voice of reason, but I was too far gone to listen.

Jolly and Folio were jamming when I reached the bottom, the sound of a drumset being smashed leaving me confused.

“Hey,” Jolly nodded towards me, stopping mid-strum on the guitar. Folio hit the symbol one last time before he waved, sat in the corner in front of a shitty drumset that was barely holding together.

“The hell is this?” I tilted my head. The guitar Jolly was using was plugged into a beat-up amp.

I peered around the room, noticing two other blow-up mattresses and run-down decor.

“You’ve been busy,” I said, nodding at everything. They were making this place home.

“So have you,” Nick said, kicking the bass drum excitedly, “How much did he give you?”

“Who gives who what?” Jolly questioned, eying the both of us.

I sat on one of the mattresses, resting my elbows on my knees, “Vincent. Twenty-two hundred.”

“You knew?” Nicholas said frustrated in a causative tone as he eyed Folio.

“He needs the money Ruffilo,” Nick said annoyed, twirling the drumstick between his fingers.

“Yea, by robbing someone else, not Y/N.” Nicholas defended, “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you. Don’t you feel bad?”

Walk the line and pray to your master Ball and chain, a slave to disaster

Folio hit the bass drum again, avoiding the question.

“So you sold her meds after all?” Jolly nodded in contemplation. I couldn’t tell whether he approved or not.

“Replaced with vitamins so she doesn’t notice,” I mumbled, my head handing in shame.

Walk the line and pray to your master Ball and chain, a slave to disaster This is an omen, a warning, a lesson to take So listen to the words that I say

Jolly began picking at the strings, “what were the lyrics you sang the other day?” He asked.

My eyebrows pinched together, “What?”

“In the motel? Something something, I see through you,” He said, shaking his head, “Devil or God?”

“I see through you, I know what you are,” I said slowly, “I've seen the Devil more than I've seen God.”

Jolly hummed, strumming on the guitar, “Cover your ears and shut your eyes,”

I stared at him, eyes squinting in animosity. What was he doing?

“Because what I'm about to say is gonna ruin your night.”

I watched him as he strummed, and Folio began hitting a beat.

“You've dug your grave and you have no one but yourself to blame.”

Animosity shifted to anger, “What are you doing?”

“Songwriting,” Jolly shook his head at me.

“But by the way, I agree with Nicholas.”

+

Hours later Y/N came home between shifts, shuffling down the stairs in excitement once she heard music.

“What!” She exclaimed excitedly, looking at the setup we created, “You guys make music?”

She sat next to me on the mattress, crossing her legs as she watched with adoration. She turned to smile at me, and I gave her a curt grin before looking down.

Her smile was radiant, and the look of complete awe she gave me left me crumbling. What have I done?

Danger Caution Proceed Slowly I am one step away from losing my sanity

“We’ve always just dabbled,” Nicholas said excitedly as he set the bass down, “but we went to the thrift store to find some mattresses and found the drum set and amp.”

“Well,” Y/N looked at all of us, “If you’re looking to make money, I know Sammy’s is trying to find bands who are willing to play live music.”

“I wouldn’t consider us a band,” Jolly laughed, “But extra income that Noah could use? I’m down.”

“Could we do like covers n’ shit? We don’t exactly have any original songs,” Folio said.

Y/N nodded eagerly, “Oh yeah, I’m sure that's not an issue at all.”

“How much would we make?” Ruffilo asked.

“I think like three hundred to five hundred,” She shrugged, “But I can confirm at work tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” I piped up, still looking at the floor, “Do you have tonight off?”

“Yeah, it’s quite nice. I’m exhausted,” She laughed quietly.

She looked over at me now, and I did everything I could to fight her gaze- but I cracked, facing her. Her eyes bore into mine with yearning, my stomach clenching as she spoke.

“Want to watch a movie?” We didn’t watch a movie.

As we lay in her bed I held her head firmly in place, her lips wrapped around my desire, mouth sliding up and down. I watched her with lustful eyes as her hand held the rest of me, tongue swirling around the tip as she stroked.

Slipping Falling Closer to places that I should not be

“Get on your knees,” the command left me in a throaty plea.

I am one step away, annihilate everything

Y/N obliged and I stood up, gazing down at her with my eyes half-closed as she knelt before me, vulnerable and at my mercy. Her lips closed around me once more, her tongue caressing my skin with elegance and finesse. My hips instinctively began to move in rhythm with her mouth, thrusting gently as my hands tangled in her hair for support.

Desperate for more, I pulled her closer until she gagged on my body, unable to resist the urge to dominate her. She met my gaze through her long lashes, the intensity of our eye contact only adding to the pleasure coursing through me. With a sudden burst of passion, she pushed herself even closer before pulling away, leaving behind a trail of saliva on my skin. I was on the brink of climax just from watching her, and the smirk playing on her lips made it clear that she knew exactly how much control she had over me.

Walk the line and pray to your master (Embrace the disease) Ball and chain, a slave to disaster (Have I just been dreaming?)

“Fuck,” a breathy laugh left me as I looked down in awe with a lopsided grin.

“Such a good girl,” I pulled her closer to my pelvis as I hit the back of her throat and thrust forward.

She pulled away, smiling at my praise as she wrapped her fingers around me, rotating her wrist before sucking against my skin again, “Anything for you.” She closed her eyes again, but I needed her.

Have I just been dreaming?

“look at me, show me those pretty eyes while I fuck your mouth,” I demanded and her lashes flicked up towards me, my body shuddering as she stared into me with complete greed.

I observed her every move, heavy pants heaving from my chest as I groaned deeply, my body close to its release.

Walk the line and pray to your master Ball and chain, a slave to disaster

“Fuck,” my stomach clenched as my body began to twitch, her lips sucking harder as she took all of me.

This is an omen, a warning, a lesson to take So listen to the words that I say

I moaned as she slid down one more time and I gripped her hair, holding her still. I filled her tongue as threads of my release coated the back of her throat. The sight below me left my legs shaking as I pulled away, tucking her hair behind her ears, and rubbing my fingers underneath her chin in endearment.

What have I done?

“Good girls swallow,” I whispered and she moaned.

“Open,” I said, watching in complete reverence as she stuck out her tongue, showing me that she obeyed, drinking in all of me.

I leaned down towards her, pulling her chin up to kiss me as I melted into her lips, sighing with commitment.

What have I done?

Chapter 7

Tags: @crimson-calligraphyx @lma1986 @spicywhenspeaking @sammyjoeee @shilohrosechicken

@princessmarshmallowx @laurpartyprogram @cookiesupplier @nojoyontheburn @lacktoesandtoddlerant

@veronicaphoenix @er3nslovergirl @cncohshit @scrumptiousfestivalpost @melcchs

@flowery-mess @mentallynot-here @judging-from-afar @darkmxgician @badomensls

@hoe-for-daddywise @philomenie @xxkittenkissesxx @venturethroughtheveil @thefallennightmare

@blend-in-with-the-madness @reyadawn @deathblacksmoke @anameunmusical @sitkowski

@anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @amelia-acero @rumoured-whispers @artificialbreezy

[copperbadge]

[ID: Three images; top left, a spray bottle of clear liquid, labeled PRO SPRAY, sits on a gleaming cutting board; top right, Dearborn the tortie glares at the camera from the work desk's copilot basket. Bottom, a white rug with blue patterning in my hallway, surrounded at the edges by dark dustbunny-looking lumps.]

NaClYoHo Day Two! Pardon my grossness.

Yesterday afternoon I did the first of what is usually several trips to the hardware store; I bought spackle, gnat traps, and a PROFESSIONAL spray bottle. PRO SPRAY. It has an adjustable nozzle and measurement marks on the side, so I can dilute the vinegar pretty accurately. Last night I filled it up with vinegar water and laminated the kitchen, and this morning found and killed several weevils it drove out of hiding. It's sitting on the wooden cutting board because I had taken ALL the cleaning supplies out from under the sink and was reminded I should oil my cutting board with some Walrus Oil.

Dearborn is very skeptical about this morning's activity: carpet cleaning.

I threw on an episode of A Date With Dateline, popped in my earbuds, took down my Tineco One X vac and vacuumed for the first time in Slightly Too Long. I didn't get all the way through the house because I was running it on high which drains the battery, but usually vacuuming is a multi-day process. For what I paid for the Tineco I could have a high-end corded vac that does a better job, but I know that I won't use corded vacs because I hate the cord, so I'm okay vacuuming more often with the cordless. In any case, I hit the rugs because the next step was to break out the Hoover Powerdash Pet carpet cleaner and figure out how to use it.

I know I'm dropping a lot of brand names but just because I usually get asked; I don't make money from affiliate links or anything.

Anyway, the Powerdash came to me secondhand from friends who were moving, and for a long time it sat in my hallway in its plastic wrapping because I was intimidated by it. We never had one growing up and I've never really seen one in use. But it turned out that it was super easy to use, you just add water and cleaner to the tank and go; you go over the rug once with the trigger down, to spread water/cleaner, then a second time without the trigger to rinse/dry. I only hit about half of the rugs in my home, just to see how it went, and then stopped because they all seemed to remain very wet after cleaning. (They've since pretty much dried and I'm assured by the internet that's normal.)

The white patterned carpet above is the cats' favorite place to roll around and shed on, and as you can see, those dark dustbunny looking things around the carpet? That's cat hair and other dirt the cleaner pulled up. Gross but visibly effective.

I got a slightly late start so I had myself on a hard time limit; I started at 7, finished up at 8, and still had half an hour left on A Date With Dateline (they sometimes run a bit long). The cleaning solution definitely adds a certain chemical smell to the air, so I'm running the HVAC's fan and I've added "scented candle or incense" to the shopping list. Which I wanted to do anyway; some people always have such nice smelling houses and scent never seems to stick around in mine, but I've never gone hardcore on Making This Place Smell Nice. (Yes, I promise to be careful about what scents I use, I know diffused scents can harm cats.)

Disposable nitrile glove count: Still just 1!

Hardware store trips: 1.....so far.

[simstorian-blog]

Rio Verde – Wedding Venue

(CC List + Links)

World Map: Oasis Springs

Area: Skyward Palms

Lot Size:  40 x 30

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Used

City Living

Cottage Living

Dine Out

Discover University

For Rent

Get Famous

Get Together

Growing Together

My Wedding Stories

Snowy Escape

Spa Day

Strangerville

Vintage Glamour Stuff Pack

Build Mode

Anachrosims – Murals Wallpaper Pt 1

Felixandre – Colonial Pt. 3 (Tiles)

Felixandre – Paris Pt. 3 (Boiserie Door Single)

Felixandre – SOHO Pt. 1 (Single Sink, Toilet + Toilet Remote, Travertine Floor, Wide Mirror)

Harlix – Harluxe (Shutter Window – Open)

Harlix – Tiny Twavellers (Plain Wall)

Harrie – Brownstone Pt. 2 (Arch Medium)

Harrie – Coastal Pt. 1 (Doors)

Harrie – Klean Pt. 2

Pierisim – Tilable (Plaster)

SimPlistic – Elegant Wallpaper Peacock

SimPlistic – Vintage Country Wallpaper

Buy Mode

13Pumpkin – Golf Cart

BlueTeas – Heron Office (Ceiling Lamps)

BlueTeas – Milano Lounge Chair

CowBuild – Urban Rug

Felixandre – Colonial Pt. 3 (Plant)

Felixandre – Florence Pt. 1 (Piano)

Felixandre – Grove Pt. 2 (Stacked Bowls, Stacked Plates)

Felixandre – Shop the Look 2 (Vanity)

Harlix – Bafroom (Wall Mirror Small)

Harlix – Baysic (Bedding w Blanket, Mirror in Stand, Packs Wardrobe, Short Dining Table)

Harlix – Baysic Bathroom (Modern Flush, Modern Wipe, Towel Clutter, Sink, Shower, Shower Wall)

Harlix – Kichen (Glasses, Olive Oil)

Harlix – Livin’ Rum (Coffee Table)

Harrie – Coastal Pt. 7 (Leaning Mirror)

Harrie – Halcyon (Kitchen Counter)

Harrie – Octave Pt. 4 (Double Light Switch)

Harrie – Shop the Look 2 Ceramic Side Table)

Joyce – Simple Live #5 (Bathrobe, Shower Gel)

KHD – Contemporary Sofa

Kta – Abstract Prints 3 (Mesh Needed)

Kta – Abstract Prints 4 (Mesh Needed)

LedgerAtelier – Stoneleigh Pt. 2 (Faux Wall with Porthole S, Porthole Window S)

Max20 – Ever After (Sign of Attention, Table)

Peacemaker – Hinterlands Living (Fringed Pouffe)

Peacemaker – Kassova Sectional

Pierisim – Calderone (Bedframe)

Pierisim – Domaine Du Clos Pt. 2 (Account Book)

Pierisim – Domaine Du Clos Pt. 3 (Curtains, Suitcases)

Pierisim – MCM Pt. 3 (Narrow Rug)

Ravasheen – Mini Fridge

Ravasheen – Invisible Dance Floor

Ravasheen – Lentil Things (Host Station)

SixamCC – Life in Plastic (Bar, Dining Oasis, Stool, Vanity Chair)

Sundays – Kediri Pt. 1 (Throw Pillow Solids)

TaurusDesign – Lilith Chilling Areas Pt. 1 (Sul Sul Sign)

Tuds – Cave (Panel Lights)

Tuds – Ind 02 (Décor Bottles, Wine Rack)

Tuds – Ind 03

Tuds – NCTR (Fridge, Tray w Cheese)

Winner9 – Yokeda Wall Lamp Triple

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN. 

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: DOWNLOAD

[soullessdianthus]

Could you make something with a reader having a stupid habit of flirting without noticing that they did and one day they moaned into bo's ear as a joke and could it have end up in smut

Author's note: Happy Valentine's Day! I hope you like it! ^u^ I'm sorry for the short length, to be honest I struggled lately to do literally anything, so haha

Warnings: smutty smut (praising, dirty talk?, sprinkles of mommy kink, save a horse, ride a cowboy yeehaw)

Word count: 1.7k

Summer heat was getting unbearable in the southern towns like Ambrose. Steamy air bouncing off the asphalt, burning wanderer’s feet through the layer of soles. Nonetheless, you valiantly made your way down the main road with a plastic package in your hands. 

You took a walk in a pastel sundress Bo had bought you some time ago. But only now was the right weather to wear it. 

The garage doors were elevated and his truck stood halfway in the workshop. Dark haired man was leaning above the opened mask of the vehicle as he wiped out oiled hands in a rug, hanging from his pocket. 

━ What on Earth are you doin’ outside during heat like that, doll? ━ He said surprised by your appearance at the gas station. You rarely visited him here. 

━ Lester told me, you’re staying in town today, so I’ve brought you some lunch.

━ Ain’tcha the cutest, huh? 

You placed the package with food on the metal counter and came closer to the mechanic, who looked at you from head to toe. His eyes often revealed many of his secrets, this time was no different. But somehow his specific, steamy thoughts slid past you.

In a delicate manner, almost briefly, your fingertips brushed the exposed flesh  of his biceps, as he was wearing a sleeveless undershirt that day.

Your hand shot up to touch him instinctively, didn’t think much about it - just a sign of affection. Almost like you forgot what a slightest touch does to him. This man was always horny.

━ Don’t overwork yourself, handsome. See you at the house.

And with a simple kiss on his clean shaven cheek you said your goodbyes, turned around on your heels and started to walk away. But for the rest of the sunny day his thoughts were occupied by the beautiful sighting of a woman in a skimpy dress he bought.

When the evening had finally come, bringing some solace from the scorching heat, so did Bo Sinclair returned home. You two ate dinner together and he even helped you clean the plates afterwards. 

The house on the hill was fully at your disposal, as Vincent preferred to stay at his workshop and the youngest brother went on a road trip. Whatever that meant. 

Bo sat down with a loud huff on a couch, a glass bottle of beer in his right hand. He was still wearing his coveralls he worked in, but the upper part was unbuttoned and tied up around his waist.

When you were done in the kitchen, you slowly walked up to the sofa and sat beside your boyfriend. One of Bo’s arms was lying on the backrest of the furniture, so you leaned into his shoulder searching for some affection. 

━ Could ya pass the remote, darlin’? ━ He asked kindly, before you settled in his arms. 

Quickly, but nicely you stood up from the cushions. Then while bending over to reach the pilot from the coffee table, the loud smack on your ass interrupted and made you whimper. You quickly straightened up and pulled the hem of the dress down.

━ Bo! 

━ What? Didn’t you do that on purpose? ━ He laughed in a flirty manner, after taking a sip from the bottle. Your face was flushed with blush, just like the place where he spanked you. 

━ What on Earth are you talking about? ━ You formed a question, sitting back at the spot you left a moment ago. He took the remote out of your hand and turned on the TV. 

━ Teasin’ me in that lil dress of yours, no? I could see your panties. Fuck, I could see everything. 

━ Then don’t look.

━ Don’t look? You fuckin’ wanted me to ━ with his free hand, Bo harshly grabbed the side of your exposed thigh. ━ After you showed up at gas station, barely wearing anything, I couldn’t focus on my truck anymore. And the noise you just made? Fuck, you’re a nasty thing. 

You leaned as close as you could to his ear and with a cheeky smirk on your lips, you whispered.

━ What sound? Like this?

A sensational, short and almost quiet moan escaped your parted lips, as you slightly grinded against his side. The first one was intentional, the second was just an accident. 

━ Oh, eager ain’tcha? ━ Bo very swiftly peeled off the couch and put the beer on the coffee table in front of him. Then he sat comfortably, spreading his legs apart. ━ Come, sit on my lap, darlin’. 

━ I was just joking.

━ I’m serious. Sit ━ he ordered strongly, patting on his toned thigh ━ sit and find out how worked up you made me. And take off your underwear, honey. 

Bo’s demanding tone made you weak in the knees. For a moment you were thinking about the situation you got yourself into - either Vincent or Lester could be back anytime, technically. But from the autopsy you knew, it’s not likely to happen. They all liked to spend some time alone.

Slowly you slid the panties down your legs, letting them fall onto the carpet. Bo’s trousers already formed a shape of tent near his crotch. Clumsily you straddled his lap, while his hands guided your hips down. 

━ See? Told ya, doll. 

He said, while you tried to ignore his member pressing into your thigh. 

━ Bo, I was only joking, really. Didn’t mean to-

━ No? Well, now ya have to take care of it, huh? You did this. 

Biting slightly on your lower lip you grinded against him a few painfully slow times. He let out a few muffled groans, digging his fingers into your skin through the material of the dress.

Bo pressed his lips against yours, stealing your breath. He was greedy and eager to taste you. The scent of yours mixed with the flavor of strawberry sorbet, sparkling champagne on his tongue. Oh, his sweet girl. 

The man unzipped his coveralls further and yanked them down to the half of his thigh. Beauregard’s actions became careless, mind focusing on one thing in particular - you. 

You lifted your hips from his body and helped him with lowering the boxers. Your fingers entangled around his shaft and began the sensational, gentle movements up and down the length. You leaned in the way that his hard cock was pressed against your stomach and your breasts almost spilled out of the dress’ cups - right into his face. 

━ I’m not sure if it’s gonna fit, sweet boy. You’re so- so big. ━ You whined into his face, thumb smearing the glossy liquid on his flushed tip. Bo tried with all of his strength to stay patient, but just couldn’t. He placed a soft kiss on your neck, before he spoke again. 

━ C’mon, mama, take it. 

You obediently guided his shaft between your wet folds, covered in arousal. And when it was positioned at your entrance, Bo’s hands found themselves in a strong grip again on your hips, making you take him entirely in a pace he wanted to. 

And that day he wasn’t patient especially, because he believed you teased him intentionally. Bo made you take him at once, forcing your mouth open and a set of pitch, short noises left your swollen lips.  

He pressed your hips all the way down until you sank on his plush thighs. You breathed heavily for a moment, before you got accustomed to his pulsating cock stretching your aching pussy.

━ That’s a good girl ━ blue eyed man lowered the cups of the sundress that they dug into the ribs, forcing each breasts out. Bo placed wet, sucking kisses on each one of them, leaving a trail of hickeys behind. 

And when you finally got comfortable, you climbed onto the heels of yours and began to roll your hips in a slow rhythm. At first, the movements were a long type of sway, well-thought-out all the way. 

But when Bo took a fist full of your loose hair and forced your neck into an angle that your spine arched - you couldn’t think straight anymore. 

Your tits bounced in a clumsy rhythm, while you were riding your lover boy. Sinclair lowered himself on the couch, comfortably resting his head on the backrest of the sofa. 

━ Bo, you must be so tired after work, huh? Oh, darling, let me help you. 

Your hands were propped against his chest, helping you to stay in division. As your mind was to cock-drunk to be thinking straight. 

Bo began to pump his hips upwards, when he began chasing his own release. Your mouth watered with a fresh portion of saliva, when the pornographic sounds of yours became louder. You were close too. 

Then he came back to the sitting position and entangled both of his arms around your waist, bringing you closer to him. Blue eyed mechanic kept his face buried into your neck. You could feel his heavy breath on your skin and the smell of his, which you adored so deeply. 

━ My sweet girl, takin’ such a good care of me. ━ Bo praised you between his groans, while his fingers began to circle your lower back. ━ Christ ━ he hissed through his teeth ━ I love you so much. 

━ I love too, Bo. 

With a couple more rolls of your hips, Bo reached his high and filled your needy cunt with his cum. You didn’t need much more invitations from him to climax too. You sank deeper on top of him and swayed a few, rough times. The pleasant warmth filled your body, a tickling sensation spreading through the lower abdomen. Sinclair trembled beneath you, still holding you secure in his grasp. 

Your hand slipped between your bodies and fixed the cups of the dress. Its hem sank over your thighs, covering all the private parts of you both.

When your lover rested his head upon your chest, your hands began to stroke his messy, dark hair in a comforting manner. His curls, you loved them. 

━ No more teasin’, alright? ━ Bo said after a moment of silence, collecting himself from his high. ━ I seriously couldn’t focus on that damn car.