#she's starting to enjoy this whole thing.......I think

[demie90s]

Hear me out 👐🏽

I don’t like Caitlin Clark like that but your last fic ate 🤏🏽 and it doesn’t help that I won’t believe she’s 100% straight till it’s on paper soo…

disrespectful fem reader who doesn’t gaf about Caitlin’s “lil boyfriend” and is loud about it. Ig posts, lives, comments, mic’d up, phone case and wallpaper, doesn’t care. Until, there’s a scare on the court and reader very literally tells him to get tf away from her girl and leave. CC’s not hurt fr and was waiting on the day, so smut…. and maybe reader leaks audio and tags him.

Anyways, ly so bad 😘💍

(I can’t lie I love that white girl whos “in love” witch c*nn*er🤷🏾‍♀️)

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐁𝐞ha𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫

Caitlin Clark x Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝. 𝐍𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞.

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: ~ 7.2k

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT. 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐤, 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞.

The first time I went viral for Caitlin, I wasn’t even trying.

I was minding my damn business, walking out the damn mall with a smoothie and a fan asked for a picture. I’m smiling—cute, laid-back, black zip-up halfway down my chest, edges laid, nails fresh.

They post it later, all sweet, tagging me and talking about how nice I was. But baby the comments weren’t about my kindness. They zoomed in on the lockscreen showing up in the reflection of my phone case. Clear as day.

Miss Caitlin Clark.

Mid-laugh. In her jersey. Hair a mess like she been sweating, biting her lip. I knew exactly which photo it was too, cause I’m the one who took it. She didn’t even post it. I just keep it for myself.

“Oh is that Caitlin on your wallpaper?” one of the replies said.

I quote-tweeted that shit and said,

“Duh. That’s my girl. Y’all just ain’t catch up yet.”

I said that. And I meant it.

Now let me be very clear: I’m not subtle. I never have been. Especially not when it come to Caitlin. I don’t care about her lil boyfriend—I call him that on purpose. “Lil boyfriend.” Cause that’s what he is. Lil.

I’ve known Caitlin since college. Back when I was just starting to get traction on socials and she was already lighting girls up on the court like it was clockwork. We met at some event—Nike, I think. She was polite. A little awkward. Tall. Pretty as hell. I said something slick, she blushed, and I been hooked ever since.

But fast forward to now. She play for the Indiana Fever and I’m a full-blown influencer. Verified. Booked. Busy. Bad. And bold as hell. I got brand deals, podcasts, interviews, and a whole fanbase that knows one thing for sure:

I want Caitlin Clark. And I don’t care who knows it.

———————————————————————————————

Go to my Instagram and scroll. You’ll see the usual influencer stuff—outfits, events, gym selfies. But mixed in are straight-up love letters.

Photo of me in a Fever hoodie? Caption:

“I wear it for her. Not y’all.”

A pic of Caitlin mid-game, sweat on her brow, mouthguard between her lips?

“Y’all ever seen art in motion? I have.”

A reel of me courtside, zooming in on her pre-game warmup while I sip a smoothie?

“The smoothie not why I’m here. Zoom in.”

That’s my energy. Every time.

I’ll be on Live, mic’d up during an event, casually talking shit and then say something wild like, “Caitlin could literally elbow me in the jaw and I’d still say thank you.” Fans eat it up every time.

“Yo you really don’t care she got a man?”

“Girl …what man? Ohhh you mean her lil boyfriend?” I’ll squint like I forgot he existed. “That’s cute. Hope he enjoying his time while it lasts.”

I said on a podcast once—and I quote—

“That girl got records, awards, and him. She deserve better on all three.”

And don’t get me started on the games.

I show up courtside. Outfit damn near hand-picked for her. Face beat, lips glossed, thighs out, hair slicked back, nails red. And no matter what, win or lose, she comes to me first.

She’ll jog over, give me that tired little grin and I’ll open my arms like I’m hers. Cause I am. The hug is always too long. Always too soft. Always lowkey romantic. My hand on her lower back. My mouth near her ear. She never pulls away first.

You’ll hear the reporters calling it a “sweet friendship.” Baby, I’m hugging her like I’m about to propose.

When we’re on Live together—rare but gold—she don’t talk much. Not on camera. She’s shy like that. I’m all in her space. Laying under her arm like a pillow. Holding the phone from her lap. Whispering slick shit with a grin.

“You wanna say hi?” She shakes her head. I kiss her cheek.

“She shy. It’s okay y’all. My girl gets nervous when the lights come on.”

She be blushing, hiding her face, whispering “stop.” And I don’t. I never do.

One night, I was on Live solo, just chilling, answering questions, and someone said, “Drop the wallpaper.” I flipped the camera real slow and showed my phone: same damn photo of her, but this time with a little heart scribbled on it in white pen. I said nothing. Just smiled.

They lost their minds. Comments flooded in.

“YOU SICK.”

“NAH YOU REAL BOLD.”

“GIRL SHE GOT A MAN.”

“AND I GOT A LOCKSCREEN. Next.”

You see, it’s not even just thirst. It’s appreciation. I admire her. The way she moves. The fire in her eyes when she’s in the zone. The bite of her sarcasm when she’s tired of being humble. The way she laughs when I say something stupid. The softness that’s only for me. That tension between us It’s real.

Yeah, maybe I’m not technically her girl—but tell me who else she look for first. Who else she hug like that. Who else she lets touch her face like I do. It ain’t him.

I’m bold. I’m open. I’m disrespectful if you wanna call it that. But if Caitlin ever says the word?

That’s mine. Full stop.

She stands in front of the mirror, arms slightly raised, her white top barely covering her waist as she frowns at her reflection and smooths the fabric over her stomach. “Do you think this is too much?” she asks, twisting side to side, not even looking at me.

I’m perched on the edge of her bed, elbows on my knees, lip between my teeth, chewing like that’s the only thing stopping me from doing something irreversible.

Too much? She could wear a grocery bag and still be too much. She’s too much for the room, too much for the night, too much for him. My silence answers before I do.

She glances back over her shoulder. “Too much, huh?”

“You’re exquisite,” I say like it’s a fact. Like she’s not asking for an opinion but a label. And if she is, that’s the one. Not cute. Not bad. Not sexy.

Exquisite.

I don’t even say it loud. I just let it slip like it’s been hanging on the tip of my tongue for months and finally got tired of waiting. She blushes. I smile.

She turns back around, adjusting the strap on her shoulder. The face she’s making in the mirror isn’t focused. It’s soft. Unthinking. Like she’s somewhere else. She hums under her breath and taps at her lip gloss tube, and that’s when I move.

I stand. My steps are slow, careful, but not unsure. She doesn’t flinch when I walk up behind her—doesn’t even blink. My hands hover at her waist for a second, fingers twitching like they’ve been aching for this, and when I finally touch her, it’s too soft to be casual. But I pretend.

I pretend I’m just helping. Just checking the fit. Just smoothing the fabric like she asked. But really I just want to feel her.

My palms drag along her sides, my chest hovering just an inch from her back. I lower my head slightly, close enough to smell the perfume blooming off her skin like heat. My nose brushes her shoulder when I inhale.

“You smell expensive,” I murmur, voice thick.

She giggles. “You helped me pick this one.”

I did. Because I knew what it would do to me. Her lip gloss is barely set when I lean in, but I kiss her anyway. Not on the cheek. Not on the forehead. Right on the mouth.

It’s not even greedy. It’s slow. Like I’m trying to memorize her. Just a sample. Just a test of how much I can take without crossing that final line. She doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t tense up. She keeps talking—says something about maybe changing into a different skirt—but I’m not listening.

I kiss her again. And again.

Soft. Focused. Mouth parting around hers just enough to steal the taste she’s too generous with. I kiss her like I’ve been waiting for her to shut up for three years. And when she leans back against the dresser to finish doing her mascara?

I follow.

My fingers trace the waistband of her skirt while my chin brushes the top of her shoulder. Her lashes flutter in the mirror. Her lips shine like they’re begging for trouble. I lean in close, eyes fixed on her mouth, and whisper:

“You’re really gonna let him take you out lookin’ like this?”

She gives me a side-eye, playful. “He asked me, not you.”

I tilt my head and press another kiss to the corner of her mouth. “He didn’t ask the right questions.”

She licks her lips out of habit, and I nearly lose it. I reach up and hold her jaw lightly, tilting her face to me, not rough, but enough to make her listen. My thumb brushes the gloss that’s already starting to smudge.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that,” I murmur.

“Like what?”

“Like I won’t ruin all that makeup for no good reason.”

She laughs softly, and I bite my lip, trying to behave. But then I kiss her again. This time with teeth. I catch her bottom lip, pull it gently between mine, and let it go slow. Deliberate.

That’s when the knock comes. Once. Then again, louder. Neither of us moves. I’m still kissing her. Still pressed behind her like she’s mine and always has been.

But when the third knock comes, I let her go. Slowly. I don’t even look at the door.

“You gonna get that?” I ask, but I’m already walking.

She turns halfway, breathless, dazed. Lip gloss kissed halfway off. I beat her to the door.

I open it wide and step into the doorway. He’s standing there with flowers—standard, tired. Collared shirt. Dumb look on his face like he wasn’t just interrupting the best part of her night.

“Hey,” he says, smiling like he didn’t hear the shift in the air.

I don’t smile back. I don’t even blink at him. I lean toward her, pressing a kiss to her cheek—not a light one. My hand brushes her hip. I don’t look at her when I say, “Have fun, honey.”

Then I turn to him, finally smiling as I walk past.

“Don’t fuck it up,” I say sweetly, almost singing it.

He steps back awkwardly. I get into my car like I didn’t just kiss his girlfriend like she was mine and he was late to the party. I drive off slow, grinning. Let her go on her lil date.

She’ll be thinking about me the whole time.

It was just past nine when my phone lit up.

I was already up. Still in my hoodie and sweats, sitting on the couch half-watching a movie I wasn’t really paying attention to. My TV was glowing, a bowl of cold takeout sitting on the table, barely touched. The kind of night where you don’t want nothing but peace—and I could tell from the way her name popped up on my phone that peace was the one thing she didn’t have.

Can you come get me?

Five words. But it hit like something else.

She never says that. Caitlin’s stubborn, borderline hardheaded. She stays through shit she shouldn’t, just to say she tried. She don’t fold unless she’s already halfway broken—and her messages are usually short, dry, typed fast. But this one? It felt… soft. Sad. Like something in her was slipping.

I didn’t text back. I just grabbed my keys and left.

Didn’t even fix my hair. Just slid my slides on and drove. The location dropped in the next message, right as I hit the streetlight.

I pulled up slow. Real low. Parked a little crooked but I didn’t care. I saw her before she saw me. Standing outside the restaurant like the night had spit her out and didn’t know what to do with her. Arms crossed. Jaw tight. Makeup still fresh but eyes too glossy. Her boyfriend—‘Connor’ was standing a few feet behind her, glaring hard like I stole something. Like she hadn’t asked me to be here.

He was talking, trying to convince her to go back inside. I saw the way he leaned in. Desperate. Embarrassed. Like he knew he fucked up but still wanted to control the cleanup.

“Caitlin, people are looking—seriously, just come back inside. We can talk—” I stepped out the car.

She turned the second she saw me. Her whole body softened like it forgot how to hold tension. And him? He tensed up immediately, puffed his chest a little. Like I was gonna fight him or something. Like I had to.

I didn’t say anything to her yet. Just looked at him with the same deadpan expression I save for people who don’t know when they’ve lost.

“Go inside, Connor,” I said, calm and bored. “You’ve done enough for tonight.”

He scoffed. “She’s my girlfriend.” I tilted my head and raised an eyebrow.

“Then why she call me?”

He didn’t answer. Just stood there, like he wanted to throw something but didn’t have the nerve. Caitlin didn’t even look at him. She walked straight past, straight to me. I opened the car door and held it.

“You okay?” I murmured once she slid in. She nodded, but it wasn’t convincing.

Once I got behind the wheel, I reached over and took her phone from her lap. She didn’t protest. I didn’t even unlock it—I just held it.

“Why’d you take my phone?” she asked, voice soft, almost playful.

“Cause the internet’s fast, and you don’t need to see what they’re saying tonight.”

She went quiet. Her legs were tucked up against the seat, like she was trying to curl herself out of existence. She’d gone to practice early, showered, lotioned, got dressed, did her hair, maybe even shaved. She thought she was gonna have a nice night. She gave him the benefit of the doubt.

And he said what? “I’m not jealous. You’re my girlfriend and she’s all over you!”

The way she told it, he said it like he was the victim. Like she was the one who had been wildin’. Like me being obsessed with her was her fault.

I drove in silence. Her house wasn’t far, but I took the long way. No music. No phone. Just my hand resting lightly on the gearshift and the occasional sigh from her side.

When we got there, she didn’t wait for me. She unlocked the door and went straight to her room. I followed after a second, slow, calm, like I didn’t already want to go back and run him over.

By the time I walked in, she was already changing. Peeling off her little date outfit like it made her skin itch. She didn’t say anything—just threw on a big shirt, climbed into bed, and pulled the covers over her lap. Her back hit the headboard. She blinked at the ceiling like it had something to say.

I leaned against the dresser and waited. I wasn’t gonna force her to talk. But she did.

“I knew he wasn’t right for me,” she said finally. “I knew that. I felt it. But I thought… maybe he’d try harder.”

I stayed quiet. Let her go.

“It wasn’t even a real date. He didn’t plan it. We just ended up there. And then outta nowhere he starts talking about you like I’m cheating or something. Like I can’t have any friends or fans or people who love me. Like I’m supposed to apologize for being wanted.”

She scoffed, wiping her eye before anything could fall.

“He said I liked the attention. That I let you get too close.”

I crossed my arms.

“Did you tell him I let you take me to bed twice already? Since we’re telling truths?”

I grinned, couldn’t help it. “No. I’ll leak it later.”

That made her smile, just a little.

She sighed. “I don’t know what I expected. I just… I’m tired. Like I had the whole night planned in my head. Showered. Shaved. Bought new lotion. Let my hair air dry so it would do that soft thing you like. I really did all that just to get yelled at by a man in a Polo shirt.”

I walked over slow, sat at the edge of the bed. My hand reached for hers under the blanket and squeezed.

“Hey….You still smell amazing.”

“Shut up.”

“Nah. You do. Smell like vanilla, and stress.”

She laughed again, the first real one. I looked over at her face—bare, clean, tired. No lashes, no gloss. Still the most beautiful thing I’d seen all year.

“You should sleep,” I said softly.

She shook her head. “I’m too awake. All that energy for nothing. Now I’m stuck like this.”

I leaned back on my elbows and nodded toward her. “Then don’t sleep. Just be. I’m not goin’ nowhere.”

She looked at me like I was too good. Like she didn’t understand how I could sit here calm while she unraveled. But she didn’t ask. She just slid closer, her shoulder touching mine, and finally exhaled.

That’s when I knew— C*nn*r might’ve had the title. But I had everything else.

I know this house like the back of my hand.

Know where she keeps her throw blankets. Know which one of the bathroom drawers holds her extra hair ties and her retainer case. Know which of the light switches hum when you flick ‘em on too fast.

Know that the little chip on her nightstand came from a bracelet she broke during warmups last season—and she still hasn’t thrown it out.

I know this house. And I know her.

So when I crawl into her bed next to her, I don’t ask. I just do it. Slow. Quiet. Familiar. I lay on my side and wait, letting the silence settle like dust. Letting her breathe.

She looks exhausted, emotionally and physically—skin still warm from the shower she took before that godforsaken date. Her hair’s pulled back loose. Her lips are bare. And her face?

That pretty little face. All Sad. But not broken. No. Not while I’m here.

I shift closer, inch by inch, until my leg brushes hers under the blanket and she lets me stay. Her eyes flutter toward me, curious, a little dazed, but not surprised. Never surprised. This is what I do. I come when she needs me. Even when she don’t know how to ask.

“You look pretty,” I murmur, barely above a whisper. I press a kiss to her jaw. She hums like she doesn’t believe it.

“Like you always do,” I add, brushing her cheekbone with my thumb before kissing that too.

Another kiss. Closer to the corner of her mouth now.

“I mean, it’s honestly kinda unfair,” I say between kisses, the words getting slower, smoother, like syrup. “You out here lookin’ like this… and that man really had the audacity to be jealous of me?”

She laughs under her breath, biting her lip like she’s trying not to.

I kiss the dip beneath her ear. “Tell me how he thought he was gon’ keep you while being this damn insecure. Tell me how that math was ever gon’ add up.”

She shakes her head. Doesn’t speak. But her eyes close, her chest rises a little deeper, and I know it’s working.

She needed this. Not just comfort. Not just the soft hands and the gentle voice. She needed someone to say it. So I do.

“He’s not built for you.” Kiss.

“Never was.” Kiss.

“Soft hands. Weak spirit. Loud mouth.” Now I’m kissing the side of her neck, letting my words warm her skin.

“Don’t even know how to handle a woman who shines this hard. Thought possession meant protection. Thought control meant care.”

Her body’s relaxing, slowly—melting into the mattress like she’s finally allowed to exhale. I drag a hand up her thigh, over the blanket. Just tracing.

“You not hard to love, Caitlin. You just need someone with the range.”

She opens her eyes.

“You think you got that kind of range?” she whispers. I grin.

“Baby, I invented it.”

She laughs, and that’s the sound I was waiting for. Soft. Sleepy. Open. She lifts her hand and lets it rest over mine. I move closer. Chest to chest now. Nose brushing hers.

“You want me to stop?” She shakes her head.

“You sure?”

“Please don’t.”

So I don’t.

I kiss her again. But slower now. No rush. Like I’m savoring her. Letting her know this ain’t some rebound comfort—this is the real thing. My hand cups her jaw, thumb stroking under her ear. She sighs into my mouth, fingers grabbing the front of my hoodie like she needs something to hold on to.

The kiss deepens. Warmer. Hungrier. Still slow, but heavy with intent. I pull back just enough to whisper, “You feel that?”

She nods.

“That’s not pity. That’s not fixing. That’s just me wanting you. Needing you.”

My hand slips under her shirt, palm pressed flat against her stomach. She gasps just a little. Not because I’m moving fast, but because I’m not. Because I’m touching her like I got all night—and like I don’t plan on sharing a single second of it with anybody else.

“He don’t get to know this side of you,” I say against her neck. “Don’t get to see how you bite your lip when you’re turned on. Don’t know how your voice gets high and breathy when you want more but don’t know how to ask.”

I kiss her again. She’s trembling just a little now.

“Connor gets the version of you that makes reservations. I get the version that ruins sheets.”

She lets out a soft moan and I smile, proud and smug and already ready to keep going. But I pause. My mouth hovers over hers, breath hot, lips close enough to graze.

“You sure, baby?”

She nods once, then again faster. “Yes. I’m so sure.”

I kiss her until she forgets he even existed. No rush. No fumbling. Just me moving like I been waiting to unwrap this moment for years. Her shirt’s already halfway up, my hoodie’s on the floor, and my hand is resting high on her thigh, warm, heavy, unmoving—like a promise.

She’s laid out beneath me, breath catching in soft pulses. Legs parting slow like instinct, not hesitation. I’m so close, but I don’t take. I don’t even ask. I guide.

“Touch me,” she whispers, voice already soaked in something deeper than want. Something close to surrender.

I tilt my head. “Where?”

She blushes, tries to hide her face. I don’t let her. I gently grab her chin and tilt it back up.

“Where, Caitlin?”

She swallows hard. “Anywhere.” I grin. That’s what I thought.

I reach for her again—hands tracing up her sides beneath her shirt, lifting it inch by inch until I can slide it over her head. She lets me, eyes locked to mine, hair wild now, breathing shallow. I toss the shirt behind me and press one last kiss to her collarbone before speaking again.

“You mind if I record?” I say it soft. Respectful. My thumb strokes the dip just below her navel. “No face. Just sound. Just for me.”

She bites her lip, cheeks pink, and nods. “Only if I can hear it after.”

I smirk, reaching for my phone with one hand while the other stays planted on her hip. “Oh, baby… you gon’ feel it after.”

I hit record, prop it just beside the pillow, angled low, subtle. She watches with curiosity, lips parted, body already twitching under the weight of anticipation.

Then I drop down. And when I say drop—I drop. Kisses trail down her stomach, slow and steady. She arches slightly when I pause at her waistband, and I look up with a question in my eyes. She nods. I pull.

Her underwear comes off slow, dramatic, soaked. I kiss both thighs first. One, then the other. Then I just sit there for a second, kneeling between her legs like I’m praying.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” I whisper, dragging my hands up the inside of her thighs, keeping her wide.

I mean it. I always do. But tonight…The words are dripping from my mouth like honey. Like prophecy. Like Caitlin was carved out of something holy and mine.

I lean in and kiss her pussy like it’s her mouth. Yes. Kiss. Like that. Not a lick. Not a tease. An actual kiss.

I let my lips press slow and full against her clit—mouth open, pressure intentional, like I’m saying I see you. I feel you. I claim you.

She gasps. Loud. Sharp. I feel her hands grab at the sheets beside her. Then my shoulders. Then my hair. I kiss again.

And again.

Softer. Then harder. Letting my lips move in slow, perfect pulses. Sucking just enough. Breathing hot enough. Letting her twitch under the weight of it.

“F-fuck,” she whispers, voice cracking already. “That’s… that’s not fair.”

I pull back, smirk, kiss her inner thigh. “Not trying to be fair, baby. I’m trying to fuck you up.”

Then I go back in.

This time, tongue out. Mouth wide. Lips sealed around her clit like it’s the only thing on Earth I was born to taste. And I stay there. Let her ride it. Let her feel me.

She’s moaning now. Not the cute kind. The rattled kind. Back arched, one hand on the back of my head, the other lost in the comforter.

“You okay?” I murmur, fingers rubbing her outer lips slow, circling.

“Yes,” she breathes.

“You wanna cum like this? Just from my mouth?”

“Please. Please.”

Say less.

I grip her thighs, bury my face, and eat like I got dinner and dessert waiting between her legs. I hum against her, vibrating her open. My nose brushes just above her clit while my tongue stays locked in slow, wide strokes—lapping, kissing, tasting. I don’t rush. I build.

She starts shaking first. Then whining.

Then gasping, “Oh my God. Oh my—fuck, fuck, please don’t stop—”

She tries to pull away. Her hips lift. Her thighs squeeze. I don’t move. I press her down with one arm, hold her still with the other, and keep going.

“I got you,” I say between kisses, between licks. “I got you. Let it go.” She does.

It hits her like lightning. Her legs quake. Her back arches. She cries out so loud, I glance at the phone mid-moan just to be sure it’s catching all of it.

She cums hard, mouth open, hair fanned across the pillow, voice broken on my name. I don’t stop until her hand taps my shoulder—shaky, soft, and damn near useless.

Even then. I press one last kiss to her clit. Tender. Like a signature. Then I crawl back up, tongue dragging up her stomach, mouth brushing her chest. I press my lips to her throat, her cheek, her mouth—kissing her like she’s a miracle I’m allowed to taste.

“You hear that?” I whisper in her ear, reaching for the phone to let her listen. She nods, dazed.

“That’s what you really sound like,” I murmur. “Not the version he knows. The one that belongs to me.”

She turns, eyes glassy, and kisses me slow. She doesn’t say it out loud. But she doesn’t have to. She’s mine. Everyone knows.

She’s still breathing heavy. Still twitching under the sheets. Glazed, breathless, skin flushed and damp like she just got baptized in pleasure. Because she did.

I’m watching her. Watching the way her chest rises and falls. The way her thighs try to close on instinct but keep shaking too much to stay shut. Her hand is limp on my chest, nails still marked from clawing at me.

I kiss her again. Just once. Just soft enough to make her smile, and just hard enough to remind her that I’m nowhere near done.

“You good?” I ask, voice low. Gravel-thick.

She nods. “Too good.”

I smirk, brushing her hair off her face. “Mm. Not even close to done with you yet.”

She laughs, then gasps when I slide my fingers right back between her thighs, slow and easy.

“Oh my—”

“Yeah. You not done,” I murmur, dipping a single finger into her, dragging it slow, curling it like I know her body better than she do. “You just warming up, baby.”

Her legs twitch open again on instinct. And I swear to God she moans just from my fingers crooking slow.

“You feel that?” I whisper, thumb brushing her clit.

“Uh-huh—”

“Like your body missed me. Like it knew what it needed and just waited.”

She tries to talk but I add a second finger and that’s a wrap. She chokes on her moan. I kiss her shoulder. Her neck. Her jaw. My other hand rubs slow circles at her thigh while I curl deep and slow and thick inside her.

“You gon’ let me slut you out tonight?” I whisper into her mouth.

Her eyes roll a little. “Y-yeah—”

“Nah, say it. I wanna hear it.”

She whines. “Slut me out.”

“Louder.”

“Slut me out.”

I bite her lip. “That’s my girl.”

Then I reach for the nightstand drawer. That drawer. She sees me open it, sees the black strap—clean, fresh, already waiting like I knew I was gonna work her tonight. Because I did.

I hold it up, eyebrow raised. She nods fast, grabbing the sheets like she needs it.

“I gotchu,” I whisper. “I’mma put your ass to work.”

She giggles but it’s shaky now—nervous-horny. The best kind. I get up slow, kiss my way down her body again just to prove a point. Then I strap up. Real casual. Real slow. She’s watching me the whole time, lips parted, legs still trembling.

I crawl back on the bed.

“Get up,” I say.

She blinks. “W-what?”

“Up. On all fours.”

She does. Fast. Ass arched, back dipped, face down. I run my hand over her spine, grip her hips and guide her back until she’s lined up perfectly.

I slide in slow. Like I’m proving something. Like I want her to feel every inch.

“Oh my God,” she gasps, dropping her head. “Fuuuck—”

I start slow. Deep. Lazy strokes. My hands firm on her hips, pulling her back into me, letting her feel the weight and stretch with every push.

“You feel that?”

“Y-yes—yes—”

“You took me so well. Look at you. So nasty for me.”

I lean down, grip her hair, pull it just enough to lift her head.

“You don’t need no man, Caitlin. You just need me. That mouth. That stroke. That pressure.”

She moans louder, rocking back against me like her body knows it’s mine now.

“You love this shit, don’t you?”

“Yes—fuck yes—”

I pick up pace. That rhythmic sound of hips slapping, her voice rising with every thrust, her fingers clawing at the sheets like she’s about to levitate.

“You gon’ cum for me again?”

“Mmhmm—”

I reach around and rub her clit while fucking into her like I own her soul. The way she cries out makes my whole chest tighten. She’s trying to run, and I won’t let her.

“Nah, don’t run. Take it.”

She falls apart again—loud, shaking, begging. Her body collapses forward and I follow, pressing her into the bed, grinding deep.

“That’s it. That’s mine.”

She nods. “Yours.”

“Say it again.”

“Yours.”

I slow down. Not because I’m done—but because I wanna flip her over. See her face when I break her again.

“On your back.”

She obeys, eyes glossy, lips red, chest rising too fast. I kiss her slow as I slide back in—face to face now, strap bottoming out, her nails digging into my back.

I fuck her slower now. Deep. Intentional. Like she’s the only person alive and this is how we breathe. Her moans get quieter but heavier. Her mouth falls open.

“Fuck me,” she whispers. “Please.”

“You already know what I’m doing.”

Her legs wrap around me. I bury my face in her neck, fucking her like I love her. And maybe I do. Because the way I say her name when she cums again—that didn’t sound like casual. She moans and it’s not cute anymore.

It’s raw. Guttural. Desperate.

I’m moving slow, hips grinding against her with that deep, circling stroke that feels like I’m carving myself into her. Not fucking—etching. Like every motion is a signature. Like I want her to feel this tomorrow and the day after and the rest of her fucking life.

My chest is pressed against hers. Her legs wrapped around my waist. And she’s naked now—finally—cause I pulled her shirt over her head mid-thrust, kissing every inch I uncovered. Her chest, her collarbone, her stomach, those nipples she swears are too sensitive but beg for attention anyway. She’s glistening under me, skin damp, back arched, face twisted in pleasure that’s starting to make her cry.

I ain’t even surprised. A good woman like this. Deserves to be loved so good it feels like grief.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” I murmur against her lips, wiping the tear from her cheek with my thumb before kissing her again.

She gasps as I hit that spot again—slow, angled just right, strap digging deep and thick while I keep my other hand rubbing her clit in the rhythm only I know.

Her breath hitches. Eyes wide.

“Oh my God—”

“You feel that, huh?” I growl against her neck. “Feel that real pressure?” She nods, frantic, too fucked out to speak.

“You ever cum like this before?”

“N-no,” she sobs. “N-never like this—”

“Course not,” I whisper, voice all satin and smoke. “That lil’ boy don’t know what to do with you. Can’t even spell clit.”

She cries harder, but it’s not sadness—it’s overwhelm. Joy. Release. She’s gripping my back like I’m the edge of the world.

“You mine now, huh?” She nods.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours—I’m yours, I swear—don’t stop—”

“Yeah,” I breathe.

I give it to her. With intention. With the kind of love that ain’t always soft, but never cruel.

I speed up just a little—enough to make her eyes roll and her mouth fall open. I’m gripping the back of her thigh now, pulling her open wider, tilting my hips to hit that angle that makes women fall in love.

She grabs the sheets. Starts babbling.

“I can’t—oh my God I can’t—I’m gonna—”

“You not tapping out on me, baby. You asked for this.”

Her thighs start to shake. Her whole body locks. I slow it down—just a little—to feel the way she clenches around the base of the strap, soaking wet, dripping down her thighs and my stomach. The sheets are already a mess, but I keep going.

“Breathe,” I whisper. “Just breathe.” She tries. Fails.

I lean back and look at her—really look. Sweat on her chest, tears on her cheeks, lips swollen from how many times I’ve kissed her stupid. And I swear to God, just looking at her like this makes my whole body tighten.

She’s perfect. And I’m nasty enough to love every fucking second of watching her come undone.

“Look at me,” I say, voice lower now. She does. Barely.

“You so pretty when you cry.”

Her body jerks—she loves that shit.

“You need to cum again?” She nods so fast it’s almost a sob.

“Good.” I pull out slow, then slide back in with one deep, wet thrust.

And then—it happens. A full-body shake. Her legs kick, her back lifts, and then a wave of wetness hits my stomach and thighs. Her eyes widen in shock. Her mouth drops open like she can’t believe it.

“Oh my God—did I—?”

“You just squirted” I whisper, grinning against her ear. “That’s what happens when someone actually knows how to fuck you.” She’s crying harder now—happy, overwhelmed, high off it.

“Connor ain’t never made you cum, did he?”

She shakes her head, tears streaming. “Never like this—never came with him—”

“That’s cause you ain’t never been loved right,” I growl. “Not like this. Not by me.”

I rock into her one more time—slow, deep, soaking in the ruin I’ve made of her—and she folds around me, wrapping her arms tight around my back like she needs to keep me in her, like letting go would kill her.

She cums again. Clutches me. Moans my name. I hold her through it, smiling like the devil in satin.

“Water,” I whisper.

She mumbles something sleepy.

“I ain’t ask.” I put the straw to her lips. “Sip.”

She drinks, slow. Then leans back with a sigh that could make a woman cry. Caitlin fell asleep with my name still on her lips.

She was facing away from me, my hoodie drowning her frame, her breath even and soft, the tension finally bled from her muscles.

The sheets were fresh now—clean, warm, a little lavender in the air—and her body curled instinctively into mine as I pulled the blanket over us.

I stayed close, arm tucked around her stomach, my hand resting low on her abdomen like I was protecting something sacred.

Every now and then, she’d shift in her sleep, press further into me like she couldn’t settle unless I was wrapped around her. Like my body was the last safe place she had.

I didn’t sleep right away. I just watched her. Traced the back of her hand with my thumb. Kissed the shell of her ear when she whimpered through a dream.

I’d touched every inch of her that night—claimed her so thoroughly she was crying, squirting, holding onto me like salvation—and now here she was, resting like a baby in my arms.

She looked soft. Exhausted. At peace. And underneath it all, even after everything I’d done to her…she looked happy.

The next morning, she stretched before opening her eyes. The sunlight hit her face just right and I swear, I almost fell in love with her all over again.

Her voice cracked when she whispered “good morning,” still scratchy from all the moaning she’d done the night before, and I leaned in to kiss her shoulder before she could fully sit up.

“I feel so good,” she said, rubbing her eyes.

“You look good” I answered, watching her slip from the bed with her legs still wobbly, her bare skin glowing beneath the hem of my hoodie. She

was humming, smiling for no reason, floating through the room like she’d just come back from a spa retreat, not a night of straight freaky, soul-bending sex.

She had a game that afternoon. She got ready slow, light on her feet, distracted but not nervous. I watched her lace her shoes, tuck her jersey into her shorts, mouth pressed into that little focused pout she always did.

I didn’t say much. Just sat on the bed, sipping water and grinning, because she looked like a walking victory.

But then—he showed up. Connor. Front row.

He was standing with flowers in his hand like they meant something. Like he hadn’t already lost. The second Caitlin saw him, something changed. Her shoulders stiffened. Her eyes dropped. That glow dimmed just a little. Not gone, but bruised.

I didn’t stand up. Not yet. Just watched. Waited. Then she fell.

It wasn’t serious—just a bad landing, a little twist of the ankle. But she stayed down longer than she should have, and that was enough to make people panic. Enough to make him jump out of his seat and yell her name like he was still allowed.

I stood up. Not fast. Not loud. But I moved and the whole air shifted. He tried to follow her toward the tunnel, but I stepped in front of him. Calm. Still chewing gum.

“She might need me,” he said, adjusting the flowers like that was his ticket through.

I tilted my head, smiling cold. “Boy..be fucking frl..she don’t need you.”

He opened his mouth again, but I was already over it. “Go home bud. You lost.” His jaw tensed. But I didn’t budge.

“She got me,” I added, just loud enough for him and the security guard next to him to hear. “And she don’t look like she missin’ you.” I left him standing there.

Walked to the tunnel where she was seated, trainers checking her ankle. She wasn’t crying—just breathing hard, clearly shaken. The second she saw me, her eyes softened.

“You good?” I asked, crouching low so we were eye-level.

She nodded. “Just a scare.”

“….I told him to get the fuck away from you.”

She blinked. Then smirked. “You didn’t.”

I leaned in, kissed her forehead. “I absolutely did.”

Her smile cracked all the way open. “Your insanely in love”

“Yeah,” I murmured. “I know.

Later that night, she was curled up on her couch with her legs over mine, grapes in a bowl beside her, hair wet from a post-game shower, my hoodie still draped off one shoulder. She looked good. Like victory and sex and trouble, all in one.

I was sitting low on the floor, back against the couch, editing a post on my phone. One leg stretched out, her foot playing with my knee. She watched me scroll through the pictures—nothing explicit. Just the aftermath of last night.

Her hand gripping mine under a blanket. The food I fed her. A blurry pic of the back of her head as she laid out on the pillow. Then, the final slide: a short six-second audio clip from last night.

Her moan. Her voice. Me whispering, “That’s it. Just like that. Let it go.”

“You trust me?” I asked, glancing up.

She nodded slowly. “What are you about to do?”

“Post the…audio?” I ask casually.

She raises an eyebrow. “That audio?”

“Just a few seconds. And it’s the last slide. No face. No names.”

She laughs. “Let me hear it.”

I press play. It’s the part where she moans my name and cries out all soft, the bed creaking in the background. Her face flushes, but she smiles.

“Do it. Be toxic. I’m not stopping you.”

“Say less.”

Caption: “Imagine losing. I could never 🙃”

I tagged him. Only him. Caitlin saw the notification, stared at it for a second, then opened Instagram and commented: 🙄

I grinned. Wrapped around my girl. Where I belong.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai

[docrobinavitch]

ok so y'all seem to really be into this little snippet and idk when it'll be done (i have a feeling it's going to be... pretty long? i would guess at least 10k??) and i am still just in the early strokes sort of outlining as i go. but anywho all that to say i wanted to give you guys just another little taste!! as u may know the fic is taking place mostly on the one shift from season one so this is right after javadi passes out. ok enjoy hehehe <3 syd

“Robby,” You called when you saw him at the hub, glasses perched on his nose. He looked up in surprise at the sound of your voice. He couldn’t remember the last time you had sought him out. But then he frowned when he saw Javadi, one of the new med students, walking a few steps ahead of you, “She… fell and hit her head.”

“I’m fine,” Javadi said immediately, “I just tripped.”

You met Robby’s eyes over Javadi’s shoulder and gave a sharp shake of your head that had Robby fighting a smirk, “Okay, why don’t you go hang out in the break room for a bit. Eat a snack, drink some water.”

“I really don’t think that’s necessary.” Javadi said.

“Oh, I know,” He took his glasses off, folding them and placing them in his pocket, “Hospital policy, though.”

Javadi stood there for a moment and you could see the battle waging in her body, deciding if she wanted to argue or not, but eventually, she started walking off.

“Other way,” Robby gently corrected when she went in the wrong direction, and you bit down on your lip as she walked by you again.

Then, you realized Robby was smiling at you. It took you aback, that gentle, tired smile on his face. The crinkles by his eyes and rosy cheeks. You hadn’t seen him like this in a long time, and certainly not when he was looking at you.

“What?” You asked, frowning.

He shrugged, “Just, reminds me of you when you were an intern, that’s all.” He said, gesturing in the direction Javadi had walked off to, “Something to prove and a nervous energy that could rival a cheetah. Not to mention taking a header on day one.”

Despite it all, you smirked, “I was not that nervous.”

“Oh, yes you were.” He nodded slowly, grin stretching so much, you could see teeth, “That’s at least half the reason you passed out in the first place.”

And it was really quite jarring, seeing him look at you fondly like that. Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest and your traitorous brain started pulling up snapshots of when he used to look at you like this. 

All the time. Several times a day, in fact. 

Like the time you passed out and hit your head on your first day as an intern.

You blinked the memory away and hoped you seemed unaffected, “Fine. Maybe I was,” You swallowed and turned to look towards the direction Javadi went, “I should go check on her.”

When you looked back at him, the smile was gone, replaced with disappointment. He wanted you to play with him, you realized, like you used to. But you couldn’t. Not if you wanted to keep your sanity.

When you began to walk away, he called your name. You swore it sounded hoarse, broken, coming from his lips, but thought you must be imagining things. You turned back.

“It’s… It’s really good to have you back.”

You’re not entirely sure why it irritated you, this whole interaction. Perhaps it just reminded you of everything you’d lost the last few years. Everything that had slipped between your fingers when you thought you had a firm grip on it. On him.

At any rate, you didn’t trust yourself to say anything you wouldn’t regret later, so you clenched your jaw and mock saluted him before turning on your heel and heading to the break room.

[jan1on]

Silent Mistakes P.1

Summary: Y/n loves Lando, but she’s not sure which way he loves her back. Because these ‘mistakes’ stings more every time.

Pairing: Lando Norris x Situationship!Reader

Warnings: Sexual innuendos, Naked, Swearing, Drinking, Heartbreak.

AN: This is part one to a series I want to start called “Silent Mistakes.” I haven’t written a whole lot so hopefully this is okay and the other parts will be even better. I hope you guys will like this and if you have any ideas, thoughts or other things you want to talk about please share it with me!

It had been around a month since she last saw him, Lando. The guy who she loved so much, spent every night in the sheets with, travelled with, the one who she wasn’t together with but acted like she did. Until he didn’t, and everything just came crashing down on her. Lando told her he didn’t have time for the relationship anymore, that it would take too much time of his training, being with friends and focusing on his championship. And they didn’t argue or anything, but she hated him, not that she didn’t have any rights to, or maybe a bit, but they weren’t officially together so she didn’t know what was ethically correct to be upset over. But she missed him and hated him equally.

“What can I serve a lady like you tonight?” He asked, voice soft with that French English accent, even if she barely heard him over the loud music playing. “Do you like something sweet or are you more into things that stings a bit?” Stings… well sounds like he’s referring to her love life. But she nods, she likes those things, tequila mostly. “I enjoy the burn but I’ll be here for a while so I need to start easy.” She chuckled, smiling at him.

“So maybe you’ll like a Vodka soda then? Something easy but still has a kick?” He asked, already holding a glass in hand. “Yeah, that would be perfect.” She nodded, watching him make her drink. While she was watching him her friend Isla poked her arm and spun her around, making her see what she did. And there he was, Lando Norris, with some friends she recognised and some she didn’t, not that she had to.

Dressed in a black hoodie with the playboy bunny on it, she’s seen it before. He looked too good in that, not that she liked him, she wouldn’t. Why does he need to be here, nowadays it feels like he’s everywhere she wants to go. Or maybe it’s just the fact that Monaco is too small or she’s just looking for him every where she goes. Now it’s time to cross her fingers and hope he hasn’t seen her yet.

The drink was suddenly pushed over the shiny bar table and stopped in front of her. She swallowed it all at once and then went over to her friends who had walked away to a quieter spot in the club.

“Did you see him?” Isla asked even if she knew the answer already.

“Yeah I did, he looked ugly.” That made her friend snort, which made her chuckle too.

“I feel bad for you, a good man like that who has too much positive things about him, must be hard to get over.” Isla added while sipping on her drink.

“That did not make it any easier, thank you.” She chuckled, not taking it too hard over what her friend said.

“C’mon, we’re here to have fun, get drunk and get fucked, or get over stupid dicks.” Her other friend Chiara said, already jumping on the dance floor which made the group laugh.

“Okay okay, I’ll stop thinking about stupid boys.” Y/n said, following her friend out into the crowd of people on the dance floor.

They danced, drank and laughed until she received a notification from her phone.

MESSAGE

Lando Norris

I’m in the VIP

She didn’t really know what to reply. He was the one not to answer her, break her heart and she could go on forever. Not that he had cheated, they weren’t even together, it just stung anyway. She just couldn’t get over him and block him, so here she was. Having to reply or he’ll come searching for her she was sure, depending on the reason for him to text her.

Y/n 00:23

Should that be a newsflash?

Gosh, could he just let her move on for once?

Lando Norris 00:23

I want you to be here.

No, no, no. Not again, she didn’t like him, she shouldn’t let him do this to her. She knows he’s a good guy just as much as he’s an ass. Y/n could already see the stupid smirk on his face. If she could just tell him no, but maybe he’s changed, even if it’s only been a month.

She excused herself from her friends saying she’ll going to the toilet since she knew they would tell her it was a bad idea. Which it probably was, but she’s hurt, in love and maybe letting her emotions take over.

She arrived into the VIP section after bribing the bodyguard when he didn’t believe she knew Lando Norris and was with him.

“For being the VIP it’s very messy and still crowded.” She muttered to herself as she tried to find his booth.

Her body jumped when she felt a hand wrapping around her stomach when passing through the crowd of people. She tilted her head back and was met by the blue greenish eyes and those dark curls of Lando Norris.

“Hey.” He said with a smile as he looked down at her. The scruff on his jaw a bit more grown out since she saw him last, but he looked just as good. Well, fuck her.

“Hi.” She said, more mumbling to herself than anything.

He pushed her and himself through the room of bodies and found a booth for them. She sat down and he slid in next to her.

“Thought you said clubbing weren’t for you?” He said, playing with the bracelet he had on.

“My friends made me go out, I’d prefer to stay home really.” She answered, looking at the people dancing instead of him. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be at the gym or something? Or maybe you have more time now that I’m not there.” She didn’t mean to sound that bad, her emotions took over mostly, or maybe she did mean that.

That made Lando chuckle a bit, looking at her. “I deserved that, really. I was being a real dickhead to you and you didn’t deserve any of that.” He said, looking at her face.

Y/n was actually out of words, she didn’t really expect him to say that. She didn’t expect him to care about it.

“Thanks… and yeah, you were being a dickhead.” She confessed, looking up at him.

“Do you want to get a drink or get out of here?” He suggested with that glimt in his eye, she knew that meant trouble.

“Are you at least going to behave on the way to your place?” She asked, cocking a brow at him.

“You know I never behave.” He smirked and grabbed her hand, taking her out of the club.

As he pressed the button on his car key the lights from his Lamborghini flashed and he got into the drivers seat. Y/n slid into the passenger seat and the sound of his engine filled the silence.

As the drive started, Lando’s hand had moved itself to Jane’s thigh, fingers splayed out over the bare skin. Y/n could feel her heart beat faster but she played it off and just stared out into the city lights of Monaco.

“Didn’t you drink?” She asked, turning her head to look at him.

“No, not when I saw you there.” He answered, fingers caressing her thighs as he glanced over at her before looking back at the road.

“Mhmmm.” She hummed, not really knowing what to say, patiently waiting for them to arrive at his place.

His place

As soon as they stepped into the elevator and the doors closed he was on her. Hands splayed over her ass and mouth on hers.

“Mhmm.. I’ve missed you.” He whispered, his breath caressing her lips.

Her hands grabbed his curls and she kissed him back, she hated how his lips felt so soft, so good and so perfect against hers.

They made out until the elevator doors opened again and he pushed her in front of him, hand on her back as he unlocked his apartment.

She walked into the place she’s been in many times before, maybe a bit messier now, but she also knows he’s messy of him if he doesn’t expect any visit.

“It’s messy in here.” She teased, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

A smirk flashed on his face as he walked up to her, her hands pressing against his chest and fiddling with the buttons.

“Maybe I didn’t expect to have company on the way home.” He said, voice mischievous and warm against her skin. His hands going to her waist. Mouth pressing against her ear.

“Need you now.” He murmured, pulling back to look down at her face. He needed her so bad.

When they came into his bedroom his hands were already on the zipper of her dress. She hated how he was so good with everything.

“You need to stop using dresses with zippers, they’re so annoying.” He muttered as the zipper eventually got all the way down and she stepped out of it.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He added, pushing her back onto the bed. Hands everywhere. His mouth moving over her collarbone and neck, nipping softly at her skin.

Soft, needy sounds left her lips as he was on her. “Please.” She breathed, tugging on his curls.

Just as he lifted his head from her neck his phone started ringing, his friend. Was he really going to take it right now?

“It’s my friend, he’s probably drunk. I need to take it.” He said and answered the phone while he was on top of her while she was lying there naked.

The call ended and Lando looked at her, not the good type of expression.

“I need to go, I have to drive him home.” Lando said, kissing her cleavage.

“Are you serious? He’s a grown up, call a cab for him.” Y/n said in disbelief. Was he going to leave her naked in his bed to drive his friend home? When he can just call a cab?

“Yes, Y/n. He doesn’t like cabs and they’re so expensive at night.” He replied, like he wasn’t hurting her feelings all over again.

“You can wait here if you want, I’ll be back soon.” He added, kissing her lips. Could he be more stupid?

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"Textual Relationship." Erik Campbell X FEM! Reader.

Okay, so. I have been posting about my newfound love for Erik fucking Campbell and basically this week I wrote a nearly all of 10K fic about being his unlikely sexting FWB. I had so much fun with this, I seriously love Erik and I think that this will not be the last thing I write of him. I hope everyone enjoys this! I do love, love, love this kind of senario. Who knows this might even get a follow up if people really dig it.

---

Rating. Explicit. Length. 9.6K. Erik Campbell X FEM!Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Sending Nudes. Sexting. Anonymous Sex. Dirty Talk. Mentions Of Cuckholding. Banter. Playful Relationship. Friends With Benefits. Teasing. Use Of Sex Toys. Cum Eating. Phone Sex. Mutual Masturbation. Blow Job. Hand Job. Riding. Vaginal Sex. Cunnilingus. Lots Of Compliments. Praise. You Are Both Super Into Each Other. Premature Ejacuation. Semi-Public.

---

Isn’t it crazy how a tiny change, one single moment, a slight pitch to the right or left, can cause such a massive and undeniable effect? That is what you have been pondering lately, you had been a little fixated on how one mis-entered number when putting in a new cell phone contact brought about such good, how that screw up introduced you to him. 

It was an average evening, you were going to have a shower and then sort out dinner, you’d selected the clothing you were going to change into, while in just your robe you sauntered into the bathroom. The door closed, you turned on the fan and took out your phone to put a music playlist on, it was at that exact moment you received a text, you click on it and see it is from an unknown number, a simple, “Hey, you busy tonight?” 

Your brows furrow and you type out a response, “Who is this?” 

The shower is turned on, and you let it start to heat up, eyes on the bubbles showing whoever on the other end was in the midst of typing a reply, it comes in a moment later reading, “Hilarious, been two whole days, and you already forgot me?”

You did not give out your number to anyone in the past few days, you were about to type out a response when another text came in before you could, “Maybe you just need a refresher.” 

Next popped up a picture and your breath caught, eyes going wide, the picture in question was a selfie taken using a mirror, the setting was a dark room, the lighting so low it was hard to make anything out in the background. However, who cares about the room when the focus was a close up of his open pants and belt sitting low on his hips. Creamy skin with a ton of tattoos on display, one hand is in his pocket which is pulling his pants down lower to the point you start to see the beginnings of coarse hair over the edge of his underwear. Okay so, one, hot, two, whoever he was trying to reach out to was very fucking lucky, and three, you definitely do not know this guy, but you think you want to. 

You don’t want to lie and lead him on that you are some other person, so you quickly decide a picture for a picture is a fair trade, you open your robe, showing a heathy amount of cleavage and stomach, you take a snapshot of your newly exposed flesh. You look at your work and are satisfied with it, you look hot, no face shown, very minimal risk, so why not take a chance? Then you are sending him a text saying, “Sorry, I don’t think I am who you were meaning to send this to, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be who you are looking for.” 

You send the picture along with it and then drop the robe, you turn on your playlist and get into the shower. Once under the spray of water, what you just did really starts to hit, you just sent this admittedly attractive stranger a somewhat scandalous picture, and it was hot, even if it doesn’t go further, you are glad you did it. You begin to feel pretty turned on, you might have to hop in bed to take care of this before worrying about dinner. 

After you are clean, you get out and start drying off, once wrapped in a towel you pick up your phone and check to seeing the texts you got in response, “Oh fuck.”  And then, “I know I should apologize.” and lastly, “But it’s hard to do it sincerely with a response like that.” 

A laugh breaks out, and feeling bold, you text him back, “Nothing to apologize for.” After that you type out “Got me curious what you were planning to get up to with whoever that first pic was meant for, tell me that, and we’ll call it square.” 

You use your hand to wipe the steamed up mirror enough to show your body but still obscure your face, you snap another pic, it shows you wrapped tightly in the towel, showing off you from shoulder to hips and still very wet, and then you send it off.

The picture comes first less than a minute later, similar to the first but this time it is obvious that he is very fucking hard, the outline of his erection clear, then the text comes, “I think I can do that.” 

A grin stretches over your face, and you abandon the bathroom and the clothing you’d picked out earlier and made your way back to your bedroom. 

Turns out that he thought he was messaging someone he flirted heavily with a few days ago and hooked up with in a bar bathroom, he got her number afterwards, and you guess was just one digit off and ended up getting you instead, crazy how that can happen. He was messaging that person in hopes of meeting up for a repeat session, you express sympathy but also offer some companionship, “I think I can still salvage your night, if you let me.” 

You send another picture of you, this time in bed, it shows a hint of the underside of your tits, as well as the sheets that are pooled around your hips and one hand dipping under the fabric between your legs. 

He takes you up on that with a simple, “Oh my God, yes.” 

Now you take it upon yourself to get the ball rolling, asking, “If you met up with that other person, what did you want to do?”

“Ooh you want to know, huh?” He texts, and you respond with one hand as your other begins to touch yourself slowly, “Badly.” 

“You cuck.” Just like that, a clearer picture of him begins to take shape. You wonder what his voice sounds like, but those words paired together gives you a better sense of him, and most importantly, the tone. You swear you can almost hear the teasing timber he would utter that with; the levity combined with an edge of taunting and slightly degrading? It is honestly exactly the kind of thing to turn you on. He follows it up with, “But I can tell you.”

He indulges you, talks about how he had intentions of getting her into a more private space than their last hook-up, tells you about how he has been thinking so much about giving her the chance to not have to muffle her moans when he is eating her out this time. The image of this hot faceless alternative guy on his knees in a filthy bar bathroom, fingers tangled in his hair as he eats pussy really does it for you. He tells you a lot more explicit details of how he’d fuck her, and you pretend to be in her place, you imagine how it would feel to be on the receiving end of.

You don’t let him do all the heavy lifting, you make your own intentions known and tell him in no uncertain terms what you would like to do to him, building off the framework of what he laid out. This sexting is some of the best you’ve ever had and with a complete stranger no less, though you suppose maybe that is part of it, the taboo nature, the freedom you feel because there is no baggage whatsoever.

Many pictures were sent back and forth that first night, plenty were noteworthy, but you have to admit when you get the first picture of him, hard and fully exposed, it literally made your breath stutter and how many guys can claim they have an honestly breathtaking dick? The proportions are good, but the piercing is what really grabs your attention, you are immediately struck with the craving to run your tongue over it and taste the tang of metal mix with the salt of his sweat. You tell him what you want in explicit detail, trying your best to paint the picture with words of you taking him to the base.

Both of you get bolder still, names are not exchanged, a lot more skin is shown, but neither of you reveal your faces. It ends with you both cumming pretty hard. You show this off with sending a picture of your soaked fingers, wet strings of slick between your spread digits.

He shows off the splatters of cum onto his stomach, and you admire how the pools of pearly white play against the black line work of the tattoo on his stomach, as well as how it drips off that piercing adorning his still mostly hard dick. God, you wish you could make this your screensaver. 

You play it cool, a very casual text is sent by you, “This was fun, we should do it again sometime.” 

In turn, you receive an easy reply of, “Totally, you’ve got my number, hit me up.” 

Soon you are getting out of bed, throwing on clothes and heading out towards the kitchen to make dinner. 

The following day you find him popping into your mind a few times, you feel your mood overall lifted, you hadn’t realized how much you had been missing sexually interacting with another person. You don’t message him yet though, you decide you will when the mood feels right.

You quote, “hit him up”, about a week after the first time, you are getting dressed for work in the morning and while looking over your underwear options an idea strikes, and remembering how well lack of thought worked in your favour last time, you don’t linger, you do.

It doesn’t take that much time, and you leave on schedule, you have more of a spring in your step and wonder when he will take the bite, not if, you are confident it is when. 

Erik finds himself staying up late a lot of the time, whether working or gaming, going out, the usual things that can keep anyone his age from slipping into bed at a decent hour, so waking up in the early afternoon is not uncommon. He rolls over and picks up his phone to find you sent him some messages, with one hand rubbing at his eye the other swipes them open, and he is rather pleasantly surprised to see what you sent. 

The first text reads, “Morning!”

Then comes the pictures. 

You had chosen a matching bra and panty set in a rich dark jewel tone that looks criminally good against your skin and slipped into it. Three pictures were taken using your floor length mirror, your phone purposefully blocking your face, the lighting and angle also helping to hide your identity; the first is of you, head on, tits tilted forward. The next is you on your knees, taken over your shoulder and leaning to show off how amazing your ass looks in the silky fabric. The last is you back on your feet, mostly dressed but, pants are low and shirt pulled up by your other hand not holding your phone to show you are wearing the set under your clothes today.

The last message reads, “You gonna be around later? Was hoping for a repeat of last week if you are up for it.” 

Your phone vibrates in your pocket once, then twice, honestly several times, and when you pull it out you see he has reacted to every picture you sent with exclamation points and black hearts, you laugh lightly thinking of his overall aesthetic, “Very fitting.” 

His texts are as follows, “Holy fucking shit, what a way to wake up.” and then, “Yes, I am definitely going to be around later.” and a picture of his own, he seemingly is still in bed and not wearing much, you can tell how hard he is with just the thin bedsheet covering him. The last text is, “You look so fucking hot btw, oh my God.”

You smile, an appropriate response to getting some unprompted sexy pictures on top of him, sending evidence of just how much he enjoyed your efforts. You type out your response, “You are one to talk, I want to see what is under that sheet, badly. I’m going to be done work in a few hours, that cool?” 

He treats you further when you get another picture in response of that sheet pulled out of the way, hard dick resting over his hip along with a, “Very cool.” 

You laugh, texting, “It’s a date.” You know the rest of the shift is going to drag, too consumed with how excited you are for what is going to happen later. 

When you get home later, you don’t even bother showering, you strip on your way to the bedroom until you are just down to the underwear set you took those pictures in this morning. You know you want to kick this off with another picture, and you’d been thinking hard about this on the way home and knew just want to do. 

Erik is at work, this day of the week is dedicated to walk-ins, no real appointments, so he is just waiting around at the moment, it’s near the dinner hour, he is expecting some people later but for right now he is kind of bored, until your first text comes in that is. His phone lights up and, he clicks on the notification to see what you sent. It is you in your full length mirror again, face out of frame, bra off and on the ground by your feet and an arm crossed over your tits, wearing nothing else but your panties and fuck, he is glad that the shop is empty at the moment. 

The next text reads, “You around?” 

He responds automatically, thumbs tapping out, “I am.”

You text him another picture, this one has your chest totally exposed and your free hand sliding your panties tantalizingly down your thighs, with one single word, “Good.” 

This time you take the lead, you texted him next, “I’ve been thinking about you ever since you texted back this afternoon, I have been dying to get off with you again.” 

You are in your bed now, texting again before he can respond, “Last week was a ton of fun, but I want to ramp it up, if you are into it.” 

The next picture Erik gets from you takes him from being half hard to completely erect, it’s you holding a rather sizeable dildo; realistic, prominent veins, and he has the first partial look at your face, just your chin and mouth, tongue out and teasing the tip of your toy. 

He makes the picture full screen, taking in the sight of that perfect looking wet mouth, your soft pink tongue, and wishes he was there in place of that toy. The very thought of the slickness of your spit, your warm breath, God, just the heat of your mouth would feel like heaven, he is sure. He responded, with a very enthusiastic, “I am very into it.”

You are torturing him, you have been talking about how much you want to taste him, how badly you want to be filled.

You had taken a few more pictures of you blowing the toy, still focused on the lower part of your face and the anonymous aspect is very much doing it for both of you, he loves that he knows what you look like with drool down your chin but has never seen your eyes, and you love that fact as well as showing off for him. 

He is aching in his jeans and dying for relief, he hasn’t sent any pictures himself yet tonight, still sitting in the shop and fully dressed, but he has been typing out responses agreeing with every single thing you’ve been saying and talking about how he is sure it would feel incredible to slide as deep as he can into your mouth. 

You ramp it up further, taking him by surprise, sending your very first video, he clicks on it quick as he can and as it starts to run he sees that you have secured the suction cup base of your dildo to a hardcover book. He watches with rapt attention as you swing one leg over, line it up and then start to slide it inside of you. The sound is obscene, he can fucking hear how wet you are, but more than that he can hear you moan out at the satisfaction of being filled. Once you settle down and have it fully inside of you, he can make out your breathy, “Oh my fucking God, yes-” 

You start to bounce up and down, he makes it exactly three rolls of your hips before he decides fuck it, he is taking his break now. He grabs the sign that declares, “Be back in twenty.” and hurriedly tapes it to the glass front door and locks it. He makes a beeline for the bathroom and locks himself inside, he had still been watching, phone in hand and eyes glued to the screen, losing his mind at how hot the visual of your soaked cunt taking well moulded silicone. Erik gets his belt and pants open, intent on sending you something back for that. 

You pause your riding when you hear your phone ding, you scoop your phone up and see he responded, you are greeted with the words, “You’re killing me.” With a picture of one of his hands gripping the base of his very hard dick. His pants are slung low again, he is leaning against a sink and the lighting is low with a red tint, your mouth is watering. Before you respond to that, he sends his own video, the text reads, “A video for a video seems fair.” 

You click on the video, and it is a blissful minute long video of him stroking his dick, you can hear his heavier breathing, the slight jingle of his belt buckle from the rough movements of his hand and of course, the sweetness of the sound of skin on skin. 

It is on. 

Your next one is you riding the dildo, dirty talking in between moans about how fucking hot he is and how good this feels, but that you are positive that he would feel better. 

The next video he sends you into overdrive, it opens with him spitting into his hand and then wrapping it back around his shaft, he strokes himself as he admits, “God, you know I’m at work right now? Fuck, couldn’t focus at all-” He huffs out a breath and confesses further, “-made me take my break early, you’ve got me jerking off in the bathroom right now-” 

Your hips pick up the pace, fucking yourself rougher, fingers swirling over your clit as you watch the video, listen to his filthy words, “-who can sketch when all I can think about is you riding me?”

Just listening to him is getting you close, you hold out and soon as you are done watching his video you set your phone back up for the big finish. Your hips roll, you moan out as your hand works, “So-sorry for taking you away from your work, bu-but M’ close-” 

A broken gasp as you manage to get out a little more praise, “-seriously you are so fucking hot, I can’t last, fuck! Ahhn I’m gonna-” 

You capture it beautifully, managing to get all the clear detail in your low bedroom lighting, the shudder of your thighs and how your pace stutters, moaning out weakly as you tip over the edge and your orgasm sweeps through you. Somehow you manage to ride through your high, shaky, uneven movements, stars bursting behind your eyelids as you think of your swollen walls wrapped around him as you cum. 

Once the pleasure finds it’s natural end, your hand falls away, and you sit there with the dildo still inside for a moment. You are panting, still coming down from your orgasm, after another few seconds, you lift off the toy, letting the camera on your phone capture all the excess wetness that leaks out and runs down the toy. 

You stop recording, and you send it off, you flop down and wait eagerly for his response, which you get in just a few minutes, right when your breathing comes back to normal, only for the video he sent to steal it again. His video is much shorter, about thirty seconds long, but the best one so far, incoherently moaning out a curse as he cums all over his own fingers. 

Honestly, even though you just came the sounds he makes when he is cumming are getting you going again, you are so going to jerk off to that video on loop again when you regain a little strength. 

With another flash of inspiration, you remove your toy from the book cover and bring it up, you start to clean it up with your mouth; you took a picture of the soaked toy resting on your cheek, your tongue lolling out and clearly dripping with your own creamy slick, combining it with a text, “Oh my fucking God, how are you this hot? Wish I was there to help you clean up.” 

His own response comes back with, “I’m hot? Have you seen you? Also serve return, I bet you taste amazing.” 

The texting continues on for a while, you are into the fact he would love to help you clean up and wants you there to do the same, you thank him for helping you out and for all he shared, and he thanked you for making his night at work a lot more interesting. He gets a walk-in and has to get to work, and you go for a shower and to figure out your dinner, and the conversation stops for the night. 

This situation keeps going as is for a few weeks, at least once a week, either initiated by you or him, a quick check in with a, “You busy?” accompanied by a risky picture leading to a heavy sexting session, pictures and videos exchanged where you both get off spectacularly. You both have a good sense of when works in each other’s schedules and when the other person is normally busy, the times you catch each other at a bad moment you find yourselves prioritizing finding space to make up for it as soon as possible. You think that you are a tad addicted to these sexting sessions, and you have a sneaking suspicion that he is too. 

The times you text after a session become longer and at times you are texting even when you aren’t being nasty and sexual with each other, you learn small details, like some music he likes, that he is a tattoo artist, his brother has a pet turtle that is always getting lost. You still haven’t seen each other’s faces, you don’t know each other’s names, you still like those small things and get off on the anonymous nature. 

While in mid-session while in bed, a vibrator in your hand and pressed between your thighs and your other hand holding your phone, in the middle of typing out a response to your sexting buddy when your phone starts ringing. You are so shocked that you nearly drop your phone, the feeling increases when you see that he is the one who is calling you. It has been a while since you had ramped it up, it has been weeks of pictures, voice notes, and videos, but you’ve never actually talked on the phone, the idea of it is exciting enough that all nerves are forgotten and you answer. 

“Hello?” Jesus, you didn’t mean to say it so breathy, but you can’t help it, with how turned on you are, the toy still running and how good it feels. 

“Hey-” Oh, thank God, he sounds pretty out of breath too, a small moment before he says, “-I just really wanted to hear you.” 

Fuck, you feel a surge of arousal and you want to whimper in response. He continues, “I love the videos and shit we do, but there’s this uhm, disconnect right?” 

You know exactly what he means, you film the video, send it, he watches it, records the response and then sends his, the process is hot and fun, same story for voice notes, but it does take a bit of time and definitely creates a disconnect. 

“I was thinkin’ this could maybe bridge the gap.” You get it totally, have some more immediacy, can respond in real time and also not have to fuss with your phone while jacking off, instead you can just talk. “Not all the time but-”

You breathe out and finish his thought before he can, “Sometimes. Yeah, I’m with you.” 

“Good.” He responds and then there is this moment where it sinks in, you are both on the phone together, just listening to each other breathe and you know what the other person is doing. He is fucking his well lubed fist while you are grinding your clit against candy coloured vibrating silicone. You’ve never spoken like this, and you think he is having the same realization, he must have just called you on impulse, you are thankful he took that first step; to show appreciation for how thankful you are, you figure you should break the ice properly. 

You turn the toy up and the moan that spills out in response is automatic, “Oh God-” and you can hear his own breath catch, you squirm your hips and hit a particularly good spot that makes you whine slightly; that gets a good moan from him, and it really starts rolling. 

“Jesus Christ, the sounds that you are making.” He groans, and you let out this sound that strikes somewhere between a half laugh and half a moan, and he finds it gorgeous, “You can thank the vibrator I am using, ahh-” A harsh inhale in you say, “-you sound so good too.” 

“Yeah?” There it is, that teasing tone, that one that you knew he was capable of that first time you were texting, that same one that does you in and ruins you so perfectly. You confess this next part broken only by a few moans, “Yeahhh, I swear, ohh, guys who are too quiet are such a fucking turn-off, bu-but ah! The stuff you send? Perfect to get off to.” 

“Couldn’t agree more, what we’ve been gettin’ up, ugh, to has kinda ruined me for regular porn for the time being.” His own admission fuels this all a lot further, because you’ve done the same thing, traditional porn that isn’t stuff he has sent you has very little appeal currently. You normally think about him being physically with you, but that is a Hell of a lot easier with him in your ear like this, you could imagine him in bed beside you as you both play with yourselves, or better yet, have him play with you. 

In a few short minutes of losing yourself in the fantasy, with a few more things said back and forth, accompanied by a whole lore more moaning you can feel the pressure building low, and you choke out, “God, M’ getting close over here-” 

“Same, fuck, I’m almost there-” He sounds so unbelievably hot when he is near the edge, you wonder briefly if he thinks the same about how you sound, but he keeps talking and your mind goes blank, “C’mon, I want to hear it, fucking do it, cum.”

It wasn’t a question, it had a harsher edge, you’d land it more in the camp of being a command, your eyes squeeze shut as you focus on the idea of him holding the toy to you, of him using it to get you off, and you are done for. You cum so hard that you cannot contain your moans and midway through your own peak you can hear him reach his own end, the broken off curse sounds so good you wish you could make it your text tone. Once you’ve both ridden out your respective highs, you turn your toy off and put it aside, laying back to relax.

The come down is quiet, just the pair of you connected on the phone and panting, feeling amazing. You get an idea and pick up your phone, you snap a quick picture of the lower half of your face, a flirty smile as well as your slick toy resting on your chest, you send it off, and you can hear when he opens it up half a minute later. He laughs, sounding clearly delighted, “Nice picture.” 

“Thanks, thought you might like to see the aftermath.” You sigh, and he says, “You guessed right, here, give me a second.” 

In a few seconds time, you have a picture of your own in your inbox, him shirtless with cum splattered on his stomach again, it reminds you of that first night from over a month and a half ago, and you smile at the memory. “Very nice, I love these pictures, the cum plays great off your tattoos.” 

He laughs a little more unsure, “Thanks?” 

“It’s a compliment, that’s good praise right there! Appreciate it!” You protest so fervently he belts out a laugh, and the conversation continues on for a while longer, playful banter that flows like water, with a complete and comfortable ease. Twenty minutes flies by before you say, “Well, I’m gonna go, but we should call like this again.” 

He agrees, you can hear the smile in his voice, “Yeah, soon.” 

“Totally.” You confirm, and before you go, you realize something and so you say, “Wait.” 

“Yes?” He asks, and you say, “We haven’t shared names so far and that is fine with me, I know why, but we are deep enough in that I think we should have something to call each other, right?” 

“Oooh, you think were there in our relationship?” He teases, and you laugh, “I’d like to think so, but it’s more that I want to have something to moan when I’m cumming for you.” 

“You strike a compelling argument.” He hums, and then says, “I’ll trust you to come up with something adequate if you trust me to do the same.” 

Eye for an eye, how very like you both, you tell him, “I think I can get behind that, thanks again for the great time, night.” 

“Night.” He returns before you hang up.

The phone sex enters the regular rotation, it has really improved your dynamic, and honestly your life, you feel less stressed, more relaxed, overall mood completely improved.

After that first phone call, the non-sexual communication becomes more frequent, you ask him for some music recommendations and pass some back, a few normal pictures are sent, and casual conversation struck, you feel like you are getting to know him better in the times between you are getting off together. A perfect example is you sending a picture of your hand curled around a coffee once you’ve gotten to work, complaining of the long day ahead and him responding, “Least your nails look cute, new polish?” 

Since the advancement of the phone calls, you can hear how he’d say it, causing a smile to paint your face as you type out a response, “It is, you want to know the name so you can paint yours to match?” 

You joke a lot and have gotten very comfortable teasing each other, part of it is because it is fun, and part of it is to cover your ass just a bit, you think he looks great with his nails painted, you wish he’d indulge in it more but asking for that? Feels a shade too far, a little too intimate for what you are. One of the most frequent pictures you get from him, (when he is clothed), is whatever sketch he is working on, and you love seeing his art and whatever the current project is. He has a great handle on perspective and clearly knows his wheelhouse, if it wasn’t overstepping and would ruin this whole thing you think you’d like and be proud to get a tattoo done by him.

After another lazy afternoon conversation, the conversation was centred again on what you’d both been listening to, you had been cleaning earlier and listening to a song he’d sent and were just complimenting him on his good taste, trying out that nickname you’d been contemplating for a while,  “Seriously, how you find such good stuff, music man?” 

The response was immediate, ignoring the majority of your sentence and focusing on the last two words, it wasn’t even a text, he sent a voice note, his tone incredulous as he inquires, “Music man? Do I give Broadway vibes?”

You laugh and send your own voice note in response as you defend yourself, “I mean, you are pretty dramatic, but ignoring that, you say you aren’t a Broadway guy, yet you picked up that was a musical theatre reference right away.”

“It isn’t like it’s a deep cut!” Comes his reply that makes you laugh even harder, before sending back, “You are never beating the theatre fan allegations, I am sorry.” 

“Goddamnit, okay so, forgetting all that, you think music man is the best nickname you can come up with?” He asks and, you return, “I think it fits a lot better than just calling you the name of some musical artist or band, it is more all encompassing, and with how much new stuff you’ve been turning me onto it makes sense.” 

“You talk about me like I’m a drug dealer for music.” It is said jokingly, but it has an undercurrent of fondness. 

“I think that’s apt, you’re my music man.” You coo the last two words teasingly, thinking to yourself that you are going to try moaning it out later and see if you can’t change his mind, or at least make him laugh, probably the ladder. 

True to your word, later on you do try that, in the heat of the moment, the pair of you touching yourselves while on a phone call you moan it out and that causes you both to break down laughing and halts things for a minute. He manages to get out between laughs, “God, you’re the worst! Totally got the drop on me. I am vetoing, music man is a non-sexual nickname, only! Got it?” 

“Got it.” You giggle and soon find your rhythm together again. You know it is all fine because he is nice enough to send you a special video after you’d both gotten off the phone call. He had been using a toy himself, one he bought a bit ago, said he was inspired by your ample toy collection you love to show off to him, and so he took a video of him lifting the fleshlight up and off, letting the messy cum pour back out onto his mostly hard dick. 

Your response is simple, an easy joke typed out of, “Hey, so can I eat the cum out of your fleshlight or-?”

“Oh my God, you are such a freak.” You can hear how he’d say it, and you tap out, “You love it <3.” 

“True, it’s one of your best qualities.” You knew it. 

You had been doing this song and dance for nearly three months, and you are doing your best to not question your arrangement’s longevity, just happy it is still going, why ruin a good thing by overthinking? Both of you have great sexual chemistry and are still having a great time, so on it goes, unquestioned. 

It was a Saturday night when the change happens, you had been busy and hadn’t gone out in a couple of weeks, you were going to have a good time, some drinks, maybe take a few risky semi public pictures and send them off to your sext buddy, it’ll be fun. You come home from work, have a shower, then take some serious time to get ready, go out for a late dinner, and after that you head to a cool sounding bar you’ve heard hyped up. 

Upon arriving you see the place is about three quarters full, seems to have a good vibe, you make your way up to the bar, take an open stool and pick up a drink menu to see the specialty cocktails they have on offer. You are humming to yourself, some song that he sent to you has been stuck in your head all week, debating whether you want to commit to a vodka or whiskey based drink when your phone vibrates on the bar top. You glance at the phone screen and see that he texted you, a small smile crosses your face as you scoop up your phone and swipe on the notification to see, “Work is dead as shit, I am getting the opportunity to bail early, what’s going on with you?” 

“Went out for dinner, just grabbing a drink at a new bar.” You type out your response and the bartender finally addresses you, another quick glance at the menu, and you pick whiskey for the night, he steps away to make your drink as your phone vibrates again. He texted back, “You know, that is a great idea, I might go out for one or two myself before I go home.” 

With a grin, you respond, “If you strike out, you want to hook up later?” 

The bartender sets the drink in front of you as his response arrives, “Absolutely.” 

Something fun to look forward to, and even if he meets up with someone, hey you might be able to sweet talk him into sharing dirty details later, sounds like a win-win to you. Picking up the cool glass, you take a sip and find that yes, the drink is very good too, honestly this is going to be a fantastic night, you can just feel it. 

You enjoy the atmosphere, the music, your drink and the general din of the people in the bar. After a little time you debate texting a picture of your drink, or better yet, slipping off to the bathroom to take something much more risque’ to send off. Until someone else walks up beside you at the bar to order, you glance briefly for a moment, or you mean to, until your eyes land on him, then you can’t look away. 

There is absolutely no fucking way, I mean what are the chances? It can’t be him but also, it has to be. You have gotten so many pictures over the past few months, you haven’t seen higher than the lower half of his face, that matches though, the septum piercing, the facial hair, that mouth; you have become pretty intimately familiar with the rest of him too. He is in a black t-shirt and pants, leather jacket slung over the empty stool between you both, you scan his arms, and you know those tattoos very well, had seen them in so many pictures it is crazy. 

He hasn’t said anything yet, you are sure it is him, but if he speaks then that will really seal it, make it undeniable, you still can’t buy it because just, what are the odds? You and he both ending up beside each other in the same bar on the same night after all that has happened? It is just too good to be true, as much as you wanted it to be, you had never allowed yourself to seriously hope that it could. You never suggested meeting up in person for a few reasons, one, you were worried your chemistry might not transfer to real life and would ruin such a good thing, and two, you assumed you weren’t in the same town, the same area code doesn’t promise that afterall.

Your eyes tear away to focus on your drink, you take another drink and the bartender comes back, you feel brief hope as you listen up, poor you though; he must be a regular here, because without having to ask a drink is placed in front of him. He picks it up, and you are worried he is about to step away, so with another swallow of your drink to give yourself some courage you turn towards him to see he is already looking at you. 

The intense eye contact is maintained. 

Silence hangs for a long moment. 

You speak first, more confident than you thought yourself capable with the nerves twisting your stomach up, “Hey music man.” 

Eyebrows raise slightly, lips part, complete surprise overtaking, a shake of his head as he speaks, “No fucking way.” 

You smile and laugh lightly as you shrug, “I was thinking that very thing the second I saw you.” With a nod, you gesture to the stool next to you his jacket is still laying on, and he removes it, sits down before he puts it over his lap, and he speaks again, “No seriously, I was looking at you thinking how familiar you looked and wasn’t sure, but I didn’t want to assume-”

“And look totally stupid if you were wrong, right?!” You finish his thought and both of you share a laugh, he responds, “Fuck, exactly!

An hour passes with total ease as you talk, you go over the fact that you both lived in the same town this whole time without realizing it and apparently never crossing paths, the insane odds of this happening, but that you were both glad it shook out this way. You talked about the fact his tattoo shop was on this street, you talked about how near where you lived, and where your job was, a few other things and honestly, you felt good, the energy is managing to carry over to real life, thank God. 

Soon you say, “Oh, we should probably actually exchange names now, right?”

He nods and says, “About time, right? I’m Erik.” 

You tell him your name and hold your hand out, he takes it with a chuckle, and you shake hands, saying in a light tone, “So nice to finally meet you.” 

“Couldn’t agree more.” He responds.

You can’t look away as you both talk, you were totally right, he is very hot, the kind of messy “I don’t care” quality to his hair, his blue eyes, his casual body language, you are very down bad. On top of that, it is fulfilling to get to see the whole picture and talk like this. You wonder if he thinks the same thing about you, is he pleased with the whole picture now that he has it?

After much more conversation, another drink each, much lighter and looser the conversation takes the natural and expected turn, you say, “Sooo, I don’t live that far away.” 

“Smooth.” He jokes with a grin, and you nudge his shoulder with yours, “Asshole. You are just as much of a dick in person as on the phone.” 

“I think you love it, and besides I can’t help it, getting to see your reactions in person? I can’t pass that up. You are just too easy.” He defends, and you take your in as you say in a flirty tone, “You have no idea how easy I can be.” 

He stops leaning on the bar as he leans just a little closer into you instead, eyes clearly raking over you, “I think I might have some idea after all this time, not like I’m much better though.” 

Next, you let your hand fall to his knee and squeeze as you say, “I was gonna say, you did kick this whole thing off.” 

He scoffs, “Ah the ol’ you started it argument, I’ve been a fan of it since childhood, you really can’t beat it.” 

“To be clear, I’m glad you started it, but come on, you have to admit it’s a lot easier to initiate on the phone. You send a dirty pic and the ball is rolling.” You tease, and he hums in agreement, his hand comes down to meet yours on his knee, you lift it, he initiates your fingers twining and tangling together, he retorts in that tone that you’ve become so familiar with over the phone, “So go to the bathroom and send a picture while you are in there, obviously.” 

You laugh, your head pitching forward slightly, “God, you are so brilliant, how did I never think of that?” 

His hand that isn’t holding yours closes around his glass, he takes a drink, and you take that moment, your hand squeezes his as you say after another moment, “After everything, aren’t you dying to know how it would actually be?” 

His drink is set back down. 

“If we really fucked?” He asked it a lot quieter, you look up and there is this change in the air, you had felt the tension slowly building over the entire conversation with him, you had both started to get closer, touchier, feeling one another out. You’d have to be stupid to not see where this was inevitably going, you get it, you are now sure that neither of you wanted to assume anything or jump the gun, but it’s painfully obvious you both want this, badly. 

This whole time, you have been doing a lot of talking, and you love talking to him, getting to know him has been amazing, but you are in person now, before you didn’t have this option, but now you do. Since this thing began you both continue to escalate, and you figure that now it is your turn again, your other hand comes up to the back of his neck, you tug him down and you kiss him. 

The response is immediate, he kisses you back in a way that shows that he has been craving this just as desperately as you and for just as long. Your fingers run through the hair at the nape of his neck, and you pull him just a little closer as his lips part and with the smallest hint of tongue he draws a quiet sound from you at the shock of arousal it delivers. Yeah you cannot continue this here. 

You pull back, dropping the volume of your own voice, lips two inches apart as you answer his earlier question, “Yeah.” 

The remainder of your drinks are abandoned, you had already paid and off you go, your purse slung over your shoulder and his leather jacket is thrown on as you head out the door. The trip to your place was swift, hand in hand, you are glad you lived so nearby and shortly you were inside and getting your shoes off. The trip to your bedroom is slow going, now that you were away from prying eyes you were back on each other, he initiates it this time, kissing you before you could move away from the door. You return his efforts, dropping your purse to the floor and shrugging out of your coat, you’ll deal with them later.

As the kissing continues, you are helping him out of his jacket, walking backwards as you try to steer you towards your bedroom. 

You are kind of losing your mind during this, all the build up and anticipation, the worry this wouldn’t live up to the hype was very real, but turns out the fear was unfounded, this feels incredible. His jacket is tossed on the couch on the way, you manage to pant out between kisses, “Down the hall, here-” 

A nod before he kisses you again, following as best he can but clearly much more caught up with the ongoing make out, until you pull away with a laugh and take him the last bit of distance to your room, the door is opened, and you push him inside. He takes a brief look around, giving the normal customary compliment, “Nice room.” 

“We can talk room decor later, get on the bed.” You gesture to the plush and soft furniture as you quickly turn on your bedside table lights. He does as he is told, even as he comments, “Awfully bossy in person.” 

“Yet you are still so obviously hard, I could get bossier if you want, like how about you start getting some of those clothes off?” As you say this, you start to strip, there isn’t much to tonight’s outfit, you peel off the tight dress and toss it aside, leaving you standing there in the panties you picked out tonight, you’d intended to show them off to him later, now though he is going to be able to take them off of you.

“Oh my God.” His eyes were fixed on you and yes he was rushing to get his own clothes sorted out, shirt taken off and thrown aside, you start to cross over to him as he begins to open his belt and pants. You get onto the bed and start to help him, soon as his pants are down his knees you swing a leg over and straddle him, you’ve been waiting long enough, and you don’t want to wait much longer. 

Your lips capture his and his hands are on your back, pulling you close as can be so you are chest to chest, your tongue slips into his mouth and God, you are so far gone for him. You already thought he was mouth-wateringly hot, totally your type, but knowing he is just as into you, and it feels this good, this easy to actually be this way in real life, you know this is going to feel amazing. 

A move of your hips, you grind down and feel him through the thin remaining layers you have on and you both gasp out a moaning into the kiss, he grinds up to meet you and fuck, you need him already. “Erik, been dying to ride you, can I?”

“Yes, holy shit-” He agrees, and he reaches down, fumbles to get his underwear down, and you pull your panties to the side, he holds himself steady, and you line yourself up; his tip kisses your soaked hole, and fuck, you can feel his piercing, there is no way you are having him any other way than raw. You take a second to grind on his shaft, to test how he feels sliding against your dripping slit and your aching clit, and you could get used to that.

You wait for just a moment more, taking a deep breath before you drop and begin to take him. Sharing a moan between you both until you come to rest with him fully inside, you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply again. 

The make out picks back up, messy tongue kisses, needy as you start to ride him, rocking against him and him working with you. He can’t stop his hands, they slide up down your back and pause at your hips to squeeze, before resting on your hips and helping you move better, you rock down as he fucks up. The most common thing you manage to moan out between kisses is his name, you love that you know it now, the taste of it on your tongue is addicting, getting to pant it while you fuck him raw is setting you completely on fire. 

He is breathing your name in kind, the kiss is broken, his head tips back, and you take the chance, your mouth attacks his neck, the salt of his skin invades your senses, and your arms unloop, wanting to touch him again. Your hands start to explore like his had, they run up his sides and your fingers brush over his nipples, and he stiffens in response. You bite the side of his neck gently as you start to play with his piercings in earnest, he acts like he has been shocked from the way it rocks his body. You pull back enough to look at his face, pausing your riding as you check in, “This okay? Do they hurt?” 

He laughs lightly, “No-ohh, they hurt to get sure, bu-but now, oh fuck-” Erik releases the best groan he had all night and your blood sings, you crave to hear that again. You tug carefully, ”Is it good?” 

You asked it in a teasing voice, and you think you could feel him throb inside you, his hips thrust up involuntarily, oh this is going to be so fun. Starting to ride him again, harder, the sound of skin on skin becoming much louder, you twist and toy with the metal as he chokes out, “Yeah, s’fucking good-”

“God, they seem, ahh, really sensitive.” You comment, eyes fixed on his face as you pinch both of his nipples between two fingers, and he nods, an incoherent moan and this is so good. You are much more concerned with this, with ruining him than cumming yourself, you push him onto his back, and he allows this, he falls easily, and you take in the sight of him under you. Adjusting yourself, you lean forward, hips continuing to work as you kiss down his chest, your tongue circles around one nipple, and he inhales sharply, the sound drives you forward. Your lips close around it, teeth sink in, and you nip lightly, and you aren’t sure you heard him right the first time so you do it again and yes, you are able to confirm he whines. 

You don’t think you’ve heard him sound this needy, you bite harder, he exhales harshly, before you are switching to the other side, and he says, “Wa-wait, fuck, hold on-” 

Now even though this is your first time fucking, you know that tone, can tell from all those videos, voice notes and phone calls, from all the months of experience, he is getting close. The thought of him being so into you playing with his piercings that it is threatening to make him cum early is making you melt, you have decided that is all you want. 

You continue to tongue and bite, speeding up your riding, and he lets out this weak laugh, like he is trying to play it off, but quickly it bleeds, shifts into him moaning brokenly, “No-ohhh, seriously, if you don-don’t, sto-op, I’m gonna-” 

He didn’t have as good as of a grip as he thought he did, his end rockets through him, he wraps his arms around you and fucks up into you all the way, a certified whimper as he cums into you. He holds you to him as he unloads, and you feel the slick warmth, you shiver and feel immense satisfaction, mouth letting go of skin and metal as it curves into a smile. His arms loosen, and he sighs into your ear, you sit up, looking down at him, his face is flushed, and it has spread down his neck and chest, he is panting, eyes closed, hair even messier and a little sweaty. With a grin, you ask him, “You still with me, Erik?”

“Yeah, I’m still with you.” He groans, hands rubbing over his eyes, and then when they move, his lids crack open and blue eyes meet yours as he huffs out with a half smile, “Fucking bitch.” 

You laugh, light and warm, “What? Wasn’t that good?” 

A hand runs through his hair as he admits, “Fucking, of course it was! But this is our first time fucking after how much lead up? I busted in like five minutes, you didn’t even cum, it’s embarrassing.” 

You are laughing from his tone, how annoyed he sounds, he is unfairly funny, you reassure, “Hey it’s fine, I kinda purposefully milked it outta you, no hard feelings, you’ll get me next time, right?”

“Are you planning on kicking me out already?” He asked, and you shrugged, “No I wasn’t, why? You wanna sleep over?” 

“Sure, but I’m getting you off before that.” His hands close on your hips, and he lifts you up and manages to toss you onto your side next to him on the bed, “Woah!” 

His takes the remainder of his clothes off, pants and underwear left on your floor before his hands rip your underwear off leaving you both completely bared. His hands are on your waist, and he adjusts you so you are on your back, and he moves down, before you can protest or really say much of anything he is on his knees on the floor, pulling you nearer and putting your legs over his shoulders. Erik’s tongue swipes up the centre of your folds, and you gasp, so he isn’t afraid of his own cum, very good to know. Another lick right through the middle, from your hole to up and over your clit, and then he starts to slide into finding his rhythm, you sink into the mattress, a moan spilling out, eyes falling closed. Your hand slides down your body and tangles in his hair, and you are thrown back to that first text conversation, that image that permeated your brain, of the hot alternative guy on his knees, eating you out while you hold his hair, and it makes your clit throb against his tongue. You moan in bliss, disbelief that you managed to get into this position. 

All this from a mis-entered phone number, who would have ever thought?

[urinarythreatinfection]

Looking Elsewhere

Mihawk x Male Reader. 2915 words.

Desc: You like looking at boobs too much and it causes conflict with your boyfriend.

cw: Angst with a happy ending, suggestive-ish, implied but not outright said bisexual reader (can be read as not)

You’re a pretty big fan of boobs, who isn't? They’re great, amazing, even not as an object of desire they’re just satisfying. Soft, plush, warm, they’ve got the whole package along with being one themselves. That’s why your eyes tend to trail, and trail they are. You used to stare at Mihawk all the time, satiating your need using your love’s beautiful perfect pecs; but he started getting annoyed quickly. You apparently “stare too much” and it makes you look like a “lustful beast”. So, you choose to look around the restaurant instead. It’s not like he’s one for small talk, preferring to enjoy comfortable silence, and you’re happy to enjoy it with him even if you do sometimes ramble. He listens, though. Noting things you like and dislike, how you feel, what your day is like; but otherwise you enjoy the silence. When going out like this with him you do the same, talk or enjoy the silence while looking around to avoid scanning him and his body. Your eyes go to a singer on stage and the way her dress is tight around her as she dances while singing.

“wooa…” You mumble, mesmerized. It’s like watching jiggly pudding, so satisfying, so great… boobs. You’re so mesmerized, in fact, you’re oblivious to the murderous intent boring into you. By the time you snap out of it and nervously turn your head back to the lover you had started to ignore it's too late. “...uhh…” Amber hawk-like eyes pierce into yours, “My love-” but before you can say anything he stands up and walks off. “Ah!” You stand up too but you can tell, it’s best to give him space when he’s mad. You sit back down and put your head in your hands. “Dammit…” You sigh and lift your head up to rest your chin on your palms. You messed up. That stress and nervousness fills your body and your eyes unconsciously trail back to the dancer to ease it, freezing when you feel eyes on you again. When you snap your head in its direction you see Mihawk, who had turned around to see you looking at a woman’s chest when you thought he was gone. ‘FUCK..!’ You just made it even worse. He narrows his eyes at you and actually leaves this time. You don’t even bother looking towards the dancer. “I hate my eyes that love breasts…” You solemnly mumble to yourself, enjoyment sucked from looking at the soft mounds now that you know your lover is upset. ‘But what do I do? I love looking at them. I don’t like making him so upset… When he’s happy I’m happy, and when I’m happy my eyes look at things I like…’ you think to yourself. That’s it. You need to train. “No longer will I make my lover upset. I am more than my eyes!” You yell out, determined. You notice it’s gone silent and you look around to see people looking at you. “my bad.”

_________________

‘This should be easy.’ You think to yourself as you sit in a guest room, a magazine pinned to the corkboard in front of you. ‘I mean, I just have to not look, right? Plenty of people don’t look, it’s normal. Which means all I have to do is become one of those people.’ The magazine features multiple big breasted women. You focus on her face. This is easy, women are more than their boobs and you are more than your instincts. If you just keep that in mind you should be able to… oops. Before you could realize you were already staring at her chest. Maybe you should switch to a different page. You switch to a different girl and try the same, but you keep glancing down at her naked chest like you’re playing tug of war. This is harder than you thought. Even when you spend the next two hours practicing your mind eventually wanders and your focus turns to the woman’s chest. You need to switch strategies.

_____________

Okay, next day. You switched to a male magazine this time. Their boobs aren’t as big and they aren’t your lover so your eyes should naturally be less inclined to look. You stare at the face of the man.. he looks weird. Maybe it’s your bias but somehow you can’t find him attractive since he doesn’t look anything like Mihawk. It’s boring to look at, you’d rather stare.. ah. You’re looking at his chest. This isn’t fair. Is it testosterone? Is that why this is so hard? No, there are tons of guys who learned to not stare even if they want to. You’re the weird one. That thought makes you desperately flip to a different page and try again, but this guy looks slightly more like Mihawk and it only gives you the urge to look until you are. This has ended up being harder than the women. What’s worse is it’s been almost two days since that incident with the singer and Mihawk still hasn’t forgiven you! Every time you eat he seems distant, and whenever you try to touch him he dodges it. You’d like to speak about it but he still acts as if he’s completely fine and he would never be upset over something so little.

“M-Maybe I should just use observation haki? Go out in a blindfold and use the haki to get around!” You’re desperate, searching for solutions as you pace the room since you haven’t been allowed to sleep with Mihawk since this morning. You can’t just ask the swordsman to let you stare at his chest either, he has the right to tell you not to look. You’ve had this problem over and over and you keep apologizing but you always end up doing it anyway. This is your last resort. You’ve been trying too long to unlearn this habit the normal way. This was supposed to be the method that would finally solve your problem, but it isn’t even working and you don’t know how much time you have to train before Mihawk possibly breaks up with you.

“I’m more than my eyes. I’m more than my instincts.” You repeat to yourself like a mantra as you sit back down. This is your training. You will learn for the one you love.

(Mihawk's POV)

‘He’s been getting more distant. Has he given up?’ Mihawk thinks to himself as he watches you retreat back to your room once again after lunch. ‘How ridiculous. I should be the one done with him yet he’s acting like he’s done with me.’ Mihawk taps his foot on the floor, getting irritated. It's been a week and a half now and you’ve gotten distant. Sure he was distant first, maybe, but he had a good reason. Meanwhile you seem like you’re done dealing with him and instead go to your room the moment you have free time. You haven’t even attempted to kiss him or look at his chest and it’s starting to tick him off, a lot. ‘Who does he think he is.’ He’s done with this. Mihawk stands up from his chair and heads to the guest room, he should’ve talked to you about this sooner. ‘I knew relationships were a waste of time.’ He thinks to himself as he opens the door.. but you aren’t there, no sign of you. ‘He must be outside.’ He’s about to turn to go to you but spots something out of the corner of his eye, a corkboard. He walks over to it and his eyes widen, then narrow with rage. “I see how it is.”

(Your POV)

You come back from outside. You had been practicing in your room again but got frustrated when you weren’t progressing fast enough, so you went to get some fresh air. When you open the door and spot Mihawk your first reaction is shock, which quickly turns into horror when you see what he’s looking at. The magazines you left on the corkboard. You assumed he wouldn’t go into this room and if he did you’d be back before it happened. ‘I didn’t even step out for that long!’ You panic in your mind. “Miha-”

“Don’t call me that. In fact, don’t refer to me at all.” His voice is cold, his eyes filled with disgust and rage. Your boyfriend(?) is pissed. “A relationship.” He pulls the knife from his cross and slices the corkboard. “What an absolute waste of my time.”

“Wait I-”

“You what? You apologize?” He walks to you. “You feel sorry for being pathetic? Unable to go without stimulation for even a few days before you satisfy your urges with porn of other men and women? You’re a disgusting lustful thing. I can’t believe I thought for even a second that you were anything but.” Your heart aches at his words. How are you supposed to fix this? He’s starting to think you’re some sort of sex addict. You run over to the fallen magazines and pick them up, turning to Mihawk.

“It was for you!” Less than a second passes before his knife is pressed to your jugular.

“That’s your excuse?” A quick flash of pain forms on his face. “Did you even think of me as anything other than a sex object? Tired of me the moment I didn’t give you what you wanted.” The tip of the knife is pressed to your skin, but you feel more sadness that the one you love is doing this rather than fear that he’ll kill you. You look down to flip through the magazine and the blade moves back just enough to not pierce you. He doesn’t want to hurt you. After flipping through it you hold it up to him, but he looks away like he can’t bear to see it.

“Look, I’m telling the truth.” He still averts his eyes.

“Leave. You don’t need to make up reasons like this.” You notice that his shirt is buttoned up as if insecure. Like he doesn’t want to show any part of himself to you anymore.

“Mihawk please.” You plead with him, you don’t want things to end and especially not with a misunderstanding like this.

“I told you not to call me that.” He mumbles, then finally looks at the magazine. It makes him feel as terrible as he imagined, like you would find pleasure in anything. Like it never had to be him. Like he was just convenient for you. Your finger points at numbers at the side of the paper. 15:02. He doesn’t know what it’s supposed to mean.

“It’s the time. I was practicing. I—I know it made you mad the way I would look at other people. So I’ve been practicing not doing it.” 16:24. He stares at the numbers. You put down the magazine and pull out a notebook, showing him various notes on self control and your progress. “I just didn’t want to hurt you anymore. I’m so sorry. Please don’t break up with me. At least if you are, don't do it because of a misunderstanding. You can do it because I’m stupid and can’t control my eyes or emotions. I would rather you break it off because you don’t love me anymore than being hurt thinking I betrayed you.”

…

Mihawk doesn’t know what to say. He was in so much pain, convinced that you thought of him as only an object of desire this entire time. He doesn’t even know what to think. You could be lying, but the notes look well written; the ink differs as it continues like they were made over a period of time. He steps away from you, his hand gripping the handle of his knife tightly. “I need time to think.” The last thing said before he leaves the room. You stand there for a moment before tossing the magazine and notebook to the side.

“I should’ve gone with the blindfold.” You lament as you sit on the bed with your head in your hands.

____________________

A day and a half passes, and Mihawk doesn’t even interact with you anymore. At least before you still ate meals together and would talk a little bit but now he only eats when you aren’t there and walks past you when you try to talk with him. It’s starting to depress you, a lot. He isn’t telling you to leave and technically a day and a half isn’t very long but it feels like he wants you to leave and it’s been forever. You wake up the next morning and gloomily walk to the kitchen to eat breakfast without him, perking up when you spot him at the dining table. There’s 4 bottles of wine and 3 of them are empty, the 4th halfway done. You have a feeling he may be drunk and you don’t know how he’ll react, but you walk over to him anyway. Yet nothing happens. For a second you even think he doesn’t know you’re here. Until he speaks.

“I was thinking.” You jolt.

“Y-Yeah?” You’re hesitant about asking but decide to. “Um, about what?” ‘Please don’t say about us like we’re gonna break up.’

“About us.”

‘NOO’

“Your emotions are so obvious, calm down. I haven’t said anything yet.” Even if your face wasn’t expressive he always seems to be able to tell anyway. Mihawk looks towards the chair to the side of the table and you sit down. He clears his throat. “I acted irrationally, even if what I found looked incriminating.” You remember what he said and how harsh it was, your heart pulses with pain. “However, using magazines to practice is ridiculous.”

“I know it is but I don’t know what else to do. I’ve tried just willing myself not to look but that never works, practice is the only thing that has actually made any progress.” Mihawk grabs the bottle of wine and downs the rest of it.

“I do see that, and that’s good; but the core problem isn’t just that you look at other people’s chests. It’s that you can’t handle not looking at mine.” You avert your eyes in shame. “The moment you aren’t able to at least glance at my body every so often you look elsewhere.”

“I know…” He leans back in his chair and crosses his legs.

“That’s why you should be practicing with me.” You look at him in shock. “Not magazines.” He reaches up and unbuttons his shirt, you notice his chest is flushed and so is his face. You end up immediately looking at his pecs but look back up at his face. When you look up he has a frown on his face, but his eyes look slightly amused. “You’re hopeless.”

“I’m not! I can practice just fine, I just don’t know if you’re actually comfortable with this.”

“I am. No matter how weird the method was, you were making the effort to train. I won’t fault you for that, I fault you for using pictures of other people.” He likes that you didn’t stay helpless and tried to improve even on your own. “I’m your lover, if you’re trying to improve then I’ll help you.” Your eyes widen.

“We’re still dating!? You’re not breaking up with me!?” You’re ecstatic and he smiles.

“No, we aren’t breaking up. I’m… sorry for my harsh words.” He shifts a bit, uncomfortable with apologizing. “I don’t think you or our relationship has been a waste of time, and even if it is then it’s a welcome one.” You stare at his smile. “What?”

“Your smile is really pretty.” You state, mesmerized. His eyes widen for a second before he gives a hearty laugh.

“The only thing better than my chest is my smile, then?” His eyebrows furrow with his smile as you nod. “Very well, come.” He stands up and you follow him back to your shared room where he sits on the bed with his legs crossed. “I will help you train, but don’t think I’m going to go easy on you simply because you’re my lover.” That makes you a little nervous, but you’d rather him be harsh with you than leave you. You pull out a chair and sit in front of him. He raises a brow at you. You pause and then sit on your knees instead. “Better.”

____________________

Mihawk cut the magazines into atoms with his knife and has been helping you train; and he really meant it when he said he wouldn’t be a nice teacher. Even if you look for less than a second he makes you do push-ups. If you space out and look for more than a few seconds you do a lap around the entire manor. Still, it’s working, and he rewards you for jobs well done using meals and actual praise he wouldn’t give to anyone else. The two of you walk around the grocery mart, Mihawk turns to see you glance at another man’s chest but before anything happens you look back at him.

“I thought that guy had the same necklace as you but it’s too thin to have a knife.” You state, putting the groceries into paper bags. He pauses for a moment before giving a hum as if he doesn’t care. However, when you go back home he makes you your favorite sweet for dessert; and the two of you may have also done something very sweet in the bedroom.

Did it! Technically this could be read as gender neutral but i felt like it leaned to male more. If i want to make a gender neutral version id have to change various things and format again sigh. i wish you could duplicate posts on tumblr so you could just make two versions of one thing easy peasy.

[belowablue]

Remus' Friend First - James Potter x Reader

Experimenting with longer fics, 3.2k. Also this was my plan: Study partners for ages - never paid much attention, drops off notes, smitten, tries to gain attention, doesn’t for Remus’s sake, he says fine, shag, love <3. Didn't quite follow it but that's okay.

MDNI

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“I’m off to the library.” Said Remus. If Sirius and James took a shot for every time they heard him say that line, they would have been forcibly signed up to Alcoholics Anonymous by Madam Pomfrey years ago. 

James whined from the sofa in the common room, “But it’s such a nice day, don’t you want to come and watch Sirius and me practice?” 

At the mention of his name Sirius flicked his hair dramatically as he turned to his boyfriend as if to say ‘don’t you want to come and watch this?’ Remus snorted, “I think I’ve seen enough of your practice for a whole month, if I have to watch a fainting feign once more time-“ 

James cut him off, “But we’ve gotten so good!” He protested, “Thanks to all our practicing.” Remus smiled wryly, “Then I’m sure I won’t miss much, besides, this is a group thing, I can’t let her down.”

At the mention of a ‘her’ James and Sirius locked eyes. “I wasn’t aware you were tutoring anyone at the moment Professor Lupin.” Sirius said. Remus rolled his eyes, “If you two actually kept your brains engaged after the word ‘library’ you’d know I’m on about my study partner. She’s good at all the subjects I’m not and vice versa, so we help each other  all the time.” 

Remus had gathered his bag and belongings during this time and was ready to make a move towards the portrait hole. “Hang on,” Said Sirius, “How long have you been having one-on-one meetings with a girl?” Remus had to refrain from dragging a hand through his hair. “A long time Sirius, once again, if you actually listened, I don’t talk for fun y’know.” 

With that, he turned away and exited the sunny common room, leaving Sirius and James to wrack their brains as to who Remus was referring to. “It’s gotta be someone from our year.” James decided. Sirius nodded. “That girl with the biscuits perhaps?” James shook his head. “Nah, those were a thank you for tutoring and Remus said that’s not what this is.” Eventually they gave up, deciding Quidditch was more important. Their friend seemed happy and that was enough for them.

Somewhere high up in the castle, tucked away in a nook in the deepest recess of the library, you and Remus were elbow deep in Transfiguration. This was one of your weaker subjects so Remus was helping you get your head around McGonagall’s latest theorem and then later, you’d help Remus decipher some of the trickier Ancient Runes. You both enjoyed each other’s company immensely; you because you didn’t talk to many people anyway and Remus found it refreshing to talk about something intellectual for once. Sure James and Sirius were both stupidly smart in their own right, but they channeled their intelligence into pranks, which was wearing on Remus.

Remus spoke gently to you which you liked, he didn’t treat you like some sort of pet just because you preferred silence to loud chatter. His patience was also something you decided had been sent from the heavens; it took far longer than either of you expected to properly understand the theorem. It was late in the afternoon by the time you got your head around it, and even then you hadn’t started putting it into practice. 

“I’m sorry Remus.” You said after a loud sigh, “I’ve taken up all our time on this one stupid thing.” You threw your quill down in frustration. 

Remus smiled gently and you were reminded, once again, why you liked him so much. “Don’t worry about it love. If that’s what it took, then that’s what it took.” He glanced down at his watch. “Look I’ve got to go, I said I’d meet Sirius. Same time on Wednesday?” 

You nodded vigorously. You said your goodbyes and watched him walk away. Determinedly, you turned back to your notes, eager memorise them so this wouldn’t take so long the next time you revisited this topic. You were there for a couple more hours, enjoying the solitude and silence. Wearily you rubbed your eyes, noticing the sky had darkened significantly outside. Gathering up your things you wondered if it was time for dinner. 

As you stuffed parchment back into your bag, you noticed a page with neat writing on it that certainly wasn’t yours. Your brow furrowed before clearing quickly, these were Remus’ notes. He must have missed them when he was tidying his own things away. No problem, you’d easily be able to give them back to him at dinner. You swung your bag onto your shoulder and headed down to the Great Hall. 

At dinner, Shepard’s pie, you strained your neck looking over at the Gryffindor table, trying to see the brown-haired boy, or at least one of his friends. Alas, luck was not on your side as you didn’t see anyone you could give the precious notes to. They must’ve been to the kitchens or something. Now you had the choice of either: hanging onto the notes until you saw him next, or you could trek up to the Gryffindor common room, which was in the complete opposite direction to yours, and hand-deliver them. You were sorely tempted to choose the first option, but on the other hand, you knew if it was Remus with your notes, he would deliver them in a heartbeat. 

Sighing, you swallowed your last mouthful of pudding and got up, readying yourself for the amount of stairs you were going to climb. 

Twenty minutes later and panting, you arrived in front of the portrait you were pretty sure was the entrance. The Fat Lady eyed you suspiciously. It was only then that you realised you had no clue what the password was. Great. Now you had to loiter awkwardly for Merlin knew how long until someone came by to let you in. 

Defeatedly, you were just deciding which bit of stone floor looked the comfiest when two second-years came by, announcing the password shyly to the portrait. She swung open and you saw your golden opportunity. Launching forwards, you tailed the two girls in and scanned the room for the boy you were looking for. Your heart sank as he didn’t appear. Now what? Oh no, what if he was in his dorm? You did not want to go poking around up there. But you had come all this way. Maybe you could pin them to the notice board with a polite note? 

People were starting to stare too at the rogue Ravenclaw in their den, which only made you more nervous. Merlin, this was why you didn’t get out much. Just as you were fumbling for a scrap to write on, a head popped up from behind the sofa. 

You let out a breath of relief. He was down here after all. Starting forward, you called out, “Hey, Remus!” Visibly startled, he turned and relaxed once he saw it was you. “Hey!” He said your name joyfully, “What are you doing in here?” By now, three other heads had appeared. His friends. Gulping slightly, you moved forwards cautiously. Sure you’d heard his stories and everyone else’s too, but you’d never actually met them. 

“I- um, err” You began, thrown off by the three boys staring at you like you were an exhibit in a zoo. “You forgot your notes.” You finished in a lame whisper, scuttling up to him to drop them in his lap. “Hey,” he caught your wrist gently as you turned to leave, “Thanks love.” He sounded so sincere and his smile was so genuinely kind, that you relaxed a little in his grasp, smiling quietly back. “That’s alright.” 

He let you go and you were ready run out of there, but another voice stopped you. 

“So, you’re the one he’s been squirrelled away with.”

It was a statement. You couldn’t detect any malice in it, but you could never be too sure. Maybe his friends were annoyed at the amount of time he spent with you, perhaps you were cutting into theirs with him? 

Tensing, you were scrambling to think of a reply when Remus saved you. “Shut it Prongs. Leave her alone, she’s great.” 

Your shoulders sagged. Merlin, why was Remus Lupin so damn nice all the time? He didn’t make it very easy to get over the small crush you’d been nursing before you found out he had a boyfriend. 

“I’m not trying to be mean Moony, I was just shocked you hadn’t introduced me sooner.” 

Okay, that defiantly didn’t sound malicious, but you couldn’t rule out mocking. People were so hard to predict these days. 

Turning shyly, you came face to face face with James Potter of all people. He must’ve vaulted over the back of the sofa to get to you. Now, the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, golden boy of the whole school was… smiling at you? 

“How come I’ve never seen you around before?” He asked, still grinning. 

You shrivelled again. 

“James,” Remus scolded, “She’s literally been at Hogwarts for as long as we have.” 

That didn’t make you feel much better. James had just reminded you of how invisible you were to the rest of the student body. Of course, you had engineered it that way, you liked it this way, most of the time anyway. But there were some days you wondered just how much you had limited yourself by staying under the radar. A lot, was the answer, if James Potter, who famously knew everyone, was only now realising you existed. 

You had no reply to give him, so you just shrugged. 

James took another step towards you.

“Say, what are you doing next Hogsmeade weekend?” 

You wanted to sink into the floor. There was no way James Potter was interested in you. You’d only just met the boy for goodness sake. You couldn’t handle all the stares you’d undoubtedly get if you suddenly turned up at Hogsmeade on James’ arm. Worse than that, you had no idea how long you’d last. It wasn’t like James hadn’t taken other girls to Hogsmeade before. But worse than that still was what Remus would think. You valued your friendship with him much more than any possible relationship with James.

You managed to squeak out a “Busy, sorry,” to him, before fleeing the room. Behind you, you could hear Sirius sniggering, much to your mortification, but also James chewing Remus out for having hidden such a pretty thing for so long. Your cheeks were flaming red by the time you reached your own common room. 

You thought that would be the end of the matter. Not even close. 

From that day forth, you couldn’t go more than four-ish hours without seeing James Potter. He was everywhere you went. He must’ve somehow gotten his hands on your timetable and memorised it because he would always turn up. Outside your common room, waiting for you at the end of your shared classes, loitering outside of your other classes until you came out. Hell, once he even invited himself over to sit with you at dinner, though after your mortified silence he hadn’t tried that particular move again.

You felt suffocated. This boy was forcing himself into your life without your consent and seemingly with no regard for your own feelings towards him. He was focused on getting what he wanted, not on what you actually wanted. You kept on trying to pretend you weren’t interested in him which was silly, because of course you were. But it was the principle of the thing. 

But your biggest fear lay in the idea that Remus would stop being your friend. That he would start seeing you as James’ girl and stop your study sessions because of it. Or worse still, he would look down on you for becoming another loyal fan. You would hate that. 

You tried, really you did, to get James to stop. But ignoring him only got you so far, Merlin knew that boy could talk forever about anything, his favourite topic being how he was sure he’d never seen anyone else with eyes like yours. So, after weeks of failing to be rid of him, you realised you’d have to do the unthinkable and actually talk about it.

 

You found Remus where you knew you would. On a nice day like this where else would he be but the library. At your table no less, that gave you hope. 

You cleared your throat quietly as you stood in front of him. He looked up.

“Hi,” You whispered, a tentative smile on your face.

“Hey,” He said. 

“So I just um, wanted to talk to you,” You began. 

His brow furrowed but he nodded at you to continue, book placed down, so you gathered all your courage and went for it. 

“Are you upset with me? Because of James?” 

Remus’ eyebrows shot so far up his forehead they were hidden beneath his hair. 

“What?”

“I just,” You bit your lip, “I’ve always been your friend first, please, please know that, and I always will be, but now that James seemingly has so much interest in me, I thought that you might be upset at that fact and not want to be my friend anymore,” You had to pause for breathe, but not long enough to let him but in, “Because James has this weird claim over me now, I don’t know, I don’t know how boys work and I’m sorry, I swear I keep trying to get him to leave me alone but he just won’t quit it.”

That last part came out unexpectedly harsh and you clamped your hands over your mouth in horror at what Remus might think if you were badmouthing his best friend. But, secretly, it did feel good to say that out loud. 

Remus was silent for a minute, staring at you like a machine that needed to be understood. 

“You think I don’t want to see you because James likes you?” He summed everything up rather simply. 

You nodded, still shaky. 

He said your name gently. “Why on earth would I do that?” 

Your heart felt a thousand times lighter at his jovial tone. So he didn’t hate you after all.

“I dunno,” You muttered, feeling a bit stupid now. 

He chuckled lightly, and you knew everything would be alright. 

��Love, I would rather banish James to the Black Lake than stop our sessions, no one helps me like you do.”

Relief. Glorious relief flooded every cell of your body. This was alright. You weren’t going to lose your friend. 

You smiled so widely at him, letting your relief show through your face. 

He suddenly became serious again. “But James.” He said firmly. Your smile dropped too. “Seriously love, if you don’t like him just tell him to shove off, or I’ll do it if you don’t want to.”

You shook your head, suddenly shy again. 

“No, it’s not that I don’t like him per say, I just-“ 

Remus’ eyebrows had raised again. 

“You didn’t let yourself like him because you didn’t want to upset me?”

Merlin, he really could read you like a book. You nodded again, feeling sillier than even. 

The chair scraped back and before you knew it, you were engulfed by the smell of tobacco and grass and the warmth of a boy. 

Remus held you tight against him, chuckling all the while. You let the vibrations flow through you, relaxing your own muscles. Against your own better judgement, you started giggling too. 

“Love,” He said above you, “Don’t ever change alright?” 

With the green light from Remus, you allowed James to woo you more and more. The poor lad didn’t know what had hit him. 

The first time you laughed at one of his jokes he was so pleased he walked straight through Nearly Headless Nick. The first time you smiled at him when you found him outside your classroom, he’d been so surprised that the foot he had pressed against the wall slipped, causing him to lose his balance and stumble, ruining whatever cool-boy act he had going. You giggled. He looked at you like you made the sun rise each morning. 

On the weekend you finally let him take you to Hogsmeade, you passed Remus and Sirius  on the way down. Sirius whistled and wriggled his eyebrows suggestively at the two of you, for which James kicked him. But you were focused on Remus, who was beaming at you. You let yourself beam back. You were wearing James’ scarf and his warm hand was interlaced with yours. The sun was shining brightly and it was a Saturday and Remus was still your friend. What more could you want from life? 

“Fuck James, please don’t stop!” 

Oh yeah, this of course. 

James had you spread out on his bed, head glued between your legs, eating you like it was his life’s mission. 

You’d been really hesitant to get intimate with James at first, always shutting him down, never initiating anything. But James was kind and patient and he understood your hesitations. He knew there was more to a relationship than sex. So he never pushed you too far. He waited for you to come to him, and when you did, he never looked back. 

You came loudly on his tongue, James moaning too, enjoying every second. Cleaning you up with broad licks, he made his way up your body to stare into your eyes. 

“You okay?” He asked. You nodded.

“Please Jamie, I want you.” 

Who the fuck was he to say no.

Reaching between you two, he lined himself up before gently, steadily pushing in. You moaned, loving the way he filled you up completely. James didn’t stop until your hips met, staying still, letting you adjust. Once your wriggled your hips slightly, he took the okay to start moving. 

You’d only done this a couple times, so he was still cautious with you, but you were more than comfortable. 

“Faster,” you groaned, “Please.” 

Grinning, he lent down on his forearms to capture your lips, picking up his pace. He swallowed your moans as your sensitivity made orgasm build quickly.

“Fuck baby,” he groaned, feeling you tightening around him, “Gonna cum f’me yeah?” 

You nodded pathetically. 

“Such a good girl,” He praised, reaching down to rub your clit. 

It was all over for you with that added stimulation. You legs met behind James’ hips, forcing him in deep as you came loudly, enjoying the euphoria. 

James swore at your blissed-out expression and came, somewhat unexpectedly, inside you. 

Panting hard, he dropped down again and kissed you, deep and slow. You wrapped one arm around his shoulders, the other wound itself in his hair. Sighing into the kiss, you decided your boyfriend had to be the best in the world. 

But you would’t tell him that of course, James’ ego did not need to get any bigger. Instead you tried to show him, pulling back from the kiss, gazing into his eyes, trying to channel all the love you had for him. 

He must’ve noticed, because you’d never seen him smile so widely. 

AN: do we like longer fics or no?

[urloversdreamgrl]

15 Things I Enjoyed About Season 4 🐻

After my second watch of S4, I actually liked it. Compared to S4, it feels like a step in the right direction. It does make you wonder if what happened in S1 and S2 were lightening in a bottle. Nothing's perfect, so I have my qualms, but for now, let's focus on the positive.

Anywho, in no particular order, a couple of things that gave me joy!

(spoilers ahead, chefs)

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1. Ayo Edebriri as THE Sydney Adamu

I cannot speak the praises of Ayo Edebiri enough for me. We know the girl is funny, but her dramatic scenes! She really sucked me in and kept me there. I really admire her work ethic and how you can tell she cares about honing her craft both on and off screen. To me, she gave such a stand-out performance this season. Brava!

Plus, all I wanted from last season was a Sydney-centric focus. I was hoping for just an episode, but she took a way bigger role this time around. It's about time!

And thank you for finally giving Syd her flowers. She's been the heart of the whole restaurant staff since Episode 1, and I'm just glad that they acknowledged that canonically. Not a kinder soul than Ms. Adamu.

2. S4:E4 Worms

Ayo Edebiri and Lionel Boyce wrote the fuck outta that episode. It felt so tender and funny, gave us insight into Syd's internal and private life while also helping her character arc along. Shoutout to Lionel for pushing through his fears and accepting Ayo's offer to co-write. Hoping this open more doors for both of them in the future

I have to give up for the super talented Danielle Deadwyler. She had me cracking up the whole episode as Chantel. Everything felt so real and nature. This whole episode felt like home to me truly. Also Arion King as TJ is such a cutie pie. Hoping this isn't the last time we see Syd's folks. Manifesting an Adamu family party next season (hopefully), so we can see how they get down!

And thank you, Ayo and Lionel, for making my girl unapologetically Black. May their pillows be cool FOREVER!

3. Emmanuel Survives

Fuck them for trying to kill Robert Townsend (who needs to be on my screens more pronto)! I'm going to talk later about Syd and how the show decided to comfort her through this, but for now, that scene where father and daughter are reunited made me cry. Emmanuel's little tear over his baby's head. This relationship to me is so special because Syd really won the dad lottery, and Emmanuel won the daughter lottery.

I'm hoping next season we have Syd finally confiding in and truly opening up to her dad, and her dad being receptive and supportive in a way that I know he can.

4. SydRichie

To my SydRichies, y'all got feed tooooo good. Congratulations! Can't wait to see all the edits. It's crazy to see how their relationship evolved, and I'm so happy about where they are right now. Syd stabbed him just to be his plus-one to his ex-wife's wedding. Girl, Season 1, I thought Richie was irredeemable. Now, I'm rooting for him. That's the beauty of healing and leading with compassion and kindness.

5. Less Montages

Can we just fill this room with thank yous? Rewatching S3, it felt like the whole season was one big montage. Now, I liked some of them, but they should be used in moderation. The Bear tends to meander a lot which I think messes with the pacing, but this season felt like it was closer to finding a balance.

6. Them Gays 🏳️‍🌈

Happy Pride Month to the staff at The Bear, but specifically, Natalie and Chester. I, too, would freak out if my best "friend" was working along side a hot, talented, kind, and charming man in a cramped space, brushing against each other while making the most delicious desserts known to man.

Plus, of course, Nat had a homoerotic friendship turn sour, and of course, it was with Brie Larson lol. Bisexual women, stand up! Honorable mention to Syd's bisexual lightning when she's making them scallops.

7. Carmy Apologizing and Being Honest

It's about time. I was just as gagged as Sydney when Carmen started making her work life a bit easier by putting his ego aside. This is a really good start to him healing himself and to help heal some of the folks he harmed. Emotional regulation is important, and I'm hoping that it continues for him. And I hope that he heals his relationship to cooking. Also, heal his relationship with Syd because after the season finale, she has absolutely no trust (or maybe even good will) towards him anymore; that relationship is his most severed.

8. MarLuca + SydLuca

I'll take Marcus and Luca's relationship every which way. Two adorable, kind-hearted, and sensitive men working on bringing the sweetness of life to people. Perfect, I want 11 of them right now. When they are together, it just like magic to me. You want to talk about true mentorship and friendship? That's them. You want to talk about them being romantic and doing the nasty? I'm listening uwu.

Then I'm thankful for the crumb of Syd and Luca that we got. Just imagine in S5 (if there is one. hopefully), we see these three plus Tina make beautiful magic in that kitchen of love, expression, and understanding. Also, manifesting a love triangle a la Brandy and Monica's "That Boy is Mine" fanfic with Marcus, Syd, and Luca. I need that mess.

9. Richie and Tiffany's Dance

I love Richie and Tiffany's relationship. I love how Richie's journey allows him to earnestly work through his issues so he can still be a family with Tiff and Eva. Although, it looks a bit different.

10. Syd's Wedding Outfit

Syd looked tooo good in this two piece set. The colors and the way it is illuminates her figure. Dare I say -- best dressed? Thank you, Courtney Wheeler.

11. Gary THEE Sommelier + Tina's Dish

I'd trust him with my life. Plus, I loved seeing more of him, and how dedicated he is in learning something new. That's the same reason why I loved seeing Tina making her own dishes at home. These two inspire me. It's never too late to learn something new, and it's courage to keep trying and trying until you get it right. Plus, Tina and her hubbie are such cuties.

12. Marcus & Food and Wine's Best New Chef

At first, I was disappointed that Syd didn't receive the honor. When they kept mentioning her scallop dish, I thought it was her time to shine. However, once I got over my disappointment, I scream! Marcus come-up is crazy!

Mind you, he started at McDonald's, then started making bread, then taught himself how to make cakes and donuts. Went to Copenhagen and learned technique and got better. His mother passes, and he honors her in the most special and healthy of ways. He honors Mickey and Syd in similar ways, too. He's a hard worker, super imaginative/creative, and deserving. I love my Black Boy Baker!

13. Donna's Recovery

I've seen some critiques about how dangerous it can be to not value "no-contact" relationships. I feel that, and I advise everyone to do what feels good and safe to them.

I'm actually in awe of her sobriety and how she's navigated reconnecting to those she's harmed. She's not offended when people become tense or defensive around her, and she's not expecting any miraculous reunions. As a child of an alcoholic who has had to navigate a relationship while my parent is working on bettering themselves, I admire Jamie Lee Curtis's depiction of Donna Berzatto.

People can change. I feel if your eldest son (or any close person in your life) commits, then you should change. You better search inside yourself and work on yourself, especially if you want to help/protect the rest of your loved ones.

I, also, respect Carmy's hesitancy and anxiety. Donna is very traumatizing and triggering, and her parenting helped set a standard for Carmen. He stayed with Chef David and other abusive kitchens, and he replicated that environment because he associated authority with abuse and emotional deregulation. I hope as he works on himself, and maybe his relationship with his mom, he recognizes that he is capable and worthy of peace and love.

14. This Song

Y'all don't understand the connect that me and this song shares. It plays during the scene where Richie makes it snow for the family, and it literally brought me to tears. I've listened to it everyday since, and the album is really something. The lyrics are so touching and the chorus is truly the epitome of what this season is:

'Cause I know that you've been waiting Been such a long time you've been waiting And only you know where you have been to Only you know what you have been through There's better things you're gonna get into And I wanna be there too You know I do

Storer, you can barely write multiple fleshed-out, congruent storylines, but you and Josh Senior know how to pick out a song.

15. S4:E10 Goodbye

Ayo, JAW, and Ebon did what needed to be done. I felt all of that: the anger, sadness, regret, frustration, fear, relief, everything. Now, do I agree that Carmen should leave the restaurant? No, I want him to stay, follow through, and fall in love with cooking again even after they pay off the debt (and stop dumping Syd with his messes when his emotions need managing). However, I, also, see his point. He does need a change.

Richie and Carmy finally have the talk that's been brewing since S1:E1 System. Carmy finally takes his sister's advice and starts processing his emotions instead of running away. Syd finally lays into him. Thank you Lord! Omg, that was so cathartic. Once again, Ayo's acting! Her fear-fury mess. She really sold Sydney's heartbreak. My shayla.

Plus, Carm and Richie trying to get Syd to put the cigarette down? Iconic. I’ve rewatched this episode so many times now, and the sydcarmy of it all, the anguish, the breaking, the distance this has exuberated. Can’t wait for the fics and the meta. Omg omg omg



[glowettee]

✧ 🩰 welcome to your new era of pretty thoughts & dangerous ideas✧

syllabus for sirens

hey lovelies 🤍, i've been sitting on my bedroom floor surrounded by all my journals trying to figure out exactly how to start this series. i kept writing and deleting and rewriting because i want this to feel like us having coffee together, you know? i finally released gloss pages, my magazine. just posted a glowettee hotline submission and currently working on this month's glowletter (my newsletter). now, i can release this brand-new series!!!

so here we are. syllabus for sirens. a little corner of the internet where we can talk about learning and thinking and studying in a way that actually feels good. because i don't know about you, but i'm tired of pretending that being smart means being boring.

i started thinking about this whole concept last semester when i was cramming for finals in this tiny coffee shop downtown. it was raining, i had my notes spread everywhere, and i realized i was actually enjoying myself? like genuinely having a good time while studying aristotle at 11pm with my third latte. and it hit me that nobody ever talks about how learning can feel almost… seductive?

that's what coquette academia is to me. it's not that stiff, dusty thing they try to sell us in school. it's taking notes in different colored pens because it makes the information stick better. it's creating the perfect study playlist that makes you feel like the main character. it's wearing your favorite cardigan with the pearl buttons when you write essays because it makes your thoughts flow better.

i literally have this ritual now where i put on these vintage-inspired glasses that i don't even need (embarrassing, i know) when i'm doing research because something about them makes me feel like i'm in a movie about a girl who's about to discover something important. and guess what? i retain more information this way.

thought itself is an aesthetic. the way you connect ideas, the questions that keep you up at night, the books you can't stop thinking about. they're as much a part of who you are as your favorite perfume or the way you do your hair. and there's something so powerful about embracing that, about making intellect part of your whole vibe instead of this separate thing you do.

so for this first week, i want us to start thinking about our "scholar selves" who are you when you're alone with your books? what makes you feel powerful when you're learning something new? what are the little rituals that help your brain work better?

soft assignment for this week: write down a description of your academic alter ego. what's her name? what does she drink while studying? what's her secret talent or habit that nobody knows about? what makes her feel confident when she's diving into difficult material?

i'm so excited to start this series with you all. learning doesn't have to be something we endure! it can be something we fall in love with.

xoxo, mindy 🤍

[american-delirium]

˖ ֹ੭୧ kyle spencer headcannons ⊹ ࣪

ft. fluffㆍcuddlesㆍfrat!kyleㆍprobably cringy

notes. i adore kyle, he's one of my favourite evan character's and i just noticed i only have one fic of him, enjoy these headcannons instead

⸝⸝ ⟢ O1

kyle secretly loves when you pull him away from studying, especially for cuddles and kisses. he’ll drop almost anything if you ask for affection. physical touch is his love language, and it’s how he shows you he cares—by smothering you in it. of course, he’ll pretend to say no at first, just to mess with you, but he was always going to give in. he always does.

⸝⸝ ⟢ O2

people don’t really think kyle gets jealous, but he does, he just hides it pretty well, at least for a frat boy. if some guy starts flirting with you, kyle will casually wander over and slip an arm around your waist, staring the guy down like it’s no big deal. if that doesn’t work, he’ll tug you away with some excuse like ‘i need your help with something.’ when you ask what he needs help with, he’ll just mumble ‘don’t worry about it’ then kiss you a bunch like that was the whole point all along.

⸝⸝ ⟢ O3

kyle would guard your drink like it was his job, he takes that kind of thing seriously. the second you hand it to him, he’s got both eyes on it, holding it close and scanning the room like a watchdog. and if you bring friends out with you, especially if they’re girls, he’s instantly on high alert for them too. it’s like his protective instincts multiply. he’s not usually the type to start something, he’d rather laugh things off or avoid drama, but if he sees someone trying to mess with your drink, or one of your friends’, all that changes. there’s no hesitation. he’ll step in fast, and if the guy doesn’t back off, it’s probably going to end in a fight. he doesn’t care about getting kicked out or getting bruised, he just cares about keeping you safe.

⸝⸝ ⟢ O4

kyle prefers to shower alone. he doesn’t really talk about it, but it’s one of those boundaries he quietly holds onto. growing up with his mom messed him up in ways he doesn’t even fully understand, things she did, things she said, the way she invaded his space. it left him feeling exposed in a way that’s hard to shake. so now, even if he trusts you, the idea of someone else being in the bathroom while he’s showering makes his skin crawl. it’s not about you, it’s just that being watched, or even knowing someone’s nearby when he’s vulnerable like that, triggers him. he tries to laugh it off or brush past it, but there’s tension in his shoulders afterward.

⸝⸝ ⟢ O5

kyle doesn’t really care if he’s the big spoon or the little spoon, he’s happy either way. he’s not the type to get caught up in what’s supposed to be ‘masculine’ or not, especially when it comes to you. if you want to curl up in his arms, he’ll pull you in close and hold you like the world outside doesn’t exist. but if you’re having a rough day and need to wrap yourself around him instead, he’ll just smile, melt into your chest, and let himself feel safe there. what matters to him isn’t the position, it’s the closeness, the skin-on-skin contact, the steady rhythm of your breathing. at the end of the day, all he really wants is to make you feel loved. if holding you or being held by you helps you sleep better, calm down, or just feel a little more okay, then that’s exactly where he wants to be. every time.

note. i'm so sorry that this is so horrendously short, i got lazy

TAGS. @anxiousgrungynympho

[just-xylia]

Deep dive into the Bench scene with Tomoko in P5X

So Motoha makes sure Tomoko has some time to speak to us alone after finding out Tomoko was curious about us. Yet the first thing She talks about, and the only thing she talks about is Motoha.

Tomoko, A girl who has been by Motoha’s friend for most of her life is saying that Motoha has been Selfless to the point of self negligence. The first thing Tomoko talks to us, a complete stranger, about is how worried she is about her friend. THis must have been a struggle for so long if Tomoko seems eager enough to just freely give this info to someone she barely knows. 

So, Motoha and Tomoko have a history, yes, but we see a bit more here. We see how Tomoko views herself. Her self esteem isn’t exactly the highest, especially when she compares herself to Motoha. Yes she is absolutely singing her friends praises, but to start with “Unlike me”? She lacks confidence in her own skill, which she clearly has especially when just a scene prior we learn that she is scouted for her talents. Yet even then she compares herself to Motoha. 

This line, especially this line is one I wanted to talk about. “I used to love listening to her talk about.” Goodness, that is just a whole lever of adoration and love to have to love hearing someone talk about something. Like, This is something that Motoha loves. Baseball and her dream in said sport are so so important to Motoha and Tomoko is clearly so important to her as well. Honestly all I can think about with this line is Tomoko staring at Motoha with a dreamy look as she yaps on and on about baseball. 

And there is the source of Motoha and Tomoko’s grief. This incident that caused Motoha to quit. Of course we find out about that incident later in the story but it isn’t important to this deep dive, what is important is that Motoha blamed herself for something that was in no way her fault, and she quit her dream over it. Her choice was so self-deprecating and all Tomoko can do is watch as her friend spirals downward. 

Then we have Tomoko’s new dream. Her new dream does not feel like her own at all. Tomoko had to watch one of her favorite people go from actively and excitedly chasing her dream to quitting and that must have been painful for Tomoko to watch. It seems like Tomoko cares more about Motoha than she does herself, so she’ll achieve Motoha’s dream as her own, because doing something else would feel like abandoning someone she treasures. 

Ok let's talk about this keychain. It’s very clearly mirroring the relationship between the two and how they view Motoha’s dream. Motoha gave her keychain to Tomoko as a way of saying, “I’ve given up on this dream but I know it's still so important to you. Please don’t give up for my sake.” Meanwhile Tomoko sees it as Motoha placing her dream onto Tomoko’s shoulders. Like, if she lets go of either of their dreams it will be like she is letting them both down. It seems to Tomoko that achieving Motoha’s dream became so important that she may not even know what her own wants and desires are anymore. All it has been for so long was to live for someone else's dream.

Motoha’s kindness is a parasite to her own mental health. She cares so much to the point she’ll take on other people’s pain. She will keep as much of her own struggles hidden behind a mask because a kind person isn’t selfish in her eyes, and her trying to seek any help would be selfish. Tomoko’s love (Platonic or otherwise) has always been more for those important to her than it has been for herself. Motoha and Tomoko are the closest people the other has, yet between masks hiding true pain, and chasing empty dreams that aren’t one’s own, they have become so distant from one another in a way that they are they cannot clearly see. 

This one scene has lived rent free in my head so apologies for the wordy post. In any case I hope you enjoyed my rambling.

[brutalcritical]

Original Weird Route (Deltarune Chapter 3 Theory)

Okay, so I've been thinking about board 2 of the Sword Route (the one with the ice palace). Most people take it as fact that this is alluding to the weird route, particularly how you use noelle to commit frosty genocide on darkner kind (and berdly). However there's some inconsistancies i can't help but not notice. It comes down to a simple word: Keys.

In the normal route of Chapter 2, there are two keys of note. The KEYGEN you used to get into the basement for the Spamton fight, and the Key you get from a silver platter to open up a door. Neither of these keys make an apperance in the weird route however. The KEYGEN is obvious, but the latter is instead repalced by a maze of Pipis. Contrast the huge importence of the Ice and Shelter keys within the sword route.

This would be just standard nickpicking, if it weren't for a conversation you have with noelle at church about keys. In specific, she changes the subject to be about her before toriel decides to but in and call Kris out for teasing her. Dataminers (link to relevant video here) would probably know toriel has a conenction to the sword route via a variable named after her which hides the ice mage and board 3's shadow monster's true apperance as deer (a normal and a black one, respectivly).

This leads me to the next point, and that's the enemy selection and just the general apperance of the ice palace. IF this is suppose to relate to cyber city, why are the enemies still referancing undertale and not say anything from cyber city. Hell you don't even have Noelle as a party member in Queen's Mansion (whose field theme is "Pandora's Palace"). Granted there's the blue bird you freeze over that is obviously referancing Berdly's fate, but Berdly did survive that (even if it put him in a coma) so its not impossible this isn't his first rodeo and he just mentally blocked it out (or even that this is a bait and switch and referances the fate of say snowdrake's mom for example, who was an undertale character and thus would fit the other undertale-themed enemies in the sword route).

There's also the hunted violent side Kris has devoloped, referanced in both the chapter 4 egg room and by the Shadow Mantle Holder in the weird route, with the latter specificly calling out that the same part of Kris that enjoys what happened during chapter 2's weird route. One argument i see against this is Kris's level in the light world, which is always 1. A simple counterargument i have, is that we ONLY see kris's level and not say the other characters (like Noelle for example).

Its a common that the Weird route isn't the first time Noelle has used Snowgrave (i even heard it being connected to what happened with Dess), but as the above states i beleive this isn't the first time Kris used Noelle to go on a murderous joyride and at but certainly does not look back on it highly (going by Kris's reaction to the entire thing in Chapter 4's Weird Route). If this is true, this could entirely recontextualize Noelle and Kris's Relationship, Berdly's importence (note how the eggs from the forgotten man appear on his desk during chapter 4), and the Weird Route as a whole.

Now what prompted Kris to start using Noelle as a cryomantic death machine i have no idea, Though considering he has a pretty badly beat up bird cage before we took control, i worry if this isn't Kris's first rodeo when it comes to having a being take up his autonomy to start some shit. There's also the fact that the Ice Mage (the noelle stand in), the Ice Key, and Kris himself are all used up afterwards though beyond them being truamatized for life i have no idea what the hell that represents outside of the weird route.

[101flavoursofweird]

Janice Quatlane: Selflessness to an extreme

I made some critical comments about Janice Quatlane (my fave) in the tags on one post, so I have to clarify.

I love Janice as a character. I love Janice/Melina as a ship. I love Janice’s design and her mini-arc of learning to let go of Melina and live her own life again. I think it’s impressive how, with everything else that happens during Eternal Diva, Janice gets a subtle arc at all. That, to me, her arc feels more complete than many of the other characters’ in the series, even if it is small. 

Sometimes it saddens me that Janice and Melina felt so overshadowed compared to Descole and his showdown with Layton during Eternal Diva. But… BUT, it doesn’t surprise me, because Descole has so much charisma and he’s so chaotic and entertaining. He goes from suave and in control at one moment, to cackling as he tears the island apart, to throwing a tantrum when his baby brother works out the whole puzzle before him. (I think the movie kind of a better introduction to Descole than PL4, honestly.)

…Descole shows so much more personality than the titular eternal diva(s). Maybe Descole IS the eternal diva!

Janice and Melina, by comparison, aren’t meant to be so bombastic. They’re the emotional core of the movie. Melina is dead from the start. Janice is the companion who writes to Layton and tags along with him for the adventure. Turns out Janice— aka, Melina— is also the person in disguise who Layton has to ‘unmask’. 

Melina reveals how she initially enjoyed living through Janice, but as time went by, she realised how wrong it all was. I know it’s just expressed as part of Melina’s dialogue, but I love this. Even though Janice allowed her to do this and Janice expressed (in the Eternal Diva novelisation) how she wanted Melina to stay, Melina still took advantage of Janice’s selflessness.

Melina isn’t EVIL! She was ill for so long and she actually died, so can you blame her for enjoying being alive again? But it shows Melina is a flawed person, even if it’s part of a flashback. Melina isn’t just entirely… selfless.

In Melina’s narration in Chapter 15 of the ED Novelisation, she throws some shade at Descole:

‘It was no wonder that you hadn’t noticed, Descole. Someone like you would never understand Janice’s kindness, or the nobility of sacrificing oneself in order to keep others alive.’

Melina finds Janice’s self-sacrifice noble, and she suggests Descole failed to notice she was there because he wouldn’t understand such a thing. (Wait until the Azran sanctuary—)

‘Selflessness’ isn’t an uncommon trait in the PL universe. Layton is selfless. Luke is selfless. Flora is selfless… Bruno, Katia, Sophia, Anton, Dimitri, CLAIRE, Emmy, Desmond, Clark, Crow, Tony, Loosha, Angela, Henry, Aurora, Bronev, Marina… The list is endless. Lots of characters— even ‘antagonists’— make self-sacrifices in the names of those they love. Janice doesn’t exactly stand out here!

But with Janice, specifically, I like how selflessness is such a fatal flaw. (She really is just like her mentor!)

Janice wouldn’t have gone out in a blaze of glory, like Descole when he saved Luke. People wouldn’t have mourned her death for years, like Claire. Janice would’ve been quite happy to quietly fade away, without anyone realising she had ever left. 

This is selflessness to the extreme, and Melina decides enough is enough. Giving up your own life so that your ghost (girl)friend can stay with you forever instead of healing and moving on really isn’t the best outcome for anyone. There’s selflessness and then there’s submission and refusing to move forward.

Could Eternal Diva have focussed more on Janice and Melina as individual characters? Could it have shown more flashbacks to Janice’s past— her memories with Melina, or her time in Layton’s class? Could we have seen Layton realising something was off about Janice when they reunited? Yes, yes, YES, 100%. 

Janice, on the surface, seems to be a blank slate. Unremarkable. Blending into the background. No thoughts from Janice behind those bug eyes. But that’s exactly what Janice wants.

-Credit to @lutiaskokopelli for the Eternal Diva Novelisation translation.

[polarmary]

I hear you! A serving coming right up cap 🫡🫡

[emioliravioli]

god i hate this bitch *proceeds to draw them over and over again*

alt versions without the random stuff i added to fill in the blank space

[acadjonne]

so hear me out

tim drake and danny fenton are twins

jack drake really did have a brother named eddie, once upon a time. eddie drake also had a wife, and she was expecting twins, but of course gotham is gotham. right before the twins would be born, eddie died, but his wife was brought to the hospital and lived long enough for the twins to be born.

jack and janet drake adopt the older twin, tim, because people knew that eddie and his wife were going to have a baby, and they had been considering having a kid themselves. but no one knew the drakes were expecting twins, and jack and janet don’t want two babies, so they arrange for the younger twin to be anonymously given up.

well, through some insane miscommunication, the other twin ends up in illinois, where he’s adopted a few months later by jack and maddie fenton. of course, because danny was given up anonymously, there’s no information whatsoever about his birth family

tim finds out he’s got a twin when he’s eleven or twelve by finding his birth certificate and an ultrasound print in his father’s safe. he starts looking for his twin, but doesn’t find a whole lot on his own.

(even when tim becomes robin, he never thinks of mentioning his twin to bruce.)

when they’re 14, tim meets sam manson at a gala in gotham. she’s originally from gotham as well, but moved to amity park as a kid, so this was her first time back in a long time. danny had just recently found out he was adopted, so of course when sam sees tim and he looks exactly like danny, she puts two and two together and approaches tim.

once sam gets back to amity, she puts danny and tim in contact. they agree that it sounds super unlikely on paper since danny was found in a hospital in chicago, while tim was born in gotham, and danny’s birthday is a couple days off from tim’s because no one knew exactly what day he was actually born, but they also look way too much alike for it to be coincidence.

of course, before they can get a dna test done, danny’s portal accident happens, and he gets super squirley about it after that whenever tim mentions it. plus they’re both minors and the drakes are never around to actually consent to it so it would be kinda weird for tim to insist on a dna test at that point.

but they stay in touch for the next few years, both expertly dodging any mention of their hero activities, and even manage to meet up for their sixteenth birthday. they hang out for a weekend in cleveland because it’s neutral ground, pretty much right smack in the middle between amity park and gotham. then, a few weeks after the events of d-stabilized, shit hits the fan.

valerie knows vlad is also plasmius, and after giving (dani) ellie a good head start, she starts going after him, outing him to the whole town in the process. of course, vlad assumes danny is the one who told valerie, so he outs danny as phantom as well. vlad manages to shake valerie, the fentons, and the giw, but danny isn’t so lucky, and gets captured by the giw.

of course, once they find out he’s been captured, sam, tucker, and jazz start planning to break him out and get him somewhere safe. obviously they can’t take danny to either the manson or foley houses, the giw would check there first, and they can’t take him to jazz’s college dorm either. gotham has a lot of ambient ectoplasm though, and the giw (probably) wouldn’t go anywhere near batman’s territory even with the anti-ecto acts, so sam calls tim and asks if they can take danny to him once they rescue him.

of course, tim had no idea about anything going on in amity park, not that team phantom knew that. turns out the giw have been covering things up forever, and the extremely high ectoplasm leaking from the fentons’ portal doesn’t help either. but of course sam assumes he knows because most of amity park is actively protesting against the giw and demanding danny’s release and it’s about to start getting violent any second now, and if it’s such big news in amity then of course tim knows danny is phantom by now, right?

but tim’s able to keep hold of himself long enough to let sam know that yes, danny can come to gotham, all of team phantom can come to gotham once they’ve rescued him, and once he’s let her go he immediately goes to the other bats and sounds the alarms

so queue the justice league showing up in amity park to deal with the giw, and inquiries about the legality of the anti-ecto acts and how they overlap with meta protection laws get raised, and danny gets rescued, and team phantom is evacuated to gotham.

once things have calmed down, tim tells danny about being red robin and they bond over hero stuff. danny fixes jason’s pit-induced anger problems because holy shit dude your ectoplasm is rancid. bruce of course takes on look at danny and decides to adopt him.

anyway, thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[benevolenterrancy]

if you're not reading the last book of SVSSS right now do you mind me asking what you are reading? I'm just curious!

Definitely! (though I warn you, I'm fundamentally incapable of reading only one thing at a time)

For physical books, I'm currently reading The Warden by Daniel M. Ford, the novelization of My Neighbour Totoro, and trying to keep up on Dracula Daily (i am failing this)

For audiobooks, I've been relistening to The Series of Unfortunate Events (because I never actually read them all when they were originally coming out) and I juuust finished This Census-Taker by China Miéville and Ogres by Adrian Tchaikovsky this weekend. I'm about to start A Closed and Common Orbit by Becky Chambers.