#that would have been so handy at my show =

[bayfuzzball7050]

Last day of @kakyoinmonth, day 31 — Knowledge / love / triumph

I have a bunch of silly things regarding these two (as many may know) but these are my favourites!!

I love to draw men kissing I’m sorry

I like to imagine he shows appreciation by showing off his knowledge…even when it isn’t always handy

Also eepy 6takak for the soul

I wanted to digitalize this but no brush matches my freak. On another note, aren’t they cute? :3

Ah and I made this thing bc I headcanon jotaro can’t cook shit and this wouldn’t be the kakyoin month if they didn’t celebrate his birthday

Translation because my handwriting is so shit:

Dear Kakyoin:

Do NOT come to my house. I’ve baked an absolute dogshit cake. Just completely fucked it up.

Kujo

And last but not least, Triumph.

“…You’re alive.”

Id like to believe that if he survived, he would awake not so long after— about 3 months after the trip. He probably couldn’t move much due to his spine being punched out, yet I’d like to believe that if Jojo was there by his side, he could help him ‘catch up’ with class. He would basically be doing distance-school, but he wouldn’t be alone. It’s far too cruel to leave the boy who has been alone all his life who then finds people he connected with alone again.

Jotaro does think it’s his fault still, the topic came up accidentally and he ended up confessing just how tired and scared he was. Nori ended up reassuring him it wasn’t his fault. They became a lot closer after that.

(note! I wanted to make a full render but i didn’t feel that much like it. I hope this has a more ‘serious’ tone than other pieces.)

Also to understand how they’re standing in the first picture I made this

Tall fuck

And something else! The dogshit cake is based on this

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

omg Amsterdam having the bar right on the floor that is a slay

[kenananamin]

Tie my tie, marry me

Summary: The moment Nanami knew he never wanted to tie his tie by himself ever again and wanted to spend the rest of his life by your side. fluffy, nanami x fem!reader, nanami already loves everything you do but something about tying his tie was so intimate and special to him

It had been a year since Nanami officially asked you to be his girlfriend, but you had just started staying over during the weekdays. If either of you would stay at each other's houses, it would only be during the weekends when you both knew the next day could be dedicated to each other. Only recently had that unspoken rule changed.

You had both gone to the mall to shop for your new professional wardrobe and Nanami asked if he could buy a few extra things for you to keep at his house. You both knew what that implied and told him he could buy it, only if you could buy some stuff for him to keep at your house. You had both never been happier to spend more time and money at a crowded mall.

Nanami woke up a bit later for work than usual because of a power outage that turned off his alarm clock and did not charge his phone. You went into work after he did so you make his coffee and pack his lunch while he took a quick shower. You run into the bathroom to let him know he had less than 15 more minutes.

He steps out of the shower and grabs his razor to shave. You reach for the hairdryer he bought for you to keep at his house and start to dry his hair as he quickly shaves. You run out and start to rummage through his closet to set his clothes on the bed. Nanami finishes shaving and follows you out to get dressed.

"Shirt first, hurry," you take the shirt off the hanger and throw it to him.

Nanami begins to button the shirt when you get in front of him and start pulling his collar up and putting his tie around his neck. He looks at you with a questioning look and you quickly explain, "My dad taught me how to tie a tie. Never thought it'd come in handy since I never knew anyone who regularly wore a tie before you." You laugh at the memory but continue what you were doing to avoid making your boyfriend late.

Nanami however... his fingers stop buttoning his shirt. He looks at you, concentration and rush covering your features, but your fingers gently grazed his skin as you looped his tie. She's the first person to ever tie it for me, Nanami thinks. He had to learn how to do it from a video and was later corrected by some older male coworkers who showed him with their own ties.

The events of that morning finally dawn on him. You jumped out of bed right after you felt him jump out and started rushing around the apartment with him. He hadn't even mentioned that he was late, but you opened your eyes and knew what to do. He could smell the coffee from the room and heard the clanking of the leftover containers being opened and slid across counters from the shower. You dried his hair knowing that his route to work was not long enough to let it dry itself, and you took out exactly what he would have worn that day while he shaved. And now... there you stood before him, helping him tie his tie so his hands could do other things.

It seemed so... small. It was so small, so truly insignificant in the scale of life, something that could not hold weight in the world or change anything in the universe. But it changed his life, it was his favorite view in the world, and it would become his universe.

You look up at him and see him staring... and his hands not moving?! You move his hands away from the buttons and rush to finish buttoning it down. He takes your face in his hands and leans down to kiss you slowly. So very slow and soft. It stops you completely and you wrap your arms around his waist, relishing in the smell of his aftershave and body wash. Nanami deepens the kiss and moves an arm around your waist to pull you in closer. As much as you love when he pulls you in, the movement pulls you out of the kiss trance.

"Oh my god, Kento, hurry!! You're late, you're late!"

You step back and shove his pants into his arms. You tell him to hurry and that you'd grab his shoes to put by the door. You start yelling across the apartment that it would rain the entire afternoon and he needed to take the umbrella.

Nanami listens as you rustle through the closet looking for the umbrella and the light thud of what might have been his lunch bag and coffee thermal on the entryway table. He walks out the room putting on his suit jacket and sees you lightly jumping while telling him to hurry with his shoes.

Nanami leans down to tie his shoes but pauses after he's done. He goes to touch your bare leg since you hadn't even gotten dressed after waking up. You only wore his large shirt and underwear. He kneels and carefully lifts one leg to kiss your knee. He looks up from his kneeling position and says, "Thank you for helping. You really didn't have to."

His loving eyes close slightly while you lean down to give him one kiss as your response. "You're late," you whisper against his lips.

Nanami stands and takes his things while waving bye to you and your bed head. He heads out the door and begins a light jog to catch his regular train.

Yeap, she's the one, Nanami thinks.

Nanami spent his lunch break at the jewelry shop looking at rings that would look beautiful on your finger. There were so many engagement rings that would look gorgeous on you, but one caught his eye as he imagined that ring slightly moving on your finger as you tied his tie.

"I like that one. Do you have a size (your ring size) in stock?"

Nanami buys the ring at that moment and texts you to ask if he could come over to your house after work. He does not plan to propose on a regular Tuesday evening with no special plans, but he wants to hug you, smell your lovely perfume, take you some flowers, and give you a special thanks for helping him. And maybe, maaaayybe (most likely), stay over at your house to help him with his tie again the next morning.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

The Telling Truth: When 'Show, Don't Tell' Doesn't Apply (You Don't Always Have To Show, Don't Tell.)

Hey there, fellow writers and beloved members of the writeblr community! 📝✨

Today, I want to talk about something that's been on my mind lately, and I have a feeling it might resonate with many of you too. It's about that age-old writing advice we've all heard a million times: "Show, don't tell." Now, don't get me wrong – it's great advice, and it has its place in our writing toolbox. But here's the thing: it's not the be-all and end-all of good writing. In fact, I'd argue that sometimes, it's perfectly okay – even necessary – to tell rather than show.

First things first, let's address the elephant in the room. The "show, don't tell" rule has been drilled into our heads since we first picked up a pen (or opened a Word document) with the intention of writing creatively. It's been repeated in writing workshops, creative writing classes, and countless craft books. And for good reason! Showing can create vivid, immersive experiences for readers, allowing them to feel like they're right there in the story.

But here's where things get a bit tricky: like any rule in writing (or in life, for that matter), it's not absolute. There are times when telling is not just acceptable, but actually preferable. And that's what you all will explore today in this hopefully understandable blog post.

Let's start by breaking down why "show, don't tell" is so popular. When we show instead of tell, we're engaging the reader's senses and emotions. We're painting a picture with words, allowing the reader to draw their own conclusions based on the details we provide. It's a powerful technique that can make our writing more engaging and memorable.

For example, instead of saying "Sarah was angry," we might write, "Sarah's fists clenched at her sides, her jaw tight as she glared at the broken vase." This gives the reader a clearer image and allows them to infer Sarah's emotional state.

But here's the thing: sometimes, we don't need or want that level of detail. Sometimes, efficiency in storytelling is more important than painting an elaborate picture. And that's where telling comes in handy.

Imagine if every single emotion, action, or piece of information in your story was shown rather than told. Your novel would probably be thousands of pages long, and your readers might get lost in the sea of details, losing sight of the main plot or character arcs.

So, when might telling be more appropriate? Let's explore some scenarios:

Summarizing less important events: If you're writing a story that spans a long period, you don't need to show every single day or event. Telling can help you summarize periods of time or less crucial events quickly, allowing you to focus on the more important parts of your story.

For instance: "The next few weeks passed in a blur of exams and late-night study sessions." This sentence tells us what happened without going into unnecessary detail about each day.

Providing necessary background information: Sometimes, you need to give your readers some context or backstory. While you can certainly weave this information into scenes, there are times when a straightforward telling of facts is more efficient.

Example: "The war had been raging for three years before Sarah's village was attacked." This quickly gives us important context without needing to show the entire history of the war.

Establishing pace and rhythm: Alternating between showing and telling can help you control the pace of your story. Showing tends to slow things down, allowing readers to immerse themselves in a moment. Telling can speed things up, moving the story along more quickly when needed.

Clarifying complex ideas or emotions: Some concepts or feelings are abstract or complex enough that showing alone might not suffice. In these cases, a bit of telling can help ensure your readers understand what's happening.

For example: "The quantum entanglement theory had always fascinated John, but explaining it to others often left him feeling frustrated and misunderstood." Here, we're telling the reader about John's relationship with this complex scientific concept, which might be difficult to show effectively.

Maintaining your narrative voice: Sometimes, telling is simply more in line with your narrative voice or the tone of your story. This is especially true if you're writing in a more direct or conversational style.

Now, I can almost hear some of you saying, "But wait! I've always been told that showing is always better!" And I completely get it. I'm a writer myself and prioritize "Show, Don't tell." in my writing all the time. We've been conditioned to believe that showing is superior in all cases. But we can take a moment to challenge that notion.

Think about some of your favorite books. Chances are, they use a mix of showing and telling. Even the most critically acclaimed authors don't adhere strictly to "show, don't tell" all the time. They understand that good writing is about balance and knowing when to use each technique effectively.

Take, for instance, the opening line of George Orwell's "1984": "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen." This is a perfect blend of showing and telling. Orwell shows us it's a bright, cold day (we can imagine the crisp air and clear sky), but he tells us about the clocks striking thirteen. This immediate telling gives us crucial information about the world we're entering – it's not quite like our own.

Or consider this passage from Jane Austen's "Pride and Prejudice": "Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour, reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his character." Here, Austen is clearly telling us about Mr. Bennet's character rather than showing it through his actions. And yet, it works beautifully, giving us a quick, clear insight into both Mr. Bennet and his wife.

The key is to use both techniques strategically. So, how can you decide when to show and when to tell? Here are some tips:

Consider the importance of the information: Is this a crucial moment in your story, a pivotal emotion, or a key piece of character development? If so, it might be worth showing. If it's more of a transitional moment or background information, telling might be more appropriate.

Think about pacing: If you want to slow down and really immerse your reader in a moment, show it. If you need to move things along more quickly, tell it.

Evaluate the complexity: If you're dealing with a complex emotion or concept, consider whether showing alone will be enough to convey it clearly. Sometimes, a combination of showing and telling works best for complex ideas.

Consider your word count: If you're working with strict word count limitations (like in short stories or flash fiction), telling can help you convey necessary information more concisely.

Trust your instincts (Important): As you write more, you'll develop a feel for when showing or telling works better. Trust your gut, and don't be afraid to experiment.

Now, let's talk about how to tell effectively when you do choose to use it. Because here's the thing: telling doesn't have to be boring or flat. It can be just as engaging and stylish as showing when done well. Here are some tips for effective telling:

Use strong, specific language: Instead of using vague or generic words, opt for more specific, evocative language. For example, instead of "She was sad," you might write, "A profound melancholy settled over her."

Incorporate sensory details: Even when telling, you can include sensory information to make it more vivid. "The room was cold" becomes more engaging as "A bone-chilling cold permeated the room."

Use metaphors and similes: These can help make your telling more colorful and memorable. "His anger was like a volcano ready to erupt" paints a vivid picture without showing the anger in action.

Keep it concise: One of the advantages of telling is its efficiency. Don't negate that by being overly wordy. Get to the point, but do it with style.

Vary your sentence structure: Mix short, punchy sentences with longer, more flowing ones to create rhythm and maintain interest.

Remember, the goal is to create a seamless narrative that engages your reader. Sometimes that means showing, sometimes it means telling, and often it means a artful blend of both.

It's also worth noting that different genres and styles of writing may lean more heavily on one technique or the other. Literary fiction often employs more showing, delving deep into characters' psyches and painting elaborate scenes. Genre fiction, on the other hand, might use more telling to keep the plot moving at a brisker pace. Neither approach is inherently better – it all depends on what works best for your story and your style.

Now, I want to address something that I think many of us struggle with: the guilt or anxiety we might feel when we catch ourselves telling instead of showing. It's easy to fall into the trap of second-guessing every sentence, wondering if we should be showing more. But here's the truth: that kind of constant self-doubt can be paralyzing and ultimately detrimental to your writing process.

So, I want you to understand and think: It's okay to tell sometimes. You're not a bad writer for using telling in your work. In fact, knowing when and how to use telling effectively is a sign of a skilled writer.

Here's some practical ways to incorporate this mindset into your writing process:

First Draft Freedom: When you're writing your first draft, give yourself permission to write however it comes out. If that means more telling than showing, that's absolutely fine. The important thing is to get the story down. You can always revise and add more "showing" elements later if needed.

Revision with Purpose: When you're revising, don't automatically change every instance of telling to showing. Instead, ask yourself: Does this serve the story better as telling or showing? Consider the pacing, the importance of the information, and how it fits into the overall narrative.

Beta Readers and Feedback: When you're getting feedback on your work, pay attention to how readers respond to different sections. If they're engaged and understanding the story, then your balance of showing and telling is probably working well, regardless of which technique you're using more.

Study Your Favorite Authors: Take some time to analyze how your favorite writers use showing and telling. You might be surprised to find more instances of effective telling than you expected.

Practice Both Techniques (Important): Set aside some time to practice both showing and telling. Write the same scene twice, once focusing on showing and once on telling. This can help you develop a feel for when each technique is most effective.

Now, let's address another important point: the evolution of writing styles and reader preferences. The "show, don't tell" rule gained popularity in the early 20th century with the rise of modernist literature. But writing styles and reader tastes have continued to evolve since then.

In our current fast-paced world, where people are often reading on devices and in shorter bursts, there's sometimes a preference for more direct, efficient storytelling. This doesn't mean that showing is out of style, but it does mean that there's often room for more telling than strict adherence to "show, don't tell" would allow.

Moreover, diverse voices in literature are challenging traditional Western writing norms, including the emphasis on showing over telling. Some cultures have strong storytelling traditions that lean more heavily on telling, and as the literary world becomes more inclusive, we're seeing a beautiful variety of styles that blend showing and telling in new and exciting ways.

This brings me to an important point: your voice matters. Your unique way of telling stories is valuable. Don't let rigid adherence to any writing rule, including "show, don't tell," stifle your natural voice or the story you want to tell.

Remember, rules in writing are more like guidelines. They're tools to help us improve our craft, not unbreakable laws. The most important rule is to engage your reader and tell your story effectively. If that means more telling than the conventional wisdom suggests, then so be it.

As I wrap up this discussion, I want to leave you with a challenge: In your next writing session, consciously use both showing and telling. Pay attention to how each technique feels, how it serves your story, and how it affects the rhythm of your writing. You might discover new ways to blend these techniques that work perfectly for your unique style.

Writing is an art, not a science. There's no perfect formula, no one-size-fits-all approach. It's about finding what works for you, your story, and your readers. So embrace both showing and telling. Use them as the powerful tools they are, and don't be afraid to break the "rules" when your instincts tell you to.

Remember, every great writer started where you are now, learning the rules and then figuring out when and how to break them effectively. You're part of a long, proud tradition of storytellers, each finding their own path through the winding forest of words.

Keep writing, keep growing, and keep believing in yourself. You've got this!

Happy writing! 💖✍️ - Rin T.

Before you go, why not join us at The Write Right Society? We're a supportive Tumblr community where writers lift each other up. Whether you're a newbie or a pro, we'd love to have you! Share your work, get feedback, and connect with fellow wordsmiths, writers and aspiring authors. 

[b00tyliciousbabe]

waves

pairing: surfer!bf x THICC!male reader

summary: oh, how i need a tall, curly headed goofball…

notes: HOPE MY LOVELIES ARE DOING WELL. trying to get through my requests, but this was a personal one of mine. slowly but surely y’all! as summer is coming to an end, it was SO necessary for me to feed my hot girl delusions at least a couple more times. also, enjoy the new style i have been experimenting with!

song rec: they. - diamonds and pearls

album rec: sabrina carpenter - short n sweet (my girl sabz ate so hard with this project, i just wish it was released in early aug so she could’ve rly CONQUERED summer 2024) THEE POP PRINCESS!

brief background:

your boyfriend was raised with a silver spoon; he’d never had to work a day in his life and everything he ever wanted, he got. well, everything except you. throwing money to impress people had worked on all of his other childhood crushes, but not you, which made him all the more determined to prove to you he wasn’t just some fuck boi the media painted him out to be. his family owned the richest resort in the carribean, and had hotels in every mega city worldwide. but wherever they travelled to, your man was never too far from a beach. call it fate, but the sea would always lead you back to him. it was where he first laid eyes on you; reading a very lengthy novel as you laid on the sand, watching your friends play in the water. after their surf practice, your mutual friends introduced the two of you and you were SMITTEN - but you couldn’t show your interest too soon. he too was whipped, and didn’t take nearly as much effort to hide it, practically drooling whilst staring at you. his mates would constantly ridicule him for his dazed expression around you, and he could never hear the end of the new nickname ‘bambi boy’ you gave him because he looked so cute when he was flustered. after weeks of regular conversation and a couple walks on the beach, he officially asked to be your boyfriend and you said yes.

when it came to finally introducing you to his family, they loved you almost as much as he did. he was the youngest of six and so he got the privilege of this. his parents especially were wishing y’all would stay together. they believed you were the perfect match for their goofball of a son.

core memory sfw:

the first time he said ‘i love you’ with TRUE meaning; you were always worried that you were just one fuck away from being forgotten, but your man made sure to constantly affirm his love for you. he brought you the biggest bouquet of your favourite flowers, and stood outside in the pouring rain, playing a mixtape he’d made for you. it was genuinely a scene out of a film, he was your knight in shining armour (a hawaiian shirt and matching shorts) and it was then that you knew that you guys were endgame.

core memory nsfw:

to say your bf loves your body is an understatement. the way he’s hooked on your body, some might say it’s borderline unhealthy. he’s so handy and keeps his hands on your ass all the time. whether it’s a spank, watching it jiggle as you walk away from him, or a full on grip as his pulls you onto his dick, he’s a man that would gladly die between your cheeks. one time during dinner you wore a wrap skirt paired with a tank top, paired with a thong that was peeping out enough to make your man’s eyes pop out of his head like a cartoon character. as his jaw dropped, practically salivating at the sight of your body moving closer to him, you picked it up and giggled, stroking his chin endearingly. for the entire meal he was practically sat right next to you, breathing in your luscious skin. ‘boy, you better calm down, we have company.’ you giggled. ‘fuck bby, how can you say that when you look good enough for me to eat?’ he whispered into your ear, trying not to bring too much attention. before you knew it you were face down, ass up and your thong was pulled to the side, as he used it as a pseudo leash keeping your pussy bouncing on his cock.

your favourite thing about him: his oddball nature.

as much as it can annoy you that he’s always cracking jokes, leaving no room for respite, your bf never fails to bring joy to your life. as the life of the party he’s always bringing that much needed energy to the dull world of his mostly corporate family. whether it be seeing you hollering at some unhinged thing he’d said, or watching him (ironically) fuck the smile onto your lips, you can tell that comedy is who he is, and you wouldn’t change your weirdo for anything.

his favourite thing about you: how artistic you are.

almost impossibly, it makes your boyfriend fall in love with you even more seeing your creativity flourish. you’re always making him jewellery out of the shells and stones you find. he loves to wear them, it gets you going when you see the necklace you made for him swing back and forth as he fucks into you. or when you feel the cold of his rings and bracelet on your waist as he holds you in position to fuck you even harder. he’s so proud of you.

his insta post: mostly just him showing off his good looks (we love a cocky man around here) and his beach flix.

surfer!bf my face is his favourite seat.

y/n: that big dick is a very close second though.

tinashe replied: @y/n, you a nasty girl fr.

sabrinacarpenter replied: @y/n girl, need you on that bed chem remix. about to do some damage…in a good way x

your insta post: almost always pictures of your creations; you like to keep your relationship with him private, that’s YOUR man, and you can get very possessive.

y/n feel free to add to your pinterest boards.

surfer!bf: baby you’re so talented 🩵

viviennewestwood: so excited to see your next collection!

surfer!bf: i love you.

y/n replied: @surfer!bf aw, i love you too babes!

plans for the future!

being with one of the greatest surfers in the world, definitely came with some amazing perks.

marriage:

oh, he’s 100% thought about it, and would definitely be the one to propose. the free spirit in him doesn’t need a piece of paper to prove that he loves you, truly. But would totally be your husband if you let him x

children:

your surfer!bf ABSOLUTELY WANTS TO HAVE A FAMILY WITH YOU! sees himself as the best father and y’all would have the cutest kids ever.

tag list:

@gayaristocrat

@multireese

@malereadermaniac

@lysanderplume

@ghostking4m

[7seas-of-ryy]

I Need You | Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Author’s Note: I promise there will be fluff! The build up will be worth it :)

Summary: You're taken by strange men who claim you're their target. Will someone save you or will you save yourself?

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Warnings: Torture, blood, angst, let me know if I need to add any others :)

Fear. You had been through so much yet you were paralyzed with fear. They were all closing in on me, taking their time knowing there was no where for me to run. You glanced around one last time, hoping Azriel was just late and he would show up and save you. You needed him.

He wasn't there and he wasn't going to show up. Your mind was racing, this is it. This would be the end for me-

"Back away from her and I'll let you all live" a voice growled

As you turned your head you saw Cassian in a fighting stance. You couldn't move, couldn't fight, you felt cowardly. The fact that none of them looked worried, scared you further.

"Oh if it isn't the Prince of Bastards himself. You see, Cassian, we expected one of you to be here with her or try to save her. We assumed it would be the shadowsinger but you will have to do."

You felt lightheaded, looking at Cassian you realized he must feel that way as well from the slight swaying he was doing. He fell to his knees and that was when you realized they had released some type of gas to knock you both out. Before you could think more about it, darkness took over.

You woke in a dungeon. Your hands bound in chains above your head, you feet chained to the floor. Your head felt like someone poured cement in it.

"Sunshine..psst....hey wake up" Cassian was whispering at you.

Cassian. He had somehow shown up and tried to save me. Why had he been there? You'd think about that later. For now you needed to figure out where you were and how to get out.

"What's going on?" You asked Cass

"I think we're in the Autumn Court. None of them had any of the court symbols but it looked like their men. Do you have any idea what they want? They said you were their target?" He painfully spoke as if he was fighting to get the words out.

It was only then that you looked at him, truly looked and saw his bruised and bloody face.

He saw the recognition in your eyes and told you, "it's ok, you were still out so they wanted to play with me a little. Show me some hospitality, that's all." the sarcasm rolling off his tongue.

You heard the door creak and you both watched as three men walked in. Two you didn't recognize and the other was the leader.

"Ahhh how exciting! Our guest of honor has woken up" he said and sounded truly happy.

He walked straight over to you and back handed you so hard you saw stars. Cass screamed and tugged at his chains. The man watched Cass with a grin and continued his assault on me. He punched me anywhere he could, using me as if I was a training dummy. Then he nodded at his two cronies and they made their way over to me. They started to...no, please no. They were taking off your clothes.

"Oh calm down, we're not gonna touch you like that. We just need more access to your skin so I can view my handy work." He spoke

Cassian was screaming, "Cowards, hurt me instead. Leave her alone"

Once I was fully bare, they left. Cassian looked ashamed that he couldn't stop it. The blood from my face dripped to my body and the pain was too much, I welcomed the darkness, hoping I would just fade away.

I woke to someone taking my chains off of me and dragging me by my hair out of the room. Cassian was fighting against his chains as much as he could, yelling, growling at them.

"No, you son of a bitch, leave her alone! No!" you heard his continued pleas as you were thrown into another room.

The leader was here.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions. If you answer them, you might get to leave. If not, I'm going to torture you to get the answers and then kill you" He spoke as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

"Does Nyx have any special abilities?" he asked

You inhaled sharply. Why were the asking about Nyx?

"Hmm, lets try another, where are the keeping Nyx? Do they have any wards protecting him?" the man asked

You wouldn't tell him anything. You loved Nyx, Feyre, and Rhys with all your heart and would die protecting them. You were a coward when they kidnapped you, not even fighting back. But now you would hold you ground for the ones you loved.

"Don't feel like talking to me...? Don't worry, you will." He spoke lowly

He tortured you and beat you until you felt you were near death, then dragged you back to the dungeon and threw you in. His men chained you up again and left me.

"What did they do to you?" Cass spoke softly, not looking for an answer. He just couldn't believe his eyes. You were bruised and bleeding everywhere, wheezing like you had a couple broken ribs, and he could see the silent tears flowing from your eyes.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't strong enough, I'm so sorry, so sorry..." Cassian kept repeating as you let your head hang and faded away.

When you woke, you saw your friend had a few more bruises than before. No where near as bad as you but still bad.

"They asked me about Nyx" you squeaked out

"Hey, you keep holding on, we're going to get out of here. Do you hear me? I'm not letting you die here." Cass said as the man appeared again.

"Good Morning! We're going to try something new today. I'm going to hurt you - repeatedly - in front of him and we'll get him to break seeing as you don't like to talk to me. Oh, and I know where to stab to keep you alive so we can do this for a while" He said grabbing a long dagger and walking over to me.

You looked forward and saw the panic in your friend's eyes. No, this would only add more guilt to him.

"Cass look at me. I'm ok, it's gonna be ok. I promise I'm ok," You frantically spoke looking at the man chained in front of you, "Don't worry about me, I can take it, I'm ok-" you started screaming from the pain. He stabbed your back with his dagger.

You don't know how long this went on or how many times you were stabbed, you had blacked out for the fourth? fifth? time. When you woke, someone was taking your chains off again. As you waited to be dragged to the other room for more questioning, you heard Cass speak.

"No, I'm fine. Help her instead."

You felt strong arms wrap around you and lift you up. You slowly opened your eyes to see Lucien carrying you out of the dungeon.

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

@darkbloodsly @xtreme-shipper @rcarbo1 @shamelessdonutkryptonite @anna-reader-blog @favsrachz @julesvanslutta @kitsunetori @i-am-infinite

[mimasroom2]

My tennis star! (∩˃o˂∩)♡

Secretly dating jock!ellie

C/w: smut but for like 2 seconds. Mention of weed lol. Uhh that’s it this is pretty laid back. This is my first time using those fake texting things I think I like it? Idk

W/c: ≈ 800

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

- She plays tennis bc I said so 🎾

- She’d win a match and she’d post on her instagram story something REAL cheesy like “only reason why we won is because someone special was in the crowd💖” and everyone thinks she’s talking ab a guy but it’s really you >•<

- She’d pull you aside into an empty hallway and lean over you with her arm up (yknow. The classic masc move.) and whisper “You comin’ to the game tonight, baby?”

- It’s so fucking cheesy but you swear she makes your knees weak every time she talks with her sexy ass voice.

- “Too bad I can’t have a massive ass sign that says your name on it all big or something.” You grin widely and she laughs, leaning in to give you a soft kiss.

- You guys go on dates to the mall so she can buy new workout clothes & equipment. Every time you guys see someone you know in a store you split up and pretend to be looking at different things on other ends of the store. Eventually when they leave you two come back together and giggle.

- “Heya stranger.” She grins, showing you some knee high socks she found while she was pretending to look around.

- Only your two best friends know ab you and Ellie, so you’re always having to make up excuses as to why you’re going to the tennis games.

- “They needed help with grilling hot dogs and hamburgers for the game, and you know I always need more service hours!”

- “Man I’m sorry I can’t go to the movies tonight. I already told the tennis coach I’d do face painting for the little kids that come😕”

- You’re studying at your desk when the first message from Ellie absolutely jumpscares you. The girl really needs to learn about context 🙄

- Absolutely all the girls in the crowd and on the opposing team would swoon over her. She lovesssss the attention and always waves at the crowd and blows kisses to them. Sometimes she winks at the girls on the other team to purposefully distract them as they’re serving. You don’t feel jealous though because you know as soon as the game’s over you’re going back to her place to celebrate ;)

- You feel so fucking lucky you’re dating a jock as her toned muscular arm is pumping in and out of you.

- “Fuck,, guess all that racket swinging comes in handy when I’m fucking you, hm?” She smirks, and she was actually right. She could practically finger you forever and never get tired.

- She’s a perfectionist with her playing and in bed. She’d have to make you cum at least twice before she’s satisfied.

- The next morning Ellie has to leave early for practice so she lets you stay in her room to sleep in. She texts you a WHOLE BUNCH, effectively spamming your phone and waking you up:

- She comes up to you one day out of the blue and says “Hey y/n, I’m like so serious can you hide all my stoner shit until this season is over…?” You knew she smoked but she told you she only does it when she’s off in tennis, so you’re surprised when she hands you a shoebox full of all her stuff.

- “Yeah ‘m fine. Coach has been gettin’ on to me. Jus’ more stressed out is all.” Is all she has to say when you ask about it. She runs her hands through her hair, thinking you’re frustrated with her. You’re just glad she trusts you enough to make her keep her promises to herself.

- She’d ask you what your favorite color is and get a special racket in that color for whenever you see her play. She’d say it’s her lucky racket :,)

- You were never super into sports but you loveeeee spending time with Ellie, so she decides to give you some one on one lessons.

- “Yeah, thas’ it, baby.” She’d mutter in your ear from behind you. She’s holding the racket with you and helping you swing your arms the right way.

- You guys didn’t expect to see anyone on the tennis court this early, so when other people come and Ellie recognizes them, she quickly guides you guys behind a tree.

- Your stomach is filled with butterflies as she tucks your loose hair behind your ear and kisses you !!

- You feel like a little kid playing in the woods again because now you and Ellie are sneaking around the park/tennis court trying not to be seen by the other people

- She gets really cocky sometimes and posts soft launches of you on her insta stories

- It would be a picture of you in her lap WAHH! Her tattooed hand is on your thigh with the caption “keeping me occupied”

𓆟. ° .• .𓆝 .• ° . 𓆟 . ° .• .𓆞

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

you know, considering everything, i’m really proud of how i handled everything.

[mariasont]

TEDIUM - S.R

a/n: found this dress on pinterest and just needed to write something about it

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

summary: spencer is not having the best time at the FBI Gala, well, until you show up

warnings: just cuties being cute, spencer swooning, maybe suggestive if you squint, spencer asks out bimbo reader!!

wc: 1.1k

Spencer was bored, more than bored, he was tedium. The word, meaning a dullness in routine, had come to him during a lecture about the history of timekeeping, illustrating the repetitive tick of a clock which can lead to such a state.

That is what he felt like, like the monotone ticking of a clock was more consistent with a sonic boom bouncing off the walls of his brain. His hand was wrapped around a beer, not his typical drink of choice, but the stale surroundings seemed to demand a departure from his usual routine.

To anyone else, the surroundings would have been anything but stale. The air vibrated with music, elegant attire sparkled under the light, important people exchanged pleasantries, and drinks flowed like rivers. However, Spencer found himself disengaged, the usual allure of the FBI Gala eluding him, leaving him feeling oddly detached.

At his elbow, Penelope was sipping on something pink, the glass seemingly more decorative than practical. She was talking about something, something about how she wished Morgan was here and how he'd love the dress she was wearing. But Spencer's mind was elsewhere, locked on the door, his body immobilized by a sudden alertness.

The frothy concoction of pastels and ruffles you often wore were nowhere to be seen tonight. He felt as if his whole body was reprogramming itself as you descended the stairs, the green fabric of your dress seemed to flow like water, the peaks and swells of your body calling to him in a language that his rational mind struggled to ignore.

Your smile reached him before you did, the apple of your cheeks straining with a grin so effortlessly bright. You waved at him, your gold-heeled feet gliding across the floor towards him. Time seemed to slow. His fingers tightened around the beer, the chill of the condensation battling the warmth spreading across his brow. He wanted to memorize you, taking a mental screenshot that might come in handy later.

"Oh my gosh, look at the two of you!" Juggling your matching purse, you managed to slide it under your arm, freeing your hands to wrap Penelope in a hug.

Your hands then moved to Spencer, arms looping around his neck. He took a beat, his beer finding its place on the counter, before his hands settled on your waist, pulling you close. The sweet scent of coconut wafted from your hair, intoxicating him in a way that made him reluctant to let go. But he restrained himself, allowing you to be the one to draw back first.

"Makes a girl feel a little outshone." You were joking, he knew that, but he still couldn't help to reassure you.

"You look beautiful."

He caught the hint of a smile you were holding back, feeling it in the way your hand clasped his. You mumbled a thanks, so faint it was almost lost, uncharacteristic for you.

"Are you kidding? You look like a goddess. I feel like I should be asking for your autograph," Penelope gushed, her hands dramatically gesturing to you.

It was impossible for Spencer not to notice the way your hand didn't leave his, fingers laced together naturally, your thumb moving in soft strokes. His heart was failing, he was sure.

Penelope's attention was drawn to where Spencer's focus lay, eyebrows shooting up. A knowing grin pulled at her lips as she looked between you. "Oh my, I totally spaced that I was supposed to meet up with Luke! You guys will be okay without me, right? Hugs and kisses, I'll be back!"

Spencer laughed, his free hand reaching for his discarded beer, lifting it to his lips in an attempt to counter the heat coursing through him.

It didn't. Not with you so close, touching him. He was putty in your hands.

"Is it, like, super weird seeing me outside of work hours?" you asked, dropping his hand as you reached to dig inside your purse, signaling for the bartender. "It's like bumping into your dentist at a party—doesn't really happen."

As you ordered your drink, Spencer was already in motion, intercepting with his own card.

"I've got it," he insisted. "And yeah, it's a bit unusual, but a good kind of unusual."

"Thanks, Spence. Next one's on me." He definitely wasn't going to let that happen. You swivel the face him with a cherry-topped drink in hand. "I totally agree, it's the best kind of unusual. We should do it more often."

"Yeah, we should," he replied, the word floating on a shaky breath.

The opportunity was there, ripe as the cherry you were now teasing with your tongue. The question, however, refused to materialize, trapped as he watched your tongue slide over the fruit as it were second nature.

You didn't even realize what you were doing, looking up at him with a pure innocence, but somehow as if you knew he was toying with the idea of asking you out. 

The intimate bubble that had formed around you two burst suddenly when Emily called out. You turned sharply, inadvertently pressing flush against Spencer as you tried to pinpoint her voice.

Spencer's muscles tensed, his arm instinctively finding the curve of your waist in an effort to steady both himself and you. Your hand lifted in a wave, presumably to Emily, while your other hand found a place on his bicep.

"I'm pretty sure Emily wants us over there," you mentioned casually, making no move to distance yourself or approach Emily.

Spencer's response was a nod, his eyes drinking in your face—the lushness of your lashes, the specks of color in your eyes, the gentle slope of your nose, the swell of your lips—each feature distinctly yours.

"Let me take you on a date." It was as if the phrase had a life of its own, announced from a version of Spencer that even he didn't recognize.

Your mouth, glossed in pink, paused mid-motion, opening slightly. "Like an actual date-date? I'd love to go on a date with you. I've been not-so-patiently waiting for you to ask."

The thumping of his heart was loud in his ear, his cheeks tinged with pink as you looped your arm through his. "You have?"

You let out a laugh, the kind that bubbled up effortlessly and seemed to warm the pit of his stomach. He was sure the team's eyes were on the two of you, but he wasn't sure if he cared.

"Oh, totally! Probably since my first day when you had the meeting with Chief Cruz. I was like, wow he's smart and cute."

The ticking of the clock seemed irrelevant now. Spencer realized that the tedium he felt might not have been a symptom of the event but the absence of you. Now, with your arm linked in his, everything felt like it took on a new hue, brighter and thrilling, as if the clock had been reset. 

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash

join my taglist here!

[marvelobsessed134]

The milf nextdoor

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Milf!Reader

Warnings: smut, praise, stereotypical porno tropes, reader is a milf, reader has a daughter and ex husband, rough sex, oral (m & f receiving)

Summary: you need help with fixing your broken AC. Good thing your new neighbor is more than happy to help.

Bucky thought he was hallucinating when he saw you carrying boxes into your new house. Well, it was new to you the man who lived there before you was always so fucking grumpy all the time so you moving in was a very good change. And god was he thankful to find out that you were divorced.

Okay…so maybe he has been a bit of a perv and watched you through your window as you get dressed. The brunette noticed how you wore sexy lingerie underneath your clothes and a slight streak of jealousy went right through him. Were you wearing those for someone else or for yourself?

He’d watch as you wore tight shirts and short shorts in the summer and sometimes when it was really hot you would get in a bikini top and run around in the sprinklers with your daughter. Obviously even though it was a very innocent moment, he always couldn’t help how you looked with the water spraying on you and the bikini top that barely contained your breasts.

And on one fateful Saturday where your ex husband picked up your daughter for a weekend the AC broke. You were so pissed since you planned to read and relax. But you can’t when the AC is fucking broken.

You knew your nextdoor neighbor was pretty handy so you decided to go over and ask if he could help. You found him pretty sexy too. Bucky got hard as soon as he answered the door and saw you in a tight cropped T-shirt and those daisy dukes. “Hey, sorry to bother you but my AC is broken do you think you could help me?” Your voice was soft and hopeful.

“Yeah of course! Let me get my tools.” He went into his garage and grabbed his tool bag before following you into your house. You showed him the broken appliance and he said he’d get it done in a span of 20 minutes.

You decided to go into the kitchen and wash some dishes as well as get a glass of cold water. 20 minutes goes by fast and Bucky finds his way into the kitchen to find you sitting on the counter drinking water.

“It’s fixed, should kick on in a few seconds.” The brunette says. You slip off from the counter and walk up to him, “Thank you so much! How much do you want me to pay you? I don’t want to have you do this labor for free.”

That gave your neighbor a brilliant idea a slight smirk appears on his face as his hand finds your ass and squeezes it, moving you closer to him, “I think there’s one way you can pay me.” His voice was low and gravelly, you felt his bulge against your front.

“Oh Bucky…” your voice comes out breathily.

“Unless…” he takes a strand of your hair, “there’s someone else?”

“No! No. There’s no one else…I’m single.”

“Then what do you say baby? You gonna pay me for all my hard work?” He caressed your chin.

“Yes Bucky.” You comply.

“Good girl.” You got down on your knees and unbuckle his jeans as he pulled off his shirt. Your eyes widened at the size of the bulge in his boxers and he smirks cockily while you pull them down and get shocked by the size of his cock. You take him in your hand and jerk him off a couple times making him groan before putting him in your mouth.

You looked up at him as you suck him off, taking him deep in your throat, clutching his bare thighs. He grabbed your hair and helped control your movements. “Holy fuck you look so good with my cock down your throat.”

You continued to take him in your mouth until he spilt his hot seed down your throat. You pulled off of him and opened your mouth to show that you swallowed it all.

“Jesus Christ you’re beautiful. Stand up for me baby.” You complied, standing up as he immediately took your mouth by his, kissing you passionately. You moaned into his mouth as he backed you up against the kitchen island. His hands groped your tits through your shirt before lifting it over your head revealing your black lace bra underneath.

“Fuck. You just wear this around the house?” He asked as he groped your bra clad breasts.

You shrugged, “I like to feel sexy even when I have a kid running around.”

“I’d like to give you another kid.” Bucky muttered before kissing your neck, biting and sucking making you moan. The brunette reached behind you and unclasped your bra, pulling it off and half hazardly tossed it across the room.

He tweaked and toyed with your nipples before pulling one into his mouth sucking and biting on the sensitive flesh. Your fingers carded through his hair as he did so, feeling completely at bliss. His strong arms wrapped around you and picked you up, setting you on the counter as his hands wandered south towards your Jean shorts. Your neighbor roughly unbuttoned them and you helped him take them off along with your matching panties. You noticed how he threw your panties on his pile of clothes.

But you didn’t take too long to dwell on it because he was licking you up and down at a medium, steady pace. You gripped his hair as he ate you out, flicking his tongue on your clit and collecting your arousal like it was his last meal.

“Ooh fuck, Bucky!” You moaned, eyes shut as you reveled in the pleasure. His strong, rough hands gripped your thighs as he pushed you further over the edge.

“You taste so good, baby.” The man muttered against your pussy as he continued his assault. Without warning you felt the waves crashing over you as you came with a scream of his name.

He smirked against you, lapping up all your juices before getting back up and kissing you again.

Then he put you back down and turned you over, bending you over the counter. And god, you loved being manhandled.

You felt the leaking tip of his cock being teased against your soaked entrance. “You want this cock?” He husked in your ear.

“Yes, god yes.” You breathed and gasped as soon as he entered you, stretching you out like you’ve never been stretched out before. He gripped your neck, pulling you back a little bit making your back arch as he pounded into you, hitting your g spot every time.

“You’re so fucking tight my god.” Bucky rolled his eyes as he felt the way you felt around his cock. He thrusted his hips at an almost inhuman pace, skin slapping against yours as he absolutely destroyed you. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Did your husband ever fuck you this good?”

“No! Fuck, no! You fuck me so good Bucky!” You cried out.

“I love when you scream my name holy shit.” You clenched around him and reached your high, screaming as you came. He came not long after you, pulling out and finishing on your lower back. He scooped up some of his cum with his finger and put to your mouth. In which you instinctively sucked it clean.

“Good girl. Such a hot fucking milf.” He said and you laughed.

This weekend is gonna be really fun.

[noaestheticacademic]

On the Identity of "Chat"

Like all the linguistics folks on Tumblr, I've been sent the "chat is a fourth person pronoun" post by a bunch of well-meaning people and and I've been thinking waaay too much about it. @hbmmaster made a wonderful post explaining exactly why "chat" ISN'T a fourth person pronoun, and after reading it I wanted to go a little deeper on what it might actually be doing linguistically, because it is a really interesting phenomenon. Here's a little proposal on what might be going on, with the caveat that it's not backed up by a sociolinguistic survey (which would be fun but more than I could throw together this morning).

On Pronouns

Studying linguistics has been really beneficial for me because understanding that language is constantly changing helped me to become comfortable with using they/them pronouns for myself. I've since done a decent amount of work with pronouns, and here are some basic ideas.

A basic substitution test shows that "chat" is not syntactically a pronoun: it can't be replaced with a pronoun in a sentence.

"Chat, what do we think about that?"

"He*, what do we think about that?" (* = ungrammatical, a native speaker of English would think it sounds wrong)

Linguists identify pronouns as bundles of features identifying the speaker, addressee, and/or someone outside the current discourse. So, a first person pronoun refers to the speaker, a second person pronoun refers to the addressee, and a third person pronoun refers to someone who is neither the speaker nor the addressee (but who is still known to the speaker and addressee). This configuration doesn't leave a lot of room for a "fourth" person. But the intuition people have that "chat" refers to something external to the discourse is worth exploring.

Hypothesis 1: Chat is a fourth-person pronoun.

We've knocked this one right out.

Hypothesis 2: Chat is an address term.

So what's an address term? These are words like "dude, bro, girl, sir" that we use to talk to people. In the original context where "chat" appears - streamers addressing their viewers - it is absolutely an address term. We can easily replace "chat" with any of these address terms in the example sentence above. It's clear that the speaker is referring to a specific group (viewers) who are observing and commenting on (but not fully participating in) the discourse of the stream. The distinction between OBSERVATION and PARTICIPATION is a secret tool that will come in handy later.

But when a student in a classroom says "wow chat, I hate this," is that student referring to their peers as a chat? In other words, is the student expecting any sort of participation or observation by the other students of their utterance? Could "chat" be replaced with "guys" in this instance and retain its nuance? My intuition as a zillenial (which could be way off, please drop your intuitions in the comments) is that the relationship between a streamer and chat is not exactly what the speaker in this case expects out of their peers. Which brings me to...

Hypothesis 3: chat is a stylistic index.

What's an index in linguistics? To put it very simply, it's anything that has acquired a social meaning based on the context in which it's said. In its original streaming context, it's an address term. But it can be used in contexts where there is not a chat, or even any group of people that could be abstracted into being a chat. Instead, people use this linguistic structure to explicitly mimic the style which streamers use.

And that much seems obvious, right? Of course people are mimicking streamers. It doesn't take a graduate degree to figure that out. What's interesting to me is why people choose to employ streaming language in certain scenarios. How is it different from the same sentence, minus the streamer style?

This all comes down to the indexicality, or social meaning, of streamer speak. This is where I ask you all to take over: what sorts of attitudes and qualities do you associate with that kind of person and that kind of speech? I think it has to do with (here it comes!) the PARTICIPANT/OBSERVER distinction. By framing speech as having observers, a speaker takes on the persona of someone who is observed - a self-styled celebrity. To use "chat" is to position oneself as a celebrity, and in some cases even to mock the notion of such a position. We can see a logical path from how streamers use "chat" as an address term to how it is co-opted to reference streamer culture and that celebrity/observer relationship in non-streaming mediated discourse. If we think about it that way, then it's easy to see why the "fourth person pronoun" post is so appealing. It highlights a discourse relationship that is being invoked wherein "chat" is not a group but a style.

[artemismoorea03]

DPxDC Prompt: Damian's Friend

I feel like this has been done before so if it has please let me know!

-----

Damian is still learning to make friends. Sure, he has Superboy but according to his brothers and teachers he needed more friends. But why should he bother with new friends when one was already such a pain to keep up with? Social cues were hard to understand, jokes didn't make sense, and most civilians were far too squishy. He could end up hurting them accidentally and that would endanger his secret identity.

Though he quickly learned that meeting people as Robin made it considerably easier. That's how he ended up meeting Phantom, a 15-Year-Old boy who seemed rather lost. His only explanation for why he was in Gotham had been, "Listen, my mentor told me to come here and to stick with the birds and the bats. I don't know what that is or why I'm here but considering I don't seem to be able to go home yet I can only assume that I haven't found what I was looking for yet."

Phantom was strange, even for a meta. He didn't know what Gotham was, who Superman or Batman were, he had never heard of the Justice League, or even heard of 'metas' until Robin explained it to him. The kid seemed honest and he was staying out of the way of patrols and stuff which was more than most meta's did.

The only time he interfered with any fight was when Robin was cornered in a fight. In theory Robin would have been able to handle it but in the moment he had - admittedly - been a little in over his head. Phantom showed up and not only got Robin to safety but had managed to take down all of the enemies without killing anybody.

From that moment on Robin considered Phantom a friend and had given Phantom the number to one of the burner phones he kept on him during patrols. Phantom never called but would answer any time Robin checked in.

Which came in handy one day when the entirety of the team got trapped when a building came down, including one very frightened Superboy. The team was arguing loudly among themselves as they tried to figure out how to get out while Batman sat to one side with a headwound.

None of them were in good shape.

They were running out of air.

And the team were fighting and wasting even more air.

"We need more help." Nightwing said, "But I don't think Superman could hear us from here and nobody else in the city will be able to reach us before we run out of air."

"I could call my friend." Robin suggested, leaning against the wall.

"Uh..." Everybody looked at Superboy then each other.

"Your what?" Red Hood questioned.

"Is he saying friends?" Whispered Signal.

"Did you hit your head?" Spoiler asked, walking over as Robin stepped away from her.

"No, this is delirium. The air is too thin in here for him." Red Robin said.

"Robin, all your friends are right here." Superboy said.

Robin scoffed. "I have other friends. You guys told me I needed more friends, so I made friends. It was a task which I completed." He said, pulling out his phone as he silently muttered a 'please work' under his breath.

"Aw! I'm so proud of you!" Nightwing doted as Robin rolled his eyes and hit the call button.

"Yo, Robin, you see the collapse?" Phantom's voice said, sounding weirdly echoed on the line, not that it was unusual for Phantom's voice to do such a thing on calls.

"Bigger problems. I was inside the building during the collapse. Batman is down. Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, Orphan, Signal, Spoiler, and Superboy are all in here with me. We need exfil."

"Oh shit, on my way. I can get all of you out at once but you guys will have to forget what personal space is for a minute." Phantom said as Robin ignored the looks from the others.

"Whatever it takes, but hurry we're running out of air."

"What floor are you on?"

"Basement."

"Got it, I'll be there in just a second." The call turned to static for a moment before Phantom phased through the ceiling and looked at them. "Wow, a party." Phantom said, ending the call and slipping the phone into a bag on his back.

"No time, get us out of here." Robin pushed.

Phantom nodded, "You and you put Batman between you." He ordered Nightwing and Red Hood who after a moment did as they were told, supporting Batman between them. "Now use your free hands and hug me. The rest of you guys hug them and no matter what do not let go of each other or me. If you do you'll die."

"Great, trust the weird glowing kid not to drop us and kill us or die here. This will only go well." Red Hood growled but didn't question it further as they all held onto Phantom.

Robin could feel the ground vanish from under them as they flew upwards through the building and then out into open air. Phantom then took then a safe distance from the building near where the police were and made sure they were all on the ground before he stopped flying.

"There you go. Thanks for riding Phantom-Air." Phantom said, sounding exhausted as he leaned against Robin who frowned up at the taller teen.

"You okay?"

"All good. Been a minute. You guys get checked out. See you around Robin." Phantom said, then flew away as Superboy grabbed Robin's arm.

"Are we going to talk about the fact that your new friend doesn't have a heartbeat?" He said anxiously.

"He... doesn't?" Robin tilted his head.

"No!" Superboy squeaked, "Where did you even meet that kid?!"

"He saved me from being shot. It's no big deal."

"Does B know he exists?" Red Robin asked.

"No."

"Then it's a big deal." The others sighed.

Nightwing shrugged. "Next time introduce us to him properly though, when we're not suffocating in a hole."

"I suppose I will consider it."

Orphan was quiet for a moment, "New brother?"

"NO!" They all said together as she chuckled.

[ozzgin]

The Mean Girl Bully Reader x Nerd Loser Yandere story sparked another red flag reader idea I had 😈

Imagine a Bratty Female Reader x Well Mannered Wealthy Male Yandere. Unlike our favorite monster whore gal, and two-faced bully, this new reader insert is super vocal about her distaste in just about everything. Hardly anything is up to her “standards.” She not only complains, but whines too! 🥳

Then her poor beau weirdly loves her despite her horrid personality. I don’t know how, I’ll leave that part of imagining up to you, but there’s my request 🥺

I just like morally grey or blatant antagonistic readers. A lot of times, it’s more fun if the reader is attractive this way to a yandere, than having stereotypical good traits, like being compassionate or respectful 😔

So please, a Bratty Female Reader x Well Mannered Wealthy Male Yandere?

-👘

I was wondering if I should just incorporate this into the Yandere CEO draft I have, but I had this sudden idea for a downright shameless relationship between a beloved, well-respected politician and a perverted, needy brat of a Darling. (I don't like politicians but alas, I needed a high-stakes public profession for this)

Yandere! Politician x Bratty! Reader

Mr. Politician is a true rarity in his field of work: well-mannered, articulate, and most importantly, genuine in his dedication. He works tirelessly for change and improvement, earning the adoration of the people. There's only one exception to his loyalty: no country ever comes before his Darling. And what a demanding Darling you are...

Content: female reader, older yandere, NSFW, some exhibitionism

Many would describe their interactions with Mr. Politician as follows: he's disciplined, confident and resourceful. A natural born leader, you can tell within seconds of meeting him that he is a man to rely on. He's spent many years in the game, and nothing can shake him out of his signature calmness. He keeps everything in pristine order, and nothing escapes his scrutiny.

There is, however, one quirk only few select people know about. A detail no one dares to discuss. It is common knowledge that Mr. Politician has a partner, yet the particularities of it are kept private. His beloved is a much younger girl, rotten to the core. It is unclear how this pairing came to be; the day Mr. Politician won his place in his prestigious office, he showed up with the mysterious feminine figure at his side.

What's certain and obvious to all witnesses is that his vocabulary quickly discards any meaning of refusal whenever he's dealing with you. It almost feels like the man worships you. He's never alluded to being religious, most likely because that role's been taken already. His eyes soften whenever directed at you, gleaming with raw adoration.

Splurging on expensive things is a given. Money has never been an issue for someone of his status. In fact, it's a handy and convenient tool he frequently uses to dampen the damage of your tantrums.

"Disgusting", you spit between your teeth, pushing the plate away and crossing your arms. The renowned chef of the Michelin star restaurant can only stare in horror before Mr. Politician intervenes with a chuckle. "Not feeling it today, huh?", he coos at you with loving strokes. "May I ask that you bring everything else from the menu?" he says in a sterner voice to the employee. "E-everything, Sir?" the waitstaff questions. "Well, naturally. I can't let my Darling starve."

"I'm bored. Let's leave now", you mention bluntly, standing in front of the heavily ornate table with a huff. "Are you sure, Darling? It's an important meeting for the country", Mr. Politician tries to plead. Around him, the other men sit baffled, observing the outrageous exchange. "Now!" you conclude louder. Before anyone can protest, your boyfriend stands up obediently and reaches out for your hand. "Then allow me to guide you, love."

A paradox. His earnest work is put to a halt if you require anything from him. Somehow, he has until now managed to juggle the two with little effort, and to his credit, there have been many instances requiring nerves of steel. Such as you paying him an unannounced visit to the office, and disliking the fact he was unavailable due to a meeting. So, you marched over to the window and promptly flashed your chest against the glass. Everyone else was focused on the opposing whiteboard; he was the only one who immediately noticed your arrival. "As you can see, the expected result is irresistible", he continued with a professional smile, tapping the graph with a marker.

Everyone knows Mr. Politician is fervently devoted to his principles. Take his last public speech, for example. Knuckles white from gripping the podium, he'd nearly choked during an eloquent -but passionate - conclusion. His face was red, his jaw tightened. He needed a moment to recollect himself, and the public waited with bated breaths, visibly emotional. Of course, they couldn't tell the outrageous truth: that you were shamelessly kneeling at his feet, pumping and teasing his erection until, at last, he let go all over your face.

"I wanted to see if you'd stumble on your words", you explain afterwards, wiping the sticky liquid off with a damp cloth. "That would've been unpleasant", he responds with a shiver. "It was live on national television."

He does not seem too bothered by the potential risk of being caught. Truly, his nonchalance knows no bounds when it comes to you. Or perhaps it is part of the charm. There's something quite depraved yet tempting about this perpetual contrast.

To return your daring favor, he gently places you onto his desk and spreads your legs, leaving trails of kisses along the inner surface of your thigh. A quick glance down confirms his suspicions: your bare bottom lays on top of confidential, rather important documents he dutifully signed hours ago. How thrilling of a feeling! He already smiles in anticipation, picturing himself as he hands over the folder to the oblivious party. He's not breaking any rules, now, is he? Nowhere in the book of etiquette does it state you mustn't fuck your beloved on top of official papers.

You gaze at the disheveled face underneath you. "One day I'll get you in trouble", you blurt out between whines. "Me? Oh, Darling. You know I always have everything under control." He lifts himself up and gives you a quick, desperate kiss. "Including you."

[carmenized-onions]

Tony, Terry, Tommy? | Walk-In Hotfix

synopsis; You get an unexpected call from an old friend in need of an emergency repair. Good thing: that's kind of your whole gig. Bad thing: You've been avoiding the Berzatto family for the past year.

tasting notes; hurt comfort? idk man, he's in a fuckin' freezer. this is gonna be a long slow-burn series. We don't use Y/N here and we've got a very preestablished storyline going on babes. Eat up.

portion; 3.1k+

possible allergies; SEASON 2 FINALE SPOILERS, I've started writing this before Season 3 comes out in June so we're going WAY off canon (unless I'm an oracle), Mikey is gonna be central baby, any tw you require for the bear-- you require for this.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns!)

I have not written fanfiction in 5-6 years and once again some goddamn pretty boy just YOINKS me back in. I'm making up my own season three here so I'm kinda flying by the seat of my pants with this series, hopefully it turns out. If it doesn't... C'est la vie, I had fun.

The inciting incident, the thing that pulls you in, and permanently alters the trajectory of your life—                    Is honestly quite boring, because it’s just a phone call from an old friend.

You stare at your screen for what feels like eons but it’s really just a few rings. It’s enough time to frantically search through blankets on your couch for your remote to pause your show— Which might as well be like 10 years of time. You’re heavily debating not answering; what if it’s something heavy? What if a mutual childhood friend died? What if it’s a love or murder confession? What if it’s about the money you owe her? The money she owes you?

Do you really want to take that kind of call? On what’s been a peaceful Friday night? That’s a rarity in your part of Chicago, c’mon. If it’s important, she’ll leave a voicemail... Who are you kidding, she doesn’t leave voicemails— Frankly, it’s bizarre and concerning that she’s calling in the first place instead of spam texting. …Alright, she’s let it get to the fourth ring, she’s probably dead or dying. You need to pick up.

“…Syd?”

She sounds infinitely stressed, but relieved to hear your voice.“Hey, hey, uh—”

There’s a cacophony of yelling, banging, and what you imagine are kitchen noises in the background. Guess she kept to her guns after Sheridan. That’s nice. Or maybe it’s not. Hard to tell.

“Are you good?” She can’t see the concern on your face or your free arm crossing over your waist— But she can imagine it in the worried lilt of your voice.

“Yeah, yeah yeah, yeah— I-I’m good— Well actually, no, I’m not good, that’s why I’m calling. Actually. Sorry. I know it’s been a minute, it’s fucked up to call only when I need something—”

“Syd.”

“Is your dad still a handy-man?”

Ah. Goodbye peaceful Friday night. Hello emergency hotfix services.

You click your teeth, “Oh, no, he retired. Got a case of… Getting fucking old disease.” But a part of you is relieved it’s a thing that’s broken, and not her. This is at least manageable— Whatever it is.

“Fuck. Okay. Fuck. Ha, yeah, my dad’s got that too— Well, okay, then I’ll talk—”

You’re quick to jump in. “I took over the business though. So, if you’re—" “We need help so bad right now.”

You can’t help but laugh at the speed of it, but immediately feel guilty hearing the desperation in it. “Yeah? Who’s we?”

You stick the cellphone in the crux of your neck, already walking across your apartment to throw on your jumpsuit— Dark navy blue, elbow length sleeves, dad’s old logo embroidered on your right breast pocket.

CHICAGO’S KINDEST ⚒ FIXERS & CO. It’s managed to grow on you.

There’s an egregious number of patches ironed or sewn onto the back and shoulders of it. All from businesses you and your father had either worked with or done odd jobs for. A NASCAR jumpsuit, but for nostalgia and small businesses. Something something ‘it all starts with your neighbourhood’. Your dad would say.

Syd continues, she hasn’t changed much. You hear her sharp dicing in the background, the rhythm seems to calm down into an actual flow instead of erratic speed. You figure either the dinner rush is starting to slow down or she’s relieved you’re coming. Who are you being humble for, no shot it’s the former.

“So, you know how I’m like— Like a chef and shit?”

 You hum the affirmative, putting her on speakerphone so you can pull out your tool kit with both hands.

“So like, I actually co-own this restaurant opening tonight.”

“Oh nice!”

“Yeah— Yeah, yeah, it’s really nice, but actually, it’s not, because it’s bad.”

“In the way I can fix?”

“In the way you can fix, yeah. Hopefully.”

“What’s the damage?”

“So, my co-owner uh, Carmen, he got locked in the walk-in. Like trapped.”

You take a beat, a confused one. Half-stepping, almost tripping. You stare at your tools, picking out what you’ll actually need for this— How the fuck— “How is he trapped in the walk-in?”

“So, he meant to call to get it fixed—” “And he didn’t?” “And he didn’t.”

“What was broke about it in the first place?”

“The doorknob on the inside, broke off. And right now, or, more like, 5 minutes ago, the handle on the outside broke off too.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.”

“Do you have the outside handle, still?”

“Yeah. Yeah, laying around somewhere— It snapped off though, like—”

“Clean?”

“Uh…. Y’know, I would check, but I’m actually kinda—"

“Can we run table 36, please, Chefs?!” Now that’s an uncomfortably familiar voice.

“Yes, Chef! …I’m kinda busy.”

“Right. Restaurant. Oh, what fucking restaurant? You said Carmen, that’s that fuckin’ Michelin guy, right?” Berzatto. It has to be. The smallness of this world is a personal prank on you.

“…How do you know that?” Son of a bitch.

“…I try to remember what you like.” It’s a good save, but that was too intimate for 3 years of no contact besides Happy Birthday texts, fuck fuck, recover— “Ahem, uh, Restaurant?”

“The Bear. Formerly The Beef. You do still live in Chicago, right?”

Berzatto. Confirmed. Bleh.

“Fortunate for you, I do. I know The Beef, I’m not far, I’ll be there in ten. Tell him to not have a panic attack, if you get a minute.”

“I will not get a minute. But I love the dream.”

And you’re off. Jumpsuit half zipped over what was supposed to be a sleep shirt but is now posthumously a work shirt. Nobody has to know you’re wearing pajama shorts under this. Carhartt jacket thrown over your shoulders— Your dad’s, so, a bit oversized. Toolbox in hand, utility belt on— Though you’re mildly sure if your hypothesis is right, you will only need your threateningly long sledgehammer.

Thank God for your car. CTA would not like you right now.

You pull up front. Oh boy. The sign change is making you feel a type of way that you were not expecting. Pride? Envy? All seven of the deadly sins? Maybe. No time to stew on it because there’s an older woman smoking and having an emotional spat with who you assume is her shivering son out front. So. Definitely going through the back alley instead of getting in the middle of that shit.

Alas, it’s not any better, because there’s Syd, vomiting next to a dumpster.

“Better to ignore or acknowledge you in this moment?” Is the response you decide is best, despite the question, you’re already by her side. You put your tools down (out of the splash zone) and rub her back with one hand, holding back straying braids with the other.

“I couldn’t—” More vomit. “Fuckin’ tell ya.” Syd takes a few deep breathes before standing. She considers going in for a hug, but remembers, the vomit. “Good to see you. I want to catch up, f’real, but—” “The bear in the walk-in?” “The bear in the walk-in.”

You nod, fishing through your pocket. You hand her a mini container of Tums. She waves it off, of course, and you double down, of course, “Who you acting tough for?”

“Fuckin… No one.” She grimaces, taking the box. She makes a show of taking one, like a fussy kid.

You refuse to take it back. “Keep it.”

“Never stopped being the mom friend, eh?”

You laugh, picking up your tools again. “Listen, there’s no telling what the night and your stomach holds. Lead the way?”

The Bear is pretty, or at least the kitchen of it is, so far. It’s clean. Cleaner than it used to be. The death trap walk-in is really the only eyesore for you. You stare at the broken-off handle in your hand, twisting it back and forth to look at all the angles. It’s honestly a pretty clean break.

Sydney’s left to talk to her dad, as she should, and the rest of the kitchen is either too busy to pay you mind or is just silently relieved to see you.

Tina— Who has thankfully opted to not say ‘Hey, good to see you, it’s been a year, what the fuck’—Taps the walk-in door and says to this elusive Michelin Carmen that she’ll be right back, that help’s here. He does not seem to register this at all. She gently slaps your cheek before rushing back to her station, regardless.

“Maybe I’m just not built for this, maybe, maybe that’s okay— Maybe that just is.”

You’ve never said his name to him, it feels heavy on your tongue. “Carmen.”

“Right? What the fuck was I thinking?”

Alright, he’s too far gone. You flag down one of the cooks that are just shadowing for the night. “Hey, can you hold this in place for me?”

You stick the handle into what’s left of the hinge still attached to the door, which is, not much— But hopefully, again, if your hypothesis is correct, it’ll give enough leverage. The cook holds it in place, a little terrified as your sledgehammer comes into view.

“Not gonna hit you, promise.”

“—I’m a fuckin’ psycho. That’s why. That’s why I’m good at what I do.”

You tap (bang) the hammer on the door, enough to stop his train of thought. For a second, at least. “Sweetheart, I need you to stand up for me, Carmen Chef Sir.”

“…Tony?”

“...Who the fuck is Tony?”

The meek cook beside you speaks up, “He means Tommy.”

And Tina is quick to yell from across the kitchen— hearing how? We don’t know. “It’s Terry!”

“I am none of these people.” You sigh, readying the hammer. “Carmen, can you stand up, and just tuck your fingers in the wedge of the door? If there is one?”

“Heard. Yeah.” There’s shuffling from in there, getting into position. Though the steps and the words seem dazed, as he’s forced out of a mental fog. “Here.”

“This isn’t a fix by the way. Your whole door is fucked after this. Not that it isn’t already, but, y’know.” You back up, teeing yourself up before running forward.

“Well, wait—”

You slam the mallet into the tip of the handle perfectly, forcing it way too tight into the gap of the hinge. You push the cook aside with your hip, now using the long handle of the mallet to stick between the knob and the door, using it as further leverage to pull it open. It is incredibly straining.

“Carmy!” Is it okay to say that nickname before you’ve even seen his face? Eh. You’re moving the boulder, he’ll forgive you. “You feel air?!”

“Holy shit— Yeah, yeah— Push?!” “Of course fucking push!”

And it becomes apparent in this exchange of force that this Head Chef must be significantly stronger than you, because it’s opening a lot faster now. Though, fast is a strong word for the snail pace this is happening at. But it’s more than the nothing that was happening a minute ago.

“Aye… Cousin?” Richie, in a… suit? Runs up to you, coming from front of house. He immediately grabs a free spot on the sledgehammer’s handle to help pull. He was shocked to see you doing, well, this, right now, but then upon registering, he’s just shocked to see you. Period.

You can only groan in response, sticking a leg up and putting your foot on the wall as if it’s gonna add meaningful leverage— Oh wait, it kinda is. “Y'clean up good, Rich— Opening going—Fuck— well?”

“Oh yeah, fucking peachy.” He can only manage to wheeze in reply. Investing his strength in yanking rather than reintroductions; thankfully it pays off.

The hinge shoots open, you would have absolutely fallen on your ass if Richie was not ready to stabilize you. The walk-in door cracks open. Just a bit. It’s not dramatic, it’s just a breath.

It’s so anti-climactic that Richie doesn’t mind walking off to cheer before Carmen even comes out. Clapping your back as he does. “That’s what I like to fuckin’ see, Cousin! Ingenuity!”

Though, to be fair, he’s moving to intercept a very sweet looking, worried girl. You look up at her, wheezing as you keel over slightly to catch your breath, hands on your knees. She’s saying something along the lines of ‘What’s going on?’ ‘Is he okay?’ Girlfriend? Probably. Richie seems to be coaxing her accordingly. You turn your head back to the door. Carmen hasn’t come out yet. That’s a red flag. With another wheeze, you stand up right, opening the door further, peeking in.

He's standing there, catatonic. Not looking at you, but straight forward, beyond you. He must’ve been by the door to push it open but now he’s stumbled against the back shelf. Every time his girl’s voice manages to ring into here, his eyes crinkle— Wince. His breath keeps hitching. He looks afraid. It is better to be caged right now than it is to be out there, doing whatever he could be doing, right now. Talking to anyone might be a death sentence, right now.

“I don’t need to provide amusement or enjoyment. I don’t need to receive any amusement or enjoyment. I’m completely fine with that.” He mumbles repeatedly. You can barely hear it over the buzzing of the freezer.

Whispering it just for himself, like some sort of fucked up mantra. Like it’s a state of inner peace to feel this bad. You doubt he even sees you right now.

You know you don’t know Carmy personally. Mostly just through hearsay.

He’s never met or heard of you, that’s for sure.

But you know Berzattos. Or. Knew the one.

And you know a downward spiral. Intimately.

And you know that right now, he’s fucking cold. He is shivering and making no move to leave that state. You think he thinks that’s the state he deserves to stay in.

Nothing to lose but a good first impression, right? You drop a screwdriver in the doorway as a doorstop— Because how fucking dumb would it be if you both got stuck? And. Extremely slowly, you approach him not unlike approaching an actual captive bear. In your eyes, you might as well be.

Standing right in front of him doesn’t stop his mantra. You slip your jacket off, half hugging him to drape it over his shoulders. “You’re just cold.”

“I’m a—” “You’re just. Cold.” You cut him off before he has the chance to self-deprecate again, smoothing out the sleeves on him. His eyes readjust to actually look at you rather than somewhere beyond.

You sniff. You’re already cold and it’s been 30 seconds. This poor thing. You rub your hands together, breathing hot air into them before touching them to his frigid fucking face. “Fuck you’re really cold. Like danger cold.”

Never being one for boundaries or hesitation, you hug yourself to him. It’s the fastest way to warm him up. You slip your hands under the jacket— Your jacket— And just engulf the Italian Popsicle Man before you.

Shockingly, he doesn’t push you off or suddenly reawaken to his senses and tell you to fuck off. He doesn’t flinch, if anything he leans in. His body doesn’t really have time for surprise, right now, it just takes what it needs. And what it needs is warmth and oxytocin. His breathing slowly but surely self regulates, and once you start to remember decorum you lower your arms— But. He opts to place his chin on your shoulder, like the world’s most gentle hook, and that alone is enough to keep you there.

It's a long, silent, liminal spacey moment before he speaks again. Both of you speak just above the decibel of the freezer's buzzing.

“You’re not Tony.”

“Terry.”

“You’re Terry?”

“No, Tina said Tony’s Terry. I don’t know who the fuck Terry is.”

“Terry’s the fridge guy.”

“You’re still going to need to call him; I did just make it worse.”

“That’s fine.” He swallows. “Who called you?”

“Syd.”

“Should’ve called you earlier.”

“Should’ve called the fridge guy earlier.”

“Yeah.” He sighs, but he makes no move to move, so you don’t either.

“You know Mikey too?”

Ah. The patch. The Beef. It's worn, but it sits proudly on the left shoulder of your jumpsuit. Your heart tightens and so does your posture.

“Yeah.” You sigh. It’s shakier than you’d like it to be. “Dad knew him, so then I knew him, so then I occasionally fixed shit for him. Shit that ‘Fak couldn’t?’ I think his name was?”

“Hm.” He hums. “He ever got locked in the walk-in?”

“Yeah, he really fucked it up, like waayy worse than whatever happened with you tonight. Like whatever happened. At least 10 times worse.” Your voice is coated with sarcasm, but it’s not entirely untrue.

You’re relieved, when Carmen laughs at this, a touch maniacally, but it’s something. Right now, any emotion from him besides regret and anxiety feels like a trophy. He straightens up, pushing his hair back, so you remove your arms.

“You’re fuckin’ funny, Tony.”

“Still not Tony.”

“Oh my god!” A blonde, very pregnant woman cracks the door open, relieved. “Are you okay, Bear?” You step aside so she can hug Carmen, holding his cheeks to look over him. Oh, this has to be—

“I’m good, I’m great, Sug.” He says this incredibly unconvincingly, hanging one hand on her wrist.

But what matters more in your brain right now is: That’s Sugar. Natalie.

And now you can put a face to both siblings you’ve been bitched about to.

Chain-smoker, means well, cringeworthy husband, too good for her family, incredibly judgemental, cares too much and worries more, loves to fight, her mother’s daughter, pushy, sticks her foot in her mouth, can’t take no for an answer, would lay down her life. Natalie Berzatto. Little sister.

Michelin Star retaining, big shot, sensitive, definitely a virgin, ball buster, sweats the small stuff, sweetheart, asshole, incredibly smart, flighty, coward, deeply loyal, whiny, screamer, show-off, fantastic drawer, shell, mister new york, annoyingly humble, undeniably the most talented. Carmen Berzatto. Baby brother.

Mikey’s words. Of course.

Nat turns her gaze over to you, “Thank you.” You can only bring yourself to nod in reply, a bit awkward— Lost in your rolodex of memories of the people you’ve never actually met until right now. It’s weird to feel parasocial about a normal person.   

“Our toilet, exploded.” She says.

Now that pulls out you of it, and gets a laugh out of you. You put your hand over your mouth. “Yeah?”

Sugar shakes her head, eyes widening like she’s just stepped in it, “I didn’t mean like— Like, you just did a job, right, that’s like tacking on another last-minute service—”

“That’s fine.” You put a hand up stopping her from continuing, still chuckling. “I’ll take a look at it tonight and try to fix it tomorrow?”

She nods, smiling bright, “Thank you, Tommy.”

Who needs to use Y/N when you have the fridge guy?

I so desperately hope you liked this first chapter. I've been stewing on this for like a week so I beg of you to reply/reblog/send me an ask (anon or not!!) telling me what you thought!! Unless it's mean!! In which case, do NOT!!!

And just a forewarning, as we step into uncharted territory where the walk-in meltdown was cut short, I need you to hold my hand through it bb. We're making this man's life better or we're gonna die trying.

Next Part

[madridfangirl]

A Weekend in Ibiza - Part 2

(Jude Bellingham blurb)

(Part 1, Part 3, Part 4)

2.6k words. Jude*female reader. Suggestive language.

A/n - When we don't get Jude holiday content, we make shit up

.............................................................................

The cold shower calmed your nerves and cleared your head. The fog lifted from the brain, replaced with fury. 

That fucker, that assholic fucker, really thought he could play you like this? Just waltz into your peaceful space & bend you to his will?

What a sad, little life he lived if that’s the kind of people he was surrounded with. 

Oh, you were gonna show him his place. Real good.

What you did next shocked you. But propriety had gone out of the window the moment he turned this into a battle of wits, dragging you in as an unwilling participant.

Jude was done with Round 2 & was lounging on the deck when he heard his spare phone buzz. He lazily felt around the surface for his waist bag, too blissed out to move. The naked woman lying half on top of him, feeding him grapes was a factor too.

What he saw made him rub his eyes & sit upright. The woman whined at the interruption, which he barely registered.

‘Naa I am busy. Going snorkelling with this one.’ 

Attached was the back image of a man. A big, well built, shirtless, heavily muscular, glossy skinned, wet man. A surfer’s body. 

‘And who is he?’

‘Met him on the beach just now. Said he wanted to show me a few things. Am gonna let him.’

That was a sucker punch to the gut that he didn’t see coming.

‘You are bluffing.’

‘Yeah? Want me to send you a pic after? Don’t think we’ll find a bed but a remote island maybe?’

He called you. Disconnected in the first ring. He called again. Same result.

‘Don’t do this. It’s not safe.’

‘I am a big girl, I can handle myself.’

‘What happened to the no casual sex policy?’

‘A girl can change her mind. CERTAINLY for a guy like that.’

‘Rubbish - he looks OLD.’

‘Word you are looking for is experienced. A MAN, not some little boy fresh out of his teens.’

‘Look, I’ll stop if you stop.’

‘Never asked you to stop. Never asked you for ANYTHING. Infact, I explicitly told you to go with the woman throwing herself at you.’

‘HE WONT KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH YOU.’

‘I’ll find out soon, won’t I? Hope he likes my new swimsuit.’

Jude resisted the urge to throw his phone in the water. The woman looked at him curiously as he paced around the deck.

Confrontation wasn’t helping his case, so he changed tact.

‘Listen, we got off on a non-ideal note. I can see that. But we can talk this through. I’ll come back right now, yeah? Just give me like 15 mins.’

‘1) The world does not revolve around you 2) Actions have consequences 3) Chris is waiting & I am going to him now. Will be MIA for a few hours. Bye.’

Jude called again. You didn’t pick up. He left one final, desperate message.

‘Please don’t do this. I am sorry. You can get back at me in other ways. Please.’

You smiled victoriously as you looked at his plea. Two please and a sorry in one sentence. Ergo, mission accomplished. Who knew a picture of Chris Hemsworth in your gallery would come in so handy one day. Oh, the benefits of thirsting.

Putting your phone on airplane mode (to let him stew further), you got under the covers, still in your bathrobe, and drifted off to a peaceful afternoon nap.

Complete contradiction to his state.

Jude was struggling to wrap his head around what just happened. And why it was bothering him so much. He stripped to his briefs and jumped in the cool, crystal blue water. To erase the images plaguing his mind. Of you in your swimsuit. Of you and that horny geriatric fucker.

At one point he even looked around the water, trying to look for the snorkelling spots. Then cursed himself for being reduced to that. 

The current was brisk, numbing him enough to think straight. All wasn’t lost. Not yet. He just needed to come up with a better move. A different move. Coz you were different, it had been well established. The rebuttal did bruise his ego, he admitted to himself, but he was still sure he wasn’t wrong in sensing your attraction. It just needed the right nudge to bring you to him.

He emerged from the water, enthused again, and the woman rushed to him, offering to help him de stress & unwind from whatever was bothering him. Jude was never gonna pass up on a quick head in the loo. As he thrusted into her mouth, he found himself wishing it to be you.

If only you had been that easy. But then, the chase won’t be as fun, the anticipation not as deep. Plus he was certain your affections couldn’t be gained from fame, money or expensive gifts. You’d probably throw them in his face if he attempted that. 

He wondered if things would be different if you knew who he was. That there was a different side to him too. An idea struck him then, right at the peak of his orgasm.

You woke up after 3 long blissful hours, stretching your limbs, still burrowed under the covers, and put your phone off airplane mode.

One message from him, from an hour ago.

‘Atleast tell me you are back safely.’

The change in tone did not go unnoticed and you figured this merited a response. 

‘Just got done. Exhausted. Gonna sleep it off now.’

Letting the innuendo hang in the air, you ordered your evening cappuccino & croissant, enjoying them in your private balcony overlooking the waters. And played your favourite music, as you watched the evening sun cast patterns in the sky. Splurging for this room was turning out to be a great decision after all.

Curiosity got the better of you then, and you succumbed to googling him, to know more about this ridiculous/ridiculously handsome creature.

When you looked, you prayed you hadn’t. The guy wasn’t just atrociously hot, but he was many other things. Damn good at his day job (excellence at work was your primary turn-on). Well spoken & articulate (wtf happened to him today then?). Wholesome with his family (your number 2 turn-on). Unbelievably amazing with kids (you could jump from the balcony right now with the number of boxes he was ticking). And just generally affable & affectionate to everyone around.

You scrolled & scrolled through countless reels, & wondered which was the real him. The dickhead he was this morning or this angelic creature loved by all & sundry? Everyone seemed to swear by him. Did you catch him on a bad day then? Or was this a carefully crafted public persona to fool the world?

You kept going back to that one video with kids, which was melting your insides. 

That, and another one with him being abrasive on the pitch, picking up fights. Some would have called it cocky, and it was, but it was also inexplicably hot? Knee-wobbling hot? It was the same cockiness he had this morning but that had put you off. This video, though, was making your head spin. Giving him a power you never wished for him to have over you. And his body, oh god that body, plus the way he carried that attitude. 

You quickly threw the phone away, hoping you weren’t in too deep already. Consciously reminding yourself what an entitled prick he had been and how furious it had made you.

Needing an immediate distraction, you called home & listened to your 4 year old nephew babble for a good 30 mins. And your mom telling you all the news from back home for another 30 mins. 

Dinner was the next distraction. You took your time in picking a delicacy, settled on paella, a glass of wine and put on a comfort movie on Netflix as you enjoyed your dinner in bed. For some reason, you were avoiding going outside.

It was 10 pm, the sun had finally set making it feel like night time. No more messages from him since the last one to check on you. Which was a good thing. Which is what you wanted. Right? 

Yes, of course. Finally you were rid of him. He must be out, doing something, or someone. Far far away from you.

A quick look at his Insta won’t hurt, would it? It would just confirm his whereabouts, so you can finally be at peace, away from him.

One new post. From 2 hours ago. Captioned ‘Making memories’. A bunch of pics from his day - sunbathing at the yacht, lunch with friends, frolicking in the water & sun-set. Carefully avoiding any hint of the women she knew were a part of his entourage. Just the guy friends made it to post, making you roll your eyes loudly.

When you reached the last pic though, you did a double take. For the second time today, the glass nearly dropped from your hands.

The pic had a glass of wine, and a tissue paper next to it. You could tell it was the same tissue they had used to exchange notes - it was in a blurred background, difficult to spot for others but you could make out your handwriting. And his.

Tagged to it was a song - Can’t we start over again.

You questioned your grip on reality as you read the lyrics of the song.

I know I’ve caused you pain.

Took you for granted.

I’ve been such a fool.

Can’t we start over again?

What the holy fuck was this? What in the name of god was he playing at?

Half-mad, half dazed, you quickly dialled his number. It rang & rang for eternity, he picked up on the last ring.

‘Missed me?’

It just hit you that you were hearing his voice for the first time. It was deeper & huskier than you had imagined. But you quickly regained control of the situation.

‘Are you mad? Are you totally completely mad?’

‘Saw the post, huh?’

‘Damn right I did. Seriously, what were you thinking? What if your horde of fans put two & two together? What if people start assembling here to inquire? God, what if people find that waiter? Jude, what did you do?’

You started to hyperventilate, pacing around the room.

‘Ok. Take a deep breath & listen to me, yeah? No one knows we are talking, not even my friends. The waiter I tipped handsomely to forget about what happened. The note is blurred, no one can make out what’s written other than you & me. All others will see is just a glass of wine on a holiday. And a reminiscing song which can be for anyone. Or maybe they’ll think I am drunk. There is zero way to trace it back to you. Heck, even I don’t know your name yet. So relax. I won’t compromise your privacy when you made it clear how important that was to you.’

His soothing voice, coupled with unassailable logic, calmed you instantly. You could almost laugh at how you had overreacted. Almost. You weren’t gonna tell him that.

‘Are you with me?’

‘Umm yeah, guess you are right.’

You could hear music blaring in the background. He must be out partying at some club when you rudely interrupted him. You were about to ask him to go back to what he was doing before he chimed in.

‘So, did you have fun today?’

You rolled your eyes at his roundabout attempt to ask what he really wanted to ask. Well, two can play this game.

‘Oh yeah. Great day, super relaxing, after a long time.’

‘Ended too quickly, no?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Well, if you were with me, no way we would be done in just 3 hours. No way you would be alone tonight, checking out another man online.’

He had just shown you how you were an amateur in the game he was a pro in. Honestly, you hadn’t even anticipated this line of thought. But clearly he had. In the same way he knew you would check him out online. Damn him, to the moon & back.

‘Told you he looked geriatric. Did he even…?’

‘Shut up. Shut the fuck up. Not another word on this.’

Your breath was laboured by now. What gave you solace was that his was ragged at the other end too. He wasn’t unaffected either. Both were silent for a bit. He broke it eventually. 

‘I meant what I said in the post. Shouldn’t have done what I did. Not to you. Wasn’t really thinking straight.’

‘Not to ANYONE.’

He had the good sense to stay quiet and not point out that it worked with others.

‘Yes. Can we get past it? I feel like I have been rejected enough for one day.’

You couldn’t stop yourself from chuckling, & he caught the shift in your mood.

‘Maybe.’

Now that was a window he didn’t think he was gonna get. And was extremely pleased with himself for getting here.

‘I’ll take that. Now, you know damn well I want you. And I know you are thinking about me too. Don’t start denying it, that wasn’t a question. Why are you fighting this, baby?’

Again he was cutting straight to the chase. This time though, it didn’t annoy you. It made you nervous, as you twisted & turned in your bed.

‘I told you why.’

You said softly, surprised at the tone of your voice.

‘Let me come over there & change your mind.’

‘I..I don’t know, Jude.’

He gripped a nearby pole harshly at the way his name sounded in your voice. 

‘Tell me, do I make you nervous?’

The accent was thicker now, making him even sexier. Making you bury your head in the pillow.

‘The situation makes me nervous.’

‘But me too?’

A pregnant pause. Then, a faint whisper.

‘Yes.’

‘I won’t do anything you aren’t ready for - trust me. Heck, knowing you, you’d probably kick me out naked if I try anything like that.’

You sighed into the pillow, and had no idea what these sounds were doing to him.

‘Aren’t you curious? Haven’t you pictured us together in bed, naked & wrapped around each other? Coz that’s all I have been doing since morning.’

‘Jude….please..’

‘Think of it as an adventure, yeah? A weekend in Ibiza that both of us would remember. We are wasting precious time, baby girl. Please, just please let me come to you right now & show you a good time.’

He had laid all his cards on the table, and waited for your response. Like it was judgement day.

You breathed heavily into the pillow, as you arrived at your decision.

‘Not tonight.’

‘WHAT?’

‘Not tonight.’

You could hear him breathe raggedly at the other end.

‘So, tomorrow then?’

‘I…don’t know, not yet.’

‘You are seriously gonna leave me hanging like this?’

‘I am sure you can find ways to distract & humour yourself in the meantime.’

More heavy breathing from him.

‘Are you a professional torturer of some kind? If not, you are in the wrong line.’

‘Thanks for the suggestion, I will think about it. Now, go back to your party.’

‘HANG ON. Are you for real?’

‘Very much. Now, be a good boy & let me think, yes? Bye, Jude.’

You blew a kiss into the phone & disconnected it, leaving him squirming & stunned at the other end.

................................................................................................

Hoping and praying this delivered the tension & takedown you all so vociferously wanted :))

There will be a Part 3 and I swear it will have smut 😂

Feel free to drop in your asks / suggestions for the next chapter - I moulded this chapter on the overwhelming sentiment in the asks :)

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | riley poole x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - having a girlfriend who can decode secret messages comes in handy when you're a treasure hunter; and having a clingy, needy treasure hunter boyfriend can be annoying when you're trying to decode something, but you find a way to compromise.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 4.4k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - SMUT (18+ only, and honestly who under 18 is watching this 20 year old movie about the declaration of independence? regardless, minors go away), established relationship, free use kink, touch of dumbification kink, FLIP PHONES (oh the noughties nostalgia), a totally unnecessary plot because everyone deserves a dose of colonial american history with their filth, riley and reader being nerdlove goals

(honestly can't believe I actually wrote this but now that I did I'm like hold up... is this my new obsession??)

When Ben answered the door obviously not ready, and obviously surprised by Riley’s presence, it didn’t take a genius to put together that he’d forgotten about tonight— which Riley had sort of seen coming, with how many times this one thing had been put off or rescheduled at the last minute.  One of the downsides of being a treasure hunter?  Your coworkers tend to be somewhat… unreliable.

“Riley— what are you doing here?” Ben wondered.

“Warm greeting as always…” Riley sighed before answering the question: “I'm here to pick you up.”

Ben gave Riley an even more confused look.

“For dinner,” Riley added flatly.  “At Talerico’s.  To meet my—”

“To meet your new girlfriend, oh god,” Ben realized, “was that tonight?”

“No, it's tomorrow, I'm just picking you up twenty-four hours in advance,” Riley replied snarkily.

“I'm sorry, Riley,” Ben sighed, “I really— I do wanna meet her, Abigail did too— but I completely forgot— can we move this to another night?”

“Ben, we've moved this so many times that she's not even a new girlfriend anymore,” Riley sighed.

“I know, I know, but we can't tonight— Abigail just went out,” Ben justified.

“Where'd the missus go?”

“The library, she's trying to help me with something.”

“A clue?  It's another clue, isn't it,” Riley realized, not trying very hard to hide his excitement.

“I was going to call you tomorrow,” Ben explained.  “Come in, I’ll show you.”

After walking into Ben’s house and upstairs to the study, Riley wrinkled his brow when Ben handed him the coded message.  “Well, that’s just a whole bunch of letters,” Riley noticed.

“Astute as always, Riley,” Ben frowned.  “We found them in a journal that belonged to James Madison.”

“Why would James Madison write down a bunch of random letters in his journal?”

“No— each letter was underlined in a different entry.  And, at the back, we found this,” Ben continued, showing Riley a scanned parchment.

“GABE FADECCE,” Riley read aloud, changing his mind a few times about the pronunciation.  “It’s a name, right?”

“It must be,” Ben shrugged, “but we’ve been searching online for any evidence of a Fadecce family or a Gabriel that worked for or with Madison, and we haven’t found anyone.  That’s what Abigail went to the library for.”

“It sounds Italian, could he be Italian?” Riley wondered as Ben set down the images with a sigh.

“I don’t know— possibly, but we’re at a dead end at this point,” Ben replied.  “I’m sure we’d have a lot more to work with if we could decipher those letters from the journal entries, but we were up all night trying to figure it out—”

“Not what I’d be up all night doing with my girlfriend, but okay,” Riley interjected.

“And I haven’t gotten anywhere with it,” Ben concluded.

“Wait— you can't solve it?” Riley challenged with a smug grin.  “The Ben Gates can't solve a clue?”

“It's not that I can't, it's just that a code like this requires a lot of time,” Ben explained.  “I'm a historian, not a cryptographer.”

“We need a codebreaker,” Riley nodded thoughtfully, “somebody who can decode something this complex, and knows enough about the Founding Fathers to have some context for the message...”  He tapped on his chin like he was really thinking about it, before proudly smiling and tilting his head in faux-realization.  “Hey, how about a former intelligence agent who specialized in decryption, with a master's in world history and beautiful eyes that you can get lost in for hours?”

Ben raised an eyebrow at Riley.  “Yes, that would be great— give or take the eyes thing— but where are you gonna find one of those?”

“At Talerico’s,” Riley announced, “waiting at a table for four.”

“Your girlfriend is a cryptographer?” Ben realized with wide eyes.

“I told you you'd like her,” Riley beamed.

~

Riley was engrossed in his game, furiously clicking the mouse and clacking at the keyboard before mumbling a curse of defeat and pulling the headset off; sighing, he turned around and looked over the back of the couch at you.

He'd only started playing the game because you weren't giving him attention, so it made sense that as soon as he died, he'd go back to bugging you.  “Hey,” he greeted plainly, smiling yet clearly fighting the urge to pout.

You were laying on your stomach on the bed, half-dressed, looking at the pages Ben had given you and scribbling notes on a pad.  “Hey,” you returned flatly after a pause, adjusting your reading glasses before taking a few more notes.

“You look cute doing that,” he hummed.

“Doing what?”

“Thinking.”

You frowned a little in concentration but didn't look away from your papers.  “I like to think I'm always thinking…”

“No wonder you're so cute all the time then,” he cooed, leaning in closer and resting his chin in his hands.

He waited for a moment for you to keep the conversation going, but sighed when you simply continued working on the cipher without paying him any mind.

Getting off the couch with a sigh, he hopped onto the bed and laid beside you, making the mattress bounce a few times.  He kept looking at you for a little while, eventually reaching out and rubbing your back for a moment, before sliding himself even closer to you and planting a kiss on your shoulder.

Even with ninety-five percent of your attention on the puzzle in front of you, you could still tell what sort of mood Riley was getting himself into.  “Well, there is one thing that makes you stop thinking…” he recalled in a purr, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and giving you a teasing trail of kisses there.

You sighed a little and shrugged him away.  “Riley, I need to focus.”

“Baaabe,” he pouted.  “I can't help it, you're just so— how am I supposed to resist you like this?”

“I'm literally just laying here,” you noticed.

“You know what you do to me in those bifocals, sweetheart.”

You snorted and finally looked back at him, admiring the puppy dog eyes he was giving you— they almost always worked on you, and he knew it.  Sighing in relent, you looked back at the pages in front of you.  “I need to get this done, I promised your friend I would finish it in twenty-four hours,” you explained, “but you can go ahead.”

“Go ahead?” he repeated, confused.

“You can just use me, while I work,” you offered flippantly, hardly noticing the way his face turned red.

“R-right… I can just, um… use you.  That's— okay, sure,” he coughed nervously.

“Just be quick,” you insisted.

“Yeah, that's a challenge,” he scoffed, shuffling on the bed to straddle your legs and run his hands over your back.  “I, uh, like when you wear my shirts,” he informed you, as if feeling his erection press against your ass wasn’t enough of a clue.

“Just get on with it, please?” you groaned.

“Yeah, yeah— sorry…” he mumbled, moving his hands down to your panties which he traced slowly.  “These are cute,” he noticed aloud anyways, and you sighed a bit to yourself as you realized how futile it was to try to keep him from talking.  You were just going to have to tune him out to get this done.

His fingers shakily hooked into the elastic and pulled your panties down, a low hum echoing in his chest as he looked at you.  Grabbing handfuls of your ass and kneading them gently, he mumbled something to himself that you weren’t really paying attention to— until he got your attention suddenly with a quick slap.  “Hey!” you yelped, jumping slightly.

“Sorry, sorry,” he breathed through a grin, “couldn’t help myself.  I-I won’t distract you anymore, okay?  Just, you know, keep working…”

You did just that, of course, re-ordering the papers in your hand to look at the scanned back page again.

He went on mumbling to himself as he shoved his sweatpants down to his thighs to free his cock: “juuuust keep working,” he breathed.

He spit into his hand quickly and smeared it on himself, before nudging in between your legs and pressing himself to your opening.

Admittedly, you did react slightly when he pushed inside you— a wince from the stretch of it, especially without much preparation— but you managed to keep quiet and focus on your work again.  “God, so tight,” he groaned, digging his fingers into your hips slightly as he slid deeper.  “You're too good to me, baby…”

He pushed as deep as he could go, which was honestly a bit further than you expected at this angle, and leaned over you slightly as he started to move.

“You feel so good,” he praised through a heavy breath, not taking very long to savor the moment before picking up speed.  You knew if you reacted too strongly to what he was doing, he'd notice instantly and start trying to pull you away from your work; so, you did your best to focus on the problem, even if you found yourself gripping the pages a bit tighter.

Even if your attention was straight ahead, you almost wished you could see him now— but then again, you had a pretty good idea of what you would see if you looked back: his mouth parted slightly with sighs of pleasure, a subtle pink flush across his face, his eyes going a little glassy as they drifted over you.  In fact, you could sometimes feel his gaze on you, especially at those times that his fingers traced your back and hips.

Realizing something suddenly about the cipher in front of you, you put your pen between your teeth and pulled the cap off, biting down on it slightly to hold it in place so you could keep writing on the paper your other hand held.  “Fuck, you're so hot,” Riley groaned, starting to thrust a bit more urgently.  Resisting the urge to smile to yourself too much, you kept taking your notes and didn't especially pay attention to him behind you, even when his occasional whimpers started to grow louder.

For the most part, you were able to keep your focus.  It wasn’t that Riley was especially easy to ignore— certainly not with him going just a bit faster with every thrust— but you were finally on a roll with this puzzle; maybe you would’ve already solved it if it weren’t for your boyfriend, even if he was a welcome distraction.

He panted with each movement, holding on tighter to your hips.  “Fuck,” he whispered, leaning down after a moment to rest his forehead on your shoulder.  Normally, you would have to stop yourself from reaching back to run your fingers through his hair, but you were too engrossed in your work; and it was a good thing, too, because if you’d done that he almost certainly would’ve grabbed the papers and tossed them away, impatiently demanding for you finish that later and let him finish now.

Instead, it seemed like the pace and intensity of both your decryption and his movements grew together: your writing was hurried while his thrusts were faster and harder suddenly, until you could hear skin hitting skin, his groans muffled slightly as they came out through his teeth.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, taking your pen away from the paper abruptly and looking at your work.

“Yeah, you like that?” he encouraged in a rough voice.

“Oh my god, I solved it,” you announced, hardly noticing how he'd misunderstood your exclamation.

That seemed to break him out of his focus for a moment, and he stopped moving as he leaned down over you, resting his chin on your shoulder to read the page you were holding.  “At the place of eighty-five pleas, remove the Crucifiction keys,” he read aloud from the paper— once he managed to navigate your disorganized notes.

“It's a polyalphabetic substitution cipher,” you explained excitedly.  “Once I realized the key word was his wife’s name it was relatively simple— aside from having to reverse engineer some Vignere tables—”

“But what does it mean?” he wondered.  “What even is a Crucifiction key?  Please don’t tell me Ben’s gonna rob some nuns.”

“This was Madison’s journal,” you recalled, “and he co-wrote the Federalist papers with Alexander Hamilton and John Jay— eighty-five pleas— but Hamilton wrote the majority in his home.  I think we need to go to his estate, and see if they still have any of the instruments he owned.”

“Instruments?” 

“The Crucifiction keys, that threw me off too,” you admitted, “but Hamilton was a pretty accomplished pianist— but he would’ve played the colonial precursor to the piano, the fortepiano, which was created by an Italian inventor named Cristofori.  Cristo as in Christ, obviously, and fori meaning ‘holes’.  The Crucifiction!  The keys are piano keys!”

“But who’s Gabe Fadecce?” he pressed.

“It’s not a name,” you answered, “it’s a song.  G, A, B, E, F…” you hummed each note as best you could recall.  “If we start at the first key in the bass and take out the first G, A, and so on up the scales, I’m guessing there will be another clue beneath them, or on the back or something.”

“You're amazing,” he smiled, kissing you on the cheek proudly.

“I'll call Ben,” you decided, reaching to pick up your phone from nearby on the bed and flip it open; you hadn't even opened your contacts yet before Riley wrapped his hand around yours and— gently— pulled it away and closed it.

“I'll call Ben,” he offered, “later.”

You turned to look at him, and he smiled at you, though there was something softer and darker about his gaze as it fell slowly to your lips.

“You and I have unfinished business first,” he continued softly before kissing you with more patience than you expected from him after all that…

When he pulled away, you reached up to take off your glasses, but he clicked his tongue as he stopped your hand from moving any further.

“No no no, leave those on,” he encouraged.  You grinned before he kissed you again, his weight sinking into your back as he slipped an arm around your shoulders.  You moaned softly into the kiss when he started moving again; it was a relaxed pace, but with him draped over you like this, he seemed to go so much deeper.

When he pulled away, you found yourself leaning towards him for more— but he just smirked at you and propped himself upright again, starting to move faster behind you.

“Look back at me,” he requested in a softer voice, and when you turned to look over your shoulder at him behind you, you found him biting his lip at the sight.  “Oh god,” he choked on a groan, meeting your gaze before shutting his eyes and tilting his head back.  “Fuck, is it weird that you ignoring me kinda turned me on?”

You laughed a little, and shook your head.  “No, that's fine… I can go back to it, if you want—”

“No, please— I still like you better like this,” he insisted.  “I like how responsive you are.”

He ran his hand up your back and you shivered, rocking your hips up slightly as he ran his fingers over your hair before taking a hold of your shoulder.

“Yeah,” he breathed, something beautifully dark to his voice, “like that.”

He began to fuck you hard— not fast, but intense and deep and just the right amount of impatient— and you didn't even try to hold back the loud whine of pleasure that jumped from your chest.  “Fuck,” you gasped, “oh my god, yes…”

“Uh huh?” he encouraged, watching with half-lidded eyes at the way you moved under him, your body naturally starting to rock back towards his.  “Tell me how that feels.”

“Good,” you panted.

“But not good enough to distract you from your work, huh?” he challenged.

“Well, to be fair, nothing feels better than cracking a code,” you giggled.

“Oh, baby,” he groaned, putting his hands on either side of you on the bed so he could lean down and kiss your neck, only to bite it a second later— not too hard, but a little harder than just playful.  You felt him smile when you yelped softly.  “You’re trying to piss me off, right?”

“Maybe,” you shrugged a little bit.

He sat back up and pulled out of you unexpectedly, but thankfully explained himself before you would’ve likely let out a pathetic whine that he would’ve held against you.  “Turn over,” he instructed, “and take that shirt off.”

You flipped onto your back with a smile; “I thought you liked how I look in your shirts,” you reminded him as he helped you pull it over your head and toss it aside.

“Yeah, but I like how you look without them even more,” he explained, running his hands along your sides before surprising you as he suddenly bent down to swirl his tongue around a hardening nipple.

“Fuck,” you gasped, grabbing onto his hair as he moved to the other, first with his eyes shut and then opening them to look up at you as your back arched.

“You’re so pretty,” he praised as his lips traveled to your neck; he yanked you closer by your hips, making you laugh slightly with surprise as you slid across the bed, though it turned into a moan when he thrust into you again in one go.

This time, he didn’t hold back at all: rough, needy, hungry.  You moaned louder than you planned to, grabbing onto his shoulders through his t-shirt.

“Sorry,” he panted out through a thin laugh, “but I can’t slow down now— not after you drove me crazy like that.  God, baby, you’re so fucking wet—”

You choked on the back of your own throat; you couldn’t help it, you just loved the way he said that.

“— this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Uh huh,” you mumbled, 

“You like when I use you, huh?” he taunted, and you bit your lip before nodding.  “That’s pretty kinky, you know.  Is that all you wanna be?  A fucktoy?”

“Oh god,” you groaned, accidentally digging your nails into his shoulder, though he didn’t seem to mind.

“Want me to just fuck you whenever I feel like it, whatever you’re doing?” he continued.

“Yes,” you admitted in a hiss, head dropping back onto the bed.

“You're really trying to spoil me,” he cooed, leaning down to kiss your neck in between words.  “Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart— I might end up fucking you five times a day.  At least.”

You moaned lowly, feeling your muscles seize up on him briefly, making him laugh in the most condescending-yet-sexy way.

“Oh, fuck— you want that!” he realized, and his voice dropped to a low growl again as he thrusted even faster, teeth teasing your pulse.  “You can never get enough, can you?”

Not that you ever really thought your response to that was going to be especially coherent… but the way you cried out totally gave yourself away; how had he made you so desperate so fast?!

“Oh, poor baby,” he offered pityingly, only to fuck you even faster until you whined pathetically.  “You don’t wanna think, huh?  Just wanna be my hole.”

“Y-yeah,” you gasped, “fuck…”

“You’re too fucking perfect, you know that?” he praised.  “The only thing sexier than fucking you while you use that gorgeous brain of yours, is fucking you until you can’t.”

Your moan was sort of trapped in the back of your throat as you tried to swallow it down; you wished you had the wherewithal to hold it back better, but you weren’t really used to him talking like this.  Normally he would just go on tangents of praise and begging (as needed), and even though it wasn’t your first glimpse of his more dominant side, this all felt a bit different.  Even the way he was looking at you seemed different— a sort of pride in his eyes, pride in his own ability to turn you into a wet and whimpering mess.

“So fucking good,” he cooed, “you’re so good, baby— my good, dumb little fucktoy.”

“G-god,” you choked, holding on tighter to the sheets under you, trying to hold yourself together.

“You’d better come fast, ‘cause I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” he warned with a sigh— which would be a much more credible threat if he’d ever left you hanging.  But no, those times Riley’s stamina hadn’t taken you all the way, he was more than happy to put his mouth on you and let it do the rest of the work.

This time, though, all he needed was a thumb drawing rough circles on your clit to help you along.  You hadn’t even noticed how sensitive it had become, not until your back arched and a needy whine jumped from your chest.  “Oh fuck, Riley, I’m close,” you yelped.

“Yeah?” he whined— actually, he repeated it a few times as he watched you get closer to your peak, but it was all falling on deaf ears as your moans got louder and louder.

“Yes!” you cried out, shaking under him; even with his weight pressing you down into the bed, it began to feel like you were floating somehow.  It was one of those orgasms that left you a little numb, with little jolts of raw pleasure that were almost too much— but your only defense was holding tighter onto him, inside and out.

“O-oh god,” he choked weakly, the movement of his thumb slowing but his hips going faster than ever.  “Fuck, fuck!”

He stopped all at once, burying himself in one last stroke as deep as he could reach, moaning lowly against the crook of your neck as he went mostly limp atop you.

After catching your breath for a few moments, you hummed softly in contentment and he carefully lifted himself up just to fall back down beside you on the bed.  He looked at you with heavy eyes but a huge smile; “You wear me out, you know that?” he breathed, reaching up to move some hair stuck to your face.

“You distract me from my work, you know that?” you countered.

“Hey, you got it done,” he defended.  “We’ll let Ben know as soon as I… you know, remember how to exist.  And use cell phones.”

“And maybe after a shower…” you suggested.  As soon as you saw the sparkle in Riley’s eye you added: “Separately.  I’ll pass out before we can make it to dinner tonight if we just end up fucking again.”

“I mean, they’ve been putting off dinner for months— why can’t we blow them off for once?” he suggested with a smirk, moving closer to you on the bed.

“I thought I’d worn you out,” you remembered with a breathless laugh, and he wrapped an arm around you to pull you into him.

“You did,” he sighed against your neck, “I’m just… easily re-inspired.”

~

It was a good thing this place was mostly empty, since this was technically somewhat sensitive information, but you figured anyone who overheard wouldn’t know enough about the conversation to glean anything too significant.  You found yourself rubbing your hands together under the table anxious as you watched Ben across from you, holding your work, and waited for his response.

“This is incredible,” Ben smiled as he read your decryption, making both you and Riley smile back with pride.  “A polyalphabetic substitution cipher, I should’ve known.”

“Yeah, any idiot would’ve known that,” Riley joked flatly.

“Where’d you find this girl?” Ben asked him, and you glanced at your boyfriend to find a little flush on his cheeks.

“You know, the technical answer is that we met at a panel lecture proposing that certain ‘random’—” he accentuated the word with a sarcastic tone and air-quotes— “radio frequencies detected by military technology might be messages from extraterrestrials—”

Ben rolled his eyes even at the passing mention of one of Riley’s more absurd conspiracy theories.

“But,” Riley continued, “I have a theory that she was actually created in a lab, specifically for me, by a team of scientists with the inexplicable goal of making me happy.”

“Oh, come on,” you giggled nervously, shoving Riley on the shoulder but failing to stop him from giving you a kiss on your heated cheek.

“That line working on you really is a testament to the fact that you’re made for each other,” Ben offered, and you decided to ignore the backhanded element of the compliment because of your sense that there was something very genuine about it.

“Look who’s here,” Riley pointed towards the front door of the restaurant, over Ben’s shoulder, causing the latter to turn in his seat and look back.  “Abigail, over here!”

She waved when she saw you, quickly approaching the table and taking her seat as she apologized for being tardy; “This is Dr. Abigail Chase,” Ben introduced her with a proud smile.

“Oh, don’t be so formal,” she gently scolded him (maybe everything she said sounded that nice with her accent, though), but she beamed as she grabbed your extended hand to shake it.  “It’s so nice to meet you, finally— I’ve heard so much from Riley.  He’s been bragging about you so much these past few months, I feel like I already know you!”

“Apparently he met her attending some panel about secret alien messages from space,” Ben told her with a smile and a yeah, I know, it’s crazy look in his eyes.

“Attending?” Riley repeated with a scoff.  “We were both speakers!”

Abigail was a little better at hiding any judgmental instinct; “How perfect,” she announced sweetly.

“She’s a real whiz with decryption though— look at this,” Ben instructed, handing the (condensed) page of your notes over to Abigail, who took it and tilted her head as she read to herself.  

“Wow,” she sighed, “you made quick work of it: Hamilton’s fortepiano?  That must be in a museum somewhere.”

“It’s still in his home in New York,” you replied quickly, “we already looked into it.”

“Did you help her at all with the solve?” Ben asked Riley suddenly, who turned to you with a slightly mischievous look in his eyes.  

“Uh,” he stalled before clearing his throat nervously, but never looking away from you— “y-yeah, I helped… in my own way.”