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jarofstyles · 4 months ago

Text

Merlot

Hello my lovely ducklings. I promised a good age gap DILF sorta thing and I’m here to hand ‘em over. He’s getting some silver at the temples and she’s loving every second of it. Let me know what you think 🍷

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WC- 8k

Warnings- age gap, dilfrry, smut, oral (m + f receiving) unprotected sex (please wrap it up irl), exhibitionism, daddy kink if you squint, and all the fun stuff.

“I hate to ask this cliche question, and it absolutely pains me to ask in such an uncouth way- but do you come here often?” Peeking over the rim of the glass, amber liquid brushed his top lip and the ice cubs clanked as the smoky liquor hit his tongue.

God knew what he was doing- the girl in front of him looked too young for him, but she had struck up the conversation first. Commenting on his silver lion’s head ring and asking where he’d gotten it, wide eyed and eager as she looked up at him with that pretty pout and mascara coated lashes. Perhaps it was the crippling loneliness of divorce, maybe it was the hint of a buzz of his second drink, or even a hint of desperation that had him continuing the conversation with the younger woman as she took the bar stool in front of him- but she seemed receptive. Leaning into the conversation and keeping eye contact, she played into him.

"Cliches can be cute sometimes." She laughed as she placed her own glass down, now empty. "I don't, no. I'm not one for the whole going out thing. Not anymore. I was in uni, but I think as soon as you graduate they take away your tolerance card." Rolling her eyes playfully she felt a lick of satisfaction in getting a chuckle out of him. "And what about you? Do you like to come to bars with overpriced drinks to talk to random people who decide to invade your bubble to ask where your pretty jewelry is from?"

"Well, I can't say I make a habit of it, but sometimes a man needs to escape the responsibilities of reality- and as much as I adore my pets, I think they’re tiring of hearing my voice.” He shook his head as he flexed his fingers, looking back down at the conversation starter. Pretty eyes met his own. It had been so long since he felt flustered but she had done a pretty good job at making him feel a little off kilter in the best way. A break from the mundane.

“I’ll have to agree with you on them revoking your tolerance once you exit uni. Though I will say it’s a blessing in disguise. I wasn’t terribly into partying in my last year, considering I’d started getting awful hangovers. Almost like s’bad for you, or something.” He teased, leaning against the bar top. It was clear that they’d shifted closer to each other through their conversation and he tried to not get his hopes up, but he sort of did feel like she was giving him… those sort of eyes. “I don’t want to keep you from your friends, though.”

“You’re not.” She said simply, looking up at him. Usually, facial hair wasn’t something she considered much at all. Not many around her wore it, but she had to say the longer she looked at him, the more she liked it. It was just… masculine. Rugged, in a way, but he kept it groomed. This man was interesting all around, with pretty rings and a deep raspy voice, seafoam eyes and a little tiny gray streak starting near his temple. God, that was hot. “I’m plenty happy talking to you.”

His heart skipped a beat as she looked up at him, those eyes sparkling with something he hoped was interest, but at the very least looked like genuine intrigue. Nothing about their encounter led to her feeling otherwise. It was a nice change, feeling the ease of a conversation flow even if he stumbled on words when he accidentally looked down at her lips.

Fuck it.

He reached out, gently brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on her cheek. "I’m glad t’hear that. You're very easy to talk to." he said, his voice low and warm. The risk was there, initiating a bit of touch, but he had fo test to waters. See where this was headed. Was she looking for a safe haven? A reliable guy who didn’t look like a creep (hopefully), someone to buy her drinks as she pitied the older man at the bar, or… was this headed the direction the heat in his belly desperately wanted.

“Am I?” Her head tilted slightly, smile slightly shy but making no effort to move from where his fingers hovered slightly. “I do get told I have problems knowing when to shut up and let things be quiet, so I suppose that tracks. It can be nice in conversations.” Especially when he had seemed slightly apprehensive of her at first and now warmed up. “You’ve got a nice voice. It’s nice to talk to you.”

"Well, I suppose we'll just have to keep talking, then." He said softly, his voice growing even warmer as he leaned in closer, his eyes flicking back down to her lips briefly before returning to her eyes.

“I agree.”

Y/N could be considered bold at times, but she liked that he was showing some effort- some interest. It was give and take, push and pull, a fun little game as she was given a perfect chance when someone else approached the bar top from behind Harry. “Oop- come ‘ere.’ She laughed, gently tugging him in as her ankle hooked around the back of his knee to tug him into her. “Someone’s tryn’ to make an order.”

Now he was closer than she had anticipated, stood between her thighs as she sat on the barstool with her leg wrapped around his. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get in your space.” The girl could feel his body heat. Fuck, he smelled so good. None of that… the familiar cheap colognes and aftershaves she was used to, not was it overpowering. Harry smelled expensive and spicy with some sort of leathery vanilla and she had to wonder what it was. "You smell really good..."

"No, no, it's fine..." He said softly, his voice trailing off as he looked down at her, their faces inches apart. He didn't move away, instead, he leaned in even closer, his hand resting on her knee. “Thank you.” The heat felt a little overwhelming in his cheeks. Pathetic to be a grown man blushing over such a simple compliment but he was so close to her now, body head radiating off of her and she smelled equally as good. “Um, so do you.”

He breathed in deeply, taking in her scent. It was a unique blend of floral notes, with a hint of citrus and a sweet, vanilla-like undertone. It was feminine, youthful, and intoxicating. Sweet and fresh. It didn’t choke him in floral and musk like the women who had been after him since his signature had barely dried on his divorce papers, but something that he vaguely remembered from his own days around her age. Perhaps that was a sign he should back off, but he couldn’t. He felt himself getting lost in the scent, his head spinning slightly as he continued to breathe her in.

His hand on her knee nearly burned but she relished in the feeling, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she smiled slightly at him. It was her first time attempting something like this. Older men were always a thing for her, a desire, but never one she felt bold enough to go for. Now, though, she wondered why she had waited. The feeling in her stomach and the delicate way she felt under his touch was something that had her nearly giddy.

“I like the mustache.” She pointed to it. “It’s a mature look. In a good way.” Of course she didn’t want to offend him, make him feel like she was calling him old. “Guys I’m around usually can’t pull it off. But you do.” Braving a touch, she let her fingers run over his jaw and felt a slight bit of scruff. “Are y’gonna go for a full beard? Or no?”

"Maybe..." Harry murmured, leaning into her touch. "Depends on how well it's received..." The joke was cracked softly, his eyes fluttering closed briefly as she touched his face. He let his hand slide a little higher up on her thigh, squeezing gently. "Thank you for the compliment though. Was hoping it wouldn’t be a bad thing cause I noticed y’looking at it.”

“Mm, I was. It’s nice.” Sexy. Her eyes felt heavy as she watched his lips curl in a slight smile. “ I’m assuming that there’s no missus at home?” She asked lightly. “You don’t seem like a cheater, Harry.” It was a tease, but he didn’t wear a ring on his ring finger. Usually she never gave men the benefit of the doubt but selfishly, she wanted to be right so she wouldn’t feel guilty about imagining her inner thighs raw from beard burn later tonight.

"No missus." He confirmed, his thumb rubbing small circles on her thigh as he opened his eyes to look at her. "Just me, and the office. I've been too busy to think about dating, let alone finding someone serious." He admitted honestly, his gaze lingering on her face. "I mean, I was married. Briefly." He said, his expression growing slightly somber. "But that's over now. It didn't work out." He shrugged, trying to downplay it, even though the divorce had been messy and painful. "What about you? Boyfriend at home?"

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out.” She frowned. It wasn’t something she’d pry on because she could see it bothered him a bit, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t curious. Nor that she didn’t feel bad. “I’m single, thank god. My last boyfriend was a complete prick.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust. “Cheated on me a few times on a boys holiday. Was stupid enough to post with other girls and think people wouldn’t send it to me just because he hid stories from me. but it was a relief, anyways.” It sounded cold, callous maybe, but it was the truth. “It’s just me now as I figure out what to do.”’

"He sounds like an idiot." He grumbled, his hand tightening lightly on her thigh. "You're too good for that." He paused, his eyes flicking over her features. "What do you mean, figure out what to do? Like, with life?"

“Yeah. Career wise mostly. I think I want to do writing but it’s been hard to tell lately. I do that part time and then work at a cafe as a waitress and pick up shifts when I need the money. I’m tired all the time so it’s taking me longer to simply sit down and figure out 100% what I want to do but, that’s life.” She shrugged. “So I get suckered into going out to bars with my coworkers and getting a buzz so I go up to a handsome man and demand to know where his ring is from, so it suppose it isn’t all bad.”

"Writing, huh?" There was intrigue in his voice as he took in her answer. The compliment wasn’t lost on him, and it fueled that bolder part of him that wanted to break out. "Like, books, or journalism? I happen to be in publishing, so if that’s something you’d like to walk about we can…." He trailed off, his thumb continuing to rub soothing patterns on her thigh. "It’s not the easiest thing to break into but you’ve got a lot going for you. I’d be willing to help you if you feel ready.” . That was a genuine offer, regardless if he got laid… but he still felt that the way she was looking at him had an undertone

"You should come by my office sometime, if you want." He offered, his voice low. "I mean, if you're interested in publishing. We could... talk shop. Or something." He added, his hand slowly creeping higher up her thigh as he spoke.

“Or something?” She grinned widely. “Are you making a pass at me, handsome stranger Harry?” Her fingers stroked down his jaw towards his neck, messing with the collar of his shirt.

"I mean, m’being serious about helping you but… Maybe a bit of flirting is happening." He whispered, tilting his head to the side to give her better access. "I mean, you did ask where my ring was..." He pointed out softly, his hand now resting high up on her thigh, fingers spread wide, said ring gleaming in the low light. "And I haven't exactly been getting much action since the divorce..."

Eyes fell down to his hand and back up to his face, ever so slightly spreading her legs more to allow him to step closer between them. The heel of her shoe gently ran over his calf, biting lightly on her lower lip as she tried to keep the smile off her face. “And is that the only thing you want from me?”

Harry's breath hitched as she spread her legs, his heart racing at the subtle gesture. His hand tightened ever so slightly on her thigh, his fingers digging in just a bit as he leaned in closer. "No," He admitted quietly, his voice husky. "But it's a good start."

“Tell me.” She slipped her hand down to let them curl into the fabric of his shirt. “I’ve never been with an older man before, Harry. Are you all just as shitty as the younger ones? Or are you better?”

Harry's eyes darkened as she slipped her hand under his shirt, the rough pad of her fingers against his skin making him shiver. "I'm better." He said confidently, his voice deep and rumbling. "I know what I want, and I know how to treat a woman."

The man’s hand tightened on her flesh as she let out a breathy sigh, his eyes never leaving hers. "With respect," He said simply. "With kindness and attention. I open doors, I pull out chairs, I make sure they're comfortable and cared for. And in bed…" There was a pause, a slight smirk on his face as he averted his gaze for a single moment.

“In bed?” She echoed, looking up at him expectantly. “Don’t keep me on edge here. I’m dying to know.”

Harry smirked at her, his hand moving higher up her thigh, stopping right at the hem of her panties. His knuckles could feel how humid she was, no denying she was wet. It was hard to keep focused, but he had to. "Well, Y/N… I make sure they're satisfied," He said, his voice low and sultry. "I take my time, I pay attention to their body, I explore and learn what makes them tick."

“So you won’t just cum and roll over and fall asleep?” She hummed, her other hand running under his blazer and over his back. “Because I’m real tired of giving it my all and barely getting a subpar orgasm out of it. It’s why I was trying to be celibate for a while…”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Not on my watch," He said, his thumb brushing against her panties. "I'll make sure you're thoroughly satisfied, multiple times if needed. I'll hold you close, kiss you, tell you how beautiful you are, while I make love to you."

“Ooo… he makes love..” She cooed, giggling lightly before leaning into whisper the next words to him. Was this an older man thing? Or a literature person sort of thing? Waxing poetically about the things he could provide, it all sounded amazing. But she had to know. “But can you fuck? Can you make me feel it for days, bruise my ass, get me so wet I ruin your sheets?”

Harry groaned quietly her words, his thumb pressing against her panties, feeling how soaked they were. "Fuck, yes." He growled under his breath, his other hand reaching up to cup her cheek. "I can be rough, I can be gentle, I can do whatever the hell you want. All y’have to do is ask."

Y/N let out a shuddering breath as his thumb brushed over her clit through her panties, looking to the side as she attempted to see if anyone was paying attention- but considering how crowded it was tonight, no one was paying them much mind. “So you’ll take me back to your place and make me cum? That’s what I want.”

Harry nodded, his thumb rubbing against her. "Yeah, sweetheart, I'll take you back to my place and make you cum so hard you'll see stars. And then I'll keep going, as long as you want, until you can't take it anymore."

“God.” The girl’s head rolled toward and thumped on his shoulder, feeling him chuckle as he rolled his thumb over her swollen clit. The lacy scrap of material she considered panties did little to hide how slick she was, the older man having plenty of fun playing with her as she turned her head and nipped her teeth into his throat.

Harry let out a low hiss at the sharp little bite, his hand still pressing against her clit through her panties. He reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out his phone, quickly typing out a text message before putting it back in his pocket.

“W-What are you doing?” She murmured, slowly pressing her lips to his skin and staining it with her lipstick. He was casual about playing with her, acting like stroking her clit was second nature as his other hand adjusted the straps of her dress back up from where they’d begun to droop.

Harry smirked as she inquired, his thumb still making small circles against her clit. He leaned in closer to her ear and whispered, "I'm sending a message to my housekeeper, to make sure the bed is prepared for when we get back to my place."

“God, M’gonna suck your dick so good.” She sighed, a tipsy giggle leaving her throat. “It’s big. I knew it was when I came over here but… shit, I’m gonna feel it for days.”

Harry grinned as she grumbled against his neck, his hand leaving her panties to grip her hip possessively. "You're going to love it, baby. I'm going to stretch your little mouth wide, and you're going to take every inch like a good girl." He crooned low in his throat. “But you need to get that pretty ass up and come t’the car with me. My driver is here.”

——-

Y/N let out a squeal of delight as Harry tossed her into his bed. His Californian King with a canopy, four postered, hand craved fucking bed frame, his shirt unbuttoned, belt undone and jacket on the floor. Her dress was over her hips and she wasn’t sure exactly how they’d gotten here, but what she was sure of was the fact that she really did like kissing him. “Kiss me.” She demanded, grabbing his scruffy face as he crawled up the bed and hovered over top of her.

Harry chuckled at her demanding tone, his mustache brushing against her lips as he obliged her request. He kissed her deeply, his hand wrapping around her jaw to pull her close. As they made out, he let go only momentarily to reach down and grab her dress, yanking it up over her head and tossing it carelessly aside.

That left her in just the pathetic excuse of lace panties, as she had forgone the bra for the sake of the dress, and there was no complaints on his end. Her hand pushed at the shoulder of his shirt, trying to get it off of him. “Want you closer.” She mumbled, leaning into him with a mewl as he pulled back to do as she asked. It was erotic and hot and she was surprised by the amount of tattoos he had, but god, did she want to see more of him.

Harry grinned, feeling her warm hands pushing at his shirt. He lifted his arms, allowing her to pull it off of him. His tattoos were extensive, covering most of his arms, chest, and back. Inquisitive hands ran over her sides, marveling at her form compared to his own build.

The man bent down and started to place kisses along her collarbone and up her neck. His rough hands squeezed her sides gently, thumbs brushing along her ribs. He continued to kiss and nibble at her neck, his facial hair tickling her sensitive skin. He whispered, "Wrap your legs around my waist, baby."

She did as asked, eyes fluttering shut as she could feel him through his trousers. Of course, she’d been right. The man’s cock was big like she had expected, and it was thick. Throbbing against her through the fabric, her mouth watered slightly as she rubbed herself against him, fingers finding his hair as he made his way down her throat. “Fuck, it’s been so long.” The slight scratching of the facial hair only made her feel more sensitive, like she was on a live wire. It was decided that she definitely liked it now.

Harry groaned at her words, the sound coming out more like a rumble from his chest. He continued to kiss and nip at her throat as she ground herself against him. His hands squeezed and gripped her ass, encouraging her movements. "God, you feel so damn good, and m’not even inside you yet."

Harry paused for a moment, looking up at her with a heated gaze. "You're so precious, so sweet... I've never been with anyone like you before." His voice was gruff, filled with desire. He ran his hands up her sides, marveling at her smooth skin. The curves, the indents, all of it was new and exciting.

“No?” She asked softly. “I’ve never been with an older man either. Kinda like it.” There was no hesitation in admitting it. “Was your ex wife not good to you, Harry?”

Harry's expression darkened briefly at the mention of his ex-wife. "She wasn't... attentive. And she certainly never looked at me the way you are now." He buried his face in her neck once more, kissing and nuzzling her skin.

“No?” It was astounding. “I don’t know how. If I had a man like you…” She let out a breathy laugh. “You’d have to pry me off of you. you are so attractive, so sweet… Can’t imagine why she wouldn’t be all over you, all the time.” It wasn’t something she could really understand. She barely knew the guy but she liked what she saw, and she liked it a lot.

Harry's heart swelled with pride at her words. He felt his ego growing a bit, having this beautiful young woman fawn over him. "I think she was always more interested in the status and prestige that came with being married to me, rather than actually being in love with me." It wasn’t something he liked to think about but in this instance he felt okay with it. If it hadn't ended, he wouldn’t end up here.

His lips continued to kiss and caress Y/N, his hands roaming over her curves almost in awe of what he had his hands on. It wasn’t what he had expected. People watching at the bar was his goal, really. He had one night stands a few times but he didn’t necessarily want this to be a one time sorta of thing. Not when she smelled this good and her lips tasted like cherry wine. He wanted to know what books she liked just as much as he wanted to know how she looked when she came. "But now I have you in my bed, and you're looking at me like I'm the most desirable man you've ever seen, so I think m’doing okay." He crooned, nipping at her neck.

“Because you are.” The girl purred. “All man and power in the best way. Not socially, but in what you are. You exude it.” Her cunt rubbed against him, making her eyes lull. “I knew you’d have a big dick. Knew it just walking up, how you stood. I wanted it inside of me.”

Harry let out a low chuckle, his voice a deep rumble. "Is that right? You wanted me inside you from the moment you saw me?" His hands gripped her backside firmly, spreading her cheeks as she ground against him. "Well, you're going to get it, baby."

“Mmm… I want it now.”

Y/N nearly whimpered as he pulled away but quickly shut up as she watched him stand up, hands working the button of his trousers. It took her seconds to lift up and get on her knees in front of him, shooing his hands away to take over. it had been months since she’d given head and while she wasn’t a normal lover of it, she had been dying to get her hands on him.

Harry watched with heavy-lidded eyes as she pushed his hands away and undid his pants herself. He bit his lower lip as she slowly revealed what she'd been craving. "You don't have to do that, baby." He said hoarsely, knowing full well that he wanted her to- but he wouldn’t make her. It would be more than okay if he focused on her. He got off on giving, and that’s what he focused on.

“Need to.” She gave him a look as she slowly tugged the zipper down, guiding his trousers down before palming him over his briefs. “Fuck, I’m gonna be full of this.”

Harry let out a low moan at her grip and the words that followed. The image of her full and well used was enough to send any red-blooded man to their knees, but he just stood there in front of her, letting her take control, letting her give him pleasure. He watched as she pulled his boxers down, freeing his length. His hands moved to cup the back of her head, fingers threading through her hair. He could see the lust in her gaze, and he couldn’t help but sigh again at the sight of her.

His thick, veined shaft jutted out proudly from a trimmed thatch of dark hair. The head was a dark, angry red and already glistening with precome. The older man let out a sharp breath as she wrapped her fingers around his shaft, slowly starting to stroke him. He watched intently as she gripped his cock, sliding it over the sensitive length, causing it to pulse in her grip.

A shiver of pleasure ran down her spine as she watched his control come undone. Her eyes were locked onto him, watching his cock pulse and throb in her hand. She could feel it grow harder with each stroke, leaning herself down and sticking out her tongue for a taste.

The sensation of her tapping tongue against the tip of his cock made him shudder, watching the precum string from his slit to the pad of her pink tongue. He looked down at her, seeing the hot promise in her eyes- this was going to be good and he knew it. She slowly began to slide the head of his cock back and forth between her lips, teasing it with her tongue.

Y/N wasn’t one to call any cock pretty, but she would dare to say it for him. Harry’s cock was appealing in the way most others hadn’t been. Maybe part of it was her overwhelming attraction to him in general, but she felt even more eager to make him feel good than she had with anyone else in the past. “I want to take it in my throat. I can do it, I promise. Jus’ need your help.” Her plea was finished with a kiss to the tip before opening her mouth, looking up at him to let him take over.

He guided her head forward gently, encouraging her to take more of him into her mouth. "Relax your jaw, baby, you can take it." He coaxed softly, his voice laced with desire. As Y/N did as he asked, Harry felt his cock slide deeper into her warm, wet mouth. Her lips stretched around his girth, pushing in slowly before he felt the tip of his cock hitting the back of her throat. He could feel her nose pressing against his pubic bone as she struggled to take him all in. “Shh, sweetheart. Just gotta get it wet for me, show me what you can do.”

He held her head steady, his hands gently gripping her hair as he started to slowly thrust his hips. The sound of his thick cock sliding in and out of her mouth filled the room, along with the occasional gagging noise as she struggled to accommodate his size.

"You're doing so well, baby," Harry praised, his voice low and gravelly. "Look at you, takin’ it like a good girl. You're gonna make me come so hard today, aren’t you, sweetheart? Just like that, that's it- relax that throat for me..."

As Harry continued to talk to her, his sweet words and praise, Y/N's eyes began to water from the effort of taking him so deep. She gagged a few times, her hands coming up to his thighs for support, but she refused to pull away for longer than a few seconds to catch her breath.

Her cheeks hollowed and her jaw ached, but she was determined to take him all in. Harry's hands moved to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer, fucking her mouth with more urgency. "That's it, baby. You're making me so hard... S’been so long... Been ages since anyone’s made me feel like this..." Harry's voice trailed off into a low moan as Y/N finally managed to take him all in, her nose pressing against his lower abdomen. “Tha’s it, right there- fucks sake.”

Harry's hips began to thrust involuntarily, fucking her mouth with shallow pumps as he held the back of her head, still buried deep in her throat. He released the grip, trying to urge her off- but she didn’t want to. "Fuck... you’ve got t’pull off, sweetheart..." he groaned, his breathing heavy and erratic. “Need t’fuck you.” Y/N whimpered around his thickness, her eyes watering as she shook her head slightly, indicating that she wasn't ready to give up yet. She wanted to taste him, to drink him down like he had with her. Harry's grip tightened in her hair, his voice strained.

"Babe...you've gotta-you've got to... please," Harry begged, his voice cracking as she continued to suck him off, her head bobbing and nose brushing his thatch of hair, making his eyes clench shut. "If you don't stop now, M’gonna, fuck...I'm gonna cum in your mouth..."

Y/N whimpered, her hands gripping his thighs tightly as she continued to suck him enthusiastically, eager to taste him. Harry's breathing became rapid and shallow, his fingers tightening in her hair as he struggled to hold back. "Y/N, last chance...I'm-"

The girl moaned as she felt him stiffen, his hips bucking forward as he finally gave in and let go, filling her mouth with his warm release. Watching his face fall in ecstasy, it was going to be worth the soreness tomorrow. She struggled to swallow it all, some of it dripping out of her mouth and down her chin. Harry's knuckles were white from gripping her hair so tightly, his body trembling as he came deep in her mouth. The sight of her swallowing him down was almost too much for him to handle, and he had to close his eyes and focus on not passing out. It truly had been a long fucking time.

As Harry finished cumming, Y/N eagerly cleaned his sensitive prick with her tongue, licking and sucking until he was completely clean. She ran her tongue along the veins and underneath the head, making him shudder and pull back. "Too sensitive...God, you're so good at that." he praised breathlessly. There was slight disbelief in there too, a slight tingling in his thighs as he looked at her as she pressed sloppy kisses to his hip bone. Mascara smeared under her eyes and lipstick a faded smeared mess, he wondered how he had gotten this lucky.

Harry needed a moment to catch his breath, his heart still racing from the intense orgasm. He looked down at Y/N, her messy appearance only making her more adorable to him. "You know what would be perfect right now?" he asked, his voice still shaking slightly.

“What?” Her voice croaked, feeling his thumb brushed away some of the tears on her cheek that had fallen from the gagging.

"Letting me get a taste of that pussy I've been fantasizing about." Harry suggested, his eyes still lingering on her messy and sated appearance as he pulled her up and pushed her to lay back down on the bed. “S’my turn now. Spread those perfect legs and let me see that cunt.”

Y/N obediently spread her legs wide, letting Harry see her dripping wet pussy. He let out a low groan at the sight as he got on his knees, his thumbs spreading her lips apart to reveal her slick folds. He buried his face between her thighs, inhaling her scent deeply before diving in and licking her from asshole to clit. There was no wasting any time or pretending to be shy about a single thing.

A started squeak left her mouth as her head popped up, hands gripping his head as he dove right in with little hesitation. Harry hadn’t seemed like the type to have any reservations in taking what he wanted, and it was being proven by how his tongue slid over her most sensitive parts.

He continued to eat her out with reckless abandon, his tongue fucking her pussy as if it belonged to him. Her breathing was heavy as he sucked on her clit, nibbling at it gently before returning to lap at her folds. His hands gripped her ass, spreading her cheeks wide to give himself better access to her tight hole. He wanted to have it all. “S’this okay, baby?”

“Uh-huh.” Y/N hadn’t really had anyone touch her there before but she couldn’t say she hadn’t been curious and self explored. It was always something she wanted to play around with and it felt exciting, handing herself over to the man like that.

Harry grinned mischievously against her wet flesh, his hands spreading her wider as he buried his face deeper. He pushed his thumb against her hole, slowly sliding it inside as he continued to lap at her cunt. “You taste so good, sweetheart...” he murmured, his voice muffled by her flesh.

He added a second finger to her ass, scissoring them apart slowly as he tongue fucked her pussy. Y/N's legs started to shake as the dual stimulation became too much. She gripped his hair tightly, her back arching off the bed as she let out a high pitched whine. "Ah!"

Y/N's fingers tightened painfully in Harry's hair, her knuckles turning pale as she tried to stay grounded while the pleasure consumed her. His tongue was spearing into her soaking wet hole over and over, curling up to rub against that spot inside her that made her see stars. And his fingers… god, those hands.

His fingers were stretching her asshole, pushing past the initial resistance and sinking deep into her tight heat. He scissored them further apart, popping her open wider as he fingered her ass. Y/N's legs shook violently, her whole body trembling as she felt herself on the verge of a massive orgasm.

"Harry...it's...too- please..." She babbled, unable to form a full sentence as he continued to stuff her holes. It had never been like this before, no one had even come close. He ignored her pleas, instead burying his face deeper and pumping his fingers faster. She felt so stuffed, so full, the pressure mounting inside her unbearably.

He felt her whole body stiffen, her pussy fluttering on his tongue as she cried out. She gushed against his mouth as she came, the feeling so intense and overwhelming that the waves of pleasure forced her to collapse against him.

Harry worked her through it as she trembled and whimpered with pleasure, his fingers still buried in her ass and his tongue still buried in her pussy. He felt a sense of pride and accomplishment, knowing that he'd reduced this beautiful young woman to a whimpering, shaking mess. It was not only an ego boost from what had been lacking for a while now, but he liked seeing how she reacted to him. He alone had done it.

Harry slowly lifted his head, wiping her from his face as he grinned wickedly at Y/N. "You taste even better when you're coming apart for me, sweetheart." He brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean while maintaining eye contact with her. "And you’re tight everywhere, hm?”

Y/N stared at Harry, her eyes glazed over and pupils dilated from the intense high she was still riding down from. Her mouth was slightly parted, breath hitching as she watched him clean her off his hands. A soft blush spread across her cheeks, embarrassed yet turned on by his bold actions.

"H-Harry...that was...I've never...I mean...no one's ever..." She stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence even still.

He chuckled darkly, enjoying how flustered she was. "No one's ever played with your pretty little hole before?"

“No.” Her face felt hot as he grinned up at her. He seemed more than pleased and it made her feel good to know he was happy but still, she had the slight embarrassment that only came with the territory.

"Well, consider that box checked then." He said smugly, crawling back up her body to kiss her passionately. She could taste herself on his lips and tongue, the musky flavor a testament to what he'd just done to her.

He grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head as he continued to ravage her mouth. She mewled into the kiss, arching up against him as she felt his hard length pressing into her stomach. "Does my pretty girl want more?"

“Mhm.” She nipped his lip. “Want you inside of me.” Was she still sensitive from her orgasm? yes. But she had been desperate to get him inside of her since she’d first spoken to him. “Do you- are you clean?”

He pulled back slightly, his breath hot against her cheek. "I'm always clean, sweetheart. I get checked regularly and I'm very particular about who I share my dick with." He gave her wrists a gentle squeeze before releasing them, reaching over to his pants to his back pocket to grab his wallet.

“I-“ Her hand reached for his wrist. “I don’t wanna use one.” The words laid in the humid air for a moment. It was risky, sure, as any sort of unprotected anything was, but she didn’t want anything in between them. “I want t’feel you inside of me…”

He groaned at her words, his eyes darkening with desire. "Christ, doll. You're gonna be the death of me." Leaning down to kiss her again, his tongue traced over her bottom lip before slipping inside her mouth. He took his time, savoring every inch of her. His lips found the sensitive spot behind her ear, causing her to shiver in anticipation. His hands made their way under her hair, feeling the warmth of her skin.

“Can I push in, baby?” He asked with a low tone, his lips tracing her collarbone. At her nod, he wasted little time. Poor thing hadn’t been fucked right before, and he would happily give her a proper experience. Reaching down between them, he positioned himself at her entrance. With one slow thrust, he entered her fully, feeling the warmth and tightness of her around him. His eyes rolled back in pleasure, as he buried the tip inside of her. “Fuck, thank you.”

He groaned as he pushed into her, feeling the way her body welcomed him. He paused for a moment, giving her time to adjust and letting himself feel the depth of her wet heat around him. His hands reached up to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples.

Being with a younger woman was different for him, but maybe it was just her- he realized as he moved inside of her. It was like being with a whole new sense of being, one who was full of energy and life. Everything about her was so fresh and vibrant, from her tight little pussy to her perfect tits and gorgeous face.

He continued to thrust into her, feeling the way her walls tightened around him. His hands moved down from her breasts, over her soft stomach and to her hips, exploring whenever he could.

His movements were slower, each thrust deliberate and measured. He wanted to savor the feel of her, the way her body yielded to his. He was drawn to watch her face, loving the way her eyes fluttered shut and her mouth fell open as he filled her. "Look at me," he murmured. She opened her eyes, looking at him with a dazed expression. "Good girl, like t’see those pretty eyes." The man sighed, unable to resist praising her. He continued to thrust into her slowly, each movement filled with lust and desire.

“Fuck.” She kept her eyes on him as her hands ran over his hot shoulderbaldes, keeping that contact as he dipped all the way back home as deep as he could. Her mouth fell open and a high pitched noise left her throat without her permission, brows furrowed. “It’s never been that d-deep.”

He grinned at her, loving the way her inexperience made her react to him. "That's because no one's ever taken the time to stretch you out right." He leaned down to kiss her neck, his hips continuing to move in slow, deep thrusts.

“Where the fuck have you been, then?” She laughed breathlessly, letting her eyes fall back closed as he kept the thrusts slow and deep, relishing every inch he took. her body was lax and hot, his for the taking. Right now she felt like he could do anything and she would welcome it. “Are all older guys like this, or is it j-just you?”

He chuckled darkly against her neck, "There's a reason why women often prefer older men, doll- but M’gonna say for greeds sake, s’just me." He suckled at her skin, his hands sliding down to grip her thighs and push them back farther, opening her up even more to his slow, deep thrusts.

“Oh, shit.” Her mouth fell open and he welcomed it, sliding his tongue back inside her mouth and humming at the taste of her against him. The fact there was not a single barrier, albeit risky for the first time fucking, made it even hotter.

His movements became gentler, his hands caressing her skin instead of gripping it. "You like that?" he murmured against her lips, his hips rolling into hers instead of thrusting. "You like knowing that there's nothing between us?" He pulled back slightly, looking down at her with a heated gaze. "I want you to look at me when I ask you something," he said, his voice low and commanding as he took her eyes. "Are you on any birth control?"

“Y-Yeah. Uh-huh.” Her eyes wide, she looked up at him hazily as she wrapped her legs further around his hips. “Don’t pull out when you cum. Please- I know m’crazy, but I need… need it.” Y/N knew she was insane for it, but their connection was so strong, every thrust inside of her, hitting places she didn’t know existed prior to this… she needed it.

His expression softened, a coo leaving his mouth as he nodded at her. How precious. "Alright, sweetheart. I promise I won't pull out." A dumb decision on his part too considering they’d just met but in the midst of it all, it was all he wanted to do. His hips began to move again, his pace quickening as he felt the heat of her around him. "You're going to take it all then, aren't you?"

“Yeah.” She mewled. From the sounds and feel alone she knew she was making a mess on his cock, but she had a feeling he was enjoying it every time he snuck a glance between them. “Take everything you give me, Daddy.” It was a risk, but she wanted to see what he’d do.

His face contorted with pleasure, his brow furrowing and his jaw clenching. "Good girl…" he hissed, his voice low and gravelly. He buried his face in her neck and thrust into her with more need, his movements becoming more urgent. "You're going to make me cum, doll."

“Cum.” She begged. “Cum in me. Then fuck it into me. Please.” Her nails dragged over his toned back as she clung to him, his bed creaking as he fucked into her welcoming, wet pussy.

He let out a primal grunt and slammed into her one last time, his cock pulsing as he filled her with his hot, thick cum. He held himself inside her, his hips jerking as he pumped his load deep into her cunt. "Fuck, baby... I'm going to fucking fill you up."

But he wasn’t done. Not in the slightest.

With his cum still pouring into her, he reached under her and grabbed her thighs, spreading them wide apart. Observing the mess he made, he fixed his fingers on her clit as he fucked the cum into her just like she asked. “I gave you what you wanted, darling. Give me what I need too, mm?” His lips brushed her cheek, feeling the beginnings of her orgasm. She just needed a little extra, and he was more than happy to provide.

Y/N squirmed slightly as she felt it creep up on her faster than she could anticipate. The pulse of his cock as it dribbled the last of his cum inside of her, the feel of his facial hair brushing her tender skin and his fingertips rubbing quick circles over her clit, it was impossible to keep from holding back. Heat boiled in her stomach as she tried to tell him, but it came on quicker than she could speak.

A broken moan left her lips as her body shook under him, eyes burning with tears of pleasure as he fucked her messy cunt and continued the circles until she pushed his hand away, grabbing his face and kissing him far more messily than she would have done in any other capacity- but this felt right. Fucked out and wobbly, melting into the bed as he slowly stopped the thrusts and stayed buried in her.

“Mm- baby. Sweetheart…” he pulled back to look at her. “You alright? Tell me how you’re feelin’.” He needed to check in on her, make sure she was feeling properly taken care of. Just by the look of it alone he had a feeling she felt that way, but he wanted to hear it from her pretty lips.

“I’m so good.” She grinned, drunk with the pleasure as she looked up at the handsome man. He was everything that she had dreamt about when she woke up sticky between her thighs. Aged like a fine wine.

“Can we go again?”

#jarofstyles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #dilfrry #harry styles au #harry fanfic #harry styles fanfics #harry styles fic

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harrylights · 2 years ago

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#i think i need to go gay camping instead lol #so much of this trip has been me tolerating my parents bickering #and they got asked to play gigs here which we weren’t planning on when we originally planned on when we decided i’d join them on this trip #which is fine but it meant me being in the fucking legion for like 5hrs last night being ignored by all their friends lol #and when they practice together it makes me never want to be in a band lmao music has always been smth that’s fun and a way to de-stress #but rob in particular turns into such a diva #i wanna enjoy my time here but at this point i just wanna go home lol #and tmrw i’m gonna have to tolerate ppl celebrating canada day #and sit thru an even longer show of theirs in prob the blazing heat so.#ugh i hate that i’m complaining bc it’s so sacred to be here but dang dude #anyway.#rowyn rambles

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lilislegacy · 4 months ago

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Okay, I’m so gonna get hate for this. And it will probably get about 4 notes. This is, by far, the most opinionated thing I have ever posted on here. If you can’t tolerate criticism towards Rick Riordan, the books, or the TV show, please keep scrolling. My goal is NOT to change your mind or start arguments.

I also want to preface this by saying that I love and respect Rick Riordan (even if I disagree with him on things and don’t like some of his choices) and fully acknowledge that he has the right to do whatever the hell he pleases with his own series. I also want to say that I love Annabeth Chase (both the book and tv show version) with my entire being and you will never find me being an Annabeth hater. She’s my girl.

We good? Okay cool. So here’s the thing: I’ve seen a lot of people on here saying things like “If you didn’t like the books, you just don’t know how to have fun,” and “The new book haters are just mad that they aren’t the target audience anymore,” and (my personal favorite) “Nothing in the books has changed, only the readers have.”

And while I see your points, and I respect you, allow me to show you something. Because of the 10 picture limit, I am only going to focus on one specific change: Annabeth’s view of Percy.

WOTTG: Annabeth is surprised to be comforted by Percy

Past Books: Percy is constantly comforting Annabeth

WOTTG: Annabeth is shocked when Percy is smart

Past Books: Annabeth often points out that Percy is intelligent

WOTTG: Annabeth thinks Percy can’t do anything on his own, and Rick communicates that Annabeth is always saving his ass

Past Books: Percy is ALWAYS watching her back, and saving her ass just as much (and Annabeth admits that)

I could put a hundred quotes in here. I could go on and on and on. But I can’t, and I won’t.

My problem with this new book is NOT that it is more goofy than serious. My problem is NOT that little things have changed. My problem is NOT that it’s just for fun. My problem is NOT that it’s much more childish. (And by the way, I’ve read PJO and HOO as an adult, so it’s not like I was a child when I read everything else and am now an adult reading the new ones.) I really did like and enjoy many parts of this book.

My problem is that the characters (especially Annabeth) have flat out changed—in bad ways—and we have no choice but to accept it as canon. My problem is that Rick, while trying to merge his books with his new TV show project, is changing the entire personalities and past behaviors/ tendencies of the characters.

I loved Chalice of the Gods. You know why? It was fun, goofy, and showed the characters that we know and love being happy and adorable. I strongly dislike Wrath of the Triple Godess because the characters—no matter how adorable and happy they might be—are no longer the ones we know and love.

My problem is that Rick Riordan fully admitted that he no longer considers the old book characters when he writes the new books. He is now purposefully incorporating his own personal mixture of the book characters and tv characters and writing those versions instead. Because of his desire to change and transform the series, I doubt he’s even read the original PJO or HOO books in years, which is why everything is so inconsistent. The old book characters—the ones who made the series what it was—are gone. And that is not my opinion. Rick fully admits that he doesn’t imagine them when he writes anymore. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE the tv show actors. I adore Walker and Leah and Aryan with my whole heart, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. But the fact is: they will never be exactly like the book characters. It’s impossible for actors to become the words on a page. They’re their own unique version! And likewise, you cannot turn actors into print. It doesn’t work! And why would you try? The books versions were perfect as they were. And the disney kids need to make the characters their own. The two versions can exist side by side, equally as wonderful, and still be gloriously different. We should celebrate the uniqueness of both. But instead, Rick is attempting to merge them into one. And in my opinion, it’s just hurting them both. And I’m gonna get real brave by saying this, but do you want my honest prediction? If he keeps doing what he’s doing now, the TV show is going to get cancelled and the books are going to turn into a joke. I so, so badly hope that this doesn’t happen! I have loved Rick and PJO for many, many years. I badly want both to thrive. But what is going on right now… it is not working, no matter how much we all want it to. And speaking as someone who knows people in the TV/Film industry, I am sadly not the only one who thinks the show is gonna flop. Which is devastating, because Rick Riordan deserves a redemption on the big screen, and the incredible actors deserve to bring this series to life in a new way.

I am not trying to force my opinions onto anybody. You are welcome to disagree with me and move on. I am not saying that I’m right and you’re wrong. If you disagree, that’s okay. If you agree but you don’t have a problem with it, that’s okay. In fact if other people have literally no issues, that makes me somewhat happy. And if you loved the book, I’m honestly so stoked for you. Feel free to just keep on scrolling, my friend.

But me? I’m sad. I’m really, really freaking sad. And I’m a little angry too, even if I don’t have a right to be. I can’t help it because I’m only human. But this is how I—and a lot of other people—feel. And you know what? That’s okay too. Because the fact of the matter is:

Annabeth isn’t the same Annabeth anymore. And Percy isn’t the same Percy anymore. And it’s not because they went through trauma, or because time has passed. It’s because Rick Riordan doesn’t have any interest in writing those versions of them anymore. And I think the comparisons between the old and the new show that fact pretty clearly.

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its-avalon-08 · 2 months ago

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Omg you recent lando fic has me smiling like crazy no joke.

I was hoping I could request something similar ish. Where reader is Max.V. Sister and Lando wants it to be secre, bu the reade thinks he only wants to keep it secret because he's going to break up with her soon. (Dating for a while), and when the reader tells Carlos this, he tells Lando, who decides to let the whole world know by running up to her and kissing her just before the race.

secrets and shushed voices (ln4)

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, tears, comfort

The buzz of conversation in the Red Bull hospitality was overwhelming, but Y/N Verstappen had mastered the art of tuning it out. She adjusted her team polo, flipping through her notes for Max's debrief, when she felt a presence near her. Without looking up, she muttered, “Unless you have coffee for me, I’m not interested.”

A soft chuckle answered her. “What if I said I could charm you into being interested?”

Her head snapped up, eyes narrowing at the source. Lando Norris leaned casually against the table, his grin infuriatingly perfect.

“Charm me?” she repeated with a raised eyebrow. “Bold of you to assume that’s possible.”

“Bold is my middle name,” he shot back, undeterred.

“Funny,” she quipped, turning back to her notes. “I thought it was ‘Overtakes on Softs.’”

His laugh was genuine, and she hated that it made her chest flutter. “Touché, Verstappen. Touché.”

Over the next few months, their paths crossed often—media days, driver briefings, paddock run-ins. Lando made it his mission to tease her relentlessly, and to her dismay, she found herself looking forward to it.

One afternoon, she’d been ranting about how Max ignored her race notes.

“I bet he ignores them because you write, like, an essay for every corner,” Lando teased, plopping down beside her in the lounge.

“You’ve never even seen my notes!”

“I don’t need to. You scream ‘overachiever.’”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her grin. “And you scream ‘class clown.’”

“Ah, but clowns are memorable.”

“Annoying, more like.”

“Annoyingly charming,” he corrected with a wink, making her laugh despite herself.

Their playful banter became a staple in the paddock, much to the amusement of their teams. Max often shot her knowing looks, while Carlos liked to poke Lando with, “Mate, just ask her out already.”

But Lando enjoyed the chase. Every lingering glance, every sarcastic comment, every moment they shared—it all felt electric.

One night after a particularly chaotic post-race party, they found themselves on a quiet balcony overlooking the marina.

“You’re surprisingly tolerable when you’re not trying to be funny,” Y/N remarked, leaning against the railing.

“And you’re surprisingly fun when you’re not intimidating,” Lando countered, nudging her playfully.

She looked at him, the usual walls in her eyes softening. “You don’t actually think I’m intimidating, do you?”

“Only in the best way,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You’re... different, Y/N. In a good way.”

Her breath hitched slightly, but she covered it with a smirk. “You’re such a flirt, Norris.”

“Only with you.”

It was after a rainy qualifying in Silverstone when everything changed. Y/N had stayed late in the garage, waiting for Max, when Lando appeared, soaked and grinning.

“What are you still doing here?” she asked, handing him a towel.

“Trying to decide if I should do something really stupid,” he said, his voice unusually serious.

“What kind of stupid?”

“This kind.”

Before she could process his words, he leaned in, his lips brushing hers softly. The world seemed to blur as she kissed him back, a hundred unspoken moments between them finally falling into place.

Dating Lando was like stepping into a secret world. Behind closed doors, he was thoughtful, goofy, and overwhelmingly sweet. But in the paddock, he insisted they keep their relationship under wraps.

“It’s not that I’m ashamed,” he’d said one evening, his hand brushing her hair back as they lounged on the couch. “I just want us to have this—our thing—without the world tearing it apart.”

She had nodded, understanding his reasoning, but over time, doubt began to creep in. What if he wasn’t ready to commit? What if this secrecy was his way of keeping an exit strategy?

As Lando hugged her tightly after another stolen moment in the shadows of the McLaren motorhome, her thoughts spiraled.

He’s holding on so tight, but for how long? Am I just a phase he’s going to grow out of?

His voice broke through her haze. “You okay?”

She forced a smile, burying her face in his shoulder. “Yeah. Just tired.”

But as he held her, all she could think was, How much longer until he decides to let go?

Y/N sat in the McLaren hospitality, her hands gripping a lukewarm cup of tea she wasn’t drinking. She’d just watched Lando breeze past her in the paddock—no glance, no smile, not even a quick touch on the arm. He’d turned the charm on for the cameras as if she didn’t exist, leaving her to stew in the weight of their secrecy.

She set the cup down with a loud clink and stormed out. A short walk later, she was in the Ferrari hospitality, where Carlos and Rebecca sat chatting.

“Carlos,” she blurted, her voice trembling. “He’s going to break up with me.”

Carlos frowned, sitting up straighter. “¿Qué? Who’s breaking up with you?”

“Lando!” she exclaimed, collapsing onto the couch beside Rebecca, her emotions spilling over. “He doesn’t want this anymore—I know it!”

Rebecca placed a calming hand on Y/N’s knee. “Slow down, cariño. What happened?”

Y/N sniffled, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. “It’s everything. He didn’t even look at me this morning. No hug, no kiss. Nothing. He just… walked past me like I wasn’t even there. And it’s not just today—it’s been months of hiding. He insists on keeping this a secret. I thought it was romantic at first, like we had something private, but now—” Her voice cracked as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Now you think it’s because he’s trying to find an easy way out,” Carlos finished, his tone heavy with disapproval.

Y/N nodded, sobbing into her hands. “He says it’s to protect us, but I don’t feel protected, Carlos. I feel like I’m not good enough for him to want people to know.”

Rebecca pulled Y/N into a hug, rubbing her back soothingly. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re more than good enough. If anything, it’s him who’s too blind to see what he’s doing to you.”

Carlos crossed his arms, his brow furrowed in thought. “Has he given you any reason to believe he doesn’t care about you anymore? Other than the secrecy?”

Y/N hesitated, her voice muffled against Rebecca’s shoulder. “It’s all the little things. He’s so different when we’re alone—he’s kind and loving and makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world. But the second we step into the paddock, it’s like I don’t exist. I just… I can’t do this anymore.”

Carlos’s face hardened, his protective side kicking in. “He needs to hear this, Y/N. But not from you—no, not while you’re like this.” He stood abruptly. “I’ll talk to him.”

“No!” Y/N sat up, her eyes wide. “You’ll just make things worse!”

“I won’t,” Carlos said firmly. “But he’s my friend, and I’m not going to sit here and watch him break your heart because he’s too much of an idiot to see what he’s doing. He needs a reality check.”

Rebecca nodded in agreement. “Carlos is right. He knows Lando better than anyone—you should let him handle it.”

Y/N sniffled again, her resolve softening under Rebecca’s calming presence. “You’re sure you won’t tell him I sent you?”

Carlos crouched in front of her, his expression softer now. “I’ll make it about what I’ve noticed. He’ll never know you said anything.”

Y/N nodded reluctantly. “Okay.”

Rebecca gave Y/N a comforting squeeze before Carlos kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll fix this, amiga. Trust me.”

As Carlos left, Y/N leaned into Rebecca’s side, her tears slowing but her heart still heavy. “What if he really does want to break up with me?”

Rebecca stroked her hair gently. “Then he’s the biggest fool on the planet, and we’ll make sure he knows it.”

Carlos leaned back in his chair in the McLaren hospitality, casually sipping on a bottle of water as Lando scrolled through his phone. They had been talking about summer break plans, with Lando suggesting a group trip to Ibiza.

“Ibiza would be fun,” Carlos said, setting his bottle down. “But only if you bring your girlfriend.”

Lando choked slightly, quickly glancing around to see if anyone overheard. “Shh, man!” he hissed, leaning closer. “What if someone hears you?”

Carlos rolled his eyes. “This is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Lando frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

Carlos straightened, his tone turning serious. “Y/N came to see me today. She’s convinced you’re going to break up with her.”

“What?!” Lando’s voice rose before he quickly lowered it, glancing around again. “Why would she think that?”

“Because, mate, you’re treating her like some big secret, like she’s something you’re ashamed of,” Carlos said bluntly. “Every time you refuse to acknowledge her in public, every time you say no to posting a picture or holding her hand, she feels like she’s not enough for you.”

Lando’s face paled, his phone slipping from his hand. “That’s not… I don’t—” He stopped, his mind racing. “I’ve never said I’m ashamed of her. I thought she understood why I wanted to keep it private.”

Carlos leaned forward, his eyes hard. “She might have understood at first, but it’s been ten months, Lando. She’s tired. And frankly, I don’t blame her.”

Lando opened his mouth to argue but stopped as Carlos’s words sank in. His mind spiraled into a series of flashbacks.

-flashback-

He remembered the first time she’d asked if she could post a picture of them on her story. It was a harmless shot—just their intertwined hands on a table.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he’d said quickly. “You know how people can be.”

Her smile faltered, but she nodded. “Yeah. I get it.”

-flashback-

After a race in Monaco, Y/N had waited for him by the McLaren motorhome. When she tried to hug him, he’d gently pushed her into the shadows.

“Not here,” he’d whispered, glancing around nervously.

Her shoulders had slumped, and she took a step back. “Right. Sorry.”

-flashback-

At a post-race party, Rebecca had taken a picture of them laughing together. Y/N had been so happy, showing it to him with a hopeful smile.

“Becca sent this to me. Can I share it?”

Lando had hesitated. “Maybe not. It’s just… better if we keep it private.”

The light in her eyes had dimmed, though she tried to mask it with a nod. “Okay.”

present day

Lando’s chest tightened as the memories hit him. He hadn’t realized how often he’d dismissed her feelings or how much his need for secrecy had chipped away at her confidence.

“She thinks I want to break up with her?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Carlos nodded, his expression softening. “She’s scared, Lando. She loves you, but she’s scared that you don’t feel the same way.”

Lando ran a hand through his hair, his heart aching. “I’m such an idiot.”

Carlos smirked faintly. “You said it, not me.”

Lando ignored the jab, his mind already working. He couldn’t let her think he didn’t care. He couldn’t let her feel like she wasn’t enough.

“I need to fix this,” he said firmly, standing up so fast that his chair scraped against the floor.

Carlos leaned back with a satisfied grin. “About time.”

Lando’s mind raced with ideas, his determination growing. He’d spent months hiding their relationship from the world—now, he’d show everyone exactly how much she meant to him.

The pre-race chaos was in full swing. Mechanics bustled about, drivers made their final rounds with engineers, and the paddock buzzed with energy. Y/N stood to the side near the McLaren garage, watching quietly as Lando spoke with his team. Her arms were crossed, her heart heavy from the morning’s events.

She had seen him arrive, head down, moving past her like she didn’t exist. Again. The weight of the past few months pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

Rebecca’s words from earlier played in her head: “If he doesn’t see what he’s doing to you, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

Maybe he doesn’t.

Suddenly, she noticed Carlos walking toward Lando, giving him a nudge and pointing in her direction. Lando froze, his head snapping up. Their eyes met briefly before Y/N turned away, unable to handle the hurt.

But before she could step back into the crowd, she heard his voice calling her name.

“Y/N!”

Her heart jumped. She turned to see Lando jogging toward her, his race suit partially unzipped and flapping as he moved. She frowned, confused. What is he doing?

As he reached her, he stopped, slightly out of breath. “I need to talk to you.”

“Now? You’re about to race,” she said, her tone wary.

“Now,” he insisted, his blue eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her stomach flip. “I’ve been an idiot, and I need to fix this.”

“Lando, what are you—”

He didn’t let her finish. Instead, he stepped forward, cupping her face gently with his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m so sorry for making you feel like you’re not enough, for hiding what we have, for… everything.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “Lando…”

“I was scared,” he admitted, his forehead resting against hers. “Not of being with you, but of the world ruining what we have. I thought I was protecting us, but all I did was hurt you, and I hate myself for it.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore,” she whispered.

His eyes widened in shock. “No. God, no. I want you, Y/N. I love you. I’ve loved you since the day we met, and I’m done pretending I don’t.”

Before she could process his words, he pulled her into a kiss—deep and unapologetic, right there in the middle of the paddock.

The world around them seemed to pause. For a moment, there was only him—his lips on hers, his arms wrapped tightly around her, as if he was afraid to let go.

When they finally broke apart, she noticed the stunned silence around them. Cameras clicked furiously, and the hum of murmured voices grew louder.

“Lando…” she started, her cheeks flushed.

He grinned, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “Let them talk. I don’t care anymore.”

“But the team, the media—”

“Let them say what they want,” he interrupted, his voice firm. “I’m not hiding you anymore, Y/N. You’re my girlfriend, and the whole damn world is going to know it.”

Y/N stared at him, her heart pounding. His words, his actions—it was all so overwhelming.

“Say something,” he said nervously, his grin faltering.

She threw her arms around his neck, holding him tightly. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice cracking with emotion.

Cheers erupted around them, and Carlos’s loud, teasing whistle cut through the noise. “¡Eso es, chico! About time!”

Lando laughed, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You good now?”

Y/N nodded, her tears finally spilling over—but this time, they were happy ones. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Good,” he said, pulling back just enough to look at her. “Because I’m not going anywhere, and I’m making sure everyone knows it.”

She smiled through her tears, and he kissed her again, sealing the promise with every ounce of love he felt.

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javierpena-inatacvest · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 5- Miles Between Us

Summary: Frankie's decision to join the Army was the catalyst in the collapse of your friendship. When he's forced to reconcile with his past, packed away in boxes in his childhood basement, he finds pieces of you in everything he's left behind.

Word Count: 5.0K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname)

Warnings: Angst, lying, guilt, military deployment, FEELINGS, Frankie's mom not putting up with his shit

A/N: IT'S TIME TO PEEL BACK ANOTHER LAYER OF THE ONION, BABY!!! I hope you guys don't hate me that this is a slow burn- I know this is not how I normally write at all, but it's been really fun to build this story up bit by bit (if you hate it though, please tell me lmao 💀) I'm excited for this chapter and how it hints at next chapter (we're finally getting to some smut y'all, omg) Thank you as always for your kind words, it makes my day to hear what you have to say about these two 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

You, Age 17, Spring of 2006

“You’re late, Morales.”

“Can’t be late to something we don’t have a set time for, Anderson.”

It’s true, you and Frankie have never set an official schedule for your afterschool ritual, but it never seems to fail that at 3:45, only 10 minutes after you’ve gotten home from soccer practice, he’s at the foot of your bed with his forest green Jansport backpack, ready to complain about the homework he doesn’t want to finish and the tests he has no interest in studying for, just so he can keep you company while you stress yourself to death about the same assignments.

And for as much as he hated school work, Frankie was never late. Never. So to watch him mope into your bedroom an hour later than his usual arrival time, it almost would have been safer to assume he was dead than anything else.

“What took you so long? Get lost on the way here?” You joke, trying to keep it light while still prodding for an answer about his absence as you write down the answer to the math equation you’re trying to solve.

“No. Don’t worry about it.”

There’s been very few occasions you’ve seen Frankie so stoic. Even on his worst days, he’s at least still got a little tolerance left in him for your stupid banter. It’s enough to draw your attention completely away from your homework and onto him.

“What’s wrong? Why are you being so weird?”

You can tell then that something’s clearly not right, the way he’s angrily yanking loose papers and textbooks from his backpack and nearly slamming them onto the edge of your bed, making you gnaw anxiously at the end of your pencil you’d been using.

You’re too nosy for your own good to let up until you find what you’re looking for.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Well obviously something’s wrong.”

“What? I’m not allowed to be late, ever?”

“No? Frankie, I just asked where you were and you’re acting like I’m asking you if you just shot the fucking president or something. What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, MacKenzie!”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you so upset about it?”

“I’m not upset!”

“You clearly are? Frankie, what the hell are you-”

“I’m joining the Army, okay?!”

Out of all the things you could have expected to come out of Frankie’s mouth, that would have been at the bottom of your list. In fact, it’s so out of left field, you’re not even quite sure you believe him.

Your forehead hurts from how tightly your brows are knitted together in confusion, scowling at Frankie with a dumbfounded intensity that probably had you looking like you had just gotten an unsuspecting whiff of the world’s most sour lemon.

There’s no way he’s being serious. He can’t be.

“Ha ha, very funny, Francisco.” You mock, frown still splayed across your face, “Now will you please tell me what’s actually going on?”

His silence makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. You can feel the way your face falls, the muscles once tensed in adamant skepticism now sinking into a quiet panic. You can hear each breath as it flows in through your nose and out through your mouth, blood pounding louder and louder in your ears with each pulse of your veins.

“Frankie, if this is one of your stupid jokes, it’s not funny.”

“It’s not a joke.”

His eyes are still peeled to the floor, too afraid to bring himself to look at you. All he can do is stare at his pinky toe, poking out of the hole in his socks that he refuses to replace. You wait for what feels like hours, days, for him to say something, but his silence is deafening. And the sound of Frankie’s silence is the scariest thing you’ve heard in a very long time.

It’s so terrifying, the only thing you can do to cope is fill the quiet void with your rambling and pray that Frankie Morales is choosing to play the world’s worst joke on you.

“What- what do you mean? Frankie, I thought- When you and Santi talked about doing the same thing as Will- I thought you were fucking kidding? What about college? We already both got accepted to Florida State, what are you gonna do-”

“I didn’t get in.”

Please let him be kidding. Please, please, let this be a sick joke.

You can feel your confusion starting to bubble into anger, jaw clenching at the way Frankie’s too coward to even look in your general direction, gaze still glued to that stupid fucking hole in his worn down sock.

“Frankie, what the fuck? We both got accepted back in January? You’ve been lying to me this whole fucking time?”

“I didn’t wanna lie, okay?!”

He’s riddled with enough guilt to speak up, trying to keep himself from the brink of tears as he works up enough courage to finally look you in the face. You can hear how hard he gulps, like his heart is bobbing in his throat, trying to buy all the time he can to come up with a reason for his deception that won’t hurt you any more than he already has.

“I just- fuck,” he sighs, chewing at his bottom and bouncing his leg against the bed so intensely it’ll make him sore the next day, “I didn’t know what to do, Kenz. I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

It’s hard to stay mad at him when you know he means it. It’d be easier if it weren’t for the way his brown eyes flooded with disappointment in himself, spilling out in tears onto his cheeks. For as frustrated as you are, you have enough sympathy to ease up on him enough to at least try to understand.

“Well, not lying to me about it for the last four months probably would have been a good start.” You huff, the air that puffs from your nostrils still tainted with the let down you’re trying so hard to not let override your conversation.

You can’t help but let yourself find a spot next to him on the edge of your bed, a peace offering that you hope is enough to signal to him you’re willing to listen to what he has to say.

“I- I didn’t think you were being serious when you and Santi were talking about it. I- I thought you- I thought the plan was to go to Florida State. Together. What happened, Frankie?”

It’s quiet for a few more moments. Frankie takes a few, slow deep breaths as he runs his hands through the curls twisting at the nape of his neck. The silence isn’t as bitter as before, but it stings enough to gnaw at the edges of your nails, the anxious habit you can’t seem to break, and certainly have no intention of giving up right now.

“Stop chewing at your nails, Kenz. You’re gonna be pissed at yourself later.” Frankie sighs, gently grabbing your wrist to pull your hand away from your mouth, trying to fulfill his duty of being the one to stop you from ripping your nail beds to shreds.

“You’re kinda making it hard not to.” You try your best to attempt a laugh. It’s the only way to keep yourself from crying. “So are you gonna tell me what’s going on or what?”

“Y-yeah.” Frankie re-adjusts himself on the edge of the bed, twisting the fabric of your comforter between his fingers, trying to ground himself in the reality of the truth he’s forced to tell you, “I- I didn’t get into Florida State. I told you I did because I didn’t know what I was gonna do. You were just so excited when you thought we both got in and I- I panicked and I lied. I didn’t even think I was gonna get in anyways. I didn’t think I was gonna get in anywhere. Even if I did, I don’t know if I even could have afforded it. It’s just me and my mom and neither of us-”

“It’s not too late. I can help you look for scholarships. To help you with tuition. I’m sure that there’s a bunch out there that you could apply for. I’ll even write your essays and stuff for you if you want me to-”

“I’m pretty sure you can’t do that, Kenz. Plus, you hate cheaters.”

Frankie tries to reciprocate the same half-assed laugh you gave him. He looks over at you, the small smile he’s forcing to keep between his lips quickly fading as he sees the way you’re pleading with him to realize that you would forge a thousand essays in his name if it meant he wasn’t going to leave you. He’d be a cheater you’d gladly forgive.

“It’s not even just the money. I just- I- I don’t even like school, Kenzie. I suck at it. If school is already hard now, how much harder is it gonna be when I get to college? To study for a job that I’m probably not even gonna want when I graduate? At least with the Army I can have a job and benefits and hopefully make enough money to help my mom so she’s not working at the hospital 6 days a week. MacKenzie, the only reason I applied to Florida State was because of you. I thought that maybe there would be some miracle I got in and I could figure out how to pay for it and I could magically get smarter and better at school so we could spend the next four years together. I wanted it to happen. I wanted it to happen so bad. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I lied to you. I just- fuck- I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Neither of you are quite sure what to say next. That quiet comes back to fill the space between you, allowing enough room for the silent sobs you’re both trying your best to hold in, small sniffles still escaping from each of you. You’re not sure if your brain has fully processed what he’s had to say. The only thing you can understand is the swirling of sadness and confusion in your gut and the pounding ache in your chest.

You take a scooch closer to him, the outsides of your thighs barely brushing together as you tilt your head to rest against his shoulder. It’s heavy, the weight you can’t help but lean against him, but the arm he wraps behind your back and around your waist tells you that he’ll gladly take it. He’ll take it all, if he has to.

“Did you already sign a contract to go?” The whisper of your words is so soft, like you’re hoping he can’t hear you. If he can’t hear you, then he doesn’t have to tell you the answer you don’t want to hear.

“Yeah. Me and Santi did a few weeks ago.” His voice is almost quieter than yours, convinced he has the same idea as you.

His truth stings worse than the lie he’s been masquerading behind the past four months. You want to scream at him- To curse him with shouts and sobs, question how he could make this choice for himself and leave you in the dark until it’s too late for you to change his mind. You know it’s selfish, the way you want him to stay, the way you would have fought with every bone in your body to keep him from leaving. You know it’s the reason Frankie couldn’t tell you.

It’s the same reason why Frankie couldn’t bring himself to tell you that if he had given you that chance, he probably would have stayed.

“Do um- do you know when you have to leave?”

It hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. It’s an admittance of defeat. Because once you ask that question, there’s nothing you can do or say that will make him stay. No fighting, no begging, no pleading. You have to accept he’s leaving.

“Not ‘til the end of the summer.”

“Where?”

The more you ask, the more it makes you want to keel over the edge of the bed and vomit, the reality of it all setting in at an alarming pace.

“Missouri for basic training. I don’t know where after.”

He doesn’t have to say where. You both know. Even if he doesn’t know the exact longitude and latitude of where the Army will deploy him, there’s nowhere else they’re sending him besides Iraq or Afghanistan or whatever godforsaken, war ridden country in the Middle East he’ll be forced to put his life on the line for.

And for how much the reality of Frankie leaving scares you, when you’re hit with the reality that Frankie may leave and never come back, you’re absolutely terrified.

“I don’t want you to go, Frankie.”

You can’t beg him to stay. There’s no amount of bargaining you can do with him or the powers that be to change what’s been done. All you can do is tell him your truth as you sob into his chest while he holds you. Maybe if you’re not enough to make him stay, you’re at least enough to make him want to come home.

You’re not sure how long he holds you while you cry. Maybe it’s minutes, maybe it’s hours. However long it is, all the moments you have left with Frankie feel that much more precious. You won’t let any of them slip through your fingers.

“You promise you’ll come home, right?”

“I promise, MacKenzie. I promise.”

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Francisco Morales, it’s that he’ll never break a promise. You just hope the universe is kind enough to let him keep this one, too.

“I promise that we’ll have a really fun summer together before I leave too, okay? Whatever you wanna do, Kenz, I’ll do it.”

“Anything?”

It’s enough to peek your head out from the crook of his neck, trying your best to wipe away your tears with your sleeve, like you hadn’t just stained the better part of Frankie’s sweatshirt with the same wetness.

“Anything.”

“Alright, well, I guess we’re gonna go to Dairy Queen and get an extra large blizzard every day until you’re too fat for the Army to want you anymore.”

The two of you giggle, a quiet symphony of soft snorts and sobs at the idea of rolling an ice cream filled Frankie off to boot camp. It makes him laugh even harder that he wouldn’t put it past you if you really did try. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you did.

“Whatever you want, MacKenzie. I’m all yours.”

Frankie, Present

Frankie’s convinced he might as well start training for a marathon at this point.

He’s not really sure how else to spend his time. It’s hard to keep himself occupied when all he can do at home is sit around and wait for your dad to die or stare out the window like a creep to watch your comings and goings.

At least if he’s running, he can’t think about you.

Well, he can’t think about you as much.

It’s been a day and a half since he decided to follow you on your run. He’s already pushed his luck enough that you didn’t damn near kill him for it, let alone that you even gave him a chance to talk to him.

He let you take the first shift on the morning yesterday, despite the fact he’d been awake well before the sun rose. The irony wasn’t lost on him at the way he watched you through his bedroom window the same way he did most Saturday and Sunday mornings for the first few years of your friendship. You’d be up at the same ungodly hour as him, except you’d be pacing up and down your driveway, stretching and lunging across its length as you clicked around on the iPod wrapped around your forearm, searching for whatever song would pump you up for your run.

It wasn’t until you had finally noticed Frankie peering out his bedroom window every weekend that you began to drag him along on your runs with you.

“If you’re awake too, you might as well come running with me, Morales. It’ll be fun!”

“Fine. I gotta warn you though, Kenz, I am actually pretty fast.”

“You barely run the mile in gym class.”

“Savin’ up all my energy for when I need it most, Anderson.”

There was once a time where you would have to beg Frankie to come with you on a run. Now, he’d give anything for you to tolerate his existence ten feet behind you.

But he’ll sacrifice another run alone through all too familiar roads of his childhood subdivision if it helps him kill time and keeps you from hating him anymore than you rightfully deserve to.

Yesterday, he went on two runs to pass the time. Hell, today, he’d consider adding a third run to his underwhelming schedule just to keep himself busy. Fortunately, (or unfortunately, he can’t tell yet) for him, Maria Morales has other plans.

And when Maria Morales has plans, it’s in Frankie’s best interest to drop anything else he had in mind for the day.

Even when it means he’s got a hot date with his basement and a mountain full of boxes in his basement.

“Okay, anything in this pile to the left is for you to go through.” His mom grunts, lifting up one last box to add to the heap labeled “Francisco’s things” in her perfectly curved cursive, “If you want to take it home, find an empty box to put it in, but not my new clear, plastic bins, entiendes (understand)? Those were expensive.”

“No clear plastic bins, got it.” Frankie chuckles, following the exaggerated step his mother takes over his scattered belongings.

“If you see something and you don’t want it now but you want me to keep it for later, you can put it over on the shelf by the stairs. If you think it’s basura (trash), leave it over here and let me look at it first before you throw it away.”

“Comprendido (got it).” Frankie nods, sizing up the stack his mom has set out for him, “Jesus ma, this is gonna take me all morning to go through.”

“If you were home more, there would be less things to go through now.”

“Yeah, well, you got me there.” Frankie grumbles under his breath, grimacing at the harsh reality of his mom’s words. He knows isn’t meant completely out of malice, but he can’t deny it’s certainly got some truth to it as well.

“Okay, well I need to go run some errands, and I want this pile sorted by the end of the day, so standing here and moping certainly isn’t going to help that. Get to work, mijo (son).”

His mom will never be one to throw a pity party for anyone, and most definitely won’t be throwing one for her son, based on his own, self-inflicted problem. Frankie helps her step over another makeshift pile scattered for sorting across the basement floor, giving him a quick pat on the back before disappearing upstairs, leaving him to quite literally unpack his past.

“Fuck. Okay.” He sighs to himself, gently kicking one of the edges of flimsy cardboard at the bottom of the tower, trying to formulate his best plan of attack to make his sorting as painless as possible.

He’s thankful that his brain has always worked in a way that allows him to analyze things so quickly, doing some quiet calculations in his head as to the most effective and efficient way to sort through god knows what may be hidden in the pile his mom has created for him.

He runs his hand through the still messy curls of his morning bed head before selecting what feels like the lightest boxes and moving them off to the side, opening up a cardboard container from the next layer.

Besides the trophies still in his room, every prize he’d ever won for every sport he’d ever played sits in the box below him. Frankie chuckles to himself, picking up some from the top to examine them, thumb gliding over the fake gold plating to read plaques like “Florida Junior Divisional Freestyle Swimming Finalist- 2005” or “Regional Championship Winners- Florida Firebirds 2007” glued to poorly sculpted plastic statues of swimmers. A few more medals and certificates had sunk to the bottom of the box, Frankie quickly grazing through its contents before rehoming it to the “trash” pile, unsure of when he would ever need proof he won several swimming competitions in high school.

The next few boxes were more of the same- His varsity jacket, old t-shirts he wouldn’t stand a chance fitting into, considering the gangly figure that stretched them more than a decade ago, some old books from high school he’d only kept because of how much you loved them and he promised you that one day, he’d read them, too.

It’s the shoe box that catches his eye next, sure that no matter how much his mom loved to hoard, whatever was in there most definitely was not a raggedy, holy pair of Converse from high school.

It’s not until he picks up the box that he knows exactly what’s inside. It’s one of the lightest things he’s picked up in the last hour, but when he knows the weight of its contents, his arms want to tremble.

It’s with a long deep breath that he brings the shoebox over to an open patch of floor, letting out a grunt and cursing his knees as he sits down cross legged with the box in front of him. He gently flips open the lid, hand running over his face and down the back of his neck when his suspicions are confirmed.

Open envelopes spill out over the edges of the worn cardboard, the box stuffed to the brim with every letter you’d ever written to him while he was away.

Even if he wanted to, he’s not sure he could ever physically bring himself to throw them out. Those letters have more miles on them than most people’s cars will ever reach in a lifetime, flimsy, stamped pieces of paper following him to every corner of the globe he’s traveled to.

Some letters he’s read so much, they’re worn on the edges where he’s held the paper, smudging the pen that’s reached the sides of the pages. Others, he’s only read once. He’s not sure he could ever bring himself to read them again. But regardless of their contents, he’d made a promise to you they’d stay with him.

“Better not get rid of those letters, Morales. Do you know how many hand cramps I’ve given myself trying to find the words to send halfway across the world to you? You better promise me you’ll keep ‘em.”

His commitment to the folded pieces of paper ring in his ears as his fingers drag across the tops of the open envelopes. He can’t help the way his index finger and thumb pinch the paper below his grasp, carefully tugging a random letter out of its shoebox storage.

It’s a gut wrenching gamble, the game he’s about to play, a roulette of making his heart ache from joy or pain depending on the one he chooses to pull. He’s already placed his bet as he pulls the lined piece of paper out of the envelope- He’s not getting the money he’s already placed on the table back, so he might as well pray he makes a return on his investment.

With one more deep breath, he unfolds the tri-fold creases, ready to watch his bet play out before him.

August 18th, 2006

Frankie,

I hope I sent this letter to the right place! I looked on the website and it said to send mail to new recruits (that’s you, Morales), to this address, so no one better be holding my letter to you hostage.

Anyways, how’s training so far? Did they make you shave your head yet? I hope not. I’m not sure why the Army insists on making you all look like Dr. Evil from Austin Powers. I’m sure you’ll still look cute even with short hair! I don’t think I can say the same for Santi, but you didn’t hear that from me… hehehe

I just moved into my dorm yesterday! My roommate seems pretty nice. Her name is Jessica and she’s from Georgia. She claims that she’s neat and she better be, or I may lose my mind. I’ll send you pictures of my dorm once it’s all set up! It’s kind of a mess right now, but I made sure to put the picture of us from prom up on my desk :)

I don’t start class until next Tuesday. Hopefully I’ll meet some new people in my dorm or on the soccer team so I’m not a total loser with no friends. LOL.

Have you met anyone new yet? I can’t wait to hear all about your new Army friends! I already started a countdown calendar until we can see each other again. Only 70 days until basic training is done and I can hear about everything in person!

I miss you a lot. I know that’s dumb to say because it’s only been a week, but still. I wish I would have kissed you again before you got on the plane to leave. I promise I will when I see you. Nothing says perfect place to kiss like South Missouri, romance capital of the USA (haha).

I know you’re gonna be busy, but write me back when you have time. The return address on the envelope is my dorm address, so use that, or risk Doug and Michelle reading your mail if you send it to my house!!! I can’t wait to hear from you. Miss you, weirdo.

From,

Kenz :) <3

His luck of the draw sends a wave of relief through him, smiling down at the curvy loops of your perfectly neat printing signed at the bottom of the page. It makes his heart skip a beat, the same kind of butterflies coming to life in his stomach as they did the first time he read it. He’s earned his money back and then some. He gets how casinos never go broke, because the high of good fortune is enough to have him reaching back into the box to put another gamble on the line.

October 13th, 2009

Frankie,

I always feel dumb sending multiple letters before I hear back from you, but you know me, I love to worry. I know you can’t tell me where you are right now (stupid military and their secrets for the safety of society lol) but I’ve been seeing stuff on the news and it makes me scared for you. I just hope wherever you are, you’re safe.

My dad’s cancer is back. He’s been in the hospital for almost two weeks now. They found a new mass on his liver, but they said hopefully they can target it with radiation before it starts to spread. Cassandra at the front desk asked how you were when I was at the hospital yesterday. I said that you were good. I think she’s only asking because if you’re not there, there’s no one to keep me from burning a hole in the waiting room carpet.

I wish you were here. I feel really lost right now. I just know if you were here, you’d find a way to make everything better. You always do.

Sorry this letter isn’t longer. I haven’t been sleeping that great and don’t have enough brainpower to write something decent. Just wanted to let you know what’s going on.

Counting down the days until you make good on your promise. I hope you come home soon, Frankie.

Kenzie

He curses himself for an unlucky draw, heart sinking at the tear stains smearing the blue ink of your trembling letters. An overwhelming wave of guilt washes over him, vivid memories of reading your notes in his bunk alone, wishing there was a way he could fly halfway around the world for a night just to hold you and tell you that everything was going to be okay.

It’s the addictive itch in the back of his brain that makes him decide to pull one more letter from the box, taking one last gamble to see if he can prove the nagging pit in his stomach to quit while he’s ahead, wrong.

February 4th, 2011

Hey,

If you don’t want to write anymore, that’s fine. I was trying to be friendly, but clearly you don’t really care. Just let me know and I’ll stop bombarding you with mail you obviously don’t want. Or I guess you not responding is letting me know. If you want to send anything back you can send it to my parents house. I’m moving into Liam’s house and it’s only 20 minutes away so I can just drive there and pick it up. No need to send you a new address you probably aren’t going to write to, anyways.

I guess I’ll see you when I see you.

MacKenzie

And that’s how Vegas will always stay in business.

Because now Frankie is forced to walk away, all his money stolen from him at the stupid risk he’s decided to take. The one letter he’d give anything not to read again is the one he had to pull.

Heat seethes in his chest- he can’t quite explain why. Because he lost at a rigged game he’d set up for himself? That he still hasn’t quite come to terms with the ugly truth of what he put the both of you through? That he wishes with everything in him, he could go back and change what he’s done?

Or maybe, it’s because now might be the last chance he has to fix what he’s broken, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to live with himself if he can’t.

He leaves the pile in the basement unfinished, shoes barely tied to his feet before he bursts out the door in a sprint.

He's not sure where he's going. He's not even sure how long he's run for. All he knows is the pounding of his feet against the pavement, trying to outrun the stupid decisions of his past.

He tells himself if he runs fast enough, he'll beat them.

If he goes far enough, they'll be forgotten.

If he outraces them, you'll be there waiting for him at the finish line.

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@harryscherrysugar @wonderpillar @sunnytuliptime @pasc4lfuzz @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@kungfucapslock @vannabanana1995 @beezusvreeland

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

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robo-writing · 5 months ago

Note

Actually here’s a different version of that hurricane shot request, you can choose either! the different Logan’s reaction to their crush giving them a hurricane shot!

This can be considered a part two to this previous ask sent in by the same anon! The premise is the same :)

Origins Logan

✦ Never heard of it

✦ Unsure how he feels about the slap. He knows he doesn’t hate it, but it’s an unfamiliar feeling.

✦ More than likely the introduction to a future pain kink.

“Not sure how I felt about that doll. Might have to gimme another one, just to make sure.”

DOFP Logan

✦ Oh he’s heard of it alright. He’s practically bending over to get slapped

✦ Makes his cheek nice and visible, leans in real close to make sure you don’t miss

✦ When he does get slapped there’s a smug grin on his face the entire time. Turns back to you and says you can hit him harder than that.

“No need to be shy, I can take it.”

70s Logan

✦ He’s never heard of this before, but he’s always up for new things

✦ He gets real pissed at the water, the slap shuts him up entirely

✦ Whatever rage he once felt turns into a predatory lust, looking down at you like you’re his next meal

✦ You wanna play dirty? Fine, he can match you.

“Hope you’ve had your fun baby, because I’m definitely about to have some fun of my own.”

Old Man Logan

✦ He’s too old to be playing these games.

✦ Grabs your hand and pulls it to his face and tells you in no uncertain terms that if you wanna throw him around a bit you don’t need an excuse, he can handle it

✦ Well aware of his masochistic tendencies at this point—His healing factor might be running out, but his pain tolerance isn’t.

“Come on, right here,” he says, pointing to his cheek. “Make it hurt doll, gimme something to work with.”

Worst Logan

✦ Forgets about the shot entirely the moment you hit him.

✦ Kind of stares at you in shock for a while, enamored

✦ Wants you to do it again, but this time while you’re riding him

“I can figure out a better way to put those hands to use.”

#Robo writes #ask #Logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine #wolverine x reader #xmen

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arcanarix · 4 months ago

Text

Make That Double, CH 1 - Yandere!SatoSugu X Fem!Reader [AO3]

Summary: Double the trouble, or double the fun? Difficult to say when you're unfortunately roped into the affairs of two powerful shamans who can't leave each other alone, either. Word Count: 6.7K Tags: for this chapter, blow jobs (between stsg)

“What a day…” you sigh, as you slump into one of the stools of your café’s bar. No one ‘s ever said maintaining these types of jobs are easy. You have lost count how many times you’ve been yelled at for accidentally fucking up people’s orders. You try to give yourself a little grace; you’re a newbie here and you’re still adjusting to your new job. It’s just something a little extra to help pay off the tuition while you’re going through graduate school. It’s nothing you can’t handle, and yet…the day’s not over.

You’re already so over it. You hate these kinds of jobs. Everyone does! But they really aren’t kidding about it after all huh? And it’s only been a month or so since you’ve come to this job.

And you still have a pile of assignments waiting to be completed when you get home, too!

Why do you put this on yourself? Aw, yeah, that’s right! You want to instill a little bit more of a disciplined lifestyle because you sorely lack in it. Without a doubt you do if you are already considering quitting cold turkey! Maybe the youth is more privileged these days…

You overhear tidbits of a distant conversation as you wipe down the countertop. You’re already perking up a little. Oh, you recognize the voices of some regulars!

“Mr. Geto! The café is still open!! Can we please get crepes?” you hear an over-excited customer request. She’s a regular here who always seems to be bouncing off the walls from all the sugar ‘Mr. Geto’ must allow her to indulge in—perhaps he’s a little too giving to these girls. In spite of yourself, you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. They’re among the more tolerable customers you serve, and you’re ever grateful for more civilized manners. The bell dings as they enter, and you return to the cash register with a beaming smile as you dab some sweat off of your forehead with a handkerchief.

“Hello, girls! It’s good to see you again,” you greet, before turning to Geto, ignoring the hairs standing on end as he stares down at you with those haunting violet eyes. “Geto, it’s always good to see you.”

He acknowledges you with a low hum, gesturing to the twins. “I’m sure the girls want their typical orders, isn’t that right?”

“Hmmm…” Nanako, the blonde twin, trails off, tapping her chin as she studies the menu hanging over your head, long and hard. “Mimiko, do you want to try something new?”

Nanako turns to the brunet.

“Sure,” she answers, turning to you, her expressionless face setting off some unease in you, but Mimiko is otherwise nice enough. Just seems a bit standoffish, much like Geto does. “What’s new to the menu?”

“Well, the Biscoff crepes have gotten pretty popular,” you suggest as you’re smiling wide, but you can’t help but feel a little intimidated whenever ‘Mr. Geto’ is in within proximity to you. He has a commanding sort of presence, weighing down on everyone around him. The kind that has people whipping their heads around to see if he’s a real big deal. Not only that, but you notice something else amiss in that piercing stare of his—disdain, perhaps? Or perhaps exasperation over his two lively girls who are so fun to have around?

Whatever the case, it’s not like it’s any of your business. You’re just here to do your job and they’re just trying to go about their day.

It’s not like you have anything to go off of about the guy, anyway. What you know most about him is that he’s a bit of a father to these girls.

It's endearing to watch unfold each time they stop by, though.

There has always been a part of you who wonders what has become of their real parents.

“Biscoff sounds delicious right now. I think you’ll like that one, Geto. Biscoff isn’t all that sweet,” Mimiko now turns to him, tone curious yet still drones in monotone. “I know you don’t like it when Nanako tries to shove any of those sweets into your mouth to get you to like them.”

“I don’t mind it,” he replies through a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. You don’t miss his lips twitching in disgust at the prospect. The things he does for these girls, and from what you understand, he’s definitely not the biological father. “I’m just not the one with the sweet tooth. That’s something you both have in common with Satoru.”

The twins exchange a look. That snags your attention. Trouble in paradise for Geto? Is this Satoru person a lover of his or something?

You frown at your own nagging, honestly intrusive questions. Why are you getting so invested in their lives out of nowhere?

Finally the awkward period of silence is broken.

“You keep talking about that guy and you never tell us anything about him,” Nanako pouts, before beaming at you. You return the smile in full force. “But hey! We’ll have the Biscoff ones then! And the usual ones like strawberry, Nutella, ooh….maybe lots and lots of whipped cream with one!”

“Nanako,” Geto chides with a deep scowl. “You’re going to get another terrible stomachache like last time.”

You can’t help but giggle to yourself, ceasing immediately when Geto eyes you curiously. Man, that stare puts the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ to shame.

What a family.

“Quite a handful you have here,” you comment as you ring up the orders. “I’ll have those ready for you along with your usuals. That sound okay?”

“Thank you,” he answers as he whips out his wallet, handing you cash as opposed to card this time. “And yes, believe me—I know. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He smiles down at the twins before patting their heads affectionately. They grin up at him and you’re still smiling yourself at the sight. They do make your day a bit brighter, just seeing them interact with each other.

You feel your heart warming to witness such pure love. You can even go as far as to say it makes standing through terrible customers yelling worth it.

You leave your post for a moment to instruct the chefs what to prep. You ignore the fact that you have picked up on Geto staring through your head; a shiver dances up your spine. That guy is nothing short of terrifying and yet he’s just here to indulge his girls in some of their favorite sweets.

After you present them their orders (and some bonuses on the house, because you just want to be nice), Nanako as per usual samples Geto all of the sweets they ordered before she and Mimiko dig in themselves. He has to admit you’re right—the Biscoff one isn’t as sweet as the other pastries, and he ends up ordering one for himself for once. If not for an excuse for you to swing by their table just to get another good look at you. Mimiko has been raving about your service to them since you started working here, and during one outing, Nanako proposes an interesting (albeit incredibly outrageous) idea.

“Why don’t you ask her out, Geto?” Geto opens his mouth to shut down the idea immediately, but she continues before he can get the chance: “Geto, what are even the chances you get to meet a partner who’s a sorcerer? We understand your position, but we also know you can easily land anyone you want. And we want a Mom!”

Mimiko shakes her head at Nanako’s rambunctious attitude but she is inclined to agree with her.

“And that lady is really nice to us,” Mimiko adds, ever the voice of reason and if she’s siding with Nanako on something? It means it’s something Geto should take a bit more seriously. As much as he loathes the very prospect of entertaining such a foolish plan. “Like sometimes she gives us free samples to try! And pays for our meals! She hasn’t even worked there that long. She seems like an actually nice person and not like the sort of people we encountered back in the sticks.”

“Well, I mean, the folks back in the sticks are pretty simple,” Nanako quips, “She’s from the bigger cities and came from overseas, too, I think. So she’s worldly! So that means she must have a more open mind. Don’t you think so, Geto? I mean, didn’t you come from a family of non-sorcerers? Not all of them were bad, right?”

“My history with my family is complicated,” he remarks, “And not exactly pleasant.” In fact, he can dare admit he was mistreated as poorly as these girls were. “But some family members I suppose aren’t all terrible.”

“So give her a chance, Geto. She’s not a monkey to us!” Nanako begs as her lips curl into that adorable pout. Even Geto can’t ignore that face. “We both really like her. And we don’t like people either! So pretty please, try it for us?”

He can’t refuse their request. No doubt these girls need a mother in their lives. He can’t deny the fact.

While in other circumstances, Geto might scoff at the idea of entertaining the thought of pursuing a non-sorcerer… he has to come to terms with a cold, hard fact: sorcerers as a whole are rare to come by. Nanako’s right. It’s illogical of him to assume that he can pursue a sorcerer partner who can fit the mold of a mother for the twins.

And Manami Suda is out of the question—the twins find her off-putting for a number of reasons, and Geto can’t blame them.

While he doesn’t mind, Suda is more of a kiss your ass kind of woman and lacks true character. Yuki is out of the question, and not just because she’s still affiliated with Jujutsu Tech; if she really wants an answer, she’s simply not his type of woman even if she is a powerful sorcerer. There’s one thing Geto can’t stand more than monkeys and it’s a sorcerer who can’t understand her duty and superiority.

And even he has to agree with Satoru: you have nice assets. You not only are his perfect match (monkey status aside), but the twins are already fond of you. They babble on and on about you. They like how you take an interest in their day, even if that might not mean anything to you. It’s just what you’re trained to do.

No matter the reason, you just appear to be the most logical option out of the limited ones he’s been grappling with since the twins can’t stop bringing up the topic of a mother in their lives. They also don’t fancy the idea of him being lonely, either…

And neither does he. He’s not particularly lonely (what a lie); he and Satoru still meet with each other, and it’s not like Satoru won’t have his fair share of you, either. Geto knows better than to leave him out of his affairs. They have a rule: they share everything. Including lovers.

Satoru does seem keen on knowing more about you, and he’s been kind enough to keep tabs on you for Geto’s sake. It’s all going to fall into place soon enough. Geto doesn’t mind the waiting game; he may have the patience of a saint, but he has the heart and mind of a scheming trickster. It’s why he and Satoru are still a match made in Heaven.

He must tread carefully. He doesn’t want to spook you; no, no, that won’t do.

Watching you shuffle around the café, going about your business as he’s secured in a corner with the girls, without a single care in the world—it’s better than most of those stupid sitcoms the twins force him to sit through and criticize.

Because he’s come to find, everything you do is a work of art, and coming from him, that’s high praise. He doesn’t deliver it so openly, and especially not to a member of a significant chunk to a species he otherwise believes is beneath him…

He’s ripped from his thoughts when he hears the light thud of a mug of piping hot coffee rested on his table. The nutty, aromantic aroma hits his nostrils, calming his nerves. It’s a blend curated by the café itself, unlike any other they claim. It’s all just gimmicky shit they sell to gullible customers, but he doesn’t mind it, if it means getting closer to you.

“You look like you need it,” and lo and behold, it’s you. The woman occupying his thoughts like an illness. You have infested his mind, a swarm of termites burrowing into homes. It’s maddening and yet you are as unsuspecting as ever that you are the cause of his turmoil.

“Thank you,” he grunts in response, moving to pull his wallet out of his back pocket before you stop him.

“We don’t charge for coffee,” you reply with a knowing glint in your eye. “Not to you guys.”

Ah. So you have begun to see him as someone special, huh? Or perhaps you do have a soft spot for the twins. No wonder they like you so much. You make them feel special, loved, cherished—the kind of thing a mother does, being nurturing. Kind.

You absolutely are a perfect specimen; he has to accept that. Sometimes there are exceptions to his forgo all monkeys rule.

“Thank you,” he says again after realizing he’s been staring at you—and notices you shifting in your spot. Discomfort around someone else is never pleasant, and it’s a feeling he knows well considering he has to endure being in the presence of such monkeys all the fucking time. It’s a necessary evil in some cases, like this one, but he’s much better off shoving some of his monkey devotees to keep an eye out. Not only here, but he’s already obtained your address through Satoru. Satoru’s already introduced himself to you—Geto may have overlooked that interaction from the sidelines somewhere—and Satoru knows how to keep himself from being tracked by the higher-ups. Though it’s not like there’s not much the higher-ups can do considering Satoru’s status.

It makes things much easier, indeed. Knowing Satoru is still with him in some cases.

“Right,” you reply, still smiling. It’s practiced. Fake. Appropriate in these environments where it’s a must to perform for customers. He wonders what a genuine smile looks like from you. He’s not even sure if he’s ever seen it before.

You whip around and attend to the few other customers who have populated the café. Since this café closes in an hour or so, there’s not as many. It’s a perfect time for him to investigate you further. He may have implanted some of his curses around this café to keep you in check.

And many other places, like your studio apartment.

It’s good to be thorough in this case.

“Hey Geto.” Ah. His thoughts are interrupted yet again. It’s Mimiko who addresses him. “Isn’t that one of your curses in the kitchen?”

“Yes,” he answers with a nod before resting his chin over intertwined fingers. “You both said you wanted to keep an eye on her, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Nanako butts in, swinging her legs in her chair as she takes a fork full of her strawberry crepe. “It’s a good thing! So she’s safe in case anyone gives her trouble, right? She’s nice. She doesn’t deserve it!”

Geto hums, conceding to that statement. Well, not wholly. He still has yet to learn more about you. His eyes trail after you as you refill a customer’s glass of water, overhearing you question whether they want to order anything else. He perks an eyebrow—how can he get her attention? You already do seem to like the girls enough.

“Do you think you like her, Geto?” Nanako asks, her tone full of hope as her beady eyes follow his gaze to you. “She’d look really good with you too! You really are thinking about it after all, huh?”

“Only because it’s something you two desire so much,” he retaliates with a huff. “Otherwise I wouldn’t even bother.”

“We knooooow,” Nanako replies through a fit of giggles. “We’re just glad you’re finally doing something about your lonely love life!”

Geto scowls deep, frustration etching his features as he rubs his temples. Oh how can he have not seen this coming? These girls are always up to no good and not in the way he would have preferred.

“…Is that what this has been about?” he asks through a sigh.

“Nanako,” Mimiko scoffs, fluffing her hair. “He’s going to reconsider…”

“No, he won’t!” Nanako interjects. “Because he doesn’t back off from his promises!”

Well, even he can’t deny she’s right about that.

He doesn’t want to upset them. They’re lucky he’ll do everything for his girls if it means putting a smile on their face—like massacring an entire village who damned them to Hell.

So he’s going to try.

His gaze flits to you, still wandering around the café and treating the few customers here who arrive close to closing time. You look ready to clock out yourself.

Besides, you do seem…

…He’s caught off guard when you nearly lose grip on a tray you’re holding, letting out a breath in relief on your behalf as you catch yourself before anything tragic happens. You let out a sigh in relief as well before handing the order to another customer.

…pleasant.

Accountable. Nurturing. Kind.

Perfect, he dares to add.

“She seems appropriate,” he decides, relaxing his shoulders. “If she warms up to you more, you should ask her to drop by for a visit.”

“Why us? We can’t do the work for you, Geto,” Mimiko points out, ever the voice of reason. “You have to show some interest. Or have you forgotten how dating works?”

“Oh snap,” Nanako mumbles under her breath in a cheeky manner.

Geto shoots a glare at them both.

“I have half a mind to ground you both,” he grumbles as he idly sips on the coffee you have been kind enough to offer him. He averts his gaze to the window. The sun is beginning to set. The hour is drawing to a close soon. Meaning they should not overstay their welcome here.

He glances at his watch. 4:45PM. Yes, it’s time they take their leftovers and leave.

“Hey,” you swing by their table with a grin. Ah, perfect. “Need to go boxes for these?”

“Yes,” Geto answers, offering you a more practiced smile. He’s one to speak of genuineness yet he can’t bring himself to wear a real smile. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you, really!” you insist, tilting your head slightly. “Customers like you make my life better.”

As you whip around and saunter off to fetch those to go boxes and bags, he’s staring at you in a state of mild shock. When he finally snaps out of his stupor, his gaze flits back to the girls who have knowing grins on their faces, and he groans.

“That’s enough from both of you,” he chastises and maintains a blank expression as you return with the boxes and bags.

“Here you go! Have a great evening!” You wave before you go off to tell other remaining customers that closing time is nearing.

Geto freezes as he stares at you again. He’s stunned. Not only are you accountable, nurturing, and kind, you’re consistent. He likes that in a person, indeed. Sorcerer or not.

“Geto,” Nanako teases in a singsong voice, gathering the food. “Let’s go. You have some important meeting later, ‘member?”

Realization hits--that's right--and he downs the rest of the coffee because he needs the energy.

“Right,” he grunts, sauntering out of the café with them.

Not before sparing you another curious glance, twisting away when you stare back at him.

What a strange family…

It’s that thought that still lingers in your mind as you unlock the door to your studio apartment and step inside, the click of the lock behind you bringing you a sense of ease. You toe your tennis shoes off and toss your bag onto the couch as you shuffle into the quaint living room. You’re set free from the chaos of the café now and you are always comforted by the silence.

Soon you find yourself sprawled across your bed, sinking into the soft feathery mattress. You gaze up at the ceiling as your mind drifts back to the encounter with those twins at work. You remember their names this time—Nanako and Mimiko. And then you can’t forget a presence like Geto’s—calm, almost detached. You want to call him a fish out of water, but that’s not quite the vibe you get from him. Even so, something about him unsettles you to the very core. There’s something… off with his picture, and you can’t wrap your head around what.

You’re frowning, and you try to shake off the unease settling into your soul. It’s not like you haven’t encountered stranger things in your life. You should see him as just any other customer. Another customer who lives to indulge his twin girls who aren’t even his by blood, but that’s not even any of your business. You just can’t help but find that as endearing as you find him unsettling. Because how rare of a find that is—most men don’t even want to take care of their own kin let alone kids that aren’t their own. It’s not like you actually like him or something.

Right?

Another sigh escapes your lips as your muscles begin to relax. You shut your eyes for a moment. You promise yourself an hour of decompressing, setting a mental timer as you glance at your digital clock.

But even as you attempt to shove the moments with them at the café out of your mind, your thoughts keep bouncing back in full force. You have overheard some of their conversations as you worked your ass off in that last hour. You hear about Nanako teasing Geto about you. You do take notice on how they stay a little longer at the café than most customers do. Most of your customers are in and out, not much of the lounging types. You at times catch him staring—calculating, assessing you. His gaze is just as unsettling as everything else about him. You pull the covers up around yourself, as if to ward off that bad omen.

You try to tell yourself that you must be overthinking it all. He’s probably just thinking about the girls and getting lost in thought just like you do. That’s all. Yet the logic doesn’t quite add up in your mind, nor does it quell the fluttering in your heart.

That hour of decompression feels more like seconds to you as your alarm blares on your phone, which you switch off. It’s time to shift gears and bury yourself in schoolwork. You set a hard limit for 11PM because you need proper rest. You sit up, stretching your arms over your head before you hop out and fetch your bookbag, settling your textbooks and notebooks on your desk. Switching on your lamp. You find some comfort in the routine. It makes you feel like you really are working toward something better for yourself.

You flip through one of your larger textbooks for your heftier readings. Definitely not as bad as you expect—just a chapter or two to burn through. Some written assignments to complete that aren’t due until later in the week. Nothing terrible at all, and certainly nothing you can’t handle.

All you’re taking this semester is two or so classes. That’s the recommended work load for a graduate student anyway. Nothing unmanageable for you at all even with some part time work. Right? You try to keep some kind of balance. You aren’t going to let the work at the café and the coursework bog you down and you have been doing just fine thus far.

You can totally handle this.

As you pull out your laptop to begin typing the first few sentences of one of your assignments, you still can’t shake off the feeling of that unease. Something that you feel like you’re missing—and it of course involves that strange family.

Your mind flashes with the memory of the twins’ giggling faces and the way Geto’s eys follow you around the café.

There’s no way. You shake your head. Don’t entertain the idea.

But why does he even keep coming back? You can’t believe you’re asking that question as your fingers hover over the keyboard. Is it really just for those twin girls?

Why does he keep drifting back into your thoughts? Ever present, nagging. You try to focus on your task at hand. You have deadlines to meet. You can’t allow any room for distractions right now.

You ignore the sudden draft in your room, shivering as goosebumps rise on your arms. Blissfully unaware of the curse spirit latching onto your door, keeping watch.

“You seem really into this girl,” Satoru muses out loud, reclining on the couch with his legs splayed across it as if the world and all its trivial concerns don’t even touch him. His fingers swipe through the pictures he’s taken of you on his smart phone—moments when you were completely unaware of his hypersensitive Six Eyes tracking your every move. The grin on his face is mischievous, the kind that promises trouble’s brewing. “Not like I blame you, though—she’s really hot. And if your girls don’t seem threatened or scared of her, that must mean something, right?”

Geto’s eyes narrow into slits as he observes Satoru from his spot across the room, his arms folded over his chest. He lounges in a wooden rocking chair positioned by the window, where the rays of the setting sun streak across the floor, coating him in a warm, amber light. The soft glow plays on his sharp features, making him appear more and more like a God on his throne. Geto doesn’t answer immediately, allowing the silence hang between them as he contemplates the situation while gazing out in the window.

“Do you think you can handle the idea of another in our lives, Satoru?” the curse user finally asks, tone low. There’s a strange hint of softness to his tone, a contrast to his usual indifference he strives to hold. His fingers tap against the window pane absently, the subtle rhythm betraying the inner workings of his mind.

Never one to hang onto serious conversations, a lazy grin spreads across Satoru’s face, and he leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as his sharp blue eyes lock on Geto’s violet ones.

“Of course I can! What kind of guy do you think I am? I mean, I like her too! She’s definitely our type.” He laughs, though the tone is a little off.

“Not to mention—” He flicks to a picture on his phone, pinching the screen to zoom in before turning it toward Geto. “Just look at those boobs! I bet you’re thinking of suckin’ on them until they're bruised all over, right?”

Geto’s jaw slackens, a faint blush colors his pale complexion.. He shifts in his spot, less from the vulgarity of Satoru’s comment since that’s practically second nature for him, but from the raw truth behind those words. His eyes flit to the image, ignoring the heat rushing to his groin before his gaze flits back to the setting sun outside.

“Satoru…” Geto begins, his tone laden in warning, but there’s no true bite to his words.

“Hey, hey, I’m just saying~!” Satoru teases, his grin ever present as light laughter bubbles up from his chest. He stretches his arms over his head, his shock white hair catching the dying sunlight and making it sparkle like the twinkling stars. His playful tone still lingers, though there’s a hint of curiosity in his words—always a hidden agenda with that guy. They’re alike in that way. “You’ve always been a boob guy, right?”

Geto drags out a long sigh, the drumming of his fingers ceasing for a moment.

“Sure,” he mutters in a snippy tone, more to entertain Satoru’s comment than actually conceding to the fact. Even if it is true, there’s far more to it than that which he’s struggling to accept. The truth is more complicated than it needs to be. You do have perfect assets Geto will gladly take advantage of when the time comes. But you’re more than just a pretty face and a body…a sentiment that unsettles him far more than he ever cares to admit to anyone, least of all to Satoru.

Satoru, still laughing heartedly to the point his shoulders shook with mirth, rests his phone on the arm of the couch as he leans back into it again, draping one arm over the larger back of the couch.

“So why her, anyway?” he asks as his tone softens a bit, that teasing tone melding into one more laden with genuine curiosity and sincerity—a side to him only Geto gets to see. His eyes now flicker with another rare moment of seriousness. “She’s not a sorcerer. Isn’t hating people who aren’t sorcerers your whole thing?”

Geto’s expression hardens. At this point the gentle warmth of the sunset fades, and the shift of the lighting mirrors the shift in his demeanor. His posture stiffens and he doesn’t respond right away, allowing the question to hang in the air as he ponders over what to say. His gaze flits down to his feet, as if in the middle of choosing an appropriate response.

“The girls insist I should find someone,” he replies through a sigh, his voice a bit distant and wistful. His words seem detached from the deeper conflict seeping into his bones like red wine. “And you know as well as me that the odds of me finding a sorcerer as a partner are slim.”

Satoru quirks an eyebrow at that, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He sinks further into the couch, his gaze still fixed on Geto. Geto flashes him a reassuring smile.

“You aside, of course,” he adds.

“Hey, I’m the only option you have,” Satoru interjects with a playful wink, his arrogance bouncing back as quickly as it deflated for a split second—very easy to miss if you don’t know him as well as Geto did. He straightens his posture, counting on his fingers as he tries to remember all of the lady sorcerers he knows well. “Of course, there’s also Utahime and Shoko, but I don’t think that’ll work, all things considered.”

Geto finds himself chuckling at the notion in spite of himself. Even the corners of his lips quirk up ever slightly. What a rare break in his stoic mask.

“No doubt about that,” he concedes with a hum.

Satoru adjusts his posture again, sitting up straighter as those brilliant sky blue eyes of him glimmer with mischief.

“Well, it’s good that you’re opening yourself up to the possibility,” he goes on, as his voice drops to a smoother, predatory tone. His fingers drum against his knees as he assesses the situation. “And I like that I get to have a taste of that ass whenever I want, too!” The grin he sports now is wolfish, devilish more than playful and light. “The lady isn’t nearly as nice to me as she is to you and it’s pissing me off a little. I think I may punish her for that when you finally court her.”

Geto flits his gaze back to Satoru, the amusement in his violet eyes fading entirely.

“Satoru,” he chides, his voice edging toward menacing this time.

But Satoru brushes him off with a laugh, unbothered as ever by Geto’s sudden shift in tone—the fucking brat.

“Chill out, Suguru!” He waves his hand in a dismissive manner before cocking his head, his expression melding into something softer again. “But seriously, though—why her? I just can’t wrap my head around it.”

Geto takes another deep breath, before exhaling slowly as he brushes his fingers through his long, luscious locks that he works so hard to maintain. As his gaze drifts back to the window, it’s not the scenery which holds his attention. Not that he’s even paid much attention to it—the view in Satoru’s penthouse isn’t something he’s not used to at this point. He sees it all the time. It’s you. You infiltrate his thoughts like an ambush. You are so kind to he girls. You don’t appear to even flinch at his presence, not that you know a damn thing about him. He finds you’re tolerable, much unlike the other monkeys running the circus out there.

And that sentiment, too, is unsettling.

“The girls are fond of her,” he admits quietly, it seems that’s reason enough for him. “She’s so warm around them.”

Satoru finds himself nodding along to Geto’s words, shrugging. “Yeah, I guess I get it. She does seem like someone who can help you.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Geto retaliates with a frown. Satoru raises his hand in mock defeat.

“I’m just saying you need someone to help you get some frustration out! That’s all,” he insists, “And other things. You kind of keep shit all bottled up all the time. Even with me!”

Silence stretches over them another time. The sky has faded into twilight. Satoru shuffles around to switch on some of those fancy ambiance lamps he keeps in different corners of the room before moving over to the small bar in another far corner, fetching a bottle of sake and two glasses and returning to the couch.

Geto rises from his seat, waltzing over to join Satoru on the couch as he pours them both some of that expensive sake.

“We’ll make some arrangements soon,” he announces, raising the glass to his lips.

“Just hurry the fuck up, dude,” Satoru mirrors his motion, hiding the smirk tugging at his lips behind his glass. “I’m starting to get real impatient, you know. I’m dying to find out how she might feel squirming on my cock.”

The curse user casts him a sidelong glance, with an unreadable expression. His mind flashes back to you, your smile, your ready hands as you attend to the girls. Sure, you have no idea who—or what—he is or what he is capable of, both he and Satoru. You have no idea that he’s been following you since you began working there for a myriad of reasons beyond mere curiosity. It isn’t just about him this time. The girls desire you as well. Satoru desires you as well.

Geto whacks him on the shoulder with his free hand.

“What?” he snaps, appalled, his sunglasses moving out of place from the sudden blow.

“Don’t be so crass,” he replies as he sips idly on the sake. “Save that for me tonight.”

Satoru snorts in response, wrapping an arm around Geto’s shoulder as he downs his glass of sake in one go.

“Besides,�� Geto goes on, placing his half-full glass onto the low table. “You know how things can get when you pick on the weak too much.”

Satoru perks an eyebrow as his lips twitch into another smirk. “Seriously? Since when have you given a damn about that all over again? Then again, you’ve always been a little too righteous.”

Geto doesn’t have a straight answer for that. Something flickers in his gaze—something even Satoru Gojo knows better than to challenge. Geto is a patient, careful man, but he knows there are consequences to things like this. Treading into far more unconventional grounds.

“It’s something we need to ease her into,” he finalizes with a hum.

It’s not often Geto is concerned for the wellbeing of anyone who isn’t a sorcerer. It’s kind of…shocking. Satoru doesn’t know what to make of this change in his friend, however subtle.

“Come on,” Satoru sighs, resting a palm on his forehead. “She can take whatever we give her. She’s probably a lot stronger than she looks. Besides, why do you care so much all of a sudden?”

Geto grumbles, “I’m not so sure how much of ‘us’ she can handle, Satoru.”

“She can handle everything we want her to—no matter what we do to her! Sheesh. Stop worrying so much!” Satoru assures him with a pat on his shoulder. “Come on, Suguru! You’ll make the moves when the time is right. Besides, she’s kind of already ours, right? Not like anyone can interfere when the two strongest sorcerers have someone like her all to themselves, right?”

“Right,” he replies with a smirk. “It’s unlikely anything will interfere.”

Satoru beams. “There he is! There’s the Suguru I know—mphf!”

He’s interrupted with Geto’s lips plunging onto his; Geto’s arms resting on his hips. Satoru melts into the kiss—one thing that hasn’t changed is that Geto will always be his weakness. He will always bend to his will no matter what.

Geto pins Satoru’s body to the couch with his, kissing down his neck. Satoru purrs, rolling his hips into Suguru’s and smirking a bit when the other man hisses.

“Behave,” he chides as his lips slide down to Satoru’s pelvis, where he presses a kiss to the growing bulge there. Satoru inhales sharply, his hands flying down to grip Suguru’s hair.

“Be good,” he chides again with a string of chuckles as he unzips Satoru’s pants with his teeth.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he whines, tossing his head back as Geto removes his cock, stroking it gingerly as he peppers kisses around the tip.

“We need to make this quick, Satoru, or the girls will wonder where I’ve been.”

With that, he engulfs his cock in one languid motion and Satoru chokes on a gasp, fingers clawing at Geto’s hair.

“Please hurry up and fuck me!” he begs through another whimper, his eyes pleading. The other man can’t help but coo at the pathetic sight. Geto hushes him as he bobs his head, slurping on his length. He takes him entirely; his mouth resting at the base of his cock.

He moves back to the tip, swirling his tongue at the pre leaking from it.

Gojo’s flushed state is absolutely adorable.

At some point Geto yanks Gojo’s pants and boxers entirely off. Such pesky clothes, always making things more difficult than what is necessary.

“The only way you’re coming tonight is if you’re inside me, Satoru,” he growls, grasping the base of his cock as he plants kisses all around it. “I know you can hold it for me, can’t you?”

Gojo manages a nod before another moan escapes his lips. So he’s not the one bottoming tonight then?

Guess Suguru is in one of those moods…just needs to forgo reality for a bit.

Satoru’s eyes clench shut as Geto engulfs his cock entirely again.

This is going to be a long night…

After you finish typing up an assignment, you glance at the clock. It’s only 9PM, so that gives you enough time to spare for a little self-care. You let out a deep sigh as you feel some tension lift from your shoulders, slouching back in your chair.

Student life can get a little lonely. The job at the bakery helps in the sense that you’re around people a little bit more. But you haven’t made much of an effort to make any real connections.

Looks like it’s another solo night with me bouncing on my vibrator or something… you think, glancing at the drawer at your side table.

Shrugging, you slink out of your chair and pad to the restroom, yanking off the robe hanging on the door.

You really hate to admit it, but you can’t logic your way out of desiring companionship yourself.

That’s something for you to cry about in the shower now.

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hellincarnation · 3 months ago

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Hello! This is a message to the anon who has been sending very haphazard, messy and increasingly nonsensical hate. They are pretty ew.

Not sure if cringe anon is the same as this one, but if you are, here’s a quick thingy. Sure, I’ve played with your message, adding humour as a lovely way of mockery to you. But there is a line to be drawn, I’m fine with you making snarky comments. I make snarky comments, but I draw the line when you start insulting whole groups of race. And….insulting us with the most generic types of comments.

Seriously?

That is the most ridiculous pseudo hate ever.

I’ll remind you that the term “asians” include Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Thai, Viet, Malaysian, Singaporean, Filipino, Indonesian, Saudi Arabian, Indian, Bhutanese, Pakistani, Lebanese and so many more groups of people.

You’re gonna have to be the most dumb, blind and ignorant piece of filth if you think all of those groups of people look the same. If you really believe that, you’re bigoted and ill informed.

Also. OF COURSE SOME GROUPS OF PEOPLE WHO HAVE A COMMON ANCESTOR LOOK THE SAME, OH MY GOD THE STUPIDITY!

And if you are part of Asia and you’re gonna whine like “I was just making a joke!” This is not a joke if it hurts people, yes this is a popularised statement but to many people, it is not funny. It is only a joke when EVERYONE is laughing. So shut up about that.

And then here

….that’s just so wrong.

First of all, I’m ethnically Chinese, which means my great grandparents originally came from china. I was not born on the mainland, nor was my parents, nor was my grandparents. And where I am currently living, consumption of dog meat is illegal. Even in China, the amount of dog meat consumption is drastically decreasing.

That is an old, outdated, stereotypical, insulting way to refer to Chinese people. Not only that!

You also might refer to people from Cambodia, India, Indonesia, Ghana, Laos, Vietnam, Nigeria and Switzerland. Unless you’re saying I’m from all of those countries, your statements makes no fucking sense.

I’ll wrap it up, in the end, I may laugh, joke around, make fun of such comments, but I draw the line when it could potentially hurt bigger groups of people.

My blog is a place to talk to my friends, I’ve made many good ones here, Mireya, Zahrawr, Tanaka, Jeah, Riyana, God, Tamanna, Etc

To all of you, I’m very grateful for getting to meet you.

To this Anonymous person: if you come out and say “oh it’s just a joke” or reveal that you are Asian too, shame on you. Out of all people, you should know how bigoted and disgusting those statements are. If you aren’t asian, even worse. You’re a stupid, ignorant and pathetic piece of shit who thinks it’s okay to send these types of messages. You disgust me.

Moving on, I will not tolerate any more of these types of posts, I will be deleting them on sight. I won’t be turning off anon, since there are lovely anons who like to send nice messages. But I will not be posting anymore of these stupid, idiotic and hateful comments, especially that could potentially hurt a large number of people.

Fuck off, leave all these people alone, leave me alone, this is not a joke, it’s not okay to be spout this bullshit so freely.

Update: I’ve blocked anon ;)))

If this turns out to be anyone I’ve tagged, I will be very very disappointed in you.

@jeahreading @tamanna-and-her-struggles @shinchansbitch @im-on-crack-send-help @iamgayforyourmom1510 @mentallyunstablequeen101 @momhwa117 @zeherili-ankhein @your-dazzling-sun @schrodinger-ka-billa @abyssmita @cafffeineconnoisseur @byproduct-of-hades @lotuseaterwhowistlesthedark @mireyaaaaaaaaa @circe-butbetter @mi-stress-of-chaos @lyrebirb @depressed-bi-twerking @hershey-not-the-chocolate-maybe @lesbianpoetess @unhinged-as-hell @debacleofdaemons @sunshinerainbowsandlollipops @celesteablack @evry1h8s-me @transienctly-translucent @priimadonnna

#ps #if i do receive anymore of these and they start being threats I can and will turn off the anonymous features #fuck you anon #fuck off and fuck you #i would be lying if i said I wasn’t pissed #because I’m pissed and annoyed #way to start the day huh???#leave everyone alone #and if you are one of us you seriously disappoint me #I hope you shut up and take some reflection time #anyways anyone who’s reading this and triggered I’m so sorry #i love yall/plat

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mattitties · 1 year ago

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sworn enemy - matt sturniolo

I don’t have many enemies in my life. I try to get along with most people, and even if I don’t like them, I do my best to be friendly no matter what. But there’s one person that I absolutely cannot stand: Matt Sturniolo.

I moved to LA about six months ago, and the triplets were some of the first people I met. I got close with Nick first, then Chris, and I attempted to get close with Matt, but he was so closed off and became outwardly rude to me every interaction we had. I have no idea why he hates me so much, but I will not tolerate him giving me that kind of attitude for no reason when I’ve tried to be his friend.

So I don’t try anymore. I’m over at their house more than I’m at mine, and I’ve gotten to the point of completely ignoring that asshole when he comes into the room. Is it rude to ignore someone in their own home? Sure, but none of this would be happening if he didn’t make it abundantly clear from day one that he has no interest in being my friend.

Nick and Chris invited me over tonight to watch a movie, so of course I accepted. Despite everything with Matt, I absolutely adore Nick and Chris and would never turn down an opportunity to spend time with them.

“Helloooo,” I say when I walk into the living room, where they’re already setting up the movie.

“Hey!” Nick smiles as he gives me a hug. “Movie’s almost ready, you wanna get some snacks?”

I nod and head to the kitchen, saying hello to Chris in the process. I’m so invested in rummaging through their fridge that I don’t even notice Matt walk into the room until he groans.

“Oh joy, look who’s here!” he says as I turn around.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bother you,” I tell him as I grab some drinks. “Just go back to your cave and it’ll be like I’m not even here!”

He rolls his eyes. “I can feel your presence even from there. Seriously, who invited her?”

“We did,” Chris says. “Come on dude, isn’t this getting a little old? It’s time to get over whatever dumb shit you have against her and grow up.”

Matt shakes his head as he takes a box of Goldfish to the couch. “Nah, I’m good. So what are we watching?”

“Oh, so now you wanna watch with us?” I ask. “Two seconds ago you were acting like it was the end of the world that I’m here.”

“Well, this is my house, and I should be able to watch a movie in my house even when little annoying creatures are sitting on my couch,” he smiles sarcastically at me.

I say nothing in response. He’s such a dick.

“Oh, before I forget, do you want to come to TopGolf tomorrow night with us and our friends?” Chris asks me.

“I wish, but I’m going to a bar tomorrow night with my roommate,” I tell him.

“No worries, we’ll go another time. Matt’s not going either because he’s just too good for all of us, isn’t that right Matt?” Chris teases and pokes Matt’s stomach, earning a punch to his upper arm from Matt.

I roll my eyes at Matt’s clear inability to have any fun and sit back as the movie begins.

I should not have gone out tonight. I’m having the worst night. I should have gone to TopGolf with Chris and Nick. All my life choices are being regretted.

My roommate is currently in the bathroom probably sucking some random guy off, and I have somehow gotten in the middle of two drunk guys fighting over god knows what. The place is crowded and I’m being swallowed in a sea of people as I desperately try to get away from the fight before punches start being thrown.

I’m unsuccessful.

In the midst of the chaos, one of the guys accidentally nails me right in the eye as he goes to hit the other. He doesn’t even notice and continues going after him, but other people do notice. I really wish they hadn’t. I want nothing more than to just get out of there.

I push my way to the entrance and ignore the small crowd of people following me and asking if I’m okay.

“I’m fine,” I tell them, speeding up and breathing a sigh of relief when I make it outside.

The pain in my eye doesn’t even register until I open my camera and see it: red, bloody, and already starting to swell. I’m tearing up, and I can’t tell if it’s from the pain or from the disaster that is tonight. I need to go home, but there’s no way I’m going back inside to get my roommate, and she definitely won’t see if I text or call her. I could Uber, but I’m terrified of Ubering alone, especially in Los Angeles at 11 PM. I don’t want to bother Nick and Chris while they’re out, even though I know they would drop everything to get me.

A pit in my stomach rises as I click Matt’s contact name and text him.

are you up? kind of in a situation here and need a ride

Bruh

Call someone else

i wouldn’t ask unless i really needed help

please

I hate how desperate I sound, especially to him, but I’m cold and scared and in pain, so at this point I really don’t care.

Jesus fine where are u

I send him my location and wait. He pulls up ten minutes later, and I do my best to hide my tear stained and bloody face as I get in the car.

“Thank you so much,” I tell him, trying to control my shaky voice. “I’m really sorry, I just–”

“Are you okay?” he asks. I’m barely looking at him, but I can feel him staring at me.

“Yeah, why?”

He turns my face towards him with his thumb. His eyes widen when he sees my eye, which definitely looks worse than it did 10 minutes ago. “Dude! What the fuck happened???”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” I tell him, my eyes starting to well up again.

“You’re not fine. What happened? Who did this to you?”

“Nobody did anything, I swear. Two guys were just fighting and I couldn’t move fast enough and I got hit. It’s my fault, but I’m fine. It doesn’t even hurt,” I explain unconvincingly as I start to cry.

“If it doesn’t hurt, why are you crying?”

“Because I just wanna go home, Matt! Can you just take me home?” I sob.

“Okay, okay,” he says gently as he switches gears to drive. “Can I take you to my house? We need to clean up that eye.”

I nod and look out the window as he drives us home. He is the absolute last person I want to see in this state. I know he’s going to use this against me in a few days and he’s never going to let me live it down.

When we get to the triplets’ house, I make a beeline for Matt’s bathroom and look at myself in the mirror.

“Oh my god,” I mumble. I look awful. My eye is completely swollen and it’s turning purple. I have a gash in my cheek. “Why the fuck did I go out tonight?” I say as Matt walks in behind me. “I have to go to work looking like this! I’m not gonna make any tips! People are gonna throw up looking at me!”

“Okay, calm down,” he tells me. “Sit on the toilet. I’m gonna clean it and get you some ice and then you can just chill here, okay?”

I nod and sit down on the toilet lid as he gets a cotton ball and some hydrogen peroxide. He tilts my chin up to look at him. “Little sting,” he mumbles. I scrunch my face at the feeling of the peroxide on the cut. “I know, I’m sorry, almost done.”

He dabs the cut a few times and throws the cotton ball out. “Come on,” he says, motioning me to get up. “Go lay down and I’ll get ice.”

I silently oblige and lay on his bed, giving him a small smile when he returns with some ice chunks in a ziplock bag covered in a paper towel.

“It’s the best I could do,” he says when he hands it to me. “We don’t have any actual ice packs.”

“It’s great, thank you.”

He lays down next to me and turns on the TV. I’m not even paying attention. All I can think about is trying not to ask the one thing I desperately want to know. I almost keep myself from saying it, until it just comes out of my mouth like word vomit.

“Why don’t you like me?”

He looks at me, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. “What?”

I immediately regret everything, but I ask again. “Why don’t you like me? I mean, Nick and Chris both like me, so I would assume you would too, but like… did I do something to you?”

He sits up and turns the TV off. “I dropped everything tonight to come save you from a bar. Why don’t you think I like you?”

“You’re just so mean to me. You have been since the day we met. And I don’t understand what I did to deserve that. If you don’t like me, that’s fine, I just want to know why.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I do like you. I never meant to make it seem like I don’t, I thought we were just playing around. Like friends tease each other, ya know?”

“Well yeah, but… you’ve never done anything to make me think we’re friends, so…”

“I’m sorry,” he says. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else, but then closes it.

“What?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Nothin. Do you want to stay here tonight? I can get you something to change into.”

“Oh,” I reply, completely taken aback by this. “Yeah… yeah, that would be nice. Thank you.”

He offers me a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt which I take into the bathroom and change into, discarding the ice pack in the process. I take another look in the mirror and sigh.

“God, I look fucking disgusting,” I say when I climb back into his bed.

“You look beautiful,” he says so quietly I have to double check if I even heard him correctly.

“Don’t tell me that just because you feel bad for me.”

“I’m not.” He turns on his side to face me. “You are beautiful.”

“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?”

His eyes are moving between my eyes and my lips. I’m starting to put the pieces together, and it’s terrifying.

“Because I’m tired of pushing my feelings down and making it your problem,” he says. I don’t say anything, I just give him time to explain. “I didn’t want to like you because you were Nick and Chris’ friend first, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. I thought being a dick would make my feelings go away. It didn’t.”

“I like you, Matt,” I whisper. “I have since I first met you. It made me so sad to think that you didn’t like me. And I’m sorry I’ve also been mean to you.”

“Don’t be sorry, I deserved it,” he says. “Do you still hurt?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

“Good,” he says before lightly holding my cheek and pressing a soft kiss to my lips. I freeze for a moment, not fully processing what’s happening, and then I hold his wrist and kiss him back, our lips moving perfectly together.

It’s clear that neither of us have any intention of taking it further tonight. We continue to kiss for just a couple minutes until we separate, doing nothing but staring into each others’ eyes.

“Goodnight, Matt,” I say.

“Goodnight.”

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo x reader

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