#cardboard box on the other hand? fun for days

[sar3nka]

Yesterday I saw a bald guinea piggy :D

[rynbutt]

pierced. | spencer reid.

Moving into a new apartment in a new city is stressful, what's even more stressful is when there's a fucking murder in the apartment across from yours... at least the fbi agent is cute.

you can find the other parts on my masterlist.

cw: fem!reader, 18+ piercing, fluffyish, reader has pierced tiddies, flirting, wondering if i should do a part 2 fr

a/n: coming from a pierced nipple girly who wants a cute boy to knock on her door. also enjoy <3 and follow >:) also yay for the first thing i've posted :3

You let out an exasperated sigh as you collapsed another cardboard box.

Moving into a new apartment was fun in theory, but the practice of filtering through everything you own and finding a neat little spot for it? not so much. You took a long sip from your now cold cup of coffee before glancing across the room at the looming pile of cardboard boxes that just stood there and mocked you.

You picked up the next box of what was probably clothes and took a box cutter to the almost twenty layers of tape across the seam (it wouldn't stay closed, in retrospect you should have made up another box but you were really determined to make it fit at the time).

You ripped the rest of the tape off and put your hands on your hips, glancing at your cat Tofu on the couch.

"Care to help?" you asked... the cat. Tofu proceeded to curl into herself and begin grooming tubby belly. "I guess not."

There was an abrupt knock on your apartment door, Tofu scattering to the wind at the sudden sound. You furrowed your brows, confused as to why anyone would be knocking on your door.

You had moved here a matter of days ago, knew no one and were far too broke for doordash. You ignored it for a moment, thinking whoever resided on the other side of the door had the wrong apartment. When the knock came again, you thought you'd better answer this time.

You opened the door ajar, just in case it was someone who wanted to steal any of the maybe four things you'd managed to unpack. A tall darker skinned man looked down at you, "Yes?"

"Hi ma'am, I'm Agent Morgan and this is Dr. Reid, we're with the FBI," he introduced himself, holding up his credentials for you to peek at. You opened the door the rest of the way, glancing at the second tall man standing in your door way. He had messy hair just below his ears and was wearing a collared shirt with two black pens tucked into the pocket over his chest, he was cute. He pulled his lips into a tight line and held his hand up in a wave.

Spencer's eyes glanced down your body briefly. He has certainly seen some strange outfits when people answer their doors but none that made his skin run hot like this.

You wore a baby blue tank top and grey adidas shorts, he could see a small sliver of skin between your two garments but that's not what caught his eye. You had your nipples pierced.

Now, Spencer really didn't mean to stare but they were right there. The air of your apartment was clearly chilly given how your nipples pressed against the fabric. He could see the little studs on either side of your hardened nipples and he felt like a Victorian boy seeing an ankle for the first time.

"Oh no, you found me," you joked, laughing at yourself lightly. They didn't laugh. Your smile dropped, "I'm joking. Uh, come in, please." You stood aside, letting the two men into your basically bare apartment.

"Just move in?" Morgan asked, looking around your small living room.

"Uh, yeah, yeah. I'm starting a new job in a week," You replied, trying to make small talk. "What exactly are you here for?"

"There was a murder in the apartment across from yours," Dr. Reid said abruptly, stealing the air from your lungs.

Your eyes were blown wide, "What?"

"Young woman like you, stabbed to death-"

"Reid," Morgan warned, shaking his head softly at the younger man.

"Shit, that sucks," you replied, glancing between the two men. "I assume you're talking to me because I live close by, huh?"

"It's just procedure," Morgan replied. "Can you tell me where you were around 11pm last night?"

"Uh, yeah. I was here, I had a lot to unpack, you know?" You replied honestly, wondering how you didn't hear that someone was being murdered across the hall.

"And you didn't hear anything?" Morgan asked, eyebrows furrowed as he stood to face you.

"No, no I honestly didn't. I had my headphones on while I was unpacking, I went to bed around midnight." Were you incriminating yourself? Maybe you should make some friends so you don't get caught up in this kind of stuff.

"The UnSub we're looking for is white male, mid 20s to 30s, seems out of place. Have you seen anyone like that around?" Dr. Reid asked.

"No, I mean, I just moved here, I don't know anyone. I haven't left my apartment since I got here," you replied, looking Dr. Reid in the eye. You caught him glancing down at your boobs for a moment before he caught himself, clearing his throat.

It was only then that you realised what you were wearing. Fuck. Two FBI agents, one of whom was your type to a T came to question you about a murder and your nipples were gazing upon the world like a deer in headlights.

You quickly crossed your arms across your chest before scampering across the room to grab your hoodie off your couch. You pulled it over your head before staring at the two men awkwardly, your skin feeling hot.

"I'm sorry about... my attire, I didn't even-"

Morgan smiled, chucking softly, "Please, this is your home, sweetheart." Morgan glanced at Spencer, who suddenly found the ceiling utterly fascinating. "You mind if I have a look around? We suspect he used the fire escape."

"Of course, yeah. You can see it from the bedroom," you replied, being left alone with the cute doctor. "You seem young to be a doctor," you said softly, trying to make small talk.

"Scarring, tearing and nerve damage is possible when you get your," he coughed, "nipples pierced... infections and bleeding are also common," he quickly said, lips pulled into a tight line.

"Mm, cute and smart... well, I've had them for five years so... I think I'm safe, Dr. Reid," you replied with a chuckle.

"Spencer," he muttered.

"Huh?"

"Spencer, it's my name. Spencer Reid," he said, hands clutched tightly around the strap of his leather satchel.

"Spencer," you smiled, "I'm Y/N."

"Well, we better get out of your hair," Morgan returned from your room, glancing between you and Spencer for a moment. "Let's go, Reid."

You opened the door for them, Morgan thanked you as he left and started down the hall to the elevator. Spencer paused for a moment, glancing at you for briefly before walking out the door.

"Hey," you called softly. Spencer spun around to look at you and you definitely couldn't let him escape without your number. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Uh, girlfriend? I, uhm-"

"He doesn't!" Morgan called from down the hall, making you smile.

"You don't know that!" Spencer retorted, making a face at Morgan who was grinning.

"So... you do?" You asked.

"...No, I don't." He muttered.

"Okay, well," you laughed, plucking the pen from the pocket of Spencer's shirt. "Call me sometime," you scribbled your name and number with a little heart onto a scrap piece of paper that once wrapped your toaster.

"Yes... Okay, I will," he replied nervously, holding your number in his hands gently. He glanced at it, a smile beaming across his handsome face.

"You, uh, might wanna go before your partner loses it," you giggled after a beat. Spencer muttered a quick 'oh' before walking quickly toward the elevators.

"Bye," Spencer said softly, waving at you with a little smile.

"Bye, Dr. Reid!"

Spencer stepped into the elevator with Morgan, the silence palpable in the tiny mental container.

"'Bye, Dr. Reid~'," Morgan raised his voice an octave, planning to tease Spencer relentlessly and text the group chat as soon as they got to the car.

"Shut up!"

reblog and follow me :3 also come chat, i love to yap.

dividers by @cafekitsune

[rueclfer]

neopet graveyard // shigaraki tomura

when you two always end up working the night shift together.

a/n: all together now! "finaaallllyyyyy" we collectively say. i love shiggy sm this fucking loser is the loml. <3

my smau warm up for this fic here too

@bbluefllame hehe

12:37 AM the buzzing analog clock sitting on the counter glared back at you. Long and slow shifts like tonight's were agonizing to get through. You may have been getting paid to sit around and flip through dusty catalogs and sort through old video game discs, but you often wondered if you'd rather be at home broke and asleep right now.

"Hey Shigs," You call out, breaking his attention away from his phone. "Tits or ass?" You hold up the vintage Playboy magazine up to his direction from across the store.

"You have neither." He replies, leaning forward and slightly squinting in your direction. "I can't see that far. What are you showing me?"

"It's a fucking porn mag, you dick." You call out, throwing a pen in his direction, letting it bounce off the glass counter beside him and landing among the cardboard boxes behind the register.

"Freak, where the fuck did you find that?" He cocks an eyebrow at you, setting his phone down.

"In bossman's desk." You shrug. "Quite a collection he's got in there, actually. Answer the question."

Tomura stops for a moment, leaning against the glass counter behind the register as he deeply thinks about his answer. Given his stoic and apathetic personality, you were half expecting him to tell you to fuck off and eat shit.

"Personality."

"Loser-" You began, getting ready to shoot him the most annoyed eye-roll you could muster.

"-And ass." He cuts you off with a smirk before returning to his phone.

You chuckle, tossing the magazine back in the desk drawer with the others before slamming it shut.

You make your way over to the opposing side of the glass counter where he stood, peering over to see him playing clash of clans on his phone.

"I'm bored. Dying of it, actually." You exacerbated, blowing a breath of air into the pale strands of hair hanging over his forehead "Put your phone away and entertain me for the last hour that we're here."

"Piss off and perish." He mutters, eyes still glued to his screen.

You pout at his coldness. You had spent the day cleaning, reshelving, wiping down any counter you could find, and now at this ungodly hour, you've been left with nothing you could possibly do except wait for the minutes to go by until the end of the shift.

"Wanna make out in the back room?" You prop your elbow on the counter and rest your head in your palm, staring up at him with a flirty smile.

His thumbs pause on his screen, eyes snapping over to meet your own, annoyance flash across them the moment he sees your cheeky grin and fake-innocent eyes staring back at him.

"What?" A faint blush dust over his cheeks as he avert his gaze from your own.

"You heard me." You playfully lean back on your heels, swinging yourself back and forth. "All this alone time, you're not itching to take my clothes off? A little fun, Shigs? Something to help you loosen up?" You inch your face closer to his.

More often than not, you ended up on the schedule with Tomura for the most brutal hours of 6:30pm-1:30am for most nights of the week. Your boss says it's to stay available for the nightcrawlers of the city, but business is always dead by 11:00pm. For those excruciatingly slow last few hours, you cherished spending them terrorizing Tomura for his flustered reactions and the amusement of annoying him.

The pink of his cheeks bloom into a bright red, causing him to hide his face in his forearm, covering it with a cough.

"Just kidding, Shigs." You lean back and playfully shoving his shoulder from across the counter. "I'm just being silly, no need to get your panties in a twist."

"I fucking hate when you do that." He runs a hand through his hair, pushing back the strands that always end up falling back in his face.

"Do what, exactly?" You cock your head to the side.

"You know what. You're worse than Dabi." He huffs. "Start doing your closing work or something if you're bored." He turns his back to you and leans back against the counter, frantically scrolling through twitter- obviously not reading any of the words on screen, but just trying to avoid you for long enough so you lose interest in bothering him.

"I finished those an hour ago." You whine. "Crazy idea, but what if we close early? There's only less than an hour left and these cameras have been out of service for the past 2 months."

He looks back at you, and takes a scan at the state of the store- cleaned, restocked, inventory logged, everything seems to be in order. It wasn't like the store's upkeep was any hard work, anyways. In fact, the owner barely ever came in and you were half sure that he used this old comics and game store for money laundering purposes.

"That might actually be the smartest thing your dumbass has said all shift."

-

The night breeze blew right through your sweater, causing a chill to crawl up your spine.

"Alright, Shiggy, I'll see you when I see you, then?" You squeak out, rubbing your arms for the heat friction.

"Hold on." He mutters, cigarette hanging from his lips as he wiggles the door to make sure it's properly locked. "I'll walk you home."

"I do this walk multiple times a week, Shigs." You smile at the sentiment. "I'll be fine. I live close by."

"I know you'll be fine. I just don't want to go back to the apartment yet. Dabi's throwing a party and I'd rather not deal with a group of drunk idiots right now." He shrugs, taking a drag of the cig before passing it over to you in which you gladly accept from his fingers, letting the intoxicating smoke warm you from the inside.

"Oh, that's right. He invited me when I saw him during the shift change." You exhale, blowing the smoke behind you, starting to lead him towards the direction of your home.

"Shouldn't we head that way, then?" He stops in his tracks.

"Well, I'd only go if you were there to keep me company, but if you're not feeling it then probably not."

"Parties aren't really my thing, but if you're there, then it'll be fine. I can tolerate it." He mutters, kicking a pebble to the side. "I can always just lock myself in my room, I'm sure they'll be too shitfaced to notice, anyways."

"What? I'd notice." You pout.

"I'll lock you in with me, duh." He coughs, hiding a smile while sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

"Really?"

He nods his head in response.

"Sounds like you like my company a lot more than you give off, Shigs." You smile, redirecting your walk back towards his apartment now.

"Heavy on the tolerate." He meets your eye for a moment before returning them down at his feet.

It had been an especially cold winter night. Hoodies and knitted sweaters were always a staple in Tomura's wardrobe, in any weather, but tonight he sported a dingy old leather jacket over his usual hoodie for the extra warmth. The cold air nipped the apples of his cheeks and tip of his nose into a rosy pink, and if he didn't have his hood over his head, you were sure the tip of his ears would be under the same condition.

You naturally ran hot, but your favorite part of a chilly walk home from work was the blast of warm air hitting your face and defrosting your fingertips the second you walked into your apartment- which fortunately also motivated you to get quick with your pace.

"I think Twice and Toga live this way too." You mumble, starting to recognize the surrounding structures.

"They do. We walk together if we're scheduled together, which is almost never, but a couple times a month, maybe."

"Do you ever think about quitting?" You turn to him and ask.

"Only when the general population is being extra stupid. Other than that, not really. You?"

"Sometimes. I have an existential crisis about what I'm doing with my life every now and then, but I like working with everyone."

"With everyone? You mean just me?" He chuckles, earning him a scoff from you.

"I just tolerate you, actually. I live for those 5 minutes in between shifts where I say hi and bye to my people."

You catch the end of an eye-roll.

"What do you get so existential about?"

"You know, the typical stuff every twenty-something year old goes through. Progressing in life and all that bullshit?" You sigh.

"Get specific, dumbass." He takes a long drag of the cigarette, letting the smoke fog around you. "I'll grant you some of my wisdom."

"Lately, it's a lot of if my kid-self would like my adult-self, if working at the shop is just me trying to hold onto my childhood, dropping out of college, never having my first kiss, miss being taken care of, and probably a million more things." You list off, counting on your fingers.

"Damn. I'd hate to be in your brain." Tomura mutters. "Shit happens and we all die. Better to not stress about it."

"Great wisdom, dipshit." You chuckle, nudging him with your elbow.

"If it makes you feel better, I also dropped out and haven't had a first kiss."

"No education I can tell-"

He flips you off.

"-but no first kiss?" You dramatically gasps "I don't believe that. You're so cute!"

"And you're not?"

Your mouth gaped open at the subtle hit of flirtation from him. The coldness on your neck and cheeks were quickly replaced by an unfamiliar rush of heat.

"Shut up." You mutter, snapping your head forward to hide your blush. "I guess people don't like cute now-a-days."

"Guess not."

After coming up on his apartment building, you two halted to a stop. You two spent most of the walk in silent solitude, passing back and forth the same innocent subtle glances with every puff of the shared cigarette.

"You ready?" He steps out the butt of the cigarette and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"Can't wait to see that crusty dusty reddit-incelified gaming set up of yours." You tease.

"Just wait 'til you see the jar." He retaliates, causing you to scowl in disgust and slapping him across the bicep.

For a second, you could almost make out the softest glimpse of a smile on his lips, but you decided to let that be something you keep to yourself, locking it away in your memories.

You follow him into the apartment complex and up the dingy and loud humming of the elevator that replaced the need for conversation. From a few steps outside of the door you could hear the trashy garage band music emitting from the inside- definitely Dabi's kind of party.

You watch Tomura fumble with his keys for a moment before swinging the door open, letting a rush of hot air mixed with the fumes of stale cigarette smoke and beer slap you in the face.

You two cram into the doorway, almost back to back as you kicked off your shoes and shed off unnecessary layers.

You take a step into the living room to see many new and familiar faces huddling in small circles around the apartment, sporting flushed cheeks and drink in hand.

"Dabi's wasted." Tomura leans down and whispers, lips lightly grazing the shell of your ear, sending a shudder up your spine. "Watch out or he might claim your first kiss. He's a stupid affectionate drunk."

Unfortunately for you, your eyes instantly caught onto Dabi's from across the room, causing him to bum rush his way over to you guys, throwing his arms around you two into a hug, crushing your body together against Tomura's.

"I told you." Tomura mouths down to you with an annoyed expression.

"Fuckers, you're late." He slurs into your shoulder. "I shoulda burnt that fucking store down to get you here earlier."

"Aren't you scheduled for the morning?" You cock an eyebrow at his drunken state.

"That's tomorrow-me's problem, sweets." He says with a lopsided grin. He grabs Tomura's head and presses a wet kiss to his temple before slapping one on your forehead. "You kids mingle and go get something go drink."

Once Dabi returns back to the party, you turn to Tomura with a laugh. After wiping off the side of his head with his sleeve, he places a hand on the back of your head, and uses his other to swipe across your forehead, wiping off the remnants of Dabi's drunken kiss.

"Fuckin' gross." He mumbles to himself.

You two spent a little less than an hour making your rounds around the party, a shot here and there when the other coworkers demanded one from you, but with the nod of his head towards the hallway, you knew his social battery had been drained.

"Handling your alcohol?" He asked, pulling you towards his room by the sleeve of your sweater, slightly stumbling over the carpet.

"Of course." You mutter. "You?"

"Couple shots got nothing on me."

The second the door clicked shut behind you, you audibly sighed from the sweet relief of a moment of silence after a full shift of the same work playlist on repeat and the party's music following you around the apartment.

"Finally." Tomura groans, reaching up behind his neck, lightly tugging on the back of his hoodie.

You took a seat on his gaming chair, hugging a knee up to your chest as your eyes scan across the walls of his room, glancing over at his various superhero posters, and bookshelf of collectables until it locked on his pale lower torso that exposed itself from his t-shirt riding up with the hoodie as he yanked it off over his head.

"Uhh." You begin, swiveling your chair around and averting your attention towards his gaming setup. "You stream? You got a webcam."

"Do you care?" You feel a hand grip the head of the gaming chair, swiveling you back around to face him, who is now leaning over you. "Thought you didn't care about all that shit."

"It's different if it's you." You smirk up at him, letting the alcohol boost your suave facade that had originally faltered upon seeing a few inches of his naked torso.

"Relentless flirt." He brings his hand down to flick your forehead before taking a seat on his unmade bed, leaning back against the headboard with his hands behind his head.

You accidentally knock the mouse cursor with your elbow, waking the monitor. Staring back at you in a bright red blocky font was 2:39AM, suddenly sobering you up.

"Oh shit, it's getting pretty late." You check your phone to confirm. "I should get going."

"Uh, isn't your apartment in the opposite direction from work?"

He only had to look you up and down one time to know that you weren't sober enough to make the walk by yourself. He wouldn't even think about letting you leave this apartment at this hour, anyways.

"Yeah? So what?" You cock an eyebrow at him.

"I mean...you think you should stay the night?" He starts, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "If you want, I don't care."

"Do you want me to stay the night?" You shoot him a daring smirk.

"Do you want to stay the night?" He retaliates.

"Sounds like you want me to. So fine, I guess, if you're begging for it."

"Fuck off and get eaten by the coyotes." He scowls in irritation, pulling his phone out to divert his attention.

You hop onto the bed next to him, catching his panicked expression the moment he realized how close you two were now. On the same bed. Alone. Along with the new question of where you would be sleeping- something that he had not thought about until now.

"C'mon Shigs! It's no fun when I'm the one that's always doing the chasing, babe. You have to want me as much as I want you, that's what makes it fun." You jokingly sigh.

"Who says I don't?"

Your eyes go wide. You were so used to him deflecting all of your useless attempts to fluster him, so you weren't sure how to handle your short circuited brain the second he finally returns the same energy.

"Uhhh. Okay, I take it back. Don't do that again." You press your lips together in defeat.

"I say four words and you start losing it?" He chuckles. "Think I got you beat at your own game."

"I guess tonight will test that, won't it?"

-

You were slowly eating your words with every second that passed. Your alcohol induced fake confidence had slowly dwindled down to nothing and now here you are sharing a bed with Tomura with your heart beating out of your chest, when you probably should've just offered to take the floor.

You two were lying on your sides facing one another with the covers pulled up to your chin. You were desperately trying to fall asleep, but you could hear his soft inhale and exhales and feel the air brushing past your cheeks as a constant reminder that he's right next to you, sharing the same bed, sharing the same air, all under the same blanket.

You slightly opened your eyes to peer through your lashes to see him wide awake and looking right at you, the back of his hand pressed against his cheek and soft eyes scanning over your face.

You open your eyes to meet his own.

"You're awake?" He whispers, slightly taken aback.

"How can I sleep when your stare is burning into my soul?" You tease. "Go to sleep, Shigs."

You never were able to get this close to Tomura without him flinching back or turning his head away to avert your gaze, but he stayed right here, letting you fully take in his presence. You almost wanted to reach your hand out and touch him, feel the softness of his cheeks, and tuck the stray hairs behind his ears.

"You don't think I'm trying?" He huff "It's fucking freezing in here. Dabi has daddy's money to always have the AC running even in the Winter."

"You should've said something earlier. We've been lying here for the past 30 fucking minutes." You start throwing apart the pillow wall that he put up between you two to prevent any 'funny business.'

"What are you doing?" He furrows his brows.

You say nothing, but instead grabbed the fabric of the t-shirt and pulled him in to close the gap between you two. His eyes widen at the sudden closeness. Your faces were mere inches away from each other, your leg shoved its way in between his, and your arm snaked its way around his waist.

"This okay?"

"A warning would've been nice." He mutters under his breath, stiffly letting his arm hang over your body, landing his hand in the middle of your back.

"I like the essence of surprise." You chuckle, looking up at him. "Better, though?"

He sighs in confirmation. "You're like a fucking furnace." He groans into your hairline.

"And you're like a popsicle."

"This would be nicer if you didn't talk."

"And this would be nicer if you'd relax and stop being so stiff." You pat the area between his shoulder blades, motioning him to let his arms loose. "I've seen you and Spinner cuddle it out on the couch in the backroom all the time, so don't act like you don't know how to do this."

"It's different." He mumble, reluctantly letting his body relax and mold against your own. "It's you."

"You dislike me that much?" You sigh, pressing your cheek against his chest, tapping your fingers against his back in content. "Do it for the purpose of survival, then."

"The opposite."

Your breathing hitches.

"Huh?" You tilt your head up to look at his face.

"Yeah." He presses his lips together, eyes darting around the room.

"You're saying 'the opposite' as in you do like me?"

"Fuck off. Don't make me say it again." His eyes finally lowered to meet yours.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "Say what again? You quite literally did not say anything."

"I think this is the worst fucking time to have this conversation. Go to sleep and talk later."

"No!" You pout. "I'm not tired anymore. Let's talk now. What did you mean by that?"

A moment of silence fell between you two. With your face against his chest, you could hear his heart pounding. You suffered from the same feeling. Your throat goes dry from the anticipation of a potential confession that you'd been silently hoping for since you first met him.

"I thi-" He begins, stopping for a moment to swallow down his nerves. "So fucking awkward." He groans. "I do like you. As if it wasn't obvious, you dumbass."

"Obvious?" You scoff. "I'm obvious. Me. You on the other hand, definitely not."

"You obvious? You flirt to fuck with me."

"I flirt with you because I like you." You bite the inside of your cheeks. "Also to fuck with you, but because I like you."

You two were rendered speechless as you're left to stare at each other with wide eyes, digesting this dual confession.

"So.." He begins, trailing off into nothing.

"So.. is this where we have our first kiss?" You awkwardly laugh, trying to cut through the tension.

"Are you joking?"

"Yes if you're not, but no if you are? I don't know? Not like either of us have done this before." You say through clenched teeth, cringing at yourself as your poor attempt to lighten the mood.

"Okay, then."

"Are you serious?" Your eyes widen at the sudden permission. "That easy? You're not going to tell me to fuck off?"

He disregards your hesitation and props himself on his elbow, looking down at you with a look in his eyes you've never seen before.

"On your back." He instructs.

Your body suddenly goes hot and numb as you slowly turn over onto your back, looking up at him looming over you sporting the same pair of flushed cheeks.

"This is unexpected." You whisper, balling fistfuls of the comforter in your hands. "What the hell is possessing you right now?"

"You, I think." He sheepishly smiles, cautiously bringing a hand down to cup your cheek, his cold hand absorbing your body heat. "It's what you wanted wasn't it? All those times when we're alone at the shop? Asking me to join you in the backroom? You did just say it wasn't just because you were fucking with me."

Just like that, the last 6 months of night shifts spent tormenting Tomura had come to bite you in the ass.

"Okay." You squeak out, reaching up to lay one hand over his, and the other on his shoulder. "I guess you're right. You're not freaking out, though? This is fine for you?"

"Definitely am freaking the fuck out. But I've been waiting for this, so I don't care." He mutters, running his thumb across your lower lip.

"This okay?" He mutters, inching closer to your face.

"Yeah." You whisper a moment before his lips grazes your own.

He finally closes the gap between you, letting the stray strands of his hair drape onto your face, tickling your forehead. For a second, the kiss was stiff with anxiety, but it wasn't even a second until your lips melted into each other's. It was almost suffocating- the sweet gentleness of it all.

Your hand traveled up his shoulder to the nape of his neck where you entangled your fingers in his hair, lightly tugging on the mass. His own hand made it down to your waist, flushing his palm against its curve.

When you broke apart, he collapsed on top of you, hiding his face in the crevice between your neck and shoulder before you two burst out in fits of childish giggles.

"Okay my turn. Get on your back, slut." You laugh, trying to shove him off of you.

"Hell fucking no. You want to kill me? We're done, go to sleep." He buries his face deeper into your neck, releasing a deep sigh of content. "Deal with everything else tomorrow."

"Talk tomorrow." You agree, turning over and entangling your body with his own.

You couldn't help but admire the look of his swollen-kissed lips and sleepy eyes staring back down at you. One last time before you two went off to sleep, you pressed a tender kiss to his lips before melting back into his body.

-

bonus scene:

your hands were lazily attached to one another's during another chilly quiet walk to your apartment the morning after your confessions and kiss.

"you didn't have to walk me home." you mutter, shyly peering over to him.

"i wanted to." he shrugs, tightening his grip on your hand. "the least i could do for keeping me company last night."

you hum in agreement. "no probs. thanks for letting me hang out. we should do it more often."

"the hanging out or..." he tugs down the collar of his knitted sweater to reveal an array of purple and red bruises on his collarbones and shoulder that conspired that early morning of more playful kisses and giggles.

"you see, i don't know how the hell that happened." you press your lips together, suppressing a smile. "must've been a ghost."

"must've been." he smirks, looking on ahead.

once you arrive at your door, he leans his shoulder against the wall as you dig through your bag for your keys.

"you're off tonight, yeah?"

"i am." you glance up at him before pulling out your bundle of keys. "you're kicking it with toga tonight?"

"mmhm. think i can come by after work? we're getting the new volume of terror tales tonight, so i can snatch one for you before it sells out?"

"already planning out the next time you can see me, shigs?" you smile, inserting the key into the door knob.

"i mean, i can let you scour ebay and pay triple for it too, see if i care." he rolls his eyes.

you grab the collar of his sweater and pull him in, connecting your lips for a brief moment.

"it better be in mint fucking condition." you mutter against his lips. "see you tonight."

[rangerbarbz]

Losing Bets

Disclaimer: So this is not a Ford fanfic because I need to show my man Stan some love. Sorry about that. Also, I’m going to post the whole thing just to tumblr and to ao3, so you won’t have to click on a link to read it. This is a smut btw

Summary: Reader bets that Stan can’t go a whole day without touching them. It’s a win win situation 😉

If there was one thing about Stan Pines, he was a handsy man. You had been dating him since you first got a job at the Mystery Shack working the check-out counter when Wendy wasn’t working. There wasn’t a day that went by where he didn’t squeeze your butt as he shuffled behind you or grab your hips while you restocked. You didn’t mind it one bit, though. Stan always made you feel sexy and loved. He was a good man, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. However, you also knew he was a gambling man, and you were looking for fun.

It was a slow day at the Mystery Shack, and you were putting snow-globes on display when you felt a hand snake around your waist. “Lookin’ good, sugar.” When you weren’t expecting Stan’s voice, it always managed to give you butterflies. You smiled and set the one in your hand onto the unsteady wooden shelf in front of you.

“You talking about the snow-globes or me?” you teased, looking over at him. His eyebrow raised as his hand moved from your waist down to your ass. He cupped one clothed cheek in his big hand.

“Both,” he answered. “I love these shorts on you. Can’t help myself.” He had a devilish grin on his face and was staring into your eyes. God, he was so handsome. He had an almost intoxicating aroma of cigars and cologne that you wanted to drown in.

You giggled and patted his chest. “Stan Pines, you’d still find a way to get your hands on me even if you were handcuffed.” You picked up the empty cardboard box at your feet and carried it to the check-out counter to break it down.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Stan purred, following behind you as you flattened the box. You shot him a look that caused him to chuckle.

“You need to behave,” you playfully chastised him, bending down behind the counter to get your to-do list out. You set it next to the register and checked off the box next to “Unpack Snow-globes.” “There we go, that was the last thing I had to do.”

Stan set his elbows on the counter across from you. “Ah, I actually added something else for you to do. Should be at the bottom,” Stan stated.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What? Really?” You picked up the notepad to see “Stan Pines” scrawled at the end of the lined paper with an empty box next to it.

Stan burst out laughing at his own joke. “See. I put my name there because I want you to do me,” he explained while you rolled your eyes.

“You’re so dumb.” You couldn’t help but laugh with him, though. “You know this reminds me; I have an idea for a bet. That is if your up to it.” Your eyes glimmered with mischief. You and Stan were always betting on trivial things, so this was a normal request.

“I’m all ears, dollface. Shoot.”

“I bet that you can’t go a whole day without touching me.”

Stan’s head perked up. “I better get something really good if I have to go the whole day without touching you,” he grumbled, crossing his arms.

“If you can go a whole day without touching me, I will do that thing you’ve been begging me to do for an entire week,” you declared.

He gasped. “You mean you’re going to cook me stancakes naked every morning for a week?” he asked incredulously.

You chuckled. “Yup, but if I win you have to come to karaoke with me at Greasy’s every Friday for a month.” At that, Stan groaned and rubbed the part of his nose where his glasses sat.

“Jeeze, you had that one ready didn’t ya, kid?”

“Oh, yes,” you replied. “You accept the bet, old man?” You extended your hand towards him. He flashed that million-dollar smile at you before shaking your hand in agreement with the bet.

“Deal.”

                                                                                ~ The Next Day ~

You looked in the mirror at your outfit you had prepared to tempt the “Man of Mystery” himself. You were prepared to play dirty to get karaoke nights with Stan. You were wearing a tight t-shirt that was tucked into some daisy dukes. You also were wearing some boots that went up to your knees that you knew drove Stan wild. He was a confirmed leg man for sure. You fluffed up your hair and applied some light makeup. It was nothing too crazy but just enough to have you singing BABBA with him Friday night.

When you were satisfied with how you looked, you walked out of your bedroom and down the hall to the gift shop. Stan was giving a tour outside, so he had no idea what you looked like just yet. You went about your job as usual restocking the freezer, sweeping the floor, and pricing new items. It was about thirty minutes later when Stan entered the gift shop with a group of tourists behind him.

“Step into our gift shop and marvel at the quality of the Mystery Shack’s merchandise. Such beautiful craftmanship is deserving of your money, so make sure to spend a lot of it,” Stan’s voice echoed throughout the room. Some tourists “oohed” and “ahhed’ at the new shirts you had just hung up on the wall while the others piddled about the store. You sat at the register waiting for customers pretending not to notice Stan ogling you from the other side of the room.

When you finally decided to give him your attention, you gave him a coy smile and a little wave. His mouth was slightly agape, and his eyebrows were raised. He looked you up and down as he approached you.  It was go time; you got him.

“Y/N, you look smoking!” Stan exclaimed, his hands reaching for your hips. They stopped just inches away from them. He frowned and let his hands drop to his sides. “Damn. Forgot I can’t touch you.” He sounded disappointed. You were about to respond when one of the tourists got his attention by asking him about his newest taxidermy creation. This might be harder than you thought.

You exhaled through your nose in defeat. You couldn’t ponder on your plan too long, however, because a line of people had quickly formed in front of you. They held fistfuls of cash and novelties waiting to be paid for. It took a while, but finally everyone had picked an item they wanted and purchased them successfully. You couldn’t see him, but Stan had been eyeing you all over.

Once the last person left the shop and Stan reminded them about his “No Refunds” policy, he turned the “Open” sign on the door to “Closed.” You tilted your head at him and walked from behind the counter towards him. “Stan, why are you closing the shack? Are you-‘’ You were interrupted by him quickly turning around to face you and throwing you over his shoulder. You yelped in surprise as he bolted down the hall to your bedroom. You were not expecting this. He kicked the door open and dropped you on the bed.

“You like to play dirty, don’tcha?” Stan growled, grabbing your ankles and dragging you to him. “Dressing like that in front of me knowing I can’t touch ya. You’re such a tease.” His lips crashed into yours, his beard tickling your neck. You moaned into his mouth, letting your hands explore his thick, gray hair. The passionate kiss turned into a hot, open-mouthed one. Stan’s tongue slipped past your lips as you gripped his back. You grinded against him to get some friction going but to also see how hard he was. He was rock solid, his bulge pressing against your thigh. You wrapped your legs around his waist to bring him closer to you, earning a groan from him.

His lips parted from yours and he began to pepper kisses along your neck, stopping to suck at your collarbones. “Stan…” you whined.

“Use your words, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “Tell me what you want.”

“You.”

You felt Stan’s lips curl into a smile. “That can be arranged. But these,” he tugged at your shorts, “will have to go.”

You looked him in the eyes. “Then why don’t you take them off for me?” you asked, grinning at him.

“With pleasure,” he responded. He removed your boots before undoing the zipper of your shorts and pulling them off. You lifted your hips up to help him get them fully off your body which revealed lacy red underwear. He wasn’t a huge fan of any particular color, but he loved red on you. He let out a low whistle. “Sweetheart…You shouldn’t have.” Stan’s tone caused blood to rush to your throbbing clit.

His hands slid up the side of your legs to grab your thighs. “God, I love these legs,” he whispered, his thumbs rubbing into your inner thighs. His long, calloused fingers were splayed over the side of them as he admired the way they dug into your flesh. He adored the softness of them.

“Can’t wait to have them around my head,” he breathed, moving his hands over your underwear and under your shirt. “But first, I gotta get this off. Been wanting to get my hands on these.” You blushed as he pulled your t-shirt over your head. You were revealed to be in a matching red bra that pushed your breasts up to make a delightful cleavage.

“Fuck,” Stan said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Come here, sexy.” His hands found your waist and guided you to his lap. He began peppering kisses on the top of your breasts as his hands fumbled to remove your bra from the back. He eventually succeeded causing the straps to fall down your shoulders and exposing your hard nipples. His pupils were dilated and filled with lust as he gazed at your body. He took his time, letting his eyes wander.

Stan slowly exhaled before letting his lips make contact with your skin once again. His tongue licked across your nipple gently and cupping your other breast. He massaged the tender flesh and let his thumb drag over the nipple as he began to suck the other one. You hissed, raking his hair between your fingers. He repeated the same action but on the opposite breast causing your hips to instinctively grind down on him. You were so turned on you were becoming light-headed.

Stans arms encased you as he lowered you onto the bed, kissing in a line down your stomach. You knew what was coming next, and butterflies were already beginning to form. “Mind if I take these off, doll?” Stan asked gruffly, his eyes meeting yours. You nodded your head in response. His fingers hooked around the band of your panties and removed your last garment of clothing. He began to bury his face against your thighs, giving them little pecks. Your eyes rolled back in your head from how his mouth and stubble felt against such a sensitive area. He then removed his head away from your core to look at you.

“Let’s see how much I’ve riled you up,” Stan said, letting one of his fingers enter you. He slid in easily due to your wetness. He let out a shaky breath. “Shit, baby.” He began to pump his finger back and forth. You cried out in pleasure, letting your nails rake along his muscular forearms.

“Oh, God, Stan,” you whimpered. If he kept going like this, you were going to cum before his dick was inside you.

“As hot as it is to see you like this, I just gotta taste ya.” Stan muttered, removing his finger and lowering his head back down to your bottom half. “I’ve been craving you all day.” His tongue slid into you as his big hands held your legs around his head. He moaned into you as you gripped the bedsheets behind you. One hand travelled upwards to play with your breast as he used the tip of his tongue to manipulate your clit. Stan continued to lap at you, bringing you closer and closer to an orgasm. He knew you were close too. You were bucking your hips on his nose to help relieve yourself. He loved it when you did that; he wanted you to use him to get all the way.

“I want you inside me,” you pleaded. “Please, babe.” Stan stopped what he was doing to give you a sloppy kiss. His mouth and nose were covered in your slick which was now partially on you. He stood up to unbutton his shirt while you scrambled to unbuckle his belt.

He laughed cockily. “Someone’s eager,” he teased, waggling his eyebrows.

You glared at him. “Shut up,” you retorted, taking off his boxers to see his painfully erect dick. You slid off the bed and onto your knees. You started to suck on his balls and rub along the bottom of them. Stan moaned loudly; his hands were now in your hair. You licked a stripe of the base of his dick to his tip before taking him into your mouth. You went slowly at first, creating a suction with your cheeks.

“Y/N…” Stan breathed, pushing your head onto him, wanting you to go faster. “Okay, okay. I can’t go anymore. I wanna feel you,” Stan interrupted, holding your face. “Put your boots on. Those were so damn sexy.” You chuckled and put on the shiny, leather boots from before. You were entirely naked other than your feet.

“Alright, hot stuff, you ready to ride the Stan O’ War?” Stan asked, throwing your legs on his shoulders. A boot was on either side of his head.

You giggled in response. “Yes, captain,” you answered.

He lined up with your entrance, and finally was inside you. He stretched you out painfully good. He wasn’t the longest, but, God, he was wide. That’s how you like it. He held onto your boots for leverage as he pounded into you. His breathing became ragged as he went back and forth inside you.

“You feel s’good,” he groaned. “So fucking good.”

His voice sent you over the edge making your body start to quake and pulse. Your legs shook around his head which, in turn, caused Stan to cum. Your convulsions were enough to make a “dead man come back to life” as Stan would describe. As you both rode out your highs, Stan laid on your chest as you twirled his hair. You laid in blissful silence until you remembered something.

“So…does this mean karaoke Friday?”

His face scrunched into his signature grumpy frown. “Can you just let me enjoy what’s left of my dignity until I lose it all?” You giggled at his answer as he laid his head back on your chest. You kissed the top of his head and leaned your head back on your pillow. Little did you know, he was more than happy to sing cheesy songs with you in public. He would just never let you know that.

[userlando]

unravel me — daniel ricciardo

daniel ricciardo x fem!reader [2.9k] summary: every day was an adventure with daniel in one way or another and that’s probably why you agreed so easily to wear the godforsaken panties in the first place. warnings: 18+ explicit smut & language, semi-public sex, edging, reader wears vibrating panties in public. a/n: fic one of smutober and the kink i decided to focus on is orgasm control. i had a lot of fun writing this one so i hope you enjoy it!! x

It had been something that was supposed to be funny, that would make the both of you giggle whenever you thought back on the moment but now, as you sat there clutching the edge of the table until your fingertips turned bleak, you couldn’t find the humour in it at all.

The dinner had been planned two days earlier, with George sending out an innocent text to the entire grid residing in Monaco, that contained a dinner invitation that Daniel was the first to reply to. You had been a little excited, you couldn’t lie. Between different foreign countries and hotel rooms that were all starting to look the same, you found little to no time to get the gang together for a fun night out.

Daniel was always mindful of how much time he spent on anything that wasn’t you, never wanting to leave you feeling left out or like you were a low priority to him because that was so far from the truth. He took you out, wined and dined you like the perfect cheeky gentleman that he was. He’d have the drinks flowing out, flirt with you and even stretch a leg out to play footsie with you until you were giggling and buzzed, warm all over with an undying need for him to get his hands on you.

Three years together and he still found ways to keep things exciting and entertaining. Every day was an adventure with him in one way or the other and that’s probably why you agreed so easily to wear the godforsaken panties in the first place. He’d found them on an obscure website, grinning from ear to ear when the package got delivered and your interest had been piqued at the regular old cardboard box in his hands as he carried it over to you. Your interest sound turned into mild concern when he revealed its contents, the words vibrating panties staring right up at you a little tauntingly.

“No way.” You’d told him when he arched an inquisitive eyebrow that said so much with so little words.

That no had turned into a yes when he wrapped his arms around you and swayed the both of you back and forth, giving you little kisses until you were squirming out of his grasp because you’d spent way too much time on your makeup for him to ruin it with his ass kissing.

He’d giggled with glee when you slipped the panties on, pressing the ones you’d been wearing into his hands with a grumble. It was the same giggle he was holding back now as he sat across from you at the table. His head was turned, nodding along to whatever Lando was saying but you could tell that his mind was somewhere else, focused on the tiny inconspicuous remote he was most likely fiddling with beneath the table.

You contemplated stretching your foot out to hopefully stab his toes with your stiletto, but knew that there was no way you could do it without drawing attention to yourself.

“Are you okay?” Lily’s voice drifted into your ears, interrupting your inner turmoil.

You glanced at her, finding her eyes watching you too closely that it nearly made you sweat. She knew you well enough to read what was showing on your face, so you made an effort to keep your face neutral and your smile unbothered.

“Yeah, why do you ask?” Your voice was a little too high and you realised that when her eyebrows jumped, clearing your throat roughly.

The hand that was holding a fork moved and she pointed at it toward your hand. You glanced down, letting out a breathless laugh at the way you’d subconsciously gripped the table cloth in an iron grip. You forced yourself to relax, slowly letting it go.

“I just…” You gave her a quick smile. “I’ve got cramps, shit’s killing me.”

Her face softened in understanding, hands letting go of the cutlery to reach for her purse but you quickly stopped her when you realised what she was trying to do. Any other day and you would’ve taken a moment to really think of how much you loved your friend, but your mind was already fuzzy. Like someone had stuffed your head full of cotton.

“It’s okay, I took something before so it’ll pass.” You quickly assured her and Lily eyed you suspiciously with only a little concern.

“If you say so.” She said slowly.

You only managed to relax when her attention was pulled from you to Alex, silently thanking her boyfriend for unknowingly saving you but your relief was short-lived. Your boyfriend was clearly out to get you, making his presence known by flicking a button on the remote and setting the vibrations off in your underwear.

The sharp spike of unexpected pleasure was so jarring that you barely managed to keep the gasp in, hands digging into your thighs to keep yourself grounded from the incessant buzzing between your legs. You glanced up at your boyfriend, finding him staring straight at you with a poorly concealed grin that you had half a mind to slap from his face. Daniel was looking a little too smug and you quickly regretted the glare you shot him because he was quick to retaliate, upping the vibration.

“Ha!” The sharp gasp that escaped you had both Kika and Lily looking this time, and you felt your entire body grow hot in embarrassment.

Never before had you felt as conflicted between mortification and unyielding pleasure.

“You okay?” Kika asked and you opened your mouth but Lily beat you to it.

“She’s got cramps.” She helpfully explained, sounding sympathetic enough for you to feel a little bad for lying to her.

But you couldn’t tell her the truth, you’d rather have the ground open up beneath you and swallow you while.

The entire ordeal was mortifying and you couldn’t do anything but nod wordlessly, silently sending a thanks to your lucky stars that the rest of your friends were so loud and chattery. You didn’t know what you’d do if you had gotten a few more pairs of eyes on you, especially when those eyes belonged to your boyfriend’s friends and colleagues.

“You need anything? I’ve got both pads and tampons.” Kika whispered and the offer was so sweet you couldn’t bring yourself to be annoyed with her.

After all, it wasn’t her fault. This was Daniel’s work and you wanted him to pay. Especially when he was looking so smug while your entire being was crumbling in on itself in pleasure and mortification.

“Do you need tampons?” Charlotte’s voice joined your hushed conversation and you internally groaned.

Oh God, you’re going to hell.

“No, I’m fine.” You waved the three of them off, grateful for their thoughtfulness but you didn’t need their attention on you.

You glanced at Daniel, shooting him daggers and that seemed to do the trick because the buzzing slowed down, eventually stopping and you relaxed in your chair. You hadn’t realised how wound up tight you’d gotten, inner thighs slick and panties sodden.

The conversation carried on and you didn’t focus, not really. It was hard to when Daniel was sitting across from you, looking as good as he did. It never ceased to amaze you how amazing he always looked, admiring the way his shirt was unbutton at the top and folded so perfectly that it showed off a sliver of his amazing chest. You wanted to bite that spot, mark up his neck to the point where he couldn’t wear anything with a low collar.

Your mind drifted further away the longer you looked, thinking of how you suddenly wanted to go home. How you weren’t up to staying around for dessert when you were absolutely throbbing.

Brown doe eyes glanced your way and your eyebrow twitched, biting back a sudden shy smile when the Aussie man smiled your way. You hurriedly reached for your glass of water, mouth feeling a little dry and really, you should’ve seen it coming. But you gulped too much water and Daniel’s fingers found the remote, switching it on. You were so unprepared that you promptly inhaled the water, sputtering it right out.

“Fuck.” You groaned as Kika slipped the glass from your hand before it slipped from your grasp, letting you cough until your throat was sore and your nose was burning.

“You alright, babe?” The innocent voice of your boyfriend made you squint up at him, coughing into your fist with a shake of the head.

“Wrong hatch.” You meekly explained, as if it wasn’t obvious.

With your throat cleared and your face wiped from water, you belatedly realised that you’d caught the attention of the whole group. They were all watching with different levels of concern and you shakily waved them off.

“It’s fine, I’m just gonna go to the restroom and freshen up.” You pushed your chair out as gently as possible, standing up cautiously because your legs were rattling like you’d run a marathon.

There was no feeling in them as you walked away, distinctly hearing Daniel’s voice dripping with faux concern as he excused himself. Let me just go check on the missus.

You loved when he called you that, and it secretly made you smile as you weaved between the tables and spotted the sign for the restrooms a few metres away, sighing in relief as you pushed the door open and stepped inside. You were feeling feverish, turned on beyond belief and you knew that there was only one person that could relieve that pressure off of you.

It was expected but it still made you jump when the door opened and a familiar figure filled the vast empty space. He looked a little flushed and a whole lot of handsome, grin on his face getting smothered as quickly as it came when you stumbled forward and caught his lips in a bruising kiss.

He answered eagerly, making a small sound against your mouth as he walked the both of you back into the furthest stall, arms wound around you to keep you from falling. You giggled, out of breath and aching when your back hit the swinging door of the stall, stumbling into each other.

The snip of the lock echoed in the quiet room but you paid it no mind as you tasted the fancy wine on your boyfriend’s tongue, feeling drunk off of it and him simultaneously.

“God, fuck—“ You gasped when he pushed you flush against the side of the stall, allowing you to feel his straining cock against your abdomen. You leaned into it, biting him a little too hard on his lip but Daniel only moaned, kissing you harder. “You’re such a fucking asshole. I hate you.”

“Uh huh.” He didn’t sound the least fazed, hands gripping everywhere they could. Your hips and ass ached as he grabbed them in his hold, prying your mouth open so he could lick into it. “Fucking driving me wild.”

“Likewis—“ Your word was lost in a gasp as the buzzing unexpectedly came to life between your legs, doubling over in a depraved moan that you desperately tried to hide by biting his shoulder.

Daniel snorted and you let go of his arm to slap it weakly, making him turn it up a notch. The guttural moan that came out of your mouth made him absolutely ache in his pants, and he pushed his hips into you; feeling the distinct buzz of your underwear.

“Yeah? Gonna come for me, darling?” He whispered and you nodded, breath hitching with every inhale. “Do it, be a good girl for me.”

You could feel yourself climbing, thighs tensing up in anticipation and you were so lost in the oncoming pleasure that you couldn’t focus on anything else. That’s why the sudden hand pressing to your gaping mouth took you by surprise, the buzzing ceasing and taking your orgasm away with it. You made a sound of devastation, frowning hard as you stared up into the face of your boyfriend. His wide eyes should’ve alarmed you, and it took a second to realise why he suddenly looked nervous.

The sound of footsteps against the tile made you pause, subconsciously holding your breath as you listened to the click clack of heels make their way to what you assumed was the sinks. The tap turned on and you stared into wide brown eyes as the two women started speaking in French, sounding a lot like they were gossiping, having unknowingly walked into something that shouldn't have been happening so publicly.

Daniel’s lips slowly turned into a smile, looking like someone had dropped the best gift right into his lap as he slowly realised that this would add to the fun rather than interrupt it. You could see the gears turning in his head as you stared at each other, jutting your hips out to brush against his hard cock.

He bit back a hiss, pushing harder against your mouth with his palm and watching your eyes flutter.

“Quiet.” He mouthed, his other hand reaching into his pocket and you made a pleading, muffled sound when the panties went off once again.

Daniel stared straight at your face, watching the frown of your eyebrows dissipate as pleasure started melting into your expression, eyes rolling as they closed. Your knees buckled a bit, like you couldn’t keep yourself upright and it was only when your hands gripped his arms that he knew you were well and truly on your way to orgasming.

“Yeah?” He whispered, so low that he might as well have been mouthing the words and you nodded, pants coming out harshly through your nose.

He knew you were becoming a little too loud, but he didn’t care as he watched your head drop back, eyelids fluttering shut as your body locked up beneath him. You came with a muffled wail, gripping his arms so tightly that you surely must’ve bruised them.

The roaring in your ears made it hard to hear, too focused on not getting overstimulated as Daniel gradually dialled down the power, until the buzzing finally stopped. You felt him remove his hand from your mouth, only opening your eyes when he’d pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips.

“Welcome back.” He whispered, looking and sounding way too pleased with himself.

You shook your head with a smile, but it dropped just as fast when you thought of the women outside the stall.

“They’re gone.” He said, like he could read your mind and he probably could. Daniel crooked a strand of hair behind your ear, nuzzling his nose against your cheek lovingly before giving you a kiss. “Your noises made them scurry off.”

“Shut up.” You flushed, pushing him off of you as you stood upright. The shake in your legs made Daniel grin, but you chose to ignore it. “God, we’ve been gone for way too long, haven’t we?”

He made a noncommittal noise that sounded a lot like I don’t fucking care, pushing the door open after unlocking it and gesturing out. You took a step before pausing, narrowing your eyes in distrust before reaching down and slipping the panties down your legs.

Daniel made a sound you couldn’t decipher when you stepped out of them, ignoring how wet they were and balling it up in a grimace.

“I don’t trust you to keep that remote untouched.” You said, biting back a smile when he shot you an offended look.

“I’d never do such a thing.” He said, but the grin on his face said an entirely different thing.

You couldn’t help but smile back, stuffing the underwear into his pocket and walking past him to wash your hands.

“So, what’s gonna be our excuse?” He asked, joining you by the sinks and leaning back against the marble.

You briefly considered feigning food poisoning, thinking that maybe it’d would work and you’d be able to slip away. It’d only been two hours but that meant nothing when it came to your friends, knowing that you all liked to stay that extra hour and pound so many drinks that the majority of you stumbled out of the restaurant.

Daniel handed you a paper towel, your mouth open to answer him belatedly but the door opening made you shut it quickly. The elderly woman that stepped inside halted when she caught sight of your boyfriend, frowning deeply as she looked between him and the sign on the door that clearly indicated that it was the ladies’ room.

You bit back an amused giggle, doing your best to look apologetic as Daniel reached for your hand, apologising with laughter in his voice and pulling you along until you both escaped the confines of the restroom.

The both of you couldn’t stop laughing as you made your way back to the table, slipping into your chairs unnoticed because somehow in your absence, the gang had turned even rowdier.

You watched Daniel settle back in his chair across from you, eyes locking onto yours and you hid a smile as one eyelid dropped in a wink. It made your body heat up all over, feeling like a school girl with a crush as you turned your attention somewhere else.

The snort that came from Lily’s mouth sounded way too amused and you glanced at her.

“What?”

“You two are as subtle as a brick through a window.”

You elbowed her. “Shut up.”

Lily hid a laugh behind her hand. “No, no. It’s sweet in a completely gross way.”

You glanced at Daniel, smile impossible to hold back as you watched him throw his head back to bellow out a laugh and it was your favourite sound in the world.

"What can I say? I'm a lucky girl."

[heechwe]

three men & a crib | 𝖕𝖘𝖍

୨୧ pairing: park sunghoon x fem!reader ୨୧ word count: 1.2k ୨୧ genre: fluff, comedy ୨୧ tags: established relationship, soontobedad!sunghoon, married!au, pregnant!reader. ୨୧ synopsis: Sunghoon is wasting time not building the furniture in the nursery, mainly the terrifyingly intricate crib his pregnant wife ordered. What else can he do besides call Jake and Jay to help him?

How did he end up in this situation? Sunghoon is staring down the cardboard box in his living room, armed with a handful of tools and an instruction manual that might as well have been written in an alien language.

“I can do it when I get home from the shower,” you told him two hours ago, pouting at the fact the crib still had yet to be constructed. The baby would be arriving in less than three months and there was still so much of the nursery that needed to be completed. The main piece being the place your child was meant to sleep.

Sunghoon shrugged off the idea. No way were you going to try building furniture when you should be focusing solely on relaxing. Your belly was too swollen at this point for Sunghoon to let you even carry in a heavy bag of groceries without assistance. What kind of husband would he be if he let you do manual labor in your condition?

“No, baby,” he said, kissing your forehead with reassurance. “I promise to finish it. Just focus on having fun today and when you get home it’ll all be done, you’ll see.”

With a sigh and a kiss to his lips, you were off with your mother to your baby shower. Heeseung’s wife Yunjin organized the entire day for you, and Sunghoon wouldn’t let something as simple as a piece of infant furniture get in the way of your good time.

But now, staring down the dismantled pieces of the crib, he’s starting to grow anxious at the thought of you coming home to his empty promises and utter disappointment. He reads over the first step of the instructions again, and the words practically bleed over and into each other on the page. Admittedly, Sunghoon was not well-versed in carpentry, but surely it shouldn’t be this hard to understand.

Whatever he has to do to figure it out, he won’t let you down. And he won’t look like an incompetent father because of some measly, complex instructions.

So, he does the next best thing he can: he calls in backup.

Jake and Jay sit next to Sunghoon on the living room floor, looking over the parts of the crib that they’ve agreed go together first and have to be constructed in the proper order. 

After forty-five minutes of assembly, the three men feel an acceptable amount of confidence they completed the crib.

Except for the fact there’s a random piece of wood sticking out in the center of the crib itself.

“I’m telling you the directions said that that was supposed to go there,” Jay insists, skimming the manual.

Sunghoon groans. “Tell me exactly Jay what the fuck that is supposed to do.” He emphasizes his argument by pointing directly at the block of wood in the middle of the crib.

“I don’t know, man, to keep the baby from moving?” Jay retorts.

“Okay, let’s just start over,” Jake says to both men, tired of their bickering already.

Just when the men think they’re getting somewhere, they read the next line of instructions and feel like idiots for putting this piece of wood with that screw.

“This might as well have been written in ancient Egyptian, man. Why did she have to buy the most annoying crib in existence?” Jay grumbles and flips through the manual again.

“She said it comes with a lot of safety features,” Sunghoon answers, taking apart the two pieces of wood that Jake put together initially. Sunghoon wishes he could go back in time and stop you from buying it in the first place. Of course he also wanted the best for your child, but did the damn bed need to come with so many bells and whistles for all of this hassle?

By the time Sunghoon dismantles the pieces and puts them back in an organized pile on the floor, Jake looks ready to give up and raid the fridge.

“We could just find the model online and order it assembled,” Jake suggests. A yawn leaves his lips, already fatigued at the minimal effort he put in.

“And say what to my wife?” Sunghoon asks with a scoff. “That I was too stupid to make it without help?”

Jay and Jake look at Sunghoon without a word, their stares saying enough.

“You know what I mean, assholes.” Sunghoon looks at the instructions over Jay’s shoulder again and grunts. “We are three strong and capable men. We can do this!”

Less than an hour later, Jake is on the manufacturer’s website. Thankfully, the model number was written in bold font on the front of the manual. And even better, crib assembly and one-day delivery is only an extra hundred dollars.

“I’ll name the next kid after you, man.” Sunghoon pats Jake on the back as the older one puts his card information into the order.

“Whatever. Just don’t expect me to not spill the beans if your wife asks me about this.”

Jay chuckles and helps Sunghoon put the pieces of the original crib back in the cardboard packaging.

Three hours later, two delivery guys come up the elevator with the crib to bring into Sunghoon’s apartment. It fits with the rest of the nursery, the color of the wood matching well with the decorations you had already put up for the baby’s arrival.

You walk into the apartment later in the day to find Sunghoon sitting at the couch waiting for you. You smile at him and immediately snuggle in close to his chest.

“How was the shower?” Sunghoon kisses the crown of your head as his hand runs across the center of your stomach. His warmth immediately calms you after the long day of greeting family and friends.

“Fun, but a lot. By the third hour I was over talking about breastfeeding.”

Sunghoon chuckles and kisses your cheek. Even now, after four years of marriage and a baby on the way, he still managed to make you feel like the same lovesick teenager you were when you first met. The feeling sank deep into your bones and made you even more sure that you picked the right person to spend forever with.

“Thank you for putting the crib together,” you say. You squeeze the hand that’s on your stomach with your own. “We appreciate you so much.”

Sunghoon smiles earnestly and kisses you on the lips. “And I appreciate you. None of this would be possible without you, you know.”

You grin. “Likewise.”

When you wake in the middle of the night later on, waddling to the nursery and admiring the quality of the crib, you chuckle quietly to yourself.

Sunghoon was completely unaware of how cute he looked in the Ring camera helping the delivery guys bring in the assembled crib. He also had no idea that you had watched from the comfort of Heeseung’s couch as the gentlemen, with Jake and Jay in tow, all shuffled into the apartment hours ago with the second crib.

Maybe the biggest lesson of parenthood was that sometimes it was better to work smarter and not harder. And regardless, Sunghoon would do anything to make sure you and your child were happy. What more could you ask for?

[ellierenae]

SUPER UNIQUE writing ideas for hobbyists and professionals looking for fun, personal projects to get their inspo back

get a fictional pen pal (ask your other writer friends!) and spend time decorating envelopes, picking out a handwriting style, maybe buying a cheap perfume/cologne that smells like your character to really get to know them and feel their presence. if you have hand tremors or bad handwriting like me, you can choose a handwriting font for them and print their letters out!! more examples: save the dates, wedding invitations, birthday cards, party invites, etc.

use old calendars in character (there are many "expired" planners on sale around the end of the year, usually August) personally, i use them to record major life events like first band tours, trips abroad, holidays, birthdays... even trash pickup days and when they forget to roll out the bins!

sketch floor plans this can be on graph paper if you have the know-how when it comes to scaling down, but there are also tons of simple apps that allow you to both create the floor plan a builder would use and add furniture like an interior decorator. some even let you rotate them afterwards and see the furniture and walls burst to life in 3D! you can think of them as the sims but where everything is actually to scale

make an architectural model if you have some scrap cardboard, paper, and glue, you can easily bring the floor plan you just made to life (you'll need practice if you want to get really fancy with it of course! window panes and railings are the gnarliest part for me, haha)

make a playlist as your character maybe the most accessible one on this list, you can make the playlist your character listens to. sometimes this can be fun and surprising, like when my little guy Possum from Violence Without Plot is covered in tattoos and plays punk music on stage but listens to nothing but spa music to wind down between shows

write something your character can see this one is so weird to summarize but what i mean is like... a school essay for your teacher character to grade. cryptic street signs warning about danger by the lake. a memorial plaque beneath a statue. a character's online blog. a few of the cards in a grandmother's recipe box. a business card for a smooth-talking lawyer. things you can write that make everything feel so textured and real

these are all things i do on the daily, and it makes my life as a writer a thousand times more joyful and fulfilling. so have fun, be safe, and don't forget to unplug the hot glue when you're done <3

[wibben]

Pocky Day

----------------------------------------------------------

“Nanami! Check it out!”

The seasons had shifted almost without notice, and here you were, wrapped in the early chill of November, wrestling with your plastic convenience store bags and the loose sleeves of a coat that was not your own. The holidays were near; work was easing up, and curses seemed to fade with the colder air, which meant more free time. And you had resolved to spend it cracking the nut that was Nanami Kento.

Could you call him a friend now? Probably, you thought, if friendship included routine cups of coffee that tasted exactly as you liked, courtesy of him memorizing your order, and favorite sandwiches he only accepted from you because “the shop near your apartment makes them best.” The small gestures stacked up, predictable and warm.

As the two of you strolled down the Tokyo streets you stopped, shuffling crinkling bags with blunt mittened hands, delving into the pockets where you stashed your prize – aha!

You held up the carton between you, grinning through a nose gone red from the chill. “Did you know it’s Pocky Day?”

Cute, Kento thought, immediately charmed by the small, proud smile you wore. He shifted his glasses up his nose, a well-practiced excuse for a moment’s reprieve, hoping the sudden warmth in his face would pass.

“Is that a holiday?” he asked, careful to keep his voice steady as he looked down at the snack pack offered in your hand.

“Sort of,” you replied, your smile widening. “It’s today – eleven-eleven, you know? Looks like the sticks.”

He reached for the box, if only to indulge in the blanketing contentment of his fingertips brushing over the wool of your mittens. The softness of it, the small closeness, was something he never quite allowed himself to savor – yet there you were, none the wiser to his plight.

“Hm. I see.” He raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like another capitalist holiday to me.”

“No no, this ones different! They’re cheap today and it’s fun—”

“Yes, cheap. To make you buy it. Like every other capitalist holiday.”

You shot him a look, glaring padded daggers into the back of his blonde head and hurried to catch up as he started walking again, huffing dramatically. “You’re no fun sometimes. Where’s your whimsy?”

Kento’s smile softened as he turned away, letting himself indulge for a second in the fondness that always crept up around you. Very cute, he thought again, and not for the first time. He tore open the cardboard carton with a deft press of his thumb against the perforation and peeled open the foil pack inside, passing it sidelong back to you to accept into your uselessly mitted palms.

You shuffled the box, jostling a single stick upward to pluck out with your teeth, then held the box out to him with a silent offer and a toothy smile. Kento accepted one with a quiet nod.

He twizzled the chocolate-free end between his thumb and forefinger, taking small contemplative bites as you both walked.

“There’s supposed to be a thing you do with it, too,” you said after a pause, feeling stinging warmth creep up to your cheeks. “Like… you know. With a pocky stick. People eat it from both ends.”

You kept your tone light, as casual as you could, but your heart was louder in your ears than you’d like, beating with all the wild things you wanted but couldn’t bring yourself to ask for as you tested the waters. God you wish he would bite. How might his breath feel, warm and humid, on your chilly and frost-nipped face? Watching those eyes that always looked so sharp get closer and closer to your own, watching them soften, feeling the snap of the pocky stick as it broke bit by bit into his mouth until his lips met yours—

Kento’s eyebrow quirked just so, his gaze flicking from the pocky in his hand to you. You can’t just say things like that, he bemoaned, feeling your words strike sharp and deep. Because if he had it his way, he’d stop you, right here on the sidewalk, reel you in close until he could feel the warmth of your breath mingling with his. He’d cradle your chilled face between his palms, brush away that tempting smear of chocolate on the corner of your mouth with his thumb – and then, finally, he’d kiss you, no hesitation, no half-measures, just the taste of you against his lips, snack be damned as he’d been tempted to do for months.

And for a moment he considered it. He considered it, because when the silence stretched and he looked at you just a little too long you turned to look at him too. 

Too obvious, you internally wailed.

She didn’t mean it like that, he doused himself.

And so Kento shrugged, keeping his response as carefully noncommittal as he always did. “What an inefficient way to share.” 

He wanted to smack himself.

Your heart dipped a little at the careful, too-neutral tone in his voice. “Right. Silly,” you said, laughing it off, but your voice was a shade softer than it had been.

And as if some twist of fate wanted to rub salt in the wound, a couple ambled past, laughing as they attempted that very thing. They were awkward, leaning in close in the fogging vapor of their cloudy breath, their laughter bubbling and sweet as the shared pocky stick disappeared between their lips. 

Your own heart stuttered. You watched them until it felt too voyeuristic to continue, feeling the cold air bite a little harder as you snuck a glance at Kento. His face was unreadable, focused on the path ahead.

The rest of the walk, neither of you brought it up again, and the box was shared between you until it was empty.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Another year came and went, swallowed in the rush of work and curses and routines until you’d all but forgotten about Pocky Day – what was the use, anyway? It was a capitalist holiday, as Kento would say. Something trivial and best left unthought of until it came around again. 

So you were taken by surprise to find Kento standing beside your desk that morning, silhouetted in soft strokes of pale yellows and baby blue. He was neat as ever, his coat perfectly buttoned, and as ever, the sight of him sparked something traitorous in the dying twitch in your chest.

You considered your shot to have been well and truly fired – and that was okay. Friendship was fine; you could live with it. You told yourself this every time you had to tame the excited pitter patter of your heart whenever you saw him.

“You’re early today,” you said, surprised but smiling. “You didn’t have to—”

“It’s Pocky Day,” he said simply, holding up a red box as if it was simply a matter of fact, just like picking up coffee… which also sat steaming on the edge of your desk.

“Oh.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden rush of butterflies that exploded in your belly. It doesn’t mean anything, you tempered yourself. “Right! I ah – I forgot! So, I guess… we’re doing this again?”

Kento rumbled and stepped across the room to you when you failed to move closer, offering the box to you as you had once offered it to him. “I thought it might be a nice tradition.”

You took the box from him, fingers brushing without the barrier of gloves, and you felt your soul tremble like the fragile leaves that still stubbornly clung to the trees just outside the large office window. 

You struggled to open the box, sucking in a breath from between your teeth to steady the unfortunate shaking of your fingers. There was an odd intensity to his silence, the way he stared at the box in your hands waiting for you to open it. You felt oddly pressured, and the enormity of the relief you felt from such a diminutive victory when you finally peeled it open was almost enough to shake you to your knees.

Your pulse ratcheted an uneven staccato as you drew out a single stick, offering it to him. “Kento.”

Instead of taking it, he hesitated, his gaze lingering on yours with a weight that made your chest feel heavy. And then, he bowed forward, his eyes never leaving yours, lips parting around the end of the pocky stick in a single, deliberate motion and reeled back with it pinched between his teeth. There was a quiet challenge in the lift of his brow, something vulnerable and daring woven together; an invitation and a question laid bare in his expression, highlighted and punctuated by the slow bleed of red blooming over high cheekbones.

Your pulse roared in your ears, catching you frozen. All you could do was stare, and in that pause, his confidence flickered, just for a second, his steady breaths growing slightly shallower as his eyes flicked between yours. That flutter of panic at his own boldness, like he might’ve misjudged this completely, tightened something inside you, and you couldn’t have that.

Slowly, you leaned in, feeling his breath feather warmly against your cheek. You bit the stick delicately, feeling the faint returning snap of it from the other end. Kento moved closer in response, eyes locked on yours, his gaze unreadable but unmistakably intent, filling you with a fire that licked at your spine. His lips were so close – close enough that you felt every small shift, every inch he dared forward, the space between you shrinking in this mutual game of chicken that neither of you intended to bow from.

You bit again, your noses brushing, hearts racing in the quiet with a fluttering synchronicity that left you dizzy. And then, in the last breath of chocolate between you, his lips met yours, as soft and hesitant as the very first touch of spring. 

For a stunned second, it was pure disbelief: you were kissing Kento. He kissed you. Every ounce of longing and every secret glance you’d ever thieved was suddenly, incredibly, impossibly real, and that realization burst inside you with a giddiness that made your atoms buzz.

The taste of chocolate and mint mingled with something undeniably him, a warmth so complete you felt it seep into your bones. The world outside of your bubble paused, cradling the two of you in a moment that felt so obviously inevitable yet so fragile, like any sudden movement might shatter it. 

You were caught in this vacuum of your own creation. Your eyes fluttered open, unsure whether to savor the kiss fully or to steal glances at him, afraid to miss a single, precious detail. You felt the faintest brush of his eyelashes against your cheek, his breathing soft against your skin. The closeness was overwhelming, yet you hesitated to give in entirely, your lashes fluttered with uncertainty against his cheekbone. You would pull away when he did, because oh, what if somehow you were misreading this? What if you embarrass yourself by lingering too long, what if it’s a misunderstanding, what if, what if, what if—

But Kento felt it too. Not letting you drift into uncertainty, his hand came up, fingers warm as they cradled the back of your head, steadying you as he tilted you just a little closer. The moment didn’t end with the last snap of the pocky, nor with the chocolate gone from both of your lips. His kiss deepened – until it broke. And his eyes opened enough to meet yours as he dipped down for a second time, this time without pretense or excuse – he kissed you because he wanted to and he always did.

Each press of his lips was steady, adoring. He kissed you with the tenderness of someone who wanted to remember every part of this and wanted you to remember it just the same; who wanted to remember the exact shade of your blush, the soft, delighted sigh he felt more than he heard, the way your fingers curled reflexively at his shirt collar as you allowed him to melt every last inch of you.

When he finally pulled away, it was slow, his forehead resting gently against yours as his thumb traced small, bashful circles at the base of your neck. A soothing gesture, whether meant for you or for him it hardly mattered, because you’re both left equally dazed. And the look in his eyes, warm and unguarded, told you he was no more ready to pull away than you were.

After a long moment Kento let out a soft, almost reluctant chuckle, his lips twitching upward in a devastatingly cute way with how the expression shook. He glanced down at the box of pocky hanging limp in his free hand, having been completely forgotten. “There’s… still more in the box,” he said, hushed, like he’s hesitant to push his luck any further than he felt he already had.

Your chest gave a hopeless little squeeze, a nervous giggle of your own bubbling from your throat. “Oh, really?” you teased, your lips curling into a shy smile. “Should we finish it?”

He gave you that look again, the one that always made you swoon – something warm and appreciative, and now you can see it much more clearly: bursting with promise. He raised the box again and offered it to you quietly, “It would be a shame to waste it, I think.”

[jolalibrary]

16. apple green

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter sixteen of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.7k chapter warnings: dad!frankie. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. FLIRTATION TO THE MAX. an: this chapter made me beam from start to finish. like my face hurts.

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

It’s long, your exhale. Stretching out slow and full, cheeks still tingling with the lingering ache of laughter as you gaze at the horizon.

Just where the sun dips; its final rays painting the sky in lavender and rose. You're joined by a gentle, warm breeze whispering through the air, carrying the salty scent of the sea and the soft hum of waves caressing the shore's golden sand.

The air is cooler now under the encroaching dusk, as the tide steals the footprints, making them vanish.

And it’s perfection. All of it.

A moment you wish you could pause and live, exactly like this, for a handful of hours.

The sound of flip-flops meeting soles is what eventually ruins it.

It pulls your glance over your shoulder, watching his approach—shades shielding his eyes, hair loose in slightly longer curls, it almost dry from your earlier fun in the water.

Then you see his smirk. The one which grows as he nears, knowing what you’re thinking, even if you try to hide it. Because if you had gone to grab pizzas, you’d be face down in the sand—food ruined, embarrassment smothering over your cheeks. But, he carries it one-handed like it’s nothing. A bottle of soda under his arm and a plastic bag dangling from his wrist, as you shift on the blanket that’s still warm from the sun, arms reaching up to help.

“Hey, Butterscotch.”

“Hey, Mi lluviosa.”

You don't even fight how you beam at your nickname's new variation. The one that had slipped out when he'd turned his alarm off, eyes all closed with your face buried into his neck.

The jingle of his car keys sounds as he throws them to the edge of the blanket, watching him join you as the scent of melted cheese, tomato and toppings greet your nose before you even open the box.

“Smells so good.”

He utters a soft agreement as your knee abuts his; periodically glancing at him as you grab a slice, chewing with a smile as he wrestles with his toppings and strands of cheese from tangling in his beard.

By the time you’re both full, the chill of the evening air is making you shiver, when you gently slot the cardboard lids back into place. Tenderly, as you watch another wave rise and crash against the beach, your palms tenderly brush up and down your arms.

He notices—or must do. Moving onto his knees to dig around the duffel you’d both brought—a jacket pulled out, before sliding it around your shoulders, coming to sit behind you. Legs on either side as the scent of him joins you.

Toes wiggling in the sand, his hands sliding over your legs, you turn. “Would you rather be a jellyfish or a starfish?”

Exhaling a groan, your back comes to rest on his chest. Eased there, guided. Your ankle accidentally nudges one of the half-empty pizza boxes in your movements—a thing you hope remains sand-free from when you get back to his and decide you wish to nibble on a little more.

Blowing out a puff of air, it tickles against your ear as his arms come around you. “Jellyfish.”

“Is it because they glow in the dark?”

Laughing, kissing the side of your head. “No. But that is a good reason.”

“You want to sting people, don’t you?”

Sliding your hand around the back of his neck, fingers scratching at his hair, smiling, biting down on your lip as he presses another kiss.

“Maybe.”

“Deviant.”

Softly blowing against your ear, drawing shapes along his scalp as he whispers, you love it.

And you do.

Fuck you do.

Do you think I need to reconsider jeans and a black tee for what we’re getting up to today?

No, you’ll be fine. I’m putting up some shelves is all.

Does this mean you’re going to tuck a little pencil behind your ear?

Do you like the idea of that?

Might do.

I’m beginning to worry you’re with me for my hobbies and not me.

How about you stop looking so hot when you do your hobbies?

I’ll try. It’s hard to turn off.

HA HA HA.

HA.

You're there, in a stranger's home, for all of ten minutes before you realise that you’re not needed. Not that Frankie says anything.

Only confirming it when you ask, “You sure you don't need me to hold this?” Voice-breaking the quiet hum of the electric drill he’s holding.

Carefully re-positioning one of the wooden shelves against the wall, his brow furrows in concentration, a single dark curl falling over his forehead as he glances from the step-ladder, eyes nothing short of warm and twinkling despite the overcast light. “I've got it, but your company makes it easier,” he replies, tone nothing short of affectionate, sweet, truthful.

“Francisco Morales, did you want me here as eye candy?”

He buries his answer with the drill as you wander over to the window smirking, seeing that the sky is still a thick blanket of grey, clouds heavy with the threat of rain. Even without the window open, you know the air is cool, likely damp, carrying a hint of petrichor as you turn on your heels, watching from your new position.

You don’t suppress the small smile that plays on your lips—something comforting about the sight of him so focused, so intent on getting everything just right.

“Could you just pass that for me?”

Smirking, you quickly move over to pick up what he’s gesturing at, turning it over in your hand. “This?”

“Please.”

Biting your lip, grinning. “What do I get for it?”

“The knowledge I’d be done earlier.”

Tilting your head from side to side, you scrunch your face—almost wanting to twirl the tool.

“What if I wish that you'd do me yourself, Morales?”

Pausing, the wood in his hand lowers down the wall as he turns his head, staring, mouth falling open before he eventually rests the plank against the wall. Slowly coming down the steps, across the plastic-covered floor, it all scrunching under his boots. “That what you want?”

His hands slide around your waist, palms flat, dragging along the fabric that covers your skin, rippling fire out across your body as you curl in, arch, ghosting your mouth over his.

“We can’t fuck in this person’s house, Frankie.”

Groaning, low, deep in the back of his throat, you smile—mirroring the one he traces across yours. “Remind me why?”

“You make me messy.”

Grunting, pressing it to your neck. “Yeah?”

Nodding, biting your lip, pulling his face up by your palms on his cheeks, mouth ghosting over his. “Really messy.”

Inhaling, you feel him agree. Mouth meeting yours, before you ease his nose to your lips, pressing a kiss. “Finish drilling, Morales. Then we can go home and you can drill me.”

He mumbles something in Spanish under his breath.

Guess how my morning has been?

Wonderful? Full of coffee and people asking for tips on how to twist a screw in.

No, not everyone is you. Harold has asked me three times when he’s next seeing you.

Oh yeah, I should really return his call for our second date.

I know you’re joking, but ouch.

Don’t worry, Francisco. He’s just a side piece. You’re the main. I want to get lunch, do you want me to bring you some and then you can pee around me so he knows?

Please. He keeps asking if you like diamonds.

Tell him I’m not mad at a diamond.

Shooting a wink at Harry, he lifts his chest up from his leaned position on the counter. Head dipping, fingers sliding across his lips as though they’re a zip before tapping his nose.

That familiar scent greets you just as graciously. All fresh-cut wood, spilt paint and lemon disinfectant, as well as Harold's aftershave. The one change—the biggest—is the missing crackle of the radio, you had found a compact, newer one a few weeks back, placing it on the counter with a big red bow and a card for Harry.

Bag swinging in your fingers, it’s a hunt to find him. Peering down aisles, eventually spotting him crouched—cargo trousers doing their utmost to remain stitched across his thighs.

You’re grateful he wears an apron that covers his groin. Half-fearful of the eye contact you’d give the area in what he’s currently wearing.

Digging your hand into the bag, and retrieving the top plastic carton, you do a little wiggle down the aisle with it.

“What’s this?”

Shrugging, stopping just before him as he stands. “Cake?”

Placing his clipboard down, narrowing his eyes as he takes it, turning it over.

“Butterscotch—that’s the flavour.”

Scrunching his face, he sighs. “I… I don’t know if I like it, baby.”

“Well, more for me.”

Smiling, pressing a kiss to your cheek, he motions to peer in the bag. “You like it?”

“Well, I like you.”

“Not sure it’ll taste like me.”

Tongue in your cheek, looking him up and down as he straightens, you wait a beat, and then another, before adding, “Shame. Guess I’ll have to keep eating you then.”

“Menace.”

Moving close, lips almost touching his, you whisper the same words he said to you only a day or two ago, you love it. A low whine leaves his lips, stifling it against your mouth, a crooked finger under your chin, making kissing a little easier.

“Wanna eat in the office?” he asks.

“I was thinking we could eat as you cut wood. I love sawdust seasoning.”

Pinching your side, not able to stop the giggle, he turns you on the spot, leading you back down the aisle you’d come down. “Go in, I’ll be a moment—just gonna tell Harold that I’m going on break.”

Nodding, twirling on the spot, you wink. “Tell him I love him.”

His palm manages to catch you on your ass as you roar with laughter.

Butterscotch Morales.

I’ve been first named.

Did you put flowers on my car?

Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t.

You lured me there to be romantic?

Well, it is very hard to be romantic when you’re at my house.

I can go home early if you want.

Don’t you fucking dare.

Noted.

I also think you’re doing just fine in the romantic department. For one, they’re gorgeous. And the deep clean you gave me in the shower this morning still has my thighs shaking.

I don’t think you know how good you look with soap suds on your skin.

I have an idea now.

You fancy anything particular for dinner tonight?

Can you be on the menu?

I think it can be arranged for dessert.

Okay. Then tacos?

Double helping for me then.

Francisco!

You’re smirking I can feel it from here.

You know before you open your eyes what day it is. A mixed blend of emotions that flood you as you wake to the thick scent of freshly brewed coffee, breakfast—maybe eggs, you can’t be sure.

Heart both full and heavy as it coaxes you from your sleep, your lashes flutter, eyes blinking as you stretch your arm out across his dark bedsheets. You hate that you can feel the warmth fading. Dismay flutters in your chest, as you begin to fight the urge to roll face down into his sheets and glue yourself to his mattress.

“Morning, baby,” he whispers, interrupting, eyes finding him in the doorway, leaning, head resting against his bicep, a slither of his stomach on show as his top pulls up. “I’m making us breakfast.”

“You didn’t have to…”

“I wanted to,” he replies, palm patting against his thigh. “If you want a shower, you have time.”

“Telling me I smell?”

Tongue sliding over the front of his teeth, he smiles—mischievously. “Maybe I just want you to smell like my soap for when you go home.”

Home you think. A tightness in your chest all but inflicted by the word. Four letters. Barely anything. Yet, you have to bite down on the inside of your cheek when he kisses your forehead and heads back out of the room.

It bubbles as you glance around the room—his room—taking in the cosy armchair with your jacket laid over it, the photograph of you and him surrounded by ones of Luca, Frankie and Luca or his friends.

Then, you hear him singing. The sound makes your heart throb at the same time as it brings a smile to your face as you head to his bathroom.

You find that the only benefit to showering is wrapping yourself in his cosy robe before you make your way to the living room.

Frankie lounges on the sofa, hand patting the spot beside him. You eagerly curl up next to him, nestling your head against his chest as his arm wraps around you, the other hand resting on your knee, thumb tracing soothing circles.

The tray of breakfast sits on the coffee table. You reach for a piece of toast, nibbling as you settle in. After a moment, you taste it—the eggs cooked just how you like, the toast perfect, just the way you love it. Of course, he has.

Frankie watches you with a tender expression, his fingers continuing their gentle caress on your knee.

“You excited?” you murmur between bites, “He’ll be here soon.”

Hand stroking over your leg, he swallows. “Yeah, I’ve missed him,” he replies, his voice a low, comforting rumble.

You look up at him, your heart swelling with love. “He’s going to have so many stories.”

Snorting, he runs a hand down his face. “Oh, I know.”

You smile, let the tranquillity of the moment wash over you, savouring the simple joy of being with the man you love. Curled up together. “Thank you for letting me see him before I go.”

His cheeks flush slightly, and he leans down to kiss the top of your head. “You know you don’t have to go.”

Staring at him, thumb swiping over his upper lip, removing the crumb from a slice of toast. “I should. Before I never leave.”

The tip of his tongue peeks out, swiping across his lower lip as his fingers do a dance on your leg. “That doesn’t sound half bad.”

Rolling your eyes, picking up your coffee. “You can ask me better than that, Morales.”

You don’t add that you hope he does.

Draining more of your coffee as you stare at him over the porcelain, placing it down before kissing his cheek.

“I should go pack.”

His groan follows you as you head back off to dress—folding things, shoving others into a bag and cleaner clothes back into your drawer.

It’s a try, an almost fail to not feel a sting of tears as you leave your bag on the bed.

The embers of it flickering inside of you even when you take over cleaning for him when he tells you Sam’s car is pulling up. It almost douses it, his joy, drying the mug in your hand when you peer into the living room as the front door is flown open and you see Frankie bear-hugging Luca as Sam follows in behind him.

Miss you’s turn into excitable tales. Occasionally translated by Sam as you wipe the side free from water, closing a cupboard quietly and drying your hands.

Then, when you’re about to slyly move into the room discreetly, you hear her call your name.

For a second, your head turns, but you don’t move. Just glancing, pulse pounding in your ear as you find Sam smiling, waiting, brows slightly raised as though you hadn’t made it up that she’d spoken your name.

“Can we talk… outside?”

It takes all of your restraint not to flick your eyes to Frankie.

For what, you’re not sure—reassurance, need, it all blurs into a stew inside of you as you reply, following her through the living room and out of the front door.

Nails digging into your palm, you try to breathe. In and out, out and in. But it builds.

And it builds.

And it builds.

Unable to stop the anxiety shifts into something thicker, less easy to keep down. It rises in your throat, choking you. Something similar to bile, as your head runs through a thousand things—whether you’d been too much with Luca, whether Frankie hadn’t shared that you’d be here, whether and whether and—

“I wanted to thank you,” Sam begins, smiling, hands linked together in front of herself, “Frankie… he’s a great, great dad—”

“The best,” you add. And then shame blooms over the anxiety at interrupting.

Sam, though, doesn't seem fazed. If anything unbothered. “The best. I’m very lucky to co-parent with him. But—”

Your stomach knots. Tightens.

A ball swelling inside of you as it becomes harder to breathe, to take full ones that fill you with air and rational thinking.

“I know he didn’t help make all those things.”

Oh, you think.

Shoulders unlodging from your ears, sliding down to their normal place.

“You must have spent hours on them,” she continues, a soft line in her forehead appearing as her face lightly scrunched, “All of them. The t-shirt? The candle? The card—the card, was so, so nice. It was so thoughtful. I can’t… I am not ashamed to admit I cried my fucking eyes out.”

Shifting your weight, a smile breaking out, “It was all Luca’s idea. I just wanted—”

“I imagine some of it was, but not all of it.”

You blink. It’s that or let your eyes fill up too. Seeing her staring, watching, with nothing but gratefulness on her face.

“I’m… I’m glad he has you,” Sam says quickly, almost hurriedly. “Luca. And Frankie.”

Her hands come around her waist before relaxing at her side, lips rolling, looking as nervously as you did moments ago.

“Thank you, for helping him with the gifts,” she continues.

Swallowing, you nod. “Anytime—if that’s okay? I… I don’t want to be anything but Rainy to him.”

Smiling, she inhales. “I know.”

“Good.”

A beat happens, the two of you finding yourselves admiring the other when you hear Luca’s laugh echo out of the house.

“So, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what is it with Rainy?”

Laughing, you press your hand to your face, watching her smile, waiting—patiently. “It’s a stupid joke, Frankie’s doing.”

Sam raises her brows, and stares in waiting, gesturing for you to continue.

“Okay, well—”

The next time it rains, can you kiss me in it?

Baby I’ll kiss you whatever the weather. Am I allowed to ask why?

It’s romantic, isn’t it?

Are you watching a movie?

Maybe.

And we haven’t kissed in the rain. We’ve kissed nearly everywhere else.

Well, I’d hate not to have kissed you everywhere, baby.

What’s happening in the movie?

Lots of declarations.

Ah. Lots of when we first met, I wasn’t looking for someone, I was running from it. But, you really wanted to try and build something, and before I knew it, I was falling.

That kind of thing yes.

I miss you.

I miss you too, baby. The bed feels strange without you asking me random questions.

I think watching this was a bad idea.

Answering his call, you don't pause the movie—just turn the volume down. Curling further into your couch as you tug the blanket up your neck, bringing his voice to your ear.

“Hey.”

“Hey, baby. Is the movie making you sad?”

Nodding, you swallow back the lump in your throat. Tears springing, the ones that had already fallen.

“You choking up so much you can’t reply to me?”

Laughing, tears spluttering, you sniff, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand as you grin—half-shaking your head. “How’d you know?”

You hear rustling, imagining him in bed. In the middle of the place, the two of you have been sharing. Wondering if he can smell your perfume, whether he misses the extra warmth of your skin like you currently miss him.

“‘Cause I know you. And, you do this little sniffle you try to hide and—”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupt, hearing him laugh, it tickling down your ear, making your chest go all warm like it usually does.

Like it always does.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have put this on.”

Snorting, it’s followed by a groan. One you now know he does when he stretches, when he’s trying to loosen the tightness in his back.

“Why did you?”

Because I miss you, you almost reply. Unsure how he couldn’t know, wouldn’t. A horrid thought burst through everything, standing all determined in the wake of nothing but only joy and happiness for days. Making your heart hurt, shrink and fall somewhere along the pit of you. Because maybe he didn’t know, because he didn’t miss you.

Maybe he felt happier that he had his home to himself, his bed, his things—

“I miss you too, Rainy.”

A gasp escapes, one enriched in emotions, fresh tears falling as you pause the movie, curling up more, knees pulled up as he repeats it.

“What do you miss?”

He snorts again, but more full of tease, “Fuck, where do I even start?”

“At the beginning of the list.”

“Oh well, firstly, I miss the fact I’ve not been asked if I would rather be a cactus or a house plant.”

And you smile. It stretches out, sliding into your cheeks—for the first time since you came home to emptiness—you feel happy again, even as another tear rolls down your cheek and you ask, “Well, what would you prefer?”

Frankie laughs. It flows down the phone, somehow brightening your own home, even if he’s not inside of it. It makes you kick off the blanket, stand up, turn the television off—and the lights—and walk the lonely route to your own bed.

Half-wishing you’d taken him up on the offer of staying one more night.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

[uncouth-the-fifth]

good morning, charlie - Leon Kennedy/Reader

read it on Ao3.

Pairing: Agent!Leon/Detective!Wife!Reader Tags: domestic fluff with the tiniest dustings of background angst, married life, hugging, kissing, and snuggling. Words: 3k (yes, I'm capable of keeping something this short) Notes: read this in a WWE announcer voice: THAT'S RIGHT! UNCOUTH HAS COME CRASHING BACK INTO THE RING AFTER YET ANOTHER MONTHS-LONG HIATUS. i'm magical, truly. here is the first Leon fic I promised last month! There's so much I want to say about this little drabble, but I'll save that for my curious ppl on Ao3. this is going to be a big 180 from my spn content, and I sincerely hope that's okay with the public 😭 for my RE people: enjoy domestic Leon bullshit!

At two in the morning, Washington D.C. is pouring everything it has into crafting the coziest atmosphere of all time. A pleasant window-tapping storm had rolled in right around when you resolved to stay up working. Some late-night radio host is making soft, fizzing chatter in the next room, and coupled with a stellar view of the city from fancy floor-to-ceiling windows, you have a prime opportunity to pass the fuck out.

Unfortunately, you have made some spectacular life choices that don’t mix well with a full night’s rest. Nope, no sleep for you. Despite all of fate’s attempts to stop you from being a cop, (including throwing a city-wide outbreak at you on your first day), you are still here, gripping your job with both hands. At two in the damn morning.

Since scrubbing your eyes hadn’t woken you up the first five times you tried it, you give it another shot as you pace the length of your living room rug—from the coffee table you’ve stacked with files, then back to the whiteboard pasted top-to-bottom with pictures of missing young women. The whiteboard had been Leon’s idea. After the fourth time you’d transformed a flattened cardboard box into a morbid case-board for work, he’d cajoled you into letting him buy one for the apartment.

But I won’t be able to stab the tacks into it, you’d pouted.

Oh, the agony, your husband had drawled. He was a master of delivering a good, dry look.

You’d propped your fists on your hips and tried your best to look serious. The red yarn connecting everything isn’t just a detective-movie thing, y’know! It’s actually really useful. And I need my tacks to stick the yarn in—

Leon had cut cleanly through your building sass with another look, this time one glimmering with humor. Then I’ll get you magnetic ones, detective. Don’t you use whiteboards at the precinct anyway?

You’d grumbled. Because, yes, you did use whiteboards at the station, and they did have the little tacks with the magnets on the bottom. But you’d refused to deal with Leon being all smug (he was unbearable pretty when he was right), and had teased back instead, Whatever, nerd. Why don’t you and the other two angels go call Charlie already?

The reference had gone clean over Leon’s head. Of course, he hated being left out of a joke, so he’d roped you over by your wrist and pinched an explanation out of you until you were squealing with giggles.

Summarizing Charlie’s Angels to Leon had been a lot like offering a paper rocketship to an aerospace engineer. But, hey, picturing him running around in skimpy outfits and escaping action movie explosions on a motorcycle is a whole lot more fun than… than the real deal.

You don’t want to think about what his missions are really like. Not that you’re even allowed to know in the first place. Being Leon’s wife permits you a government-issued phone with his handler’s number, and on antsy days you can push Ingrid for details if you want. But after so long you’ve learned it only hurts both of you—for her, in the inability to answer, and for you, in the excruciating pain of being unable to know. Where is he? That’s classified.

She can’t always tell you when he’s coming home, either. So much of your life is hinged on her check-ins, and even more is forced to live off a simple, He’s okay.

For the seventh time, you scrub at your tired eyes and suck in a deep breath. You’d gotten that fabled text from Hunnigan—he’s okay—earlier today, and like always you crawled through the rest of your shift roiling with anticipation, waiting for Leon to materialize back into your life.

You force your gaze back to the whiteboard, littered with notes and pictures hung up with magnetic tacks. The faces of five missing women bore back. The ten-ton weight of your caseload slams down in full, and again, you scold yourself for floating back into comforting memories of your husband. These girls have lost all comfort in the world since they were taken. Your Captain gave you the responsibility of finding them, and after all you’ve been through, after all the other cases you’ve closed, there can’t be any room for failure. Think.

Your legs ache from being on your feet all day, chasing leads, but dropping into Leon’s armchair for even an instant will just have you nodding off again. More pacing it is, then. This is your pattern for the next half-hour: pace, re-read witness statements, turn, sip your coffee, pace, cross-reference alibis. He’s okay. Two of the girls were taken from Queen’s Chapel, two from Takoma, one from Woodridge. He’s fine. The last victim breaks the profile. What’s different about her? Why take her? Think think think— You know what Leon would do. He was the kind of person you could put in front of a problem, and no matter what he would find a way to shoulder his way through. With physical force, sure, but mental force too. He would sit and just look at the puzzle, and sheer willpower would lead him to some kind of answer. But you’d been pushing and pushing for days now, pursuing every lead, pressing every witness, yet nothing will give. The whole thing feels like a punching bag you’re beating at over and over again, knuckles raw and bloody—

Keys rattle just outside the front door.

First the big deadbolt scrapes open, unlatching with a heavy thud, and that sound alone is enough to shock you awake. More than any coffee could. Then comes the doorknob. Leon hasn’t even turned his key before you’ve twisted the lock open, yanked the door out of your way, and sent it whipping into the jamb with his keyring still swinging from its slot. You give him one full blink to register that it’s you before you’re throwing yourself on him without a single lick of shame, legs and all.

Of course, Leon bears your weight with grace. He grunts out an oof! when you come in for landing, and the living, breathing sound drains into one gruff laugh. You’re scooped up under the thighs and teddy bear squeezed against him. He reeks of cheap motel soap and something faintly coppery—then mint, a whole world of plush, wet spearmint when he nudges your face up with his nose and lays a hello kiss on you. The taste of his gum and the scratch of his stubble on your chin make your skin feel like it’s fizzing, inside-burning-out, every inch of you stood on end by his static charge. Jesus, this guy. He feels like fucking magic, and you’re confident that the laws of physics don’t quite apply around him. Everything in the room, in the too-big apartment that’s painfully empty without him in it, tilts toward Leon.

You shove your face nose-first into his neck and clutch the back of his jacket in both fists. Swallowing hard, you manage, “Hey, angel.”

“Good morning, Charlie,” Leon says.

If you had any resolve for today left in you at all, the wash of his sizzling butter voice would squash the last of it. You’d been trying to be sweet, but your husband has to be funny about fucking everything, of course. Even after weeks spent apart. You love him so fucking much.

“Don’t tell me you found time to watch that stupid movie.” Your voice is muffled by his coat, and you’re grateful for an excuse to hide.

You’re moving. Leon carries you inside, his wedding band pressing into your leg and his other big, warm hand spooned around your back. “Boring plane ride. I wanted to get your jokes.”

Your front door is toed shut, and with all the efficient maneuvering of a proper agent, Leon gets the place locked up behind you. Somewhere in all the commotion he’d dropped his go-bag by the welcome mat, and you hear the dramatic thunk, thunk, of his fancy work loafers being kicked off beside it. Only then does he slip you onto your own feet again.

Your hands slide down his arms as you make contact with the floor. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’re aware that he’s damp from the rain, but that fact hangs in the little alternate universe he’s made in your front hall. Standing there and being able to look at him straight-on, Leon doesn’t feel real. It’s like your constant thoughts of him have manifested a ghost in his shape, mimicking the smiley rookie you remember.

He greets you with a quiet, beaten-down smile, and you understand immediately that the world has thrown its fair share of punches at him, too. You’ve both had a shit week. The Kennedy surname just brims with good luck, huh?

Your hands work on autopilot as you take him in, slipping under the fabric of his jacket and lingering over his thudding heart. His warm blue gaze swims over your face, and you can almost hear the clicking mechanisms in his head as he forces himself out of operative mode and into home mode by looking at you.

“It’s a really bad movie,” you say, choked up.

Leon’s jacket hits the floor with his shoes. There’s a swath of ugly, purpling bruises crawling up his bare arm, old enough to be greening at the edges, and your stomach churns when you see it.

He taps your chin up, pulling you away from the damage and back on him. His voice rolls over you like bourbon in a glass. “Absolutely. So-bad-it’s-good, even. We should watch it, make fun of it together. Like, why the hell does…”

Leon flawlessly falls into an analysis of the movie’s poorly-written espionage elements. The movie you made one offhand joke about several weeks ago, mind you. He’s pulling at straws, saying whatever the hell comes to mind to make you laugh, so exhausted he’s literally swaying on his feet. You can’t believe he’s trying to distract you with something so trivial, but this is your husband. One flash of that weary closed-mouth smile, one brush of those callused hands down your wrists, and your whole world resumes its orbit around him.

You laugh at the jokes he’s obviously crafted for your benefit, a weak chuckle your heart isn’t in. With his hands looped around your wrists, he guides your arms around his neck and welcomes you back into the toasty bubble of his touch. Leon’s even warmer from being tucked underneath his coat. Pure goodness and safety glows off him like a fucking nuclear reactor, and it dawns on you that you haven’t felt safe at all since he left. Anyone can be plucked off the streets here.

One more scratchy kiss and then he’s leading you deeper into your apartment. No one on Earth would believe that he’s a chatty guy, but he talks the whole way through. Too often he’s left to sit in his own mind on missions, and you’re treated to two week’s worth of his backlog in the next ten minutes. All the little things he wanted to say to you. The streams of smart-mouth commentary he was famous for at the academy are all inner monologue now, but you’re confident the Leon radio show still runs twenty four hours a day. He chatters so much in his head that it slips out of him like water sometimes—

“…that close to an explosion would disintegrate you, but fuck physics I guess—“ Leon interrupts his own flow of thought to squint at you. “Quit looking at me like that. It’s unfair how pretty you are when you’re tired. What was I—not like the laws of physics apply to that movie anyway, but…”

—and you’re stupidly charmed by it. He talks to comfort himself, and because the two of you are one unit, one person to him, he does the same for you.

With your hand tethered in his, he clicks off the radio in the kitchen. One of Leon’s side-stories replaces the random late-night station that’d been playing, floating over the din of the rain like bass over relaxing drums. He pours out the dregs of your coffee. He closes the files full of gruesome crime scene photos on your coffee table, and you watch, barely able to keep your head up, as he flips your whiteboard over to its blank side. You’ll get his second opinion on the case tomorrow.

Leon sweeps the place with you in tow, and once the security system’s armed and you’re almost sagging against him, the lights come off. Though you’ve had plenty of time to adjust to the Leon that returned home from training, you’ll never get used to the little alien ticks it’s given him. He navigates to your bedroom in complete blackness. He avoids the creaky floorboard just outside your door without seeing, deathly silent. The broad presence of him looms in the dark.

One wall of the bedroom is nothing but paneled glass, throwing a long square of dark blue moonlight over your rumpled comforter. While the view of the Potomac and Capital Hill is stellar from up here, you’ve always felt out of place among the things Leon’s generous salary has earned the two of you: a flat with a private elevator in the nice part of town, fresh-off-the-press sports cars, a getaway cabin up north. So much of it you end up enjoying by yourself. It only ever feels worth it when he’s here, smacking his elbow into the digital wall-panel that controls your A/C.

“—s’ supposed to be a touch screen,” he sidebars himself for the tenth time. Softer, Leon adds, “Brush your teeth. I’ll be right there.”

You rope your arms around his middle and press your face into the heart of his back, careful of the bruises he’s doing his best to hide. “Wanna wait for you.”

Leon doesn’t protest. There’s more little beeps as he screws with the temperature of your mattress or something, deciding, “We live in a damn spaceship. Are we too good for plain old-fashioned buttons now?”

Apparently you are, since old man Leon fails to figure out how to crank the heat up. You let him play with it for a little while longer (it’s not his fault he’s rarely home), and then intervene with a few quick taps when things get dire. The heater hums to life under the floor a beat later, and he turns in your grip to scoff, mystified by your vast and incredible knowledge.

“My smart girl,” he hums.

Just that is enough to chip off a piece of your strength. Had he said that to you over the phone, a million miles away in god-knows-where, your knees would buckle. He is the only one who talks to you like that—with so much simple, uncomplicated love. Too tired to put your thoughts into words, you flatten a hand over his heart and kiss the sun-freckled nape of his neck.

“Clingy,” Leon mutters. You’re pretty sure it’s supposed to sound dry and funny, another one of his jokes. But then he’s smoothing both of his palms down your arms in two long handsy swaths, and the gesture tells you everything about just how clingy he’s feeling, too.

His stories make getting ready for bed an even slower affair. You couldn’t mind if you wanted to. As you help him out of his starchy dress-shirt button by button, he surprises you with a rare explanation of where he’s been for the last weeks. The UK. Truly, your husband is the special secret agent to end all special secret agents: he talks around his job as if it was a bump he’d hit on the way home, entertaining you instead with his Leon-ified vision of London. Touristy as shit. Loud as shit. Smelled like shit.

“Just like DC,” he chuckles, and then a second time when your fluffy head pops through the collar of the sleep shirt he’s dressing you in.

It’s too much rough, cinnamon spice laughter for one woman to stand. You duck away to brush your teeth and groan into your palms like a schoolgirl over him, but sure enough, Leon trails you, fingers chasing the hem of your shirt (his shirt) in a sleepy daze. He always keeps you in view. Nervous, maybe, to have you out of his sight.

This tradition continues when the two of you crawl into bed. Your eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and so has your body, able to sense him on the stupidly expensive mattress beside you. He thinks you can’t tell, but his gaze roves over you again and again—down your back when you flop face-first into the plush bedding, over the slope of your shoulder when you wiggle under the covers. Leon draws you into the glorious halo of his body heat with a gentle hand on your belly. If you could bottle this feeling, the whole world would be sick and stupid for him in hours. Minutes even.

You feel so safe that the word doesn’t even come to mind. Just vague, peaceful shapes of things you know, home, sleep, cologne, cozy. His work-rough palm with his body-warm wedding band slips under your tee to sweep over your ribs. Then comes Leon’s face, just on the right side of stubbly as he shoves it between your shoulder blades without a single lick of shame. The breath he takes of you is so heavy that his whole frame shudders with it, top to bottom.

You remember how you’d burrowed into his jacket the second he got home and think, You are me and I am you. We’re always on the same page.

With that, the stage is set. DC’s faraway glittering cityscape lights up all the raindrops on your window, and you watch them run as the two of you melt into one another. Leon’s warm breaths slow across your neck. Time for you to deliver your line.

You wet your lips and murmur into your pillow, “Do you want to talk about your mission?”

Legally, he can’t say yes. Government secrets, bureaucracy, yadda yadda. Leon isn’t always emotionally ready to crack open a coffin he’s just finished sealing, either, but while it is his job to close your case files for the night, you’re his wife. You’re the only person who can knock on that door. With how little choice he has left in his life, you try to give him options whenever you can. Regardless, you know the man you married—strong-willed on a mythical fucking level, and just as self-sacrificing. He’ll always try to spare you.

Sure enough, Leon says, “Tomorrow. Do you want to talk about your case?”

You shake your head at him, exhausted to the point of dizziness. “Tomorrow.”

A tender kiss is pressed to the nape of your neck, and the whole world goes silent for the perfect, husky whisper you’ve ached to hear. You feel his wry smile against your skin. “We’re always on the same page, baby.”

[followthebluebell]

would love a list of low energy enrichment activities to try with cats. im always looking for more ways to be involved with my cat but she is 3 and very high energy and after a long day i often dont have the spoons to chase her around with a toy while she finds new exciting hiding spots to look at it from. this makes me sad :( i dont want her to be understimulated

Food-based enrichment:

Feeder toys are a favorite! But these carry the drawback of requiring cleaning afterwards, so calculate that into your spoons. Some of them are machine washable, so that may be an option if you've got a dishwasher.

Snuffle mats - another favorite, these also require the occasional clean but don't need to be cleaned every time you use them. You can make your own pretty easily. Or, hell, just grab a very cheap bath mat from a dollar store. Your cat won't know the difference.

Scatter feeding - literally just. Throw a handful of treats or kibble on the floor or down the stairs. Literally, that's it. Calculate clean-up into your spoons because cats aren't reliable vacuums. But it keeps them busy for a few minutes.

Toy based enrichment:

Get a cardboard box. Crinkle up some brown wrapping paper or whatever cheap paper you've got on hand and put it in the box. Congrats, you've now combined your cats two favorite things in the world: boxes and paper. For extra fun, add catnip (or silvervine or whatever your cat's drug of choice is), toys, or treats.

Ripple Rug: this is actually a specific product. It's literally a square of carpet or rug with velcro on the bottom that attaches to ANOTHER square of carpet or rug. It's fairly stiff. The idea is that cats can dive into it and make their own little tunnels. My cats LOVE it. You can probably recreate it quite cheaply using cheap rugs or carpet, tbh.

Cat crinkle mats: again, this is something fairly easily made at home. You get some cheap crinkly plastic and sew it into two old washclothes or something similar. Congrats. You now have a little mat your cats can sit on, bat around, and crinkle. You can also just buy them in multiple sizes. Many have catnip in them too.

Paper bags: cats just love paper bags. Be sure you remove the handles to make sure no one gets their head stuck. Most cats entertain themselves pretty well with bags.

Cat springs: those little plastic springs are a favorite, and so are those cheap rabbit-fur covered mouse toys.

Cat race track toys: another favorite.

Cardboard cat scratchers: the cardboard ones require MORE cleaning because they leave little bits of cardboard all over the place, but it is kind of nice that you can just throw them out when your cat is done. Any scratcher is good, though. I've listed cardboard for ease of clean-up and because it's a very popular material for cats.

Cat tunnels: like bags and boxes, cats just love tunnels.

I'm not a big fan of laser pointers or robotic toys. I haven't seen many cases of light chasing disorders in cats compared to dogs, but it's an issue enough that I don't readily recommend them. I also don't really recommend robotic toys because a lot of them make noises that cats don't like. If your cat enjoys these things, congrats; I just don't find them universally popular enough to really recommend. But I had to mention them, because if I didn't, my notes would be full of 'but what about Product X!!".

I've tried to keep this list to low cost toys and activities. There are other things you can do, like installing wall shelves or getting a big cat tree, but these things are more likely to be expensive, either in terms of money, time, or energy. I wanted to focus on low cost activities that I felt were more accessible to disabled folks.

[rileyslibrary]

Ghost helps Riot decorate the Christmas tree at the base.

Fluff. A gift for my friend, @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot with her OC, Christine “Riot” Vega. (Awesome render here!)

———————————————————————

“It’s too tall.”

“Or, maybe you’re too short.”

Riot shifts her gaze from the Christmas tree to Ghost. He doesn’t regard her back, yet she knows there’s a smile underneath that mask—one of those triumphant, snarky, arrogant, ‘i-got-her-again’ grins.

“Behave, Lieutenant,” she warns. “I’m 1.70, in case you didn’t read my file.”

“Congratulations to the whole 1.70 of you,” he replies and playfully pats her head. “With or without the shoes?”

Riot rolls her eyes and swats his hand away. “Can you just get me the ornament boxes from the warehouse?” She asks.

“You have to be more specific, love,” He says. “The warehouse is a two thousand square meter void filled with cardboard boxes.”

“I don’t have the coordinates, Ghost.” She replies, smirking. “You can ask Gaz whether he planted a GPS tracker in them or, here’s a better idea: how about you search for the boxes labelled as ‘Xmas’?”

Now, he’s the one rolling his eyes. He murmurs a “how unique” and walks to the door to fulfil her request.

While waiting for Ghost to find and retrieve the boxes, Riot tests the new Christmas lights they bought by plugging them into the socket. Once she confirms they work, she starts wrapping them around the tree. Although the task appears to be assigned to just the two of them, it took all five—including the captain who gave the roles—to make it happen.

Gaz chose the tree and bought extra ornaments, then Soap measured its dimensions, ensuring enough lights to cover it. Once aligned, they raked the entire base to decide on the perfect spot. Their prerequisites? It had to be a place where everyone could see it and would do it justice. Unfortunately, they couldn’t agree on a specific location, so they met in the middle and decided to place the tree in the mess hall, the exact same spot it was last year. And the year before it. And the year before it.

Then, it was up to Ghost to carry the tree, and the captain instructed him to help Riot with the “heavy-duty” tasks. Now, all that’s left is for Riot to decorate it.

“I still don’t get why you get to decorate.” Ghost says, placing the boxes on the floor. “Why are we doing chores like measuring and carrying boxes while you get the fun stuff?”

“Because whoever did it last year did a terrible job,” she retorts, emphasising ‘whoever’ and handing Ghost a light strip to continue up to the top. “You guys didn’t even shuffle the decorations. Not to mention that the back was empty.”

“Nobody sees the back,” Ghost argues.

“You don’t?” Riot smirks.

“Nobody sees the back of the tree,” Ghost corrects.

“Well, I do,” she replies, pointing at the top of the tree, “and go a little bit lower over there.”

“Like that?” he asks.

“Like that,” she confirms.

After finishing the light placement, Ghost sits on the sofa. He takes an ornament shaped like a candy cane from one of the boxes and starts playing with it. Riot, on the other hand, gets straight to the job. She opens the boxes and grabs two ornaments. She places one on the tree, removes it and tries the other. She concludes on the latter. She turns around to search the boxes for more ornaments and catches Ghost fiddling with the candy cane.

“You can go if you’re bored,” she says. “I won’t finish anytime soon.”

“That I figured,” he murmurs under his breath, making Riot instinctively place her hands on her waist. He lets a sharp chuckle and shakes his head. “I’m alright here.” He assures her.

But of course, where else would he be alright if not here?

Time passes quickly. Ghost and Riot reminisce about their past Christmases—childhood festivities, memorable Boxing Day gifts, favourite holiday foods, and the annual movies that defined each season. Yet, these beautiful memories end at a certain point unique to each. Maybe those memories have faded away, or perhaps they have purposefully chosen to let them go. And when that happens, when they approach that personal boundary, they stop dwelling on those past celebrations and turn to each other, to the present, to fill them with joy.

Sometimes, Riot shows Ghost different ornaments, and he either picks one or dismisses the options with a casual “whatever” or “there’s no difference.” Other times, Ghost critiques her progress, giving feedback while she decorates. He points out areas needing more attention or playfully suggests she’s gone overboard elsewhere. In return, Riot replies with a firm yet joking, “Go on; you do it then”, and shuts him up.

She lifts one final piece into the air and shows it to Ghost—the Christmas tree topper.

“Seems that I’m too short to reach the top,” she pouts.

“Nonsense,” he whispers and stands up. “It’s the tree that’s too tall.”

He walks towards her, grabs her waist, and lifts her up.

“Now I get why the captain assigned me for the heavy-duty stuff,” he says.

“Drop me, and I’ll stick you up there instead of the topper.” She warns him, chuckling. “Take one more step forward, please.”

Ghost does as told, and Riot places the topper at the top. She adjusts it and lightly taps Ghost’s hand to put her down. They take a few steps back and marvel at the result.

“What do you think?” Riot asks, still looking at the tree.

“Seems alright.” Ghost shrugs. “Should we turn the lights on?”

“No,” Riot replies. “I want all of them to be here when we do it.”

He turns to look at her and nods. She meets his gaze and smiles.

“Thank you for lifting me up.” She says.

“No,” he replies. “Thank you for lifting me up.”

———————————————————————

[sinsandsweetness]

Please for the love of god write something about Rick chasing the reader down in the woods I’d DIE

(Rick and Daryl x fem!reader)

cw- reader already has a baby with the boys, reader being chased in a maze, threesome, smut, slight breeding kink… think that’s all…

notes- happy Halloween! This is a fun little one shot placed in Alexandria. It is a follow up of “taking turns” however you don’t need to read it to read this. It’s just the same relationship, a couple years later. I had a few requests for a follow up and for some chasing/hunting vibes so… here you go! I won’t lie this is a bit rushed and not proofread at all so I apologize for any errors or if it’s not my best… but i hope you enjoy and tell me what you think<3

“Alright,” Rick breathes out with a sigh, dropping the large box onto the ground. Daryl right behind him with another.

The kids run over. Judith, at just 4 years old, Gracie, Sam, Carl and a few of the older kids and teens in Alexandria. Your own baby coos in your arms. Incoherent, yet adorable babbles leave her mouth, with chubby little hands grabbing into the air in the direction of her daddy.

While Rick cuts open the cardboard box of costumes, Daryl sneaks away from the cluster of children, all way too excited to get their hands on a cape and a mask. Or a dress and a tiara.

“C’mhere, sweetheart,” he grabs your daughter from your arms. Immediately she’s smiling all big and giggling into his jacket.

“Were you good for your mama while I was gone?” He whispers against her dark curls before pressing a kiss to her head.

“She just missed you, I think.” You respond. In reality, she was fussy. You figured that would happen after two nights without her dad. Daryl definitely being her favourite parent.

The kids are noisy as they ooh and awe and fight over the Halloween costumes.

Rick finally makes his own escape with a costume cowboy hat on his head.

“Hey, officer,” you tip your head up for a kiss as he wraps his arms around your waist. Eager to hug you. To touch you.

He stays holding you for a moment. Just soaking in your warmth.

“Miss me?”

“Every minute.” He confirms against your mouth for one last kiss, before moving to kiss your daughters cheek.

“How’s our little princess?” He asks to no one in particular.

“She missed her daddies. Kept me up all night.”

“What?” Rick faked a shocked tone, “our little princess would never. That doesn’t sound like her at all, does it?” He runs his hand over her hair and plants a kiss on her head.

You roll your eyes but your smile peaks out anyway. The sight of your men being such good fathers will never fail to make you smile.

“Daddy! Daddy look!” Judith’s high pitched voice brings attention as she tugs at Ricks pant leg.

When the three of you turn to look, she’s dressed in a unicorn onesie. Adorable. A bit warm for the weather. But adorable.

Rick picks her up with a groan, “oh my goodness, almost too big for this, aren’t you?”

She nuzzles into Ricks chest, little arms wrapping around his neck.

“I think someone needs a little snooze before all the festivities tonight, hm? You feelin’ a little tired, Judy?” He asks her. You don’t hear anything but you see the white fluffy ears on her hood move up and down as she nods into her fathers shirt.

“This little rascal should have one too.” You nod towards your own sleepy girl, “I can go put em’ both down for a nap.”

“Nah, I’ll do it.” Daryl insists.

“Are you sure-“

“I’ve got it.” He scoops Judith up in one arm, balanced on his hip and very happy to be carried to bed. A snuggly little 6 month old on his other. He starts off upstairs and leaves you and Rick in the living room. Surrounded by a foam sword fight battle that appears to have ensued between a couple ninja turtles and a fairy Princess.

The whole reason for Rick and Daryl’s last run was to find these costumes. Among other Halloween decorations and as much candy as they could salvage. Anything to make it a special day. To show the kids what things used to be like. To remind the ones who did know, exactly how fun the holidays were. You weren’t even sure it was Halloween. Sure, the leaves were beautiful tones of orange and yellow, falling to the ground and crunching beneath your shoes. But you arent sure what day it was. Honestly, you arent entirely sure what month it is. However, according to Eugene’s calendar, It is in fact the 31st of October.

Ricks head tips low to your ear and he whispers an invitation to go shower. He needs to clean up. And he really wouldn’t mind some company.

“Carol,” he turns for a moment and nods to her in the kitchen, prepping some food for tonight. “Can you…” he motions to the living room full of children running around. Carol nods and you can hear her telling them to beat it and go play outside while you’re led up the stairs by the hand.

—

The party is supposed to start at 7. Carol offered to take your daughter for the night, to give you some time off. To have fun. To go to sleep early if that’s what you wanted.

It’s a bit cold out. So you’re in a cream knit sweater and some jeans. A pair of cheap bunny ears are on your head. Your daughter is dressed in the smallest costume you could find in the box, a plush orange carrot. And she’s the cutest carrot you’ve ever seen, that’s for sure.

There’s wine. Lots. And food. And candy. Eugene is setting up a spooky film to be played on a projecter in the middle of Alexandria. A few bonfires surround the yard, scattered with jack-o-lanterns. Carved and lit up with tea lights and glowing eyes.

It’s beautiful. Slightly spooky. And so familiar. It’s everything you remember about Halloween.

An arm snaking around your waist startles you as you sip on your wine. But the smell of smoke and leather soothes you quickly.

“Hey,” Daryl says. You turn to face him, only slightly confused as his voice is being muffled by something.

He’s wearing a mask. A scream mask more specifically. The rest of his attire is typical. His leather jacket on, though no vest tonight. Dark jeans and boots.

“Mmm, spooky.” You lean in and press a quick peck to the white plastic. You can’t see him smile under the mask, but you know it’s there.

Another arm wraps around your waist from the other side. It’s Rick. You know by the thick brown jacket brushing against you. He’s also in costume, wearing a Friday the 13th hockey mask.

“Well hello, Jason,” you tease.

“You scared yet?”

“Should I be?” You ask. Though you’re pretty sure you know the answer.

Rick opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by some commotion from the yard.

Eugene has a microphone, standing on a picnic table and telling the crowd to sit down and get comfy. That the movie will be starting in two minutes.

“Well, are you two ready for some Hocus Pocus?” You ask.

They look at eachother through the masks. What the hell are they plotting?

“What…?” You finally ask.

“We were thinking… maybe we could do something a little different.”

“What, you wanna watch something else?”

“Not quite,” Daryl chimes in, “we were thinking that while everyone is watching the movie, the three of us can make our way through the corn maze.”

The maze is outside the walls of Alexandria. A bit dangerous, but it was part of the fun. The kids had all had their turns in it earlier in the day, heavily supervised by adults and parents. Ones with weapons and training for situations outside the safety of the walls.

“You want us to all get lost in the maze?” You bite your bottom lip and smile.

“We want you to get lost in the maze,” Daryl corrects you.

Rick dips down to your ear and lowers his voice, “and we’ll try and find you. Play a little game.”

“Grown up hide and seek?” You ask. Heat raising to your cheeks at the thought of what they want to do once they find you.

“Exactly.”

You swallow, looking back to the yard where the kids are all lid out in sleeping bags and on blankets. Focused on the film playing in the dark.

“Ok.”

“We’ll give you a two minute head start,” Rick hands you a switch blade. Just incase. Nodding towards the back fence, where you know you can sneak out without being caught. Your heart is already starting to race a little at the thought of having to hide. At the thought of them searching for you. Hunting you down. And Daryl’s little comment when you start off towards the fence doesn’t help either,

“Good luck, little bunny.”

—

It’s pitch black when you reach the maze. Actually, as soon as you made it over the wall and into the woods, it was dark. But inside the maze, the stalks of corn all towering over 10 feet tall and fluttering creepily in the breeze. The only light you can see is a faint glow from the moon. And even then, it’s only when you’re out of the shadows.

You walk into the maze. Immediately met by multiple twists and turns. You weren’t one of the supervisors earlier, so you really didn’t know the route. The straw and leaves crunch under your feet as you walk further into the maze. A quick, brisk walk trying to find the best place to hide. Or, if you’re lucky, to find the end of the maze before the boys even get in.

But you know that’s unrealistic. And you’re sure your two minutes must be up because you can hear them. Footsteps and muffled voices behind a couple walls of corn. Shit.

You start to walk faster. A borderline jog at this point, trying to keep your footing light.

It didn’t occur to you until now how easy it’ll be for them to find you. Daryl’s a hunter for Christ sake. He’ll be able to track your path through the maze in no time.

They’re closer.

Fuck.

You have to run. You can hear their voices. They’re so close.

“You’re gonna have to be quicker than that, baby.” Ricks voice rings out towards you. He’s on the other side of the wall. Through the thick corn stalks and the pitch black of the night, you can’t make out exactly where he is. But he’s close.

You run.

And they follow right after.

The sound of their footsteps is clearer and clearer the further away from Alexandria you get. And the further into the maze.

You shriek at the feeling of a hand on your sweater, jolting forward and starting to sprint. It was Daryl. He’s behind you.

And though him and Rick are both stronger, you have one advantage. You’re faster.

Over your shoulder as you sprint you can see them. White masks still on, glowing in the moonlight.

“Fuck”, you swear to yourself when you

come to a dead end. You only have two options. Turn around, or be caught. They couldn’t be more than a few seconds away.

Without really thinking, you shove your way through the stalks. Catching on every leaf and stick, but ultimately coming out the other side without a scrape.

You can’t celebrate your quick thinking victory too long because you still hear them.

“Split up,” Daryl whisper shouts at his friend, and with their footsteps scattered, it’s even harder to tell where they are.

Fuck.

You keep going. You take a left. And then a right and another dead end. Shit. Is this … is this the same one?

You turn back and take the left instead. But it’s another dead end.

What the fuck?

You’re lost. You don’t even know what direction you came from anymore. Circling the same two dead ends before you finally take a right that leads you a couple meters further than the other options.

You hear a stick crack on the ground behind you, but there’s no time to see who it is.

You turn the corner fast with your heartbeat so loud it drums in your ears.

“Shit,” you stumble right into a brown jacket in front of you. Arms wrapping around you and picking you up. You scream.

Someone warm presses against your back as your feet touch the floor again.

You’re trapped.

“Gotcha,” Daryl’s gravelly voice is already in your ear.

You’re breathing heavy in their hold, sandwiched between the two men.

Their hands grab at your sweater and start to roam.

“Take this off,” a voice demands as you struggle against their arms,

You try for a moment to reach the mask covering Ricks face. But Daryl, or maybe Rick’s, hands are clamped on your wrist.

It’s claustrophobic, but you don’t entirely mind. As long as it’s their arms your trapped between, you’ll never complain.

They don’t kiss you. They can’t. But everything about their demeanour is screaming that they want you. That they want to be in you.

Hands gripping and tugging at your jeans. Your hands snake around Ricks neck in front of you as they peel your jeans down your legs. The air is cold and gives you goosebumps, but your legs wrap around his waist immediately. Daryl’s bulge pokes at your ass while his hand trails under your sweater to pinch your nipple. Ricks pants are tight as his own bulge rubs against the thin fabric of your panties. Your jeans long lost to the straw and dirt ground underneath you.

It doesn’t take long for them to get you how they need you.

Granted, the three of you did have a lot of practice. Your panties swiftly ripped off by the man behind you who wanted more access. The cold metal of both their belts hit your skin.

And with little preparation other than some spit and arousal, you’re stretched to the max with both men. Both holes filled with very little regard for your comfort.

They know you’d say something if it really hurt.

But it hurts so good. The pain of being so fucking full. Stretched to a limit you’d experienced over a dozen times, but no matter what, it just never gets any easier.

“Wanna kiss you,” your voice comes out in wet gasps, lips brushing the plastic of Ricks mask. One hand trying for Daryl’s hood, reaching awkwardly around. You need their touch. Their lips on your lips. Tongues tracing each-other and fighting for dominance.

They’d win.

They always do.

The three of you find a rhythm quickly. Hands on your thighs, holding you up and using you as leverage to pound as fast and hard as they could. Your moans and their grunts fill the air as pleasure starts to swirl low on your abdomen.

“Please,” your head tips back in ecstasy. “Please, please,”

“Please what, sweet girl?” The cold plastic of Daryl’s mask brushes your ear.

“Please- want- uh,” you’re interrupted by sharper thrusts from the two men, catching you off guard. Their both picking up their pace.

“Speak up, darling.” Rick demands, nails digging into your hips.

“Fill me up,” you gasp again. “Want it so bad, Rick, please.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on the swirl in your stomach. The one that keeps getting warmer and warmer and warmer until-

“I’m cumming,” you tell them as a courtesy, but you don’t have to. The way you’re involuntarily clenching down around them gives you away far better than a couple raspy words.

“You really wanna get filled up, baby? Bred like the little bunny you are, huh?” Ricks words send you over the edge and a hand toys at the fluffy rabbit ears that are shockingly still secured on top of your head.

You’re out of words. Too stimulated to talk. So you just nod in agreement. Yes. Please. Please.

Their hips stutter to a stop and warm liquid seeps out to drool down your inner thigh.

Breathing heavy, you’re lowered back to the ground, colder now. without the friction of their bodies.

“Here,” Daryl grabs your jeans from the ground and dresses you again. His soft side peaking out now that he’s had his release. Your shoes are back on and your legs a little shaky, and finally, the boys finally take their masks off. The whites of their eyes are bright in the moonlight.

“You alright?” They both ask you as the three of you somehow manage to find your way back out of the maze.

“A little cold…” you smirk.

“But we didn’t-we didn’t scare you too bad right?”

“No.” You smile, “Don’t know if I could ever get that scared by you too love bugs.” You tease, arms wrapping around their waists and pulling them in close to you.

“Pfft,” Daryl brushes off the comment and Rick only smiles.

“Well if we didn’t scare you, then maybe next time we oughta try a little harder.”

“Next time?” You ask. The thought already going straight between your thighs.

The boys share a look over your shoulders that can only mean one thing.

“Hey, baby,” Rick catches your attention, hand guiding you towards the community gates by the small of your back as he searches in his jacket pocket for his keys. “You ever been to a house of mirrors?”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Could you do the Diamond sisters spilling Cater’s embarrassing childhood stories to his friends (either the other Heartslabyuls or the Pop Music Club)? I like to imagine the first thing they would do is wreak havoc on Cater’s carefully crafted persona, intentional or not.

Decided to combine these all and do headcanons instead of an interaction due to the high number of characters (Heartslabyul + Lilia and Kalim, Cater's clubmates)!

Please note that we don't know exactly how old Cater's sisters are, but here I'm headcanoning them as being only a few years older than Cater.

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Oh, the Diamond sisters LOVE Riddle. They hang all over him and squeal about how cute he is, much to his dismay. He’s not used to this much… open affection. It makes him feel weird!

He clears his throat several times and tries to remind them that he is not a boy, he is a young man, and he would appreciate it if they treated him as such. It’s a useless effort anyway—his words fall on deaf ears.

The Diamond sisters love it even more when he gets all red in the face. “Aw, he’s like a little strawberry,” they gush, not realizing that Riddle is this close to snapping and flying into a rage-filled frenzy. (His dorm members marvel at him actually exercising his limited patience; they placed bets with one another to see how long Riddle's temper can hold out for.)

He doesn’t much care for hearing stories from the Diamonds, finding them very frivolous. What’s with this family’s obsession with aesthetics? Riddle wonders. Why don’t they dedicate their time to more worthwhile pursuits like academics? And yet… why does his chest thud with a dull pain when he thinks about Cater in a large, empty house, packing up his life away into cardboard boxes?

The Diamond sisters are all over Trey too—but for completely different reasons than they were with Riddle. They drone on and on about how Trey is “husband material” and needlessly feel up his (beefy) arms, cooing and fluttering their lashes at him.

Trey awkwardly laughs off their jokes and shies away from their touch as politely as he can, making it clear he isn’t interested. He tries to deflect by changing the subject or offering tea and cakes and, if worse comes to worse, asks Cater for a save. (… Unfortunately, this makes the Diamond sisters think he’s playing “hard to get”.)

Trey actually likes hearing stories about Cater’s childhood; clearly, Cater won’t be this open with others himself, so getting this lore from his sisters is Trey’s second best option. Back then, Cater seemed so real and so vulnerable. Mask entirely off. Trey only wishes that Cater could be this unguarded with him in present day.

He has to admit, it’s amusing how flustered Cater gets trying to act unfazed or to play off his most embarrassing moments. Little by little, Trey feels as though the Diamond sisters are whittling away at his peer’s facade. He can’t help but be a little mean about it, taking this opportunity to join the Diamond sisters in teasing Cater. “So that’s what you were like, huh…”

He thinks he’s hot stuff, he could toootally bag Cater’s sisters—just watch him! … And so Ace slicks back his hair and tries his darndest to flirt with them, but to no avail. (The mob students make fun of him for having no rizz, but he defends himself by going, “L-Like you guys could do any better!!”) Man, he’s so jealous of Trey! How come he’s such a chick magnet even though he’s not even actively trying?!

The Diamond sisters wrinkle their noses at him and whisper to one another about how Ace is sooo annoying and cringefail. Think like… mean girls gossiping about you to your face. Real blow to Ace’s ego here.

Though the flirting doesn’t work out, Ace did initially manage to dazzle the girls with a few of his card tricks. The Diamond sisters clap their hands and demand that he “do it again” or tell them how the trick is done. He’d just cheekily wink and say, “Sorry, ladies! I never give away my secrets.”

There’s tea about Cater-senpai’s childhood? Ace is one of the first in line to hear about it!! He’ll memorize the stories and reenact them (including a falsetto voice for young Cater) for the entire dorm later, earning him Cater’s ire. “Ne, Ace-chan~ Don’t you think you’re bullying poor old Cay-kun too hard?”

As the man of the household, Deuce is usually helping out his mom or the other older ladies in the neighborhood, so he thinks it’s only appropriate to maintain that formal, upright behavior when addressing Cater’s sisters! This leads to Deuce calling both of them “ma’am” very loudly, which attracts stares from everyone 💀

The Diamond sisters wail about the whole “ma’am” thing. Like, just what is Deuce insinuating about their ages?! Do they look that old to him?! Is he saying he think they’re hags?! He hurriedly assures them he doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s meant to be respectful (but in the process, he accidentally calls them “ma’am” again and reignites their shrieking).

Appalled by Ace's attempts to flirt with the Diamond sisters, insisting that Ace should "be more of a gentleman, like Clover-senpai!" (He's dense and not fully aware of how uncomfortable Trey is with the circumstances.)

Deuce profusely apologizes to Cater for “hearing something he shouldn’t have” (ie his embarrassing childhood stories). He promises that he’ll act like he didn’t hear anything at all! He wears it on his life!! (This doesn't reassure Cater in the slightest. "Eeeeh, the more Deuce-chan says it, the more concerned I get!")

If there's one thing the Diamond sisters love as much as cute things, it's clout! They fawn over Kalim--well, more specifically, his family's wealth and status. (Some might even call it ass kissing.) Kalim's pretty oblivious to it, though. He thinks Cater's sisters are just being friendly with him, so he's friendly right back to them!

The Diamond sisters start to chatter about all these luxurious items they've been ogling. Designer shoes, haute couture dresses, jewelry heavy with gemstones... Kalim very nearly indulges the Diamond sisters by offering to buy those things for them (as "gifts to commemorate their new friendship"), but Cater cuts in to stop him!! "K-Kalim-kun, put away your wallet! The last thing I need right now is Jamil-kun after my neck!"

Kalim's just as bad as the Diamond sisters when it comes to spilling the beans on Cater. While the Diamond sisters yammer on about little baby Cater's missteps, Kalim tells them about the dumb stuff he and Cater get up to in club! They take turns trading stories and dunking on the poor guy...

But the difference between the Diamond sisters and Kalim? Kalim actually puts a positive spin on many of his tales. No matter how bad a show goes or how big the screw up... "All that matters is that we were in it together and had fun doing it. Cater's great at coming up with creative ideas. It makes me really happy to be able to call him my friend and band mate!"

The complete opposite of Riddle. Lilia adores being told he's cute. In fact, he encourages the Diamond sisters to "keep the compliments coming", because adorable things should be seen and adored! (Riddle huffs; Lilia is so shameless about all of this, especially as an upperclassman!)

He gets super into talking with the Diamond sisters about fashion, hair, and even nail polish colors. Lilia mentions some of his favorite and goes on a long spiel about how fashion trends have evolved over the years, and even gets into giving tips and tricks to the Diamonds. Cater's impressed with how smoothly Lilia's handling his sisters!

Lilia listens attentively as the Diamond sisters share their best (worst) stories about little Cater. He coos and chuckles at how cute Cater was "as a wee lad" and pitches in with stories about his own child, phrasing it as though Silver was someone he babysat frequently rather than his own son to avoid confusing the sisters. They murmur approvingly--not only is Lilia inventive and fashion-forward, but he's also great with children!

The Diamond sisters decide that Lilia is their new bestie and exchange numbers with him. He later lets his online buddy, Gloomurai, know about how he got the numbers of two hot women, which Gloomurai pops off about. "gg man ur rizz is INSANE." (Idia can't believe that a single father like Crimson Muscle still has mad game like this!)

BONUS: Some of the Diamond sisters' stories!

(P.S. If you like Cater + Cinderella stuff, you should check out this Cinderella retelling featuring Twst characters ;9)

Apparently, Cater used to talk to the rats and birds before he got a phone (not that he understood them at that age). After moving around so much as a kid, it became difficult for him to make friends with the local children so he'd practice his personas on the vermin in the community.

Once, they were playing dress-up together using their mother's wardrobe and makeup drawer... but they started fighting over some things that Cater was wearing, and his sisters ended up tearing the dress they wanted into rags, as well as snapping many pieces of jewelry. Everyone got scolded and punished that day, even little Cater, who hadn't done anything wrong.

He didn't like lentils as a kid so he'd pretend to trip and fall, spilling them into the ashes in the fireplace. Cater would have to pick all of them out by hand, but the chore was honestly preferable to eating them.

They used to play a game where they'd try to balance various stuff on their heads while walking. Normally it was various numbers of books--seeing who could stack the most--but once Cater tried a tray with a teapot and cups on it. That... didn't go so well.

Cater liked to pretend he was a celebrity! He'd bounce around singing with his hairbrush as a microphone or act like he was MCing for a ball. He would sing a lot as he scrubbed the floors too, popping soap bubbles as he did so.

[sinkovia]

Fluff idea!!!!!!

Hear me out:

Reader adopts two cats, Price has to deal with them :3

I jus think it'll be fun

I THINK PRICE WOULD HAVE SO MUCH BEEF WITH THE CATS LMAO. Only at first though, I feel like he would slowly start warming up to them after realizing they could be sweet and not act like giant New York street rats.

As you enter the pet store to grab some bird feed for your front porch hummingbird feeders, you find yourself drawn to the area near the adoption center. You heard the sound of soft mewing as you approached, and two feline faces peered out from a cage, their eyes reflecting a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

Reading the tag, you discovered that they were a girl and boy duo who had just arrived at the store yesterday. Found in a box outside, they looked a bit worse for wear, and the tag mentioned that they were the last ones left for adoption. Unable to resist the pull of compassion, you decided to get a closer look.

One of the cats, the more adventurous of the two, cautiously approached. You extended your hand through the bars, and the cat sniffed it curiously before rubbing the top of its head against your palm. A wave of affection swept over you as you felt the soft fur under your fingers.

The two kitties had tugged at your heartstrings, and you knew you couldn't leave them behind. Your excitement grew, and with a sense of purpose, you started looking for a store worker to inquire about the adoption process. The idea of providing a loving home for them made your trip to the pet store even more fulfilling than you had anticipated.

The front door creaked open, and you slipped inside with a cardboard box cradled carefully in your arms. John, engrossed in something on the TV, glanced your way as he heard the door but didn't pay it much mind until he saw you with the box.

"What's in the box?" curiosity etched on his face.

"Nothing," you replied with a sly smile, but just as you spoke, a soft meow emanated from the box. John raised an eyebrow, immediately skeptical.

"No, you didn't," he declared with a knowing look as the meows continued. You winced slightly, rubbing your stomach, and with a dramatic expression, "Ooo wow, must have been that food I ate earlier. I'm so gassy,"

The meows persisted, growing louder, and you paused. Caught in the act, you couldn't suppress your smile. John just shook his head, laughing at your attempt at secrecy. You kneeled down, letting them out of the box. They slowly peeked their heads out one after the other.

“You got two? love.” You quickly picked one up, holding him up in front of John’s face.

“Look how cute they are hun. This one is Chucky and that one is Tiff. It’s short for Tiffany.” He smiled seeing how excited you were.

As days passed, John's initial amusement turned into exasperation when he found himself facing the challenges that came with the new additions to the family. The first encounter was during a flea bath. Attempting to help, he found himself in a comical struggle as Chucky scratched him when he wriggled in his arms.

"You bloody spawn of the devil!" John exclaimed as he ran up his arm and scratched down his back. Losing his balance, he stumbled foward, ending up in the tub, now covered in cat hair.

You quickly put Tiff down, “Oh my god are you okay?” you helped him out of the tub and left to get a towel. He huffed, glaring at Chucky lick his paw on the bathroom counter as if nothing happened.

Nighttime snuggling became a distant memory as the cats took their positions on either side of you, leaving no room for John to join in. He would glare at them as they slept peacefully, snuggled and warm next to you, and all he could do was shake his head, muttering about "bloody spawns of the devil."

The next morning, as John stood in the kitchen, pouring coffee into a mug, he saw Chucky eyeing him from the counter. He scowled at him.

"You're like a rat, you know that?" he muttered, shooting a glare at him. "You think you can snuggle up next to my wife and kick me to the curb? You're a little devil spawn."

Your head peeked into the kitchen, eyebrows raised. "Did you say something?"

John casually took a step back from the cat, "No, love. Nothing at all." when you left he took a sip of his coffee glaring at Chucky who just slowly blinked at him.

One afternoon, during John's focused work, the duo darted through the house, leaving chaos in their wake as they knocked over his coffee mug. While John sighed in frustration, you got up chasing after them. Catching one of the troublemakers, you held him up to John's face.

"I'm sorry for spilling coffee on your paperwork, I promise it won't happen again," you voiced the imaginary apology on behalf of Chucky. John initially wore an unamused expression until you peeked your head from behind the feline, revealing an apologetic smile. The tension melted, and a reluctant grin spread across John's face.

In the days that followed, the cats, undeterred by John's attempts to shoo them away, found his legs to be irresistible scratching posts. Persistent and curious, they continued their mischief, extending their claws despite John's efforts to maintain a sense of composure.

On one particular night, as John lay on his back, Tiff decided to make herself comfortable. She stretched luxuriously before gracefully climbing onto his chest, kneading his stomach with her paws. After a few rounds of kneading, she curled into a ball, settling on his chest. John huffed out a sigh, feeling the weight of the feline on him. Her large, puffy tail occasionally swiped across his nose, prompting him to turn his head to the side. However, her tail still managed to find its way toward him, eliciting a sneeze or two and a touch of irritation to the otherwise peaceful night.

John couldn't deny the joy the cats brought to the household. John found himself growing attached to the mischievous pair. The initial resistance transformed into reluctant acceptance, and before long, he was reaching for them to scratch behind their ears and indulging them in their nightly cuddle sessions. The stray cats had not only found a home but had also carved out a special place in John's heart.

╭∩╮( •̀_•́ )╭∩╮ << Price to Chucky when reader isn't looking.

[hotxcheeto]

I remember you having a Rachel Amber strap-on prompt in your brainrot list. I've come requesting it >:) How about a shy female reader with a hidden love for adult toys using them on Rachel? I love your work btw :)))

━ 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Rachel Amber x Fem!Reader

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Smut, mentions of kissing, strap on use + v penetration ( rachel receiving ), best friends to something?, cursing

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah/Nope

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - thank you!!

There were garments riddled along the ground, Rachel standing half in your closet while tossing things that she deemed 'deplorable' to fashion behind her.

She was purging your closet and there was no way you were stopping her.

She'd gained a look in her hazel eyes that told you she was determined to get to the bottom of each pile of clothing you had. Taking things and tossing them into different piles that she had labeled in her mind all while you sat and watched her.

Laying on your stomach while resting your hand in your palm. All the while she was battling it out with ugly patterned shirts and the many pairs of sweatpants you owned.

"God, you have no clue about any trends these days. It's truly a pity."

It was Rachel, you had to expect the dramatics.

"A pity? Who do you think I am?" You joked, rolling onto your back and putting your arm over your eyes. "Someone with the worst fashion taste I've ever seen."

You snorted, listening to her continue to rummage and mutter to herself. The sounds of shirts and jeans being thrown are the only other sound besides your breaths. You were beginning to wonder what you'd be wearing for the rest of the week judging by how much she planned on donating and selling.

The rustling slowed and it seemed she'd found a target, a few grunts coming from her before she rattled the door and stepped back.

"What's this?" You tilted your head up at that, watching her shake a black shoebox that instantly made your stomach drop and your heart fall to your ass.

Fuck.

You had about three seconds to decide if you were going to absolutely snatch it away and throw it out your window for the squirrels to find and spend the rest of your life denying what was in it.

Or...

let her open it and see the horrors that awaited her on the other side of the cardboard lid that had looked like it'd seen better days.

Times up.

You got up faster than she'd ever seen you move, she wasn't even sure you'd ever walked that fast in your life. The box in your hands before another breath had come in or out of her lungs and it was slammed onto your desk and behind your back in an instant.

"It's personal." Your cheeks burned, blush invisible, but hot. Yours ears as well while you avoided looking her in the eyes and instead looked at the ground. "Personal?" "Yeah."

It was like a showdown, and you weren't letting her pass.

"C'mon, can't I get a peek? I'm your best friend after all."

"Nope. Can't guilt trip me into this one Rach."

Again, there was a tense silence that made you feel like you were doomed.

"What kind of freaky shit you got in there?" Her voice peaked with curiosity as she got closer, giggling while you backed up impossibly closer to the desk. "Seriously, it can't be that bad."

Oh it was.

"Just drop it Rachel." For a moment the girl hesitated, noticing how serious you actually were. Your voice quiet, even a bit timid. "Please?"

Her head tilted, arms crossing.

"Is it torture devices? Drugs? Sex toys? Whatever it is, I promise I won't make fun of you. I promise Y/n/n." You didn't move, you didn't even fucking blink and she began to get slightly worried that you had some ones chopped head in that thing.

"No." For a moment Rachel wondered if she should give it up and let you take this one. But she was never one to back down from a challenge, licking her bottom lip.

"Can you at least tell me what's inside? I won't see it, but can I at least know?" Your mind wasn't sure how bad it'd be if you actually told her about the shit you had hiding in the hole of your closet.

"It's just... bed stuff." Her eyebrow raised. "Bed stuff?" "Yeah."

She was very unimpressed, and even a bit more curious than where she'd begun when you'd first snatched the box in the first place.

"Is it your vibrator? I'm pretty sure everyone has one."

You looked away from her, giving away at least one of the items in the container that she was now even more curious to open. Stepping a bit closer as your guard fell in just the slightest at the mention.

Rachel then made her move, smacking the box to the side before you got the chance to stop her or the box from taking a slight tumble. The lid flew at you in hopes of distracting you and out came everything you'd been trying to hide, a slight yelp escaping your throat at the flying lid.

"Whoa." Was all you heard her say, the sudden need to hide and scream crashing over you like a ton of bricks.

Out came a vibrator which she'd been guessing had been in there the entire time. But there was a lot more that she hadn't guessed. Like the giant dick she pulled out that had a harness attached, the girl looking at you for answers while you'd practically collapsed against your wall in horror.

"No fucking way someone has used this on you."

"They haven't." You said, unable to choke the syllables back into your mouth. "No fucking way." She repeated, turning around and raising her eyebrows. "No fucking way, Y/n." You couldn't look at her, staring at the ground with wide eyes.

"You used this on someone!"

"Tell the neighbors, why don't ya."

Rachel continued looking through the box before it fell to the floor and your glittery strap-on was the only thing left in her hand.

"Is it clean?" You looked at her with an emotion that was nearly indescribable. "Yes it's fucking clean." Rachel nodded, looking it over.

"It's cute."

You wanted to implode, covering your face with your hands before moving to collapse on your bed. Not even caring what she did with the thing anymore, you were beginning to believe that breathing was overrated.

The bed dipped not a few seconds after, Rachel's head appearing right beside where yours was pressed into the mattress. Her finger lightly tapping your cheek.

"I didn't know you were into such... things." She giggled, rolling onto her stomach while still trying to peak at your face. "Is it popular with the ladies?"

"Rachel." You moved onto your back, still covering your face with your hands. "Just go home." There was no other choice, you were going to have to move to another country in order to avoid her for the rest of her life.

"But what if I wanted to see what all the fuss was about?" Your hands slammed onto the bed, your face showing clear shock. "I mean, it's huge... you must be popular with the ladies."

You wanted to be popular with the grim reaper.

"Rach?" She grinned at the sound of her nickname, sitting up to lean down towards your face. "You've used it before haven't you?" You paused, almost questioning if what she'd asked was rhetorical. But nothing else came from her lips,

Rachel wanted an answer.

"Yeah..." You responded. Her nail traced your cheekbone. "Like who?" You felt like you were on fire, swallowing hard and watching her focus on her hand. Finally giving you a break from her stare.

She actually wanted you to say it.

"I dunno... my ex?" You said, almost as a question while raising your eyebrow. "Hm.. what about that girl you liked from that art seminar we went to?" You felt your gut swallow up at the mention of her. "Or, that other one from that psych class we took together?"

She paid a lot more attention to your fun times then you realized.

"How good were they?" Rachel's nail continued to trace down your neck, then towards your ear while moving up and around, all while speaking. You were practically hyper focused on the touch, unaware of your lost in headlights appearance.

"Hm?" Then your attention was back on her.

"Okay.. I guess." Your mouth finally parted to answer, tongue then moving over your lips in a nervous reaction to her receiving that news. "Did you like it?" "I mean... at the time."

Rachel moved to sit up once more, pushing her hair off her shoulders and kneeling in front of your pillows. All the while feeling you get up and turn to look at her.

"What-"

"I want you to fuck me with it."

You almost dropped dead and you swore you felt the presence of something supernatural in the room that was coming to take your soul. Your tongue suddenly blocking your throat from making more than a gargled gurgle for speech. This was your best friend.

"Why-"

"Because I wanna know if I'm your best. That and... I wanna see how good you are with that. Y'know, like I've heard from your exes."

You wondered how much else they'd told her, and if she could see you nervously shifting your weight from foot to foot. Or the fact that your throat was so dry you could cough up a cactus.

"You're a little too dressed for that." You were surprised at your own response, standing at the end of the bed with a keen eye resting on her. You wanted to look away though, but it was nearly impossible to not stare right at Rachel Amber.

"Look at you." She slowly smiled, pulling her top up from the bottom, quickly revealing her black bra to you while throwing the item in her hand. "All bossy now." Her hands moved down to her jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them all the while you only respected the art.

"Feeling slightly lonely here, Y/n/n." She sang, squirming from her bottoms as you began to undress down into your underwear. Hand wrapping around the harness of the strap-on while she finally moved to unclip her garment, moving it aside.

And God did she look amazing, her golden skin tone reached down past her neck. Her breasts on display for you, and you only to see as you move on your bed towards her. Her nipples slowly rising as the cooler air circled her, her body leaning backwards as you crept closer.

"You're really pretty." You whispered, sounding a bit like a love-sick fool, though Rachel didn't really seem to mind. "I could say that about both of us." She agreed, deciding she liked both herself and you with less clothes on.

"Are you sure about this?" You interrupted her thoughts, looking down at the bare space between her thighs, you didn't know when she'd stripped from her undergarments, but they were in fact gone.

"I've never been more sure about anything." Was her reply, spreading her legs, opening her glistening cunt to you while you tried not to choke on your own saliva and make it less obvious you couldn't tear away your gaze from her entire existence.

"But won't it be weird after?" She rolled her eyes. "Doesn't every girl have sex with her best friend at least once?" You adjusted yourself as the question poured from her lips, the tip of the fake dick accidentally brushing and pushing against her clit making her let out a warm noise.

"Besides," She continued, reaching down to align yourself with her. "you feel really good and I really want you." Ignoring your burning face and body, you nodded your head and took a deep breath while allowing her to lubricate the cock with herself. Her pupils never tore away from yours while she did so.

"Now just please fuck me, Y/n/n." The sound of your nickname in her sweet voice made you comply so quick it was slightly embarrassing.

The strap slipped in, your eyes locked to the way it disappeared inside of her, moving your hips back and forth in awe. All the while she was trying not to claw at your body, admiring your face and almost wishing she could take a photo of your pussy whipped face.

"More, fuck, more." Your confidence was gaining at your pace, your hands moving down to grip at her hips and thighs while spreading her further. Soft moans slipping out one after another while she reached towards you to grab any part of you that she could.

Settling on your forearms, Rachel watched the way you disappeared inside her again and again, slipping a bit deeper each time. Her juices lathering the silicone and making it easier and easier to fuck her into your pile of pillows.

"Oh shit-" No girl sounded like Rachel, or looked like her for that matter. At least not to you. Rachel Amber was one of a kind, your best friend in the entire world, and now she was the pretty girl getting dicked down in your bedroom by you.

"I k-know w-what you're thin-thinki-ing-" She whimpered, whining when you pulled her closer. "I'm sure you do, Rach." You giggled, acting as if this was just another sleepover with you both.

She wiggled and squirmed in her spot, head falling back as you continued to slam your hips into hers. Skin on skin echoing against your walls and surely tumbling out the window at the same time.

Her nails dug into you, much different from her earlier light, feather touches. Not that you minded, looking at her painted fingertips create little half moons on your flesh.

"Fuck, Rach." She nearly came at the sound of your voice, focusing on your face with everything she could. She wanted to memorize how pretty you looked while deep inside her.

"Any of your exes as good as your best friend?" She asked out of breath as you wiped your forehead, her hand moving down to play with herself. "Huh?"

When she met your eyes they were darker, more focused and a much amount of boldness had infected them.

"Fuck no." You said swiftly, pushing her legs back and pressing them against her causing her to cry out. "Never."

"Don't stop- fuck- m'gonna-" You nodded down to her, allowing Rachel to pull you down and press her forehead against yours. And you began wondering, as she did this, if you were still going to be best friends after you got done making her come on your fake cock.

"Go ahead Rachel... I wanna see you." She herself blushed at your comment, but nothing but blabbered noises followed in response.

Then came her moans that suddenly got much louder, turning into high-pitched noises that sounded pornographic as you listened to her. Smiling to yourself, lips ghosting over hers but you didn't actually kiss her.

That might be too far.

And as you thrusted back and forth, slowing your pace to calm her and yourself down, you thought she was so gorgeous with her half lidded eyes and messy hair.

"Was it what you thought it'd be?" You asked her, backing up and resting your hand against her knee. The other moving to massage her lower belly while she tried to calm her pounding heart.

"You have hella hip game." You tried not to laugh while pulling out of her, rubbing her thigh to make the exit easier on her. Though, she still made a noise at the sensitive emptiness.

"I try." The overbearing suddenness of the empty room mixed with the bareness of you both was nearly breathtaking.

"You just had sex with me and you're still being awkward?" She said, teasing more as you groaned, unclipping the toy and dropping it aside to clean later.

"Well what if you don't wanna be friends with me cause my dick game sucks then I have a reason to be awkward." She playfully slapped your arm as you said this, pushing her golden hair backwards.

"I think your dick game is pretty good, but I need to make sure you don't kiss like a fish." The impending doom feeling suddenly came back at full force, after all of this, you still wanted to faint.

"I mean..." She leaned upwards, her breath warming your mouth. "I don't think I kiss like a fish." You finished in a whisper.

"I'll be the judge of that."

Rachel Amber would be the death of you.