#The vibes were so much better without you-know-who around

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Fresh Start

cw: panic attack, obsessive/compulsive behaviors. leo's usual dubious/clueless caretaker vibes. tiny mention of aiden's self-destructive behaviors. shaky trust being tested, my beloved.

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Movement sends pain radiating through Leo’s back and shoulder. His memory connects the discomfort to the hospital recliner and he bolts upright. 

But they’re home. Safe. 

He’s just paying the price for deciding to sleep on the floor outside Aiden’s room after a bought of anxiety convinced him he wouldn’t be able to hear if Aiden needed him. He—

Aiden’s bed is empty. 

His mind races through worst-case scenarios, heart tripping along to keep pace but as soon as he fully turns around, Aiden is right there. Curled up on the hardwood, no pillow or blanket, just shy of reaching the doorway. Fallen out of bed? Collapsed? Had Leo slept through him needing help after all? He reaches for his shoulder. What if— 

“Aiden? Aiden?” 

The kid startles awake, a small gasp escaping his lips as he clumsily but quickly straightens to kneel. Dark eyes wide even as he blinks away sleep. He crosses his arms, hand cradled carefully in the center of his chest. 

“What happened? Why were you on the floor?” 

“I—I—mmm…mmm…” He shakes his head and lowers his gaze. Not a good sign. “Mmm’sorry—I’m’sorry—” 

 “Are the stitches okay? Is there blood on the bandages? Are you in any pain?” Leo reaches for him and Aiden flinches back, hard. Now he’s certain something is wrong. 

“Mmm’good,” Aiden says, voice wavering. He still won’t make eye contact and he’s slowly, almost imperceptibly inching away from Leo. 

“Did something happen? We’ll call Delia if we need to. I just have to see that you’re okay.” He reaches for him and again Aiden cowers back. He hits the futon frame and whimpers. 

The sound strikes another cord of fear in Leo, doubling his panic. “You’re not in trouble but if the stitches tore or you’re in pain, I need to know.” 

Aiden swallows. “I—I—mmm…mmm…” 

Leo strains to hear him at all and considers just grabbing him. He has to see— 

“I—I—” Aiden shakes his head, gaze still lowered. His hands tremble as he lifts his arms, turning them toward Leo. 

It’s the most anguished surrender he’s ever seen.  

“Hey, woah. Look at me, it’s okay.” 

Aiden lifts his chin. For a split second, his expression looks incredulous before its replaced by a more familiar one of distrust and fear. 

But it was enough. 

The kid’s not even breathing, eyes filmed with tears as he obediently holds Leo’s gaze. 

You’re scaring the shit out of him.

Leo pushes himself back quicker than necessary, earning another flinch from Aiden who crosses his arms back over his chest protectively, curling against the bed frame. Leo moves to sit in the doorway, heart still pumping adrenaline through his veins, and tries to focus on his breath. 

Aiden watches him with open wariness. As defensive as day one. 

This is supposed to be a fresh start, their second chance. In the six weeks since finding Aiden in the snow, Leo succeeded in isolating him and not much else. And here he is, only driving that wedge deeper. He’s supposed to be better equipped now that he’s not completely ignorant but it doesn’t seem to make a goddamn lick of difference. Leo should have admitted months ago that he wasn’t right for this but his selfish denial carried them way past the point of return.

Too little too late isn’t going to cut it anymore. The kid deserves more. Someone who’s going to fucking listen to him. Someone he can trust and rely on. He’s going to need so much support. He can’t shower without wrapping his arms and hand, which he can’t do himself. He’ll need help changing the bandages. Not to mention the antibiotics. He probably never slept well to begin with, if last night is any indication. He barely eats. He was hurting himself all along right under Leo’s nose. He fucking tried to—

Aiden sounds like he’s trying to breathe through a straw, inhales shorter and shorter. Leo looks over to find Aiden already watching him, brow furrowed. 

When Aiden tilts his head, Leo realizes it’s him. 

He’s the one gasping like all the oxygen has been sucked from the room. 

Great.

“I’m sorry,” he forces out, but it’s barely audible. “I just—I need—” 

He stumbles down the hall, sparing both of them from a backward glance, and shuts himself in the bathroom. 

Leaning against the door is no good, he feels pinned there by the pressure in his chest. 

God, like he just cornered Aiden. 

He fumbles to turn on the sink, hands shaking. His fingers feel like precarious stacks of marbles rather than joints, skin slick from perspiration. Why did he have to replace the valve with stupid spoke handles? It takes a few tries before he can cup his hands together to hold onto any water. Given how little he’s breathing, the first splash feels like he’s waterboarding himself. He straightens, gasping and sputtering, but the innate reaction overrides his anxiety and he manages to pull in some deeper breaths. He keeps his hands under the tap and forces focus on the sensation of the cold water against his skin, the air in his lungs. 

One, two, three, four…one, two, three, four…

The panic recedes the more he breathes but guilt is quick to fill the vacancy. He doesn’t know what he was thinking, letting his prescription run out. He’s useless when he’s like this. 

His hands still shake as he twists off the faucet, nerves wrung out and cold. He avoids his reflection and turns to leaning against the counter while he towels his hands dry. His phone’s almost dead from not being charged all night. He stares at the chat with Delia, his string of blue bubbles filling the right side, unanswered. The last one, “What time do you get off today?” is a poor cover for his real question, “How soon can you come over?” Without hesitation, his anxiety is all too happy to supply countless awful explanations for why she hasn’t had three fucking seconds to send a single thumbs up in the last six hours. His pulse steps up again, his fingertips start to tingle. 

Leo drops his phone back into his pocket and scrubs his face with his hands, forces another few rounds of deep breaths. There’s a headache building right behind his eyes. More sleep will help but he has to take care of Aiden first. Starting with an apology. 

He finally turns to meet his tired, bloodshot eyes in the mirror. The lines of his face, deepened by exhaustion, make him look like he’s pushing forty and the fact that he hasn’t shaved since last weekend isn’t exactly helping. He scratches the corner of his jaw where there are a few traitorous white hairs. When he reaches for his toothbrush, he knows he’s stalling but how will he even start explaining his reaction to Aiden? 

At some point, he replaced his toothbrush on the charging stand and started washing his hands. Based on the suds caught in the drain, he already washed them more than once. He can’t get stuck here, not now. His heart starts rushing again and his throat feels tight, panic and frustration balling in his chest. How many times has this happened in the last day alone? 

“It hasn’t been this bad for years,” he whispers in his defense to nobody. 

But he still can’t stop. Not yet. He meets his eyes in the mirror again, ignoring the flare of self-pity and disgust. Just one more time, he tells himself, trying to believe it. 

Four pumps of soap. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi…

The door opens and he immediately loses count; isn’t sure if he wasn’t finished yet or if he’d already started over again. Aiden peeks through the crack, crease between his brow telling Leo he’s also biting his lip. When Leo meets his gaze in the mirror, Aiden ducks back into the hallway. 

Shit. 

Aiden wouldn’t have taken such a liberty without knocking first, probably more than once and only then after Leo was in here for way too long. Another total failure for the list. But at least it was enough to knock him out of the loop. 

The poor kid looks like he’s expecting a hell of a lot more than Leo suggesting breakfast when he comes out into the hall. He’s pressed against the span of wall between the top of the stairs and Leo’s bedroom. Not quite adjacent to where Leo stands in the bathroom door but clearly trying to find some middle ground that isn’t retreating to his room at the end of the hall. 

Leo buys them both a little space by turning to the washer and dryer to switch their laundry from last night. He wonders if Aiden notices the two extra towels he used when he needed more than one shower to feel like he could sleep. God, he’s completely unraveling. 

Aiden is no more relaxed when Leo faces him again. 

“Aiden, look—” he says at the same time Aiden says, “M’sorry.”

He holds up a hand and Aiden flinches. 

Well, that’s about right after what he pulled. But man, if it’s not a kick in the gut while he’s down. To make matters worse, Aiden seems to think it’s his responsibility to set things right after being subjected to Leo’s irrational panic. His guilt starts to turn in to a physical ache in his chest.  

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” Aiden watches him carefully like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, long fingers worrying the cuffs of the hoodie. “You’re not in trouble,” Leo adds, taking a note from Delia. “Just finding you on the floor—” 

“Mmm….you…w-w-w—” Aiden shakes his head, swallows. “Mmm…here…” Leo waits but Aiden doesn’t say anything else, just huffs out a little sigh of exasperation before letting his gaze slide to rest on Leo’s make-shift bed. Which of course he tidied, blanket neatly folded and pillow set on top. His eyes lift to dance around Leo’s face, searching for some sign that he’s getting it. 

“I was sleeping here…” Leo feels obtuse stating the basest fact he can pull out of this exchange but Aiden nods. 

“I—my—” He scrunches his face up and shakes his head. He’s pinching and pulling at the cuffs of his sleeves now, grip tightening. He swallows hard twice before he tries again. “I’mmm…you…here…” 

“You…” Leo hopes he’s not taking too far of a leap. “...moved onto the floor when you saw me there?”  

Aiden turns his head away like he’s expecting to be slapped, gives a tiny nod. 

“That’s okay, it’s okay,” Leo says quickly. “But you didn’t have to sleep on the floor just because I was. Anyway, that runner is actually pretty thick, I—” Aiden bites his lips together like he wants to say something else. “What is it?” 

He knots his fingers together then separates them after a quick glance up at Leo, smoothing them against his thighs. “I—I—mmm…” He takes a deliberate step closer, halving the space between them. Does it with the air of stepping up to the chopping block. He waits for Leo to connect the dots. When he doesn’t, he lifts one of his hands, stopping just shy of brushing the back of Leo’s, before letting it fall again and tucking both behind his back. 

“Oh.” 

Despite his countless missteps, Aiden wanted to be closer to him. 

“Well, that’s okay.” When he realizes it sounds like giving permission he amends, “I mean, of course it’s okay. You can do whatever you want. Sleep wherever you want.” 

Aiden furrows his brow.  

“Sorry. I just mean— We never— I was worried—” Leo takes a breath. “You…” Cried yourself to sleep in my arms. “...fell asleep and I didn’t know if you wanted me to stay. I didn’t want you to be surprised when you woke up.” He sighs. “But I guess you were anyway…” 

Aiden shakes his head. “S’okay.” 

This kid would let him get away with murder…and then try to apologize like he invented death. Leo has to learn to get out ahead of these things if they’re ever going to have a chance.

“Were you—Did you have bad dreams or…” 

He lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug but doesn’t meet Leo’s gaze. 

“We’ll figure something out for tonight, yeah?” 

Aiden nods. He keeps his eyes down but he’s dropped his shoulders from his ears, hands in the pocket of the hoodie. Leo wants to wrap him up in a hug, make sure knows he was never in trouble, and tell him he never has to sleep alone again if he doesn’t want to. 

“I shouldn’t have freaked out like that,” he blurts instead. “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Dark eyes search his. 

“It’s just— I panicked and I wasn’t thinking straight. After last night— After everything— It’s worse when I haven’t slept enough but it’s not your fault. It has nothing to do with you—” This word-vomit explanation is doing him no favors but he can’t seem to stop. “I promise it won’t happen again. I just want to make sure you know you didn’t do anything wrong, it was all me and I’m going to—” 

Aiden opens his mouth and closes it again. 

“What?” 

He shakes his head, dropping his gaze. 

Leo scrubs a hand over his face. “Short story long, I’m sorry for panicking.” 

Aiden peeks up at him then looks down again. Slow and deliberate, he pulls his good hand out of his pocket. He keeps it low, arm bent just enough to allow him to turn his palm up. A suggestion of an invitation, rather than an overt one, and one that could easily be missed.

Leo can’t help but smile as he squeezes Aiden’s fingers. 

Now Aiden ducks his chin against his chest in a good way. Not quite smiling but almost. 

“How about some breakfast?” 

“Mmm’yeah…mmm’thank…you…” Aiden parses the words carefully.

“Eggs and toast sound okay? I think we’re out of bacon.” 

Aiden nods. “Mhm.” 

He’s agreeing too quickly, making himself easy and accommodating. Is it because he’s afraid or does he think he has something to make up for? Either way, it feels like backward progress and Leo wonders all over again how he will ever rise to this occasion. 

But he can think of worse ways to spend the rest of the day than trying to get a real smile out of Aiden. So at least he has somewhere to start.

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@octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @nick-pascal @whumpy-writings @cracked-porcelain-princess

@meetmeinhellcroutons @briars7 @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @neuro-whump

@painsandconfusion @wolfeyedwitch @skyhawkwolf @haro-whumps @onlybadendings

@peachy-panic @fillthedarkvoid @rabass @crystalquartzwhump @dont-touch-my-soup

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @hold-him-down @guachipongo @creetchure @leyswhumpdump

@aseasonwithclarasblog @catawhumpus @magziemakeswhatever @pigeonwhumps @batfacedliar-yetagain

@whumpinthepot @dustypinetree @whump-in-progress @pirefyrelight @whumps-and-bumps

@i-eat-worlds @hellodecisionparalysis @heartfullofhoney @alternateminds @taterswhump

[hyperfixatingonstephcurry]

The vibes were immaculate for JP’s homecoming

Look at them 🥹

[ahqkas]

♯ ATTRACTIVE THINGS THEY DO . . . without realizing

BRUCE WAYNE

rolling his sleeves

bruce wayne sat at his desk, eyes scanning the papers in front of him with a focus that bordered on obsessive. his brow furrowed slightly as he sifted through the reports, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. with a sigh, he leaned back in the chair, his broad shoulders rolling as he stretched, the fabric of his shirt straining just enough to hint at the muscle beneath.

he reached down to his cuffs, fingers moving with practiced ease as he undid the buttons. the action was simple, but there was an undeniable smoothness to it. slowly, he pushed the sleeves up, the fabric tugging against the defined muscles of his forearms as they flexed with the motion. the shirt rode up slightly, revealing the veins beneath.

once the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, he flexed his fingers briefly, feeling the weight of the day settle into his body. there was no rush, no hurry. bruce wayne wasn’t just a man who wore suits—he was a man who controlled the world around him.

looking down and leaning in to hear you better

he stood tall, his imposing presence filling the space as he leaned in slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. the difference in height between you made the moment feel all the more intimate, as though the world around you had faded into the background. his broad shoulders, strong and steady, seemed to fill the room with the weight of his silent power. every inch of him radiated control, and yet, there was something almost magnetic about the way he was focused on you now, narrowing the gap between you.

he tilted his head just a little, his gaze softening yet still intense, before his lips parted slightly. with a quiet, almost imperceptible shift in his posture, he leaned closer, his height forcing you to tilt your head back just to meet his eyes.

“sorry, what were you saying?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, the words lingering in the air between you. there was no rush in his movement, no hint of impatience—just the steady presence of a man who knew the effect he had, who made every action feel deliberate, calculated.

DICK GRAYSON

stretching

dick grayson towered in the middle of your bedroom, a small stretch escaping him after a long day of training and patrol. with a soft grunt, he raised his arms high above his head, his back arching slightly as his muscles flexed in the motion. the action was simple, but the way his body moved with effortless grace caught the light in just the right way, accentuating the sleek, toned lines of his chest and abdomen.

as he reached upwards, the hem of his shirt lifted slightly, revealing the faint line of his happy trail—dark and subtle beneath the fabric. his abs tightened with the stretch, his posture perfect and confident, yet so natural.

when his arms finally lowered, he relaxed, a small, satisfied smile curling on his lips, unaware of the effect the simple stretch had on your wandering gaze.

running a hand through his hair

he leaned back against the post of your bed, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath after another long night of patrol. he was tired, but not exhausted—just enough to feel the strain of the evening settling into his muscles. his hand moved instinctively to his hair, running through it with a relaxed sigh. the motion was effortless, but there was something undeniably attractive about it. his fingers tangled in the dark strands, pushing them back, only to leave them even more tousled than before.

his hair, usually neatly styled, now fell in messy waves, a little wild and chaotic—much like dick himself. as he scratched the back of his head, his tousled look gave off a carefree vibe, as if he didn’t have a care in the world despite the weight of his responsibilities. the slight rumple only added to the charm.

his lips quirked into a soft, knowing smile as he caught the look in your eyes, momentarily lost in them—so damn predictable. he had you right where he wanted you.

JASON TODD

leaning against a doorway

jason todd stood in the doorway, his posture relaxed yet undeniably intimidating. his arms were crossed over his chest, biceps flexing slightly with the movement, a stance that spoke of quiet confidence and a hint of defiance. his shoulders were broad, his body leaning casually against the doorframe, but there was an edge to him—something hard and unyielding beneath the surface. the way his weight shifted ever so slightly to one side gave him an almost effortless air, as if the world had to adjust to him, not the other way around.

his dark eyes scanned the room, taking in everything with a sharp focus, though he didn’t seem to be in a rush to move or speak. the leather jacket he adorned hung from his frame, the subtle creases and folds of the material giving it an air of worn-in familiarity, like it had seen too much for too long. but his gaze—intense, guarded—never left your figure, as if he was watching for something just out of reach, something that only he could sense.

the way jason held himself in the doorway, arms crossed with a hint of tension in his posture, felt like a silent challenge for most, though there was nothing overtly aggressive about it. it was just the quiet power of a man who was used to being underestimated, a man who didn't need to say a word to command attention.

wearing a shirt that fits just right

he moved through the motions of his training with practiced precision, the rhythm of his strikes steady and controlled. his black shirt clung to his body, the dark fabric stretching over the defined muscles of his chest and back as he moved. the fit was snug, highlighting the sheer strength in his frame, the subtle curve of his biceps flexing with each punch and kick.

swaet began to bead on his forehead, trailing down his temple as he focused on his technique, his breathing steady despite the exertion. the shirt, stretched tight across his shoulders, rode up slightly as his arms reached high, the lines of his stomach momentarily visible as he performed another series of rapid, forceful punches. his torso flexed, muscles tightening and releasing with each movement, and the shirt seemed to accentuate the sculpted definition of his body.

as he paused, catching his breath, the shirt clung even tighter, the movement of his chest beneath it noticeable with every rise and fall of his breath. jason didn’t seem to notice—or care—how the fit of the shirt left little to the imagination. his focus was on the work, on pushing himself further, but the way the fabric outlined his form only added to the unspoken intensity of his presence. even when he wasn't speaking, his body did all the talking.

[chosove]

18+ mdni | hockey player toru

an. *GUNSHOTS* *EXPLOSIONS* *CUMSHOTS* HEAVYYY inspo from this one iwaoi ff i read on ao3 in 2021. shit was so good its still in my head, if anyone knows the name lmk so i can cred properly! they did it better yall

pairing: NHL satoru gojo x interviewer f!reader

this was the interview of your career. the one that would take you from a nobody to the columnist you’ve always wanted to be. of course you were grateful, who wouldn’t be ecstatic to speak to gojo “the strongest” satoru, Jujutsu Slapshots newest star. from his innate talent to unreal looks, it’s no wonder gojo satoru was everyone’s recent obsession, including yours. this was all that was running through your mind as you stared at the tall man sitting in front of you, his lanky legs stretching out before moving to tap your foot with his, trying to get your attention.

“as much as i love when pretty girls stare at me, we should probably start with the questions right?”

finally hearing his voice broke you out of your trance, red blossoming on your cheeks when you realized just how long you were staring at him. “r-right! sorry, um” you flipped through your notebook, scrambling to find something- anything from the hundreds of questions you had for him. opening up a random page, you began reading without processing any of the words. “gojo, a lot of your fans praise your skills on the rink, but are curious about what you’re like outside the game. do you keep up your fierce persona, or is that reserved for your opponents?”

your words tumbled out a mile a minute, mouth slightly gaping when you finally looked up at the man you were interviewing, only to find him already staring at you, trademark charming smile plastered on his face. “that’s a good question…” he began, hand gripping his chin as he pretended to think deeply. “honestly im just a regular guy. i like sweet treats and don’t like doing anything on days off. i’m only ‘fierce’ as you would say when im talking to a girl for example.”

your hands were jotting down his words rapidly, the sly confession of his only registering after a few seconds. “o-oh! and um…what would you say is the type of girl you go after?”

he quirked a brow at this, head tilted to the side as he looked at you with those intense ocean eyes. “is this a question for on-the-rink gojo satoru or boring, everyday ‘toru?”

you giggled at his phrasing, wondering how to proceed. if it was any other girl they’d jump at this opening to lay it on thick (and you were tempted), but just to test the waters you decided to take it easy. “is it okay if i say both?”

gojo nodded, never breaking eye contact with you even when you looked away, unable to hold his strong stare. “well, the star of Jujutsu Slapshots would say anyone who can balance me out but still match my energy. i want someone to ground me but keep up with me if we’re at a carnival, y’know?”

you nodded, intently following his statement and subconsciously comparing yourself to each of his requirements. “regular me though, would say pretty girls like you who have my jersey number on their water bottle have me wrapped around their finger.”

your head shot up at the rest of his statement, finally maintaining eye contact for more than a few seconds. holy shit, was this your chance? what if he was just being polite and you were about to ruin the whole vibe…worth a shot though, right?

“i-is that so? ‘cause for girls like me, our ideal type is a hockey player named gojo satoru”

he chuckled at your response, shaking his head before standing up and moving towards you. “looks like we’re both in luck then. why dont we take a break now? all this talking has me really thirsty.”

looking up at him like this made you realize maybe you were in over your head, he was above you in every way including physically right now. maybe if you focused on it a bit longer, you’d find it in you to decline the offer to see his actual jersey that just so happened to be in his bedroom. maybe you’d say no to his offer of trying it on.

who were you kidding? you would never be strong enough to deny that. maybe that was the same reason you didnt stop him from lying you on his bed, slipping off your pants because ‘you’d look so much better in just my jersey’. and since you were at it, you could blame that same part of yourself for obediently spreading your legs when he asked- he was just so thirsty, who were you to deny him?

“o-oh fuck, gojo” you whined as he wrapped his lips around your clit, gently sucking before flicking his tongue against it.

“call me ‘toru pretty girl, think we’re past the formalities yeah?” he rasped, fingers coming up to pump in and out of you as he traced the letters of his name against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

he’d already pulled 2 orgasms out of you, swallowing down every drop of your essence while grinding his hips against his bed harshly, borderline fucking his mattress as he overstimulated you. “don’ have anything l-left ‘toru” your voice cried out, tears spilling from your eyes as your hips crashed against his face despite your protests.

pushing his fingers deeper, he curled them to reach all the spots you never could, repeating the movement until he found that spot that left you gasping for air. “thereeeee she is, pussy’s dripping all over me but ya have nothin’ left?” satoru laughed ay the irony of your words, relishing in the way he seemed to memorize sll the sensitive parts in your body this fast. “go ahead n’ cry pretty, but don’t lie to me”

your voice cried out a sound you thought was his name, but it was hard to be sure at this point. with how rapidly he was fingerfucking you while his mouth attacked your clit, you weren’t sure you’d ever produce a coherent word again. it didnt take long until you were once again on the edge of cumming, hands flying to his head as you desperately humped against his face. satoru didn’t complain though, he’d die happily if it was between your legs.

“c-cummin…’toru i c-can feel ngh”

‘that’s right princess, cream all over my fuckin’ fingers, know how bad your pussy needs this yeah?” his muffled voice spoke into your cunt, impoosibly apeeding up his ministrations until he watched your body convulse against him, a spray of clear liquid shooting out of your pussy.

riding out your orgasm against his tongue, you finally flopped back and attempted to catch your breath, eyes going wide when you felt his hands pull his jersey up to expose your tits.

“think ya can squirt again for me, but on my cock this time?”

[chlix]

superbloom

bf! chan x fem! reader: you almost ruin your own proposal

pairing: chan x reader

genre: fluff!

word count: 1.7k

warnings/tags: public proposals, y/n is a bit of a mess but its ok

a/n: this is a request from @taevhs who requested reader accidentally saying no to her own proposal out of shock and stressing chan tf out (ask is linked HERE). i am SO sorry this took so long to get to 😭😭😭 i hope it was at least semi-worth the wait

The thing is: you should’ve seen it coming.

Chan is a lot of things, but he’s not subtle. Especially when he gets really into something. He’s good at disguising the planning, at worrying in private and then clearing his face when he sees you, but you know him too well. You can sense the vibe even without him saying anything.

And anyway, you’d talked about marriage before. You’d thought about wedding planning and what time of year would be best, who would you invite. You inquired about a marriage license. You planned on getting a better apartment together. You were engaged in everything but name. So really, the proposal was imminent. It was just a matter of waiting for all his plans to come to fruition. So, you played dumb when he started paying special attention to your hands and the rings you wore most often. You didn’t start fights when you noticed him texting your best friend more than usual. You pretended not to see when you saw him researching photographers on his open laptop. You were willing to play into the surprise, and honestly, you didn’t want to pry. You wanted to be enchanted and impressed when the time came. It would make it more exciting.

You must’ve had a lapse in mentality for a second, or perhaps you just had a lot on your mind that day, because when he asked if you wanted to play hooky and go on a day trip with him, you didn’t suspect a thing.

“How spontaneous,” you’d said, delighted.

He’d only smiled. “Gotta keep you on your toes, y’know.”

You didn’t notice how the nervousness pulled at his eyes as you called in sick to work and put on a cute blue dress. He suggests a white sundress, but you decline, feeling like it’s more of a blue kind of day. You don’t notice how he doesn’t comment on the choice the way he normally does.

Your destination was a botanical garden up north, a prospect that excites you. Your Instagram needed something to spruce it up and some photos against the foliage would be perfect to introduce a vernal vibe. He leads you over to a wall of hydrangeas, and helps you rearrange your hat and jewelry so they stand out in the bright afternoon sun.

"Okay so look left, now look up, now hold out your bag." He's always good at directing you for photos, copying the same directions he's been given on his various shoots, and you've become much better at taking direction the longer you've been together. 

"Okay now look at the flowers and pretend to pick off a petal. No, reach out a little farther. Okay, hold that." You hear his voice moving as he changes angles, trying to find exactly where the best shot is. Your eyes fixate on the hydrangeas, at the vast greenish blooms that are climbing up the trellises, smelling almost sickly sweet. For a moment you worry that the pale green of them might clash with your dress, but if that was the case then at least you have dozens of other photos in different locations. No great loss. Inside the bush, you can see small insects climbing along the branches. There are a few buds deep int he recesses, too young to push their way out and bloom. All whole world beneath you, sheltering in soft petals. A home for smaller creatures.

You get so distracted by the flowers themselves you don't notice that Chan has stopped speaking.

"Did you get it?" you call out. No response. You turn to where he was standing across the way.

He's gone.

Confusion settles in. Your eyes dart back and forth. "Baby? Where'd you go?" He's nowhere. You turn completely around, towards the other end of the wall of hydrangeas, and that's where you finally find Chan.....down on one knee.

Your vision immediately tunnels. His hair is out of place, as if he's been running his hands through it. He does that when he gets nervous. Your gaze darts down to see an open ring box in one hand, the gem glittering in the bright sun, nearly blinding you just from the intensity of its presence.

"Oh my god." You can't breathe. Your heart stutters in your chest.

"Y/n," he says, looking up at you with so much tenderness and love. "these past few years with you have as beautiful and perfect as a spring day. You're the most wonderful woman I've ever met, and I’ve never been so glad to know anyone. I never want our time together to end. I love you more than life itself.” He takes a breath then says those four words. “Will you marry me?"

Your brain short-circuits. It’s like the sun is dimming above you, your whole body struck still. You think of the hydrangeas washing out your dress, and the sun in your eyes, and all the people around watching you flounder and struggle for something to say. You’re so shocked and excited that it’s overwhelming you- cold sweat breaks out on your brow and you lose control of your mouth entirely so instead of saying a resounding "Yes!" the word that comes out is a very quiet "No..."

Chan freezes. The smile that had been spread across his face falls, his eyes dim. 

"No?" he asks, clearly unprepared for this answer. "You don't-"

His own shock snaps you out of yours and your brain kicks back into gear. Horror overwhelms you.

"Oh my god! No, no I just- I was thinking about how I look and how everyone is looking at us right now and I should've worn that white dress you suggested to me and now I've fucked up all the photos and-"

You can't tell if you're making it worse or making it better, so you give up. You grab him by the coat, haul him up, and kiss him.

Suddenly, there's movement around you, and several people burst out from behind the hydrangea bushes that surround you. You open your eyes and see all your friends and family swarming and excited. They were watching the whole thing. They’re all wearing white. Chan invited them so they could share in this happy moment with you. The people around you in the garden clap politely and call congratulations. You look up and notice someone pointing a camera at you a distance away. Chan had the whole thing filmed.

It's a picture-perfect proposal and you'd almost ruined it.

You step back from him, and god he still looks so unsure and you hate yourself for stealing even a little of his joy.

"Yes, Chan. Yes, I'll marry you. A thousand times yes."

Relief sinks into every part of his being, and he leans in to kiss you again. And then your friends and family reach you, and it's all chaos. Your friends are shattering excitedly at you about oh my god Y/N you don't know how hard it was to keep a secret we've been planning this for ages, and the guys in your friend group are clapping Chan on the back, giving more sincere congratulations than you've heard from them in years, but all of it is white noise to you. The only person who exists to you in this moment is Chan. The adrenaline slowly ekes away, and you feel more at peace, more right than you ever have before.

Later that night, you're sitting in your apartment flipping through some zines you'd picked up from the gift shop on the south end of the garden. Chan is in the kitchen putting away leftovers, and the TV is turned on low, white noise for your quiet evening. Your new ring gleams on your finger, and you can barely focus on the botanical facts you're wearing because it keeps catching your eye and distracting you with private glee.

You feel the couch dip as he sits down, and you lean into his side. His hand comes up to wrap around you automatically.

"You scared the shit out of me today," Chan says, and his tone is light but you know he's telling the absolute truth. You wince, setting the zine down and turning to face him properly.

"I was nervous about doing a public proposal," he continues. "I know you said you were okay with it but when I saw you panic I started to worry."

"I'm sorry. I really was just surprised. My mind was in a thousand different places."

You both know you have a tendency to put your foot in your mouth. It's rare you fumble on such a serious occasion, though.

"When you said no, I think my heart dropped into my stomach."

You sigh, cursing your past self for planting any seed of doubt in his mind. "I got overwhelmed. With love for you, I swear, but I started spiraling because I was so caught off guard. I regretted not wearing the white dress you told me to wear. I'd already been thinking that my blue dress clashed with the flowers, and then I realized you were proposing and I thought I'd ruined your whole plan. I felt bad.”

Chan let out a sigh, but it wasn't a tired or exasperated sigh. Instead, it was fond.

"You could've insisted on wearing sweatpants today and it wouldn't have ruined the proposal. You look beautiful in anything. All I wanted was your answer."

"You must've known that there was no way I would've said no."

"But you did."

"Out of shock! Cut me some slack, it's not every day you get proposed to! I've never done it before! I didn't know what to do with myself!"

"I've never proposed to anyone either," Chan says. "I was sweating bullets."

"I just thought it was the heat."

"You're a menace."

"I'm your fiancée," you say, and it's the first time you've said it out loud, and it fills you with so much excitement that a smile splits your face in half all over again. "I'm going to marry you soon."

Chan's smile is a twin of yours. "You are," he says. "And you've never done that either."

"We'll figure it out," you vow. "And I'll learn to watch my mouth."

"Please do. If you don't say "I do" at the altar, I'll collapse out of cardiac arrest."

"Then I guess I better start practicing," you tease. "I, F/N L/N, do take you, Christopher Bang, to be my lawfully wedded husband. I'll repeat it in the mirror every morning."

You're joking of course. You know that when the time comes to say vows, you won't be stuttering or stumbling over the words. They're already echoing in your head over and over again. You think you might start saying them in unrelated conversations, the words bursting out of you like water from a dam. I do, I do, I do.

Chan leans over, finally relaxed, and kisses your cheek. You close your eyes and bask in the attention.

Next time you’ll wear a white dress, and you won’t flinch for a second.

[juleswritesstuff]

'Cause I’m a taker, 'cause I’m a giver

or

Would our beloved marauders and skittles prefer to be on the giving or the receiving end during oral ? 

warnings: smut

James would be a giver through and through, one hundred percent, no questions asked.

He’d be the type of man that gets fully offended when he hears other guys refuse to go down on their girlfriends. He wouldn’t understand it, wouldn’t even start to comprehend how that could even be possible.

He’d live to please, to make sure you are spoiled, worshiped like you were more holy than human. Especially in the bedroom. Your body is a temple, and he’d be devoted to it, every single inch of it.

He’d use just his tongue to bring you to tears the first couple of rounds, nothing else. Not even his fingers.

He would start slowly, teasing, leaving feather-light kisses on the soft skin of your inner thighs, giving you the sweetest of tortures and creating a path that’d lead to the very object of his desires.

He’d pick up his pace as soon as a drop of your essence makes contact with the tip of his tongue. From then on, he’d be gone. He’d lick and suck and lap at your core like his life depended on it.

He'd delve his tongue in to feel you whole, feel your softness, your tightness, the way your sensitive and velvety walls would contract around the delicious intrusion, how wet you'd be by just the attention of his skilled mouth.

He'd take his sweet time with it, too, alternating between relentless flicks of his tongue and languid laps that make your legs shake in both need and impatience. He’d add his fingers then, slowly, one by one, stretching you out and brushing that sweet spot until he brings you so close to the edge that your vision blurs, your mind blanks, and you come undone with a cry of his name on your lips.

He'd dirty talk you through the whole thing, too. And when I say dirty, I mean absolutely filthy. 

It wouldn't matter if his mouth is already occupied with its mission to make you fall apart piece by piece; he'd let it run free and wild to add fuel to the fire already consuming every cell of your body.

Sirius would be both, in equal parts.

I feel like he wouldn't really have a preference. He'd love to please you as much as he'd love to be pleased. 

It would depend on the mood, on the vibe, and on who decides to make the first move.

If it's you, he'd let you take the reins, look at you with the lewdest bedroom eyes ever (this man has the most sensual ‘fuck me’ gaze, I just know that) as you sink to your knees, and he’d fully let you do whatever you wish to him. Slow strokes, fast rhythm, swallowing him whole, sucking his head leisurely, using your hands, using your mouth; it wouldn’t matter. You set the pace, make the rules, and he’d gladly take everything you offer him. Not without any complaints, though, especially when you’d have a little too much fun. He’d whine and grumble and grab the chair handles or the sheets so tight his knuckles would lose all their blood flow, but he’d never tell you to stop.

Because the truth is he’d love to be teased a little but would absolutely never admit it.  He wouldn't need to; you'd feel it right down your throat.

If it's him, you better buckle up because you'd be in for a ride.

He’d be a full-on menace, the biggest of teases.

He’d drag it out as much as he could without making you actually come, slowly but surely work you up with his tongue, his fingers, pumping them carefully, precisely, spreading your wetness all over your tender cunt just to dive in right after and eat you out like a madman until your eyes get watery, and it’s the fourth time he brings you so close to heaven, only to snatch it away from you when you’re just about to get through the gates of pleasure. 

And he’d do all of that with the sultriest smirk on his face.

Remus would be both, but with a little twist.

Because I feel like no matter the scenario, he'd be the one to have the upper hand.

It would be the softest, gentlest kind of dominance, but he'd still be the one leading, whether it's his head between your thighs or the other way around.

His words would be as sweet as honey, his voice a velvety whisper sending shivers throughout your whole body, the coaxing tone he'd use betrayed by his labored breathing, his filthy words, and his hands shaking as he'd resist every instinct his brain would scream at him to succumb to.

But he wouldn't listen to it; he'd keep politely telling you to relax your throat for him, hollow your cheeks a bit more, stroke him faster, swallow around him.

He wouldn't straight-up order you around; that's not the kind of ‘control’ he would be into, in my opinion. He'd be firm, sure -or as firm as he'd manage to be with your mouth or hands on him- but his tone would be laced with a sensuality, a sultriness that would turn his words more into enticing suggestions.

And you'd listen to him so well, of course.

So much so that you would deserve a reward for it, wouldn't you ?

He'd gladly give it to you, gently nudging your legs open, kneading the supple flesh of your thighs with his big hands as he approaches your heat slowly, kissing and worshiping every inch of skin under his lips except for where you’d need him the most, where you’d be dripping for him.

Because he wouldn’t simply give you what you want; no, that would be too easy. He would make you beg for it, tease you until you’re nothing but a stuttering mess throwing insults at him because you're losing your mind over him and his cruel little games.

He’d honestly be endeared by it, thinking you’re so cute with that frown on your face and the flames of desire and impatience burning in your eyes so brightly.

He’d give in, in the end. Because you deserve it.

And because, let’s face it, he couldn’t go one second more without your taste on his tongue.

Regulus would be a giver for the most part.

Why ?

Because he would want to look at you and all your little blissed-out expressions as he is taking you apart piece by piece.

He is an observer; he has learned to study people ever since a very young age, reading every single change in someone’s voice, posture, walking pattern, micro-expressions, and mannerism.

But with you it would be different. He wouldn’t observe you like he does with other people, like he is reading an instructions manual to know what to expect from the person in front of him with just a quick, simple glance. He’d read you like a poem. Attentively, carefully, taking his time to understand the magnificent work of art that is you. 

He wouldn’t do that because he has to. But because he wants to.

He'd want to catch every single shift in your features, every soft exhale leaving your lips, every moan you’d try to swallow down as he lays next to you, his skilled fingers pumping leisurely in and out of you, breaching through your sensitive core, massaging the tender skin of your walls in a rhythm so exquisite yet so excruciatingly slow that you’d have to start begging for him to do something, anything, to relieve the growing ache between your legs.

The heel of his palm would press on your clit with every prod, every stroke of his long and slender fingers inside of you; the friction so good, so sweet and addicting it would snatch the breath out of you, leaving you a blubbering mess as he takes in the way your features contort in pleasure.

Only then, when you would be a step away from reaching your high, your mind hazy and filled only with a perpetual chant of his name that would also roll off your lips, would he get his mouth on you.

And you’d already be soaked, drenched, and so hypersensitive that he would only need to get a taste of you, gather your essence on his tongue, and spread it on your folds, licking and lapping until he’d reach that little bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs, wrapping his lips around it and sucking gently.

You’d be gone in seconds, and he’d have the image of your blissful, fucked-out expression engraved in his brain forever.

Barty would be a receiver. One hundred percent.

And with that I don't mean he would never ever go down on you, because he would, and with immense pleasure too, might I add.

But the feeling of euphoria he'd get from seeing you on your knees, your mascara messy and ruined from the sheer veil of tears coating your eyes as your lips stretch around his cock, would send him into overdrive.

He’d look at you the whole time, lidded eyes darkened with hunger, looking at you through his lashes even when all he’d want to do is throw his head back and get lost in the feeling. He wouldn’t let himself do that, though; he would keep his eyes on you, drinking in the sight he’s being blessed with. His hands would be everywhere: in your hair, sometimes pulling gently, some other times moving them out of the way to fully see you and your sinful mouth working him up; on your face, brushing away the black ink staining your cheeks as they hollow to accommodate him better, farther. 

But his favorite place would be right on the curve between your chin and your neck, where, if he’d put just the slightest bit of pressure, he’d feel your throat contracting and relaxing every time he drags his cock in and out of you. It’d make his head spin.

His whole body would be tense, too, the muscles of his thighs, of his torso, flexing beneath his heated skin as he’d try to stop himself from literally choking you with his erratic thrusts.

But his hips would gain a consciousness of their own, arching forward to meet your greedy mouth, seeking its warmth, its perfect embrace around him, slithering himself in deeper, faster, his head hitting the back of your throat as a string of breathless groans rolls off his tongue.

He’d like it a little messy, honestly. Just like him.

Hello to all of you beautiful people 💗

How are you ? I hope you're doing good and that you spent some amazing holidays ❤

For the first time in months, I finally managed to write something decent, or at least I hope so. So here it is.

It's not exactly what I had promised you, I know (part two of the last request is in the works, don't you worry but I am afraid you'll have to wait a little more), and, on top of that, is also later that I had anticipated, so I am once again really sorry.

I'm also sorry to inform you that I'm taking another writing break until mid February. My exam session will end around then, and I'll finally be able to write more and better 😭

Sorry again for my absence, and sorry for having to disappear again for a little while.

I hope you enjoyed this little thing I came up with, and thank you again for reading my work💗

[bearforcecaptions]

The spell worked, sort of, but not how I wanted. I did have the body of my dreams – I was Garrett now, but I didn’t realize the catch was that I wouldn’t be able to control what I’m doing unless I’m totally alone. And Garrett, or, me, I guess – I’m nearly never alone! The frat house pretty much always has someone in it, and I’m super popular, too. I thought being Garrett would be fun and easy, but stuck like this, it’s torture!

I figured out the ritual from this old book I found at that occult shop downtown, thinking it would be a quick way out of my boring life and into something… well, something way more interesting. Garrett had it all, or so I thought. Girls loved him, he was in the best shape, and everyone wanted to be his friend. But nobody told me about this weird restriction, or maybe I just didn’t read that part carefully enough. I guess the idea was I’d “experience” Garrett’s life, but it’s like watching a movie, except I’m the star and I can only move on my own terms when no one else is around.

And god, my roommate, he’s actually so stupid. When I can’t control my actions, we bro out all the time, but he’s so vapid. I guess I’m not much better, but it’s actually infuriating. You’d think we could have a conversation that’s not about girls, parties, sports, or video games. But no, every time he starts talking, it’s like Garrett’s body just falls right into the rhythm of it, responding automatically. I tried fighting it at first, but it’s like this autopilot takes over, and I’m just... stuck.

I’ve been scouring the room whenever I get a chance to control things, like right now, looking for any sign or clue on how to undo this. There has to be something I missed. I rummaged through his messy closet, which is packed with clothes, gym stuff, and random junk, none of it useful. The guy keeps his stuff in total chaos, and I feel weirdly exposed, like I’m actually pawing through my own things.

Shit, no, is that the door jangling? I thought I would have a couple of hours to try and figure out how to fix this. Who the hell knows when I’ll get another chan-

Fuuck, bro. Why’s my roomie home early? Thought he went to his ‘rents for the weekend. I was just about to jerk one out too. Ah well, maybe he’ll be down for some Call of Duty or something. I could use a beer.

“Yo, dude, what’s up? You back already?” I say, grinning like an idiot as I lean against the door frame, flexing a bit without even realizing it. Dude probably thinks I’m just chillin’, but nah, I’m feelin' like a boss.

He laughs, dropping his bag by the door and shrugging. “Yeah, man, got bored at home. Figured I’d head back early. Parents were driving me nuts.”

“Oh, for sure, dude,” I nod, grabbing a can of beer from the mini-fridge by my bed. “Parents, am I right? They just don’t get it, bro.” I crack it open, chugging half of it in one go, feeling the cool rush. Damn, that’s good.

He slaps my shoulder, laughing. “Dude, I swear, it’s like every time I go back, it’s the same speech about responsibility and blah blah blah. Like, whatever, right?”

“Oh, totally, man,” I laugh, shrugging it off. “Why they gotta be like that, y’know? We’re just out here living, they don’t get it.” I toss him a beer, feeling that chill vibe kickin’ in, like nothing in the world matters but just hanging with my bro. This is what it’s all about – no worries, no drama, just cold beers and good times.

“Bro, I’m feelin’ a COD sesh,” I say, grabbing the controller off the couch. “You down?”

He grins. “Hell yeah, let’s wreck some noobs.”

We crash down on the couch, controllers in hand, beers in easy reach, and it’s like all the worries in the world just melt away. I’m trash-talkin’, throwin’ down taunts, and we’re both laughing so hard my sides hurt. I don’t even remember the last time I felt this alive.

“You’re so bad, dude,” I laugh, jabbing him in the ribs as I get another kill. “How are you still this bad?”

“Shut up, bro!” he shoves me back, laughing too, and I’m grinning like an idiot.

Fuck, life is good, I think, as I take a gulp of my beer. I got my bros, I got my beer, and I got my games. What more does a dude need? Life’s good.

[thoughtfulfiction]

Shift in the Routine

Author’s Note: Vibes are up from episode one of Hard Knocks starring Batman but I really wanted to write something angsty.

Part II

The morning started off with an entire 16 oz cup full of coffee spilling all over the kitchen floor. The brown puddle continued to spread and you watched in horror as the caramel frappuccino you’d just spent the last 20 minutes carefully curating to perfection went to waste. Then, your apartment key got stuck in the door, snapping in half so you had to make a call to your lovely landlord who charged you $150 to replace the key, and get the maintenance guy to come in and get your old key out. There went the money that you wanted to use to splurge on lunch.

Just when you thought you’d turned a corner for the better when you got off work early, your best friend Rachel called in a panic, putting an immediate end to the relaxing afternoon you had planned.

“Hi babe! I need you to do me a huge favor.”

You sighed, mentally saying goodbye to the Netflix binge on the couch with a fluffy blanket you were desperately looking forward to. “What’s up?“

She chuckles softly, breathing out a sound of relief that you were willing to help. “You know you’re my favorite person in the world, right?”

“What do you need Rach?” You bite out, your patience mostly nonexistent after such an awful day. Even her best attempt at buttering you up wouldn’t fix it.

“Okay, okay jeez. Who pissed in your cereal this morning? Anyways, I need you to run to my office and grab my other laptop. The one I have with me died and the tablet just isn’t cutting it right now,” you can hear her whispering to someone while you wait on the other end of the line for further instructions, “texting you the address as we speak.”

Your destination was 48 minutes away from her office, much closer to your job. Rachel owed you. Big time. “Fine. Be there in an hour.” You hung up a little in the midst of hearing her say “thank you” for the sixth time.

Rachel was an interior designer, working on some top secret project with a client for the last year, whose identity she refused to reveal, that was until today when she clearly had no choice. She’d apparently asked the client if it was ok for you to come to the house and they were clearly cool with it because the gate opened and the mansion you were faced with was unlike anything you’d ever seen. Every part of you wished you’d worn nicer clothes to work today.

Before you could even knock, your friend opened the door and ushered you in, plugging the laptop into one of the kitchen outlets and pulling up whatever she needed, thanking you again for saving her ass.

You looked around the room, exquisite marble covered the countertops, super cozy looking white swivel chairs and every square inch of the place just screamed luxury. “Who the hell lives here alone? Head of the mafia?”

Rachel snorts out a laugh, typing away without looking up at you.

“Not exactly,” a male voice is heard behind you, scaring you a little. And that makes Rachel laugh even more. “I assume you’re Rachel’s friend y/n.”

No fucking way.

You glance at Rachel before turning around to face him, nodding your head. “I’m so sorry your highness, you’re more…King of the Jungle, right? The mafia is more of a Bills thing.” All the secrecy made sense now and you turn towards her, your eyes full of disbelief.

“You signed an NDA didn’t you? Because I know you’re the world’s worst secret keeper and you’ve worked for the Bengals starting quarterback for a year and I haven’t heard a peep. Wait,” you look at him again, “does this mean I have to sign one?”

“Would you like to?” Joe deadpans, a hint of amusement pokes out behind his rigid exterior. He looks even better in person, you think to yourself.

“I have always wanted to sign one but I’ve never really been in the position to do that. But now…”

“Now you’re being ridiculous,” Rachel cuts in, “he’s not gonna make you sign anything, you don’t even know the gate code.”

Waving her off for ruining your fun, you grab your keys and get ready to head home when Joe’s voice stops you in your tracks for the second time in the last 20 minutes.

“You don’t want water or anything before you go? I have an entire fridge just for Voss water. The glass bottles.” His voice is so relaxed, a calming energy surrounds him and he delivers his words with such a casual tone like it’s not one of the most absurd things you’ve ever heard.

“Are you being serious?”

“No! I’m kidding,” he laughs, a genuine hearty sound that you hope to never forget. You need to leave this fortress as soon as humanly possible before you find yourself attracted to the way the man breathes.

Rachel has long forgotten the two of you are in the room, completely in the zone while deciding between white oak and alder so the gorgeous man walks you out. Has he always been this tall? “Rich and funny. It’s very nice to meet you Joe.”

He’s about to let you leave, but he doesn’t want to regret not going for it. “Would you—maybe want to um, see each other again? When you’re having less of a bad day? I promise there will be no coffee involved, just a little dinner?” This is a stark difference from his earlier nonchalance, you can tell he’s trying to keep the nerves at bay.

“You heard all of that?” You look at him wide-eyed. Of course Joe freaking Burrow heard you complaining about spilling coffee everywhere and damaging your keys, not your finest moments. And somehow, none of that deterred him from asking you out. “I’d love to. Rachel can give you my number and I’ll see you soon?”

“Yes, definitely.”

Dinner turned into dinner and a movie which turned into several nights of ordering in. That became FaceTime dates when he would travel across the country, helping him pick out clothes to wear for his foundation’s golf tournament or getting up at ungodly hours to answer his calls during Paris Fashion Week. Then he came home to lock in for the season but not before giving you a jump scare by randomly buzzing and bleaching his hair. Everything you thought you knew about him from the media or via word of mouth living the city, was nothing compared to actually getting to be with him. He was funny and kind and the most caring person in the world and you really owed Rachel your entire life for asking you to drop off that laptop.

Admittedly, you were nervous going into the season. You’d seen him go down last year in Baltimore, watching on tv like every other fan feeling helpless as his season ended. Now you’d seen first hand how much work had gone into not only getting him back to what he was before but transforming him into a better version of what he once was. And routine was everything. Workouts and meals were scheduled down to meticulous detail, meetings with his nutritionist and strength trainer happened frequently and the closer you got to week 1 the more dialed into the process he was. You just tried your best to navigate the controlled chaos.

Friday evening before you drove home after work, you made a pit-stop at Joe’s to drop something off. Having already decided that you were staying at your place for the rest of the weekend as to not be distraction, you placed your surprise in the fridge feeling proud of yourself before closing the door, meeting your boyfriend face to face.

“Oh my god, you scared the shit out of me!” You playfully smacked his chest as he grabs onto your hands, enveloping you in a warm embrace. “I didn’t think I’d see you. Thought you’d be up to your eyebrows in New England film right now.”

“Took a break to grab a snack,” he sidesteps you to get to the fridge, taking a look inside before he spots the item you just placed in there. “What are these?”

You nod toward the tupperware in his hand, “open it.”

Joe carefully takes off the lid, looking at the contents inside like a kid on christmas morning, recognizing the look of his favorite dessert, with a twist.

“They’re protein pumpkin pie cups. The bottom is peanut butter.”

“Two of my favorite things. Well, three now, including you. Thank you.” You want to pretend to have a toothache at how sweet he’s being but instead you stand on your toes, inching your way up to kiss him on the lips and when you pull away to stand at your normal height he sneaks another kiss, pressing one onto the side of your head. It’s getting late and you really don’t want to leave, but you can’t mess up his routine. The next time you see him is after the loss, he’s understandably disappointed but also a little relieved to shake some of the rust off and come back more relaxed the next game.

Slowly but surely the losses piled up and they added more weight to his often slumped shoulders. You tried to lighten the load by being a constant presence, reminding him of how well he was playing, but the once comfortable, homey atmosphere that Joe created for you became tense. Long conversations about how the team could be better turned into shrugs, “I don’t knows” and exhausted sighs.

And now? The team was 4-8.

You’d been staying at Joe’s since the bye week ended just to make sure he wasn’t isolating himself and completely consumed by football. When he came home after the Steelers game you could instantly tell it was going to be a long night. As soon as he set foot in the door he dropped his bag off and headed up to his office without giving you so much as a glance.

Dinner was cold by the time he emerged again two hours later. You didn’t want to say the wrong thing. And you also didn’t want to just sit there and say nothing. The elephant in the room was doubling in size by the minute. “Joe, you—”

“If you’re about to say I played well you can just…not. I fumbled the ball twice and threw a pick. Three turnovers isn’t exactly a recipe for success.”

You closed your eyes, trying to come up with something that would get him to see things the way you did. “I know that, but you still fought your way back and you guys were so close to completing the comeback.”

His adam’s apple bobs uncomfortably slow as he swallows some of his frustration. None of this was your fault and he knew that. He just, really didn’t want to talk about it anymore today. He’d discussed it with the team, with coaches, the media. The game had ended long ago and he was still having to explain himself. Glancing at the clock, he let you know he was heading to bed and he was just…gone. No hug, no kiss on the cheek or anything. Which usually wouldn’t have bothered you but then you found him fast asleep with his back facing you. You climbed in behind him, treating him like the little spoon as you wrapped your arms around him but he easily removed himself from your grasp, covering himself with the blanket, mumbling something about not feeling like cuddling tonight. You had this overwhelming urge to cry so you turned away from him, squeezing your eyes shut, begging sleep to overtake you.

Waking up the next morning, you decide to shake off whatever that was last night. You texted Joe’s chef and asked him what was on the menu for tonight, thinking that a good meal and some lighthearted conversation was just the thing he needed. The work day was long and frustrating, some random sponsors came in to do some long winded presentation about the new health guidelines which was about as entertaining as watch Geno Stone miss tackles. One thing was motivating you to get through it and that was Morgan, Joe’s chef texting you that he would have everything ready when you got home and all you had to do was put your finishing touches on the evening.

All of the food was prepped, the table was set, candles lit and all you needed was Joe. You wait 45 minutes for him to walk in the door, looking surprised. “What is all this?”

“Nothing special, I just figured we could eat together before watching Monday Night Football in bed.”

The look on his face isn’t promising. “I already ate at the facility,” Joe says regretfully. He’s met with silence and it’s uncomfortable, worrying. “How was work?”

“I texted you,” your voice hardens, “twice. No response.”

“Wasn’t near my phone all day. We had a team meeting, guys said things that were on their minds and we had an open and honest conversation. I’m sorry I didn’t see it.”

You close your eyes, really trying not to cry about something so small. “Right, ok. How did your meeting go?”

“It was fine,” he shrugs, not divulging any other details and it irks you even more. Joe catches you massaging your temples, a clear sign that you’re stressed. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” you echo his words, hoping he gets the hint, “had a long day.”

The quarterback places his hands on your shoulders, hoping to ease the tension in your posture. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“That’s rich,” you mumble.

“Hm?”

You grab his hands and pry them off of you. “I said that’s rich. You know, coming from you.”

He looks irritated but keeps his voice even, “what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you want me to open up and talk about my feelings when you’ve been an emotional brick wall the last couple weeks! I can barely get two words out of you. Joe, I’m trying babe. I respect your time and your space, I never stay the night on Saturdays or ask you do anything past 8pm and you still shut me out. Why is that?”

“You don’t think that doing all of this is a little much right now? Everyone wants something from me all the time. I just need a second to think, on my own. And I get it, you’re trying to help but you’re always here, pestering me about little things. I really don’t need you breathing down my neck and smothering me this week.”

You stare at him for a while, processing every word he just said.

You’re pestering him.

You’re smothering him.

Breathing down his neck.

That’s why he didn’t want you to hold him last night. He thinks you’re too needy, too clingy.

You’d done the one thing you’d been telling yourself you wouldn’t do. You had disturbed his peace, messed up his flow. In trying to be helpful and proactive, you had actually gotten more in the way. And he didn’t want you here right now. He’d just made that painfully clear.

“No you’re right,” you tell him, in your most normal tone, “I’ll stop with the questions. You probably have stuff to do so I’m gonna clean this stuff up.”

Joe nods simply, heading upstairs to crack open the Dallas film. A few stray tears escape your eyes as soon as he’s gone. You gave yourself 10 minutes to have a little cry and then the leftovers were placed in the fridge, dishes put away, candles blown out and everything back in its rightful place. Then you headed upstairs to Joe’s room to pack your stuff. He clearly needed space from you and you weren’t going to stay anywhere you weren’t wanted. Carefully placing all of your bags in the car, you took a shuddering breath before putting the keys in the ignition.

He woke up out of his sleep around 4am looking for you, feeling the cold space where your body was supposed to be. Chalking it up to you maybe having slept in one of the guest rooms after the tense conversation from earlier, he turned over and went back to sleep. You knew you had a problem, tossing and turning aimlessly, growing accustomed to being next to him, literally proving his point. The honeymoon phase was over and you desperately needed to pull it together.

“You don’t need to freak out, every couple goes through a rough patch,” Rachel tries to reassure you, digging into her bowl of popcorn as you lay face first, mumbling into your pillow. “Babe I can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

It feels like there’s a ton of bricks weighing you down after one disagreement. “Rach you didn’t hear what he said. And the way he looked at me. He hasn’t even called or texted or anything. And I’m not texting him, that would be smothering or pestering or everything else he said. God I just, I don’t know.”

She hated to see you struggling like this. “Just give yourself some time and you’ll eventually know the right thing to do. You two are annoyingly into each other and those genuine feelings don’t go away because of a stress filled heated moment.”

She was right, all you needed to do was give him space. You dove face first into your job, attending every meeting five minutes early and staying later to get ahead on the next day’s to-do list. Joe did eventually text late in the afternoon, asking if you were coming over for dinner but you told him you had a work thing.

By day three of you having “work stuff,” Joe was calling bullshit. All of your responses were either dry, a simple “yes” or “no” or you kept it short and sweet. And he didn’t like it. Even though he prided himself in being able to compartmentalize, at home it felt empty and void of color and joy without you. He’d pushed you away and embarrassingly said some things that he didn’t even really mean, he just lashed out of exasperation and now he hadn’t heard the sound of your voice in almost 80 hours.

He needed to fix this.

“Can open the door? We need to talk.” He sounded out, in between semi frantic knocks on your door.

Slowly cracking it open, you let him in. “What do we need to talk about?”

His hair is messy and still slightly wet, like he ran here immediately after a shower. Seemed like this couldn’t possibly wait another second. “I’m sorry. I said things I shouldn’t have. I was upset because you’re right. The other night,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, “you called me out and I didn’t want to admit you had a point so I dug myself a hole. And I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

You wanted to melt into his arms and forgive him. You wished it was that easy. But his words just kept playing over and over in your mind. “I appreciate the apology.”

“So…you’ll come home with me?”

“Joe I am home. And you have—a strict sleeping schedule. It’s getting late, I’m sure you’re tired.”

He wonders quietly how long you’ve been like this, giving robotic, monotone responses like you’re just saying things that you think he wants to hear. “It is getting late, but I’ve gotten so used to you being next to me that I don’t sleep as well when you’re gone.”

“Really? Cause I thought I was smothering you. Or what was the other one? Oh right, breathing down your neck.”

“Babe, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Well you still said it! And now I’m wondering if I’m too much for you or how you had to drive over here instead of going home and getting your rest trying my best to be what you need,” you pause, looking at him through watery eyes, “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.”

He seems visibly shaken, hesitantly steps toward you, reaching out to hold your hand to make your not going to disappear into thin air and leave him on his own. “Wh—what you mean?”

“I just, I really think I’m the one that needs some space. To figure out where the hell I even fit into all this. If I still want to fit into all this. I’m not saying I want to breakup I just think—you’re in a really pivotal time in the season and I don’t want to get in the way.”

Joe gives your hand a squeeze, “you’re never in the way. Actually it’s the opposite, I just wasn’t appreciative enough of everything you’ve done for me this year. But if you want space then, take all the time you need.” He swallows the lump in his throat and presses his lips to your forehead, uttering out that he’ll be waiting until you’re ready.

You take a step away from him as his soft lips linger on your skin whispering, “Joe…can you please go?”

He nods, slowly closing the door behind him. You imagine him walking away, climbing into his Porsche and heading home alone. Maybe this is how it should be, him over there, you here.

Tonight almost hurts more than the last time, so much so that the tears won’t even come. You’re just…numb. But you need this space to see if this life is something you’re ready to commit to. Because the last thing you want to be is another thing on his schedule.

[hayatoseyepatch]

𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓: You swore grief followed you like a cloud. Losing those who you loved at every turn, but there was one positive at least you had Bachira to turn to for comfort. But you were soon to find out the mysterious deaths surrounding you werent such a mystery afterall. 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗: Meguru Bachira (Blue Lock) 𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕮𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 1.9k 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖘: Fem!Reader x Yandere!Bachira. ⚠️NSFW Dark Content⚠️. 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: Knife play, stalking, NONCON, mentions of voyeurism, gas lighting, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, blood, oral (fem!receiving), pussy slapping, degrading, mind break.

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 ��𝖔𝖙𝖊: WE DID IT YALL! We have officially made it to the end of Kinktober!! This was my first time taking a stab (hehe) at this challenge and we may have had a few hiccups along the way, but we got here! I really wanted to end this month with a bang! So this is probably the most intense of the ones on this list. For this one more than all of the others, please be mindful of the tags. This is the most intense and dark fic I’ve done this month. You are responsible for the content you consume, if this is not for you please have a look at my complete masterlist for Kinktober here. This is also my second submission for the "No, You Hang Up" Ghostface server collab that I'm hosting with our other server owner @rindous-starlight I really hope you enjoy and thank you for sticking with me through it! Merry Samhein/Happy Halloween my loves!

Bachira’s eyes were locked on you, unblinking. His gaze was so intense he was surprised that you didn’t feel it through the glass of your window. You were so trusting, but oh so naïve. Not thinking for a moment that your sweet, ditzy, neighbor had such a deep-seated obsession with you. Couldn’t imagine that nearly nightly he sat by his window, the same one that was directly across from yours, eyes locked on your frame. As you changed, danced around, scrolled through your phone, and especially late at night when you let your hands roam your body. To Bachira, in his twisted mind, this was all intentional. Because for what other reason would you, in clear view with your blinds open, let your fingers sink into your delicious cunt? To Bachira he took it as you simply teasing him. Aching for him to make the first move.

You had moved to this neighborhood nearly a year ago. And you would be lying if you said it had been an easy year. The past year had tested you to the extreme. Within only a month your long-term boyfriend went missing. You and Reo had been together for almost ten years, high school sweethearts. You didn’t know what you would do, he had been all you’ve ever known. After spending weeks worried sick, never stopping looking for him, his body had turned up in the middle of the woods. Murdered. You couldn’t imagine who could do such a thing. Bachira had happened to return to his home when you were just wrapping up talking to the police, offering you a kind smile and a warm hug.

Bachira.

You don’t know what you would have done without him this past year. He had been there for you all through your grief, comforting you every step along the way. Despite what anyone said, you were eternally grateful for the sweet man. You best friend, Karasu, hadn’t liked him. Claiming something about “the guy’s vibe being off” and that he “seemed happy with your boyfriend out of the picture”. You two had gotten into an argument that night, after telling Bachira about your squabble the next day you were certain he was right.

Karasu had never liked Reo, claiming you could do so much better. That he and his best friend Nagi’s relationship was weird. But, no, Bachira was right he was projecting. Projecting that Bachira was the one happy Re was out of the picture when it was really him. That didn’t mean that he deserved what happened to him, however. You spent too many nights lying awake relaying the last conversation you both had on repeat. Screaming back and forth before he stormed out. Sure he had been so nasty to Bachira, who all he wanted was to be there for you, but he didn’t deserve…

He didn’t deserve to die.

Enough time had passed since Reo’s passing that you had begun to consider moving on. After Reo, and now Karasu, your late boyfriend’s best friend had begun checking on you more frequently. You weren't sure how it happened, maybe because you were missing Reo and being with Nagi felt like there was still a piece of him left behind. The both of you seek comfort in each other, eventually escalating, blossoming into a bit of an arrangement. The both of you weren't dating by any means, more seeking a body to keep the bed (and your cunt) warm. And it was working, going so well. It was nice having Nagi around, a familiar face you had known for so many years. Not having to rely on Bachira so much.

It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy the sweet man’s presence, but you were starting to feel guilt for leaning on him so heavily. Bachira had been there for you through both tragedies this past year, now being your only friend in the world with the recent developments in you and Nagi’s relationship. When you had moved here, it was a distance away from your family. Having moved here to be closer to Reo’s work. Karasu was a good enough friend that he had found an apartment nearby, not wanting you to be so far away with no one. But, with him gone now too, it seemed like all you had was Bachira and Nagi. You were so grateful for Bachira’s presence, so lucky to have him in your life.

But oh how wrong had you been.

You wished you had listened to Karasu, that you had never moved here in the first place. Not as your feet slammed against the hardwood of the spacious home left to you in Reo’s absence. Not as you had come home that day to see your couch stained in his blood, his lifeless body being hovered over by the mysterious masked killer. And certainly not as the same man chased you throughout your home, his manic laughter seeming all too familiar. Once you were sure you had put enough distance between you both you ran toward your bedroom, slipping inside your closet.

That had been your first mistake.

The hand you had clamped over your mouth must have not been doing its job well enough

“Come on out, honeybee. I just wanna talk. I promise I wont hurt you, I’d never hurt you. I love you.”

You froze in place where you were hidden, your heart dropping to the pit of your stomach. You knew that voice. It couldn’t be. This couldn’t be happening …Bachira?

You let out an audible gasp, in hindsight that was most likely what had led him to your hiding spot. You let out a scream as the closet door is thrown open, mask discarded from his face now, allowing you to take him in. Crazed look in those honey-colored eyes you had grown to feel so safe when looking into, now causing bile to rise in your throat. Blood staining his hands and smeared on his cheek. Knife tossed aside somewhere on the bed as he collects you into his arms. An embrace where you once felt safe, now making you feel trapped, fear creeping up your spine. You let out a full body shudder as his nose nuzzles into the side of your neck.

“There you are my honey bee. Are you done hiding from me now?” His words come out muffled against your skin, tears pricking the back of your eyes.

“Bachira…why?”

His grip tightens on your figure, surely displeased with your words. His hand coming to your face in a harsh grip, eyes narrowed when looking into yours.

“Meguru.” He nearly growls. “You call me Meguru. People who are in love call each other by their first names. Now say it.”

You let out a hush whimper of his name and that seems to snap him back into his bubbly personality. Before you could comprehend what was happening his lips collided with yours, his tongue invading your mouth. Walking you backward until your knees hit the back of the mattress, causing you to fall back your body hitting the plush mattress with hm still on top of you You whimper, low and in the back of your throat, weakly trying to push him off of you.

“Please… Meguru, stop.”

This seems to upset him one again, his fingers curling around the bladed weapon that lay discarded on your mattress. You felt the cold blade caress the side of your face, cold metal, sliding down the column of your throat. His lips pressed to your ear as he speaks.

“It’s a shame what happened to your boyfriend.” Bachira purred, hand still coated in Nagi’s blood, caressing the side of your face. “All those muscles didn’t help much.”

You feel sick to your stomach, the knife against your throat a reminder of what could happen if you continue to disobey him. You shudder as his hand moves swiftly, cutting through the fabric of your dress and bra, eyes locked on your now-exposed chest. Hearing is mumbled ‘so beautiful. Before he ducked down, capturing one of your nipples between his soft lips. The hand not still holding the knife thumbs your neglected bud to a peak before pinching it between blood-stained digits. With every touch to your skin, more of the evidence of what he had down stains your body. He pays attention to your sensitive buds, grinding his hips into your own. You know you should feel appalled, feel disgusted that the very man who had caused you so much grief was on top of you. Touching you.

So why did it feel so good?

Why did you crave more of his touch?

Why were your hips meeting his own?

Perhaps it had been because it had been a while since you had been touched like this. Nagi found most things to be a hassle, often falling asleep almost immediately after he came. Whatever the reason you were mortified to find yourself craving more. Allowing him to slip your clothes properly off of your body. Not fighting when his lips traveled down your frame. And certainly not when he used his index and middle fingers parted your folds so he cold duck his head down and lick a fat stripe up your soaked cunt. Bachira’s body had a visceral reaction to your taste, burying his face in your cunt, his tongue alternating between licking fat stripes against your clit to pointed circles tracing shapes against the bundle of nerves. His hips grind desperately against the mattress in search of friction to his achingly hard cock. But his head was too pussy drunk already, your taste having his eyes rolling back in his head, eating you like a man starved. Like his life depended on the sustenance of your juices.

He leans back after a moment, admiring you being so exposed for him, hand rearing back to slap your exposed cunt. You cry out, pain immediately being replaced with pleasure as he dives back down, burying this face into your folds once more. His nose bumps your clit as his tongue invades your entrance, curling inside you. He collects your juices on the wet muscle, withdrawing from inside you he pushes himself up. Tongue lolling out of his mouth, allowing your juices, mixed with his own saliva, to drip down on your neglected clit. You whine, the warmth contrasting to the cold of the room. You’re shaking, trying to hold the position he’s placed you in.

Hands gripping your waist tighter than before, which you were sure would leave imprints, if not bruises on your skin in the morning. Lips attach to your clit, tongue flicking rapidly, only pausing to occasionally bite or suck on the sensitive flesh. Your hips pick up speed, practically riding his tongue as your hips buck against his face. The familiar feeling of warmth spreads throughout your stomach, your body hurtling toward your orgasm at an alarming rate. Bachira feels your thighs spasm, both hands now gripping your ass, to pull your cunt down further onto his face, head bobbing to coax you into cumming for him. You release with a scream, thighs trapping his head between your legs, only releasing once you’ve come done from your high. Your chest rising and falling with heavy pats, not noticing Bachira throwing the cloak off of his body, freeing his cock from the confines of his underwear. Only snapping back into reality as you feel the drag of his cock between your folds, the tip of him nudging your entrance, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

“Now, be a good girl and scream for me, yeah?”

𝕯𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖇𝖞 @/𝖈𝖆𝖋𝖊𝖐𝖎𝖙𝖘𝖚𝖓𝖊 & @/𝖘𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖐𝖆-𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖕𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖘.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn @littleplantfreak @maruflix @umemiaa @stunies @eevees-hobbies @143-ilyuu @uzxotic @princesstiti14 (𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖋𝖊𝖊𝖑 𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙/𝖉𝖒/𝖆𝖘𝖐 𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖆𝖉𝖉𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖔𝖗 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖞 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖐𝖙𝖔𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖎𝖈𝖘) (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

[msgses]

trick or treat

pairing: josh washington x gn!reader w. 1,491 genre: suggestive horror, shameless smut summary: out exploring the mountain for halloween, you come across a lodge. thinking it's abandoned, you head inside not knowing what (or who) you'll find. warnings: very dubcon vibes, questionable morality, implied afab anatomy. no use of y/n. rough sex, choking, creampie. a/n: this is my first until dawn fic! i still plan on doing one for mike i just thought josh would be a perfect halloween fic

READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION. MINORS DNI.

There was a lot of intrigue surrounding Blackwood Mountain and the horror stories surrounding it. Deciding you wanted to go out and have fun on Halloween, you decided to get into some heavy clothing and make the trek up to explore the site of the rumors.

The trip up was agonizingly long, and the cold weather and snow didn't make it much better. Though, you still decided to continue exploring and came across a few fun spots.

There was a shed that looked awfully cozy, but unfortunately was locked. If it worked out, you might've spent the night if it meant not having to go back down the way you came in the freezing cold.

As you traveled up the trails, you noticed a large building in the distance. Already feeling like you could get hit with frostbite any minute, you decided to check it out.

It was a huge lodge, and you could see all the lights were off indoors. Getting to the windows, there wasn't any sight or sound of anybody inside.

When you tried the door, it surprisingly opened without a hitch. The inside of the house was eerily quiet. Abandoned, maybe?

Investigating further found that there were obviously people that had lived there, but weren't around. The rooms were empty and only a few stray pieces of clothing or a beer can was any sign of life. The heating was still on, luckily.

So, you decided to check out the fridge. If you were going to make the place your house for the night, you wanted food.

Just as you were opening the fridge, you heard a creak of the floor behind you. Before you could turn, you felt a hand over your mouth just as you attempted to yell.

"No, no, don't yell. You're not in any danger, yet," A man's smooth voice came from behind you, "I'm going to take my hand off of your mouth and you're going to tell me your name."

Just as he said he would, his hand traveled off of your mouth and lightly wrapped around your throat. Fumbling on your words, you sputtered out your name.

He repeated it into the air multiple times before chuckling softly. You could feel his breath against the back of your neck. "That's a pretty name. What are you doing out here all alone on the mountain?"

Your brain felt like it was going blank. "I just.. I wanted to see what all of the horror stories were about. If there really were monsters up here."

"Not the kind they talk about, no," His grip tightened slightly, "But there are monsters up here. Ones that are very territorial."

You felt your pulse rising in your throat and it only seemed to be getting faster. Your mouth felt dry and you weren't ignorant of what he meant. "Who- who are you?"

"Oh, honey," You felt him get right next to your ear, "I'm one of those monsters. You can call me Josh, though."

"Josh.." You had to think about it. You knew the history of the mountain from the google deep dive you did the night before. "You're Josh Washington, the son of the rich guys that bought this mountain."

"Ding ding ding, we have a winner!" He backed away, hand still on your neck as he raised his voice, "Well aren't you a smarty pants?"

You felt your cheeks flush and your mind raced with questions. "What are you going to do to me?"

That drew Josh back in, although this time he pressed his body firmly against the back of yours. A very obvious bulge pressed against your ass and you swallowed hard. "I'm going to show you what one of those monsters do when someone comes into their territory."

"Don't.. don't hurt me," You pleaded, although it sounded pathetic and weak.

"I won't hurt you, or I won't try to," Josh laughed softly into your ear, "You just have to cooperate."

You nodded slowly, feeling uncertainty all throughout your body. What he was going to do was uncertain, although the obvious bulge pressing into you gave you some idea.

"That's good," His voice lowered and his hands hooked onto the thick pants, "You're not going to forget me, sweetheart."

His movements were quick, pulling your pants and underwear down in a quick few tugs. You felt bare and open, sweat collecting on your brow. "Josh.." You murmured.

"Oh, I like it when you say my name," You could hear his grin from the way he spoke, "Keep saying it and maybe I'll be nice."

You felt his hand running over your ass, giving it a firm squeeze and letting out a low groan when his hips rolled forward. His free hand reached down and pulled down his sweatpants and boxers. His cock was painfully hard and you could already tell.

His hand also reached forward and pressed a finger against your hole, teasing it and chuckling. "Someone's desperate for me, aren't you? Pretty thing."

You couldn't suppress the whine that left you, subconsciously pushing back against it. He seemed to notice and gave in, his finger sinking inside slowly. It drew out a gasp, but you kept your composure as he worked it in and out.

"God, you're wet. I'd have half a mind thinking you walked in here wanting me to fuck you," He teased, pushing his finger in rough and adding a second to go along with it.

The stretch burned, but you were still breathy and overwhelmed by the feeling. "Josh," You could hardly get the word out.

You heard him laugh behind you. "If you say my name like that, I can't promise I'll be able to control myself," He withdrew his fingers and you felt his cock press against your hole, "Say it again."

You felt his hand close around your neck tighter, but you still got it out. "Josh." You repeated firmly.

"That's right," He sounded satisfied with himself before pushing his hips forward.

His cock was thicker than you anticipated and you fell against the refrigerator door, trying to catch your breath. His hand slipped off of your throat and both of them grab onto your hips.

His pace started out steady, even though you hadn't had nearly enough time to adjust to his size. Either way, he was going full steam ahead. Your hands closed around the fridge's handle, holding on for dear life.

"Fuck, you're so tight, did you know that?" Josh's voice sounded rough and airy, "So tight I never want to stop fucking you. Never gonna stop, you hear me?"

All you could let out was a broken moan, his steady pace felt unrelenting and hard to process anything around you. "Fuck, Josh.."

"God, baby, keep saying that," He wrapped his arms around your waist and began pounding into you. His thrusts felt desperate and unhinged.

"J-" You were cut off by his incessant pace, being completely overwhelmed by the pleasure of his cock hitting deep inside you.

He seemed to slow down, back to his pace from before, although he was letting out small whiny sounds. "You feel so good, can't help myself, no... gotta have you.."

His ramblings began to drone on, his voice quiet and largely overshadowed by the sound of his hips connecting with yours. Before you could say anything else, he randomly began to speed up again.

Just like before, he was fucking into you ravenously. He sounded like a mess, much like yourself. The feeling of his cock pushing into you over and over had you without any warning had your brain turning into mush.

It wasn't long before you felt a surge of pleasure, letting out a choked moan as you came around his cock. It was sudden and fast, but prolonged by his relentless pace.

You heard him whine behind you, his fingers digging into your hips. "Fuck, you can't just.. that felt so fucking good, I can't stop.." His voice sounded completely foreign to the confident, intimidating presence you heard before. He was gone.

It was even more sudden that he slammed into you, his hips staying firmly pressed against you as he moaned out. You felt a warm sensation and the pieces clicked together just as he started to speak. "Fuck, that's it.. you're all mine."

His hips slowly rocked before pulling back, feeling his cock slip out of you. Your knees buckled and you collapsed onto the kitchen tile, feeling his load begin to seep out of you. "What did you.."

"Monsters like to claim their prey," Josh said, his voice back to his intimidating persona. "Now they'll know you're mine."

"Yours?" You said as you looked up, seeing his face for the first time that entire evening. He was far too attractive for his own good. "I'm nobody's, Josh."

"Oh, is that so? Maybe I didn't make it clear enough. Let's do it again and learn, shall we?"

[bunnysbrainrot]

Too Sweet

A series inspired by Hozier’s ‘Too Sweet’.

Relationship: Joel Miller x f!Reader

Content: No sexually explicit content, at least not yet. Some slight fluff? Slow burn vibes? Joel is kind of a dick (for once in my writings), but a protective dick.

Summary: You’re one of the newest arrivals in Jackson after a long trip to seek refuge. Now that you’re settling in, one of Jackson’s most integral men is the head of your first patrol. Will Joel be able to set aside that gruff demeanor for the sake of meeting someone new?

A/N: I’m so sorry about my recent hiatus, everyone. I’ve thought of this series for a while, to get me inspired again and to work towards something bigger. I’ve also thought about having some sections/chapters be from Joel’s perspective. Thoughts on that? Sorry it’s nothing spicy yet, but we’ll work up to it. Tensionnnn

The sound of birds echoed outside your bedroom window. By some miracle, you’d found a community, after so many months wandering either alone, or with the occasional group, but never for long. The mattress beneath you squeaks as you shift in your bed. Normally an irksome noise, but it reminded you that you were finally safe.

A faint light of dawn trickles through the gaps in the curtains, streaking around the room in a periwinkle hue. Your sluggish grog was slowly wearing off, while you processed your plans for that day. It was a Thursday, according to your new watch. God, you hadn’t realized how much you missed being able to tell the time. Who knows truly how long you’d been out there. Days blurring together, the minutes excruciatingly drawn out without company.

It was nice to be a part of something again.

Finally, you sat up in bed, rolling your head to stretch your neck. How long had it been since you had a proper pillow?

A smile crept onto your face. You’re better rested than ever, but an anxiety still ate away at you. Today was your first patrol outside of Jackson. You weren’t alone, of course, but the expectations you held for yourself could be your downfall.

“Okay, let’s do this,” you whispered to yourself.

Walking over to your dresser, you eyed yourself in a dusty mirror above the chest of drawers. A kind woman named Maria had provided you with a few new outfits when you’d first arrived a week ago. In the meantime until today, she’d given you those days to process and settle, and you were grateful for her patience.

When Maria had asked you what role you’d like in the community, she could see the steely glint in your eyes. Well seasoned from years of fighting and running, yet still a kernel of a protective rage.

You had expressed to her of your journey before finding Jackson. On that day she asked you how many of the dead you had taken out thus far.

“In total, by myself, well over three hundred, I would say. I don’t know, I think I lost track at some point.”

Her expression shifted to one of assurance, like they’d just gotten a worthy addition to their town. Someone who could protect what they’d all built.

She explained the basics of patrols, the routes laid out on an old map, with hand drawn trails and indicators of the area. You made an attempt to remember as much as you could, but surely you’d get good practice being out there, actually doing it.

————

You check yourself before heading out the front door. This time of year, the weather has started to warm up, so your opted for a t-shirt, jeans, a light jacket, and a ‘new’ pair of hand-me-down boots.

The air outside was cleaner than you’d imagined. The scent of early morning breakfasts wafted through the breeze, bringing a pang to your stomach. Maria hadn’t mentioned how long patrols would take; you debated if you had time to grab something from a stall in the heart of town. Other residents had been given spaces to cook for the community, giving out easy meals for these hardworking people.

Turns out you did have time, to your relief. In a matter of minutes, you held a piping hot breakfast sandwich in your hands, its heat seeping into your chilled fingers.

A few folks wave a friendly ‘hello’ as you trek to the Southern side of Jackson, to its border wall to meet up with your patrol group. There was a huddle of both peiple and horses, you noticed, as you got closer. One of the people turned to you, giving a wave in recognition.

“Hi, am I late? I thought I’d have time to get breakfast,” you explained.

There was a woman with kind eyes who spoke next, “Not at all, these bastards just insist on getting up at 5:30.”

“That sure is an early start.”

“It gets them cranky like you wouldn’t believe,” she replied, quickly cut off by a new voice.

It was a gentleman who called to the group, “We all here?”

His voice wasn’t commanding, but it did put people into gear to check themselves. Clearly he was the one in charge of this patrol. The look in his eyes told you all you needed to know.

He might be someone to watch.

You turn to the woman, “I’m sorry to ask, but I don’t know anyone here yet. Is there any way you could give me a run-down of who everyone is?”

With a smile, she listed off the names of your group members, pointing them out. Some of them noticed and waved, others gave a slight smile, and others asked for your name. All were introduced until it was down to the man who’d rounded the group.

“And, that’s Joel. He’s head of the patrol.”

Your eyes shot to Joel now that you could put a name to the face. There was a moment of pause when you met his gaze, a moment frozen in time from his stare. He scanned over your face, down to your shoddy boots, and back to your eyes.

His expression doesn’t soften as he says, “Glad to have ya with us. Should be a horse on the way for you.”

Joel turns to face the gate as he rummages through his pockets for a folded map. He unfolds the paper until it spans across his horse’s shoulders.

The rhythmic clonk of a horse’s hooves came from behind. A familiar face approached with a stunning mare, it’s Maria.

“Mornin’ everyone, that should be it,” Maria traded off with you, handing you the mare’s lead. She spoke louder, announcing to the group. “Y’all stay safe out there. Shouldn’t be too bad, but it is getting warmer. Keep an eye out for groups.”

Members of your party nodded before Maria walked off, giving greetings to other folks who’d just begun to bustle around.

Your attention shifted back, specifically to Joel. It seemed that whatever he says, goes, so that’s what you’d follow.

Two men at the top of the wall made their way to the edges of the gate, hauling it open. Golden sunlight peeked above the mountains ahead, casting the world in a yellow glow.

Joel nodded, then a gruff, “Be smart. Stay close.”

————

The sun was overhead now. You’d been out here for hours, keeping an eye out for any infected that roamed too close to camp. A while ago, you spotted one trapped in an abandoned cabin. Which was quickly dispatched by one of the men in your party.

That cycle repeated almost wordlessly amongst you all. Hardly a single word had been uttered aside from Joel’s occasional command or redirection.

For the most part, things were going smoothly. And after a few minutes of some peace and quiet, you realized you’d strayed away from your spot in the formation. Your horse had fallen in pace with a beautiful brown stallion, riding on top, was none other than the leader.

Joel.

You’d turned to see who it was, but were quickly met with another intense stare. Your gaze darts to the side as you issue an apology, “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to get so ahead of everyone.”

For the first time his expression does soften. A slight hint or kindness in his eyes. The corners of his eyes crinkle with his slight smile.

“It happens. Just… keep a lil’ distance. You’re new, can’t have you rushing ahead without someone else with you.”

The words would form a lecture if it weren’t for his tone. It wasn’t scrutinizing, but rather soft and protective.

His advice brings a smile out of you. A genuine one, for the first time in a while. Perhaps he wasn’t as much of a hard-ass as you’d assumed. You tug your horse’s reins to slow her pace, creating a few feet of space between you and Joel.

Yet even still, that smile he gave you kept your heart racing.

It would be a horrible idea, to fawn after him.

Right?

That thought had no effect on the tightness in your chest, or the fluttering in your stomach. Perhaps it was simply happiness that someone so hardened could be so easily friendly. A hard exhale later, you told yourself that it was the camaraderie that flustered you.

—

The group had made their journey back to town. Aside from the occasional runner, there wasn’t much defense needed this morning. Once your group returned, you’d have lunch and trade off with the next group, and share your findings before they venture out.

You had let your mind wander as you rode with the group.

In a split second, your mare bucks in fright. There was no time to assess what scared her before you were shooting ahead, flying past your patrol group.

“Nonononono- NO! It’s alright, it’s alright-“ you cry, but it falls on deaf ears of a scared animal. Tugging on the reins made no difference. You still shot ahead of the others, directionless without someone to guide you.

“It’s alright, baby, you’re safe! You’re okay. It’s gone!” You plead to the horse to slow down. The reassurances don’t seem to be enough.

A thundering set of footsteps is heard behind you. In a swift move, Joel jabbed his horse with his heel, pushing himself to race ahead of you.

With the rush of the air and galloping hooves, you could hardly make out his instructions.

“What?!” You shouted.

“Pull the reins! And I mean pull!”

You gripped the leather of the reins, drawing them to your chest, tugging your horse’s head back and away. Her pace slowed, but she kept running, now to the left. You could make out a curse from Joel as he redirected.

In a stroke of luck, he made some headway. Joel’s horse zoomed forward, and merged directly in front of yours, and the interruption slowed the mare’s pace just enough.

Another tug of the reins helps her into a steady beat. Joel was directly ahead, now turned to the side to block more of the path. Your horse huffed and threw her head frustratedly. In that short time you had no clue just how far you’d strayed away - looking backwards told you that it was at least a few hundred meters.

Embarrassment showed in your flushed cheeks and wild expression, looking to Joel for some sort of scolding.

“I think something scared her. I.. I didn’t get a chance to see, it all happened so fast-“

Joel raised a hand to stop you mid-sentence. He didn’t wear a smile like before, but his expression wasn’t angry. If anything, he had that protective look once again.

“I know. They’re skittish, ‘specially her. She needs a little more control than the others.”

It’s a reassurance, truthfully. You breathed a sigh of relief knowing you weren’t on the shit list on the first day. Your breathing had slowed down now, though your heart still raced wildly in your chest.

He scanned your face thoroughly before he asked, “You alright?”

A nod is what you could muster. It’s enough for Joel to give a nod back before waving to the folks behind you, the rest of the group, to call them over.

“Maybe next time I’ll have a more confident horse. No offense….” you paused, “what’s her name?”

Joel’s lips tugged into a smile, “That’s Belle you’re ridin’. Poor girl hasn’t been out in a while, so she’s not as warmed up to this. But you did good with her, all things considered. Handled it well.”

You reached down to pat Belle on the side of her cheek, caressing her carefully.

“It’s okay, Belle. We’re with you. You’re alright now.”

A smile vanished from Joel’s face when you look back up at him. He cleared his throat, his eyes skirting away until your party began to join up with you two.

“It’s all good. Belle got the jitters. Let’s head home.”

With that explanation out of the way, the team could finally resume their return home. Along the way, Joel didn’t have much else to say, much to anyone actually. His silence was solemn - definitely not any invitation to strike up conversation.

Perhaps that’s how he’d always be - resigned, reserved, and off limits to everyone. A part of you ached at the thought of it.

For Joel, that loneliness could be his downfall.

Hi guys! Thanks for reading, I’m sorry if it seems a little boring, but it’s for the sake of the story building. TRUST it will get nasty soon. 🥰

[the-real-loser-otaku-girl]

Different fashions reddit user say is the same thing and why they are not

i cant believe this is a post i am making lol but ima clear up how these reddit users r wrong lol (pls dont harass anyone this is just for educational purposes)

Dark girly vs Jirai

Dark girly kei is a fashion that predates jirai (jirai is a lifestyle!!!) The only reason Girly kei is associated with jirai is cuz the girly kei style is what was trending when jirai became a thing. i go more in depth about jirai here

with the next sections i do not know as much sadly but i shall use the knowledge i do have and please feel to jump in!

Cutecore vs Jojifuku

cutecore 1 2

jojifuku 1 2

As we can see there is a lot of overlap. Cutecore is a style that emerged around 2020 (🩷) meanwhile jojifuku is from the 2010s (🩷)

Cutecore often has themes of spookier stuff (not always tho!!!)

Jojifuku (女児服) translates to girls clothing. the look of it is to look like youre wearing kids clothes.

(again i dont know much about these styles so feel free to correct me!)

Coquette vs Hime kei

Honestly I dont know what they are really talking about here lol. Hime gyaru? Hime lolita? Himekaji? So ill show how each one is different form one another

Coquette 1 2

Hime gyaru 1 2

Hime lolita 1 2

Himekaji 1 2

Coquette is a style thats super popular on this app (tumblr) and imo its recently gotten pretty popular. meanwhile ive seen styles like himekaji dwindle in popularity (at least from what ive seen) i think its pretty obvious to see the difference with just pictures so i wont go into a lot of detail (unless you would like me to)

yes all styles of similarities but they also have noticeable differences. Some similarities include 1. all being a more feminine style 2. all often having pink colours 3. all are fashions (and more) But some differences include 1. where/when they originate 2. the silhouette/certain parts of the look 3. the popularity (and more)

Kidcore vs Decora

kidcore 1 2

Decora 1 2

Kidcore as the name states is a more "childish" style. Its very colourful and gives off nostalgic vibes.

Decora is a style that is about decorations/accessories. You cant have a decora fit without them.

Cottagecore vs Mori kei

Cottagecore 1 2

Mori kei 1 2

I dont even know where they got the idea these were the same thing lol

Cottagecore is based around wildlife, farming, cottages, nature. it has a "rural and pioneer" vibe

Mori kei is is more earthy. The best way i can think to describe the difference without rambling is cottagecore is the ppl living in the forest and mori kei is the forest? idk lol.

Rococo vs Lolita

if anything its flipped. Rococo inspired lolita. Also there is so many different types of lolita. sigh.

If you take anything from this I hope its to do your research. And not just listen to the voices you agree with. Listen to the history. Listen to the people who know what they are talking about. Pls lmk if I can explain anything better and feel free to add on! have a good day! (also i am just one source pls go do ur own research!!/nf)

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Extra cream and sugar.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader Words count: 5295 Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI. Summary: Frankie is your barista, every morning you walk into his café asking for a tall coffee with extra cream and sugar. He dreams of giving you another kind of cream… Tags: Frankie's POV, brief description of reader and what she wear but no mention of her skin tone, she doesn't blush, she has hair but it's not described (she's you, baby ♥︎) , reader has her own business, pining, yearning, slow burn, Frankie is eager for you, masturbation, obviously mention of coffee and sweets, a side of Christmas (just a glimpse), soft!Frankie, kinda rom-com vibes but we go smutty 😏, unprotected p in v (reader is on the pill but still, do better irl), cream pie, nipples play (At this point you know me so you expect it, right?), reader rides him cowgirl style (yeehaw!), teasing, Frankie wants you to tell him exactly what you want from him, pussy pronouns, Frankie is smitten with you bb, no age gap, mention of alcohol, derogatory pussy eating (because it's Frankie, you know), oral (m! receiving), masturbation, dirty thoughts, dirty talk, some more filth I probably don't remember. Please, excuse me, I'm posting this almost 2 am as the usual mess that I am LOL. If I forgot something I will add it asap. I wrote a temperature in Celsius degrees somewhere in this fic, I don't know anything about Fahrenheit, sorry, I'm Italian. A/N: This fic is my Christmas gift to all of you who support me and have loved my Frankie so much in the past, I really didn't think so many people would like him 🥹 And it's especially dedicated to @baronessvonglitter who gave me this prompt around November, I promised her I would do something with it and this is the result 🤭 No beta, no proofread, no nothing, we're going down with this ship, please have mercy. I really hope you like it and I wish you happy holidays, love you all ❤️

Frankie had been noticing you for weeks. You would arrive every morning at 10:30 and ask for tall coffee with extra cream and sugar. 

He thought you looked lovely, with your sexy dresses, a dainty necklace around your neck, little makeup except for a red lipstick on your gorgeous lips. 

You were the highlight of the day. He had decided to open a café after retiring from the army because there was nothing he wanted more than to live a quiet life. He had seen enough pain and destruction for two whole lifetimes, all he wanted to take care of now were coffee blends, foamed milk, blueberry muffins and chocolate chip cookies. 

He loved arriving in the morning and quietly opening his place, arranging the pastries in the display cases, turning on the coffee machine, setting up the tables, and getting everything ready while waiting for the city to wake up and the customers to start arriving. You were his favorite since you first appeared before him almost 3 weeks ago, but who was counting?

You were pretty in the truest sense of the word according to him, radiant, elegant without striving, charming and nice.

He had started waiting until 10:30 just to see you, with butterflies in his stomach in anticipation and his heart pounding in his chest as soon as you walked in the door.

The first time you had spoken to him he had been enchanted by your eyes; he could have sworn they were the most beautiful he had ever seen. He had not heard a single word you had said and had made you repeat the order, apologizing. 

You had laughed, and your sweet laughter had resounded in his ears like music. It had never happened to him, not even once, but at that moment it was as if everything else in the world had stopped and only you existed. 

“One tall coffee to go, extra cream and sugar, please,” you had patiently repeated.

You looked so pure that it seemed almost immoral to him the way his jeans had suddenly become tight. 

He had shaken himself, trying to come to his senses, hurriedly headed for the coffee machine. He had prepared your cup to go and set it on the counter in front of you "cocoa? sprinkles?" he had stammered, awkward and nervous. Heck, he'd spent years in the military, he could fly a damn helicopter, his business was going strong, but in front of you he felt like he didn't know what to do with himself.

"Uhm..sprinkles, thank you," you had smiled.

He had sprinkled colored heart-shaped sprinkles on the cream -- so pathetic, he had to admit, but they seemed to suit you --, closed it with the clear plastic lid and handed it to you, all with fear of spilling something and making a mess. 

"It looks so yummy, thank you" you chirped handing money to him.

“Thanks to you, um, come again,” Frankie had stammered, running his sweaty palms over his apron. 

He had watched you leave, your ass swaying deliciously wrapped in your skirt, and a whiff of your perfume had reached his nostrils, filling them with a heavenly flowery scent. 

It had taken him a few seconds too long to pay attention to the next customer, a rather impatient middle-aged man who had ruined the magic you had brought into his café.

He had hoped you would come back all evening, and the next morning he woke up even earlier than usual, showered, stood several minutes in front of his closet thinking about which of his shirts you might like best, even wasted time adjusting his beard. He had even contemplated not wearing the cap he always wore with fear that you might find it silly, but in the end habit won out. Besides, he had thought, I might as well show her who I really am. That is, assuming she comes back. And if she doesn't come back? He had felt so disappointed at the idea. Maybe you hadn't even liked his coffee in the end. Once at the café, he had kept himself as busy as possible so as not to drown in false hopes, but he had found himself staring at the clock more often than he would have liked to admit. 

At precisely 10:30 a.m. you had entered. You were even more beautiful than the day before, wrapped in a little flowery dress, your beautiful legs exposed, your sweet scent in the air.

He knew absolutely nothing about you, had barely spoken to you and yet his palms were sweating again, his throat was as dry as a desert, he nervously switched his weight from one leg to the other, standing behind the counter as he watched you approach.

“Good morning,” you had said, with a sweet smile spreading across your face.

“Uh...good morning,” he had stammered, ”what would you like this morning?” 

“Tall coffee to go, extra cream and sugar, please.” 

Your melodious voice had again gone straight to the crotch of his pants. 

“Same as yesterday” he had said ”coming right up.” 

“Oh, you remember!” you sounded surprised. How could he have forgotten the most beautiful creature who had ever set foot in his café?

“Um, yeah, it's my job after all” he had clutched his shoulders. He didn't remember orders from customers who had been coming to him for months, he had memorized yours instantly. He didn't need to let you know anyway. 

“That's so cute,” you had observed while continuing to give him that amazing smile.

He had turned to make your coffee feeling your eyes behind his back, he was so nervous that he almost burned himself pouring the coffee into the cup. 

He had managed to avoid it by a whisker; he would have hated to look clueless in front of you. 

“There you go,” he had smiled nervously at you, ”be careful, it's very hot.”

“I will, thank you” you had answered him softly. 

You had paid him and headed for the exit, turning to look at him before pushing open the door “Have a good day” 

“Oh, thank you, you too” he had replied, his voice hoarse with excitement.

That evening he had surrendered to his lowest instincts and as soon as he had jumped into the shower after a long day's work, he had allowed himself to close his eyes and think about you. 

He had tightened his hand around his cock and thought about your scent, your smile, how your dress deliciously enveloped your tits, showing off your cleavage.

He had imagined kissing you and feeling the softness of your lips, lowering a hand between your legs and discovering that you were not wearing panties, running his fingers over your wet folds and then bending over in front of you and making you come with his tongue. 

He had lingered in these fantasies as he pumped his cock faster and faster, stroking the tip, imagining that it was your delicate hand doing it, your red-enameled nails wrapped around its length. 

He had come in his hand, soiling the shower wall, uncontrolled, totally enraptured by the wonderful vision of you in his head.

____________________________________

He had continued to play it cool for three weeks, but by now every time you came in his head was just thinking “say something more than ‘good morning’ and ‘be careful not to burn yourself’ and ‘have a nice day,’ you idiot.” Ask her something, find out if she's involved with someone.”

So one morning he finally had attempted “Do you work near here?” he had asked, handing you your usual coffee. 

You had hesitated a moment before answering, “Actually, yes, just a stone's throw away. You know that jewelry store that opened three weeks ago? That's mine.” 

“Oh, great,” he had said, straining not to smile like a sucker. 

“Yeah, I'm a jewelry designer, I finally got to open a store with my own brand, I'm very excited.” your eyes twinkled with pride and Frankie had thought you were so incredibly beautiful that he wanted to kiss you there and then. 

You had held out your hand to him and said your name, and he had shaken it with his heart in his throat. 

“Nice, and nice name by the way” he had replied instead, ‘did you make that one?’ pointing to your necklace. It had a small star-shaped pendant. 

“Yes, do you like it?” you had asked, brushing it with your fingers. 

“I like it very much, it looks good on you.” 

“Thank you,” you had replied, smiling, ”well, if you have to give any gifts to your girlfriend or wife, come by and see me.” 

“Uh, actually, I'm not married or even engaged.”  He babbled, looking at you embarrassed.

“Oh. Well, I see.” and then in a lower voice and winking at him you had added, ”Can't say I'm sorry.” 

Holy fuck, you were flirting. 

His cock had twitched at your wink; he couldn't believe that all this time you had been reciprocating his silent interest. 

“I have to go back to work, now. Have a nice day, Frankie,” you said, smiling and heading for the exit. 

He was dumbfounded a few seconds wondering how you knew his name, since in the heat of the moment he hadn't even told you. Then he had looked down at his shirt, where his name tag was pinned.

“I like your cap, by the way,” you had said before you left.

“Oh. Thank you. I like your dress," he had replied a little too loudly, so much so that people at the tables had turned around cackling.

You looked at him one last time with a smug expression before disappearing down the street.

____________________________________

Christmas was coming, as much as it may have felt like Christmas in Florida with 26 degrees during the day. Frankie had decorated the café with small silver decorations at the windows, a small Christmas tree near the counter filled with lights that were also silver. 

While decorating however, the only thing he was thinking about was you. He had done everything early in the morning, before opening, wondering what you were doing, if you had just woken up and were stretching in bed with your hair tousled and your eyes still clouded by sleep. He wondered what you were wearing to sleep, wondering if you were a babydoll type or more of a T-shirt and shorts type. 

Or maybe you were sleeping naked. He daydreamed of your florid body wrapped in your sheets, the soft curve of your ass, your breasts, your nipples brushing against the cotton fabric.

“Shit!” he exclaimed, realizing that he had dropped one of the balls he was putting on the tree, which had ruinously fallen to the ground, splitting into a thousand pieces on the floor.

He rolled his eyes as he went to the closet to get a broom and dustpan.

Maybe it was time to stop fantasizing and get moving on asking you out. 

He was terrified that you would say no but he had to do it before someone else tried. Someone like you wouldn't be alone for long.

You had entered the venue at the usual time, admiring the decorations. Frankie felt a small surge of pride in the middle of his chest as you approached the counter. “Oh wow, this is so festive, I love it.”

He knew he had just smiled like a dork but he didn't care. 

In your brief little chats you had mentioned that you were not originally from Florida so he took the opportunity to ask, “Are you going to visit your family for Christmas?”

You had smiled, squinting slightly, with that look that was now familiar from when you noticed his true intentions. You had given it to him with every attempt he made to flirt with you.

“Um no, actually Christmas is the best time to work for me. So I'm going to stay here.”

He had felt his heart do a little jolt in his chest as he struggled to find the right words to ask to take you to dinner.

He felt like he had never been so awkward in his life, but the truth was that he really liked you and made him nervous with your innate confidence and the sensuality you exuded. 

 “Well, if you'd like to go out sometime, I'd be happy to” he babbled.

“Gladly.” you had replied, looking at him -- he would have sworn -- mischievously.

“So...um...how about Saturday? Is 7 okay?”

“Perfect. You can pick me up at the store.” you had replied, fiddling with your pendant. 

“Okay, well...see you soon then.” 

You had leaned over the counter for a moment, signaling him with your finger to come closer, and when you had been close enough to his ear you whispered, “It's about time.”

You had left while your voice still rang in his ears like a siren song.

On Saturday night Frankie was so nervous that he had changed his clothes four times. Finally he had decided that a blue shirt and a pair of jeans would do. Maybe. 

You had said you liked his cap but he had decided it was not appropriate to wear it to take you to dinner, so he had left his hair wet and styled it back with a little gel.

He arrived at 7 parking in front of your store and entered looking for you. 

You weren’t there. He had looked around and the place was just like you, elegant but not overly so, bright and warm. 

There were small display cases filled with bracelets, rings, necklaces, watches even. 

All very fine, carefully crafted things, not that he understood much about jewelry but they looked well made and high quality to him. 

You had put little window decorations similar to his own, and he couldn't help but smile as he looked at them.

Not only you were beautiful and funny, you were also talented and smart enough to run your own business,  a strong independent and brilliant woman with ambitions.

He felt a jolt down his spine feeling unworthy of you with his simpler and quieter life. 

You had appeared from the back after a short while "Oh there you are! Hello!” you had greeted him with a smile, approached him and kissed his cheek. He had brushed your arm as you leaned closer, feeling your soft skin under his fingers and his heart bouncing in his chest. 

"So what do you think?" you had said, gesturing to the place.

“I can't say I'm a connoisseur, but it looks like a beautiful store to me,” he had said. 

“Thank you. I really like your café, too.” 

“Oh, that’s nothing compared to this” he brushed off. 

“I don’t think so, your coffee is so good and that cupcake I tried the other day? It was heavenly. I would say you did a great job with it” you insisted and he felt suddenly better.

"Well I actually… I don't bake them, I get them from a supplier.” He had admitted.

“You have good taste anyway.” You had shrugged, smiling.

The hold you had on him was ridiculous at that point, you could have said whatever to him and he would believe you without hesitation. 

“Let me get my purse and close the store and then we can go.”

___________________________________

Frankie had tried to behave like a real gentleman, had opened the door for you, complimented you on the dress you were wearing  -- continuing to ogle your thighs while you were sitting next to him -- , asked you things about yourself, your studies and your life while driving to the restaurant. 

The more you chatted the more comfortable he felt, you were witty, subtly flirty, exactly what he expected. 

Truth was that he would have jumped on you immediately but he was trying to control himself so you wouldn't think he was a creep. 

His cock however was of a different opinion, his jeans were starting to get really tight and he was afraid you would notice. You had a smirk on your face, something that made him think it was possible that you were desiring him as much as he was desiring you but he didn't want to risk making a wrong move.

“I'm sorry not to see your cap tonight” you had joked and then added ”your hair looks good though.”

“Thank you.” 

“And I like the shirt,” you had said, lingering with your gaze on his outstretched arm holding the steering wheel. 

He had decided to take you to one of his favorite restaurants, nothing too fancy because he wouldn't feel comfortable, the place was warm and familiar and put him at ease. 

He had asked for a table with settees, to have a chance to be closer and talk more easily. 

Maybe even reach out a hand to your beautiful thighs, if he had any luck.

You had ordered and he had chosen a wine, you had continued talking, and you had asked him several questions, very politely, without making him feel like you were interviewing him.

“So you were in the army...and you can fly a helicopter. Heck, I never would have guessed that. I like a competent man,” you had cooed, and he had felt his neck and face on fire. God, he wanted you so badly he felt like he might explode at any moment. 

“Yeah...apparently,” he had replied proudly.

“And how did you end up opening a cafe?”

He had become serious, feeling that he was about to open up about something very intimate “Well...I actually couldn't take that life anymore. It's very hard, you know. When I got discharged, I thought all I needed was to live a quiet life without slinging a rifle for hours and playing with danger 24/7.”

You had nodded, “sure, that's perfectly understandable. It must have been brutal.”

“It was. I decided to open a coffee shop because well... basically, I love coffee.”

You had burst out laughing, a full, lovely laugh that had made it difficult for him to keep his hands in place resting on the table.

“It makes perfect sense,” you had agreed immediately afterward.

You had kept talking until you had said, “So, Francisco Morales, I have a question for you.” your expression was enigmatic and he didn't understand where you were going with this. 

“Go ahead.” 

“Why haven't you kissed me yet?”

He had chuckled, “Good question. And I really want to do that. I've wanted to do it from the first moment I saw you,” he had admitted.

“Then do it,” you had urged him. 

He had moved closer toward your lips, breathing in your perfume mixed with the scent of your skin; you smelled good, clean, like a sunny morning in spring.

Your lips were even better than he had imagined. Soft, delicious, inviting. You were incredible. 

Everything around was suddenly gone, there was only you and the way your lips encouraged him to continue, the way they had parted at the approach of his tongue, your intoxicating taste on his tongue. 

Your fingers lingered on his biceps, wandering over his shirt and down his forearm, while his hand wrapped around your face caressing your cheek.

He had pulled away from you a moment before putting on a show inside the restaurant, his hands tingling with the urge to touch your breasts, reach down between your legs, get rid off your dress and finally feel your body against his.

“God...maybe we should go,” you had whispered, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. 

“I think so, too,” he had breathed.

He had stood up trying to keep at bay his erection pressing impatiently against his jeans.

He had paid the bill and escorted you out, despite your insistence to go halfsies. 

Once you reached the car he had not resisted and had kissed you again, pushing you against the door. “I want you so bad,” he had whispered against your skin. 

“Take me home,” you had replied, looking into his eyes in a way that drove him crazy. 

Once in the car, you had placed your hand on his leg squeezing it from time to time. At a stoplight, you had moved your hand to his hard-on, massaging it slowly. “God, you are naughtier than I thought.”

"Is that bad?" you had asked feigned innocence.

“Not at all, baby...if I'm being honest...fuck...” he had interrupted when you had squeezed harder on his cock ”Christ, I can't wait to rip that dress off you.”

“I’m glad to hear that” you had replied in a honeyed voice. 

_________________________________

The instant you had entered the door he had dragged you into the bedroom. 

He had pulled down the zipper of your dress, letting it fall at your feet, and pushed you onto the bed. 

“You're so beautiful.” he had whispered, almost more to himself, as if trying to convince himself that indeed everything he had imagined in previous weeks was coming out of the territory of his wanking material.

“You too,” you had replied sweetly, ”why don't you get rid of those clothes and come and get me?”

Frankie hadn't had it repeated, standing naked in front of you in an instant; he had never undressed so quickly even when he was in the army and had to observe a curfew. 

He had stretched out beside you, his cock semi hard, his hands roaming over the bare skin of your hips over your panties, reaching up to graze your lace bra, brushing against your exposed neck as you lay limply sprawled on his bed as beautiful as a goddess. 

“Tell me what you want me to do, baby,” he had whispered.

“What you want, I-” you had tried to answer but he had interrupted you.

“No, tell me, please. I would like to hear it. I would like you to tell me exactly what you would like me to do to you.,” he had urged you “is that okay?”

“Yeah” you murmured 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes. I like it…so uhm…Undo my bra and play with my titties, first. Would you?” You cooed.

“Of course, honey” he replied

You got up to sit to ease it, and then you lay down again as he tossed the bra to one side.

Frankie's eyes were fixed on your exposed breasts, he reached out a hand surrounding one of them with his palm, marveling at the softness of your skin.

“Jesus, I’ve never seen anything more perfect” 

Your skin exuded an enveloping warmth that flowed through his body and merged with him. He moved a finger closer to your areola, circling your nipple very slowly and then pinching it suddenly, making you gasp.

“Too much?” 

“No…go on” you sobbed “please”

“How?” He pressed you gently, continuing to brush your nipple with his fingertip. 

“With your mouth…” you murmured.

He was full hard at that point, his cock grazing at your thigh while he lowered himself on your of your tit, sticking out his tongue and making you arch your spine as soon as he kitten licked your nipple. He smirked “mmm so sensitive, baby” before wrapping his lips around your bud and beginning to suck slowly, his beard pinching lightly against your skin.

His tongue brushed over you in short thrusts as he sucked greedily, his hand slowly descended over your torso, over your tummy, down to your mound and had stopped there, just above the hem of your panties. 

You groaned beneath him, melting at his touch, he could feel your body slowly becoming more pliant to him.

“Yes - oh my god - go on like that” you whined and he couldn’t help but smile on your skin. 

“What more do you want me to do?” he had asked, and to your discomposed groaning he had replied ”with your words, remember?”

He liked that you were slowly losing control, your barely half-closed eyes glazed with pleasure silently pleading with him.

“Touch…touch my pussy. Please”

He had moved his fingers down from your mound, slowly, over your folds, feeling your body tense deliciously. 

His index and middle fingers had slipped between them, bathing in your essence. 

"God, you're soaked," and you had panted. 

You looked like a dream to him, your hair disheveled on his sheets, your legs spread wide for him, your breath coming in short gasps, your little pendant that rose and fell on your chest as he worked in your cunt with his fingers, lingering on your opening, going up to your clit and barely touching it, leaving you eager and hungry, just as he wanted.

"mmm more, please" you had begged and a smirk had unfolded on his face "be more specific, baby" 

“I want ... fuck ... I want you to put them in me.” 

"Yeah? You want me to finger-fuck this pretty cunt?” He purred, while stroking your labia, gently circling your clit with his thumb.

“Yes” you had sighed and he had easily entered you, slipping into your arousal. 

He had curled his fingers looking for your special spot as you squeezed them hard “Oh damn...right there...God Frankie...right there” you had whined as a swell of pride was spreading in his chest and his cock throbbed. 

You had the sweetest pussy he had ever been lucky enough to see, the obscene wet sounds coming out of her as he never stopped moving his fingers inside you was heaven.

You were magnificent, just magnificent, his cock was begging for mercy but he had no intention of rushing it. He wanted to fill his eyes with you, he wanted to see you sink beneath him, to lose your inhibitions completely. 

Every fiber of his body longed for you but he stifled his need to take care of yours first; it was too good to see you like that, your pussy clenching convulsively, your mouth half-open, your moans filling his ears.

“I need...your mouth...”

“Where?” he had asked feigning naivete.

"On my clit...please" you had cried. 

He had moved, taking down your panties, lowering to reach for your clit, passing his tongue flatly all over it.

“suck it,” you had said in a whisper, ”please.”

And so he had done, taking it between his lips, savoring your taste on his tongue as you cried your last wail and broke down in shattering pleasure.

Your back had arched, your hand had flown through his hair as the other gripped his sheets tightly, and your hips pushed against his lips, your lips bent in a grimace of pleasure that radiated into your eyes, your pupils dilated, tiny droplets of sweat beading on your forehead.

“Yes… fuck… YES”

He had continued to lick and suck and push on your spot until you had calmed down.

But you were not yet satiated, as soon as you had regained the ability to speak you had whispered, “I want your cock.”

“Mmm baby” he had said arching an eyebrow, scrutinizing your face unmade with pleasure and your eyes still glazed with your orgasm.

“Really. I want it.”

You had accompanied this last sentence by wrapping your delicate hand around his length "he wants me too," you had said with a smirk, beginning to massage him, running a finger over the tip to collect the pre cum dripping down profusely from it. 

“who am I to say no to you...do what you want, baby” he had granted you. 

As much as he had tried to dominate, he had to admit that he was completely subdued by you, and he didn't mind it, he didn’t mind that at all.

You had gotten up and gently pushed him onto the mattress, settling between his legs, locking your gaze with his, a glint of desire in your eyes as you began to lick his engorged tip, sliding down his shaft humming in pleasure “mmm you taste so good” you cooed.

"God, baby, if you do this I'm not going to last long." 

He had craned his neck not to miss any of your moves, but he already felt he was on the verge of bursting, had tried to control his breathing and stay right on the edge, without plummeting down.

"Hold on a little longer, I want you to finish in my pussy. Please, Frankie?” You had purred.

He had let out a long sigh as your mouth descended on his cock, enveloping it as much as you could, continuing to stroke the rest with your hand. You had red nail polish, just like in his fantasies, but the reality was even better. Your mouth was incredible around his cock, your tongue vexing his swollen veins, your saliva sliding slowly going to pool on his crotch. 

“Please, baby,” he had grunted, and you had hummed in response, vibrating on his cock.

Your tongue had swirled over his red, swollen tip, then you had pulled away and said, "Please what?" glancing at him.

“Sit on me, please, I can’t…” he had groaned.

You had moved warily, straddling him, taking his cock back into your hand, aligning it with your entrance.

You had lowered yourself slowly, moaning "you are so thick" as he felt your cunt open up for him, your walls stretch and your essence coiling around him mixing with your saliva.

“And you are so tight ... fuck, baby, it’s so good.”

The instant you had sat completely on him had been unreal, he felt so deep inside you he swore he was pressing against your cervix, and you were squeezing him so hard he had thought he would lose his mind. You began to roll your hips over him, rubbing your clit with your fingers while your other hand was anchored on his hip. 

He had begun to move his hips in rhythm with yours, thrusting inside you “harder” you had urged him “please, Frankie” 

He was lost in the instant he had seen you bring one hand to your tit, kneading your breast as you continued to ride him faster and faster, pinching your nipple while rubbing your clit with the other. 

“I’m coming…fuck..where, babe?” He had stammered and you cried “inside, please, I’m on the pill.” You had thrown your head back immediately after, your eyes closed, your mouth open, your disheveled hair falling over your neck, seeing you so totally ravished had made him explode inside you, painting your hot, soaked walls with his cum. 

You were collapsed on top of him, wrapping yourself around his body while he was still pulsing inside you. You had waited for his breathing to return to normal by peppering his neck with little kisses, going up his jaw and ending on his lips.

He had hugged you tightly, reveling in your warmth, the softness of your breasts on his chest, your legs wrapped tightly with his, and the intoxicating scent of your skin.

You had hummed in the crook of his neck, then looked into his eyes and moved a lock of hair from his sweat-beaded forehead, kissing him one more time, his mustache tickling your cupid's bow. 

“From the first time I saw you, I knew we would end up like this, you know?” you had said with a proud undertone.

“Oh yeah?” he had replied, wryly raising an eyebrow, ”how were you so sure?”

You had looked at him with the look of someone who knows very well what she is talking about and had replied, “For three reasons. First, I noticed right away how you were looking at me, second, I wanted it too and usually when I want something I get it, and third, you never charged me for the extra cream.”

bb tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @harriedandharassed @milla-frenchy @almostempty @thundermartini @cas-readsandwrites @lemon-nomel

I would like to add a couple of special people that I am starting to know a little bit better and I like them a lot: @arcanefox207 @joelmillerisapunk @gothcsz @msjarvis

archive: @pedrostories

[saturnville]

georgia peach.

pairing: lewis hamilton x black oc (lola monroe) summary: he's a boy from london. she's a girl from georgia, and she's a sight to behold. warnings: none. reference: georgia peach by latto tags: @boujiestpoet @mauvecherie-writes @saintslewis @greedyjudge2 @vile-harlot @emjayewrites @ggaslyp1 @neewrites @cocobutterqwueen an: we may expand on this, we may not. depends on the reception of it all. enjoy

The lights were dim. The air was thick with the smell of expensive champagne, spilled Crown Royal, and the low hum of conversation and loud laughs among the guest’s inhabitants. It was another spring night among socialites, close friends, and acquaintances. A get-together to welcome the warm weather and good vibes. It just so happened to have fallen on a day when he won the race. The thrill of victory seemed routine; ass-kissers and loud claps on his back and shoulders of pride and congratulations. Not much seemed to change. Until she walked in. 

The room seemed to tilt the moment her silhouette appeared in the doorway. His head snapped to the entrance, and for a moment, the chaos of the function faded into the background. He was unfamiliar with her, but she was nothing like the women who usually orbited his world. There was a southern sway in her walk that was slow, deliberate, and oozing with confidence. Her hips curved in ways that made his heart race, and the sparkle from the grillz that adorned her teeth caught the low light, matching his own. 

Then, she spoke.

“Y’all out here celebrating without me?” Her voice was a melody of sweet Southern charm, the accent like honey on his ears.

He had seen her, but never like this. The rumors floated around about her—some girl from Georgia who had recently taken the marketing world by storm—but he had never paid much attention. Tonight, though, she was all he could see.

Lewis tried to remain composed, but when her eyes met his, a slow smile curled her lips, revealing those grillz. Damn. She wore them better than he ever could. She was temptation incarnate, and he knew he was in trouble the moment she began to walk toward him, her scent intoxicatingly close. Every step she took seemed to pull him further into her orbit, until they were standing face to face, inches apart.

“I hear you’re the man of the hour.” Her tone was teasing, like she already knew the effect she had on him. “Congratulations.”

His usual quick wit abandoned him. He nodded, eyes fixated on hers. He couldn't help but notice the way her lips parted slightly as she spoke, the smooth cadence of her voice. The thickness of her lip gloss caught his eye. And her curves, unapologetically bold, made his palms itch. He wanted to reach out, to feel if the softness he imagined matched what he saw.

"That’s what they say." He finally managed, his voice a little rougher than intended.

She smirked, catching him in a moment of weakness. "You gonna stand there all night, or offer me a drink?"

Lewis chuckled. “What’s your preference?” He led her to the bar which was littered with half-empty glasses and covered with sticky liquid, sugar, and failed date requests. The smell was strong, to which he grimanced. She raised an eyebrow. “Not a drinker?” 

Lewis shook his head. “Gave it up a while ago.”

She nodded once. She, too, gave up drinking, at least frequently some time ago. She had the party phase during her undergraduate and graduate days, but one day after her 30th birthday, she decided she’d only drink twice a month in social settings, with a limit of one drink. She couldn’t believe she was using her last drink pass of the month and it was only the 17th, but for a chance to see how far under his skin she could get, she’d take it. 

“Understood. I’ll take a lemon drop.” She kept her eyes on him as he interacted with the bartender on her behalf. “Thank you.” 

“So,” he started cooly. “I see your face. Don’t know your name.” 

She paused to thank the bartender, took a sip, and moaned lowly. Lewis closed his eyes momentarily. To hear that sound once again. It was quiet, but it managed to rumble his loins. “Lola Monroe,” she said after some time. 

“Lola Monroe.” Lewis tasted her name on his tongue. Savory with a hint of sweetness. There must have been some lingering beneath her seemingly hard exterior. “That’s pretty. Real pretty."

“Thank you,” she replied bashfully. She recovered quickly and brought the glass to her lips, her gaze trained on his as the rim covered the lower half of her face. Her dark eyes bore into his, and he could feel his inhibitions slipping. Her eyes were beautiful, a dark shade of brown with hints of honey that one might mistake for flirtation. She had long eyelashes, too. With every bat of them, Lewis’s knees nearly buckled. She knew how to sweep a man off his feet. 

Lewis cleared his throat and took a step toward her. He studied her reaction. She hadn’t moved an inch. “You always hold staring contests with the guys you see?” 

Lola’s lips curled into a smirk as she lowered her glass, maintaining eye contact. The corners of her mouth hinted at the mischief that swirled through her mind. She was aware of her actions. He knew it. She knew it. She tilted her head slightly, her voice low and laced with a challenge. 

“Only those who look like them can be taken down a notch…or two.” That thick, Southern draw wrapped around her words like a warm hug, but the underlying confidence did not go unnoticed. 

Lewis’s interest piqued. Not only was this woman a whirlwind, but she was not phased by him, his status, or the money in his pocket. In fact, it wasn’t of interest at all. She found joy in interacting with him as if he was just a regular guy. That drew him in. 

“Is that right?” He leaned in, testing her boundaries. His lips parted as his tongue circled on the grillz that covered his teeth. Her eyes lowered. “Are you sure you want to keep testing me, Lola?”

Lola brought her lips to the glass again, this time making sure she had his attention as her tongue caressed the rim. “Do you think you’re the only one capable of a challenge, Mr. Hamilton?” Yet again, her tone and demeanor showed she wasn’t phased by him. The tension was there, and it cut like a knife. 

The race chuckled lowly. He tried to keep his cool; he indeed did, but the attraction was undeniable. The women he’d seen were diverse, but Lola Monroe was something else. She was a force.

“Is that what you think?” His voice dropped lower, teasing the air between them. She looked him up and down, taking in his jawline and the intensity in his eyes. A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips as she leaned closer, her voice dropping even lower. Her lips brushed against his ear as she said, “I don’t think. I know.”

[grapejuicebrat]

between us - d.s. p.2

The internal conflict Drew faces as his feelings for Y/N intensify, but the fear of their age difference holds him back.

warnings: age gap, emotional conflict, unspoken tension, angst, fluff, themes of loneliness and isolation.

word count: 1,680

notes: let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! also put some requests in my inbox cause i’m so so so bored.

series masterlist

my masterlist

———

The following morning, Drew woke up with the weight of you still lingering on his chest. The air in his apartment felt heavy, his usual routine feeling out of sync. It wasn’t just the coffee he’d missed; it was the quiet familiarity of you sitting by the window, your smile soft, your voice lingering in his mind. He didn’t want to admit how much power you had over him already, how effortlessly you’d slipped into his thoughts and made yourself at home there.

He paced his living room, running his hands through his hair as he tried to reason with himself.

“She’s 18,” he muttered, the words slicing through the silence. “You’re 30. You should know better.”

But knowing better didn’t stop the way his heart beat faster every time he thought about you. It didn’t stop him from wondering what it would feel like to sit across from you, not just as two strangers sharing the same café space, but as two people who might mean something to each other.

And that terrified him.

The day dragged on, and by the time Drew returned to the café, he was almost hoping you wouldn’t be there. Almost.

But you were.

Sitting in your usual spot by the window, your head bent over your notebook, completely absorbed. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow around you, making you look like a painting come to life. Drew hesitated at the door, his hand hovering over the handle. He could turn around now, leave before you noticed him.

But then you looked up.

Your eyes lit up when you saw him, a small smile tugging at your lips. You raised a hand in a casual wave, and Drew felt his resolve crumble.

He stepped inside, his heart pounding, and ordered his usual black coffee. As he stood at the counter, he felt your gaze on him, warm and inviting, and he knew he wouldn’t make it out of here without talking to you.

“Hey, stranger,” you said when he approached your table, your voice light and teasing.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice lower, more hesitant.

You gestured to the seat across from you. “Want to join me? Unless you’re busy being a brooding movie star somewhere else.”

Drew chuckled despite himself. “Brooding movie star? That’s a new one.”

“Well, you kind of give off the vibe,” you teased, leaning back in your chair. “Mysterious, quiet, always lost in thought.”

Drew sank into the seat, his coffee warming his hands as he tried to think of a response. You made him feel off-balance in the best way, like he didn’t have to wear the carefully crafted mask he showed the rest of the world. But that only made this harder.

“What are you writing?” he asked, nodding toward your notebook, desperate to steer the conversation away from himself.

You shrugged, closing it and resting your hand on top. “Nothing interesting. Just… thoughts.”

“Thoughts about what?” he pressed, leaning forward slightly.

You hesitated, your cheeks flushing. “It’s embarrassing.”

“I doubt that.”

You bit your lip, glancing at him before sighing. “Fine. It’s about people. How they interact, why they do the things they do. I guess I’m trying to make sense of the world.”

Drew smiled, his chest tightening at the earnestness in your voice. “That’s not embarrassing. That’s… insightful.”

“Thanks,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his. “What about you? What do you think about when you’re not being broody?”

Drew laughed, the sound a little bitter. “I think about how to keep the world at arm’s length.”

Your brows furrowed. “That sounds lonely.”

“Maybe it is,” he admitted, the honesty surprising even himself. “But it’s easier that way.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, just studied him with a quiet intensity that made him squirm. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Keep the world at arm’s length.” Your voice was soft but firm, as if you were daring him to believe you. “You don’t have to go through life alone.”

Drew swallowed hard, your words hitting closer to home than he wanted to admit. He wanted to believe you, wanted to let himself imagine a world where he could be honest about how he felt, where he didn’t have to keep everything locked away. But then reality came crashing back in.

You were 18. Just starting your life. You deserved someone who could give you the world, not someone who was still figuring out his own place in it.

He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “I should go.”

Your face fell, confusion flickering across your features. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” he said quickly, forcing a smile. “It’s not you. I just—” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

Before you could respond, he turned and left, the weight of his decision pressing down on him with every step.

———

That night, Drew lay awake, staring at the ceiling as your words replayed in his mind.

“You don’t have to go through life alone.”

He wanted to believe that. God, he wanted to. But the fear of what could happen if he let himself care about you—really care—was too much. What would people say? What would you think if you realized how flawed he truly was?

But the worst part was knowing that he couldn’t stay away from you. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he told himself it was for the best, he knew he’d end up back at that café. Because you weren’t just someone to him anymore. You were becoming something more, and that scared him more than anything.

———

The next time Drew saw you, it was raining. You were sitting by the window again, but this time, your notebook was closed, and you were staring out at the storm, your expression distant.

Drew hesitated at the door, his hand gripping the handle tightly. He could turn around now, walk away before you saw him. But then your eyes met his, and the small smile you gave him sent a warmth through his chest that he couldn’t ignore.

He walked in, his steps slow and measured, and before he knew it, he was standing at your table.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked, his voice quiet.

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his. And then you nodded. “Go ahead.”

As he sat down, the tension between you was palpable. Neither of you spoke at first, the silence stretching out as the rain pattered against the window. But then you broke it.

“I thought I scared you off,” you said, your voice soft but laced with vulnerability.

Drew shook his head, his heart clenching at the thought. “You didn’t scare me off.”

“Then why did you leave?”

He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “Because I’m an idiot.”

You smiled at that, the tension easing slightly. “You’re not an idiot.”

“I am,” he insisted, his voice firm. “Because I keep trying to convince myself that this… that us… isn’t a good idea.”

“And why isn’t it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Drew stared at you, his chest tightening as he searched for an answer. But the truth was, he didn’t have one. All he knew was that being around you felt like the most natural thing in the world, and he was tired of fighting it.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I don’t know anymore.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the rain filling the silence. And then you reached across the table, your fingers brushing against his. The touch was light, tentative, but it was enough to send a jolt through him.

“You don’t have to know everything right now,” you said, your voice steady. “But maybe… maybe we could figure it out together.”

Drew stared at your hand, his heart pounding. And for the first time in a long time, he let himself hope.

taglist: @mauveliz

[mattiesgf]

scribbles - m.r x reader

summary - dash&lily!au, mattheo and reader communicate through a book, and perhaps its comforting to rant to someone without knowing them?

word count - above 2k

a/n - okay omg, this is literally my first fic ever so don't judge? and I really wanted something like an anonymous romance because I think it fits mattheo. enjoyy

ch2

The Hogwarts library was insanely huge—everyone knew that. Its sections seemed to stretch endlessly, shelf after shelf, book after book. And it wasn’t just academic texts; there were novels too, tucked away in those maze-like aisles.

So here he was, Mattheo Riddle, probably the last person you’d expect in front of the literature shelves, fumbling through titles in a half-hearted attempt to find A Farewell to Arms for his Muggle Studies class.

Professor Charity Burbage wouldn’t shut up about the so-called "sappy Muggle romance." For the sake of his grades, he had to find it. After scanning what felt like every spine in the row, he finally spotted it.

“Finally!”

He grabbed the book without hesitation. Staying in the library wasn’t on his agenda—it never was. The place didn’t exactly hold the sweetest memories for him. The silence, so absolute, seemed to lure the worst thoughts to the surface. It was the perfect breeding ground for overthinking, and Mattheo had no patience for that. He much preferred the controlled chaos of the dorms or the common room. Maybe he’d been alone too long. People could be annoying, sure, but they kept the silence—and his thoughts—at bay.

Just as he was about to leave, something caught his eye: a bright red book on the same shelf. It wasn’t a novel, not with that unmarked spine and leather cover. Curiosity got the better of him, and he pulled it out. The journal smelled faintly of Chanel—a stark contrast to the old-book musk around it. Stickers covered the spine, obscuring what might’ve been the owner’s initials. Lana Del Rey. The Smiths. A tiny “A” tucked in the corner.

He opened it.

The first page was written in delicate cursive, the kind that practically screamed “perfected over years of writing essays on parchment.”

“Do you dare?”

His first instinct was to chuck the thing out the nearest window and let it flop onto the frozen lake below. This felt eerily close to one of his father’s tricks. But then again, when had Voldemort ever cared for indie aesthetics or Muggle music?

Curiosity won. He flipped the page.

“Ah, so you do dare. And no, I’m not trying to lure you into the Chamber to kill you. I just figured if you’re in this aisle, maybe we have something in common.”

“I’ve left some clues for you. If you want them, turn the page. If you don’t, put the book back on the shelf, please—this is kind of my one shot at finding a literary soulmate.”

The handwriting, undeniably feminine, had that neat, practiced vibe. Someone who probably spent way too much time perfecting it in their first year. Definitely not him.

“ALSO, if you’re not a teenage boy, I’d suggest putting it back. And if you’re Madam Pince, I’m definitely a Gryffindor. ;)”

Mattheo let out a low chuckle. She was funny. Slytherin vibes, or so he thought.

The next page revealed a string of numbers:

“1111111”

Some sort of code?

“Solve it, decipher it, and it might just lead…”

He sighed, already feeling the time he’d need to spend on this. But he was hooked. What better way to pass the time than chasing cryptic clues from a journal that promised not to kill him, right?

Tucking the book under his arm, he headed for the exit, but of course, Madam Pince’s sharp voice cut through the air like a spell.

“Mr. Riddle, you must check that out before stuffing it in your bag and leaving.”

“Uh, yeah, of course.” He handed over A Farewell to Arms.

“And the other?”

“That’s mine. Just a journal,” he lied smoothly.

“Right.”

He nodded quickly and slipped out before she could've said more.

As he walked away, a soft voice called out behind him. “You took the journal?”

He turned, spotting a fifth-year—a library volunteer, maybe.

“I did. Why?”

The kid shrugged, barely pausing. “Solve the riddles and put it where you get. She’ll answer.”

“Wait—”

But the kid was already gone.

“Wait—”

But the kid was already gone.

So, it was a girl. Cursive handwriting, fancy perfume, and riddles designed to intrigue. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a waste of time after all.

He made his way back to the dungeons, the familiar stone hallways feeling like they were meant for him, even if he wasn’t sure what “home” really meant anymore.

He reached the dorm, the one that was always a bit of a mess, the one he shared with Theodore and Lorenzo. The air had that funny, almost burnt toast scent to it that Mattheo had gotten used to. It wasn’t perfect, but it was his.

But his mind wasn’t on the dorm or the mess. It was on the journal. It had been... interesting. Why would Mattheo Riddle, of all people, take the time to talk to someone who had no idea who he was? Maybe that’s exactly why—someone who wouldn’t judge him for the name or the bloodline.

“Oi, Enzo, give me a hand with something?”

“God, Matt, do you ever think maybe I have my own stuff to do? Maybe Enzo has plans, y’know?”

“Shut up and help. I totally covered for you with Greengrass about your stupid book, remember?”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, yeah, come on.”

Lorenzo flopped down next to him on the couch, eyeing the journal in Mattheo’s hand.

“So, let me get this straight. You’re talking to a girl—who could very well not be a girl—and you want me to solve the riddles and help you, because you’re actually interested? AND, you're intrigued by one line? the one line she wrote-?”

Mattheo rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but it’s a good line.”

Lorenzo gave him a skeptical look. “A good line? She could be some weird third-year with a collection of creepy journals. I’m just saying, don’t get too attached.”

“Relax, I’m not getting attached,” Mattheo said, but the words felt hollow even to him.

Lorenzo snatched the journal from his hand, flipping through the pages. “You’re telling me you’re not intrigued by this?” He raised an eyebrow. “I mean, ‘Do you dare?’ That’s some serious mysterious girl energy.”

Mattheo leaned back, watching as Lorenzo scanned the riddles, his lips curving into a smirk. “Just help me solve it, alright?”

Lorenzo paused, glancing over at Mattheo. “Fine. But don’t blame me when this turns into some weird obsession.”

“Alright, mystery guy, string the letters together and let’s see where we end up.”

Mattheo leaned back, watching as Lorenzo eyed the list of riddles. He was already beginning to look like he was about to fall asleep.

“Okay, Enzo, do them for me,” Mattheo said, tapping the page impatiently.

Lorenzo groaned but took the journal from him, reading the first riddle aloud.

“There’s a light that never fades,

Shining bright even through melancholy haze.

Name the song that calls out for comfort and trust,

It’s about heaven, but grounded in the just.”

Lorenzo paused, scratching his chin. “Okay, that’s definitely an old one, maybe like Lana? Considering the stickers?”

Something seemed to have clicked for mattheo, “No, no, no The smiths! SHE LIKES THE SMITHS, ENZO- oh my god, there’s a light that never goes out, thats it!”

Lorenzo kept going, flipping to the next one, sighing at Mattheo. "Once again, same music taste does not equal soulmate- god, do you ever learn?"

Mattheo rolled his eyes, "Alright, shut up, go on"

“If sweets are your craving, step through my door,

From Chocolate Frogs to Fizzing Whizbees galore.

In Hogsmeade’s heart, where sugar dreams thrive,

Name the shop where treats come alive.”

“Honestly, that’s a no-brainer. It’s Honeydukes,” Lorenzo said without hesitation.

“Right, right. You’re on fire,” Mattheo teased, as Lorenzo moved on to the next.

"I’m often served up cold or hot,

A liquid refreshment, I hit the spot.

I come in flavours, both sweet and bold,

What am I? Guess me, I’m quite old."

Lorenzo grinned. “Coffee? Like, uh, lets say expresso? ”

Mattheo rolled his eyes. “Of course you’d get that one first try.”

Lorenzo continued to read, now with a slight smirk.

“An ode to a woman with a celestial name,

Her vibe is electric, not one you can tame.

From the album that rocked the world wide,

Name the track.”

Lorenzo stared at the riddle for a moment, clearly deep in thought. His lips curled slightly, as if trying to put the pieces together.

Mattheo watched, his mind already racing through possibilities. "Come on, Enzo. It’s not that hard."

Lorenzo looked up, clearly struggling to connect the dots. "I dunno, man. Celestial name... electric vibe... It’s throwing me off."

Mattheo’s eyes widened. “Wait... Arabella,” he said suddenly, catching the reference. “It’s got to be ‘Arabella’ by Arctic Monkeys.”

Lorenzo blinked, then nodded slowly. “Oh, yeah. That makes sense. Good catch, Riddle.”

Mattheo grinned, feeling a little bit smug. “I know my stuff.”

Lorenzo looked at the riddle like Mattheo was crazy.

“I’m a serpent, sleek and sly,

With emerald scales and cunning eye.

In the house where ambition reigns,

What’s my symbol? Speak my name.”

“Matt, come on. The locket, duh.”

“Oh, right,” Mattheo muttered, tapping his fingers on the journal.

Lorenzo barely hesitated before moving on to the next riddle.

“I’m the one who guards the goalposts tight,

Stopping the quaffle with all my might.

I block and deflect, keeping the score low—

What’s my position? Now, let me know!”

“Keeper,” Lorenzo answered with a smirk, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Should’ve known,” Mattheo grumbled, half to himself.

Lorenzo moved on, flipping to the final riddle.

“I’m a potion that makes truth come clear,

In Hogsmeade, I’m sold with no fear.

A drop or two, and secrets unfold,

What’s my name? It’s liquid gold.”

Lorenzo grinned. “Veritaserum. Honestly, these riddles are too easy.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, trying to suppress a smile. “You really think you’ve got this figured out, huh?”

Lorenzo raised an eyebrow. “Well, if I’m solving all the riddles, maybe I should be the one old-timey flirting with her through a book. What do you think?”

Mattheo’s eyes widened in mock horror. “What? Absolutely not. I found the book. Plus, you think she could be a possible psychopath—what about that, huh?”

Lorenzo shrugged, unfazed. “Eh, it’s a possibility. But if she’s that crazy, at least it’ll be entertaining.”

Mattheo shook his head, but couldn't help the smirk tugging at his lips. "Not happening."

“Anyway, let me put it together. It says ‘string the first together,’” Lorenzo said, already scribbling down the letters.

Mattheo watched, tapping his foot in rhythm. “Uh, T, H, E, A, L, K, V…”

Lorenzo stared at the letters for a moment before glancing up. “Alright, so… ‘THE ALCOVE.’” He shrugged. “Sounds like the one by the lake.”

Mattheo raised an eyebrow. “Oh, like our Alcove, Alcove?”

Lorenzo gave another shrug. “Could be. Or maybe something else. Who knows? It’s just a game, Matt.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mattheo said, leaning back with a grin. “I’ll go check it out.”

Lorenzo chuckled, tossing the journal back at Mattheo. “Right, because you’re definitely not getting invested. Go ahead, find the weirdo.”

Mattheo smirked, flipping through the journal and eyeing the letters. “I’ll figure it out. But, uh, if she’s leaving clues like this, she’s got a decent sense of humor.”

Lorenzo raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, sure. Just don’t get too carried away with it, alright? Since it’s just a game.”

Mattheo sighed and plopped down onto the stone steps, resting the journal beside him. He leaned back, his gaze wandering aimlessly around the alcove, still trying to make sense of the place. The stillness of the moment almost felt like an invitation to relax, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this. There had to be.

He scanned the surrounding area, eyes tracing the worn edges of the stone, the lake shimmering faintly through the trees. And then—there it was.

That familiar "a".

On one of the tiles, nearly hidden beneath the edge of the stone step, was a small sticker of the letter “a”—it wasn’t much, but Mattheo immediately recognized it. The same letter from the journal. The same one that had popped up in the corner of the pages, taunting him with its mystery.

Mattheo’s heart picked up pace, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Now we're getting somewhere. He bent down, carefully peeling the sticker off the tile, wondering what kind of clue this could lead to.

Whatever it was, he was definitely invested now.

Mattheo stared at the sticker for a second, waiting for something to happen, but when nothing did, he was about to brush it off. Then, in a blink, the sticker seemed to melt away, its glossy edges rippling like the surface of the lake on a windy day. Before he could process it, the sticker was gone, replaced by a folded note.

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. Hogwarts magic, never a dull moment.

He unfolded the note, the handwriting neat and familiar:

"Leave the journal, I'll answer."

The next day, Mattheo found himself walking past the alcove again. The events from the night before still lingered in his mind, but he'd almost convinced himself it had all been some weird fluke, or maybe just a one-off game.

He hadn't returned to the alcove since he’d left the journal there, figuring he’d check back in a day or so. But as he passed by, he couldn’t resist stopping. The place seemed quieter now, the magic of the night before no longer lingering in the air.

But when he got to the spot, he was surprised to see that the journal was still there. Nothing else had changed. Mattheo stared at it for a moment, debating whether to just walk away, but something—curiosity, maybe—kept him rooted to the spot.

He bent down, picking up the journal and flipping through it. 

"Aha, u so could be kinda smart huh? I can’t believe someone’s actually answered, that journal was probably there for a year? And good job with the riddles, I guess? I’m surprised you got the Smiths and Arctic Monkeys one, maybe u have a similar taste Mystery Boy. Your chance now, you give me the dare and I’ll follow through."

- A,

xx

Mattheo leaned back against the wall, grinning to himself. So, she was serious about this. A dare, huh? This could get interesting.

He quickly scribbled in his response, his hand steady as he wrote. "Alright, mystery girl, you asked for it."

omggg, I actually wrote this? I'm very happy about it, and i'd love if people interact w it, also ty @sunkissedscribbles for helping since my first draft looked like a seven year old wrote it 😭 also yes, this will be a series and I'm very open to suggestions and any improvements. (I should probably make a taglist?) - rey