#braiding license

[007blonded]

Arizona's🌵 $127 to Learn Hair Braiding & $399 for LIFETIME Certification

Rare Essence Hair Braiding Training

This is a NON-payment endorsement of the Rare Essence Hair Braiding technique course. She is from Phoenix, Arizona, and is one of the women from the Institute for Justice economic liberation legislative advocacy for occupational licensing cases. It’s for the many women and some men who have asked if EcoHair Braiding Association provides hair braiding technique and trends courses. It will be a…

[thecoochiefairy]

cybersex. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 8.2K word count. camgirl!blackfemreader, original!blackfemreader, contentcreatorcoded! onyankopon, sweet!onyankopon, dominant!onyankopon, size kink, black woman, vaginal penetration, lil bit of sweet talkin’, aggressive talk, creaming, oral [f], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, squirting, riding, missionary, stand n’ carry fucking, condomless sex, kissing, spanking, multiple orgasms, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ reference to the title, this song did inspire this fic. teehee—nasty, okay? that’s all i can say about this one. just nasty. might be one of my faves, idk.

visual. visual. visual. visual.

THE PINK PLUSH OF YOUR DUVET SOFTENS BENEATH YOUR TOES AS YOU LAY ATOP OF IT, curved nails wrapping around the cherry sunken between your heart shaped lips. You didn’t think this would be as hard as it was, but you were now on hour three of scrolling in between OnlyFans and Twitter—you’d found nothing. 

Your job wasn’t something anyone expected of you. You were quiet, reserved, introverted—But being in front of a camera? Well, that was different.

A Cam Girl, to be exact. You’d only been in the industry for about a year and a half, but the money you made versus working as a bartender was tenfold— your experience with people was all in the making of your success. Your smile, those slender eyes combative in getting what they wanted, dark curls framing the doll shape of your caramel face. 

You leaned into the camera every other night to show off the multitude of lingerie you’d bought, twisting your fingers against the satin bow between your large breasts, comments flooding as your customers waited for an accidental slip to show. Your legs spread open, teeth digging into the plush of your lip as you fucked yourself, moaning blasphemies into the camera—or, a couple scandalous pictures posted if you were working overnight at the bar. 

Your customers would ask, Are we ever gonna see a collab? 

It’s not that the thought never crossed your mind. But to anyone’s surprise, you’d only known the pleasures of exploring your own body. You’d had sexual partners, but none that ever satisfied you the way you could yourself. Your customers enjoyed watching you indulge yourself, but just like them, something in you might’ve wanted something—different. 

So here you were—continuously scrolling through male content creator’s to possibly do a collab with—you just were unsure how comfortable you were with the entire idea. To make matters worse, you couldn’t find anyone that piqued your interest. 

You leaned your jaw against your palm as you fell deeper into the bed, a soft sigh parting your lips as your finger flicked the mouse pad down your timeline. Your eyes were practically immune to the nastier side of Twitter. But then—you stopped.

Onyankopon. 

Licensed massage therapist. Top .015% on OnlyFans. 

His profile picture might’ve gotten your attention. It was simple, but enough. You could tell that he might’ve had a head full of hair, as it was braided to the back in cornrows, clear beads hanging at the end of them. His brown skin almost carried a red undertone beneath the lights, tattoos and silver jewelry complimenting the bistre of his complexion. His lips—full, the perfect shape, coated by the sable of his facial hair. Tattoos scattered all over his body—neck, arms, crawling all the way up to his face—the cross along his cheek twinkling next to the silver stud in his nose. He was pretty.

But as you continued to scroll down…pretty isn't the word you’d use for him. Your eyes nearly widen at the sight of his di—

It’s big. Huge, even. Veins protrude throughout it, the tip as flush as his lips. It nearly reaches his mid thigh. The sculpt of his body was insane, and you felt your mouth watering. You’d never had this reaction before— But your body seems to react worse as you keep scrolling. Videos of him and other women, the darkness of the rooms are curated in candles and roses, lights blaring colors for a sensual environment. Each girl smiles sultrily as they all start the same—he talks with them, has them become comfortable as they sit along the massage table. He touches them in an almost innocent way, keeping their attention—Then, his touches become less innocent, and to see the way he handles them—the squeals, screams, orgasms are like no other. They cum in raptures, squirt all over him—his voice grunts, praises in satisfaction. They made your jaw drop, glasses tipping over your nose. 

They might’ve had you squeezing your thighs together, too. So you did what you didn’t expect yourself—You messaged him. 

bimbopiscesprincess: hey, um. do you happen to live in new orleans?

You received a response almost immediately. You can see the typing bubble, making your heart skip at how fast he’d seen your message.

onyo: hey. yeah, i do. why?

Before you could even type out your next message, another notification pops up at the corner of your screen. 

onyo: user is typing…

And then—

onyo: hollon’. i know you. 

Your eyes blink at that. You showed your body to the world on a regular basis, so why did that sentence make your face go warm? 

bimbopiscesprincess: oh. you do? 

onyo: yeah. the bartender down on canal at the blue bayou. saw you behind the bar a couple of times. 

It’s hard to contain the way your heart rate picks up— Your stomach is flipping at the idea. You type back immediately. 

bimbopiscesprincess: i guess that’s better than saying you’ve seen my videos, lol.

onyo: i guess i should’ve clarified. i’ve seen your videos. yo’ pussy pretty as hell, face too. 

Your eyes go wide. You can’t help but bite the corner of your lip, a light feeling in your chest as your fingers press against the keys.

bimbopiscesprincess: well um—thank you, lol. sorry, i’m a lil’ different when the camera isn’t on.

onyo: don’t gotta apologize, girl. you’ cute regardless.

He types a couple minutes after.

onyo: so what’d you hit me up for? i ain’t tryna’ stop talkin’ to you, just curious.

You stare at the screen, eyes flickering up and down his messages. Did you really want to do this? Could you? The man made you nervous through text.

bimbopiscesprincess: i don’t mean to be forward, i was just curious on how this whole collab thing works? i mean, that’s even if you were interested.

onyo: you don’t gotta be shy. we can call and talk 

‘bout it if you’d like.

You go to reach for another cherry, but your fingers can’t seem to find the bowl. Your heart was beating. 

bimbopiscesprincess: right now?

He’d messaged you a number, which you assumed was his. Your fingers seemed to dial it on their own, nerves beginning to eat at you as the ringer went off. 

Ring. Ring. Ring.

And then he answered, voice heavy and smooth.

“Hey, mama. How you’ doin’?”

Your voice is breathless, “Hi. I’m um—I’m fine. I hope I didn’t wake you?”

He lets out a chuckle. It’s low, deep and gravelly. 

“You’ good. I was just scrollin’ on my computer when you decided to hit me up. Glad you did.” 

He pauses, “You born and raised in the boot?” 

“Uptown,” you hum, “Graduated from Xavier. You?”

“You’ smart, I like that shit. But yeah— I grew up on the Westbank. Did college out in Baton Rouge, came back to work with my momma before I started doing content. She owns a couple shops down here.”

Even when he was just talking, his voice was like velvet, thick, and raspy. It had you unconsciously squeezing your thighs together.

On top of that, you didn’t necessarily expect all this dialogue with him. 

You say it before you think, “Are you usually this open in conversation with the girls you collaborate with?” 

He chuckles again, the sound vibrating against your ear through the receiver, “Not really, nah. But it’s not hard to have a conversation.”

He lets out a sigh, almost like he’s stretching, “You asked how the collabs worked, right? We ain’t even get to that part.”

“Right,” your voice is soft, “So—you wanna explain it to me? I mean—it’s probably simple, but—I just—“ you stop yourself with an awkward giggle, “Sorry, Go ahead.”

“You good, baby. It’s how it sounds, so I promise you ain’t off with the idea. We’ll just plan out a date and time, you’ll come to mines, and—“ He exhales, like he just realized he was getting off track, “Let me not bore you with extra shit—it all depends what you’ comfortable with, first.”

Your eyebrows raise at that, “What I’m comfortable with? So—it doesn’t necessarily have to be sex? I mean—sorry, that’s a dumb question. I just see that you’re specialized in massaging, so—yeah.”

“You ain’t gotta keep apolgizin’ to a nigga. I swear, you’ good. Sex brings in a bigger payout for the both of us, but I got all types of ways I can service you if you’ not comfortable with that. Just say what it is.”

You think to yourself—this is your line of work. You didn’t have to be nervous or scared. This could bring in more attention to your page, and you could get a new experience out of it. 

Your voice is a bit softer as you reply, “I’m open to anything.” 

Another chuckle. It’s heavier this time. 

“You sure?” 

You nod your head, “I’m sure. I’ll see you then, Onyankopon.” 

Then was sooner than you’d expected it to be. Two weeks had gone by, officially making a date after you’d both gotten tested. Your eyes flicked up to the high rise condos glowing into the starry night of the sky, coaxing you into the entrance. You almost couldn’t feel your legs from the moment you stepped into the lobby to show your ID to the receptionist, your lower body numb as you stood outside the door to his apartment. 888 was his door number. Figures. 

With a small breath, your fingers tightened along your baby pink Telfar tote, other hand raising up to the door as you knocked. You waited.

When the door opened, you couldn’t even think to prepare yourself. 

He was tall, even taller than on videos. But it was in a more muscular, wider way. He wore a fitted black tee that showed the extent of his broad shoulders, with a pair of sweatpants. It was casual, but he looked like he’d just rolled out of a photoshoot, durag shining in the light as he towered over you. 

“Hey, baby.”

His voice was deeper in person, something you didn’t expect, your fingers tightening around the handles of your bag.

You’d always been confident in yourself. In your body, your shape— Your hips were as full as a woman who’d given birth, ass and thighs almost preposterous in curves. It showed under the BODYBYRAVEN teal set you wear—the yoga pants and jacket hugging your frame, your curls draping over your body in lazy waves, black furry boots covering your feet. You were cute to him, but in a way that had him glaring at the sight of you. 

“Hi,” you gently greet back, “I hope I didn’t knock too loud,” your fingers tug a curl behind your ear.

“I told yo’ ass about allat’ apologizing. Come on.” 

He moves to the side, the aroma of his body oil wafting through your nose—something sweet, musky and spicy. You felt yourself almost wanting to taste him, your stomach fluttering by the time you’d made it inside.

The condo is large, high-end, yet it carries a homey touch to it. A large glass window overlooks the view of the river and city. You weren’t that nervous—until you saw the maple wood of the massage table, the plush material atop for comfort making your heart pound in your chest—and then, the blaring sight of the professional lights tilting directly onto the furniture, camera stands holding the perfect angle of the scenery.

You drop your bag beside the sofa, running your fingers through your hair as you ask, “You were um—setting up?”

“Wanted to get it out the way ‘cause I knew it’d take yo’ ass a while to get here,” he pokes fun, “You’ hungry? A nigga been cravin’ pasta like a muhfucka’.” 

 You can’t help the way your face flushes—his voice was just as sweet as it was heavy. You didn’t expect him to be so—real?

The question was genuine, as if he’d sensed your nervousness. It reminded you that you needed to answer.

“You don’t have to do that,” you shake your head, “I don’t wanna’ impose or—make you feel like you have to make me comfortable.”

“Why you bein’ like this, huh? I stink or sum’?” 

He goes to sniff under his arms, and it makes you giggle a bit at the sight.

You sigh, “No, no. I’m—I’m sorry, okay? You’re being very sweet— I’m being weird, aren’t I?”

You lean against the counter, “I just haven’t done this before, Onyankopon. That’s all.”

“Ony. You can call me that.” 

His jaw shifts, “Come here. You’ nervous for no reason.”

Your lips part a bit, but you don’t move forward. 

“I guess I just didn’t expect you to be so—normal.” 

“Normal,” he repeats, a light chuckle rumbling in his throat. It was deep, chest vibrating within your ear, “I can’t be nothin’ else. You ain’t gotta be different either.”

You nod your head, taking in his words. Your eyes fall behind him as you notice the array of snacks in his open pantry, eyebrow raising as you flick your vision back to him, “Oatmeal Cream Pies? Really?”

“You judgin’ me, huh?” he grins down at you, “What, I gotta’ be all high end ‘cause I do what I do?”

“Nah. I’m judging ‘cause they’re nasty,” you retorted back, finding a seat on one of the stools, “Just a lil’ surprised is all.”

“I could say the same about you, girl— Actin’ all shy in person when you be goin’ crazy on camera.”

Your eyebrows raise, your face flushed once again, “How bout’ you focus on that pasta you supposed to be makin’ me? ‘Cause you just wanna talk!” 

“A nigga must’ve hit a nerve,” he chuckles, but steps away to rummage further into the kitchen. 

"What I do, what you do—same difference." 

 His voice is muffled under the sound of the stove, but he continues, "You gon’ tell me it’s not?”

“It’s not. Self pleasure versus connecting with someone else is two completely different things,” you point out, leaning your head in your palms as you watch him move around the kitchen, back flexing in return.

He looks down at you with a smirk, hand reaching up to grab two plates from the cabinet above with ease. Something about that made you tug at your lip.

“What? You ain’t gon’ argue back with me?” You question.

“Nah,” he shrugs. 

”Don’t gotta’ argue what I know is right.” 

“I think I’d like it better if a man didn’t argue anyways,” you confess, another small giggle falling from your lips.

You can hear the smile in his voice, “You like a nigga that’s gon’ tell you sum’. Ion’ believe that.”

“If that was the case, I might’ve done a collab a long time ago. So wrong. Feed me, now?” 

“See. You ain’t that shy. Lyin’ ass.”

This man couldn’t have been good at everything. You had to keep your reactions to yourself as the pasta melted in your mouth, warm and just the right amount of flavor. The minute you placed your fork on the plate, you sighed, “Now I’m gonna’ be bloated on camera.”

“You got a pretty ass shape, girl. Niggas gon’ kill to see you in any state.” 

 He picks a noodle from his plate, leaning over to you. His eyes are hooded, brown and pretty. He nudged the fork to your lips, “Open.”

That compliment—it throws you off a bit. A part of you almost had to remember this was a part of a job, and nowhere near a date. 

So your voice is soft as you lean back, “I should probably get dressed.”

Your lashes are fluttering in a way that’s returning to nervousness, so he steps back. 

“You’ right. But if you need anythin’, let me know—You got a preferred kind of music you want? Imma’ go start settin’ up.”

“PARTYNEXTDOOR is always good,” you hum, “I’ll be back.”

You should’ve had a glass of wine to cure your nerves. You make your way into your bag, sifting through the contents to find the perfect lingerie set. But then you thought—you had to push yourself in some way. 

So you retouch your makeup, fix your hair, and slip on the deep blue of a satin robe you owned. The material was short, nearly teasing the cheeks of your ass, your body completely bare as your breasts loosely moved beneath the top. Your honey freckles appear lighter under the complexion of your robe, and you exhale, feet paddling along the floor as you make your way back into the living room. 

You slow down as you see him—now shirtless, and as your eyes continue to travel down, you can also see the bulge pushing through his sweats as he adjusts the lights against the table.

“Need any help?”

He looks up at you, brown eyes narrowing the moment he catches your appearance. You were pretty, pretty in a way that felt different from anyone else. 

“I’m good. C’mere, though.” 

His voice—heavy and dark, beckoned you over to him. He was like a dog under your gaze.

You move the moment he asks you to. You come forward, somehow keeping your face away from the camera as you hide your expression with your hair, “Should I change?”

He steps into your space, the scent of you making him move in closer—it’s milky, musky—fingers brush under your chin with ease to capture your attention. Tilting your face upwards, Onyankopon’s eyes lower into yours. It felt invasive, in a way that made your stomach twist. 

“Ain’t no words to compare how fuckin’ pretty you’ look. You’ ready?”

You nod, sitting yourself along the massage table, the tip of your toes just barely reaching the floor as you keep your eyes on him. It’s a scene you’d seen before—the rose petals, the candles, the music almost has your shoulders hike up. The plush of your lips pressed together, your breasts spilling slightly from the soft fabric. 

“Do I look nervous?” you try to whisper, the chuckle he gives in return making you release a light giggle.

He moves to sit against the end of the table, his back still to you as he reaches for one of the cabinets, picking a few oils out before placing them beside the massage bed. 

“You can be nervous. You wanna tell me why?” 

It’s all he questions, his gaze still on the items in front of him. You felt your heart rate pick up a bit when he looked behind him, eyes peering over you.

“…I’ve never had a man—well, anyone, make me—you know,” you admit to him, “I’m nervous about that, I guess.”

“That ain’t a bad thing, Mama. Ain’t gotta’ be embarrassed about nothin’ with me.” 

 You can feel his presence now towering over you from behind, his voice vibrating through the music fading within the background as he finds a clasp of your curls, gently pulling you enough for your eyes to meet his. 

“Imma’ take care of you. You’d like that?”

The question itself, you’re unsure why, but it instantly makes you horny. To make matters worse, he brings his face lower, looming his lips above yours. The moment feels heavy, and it makes your chest rise a bit, your lips patting a soft exhale as you hear him say, “Gotta let me know if I can touch you, baby. C’mon.”

You nod, “You can touch me, Ony…” 

He moves to the front of you, sliding your lower body off of the table as he holds you by the arch of your foot. His thumbs dig into the muscle, and the feeling rushes along your entire body, making a chill graze down your spine. It makes your hips visibly tense. The warmth from the oil makes it no better. 

“Sorry,” you mindlessly part from your lips, an awkward giggle after. 

You see that he muses at the reaction, eyes flickering with that sensuality you couldn’t place. 

“What you’ apologizin’ for?”

His hands move up the leg he holds, palms gripping, large and strong. He’s deliberate in every move he makes. Every touch. 

As his hands travel farther up your left thigh, he places it along his shoulder, the arch of your toes directly besides his ear. A pressure begins to develop at your inner thigh. When he stretches your leg even farther, his bulge presses right against your clit—the warmth has your nails digging into his bicep.

“You flexin’. That feels good for you, huh? Want me to stay here?”

When you go to find your words, Onyankopon presses a sweet kiss to the side of your foot—Then, his tongue is grazing the flesh, lips wrapping along your toes, sucking. 

This was one of your spots. 

You nearly jump out of his hold, your thighs trembling as your eyes flutter shut. You gasp, “O—Ony…” 

“There we fuckin’ go. How’ you holdin’ up, baby?”

He’s soothing you, still sucking your toes. 

It makes you reach up for his shoulder, pulling him closer by the nape of his neck. You’re bad at saying what you want, so you rub your lips against his, breath shuddering in return. They were soft. 

“Nuh-uh,” he mumbles against you, pulling back enough for him to give you a look, “Gotta’ ask for it. I wanna’ hear you.”

Your slender eyes flicker up, lips pouting for him to take yours. 

“Wanna kiss, Ony.”

“Yeah? Where? Here?”

Onyankopon tugs you, gripping you by your jaw so he could give you a taste of his lips, a smacking sound swelling as he quickly pulls his mouth away. 

He repeats it along your throat, your head knocking down as you pant, sticking your tongue out as you whimper, “My mouth.” 

His lips press against your collarbone, then your shoulder—slower this time, almost teasing you along the stretch of your neck before he gives you that taste of his lips again—it’s all you’ve been waiting for. His tongue dips in and out of your mouth, nearly dragging against your lips—he’s sinful in his kisses. 

After minutes of him devouring you, he pulls away, a string of spit bridging you both together as his dark gaze finds your eyes. You’re drooling. 

“Imma’ need that pussy droolin’ on my mouth next. You gon’ let me eat her?” 

His lips are sucking the skin of your stomach into his mouth, trailing lower—you squeak as he tugs you further off the table, your legs in the perfect angle above his shoulders to see everything within the camera. 

He’s bringing it closer, and your face flushes as you whimper, “Ony—I’ve never—“ 

“I know. Just need you to keep talkin’ to me.” 

When he speaks, you can feel his words caress your folds—they glisten under the lights of the camera, his hands gripping the soft of your thighs as his eyes find yours. His face is handsome, yet so different from this angle. Your lips part to speak, but his thumbs rubbing along your inner thighs—your words turn into a soft mewl.

That’s when you feel it—his tongue drags along the entirety of your pussy, his groan muffled, “Knew this shit was gon’ taste good as fuck. You finna’ be a problem.”

Your fingers are knotted in the braids of his hair, legs quivering at the first contact. 

You hate yourself for it, but you turn your head away from the camera as you whimper again, knocking your eyes down as you stutter, “Ohmygo-Ony.”

He groans at the sight of you hiding from the lens, his mouth kissing at your clit, “You cute as hell,” his full lips wrapping against the pink bud, vibrating as it’s being sucked up by his mouth. Slurps fill your ears, and your thighs are back to trembling. 

“You doin’ good, baby. Shit.”

He pulls your legs wider apart, giving the camera an unobstructed view of your body. You whimper even more, mortified, but he doesn't relent. With a swift motion, he raises his palm against your folds, massaging your pelvic, fingers splayed on your pussy—he’s rubbing, teasing.

You’re holding your breath, slender eyes flickering down to watch his palm graze your clit each time his fingers move. His voice is low, “Keep them’ muscles relaxed, baby. That’s how we finna’ get you to cum.”

Then, he’s taking his index and middle finger—it’s rubbing directly on your clit, and instead of tensing up, you moan softly. He’s continuously grinding his fingers around your clit, slowly, your breath steady as you softly whimper, “Okay.”

You can see him directly into the camera—his beard begins to glisten as he lowers his mouth back down—he’s making out with your pussy, tongue wagging as if he’s lapping to drink you. His eyes find yours, grunting at the sight of your face screwed up.

Slurps echo through the room louder as Onyankopon dives deeper between your thighs, his tongue flattening against your clit, lapping in long strokes. His free hand comes to grip your hip as he eats you out, groaning in appreciation of your flavor .When he glances back up at you, his eyes are dark with lust, and he grins, showing you the wetness coating his beard.

"You' taste so fuckin’ good, baby," he growls, “Like you' been savin’ this shit just for me."

Your eyes roll, your back arching up from the table as you squeeze his hair under your fingers. You give a low whine, “O—Ooh.”

It’s as if your every reaction makes him go more, and you can feel the flesh of your thighs becoming drenched in your own arousal. It’s when he sucks your clit up into his mouth, shaking his head side to side into your folds, the schlick of your pussy nearly making music against his mouth. That’s when you really tremble, your thighs vibrating on their own as you whimper, “Ooh-oohshit.”

Onyankopon’s tongue continues to stroke on your clit, the pulse intensifying with each passing second. His grip tightens on your hip, fingers digging in as he uses his other hand to spread your pussy open for him, exposing more of your slick flesh to his eager mouth.

“Gimme’ this shit," he grunts, fucking your clit with his tongue in a rapid, filthy rhythm. Up and down, up and down.

He’s nothing you’ve ever dealt with before. Onyankopon raises his mouth, drooling saliva onto your pussy and letting it drip in between your folds, coating the increasing slick of your pussy. You’re already shuddering, but that just made it worse.

“A nigga need you gushin’ on his fingers.” 

 Onyankopon brings his forehead up to yours— not before sucking your perked nipples into his mouth roughly, then taking his fingers as he grazes them back up your folds, continuously rubbing—he’s rubbing. 

You could’ve blacked out. Your palm clings onto his jaw the moment his fingers nudge in between your folds, sinking in so easily that you barely feel them. But when you do, they’re deep, and your eyes roll as you clutch the nape of his neck—you messily whine,  “Ohfuck—O—Ony…” 

He gives a sharp grunt through his nose as he feels your walls tighten around his fingers,"Come on, baby," he murmurs, slowly pumping them in and out of your soaking folds, “Let it happen. I know you cum so muhfuckin’ pretty.” 

The sound of squelching flesh fills the room as he works you over. Your eyes shut, holding him so tight as if to gain some control in your body. Your eyes roll as you cry a moan—Onyankopon groans, “Shit, you tremblin’." 

He watches your face contort with pleasure, claiming your lips in a dominating kiss, tongue plundering your mouth as he fucks you harder with his fingers. Onyankopon breaks the kiss, looking down at where he's buried to the knuckle inside you. 

“Look how muhfuckin’ wet you are. Pretty lil’ bitch— you finna’ milk my fingers.”

It just happens—your stomach coils the deepest groan, your entire body trembling as the vibration flows to your lips—tears lightly puncture your eyes as you lean yourself farther into his forehead, a whine shakily gasping from your lips as you squeal, “Onnnnyyy-fuckkk.” 

You’re squirting, the arousal drowning his fingers as your lower body convulses onto his palm. 

“Ohmygoddd.”

You tense, Onyankopon’s other hand tugging up at the back of your neck as he holds you up more into the camera. 

You don’t stop—it’s everywhere, the groans releasing from your lips whiney as he’s practically milking your squirt, his voice rumbling with approval, “Thereee’ you go. You soakin' my fuckin' hand. Look at that shit."

His mouth is back on your pussy, nodding up and down into your folds, tongue fucking your opening, coaxing more gush from your between your legs. 

Your fingers grip onto his shoulders as you whimper, “O—Onyyyy…fuck, baby.” 

You're shaking, tears streaming down your face—Onyankopon laps his tongue once more against your clit as you coat his mouth and chin. His thrusts become irregular, shallow, lazily curling inside you—he’s like a demon. But finally, he stops.

Your legs are still over his shoulders, panting, your palms sliding along the swell of your breasts as you just breathe. 

“You aight, baby?”

Your eyes are shut. You move your palm up to your face, covering yourself along the camera as you nod your head.

He doesn’t mean to. But he chuckles, fingers sliding up along your stomach to help you breathe, “Yeah? You wanna take a lil’ break?”

You nod your head again. You’re dazed. 

“Yeah. I—I need a minute,” you mutter. 

He’s already helping you straighten up, sliding your legs off his shoulders as he asks you softly, “Want some water? Tea? I know it’s too late for coffee, but we got another hour of filmin’.”

You want to answer. You really do, but your body is still trembling a bit, your legs buzzing—you lean your forehead into his chest, a flushed giggle releasing from your lips as you whisper, “Tea, please.”

He chuckles in return, hand caressing along your shoulder—it’s the first time you noticed the rosary tattooed on it, complimenting his brown skin.

“Aight. You’ want it sweet? Sugar—“

Before you can answer, you feel something press into your neck—his forehead. He leans against you, almost in a cuddling manner, lowering his height for you to relax. 

“You gon’ be good while I go make it? Not gon’ fall asleep?”

“Camera is still rolling, Ony. I’m fine,” you promise, “I like my tea sweet, yeah. Thank you.” 

He gives you a soft tap on the chin, his eyes lowering along your form before he makes his way into the kitchen. You find yourself fixing your hair, adjusting the robe along your body before you exhale—You were still shaky, but it didn’t make your heart race the way it did before.

Your eyes follow him over to the kitchen, watching the way his muscles flex with every movement he makes. The silence is comforting, but you somehow still feel awkward around him.

Your voice is soft as you ask, “How come you never left New Orleans?” 

He leans over the counter to turn the stove on, the candles in the room making his eyes look darker. 

“I wanna’ protect it. Not only my family—but my people. When it got rough, my brothers moved to Texas for better opportunities, started their careers—I was cool makin’ a name for myself here.” 

When he turns back around, his face is a bit softer, almost innocent. He moves his shoulders a bit. 

“Why’ you ask that?”

You press the fullness of your lips together, “You just—seem like you have it all together. A huge fanbase, and there aren't many of us who reside here. L.A or Houston is more on the nose—I just figured maybe you’d fit in there too.”

“My manager been pushin’ for it, but the people in L.A are superficial as hell—I got fans here, and that’s enough. Ain’t always about the money.” 

He looks back at you. 

“And what about you? You want a bigger fanbase?” 

You think about that question. 

“Well—don’t get me wrong—I love being in front of the camera, but my dream has always been to get my life together and move to Tokyo,” you giggle a bit, “Sounds silly, I know. Plus—I’m close to thirty, and I don’t know how okay my future husband is gonna be with me showing myself online for money.” 

He chuckles when you giggle, coming over to hand you the tea before he takes a seat next to you. When you move to sit beside him, you still feel vulnerable—but at ease.

“It’s doable—All in how you plan. You’ want the family, the white picket fence too—allat’?”

You hold the mug in your palms, letting it warm up your hands for a moment. You then look up at him, nodding  your head.

“I do. The way you’re talking— I guess it’s safe to assume that’s not what you have in mind?” 

“It’s the end goal, but nah. I got a long while ‘til that,” he responds, reaching his hand out to caress your shoulder when he sees you shiver. 

When you’re quiet for a moment, he clears his throat.

“You gotta’ nigga?”

Your eyebrow raises, “That’s a serious question?”

“It can’t be?” 

His gaze is musing on you, eyes flickering to the way you press your body closer to his palm. 

“If you do, this shit could get you into some trouble with yo’ nigga.”

It’s a teasing tone, but it holds a little weight. He wanted a direct answer.

You throw it back to him, “Do you got a bitch?” 

“If I say yes, you gone’ be mad?” 

“I’m not, I’d actually feel bad for her—cause I’d lose my mind if you was doin’ shit the way you do on camera—and I’m sitting at home—yeah, hell no.”

“So you’ the jealous type. Interesting,” He responds, lifting his own mug of tea to his lips. 

“I don’t,” he then confirms, “You still ain’t answering my question, girl.”

“My nigga would either be doing this with me as a couples content channel, or I wouldn’t be doing it at all. So no,” you shrug, “And I’m not jealous. But I’d kill a man if he was eating my pussy the way you did and then doing it to every other bitch across the state for a couple dollars,” you sip your coffee, “Jealous? I guess.”

His lips are smiling against the rim of his mug, giving you a look from the corner of his eye, “Sounds like you tryna’ be a nigga ole’ lady.”

That’s how you were making it sound. Dammit. 

You play it off, “Maybe you want me to be your ole’ lady, and this is reverse psychology, hm? Right. And even if I was sayin’ that, it looks like you gon’ have to clear all them’ messages in your phone first.”

His laugh is loud, like music to your ears. It makes that tingly feeling in your stomach tighten the more you hear it. It’s different from the ones you hear in his other videos. He seems more genuine, more personal with you. 

He reaches a hand out to nudge you with his shoulder, “You gon’ be mean to me like this now? Ion’ like that shi’, girl.”

“You laughin’, but I’m serious.”

“I heard you, Mama. Chill.” 

You take the final sip of your tea, placing it down on the table behind the camera. You question, “You’ ready to massage me now?”

“You ain’t ready,” he shoots back, “Gon’ head and take that robe off—Need you naked as fuck.” 

The command makes your body thrum—you’re surprised, but after he makes you smile, it somehow makes it so easy to listen to him. Maybe hornier than before. 

The moment he takes both mugs into the kitchen to wash off, you press your body into the soft material of the massage table, kneeling yourself on your knees as you slowly drag the silk of your robe off your shoulders. 

You dig your teeth into the plush of your lip as you question, “Like that?” more playful, a giggle sounding through your mouth as you purr directly into the camera. 

You can hear him hum his approval, placing the mugs down in the sink before turning around to watch you get in position— His footsteps grow closer as he heads into the living room, the camera now following his footsteps to stand by your side as he admires your form. 

“You’ a good ass girl.”

Maybe it’s the sugar rush—but your toes point as you sit further on your knees, coming closer to him as you run your tongue over your lips, “I like that. Say that again,” you giggle sultrily.

His fingers move forward to slide against the sides of your neck, his thumbs digging slightly along the bone as he tugs you closer, face stopping just before your own, eyes flickering along your lips. 

“You a good ass girl,” His voice is raspy with his words this time, his lips grazing yours.

That’s all you needed. 

He’s putting you in different positions as he stretches you, your body relaxing in each way your limbs fold. You’re now flat on your stomach, your back arching, a huff passing your lips as he holds your lower body up by his hands, thumbs digging into your back. 

His words were heavy, “How’ you doin’?”

Your lips part the sound of a deep exhale, a soft “Good,” passing your lips as you feel his fingers trail along your spine. His hands were strong, large, long—talented.

“You lyin’?” he mumbles, “Or I’m that good for you?”

Another giggle—but it’s more shy this time.

“You smell so sweet, Mama.” 

You sigh when you feel him lower your pelvic back down to meet the table, taking your ankles as he folds them, allowing the balls of your feet to meet with the back of your thighs. The warmth of the oil on your body makes you tingle, and every touch keeps you shivering at this point. 

His hands were now slow, his touches a mixture of pressure from his fingertips and the strength of his palms—it had your eyes flickering shut, head lowering a bit more as you found your hands gripping the table. 

“Don’t tense up,” he warns, “You got it.” 

It felt heavier than it looked from pictures—his tip felt weighted, the dark pink of it flushing against your puffy folds, slapping against your pussy. 

You suck in a breath.

A long lick along your back—your jaw kisses the material of the table as you tug your bottom lip again. He’s groaning, “Keep yo’ back like that,” another lick. 

Onyankopon’s fingers are still folding the balls of your feet as you lay on your stomach—but it’s a distraction—a new pressure overwhelms your lower body, it has your mouth slightly drop, unexpected of his tip stretching your folds open. Your back fully arches, fingers digging into the table as you frown, a whirlwind of pleasure and pain throwing you into overdrive. One of your hands goes to immediately reach back, a whimper dropping from your lips as you feel Onyankopon gently trap your arm behind your back. 

“You got a pretty ass back, baby. You know that?” 

You know the question is another distraction, Onyankopon reaching for the back of your neck, beginning to leave the gentlest kisses there. You’re still lost within the feeling, your lips releasing a pant as you then tremble a soft whine, “Ohmygod…Ony…” 

Your free hand finds a hold of him as he’s close, holding him by the side of his ear from below. Your eyes roll. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice raspy, “That’s it.”

His head was in the crook of your neck, kissing in an almost slow, lazy way, yet there was a ferocity to them. 

“Good girl,” he hums, hands moving lower along your neck, “Yo’ shit opening up for me. I can feel her.”

“N—Onyankopon…” 

His nose nudges along your ear, his whisper deep, “Let it out.” 

Your pussy gushes out air, making the loudest sound each time he slowly fucks himself back into you. It’s like he wants you to listen. 

“Ohshit,” your voice warns, “Shit,” you tremble. You could feel every. Single. Thing. 

“Hold my hands.”

When you find his hands, your arms are now pulled behind yourself, chest inches above the table. Your eyes flicker towards the camera—it makes your body arch more for him, a pleasured pout pulling at your lips as you murmur to yourself, “U—Uhn…”

“You sound pretty, Mama.” 

Onyankopon’s voice—it makes your brain so jumbled, so messy, that you can’t find the words to respond.

 “You want me to stay like this? This shit deep enough for you?”

“S—stay just like this…” 

Your hips slowly begin to move, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you allow him to use you, dropping you up and down onto his abdomen from behind. The specific angle hits your spot, one that you could only reach while filming yourself. But you felt it now, and you can feel your eyes watering with how good it feels. 

“Ughn,” you whine louder, “Shit.”

His hands are strong, and they’re now holding you by your hair, pulling back—it makes you frown a little more, “Your balls feel so good hittin’ my pussy, baby.” 

It’s hard to talk with him moving behind you, his hips snapping to the bounce of your ass, a soft clap that sounds in the room.

He grunts, “You’ a nasty ass bitch— pussy talkin’ to a nigga. They’ hittin’ yo’ clit, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whine in return. 

“Mmh,” he softly groans, “Look at that pussy. She’ so pretty and creamy.” 

The soft clap of your skin resounds as he slows himself, almost giving you a deeper, more intense wave of strokes. You gasp, reaching for the side of his hip, pulling him in as you whimper, “Right there…”  

“This yo’ world, Mama. You want me to stay right here?” he keeps himself angled, hitting exactly where you leaned him towards.

You give him a breathless squeal, “Yes, baby.”

“You been waitin’ all day to feel me, huh?” he asks, the corner of his lips moving in a teasing grin. He knew. 

Your nod is thoughtless. Your eyes are watery, and you’re almost in a state of confusion on how your body responds in a way it never has. 

Your voice tells him, “Itfeelssoogood,” whiney as ever. 

“C’mere,” he mumbles, turning your face behind, his lips smacking against yours. 

He lets out a small grunt, “This some good muhfuckin’ pussy.” 

With every smack of his lips that meets yours, he’s sucking at the same time, and when your mouth pulls for air, it stays directly against his, trembling against it, “Ohhhmygod, Ony. Ony…” 

You don’t realize—but you’re cumming again through his movements, your brain muddled as your eyes roll, teeth sinking into your lip as you moan, drenching his abdomen with that pretty cream he’d been looking for. 

“Yeah,” his grunt is smug, “That’s it, girl. You got it.”

But it didn’t stop there.

He was gonna be the death of you. You knew that, because you’d been more turned on then you’d ever been before. So much that Onyankopon was now beneath you, back flat along the table as you loomed above him. The camera had the perfect angle—your ass jiggles above him, feet flat against the sides of his thighs as you’re bouncing atop of dick. 

Your eyes roll, skin clapping together—you’re moaning, eyes lowering over your shoulder to stare into camera, “Oh my god.”

He’s watching you with a glare. The camera could only hear his voice as he asked, “You know who’s dick you’ takin’ right now?” 

You were lost. 

“Onyankopon, Ony,” you stutter, the words breaking between your breath, the back of your thighs slapping with his. Your cream is beginning to create strings between the flesh of your thighs, splattering down with your movements. 

He gives a smirk, “Good fuckin’ job, baby.” 

You’re breathless, low whimpers as your curls fall along your face.

“Keep that ass bouncin’. Shit lookin’ pretty on my dick.” 

A smack from his palm, like an added punctuation. 

You listen. 

You press your palms along his chest, your eyes still to the camera to watch yourself from behind—You’re dropping, riding, every exhale breathily pushing out another moan in return.

“You like how you look, huh?” 

You found yourself slowly nodding your head, grinding as you came down. Your voice is a whimpering mess,“You’re so big, Daddy. Fuck.” 

“My shit curvin’ inside you, I know. Keep goin’,” the sound of your skin meeting his is loud, as if it were a melody. A piece of music his other hand keeps composing.

You knew you were gone—Your head dropping, your eyes lowering in a pleasured face. Your thighs tremble as you’re squirting for a second time, but you keep going, your eyes rolling as your thighs collide down to his hips— the squelch, squelch, squelch, deafening in your ears. 

You look directly into the camera, watching as you drown his pelvic area, his dick shining into the lens—your eyes roll heavily as your head falls back, “Oooooohshiiittt.” 

“Fuck, girl.”

He groans as his breath starts to hiss, “Just like that. Yo’ pussy so—“

You hear him moan, so softly it’s nearly inaudible, as if he wasn’t used to doing that on video. You watch as his eyes narrow at you from below, smacking your ass assertively. To gain his control back.

And he does—Onyankopon now stands inches away from the table, your legs held up by his arms as he’s carrying you, lifting you up, dropping you back down onto his dick.  Your arms wrap around his shoulders, pouting as your eyes roll at his deep strokes he forces onto you. 

You’re practically being tugged down onto his dick, he’s strong. The strength of him makes your brain fuzzier, your mind nearly gone. You’re groaning, a slurping sound creating as his tongue curls with yours in a hungry kiss. 

”You got another one in you?” 

You mewl in response— shaking your head, your brain nearly short circuits at this point.

“You can.”

He lays you back against the table, his body hovering atop of yours now—he’s rotating his hips, mouth sucking the skin of your neck that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

“Mmh,” he softly grunts, his eyes flickering up to the camera as his expression is a smirk. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles, the word soft, yet commanding with every roll he gives, “That’s my baby.”

Your voice squeaks, “Ony.”  

“You’ so shy,“ he huffs, pressing a kiss to the inside of your mouth, your legs tightening around his hips, “Yo’ pussy keep on talkin’ to me. She tellin’ me sum’.” 

Your lips part open as you reach down for the side of his thigh, gripping the flesh as you rock him in the angle you feel the most pleasure.

 You tremble, “Don’t stop…” 

His hand was on the table, steadying himself against it before his head leans against yours, “Yeah?” he repeats, his voice a deep groan, “You need my shit in yo’ stomach?” 

“Please,” you whimper, your nails dragging into the skin of his lower back, tugging his body towards your own. 

He goes deeper, and the change had you grunting. Your mouth is parted, your ankles meeting at the sides of his head, the sight of this position in the camera's eye makes it all the more erotic—you shout a moan. 

He let it out—a deep sound of another snarl, pushing in you even deeper, hands digging into the back of your hair as he held you steady. His lips met yours in a kiss that was hot, heavy—You could feel the way he sucked at your tongue, the wet sound of your lips echoing in the room. 

You sob, “I’m gonna cum, Ony. Don’t move. I need you.” 

“This the best shit I ever had,” he admits, grunting out every word, “Imma’ kill a nigga ‘bout this shit. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.” 

Your eyes widen a bit, but you’re so distracted from the waves of pleasure that rushes across your entire body, you can’t respond properly. Onyankopon groans in your ear, and you clasp him closer, your entire body shaking as you both moan against each other's lips.

You whimper, “You don’t mean that.” 

His eyes flicker up to yours. Onyankopon’s fingers find the back of your neck, tugging you closer for him to leave a kiss along your shoulder, “I swear on my momma, you ain’t. You mine now,” he mumbles.

You’re gasping in his ear. 

“You was a problem from the moment I seen you—but now?” 

He’s fucking you with every word. 

“Imma’ need this shit all the muhfuckin’ time. Imma’ need you.” 

That made you weaken.

“I’m’ cumming.”

You hold him.  

“Ony, you got me.”

“I know.” 

It’s like that music from earlier— a symphony, the camera nearly shaking at how hard he’s fucking you, how deep he’s fucking you. You sob—you’re squirting for a final time, your body shaking so much that you had to find his arm to ground you. The warmth of his cum mixtures within your folds, the sight pretty, Onyankopon pulling his dick out as he smacks it along the creamy mess you’ve both made.

And as you look at each other, lips inches apart, a thrum of emotions sitting between two strangers, it happens—you both laugh. 

And that’s when he asks—

“So, how Tokyo soundin’?”

[elsroseytoy]

♡૮꒰⸝⸝ ⑅ ◞◟⸝⸝꒱ა make me juno 🎀🧁🤍

♡ pairing: blue!collar abby and housewife!reader

♡ synopsis: you and abby have been married for two years now, and you love your little domestic life in your cute house sitting on the countryside, waking up snuggled in your wife's huge arms, getting to bake her pretty scones in your frilly apron to spoil her with when she get's home, but lately something important been's gnawing at your senses and fogging your thoughts ….

♡ cw: housewife reader is very feminine, baby fevered reader, basically just these twos backstory to start them of right <3

an: wanted to make this one part but decided to release this to introduce these two sweethearts and there dynamic — smut in part two!!! if you enjoy this please lmk in my asks id love to know 🎀

You always imagined being a mom as a little girl, like many little girls - whether it was tucking your babydoll into bed or baby sitting the little baby next door, it came real naturally to you. And you liked knowing one day you'd be prepared. never leave a baby alone in a car. they can't sleep belly down. All the important basics. But you never pushed it onto yourself, not when deciding if there was a thing as too much blush (there defiantly isn't, right?) was hard enough in those days - just trying to survive as a girl was hard in itself! It was just a nice fantasy to cradle in the back of the head as you ventured through your party girl 20s. That is until the most attractive, buffest, hottest women strolled into your life. Well technically, you strolled into hers but who's counting! It was Abby for god's sake, your now wife, you liked to think it was destiny really.

The memory still replayed in your head.

It was one of those nights you see in movies - a group of sparkly, done-up girls sitting at the pub more to laugh and giggle then actually enjoy the fruity drinks they kept ordering more of, and you, fixing your gloss as your girlfriends chatted away. You got bits of pieces of the buzz "Oh my god guys what episode is everyone on in gossip girl's?" and "He went down on you right? he didn't, oh girl fuck no. He's always been a little boy what did I say-" Playing with your straw, Sure, you were listening, of course you were, it was just hard to even be heard above all the chatter, opening and closing your lips repeatably. You sighed and gave up, resorting to reading the array of cheesy bar quotes and license plates varying from all around the country. Your priscilla-lashed eyes scanned the dim room. An older, wallowing man sat at the bar, hunched over himself you almost felt bad for him but a group of sneering collage boys had you more disgusted than anything. Frowning to yourself you turned away, going back to fiddling with your pink-orangey drink and that's when your eyes landed on her - And you think the butterflies in your stomach hatched right then and there.

Oh. my. god.

She sat at the bar in front of you, a dirty blond braid reaching her lower back. you couldn't place what made her so- so hypnotizing. Maybe it was the way she leaned over with one arm thrown over the chair and the other nursing a dark drink of some sorts, like she was so nonchalant, so okay about looking like that. You'd been with buff women before - but they were all so overly arrogant, like they'd rather get off by looking at themselves in the mirror while you writhed cluelessly on top of them. Just real assholes. Of course she was probably proud of her physique, she had to be, but the way she held herself made your panties glossy to the touch, squeezing your thighs together coyly... God, you weren't even ovulating! you felt like a giddy fool blinking your sticky lashes at her, she was facing away from you, she couldn't see you, but you wish she could, even just for a second-

"wow, heyy, earth to you" Jumping you squeaked and tried to pull your thoughts together "uh- sorry! What were you saying-"

"girl" Everyone was looking at you. Please say they didn't see.

"M just tired-" It was really no use.

"If dream boat over there is making your tired we need to check your eyesight"

They definitely saw and suddenly it was girl world rampage. "Girl you need to go talk to her oh em gee!" "Babe she's hotttt-" "C'mon we all saw the way you were looking at her!" Please, nooo! But before you could yelp your protests your chair was pulled out from under you, somehow being pushed into scurry mode - even the frowny face you shot back at them did little to nothing "go!"

"M' going!" You pulled at your short skirt, played with the shiny highlighter layered on the edges of your eyes, fixed your heart necklace, anything to hide the fluttering of your heart. Were you really doing this?! yep, you really defiantly were, you felt like a school girl and maybe it was the alcohol but there you were, tapping shyly on her shoulder. Maybe you should just run, text your friends once you're a few mere miles away- "Oh hey, i know you?" This was happening, I want you to, is what you wanted to say - but your breath was knocked out of you and replaced by some other girl. Ms. panic mode. "Uh no- I don't think so, I just- well, your drink looked really good, I-um was wondering what you got-" She liked how your lips quivered between a smile, damn, you were cute, she thought - your eyes darting between her, smirking, and your group of not-so-coy eavesdropping friends. You on the other hand wanted to die right then and there. She couldn't help herself. "Fuck, y'know your right" Your brows furrowed together cutely, confused "About um- what?" Poking her cheek with her tongue she answered "I mean you're too pretty not to remember" With that your brain went into overdrive!

"Can I give you my number" You blurted out, it just came out, so fast the moment it left your mouth you wanted to dig a hole and bury yourself in it and then suddenly she looked at you like that- "Been waiting for you to ask" Your lifted you brows just the slightest "Fuck no I mean- that sounded arrogant I just meant I was gonna ask for your's it was bound to happen y'know" Now she was the one rambling on, she lifts her hands guiltily and you can't help but giggle - the sweetest sound she ever did hear. "Here's my phone you can just, well yeah" Your face heats up as your fingers graze hers just the tiniest bit. how did it feel so natural?

"Hello kitty?" Her eyes quip up at you. "Don't be like that!" You giggle again and yep, she's shaking her head and smiling to herself. She thinks she's done that more in those two minutes than ever before "Okay, okay- sorry. But you sure you don't still want my drink order pretty girl?" She cleared her throat because it sounded a lot better in her head - luckily you didn't catch on, not even to your girlfriends practically cheering from across the room "Mhm, maybe" She pulled out your stool and of course you sat your grinning bottom down on it, especially as she added "Let me make up the hello kitty comment yeah?"

Three years later and that was dreamy history. Stored away in your late night cuddle chats and sunny dinner convos. Though your emotions weren't too awfully different from that sparkly party girl a lifetime ago. Just like that evening in the pub, your life could take a turn because today was the day.

Pacing in the kitchen, the day you would finally ask her.

For Abby though this was any other normal workday. nothing out of the ordinary as she wiped the sweat from her forehead, thanks to the merciless sun she cursed under her breath. She loved the work, loved having things to haul - but the heat could fuck itself off. Okay, yeah, she was being dramatic, especially because she lounged in the air conditioned workroom. She threw her feet over a rugged coffee table tugging off her work books, the sun was starting to set of course she was just being dramatic about the days heat. Who could blame her, she liked complaining knowing she got to come home to your sweet kisses and pretty face. Fuck though every work day was the same, she wouldn't want it any other way. Not when you were the thing she did all this for - she needed to feel useful, especially when you gave her the love you did without a cost. This happiness that held no strings (she loved when you rolled your doe eyes every time she said such bullshit, of course you loved her with no end!)

"See ya' Anderson, say hi to the Ms. for me will ya?" He was a big fella, looked like he could kill you with a glance but he wasn't all the different from her - just trying to provide for his family, went through the day imagining the moment he got to see his wife at the end of the day. She liked him. An appreciative nod from her end and just like him, Ab's won't have to imagine much longer.

Home. God, she loved walking through the door. It never got old. Your two's little house sitting on a nice countryside, other families spread her and there - but this was your boths. Everything down to the pink roses you planted out front, to the big, drappy willow trees that were essentially the first thing that made you two fall in love with it. A warm, cinnamony scent wafted through the small space. Two dirty boot's thrown over the shoe rack you insisted on getting 'It's no different than the dirty rug you've been using...' 'she has a name baby- im just kidding! okay fine yeah you win!' She smiled every time she saw it - but right now something else distracted her. You. "Hey, sweetheart"

"Abs!"

Her heart did a little flip as you flipped around, with the prettiest smile she'd ever see - there was not an ounce of competition when it came to you. Nothing compared to seeing you in that creamy pink polka dot apron you loved so much, she loved so much. Her being the thing you scurried over to every day, socks sliding on the 50s style kitchen tile and throwing your arms around her. Fuck, yep nothing compared. Except maybe getting to melt into you, let the tension of the day fall off her shoulders as she breathed you in. Strawberries and something more, something she could never name. No name was good enough to place it, all she knew was it was something she wanted to hold forever. Protect with all she had. "Missed you so much ab's" you held her tighter than usual, like she would disappear into thin air if you didn't. She actually probably would. "I know baby, I know, missed you too." Tilting your chin up to rub your cheek with her thumb, she wanted to kiss away the crinkling of your brows, just the slightest tiniest crease had alarms going off in her head "damn this lipgloss. always getting in the way of me and my wife" She tried, of course you smiled, giggled a bit "It's real good for your lips Abby" had her smiling real big, but there was an shy glaze to your posture. Playing with your fingers something you only did so rarely. What was up with her girl? Nothing could help but try. She knew you.

"Everything all good? You seem anxious mama" Mama. Your already fluttery heart jumped in your chest, flew right into outer space - nothing was rare about her calling your mama, switching between that and her wife. But in that moment it had you skipping words, instead turning your back hurriedly as you finished up what you were doing. Of course she read you like a book! you cursed the unhelpful butterflies that seemed to transfer to your cheeks and eyes "M fine! Just- a bit tired. Went to the down town market today, got sum flour and brown sugar for cookies!" You feigned, tone oh-so-candy-sweet. Ab's did that thing she always did when she didn't quite believe you, a click of her tongue - just out of earshot, the littlest bullshit she mustered as she brushed it off, coming up behind you to help.

"I made your favorite Ab's... been working so much lately I wanted to do something for you" You meant it. There was just a little tiny hidden meaning behind all this. The thing that had you all nervous and foggy brained. But you needed to bring it up. If not now then when really. "Being my girl is more than enough"

A few repeating oven beeps and a shower later you two sat at your light wood dinner table, assorted with fresh rolls and Ab's favorite (don't be fooled she adored everything you cooked) sweet potato roast. And of course it wouldn't be dinner with Abbys repeated mhm's and fuck these are incredible's. And the smallest round table probably in the entire world, so small Abbys feet touched yours, her hand holding yours a habit she didn't even realize - you though lingered on every single detail, an add on of nervousness you wanted to throw out the window and stomp on. You took a shaky breath, still imagining tossing this nervousness into the pretty swaying willow trees…. your and Abby’s swaying trees. Something beautiful shared between the two of you. Loved by the two of you. The thought was like the warm spice moving through the kitchen, it folded itself over your worries, barring itself right there over them. It was just what you needed, Finally turning towards your wife.

"What is it baby?" Abbys face is nothing short of concern, squeezing your hand in hers. You gulp, eyes blinking but you know it’s time. “Abby I’ve been thinking— for a bit now, well ever since that baby shower in august really”

She squeezes your hand, urging you. “I want to have a baby” blurting out seemed to be the summary of big advances in your twos relationship n you think your heart stops for a moment when she says “a baby—”

to be continued …. 💗

[bunnwich]

Was just revisiting your blog for some quality Leona content but I was wondering in you had some more Leona bf HCs to feed us? Tysm for all the hard work you do fr.🛐🛐🛐

Hi! I assume you’re talking about this post? I’m really flattered you enjoy my stuff. Thank you so much!! I’ll echo what I said in my other post that I think shipping and yumeing with a comfort character is very personal and that little headcanons and interpretations can vary from person to person. At the end of the day, it’s about what YOU wanna see and reflect into your romance! I think taking the time to add your own lil HCs and lore is the fun part!

✨MORE✨ Leona Boyfriend Headcanons

Bedtime rituals are important: Leona mentions enjoying baths a few times, so I think that this quiet time with his partner would be his favorite, and Leona is even more motivated to do nightly self-care rituals. And when his partner doesn't stay the night, sometimes he "forgets" and does wear his braids multiple days. (Leona just mentions that you should come over and fix his braids if you don't like how he does it when you're not around.)

Unfortunately, he enjoys banter, teasing, and playfighting. Anyway, he can get a little rise out of you. NGL, he’s a super annoying bf that makes you wanna hit him sometimes, but in a lighthearted way. It’s never mean, only annoying. You'll become wise to his "tells" anyway, and realize he’s not serious (he’s very hard for others to read BTW) BUT you KNOW when he’s just pulling your leg.

Eating meals together is another thing he always tries to do, and works his schedule around this ritual. He likes the idea that you are getting enough to eat, and I do think sharing a meal is one of his love languages. Seeing you nourished and while indulging in delicious food (something he also enjoys) makes him feel good.

He doesn’t tolerate disrespect of you in ANY form, teasing is one thing, but he will never speak badly of you or let anyone else. AND HE’D NEVER IGNORE YOU OR ACT LIKE HE’S SIMPLY PUTTING UP WITH YOU. (✨No aloof BF here!!✨) In fact, he may get the habit of texting you TOO much. He’s a handful, and you are his emotional springboard in a way. He doesn't have many close bonds with others, so when he's away from you for too long, he gets restless and will start texting you what he's doing and why it is so dull without you. (He’d never pull you away from friends or anything because he's pretty self-aware of how needy he can be. We love a man with emotional intelligence.)

He’s not a TOTAL pushover, especially when “Coach Leona” comes out. He's not afraid to tell you when he thinks you’re wrong. A tough love session or two where he may just tell you you're too nosy and should be focused on yourself, or let you know when he thinks you may be going about something wrong. He DOES place you on a pedestal in his mind, and if he’s a little tough on you, it's just bc he wants you to be successful. He believes partners should be a TEAM and push each other when needed. (You’ll certainly love to boss him around!!)

Once together, he will NEVER request that you clean up after him or run errands for him. (Unless you really want to ig.) You're NOT one of his underlings or expected to be subservient to him in any way, you are his partner and therefore equal.

 All of Savanaclaw’s attitude will shift about you, and he will request that they should respect you. And hey, if you are tough enough to get with their “boss” then ofc they would respect you anyway without him even saying.

Queen/King/Prince/Princess (whatever you prefer) Treatment. He wants to spoil you but respects your independence. He’s studied you well enough by now to know when to hold back and let you take control. It’s cute…and VERY attractive to see you lead. In fact, he wants to see you at your best, commanding situations and building your skills.

✨BRO HAS A LICENSE.✨ And (I think) a secret car. He keeps it just off the NRC campus. He used to go for long drives alone along Sage's Island’s coast, but now he has company~ He’ll drive you anywhere you wanna go. These drives with you keep him sane. And he’ll take you shopping and dinner dates, most likely just mean-mugging the whole time or falling asleep on the bench by the dressing rooms. BUT HE’LL DO IT FOR YOU. (Yes, dear…)

His peace is your alone time together, without the noise of the outside world or others. Just curled up in his arms playing mobile chess or watching one of those boring history documentaries I know he's into. (Relationships are about compromise, okay??) He’ll let you choose what you watch, too. He's a professional bedrotter, so on those days where relaxation is needed, he's right beside you, asking you what kind of food you want him to order for you. If you wanna yap to him about the terrible book you just read, hey he’s fine with that too!

He KNOWS he is not the most…well, exciting partner, and that self-consciousness shows through sometimes. He’ll do his best to keep you happy, but he probably needs reassurance that he’s not boring you to death with his 15-minute chess lectures or lethargic lifestyle. He’s an old man at heart.

IMO Leona got his first idea of love from romance novels!! After being disillusioned, he ofc put all that “nonsense” to bed as a kid. But I like to think there is still a part of him who is a hopeless romantic softie. He's secretly dreamed of having a “great love” in his life and a strong partner just like his brother. Someone not like all the others, and who will always be there by his side. So don't be surprised when he pulls out a move or line that you’d NEVER expect him to say. (Maybe a dry delivery, but he’d say it!!)

Not always, but sometimes, Leona can be…strangely sweet, but HE MEANS IT. I do think he’s a bit socially stunted in some areas. As in…he doesn't always know what to say in intimate situations, so stealing a few lines from this “stupid book” he read as a kid is NOT above him. That’s what a prince would say, right? In fact, in trying to be so PAINFULLY logical all the time, he might apply “romance” he learned from books in real life to a devastatingly cheesy, old-fashioned, and endearing degree. (He’d never tell tho.)

I’LL SAY IT, Leona’s version of “lovey dovey talk” is talking in the third person.  “You know your lion loves ya right?” “Your lion’s been lonely without ya.” “Your lion misses his_” (Insert whatever cheesy nickname he’s chosen for you). Notice how he conveniently puts himself as ✨possessed✨ by you. Because that's all he wants!! It's cemented in his head. Before he’s sure you feel the same, he’ll make sure you know that he is, in fact, YOUR lion. No arguments. You have to reap what you’ve sown.

In public, these “Your Lion” quips are whispered under his breath, maybe even in your ear. But, in private, he’s fine with rolling over for you like an overgrown house cat, and saying these things loud and proud. He’s looking at you with such a soft expression, you wonder if this is the same intimidating leader of the Savanaclaw dorm you came to know at the beginning of the year.

He’s completely love sick for you. He hates this, but also ✨REVELS✨ IN IT. And what I mean by this is, I think “being in love” would be a bittersweet experience for Leona. He feels very deeply too DEEPLY. He's always been a sensitive guy, and eventually he will settle into a comfortable love…but after SO MANY YEARS of being alone, not just romantically, but without many close bonds OF ANY KIND, the feeling of love would make him feel sorta…sick at first. But, being the grumpy masochist we know…I think Leona would give in to this torture, become addicted to you, especially after you promise that you’re here to stay.

At night, he holds you a little too tight sometimes, but that’s because...he can’t believe you’re really here with him, and the thought of going back to how his life was before you were in it is more painful than anything.

[pazzi5351]

Can’t be friends.

Paige x Azzi

Word count: 1.2k

An: an anon asked for this and I started it yesterday then I had dance then the knicks were playing (they lost💔) and I’m just now finishing it k bye hope ya like! Also I added like no fluff and lowk leaving it on a cliffhanger cs idk what else to add🤧

————————————————————————————

Paige and Azzi had always been, different. Their parents noticed it when they first became friends. Their teammates noticed it when Azzi stepped on UConn’s campus for the first time, and Paige’s mood drastically changed.

The only people who didn’t seem to notice were Paige and Azzi themselves.

They went along with being “just best friends” though, the lines between that and something more had been crossed years before.

They went along with being “just best friends” until the glances between them lasted a beat too long. The hands on backs rested lower. And, the tension between them was so thick, people were starting to see it.

Especially their teammates.

“Ok Paige. What the hell is going on between you and Azzi.” Ice asked Paige, while watching the lobby screen of their fortnight game.

“Yeah,” Kk chimed in. “You guys are like, super, weirdly, close.”

“Bruuh. What are y’all even saying right now?” Paige asked, with an incredulous look on her face.

“We’re asking, friend to friend, if you and Azzi have something going on.” Ice said, matter of factly. “It’s totally chill if y’all do, I mean, we don’t care, we just wanna know.”

Paige slowly put her controller down, and turned to look at her friends. “There’s no way you’re seriously asking me that. Right? Me and Azzi are just friends. Why’s that so hard to believe? Sure, we’re close but, y’all are close too. It’s the same thing.”

Ice and Kk shared a look.

“No. It’s not the same honey. Not at all. I mean sure Ice and I are close but, you and Azzi, y’all are close.” Kk said, putting emphasis on the last word.

“Define ‘close’. Because since Azzi and I are just soo ‘close’, I’m sure you have examples of our ‘closeness’.” Paige said, rather defensively, for a reason she couldn’t name.

“Sure,” Ice nodded. “You open her water bottles, drive her car, when she very clearly has a license; you bring her snacks, text her asking if she ate or if she’s hungry, you bring her food without asking, you always, and I mean always, let her steal your clothes, but when I ask you say no, or you ‘don’t know where it is because last time you saw it Azzi had it.’ What else Kk? That’s all I got.”

“Oh I’ll go on,” Kk responded. “Paige, you literally have carried her out of the bar when she was ‘too tired’ to walk, I’ve watched you make snack bags for her, and for away games, you carry her bags and yours to the bus so she, and I quote from you, ‘doesn’t strain anything holding her bags because they’re heavy.’ There’s a lot more, but you look shocked right now, so I’ll let you sit with that.”

When Ice and Kk finished, Kk was right. Paige was shocked. She never realized how much she did for Azzi. All of it was just second nature to her, like taking care of Azzi was her birthright.

All she could say to her friends was “Oh.”

Ice raised an eyebrow. “That’s it? Just ‘oh’?”

Paige blinked, like she hadn’t even heard the question. “I didn’t—I mean, I just… I don’t know. That’s just how we are.”

Kk crossed her arms, gaze steady. “No, Paige. That’s how you are with her. There’s a difference.”

And maybe Paige should’ve argued, should’ve denied it again. But instead, she sat there, controller long forgotten in her lap, a cold dread settling in her stomach.

Because they were right.

She didn’t sleep that night. Her mind kept playing scenes back like a highlight reel: Azzi asleep on her shoulder during the flight to South Carolina. Azzi curled into her side on the hotel bed, scrolling on her phone while Paige absentmindedly braided her hair. Azzi in her hoodie. Azzi in her car. Azzi everywhere.

And the way her chest clenched whenever Azzi smiled at someone else like she used to only smile at her.

Paige rolled over, staring at the unread text.

Azzi💗: “u up?”

She didn’t reply.

For days after that, Paige pulled back. Not enough for Azzi to call her out, but enough that the gap started to form—small, but noticeable. She stopped waiting outside practice for Azzi. She made excuses to ride with someone else. She laughed at her jokes but didn’t meet her eyes.

And it was killing her.

Because nothing had changed—but everything had.

The final crack came on a Tuesday after team workouts. Everyone else had left. Paige was gathering her stuff when Azzi stepped in front of her, arms crossed, face unreadable.

“You mad at me?” she asked, quiet.

Paige blinked. “What? No. Why would I be mad?”

“You’ve been avoiding me, Paige,” Azzi said, voice firmer now. “You don’t even look at me.”

“I’ve just been tired.”

Azzi scoffed. “Don’t lie to me. You suck at it.”

Paige’s hands tightened around her hoodie. “I’m not avoiding you.”

Azzi’s gaze narrowed. “Then why do I feel like I did something wrong?”

Paige swallowed hard. “You didn’t.”

“Then what is it?” Azzi asked, voice low. “Because if you’re gonna push me away, your best friend, at least tell me why.”

Paige shook her head. “You don’t get it.”

“Make me get it,” Azzi said, scanning Paige’s face for any type of answer. “Because I can’t fix something you won’t tell me.”

Paige scoffed and shook her head. “That’s the thing, Az. You can’t fix it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s me,” Paige said, finally meeting her eyes. “It’s what I feel when I look at you. It’s what I do, for you, without thinking; like carrying your bags, buying your snacks, giving you every part of me like it’s nothing. And it’s not nothing. Not to me.”

Azzi’s lips parted, but she didn’t speak.

Paige’s voice cracked. “I don’t know when it stopped being just friends, but I know I didn’t even notice until it was too late. And now I feel it all the time. All the time, Azzi. And I didn’t want to say it because if I do, everything changes.”

Azzi took a slow step forward. “It doesn’t have to change, P.”

“I’m scared.”

“So am I.”

There was silence.

And then Paige, barely above a whisper, said, “I think I’m in love with you.”

Azzi didn’t move. She just stood there, slightly taken aback, breathing slowly, staring at Paige like she’d waited years to hear those words.

Then, finally, “Good. Because I’m in love with you too.”

They didn’t kiss that night, no. It was two girls, with a long history together, sitting on a bench, still sweaty from practice, hands shaking slightly as they reached for each other. It was quiet. Heavy. Real.

They didn’t tell anyone right away. Not because they were hiding, but because Paige wasn’t ready to say it out loud again.

When the team asked where they’d been—when they snuck away during a night out or vanished from the locker room after practice—Paige would shrug, let Azzi answer. She couldn’t bear the teasing, the jokes. Not yet.

It wasn’t until Ice caught them in the hallway—Azzi standing too close, Paige’s thumb brushing over her knuckles—that someone finally said it.

“You’re together, huh?”

Azzi nodded slowly. Paige froze. Azzi noticed.

Ice smiled, small and sure. “Took you long enough.”

And Paige’s chest loosened, just a little.

[missbellie]

Redline, and...GO!- B.E

Synopsis: You and your ex-girlfriend are illegal car racers. Your breakup wasn't very amicable due to both of your toxicity, so you've avoided competing with each other. But apparently fate has other plans for you.

Pair: B.e×F!Reader

Words: 6k

Warnings: jealous billie, cursing

Style: Fanfic | Imagine | Headcanons

Part: part 1 ⇽ part 2 ⇽

For two weeks, you couldn’t compete—too busy fixing the wreck Billie fucking Eilish left you with.

“I wanna kill that girl when I see her,” you muttered, scrubbing grease off the hood. “Do to her skull what she did to my car.”

“That bad, huh?” a familiar voice chimed.

You turned fast—and froze.

“Alice?!”

You dropped the sponge, running toward her. The blonde, hair in a messy braid, smiled and caught you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground.

“Hey there, baby girl. How’s the warzone?”

You pulled back and gave her a once-over, still stunned. “You’ve got a motorcycle now?!”

She leaned casually against the beast of a bike parked behind her. “A lot’s changed. Wanna catch up?”

You didn’t hesitate. She handed you a helmet, and seconds later, you were clinging to her back, the engine roaring beneath you.

...

Later, at your favorite bar—John’s in Jason’s—you were deep into your second beer.

“I started working on my license, took the risk, and boom—freedom,” Alice said, grinning behind the bottle.

“And the tattoos?” you asked, eyeing the ink crawling up her forearm. “You look good, girl.”

“Look who’s talking, hot piece.”

You rolled your eyes, clicking your tongue. “Shut up. What brought you back?”

She leaned in a little, smile soft. “Missed this place. Missed you. And shit got messy where I was. Coming home felt right.”

You smiled and lightly kicked her shin under the table. “That’s your second-best decision after getting the bike.”

She laughed. “Well, I know you’ll make it worth it.”

Your cheeks heated, but you waved her off. “Don’t start.”

She sipped. “So. You and Eilish? I heard things went nuclear.”

You groaned. “We broke up, like, two or three years ago. It was toxic. We were dumb, selfish, angry… and in love. But mostly just angry.”

“Sounds familiar.” Alice stretched, sitting awkwardly, legs spread like always. “What about now? I heard something about sabotage?”

You gave her the rundown—how Billie’s car choked thanks to a little unauthorized tweaking, how she retaliated by screwing with your steering, and how you ended up kissing a damn tree.

Alice was laughing so hard she nearly spit out her beer. “She really went full psycho?”

“Full. Fucking. Psycho.”

“And your car’s okay?”

“Now it is. Barely. I want to shove the bill down her throat.”

You stood up to pay. “I got this round.”

“No way, I’m paying,” Alice said, standing too.

You pushed her back down. “Relax. I got it.”

But when you turned toward the counter—you saw her.

Billie. Sitting on a barstool like a storm cloud with legs. Staring at you like she was planning your funeral. Her hand gripped her glass so tight it looked like the thing might shatter.

You walked up anyway, like you hadn’t just stepped into a landmine.

And then—there she was beside you.

“You into bikers now?” she asked, head tilted, voice dipped low and mocking.

“Better than dishonest car racers,” you snapped, handing your card to the bartender.

She laughed bitterly, eyes never leaving you. “Fuck you. What’s she doing here?”

“What do you care? Mind your own fucking business, Eilish.”

She stepped closer. You felt her breath. “Keep saying my name like that and I might actually start thinking you miss me.”

“God, you’re disgusting. Fuck you.”

Then—an arm slipped around your shoulders. You instantly relaxed at the familiar scent of wood smoke and leather.

“Take it easy, Eilish,” Alice said, pulling you in closer. “She’s not into it.”

Billie’s eyes dragged over her with disdain. “Didn’t realize I invited your sniffy little ass. But hey—welcome back, Garfield.”

She turned her back, slapped some cash on the bar, and walked off like she hadn’t just lit a fuse.

You exhaled slowly, the burn of her presence still clinging to your skin.

“Still got that magic, huh?” Alice said beside you, calm as ever.

You didn’t answer. Just took your drinks, and followed her back to the table.

But inside? You were still on fire.

...

The sun was starting to set when Alice heard the knock on her apartment door—sharp, impatient, like whoever was on the other side wasn’t in the mood to talk. She wiped grease off her hands, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and opened the door.

Billie Eilish stood there, solo, hoodie zipped up to her chin and jaw tight.

Alice blinked once, then leaned on the doorframe, calm. “Well, if it isn’t the storm in eyeliner.”

“Where is she?” Billie asked, skipping the bullshit.

“Not here.” Alice raised a brow. “Why?”

Billie didn’t answer right away. Her fingers twitched at her sides like she didn’t know what to do with them. “What are you doing back?”

Alice tilted her head. “Same thing you’re doing. Breathing. Existing.”

“You don’t just show up after years and start hanging around her like nothing’s changed.”

“She invited me back in,” Alice said, arms crossed. “You didn’t exactly leave the door open for her, from what I heard.”

Billie’s eyes flared. “Don’t play this game. I know you liked her. Back then.”

Alice smirked. “She was always important to me. Still is. I don’t think of her that way…” She let that sentence hang, letting Billie exhale just a little—before twisting the knife.

“…But if you care that much about her, Billie, maybe you should stop acting like you don’t.”

That hit.

Billie’s mouth opened, then shut. Her eyes dropped for a second before locking onto Alice’s again, burning.

“You don’t get to tell me shit.”

“I’m not telling you anything,” Alice said coolly. “I’m just pointing out what’s already obvious. You’re here. Alone. Angry. Jealous. Doesn’t look very casual to me.”

Billie stepped forward, almost chest-to-chest now. “I’m warning you—”

“No,” Alice cut in, voice low and even. “I’m warning you. If you’re gonna play with her head again, you’ll have to go through me first. And you remember how that went last time, don’t you?”

Billie’s nostrils flared, but she said nothing. Her hands clenched and unclenched, her jaw working like she had a thousand things to say but couldn’t settle on just one.

Alice leaned in a little, like she was daring her to move. “You still love her, huh?”

Silence.

Then Billie scoffed, stepping back with a bitter laugh. “You’re real cocky for someone she almost forgot.”

Alice shrugged, unfazed. “Maybe. But she remembers me now.”

Billie stared at her a beat longer, then turned and walked away without another word.

Alice watched her disappear down the stairs and murmured, mostly to herself, “Still the same Billie. Still can’t say what she really wants.”

jealous billie, QKQUQKWHWBWHAIWUAU I LOVE IT

hope you liked it babies, xoxo!

[pinkyqily]

BRAIDS AND SHADE Salma Paralluelo x Reader

Summary : you and salma have a beach day while you also help her take out her braids in the sunny shades ⛱

Warning : slight cursing Summary, this is a report from my old account that got deactivate.

Today was on of those days where yours and salma off days macht.

meaning you both could spend the whole day together without one of you having a busy schedule and not being able to make it to any of your plans or having to leave mid-date.

Today would be very different as you both had three days off that ended up matching both your schedule.

Excitement filled both you and salma. Because both already planned what to do together.

a divider date where one person plans the beginning while the other planes the rest. You've already done your part in planning the first half, which consisted of surprising salma with breakfast in bed, which was rare as she always had to be up bright and early for training, making it impossible.

But today, she slept over her alarm, making it easy for you except the part you had to get out of her giant grip without her noticing which happened successfully.

After that, you both got ready for your massage appointment that you booked, knowing well she needed it having complained about random cramps that felt after heavy training or game days.

The next few hours had been filled with shopping and sneaky kisses.

Helping salma look for some pants that she's been wanting to get. and some Fifa games she wanted to get.

So her and vicky could play with it when she comes over, getting sweet treats and some makeup and other products you both needed around your shared apartment.

that would be the your part of date that you planned. now it was salma trun for the other half of the date.

"So where are we going that you got our suitcases packed with three different outfits, with four different bikini placed on our bed?" you asked her ?.

"You just gotta wait til we arrive there".she told you before leaving a kiss on your lips.

grabbing your hand, leading you into the car before placing the location onto GPS so you know where to drive.

Salma was a passenger princess as she didn't know how to drive and hadn't gotten her drivers license. this woman would rather run to her destination than drive, which you found funny and would tease her about it.

You've almost arrived at the place the GPS was leading you into until you where able to see somewhat of a beachy report.

"You did not just book us to one of these beach resort did you". you asked her with a smile on your face

"I may have known that I'll days off would macht and decided to book here I know how the beach is one your favorite places and the offer was too good to miss". she told you

This would be one of salma best qualities that you loved about her when she does stuff for you without you knowing or asking.

Once you both managed to get everything done and head to the beach. salam had asked if you could help her take out her braids while you both chill out for the rest of the day which you didn't mind doing.

You both found a spot under the beautiful beach shades and decided to lay there and that when you started getting rid of her braids one by one which surprisingly didn't take you that long. as you we're used to taking braids.

you'd finally finish taking out her braids and one thing you admire about salma was when her curly where out it made her look like some type of goddess especially with that body of hers.

you loved this woman down bad and would do anything for her.

this day had to be the best day ever enjoy half the day with the love of your life while finishing it off a the beach with a beautiful sunset.

And it couldn't have been done without a small makeout session with the sunset right behind you both.

[parkerflix]

—corazón despeinado

miles morales x gn! reader

genre: fluff?? angst???

wc: 1.7k

part two here

synopsis: your friendship with miles seemed to hit a sore spot. the reason? his hair.

warnings: atsv spoilers! like big spoilers! canon divergence (miguel would hate me sorry bae)

a/n: this is earth 42! miles! just put it under here since i put the warning okay read at your own discretion from here on!

“Ow! Que te pasa? That shit hurt, mami.” Miles sat forward, rubbing his scalp.

You sighed and rolled your eyes. Miles Morales was such a baby when it came to doing his hair. You loved doing his hair, and him letting you have full control of it, but hated how much he flinched.

“No jodas. I barely even pulled it. If you would sit still, maybe we could finish this faster.”

Miles grumbled under his breath and he sat back in the chair, wincing when you started up again.

You had been doing Miles’ hair for years, Rio being your mom’s best friend. You guys spent summers and most weekends together, always having some sort of party. Your mom owned the neighborhood beauty salon & had been showing the ropes to you.

Miles always came to you when he wanted his hair done, or if he just wanted to see you.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight? Got a steamy date?”

Miles rolled his eyes.

“A date?”

“Yeah, a steamy date with some beautiful woman or man! Or romantic, a nice stroll on the street, the sky full of stars, going to a nice dinner.”

“Ya tu sabes, I’m not the type who does those types of dates.”

“Oh, so it is a date?”

“Mira, I don’t think there’s anyone I would date.”

You reached down in your apron to grab a hair tie to finish one of his braids.

“And why is that?”

You were so focused on his braids, that you didn’t notice his eyes staring at your face through the mirror.

Miles knew that he wasn’t into anyone the way he was into you. He wasn’t sure if you knew that he liked you. Miles thought it was fairly obvious, he gave you little gifts that he knew you would like, and spent most of his time with you. His mom had pretty much adopted you into his family, showing you how to make his favorites like mofongo & empanadas. For someone so bright, you seemed to not catch the hints he threw at you.

His silence caught you off guard & you stared at him through the mirror, a little surprised to see he was already staring at you.

“Miles?”

He seemed to snap out of whatever train of thought and sent you a half-hearted grin.

“Enough about me. What about you? Any plans?”

You shook your head, laughing slightly.

“Nah. Te recuerdas de ese guy que salí con like ages ago?”

Miles hummed as a signal for you to go on.

“Well, he asked me out again and as much as I loved the first date, I just wanted to spend the night by myself. Nothing sounds better than a cheesy movie & takeout.”

Before he could say anything else, you finished his last braid and tied it off.

“Ya terminé. What do you think?”

Miles got up from the chair and glanced at himself in the mirror, admiring your work.

“It looks good.”

You clapped your hands and gave him a hug.

“I’m so glad you like them! I know they’re a little different than usual but I thought they suit you.”

He nodded and gave you a small smile.

You were about to say something, when his phone went off.

“Girlfriend texting you?”

He rolled his eyes and pulled his phone from his jacket, seeing his uncle ask him where he was.

“Ya te dije, I don’t have anyone like that. I gotta go, but I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nodded and started to clean your station, hoping if you finished early you could leave.

Miles placed a chaste kiss on your cheek & made his way towards the door.

“I’ll take you out for breakfast tomorrow!”

He walked out of the door, leaving you smiling and shaking your head at how cute he could be sometimes.

You had left the salon late in the afternoon, taking a few of your mother’s clients while she handled a few other clients. You weren’t licensed just yet, but you knew you had the skills and experience to get your license as soon as you finished high school.

Your mom had some more clients after you had left & told you she wouldn’t be home tonight as she was planning on having a girls night with a few of her friends.

You had finally got home & changed into a shirt and shorts, ready to just relax and watch some movies. Rummaging through the fridge, you realized that you actually did have to order takeout, since there was nothing already made.

Checking the time, you figured you could swing by the local pizzeria, and stop by the supermarket for some ice cream. Grabbing your bag, you slipped on some easy shoes and made sure to lock the door.

At the pizzeria, you had ordered your food, and were just waiting. Sitting at one of the booths, you were slightly confused when you heard Miles’ voice come from the counter.

You turned to take a peek, and saw Miles there with a completely different outfit, and most noticeably, his braids were gone.

You were annoyed, his braids took you some time & he had already taken them out. If he really hated them, why didn’t he just tell you?

Going up to him, you tapped his shoulder.

He turned around and saw you, giving you a confused look.

“No me das esa cara, si no te gustaron, you know I would’ve changed them!”

Miles gave you an even more confused look, and started to really piss you off.

“Okay, why are you giving me that look? Seriously if you didn’t like the braids, I would’ve fixed them.”

“Braids? Do you have me mistaken for someone else?”

“Your name is Miles Morales, right?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Then no, I’m not mistaken. God why weren’t you just upfront about it with me? I would’ve done whatever you wanted, you know that.”

“Uh—“

“What? Are you too cool for them?”

“No I just—“

“I bet you do have a hot date huh! That’s what it is.”

“Hot date? Definitely not. I am so confused.” Miles said, awkwardly scratching the nape of his neck.

The guy at the counter called your name, and you pointed to Miles.

“Stay here. We aren’t done talking about this.”

You rushed up to the counter, and grabbed your pie, thanking him and ran back to Miles, grabbing his sleeve and dragging him with you.

Once outside, you dragged him to your apartment building, stopping at the stairs, placing your pizza box there.

“What’s going on with you?”

Miles just stared at you, not sure how to tell you that he wasn’t who you thought he was.

“I’m sorry.”

You sighed and frowned. Miles rarely apologized, even when he had done something. He had always sweet-talked you into not being mad at him, knowing that you had a soft spot for him.

“An apology? That’s a first. Miles, I just wanna know what’s been going on with you. You make plans with people and don’t tell me who, which like yeah I guess I’m not entitled to that information but—” you were cut off when he hugged you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and stayed like that for a second. You knew Miles. He wasn’t a PDA sort of person and he wasn’t big on hugs either. He wasn’t telling you something, and it seemed to weigh heavy on him.

Before you knew it, he had unraveled himself from you and you both were standing away from each other.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure this will all make sense eventually but I really gotta go.”

He gave you a look that you couldn’t decipher and left you, pizza still on the steps, getting cold.

You didn’t hear from Miles until the next morning, knocking at your window.

You groaned and threw a pillow in that direction, knowing it probably missed.

The knocking kept going, so you got up and went to open the window not even sparing Miles a glance.

You trudged your way back into bed, making space for the both of you. He laid down next to you, having a debate if he should pull you close to him.

“Amor, what’s wrong?”

“Be quiet. I'm still trying to sleep.”

Miles let out a huff and poked your side.

“Miles, leave me alone.”

“Que hice?”

“What do you mean ‘que hice?’ We talked about this. If you didn’t listen to me at all then why are—”

You turned to face him, quickly realizing the small space in between the two of you.

You stared at his face, the sunlight giving him a soft glow. His eyes even were a different shade of brown, turning more like pools of milk chocolate. But what stood out to you the most, was his hair, in braids, neatly as if they were never out of them.

How was that possible? You saw him the night before and he didn’t have them. What was happening?

Miles called your name and you blinked, face feeling flushed at your gawking.

“You have your braids.”

He gave you a confused look.

“Yeah?”

“But last night you didn’t.”

“Last night? I don’t remember seeing you last night.”

“You’re joking right? I saw you and we talked and you left in a hurry.”

You sat up and sighed, confused and frustrated as to why he wouldn’t remember this.

“Are you sure it was me?”

You stared at him. Why did he have to say it in such a condescending tone?

“Yes, Miles. It was you.”

“It couldn’t have been me.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“Maybe a bit delusional. Guess you missed me that much.”

You were beyond frustrated now, and got out of bed.

Without a word, you pulled him out of bed and walked him over to your window.

“What— seriously que te hice?”

Crossing your arms, you looked away from him.

“The fact that you don’t even remember our conversation yesterday, and the fact that you’re acting like it never happened and you weren’t being weird— I can’t.”

“You can't do what?” Miles' voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat.

“I can't do this right now. You should go.”

“But-“

“Miles.” you whispered his name, feeling so many different emotions. He knew that you had made up your mind and pressed a kiss onto your forehead.

With that, he climbed out of your room and went down the fire escape.

You sat in your room, confused by everything and feeling something new, something like a heartache in your chest.

[mvctavish]

hi! i found your blog and i loved your cod hcs. can you do more gaz hcs, but basically abt how he is a husband/what it would be like to be his wife, please? thank you if you write it! :3

𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃!𝐆𝐀𝐙 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

notes: hi!! i'm glad you like them <3 thanks for this request I LOVE THIS MAN

summary: general headcanons of gaz as a husband

cw: wife!reader, mentions of kids/pregnancy, i think that's it but lmk if i missed anything!!

౿ ۪ ݁ kyle will always, always wear his wedding ring — no matter how impractical it is. the metal is uncomfortable underneath his gloves, and digs into his skin even without them on. but to him, the pain is worth it. he doesn't see the golden band as just a ring, it's a symbol of the love he'd given you and a life you both shared. it's the promises he made to you, ones he has full intentions on keeping. it's a reminder that a part of you is always with him, even when you're worlds apart. one evening when he was home from deployment, you'd noticed the indents in his ring finger, skin rubbed raw from the friction. you managed to convince him to let you buy one of those silicone rings (yk??) and force him to wear it instead when he's working. kyle always keeps his actual wedding ring on the chain that holds his dog tags. he enjoys the cool metal against his chest, and that way, you're even closer to his heart.

this man is so so soft for you. of course, there's a few rocky points in your relationship because nobody is perfect, but you're the closest thing to it. you're perfect for him, and that's all that matters. you're the light of kyle's life. he constantly thinks about you whilst he's on the battlefield. your existence can give him enough determination to keep going and get through tough times. he needs to make it home to you, his angel, his wife. he tends to show his love in quieter ways. soft gazes and gentle kisses to your cheek or temple.

he splits the housework 50/50 when he's home with you. it's his one chance to live a relatively normal and domestic life, even if that means he's stuck washing the dishes or doing the laundry. something people don't talk about enough if how smart this man is. he's a genius on and off of the battlefield, which is why he's in charge of settling the finances and whatnot. kyle is very, very handy (years in the military exposed him to quite a few odd jobs) so you never have to worry about any of the utilities at the house. when something's out of order while he's home, he's fixing it as soon as you tell him. he makes sure to teach you along the way, surprisingly patient, so that you can fix it on your own in case he isn't around next time something is amiss.

insists on driving you everywhere you go when he's on leave, whether that be work, an appointment, the store.. anywhere. regardless of if you have your own license or not — your husband is your own personal chaperone. he claims it's because he wants to spend as much time with you as possible, but it's truly rooted in a deeper reasoning. kyle tends to worry a lot. he knows you're independent and capable (you kinda have to be when you're married to a military man) but he prefers to be there, just in case. he knows how the world works, how everything can change in one split second. kyle is very protective, not in a sense that he won't let you go out on your own, but if you are out together, he's always got to have some part of his body touching you. he's got a hand on the small of your back, your pinky intertwined with his own. he wants everyone to know that you're taken, you're his. it usually does a good job at keeping the creeps away.

this may seem odd, but kyle is a master at hair braiding. he'd gone through a few phases as a teenager, and learned how to do his own box braids. so, need help with your hair? he'd love to help. brushing your hair and helping you with your hair care is honestly one of his favorite things to do. when it's been a long day and he's too tired to do anything else, kyle will sit you down on the edge of your shared bed and pull you into his lap. he'll gently brush through your hair, taking time to be tender and careful as he works through particularly stubborn knots. "there you go, angel. all better." and he'd press a quick peck below your ear before putting your hair up into your usual nighttime style.

onto the topic of kids... i definitely see kyle wanting at least one or two of his own. not in a "must carry on the legacy" sort of way; but he'd always been good around children. having his own little family had always seemed like a distant dream until he married you, and you had your little girl. he made sure to take an extended leave when it got close to your due date so he'd be present and help you through postpartum and the newborn stages. kyle had done a crap ton of research beforehand, way back in the stages when you were still trying to conceive. he attended every single birthing class you went to (and did garner a few odd looks from the other mothers-to-be) so he'd be prepared for any scenario. going back to the topic of hair, your baby girl is born with curly hair like kyle. he wouldn't hesitate to teach you (if you didn't already know) how to care for her hair as she gets older and how to braid and style it on your own. after every single deployment, he makes sure to bring back some sort of trinket from overseas for his daughter. whether it's a handmade doll from the phillipines, or a unique bracelet from russia. overall, kyle is a very involved husband, especially when it comes to your child. it wouldn't take long for him to ask for one more.

[dduane]

Hi! I'd love to hear ur take on the whole Spirk Canon discussion going on right now as someone who's written licensed Trek books. Like besides the whole "did Unification 765874 make spirk canon" thing, is it even fair to talk about spirk being canon or not? What would it take for spirk to "be canon"? It strikes me as a very fandom-y (positive) way to interact with media, which is funny since k/s invented fandom culture. But at the same time ur Supernatural comparison was right on the money and paramount has been VERY weird about addressing their relationship in nutrek. What are ur thoughts??

First of all: Despite the excitement of any given moment, people need to be careful about mistaking anything I reblog without further-amplifying comment, on any subject, as necessarily implying agreement or approval. Lots of times I reblog things just to direct attention to them (and sometimes because I think they're funny).

"ur Supernatural comparison" was not mine. It was somebody else's. I reblogged it to direct attention to it. (And maybe I thought it was funny.)

...Also, wut iz dis "nutrek" u speak of? When you've been working in this universe for long enough, with the necessary perspective to look up and down the length of it without idiosyncratically-added heat... then all Trek is Trek. The spectrum along which its varying species all coexist is ever more complexly and interestingly braided than it once was, sure. But that's all. I've got enough on my plate at the moment not to have time to waste trying to force different aspects of Trek into cage fights with each other.

And: "Paramount"? Who is that, exactly? At the pointy end, all corporations are made up of people. Which ones are we talking about? Which production entities? Which creative teams? Which execs, working under whose supervising auspices, and when? Working with whose (character/worldview/policy) decisions, and for how long?

None of this stuff is simple to work out, and it's not helpful to try to come at it as if it's necessarily going to be easy to tease out who's doing what to whom. Briefly: it's normal for it to look weird. But don’t mistake a Big Corporate Monolith for something actually monolithic.

Also, for the moment, ffs, let's all just step away from the business of defining what K/S and/or Spirk actually involves. Enough ink and electrons have been spilled over this whole spectrum of character relationship since the 1960s, and frankly, life's too short. Definitely too short to be trying to resolve it all in terms of something that dropped...when? About this time last night, or the night before? :) Jeeeez, people. Take a breath or three and let things settle.

So I don't think anybody needs to be hearing my deep cogitations about the new short film right now... because there aren't any. No question, Unification's beautiful to look at—and I've told Dave Blass he did nice work, about which i don't think there can be any possible doubt. (Not to mention the high-end technical aspects dealt with so seamlessly in such a small tight package, which have left my jaw on the floor.) The Giacchino score's also quite lovely, but that also is more or less a given.

As for everything else: I decline to spew opinion all over the joint until I've had a chance to assimilate what I've seen, and actually acquire a useful opinion from somewhere or other. Meanwhile, y'all just keep doing what you're all doing, and I'll go make some more tea. :)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Long Snake Moan 10

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki

Summary: your boss gives you a task you’re not prepared for.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Loki entwines your life like the snake he is. You stare at the steaming cup of tea as you listen to him in the kitchen. You don’t really trust him not to ruin anything else but you’re powerless to stop him. Every move has another pang plucking in your stomach.  

God! You can’t believe it. Three days. With him? And you’re married? Right, none of this makes sense. He can’t be your husband. It’s impossible. 

You drag yourself up and clutch your stomach. There’s something else, a tingle as your thighs press together. A flash ripples behind your eyes and you hear him groaning, feeling him thrusting, his hot breath enshrines you. You blink and it’s gone. A moan drifts from your lips. 

You search your apartment and scowl. All this green... It’s not bad but it’s a bit much. None of you is left here. Aren’t marriages unions not invasions? 

No, you’re not married. He never even asked. You get up and suss out your phone on the side table. You pick it up as you keep an ear toward his constant stirring. You tap into the search bar and bring up City Hall. You have to call. Damn it. 

You tiptoe toward the bathroom and peek back as you ease the door shut. You tap the phone number and chew your thumb. You’re on hold for a while and after navigating through the directory, you finally get an answer. 

“Hi, er, wow,” you respond to the dull tone on the other end. “I don’t really know how to do this. Sorry, erm, I need to look up a marriage license?” 

“Do you have the registration number?” The woman asks. 

“No, but I can give you my name? My Social Security? Whatever you need.” 

“Social Security,” she sniffs into the speaker. She doesn’t seem very impressed. 

You recite the memorised number and wait as you hear the clacking of keys. She hums flatly. “Yep, right here...” she reads out your name, “and uh, Lachi—Loki Laufeyson.” 

Your heart drops. What? Your last hope that he’s as much a liar as ever evaporates. You stand stunned, starring into the drain. 

“Anything else I can do, ma’am?” She doesn’t sound genuinely helpful. 

“No,” you croak and hang up. You’ve wasted her time. 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You lift your head and slowly let yourself look at your reflection. You shriek at Loki as he grins over you. 

“Oh god,” you spin to face him in the tight space, “do you have to do that?” 

“Well, I was concerned. I find my wife missing--” 

“Don’t say it. Stop. No. Wife? I can’t--” 

“It is the truth. Legal, as it were. Surely that lovely woman on the phone told you so,” he slithers. 

“Ugh, why? Why me?” 

“Oh, I know, how lucky you are,” he tickles along your sides and you nearly toss the phone. You stop him, latching onto one wrist as you push your cell against the other. 

“Haven’t you done enough?” 

“Hardly. Darling, we are on honeymoon, are we not? So let us taste the delicious nectar of our coming together--” 

“Honeymoon? Wow, it’s wonderful,” you look around. 

“Ah, yes, I do believe you mortals prefer to travel, so...” 

He untangles his arm from your grasp and snaps his finger. His figure is limned in ribbons of green and your insides twist as the world spins around you. Your feet leave the ground only to land heavier on something else.  

You blink and cry out. The sky is a vibrant violet and silver stars shine in a constellation all around. You crane to see the tapestry as your feet press on something rough. You look down and two golden sandals appear on your feet. The satin robe transforms into a gown with braiding that matches the shoes. 

Loki turns parallel to you and presses his hand to your lower back. “Beautiful, yes?” 

You peer around and open and close your mouth. You take inhale deeply. Several times. You know you’re nowhere on earth. 

“I can breathe...” you murmur. 

“As you know, I have my tricks,” he purrs. 

“Wh-where are we?” You ask shakily, the reality that you’re on an entirely different planet rattles in your skull. 

“Does it matter? We are together?” You look at him and he turns to meet your gaze, “why do you look upon me thus?” 

You shake your head. You can’t explain all the ways he makes you feel. Loathing, confusion, agitation, and a little fear. 

“It’s a lot,” you utter at last. 

“Yes, I’ve been told I can be much to handle.” 

You sigh and look up at the sky. It is pretty. Your eyes wander down to the rocky peaks along the far edge of the planet. It smells like... flowers and vanilla and cinnamon. You raise your nose to sniff it deeper. 

“What is that?” 

“I wouldn’t know. I smell sage and Asgardian oak. It won’t be the same as you.” 

“Huh?” You glance at him again. This time, he laughs. 

“Here, you can smell exactly what you like best. And the sky reflects the colours which you most love. To me, a sea of evergreen and sapphire, but now, a touch of the shade of your lips too. For you... well, what do you see?” 

Your heart flips. It can’t be true. 

“I’m not lying to you,” he affirms as if he can read your mind. Somehow, you believe him. 

“It’s purple. Lilac and plum and there’s silver stars.” 

“Lovely,” he wraps his arm around you. It’s strange. You don’t feel so... uneasy. Almost calm. “And you’ve not even seen our accommodation, my beautiful wife.” 

“Just... let me enjoy this. Just a little.” 

He hums but says nothing else. His fingers curl into your hips and his chest falls. You’re not happy but you’re not entirely unhappy. Not like it will make much difference. You’re in to deep. 

[007blonded]

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[wrongbodies]

Bodies Between Friends, pt. 3

The line wasn't too bad outside the bar. They recognized most of the waiting people, too. As they slid into the line, the girl right in front of them turned around, and smiled when she recognized us.

"Oooh! Hi guys, how are you doing tonight?" She asked. This is Ella, a pretty girl with straight blonde hair and emerald eyes. She seemed particularly interested in Robby, who outwardly appeared as Jace, of course.

"We are doing quite well, Ella." Robby said, smoothly. Jace and Brandon exchanged a look, surprised at how good of a start Robby was having.

"Good! Wanna sit with me and my friends? It's just us girls so far, and they are already inside." Ella invited.

"Sure, we can mingle." Jace said, once again tugging on the sweater he was wearing.

"I wouldn't mind either." Brandon chimed in.

Ella beamed, but was next for the bouncer to check her ID, so she turned and got in easily.

All three of the boys were also successful in having their IDs checked as well. The irony of handing over a drivers license belonging to their borrowed body was not lost on them.

Inside, the bar was bustling. They were waved down at a table near the pool tables by Ella. They got to the table, and made their greetings to the girls. Along with Ella was a cute girl named Amy with glasses and a black bob cut. And then there was Julia, the last girl who was tall and had braids, wearing an orange romper.

After making introductions, only a few awkward moments where the boys each had to remember which body they were in, they went to order some drinks. While waiting for his drink, Brandon noticed a cute guy talking with some folks at the other end of the bar. His gaydar was going off, something about how the guy was standing and gesticulating. His cute face was like a beacon, but he was dressed slightly sporty. College hoodie, backward cap, it was a cover he was sure.

He saw the guy give him a look, and then turned away, but looked back with a slightly too long look. Yep, he's gay or bi or whatever. Brandon took his drink and went back to the table. All the while, during drinking and talking, he kept stealing glances around the bar for the guy. Brandon realized he should have been bold and approached him. He must have left.

The night progressed fine from there. Jace was successfully chatting up the girls, who seemed interested in Brandon's body, considering the charismatic Jace piloting it. Even Robby was doing well with Ella. It's clear she has had eyes for Jace for a long time, we've all picked that up before. Jace wasn't really into her, but he seemed fine to let Robby flirt with her considering we all set the standard earlier in the dorm.

At some point the group moved to a pool table and began playing. Brandon noted that Robby's palate didn't really enjoy beer, so he was ordering some mixed drinks. He also forgot that Robby is rail thin. He was tipsy before he normally would have been. He ordered some greasy bar food to try and soak up the alcohol. While hanging out at the bar, he noticed that the cute guy from before was no longer there. He was bummed, when he heard a voice from behind.

"Hey, I've seen you at the bar before." The cute guy with the faux-sporty look said. Brandon was suddenly very nervous, feeling Robby's face blush. "I'm Riley!"

"Oh-uh, I'm Bra- I mean, Robby." Brandon sputtered. He was holding a basket of greasy fries and his long island iced tea.

"Want to sit down with me?" Riley asked, gesturing to a two-person high top in the back of the bar, which was a little quieter.

"Sure!" Brandon responded, the tipsiness definitely giving him some atypical bravado.

The two walked over to the table, Brandon finding he had to hop up a bit more to get in the seat than normal, given his shorter borrowed body. Riley smiled across the table, and Brandon pushed his fries to the middle.

"Please have some! I can't eat them all." Brandon offered.

"Don't mind if I do..." Riley said. "So, you go to Bailey too?"

"Yeah! I'm a junior. How about you?" Brandon replied, taking particular care to not eat messily or talk with food in his mouth.

"I'm a junior as well. I transferred in this year though." Riley explained.

"Oh, that makes sense. I know most people from our class year." Brandon said.

"I've been doing my best to mingle with the juniors. I don't like being cooped up in my room." Riley said.

"Oh, I get that. Do you play on a team or belong to any clubs?"

"Yeah, I'm actually on the lacrosse team, if you can believe it." Riley laughed. "I know it seems counter-stereotypical. A gay guy on the lacrosse roster."

"I wouldn't have guessed!" Brandon laughed as well.

"What, that I'm gay, or that I'm on the lacrosse team?" Riley asked, smirking.

"A little of column A and column B, honestly." Brandon smiled back. He was feeling bolder than ever, like Robby's body was giving him some bravery he normally lacked.

The two chatted for a while, fries disappearing and drinks dwindling. Over by the pool tables the other guys were getting a bit closer and friskier with their chosen girls. Jace didn't say it out loud, but he was sandbagging leaving with his partner so he could witness Robby leave with Ella on his arm. It didn't take too much longer. As they made to leave, Jace leaned in to whisper to Robby.

"Don't forget, go to MY room, not yours. And again, use protection please." Robby nodded, a slight blush spreading across his cheeks. Then he left, Ella holding on to his arm.

Jace didn't waste too much time, either. Only, he went to check on Brandon. He found him cozying up to a guy he didn't recognize. The two seemed to be hitting it off.

"Hey Robby, I'm heading out. See you tomorrow?" Jace asked.

"Absolutely, see you!" Brandon said, waving his friend off.

"Actually..." Riley started. He blushed, and looked down to find a fry.

"Actually what? Go ahead." Brandon prodded.

"Umm... would you want to hang out in my room? I have a single." Riley inquired.

"Yes, please." Brandon said, blushing but excited. They cleared up and closed their tabs. And then they were outside, and walking together to Riley's dorm.

TBC

[poebot]

At The Gay Bar

tags: bouncer!abby, established relationship ellie, fem!reader, jealousy

a/n: no one wrote it so i wrote... based on this post i made a while back. i haven’t stopped thinking about it. sorry that i haven’t written anything in ages :( exam season was kicking my ass

taglist: (people who said they wanted to see this in word form) @rubycruzsbitch @elsgirl

“you’re serious... you’ve never been to a gay bar before?” you wore an incredulous look on your face as ellie awkwardly shrugged, trying to look nonchalant about it.

your girlfriend wasn’t the type to frequent nightclubs. if it was up to her, she’d be spending tonight high as a kite sat by her gaming set up. but you’d insisted that she had to tag along with you because it was a ‘mandatory queer experience’. ellie knew deep down that you just wanted to get shit faced and have her close by simultaneously. you always ended up blowing up her phone whenever you got too drunk at parties, whining that you missed her and begging her to turn up or take you home. one of the drawbacks she’d learned to accept of dating an extrovert.

“cmon. you’ll have a good time, i promise.” you leaned in close, dropping the pitch of your voice and staring into her eyes. her ears flushed pink as she slid her toned arms around your waist to draw you in even closer, and you knew you’d convinced her.

the next hour or so was spent with you trying on different outfits and forcing ellie to help you pick one. her opinion was pretty useless, mostly consisting of monotoned ‘looks great babe’s as she shamelessly ogled you dress and undress in front of her.

“dude. you’re such a creep.” you sighed, shimmying your way into a different skirt. ellie rolled her eyes, approaching you from behind to help you pull up the zipper. “what, i can’t admire my girl?” she murmured, peppering warm kisses across the back of your neck.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

the heels of your platforms clack noisily against the sidewalk as you finally reach the front of the queue, the harsh bass of the music vibrating from within the club. excitement thrummed through your veins and you smiled brightly at ellie, squeezing her warm hand in yours. she smiled sheepishly back, returning your squeeze.

“gonna need to see some ID, princess.” a deep yet feminine voice captured your attention. you looked up to meet the gaze of the bouncer only to be truly taken aback by her appearance. she wore a fitted tank top that emphasised her ridiculously built upper body, her thick freckled arms folded across her chest and her expression stern. just as you were admiring her long hair neatly braided at the back of her head you realised she noticed you staring.

you squinted to read the blonde’s name tag, abby, before averting your eyes long enough to tap ellie’s arm, motioning for her to help you fish out your ID from your purse. you didn’t notice the way her eye twitched at the pet name. ellie dug into the bag and slapped the card into abby’s hand with more force than was probably necessary. abby didn’t react, simply flipping it over.

the woman analysed your license in silence with furrowed brows and her mouth downturned. you began to panic slightly, your glossy lips pursed. there was a slight chance that she was gonna turn you away. man, would that be a bummer. “it’s real.. pinkie promise.” you say in an attempt to lighten the mood. abby’s briefly looks up at you to meet your eyes before continuing to examine the ID card that you absently realise looks comically small in her large hands. ellie sighs impatiently, crossing her arms and staring up at the sky. you shoot her a look that screams ‘not helpful, babe.’

“hmm. can you smile for me?” the request caught you slightly off guard and you paused for a moment, chancing a glance at your girlfriend. her expression almost made you burst out laughing; you’ve never seen ellie look more aggravated. her eyebrows were raised in disbelief as she tries to make eye contact with abby to assert some form of control over the situation. when that doesn’t work, she lets out a perplexed ‘dude!’

the bouncer continues to completely ignore her and focuses her gaze on you, her brow raised expectantly. you relent. anything to get out of this line quicker. they’re playing your favorite song for fuck sake, and the longer you’re stood out here the higher the likelyhood ellie will change her mind about the night. so you beam up at her, flashing your best smile and abby’s stoic expression finally cracks into a grin of her own.

“yeah, there’s them pretty dimples. get in there baby.” abby motions into the bar with a wink. against your better judgment, you can’t help feeling flustered by the line. your mouth hangs open slightly as you stare up at her, rooted to the spot from the shock. you’re finally broken out of it by ellie shooting her a disgusted scowl and ushering you into the darkness of the bar. you try to school your expression before she notices the dopey smile spread wide across your face.

[poorlittlegreenie13]

Deleted scene from 'Rules For (fake) Dating an Italian' to keep you busy while AO3 is down:

(Sydney & Carmy babysit for Richie, set in between chapters four & five — I wrote it & then decided to scrap it, I don't even know why lol it just wasn't working. & I didn't edit it, so it might have mistakes. But anyway, you guys can have it as a treat.)

Richie runs out the front door, pulling his jacket on. 

“Carmen,” he says, walking up to Carmy and, much to Sydney’s surprise, taking Carmy’s face in both hands and pressing a firm kiss to the top of Carmy’s head. “Thank you so much. I owe you, brother.”

“It’s fine,” Carmy mutters. 

“Sydney,” Richie says, pulling away from Carmy to look at her. 

“I don’t need a kiss,” Sydney says quickly, “just a verbal thank you is more than enough.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Richie says. “Carmy explained the situation, right?”

“I told her what you told me,” Carmy says. 

“Because I never miss a weekend with her,” Richie says, “I mean, I have literally never missed a single minute of a weekend with her before, but if I don’t go to the DMV today, it’s like six months till I can get another appointment, and I really need to get my license renewed.”

“It’s fine,” Sydney says, not dwelling too much on the thought of how much Richie has been driving her around with an expired license so far. “We’re happy to look after her.”

“I’ll be back in two hours,” Richie says. “She has her iPod, and all her Barbies. There are Uncrustables in the fridge, or you can cook with whatever’s in there, and she likes watching Unicorn Academy, she can put it on herself.”

“We’ll be fine, cousin. Don’t be late to your appointment,” Carmy says, with a somber expression that looks less like someone taking on babysitting duties, and more like a soldier awaiting command.

Carmy called Syd that morning, saying Richie was freaking out about needing a babysitter. Granted, Carmy was also freaking out about being a babysitter. 

"Nat’s busy, Tina’s busy, everyone’s fucking busy, can you please come with me? I’m not good with kids."

Sydney isn’t particularly good with kids either, but she didn’t tell him that.

She would��ve taken any excuse to see Carmy. Because she’s a masochist. And because the fact that he asked her to come not because it would help trick Richie, but because he wanted her help, made her feel kind of hot in the face. 

When he picked her up, she slid into his passenger’s seat with an almost-practiced ease, and he just sat there looking at her for a minute. 

“Your hair,” he said. 

“Oh,” she said, touching the end of one freshly-done braid, “yeah, microbraids, like I told you.”

“They look nice,” he said, and she blushed, despite the stiffness of the complement. 

He always seems to rehearse his words to her in his head before he says them; they come out practiced and overly formal, and it frustrates her, how measured they seem, though it shouldn’t. 

She’s pretty sure that’s just Carmy’s way. He’s careful with everything, not just compliments. She’s learning that about him. 

She’s been learning other things about him, too. 

Like the fact that he seems to go quiet in crowds, and gravitate toward walls. He flinches if anybody moves toward him too suddenly. Sometimes, not often, but enough to notice, he stutters when he speaks. 

She wants to know everything about him. She wishes his life story was a book she could read, so she could just catch up to where he is now, and understand everything about him. She wants to know the right things to say, to do, how to put him at ease. She wants to know what he’s thinking when he looks at her. 

Now, she watches Carmy walk into Richie’s house, stooping to pet Zanzibar as the puppy runs excitedly up to them, letting out high-pitched barks and tapping his little claws against the tiles of Richie’s entrance foyer. 

In the doorframe of the kitchen across from them, a tiny girl with blonde hair and Richie’s facial features peeks out at them. 

“Hi,” Sydney says, giving her a little wave. 

“Uncle Carmy?” the girl asks. 

Carmy looks up at her, unmistakable anxiety crossing his face. 

“Uh, hi,” he says. “Richie’ll be back soon, don’t worry.”

“She doesn’t call her dad Richie, does she?” Sydney whispers. 

“She knows who I mean,” Carmy whispers back. 

Eva looks between the two of them.

“Dad said you would make me lunch,” she says. 

Sydney smiles. “We will,” she says, looking at Carmy expectantly. 

He nods seriously, walking ahead into the kitchen and beginning to look through Richie’s cabinets. Sydney follows Eva into the room, watching the little girl take a seat at one of the kitchen chairs, pulling her knees up into her chest and looking at  Sydney with huge eyes she hasn’t totally grown into yet. 

“Are you Uncle Carmy’s girlfriend?” she asks. 

“Yeah,” Sydney says, glancing over at Carm. 

He’s holding a box of Mac & Cheese, and holds it up for Eva to see, raising an eyebrow. 

“This good?” he asks. 

“That’s good,” Eva says, crossing her arms and deepening her voice slightly to mock Carmy as she says it. He cracks a smile, filling a pot with water and setting it on the stove. 

Michelin starred chef cooking boxed Mac & Cheese in a tee shirt three feet away from Sydney. Her life is a joke. 

“Why are you his girlfriend?” Eva asks. 

Sydney laughs softly, considering this. 

“Well, uh,” she says, with a little shake of her head. Carmy has his back to her, facing the stove, but he’s standing still, like he’s listening. “He’s great at cooking,” Sydney says. “And I really like spending time with him. He’s good company.”

“My dad said Carmy’s never looked this happy before,” Eva says. 

Carmy clears his throat. “I am happy,” he says, though there’s an ironic flatness to it. 

“Because of her?” Eva asks. 

Sydney bites the inside of her cheek. 

But Carmy turns around and looks at Sydney, brow furrowing slightly, eyes soft. 

“Yeah. Because of her,” he says. 

He says it like it’s true. 

Michelin star mac and cheese is about as good as it sounds. Carmy is leaning against Richie’s counter, watching Sydney and Eva eat. Eva’s iPod is set on the table in front of her, playing some Taylor Swift deepcut that Sydney doesn’t recognize. As Sydney swallows her third or fourth spoonful of food, she stands up, turning to Carmy. The heat of the stove has put a slight flush in the tops of his cheeks, and there’s a towel slung over one of his shoulders. 

“You’re not eating?” she asks him. 

The question seems to take him off guard. His eyes flicker to the pot of food, then back to her. 

“No, I made it for you two,” he says.

“There’s plenty, Carm,” Sydney says, grabbing a bowl from Richie’s cabinet and filling it for him from the pot still warming on the stove. When she hands it to him, he just looks at it for a second, before taking a small spoonful and putting it in his mouth, chewing like it’s his first time eating a meal. 

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Sydney asks him, picking her own bowl back up. 

“It’s alright,” he says, taking another, bigger spoonful. He does that sometimes; it’s one of the things she’s noticed. He eats like he’s starving, or he doesn’t eat at all. It gives her this weird urge to take care of him. To text him in the mornings, and at night, and ask him if he ate that day. To show up at his apartment unannounced with bags of groceries and make him sit down for twenty minutes while she meal preps for him. 

“It’s good, Carm, it’s better than alright,” she says again, tone light, even though she’s willing him to believe her as hard as she can. Trying to get him to take a compliment is like trying to throw a ball through a brick wall. 

He averts his eyes, nodding again. “A little flat, but I guess that’s what you get with boxed mix,” he says, pushing the noodles around with his spoon. 

“Ever make it from scratch?” Sydney asks. “Or is that too pedestrian for a fancy New York Chef?”

“I'm gonna pretend I know what pedestrian means in that context,” he says, meeting her eyes with an amused smile. “I made it from scratch one Thanksgiving, years ago. Had no idea what I was doing. My mother passed out at like 3:00pm, and we were all scrambling in the kitchen trying to get dinner together for her so she’d, you know, see it and be happy with us when she woke up. But Sugar burned the turkey, so Mikey had to spend hours trying to calm her down; she got these crazy panic attacks when she made mistakes. And I made mac and cheese.”

“How old were you?” Sydney asks. 

He seems surprised at the question, and shrugs. “Twelve, I think? Mikey would’ve been seventeen, Sugar would’ve just turned fourteen.”

“You’re the youngest?” 

He nods. 

“That figures,” Sydney says. 

He scoffs. “Why does that figure?”

“I don’t know, just does.”

His bowl is almost empty. Wordlessly, she takes it from his hands, refilling it. 

“So, did your mom like the mac and cheese?” she asks. 

Something in his face darkens. He gives a quick shake of his head. 

“No, she couldn’t get past Nat burning the turkey. We just, uh, took all the food into Mikey’s room and watched The Peanuts until she stopped yelling and fell asleep.”

“Uncle Carmy,” Eva interrupts, getting up from her chair and walking over to where Carmy is standing, looking up at him expectantly.“Daddy said you would play Barbies with me.”

“I will play Barbies with you,” Carmy says, and then, looking over at Sydney: “Syd, would you like to play Barbies?”

There’s a fond, almost relieved smile on his face, like another minute of talking about his family might’ve pushed him off some cliff’s edge that he wasn’t prepared to crawl back over. 

“Obviously I want to play Barbies,” Sydney says, letting Eva lead them into the other room. 

"You're such a liar," Sydney murmurs, as they walk behind Eva.

"I am?" Carmy asks lightly.

"Yeah," Sydney says, "you told me you weren't good with kids."

He smiles, shaking his head ruefully.

"I'm not," he says.

Sydney rolls her eyes.

And they play Barbies, for an hour. Carmy kneeling on carpet, listening attentively as Eva explains which Barbie is which (she has a Taylor Swift box set, it seems, and a Barbie dream home that looks like it cost more than Sydney’s last paycheck). Sydney sits cross legged across from them, watching Carmy delicately hold a Barbie doll in one tattooed hand as Eva brushes out its hair. 

Watching him be a good uncle shouldn't be as fucking attractive as it is. It shouldn't be conjuring up vivid images of Carmy holding sleeping babies and cooking family dinners.

God, Sydney is so fucked.

“Speak Now Taylor Barbie is marrying Jacob from Twilight Barbie,” Eva says. “‘Cept I forgot Jacob at Mommy’s house.”

“I see,” Carmy says. Sydney bites back a smile. 

“Are you ever gonna get married?” Eva asks, looking up at Carmy. 

Sydney’s smile quickly fades. 

Carmy’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“Me?” he says. 

“You and Sydney,” Eva says, looking over at Sydney expectantly. 

“Uh, maybe,” Carmy says. He’s looking at Sydney too; an expression she can’t read. “I don’t know. Depends on… lots of things.”

“Like what?” Eva asks. 

Carmy clears his throat. “Like… whether Sydney puts up with me for long enough for me to ask her?”

“Oh, shut up,” Sydney says, smiling exasperatedly, shaking her head at him. “He’s kidding, Eva.”

“So you are getting married?”

“No,” Sydney says, “no, not right now.”

“When?”

She looks at them with expectant, innocent eyes. Sydney can’t help but laugh.  

“Not for a long time,” Carmy says. 

"How long?"

Carmy looks away from Sydney, shaking his head like he doesn't know how to answer.

"I don't know," Sydney says, drawing Eva's attention over to her. "Whenever we decide we want to."

"Don't you want to marry him now?" Eva asks sincerely.

Sydney laughs uncomfortably. When she looks over at Carmy, he's looked back up at her. His brow is furrowed slightly. He should be smiling and laughing. This is funny. Objectively. He's taking it way too seriously.

"Yeah," Sydney says, staring at Carmy, raising a taunting eyebrow at him. "Sure I do. But marriage is really complicated so I think we're probably going to wait and see. Right, Carm?"

"Right," Carmy says, with a stiffness to the word like he's in pain. "Yeah, let's not talk about getting married anymore."

Eva frowns.

"It makes him nervous," Sydney stage-whispers to her.

Eva cheers up at that, smiling and nodding knowingly.

"People get nervous when they love each other," Eva says. "Mommy told me."

Sydney scoffs softly, but when she looks at Carmy he isn't smiling. He's just staring back at her, doing that weird, hyper-focused thing where he gets, like, fixated on her face.

It makes her face feel hot.

It makes her nervous.

Fuck.

[lottiemathewsblog]

Lottie matthews headcannons

𓄃

Pre-crash lottieᨒ↟ 𖠰⤵

જ⁀➴ LOVES history!! Total geek when it comes the the Renaissance

જ⁀➴ cutest fem lesbian you ever met!

જ⁀➴ never learned how to French braid hair, gets all frustrated and the cries over her hair and just gives up!

જ⁀➴ knows the metric system by heart! Uses it & forgets that its not common knowledge

જ⁀➴ loves greek mythology, loves learning about the all the different versions of the stories, even the unknown stories most people don't know.

જ⁀➴ definitely was a sport junkie and played a bunch more sports than soccer like softball or volleyball.

જ⁀➴ definitely has stolen her parents alcohol and getting way too hungover cause she mixed like 5 different types of alcohol

જ⁀➴ the first to bring up making out or spin the bottle at sleepovers 😭 girl is a GIRLKISSER even if she doesn't know it

જ⁀➴ Is supposed to wear glasses but refused to wear them until her parents got her contacts (she ended up abandoning those a month after she got them)

જ⁀➴ has her license but CANNOT handle getting onto the freeway or getting off of it

જ⁀➴ definitely stops in the bathroom between classes to freshen up her makeup (my fav cute fem) and takes way too long and is tardy (she talks her way out of it every time)

જ⁀➴ May be rich but loves thrifting, mainly boutiques and high-end places but still, loves to thrift jewelry and trinkets

જ⁀➴ the type the wake up 3 hours early to get ready for school do she can do a cute hairstyle

જ⁀➴ takes hour long showers

જ⁀➴ definitely knows how to get teachers and peers to like her, uses it to her advantage so she can ask her teachers for favors or an excused assignment here or there

જ⁀➴ social butterfly!! Friends with everyone, but also would die if she had to do any sort of public speaking

જ⁀➴ really ashamed of her diagnosis :(( is scared of letting people find out, was scared of having sleepovers when she was younger cause she didn’t want them to see her take her meds :(

જ⁀➴ LOVESSSS to go on walks, runs, bike rides, you name it! She loves to go around and be outside!

જ⁀➴ Friends with everyone but never truly close to anyone :(( only close with very few of the girls on the team but too scared to let them see her be vulnerable

જ⁀➴ only person she's truly herself with is nat

જ⁀➴smokes weed with nat after practice cause she doesn't like being at home and knows nat doesn't either

જ⁀➴ super protective of lauralee, doesn't let the other girls pick on her, always defends her!

જ⁀➴ has a banter going with mari, they both act mean back and forth to eachother all the time especially at practice and giggle about it (marilot your real to me)

જ⁀➴ loves her to buy cute stuff from Victoria secret buy HATES having to actually go in, head down eyes locked to the floor with a red face as she makes her way to what she needs

જ⁀➴ truly has no tmi, let's her friends tell her anything and everything without judgment, even people she's not friends with, loves to have people tell her stuff.

જ⁀➴ HATES when she sees someone being excluded, always is the first to invite someone over or sit with someone who's alone!

જ⁀➴ a total sweetheart :(( so kind and caring and deserves the world :((