#that’s right bones is in this too for a sec

[omegastation]

Thoughts after doing Garrus ME1 Normandy transcript:

Garrus doesn’t really argue with Shepard. It’s always “I suppose you’re right”, “Maybe”, etc. There’s one time when he even cuts short the conversation to avoid further conflict: GARRUS: I wasn't trying to– I understand, Commander. And the only time he really insists is because he wants them to kill Saren instead of keeping him alive but the way he does it is not directly confronting - he just asks questions. He doesn't say "I don't agree with you". And when Shepard explains, he immediately answers: "Yeah. I see your point."

I think he led Shepard into asking more and more questions about Dr Saleon so he could give Shepard his coordinates. My guess is he was waiting for the right time and Shepard being curious about what he experienced before was the perfect opportunity.

This part of their dialogue carries so much: GARRUS: My father’s a C-Sec man to the bone. “Do things right, or don’t do them at all,” he says. He thinks I’m being too rash. Too impatient. He’s worried I’ll become just like Saren. He actually talked me out of becoming a Spectre when I was younger. For the same reasons.  I think Garrus’ father was trying to protect him and rein him in, but by doing so, he prevented him from seeing complex situations and learning from them. Because this way of thinking doesn’t allow for real growth and mistakes. We're often told that we learn by doing things and it's true but first, we have to make mistakes and see where they come from. We also might not give our 100%, sometimes it's a 10% that leads to a 100% next time. And trying still means something. IDK, Garrus' father has a very restricting way of seeing things and to me, it’s how you end up with ME1 Garrus - who wants to be above the law and who has so much trouble seeing situations in a more complex way than “I have to let hostages die to catch the bad guy”. But when confronted with a more nuanced perspective - with a Shepard that challenges his point of view - Garrus learns and grows from it. And that's what he needs at this point in ME1. I'll say it's even necessary.

And this exchange right there: SHEPARD: For the most part, the rules are there for a reason.  GARRUS: Maybe. But sometimes it feels like the rules are only there to stop me from doing my work.  What exactly is Garrus’ work? Honestly, what does he mean by that?  I think his work is ME2’s Archangel and it’s quite scary. 

And finally, Shepard will pick up on changes in Garrus depending on how he starts the conversation.  Like here: GARRUS: Commander. I… What can I do for you? And your option is to reply: SHEPARD: Something bothering you? It’s in the fourth conversation and I love it.

[msbonnibelbubblegum]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61790134/chapters/157968289

Shamelessly plugging my first TOS spirk fic. I’m posting every Wednesday, I just released chapter 2 tonight! It’s looking like it’ll be a hefty fic, since I have like 20 draft chapters already written. If you like disasterous spaceship crashes on hurricane planets, growing psychic bonds, and medically accurate CPR, this is the fic for you!

Let’s hear it for tragic old man yaoi!!!!

[jvzebel-x]

🦋

[vaaaaaiolet]

Anxiety left you sleepless all night. Leon figures his favorite dream of you might help.

mdni CIAO CHILDREN!! f / m smut w established relationship. put bluntly, leon fucks the worry out of you 😭 he talks you through sex by retelling a dream, tiny bit of character study, PRAISE!! TONS of fingering, 0.5 sec of cockwarming, light angst, p in v w/ a happy ending iykwim, aftercare and i love you's awww. also strawberries 🍓

a / n: req fic from my event!! i took the premise from isle of strawberries by edwin raphael and you can find a playlist for this fic here. motivational smut is a first for me LMFAO but i hope this works w your vision, anon <3 also PEE AFTER SEX YOU GUYS

word count: 2.5k // read on ao3

The 5 AM sun shines rays through the cracks in your plan. You thought you’d been convincing enough with your face pancake-flat against the pillow and your left arm thrown out of the blanket just so. You’d even made sure you had a foot poking into Leon’s side the way he always grumps about, but somehow, your boyfriend always seems to see right through you.

Just like now. 

A busybody poke on your shoulder. “Sweetheart,” follows a drowsy whisper, “what’re you doing?”

Sleeping since last night, thank you very much.

“No use playing possum. You haven’t moved an inch since we went to bed and you, ma’am, can’t sleep still to save your life. C’mere,” and you’re tugged to Leon’s side of the bed, the top of your head peppered with slow, sleepy kisses as he hugs an arm around your middle. “Did you sleep at all tonight?”

You clutch his forearm like a safety bar on a rollercoaster. “A little.”

“Enough?”

“Um…” 

Leon kisses his teeth. He’s usually the one on the receiving end of these questions, but he’s picked up a couple things from you. “Too hot? Too cold? Anything I can get you?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I just can’t fall asleep.”

A quiet sigh from you, a hum of understanding from him.

“Because you’ve been thinking again.” He asks if you want to talk about it.

“It’s just a bad night,” you mumble, playing absentmindedly with his fingers. “Overwhelmed. Been getting into my head about everything I should be doing but don’t. I feel like I’m letting everyone down all the time.” 

In the champagne pink of the early morning light pouring through the bedroom window, your eyes trace the corded muscle of Leon’s arm around you – a testament to the strength it takes to do his job every day. There’s scars here, burn marks there, a plum-hued bruise.

Your words stumble to a halt. Embarrassed color rises to your cheeks. 

The matter is that scars from his missions to the ends of the earth litter the chest cradling your back right now. Leon must be sore and aching, listening to you whine like a child with too much food on your plate. What could be keeping you up at night when he shoulders your worst nightmares for a living? All while you lay cuddled and coddled? You don’t know the first thing about worry, the paralysis in his bones that must pale to yours.

Guilt creeps up your spine, and Leon frowns at your sudden silence. You’re retreating into a shell he’s called home too many times. He won’t have any of that with you. 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he soothes, smoothing back your hair. “I’m still here. You don’t wanna talk right now?” 

You let go of his arm and burrow into your pillow, mumble about how you like sleeping late on weekends anyway.

A scoff sounds behind you. “Sleep late, my ass.” 

Leon’s arm comes circling back over your ribs in an instant. He squeezes you so tight to his chest that you feel his heart thump behind your back, and you can’t help the unexpected laugh that bubbles up your throat when he lets go. It’s his favorite reflex of yours.

“If you won’t talk, I will.” Leon presses a kiss to your cheek. “Gonna distract you for a bit, sweetheart. Humor me?”

“Hm?”

“I wanna tell you about my favorite dream. You’re in it.”

You can’t pretend that doesn’t catch your attention like lightning to a rod. Leon doesn’t dream much, not besides the nightmares that have him scrambling to throw off the covers in the middle of the night. 1998 hangs thick in the air of your bedroom some days, but for him to have a dream where you don’t die for a change? That’s new. 

So is his hand starting to creep under your sleep shirt, playful circles tracing on the soft skin below your navel. Part of his distraction strategy. A successful one, if the skip in your heart rate has anything to do with it.

“This okay?” he rasps.

More than. 

You reach behind, cradling his cheek to kiss him a proper hello; allow yourself an anticipatory inhale when Leon’s hand dives under the waistband of your shorts. It takes exactly three seconds for his middle finger to pinpoint the pearl of your clit, and he circles it twice, maddeningly slow, before sliding right under to trace along the seam of your entrance. 

Leon keeps the pressure light. He needs your head clear so you listen. 

“It always starts the same.” He shifts his hips so yours widen for him. “I’m standing in the middle of a huge field, a strawberry farm. There’s nothing around for miles, just rows of bushes full of berries and storm clouds in the distance. I find an empty basket in my hand.”

You imagine your mountain of a boyfriend holding a basket like Strawberry Shortcake. Adorable. “You dream about picking strawberries?” you giggle, arching your back to fit more comfortably against him, and your consideration earns you a searing dip of his finger into your pooling arousal. 

“That,” Leon chuckles, “and a nagging, sinking feeling that I should be doing something but I can’t.”

Oh. 

“Mhm. It hits me that I have to pick as many strawberries as I can before the storm rolls in, and I can’t even move, sweetheart.”

You swallow the returning lump in your throat. Push down a sigh that was building at the upward roll of his fingertip inside you. Leon tuts at your effort, coaxing the sound out anyway with a press of the spongy spot he knows is tucked at the back of your walls. You crumple at the delicious nudge; it leaves you open to welcome another finger into your warmth.

“But this is a good dream because,” Leon smiles at your next gasp, “then I see you at the edge of the field standing next to a little house, waving at me.” 

He scissors you open like he’s got all the time in the world. You clutch the corner of your pillow when you hear it through the comforter: the soft, rhythmic squelch of his fingers curling into your cunt.

Pretending he can’t hear your whimpered little curses as he coos in your ear, “There you go, listen to that,” Leon continues. “That’s when I start thinking. There’s no way I can save all these strawberries in time. You’re standing there, smiling at me without a clue there’s a storm brewing, and suddenly all I can think about is getting you into the house before you get hurt.”

His lesson becomes one of endurance the more he talks. The fingers pumping into your pussy melt your brain into mush that’s chanting, more, more! Exactly the root of your problem.

“So then I- oh, poor baby. This isn’t enough?” 

Shit. You forgot you talk in your sleep. And apparently when you get fingered too. 

“Guess I can’t blame you. I get distracted in the dream too, fuck.” There’s a pause, a sputtering stop to the lovely fullness when Leon pulls his fingers out and promptly sucks them off. 

Even a worm will turn; you certainly do. You whine Leon’s name when he makes a show of it, gazing at you with half-moon eyes and a boyish grin pulling at his lips. “What, it’s my fault you taste better than the strawberries did?” 

No, for leaving you hanging. You were paying attention — maybe a bit too much.

“It was you, by the way,” Leon chuckles, lifting the comforter so his knees can bracket your thighs. 

“I distracted you in the dream?” you gasp, sliding your hands up his shirt.

“In the best way, angel. You helped me get moving again.”

The peachy light of dawn caramelizes gold as Leon climbs on top of you. It doesn’t warm the bedroom quite yet; Leon makes sure the comforter is tucked over your bare skin after he finishes kicking off his pajama pants. He’s back to murmuring sweet nothings, gently tugging your shirt over your shoulders so he can kiss down the swell of your breasts. You’re so toasty under the covers that the goosebumps now speckling your chest are entirely his fault. 

“I remember you picking a few berries off a bush,” Leon looks fondly up at you under golden lashes, pressing a gentle kiss over your heart, “and you just looked so content eating them. I was fretting over saving the whole field and you were fine with a handful.”

You’re itching to ask: but the storm’s still coming, isn’t it? Thunder, rain, your aching cunt dripping onto the sheets right under him. 

Leon is all too happy to answer. 

One hand cradles the back of your head so he can drop his mouth onto yours, leaving the other free to slip under the blankets, rub consolation over the hood of your clit, and finally, finally, notch the swollen head of his cock at your entrance. You cry out, clutching at Leon’s hair when he sheaths himself in a buttery-smooth stroke – as if it could be any other way with how you’ve melted like chocolate in his hands. You both gasp at the stretch.

Leon’s jaw works as he kisses you, savoring you. Spit bridges your mouths in between split-second gulps of air. Your heart thumps against your ribcage like you’re hanging off a precipice, no difference in the dizzying drop that waits ahead. His length sits adjusting inside the squeeze of your plush walls. 

Leon’s sentences come out chopped and desperate as he alternates sucking berry-toned love bites between your breasts, and he admits, “I don’t save the all the strawberries.”

You wheeze as if you’ve dashed across the field yourself. “No?”

“Just enough to last us the storm. Fuck the rest, figure it’ll grow back. Only need to focus on what matters – getting enough for you – so I pick a couple,” the thick of his cock is suffocating when it’s this still, “run,” Leon pants at the first snap of his hips against yours, outrunning the storm all over again, “and pull you inside the house before lightning strikes.”

Electric pleasure curls up from the base of your spine, spreads to your head and flickers down to your toes as Leon starts pounding into your pussy. No room in your chest for anxiety to linger when your eyes are rolling skyward. The edges of your vision melt into vignette as your lover sinks into you again and again. 

Tunnel vision. 

“Keep those pretty eyes open. Focus on what matters,” he repeats in a frenzied whisper, and the tunnel closes in.

All you see are Leon’s eyes. Smack dab in the middle of his blown out pupils is your reflection.

That’s it.

Coherency goes flying out the window with all your brainpower used up to connect the dots. “Leon, you-!”

“Tell me what you see, sweetheart,” he breathes sharply. “I know you can.”

You beg for mercy at each dig of his blunt cockhead. “Me, I get it, fuck! Please- just let me come!”

Course he can, he just has to drill something else into you first. 

“Need to hear you say it,” Leon grits. Nips at the base of your neck as your nails claw stinging holds on his shoulders. “Shit, I’ll make you see stars, don’t worry, I just need to – oh, you’re so fucking tight! – get it in your head. You can’t shut down on me.”

You thrash under him, make more space for bruising kisses to bloom up your neck. “But you’ve had it worse,” you sob out, overwhelmed. 

“How else do you think I know?”

He’s not letting you head off into your own storm alone. Not when you’ve saved him from his.

“Tell me you’ll let me in next time you get in your head, and I’ll make you come. I’ll make you come so fucking good, baby,” Leon hisses, stealing one last kiss from your panting lips. 

“Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

“I will.”

And you ought to thank your lucky stars your levees don’t hold. 

It starts with spiraling cracks. Leon reaching down to press his thumb over your swollen clit. One shaky thrust away from dislodging the last brick holding you together. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flutter of your cunt, choked breaths torn from his throat when the silken clutch of your walls sends him into that final crescendo. 

Leon’s fraying at the edges, obsessive in how rolls his thumb at the bundle of nerves that make you shriek his name, and you, hand in hand with him, finally let the swelling tsunami in the pit of your stomach topple your walls. 

Turns out he’s right. Stars explode across the night sky when your eyes squeeze shut. 

You can’t pay attention to much except the rolling tide of pleasure. Leon’s soon spilling into you, his brow pinched as he blindly works his spend into your cunt under the covers. His forehead glistens with sweat, hell, your baby hairs are a dripping mess, but strangely, you think you’ll spend the rest of your life chasing this warmth again. 

Your heart’s never felt more weightless. 

Glowing seconds sail by. Leon’s shaking arms eventually give way and he collapses onto your chest. You let out an “oof!” at the drop. 

“And then the dream ends,” you hear him sigh, eyelids fluttering shut.

About time, you think, smiling as you brush a thumb over his cheekbone. “Then you wake up?”

“No.” Leon cracks open a sapphire eye and grins. “Sometimes we do this.”

In the little hou- Oh. “Fuck you,” you laugh.

“It’s my favorite for a lot of reasons!” 

He sits up, keeping his touch featherlight when he pulls himself out from between your candied thighs. Tiny aftershocks jerk your thighs once, twice, and Leon takes the time to whisper soft apologies when he reaches for a tissue on the bedside table. 

“I meant it back there, y’know?” he hums, gently wiping off the mess between your legs. “I hate seeing you so hard on yourself.”

“It just feels like I’m making a big deal out of nothing. Especially when you’ve been through worse,” you mumble, picking at the covers.  

The tissue gets tossed into the trash, and Leon shoots you a small smile. “Worse to you, maybe. To me, the worst thing I’ve seen is watching you lose your spark and not being able to help.”

“You really think so?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I love you.”

So you remember your promise. 

You tell him you love him too, no more secrets to keep in your head. The bedroom blooms warmer than you remember it ever being, a little slice of summer straight out of both your dreams.

You remember the strawberries from the farmer’s market in the kitchen, and that Leon makes killer Sunday pancakes.

You remember how much you love afternoon catnaps with your limbs tangled between his. Infinite possibilities pile high like the papers on your work desk. So much to get started.

Focus on what matters. The rest will grow back.

You turn the other cheek, and kiss your lover on the mouth.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[moonstruckme]

PLEASE!!! im on my hands n knees begging. poly!mauraders with a hyper partner that give off golden retriever vibes I BEG

Happy to oblige my love!

poly!marauders x golden retriever!reader ♡ 1k words

Sirius is still in the process of waking up when you come inside, bags of groceries in your arms. 

“Morning!” You lean over the top of the couch to kiss his cheek as you go by, all but skipping into the kitchen. “Have you been outside? It’s gorgeous.” 

Sirius levels you with a deadpan look. “Do I look like I’ve been outside?” 

“You should,” you say, undeterred by his attitude. “Spring is in the air! The sun is out, the trees are starting to get their little flowers—I even bought us some tulips to put on the table.” 

“That’s nice,” he mumbles, sinking deeper into the cushions. He knows he really should help you unload the groceries, but it feels like his bones have been replaced by barbells. Luckily, he hears a set of footsteps coming down the hall. 

“Hey, sunshine.” James comes in fully dressed, pecking you on the lips before starting the coffee machine. “What’d you get?” 

“I got tulips,” you tell him excitedly. “Have you been outside? It’s a really lovely day.” 

James smiles, sliding one of the bags away from you as you start snipping the stems of your tulips so they’ll fit in a vase. “Yeah, I poked my head out for a sec. It is nice.” His glance slides over to where Sirius languishes on the couch, grin going somewhat cocky. “Morning, Sirius. You could help with the groceries, you know.” 

Sirius waves his hand. “Two of you are enough.” 

The coffee machine starts to gurgle, summoning Remus like a siren’s call. He trudges out of the bedroom, sleep clinging to his frame. Sirius opens his arms commiseratingly.

“It’s hardly ten,” Remus grunts as he collapses into them. “How have they already been productive?” 

“I know, they’re so perky.” Sirius pets down the cowlick at the back of his boyfriend’s head. “It’s freakish.” 

“You’re freakish,” you say brightly, bringing them each a cup of coffee. Sirius has no clue how you’ve managed to unload the groceries so fast, or where you found the time to doctor his coffee the way he likes it. You’re like a machine. You laugh giddily when he nips at your fingers as you pull away. “Remus, wait until you see the weather outside, it’s so perfect. I think we should have a picnic. What do you say?” 

“I say it’s too early for decisions,” he mumbles, sitting up off Sirius so he can drink his coffee. “But that sounds nice.” 

You beam as if you’ve gotten a full-stop go-ahead, breezing back towards the kitchen. “We can make brownies,” you say, bringing your vase of tulips to the table, “and sandwiches, and lemonade. And we can go to that park with the stream—what’s the one?” 

You look to James, who in turn looks to Remus. 

“Mayfield,” Remus says. 

“Right! We can go to Mayfield park, and hike over to that meadow-y area.” Sirius glances your way, and you’ve already started taking down the ingredients for brownies. “It’s so sunny and nice out, you guys won’t believe it. We can bring a frisbee or something.” 

“Hiking and frisbee?” Sirius murmurs to Remus. “I don’t like the sound of all this activity.” Remus snorts. 

“That sounds great, angel.” James apprehends you before you can start pouring things into the mixing bowl, putting a mug of decaf tea in your hand and steering you towards the living room. “I think these guys are going to take a bit to be ready for all that, but I’m sure it’ll be fun.” 

“Right.” You look a bit abashed, sitting down criss-cross-applesauce in the big armchair. “Yeah, we don’t have to go, like, right now. You guys just woke up.” 

“Thanks for noticing,” Sirius says wryly. But when you fidget in your seat and he can feel James’ glare boring into the side of his head, he throws in an eye roll of feigned reluctance. “Get over here.” 

You happily transfer into his lap, letting him brush your hair aside and squealing when he plants a wet, squelching kiss on your neck. Remus, sensing that Sirius’ attention has a new captive, leans back into James, who winds his arms around Remus’ middle gamely. 

“Now why would we go outside,” Sirius asks, nosing at the underside of your jaw as you giggle and squirm, “when we can just do this all day?” 

“You could just as easily do it outside,” James points out. Sirius whines petulantly against your skin, setting you giggling again. 

“He’s right,” you reason, transferring your tea to your other hand so you can wrestle Sirius away from your neck. “We could do this in the sun, with wildflowers and trees around.” 

He pouts. “But you know I burn easily,” he says, “and poor Remus’ hip can’t take the hike.” 

“You don’t know what I can take,” Remus huffs, and Sirius realizes he’s chosen the wrong avenue for his argument. “If my hip hurts, it’s only because your mum was so rough last night.” 

“I don’t particularly enjoy being compared to Sirius’ mum,” says James. Remus’ ears go a bit pink as he mumbles an apology. 

“I won’t let you burn,” you tell Sirius. “You can use sunblock, or we’ll find you a nice shady spot. And Remus, if your hip’s bothering you, we can always find another park. One without a hike.” 

Any vexation that might usually be summoned in Remus by mention of his aches and pains melts away in the face of your earnestness. “Thanks, dove, but I’m alright,” he says. “It’s fine today.” 

James rubs the skin just above Remus’ hip lovingly, and you send him a beaming smile. “It’s probably because it’s so nice out,” you say. 

“Yeah, Sirius,” James turns on him. “It’s so nice out. Do you really want to miss out on what could be the single most beautiful day of the year?” 

Sirius really could give a shit, but he sighs, rolling his eyes. “Fine, let’s picnic.” 

“Yay!” You won’t be contained any longer, hopping up from his lap. “I’m going to go get the frisbee.” 

“The frisbee’s in the attic,” Remus muses, then raises his voice so you can hear him. “Don’t go up in the attic by yourself.” 

“I can get it,” you call back. 

“Don’t,” he warns. “You need someone to hold the ladder, just—” The ladder groans as it comes down and Remus echoes it, starting to stand. But James pats him on the shoulder, encouraging Remus back down as he gets up. 

“Slow your roll, angel,” he calls ahead. “I’m coming.”

[miange1]

ANTHONY SWOFFORD

'you'll find, there's never any time for babes or wine'

male reader, anal sex, sexual frustration, raw dogging(ow.), cheating, slight internalized homophobia, sexual actions in the military (DON'T. do that), is it a crime to imagine myself with hair, i have dreads, these AREN'T coming off.

he slammed the white and worn out phone onto the holder of the booth. lunch was next, but he felt much to sick to even think about food right now. this was one of those moments he wish he hadn't signed that damn paper.

he wanted to be back with kris, feel her again instead of jerking himself dry to a picture of her in the stalls just for him to not leak a single drop of nothing.

he swirled the rice and chicken around in the paper bowl, his cup of water still full as he hadn't picked it up unless he received it. 'just a friend' she said. what bullshit.

deep down he knew this would happen. it happened to everyone else, so it was blind to happen to him. "..fuck." he muttered under his breath. he needed to get it together, he couldn't break down over her— not now, not like this. and definitely not here.

what was he gonna do? how could he focus this way? there was just no possible way for it to happen if this shit was nagging in the back of his brain.

he ended up throwing the food away, no longer even wanting to stare at it with this damn girl on his mind.

now he couldn't sleep, staring up at the barracks' ceiling just..thinking. what would he do when he got back and saw that guy just staring back at him. opening that door, seeing some random looking at him like he'd never seen him before.

no, no, fuck that, he'd know him. his friends were probably right saying kris had that military fetish. getting off telling that man that he was a jarhead—

"psst," his thoughts were interrupted by a whisper. was it directed towards him? he sat up, jumping a bit to see you right next to his bed. you were a friend of his he made here, a bit closer to him than anyone else. everyone described you as a sweetheart, you were real kind and caring but you got done what needed to be done whether you disliked it or not.

"i snuck these from the cafeteria," you held up two chocolate chip cookies, and it made him surprised that they even had any sort of flavor here. "you want one?" you gave that smile to him, making his heart melt. you thought of him when taking these? practically risking yourself to get something sweet.

"sure," he sat up, moving over a bit to make room for you to sit with him. he opened the wrapper, giving a hum of satisfaction at the sweet taste touching his tongue. god, this felt great.

"thinking about that white chick of yours?" he almost choked, not thinking that you could tell— but hell it was obvious. ever since the phone calls he had been spacing out, and getting angry easier.

he exhaled through his nose, but he didn't deny it. "there's this guy, charlie or charles or some shit. something with a c, i dunno." he looked down at his bruised knees, his feet planted right on the cold hard ground beneath the two of you.

"she met him at some hotel and..they seem to talk a lot apparently. but i just..i know they're boning and-" he looked over at you, seeing how your cheeks were stuffed with the cookies as you ate. he almost burst out laughing but held it in so no one else woke up. "what?" you swallowed down the rest of the food, confused as to why he was laughing.

"jesus man, im talking about my soon to be ex girlfriend be serious for a sec." you gave him a look, "i am!" your voice was still a whisper as you exclaimed, yet you couldn't help but laugh with him.

you had stopped for a moment but he still had a few chuckles. something just tempted you and you weren't too sure what it was. you always felt a bit of something towards him, but it was mostly just admiration right? yeah, he was a good soldier and you looked up to him to better yourself despite being here longer than him.

your eyes slightly hooded, your head getting a bit closer and he took notice at that. his body backed up a bit, but the two of you were still close. it hit that this must have made him uncomfortable, hint being he was giving you a weird look. he made it clear at the meet when the drill sergeant was yelling at him he most definitely wasn't gay. so what the hell were you thinking?

too ashamed to stand up and walk away, you backed off and looked down at the floor. you weren't gonna cry or anything no, you just felt shameful.

your skin felt cold, and full of goose bumps feeling his finger underneath your chin and tracing at your jaw line. it made you look over at him, the uncomfortable look replaced with longing and need. both of your heads went together again, lips connecting like magnets and moving against each other like smooth waves.

his arm rested on your hips, and your on his chest to keep yourself steady because fuck he was a real rough kisser. there wasn't much teeth, and the kiss still went amazingly but he would push against you like he absolutely needed this.

and he did, he needed it so badly because who else did he have? no one, he had no one else except for you.

"oh..tony, chill out a bit.." he was being as 'chill' as he possibly could. going at a medium pace as to keep everyone asleep, but damn no one ever told you something up there hurt like a bitch.

"trying," he said, leaning down and coming to kiss at your lips and neck. "need you so bad.." his thrusts were slowing down but still harsh and hard. he felt so good, finally feeling something around him other than his damn hand.

he himself couldn't lie that he felt a little something for you as well, even after he knew he would regret this. he might want this to keep going if he could let it happen.

"i know but, mngh.." your words cut off when he aimed at somewhere inside you specifically, making you forget everything all at once. "gosh, right there."

his heart sped up as did his movements. he couldn't help himself! he couldn't keep going so slow, it was killing him.

his hand slapped over your mouth, and feeling the vibrations of your muffled moans against his palm. the bed creaked, your legs wrapping around his waist to keep him close.

yeah, this was definitely going to be more than a one time thing.

[not-a-cheese-thief]

Some observations on the scenes between Dr Langdon, Mel, and Terrence, the autistic patient with an ankle sprain, from an autistic person:

I’ve seen a few people comment of these scenes as the (or a) reason the dislike Langdon as a character, some with the sentiment that this makes him a bad person. I have a very different take. I personally love this storyline, I love the way it’s done. I think they wrote it just this way to illustrate a very important part about the healthcare system (and I’m talking pretty much globally here, cos it’s not just the US), which is that Dr Langdon is missing a vital part of his education. Almost all doctors are. They aren’t being taught about autism or neurodiversity or disability nearly enough, and certainly not how to properly accomodate patients who are autistic. 

I think Dr Langdon comes into the interaction with Terence the way he would any other patient, friendly, upbeat, asking whether he’d prefer Terry or Terrence, and for a neurotypical patient that would probably be a really great interaction. He’s doing the right thing - just not for this patient. And autism aside (omg I never thought I’d say that but gimme a sec), I can understand for healthcare workers how irritating it must be having patients constantly googling their symptoms and trusting what they read on the internet. We’re all for self advocacy, but WebMD can send you down needless spirals and I’ve been there so many times and literally have never had that super rare condition that I convinced myself I’m dying of at 2am. 

So it’s not surprising he get’s irritated, but, again, I’d say he handles it kinda well, in that he at least just leaves the situation and doesn’t snap at the patient or give him some long, shaming lecture. He lets Mel take him. 

Which is where we get to the bit that makes me so emotional. Mel looks at the patient’s chart and points out he’s autistic (identity first thank you!), and it so doesn’t surprise me at all when Langdon says “sprained ankle it’s not related”, because that’s literally what he’s been taught. That’s what all doctors are fucking taught. They’re kinda maybe taught what autism is (the bare bones and probably a lot of it is still outdated), but not how to talk to an autistic person, or what they might need, or even that they will just meet autistic people, no matter what department they work in. 

So it’s not necessarily that he’s ableist, it’s that he literally just doesn’t know. He makes his little comment about treating three other patients while Mel treats Terrence, because he thinks he’s just a “Dr Google”, and moves on. Because the ER is packed and they need to treat patients and ship them off.

(I’m rewatching the scene and Mel legit makes me cry here.) Mel’s interacts with Terrence when she comes in are near perfect. She closes the door and turns down the lights because he’s probably been there for hours and even if those weren’t that overwhelming at first they would be super overstimulating by then. Then she asks him his main concerns, and she listens and takes him seriously when he tells her. I’ve had a grand total of one doctor do this, and it was the safest I’ve ever felt in a medical situation. 

But then Langdon comes back. I’m not gonna lie, when Mel was talking to Terrence, and had made all those little (but impactful) accommodations, then Langdon opened the door again, I had this wave of worry through my body the first time I watched it. I thought it was going to go so differently. I thought he was opening the door and standing there because he didn’t want Mel making accommodations, that it was his way of asserting power and saying we do it my way. And I think you can tell that Mel and Terrence worried about that too. 

Nope. He came to watch. He came to observe his new trainee interact with this patient, because he was curious. He didn’t need to be there. Medicine wise, Mel would totally have it handled. 

Side note - When he asked about the pain level out of ten Terrences reply was so me! I’ve thought that every time someone talks about pain out of 10! How is anyone meant to make that assessment??

At this point you can see him realise he’s in over his head. Mel is clearly so much better equiped to talk to Terrence and make him feel safe and comfortable enough to receive care. But he just watches, in awe. Because to him there’s just difficult patients, who fight you, and make treating them harder, and non-difficult patients. But here he’s learning that there’s a way to interact with this man that isn’t difficult, that makes him feel safe, and allows treatment to be provided. And he wants to be able to do that. That’s why he asks Mel “how did you do that?” Because he wants to be better. He wants to be able to speak to other patients in that way. He clearly wants to be the best doctor, and most of that is in the procedures he does, but he knows that a lot of it will come from how he interacts with his patients too. He chooses in this moment to learn from Terrence and Mel.

Then, when he sees Terrence later to discharge him, he apologises for them getting off on the wrong foot. He doesn’t need to, but he does - because he recognises that he came at the situation wrong. And he wishes him good luck with the table tennis tournament (I’m not sure if it’s implied that Mel told him about this or that Terrence told him off screen, because he wasn’t in the room when he told Mel, and Terrence seems surprised that he mentioned it) and says "okay" with a smile when Terrence offers to teach him how to play. What starts off as a really negative interaction ends so positively. Because of Mel, and because Langdon was eager to learn. That’s why he tells her “you’re great with your patients, you even taught me a couple of things.”

That’s why this is such a fucking excellent scene/episode/series, because the issue isn’t just “oh doctors are ableist” (even though yeah, lots are), it isn’t that black and white. The issue is that there isn’t enough education. People in healthcare aren’t being taught enough about autism and the different kinds of people they’re going to come across (see sickle-cell patient, unhoused patients, victims of abuse, etc.) even if they want to be. That’s why doctors like Mel matter so so so much. That’s also why even though it would be amazing if they confirm she’s autistic, it wouldn’t be unrealistic if she’s undiagnosed. That’s why doctor Langdon says to her that sensitive people are needed there badly. Because she makes those around her better, if they just care to watch and learn.

[familyvideostevie]

it's your turn for choosing

this was born out of a prompt request from my dear, dear, @softlyspector. this is for you, becca!

getting asked out via a smudgy scribble on a coffee cup | valentine's day prompts

joel miller x reader

summary/warnings: joel stops by your coffee shack every day. it's not your fault you're a little in love with him because of it. | modern au, fluff, flirting, jesse and cat and ellie cameos, game!joel in my head. i have not been a barista so sorry to all baristas if this reads wildly off-base. | 5.6k

a/n: it's giving rom-com! happy valentine's day. a bit different from my usual fare but hopefully it makes your heart warm. love u. thank u always to @macfrog and @bageldaddy for your eyes.

___

7:32 am. It’s helpful in this line of work to know exactly when you’re fucked. 

The espresso machine has been on the fritz all week and despite how much you want your current method of fixing it to work – banging a fist on the top until it stops wheezing – all signs point to today being a very bad day indeed. 

You’ve only been open for two hours. 

Here for three, awake for four. God, you’re tired.

Anyway – you’re fucked. And there’s nothing you can do about it. 

You call the time of death on the machine and search for something you can write on.

The Zone – a stupid name, but you can’t be bothered to change the sign that came with the place – is a coffee shop that sits between towns. 

Your coffee shop. 

It's more shack than shop, not really a zone of anything, just an order window and a five-drink menu. It's the kind of place that appears like a mirage for tourists right before they get on the highway at an ungodly hour and serves as a quick stop for everyone else. You open earlier than any other place around to get the truckers and the farmers and close when you stop being able to keep your eyes open.

The faded brown clapboard building is no bigger than an RV. The paint is chipped and the roof is a too-bright shade of green and you serve your drinks and the occasional sweet treat when you can get a good deal off of the baker two towns over through a window. It’s not a fancy chain, it’s not a drive-thru. You’ve got a bathroom and a few rickety cafe tables and chairs and no fucking common sense since you like it. 

You even love it, some days.

And the craziest part is that it works. Even on mornings like this one, when your espresso machine breaks during the lull between rushes and your part-time help calls in sick and you’ve spilled coffee all over your apron twice – it works. 

You tear off the lip of a cardboard box and write in big block letters: NO ESPRESSO TODAY. Maybe Tess, the baker, knows someone who can fix it. She knows everyone.

“Fuck you, you piece of junk,” you say. You give the machine another smack for good measure. 

Someone clears their throat and you whirl around, makeshift sign in hand. 

You’ve been doing this long enough that a handsome customer doesn’t phase you, but the man standing at your order window makes your stomach swoop for just a second.

“Morning,” you say, summoning your smile. “Hold on a sec, let me just –”

You lean out the window and wedge the piece of cardboard against the napkin holder on the ledge.

The man’s gaze drops to read. You take the opportunity to look at him. 

He’s tall and broad – if you had to guess, you’d say he works on one of the farms around here. He’s tan, dark hair threaded through with grey. His arms are crossed and you wish he wasn’t wearing a jacket so you could see his forearms. His denim shirt is undone at the top and you fixate on the chorded column of his throat, on the teasing glimpse of chest hair underneath.

The guy looks tired. 

Bone-tired, the kind of exhaustion you see when you look in the mirror. It comes from hundreds of early mornings and late nights, from hours on your feet and plenty of worry. He’s got lines at the corners of his eyes and a few around his mouth and you find yourself hoping they’re from laughter. 

“No espresso,” he reads, slow and unhurried. His drawl fits in with most of the folks around here, but you’re sure you haven’t seen him before. You’d remember. 

“Hope that doesn't scare you off,” you say. “Still got everything else.”

“Everything else being…” He glances at the chalkboard that serves as your menu.

DRIP COFFEE. LATTE. CAPPUCCINO. TEA. HOT CHOCOLATE. All written in your blocky hand in white paint. 

“Three options.”

Trial and error have taught you that simple works best. You’ll make anything people ask for, so long as you know how and have the supplies, and if they’re nice about it you won’t charge too much extra.

“Can I get you one of those three options?”

You’re not trying to rush him, but the next wave of people is bound to show up any minute.

“Black coffee will do,” he says. His mouth tugs up at the corner into a smirk that makes your face feel hot. “If you have that.”

“Thank you for taking pity on me,” you say, going for teasing and missing the mark by a mile. You just sound tired and genuine. “You just made my morning.”

He looks amused and you turn from him, unable to hide your grin. You pour a steaming cup and snap the lid on.

“Pretty shit morning if this is makin’ it,” he drawls.

You hand him the cup and your fingers brush. 

“You have no idea.”

He eyes the sign again and then your stained apron. “I got some notion.” He tugs his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a $5 bill. “Keep the change,” he says.

You want to refuse, to thank him, but a few more cars pull up and Mr. Black Coffee just raises his cup to you and heads back to his truck.

Well, shit. You hope he comes back. A tipper like that, and hot? You sure wouldn’t mind if he became a regular customer. __

You call Tess that afternoon and she does know a guy, so the espresso machine gets fixed and things go back to normal. Your part-time help returns in the morning and nothing else breaks. 

Today is uncharacteristically warm for the season. The inside of The Zone is almost stifling, always at least 15 degrees warmer than outside, and you keep wiping your sweaty hands on your apron as you make espresso after espresso for the lunch crowd.

Cat, a spunky girl who likes to practice her latte art when it’s slow, takes orders at the register. You keep half of your attention on her and half on the four drinks you’re working on. 

“Black coffee, please,” someone says to her. Someone whose voice you recognize. 

“Can I get a name for that?” Cat asks. It’s busy enough that calling names is easier than calling orders, no matter how small your menu is.

“Joel,” he says. You let the milk steam on its own and pour the black coffee before Cat can do it.

“I’ve got it,” you tell her. “Can you finish up those drinks?”

She shrugs and you swap places. You know you’re sweaty and coffee-stained but you smile at him and hand over his coffee.

“Hot coffee on a day like this?” you tease. He – Joel – is sweaty, too. The collar of his work shirt is dark with sweat and his hair is a mess. He must be here on his lunch break. He takes the cup from you and slurps a long sip as a reply to your question. 

You laugh. Joel looks pleased. 

“Operatin’ a full menu, I see,” he says, pulling out another $5. “Glad you got it fixed.”

“It’s still a piece of junk,” you shrug. “Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

He waves off your offer of change and raises his cup at you, taking a few steps backward towards his truck.

“Thank you,” he says. He eyes the tag on your chest and tacks your name on at the end. It sounds good from his mouth.

“Bye, Joel,” you say. His lips twitch but you barely have time to think about it before you have to take the next few orders. 

The line dies down and you step away from the register to help Cat with some cappuccinos – your least favorite drink by far due to all the damn foam they require – and she eyes you.

“Dude,” Cat says. “What the hell was that?”

If it wasn’t already a billion degrees in here you know your face would feel hot. 

“What the hell was what?”

She can’t reply for a few seconds while you grind beans for some espresso.

“I didn’t even know you knew how to flirt,” she muses, tapping a frother full of milk a few times. “That was pretty bad flirting if you ask me –”

You turn the grinder on again to drown her out.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you yell. She rolls her eyes at you until you turn off the machine.

You tamp down the grounds and slot them into the machine.

“I mean, not my type at all, for like, so many reasons,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Way too old for me, for one. Man, for another. But I see the appeal, I guess. Seems like he likes you. And was that a five-dollar bill? Black coffee is two bucks, last time I checked –”

“Can we get back to steaming milk, please?” you snap, more embarrassed than mad. “I am not taking flirting advice from a teenager.”

“I’m twenty!” she sputters. “Wait, so you admit that you like him?”

“Milk.”

Cat is right, though, and you know it. You just don’t see any harm in having a crush on some guy who comes to your coffee shop. Running this place means you see hundreds of people every day. You know their names, you ask them about their kids and their pets and their jobs, and you smile at them even on your bad days. It’s just part of the job. The daily interactions keep you afloat, make you feel more solid in your own life. People see you, they recognize you, they know you – even if it’s just because you make them coffee. 

Maybe Joel will keep coming back. Maybe he’ll become one of the regulars you know things about.

And if you have a crush on him? 

No harm done. He’s nice to look at.

And he tips well.

__

Joel stops by again. 

And again. 

And again.

He comes in every morning – sometimes at lunch – and orders the same thing. You learn the rumble of his truck by ear alone, the crunch of his boots on the gravel. Sometimes people in line say hi to him and a smile works its way onto your face on instinct when his voice reaches your ear. It’s never slow enough to have a proper conversation but he smiles at you, tells you he likes the flowers, your new apron. 

All of it is flirting but maybe not flirting. 

Maybe he’s just being polite.

Also, he keeps overpaying. 

One day, almost a month since you first saw him, he doesn’t come in the morning.  When you don’t see him in line at lunch, either, you’re a little disappointed. The weather is perfect – not too hot, not too cold, the sun shining – and you want to see him in the sunlight.

The day crowd is long gone and you’re only an hour or two from closing when his truck pulls up.

“I was getting worried,” you call as he walks over. Usually, he’s got some kind of dust or paint or something on them – Joel is a contractor, you’ve learned through your brief encounters, not a farmer – but today his clothes are clean and un-ripped. 

“I’m honored,” he says. 

You have his cup ready by the time he reaches the window. 

“I’m just surprised you can get through the day without a cup of coffee.”

He snorts and hands you his cash. 

“I can’t,” he says. “Had shitty home brew this morning.”

He takes a sip of your coffee and sighs. Your heart picks up and you don’t hide your grin.

“What’s with the schedule change?” you ask. 

He smirks. “Miss me?” 

You scoff and cross your arms. Heat rises in your chest and you feel almost giddy. 

“Just curious,” you say. “Don’t let it go to your head, but you’re my favorite customer.”

Joel laughs and scratches the back of his neck. 

“Reckon that’s the tip.”

“Actually, ordering a cup of black coffee is the way to any barista’s heart.”

Joel’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. 

“Ah,” he says. He takes another sip, his eyes dancing with mirth. “‘Course.”

“Nah,” you say with a teasing smile. “I’d never be so shallow.”

There’s no line behind him but you expect him to go back to his truck, anyway. But here he is. Talking to you.

You grab a rag and wipe down the counter to keep your hands busy. 

“I’m, uh. Meetin’ one of my kids here,” Joel says. The sudden shyness that accompanies his admission is a surprise. 

Your eyes dart to his hand but you see no ring, nor the pale shadow of one. 

“Both of ‘em moved to the city recently. Ellie – she’s comin’ up for the night.”

“I’ll bet you miss them,” you offer. You’re not sure why he’d want to bring his daughter to your coffee shack, but you’re not complaining.

Joel smiles at you. It’s a sad smile but still a good one. The affection in his eyes is raw. 

“Sure do,” he says. He tucks one hand in his pocket and takes another sip of his coffee. “But it’s good for them. Sarah – she’s a little older – is in school and Ellie is workin’ on her music and whatever else she’s into these days.” The pride in his voice is clear. 

“Well, I’m honored you want to bring her here.” You gesture to your slightly sad sitting area and the empty lot behind him. 

Joel looks ready to argue with you when a faded, older version of his truck pulls up. Music leaks from the open windows and the driver bops her head to the beat a few times before shutting it off and hoping out, thumbs flying on the screen of her phone. 

“That’ll be her,” he says drily. “Hey, kiddo.”

Ellie looks up from her hands, tucks her phone in her back pocket, and grins at Joel.

She doesn’t look a thing like him, but the connection is obvious. She moves like him, her shoulders set like she’s ready for a challenge at any moment. Joel sets his coffee down at the window and meets her halfway for a hug.

You look away and busy yourself with restocking whatever you can get your hands on.

“Dude, you come here every day?” Ellie asks. “Joel, this is so far from –”

Joel talks over her.

“Drive go okay? Sarah said they’re doin’ shit on the 35 –”

Ellie huffs.

“Yeah, yeah, some traffic getting out of the city ‘cause of the fucking lane closure, but otherwise fine.”

“Good.”

You turn to face them, a genuine smile firmly in place. 

“Hi,” you say. Joel picks up his coffee again, which Ellie eyes with a scowl. You introduce yourself to her. “You’re Ellie, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Ellie frowns. Behind her, Joel’s mouth twitches but he says nothing. It’s a lie, obviously, but something tells you he doesn’t mind and she believes it.

“Really?” She throws him a glare and then rolls her eyes. “You gotta stop telling strangers about me, man.”

“Someone’s gotta warn ‘em,” he says. 

She laughs. “Hey, fuck you!”

“Only good stuff,” you say. You like her. “Joel says you’re working on your music?”

Ellie’s eyes light up. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “I’ve got an audition next week.” She turns to Joel. “I brought my guitar ‘cause I have a fuck ton of songs to play for you.”

He puts a hand on her shoulder and she settles a little.

“I bet they’re real good.”

Ellie flushes and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well. You have to hear them first.”

You feel a little off-balance again, like you’re on the fringes of something you shouldn’t be seeing. The love on Joel’s face is clear as day. 

“Do you want some coffee?” you ask her.

Joel winces. Ellie gags. 

“No offense,” she starts, eyes darting between you and Joel. “I know Joel is fifty percent coffee on a good day, but it’s not my thing.” She looks at the menu and narrows her eyes. “I had a mocha the other day and didn’t hate it. Do you make those?”

“Look at that,” Joel says. “You’re convertin’.”

“Am not,” Ellie says. “It’s got chocolate in it, dude. No shit, I like it.”

“Yeah, give me a few minutes,” you laugh. “I’ll put lots of chocolate in it.”

They sit at one of your tables and you hear their laughter in the background as you make her drink.

It’s strange to see Joel like this – to build up on the man you’ve imagined him to be in your mind. Father never occurred to you. It makes sense, though, like a missing piece of him slotted into place. But it also makes the crush feel a little more real. Now that he’s more than your favorite regular customer. Now that you know a piece of him, of who he really is. 

It makes you want to know more.

You finish her drink and call Ellie’s name. They both stand and Joel digs in his wallet again.

“Don’t you dare pay me, Joel,” you say. You direct your next words at Ellie. “Really. I’m just honored you stopped by.”

She eyes Joel and he eyes her right back with the same look. She must have learned it from him.

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.” She grins at you with all of her teeth. “Joel loves this place. Talks about it all the time.”

She takes a sip of her mocha and her eyes go wide.

“Wait, this is fucking good. Man, I see why you drive –”

Joel clears his throat.

“We’re off,” he says. “Thank you, as always.” He sounds softer than usual as if being nice to his daughter is the best thing you could do for him.

You suppose it is.

“You’re welcome, as always.” 

Ellie knocks her shoulder with Joel’s as they head back to their trucks. She must be whispering something to him because he swats her away with a groan and she cackles. 

They both wave at you as they drive away. 

__

Joel keeps coming in the mornings, and your conversations return to their fleeting cadence. Even so, it’s hard to deny that your crush on him has kicked into high gear.

You try not to let your gaze linger on his lips, on his throat. On his hands when he takes the cup from you, how your skin brushes and it makes you warm all over. You think about how he laughed, how relaxed he was around Ellie. You want to know what he’s like outside of your small daily interaction. You want to know what he eats for dinner, how he spends his weekends, what he listens to on the radio.

You want him.

Business is busy, which helps. A kid from a few towns over – Jesse, he’s called – signs on to work part-time, mostly for the second half of the day. He’s been a barista before so the training is minimal, but it still changes the flow of things. He’s a charming guy and the regulars take to him easy enough.

It’s you who is distracted. 

One morning, Joel comes in as expected. Jesse is working, too, trying to clock some extra hours this week.

Joel is on the phone in line, his attention somewhere else. He’s frowning, a deep crease between his brows as he waits in line. All it would take to smooth it away is the press of your thumb. 

You try not to stare and probably fail, but manage to take and make the orders ahead of him without making any mistakes, though your whole body feels alight.

He hangs up right as he gets to the window and sighs, giving you a tired smile.

“Howdy,” he says. You set his coffee down in front of him and he pulls out a ten-dollar bill instead of a five.

“Joel –” you say, but he interrupts you.

“My brother called and said he needs breakfast,” Joel grumbles. “Y’got any of Tess’s bear claws?”

Right, they work together, you remember. He’s mentioned Tommy in passing. 

“I think so, just hold on a sec.”

“Take your time,” Joel says. It sounds like he means it, even though there’s a line behind him and he probably needs to get to work. 

You do find a few bear claws in the box Tess gave you early this morning when you stopped by the bakery.

“You’re in luck,” you say, putting it in a paper bag. “Well, Tommy is.”

“Savin’ my ass,” he tells you when you hand it to him. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

The word sends a jolt of lightning through your whole body. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s said it but your world shifts slightly on its axis. Sweetheart.

He turns on his heel before you can give him change for his cash, his phone ringing.

“Jesus, Tommy, I said I’d –”

You let him fade into the distance and smile at your next customer.

“How can I help you?”

A few orders later you end up next to Jesse making some lattes.

“Was that Joel Miller?” Jesse asks. “Before. The guy with the black coffee and bear claw?”

You startle. “Um. It was. How do you –”

“I didn’t know he was a customer here,” Jesse says. “Does he come in a lot?”

You unpack a few more cinnamon buns that Tess gave you this morning. “Yeah, every day.”

“Damn,” he says. “He must really like your coffee.”

“Are you trying to say it’s bad coffee, Jesse?”

He huffs a laugh. “No, boss, ‘course not.” He grinds beans for a few seconds but continues once he’s done, steady hands tamping down the results. “I just know he lives like, a half-hour away. And that there are plenty of coffee shops there, too.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know him, Jesse?”

“His daughter, Ellie, is a friend of mine,” he shrugs. “Went over to their house plenty of times in high school.”

“Well. He’s a contractor, right? I bet he has a job out here.”

Jesse clips the espresso into the machine and starts on some milk. 

“I’m not saying he doesn’t,” he muses. “I am saying that it takes at least 30 minutes to get here from where he lives.”

It’s silly. You’re half-flattered, half-confused. Yeah, you like Joel, and yeah, you’re pretty sure you’ve been flirting every day for over a month. But you figure it’s convenient for him. Coffee and an ego boost all in one. 

But if he’s going out of his way to come to The Zone? Well, maybe it’s not just for the coffee.

“Your coffee is good,” Jesse stresses, seeing the gears in your mind turning. It looks like he’s trying to hide a grin. You need to stop hiring young people who have keen eyes and big mouths.

“I think the ice needs a refill,” you say, snapping back into focus. 

“He might be here for something else, too -”

“Go refill the ice.”

He throws up his hands with a smirk. “I’m going!”

__

7:24 am. You’re on your own again and you’re fucked. 

The espresso machine is working perfectly and the early rush has ended. The weather is beyond shitty. Rain falls in sheets and the sky is so dark it feels like the sun didn’t bother to rise. It pounds on the roof and blows in the window every time you open it. The awning does nothing to shield customers as they shout their orders over the wind at you. Your fingers are going numb and your front is damp enough to set your teeth chattering. 

Joel’s truck pulls up and – well. You’re fucked. And he’s why.

You’re fucked because you can’t stop thinking about him. You can’t stop thinking about what Jesse said. What Joel said. Sweetheart.

A harmless crush turned into something more intense, something heavy in your stomach. You want him earnestly, fully, with every piece of you. 

And you still barely know him. But you want to. 

Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s the fact that you’re damp and cold and frustrated with your own heart and brain. But you see his truck and you decide to do something about this stupid crush.

You write your phone number on a cup with steady hands and set it aside for Joel. You scrawl on it as neatly as you can: Want to get a drink somewhere else sometime? 

It’s a bit of a coward’s way out. You should just ask him, say how you feel to his face. He’d probably like that better, anyway. But, well, this just feels safer. He could ignore it, he could throw it out, he could see it and decide to never come back. 

Sweetheart.

Somehow you don’t think he’ll do any of those.

The rain lashes against the window so hard you don’t open it until you see the lonely figure approach. The morning rush has been a morning trickle, a few brave souls venturing out for something from you.

Joel, it seems, is one.

You open the window and are greeted with a spray of mist.

“Gimme a sec,” you tell him. It’s so windy he leans in close to hear you. He’s wearing a jacket that’s ill-suited for the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead. Your fingers twitch with the need to brush it back. 

You quickly fill the cup you’ve set aside and pass it to him with two hands so it doesn’t blow over.

“Brave of you,” you say. He’s in the rain and you’re both getting soaked but you want to talk to him desperately. It’s a buzzing need at the front of your brain. “Thought the weather would get you, too.”

“Told you,” he all but yells over the wind with a flash of white teeth. “Shitty coffee at home.”

“Drive safe, Joel,” you tell him. He nods at you and jogs back to the truck, cup in hand. You won’t be able to see if he reads it from here, but you hope so. All you have to do is wait.

And wait.

And wait.

The rain stops.

You’re still waiting, phone silent.

Sunshine peeks through the clouds with a slightly surreal post-storm glow. A few more folks have made their way to The Zone but today has been slow. The clock ticks slowly towards 3 pm and your phone does not ring.

“Don’t be stupid,” you mutter. “He’s working.” 

You step out of the shack and into the slightly humid air, the gravel under your feet shifting wetly. The tables you’d set out this morning are, mercifully, still there, though they’re spattered with rain. You might as well close up now.

You’re bent over the last of the chairs, wiping them down with an old rag. You’re focused, so much so that you don’t pay much attention to the hum of an engine and the crunch of tires behind you.

A door slams but you don’t turn around.

“Sorry,” you call over your shoulder. “We just closed.”

“Shame,” he says. 

You whip around and find Joel, hands in his pockets. He’s in a different shirt than this morning and his jeans don’t look soaked. You’re still damp, water stains on your pants and shirt.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi, Joel.”

He smirks. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of that window,” he says, before jutting his chin towards the tables. “Can I help?”

You’re very aware of your whole body all at once. He’s looking at you, drinking you in like you’re his morning cup of coffee.

“Uh, sure,” you say. You want to ask why he’s here but the words won’t come. “They go in there, in the little closet on the right.” You point to the open door to the shack.

He dips his chin low just once and then crosses the distance between you in three big strides. He grabs the chair closest to you. The t-shirt he’s wearing shows his arms and you feel what he’s just said – it’s weird to be in the same space like this. You’re outside but he feels so big.

Joel’s arms flex and you swallow, following him with another chair. He stacks his in the right place and holds a hand out for yours.

“What did you write on it?” he asks, casually. 

The words don’t totally register. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. His arms are crossed, brow furrowed. Your mouth goes dry.

“On my cup. This mornin’.” He keeps his gaze on yours and for some reason, you can’t look away.

“Oh – you, you didn’t see?” 

He shakes his head. “Was rainin’, remember? Got smudged before I got in my truck.”

“Right.” 

You tear yourself away and leave him standing there. Maybe you should just lie.

But then you think about the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when you make him laugh, and how he asks you how you are and how he brought his daughter here and how he tips and how he drives all this way for your – for you.

Joel waits, his footsteps the only indication he’s followed you.

You turn around.

“I wrote my phone number,” you say. “And I asked you on a date.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up and you think he’s…blushing?

He rubs a hand over his beard and you hope he’s hiding a smile. Your heart is in your throat, beating so loud you worry that he can hear it. All of your bravado sinks into the damp ground at your feet. Maybe you’ve read this totally wrong. Maybe he’s just a nice guy, maybe your coffee is just really good and your employees are fucking with you. He’s here to let you down easy, to tell you he’s not even available, not interested, not –

“Alright,” Joel says. He walks towards you and tugs his phone from his back pocket. “I’ll take that number.”

Oh.

He hands it over and you type it in, heart jackhammering in your chest. But you watch his face, see the quirk of his mouth and his blush and it makes you brave.

“And the date?” you ask, giving it back. Your fingers brush and your heart keeps pounding but your nerves take a sharp turn away from doubt and towards excitement.

“Well, you gonna ask again?”

You both seem to have found your footing with whatever this is. The flirt in him is back full force, and he’s looking at you in that way of his. You want to know all of his expressions. There is so much to learn.

“Are you going to say yes?”

“S’why I came back,” he admits. “Figured you’d be closin’. Hoped you’d be free.”

“So you could read the cup?”

Joel takes the other two chairs and heads for the door again. You trail him. God, his arms are distracting. 

“Most of it,” he says. “Couldn’t make out the last few numbers, though.”

“Well, once we’re done here, I’m free. If you wanted to go on a date with me.”

Joel turns and you’re in the small space at the same time, your chests almost pressed together. You must smell like sweat and stale coffee but you watch as Joel inhales, eyes on yours.

“I do,” he says. 

It would be so easy to kiss him, a quick, chaste press of your lips to see what he tastes like.

His pupils dilate and you sway into him for a breath before you realize what you’re doing and step back outside.

You take a deep breath of fresh air. “Great.”

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand and you head for the tables. 

“Y’know,” he says. “Ellie’s been on my ass about this.”

You laugh, high and bright. “Has she?”

“That girl ain’t capable of missin’ an opportunity to stick her nose in,” he grumbles, but it’s affectionate. 

“Well, I think she’s smart,” you goad. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Reckon she is.”

Joel’s brows furrow and he takes a few quick steps into your space, so close the tips of your shoes almost touch.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi.”

“Hold still,” he says. He reaches for your face slowly, slow enough that you could pull away but you don’t. He brushes something from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Grounds.” His voice is a little hoarse.

“Thanks,” you breathe. 

He smirks but the flush creeping up his neck tells you he’s not wholly unaffected. It makes you feel…it just makes you feel. 

Joel Miller likes you.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” you say.

His eyes widen slightly and he leans in just a little but you slide out of his space with a grin.

“The sooner we finish up the sooner I can buy you a drink.”

Joel laughs, loud and full. “Oh, how generous of you.”

“You’re very lucky,” you say.

“I agree,” he drawls. He taps your chin with one knuckle.

His eyes sparkle and he smiles, looking luminous in the post-storm sunshine. You see a flash of a future – watching him drink coffee in a kitchen instead of through the window of The Zone. Your hands meeting over a shared table, fingers tangling, that smile directed at you in the morning light. 

Giddiness rises in your throat and spills out of you in a delighted laugh of your own. Joel just grins.

“So,” he says. “Where’re you takin’ me?”

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Guilty As Sin? — Chapter One

pairing: professor!javier peña x f!reader

rating: series is 18+ only, minors DNI, not a lot here beyond some world building, the party starts next chapter :)

word count: 3.6k

series masterlist

Though it was the first day of the fall semester and your first day as an official law student, you felt exactly the way you had the year before when you were a struggling undergrad. Same town, same friends, even the same apartment in the student housing complex right next to campus that you shared with three of your closest friends, Nina, Derrick, and Alondra, who just so happened to be law students as well. 

It seemed every aspect of your life had remained stagnant for the last four years, except for one critical thing—you were now a single woman. Four years of the most confusing, toxic, passionate relationship of your life now dead and buried thanks to your ex-boyfriend’s inability to keep his dick in his pants. You’d have to see him too this semester, though you tried to keep the prospect of an awkward run-in out of your head as you got ready for the day to the sound of a busy apartment. Nina and Derrick had breakfast duty this morning, the two of them shuffling around the kitchen as loudly as they could, it seemed. Alondra, like you, was sitting across the hall in her bedroom blasting Kali Uchis out of her speaker, though after two years of living together the noise didn’t really affect you at all anymore. 

“Food’s ready,” Derrick said, popping his head in the crack of your open door. 

Standing at six-foot-two with brown skin, hazel eyes, plump lips, and the sharpest bone structure you’d ever seen, Derrick was beautiful. The two of you had done an awkward dance ever since you’d known him, with Derrick silently crushing and you silently rejecting him. You didn’t know what it was about him that didn’t appeal to you; he was kind, handsome, and funny, all the things a normal girl could want. 

But you never really felt like a normal girl. 

You liked the men that didn’t like you back, the men who desperately needed someone to fix them, always convinced that you had what it took to do just that. Of course, you knew better than that by now, but there was a part of you that worried you. A part you always had to keep an eye on, too afraid of your naive, trusting heart taking the reins. 

“I’ll be out in a sec,” you said, coating your eyelashes in a decent amount of mascara. Derrick leaned against the doorframe, watching you with something too close to adoration for your comfort. You laughed it off, waving your hand at him. “Go away.” 

“Am I making you nervous,” he teased. Truthfully, he was. Just not in the way he probably hoped. 

“I’m trying not to stab myself in the eye,” you said instead. 

“Mmhm,” he chuckled, patting the doorframe. “Hurry up, your plate’s at the table.”

“If you’d let me concentrate.” 

Ten minutes later, you were sitting at the table with Derrick on your right—his plate conveniently set beside yours—and Nina and Alondra across from you.

“I’m swearing off of hookups this semester,” Alondra announced, earning skeptical glances from the three of you. “I am!”

“Until Sabina calls you up late at night claiming she’s lonely and sad,” Derrick teased. You kicked him under the table only to find out that Nina had done the exact same thing. “I’m just speaking the truth.”

“You’re a man, you don’t get to speak your truth here,” Nina said. “And as for you—“ She turned to Alondra beside her. “The minute you run into that bitch, you’re done for. Best to accept it now.”

“No, I’m done with her,” Alondra insisted, though you’d all seen this before. Every fall, without fail, Alondra and her toxic cheater of an ex-girlfriend, Sabina, get back together, and every summer they find a reason to break up, only to repeat the cycle the next year. “I might try dudes for a while.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snorted, carrying your plate to the sink. “Since when are you into dudes?”

“Since Sabina ruined all women for me,” she sassed. “Besides, sexuality’s a spectrum.” 

“What about you?” Nina asked, turning in her chair to watch you wash your dish. “Any plans this semester? Hopefully ones that don’t include a toxic relationship?”

“Certainly not,” you replied with a laugh. “I’m gonna be the most boring fucking person at this school this year. No shitty men, no partying, just school.”

“Twenty bucks I get her to black out this weekend,” Nina challenged, turning to Derrick and Alondra. 

“I’ll take that bet,” Derrick said, shooting you a wink. 

“Alright, while you guys are betting, I’m gonna head out to class. You know, like a serious law student,” you teased, drying your hands off before making your way to the front door. “I’ll see you guys in class.”

The first class of the day was Dr. Brown’s Contracts lecture. You’d had him during undergrad for your Criminal Psych class and specifically sought him out while registering because of his laid-back approach to teaching. Though he appeared to be yet another stuffy old man at face value, his personality was much more in line with that of The Dude from The Big Lebowski. He reeked of weed, loved to curse, and didn’t give a shit about all the formalities the rest of your professors insisted upon. 

Dr. Brown’s class passed by with ease, his lecture on the contract breach between Apple and Samsung paired with a meme-filled PowerPoint amusing you enough that you forgot you’d been sitting there for two hours. 

The next class of the day—Dr. Arman’s Legal Research and Writing course—was far less amusing, but at least Dr. Arman didn’t ask much from her students besides following along with slideshows and turning in the occasional paper. Still, the next hour and a half drudged on like feet on sand, Alondra nodding off beside you in the back of the lecture hall. 

“Shit,” she whispered, snapping awake after a nudge from your elbow to her side. “Is it almost over?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, backing up your bag. “I have to hustle to Criminal Law, you good?”

“Yeah, just gonna rest my eyes for a second,” she mumbled, already falling back to sleep. With a fond smile, you rolled your eyes at her and left the hall. 

The last class of the day was Criminal Law I, taught by Dr. Peña, a professor you’d never had in any of your undergrad classes. It was always a toss up every time you entered a new lecture hall whether or not a professor would end up on your shit list, and a sinking suspicion told you Dr. Peña would not be as casual as Dr. Brown nor as lenient as Dr. Arman. No, there was always one overly demanding, arrogant old prick of a professor each semester without fail. 

Though you’d arrived fifteen minutes before class, all the good seats were taken by the time you walked into the hall, leaving only a few seats at the very front. Sighing, you looked longingly at Nina as she sat in one of the back rows, surrounded by a flock of hopeful men desperate to make her laugh. She caught eyes with you and gasped when she realized where you were headed. 

“No, girl, not the front,” she called, earning a dejected nod from you as you reached the mostly deserted front row. 

As you unpacked your bag and notebook—you hated using your laptop in class—Derrick quickly slid into the seat beside you with a huff, as if he’d just finished a marathon. 

“Had to climb over a row of people to get down here,” he said, smiling at you.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, nudging his shoulder with yours. 

“Wasn’t gonna let you slum it down here alone.”

“Thanks,” you chuckled. “You know anything about this guy?”

“Yeah, my brother had him when he went here a few years back,” he said, opening his laptop. “Apparently he’s a dick.”

“Of course he is,” you sighed. 

“You have class after this?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. “You?”

“Nah, just the gym with Nina,” he said, stretching out his legs and relaxing into his chair. “You could come, if you wanted.”

“I hate the gym,” you said, scrunching up your nose. “Besides, I need to go get groceries and stuff. Maybe get a head start on Brown’s project.”

“Responsible,” he nodded in approval. “Boring but responsible.”

“All these boring years are gonna pay off when I graduate top of the class,” you quipped, earning a scoff. 

“That’s what you said in undergrad and who ended up graduating at the top?” he asked with a smirk, sticking his chin up with pride. 

“I was one percent away from kicking your ass,” you rolled your eyes and chuckled. 

“Maybe you’ll find another shitty boyfriend to distract you—“

Though you would have liked to hit him for his comment, you were stopped dead in your tracks as the most handsome, brown haired, broad shouldered, puppy-eyed looking man walked out of his adjoining office and up to the desk at the front of the class. He carried an air of authority with his furrowed brows and disapproving frown as he waited for the class to quiet down. 

“If you’re all finished,” he said, unpacking his book bag while scoping out the faces he’d be spending the semester looking at, starting with the back. You watched him with interest, hating that kick of adrenaline the moment his eyes met yours. He seemed to linger for a half a second longer than he had with everyone else before looking away, furthering your delusional thoughts. “Welcome to Criminal Law I. My name is Dr. Peña, you’ll refer to me as such. I except professionalism, conciseness, and competency from the lot of you. You’re graduates now. Time to act like it.”

“Jesus,” Derrick muttered beside you, shaking his head. 

“There will be no whispering, no texting, and for God’s sake, no music in my class. You’re here to learn and I’m here to teach.”

You listened as a few students gathered their things and silently made their exit from the hall. Dr. Peña watched them with a smug look that did little to shoo away your interest. Fantasies of receiving that same look in a far more inappropriate context flooded your mind, visions of you on your knees in his office. 

“Good, now let’s begin. We’ll be covering the penal code today, along with territorial jurisdiction. Can anyone give me a definition of the latter?” 

Never one to volunteer an answer without being called on, you waited for someone else to take the fall. Dr. Peña seemed just as patient, his arms crossing over his chest in a way that pulled at the fabric covering his arms. You quickly turned your eyes down to your notebook when he caught you staring, busying yourself with jotting down the date. 

“In the front,” he said, earning your attention. When you found him still watching you, you let out a small sigh. “Would you care to give us a definition, Miss…”

Giving him your last name, you searched your mind for the definition that you remembered learning at some point during your four years of undergrad. 

“Territorial jurisdiction refers to a court’s power in a certain territory,” you said, swallowing down your nerves as you began to feel your ears heat. 

“And in regards to Texas? Can you give me the section of the Penal Code that covers territorial jurisdiction?” he asked, his voice a deep, whiskey warm timbre that hit you like an aphrodisiac, your mind running rampant with all sorts of inappropriate scenarios of hearing that sinful voice up close and personal.

“I…don’t know,” you said, lowering your eyes down to your desk just to get a break from his steady eye contact. 

“Section 1.04,” he said, a hint of arrogance in his tone. “Now that you have the section, would you mind reading the text for us?”

Taking a deep breath, you flipped to the section in your textbook, hoping that your nervous stutter didn’t make an appearance today. 

“I can do it,” Derrick volunteered, mildly irking you. Did he think he was saving you? Or was this his attempt at competition? 

Dr. Peña waited until he was finished to admonish his interruption. 

“Thank you, Mr…,”

“Crawley,” he said, offering him a charming smile. 

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Crawley, but in the future, I ask that you refrain from interjecting. I’m sure your friend was perfectly capable of reading aloud,” Dr. Peña said, causing Derrick to scoff under his breath. “Alright, I need a volunteer from the second row to read the next section.” 

Derrick seemed to take it to heart, his ever-present smile long gone as he typed his notes on his laptop. 

“Sorry,” you whispered, tapping his shoe with yours. 

“S’whatever,” he shrugged, but you knew him well enough by now that it was far from whatever to him. Derrick was always the best in every class, always adored by professors. You weren’t sure he’d ever been scolded by a teacher in his life, let alone in front of the entire class. “He’s a prick.”

“He’s—“

“Are we interrupting?” Dr. Peña sighed, leveling a look at the two of you as if to say, really? You shrank in your seat, avoiding his stern eyes. “Anyways, you were saying, Miss Martinez?” 

After a tense hour spent listening to Dr. Peña pick on the class, it was time to pack up. You could practically hear your bed calling as you packed your things into your bag, except…

“Would you mind staying behind for a moment,” Dr. Peña asked, calling your name. You gave Derrick a wide eyed look, earning a raise of his brow. 

“Sure, um—“

“I’ll wait up for you,” Derrick offered, slinging his bag over his shoulders before filing out of the lecture hall with the rest of the class. 

Once alone with Dr. Peña, you began to feel sick with anticipation, especially as he sat quiet at his desk shuffling through papers. 

“I’d like to apologize for today. I’m afraid we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” you said, carefully approaching his desk. “I assure you, this is nothing I take more seriously than this. I—“

“I asked you to stay behind because I’m in need of an assistant for my undergrad Intro to Forensics class and your name was given to me by the Dean,” he said, looking up at you with a mixture of exhaustion and boredom in his eyes.  

“Wait—what?” you gave him a puzzled look. 

“Your name is listed in the TA program, is it not?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. You tried not to ogle him, but the way his white button down stretched across his broad chest made it damn near impossible.

“It is, but—“

“You’re one of the only law students available who’s taken the class before,” he said, clicking his pen as he began to mark the syllabus sheets he’d passed out towards the end of class. “So, what do you say? Three labs a week. Paid, of course.”

“I’m not sure I can handle the extra load, honestly,” you said. Though you were sure the extra work would certainly up the pressure, it wasn’t the real reason you were so quick to decline. Truthfully, it was him. How were you supposed to be around him an extra three days a week when you were already worried about the three you’d be spending with him in this class? “But if you’re in need of a recommendation, Mr. Crawley took Intro to Forensics with me and—“

“Take a day, think about it. First lab is Wednesday,” he interjected, glancing up at you with those brown eyes that looked both innocent and dangerous at the same time, a confusing balance your overly romantic heart longed to study in depth. You chuckled, a sound of disbelief over his disregard for your rejection, as you watched him turn back to his work. “I’ll have the Dean send over a formal offer this afternoon.”

“What time are the labs?” you asked, slowly accepting your fate—or, more accurately, accepting his stubbornness on the matter. 

“Eight to ten in the evening,” he replied, sounding as though he might yawn at the prospect. “Not ideal.”

“No,” you agreed, offering him a small smile. “I, uh, I’ll think about it.”

Not wanting to embarrass yourself—or endure more of this delusional torture—you made your exit as quickly and gracefully as you could manage, waiting until you were out in the main hall to freak out. 

“What did his fine ass want?” Nina asked, approaching you with Derrick in tow. You snorted at her brashness and rolled your eyes. 

“His fine ass wanted me to TA for his Intro to Forensics lab,” you replied, shaking your head as you looked through your tote for some gum, hoping to distract your rampant fantasies about said fine ass. 

“What the fuck?” Derrick griped, shaking his head. “I’ve been begging the dean to get me a TA position this semester but he said all the positions had been filled.”

“I tried to recommend you,” you offered, giving him a sympathetic frown. “I don’t even know if I’ll take it—”

“Then let me,” he said, hope lighting up his eyes. Even though you still had yet to make up your mind on the matter, his assumption that you’d just give urubbed you the wrong way. 

“I’m gonna think about it first,” you said, sharing a knowing look with Nina. 

If there was one thing to fault Derrick for, it would be his tendency to step on people—even his closest friends—to secure an opportunity. Even when he didn’t need to, even when he’d already won over most professors on campus, even when he knew his female friends struggled to reach even half of the respect given to him strictly because he was a man. 

“You coming with us to the gym?” Nina asked, changing the subject as she watched you bite back the urge to tell Derrick that maybe, just this once, it would be you stepping over him to secure a good opportunity. 

“No thanks,” you chuckled. 

“Lame,” she said, glancing over at Derrick who seemed to be lost in thought. “Well I’m gonna go change.” 

“See you later on,” you said, watching as she made her way down the hall. 

“So you think you might take the job?” Derrick asked, sticking his hands in his pocket. 

“I might,” you admitted, shrugging your shoulders. 

“Just…be careful,” he cautioned, causing your brows to furrow. “Male professors can be creepy as fuck.”

“Men in general can be, yeah,” you laughed. “But I’m sure I can take care of myself.” 

He nodded, ticking his jaw. 

“Well, I gotta go get groceries,” you lied, desperate to get back home, crawl into bed, and maybe do something about those fantasies from earlier. “I’ll see you back—“

“Come to dinner with me,” he blurted, biting his lip as he watched you go through a rollercoaster of emotions. Shock, amusement, confusion, before landing on something akin to empathy. 

“What? Derrick—“

“Just one date,” he promised. “One date and if it doesn’t work out, you know…we can just stay friends.” 

“I don’t know that it’s that simple,” you said, looking anywhere but at him. 

Why was he so dead set on going down this road; of making this mistake that you knew would end terribly? 

“Just a date,” he coaxed. “And I promise no weirdness afterwards if it doesn’t work out.”

“You can’t promise that,” you muttered, shaking your head. “And even if you can, I don’t know that I can.” 

“That’s assuming it goes bad,” he said, nudging your shoulder with a smile. “Friday night, you and me, some fancy restaurant I can barely afford. What do you say?”

Perhaps it was the new year, or maybe just the endorphins brought on by the sight of Dr. Peña in his tight slacks, but what did you have to lose? A good friend that you weren’t even sure would be your friend if he didn’t believe it was his only way in? 

“Fine,” you said, sighing. “One date. No weirdness. No expectations.”

Derrick grinned, nodding as he pulled you in for a hug. “Won’t regret it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you chuckled. 

“Excuse me,” Dr. Peña appeared, in the doorway the two of you were blocking, causing Derrick to pull you out of the way and into his side. You watched Dr. Peña’s eyes scan the proximity between the two of you, a hint of disapproval on his face that you were sure you were imagining. “Have a good afternoon, you two.”

“You too,” you managed, sliding Derrick’s arm off your shoulder. “Also—“

Dr. Peña stopped, turning back towards you. “I, uh, I’ll take the job.”

“What?” Derrick scoffed, earning a curious look from Dr. Peña. 

“Very well,” he nodded. “You’ll find the contract in your email tonight.”

“Thank you for the opportunity, Professor,” you said, trying your hardest not to purr the last word out the way your filthy mind yearned to. 

Thank you for the opportunity, Professor. Such a fucking cliche that you had no intentions on perpetuating. 

Except for the fantasies. After all, what harm could come from a silly little fantasy?  

[rubytuby]

winner winner

college!art donaldson x fem!reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: none lol, just short and sweet :)

note: stanford art my beloved wow… that’s boyfriend, pookie even. also i have to say that i am a patrick girl and i'm cooking up something there for yall. let me know if you liked pleak!

As the sun beat down relentlessly on the Stanford practice court, every movement felt more grueling, the exhaustion seeping into your bones. After picking up stray balls for what seemed like the hundredth time, abandoning your racket and never looking back sounded more than enticing. Bending down to retrieve another ball, you could feel the pounding in your head, a dull throb forcing you to close your eyes. Your scalp was wet from sweat, and you could see your damp hair hanging in the corner of your eyes, clinging to your forehead as you moved. Stuffing the balls into your shorts pockets, you trudged back to the center of the court, wiping the sweat from your forehead with a sigh. 

Through half-lidded eyes, you blankly stared at hitting partner, Art Donaldson, who was looking right back at you with a big grin on his face. You cocked an eyebrow at him and shook your head impressed by his ability to look absolutely unphased by exertion. You felt another throb in your head and winced and placed your thumb and pointer finger over your eyes.

Art's grin faded, replaced by a look of concern. “Hey, you good?” he asked, stepping closer, genuinely worried for you.

You dropped your hand and waved him off, forcing a tired smile. “Yeah, yeah, just give me a sec,” you replied, though the pounding in your head was reminiscent of that one time at tennis camp when you almost got heat stroke.

Art eyed you skeptically, doubting your words. "Are you sure? You look like you might—"

"No, I can play," you interrupted him mid-sentence, your voice firm despite your fatigue. Art tilted his head to the side. "I swear I'm fine." You flashed him an exaggerated smile to prove your point.

Art’s eyebrows lifted slightly, lips curling into a subtle, amused smile. He knew you’d never call it quits, regardless of how tired you were. He then removed a ball from his pocket and held it out, shooting you a knowing look. You simply met his gaze with a blank expression. As you positioned yourself to receive the serve, he spoke with a hint of amusement in his voice, "Alright, this one's gonna be 130. Ready?"

"If you keep taunting me, I might just forget we're here to play tennis and accidentally walk back to my dorm," you joked.

"Well, you know I wouldn't mind going back to your dorm," he said with a wink.

You rolled your eyes and gave him a tight-lipped smile, bucking your head in an effort to get him to stop talking and actually serve the ball. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other and squinted against the beaming sun, silently cursing yourself for telling Art he could take whatever side of the court he wanted.

Art tossed the ball into the air and smacked the ball with his racket, you braced yourself, eyes locked on the ball's descent. With a swift motion, you swung your racket, the satisfying thwack of ball meeting strings reverberating through the air. Art effortlessly returned your hit and let out a soft grunt, initiating another rally. At this point in your practice, you had resigned yourself to serving each hit directly to Art, too tired to bother with tricking him. Art, though, seemingly wanted you to put the work in before you could call it a day. Hitting the ball just inside the front of the service box when you were way back by the center mark.

"If you wanted to win so badly, you could’ve just asked me to play nice," you remarked, words heavy with exasperation as you let the ball bounce off into the distance.

Art watched the ball roll away, silently celebrating. "Where's the fun in taking it easy?" he teased. "Maybe I wanted the challenge."

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. "Yeah, yeah," you replied. "I'm sure those distracting grunts are just part of your master plan to win, right?"

Art shrugged and walked over to you, leaning against the net. "Well, they're not meant to be distracting," he retorted, a smirk on his face. "But if they're taking you out of the game, maybe you're not cut out for this."

"Oh, please, last time I checked, the WTA and ATP didn't have any categories for grunts and groans," you said, turning your back to Art as you walked back to the baseline.

Art laughed, smile widening as he prepared to serve up another ball. "Maybe they should consider adding it," he quipped as he tossed the ball into the air. 

Art served the ball with a slice. You returned it with a swift backhand, and the rally began again. Each of you fell into a rhythm, the ball bouncing back and forth across the net.

"This is match point," you called out.

"If you say so," he replied, a confident grin spreading across his face.

The rally eventually grew more intense, each exchange faster and more furious than the last. Art’s eyes glinted as he positioned himself for the next shot. Suddenly, with a fluid and powerful motion, he sent the ball rocketing toward the far corner of the court. Your eyes followed its trajectory, a split second of realization dawning on you as you scrambled to reach it. But it was too late. The ball landed just beyond your outstretched racket, bouncing twice before coming to a stop. You halted and let out a frustrated groan, a pout forming on your lips.

Art watched as you dropped your racket and flopped down onto the court, frustration evident on your face. Laughing softly to himself, he sauntered over, picking up your racket along the way.

He leaned down next to you and patted your cheek, holding your racket out with a playful grin. "Tough break, champ," he teased.

You playfully tugged the racket from his hand and stood up, sticking out your tongue. "You live for these moments, don't you?"

Art grinned mischievously and nodded. "Oh, absolutely," he replied with a laugh. As the two of you strolled toward a nearby bench, he playfully snagged your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

"I swear to god I almost had it," you mused, shaking your head.

Art responded with mock dread, “Oh no, you lost for once, your reputation may never recover.” 

You both plopped onto the bench with a thud, limbs splayed out as you leaned back, panting heavily. The exhaustion from the intense rally was apparent in every breath you took, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

As you settled onto the bench, you placed your oversized bag on your lap and began rummaging for your water bottle. Art scooted closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Then, after some serious searching, you unearthed your water bottle with a triumphant expression. Art feigned surprise, raising his eyebrows in mock astonishment before gently lifting your legs to rest across his lap, tracing his free hand against one of your knees. 

You brought the bottle to your lips and promptly you chugged down half of it in a couple of big gulps. Art stifled a laugh, watching you with amusement. "Thirsty?" he teased, nudging you playfully with his elbow.

You shot him a playful glare, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "Shut up," you retorted, but the smile on your face betrayed your annoyance. He removed his hand from your shin and reached for your water bottle, but before he could grab it, you snaked it away from him, furrowing your brows and shaking your head.

"Nuh uh, what's the magic word?" You said, wagging your finger in his face.

Art raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to make me beg?" he teased, leaning closer to you, his face mere inches from yours.

“Maybe later,” you said, closing the gap between you two, smiling as you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips before handing him the water bottle.

Art grinned, taking the bottle from your hands. "Ok, now, can I please have a sip of water?"

You faked pondering for a moment. "Well, since you asked so nicely."

After taking a long drink, Art handed the bottle back to you with a smirk.

You giggled, rolling your eyes. "So, a rematch tomorrow?" you asked. "Coach says I need to work on my ‘’sloppy forehand’—whatever that means."

Art scoffed. "You? A ‘sloppy forehand’? Sounds like something he made up to get you to play harder," he teased.

"His words, not mine," you replied with a shrug.

Art leaned back against the bench, narrowing his eyes as he looked at you. "What if the loser buys dinner tomorrow?" he suggested.

You raised an eyebrow. "Is this your way of saying you’re tired of paying for me on every date?”

Art's expression softened, and he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "It's not that, you know I don't care," he said, voice tender. "I just thought it would be a fun incentive."

You looked off to the side and faked pondered before saying, "Alright, deal."

Art leaned in, his lips brushing against your cheek in a gentle kiss. "Just so you know," he whispered into your ear, "I'm not planning on losing."

[huskersbooze]

Part 2 of Who's in Control?

Cordial

Alastor x Reader

| Part 1 | Part 2(here!) | Part 3 |

Summary : You and Alastor are still struggling to get back on good terms, both coping, but you still can't forget what he had done. Meanwhile, things with your soul's contract is going downhill..

Pairings : Alastor x F!Reader (M!Reader here, Gn!Reader here) , Huskerdust(?)

Warnings : Valentino(he doesn't actually do anything he just sucks)

Additional Tags : Still kinda angst(sorry), cussing

Ib : Cordial by Set it Off

Word count : 1.2k

A/N : By popular request, I think I have an overall plot for this originally-to-be-oneshot? There will be more parts to come in the future <3 thank you all for being patient with me

"Hey.. ya’ wanna open the door for a sec?”

You roll off your bed and lazily walk over to open the door. Without looking, you unlock the door and let him in, turning to curl back up in bed.

“How ya’ holding up..?” Angel asks, seeing you in such a state making his heart ache. “We’re all really worried about you.”

“I’m fine, Angel.” You wrap yourself in your blankets and sit on the bed, Angel following.

“You haven’t come down in days. Charlie asked me to check on you.” He says.

“Does she know..?”

“About you and creepy face? Sorta.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“They all know something’s going on between ya’ two. They just don't know what.”

“Great.. let's keep it that way.” You try to force a smile but to no avail.

It was quiet for a moment. Awkward at first, yes, but you both started to enjoy the company.

“We're really worried about you.. ya'know? I'm worried.”

“Thanks.” You hum. “I appreciate it.”

“You gunna’ come get breakfast..? It'll be quick, I promise.”

“Is Al down there?”

“No.” He simply replied. “We don't really know what he's up to lately.”

“What d’you mean?”

“He's also been isolatin’ himself. We don't actually see him much around the Hotel.”

You stay quiet.

“What are we waiting for? Don't want the food to get cold, do we?”

Angel perks up.

“I thought ya'd never ask.”

-----

You follow Angel down to the lobby, where everyone gathered and ate their breakfast.

The others were surprised to see you, to say the least, but they decided not to interrupt.

It was nice that Angel was able to have you out of your room, they wouldn't want anything to make you go back.

“Hey, kid.” Husk whispers, handing you a plate of pancakes. “Your favourite.”

“Thanks, Husk.” You reply, giving him a genuine smile.

“Ya’ doing alright?”

You shrug. “Could be better.”

“Just glad you’re here, kid.”

“Glad to see you too.” You laugh, walking alongside Angel and Husk towards the table where everyone was having breakfast. “Good morning, guys.”

Everyone stays quiet — everyone consisting of Charlie, Vaggie and Sir Pentious only. Niffty was off dusting the halls.

“I’m fine, Charlie. Thanks for sending Angel to check on me.” You catch a glimpse of Charlie’s worried eyes glued to you, reassuring her it was okay.

“We’re glad to have you back.” She says.

Husk takes his normal seat, Angel on the right of him, leaving one open spot on the left.. not that he ate breakfast much, he usually showed up just to keep you company.. Alastor…

“How’s the breakfast, my dear?”

“It’s amazing! I don’t know why you never bother to try it.”

“I work better on an empty stomach. Plus, I’m more fond of deer.”

“Deer? You actually eat deer?” You asked, bewildered. “Like the whole thing?”

“Well, not the bones, of course not. But yes, I enjoy eating deer.”

“Aren’t you like.. a deer yourself?”

Alastor shoots you a look, and laughs whole-heartedly.

“You certainly don’t see Angel Dust befriending spiders in the hotel, do you?” He lets out another chuckle. “You are such a charmer. Besides, venison tastes exquisite.”

“I’ll try it sometime.” You shrug, taking another bite of your pancakes. “When do you eat this.. deer meal of yours?”

“Oh, all the time. In fact, I’ll be on my way to have it for breakfast later.”

“What’s stopping you from going now?” You tilt your head, licking off the syrup on your fork. Alastor stares at the sight and smiles, genuinely.

“You are, darling. I certainly can't leave a guest unattended.”

“What? Is that why you’re always here for breakfast but won’t actually eat anything? To accompany me?”

“By all means, if I’m intruding, do let me know and I’ll leave.”

“What? No!” You immediately finish your last bite of pancake. “I just think it’s time I accompany you for breakfast, don’t you think?”

His ears twitch.

“Come along then, darling.”

…

“Hey, kid, you alright?” You feel Husk give you a soft nudge on the elbow.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you blink and come back to your senses, seeing everyone staring at you with worry laced on their faces.

“You can go back if you want to.” Charlie says. “No pressure being here, really.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay. I’m okay.” You say, immediately taking a big gulp of your pancakes. “I was just lost in thought.”

“Look out for yourself, aight, kid?”

“Yes, dad.” You joke. 

Suddenly, you feel a presence behind you, and you can already tell who it is.

You stiffen.

Everyone stiffens.

You feel him stiffen from behind you.

After a second or two, you feel the presence start to leave. Acknowledging the fact there were no open seats and he rarely came for breakfast, you let out a sigh and hoped you won’t regret this later on.

“Morning, Alastor.” It comes out barely a whisper, your eyes glued to your now empty plate. “I was just leaving, you can have my spot.”

“Thank you, darling.” He simply says, placing his plate down as you took yours and left towards the kitchen. You could hear his voice was audibly more tired and broken, but you couldn’t bear looking him in the eyes.

You finish washing your plate in the kitchen, and as you turn, you see Alastor, standing right in your face, nearly bumping into him.

“Jeez! You scared the shit out of me, Al.” You put a hand over your chest.

“Ah, sorry, darling.” He says, ears perking at the mention of the sweet nickname he secretly loved hearing. “It wasn't my intention to startle you.”

“It's fine.” You shrug it off, catching a glimpse of his gaze and immediately melting right into it. Fuck, you had to leave. Now.

“Dear, wait.” He calls after you, but you ignore him.

“Please. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“And? Are you asking for forgiveness or what?” You sigh.

“I just hoped to apologise. I'm deeply sorry.”

“Okay.” You turn to leave. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“Darling, can we start over?”

“We can't get back to normal even if we both play pretend.” You don't bother turning to face him, your voice starting to shake. “None of this shit between us is cordial, Alastor.”

“But we're friends, dear-”

“Are we? Friends don't lie to each other and make one another sell their soul to them. Have a nice breakfast.”

Alastor shuts up, watching as your back turns the corner and like that, you're gone.

-----

“Alastor, how nice of you to join.”

“Valentino. Surprised you aren't taking care of the useless screen.” Alastor acknowledges.

“Vox didn't want to be here, so I thought I'd fill in.”

Alastor takes a seat next to Rosie as the overlord meeting continues on.

“Before we leave, Alastor, may we have an update on the girl?”

His eye twitches, gaze turning to face one of the overlords.

“I simply don't know what you're talking about.”

“Alastor.” They warn. “She's not just any soul.”

“Everything is fully under control, don't fret.”

“Just a reminder, Alastor~ If you fail, she's mine to take.”

“No need to remind me.” He smiles at Valentino, a bit too friendly.

Rosie sends Alastor a look.

Oh whatever is he going to do about this deal.

———/ TBC. /———

READ PART 3 HERE

Taglist : @musicalsundrop @for-hearthand-home @saeran-g @smoky000 @otherthoughtsofbu @letmebeagreekstatueyoumotherfuck @hudiexiaoying @prettyboychoso @thonethatflies620 @alastorssimp @impatiencepersistonthinstring @speaker15 @zq13 @starr11111 @fokrilove @aloraaaxcrystalzx @simps-for-to-many-people @siriuslyobsessedwithfiction @ohdarlingohdeer @sophiasrant @soyobi-wankenobi @karolinda007-blog @alastorsgirl48 @memymay @perrynina @john-kramer-0807 @preciousbabypeter @sugxryratz @polytheatrix @maksdust @96jnie @spirit-of-the-hollow @chirimeimei @itsukiestia @sky2lar (Tumblr hates me. I can't tag empty blogs (or is that a rule idk about?))

If you want to be on this fics taglist leave a comment! Please specify you want to be tagged or else I won't tag blogs that ask for another part cuz it doesn't seem polite- Thanks in advance <3

[angelsfat3]

꽃.ㅤㅤ( 𝓈. 𝑝𝑒𝒄𝑖𝒶𝑙 ) ／ㅤ𝓥𝖺𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑒︐𝗌.

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦.⠀ 花. ⠀: ⠀𝐻𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑙𝑦 𝒉𝑎𝑠 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝓗𝓪𝓹𝓹𝔂 𝓥𝓪𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓮'𝓼 𝓓𝓪𝔂.ㅤ／ㅤ𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓ㅤ:ㅤ𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒, 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑑𝑦, 𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓, 𝑐𝑢𝑑𝑑𝑙𝑒𝑠, 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠𝒉𝑖𝑝.ㅤ٭ㅤ危险──𝑙𝑖𝑔𝒉𝑡 𝑐𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝐽𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑛𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑜𝑢𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 𝑐𝑙𝑢𝑚𝑠𝑦, 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝒉𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒.

The warm scent of dough and vanilla filled the air as you rang Jake’s doorbell.

"Hang on a sec!"

Barely a second passed before the door swung open, and there he was—grinning like a bloody idiot, brighter than the city lights behind him.

"Happy Valentine’s!" he chirped, tugging you inside by the arm like an overexcited puppy.

Since you two started dating, Jake always found a way to make this day special. You knew he was the thoughtful type, but this year, he seemed especially pumped. His place was decked out with fairy lights, lavender-scented candles, your favorite roses chilling on the couch, and a table stacked with neatly arranged ingredients.

"We’re cooking together tonight," he announced, that cheeky spark lighting up his eyes. "Cookies first, then pasta. And after that… well." His voice dipped lower as he leaned in close to your ear. "You’ll see."

"Can’t wait for that ‘after,’" you chuckled at his teasing tone.

Jake had always been like this—even on your first date. Affectionate to the point where it melted you right down to your bloody bones. The kind of boyfriend who’d never miss a chance to wrap you up in his arms, steal kisses, or just look at you like you were his whole world. And tonight? No exception.

As he helped tie an apron around you, he brushed the tip of his nose against yours, voice dipping into something warm and fond.

"You look so damn cute like this… ah, and in the apron too."

Then, with zero warning, he stole a quick kiss—because, of course, he did.

The cookies were done, cooling on a rack while the sweet smell filled the kitchen. Jake, being the absolute menace he was, had already nicked one—taking a cheeky bite before holding it up to your lips with that signature, heart-melting grin.

"Go on, try it. Bloody perfect." he said, eyes sparkling like a lovesick fool, as if he wasn’t already looking at you like you hung the damn stars.

With a small smile, you took a bite, and before you could even react, Jake swooped in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

"Knew you’d love it…" he murmured against your skin, laughter slipping past his lips—mischievous, soft, so him.

Next up—pasta. Jake grabbed the ingredients, rolling up his sleeves like he was about to get serious, but his focus lasted all of two seconds before his attention landed right back on you.

"Did you know you’re the cutest thing to ever set foot in my kitchen?" he mused, resting his chin on your shoulder as you kneaded the dough. "And the only one, aside from me, of course."

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gave you away.

"Jake, if you keep this up, we’ll never finish cooking."

"And?" He slid his hands over your waist, pulling you back against him. "We could just stay like this all night, and I’d be the happiest bloke alive."

Without warning, you grabbed a handful of flour and dusted it all over his face.

Jake blinked, stunned for a second—then burst out laughing.

"Oi! So that’s how we’re playin’ it, huh?"

You didn’t give him a chance to retaliate before smudging more flour onto his cheek. What you didn’t expect was for him to strike back immediately—wrapping you in his arms and rubbing his flour-covered face against yours, making sure you got just as messy.

"Jake!" you yelped between laughter, trying (and failing) to squirm away.

"Too late, ya cheeky little gremlin," he whispered near your ear, voice dripping with amusement. "Now you’re my little ash baby."

The kitchen was a war zone—flour all over the counter, sauce splattered on the stove, and two lovebirds who had spent more time mucking around and snogging than actually cooking. But somehow, they’d managed to finish the pasta.

Jake plated up with a satisfied grin, setting everything on the table he’d carefully prepped for the night. The warm candlelight flickered, carrying the soft scent of lavender, and a slow, romantic playlist hummed in the background—Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis, just to really set the mood.

"Gotta admit, we’re no MasterChef contestants, but this looks… pretty damn good," you said, eyeing the dish in front of you.

"Obviously, ‘cause we made it together—kinda." Jake shot you that look, the one brimming with pure, unfiltered adoration. "And ‘cause we made it with love, duh."

Leaning forward, he propped an elbow on the table, lazily twirling his fingers through yours.

"You’ve noticed I’ve been grinning like an absolute idiot all night, yeah?"

"You always do," you teased, giving his hand a light squeeze.

"Yeah… but tonight’s different," he admitted, lacing his fingers through yours. "I love ya so much, sweetheart."

His voice was soft, earnest—so bloody sincere that it sent your heart into overdrive, pupils blown out like a junkie on their favourite high. Jake never held back when it came to his feelings, but every time he said it, he made you feel like the most important person in the world.

Before you could even reply, he leaned in, kissing you slow, deep—savouring it, savouring you.

When he finally pulled back, that signature, knee-weakening smile was right there waiting for you.

"Right, let’s eat before the pasta goes cold. Although…" His tone dropped into something cheeky. "If ya want, I could just feed ya straight from my mouth."

"Jake—"

Too late. He was already twirling some pasta onto his fork, holding it up with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Open up, love."

Yeah. Best Valentine’s Day ever.

𑂱𑂱𑂱𑂱𑂱𑂱𑂱𑂱𑂱𑂱ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ──

After dinner, the vibe in Jake's apartment was even more cosy. The soft glow of the candles cast delicate shadows on the walls, and the sound of both your laughter still hung in the air.

Jake, as always, couldn't take his eyes off you—his gaze full of love, admiration, and that little bit of cheeky desire.

"Wait up a sec," he said, getting up from the table with a grin that promised mischief. "I promised ya something else."

He looked at you like he was hiding the biggest secret of his life before heading to the couch, where a small black box sat waiting.

"Jake, you really didn’t have to..." you started, but he shushed you gently.

"Shh." he whispered, moving closer. "This is for you."

He opened the box slowly, and your eyes lit up when you saw what was inside—a delicate, beautiful necklace with a fine chain and a tiny flower-shaped pendant, covered in tiny diamonds.

"This is... it’s stunning, babe," you whispered, touching the piece of jewellery gently.

Jake smiled, never breaking eye contact, and fastened the necklace around your neck with such care it made you feel like you were the most important person in the world. You were—and always would be.

"But wait, there’s more."

With a playful grin, he pulled another box from his pocket and opened it, revealing a Tiffany & Co. diamond bracelet. The sparkle of the stones shimmered under the soft light, and you couldn’t help but be speechless.

"Jake... no way... you didn’t have to..."

He silenced you with a quick kiss on the lips before placing the bracelet on your wrist. "I want you to have the best, everything you deserve."

The room was filled with a special kind of peace, like time had just stopped for the two of you.

But Jake wasn’t finished yet.

With a nervous little laugh, he pulled out a final, slightly larger box. He opened it, revealing a simple yet elegant engagement ring, with a tiny diamond that seemed to glow like it had a life of its own.

"I love you more than words can say, [...]", Jake began, his voice slightly shaky. "My world... you’ve completely changed it, but every time I look into your eyes, I feel like it stops. Every time you’re near me, it’s like opening a door to a completely different world. A world where... No matter what I do, you’ll always be loving me, loving my stupid ways, my low moments, I love you, I want you, I need you to breathe, you are my everything, my love, I love you madly, with love, with obsession. And, well.. that’s why I want to spend the rest of my life with you... [...] Will you marry me?"

The world seemed to disappear for a second as your eyes filled with tears. You couldn’t believe it.

"Jake, I... Fucking hell, yes! Yes, yes I will," you said, your voice catching. "I love you so much."

He grinned so genuinely you felt a lump in your throat, and without a second thought, you pulled him into a tight hug. In that moment, everything felt perfect.

After you said yes—his fiancé, his husband-to-be—the atmosphere in the room shifted. The warmth of excitement and happiness wrapped around you both like a cocoon. Jake couldn’t stop smiling, placing small kisses all over your face, his gaze shining with a love so pure it made you feel like you were floating.

His lips brushed against yours, a soft kiss filled with tenderness but also the quiet longing for more. It felt like every moment you had shared, every second of your past together, had led to this perfect instant.

Then, something inside you made you pull away slightly, a feeling that there was still something left for you to show. You looked into Jake’s eyes, still brimming with love and excitement, and with a soft breath, you asked him to wait.

Without losing your smile, you stepped back a few paces, a mischievous glint in your eyes. You crouched down beside the dining table and grabbed a couple of small gift bags you had prepared earlier. Jake watched you in silence, curiosity flickering across his face.

Placing the bags on the table, your hands trembled slightly from the anticipation. One by one, you began pulling out the gifts. The first was a delicate necklace with a heart-shaped pendant. You held it between your fingers for a moment, staring at it before turning it towards Jake.

"This... this is something special," you said with a soft smile. Inside the pendant, engraved in tiny letters, were the words "I love you to infinity" in multiple languages. "I want you to always remember that I love you. If you ever have doubts, if work keeps us apart, or even if you just miss me… know that I will love you always, in every moment, with every breath of my being."

Jake was quiet for a moment, staring at the necklace in awe before his lips curled into a tender smile. "This is bloody beautiful, [...]." he whispered, leaning in to press a kiss against your cheek.

Next, you took out a pair of bracelets—almost identical to the one he had given you, but with a special touch. Instead of diamonds, each one carried a small charm with the initials of your names entwined, glowing softly under the dim light. Carefully, you fastened his around his wrist.

But the most meaningful gift was still in the box. A pair of rings—simple yet perfect, shining with a soft glow. You hesitated before admitting, "I wasn’t sure if I should get them… I thought it might be too much..."

"Ah! I almost forgot."

Finally, with a quiet chuckle, you pulled out the most peculiar gift of all—the Lego flower bouquet. You handed it to him with a grin. "I know it’s not a typical bouquet, but I figured you’d love it. I mean, let’s be real—you’re obsessed."

Jake let out a laugh, taking the Lego flowers with surprising gentleness, before looking back at you with eyes full of warmth. "You’re fucking unreal, baby. You make me feel like nothing in this world could be more perfect than what we have."

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, surrounded by the little chaos of gifts, but in the end, the only thing that truly mattered was that you were together.

At least until Jake glanced at all the gifts on the table, then back at you, and suddenly, a playful chuckle escaped his lips. His expression shifted into something more mischievous, like a wicked idea had just popped into his head.

"Y’know what?" he said with a devilish grin, setting the Lego bouquet down on the table.

"What?" you asked, a shiver running down your spine at the way his eyes gleamed with mischief.

Without warning, Jake leaned down and scooped you up effortlessly, holding you in his arms as if you weighed nothing.

"Jake! Put me—" you protested, laughing as you clung to his neck.

"Shh, love," he murmured against your ear, his voice dropping into something deeper, smoother. "There’s still one more gift left… the last, and best, of the night."

You felt him walking purposefully toward his bedroom, the grin on his face that of a fool completely smitten.

"And what gift would that be?" you whispered, though you already knew the answer.

Jake only chuckled again, his gaze filled with both desire and tenderness. "One that’ll have ya rememberin’ this Valentine’s Day for a long, long time, sweetheart."

The bedroom door clicked shut behind you, letting the night take its course.

＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ݁⠀⠀،،⠀⠀메모 ! ㅤ⸻ㅤ Happy Valentine's Day, fellas. Late for some, but still. After this one I might finally finish (and upload) the last part of Heeseung's story, but I don't promise anything, I still have many reqs to write. 🤓︐⠀📍

⠀𝒊. ⠀─⠀ All credits to @angelsfat3.⠀𝄒

. . . ₍⠀아이디어 !ㅤ⸻ㅤfeel free to requests! <⁠(⁠￣⁠︶⁠￣⁠)⁠>⠀₎⠀ ִֶָ

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[saekkas]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐄

summary: you've been pulling all-nighters and michael kaiser isn't happy about that. good thing he has a trick to lure you into bed with him.

w.c: 1.6k

notes: don't be fooled by the pictures. the only kitty cat in this fic is kaiser <3

the digital clock by your side is silent, no ticking to announce the seconds that are trickling by so quickly. time is slipping through your fingers like sand, and you can only watch, pushing past the grainy texture.

everything is starting to feel like a bubble, wrapped in a haze of focus. the sound of blowing AC is minimal, no more hustle of honking cars, and the world is quiet as your eyes sting from the tablet light, drooping in exhaustion.

all is well. at least, until that bubble breaks.

"how are you still sitting there even after all these hours?"

kaiser pads into the living room, shirtless with only some sweats hung low on his waist. every single one of his steps are confident, as if he's set out on a mission he's determined to complete. he fans himself with a hand, walking over to where you're seated on the living room couch. "are you a zombie? or has my angel finally turned into a mummy?"

there are dark circles under your eyes, generated by the hours upon hours of work you've been putting in. every movement feels sluggish; the tablet in your hand feels heavy, as if something's tugging you and your body to lie down on the comfortable cushioned furniture. lack of sleep and too much caffeine, probably.

you can see the way he's eyeing you, a borderline mix of anger, annoyance, and sleepiness wrapped into a person that is him. you don't know whether to be threatened or intrigued by it.

"come here, baby. let's get you to bed, okay?" kaiser leans in close to you, pressing a kiss on your forehead. "i can't let you work yourself down to the bone. you've got me, remember? my card's for you to use."

his movements are too gentle, too smooth and the way he's smiling so sweetly at you, batting his eyes, makes you wonder what he has planned. when you feel the telltale signs of his fingers around your hand, you glare, pressing the tablet to your chest. kaiser's always been a smooth predator, he knows how to get what he wants.

"you look like a feral raccoon," he laughs, sitting right beside you on the couch. "i have a thing for pandas. not trash pandas."

this time, he leans in to press himself into the crook of your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist as he all but curls into your frame. his shoulders slump and he sighs, happily nuzzling his face into your skin. "you smell lovely, liebling."

"mikka," you sigh as he starts to leave gentle kisses on your skin. he's nothing if not trouble but you won't lie to yourself, his presence always brings comfort even if he does end up distracting you from your work most of the time. "shouldn't you be asleep?"

the digital clock on the desk looks back at you, the gleaming red numbers clear. 12:03 AM. you frown, placing your hand on the crook of his neck, playing with the hair that's found its place there.

"aren't you tired?" his body relaxes, curling more around your frame like a cat does with its mother. you can only chuckle when he tries tugging the tablet out of your hands. "what's gotten into you?"

for one, your lover never goes to bed past 10 PM. it's part of the routine you both have. whenever he's home, you follow his routine down to the t. it starts with breakfast at 8 AM, lunch at 1 PM, dinner at 6 PM, and cuddles sprinkled throughout. then you let him drag you to sleep by 9 PM, snuggling against each other like it's the first time you've both shared a bed.

the pout he's sporting tells you he isn't happy that it didn't happen tonight.

"mikka, go to bed. i'll be with you in just a sec." the words are nothing but a lie and you both know it. if it weren't, he'd be happily drooling with his hands around you in bed by now.

kaiser snorts, his pout turning into a frown. he's displeased and it shows in the way that he's started to tug your tablet harder, determined to get you into bed with him. you can feel him shake against your neck, and you tilt your head, surprised when he leans back with a victorious smile and your tablet in his hand.

"mikka." the threat in your voice is clear as you raise your hand, asking him for the tablet back nicely. "i need that back. give it to me, please."

"you know i can't do that." the pout he shows you is absolutely sweet; one you've seen him use dozens of times to get his way. one you have yet found a way to refuse. "i can't sleep while my fiancée works."

there it is. there's that word again. fiancée. another trick he's been using to get his way. "right, fiancée?" he repeats, tucking his hands under your legs and back to lift you into his arms.

"besides, i'm more important than whatever your working on. after all, i'm your fiancé." he nuzzles his face into yours as he walks, playfully biting your nose with a giggle.

you can only glare when he grins at your flustered expression.

"shuddup. you're so annoying." kaiser smells oddly sweet, a mixture of scents that don't usually linger on him, and as you lean your forehead against his collarbone, he's quick to place you on the bed, hurriedly pinning you under him right after. "mikka!"

"let me see." his tone is a mixture of laughter and whines, and his eyes sparkle brightly, similar to the diamond studded ring that now sits on your finger. he holds your wrists, dragging them away to reveal your face, flushed and all. "there's my pretty."

there's a silence that comes after, one that he fills with a loving gaze and a haughty smirk. he leans down, pressing himself against you, and nuzzles into your neck with his hands wrapped tightly around your waist.

he clearly has a thing for your neck.

the press of his body on yours is heavy but it's something you're used to. kaiser is someone who thrives with physical contact and combined with the summer heat, he's been a menace. he insists on latching onto you like a koala every single day. not that you mind. especially not when he's shirtless like he is now.

"aren't you hot?" you mumble, trailing a finger down his back. you watch as he shivers at the action, goosebumps rising on his skin. "we might both experience heat stroke if we keep cuddling like this."

"yes, i am hot." comes his answer which you snort at. he grins at the sound, lifting his head to look into your eyes. "don't act all coy. i know you love it when my tattoo's on show."

your eyes dart down to his arm at his words, taking in the thorny roses that slither up the skin. they're stark, inky black against his pale arm. you follow their path up to his neck, marveling the rose on his skin that perfectly matches his hair and eyes.

"see," he teases smugly, leaning in to press a kiss on your lips. "you can't resist me."

you blink at that, looking at him with wide eyes.

"what?" a grin makes its way onto his lips as kaiser places his head on your belly, kissing you through your pajamas. "something you wanna ask?"

something is different about him. not in the way he looks, not in the way he behaves but in the way he smells. your eyes narrow before widening in realization. "you're wearing lip gloss?" you prop yourself on your elbows, using a hand to pull him up. "lemme taste."

kaiser grins, smug as he lets you maneuver him all you want. with every peck that's placed on his lips, his grin grows bigger and bigger until he looks like a chesire cat.

"is that why you smell different?" you mumble, tilting your head to press against his lips harder. he responds in kind, wrapping his hands around your waist tighter as if you're going to disappear if he doesn't. "what flavor is that? cherry?"

when he finally lets you pull away, your lips are red and swollen, playfully bitten by the man in front of you. his gaze stays on them, smiling smugly as he nods.

"yeah. after all, i'm the one that gets to pop your-"

there's a groan that comes when you push him off. you giggle, hovering above him from the bed. sprawled on the floor, your big bad fiancé looks nothing like his fierce persona on the field. if anything, he looks like a startled starfish. "that's what you get for being so annoying."

there's a glint in his eye that has you backing up on the bed. seconds later, he's back on his feet, tackling you into the pillows. the sound of laughter fills the room and as you pant, hovering above him, you cradle his face in your hand. your future, your world, your everything.

"i can't wait to marry you," you whisper, one hand trailing hearts on the rose that sits on his neck. "i can't believe you roped me into this."

"i guess i'm just that charming." he laughs, pulling your body down until you're straddling his lap. his hands are gentle as they trail down your thighs in return, squeezing the fat around your hips. "i can't wait either. especially for-"

"one more word and i'm banishing you to the couch."

"will you be on the couch with me? because if you will-"

"mikka."

"yes ma'am."

[teddybeartoji]

hi mickey! i kinda can’t stop thinking about your snow leopard!gojo and i have a question… do you know how when female cats go into heat they get so clingy and like… slutty? with their ass up and meowing really loud non stop just very needy… what about subby gojo? or do you think he leans more on the dominant side?

HIIII VAL!!!!!! LITERALLY RUSHED TO ANSWER THIS BC 🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴🥴 i think he definitely leans towards being a sub!!! he wants you to take care of him, he want you to baby him. he's like a fucking pillow princess lmao. i don't really see him going too feral in a dominant way. feral in a slutty way is a big yes though. he's sooooo fucking needy holy fucking shit.

ok but the heats.... i think for men it's called a rut..... i think.... BUT I'M ALSO NEW IN THE HYBRID WORLD LMAO SO I'M NOT SURE. anyway.... he's losing his mind whenever he goes into a rut. he's humping your bed, your pillows, he's stealing your underwear, he's sniffing them, he's licking them - he turns into a real perv. he just can't help it. you smell so fucking good. oh, and he most certainly likes to nose at your crotch..... like he's sitting at your feet and just burying his face into you. oke and he might... hump your leg, too. he's just sooo sensitivee:(((( and he needs your help:(((((( to take care of his problem:(((( he's gonna make you do it. he's a little manipulator:(((

he gives you his best little puss in boots eyes as he guides your hand to his rock hard cock and it's so hard to say no to him bc his nose is so pink and his lips are so pouty and his fuzzy ears are tilted downward and his tail is thumping against the floor and yeah he knows you're going to make him feel good because you love him right?

iiiiii think he's also very likely to just grind on you overall. whenever he sits on your lap, he's mewling and whining into your neck while his tail wraps around your leg, tickling your skin. mmmmmmmmmmm i'm going insane actually.

i think he also makes messes just so you'd have to punish him. he literally can't be without your attention, no matter what kind it is.

okay fuck wait but back to the ruts sorry i blacked out for a sec there. the whole point is breeding you. like he needs to cum inside you. he needs to. he likes to trap you below him and he likes to fuck you in the prone bone position🥴🥴🥴he loves it sm bc he can nip at your skin - at your cheeks, at your ears, at your neck. and he can keep you there. when he gets into it... he doesn't stop. and he obviously can go for so many fucking rounds. so he loves it when you're crying from overstim below him, bucking your hips into him subconciously.

but don't think he's playing like a dom daddy!!! oh no! he's still in your ears begging and whining. the word 'please' is spilling from his lips like a waterfall. it just feels so fucking good, you feel so good. he's also slurring out the good old "i'll be good, i'll be so good for you." and "one more. please, just one more." and "can i cum? please, can i cum?". he's so perfect i want to cry aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh

aaaaand after all that he just likes to lay on top of you bc ofc he does. his tail trails over your sweaty limbs in a comforting manner as he listens to your pounding heart<3333333

[bamsblooming]

Cupid’s Chokehold ⊹ ࣪ ˖ C.S

After, a long, tiresome day. All Chris wants to do is cling onto you, you could even say that cupid has him in a chokehold. Once he wants something, he doesn’t stop until he’s content. So when he gets home, takes off his coat and throws his bag on the floor, all he wants is you to be back into his arms once more for sure.

CONTAINS જ⁀➴ fluff! clingy!chris 🫦 pet names : babe, ma, baby // WORD COUNT : 1593 // A/N = thank you soso much anon for requesting this!!! AND WTF?! THANK YOU FOR 100 FOLLOWERS!

7:30pm

You were already all settled on the couch, a cushy blanket draped over your legs. The day had dragged on, draining in a way that settled into your bones. Being all relaxed like this, felt like a reward. Like, slipping into something welcoming after hours of enduring the outside world.

The cushions moulded into your body as they gave into your weight, warm and inviting. The plush blanket was settled over you just right, not too heavy, nor light. Just enough to cause you to sink further into the haven of your couch.

In the background, the mellow hum of the TV ricocheted off the walls, some show playing, arguably more for comfort than actual attention. It was perfect, serene. Undisturbed.

7:50pm

But being in a relationship with Chris? The peacefulness didn’t last long. You suddenly hear the front door swing open. Before you even had the chance to look up, there’s the telltale thud of his bag hitting the floor, followed by the echoed rustling of fabric as he shrugs his coat off and tosses it aside to be a future problem, even the heavy sigh that escaped him made it clear that his day was just as long and draining. He didn’t care where anything landed. Why? Well, his only mission right now is you.

Your gaze drifts up, and thats when you see him — his eyes heavy, shoulders slumped, and exhaustion written all over his poor face. A word didn’t even slip out of your mouth before he’s on you. Throwing himself on the couch like it was life or death to him. Immediately, his arms wrapped around you and his head finds your shoulder as if it was second nature.

“Babe, I had the longest day,” he sighs dramatically, his voice a little low, but filled with that tacit need for comfort as he squeezes you tighter. “I’m so glad to be home, I missed you sooo much.” He murmurs, the weight of his body pressing into yours as he snuggles against you, inhaling the consolation of your essence. His legs entangle with yours, making sure there’s not an inch of space left between you two, as if he’s been affection-deprived.

You attempt to shift, maybe grab the remote, but he whines. Actually whines. Nuzzling into your side like he’s found the perfect spot.

“No, no, no. Don’t move yet. Just, let me stay like this for a sec.”

A ‘sec’ turns into 15 minutes, then 35, then 40. His weight presses into you as his body relaxes completely, yet his grip was tight enough as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. He was settled against you like he never wanted to move again.

And just like that, you’re trapped under the weight of your clingy, lovesick boyfriend. Because after a dreadful, exhausted day, all he wanted was to be wrapped up in your embrace. It was amusing, really, he was breathing into you like he’s been away for weeks instead of hours. Yet, you stroked his hair affectionately, knowing he needed it. There was no turning back. You were seriously stuck, he was serious about staying like this. serious.

8:30pm

Finally, you manage to wiggle free by bribing him with the pledge of a home-cooked meal. But patently. that doesn't mean that he's letting you go. Nope. Never. Now, he's pursuing behind you like a lost puppy.

As you move around the kitchen adeptly, he still finds a way to keep affixed to you — the moment he reaches you, his arms slip and encircled around you, firmly pulling your back flush against his chest. The weight of the day seemed to seep away as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm and steady against your neck, watching you intently as you stirred the existing mixture on the stove.

"You smell nice," he murmurs against your neck, voice thick with exhaustion.

"Thank you, my love." You mutter, trying to grab something from the fridge, he shadowed along, huddling way too close, fingers absentmindedly brushing against your waist with his chin on your shoulder. You're practically trying to cook with a cuddle monster.

9:00pm

Settling down in your seat to eat should show a degree of separation, right? Nope, you were hugely mistaken. Chris hauls his chair ridiculously close, one hand reposing on your thigh the whole time. You can’t even manage to shift a centimetre away, he just shifts even closer.

“Hey, don’t run from me..” He teases and whines with a playful pout. even though you’ve moved an inch at most. You roll your eyes, but he just smiles proudly, squeezing your knee like he’s won.

9:35pm

You finish up dinner, clearing the table together as usual. Hey, just maybe the night will feel easier as both of you guys begin to wind down and you can finally get some space. But no, he's already gently steering you back against the counter, his hands ghosting over your waist, each step back a silent invitation until the cool counter greets your spine. His touch isn't anything close to unyielding — it's unhurried, a quiet insistence that he yearns for you to be near.

His arms wrap around you the moment you halt, tenderly drawing you flush against him as if the unoccupied stretch of space between you is excruciating. His head sinks onto your shoulder, the heat of his breath brushes your skin, warm and teasing like a soft whisper. His fingers tighten at your sides, unwilling to let go.

"Stay here, please. Don't move. Ever." He murmurs, his voice soft yet unwavering. His hold is featherlight yet resolute, like he can't help but reach for you, to know that you're here with him and long for him like how he longs for you. And in all honestly, you have no inclination to move at all.

10:00pm

The night is winding down, you get up after lazing on the couch with Chris. You begin to walk to the bathroom to commence your nighttime routine, and guess what? He ensues, refusing to stay in the living room like you thought he would. Instead, he's following closely at your heels, his footsteps a little too close for comfort. He's always just a few steps behind, following you through the house like he's on a mission. His mission? To get as adjacent to you as possible.

"Ma, wait up!"

You cast a little glance over your shoulder to see him leaning against the doorframe, arms folded casually as his gaze lingers on you, a tender smile on his face. Yet, in his eyes, theres something else beneath the warmth that they hold — A silent plea, barely concealed but filled with desperate longing and an unspoken hope. Just hoping that you'll let him join you in the bathroom.

A light laugh escapes you, followed by an eye roll. He doesn't even wait for an invitation, already pushing off the doorway and walking towards you, positioning himself behind you in the bathroom. The space begins to shrink around him, filled with a powerful allure. In the soft, ambient light of the bathroom, his figure is defined by a delicate shadow. Leaning over the counter, his chin comes to find its place and settles into the familiar curve of your shoulder with a soft movement. The warmth of his skin contrasts with the brisk air and the faint mist heightening from the tap. Even in this close proximity, his eyes were silently asking to be closer than ever before, like he wants to crawl into your skin.

"M'not leaving you in here by yourself, baby." He mumbles, his voice velvety and warm, as though each syllable was soaked in affection. The tenderness in his tone lingers in the air between you. Attempting to show you just how much you mean to him without saying it outright as if he's afraid to disrupt the fragile intimacy between you. His tone is reverent, as though every breath he draws in your presence is weighted and cherished like a precious gift, as though he's silently thanking the universe for the simple, mere chance to be near you.

Attempting to give him some space, you make a small effort to grab a towel, possibly even tidy up the shelf. Nonetheless, he's fucking relentless, every movement you made was mirrored by him, in a way that he cannot bear to stray from you.

10:20pm

Yet, even as you finish your dental routine, doing skincare, and getting ready for bed yet you can feel his presence at your back. You finally slip into the covers, the soft sheets feeling indulgent against your skin. But obviously, its not just the sheets that you're intwined in, it was the closeness that has you both entrapped in something far deeper than linen. Within moments, he's snugly nestled beside you. His arm draped around your body in a clingy embrace in a way that suggests that his body was instinctively seeking the warmth of yours. His face settling into the crook of your neck, breathing you in as if it's the only place he belongs.

"Mmm, this is perfect," he murmurs sleepily, planting a slow, warm kiss to your shoulder.

Even in his heavy-eyed state, he's still holding onto you like an anchor, You attempt to adjust, but he constricts his grip with a sleepy grunt.

"Nope. Mine. Stay."

And before you know it, just like that, you're fastened for the night. Wrapped in the embrace of your hopelessly devoted, irresistibly and utterly clingy boyfriend.

Literally had no time to proofread this!! So, so, so sorry if there are any mistakes!

ೄྀ࿐bloomers : @cunty-matt @courta13 @leisturni @jensturnss @luckysouls @chrepsi @espressqe

MY OTHER WORKS :: HERE.

[mattluvr]

⋆·˚ ༘ * a pure smut chris sturniolo oneshot !

( soft!dom!chris, oral — f!receiving, teasing, praise, pet names )

chris loves your tattoos.

he may not have any of his own, the prospect of something so permanent hanging onto the end of a needle one that makes his skin crawl, but he whole heartedly believes that he’s not missing out.

your smattering of ink is enough for him. from the delicately drawn flowers on the backs of your arms, to the tiny heart resting on your hip bone, chris loves nothing more than running his fingers across your supple skin, fascinated by the lines that decorate you.

so often, when you push his head down to nestle between your thighs, need gnawing at your insides, chris likes to come back up for air every now and again to press a soft kiss to each individual tattoo.

which is what he’s doing right now; your legs are open before him, desire dripping onto the bedsheets beneath you, chris’ mouth peppering love everywhere but your heat. you can’t take the teasing; you’re desperate, shuffling your body closer to him, y’know, to give him a hint.

“gimme a sec.” he mumbles, fingers tracing the outline of the cat you got tattooed on your inner thigh long before you met him. he’s mesmerised by the intricacy of the drawing, but is also fully aware how much this is turning you on.

a few more minutes of foreplay can’t hurt.

but you’re so impatient, whining aloud and grinding your lower half into chris, who chuckles in response.

“jesus, baby, alright.”

and he repositions his head, sticking his tongue out and beginning the torturous process of eating you out. he’s made the decision to elongate the licks, suckling on your clit slowly, which is turning into a puddle. exactly like he wants.

you tangle your fingers in chris’ hair, arching your back. “fuck, go faster.”

he ignores you, pressing the dangerous kisses all around yet again and you groan, both from pleasure and annoyance. chris’ act is boring you already; you need to cum so badly.

“chris.” you moan, forcing his head back to your clit. “did you hear me? go faster.”

“nah. not with that attitude.” he lifts away and you scoff, grabbing him by his shirt collar, pulling him into you.

you push your lips to his in a messy kiss, and when you pull away your eyebrows are still furrowed. “i won’t let you pick out my next tattoo if you don’t eat me out.”

“fuck, okay.” chris has been looking forward to telling you to get ‘eat me’ tattooed on your lower back. he ultimately decides to give up his stubbornness; he wants nothing more than to see that tattoo reverberating when he hits it from behind.

so he crawls back between your legs and becomes instantly harsher with his ministrations. you smile, the warmth of his mouth against your pulsing clit a welcoming feeling, and then your head falls back, his tongue probing your folds an unfamiliar one.

“shit, that’s good.” you hum in approval, back arching as chris’ thumb replaces where his tongue had been, rubbing your bundle of nerves achingly slow. “oh, yeah that’s good. so fucking good, chris.”

“yeah? you like this?”

“mhm.” you whimper, hand flying back down to his hair, relishing in the way he responds to the strands being pulled, the low groans flying from his mouth like music to your ears.

“what about… this.”

and suddenly, chris has removed his boxers and is lining himself up with your entrance, fingers still pressed against your clit, and you gasp, pulling his hair with more force. “oh my fucking god.”

with each thrust, you swear chris brushes your cervix, the softness almost painful; you can already feel the pressure in your lower stomach, and you need to cum, but chris is still doing his teasing act, body hovering over yours, lips brushing across the smattering of stars you have tattooed along your collarbone.

he’s not gonna last long, you can already tell by the slight tremor in his legs, but you’re not too bothered on this occasion; you’re not far off either, the magic he’d worked with his tongue having made you sensitive.

“fuck, ma.” chris hisses when you clench around him. your head is spinning, and you can only begin to imagine how chris is feeling. “just like that, oh yeaaaah. i’m gonna cum.”

“m-me too.” you manage to muster, your bottom lip clamped between your teeth as your vision goes foggy. maybe soft and slow isn’t all that bad.

and, with one last push, one last reach for the coveted g spot, buried deep within you, chris is unravelling inside you, painting you white; you’re not long after him, twitching and moaning as you coat his dick with your juices.

you both sigh contentedly, and chris slips out of you, groaning as his member makes contact with the crisp air again, flopping down onto the bed beside you. when he turns to face you, his hand trails round to graze your lower back, smirking.

“i want you to get ‘eat me’ tattooed right here, baby.”

you chuckle, but shrug. a promise is a promise, no matter how incoherent your thoughts, so you hold out your hand and shake on it. “deal, sturniolo.”

maybe that’s why chris loves your tattoos; not because of the intricacies… because they make you look hot when he’s fucking you.

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