#creds 2 owner

[xx00xxq]

[monsoonsosoon]

he's such a daddy 🫢

[natsuki-bakery]

Leon Kennedy layouts

╭ with dark red color theme !╮

♡ / ⇆ if saving | credit if using

╰ read my dni before interacting !! ╯

[marcysdreamydays11]

source - creds to🎴REO MIKAGE on pint

(The edit has no watermark pretty sure its original content I tried reverse searching if this is incorrect inform me)

BUT DAYUM ZOO WEE MAMA THE SONG GOES SO WELL WITH HIM I FEEL LIKE HE'D LISTEN TO THE WEEKND

He'd definitely like Popular,Sacrifice,Heartless, and like maybe Earned

[terryxsi]

saw this on Pinterest and it resonated deep within my soul

[naammiii]

SUKUNA FIC RECS // mdni!

cursed promises - @/madamechrissy

I’ll make you miss me - @/hiraethwrote

puff, puff, ass! - @/screampied

baby yuji and sukuna masterlist - @/sukunas-wife

shameless - @/nanaslutt

true form sukuna - @/nanaslutt

use your words - @/gumii-bearr

porn star sukuna - @/webism

maybe I’m the problem - @/screampied

best friend sukuna - @/kamitv

sit still - @/madamechrissy

well are you mine? - @/madamechrissy (this one is SO good)

1:03 am: first kiss - @/reignpage

love and company - @/starmapz

like a queen! - @/classyrbf

play with me instead - @/bratbby333

in the heat of the battle - @/glystenangel

(tongue) tied - @/starmapz

unwavering - @/cinnamorollcrybaby

2:35am: late night cravings - @/reignpage

me and the devil - @/yenayaps

no heater - @/euthymiya

servant duties - @/classyrbf

oh my - @/tonycries

strip club owner sukuna - @/madamechrissy

I DONT OWN ANY OF THESE FICS!! // CREDS TO THE WRITERS!! <3

[urlittlestarlett]

creds 2 owner

[planete777]

꒰ EYES ON ME .:. LN4 ꒱

( lando norris x reader )

IN WHICH. y/n rides lando in his gaming chair (based on this ask)

WARNINGS. 18+, MINORS DNI!, riding, unprotected p in v (safe sex guys!!!), slight dirty talk, pure filth imo 🤭

NOTE. when i saw this ask i was like 'YES.' so here it is!!! nothing much to say other than enjoy <33

SIDENOTE. requests are closed!! my brain has been milked dry of everything writing. i have 2 in-progress works so i will still upload those then probably go on a small writing break <3 also dividers are not mine, creds to the owners

edited to add tag on banner

lando's whimpering.

he's actually fucking whimpering and it's then he knows that he's absolutely drowning in everything y/n. her hands digging into his shoulders, her thighs squeezed into the impossible space of his gaming chair and her pussy, her fucking pussy is clenching him so tightly that he feels light headed, as if he smoked a joint.

sweat glistens on his forehead like oil, and the more y/n bounces on his dick, her breasts with her, the more whimpers leak out of his mouth and his eyebrows slant downwards.

"oh fuck— you're doing so good baby, so good," he moans, head thrown back like there's not a muscle in his neck, and y/n begins to grind as her lips suck and lick on lando's neck.

he can't do anything but just sit there and let her take control, he's completely at her mercy and his hands just rest on her hips, nails sinking into the flesh everytime a submitting flash of pleasure shoots through the nerves of his dick.

his cock throbs against the walls of her cunt, and his eyes squeeze shut so hard he swears he goes blind. it's too much, his t shirt clings to his chest like a lifeline and y/n's lips find his in a filthy, sloppy kiss that pulls his mind back to the present. he's instantly dragging his lips and tongue against her own, feeling the way her mouth grows slack and it gives him the chance to wrap his swollen lips around her tongue.

she's grinding faster, pressing so much on his cock that a loud, stretched moan escapes him like he's punched out every ounce of energy into it. it brings an insatiable ache for more, his hands gripping her ass with all it has to give and dragging her up and down his cock to milk it dry.

"fuck lando," her mouth whimpers with her head thrown back, hands on his chair's backrest. the sight is sinful before him, breasts spilling out her crop top, practically begging to be touched, and back arched so much it looks animalistic.

"come on, y/n," he pants, licking a stripe between the valley of her breasts before giving it a gentle kiss, "fuck yourself on my cock."

she's doing just that, beautifully, like she was made for his dick. her pussy squeezes and squeezes like it wants to kill him, and his hands lift and push her on his cock more and more, just as he feels her movements turn sloppy. the wet, dirty sounds of skin slapping sharply on skin makes his dick pulsate and lando's mind begs for it more as his hips raise desperately to meet y/n's.

"i'm gonna cum, lando, i'm gonna cum," she's sobbing. fucking hell, she's sobbing, and the tears glimmer in his purple leds light they're art. he's moaning and groaning, losing himself as he draws hickeys on her collar bones with reckless abandon.

"cum for me, baby."

she shakes as she lets go, walls constricting his dick like a mold and it completely shatters the tension building up in his balls. his cum shoots straight and deep into her pussy, mouth mumbling incoherently upon the skin of her neck as they ride their highs down.

"fucking hell, lan'."

he smiles tiredly, pressing a kiss into her mouth.

"you're gonna be the death of me."

that she is. for he would lose himself in the essence of his girlfriend, again and again, even if it meant leaving a game halfway through.

[jo-com]

Can u do a poly fic with Charles leclerc and Alexander where reader is a singer like taylor swift and does the vigilante shit perform with the chair u know... And they r watching and they had no idea reader was going to do that and they go faral pretty plzz🙏🙏

⊹₊ ⋆ᝰ.ᐟִ ࣪🎀 ➛ Feral

Charles Leclerc x Fem!singer x Alexandra Saint Mieux

Summary: Based of the request☝🏻

Genre: Fluff, established relationship, suggestive content, Poly and a little bit of SMAU

Fc: Taylor swift

Note: there are some grammatical errors and this is not proofread also sorry for taking this long to answer this, was finishing some of my other works and got busy🥹 Hope u enjoyed this though!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ➛ My Masterlist

─────── ─ ⋆౨ৎ˚🩰⟡˖ ࣪─ ───────

Everybody screamed with their hearts content— their eyes blazed with excitement and adoration. It was an honor to finally get to watch you perform in their hometown; their screams of joy is evident that they are enjoying every moment of the show.

Amongst them is your two no.1 supporters. Alex and Charles.

They looked at you from below the VIP seats with awe. Their hearts filled with pride as you go on doing what you love. “c'est notre fille (that’s our girl)” Alex yelled, her voice mixing with the other sound that surrounded the stage.

“She’s so pretty up there, I can’t wait to see her later” Charles squealed— acting as if he were a 12 year old girl that was gushing over their idol.

Alex smiled widely from ear to ear at her boyfriend; loving the supportive behavior his putting out.

As you were singing and feeling every beat, you can’t help but wander your eyes below— feeling butterflies as you saw your lovers holding hand in hand and screaming at the top of their lungs. Showing their love and affection towards you.

Unbeknownst to them, you we’re going to pull something that you haven’t told them or anyone yet. It was something you’ve practiced for hours and was now finally ready to be seen by everyone watching.

➛ (imagine this was you)

Video not mine, creds to the owner;)

Everyone roared with joy as you did your performance— their screams filled with nothing but endless praise.

Their hearts beating from adrenaline and their minds can’t wrap around the fact that you just did a splendid and eye catching choreography. The way you swayed your hips just put them in a trance and just got them jumping up and down with glee.

While everyone was busy yelling and adoring you. Charles and Alex stared blankly at you—Their jaws still dropped from your sudden performance. They didn’t know that you would do such thing or was even capable to look sexy and hot at the same time.

…

Charles_Leclerc

Liked by Alexandrasaintmieux, Landonorris, ScuderiaFerrari and 2,379,120 others

Charles_leclerc WHEN I TELL U THAT I CAME IN MY PANTS (I am not joking)

Tagged; @yn.core

View all comments

ScuderiaFerrari excuse me??🤨

Username1 CHARLES WHAT

Username2 honestly would have the same reaction

Username3 Y/N IS SO PRETYYYY

Alexandrasaintmieux on my knees for her

Alexandrasaintmieux would eat her right up

Charles_leclerc ughh same😫😫

Username4 what is going on with these two

Alexandrasaintmieux the chair is so lucky

Charles_Leclerc would want to be the chair rn🙁🙁

Alexandrasaintmieux same😢

Landonorris Calm down you two, damn

Carlossainz55 wtf

Username5 same reaction dude

Yn.core too much my loves��

Charles_leclerc can’t help that you’re too irresistible

Alexandrasaintmieux yesyesyes

Alexandrasaintmieux (me screaming that with you)

Username6 ALEX???🥹

Username7 ADMIN HELP

…

Alexandrasaintmieux

Liked by Charles_Leclerc, Yn.core, f1 and 5,790,267 others

Alexandrasaintmieux my mind 24/7

Tagged; @yn.core

View all comments

Charles_leclerc SAME SAME

ScuderiaFerrari uhm no.

Username8 GIRL U TOO???😭😭

Username9 the support is too much

Username10 this is way worse than charles

Charles_leclerc would let her dominate me tbh

Yn.core ???

Alexandrasaintmieux me 2🤭🤭

Yn.core 🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤦‍♀️

Landonorris welcome to the club

Carlossainz55 they honestly need help

Charles_leclerc WOULD LET HER WRAP HER THIGHS AROUND MY NECK AND CHOKE ME

Charles_leclerc she just makes me convulsed with just by talking

ScuderiaFerrari meeting now.

Carlossainz55 should i be scared??

Alexandrasaintmieux charles should be🤣

Username11 THE COMMENT SEC IS SO CHAOTIC😭😭

Username12 i js wanted to see loving comments🥲

Username13 you came to the wrong acc mate

…

Sorry I haven’t been updating, i was having a writers block and i hope you like this💞

[whoreforsexymen]

Strong Drinks & Broken Links 🍺⛓️‍💥 CH. 1

Gray Hair & The Absence of Care

(Gif creds: me <3)

Pairing(s): Vander x Reader

Pronouns: GN!Reader (for now— please see this post for details)

Rating: SFW, except for strong language and consumption of alcohol (drink responsibly, people). Reader is old enough to drink, despite what Vander thinks.

Word count: 4.7k (the rest are going to be far longer, so be prepared)

Tags: Slowburn, Reader is implied to be 21+ years old, Age Gap, Heavy Use Of Language/Alcohol, Reader might be a little too angsty (I’m sorry), Tense Situations, Vander being the caring mentor type he is but in a poorly thought out way.

Notes: I don't think I've ever posted a fic on this account. So, welcome to my only outlet for the brain rotting obsession I have for this man. ALSO I SWEAR TO GOD NO ONE MENTION ANYTHING ABOUT SEASON 2, OR I'LL FIGHT YOU.

((If any of you want to be added to a tag list for this fic, please lmk!! Ask box is also open for requests/suggestions/comments 🤍 feedback is always appreciated 🤍🤍))

It had been a terrible night so far.

Not only had you been shortchanged more than two-thirds of the agreed-upon pay for a job you’d completed—but that paltry sum had quickly slipped from your grasp entirely, taken by a gang of thugs.

You had to give the undercity credit—it had an uncanny ability to remain a perpetual cesspool. You’d managed to take down two of the muggers, but the third—the one who’d made off with your coin—had slipped away while you were dealing with the others. Just your luck. The payout had been pathetic to begin with, and now you were left with nothing but the bitter taste of failure. It looked like you’d be scraping the dregs of the city to find enough for your next meal, yet again. 

That is, unless you decide to drink your dinner. As well as your sorrows, in the process. The idea struck you as you neared the central bar of the undercity, still sulking as you were making your way back to the shack you called home. The Last Drop. A name that said it all. If there was any place where the undercitizens of Zaun gathered, it was here. No doubt the owner had to be the wealthiest man in the area, though that wasn’t exactly saying much in a place like this. 

You made your decision. A warm meal might be out of reach, but liquor could suffice—if you drank heavily enough, that is. Or at the very least, it might dull the sting of the night’s failures. 

The bar was an eyesore, a hulking building among the rundown structures of The Lanes. A garish neon sign blinked above the entrance, buzzing like an angry fly, casting sickly light on the grime-streaked pavement. Inside, the din of loud music and the clatter of drunken chatter spilled into the street. It was a haven for folks with any background, no matter if they sought business or pleasure within its walls. 

You pushed through the door, noting how no one even bothered to glance your way. That was how you liked it—under the radar, always out of sight, always out of the mind of untrustworthy beings. 

Then again, you didn’t trust anyone anyway.

You duck and weave through the crowd of rowdy patrons, eyes scanning the bar for a table or booth at which you could hunker down and nurse your drink in peace. Your frown deepens beneath the hood of your jacket when you come up empty-handed. Typical. No matter, though. You’d have to order at the bar anyway, regardless of where you sat.

It’s when your eyes settle in the direction of the bar that luck seems to briefly shine upon you—there’s an empty stool. Without hesitation, you make a beeline for it, not wanting some drunken fool to snag it before you could. You practically dive-bomb onto the seat, landing with a small grunt, air knocked from your lungs. After the night you’ve had, this stool feels like an oasis, despite the new absence of oxygen beneath your chest. You settle into it like it’s the only thing left in the world, clutching the seat as if someone might try to commandeer it if you let your guard down low enough.  

The realization dawns on you that, in order to get a drink, you’d have to interact with the bartender. You hold that fact in high regard with contempt. 

Chit-chat? Not tonight– or truthfully any night. You’ve never been crazy about casual conversation. The events of the evening have only soured your mood further, and the last thing you need is some eager bartender trying to make nice. Normally, you’d avoid sitting at the bar for that reason alone, yet here you are.

Thankfully, the bartender pays you no mind, his attention fully set on the patron he’s currently tending to. That is, until said patron leaves and the barman finally turns to you, his new source of focus. 

The sheer momentum with which you rolled your eyes almost knocked you out of your seat. 

“Welcome to The Last Drop. What’ll it be?” His voice is deep, and heavy, garnering a thick accent that clung to every word. 

He’s an older man, though exactly how old is hard for you to pin down. His hair’s gray, his eyes tired, the lines of age having etched themselves into his face long ago. However, there’s something youthful about him—something that makes it hard to tell whether he’s an old-looking thirty or a young-ish fifty. Frankly, you don’t care enough to continue your mental evaluation of him. Age shouldn’t matter when it comes to bartenders. They either know how to pour a decent drink, or they don’t.

You don’t waste time with pleasantries.

“Something strong.” You mutter, your voice mostly flat, but with a hint of irritation that danced along the edge.

The bartender scratches at his graying beard, his gaze thoughtful as he considers your request. You grit your teeth, hoping he won’t try to scam you by giving you something weak and overpriced, just to line his pockets with your hard-earned coin. You’d seen it happen to others, and you’d be a damned fool if you let it happen to you. 

The bartender studies your face, or at least what he can see of it beneath your hood, before his gaze shifts to the shelves beneath the counter. After a moment of deliberation, he selects a bottle with thoughtful ease, pulling the cork out with his teeth. With his free hand, he grabs a tin cup and pours in a copious amount, sliding it toward you with a swift flick of his wrist. You’d almost call it a generous decision on his part, considering the fact that you hadn’t even paid your dues first. His choice to serve you first goes a long way in easing your suspicion, at least for the moment.

You dig into your pocket, retrieving the few gold coins you’d managed to hold onto when dealing with the aforementioned thugs. They weren’t enough for one measly meal, but they were enough for a drink or two– or three, but who’s going to keep track? Certainly anyone but you. You’d only stop once your pitiful wealth ran out. Without a second thought, you toss them onto the bar top, making it unspokenly clear to the bartender that you were hoping for much more than just this one drink. You grab the cup, lifting it to your lips and downing the lot of it in one quick, greedy gulp. The warmth spreads through you almost immediately, and it feels like a small victory over the obnoxious turn your night has taken.

The bartender watches this with a faint chuckle before you slam the empty cup back down onto the counter. He takes it without a word, refills the tiny tin chalice, and begins passing it back. Without missing a beat, you grab the cup from him, draining the contents in a second gulp before he even has time to set the bottle back down. 

“You look like you’ve seen better days,” he remarks casually, his voice low and steady as he finally reunites the bottom of the bottle with the countertop. 

“I’ve seen a lot of things.” you mutter, your eyes fixed on anything but him. The words come out flat, though there’s a weight to them. It’s more than just a refusal to talk—it’s a refusal to let anyone look too closely. You avoid eye contact like the plague. Eyes, after all, are the windows to the soul. And letting someone peer through them is a risky gamble you’ve never been apt to take.

You were clearly beyond uninterested in the beginnings of this conversation. The lack of willingness to be friendly reigning clear as you shove the tin cup towards him yet again. He grabs the empty cup and refills it once more—your third drink in under five minutes. He seems reluctant to hand it back. He maintains a grip on it as he eyes you again, this time much more thoughtful.

“Care to chat about it? Might be healthier than drownin’ yourself at the bottom of a bottle,” he offers plainly.

You give him a sidelong glance, not even trying to mask the edge in your voice. 

“Doesn’t sound like a good business strategy, encouraging your paying customers to cut back.” You fire back quickly, the sharpness of your words outpacing even your annoyance at the unwanted conversation.

The bartender chuckles again, a spark of amusement flickering in his tired eyes. There’s a glimmer of understanding in his smile—maybe he’s seen more than a few like you in this dive. Or maybe, he knows in the same fashion as you, that sometimes it’s more palatable to fill the silence with alcohol than with words.

“Fair point, but I’d prefer to keep my patrons alive. Helps me sleep at night, y’know?” The bartender shoots back, his eyes fixed on you, all too curious about what’s hidden beneath your hood. The conversation quickly turns uncomfortable, a painful reminder of why you’ve never liked bartenders—they always talk too much and ask too many personal questions. As far as you’re concerned, they should stick to the charade for the sake of their regulars, and leave all unsuspecting customers alone. 

The momentum of yet another roll of your eyes causes your head to bob ever so slightly— your hood creeping back towards the line of your hair. The new, incredibly subtle, view of your face made the barman clench the cup in his hands with rigor. 

His eyes narrow slightly, the amusement fading from his voice. 

“Where’re your parents, kid?” He asks, his voice low and in demand of an answer. 

The question hits you like a slap, and for a brief second, you find yourself caught off guard. You’re not someone who’s usually thrown by imbecilic remarks from the residents of The Lanes, but this one? It’s different. Not just the audacity of asking such a personal question, but the clear assumption of your age being made so boldly. 

Your head snaps up, and before you can stop yourself, you push your hood back, breaking your own rule about eye contact. Why? Who knows. Today has already gone off the rails, and you’re too far gone to care. The liquor’s sudden grip on your senses began to cloud your judgment, and honestly, it was far from shocking. To be fair, you had asked for something strong… Not to mention having no substantial food in your belly to dilute the potency you sought after. All in all, there was no ignoring how the liquor was starting to pummel you like a brick to the face would. 

You meet his gaze, eyes scanning his face for any sign of what he’s gunning after by asking such a question. But there’s nothing obvious behind those gloomy eyes of his. No clear motive. You can’t tell if he’s purposefully trying to get under your skin or if he’s just another fool with a quick tongue. 

“Rotting in their graves,” you mutter, voice sharp and, in addition, spiteful. 

“Which I’m sure you’ve got one foot in, yourself, Gramps.” You make a mockery of the decades that are clearly stacked against you, hoping to push him back into his corner.

He doesn’t flinch. Instead, he practically snorts, running a hand over his silvery beard as he crosses his arms; resting them across his stomach with the casual authority of someone who’s seen it all. He’s not rattled by your quips—no, not in the slightest. 

“How old are you, kid?” His voice is flat now, a hint of something more serious creeping in, though you can’t figure out why. You’re even more unsure now about his intentions. Constantly expecting the worst from people was your lot in life. 

“Too young for you.” You snap back, pushing forward with your usual sharpness, trying to regain some control over this ridiculous conversation. You reach for the cup he had refilled for you, but before you can even graze it, he snatches it away, clicking his tongue like a disappointed parent.

“Tsk, tsk,” he tuts at you, as if you’ve done something wrong.

“I asked how old you were.” he repeats, his voice now devoid of any amusement. 

He watches you carefully, his gaze inspecting your face as if he’s trying to peel back layers you didn’t even know were there.

You roll your eyes, irritation growing, and narrow them at him, unwilling to back down. You can’t tell if he’s probing for something deeper, or if he’s just getting off on making you uncomfortable. Either way, you’re done playing his game.

“Why are you so curious, huh?” you scoff, leaning in and making a bold decision to double down on your irritation. “I’m just another patron here to drown in my sorrows and drink them away. Not to mention, I’m paying for the privilege.” Your words are bold, and with that same boldness, you reach across the bar and rip the cup from his grasp.

You try to bring the drink to your lips, intent on finishing it off. But just as the cup nears your mouth, the bartender’s large, rough hand slips over the opening of the cup like a solar eclipse. 

He glares down at you, his eyes narrowing as he sizes you up with a look that could strip paint. In that moment, something clicks in his mind. The defiance in your voice, the way you’re carrying yourself—it all reinforces his suspicion. You’re not old enough to be here. When you walked in, your hood had obscured most of your face. But now that it’s gone, he can see it clearly: you’re just a kid, trying to score some alcohol. The only thing that kept him from throwing you out on your ass, was your cadence. You looked young, and spoke carelessly, but you sounded grown. If you were in fact grown, he’d ease up. 

However, with the way you look—bloodied and bruised, no less—he’s convinced you’re in some kind of trouble. The kind of trouble he doesn’t want being drug through his bar. He doesn’t know where you’ve been, who you’ve pissed off, or what kind of people you run with. But this? This is his bar, and he’s fought too hard to maintain the fragile peace that reigns here. He won’t let you ruin that for him and his loyal patrons by dragging your poor choices in with you. 

“Seems I’ve struck a nerve,” he says, his voice no longer playful but flat and serious. “Either tell me your age, or you’re cut off.”

The room seems to hush around you. The muffled chatter of patrons behind you fades as the bartender’s tone sharpens, leaving no room for argument. It’s a quiet threat now, the kind that lets you know exactly how much leverage you have—and how little he’s willing to tolerate.

“You didn’t strike shit,” You hiss. “and I don’t need to answer to shit.” You add. 

The bartender bends over the counter, his face inches from yours. The bitter scent of smoke hangs thick on his breath, hot and rancid, and it presses against your skin like a physical weight. The damp air in the bar swirls around you, brushing your cheeks with an uncomfortable warmth that feels suffocating, as if the room itself is closing in.

“Keep talkin’ like that, and I’ll have no problem lettin’ my loyal patrons cut your tongue out for us to hang above the bar.” He says fiercely. 

You glance over your shoulder, catching the eyes of the dozens of patrons who have fallen silent, their conversations and business abruptly halted. It’s clear—they’re waiting for a signal, ready to back up their beloved bartender if things escalate.

“You can call off the cavalry, Gramps. I was just leaving,” you retorted, swiping one of your coins from the counter, as if to refund yourself for the drink you’ve yet to have. You release your grip on the cup, almost slingshotting it backwards from the sheer force you two had each been bestowing upon it. 

“Sit down.” the bartender commands, his voice low and final, as you attempt to abscond. 

You don’t reply, instead moving to shoulder through the row of patrons who are standing like silent sentinels, waiting for the slightest nod from their bar’s gatekeeper. It’s not like you expected them to part, but the way not a single person dares budge makes your blood boil. The crowd might as well be a wall of stone. 

“Sit. Down.” the bartender demands again, his tone sharper this time, a razor edge cutting through the haze of the bar.

You grind your teeth, your patience wearing thin.

“I’ll take my patronage elsewhere—”

You don’t even finish your sentence before a hand, seemingly out of nowhere, pushes you roughly back. You stumble, barely managing to stop yourself from falling flat on your ass. The sudden movement sends a rush of heat to your head, the anger spiking through your veins like fire.

You seethed at the touch, the anger burning hot in your chest, every muscle in your body coiled with frustration. But you knew better than to keep pushing your luck. Not today. Not in a situation like this, with dozens of hungry eyes watching, their hands twitching near their weapons of choice, waiting for the slightest excuse to make a move.

Biting back a torrent of curses, you forced yourself to swallow your pride, choosing to stay quiet—at least for now. It wasn’t worth the fight. You could practically feel the heat of their glares digging into your back as you turned on your heel, eyes locking once more with the bartender’s. You reclaimed your seat at the bar with deliberate flair, each movement oozing a sense of defiance and attitude. It was a performance, one you were used to. To you, it felt like you were playing the part of someone tough. But you knew, deep down, that to anyone else—especially the bartender—you probably looked like nothing more than a naive, immature idiot who didn’t know when to shut up. It wasn’t a great look, but at least it kept people from getting too close.

“I’m sat,” you muttered, voice brimming with the remnants of your irritation.

The bartender shook his head slightly, a hint of amusement creeping back into his expression. You could feel the tension in the room dissipate, the energy shifting as the crowd behind you resumed their rowdy conversations. The noise began to swell again, and for a moment, it almost felt like the bar was returning to some semblance of normalcy.

He grabbed a dirty glass from the counter, handling it with practiced ease, and pulled a rag from beneath the bar. As he began polishing the glass, he didn’t so much as glance your way. His focus was on the glass, and for a few moments, it felt like you were nothing more than a background detail to him. You could feel your impatience growing with each passing second. If he had something to say, you wished he’d just say it already. At least that way, you could get out of here—and maybe keep some of your pride intact.

The bartender continued his slow, methodical motions, running the rag around the rim of the glass with an almost exaggerated calmness. He didn’t bother to look up, yet you could feel the weight of his gaze on you through the silence.

“I’m gonna ask you again,” he said, his tone neutral, almost too much. “How old are you?”

You weighed your options. If you didn’t answer, you had no idea what would happen next. If you did answer, you still had no clue. It was a gamble either way.

“(Insert age here),” you muttered, the words slipping out begrudgingly, each one like a weight lifting off your chest.

The bartender scoffed lightly, a soft laugh escaping him that made your skin crawl. Your fingers began tapping impatiently on the bar’s edge, the rhythm a soft counterpoint to the growing tension between you.

“____ years old and still so naive… You really are just a kid, eh?” His words hung in the air, his eyes still locked on the glass in front of him, but you could see the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“There are worse things I could be,” you shot back, your voice laced with a mix of defensiveness and defiance.

“S’pose that’s true,” he replied, finishing up his polishing with the air of someone who had all the time in the world. He set the glass down next to the others—clean, polished, and waiting to be used. With a fluid motion, he slung the rag over his shoulder, then placed one hand on his hip and the other on the edge of the counter. He shifted his weight, leaning just slightly into the bar, his posture relaxed yet somehow still imposing.

“But on the other hand,” he said, his voice dropping to a more serious tone, “what you already are ain’t too good either.”

It wasn’t a threat—more of an observation, one that hung heavily in the air, like the smoke in the room. You felt the weight of it, but you couldn’t quite tell if it was a warning or just another way to mess with you. Either way, you could tell this conversation wasn’t over.

You could feel the first few bubbles of anger rising in your chest, the heat creeping up your neck as your blood threatened to boil. You’d always been quick to anger—an unfortunate side effect of your temper and stubborn streak. They were the crosses you’d carried for as long as you could remember.

You scoffed again, the sound sharp and biting, as if it were the only defense you had left. You had already rolled your eyes a dozen times tonight, but it felt like you were on the verge of an explosion.

“What’s your goal here, Gramps?” you spat, your voice dripping with sass, every word a little jab. You didn’t care to hide your bitterness. You liked to fight with words just as much as you did with your fists, and the bartender was starting to see that loud and clear.

“You got the answer you were looking for. Whether you believe me or not, you’ve already served me twice. If my age was such a concern to you, you would’ve kicked me out long before I even sat down.” Your words hung in the air once more, and you could see the gears turning behind his eyes, but he didn’t speak.

He just let out a quiet laugh, as if your logic amused him. And he didn’t bother to answer, not even in the slightest.

The silence stretched, thick and tense, and it was clear he wasn’t going to explain himself. He wasn’t about to give you the satisfaction of an explanation. He simply leaned back, eyes flicking over to the rowdy crowd behind you.

It was infuriating.

You stayed silent for a beat, but only because you knew you’d have more to say. And damn right, you did.

“Do you do this with every new customer?” You snapped, your voice rising now, the frustration boiling over. “’Cause if you ask me, I’m not sure how this shithole’s still in business. You discourage your customers from drinking, even though this is a fucking bar, and that’s all people come here to do. You make it impossible to drink peacefully, just like you make it impossible to drink at all!”

The words spilled out like fire, each one more forceful than the last. Your temper was no longer something you were trying to hold back—it was running rampant, and it felt good to let it out, even if it was in the form of a scream. You weren’t about to let this bartender—this stubborn old man—have the upper hand. Not when it felt like he was deliberately pushing your buttons.

“So if it’s alright with you, Gramps, you got your answer, and I don’t owe you shit. I’m leaving.” You actually raise your voice purposefully this time, slamming your hands down onto the counter as you push yourself off of the stool once more. 

The bartender wasn’t fazed by your outburst. In fact, he’d dealt with feistier, louder, and much more difficult people than you—people who could out-shout you or out-punch you if they had to. He wasn’t bothered by your temper. He had raised four kids on his own, after all. He’d learned a thing or two about handling stubborn personalities, whether they were kids or grown adults who carried themselves like children. And you, in his eyes, were just another brat testing his patience.

“You’re not going anywhere.” His voice was steady, calm, and authoritative, with an edge of finality that cut through the noise of the bar.

Before you could react, his hand shot out faster than you expected, grabbing your shoulder with an unexpected gentleness. He tugged you back into the seat with a kind of effortless force that made your breath catch in your throat.

You shot up from the bar stool in a flash, but his hold was stronger than you anticipated.

Instinct kicked in, and your own hand shot out like a snake, grabbing his wrist with a quick, almost violent motion. You shoved it off your shoulder, irritation flaring up like wildfire.

“Don’t touch me,” you hissed, your chest heaving as you glared up at him, the heat of the moment burning in your eyes.

You huffed, your fists clenching at your sides, teeth grinding. The room seemed to close in around you, but you weren’t backing down—not now, not after all of this. The tension between you and the bartender was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. You could feel the weight of the crowd’s silent attention being drawn to you once more as they waited for your next move, but you weren’t afraid. You didn’t have time to be.

The man let out a heavy sigh, the sound thick with disappointment. 

“Look, kid—”

“By the fucking god’s, I’m not a kid!” you snapped, your eyes flashing a level of ferocity that sliced straight through him.

He pressed his lips into a thin, hard line, his gaze cemented on you still as he took a long, steadying breath. Patience was his virtue, and he was willing to endure this sparring match for as long as it took. 

“It’s clear you’re in some kind of trouble,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Maybe, just maybe, instead of lashing out, you could let someone help—”

You cut him off mid-sentence, your words an unpleasant interruption.

“Help? You want to help? Surely that’s the wrong word. Surely, I heard you wrong, cause, from the way I see it, you’ve done nothing except cage me in here, threaten me, and withhold what I paid for. So if it’s with any consolation, take your ‘help’ and fuck off.” 

Enough was enough. Without another word, you climbed atop the stool, bracing yourself for what came next. You steadied your balance, then launched yourself toward the crowd with calculated precision. The dismount was quick—intentional, forceful. You tucked your legs in, soaring over their heads in a perfect flip, and extended them just before hitting the ground behind them. Without pausing, you bolted for the door, heart pounding in your chest.

To your surprise, you made it—flying through the door and slamming it shut behind you with a satisfying crash. Finally, you were free, never to be seen within a hundred yards of this bar ever again. 

The patrons had made a half-hearted attempt to grab at you as you rushed past, but a sharp, deafening whistle from the bartender stopped them in their strides. He shook his head softly, a silent message that it wasn’t worth the chase. That it was better to let you go. If you were in trouble, it would catch up with you soon enough.

Deep down, the bartender hated seeing someone so young seal their own fate in such a way. But, in the end, there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t save them all—no matter how badly he wished he could.

He couldn’t help but wonder— if maybe, just maybe, he’d been a little too assertive, or downright impetuous with you after all.

But it didn’t matter now. You were gone. All he could do was hope you’d survive out on those streets. 

taglist: @blogforhoes @committingcrimes-2047 @dirtandcrime @eternalgoddessofart @woozulo @lutaaaslostacc-d8 @heidiland05 @sugaaawaraaa @glenn-slayer

[sweets3rial]

'the girl next door' masterlist

di!leon x fem!reader

synopsis: leon is a good man. a pure man. he believes in the good. he sees the good in men always but he can also see the sick. the twisted. the evil. the greed. just like he can see that in other men, he can see it in himself too.

and he can definitely see his pretty neighbor getting undressed right in front of her window.

tags and warnings: DEAD DOVE! DO NOT EAT! neighbors, stalking, obsession, heavy smut, p in v, creampie(s), biting/marking, depictions/mentions of abusive relationships, pervert! leon, phone sex, forbidden love (?), mutual masturbation, shower sex, sexual tension (resolved & unresolved), public sex, voyeurism (?), masturbation, cheating/adultery, greed, leon pretends to be a friend to get closer to you, ooc (?), more to be added...

1 - red cherry pies

a married couple just moved next door. typical couple. business owner husband, boisterous, rich, asshole, and his pretty little wife who loves to bake cherry pie.

2 - through her red curtains

she finds comfort in a cool breeze and natural light. she likes to watch the sun cast shadows down in her room from the window. which is why she likes to leave her red curtains wide open. but it's not only the breeze that her open window lets in.

3 - red silk and lace

date night with your husband doesn't go well. you're left in tears and with a sunken heart. who knew your knight in shining armor would be right under your nose.

4 - red roses and thorns

tbd....

(divider cred to @saradika,, photos off of pinterest)

note: if you'd like to be tagged in this upcoming series (god knows when it'll be out) please dm me or fill out the form below :D!

taglist

[natsuki-bakery]

Lynette Lyney Freminet !

꒰୨୧◞ 。name⠀.ᐟ⠀mbti⠀₊ ˚⊹

ɞ⠀.⠀age ﾉ⠀pronouns ﹗ ໒꒱۪

[thecoyotescry]

Happy Wednesday, gang! Currently thinking about my 2 pretty girlfriends. 🤭😍

(creds to owner, keep up the amazing work capturing beautiful things)

[imnameimswrld]

ㅤㅤⵌ ׄ ۪ 𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐁 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐑 ⁰⁰ ׄ ⑅ CEW ‌˖ ֺ ᰮ

— DESCRIPTION ੭ in which they learn about the woman mr cha eunwoo bagged... and she's far more than just the owner of south korea's hottest club.

— PAIRING ੭ cha eunwoo x fem!aston!driver.

— FILE ੭ social media au.

— SERIES ੭ "WAIT...THEY MAKE SENSE !?"

— WARNINGS ੭ language.

— FACE CLAIM ੭ lisa of BLACKPINK.

❪ main masterlist | kpop masterlist | f1 masterlist ❫

━━━━━━━━━━❪ 🖤 ❫━━━━━━━━━━

eunwoo.o_c

📍 Club Seoular, Seoul, South Korea

liked by ddana_yoon, mj_7.7.7, and 1 232 222 others

eunwoo.o_c 🕺.

View all comments

mj_7.7.7 no one ask me anything.

↳ user LMAO BRO HAS BEEN SWORN TO SECRECY

user AYO...HUH

user lee dongmin, a damn explanation would be nice 😭... what happened to hello, how are you ?

user I ain't no sheldon genius kid but, I am a y/n l/n stan, and THAT people, looks like my girlie.

↳ user dude...Y/N AND EUNWOO !?!? like, like, like, Y/N L/N AND CHA EUNWOO !?

↳ user lol who tf is this girl ?

↳ user who- "WHO" !? daaawwggg, u got me lmao in public rn

↳ user you're telling me there are people who don't know who Y/N L/N IS !?!? nah das crazy.

↳ user guys, we can't just assume that's y/n just because it's her club, u literally can't see shit on the picture 😭

ddana_yoon where's my pic creds ???

ddana_yoon no ? okay.

ddana_yoon ynusername, tell eunwoo hyung to give me creds or I'll expose ur relationship.

ddana_yoon oh- oopsies 🤭

↳ ynusername i don't even have the words...

↳ eunwoo.o_c i- you- I'm coming for you.

↳ user OKAY NAH SANA U WRONG FOR THAT (thank u pookie) !!!

ynusername added to their story ! • 1hr

seen by eunwoo.o_c, fernandoalo_official, and 1 222 242 others

user replied to your story !

OH U TELL 'EM QUEEN

user replied to your story !

EUNYN RAAARRRRR !!!!!

oh okay 😭

MOTHER !?

astonmartinf1

liked by ynusername, eunwoo.o_c, and 1 924 332 others

astonmartinf1 and that's p1 in miami !!! all hail the aston princess, because she's done it again 💚👑 (btw, have u checked out ClubSeoular_official yet ???)

#Y/nL/n #MiamiGP #F1 #AstonMartinF1

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ynusername let's gooooo !!! 💚

user l/n has literally scored p1 for five years IN A ROW in Miami, that track is her bitch and no one can convince me otherwise ✋[ liked by ynusername ]

eunwoo.o_c 😍😍😍

user WAIT DID YA'LL SEE EUNWOO AT THE RACE 😭

↳ user giiiirrlll, not only did he look HELLA (he's he's much taller in person holy shit), he was literally attached to y/n's side whenever he could be it was so cute 😭

↳ user omg yes and this was ALL week too !

↳ user ALL WEEK !?!? you mean to tell me he was there for sprints AND quali and I NEVER NOTICED 😀😃

ynusername added to their story ! • 1hr

seen by p_rocky, ast_jinjin, and 2 024 923 others

eunwoo.o_c

liked by fernandoalo_official, ynusername, and 1 989 232 others

eunwoo.o_c so incredibly proud of you my love, i always am 💚

View all comments

user excuse me while I go cry in that cold and dark corner for a sec

ynusername my whole support system, I love you so much chacha 💋

↳ eunwoo.o_c I love you more princess 🥰

↳ user chacha ??? nah that's actually really cute 😭

user they're literally both the most randomest, and adorable couple of the century.

comments have been limited under this post

𔘓. 𔘓. 𔘓.

taglist: @minkyungseokie @dreamyzhou @treehouse-mouse

[adrianzzzz]

can you make dave or erisolsprite graphisc pleaaz ^o^

Dave and Erisolsprite graphs right at ya

i didnt make the dave ones, creds 2 the owners of those!! I made the erisolsprite ones as i couldn't find any for ya :) F2U.

credit for the ones i made arent needed but its appreciated ^_^

[vampiretendencies]

come out and haunt me, i know you want me — jj maybank࿐

summary; putting words in jj’s mouth after an unexpected pregnancy has you uneasy about the future of your relationship along with a gnawing emptiness of what jj will think. warnings; pregnancy, one mention of throwing up, suggestive, talks of sex, fluff, all of my characters are always aged up but they had to be in school for this so i set them in high school, as seniors, making them 18. this takes place somewhat in season 3, except JJ’s house never got the eviction notice and they went back to school. also mention of luke. did it this way cause i felt like i was i need of a new setting other the chateau (rip it will be missed :/) pairing; jj maybank x fem!pregnant!reader authors note; decided to put this one out, as i have gotten a lot of requests about dad!jj and i’m giving them a separate masterlist of their own. i figured they needed to be in order lol. so i guess in a way this can be considered the first of dad!jj series. cred to gif owner !

You’re spiraling over the life forming inside of you and JJ—oddly enough is fretting about his class project final. Something that would usually be of no concern to JJ, but he actually wants to pass senior year.

Building an ancient, time-consuming model of some old landscape and having an actual child were two completely different things. From opposite worlds and of varying natures.

Spontaneous cravings all the way down to a late period.

It’s instinct really, to skip school and confirm your suspicions— though, it’s pretty much certain. JJ caught on half way throughout the school day, so wrapped up in this project that he hadn’t noticed you slipping away. Sneaking out of the exit door after throwing up rancid lunch. If he was aware, there’s not a doubt that he would have followed. He was the one that showed you that escape route from the hell site on a monday long ago when school was too much to bare— that was when the two were freshmen, for now they are seniors carrying the weight of the future on their shoulders, including the plus one in your belly.

You’d sobbed profusely into your knees, they were pulled all the way up to your chest on that tiled floor. The detrimental pregnancy test, with two lines, is sat atop JJ’s bathroom counter, taunting you in a manner of ‘now you have to face me.’ Debating whether or not to take this as life altering or life shattering. You knew JJ like every crevice in the palm of his hand, but you could never be set on his reaction for something like this. Always prominent in his ways about 'being in this for the long run', could having a baby change that?

You had to tell him, there was no other way around it. For it's always been a do tell promise that nothing goes unsaid in the relationship.

"What the fuck am I gonna' do?" Is all that curses past your lips repeatedly through choked tears.

The tears are not for the tiny being inside you; its fear. The fear of the unknown, or the uncertainty. So young, so much ahead. A small sliver of a thought that maybe you'd have to do this alone.

Your heart almost falls to the heals of your feet at the doors opening and closing, and the throwing down of book bags. Shakily pressing your finger to the phone that's beside you, the time reading 2:30 PM, meaning school was over and you'd have to get your act together to face JJ. Whom, had left you several missed calls and text messages concerning your whereabouts. Even so, it would be of no surprise to JJ that you were here; basically, here every day and home when you had to be, that's how the story goes. It's imaginable that you'll be sticking around as often as you'd be able to, because telling your parents would indefinitely make them disown you. Having a baby with the Luke Maybank's son and the towns 'well-known kleptomaniac' wouldn't exactly be music to their ears. The only positive in that picture is that Luke's not around, you and JJ have been slumming it in his childhood home since. You'd helped him fix it up so that it would be 'livable', and he adored that someone would cherish him that much to do such things. He'll have another form of adoration, soon enough though.

"JJ, a beer is not gonna' help you get this shit done."

You could hear John B mumble at JJ, and as it would to most curiosity strikes. Taking in the push and pull of the standard refrigerator, not far away, the bathroom, kitchen, and living room all but feet away from each other. Easy access to eavesdrop and hear whatever words were to slither out of someone's mouth. God, you swore the walls were bound to cave in and topple atop of you. You picture John B's mouth agape and disgusted at JJ's lack of focus.

"Get's my brain goin', y'know."

His voice that you'd usually get giddy everywhere from hearing, is now taunting you; making your insides turn to mush. Quick to your feet, you clamp your ear to the chipped door whilst fixing your disheveled hair in the mirror, by tucking it behind your ear and wiping away the salty tears with pad of your thumb. Something JJ would do impulsively. As well as, the little pink and white stick that's knocking the breath from your lungs and tucking it in the back pocket of your printed shorts.

"You ready to start?" John B sighs exasperatedly. Aware that his best friend is never prepared for anything. You aren't sure of what they are 'starting' but you can't help but wonder if JJ's caught on, if he's noticed the tendencies you've acquired since becoming pregnant. Already being hesitant on telling him of the stick you peed on, or that this is going to dictate the course of the rest of his life. Is the new formation of hormones within you causing you to twist words or is it plain truth?

One could only hope.

"M'not even ready yet, need to do so much stuff before I'm ready."

It stings; like multiple daggers had been chided at your heart or a million bee's attacking. This only makes since that he's referring to not wanting to be a father, right? What else could he possibly not be ready for? It's assuming, it's jumping to conclusions, but right now it makes a hell of a lot more sense than anything else. JJ's capable of eons of things, being stuck with you and a baby for the rest of his life may not be in his peripheral. He's confirming it right now, you just heard it with your own two ears.

Unbeknownst to you it was a about a damn silly school project and that he would've stretched time and space to keep his profound little family in one piece. If only he'd known. If only you'd told him.

There were no supplies, no class instructions, to justify that it was only a monumental historic copy for Mr. Sunn's class. Just conversation.

You physically can't allow the words to come out of your mouth, for it will be in the form of word vomit after his resonating and everlasting statement. You can't face him, no, not about the life he helped form. Too soon, and too much. Selfishly, he's not ready but you want to hang onto him a little longer. With JJ is where you reside, and you desire to bury the love he's giving you and harvest it deep down; enough for two. He's not prepared, and all you're hearing is this is this the end of all you've ever known.

World record for misunderstandings.

John B was on the verge of speaking, yet he doesn't when the bathroom door creeks open. You appear in frame, a shell of the person you were moments ago, unevident that you'd shed enough tears for a small river. The hiding is beginning, you decide to swallow it down and keep it there. Dreaming up all the ways you'd have to conceal as huge a secret as this.

Trepidation; of JJ, and for yourself and the baby; blistering, mirroring that of an open scar.

"Is that my girl?!"

You're met with John B sprawled out on the vacant leather couch, another thing Luke destroyed alike with JJ. And, JJ's practically jumping from the recliner and swarming you in a hug that makes you form a half enticing grin whilst smothering you into his large chest. His sleeveless arms bulking in size at this gesture.

"Great, now we really aren't gonna' get anything done," John B grabs at his temples in annoyance. The partnered project supposed to be the focus of today. Conscious of the fact that anytime you are around JJ loses all logic because you become the center of attention. As if half his brain flies out the window he's so invested in you, rather than anything else. He gives up on any aspiration that this replica will be finished. You still saunter on about what exactly they 'have to get done', but they are almost always up to something. JJ's out of context words were what gave need be, and you were fixed on that.

"What happened today? Been thinkin' about you like crazy."

"Nurse sent me home."

You fib so harshly that is burns past your lips, the lie is so loud you're amazed he didn't see through it. You mumble into his chest has him releasing you, only to cup your cheeks in a squishing manner. He’s disastrously anguished to maul you with affection, but he decided to spare John B the show.

"Everything alright?"

And he tries to read your wandering eyes, but still taut eye contact is there so he thinks nothing of it. It is when you won't look at him that he's concerned, however you still do.

An 'act normal' practically engraved in your thoughts. When you really want to break away from his hold and run for the hills.

"Just a bad lunch."

"Yeah, that school meatloaf'll get you, baby."

Blonde fluffed out tresses catch glance and your mixed up mind is pondering on what color hair the baby will have. Will the small child be a constant reminder that their dad 'wasn't ready?" Stood together in the open space of his connecting hallway, you'll look back on this in utter agony.

"She told me to rest."

You mutter it softly whilst JJ has a stupid lovesick grin plastered on his face, peering down at you like you are his lifeline. And you're peering up at him, with a small glint and awareness that he'd be gone with the wind when you reveal the surreptitious unknown.

"Want me to come with you? I'll have this wrapped up in like ... five minutes," he's eager that you'll say yes, mustering a middle finger at John B who is sighing in vexation. What he would give to pass senior year, John B fully know's he'll have to beg Pope to do this for the both of them.

It's an immediate no, he's 'not ready', therefore a cuddle is the last thing that needs to happen. Maybe if you wouldn't have eavesdropped you could've just lived in ignorance bliss.

Though it was never the truth.

"No!," you somewhat interject, keeping the cause of all this in mind. "No J, m'really tired, finish what you were doing yeah?"

His grin immediately falls to a pout, he can't force you if you won't let him. Instead he says nothing, shaking his head 'yes' with knitted eyebrows. Pulling your cupped cheeks in closer to feather multiple light pecks to your hairline, each one more eternal that the last.

With recollection that you'd be gulping down this hard to swallow pill on your own.

Coping; all you can manage to do.

Between punching multiple hard to find holes in your bedroom walls and covering them up with posters to gut-wrenching, pillow-screaming whimpers.

How does one ever truly 'get ready' for bringing a new life into this sought out world?

You'd been wallowing in the despair of having to be both a mother and a father, with JJ saying such things— it's nearly certain he'll be out of the picture.

Alike with you, avoiding him on any given occasion.

Saturdays were date night and he consistently topped the last date, because even if schedules weren't aligning throughout the week he'd have that day to make it up to you, how ever he saw fit.

You ditched.

Texting something about, 'parents are on my ass, can't come tonght.'

On all occasions you found a way despite your parents thoughts, so JJ's suspicion is growing like immovable fire.

With that being said, a day later, he was secure in providing you with a loving semi-guilt trip, along the lines of 'if you don't come over tonight you are confirming that you don't love me anymore,' with a dauting smiley face.

Such a baby, unfortunate that he's not prepared for one because they would've gotten along just fine.

The reasoning behind why you are hopelessly distant from JJ in his twin sized bed. He's grumbling and mumbling after you pushed him away with a 'm'too hot right now.' Blankets thrown about in such a dimly lit room, his vivdly colored TV played a miscellaneous movie whilst his bedside table lamp joined in with its yellow toned rays.

His arms behind his head, colliding with the headboard in such a sensous way, shirtless figure scanning yours in yearning. Jesus, he just wanted to delve into your skin.

How could he ever resist you.

If he can't consume you with his fondling embrace, he will caress what's in reach.

Touching hard on his thoughts, whilst the likelihood of raising a baby on your own is arising in yours.

It's roaring loudly, along with the reality that you hid it from him.

What would've been the right thing to do?

A wash of panic prods, with JJ's lingering touch now against your skin. His digits dance like clockwork, ghosting your inner thigh. Before you can even retch out a 'stop' he's beneath the material of your old Bait Shop t-shirt that he lended you. Palming the skin expertly, and while he's at it he inches closer with his breath thick against your ear. Your mouth ran dry, lying still and flat in awkwardness, prying your focus on the random film. The small twin bed not giving you enough time or space to come up with another excuse.

"Missed you so much."

His voice is raspy against your ear, igniting every filament of your body that belonged to him. The hold he had on you, sickening and you are conversant with what's about to leave his mouth.

The more he keeps circling, and clinging to the small mound of your stomach, the more his mind goes blank. It had this particular bludge to it and he can writhe it beneath his fingertips. Horror fills your irises, whilst a bewildering form of fascination filled his.

There's no right way to ask as woman if their stomach has gotten bigger or if they've been eating more. That's like asking to get beat with a bat. You just don't.

JJ has foraged every unreachable portion that molds you and that ... that wasn't there.

That undeniable little Goddamn baby bump wasn’t there.

He’s studied you inside and out, and that just wasn’t there.

It’s freshly shaped and growing with glee.

His repeated motions are coming to a halt and they pause directly in the middle. Feeling for what he deemed this to be.

What the fuck? It runs rampant in his mind— not negatively he just doesn’t know what to think, how to say it, or how to not come off as a complete dick by asking what he’s about to ask.

“Your belly is more round than usual.”

Merely thought out, and not too harsh. Just stating the obvious at the rounded baby bump that’s colliding with his calloused ring-clad fingers. The entirety of his large hand sprawled out in separated fingers. He sits straight up, hairs on the nape of his neck screeched outwardly.

“M’ a bit bloated.”

You don’t take his words to heart as it’s obviously not from that. You smile, lying through your teeth once again. And JJ senses it, this is as pregnant a stomach if he’s ever touched one. His hands fall backward, beaming down at you in longing that you’ll change your answer.

“Bloated baby? That’s— that’s not … bloated.”

There’s no interest in continuing on with this facade he’s felt it, he’s not a complete idiot. What informed John B of chants wickedly and is beckoning you not tell him. You’ve found you way back to his room with reason, so what’s the use in hiding it anymore. The bump would’ve become more noticeable anyway, you couldn’t have gotten away with it forever.

“M’pregnant J.”

You are seated upward now, facing him whilst reaching for his large hands to take them into your smaller ones. Shared hands, facing eachother in criss crossed stances on that same old twin mattress. He shakes his head back in forth in disbelief— how is this real?

“W-what?! When did you find out? How?— shit. I mean I know how … there was the time in the bathroom at the Wreck … and that one time in the twinkie … and-and let’s not forget about the time in the kitchen-“

“J, that’s not important right now, focus.”

You remind in interruption, nagging off his antics about the shared sexual rendezvous. The only only thing … the only fucking thing JJ feels right now is sheer euphoria at the moment he gets to meet the little baby.

Always envisioning of being a father and giving his children all the love he had stored away from the beckoning of Luke. The love he got from his father was convenient love, and after every fight his dreams of the future family he could have grew tenfold.

“We’re having a fuckin’ baby?!”

The fact the you didn’t tell him beforehand is in the back of his mind, but he’s overlooking it in sheer elation. Joy for what’s to come. For even that promise to tell each other everything is not enough to ruin this moment for him.

“Yes, J.”

“Let me see!”

He’s anxiously lifting the bottom of the shirt up, revealing a plump baby bump purging outwordly. And a toothy shit eating grin is plastered on his sweet lips, awe is evident and he’s stricken with amazement. You couldn’t have asked for a better reaction, a better lover. Breezing past the part of him not being ready, because clearly you read into things too deeply if this is his truthful response. And it is, it’s so genuine you feel it in your bones. As he’s colliding his hands with your stomach once more, and connecting his lips with yours in celebration. Molding and mixing them together with ease, an effortless depiction of besot.

If only he could frame this and let it drift on for eternity.

“Carrying our baby so perfect, pretty girl.”

Letting this little heavenscent angel inside of you be a reminder that misunderstandings are a bitch.

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