#first photo is him with a beard

[venting402]

there’s something about Hispanic men that can grow a full beard 🤭

[homochampagne]

[gaytedlasso]

ultimate passenger princess Ted Lasso

then and now ~for

[canirove]

📸 by Stuart MacFarlane/Arsenal FC via Getty Images

[solardrop]

silver.

aaron hotchner x reader.

summary: hotch really doesn't think getting old is sexy. tags: fluff. a suggestive line here or there but nothing crazy. age gap (reader in their 30s, hotch is 57). jack mentioned. i think this could be read as gn!reader but i could be wrong. just short and cute. word count: 1.0k a/n: last fics rules still apply. be nice to me! when i look up photos of hair dying on pinterest i get rainbow haired e-boys so accept this haircut photo <3 divider creds to @/cafekitsune

Your name echoes across the house when Aaron yells for you from the bathroom. Once you enter the space you're greeted by his hair spiked in every which way, covered in a brownish-black goop. His thick hands are gloved and hold a small black toothbrush-like applicator.

"Sweetheart, can you check if I missed a spot?" Aaron hands you the brush and tray of inky black dye. You make a show of rolling your eyes and pouting back at him in the mirror and you take the items from him.

"I forgot it was that time of month that you decided to cover up all your sexy.." you sigh.

"Really," he scoffs, a teasing smile creeping on his lips, "I thought all the sexy was gone when I shaved.'

You almost teared up remembering the loss of his beard. A case off the grid forced him to grow one out for a few weeks. You understandably jumped his bones upon seeing the new look when he returned. The extra hair provided some out-of-this-world sensations for your softest parts that you would never forget. Only for the wicked man to shave all of it after two days, citing the "professional dress code" of the FBI as the culprit.

You snap a latex glove onto your hand, "Shush and bend over, big guy."

He smiles and kneels to face you, his rough hands gripping the fat of your thighs. You slowly worked around his head, dabbing bits of dye in bare spots. Your fingers rake through the inky black mass on his head, gently massaging his scalp. Aaron hums and thanks you under his breath.

"Do you know why I started dying my hair so consistently?"

"To torture me?"

"No," he huffs," when Jack was about... eight? I had taken him on this trip with a couple of his friends and their fathers, it was fun, but at the end of the whole thing Jack pointed at the grays starting to grow out on my hairline and turned to his friends and said-"

"Baby no...."

"'Guys look! My daddy is sooo old!'"

You clamp your lips shut to hold in your laughter. You didn't want to embarrass him further, especially with the deep red flush rising up the nape of his neck.

"Oh honey Jack was still a baby then... kids are insane you know that"

" I do, and I know. I laughed it off. I know he didn't really mean anything by it, but I didn't know if he felt like the odd one out for having an old dad.." Aaron runs his hands up and down your legs mindlessly. "And now I don't want you to feel out of place either."

You pause at that. In the few years you and Hotch have been together, never has he shown any insecurity about the difference in age between you. And he sure as hell wasn't about to start now if you had anything to do with it. You slicked his hair back with your hands and placed the clear complimentary shower cap in the box on his head, snickering at how silly he looked. Once you slide the slimy gloves off you set the timer on your phone and grasp the face of the man you loved so dearly, forcing him to rest his chin on your stomach and look into your eyes.

"You have less than thirty minutes to explain to me why you think I'd care about you looking old"

"you're young-"

"I'm in my thirties-"

"you're younger," he corrects "than me by quite a bit. All your friends have other young people to share their life and first experiences with. Meanwhile, you're stuck with a sixty-year-old-"

"You're fifty-seven-" Your eyes roll.

"a fifty-seven-year-old with a sassy kid turned angsty teenager for a child." he sighs, "Sweetheart I just don't want you to ever look at me and feel a loss."

You take a moment to scan his face. Despite the stupid shower cap mushrooming around his head, his face showed no amusement when he spoke. The sweet, shy smile he always sported around you was gone, replaced with a grimace and furrowed brow.

"Aaron I have never felt more loved, accepted, and safe than I have with you. I know you know that," you say.

He nods, pressing a quick peck to your belly button before looking at you. His eyes search yours for a moment of hesitation or change in resolve. but you stand your ground.

"The only thing I worry about with you on my arm is fighting off all the homewreckers."

He wheezes a laugh at this. Eventually having to stand up before he smears the dark dye all over you. He always does this. Laughs and acts like he wouldn't have crowds of people stop to fawn over his beauty if he let them.

"Remember that neighbor at the old apartment who would only stop by with cookies when she knew you were home?"

"Or the time Jack's classmate profiled their teacher's crush on you?"

"Don't even get me started on that detective JJ keeps telling me about from years ago in New Mexico. The male detective."

He smiles at you sheepishly, "You've made your point."

"If you want to dye your hair or shave to make yourself happy I think you should," you whisper, "but Aar I love every version of you possible"

You press your lips to his cheek before you continue, "You are the most beautiful, devastatingly sexy old man out. And I will still throw myself at you in public if you decide to finally ditch the box dye."

He smiles at you fully now, eyes shining as he looks down at you. He slides his lips against yours, grinning into the kiss before he pulls away to thank you.

"Maybe after this starts to grow out I'll see how I feel about the silver again." He looks back at his reflection in the mirror. He turns his head every which way to peek at the processing strands under the shower cap.

"Think about the beard too damn it.." you mumble. You begin to wander out of the bathroom when he yells for you again.

"Oh and sweetheart one more thing," you turn to look at him, confused when he stifles a laugh, "will you still think I'm sexy if I start balding like my father?"

[magpiepills]

Put It In, Coach

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Joel Miller x f! Reader

Word count: 3.4k

Summary: you are an 18 year old high school senior on the cheerleading team, and Joel is the beloved and successful football coach. He helps you with some stretching after practice.

Warnings: SMUT!! The girthiest age gap (18 & 56), consensual but extremely unethical sexual relationship, pervert Joel, power imbalance, dubcon (due to said power imbalance) but I assure you reader is of legal age and enthusiastically consents. piv, oral (m receiving) fingering, dirty talk, semi-innocent reader, blackmail, creampie, twist ending, possibly dark Joel.

A word from the author: This is a repost! Listen, I know this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. That is fine. Please don’t feel obligated to interact with this fic even if we are friends. It will be fine. I am posting this without making eye contact with anyone.

What is more important in a small Texas town than the high school football team?

Nothing, if you asked most anyone, including of course, head Lions football coach, Joel Miller- Coach Miller, that is. He had lead the team to numerous state titles, securing donations to the football program and filled display cases with trophies and framed team photos. Several former players had even gone on to play in the NFL.

Yeah, Coach Miller is a big deal.

You feel lucky when during your senior year the cheerleading team has to share practice space with the football team. Honored when Coach Miller helps your squad with conditioning. While the football team runs drills, he’s monitoring your time on the treadmill, checking your form during lunges, and helping you really lean into your stretches. He’s so helpful and encouraging. “That’s it, girls, get those knees up! Hustle!” He yelled as he watched you run by in your little shorts and sports bra. The one you took to wearing when you knew he might see.

Coach Miller knew a thing or two about cheerleading too, and he helped your coach to develop a cheer routine. You always blushed when his rough, steadying hands gripped your bare legs or circled your waist to help direct you. You saw how the other girls exchanged looks, but

Coach Miller had experience, he obviously knew enough about cheer. He knew what got crowds excited and lifted team morale. You beamed when he clapped and tucked his clipboard under his arm as you balanced on your teammates shoulders, one knee lifted high, both arms aloft, Pom-poms rustling in the hot Texas breeze. You felt butterflies that fluttered from your stomach down to your throbbing pussy. “Atta girl. You got it!” He praised.

The fawning newspaper articles never mentioned how handsome Coach Miller is. He’s probably in his fifties but you didn’t care. The other girls rolled their eyes, called him an old man. You liked the gray in his hair and beard. You liked the way his body was still so broad and strong, even if his belly was a little softer than it used to be. You liked the way his forearm flexed as he lifted the whistle to blow and get everyone’s attention. “Alright, boys go hit the showers, girls you stay and finish stretching.” Your cheer coach was busy with Megan and Lindsay and Tiffany, so you did your best to go through the regimen on your own.

You stood and twisted at your waist, first to one side, then the other. You spread your legs wide and bent deep to touch your toes, keeping your spine loose. You wanted him to see. “Ugh. He’s watching us.” You heard behind you. “He’s such a creep. He’s like a hundred years old.” “Yeah and you remember what happened with Monica. Nobody’s going to say shit to him.” You listened to the other girls talking, and tried to ignore them. Of course there were rumors about Coach that passed though the girls at school. They were probably just mad that he wasn’t giving them the time of day.

It was easy to forget the other girls and their hateful gossip when you saw that handsome man across the field. You stood and dabbed your shoulder. You winced and rubbed it, drawing the attention of Coach Miller. He jogged over, the muscles of his thighs rippling under his khaki shorts, belly rounding slightly under his royal blue polo shirt, and whistle bouncing as he made his way to you. “What’s ’a matter, sweetheart?” Care and concern painted his dark features, furrowing his brow. “It’s just my shoulder, Coach. I don’t know, it just is pretty sore.” You pouted up at him, giving him your best helpless face. He hummed and nodded. “You girls go on and get cleaned up, we’re done for today. I’ll let your coach know. I gotta deal with this.” He gestured to you, and you bowed your head sheepishly. The rest of the girls scoffed and muttered as they gathered their bags, shooting you looks of disdain and perhaps pity. Good riddance to them.

“Thank you Coach.” You said softly, bashfully. “C’mon, I got an ice pack in my office. Can’t let our rising star get hurt, can we?” You relished his attention. The hallways leading to his office were dark and empty, at 5:30 on a Friday, everyone had gone home. Once inside his office you sat on his desk, cluttered with papers and Gatorade bottles. You swung your legs and leaned back on your palms, letting the hem of your top ride up to expose a sliver of your belly. You hoped he would notice the way it was snug against your breasts. His office smelled like sweat and Lysol, but photos and framed newspaper clippings covered the walls. You used your phone to cover the framed photo on his desk of him and his wife and kid.

When Coach Miller returned with the ice pack, he found you innocently playing with the hem of your short cheer skirt. He hesitated, taking in your long, bare legs, smooth and pretty. He followed the line of them up to where they disappeared under that damn skirt, he wondered what he might find if he flipped it up. Wondered if you had on those little white panties he had seen once when you were practicing cartwheels with the other girls. He wasn’t stupid man. He knew that some of you young girls had little crushes on him. He'd be a liar if he said it didn’t stroke his ego or that he hadn’t jerked off more than a few times behind his locked office door. He would never, ever admit to a few consensual dalliances with a few girls. Always over 18, but always so young and beautiful and eager to please. Was it wrong? When they wanted him? Joel preferred to think of it as a perk of the job.

“Where’s it hurtin’, honey?” Coach Miller asked, his voice much more tender than he ever used with the boys on his football team.

“My shoulder, coach. It’s sore.” He made a sympathetic sound and slowly, carefully began to run his big hands over your arms. “Can you hold ‘em up for me? Good girl.” You held your arms out to the side and he palpated your shoulders, stepped back to look you over, checking for you didn’t know what. It didn’t matter. Your shoulder didn’t really hurt.

Joel frowned. “What is it coach? Is it bad? Your voice was small and wavering.

“No, darlin’ it’s just that I can’t get a good feel for your rotator cuff cause your shirt’s in the way.”

“Oh..”

“Well, here’s the thing, you know we got that big game comin’ up and your coach won’t let ya cheer if you’re hurt. Really would be best if I could just check it out. If nothin’s wrong we ain’t gotta worry your coach over it.” He winked at you conspiratorially.

“What if I just…I could just take this off.” You tried to sound casual. Like it was the most normal thing for an eighteen year old to be topless in a room alone with a 56 year old woodshop teacher/football coach.

“That’s what the boys all do, sugar. Ain’t a big deal, but I don’t want to make ya uncomfortable. I can just go get your coach and she can check ya out.”

There was no way you wanted your coach thinking you were injured. Not when you were gunning for a cheerleading scholarship. Missing any games now was out of the question.

“We don’t need to bother her, Coach Miller. I trust you.”

Joel nodded. “Alright, I’ll tell ya what- I’ll give ya a towel to cover up with. How’s that?”

“Sounds good, Coach. Just, could you help me unzip?” You gave him a little smile over your shoulder and held your hair out of the way for him to drag the zipper down.

Joel stifled a groan when he realized you didn't have a bra on under your little top. His cock was already beginning to swell in his shorts. You shrugged off the blue and yellow top of your uniform and clutched the tiny towel he handed you to your chest. “Is this good, Coach Miller?”

“Yeah that’s good. Real good. Arms straight up, now. Gotta check your rotator cuff.”

You did as he asked, and the towel slipped to your lap and he rubbed and squeezed at your shoulders, peeking over to catch a glimpse of your bare tits. They were so pretty, your hard little nipples making his mouth water.

“Good news. I don’t think it’s anything serious. A little massage and rest is probably all ya need. Couple ibuprofen.”

You thanked him, half heartedly bringing the towel to cover your chest again.

“Just one thing though, I noticed there’s not a current physical on file for you. You know, they take that stuff real serious. I know you’ve been workin’ real hard all year, I think you’ve got real potential and I’d hate for you to throw that away over a little form. If you want, I can give ya a quick check and it’ll be our little secret.”

“Gosh, Coach. You’d really do that for me?”

You knew damn well your physical was on file. You had taken it to the office yourself. It was something you’d been doing every year since you started playing sports in junior high.

“Yeah, won’t take but a minute. Don’t want ya getting in any trouble.”

You sighed gratefully. “Thanks Coach Miller. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Go on and hop up on my desk and I’ll make this quick and easy.”

He moved your arms one at a time, feeling for proper movement. He had you step on a scale and measured your height and weight, commenting that you were “full grown.” He had you bend forward and touch your toes, sliding his fingertips up the length of your spine to check for scoliosis, but taking the opportunity to admire the way your skirt rode up to expose just a bit of your panties, just barely brushing his hard cock over your ass. “Oops!” You dropped the towel, dramatically covering your tits with your hands, squeezing them together.

Joel looked at the form he was half-assing and scribbled on it, before sitting it aside and clearing his throat. “You uh, you do your regular self exams?”

“Self exams?” you blinked at him innocently, hiding the smirk that threatened to break through.

“Breast exams, sweetheart. Gotta make sure everything is like it’s supposed to be. Real important to check. Maybe I better show you how. Why don’t you lay down there and put your arms over your head for me?”

You did as he asked, lying back on his desk and didn’t bother hiding your lustful stare and he slid both hands up your rib cage to cup the underside of your breasts. He squeezed gently, kneading the supple flesh. “You’re doing great, baby.” You whined as he worked his way around your nipples, watching intently as they hardened. “Almost done.” He pinched at your nipples, making you squirm, he pulled gently, and rubbed them under his thumbs before squeezing your tits once more. “I think that’ll do.”

But he didn’t take his hands from you. He ran them over your chest, down your sternum, over your belly to the band of your skirt. He gripped your hips through the rough fabric, forgetting himself, or dropping the act. Either way, he found himself staring at the wet spot on your exposed panties. You bent your knees and rested your heels on the edge of Coach Miller’s desk. “Let’s see if he can resist this!” You’d thought, delighted with the way your plan was working.

Joel had his fair share of girls throwing themselves at him over the years, but you certainly took the cake. In half an hour you’d gone from a shy school girl to a sex starved slut right on his desk. It had been so easy, maybe too easy. Give you a little attention, some praise you weren’t getting at home, some touches like he knew the dumbass boys on his team weren’t going to learn about for another eight to ten years. Joel loved it when his plans worked.

“Something you need, baby?”

“Mhm. My backs kinda stiff. Maybe you could help stretch me. Get me loosened up.”

“This help?” Joel placed his hands on your knees and pushed them up, gently rolling your lower spine as he stood between your legs.he lowered them, letting your covered pussy brush against his rock hard cock, then repeated the motion, pushing your knees a little further each time.

“Feels so good, Coach.” You breathed, hands gripping the sides of his desk.

“Gonna open your hips up, you’re bein’ such a good girl.” He pushed again, letting your knees fall to the side, spreading you wide open. You could feel the way your panties clung wetly to your aching pussy, rendered nearly transparent by the slick that started seeping from you the minute you entered Coach Miller’s office.

Joel couldn’t play this dumb game with you anymore. He squeezed your plush thighs and pushed them down, dragging his thumb over the soaked gusset of your underwear. “I think ya got a bigger problem than a stiff back. Looks like you’re really hurtin’ right here. How long has this pussy been needin taking care of?”

Finally! “All day, Coach. I really need help to make it feel better.”

Joel’s finger slipped under the fabric to slide over your puffy lips.

“I got some other massages and stretches that’ll make this all better. Do you want that?”

“Yes, please! Please Coach.” You nearly shouted at him. If he didn’t do something soon you’d have to try to climb on top of him and just take what you needed. It’s not like you couldn’t see how hard his cock had been since the minute you got your tits out. He was a creep and everybody knew it, but he was too handsome to resist and if his bulging erection was any indication, well…

“Gotta get these panties off.” You lifted your hips for him to slide them off, then stretched your legs and demonstrated your flexibility by pulling your ankles down and holding your legs wide open for him. “Goddamn. Look at this. You do want this, don’t ya? Got so damn wet on my desk from just gettin your tits touched. Are all the girls on your team so slutty?” He marveled at how wet you were, slipping his fingers from your entrance up and around your clit, tapping your pussy firmly with the flat of his hand and groaning at the sticky slapping sounds.

His index finger teased at your opening while his thumb rubbed over your clit. Flames licked at your belly. “Just slutty for you, Coach. Need a real man.”

“Yeah? You need a real man?” He emphasized his words by sinking two thick fingers into you, “I’ll show ya what a real man can do for you, but you ain’t ever gonna be happy with a boy again.” He pumped his fingers into you and to your shock, dripped spit directly from his mouth to your clit. The slip made the sensation even more intense, and you squeezed his fingers as your orgasm crested. “Good, huh? Well, we ain’t done. I got a little more stretching for this tight little cunt.” You’d never heard anyone talk so crudely. You loved it. “Fuck yes, Coach, please. Please!”

Joel’s eyes snapped up from where he was watching his fingers disappear into your pussy. “Watch your language.” You whined and bucked your hips, eager for what you hoped was coming next. Joel worked a third finger into your pussy, the stretch stung and radiated, but faded into a pleasant feeling of fullness you’d never experienced before. Not with your inexperienced conquests.

Satisfied that he’d prepared you well enough, Joel hastily unbuckled his belt and let his shorts fall to the floor, weighed down by his wallet and keys. You watched as he tugged his turgid member, the biggest you’d ever seen. “C’mere. Get on your knees a minute. I know you know how to do that.”

“You want me to suck your cock, Coach Miller?”

He huffed at you, amused at your innocent act.

“Open your mouth.” You opened wide and took him deep, gasping and bobbing your head over his tip, hollowing your cheeks. You looked up at him and took him as deep as possible, relishing in the look of devastation that washed over him as you gagged and drooled.

Joel muttered something you didn’t hear before he pulled you off his cock by your hair. “Bend over the desk. Come on.” You did as he asked, and he slicked his cock with your abundant arousal, slapping the head on your ass a couple times, then held the base of his cock in one hand, and gripped your hip with the other. Slow and steady he pushed into you, taking his time until he was fully sheathed, hips flush against your ass. He waited there, leaning his forehead against your back and reaching under you to grab your tit.

“So fucking tight. Tightest pussy I think I ever felt. You’re not a virgin are you?” You shook your head. You weren’t a virgin. He was your third. He was your biggest and best. It would be hard to top him, you mused until he dragged his length out of you and slammed back in with more force. He did that a few times- pull out slow, slammin hard. Slow, hard, slow, hard. Then he switched it up, pushing your knee up into the desk he favored slow, deep strokes so he could watch how your pussy gripped him and sucked him back in, wetting his cock with your slick, so wet it dripped down to his balls.

He smacked your ass, leaving handprints on the unblemished flesh. “Fuck yeah, baby. Just like that. Taking this cock so good. Feel ya squeezing me so tight. Cock hungry little slut making me fuck her. Fuckin beggin for this dick.” He gritted filth through clenched teeth. You reached down to rub your clit, and let your hand wander further, feeling where your bodies joined, stretching your fingers to catch his balls as he pounded mercilessly into you. He smacked your ass hard, then reached up to hold your shoulders and his movements became uneven. “Coach, please! Please, come in my little pussy!” You’d heard that in porn and thought it sounded good.

Joel’s eyes squeezed shut tight as he let go, filling you with rope after rope of cum. You moaned, feeling him pulsing deep inside.

There was no kiss afterward. No hugging, no cuddling. Joel handed you the little towel to clean up with, Carter he watched his spend drip out of your wrecked pussy and onto the fabric of your skirt. He wished he had a picture of it. You wiped away what you could and put your shirt back on, your panties had disappeared and at 6:15 there was no time to look for them now. Coach Miller promised he would find them for you. You gathered your phone and backpack. He squeezed your shoulder as he walked you out to the main hallway and cleared his throat. “You know, if anyone found out about this, it could ruin your shot at any kind of scholarship. You might not even get into college at all. Now, I know you young girls make mistakes and I’m not going to tell anyone as long as you keep up your grades and your practice. If I hear about ya being a slut, though, I’ll have to inform the principal for your own good. Don’t make me do something we would both regret, sweetheart. Ya understand?”

“Yes, Coach. I understand.”

Joel breathed a sigh of relief. He had seven years until he could retire. He wasn’t sure how many more pretty little seniors would come sniffing around, but he thought maybe he should try to stop giving in to every doe eyed little slut that came along. Oughta try other ways of keeping his dick wet.

On Monday Joel was at his desk, drinking coffee, making out a supply request form for his woodshop lesson plan when his phone chimed. A message from an unknown number had sent an attachment. He squinted at the screen, and froze in horror when he saw his own face looking back at him, he was perfectly framed in the shot, a still from a video, and there you were, smiling at the camera underneath him. The message that followed was short. “See you after practice, Coach.”

[nighttimealone]

Hi, I love your writing! And I was wondering if I could request a smut story. Where König, Price, or Soap is a budior photographer and is doing a photo shoot with an insecure plus size reader?

Cw: Nsfw (Why choose one? I wrote all of them in this, hope you don’t mind)

You’ve been looking at your feeds, sighs imperceptibly when it shows your friends sharing the photos of them having a boudoir shoot. You’ve always been craving one for yourself, but you don’t fit into the ‘beauty standard’ of the society, or at least that’s the people told you while snorting laughters throughout your life. But fuck it, you’re not going to care about those toxic murmurs from your heart popping up in your mind, or the taunts you’ve received from others. Your fingers type on your phone swiftly, sending a message to the boudoir photographer, then discard your phone on the nightstand and close your eyes, in case you regret your decision again and cancel it with a “sorry”.

John, the first photographer you contact, ring your doorbell and greet you with a polite smile. A gentleman, caring and make sure you’re always comfortable, that’s your first impression of him.

“Just like that, love. You’re doing so well.” He instructs you patiently throughout the shoot, sensing your nervousness and insecurity, but doesn’t point out. It’s obvious that he prefers a more romantic style, let you turn your back to the camera, hair splaying across your back, extending your legs back to accentuate your curves.

You try to hide the ‘excessive’ meat on your thighs, closing them tightly and turn them away from the camera subconsciously. His hands, warm and tender, hovering over your thighs with a gruff “May I?”, seeking your permission before maneuvering your legs, guiding it to expose the plump and soft flesh, “That’s it, good girl. No need to be shy.” He snaps the picture with a satisfied look.

His eyes are full of fascination when he looks down at you, skins glowing and cheeks rosy when he slowly peels the robe of your lingerie—french style with white transparent laces—off you. “Knew how gorgeous you look in these, love?” John’s touch is reverent, as if you’re a gift from the heaven, peppering kisses up your thighs, knowing how much you feel embarrassed about them. Yet the awe in his eyes makes your head spin as he wraps his hands around both of your thighs, “God, see how they spill out of my fingers, princess? perfect…absolutely perfect.” That’s the last thing he says before lowering his head, can’t control his urge any longer, lapping at your core and worshipping you thoroughly, there’s won’t be a spot left untaken care of as your back arch at how his tongue nudges your entrance, drinking all those nectar and groans lowly when your squeeze his head between your thighs. “Come on, squeeze those thighs harder around me, drown me in your pussy.” When you see him lift his head slightly, instructing you just like he was during the shooting—only this time his beard is glistening with your juices—you know you’ll keep being a good girl for him.

You receive the photos from John a week after, baffled and blinks your eyes a few times, trying to process the fact that the elegant woman in the photo is you. Your cheeks are hot when you observe the photos clearly, but the joy swirling in your chest overtakes the shyness of seeing yourself in such intimate positions.

So you search the internet again, and finds Johnny, contact him about booking a session, meanwhile take a look at his social media profile. He looks confident and quite a people person, the smug smile never leaves his lips in every photos of him. And he’s just like what you assume, the moment you open your door, he never stops talking, charming you with every words, even the stupid mohawk only he can make it shine looks good on him.

In contrast to John, Johnny’s style is more passionate, sexual and sultry. Teaching you to sit on your bed, legs spread wide and brace yourself with arms at your back, arch your supple breast high and let the locks falls naturally behind you. “Hell, you look like sexiness embodiment, lassie.” Johnny’s praises never stop, every moves of your body make him gasp in admiration.

Johnny insists you to sit on his lap, tugging the straps on your lingerie and let it snap back on your skin lightly, moans out like a needy wolf as he watch the strap’s digging into your skin slightly. “I knew this lingerie would suit ye the moment I saw your stunning body, pretty girl.” Yes, he suggested you to pick yourself a lingerie with more straps tying around each part of your body, but what you didn’t know is he’s been hiding that boner since he see you comes out the bathroom with it, his cock so hard and leaking precums in his trousers, good that he wears the loose and black pair, or he might get caught hiding his erection during the shoot, and ended up just fucking you straightly before finishing the shoot.

His thick dick sinks into your cunny, still pushing you down onto his lap, so he can stuff all that cock inside of your warmth. If you try to lift your ass, saying you don’t want to crush him under his weight, a soft smack will immediately lands on your buttocks, with him grabbing your thighs and thrust into you fully again, chuckling at your high-pitched whine, “Ditch those unnecessary concerns, doll. Think I can’t handle a bit of weight, eh? will change that thought of yers now.” His hips rocks upwards to emphasize his points, and you can barely understand his words when he’s fucking into your tight cunt fiercely.

During the wait for the photos from Johnny, you contact König. You’re more comfortable with boudoir shoots now, and when you spotted his work from his profile, you’re interested in getting one of those photos featuring exotic nightgowns. He replies to your inquiry quickly with a ‘:)’ at the end of the sentence, so you expect him to be a cute boy. Well, that’s why you almost close your door after seeing a 6’9’’ giant with a mask covering the lower half of his face, standing in front of you when the time comes, thinking he accidentally knocked the wrong door, until he swiftly explains to you he’s ‘König’ with a tint of fluster in his voice.

Despite the little incident and misunderstanding earlier, the whole experience is relaxing. He’s quieter and looks more intimidating than John and Johnny, yet he softly guides your movements and pose, and you almost snicker at his attempt to make himself less scary.

But when König scoops you in his arms without breaking a sweat, holding you in full nelson and driving that inhuman-sized cock into your pussy, growls teetering on animalistic and humane as he keeps lifting you, letting the position help him abuse your poor cervix and you’re singing his name in joy, squirting here and there every time he pulls out a bit just to slam back, heavy balls slapping on your skin, you know he’s been hiding the feral side from you, caging the animal inside him till he can has his way with you after the shoot. “So süß…so gut, liebe…” His hips never cease, standing tall and pinning you back against his chest. A german curse grunted against your shoulder as he goes pussy drunk, panting at how comforting and enticing to fondle your pillowy thighs when he fills you to the brim.

You wake up next day around noon, body aches from the activity from last day. Your groggy mind sluggishly recalls that Johnny tells you he’ll be sending the final files of your photos today, so you reach out to check if he sent them yet. Yet your eyes widened when you see the notifications popping up on the screen.

[Price]: You can just come to me whenever you want another shoot, sweetheart. Heard you went to get one from Johnny, hmm?

[Johnny]: Saw you following that giant’s account. König, eh? don’t go seek him when you need new photos, ask me or at least the old man first, I’ll always squeeze a session out of my schedule just for you, lassie.

[König]: *attached a picture of an exquisite nightgown* This suits you well, Schatz. I just bought it for you, and if you don’t mind, I want to see you in it and posing for MY camera.

Your palms are sweating as your eyes scan through the texts. Because no way all three of them know each other, right…right?

Bloody hell.

feel free to share your thoughts via askbox, hope you’ll like this.

[my-claws-are-hard]

A Morning Haze

pairing: older! logan x f! reader

tags: age gap, riding, (slight) overstimulation, cigar sex mmm, shotgunning.

an: drooling over this photo— v

the early morning sun peeked through the cracks of the blinds, smoke filling the bedroom. the blanket was left carelessly between the floor and bed, the sounds your hips rocking back-and-forth filled the room.

it happened like a blur, you hadn’t even fully woken up before you felt logan’s length poking you through his jeans. luckily, it was a late sunday morning, no plans, no worries, so you both decided to take it slow.

logan hadn’t even bothered to take his jeans off, merely unbuckling his belt and getting his half-hard cock out. you slowly lined yourself up, panties still discarded from the night before, and slowly sank down. it was far from your first time with logan, but it still took you a moment to adjust to the stretch. you heard him softly groan as he rested against the headboard, smoke escaping out of his mouth.

as logan aged, he became more insecure around you, so young and precious. you needed a man your own age, one who could keep up with you. you saw him shirtless less and less as the days went by, his excuse simply being there was nothing for you to see. you disagreed. even as white hairs grew, the scruffier his beard got, and the rougher his calloused hands felt on your soft skin, you stayed by his side, whispering nothing but sweet things.

part of you felt blessed to see his bare chest this morning, and you took in the steady rise and fall of his chest.

your pussy rubbed itself against his pelvis, the rough material of his zipper adding onto the sensation as your thighs began to ache. but you didn’t want to stop, god no, not when he was so deep inside of you.

your hands rested against his broad shoulders, squeezing them as your anchor as you continue to ride him. he gently puts his rough hands on your waist, and starts moving your hips along with you, guiding your body to help you grind lower on his cock in a way that makes you both moan.

“there ya go, doll. . . just like that,” he says under his breath, taking a long drag of his cigar before he pulls you in. the shaky breaths from how you were riding him quickly subsided when you realized what he was trying to do.

you get even closer to his face, tilting your head to get a better angle as he parts his lips for the smoke to escape. you slowly inhale as you stare into his hazel eyes, your lips were so close. you sink down onto his cock again as you put your hands on his cheeks, feeling his coarse beard with your fingers. you pull away and cough a bit. he rubs your back, giving you a minute to breathe.

“attagirl,” he groaned before pulling you in for a kiss. you moaned into his mouth as your hands ran down his chest. the way he was scarred up made you remember how much he’d been through, you caress his hairy chest as he starts slowly pumping into you, following the rhythm of your hips as you both start to come closer and closer to the edge.

his breaths came out heavy as he trailed his callused hands up the oversized shirt you were wearing (his shirt) to grab your tits, you put your smaller hands on top of his when his grip tightened. your thighs were burning, a dull ache that you knew was going to bother you later was setting in, but you were so close, you couldn’t stop. you felt his hips rut up against you, trying to help you but mostly to help him finish. his rhythm was sloppy, he was just as desperate as you.

“fucking—god, fuck, logan,” you moaned out, closing your eyes to savor the feeling.

he groaned underneath you, one of his hands coming down to grip your hip as he thrusted sloppily into you, chasing his own high.

“c’mere, sweetheart, c’mere,” he breathed out, not waiting for your response as he pulled you down for another kiss. he dropped his cigar as his hand rested on your hip and the other cradled your face.

you tasted the smoke on his tongue as you leaned forward, your clit rubbing against the hair on his base, giving you the extra stimulation you were craving. you gripped his shoulders so hard your knuckles were turning white, digging your nails into his skin.

you both breathed heavily into the kiss, if you could even call it that. it was wet mess of tongue and teeth, saliva trailing down your chin as he sucked on your tongue.

his free hand continued to knead at your breast, pulling and twisting at your covered nipple. you broke the kiss to let out a strangled moan and then his lips trailed up your neck to your ear.

“come on, give it to me, doll. need to feel you come around me—fuck…”

his groans in your ear were what pushed you to the edge. you clamped down on him, a long drawn out whine coming out of you as your teeth sank into his neck. he continued to move against you, holding your hips to keep you firmly in place as he chased his own release.

you didn’t even notice the noises you were making until he gently shushed you. “i know, i know, sweet girl.”

a few more desperate thrusts and you felt his fingers dig painfully into your skin before you felt his hot release spill inside you. you both laid there, slowly catching your breaths.

when you felt him move, you winced, still sensitive as he remained inside of you.

“sorry,” he mumbled as he placed his cigar on the nightstand, “dropped it.”

you remained embraced for a few more minutes before he reminded you of his plans.

“do you have to do it today?” you complained into his neck. all you wanted to do was cuddle up to him for the rest of the day.

“need a new tire to drive. was supposed to do it yesterday.”

you slowly sat up, feeling his cum leak out from where you two were still connected. you needed to wash the sheets again.

“tomorrow?” you asked with a pleading look. “just wanna stay with you.”

he let out a sigh, running a hand up and down your back, tracing the curve of your spine.

“few more minutes,” he compromised.

you gave him a kiss on the lips. “we’ll see about that.”

—v & f

[gremlinmodetweeker]

When König Freaks Out

I think that sometimes, people don't really know how to write König getting mad. I think a lot of people assume that because he's a soldier, he loses his shit all the time. Either that, or they assume he's nervous and scared. He's not either. He's a colonel (or, was), he is far too self disciplined to lose himself like that. However, König isn't always able to control himself. Under special circumstances, König loses his shit.

TWs: König yelling, teasing, childhood photos being used to embarrass König

Wordcount: 1.2k

Art from This Post

König is a very, very stable person. He almost never lets his true emotions show. It's extremely rare. Sure he has his sadistic belly laughs, but other than that, König doesn't express himself fully. He just doesn't.

König doesn't cry. He doesn't yell when he's around civvies. He doesn't even swear much when in casual conversation. He may seem relaxed and calm, but if you pay attention, he's extremely careful with what he says and how he says it. Part of it is social anxiety; he's extremely aware of how he's being perceived and takes care to curtail that image to his need. He needed to be careful to rise the ranks as quickly as he did. He's not colonel for nothing.

High ranking military personnel are not like your average soldiers, especially among special ops. Lower soldiers might be careless and rough and hardened, but to be a colonel you need to be the perfect soldier. You need to drink, but not too much. You need to be a gentleman, but you need to be dirty. You need to be kind in public, cruel on the field. It's a position of contradictions. Not many civvies understand how hard these people have their entire identities on lockdown. They often compartmentalize their lives to be able to function in different settings. They have to be, at the very least a little bit, sociopathic to succeed. Again, they're not inherently evil, I'm not saying König is evil. I am saying that if you pay attention to him in a civvie situation though, you'll notice that he is an unflappable gentleman. You'd never know he was out at the bar until 3am with his drinking buddies the night before and nursing a wicked hangover while he's sipping coffee at lunch with you.

Why am I being so careful to outline how calm and steady König is? It's because when he freaks out it's usually insanely funny, or terrifying. Sometimes both.

Now, I've told you all before in this post that König's instinctual reaction to being startled is to fight. He will punch first and ask questions second. But, sometimes, König doesn't get scared.

He gets mad.

König is normally hard to upset, but family reunions bring something special out of König. Something dark, something hidden, something murderous. It's not battlefield rage, it's worse. It's the hatred and fury of being the youngest brother in the family, and it all comes out when he brings you to a reunion and they bring out the baby photos.

"Nein, nein, nein," König will chant as he rips the photo album out of his sister's hands, "this is going back on the shelf."

You're already cackling because it's far too late to go back.

"But you looked so cute in the tub!" Lisa's grinning from ear to ear as her little brother loses his shit

"Why do we even have those pictures?" König huffs as he slumps back in his chair, "we don't need them. They can be burnt."

"You know, you grew a better beard as a kid than you do now," Friedrich mutters as he sips his beer.

"I grow a perfectly fine beard!" König snaps.

"You call that shit-stain on your face facial hair?" Stephen looks down his nose at the youngest Leichenberg.

"I can't help it!" König grumbles, "I try to shave but then it all grows back."

"Yeah," Friedrich rolls his eyes, "that's what happens, Kilgore. It's called biology."

"No!" König huffs, "it grows fast! Too fast! By the time I go to bed it's already making my face itch!"

"So you keep that on your face?" Lisa points and laughs.

"It's trimmed," König grumbles and rubs his chin before turning to you, "it looks nice. You think it looks nice, right?"

You look at his dark stubble, a stark contrast to his wheat blond hair. In truth, he looks rather handsome with the dark shadow on his jaw. He does his best to keep it nice and trimmed (always in regulation), but since you arrived in Austria five days ago, the stubble has grown into an unruly thing on his face.

"You haven't trimmed in a bit," you admit.

"See! Even your wife thinks it looks like a rat's nest," Klara snorts.

"I wouldn't go that far-"

"I look fine!" König's voice raises up a notch with indignation.

"Mama," Friedrich ducks around the door to the kitchen, "come tell Kilgore he needs to shave."

The little woman pops out of the kitchen to glare at her son. She looks him up and down and scoffs.

"You call yourself a colonel? Tch, you look like a mangy dog."

She ducks back around the corner to tend to the oven.

"I DO NOT LOOK LIKE A DOG!"

Everyone (except you) laughs as König's face turns a bright violent red as he squawks furiously. He huffs and puffs, just on the brink of a meltdown as his family taunts him further.

"And he looked so good with a full bubble beard!" Klara laughs.

"Oh but you looked better," Friedreich snaps another album off the shelf and flicks through the photos, but stops on another page, "oh wait, we'll look at that later. Look at this picture of Kilgore on his first birthday!"

Even you can't help but laugh as Friedrich brandishes the offending photo.

There, bordered in paper butterflies and tulips, is König sitting in a puddle of mud, gleefully shovelling a handful of the muck into his mouth. I the background, a young Friedrich has Stephen in a headlock while Lisa, the only presentable sibling, is eating a slice of König's cake.

"Mama worked for days on that cake, but Kilgore only wanted to eat the mud," Stephen explained as König bellowed slurs at his eldest brother.

Lisa was beside herself with laughter, nearly keeling over out of the chair as Klara pointed out how, in this photo as well, König was completely nude. Apparently, getting young König to wear clothes was quite the task.

"WE DO NOT NEED MORE PICTURES," König roared as Lisa pulled out another album.

König looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel at this rate. The only time you ever saw König this worked up was when he was dealing with subordinates. Never before had you seen König lose his temper quite like this. A part of you was horrified, another part amazed by how easily his siblings pressed all the right buttons to make him tick.

"Look how stoic our little soldier boy is!" Stephen remarked as König smacked his meaty fist against his thigh with a thick thud.

"I. AM. A. COLONEL!" König howled.

He was about to carry on before all the siblings went silent. Even König stilled, his mouth clamping shut with a click as he looked behind you. You turned to look at what stopped them to find the elder Fritz Leichenberg holding up a hand.

He uncrossed his long, long legs and adjusted his half-moon glasses on his hooked nose. Soft, watery blue eyes looked down at his youngest son. He gently pulled his tobacco pipe from beneath his salt and pepper moustache and rang a long, veiny hand through his bushy beard lightly. He blinked once, then said, "Kilgore. Go upstairs and shave. You look atrocious. I can't send out Christmas cards pictures when you look like this."

The room echoes with laughter as König slowly pulls himself to his feet and trudges up the creaking stairs, off to shave the unruly mess off his face.

Regular Fanfics

[its-time-to-write]

OMGGGG WELCOME BACK QUEEN!!!!! honestly you can write quite literally ANYTHING (esp hurt/comfort pls pls pls) with jamie bc all your fics are simply immaculate 🫶🏼

THANKS QUEEN. I’m starting off with the most open-ended prompt and let me tell you, ya girl is RUSTY. This took way longer than it should so pls forgive me😅

But yeah requests are still open so ask away!

birds of a feather

The lights are off when you get home, but you don’t bother turning them on. You’re familiar enough with Jamie’s house that you can make your way upstairs and to his bed without looking. You drop your bag, kick off your shoes, and trudge upstairs.

The light’s on in his room but he’s passed out. You smile to yourself despite the day and switch off the lights.

You weren’t going to cry again, really you weren’t, but by the time you’re brushing your teeth, they���re sliding down your face.

But it’s dark, so no one can see.

You slip into bed where you can (hopefully) cry yourself to sleep when a sob escapes your throat.

Another slips out, then another, making it hard to stop and harder to breathe.

“Babe?” comes Jamie’s hoarse voice. “You alright?”

You can feel him reach for the light, so you blindly grab for his arm. “Don’t,” you gasp, “Please, just leave it off.”

Jamie understands what you mean. You’re trying to say, I don’t want you to see me cry.

He shifts so his face is two inches from yours. He’ll be awake in a few hours, but it doesn’t matter at the moment.

“What happened?” he whispers, but he already knows the answer. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but Beard had been running the team ragged in training.

You take a shuddering breath and Jamie’s eyes have adjusted enough where he can wipe away a tear. “Went exactly as expected, didn’t it?” you say. “She did what she always does. Asked for money, was furious when I said no. Asked for advice, was mad when I gave her an answer. Asked me to listen, was upset when I wasn’t giving her solutions. She stormed out after an hour, but not before throwing her wine on me. I ruined the dress you got me, I’m pretty sure we got papped, and I’m really, really sorry.” That’s going to be a lovely article to wake up to in the morning. If Keeley were here, she would be able to come up with a catchy headline for it, rhyming “Tartt,” with something about sisters and WAGs and thrown wine. 

But Keeley isn’t here, it’s just you and Jamie, and you can’t help but think it’s too early in your relationship for this.

Really though, you haven’t been together long enough for your name to tarnish his. That’s a milestone that should be passed in ten months. A year, even.

Jamie barely catches himself from asking, “Why do you still see her?” just like everyone has asked him about his father.

Instead he says, “I’m not fuckin’ worried,” and wraps you in his arms. 

You exhale and snuggle as close as you can. 

It’s times like this where you remember exactly why you’re with him. He just- gets it.

You met him through Keeley. Keeley had been your sister’s friend first, met at a photo shoot, but it was hard to stay friends with your sister. You and Keeley became close while your sister accused you of stealing all her friends.

“Keeley would love to see you,” you had tried to tell her one time in an attempt to keep her from shouting.

“The fuck I would,” Keeley had snorted when you relayed the story hours later.

Keeley’s a genius, really. She took a horrible a vitriolic viral tabloid story about Jamie’s dad and a charity gala, and managed to create this, whatever “this” is.

Jamie’s running his thumb up and down your arm as your breathing evens out.

“Want to go on a run with me and Roy tomorrow?” he asks. “I’ll get you breakfast.”

You whisper back, “I can buy my own breakfast,” and Jamie’s grateful that it’s dark so he can roll his eyes without getting smacked.

“What if I fucking want to get it for you? What then, ey?”

You respond, “Hm,” and then you’re asleep.

—

If Roy’s surprised you’re with Jamie in the morning, he doesn’t show it. He grunts and says, “Don’t think I’m going fucking easy on you, Tartt,” but he sets the warmup at a pace you like before saying, “You’re doing fucking sprints today and I don’t want to hear fucking shit about it.”

He’d never admit it, but Roy’s excellent at reading people. The sprints are so you don’t have to have a single thought inside your head. By the time the sun rises, you’re enjoying coffee on a bench with Roy while Jamie completes his eighty-second pushup.

“Don’t fucking read the fucking Sun,” is the last thing Roy says before leaving to go to his actual work. You grimace, but Jamie takes your hand and swings it the whole way back to his house.

“I’m not going to see her again,” you tell him. He knows you’re lying. He said the same thing about his dad month and a half ago, but he’s going to see him in rehab next week.

Jamie hands you a credit card on his way out the door “to get something fucking hot, babe.”

It won’t change anything and it won’t even fix anything either, but that’s not the point.

The point is he’s looking at you. He sees, he understands, and he’s still there.

You do end up reading the article. It’s complete shit, a made up story about you being a bitch whose newfound celebrity has alienated you from your loving family. Nowhere does it mention that said “loving” family only comes crawling around when they need something. That what they take from you will never be enough.

The fuck did you read that shite for? comes Jamie’s text after you’ve ignored his last five. ik that’s why ur not responfing

Why is your autocorrect never on? you write back instead of answering.

Jamie’s reply is quick: for the aesthetic

You: So you can write “aesthetic,” but have trouble spelling “responding?” Seems strange

Jamie: Sma helpd

Then: *Sam.

You smile, despite yourself. Sometimes you wonder how much of this he does just to get a rise out of you. You suspect it’s more than he lets on, but you’ll let him pretend to be stupid for now.

You check the time. If he’s texting at this hour, it means training’s done. Your finger hovers over the call button for a fraction of a second before pressing it.

Sam picks up on the second ring. “Your boyfriend is hitting Isaac with a towel,” he says, no preamble. “It is chaos.”

“He was just texting me a second ago,” you say.

You can practically hear Sam shrug through the phone. “It escalated quickly. Do you need him? I’m sure they will stop since you’re calling.”

He doesn’t sound too sure, which makes you laugh. “No, it’s all good, can you just tell him-”

You’re interrupted but the muffled sound of the phone being wrestled away from Sam.

“Jamie’s a dickhead,” comes Isaac’s voice far too close to the speaker before there’s vague wrestling again and you hear Jamie, very much out of breath.

“What’s up, babe?” he asks and you don’t even remember why you called him in the first place because you’re smiling too wide.

“I really fucking love you,” you tell him and even though it isn’t the first time you said it, you feel nervous. The good kind, where you know he’s going to say it back and mean it, and that his words are just for you.

Jamie says, “I love you too,” and tries his best to convey a thousand meanings into four words.

“Great,” you say, “because the top Google story for you is me with a giant wine stain on my dress. So I think we should go out tonight and look so hot that everyone forgets all about it. Thoughts?”

Jamie says, “Fucking mint,” then, “fucking ow,” and you can tell by the sounds in the background that Isaac’s gotten him again. 

“GottagoloveyouheresSam,” he says in a rush before you hear him practically hurl his phone.

“You have some strange coworkers, Sam,” you comment.

“You have a strange boyfriend,” he retorts, and he’s right. But Jamie’s strange matches your strange, so you think it’ll last.

[hedgehog-moss]

I meant to go admire a frozen waterfall yesterday, but I'm scared of driving on slippery roads so I ended up abandoning my car and my dreams and just wandering about by foot, following random roads.

(These first two photos are a little bit blurry because I took them while walking, but it does give them a certain je ne sais quoi... They look like childhood memories)

The soles of my boots had zero grip and were therefore great for sliding, so I ended up taking two sticks and using them like cross-country skiing poles to propel myself forward on the iciest portions of the road. It was fun! Pandolf thought I was insane. He was being extremely prudent on the icy patches, testing each step:

At the beginning of our walk he was prancing as usual but then at one point his front paws slipped forward without warning, turning him into a very long slinky dog. It was pretty funny. I laughed. I admit. He wasn't hurt but definitely a bit vexed.

We did leave the icy road on numerous occasions, to slip under fences and cross promising pastures (promising = lots of footprints; potential friends.) We met several creatures! Like this adorable shetland pony—I tried to take a photo from afar, with Pandolf nearby for scale, to show how scandalously tiny he was, but that turned out to be impossible because he was too friendly. Every time I took a step back he took two steps forward. Clearly he thought he was even better-looking from up close.

We also ran into the darling goat I mentioned yesterday, and I was told by several people on here that she looked more like a ewe.

Sorry for the mistake! But also I tried to look further into this and became more and more confused, as every source that mentioned a foolproof way to tell goats from sheep was disproven by another source—I found one that said sheep had a split upper lip while goats didn't (and my mystery friend didn't), but then another website contradicted it. I ended up with 32 tabs open with photos of goats and sheep of all kinds, some of which looked downright bizarre (what's with the Jar Jar Binks ears), and I began losing my grasp on the concept of animal species altogether. I understood how Darwin must have felt when he tried to figure out the differences between species of barnacles and asked people to send him various specimens and ended up with giant teetering piles of wet smelly boxes full of barnacles in his study that threatened to collapse and bury him alive. Then I closed my 32 tabs.

Honestly ever since learning that some sheep have horns and some goats don't, I've been lost. Not to mention, our mystery girl had a sheep-like tail but a goat-like beard. Are there sheep out there with beards and if yes, how do we make sense of the world? We should be able to point at a mammal with a goatee and say "goat" without doubting ourselves. That's my manifesto.

Whatever she was, the goat-ewe was very sweet, and she baa-ed a lot—at first I thought she was making conversation and I politely baa-ed back, before realising she was calling her horse bodyguards, just in case. Two horses soon showed up from behind a tree, very "What seems to be the problem ma'am?"

I offered nose scritches to the friendliest of the two and she went to report to the goat like "We've neutralised the threat."

Let me insert another (blurry) photo of a travelling Pandolf to symbolise the passing of time before moving on to our last encounter:

... I also had trouble taking photos of this one at first, because she kept coming closer to inspect my scarf—I thought she wanted to explore my pockets for potential treats like Pirlouit often does but no, she was very interested in the smell (texture?) of my scarf specifically.

The sky had cleared as we went down from 1300 to 1100m, as if we'd slipped under the clouds, so I tried to take a photo of this nice late-afternoon sky, and the horse finally stopped focusing on my scarf and instead started insistently positioning herself between me and my beautiful landscape.

Look at this lovely golden light in the snow over there which I was almost able to capture!

Meanwhile her pasture mate was eating a whole broom plant, slowly and thoughtfully, which makes me jealous because my llamas are supposed to eat brooms and they mostly don't, they think they're too good for brooms. They eat the very young ones but not adult brooms, so I have to do the work of three llamas and cut them myself. I wish I could send the Pampses as interns in this pasture, to learn the art of brush-clearing from this wise old horse.

I tried to take one last landscape photo and gave up when the aspiring model came to pose again.

Where was Pandolf, you might ask? Pandolf doesn't trust horses, especially large farm horses, and was quietly and insistently trying to convince me to leave. When Model Horse tried to greet him (it looks like she's chasing him but no, she was just stretching her neck to sniff him) he beat a hasty retreat toward the icy road, his former enemy. Some guard dog.

It may sound like Pandolf didn't have a very fun time on this walk, slipping on ice and running from horses, but don't worry, he found plenty of suitable empty pastures to practise his favourite hobby! Though I think at this point he has moved beyond a hobbyist and is ready to play in professional leagues. He does this thing now where he jumps up a bit to gain momentum; I don't remember him doing this last winter. He's an entirely self-taught dog (in the art of snow diving) and I'm proud of him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

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

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

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

You sigh and back up through the file explorer. Come on. Your frustration bubbles up until you feel sweat on your scalp. You squint at the screen, searching for what you need. You blow out through your lips and reach for your mug. The white one with the small agency’s logo on it. 

“Mr. Brenner,” you pivot your chair as you put your cup down, “I can’t find the Dubeau files. I was almost finished--” 

“Dubeau? Never heard of ‘em,” he doesn’t look away from his screen. You tense and nod. 

“Of course, sir, I must be misremembering.” 

You don’t argue. Not out loud. Just like always, you roll over and take it all. You hold it all in. When you lost something, you resign yourself to it. When you miss the train, you sit down and wait for the next, and when you’re told something is a certain way, it must be. And if not, you’ rather wait for the truth to leak through then speak up and make yourself the fool. 

You click around the files. That means you can move on. There’s a backlog of accounts to get through as it is. Ever since Wallace quit, you’ve been doing his work too. It was so unexpected. Strange how abrupt that was. He left his jacket behind but he still hasn’t come to get it. Well, once you find a better firm, you’re out the door just as fast. 

“Carson. It needs to be done,” Brenner says as he clicks his mouse lazily. 

You glance over. You can see the reflection of his screen in the glass of his framed accountant certification on the wall. It doesn’t look like a spread sheet. The colours move and you try not to think about what they resemble. 

“Got it, sir.” 

“What about Williams?” Geraldine suggests. 

Brenner clucks, “delete that. Thought I already did.” 

The tapping of keys continues. Geraldine is old and slow. Her work is reliable but not timely, and Brenner, the senior accountant, tends to do better at sweet talking clients than the paperwork. 

You focus on the Carson file. Like many of the clients, it’s a mess. Assets all over. Photos of wrinkled documents and few of loose cash on indeterminate surfaces. You don’t ask questions. You just figure it out. The place isn’t your first choice but with zero experience, it’s the only way you’ll have any. It’s a pathway to a better destination. 

The office is stagnant but for the clacking of keyboards and clicking of mice. Only Brenner’s heavy huffs and Geraldine’s incessant sniffling interrupt. You lean on your elbow as you compare your two monitors and input values. 

The front door opens and Geraldine stands. She deals with the walk-ins. She enjoys chatting with them. Sometimes too much. You suspect she doesn’t get much conversation with her two cats. 

“Oh, hello, aren’t you a strapping young man. My, oh, I know you,” she chimes, “Mr. Rogers. Yes, I recall.” 

The man sighs in response. You glance over as Mr. Brenner stands so quickly that his chair rolls back into the wall. He clears his throat and hurries around his desk. You haven’t seen him react like that for anyone. 

You stare at the man across from Geraldine. He’s tall and well-dressed. He wears a pinstripe suit with a pressed white collared-shirt, a sleek grey tie down his chest. Despite his tailored attire, his hair is overgrown, his beard too. There’s a permanent stitch in his forehead. 

Rogers... it sounds familiar. 

“Sir,” Brenner extends his hand as he approaches the other man, “how are ya? What can I do for ya today?” 

The other man looks at him dully and ignores his handshake. He sniffs and peers around at the beige walls. The place is enough to drive anyone mad. 

“I need an accountant.” 

“I didn’t know you were looking? Brian--” 

“Shut up about Brian,” the man snarls. “I’m not hear to chat.” 

“Well, I can take care of it--” 

“You won’t,” Rogers insists. “The things you click on, I don’t need that risk. It’s off the books. No digital trail.” 

“Right,” Brenner agrees, “Wallace is... gone--” 

“Didn’t ask,” Rogers turns away from him and looks past the empty desk to you, “her. Come on.” 

He snaps then curls his fingers. Brenner bounces on his heels anxiously, “um, right, but Geraldine is more experienced--” 

“She’s wearing orthotics. I need someone who can run around,” the man snaps.  

“Yes, sir, of course, sir. I don’t mean to overstep,” Pete shows his palms. “Get your bag, sweetie. You’re gonna help Mr. Rogers for the day.” 

“More than a day,” he says as he checks his watch. 

“As long as you need,” Brenner agrees. 

You save the spreadsheet and slowly close down the Excel sheet. You wheel back in your chair, unsure, and reach beneath for the leather briefcase you splurged on when you got the job. When you still thought it was a professional office. 

“I heard about the engagement,” Brenner lowers his voice but the place is too small not to hear, “Sorry, buddy, that’s tough--” 

“I didn’t ask what you think,” Rogers bristles. 

You peer over again and find him staring. Impatiently. 

“Right, right, was just saying--” 

“And I’m not your buddy,” he growls. 

“Of course, sir,” Brenner preens. “I’m digging the new look. Growing out the hair. Very in vogue--” 

“Enough,” he waves past Brenner to you. “Let’s go. Boss is waiting.” 

You get up and snap the clasp on the plum briefcase as you shuffle in your kitten heels. You approach the man as you grip the handle and offer your other hand formally. “Hi, sir,” you introduce yourself. “What can I help with?” 

“We’ll get to it. For now, stay close,” he looks at his watch again. 

“Glad to be of service, sir,” Pete says. “I’ll waive the invoice--” 

He’s once more ignored as Rogers spins and marches for the door. Tension curdles in his wake and you look around. Brenner gives you a toothy cringe and shoos you, “don’t keep him waiting and for god sakes, smile.” 

You raise your brows as Geraldine returns to her desk. She sits stiffly as she rubs her hip and offers a sheepish look, “good luck, dearie.” 

Their nervous demeanour fills you with dread. Who exactly is this Mr. Rogers and why are they all so afraid of him? You can only be sure that you should be too. 

[desi2go]

Humming

pairing: dad!Han x mother!reader

Warnings: fluff

Jisung was a man with a bubbly character who brings everyone to laugh within seconds. It was his superpower. Everywhere he goes, the people are happier because of his aura.

When you first met him, the kind and funny side attracted you and you got fond of it really fast. But after getting together, you didn't fear the other side of him. With his anxieties and insecurities. It belongs to him just like the sunny side.

Compared to him, you were rather cold or serious towards strangers. Maybe that's why you were so attracted to him. Differences attract each other, you had heard.

Your daughter Yuna was an exact copy of him. You couldn't deny that he was the father of your child. She was such an angel.

After giving birth, the hospital was filled with his and your family the day after to see the little one. Everyone wanted to hold your bundle of joy. Even all the other members of Stray Kids came to see the newest addition to the family. Chan and Felix were the first one to hold her.

Even though Jisung trusted them with his life, he always stood by her side to catch her if someone would drop her.

She was so tiny due to you going into labour just a week before the eight month of pregnancy. Seeing how fragile she was, the protectiveness was there the moment her cries filled the delivery room.

He promised to protect his precious girl with his live and wanted to be the best father for her.

After a week in the hospital to make sure that everything with you and Yuna was fine, he stepped through the door of your shared apartment for the first time as a dad. Your hospital bag over his back that he insisted to carry so that you didn't need to carry that heavy thing and in his arms his little angel.

Even though she was deep asleep, he did a room tour with her, rambling and explaining nearly everything to her.

He sat hours in her room, watching her sleep. He couldn't express how grateful he was to have the little girl and even now he can't believe that he was actually a father.

When she got older and the newborn stage was over, he still sat in her room, observing her after he had read her a book.

Often he would flip through the photos that mostly he took through her short life.

There were photos that Hyunjin made. They were beautiful and showed you three as a happy family. Some were just the little girl in her favourite baby blanket and her plushie, just some weeks after birth.

You had wrapped Yuna in a sweet quokka onesie that you had found online. Hyunjin laid her into a small basket with fluffy blankets and gave her a quokka plushie that she held in her tiny hands.

How the time flew by as a father of a baby.

Yuna was now a year old. Her birthday just passed and Jisung made sure that it was the best day for his baby. Even though she won't remember it when she got older.

You weren't home due to a late meeting at work so that Jisung had Yuna all for himself.

He played with her and when it was time for bed, he bathed together with her while playing with the bubbles. Her sweet and heart warming giggles filled the entire bathroom as Jisung formed with the bubbles funny beards.

He changed her diaper and dressed her in her cute tiny sleep clothes.

Currently, her teeth break through and that was painful for her which is why she has a hard time falling asleep. Jisung and you tried nearly everything to make it less painful.

Tonight, her otherwise so happy and angelic face was wearing a sad one. She whimpered and tears fell as he tried to rock her to sleep.

However it didn't work. He sat down in the rocking chair, Yuna was placed on his chest with one arm holding her securely in his embrace. She grabbed the fabric of his black shirt, whining, as he slowly rocked himself back and forth.

Then, he began humming. A song he heard during the day on social media that kept twirling in his mind.

His humming turned into singing. The syllables rolled of his tongue, filling the entire room.

His daughter stopped the whining and it seems to work. Her eyes never leave the lips of her daddy. Amazed she followed his lip movements as the melody filled the room.

A smile showed on her face.

The rocking and the vibration of Jisung's chest from his singing made her calm. The exhaustion of the day finally catching up. Tired she yawned and blinked her eyes a few times, fighting the sleep.

Her tiny hands held onto his shirt and he rubbed soothingly over her back.

It didn't took long till she was sleeping. Still, he kept rocking back and forth, singing and humming.

The door opened and you entered the room just ten minutes later still wearing your dark blue blouse and a pair of black jeans. You looked tired, dark circles under your eyes.

You gave him a exhausted smile and ruffled through his hair and gave him a peck.

"Hello there" you said and brushed over Yunas head. Her black hair smooth and fluffy.

"Hey honey. How was the meeting?"

"Boring. Just wanted to get home to you both" you chuckled. "Had she trouble getting asleep?"

He nodded and played with the fabric of Yunas sleep clothes. "Though the rocking and singing helped"

"Aww. She is already a fan of you"

"Of course she is! I'm her father. I don't except something else" A big smile plastered on his face.

He hoped that he will be the coolest father for her, someone she can look up to. Hopefully, she will be proud of him.

"Come Ji. Let's get her into bed. Mommy wants a private concert"

Gently, she took her daughter out of his grasp. Yuna fussed a little bit until she settled against her mother and was then laid into her warm bed.

You gave her a goodnight kiss and turned to your love. He gave him a kiss and led him to their bedroom. Quickly you got rid of your work clothes and dressed in one of Jisung's shirts.

He already waited for you to come into bed, opening his arms as you settled next to him. You laid your head on his chest as he brushed through your hair and started humming again, watching you fall asleep almost immediately and he followed soon.

[skygoldart]

Cod Grian Cosplay Build!

The fish man himself, season 10 Grian!

Reference Sketch

Some notes:

I always end up changing somethings from the reference when making the actual outfit, although I stayed pretty close it it this time.

I initially drew him with a handlebar mustache and goatee to mimic the whiskers of a fish, however I switched to a fluffier mustache beard to match the guy from Frozen.

I also opted for my turtleneck shirt over the red sweater+collar to go for more of a fisherman vibe

Since Grian is usually drawn with parrot wings, I wanted to call back to that with red yellow and blue feathers on the bobbers.

The tail and fins

I wanted to lean into the “fish”er man design and gave him fish fins and a tail.

It’s design is based on a cod fish with striped fins based on the feathers of an osprey

To make it, I drew the tail pattern on a large piece of paper, cut it out, cut each section out of the respective fabric times two, sewed the two sides together, and lastly filled it with a ton stuffing.

The tail is heavy, but it’s fun to wack people with it.

The fins for the arms and beanie are made in a similar way, each hand sewn onto the beanie/bracers once stuffed.

The Overalls

I had originally planned for him to be wearing waders, but wanted to make the outfit more wearable for everyday wear without overheating. So I opted for some brown corduroy overalls instead.

To add a “wet” look to each pant leg, I briefly dipped each one into some black fabric dye before rinsing and drying.

The green pixels on his skin look like they could be kelp or patches so I decided to go with the latter and dug through my scrap fabric to find these green pieces.

I embroidered the edge of each piece with a unique stitch and placed them randomly on each leg.

The snails!

Of course we can’t forget about the snails

There are three snails for this project with two more eventually on the way (a plush pink snail, and a plush brown snail).

I made the clay blue snail first with polymer and attached tie tacks to the underside so I can use it like a pin and stick it anywhere on my clothes.

Same goes for the pink worm snail which is also made of clay.

The blue plush snail is based on a pattern from Etsy by willowynn with some slight modifications, mainly to the eyes/feelers, and doubling the size.

Facial hair

This was one of the parts I was the most excited about for this cosplay and the only part I didn’t do myself. I commissioned @basic-amoeba to make a custom ventilated beard, styled and everything. This part turned out so good!

Some final notes for this project

This cosplay took from Feb 20 to March 15th to complete since I was so determined to finish it before Grian changed his skin. Haha look at me now. He still hasn’t changed it.

Not pictured (cause why can I only add 10 photos 😭) is the mending book with a fish hook I made using scrap faux leather, cardboard, and some cut printer paper. I painted in galactic the word mending and sprayed the whole thing in my “enchanting” spray paint (a blue to purple iridescent glitter spray paint)

A small fun backstory to the fishing rod:

My grandpa is an experienced fisherman and has dozens of fishing poles. When I talked about this project with him, he brought me out to his workshop and pulled down the dustiest fishing rod there. He told me he had fished this fishing rod from a lake one day with the line and bait still attached. Can’t get anymore accurate to Minecraft fishing than that lol.

Obligatory cosplay photo:

[pickingupmymercedes]

Back to December - Lewis Hamilton

Part of 1K Jukebox Event

song: Back to December - Taylor Swift - anon

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

genre: there's angst but it has a happy ending

wordcount: +2k

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

extra on part 2 - Things I left behind

______________________________________________________________

I hear Lewis’s footsteps muffled down the hallway, each step familiar in the quiet of our home. I glance up from my spot on the sofa, curled into the corner with a blanket draped over me, the fireplace casting a warm glow that barely chases away the memory of colder nights.

He comes into the room, his face softened by that tender, knowing smile— the very one that reaches deep into a part of my heart that I once thought might stay closed forever.

He looks tired, the kind of tired that comes with long nights of soothing a restless toddler, but with a warmth in his eyes that makes my chest ache. The look of a man who had found his way back to love, who knows exactly what it’s worth.

He sits beside me, sliding an arm around my shoulders and pulling me into his side. His other hand settles over the curve of my belly, his thumb tracing absentminded circles over the fabric of my sweater.

The small, familiar motion settles me, the very same balm of our first pregnancy – him soothing our growing child

“Did he fall asleep?” I ask, resting my head against his shoulder, letting the weight of the day melt away. It’s been hard on all of us, this new phase—our little boy struggling to understand what it means to have a sibling on the way.

Lewis lets out a soft sigh, his breath warm against my hair. “Yeah. It’s a lot for him to take in, but he’s a tough kid. He’ll be okay.”

“I know,” I whisper, but I can’t quite shake the twinge of worry.

I’m about to ask him something else when I catch that look in his eye, the one that says he’s been mulling something over. I nudge him gently, trying to lighten the moment. “What is it, Lewis? I know that look.”

He laughs softly, but there’s a hesitance in the sound, like he’s not sure how I’ll take what he’s about to say. “I was reading some of the reviews of your album” he begins, and my heart gives a little jump in my chest.

I try to play it cool, but I feel my pulse quicken. It’s not that I’m surprised he’s been reading them—Lewis has always supported my music, even when I didn’t feel like I deserved it.

But there’s something in the way he says it, a curiosity that puts me on edge. “And?”

“One of the songs caught my attention. Well, not only mine” he says, his tone gentle, almost as if he’s feeling out the words. “People seem to think it’s about us. About that December.”

My breath hitches. That December. The words sit heavy between us, a ghost of a time I’ve tried to leave behind but never quite managed to forget.

I give him a little nudge, knowing that he’s still got that look on his face, like he’s piecing together a puzzle. “Okay, detective. Go on, then. What made you think that song was about us?”

He chuckles softly, but his eyes stay serious, the corners crinkling as he searches my face. “I mean ... the part with ‘tan skin’ and a ‘sweet smile are pretty obvious.’”

I raise an eyebrow, leaning back against the cushions with a smirk. “You’re not the only man with tan skin and a sweet smile, you know. Could’ve been about anyone.”

He shakes his head, a knowing grin playing at his lips. “Your fans thought that part was a dead giveaway too. How you used to post those photos of us on holiday, and the way you’d talk about my smile like it was your favorite thing in the world.” His voice softens, and he traces a thumb along my jaw. “I remember that, too, Y/n.”

My heart clenches a little at that, but I keep my teasing smile in place, not wanting to break the lightness of this moment just yet. “I’ll give you that one. What else, Sherlock?”

He hums thoughtfully, running a hand through his beard, the other still resting over my bump. “‘September night’—the first time I saw you cry?” He pauses, and his expression turns more somber, like he’s reliving the memory.

“That was when your label kept pushing back the release of your album, wasn’t it? And you thought it was because you weren’t good enough. That was the night you broke down on my balcony in LA.”

I feel my breath hitch, the memory hitting me like a wave. I’d felt so lost back then, so unsure of myself and my place in the world, and Lewis had been the only thing that made me feel grounded. He’d held me tight as I’d cried into his chest, whispering that I was more than enough, that I didn’t need anyone’s validation but my own.

I reach out, squeezing his hand, and he squeezes back. “You really remember that night?” I ask quietly, the words barely more than a whisper.

He looks at me like I’ve just asked him the most obvious question in the world. “Of course, I do. That was the first time you let me see that side of you, Y/n.”

I blink back the sting of tears, but before I can say anything, he keeps going, his tone turning a bit playful again. “Then there’s the whole ‘mindless dreaming’ bit. You used those exact words once in an interview when we weren’t together, remember?”

I let out a soft laugh, even as the memory makes my chest ache. “My fans never let me live down that one. I was asked what I thought about love, and I told them it felt like ‘mindless dreaming.’. They always tease me I was talking about you.”

He smiles, a little sad but mostly understanding. “Yeah, they picked up on that one, too. They knew that song was about us before I did.”

I roll my eyes playfully, even though my heart is pounding in my chest. “They always did read too much into everything.”

“And you still thought you could slip that line past them?” He teases, squeezing my shoulder gently.

I snuggle into his side, but the final piece falls into place, and I watch his face soften, his smile turning gentle. “The biggest giveaway, though, was the January after we broke up. When you posted that photo with ‘If we loved again, I swear.’”

I can’t help but let out a small, shaky breath at that. I remember that post—how the fogged-up glass in the picture had mirrored the haze I’d felt inside, the uncertainty, the heartbreak.

At the time, everyone thought it meant we’d had some kind of fight, not that I was on the verge of finishing that thought with “...I swear I’d love you right.”

“Yeah,” I murmur, my voice catching on the memories. “I didn’t think you’d ever see that post, or understand what I meant. I didn’t even know if I’d ever get the chance to love you again, to make things right.”

He presses a kiss to my hair, holding me just a little tighter.

I close my eyes, letting his warmth and his words wash over me. It feels like a balm to wounds, ones I thought had healed but still ached when I looked back. And now, with his arms around me, I realize that maybe those scars will always be a part of us.

I swallow hard, the smile slipping from my face as the memories come rushing back, unbidden and sharp-edged. “It is about that December” I admit, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I snuck it into the B-side because... I wanted people to know how much you meant to me, even when I couldn’t find the words to say it back then.”

Lewis’s thumb brushes over my shoulder, a gentle back-and-forth that’s there to soothe me. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his voice so soft, understanding.

I close my eyes, letting my head fall against his shoulder, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath me. He’s here, he’s real, and he’s mine again, but the pain of losing him still lingers, like a scar that aches when the weather turns cold.

“I was scared,” I admit, my voice cracking with the weight of the truth I’ve kept hidden for so long. “Writing that song… it was like pouring salt on flesh. I needed to put it out how much I missed you, how empty everything felt without you. I thought I’d made the right choice, but every night I spent alone, I knew I’d made the worst mistake of my life.”

I can feel his breathing slow, the way he’s listening to every word, taking it in like he always does, never interrupting. It gives me the courage to go on, to lay bare the part of me that still aches from the memory of letting him go.

I remember sitting at the piano in my empty apartment, the cold seeping as winter settled in outside. My fingers hovered over the keys, shaking as I tried to find the melody that had been stuck in my head for days, one that wouldn’t let me sleep.

It was almost haunting, like trying to pull the words from the hollow space inside my chest where my heart used to be.

I remember playing a few chords, my breath catching in my throat as I whispered the lyrics, barely able to get them out past the lump in my throat. It turns out freedom ain’t nothing but missing you. Wishing I’d realized what I had when you were mine. My voice cracked on the words, and I had to stop, my hands shaking as I pressed them to my face.

I missed him. God, I missed him so much it hurt.

I missed the way he’d pull me into his arms without a word, the way he’d kiss my forehead when I felt like the world was closing in around me. I missed the way he’d look at me, like I was something precious, something worth holding onto—even when I felt like I wasn’t.

But I’d pushed him away. I’d let the fear of losing myself in the shadow of his fame, of being seen as just his girlfriend, drive me to leave.

And I thought I’d be okay, that I’d find myself again, but all I found was the emptiness of a life without him in it.

Every time I played that song, it felt like reopening the wound, like admitting to myself that I’d thrown away the best thing I’d ever had.

The nights were the worst—when the silence became deafening, and all I could hear was the echo of his voice, his laugh, the way he’d whisper I love you like it was the simplest, most certain thing in the world.

And I would lay awake, wondering if he’d moved on, if he’d found someone who wouldn’t be too scared to stay.

I blink back to our family home, my throat thick with unshed tears. Lewis is still looking at me, his expression so gentle, so heartbreakingly kind, like he had watched what I had remembered through my own eyes.

“I thought I’d lost you forever, Lewis,” I whisper, my voice raw with the memory of the pain. “I thought you’d never take me back after the way I hurt you. And writing that song… it was like a goodbye that I never got to say. I needed you to know that if we ever had a second chance, I would love you right.”

He cups my cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear I didn’t realize had fallen. His eyes shining along, and he presses his forehead to mine, his breath mingling with mine in the space between us. “You never really lost me, Y/n. I was always waiting for you. And I’d go back to that December, a thousand times over, and do it all again, if it meant we’d end up right here.”

My heart feels heavy with everything I’ve just laid bare, but in the best way—like the weight of all those unsaid words has finally lifted.

Then I pull back slightly, looking into his eyes, knowing there’s still one more thing I need to tell him. “There’s one more reason why I put that song on the album”

I manage a small smile, but it falters as I look down at his hand resting on my belly, cradling the life growing inside me. “When I found out I was pregnant again, all I could think about was how I almost missed out on this. On you, on our son, on all of this.”

His expression softens, and I can see the realization in his eyes as he holds me a little tighter. I take a shaky breath, the words tumbling out before I can lose my nerve. “I kept thinking about how close I came to never having this second chance with you. How different my life would be if I hadn’t swallowed my pride and come back to you. And I remembered how I felt, sitting in that empty apartment, writing that song, thinking I’d lost you for good.”

He looks like he’s about to say something, but I press a finger to his cheek, needing to finish before I break down completely. “I put the song on the album because I wanted to honor that version of me—the one who thought she’d lost everything and somehow found the strength to try again. And I wanted to honor you, Lewis. For waiting for me, for believing in us when I couldn’t. For giving me a chance to prove that I could love you the way you deserved.”

A tear slips down my cheek, and he catches it with his thumb, his touch gentle, reverent. He leans in, kissing the corner of my mouth, then rests his forehead against mine again. “You never had to prove anything to me, Y/n.”

I close my eyes against the flood of emotion that swells up inside me, clinging to him like he’s the only solid thing in a world that’s constantly shifting beneath my feet. “I know that now. And I’m so grateful I get to have this life with you. I’ll never take it for granted again.”

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to my temple, his voice low, like he was whispering a secret only I could keep. “I know you won’t. And we’ll get through whatever comes next, like we always have.”

______________________________________________________________

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[uluvjay]

Bed Chem-J. Drysdale & M. McTavish

Jamie Drysdale x fem! reader x Mason McTavish

In which the Ducks are in town and you three revisit something you thought got left in Anaheim

Warnings;? Smut, threesome, oral (m receiving), kissing, cursing, protected sex!, p in v, porn with a plot pretty much!, I apologize for any errors!

This follows my nasty girl au so i recommend reading these two parts first!

Day five of my Kinktober special!

You truly thought you’d never find yourself in this position ever again especially not after the trade.

However the bottle of wine and delicious steak dinner quickly escalated and next thing you knew your boyfriend and Mason had you trapped against the kitchen counter.

Your skirt was pushed up around your waist with masons hand between your thighs while Jamie’s lips were locked with yours.

You moaned into Jamie’s mouth as Mason pushed in a second finger, his rough fingers slightly thicker than Jamie’s.

“Missed this didn’t you.” Jamie spoke in your ear.

“Fuck yes.” You moaned, there was no use in lying Jamie could tell anytime you were.

Jamie knew something had brewed between the three of you after those nights in Anaheim and when he caught you drooling at masons workout photos a few weeks ago he knew what he had to do.

While he’d told you he invited Mason over for a simple dinner in your new Philadelphia apartment the two men had actually talked about sharing you again.

Mason grunted against your skin from where his tenth sunk into the opposite side of your neck, his scruffy beard tickling the sensitive skin.

“Feels so good Mase” you whimpered, head tipped back as you enjoyed the sensation of the two men against you.

The weight of their strong bodies pinning you against the counter had your mind spinning with dirty possibilities.

They were so alike but so different in bed, they both aimed to please you and that’s all that mattered to them but fuck when differences came in, they were very different.

Mason liked to fuck, and fuck hard. He wants you screaming till your voice is hoarse and throat raw as his back is cut open from your nails and you’re both so tired out that you can’t even move after.

Jamie loved to make love, he drew orgasm after orgasm from your body until you were shaking and crying. He fucked you deep and slow, fucking you right to sleep after your body was to spent to keep going.

Feeling both of them at the same for the first time in a year had your body feeling thousands of things at once.

Masons deep voice pulled you out of your head his encouraging words and sped up movements making you realize how close you were to reaching your end.

“Come on honey, can fell how tight your cunt is clenching around my fingers.” He purred in your ear as his teeth teasingly nipped the lobe.

Jamie smirked at the way your body responded, your mount dropping in a silent moan, body shaking as your high continued to rapidly approach.

“Gonna cum for Mason baby?” He asked dark eyes locking with yours admiring the blown out look in your doe eyes.

“Mhm” you nodded the overwhelming pleasure not allowing you to get a proper word out.

“Come for us, come all over my fingers while your boyfriend watches like the little slut you are.” Mason smirked.

And come you did, your body shook as your back arched into the air eyes rolling to the back of your head as the pleasure became to much for a second.

Both men watched as the pleasure raked through your body, sharing a smirk as you went slightly unresponsive for a moment until Mason moved to pull his fingers from your dripping cunt.

Your eyes snapped open watching as the brunette brought them to his mouth and sucked, a low groan leaving his body at the taste.

“Missed the taste of that pretty cunt.” He smirked dipping down to connect your lips.

You moaned at the taste of yourself allowing his tongue to fill your mouth as he took lead, you wrapped your arms around him, hand tangling into the curls at the base of his neck.

Pulling away you turned to look at Jamie who stood next to the pair of you, eyes glittering with lust as his bulge pushed against the tight denim of his jeans.

You could feel masons poking your lower stomach, knowing both men were just as needy as you were you moved away from them.

On shaky legs you begin to move towards your and Jamie’s bedroom, slowly pulling of your top and throwing it behind you.

Next thing to follow the trail was your bra and soon your skirt, looking back you found them both staring with hungry eyes.

“Coming?” You smirked before disappearing down the hall and into the master bedroom.

By the time both men got their shit together you were laying in the middle of the lush bed, condoms ready on the bedside table.

They both groaned at the sight of your bare body, quickly stripping of their clothes they joined you on the bed.

Jamie made quick work of flipping your body so you were on your hands and knees with Jamie in front of you and mason behind.

And wow was the Deja vu strong.

“Masons gonna fuck you while I take your mouth, that okay baby?” He asked.

“Yes, please.” You begged looking up at him with nothing but hunger and lust.

He smirked at your expression before handing Mason a condom.

You could hear Masons small whimpers as he slid the latex over his thick cock and it didn’t take long before you felt the cool material rubbing at your entrance.

“Ready pretty girl?” He asked.

“Yes fuck me Mason, please.” You whined wiggling your hips against him in desperation.

The man chuckled at your antics before he pressed forward sliding his cock in inch by inch to allow you some time to adjust.

Jamie watched as your mouth dropped open at the mix of pleasure and pain, your eyes squeezing shut until Mason was all the way in.

You released a breath of air at the feeling, you were so fucking full. Where Mason was a little thicker than Jamie they were just about the same length so you were used to how deep the man was sitting inside of you.

Seeing that you were content Jamie guided his cock to your mouth smirking as you opened it with no hesitation.

He groaned as he slid inside of your warm and wet mouth, he went till his cock his the back of your throat and your small gags filled the room.

He sent a nod towards his friend and next thing you knew they were moving at the same time the pleasure causing you to cry out so loud you were sure the people next door could hear.

The pleasure was overwhelming it filled every inch of your body to have both of them sharing you again.

The way Masons hands came down against your ass as Jamie’s hands pulled on your roots had your body shivering with need.

“Such a good girl.” Mason grunted from behind you.

“Taking us so good.” Jamie joined in on his friend’s praise.

You pulled away from Jamie to catch your breath stroking him with your hand you looked behind you, catching sight of Masons sculpted body.

“You two feel so good, filling me up so good.” You babbled before Jamie was bringing your mouth back to his cock.

The sounds in the room were downright dirty, a mix of your gags on Jamie’s cock and Masons skin slapping against yours had your mind reeling.

You could feel the band in your lower stomach getting tighter and tighter the mix of the both of them with your earlier orgasm making it hard for you to hold the next one off.

You pulled off Jamie with a pop, “Getting close.” You cried out before dropping back down to take his cock once again.

Mason didn’t need you to tell him, he could feel the way your cunt clenched around him the way your moans got louder and louder around Jamie’s cock with every thrust.

He couldn’t lie he was almost there himself, it had been a year since he felt your tight cunt and he was struggling with himself not to come like some inexperienced teen.

Jamie was right on the edge as well, the vibrations of your moans had chills running down his spine, his grunts and groans no better then either of yours as your mouth worked wonders on his cock.

“Shit.” He moaned hands gripping your hair as he took full control and pushed his cock in and out of your mouth.

You held his eyes as he fucked your mouth watching as his chest began to heave and his thrusts got sloppy before eventually coming to small stutters as he came down your throat.

You didn’t hesitate to swallow it all, sticking your tongue out to show your boyfriend you swallowed it he shook his head at you.

“Such a nasty girl.” He panted before lying back against the headboard eyes now trained on how his friend continued to fuck you.

Jamie could tell you were close, your moans had turned into little pathetic cries and your thighs were beginning to shake slightly.

“Mase! Fuck I’m cumming.” You cried.

Jamie smirked at your words realizing he knew you just as well as you knew yourself.

“Go ahead pretty girl, milk my cock like a good slut.” Mason spoke.

His words sent you over the edge as your body began to quiver; freshly done nails digging into the cotton comforter as your mouth dropped open in a silent scream.

You pulled Mason over the edge with you, choppy moans filling the room as his hips began to stutter and he fucked the both of you through your Highs.

“Fuck, fuck fuck.” He groaned before spilling his load into the tight condom.

He took a second to catch his breath before pulling out slowly and collapsing on the bed next to your spent body while Jamie looked down at both of you.

The older of the two smiled as he watched you curl towards Mason for warmth and he took that as a sign to get you a bath started.

“I’ll be right back.” He spoke softly slipping off the bed and sliding his boxers back on as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Feeling Masons hand run over your hair you opened your eyes to find him smiling at you softly.

“You uh-you know I didn’t come here to just sleep with you right? I swear I really did miss you guys.” He spoke up.

Your heart ached at the worry etched on his face, “Hey, I know you would never do that Mason. You are to nice of a person for something like that, and thank you we missed you a lot too.” You smiled softly.

“It’s been so weird without you guys.” He hummed softly.

“Same here, it’s so weird not waking up to Trevor belting Katy Perry at seven in the morning or you screaming because you can’t find your socks.” You laughed.

“Hey! It’s not my fault that damn washer is a sock muncher” he groaned.

You guys shared a giggle at that before relaxing into a soft silence your eyes meeting once again and before you knew it both of you were leaning in.

You locked your lips in a soft kiss tongues dancing around each other as his strong hand rested on your hip pulling you closer to his sweaty body.

You two make out weakly until Jamie popped back in the room to let you know the bath was ready forcing you two apart.

Carrying you into the bathroom Mason sat you in the bath, asking Jamie where you kept the sheets so he could change them quickly.

Jamie joined you in the tub after his friend set off for new linens, his body relaxing behind yours he began to wash you.

“Thank you for this.” You spoke up.

“Don’t have to thank me baby, it’s something we both enjoy.” He shrugged, kissing the back of your neck softly.

You hummed at the feeling of him allowing his hands to continue running along your body as he washed you clean.

“Missed him a lot, it’s weird living without him and Z still” Jamie said after a few moments of relaxing silence.

“That’s what we were just talking about, it was nice seeing him.” You smiled.

Jamie agreed reaching for your shampoo to wash your hair continuing with your shower routine before he was up and drying himself off, helping you next.

You two exited the bathroom to find Mason laying on the clean bed with fresh clothes and wet curls hinting that he took a quick shower in the guest room.

“I’m gonna jump in the shower and I’ll be right out.” Jamie placed a kiss to your head before going back into the bathroom to wash himself properly.

“Feel better?” Mason questioned.

“Yes” you smiled grabbing some pajamas before getting into bed next to him snuggling close to his side to watch whatever he had on.

Jamie joined shortly after on your other side his large body sandwiching you between them as he too turned his eyes to what was playing on the tv.

You fell asleep like that, tucked between their strong bodies as they both held onto you like you’d slip away in their sleep.

There truly was noothing got better than that.

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