#and they don't tell you anything about it

[askshivanulegacy]

This is absolutely true. I think a lot of what people don't seem to realize is that you ARE allowed to be happy, celebrate, unplug, whatever you feel like doing just because you feel like it. No one can tell you that you aren't.

The lefties are just like any other fandom. You have to curate your experience. One person or even a massive group of people saying you "have to do something" are a) liars, and b) meaningless. These people are just more anonymous, random, chronically online posters. Especially when you talk about the "Tumblr left." All they've got is big talk, very little reality, and no real action.

There isn't a "we" here that matters. "We" didn't celebrate? Says who? I did!

If you want to celebrate, do it. Be the first person, if that's what it comes down to. Don't let anyone else govern your life but yourself. Reblog or make the positive message that you want to see.

I think it's super important to acknowledge that people DO need to celebrate. But you also don't need to wait for permission and you don't need to pay attention to the naysayers.

I’m sorry but if there is one thing the Tumblr left needs crucially, it’s the ability to celebrate.

I remember when marriage equality was called and there were waves of rainbows and love wins posts. When we successfully defeated Donald Trump, there was lukewarm relief, a reminder that you were only allowed one or maybe two days to celebrate and then it was back to work. That is if you were even a good person for voting Biden. We never did settle if he was better than Trump. (We did.). We didn’t celebrate student loan debt relief or any of the accomplishments of the Biden administration, or any of the times Trump was blocked, or other countries succeeding in keeping fascists out of office. Who cares if we had successes? It’s not good enough. Back to work!

And this anti-celebratory attitude stretches back to the past. On the 100th anniversary of female suffrage in America, we were reminded that not all women had the vote and so we weren’t allowed to celebrate. The only post I saw about Juneteenth was reminding us that there were enslaved people who were killed instead of freed and therefore celebrating the end of chattel slavery was wrong, and besides, we have prison labor so nothing really changed or got better and there’s nothing to celebrate anyway. Trans Day of Visibility comes with Trans Day of Remembrance so that people don’t fill the tags with hate crimes and death. So on and so forth. Nothing gets better. Nothing changes. Back to work!

So of course when we have a major setback, we fall apart and have to start frantic damage control. Frantic discourse ensues over how much people are allowed to unplug before it becomes bad and selfish. Yes, maybe you can have this one day off Mr. Cratchit but you better be here and miserable early the next morning. Like abusive bosses always insisting you squeeze out more, more, more, and any achievement is just proof you were lazy the other times and impetus for more work.

If we are never allowed to acknowledge any of our victories, how are we supposed to survive our defeats?

[cherrygirlfriend]

touchy subject II pairing: reader x exfiancé!rafe synopsis: seeing your ex-fiancé after four years. warnings: heavy angst. some fluff. miscarriage/stillbirth. vehicular accident. wc: 2k part 2 of touchy subject. part 3 / the final part coming soon. click here for part 1

you could feel your heartbeat in your throat, raw with unshed tears, the vision of your ex-fiancé with another woman blurred by nothing but the tears brimming at the edges of your vision, so different from the ones that ran down your cheeks the day you'd said yes to him.

"of course i'll marry you." you pulled rafe to stand up, your arms around him before you could even think about what you were doing, rafe letting out a sigh of relief. "wait, wait, i gotta ask you something." you rushed out, pulling away from the hug, his hands still staying on your waist.

"what is it?"

"is this just because i'm pregnant?" you ask, rafe's brows furrowing in confusion, yet you left him no time to respond, "it's just- i want to marry you, but i don't want you to feel like you have to ask me just because i'm pregnant, and if you want to wait until the baby's-"

you could feel how tired rafe was getting of your rant by the intensity of his lips on yours, using it to interrupt you, his fingers sliding under your jaw to help hold it up to meet his; and just like always, he didn't need to say one word for you to understand what he was communicating to you.

the moment his eyes found yours, it felt as if all the air was punched out of your lungs, like the entire planet just stopped spinning. it didn't matter that the jewelry store's display was separating you; it felt like the first time he looked into your eyes and told you he loved you.

you wanted to run, to make sure you wouldn't have to face him, to have to hear what his voice sounded when you'd already managed to forget how it was to hear it in person, but it was like your feet had rooted to the ground within the few seconds that he spotted you.

and you begged to whatever entity that once you saw him approach the exit to the jewelry store, the other woman long forgotten, that your fight-or-flight instinct would kick in, but luck was never really on your side, because there he stood, his face the same as the last time you saw him, with a few lines added here and there, and a part of you couldn't help but ache at the thought of having missed the moment they appeared.

you looked up at him, into the same eyes you'd once imagined your daughter would have, the thought making the bout of nausea in your throat even worse. a part of you wanted to congratulate him, to tell you that you were happy for him, but it felt like the words were choking you, like they were burning in your throat. but the choice to even say something was taken from you, when you heard the bell above the door to the jewelry store let out a cheery ring.

"rafe…?" the red-haired woman called out, her brows furrowed in question, and the moment your ex turned around to face her, you took the opportunity to turn the other way, begging that your feet would take you away before you threw up on the spot.

"i saw him yesterday."

"it was the first time you saw him in person since you left, correct?"

"yes. i sometimes checked up on his social media, but seeing him like this... so close to me i could touch him... it was pretty jarring. it felt like no time had passed, but also like i hadn't seen him in decades."

"and how did he look?"

"handsome." you chuckled softly, your hand going to fiddle with the locket around your neck, sliding it up and down the golden chain, avoiding looking at the zoom meeting displayed on the laptop screen. "he looked just like he looked with me. he looked happy."

"happy anniversary, rafe." you smiled softly as you pushed the gift box at him, your fiancé letting out a small tut.

"you know you didn't have to get me anything, right? you're enough for me already. both of you are."

"yeah, yeah, stop being all cheesy and chivalrous and open it already." you urged, watching as he lifted the lid of the gift box, his eyes widening as he looked down at the present, but before he could say anything, you stopped him, "look at the back of it!"

rafe rolled his eyes, picking up the steel watch from the box, and you could see his gaze soften the moment his eyes spotted the engraving on the back of the watch, the edges of his lips almost automatically twisting up at the words 'evelyn cameron'.

"is it bad that it makes me feel bitter?" you asked, chewing at the inside of your cheek, "that it's been four years, and i haven't been able to move on, but he has? that he's managed to be happy, but i haven't? that i don't know if i ever will?"

"the loss of a child..."

you couldn't help but tune out the words of your therapist like they were nothing but background noise, not knowing if it would be worse if she tried justifying your anger or if she tried to get you to understand why rafe had managed to move on, your eyes instead focusing on the heart-shaped locket you'd opened, the faces of the couple staring right at you.

"rafe, where are we?" you laughed softly, your feet hurting from the heels you were starting to regret wearing, the blonde having parked his car in front of a random house.

"you didn't think i wouldn't get you an anniversary present, did you?" when you didn't immediately answer, he pressed his hand to his chest in mock offense, shaking his head, "come on. lemme show you."

the two of you got out of the car, your heels clacking against the stone pathway leading to the house, rafe's muscular arm keeping you close to him, helping you walk.

when you got to the door, he let go of you, and you watched as he took out a set of keys without saying anything, twisting them in the lock and pushing open the door, looking to you enthusiastically, extending his hand to you.

the moment you stepped over the threshold, you were enveloped by warmth, rafe flicking on the light next to the entryway before turning to you as your eyes got used to the light, sliding his hands onto your waist, pulling you as close to him as the growing child allowed.

you looked into his eyes, yours filled with confusion while his were filled with nothing but sincerity, his thumb stroking your waist. "rafe, what's this?"

"it's our home." he said, bringing his hand to your bump, "i know it's not much, but it's got enough room for our family."

"rafe, this is-"

"this is my anniversary present for you. i won't take 'no' for an answer." he brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek, tugging it behind your ear, "i want us to build our own home. our own life."

you kicked the radiator in frustration; it seemed like no matter what, the place wouldn't warm up. you'd called a maintenance guy, but they told you that it'd take at least a week for them to get someone there, and in the middle of winter, your only option was to light the fireplace in the middle of the living room while you waited for your mom to arrive with a portable radiator she told you she'd borrow you.

you sat in front of the blazing fire, your fingers fiddling with the frayed edges of the worn-out ultrasound picture you'd looked at a million times, your voice coming out weak from the sobs you were holding in your throat.

"hi, evie." you said softly, looking to the small urn next to you, engraved with the name of your daughter as well as today's date, only five years before. "happy... happy birthday."

"hi, baby." rafe's voice called out from the speakerphone of your car, the windshield wipers wiping away some of the rain falling down on you as you drove through the dark streets lit only by the yellow streetlights above, "are you almost home?"

"i am." you chuckled softly, "seeing my mom was so nice, even though she kept being all cheesy about how big i'd gotten. i swear, she almost cried."

"come on, she's gonna meet her grandkid in a month, of course she's gonna be all cheesy. if my dad had a paternal bone in his body, i'm sure he'd be ecstatic."

"yeah, well, you're not the one whose stomach is constantly getting pawed by people." you let out a snort, looking out into the road, "listen, i'm gonna drop by the store cause little evie's craving chocolate, do we need anything?"

"nah, just need you two home as soon as possible."

"aye aye, captain. see you soon, baby." you laughed, hearing the noise that signaled that the call had been ended, eager to get home and off your feet.

but before you could even realize what was happening, you were faced with a second pair of headlights that was approaching you, another car lit up by your own yellow headlights. and you swerved.

maybe it's a part of the so-called mother's instinct to blame ourselves when something happens to our child. no matter how many people told you that it wasn't your fault, that there was nothing you could've done, every bone, every cell in your body couldn't help but beat yourself up over what happened.

rafe ran down the hospital hallway, the smell of disinfectant mixed with the feeling of his heartbeat in his ears making him feel nauseous, the man sure that it was beating 200/bpm, but finally, when he reached the hospital room the reception had guided him to, a sense of relief took over him.

a nurse walked out of the room, startled by the man, her eyes widening at the obvious sense of urgency he was displaying, "can i help you?" she asked.

"no, no, i'm just here to see my fiancé." rafe said, his hand going for the door, only to be blocked by the nurse.

"i'm sorry, but the patient has told us that she doesn't want any visitors."

"what?" rafe let out a dry, humorless laugh, his brows furrowed, "you have to let me see her, that's my fiancé. that's- that's the mother of my child."

"i'm sorry, but the patient-"

"hey!" rafe pounded the palm of his hand on the door, the hospital bed visible from the rectangle of glass on the door, the man able to see your mother hunched over your bed, holding you. "let me-"

"sir, if you don't calm down, i'm going to have to call the guards and they'll remove you from the premises."

"that's my fiancé!" rafe shouted as the nurse pushed him further from the door, "i have to go see her! you have to let me see her! just tell her that i'm here, she'll want-"

the door to your hospital room swung open, rafe meeting the crestfallen eyes of your mother, her lips pulled into a straight line. "rafe, she doesn't want to see you."

when you heard the doorbell ring, you wiped away the tears that had ran down your cheeks; you didn't want to make it obvious to your mother that you'd spent the last fifteen minutes crying, and even if she could tell by the redness of your eyes, you knew she wouldn't mention it.

you pushed yourself off the ground, placing the small urn and the ultrasound picture on top of the fireplace as you straightened out your sweater, your feet cold against the hardwood floor as you walked to the front door.

but when you pulled it open expecting to see your mother, it felt like all the air had been knocked out of your lungs, like your heartbeat shot through the roof just from the sight of his downcast eyes.

"rafe."

[retiredteabag]

Nobody yearns like Satoru yearns.

I mean this in several ways. Satoru will long for something in a steadfast fashion. Unwavering, undeterred, if he loves, he loves to the point of loss. And after that loss, he will continue to love some more.

When I say nobody yearns like he does, I also mean it to say, you would never know. He would hide his adoration behind playful jokes and bold smiles. He would pretend, perhaps embarrassed by the intensity of his affection, that his care for you was nothing more than platonic.

He would tease you and make funny quips, badgering you about your day or something he found equally interesting, and once he would finally get you going, have you sharing little bits and pieces of yourself, he would really, truly, listen.

I believe many people would see Satoru as a poor listener, he had a habit of speaking over someone and thinking his opinion was gospel, but when it came to those he cared for, he wanted nothing more than to sit with them, listen and watch them talk.

"What?!" You would eventually have to say, incredulous.

His eyes would widen, but a grin would fill his face, "Whaat~~?" He would question, alarm bells shooting up his spine at being caught. He had been lost staring at you and now you were uncomfortable.

"You're being creepy! How come you're not saying anything?" You would point at him dramatically and wait for a response.

Satoru would sit up, sarcasm rearing to go, "Ahhhhh I see~" He would start leaning in, "You just like to hear me talk, huh?" Poking at your cheek, his hand was swatted away. "I don't blame you, my voice is verrrrrrry attractive."

A highly disturbed expression crossed your face, "What are you- Is that what all your lady friends tell you?"

Finally leaning back, he would feel his heart race, using it as a faux show of offense, his palm would feel every frantic beat. But he would keep his cool.

"Don't feel bad for recognizing it too, I'm irresistible, I know. Look at you, all flustered because I was looking in your direction." He would hide the growing blush in his ears by haughtily huffing his nose to the sky.

"I'm not!- Satoru!- You- Ugh!" You would swat at him again and he would let his infinity down to feel you.

"No need to feel embarrassed, I'm used to it!" He would lean back, grinning.

Yes, for better or worse, nobody yearns quite the way he does.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Danny: You want me to what?

Tim: Give this letter to Batman for me.

Danny: Why?

Tim: I need to tell him something, but I can't give him the option of capturing me.

Danny: But he can catch me?

Tim: He doesn't want you.

Danny: Damn, alright.

Tim: No, sorry, I mean - look, just give him the letter and don't tell him anything about me. Here is 10k in cash. Can you do it?

Danny: For 10K? Yeah, okay.

Ten hours later

Danny: LET ME OUT

Bruce: It's okay, son. We're going to help you get your memories back.

Danny rattling the bars: I'm not Tim Drake. He just hired me to give you the letter!

Bruce: A letter claiming Tim Drake was tired of his life with us and that he was going to become a regular citizen, so don't look for him? Your only involvement with the letter and him is that he paid you to delivery it?

Danny: YES!

Bruce: And the fact you both look exactly alike has nothing to do with this?

Danny: I don't question it. You start questioning stuff and bad things happen to you

Bruce: Bad things like memory loss.

Danny: IM NOT TIM DRAKE. LET ME OUT.

Bruce: Until we know what they did to easrse your memories I'm afraid your going to remain in containment.

Danny: WHY!? I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING

Bruce: You stabbed Jason

Danny: No, he rudely walked into my knife

[seungcheorry]

it makes you worry a bit, how quiet mingyu is. he's lying on his stomach, limbs spread out on the bed, his face pressed against his pillow as he mindlessly scrolls through his phone - and you know he ain't paying attention to it.

"are you hungry?", you ask him, after getting out of the shower.

mingyu slightly shakes his head, looking up from his phone.

"are you?", he asks, pouting when you nod. "do you mind ordering something? i don't feel like cooking..."

wow, okay. now that's new.

mingyu watches as you climb in bed with him, laying on top of his exposed back.

"what's wrong?", your voice sounds like a key trying to unlock something to him, and he huffs.

"nothing", his voice is muffled by the pillow. "i'm just tired".

"are you sure? would you tell me if there's anything bothering you?"

mingyu sighs, trying to look at you from the corner of his eyes.

"yeah. i'm just feeling down, the tour was great, but i'm exhausted, and we have many more schedules coming... i feel like i'm out of energy."

"wow, kim mingyu out of energy?"

your playful tone makes him laugh a bit, dropping his phone so he can reach for your head that's resting on his shoulder, caressing your hair.

you press a tender kiss to his skin, letting it linger.

"it's just one of those days... where i wish i didn't exist. i wish i could be a tiny dust floating in the air."

"just recharge, baby. go to sleep and don't worry about anything", you tell him.

mingyu hums, sighing so deeply yet again.

"will you be with me?", he shyly asks, as if he's a 5 year old boy; as if he hasn't been dating you for so long.

as if you could ever leave him.

"of course i will."

[mirohlayo]

F1 DRIVERS AND YOU (their crush)

KISSING THEIR CHEEKS

( include piastri, norris, leclerc, sainz, hamilton, russel, verstappen & ricciardo )

warning : none just fluff

note : little nod to max's 4th championship win, congrats to him, sooo proud !!

─ OSCAR PIASTRI

I know for sure boy was blushing so so hard. But it's absolutely adorable and cute. Oscar is very patient with you, and even though he dreams of being able to touch you in a more than friendly way, of being able to at least have the right to a little kiss, he restrains himself and tries not to act under his impulses. . However, when you decided to quickly kiss him on the cheek, out of nowhere, he actually felt himself melting from the inside. His cheeks have never blushed so much, and his heart has never beaten so quickly.

─ LANDO NORRIS

Ugh, you guys can barely hold eye contact, but he's already so in love. So mad in love even. Despite the fact that you are still shy, especially him, that you struggle to make eye contact without blushing afterwards, Lando can't help but ask for more. Just a little extra. So, when he walked you to your doorstep, he immediately asked you if he could have even a mini kiss. Your lips naturally landed on his cheek, brushing against it, almost like a ghost kiss. And when you pulled back oh... He was already touching the place where your lips rested, cheeks as pink as yours.

─ CHARLES LECLERC

This was absolutely surprising to Charles. But he would love to be able to feel that feeling again. When your lips pressed naturally against his cheek, your hands framing his face perfectly. He didn't move for at least a good two minutes, trying to figure out what just happened. If it was real. He was so shocked that he didn't see you lean in again to place another sweet kiss. He blinked a few times, and you could only giggle silently. Oh, it was the best day of his without a doubt. And if he could live it again, he wouldn't hesitate for a single second before saying yes.

─ CARLOS SAINZ

He only had eyes for you. And he loved seeing you smile, and making you happy. So from time to time he spoils you, and although you don't like it when he buys so many things for you, you always end up thanking him warmly because after all, it's adorable. You always hugged him, hugging him a little tighter each time, but this time it was different. You wanted a change from hugs, so with a surge of courage and love you gently kissed his cheek to thank him. He was dizzy, almost on the verge of passing out. He couldn't hold back a shy smile, and above all he couldn't settle for a hug from now on.

─ LEWIS HAMILTON

He waited there patiently, sitting in a corner of the garage before getting in his car. You were a few feet away from him, watching the mechanics adjust the final modifications to the car. He couldn't help but admire you. And stare at your lips. God, he would give anything to be able to feel them against his skin. And as he was about to get in the car, he stopped when he felt your arm rest on his forearm. And without knowing how, your lips crashed onto his cheek in a quick kiss. His best smile appeared on his face, as he tried to hide his blush by putting on his helmet. Finally, his wish came true, right?

─ GEORGE RUSSEL

He can't stop replaying the scene in his head. He already found you so perfect, so beautiful and incredibly intelligent. It wasn't just a crush anymore, it was George, a simp for you. But already his heart was speeding up just by looking at you, he really thought it was going to stop beating when you gently kissed him on his cheeks. It was pure, sweet and... terribly affectionate. He tried to appear as normal as possible, but inside he was a mess. His whole body was telling him to kiss you and tell you everything he has in his heart right now. And he's sure that day will come soon, because there's no way another day will pass without a kiss from you.

─ MAX VERSTAPPEN

As the race draws to a close, Max is finally a 4th time F1 world champion. And getting out of his car, as he proudly waves his arm to greet the crowd, only one thing is on his mind. You, you and only you. So it was natural that he found you among the crowd, looking at you as if only you existed in the world. His hair was still damp, his face still covered in drops of sweat, but that absolutely didn't stop you from pressing your soft lips against his cheek, for a long time. Passionately. And oh, that sweet gesture was better than any championship. His eyes spoke for themselves.

─ DANIEL RICCIARDIO

He will never, ever stop teasing you about the kiss you gave him. Quite simply because he loves seeing you smile and laugh, but above all because he secretly wants you to repeat this gesture over and over again, for eternity. Honestly, you wouldn't even have to ask him for permission as he will already be ready to receive another kiss from you on the cheek. It was by far the most beautiful experience of his life, and oh, his heart always asks for more when he sees you. So, he hopes to feel your lips on his skin again, even if it costs him to tease you all day long.

[shradsmanifestt]

These are the only things You need to know about manifestation :

Manifestation is not a process. You aren't trying to manifest anything. You are just accepting the fact that it's already yours.

Don't get stuck in the trying/learning phase, you don't need it to make sense. You don't need to know how/when/what. Just know that it's already done.

You make the rules in your reality. Stop asking if you can manifest this/that or why some coach was saying this and the other coach said the opposite. Don't accept what they say as true in your reality. What's the point of being the operant power in your own reality if you're just gonna go behind the latest technique/ fad some random person on the internet tells you to do.

The simplest way is the real way. Accept it as true in your reality. That's all there is to it. If you wanna affirm and persist do that, If you wanna do saturation do that, If you wanna listen to subs do that. There is no right or wrong way. Just accept the fact that it is already done.

To answer the question of how can I assume something to be true when it clearly isn't - How come you always assume the worst when it comes to stuff you want? Don't you assume how you're gonna be late somewhere before it even happens? Don't you assume that something's gonna go wrong before it even happened? Don't you overthink all sorts of shit without once knowing what's actually happening behind the scenes? If you can do all this shit with no proof whatsoever, you can assume what you want is true - if you really want it. I said what I said.

Don't be afraid to claim it as true. You aren't being delusional, You aren't aiming too high, No it's not that farfetched, It's okay to want what you want, It isn't impossible (unless you assume it is). Stop letting fear take over your power. If you can desire it you can have it.

More often than not people stumble upon manifestation because they are desperately trying to manifest something. Like their SP, or money or the job or appearance change or whatever it might be. Most people fail at manifesting what they want the most. In my personal opinion, it's because you're so busy "TRYING" to manifest it and just stuck in the process and have just too much resistance. You guys are never like - I have it, but instead like - I'm trying to manifest it. I'm manifesting this and that.

Change that. You are not gonna be stuck in that anymore. You are gonna decide now and here that it is already done. You have it. It is yours. NOT TOMORROW, NOT TWO WEEKS FROM TODAY, BUT NOW.

You have it now. If you can accept this, nothing can stop you from having what you want.

[ghostwhippet]

Size 14

18+

Nutrition Info: GhostxReader; Ghost develops an attraction to a massage therapist he's forced to see, hates it, and hates you for it.

CW: Headlock during imagined sex; Ghost Is Angry (and swears a lot)

The idea of a massage makes Ghost’s fucking skin crawl. It's not complicated why. 

But the idea ends up having nothing on you.

Garrick wouldn’t fucking shut up about you. Then Johnny and König wouldn’t. They even roped Price in. And then Ghost had a fucking shoulder injury that wouldn't heal right, and the fucking Physical Therapist had put in his official fucking recommendation.

You agreed to Ghost’s conditions over the phone – “Clothes on, door open, and I’ll have my head covered. Not negotiable.” – and you were used to working with military, so maybe that was something.

If it wasn't... he’s done hard things before. Gotten around rules and procedures plenty of times before, too.

But then the day came, he showed up, and you took one look at him and what you didn't do was try to tell him to get on your table. Or the shiatsu chair that would put you at his back all the same. 

You had Ghost sit in a regular chair. Then you crouched down just off to his side and you got to work on his gloved hands. Gave some bullshit excuse for starting there when it was his shoulder that was messed up.

And you…. Fuck you. 

You weren't scared of him. 

It was like you met big fucks dressed as death with the light gone from their eyes every day. He could tell you weren’t afraid, even though you never looked up. You glanced at his forearm and thigh a few times, even his foot twice, and that was all you needed to know how to adjust.

Apparently, even when he was fucking covered head to toe in thick clothing, you found him easy to read. Like an open fucking book.

So yeah: Fuck. You.

You asked him about the pressure twice, but otherwise, you were silent as you worked up his arms and moved to stand at his side to work his back. You never leaned over him, never tried to get behind him. Your eyes almost never left the area around your hands, but you could tell not just where he had knots, but what hurt, and what felt better than he'd ever admit.

You got him to lean forward so you could get below his shoulder blades and didn’t say anything about the fact that he was tight as a rappel line the whole time.

The third session he had with you, he ended up in the goddamned shiatsu chair. His eyes closed that hour, just for a second. Barely let himself blink after that.

The fourth time, he closed the door on his way in – always showed up right after you went in looking for him – and the sixth time… he layed down on the fucking table.

Somewhere that day, you find some knot, feel your way into some muscle, and he just… liquefies. He feels relaxed, didn’t know he could feel that way anymore. 

Something starts moving through him, like an echo in reverse, crashing and screaming and scraping louder and louder the closer it gets, and when he realizes it, he couldn’t say how much later, he’s up and damn near bolting from the room without a word or a look back.

He shows up at the next appointment and hands you the completion form – despite the fact that his round of prescribed sessions isn’t done – and tells you to sign and post-date it. 

All you do is look up from the paper to his covered face, your eyes moving back and forth between his, glance at his fucking tit like you can see through to his back injury, then sign off without a word. Little tension in your neck, but otherwise nothing. No pity, no annoyance, no judgement, no fear, not of him, or apparently any professional consequences.

Just as he’s passing through the door, you tell him that if he wants to come back, you’ll open up a spot for him. And you fuckin’ say it calm, like you know he’ll be back. See you on Tuesday, Ghost.

He looks into you after that. You’re a good person, as good as anyone comes. Don't even have any bloody parking tickets. You visit extended family in the north every year around the holidays, own an adopted dog, give to charity. You volunteer with vets, do the same thing you do at work for free. (When do your hands get a break?)

You become a sick sort of obsession. You crawl under his skin – that feeling of melting crawls under his skin – and his hate of you solidifies, turns into something slower and colder. He doesn’t care that it shouldn’t be isn’t right.

He’s back in your room two months later, and sees you at least once a month when he’s not deployed. Usually more.

You don’t say anything the days he leaves your room hard, either.

Ever the fucking professional.

And then… one of the lads has to go and make a fucking comment. Doesn’t matter that they’re all two months into a dark operation and completely isolated the whole time, doesn’t fucking matter. Because you’re as good as you are, because you read a body that isn’t isn’t even moving, without words, without breath, without a face to look at. Because you seem to know just what it needs, what it wants, what it’s feeling every second you're working it, like you’re inside it. Like you knew when Simon had finally come apart on your table. He’d been able to feel it in your hands.

“Yeah, but that's what I'm saying, innit? Just hypothetically, ok, imagine what else she’d be good at. Imagine her with your cock. Right? Hands, mouth—”

Stops fucking talking quick when Ghost’s size 14 boot hits the wall an inch from his face.

Because the problem is, Ghost already has been imagining it. He’s been imagining it since you sat him down and made yourself small in front of him and your eyes jumped up to his as you went, just a quick glance, steady and clinical. Perceptive. He’s thought about it obsessively. Has your eye color etched into his brain.

He also thinks about what you’d make of someone who could read you right back. How would you handle that? How much would it take before you went liquid, too? 

Would you give in right away, or would you fight it, make him work taking you apart?

Would he want to do it again once he had, or would once be enough? Too much? Would he have you close the door to your room and fuck you against it slow, see how quiet you could be? How much control do you have over yourself? How much does it take to break it, and what do you look like when your seams are ripped open? When you can’t think?

He has the thoughts, pictures every detail of taking you apart and ruining you. Pulling you right up to the edge until you can see him at the bottom. Until you think you want to dive in. That’s when he snaps out of it and the thoughts make him sick. Most of what he wants to do to you makes him sick. But he keeps having them. Keeps deciding to stay away from you and your fucking hands and your fucking room and your fucking table, stays away for weeks or months. Keeps going back eventually.

Garrick starts tossing around the idea of asking you out. Getting you to ask him out, because you'll want it so much you'll find a way to reach over professional lines.

You won't, though. You're not the type. You rely on the lines. You understand them, and he wants to yank you across until you can’t put them back together or even find where they were supposed to go again. But is that because they keep something out, or keep something from getting out?

No, Garrick isn't what you need. Not even what you want. 

Who could blame Ghost if he sighs, laying on the couch at his place one night, because he's gotten hard again? Or if… if just this once, he decides to touch his cock while thinking about you, just a little, just to test. Just through his trousers. If he ends up taking it out and lightly, carefully rubbing his thumb over its head, expecting this whole thing to crash down around him at any second…. 

If he thinks about having you under him, pinned by his weight, his hand fisted in your hair, keeping your head back so far your neck is bowed while you're fucking sobbing. Or one arm wrapped under your hips with you face down to keep you angled, to keep you from moving even a millimeter, other arm wrapped around your neck, fingers digging into your back while he slams his hips into you over and over and over and over….

…If, for the first time in a long, long time, Ghost manages to cum, and it's so fucking intense it makes his back arch off the couch….

……

…Fuck. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.  

He has to stop seeing you. Has to.

……

He knows goddamn well that he won't.

He sighs again, bookending the shitshow, one arm thrown over his eyes. Definitely not thinking about where else that arm just was in his mind, definitely not already starting to picture it again.

He scrubs a hand down his face, stopping when his fingers grip his jaw. He digs them in until it hurts, holds them there like that.

Ghost looks over at the back of the couch, now a mess of cum.

He lays there, no sound but the quiet fridge motor kicking on, his breathing already gone back to silent, knowing he needs to get up. Knowing he's got a fucking mess he needs to clean up now, and knowing... knowing it's not going to keep holding.

Masterlist

[milkmily]

Can I have a request for Mr scarletella with female reader is on top of him? (Smut) 👀

Inspired of this:

https://x.com/phoenix_0524/status/1858542195609043209

All yours

ᝰ.ᐟ❣️⋆˙──────────────────────────

Mr.Scarletella x Fem reader

SMUT oh my lord 🫣 and yes you may hehehehehe imma make him in that route where he forgets everything. But he's pretending 😏 just so he can be with Reader. Honestly i feel like he faked to forget everything because that was really ig the only way to get with MC like come ONNNN I need someone to write a fanfic about ITTTT

Mr. Scarletella. All under your control.

Isn't that just amazing?

He was so obsessed with you, madly in love with you, chased you everywhere and for what? For your name. Just so he can have your soul and have you under his control.

And now, it's different. He had forgotten everything, himself, his name, even you. His purpose is now long forgotten. And you gave him one. To be yours and to listen to everything you tell him to do like as if he was your own pet. You had him like a puppy with a leash around his beautiful neck. He was under your control.

And here he is, whining and Whimpering as he humps the bed while he eats your pussy. “So good…ah fuck!” You moan and push his face further on to your pussy lips. Mr Scarletella held on to your thighs tightly as he sucked on your clit. You moan and arch your back. He opens his eyes and looks at your face as you moan and whine. He sunk his nails into your skin as he ate your pretty cunt. He whines as he feels a tug at his hair. “Don't do that.” You say in such a cold tone that it makes him shiver and he loses his grip a bit. He nods and kisses your pussy lips. “I sorry.” He spoke.

You smiled and pulled his face Away. “Hmm, you were so good to me today.” You spoke and tilt your head. “Maybe you deserve a reward.” You spoke. He didn't understand half Of what you said except for good and reward. He knew he'd be getting what he has been wanting because he's been good to you. Loyal to you. Like always and will always be.

He lays down on the bed as you gently pull down his pants. His cock jumped out, already wet from his own precum from when he humped the bed. You still had your white coat on. You had planned to go out and murder but it seems There were other plans. You get on top of him and sit down on his cock, his cock in between your wet folds. He shivers and looks at you. He softly gasps as he feels your hips move back and forth on his cock. He needs to be inside of you so good. He's been good all day. Why can't he be inside of you? It's driving him absolutely crazy.

“Not yeeet~” you sang as your wet juices coat his hard cock. You giggled as his hands tried to grip on anything. He knew he couldn't grip on your hips And rock you back and forth. That would just ruin the reward he was going to Get. He has to be good to you. But his poor cock is begging to be wrapped with your wet cunt. He starts to move his hips with yours as he gasps and groans. You put more pressure on your hips to lower his own to prevent them from moving. You shake your head as you whimper And giggle.

After some rubbing And teasing, you stood up and grabbed his cock, seeing how wet you got him, your juices mixed with his precum. Finally, oh! Finally, he can be inside of you and feel your warm and wet walls suck him in. You positioned his cock at your aching pussy and sank in it. He jolted up, goosebumps all over his body as he let out a whine. You whimper as you feel him stretch you out and sit down fully on it.

You gasp and start to move your hips back and forth slowly. He holds on to the bed sheets as you ride his cock. You moan and move your hips faster. His cock just felt so good. He whines and throws his head back as you move faster and faster. You move your face closer to him to Look at him. “You feel so good…ah oh my-” you moan. Your chest pressing against his as you move your ass up and down. He groans and looks at you with a grin on your face. You moan and bring him in for a kiss. He whimpered and slipped his tongue in your mouth. Saliva drooling to the corner of his mouth as he kissed you.

You pull away, a string of saliva connecting you two as you moan. He held on to your hips as he looked at you. You look so beautiful right now. So gorgeous. You felt so good and you made him feel good too. He wants you forever, he wants this feeling forever and ever. With you and only. You were starting to get tired from all the moving so he lips his hips up and moved them up and down, your eyes went wide as his cock was brushing just where you wanted it to. You moan louder at every thrust. He looked up at you and brought one of your Nipples into his mouth as he sucked on it, his eyes closed. He lets out a muffled whine as his Hips thrusts become more harsher and faster.

You cup the breast he was sucking and pull it away, earning a whine from him. You moaned and brought the wet and hard nipple back into his sweet warm mouth. He knew you were close by how your pussy was starting to squeeze him, the way your moans turned louder and louder at each thrust. He waa close to himself Too. He groaned as he felt you put more weight on his hips, causing him to stop. He pulled away from your tit and looked at you. But you had your eyes closed as you rode his cock, your mouth opened as you let out those sweet, sweet sounds. “Oh, ah- I'm close I'm-” you scream as you bite your lip and moan. You keep riding him faster until you cum on his cock, covering His cock with your juices. He grabbed your his and moved them for you, cuming inside of you right after. He groaned and jolted his hips up as he filled your pussy up with his warm cum. You two were breathless and tried to catch your breath as you stayed there for a couple of seconds. You whine and stand up from his cock, his cum and yours dripping out of your pussy down to his lower stomach. You grabbed some tissues the best you could and cleaned yourself and him.

You lay down on the bed as you pant and try to catch your breath. You needed to stand up though. Get ready to go out. You needed blood. But you felt so exhausted, your legs sore. You felt Mr Scarletella's hand on your hips and his lips on your ear behind you. “Want your name.” He whispers. You quickly turn around and see the grin on his face.

Oh.

He never forgot.

He simply pretended to.

But you liked that and grinned.

“I'm not giving it to you.” You say as you grab his face with one hand, a tight hold on it that had him grinning more. “You're all mine. You said so.”

“You, mine.” You spoke in his language that caused him to shiver. “Me like you.” he said. “Me like you.” You say back.

Guys I'm sorry it's taking me a while to post 😔 i shall try to catch up. Love you all hehehehe❤️

[woso-dreamzzz]

If You Were My Little Girl II

Alexia Putellas x Teen!Reader

Summary: Things are looking up

Alexia watches from the stands.

They're mostly empty, like almost all Barcelona B matches.

Women's football has only really started picking up steam recently but only at the top flight. The lower level leagues are still having a bit of a popularity issue.

But Alexia, for once, finds that she doesn't mind.

Because it means she can sit practically alone in the stands as she watches the home match.

A notepad sits on her lap, a pen tapping against the pages thoughtfully as she watches.

Barcelona B are good and Alexia has never expected anything different. She's seen the system at work many times as La Masia churns out players like Aitana and Pina and Jana, and more recently Vicky and Martina.

There's a reason so many clubs wants La Masia products.

They're all good players but even now, Alexia can tell a great player when she sees one.

You rise up among the crowd in the box and slam the ball into the goal, the net rippling with the force of the shot.

The best part, Alexia thinks, is that you didn't even need a moment to control the ball, hitting it in on the volley and grinning as your teammates practically dogpile you.

A hattrick in ten minutes is impressive in any league and Alexia makes another note in her notebook, humming softly to herself.

She rises out of her seat at the end of the match, disappearing into the building and out the doors.

It takes another half an hour for you to appear again, hair damp and an old crew neck sweater that Alexia's pretty sure is Alba's being tugged over your head.

You slip into the passenger seat, throwing your bag into the backseat and Alexia pulls your head down to press a kiss against the side of it.

You smile shyly at her as she offers up the fries she'd bought for a job well done.

"You did good, kid," She says," Very impressive."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. But I think we're going to work on evading slide tackles next," Alexia says as she drives off," We're trying to keep those ankles of yours intact, alright? I'm going to need them this season."

You roll your eyes and Alexia clicks her tongue.

"Don't roll your eyes at me," She says," I've got a good feeling about that meeting later in the week. A great feeling, actually. You should have one too."

"I'm managing expectations."

Alexia looks at you fondly. "Well, we'll see which one of us is right in a few days."

She lets you choose the music in the car, like she always does when you've scored a goal and you pull up to the apartment a lot quicker than you want to seeing as you're in the middle of singing along to your favourite song but, still, you drag yourself out of the car and up the stairs.

"How was the match?" Olga asks as she greets Alexia with a kiss on the lips.

"She did very well," Alexia brags," A hattrick within the first ten minutes and another goal in injury time."

"Exciting," Olga says indulgently as Alexia grins, already giving her running commentary of everything that happened during the match.

You escape though, hurrying to raid the cupboards before Alexia finally comes to her senses and tries to stop you 'spoiling' your dinner.

You don't know if there's any way to thank Alexia for what she's done for you.

Just three months ago, you were convinced that you were going to quit. You had no passion for the game, no hope of what your future was going to be but now all of that had changed.

You had direction. You had a manager. You had new boots and a place to live that wasn't a group home and support and love and everything seemed to be coming together for you.

A toe pokes you in the leg.

"Move."

"Alexia says that if you're trying to nap on her sofa again then I don't have to move," You tell Alba, who huffs and pokes you with her toe again," She also says that you have your own apartment and should stop mooching of us."

"But Olga's a better cook than me," Alba complains and you roll your eyes.

"Aren't you an adult? Even I can cook."

"Yeah but it's not like you could mooch off your sist-"

Alba falls silent quickly and you pretend to not notice what she was going to say for both hers and your own sakes.

The topic of your sister is kind of off limits when you're in the room. It's not completely banned because Alexia's still Jenni's national teammate but she's not really spoken about if you're in the room.

Alba's face flashes with terror for a moment so you pretend you don't notice her slip up ever though it sends a bolt of lightning into your stomach, a deep pit forming there.

It works for the most part, everyone in the house pretending Jenni isn't who she is to you, pretending that she's just Alexia's teammate and not her friend and ex, pretending that Alexia fostering you isn't her walking on a tight rope because Jenni doesn't know.

All Jenni knows is that you didn't quit when she told you to.

Jenni doesn't know that you live with Alexia. Jenni doesn't know anything. You doubt she even thinks about you when she's got a life far away in Mexico.

She lives there, far away from you and your life here in Barcelona.

She lives there and her presence is hardly ever mentioned around you.

Life is good at Alexia and Olga's house. Life is even good at training, though you could do without the smug little smirk Alexia has on her face when she picks you up.

"You already knew!" You accuse her, waving a finger in her face.

"Knew?" She asks, lips curl up in what can only be described as pure smugness," Knew what?"

"Right, who told you? Go on. Who was it?"

Alexia grins. "You do realise I am the captain? Any time they're looking to bring someone in, they ask me my opinion."

You roll your eyes. "Yeah and I'm sure you gave it."

"You're a good player. A great player," Alexia says," All I did was tell them what they already know."

You look down at your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. You want to be mad at her, to yell at her for keeping this from you. Maybe even yell at her for promising to the staff something you're not but you know she hasn't done that.

If she thought you weren't ready, she would have told them that.

But Alexia didn't. She didn't tell them to let you have a bit more time with the B team. She didn't tell them that you don't quite have what it takes.

"Thanks."

Alexia smiles at you as she drives home, a comfortable silence enveloping you both until your hand is on the door handle.

You stop.

"When I open this door, there's going to be a party, isn't there?"

"I may have told Olga...who told Mami...who told Alba...who told the rest of the family..."

"Is that a yes?"

"Possibly..."

"And there's no getting out of this?"

Alexia ruffles your hair, a soft kiss being pressed to the side of your head. "They're here to celebrate you."

You suck in a breath, just ready to turn the handle when the sound of the lift doors opening chimes down the corridor.

Both you and Alexia turn your heads towards.

It's just a fleeting second.

Just a moment.

But your good mood plummets as the door opens.

Alexia's hand tightens on your shoulder, pushing you slightly behind her and putting herself between you and the elevator.

Between you and Jenni.

[poguelandiarafe]

red carpet reveal | drew starkey

pairing - drew starkey x gf!reader

warnings - none

summary - drew brings you to the outer banks season four premiere even though you're relationship is still under wraps. well, until it isn't thanks to a pushy reporter.

--------

the 'outer banks' premiere is in full swing and you're so grateful you get to experience it with drew for the first time. you're buzzing with excitement, the flashing of cameras and excited fans screaming as the cast makes their way onto the red carpet feels surreal.

"you doing okay?" drew asks, gently squeezing your hand.

you nod, looking up at him with a smile, "more than. go shine you superstar."

he chuckles and his hand gives you another comforting squeeze before letting it go and opting to rest it on your back. the way he looks in that suit, flashing his signature smile to the cameras, makes you wonder how the hell you even let him out of the hotel room.

as drew is ushered into many different interviews, you keep to yourself, staying mostly in the background and out of shot. you don't mind this, always having preferred to watch him in his element. he talks with so much passion and excitement that you could, and do, listen to him for hours on end.

the night seems to be going perfectly until it's not. the problem? a leggy blonde who's seemed to make it her life's mission to interview your boyfriend. you claim to not be the jealous type, but you can already tell the type of questions she's going to ask by the way she stalks over to him, eyes not so subtly looking him up and down with an exaggerated smile on her face.

"so, drew," she begins, her voice already annoying you, "you're looking very handsome tonight. outer banks season four! what's it like to still be playing the hottest character on the show? you are literally the internet's boyfriend right now."

he's here with you, don't let it get to you are the words that keep repeating in your head as drew politely answers the question, but you know she's attempting to flirt with him.

"what does your family think of the show? i'm assuming they're very proud," her eyes briefly flicker over to you and she turns her attention to you, "you must be such a proud sister, right?"

you scoff, not only at the question but at the condescending way she's talking to you, like you're a child.

"uh... she's not my sister actually." drew chuckles awkwardly, his free hand coming up to scratch at his neck.

her eyebrows raise in surprise before her shrill voice cuts through the air, "oh sorry! well, it's so thoughtful of you to bring your friend to the event."

yes, you've both agreed to not directly make your relationship public, but god did you want to set the record straight. the way her hand kept grabbing his arm throughout the whole interview is making your blood boil.

before you can say anything, the interview continues and she pays you no more attention. drew's patience for this is wearing thin, but he's determined to remain professional, not wanting to go viral for lashing out at someone for doing their job.

"coming back to my earlier point about being the internet's boyfriend, how's the love life? tell us, do you have your own sofia yet or are you still available?" the interviewer asks, playful flirtation coating the words as they leave her lips.

drew's arm unloops from yours and slides around your waist to pull you slightly closer to him. he's not trying to out your relationship, just reminding you he's there.

his eyes narrow slightly in annoyance at the question, "i... uh, well it's my personal life. wanna keep it personal."

"come on, not even an inkling of an answer?" she insists.

you've had enough of this woman and, quite frankly, drew has to. he's ready to walk off but you don't let him, instead moving to face him with your back to her.

"what are you doing?" drew leans down, whispering in your ear.

before you let yourself overthink what you're doing, you grab the back of his head and pull him into a kiss. everyone around you is in shock. cameras are all turning toward the two of you, and the fans are screaming even louder now. the kiss isn't a subtle peck or quick goodbye kiss. no, it's a kiss that is telling the world he's yours and no amount of bad flirting will take him away from you.

when you pull back, your cheeks are flushed and drew has a stunned smile on his face. your eyes suddenly widen as the realisation hits you like a train of what you just did, and he can tell that a million thoughts are going through your head.

"hey, stop overthinking it. i'm glad you did it," he starts before whispering, "meant she finally shut up and stopped trying to flirt with me."

relief washes over you and your tense shoulders drop as you let yourself relax. you don't even want to think about the social media reaction right now.

"umm," the interviewer clears her throat, "i guess that answers the question."

you grab drew's hand before looking back at the woman, "i think we're done here."

[perseidlion]

This is very, very true. The joy in fanfic is the sense of play. It helps you find the fun in telling stories. If you get too hung up on being perfect, you won't find your voice and the kind of stories you want to tell.

Also writing original work is way, way harder than writing fic. Part of the reason fic can seem "better" is because the characters are already established and people already care about them. If it's not an AU, the world is established, too.

Do you know what the hardest things to do are when crafting a story?

Establish and develop the characters and their relationship to each other

Make people care about the characters

Create a full and believable world

Writing fic lets you bypass all that. If you want to improve, you can focus on character dynamics, voice, flow, and plot.

Or you can just fuck around. Both are totally valid. And yeah some people have lost the "we're just here to fuck around" sense of play by trying to be the next fandom epic.

TBH I don't think you should work that hard on anything that doesn't have the potential to pay you, unless you find joy and fulfillment in that hard work. So the solution is to not work so hard and stress yourself out about it. That's often when the best stories come to you anyway.

At some point "fanfic can be as good as professional writing" became "fanfic should be as good as professional writing" and that's caused major damage to fandom spaces.

[curtins]

going to a cafe with the jujutsu kaisen men a/n: (based on irl experience with a wide variety of subpar men) 😭 gojo's order being my order...aurkay!

gojo — def the type to walk in and push his sunglasses down to check out the place. his order def goes something like a venti caramel macchiato with almond milk, two pumps of vanilla and two pumps of hazelnut, and a little caramel swirl at the top. smiles and is friendly to all the baristas, he's never rude to workers. tells the barista is gojo, with an o. whoever's unfortunate enough to be stuck next to him is doomed to hear him wax poetic about how coffee beans are the soul of the earth, and its 'really deep, you wouldn't get it lol'. if you order a black coffee, he'll ask if everything is okay at home. can't leave the cafe without ordering a $8.00 sweet treat and then wondering why all his purchases are adding up

geto — walks in as if he's a regular and tells the barista that he'll have his 'regular'. the barista has never seen him before. probably orders a flat white, double shot of espresso, no foam. he always says he doesn't have to pretend to like foam because he's chill like that. he'll ask for the wifi password, but only so he can show off how good he is at working in a cafe, but his ass is on coolmathsgames. will nod and pretend to care about whatever you're saying but he's still thinking about coolmathsgames. will also drop random metaphors like 'life is just like coffee. you either take it strong or with sugar.' you tell him to save the bad metaphors for his cult.

nanami — doesn't wander or hesitate when he enters the cafe. checks his watch every five minute. orders a black coffe, medium, and adds one packet of sugar. he's pretty good at ordering what he wants efficiently, and it leaves even the barista worried. he's here to relax so don't ask him any unnecessary question because this man needs a break. actually enjoys eavesdropping on people's conversations, and ends up tilting his angle to snoop on gossip better. avoids small talk like its another curse. you can't really make him react too much in a cafe, unless you spill coffee on his freshly pressed suit. will be passive aggressive and suggest that the cafe chooses better music. likes a good, dependable pastry. apple danishes are a favourite.

sukuna — prefers tea, without debate. but still orders relatively normal things. likes a good latte with chocolate syrup. but the king of curses kinda has to look cool, so he powers his way through a black coffee, with no sugar or milk. you swear his eyes are tearing up as he pretends to like it. after every sip of coffee, he sighs really loudly and it gets a bit annoying. even after you ask what's wrong, he says its nothing and continues to sigh loudly. nanami may be the one who eavesdrops, but sukuna is the one who interferes. will turn around in his chair to give unsolicited advice, but he genuinely thinks he's being helpful by telling schoolgirls to buy cleavers to chop their friends' hands off. is mildly offended when they move tables and give him weird looks. passes loud comments on other people and tells couples when he thinks they will breakup. attempts to connect to the wifi three times before threatening to burn the router.

toji — the barista asks if he wants a pastry with his drink and he asks 'do i look like the type of man to eat a muffin?' but if they're free, he'll take two. sits with his back to the wall like he's in a mob movie. god help anyone who sits too close to him, he really just doesn't trust anyone in his personal space. doesn't even acknowledge the existence of others until he's had at least three sips of his coffee. you could tell him his house is on fire, and he’d just mutter that he can't do anything about it now. types the wifi password on his phone with one finger like a caveman. tells parents to 'control their spawn' but entertains kids with coin tricks when no-one is looking. sometimes struggles to fit the lid on his go-to cup, and refuses to asks for help. wrestles with it for five minutes, getting increasingly annoyed before rushing out the door.

choso (this one is dedicated to pookie @creamflix) — frowns at the menu like it's written in an ancient language, like wtf is affogato. if someone behinds him coughs, he scolds them and says he's going as fast as he cans. spends 10 minutes deciding and then panics at the last second, tells the barista to give him whatever. if the barista asks any follow up questions (like milk preferences) he genuinely short circuits, "what kinds of milk are there?" he's genuinely baffled that there are options beyond 'cow.' he'll point at a pastry and ask what's in it. the barista explains and he replies with 'okay i trust you.' always ends up picking a wobbly table by accident and spends 15 minutes trying to fix it with folded napkins. if someone asks to share his table, he'll look like they just asked for his kidneys. if someone asks for his opinion on his pastry, its always a dumbass cryptic answer like 'its interesting.' uses his phone on full brightness and everyone can see him look up 'how to pronounce cafe au lait.' cleans up after himself because he's nice like that. if the staff get his order wrong, he never says anything even if it tastes like dirt.

[notlongtolove]

the cup holds the tea

it hits you all at once and you’re out of the booth in a flash, spencer right behind you. you’ve barely made it to the sidewalk when the drinks betray you—straight onto spencer’s shoes. the world blurs, and all you can think, mortified, is that you’ve just broken one of the cardinal rules of dating.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff

content: bau!reader has too much to drink and its up to bf!spencer to get her home. and brief mentions of puke... oh reader...

word count: 3k

note: well personally i don't know if i could ever love someone enough where i would lay on my bed in my 'outside clothes' but good on you spence! once i slipped and fell in someone's puke and cried all the way home.

a line: They’ve seen Spencer look at a thousand things with fascination—books, theories, puzzles, statistics. But this? This is something else entirely.

It is a kind of love, is it not? How the cup holds the tea, How the chair stands sturdy and foursquare, How the floor receives the bottoms of shoes Or toes. How soles of feet know Where they’re supposed to be. - pat schneider

The room hangs on your words, the perfect moment of suspense stretched like a tightrope. You let it linger, savoring the pause.

“And they ate every last drop of it!”

The punchline lands, and laughter spills out around the table, loud and easy. You beam. Spencer watches you, his gaze warm, almost reverent. He’s always known you had this gift—how you could spin a story, command a room. If he weren’t so completely in love with you, he might’ve envied it. No amount of books or degrees could teach him your knack for recounting stories with such flair, or your ability to whip up comebacks at speeds that leave even Derek speechless.

Spencer’s lucky, and he knows it. His eyes trace the curve of your smile as you sip from your glass, your third—or fourth? He’s lost count. He notices you’re not wincing at its taste anymore and well, you know what they say when the drinks start to taste like water. The fact that you’re tearing up at something Garcia’s showing you—a sloth video, from what he can tell, doesn’t ease his worries in the slightest either. He's not entirely sure what Emily has been ordering for the table but whatever it is, it’s clearly doing its job.

It’s one of those rare nights out, the kind where the team sets work aside and pretends, for a few hours, that the weight of the world isn’t on their shoulders. Rossi had insisted, his treat he said, but Spencer suspects it was just an excuse for the team to watch you two loosen up, to let your guard down. A carefully orchestrated opportunity for the team to see something they hardly ever got to see. They’ve seen you two in the field, sharp and focused, in sync like clockwork. But tonight it's the way you lean into Spencer’s side without realizing it, the way Spencer gently moves your glass out of harm’s way when you gesture too wildly. This is a glimpse of something sacred, something rare.

It’d only been about a month since you and Spencer had made it official. Everyone saw it coming long before you did, but that didn’t stop the teasing once the news broke. They could barely pick their jaws up from off the floor even tonight when Spencer had his hand resting lightly on your waist, steadying you through the crowd as you laughed yourself breathless, stumbling. At work, you both keep it professional, steering clear of anything that might make Hotch raise an eyebrow. But the dim light of the bar is ever so tempting. The bar is full of loud laughter and clinking glasses and you just can’t help but take Spencer's hand into yours, fingers laced without hesitation. 

Spencer catches the way Derek’s eyes light up at the sight, the subtle nudge he gives Emily. He knows they’re going to bring this up later, probably all week.

But he doesn’t move his hand. He doesn’t let go.

The booth is packed tight as you’re all wedged together, shoulders brushing. Everyone’s smiling, unwinding in a way you rarely allow yourselves to, laughter bouncing in overlapping bursts. Spencer sits nursing his water, content to observe. His eyes are drawn back to you over and over, catching on the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh and the animated gestures you make as you speak.

“C’mon, pretty boy, live a little,” Derek teases, “Just one drink.”

Spencer gives a sheepish smile, waving it off. “I’m fine,” he says, eyes flicking over to you once more.

He can’t keep his eyes off you tonight, it seems. You’re laughing, and It’s unmistakable, the adoration in his gaze, something so un-Spencer-like that makes Derek smile.

He knows Spencer’s not one to drink. You, on the other hand, seem a little too eager, maybe encouraged by Emily’s coaxing, and you’re already on your next drink, cheeks bright and eyes sparkling. You lean into Garcia’s cheers, your glass lifted high. Your laughter is bright and unrestrained, pulling everyone else along with it.

Spencer considers saying something when you're giggling a little more than usual, laughing too hard at a joke that doesn't warrant it. But he knows how you’d take it. You’d wave him off with that familiar insistence, the same as always. It wasn't like you couldn't hold your own, Spencer knows that. You’d held your own at Rossi’s birthday last year just fine, outlasting nearly everyone—everyone except Rossi of course. And that’s probably why he’d already taken his leave tonight, not wanting to get caught in the tail end of whatever chaos this night will inevitably bring.

But that was then and now— Well, it’s different now. Now, the role of boyfriend sits heavier on his shoulders, a title he’s all too happy to hold. And tonight, it’s a card he’s all too happy to play. It gives him leverage, an edge that makes him feel like he has a little more room to step in without you pulling the I don’t need anyone to take care of me speech. 

Spencer sees his opening as lean back into his side a little too comfortably. “Here,” he murmurs, pressing his glass into your hand. “Drink this.”

He hopes you’re just tipsy enough not to ask too many questions, as long as it’s something from the bar. For a moment, it seems like it works—you sit up, eyeing the glass cautiously, then take it from him with slow deliberation.

Almost there, he thinks.

You peer into the glass, squinting at the clear liquid, then give it a small sniff. Spencer’s heart sinks as your expression shifts.

“This is water,” you say, suspiciously.

“Yes, it is,” he admits.

Your brow furrows, the faintest pout tugging at your lips. “I’m drinking vodka.”

“And now you’re drinking water.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you, and I’d rather not carry you out of here tonight,” he says softly, the faintest flush colouring his cheeks.

You look up at him, unimpressed, but he stays firm. “Just drink the water, sweetheart,” he says quietly, his voice barely cutting through the noise.

He braces himself for your resistance. Instead, you huff, give him a pointed glare, and drink it. He watches as you sip, your nose scrunching at the lack of a bite. Spencer lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

The night winds on, the team louder than usual, swept up in Derek’s overly dramatic retelling of the prank war that once took over the bullpen. But you’re quieter, Spencer notices, the drinks maybe finally settling in a little too fast. Your smile slower, your laughter softer, head resting on his shoulder now and again. 

And then, suddenly, you’re not looking so well. It hits you all at once. The queasy welling in your stomach, the cold sweat prickling your skin. You’re out of the booth in a flash, Spencer right behind you as you stumble toward the door, your hand clamped over your mouth. 

You’ve barely made it to the sidewalk when the drinks betray you—straight onto Spencer’s shoes. The world blurs, and all you can think, mortified, is that you’ve just broken one of the cardinal rules of dating.

Of all people it had to be Spencer—germ-conscious, always-prepared Spencer—your lovely boyfriend who at this moment you’re not sure you can ever look in the eyes again Spencer. 

You don’t have to look up to see the team’s reaction as they round the corner, wide-eyed as they process what just happened. Derek’s mouth falls open in disbelief, Emily stares in shock, and Garcia whispers a dramatic, “Oh, no…”

They’re frozen. Because Spencer—Spencer, who uses hand sanitizer like it’s an extension of his arm, Spencer who’s the first to scrunch his nose at anything remotely messy—has just had his shoes christened in the worst way. You know they’re waiting for Spencer’s reaction, the tense recoil, the carefully contained grimace.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, Spencer pauses, takes a measured breath, and steps closer to you, his hands steady on your shoulders. “Hey,” he asks, voice low and soothing as he crouches to meet your gaze. “Sweetheart, you okay?” He brushes your hair away from your face, his touch careful and kind.

“Spence—” you mumble, your voice cracking with embarrassment. Your hands fly to cover your face. “I’m so sorry. Your shoes—oh my God, your shoes—”

Spencer shakes his head, a quiet laugh escaping as he crouches to steady you. His voice is impossibly gentle, calm in a way that eases the edges of your shame. “It’s fine. They’re just shoes,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your flushed face. “Let’s get you home, okay?” 

You nod, eyes shut, clearly mortified but he doesn’t let you dwell on it. He takes your hand, his grip firm but gentle. For a brief moment, Spencer contemplates asking the bartender for a glass of water to rinse off the mess, but he glances at you—your slightly swaying frame, the way your head droops just a little—and decides against it.

Getting you home safely takes precedence over everything else. Shoes can wait. You can’t.

Emily’s mouth falls open slightly as she watches, “Did Reid just…?” she murmurs, half to herself, as Derek gapes beside her. “Didn’t think the kid had it in him,” Derek says, shaking his head, a grin slowly spreading. Garcia sniffs, dramatically dabbing at her eyes. “I knew he loved her, but this? This is another level.” she says letting out a dreamy sigh. 

They linger, watching as Spencer guides you steadily toward the car with careful patience. He helps you in, crouching to fasten your seatbelt. You’re still mumbling apologies, your voice thick with embarrassment, but Spencer doesn’t falter. Instead, he shrugs off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders even as the mess on his shoes remains. There’s not even a hint of disgust on his face—if anything, he’s focused, caring, murmuring words of reassurance as he tucks his jacket around you. His hand lingers on yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a silent promise that nothing about this has shaken him. 

“I’m so sorry, Spence,” you whisper again, your voice small and heavy with guilt. “I ruined your shoes. And your jacket. And—”

“It’s fine. You’re fine. Besides, I was planning to throw them out anyway.”

You shake your head weakly, your tone petulant even through your embarrassment. “Nooo, don’t throw them out because of me.”

His lips twitch, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Well, what do you suggest I do with them, angel?”

“I’ll wash them,” you declare, your words slow and sleepy.

Spencer raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “You’ll wash them?”

“Mhmm,” you murmur, already halfway to drifting off against the seat.

“How about we get you home first and then worry about the shoes, okay?” he says gently.

“’Kay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as sleep begins to take hold.

Spencer stands, glancing back at the bar where the team is gathered. They’re not even pretending to hide their stares anymore, and he knows he’s going to hear about this for weeks. He raises a hand in a small, sheepish wave before climbing into the driver’s seat.

Derek shakes his head, laughing softly. “He’s gone,” he says, his voice carrying just enough awe to balance the humor. “Kid’s completely gone.”

Emily doesn’t need to ask what he means. Neither does Garcia. Because they’ve seen Spencer look at a thousand things with fascination—books, theories, puzzles, statistics. But this?

This is something else entirely.

The ride home is quiet, save for the occasional slurred apology from you. Spencer reassures you with the same soft patience each time, his hand steady on the wheel and his gaze flickering to you every so often, checking to make sure you’re okay. By the time he gets you home, your protests have faded, replaced by the heavy pull of exhaustion.

His arm remains firm around your waist, steadying you as he helps you inside, careful and methodical in the way he moves. He guides you to the bathroom, where you try to freshen up, fumbling with the faucet and splashing water on your face. Spencer steps in without hesitation and takes over when your movements falter. His touch is featherlight, but there’s no mistaking the care in every movement. The closeness makes your cheeks flush, though whether it’s from lingering embarrassment or something else entirely, you’re too tired to decipher.

“You don’t have to,” you murmur, your words sluggish but sincere.

“Of course I do,” he replies, his voice light but firm. “I want to.” 

He guides you to the bedroom with careful steps, his hand steady on the small of your back. Once there, he sets a glass of water on the nightstand, the gentle clink breaking the quiet.

“Drink,” he coaxes softly, his tone patient but firm.

You take the glass without protest, sipping obediently. Spencer watches, a small smile tugging at his lips. He considers making a playful comment about how quickly you’re drinking it now—so much easier than earlier—but he decides against it.

You’ve been through enough tonight, he thinks.

When he finally tucks you into bed, you’re too tired to resist. You mumble something incoherent, your hand brushing his as he leans in. Spencer pauses, his gaze lingering on your face—peaceful now, the traces of the evening’s mishaps melting away. He presses a light kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

Spencer steps out of the room, leaving the door cracked just enough to hear you if you call out. He lingers in the hallway for a moment, his shoulders sagging slightly now that the night’s adrenaline has begun to wane. He glances down at his shoes—still damp and stained. With a resigned sigh, he makes his way to the kitchen, grabbing a plastic bag. He slips the shoes inside, tying the bag tightly before heading outside. The cold air bites at his skin as he steps toward the dumpster behind his building.

He stands there for a moment, holding the bag. The sight of the shoes, oddly enough, makes him smile. It’s ridiculous, he knows. They’re just shoes. Ruined, stained, completely unsalvageable. But they’re also a reminder of tonight—a reminder of how he’d taken care of you, how you’d let him take care of you. 

With a soft thud, the bag lands in the dumpster. Spencer dusts off his hands, turning back toward the building. When Spencer steps back into his apartment, the soft hum of the heater greets him, a gentle reminder of the warmth waiting inside. And there you are, standing in his shirt in the doorway of his bedroom. Spencer thinks it's a sight he'll never get tired of.

There's a pout tugging at your lips. “Where’d you go?” you ask, your voice thick with sleep and just a hint of a whine.

“Had to throw out the shoes angel,” he says as he steps into the kitchen to wash his hands.

Your gasp is exaggerated like he’s just committed an unspeakable betrayal. “I thought I told you I’d wash them!” you exclaim, your voice rising. 

“And I thought I tucked you into bed,” Spencer counters, his laugh soft and full of affection. “Why are you out of bed sweetheart?”

You shuffle closer, blinking up at him with drowsy eyes. “Missed you,” you say simply, your earlier outrage regarding the shoes already forgotten. “Wanna cuddle.”

Spencer’s expression softens, but he gestures to his clothes. “I’m dirty,” he reminds you gently, “Outside clothes, remember?”

“Change then,” you reply stubbornly, tugging at his sleeve as though that’s the simplest solution in the world.

“I need to shower first,” he says, his voice patient as he begins to guide you back toward the bedroom.

“I didn’t shower either,” you argue, leaning heavily into his side as though that somehow strengthens your case.

“Because you’re drunk,” he replies with a small smile.

“Am not,” you insist, though your tone is far from convincing.

“Wanna tell that to my shoes?” Spencer teases, raising a brow.

You ignore him, brushing past his comment with a huff. “You’ll take too long,” you complain, your bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “I’ll miss you.”

“And I’ll miss you too,” he replies, his voice tinged with amusement as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Then cuddle,” you plead, your tone slipping into that sing-song quality you know he can’t resist. “Pleaseee”

Spencer hesitates, the logical part of him warring with the sight of you—soft, vulnerable, and looking at him like he hung the stars. He knows you’re usually the enforcer of the outside-clothes rule, a stickler for order when sober. But right now, you’re anything but sober, and he can’t find it in himself to deny you.

“Pleaseee,” you say again, drawing out the word for emphasis, “I’ll buy you new shoes,” your eyes wide and imploring.

He knows you probably will.

“Enough about the shoes,” Spencer rolls his eyes fighting back a smirk, “Just help me change the sheets tomorrow,” he relents, his voice warm with affection.

He knows you probably won’t. But he lets you drag him toward the bed anyways.

You beam, looping your arms around his waist in triumph. “Knew you wouldn’t say no,” you mumble into his chest.

Spencer laughs softly as you settle against him, burying your face in his chest with a soft, muffled sigh. He feels his heart swell in a way he can’t quite put into words. He’s never been one for mess—for dirt, grime, or anything out of place. Heck, he hadn't even wanted to shake your hand the first time he met you. It’s in his nature to keep things neat, orderly, clean. But now, with you?

His shoes could be ruined, his clothes crumpled, and the night an absolute whirlwind. And still, all he can think about is how peaceful you look now, your eyelids fluttering shut as sleep starts to claim you.

Spencer presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand moving in slow, soothing circles along your back.

For you and only you, he thinks, he’d make an exception every time.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

[ariestrxsh]

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 content warning: smut, an insane amount of teasing, dirty talk, praise, sexual touching, masturbation, oral (f!receiving), mentions of sex, power play, switch!chris, switch!matt, switch!reader

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 summary: matt and chris decide to participate in no nut november. the competition gets even more interesting when you get involved, making a bet with the two boys about who can last the longest while you're actively working against them.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 this fic was inspired/requested by this ask, and this ask, and the song/title was requested by this ask 🤍

love potions

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day One

"Oh, come on. You guys aren't seriously participating in that stupid trend, are you?" You scoffed after you'd walked in on Matt and Chris talking about their latest competition. "It's not just a trend. It's like a sexual reset," Matt said to you in a serious tone.

"Oh. Okay. I still think it's stupid. Why would you want to torture yourselves for a whole month?" You shrugged. "It's like a test of willpower and whoever makes it longer without needing to nut wins No Nut November," Chris explained.

"What do you win?" You wondered, looking between the two of them. "You're just the winner," Matt shrugged. You rolled your eyes. "And what are the rules?" You inquired, wanting to hear more. "No sex, no masturbation, and you can't do anything to make yourself cum," Chris replied.

"That's crazy. If the regulations are going to be that strict, I think you boys both need a little incentive," you smirked at them. They both glanced at each other and back at you. "What do you suggest?" Matt wondered aloud. "How about whichever one of you loses has to watch the winner fuck me, hmm? Don't you think that'd make it a little more interesting?" You proposed.

"Incentive? That sounds like a punishment," Matt replied, lifting his brows in a shocked manner. "Only if you lose," Chris teased him with a smug smile plastered on his face. "Punishment, reward. Same thing. Same desired outcome," you sneered at them.

"I think that would really help incentivize me," Chris eagerly nodded at you. "Can we both just rub one out real quick and start right after that?" Matt asked, biting his lip. "No, Matt. November has already started," you smirked at him.

"Okay, so the winner of No Nut November gets to use me however they want, and the loser has to watch. But I have a few rules of my own I'd like to instill. You guys both have to make it at least two weeks. If the loser caves on week one, the bet's off, and no one gets to use me. Also, I get to tease you guys as much as I want," your lips curled into a malicious grin.

"That's not fair," Matt glared at you. "Sure it is, Matt. If I'm the reward, don't you think it's only fair that I get to put in place some rules of my own?" You raised an eyebrow at him and crossed your arms. "Okay, fine," Matt huffed, rolling his eyes. "You boys are really in for it. I've been extra horny lately," you said in a luscious voice, looking them both up and down.

"What if we both go the whole month without breaking any rules?" Chris asked. "Then you can both tag team me," you smirked, glancing between the two of them. They both eagerly nodded at the sound of that.

"And what if we both lose at the same time?" Matt asked curiously. "Then I get to use you two however I want, and I get to humiliate you while you finish," you responded, putting your hand over your mouth to hold back a chuckle.

"Oh, don't tell Matt that. He'll like that too much," Chris teased his brother. Matt punched him in the arm. "Ow!" Chris shot back, rubbing his arm. You were already planning all the different ways you were going to try to seduce them and make them slip up.

"I'm going to go run some errands. I'll be right back," you teasingly waved at them both before strutting out the door. "Whoops," you said, purposely dropping your keys so you'd have an excuse to bend down in front of them.

Unfortunately for them, you were wearing your favorite pair of jeans that hugged all your curves perfectly, and as you accentuated your movements while you bent at the waist to fetch them from off the floor, Chris and Matt's eyes immediately traveled to your bottom.

Then they both glanced at each other, exchanging a look. It dawned on them that they may be in over their heads. You waltzed out the front door on your way to buy a new lingerie set along with some other things to tease them with.

A few hours later, you came back in with a few shopping bags in hand. "What did you get?" Matt wondered, peeking into the bag. He caught a glimpse of white lace before you yanked them away from him. "You'll find out," you told him, tucking them out of sight and wondering off to go plan your strategy.

You had a few tricks up your sleeve, but you couldn't just whip out your craziest idea in the first week. Your tactic was to keep it playful at the beginning, just little touches that would linger a few seconds too long and subtle comments here and there to fluster them.

Over time, you'd slowly work your way towards the more overt seduction after they'd let their guards down.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Two

Throughout the day, you kept finding reasons to lightly and sensually touch both boys. You'd playfully hit Chris in his well-toned bicep when he'd say anything funny, and afterward, you'd make some comment to puff up his ego.

"You been working out? Your muscles look so hot lately," you said to him in a sexy voice, your eyes dancing over his lips while you spoke to him as you squeezed his upper arm. "You're gonna have to try harder than that," Chris arrogantly stated, well-aware of what you were doing.

Later on, you went up to Matt after spritzing yourself with a new perfume you'd gotten recently. "Hey, Matt. I want to get your opinion on this fragrance," you innocently told him, holding a lot of eye contact.

You tilted your head up, and he leaned down to smell where you had sprayed it just above your collarbone. Notes of jasmine and lavender filled his senses.

"Mmm. It smells nice," he commented. "No, you're not close enough," you responded, running your fingers through his hair and reeling him in nearer to you until his nose was resting against your neck.

"What do you think? If we were on a date and I wore this scent, would you take me back to your place and fuck my brains out?" You seductively asked him, gently massaging his scalp with your fingertips.

"Shit," Matt muttered, blood started rushing to the tip of his cock as he pulled away from you. "Nice try," he said, leaving the room.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Five

You decided to ramp it up just a little bit. Throughout the day, you kept purposely dropping things so you could bend over and show off the little thong you wore under your miniskirt.

They couldn't help but fall for it every time, even though they knew you were doing it for the sole purpose of riling them up. You loved witnessing the desperation slowly creep into their expressions while you taunted them. You held a lot of eye contact while talking to them, purposely staring at their lips a lot and licking your own while you watched them become nervous.

That night, Chris was in his room, sitting shirtless in his gaming chair and playing a video game when you came into the room and started rubbing his shoulders for him. "Mmm. You're so tense," you stated, working through a knot on his shoulder blade. "Gee, I wonder why," Chris chuckled.

He let out a soft, satisfied groan as you massaged his back for him, making sure to whisper praises in his ear. "I bet you're so sore because you've been hitting the gym so much, huh? It really shows. Your back looks so toned right now," You cooed.

"What else am I going to do with myself?" He smirked, knowing he'd been working out every day since November started to fend off his sex drive. "I bet since you exercise a lot, you have good stamina, don't you? Bet you could fuck for a long time," you whispered in his ear. He responded with a loud scoff.

"I bet you're the kind of guy who likes to get off multiple times a day, don't you? So this must be extra hard for you. You're so disciplined for not caving yet. I could never do what you're doing. I swear, I'm horny all the time," you told him.

"I am disciplined," he reiterated. "So disciplined in fact that this doing nothing for me." But it was a lie. His dick was starting to perk up at your words and your tone of voice. "Mhmm," you said, unconvinced as you left the room to go tease Matt.

He was downstairs making brownies in the kitchen when you found him. "Have you been a good boy? Keeping your hands out of your pants, hmm?" You gave him a sly smile. He immediately met you with a needy look. Matt was a little more transparent than Chris, not quite as good at hiding how turned on he was.

"I've been good. Still going strong," He nodded at you while he stirred the brownie batter. "So well-behaved. Good boy," you said, your tone saturated with lust. Matt started to get a little hard at how you were speaking to him, but he tried to take his mind off you with chocolate.

"You should try this. It's really good," Matt said, dipping his finger into the brownie batter, but before he could get another taste, you gently grabbed onto his hand, and as he looked over to make eye contact with you, you were slipping his digit between your parted lips and sucking off the chocolate.

"Mmmm," you hummed with your mouth wrapped around his finger, subtly moving your head back and forth. His dick twitched in his sweatpants and he let out a soft whimper as you excited all the nerve endings on the tip of his finger.

"Maybe you're not such a good boy after all. I think you liked that a little too much," you taunted him, releasing his hand from your grip. It took everything in Matt not to run upstairs and go jerk off to the thought of your mouth on another one of his extremities. Instead, he went back to making brownies.

"You can't have any more until they're ready," he glared at you, trying to will away his erection.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Six

It was nearing the end of the first week, and you approached Chris early one morning as he was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal and flipping through his phone. "It's almost the end of week one. How do you feel?" You asked, coming up behind him.

You seductively ran your fingers along his chest, whispering into his ear and making sure your hot breath hit the side of his neck while you did. "I feel great. I haven't had any urges at all," Chris lied through his teeth, trying to ignore the way you were touching him.

"Oh really, hmm? Maybe I'm not teasing you enough," you chuckled into his ear, gently nibbling on his earlobe. He let out a soft moan and his cock immediately grew hard. "Not even a single urge, huh?" You provoked him, staring down at the tent in his pants while you started to kiss his neck.

"Fuck, you're making this so difficult," Chris got up and stormed off, leaving his cereal unfinished. "Better not be going to touch yourself!" You called after him.

"I'm not. I'm going to the gym to burn off some of this energy," Chris huffed, heading to his room to change into basketball shorts. You smirked at his arrogance he'd displayed a few minutes earlier before nearly folding under your touch.

Around this time, Matt came downstairs in his Pokémon pajamas and started rifling through the fridge for something to eat.

"Hey, handsome boy. How did you sleep?" You asked, gently caressing his arm and asking in a sultry voice. "Really good," he said, avoiding eye contact and trying to hide the fact that he had morning wood.

"I slept well, too. Except I had this dream that I can't stop thinking about," you seductively bit your lip. "What did you dream about?" Matt naively asked. "Well, I'm a little embarrassed to say, but it was a wet dream. About you," your eyes flicked up to meet his. "Really?" He asked, falling right into your trap.

"Yeah, you were making me scream your name because of how big your cock was and how hard you were fucking me," you teased him, painting a picture in his head. "Fuck. Please don't tell me anymore," Matt replied, still peering into the fridge.

"You mean, you don't wanna hear about how I played with myself after I woke up from it?" You simpered at him. Matt let out a loud sigh and pulled out a carton of eggs and some bacon while he ignored your temptress ways.

"You don't wanna hear about how I rubbed my clit in circles and filled my pretty, pink hole with my favorite dildo while I thought about you and moaned your name?" You snickered. "This is so unfair," Matt replied, covering his ears and looking at you with his desperate expression and his puppy dog eyes, his dick aching in his pants.

"If you think I'm being unfair now, you just wait," you responded before skipping off to go plan your next move.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Nine

A few days later, Chris came out into the living room to find you sprawled out on your yoga mat in a tank top and spandex shorts. "Oh, thank god you're here. Mind helping me with something really quick?" You innocently asked him, batting your eyelashes in his direction.

"Depends. What do you need?" Chris skeptically asked, narrowing his gaze. "Will you come over here and help stretch me out?" You requested, smirking at him as he grew flustered at your word choice. "Fuck this. You're on your own," Chris said, immediately walking the other direction.

"Chris! Wait!" You called after him. He stopped, let out a loud sigh, and slowly turned around. "What?" He asked impatiently. "Chris. I'm not trying to pull anything. I just really need your help. Please. My muscles are so sore," you begged, pouting at him.

After a few seconds of deliberating, he rolled his eyes and started heading back over towards you. "Fine. What do you need me to do?" Chris asked, kneeling down on the floor next to you and immediately regretting it when you spread open your legs.

"I need you to push my thighs apart," you told him, trying to conceal your condescending grin. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Chris snarked at you. "No, I'm not kidding. I'm really sore. Just put your hands on the insides of my thighs and push down," you directed him.

He did as you said, trying to ignore the damp spot on the front of your shorts. "Oh, Chris. You stretch me out so good," you maliciously moaned. He clenched his jaw as he glanced into your eyes. "I haven't cum in nine days," Chris responded.

If looks could kill, the look Chris was giving you right now was damn near fatal. "Nine days? Only twenty-one more to go!" You sneered, reminding him he wasn't even a third of the way there yet. "You fucking bitch," Chris dug his fingertips into the fleshy part of your inner thighs and started pushing them apart until you let out a pained whimper.

"Oh, Chris. Don't stop. I love when you're mean to me. It turns me on so much," you responded in a sultry voice, flipping his power move back onto him. He let go of you and stormed out of the room to go play video games and take his mind off what was between your legs.

About ten minutes later, Matt came downstairs, his eyes immediately falling onto you in a compromising stretching position. "Oh, Matt. I'm so glad you're here. Think you could give me a hand or two real quick?" You cooed, motioning with your finger for him to come here. Matt nodded despite the fact that he knew you were up to no good.

"What do you need?" He asked, eager to please you in any way. "Will you give me a little massage? My muscles right here are very sore," you motioned towards the muscles on your inner thighs while you bit your lip, peering up at him. "O-okay," Matt stuttered, walking into the next trap you set.

He couldn't help notice how wet you were, but he tried his best to ignore it. He kneeled down between your legs and started massaging where you had asked. You let your eyes roll back in your head and let out a few satisfied sounds as he worked his thumbs on each one of your fleshy thighs.

"That's it, Matt. Just like that," you whined in a sexual manner, causing his dick to twitch in his pants. "Go up just a little further," you said, guiding his hands closer to your pussy. He nodded, doing as you asked. "Good boy," you moaned as he rubbed that spot over and over again. His eyes shot wide open.

"Can you move up just a little further?" You wondered, batting your lashes. "I-I can't," Matt shook his head, knowing if he moved up any further, he'd be right on your private parts. "Here," you said, grabbing his hand and placing his thumb directly on your clit.

"There you go. Now move it in circles. A little more pressure. Oh, just like that. Good boy," you cooed, looking seductively at him. Matt knew it was a dangerous game for him to be touching you there, but he couldn't stop.

He loved the words and sounds that were falling from your lips. He loved the way you were looking at him with desire in your eyes and pleasure written all over your face.

"Faster," you whispered, throwing your head back. Your shorts were soaking wet where Matt was massaging you with his thumb, and your legs started to shake while your cries of delight became louder. Chris came downstairs to see what all the commotion was.

You started seeing stars as your orgasm crashed over you. You moaned Matt's name over and over as he rubbed your clit in tight, fast circles, completely mesmerized by you finishing for him. Your whole body trembled until your climax subsided while Chris watched from the bottom of the stairs.

"Holy shit, Matt. I think you just lost No Nut November. Fucking pussy," Chris smirked. "What? I did not! I didn't break any of the rules!" Matt exclaimed defensively. "He's right, Chris. He didn't break any rules. He did, however, make it way harder on himself to follow the rules," you devilishly grinned, peering down at Matt's neglected cock that strained at the fabric of his pants, begging to be stroked.

"Now you gotta deal with having that boner until it goes away on its own," you chuckled at him, closing your legs and getting up. You rolled up your yoga mat, bending down in front of them both, and they each angrily groaned at you and stomped out of the room.

You were plotting your moves for the next few days. Meanwhile, Chris had a plan of his own. Upon learning that he was allowed to touch you however he pleased as long as he wasn't sticking his dick in you, he decided he was going to make you sweat a little the same way you were doing to him and Matt.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Twelve

The next night, in an attempt to turn on the boys, you tried on your new lingerie you'd bought at the beginning of the bet. You stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom dressed in a white lace bra and matching panties, knowing it was going to drive Matt and Chris crazy.

You wandered off to the living room where Matt was sitting on the couch, flipping through movies on Netflix and trying to find something to watch. "Hi, Matt," you cooed, leaning up against the wall. "Hey," Matt responded, his eyes flickering over at you and back at the television, and then back over at you when he realized what you were wearing.

"Wow," he whispered, studying the way you looked in white. "I have to show you something," you said, wandering over to him and straddling him on the couch. "What are you doing?" He asked, accusingly.

"Look," you said, pulling down your bra to reveal your breasts to him. "I got them pierced about six months ago, and they were finally healed enough for me to change out the metal," you couldn't contain your smug smile as you flashed Matt.

"Wow," he whispered again, reaching up to grab both your breasts, and he ran his thumbs over the heart-shaped rings. You shuddered at his touch. "They're so much more sensitive now," you whimpered. "Did it hurt when you got them pierced?" Matt asked, looking up at you. "A little, but I liked it," you snickered and bit your lip.

Without thinking, Matt leaned forward and took your right nipple into his mouth, delicately swirling his tongue around and gently suckling on it before moving to the left. You let out a few soft whines while he pleased you. You started to rock your hips back and forth, grinding up against Matt's rock hard cock.

"Okay, that's enough. You're being totally unfair right now," Matt said, lifting you off of him and shoving you to the other end of the couch.

"Hey, what's the matter, Matt?" You asked, crawling back over towards him. He jumped to a standing position. "I have to get out of here. You're too good at this," Matt grabbed his keys off the coffee table and headed out the door, fleeing from temptation. You smiled to yourself, getting so close to making him cave for you.

You picked up the remote and started searching through the various streaming services, waiting for Chris to come home so you could tease him next. Chris came bursting through the door, mad as hell. There was something about his demeanor that was off and slightly unsettling.

"Are you okay, Chris?" You asked him while sitting on the couch in your lingerie. "It's been twelve days since I've had an orgasm. I'm full of testosterone and cum, and I've had a shitty day, and I can't even to go to my room and beat my meat about it. I need to take all this aggression out on someone," Chris responded, his eyes sparkling and his lips curling into a smile as his eyes landed on you.

He walked over towards you, fell to his knees in front of you, and forced your legs apart. "You're such a fucking tease, skipping around in my house in your fucking lingerie. I hope these weren't expensive," Chris growled, ripping a hole in your lace panties.

You gasped and your eyes widened as you watched while Chris' lips latched onto your clit. He started moving his tongue in fast, jagged movements, making animalistic sounds while he ate you. "Chris, it's so sensitive," you squirmed around beneath him. "I don't mind," he smirked at you as he went back to assaulting your pussy with his mouth, sucking on your clit and licking it at the speed of light.

"Oh, Chris!" You called out, tugging on his hair, but he didn't let up. "If you want me to stop, just say that," he said, his lips vibrating against you. You didn't want to tell him to stop because you knew he would altogether. Malicious compliance was always one of Chris' favorite pastimes. "Don't stop, keep going," you whimpered, closing your thighs down around his ears.

You pulled down your bra again, gently tweaking your nipples while you looked down at Chris. His eyes flicked up at you. "Oh, my god. I didn't know you had your tits pierced. That's so fucking hot," he whispered, reaching up and grabbing a handful in each palm while he went back to eating your pussy like he was enjoying his last meal.

He squeezed your breasts and started pinching your nipples and rolling them between the pads of his fingers. You threw your head back and let out a satisfied moan as you began to shiver. "Yeah? You think you get to cum after all the shit you've been pulling?" Chris said, withdrawing all attention right before you finished.

"Nice try, fucking slut," Chris responded, spitting on your pussy and getting up to walk right back out the door. "Chris, please!" You called after him, nearly on the verge of tears from being teased like that. Chris slammed the door shut behind him with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Well played, Chris," you whispered from the couch, staring down at the torn fabric that barely covered your bottom half while you decided to take matters into your own hands. You reached down to soothe the aching feeling Chris stuck you with after leaving you high and dry.

You rubbed your clit in fast circles with one hand and pinched your nipple with the other as you finished, remembering the way Chris' mouth felt on you. Just as you were trembling and reaching your much-needed climax, Matt walked back in through the door after finishing up his late night drive, his eyes immediately landing on the way your fingers were manipulating your clit.

"Oh my god. You're relentless!" Matt exclaimed before running up the stairs to take his mind off the scene that had just unfolded in front of him. You breathlessly chuckled about being caught. You hadn't meant for Matt to walk in on you and be tempted by you even further, but you weren't mad that it had played out that way.

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 Day Fourteen

You decided to kick it up a notch in the teasing department. By now, both Matt and Chris were very skeptical of you any time you wanted to show them anything or ask for help with something, so you had to get more creative with it.

You started taking naked pictures of yourself in the bathroom mirror after your shower, saving the good photos. After walking out into the hallway in just a towel, you opened up the group chat and sent in the best nude photo you'd taken, following it up with an "Oops! Didn't mean to send that! ;)" But they both knew better than to trust that it was a simple mistake.

When Chris opened your message, he let out a loud, annoyed grunt that resounded throughout the house. A few seconds later, you heard Matt's voice from down the hall, "You're evil!" You decided to strut around in your towel for the rest of the night, randomly dropping it while you were around the boys.

They used what willpower they could muster to keep their eyes off you as you relentlessly teased them with your body. While it was the closest they'd each gotten to saying fuck it about the whole No Nut November challenge, no one caved that night...

INTERACTIVE CHOOSE-YOUR-OWN ENDING AHEAD:

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 if you choose to have Matt and Chris both fail the challenge and become your submissive little fuck toys, click here 🤍

જ⁀➴ᡣ𐭩 if you choose to have Matt and Chris win the challenge and turn you into their submissive little fuck toy, click here 🤍

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[beautifullilacsky]

"Will you overthinking this?" He asked as we were walking hand in hand in the park.

Me, fully aware I have already started overthinking the moment he mentioned that her friend broke off her relationship: "....... juuup"

"What are you overthinking about? Lets discuss it together, let me help"... I explained how, maybe, now that she is single, she might try to get over a guy by getting under another one. Or maybe, since you guys tall about problems and are pretty close, she turns to flirting now that she is single. "Okay and? Why would I get into that while I have my girlfriend at home? I would say no thank you. Also, I don't think she is the person to do that. I have met her before she was in a relationship, and she also wasn't like this then". Okay, well, .. maybe she will have heard bad things about me and will not like me or she will think I am not good enough for you, or too much, and tell you to break up with me. I mean, I'm in a relationship with you, not with her, but ja, well... He put his arms around me and stopped us from walking on, hugging me from behind. "Sometimes I forget how insecure you can be. Do you really think I'll just break up with you because someone tells me to? And besides, I think you should meet her. She is really kind and everytime I mentioned something, she was always more on the reassuring side." Well, I also thought your other friend was kind.. "..... true. ..... I don't have an argument against that."

"So... if she were to still be in a relationship, would it be okay? .. meh, I feel like that's a bad excuse. "Yeah she is in a relationship anyway" , as if that changes anything. Doesn't that sound like a bad thing to you?" Hmm. Well. Honestly, I felt better when she was in a relationship, assuming it wasn't an u know who typa relationship. It's always a 2 people's decision. And that way, I am at least sure that one side is on the no side (as I said it out loud, I realized how fuckedup it sounded.) "Shouldn't you trust me to already be on the no side?" .... I should, yes. I just don't know what to make of the fact that you told me that you can't promise me that it won't happen again. "That was a year ago" .... "back then I wasn't super sure, and before that I was def not sure. Also, I did not want to force you to trust me (def different exact words from his, buthey, u get the point.). It's been a year." Would you get back to it and say something different now then? "Yes. I am sure that it will never happen again".

And there it was. I know he is a firm believer in actions over words, but sometimes I need words to be sure. He told me that he tells me the truth, and I know he does. Thus, if he tells me, I believe him. So. Maybe this is what I needed to truly get to trusting him again. His word. It's not a signed contract, I know. I can't sue him if his words turn out to be false. Though, I needed this. I needed his faith in himself to make sure it won't happen again. Fuck damn hey. I needed him to believe in himself. If he doesn't believe he will stop it the next time, who am I to believe so? Well well well. Before he left, if our roommate wasn't sitting right next to me, I would've said after he asked me if I'm still okay (for like, the 3th time): "if you say it won't happen again, I trust you." Fuck. And I'd mean it. I feel like I have entered a new reality. One in which it is safe for me to have faith in him. In which, sure, maybe a girl will flirt with him, but I can laugh about it. I can be proud to be with that hotstuff that she can't help but talk to. I can make jokes about it and raise my eyebrows up and down. I can do it all, and enjoy the situation, knowing. Truly knowing. That it doesn't matter at all if the other party is on the "yes-boat". He isn't, and he won't get onto it either. Even if a chance presents itself, he won't even see it as one. He has the set in stone plan to come back home to me. Even if she would get him drunk and touch him all over, ... he will say no. Even if it scares me more with booze, he is still himself. He doesn't get into a crazy trans and turns into a different person with different values. He is still the same person who held my hand as we walked in the autumn colored park, and said that it would never happen again.

It feels like something in me has been freed. As if trust was a fluffy creature within me, which was tied down. His words freed it. It still can't believe that the tiny trust guy is free. That it's safe to stand up now and run and smile and truly trust. It's astonished, grasping for those words that set it free. Wanting to hold them and craving for them to invade its veins with its lightning energy and brightness. May it no longer feel the need to stay on the ground; the ties have been undone. Fuck.