#i have absolutely no words op. this is beautiful. thank you for sharing this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joosthead · 3 months ago

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finally // beautiful stranger || j.k. f!reader

WARNING #1: explicit real person fiction ahead, dni if below 18. dni if anti-rpf

WARNING #2: explicit rpf/real person fiction content ahead. read at your own risk. dni if anti rpf, dni or read ahead if you simply don’t like rpf lol

₊˚⊹⋆ part 3/prequel to normal au — this is a standalone fic but here’s part 1 and 2 if you want a little lore down the line : ). or if you’ve already read p1&2–this is how normal au joost and reader meet :3. set in december 2019.

₊˚⊹⋆ reader: f!reader. notfamous!reader. normal au a.k.a. reader has an office job and attends university. reader is not from nl

₊˚⊹⋆ word count: 11k (exactly !! :3)

₊˚⊹⋆ cw: smut (strangers to…lovers?, f&m!receiving oral, eating it through panties, protected piv), smoking, drinking. mentions of violence. reader and joost are kind of dicks to each other + pouty and annoying but dw it's ok bc theyre cute. unironic use of the word yolo. reader is apprehensive about receiving oral—references being self-conscious because it’s been a while. unironic ome robert during sex : ( teehee op does not drink or club sorry for inaccuracy

WARNING #3: rpf ahead—don't like it, don't read it. do not repost this on any other platform, screenshots or text alike. do not click ahead if you don’t want to read rpf. do not interact if you are below 18. how to block tags/words on tumblr.

₊˚⊹⋆ track(s) of the fic: “finally // beautiful stranger” by halsey :'')

₊˚⊹⋆ junote: plushies!!! thank you for your patience and the love on normal au :''') i absolutely adore this au and i'm so glad to know you guys do too!! much more to come ;)))) honestly this isn't extensively edited i was just so excited to drop it : 3 thank you so so much to @howisjoostfanfictionforfree and @killerlookz for hearing me out on my decisions on how to place this in the normal au verse >-< I SO APPRECIATE YOU GUYS!! <3333

₊˚⊹⋆ translation: "Zo mooi, liefje, ik heb zoveel geluk." - "So beautiful, I'm so lucky." / "Je smaakt zo lekker, ik vind het geweldig." - "You taste so good, I love it."

18+ only — explicit rpf content ahead, minors dni, anti rpf dni. 4th and final warning!

You should’ve brought a jacket.

If you were someone else, you’d have blamed it all on your roommates, their insistence that since your shared townhome was “only a few blocks away” from the club you were going to and “the snow isn’t even that bad” and “see it’s not even that cold” convincing you that an extra layer wasn’t needed. You’re you though, and you’re bearing the entire brunt of your regret as you trudge through the sleet covered footpath, the snow shoveled to the side and yet still not enough to keep the wetness off of your strappy heeled feet.

Why didn’t you bring a jacket? Why is it so cold in the Netherlands? Why did you move here for university? Why did you even sign up for that many courses this term, and why did the weather have to be like this right after you took your last final?

When will it end? Never, you think, but at the very least—tonight you get to party. After trudging through a kilometer of snow, of course, your roommates trudging right in front of you and suffering just the same. The snow that falls melts as soon as it hits the ground, your skin, dampening your hair and chilling you with the wind that whistles past.

Maybe you shouldn’t have even gone—but you promised that you’d loosen up after how hard you’d been going at work and school. Either way, you wouldn’t pass up the chance to meet your roommate, Ruby’s…Ruby’s boy-thing, an up and coming music producer with big eyes and a soft voice stage-named Tantu; and you wouldn’t pass up seeing Alanis, too, an acquaintance of your other roommate, Marina, turned your own friend.

It’s okay. Before you even know it (feels like an eternity), you’re through the line and through the threshold of the club (after getting squished and cut in front of and annoyed), and now you stand in front of the bar, trying (and failing) to get the bartender’s attention.

The club is packed to the gills with people—it is a raucous Friday night, and it’s been months since you’ve been in a place so full of people that wasn’t a library, a lecture hall, or some work event you had to attend. Still, though, it feels natural getting back into the groove of things, holding hands with Ruby as she leads you through the dance floor, checking on Marina behind you before she leaves to find Alanis.

The cold you were blanketed with outside is no more, not even close now that you’re slipping in between and through grinding bodies and flashing lights, the background music to your night a thumping beat you’ll feel in your bones tomorrow and a fast rapping Dutch voice over it. It’s overstimulating in a good way, you think, much preferred over the overstimulation of your packed schedule—you'll have a few weeks of this before it all starts again, and you're happy to be here at the end of it all.

Eventually you make it to the bar. Someone stepped on your foot on the way there, you lost sight of Marina, you have to adjust your little black dress constantly—whatever. Ruby’s boy thing is unmistakable, giant blue eyes and typical dad cap, and he stands at the bar with three shots waiting for you both.

“You must be Ruby’s other roommate!” he yells over the music and you nod, smiling at him as Ruby goes to hug him around the waist, giggling as she does.

You prop your elbow up on the bar for support—god, these shoes suck—and yell back, “You’re Teun? Is this your song?”

“This is my friend’s song, actually, Joost!” He looks around for a bit before giving Ruby a smile; her excitement is contagious owing to the fact that she’s almost never so animated, like she’s bouncing on her heels with her movement. “He’s supposed to be here tonight, I think he’s late.”

“Joost?” you yell, and he nods—you nod back in approval. Very pop, very gabber (if you’ve judged the subculture correctly in the 2 years being here), very loud, but you like it.

“He’s a really cool guy, I promise!” Ruby says, giggling even more and sharing a mischievous look with Tantu that you’re not sure means something.

“Mmm, sure,” you smile, scrunching your nose. You have a feeling that Joost, whoever he is, will become someone important later on in the night, but you put him on the back of your mind as you pick up your shot glass alongside the two of them and down it—you expect it to burn on the way down, seeming like some kind of vodka, but it’s smooth and sweet, only slightly burning. “Thanks Tantu,” you say, holding your hand up for a high five which he reciprocates, laughing.

“You’ll like Joost, I think,” he nods, and you cock an eyebrow.

“Are you trying to set me up with someone?”

“You need something to distract you from all your work, babe,” Ruby says, taking your hand and squeezing it. “Hopefully expensive vodka will loosen you up a bit.”

Rolling your eyes, you sigh, “I didn’t ask for a distraction.” Work and school are already difficult enough to juggle as is, let alone your abysmal social life only kept alive by Ruby and Marina’s wide circle of friendly, eccentric creatives. You’d rather just keep your circle small, keep your head down and focus, but your friends always have things up their sleeves.

Ruby orders 3 Bacardi colas for your small group and turns back to you. “We’re gifting you one, okay?”

You shake it off, focusing more on the lovely rum and cola once it comes into your possession. Sipping at it, you follow Ruby and Tantu onto the dance floor, the bustling crowd jostling you around as you teeter on your heels, keep your purse close to your body, and try to keep your drink from spilling.

Truthfully, the purse (the purse!!!) is one of your most prized possessions—you don’t think yourself too materialistic, but scoring a 90s Dior saddlebag for less than a thousand euros, with your first big paycheck… you reason that that’s more than enough to get you to be materialistic.

You cover it with your arm as best as you can as you try and follow Ruby’s pretty lion’s mane of brown curls, turning to make sure you’re still there every once in a while but mostly just hanging onto Tantu’s hand—you don’t mind third wheeling when Ruby’s being so cute, a side of her you've never seen before.

The three of you make it to the heart of the crowd, running into Alanis and Marina and picking them up along the way, the thrumming beat of some early 00s song until it transitions to something so hyperpop your eardrums might rupture.

You mouth the lyrics, bright lights shining into your eyes, your dancing constricted by being way too close for comfort with a bunch of drunk and sweaty strangers, but. You’re trying. That’s for sure.

Marina’s hands snake around your waist as you sway together to the music, eyes closed and letting the alcohol get to you; you would go back to the bar and get another drink if it wouldn’t be such a damn hassle to do so.

You’re enjoying every single moment, the time passing by in a blur of dancing people and loud voices and sweaty bodies—you’re almost in a haze, all you’d need is a drunk cigarette to make this night perfect, but then Marina lets go of you, and you get disoriented. So many lights, so many people, not enough of your people.

You get elbowed in the back by someone and it takes you out of your trance completely. You look back in annoyance, the culprit being a tall blonde guy with douchey sunglasses who’s whooping and hollering with a friend who looks just as rambunctious as he is. Scowling, you turn back to where Ruby and Marina are, speaking/yelling with Tantu and Alanis, somehow several feet away, but then you stumble over your feet, and the guy behind you stumbles into you, and you feel a cold liquid run down your arm, your side, all over your dress.

Shocked (and frankly, about to cry) you look down at your now dripping arms, your purse and the stains on it obvious even now in the dim club light. A mixture of anger and pure disdain for the guy behind you comes over you as he turns around—what the fuck!!! Almost four months of utter bullshit at work and university and this is what happens to you the night you get back.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I’ll pay for it, just find me later!” he yells, looking down at you, turning back to his friends and laughing, and you practically gasp in shock with how rude he’s being. Can’t even give you the time to make things right now, what makes him think you’ll trust him enough to leave it later?

You tap on his shoulder, making him turn his attention back to you. He’s wearing earphones for some reason, and the big sunglasses really are so douchey. You’re normally not so judgmental—but he ruined your night. “Are you fucking serious? Sorry doesn’t cut it—this is vintage,” you shout, pointing at your poor purse. “And you’re a fucking asshole!”

“Oh, it’s vintage?” he scoffs, and you—you want to punch him in his smug face. You can’t even look him in the eye, his stupid sunglasses blocking your vision of him, but you know that you’re glaring holes through him.

Any night else, you would’ve left it alone, probably. At the very least, get a yell in; at the very least, get his info and give him an angry text the next morning. Tonight, though, you have nothing to lose and a chip on your shoulder. You get up closer to him, in his face as best as you can with the height difference and the close quarters.

“You wanna take this outside? You can yell where I can actually hear it, my music’s playing too loud!” he smirks, tapping on his stupid earphone, then pointing to the ceiling as the music keeps playing around you, as the people around you still keep dancing and hollering. He starts moving away from you, and you catch a glimpse of all of your friends—the puzzled stares from Ruby, Marina, Alanis, the concerned expression in Tantu’s eyes. You can't pretend to care about what you look like at the moment, except that’s all you care about at the moment. Your once perfect black dress, your mint-condition bag.

You bring your purse up to your nose—fucking Baco, not even a clear drink that you can get out relatively easily. Maybe if you’d just brought a jacket, you wouldn’t have a Bacardi cola spilled all over everything and ruining your life. You forgot how intense you are when you’re tipsy.

You follow behind him, practically stomping—you notice that people are parting for you more than they did in the beginning, and it’s likely because of the anger just radiating off of you in waves as you fume. Every once in a while, he turns and sees if you're still following…of course you are. You're not going to let him off the hook that easily. Any of your other friends would handwave it and just go back to partying. You’ve got an agenda, though.

When you make it out of the club, jostling through what feels like a million people, you're a bit sobered up and it’s so late—it’s so cold. In the lamppost light, you see he’s much taller than you, wearing a heavy jacket and a wrinkled white button-up underneath it, baggy jeans with writing over the crotch. He looks exactly what you’d expect. “I already said I’d pay for your things,” he says, taking a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and offering you one, which you take as you roll your eyes halfway to the back of your head. “You have a stick up your ass.”

You take the cigarette between your fingers, bring it up to your mouth and he cups the end, holding the flame of his lighter to it—it sparks, and you take a long pull before sighing, “It’s gotten me much farther places than you, I know that for sure.” A smile teases on his lips, and you can't help but smile back, your anger already melting away like the snow on the ground. The two of you walk a little ways down, trying to get away from the loud clubbers and failing. It’s peak business right now; you couldn't escape them together even if you tried.

In your head, you tell yourself that it’s because of the nicotine, the smoke in your lungs, but you have to be real with yourself. Whoever the asshole who ruined your night was, whether he was a friend of a friend or the soundtrack to this club—he has pretty blue eyes and a prettier smile, and you…you are weak. And sobering up and realizing that making a scene was a bit embarrassing.

“Yeah?” he asks, and you nod, proudly, smugly, because you'd earned the right to after the way your life has been the past few months. “Sure it has.” Mood ruined again. You walked straight into that.

Again, you roll your eyes. “I'm not here to try and convince you of my accomplishments.”

“‘Accomplishments’,” he says, lighting up his own cigarette. “So accomplished but you didn’t bring a coat for this weather. Smart.”

This makes you realize just how freezing you are, one of your arms hugged close to your body for what little warmth you can muster from it—your dress is quite short, not to mention damp from this guy’s Bacardi cola spilled all over it, and you’re feeling the consequences. Goosebumps line your skin all over, the breath that leaves your mouth is not only smoke but the cold condensation in the chilly air, and you shake your head.

“I didn’t think I’d have to come out here and yell at you, but here we are.”

“How much is your dress? Your purse? I'll send you the money and more for your trouble.”

“I can't just replace vintage,” you fuss, looking down at your outfit. Your purse was once pink and white and Dior-monogrammed—now it is a muddy brown. Still Dior-monogrammed, but uglier. You never thought yourself a fusser—maybe this season of your life has changed you more than you thought. “I got this at a thrift in Berlin, you know how hard that is these days?”

A heavy weight gets put upon your shoulders; his jacket that he places around them wafts the smell of expensive men’s cologne and smoke. You look at him, incredulous; he gives you a quick glance, then averts his gaze. “You're shaking like a dog,” he says, taking a puff from his cig. “You need it more than I do.”

“Thanks,” you nod, and he gives you an acknowledging hum. “You don't have to. I was an asshole to you and you give me your jacket.”

“Don't apologize for something that was my fault.”

“It was both our fault.”

The night is silent as it can be—not silent at all with clubbers streaming in and out, the music and the talking leaking to the outside. The two of you are a bit farther away from all the people—everyone is walking the other way to another club or bar to continue their outings.

“Do you want to sit down? We can exchange info and stuff here. Your shoes look uncomfortable.”

Now that you’re warm, you realize another thing: your feet are aching tired from the dancing, the minutes of stomping after him. The curb in front of you is damp from the snow, but his jacket is so big on you that it can cover your ass—it’s not like you have much else to lose with this outfit, anyways. You sit and he settles down next to you. The sky is a deep purple canvas marred by light pollution, yet you can still see a few stars. Same stars here, same stars back home.

Another realization: you’re sitting in a foreign country, in almost silence next to some stranger, smoking a cigarette, wearing his jacket after calling him a dickhead and after he’s implied that you’re some airhead.

Maybe you're just boring (you're not), but life has never taken you to a place like this before.

To the side, he stubs out his cigarette, and you take a better look at him. Pink creeps up his neck, and when he turns back, you see how vibrantly rosy his cheeks are. If you're seeing it right, his eyes are a little heavy lidded, probably as a result from all of the alcohol. He has a beauty mark underneath his lip, and his lips are just as pink as his cheeks as he brings another cigarette to his mouth. “Do you want another? Or do you just want to keep staring?” His voice is playful, enough so that you bite your tongue for the quip back.

“I shouldn't. I’m trying to quit, anyway,” you say, still breathing yours in. He nods and you notice that you can actually see his eyes now—no douchey sunglasses, or whatever you called them in your head back there. “Why aren't you wearing your glasses anymore? The ones you wore inside?”

“I don't need to wear them now that the lights aren’t crazy. It gets very overstimulating in there, the glasses help.”

“I assume your earphones are for the same reason?” You point at his dangling white earphone, and he nods. “I should try that. Maybe it’ll stop me from yelling at strangers.”

“Maybe it will help you, too. Want to listen?”

He offers it to you, tonight’s symbolic olive branch, and you take it. “Sure,” but you take it out of your ear almost as soon as you put it in, the music extremely loud and blaring. “How do you not lose your hearing?”

“I’ll lose it anyway—YOLO,” he says, shrugging, and amuses you how serious he seems saying it. “YOLO” is a fitting mantra for him. “I'm a performer, anyway, so—YOLO! Accelerate the process.” The music turns down considerably; if you're hearing it right, it sounds like Flemish dad rock, something you'd hear on the radio if you grew up here.

“YOLO, I guess,” you laugh, and he nods like he’s proud of you, laughing himself. It sounds more like a bark, voice now raspy because of the cigarettes, because of the cold, but it sounds nice. “You’re a performer? What have I seen you in, then?” His appearance is so distinctive—hair so bright it almost glows, eyes reflecting an icy grey from the dark of the footpath in front of you. His style is even more distinctive, all Supreme and Bathing Ape and hype beast brands you’ve never heard of.

But it is Amsterdam. Curly blonde haired, blue eyed hype beasts are a dime a dozen here. You’ve probably seen him around somewhere, it seems like even your roommates know him pretty well through their scene of creatives—but you can’t seem to connect him to anyone you’ve ever watched or heard before.

“Let me pull up my music for you.”

“Soundcloud rapper?” you tease.

“Adjacent.”

He takes his phone out of his jeans pocket, and you peer over his shoulder, watching as he scrolls through a different playlist. He looks back at you, smiles, looks at your lips then back up at your eyes—it takes a little out of you to keep from rolling your eyes, it takes a lot out of you to keep your composure when he does it. Ugh. “I don’t know what to play you,” he admits, turning back to his phone. “Feels like you’re just going to mess with me when I do.”

“I'll try not to. Can't promise anything, though.”

You put your hand on his shoulder—he feels warm, sturdy, and he’s taking way too long to pick a song out of the apparently many he has under his name.

Finally, he clicks on a title and it begins playing; 1 second in, you say, “Skip,” just to fuck with him, and it works well—he looks back at you, mouth agape and eyes wide, expression so earnestly incredulous you have to laugh. Your faces are closer than they have been the entire night, but you can't even focus on that as you laugh. “Skip?!” he exclaims, getting closer to you, all up in your face.

“Yeah, skip,” you giggle, nodding exaggeratedly as you lean into him like he just did to you. He’s so close, and he grins at you as your noses come close to brushing.

“This is the first song of mine I’ve played the entire time, and you want to skip it.”

Obviously, it isn't actually a skip for you—”Ome Robert,” a really fun song about…sucking dick? Being a god? Either way, it’s incredibly catchy and well produced, but you don’t want to let him know that just yet. “Yeah, I wanna skip it. You’ve gotta have better than this.”

“I work hard on this song, I release it myself, it goes platinum in the Netherlands, I make it to impress beautiful strangers at the club just like you—and you want to skip it. All that work, what did it even get me?”

Beautiful. This counts as a win. “I admire your work ethic and I think it’s so commendable that you set up a record label for you and your friends—but it��s a skip, I’m sorry to say.” You shrug, putting your hands in the coat pockets once you stub your cig out. The air is so cold—honestly, you worry for him, his disheveled white button-up the only thing shielding him from the weather now that he’s given you his coat.

“Tell that to everyone in the club, you saw it back there. You probably even danced to it, too.”

“Did you have to pay the DJ to get him to play your song?”

“No, we’ve been friends for years.”

“Ah, so it’s nepotism. I see,” you state proudly, and he groans.

“Nepotism? I will let you know, I established a record label myself. Fully independent, no nepotism.”

Though Joost’s tone is annoyed, there’s nothing but an amused grin on his face; you smile back, “Is he signed to your label?” He nods, and there, just as easy, you have another piece of ammo. “Ah, so he’s kissing up to the boss.”

“You—“ he starts, eyebrows furrowing, then stops, shaking his head at you. “I've been talking to you for an hour and I don’t even know your name.”

“We’ve been busy.”

You offer your name and he repeats it, question mark at the end. You nod and he smiles bigger, if that’s even possible. In the streetlight, his eyes shine, long blonde eyelashes almost covering them. “We’re supposed to meet, did you know that?”

“Really?”

“I’m Joost. Friend of Tantu and Alanis. They said they wanted me to meet…their friend’s friend? If you are that. Friend’s roommate?”

“What a way to meet.” You didn’t think this would be the Joost that Tantu was talking about at the bar, fiery yet sweet making loud and proud music you’d never heard before.

“We made great first impressions on each other, I think. You are unforgettable.”

“Mine worse than yours,” you sigh, and Joost hands you his cigarette to smoke the final few puffs. You take it even though you should quit, even though you told him you’re quitting, your lipstick staining the butt.

“We can put it behind us, yeah?” he says, holding his hand out for you to shake. “Friends?”

“Acquaintances, for now,” you tease, but shake his hand anyway. “Fuck, dude, your hand is so cold.” Your brows furrow in concern as you squeeze his hand, surprisingly freezing, surprisingly soft save for a few callouses.

Joost laughs smaller than you’ve heard him all night, your hands practically in his lap; his cheeks are glowing pink with how long you’ve been out here—your cheeks are warm, but likely not for the same reason.

“Acquaintances? Don’t play hard to get.” On instinct, you wrap your other hand around Joost’s in an attempt to warm it. “Your hands are so warm, I appreciate you for trying,” Joost remarks. “Very small, too, Christ.”

“Oldest trick in the book, Joost, my god,” you laugh, exasperated, yet still, you let him move your hands so they're flat against each other, palms touching. He holds your wrist gently so he can line your hands up; his fingers are much longer and thicker than yours, and the sight brings warmth to your cheeks—it shouldn’t have the effect it does on you, but it does.

“It’s working, isn’t it?”

You bring his hand into the coat pocket with yours—it worked enough for you to now willingly share this tiny pocket, that’s for sure. “It’s working,” you say softly, averting your gaze now that you both know that whatever it is is something that’s felt mutually. “Do you do this with every pretty stranger you meet in the club?”

If Joost is a performer like he says he is, a big time independent record label owner like he says he is—there’s sure to be a line of people out the door, or at least a few groupies or someone. Someone in that club who recognized those songs, recognized the mop of blonde hair sitting in front of you now. Over several failed situationships and romps with people this side of Europe, you learned: there is always someone. Someone who’s less busy, less distracted, more interested.

You know you fit the bill for the interested part, at least—less busy is something you’ll be for a short time, less distracted…well, you have your full attention on him right now, don’t you? It’s been so long since you’ve done something like this, maybe you’re just feening for an excuse to check your own boxes for him, maybe you want to do this for the sake of the line out the door or the groupies.

Or maybe he’s just Joost. Whoever Joost is, considering you just met him. And maybe you just want him to keep holding your hand, or talk to you more, show you more of his music or go back home with you, slip into your bed, stay until the morning.

“I can't say I have. I’ve never had a conversation like this with anyone, really, so it wouldn’t even be worth it if I did,” Joost says. Your faces are close again—you would bridge the gap if you just let yourself, but you can’t; you can only muster the courage to let your noses brush against each other, only the courage to smile. “Can I kiss you?”

It seems, he’s checked your boxes for you.

“Are you fucking crazy?” you scoff, though you lean in at the same time. Joost leans back when you do, teasing grin upon his lips, and you furrow your brows, shaking your head. “Don’t play hard to get,” you mumble as he untangles your fingers in your coat pocket, takes your face in his cold and gentle hands and presses his lips to yours.

He tastes like cigarette smoke; his Bacardi cola on your dress and your shoes, and now the taste on your tongue; he tastes like smiling into a kiss with a pretty stranger, the way you both do now.

Joost kisses like he’s scared to broach you, like it’s the first time he’s been delicate in a while—you kiss like you’re hungry for him, because you are, not a single care about your lipstick on his face or the people walking past or the fact that he’s a stranger. His hand slips under your coat, gripping your hip as you pull him closer by the lapel; you beckon him to kiss you harder when you let him lick into your mouth and you lick back.

It’s your turn to pull back, come up for air; Joost chases you when you leave, hand running down your body as you go to stand up, a soft little, “what no” leaving his mouth when you do. The look on his face—his face!!! Fuck.—is so cute, big wide eyes and hand on the back of your thigh. You cup his face (is this too tender?), rub your thumb at the edge of his lips where your lipstick has smudged in an attempt to clean it off. Turning his head, he kisses your palm, and your breath catches in your throat.

Wordlessly, he gets up, stands next to you. “What the fuckkkk!!!” he whisper yells, gesturing wildly, and the street echoes the sentiment back. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know,” you say, laughing, and then stumbling because he’s gotten you in his arms again, kissing you, stumbling with you back against the brick wall of the building behind you as he laughs into your mouth to your whining between giggles about how he almost made you trip.

Caged between his arms, you wrap yours around his neck so you can get up higher to kiss him—“I don’t regret spilling my drink on you at all,” Joost mumbles when you kiss his chin, nip at his jaw, go down to suck at his pulse point and nip at it too. “Can I touch you like this?” he whispers, and you nod as he brings his hands down to your ass, presses you harder against the wall, grinds against you as you kiss him breathless again.

When Joost pulls away, you know—you’ve got him wrapped around your finger. Breathing almost heavy, pink lips dropped open, face more serious than he’s been the entire night and scanning your features in a way that is truly disarming—you don't want to admit it, but Joost has got you wrapped around his finger, too.

A group of people from the club pass behind—you hear a few whispers of, “Is dat Joost?” and a few wolf whistles. Someone gives him a few congratulatory claps on the shoulder which he cringes at, giving you an apologetic smile. “Don’t listen to them.” Once more, he kisses you.

“Your place?” he breathes, and you sputter for a response. This is going a bit too well. Your silence seems to speak for you, but really, you're just thinking about if your room is clean, if your everything shower was enough, if you’re ready to do this with him. “Too much?” he winces, giving you a weak smile, and you shake your head.

“No, no, my place is fine—my roommates might be home, though.”

“I can be quiet.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true.”

“It’s a half-truth.”

“I’ll take that.”

—

After a kilometre walk the direction of your house chock full of giggles and pauses to keep kissing against brick walls, dark store fronts, alley entrances, you finally make it back to your house.

You hurry up the icy steps to your townhome, taking Joost by the hand as he trips his way up the flight. “Schat,” he breathes, and the pet name makes your heart skip a beat, “My house was closer the other direction.”

“You suggested my place, Joost,” you laugh as you unlock your door and step in your warm foyer—you wave him in, kicking your heels off and stepping onto the cold wood floor as he does the same with his shoes.

Closing the door behind you, you listen for a beat…voices. The walls are so thin here, you’re unsure if the sounds come from your next door neighbours or your potentially home roommates. Either way, you bring a finger to your lips, telling him to be quiet. In his normal voice, he says, “I’ll be quiet,” and you laugh together at his volume—neither of your roommates would care, but the teasing you'll receive tomorrow if they knew it was Joost you were bringing home…endless.

“Come, now,” you say, taking Joost’s hand and leading him up your steps, down the hallway to your room.

Your home is tiny and cozy and lived in—the three of you have worked very hard to make this feel like a household instead of just a shared living situation, frames lining the walls of your antics and travels together, baby pictures from home, posters of music artists and movies that one or all of you like. Joost lags behind you trying to look at them, but you just pull him along. Waiting any longer feels like a travesty.

Once you get down the hallway, open and close your door, you push him up against your door and kiss him again to his surprise, your teeth clacking together from his smile and your enthusiasm. “You want me that bad, huh?” he teases, and you roll your eyes.

The answer is yes, but you’re not going to let him know that yet.

You room is as tiny as the rest of the house, a queen bed in the middle with off-white sheets, a desk on the far side, a dresser with a mirror when you walk in.

“I don’t do things like this very often,” you mumble, fumbling with his angular belt buckle between your fingers, the cold metal of it and the jagged edges of the plate spelling “ALBINO” in a stylized font.

“Me neither,” Joost breathes as he tries to help you, but ends up fumbling with it, too. “Holy fuck, if I knew this would be so hard to take off, I wouldn’t have worn it.”

“Cool belt, nonetheless,” you say, and he kisses you thanks.

“It’s the name of my album,” Joost beams as he finally gets it unclasped, pulling it through his belt loops. You undo his button, unzip the zipper, he does the rest, clumsily pulling down his pants slightly. “We should listen to it.”

“Later.” From here, as you palm him over his underwear, feel his length through it, you can tell—he’s big. “You should’ve told me you were hiding this back there, maybe I wouldn’t have argued with you as much.”

“I was afraid you would’ve clutched your pearls if I did, schat, the way you yelled at me.”

“You would be right,” you agree, knowing you would’ve probably thrown a drink in his face if he made some remark about his dick size to you in the midst of your argument. “But if you told me, we probably wouldn’t have sat out there for so long.”

“I wouldn’t have given up that conversation for the world.”

From anyone else, these words would be hyperbole; strangely, from Joost, they feel true. it feels like you know him already, and he knows you. Perhaps it’s the result of having such a circle of a venn diagram of friends and acquaintances. Perhaps you did know him from a different time and you just forgot.

“Me neither,” you agree softly, smiling into the kiss you give him as you reach into his boxers and wrap your hand around his hard cock. He’s just as thick as you thought.

“Fuck,” Joost breathes into your mouth already, and you watch him and his face contort in pleasure as you jerk him lazily in his underwear just for the added sensation of the fabric rubbing against him. Gazing at your lips, eyebrows furrowing, chest moving up and down and breathing heavy, he says softly, “I haven’t done this in…a year? A year and a half? So please, have mercy on me.”

“Go home with someone? Me too.” You figure that it makes sense—any fling he has is probably on the road, in hotel rooms, anywhere but home. You're not exactly welcoming guests on Friday nights either, but you’re holed up in it 24/7.

“No, I mean—any of it. I don't do casual often, at all, really.”

You scoff lightheartedly, “Yeah, sure.”

“I’m serious,” Joost smiles as you take his length out of his boxers and get on your knees, the plush carpet cushioning you.

You don’t do one night stands and you certainly don’t do them with self proclaimed “performers,” yet here you are.

Now in front of you, his cock in your hand, you make complete peace with your decision, and it’s easy to do so.

He is so pretty—all pale, the tip a delicate rosy pink and leaking wet, a vein running along the underside. It’s nestled in a thicket of lightly trimmed dark blonde hair; you give him a few pumps, running your thumb over the head for some lubrication when you do.

“Won't listen to my music, but you’ll do this, ridiculous,” Joost says quietly, hand on your cheek as you look up at him through your eyelashes.

“You’re still on that? Big ego, shocker.”

“Obviously not a shock, you’re holding it.”

In shock at his audacity, you gasp dramatically. “Don’t get cocky, now. You still needed to beg me for streams earlier.”

You give a kiss on the pink tip, salty precum coating your lips. A perfect moment passes when you look back up at him—he rolls his head back in pleasure, a quieted moan slipping past his lips at your tongue finally on him, just one lick to the slit but enough to get him a little louder.

His cock twitches in your hand, and you grin, kitten licks to his shaft, “Too much?”

Joost says breathlessly, “I think my knees will buckle sometime tonight, schat,” and you beam up at him.

“That’s a big compliment,” you purr, taking the head of his cock into your mouth and sucking lightly, which earns a strangled groan for you, a curse under his breath. With every bob of your head, you take a tiny bit more, about half—you're ambitious, but who can blame you when Joost is so pretty? Struggling to keep it together, his stomach muscles jumping and twitching with every hollowing of your cheeks, every drag of your tongue along the underside of his shaft.

Joost’s hand comes up to the back of your head, just resting there gently as you swallow down his cock, dripping spit on your chin; it hits the back of your throat and you almost gag, having to pull back and pump him a few times, the shiny head now a deeper pink.

“You like it that much, hm?” he says, moving your hair out of your eyes as you lick a stripe along the underside.

“When you make those sounds—yeah, I do.” You lap at a bead of precum dripping from his slit, and it makes him hiss; it makes him groan even more when you pop the head into your mouth and suck again.

Involuntarily, he thrusts just a little in your mouth—”Can I do this?” Joost asks, and you nod around him. He’s gentle when he starts, and you prepare to take more of him by breathing through your nose.

He makes these little thrusts into your mouth that make your eyes water, shallow as you suck around him, steady with one hand on your head. With every thrust into your open mouth, he breathes heavier, his pretty lips are dropped open. Spit pools at the sides of your mouth; one long seat into your throat, followed by another, and you gag around him, making him groan loudly. “Holy shit, schat,” Joost breathes, and you feel accomplished. “Enough of that, I think I’ll cum.”

With his hand, Joost wipes your spit from your chin gently; brings you up to meet him for a sloppy kiss, which you smile into as he reaches around to your dress zipper, pulls it down a few inches, rough fingertips against your soft back. You start undoing the buttons of his button-up for him, fumbling just as you did earlier with his belt. For some reason, you can't find it in yourself to slow down around him.

The zipper catches and you miss a button on the way down, both of you entirely too distracted by kissing like it’s a competition, like you want to eat each other—thankfully, you get all of them undone, and so you run your hands down Joost’s chest covered in hair, his happy trail, back down to his cock again. It makes him falter as he brings down your zipper but he manages to do it, fingers light as a feather running down your spine, nudging your dress down.

Erratic and wild as the man in front of you, your heart beats a million miles an hour, your hands in his hair as he pulls down your dress completely and it crumples onto the floor.

Joost pulls back, a string of spit connecting your lips, pupils blown out and wide as he scans your body, your breasts and your pebbling nipples. You move your arms in front of them, avoiding his gaze. “Don’t be shy,” he laughs softly, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed—“ he moves your hand over his heart—it beats as fast as yours, and you give him a small smile. “I’m nervous, too.” A kiss that seems to calm your nerves. “Can’t believe someone pretty as you would take me home.”

He rubs your back, and already you feel comforted—how is this the same guy who spilled his drink all over you? “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Do you forget how your dress is still very sticky because of yours truly?”

You laugh together as he kisses your cheek, the side of your mouth, then kisses your lips slow and achingly gentle, licking into your mouth and rolling your nipple gently between his two fingers, his other hand cupping your cheek. He drags his tattooed knuckles down the curve of your breast, making your breath catch in your throat, a small whine falling from your mouth when he runs them down your stomach, fingertips down over the lacy black fabric of your thong, down more and teasing at your covered clit.

“Get on the bed,” Joost murmurs, and you practically scramble to it before he stops you with a loose grip around your wrist. “Woah, woah, woah.” With a puzzled expression, you turn back to him. “We can’t have them watching, what?” he says, gesturing at your bed. Staring back at you with gigantic embroidered blue eyes: three of your cat plushies placed upon your pillows from earlier when you made your bed. You weren’t exactly planning on guests tonight. “Blasphemous, no? They can look out the window.” Scooting behind you and to the bed, Joost scoops up the three, climbing over it to your desk facing outside. The moonlight streams in through your curtains as he sits them in a line and turns them around. “Much better.”

“Much better,” you repeat, laughing. On your now clear bed, you lie back and lean over. Opening the lower drawer on your nightstand, you rummage around for the box of condoms you know is somewhere in here but is covered by notepads, extra pens, random pouches filled with indeterminate belongings. Under a folder filled with paperwork and old assignments, you find the box, opened but largely untouched except for one used for a 4th date Hinge guy from months and months ago who didn’t even make you cum.

You dig the box out and hold it out to him. Settling between your legs, Joost says, “Not yet,” taking it out of your hands and placing it on the nightstand. “I want to taste you, schat, I’ve been wanting to all night.”

…Eating it already? You’ve declared that Joost is ran through, but you find yourself caring less and less with how enthusiastic he is. Still, though, there’s a part of you that’s apprehensive about letting him see all of you so soon.

“Joost,” you blush, closing your legs. He moves them so he can see your face, and your cheeks grow hotter as you reason, “We just met.”

“And?” Tilting his head to the side, Joost scoffs. “We’re already naked in your bed, schat.”

He makes a good point, but still…you’ve never had anyone offer to do it on the first link. “I don’t know…You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“You just put my dick in your mouth, it’s only fair I do something in return.” Just a little, you part your legs for him; slowly, he takes a place between them, gaze disarming as he comes to lie on his stomach and rests his cheek on your thigh, giving it a chaste kiss. So convincing, but you don’t really need to be convinced, do you? “I will make it worth your while, baby.”

Soft mewls come out of you inadvertently when Joost noses at your inner thigh, sucks at the sensitive skin. “We could just move on—that is perfectly fine, too. But I could give you even more of a good time if we do this.”

“You talk big game, Joost,” you laugh. With his age and strange tattoos and his bleach-damaged hair and his expensive attire, you expect Joost to be bad at…all of it, really, but he’s only subverted your expectations tonight without having the chance to fully even touch you yet.

“I wouldn’t do so if I couldn’t prove it to you.” Joost presses a chaste kiss over your panties, over your clit, and somehow, your heart ups gears, beating unsteadily. “And if I didn’t want it so bad,” he adds in a low voice. Completely different from the smiling, pink-nosed boy you saw in him earlier, Joost is hungry for you, the look in his eyes telling you everything you need to know about the veracity of his words. “If you don’t want me to see, I’ll close my eyes—for now, we can just do this.”

Whoever had him last must have trained him well.

Lathing his tongue over you, Joost spreads his spit over the cloth of your thong, soaking the fabric even more than it already is as he holds your gaze. One arm is hooked around your thigh; the other hand, you’re not entirely sure, but judging from how heavy he’s breathing, how desperate he looks as he eats you out over your panties, the movement of his arm—he’s touching himself, and you wonder if he can feel how much more wet you become at the idea that he is.

A few hours ago, thought yourself unshakeable in the face of him—now you’re a squirming puddle in his hands.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to—but I promise—“ Joost says, big blue eyes shining at you, hands now clasped together as if he’s begging for it—you figure that he is begging for it, technically, and who are you to deny him the opportunity? “Do you really not want it?” Though he’s giving you an out, he sounds so resigned, and it makes you smile a little.

From the sidewalk, your front steps, the threshold of your room, you wanted Joost badly; wanted him even after considering all the outcomes of this: a waste of a free night, or an hour or two with an overconfident and underperforming boaster before you shoo him away, or a sweet but egotistical rapper in your tidy bedroom putting plushies on top of your university textbooks and leaving his clothing on your floor.

Despite yourself, you want him. The confirmation that he wants you just as badly, too—the air in your room is charged with electricity, warm and stuffy almost even with the cold outside. You haven’t felt something so strong in forever, too distracted by work and school and life to really care about your body’s needs, even less so what it wanted.

Joost is exactly what you want.

“No, no, please,” you breathe, already lowering the side of your thong. “I want you, please, Joost.”

The confidence feels more like giving permission to yourself to be so vulnerable with Joost. No one has seen you this intimately in months (feels like years) and definitely not after such short time together.

“Okay, schat. Okay,” Joost says, pressing one last kiss over your underwear before helping you pull it off. When you kick it off somewhere on the ground next to the bed, he screws his eyes shut dramatically, and you laugh.

“You can open your eyes, you know?”

“Hey, I said I would keep them closed for you, I’m not going to break my promise.” He shakes his head, moving forward to kiss…somewhere, you’re not really sure, but it ends up being the junction between your leg and your center, which tickles you.

“Break it, I don’t care.”

“If you say so.” Joost shrugs, then opens his eyes. Already, it’s as if he’s trying to study you, and it makes you want to hide. Against your better judgment, you open your legs wider for him to have more room, and he gives you a small grin. “Zo mooi, liefje, ik heb zoveel geluk,” Joost says softly, one tentative lick up your seam that makes you shudder. Your cheeks feel warm with how reactive you are to him. Synapses overloaded with his skillful tongue teasing at your clit through your lips, parting them slightly with his fingers—you don't even have it in you to translate what he said to English in your head. “Je smaakt zo lekker, ik vind het geweldig,” he groans, laying his tongue flat against the bud, lapping at it a few times, smacking his lips loudly against you.

He wraps his lips around your clit, making you moan loudly at how good it feels; you tug at his sweaty blonde hair, and he laughs, he laughs with his mouth on your pussy, and the vibrations of his deep voice make you go crazy. Already, you feel your climax about to approach—in the whirlwind of your busy life, you had no time at all for any self-love, and you guess that your heightened sensitivity is a direct result of that.

Or maybe Joost is just that good.

You watch Joost as he devours you slowly, eyes trained on yours and unflinching, arms hooked around your plush thighs and holding you down—even if you wanted to, you couldn’t get away from him.

When he reaches his right arm up to paw at your breast, you can’t help but notice—“You—is that Crazy Frog?” Crazy Frog tattoo?!?! On his forearm of all places?!?! Who exactly are you sleeping with? You are entirely and endlessly entertained and intrigued by the stranger you’ve picked up tonight.

“You know Crazy Frog?!” Joost exclaims, pulling back from you with a pop that makes you moan, lips glistening as he sits up a tiny bit.

“Yes, I know Crazy Frog, Joost.” You laugh, amused if not a little puzzled at the notion that Crazy Frog could be some niche reference for anyone who’s used Youtube in the last 15 years or born before 2003.

“I thought you would be too fancy to know him, I’m glad you aren’t.”

“I may have a stick up my ass, but that doesn’t mean I live under a rock.”

“Great,” Joost smiles, climbing up over you to give you a quick kiss before you gasp at two of his fingers circling your clit. “Then we will get along just fine.” Kiss to your cheek, and he’s back on you again.

The pause in stimulation makes you more sensitive, somehow, and when he immediately sucks your clit hard, it punches the air out of your lungs—you clench your thighs around his ears, but it just makes him suck harder. In the matter of a minute, your orgasm is coaxed out of you by Joost and his wonderful mouth, your moans no longer quiet and subdued; you have to cover your mouth with your hands, but it’s no use when he keeps licking your swollen clit on your comedown, every stroke of his tongue bringing intense waves of pleasure surging through you, making you sob out his name like your neighbours won’t have it memorized by the time tomorrow comes.

Joost pulls away from your pussy slightly when you finally release all of the tension in your thighs, your body, letting your vice grip on his blonde hair go. Every part of you feels like jelly as you try to catch your breath, sweat on your brow, the pulse between your legs strong and steady as a result of the beautiful man lying between them.

“You want another?” Joost asks, wiping his mouth, then giving you a wet kiss on your overstimulated clit that makes you curse his name to his raucous laughter. “I can give you another, I could do this forever if you asked.”

“No, no need, that’s very much enough, thank you,” you say, shaking your head. If you could stand not to have him inside you for one more minute, you’d take him up on his offer. “That was too good.”

“Dank je wel,” he grins, then kisses you, your own flavour on his lips and his on yours.

“Graag gedaan,” you giggle in your crappy accent and he kisses you again.

“Wowww, fluent. Very impressive, schat.” Joost nods, giving you a small round of applause, and you roll your eyes but pull him in for another kiss anyway. He moves to sit down so you sit on top of him—his cock is still hard as it was before, a small wet spot on your sheets next to you from where he laid down.

The feeling he gives you, it’s inexplicable—all those days writing reports and essays, brainstorming and editing, thousands and thousands of words upon paper, and Joost has rendered you speechless in mere hours. No sound between you—no jabs, no complaints or thinly veiled flirty insults, just your shared breaths in your bedroom, just the dull shuffle of your now messed up comforter against your sheets as you reach over and rip off a condom from the sleeve, the box falling over and onto the floor.

For once, you don’t quite care; you only care about ripping the wrapper, taking it out, pinching the tip of the condom, rolling it down his hard cock as you kiss him open-mouthed and thoughtless.

“All fours,” Joost whispers, and you let yourself follow his lead after so long having to be in complete control of your life. It feels good being with him, feels good when he places your legs far apart and you settle on your elbows, back arching. You’re so exposed like this—you almost flinch when he dips his fingers into your dripping folds. You turn your head to look back, let him see you and your face as he teases your clit. “Who would have thought?”

“Thought what?” you breathe, wiggling your ass back against his hand.

“Nothing to say? No teasing?”

“I’ve done my teasing.” You already knew Joost’s hands were big—but when he wraps them around your hips and pulls you to him gently, the size of them is stark, so warm and gripping you tightly. He comes closer behind you, his thighs behind your ass, dragging the tip of his cock through your slit with a groan. “Joost,” you sigh in a small voice, so overcome by your need for him. “Please, I need you, please fuck me.”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

With a few more swipes of his cock through your wetness, a few circles of the head against your clit that make arousal pool in your stomach and between your legs, he finally inches it inside of you just a little.

He’s going so slow, and you—you've never been so impatient in your life. You slide back for him, loud moans coming from the two of you at the fast stimulation, his cock dragging against your walls as you take him deeper. “Oh my god,” you whisper as he eases more of himself into you, then leans over you, chest pressed against your sweat-sheened back and a hand snaking around to knead your tits.

“‘Ik ben een god,’ I guess,” Joost says into your ear with a laugh, and you can't help but laugh too, even with all the ego dripping from quoting his own song calling him a god while he’s fully inside of you.

“Don't flatter yourself.”

“I don’t have to flatter myself,” he says, and the grin in his voice is absolutely diabolical; he says it with a hard thrust into you, which you moan at, the way his cock hits your spot so amazingly, your eyes almost roll back into your head. Every nerve in your body is electric, so many months without use, without stimulation, Joost is a shock to your system. “You do it enough for me.”

You practically hide your face in the sheets as he falls into a rhythm thrusting into you at an angle so deep inside you could cry—you would never let Joost have that satisfaction, though, so you bite your lip and revel in the pleasure. Every steady seat of his cock inside you, every single breathy moan that falls from his mouth, every whispered murmur of your name accompanied by his hands roaming your back.

The sticky slap of his balls against your clit, the wet sound coming from your pussy so filthy it could take you out of this dizzying haze. Really, it sends you in deeper, burying you in it the way he’s burying himself inside of you.

“Fuuuck,” you drag out as you grip your sheets for any leverage, eyebrows furrowing with his hands gripping tightly on your hips to bring you back onto his cock. “Joost, like that.” The pace he's set for you both is aggravatingly perfect—you think you might want it forever.

“You sound so pretty saying my name like that, baby, do it again.”

“Joost,” you mewl, eyebrows scrunching that you’re letting him have what he wants. You start to say it again, but as you do—he sinks into you so quickly, so hard, then starts sliding out of you so slow you let out a strangled sob. You can’t say anything else when he continues fucking into you, only letting out stifled sighs with every movement.

“So much to say earlier, now look at you. It’s okay, I know it’s good, liefje,” he says softly.

“So good,” you murmur, the drag of his thick cock in and out of your pussy bringing you almost to the edge as you collapse your torso onto the bed, so exhausted with the endless dopamine hit you’ve managed to score with Joost—almost to the edge until he ceases his movements completely as he’s fully inside you.

“Schat,” Joost breathes, and you turn around and pout at him, completely (and justifiably) annoyed at the stoppage of his wonderful hips.

“Fuck you, why'd you stop?” you ask, propping yourself back up on your elbows and shaking your head.

Joost leans over you, lips on the nape of your neck, so you turn your head. “Fuck you,” he says, and you kiss him as he laughs. He’s so full of it—You’re so full of him, a comfortable pressure inside of you and snug against your spot. “You need me to hold you up? You can lie down if you want, schat, maybe it will feel even better.”

“Yeah, hold me up.” At your wish, he stands you both up on your knees as he supports your stomach; one hand wrapped around your waist and the other snaking down, down between your legs.

You’re sure that this will collapse you once more—you don’t mind. He resumes thrusting into you, breathing into your neck, kissing your shoulder. The wet slaps of skin against skin, the sighs and the breaths and his raspy voice in your ear when he finally touches your sensitive clit alongside the firm movements of his hips. “Let it out, lieverd, I know,” Joost murmurs into your neck as you sob in pleasure; there isn’t a single second of reprieve he gives you, not even slowing the circles he’s making on your sloppy clit.

You don't have it in yourself to argue; not against the ego or his wandering hands and his voice you’d deem condescending if you were still arguing on the stoop in front of the bar earlier—Joost is right, it is good, and this angle he has thrusting up into you is mind blowing, even as the rhythm becomes irregular and disjointed as he kisses and bites the side of your neck.

Your heart beats ever faster, the knot in your stomach tightens and tightens with every languid and messy thrust inside of you. You reach behind yourself to hold onto Joost around his shoulders, gripping his hair as you bring him in for a rough kiss, all teeth and carnality—you were so composed, once upon a time. He’s given you every reason to forget that.

“Oh, fuck, schatje,” he mumbles into your mouth. You pull back to look at Joost in his glory—he’s even prettier like this, messy and sweaty, patches of pink all along his cheeks and neck, eyes focused and almost stern. “My hand is cramping,” he says, and you laugh when he adds quickly, “And you also feel amazing, but also my hand is cramping.”

“Keep going, I'm almost there,” you say, and he obeys, still rubbing your clit, your wetness smearing on your pussy and his hand. “Do it for me, Joost, you feel so good,” you breathe, and he nods, kissing you deeply—it hits you before you even register it, takes you off guard when you climax and you have to pull back from him to moan his name, looking him in the eye when you do.

You’re never this loud—it’s very vulnerable realizing how much he’s coaxed out of you, Joost watching intently, soft smile upon his lips at your clenching pussy around him as the waves of your orgasm come through you, practically leg shaking.

He kisses you quiet again; kisses you until it’s his turn, thrusting sloppily into you, the overstimulation stinging, but so good still.

He whimpers your name, and you contemplate asking him to give you another orgasm; he whimpers again into your neck, just a soft vocalization against the still filthy sounds of the final few thrusts he can give you as he cums, the warmth you can feel through the condom flooding your pussy.

When he stills, Joost places his forehead against yours, and you breathe together in silence—if you didn’t know any better, you’d think the two of you have been with each other for years.

“I’m really surprised I lasted that long, schat,” Joost breathes, and you laugh, watching his face as he grins at you

“I’m surprised, too,” you tease, giving him one last kiss and untangling yourself from him; he’s still inside you, softening with every passing moment. When he slips out of you, you hiss—it feels empty, how sad.

“Hey, mean.” You flop down on your bed, completely spent, sweaty, still wet between your legs and watching as he takes off the condom, ties it off, and throws it in your waste bin. “I showed you a good time, didn’t I?”

“I’m not sure,” you tease when Joost comes back to sit next to you, putting his underwear back on with an annoyed rolling of eyes. “Maybe you’ll have to show me one next time?”

“Next time, huh?” he smiles, slipping his shirt on from the pile on the floor, starting to button it up. “Ehh, I’ll think about it,” he says, and you slap him lightly on the shoulder.

“You’re a dick, Joost.” Joost cackles as you barrage him with a bunch of weak punches to his shoulder and back, getting your revenge for the dress and your purse, for him being a rapper and a fuckboy and the giver of the best dicking down of your life. You try not to let it kill your vibe—it likely will later, but for now, you can just be silly about it.

“Where’s your bathroom?”

“The door next to mine.”

Closing your eyes, you lie back on your bed, half expecting him to just dip, hoping he’s not that much of a fuckboy. But a few minutes pass, and there’s a soft knock to your door, and Joost steps gently into your room again with a glass of water and a washcloth in his hands.

“Did you think I would just leave?” Joost asks, coming around to your side of the bed and handing you the glass. “Glassie water!” he says in a singsong voice, and you look at him puzzled as you thank him. “You’ll understand when you listen to my music more.”

“‘When…’” you laugh as he gives you an offended look and nudges your legs open. The washcloth is cold when he places it on your skin and you wince, shaking off his apologies about the water’s temperature because it’s sweet that he’d even do this in the first place.

As Joost cleans you up, delicate and gentle as ever, he says softly, “I will send you whatever money it takes to clean your purse, I will give you my number, and I’ll send you my schedule for the next month. Okay?”

“Schedule? You sure it’s not filled with other strangers from the club?”

“It’s not, I swear. You’re going to come to one of my festival shows this month, and you're going to like it.” Joost leans in and you expect a kiss for some reason, but he just takes the glass from your hand and drinks from it himself. A free festival pass doesn't sound so bad. “Ruby and Marina are back. I said hi.”

“Oh god,” you laugh, covering your face. “What’d they say?”

“They were surprised you took me home, but apparently they won a bet with Tantu, so—we did something good, I think!”

“You think?”

“I know!” You laugh at his…everything, really, sinking down in your comfy bed, realizing how heavy your eyelids are, realizing that you still haven't even exchanged numbers or last names. Does it matter this far in? “I think I should get going, schat. The sun is rising.”

In the middle of his sentence, you practically drift off into slumber, pulling your covers over your bare body. “It’s cold, stay.” You pat at the spot next to you. “But not for too long.”

thank you so much for reading! likes, comments, reblogs always so so appreciated <3 : ) askbox hereeee - juno

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lawsvalentine · 11 months ago

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Hello beautiful angel(because your beautiful) ,as request are open could I please request shanks, law,zoro,luffy x a reader thats very good at cooking food like the same as sanji. Please?

Thank you 💗

Don't feel forced to accept my request. Anyways have the most beautiful day ever 💗💞💖

With a Cook!reader • OP Men HCs • (Fluff)

Characters: Monster trio + Usopp

CW: None just fluff

Cee’s Note: Anon you are the sweetest 😚💕 I already did a law with cook!reader that you can read here but I can do hcs for the other two and Imma add sanji and usopp bc why not

Luffy

The way to this man’s heart is through food 😭

Get ready to cook A LOT to satisfy this boy’s appetite

Will constantly bother you while you’re cooking the meals sgdhjd

You’ve had to swat his hand away a few times from stealing food off the stove

He will wrap his stretchy arms around you and hug you from behind while you cook

Yup mans absolute LOVES you and your cooking

Zoro

The picture above is exactly how he be asking for seconds 😭

He won’t outwardly express his love for your food through words but rather by tearing it up sgdhdj

He will actually big you up when he’s shitting on Sanji’s cooking sgdhdj

You leave him his favorite snack whenever he does his daily training

He looks forward to your cooking and appreciates whatever you prepare for him

Sanji

He thinks he’s found his soulmate 😭

He can’t believe he’s found someone who shares his love for cooking

He loves to spend time with you in the kitchen

You two will cook meals together for the crew

He loves to give you neck and shoulder kisses whenever you are stirring or cutting something

Thinks you look so cute when you’re eyes are focused on the food you’re preparing

Usopp

I know Luffy is known for his big appetite but y’all be sleeping on Usopp’s appetite *cough* *cough* marineford arc *cough*

He loves food especially if it was made by you

He will go out of his way to get things he’ would think you would like for your cooking

Will make up an elaborate story on how he was able to obtain the ingredient 😭

Loves to tell stories as you cook and make you laugh

Will happily be your taste tester if you need him to be

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uniquexusposts · 2 months ago

Text

Her || Charles

Main characters: Charles Leclerc x OC Genre: fanfiction, fluff Story type: novel Part: 26/? Word count: 4989 Co writer: @mistrose23

Story summary: Matilde Jørgensen, the new Scuderia Ferrari team principal, faced the nerve-wracking challenge of reviving the team's fortunes and aiming for a championship. Leading a historic team as a 'newbie' and separating her work and personal opinions posed a significant challenge. The big question: is she capable to do so?

Previous chapter

Chapter 24. Her Driver, His Boss

“Het is regenachtig, koud en wat ben ik toch trots op jullie dat jullie het zo uithouden in de stromende regen, dames, heren, jongens en meisjes. Maar het is eindelijk tijd om een praatje te maken met Max zijn teambaas Christian. Matilde, de teambaas van Ferrari, is er ook bij! Zoals vele van jullie weten heeft Matilde ook voor Red Bull gewerkt en is zij mede verantwoordelijk voor Max zijn eerste wereldtitel. Hebben we toch nog een oranje interview. Mag ik een ontzettend warm applaus voor Christian Horner en Matilde Jørgensen!” the interviewer announced. (TRANSLATION: It's rainy, cold and I'm so proud of you being here in the pouring rain. But it's finally time to have a chat with Max's team boss Christian. Matilde, Ferrari's team boss, is also here! As many know, Matilde also worked for Red Bull and is partly responsible for Max's first world title. We still have some kind of an orange interview. May I give a very warm round of applause to Christian Horner and Matilde Jørgensen!)

Cheers filled the Dutch race track and two people entered the arena stage and they looked around; they were both standing under umbrellas. Christian waved around and Matilde could only look her eyes out.

"Welcome, both of you," the man said. "Thank you for joining us."

"Absolutely, always," Christian replied and gave the man a nod.

Matilde smiled. "Thank you for having us," she responded.

"It is an honour to have you here. What do you think of the Dutch Grand Prix so far?"

"The atmosphere is incredible. I mean, look around: a sea of orange. The Dutch fans are so passionate and it's so fantastic to see them supporting Formula 1, and their favourite driver: Max. There's just so much enthusiasm even in the rain," Christian answered the question.

The fans cheered once again. The rain didn't bother them, they weren't made of sugar.

Matilde couldn't stop smiling, it was so beautiful to see the love of these people. She saw it at Spielberg en Spa already, but this was the next level. "It is just amazing to be here, I can't say anything else," she shared her thoughts. "I've never seen this kind of energy before, wow."

"But you have been at Zandvoort before, right?" Christian then asked.

She nodded. "Yes, in 2021, when there were still COVID regulations. I've seen a part of it, but not like this."

The interviewer laughed. "And how is it for the team to be here? Do you feel the extra pressure to perform?" He looked at Christian.

"I would be lying if I said I didn't feel the extra pressure, but it's good to feel the extra pressure, it gives us energy to get out the most of this weekend," Christian said. "We're aiming for the top spot. Max is on home turf, and being able to be here at a historical track is just phenomenal."

The fans were cheering once again.

"Matilde, how are you doing? You missed three races due to a medical situation. How does it feel to be back?"

Slowly, it stopped raining. Matilde closed the umbrella and nodded at the question. She knew it was a routine questionnaire, since everyone was here for Christian and Max. "I'm fine, thanks," she replied and smiled gratefully. "I had my appendix removed during Silverstone and I am fully recovered. It was hard to watch the races from home, so I'm glad to be back - even though I was at Spa to watch the race. I can't wait for what the second half of the season can bring us." She looked around.

"And how does it feel to compete against your old team? You've switched from Red Bull to Ferrari between seasons, Zandvoort is one of the home races of Red Bull, Max and Charles are fighting for the top spot. Is this race different for you than others?"

Matilde loved how much this man was framing her into the Dutch side. The Dutch would do this so often and easily. Everything that they would do to get a quote about Max. "I will give them Zandvoort, I will get Monza," she joked and looked at Christian. They were both laughing. "Perhaps. Maybe. We will see how it goes. But, err, it's incredible to see Max and Charles, and Carlos, fight. In the beginning, it was weird to be on Ferrari's side after being at Red Bull's side for a few years, but it's a pleasure to work for Ferrari, to work with brilliant people and get the most out of it. It's a privilege and I hope we have more fights in the future."

The interview continued. Matilde and Christian enjoyed the atmosphere, also because they could joke around for a bit. Luckily, the Dutch fans understood the vibes and went along with them.

When the interview came to an end, Matilde and Christian thanked the interviewer and the crowd. The crowd returned some cheers to them, and the pulsating beat of the music from the boxes filled the air again. Matilde and Christian were still standing on the side of the stage, still talking to the interviewer for a moment. Well, Christian did and Matilde was waiting. Some fans could still see them.

A massive smile appeared on Matilde's face. "Tu, tu, tu, tu, Max Verstappen," she sang along, when the song boomed from the boxes. "Tu, tu, tu, tu, Max Verstappen. Tu, tu, tu, tu, Max Verstappen. Tu, tu, tu, tu, Max Verstappen. Tu, tu, tu, tu, Max Verstappen." She listened to the song carefully. "Let's take it to the max, put your hands up, hands up." Her eyes met Christian's, who almost gave her a side eye. Only for that look, she raised her hands up in the air. "Let's go, let's go." When the beat dropped, Matilde jumped and moved along with the rhythm. It was a spontaneous moment filled with joy, carefree expression of excitement and the passion that racing and the incredible Dutch fans had stirred within her.

Everyone witnessed the unexpected spectacle of the Ferrari team principal dancing with enthusiasm to a song of her rival. The crowd cheered and laughed, but still sang along with the song.

Christian couldn't contain his laughter at the sight. It looked like Matilde had the time of her life. He clapped and then jumped along with Matilde for a second. It was a break from the competition, and Christian appreciated the spirited energy Matilde brought to the scene.

* * *

Max Verstappen private: Are you almost there yet?

Matilde privé: Almost! Just getting out of the metro

When she heard the announcer say they've arrived at 'De Pijp' she stood up and waited for the metro to stop. Along with some F1 fans, who just came back from Zandvoort, she stepped out of the metro and took the escalator upstairs. She checked out with her debit card and walked out of the metro station. Luckily for Matilde, the fans didn't seem to recognize her. While walking towards the bar where she was supposed to meet with Max, she looked around and took in the typical architecture of Amsterdam.

After a short walk, she saw the bar and made her way to the entrance. A man stood next to the door and he eyed her up and down. A slightly uncomfortable feeling washed over her and she tried to shake off the feeling. He had a drink in his hand and a cigarette in his other hand.

"Matilde?" he said.

"Yes?" she answered, slightly unsure. She didn't know how to respond correctly.

"Great, come on in," he told her and he laughed. "I just had to make sure that you aren't a fan."

Matilde smiled as well. This man was probably a bouncer that Max had hired to ensure no fans would disturb his night out after the race. She opened the door and stepped into a hallway and after opening the next door, she was welcomed with the music and the chatter from the people inside. Before she had the time to properly look around, a piercing scream filled her ears.

"MATILDE!"

Many people looked at the entrance, to see Matilde looking like she wished the ground would swallow her up. Charles was one of those people who looked at her, the shout by Max' engineer GP pulled him out of his conversation with Pierre Gasly. He recognised his team principal and turned his head back to Pierre to finish his sentence. However, the image of Matilde in a dress, made him forget all the words and he had to look back at her.

There she stood, smiling widely and pointing at GP. She rolled her eyes, took off her blazer and made her way to him. Charles' eyes kept following her. This was the first time he saw her in a dress. The dress hugged her curves perfectly. The light green colour fitted her skin tone and her light coloured hair - which was now in a loose braid which resulted in an exposed neck. She had never looked like this before.

Pierre looked besides Charles and followed his eye sight to see who took Charles' attention. A smirk grew on Pierre's lips when he saw her. He looked back at Charles; a soft look glazed in his eyes. "Hello," Pierre said and punched Charles' shoulder.

"What the fuck," Charles mumbled and he glanced at Pierre.

"Are you going to finish your story or what?" Pierre grinned.

Charles rolled his eyes and punched Pierre back, he tried to remember the conversation they just had, so that he could continue the conversation.

On the other side of the room, Matilde had finally found Max and they were having a gin and tonic together. The whole place was crowded with drivers, colleagues and other people who were important to Max. Matilde had to raise her voice at Max to make herself heard.

"Where did you find all these people?" Matilde asked with a smile on her face.

"Oh, most of them are paid actors," Max casually said and he took a sip of his cocktail.

Matilde shook her head. "Who is the most expansive?"

"You."

"When can I expect the payment?"

"You receive my love; that's enough," he replied. He wrapped his arm around Matilde's neck, bringing her closer to him, and kissed her cheek.

A laugh rolled over her lips and right at that moment, a photo was made of them. Gemma stepped towards the two friends and showed the picture on her phone.

"This is so cute!" Matilde yelled enthusiastically and looked at Max.

The corners of Max' mouth were about to curl up, but he straightened his face on purpose. "I've seen cuter photos of us before," he said and walked away, welcoming the next guest. While he walked away, he looked over his shoulder and smirked at Matilde and Gemma.

Gemma's jaw dropped and looked in disbelief at Matilde.

Matilde squeezed her eyebrows together and looked at Gemma while bursting into laughter. "What a fucking dickhead," she laughed.

"I..." Gemma looked perplexed. Matilde figured out that Gemma already had a few drinks in. "A huge dickhead, jeez man." She put her phone away and hugged Matilde tightly. "Where is your juichcape?"

"My what?"

"Juichcape? That orange cape with a lion on it? That thing you wore today before the race?"

"Ooo, yeah, Ferrari took it from me, party poopers," Matilde playfully smiled.

Gemma frowned. "That is ridiculous. I hope you will get it back and wear it at Monza."

A laugh rolled over Matilde's lips. "We will see."

As the evening progressed, the atmosphere in the bar grew livelier with each passing moment. Matilde found herself caught up in the whirlwind of conversations, laughter and the occasional clinking of glasses. At the beginning, she stayed with the same group; GP, Gemma and Max, who had a pitstop at the group every now and then. Later on, she bumped into familiar faces from the grid, moved through the crowd, exchanged greetings and engaged in light-hearted conversations. For a moment, she had forgotten that she was a team principal; she was just Matilde.

Matilde walked past the bar and kitchen to the toilets. There was peace - as far as possible. The banter was in the distance. Matilde washed her hands and looked in the mirror, the baby hairs around her skin started the curl up, to her annoyance. A sigh left her mouth and she tried to smoothen the hairs, but she realised it wouldn't do anything to her hair since water would only make it worse and without any product it wouldn't do anything. But whatever, she thought, she didn't have to look at it.

Her eyes shot up in the mirror when someone walked behind her. "Oh, hey," she smiled and turned around.

Charles stopped walking and looked over his shoulder. "Hey," he smiled.

"I didn't know you were here," she mentioned.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Small bar, but so many people."

Matilde chuckled and agreed with him. Charles stepped into the men's bathroom. Matilde turned back to the mirror and took a deep breath: 'I didn't know you were here', an enthusiastic move. Disappointedly, she put on some tinted lip balm and was about to go back when Charles stepped out of the bathroom.

"Max surely knows how to throw a party," Charles said and washed his hands. "Is it a party?" He looked at Matilde.

"It's a party, but I get what you mean," she replied. When someone said a party, she would think of a birthday party, but this was a casual party in a local, modern, typical bar in Amsterdam. "I like this bar, it's so typical Amsterdam." They weren't in an old brown bar, but more the modern version of it. If she remembered it correctly, it used to be a brewery.

He nodded and dried his hands. "It is surely different from Monaco," he agreed. "How do they do it in Denmark?"

"Monaco is fancy, huh?" A playful smile played on her lips. Charles rolled his eyes. "Copenhagen has the same vibes, but I like it more there." They walked back to the bar. "Have you ever been to Denmark?"

They were welcomed by a lot of noise again; people who were talking, laughing and some music.

"Do you have something to drink?" Charles asked, almost raising his voice. He didn't wait for an answer. "What do you want?"

Matilde read the menu above the bar. "I will take a Radler." Charles nodded and went to the bar to order a Radler for Matilde and a glass of white wine for himself. "Thanks," she smiled when Charles handed her the beer with lemonade. They moved through the people towards the back of the space.

"Sante," Charles said.

"Skål," Matilde said and clinked her glass against his.

He took a sip. "But I have never been to Denmark. I've been to Finland, though."

A chuckle left her mouth. "Yeah, but that's not Denmark. It's far from Denmark." She took another sip from her beer. "I've never been to Monaco, but I've been to France," she cheekily said and winked.

"But you have bee- oh, come on, Matilde. Don't be ridiculous."

"Don't call out the wrong counties."

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by shared jokes and teasing. Even though they shared their love for racing, they didn't talk about it. They were interested in each other. Being in an unfamiliar, non motorsport area - besides being surrounded by people of the motorsport, gave them the shot to get to know each other on a different level. Unnoticeably, Charles stepped closer to Matilde to hear her more properly. The music became louder, which caused everyone to raise their voice to make themselves understandable. Matilde leaned in to him when she shared her words and to listen to her words. Her arm touched his arm and he sometimes felt an electric shock through their arms. Matilde looked down when she felt her cheeks heating up, because she realised what was happening. She bit her lip and placed a lost piece of hair behind her ear.

"Hello."

Matilde looked up and Kevin was standing in front of her and Charles. The shy look on her face changed to a confused, but surprised look. "Hej."

"I'm gonna steal her from you," Kevin informed Charles while smiling. His eyes shot from Charles to Matilde, who couldn't hide her blushes, Matilde followed Kevin to the bar, where they both ordered sparkling water. "How much did you drink?"

Matilde squinted her eyes and leaned against the bar. "Gin & Tonic and a Radler beer. Why? You? How did you even get here? Since when are you friends with Max?"

"Only a beer," he replied. "And Max invited Nico and Nico took me with him. Anyway, you're going to Denmark next week, right?"

"You know, Kevin, your conversation skills turned into detective skills," she mentioned. A smile curved on her lips. "But yes, after Monza."

"Do you have a free evering that week?" Before he let her say anything, he accepted her feedback by turning his question into a conversation. "Because next month is my birthday and you are busy so I was thinking of going out for dinner with Louise, Lars, Lene and you to celebrate it ahead."

"Yes, that sounds amazing," she said. "Of course, I will be there."

A happy smile came on Kevin's face. "For how long will you be home?"

"The entire week, I'm working from home," she shared. "I have a few meetings in Copenhagen, management wise, and I will give the students of Lars a masterclass about PR."

He nodded impressed. "Ready to leave it all behind for a week?"

"No, but if they fuck it up, they fuck it up," she shrugged. They both laughed. "I'm still working from home, though."

As Matilde and Kevin continued their conversation at the bar, Charles watched them from a distance, a twinge of jealousy tugging at his heart. He knew Kevin had a wife and children, and he knew that he was just friends with Matilde and that she knew his wife as well. But he couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment at the interruption, wishing he could have more time alone with Matilde. Despite his initial jealousy, Charles felt happy for Matilde that she had a good friendship with Kevin. It was always a nice feeling to have someone in the same world that came from the same country. He had always been on her side.

At some point, a Dutch song blasted through the speakers, a song everybody knew: Europapa by Joost Klein. They all shouted some familiar words and when the part came on to hak, some made an attempt on hakken, but there were a few who could pull it off. Matilde was familiar with the scene, a cousin of hers was obsessed with hakken. She pulled off an attempt, and it looked like it. But at least they all had fun. It was like they ended up at a party with songs everybody could easily shout along.

The night was nearing, and many people decided to leave and the bar was about to close in twenty minutes. Just like Matilde and Charles, who happened to stay in the same hotel, so they decided to leave together - well, Charles insisted on leaving together since he didn't feel comfortable with Matilde walking back to the hotel on her own.

Matilde grabbed her blazer from the rack and was about to put it on, but a familiar tune entered her ear. She looked into the crowd, finding Gemma. Gemma looked up from her phone, looking for Matilde. A smile grew on Matilde's face and she looked at Charles, who raised his eyebrows by her glance. "Hold on," she said to Charles and pushed her blazer and purse into his hands. She made her way back into the crowd.

"I am unwritten. Can't read my mind," Gemma sang dramatically, singing along with Natasha Bedingfield's 90s hitsong Unwritten.

A laugh left Matilde's mouth. "I'm undefined. I'm just beginning. The pen's in my hand. Ending unplanned," she sang along.

Gemma's eyes lit up as Matilde joined the duet. The surrounding crowd turned to watch as the two friends lost themselves in the moment, their laughter filling the air as they sang. As they reached the chorus, Gemma threw her arm around Matilde's shoulder and they began to jump.

"Feel the rain on your skin. No one else can feel it for you. Only you can let it in. No one else, no one else. Can speak the words on your lips. Drench yourself in words unspoken. Live your life. with arms wide open. Today is where your book begins. The rest is still unwritten."

For a brief moment, everything else faded away as they revelled in the simple pleasure of music and friendship. It was a happy moment for them, but it even made the others in the bar happy. The two women were enjoying life and the moment. And as the song came to an end, they hugged tightly, their smiles reflecting the pure happiness.

On the side, close to the exit, Charles was watching the two women. He adored Matilde's spontaneity and her happiness. With a smile on his face, he leant against a table and waited for her. During the song, his eyes scanned the people around them; Max was grinning and silently singing along, Kevin was sitting at the bar and was also singing along and many more people enjoyed the song. It was just a happy moment.

With a big smile on her face, Matilde walked back to Charles. "Sorry, I just needed to do that with Gemma," she said.

Charles held the blazer behind Matilde so he could help her with putting the blazer on. "No worries, enjoy the moment."

"Happiest three minutes of the night," she breathed.

They made eye contact with Max and he waved at them. Matilde waved at Kevin as well. Before the song came on, they said goodbye to everyone, so their wave was just a final goodbye for now. They stepped outside, facing the chill but stuffy weather. Charles put his hands in his pockets and got surprised when Matilde hooked her arm in his.

"I wish I had a bike right now," Matilde mentioned when she was looking at one of the twenty bikes in the street. "My feet are killing me."

He looked down at her feet; she was wearing heels, low heels. They looked comfortable to him. "I can book an Uber," he offered.

"Meh, that's not necessary," she replied. "As long as we will not get recognised, we can just walk." She looked around. "It's funny how some countries are bicycle counties and others are not."

"It's so weird to look around and see at least one bike here."

"I believe there are more bikes in The Netherlands than people."

Charles smirked, the random facts Matilde shared was precious. "How is that even possible?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "So... Are there more wheels or doors?"

He let go of her because there was an obstacle on the pavement. However, he hooked his fingers into hers and walked in front of her. "When seeing all these bikes... Wheels. What do you think?"

"Definitely wheels," she answered. "I don't know why, but wheels." When they could walk next to each other, Charles made sure Matilde was walking on the inside of him. Neither one of them let go of the other's hand. "Did you enjoy this evening?"

He nodded. "I did. You?"

"Good. And I did too. I enjoyed how casual it was, no fancy dancy talk, just casual talk," she replied.

"But Max and gin & tonics..."

Matilde stopped walking and did the move: Max was holding his hands in the air and his index fingers were pointed to the top, and then he would move them up and down. Charles did the same and they both started to laugh. "Such a dad move," she laughed.

Charles clapped his hands and couldn't stop laughing at the impression. "That is a classic Max move," he laughed.

"It's just sweet," she commented and smiled. However, it quickly faded away when she felt the irritated sensation around her feet. Those sandal heels looked cute, it was simple, elegant, chic, but a feet killer. They were mid heeled, not even that high, but that didn't matter. "You know what," she said and looked at Charles.

"Hmm, what?" Charles said, waiting for a serious answer since she had a stern look on her face.

"I am gonna take off these heels because I can't do this anymore," she revealed and grabbed Charles' arm for support. She took off her heels.

"Matilde, stop," he advised her sternly. "Don't do that."

"What? It's so fucking painful."

"Don't go barefoot, that's fucking disgusting."

"I would rather have dirty feet than painful feet."

"What about glass? Or... cigarettes. They will end up in your feet and then I have to bring you to the hospital for a treatment," he told her and raised his eyebrows.

Matilde thought about it and nodded. "Uh, no. That will not happen," she convincingly smiled and stepped away from him, resuming her way to the hotel.

"Matilde," Charles warned her and wrapped his hand around her wrist. He pulled her back to him. He would not let her stubbornness get the best of her.

"Charles," Matilde copied his tone and stood in front of him, she was not amused.

Matilde's lips were set in a stubborn line while Charles wore a disapproving expression.

"You don't know what could be on the ground," he said, his grip on her wrist firm but gentle. "Let me call an Uber."

"The hotel is literally there," she replied and pointed at a building a kilometre away. She knew he was right, but calling an Uber for a short ride was not necessary. And many people lived barefoot. So what could happen to her? "I'll be careful."

Charles studied her for a moment, his gaze softening when he recognised the stubborn streak in her eyes. He knew he couldn't force her to do anything she didn't want to, but he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable either.

Their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills, each refusing to back down. They just stood there, somewhere in Amsterdam, grumbling about heels and the pavement. They were centimetres apart from each other. Charles felt a surge of protectiveness wash over him, the feeling became stronger after the incident in Silverstone. Matilde's gaze softened as she scanned his face, she could see the concern etched in his features, the worry lines that creased his forehead and she couldn't help but feel a flutter of warmth in her chest.

Charles closed the remaining distance between them, his hand reaching up to her cheekbone. He stroked a piece of hair behind her ear and looked at her lips briefly. When he looked back into her eyes, he saw a sparkle. He leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a sweet kiss.

Time stood still as they savoured the sweetness of the moment. Matilde's heart fluttered in her chest as she melted into his touch, the sensation sending shivers down her spine. Her hands tenderly touched his chest. The kiss was soft, yet filled with desire, longing and a sense of belonging.

When they pulled away, Matilde leaned her forehead against his, their breaths mingling in the night air. Her heart was racing. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin, sending more shivers down her spine.

"Let me take you to the hotel," Charles whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of their hearts. "I don't want you to get hurt."

She lifted her head, meeting his gaze with a soft smile. "How?"

"Here, hold this," he said and handed over the purse he had been holding. "And jump on my back."

"Charles," she giggled and covered her mouth with her hand. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," he smiled and turned around.

Matilde jumped on his back and wrapped one of her arms carefully around his neck. Charles put his hands around her legs and started to walk to the hotel. "You smell nice," she whispered. She wanted to make a comment about how men's cologne would stay on them for days and women's perfume for a second, but knew it was better to keep her mouth shut.

"Thank you," he softly chuckled. As he was walking, he felt a sense of peace wash over him, a feeling of contentment settling in his mind and heart.

As Charles carried Matilde on his back through the streets of Amsterdam, a sense of warmth enveloped them, cocooning them in their own little world. Matilde rested her head against his shoulder, her heart filled with gratitude for his caring gesture. She could feel the steady rhythm of his footsteps beneath her, each step bringing them closer to the hotel.

The hotel staff didn't look up when they entered the hotel. Charles made his way to the lift and Matilde pressed the button, calling the lift. There was silence between them when they stepped into the lift and made their way to the right floor. Charles walked to Matilde's room after she told him which number she had.

Charles gently lowered Matilde to her feet. Their eyes met and in that fleeting moment, a silent understanding passed between them. They shared a smile.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness of the hotel.

Charles smiled, his eyes reflecting the warmth of his heart. "Anytime," he replied softly. "Sleep well," he said, knowing it was the right decision to leave for now.

"Good night, Charles," she smiled satisfied and opened her room door. Before stepping inside, she turned around and quickly pecked his lips. Then, she entered her room and closed the door behind her.

When she walked to the bathroom, a smile was resting on her face. What a man could do... Matilde looked at herself in the mirror, she looked so stupid for smiling this big. What he could do... A soft giggle left her mouth and she shook her head.

What Charles could make her feel like... Wrong.

Matilde straightened her face and stared at herself. What she just did was wrong, very wrong. It shouldn't have happened. It was disgusting. Tears filled her eyes, she was disappointed in herself.

She was his boss.

He was her driver.

"Fuck."

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos@crashingwavesofeuphoria@maryvibess @chocolatefartstrawberry @snzleclerc @ironmaiden1313 @blodwyn4u

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sofasoap · 1 year ago

Text

Holding you

Pairing : John Price x F!Reader

Summary: After months apart from each other, nothing better than waking up with the love of your life, and helping him with his.... "little problem".

You can either read it as a standalone, or as part of my Mini MacTavish verse, continuation after Come back to me.

Warning: Explicit. Smut, slight angst.

I apologise for any inaccuracies describing military related stuff.

A/N : This was an extension of a little midnight drabble I wrote a while ago thanks to my midnight muse @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world. I hope you will enjoy this Price ramble.

“masterlist”

You slowly stirred awake as you feel someone gently caressing your cheek.

Eyes fluttering open, you saw the beautiful blue eyes of your husband, gazing down at you lovingly.

"Morning love." He greeted you in his morning husky voice." Had a good sleep??

"Hmmm hmm." You close your eyes with a smile, snuggling closer to him, savouring his gentle touch. Oh how you have missed him.

You haven’t seen each other for months. Seven months, fourteen days. But who's counting?

Apart from being absolute workaholics, fate seems to be determined to interfere with the two of you. From the tumultuous courtship, near death experiences, now trying to keep the marriage intact with so much time apart from each other.

When you are home from your deployment, he is already flying halfway across the world, ready for his next mission. When he arrived back in the UK, you were on your way to meet up with your team with KorTac.

Communication was hard. A little ten second voicemail in your inbox will be the last thing you heard from him for weeks. And a quick “I love you” text send out to him before going into a black op mission.

You will always find a little handwritten post-it note, with his worn shirt on the kitchen table when you come home between missions. John isn’t a man with many words, but you can still feel his emotions conveyed through the short sentences, how much he misses you, how much he loves you and wishing you were with him.

Sometimes you will wake up from a nightmare, dreaming of Laswell showing up at your front door, with John’s dog tag and his personal belongings. One look at her face you knew what had happened.

You cried yourself to sleep every time, wearing his shirt, curling up, inhaling the faint residue cigar and gunpowder scent and trying to imagine his strong arm around you.

It was only two days ago you received a call from Laswell. Seeing her name showing up on your caller ID sends your mind into an endless spiral. She never calls you unless it was for any urgent business. Or an emergency. Or something has happened to one of the men. Or….

You always wake up right before she opens her mouth and delivers the bad news,silent scream that is stuck in your throat, heart pounding, tears streaming down your face,panic sets in until you realise you are in your own cot, in the middle of a shared tent on a mission.

Horangi and König will always know what happened the next day, with your red rimmed and dark baggy eyes. None of them are the type that will give you verbal comfort, but a bag of Korean snacks which you mentioned once that was your favourite and a little tin of handmade sweets will appear on your cot at the end of the day.

You always smile at their thoughtfulness.

“Are you going to pick up that call?” Horangi looking over your shoulder, “ Laswell? Must be important.”

Flexing your hand, you shook your head, trying to dispel the negative thought that was muddling your brain before nodding.

Answering with a wavering voice, grabbing tight to the wedding ring underneath your shirt that is chained together with your dog tag, expecting the worst.

You must have sounded more distraught than expected, “John is fine. I am just letting you know the men are on their way back, they should land by late afternoon.“ She reassured you immediately.

“Go. Just submit the report by this weekend.” König pushed you out of the office as soon as he overheard the conversation. He knew how anxious you were to get back home.

You took the first flight you can get your hand on to the UK, drove straight from the airport to the base at Credenhill, despite your own weariness, you want to be there to greet your husband as soon as he lands.

Pulling into the car park of the base, you caught a glimpse of the helicopter coming into landing.

You don’t know how long the two of you have been standing there for, until the other men came over and gave you a slight pat on the back, interrupting the reunion.

The guard at the gate recognises you and you run towards the landing pad as soon as they process and issue you with a visitor’s pass.

You felt your heart going to burst the moment you saw him walking out from the helo, finally being able to see him physically, safe and sound.

“JOHN!” you yelled out to him, catching his attention. Turning around, surprise was evident on his face as you barreled into his embrace. Grabbing tight onto his vest, you burst out crying. All the months contained worry, fear, doubts and longing emotions released all in one go. You heard John murmuring words of assurances into your ears, feeling of his slight unkempt beard caressing against your face as he peppers you with kisses,tightens his arm around you.

Smiling sheepishly, leaving John’s embrace to give each of the men a tight hug, glad all of them made it back in one piece.

“We know how much you miss the Captain. Don’t break the bed from too much fun tonight!!!” Gaz teased as they waved goodbye to you and John. He rolled his eyes while your face was burning up like a furnace, from the embarrassment and thinking what was to come that night.

A soft kiss on the lip, bringing you back from reverie, John adjusted himself slightly, sliding his hand down towards your breast and thigh." Well, since you are awake.... "giving you another kiss, this time with more passion and sliding his tongue into your mouth, before breaking apart, "I think you should help me with my... little problem down here. " he grinds against you as he emphasises the word little problem.

You let out a chuckle, teasing him,“ Last night wasn’t enough for you??”

“I will never get enough from my beautiful wife.” His voice dripping with both sincerity and need.

He slowly trails his kisses down your neck towards your chest, pausing to caress the bites and bruises that are spread all over your neck and shoulder.

“… sore?” Murmuring with a hint of guilt in his voice, regretting being rough on you the previous night.

You never seen him so needy and rough before, releasing all the frustration, the pent up energy of not being able to see you, to be there with you physically and emotionally for such a long time. He made you cum twice before reaching the bedroom, and the countless times during the night you begged him again and again to reassure you he is there, in your arm, limbs intertwine with each others, not just some figment of imagination and dreams you wake up again and again from, to an empty cold bed.

Shaking your head as you card your finger through his messy morning hair,drifting down to his beard, smiling with silent reassurance for him to continue on.

Kneading and sucking each of the breasts with the utmost care, making sure he isn’t causing more pain. You let out a contented sigh as he slowly pushes your legs apart, running his tongue languidly across your already damp slit.

‘John… Love…” grabbing onto the bed sheet, pleading with him to give you more, to quench that fire he is stirring up within.

“Patience. I want to just enjoy…” lapping up more of your wetness that is sipping out between your slit, “tasting you. Feeling you.” His eyes shifted up to meet with you for a moment, “ Loving you.”

You sucked in a big breath of air at his words, holding back a sob. All you can think of is how lucky you are, to have such a wonderful man, who cherishes you, accepting and putting up with all your faults, ( as the 141 men once mentioned Price was probably the only one that can hold you back on a leash to contain your recklessness.) always aims to please you, putting your needs before his.

In a dazed post orgasm mind, you see him crawling back up towards you, stroking your face before positioning his already dripping hard cock and pushing into your still sensitive core.

In contrast to the frantic sex the night before, peeling each other’s clothes off as soon as you pass through the threshold of the door, hands roaming everywhere, desperate for each other’s touch, how you want him to be inside you, filling that void you've been missing for the last few months.

Now he is just taking his time to relish the short time together. Both of you know it won’t be too long before duty calls again, splitting the two of you apart.

You don’t want to think that far. Pushing that thought to the back of your mind, you nudge his shoulder, for him to lean back so you can push yourself up, adjusting yourself to straddle him.

You clench down hard as he hits you in a sweet spot in this new position, eliciting a moan from him. You smile lazily, rolling your hips, arms around his neck, one hand lightly caressing the nape of his neck, determined to return the favour, making sure he is enjoying it as much as you do. His hand wanders down towards your butt, grabbing both cheeks, pulling you close to him as he can.

You can feel him getting close as he rolls his head back, breathing starting to get erratic, his hip slamming up towards you, trying to chase the high.

“It’s ok love.. just let it go…I want to feel you inside me.. coat me with your hot cum, show you how much you love me…” You whispered into his ear, enticing him. Tipped over the edge with your words, he let out a loud groan as he filled you up inside. With a few more thrust from him as he rides out his orgasm, you bury your face into the crook of his neck, biting down hard on his shoulder,reaching your own high.

“Ready to go again?? I don’t think my problem has been solved… with just one round” He asked with his raspy voice as you felt his cock twitching inside you, getting hard again. You laughed , and leaned in to give him a deep kiss before letting him lowering you back into the bed.

You and Price didn't get out of bed until way past noon.

If you are reading this as part of Mini MacTavish verse... Mini and Price are both absolute workaholics, spending more time away from each other than together until they both retire from front line. in my H/C, they never ended up having any kids. by choice or not by choice? you decide. But they are happily to shower their love on their nieces and nephews ( the little rascals Soap has produced lol ).

I apologise for bit of jumble of the smut part. I have no idea why every single time I start writing for Price x Reader, I am always in a slump depressive stage. but hey, I had bit of fun writing, I might revisit and tidy this up when I am in a better place mentally.

Tag :

@floral-force

@homicidal-slvt

@captainpriceslover

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world

#captain john price #john price x you #john price x reader #john price imagine #john price #captain price x reader #captain price #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #captain john price x female reader #call of duty #Mini Mactavish verse #call of duty fanfic

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tewwor · 18 days ago

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🌵 🍀 ✨ 🌼 🍄🌹 🌴 🌺 🪵

positivity meme ( always accepting )

🌵 recommend a canon rp blog

@lovehungered — rewinding a bit to stick my foot back into op for a sec. i absolutely adore the way you write sanji. it's so clear how much care and thought you put into him. and your writing, oh your writing!!!!!! stunning, perfect flow, amazing attention to detail. and you're such a kind person too!!!!! can say, without a single doubt in my mind, that having you on my dash is such a treat

🍀recommend an oc rp blog

@interxstitial — GET over here ( with much affection ). to be honest, idk where to even start. like jiwon is one of my fav ocs out there. i said it!! and i'd say it again!!!!! he's so silly, so full of hope, so trusting ( please stop trusting these very mean characters in my arsenal ), and so so precious. you've put him through the WRINGER and you're SO mean for that, but it does.... make for very juicy interactions............ ( don't look at me ). outside of rping, you're such a hoot and a holler and everything in between. we have the same ridiculous sense of humor with the tendency to YAP AWAY. gosh, it's been so much fun writing and chatting with you!

✨recommend a multimuse blog

@cordoliae — vic, deeply beloved and cherished friend..... you inspire me to the nth degree. your words can quite literally move mountains, i fear. i mean it moved me For Sure and your headcanons. GOSH YOUR HEADCANONS!!!! YOUR CHARACTERIZATION OF EVERY CANON YOU PICK UP!!!!!!!!! YOUR OCS, YOUR BEAUITFULLY COMPLEX OCS!!!!!!!! you singlehanded made me feel so much more comfortable and confident in portraying j.jk canons specifically and i thank you for that. top tier, ten star review, 20 michelin stars. i will never not sing your praises.

🌼 recommend a blog with beautiful writing

@temporalobjects — typed out this url SOOOOO fast yall don't even KNOW. hi buddy (ㅅ´ ˘ `) how've you been? hope life's been really, really good!! oh, before i get carried away, everyone — there's some Crazy Talent here fr. being completely honest when i say i have such a blast writing back and forth with all of these funky fresh and cool characters AND folklore. there's a definite soft spot in my heart for them! anyways, i miss you and hope life's been treating you well ♡

🍄 recommend a blog with incredible graphics

@hiohaku — okay but it's not just your graphics. it's the way you portray utahime and the enthusiasm you share and the prose — dear lort the prose!!!!!!! sublime, simply sublime, i really don't have the right words to describe just how fond and in awe i am over all of your content. and, personally speaking, you've helped me develop higu specifically and i'm so so grateful. but uh yes back to the original prompt — i think your graphics are so cohesive and aesthetically pleasing and so so so good! ♡♡

🌹recommend a blog that makes me happy

@koseigu — okay, am i biased? yeah, maybe, what of it? i see tsari put something on my dash and i leap for joy, duh? WOEIHGAOWIGH okay, but for real though. i thoroughly enjoy seeing you post literally anything. i mean, the replies and asks you hand out are poppin'. the inspo and graphics are bangin'. and you're just so friendly and considerate and i am Gripping our niche interests with both hands. again, i'm glad to have found you, friend ♡

🌴recommend a blog i haven't spoken to yet but admire from afar

@ichigokurosaki — will not lie! a bit surprised to see someone from the bleach fandom follow, but i'm so glad you did! tbh it made me kind of nostalgic since bleach was one of the first big title manga i got into but anyways! hi •ᴗ• i think your characterization of ichigo is remarkable and your writing has me ogling from afar.

🌺 i'll recommend a blog i've followed forever

@womanlives — ( enter entire orchestra and band and choir of the world ). no one should be surprised. they shouldn't!!!!!!!! qt, you phenomenal goober. you marvelous writer, creator, gamer, and just everything-er. i care you so, so much and i hope you're doing alright— at least okay! i eagerly await your return and can't wait to show you my newest jester dance and song. love you so many ♡♡♡♡♡♡

🪵positive thing about my own blog

... why. i already listed two whole entire things. i'm running out of things to say >:( i think my blog is silly in a Good way. there.

#* & bbring bbring mail time — answered .#* & make way for rapid clown honking — ooc .#// WHEW its a long one sorry folks

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littlemissclandestine · 8 months ago

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hiyaa I saw your blog and I loved your Adler hc!!! I love you blog and pls keep doing more Cold War content! I want to know who’s your favorite ? Do u have an oc or which oc you like

Hello Anon! 💜

Hope you're happy and healthy, sweet.

Thank you ever so much!! That means so much to me! Feels so nice to know there's people out there that appreciate those hcs and my blog! Mwah 😘

As for Cold War content and churning that out, i've been obsessed with Russ since goddamn July last year when it was a free PS+ game 😭 so i don't think this obsession is going anytime soon and also will probably get worse when Black Ops Gulf War drops.

Long story short, when I first played the campaign, I hated it. Literally thought it was complete and utter garbage to be honest. It was far too short, the characters were underdeveloped, the story wasn't gripping for me etc. I chose the Duga ending first lmao bye Adler (the catharsis though) But i left it for a week...then things started to change. I kept thinking about Adler and I spiralled so fast 💀

So, in terms of who my favourite character is...i think you know the answer 😌 I literally have a character analysis of Adler on google docs that's just pure word vomit that I might release one day. But I also love Bell. The Adler and Bell dynamic is so beautiful yet so tragic. I could talk about it all day *sighs*. Each character has their own kind of skillsets and intrigue so it's hard to pick but they are my main ones. Park and Sims are growing on me A LOT too 😭

In terms of OCs, I have about 4 COD OCs I am working on right now and 2 other ones for different video games. Will I share them? Eventually. I'm just scared of putting them out there for the time being. They're just so precious to me. What OCs do i like? Well for me, it's got to be Aleks (@alypink) and Jade (@sleepyconfusedpotato). Though, I've seen many that have caught my eye and i absolutely adore!

So grateful for the ask my lovely!! They always make me happy. Take care of yourself and best wishes 😊💙

#Star answers asks! ( ˃ᴗ˂ ) ✰#i love asks man #i appreciate ya ;)#black ops cold war #cod cold war

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dandylovesturtles · 2 years ago

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Chello~! So I was reading your amazing fic “I May Be Invisible but I Still Look Good” and I was wondering, just outta curiosity. What inspired the concept for the fic in the first place? It’s a really cool concept- a spell that basically tears the soul out of the body and makes a person a “ghost” (sorry, Leo, I’m using the word ghost), but there are restrictions to what they can go through and stuff.

And another note- is there a specific reason you chose which one of Leo’s brothers broke which part of the spell? Like, Mikey broke sight, Raph broke sound, and Donnie broke touch. I see the parallel with Donnie, since he’s typically pretty adverse with touch, but I was wondering about Raph and Mikey.

I also wanted to say that your writing is beautiful and the fact that I can’t leave more than one kudos-es on Ao3 is cruel 😤.

Keep up the amazing work and have an absolutely wonderful amazing supercalifragilisticexpialidoshus day/night/afternoon/2am/endless white void :,]

Hi! Thank you so much for reading, I'm glad you're enjoying it! I've answered some of this but I'm too lazy to dig through my blog so I'll answer again! lol

I've written a fic similar to this before for another fandom (One Piece) over a decade ago - it's a trope I've always enjoyed haha. Though that fic was definitely more of a comedy (the character who got ghosted ended up possessing another character's body so they had to share), while this one leaned more heavily on angst. Although both OP and ROTTMNT are comedic canons so there's still a lot of jokes in both haha.

Anyway I thought of doing this with Leo because even though Donnie was (and still mostly is) my favorite character, Leo is the one I like putting through the spin cycle, because I think his character is a really interesting one to dig into. Leo has a lot of layers to him, and he has a hard time showing his real self to others and asking for help, and this sort of trope is great for forcing characters to do exactly that. Take away their ability to communicate and it makes them want to communicate more! lol

I ended up rambling so I'm putting a cut here.

I actually went around and around for a bit coming up with exactly what the restrictions are for how Leo can move. Like, I spent way too much time trying to decide if he can climb ladders and in the end I just avoided ever mentioning it (he probably can, like he can climb stairs, because otherwise getting out of certain parts of the sewer would be hard). But a lot of it came out of practicality, like I needed him to be able to ride in the tank properly so he could go home with them in the first chapter. But when I thought of the scene where he and Mikey get separated by Meat Sweats I just pushed that to the logical conclusion of "well he can ride in the car but he isn't actually constrained by the frame of the car besides the bottom" and that turned into car surfing.

Initially however I was going to have it so he was restricted to the immediate area around his body and so to leave the lair with Leo the brothers would have to Weekend at Bernie's him around. I eventually gave up on this idea because it caused too many logistical problems lol... Like I would have to establish that either his body can survive because it's just in a form of stasis (which I didn't like because it retroactively killed some of the first chapter's tension and also killed later tension) or they would have to cart around some kind of ventilator and that's a logistical nightmare. But I didn't want Leo to be confined to the lair because, boring. So that's where the idea of him being tied to them after they regained a sense came from, which has worked out great because I ended up using it for way more drama than I anticipated at the start haha.

Here's my writing tip no one asked for: when coming up with the rules for any kind of magic anything, narrative utility always trumps realism - as long as you have internal consistency it's fine.

AS FOR WHO GETS WHAT, well, I always planned for them to regain the senses in the order Mikey > Raph > Donnie (I feel like it just makes the most sense that Mikey is first and Donnie is last so Raph is naturally the middle), but originally they were going to get the senses in waves, like once Raph broke part of the spell both Mikey and Raph would get hearing, etc. And I already planned on it going sight > hearing > touch as well. But then I decided to split the senses up because I felt like it was more interesting that way. See the tip I posted above LOL

But as for why I picked sight > hearing > touch, well... I needed Mikey to see him first for narrative utility but also since Mikey is the one who is best at emotions, I liked having him get sight, because that way Leo can't really hide from him, and so Mikey can get a sense of how Leo is dealing with everything through this ordeal. Like Leo can hide his emotions from Raph by being quiet or from Donnie by not touching him but he can't escape Mikey. The other two obviously know Leo is not having a good time, but Mikey is the one who has the fullest picture of how badly this is affecting him, and Mikey is also the best at communicating that to the others and helping Leo through it just by being there. That's why you get a lot of Mikey literally guiding the others to him, too - he's good at helping that way!

As for Raph, I made a joke at the time that I wanted to force the dumb-dumbs to actually use their words lol. Which is a lot of the motivation! Of course, Raph and Leo are at a better place than they were pre-movie anyway, but I still wanted to put them in a place where they have to talk because they literally don't have any other options. Also, I really love the co-leaders vibe, or at least Raph being his right hand man, and I wanted the two of them to be able to talk strategy, which was of course easiest if they could actually, ya know, talk. Leo may be leader but he still looks up to Raph and turns to him for advice, or as a sounding board to work out what he's thinking through, so it's really beneficial for him to be able to talk to Raph.

And yes finally, Donnie is touch averse so he gets touch and we all laugh. LAUGH. But also Donnie would be most frustrated by not having a more direct way to communicate with Leo, but also the most determined to actually make it work. Also this way he is given a problem to fix. Leo is touch-starved and it's not good for him to be like this for too long, because he's losing his grip on reality. Donnie can fix that problem by touching him, and so he will, because Donnie fixes problems. Even if it requires giving his dumb-dumb twin shell scratches (he doesn't mind) (he won't admit it though).

Also the ouija board jokes are very funny. If it works for zozo why can't it work for Leo!

Sorry for all the rambles aaaaa thanks for the ask!

#fic: i may be invisible but i still look good

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gumpistol · 8 months ago

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❤️ + enruiinas

Send ❤️ + a URL and I’ll write something nice about them/their blog!

♪ never gonna give you up! never gonna let you doown! ♪

this is me, hanging onto dear life and clinging to saro whether she likes it or not! she is my ride or die, my brain twin, a fellow member of the AAA ( aro ace audhd ) club! i have so many things to say about her and how much she means to me, it hurts my brain trying to figure out where to start! but knowing me, it will be long, so buckle up buttercup~

i will never forget our first interaction: i filled out her interest tracker, she came to my discord dms, and i swear we barely stopped talking with each other for the next 24 hours. when i had only known her for a day, it felt like we had been friends for years!! i still don't know what to make of that, but i don't think i've ever clicked with someone that fast. but the rest is history, and now we have so many threads in various verses together!

seriously, saro has such a massive brain with so many interests and thoughts and a desire to consume knowledge like i inhale a bucket of popcorn. she is one of the easiest people to talk to and bounce ideas off of. a good chunk of my character and story development for luffy ( and others ) are thanks to her picking my brain and asking the difficult character questions! she's excited to talk new ideas and what-ifs, and LOVES enabling me to write new muses. it is because of her that i ever started writing rosinante, robin, and penguin over on my multi~

outside of writing though, she always makes me feel more excited to share and talk about my interests, including OP trading cards and my science-y rambles. SPEAKING OF! she loves me SO MUCH that today, despite hating making phone calls, she called her local card shop to see if they had a set of cards that i wanted!! as someone who also hates making phone calls, that is true fucking friend behavior right there ♡

she really is quick to think about her friends. it could be the little things, like when she saves manga panels of unique luffy faces for me that i might not have yet, sends art of our muses, shares writing resources, or even just suggests reading the same science articles or listening to the same ologies episode together. she's also an excellent listener who gives meaningful words of encouragement, who refers back to things in conversation that i maybe said months ago, and who is a huge help when it comes to getting my brain unstuck on threads.

i haven't even touched on her writing and her Law portrayal though! when i say she puts SO MUCH work into doing him justice, i absolutely mean it. she analyzes even the smallest details, and her brain worms when she talks about him and his relationships are infectious. she got me so invested that she is the sole reason lawbin is now one of my favorite ships. she is the reason i put so much time and effort into a side character like penguin. and she is why i put so much stock into law and luffy's friendship. i. am. hooked.

and i know she gets a little worried about the length of her writing sometimes, but the waiting period is worth it. the quality of saro's writing is so organic and it flows like reading a good novel. i'm convinced at this point that i could come to her with any sort of thread or verse idea and she could weave it into a beautiful story. god i'm so stupidly eager to write with her always!!

anyway, i wrote so much, but such is the nature of anything we write for each other. there's a lot that i didn't even get around to talking about, but in summary, saro is incredibly kind, fun, and so brilliant it makes me want to SCREAM! i love her a lot, she is one of my best friends ( if she disagrees then too bad ), and i'm incredibly happy that i get to be her friend :)

sent by: @mingos for: @enruiinas

#enruiinas #mingos #long post cw #❝ its not like ‘thanks’ are something i can eat ❞ — answered #❝ adhd thought dump ❞ — ooc #sorry not sorry for how long this got #the first mistake was putting saro's url in my inbox #i will not shut up about the bestie

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gruundle · 2 years ago

Text

UPDATE 4/29/23: We are a little under halfway to goal! Rosie’s surgery is scheduled for Monday, and we could really use a little extra push. We found a lump on her belly this morning and are fearing the worst. We are going to try and get this new lump a biopsy but it’s absolutely money we don’t have after scraping by for just this procedure. Please share if you can 💕

Hello all! My name is Greer, I’m a queer indie artist living in VA with my partner and our three beautiful animals.

Our youngest, Rosie, a freshly two year old chihuahua mix, has recently very suddenly developed issues with her anal glands. In four weeks after no issues for her whole life, they’ve gotten impacted and infected twice, and this week they finally ruptured.

After this last visit, where they could no longer drain anything despite her glands being full and extremely swollen, her vet has recommended that we pursue surgery to have her anal glands completely removed to protect her from discomfort and any further issues/risk of infection. It’s expensive, but less so than taking her in every month for drainage and antibiotics, as well as less distressing for her and us.

Her surgery is currently scheduled for the 2nd of May. We’re able to cover the $200 deposit and we’ve been approved for care credit to cover most of the cost of the surgery (the estimate is roughly $1600-$2600), but we were completely unprepared for something of this magnitude. We’re seeking help with covering the remainder, a (hopefully) final emergency visit to clean and tend to her rupture, her pre-op blood work, and time taken off work to care for her during recovery.

This has been a scary and stressful time but I am endlessly inspired by Rosie’s ability to get up after having her glands burst and bleed and still beg for food, because it’s what makes her happy, or lick our tears away because she’s more concerned about us. She’s an incredible wonderful beautiful girl and she deserves the world.

Thank you for even taking the time to read this far! Please do not feel obligated to donate; a share or a kind word is also extremely appreciated!

For anyone that does donate, please contact me for a drawing and a hand written thank you card. Thank you thank you thank you!!!!

#gofundme #puppy #dog #medical bill #vet bill #help #help needed #donations

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septembersghost · 2 years ago

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I am so sad that these past 7 days ruined a lot of things for me personally. That thread anon tagged was my final straw (it's not anon's fault btw. If anything I am thankful I saw it and knew the exact kind of person he was). I can't look at things related to tour without feeling a lot. And I am feeling things beyond ick. I am actually angry at her. It ruined speak now(something I was waiting for) for me. Long live doesn't feel the same after knowing everything. I want to steal zoe's tag and tag everything as #midnights disconnect after this.

I am sorry for unleashing all this on you. And thankyou for understanding. This is the first time I have experienced this. I don't know how to process this

no i understand what you mean - anon and the OP who shared it were doing so for a reason, and not a defamatory one, but an informational one. i personally don't consider something someone said out loud on the record off-limits to share or criticize, and since he himself made that reference publicly, it warrants that. it's vile. as she said in the post, "that information altered my perception of him permanently." we're not shaming private behavior by condemning that either, it's about the specific content. as someone commented, "Absolutely horrifying. Note that even Matty says the woman was being "brutalized". That's his own word choice. And he still openly admits to getting off to this shit." tbh, i realize that sub doesn't like her, but a lot of the comments in that thread are being completely fair. if she doesn't know, she's being intentionally ignorant, and if she does know, she's being complicit. but frankly, she should be concerned about herself in this - any man who'd openly admit to getting off on violence and racism towards women is not someone i'd trust to not turn on me in a relationship. maybe he worships her now, but calvin did initially too, and we know what happened. being beautiful, wealthy, and white doesn't insulate you from the latent misogyny of a man you choose to involve yourself with. i...just find that admission from him really telling and disturbing.

it's also very hard because this tour is a celebration of her entire career, she's had such triumph and ascent, and we've collectively been awaiting speak now tv for a long time. we ought to be nothing but excited and celebratory right now. maybe many fans can separate it, but others won't be able to, and that's a valid response. and again, impact matters more than intent - if fans are hurt, that does matter. it won't change anything, it doesn't dictate what she does, but i can't ignore it when some of you are coming directly to me in distress.

please don't be sorry, love, i'm sorry this is all going on and you're feeling like this. it's difficult to process and i understand why it's hard. i can't tell you how to carry on from here, i've always tried to support her and i cherish her art, but even i'm gauging this day-by-day and having a tough time processing and figuring out how best to approach or deal with this going forward.

#anonymous #letterbox #thrown out speeches #the comments being shared in that thread regarding how bad certain abuses have gotten are making me want to cry for humanity #NOT being overdramatic the things women are talking about regarding violence they're afraid of experiencing...

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woodland-whispers · 1 year ago

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"Love" is such a small word for what we share. You came into my life when I was at a low point: at a time when I thought that the pain brought on by someone else would never end. During the moments I tried to turn away for fear of the unknown, you dug your heels into the ground and looked deep into my soul and stayed.

You have become a beacon to me. Whenever I feel as though I've drifted too far into the discouragement that clouds my life, I can look up to find you guiding me to safety. I stay here, not because this place is home, but because YOU are home.

Most people will spend their entire lives searching for a perfection that almost never exists. Most people will spend their days looking at each person they encounter with questions as to whether or not they have found a reason, a season, or a lifetime. With you I have found an eternity. This is where I was meant to be. You are what my entire life has led up to. You are my very best friend, my lover, my protector, and my one and only soul mate.

I give my life to you, mind, body, and soul. I want you to hold me for the rest of my life as you do now, each and every night. I love you.

From, Zexion. (written by @murderposting)

Zexion, my best friend, my lovely…

You make me feel so so many things, feelings I didn’t know were possible. I could pepper you with kisses for an eternity. You make me believe in love, a love so profound I fall so so deeply in love with you every single day. From the days we slow dance music meeting our ears as we clumsily move to the beat, to our days off where we rest and do absolutely nothing but kiss and cuddle, to the nights we lie awake talking until the birds greet us with their morning symphonies.

You are my motivation, my strength to keep moving on, to learn and grow. You inspire me to try new things and to look outside myself. My voice of reason when the shadows come in and my intrusive thoughts take hold - because god without you I would be so so lost. My love, you save me from myself, from the brink time and time again. You are my hero, they say not all heroes wear capes - and they’re right because the truth lies in you.

When you are at your most vulnerable I vow to always be your shield in the dark and protect you from your fears and doubts, casting a protective light as you do over mine. I want to hold you so so tight, safe in my embrace and never let you go. I want to tell you more and more each day how much I adore you, Zexion.

Because my dear, you move me beyond words, I cannot deny the moments we share take my breath away. You love so selflessly, so unconditionally giving everything you have. You taught me honour and to have faith in us - a stability and safety like no other.

Makes me imagine us growing old together and what that would be like - we could sit on a porch in our rocking chairs holding hands watching the sunsets. You are my soulmate, my twin flame. My love, this feels timeless and everlasting.

I am forever thankful you are here every day, because this love gets better and better by your side.

I love you Zexion, Forevermore…

(To OP @murderposting, Oh my gosh I am speechless and bless your heart… this so so incredibly beautiful OP 🥺 I am going to be rereading this over and over again, this cheered me up so so much too! I hope you have a wonderful day/evening and THANK YOU! 🥰💜💜💜💜💜💜💜)

#tea ☕️ x tomes 📚#him 💜💜💜#love letters 💌#freyaspeaks

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prismaticlove · 1 year ago

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(030522; self-reblog)

I'm in love with Chaos 0's eyes here. There's so much being said without words, especially considering the assumed context of this little scene-- two friends sharing joyful hope for the future, over the remnants of a tragic history they shared as well. That bitter foundation makes hope so much sweeter, and it's tangible in them both.

I really like the claws on Tikal's feet, and her darker skin tone in general; plus her vivid blue eyes & serene smile capture the core of her personality so well. Her soul is so gentle and good; that shines through very clearly here. (The subtle transparency on her, too, is a great touch.) She looks absolutely lovely. I'm deeply fond of her-- always have been-- and effectively consider her a sister, so it really makes me smile to see her portrayed so well.

On that note. Chaos 0. My beloved. Those eyes. There's real joy there-- gratitude for Tikal's continued existence despite the past, for her equally enduring friendship, for the days ahead they would both see unstained by blood or fire. It's all encapsulated in a pure light, burning bright and green, that reveals his deepest personality as well-- a gentle guardian, honorable and true, whose physical strength is nothing compared to the strength of his heart. "Chaos is power," etc. He personifies that, and there's a real glimpse of the best potential of that phrase here.

Their hands are notable, too-- Tikal offers hers, open, in an inviting gesture of compassion; Chaos rests his there in response, returning her trust, letting her hold what could destroy but would never again. There's a real recognition of each other in that shared action, something I wonder if either of them really had before the resolution of Sonic Adventure; it's a sign of peace, of affection, of hope yet again-- effectively, "we're still here, after it all; we are not who we were, but we know who we are, and can now look forward to who we will become, in our shared futures." The whole image feels like a turning point of joy; we rise above our shattered past.

I apologize for the verbosity; I just have a lot of feelings about this, and about Sonic Adventure in general. These two mean so much to me and the beauty of this fanart took my breath away.

Thank you, OP, for this.

Tikal and Chaos

#fanart #for chaos 0 #selfreblog

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warmaidensrevenge · 2 years ago

Note

Hello!

I was wondering if I could request something for my Birthday something super fluffy maybe spicy 😏 with plus reader x eddie writer choice theme

Ope. Of course my horse! I would love to.

Pairing: Eddie x plus size reader

If you want to read my other work you can find it HERE

A/N: So this is a special request. And I'm so happy to do it. Thank you for reading. As always feedback is always appreciated. Happy birthday!

Warnings: 18+ just a little smut, fluff, language, and not proof read and no word count.

Summary: Eddie is in love.

Today's the day. He was finally gonna tell you how he felt. How he always felt. From the moment you walked into the cafeteria for the first time. You had just just transferred from a private school and now you were officially the most beautiful girl in all of Hawkins. To Eddie that is. For weeks he tried to build up the courage to talk to you. But he was way too out of sorts when he actually did approach you. All he could ever get out was a "H-Hi" but the moment you opened your mouth to respond he would scurry away. Never in his 19 years was he ever this frazzled talking to anyone. Sure he had crushes before. But never like this. You were this crazy beautiful plump girl. With curves for days. And Eddie was completely smitten. Especially when he would hear you laugh in some of the shared classes. He would feel this burning in his chest and butterflies would break free from their cacoons and flutter in his stomach.

Over the course of 3 months he learns that you were smart and kind and one hell of a baker. He learned that in home ec class. You guys had been paired one day and had to make banana nut bread. Eddie was a terrible cook. So he gave you the reins.

" Hey. So umm are you allergic to nuts or eggs?"

To Eddie that was a weird question and he stood in complete silence. Too nervous to actually say something.

" I umm sorry. I mean since we are gonna be working with eggs and nuts. I don't want you to go into anaphylactic shock."

He rubbed the back of his neck" Oh...haha..no."

Your smile made his heart skip a beat.

" Mr. Munson. You need to put your hair up. Don't want to get any extra ingredients in the batter." Mrs Clark said passing by.

Eddie didn't know what to do. He didn't have a hair tie. That's when you pulled your hair down and gave him one of yours.

" Here. I always wear two."

" Uhh thanks."

" well before we get started. We got to wash our hands."

Eddie nodded and followed you to the sink. He couldn't keep his eyes off your big round ass. Your jeans hugged it just right.

After having the best banana nut bread he has ever had. The bell rang. When you were about to leave you wrapped up the rest of the bread and gave it to him.

" Something to remember me by." You gave him a sweet smile.

He was at a loss for words. And you noticed. " I'm y/n by the way "

" Yeah...uhh sorry. I'm Eddie."

" Nice to finally meet you. See ya."

He hated seeing you go. But loved watching you walk away.

Later that week he kept seeing you everywhere. At the movies, at the record store, even at the dinner. You were always alone and he decided to make you his new friend. Which was hard because he could barely get out 4 words when he talked to you.

But finally after a few more weeks he found himself hanging out at your house often. You guys had absolutely nothing in common. But he didn't mind one bit.

So today was the day. A beautiful spring afternoon and he had set up a picnic in the woods. He invited you to meet him during lunch. He was pacing back and forth trying to figure out exactly what to say.

" Hey."

He turned around and smiled. "Hey princess. I uhh hope you're hungry."

" Yeah definitely."

Eddie motioned for you to sit at the wooden bench. When you both sat down across from each other his knee was bouncing. You looked at the array of food he brought. Chocolate covered strawberries and cupcakes with little candie hearts on them. A bowl with cut out shapes of fruit that were mostly hearts. Yogurt covered pretzels and popcorn.

" Uhh wow. This is...wow."

Eddie cursed to himself. He knew it was too much. Even his uncle said it was too much when he was helping him make the cupcakes.

" Uhh yeah...." He said tapping his fingers on the table.

" You know we could have just gotten pizza right?"

Eddie frowned. Yeah it was definitely too much.

" Hey. It's cool. I like it....I didn't know you could be so... romantic."

Eddie laughed nervously. " Shhh..can't have everyone knowing I'm not-"

" Scary?"

He laughed again. " Y-yeah."

" Well Eddie. My whole view of you is blown. You never cease to amaze me." You smirked.

You guys were quiet for a while and it was very awkward.

" Eddie? What's going on? You're never this quiet."

Eddie froze with a mouth full of pretzels. He chewed vigorously to be able to say something. You sat patiently eating a strawberry.

" Sorry. I uhhh I was just thinking."

" Do that a lot huh?" You teased

Eddie chuckled. " I try not to."

You both sat there grinning at each other.

" So....are you going to ask me out or do I have to ask you?"

Eddie's smile faded. Did he just hear that right? He was quiet for a while. He was so out of it.

You giggled. " Guess I have to."

His eyes followed you around the table sitting down next to him.

" Eddie, I like you. A lot. And I was wondering if maybe we could go out sometime. Like a date."

" I-I" he stammered.

"Why are you so nervous? It's just me."

He blushed and looked away. " I was gonna ask you out."

" Well I beat you to the punch"

He looked back to you and turned so that his body was facing you. " Y/n. You make me so nervous. I swear every time I'm around you. I-I forgot how to talk. And when you smile. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I really like you too. And-and I would really like to kiss you."

You turned your body to face him. " kiss me."

Eddie tugged at his bottom lip. He really wasn't expecting that. Now his mouth went dry and his palms started to sweat. Shit he wished he had a breath mint. This would be his first kiss ever.

" I..I umm."

" Oh..no.. we don't have to if you're not ready."

Great now he loved you even more. Not pressuring him to" No no. It's not that I'm not ready. I just don't know how."

"Really? ...With all that porn stashed under your bed, I thought you would know more than just kissing."

Eddie's soul just left his body. He felt his stomach fall to his ass and all the blood drained from his face. He knew it. He knew he should have put it somewhere less obvious.

Out of nowhere your laugh quickly got his attention.

" Oh...Eddie...I was totally kidding." You said gasping for air.

" You little shit!" Eddie tackled you to the ground.

You guys did this a lot. Wrestle. It all started when you tried to get him to listen to ABBA one day. The only reason he let you win was because he liked seeing you on top of him. That was until he started getting a boner. Then he would always make an excuse to get up.

This time was different. This time you knew he liked you and you liked him. After rolling around and laughing Eddie let you pin him. You straddled him holding his hands above his head. There was a second there he thought that you might want more than just a kiss. But then you let go of his arms and sat up straight.

He lifted his hand and caressed the apple of your cheek. He saw the love in your eyes and just couldn't hold back anymore. He sat up, wrapping his arm around your waist and cupped your face. You put your hands on his shoulders. He placed his lips gently on yours. He swore he saw fireworks. He held you tighter because he thought you would float away.

Closed mouth kisses turned into open mouths with tongues exploring each others. He let you take the lead and he followed you as best as he could. You finally pulled away to catch your breath.

" I.."

"Good?" He said

" Y-yes....see you're a natural."

You both laughed and he kissed you again.

...

4 months later and Eddie was sitting on his bed waiting for his birthday present. He had a suspicion on what it was but he didn't want to assume anything. Even after you told him to wait in his boxers. After that day in the woods you guys were moving painfully slow when it came to sex. You guys kissed until your lips were chapped and raw. And Eddie ruined so many boxers. Not that he was complaining. But ever since you confessed that that was your first kiss too he wanted nothing more than to be your first and last everything and for you to be his.

He had pictured you so many times. In teddies or silky night gowns. Mostly just completely naked. However, all the films or magazines or his imagination had nothing on what you came in wearing.

When he first saw you. He thought he was dreaming. He pinched himself and smiled when you were still in his doorway. You had your hair in a cute messy bun with baby hairs falling down framing your beautiful face. You were wearing this home made all black except for the words corroded coffin shirt that fell just below your bottom. And thigh high black socks. With the elastic slightly digging in the meat of your thighs.

Eddie felt his pupils dilate like the sight of you was a drug he never had tried before. Everything about you was perfect. The way you just stood there looking down pulling the shirt down just a little and biting your lip. How your shampoo and body wash lingered in the air.

" Do...do you like it. I umm I made it myself."

"uhhh yeah! It looks so good on you. Holy shit babe. This is the best birthday present ever."

" I made you one too. But the sleeves are cut off."

Eddie got up and went to you. " How did I get so lucky to have you in my life?"

" If I didn't talk to you first you wouldn't have." You smiled

" True. But now I talk your ears off." He said kissing one ear then the other.

" And I love every second of it." You wrapped your arms around his neck and stood on your tippy toes to press your lips to his.

Both his hands held a firm grip on your ass. Giving it a little tap before squeezing it again. You set your feet back down and looked into his eyes.

" Are you sure you're ready for this?"

" I am. If you are." He spoke softly.

" I'm so ready." You gave him a kiss and moved to the bed.

Eddie followed in suite. You were sitting on your knees and Eddie mimicked you. You lifted to lean over and kiss him. Eddie moved your legs so that he can lay you down. He got comfy between your thighs. One arm held up while the other was stroking your hair and face. He pushed his lower half closer so that he could feel the warmth between your legs. He groaned at the friction. He felt your hips buck and he pressed hard. Earning a soft whimper from you.

The soft moans and gasps made him so damn happy. It took all his strength not to ruin this pair of boxers.

"C-condom?" You said breathlessly

" Shit!. Yeah" he shot up and went through his dresser.

He freaked out when he didn't see one. He tossed everything out of the drawer and didn't find the box. That's when you cleared your throat. He turned to see you holding the small blue trojan box between your index and middle finger.

Eddie took off his boxers and you handed him a single piece of foil. You watched him roll it on while he watched you take off your underwear and shirt.

You were going for your socks.

" No. Leave them on yeah."

" Umm okay."

Eddie looked at you. All of you and he lost his damn mind. He wanted so much to just stay there and just look at you. He wanted to just take pictures and keep them in his wallet.

" Eddie?"

" Huh oh...sorry... I'm just trying to take a mental picture of this."

He held out his hands and pretended to take a picture.

You giggled and held up your hands for him to come to you. He jumped on the bed making your whole body jiggle. He smiled at it. And he was going to jump again just to see your boobs bounce but the look in your eyes were begging for him to not to. He got to his knees in front of your legs. You let him spread you apart as he kissed every inch of your thighs.

He laid down on top and looked deep into your eyes.

" Princess, I just want to tell you before we do this. I love spending time with you. Even when we don't do anything. When we're together everything just feels so much better. When I'm with you, I feel like this is where I'm meant to be. I love you."

" You...you love me?"

He smiled. " Yes. Very much."

You kissed him with such tenderness. " I love you too."

He refused to move his lips from yours. Well until you helped guide him into you. Everything disappeared. There was no one else but you. No one he could ever want more than you.

The first thrust was awkward with some resistance. He went so damn slow. Not just for you. But because if he went any faster he would cum instantly. You were so damn warm that he just wanted to stay there forever. He watched you make a face that didn't look good to him so he stopped pushing in.

" Want me to stop?" His voice filled with worry.

" N-no. It..it's fine.. I'm-I'm okay."

Eddie felt your walls throbbing around him. Gripping him like a vice.

"Are-are you sure?"

" Yeah...I'm sure."

He put his forehead on yours and went all the way in. Causing a small gasp from you. He felt a soft spot that he knew he just had to hit.

" OH" you shuddered when he did

" Fuu" he groaned

Your whimpers picked up as he began to move faster. This was not at all like the movies he would watch. This was so much more than just fucking.

" Eddie....god..."

He felt you clenched down on him. Making his thrust become sloppy.

"Baby! I'm.."

" Ed-ed..... Eddie" You sighed

He hunched his back and squeezed his eyes closed as he did shallow pumps until he every last drop came out.

He opened his eyes and looked at you. Your eyes were closed and you were biting your lip humming. He stroked your hair and kissed your cheek.

" You okay princess?"

You let go of your lip and gazed through tired eyes.

"Better than okay." You gave him a soft smile and laugh. " Are you okay?"

He kissed you gently and nuzzled his face in the slope of your neck. " I'm fantastic."

" I love you Eddie."

He kissed your chest. "I love you y/n"

...

@salenorona23

#fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson x female original character #eddie munson x you #stranger things #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie x reader #eddie my beloved #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x y/n #plus size reader

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bookishofalder · 4 years ago

Text

Catfish & Sunshine

Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader Mini Series

Summary: Frankie is secretly in love with his best friend. Thanks in part to Benny’s shitty horror movie recommendation and stray ice cream, feelings come out unexpectedly during movie night.

Warnings: Language, SMUT, little angst, lots of fluff, poor writer understanding of US military benefits/retirement. WC 8,215.

A/N: I dreamed this up after rewatching Triple Frontier about a month ago (for the plot, of course) and let it sit for a while. Became inspired to finish it off this week and share it with you all-so please let me know your thoughts!

For over a decade, Saturday nights were, for Frankie Morales, usually spent with his best friends over drinks at their favourite bar. When deployed, the bar was instead smuggled whiskey that they shared under the stars, an attempt to imagine they were anywhere other than the current hellhole. As Special Ops soldiers, Frankie and his buddies had been through the worst of the worst together, until one by one they retired or were forced to retire, and then they were back to regular appearances at the local bar, for a while the five of them, then four.

Until Frankie met you.

Had someone come up to him during one of those nights years before and told Frankie that one day he’d be bringing you along to the bar to join him and the guys, he’d have laughed in their faces. But for a while, that was exactly what occurred, until you and Frankie grew so close that you usually ended up making different plans, like going mini-golfing, or lounging at his apartment and watching movies. Not that you didn’t love the guys, all whom you’d met except for Santi as he had been off the grid for just over a year when you and Frankie had met.

It was thanks to the elder Miller brother, Will, that he had even met you at all. Working at the VA office, Will had learned of one of the few retirement perks they had for putting their asses on the line for their country-physical therapy. And you came highly recommended, a star PT who had worked magic over his friends' ailments. Knowing Frankie suffered from shoulder and neck pains, Will handed him your card and encouraged him to book an appointment.

He hadn’t called straight away. He’d popped your card onto his fridge and every day he’d pass by it, consider calling, and then talk himself out of it. Until the pain became too much to bear, his latest menial job just a little too physical for him, causing him to consider using again just to dull the ache. But he’d walked by your card moments later and instead of making a terrible decision he had promised himself he’d never make again, he called your office. Made an appointment with your friendly receptionist, who thankfully had his name already because Will had put in a good word for Frankie and asked that they try and get him in straight away, whenever he finally did call.

Two days later Frankie was standing nervously in the treatment room, looking at a wall decorated with your various degrees and certificates. He was anxious not only because he worried he’d get his hopes up that this would help the pain only to be disappointed, but also because he had no idea what to expect. Years of service as a pilot had made Frankie into a man who planned, meticulously, leaving little in the way of surprises. But he’d reasoned that calling the office back and demanding they give him a minute-by-minute account of what the appointment would be like was probably going too far.

And then you had walked in and immediately his worries morphed into concern over the fact that he required a beard trim, that he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed and popped his usual cap on, probably appearing a little gruff. And fuck, he almost couldn’t breathe when you gave him the most dazzling, genuine smile like you were greeting an old friend. You were bright, a rare energy radiating off of you as though you absorbed it straight from the fucking sun, and you were beautiful. No wonder Will had winked at Frankie when he’d handed you the business card.

You were observant, introducing yourself and seemingly sensing his overall discomfort. Instead of launching straight to business, you gestured for him to sit and spent a good twenty minutes casually chatting, pulling information you needed from him while putting him at ease entirely. He learned then that Will had already sung Frankie’s praises, given you the heads up that he was a worrier and even told a few stories that showcased his talents as a pilot.

If Frankie didn’t know any better, he’d think his friend was trying to play matchmaker.

All thoughts of Will Miller, and pretty much every other thing on the planet, vanished the moment you laid your expert hands on to Frankie. You zeroed in on the worst source of pain and slowly worked away, and he could only agree with Will that you had magic hands. He could have died happily right then, as you chatted away and brought him the most relief he’d felt in years. You would pause occasionally to check in with his pain levels and make sure he was doing alright, always asking him to look at you to answer and searching his face as he spoke to ensure he was telling the truth.

The care you gave Frankie in just one appointment was enough to start him falling. And he kept going back, multiple appointments a week that not only had him walking taller, feeling lighter on his feet and reducing his migraines to seldom, but also allowing him to get to know you better. You were the kind of sweet-natured person that cried when you saw a sad commercial, laughed freely to the lamest of jokes, and seemed to wake up on the right side of the bed every day. You were sunshine, literal, tangible sunshine, and Frankie thought you might not even realize it.

Though Frankie had convinced himself early on that a woman as beautiful and kind as you could never be interested in a grouch like him, with his crows' feet and a closet full of demons. The longer he knew you little seeds of hope would sprout whenever he made you laugh so hard you had to stop the treatment just to hold your stomach as you giggled. Or when you’d share something with him innocent enough but, upon reflection, he would think it wasn’t something a normal patient-provider relationship would find exchanged.

But there was the age difference, a decade between you both that, if nothing else worked, would successfully extinguish his hope. He had wondered if perhaps you were just a decent people person, that the friendship he felt was there was entirely one-sided.

Until one day, a few months into coming to you for treatment, Frankie sat waiting for you to come in the room only for you to appear looking entirely unlike yourself. He booked his appointments always for the end of the day, a routine that promised he would get plenty of uninterrupted time with you and the conversation could flow without a time constraint. He had been so surprised that you weren’t grinning as you stepped into the room that he stood abruptly, filling with concern.

When he asked, softly, if you were alright, you didn’t brush him off like he might have expected. You instead looked up at Frankie, your lower lip trembling as your eyes filled with tears, and sobbed unexpectedly. That sound had torn a hole right into his chest and he had pulled you straight into his arms and hugged you close before asking you to tell him what he could do to help.

You ended up explaining that you had come in that morning to the news that a regular patient of yours, an elderly man you’d known the entire time you’d been working for the VA office, had passed away in his sleep. And you’d apologized to Frankie while sniffling and wiping at the tears, telling him you’d held it in all day but couldn’t do that when your friend asked you, and he had been baffled to realize you were referring to him. As your friend.

He had cut off your apology to hug you close again, smoothing your hair gently as he whispered calming words and sentiments to you in Spanish. And though you didn’t speak the language, you had since told Frankie it had done exactly what he’d hoped and made you feel all the better.

After his treatment that day, Frankie asked if he could take you for a drink to toast your friend's life. He waited for you to close up the office, and then you’d followed him in your car to drive over to his usual bar. And you both drank to the veteran who passed, then ended up ordering dinner and remaining at the bar until late, talking even more freely outside of the office. If Frankie didn’t already have it bad for you, that night sure sealed it for him.

After that, you and Frankie began texting regularly, sometimes even calling one another to share a funny story or talk about something in the news. He had joined you for your former clients funeral, his hand rubbing comforting circles into your back before he took you out for lunch, then you’d ended up at his place to watch a cheesy movie, ordering pizza when you both realized there was a sequel that, if it was as bad as the first, you absolutely needed to watch.

And just like that, Frankie saw his life altered completely when you became his best friend.

Currently, Frankie was seated comfortably on his couch, where he frowned at the TV playing a horror movie that you had insisted was supposed to be good, because Benny had recommended it. Considering the younger Miller brother could barely sit still half the time, that was supposedly good enough for you.

You were tucked into Frankie’s side, eyes fixed on the screen until a jump scare had you jerk, then twist your face to press into his chest, because you hated the gory bits.

“Fuck! How does this not scare you even a little, Frankie?” You whined, unknowingly causing Frankie to swell with pride when he heard the note of admiration in your voice. He had started to suspect that the reason movie nights were becoming exclusively scary movies was that you were determined to find one that actually frightened him.

So far, you’d had no luck. But Frankie didn’t mind, because though you were already a touchy person in general, you were especially clingy when you queued up the next horror flick as if you trusted him to keep you safe.

Frankie didn’t reply, his chest rumbling with silent laughter that made you teasingly poke his side. He jumped, because you knew exactly where to aim, then cleared his throat. The scene ended, and he began to extract himself from your grip. “My sweet tooth is calling, cariño. I’m going to get some ice cream.”

You let him go, your head popping up, a big grin on your face, “Can I have some too, please?” And he nodded, smiling at you before walking across the open concept apartment and into his kitchen.

He stretched his back before opening the freezer where he had some bars next to an off-limits pint of Ben and Jerry’s. You had put it there months ago, telling Frankie it was for days when you got together and one of you needed to cry over a bad date. You called it ‘emergency’ ice cream. Frankie considered it to be ‘fuck you’ ice cream, because every time he opened his damn freezer he saw that pint and ended up thinking about how neither of you had been on a date with anyone since becoming friends over a year before, then falling into the same circular argument with himself-that the friendship was too important for him to feel the way he did, that he was jumping to conclusions and maybe you had gone on a few good dates that you just didn’t tell him about, and he was out of his mind if he thought you would ever feel the same way.

“Here you go, Sunshine,” He plopped back down next to you and passed you your bar, watching as you beamed at him widely, the inevitable result of his use of the nickname he’d dubbed you with a long time ago.

He desperately hoped you never realized the amount of affection truly behind that nickname.

Because how could he even begin to explain that you were literally sunshine in his dark life?

“Thank you,” You pulled the wrapper off, glancing at the movie and frowning. “Uhg. Benny promised the one was good! I’m starting to think he only recommends movies if they have at least one pair of tits.” You took the first bite of your ice cream bar while Frankie nearly choked on his own.

Amused as he was whenever you joked about your shared friends, Frankie also loved it when you swore. You were a goofy, happy little thing most of the time and curse words just seemed so out of character for you, pulling laughter from Frankie any time you caught him by surprise. You spent your days around gruff veterans and never seemed to lose any light, no matter how many real horror stories you heard. So whenever you managed to sound so uncharacteristically blunt, he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Benny has always been a tits man,” Frankie agreed, and you giggled. He tried to refocus on the movie then, but it hadn’t captured his interest in the least. After a moment, you spoke again and he had to work on not choking.

“What are you, Francisco?”

Your tone was playful, light; Frankie’s head jerked in surprise to gaze down at you and you wiggled your brows, going for laughs. You seemed completely unaware of the roaring in his ears, the visceral reaction your words brought forth within him. You and Frankie had shared intimate tidbits like that before with one another, often during nights at the bar with the Miller brothers. After a few drinks and usually, because his friends knew exactly how he felt about you and tried to steer the conversations into dangerous waters and watch Frankie try to save himself.

Only, Frankie’s friendship with you during the last few months had become...deeper. After the operation Santiago had brought Will, Benny, Tom and him in on, your relationship had evolved. Because that nightmare had reminded Frankie just how dark shit could get in the blink of an eye, and he’d had to do things he thought he was done with when he retired from service. Worse, because they were just civilians using Santi’s connections and intel to rob a drug lord.

And you had no idea what he’d gone through, how hard he’d fought just to get home to you because he couldn’t-wouldn’t-tell you. Yet you still patched him up, physically and emotionally, when he’d come home three weeks later than he’d promised. You held him as he cried and never became angry with him, never questioned him for answers as to why he’d come home with one less friend and a whole lot of mysterious trauma.

After that, Frankie realized he was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you.

So a simple, flirtatious little question? Yeah, it really managed to fuck Frankie up.

His friends had sensed the change as well, noticed how you held Frankie up when he felt like he couldn’t stand, how you comforted them all when they got home and cried along with them over Tom, over Santi not coming home even though you’d only met him once, briefly. You held strong for him at Tom’s funeral, which prompted the Miller brothers to tell Frankie in no uncertain terms that he simply could not let you slip through his fingers. If that fucking mission had taught them anything, it was that life was too short and you might as well live it to the fullest.

But the thing was, Frankie depended on you. Your friendship was the one real, good, pure thing in his life. And you gave it so willingly and unquestionably even after what he put you through that there was no fucking way he was risking it by telling you how he felt.

Christ, you even had a spot in his bathroom for your own toiletries, a favourite pillow on his bed for the nights you stayed, a fucking hook for your coat that he installed just a little lower than the other because you were so much smaller than Frankie.

And still, he wouldn’t look at what that might mean because he was afraid, and as much as you seemed to think nothing scared him, the truth was that a gory horror movie, or losing his friend, or even fucking live combat could never come close to the fear he felt when he pictured life without you.

You were Frankie’s Sunshine, and he never wanted to be alone in the dark again.

Aware he was still gazing down at you, Frankie found himself entirely at a loss for words. You didn’t seem to mind, simply waiting for him to respond while taking small bites of your treat. His cock twitched at the combination of your words, the innocent way you gazed at him, because Frankie hadn’t touched himself in quite some time and it didn’t take much to drive him up the wall.

His life with you had become remarkably domestic, routine. You often stayed multiple nights in a row at his place, preferring his company over being alone, and the shorter distance to your office. His spacious condo had one large four-piece bathroom, which meant there had been a few times where one of you was in the shower and the other came in, desperate to use the toilet before their bladder could burst. The shower had a thickly frosted glass enclosure, which provided plenty of visual privacy from both sides, the only indication that someone was in the shower was a very faint tint. This was never an issue until it was.

Exactly sixty-two days prior (not that Frankie was necessarily keeping count of passing time since his last orgasm), you had burst into the bathroom one afternoon unexpectedly. Returning early from your jog because you needed to pee, while Frankie stood in the shower. He listened to you tell him about a cute dog you’d seen outside his building. The thing was, Frankie had expected you to be gone longer, and you were in the middle of a three-day visit that had left him needy and horny because he hadn’t had time alone and yet you walked around in his fucking clothes, slept next to him in his bed, and he needed release.

He was grateful the tinted glass prevented you from having any idea what he was doing on the other side. And he had been close already when you came in, one hand fisting over his cock while the other pressed into the tile wall, and guilt sprang up in the back of his mind because he had been thinking of you as he touched himself. And you were just feet away, unaware and fuck if that didn’t lead him to the edge.

But it was when you had sat down to pee and he heard you give a little moan of relief that Frankie lost it, giving in to the most powerful-yet silent-orgasm he had had in fucking years. Rope after rope of cum, his legs violently shaking, and he’d wondered if he would pass out it felt so good. Then you’d flushed and continued speaking, washing your hands before telling him you were going to put on a pot of coffee. And the guilt Frankie felt was so immense that he vowed right there he wasn’t going to touch himself again. He cared for and respected you too much to reduce you to his graphic thoughts without your consent.

Sixty-two days later and you were testing his limits unknowingly.

“I, uh, I’m not sure,” He replied, keeping his eyes locked on yours. You frowned a little, kitten licking the ice cream absentmindedly. Frankie almost groaned, wondering if you were trying to kill him. “I guess, it depends on the person.” He was never, ever going to admit he was a you man, that your ass, your perfect tits, your pretty little mouth were everything he could dream and more.

He tried to shrug casually, as if indifferent.

“I guess it’s a funny question,” You said after a moment, laughing a little, “I mean, no one asks a straight woman if she’s an ass or cock girl!”

Frankie took a too-large bite of his treat, the cold painful and giving him instant brain freeze but it was just the distraction he needed because seeing your plump lips wrap around the word ‘cock’ might just kill him. He coughed attempting to laugh at your joke despite the brain freeze, and you leaned closer in concern.

“Sorry, are you-ah, shit!” A piece of your ice cream bar, which you’d moved to hold higher as you were checking on Frankie, fell off and landed on your chest, instantly staining the pale pink t-shirt. You hopped up with a noise of discontent, catching the fallen glob and hurrying into the kitchen to toss it in the sink. “Damn it!”

Frankie reached out and paused the movie, standing up and intending to follow you. He took two steps, adjusting his cap as he moved, and then looked up to where you stood at the sink, running your shirt under the faucet. Freezing, he took it the sight of you standing in his kitchen, your shirt removed to run under the water, leaving you wearing yoga pants and a simple white bra. For a moment, he just shut down and stared at you dumbfounded, before internal alarms started sounding and Frankie’s eyes were sweeping over your curves, his eyes zeroing in on the lack of support your bra had, your breasts perky and full and fuck, he had to look away.

He looked up at his ceiling at cleared his throat “You uh, want me to grab you a shirt?” His voice came out much deeper than he was expecting. He hoped you didn’t notice, though with only being able to see your profile even if he did dare to look at you, he’d never be able to tell.

“Can I borrow your big sweater, please?” You asked him, and Frankie nodded as he hurried away, down the hall to grab the sweater he knew you meant from his room. He would have laughed at your suggestion it was his sweater when he barely got to wear it himself anymore, but he was trying to remember how to breathe.

Once out of sight in his bedroom, Frankie took a few steadying breaths before grabbing the sweater off the end of his bed. He was going to subject himself to a cold shower after he handed this to you because you were staying the night again and he could not climb into a bed with you this worked up.

One of the reasons that you and Frankie just worked as friends were your opposite ways of navigating life. Where Frankie was a detailed, meticulous planner, you flitted from idea to idea spontaneously until something landed right, and you seemed to enjoy pulling him along with you as you followed those random whims. And he let you pull him because he trusted you so completely. Even if he would still make a new plan in the back of his mind, it still felt like he was taking chances he never would have without you leading the way.

Planning was Frankie’s way of keeping control. Of keeping himself, his squadmates, his loved ones, safe and secure. After Columbia, where every bit of the plan had gone completely to shit, he’d needed to let you lead more often just so he could feel grounded because he didn’t trust himself any longer. And you had been happy to lead, to test his limits by pushing aside any planning he attempted and pull him from his comfort zone. You had taught him how to grapple with his instincts and his desires, giving him real-world methods to cope, including breathing as he was now.

So focused as he was on his breathing, Frankie hadn’t noticed you had joined him in his room, standing just inside the doorway. If he had heard you, he wouldn’t have spun around abruptly and take two long strides before realizing how close you were, nearly knocking you over as he did. He dropped the sweater when he reached out with both hands to grab your upper arms and steady you, and then he met your gaze.

Frankie couldn’t say whether it was the heat of his hands on you so unexpectedly, or the way you each shivered at the electricity that seemed to pulse from him to you. Maybe it was everything combined, years of friendship, longing and pining and then almost dying in the middle of the jungle only to come home and have you climb into his lap and sob in relief that he was home, and a million other moments in between.

But when Frankie met your eyes there in the doorway of his bedroom, he knew his expression was giving him away completely.

You were looking at him with wide eyes, your mouth slightly open in surprise, whatever words you were going to say long since lost. And then he saw it, was looking right at you when your expression shifted, no longer the innocent, playful woman but instead, one who was suffering just as much as he was, longing and love and this hunger on your face he’d never seen before.

Without hesitating, without thinking or planning his next move, Frankie tugged you against him and leaned down to slot his lips over yours, taken aback when he saw you close your eyes and stretch your neck up to meet him. When your soft lips connected to his, Frankie trembled and groaned, loving the feel of your body pressed against him, the way you smelled like something tropical, how even with your perfect curves you were so small compared to him. Kissing you was everything he’d dreamed and more.

He wanted to deepen the kiss, taste you, but even as he thought it his mind jumped ten steps ahead and imagined you on his bed and he had to stop himself from getting carried away. With great effort he pulled back, first breaking the kiss and then taking several steps away, panting heavily.

“Frankie?” You were out of breath, confused, and deliciously flushed. He could see your nipples tightened against the thin fabric of your bra, goosebumps along your skin. Just the knowledge that he’d had that kind of effect on you was enough to make him want to cum in his pants right there.

“Cariño, I can’t, I’m sorry,” It was physically painful now, his hard length straining against his jeans, but he was more concerned about you, and how afraid he was to lose you. “I-I’ve wanted to do that but you gotta know, I love you. I’m in love with you.” He couldn’t meet your eyes, instead choosing to look at his feet and rubbing his hands over his face.

You approached him again, just as quietly, taking him by surprise when you spoke from just inches away. “Frankie, look at me,” It was an order, a tone you rarely used but that always worked on grounding him, and he realized you understood he was struggling right now not to break down, terrified he’d fucked up the best thing in his life in a moment of weakness. He reluctantly met your gaze, swallowing thickly as he did.

“I need you to hear me right now, okay? Tell me.”

“I’m listening,” He confirmed, heart about ready to beat out of his chest, “I can hear you.”

“Good,” And you closed the gap between your body and his, pressing your hands into his shoulders. Frankie caught his breath. “I want you to do that again, and I don’t want you to stop. Please, kiss me again, Frankie, because I love you too and I’ve never wanted anything more in my whole life than I want you-“

Frankie cut you off, a growl ripping from his chest before he gathered you roughly into his arms and kissed you again, this time quickly swiping his tongue across your lips for permission to enter, and you gladly parted them for him, moaning when his tongue licked into your hot mouth. He slid one hand to the back of your head, his fingers weaving into your hair carefully before he pressed your face to his, needy to taste you more, to get drunk on you. Fuck, you were perfect.

When you whimpered against him, the sound almost lost in his mouth, Frankie moved, walking you back until you hit the wall and crowding you there. He ran his free hand across the bare skin of your side, heat coursing through his veins when you shuddered at his touch, keening for him. He hadn’t realized he was rolling his hips against you, his erection pressed into your stomach until one of your small hands somehow slipped between your bodies and ghosted over the front of his jeans curiously.

“Fuck,” He broke the kiss, this time simply to lower his head and kiss along your jaw, down your neck, “Sunshine, I fucking love you, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, sweet girl.” He licked the column of your throat as he moved to the other side of your face before biting gently. The sound that tore from you was so filthy he groaned again, dropping both hands to grasp your forearms.

“Frankie, fuck, don’t stop,” You were tugging at his shirt, and despite your request, he had to move back slightly to pull it over his head, his bare chest revealed to you and even though you’d seen him shirtless before, the intimacy of this time, of finally being with you after so long, made him self conscious. If you saw anything you didn’t like, you didn’t show it. Instead, you bit your lip as your hands tentatively roamed across his chest, trailing over his stomach lightly enough that he shivered. When you spoke next, you yet again took Frankie completely by surprise, your brows furrowing as your expression became more than just hungry, “Mine.”

You whispered it, but to Frankie, it was like you’d just announced it to the entire world. The possessive edge wasn’t lost on him, no, it shot straight to his core and snapped the final cords of his restraint.

“I should...I need a minute, Sunshine,” Frankie pressed his hands into the wall on either side of you, “I haven’t done anything in a long time, haven’t even cum, I don’t think I can be as sweet to you as I want to be.”

Your lust-blown eyes met his, “Why haven’t you cum?” He could hear trouble in your voice now, the not so careful way you spoke pulling dangerous images in his mind as he stared down at you, his jaw tense. When Frankie made no reply, you pressed your pointer finger to the middle of his chest, your eyes never leaving his as you slowly, lightly, moved it downward, trailing his dark hair. “Is it because you think of me? Are you that amazing that you won’t even let yourself cum because you think it’s wrong to think about me like that?”

A strangled noise was all he could respond with, his hands pressing desperately into the wall. You knew him too well, understood exactly what he’d meant without having to ask. And then you kept talking, and honestly, Frankie was floored at how dirty you suddenly were for him.

“I have to admit, you’re better than me, Frankie,” That finger trailed so slowly, closing in on his belly button now, “I’m not good like you, I think about you all the time. Especially when I touch myself, usually after I’ve spent a ton of time with you and I can’t fucking wait for a second longer. Wanna know what I picture?”

His voice was husky, a warning if ever there was one, “What did you picture, sweet girl?”

You moaned, your finger now closing in on the waist of his jeans, “You, bending me over the couch, that one is a favourite. Or waking you up with a blowjob, swallowing everything you’ve got because I know you taste delicious,” You unbuttoned his jeans now, sliding the zipper down with care, “But I think the winner, the one that always makes me scream your name, is thinking about riding you, Frankie. Climbing in your lap and just-“

Fuck, fuck he couldn’t hold back. He’d told you he couldn’t and yet you wouldn’t shut up and all thoughts of making love to you gently were out the fucking window, Frankie instead growled deeply and grabbed you by the arms, all but throwing you on the bed. You were smirking up at him, your eyes dark with lust and shining with triumph.

“Fuck, sweet girl, you wanna scream my name?” He removed his pants and briefs in one motion, his cock spring up, hard and leaking precum and you licked your lips, giving a little whimper at the sight of him. Frankie grasped himself, pumping his hand a few times as he stood over you, “Like what you see?”

“Jesus, Frankie-you need a new nickname,” You said, eyes glued to his cock, “Catfish makes no sense when you’re walking around with that fucking bat-wait!” He froze in the middle of removing his ball cap, looking at you with concern to see you bite your lip a little shyly, “Keep it on. The hat.”

Warmth spread through him at your request and Frankie replaced the hat on his head, then dropped to his knees next to the bed, his hands running up your thighs as you writhed. At your waist, he grasped the tops of your yoga pants and tugged them down, enjoying the way your body arched when you lifted your hips to help him. The only item of clothing either of you wore now was you in your bra, and fuck were you a sight.

Frankie gazed up at you from the floor in awe, his eyes roving over you hungrily as you watched him, propped up on your elbows. He started kissing up your thighs then, pushing your legs apart and spreading you, his hands kneading your flesh. “Sweet girl, you have such a pretty pussy, better than I imagined.” He moaned, biting into the soft flesh of your inner leg and drawing a whimper from you, “I can fucking smell you already, so wet and ready for me, fuck.”

“Oh god Frankie, please, touch me. I can’t wait anymore, I need you!”

“Told you,” Frankie climbed over top of you, his legs on either side of your body as he reached down and dragged you further onto the bed, his show of strength making you whimper, “It’s been a while. And you walk around here wearing my fucking clothes all the time. You don’t know what you do to me, Sunshine.” He grunted as he repositioned himself between your legs, his hands grasping the backs of them to haul your body against his, his cock pressed painfully against your thigh, “Gonna fuck you, sweet girl.” And with one careful, quick motion he thrust forward and each of you cried out at the pleasure of Frankie filling you.

“Frankie! Oh!” Your legs wrapped around him instantly, urging him as deep as possible as he split you open so deliciously. Once he was fully seated within you, Frankie dropped forward, propping himself on one arm, and cupped your face with his free hand. He looked into your eyes as he started a fast, hard pace, thrusting deep and reeling over how wet you were for him, how perfectly your velvet folds wrapped around him.

“Fuck, cariño, you’re fucking tight,” He grunted, kissing you sloppily as you threw your arms around him, hugging him close, “So tight for me, so perfect making those pretty noises, fuck.” Frankie groaned when you clenched around him as he spoke, “You like it when I tell you how perfect you are?”

“Ye-yeah Frankie, I love it. Oh, fuck!”

You were trembling now, squeezing him each time he whispered in your ear. Frankie kept up a string of praises and filthy words, taking note of the ones that had you gripping him extra hard.

He’d always had a casual enjoyment of dirty talk, nothing over the top, easy enough to shut off if it wasn’t enjoyed by the other person. But something about talking like this to you had his balls tightening that much faster, his thrusts becoming brutal.

Still murmuring in your ear, Frankie lowered his hand to your clit, experimentally rubbing, circling and pinching it to see what you liked. He was going to cum soon, and he’d be damned if you didn’t cum too. Though, as Frankie settled on circling you, both feeling and hearing how this was definitely how you liked it, his worries quickly dissipated when your hips were suddenly bucking up to meet his and you were screaming his name.

“That’s it, let go for me sweet girl,” Frankie’s thrusts were becoming increasingly sloppy as he neared the edge, “Are you-fuck, where should I?” He couldn’t even form a sentence now, he was so close and you were squeezing around him so perfectly as you closed in on your orgasm.

You understood though, your eyes meeting his as you pulled yourself together enough to reply, “Frankie, cum inside me please, please fill me up, pleasepleaseplease-“

“Fuck! H-here you go, perfect little thing!” He roared, dropping his weight over your and growling as he spilled inside you, as you bucked and writhed beneath him and screamed out, toppling over the edge and into oblivion with him. He heard himself cursing in Spanish as he experienced the most intense orgasm of his entire life, his hips slowing to continue to draw it out, still more cum filling you and you were a wreck under him, shivering and moaning.

“Yes, Frankie, yes.” You whimpered, your hands sliding into his hair-knocking his cap off-and tugging at his curls.

It took several minutes to recover, though Frankie had enough awareness to shift his weight so that you could breathe properly. Still hard inside you, he began to kiss you all over, peppering your face and neck before biting a few more marks into your neck, his tongue laving out to soothe. He enjoyed the way you whimpered when overstimulated, twitching when he pinched your nipple over your bra, squeaking his name when he pressed himself as deep inside you as he could one last time before pulling out.

Frankie collapsed on the bed next to you, then quickly tugged you into his arms and kissed the top of your head. His fear began to bubble back up now that the haze of passion was clearing, and he was starting to question every single moment that had occurred since you'd asked him if he was a tits man or an ass man.

What had he done? Was he going to lose you after this? Lose his entire reason for living for one amazing orgasm?

But it was like you could reach his mind, as only a few minutes had passed and then, with a little groan, you pulled yourself up so that you were on your elbow, looking down at Frankie. You took one look at his face and frowned, “That was quicker than I thought.”

Frankie stared at you, “What was?”

“I guessed it would take more than two minutes for you to start regretting this.”

Sighing, he pulled himself up, sitting on the edge of the bed. You followed, but crossed your legs and shuffled next to him. “I meant what I said, I love you,” Frankie explained, rubbing a hand over his face, “I love you so much, so fucking much it hurts. But the idea of messing this up is terrifying me, Sunshine. I don’t think I could lose you, I think it would kill me.”

“Frankie,” You crawled over him, straddling his hips and settling into his lap. You cupped his face firmly, looking into his eyes. Your expression was open, warm and vulnerable and a little incredulous, “You aren’t going to lose me, not ever. I want this-I want you, and everything you come with, okay?”

Though his heart was soaring, Frankie still worried, shaking his head, “I come with a lot of dark baggage, sweet girl. Not to mention the age difference.”

“Jesus, Frankie, do you really think I don’t know what I’m saying when I tell you I’m all in?” You asked him, not waiting for an answer before continuing. “I love you. Can I tell you when I knew?”

Frankie peered at you, his hands coming to hold your waist as he nodded.

“The boys trip.” You stated, using the term each of you agreed upon when referencing his three-week disappearance to Columbia. “When you first left, I knew something was off but I trust you, so I didn’t question it. But then after a few days, with no word from you, I started to really worry,” You paused, momentarily lost in thought, eyes dark now with the painful memory of his absence and the little information you’d come to learn about it since. “Did I ever tell you I booked a ticket to Columbia?”

This caught Frankie off guard because you most certainly had not told him that, “What, are you serious?”

“Yep. Booked it for the day after you ended up calling me. I don’t know what I was planning to do, but I knew you were there and, even if you were dead, I needed to be as well.” You stroked your thumbs over his cheeks, “After you called, and I knew you were alive and coming home, I realized that the way you said it meant you almost didn’t make it home, and I knew you weren’t saying something. I hung up and sat in my room for a minute and it occurred to me that you could have died and I would have never seen you again. That was when I knew it wasn’t just a crush.”

Heavy emotion filled his chest, rendering him unable to immediately respond. Frankie gathered you close and stood, clutching you against him and carrying you into the bathroom. He set you on the toilet before turning to his massive soaker tub and switching it on, fully intending on spending the rest of the night in there with you. When he turned around, you were carefully tidying yourself up. With a grunt, he grabbed a washcloth and ran it under warm water before kneeling in front of you and taking over.

“Why didn’t you say anything? After I came home, I mean.” His tone was light, as he didn’t mean to come across as accusing you of anything-it’s not like he had said anything to you. Good-natured as you were, you simply smiled at him, a little sadly.

“Too afraid, right at first,” You admitted, your eyes fluttering shut as he took care of you with the warm washcloth, “But when you came home you were a fucking wreck, Frankie. You lost your friend, Santi didn’t come back with you either, and Will and Benny had the same expression on their faces whenever I saw them. You saw some shit, did some shit, I don’t know and I’ll be real here, I don’t need you to ever feel like you should tell me what exactly happened. But after the first day you were back, I could see how much it changed you and I thought it would be selfish to tell you how I felt and add more emotional bullshit onto your plate.”

Frankie continued to kneel in front of you after tossing the washcloth into his laundry hamper. For a moment, the only sound in the room that of the tub filling. He stared into your eyes, seeing only how truthful you were being, how incredibly kind. He had never realized how completely he could love someone until he met you.

“I thought about you the entire time I was gone.” He admitted before carefully standing and checking the temperature of the water. He added a bath salt mixture that you’d bought a while ago, claiming it was a gift when really you were the one to use them, locking yourself away for hours to soak because you didn’t have a tub at your place. He shut the water off and held his arms out for you, which you eagerly stepped into and allowed him to guide you both into the water.

Once settled, your back against his chest, you replied. “Your face when you came home, I’ll never forget your expression.” His legs were on either side of you, and you began to lazily trace along his right thigh as both of you fell into your painful memories of his ill-fated trip.

Frankie sighed sadly, “I’m sorry I ever left, Sunshine. I never should have left you,” He tightened his grip around your waist under the water, one hand spread flat across your stomach, “It was just...fuck, everything went bad straight from the start. We had a moment of luck and then it was like nothing could go right. And I don’t know, I’m fucking gutted that Tom is gone, but it’s worse that Santiago won’t come home. He’s like my brother, and he blames himself for everything.”

Frankie knew you had no idea what he meant. You knew he and the guys were former special ops that served together, but when Santi had asked him to go to Columbia Frankie had only told you the basics-the country, who he would be with, that he might not have a lot of chances to call, and that it would be about a week. Santi had picked him up and you had been there to see him off that morning, and his friend had casually referenced a ‘boys trip’ while speaking with you as Frankie loaded his shit in the back.

Of course, you weren’t stupid. You worked with the VA, met a lot of former service members who ended up contracting out their skills after retiring or leaving due to injuries or lifestyle changes. And you knew Frankie, understood him like no one ever had before, which is why as he gave you further details you didn’t flinch or freeze up, you simply listened. When Frankie had gone quiet for a while, you eventually turned to gaze up at him over your shoulder, your cheek on his chest.

“From what I could tell,” You began slowly, your words cautious, “Whatever you did, what happened, you all put it aside to get Tom’s body home to his family. And considering the type of work Santi was doing out there for three years before he came here to ask you guys to join him, I figure you all must have almost died a few times each, probably took out some terrible men along the way.”

Frankie had to bite back his sob, turning his face away from you to stare, ashamed and remorseful at the wall. You reacted quickly, pulling yourself up and turning over, your naked body pressing over his as you grabbed Frankie’s head and gently turned him to look at you. “Baby,” You cooed, your eyes shining with concern, “Don’t do that, don’t hide from me.”

That was all it took. Frankie let the sob out and the relief of it was instantaneous, so much so that he let out another, then another, all while you held him and murmured soft, sweet words and pressing chaste kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, along his jaw. It didn’t last long, he’d cried so many times over everything that had gone down, but this was the first time you had revealed you sort of had an idea of what they had been up to, and you were still supporting him and loving him and it was all very overwhelming.

A short time later, Frankie wiped his eyes and shot you a grateful look, hoping you could sense how much he appreciated you. You settled into the water again, knees pulled to your chest as you faced him and trailed your hands comfortingly up and down his chest. “Sunshine,” He whispered, catching one hand and holding it against his heart, “I love you, thank you for being so fucking incredible.”

He tugged you closer, joining you in laughing when a little water sloshed up over the edge of the tub as you landed against him. You snuggled close and kissed him, your fingers carding into his curls and holding him steady. When Frankie took you to bed that night, there were no pillows between your bodies, not a shred of clothing separating you. He held you close, falling asleep faster than he had in years.

And for the first time in Frankie’s life, he felt whole and complete, like nothing could ever bring him into darkness again, not when he had you, literal sunshine, lighting his existence.

PART TWO

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Epilogue

Summary: You and Ransom attend the launch of his book and the cover closes on your story.

Warnings: Bad language, Mature (NSFW, 18+) NON-CON situations, kidnap, violence. Blood. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER…READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED…YOU HAVE BEENWARNED.

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: The end! I can’t believe all this span from @jtargaryen18’s Halloween Challenge last year. I hope you have enjoyed his as much as I have.

Word Count: 3.6k

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK series so don’t @me if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18 get off my blog!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 7

The town car and it's driver took you to whatever swanky hotel Ransom and his publishers had decided upon, you not caring the slightest inwardly, outwardly only half paying attention. You glanced out the window watching the lights of downtown pass by as your husband of merely three weeks held your hand and rubbed the back of it with his thumb.

It was a warm July evening, the two of you dressed to the nines in formal attire. Ransom had insisted the launch be an invite only, formal event. Therefore, he was dressed in a two-piece suit, black of course, with a crisp white button down, silken black tie, and you, you looked like an ice queen's slutty sister. The powder blue silk dress you wore tied together with thin straps on each shoulder, your feet already hurting in your nude six inch sandals. Your free hand tapped a neatly manicured finger over your clutch that matched your shoes. A delicate white gold and diamond tennis bracelet adorned your wrist whilst the necklace you'd been gifted at Christmas hung around your neck. You wore your hair the way he said he loved it, in a ponytail full of waves and wisps framing your face.

After the incident on Valentine’s Day, you’d spent another two weeks in the confines of the basement. All luxuries removed and you were used and abused in exactly the way you had been when Ransom had first taken you, until he’d once more sucked the fight out of you. Only this time you didn’t have the strength to find it again.

You played the part you’d been cast in his sick little fantasy and became totally passive to his whims. You let him fuck you which, in all honesty, wasn’t an entirely unpleasant situation as he knew his way around your body and it felt good. You had given up denying it, and for the moments he was teasing those carnal reactions out of you, you escaped, let yourself imagine you were with someone who you wanted. And by keeping him sweet, you fooled him into thinking you were content. And things settled down, you had that halfway to normal life that you’d achieved before you discovered his manuscript.

But it was bullshit. A means to an end. And you deserved a fucking Oscar.

He’d had the audacity to propose to you, too. In a restaurant. Surrounded by people. He asked you the question, like you had a fucking choice.

Angry, desperate tears had filled your eyes as you’d simply gaped at him, tears the deluded cunt took for you being overwhelmed with happiness. With a smile he slipped the gaudily large diamond on your finger, sealing your fate.

It weighed as heavy on your hand as the grief for your lost life, and the despair at your situation did in your heart.

You’d had a small wedding. Attended simply by your parents and sister. He sent an invite to his mother and father but they didn’t show up. Your dad walked you down the aisle and as you walked towards the man you hated with every breath in your body, your father kissed your cheek and asked you if you were sure you wanted to do this. And no, of course you didn’t, but what could you do?

There was no way out.

“You look as gorgeous tonight as you did on our wedding day.” Ransom’s voice slightly startled you and you turned to face him.

You smiled at him, the smile you knew he wanted to see, as he placed a soft kiss to your cheek before doing the same to your hand, his lips ghosted over the top of the obscene rock and matching band on your finger which caught the lights of the city, sparkling with all the ferocity of a supernova.

Before you needed to reply with some half assed compliment back, the town car stopped as the driver got out and opened Ransom's door.

"Wait here," he instructed and walked around with the driver on the other side, escorting you out the minute your own door opened.

Flashbulbs fired off in your eyes, no doubt the press there for some absolutely ridiculous notion that this book was anything but its true nature of terror and disgust.

Ransom’s hand pressed into the base of your back as he guided you along in front of him, various members of the press calling his name, and you heard the excited shouts from some as they spotted the bands on both yours and Ransom’s hands, positively shrieking as they asked when you’d gotten married.

The headlines flashed in your mind now, 'Grandson of the Great Harlan Thrombey Releases First Suspense Novel'. 'One of Boston's Most Notorious and Eligible Bachelors is Strictly Off The Market' . 'Trust Fund Playboy Sinks His Bunny'.

It made you want to puke.

In fact, as the press line faded and you stepped foot into the lobby, you swallowed back the bile forcing its way up. A tray with champagne flutes passed you by and you immediately snagged one.

When Ransom had been distracted for a brief moment, you quickly glanced around and swallowed back the entire flute of the bubbly drink. Delightfully enjoying the brief taste and quick head rush it gave you.

The further you walked into the event, his hand still against your bare back, the louder it grew and the more trays of champagne and appetizers were floating by.

As typical, the two of you were fashionably late so, you had little chance to take part in any nibble or further, a drink, because the supposed "man of the hour", more like terror of life, was due to give a speech.

His agent pulled the two of you aside and made mention that it was time for Ransom to greet his guests. He pressed a sickening sweet kiss to your lips and confidently took to the small podium atop a small stage nearby.

“First and foremost, thank you to everyone who came out tonight. But more importantly, thank you to my beautiful wife, without you Sweetheart, this wouldn't be possible.”

The smile he flashed you was loaded with meaning as the pair of you looked at one another, his eyes shining with the depraved private understanding you shared.

And you hated him then just about as much as you ever had.

Excited muttering spread around the room as he had knowingly referred to you as his wife. It was the first time he’d announced your marriage to the world but, as he smiled and held his hands up, nodding smugly and confirming whatever people were asking him, you felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of nausea. To everyone else it was a sweet dedication, to you it was a sickening truth. This book was based on what he’d done to you. What he was saying was literal truth.

And the fact that the people currently applauding whatever he had said would never realise the true nature of those words on the pages of his book made you want to vomit in your handbag.

Applause rang around the room and you realised everyone was turned in your direction. Drawing your shoulders back you stood tall and once more fixed that fake smile on your face before Ransom cleared his throat and began to speak again.

But you didn't listen, you drowned him out, the sound of his voice distant and murky like Charlie Brown's teacher. You allowed you mind to think of anything but the present, other than the fact that these people were in unknowing full support of the hell you'd been through the last nine months.

Eventually a loud, rapturous applause signalled the end of his speech and he stepped back, smiling and then turned to the man from his publishers who shook his hand furiously, before the pair of them posed for photos.

That was when he beckoned you to him, looking at you in such a way that made your skin crawl and your teeth seethe with each breath. This bastard expected a photo op from you above all this, commemorating this disaster.

On autopilot you headed towards him, indifference obedience now your specialty and his arm curled possessively round your waist, fingers splaying on your hip. You posed and smiled as the flashes went off, but as you stole a glance at the large, ornate clock on the wall, you suddenly felt your head beginning to swim.

Seeing a convenient way out of this bullshit, you made sure to falter just a little, placing your hand to your chest. It caused Ransom's attention to turn to you.

"Sweetheart, are you alright?"

“I’m feeling a little light headed and warm.” You looked up at him. “Could we maybe get some air?”

"Sure, yeah," he looked to his agent and they nodded towards a side door in the room.

His arm still round you, playing the doting husband, he led you towards it and opened it with a flourish, allowing you to step out in front of him.

You emerged into the alley at the side of the building and took a huge gulp of air, steadying yourself.

"Y/N, what's wrong?"

You were warm, flushed, your skin tingling as the now cooling air hit your slightly damp skin, your nipples perking at the temperature change were visible through the silk dress, and you didn’t miss the heated glance he gave them as you spoke. "I, I don't know. I think it's all the commotion."

“You do look a little flushed.” His eyes moved back to yours and he studied you for a moment, his large hands gently cupping your face as he kissed your forehead before his lips pressed to yours. “Wanna take a walk?”

Despite the fact you really couldn’t walk far in the ridiculous shoes you were in, you nodded. Anything to avoid going back in there and listening to all those sycophants kissing his ass.

He took your hand and started walking slowly down the alley. You were mid-way down when a man jumped out from behind the dumpster. You screamed and instinctively Ransom jumped to the side, pulling you slightly behind him.

“Give me the money and the jewellery, no one gets hurt.” The man spoke gruffly and you felt Ransom draw himself up to his full height as he glared at the dirty, dishevelled man, disdain on his face.

“Eat shit.”

“Ransom, just... please give him what he wants.” Your voice trembled as your body shook, your right hand already removing the rings on your left.

“I’d listen to your pretty wife, if I were you.” The man spoke as he reached into his pocket and when he withdrew his hand you swallowed at the unmistakable flash of metal.

“Fuck, Ransom, he’s got a knife!” You clutched his arm. “Please just give it to him!”

"Fuck, no," he started reaching for his phone but the man lunged toward him.

In the melee that followed, you were thrown to the side, your rings clanging to the floor somewhere along with your clutch, your palms and knees scraping painfully on the floor. By the time you’d pushed yourself up, you saw the man scrambling to his feet, Ransom’s watch and wallet in his hand. He turned to look at you and you backed away, stumbling once more to the ground letting out a blood curdling scream as he advanced. He stopped, picked up your rings and your bag, before he turned, bolting up the alley and rounding the corner, disappearing from sight.

"Y/N," the croaking voice came from your husband as he staggered towards you, a deep red seeping through his white dress shirt, his one hand attempting to stave off the bleeding. The other, cradling his phone. But he didn't get more than a few steps as he collapsed nearby.

"Ransom!" You shrieked and heels be damned, you ran to him, looking around, "help!"

"Call 9-1-1, Baby," he begged, trying to thrust the phone into your hand and you leaned over him.

With a jittery hand you swiped over to the emergency call option and hit the first two digits before you glanced around again and hesitated, rising slowly to your feet.

“What...” Ransom’s chest heaved as he looked up at you, his face white with shock as you turned the phone in your hand and shrugged.

“Yeah, you see, I could call for help but...” with that you tossed his phone to the hard ground and crunched it with your stupidly high heel, rotating your foot to make double sure, the glass and metal grinding between the stiletto and the tarmac. “Whoops, looks like it got smashed in the fight.” You gave a little chuckle. “And of course, mine was in my bag which he took. Isn’t that ironic? I mean the first time you permit me to use it for something other than to contact you or my mom, I can’t.” You made a little tutting noise. “Guess I’ll just have to keep yelling and hope someone hears.”

With that you turned and screamed, a frantic yell. “Please, someone help us! Please, he’s been stabbed, call 9-1-1.” You slowly dropped back to a kneel, ignoring the sting of your grazed knees and smirked. “Dammed, I really am good at this acting shit, don’t you think, handsome?”

Ransom coughed a harsh and wet cough. His chest heaving raggedly as he struggled between catching a breath and bleeding out.

“Y/N...” he spluttered, “you...please...”

"So many criminal junkies in Boston, Sweetheart. Plenty who will take the fall for a little hit,” you emphasised the 't' of the last word as you spoke the very same line that he had delivered to you months ago, the threat he had held over you and used to keep you in check whenever you stepped over that line.

His eyes widened further as the realisation set in, you could see his brain working and it gave you a buzz, a sense of satisfaction to know that he understood this was your doing.

You wanted the last thing this bastard thought about to be how you were responsible for his death. But more so, his narcissistic and sociopathic tendencies be damned, you wanted him to completely understand exactly how it was his fault.

And given the way he was bleeding and struggling for breath, you didn’t have long.

Another scream for help flew from your mouth as you pressed one hand on top of his which were now both clutched to the wound in his stomach, the other brushing his hair back slightly as you smiled down at him.

“I told you when you threw me back in the basement that the way you treat people would come back to haunt you.” You gave a little shrug. “And, when you told the homeless guy looking in the bins on collection day a few months back to eat shit and get a job, well, he took it kinda personally. He didn’t even blink when I asked how much it would take to knock you off.”

"You..." choking on blood, "vicious..." choke,

At that you gave another loud hysteric yell for help before you turned your head back to look at him.

“See, once upon a time I thought you’d changed. But here’s the thing, a person like you doesn’t change, Hugh. You’re incapable of love. You take what you want when you want for no reason other than it pleases you.”

Another scream for help, and this time you could hear someone answering and a lot of yells as people started running towards you.

“Well, now I’ve taken your life like you took mine.” You bent down, your forehead pressing to his as you smirked. His arm reached up to grab you, his blood soaked hand curling over your cheek and side of your neck. "And you know what? It feels good."

His palm was warm and slick against your skin and his eyes blazed with anger as his fingers squeezed. You knew he was desperately trying to hurt you but you felt nothing. You smiled, as you placed a soft kiss to his lips, your words whispered as you pulled back ever so slightly. “Karma’s a bitch, and so am I. See you in hell.”

As the fake tears started to pool in your eyes once more, you allowed your lip to tremble for distraught emphasis. Blood was now trickling out of Ransom's mouth, along down his ear and to the tarmac. You pulled back just a little so as to see his eyes. You wanted to watch him choke on his own blood as he took that final breath. You started sputtering words incoherently as you amped up the hysteria, hearing the footfalls now just behind you.

He didn’t even make it to the hospital.

Hugh Ransom Drysdale was pronounced dead at 21:05 hours on Friday 17th July where he lay in a pool of his own blood, in that dark alleyway down the side of the hotel.

Leaving you a widow.

And free.

***10 months later***

It was as simple as it sounded, closing your eyes and pointing to a spot on a map. Your finger ended up on Boulder.

Colorado was far enough from the last year or so of your life that you could feel comfortable. You'd researched it, finding it to be something worth interest. Affordable. Breath-taking scenery. Incredible life altering activities and quaint little towns. The summers were supposedly warm but rarely did the temperature rise above ninety-five, the winters were supposedly very cold, dry and windy; rarely dropping below six degrees with partly cloudy skies year round.

The months following Ransom’s death had been as draining as humanly possible. The investigation had involved countless interviews before the police and authorities settled for it being a mugging gone wrong. But then there had been the months of wrangling and private law cases his parents had attempted to bring against you to prevent you getting his money, despite the probate law being fairly simple. You were married. He left no will. It was yours by default.

Eventually, when the Drysdales had exhausted every last option, they were forced to concede and that was when you made the decision to leave, a decision of which your parents were highly encouraging. They practically talked you into this whole thing to begin with. Helping you leave your nightmares behind. Despite them not suspecting anything at first, you weren't blind to the fact that things still had not sat right with them. You knew they had suspected a level coercion, that maybe you'd had a manic episode of mental illness, but you never had divulged the full details and by the time he was gone, they hadn't cared. Your relationship with them had strengthened and healed and that was what you cared about.

Now, you were newly nestled in Boulder with a great condo downtown, a stone’s throw from the historic district that was filled with cliché shops and bars. Whilst you didn’t need the money, you’d taken a job working in the media department of a private law firm. It was a far cry from your journalist days, but it suited you just fine.

The more distance you put between who you were now and who you had been, the better.

You were at peace.

The May evening air was temperate as you crossed the street and opened the door to the designated bar in which you were meeting your new group of friends, mostly gathered from work, for a girl's night out. You’d been held up a little in the office so they were already waiting at a table. You waved and gestured to the bar, indicating you were going to get a drink.

As you sidled up to the wooden counter, you were jolted a little into a man to your right. You turned to apologise and gave a little double take. You recognised him instantly. But you didn’t want to make that obvious and cause him to feel uncomfortable. You knew how it felt, to have everyone looking at you, hushed whispered comments as you went about your business, people trying to figure out if you were who they thought you were.

That was part of the reason you had moved, and you sure as hell weren’t about to subject the man next to you to the same, uncomfortable experiences.

Recovering quickly, you hastily apologised and he smiled.

“Don’t worry about it.” His Boston accent was evident and you smiled.

“I miss that accent.”

The man chuckled, his warm blue eyes creasing slightly as he looked at you. “You from Boston, too?”

“Concord.”

“Newton.” He replied, “well, I lived there anyway, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Should I? Know that, I mean?”

He studied you for a moment, and you kept your face as passive as possible. You could tell he knew that you knew, but you gave a shrug none-the-less and he smiled, a gorgeous smile that lit up his entire face, perfect white teeth flashing from beneath an immaculately groomed beard, as he extended his arm towards you.

“Andy Barber.” His fingers gently brushed the back of your knuckles, as you shook his hand, his grip warm and gentle.

“Oh, of course.” You smiled back. “One of our attorneys.”

“Our?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m Y/N. I work in the media department. I mean I only started a few weeks ago but...”

“Well, in that case, I’m pleased to meet you, Y/N, and welcome aboard.” His smile didn’t falter as he let go of your hand and gestured to the bar. “Can I get you a drink?”

You paused for a moment before you took a deep breath.

And nodded.

“Sure, that’d be great.”

******

Sequel: Follow Andy and reader’s story in Consciousness Of Guilt.

#murder he wrote #dark ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom x reader #dark ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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