#Plastic Dinner Plates

[poshsetting]

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[rosemaryhoney27]

DPxDC Prompt

Danny looks down at the massive table full of food. He then looks up at the woman that he had saved from a mugging, then back at the food.

When she said she was going to treat him to a meal for saving her he had expected maybe a burger from some fast food joint not a full thanks giving dinner in May.

"Eat up young man your much to skinny"

Danny's eyes widen "you cant honestly expect me to eat all of this by myself?"

The woman laughs "Of course not My son and grandsons are coming over as well"

Danny nods and starts putting food on his plate amazed at the fact that none of it is attacking him. Just as he is about to eat the door opens and in walks ...

"Oh shit its Superman!!"

The three that had just entered froze at Danny's exclmation while Danny was hit on the head with a rolled up newspaper "Language youngman!!"

Clark clear his throat "Um I think you must be mistaken My name is clark Kent"

Danny gives clark an unempresed look "Uh huh Sure dude. Do I look stupid to you?"

Clark frowns "No but "

"But nothing I've seen Superman before and you are definitely Superman what did you think putting on a pair of glasses was enough to hid your identity "

Clark blushed

Danny seeing the embarrased look on Clarks face laughs "Seriously man its not plastic surgery its glasses you still have the same face same eyes same body build"

Clark gave out a sigh there was really no point in hiding any more that and Kon and Jon were laughing behind him "No one has caught on so quickly before"

Danny shakes his head "That says less about you and more about the obliviousness of the human race

Clark chuckles and sits at the table "so outside of revealing my identity what are you doing here?"

Ma Kent smiles "Say hello to your new baby brother clark "

Danny and Clark both freeze "WHAT!!??

[jollychefusa]

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[neoheros]

the miya household is always the go-to household for all kinds of celebrations alike. you name it: birthdays, anniversaries, friday night dinners – check, check, check.

atsumu has always grown up in a home where his mom would host the parties for all her grown-up friends, and he’d always be the type of teenager to hide away in his room until the last of the guests finally leave.

it was a silly thing to do looking back on it now, but that was the old miya household.

in the new miya household (population: you and your husband), the two of you can’t just hide away in your broom closet until the last of the guests leave — it is your apartment after all.

at first, it was the big things: msby jackal’s celebration of their first tournament win (where hinata broke a window because he claims bokuto pushed him into it) or akaashi’s job promotion party (where the champagne bottle was so unfortunately aimed that when the corkscrew came flying, it hit the other non-broken window).

two broken windows later, it eventually died down to the little things: small get-togethers, a friend too intoxicated to drive needing a place to stay, or one of your favorites: friday night dinners.

“we’re home!”

there’s the sound of shuffling keys and shoes being taken off at the doorway, rustling of brown paper bags and footsteps.

you pop your head out from the kitchen and it isn’t a surprise at all to you when you see all four of your best friends (one being your husband) standing by your door way, all adorned with cheeky smiles and chinese takeout.

you call to them, “coats here, everybody!”

hinata goes over to you first, still as sweet as ever, and gives you a tight embrace (the same one he gives you every friday night), and you take his coat with a light smile on your face.

bokuto gives you his coat next, paired with an embrace of his own, your smile widens as you immediately recognize the coat you bought him for christmas last year, well and taken care of.

sakusa isn’t wearing a coat or a jacket tonight but still, he approaches you next to the coat stand anyway, and he embraces you just for seeing you again tonight, saying “thank you for having us”.

when you married atsumu, you didn’t realize you weren’t only marrying into his family, but his friends as well.

“you guys just missed samu, he dropped by for a weekly restock.” you tell them, pointing to the plastic bag on the table filled to the brim with the onigiri you’ve learned to love so much.

shoyo plops down on his usual spot on the sofa, “man, i wish onigiri miya personally delivered to my house too.”

“not to mention free of charge.” you add – proud.

he sinks deeper into his seat, “that’s just not fair.”

you seat farthest from tv, on the edge of the table and by the armrest, a seat empty next to yours as you wait for your husband.

“sorry sho,” you shrug, not sorry at all, smug smile on your face and you say, “it’s simply the perks of having the owner of onigiri miya as your brother.”

“that is such a lie.” atsumu rolls his eyes, and he takes his assigned seat next to you, hand immediately finding yours once he gets close enough. “i am also his brother — twin, even! — and i do not get half as much the perks you get.”

“well.” sakusa sits across from you, “i can understand that.”

and bokuto, in between sakusa and hinata, nods, “yep.”

“i can’t believe i’m getting bullied in my own damn home.” atsumu grumbles, and he stabs his broccoli on his plate with a fork.

you tease him, “you can’t?”

the rest of the evening feels warm. the windows are open to let in the fresh air of the streets of japan, the hustling and bustling of the bypassers outside your apartment building easily drowned out by the warm conversation shared in the warm flat.

( “no more hoisin sauce?” bokuto asks, digging around the stack of empty paperbags, fork in his mouth as he talks.

sakusa replies, barely looking up from the movie on the tv set, “sorry, finished it.”

and bokuto says, casually, “i’ll bring some over tomorrow. you guys need a restock anyway.” )

the five of you, sat down on the living room in front of the television, sharing mindlessly stories about your day, laughter and insults and compliments shared as food is passed around.

atsumu takes the red peppers from your dish as you laugh at something hinata says, he remembers - always - red peppers make you sneeze, so it goes unsaid that he takes them.

he does this so often that sometimes he doesn’t even realize it. he does this so often that he’s probably done it over a hundred times by now — like it’s part of him, like a habit.

you take some of your chow mein and place it on his plate, he doesn’t ask you for any, but you give him some anyway. you don’t even look at him as you do so, like it’s completely second nature for your hand to give him some of his favorite noodles and you don’t even have to think about it — like it’s part of you, like a habit.

“so, what time’s the game tomorrow?” you ask, and suddenly he’s out of his thoughts and back on the living room couch.

hinata looks to you, excited, “are you coming? it’s been so long since you last came to watch us.”

“well, depends on the time,” you tell them, “i’ve got a study group tomorrow in the morning.”

“study group?”

“i know right,” your shoulders fall, “our gen chem professor had us divided into study groups so we could easily catch up on her lessons.”

atsumu shrugs, “so? ditch ‘em.”

“i wish.” you sigh, “they’re the kind of people i just know wouldn’t have let me sit with them at the lunch table in high school.”

“oh, i know those people.” shoyo shakes his head, “had those people everywhere i went in junior high.”

you look at atsumu, “but you probably could have sat with them, you’ve got an aura like that — like you could be cool — but you’re not.”

that makes him roll his eyes, “who’s not cool? i am the coolest one in this table — and for yer information, i wouldn’t sit at any table ya weren’t welcome at.”

(sakusa nods at you, and bokuto says, “same here!” and hinata says, “me too!”)

“matter of fact,” you husband, offended at your doubt for him, continues, “i would flip that goddamn table.”

(and sakusa nods again, and bokuto says, “yup!” and hinata says, “definitely!)

your face feels warm, and you feel stupid for even bringing it up.

“you guys are silly.” you’re not as loud as earlier, but still, you say, “thanks.” and you bite back a smile.

“so…” shoyo grins at you, “ditch ‘em?”

“ditch ‘em!” bokuto repeats.

and for a second all of you look at sakusa, his turn to speak apparently, and he sighs, defeated, shoulders falling and he relents, and says, “fine. ditch ‘em.”

the three other guys cheer loudly and you roll your eyes.

“well, that makes four of us.” atsumu tells you, proud, “you’re outnumbered, honey.”

“fine.” you’re defeated, “i’ll ditch ‘em and come watch you guys play.” and the table erupts in cheers again, and you feel your heart become so full.

atsumu kisses your cheek and you swat him away.

“i’ll text natsu that you’re coming, she’s been pestering me over and over again when you’ll come next,” shoyo tells you, bright smile on his face.

bokuto nods, “i gotta tell akaashi too, maybe we can get everyone there like a reunion or something!”

and this makes you laugh, because, “you guys are acting like i haven’t come to watch you guys play in forever.”

and sakusa tells you, “it has been forever.”

“well, i guess a reunion or something would be kinda nice? we can have everyone come back here, bring out a few drinks.” you think out loud, relenting to the pleas of your oldest friends, and you can’t hold back a smile even if you wanted to.

“if anyone breaks a goddamn window in my home, everyone is getting charged the repair bill.”

the night ends quicker than you want it to, suddenly it’s 10 pm and the warm night starts to get colder.

“thank you for dinner, miyas.” bokuto tells you, grinning ear to ear as you walk him to the doorway, a barrage of shoes laid out on the floor, reminding you what a full house you have tonight.

you hand him his coat and his hat, and he embraces you tightly, one that you will never not return.

hinata comes up to you next, “thank you for dinner and please please please come tomorrow.”

“yes sho, i will be there.” you tell him lightly, and he embraces you as well (the same one he gives you every friday night).

the last to come up to you is sakusa, his hands already in his pockets, eyes tired and all. he doesn’t have a coat or a jacket, but he comes up to you anyway.

“thank you for having us.” he tells you, like he always does, and he gives you a short kiss on your right temple, like he always does, “it’s good to see you.”

you pat his arm, “you say that every friday night, omi.”

“what? no kiss for me?” atsumu calls from the side, arms crossed over his chest.

and sakusa replies, eyes narrowing, “never.”

(they have this conversation every single friday night.)

and just like that, all three of your guests for the night have left, leaving behind only two pairs of shoes left by the doorway — yours and your husband’s.

atsumu makes his way to you, his arms finding your waist immediately as he pulls you into his embrace, hugging you like it’s all he’s ever done correctly.

the apartment is quiet now with just you and him, and he loves this as much as he loves you.

“finally,” he tells you, smiling wantonly, “just us two.”

you smile back at him, “we have so many kids.”

and he nods, “even more tomorrow.”

your apartment, your home, it isn’t anything impressive, really. it’s not big or expensive or fancy, but for some reason, it’s always been the go-to place for everyone to have drinks at, for dinners to be shared, for windows to be broken.

“you really okay with that? the reunion thing here?” your husband asks you, his tone gentle, “its okay if you’re not, we can just cancel on ‘em. have the night to ourselves.”

you raise a brow, teasing, “and do what exactly?”

atsumu gives you a knowing grin, “i’ve got a list in mind.”

you laugh, “i bet you do.”

he comes closer to your face, “i can cross one off on it right now.”

and he kisses you then, the same way he does every single day of his life, the same way he plans to for a million years more.

you feel his smile melting into his kisses.

then he pulls away, smiling at you, voice gentle, cheeks pink, and heart full, “thank you for dinner, miya.”

you laugh again, and with the same amount of gentleness, you say back, “thank you for dinner, miya.”

atsumu knows you could never be unloved by him — you are too tangled in his mind, in his soul that you might as well take his heart entirely — it’s already full of you anyway, it has been since the day he’s met you.

“and no, we are not cancelling on them.” you tell him, pulling away, “i miss our friends and i know you do too.”

he tells you, “fine.” and he pulls you back in, nose close to yours, wide grin on his face as he takes you.

he wants to kiss you again, but to be fair, he wants to do that all of the time.

you give him a smile, “i’ll let you cross another thing off that list of yours if you do the dishes.”

and he groans, “you know omi already did them.”

“man, we have got to get lazier friends.”

“well, we can always call that study group of yours.”

(the two of you say friends, but it feels a whole lot more like family.)

together you and atsumu create a home filled with flowers, kindness, cozy pillows, and loud music. in your halls there is rest, good sex, good sleep, books, and dancing. there is space to be you, there is space to be him, there is space to be be the two of you, and there is love, there is love, there is love.

[enwoso]

it’s champion, actually. | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

-> based on this request😋

grumpy masterlist

it had been six days since arsenal won the champions league. six days since a red sea of celebration flooded the streets of lisbon.

six days since alessia collapsed on the pitch, sobbing into the turf with a gold medal around her neck and champagne in her hair. and six days since you had decided that you, not alessia, had won the whole damn thing.

because you had been there. in full kit. cheering in the stands with your grandparents and uncle gio. wearing the mini version of the jersey with "russo 23" across your back and your little plastic medal handed out by arsenal's travel support staff.

it was now dinner time at st. george's park — the first england camp since the win — and the lionesses were gathered in the players' dining room. the table was buzzing with laughter, and the smell of pasta and roast potatoes hung in the air.

ella leaned out into the hallway and shouted: "tiny! your pasta is done!"

no answer.

ella tried again. "ti—nnyyy!"

still nothing.

a few of the girls glanced up, eyebrows raised. alessia didn't even look up from her tray of grilled salmon, knowing you'd have some elaborate excuse as to why you didn't come the first time. trust alessia had heard them all at home. instead she just waited.

and then, like clockwork, the voice came from the hallway, loud and proud:"auntie ella! it's champion, actually."

georgia nearly choked on her orange squash. "no way she's still doing that."

"oh, she's not dropping it," alessia muttered, stabbing a green bean with unnecessary force. "you lot hyped her up too much, i had to sit and explain to my mum for thirty minutes why lovie wasn't responding to her on the phone."

"i mean, we did let her pour sparkling water into the trophy," beth smirked.

"and let her do a fake medal presentation in the team hotel lobby when you all decided to finally join us," keira added, already grinning as you strutted into the dining room in full arsenal kit — again.

red and white jersey. little shorts. socks pulled up to your knees. champions league medal (plastic) glinting proudly around your neck.

and a new addition: a homemade sash made from paper that you'd spent all afternoon glueing together that read 'uefa royalty' in squiggly pink marker.

"champion has arrived," you announced, head held high as you clambered onto the bench between your mama and beth. "where's my pasta, commoners?"

the room erupted with laughter. even alessia cracked a reluctant smile as she stood up, plate in hand. before remembering she was actually supposed to be the responsible adult, “hey, lovie that’s not kind to call people that” alessia said calmly but firmly as she sat across the table from you.

you frowned slightly before mumbling, “sorry mummy.”

but the girls still laughed, beth gave you a proud high-five. "queen behaviour. i respect it."

"no. it not queen," you said firmly. "champion. c'mon beffy respect on it."

georgia leaned over. "what if i you champiny?”

you turned your head slightly, sharp look on your face. “only if you want to sit on the floor auntie g."

leah was dabbing at her eyes stopping the laughing tears from falling from her eyes. "i love her. she’s terrifyingly funny.”

alessia finally walked over and sat beside you and gave you a look. the mum look. “okay, lil champ.”

you turned slowly. "muuummmmy” you dragged out pulling your hands down your face. “its champion!”

alessia sighed giving you the look once again. "lovie, baby... you know i love you so dearly much.”

"yes."

"and i deeply love and appreciate that you're proud of me, your mama and the rest of the team, of arsenal. of the win. of everything for that matter. i know you have a big heart.” alessia smiled reassuringly trying her best to find the right words as she placed a hand on your knee.

"prouder than the sun," you said with a hand to her chest, placing it right across the arsenal badge. "my heart did fireworks."

a few awws echoed from the table, as leah wishes she had a got a video of you tapping the arsenal badge just for a keepsake.

"but," alessia continued, "we can't keep calling you champion forever."

you blinked, like you were being told the worse possible news, almost as bad as being told the slide at the park wasn’t in use because it was wet from the rain.

"but i earned it." you said, looking at your mummy with your big blue eyes. alessia’s heart kinda breaking a little as she felt awful, but knowing you. you would have dragged it out for weeks if she didn’t help to deflate it a little.

"you watched from the stands."

"hey! i stood for the anthem!"

alessia pinched the bridge of her nose, knowing this was going to happen. "lovie..."

"champion."

"okay, okay, lil champ. its been six days. maybe, just maybe, we can start using your real name again?"

you thought for a moment, fork hovering above your mini pasta bowl, it getting colder as the minutes passed. “i guess you can but i have two things," you declared, lifting a single finger.

alessia braced herself.

"one, i want to be nicknamed champion til the next final - just in case you need me again!”

beth murmured, with holding her laughter, "kiddo’s got a one-year contract with glory."

"two," you went on, "if new people come, i want to be called properly during seein’ them for the first time.” you smile as alessia goes to open her mouth, “mummy, that’s good manners!”

ella snorted into her drink, knowing exactly the thought process going through her best friends head right now.

"and three—"

"you said there were only two?" alessia interrupted, as your brows furrowed slightly as if you forgot you had just said that.

"i just think of this other one," you said breezily. "i get first pick of dessert cause winners do."

"you don't even play for arsenal," alessia said, exasperated knowing you were just in your wind up mood, your cheekiness starting to show.

you just shrugged and pointed at the medal. "then how do you explain this, mother?"

the table absolutely lost it. alessia leaned her head against the table, groaning dramatically. “le your on bedtime duty tonight! i need a glass of rosé.”

leah chuckling beside her as she rubbed a hand over her back, before whispering, “your wish is my command, love”

ella, georgia, and keira started a slow chant:

"CHAM-PION! CHAM-PION! CHAM-PION!"

you stood on the bench and raised your arms like rocky as beth held your side just in case of falling, as after all you were alessia’s daughter and it was possible to fall over dust.

alessia lifted her head just enough to see you soaking it all in, glowing with pride. alessia reached up, tugged the medal gently. “you do know that's plastic, you little menace?"

you didn't even blink. “so is the crown at the tower of london. doesn’t mean it's not important."

everyone stared. leah turned back to alessia whispering , "i don't think that's true, but i ain’t gonna fight her on it."

alessia just shook her head. "i’m raising a a little menace."

beth grinned knocking alessia’s shoulder teasingly. "i think you mean a little champion.”

[blazonofficial]

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[katsukikitten]

Togame Jo has always been in the back of your mind and maybe that's why you accidentally text him instead of your best friend, otherwise why else would he show up to your house so late in the evening? inspired by @kingkatsuki adding onto a general "diary entry" to my blog .

A good finger fucking until I cry would fix me

A random thought you text to your friend before you toss your phone on your nightstand, groaning into your pillow with disgust over how horny you were over nothing at all.

It was just ovulation week of course, leaving you weepy and wet at your lashes and between your thighs. Dolphin shorts riding up as you reach for a shirt on the ground that you've stolen from your crush. The last time you'd seen him you'd gotten caught in the rain coincidentally near his apartment and so he invited you in until the storm passed, your clothes dried and neatly folded placed into a bag as he walked you to the train stop while you wore his shirt and sweats. You promised you'd return it nice and clean.

You both knew that was a lie.

Dressing quickly so you could finish cleaning up your apartment before dinner, take out on its way in about a half an hour and you needed to find your cash stash to tip the poor man when he got here.

Washing dishes, taking out trash, sweeping and even picking up your living room that was neglected through the week all before the doorbell rings.

Smiling as you go to open the door, ten in your hand, as you hum happily thinking about your favorite oversized meal. Except when you swing the door open the delivery man isn't there.

It's Togame, your crush.

He stands tall even as he hunches a little. Plastic bag of your delivery on the wrist of the hand in his pocket while the other idly scrolls his phone. Yours pings, the delivery driver sending a picture of the hand off, to Togame, and kind message thanking you for the large tip.

He looks up at you, just over the rim of his circular glasses that sit on the edge of his nose.

"Ya always answer the door like that, sweetheart?" He asks locking his phone as he looks you up and down, deep emerald gaze noticing his old band shirt that swallows your body. He isn't sure you're wearing anything underneath, he smiles and runs his hand through his hair to his undercut before he's pushing his way past you. Entering your apartment as if it were second nature and not his first time here.

Stopping in the genkan to shove off his geta that match his dark cotton samue paired with his flashy Shishitoren letterman jacket. Walking to the living room to set down the takeout on the kotatsu before the rummages through your cabinets for plates.

"Togame?"

"Yea?"

"What are you doing here?" With how comfortable he makes himself in your home, you almost forgot you barely know him and that you're dressed in a shirt you never returned, pulling down the hem a bit more since your shorts hardly cover your ass.

"M here to 'fix ya.'" He tilts his head at you, wondering why you're lingering by your entry way, "Like ya asked."

"Like I asked?" A cold sweat breaks out over your skin, prickling at the nape of your neck.

"Yea, wouldn't want you texting anyone else your problems sweetheart. Least not ones like that." He sets the two plates and two sets of utensils down on the counter while he opens the fridge. Delighted to find a beer bottle that he opens with his teeth, before bringing one of the glass bottles to his lips for a sip. Grabbing for the plates and returning to the living room to settle in. Tossing his glasses and jacket onto your bed that lies a few feet from the kotatsu looking over his shoulder while he makes your plate.

"Ya coming?"

"Togame...I-" You let out a shaky breath, there's no way you texted the wrong person. You texted your friend your born again virgin woes, right?

Right??!!!

"Shy now?" He chuckles, pulling out his phone, holding it up so you can see the message that he received and sure enough it reads, a good finger fucking would fix me.

"THAT-" You bap at his phone knocking it from his hands as if that could make him unsee it, make him forget all about your lewd request, "That was NOT meant for you."

"Oh?" His jade eyes are cat like, narrowing for a moment in an emotion you can't place, "Who was it meant for? Surely not someone from Bofurin."

He takes another swig from his bottle, long fingers around the neck that he tightens over the thought. He knew no one from Bofurin could please you the way Togame knew he could, especially not that one with headphones and suckers.

Togame would much rather you be sweet on Sako, least then he was a Shishitoren.

"It was meant for a friend! It was like- like a joke between girls." Your confession shouldn't make his cock twitch in his pants, he palms at it and doesn't bother to be subtle.

"Girls always talk so lewdly to each other?" Silence stretches on between you two before he cracks a devilish smile, patting at the spot next to him, "Come on, gotta get some food in ya."

With your heart beating on your ribcage you slowly sink down next to Togame, who puts on a movie the two of you would enjoy while you eat your meal. Splitting with him what was supposed to be your dinner tonight and lunch tomorrow.

It's comfortable, the silence and occasional comments on the flick takes some odd plot twist and for a moment you forget why exactly he showed up at your door.

Right up until the credits, where you try to rise with a "welp" as if to show him away.

But Togame wasn't going anywhere, crowding your space with little effort and it's only now you realize you practically sat on top of him. He didn't let you get up and there's no way you can escape now as his mouth hovers so closely to yours.

"Now," he purrs, hand moving to cup your mouth, long fingers digging into the fabric to touch your already wet hole, "lemme help you with your problem."

Roughly pressing his fingers into your cunt and swiping up to your clit in slow strokes and it makes you gasp. Fisting the navy blue fabric of his samue when he presses his mouth to yours. Kissing you with a mixture of rough and soft that leaves you a little dizzy. Domineering in a way you'd forgotten you liked, gasping against his mouth giving him entrance for his tongue to slip in. Slow swipes as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss even more all while he keeps that slow rough drag of his finger tips. Until he hears the squelch of your cunt and feels your arousal soaking through your shorts only then does he pull away as you whine.

Hooking his fingers into the waist band of your shorts and yanking them down and off of your ankles, pushing you to lean back against your bed frame as he crowds further. Palm on your pretty mound as his fingers repeat the same action, catching on your entrance that starts to flutter with each circle of your clit back down to your perineum. He watches your face, watches your hips twitch as you arch your back for him, your hands fisting the hem of the fabric at your waist.

Togame brings his free hand to shove his shirt over the mounds of your breasts, exposing your already hard nipples to the cool air of your apartment. Leaning over to lick a broad stripe making you clench around nothing as a shiver runs down your spine. He does it a few more times before he's pulling your nipple into his mouth. Shoving his two thick fingers into your tight cunt with enough force it makes your tits bounce and you moan loudly.

Swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud before flicking it in time with his thumb that now circles your clit. Adjusting his hands so that his fingers can touch that sweet spot and his thumb can rock against your clit with each thrust of his hand.

In just a few short strokes you're starting to see stars.

"Oh fuck oh fuck. Togame, fuck ahh." You sound better than what he's imagined when he fisted his cock to the thought of you. Your name on his tongue makes his cock ache painfully in his boxer briefs, begging to be touched but that could wait.

Biting at the soft tops of your tits, leaving hickies that you'll be finding for weeks as your head jerks back. Coil in your stomach so tight you think you might snap in half.

"Togame, don't stop, fuck, I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna cum!" You sound whiny like you always do and Togame loves the sound. Lives for it and it's why he's always teasing you when you stop by Shishitoren to give the gang a lecture about not trashing the bar you work out.

It always fell on deaf ears that is until Togame made his men listen but he didn't want to think about all that right now.

He just wanted to burn the way you look creaming his fingers into his memory. Moving off your nipple with a lewd pop and silvery string that connects the two of you that he breaks with a swirl of his tongue. Looking down to see how you soak the floor and his fingers making him press into you a little harder.

"Then cum sweetheart. It's why I'm here remember?" With that you reach ecstasy, bucking your hips into his thrusting fingers with a loud moan of his name and tears collecting in your eyes, holding his gaze and if Togame wasn't in love with you before he sure as hell was now.

Watching you pant as he slows his pace just enough for you to catch your breath but let you ride out your high, loving how your cunt flutters around his fingers, trying to pull his digits back in that he steadily rocks into you.

Your manicured hands reach for his waist band, eyes trained on the outline of his long, fat cock.

"Please, 'gami." You whine, pulling at the fabric as his free hand gently pushes yours away. Green eyes tracking over pretty skin he's littered with bruises, kind replaying the way you cried out his name as he feels drool collect at the back of his throat. Pulling his fingers out until just the tips were hidden within your velveteen walls before he pushes the saliva to the tip of his tongue. Pulling his lips away from his teeth to push the spit from the wet muscle right onto your clit, not that you needed the extra lube. Messily rubbing it against the sensitive bud making you cum again with a cry and a biting grip on his forearm.

"No, no sweetheart. This is about you right now." He hums, eyes dark and trained on your face before he sets another relentless pace. Until you're slumping over and jerking back. Crying out his name over and over as fat tears fall past those pretty lashes Togame loves seeing you bat up at him when you want your way.

So into what he's doing to you he doesn't realize his boxers have become sticky until he shifts closer to you. Clinging to his skin too much for it to be only pre, turned on even more that you made him cum his fuckin pants from just your sights and sounds. Even your smell, sweet and sticking in the back of his throat making him insatiable.

"Fuck, lissen to how your cunt soundsssss." He growls, making emphases by pushing you beyond your limit so he can hear the clicking slick and cry of your cunt sucking his fingers back in when he pulls them out.

He doesn't stop until his fingers are pruned and cramping in your cunt that has been spasming non stop for the past five minutes, your throat sounds dry from your moaning and selfishly he thinks he could spit onto your tongue to help you alleviate your pain.

Looking up to see your debauched face, brows furrowed, lip pouting and tears of beyond overstimulation that makes him ease you down into slow ruts til his fingers are just in you. Half smothering you as he crowds your space, slowly pulling out his fingers and lightly tapping your clit as he leaves your glistening folds making you yelp.

Lips at your throat, leaving soft nips and nosing at your racing pulse, "Deep breath."

His voice is soft and it makes you dizzy, slowly pulling in breath until you feel a little more clear headed. Clinging to him slightly and he pulls you closer halfway on his lap so you can curl into his throat. Breathe in his cologne and hopefully think about him as much as he thinks about you.

Little does he know...

"Hmm, but you didn't get to have any fun." You pout, now real tears collecting in your eyes that have him chuckling again. Pressing his lips gently to yours before pulling himself away from you reluctantly.

"Oh I did." He presses his sensitive spent cock roughly through his pants until you can hear a muted squelch.

Suddenly there are hearts in your eyes, looking up at him and pushing him onto his back. Pulling his pants down until they sit midway on his hairy thighs, leaning over to lick the spent cum from his soft cock and if you weren't careful would quickly get hard. Your hand placed firmly on his sternum to keep him from getting up as your tongue travels to his heavy sac.

Togame just lies back, staring up at your ceiling, hand coming to circle yours until he's "clean" wishing you had texted him by accident months ago.

[gh0stsp1d3r]

🍷heyyy, so I’ve read some of your stuff and usually I’m just a silent reader, but I NEED an angsty (4) oneshot of Rafe Cameron!!! Thank youuu

“I don’t feel safe with you anymore.”

part of my 8k celebration!! come join (:

WARNINGS: angst, toxic relationship, break up, mentions of drugs and mentions of verbal abuse, manipulation, he gets a lil angry… I was imagining this is season 2 rafe.

At the beginning, Rafe was the best boyfriend you could have asked for.

Always getting gifts for you, always giving you compliments, always being sweet to you, and he never shouted, never got mad. It was odd to you, because he had a reputation for it. But, he told you that people were just jealous, that they were lying.

It was months ago when the manipulation had started. Him always talking bad about your friends- about your family.

“They wanna separate us, baby. Don’t you see that?”

He had isolated you, insisting on you breaking ties with your family and your friends, telling you sweet lies to keep you coming back to him.

Then, he began to try and lie to you you. Multiple times for different things.

“Rafe- don’t lie to me-“ you spoke, jumping slightly when he slammed his hand down onto the desk.

“I’m not- are you serious? I’m not lying. That’s… that’s not mine.” He told you, motioning to the little plastic baggie in your hands, and then running a hand through his curtained bangs. “You’re fucking crazy.”

He became increasingly angry, the shouting and constant arguing slowly becoming too much for you. He eventually began breaking and throwing things during arguments, his anger getting the best of him.

You stood there, watching him throw yet another fit over something that had happened. After another argument.

You weren’t even talking when he did it. You flinched as soon as the dinner plate that sat in front of him crashed onto the floor, your eyes widening as you backed up into the wall, avoiding the shards that laid on the ground.

He continued his yelling, knocking other glass objects off counters, along with a vase that landed not too far from your feet, causing you to almost step on it if you weren’t careful.

Your eyes were blown wide with not anger, but rather fear. You were terrified of him in that moment.

When tears began to well up in your eyes, he just looked around the carnage he had let out, running a hand through his hair and letting out a breath.

Then came the jealousy, the fights he started for no real reason. It made your fear grow.

“You had no fucking reason.” You told him as you stormed away from the beach, grabbing your keys from your back pocket as you began walking.

“You should have seen the way he was looking at you!”

“He’s my friend!” You argued, turning on your heel to yell in his face.

“I told you, you don’t need anyone else. Why do you not understand that- that I just want what’s best for you?” He asked lowly, pointing at his chest.

You scoffed, shaking your head to yourself as you turned around again, unlocking your car and opening the door faster than he can be at your passenger seat.

“I don’t fucking understand!” He shouted, “Hey!” He continued when you got in your car, ignoring him as he yelled curses at you.

Finally, your breaking point was when you caught him doing cocaine over a glass table with Topper and Kelce next to him at another dumbass house party.

You had scoffed as soon as you set your gaze on the sight, watching him throw his head back with a euphoric smile on his face. There was still remnants of the powder on his nose when his gaze then fell on you- smile faltering.

“Hey, baby.” He spoke, rubbing his nose and nodding at you nonchalantly, Topper and Kelce glancing at each other.

You turned around, ignoring him calling your name as you pushed through the crowd and opened the door up, taking a deep, heavy sigh when you stepped outside, before you choked out a quiet sob, continuing the walk to your car as you attempted to wipe the tears that ran down your cheeks.

He followed behind, stumbling past everyone, ignoring Topper and Kelce when they attempted to drag him back inside.

“Nah, nah,” he shoved them off his shoulder, sniffling as he walked up to you, calling your name.

“Y/n. Y/n.” He spoke, going in front of you, blocking your car door.

“Go away, Rafe.” You murmured, him frowning at you. He reached out a hand, going to wipe your tears away before you flinched, grabbing his wrist and stopping him.

“Baby, we can talk ‘bout this-“

“No. I saw what I happened. There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You’re upset-“

“Great observation.” You snapped, huffing when you reached for the car door and he just grabbed your wrist in a tight hold.

“Let go of me.” You spoke, tone serious now.

“No.”

“Rafe-“ you wiggled your hand, letting out a cry when you felt his grip tighten, and you’re sure that in his drug-addled mind, he has no clue just how tight he’s grabbing you.

You let out yet another cry, and he just stares at you. “Let got of me.” You repeated through sobs, him scoffing and pulling away, holding his hands up in defense.

“Jesus- I didn’t even grab you that hard-“

“That’s not the problem!”

“Then what is?” He exasperated.

“You! You’re the problem, Rafe. I’m so…” you let out a shaky breath, “I’m so tired. I’m done. I’m just done.” You exclaimed, a weight off your shoulders with the confession. “I can’t do this anymore.” You motioned to the both of you.

“What? What the fuck are you even talking about?” He scoffed, and let out a laugh. “So- I’m the problem? How am I the problem?”

“Rafe. I don’t… I don’t feel safe with you anymore.” You breathed out.

Silence fell between the both of you, him processing your words.

He stared at you, crossing his arms over his chest.

“So… is this it?” He asked you, voice hushed. You saw the hurt on his face- but you reminded yourself of everything he’s put you through, everything that’s happened over the years.

“It is, Rafe.” You nodded, tears filling your eyes once again.

He stepped away from your car, and you opened til the door, both of you glancing at each other one last time, before you got into the drivers seat, speeding off as fast as possible, with loud sobs escaping you.

He watched as you drove away, letting out another sniffle, and having his own tears filling his eyes, before he wiped them away.

“Fuck.” He murmured, looking down at his feet, and sitting on the sidewalk, putting his face in his hands as he breathed out.

[1-800-adore-me]

˖ ࣪⭑ Playing House with Zayne and Caleb🍳

Thinking about Caleb, Zayne, and MC in their childhood playing house together. Zayne as the Dad, you as the Mom, and Caleb… as the family dog. 

When Caleb was assigned to be the dog in the play scenario, it would be an understatement that he was distraught by it, especially since you assigned Zayne to be the dad while you were the mom. He tried to change the roles - asking if he could be your neighbor or the mailman but alas, you stubbornly insisted that he should be the dog. After all, he fit the criteria of being one. He was loyal, playful, and always seemed to follow you around. Who else could be fit to be the family’s furry member?

At first, he tried to play along until he felt too felt out when he was sitting on the floor, watching you and Zayne have dinner together as the two of you cut into your plated toy foods. The way you two naturally had a conversation about bills and rent made him irritated. - “I’m supposed to be sitting where Zayne is.” - He’d think. He’d pout and stick around since it made you happy that he was playing along but he was always in a bad mood. 

However, when you finally paid attention to him and ordered him to give you paw, the sparkles in your eyes could never be outshined by anything else. He was blinded by how happy you looked as you pet him, offered him encouraging praises, and even rubbed his belly through his clothing. That’s when it hit him - he received so much of your dear attention as he continued playing this dog role. 

So he decided to take advantage of this. Whenever he felt like Zayne was getting too much attention from you, he’d rolled over on his back and whine. Whenever you praised him, he would give you cuddles and big hugs, enveloping your small body with his bigger one. After completing an order from you, he would beg for headpats until you messed up his hair. At one point, he even nuzzled against your cheek when you called him a good boy.

One day, Zayn came back from work and let out a heavy sigh. You turned your head towards him as you asked him how his day was. “The hospital was busy. I was curing cancer and I just wanted to come back home to you, honey.” 

Immediately, Caleb rolled onto his back and whined. Your attention was then given to the poor puppy as you rushed over to him. - “What happened, puppy? Are you okay?” - You’d ask in your small voice as you kneeled next to him and stroked his head. You could practically see his imaginary dog tail wagging by now.

He gave a sad face and said that he was feeling lonely. In response, you gave him a big hug and nuzzled his face, reassuring him that you wouldn’t abandon him and that you loved how good of a dog he was. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck as his eyes shot daggers at Zayne, who was properly confused and sickened by Caleb’s behavior. Zayne had an eyebrow raise as he was slowly cutting into his toy steak with the plastic knife, finally clearing his throat. 

“Honey, you should finish your food before it gets cold. You’ve spent quite an amount of time preparing this while I was hard at work.” Zayne would say, also shooting daggers at Caleb. 

“But our puppy is feeling lonely! I didn’t give him hugs and cuddles all day while I was cleaning and cooking!” You’d cry out as you hugged the dear puppy closer to you. Caleb gave a satisfied hum as he smirked.

“Perhaps the puppy should go back to his dog house and have his dinner there then. You go ahead and eat, I’ll take him.”

“Really? That’s so sweet of you, honey!” You’d beam at your husband as you let go of Caleb and sat at the dinner table, now humming as it was finally your turn to enjoy the delicious steak dinner you’ve whipped up. 

Distracted by your house playing, you didn’t hear Caleb growl at Zayne as the boy dragged him by the collar of his shirt to behind the tree. Caleb struggled against Zayne’s hold as they wrestled with each other, glaring at each other for disturbing their moments with you. You didn’t notice how long they were gone until they came back to you with their hair messy, clothes misaligned, and dirt all over them. 

“What happened!? Oh no… Grandma is going to be so mad that Zayne is dirty now!” Your tears started to spill out of your eyes as you could already imagine the scolding from Gran - her asking what you and Caleb did to Zayne, the precious guest that should always be treated as a king in their household. 

“The puppy was defying me.”

“He was trying to kick me out.”

The two boys spoke at the same time, glaring at each other again once they realized what they said. Then, they began arguing. -”That’s only because you’re a clingy dog. You’re not even letting your owner eat her food.” - “You’re one to talk when you’re always hoggin’ her attention!”

You’ve started to think that playing house wouldn’t be a good idea anymore with Caleb and Zayne. 

[softaestluv]

Guard Dogs

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Neighbor!Reader

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5

Tags: Fluff, Angst, & Eventual smut

Summary: You were a proper good girl. Just like in his fantasies when he was a little boy. Ghost only looked to protect you from the evils of the world just like Riley. Your two personal guard dogs.

But maybe this is where he belonged, on the other side of the glass, staring at you from afar. Even if Riley wanted more.

Tupperware becomes Simon’s weak excuse to see you in the evening. Carries it across the street once he sees you return home from work that next day. Maybe he should’ve waited another day to return it; he just saw you the night before. Keep it for later in the week when the weight of the food in his stomach didn’t remind him of your warmth anymore.

Though, Simon couldn’t find the lieutenant in himself to be patient. Especially when he sees you all dolled up once again, hair pulled back to show your pretty shoulders and neck. Races over before you even have the chance to think about changing or showering. Was it such a crime to want to see you in it up close?

You open the door like you had expected him to be standing there, but maybe you were. Gave him tupperware knowing he would have to come return it, have an excuse of your own to see him again. Asked him so sweetly if he wanted to come in.

So, he does. Can’t refuse you, not when you entice him with pot roast you’ve been letting set all day. He ate your leftovers for lunch, looked forward to it, but he still didn’t seem to have his fill. Jumps at the opportunity to taste more of your cooking.

He’s not exactly sure what happened in his life that graced him with the luck to eat dinner with you two days in row. If he squints hard enough, blurs the events of today in his mind he can pretend like he came home to you, his pretty bird. Pot roast and a soft smile instead of his dark and dull home. Has half the mind to feel bad for Riley, knows he would much rather be in your company also.

He feels guilty watching you plate his food for him, offers to do it himself. He doesn’t want you to feel like you need to do that, but you insist. Tell him you want to do it for him. Can’t remember the last time someone tried to take care of him, even down to something so minuscule as sharing dinner with him.

He listens to you tell him about your day, tries his best to listen to every word. But its almost impossible to spread his attention between the tender meat that dissolves on his tongue and the way your lips glisten from the gravy. It’s rude to stare, especially when someone’s eating; he knows this. All he could do was hope you didn’t notice his intense stare, the way his pants tighten in agony everytime you smile.

It makes the night go by faster; wishes he could cling to every second, slow it down somehow so he doesn’t have to return to his cold bed so soon. But it does anyways. Finds himself walking out just as fast as he walked in. Except this time he has a new container in his hand for lunch tomorrow because you swore you made more than intended.

He eats the leftovers the next day, spends his lunch thinking about you. Spends the entire day thinking about you— like he always does. Has your food to supplement the warmth you provide. Wants to return it that evening, would it be too desperate to show up another night?

So, he doesn’t. Doesn’t want to be too overbearing, suffocate you with his presence if you don’t want him around. If you don’t want another person to feed like a stray dog. Him and Riley the stray dogs you took into your home.

Plans to return it that weekend, shamefully hopes he could recreate last Sunday with you. But the stupid plastic is forgotten on the counter when he looks out the window and sees you on your hands and knees, plucking the weeds from your yard. His feet move on their own accord, rushing to your side before he even realizes.

“What are you doin’?” He asks, voice gruff like he was disgruntled.

You look up from your spot surprised, “Jesus, Simon, you terrified me. I’m pulling my weeds?”

“Why?” It’s a grunt. A dissatisfied one. But he never said he was one for words.

Your brows furrow, placing your hand above your eyebrows to look up at him better through the sun, “So they don’t kill my plants?”

“No, why are you doing it?” He clarifies, emphasizing his words, “Don’t worry I’ll do it.”

He reaches his hand out for you to take, meaty paws engulfing your slender ones as you accept it. Rough and calloused opposes your soft and smooth palms. Standing to your feet across from him.

“Gonna hurt your pretty hands,” He murmurs, “Should’ve asked me.”

You duck your head at his words, trying your best to hide the way your cheeks warm, “It’s fine. Couldn’t ask you to do something like that.”

Just how you insisted he takes leftovers, he doesn’t take your protests as an answer. Ushers you back inside to relax, bake, take a nap, something other than sitting in the sun, ruining your pretty skin. Besides, that’s what you have him for. So, he spends the rest of his day neglecting his own chores, so he can take care of yours. Not without negotiations from you to take breaks, feed him treats and tea when you deem it long enough since he’s sat down.

And because you’re an angel on Earth, you cook dinner when he’s done. Tell him you cooked dinner for ‘us’. Tries not to read into it too much, but his chest squeezes when you refer to you and him as a pair. He attempts to protest, only because he’s covered in sweat and dirt from working all day. Probably smells, knows he does, but you don’t let him get too far.

“What are you talking about?” You chuckle, “You’re like that for me. I don’t mind. I want to have dinner with you.”

His mouth dries.

“Unless I’m keeping you from someone.”

Simon is shaking his head as soon as the words leave your mouth. Would squish them from arising in your thoughts if he could. Someone else? He almost laughs. Just a cold bed waiting for him.

“Just Riley,” He jokes.

You smile at him, “Then stay. And bring him next time.”

Served him a plate of steaming lasagna, wishes he could take you in his arms right then and there. Sweat and all.

But he doesn’t.

Digs his palms into his thighs to stop himself. Buries himself in the lasagna to shove the urges away, pretend for a second that he hasn’t been craving you more than anything you’ve placed on his plate.

“Do you want some wine?”

He’s not much of a wine drinker, prefers the burn of whiskey. Helps him blame the bitter taste in his throat on the alcohol instead of the ugly images his memories conjure. But the taste isn’t as bad when he’s with you; when you wash away pain and blood with your presence. Replace it with your food and warmth instead.

He doesn’t feel the need for something so strong around you, so he agrees. Probably stays longer than he should, sweat dried tacky on his skin, but it’s hard to walk away when the two of you move to your couch. When you sit closer to him than before. When he can feel the warmth radiating from your body. When he looks down at you and your cheeks are decorated in a pretty pink from the wine.

“I don’t drink often,” You confess.

Simon chuckles, “I can tell.”

Your cheeks burn for a different reason now, “Am I being dumb?”

His brows furrow, you’re the smartest person he knows, “What? No. I would never say that.”

“Do you drink often?” You ask.

He doesn’t want you to think bad of him, doesn’t want you to know that he craves a glass every night when he’s trying to sleep and all he can think about is his past. Doesn’t want you to know that he doesn’t feel that way when he’s with you.

“When I have a bad day.” — Just doesn’t tell you that’s most days.

You laugh, “Me too.”

He wants to ask what makes your days bad, what can he do to make sure you don’t have days like that. Ask if he makes your days better the way you do his.

You never asked about his family before even between the countless questions you asked about his life. Maybe it’s the wine in your blood system, but tonight you do. Has his heart racing in his chest because what will you think of him if he tells the truth?

He gulps before he says it, knows you can hear it, “Just me and Riley.”

He doesn’t want you to sympathize for him, doesn’t want you to treat him like a weak dog who needs your saving. Doesn’t look at you when he says it, doesn’t want to associate the empathetic stare in your eyes with you. But it never comes.

“Just me, too,” You mumble, and if he hadn’t been so close he probably wouldn’t have heard it.

He hates the way it makes him want to protect you even more. Gives him the exact feeling he was hoping you wouldn’t give him, but he does. Can’t help it when you’ve been so sweet, perfect, angelic to him. Such a kind soul even though you share similar loneliness, contrasts the evil deeds he’s done.

When he leaves, you halt him at the door. A new container presented to him despite the lack of his last return of the plastic. Lasagna filled to the brim, a muffin for breakfast you explain, and cookies for dessert. Tell him you will have more than enough dinner for him if he wants to stop by tomorrow. Doesn’t even have to stay, come and take your fill and leave if you want.

So, he returns the next day like an eager puppy when he sees you arrive home, two Tupperware containers in hand. Doesn’t even feel the need to be embarrassed when you greet him with the same tender excitement at the door.

It becomes a routine he shouldn’t grow used to; a simple cycle of returning plastic and being invited in to share dinner. Except some days there’s no lunch, no dinner, no plastic, but he still stands at your door anyways. Doesn’t need those things to see you anymore.

Most weekends he spends time at your house more than he does his own. Brings Riley with him because you insist. Works on the monstrosity of your backyard that you left to fester into a jungle. And Riley enjoys every second, runs around the yard while Simon works on it. Finds a spot on your couch when you and Simon are sharing dinner.

Thinks it might be developing too far when you buy Riley a bowl of his own for your house. Have your own collection of dog food and treats you learned he likes. Always have two plates on your table, always cook more than enough for one person even if he doesn’t show.

But that’s the thing about his occupation. Taught him not to get too used to a routine, no matter how much he wished for it.

Finds himself at your doorstep one night, no Tupperware in hand, no plans to stay. You open the door in a soft dress, prettiest smile he’s ever seen. You greet him so warmly, tell him to come inside, but he doesn’t accept.

“I have to go.”

You looked at him confused, “What?”

“My work,” He explains because he doesn’t know who else to ask, “Will you be able to dog-sit Riley?”

You nod your head, let Riley run into your home as you stare up at him.

“I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

He watches your fingers tighten around the doorknob.

“Or if I’ll ever come back.”

He can’t even explain the emotion on your face, the feeling numbing his entire body.

“What? Simon, what are you talking about?” Your voice is shaking, fright written all over your face.

“Riley will protect you, don’t worry.”

Leaves you at that. Doesn’t have time to explain, lucky he got the chance to even bring Riley to you. Clings to the happy image of you before he left you. Both of you left to the cold alone.

Glass barrier growing incredibly thicker as he realizes he’ll never have what he wants. Knows where he belongs, on the other side of the stupid glass, but atleast Riley found where he belongs. Found warmth in your home. Even if he wishes it was him too.

tag list: @rockinraccoons @crypticenbug @c1garette-nightmares

*if I added you & you no longer wanted to be tagged for updates just let me know & I’ll take you off!! thank you!!*

[peter-pumpkin-eater]

Cold fridge

Caleb x gn!reader

summary: You forget that eating is an every day thing.

warnings: none, fluff, yearning from both of you, One (1) gendered pet name (princess)

word count: 601

The front door swings open and Caleb hip bumps it closed behind him. You’re still on the couch where he left you, same position and everything. He furrows his brow walking past and drops the grocery bags on the kitchen counter. 

“Please tell me you ate something.” He starts unloading the bags, plastic rustling. You lift your head and feel a tinge of pain from not having moved for a long time. You look at him. He sighs. And asks again. “What did you eat today?”

“Eat?” You sit up and place the book you’ve been reading on the armrest of the couch. Caleb can hear the snap and pop of your bones. He’s going to have to give you a massage later today. 

“Yes princess. What did you eat while I was out?” He pulls out some fruit and places them in a bowl. You’ve stood up and started walking into the kitchen, arms high over your head in a stretch. He can’t stop his eyes from flicking to the patch of skin now visible where your shirt lifts up. He moved onto putting canned food away.

“I was meant to eat?” You drape yourself over an empty spot on the counter.

“Yes-” he spins to look at you, a little worried. “Yes pip. You’re meant to eat every day.”

“Every day?” you pout.

“Yes! Every day. Breakfast, lunch and dinner.” He puts his hand on his hip regretting leaving the house for so long. He knew he should have made you something before he left.

“Multiple times a day?!” You let out a groan. “But that's so hard- I already ate yesterday.” you whine. 

Caleb runs his hands over his face and finishes putting the groceries away. You pluck the bag of chips from the pile. They were your favourite, he always buys them for you. Before you could rip into them they fly out of your hands and land gracefully in the pantry. 

“Proper food, sweet-heart.” He scolds. 

“You’re so boring.” But you’re already walking to the fridge to check if any of the bbq chicken leftovers were there. Caleb stands behind you. The heat from his body warming up your back was a stark contrast to the cold in front of you. He reaches past your head and grabs the salad from last night's dinner. “And the chicken.” you chime in before he can fully leave. He pauses his movements and puts his hand back in the fridge.

He’s leaned forward enough for you to feel his breath tickle your ear. “So demanding today.” He breathes out. It causes goose bumps to spread down your neck and arms. You spin in his arms a retort on your tongue. It was a bad idea. You weren't expecting him to be as close as he was - noses almost bumping together. Breathes mingling. You lick your dry lips. His eyes flick down and back up.

You had forgotten what you were going to say. He was too close and your mind went blank. His finger ghosts up your arm, the touch so light it could have been mistaken for the cold air coming from the fridge. They danced across your collarbone and up your neck, coming to a stop under your chin. He lifts slightly, and your pulse races. He tilts his head.

A sharp beeping from behind you makes you jump. The fridge was tired of being open too long. Caleb’s already across the kitchen putting food on a plate for you. A shaky breath leaves you and you grab some water from the fridge and close the door.

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[thoughtfulfiction]

Carpe Diem

Author’s Note: We all miss him. So I wrote the most romantic thing I’ve ever written.

A glass of chilled Savasana California Rosé sat in front of you, its diluted pink hue a stark contrast to the sweet yet crisp taste. With a fork in hand you begin to dig into the chicken parmesan with strozzapreti pasta, the chunky tomato sauce brings a rich and comforting smell that shifts your attention from the constant hum of the plane's engine. Eating dinner on a plane like this—silverware instead of plastic cutlery, wine served in real glass—felt oddly surreal. This whole trip did, like you’d stumbled into someone else’s life.

You hadn’t always pictured yourself in this life—a corner office in Berkeley, managing accounts worth millions and rubbing elbows with executives. The internship you’d applied for during your junior year of college was meant to be a stepping stone, a way to pad your resume and have something cool to look back on the future. You hadn’t expected it to become the foundation of a career at a place ranked 7th among the largest biomedical companies by revenue in the world. And here you were sipping rosé in first class on your way to a solo vacation in Greece. Somehow, it had all come together. Your first year making six figures was surreal enough, but now the freedom to spend it on something like this felt even more unbelievable.

The hotel room you would be calling home for the next few days was stretched out like it came straight out of a travel magazine. Everything about it screamed neutral paradise, highlighting the warmth of the space. Plush pillows stacked neatly atop the Temper-Pedic king sized bed that earned the hotel all five of its stars with just one glance. The open layout gave the impression of a private condo, complete with a sleek mini bar and an espresso machine that practically begged to be used. The view from the top floor was breathtaking, floor-to-ceiling glass windows that made way for the vibrant blue skies that allowed the sun to shine at it's greatest capacity, reflecting off the marble from the streets of southern Athens below. And the colors were so dynamic; olive groves, fields of breathtaking wildflowers and citrus trees brought the city to life. Everything reminded you of a landscape painting, it was all so perfect you almost had to pinch yourself to make sure you were really here.

But before your Athens takeover could really commence, you needed a nap. Or three.

Day one passed in a blissful haze of recovery. After a nap that could have doubled as a small coma, you walked by the hotel’s pool, taking in the sparkling water and the soft chatter of other guests lounging under striped umbrellas. Breakfast that morning was a feast fit for royalty, an omelet folded to perfection, fresh fruit that tasted like sunshine, and Moustokouloura, a pastry so rich and sweet it felt like dessert at dawn. The concierge insisted you try Greek coffee, and when the steaming cup arrived at your door, its strong, earthy aroma greeted you like a wake-up call from the gods. You took it to the patio, sipping as you let the city below slowly introduce itself. This is exactly where you're supposed to be. Athens was filled with color, sound, and possibility. This was freedom, pure and simple.

Feeling refreshed on your second morning after some extensive Tik Tok research about things to do in Athens, you walked around the streets of Plaka, by far the most recommended place on the site. And it didn't take long for you to understand why. The neighborhood was a collection of some of the most beautiful brick buildings, an array of restaurants with uniquely placed outdoor seating. The air carried the mingling scents of fresh pita, grilling souvlaki, and blooming jasmine. Laughter and snippets of conversation floated from café tables spilling onto the sidewalks, where diners lingered over plates of mezes and glasses of ouzo. You walked slowly, admiring every square inch of the place like you were going to commit every detail to memory, stumbling upon a store with random trinkets you figured you could take home to your friends and tell them what they were getting themselves into when you all would be in Greece together eventually. Now that you'd experienced this on your own, you couldn't wait to share this experience with them next time. The first person you spotted when you walked in was a tall man, well over six feet, broad shoulders with his back facing the door. He was sexy from the back which meant...no. You shook yourself out of the daydream about what this man could possibly look like because of course men in Greece looked better. That was some sort of law or something based on every movie you'd ever seen. The book shelf at the front of the store caught your eye first, a Greek guide book with common phrases for tourists to know, things that maybe Duolingo wouldn't think of so you grabbed it, scanning the pages for useful information. You tried to focus on the guidebook in your hands, but your nerves betrayed you. An older man’s gaze prickled at your skin, a quiet warning sounding in your mind. Maybe it was nothing, you told yourself. He could just be a curious local. But by the third lap around the shop and you could still feel his eyes in you, the goosebumps on your arms had turned into a full-blown alarm.

The man was closer now, his steps too deliberate to be a coincidence. By the time he spoke, his voice was low and overly familiar, the kind of tone that made your stomach twist. “Hi. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “I just... couldn’t help noticing you.”

You swallowed thickly, hoping to keep the conversation short, sweet and with as little personal information exchanged as humanly possible. "Yes. Just visiting," you force out a smile.

"Ah I see, those are pretty," he gestures toward the necklaces in your hand, "pretty necklaces for a pretty lady. Does the pretty lady have a name?"

"Um," you wanted to take a step back, you wanted to walk away, but there was literally no way out of this situation because he was standing in between you and the exit. And for some reason you couldn't think of a fake name off the top of your head to give him. "It's—”

“Oh hey, babe. There you are,” a deep voice interrupted. Your head whipped around, and there he was—broad shoulders, a jawline sharp enough to rival a Greek statue. He had the kind of easy confidence that made your heart skip a beat. Mr. Broad Shoulders slid his arm around you, his touch casual but protective, the warmth of his hand anchoring you in place but doubling your pulse rate for a different reason. “Thought you wanted those charm bracelets, but you disappeared on me.”

“I got distracted.” Your gaze flickered upward, caught on the sun-kissed curl falling across his forehead. He smelled faintly of cinnamon, like he’d been leaning over a freshly lit candle moments before swooping in to save you.

The man takes a look at the two of you and apologizes, walking away without a second glance. You let out a sigh of relief, "thanks for the save, I really didn't know what to do and you just-I really appreciate it."

"No worries, I saw him following you around and thought it was weird. Glad I could help."

You look around to make sure the man from before, spotting him circling the back area with the pasties. "It's...very weird. He didn’t seem like he’d back down that easily."

“I’m Joe, by the way. Since I’m your boyfriend now, that seems like something you should know.”

You laughed, the tension in your chest finally easing. “Yeah, probably. Nice to meet you, Joe. I’m Y/N, your very grateful girlfriend.”

Joe leaned down slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper meant just for you. “He’s still watching us. Mind if I sell this a little more?” Without waiting for an answer, he adjusted his grip, his arm tightening around your shoulders like he’d been holding you this way forever. It was seamless, effortless, entirely too convincing. And it left you speechless. All you could do was nod, looking up at him, thinking about how this guy might be the most gorgeous person you've ever seen.

The two of you moved around the store aimlessly, the conversation flowing like you’d known each other for longer than half an hour. Joe explained he’d been in Greece for a few days, taking time to decompress after a grueling work season. “Sometimes, I just need to step away,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet sincerity that struck a chord.

“I get that,” you replied, sharing your own story of navigating your career and this newfound independence. You admitted, almost sheepishly, that sometimes your job didn’t feel like work because it aligned with your passions so perfectly. Joe nodded, his expression softening. “That’s how I feel,” he said. “I mean, this year it really magnified that for me. But sometimes when things don't go the way you hoped or planned, it makes the sacrifices worth more. Like not having as much free time when I'm working. Now, I have endless free time."

There was something magnetic about him—not just the broad shoulders and effortless charm, but the way he seemed so present. Every touch felt intentional, whether it was his hand on your back as you navigated tight spaces or his offer to buy the travel book you’d been thumbing through. You felt a strange sense of familiarity, like you’d seen him somewhere before but couldn’t quite place it.

After carefully deliberating over the trinkets, you settled on matching necklaces for your friends. On your way to the register, a woman approached, her expression warm and animated.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she began, “but I just had to tell you—you two make the most stunning couple. The way you look at each other, it’s just... beautiful. Are you here on an anniversary trip?”

“One year,” Joe answered without hesitation, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he squeezed your hand.

“That’s incredible! Congratulations!” the woman gushed. “Athens is the perfect place to explore as a couple. Do you have plans yet?”

You chimed in, “Not really. We were just going to see where the day takes us.”

The woman nodded enthusiastically and rattled off recommendations, from must-visit landmarks to hidden culinary gems. You took notes on your phone, her suggestions igniting your excitement for the day ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, Joe watched you with a kind of awe. The way your face lit up when you talked about exploring the city tugged at something deep inside him.

He’d spent the last four days locked away in his room, trying to process a season that had been equal parts triumph and heartbreak. It wasn’t just the physical toll of the game—it was the sting of being so close to the pinnacle and falling short. They had gone from 4-8 to 9-8 in what felt like the blink of an eye. The unmet expectations that he had for the team dulled his personal success a bit and he needed to escape after watching other teams prepare for their playoff runs while he cleaned out his locker. He just wanted to recharge and regroup…alone. And here you were, an unexpected spark in the midst of his self-imposed solitude.

When the woman finally bid you goodbye, you hesitated. Should you ask him to join you? The idea of spending the day with a stranger—no matter how kind and gorgeous—felt bold, maybe too bold. But being alone again felt... unbearable. You decided against asking because the thought of rejection was a step above unbearable, if at all possible.

“Well,” you began, your voice faltering slightly, “I guess this is it. I should probably head to my next stop now that I have a to-do list.” You forced a small laugh, keeping your gaze on the floor.

Joe nodded, his smile tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I hope you check off everything on your list.”

He watched you walk away, his chest tightening with each step. He wanted to stop you, to ask you to stay, but the words wouldn’t come. All he could do was stand there, frozen, as the door swung open.

You paused just before stepping outside. Something tugged at you—a feeling that walking away now would be a mistake.

Turning back, you smiled shyly. “I just realized... how am I supposed to experience Athens to its full potential without my boyfriend? On our anniversary trip, no less?”

Joe’s laugh was warm, easy. “No idea. Luckily, I think I know someone who can help.”

“You’re always so helpful. I feel like I won the dating lottery.”

“Can’t disagree,” he teased, his grin widening.

“Alright,” you said, nudging him playfully, “let’s get out of here before your head gets so big it doesn’t fit through the door.”

He walked out with you, allowing you to lead the way to your first stop.

Fairytale Athens looked like an intense mix between the Garden of Eden and Alice in Wonderland. "This is...wow," Joe quips, the vast array of flowers on the ceiling, the pink bar area and the flamingos. So many flamingos.

You could tell by his tight expression that this place isn't really his scene. "We're not here for two hours of afternoon tea or anything," you reassure him with a smile, "Dimitra said that we should grab drinks before walking around Acropolis and that..." you glance at the menu in front of you, "...strawberry ginger lemonade? That might be calling my name." He shakes his head and orders a mint and cucumber lemonade for himself, your lemonade and two waters as you walk around the princess castle, taking as many pictures as possible before Joe walked back over with all four drinks in hand before heading to the incredibly famous tourist attraction.

The package you paid for allowed you to skip the line and head through a side entrance, your tour guide walking you through the history of the ancient sights along with details about the architectural styles, construction techniques, and the symbolism of the monuments. The faint echo of the voices highlighted the rich history of the place you were standing in, the warm air a stark contrast to the cool lemonade in your hand. It seemed like Joe was hanging onto every word as he helped you up some steep ancient steps, his eyes lighting up as the guide drove you over to the museum, going into depth about the Gods.

"This exhibit is Gods, Worship and Magic, one of the most popular sites this year. You guys can walk around and read about the different deities featured." Artemis' exhibit, caught your eye first.

Glancing down at the steel plaque, "goddess of the hunt, devoted to nature. Were you ever a Percy Jackson fan growing up?"

"I was more of a SpongeBob guy. And Star Wars. Definitely had a dinosaur phase that lasted a lot longer than I care to share," he looks up, wondering why in the hell he just told you that. "Do—do you have any humiliating stories you'd like to share with the class?"

He nudged you as you walked alongside him, his hand so dangerously close to yours. You had the biggest urge to reach out and touch him. So you did. Reaching out maybe an inch, you interlocked your pinky with his, making his heart take a leap in his chest, swinging your hands happily towards the Eros exhibit. "The god of—”

"Love and desire," he finishes for you. Just because he wasn’t a Percy Jackson fanatic, doesn’t mean he didn’t pay close attention to the Greek mythology unit in school.

"Look at the hands," you said softly, leaning in closer. "It's like they're...perfectly fit for each other, you know?"

Joe's breath hitched almost imperceptibly. He was standing so close now, the faint scent of mint and cucumber from his lemonade mingling with the earthy air of the exhibit. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice warm and low, "I know what you mean."

Your pinkies were still hooked, but now the little space between you felt electrified. You didn't dare turn to meet his eyes, afraid of what you might see—or what he might see in yours.

"I do have an embarrassing thing to share with the class," you turn to face him and admire the excited look on his face, like what you're about to say is the most important thing in the world. "When I was little I was obsessed with Mama Mia." He gives you a puzzled look. "It's a musical that they turned into a movie. Anyway...it's about a girl that's getting married in a small town in Greece and the views just..." you pause, smiling at the memory, "...changed my life. I've always wanted that magical movie moment feeling. The music, the views, the…”

"Romance?" he finishes softly, a knowing look in his eyes.

You exhale, your cheeks warming as you nod. "Yeah...the romance. It was nice too." You hesitate, the words catching in your throat. "Doesn’t really compare to the real thing, though," you add, barely above a whisper.

The weight of the moment lingers between you. His gaze searches yours, his expression softening like he wants to say something but can’t quite find the words. Your heart stumbles, and suddenly you feel too seen. You clear your throat, breaking the spell. "I'm, uh, getting kind of hungry. We should grab lunch and head to the next spot."

Joe blinks, a flicker of surprise crossing his face, like he wasn't ready for the shift. "Yeah, sure," he says, his voice gentler now. He watches you for a second longer than you'd expect, then nods. As you walk back to meet the tour guide, Joe finds himself wondering how you’ve managed to unravel him so quickly, leaving him wondering why he already feels so invested in figuring you out.

When you get into the Uber it's like a weight has been lifted off your chest. The museum, which was supposed to be a calm and educational experience was too stuffy and intimate by the end of the visit. In the car, you could have your own space, sitting as close to the door as you could to gather yourself and your thoughts. The driver was nice enough, he had chargers in the car and gave you water bottles, noting that the heat would steadily increase throughout the day. You noticed him stealing glances at Joe in the rearview mirror, his hands tightening on the wheel like he was holding back words. The silence stretched until finally—“I’m sorry, man. I just gotta say…” he finally utters out, "I've been a Bengals fan since I was 8. And I woke up at ungodly hours to watch you play every week. Huge, huge fan."

You laughed at yourself in your seat, the pieces of the puzzle being put together. All of your focus had been on the day, spending every waking minute together and you didn't even fully process why he looked so familiar because the odds of that just sounded too insane to be real. Joe managed a polite smile, his usual ease replaced with a flicker of discomfort. You glanced at him, watching his jaw tighten just slightly as he signed the hat, the faintest blush creeping up his neck. Did he worry you’d see him differently now?

The car stopped near a bustling square lined with food trucks and small cafes. The aroma of grilled meat and spices wafted through the air as you wandered, your eyes drawn to colorful menus. It didn’t take long for the debate to begin.

"Joseph, the mini burgers are definitely better than the souvlaki cones. Be serious."

"No they aren't!" He argues, "you just need to try another one, here."

The souvlaki cone was tender and smoky, the tzatziki tangy and cool against the heat of the pork. But the burger—crispy bacon, the creamy richness of the mayo—felt indulgent, almost sinful. You savored every bite, laughing at Joe’s mock-offended gasp when you declared it the winner. "I hear you and I respect your wrong opinion. But the burger is just better I'm sorry. Do you want another bite?"

He shakes his head slowly, admiring you while you did such a mundane task, silently cursing himself at the fact that he chartered a plane to leave early the next morning. The two of you needed more time together. One day just wasn't going to be enough and the more time he spent with you the more apparent that fact became.

And then you took him on a boat.

It rocked gently, but Joe’s hands gripped the edge of the seat like the waves were threatening to tip them over. His gaze darted toward the horizon, avoiding the churning water below. “You’re really not a boat guy, huh?” you teased, your voice softening when his fingers tightened further. "I'm so sorry I had no idea. But Joe? We're literally in Greece, it's like, treason not to get on a boat here."

"Exactly, so I'm abiding by the law. Doesn't mean I have to enjoy it."

Your hand found his thigh in a quiet attempt to reassure him, and you felt the tension slowly drain from his muscles. He glanced at you, his expression unreadable, but the way his leg leaned ever so slightly into your touch sent a warmth through you that lingered long after. Aegina’s coastline unfolded before you, the white-washed buildings glowing under the sun, expansive trees swaying in the breeze. Joe stepped out first, offering his hand. His grip was firm, steadying you until your feet found the solid ground. You smiled up at him, the unspoken connection between you stronger than ever.

Just as Dimitra had described to you before, the pottery studio was tucked in a quiet corner of the island. Inside, the walls were lined with vibrant pottery, each bowl and vase a testament to countless hands shaping their stories, their glazes gleaming softly in the sunlight as you and Joe grabbed seats toward the back of the room. The instructor's notes were simple, to mold an item of your choice to keep at the end of the session, giving everyone creative freedom to produce a piece of their heart's desire. The clay felt cool to the touch, it's sticky and wet texture balanced wonderfully with the earthy smell that made your experience all the more relaxing and fun. Joe on the other hand, was creating a bowl with a lopsided shape, "it's supposed to look like this," he said firmly, biting back a laugh as you tried (and failed) to keep a straight face.

"Abstract art is still art. I just thought maybe...a quarterback would be better with his hands," you teased.

"Oh yeah? Let's see your work, Picasso." He took a break from his work station to scoot closer to yours, "shit, that actually looks pretty good."

You clean your hands off and move over to his station when he sets his chair back down. "I worked at my uncle's ceramic shop when I was little. It was his passion project so we all had to pitch in as a family and take turns," you helped guide his hand along the bowl, allowing him to smooth over the ridges efficiently evening out some of the misshapen parts. "I'm not saying I’m an expert by any means but I can get you to a point where your bowl can sit up by itself." Your fingers brushed his as you guided his hand, the soft pressure of your touch steadying his movements. Together, the ridges of the bowl began to smooth, though neither of you seemed in a hurry to let go. By the end of the session both bowls were done to the best of your ability, sort of bowl shaped, sort of not and full of personality.

"You’re good at this," Joe says, watching as continued to shape your bowl.

"Good at pottery?" you ask, laughing.

"Good at making things feel...easier," he replies softly. The pottery, he thought to himself, sort of mirrored your time together-unpolished, imperfect, but full of potential and that was both exciting and daunting. After your hands were clean, he grabbed your phone and snapped a picture of the two of you showing off your bowls.

"I was scared when you mentioned doing this at first, but I actually really enjoyed that. This," he gestures to his masterpiece, "is going up somewhere, maybe next to the trophy case at my parent's house. Funny enough, they also live in Athens. Ohio, not Greece," he clarifies.

"You might've missed your true calling," you tell him with a laugh, "here you are wasting your talents on football when the art community needs you."

"Yeah...sure," he laughs, holding onto the bags with your now fully dry bowls in them. "Unfortunately, I don't think I'm ready to quit my day job. Quite frankly, I don't think the art world is ready for me yet. Although working that clay could have been really good wrist rehab."

There it was, that can of worms you'd been trying to navigate. You didn't want to push him to talk about the season or his job if he didn't want to. And now the door was open for you to ask. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to but...was it scary? You know, putting your entire life, all of your free time, your dedication to this one thing that you're obviously really good at. Putting in all that work and then one day it's all just...taken away from you?"

He stops walking for a bit and your breath hitches in your throat, fearing that you've pushed him too far. At the end of the day you were still a stranger to him and maybe that was too personal?

You could tell the question was kind of eating at him, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—”

"No it's fine. I just…yeah. I was terrified for a little bit. No one had been through this before—not at my position, not at this level. I had no blueprint, no one to turn to for advice. It felt like— walking on a tightrope in the dark, hoping I wouldn’t fall.

“The scariest part wasn’t the pain or the rehab," Joe admits. "It was not knowing if I’d still be...me when it was all over."

You tilt your head, searching his face. "You mean, the quarterback?"

He hesitates, then shakes his head. "No. Just...me. Without football, I really didn’t know who that was, how I was going to navigate fame and my private life and everything in between that comes with being me. Whatever that means. And I had an uncomfortably long amount of time to figure it out. Now that the wrist and my health is not an issue anymore and with everything that happened during the season I just felt drained afterwards. Exhausted honestly. And today's been exactly what I needed.”

"Today's been a breath a fresh air for me too. Obviously I didn't have 500 pounds of man laying on top of me but I get it on a smaller scale. Feeling like work is drowning you and nothing you do is good enough so you need to escape. This trip isn’t just a celebration," you confess. "It’s a reminder that I’m more than my deadlines and titles. My boss once called me at 11 p.m. on a Sunday, and I didn’t even blink before picking up. I guess I forgot what it felt like to just...be. I really needed a—”

"Reset," the two of you say at the same time, a comfortable silence washing over you as you continue to walk. "That’s kind of why I came here," you confess. "Not to figure out who I am, but...to remind myself I’m more than my job. More than what other people expect of me."

"Feels like everyone’s always watching, doesn’t it?" Joe says, his voice quieter. "Waiting for you to fail or...prove them right."

"Yeah. But I think we deserve more than that."

Joe sighs, nodding quietly, "We do," Joe says with a small smile. "And one day, when we get it, we’ll look back on this trip as the start of something different." He didn’t say everything he was thinking—some things needed more time to come to the surface.

"Sounds perfect, lead the way."

After you shared the world's greatest chicken gyro, you walked around Aegina a little more, realizing that you had no time to change before dinner and you'd been wearing the same clothes all day long. You walked into a small store, grabbing things off the shelf to try on. Joe was easy, settling for gray cargo pants and a blue striped knit top. Rummaging through clothes and anything that wasn't instant online shopping had become a bit of a chore and you were on a time crunch which made you feel even more rushed. You grabbed three or four dresses and had Joe sit outside the fitting room while you tried the stuff on, only stepping out to show him your favorite.

"What do you think about this?”

The baby blue square neck A-line dress hugged your body like it was created just for you to wear, it's length accentuating your curves in a way that almost had him physically picking his jaw up off the floor. He didn't think you could look any better before but you'd just shattered his expectations. "You look absolutely amazing," he says sincerely, his mouth feeling dry.

You glance at him, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Compliments weren’t new, but the way he said it—like it was the only thing in the world that mattered—left you speechless. You managed a soft laugh, pretending to study your reflection. "Thanks." After heading back to the fitting room to change, you grabbed all of your items and headed to the front to pay with Joe standing behind you in line. The cashier rung up your items and was getting ready to bag it when Joe added his clothes to the mix.

"Joe what are you doing? You're not paying for my clothes."

He handed over his card without hesitation, ignoring your protests. "I’ve got this," he said, his voice casual but his eyes portraying something deeper, like this was the most natural thing in the world to him. "Boyfriends are supposed to buy things. I think it’s in the constitution.”

"It's definitely not. And seriously, you don't have to do this."

"I got it, don't worry babe." The word slipped out so effortlessly that for a second, you wondered if you’d misheard him. But the way his eyes flicked to yours, briefly widening, told you everything. He realized it too—and yet, he didn’t take it back.You thanked him the entire walk back to the boat, his soft laugh sending warm and fuzzy feelings in your chest.

You were starting to acknowledge the growing warmth between you two, the way Joe’s presence seemed to make every moment feel right. The idea of saying goodbye felt heavier than it should after just one day, but somehow, it seemed inevitable. The next spot was inside a resort, they allowed you to change your clothes and head upstairs to the rooftop bar to watch the sunset. The drinks and the view had nothing on you, he quickly realized, finding himself unable to tear his eyes away. Everything just made sense today, the museum walk, the easy conversation, the boat ride. He didn't want to leave before but now the mere thought of packing his suitcase tonight made him upset.

"What are you thinking about over there?" Your words snap him out of his thoughts.

"Nothing, just how much I'm going to miss it here. The peace, the incredible sunset..."

You. The word hung in the air for a while before he pushed it down and tried to move on.

"We should head over to there and get closer to the view, you can literally see the entire city from glass railing." You stood up first and grabbed his hand, practically dragging him over there. Luckily there wasn't anyone else in the area. "This is the most insane scenery. I don't get how anyone could get tired of seeing this everyday, I'd never be inside. I feel like we’ve been the physical representation of carpe diem."

He looks at you confused, "what does that even mean?"

"Carpe diem? It’s Latin for 'seize the day.' Basically saying not to focus too much on the future and live in the present to the fullest capacity.”

"I like that," he chuckles.

Long after the sun went down and most of your dishes were cleared from the table, the lingering sweetness of caramel on your lips was all you could think about, a fleeting pleasure that only made the impending goodbye sting even more.

"Joe I have to tell you something," he looks at you as you head over to stand in one of the private lounge areas, giving you his undivided attention. "I saw you this morning in the store. Your back was facing me but I don't know, you caught my eye. And I told myself I wouldn't say anything, I wouldn't go up to you and make small talk because I'm here on a solo vacation to be one with myself and-now I'm really glad that I know you."

A smile forms on the corner of his mouth, "I've been telling myself all day that this isn't real. That I could just let my guard down because in Greece, I don't have to be Joe Burrow. I can just be...Joe. You let me be exactly who I am, nothing more, nothing less. And honestly? This might've been the single greatest day of my life. I've had good ones, really good ones. But today is up there for sure." You hadn’t realized how close you’d gotten until you could feel his arm against yours, his breath soft and warm on your cheek. His eyes dropped to your lips again, this time lingering a moment longer, as if the air between you had thickened. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, his breath just a whisper away, as his hand hovered near your cheek. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending a spark through you, and for a moment, you thought he might pull you in.

You couldn't allow yourself to go there. This wasn’t supposed to happen, not now, not like this—but the way he was looking at you, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, made it hard to think clearly. As much as you wanted this, to feel him close, to taste the sweetness of that kiss, the weight of knowing how fleeting it all was crushed down on you. This wasn’t just a kiss—it was everything you were afraid to want, a piece of yourself that you couldn’t let slip away so easily. If you already felt this strongly about him after a day, how were you going to make it through the rest of the vacation without him knowing how his lips tasted and how his strong hands pulled you in close, holding onto you like he'd rather lose everything than let you go. There was no way in the world you'd recover.

"We can't," you whisper, watching him drop his hand that had just been lightly caressing your cheek. "You're gonna leave tomorrow and I'm gonna be thinking about this kiss for a long time. And I can't," your voice trembles. "I don't want you to go, so I can't kiss you. I'm sorry."

"No don't—don't apologize. I get it." He still hadn't taken a step back, biting his lip to keep his emotions in check. "I can walk you back to your hotel? I haven't packed yet and I need to.”

"Sure, yeah that's fine."

The 15 minute walk felt like three seconds. You didn't want him to go. He no longer wanted to leave. "Y/N I—”

You wrapped him up in a bone crushing hug, silently begging him to stay, just for a few more days. His grip on you was just as strong, his heartbeat thumping rapidly against your body. There weren't enough words in the English, or Greek dictionary to describe how much you were going to miss him. To miss this day. "Bye Joe." That was it. That was all you could manage. The moment you let go of him felt like a piece of your heart stayed in his arms. There was no way to explain the ache in your chest as you watched him turn away, the pull to stay stronger than any rational thought.

Going to sleep that night sounded impossible. The day had started out so innocent and special and the adventure and emotional rollercoaster you'd been on during the day made it feel like you'd experienced a series of days all wrapped into one. You set your bags down on the ground when you got to your room, too tired to change out of your clothes and falling asleep on top of the covers as soon as you laid down.

The next morning you checked the time on your phone, it was 8am. Joe had told you yesterday he was leaving at 10. That meek little goodbye wasn't going to cut it. You didn't even have his number. After your teeth were brushed and your clothes were changed, you rushed out of your hotel and got in an Uber, on your way to Joe's resort. The 46 minute ride allowed you to come up with everything you wanted to say, how this was only meant to be for a day but maybe it could be more? Maybe you could come see him in Cincinnati or he could come to Berkeley or someway somehow you could figure out a way to make it work.

You thanked your driver, opting to speed walk into the lobby. The person at the front desk couldn't give you access to the room without a reason, even when you gave them the name Joe used for his reservation. Pulling out your phone, you showed her the picture of you and Joe that he took at the pottery place and she finally believed you.

"I'm sorry ma'am, he actually left this morning a bit earlier than planned. He checked out at 7am to get on the plane."

Your chest tightened as the words settled in—he was gone. Just like that, in the span of a few hours, everything had shifted. The chance to say what was left unsaid, the connection you had just begun to explore, all slipped away before you could even hold onto it.

It felt like a dark cloud loomed over you throughout the rest of the day. The sun, once so warm on your skin, now felt distant and cold. The flowers that had seemed so alive that morning now appeared dull, their colors muted, as though even nature understood the weight on your heart. While you ate lunch, you tried to people watch, although you quickly discovered that there were only couples surrounding you, sharing meals and laughing at each other's jokes which made you miss him even more. The only real bright spot of the day was your flower garden excursion, taking pictures of the newly bloomed bulbs and taking in their fresh scent. As the hours passed, you allowed yourself to breathe a little deeper, letting the moments of regret slip away as you focused on the simple joys of your surroundings. The beauty of the flowers, the calm of the gardens, it all reminded you that there was still peace to be found in this unexpected chapter of your life.

You were just beginning to let go of the weight on your chest, convincing yourself that maybe, just maybe, this was how things were meant to be. But as you laid your phone down beside you, the familiar ping of a message broke the stillness.

It was an DM request on Instagram. The message had two simple words.

Carpe diem.

For a second, your heart skipped, and you couldn’t help but smile. That phrase, so simple and yet so loaded with meaning, sent a wave of warmth through you. It was him. In a way, he had left his mark on you after all, even if he wasn’t here to say the words aloud. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end. And though you didn’t know what tomorrow would bring or if this connection would ever evolve beyond this brief encounter, in that moment, with his words glowing on your screen, you allowed yourself one final thought: Maybe this was only the beginning.

[yurozo]

holidays headcanons (resident evil)

┌─── ∘°❉°∘ ───┐ characters: chris, leon, jill, claire, rebecca, carlos, luis, ada, wesker warnings: mentions of alcohol, some swearing.

a/n: i know this is late but all the recent love for the restaurant au inspired me!! check that one out here! love u pookies and i hope you had a great holidays <3 if you want me to cover anyone else, or have any other suggestions for au's please let me know! └─── °∘❉∘° ───┘

chris redfield:

this man comes for one reason and one reason alone: the food. you best believe chris redfield is grabbing two plates piled sky-high and scarfing it down before the rest have even served themselves. because of a particular incident involving leon and a nerf gun, chris has been banished to the kids table for the foreseeable future. he gets to sit there with (baby) sherry in a shitty little plastic barbie chair that claire bought off amazon-- the legs are bowing under his weight and are clearly destined to snap during some point in the night. as for the games, chris takes no part in it. why? he's stone cold passed out in the lazyboy. i'm talking full on snoring, scratching at his chest, mouth open, and drooling asleep. nothing is waking that man up from his food coma, other than literally firing a gun three inches away from his ears.

as for you, chris softens a little bit. he'll reluctantly indulge whatever you want to do, even if he's grumbling about it a little the whole time. this man is a practical gift giver, unless claire gets involved and gets you something indulgent in chris' name. if it were up to chris alone, he's replacing whatever you have that's worn down or unusable. he just wants to see you comfortable and stress-free, and he really doesn't have the mind for other things.

leon kennedy:

respectfully, he's the typical white dad of the group. he eats a good amount of mashed potatoes and roast beef, downs a couple whiskeys, and he's out for the count. there's been a couple occasions that he's gotten a little too rowdy, and relentlessly barraged the dinner table with whatever one-liners or borderline traumatic stories that come to his mind. he's fine, he swears, it really was funny that time he almost got blown up.

god forbid sherry grows up and starts bringing partners around the place, leon takes it upon themselves to act like her personal bodyguard. he'll sit in an armchair and stare daggers at them every time they so much as touch her, and it takes a while for him to warm up to them. for the games, do NOT ask that man to play charades. honestly, it will just be embarrassing for the both of you.

leon really does try his best when it comes to you. his gifts are usually something you eyed while out with him somewhere, which he very sneakily bought while you weren't looking. however, he's downright terrible at hiding it for you if he buys it ahead of time. you have to just act surprised and loving about the whole thing, and leon's putty in your hands. there's always a hand around your waist when you're in the vicinity, and leon loves to brag about your title in casual conversations. (eg. "yeah, my wife/husband is a pretty good cook. it's no big deal")

jill valentine:

jill's been banned from helping in the kitchen for five years. it's not her fault, honestly, she got a little too distracted sharing war stories with the others that she forgot the yorkshires were still in the oven. she'll happily eat everything though, or bring a store-bought dessert if need be. every single year, she takes photos of chris passed out in the armchair until she can make a photo album to gift him. there's a framed photo of chris mid-fall after the barbie chair finally gave way that's hanging above the fireplace, courtesy of her. also likes to take lil sips of leons whiskey when he's not looking since he always brings the good stuff.

she claims that she doesn't get into the games, but she gets super intense about charades to the point that everyone's reluctant to team up with her. she's shouting answers like there's a ticking bomb that will go off when the time runs out, and she'll scold you if she thinks your acting performance wasn't oscar worthy. she's flinging around a beer can during the whole thing and nearly soaking everyone in the vicinity.

when you start coming around for the holidays, jill visibly relaxes. she can let a lot of her guard down, and everyone likes to give her shit about how lovesick and happy she becomes. she's also a victim of the practical gift giving trait, but occasionally she likes to buy you something just because she thinks you would look nice in it. but there's always an extra gift at home that she won't let you open in front of the others, she has to maintain some sort of dignity.

claire redfield:

her and rebecca are the only reasons this tradition goes on for as long as it does. rebecca does most of the logistics, claire is the one who keeps that ship running while it's happening. the two of them are such a scary pair when they want shit done, that everyone else just has to follow along. claire is the one that banished chris to the kids table, but still lingers around to keep an eye on sherry and make sure she's eating enough. when sherry's old enough to bring partners around, she's the welcoming one, and will secretly jab leon in the ribs whenever he starts acting up.

claire likes to experiment with the games every single year, usually after incidents or fights break out. white elephant got banned after four different people just bought gift cards to the gun store (im assuming this exists there, im canadian). she's shaking the box of names aggressively at anyone who tries to get away, and will tip chris right out of that damn chair. they rarely get to be together with all the missions, so help her god they're going to enjoy it.

you're the first person claire actually brings around. sure, she's had relationships, but bringing you around to family christmas is a big deal. and don't worry, everyone else will tell you just how much of a big deal it is. you're the first person she tells everything too, and on the drive there, she's giving you a full run down on what she thinks of everyone (claire has very strong opinions). for gifts, she loves to buy you things. her favourite gifts are outfits either you can wear on her motorcycle, or matching clothes she painted herself.

rebecca chambers:

the holidays are a stressful time for her. not only does she have to cook for the most ravenous group of people that definitely do not cook for themselves enough, but she has to make sure they don't kill each other during it. despite that, dinner is always amazing, and the desserts are just to die for. she takes a special pride in her desserts, and if a couple extra supplements sneak themselves into the dinner, she definitely does not know anything about that. one of the few things that gets her through the holidays is the extra sweet hot chocolate and egg nog concoction that she makes for herself. leon tried it one time by accident and nearly gagged at just how sweet it was.

rebecca is very into the games and gifts section. it's the one time she gets to sit down and relax a little bit, and she does love how intense everyone gets about the whole thing. she's just happy that everyone can get together, and maybe relax after everything that's happened. despite her enthusiasm and smarts, she is downright terrible at charades. her answers are always way too complex for the minute they have to guess whatever she's miming. how the hell is anyone supposed to guess t-011 from hand gestures?

rebecca is by far the best gift giver out of the bunch. whatever she buys you is well-thought out, personal, and helpful. she likes to have you hang around the kitchen while she cooks, and will always feed you little spoonfuls under the guise of taste-testing. really, she just wants to make sure you eat, especially before chris can get his grubby little hands on the entrees.

luis sera:

leon invited him a total of one time, and luis had just become a permanent fixture of the whole thing. you best believe luis is bringing a karaoke machine and performing bad renditions of holiday music complete with an improvised choreography. he tried to bring leon into it one time, and nearly got roundhoused so hard that rebecca had to take them both out like misbehaving dogs. despite that, he always brings around a home-cooked entree to dinner, which rebecca appreciated greatly. luis also has the tendency to spin great tales about what he did during the year, which are definitely all lies.

in part two of the party, luis likes to be a little tipsy for the whole thing. who can blame him, he likes a party. just don't get him talking about his work, he'll talk about it for hours with increasingly complicated language that only rebecca can understand. like her too, he also gets really into the games section. luis is mentally keeping track of the stores, and will argue with anyone that tries to get the one up on him. i mean, he really deserved the point on the last one, so what if he buffs the numbers a little?

luis love to brag about you to all the others, you're his lovely partner and somehow agreed to date him, how could he not? his gifts for you are always a little extravagant, because he wants everyone else to know just what a good boyfriend he is. you're also the reason why he got chewed out over pda during the holidays. luis is just not the kind of man that can keep his hands off you, it's the season of romance.

carlos oliveira:

he's the one person who rebecca allows in the kitchen. carlos is always willing to help, and he'll even do it with a cheesy little apron on. it just makes his ass look nice, and these people deserve a treat on the holidays. god forbid carlos, leon, and jill are sitting together for dinner. they're throwing around the worst jokes known to man, and cackling loudly the whole time, especially if they're a couple beers deep. he's used to a big family, so this kind of gathering is right in his element. he makes sure there's enough food and drink for everyone, even if he's next to chris in eating it all.

another victim of getting too into the games. he likes to have fun and joke around, so he's definitely energetic, but doesn't take it too seriously. carlos is ultimately there to have a good time, and if a pretty woman is telling him to play, he's definitely not going to say no. he's relaxing back in his chair, beer in hand, yelling out suggestions and laughing loudly.

for you, he's just happy to bring you around and show you a good time. you don't have to worry about a damn thing during the holidays, carlos is doing everything so you can just lay back and enjoy the festivities. your drink is empty? carlos is already up and heading to the fridge. you want more dessert? there's another plate already in your hands.

ada wong:

no one really knows the reason she's here. people suspect she found out the location through her own means and just started showing up. or that wesker invited her for insurance reasons. she'll offer to help in the kitchen, and they always turn her down because she's definitely overdressed and they don't want to risk her getting dirty. during the dinner, she just like to witness the inevitable trash fire, or chatting quietly with luis about whatever work drama happening with him.

she's not playing any games. don't ask her. ada will give you a mean glare until you leave her alone. she wants to sit there and watch the wreckage and drink her little drink, she is not playing charades even if there's a gun to her head. get her to gossip though? she will happily engage in telling you dirty secrets about everyone else ( no one can figure out how the hell she knows these things).

ada's rigging the whole thing so you win. she wants to see you happy, and you'll be even happier when you see what she's got you. again, there's no way to tell exactly how she knows what you wanted, but you can be sure you're getting it. and it's in a pretty box, carefully put together and wrapped with a red bow. there's also a mistletoe in her pocket, for when she can finally get you alone.

albert wesker:

no one knows who invited him. no one knows where he is the whole time (he's in the bedroom, pointedly avoiding everyone else). he'll come down to dinner, eat his food, say nothing, and go back upstairs. he's also not going to engage in any sort of ugly sweater tradition, he's wearing all black, and god help anyone who tries to get him to wear anything else. wesker will speak up about his open disdain for chris, but it's quickly shut down by rebecca before he can start a fight.

he doesn't really come around all that often. he prefers to do his work, have his own celebration, and pretend all these people don't exist. after certain events, he becomes a bit of an unspoken topic amongst everyone else-- just a person that used to come around thats' been replaced by their new family.

the only way he'll do anything for the holidays is if you're there. yes, he's going to complain and say he has better things to do, and he would much rather have your own private celebration, but he'll reluctantly do it if you bother him enough. he's giving you his present in private and away from prying eyes, because that relationship is just between you two, not these other people unworthy of even looking at you. whatever you tell him you want, he'll buy. money's no object for him, and anything that will make you happy while he works on other things.

[luveline]

hiiiiiiiii jade! <3

would you be willing to write a fic about girl dad!spencer x bombshell!reader? i can only imagine what an adorable riot their daughter would be!!!

tysm!

ty for requesting!! mom!reader

Spencer always thought you were too beautiful for him. Too funny, too brave, too confident. For years he feared he’d never be anyone you could love; he was the opposite of all your best parts, he talked too much about the wrong things, he went red whenever you so much as looked at him, and he couldn’t flirt back, not for anything. 

But it’s been a very long time since he felt that way. What good is a father who doesn’t believe in being yourself? Amanda deserved to be loved from the moment she drew breath, and he shouldn’t have been any different. 

Now, though, he’s wondering if he shouldn’t be so accepting of all her whims. “I am not wearing that, daddy,” she says. 

She’s just old enough to put together sentences but young enough that the individual words sound like building blocks, chunky and clumsy on her little mouth. Her lips are yours, her smiles and frowns one hundred percent you. (Though you argue with him often that the quizzical pout she does is all his.)

“What do you mean, angel?” he asks, bent over her sock drawer looking for a matching pair. 

“This is pink, and this is purple.” She points. 

“Yes, and you like pink and purple!” 

“I like pink… and I like purple,” she says. 

“But not together?” he asks knowingly. “You want them at different times, is that it?” 

She runs for his legs, hugging them tightly. “Thank you.” 

“You’re so much like your mommy it’s scary,” he whispers playfully, leaning down to pat her small back. “Okay, angel. I’ll find you a different dress to wear. Or maybe the dungarees!”

She lifts her chin up to smile at him. “Y’okay.” 

“Spencer, Amy!” you call, voice carrying from the kitchen. “Are you guys ready? We have to go soon and you haven’t even eaten!” 

Spencer used to sit at his desk daydreaming about you. He’d drink five cups of tea a day to get to walk past you for the kitchenette, hoping you’d be making a coffee, that you’d flirt with him over corporate rewarded donuts. Now you’re making him breakfast as he persuades your daughter into jelly shoes because she wants tall shoes like mommy. They compromise —Any will wear the wrong shoes if Spencer agrees to carry her to the kitchen table. 

“Sorry,” Spencer says as he pushes open the door into the kitchen. He's trying to be the best dad he can be all the time, but he doesn’t have a knack for the mornings like you do. “We won’t be late.” 

“That depends on how agreeable my lovely girl is feeling today.” You pick up the pink plastic plate you’ve filled with eggs, toast, and a mix of washed berries. “What do you think, Amy? Looks nummy?”

“Chocolate chip?” she asks, eyes already widening. 

“It’s breakfast, honey,” you say, scooping her out of Spencer’s arm to carry her to the table. “Chocolate chips are for dinner.” 

“Please?”

“If you promise to be really super duper good at Uncle Derek’s, then yes, you can have some chocolate chips,” you say, tucking her chair in, and kissing her chubby cheek. “You want me to make you milk or juice, mm?”

Spencer spots the two plates you’ve made up for you and him on the counter and quickly brings them to the table, sliding yours in front of you with a long-pronged fork, his hand on your shoulder to keep you in your seat. “I’ll get it,” he says, ducking down to kiss you on the side of the mouth. 

You turn to Amy. “See that, sweetheart? See how nice and kind your daddy is to me? He’s soooo nice. This is why we love him so much, and we appreciate him so much.” 

Amy nods emphatically, blueberries tumbling off of her plastic fork. “So much,” she echoes, her voice like melting sugar. 

He has a weird moment by the fridge where he has to grip the handle. “You know I used to dream about making you a cup of coffee in the mornings?” he asks. 

“Spencer, come over here and kiss me again, please,” you say, sympathetic and fond.

“Me too!” Amy says through fruit. “Me first.” 

“Oh, gosh, this is one of the hardest decisions of my life,” he says, sweeping in to dot your cheeks with kisses, hers then yours, three apiece.

[blazonofficial]

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