#smoothies near me open now

[theblogs2024]

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[samparoy]

smoothies near me open now

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[aakeysmash]

college!sukuna needs the house and you want a smoothie

college!sukuna masterlist

"yo, i need the house on saturday," grunts sukuna, freshly woken up, coming inside the kitchen. his hair is all ruffled, just like his sweatpants and his black t-shirt.

"what for?" you hum, seated at the kitchen table, drumming your pencil on the smooth surface. you were just starting to do your homework, but you could use a break.

"blind boy and girl boy wanna have a friends gathering, or whatever the fuck they called it," he croaks out, opening the fridge and taking big gulps of the cold water bottle inside of it.

"who?" you ask, confused, turning off your headphones. he rolls his eyes.

"satoru and suguru," he responds, deadpan, opening a bunch of cabinets and throwing fruits in the blender.

"i have someone over on saturday, but you can have the living room." there's a pregnant pause in the room. nobody moves for 3 long seconds. "hey, can i have some of that smoothie?" you ask him, breaking the icy atmosphere, pointing at the light green mixture he has in front of him.

he raises one eyebrow, rubbing his eye with his fist. like a big, massive toddler.

"no. make your own one," he yawns, plopping down in front of you. you frown. asshole.

"but i'm lazy. what if i die from hunger?" you whine.

"can't help you with that," he shrugs, taking a sip of his drink.

"please?" you try, doing your best puppy eyes.

"i said no, woman," he sighs, putting one of his hands under his chin, looking over at your discarded sheets of paper all over the table before slowly raising his gaze to your eyes. "who's the fuck buddy, by the way?" he says roughly, trying not to make his eyelid tic. Another man inside his walls. Inside your walls, too. Fantastic.

"none of your business. i don't talk with bitches who don't share their food," you grumble, jutting your bottom lip out, wearing your headphones again. he flips you off.

"tell me who is it," he tries to pry. you ignore him, whistling the song you're currently listening to. he growls your name, trying to get your attention, but he doesn't get any reactions out of you.

"hellooo," comes yuuji's voice from the door. you raise your head, bypassing the currently scowling bulging creature in front of you, and smile softly at the kid, waving your hand. his little feet do a light pit pat on the ground when he walks.

"hey, 'kuna, can i have some of your smoothie?" asks excitedly the child, coming near you two.

sukuna huffs. "no. learn how to fend for yourself. there are brats your age who have children of their own," he grits out, glaring at him, then turning his mean gaze toward you. yuuji cries out your name, trying to get you on his side.

"yuu, your brother is mean. let's go live somewhere else, just me and you," you coo to your youngest roommate, receiving a decisive nod, opening your arms to let him hug you. his brother scoffs.

"can we visit him sometimes, though?" timidly says the kid from beneath your head, wrapping his short arms around your middle.

"nah. go on, you two can finally get the fuck out of my way. i'm never opening the door for you again," smirks sukuna, getting up to wash his glass, now empty.

"mean!" you both scream in unison, turning around to see that he has his back turned toward you.

he just chuckles, grabbing more fruit to put in the blender. he has two mouths to feed, apparently.

[luveline]

i saw your ask for marauders requests so could i pls request some soft giggly and maybe mildly suggestive remus pls ?? i am foaming at the mouth for remus recently

cw suggestive content mdni

A knock on the door. “You okay?” 

“Stop.” 

“I’m just asking if you’re okay.” 

“I’m drowning. Come in and save me.” You sink further into the tub, water climbing your arms and warming your tummy. “Is that what you want me to say?” 

“I wouldn’t be opposed to saving you.” 

You’re washed, you’re done, you’d just wanted to spend some time soaking in the warm bath to alleviate the pinched nerves between your shoulders. It would be nice if Remus were to sit in here with you, but from the sounds of his voice and his perseverance he’s going to want to do more with you, and you’d say yes. It isn’t a problem of wanting him, it’s just —you just got clean again. 

“You can come in if you keep your hands to yourself.” 

“Deal,” he says. 

You cover your dignity with a crossed leg and arm as the door opens. Remus smiles at you, all love, not one to ignore your wants. If you don’t want to be seduced, he won’t do it, but you can’t ignore the long drag of his eyes down your thigh. 

“Hi,” he says. “Beautiful. Can I wash your hair?” 

“I wish you’d offered before, I���ve already done it.” 

He has no qualms kneeling by your side to touch your wet face. You wish there was room for both of you., and he’s on the same wavelength. “When we’re rich, we’ll have a big freestanding tub.” He strokes your cheek, voice softening, “We’ll sit end to end so I can see your face.” 

“How about one of those rainfall showers?” you ask, shifting, the water sloshing around your shoulders and down your chest. 

“Yeah.” He laughs. “Yeah, any shower you want. Multiple heads, we can get hosed down.” 

You laugh. It’s remarkable to get to lay there and have him think you’re only beautiful, unposed, the water cooling. He squeezes your cheek with his thumb before brushing over your mouth. 

“Will you be getting out any time soon?” he asks. 

More laughing, “No, I don’t think so. This is making my back feel better.” 

“I can do that.” His hand falls into the water, behind your shoulder, searching for a muscle to soothe. 

Aware that you’re naked and he’s touching you, you laugh, still nervous after more than enough time being in love to think it might ebb. He’s very pretty, and he touches you like you’re precious, sometimes, but more often it’s that he knows every part of you and what you like. He knows how you like your shoulder scrunched, your face held, your hip rubbed in the night under the quilt. 

Remus finds the tensed nerve between your shoulder blades and mumbles sympathetically. “Ouch.” 

“It’s okay,” you say. 

“What’s the matter, anyways?” he asks in a murmur. “You look tired. Are you tired?” 

“A lot.” 

“Yeah?” He lifts up on his knees and leans down to kiss you, softly but wonkily. 

“I need to go to bed.” 

“I’ll carry you, lovely, is that what you want?” 

“You’ll drop me. I’m like a fish.” 

“You’re nothing like a fish,” Remus says. “Want me to get you a warm towel?” 

“Will you?” 

“I put one on the radiator when I heard you getting in.” 

You sit up, bared, water racing down your back and your stomach, not a wisp of steam from the water. “That’s really kind,” you say, though you’d meant to think it. “I love you.” 

I love you in place of ‘thank you’ is commonplace with Remus. 

“I love you, too,” he says, instead of ‘you’re welcome’. 

He gets your towel, and he holds it out. You step into it and let him wrap it around you tightly, let him tuck it into itself near your armpit, before his arms wrap across your front. You tip your head back. If Remus cared about getting wet, he wouldn’t have initiated the hug to begin with. 

Remus doesn’t say anything, just holds you. Water pools at your feet. 

“Love you.” He kisses your ear. “So much. Now you smell amazing.” 

“You’re welcome to use all of it. ‘Cept my hair smoothie.” 

“Not sharing?” 

“Only a little bit left.” 

He’s practically whispering, his breath tickling your neck, to your quiet giggling, “Just tell me what it is and I’ll buy you a new one.” 

“So you can use what’s left?” 

His nose at your shoulder. “You smell so nice.” 

You go lax in his arms. Maybe… maybe you’re not so tired. He’s always gentle. “You think so?” you ask shyly. 

He hears what you’re not saying, his hand resting on your stomach. “Sorry, I’m not keeping my hands to myself. I’m not… I’m just holding you.” 

“Maybe we can break our deal.” 

“Oh?” he asks. 

“I don’t know. Do you want to?” 

“It’s not about me, dovey.” 

“It sort of is.” You turn your head to ask for a kiss without talking. “S’about both of us,” you whisper. 

“You want me to break our deal, is that what you want?” 

You shift in his hold to curl an arm behind his neck. He kisses you soundly, his hands holding your towel in place, always a gentleman even when he’s pressing at the seam of your lips with his, kissing you deeper. 

“You’ll have to clean me up when we’re done,” you say under your breath, eyes closed and nose tucked against his cheek.

“Is that the new deal?”

“Mm-hm.” 

“Okay, dove. Deal. Easy deal. I feel like I’m getting much more from this than you are.” 

You laugh in a huff at his subtle flirting. “Then make it fair,” you goad. 

“I will.” His tone lowers. “I promise.” 

His hold on your towel is much less careful after that.

[r1elle]

“no use crying over spilled milk.” —except, there probably is.

a. miya x reader

atsumu knows he’s messed up.

he thinks he may need to leave all that he’s accomplished in his lifetime — all because of a simple, but dire mistake.

“this can’t be happenin..” the blonde murmurs, looking at the monstrosity infront of him.

spilled vegetable smoothie. on three dozens of cooling cookies. that you’ve excitedly made. for your friends and family. as gifts.

atsumu was definitely crying over this ‘spilled milk’.

brushing off the fear of getting divorced on Christmas Eve, atsumu decides to think of how he can remove any remaining evidence.

he thinks that perhaps he can just bake the cookies again, —but argh, he silently curses osamu for taking the culinary skills.

the blonde scrambles around, scurrying to every part of the kitchen to at least try and scrape some of the green-kelpy smoothie bits on your cookies.

the opening of the front door was the only thing that could make him drop whatever he was doing.

“atsumu!~ do you think you can help me with the groceries? i ended up going a little overboard, so i bought some hot coco and chocolate fondue as something to go with the cookies! and—“ you ramble on, however atsumu could only feel the lump forming in his throat, the sweat on his forehead, and the drying of his lips.

he’d rather experience losing a volleyball match right now.

but unfortunately, the sweating of his palms wasn’t going to help him cover his crime scene— with you finally walking up to him with a questionable tone and all.

on some lame attempt to delay your discovery by even a fraction of a second, atsumu lays a cloth on top of your pastries.

“hey, something the matt—……er…?”

you pause in between your words, familiar with atsumu’s current expression. your husband is wearing the exact face he made the last time he realized he’d accidentally mistaken your diy project as trash and threw it out. (valentines almost ended off with him sleeping on the couch.)

his face could only mean one thing, then.

however, distracting you from the overly guilty look on his face was the unusual placement of the rag that you had bought not long ago.

you look at the cookies.

he looks at you.

you look at him.

he looks at the cookies.

you lift the rag.

green, protein-y, vegetable smoothie mix laid on top of your thick, chocolate chipped cookies.

“miya.”

despite the fact that you both now share the same last name— atsumu knows you talk of his last name.

he fears that you may end up going back to your own after this night passes.

“baby please, i— i didn’t…” he rambles, but knows that no excuse can save him from his actions. he pinches the bridge of his nose. “…im…i’m sorry, hon. i’ve got no excuse. i was bein’ careless, and yer’ cookies are all damped because of my stupidity. i’m sorry. what can i do? hm?”

his build envelopes yours, and suddenly you find a man nearing his 30s senselessly murmuring sweet nothings to your ear, hoping that perhaps a single saying can be of the slightest comfort to your disappointment.

the room quiets down, the sound of the ventilation being the only source bearing noise.

the silence only makes atsumu antsy, who begins to lose hope of your anger easing down any time soon.

and so, he decides to call it a night.

“i’ll take the couch tonight, hm? how’s that? i know that it’s nothin’ much…”

a grin.

“…but if it’ll help you in even the slightest way, i’m more than willing to do it—”

a stifle of laughter.

atsumu paused, thinking that the (familiar) sound he’d just heard was some sort of hallucination that his mind had made up on the spot.

“a-anyway, i’ll see what i can do soon, and—“

finally releasing any ounce of self control you had, bursts of laughter start leaving your mouth.

“oh— oh, oh my gosh, i…” your unexplained cackling begins to alter the solemn look on your husbands face into one of confusion.

“you just looked so pathetic— it was cute! i’m sorry, i’m sorry..” you manage to hide in a snort, your husbands eyes following every movement you made.

why were you laughing? was he getting divorced?! is this some sick way to break it to him? no…no??! you’ve both been through so much together, you couldn’t possibly—… but then again… he’s probably put you through so much! argh! is this what osamu meant when he said—

atsumu’s disorganized internal thoughts then get interrupted by your pecks, something that’s been able to melt him since your last year of highschool.

“i’m not mad, no.. no,” you smile, a little giggle sneaking out. “i just couldn’t help but see how you’d react if i looked mad! i’m sorry baby, forgive me?” you coo, your head lifting up to meet his eyes as you sway his tall figure.

“but… i.. yer not mad? i completely trashed the cookies, babe. look!—

“i may or may not have accidentally mixed the salt up for sugar.” you say, a playful smile greeting your lips. “haven’t told you about the cookies i just bought from the store.”

as if all his worries had come to an end, atsumu’s shoulders slump down, a sigh coming out of him.

“ya couldn’t just tell me all that in the beginnin’?”

“and miss seeing you all so guilty and pouty? what am i, insane?”

“be happy i love ya’.”

“need i remind you of last valentines, then?”

“why don’t we get set up? also, yer’ lookin’ beautiful in that dress. anyone told you that yet?”

“okay, you can stop that now, miya.”

“yer’ a miya too, ya know.” he grins.

you roll your eyes, however a smile creeps it’s way in, betraying your ‘dismay’ towards the man.

“you’re right. i suppose i am.”

this was from the request of an oomf !

can we just pretend this was posted before Christmas thank u very muchiez

i fear that the pathetic husband atsumu will never become a trope i’ll get tired of

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone !

ps. if you start seeing that i lowkey started to get confused as to how to write that lil accent he has, no u didn’t.

[heavypressure]

I'm very familiar with constipation, even week-long clogs are a usual occurrence to me. By the end of such week I'm already used to the heavy amount of waste and churning gases in my swollen guts, but it usually ends there with me finally being able to go to the bathroom and empty my bowels, my belly shrinking back to it's normal size. But not this time... I don't know what exactly caused it, but it's been 9 days since my last successful unloading.

I'm sitting in my cubicle at work, my thoughts fixated on my abnormally full middle. My belly looked 7 months pregnant at this point, so tightly packed with waste, gas and food that there was almost no movement inside. Surprisingly, it didn't hurt either so far, just heavy discomfort from all of the weight pulling my belly down, and extreme bloating that began from the fermenting waste deep in my lower intestines.

I gave up on buttoning up my pants a few days ago, forced to expose my lower belly, which was the most round and tight part so far Embarrassed, i decided that i need to take action, but was scared of taking laxatives right away, with blockage that big i was afraid i will literally burst..

I'm probably just not getting enough fiber, so I'm gonna fix it today, and this situation will be finally over!

I came home from work and started working on several smoothies and salads, making sure to add prunes to everything. I figured just one drink wouldn't be enough, so i needed to cram another big meal in my already overfilled stomach... Burping loudly, i chugged another prune smoothie, my poor guts stretching painfully this time. I moaned and rubbed my rock-hard belly, telling myself to hold on just a little bit more. After finishing my meal, i slowly waddled to the bed, exhausted from the painful stuffing, but hopeful that my plan will work.

I was awoken in the middle of the night by a dull pain in my guts. I opened my eyes, and was instantly horrified: my belly looked ready to burst, even rounder than it was before i went to bed, gas roaring loud inside my clogged guts and sending vibrations through my whole body... Well, it seems my fiber idea worked?...

I got up and a loud BBWOOUURRP was forced oit of my mouth uncontrollably, releasing just a tiniest bit of the pressure inside. I waddled to the bathroom and plopped on the toilet, gently rubbing my enormously stretched gut and observing the damage that was done to it over a week ... Oh god, i could see some stretch marks formed near my belly button, how embarrassing... But this is finally going to be over now,...right?

I sat on the toilet for over an hour, listening to my bubbling cauldron of a stomach, trying to push anything i could out, but .. nothing came out but a few tiny (but very rancid) farts... The bubbling soon stopped, and i was left with an even bigger stomach than i had before... Now i had all of the gas that formed from my huge fibre meal stuck inside of my intestines, unable to find it's way out and only bloating me further. I got up and immediately felt every single gas bubble inside, gas cramps shooting through my whole body... Great, i only made everything worse... I waddled to bed again, maybe my belly just needs more time?... Hopefully the next morning things will finally get going....

I woke up feeling like a blimp. Thankfully it seems my belly hasn't gotten any bigger, but it definitely hasn't gotten any smaller too. Over this night i managed to go from looking 7mo pregnant to looking slightly overdue. Thankfully the pain died down significantly, and the noises occured only if i made some sudden movements

Unfortunately i still had to go to work, abd there was no way I'd fit in my regular work trousers this time... I looked around for some old sweatpants, embarrassing and slobby choice, but still better than going out naked

I could feel the mass inside my belly jiggle and grumble with every step i took, but i hoped that maybe agitating my belly more would help it.

I was definitely getting some weird looks at work, some people asking what happened to me. I was too embarrassed to answer that I'm just overfilled with gas and shit, so i tried to change the topic and get back to work so the day would go by faster.

Even i was overwhelmingly full, i still felt intense hunger after not eating anything for the whole day at work.... I was thinking that maybe I shouldn't eat until i deal with my massive constipation, but thought that a small quick snack wouldn't hurt...

While eating a cheeseburger and washing it down with coke, i decided that i should finally try a laxative, no matter how much it scared me.

It was embarrassing, asking for the strongest laxative at the pharmacy, while my balloon of a gut was hanging out for all to see, probably telling the whole story.

I got home and downed several pills instantly, not even reading the instructions. I tried to relax while i waited for the laxative to work.

After an hour, it finally kicked in .. The intense bubbling in my stomach could be heard throughout the whole room, and i felt my guts inflating once more. I went to the bathroom,sat there and massaged my tight gut, letting out a few rancid burps and farts. This gave me hope, finally I'll be back to my normal self!.. I could feel the diarrhea bubbling with gas in my bowels, my stomach roaring with needing to be finally emptied... I pushed and pushed, but the enormous rock-hard log in my ass just wouldn't budge, only allowing for small farts to slip out... i was desperate, it can't be all in vain! I clutched my belly and continued to push, belly still bubbling with gas, but not getting any smaller..

After it seems like two hours with no results, the movement in my belly began to calm down , seemingly ending my chance to let anything out... I was exhausted, my distended middle only seeming even bigger than before... What can i do now?.. am i doomed to bloat and swell further and further?

I waddled to bed again, noticing that i got used to the gas pains, and it didn't bother me that much... My stomach was so swollen, but at the same time, i couldn't deny that it felt somewhat good... Feeling such heaviness, being inflated from the inside, with no way out of this predicament.

One thing that laxatives also do, is they make me really hungry. And i got a day off tomorrow, so ....

One month later....

--GHHHUUOORRRP - Day 29 of my week-off! It feels so good to relax at home, even though i soon need to get back to work.... somehow

Empty paper fast-food bags and wrappers cover the whole floor of my living room. I sit on the couch in the middle, but you can barely see me behind the huge sphere of flesh that's covered with sweat and stretch marks. By the look of an outie belly button, you can guess that this is what became of my belly... My sides are bulging with build-up gas, all that i can feel inside is immense pressure and heaviness from the weeks-worth of food that i crammed inside of my guts. My clothes are of course long gone by now...

Turns out, being constipated for month and a half isn't as bad as it seems to be ...

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for scamming my ex out of an extremely valuable virtual pet?

🐓🥤to recognize. This might be a very long post with a lot of added context for a very niche hobby and a very small actual conflict.

I religiously play a virtual pet site called Chicken Smoothie. It's a pretty old site as far as virtual pet games go, starting back in 2008, so there is a pretty solid established site economy. Just for some context, Every pet on the site has a rarity, ranging from "OMG So Common" to "OMG So Rare", being the most common and most rare respectively. But there are rarities within those rarities, where some OMGSRs can be worth more than others based on species and demand. For example, an OMGSR dog from 2008 will be worth more than an OMGSR rat from 2008 despite being the same highest rarity and year, because people prefer the dogs over rats. These pets can get extremely valuable. You can't sell them for real money (according to site rules, but of course there's a black market), but the site has its own virtual currency you can buy (with real money) and trade for called Chicken Dollars, and you can also trade a valuable pet for other valuable pets. It gets very complicated, with the community coming up with its own set of value terms each pet can have. I'm not getting into specifics there, that's not important.

Every year, on December 18th, CS has gift boxes you can adopt from. These gift boxes can contain any rare pet from any previous year, including special "Unreleased pets" that you can only get from these Dec 18th boxes, with a very slim chance. These unreleased pets are some of the most valuable and rarest in the game.

Recently, I had seen my ex posting on the forums. I didn't know he had an account, he had made it within this year, long after I got the fuck away from him, and I only knew it was him because he uses the same username everywhere. This person had groomed me, physically abused me when we were together (we no longer live anywhere near each other, thankfully) and has always been emotionally manipulative. He does not know I play, and he wouldn't recognize my account as me. I took a note of his account and left it be for a while, until December 18th hit and I took a peek at what he had got. And what he got was one of the new Unreleased pets, which currently at the time of writing this only looks like a box of cereal. (Most pets on the site have growth stages.) And even better, all his groups were open for trade, so I took a chance and sent an extremely terrible trade. I told him that this pet would only be a recent rare, and I offered him a "Very Rare" rarity (but not very valuable) pet from 2018, telling him I was overpaying. (In the CS community, this is known as Ninjaing, and it's Not A Good Thing To Do). I didn't expect him to accept it, I at least thought he'd be smart enough to ask in the trade advice thread that is literally pinned on the home page for December 18th, but he didn't. He took my word for it and accepted the trade, and now I own an unreleased pet that will eventually end up as an OMGSR.

What I did was not a bannable offence. He will not get his unreleased pet back. The CS mods are laughable at worst, incompetent at best, and don't do anything to stop scamming. They have an "eh, sucks to be you, sorry, be smarter next time" mentality when people get scammed (Which is insane because there are literal single digit aged children allowed on this site!!!)

After taking a bit to think about it, I do feel a bit guilty because I really would not do this in any other circumstances. I hate scamming. I did what I did out of anger and contempt, and I do feel a bit guilty because in essence, I scammed a new player that didn't have much else and didn't know any better.

I'm still keeping that unreleased cereal box no matter what though

What are these acronyms?

[serialkilluh1996]

MY ☆𝐊Ö𝐍𝐈𝐆☆ HEADCANONS

SFW; no ratings or warnings, not proofread

SWEETHEART, NO HEART OR MIDDLE?

Is König the emotional type?

In my opinion? He's not a bubbly sweetheart, but he is FAR from a no heart.

He's not all lovey dovey on the surface. He doesn't like small talk. He doesn't like seeing people he recognizes in public, and he doesn't like confrontation.

König doesn't have the "uwu im so shy" social anxiety. He has the "it physically pains me when I have to speak someone and it causes violent intrusive thoughts" social anxiety. He never acts on it, of course, but social interaction makes him sick. There's a select few people he actually enjoys speaking with, and you are number one on that roster.

You'll start to notice he gets more talkative after a few weeks of knowing you, and he's more open to meaningless conversations because no conversation with you is meaningless to him. He actually enjoys when you ask him stupid questions.

CLASSY OR MESSY?

Is this guy willing to get his hands dirty?

He's naturally classy. He won't go out of his way to be messy, but he's no pretty boy either. He doesn't like mud on his boots or dirt under his fingernails. He's a very precise man. But he can get behind it every now and then.

I think he'd enjoy going on long walks in the woods to give his legs a good stretch. I don't think he'd mind spending a few hours disconnected from the rest of the world, somewhere out near the mountains. But anything further, such as hunting, you'd have to convince him to do, which doesn't take much work either. And he loves rough housing with you.

König likes tussling and tumbling in the bed like puppies til one of you eventually gets tired. You usually give in first, as he has seemingly endless stamina, but God, does it take long. He loves how long it takes for you to give up. Resistance means he's got a challenge, and you're the only one who brings out his competitive side. He's only pushy with those he's close with, so it takes a lot for people to convince him to go out for bowling or something like that.

WHAT'S HIS FAVORITE DRINK?

What does König like to drink?

He's a pretty thirsty guy, so anything that can properly hydrate him is a go-to. You'll notice when he takes you on rides that he keeps 2 liter water bottles in his backseat for emergency purposes.

It's why he wears his cargo pants outside of work. He's got pockets big enough to carry drinks all over.

Water is his favorite. He's the #1 water apologist. He's so crazy about it that he has a favorite kind of ice. Not the regular cubes, but the hollow nugget kind. He silently rejoices when restaurants and bars put it in his drinks.

And don't even get him started on juice. Orange juice, apple juice, grape juice, lemonade, the list goes on. He keeps the fridge filled with it. He'll typically drink it as a reward after a long day or in the morning once he's eaten something. It's like a little treat. König loves fruity shit. Smoothies, milkshakes, cocktails, all of it. It's why he just HAS to keep so much water on him, or he'll dehydrate.

PHYSICAL TOUCH?

What's his stance on physical touch?

It gives him the same feelings as conversations. It feels like hell. He's not a touchy-feely man. Handshakes, shoulder punches, getting pat on the back. He goes through it pretty often, and it makes him unbelievably uncomfortable when his coworkers do it. He doesn't want to seem rude, as he's already a scary guy, so he never fully expresses his issue, but anyone who can read eyes knows that bothered look. When he scrunches his nose and he winces with unease.

As he gets closer to you, he gets less tense about it. He's more likely to make the first moves and actually start giving hugs without being asked. He'll be all in your head, only stopping after you scold him for messing with it. He likes it when things are too high for you. Instead of grabbing it himself, König will pick you up, lifting you high enough to get it yourself just for a reason to hold your waist. He's pretty huge, so under regular circumstances, he's too tall to reach anything past your breast without bending over.

FRESH OR FUNKY?

What does he smell like?

Fresh. As hell. Man spends at least an hour and a half in the shower. The way it feels against his skin is just so mesmerizing. He loves hot baths and soaking in bubbles. On some days off, he'll go to the sauna with Horangi, but that's only after he's been begged and nagged into compliance.

König has a specific apple-scented soap he uses at night and a cinnamon wood soap for the day. He's likes to keep a different smell throughout the day to set his mood. Call him a pretty boy, but he just likes self care to a certain extent, and smelling good boosts his confidence.

NICKNAMES

Does he like nicknames?

He's neutral about them. Of course, he prefers calling people by their proper names. He's not against it. He's used to being firm and strict because of what he does, so he does his best to come off as sweet with what he calls you.

He puts his on swing on them. He likes teasing you for how much shorter you are than him. Yeah, everyone is shorter than König, but that makes it even funnier to him.

Kleine Frau is his go-to because he knows how much it annoys you to be referred to as a little woman. Other times, he'll just refer to you as some small animal or creature.

Things such as Maus, Haschen, and Schlumpf (Mouse, Bunny, and Smurf) are usually terms he saves for when he's trying to flirt with you, but in the end, they only piss you off, earning you some pathetic little apology where he actually refers to you as Schatze, liebling, or meine liebe; the usual terms of endearment.

You can support me by liking, commenting, reblogging, and/or cashapping me @fundsbrownie. Donations are optional, but much appreciated. Have fun! And remember, take care of yourself. If you liked this, I recommend checking HERE for more König content <3

[be-my-sunrise]

3:04am

pairings: idol bf!jeno x fem!reader

genre: smut, light fluff if you squint. minors pls dni

word count: 1,008 (i got carried away🤷🏻‍♀️)

warnings: oral (f receiving), fingering, slight nipple play?, reader is feeling a bit jealous bc jeno went shirtless during smoothie, jeno gets handcuffed. let me know if i missed anything!

You don't exactly remember what happened, but one thing for sure is that you have been waiting all night to finally feel Jeno's body against yours. You both had just returned home from NCT Dream's concert, and the moment the door's closed, your lips immediately met his, hungrily moving against each other. One thing after another, the two of you are leaving a trail of clothes towards your bedroom. 

And now? Well, Jeno is currently between your legs and working his magic against your wet core using his tongue and fingers, making you into a moaning mess. His lips close around your clit, sucking on it whilst adding a second finger in your core. A breathy moan falls from your lips, back arching against the bed when he curls his fingers inside you. You rest your hand on his head to push him even closer. He looks up at you, reading your face to find out whether you're nearing your release.

Jeno pretty much knows you like the back of his hand. With the way you contort your face–jaw going slack, eyes screwed shut, eyebrows furrowing, chest heaving–he's 100% sure that you're close. The way you moan uncontrollably encourages him to pump his fingers faster and make you clench around him. You tug on his hair sharply, making him moan against your clit which sends low vibrations to it. Just when you feel the familiar knot in your stomach, you push his head and try to wiggle away from him.

"Wait, no–stop!"

Jeno immediately stops and looks at you with worry. "What's wrong, baby?"

"Nothing's wrong, I just want you inside me when I cum." You said breathlessly.

His face relaxes and he smiles. He leaves a few kisses on the inside of your thighs before getting off of the bed. You prop your body up using your elbows and you see him licking his fingers clean, his eyes closing to relish the taste of your arousal. He softly hums before opening his eyes again to look at you, making you blush under his stare.

"Sweet as always."

Your eyes never leave his body as he unbuttons his pants and pulls it down along with his boxers, mouth watering when his cock slaps against his lower abdomen. Jeno also can't help but appreciate the view in front of him–you completely naked on the bed, legs parted widely, your pussy glistening with arousal even in the dimly lit room, your swollen lips–he swears he can just cum right then and there. He climbs onto the bed once again, his figure towering over yours, eyes never leaving yours as he leans in for another heated kiss. The two of you moan into the kiss. It's been a while since the two of you had sex, so let's just say, you both are barely keeping it together. 

He pulls away and whispers in your ear before he continues to leave kisses on your neck. "I take it you like my little surprise from earlier?"

You scoff, "I think everyone enjoyed your little surprise."

The slight attitude in your tone makes him smirk. He then looks at you with a knowing smile.

"Are you jealous?"

Your eyes widen at his question. 

"What? Of course not! You know I'm not really the jealous type." You shyly look away to avoid his gaze. "I just don't like that everyone was staring at what's mine. Not to mention that it was also broadcasted online."

Jeno chuckles and gently tucks his hand under your chin to make you look at him. 

"You don't have to be jealous, baby. I'm all yours." He swipes his thumb along your lower lip before pressing his lips against yours for a sweet kiss. "They can stare all they want, but you're the only one who can touch me. And I. Only. Want. You." He pecks your lips in between words as he finishes his last sentence. 

The two of you lock eyes intensely before you push him onto the bed, switching the positions in a quick movement. You can feel his erection poking your inner thigh with the way you're straddling him right now. You put both hands on him to feel his toned chest and abdomen, lightly scratching his skin as you trail your hands down, making him shudder. 

"Mine," you whisper.

"That's right, baby. I'm all yours."

You lean down and start peppering his neck with kisses while your hands roam free on his body. His hands grips your ass, pushing your waist down to press your bare pussy on his cock, making you grind against him. Your lips eventually find their way down to his chest. Jeno lets out a broken moan when you flick your tongue on one of his nipples while your finger massages the other. Only his heavy breaths and your muffled moans can be heard. The small noises that he makes make you want to continue what you're doing right now and make him cum. Then suddenly an idea pops up in your head and you quickly pull away from him, earning a whimper from him.

"Babe, why did you stop?"

You open the bottom drawer of your nightstand and rummages for the thing you need. He couldn't exactly see what it is you're looking for, but he can definitely hear the sound of metal clinking. He sees you smiling with a mischievous look in your eyes as you show him the handcuffs. You can literally see his face lit up as he sees it and immediately lifts both of his arms up, waiting for you to cuff him against the headboard. Once he's all handcuffed nicely, you gently cup his face to kiss the little mole near his eye and on the tip of his nose before finally meeting his lips. You pull away and position yourself between his legs before looking up at his face.

"I hope you still have enough energy, baby." You smile sweetly at him whilst pumping his hard cock. "Because we're not stopping until I say so."

a/n: thank you for reading! it's been a while since i last posted a smut, but i hope you enjoyed it hehe🫶🏻

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

Heaven Spent

℣ Pairing: Vox X angelic!reader

℣ Summary: A naïve angel descends to Hell looking for Vagina. Finds Vox instead.

℣ Content notes: Voyeurism, first time for everything, explicit sexual content, thigh riding, guided masturbation, Vox being Vox, pet names: mostly sweetheart, babydoll and baby, reader is a girl, reader has a pussy and tits, reader has a name and it's a fucking stupid one.

Now has a sequel: Hell 2 Pay!

You weren’t a real exorcist, not really. You didn’t pass the wingspan requirement for a start, or, as the Lieutenant never ceased to remind you, the strength requirements. You were never getting selected into one of the lucky squads who got to go down to Hell and do battle with demons. But you had begged to join, and everyone needed someone to sweep the floors and do laundry, and so, that was you, swooping through the exorcist barracks with a mop and bucket while everyone around you trained in combat.

Most of the exorcists didn’t even acknowledge your existence. You were invisible, inaudible, the help. The big exception to the rule was Lieutenant’s strongest soldier, Vagina. You would see her training tirelessly, on the practice grounds after all the others had left, and bring her a fresh towel and a pitcher of iced lemonade. She would smile at you. She knew your name. When you started talking about something that interested you, she didn’t tell you to go away or walk off.

In all of Heaven, Vagina was the closest thing you had to a friend.

And then, one day, the squads had come back from their battles with the forces of Hell, and she had been gone. No-one had wanted to look you in the eye, no-one even mentioned her name. Gone. Dead? No, Vagina was Heaven’s strongest soldier, you’d heard Adam say as much. There was no way she could be dead.

Had they left her behind? Every day your thoughts were plagued by thoughts of Vagina stuck behind enemy lines, Hell’s forces doing terrible things to her. And of course the Lieutenant wouldn’t send more exorcists after her; how could she risk Heaven’s forces for the wellbeing of a single soldier? But you? You were disposable. You were no asset to Adam’s forces, your wings so malformed that you could barely fly, and with Vagina gone there wasn’t anyone who would miss you on a personal level.

With your access to the exorcists’ laundry, it was easy to assemble a makeshift uniform for yourself, a spare sword strapped to your waist as you lined up with the departing squads. The masks disguised everyone’s faces, so no-one looked twice at you. You filtered out the chatter of the exorcists around you as you watched the portal to Hell open, a glowing circle with a core of deep red.

You would find Vagina, and return to Heaven with her, useful at last. Maybe the Lieutenant would be so impressed that she would make you a full exorcist.

Vox slurped his kale and spirulina smoothie as he watched the descending horde of angels through fifteen distinct drone feeds. This year’s purge was uncharacteristically quiet in the Vee tower; Valentino was doing some sort of romantic make-up dinner with one of his sluts and Velvette was organizing some sort of augmented reality event where sinners ran the length of the city taking selfies without getting killed by exorcists, which left Vox holding down the fort.

One of the systems gave a beep as it picked up an anomaly. Now that, that was interesting. It looked like the pack had a straggler this year. Vox picked a drone to fly closer, opening a channel to Velvette as he did so.

“-you better not be taking the piss, Vox. I’m sort of a tiny bit busy here, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Hear me out, this could be big,” said Vox, and Velvette gave a snort but went quiet. “Any of your fuckheads out near the west side of the pentagram?”

One of your wings was bigger than the other. That was just how it was, just a little defect that made it difficult to fly, and almost impossible to fly long distances. When you had asked about it, Saint Peter had patted you on the shoulder and told you that everyone was special in different ways. And you had accepted that. Some people got beautiful singing voices, or brains that could do mathematics faster than anyone else’s, and you got one wing that was smaller than the other, primary feathers growing in with a slight curl that meant your flight was wobbly and exhausting.

And that was just part of God’s plan.

What was not part of God’s plan, it seemed, was for you to keep up with the squads of exorcists descending to Hell. They sped up as they passed through the portal, the pack quickly speeding up to a pace that your wings could no longer carry you at. You found yourself drifting behind, panting as you beat your wings to correct your uneven path.

Strangely, you didn’t see the forces of Hell rising to do battle, but you supposed you were inexperienced in this sort of thing. The last time you’d even swung a sword had been at the exorcist tryouts. Giving up on catching up with the pack, you hung back, your wingbeats slowing as you surveyed the city below from your wobbly vantage point. You should find somewhere to hide, you reasoned, until the battle was over and you could look for Vagina safely.

Finding Vagina in Hell was harder than you would have guessed. Even after you shed your exorcist disguise and folded your wings away, people didn’t really want to talk to you, and when you started asking about Vagina, faces turned covetous, and people started asking for money. Which, of course, you didn’t have. You didn’t need money in Heaven, why would people want it in Hell? But everywhere you asked, the answer was the same. If you wanted to know about Vagina, you needed money. And if you wanted money, well, you needed a job.

That's how you found yourself in a line of sinners three miles long, for an open audition for a spokesperson for something called Angelic Security, a subdivision of something called VoxTek. You weren’t going for the audition itself, but a sinner had offered you money to queue for them, and queuing was a pretty morally decent, angel-appropriate act. You knew how to queue. You could queue for days.

You were queuing when a fish demon with a VoxTek nametag walked past, on a video call with someone important, the other side of the conversation blaring out the speakers of his tablet as he held it up to his face.

“Listen, do you have any idea how fucking busy I am today? Whose crackpot idea was this anyway? No, don't answer that, I don't fucking care. Just pick the three at the front and, uh, that one, no, the hot one with the gray skin.”

“Whatever you say, sir.” The fish demon glanced over his shoulder at you, making a beckoning gesture as the man on the other end cut the call.

You pointed to your chest with a silent me? and the fish demon nodded, walking on without a backwards look as you trailed along after him.

“Actually, I was holding a spot in the line for someone else, they were going to pay me money, if you could let me borrow a phone, I could -” you scurried to keep up. “-you know I don't think it's really fair that someone’s paid me to keep their place and now I'm going in with you, isn't that against the rules?”

“Look, lady.” The fish demon held out a hand as he waved the other candidates over, to grumbling from the other people in the line. “I'm not paid enough to deal with your drama shit, save it for the casting director.”

“Are you really going to leave all those people out there?” you asked quietly as the assistant let you through the security gate at the front of the building. “Some of them have been waiting for days. It doesn’t seem fair.”

The man shrugged. “What can I say? Welcome to Hell.”

Out of a lingering sense of guilt, you let the three women who had been in the front of the line go into the audition first, so that when you were called up, no-one was waiting. The casting director turned out to be the tall demon in the shirtsleeves and sweater vest that the dour fish had been talking to on his tablet. He had a large, rectangular head, and was handsome, in a striking sort of way.

He was sat on a bench against the wall of the audition room, elbows on his knees, and he looked up as you came in, watching you walk, an eyebrow raised.

“H-hey.” You gave a little wave. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. You see, I was saving a space in the line for someone else, but the assistant told me to come in here, and, you see, I was hoping that maybe I could phone the person, and, um, maybe they could do the audition?”

“You have no idea who I am, do you?” The television headed demon gave you a sidelong grin.

“I'm really sorry, but I don't.” You bit your lip, mentally preparing for a lie. “You see, I'm kind of new here.”

“Oh yeah? How long since you, y'know?” He made a vague hand gesture, getting to his feet.

Oh, darn. You had no idea what a good number would be here. You furrowed your brow. So if the universe was about ten thousand years old, and the average human lived to one hundred and twenty years old… a reasonable amount of time for a newcomer to have been in Hell was…

“Oh, not long. Only about three hundred years.” You plastered a big smile over your face, hoping Mr Television bought your deception.

“Oh, only three hundred you say? Wow, you are new, huh.” He smiled back at you, and you did a quick internal fist pump. Success! You were a natural liar! At this rate, you'd be able to find Vagina and be out of Hell in no time flat.

“My name's Vox, by the way. Like the company.” He snapped his fingers, and the tagline VOXTEK: TRUST US scrolled across the big screen on the wall of the audition room. He tilted his head. “What's yours?”

“My name?” You blinked. It had been a very long time since you'd had to introduce yourself to anyone not already aware of your name, and everybody in Hell just seemed to enjoy making up rude epithets for you, so you hadn't bothered with introductions. “My name's, uh, Areola. Like the -” you paused, unbuttoning your shirt.

Vox stared at you, frozen for a second before he raised a hand to cover yours, halting your struggling fingers. “You don't need to whip them out, dollface. I know what a boob is.”

“Y-you do?” you stammered, part of you thankful and a smaller, more sinful part disappointed, the touch of his fingertips on your hand like fire against your nerves. He was probably down here for one of the carnal sins, the sins of the flesh Chastity was always warning the younger angels about. “Of-of course you do, silly me.”

“Can I call you Ari?”

You’d always hoped the other angels would give you a nickname like that. Like Vagina was called Vaggie by her squadmates. But everyone in Heaven who called you by any name at all called you Areola, even Vagina did. To have Vox just give you a nickname like this, apropos of nothing, seemed too good to be true.

“Y-yeah! I’d like that. A lot, actually.” You swallowed. “You’re the first person who’s been nice to me here,” you admitted.

Vox shrugged. “I’m a nice guy, most of the time. I can afford to be. You want the job?”

“What?” You blinked. “B-but I didn’t audition. I w-wasn’t even in the line.”

“It’s not a hard job, if that’s what you’re worried about,” said Vox, holding out his hand. “You take a few photos, record a few infomercials, and bam, you’re done! You won’t even have to run your own social media profiles. And the money-”

“I’m really sorry, Vox, I-I can’t.” You took a step backwards, hands raised. “I-I should go. I don’t want to waste any more of your time.”

You ran.

You ran without thinking, heart in your throat, past the security doors, away. Taking something that wasn’t yours was stealing, even if someone offered it to you. You should never have gone inside. Hell was terrible and confusing, and you wished that Vagina was here. She would know what to do. She would have said something tough, and made Vox do the right thing. She wouldn’t have run away. You stopped, panting for breath, and realized you had no idea where you were. You were down an alley, a crowd of curious sinners behind you.

“Hey, it’s that bitch who cut the line.”

“Thinks she’s better than us.”

Oh, this was bad. You took a step back, reaching for your angelic sword with a trembling hand.

Velvette’s face looked down at Vox from the big screen on the wall where the tagline had scrolled, thirty feet wide. “That’s seriously who you’re gonna hire as the new Angelic Security mascot? You have to be fucking shitting me.”

Vox rolled his eyes. “Velvette, she is a real, literal fucking angel. I challenge you to think of a more appropriate pick.”

“It’s your subsidiary, so whatever.” Velvette pursed her lips. “I just hope you know that I’m not costuming her dumpy arse.”

“Your concerns are duly noted,” said Vox, redirecting his attention from the call to his nearby drones. “Now pipe down. I need to focus.”

Vox gave a small sigh as he transferred a small portion of his conscious mind to the drone that hung in the air over the dispersing line of would-be auditions, looking for your face. He flitted from security camera to security camera, searching for a telltale flash of white and grey.

Truthfully, he hadn’t expected you to be so naive. Exorcists, from what data he had on them, were hardened killers, who regarded sinners as scum to be cleaned up.

Vox hadn’t spent a lot of time with exorcists, but he had spent a lot of time with killers, and his guts told him you weren’t one. Which was weird, but he could work with that. He just needed to make sure that no-one else got to you before he did.

“Alleyway behind the old munitions factory,” said Velvette from above him, sounding bored. “There’s three pissed off old slags about to shiv your new pet; someone’s streaming it.”

Fuck. Vox grimaced, switching his attention to the feed. Sure enough, there you were, fear on your face as three taller sinners made you back up against a wall, your hands out, pleading. “I’m gonna cut the signal. Make sure nothing goes viral.”

Travel by lightning was fast, but it wasn’t instantaneous. Vox manifested in a flash of ozone to see two dead sinners, you with your sword through the guts of a third. Your eyes were glowing gold, unseeing and dangerous, a splatter of blood across your face.

“Ari?” Vox ventured, keeping his voice as low and calming as he could.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, oh-” You yanked the sword from the guts of the woman who’d been about to stab you, and oh goodness that was a lot of blood that was gushing out of her. You looked in horror at Vox. “I didn’t-” you started, then stopped. The one person in this place who had been kind to you, and he had to see you like this? These sinners weren’t even soldiers; they just looked like regular people, and granted they had tried to murder you, but that didn’t mean they deserved to die.

“Hey, babydoll. Easy, now.” Vox approached you his hands out, calming.

You were a murderer now; the police would catch you and you’d have to go to Hell jail. You didn’t want to go to Hell jail; the food was probably terrible and you’d never be able to find Vagina. The back of your throat hurt at the hopelessness of it all. You stared at Vox, your vision wobbling as tears formed.

“You’ll be okay, shit, uh, let’s get that big knife out of your hand-” Vox’s blue talons were on your fingers, prying them from the hilt of your sword as he moved in, and you resisted for a second before his coaxing moved you and you let go, surrendering the sword into Vox’s grasp as his other arm wrapped around you. “You’re gonna be okay, I got you.”

Pressing your face into the fuzzy material of Vox’s sweatervest, you gave a big, ugly sob. You clung to him as you cried, vaguely aware of his arm around you, his claws petting your hair. Oh, you’d ruined everything now. He probably thought you were pathetic.

“I’m really sorry,” you mumbled against his chest. “Y-you should probably hand me over to the police now, so you don’t get in trouble.”

“Excuse me?” Vox’s tone was incredulous.

You sniffed, blinking more tears from your eyes. “You know, the police? Since I committed three murders?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Vox breathed, looking down at you, his claws carding through your hair. “There aren’t any police in Hell. Well, there are lots of cops in Hell, sure, but no police force.”

“B-but I just, I just-” you motioned to the bodies in the alleyway behind you. “How will I be punished?”

“Oh, fuck me, you’re adorable.” Vox covered his face with a hand. “You’ve had a long day, babydoll. Let me take you home, and you can have a bath, and a change of clothes, and maybe then we can talk about your problems, yeah? I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement.”

No-one had ever been this nice to you, even in Heaven. Part of you wondered whether Vox was in Hell by mistake, and you nodded, slowly, face against his chest again as his hand moved to the small of your back.

“You’re bringing a fucking exorcist to our fucking living quarters?” Valentino’s eyebrow raised above the frames of his pink glasses. “Are you fucking stupid? Or just thinking with your dick?”

“Look, I’ve just gotta win her trust, okay” Vox leaned back, analyzing Valentino’s surroundings through the videofeed. He was in his studio, which was a good thing. There was also a visible lovebite on the exposed skin above Val’s second set of arms. Which was good; it meant Valentino and his on-off squeeze were on talking terms.

“So you can fuck her?” Valentino took a drag on his cigarette, pink smoke briefly clouding the lens of the camera.

“Uh, so she’ll fucking work with us.” Vox sighed heavily. “You have a one track fucking mind sometimes Val, I swear.”

“But you are gonna fuck her, aren’t you?” There was a gleam in Val’s eye now.

“First of all,” said Vox, holding up a finger, careful with his volume so that his words didn’t travel to you ensconced in your bubble bath in the next room. “I don’t recall putting you in charge of where I put my dick. And secondly, fuck you.”

Valentino laughed, good-natured. “Alright, papito.” He grinned, gold tooth flashing. “I’ll take my Angel out somewhere else tonight, you have fun with yours.”

They compared calendars before Vox closed the call, grumbling to himself. All things considered, it could have gone much worse- if Valentino hadn’t been in a good mood, he might have decided to be jealous and that would have been a pain in the ass. Valentino’s instincts weren’t wrong, either; the big moth had been around Vox for too long to not have picked up on his preferences. The combination of dangerous power and lack of worldliness just did something for him. And then there was your body.

Vox chanced a peek through the security cameras as you climbed out of the bath, a sneak preview, he told himself, growing hard in his pants as he took in the soft lines of your thighs, the crest of downy feathers that covered your pudenda, snowy white to match your hair. Fuck, but you looked soft all over, as if his hands would sink right into you. Vox cut the feed with a groan; if he kept on watching there was a good chance you’d walk in on him jacking off over the video, and that wasn’t really the impression he wanted to make. No, he needed to be trustworthy, a good guy, someone you felt you could work for. Someone you’d trust your soul to.

And Vox might be a voyeur, but he could keep it in his pants if he needed to. Business before pleasure.

Vox was right; the bath did help. Warm water cradled your body, the panic that had wracked you flowing out of you. You added bath salts, and bubbles, and stayed in there much longer than you really needed to, feeling the dirt that had accumulated on you since your descent into Hell float away. Vox’s tower was the only place you’d visited in Hell so far that had been clean, all shining chrome and expensive polished black granite. Finally, you climbed out, even your conscience feeling cleaner than it had when you had started, and grabbed a towel so fluffy that felt like it had been imported from Heaven.

The outfit that Vox had left for you was modest and well-fitting, a soft wool cardigan with a camisole and blouse to go underneath and a pleated a-line skirt that reached your mid-calf, all in eggshell colors that complemented your grey skin. Even the underwear was perfectly sized, and you tried not to think too hard about it- you were pretty sure that one of VoxTek’s subsidiaries was a fashion company of some sort, and Vox had probably guessed.

“Hey, Ari.” Vox gave you a smile as you stepped out, and you found yourself smiling back at him. “You feeling better? I ordered us Dim Sum.”

“I, uh, yeah. Thank you.” You pushed your hair behind your ear. “For everything.”

Vox’s smile only grew. Your plan had been to thank him for his help and leave, but he’d gone to the trouble of organizing you food already and leaving would be rude and the little steamed buns he was offering you smelled very good, so you found yourself sitting with him, listening to him talk about the food as he piled different items onto your plate. All of it was delicious.

“-and you need to try this one, it’s got the spicy shrimp paste, I don’t know how you are with spice, so it might come on a bit strong for you, but it’s worth it, trust me.”

You nodded, your reflexive oh no, I couldn’t dying on your lips as you smelled the bun, the delicate scent of the shrimp coupled with a dark, sweet undercurrent. You bit in, the gummy texture of the outer dumpling giving way to something coarser and more savory; perfectly cooked crustacean flesh that leaked juices when broken, in the paste that Vox had described, which imbued a richness and a sweetness both at once. It had a spice that began as an ache on the back of your tongue, and built and built upon itself, until you were salivating almost painfully and yet somehow wanting more. You closed your eyes, your jaw stopping to prolong the moment.

“So.” Vox picked his moment to lean in, face perilously close to yours. “What do you want, Ari?”

You, was your embarrassing, gut instinct response, thankfully stymied by your mouth full of dumpling. You chewed and swallowed, which gave you time to think. Vox was trustworthy. He’d been nothing but kind to you. He wanted to help. “I had- have a friend,” you said, feeling your pulse quicken. It was a risk, telling Vox. If he figured out that you were an angel, you’d be in big trouble. “She’s in Hell, somewhere. I’m looking for her.”

“I’m pretty good at finding people,” said Vox, his expression sympathetic. “Maybe I could help?”

You shook your head, the taste of the dumpling still lingering on your tongue. “I can’t ask you to do that. You’ve already done so much, and I’ve got no way to repay you. I don’t even have money.”

“I’m sure there’s a way we could help each other,” said Vox, unperturbed. “Money isn’t everything, after all. Let’s think about it, see what we come up with, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you echoed Vox, nodding slowly. “You’re really nice to me,” you added, with a small frown.

“And is that a bad thing?” Vox asked, his screen tilting. He picked up the second of the shrimp paste dumplings with his chopsticks.

“No,” you admitted, quietly.

“Then,” said Vox, holding the dumpling out to you, not to your plate this time, but to your face. “You should accept it, yeah?”

Your face flushed from grey to white as you came to the realization that Vox’s intention was to hand feed you, a warm sensation in your stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. Cupping your hands under the dumpling to ensure none spilled, you opened your mouth. Again the outer shell of the dumpling was gummy against your lips, and you held it gently between your teeth so that Vox could withdraw his chopsticks. He looked happy as you chewed, and you told yourself this was nothing untoward, simply the demon being a good host.

“We should watch a movie,” he said, chin in his hand as he watched you chew. “I’ll let you pick.”

Hell, it turned out, or at least Vox, had a much wider selection of titles than were available in Heaven, and you hesitated to pick. In the end, Vox quizzed you on what you’d seen and what your favorites were, and picked something out. His earlier demand, of accept it, let me be nice to you, stuck in your head, overriding doubts that you might have expressed. You’d been warned, in Heaven, about the dangers of fraternization. How two people, watching a movie together alone, could fall into sin. But you’d never done anything like that, and Vox seemed nice.

When Vox patted the sofa next to him, you hesitated, and so Vox grabbed the bucket of popcorn he’d made and placed it by his thigh, a barrier between you.

“Better?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

You looked at the popcorn. “It won’t stop us kissing,” you joked, a small smile.

“You can kiss me, if you like,” Vox returned your grin. “I won’t mind.”

He wasn’t joking, you realized, a surge of warmth through your core that caught you unguarded. “Isn’t that a sin?”

“Kissing?” Vox raised an eyebrow. “I’ve read like five, six versions of the bible and I don’t think any of them said shit about kissing.”

“Oh.” You swallowed, feeling your face turn from gray to white in a blush.

Vox didn’t do more than to open the possibility for you, but that possibility remained, playing at the periphery of your mind as you watched the movie with him, his arm looped easy round your shoulders, the bucket of popcorn the only chaperone stopping your hips from touching his. You could lean over, and just kiss him.

Waiting until he was engrossed in the film, his slim side profile showing to you, you leaned in, pressing your lips to the plastic of his screen’s casing. The material was smooth, the edges angular, and strangely warm.

“Heyy. What was that?” Vox tilted his head to you, an amused cast to his lips. When you didn’t answer his grin widened. “Did you just kiss me? In the middle of the movie?”

You tore your gaze from his, embarrassed. “Y-you said I could,” you protested, adding a belated, “sorry.”

“But kissing is usually a two-way thing,” said Vox, leaning in.

“I didn’t kiss your face,” you said, very factually.

“You didn’t,” agreed Vox, pushing a strand of hair back from your ear, the sharp edge of his talon tracing over sensitive skin. “So I won’t either.”

Vox leaned in, the bucket of popcorn chaperoning you threatening to topple as he drew his lips to your ear. The close proximity of his screen was enough to make your skin tingle, and you drew in a breath and held it, an uncomfortable pulse building between your legs as he took his time, breath hot over your neck and the shell of your ear. You didn’t dare tell him to hurry up, didn’t dare tell him to stop, not with how his mere proximity had you quivering, until at last you felt his lips, ghosting over your earlobe, teasing the soft flesh between them. Was it still a kiss, if his lips were now wrapped around a part of you, and sucking. Oh, Heavens. You bit back a noise, warmth pooling in your core as Vox’s tongue teased the circumference of your ear.

“Vox!” you squeaked, and he let you go, grinning.

“Try kissing my face next time. Or not, your choice.”

You went back to the movie, trying to tamp down the sinful thoughts that were spinning through your head. He didn’t deserve to be thought of lustfully like this. He was a really good guy- he was just trying to watch a movie with you and you were thinking lewd thoughts about him. You were an angel, for crying out loud: you were meant to be better than this!

His lips had felt so good, his tongue even better, a crackling spark that licked against your nerves. What would kissing his lips feel like? What would that tongue feel like, inside your mouth? Vox’s arm was back over your shoulders, his blue claws bright against the white of your blouse. You could touch his hand. Holding hands wasn’t sinful. People in Heaven held hands all the time. Hesitantly, you reached for his hand, your fingertips stroking from his wrist and over the back of his hand to his knuckles.

“You gonna kiss my hand next, babydoll?” asked Vox, his voice low and teasing.

“N-no,” you squeaked again, voice rising in pitch as your throat constricted.

Vox exhaled, glancing over at you, his thumb catching your exploring hand and stroking along your index finger. “Something the matter?”

Oh, all you could think about were the possibilities. Oh his lips on yours, his hand skating down over your shirt to encompass your breast. “I’m having sinful thoughts about you,” you confessed.

“Ohh?” Vox raised an eyebrow. “Lustful thoughts?”

Slowly, you nodded, shamefaced. “I’m really sorry. I know you’re just being a good host, and you don’t deserve me objectifying you…” you trailed off.

Vox just smiled. “I think I deserve to know exactly what lustful thoughts you were having, don’t you?”

“I was thinking about your fingers in my mouth,” you breathed out, though that was the least of your inner debauchery.

“Like this?” Vox asked, trailing blue talons up the side of your neck, over your jaw, and over your lips. You opened your mouth reflexively, and Vox slipped two fingers inside. Oh, fudge. Your eyes fluttered closed, a noise in your throat as Vox’s fingers explored, gentle as anything against the surface of your tongue, your cheek. “Were you thinking about them anywhere else?”

Face hot, you nodded, Vox’s fingers still inside your mouth, pulling at your lower lip slightly as he rocked his wrist back and forth.

“You gonna show me?” Vox asked, his voice still teasing, and with a shaking hand, you gestured to your own breasts, cupping them through the fabric of your blouse. The heat in your core was almost unbearable now, an embarrassing wetness pooling in the gusset of your panties.

“Get in my lap, babydoll,” said Vox, his voice soft as he withdrew his fingers from your mouth, a string of spittle trailing from your lower lip as he did. “I wanna do all the things you were fantasizing about me doing.”

Oh, you wanted this, you wanted this. So badly that it was a pulsing ache, an insistent drumbeat between your thighs. “Th-this is definitely sinful,” you said, hesitating.

Vox made no move to force you, sitting back a little on the couch. “Does it matter?” he asked, his tone going from sultry to playful again. “We’re both damned, after all.”

“R-right.” You swallowed, cursing yourself for your earlier lie. He waited, quiet, the movie playing forgotten on the big screen in front of you, until you moved the popcorn bucket to the floor and climbed onto his lap, your skirt bunching up around your knees as you straddled his legs.

“Well, heyy there beautiful,” growled Vox, looking at you, a finger pushing a strand of hair from your forehead, and you felt your face break into a smile. He crossed his legs, one over the other, so that his top thigh was flush with the gusset of your panties, smirking at you when his leg made contact. “Sitting comfortably?”

“Your leg… feels nice…” you managed, lamely, struggling for words. The pressure felt exquisite, the folds of your labia squashing together in a way that made you profoundly aware of the pulsing between your legs.

“Oh yeah?” Vox didn’t tease, and you were grateful. “You wanna stay like that? You maybe wanna rock back and forth a bit?” As if to demonstrate, he pushed his thigh up between your legs, against your gusset, and moved it side to side. You found yourself giving a soft whimper at the sensation. “It’s okay, baby,” said Vox, his voice soft and coaxing. “You can rub against me.”

You shouldn’t, you knew. You knew you should climb out of Vox’s lap, leave the feeling of his thigh between your legs behind, ignore the slick pooling in your panties. You should apologize for taking advantage of his generosity as a host, for even thinking about using his body in such a sordid way. You didn’t, though. Instead you canted your hips back, grinding your sex against the tensed muscle of his leg, finding warmth and friction and pleasure.

A shameful little whimper escaped your lips, and you felt Vox’s eyes on you, intent. “You don’t mind?”

Vox looked pleased with himself. “I invited you here, didn’t I?” He reached to your chest, tracing the lines you had traced when you had cupped your own breasts, the sensation of his claws through the fabric of your shirt leaving a tingling in its wake. You rocked your hips again, finding a slow rhythm, the sensations seeming to layer one atop the other, Vox’s talons moving up again, circling first one of your nipples and then the other, bringing each one to a sensitive point. “Do you wanna get them out for me?” he asked, voice low and gentle.

He withdrew his hands and your skin seemed to ache at the lack of him. “Will you touch them, if I do?” you asked, your voice small.

“If you ask me to,” said Vox, hands smoothing over the fabric of your skirt, over your thighs. “Otherwise if you want, I can enjoy the show. You want me to touch them, Ari?”

He used your name, not an epithet, his eyes on yours, and you felt the flush that bloomed on your cheeks, the flutter in your chest joining the pulse between your thighs as you continued to pleasure yourself on Vox’s thigh, each slow movement of your hips grinding the juices that soaked your panties into Vox’s slacks. Fingers trembling, you unbuttoned your blouse to your navel, then unhooked your bra, letting the straps fall from your shoulders, leaving your breasts exposed, nipples peeking over the lacy edge of your camisole. “Please,” you answered, feeling very exposed considering how little you were showing.

Vox pulled down the edge of your camisole with one talon, admiring his handiwork with a grin before his hands cupped your breasts, thumbs tracing soft circles around your namesake, your areolae. You made a noise in your throat, grinding hard against Vox’s thigh, and Vox gave an answering growl.

“Is that a good noise, babydoll?” Vox asked, gravel in his voice now. “You like having me squeeze your tits as you rub your pussy on my leg, huh?”

Shamefaced, you nodded, and Vox leaned in, a shift in his grip on your breasts pulling a moan from you. You froze, uncertain, as Vox lowered his wide rectangular head to your chest. As he had with your ear, he paused before his lips touched the skin, already tender and puckered from his fingers.

You whimpered, heat pooling in your core as you ground yourself wantonly against his leg, wet fabric against wet fabric, and Vox groaned, his breath hot over your breast. “Good girl,” he murmured, taking your nipple between his lips and sucking.

No amount of Heavenly chastity infomercials could have prepared you for how your next moments felt; Vox’s mouth first on one breast, then the other, the gentle tug of his teeth, the electrical lash of his tongue, all of that competing with the feel of him between your legs as you rode his thigh, your rhythm ascending from steady grind to desperate canter as sensation built and built. You found yourself pleading, losing rhythm as you jerked against Vox’s thigh, answering moans from Vox vibrating through your flesh as he suckled at you, your world narrowing to that scant handful of sensations. You cried out, feeling something inside you seize, and your eyes fluttered closed, your hips stilling.

“Vox,” you squeaked, uncertain.

“Heyy. Hey hey hey.” Vox lifted his face from your breasts, pulling your torso flush with his, his arms around you, his legs uncrossing. “I’ve got you.”

As before, his embrace was a comfort, and you found yourself pressing your body against his, your eyes squeezing shut. “There’s something inside me, it just twitched, it’s still-”

You felt Vox’s body tense against yours, and he tilted his screen to look at you, an error message flashing up that he hastily dismissed. “Sweetheart,” he said. “You, uh, you mean to tell me that you don’t know what an orgasm feels like?”

Your eyes snapped open, your core still throbbing. “That was an orgasm?”

“Well, uh, your heart rate spiked, and your pupils are dilated and your blood pressure is dropping now,” said Vox. “So yeah, seems likely.”

“I’ve never-” You sank against Vox, feeling weak.

“You’re making me feel like a real piece of shit, you know that?” Vox pressed his palm against your back, rubbing circles. “Your first orgasm and I didn’t even fuckin' kiss you first.”

“You could kiss me now,” you said, peering up at him, shy.

Vox gave a bark of laughter, a grin creeping back onto his face. “That a request, babydoll?”

His tongue in your mouth felt as good as you’d feared it might.

Click here to read the sequel

[featherandferns]

daylight - seven

jj maybank x fem!reader | part 7 of the daylight series | read part 6 here

content warnings: none

word count: 2.7k.

blurb: with JJ gone the next morning, you distract yourself with work and reunite with Barry at the garage. The next day, following a surf day at the beach, you find yourself worried that this thing with JJ may do more damage than it's worth.

Just as he had when the two of you fell asleep at the Chateau; JJ is gone in the morning. You’re groggy as you turn over in bed. Picking up your phone, you find a text from Mimsy. It’s a winking emoji accompanying a picture of her in a guy’s bed, with Darren’s sleeping back facing the camera. Laughing quietly, you text a reply requesting a debrief later. You open the Pogue group chat next and scroll through the typical banter-like chatter. Kiara mentions a surfing day soon and you reply, telling her tomorrow would be better than today.

You had a photography gig lined up today. A photoshoot of a new, hippie-style smoothie bar that had opened near Figure Eight by some trust-fund college graduate. They were willing to pay you a hundred for the pictures alone and another twenty-five if you edited them on their behalf. After that, you needed to edit the pictures from the Country Club gala since you got side-tracked last night.

With the mundanity of your morning routine, it’s hard to believe JJ had been around the night before. If it weren’t for the polaroid pictures which have your face light on fire (and are promptly stuffed at the bottom of your sock drawer), you’d think you might have hallucinated the whole thing. You’d be lying to say that you weren’t a little crestfallen to not find a text from JJ. 

It feels strange to drive your car after hitching so many lifts with JJ in the Twinkie. It’s when you’re halfway to the smoothie bar that your car makes a concerning, clunking noise. After the incident a couple months back, you’re ready for the thing to start steaming again. Thankfully, it doesn’t, but it prompts you to visit Barry’s garage after your photoshoot. 

Wandering into the garage, the smell of cigarettes hits you hard and strong. There’s old sixties rock playing through the speakers, the quality crackly, and you venture the isles looking for a worker. You end up poking your head into the main body-works section, rapping politely on the open door. 

“Hello? Anybody here?”

A man grunts and appears from behind a car. It’s Barry. He’s got an oil streak on his cheek and his sleeves are rolled up, revealing his fading tattoos. He eyes you up from across the room. 

“Do I know you?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m JJ’s friend? We came by here a few weeks back now,” you say, semi-awkward. Barry wags a finger at you as his memory jogs. 

“You’re the one with the busted radiator, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” you smile. “Listen, uh, it’s making a weird noise again and I don’t know squat about cars. I was wondering if you could give it a look? I’d be more than willing to pay, even for a glance over.”

Barry shoves his hands in his overall pockets and shrugs. “Course. JJ’s friend, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, anything for that kid,” Barry’s gruff voice says. He wanders over to you and follows you out to your car. Cracking open the bonnet, he talks as he inspects the engine. “You know, that kid’s pretty smart with these things, too. He’d make a hell of mechanic. You could’ve just asked him to check it over for you.”

“Oh. I mean, he checked it out when I broke down but I didn’t know he was that savvy with it,” you reply. 

“Hell yeah. Shame his dad’s such a bastard cause he’s got a hell of a mind for mechanics, too,” Barry chuckles, sounding almost sad as he does. “Poor kid got dealt a rough hand.”

“Yeah, uh, I get the sense he has a tricky relationship with his dad,” you tentatively say.

Barry spares you a glance. His eyes hold years of grief. “Don’t think his old man knows how lucky he is to have that kid around.”

Your mind darts back to the photo on the pinboard of his child. Smiling sympathetically, you nod. “He’s pretty special.”

“Damn straight,” Barry grunts in agreement. Then he continues inspecting your car in silence. 

You liked Kildare. The people were genuine and real. They looked out for each other on the Cut; offered a helping hand, generous with loans and handiwork. Sometimes it seemed quality of character was more important than money. You liked that way of thinking. Maybe if everyone took that line of thought onboard, the world could be a brighter place. 

“Well, I don’t see anything wrong,” Barry concludes, closing the bonnet. “Might’ve just been a screw or something shifting, or the brakes after going over a pothole. I wouldn’t stress.”

“Thanks,” you say. “I just thought it best to check it out.”

You reach into your pocket and pull out your wallet, fishing around for some dollar bills. Barry frowns at you and shakes his head. 

“You ain’t gotta do all that,” he says. 

“I insist,” you reply. “I mean, you’ve already helped me out for free before.”

“Nah, you’re good,” Barry returns. “Just leave us a good review or something. Could do with some more customers these days.”

You glance at the garage with that. It looks old and rickety, with dust stained windows and a tin roof. The font of the sign that lines the store is reminiscent of the seventies. You wouldn’t be surprised if it hadn’t been updated since then. 

“You know,” you say, looking back to him, “I do some photography. I’d be happy to pay you back by taking a few shots for some promo.”

He quirks a brow. “You any good?”

You dig out your camera from your bag and open the gallery, holding it out to him. Flicking through the shots of the smoothie bar, you let him take his time. His lips purse and brows raise, seemingly impressed. 

“These are pretty good. You sure you wouldn't mind?” he asks, handing it back. You smile and shake your head. 

“It’s the least I can do,” you reply. 

“Alright. You got yourself a deal. Come by whenever and we’ll get it sorted,” Barry returns, sticking out his hand for you to shake. You do so gladly. “What’s your name by the way?” 

You tell him. A sombre smile softens Barry’s wrinkled features. “That’s what we were gonna name my little girl.”

You’re not sure what to say and so you smile kindly at him. As you drive back home, you can’t help but feel as though you’ve made a friend. There’s the nagging feeling to tell JJ about it all but you don’t. Besides, he still hasn’t texted you since last night. 

The next day you go surfing. Walking up through the dunes, you find the Pogues on the beach dressed in swimsuits. Kiara is sitting on a towel, rubbing sunscreen into her leg, whilst the guys stand around talking. Their boards are scattered around them. Pope spots you first and waves. You wave back with your free hand, the other holding a White Claw. You’ve barely reached them before JJ’s hooking an arm over John B’s shoulder. 

“Hey, hey! Take a picture of us!” 

“She literally just got here,” Kiara scolds. 

Rolling your eyes, you entertain JJ. Fishing your camera out of your tote bag, you click it on, hold it up and take a mediocre shot. “Happy?”

“Yep,” JJ grins, letting John B free. 

Kiara stands up and grabs her board, dressed in leopard-print bikini bottoms and a plum-shaded bikini top. Before she can move, you blurt out for her to hold still and snap a sideways photo of her. 

“We didn’t just invite you here to be our personal photographer,” Pope assures you. 

Laughing, you ditch your tote bag on the towel. “I don’t mind. You guys take good photos.”

JJ wanders over to you, pinches your can of seltzer to have a swig, and looks out to the sea. “Waves look pretty decent today, right?”

“Hell yeah,” Kiara grins. Looking at you, she asks, “you joining?”

“I’m gonna take some shots first,” you smile. JJ passes you back your drink; you down it and place the can in the methodical ‘trashbag’ Kie brought. Ditching your shirt and shorts, you join the others to wander down to the waterfront, everyone talking over each other. John B and Pope wade out into the water with Kie, and then they start paddling deeper into the depths. JJ lingers beside you for a moment. 

“You sure you don’t wanna join?”

“I will in a minute,” you say. Lifting your camera, you add, “the lighting’s just really good today.”

“Alright,” he shrugs, walking into the waves. Looking back to you, he loudly adds, “you look hot in that bikini, by the way!”

You hide your fluster with an eye roll, waving him off into the water. A cheeky, knowing grin turns away from you as he paddles out, calling out to the others. As the sun beats down on the beach, you adjust the camera settings and focus on one friend at a time. Kiara dips in and out of the waves, curly hair flowing behind her, face set in focus. John B and Pope bend and lean, tightening their cores, the shadows of the rolling water enhancing the beauty to their form. Naturally, JJ is your favourite. Maybe it’s the smile on his face, brimming and bright, like he was born in the sea and destined to surf its waves. He makes it look easy. Rakes a hand through his hair from time to time, like he’s taking a leisurely stroll down the street. When he catches your camera on him, he points to you with a holler. You manage to snap a shot before he bails. The next one you get is of him, sinking into the aquamarine waves. You take that as your cue to ditch your camera with the rest of the belongings, snatch up your board and join them in the waves. JJ cheers you on as you pass him by, a little rusty in your technique. They were right: it was perfect weather for it. The water was tamer today than it had been in other sessions. Not as brutal in its churning of you when you bail off. 

Somehow, the five of you find yourself sat atop of your boards in a circle, chatting away as the sun dries your water-speckled bodies. 

“I think that’s it’s completely unjust,” Kie complains in her environmentalist spiel. She looks to you, “I mean, it’s–”

Her brows knit as she looks at something on your neck. 

“Is that a hickey?”

You glance down, lifting a finger to your skin, and realise that the shabby concealer work you’d done that morning had rubbed off on your t-shirt and washed away with the sea water. The picture of abashed, your eyes dart down to the water. 

“Uh…No.”

“Yes it is!” Kie grins. 

Pope paddles over and investigates it like a doctor might.

“Definitely not a rash or a burn.”

“I will push you off your board, Pope, I swear to God,” you grumble. He takes a wary paddle backwards. 

“Who the hell did that to you?” John B sniggers. 

Your eyes glance fleetingly to JJ, hopefully without the other’s notice. He’s sat watching it all unfold with a proud, shit-eating grin. Asshole. 

“Nobody.”

“So you’re saying it’s a phantom hickey?” Pope jokes in his bizarre Pope way. You push him off his board with that. He crashes into the water as the others laugh. Through their laughter, you overhear Kie talking to JJ. 

“Why do you look so smug?” 

“We should probably head back to shore,” you announce, “me and JJ gotta start heading to work soon.”

Turning away, you start paddling back to shore before anybody can argue. Never much to dwell, the group happily abandons their line of questioning and follow. On land, you dry off and dress. John B and Pope start battling over a bag of chips and Kiara has taken off collecting stray pieces of litter along the beach. JJ wanders up to you and pinches your butt. Spinning around, you glare at him. 

“Thanks for your help back there,” you say lowly. 

JJ shrugs, grinning, “fun watching you squirm.”

You swat his leg with your towel and he cusses with a laugh, hopping away from you. “Dry off. We got work in fifteen.”

JJ mimics you in a high-pitched echo but does as you say, rubbing himself dry of salt water. The five of you share the load as you walk back to the Twinkie. JJ drives, dropping the others at the Chateau before taking the both of you to the Country Club.

“Our deal still on?” JJ asks you. 

“Hell yeah. Get ready to pay up,” you grin. 

The two of you had made a bet the other day, about who would hear the phrase “excuse me” more. You debate  bringing up the other night, as the two of you ride to work, but you pull up to the country club before you have a chance to muster-up the courage. 

Venturing into the staff room, you and JJ open your respective lockers and begin to change into your uniforms. 

“Listen, I hear it way more than you do,” you say to JJ, referring back to the ‘excuse me’ battle,  as you pull on your blouse. “‘Excuse me, miss, can you take a picture of me and my family?’ ‘Excuse me miss, can you get one of me and my wife?’”

“Oh, come off it,” JJ sniggers. “ ‘Excuse me sir, get me one of those shrimp cocktails.’ ‘Excuse me sir, I need a refill.’”

“Your customers sound a lot less polite than mine,” you snort. 

“Tell me about it,” he grumbles. He tugs his shirt off and you watch the muscles of his back ripple. As JJ buttons up his work shirt, he turns to you and smirks. “You might wanna cover that up.”

You glance down to once more find your hickey poking out. Buttoning up your blouse, you shoot him a half-amused glare. “Next time can you put it in an easier to hide place?”

“Nah,” JJ leers, clearing the distance between you. His fingers reach out to brush at your collarbone. “You have a spot right here that makes you squirm.”

The intensity of his unwavering stare traps you in place like you’re under Medusa’s watch. Someone walks into the staff changing room - Larry, from the kitchen - and JJ takes a step away from you, turning back to his bag.

“Hey man,” he nods to Larry. 

“Yo.”

And just like that he goes about getting ready as if he hardly knows you. Sends you a cordial smile and nod as he departs, with a fleeting “see you later”.

It shouldn’t sting as much as it does. And maybe it wouldn’t, if it weren’t for Tyler. If it weren’t for how screamingly familiar it felt to how you spent six months of your life in Vancouver.

That softness in JJ’s eyes, hidden behind laughter and rambunctious shenanigans and even anger, at times, reminds you of Tyler. Brings back that girlish thought: that all girls want a guy to look at them like that, and only them. Have that gentleness saved just for you. It reminds you of how you felt with your ex. How he used to be different around you in an inexplicable way. Soft, kind, vulnerable. Real. He’d hold you and spin you around, and make you feel safe and special, until you realise that it only happened when he was with just you. That around everyone else, even your friends, he was distant and distracted. He wouldn’t hold your hand. Wouldn’t kiss your lips, let alone your cheek. Leave you to fend for yourself in conversations, like treading water in the sea, whilst he and his family sat, relaxing on a yacht only feet away. Relied on the excuse ‘I was going to…’ and became a master at apologising. Slowly, with time, it stopped feeling like a privilege to know only that side of him when nobody was looking. Instead, it began to feel like a curse. And JJ, with his smug silence at the beach and passivity in the changing room, you were worried that you might be retracing your steps.

That thought leaves a bad taste in your mouth from the moment you leave the changing rooms, and it lingers like stale coffee on your tongue long after the end of your shift. 

read part eight here!

taglist:

@princessuki21 | @psyches-reid | @heybank | @avengersgirllorianna | @rrosiitas | @yourmumstoy | @jjsfavgirl | @void21 | @fictionalcomforts | @gsp420 | @redhead1180 | @wearemadeofstardust0 | @mrs-jjmaybank | @ifilwtmfc | @heybank | @lilyw1235 | @belle101200

[gibsongirled]

hii.. I'm new here, but I wanna request a Jschlatt fic!! Maybe the reader gets uncomfortable by a guy at the subway or somewhere and calls Jschlatt, and he comes to get her when he hears she's really anxious?? :-)

Take your time with it and whatnot :D, thx!!

SUBWAY !!

description: people at subway stations were definitely something.

a/n: this is a bit short, but i hope you like it !!

Ah, New York City. Probably the distant cousin of Texas and Florida.

The pizza rats and the mobs of buskers wearing knockoff costumes of beloved cartoon characters that’d swarm unsuspecting tourists for pictures and tips. That was probably the epitome of New York City in a nutshell.

You moved from LA to The Big Apple last year. Living in New York in your twenties was something that younger you had dreamed of.

You grew up watching Friends because your mother thought it was the best show in the world and you tried to stomach that as much as you could before the laugh tracks started to sound grating to your ears, but the idea and aesthetic of living in The Big Apple seemed appealing to your young and naive mind. Now actually living in it, you had half a mind to sock your younger self in the face and scream: “Do not move!”, because New York was nothing like how Friends portrayed it to be - okay, maybe you related to the theme song more than you’d like to admit.

To be fair, New York was like LA - nothing really changed in your move, the latter just ranked semi low on the insane scale of places to live in. Influencers flock to sunny Los Angeles for its overpriced stores like Erewhon. You might have shed some tears when you wanted to try a smoothie from them and found out about the price - with Schlatt cackling maniacally while you were trying to defend your choices, you were glad to move out after that.

“I’m gonna be a little late,” you said into your phone that was wedged between your shoulder and face. You stepped off the platform and onto the relatively empty subway car with its doors closing behind you, quickly finding a place to sit. “I picked up dinner from that place - yeah, turns out they didn’t shut down. There was a raid or some shit, I dunno, man.”

Schlatt said something on the other line that made you roll your eyes and laugh under your breath. “Hey, they have amazing egg rolls. I will not accept slander on their name.”

“I’ll call you back,” you hung up, cutting off whatever retort Schlatt was cooking up when you noticed a man, who was sitting on the opposite side of you. He started an unprompted conversation with you, making you nod with an awkward smile on your face. Two more stops before you’re home.

“You’re pretty,” he piped up.

You made a face, clutching your phone. “Uh, thanks…”

You cut the conversation off by going on your phone, causing the guy to let out a scoff as you kept your attention on your phone. You texted Schlatt, telling him about the weird guy and to pick you up from your stop if he wasn’t super busy.

You: super weird guy on the subway You: meet me at my stop? You: i’m like t-minus one stop away Schlart: Yeah, sure Schlart: Will be waiting

You sent a smiling emoji back. Your stop was coming up so you stood up from your seat, walking near the doors for a quick exit. Surprisingly, the man didn’t follow you - he didn’t even look at you now - and you let out a deep breath. Usually, those types of encounters didn’t happen to you, but that was also because Schlatt was like a guard dog each time the two of you went anywhere.

The doors opened and you stepped out, a few other people walking in different directions behind you. You saw Schlatt quickly walking down the steps, pushing past some strangers. “Hey!” You waved at him, holding up the takeout bag.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, handing him the bag. Schlatt took it, leading you out of the subway station with a hand on your shoulder as you talked his ear off about random things.

[lumosinlove]

On The Line

Part Four

ONE YEAR LATER

Logan went through his usual routine—well, his new usual routine as he was preparing for a tournament. The U.S. Open was quickly approaching, but he still had time. Weeks. Even after two years his life still felt new. What had once been yanking himself out of bed for a protein shake and a run was now pushing into Finn’s side while he fried a few eggs and burrowing into the warm crook of his neck.

“Mm,” Finn said around the piece of watermelon he was chewing. He wrapped an arm around Logan’s waist, hand giving his butt three hard taps. With the other, he flipped the sizzling eggs then turned to press his lips to Logan’s forehead. “Do we still have blueberries?”

“Ouais—smoothie?”

“Yeah. Wait, there was mint in the garden, that’ll be good in it. And I bought that yogurt you like.”

Logan tilted his head up and Finn smiled.

“Hi, gorgeous, hi,” he whispered, and then kissed him. “Go get me my mint.”

Logan stepped out into the morning. He nodded to Alice and Pete, whose team helped manage his courts and house while he was away. They hadn’t seemed very surprised when Logan first brought Finn home and Finn had just…never left. They’d seemed happily surprised when Finn consulted them about planting an herb garden.

It was barely eight in the morning and it already felt like it was nearing eighty degrees. It was going to be a hot practice. Logan found the patch labeled mint in Finn’s slanted handwriting and picked a few stems.

The kitchen window opened behind him and Finn shouted out, “chives!”

Logan smiled and reached for those, too. He took his phone out and snapped a photo, sending it off with a little swooping sound. A moment later, a reply arrived under the banner of Leo Knut’s name.

I’m very impressed!!!

:), Logan typed back. what are you up to where are you now

Logan waited for a reply, but none came. He must have been busy and Logan went back into the kitchen to Finn.

Logan wasn’t sure how it had happened, or even exactly when. Sometime after the Wimbledon ball—Finn called it the Wimbledon dance—Leo Knut had slowly but surely become their friend. He ate with them at most meals during tournaments. He came out to dinner with them sometimes, when he wasn’t eating with his team—who seemed nice enough, if not a little strict. Finn always rolled his eyes when Logan said that. We can’t all have a two-for-one boyfriend, Tremblay.

They texted when they were apart in a group chat that had somehow acquired the name Loginn & Leo that made Logan smile every time he saw it. Finn and him went back and forth constantly about books and TV shows. Logan mostly just listened and read through their conversations, but he liked talking to Leo about his cooking the most. He enjoyed hearting the pictures of delicious meals he made. Him and Finn tried to recreate some of them with Leo instructing them over FaceTime, but Logan had a feeling it would never taste the same unless it was made by Leo’s hand.

Tennis was carefully avoided. Maybe out of respect, or out of balance, Logan didn’t know. But he was almost glad. It kept Leo as a friend. It kept their minds off the court when they didn’t need to be there.

They ate their breakfast on the back porch that overlooked the pool and Logan had half a mind to forget training and lay here all day with Finn. The pool’s surface was still and gleaming in the morning light, the fan above them rotated slowly for a gentle breeze, and Logan had his feet in Finn’s lap. Finn was idly rubbing Logan’s ankle with one hand and eating with the other. Logan knew he’d be a mess of sweat and sore muscles later, so he pushed his toes into Finn’s thigh for more attention.

Finn pushed against a particularly sore spot in Logan’s arch and grinned at Logan’s noise. “Gonna run you so hard today, get ready.”

Logan popped his last bite of toast into his mouth. “Can you please not say it like that?”

“What?”

“It sounds like I’m going to do other things than run, and I know that I’m not.”

“Hm,” Finn took a sip of his iced coffee, obviously hiding a smile. “Maybe you better work really hard, then.”

Three hours later, Logan was flat on his back on the clay of his personal court. He closed his eyes, chest heaving, and enjoyed the dusty-scratch feeling of the clay on his skin.

A shadow fell over him. Finn had been inside the house, taking some calls while Logan did sprints. When Logan opened his eyes, Finn looked the picture of cool and unruffled. He held out a water bottle, and when Logan took a sip, he was pleased to find the water ice cold and slightly lemony.

“I think I found someone for you to hit with,” Finn said. “He’s hoping to get in some good time on the clay and, oh look,” Finn spread his hands. “Clay, right here in the USA.”

Logan opened his eyes again questioningly. “What?”

“I found someone for you to hit with.”

Logan propped himself up on an elbow, confused. “I hit with you.”

“I know, I know. What, you don’t even want to know who?”

Logan took another sip of water, swishing it around in his mouth. “Who?”

“Leo.”

Logan smiled, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Leo’s here?”

“Ooh-way.”

“He didn’t say.”

“You spoke to him?”

“I sent him garden pictures and asked but he didn’t respond.”

“Maybe because he was flying.”

“Leo doesn’t have to be flying not to answer my messages.”

“No, I’m saying I have his flight number, he was flying.”

Logan raised his eyebrows. “You tracked his flight?”

Finn shrugged. “I like to know where people are. I used to track your flights all the time. Before I was on all of them.”

Something about that made Finn’s words begin to set in. Playing Leo was one thing. Being his friend on tour, texting, FaceTiming, trying to learn to cook from him. But training with him…

“Well…Là.” Logan shook his head. “He’d get to know me too well. My game. He’s so good, it’s—”

“You’d get to know his, too,” Finn said. “And he’s gonna be around for a while. The rest of your career, certainly. He’s too good not to be.”

Logan hesitated. He picked up his hat from where it had been knocked to the ground and pressed it between his hands.

“We avoid tennis,” Logan said. “I don’t…I don’t want it to come between us.”

Finn sighed and knelt down on his good knee, right between where Logan’s were splayed. “Look, Lo. Bottom line, I can’t run you around like you need. My knee won’t have it. And I don’t need someone to just lob balls at you. I don’t need you to whip some half-ass hitter’s butt. We need someone who will push your every boundary. Who will put you to the test—especially on clay. It’s your home, it’s where you dominate. It’s where people are the most scared of you and I’m gonna keep it that way. Also, Leo’s a beast on hard court and you could learn a few things.” Logan narrowed his eyes and Finn smiled. “I’m telling you this as a kindness, boyfriend and coach.”

Before he knelt on his bad knee, he’d stretched his hands out on either side of Logan and slowly lay him down on the hot court. Logan smiled as he lay his head back. His entire back through his t-shirt was warm and Finn’s chest felt warmer.

“Is that a yes?” Finn bent to kiss Logan’s neck. He was soaked in sweat but Finn didn’t seem to care.

Finn pulled back to look at him. “He’s coming at noon tomorrow.” He pushed himself up on his hands, straightening his arms and blocking out the sun just enough so that Logan could open his eyes and see his red hair get turned to bronze by the halo of rays. They looked at each other for a moment, until Finn laughed, soft and closed-lips, and couldn’t help himself anymore. He let himself back down and kissed Logan in the sunshine.

“Yes?” Finn asked again, bumping their noses together. “Yes. Yes, yes?”

Logan hooked his arms under Finn’s and hauled him fully down. “What if we can’t turn it off again?”

Finn frowned, but allowed himself to rest against Logan. “What does that mean?”

Logan let his head rest fully in the clay. It would be all in his hair turn the shower tiles rusty later when he scrubbed it out—or when Finn did, hopefully.

“What if…” Logan sighed. “What if once we train together, we’re always competitors and we can’t be friends again?”

“Did you feel any less my friend when you played me?”

God, that was something he hadn’t thought of for a while. Finn, across the court from him. Trying to beat Finn. Well, usually beating Finn. And Finn sticking his tongue out at him when he thought the cameras weren’t looking—the cameras were always looking.

Finn read his mind like that.

“Cause for me, you know what happened to me when I played you?” Finn asked.

“You fell in love with me?”

Finn feigned a gasp. “How did you know?” He grinned as he kissed Logan again. “So, don’t worry about Leo. He’s not petty. He’s not stupid. He’s your friend. He knows what comes with your jobs. And he wants to train with you anyway.” Finn tilted his head. “Some would call that wanting to spend time with your friends, too.”

“It’s hard work.”

“Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.”

Logan tightened his arms around Finn. “Ouais, well, I’ve been asking you to do that all day.”

“Oh-ho.” Finn’s laugh was delighted and he ducked his face down against Logan’s neck. “Shut up.”

Logan hooked his foot around Finn’s waist and rolled them over until he’d pinned him against the soft clay. His hands left reddish smudges of Finn’s cheeks when he took his face to kiss him again.

“Mm,” Finn mumbled contentedly. He pushed his hands up under Logan’s shirt.

“Allez,” Logan whispered, biting down gently on Finn’s lip. “I want to do what I love.”

“Leo,” Finn said, the name cutting off in a gasp as Logan pressed his hips against him. “Tomorrow. Noon.”

“Yes,” Logan said. He nosed against Finn’s jaw until he got Finn to tilt his head back so he could get at his pale neck. “Yes…”

~

Logan felt restless the next morning. He was out at dawn, running the familiar path near his property, Finn biking beside him. They stopped in a shady spot where a food truck served breakfast sandwiches and iced coffee.

“We should take Leo here,” Finn said around a mouthful. “He’d fucking love this sauce that is burning my mouth off right now.” Finn swallowed and stuck his tongue out, panting. “Ack. It’s delicious just man-oh-man.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“You just took out an entire potato because it was covered in it.”

“Fuck off,” Logan said, and slouched further with his back to Finn’s chest.

They rode back and showered. Finn laughed a bit at the fact that Logan never seemed to not have a bit of clay in his hair or behind his ears.

The restlessness didn’t ease up.

As they waited for Leo to text that he had landed, Logan walked laps around the living room couch where Finn was reading. One circle. Two. Three. Four. He paused and came back with a handful of popcorn. Five. Six. Finn looked good reading. Glasses resting on his nose, casting faint speckled shadows among his many freckles. Seven. Eight. Nine. Logan kissed the top of his head before coming back around to look at his face again. Ten. Eleven.

“Lo…” Finn said his name all drawn out without looking away from his pages.

“He really asked to come?” Logan asked. “You didn’t ask him?”

Finn turned a page. “He asked me.”

“You should be careful what strategies you use when he’s here. Who knows what he’ll say to his own—”

“Logan,” Finn laughed. He rubbed at his eyes beneath his lenses before taking his glasses off. “You think I don’t have a plan for that sort of thing?”

Logan paused. He worried a popcorn kernel in his teeth. “I don’t want to have to whisper in front of him.”

“We won’t. You know us. A lot of the time, we don’t need words.” Finn let his book rest against his chest. “Listen to me. Will he learn some things about us? Yes. Will we learn some things about him? Yes. But that’s not the point. The point is you’ll get even better than you are because you won’t be worried about hurting me, and it won’t be easy for you.”

“What if I have to use something new against him in a match?” Logan said. “Something I learn now. Here.” Logan sank into the cushions at Finn’s waist and Finn set his book and glasses on the table so he could grab Logan’s hips and haul him into his lap. Logan put his palm flat on Finn’s chest. “What if he hates me for it later? Even without meaning to.”

“Do you wish I’d told him he couldn’t come?”

“Non,” Logan said. “I just…”

“He’s not going to hate you. “This is the game. It’s the game. And you’re both part of it. He’s not going to hate you.” Finn shook his head, tapping playful fingers against Logan’s cheek. “Get out of your head, pretty little green eyes.”

Logan sighed. “Do you think we have food he likes?”

Finn tisked, but pulled Logan forward to kiss his forehead. “Yes, you sweetheart. God, do I tell you I love you enough?”

“Those chips,” Logan said, sitting up a bit. “Those spicy chips that he packs in his suitcase—”

“Ordered them,” Finn said. “But, Lo, he probably rented a house that he can fill up however he likes.”

“But he’ll be over here. On my courts.”

Logan got a little warm all over, picturing Leo out there. Walking past his pool. Maybe he’d even man the grill that didn’t get nearly enough use. He’d bring his long, lean limbs and sit on this sofa and…

Logan could still feel the touch of his hand on his lower back. We’re just dancing, Logan.

Finn’s phone began to ring from inside his pocket, making Logan jump from his place on his lap. He tried to think what Finn would say and it came easily. “Happy to see me, or something?”

Finn snorted and tapped his hip to tell him to move. “He’s landed.”

~

It was just as good as Logan imagined it would be. Leo had hugged him tightly the second he walked through their door. He’d hugged Finn tightly, too. Logan liked the way Leo had to stoop a little even to hug Finn. He liked the way Finn’s hand were firm on Leo’s back, just like they were on Logan’s after a win or loss. Finn sat Leo down outside on the patio by the pool and Logan trailed after, watching them. Finn offered food and drink, Leo chose a Cola, and Finn brought it to him on ice with a red and white paper straw because he was Finn and this was Leo and Logan didn’t know why it felt so very important that Leo was here but it did. It really did.

“The plane was fine,” Leo was saying. “And the city’s nice, but it’s gorgeous out here, though. You guys got a spot.”

“Yeah,” Finn said. “Lo picked well. Where did you rent?”

Logan perched on the edge of the chair Leo had chosen. He sort of wanted to look at him while he was distracted by Finn. He already looked sun-golden and relaxed. He had that blue shirt on and his hair was shorter just now. The gray tuft looked like it had gotten sun, too. Logan still hadn’t asked him about that.

“Hm? Oh, I didn’t rent. I got a room at the Lion Hotel.”

“Non, non, non,” Logan said at the same time as Finn made a protesting sound.

“You’ll stay with us, then,” Finn said. “Leo. C’mon.”

Leo hesitated, sipping his drink. “It’s a nice hotel.”

“Non,” Logan said again. “You’ll just have to drive here everyday anyway.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude, or…” Leo’s eyes went between the two of them. “Really?”

“What are we supposed to do,” Finn said. “FaceTime you to help us cook dinner while you’re in the same city?” He smiled. “No, really, though. We’d…” He looked at Logan. “We would love to have you here with us.”

“Why didn’t you say you were coming? When I texted you the garden.” Logan realized he had almost started touching Leo’s hair—a habit with Finn—and pressed his palms to his thighs instead.

Leo tilted his head back to smile up at him. “Because you would have told me that we’d get to know each other’s games too well and that we shouldn’t.”

Finn let out a laugh from his chair across from them and crossed his socked feet on the table. “Oh, would he now, Leo? Do you hear that, Lo?”

Leo placed his straw between his teeth as he smiled. “Did I get it right or word for word?”

“Word, for, fucking, word,” Finn said pointedly. “Sprinkle in some worry that we won’t have any food you like.”

“Finn,” Logan hushed, and Leo laughed. He put a hand over Logan’s.

“You’re sweet.” Leo looked at Finn. “You’re both sweet. But yeah, I figured I’d go straight to Finn.”

Finn stuck his tongue out at Logan. “He knows I know I good idea when I see one.”

“Well, you took this one on, didn’t you?” Leo squeezed Logan’s hand before letting go. Logan wished he had turned his palm up into it.

Finn’s brown eyes darted between the two of them. He was biting his lip against a smile and messing with the condensation droplets around his soda. “I did.”

“I guess I’ll have to go get my things sometime tonight,” Leo said.

Finn waved a hand at the setting sun. “Do it tomorrow. We probably have everything you need here.”

“Ouais,” Logan said. “And you have, like, six rooms to choose from.”

“Oh yeah,” Finn said. “Do you want the tour?” He rolled his eyes at himself and put his glass down. “I say like it’s my house.”

“It is your house,” Logan said. “Like, this is your house, I am your house.”

Leo laughed as they went back inside. “Yeah, Finn, he’s your house.”

“You know what I meant.”

Leo swung an arm around Logan. “Do we?”

Logan gave him a shove, but not hard enough to dislodge his arm.

They took him through the house first and Leo put his phone down in the bedroom beside the master, so Logan figured that’s the room he wanted. It was the one Noelle chose whenever she visited. They went to the theater room, the basement that had a lower deck and a pool table. It was a lot of impressive stuff, but Leo seemed to appreciate the kitchen the most.

“Oh.”

Logan tucked his hand into Finn’s as Leo turned around in a slow circle, taking in the large kitchen. Finn squeezed.

“I bet y’all hardly use this beauty,” Leo said, brushing a hand against the stove.

“I’ll have you know I make eggs there every morning,” Finn said.

“Where’s your private chef at?” Leo arched a brow.

“She has the day off,” Logan said.

Finn scoffed. “I was about to tell a joke!”

Logan shrugged. “She does.” He looked at Leo. “But don’t worry she left a lot of prepped things in the fridge, so we’re good for dinner.”

Finn coughed jokingly over the words Leo’s risotto.

Leo smiled at him. “I’m happy to make you that, it’s one of my favorites.”

“Non, we wouldn’t invite you and then put you to work,” Logan said.

“Oh?” Leo walked back towards them, around the kitchen island. “I’m not here to work?”

There Logan went again, cheeks flaming. Finn squeezed his hand harder.

“Do you want to see the courts?” Logan asked hoarsely.

He squeezed Finn’s hand back.

~

A week went by in a flash. It felt like that first week with Finn, when he had grabbed Logan by both hands and yanked him out of the lonesome dark. It felt old as time, and brand new. Logan’s heart pounded, his laughs tumbled, and yet he’d never been calmer. Never more at ease. He’d never trained harder in his life, either. Finn on the sidelines, demanding more, more, more. Leo standing opposite him on clay, on hard court, in sun, in shade, in the night lights, demanding more, more, more. And Logan wanted to give. It filled Logan right up to give it to them.

He’d never felt stronger. He’d never played better. He’d never slept better, Finn cradling him, tightly pressed all along his back. He’d never eaten better, Leo’s delicious handiwork, Finn mixing him a drink, Logan helping him chop and prepare. Card games. Movies. And the laughter. Logan would live and swear by their laughter.

He was standing behind the outdoor bar by the pool and Finn and Leo were in the shallow end with a water set of paddle tennis. Watching them, listening to the tic tac of the light ball…Logan had never wanted to see two people play more. Really play. He’d give anything to match Finn’s grace with Leo’s lighthearted strides on a court in front of an audience. Anything at all.

“Did you just topspin this fucking ball?” Leo laughed. He was wearing sunglasses and his hair was darkened and slicked back by the water. “How the fuck did you do that?”

“I did use to play professionally!” Finn fired back.

“Honey, I had your poster on my wall—I know!”

Logan dropped the ice cubes he was holding and the clattered down to the floor in every direction.

“Oh did you now?”

Logan smiled to himself as he stooped to pick up the ice. He’d told Finn that and Finn knew it. They still smiled about it sometimes after spending a day with Leo in whatever city the three of them were lucky enough to be in.

And that one night. Staring up at a dark ceiling with Finn, just the two of them. Finn had asked what had felt, at the time, like a daring sort of question. Do you think he ever wished he could be with one of us? And, who do you think he liked better? Probably you. You always played better.

Logan had had so many words in his head that he could only get out a few. But he plays more like you.

~

Logan and Finn stared up at their dark bedroom ceiling on the tenth day. The next tournament was fast approaching. U.S. Open. Not far to travel. Hard court. Leo’s surface. But for now it was quiet. Leo in the next room.

This might’ve be Logan’s favorite part of life, actually. Though it was so hard to choose. But this. Finn’s head resting against his chest, nudging into Logan’s fingers through his hair while Finn said anything and everything that came into his mind…This had to be in his top three.

“You’re drop shots are stronger,” Finn mumbled. His fingers were, maybe without him fully realizing it, leaving goosebumps across Logan’s chest and stomach in the trail of his fingertips. “You have more control, it’s really good. It’s like Leo’s.”

“I think so, too,” Logan said.

“You’re the strongest you’ve been.” Finn pressed his palm over Logan’s core. “Here.”

“Leo’s hard to play over and over.”

“It’s beautiful to watch.”

Logan turned his head to run his lips along Finn’s forehead. “I like it when you watch.”

Finn smiled, turning his face into Logan’s chest. “Lo.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you get the sense…” Finn began. “That…Hm.”

“Hm?” Logan reached down and pulled Finn’s thigh further across his hips, smoothing a palm under the hem of his shorts.

“Do you get the sense that Leo…” He was whispering.

Leo, in the next room.

The sense. Logan’s fingers pressed into the muscle of Finn’s thigh, trailing down towards the bend of his knee.

Finn adjusted so he was looking down at Logan. He reached up and brushed a thumb against his eyelashes, then under his eye, then over his full bottom lip.

“You know that I’m yours,” Finn whispered.

Logan gave a small nod.

“And you’re mine.”

“Toujours.”

“If I were to say to you,” Finn whispered. “That I want to watch Leo kiss just…” He bent, aiming for his favorite soft part under Logan’s jaw, the part that spent more time pink from Finn’s teeth than not. “Here…As much as I want to kiss it myself…”

Logan drew in a slow breath, calming himself with the feeling of Finn’s hair slipping through his fingers. “Remember our Wimbledon dance? Leo and I.”

“God. Of course I do.”

“There’s this…feeling.” Logan cleared his throat a little, heat rising through his core. “With you. When you’re…” Logan squeezed his eyes closed and laughed. “Ugh, stop looking at me like that.”

Finn was grinning, eyebrows raised.

“Tell me,” Finn said, then dropped to a whisper again. “Tell me.”

Logan covered his eyes with a hand. “Non, c’est—embarrassed.”

“Hey, hey, c’mere…” Finn whispered, then took one of Logan’s wrists, then the other, and held them above his head. “When I’m what?”

“You know.” Logan’s hands flexed in Finn’s grip and—there it was. Light. The ball on his racket. Finn kissing him in velvet curtains. Finn gripping him in a hug so tight after a win that it took his breath away. Leo’s hand under his jacket. Finn’s gentle fingers massaging his sore ankles after a long day. Finn winning at cards. Leo winning at cards. Their faces when Logan won at cards, so so beautifully competitive, all of them. Finn’s head on his chest and dark ceilings. Leo pushing his head under the water in the pool, then pulling him back up again to breathe and laugh. Leo falling asleep against his shoulder half way through a movie.

“I do.” Finn had been watching him quietly. Brown eyes. Chocolate. Sugared espresso. Sweet. “I do know…”

You know what I’d choose? You. You. You.

“Leo, too,” Logan said. “Dancing…Laughing together these weeks. Leo, too.”

“Look at what this talk got you all like…” Finn whispered as he kissed Logan’s hot cheeks. “Look at you.”

Logan let out a short breath, hands tightening and loosening in air. He felt like he’d burn up if he didn’t get a grip on something, but Finn’s body pinned him.

“Settle down, I got you.” He captured Logan’s next sound in a kiss. “This? You want Leo doing this?”

“Shh,” Logan said, but his eyes slipped closed. He felt heavy. And light. “If he hears you he’ll think we’re—we’re weird or something.”

“Oh baby,” Finn whistled low, giving his head a slow shake. “I think weird will be the last word on his mind.”

“How do you know?” Logan worried.

“How many hours do you think I’ve spent watching the two of you play each other?” Finn kissed his jaw, his ear, his temple. “You think I don’t know how he looks at you?”

“How?” Logan swallowed a desperate sound. “How, how?”

“The way I look at you.” Finn’s mouth dragged along his cheek, back to his. “You think I don’t know how you look at him?”

Logan’s fists clenched in Finn’s hold and Finn let him go so they could tumble onto their sides with Logan’s arms around his waist.

Finn smiled. “It’s how you look at me.”

[buckyalpine]

Here is a list of things that make me mad in no particular order. Angry ranting. Pls ignore this, I'm just screaming into the void. These example apply to very specific situations I've encountered with people who are perfectly capable of doing better.

People who lack common sense. Social awareness. Common courtesy. Saying "Oh my God, I'd never do that" when they've never been even close to said situation but they're now experts on how they'd act while sitting on their pristine Thoroughbred horse, sipping on English tea with their pink so high it may as well be in their nose.

People who say "Well I wouldn't care if it happened to me" or "I'm just being honest" when you point out something they did/said.

When autocorrect/spellcheck decides it cannot for the life of it figure out what you're trying to spell OR it gives you suggestions for every word under the sun except the one you want. All you did was leave out a single letter with the rest of it spelled perfectly and spellcheck decides to go into a coma. So you fix the mistake and the little squiggly red line goes away. Fuck you.

Gnats. WTF is you're problem. I've Googled this shit cause I want to know why tf you can't just fly straight, why do you have to buzz all over the damn place near my head of all places.

Flies. Same thing as above. Why tf can't you just fly straight. WHY NEAR MY EAR. You have the entire world and you decided my room is the place to be? And now we're both miserable because you keep hitting yourself against the window after noticing your grave mistake. I leave the door wide open but you want to keep body slamming the glass.

Giving me life advice on something you know nothing about.

People who don't love their pets. Yeah, you take care of them but you do it as a chore and then complain about it. Those little fur babies deserve it all, give them the best or don't have pets at all.

Holier than thou attitude.

People who laugh at those who are visibly upset and tell them they're being too sensitive.

Allergies. IDK Why tf my body acts surprised as hell every single spring. It's just fucking pollen. Why are you trying to fight it. Do you understand that in your brilliant plan to try and fight the little evaders you actually make me want to end it all because my nose is itching and my eyes are watering and I can't breathe. Food allergies are another level of bullshit. I'll never forget the day this one girl tells me she wished she had allergies? Like it makes you special, mf what??? She was being serious too.

Thin, straight, fine black hair. Can't do anything with it. It doesn't hold hairstyles, doesn't curly, gets heavy as soon as you use any product and 90% of the time it just looks like Snape cosplay. Ask me how I know

Parents who buy their very young children shoes with laces. This is inconvenient for all of us. why tf would you do this when Velcro exists. Your 4 year old doesn't need laces when they have no clue how to even eat cheese with their crackers, mf why did you buy this shoe for them?!

Bananas. Hate them with a burning passion. The smell. The texture. I hate the peel is left out and about like it isn't making the entire room smell. Don't even get me started on banana breath. (Keep in mind this is not me saying I think they're gross. I wish I liked them because they're a super convenient snack and very healthy)

People who lie and say you can't taste the banana in a smoothie. Yes, I can. You always can. You can have 1000lbs of any fruits and that single banana will still stand out.

People who don't understand mental illness/ act ignorantly to those suffering.

Big companies who ask you to donate to stuff. You're going to use this as a tax write off, stfu.

Inflation.

People who laugh at others for not knowing something. Maybe that thing had 0 relevance to their life. Maybe they learned about that because they were taught something else. Either way, how is it funny.

People who laugh at those learning a new language. You're the fucking worst. They are LEARNING. Let them get used to the pronunciation, let them get accustomed to sentence structures, let them make mistakes without being embarrassed. You're the embarrassing one cackling you're damn ass off while they're trying to do something new. You're discouraging them from wanting to continue because you feel the need to be an asshole.

People who make everything a serious debate/conversation.

People who steal. Not out of necessity but just because they can. I'll never forget overhearing this group of kids in my high school bragging and laughing their asses off over how much candy they stole from other kids. They also stole phones. These were not troubled kids mind you, they were doing this for shits and giggles.

Eczema. So fucking itchy, why can't skin just act right. It feels awful, looks awful and just comes and goes as it pleases.

People who clown you for who you find attractive. Why. If I find this person attractive, what in the ever loving flying fuck does it have to do with you. It's just so unnecessarily rude. I don't even get how its funny or why you find it okay to call someone ugly as if this is something they personally have control over.

I'm going to add more to this list.

[nhlclover]

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍' 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 | 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐖 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐒

summary: the morning after with your boyfriend

warnings: some semi-nsfw content, sexual themes, mentions of sex

note: this became a lot more sexual than i intended lol but i actually love this one and i love him.

word count: 0.7k

There wasn’t anything much better than waking up in the same bed as my boyfriend. Our work schedules often conflicted, with me working long and odd hours and him being out of town so often, so we jumped at the rare opportunities we could spend with one another. Following the Leafs' win last night, we wasted no time in getting back to Matthew's apartment, our clothing being discarded not long after the front door had shut.

When I awoke in the morning, I was tangled in Matthew’s cotton sheets. I reached around for him, but only felt the mattress. I opened my eyes, finding him on the other side of the bed. Matthew was lying on his stomach, one arm draped over the edge of the bed. The morning sun beamed through the windows in his condo that he refused to buy curtains for because “we’re so high up no one can see us anyways”. The sun hit his unclothed back, making his skin seem a shade of pure gold.

I leaned over, tracing his toned back softly with my nails. He didn’t even stir. The idea popped into my head quickly, sliding out from under the sheets, grabbing Matthew’s shirt from atop the dresser that I had removed and flung across the room last night. I slipped out of the room, softly shutting the door behind me.

I went to the kitchen, pulling out the frying pan and pancake mix from the cabinet. I scavenged his pantry and fridge for toppings to add to the pancakes. He had chocolate chips but little fruit so I had to improvise by using frozen fruit typically used for smoothies. I mixed together the batter, decorating each individual pancake with some toppings.

“Is that my shirt?”

I jumped at the sound of Matthew's morning voice coming from behind me. I turned around, seeing him leaning against the counter. He now donned a pair of loose-fitting boxers that hung low on his hips, exposing his v-line and happy trail that I remembered tracing the night before.

“First item of clothing I saw.” I shrugged, turning back around and flipping the pancake in the pan. “Somebody tore my shit off when we were in the living room.”

Matthew looked to the couch where, in fact, my white jeans and the Knies Maple Leafs jersey sat discarded. He chuckles, his laugh coming out gravely. I hear his bare feet padding across the floor, getting closer to me until I feel his arms rope around my waist, pressing soft kisses into my jaw. I tilt my head away, giving him better access. He chuckles again, his laugh vibrating against my skin.

Matthew pulls me away from the stove, turning me in his arms to face him. He leaned down, softly connecting our lips. His lips are just as warm as the morning sun that was beating down on the city of Toronto. He snaked his hands down to my legs, picked me up off the ground and walked me to the island, placing me on it. Matthew's shirt had ridden up on me, coming above my hips so my bare legs were sat against the cool granite countertops.

He looks down, seeing that I had on no pants and instead the same white lace underwear that led to the discarded clothing the night before. He groaned, leaning his head back and smiling. I slowly let my legs spread a little wider, intentionally teasing him.

“Are you trying to turn me on right now? Cause' it's working.” He says, his hands gripping my thighs. I giggle, his thumbs now tracing uneven circles into the inside of my thighs.

“How about round two?” He asks in a low voice.

I lean forward, nearing my lips to his before hopping off the counter and pushing past him to the stove. “After, because you’ve just caused my pancake to burn.” I say, taking the spatula and scraping away at the well-overcooked pancake on the pan.

“You are an incredible tease.” He says.

I snort at him. “You better get to work on frying the bacon or else no second round.” I warn.

He laughs and shakes his head in disbelief, a small smirk toying at his lips. He passes behind me, slapping my ass on the way by.

“Yes ma’am.” He says, getting the bacon from the fridge.

[in1-nutshell]

Hi!! Me again (ง ͠° ͟ل͜ ͡°)ง✨❤️, English maybe bad but I still want to request, sorry first 🤣💧

I was wonder if you know the movie name "PACIFIC RIM".

A movie about "Jaeger" vs "Kaiju".

"Kaiju": A big and scary monster, make by a Alien and send them to earth by a hole under the sea.

They plan is to clean humanity and take control of the Earth.

"Jaeger": A robot human make to fight back the "Kaiju", to protect the Earth, a "Jaeger" need two person to take control of it.

I have an ideal about Buddy, a "Jaeger" pilot and they Twin, is they company to control the robot.

But when they send out to fight, got into a weird light green tornado, send them to the place near the place Cliffjumpber and Cons are fighting.

The Vehicon got scared, leave Cliffjumber behind, and runaway...

Cliffjumber: Wwwait!! Take me with you!!

Vehicon: YOU ON YOUR OWN!!!

And the Twin were speechless...

Buddy Twin: I kinda feel bad for the Red one...

Buddy: It kinda cute...maybe...can we keep them? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)✨

Buddy Twin: ...Why not (ง ͠° ͟ل͜ ͡°)ง✨?

And Cliffjumber take them to the base with them, the Bots was like: "What did you got there??"

Cliffjumber: A energon smoothie?

While big azz Jaeger behind them, waving friendly: (´・ω・`)✌️

What bots will react?

And Cons when the "Jaeger" come to help Bots fighting?

"Jaeger": Plane, Piu Piu Piu!! *Hold the plane and cutely spin*

Starscream: Get your hand OFF me !!!

Soundwave: *Take a pic*

THANK FOR READING ❤️✨

I love this little interactions the Jaeger had in the ask! This is a bit shorter than what I would want, but I hope its enough. If its not what you want, please let me know! Thank you for explaining your ask more, I'm considering in seeing the movie now.

Maybe we will see more Jaeger content in the future.

Hope you enjoy!

Human Buddy and their Twin with a giant Jaeger reactions from Cliffjumper, Wheeljack, Starscream, and Megatron

SFW, Platonic, Human reader

TFP

Buddy and Twin were testing a new prototype weapon for the company.

They were strapped in the Jaeger and very eager to try it out.

No one told them about the giant portal behind them.

They got sucked in.

When they landed, they looked around seeing a bunch of smaller looking robots.

Most of them being purple and surrounded by a red one.

Thinking that they were smaller prototype versions of the Jaegers, Buddy and Twin waved at them.

The purple ones took one look at them and left leaving the red one looking up at them.

Twin had the idea of picking the red one up for further inspection.

It certainly was a new model, it looked like it had a mind of its own.

Soon a giant swirly looking portal opened revealing even more robots.

What in the world was happening?

Team that would immediately try and fight the giant Jaeger

These bots have a right to try and fight the giant Jaeger. It’s huge and a potential enemy! Granted there are few that will ask some questions by the end of the fight, but most just want to get rid of it.

Megatron

Starscream

Wheeljack

Team that is in shock to see another robotic being so big

These bots are in slight awe seeing the giant. It had been a long time since either side had seen a being of that size. They will want to recruit them to their side of the war. Are they secretly afraid of it? Absolutely. Are they going to voice it? Absolutely not.

Cliffjumper

Megatron

Team that is surprised to find some humans piloting the thing

All of them. If they are telling otherwise, they are lying. Now whether the bot chooses to get rid of the humans is another story. Maybe not yet, they are still needed. But they are not essential.