#in regards to windows running like shit

[pumpkinstep]

I use this software.

It's an easy way to turn off settings in windows that you'd normally have to put a bit of effort in to find. Settings like trackers and a bunch of other stuff.

It works for windows 10

Revo Uninstaller is a great program for force uninstalling programs you couldn't uninstall otherwise. Like Microsoft Edge.

If you use it to uninstall edge and its not finding the program when you search for it, you'll have to open edge, then use the target mode which allows you to select desired programs manually.

target the opened Microsoft edge window and it'll start the process.

The cool thing about this program is that is does a hard uninstall, completely wipes out everything related to the program and it's stuff in the registry.

might I add, if you uninstall Microsoft edge, it will remove copilot as well. I've done this and it's been a few months since then I think. I've updated my laptop a few times and it hasn't come back. though if you want to avoid edge from coming back with an update, here's a vid on the more indepth process of its removal.

Something I usually do is go into my app manager or program manager window and read through what all is installed. I delete anything I didn't install myself and doesn't have a purpose. If you're not tech savvy, have a web browser open to search for programs you don't recognize. if it looks necessary, leave it alone. Usually windows is pretty good about not letting you uninstall important programs but it's good to play it safe.

Doing this whenever you notice a sudden dip in pc performance is a great way to catch unwanted programs that may have slipped in with something you downloaded recently. Paired with a good anti malware program like Malwarebytes, youre pretty much golden.

last tip.

It's a pretty good practice to Optimize and Defrag your harddrive regularly. It basically does a clean sweep of your harddrive by deleting unnecessary files.

Here's a link to instructions on how to do that. When you set about this process, you should have an option of to what degree the clean up is done (meaning what files is targeted), how regularly this process happens.

It usually deletes residual files, stuff in your downloads folder, trash folder, and stuff like that. you'll get to see what all is there when you do it before you confirm the clean up.

After doing all that, you've got yourself a nice and clean pc that should work better than it did before.

All the programs I linked to are free and can be used without paying for them.

I've been super into computers since I was kid so these are pretty solid methods of pc maintainance on the virtual side. If you have a proper box pc, and I guess if you're feeling brave enough to open up your laptop, don't forget to clean use an air duster to clean out your consul.

I promise you, nothing will help more than a clean pc and cooling fans.

i thought my laptop was on its last leg because it was running at six billion degrees and using 100% disk space at all times and then i turned off shadows and some other windows effects and it was immediately cured. i just did the same to my roommate's computer and its performance issues were also immediately cured. okay. i guess.

so i guess if you have creaky freezy windows 10/11 try searching "advanced system settings", go to performance settings, and uncheck "show shadows under windows" and anything else you don't want. hope that helps someone else.

[pinkprettycure]

i didnt realize there were so many ppl who like, stubbornly were still on win7. and i gotta ask at that point why not just jump to linux 😭 like I get not wanting to deal with modern windows just why r u still on an OS from 2009???

[foldingfittedsheets]

The location of the sex shop I worked was a haven for spiders. We had tall ceilings and skylights and unused storage rooms. It was a spider paradise. We quickly sussed out which coworkers to call on in case of emergency. The Dorito lady was a solid ally for spiders but absolutely petrified of moths.

But there’s actually a hierarchy of fear. Most people don’t realize. The person least afraid is the one forced to deal with the bug in question. If coworker B was scared, but coworker A was petrified, well coworker B was gonna have to screw their courage to the sticking place because by the law of fear they were the most competent person on scene.

Thus enters Rick. Rick first appeared in the back storage room. This room doubled as a second bathroom so we went in on a semi frequent basis. The girl who’d gone in to pee shot out again gibbering with fear about the biggest spider she’d ever seen had just run across her boot.

We sicced Dorito lady on it. She returned, shaking her head. “He was squatting on a power cord where it plugs in. I couldn’t get a clean shot at Rick.”

“Rick?”

She shrugged. “Spiders that big need a name. Seemed like a Rick.”

Rick, freshly named, became a store menace. I’d normally say this was probably a case of multiple spiders being mistaken for one but everyone who encountered him swore up and down there could be no mistake. This spider was massive, fast, and distinct. A gladiator among arachnids.

I never encountered Rick. His exploits grew in the telling but the theme was consistent: no one could kill him. He’d hunker in places that no one could reach and dart away when a strike missed. He also chased off the more faint hearted, charging them in bold dashes. There could be no benign cup transplant to remove Rick from the premise. He was not leaving.

The saga of Rick continued for two months. Not seeing him was almost worse, a fearful wariness when going to the bathroom or stepping into quieter areas. I waited with dread, hoping my eventual run in would have me on shift with Dorito lady to protect me.

It was not to be. There was a girl the same who hated my one moment of singing that was absolute piss-herself scared of spiders. She’d slam straight into a panic attack and couldn’t think or speak. And so it was that one night on shift, I heard her scream.

It was unmistakable. I was in the front window turning off the open sign. Through an obstacle course of mannequins and lingerie I performed an acrobatic sprint out of the window, darting up to find her quivering at the front counter, fully crying. I radiated calm at her and said, “Just point.”

I knew it was Rick. Our destinies were intertwined and we had always been pulled toward the inexorable battle that was drawing nigh.

Her hand raised to point to our sandwich board sign at the front of the store. So Rick had the metaphorical high ground. There was no quick easy strike on the slanted signs surface.

I armed myself and marched into battle, my knuckles white on my chosen weapon. I would do this, because I must. Because there was no one else. And because I wanted to close and go home.

I saw Rick immediately and I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen a bigger spider since. Outside of a tarantula, he was truly the most massive spider I’ve ever beheld outside a zoo enclosure or terrarium.

We regarded each other. Rick launched off the sign toward me and I stomped my foot reflexively, making him pause in his charge. Then I raised my weapon. Anything else, I believe Rick could have evaded. He’d bested most of the store thus far. But I had chosen chemical warfare.

I doused the shit out of that spider with cleaning spray, stunning him with a barrage of chemicals. While he froze, choking on the unexpected deluge, I dropped a paper towel over him. My foot came down.

I felt his exoskeleton crunch and I can feel it still to this day. The shattering was as of bones and I truly mourned that we had been forced into senseless war. If only he has cleaved tighter to the shadows. If only he’d crawled willing into a cup for relocation. I released a full body shudder of horror, fear, and adrenaline as I stepped back.

I took several quivering breaths. I donned a veneer of calm and tidied the battlefield of it’s corpse then went to reassure my coworker that all was well, while internally I still shook.

You fought well, Rick. I hope you sired many more monstrous children to haunt retail workers in the years to come. Rest in valor, you monster.

[traveler-at-heart]

Hot and Cold

Summary: Natasha's playing with fire when a new resident joins the Compound.

A/N: Queen of Angst @esposadejoyhuerta asked for the fluffiest, sweetest, tooth rotting story ever and I was happy to deliver, even after they changed their request to inclue jealousy BECAUSE no one can stop me. Love ya, baby!

Another day, another mission. Since last week’s mess, it seems like Fury’s been finding ways to torture the team.

Yes, at the end they were able to retrieve the drive with the data of over twenty enhanced individuals. But so did HYDRA. And now the Avengers are on a race against time to locate them before the Russians do.

Natasha walks to Fury’s office, not excited at the prospect of risking her life to recruit people who didn’t really want to be found.

“Yes?” she says as soon as Fury turns around. He hands over a very heavy binder. “Is this their criminal record?”

Great, a weirdo with a troubled past. Natasha might not make it out alive.

“No, that’s their academic stuff. She’s a scientist. Crazy smart” Fury explains. “Have you heard of Bio-Thermokinesis?”

“No, not really”

“The ability to manipulate the body temperature of oneself and/or others” he recites, having learned the concept just now.

“That doesn’t sound so bad” Natasha says, closing the folder. It’s certainly better than the last few people she had to chase down.

“Yeah, until she induces a heat stroke or hypothermia” Fury scoffs. “We’ve been failing at recruiting these people. It would be nice to have a win. Plus, she could work in the lab with Banner and Stark”

“I don’t think Nerd Club is worth one’s freedom” Natasha mutters, skimming through the file.

“Well, either way, this mission doesn’t requires strenght. It requires charm. You up for it or should I send Hill?”

As Natasha gets to the picture of the target, she looks up.

“I’ll handle it”

—

As usual, you’re carrying more than you can possibly handle. Books, your laptop, a sandwich from the cafeteria, and correspondence from the main office.

By the time you manage to open the door to your office, half of the things in your arms are dangerously close to scattering across the hardwood floor.

“Oh, shit” you mutter when your keys drop.

“Need a hand?” a voice says and you jump back, the rest of your stuff flying across the room. 

“Uh… can I help you?” you say, because the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen is perched up on your desk, legs crossed and a playful smirk across her striking features.

“Are you Doctor Y/L/N?”

“Yes. How did you…? I’m pretty sure the door was locked” 

Is she a thief? You have absolutely nothing of value, at least not for a conventional burglar. You run every possibility in your mind and then you land on your second least favorite one.

Natasha notices the room getting warmer, probably because of how flustered you got. The file seems accurate regarding your power.

“AC broke down?” she asks innocently, undoing the top button of her shirt.

“Uh… I… I’ll open the window” you say, pushing it and leaning against the window pain. You consider jumping down to escape, but it’s a considerable height. You take a breath, deciding to face the matter head on. “So, which agency sent you?”

“Ever heard of S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Yes, that was my first guess” you admit with a sad smile. “What can I do for you, Agent…?”

“Call me Natasha” she says, hopping off the desk. “I’m afraid I am the bearer of bad news… and a generous offer”

“Mmm” you nod, fixing your glasses. 

“A tactical team was sent to stop the purchase of confidential information for 30 enhanced individuals. We were able to obtain it… and so did HYDRA”

“Listen” you raise your hand, taking off your glasses and pinching the bridge of your nose. “I get it. HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. know about me. The thing is, my power isn’t something you can leverage in a fight. I doubt they’ll be very interested in me”

“I think you’re wrong. And it’s not just your ability. Your expertise in science and your genetic makeup can be used to experiment”

“So, is that what S.H.I.E.L.D. wants to do with me?” you sigh, looking out the window. You’re enjoying the view, vaguely aware that life as you know it is over.

“We want to offer you shelter at the Avengers Compound. 24 hour security, top facilities and technology. You can continue your research” Natasha says, trying to make it sound like a great deal.

It brings her back to that time Fury told her it was either work for the US government or end up in the Raft.

Your offer is slightly better, but a golden prison is still a prison.

“Are there any questions I can answer before you make a decision?” she offers with a kinder tone.

“Yeah. Do I even have a choice?”

—

Academic life is all you’ve ever known. Grants were the perfect way to do your research without having to look for a benefactor and expose yourself. You could learn things about your DNA, your abilities, while doing other stuff without anyone noticing.

Now, you wake up and there’s nothing that drives you. You live with people who have exceptional skills, physical prowess, and military training. Their world is avenging, your world is scientific papers and books.

Sure, their lab is nice, but most of the times you end up leaving early, completely unmotivated and feeling empty. 

Natasha watches from afar, and although this isn’t her doing, she feels responsible. She tries to include you in activities she understands, like training, but you’re very obviously not the athletic kind.

Banner is, as usual, isolating himself and Tony speaks nerd, but is barely around unless a mission requires his presence. 

It isn’t until one day that Peter shows up to the Compound that Natasha gets an idea.

“Hi, Miss Romanoff. Is Mister Stark around?” he asks in that shy tone he always uses when he’s around Natasha.

“Nope, not to my knowledge. Do you need anything?” 

“FRIDAY told me to meet him here. He must have forgotten. I guess I better get back to my Biochem project”

Wait a minute.

He’s a nerd.

“Stay” she says, looking him up and down. Peter reminds her of a puppy when he stops completely, as if he learned a new command. “Wait for Tony at the lab. I’ll try to find him”

“You’re sure? I’m not allowed inside by myself” he hesitates, following Natasha.

“Yeah, it’s fine” she types in the access code, and of course, there you are, spinning in your chair.

As soon as you hear the door opening, you stop your movements, almost falling off.

Natasha finds your blush adorable.

“Hey, Y/N. This is Peter. He’ll be around waiting for Tony”

“Oh, hey. Ok, I was just leaving. I’m kinda stuck either way”

“Ordinary Differential Equations?” Peter says as soon as he gets his eyes on your board.

“Yes. Very impressive” you nod. “This is focused on genetic network. I’m trying to determine inborn errors of metabolism”

“Oh, you know? There’s a brilliant Doctor who’s working on that, maybe her paper would be great for you. She’s Y/N Y/L/N”

“Yeah, that’s me” you say, tapping your chin and examining the board. “What is your ability? If you have any? Maybe I can use a different set of data”

“Yes! I would love to, what do you need from me?” Peter says, a little starstruck at finding out you’re one of the most prestigious researchers in the world. 

“For now, a blood sample” you wink at him, adjusting your glasses.

Natasha sits in the back of the lab as you and Peter work together, and you explain every concept to him. This is the first time since you arrived that you don’t look so miserable.

The Russian takes it as a small win when you join her in the common area for dinner.

--

Since Peter found out about your abilities and your permanent stay at the Compound, you’ve been advising him on his project and college applications. Which is a really nice distraction, but it also makes you miss your own college days.

So, even if you’re in a better mood, it’s still hard to socialize with the team.

One day, you enter the lab to find Rogers, Wilson and Barnes looking at a screen, while Natasha types.

“Whoever encrypted this is slightly smarter than me. Only slightly” 

They look away as you drag a chair to focus on your own stuff, a cup of coffee in your hand and a cookie in your mouth.

“Hi…” you wave at them, feeling intimidated as usual.

“Hey, weather girl” Sam winks at you. 

Natasha rolls her eyes and elbows him.

“Ignore him, Y/N”

You can tell she’s getting frustrated, so you inch closer, looking at the code over her shoulder. Placing your hand on her elbow, you silently ask for permission to take over.

The redhead eyes you curiously, but stops typing and moves the keyboard your way. It takes you twenty seconds to hack into the files.

“How…?”

“I used to hack into databases to make sure my name wasn’t on any watchlist” you explain casually. Natasha laughs at that. “Anyway, there you go”

“Thanks, Y/N. You’re my hero” Natasha says, smiling up at you. Her tone makes you blush and you nod, going back to your desk.

“Nice work. We could use your help if you’re free some other time” Steve says as they leave the lab.

“Of course, Capitan” 

—

An intruder changes your mind about training. The threat is handled swiftly and you don’t even have time to hide before F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirms the suspect has been taken into custody

But you don’t even know how to begin to defend yourself, so you come back to Natasha, asking if her offer still stands.

Needless to say, the spy is more than happy to train you. Not just because it means you’re comfortable asking for things, but because Natasha can teach you something that will help you protect yourself.

You start with two sessions per week, which later turns to four, until you’re comfortable with training almost daily.

The rest of the team joins from time to time, giving you advice and helping you when Natasha’s away on missions.

After a few weeks, Natasha notices how your resistance is better and you’re building some muscle.

Only as a professional observation. It’s not like she finds you attractive, with that nerdy charm and toned arms.

One day, as you’re leaving the gym, she checks her bag, cursing when she notices she forgot a change of clothes. 

“Wanna borrow one of my hoodies?” you offer, handing over your NYU sweatshirt.

“You sure?” Natasha hesitates.

“Yeah, I got tons of these. From all the places I’ve done work or research” 

“I’ll give it back” she promises, taking it.

That turns out to be a lie.

A few days later, when you’re folding your laundry, F.R.I.D.A.Y. requests that you join Tony and Banner in the lab. Leaving the basket in the living room, you think nothing of it, nor do you notice that a couple of your sweatshirts are gone.

It all comes to light a week later, when Natasha comes back from a grueling mission. The only thing that will make her feel better is staying in her room while wearing your UCLA hoodie.

She totally forgets about her attire when she answers the door.

“Huh, so that’s where it was” you tilt your head, smiling.

“I…”

“I’m watching a movie, care to join me? It’s one of your favorites” 

“Ok” she nods, surprised that you’re not mad about the stolen sweatshirt. 

Natasha enters your room, appreciating the combination of books, notes and the board with equations. After you apologize for the mess, you offer a place to sit in your bed.

“It looks good on you” you compliment the redhead. Natasha smiles, trying to be nonchalant about it.

“Thank you” 

It becomes a habit, to steal your hoodies.

“Objectively speaking, you don’t actually need them as you can regulate your temperature” Natasha comments one day, digging through your closet. To her shock, she finds a sweatshirt with a sorority logo on it.

“Not mine. A girl I hooked up with in college” you explain.

Natasha rolls her eyes, throwing the garment as far away as possible while pulling a face. You laugh at her reaction.

“Don’t be jealous, Natty. You’re my favorite” you promise, unaware of the effect your words had on her.

“And yet you never let me wear the Harvard one”

“That was my first” you shrug your shoulders.

“First college or first hook up?” Natasha taunts and you laugh.

“A nerd never kisses and tell. Actually, a nerd rarely kisses anyone to being with” you try to joke, pulling out the Harvard sweatshirt from your closet to put it on.

Natasha eyes it, and you catch her intentions a little too late. She inches forward and you stretch your arm back, trying to place the hoodie out of reach.

“Nu-uh” you shake your head, laughing as she keeps trying to steal it. “Natasha, there are like ten other hoodies you  could take!” 

“I want this one!” she insists, jumping. Her body crashes against yours, and you both stumble, falling in your bed. Limbs are tangled and her laugh tickles your ear as she struggles to lift herself up. After a moment, Natasha smiles, looking at your lips. “Gotcha”

You don’t even know what to say, her intense stare making you feel warm -both literally and figuratively - and your heart beats faster when it seems like she’ll lean forward and kiss you.

“Agent Romanoff, there’s an urgent call for you” FRIDAY interrupts the moment. 

Natasha sighs, standing up and looking at you. 

“Catch you later?”

“Yeah” you nod, trying to hide your disappointment.

—

Natasha was gone for a week, and returned with a very bad injury. You heard the news as Steve and Tony were arguing in the kitchen, blaming each other as usual.

“Where…? Is she ok…?” you try to interrupt them, but they’re in the middle of a screaming match.

“Come with me” Maria says, taking you to a whole different wing of the Compound. Since you’ve never been on missions, you didn’t know about the Medbay.

Natasha’s lying in a hospital bed, asleep.

“She’s ok. A guy threw a knife at her, but it was only a superficial stab wound. Doctor said she’ll be discharged tomorrow” Maria eases your nerves. 

Of course, for her it’s easy to say it’s no big deal. Agents are shot, blown up, killed in the field. A little scratch is nothing, especially for Natasha. But you take a deep breath, leaving the Medbay in a rush.

As you lock yourself in the Avenger’s Lab, you make F.R.I.D.A.Y. a simple request.

“Show me the mission’s footage”

—

Natasha’s had worst, truly. But still, her head is throbbing when she wakes up. The doctor discharges her with the instruction to rest for a week. No training either.

The Russian notices a bag with clothes on the chair next to her bed. She finds your Harvard sweatshirt, which puts a tiny smile on her face.

You are nowhere to be found in the Compound when she returns, so she goes to her room to take another nap, the painkillers making her sleepy.

By the time Natasha wakes up to get something to eat, F.R.I.D.A.Y. requests her presence in the lab.

“What is it?” she says, surprised to find you working on a tablet. It looks like you haven’t slept in the last 24 hours, five or six cups of coffee around the various tables in the lab.

“I created a new technology for your suit” you jump right to it. “It has motion sensors that are triggered by incoming threats. That way, if someone tries to sneak up on you, you can either get an alert or program a defense mechanism that can be shot from any part of the suit” 

Natasha takes the tablet, running the simulation. She’s impressed with the level of detail you’ve placed on this and on such short time. She’s about to thank you, but you’re already asleep in the couch of the lab, clearly exhausted from all the work you’ve done.

The sight of your sleeping form makes Natasha’s heart flutter.

—

Movie night is the one tradition you’ve always been on board with. Coincidentally, it’s Natasha’s least favorite. Depending on her mood, she’ll join everyone on the living room, or talk you into watching something else in your room or hers.

Tonight, she stops by once the movie has already started. As usual, you’re on the couch in the far back of the room, your glasses reflecting the screen as you eat some popcorn.

“Hey” Natasha leans over the back of the couch and whispers against your ear, making you jump. Your eyes follow her as she jumps over to plop down next to you.

“You’re not supposed to be doing that with a hole on your side, Natasha” you reprimand. 

“It’s fine” she lies, grabbing some popcorn.

As the movie keeps going, the woman inches closer to you. At first you think she’s settling in her seat, but then her hand spreads on the back of the couch, dangerously close to your neck.

It’s fine. You can handle it.

Nope, you absolutely can’t. Not when you feel Natasha’s nimble fingers playing with the hairs on the back of your neck, her digits alternating between caressing the skin and scratching your scalp.

“You’re hot” she whispers at some point and you turn to look at her, dazed.

“Huh?”

“You feel hot” she clarifies a second later, her eyes looking at your lips. “Is everything ok? Those powers of yours are acting up”

“I’m fine” you nod, looking back at the screen. Aware that you are in fact increasing the temperature in the room, you take a breath and close your eyes, before anyone else notices.

You’re almost back to normal when Natasha stretches and lies across your lap, her left hand squeezing your thigh as the other one begins to trace patterns in your skin.

All while she's wearing your Harvard sweatshirt.

Your only thought is to take it off, along with the rest of her clothes and kiss every inch of her body.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., is the thermostat broken…?” Tony finally snaps, annoyed at the sudden changes in temperature. “Never mind” 

Everyone follows his eyes as he looks to the back of the room, where Natasha is playing dumb while riling you up.

“Can you two find a room to turn into a sauna and spare the rest of us?” Tony says, which makes your eyes widen, and the room practically turns into a freezer. “Great, now we’re all turning into popsicles. Cap, you’re familiar with the feeling, right?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Tony” Natasha finally stands up, showing you some mercy. “Come on, detka” 

“Uh, ok” you say, your voice barely a whisper as you allow the woman to drag you back to her room.

As soon as the door is shut, she pushes you against it.

“So, tell me” she says with a playful smile. “How hot do you think it will get here?”

You can only shake your head, speechless. Natasha smiles, kissing you softly. All thoughts leave your head, opening your mouth to give her access. You’ll do anything she asks, anything at all.

“I see” she smiles when the room gets hot. “Good thing we won’t have our clothes on” 

It’s the best sex of your life.

So much so, the fire alarm goes off in the entire Compound.

“Fucking worth it” you sigh as you’re both naked in bed, the water from the sprinklers evaporating from all the heat in the room.

[cybrasigilism]

Can you do nsfw alphabet w nam-gyu? 🤭

NSFW ALPHABET with Player 124 (Nam-gyu)

warning: smut and all things of the like, the usual | not proofread | lowercase intended | these are my headcanons for this character, please be respectful even if my opinions on the character differs from your own

character: nam-gyu (player 124)

A/N: since i have another nam-gyu request lined up and cooking in my drafts i figured this would be a great way to get comfy in writing for him. it’s nice to see some player 124 fans up in the fandom especially since he shouldn’t be getting hate for the same shit thanos was also doing (yes i know he did kill se-mi and he did lose some credit with me for that, but i fear i saw that one coming a mile away). also, THANK YOU GUYS FOR 100 FOLLOWERS? i’m genuinely blown away by the sheer amount of support y’all have given me and I’m eternally grateful :’)

MDNI! 18+ content under the cut, reader’s discretion is advised

══════════════════

A= Aftercare what they’re like after sex

↳ based on how clingy he is with his friends? yeah, he’s gonna be down for a cuddle post-sex. if it’s a one and done thing though, don’t expect much in the regards of after care. at most he might offer you a smoke but he’s only super affectionate if you guys are in a relationship

B= Body part their favourite body part of theirs + their partners

↳ his and your favourite part of his body is his hands, without a doubt. his favourite part of his partner? hands down we’ve got ourselves another ass man, and who’s surprised?

C= Cum anything to do with cum, really

↳ bites his lip when he gets close (just gonna put this here and run off)

D= Dirty Secret a dirty secret of theirs

↳ really, and i mean really, loves how you look with his hands around your neck

E= Experience how experienced are they? do they know what their doing, etc.

↳ i get the impression that he’s fairly experienced, and he does know what he’s doing in the regards of rougher sex. however he does need guidance when it comes to more intimate, gentler sex

F= Favourite Position this one speaks for itself

↳ any position where you’re riding him is his favourite. he loves being able to feel you up and take as much control as he feels like, while still letting you do most of the work.

G= Goofy are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous, etc.

↳ regardless of whether he’s on top or not, he will be mocking you. it’s all out of love of course, but sometimes that can be called into question

I= Intimate how are they in the moment, the romantic aspect?

↳ it really takes a while for him to warm up to gentler fucking, especially since he’s so used to rough + sloppy one night stands. it’s always jarring to see him get vulnerable with you though

J= Jack off masturbation headcanons

↳ talks you through touching yourself OH MY GOD THIS DAMN WIND AGAIN SOMEONE SHUT THE WINDOWS-

L= Location their favourite place to do the do

↳ semi-public sex turns him on, need i say more?

M= Motivation what turns them on, gets them going?

↳ total cliche, but seeing you in revealing outfits totally gets him aroused. if you’re wearing something that hugs your ass just right, yeah you won’t be wearing it for much longer

N= No something they won’t do

↳ i don’t feel like there’s a lot this guy wouldn’t do, but if anything it’s probably pegging

O= Oral their preference on giving or receiving oral, how skilled are they, etc.

↳ couldn’t care less if he’s eating you out or if you’re sucking his dick, he’s always down for oral sex. hell, he’s probably into doing 69 but that’s for him to know, and for you to find out

P= Pace are they fast + rough? slow + sensual? etc.

↳ he’s typically going to be pretty rough, he’ll be gentle somewhat at the start if you specify that you’re a virgin but trust that the gentle act will cease quite soon into the fucking™️

Q= Quickie their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.

↳ he absolutely loves quickies, there’s something about that adrenaline kick that he can’t get enough of

R= Risk are they game to experiment? how do they feel about risk?

↳ if any one of the squid game characters is down to experiment with risk, it’s nam-gyu. if he’s willing to take crazy unknown drugs from thanos in the games, he’s willing to experiment in bed

S= Stamina how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last? etc.

↳ is it the drugs? is it his experience? god knows. but whatever it is, his stamina is pretty crazy. he will usually outlast you in the matter of rounds, but that might also be because of how thankless he is on your pussy

T= Toys do they own any toys? do they use them on themselves or their partner?

↳ i’m not sure he’d be the kind of guy to own crazy toys, definitely owns a couple fleshlights, and he will use vibrators on you if you bring them

U= Unfair how much they like to tease/be teased

↳ lets not kid ourselves here. he is the king of mean teasing, he’ll tease you the whole time if he feels like you deserve it

V= Volume how loud they are, what sounds they make etc.

↳ definitely not much of a moaner, more so grunts and what have you especially if he’s in control. he’ll call you his “personal fucktoy”. something i could totally see him saying while he’s fucking you is “fuck, ‘so tight for me. nice to see what a pathetic little slut you are.”

W= Wildcard a random headcanon for the character

↳ really good with his hands. he will tease your clit if he’s able

X= X-ray what’s going on under those clothes?

↳ is he super jacked? no. does he have a fair amount of muscle on him? yes absolutely. for size, he’s easily 6” hard

Y= Yearning how high is their sex drive?

↳ his sex drive is almost concerning. point blank

Z= Zzz how fast they fall asleep after

↳ don’t expect him to wait up for you. if he’s super worn out he’s heading off to snooze-ville before you do

══════════════════

thanks for the request! i’ve been meaning to write for nam-gyu especially since he does not get enough recognition in the fandom :)

as always, any advice/constructive criticism on how i can improve my writing is appreciated and requested! have a gorgeous day all 💋

tags: @gabbystinks

[angel-of-the-moons]

Chocolate and Cream

Eddie x Venom x Curvy!Fem!Reader

TW/CW: NSFW, SMUT, inappropriate use of chocolate, Venom's tongue should be a warning on its own, oral (Fem Receiving), piv sex, creampie, protected sex (personal headcanon that Venom can make it so the baby batter don't bake ;)), Venom is a great source of birth control, a bit of fluff, food play(?), Eddie and Venom love you so much, spme anal, squirting, Eddie and Venom definitely bang too tho IMO (PSA: PLEASE DO NOT PUT CHOCOLATE ON YOUR KITTY LADIES THAT'S HOW YOU YOU GET INFECTIONS)

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Woo! My first Eddie/Venom fic! (Technically) This is based off a private fic an old friend of mine requested that I wrote years ago, adjusted more for a curvy reader, part of some of my self-indulgent fics regarding us gals on a thicker scale :)

🖤📷🖤📷🖤📷🖤📷🖤📷

You took one last look in the mirror, proudly nodding your head at your handiwork. It was a pain in the ass, for sure to get done, but with the help from some people in an anonymous kink forum, they were able to help you get this surprise for your lovely boyfriends.

You see, one of your boyfriends had this "thing" for chocolate. He needed to consume an insane amount of it or he'd have to resort to... other methods of gaining a certain chemical to sustain himself...

And of course, that's how this lovely idea came to be. Edible panties were soooooo boring!

Your body covered in chocolate-based body paint however...

You had painstakingly painted cute little hearts over your body, with some artistic swirls for extra flair. You kept your apartment freezing to avoid your body heat melting it too much, or while you painted around your nipples, the rolls of your belly, and of course somewhere far more intimate...

Then came the waiting game. You didn't know when they'd be home from running their "night errands". You knew full well what that meant, and you didn't really focus too much on that fact. It helped you sleep easier at night

You should have thought this through, though. If you sat down on your couch, the chocolate would stain it. You could sit on one of your dining chairs, but the surface was far too cold for your poor bare ass to handle right now.

Shit. Well, you could always--

You jumped back with a shriek, grabbing the blanket off the back of the couch and held it out, obscuring the view of your body from the hulking dark mass that squeezed through your apartment's window.

You relaxed slightly, your breath escaping you in a sigh.

"Venom!" You scolded. "You gave me a heart attack! Why can't you and Eddie use the front door?"

The large creature grinned, revealing jagged fangs that sent shivers of excitement up your spine. Or maybe you were just cold.

"It is faster, this way." Venom replied.

He tilted his head at you, and how peculiarly you were holding the blanket, concealing yourself from him. Then... He tipped his head back, sniffing the air.

"We smell chocolate." He growled, his voice excited as he tilted his head at you. "Are you baking, sweet thing?"

You suddenly felt very small, very awkward. Like a bunny caught in the trap about to be devoured by a hungry wolf. You'd be lying if you didn't feel a little turned on.

You also felt very stupid. God, this was so silly. Why did you...

Venom began to stalk closer, having to lean down to avoid hitting his head on your low ceiling.

"What are you hiding, sweet thing?" His voice rumbled lowly.

"Uhm..." You peep, squirming backwards, awkwardly looking around for a way out of this stupid situation you got yourself into.

"What." Venom said, each word punctuated by a step. "Are. You. Hiding?"

"I'm not hiding anything!" You lie.

"Really?" He purrs, his tongue laving out to taste at the air. "Because it smells like you're hiding something delicious from us."

"I..." You take a step back further, only to bump into the wall, squealing when your bare back makes contact with the cold drywall.

And in a blink of your eyes, Venom was there, his large, opalescent eyes narrowing at you, his maw curling into a lascivious grin.

Yeah. He was definitely salivating.

"What are you hiding behind the blanket, sweet thing?" He purred once more, his massive paws gripping the plush knit quilt.

"Uh--"

"Last chance."

"It's... Uh...." You flounder for an excuse.

In the span of a few seconds, the blanket is ripped away and you squeak, your arms locking and Venom's eyes get big and his head rocks back as he looks down at you.

(Holy shit.) Eddie's voice breathed from inside his head.

Venom's grin spreads even wider as he tilts his head slowly in the other direction. "I knew you were hiding something delicious."

"I just... I wanted to, uh..."

Venom pressed his mouth to your throat, and you could feel his heavy, wet breaths as he inhaled your scent, his large hands gripping the upper parts of your arms as he held you there, against the wall, just breathing.

It felt like forever you were standing there, the feeling of him just... breathing on you was enough to get you hot and bothered.

"You smell delicious." He grumbled against your throat, opening his mouth to let his tongue slide out.

The moment it wrapped around your throat was electric. It sent a throb of arousal straight through to your core.

You let out a watery sigh, your breaths leaving you in trembled gasps as his tongue slides lower, through the chocolate on your sternum, and wrapping around your pebbled nipple, the chocolate melting and smearing under his hot breath and saliva.

"Did you do this for us, sweet thing?" Venom asked as he pulled away, looking down at you. "You wanted to surprise us? Hmm?"

"I... I got the idea online, and..." You said, somehow finding it within yourself to still be embarrassed.

"It is a tasty surprise." He said lowly, curving a taloned finger along your cheek. He leaned in and placed a small, unusually chaste kiss to your cheek.

"But you definitely taste better." He whispered into your ear.

You couldn't suppress the little noise that comes from your throat.

"Let us clean you, sweet thing."

Fuck, why did his voice have to have that bone-vibrating frequency? Why the fuck did it have to be so sexy?! Him and Eddie both! Especially Eddie's morning voice! Ugh! It wasn't fair how easy they could just render you stupid.

Venom got on his knees in front of you and brought his mouth to your chest, swiping his hefty tongue through the chocolate, a low rumbling emitting from him the whole time, sending those wonderful tremors through your very bones as he took his time cleaning you, licking up every drop of chocolate from your body, moving lower and lower...

Fuck, you'd swear Venom's purring would be a great substitute for a vibrator. Not that you ever needed one. The moment Venom could pick up on your scent and told Eddie, they were all over you. It was especially bad when you were about to start your cycle. Venom would go feral and pounce on you the moment he picked up on your hormones.

Your train of thought derailed somewhere around the thought of that one time Eddie woke you up with his hand between your legs and crashed into the station of Venom's tongue plunging through your now-soaked folds.

"We were right. You do taste better." Venom purred right into your cunt, making you gasp and cry out. "Though the chocolate compliments your taste well."

"Fuck!" You cry as he hoists your legs over his shoulders, pushing you up the wall with how forcefully he was thrusting his tongue inside of you; his massive arms caging you in and his hands groping and squeezing at your breasts as he voraciously ate you out.

You felt his tongue press against that wonderfully world-spinning spot inside your spongy walls, drawing out and drinking down more and more of your slick as he snarled into your puffy folds.

Your nails clawed at his arms, doing no damage to his odd "skin", and if anything it was encouraging him to go further.

You felt the tip of his tongue press on your cervix before rolling back around and curling, the pink muscle writhing and wriggling inside of you like it was fighting desperately to become a part of you.

You had half a thought to let Venom bond with you for a little while and do something like this with Eddie...

You practically sobbed when Venom brought one of his hands down, squeezing the plush rolls on your belly, kneading them lovingly before pressing down beneath your belly button, where he could feel his tongue bulge and roil inside of you.

The orgasm that you were starting to feel build exploded, going off before you had a chance to prep, your eyes rolled back and you arched your spine, your mouth opening in a silent cry, your body unable to find its voice as everything came crashing down onto you; his tongue eagerly lapping up each drop, every bit of your sweet cream.

The moment his tongue slid out of you, you felt empty, bereft of his contact. You whined when he pulled away, and he kissed your neck, licking the skin again.

"Don't worry, sweet thing. Eddie just wants his turn with you, now." He snarled, easing you down onto the floor, his hands caressing your legs gently as he stood.

As his head reached height with yours, his scary, alien visage peeled and melted away, revealing Eddie's gorgeous eyes, full lips, and patchy stubble.

"Hey, baby." He chuckled, giving you a kiss as he pulled you against him.

"Hey..." You said, your voice weak and shaky.

"Nice surprise, by the way." Eddie smirked at you, his hands going down to grope and squeeze at your plush ass, his thumbs tracing every dimple. "Vee loved it."

"I could tell." You smile up at him.

"So... Let's move the after party to someplace more comfortable, huh?"

🖤📷🖤📷🖤📷🖤📷🖤📷

God it always surprised you. It didn't matter which one of them fucked you, but somehow they always did it in a way that made you feel like they were trying to bully their way into your guts with their cock.

You whimpered as Eddie hugged your legs against his chest, snapping his hips up into you with so much vigor that he kept rocking you up the couch cushions. Hell, one of the cushions was a few thrusts from being pushed off the couch entirely.

"Fuck you're so fucking tight." Eddie groaned, looking down at you as every soft part of your jiggled and bounced with the force of his thrusts. He loved how you looked when you were utterly fucked out. Venom did, too. Venom's favorite "hobby" that Eddie teased him for, was how he loved to grab you and squish you in his hands, and move you up and down on his cock like a sweet, soft little toy.

Of course, you enjoyed it, too.

Eddie moved your legs so they were on either side of him now as he leaned down and kissed you hard, his plush lips and tongue greedily dancing with yours, your soft hands sliding up his back, feeling the droplets of sweat roll off of him.

Eddie had hips, and he certainly knew how to use him. The way he arched his back and gyrated them, you were tempted to joke and say he should start pole dancing. Maybe you'd bring it up with him when he wasn't currently stuffing you nine different kinds of full with his fat cock.

The tickling of the short hairs at the base made contact with your clit at every thrust, sending little flames of pleasure licking up your spine.

"Eddie..." You moaned, gripping hard at his shoulders and squirming your hips against his.

He gritted his teeth and groaned, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. "Fuck, baby." Eddie hissed, "You gettin' close?"

"Mhmm--" You say, nodding with a weak mewl.

You feel him grin against your throat and he sucked on your skin, leaving a nice, dark present on your skin. He pulled away, soothing the sting with his tongue.

"Oh-kay--" He grunted, leaning back as he slowed his thrusts almost torturously slow.

The black mass that is Venom slinked around Eddie's torso, thick tendrils moving out and gripping beneath your knees, gently forcing them as comfortably close to your head as possible, your cunt fluttering gorgeously around Eddie's cock so well that you felt Venom shudder.

Eddie stopped moving for a second that felt like hours, before he leaned over, one hand on the back of the couch and the other gripping the arm of it behind your head before sending on hard, brutal thrust down.

The moment he did that, you shrieked so loud you were sure your downstairs neighbors could hear you--hell, maybe the people down in the street heard how well Eddie was fucking you (with Venom's help, of course).

The sinful sound of his cock sliding in and out of your hole, your slick-coated skin slapping against each other was deafeningly loud to your ears as he fucked you with his newfound leverage over you, hitting your g-spot at just the right angle it had your brain going almost numb from the pleasure.

When you cum, you cum hard. You soak Eddie's stomach and your thighs as your pussy clamps down on him. You got so tight that Eddie's pace stuttered and almost stopped, a gravelly whine crawling out of his throat.

"God... Fuuuuuck, baby..." He panted hard, grinding his hips down into yours, bringing his knee up and pressing one of your thighs tighter to your body.

"E-Eddie--" You mewl.

"Just--Just a bit more, baby, I promise." Eddie hissed, his eyes closing in pure bliss as he fucks the absolute heaven that is your sweet little cunt.

"God--damn!" Eddie practically squeaked.

You see Venom's head materialize over his shoulder and he grinned down at you through your glazed-over eyes.

Oh god. That was a favorite trick Venom liked to pull. Whenever Eddie was close to coming, sometimes Venom liked to force a tendril up his ass, squirming and tickling his prostate.

"Vee, you little shit--!" Eddie moaned.

"Keep fucking her, Eddie." Venom purred, his tongue sliding around Eddie's throat.

"Gonna beat your fucking--" He hiccuped, his hips stuttering and jolting into yours. "--beat your ass for this..."

"You say that every time. NOW KEEP FUCKING HER." Venom snapped, forcing the tendril deeper into Eddie's ass, this time pressing with more force on his prostate, eliciting a broken moan from him as he slapped his hips harshly into yours, your sweet cunt leaving a nice creamy ring around the base of his cock.

"Fuck, baby..." You whine, feeling tears burn in your eyes as your second orgasm starts to build.

Venom can sense it, and you were fucked the moment his head snapped to look at you.

Completely, utterly fucked.

A smaller tendril splits off from the ones still pinning your legs up, and latches onto your clit, pulling and tugging and rolling in a way that has the air knocked out of your lungs.

"Oh shhhii-iIiIII-iit..." You sob, clawing desperately at Eddie's shoulders, feeling Venom's tongue wrap around one of your wrists, eagerly lapping at your skin as if he could taste your nectar from that alone.

You and Eddie cum almost simultaneously, your orgasms slamming you like a runaway freight train.

You once again soak Eddie's stomach and crotch, your spray and cum dripping down to soak the couch cushions as Eddie's hot seed floods your soft, now-pliant walls, groaning as Venom presses inside of him, making his hips jerk until he's fucked every last drop into you.

Venom finally releases the two of you and Eddie collapsed, Eddie laying across your plush body, your rolls, and cute squishy fat being the perfect pillows for him. (Your breasts too, as he buried his face in them.)

The two of you breathe hard, your sweat mingling between your bodies as you cool off, shivers causing goosebumps to rise up and down Eddie's back as his heart slowed, the heavy echoes still pattering against yours.

"Eddie?" You breathe.

"Yeah." He grunted, voice muffled by your breasts.

"I think we're going to need to steam clean the couch."

Eddie and Venom both broke out laughing.

And here you were, worried about chocolate staining your couch. Turns out it was the cream that was the problem.

[comically-callous]

The Freedom of Senselessness

Thomas Hutter x fem!vampire!Reader

A/n: Hello, hi. I saw Nosferatu on new years and yeah #needthat here’s some Thomas Hutter fan-fiction. Comms are closed, I’m sorry. Please don’t hit me.

Summary: Thomas is visited by the Count’s servant in the middle of the night.

Contains: Use of fem pronouns, reader is wearing a dress, Thomas lowkey cheating on Ellen like emotionally (sorry not sorry), nightmares, reader bites Thomas, blood, Thomas is scared out of his mind of the count, reader is depressed as shit about being a vampire and alludes to killing herself for like half a second, reader blames herself for her misfortunes, sub behavior from Thomas because I’m a self indulgent FREAK. Let me know if I missed anything

Thomas woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air as his hands balled into fists in the sheets. He could hear his own heart pounding in his ears and he clenched at his heart, fingers brushing over the puncture wounds in his chest.

What was happening to him?

He felt like he was living in a constant nightmare, constantly on edge, constantly terrified.

He shouldn’t have ever agreed to come here. But, it was all for her. For Ellen.

His fingers shakily brushed over the locket she’d given him before he left and he let out a soft sigh.

“You’re unwell.” A voice spoke up from the darkness and he jolted up with a gasp. Standing a few feet away from his bed was the Count’s servant whom he’d met the day he arrived at this god forsaken place. The woman was far less intimidating than her master, her presence bringing a sort of comfort to Thomas.

“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” She said, stepping closer to him, into the moonlight that streamed into the room through a large window.

“How long have you been here?” Thomas asked breathlessly.

“I’ve just come in.” Y/n replied. Thomas questioned to himself for a moment if that was true. He hadn’t heard her enter the room. “I heard you from my bedroom and you sounded distressed. I thought I’d come check on you.” She looked him over and Thomas found himself shifting uncomfortably under her gaze. “You’re having nightmares.” She stated.

“I—“ Thomas nodded. “Yes. Yes, I am…. How did you….?”

“All of our guests tend to have similar troubles.” She says. “Nightmares, restlessness, paranoia. A general unease.”

Thomas didn’t reply for a moment. His thoughts were jumbled and frantic, and he had to collect himself before he could speak again.

“I need to leave this place.” He finally said. “As soon as possible.” He realized how rude he must’ve sounded and quickly added on. “My wife, I haven’t been able to write to her. She must be worried for me.”

Y/n seemed to take in his words, eyes drifting to the floor before going back to him. “Leave when the sun rises.” She said. “That would be best.”

Thomas’ thoughts were still in a frenzy. But, he knew he had to tell this woman about his suspicions regarding her master. “Y/n,” He began. “You must forgive me for…. How manic I must seem. But,” He slowly got out of bed and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “From the moment I arrived here, your employer has…. Deeply unsettled me. He’s appeared in every one of my dreams, terrorizing me, and…. I know it sounds quite fantastical. But, I think he may be….” Thomas couldn’t even bring himself to say it. “He may be a-“

“Vampire.” Y/n finished, voice coming out almost in a whisper.

Thomas’ eyes widened. “I…. Yes.” He furrowed his brows. “You knew?”

“I’ve known for a long time.” She confirmed, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Thomas’ brows creased and he opened his mouth to ask another question before Y/n began to explain. “I was young and foolish when I agreed to work for him. He’d promised me so much. Power, protection, acceptance. I signed my life away to him. I did all of his bidding, waited on him hand and foot, anything, everything he asked. I wish to god I’d never agreed to it all, it became unbearable. One day, I tried to leave, to run away and….” She shook her head, chest rising and falling slowly.

“And….?” Thomas urged her on, taking a step closer to her.

“It upset him. Infuriated him. He cursed me for it.” She continued.

“Cursed you?”

“To be the same monster that he is. To never step into the sun again, to starve for a hunger that I cannot bring myself to satiate.” Her voice shook with each word that she uttered.

Thomas was admittedly a bit frightened at that. The same monster that he is. A vampire. But, there was something else that stirred in him. Part of it was sympathy, a voice inside of his mind telling him to comfort her. But, another part of it was a strange intrigue, an allure despite it all. Before he could think not to, he was sitting next to her in the bed.

“I’m sorry.” He said.

“No, it’s my own fault.” Y/n sighed. “If I only hadn’t been so foolish, things might’ve gone differently.”

“It’s still a fate that you don’t deserve”. Thomas assured her, reaching for her hand before he thought better of it and pulled back.

“It’s a fate that I don’t think I can endure for much longer.” She said softly. “Whenever I sleep, I have nightmares of becoming like him. My flesh rots away. My body dies, but my mind ceases to, and I rip into the flesh of innocent people like an animal.”

Thomas frowned. He couldn’t picture her like that, like him. “They’re only dreams.”

“They’re my future.” Her voice was unstable now, her eyes watery.

Thomas’ fingers twitched at his sides, itching to soothe her. But, he only offered a few soft reassuring words as the woman collected herself.

She took a deep breath and wiped at the corners of her eyes. “Forgive me. I’ve never told another soul about all of this…. Misfortune. I didn’t know I’d become so hysterical speaking about it.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

Y/n sighed softly. “Your kindness is admirable. Most men would drive a stake through my heart if they were given the chance.”

“I’d never do that to you.” Thomas said softly. “Er— I’d never do that to anyone, I mean.” He tried quickly to change the subject. “I…. I think the Count has been…. Biting me.” When Y/n didn’t immediately reply, he began to unbutton his shirt, showing her the punctures in his chest. She stared for a moment before she silently reached out and brushed her fingers over the wounds. Thomas hoped to god that she didn’t notice the shiver that ran down his spine in response to her touch.

“Yes. He used to do the same to me.” She spoke softly and her gaze never left his chest, almost as if she were in a daze.

“….Y/n?”

She blinked a few times before exhaling softly. She took her hand away from his chest. “I’m so sorry, I…. Lost myself for a moment.” Y/n said as she brought her gaze back up to meet his.

“It’s alright. It’s in your nature.” Thomas said, buttoning his shirt back up. “Um, your appetite for blood, I mean.”

“I wish it weren’t.” She sighed. “It makes me feel awful…. Disgusting-“

“You aren’t.” He interrupts. “Not a monster, not disgusting. You’re….” He trailed off. Y/n waited for him to continue and when he didn’t, she spoke again.

“I just can’t…. I have to force myself to do it, and even then the guilt of it all makes me sick.”

Thomas was quiet for a moment. The words he wanted to say seemed to get stuck in his throat, slowly edging to the tip of his tongue until he mustered up the courage to speak. “Is there anyway that I can help?”

That seemed to stun Y/n for a moment. Thomas knew what he was implying with his words and she seemed to know too. And, though it was a foolish thing to hope for, he wanted her to accept his offer.

“Help?” She repeated.

“Yes,” Thomas replied a bit too quickly. “Anything that I can do, anything.”

Y/n was silent for another moment, eyes dropping to his throat before snapping back to meet his unwavering gaze. “No.” She said softly.

A pang of disappointment hit Thomas. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me.” He said sincerely, deciding to leave out the fact that he wouldn’t mind her hurting him if it meant he could help her. “And I know you need this.” He added.

He heard her breath quiver as she sighed. “I can’t.”

Thomas thought carefully about his next words. Every logical part of him was telling him to hold his tongue. But, in the end, the irrational side of him let the words spill from his lips. “Would you reconsider if I told you I wanted you to?”

Y/n didn’t say anything. She was silent for what felt like an eternity, her gaze had shifted to her hands that nervously fidgeted in her lap. The silence lingered long enough for Thomas to begin regretting his words. He thought himself a fool for being so bold. He was about to apologize when Y/n finally spoke up.

“On your neck?” She asked in almost a whisper as if she were afraid someone would hear.

Thomas faltered for a moment before replying. “Anywhere you’d like.”

She took a deep breath before turning to him, her gaze searching for any signs of insincerity. Thomas held her gaze, anticipating her next move.

“I’ll hurt you.” She told him.

“I’ll heal.” He replied. “You need this.”

She stared for another moment, gaze slowly shifting to something more vulnerable. And finally, she moved closer. She was slow and cautious with her movements; whether the reason was for fear of hurting him or fear that he’d hurt her, Thomas wasn’t sure. One of her hands came up to the back of his neck, fingers gently brushing against Thomas’ nape. His eyes fluttered shut briefly and his head tilted back. Y/n leaned in and Thomas felt her cold breath hit his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. The moment lingered before Y/n spoke.

“Make me stop if I hurt you.” She said softly.

“Yes.” Thomas replied, voice barely above a whisper.

She finally leaned in and placed her mouth on his neck, teeth grazing against his throat before sinking into the side of his neck. The first thing he noticed was how cold the feeling was, like ice piercing into his skin and flowing through his entire body. His breath hitched, another shiver ran down his spine. His hands almost instinctively moved to pull her closer, body aching for her warmth (or maybe just for her).

Next, the pain hit him, stinging pain in his neck that made him whimper and gasp, hands now balling into her dress to anchor himself.

And finally, he felt wonderfully numb. Thomas sighed softly, the sound coming out more like a moan when it fell from his lips. His grip on her dress loosened and moved to gently hold her waist, head leaning back as his eyes became half lidded. His jaw was slack, soft pants spilling out of his mouth along with occasional mutterings.

“Y-you need this—“ He’d say, words slurring together as if he were drunk off of the sensation of being bitten. “Need this….” He repeated and it was unclear to the both of you if he was referring to you again or to himself. “Take it…. From me- god….” He seemed to be completely blissed out, all sense and shame no longer concerning him.

He almost didn’t even realize when Y/n had pulled away. He blinked a few times, breath coming in and out quickly. He gazed at her and her blood stained lips and only then seemed to realize how undignified he’d been. His cheeks flushed and he brought a hand up to his neck, feeling the punctures her teeth had left. He wondered if they’d turn into scars. Parts of this night that would stay with him forever.

“I….” Y/n broke the silence. “Hope I didn’t take this too far.” She stood from her spot on the bed, brushing her thumb over her lips to wipe away the blood that remained there.

“Er, no. No, of course not.” Thomas stammered.

She nodded. “Good.” Another silence fell over them. The tension between the two was palpable and hard to ignore. Perhaps Y/n realized this and decided to end things right then. “…. Well, if our…. Transaction is complete, then I should be going. It’ll be daylight soon.”

He wanted to ask her to stay. He felt safer with her in this place. But, another part of him, perhaps the more sensible part, told him that it wasn’t a good idea. He’d just allowed her bite and drink from him without needing any persuasion. He was the one to suggest it, actually. He was becoming irrational around her, indulging in the thoughts in his mind that he’d normally never even dare to speak aloud. Asking her to stay with him was another one of those thoughts.

So, he swallowed down his words and nodded his head. “Yes. I’ll….” He almost told her he’d see her in the morning. But, then he remembered her suggestion to leave the castle when the sun was risen. A hopeful part of him thought that maybe she’d leave with him. He’d bring her back to Wisborg where she could live a normal life, one that she deserved. But, the rational part of him knew that if she was able to leave, she would’ve done so long ago.

So, he uttered what would most likely be his last words to her. “Goodbye.”

Y/n paused before repeating. “Goodbye.” She walked toward the door and turned back to him to say one last thing before leaving him on his own.

“Thank you.”

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

So Hear My Voice Remind You Not to Bleed

Pairing: Daryl Dixon and Fem!Reader (pre-relationship)

Setting: Alexandria

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; Injuries; angst

Summary: You're injured and benched, unable to go with Daryl on runs. When someone else is brought in to take your place, it does not go well.

A/N: for @darylsgarden. I had mixed feelings about this and had a couple of wonderful friends ( thank you @shadowcitrine and @enlightndone!🩵) read it and help me out. I hope it's at least close to what you were looking for 🩵

*gif is not mine

“It doesn’t even hurt.”

“Uh huh.” Daryl stopped preparing his bag and stepped across the living room, beckoning you with a wave of his hand. “Then walk over here without limpin’.” You narrowed your eyes and pushed yourself up off the couch, setting your jaw. 

You didn’t even make it a single step before falling forward with a choked off shout. 

And, of course, he was there to catch you as you crumbled. 

“Thought so.” He said with a hint of a smirk, depositing you back onto the couch. “Doc said ya gotta stay off’a it a couple’a weeks an’ that’s whatcha gonna do.” You whined and flopped around like a fish out of water. “Stop.” He chuckled, grabbing his bag. “Got paired up with someone who just got here ‘til ya get better.”

You stilled, brow creasing. “You got a new partner. Who said? Rick?”

Daryl continued to shoulder his bag, then his crossbow. “Deanna.” Why would Deanna step in? “Said she needs to see what the woman can do to help. She’s s’posed to be good with a bow but I dunno.”

Woman? Bow? You already didn’t like this suggestion. “Oh.” It was all you could think of to say. You didn’t want him to go before when you thought he was going out alone. Now that you knew he was going with a strange woman, you really didn’t want him to go. But why? Daryl was your best friend. You didn’t have any say in his comings and goings, and why should you? 

A knock on your door startled you out of your thoughts, Daryl watching you with a flat expression. 

“Guess that’s her. See ya.” He started toward the door, and you found yourself leaning nearly off the couch to see who was on the other side. When he opened it, your breath caught. 

Her long blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, a bow and quiver somehow anchored to her back. She was almost as tall as Daryl, lean and curvy in all the right places. Shit. She was gorgeous. 

“Uh, bye.” You muttered. Daryl didn’t even regard you. Maybe he hadn’t heard. Or maybe he was too busy ogling the beautiful woman in front of him. You couldn’t tell from his position. What you could see was the woman giving your run partner an appreciative once over before smiling. 

“Hey! You must be Daryl. I’m Angie.” She held out a hand, which the archer ignored with a grunt, pushing his way past her to walk to his bike. He was taking the bike? You sighed. You weren’t supposed to care. Daryl was your friend. Not your—he was your friend. 

And you just kept telling yourself that. 

Even a week later, when you were able to be up and about but not without difficulty, things felt—different. Daryl was always gone with Angie, like he was at that very moment. Now that you could actually move, you went about slowly cleaning up the house the two of you shared and started making something for dinner. You could leave Daryl’s in the oven for him to eat later. 

You had just finished your own when you heard the roar of the bike, saw the headlights illuminate the walls inside the dining room window, sending the shadows scattering. You found yourself excited to see him, to show him you were mobile. Hobbling over to the window, you felt silly for the ridiculous smile splitting your face but you didn’t feel that way for long. 

Angie was standing in front of Daryl at the bike, her bow in her hand at her side. He had already unlatched his crossbow from the back of the bike and had it across his back. She was smiling brightly with her perfect teeth and small creases next to her bright blue eyes, looking every bit like a model in the middle of the apocalypse. And Daryl—his lips were turned up on one side, a very Daryl smile that he gave when he was relaxed and in a good mood. 

You had known the man since the quarry and it had taken months to earn that smile. Angie was getting it in less than a week? 

You should have turned away. Spying on them wasn’t right. Daryl wouldn’t be pleased if he caught you, no matter what he was doing. He never liked feeling as though he was being watched too closely. 

You should have turned away but you didn’t. 

And then you wished you had. 

Angie reached out as she spoke, her words muffled and distorted through the glass. Her long, slender fingers wrapped around his bicep and squeezed, her thumb stroking the skin there. Daryl glanced at her hand but that was it. He didn’t ask her to remove it, didn’t step back to increase the distance between them. 

You didn’t want to admit that you were jealous. Even as your mind and heart both screamed only I can touch him that way—for two entirely different reasons—you refused to grant it a name. 

You couldn’t take anymore, limped away from the window and climbed the stairs with more than a few whimpers of pain. Daryl would usually help you to your room at night and back down in the mornings. But you didn’t want to see him, felt an anger toward him that was just as confusing as it was unjustified. You felt the same anger toward Angie, a woman you knew nothing about beyond the things Daryl would tell you. 

And he didn’t tell you a lot. 

You still should have been happy that Daryl both wanted to share something with you and that he had found someone that seemed to make him happy enough to gab about them, limited as it was. 

But you weren’t happy. 

It hurt. You hurt. Your heart felt constricted, wrapped in a cord that would tighten with each breath, faster and faster with each moment you spent thinking of him just outside, smiling at her. 

She didn’t deserve his smile. 

She hadn’t been there when Merle was left behind in Atlanta. She hadn’t been there when Sophia went missing and Daryl ran himself ragged trying to find her. She wasn’t the one to care for him after he’d fallen and was shot. She hadn’t been the one whose arms he’d finally chosen to let hold him when Merle died. She hadn’t run to him and felt his relief at being reunited after Terminus. She hadn’t walked along with him and coaxed him to drink just enough water to stay alive on the road. And she damn sure hadn’t stood up and told everyone he needed his own place in Alexandria so he wouldn’t feel more trapped than the gates already made him feel. 

That had been you. Always you. 

The door opened and closed downstairs, your name being called. You could hear the concern, knew it would be there at not finding you downstairs. You shimmied out of your jeans and climbed into bed—your back to the door—and just listened. Daryl methodically looked around, his voice carrying from different rooms throughout his search. Your room would be last because it would be the last place he’d think of you being. Not without his help. 

The oven door opened and closed, too quickly for him to grab the food. He was checking to make sure you had been there. Likely spotted your used dishes as well. You barely heard his boots on the stairs. Daryl, for all his height and muscle, moved like a spirit. Still, you knew his gait, what to listen for that signaled his approach. 

You drew up the comforter just as the soft knock came and a quiet call of Y/N? that you decided to not answer. The light from downstairs was pale in your room, starting on the floor and soon bathing your bed and walls. He didn’t say anything, simply closed the door and descended the stairs just as quietly. 

And somehow, that’s what made the tears come. 

There were two days of tense air in the house before Daryl’s next run. Your ankle had improved but you were still unable to put weight on it. Denise advised you to stay off of it but you had waved her off with a yeah yeah, absolutely zero intention of heeding her advice. 

When you arrived at your home, Angie was already leaning against Daryl’s bike like she belonged there. The sight infuriated you. Your attempt to pass her by was quickly foiled by the woman herself, her hand coming up to tap a finger on your shoulder. 

“It’s Y/N, right?” 

Sighing, you turned, sitting your bad foot up on the toe of your boot to keep the pressure from taking you down. “Yeah.”

“I’ve been dying to meet you. Daryl’s told me a lot about you.”

“Funny. He hasn’t told me much about you.” She didn’t seem fazed. I’m glad he’s so chatty with you. “Nice to meet you.” You said in place of your inner monologue. “Excuse me.” You started to turn when she stood straight. 

“Hey, uh—I was just wondering. Are you and him a thing?” She flipped her hair—braided today—over her shoulder. 

“A thing?” You knew exactly what she meant, but feigned ignorance. It was not a conversation you wanted to have. 

“Yeah, you know—a couple.”

Closing your eyes, you inhaled through your nose and exhaled through your mouth. “No. Why?” You didn’t even realize you had clenched your fists until her eyes flitted down and back up, forcing you to relax lest she tell Daryl you were being hostile toward her. 

“No reason. He’s a great guy, isn’t he? Handsome too.” Now she was just trying to push your buttons. 

“Yeah. The best, actually.” Don’t cry, don’t cry, do not cry. “Don’t hurt him.” You said flatly—a clear warning—and limped your way up the steps and inside. 

“Where ya been?” Daryl’s voice greeted you before the door had even closed. He was on the couch, lacing up his boots. You regarded him silently for a moment, allowing Angie’s words to sink in before setting your jaw and squaring your shoulders.

“I’m going with you today.”

His hands stilled, frozen for a moment before he sat back a little and placed his forearms over his knees. Piercing blue eyes scanned over you before settling on your bum ankle, the urge to place your foot flat on the floor too intense to disregard. “Nah. Y’ain’t ready.”

“You don’t get to make that call.” You snapped, more harshly than you had intended, but it got your point across. His eyes narrowed, his own jaw tightening.

“Maybe not, but I do get to say who goes with me an’ it ain’t you. Not today.” The archer went back to his boots while you gaped at him, lacing the right one up before getting to his feet and grabbing his things.

“Why not? Because suddenly Angie is better than me?”

Daryl scoffed. “Stop.” He went for the door, opening it a couple of inches before your palm landed flat against the surface and shoved it closed. “The hell ya doin’?!”

“I won't stop.” You mocked, drawing your lips back in a snarl. “You’ve been up her ass since you met her. Hardly ever here and when you are, you don’t even talk to me.” 

“The fuck you on ‘bout? We go on runs, get the things people need. Ya forget food an’ meds ain’t just down at the convenience store anymore, Y/N?” He pulled the door open again, and again, you pushed it shut. “Let go.” His voice had dropped into that serious tone, the warning before the anger.

“No. I’m going with you. I’ll let you open this door when you agree to that.” You stood straighter, tucking your lip between your teeth to stave off the whimper when you dared place your weight on the healing ankle. Of course, Daryl and his hyper awareness caught it.

“Guess it ain’t openin’ cause y’ain’t goin’.” He tried once more with the same result, this time letting his burdens fall to the floor in order to face you, nearly nose to nose. “Alright, ya got my attention.” He growled. It had been so long since he had spoken to you with such enmity, you couldn’t suppress a jarring flinch. 

Swallowing hard, you attempted to control the wobbling of your bottom lip. “Please, take me with you.”

“How many times I gotta say no?! Y’need to take your ass to that couch an’ let your damn ankle heal ‘fore I even think ‘bout lettin’ back out there.”

“Daryl.”

“No, Y/N.”

With a deep breath through your nose, you stepped backward, freeing up the space. “Fine. But maybe you should stay with Carol for a while when you get back.” Giving him your back, you didn’t bother to hide the limp. 

“Y’don’t mean that.” 

You needed to force yourself to keep walking when you heard the dejection in his tone. “I do.” You didn’t. “I don’t need you here.” You did. 

“Y/N—”

“Angie’s waiting.” You detoured at the last second and veered into the kitchen, seeing him from the corner of your eye, his hand lowering as if he had been reaching for you. Your heart was beating in your ankle by the time you were leaning heavily against the countertop. 

When the door closed, the floodgates opened. 

Two days. Daryl and Angie had been gone for two days. It wasn’t anything new to be held up on a run, but there were always close calls involved and you couldn’t imagine Daryl battling his way through herds or humans without you at his side. The two of you predicted one another’s movements, flowing and fighting together like a well oiled machine, always ending up victorious and on your way home. 

Did he have that with her now? 

“You know it’s not like that with the two of them, right?” Carol looked up from beneath her lashes as she chopped up the herbs and available vegetables for the stew. You knew it was more of an admonishing statement and not entirely a question.

“I don’t know that and neither do you.” You replied bitterly before tipping your glass to your lips. Carol smiled, that suspicious grin like she knew something you didn’t. 

“I know Daryl.” She picked up the cutting board and used the knife to scrape the occupying ingredients into the pot. “Why does it bother you so much anyway?”

“He’s my best friend.” The answer came out a little too quickly.

The other woman chuckled. “Is that all?” 

“Yes.” You countered almost gibingly. She only spared you an arched brow before turning to place the pot on the stove. You decided to ignore the intensely foreign fluttering in your chest and began spinning the glass between your palms. “Do you think they’re okay?”

“I—”

The knock at the door was sudden and urgent, repeating after only a few heartbeats. Your questioning expression met Carol’s. Spinning on the island stool, you eyed the door until it was opened. Carol’s hand on the edge tightened until her knuckles were white, but you could only make out quiet words and someone’s heavy breaths. Hobbling from your perch, you grabbed the door and pulled it back further. 

Angie was a mess, covered in dirt and blood and walker innards. “Y/N.” She panted. 

Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. “Where’s Daryl?” You didn’t remember ducking beneath Carol’s arm or pushing past Angie. The pain in your ankle became a mere afterthought as you walked backwards toward the steps, awaiting information. 

“He’s in the infirmary. He’s asking for you.” 

You didn’t wait, running with only the slightest hitch in your step. Daryl was more important than any amount of discomfort. Your mind was running rampant with scenarios. What if he was bit? Dying? What if he died before you made it to him? The last thing you had said to him was that you didn’t need him. 

And it was such a lie. 

“Y/N, wait!”

You tried to ignore her, the infirmary within sight. You needed to get to him so that you could breathe again. 

When her hand caught your shoulder, you reacted almost violently, throwing her away from you and almost to the dirt. “What?!” You bellowed. “What could possibly be more important than Daryl right now?!”

“Lana is!” She answered quickly. “My Lana!” Breathing heavily, you shook your head and threw out your arms, a silent but gestured question. “My wife.”

You felt like the wind had been punched right out of you. “Your—your wife?” Damn you, Carol!

“Yeah. I think there’s been a huge misunderstanding.”

“You’re telling me.” You muttered, looking toward the infirmary with an expression of remorseful longing. 

“I asked those questions because��because that man is so obviously head over heels for you that it’s absurd he hasn’t made a move. I thought maybe—maybe I could push things along.” She rubbed at the back of her neck, her eyes brightening at something she saw just over your other shoulder. When you turned, a dark haired woman was making her way over, a toddler on her hip. “I just—he’s not much of a talker—until I mention you.” Another glance at the other woman. “I’m sorry.”

When she started to leave, you reached out a hand, the new information still pinballing around in your head. “I’m sorry.” You had treated her—thought of her—so unfairly, and still, she smiled at you. 

“Go on. He’s waiting for you.” And then she was walking away to kiss her wife before converting to a motherly gentleness, her lips pressed to her son’s forehead.

God, you were an asshole.

To her. 

To Daryl. 

Your ankle only received a moment to remind you it was still weak before you continued your journey to the infirmary. 

“M’fine! Quit proddin’ at me!”

The sound of his voice gave your heart permission to beat again. You stood at the door, listening to him argue with Denise until the woman finally gave up with a huff and a clang of metal. Opening the screen door, you limped inside with a hiss, the adrenaline draining out of you, no longer blanketing the pain. You would definitely be set back a week or so after this. 

Daryl was on the exam table, filthy and cut up, shirt open and left foot propped up on a pillow. You could have laughed at the irony if you weren’t so relieved at seeing him there and breathing and whole. Alive. 

His ranting came to an abrupt halt when he noticed you in the doorway, eyes softening. His entire body seemed to visibly relax with an audible exhale. 

“Y/N.”

You didn’t even try to control your quivering lip this time and rushed to cross the distance even with Denise scolding you in the background. 

Your arms wound around his neck and his around your back. “Daryl. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it—I didn’t—”

“S’fine. Know ya didn’t.” He whispered against your temple. Denise cleared her throat behind you and the weight of one of Daryl’s hands disappeared before returning with renewed pressure. The sound of the door opening and closing signaled that he had—in one way or another—told Denise to get lost. Neither of you spoke until you pressed your face into the side of his neck and began to sob. “Hey, m’okay. Just fell on my ass.”

“How?” You sniffled. 

“Window was in my way.”

You laughed wetly, his shoulders bouncing with a breathy chuckle of his own. 

“Idiot.” You chided, pulling away to wipe at your eyes. He watched you gather your bearings, blue eyes dancing between yours. “Are you really okay?”

“Yeah.” His hand was so gentle against your face, thumb sweeping over your cheek to wipe away the tears. “Need to talk to ya ‘bout Angie.”

You shook your head but placed your hand upon his so that he didn’t dare move it. “She beat you to it. I’m so sorry. I was being a jealous asshole.” He tilted his head and squinted. 

“Jealous cause I was spendin’ so much time ‘round her?” It was like he knew the answer that you hadn’t quite accepted as truth yourself. 

“Among other things.” You rubbed your lips together and ducked your head. Daryl hummed in question, his hand sliding down to your jaw, thumb absently stroking across your bottom lip. Your voice instantly decided to become lost in your throat, your mouth opening when his hand fell away. “Daryl, I—” You almost bolted, felt the insane urge to run begin to vibrate throughout your legs from a nervous twitch that started in your stomach and spread throughout your chest.

“That man is so obviously head over heels for you—”

Your lips were on his before your brain had even fully given the order for you to move, likely startling you just as much as it had him—if the sharp inhale through his nose was anything to go by. So, you stayed there, frozen with your mouth against his, neither of you moving until it was so awkward that you thought more than once of how great it would be for the earth to open up and swallow you. Humiliation coloring your cheeks, you began to pull away—and then his mouth moved over yours, his warm palm coming to rest on the side of your neck. Brilliant as you were, you pulled back in shock, wide eyes blinking at him. Cerulean pools were shimmering with horror and shame.

“That bad, huh?” He asked, dropping his hand and picking at a patch of dry skin on his palm. His eyes lowered to follow the movement.

“No!” You blurted. Daryl actually flinched and reeled back. “No, no. It wasn’t—there’s no way it could be—ah, fuck it.” Your hands cupped either side of his face, pulling him to meet you in the middle. There was no hesitance on either side, mouths moving, tongues dancing, a delicate exploration of new territory, both literally and figuratively. His hands settled on your ribs, fingers flexing, trying to pull you closer when there was already so little space between you. 

When you parted, it wasn’t from a lack of oxygen, but from Daryl attempting to alter the angle, forgetting that you were no longer alone in the land of bum ankles.

“Ow, ow, ow!”

You pulled away and jumped back, hands in the air to ensure he knew that you were no longer touching him—as if he weren’t already missing it. “What? What happened?”

“Ankle.” He hissed, gingerly placing his foot back on the pillow. Once the pain had ebbed, he chuckled and beckoned you back over with a wave. “Looks like we’ll both be trapped at home, sunshine.”

“There are worse things.�� You brushed a strand of hair away from his face. “We have to talk about this.” You knew you sounded scared, and you were. Everything had just changed in the blink of an eye, the man you knew as your best friend had just suddenly become more, and it was terrifyingly exciting.

“Yeah, I know. Couch ain’t big enough for both’a our lame asses.”

You giggled and shook your head. “Guess it’s off to Carol’s extra bedroom.” When he arched a dark brow, you etched the most serious expression you could summon onto your face. “Strictly for logical reasoning, Mr. Dixon. We can’t climb stairs. She has one bedroom on the first floor. Lecher.” 

“First time I been called that.” He gave you that smile, the one that was so special, and seeing it then, you realized that he hadn’t given Angie that smile at all. It was yours and yours alone.

And you’d need to thank the gorgeous woman with the bow.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Not A Verstappen: Gridlocked {7}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: Your mother finally gets the truth out of you regarding Max. Warnings: 18+ only, swearing, angst WC: 2k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight

The double bed was definitely not made to accommodate three people, even if you were all spooning, so you found yourself sneaking out at sunrise. You hadn’t been able to sleep with the thoughts running through your head, wondering why Max couldn’t have been more like your mother. You weren’t worried about waking Lando as you climbed out from between them, since you didn’t have an air horn on you, but you were careful not to jostle Charles who was a much lighter sleeper.

After changing into a pair of leggings and a sports bra, you found your airpods and shoved the Aura ring back on your finger before taking a lap of the village. You quickly settled into a good pace, feeling the rhythmic slap of your trainers on the pavement and timing your breathing to match. It cleared your mind and gave you a focus on something other than everything else that was happening around you. For those precious minutes you didn’t think about Max.

So far you had managed to avoid talking about him with your mum, though that was mostly thanks to being blindsided by your relationship status - it had been enough to distract her for the rest of the day. You weren’t so sure that luck would last another 24 hours but you would certainly try.

“Just leave her be, she’ll come in when she’s ready.” Your mother had been watching you all morning from her spot on the window seat, a cup of tea in hand. After Charles had woken up he had joined her and watched curiously, wondering why you were in the garden. “Avoiding me,” she said with a knowing smile. “It’s funny that the only times she would willingly do her chores were when she was trying to hide. It was a dead giveaway, but I never said anything. It was just nice to not have to ask her to do them.”

Charles chuckled as you battled to trim the agapanthus with a pair of rusted and blunt shears. “Should I offer to help?”

She wrinkled her nose and shook her head, checking the time on her watch. “She’s nearly done.”

Charles quirked an eyebrow as he looked at the progress that had barely started to make a dent in the long drive.

“Fuck,” you hissed as you the slimy residue that leaked from every cut leaf made your hand slippery and the shears fell from your grasp, narrowly missing your foot. You went to wipe a wayward hair that fell onto your nose but the sun caught the shimmer of slime and you jerked back with a groan, instead trying to blow it out of your face. You grew more irritated as the hair remained where it was tickling your nose and the urge to sneeze built up. “Fuck this shit.”

Abandoning the garden, you marched up the path and kicked your filthy shoes off before storming through the house.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” your mother greeted jovially. “Lovely day for a spot of gardening.”

“I’m calling Mr Newberry,” you grumbled on your way to the bathroom. “He can sort that mess out.”

You felt slightly calmer after washing away the slime and the chlorophyll that stained your fingers green and that feeling only grew when you found Charles waiting with a coffee made just how you liked it. “Busy morning?” he asked after handing over your elixir of life and taking his payment with a quick kiss.

“I’m just trying to help out,” you said with an innocent shrug. “I made a list of things that need fixing around here and if I don’t make the phone calls they will never get done.”

Charles tried to hide his amusement but when you narrowed your eyes at him he couldn’t stop the smile from breaking through. “Your mother knows you so well,” he laughed as he leaned in to whisper, “She knows you are avoiding her.”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Yes, she does,” he assured you, running his hands along your sides before he kissed your forehead. “Just talk to her, amour.”

A shirtless and sleepy Lando stumbled his way into the room, rubbing his eyes and yawning as he made a beeline for the two of you. You placed your mug on the table before he reached you and let him fall into the middle of the embrace as his eyes fluttered shut again. He must have been burrowed under the blankets because the heat radiating off him was almost hotter than the blistering shower you had taken.

“Why are you awake?” he mumbled against your neck.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“She’s being a coward and avoiding her mum.”

That made Lando battle his exhausted state and force his eyes to open as his forehead crinkled with a frown. “Why?”

“I’m not.”

“Because she wants to know why that person-we-can’t-mention-for-another-eight-days keeps calling her.”

“You can say his name,” you grumbled. “Max Verstappen, World Champion, Number One. Prodigal Son. Cunt.”

Your mother gasped as she entered the room with a fresh brew of tea. “I should wash your mouth out with soap, young lady.”

You winced at the reprimand. “Oops, turns out we can’t say his name.”

“This has gone on long enough, take a seat - family meeting,” she ordered as she pointed to the table. Lando and Charles took a step towards the door but your mum tutted. “You’re a part of this family now too, gentlemen.”

“Should I put a shirt on?” Lando asked as he looked down at himself. “Or shorts?”

“Please don’t.” “Please do.” You spoke at the same time as your mother, both of you sending each other slightly irritated looks. 

“Two Spitfires, Char, there’s two now,” he whispered under his breath as he went to get dressed. He obviously had been in a rush and blindly pulled clothes out because the tense atmosphere wasn’t enough to stop Charles from grinning at the sight of Lando in his Ferrari shirt.

Seated at one end of the table, you faced your mother while your poor boyfriends were the buffer between. Lacing her fingers together, she stared back at you and made that heavy sigh that every parent could which immediately induced waves of guilt. You didn’t even have anything to be guilty over, but it happened anyway.

“What happened with Max?”

You crossed your arms at the direct question. “This is why I don’t bring people home.”

“What happened with Max?”

“Nothing.” You dropped your head to the table with a thud as her penetrating stare became too much to look at.

“What happened with Max?”

“Fucksake,” you groaned as her persistence won over your impatience. “He called you a whore…well technically he called me one too, but it doesn’t matter. He disrespected you, mum, so instead of calling you what he can do is he can take his phone and go fuck himself with it.”

Lando covered his mouth as a quiet squeak slipped out behind his apologetic smile and you reached out with your foot, running it up and down his leg. You felt bad for subjecting him to this drama when he was as introverted as they come - not that anyone would guess after seeing him on tv. Charles seemed to just take everything on the chin and not a lot fazed him at all, but like you he was reaching out to soothe Lando under the table too. 

“I shouldn’t have come, I’m sorry,” you said as you started to push your chair out.

“Wait, please,” your mum asked quietly as her face softened. “He shouldn’t have said that, sweetheart, and I’m sorry that he did. I’m assuming it was after he found out about the three of you?”

You all nodded sullenly and she sighed. “It’s a shock, that’s no excuse, but it was a big shock. Maybe you should talk to him? It’s been a few days, he’s had time to think and reflect. You might be surprised.”

“Have you ever heard Max apologise?” you asked Lando and Charles. Both of their eyebrows furrowed in thought before they shook their heads. “See, Max doesn’t apologise, and I have no interest in hearing anything else from him.”

“As long as you’re doing it for yourself, honey, and not on my behalf. I have been called every name under the sun, but it's water off a duck's back. Don’t miss out on the opportunity to repair the relationship for some vindication for me. He’s your brother and you have missed so much of each other’s life already.” Your mother sighed again as she saw you had heard her words but they hadn’t broken the wall you had built. “Just think about it.”

She rose from the table, walking around it to rest her hand on your shoulder. “Just think about it,” she repeated before she left the room as you sagged in your chair like a puppet whose string had been cut.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket and you pulled it out to see your reflection broken on the screen. It still hadn’t been repaired from the last argument you had with Max when you accidentally cracked it. Perhaps it was a good reminder to keep.

Unlocking the device, you saw the notification from family share - alerting you that your location services were in use. 

“Fucking cunt,” you groaned before hearing your name from the other end of the house. “Sorry! Can I call him a prick?”

Lando laughed and this time Charles joined in as your mother ranted to herself about your language. You couldn’t help that you grew up around mechanics and drivers, they were the most foul mouthed bunch of people. 

Reaching across, Charles took a look at your phone before updating Lando. “He tracked her.”

“What do you want to do?”

Five minutes ago you would have ditched the phone and packed the car. Five minutes ago you might have threatened harassment. Five minutes of talking with your mother changed everything. 

“I don’t know,” you admitted as you dropped your head in your hands until they were pulled away. You could wear a blindfold and still know exactly who was holding your hand, recognising their touch and feel with the familiarity of intimacy. “What do you think I should do?”

“I’m not ready to forgive him for how he spoke to you, amour,” Charles shrugged. “If he was my brother, I honestly don’t know if that would change anything.”

“I’ll follow your lead, baby,” Lando said as he lifted your hand to his lips. “Whatever you decide. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking you look really good in that shirt,” you said as you looked at Charles for confirmation, his smirk evident. “Really, really good.”

“I always look good. Stay focused.”

“I am focused. I am going to call the gardener, and someone to fix that bloody pavement. Then, maybe, I’ll think about what to do next, it’s not like he’s going to be knocking down the door right this minute.”

Both of them turned to the door expecting to hear it knock and you rolled your eyes. “He’s not the bogeyman. He just likes to think he is.”

You took your phone back and opened the family share app, selecting Max’s phone and watched as it zeroed in on the pin drop. “Shit,” you sighed as the blue dot moved along the street. Leaning back in the chair, you craned your neck to see out the window and caught sight of an Audi SUV pulling in the driveway. “I take that back. Can we run?”

Click here for chapter eight.

[samoankpoper21]

JJK Men as Passenger Princesses

IMAGE CTTO!!

Summary: Their car is in the shop and have no means of getting around until you offer to be their personal uber driver for the day. It strikes them that they've never seen you behind the wheel before, always opting to pick you up. What kind of chaos will ensue?

A/N: In California there's an unspoken rule where a yellow light translates to green 🤣 Don't ask me why 🤣 Also I do not condone/endorse speeding or reckless driving but my dad swears I am a reckless driver 🥲 As always the reader is a chubby!/POC! reader~! Enjoy~!!

Gojo Satoru: "Haaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiii babe," leaning over he pecks your cheek, rubbing his hands up and down the length of his thighs. He's giddy with anticipation: this is the first time he's ever seen you drive! "Got your seatbelt on?"

"Of course." Putting the car in drive you slowly peel away from his apartment complex easing into traffic as conversation ebbed and flowed like water. He hadn't realized how relaxed he was until you put your hand on his thigh smirking. Jokingly he peels your hand away from his thigh throwing it back to you. "Excuse me! I am not some hussy where you can easily put your hands where your please."

"Breh really?"

"Don't 'breh' me. I am a princess today." Giggling you ask, "Well princess what do you feel like eating? I'm starving."

"I don't know you pick."

"No because every time I pick you disagree with it so where do you want to eat?"

"Are YOU part of the menu?"

"I meant food babe sheesh."

"I can't help it if you're sitting there looking like the finest chocolate pudding I've ever seen."

"Ew what," you giggle. "We're going to In-N-Out that's final." With Target being the last stop you pull into his parking spot where Satoru was going to instruct you to pull in but you surprised him when you put the gear in reverse, one hand on the back of his headrest, the other on the wheel reversing perfectly into the designated area. Putting the car in park you look at him scowling and say, "Alright baby let's-"

"Who the fuck are you fucking besides me?"

"Excuse me?!"

"How did you learn how to reverse perfectly like that? Is it Nanami? He's the only one I know who reverses like that?"

"Breh really?" 🤦🏽‍♀️

Kento Nanami: Nervous was the last adjective he would use to describe the nerves that were running through him at the moment. Anxious? Most accurate. He has never once been a passenger, always opting to give you the princess treatment regardless of his fatigue. "Come oooonnnn Nanamiiiiiiiii let me do this for you. It's the least I can do since you're always driving us around." Sighing in defeat he reluctantly agreed leading him to his current predicament; you zooming on the freeway as he gripped your door handle. Glancing over he watched your right hand on the wheel, the left propped up on the window sill holding your tilted head when it dawned on him that you were unaware of how fast you were actually going. This is how she normally drives?? Would he describe you as reckless? Slightly. No regards to anyone's life except your one? Leaning toward it. "Darling," he hisses out through gritted teeth.

"Yeah?"

"You do realize the speed limit is 65 right?"

"Yeah why?" Looking to your speedometer you gasp out, "Oh shit!" you were pulling 90 and not a cop car in sight. You sheepishly glance in his direction and say, "At least we didn't get pulled over."

Geto Suguru: Having the music low enough as to not disturb Nanako and Mimiko you and Suguru chatted quietly about all types of random topics. Being stuck in traffic always brought out the worst in every human and today was no exception. Bumper to bumper there was finally a break as the line of cars started flowing. "Finally." you huff out. As you pressed on the gas to accelerate a bit more a car cut in front of you jumping to the next lane over making you stomp on your brakes. "Mother-!"

"Babe the girls."

"That doesn't give him the right to drive like a maniac!"

"I'm just glad that we're all safe." At the top of your lungs you yell out while pointing at them, "You're lucky I have my kids in the car with me!"

"Babe the windows are rolled up." 🤦🏽‍♀️

Choso: "Babe is it alright if the kids come along?"

"Yuji, Megs, and Nobara?"

"Yes, they won't stop hounding me about watching you drive."

"Y'all need to chill" you laugh out speaking into the steering wheel. "Y'all make it seem like me driving is on the same level of the Mona Lisa."

"Well it kinda is."

"And who's fault is that? Every time I offer to meet you at whatever location you refuse saying and I quote, 'You're a princess and deserve to be treated like one.'"

"But you are."

"Cho," you squeal. "That's beside the point." Chuckling you couldn't help but blush at the deep timbre of his voice. "Well get the kids ready. I'm 5 minutes out."

"Ok. See you in a bit. Be safe."

"Always."

Pulling in front of the Itaodri house you found a lone, pale figure with a scar spreckled across his cheek surrounded by 2 overhype teens, one silently judging them. Rolling your window down youyell out, "Uber for Choso and co?"

"Here, here, here!" Yuji yells back. Parking the car you unlock the doors telling them to squeeze in the back, Choso sliding in beside you kissing your cheek. "Hi babe." the baritone in his voice making you internally shiver.

"Hi handsome. So where we off to?"

"Groceries, game stop for Megs, Target for Nobara, and maybe a gym store. Yuji wants some boxing gloves."

"Okay. But y'all better not judge me." Rolling her eyes Nobara asks, "Why would we judge you?" Offering her a sheepish grin while eyeing her in the rear view you answer, "I play my music real loud, sometimes have my own concerts and it's on shuffle." Dismissing your answer with a wave of her hand she retorts, "Please. Your shuffle can't be that bad."

"I listen to everything."

"Said by everyone." The drive to Target was approximately 20 minutes; within those 20 minutes your passengers went through a range of emotions: ready to fight (Set It Off - Lil Kayla), paying tribute to a late grandmother (Helena), felt like they were part of a rave (rampage), lost in translation twice (SKZ and a Samoan song), rapped along to Ice Cube, and finally belting out Keyshia Cole's Love. Parking the car you shut it off taking in your passengers. "Wow," Nobara breaks the silence. "You really do listen to everything." Laughing you look to Choso who quietly says, "You should sing to me more often."

Toji Fushiguro: "You're not gonna make it."

"Oh so you're doubting me now?"

"Look doll I've been driving longer than you have."

"Longer driving experience doesn't equate to greatness." You were doing 50MPH in a 35MPH trying to get to the green light before it turns yellow. The problem? You would need to make a wide left turn to continue about your ways. Stomping your foot on the gas the light turned yellow. "Y/N!" Toji hissed. Smirking you crossed the thresh hold while the light remained yellow; easing a bit you flicked the steering wheel to the left lifting off the throttle making the car careen smoothly into the lane. Quickly and simultaneously releasing the throttle and straightening the angle of your wheel you continued smooth sailing. A beat of silence passed before Toji huffed out, "That. was. FUCKING AWESOME! Where did you learn that babe?"

"Fuck you dawg you thought I wouldn't make it."

"Fuck babe that just turned me on so bad." Giggling you flick your head ahead. "There's an abandoned alleyway straight ahead. You can put that doubtful mouth to use."

"Yes ma'am."

Ryomen Sukuna: 3PM - 5PM on a weekday is practically the cursed time for anyone operating a vehicle: school buses fill the roads, drivers are trying to maneuver around other cars by any means necessary, taking short cuts or trying to wedge themselves into cramped spaces, horns blaring. Offering to take Sukuna to run his errands you now found yourself stuck bumper to bumper with rapper Mozzy playing in the background. You pressed on the gas inching forward a little when a tan colored mini coup cut you off, making you slam on your brakes and begin to fervently press your horn. Rolling down your window you yell out, "Don't know how to fucking signal asshole?! Use your fucking eyes next time!" You swerve into the left lane where you manage to pass the mini coup flipping the driver off in the process. Stunned Sukuna bellows out, "Remind me to never drive in front of you."

"Oh so you were thinking 'bout leaving huh? Because if you are I swear to god I will drive this car into incoming traffic and we both gon' be goners, how 'bout that?"

"Jesus chirst woman where did you even get that logic?! You're insane!"

"Okay and? You love my insane ass." Smirking he clasps your thigh squeezing it in agreement. "Damn straight I do."

©ALL WORKS BELONG TO SAMOANKPOPER21; ANY INFRINGEMENT OR PLAGIARISM WILL BE REPORTED!! DO NOT STEAL MY WORK!!

[formulaforza]

hi mack !! may i request a fluffy blurb with ‘gazing at them from afar because they're just so...’ for carlos? thank you !! <33

—when you're ready pairing: carlos sainz x female reader wc: 800ish summ. in which, carlos has never been able to keep his eyes off his best mate's pretty friend.

To the people that know Carlos, there are three constants in life: the sun sets in the west, summer follows spring, and Carlos is pathetically in love with his best friend’s friend. Ask anyone who knows Carlos, except you—his best-friend’s friend. 

You, who, at least tonight, are too preoccupied by the shots on the bartop, the game of darts Lando needs to lose, and the split ends of hair at the ends of your carefully woven braids, to notice Carlos. Carlos, and the way his eyes seem to find you even when he’s not really looking, who waits to laugh at his own jokes until you begrudgingly crack a toothy smile, who notices the little piece of glitter that’s perched on your eyebrow. 

It wasn’t always like this, he used to carry a certain level of subtlety, the ability to deny accusations without burning bright red and spewing half a dozen piss-poor excuses like a flustered boy on the schoolyard. It wasn’t always like this, not when he saw you for the first time, caught your eye and exchanged a smile with who he’d assumed was his teammate’s girlfriend. You were sat on your phone beside a sleeping Lando, who was curled up on the common area sofa. Your legs were long, crossed over each other beyond the hem of your dress. Your eyelashes were longer, watching him hurry past you. His first thought in regards to you was that Lando was a lucky fucking bastard. 

His second thought in regards to you, upon a proper introduction later that day, was that Lando is a fucking idiot for not managing to bed his “friend since primary school, or something.”

And that was the relationship you’d maintained for two years. Him, on his side of the garage, with his girlfriend. You, on the other side of the garage, not Lando’s girlfriend. Two years of short dresses over long legs he couldn’t touch and long eyelashes he couldn’t stare at. For two years it went like that, and then he signed a contract with Ferrari and he broke up with his girlfriend and he and Lando only seemed to get closer. 

And, to be close with Lando was to be close with you, which is when you became so much more than something he wanted to touch, a prize he could never win. 

It was easy to fall for you. Easy like breathing, like blinking, like letting hot water run down your back. It was easy, when you would instigate the shit-talking about Lando’s golf swing, the same way it was easy when you would steal a drink of his beer and let him spin you around a mutual friend’s backyard wedding—you wore your hair down that night. He still remembers the way the wind spent the entire evening blowing it into your face, into his face. It danced on its own, moved separately from everything else about you. He spent half the night wondering if he was drunk enough to grow a pair and tuck it behind your ears, and the other half wondering if you were tipsy enough to let him.  

Tonight, like all the other nights, he watches you. You down a shot after every round of darts, even though the original bet you’d made with Lando was that the loser needed to take a shot. The deal solidified with a firm handshake was tossed out the window by both of you after two shots each. His eyes follow you, your hand—freshly manicured nails and two sparkling rings—bringing the shot glass to your lips—soft and plump and the perfect shade of pink. He watches as your head falls back, hair falling from your shoulders, necklace shining in the barlight, the clear liquor disappearing from the glass. You wince, turn down the chaser, and call Lando a pussy when he downs a matching glass of crystal light. When you set the glass back on the bartop, even across the room, he swears he can hear the thud of the glass. It makes him shudder, snaps him back to reality. 

When you’re back in front of him, laughing at some undoubtedly stupid joke Lando had told you, you’re pointing a finger in his direction. “You—” you laugh harder, voice impaired by the smile that misshapes your lips. Your fingertip pushes into the middle of his chest. “You’re not drunk enough.”

 He laughs, throwing his hands up in surrender. “And what are we gonna do about that?”

“You,” you say, pushing your finger against him harder, and then removing it all together to bury it in your own chest, “and me. Loser—you,” you laugh “—has to take three shots.”

Carlos nods, holds out his hand to shake on it. “Deal.”

“Really?” You smile, like you thought he’d say no to you. “Okay, deal. I’m totally going to kick your ass, though.”

[haechanhues]

He Sucked Anyway

pairing : friend!lee han x fem!reader

genre : smutty. kind of angsty. fluff if you squint really hard, wink and send your head straight through a broken window. longer than a typical drabble - a better name would be a short fic.

warnings : SMUT - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. sex in the kitchen. barely any mention of said baking ingredients. not proofread. lee han is referred as both ‘lee han’ and ‘donghyun’.

word count : 0.8 words

summary : you finally broke up with your ex and the first thing you do is bake cake with the friend he was worried about.

Your ex boyfriend, for lack of better word, was a piece of shit. He didn’t allow you a lot of things - flour, sugar and Lee Han. All three of them, you were now currently reuniting with in this moment of ‘oh sweet sorrow’. It had never been like this with Donghyun, ever but your ex was so worried about it all the time. 

At least now he had something to whine about. 

He’s got you on the counter, legs spread just enough to be an open invitation. You feel a sprinkle of flour cascade down your front as Lee Han steps closer,his hand running up the curve of your jaw painted with sugar. The tension between you heated and wrung like tea towels, just begging to be snapped. 

He briefly leans over to observe the recipe, regarding it with a smirk, “We’ve got about 40 minutes until the cake is ready.” 

You take the time to observe him, noticing how handsome he’s gotten in your absence, he’s gotten thicker and his stomach has a little snail trail you want to run your fingers over, using it as a tool to tempt him into fucking you. He bites his lip, his hand traveling slowly from your jaw, to the hungry part of your throat, all the way to your stomach. The phantom dripping of your sexual tension paves the path for which you want his hand to follow and find the ‘X’ located between your legs and marked with a pool of your arousal. 

You surge forward, taking his lips for your own, sounds emitting from you both naughty and rushed, fuelling the movements that feel like punishment as time goes by. 

You mewl into the kiss as he bunches the thick clothing at the centre of your belly, squeezing it towards him and feeling the growing bulge against your thinly veiled core. He moans back, his kisses quickening and his hips thrusting into the spot that has your eyes rolling back. 

“Mm-” You squeeze out a strangled moan, the urge to place your hands down your pants and give yourself the relief you crave. As you wriggle in place, Lee Han pulls apart from the kiss, both of his palms slamming your hands against the counter surface. 

“It’d be better if you were patient,” He promises into the shell of your ear, “Then I could do it for you.” 

His own hands return to the core of your stomach again, removing your clothes one by one. The closer they are to your pussy, the more likely it is to peel away silky wet. He bends a little, suckling at your clit for a few brief seconds, loving the way you jolt with pleasure and even worse when he adds tongue, a long stripe up your sex all before he sucks at all he can, the sounds emitting from him diabolical. 

“Fuck me,” You curse, sweat marking your forehead and the heart of your cheeks. 

“I’m getting there,” Donghyun chuckles as he stands to his normal height, kissing you on the mouth again and again until he feels like you get just how crazy good you taste. 

He frees himself of the confines of his clothes, and you begin to fluster at his tip that already leaks. His cock promises the drag of his cock all up in your walls, the thickness of him truly mouth watering. 

He grabs himself, letting the tip of his cock run down the bud of your clit before he dips his cock into your wet entrance, mouth dropping at the way your walls suck him in when he slowly drags his hips back. 

He whines, lips falling onto yours again in gratitude, thrusting at a punishing pace, feeling your face contort and struggle to breathe as pleasure overwhelms you completely. 

You’re both swelling with whines and moans, grunting into each other’s mouths at the feeling of each other. How good each other feels. 

“Fuck-” His lips press together in an attempt to control his sounds, failing at it, “Oh fucking-” 

“Mhmm-” You pause as your body squeezes to the point of constriction, lungs robbed of air and your mewls pinched, your orgasm washing over you like no other. You’re in the air, refusing to release it all into what would be a memory. 

You squeeze at his shoulders, squeezing him in between your legs. Watching the way his orgasm washes over him, feeling the hot squirt of his thick cum on the inside of your thigh and up your stomach, the drop of his head into your neck. 

The moan he lets out is tempting enough to want to ruin him, hear it again and again until he’s completely spent and spread. You kiss him again, seeking salvation from your deviant thoughts. Finding it when he smiles into the kiss. Yours.

[encasedinobsidian]

Life According to Joel

Happy birthday @netherfeildren !! This is my gift to you <333 Thanks for being my friend, for being kind and understanding and funny and cool, for entertaining me and letting me freeload. If it weren't for you and your unfathomable talent, I'm sure I'd be illiterate, and Din Djarin would be nothing but a tuna can. I think of you every time I see a mini truck, a rat tail, or Matthew McCououghougohgouneyay. You are my personal Rust Cohle, and I hope my Marty-ness enriches your life like your odd shit enriches mine. YEEHAW AND ILY !!

Summary: Joel having the worst day ever Word count: 2.5k Rating: A for effort

Monday. Joel is startled awake by the blaring scream of a car alarm and a leaf blower outside his bedroom window, at six AM. And to his misfortune, the day doesn’t get much better after that. 

He reasons that he’s been through worse, and that he could’ve woken up to the fire alarm signaling that his own house is in flames, so with some reluctance, he gets up and drags his feet to the bathroom. His electric toothbrush is no longer standing up against the mirror next to the sink where it has been every morning for the last fifteen years. 

Something soft brushes against his bare leg, and he looks down to see Fluffles’s tail curling around his calf, which brings his attention to the litter box. His toothbrush is lying inside of the sand, and the top of the box is sitting beside it, forgotten. 

Just an inconvenience, he thinks, grabbing a temporary toothbrush from the Dollar General that he fishes out of the cabinet below the sink. However, his confidence wanes somewhat when he returns to the bedroom after a shower — a shower with significantly reduced water pressure, that is — and grabs his phone, seeing that the charger is halfway out of the wall socket and that his battery is at twenty percent. There’s a message on his screen regarding his advertisement on Facebook Marketplace for a TV he’s been trying to sell for the reasonable price of three hundred dollars. The message was sent five minutes ago. 

$80? I can pick it up asap

A shitty offer, but an offer nonetheless. He responds back. 

Sure. Can you pick it up in thirty minutes?

Yes, the person says.

He sends his address and leaves the bedroom, goes downstairs and hears the doorbell ring. Two young boys stand on the doorstep, both in ties and name tags, asking if he has a minute to speak about religion. Not wanting to shake their confidence, he lets them stumble through their prepared monologue for a minute, but Joel begins to tense up when he sees a FedEx truck approaching his property, likely carrying a package that was held up for two weeks and is finally due to arrive. The boys’ voices blend in with each other, and Joel watches the delivery driver cast one look at his house, just as the truck slows, before looking ahead and driving off instead. 

Kindly, but a little bit affectless, Joel bids the missionaries goodbye and closes the door behind him while he shakes his head. Two pieces of bread are lowered into the toaster as he looks at the time and notices that Sarah’s alarm has yet to go off, reminding him that she has the day off from school for ‘independent study’. He grabs a large post-it note from a drawer as well as a thick marker, and begins to write. 

PLEASE KNOCK

FOR DELIVERY

I AM HOME 

Joel has never been a superstitious man, and multiple inconveniences can happen at once, so no, he does not consider himself shaken. 

The toaster pops and it smells burnt — Tommy was over on the weekend and never adjusted the thing back to its previous setting, and now Joel’s pieces of bread are one shade away from completely black. He moves on, shakes it off, grabs a knife and scrapes the burnt layer into the sink. The radio is playing on low but the same ad keeps running on loop, likely something glitching on the station’s end. 

When he cracks five eggs into a bowl, the last one shatters and a piece of eggshell, just big enough to be noticeable when he squints, disappears into the bottom of the bowl. He takes a deep breath, blaming himself for poor egg-cracking technique, and grabs one of the shells, dipping it in to chase that tiny piece around. Slowly, he moves it, trying not to create any waves that would wash the piece away, but just as he’s about to catch it, Sarah appears in the doorway and startles him, losing the eggshell to the abyss of egg once again. 

The wrong burner is on for about a minute before he realizes. He notices too late that the grounds in the coffee machine are from yesterday. 

While waiting for the TV-pickup, he checks his email and sees that some test results from the doctor are available in his health portal. The results, however, seem somewhat jumbled and unfinished.

UNSTABLE LIKELY PROSTATE CANCER

The inevitable anxiety gets him for a moment before he can practice any sort of logic, his stomach sinking at the words on the screen. There must be some explanation for this, he reasons, as he grabs his phone and calls the office. 

“Hello?” answers the girl on the other end, “Dr. Ramirez’s office. How can I help you?”

Joel rubs the tips of his fingers across his forehead while he looks at the screen, explaining his shock at the test results that were only supposed to show his blood pressure and cholesterol. 

“Oh, shit,” she says, “Uh—”

Not a reassuring answer. He glances at the time and sees that his buyer is supposed to be here any minute. 

“That is a HIPAA violation, isn’t it?” she asks. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t admit that his heart is racing, but instead clears his throat. 

“It looks like you got someone else’s results,” says the secretary. “I’m so sorry, it also looks like we lost your blood test and results and everything somehow. I’m gonna send you another requisition to print out and bring to the lab, okay?” 

They exchange a few pleasantries, he looks over to the printer to make sure it’s on, and in the paper tray is a document entirely covered in black ink, with a one-inch margin around the dark square. When he presses the power button, it informs him that it is out of ink. 

Fifteen minutes past when the buyer is supposed to arrive, he messages them, and receives no reply. 

His phone rings. It’s the shop where his truck is supposed to be ready today after a week of repairs and Joel having to carpool with Tommy to work. 

“Hey Joel,” is followed by a nervous laugh. “So, this isn’t gonna cost you anything, don’t worry—”

Joel groans. 

“But the repairs will take a little longer. Our apprentice kind of… Well, he fucked up, and now we have to fix it.” 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“I assure you I’m not, but your truck will be ready in two days, alright? We got a rental for you, just come get it whenever.” 

He hangs up without saying goodbye. His message to the buyer is marked as read, ten minutes ago. When his phone does light up as he’s putting on his boots, about to leave for work, it’s from an unknown number. 

hey randy, pls send the $50 for the tournament. jane’s up my ass abt it 

For five years, he has received messages from various numbers, looking for a man named Randy, and despite how many numbers he blocks, they never seem to stop, and this Randy seems to owe a lot of people various sums of cash. 

Joel responds, This is not Randy’s number, sorry. 

And in return, he gets a somewhat hostile message.

oldest trick in the fucking book 

He orders an Uber to the car mechanic’s shop, and is surcharged thirty percent, but at least there’s no lineup at the front desk when he arrives. Maybe his luck has changed, he thinks, looking at the new trucks in the front of the lot. 

However, when the receptionist leads him to the back and gestures towards his options, he realizes his only choice is a Japanese mini truck. “JDM ninety-five Suzuki,” the lady says, and she really is trying to put a positive spin on it, “Very convenient.” 

“Are you messing with me?” Joel asks, flatly.

She smiles at him, and her voice is very cheery when she says, “It has five speeds.” 

“Fantastic.” He rolls his eyes and grabs the keys she hands him. There’s a lizard on the windshield he only spots when he opens the door and crams inside, adjusting the seat what little it allows, and his arms are stuffed in-between his knees when he pushes the keys into the ignition. The seat belt is a lost cause. 

His brother calls him and he picks up reluctantly, though he doesn’t get the chance to say anything before Tommy asks him, “Could you drop by Home Depot and get a few things?” 

“No.”

“Come on, man. Do me a solid.”

“Can’t. Truck won’t be done ‘till tomorrow. I got a rental.”

“And?”

“I’m ass to ankles here, Tommy,” he says, “I’m in the smallest truck I’ve ever seen.”

Then he hangs up. 

At least he doesn’t have prostate cancer, he thinks, as he pulls out of the parking lot and gets onto the road, where he’s stuck in traffic surrounded by box trucks in stop-and-go traffic. Another lizard lands on the windshield with a smack, thrown off the side of the U-Haul in front of him. 

Upon arrival at the worksite, his coworker informs him that their order of concrete has been delayed, and asks if Joel can text their supervisor. He tries to keep it concise. 

Hey. Concrete is delayed so we’re completely halted. Could you call the supplier? Thanks. - Joel

In return, after waiting for twenty minutes, he receives a photo from his supervisor of a clear, blue ocean and golden sand.

Jet ski, it says below the photo. 

Great. 

He makes himself busy until lunch time, when he pulls a plastic container out of his backpack and realizes that the empty container of I Can't Believe It's Not Butter! that contained a sandwich was somehow shuffled around in the fridge, getting mistaken for the one actually containing margarine. And so Joel finds himself lunch-less, exhausted, baking in the sunshine of mid-day, wondering what he has done to deserve this. 

He leaves work a few hours early. There’s no way his supervisor would find out, and if he does, he’ll be too drunk by eight PM to remember. Somehow, over the last few hours, Joel forgot about the tiny truck waiting for him a block away from the worksite, but is reminded when he spots it as he turns the corner. 

It’s hot as hell inside of it now, after parking in the sun without thinking, and there’s barely any air circulation when just his body takes up seventy percent of the cabin. 

He drives it to Costco anyway. All of the grilled chickens are snatched from the shelf in front of his eyes, nobody can steer their shopping carts in the right direction, they’re out of everything bagels, and he stands in a lineup for ten minutes only to realize it’s not a lineup for anything at all but merely people standing around. Out he goes, after thinking he lost his credit card only to find it in the wrong slot of his wallet, to the tiny truck now parked between two Range Rovers, with a case of Diet Coke and a sixty-pack of eggs. They fit in the front seat next to him, barely. 

At his house, FedEx has left a package slip on top of the note he left for the delivery driver. Sarah is still home. When she looks up at him from the dining table and her homework, he greets her with a grunt, carrying in the groceries. A can of Coke falls to the floor as he stacks them in the fridge, and it bursts open, spraying soda in multiple directions, soaking his socks and the floor around him. Sarah folds over in laughter, but Joel watches in silence as the can empties, and his arms are full of the remaining ones. 

Finally, while on his knees next to Sarah, mopping up the soda while she tries to stifle her laugh, he comes to terms with the reality that this Monday is simply not his day. He therefore does not take the chance on cooking, and decides to pick up dinner on the way home after putting on a load of laundry and running more errands.

With the package slip in his hand, he steps back into the godforsaken mini truck and starts it. He does not wave when he sees his neighbor passing on the street. At the FedEx store, the door is locked when he tries to open it. There’s a sign on the door asking him to scan a QR code to see the store hours. 

At the barbeque spot down the road, Joel stands in line with the package notice in his back pocket and his arms folded, for twenty minutes. In front of him is a woman speaking on video call to her mother, trying to solve a computer problem. He manages to filter out the repeated words and sentences, enjoying the seemingly only reprieve from his day from hell, wondering if his luck has turned. Again, he remembers that it could be worse. He could have had prostate cancer. 

Inside the restaurant, he’s up next, but the girl ahead of him is asking about every item on the other side of the glass, looking up at the man working behind the counter while he explains. She takes a moment to think, and he asks her, “Are those color contacts?”

“No,” she says, smiling, holding up the line, and Joel rolls his eyes. 

The man piles extra ribs onto her plate when she moves to the cash register, then reaches under the bench and pulls out a sign that he tapes to the glass in a swift motion.

OUT OF BEEF RIBS

“What can I get ya?” he asks Joel. 

On the way out, with takeout containers in hand, Joel absentmindedly throws his coins into the trash, and the wrapper of his straw stays in his hand. The same straw disintegrates immediately when he takes a second sip of the sweet tea inside. 

After dinner, with a piece of brisket stuck between his teeth, he takes out the laundry from the washer. The pile is soaking wet, dripping onto his fresh pair of socks, and as he turns the corner to wring out the clothes over the sink in the bathroom, the edge of a dresser scratches his side. Somehow, it had been pulled out a few inches from the wall. 

In the kitchen, he opens the freezer to see that Sarah’s forgotten can of soda has exploded and covered the entire drawer. His attempt at salvaging the evening is met with a hollow, overpriced soft serve ice cream, and a chipped beer bottle. An email informs him that he has won a raffle and, well, Joel finds himself thinking that perhaps it’s best to grasp his only good fortune of the day, so he jumps through the hoops, verifies, waits for one-time codes and accepts terms & conditions, only find out he has won a grand total of five dollars. 

He gets a message from the Facebook marketplace lowballer. 

i dropped by at noon but u werent home

Joel rolls his eyes and he puts his phone down while he shuts off his computer, looking at the sprinklers in the yard that have apparently stopped working. His phone lights up again, this time with a text message from an unknown number. 

hey randy. guess u were too busy to visit grandma before it was too late. get fucked

this is dave btw i got a new phone 

It could always be worse.

[chronicallyonline101]

Requested by anon!

I really liked this request, I was originally going to do something small with just HCs but i thought of a cute little scenario and I wanted to share it... the oneshot REALLY isnt that good and its ends quite abruptly because TUMBLR decided to delete my entire draft and i had to start again BUT ITS FINE. ITS WHATEVER. i hope you like this!

Public Enemy #1

La Squadra Di Esecuzioni x Ex-Idol!Reader || HCs and small oneshot.

- So, you're an idol. Everyone loves you, everyone wants to be you! But it's kind of... bad. It's bad. It's overwhelming, tiring, and stressful - what had once been a fun hobby quickly turned sour, with managers and agents always on your back about how much you weighed, how good you looked, how well you sang.

- Eventually, it stopped being fun, and turned to a chore. You hated it, you hated who you had become. I'm not sure what you did to get out of it, but something bad happened and you ran away.

- And what better place to go when you run away, than to a criminal organisation!

- I think, to join Passione, you would have had to totally wipe your identity - there is NO way they would let someone famous like yourself join, but since you had never really been that popular in Italy they allowed you the courtesy of an identity wipe.

- New hair, new clothes, new name - you had become someone new, and it was perfect. Of course, there were still traces of your old self.

- Risotto was the only one who knew who you had been, because he was your boss - and because of this, he was fiercely protective of keeping your identity a secret. For the protection of the team, and for yourself.

- There were times when you were out with public and someone would notice. They'd do a double take, staring at you while they tried to figure out where it was they had recognised your face, but in the end they'd be scared off by the wolfish man hovering over your shoulder.

- And of course, no one else on the team knew why he acted like that, because they had all been kept in the dark regarding your identity. Which you hoped would last - it was embarrassing.

- None of them seemed like the kind of people to have listened to the music you made, so you assumed none of them would have seen you, even at your peak - but, of course, nothing ever went your way, did it?

It was a day like no other. Napoli, Italy, though saddled with industrial waste and shittily built tat-shops, was a thrilling place. Palm leaves, dried up in the midday sun and carried along by a sweeping oceanic breeze, would rattle across the ground and flitter between the unsteady feet of tourists. In the summer, the sky was always blue and puffy clouds were never there to hinder the beaming sun. It was truly the perfect place.

But by far, the best thing about Napoli was that; absolutely no one knew who you were. And that is what you needed, after the shit-show that had been your life - your fame, though prominent in the West, had never peaked throughout mainland Europe, and so the shores of Italy had proven a safe place for you to lay down low while you recuperated from the glitzy, glamorous life that had been your upbringing. It was with this thought, and a long, pleasant sigh, you walked down the dry, cobble street. A brisk skip in your step and a small smile spread across your lips, that was until, the broad-shouldered man in front of you suddenly halted all movement.

An unsteady huff left your body when you walked right into his back, and you tumbled backward unsteadily. "Eugh, hey! Maggie, what's the hold up---"

"---Hey, we should stop in here." Formaggio's gritty voice called out. He looked to you over his shoulder, a mischievous grin etching into his typically calm features.

You caught your footing, shooting him a glare that was quick to fade when he turned to point at the building he had been talking about. Your gaze shifted toward the shop. It was a scraggly thing; dirtied windows framed by wood with peeling red paint, it had a few posters plastered across the door - worn with age and torn at their edges. It looked like the kind of place you'd get stabbed, and so, seeking to evade any more conflict than what was needed, you took to Formaggio's side and nudged at him to continue forward.

"We don't have time for that, we're on a mission, remember? That guy isn't going to kill himself." You looked to him with wide, pleading eyes. An expression he chose to ignore in favour of wafting a dismissive hand in your direction.

"Eh, relax a little." He slapped a hand atop of your shoulder blades, guiding you toward the shop with ease. "Like you said, that guy isn't gonna kill himself - which means, he isn't going anywhere! Let's take a second to look at this place, it looks cool."

He offered you no such chance to disagree, promptly pushing you forward and into the rugged building. A rusty bell chimed above your heads as you waltzed inside, and upon entry, an old musty smell hit your nose.

Your gaze trailed across the small, humble establishment. It was just as bad inside as it was outside; walls plastered in peeling white paint, stained yellow over years of use and lit by a singular flickering bulb. Racks of shelving lined the walls, and on them rows upon rows of vinyl's and CD's. It was a music shop, or at least, some sort of pop-culture centred parlour. A small greeting met your ears, your eyes following in its direction to see an old, haggard man. Face lined with webs from years and years of work.

With a grimace, you subconsciously leant closer to Formaggio. "It looks like the owner sells drugs."

The bastard only offered you a grin in response.

"Exactly." And it was with that, he pushed himself off of you and went forth to browse the contents of this strange shop.

Formaggio was the only one really interested in this stuff; he eyed all of the CDs and vinyl's with a strange interest. You flittered behind him with a palpable boredom. Biting you cheek and fiddling with your nails, only taking mild interest when he suddenly let out a loud, unfiltered gasp and yanked a large CD from the shelving unit.

"Shit, I haven't listened to them in forever!" He gasped, and you eyed him from your peripherals narrowly. 

"Who?" You mumbled, while you edged closer to him, peering over his shoulder to look at the CD he was holding. 

It was glittery, blindingly so, and cartoonish. It's front was coated in old, peeling stickers; a sign that it was likely second-hand, and probably belonged to some frilly teenage girl before it found itself in this sad shop. It made you sick to your stomach. All those neon colours reminded you of a time you'd really rather not think of, and then, when your eyes finally landed on the lone person stood in the middle; poised with nylon and sheer, you let out a loud gasp. 

"OH, THAT'S--- I---" You stammered, taking a few cautionary steps backward. Your eyes flickered between Formaggio and the CD, unsure of who to look at. "That's, uh, not the kind of stuff I thought you'd be into, Formaggio!" 

He offered you a plain frown, a small mocking laugh leaving his lips. "Ha, ha, make fun of me all you want. It's good music." He ran a delicate finger down the side of the CD. Dust pooled where is finger met the edge, showcasing how little love the small thing received. "I used to listen to it when I was younger. They were a good singer... plus, I kinda had a crush on them." 

He felt heat rise to his cheeks, he was sure if he had been any paler then there would likely be a visible flush. He rubbed at the nape of his neck meekly, hoping you hadn't taken note of his sudden shyness. Luckily for him, of course, you were rather preoccupied in a hectic world of your own. Eyes scanning the CD as if it had offended your whole bloodline - and then, his words finally settled in your head, and you were awash with the knowledge that he had a crush on you? Well... not you, your idol persona, the one you had abandoned years ago. It was still surprising!  

You cleared your throat, attempting to maintain some semblance of nonchalance's. "Oh, really?" 

"Don't look at me like that!" He pried open his jacket and tucked the CD into an inner-pocket; casually thieving, as if the owner of the shop wasn't sat only a few feet away. "I was young, I was horny, I liked music."

"You don't still have a crush on them, do you?" Your brow quirked at the man, tilting your gaze to look at the owner - praising when you saw he was distracted by counting what was inside his cash register. "They were like, seventeen there---"

"---No! What kind of monster do you take me for, (Y/N)? I mean, I kill people, not---" Formaggio suddenly shook his head. "That doesn't matter. You can't tell anyone on the team I like this shit, okay? They'll tear me apart..." 

You understood his embarrassment on a truthful level - for you were the one who made that album. Nonetheless, you only nodded your head at him, remaining coy as you slapped a hand on his back and began guiding him toward the door of the shop. 

"Sure thing, Maggie." 

"You know," He mumbled, eyeing you through the corner of his gaze as the two of you exited the building and were bathed once again in the warm Italian sun. "You kind of look like them."

Heat arose to the tips of your cheeks. "Don't say that after admitting to having a crush on them." 

He let out a short hum, leaning closer to have a long, proper look at you. 

"It's true though," He poked a finger into your cheek. "You look just like them, but like, an evil fucked up version of them. Like, if they quit their job and joined the mafia and turned evil." He let out a short chuckle at his own words, not taking note of how nervous and clammy you had suddenly become. Secretly, you praised how hot Italy could be in the summer - at least you had something to blame for the sweat that formed at your brow. 

"Well, that's stupid! Haha!" You swallowed thickly, wafting a dismissive hand in his direction. He was startled at your sudden shift in mood, lips parting to question if you were okay, but he was given no such chance to do so when you began to march forward. "Come on! Let's go complete our hit! That guy is waiting for us to kill him!" 

You'd refused to talk about the subject with Formaggio for the rest of the evening. Secretly, you resented that he had stolen the CD - you should have said something; done something in the moment to stop him from taking it. Maybe if you'd made fun of him more he'd of gotten embarrassed, but instead you humoured him and now there was a picture of you dressed all glittery and pretty sat about the hideout just waiting for someone smarter and more logical to find it and immediately point out that the person was you. A

It wasn't even that big of a deal. It wasn't humiliating - you'd loved being an idol. But it was the weight that came with it you despised. Sitting in a small, dimly lit dressing room all alone - the neon lights of the city reflecting off of glass windows and hitting your face in an eerie light, a light that highlighted the eyebags that hung deep beneath your sockets. Your face had once been plastered across billboards; all atop of the charts, on the wall of every bedroom of every teenager everywhere. You were lovable, you were beautiful, you were everything and you despised it. When that scandal happened, when your entire world crumbled apart around you; after your final performance, when adoring whispers turned to hushed accusations and the cameras flashed not with love but with desperation, you vanished. Now, your only company was a group of men whose names couldn't be uttered in public without bringing forth laughter. Men whose lives were build on lies, blood and money. 

Such is why, in a panicked frenzy, you found yourself pacing back and forth in the dimly lit office of your boss - Risotto Nero, who, with a dull crimson gaze, offered you a mildly concerned glare. This wasn't the first time you had done this. You were prone to your outbursts of anxiety, and so he was never truly worried for your wellbeing. 

With your hands pressed to your forehead, you halted before his desk. "I don't know what to do." 

"Mm." His gaze lowered to his paperwork. He began to write some things down, not really paying attention to your worried words.

"Realistically, nothing will happen if they all find out," You began pacing again. "But, like, it all changes at the same time."

"Of course."

"And then, I've gotta like, be this person I don't want to be."

"Yeah." 

He wasn't listening. With a frown, you halted your pacing and walked towards his desk, slamming your hands down in front of him with urgency. Any ordinary person would jump out of their skin in surprise, but not Risotto, he was too stoic for that - the large, burly leader merely lifted his gaze toward you, lethargic in his movements as always. 

"And you know me, Riz, I don't want to have to pretend anymore! I don't want to be someone I'm not." You stared at him with a deep determination, a frown etched thoroughly into your lips. 

It was with this, that it finally seemed to click in his head. "Oh, this is about...?" 

Risotto was the only one who knew of your past. He had to, as your leader, and well... he was the one who had changed it all. You drowned your sorrows in at a secluded bar far from town, hidden, where no one would know you - where you could be yourself. But you were never safe. You'd gotten into an altercation, a fight that you had really wished to avoid and when your harasser collapsed mid-fight, overwhelmed with blood and blades, you caught sight of the dark, calculating man. He seemed soulless. He had told you he hated conflict when it was not needed, and you had told him you were indebted to him - such is how you ended up following his shadow into the life you now lead. 

But you liked it. In a strange way, it felt safter than the empty life you had lived before. They were your new family - strange, dangerous and at times infuriating - but they had protected you, and you had protected them. They'd kept you alive when everyone else had turned their backs on you. And at first you were terrified, of course you were, but as days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, you'd learnt the nuances of their lives. They weren't monsters, or demons, or any kind of sick villain; they were scared people trying to survive in a world that had no mercy. You were the same, and that is why you were so scared to reveal yourself - what if things changed? What if they saw you differently? What if they started treating you differently? 

You were starting to panic, breathing heavy and ragged, unaware that Risotto had risen from his seat and instead moved to stand before you; not until you were being enveloped by his warm embrace. You shook against his chest, grasping at his odd harness for some sort of stability - this action, a warm embrace, wasn't something Risotto enjoyed giving, but for you, he did. He had always been soft on you, you had never really known why. 

"Tell me what happened today." He uttered, and though his voice was soft, from where your head was planted against his chest you could feel his throat rumbling with each word. A short, overwhelmed sigh passed your lips, and you clung closer to your stoic leader. 

"It's nothing serious." Was your revelation. You closed your eyes and nestled yourself further into his body - relishing in the warmth he seemed to radiate. "I'm freaking out over nothing..."

He stood as still as a rock, worried that any straying movement would scare you off. Like a fickle bird, one wayward gust away from flying to another room. He gently pat your back, albeit a bit awkwardly. He had never had to comfort anyone before. "But you're freaking out, which means that something is bothering you."

Was his reasoning. You despised how, despite his lack of social grounding, he still somehow managed to be so good at getting those around him to confide and spill their problems with him. 

"Well..." You started, your gaze straying to the side. "Formaggio picked up one of my old CDs today."

"Ah, and you are worried he will realise it's you?" A look of revelation befell his once emotionless expression. Concern filled his crimson glare, that had now splayed wide open to look at you with the upmost concern. You tried to hide your face from him - beginning to grow embarrassed that you had been so worried over something as minimal as your past. 

"He's a little dull." You huffed, promptly pushing yourself off of Risotto. Your cheeks were warm, and you kept your gaze to the floor in an attempt to evade how flustered you had become. "He didn't realise it at first, but I'm worried that someone else will realise. Like, Ghiaccio or someone smart." 

Looking down at you, Risotto cocked a brow. It seemed you were coming to reason now, and so he crossed his arms over his chest and continued with a little more profession than he had been only moments prior. "What is the worst thing that could happen if they realise?"

He teetered around you - attempting, though failing, to look at your face and get a proper read of your features. You evaded his eyes as if he were some sort of plague. 

"I don't know..." You then whined, placing your hands on your head with worry. "They make fun of me or something."

"Don't they do that anyways?" He postulated, and you frowned. 

Finally, you lifted your gaze to look Risotto in the eye. An expression of great horror had settled across your usually jovial features. "Well... it'll be worse. They might try and make me sing." 

At that, he fought the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he opted to cross his arms over his chest and turn away from you, returning to his desk promptly. "They won't care, (Y/N), we all have our pasts. Even if yours is a little... unorthodox."

He flinched when a loud, displeased groan left your throat. "That's the issue! What am I supposed to do when they all find out that instead of being a hardcore mafioso, I'm actually a washed up, prissy little pop-star with nothing else---"

"---Really!?"

When a cocky voice cut through the air, both you and Risotto had been startled. To your left, stood smugly inside a large, full-length mirror that had been leant against the wall of Risotto's office, was the one teammate that would spread this information in less than a minute. 

"Illuso," You growled, a sound of warning which he refused to listen to. Laughing, he took a few cautionary steps backward, and grinned wildly when you started charging toward the mirror. "Don't you dare---! Fuck! ILLUSO! OUCH---!"

You tried to dive into the mirror world after him, but instead faceplanted the glass surface and fell to the ground with a loud thud. You could hear his devious cackles from within the mirror realm, rage bubbled within your chest - God, you hated Illuso sometimes; he was the worst possible person to find out about this. With a glare fuelled by fury, you scrambled back up to your feet and darted toward the door to the office, you were about to leave and chase after Illuso, but not before shooting Risotto a glare. 

"Why the Hell is there a mirror in your office!?"

Startled, the stoic man glanced back and forth between you and the object of offense. "I... don't... know...?" 

As you'd expected, Illuso had likely put these around the hideout without anyone realising as a means to stalk. More rage simmered within you at the thought, and with nothing else to say to Risotto you dove out of his office and into the main area of the hideout. You could practically see Illuso as you ran; in every picture frame and dirtied doorhandle, he raced along side you to see who could get to the others first and when you both made it to the main living-area, you hardly gave him a chance to emerge from the mirror - practically tearing him from it as you dove atop of him. 

The living room had been quiet, save for the gentle hum of the television and rustling of papers, courtesy of Prosciutto and Pesci - one who sat with a cup of tea and some paperwork, while the other watched something meaningless on the TV. Both hardly even lifted their gazes to look at you while you wrestled Illuso to the ground, having since grown used to the commotion in the hideout. 

"Ow-! Watch the hair!" Illuso plead, struggling while you straddled his waist. He lay prone - on his stomach, while you pinned him from behind and smushed his face into the dirty, silverfish infested carpet. 

"Watch your mouth," You practically seethed, pushing his head further into the carpet. Maybe if you pushed hard enough you'd smother him. He wriggled beneath you, trying hard to struggle against your tight hold. "Stop moving!"

With ease, he lifted himself. You were thrown off of his back and onto the ground - in a matter of moments the situation flipped and he was on top of you. He clamped a hand over your mouth, muffling your loud cries of protest with a wicked smile. "I think you should stop moving," He cackled, lifting his gaze to look across the room.

Prosciutto and Pesci, for the most part, were still minding their own business - the younger and greener of the two offered you both a concerned side-eye, but other than that kept to himself. He knew Risotto was in his office, and in the other room, only just visible through a doorway to the living area, he could see the remaining three members of the team idling about. Deviously, Illuso took a large inhale, spouting out a loud:

"Hey! Everyone! You'll never guess what I just learnt--! Mpph!!!" 

But he never got the chance to spread your darkest secrets, for in a last act of desperation you called out your stand to throw him off of you. He landed at the edge of a coffee table only a few feet away, sputtering from the sudden force in which his body had been thrown and you were to quick to claim your place atop of him - this time, with a pillow you had snatched from the couch. You tackled him to the floor again, this time holding the pillow over his face as a means to get him to shut his loud mouth. His cries for help were muffled; the sound was true bliss for your ears. 

"Hey, Fratello," Pesci tore his eyes away from the TV, eyeing the two of you on the floor with a growing worry. He half thought you were trying to kill Illuso. "Should we do something about that...?" 

His question had been directed at his blond brother, who in response, merely took a long, hard sip of his tea. He didn't even bother lifting his gaze from the paperwork before him, uncaring for the troubles and toils of his teammates - much like Risotto, in a colder, harsher way. "No." Was his response, and when Pesci's gaze turned quizzical, he huffed out a reasoning: "Let them get it out of their system."  

- Eventually, after nearly suffocating Illuso to death, Prosciutto did stop you. In your petty fight for dominance, you ended up knocking over a drink and spilling a sticky juice all over the carpet - that really ticked him off, and a quick kick to your side had you reeling on the floor in pain and he was authorative in telling you both off for messy, inappropriate behaviour.

- And of course, the scolding brought forth interest from the rest of the team. Ghiaccio, Melone and Formaggio who had been chatting amongst themselves in the other room had since entered.

- With you on the floor, nothing stopped Illuso from spilling the secret you had kept to yourself for so many years. It was nauseating, you felt like you were going to throw up - but, no one reacted like you had expected them to.

- Ghiaccio thought Illuso's mission to humiliate you was stupid, and he had no time for idiotic games that the rest of you liked to play.

- Melone admitted that he had known for years, after conducting several DNA tests on you - without your knowledge, might I add - and had simply kept to himself on the matter.

- Formaggio, the one most likely to make fun of you for such a thing, had no right to mock you since he had admitted only hours prior of his affection for your idol persona.

- Pesci, too, liked listening to that music, but much like Formaggio had kept to himself out of fear of mockery. He thought it was cool that you had such an interesting past.

- And much like Ghiaccio, Prosciutto had no reason to mock or bully you for something so trivial.

- BUT YEAH. they were all chill, and you were freaking out for no reason!

- Well, maybe there was SOME reason behind freaking out, because things did kinda change after that.

- Formaggio, though already flirty, became even more obvious with his advancements. He didn't try to hide the fact that he had a crush on you - he had already told you, technically, so why not just act on it? You never seemed to complain about his insistent affection.

- Sometimes, he'd ask you to sing for him, like a live performance! You always said no. Maybe you did give him one once or twice when you were really drunk, but you don't remember it so it doesn't count. You close your eyes and cover your ears whenever Illuso tries to show you the video footage.

- Oh, and Illuso, was still the worst ever. Like Formaggio, he liked to tease you by asking you to perform for them, except his requests came from a place of malice rather than appreciation.

- Though his bullying was just thinly veiled affection.

- The rest of the team however, treated you normally. Perhaps with a bit of nerves, now that they knew you were a missing persons case - but more confidence was developed between you and them. They were a team built on trust, and once you overcame your worries and shared your story with them, you grew closer with them.

i think i could write more on this when i have time... so there may be a part 2...

---

I WASNT SURE HOW TO FINISH THIS IM REALLY SORRY... i hope its nice! if not i can rewrite it!!!

[corroded-hellfire]

I’m dying for an AYW fic regarding the proposal and or wedding!!

A proposal you say?

@munson-blurbs and I are very proud to present to you the proposal of these two love birds. And how else would Eddie do it but with music? We hope you enjoy 💜

Words: 2.8k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Eddie had hoped that this would be the most perfect day you’d ever had in your life. Well, it was off to a shit start. Both you and Eddie were supposed to be attending a Billy Joel concert that night; something that you’ve been over the moon excited about for months now. Eddie was also excited, but it was for different reasons than seeing We Didn’t Start the Fire being performed live. He had come up with an elaborate plan to take you to dinner, the concert, and then just as it seemed as if the excitement of the evening had come to an end, he was going to propose. 

Unfortunately, Lucas had put the kibosh on that when he phoned and told Eddie that the outdoor venue where the concert was being held said the show was a no-go due to inclement weather. Lucas works AV at the venue so was able to get the word out to you before the general ticket holders were notified. Eddie hated seeing the disappointed look on your face. He tried to comfort you, giving you sweet kisses and wrapping you up in his arms, all the while trying to figure out how he could salvage this proposal. The makeup date for the concert would likely be many months out and Eddie was damned if he was going to wait that long to ask you to marry him. 

It had been a plan for you to go out with Nancy early afternoon to get your nails done together. “So they look good at the concert!” Nancy had said to you. “So when we take pictures of her ringed finger and when people keep wanting to look at her hand, she won’t be irked that her nails don’t look nice,” is the real reasoning Eddie gave to your friend. When you debate on whether or not you should even go out with Nancy still, Eddie urges you to.

“It’ll still be nice to have a girls’ day with Nancy,” he told you. “Go out, have fun. Get pampered.” So I can figure out what the hell I’m gonna do.

As soon as Eddie watches your car pull away from his spot at the apartment window, he’s pacing the living room and running his hands over his hair.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

“Oooh,” Luke says as he comes down the hall. “Another quarter in the swear jar!”

Eddie turns to his youngest son and realizes he can use the boys to his advantage here. What would be needed to make a romantic evening here at home? Candles? There were plenty in the hall closet. Rose petals? Yes, they had been purchased for your anniversary last year. Eddie had his guitar; he could stage a mini concert for you. Yes, he could pull this off. He would need help from his mini-me’s for that, though.

“Alright, boys,” Eddie says, loud enough that Ryan peeks out of his room to see what his dad wants. “I’m gonna need your help with something big.”

“A monster truck?” Luke asks. Ryan rolls his eyes at his little brother as he comes to join them in the living room.

“Uh, no,” Eddie says. “Guys…I’m proposing.” 

“Like, you’re finally gonna ask her to marry you?” Ryan asks, a sparkle gleaming in his eye at the question.

“Yep,” Eddie confirms. “Or, I was, but now the concert is canceled—wait, what do you mean ‘finally’?”

Ryan shrugs. “You asked us a million years ago if we’d be okay with you and her getting married.”

“Hold on,” Luke pipes up, putting his palms out to pause the discussion. “They’re not married?”

“Christ on a cracker.” Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and gives it a tiny massage. He’s so frazzled he can’t even tell if Luke is just trying to mess with him right now or not. “No, we’re not married. But I’d like to marry her, and I was hoping you two could help me decorate so this can still be special.”

With that, Eddie and the boys get to work to transform the apartment into a romantic oasis before you get home from your nail appointment. Thank God for Nancy Harrington.

Eddie strategically places candles throughout the bedroom, giving Luke strict orders not to light them. At this rate, the kid shouldn’t be allowed near an open flame until he’s forty. Instead, Eddie puts his sons in charge of sprinkling a trail of rose petals from the front door to the room. Ryan’s mastered the art of “sprinkling,” but Luke’s contribution looks more like small piles. 

Oh, well. It’s the thought that counts. 

It’s Ryan’s idea to make paper hearts and Scotch tape them around the apartment; ever his shadow, Luke joins him. 

Eddie has his acoustic guitar laying on the bed, tuned and ready to go. He puts the ring box in his pants pocket and rechecks it approximately every thirty seconds to make sure it’s still there, as though it could slip through the fabric and into an alternate dimension. 

He rushes to the door when he hears the buzzer ring, tucking his shirt into his pants, not sure if that’s how he wants it or not. When Wayne’s voice comes over the intercom, he breathes a sigh of relief. 

“Boys! Grandpa Wayne is here!” he calls out, grinning when he hears their thunderous footsteps. 

“Daddy,” Luke says, holding out a fun size piece of candy, “give this to her. Girls like chocolate. It’s romantic.” 

Eddie tries not to chuckle as he inspects the melted Twix bar. “I’m sure she’ll love it. And I’ll make sure she knows it’s from you.” Like it could be from anyone else, he thinks amusedly. He tucks it safely into his pocket as he heads over to open the front door. 

As soon as Wayne steps foot into the apartment, he’s bombarded by two excited children. 

“Grandpa, Grandpa!” Ryan chants as Luke clings to the older man’s side.

“What is it, pal?” Wayne asks.

“Daddy’s gonna propose!”

Wayne was already aware of this fact, and that he was taking the boys for the night for this very reason, but he acts surprised for his grandkids’ sake.

“Wow! That’s real excitin’, isn’t it?” Wayne asks.

“Yes!” Luke replies.

Eddie’s uncle chuckles and ruffles both boys’ hair before taking a step closer to the soon-to-be-engaged man. “I’m real happy for ya, kid. She’s a good one.”

“Thanks, Wayne.” He claps a hand on the man’s shoulder. 

The front doorknob jiggles and all four Munson men turn towards it in complete synchronicity. Eddie quickly presses a kiss to each of his sons’ heads and whispers for them to behave tonight before he ducks into the master bedroom. 

Just in time, as you step through the door not a second later. Your eyes land on the trio in front of you and you give them a smile.

“Hey, Wayne! How’re you?”

“I get to spend time with my favorite guys,” Wayne says, resting a hand on each boys’ shoulder, “so no complaints here.”

“We’re staying at Grandpa’s so Daddy can—” Luke starts, but is quickly hushed by Wayne leading him quickly towards the front door. 

“Okay, time to go! C’mon you little knuckleheads. See ya later, hun.”

“Bye Wayne. Bye boys! Love you!”

There are muffled calls of “bye” and “love you too” but it sounds like Wayne is speed walking them out of there. You chuckle to yourself and drop your bag down on the counter. No sign of your boyfriend in the living room or kitchen. Brow pinching together in confusion, you sigh and rest your hands on your hips. 

“Eds? The boys left; you can stop hiding now,” you tease, frowning when you still don’t see him. “Eddie?”

“‘M in here, babe,” he calls from the bedroom. There’s a waver in his voice and it has you moving even faster towards him. 

He’s sitting on the end of your shared bed in black jeans and a maroon button-down shirt, untucked. His acoustic guitar rests on his lap as he strums idly. You barely have time to take in candles and hurricane of rose petals before he says, “Figured I’d bring the concert to us.”

The opening chords of Billy Joel’s “Just the Way You Are” reach your ears and it instantly has you getting choked up. Hot tears press at the back of your eyes as you remember dancing in the kitchen to this with Eddie before Ryan’s birthday party all those years ago. 

Under your breath, you begin to sing along. It is a concert after all, but you want to keep your voice low enough that all you can hear is still Eddie’s. You lean back against your dresser behind you, looking deep into Eddie’s eyes as he serenades you. There don’t have to be words spoken, you know he understands what you’re saying with just your eyes. I promise I will always love you just as you are. 

The next song in your personal concert is “You May Be Right.” Eddie gets into it, head rocking as he sings out the lyrics, even inflecting his voice on the word “lunatic.” It’s silly and sweet and everything you love about Eddie personified in this moment between the two of you. 

“She’s Always a Woman” is the next song on the set list. This one has the tears that were behind your eyes now making their way forward. The moisture gathers at your lash line as you watch your boyfriend with absolute adoration. Once the song is finished, Eddie gives you a wink.

“Last song and then I’m gonna kiss you, I promise.”

Uptown girl

She’s been livin’ in her uptown world

I bet she never had a backstreet guy

I better her mama never told her why

You had no doubt that Eddie would finish with this song. Your song. How it started from teasing and joking to now being the song that makes the two of you look at each other as if there’s nobody else in the world for those few minutes. 

Once he finishes the song, Eddie gently sets the guitar down and you rush into his arms. Your tears drip onto the maroon polyester of his shirt as you bury your face in his shoulder. Eddie rubs his hand softly up and down your back and presses a kiss to the top of your head. With a small sniffle, you look up at Eddie with wide, watery eyes.

“This is the sweetest thing ever, Eddie. I can’t believe you did this for me. I’ve been so bummed all day that the concert’s been postponed and I—”

The rest of the sentence gets silenced as Eddie presses his lips against yours. It’s partly because he wants to stop your rambling—and he wants to kiss you all the time in general—but also because the nerves are getting the better of him as every second ticks by. He has to ask you or he’s going to combust on the spot. 

With one large hand cupping your cheek and the other wrapped around your waist, Eddie slowly and subtly moves further away from the bed, so he’ll be able to get down on one knee when the time comes 

“I’d do anything for you, my love. You know that,” he whispers against your lips. 

Eddie tries to recall the speech he had prepared in his mind, only to have nervous sweat begin to break out along his hairline. It only takes a few moments before you notice, because you always notice what’s going on with Eddie. The concerned look that mars your features suddenly has all of the tension releasing from Eddie’s body. The nerves are gone without a trace, replaced by warmth and love for the beautiful, amazing woman standing in front of him. How could he have been nervous about this to begin with? It’s you. You are the love of his life and, though he still can’t comprehend why or how, he’s the love of your life, too. 

“Uptown Girl has kind of followed us on our journey, hasn’t it? From you playing your Billy Joel tapes when you were babysitting the boys and I’d come home and pretend to be all annoyed by it. But then one time I remember really listening to the lyrics and having this epiphany. You’re uptown girl, I’m the downtown man. Uptown Girl, you know I can’t afford to buy her pearls. But maybe someday when my ship comes in she’ll understand what kind of guy I’ve been and then I’ll win. I’ve always wanted to give you the world. I always wanted you to see me, silently dying for your attention on the inside. Because when you walked through the front door that first day…baby, you’ve never for a moment left my mind since then. I went from thinking you were this unattainable fantasy that I would have to be content with to admire at a distance to…this. The life we’ve built, the love we’ve shared. Princess, I wanted to give you everything but instead you gave that to me. I have everything I could ever want or need when you’re here in my arms. I still can’t believe how unbelievably lucky I am to call you mine. Every day I wake up and thank God when I see you laying next to me, all huddled up in the blankets. It feels right. More so than anything I’ve ever experienced in my life. I’ve always told you that you’re my forever, baby. And I meant it.”

Slowly, Eddie lowers himself to one knee and the realization of what’s happening hits you with a sharp gasp. Is this really happening? you think. Or am I dreaming again? The beads of water that had been quelled for the most part start flowing again, leaving tracks down your cheeks. Eddie reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black velvet box. He takes one more deep breath before lifting the lid and revealing a shining silver ring with a princess cut diamond sitting atop it. Because he calls me princess, you realize. 

“My love. My princess, my angel, my sweet, sweet girl. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Stunned isn’t a look Eddie has ever seen on you before. It feels like an eternity that you just stare at him, saying nothing. In reality, it’s probably less than ten seconds, but Eddie’s mind is currently working in slow motion. Finally, you nod your head and time is back to normal in Eddie’s world. The teary laugh you give him as you keep nodding has a smile forming on his face that he’s sure will be there for a while.

“Of course I’ll marry you, Eddie.”

At hearing the words come from your mouth, his smile grows into a grin that’s enough to light up an electric grid. He plucks the ring from its satin cushion in the box and slowly slides it up your finger. As he stands, he’s expecting you to admire the ring, inspect it and be giddy about the jewelry. But the moment he’s steady on his feet, you’re grabbing Eddie’s face between your hands and planting a fierce kiss on his lips.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you mumble against his mouth before pressing another kiss after kiss there.

“Can't believe you want to be my wife,” Eddie says in amazement as you finally part.

“I’ve wanted that from the moment I laid eyes on you. I never knew my schoolgirl crush would become my husband.”

Eddie leans in to kiss you again, smiling against your lips. “I’m so fucking happy that you’re gonna be my wife.” He pulls your body close against his and buries his face in your hair.

“Eds?”

“Hm?”

“Is there something in your pocket?”

“Huh?” He digs into the denim to pull out a half-melted Twix bar. “Oh, right. A gift from your future stepsons.”

At the word “stepsons,” an entirely different wave of emotions crashes over you. A different kind of love envelops your body and it might just be the warmest and fuzziest feeling you’ve ever felt. 

“Holy shit. I’m going to be their stepmother.”

Eddie isn’t sure if you're happy or scared about it by your tone, but then you well up with tears again and a grin rivaling his own lights up your face. 

“I’m gonna be their stepmom!”

Eddie chuckles and presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“They are so lucky to have you. We all are. Now, uh,” the tips of his ears turn pink, and he clears his throat, “you mentioned a schoolgirl crush?” One hand snakes around your waist and lowers to grab your ass. “I’d like to hear more about that.”

“Whatever you say, fiancé.”

[comatosebunny09]

what’s done is done (and done again) | leon k.

summary: somehow, you figure you've been here before. and, somewhere far off, he knows you've been here before, too. genre(s): romance, drama, angst, modern au warning(s): female anatomy described, mentions of bodily fluids, dry humping, explicit language, profanity, praise kink, implied character death, mentions of decay and blood notes: it's a fuckin’ time loop. based off this post i made a little while ago. inspired by the time traveler's wife and happy death day. thank you for reading, darling! now playing: if you let me - alina baraz

You’re in the briefing room, fighting for your life. 

Almost face-plant into your notebook a few times. Doesn’t help that it’s warm and dim, and you haven’t had your coffee. 

Your supervisor decided it would be an excellent time to bore you all half to death as if you weren’t already constantly putting your lives on the line. Something about Operational Security violations running rampant throughout your organization. 

Blah, blah, blah.

Of everything you’ve faced thus far, death by PowerPoint would be such a way to go.

“Long night?” bleeds in a voice from your right. Your savior. 

You look at Leon, all wild-eyed, like you’ve been caught doing something nefarious. He smiles in reply, all boyish and unguarded. Watches you like you’ve said something funny or like he could just eat you up. Whatever the context, you enjoy the attention. You always do when it comes from your partner. 

Your face begins to tingle with warmth. But you mask your embarrassment with a half-smile and an elbow to his rib. 

“You would know,” you mouth back, careful not to alert your supervisor. 

Leon smiles a little wider. Chuckles low and abrasive, leaning back in his chair with folded arms. Gives you a nice little view of the veins that live there and the muscle lurking beneath the cuffed sleeves of his shirt. 

He catches you staring in his peripheral, and the smugness he radiates is palpable. No one’s the wiser when he grazes your leg with his under the table. Sets little goose pimples alight on your skin when he pitches himself forward to grip your quad.

You take to messing with some frayed edges of your notebook, tucking your goofy, lopsided smile within its pages. Mind suddenly colors with memories of last night. Labored breaths, sweat, heat, and your tongue coiled around his name. 

Your body hums, and you pinch your thighs together to ward off the pleasant rush of endorphins between. He squeezes and winks, smile lines bracketing his mouth as he returns his attention to the mindless dribble of your boss.

What a long night, indeed.

“Dinner?” Leon simply asks over the blue light of your monitor. 

It feels like more of a statement than a request. Like he knows you’d never deny him as he presses the lid of your laptop closed with a definitive click!

You sit back in an easy slouch in your rolling chair. Cross your arms, looking every bit of smug-read-annoyed, and you eye him warily. 

“Only dinner?”

That grin is back. All dimpled and crinkly-eyed as he props himself against the oakwood of your desk. Bathed in the ethereal glow of the setting sun bleeding into your window, he laughs something guttural. You’re the cheekiest little shit when you wanna be.

“No promises,” he admits with a shrug. Exudes sex even without trying. 

You regard him for a moment. Keep him on edge, though both of you already know the answer. Doesn’t mean you can’t make him squirm with the prospect of your potential rejection. 

You clear your throat after a brief stare down. Feign indifference as you smooth out your sleeves and trousers. 

“Your place or mine?”

Like you’d ever say no.

Your place.

It’s always your place, but you can’t complain. You live on the quieter side of town, tucked away from the cacophony of the city and your nosy-as-all-hell coworkers.

Besides, it’s all cozy inside. Decked out with mood lights and earth tones and enough plants to rival a greenhouse. 

Leon likes it this way. How it distracts him from the bleakness of your jobs. The ever-looming premise of death and decay and corruption. So, you never bother to change it. It’s his little piece of heaven. 

You’re his little piece of heaven. 

Speaking of which—

“Stop it!” you half squeal, half giggle, spatula in one hand, a fistful of soft blonde in the other. 

The sound of your collective merriment carries from the kitchen. Sepia-toned with smooth jazz leaking from the soundbar. 

Leon’s chuckle vibrates your skin. Hands are a searing hot and homely pressure, perched on your waist. Lips blister kisses down the slope of your shoulder, and his hair tickles your neck. 

“Can’t help myself. ‘sides, you had a little sauce on your neck. Had to—” Kiss. “—clean it up for you.” Suck.

“Bullshit.”

“Mmmm, honest,” Leon drawls in a way that makes your knees shake, and you feel the sound of it pooling in your loins. 

He proceeds to do terribly distracting things with his mouth on your neck whilst his hands embark on a journey down your thighs. They bunch up the lace of your dress on their excursion, making way for his fingers to tiptoe between your legs, gripping meaty thigh until your flesh craters between. 

“Leon.” 

You huff out something between a laugh and a pleasured sigh. An eager hand instinctively curls around his nape, and you find yourself mindlessly grinding against him. Eyes shutter closed, head falls back into the pocket of his shoulder. Around a smile, you breathe, 

“I worked really hard on this. You don’t let me finish, I’ll kick your ass.”

That doesn’t deter him. Not in the slightest. Never does, and he snickers something sinister. Eases his grip on your thighs northward until the knuckles of his thumbs graze the seat of your panties. You shiver. Almost say, fuck dinner.

“Thought you were on the menu.”

You snort, gripping the counter’s edge for leverage and shoving back. Leon stumbles a few steps away, all blown wide pupils and a peachy color dusting his cheeks. Looks at you like a kicked puppy. That wobbly lip nearly does it for you.

“Later,” you promise.

Leon has a sweet tooth. You  always  give him dessert. 

It’s a mire of sounds.

Your voice, high and light. Leon’s, deep and abrasive. Your collective laughter and pleasured sighs intermingle in your bedroom whilst music croons in the background.

He’s got you where he wants you. Straddling his lap on your bed like a good girl, swathed in the subtle moon glow of the room. Has his lips latched onto your throat and his hands eagerly mapping out the contours of your body.

Your dress is bunched around your hips. Straps spilling down your arms, head thrown back, lids shuttered. He has this way of whittling you down to incoherencies like no one ever has. 

Who would’ve thought your goofy little Leon could be such a sex symbol?

He grips your waist, encouraging you to grind against him. Hard and heavy, and he radiates heat through the confines of his slacks. He feels so good and big, and you might just cum from the sensation alone. From the proximity. From the dangerous gravel of his voice as he murmurs every level of filth into your ear.

So good for me. 

Already wet, and I haven’t even taken your panties off. 

Naughty baby. 

You might cum before I even get it inside.

You would fully surrender yourself to him—to his palms kneading your breasts and the calluses of his thumbs scraping pleasantly over your nipples—if not for a series of buzzing sounds emanating from your nightstand. 

Again.

“God dammit,” you sigh, trying to catch your breath.

“Fuck that,” Leon husks, licking up the column of your throat. Desperation wades beneath the surface of his tone. Possessiveness. Desire. “Fuck the phone. I want you. Need you.”

It’s hard to argue when he gazes at you like that, with hooded eyes and furled lashes. And he’s drunk off the feel of you. Begging. Dipping his head down to close his lips around your pebbled nipple, and it’s like you’ve been struck by white lightning. 

“Fuh-huck!”

He groans against your tit in reply, matching the undulation of your hips with a roll of his own. You cling to him for dear life, fingers buried in his hair, pussy leaking and swollen against the seam of his trousers, mouth parted, and lips shining with spit. 

Try as you might to ignore it, the insistent humming of your phone leaks through the static of your brain.

“Fuck, Leon, I gotta…I gotta take this,” you gasp, scrambling for the nightstand. Whoever’s calling doesn’t know the meaning of peace. 

Leon doesn’t relent. Has a mouthful of tit, flittering his tongue over your nip and eyeing you wantonly and fucking groaning like you’re the tastiest morsel to ever grace his tongue. 

A familiar voice bleeds through the receiver as you bite your lips against a whine. 

“Hey!” trills your coworker, all shrill and uncomfortably cheery despite the hour. Cheryl from HR. You should’ve known. 

Play it cool. Though it’s exceedingly difficult with the object of your desires fucking you through your clothes. 

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Girl, I think I left my purse in your car.” 

You blanch. 

You picked her up for lunch. Of course, she left it. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Think my ID’s in there. Can’t get into the office in the morning without it. You know they’re tired of me losing that thing.” Sigh.

A groan swells in your chest. You’re at odds with yourself. Slap a hand over your forehead, cursing whatever higher being decided to bless and punish you tonight.  “I’ll go check the car,” you relent. Leon releases a chagrined sound in the background. Pins you with incredulous eyes as he releases your tit from his mouth with a wet pop!

Fitfully, you wrestle yourself free from Leon’s arms. Giggle as you stumble off the bed, and Leon lunges for you. You easily dodge, tiptoeing towards the entrance of your bedroom. Give him a placating smile halfway through the threshold, silently promising to finish what you’ve started once you’re done.

Hurry back, he mouths around a pout. Makes little grabby hands at you, and the furrow of his brows almost makes you clamber back onto his lap. But you’re a Good Samaritan. Sometimes. And you’ll never hear the end of it if you don’t find Cheryl’s purse.

Soundlessly, you whisk through your home towards the garage after fixing your dress. Ease into the driver seat of your car, the door slamming shut behind. You locate her purse on the passenger side floor with laser precision. Hard not to see it when it’s gaudy and pink like that. 

You rummage through it, mindful of its contents. Find her ID soon after, turning over the cool plastic in your hand to confirm. 

“It’s in here.”

She releases a weighted sigh on the other end of the phone.

“I can meet you at the front gate in the morning to give it to you.”

“Girl, thank you! You’re a lifesaver!”

You tamp down a smile. Tuck your bashfulness into your shoulder. Cheryl’s infectiously chipper. A nice change of pace to the depressing humdrum of your profession. 

“Yeah, yeah. See you in the morning.”

“See ya!”

When she hangs up, you ease her purse into your glove box. Nestle it between pistol mags and your badge for safekeeping. 

You glance at your phone. Squint against its brilliance, and it’s a quarter to midnight. Fuck. Another late night.

A quiet smile crests over your lips when you catch sight of your home screen. Of course, it would be Leon. With an adorably cheesy dog filter, and he’s all baggy-eyed and uncharacteristically happy on the screen. You’ve gotta get back to him. Left him all hard and leaking in your bed. 

So, you reach for the crisp door handle, mind abuzz with thoughts of Leon, Leon, Leon.

But then, there’s suddenly an explosion of colors. Yellow and orange seeping into red. A sound that’s deafening and robs you of all thought. White hot pain wading over your skin. And then…

Well, then, there is nothing.