#this has been in my inbox for some time along with other things

[avastyetwats]

Slap! From Chaz to Flint

"Alright, men. As soon as we come upon the ship, we'll--"

SLAP.

The redheaded Captain jumped when he felt a hand collide with his ass, immediately turning with a closed fist to knock out whoever the fuck thought slapping him on the ass was a good idea. "What in the fu--" Charles. Of fucking course it was Charles. The color of Flint's face suddenly matched the color of his hair and he swears he can hear some of their men chuckling. "Really, Captain?" Flint mutters, blue eyes glaring at the man standing behind him, now next to him. "Here? In front of our men?" It was no secret that the two were together and there were times they sailed together, whether on the same ship or separate ones, but Flint tried to keep things professional when they were on a mission of some sort. Charles, however, did not. And he certainly made it challenging. Though, admittedly, he helped make his crewmen feel at ease and helped make it not feel so goddamn tense on his ship all the time. Charles was a Captain that always cared for his crew, far more than Flint cared about his own, but he was helping to change that. Huffing, Flint turned back to the men but stepped to the side, putting more distance between him and Charles. "Anyway, as I was saying..." @fornassau

[hlvrai-stuck-together]

((OOC))

Sorry I keep updating at like. midnight. I honestly dont have an excuse besides i go to work and i get home and i'm tired fghsdajk

Gonna take me a little while to get into the swing of this. I've never done an askblog like this before (though I have hosted... technically 3 in the past? (EDIT: no, 4 actually.) But never like this, and none of them went anywhere), so trying to get into the swing of it has been weird.

Glad people seem to be enjoying it, though! I had no idea it'd take off like this, aha. Hopefully I can get a bit more consistent and stop uploading at 2 AM, lol.

That said, I don't know what my schedule's gonna be (if I even start one). So if there's a couple days where I don't upload, it's not because I abandoned the AU or anything, it's probably just because I'm busy IRL.

Feel free to keep sending in asks even if I'm not online! I've already got a lot of really good ones sitting there that I'm gonna hold onto for a bit (for. reasons).

This has been really fun so far, and I hope everyone's having fun, too! Just bear with me while I figure this out. I'm hoping to get out a ref of [ERROR] soon, and also stop calling him that soon, but getting into character is proving to be a challenge when you do it on and off like this. But that's never stopped me before and it won't now. Like I said, this has been fun so far!

That said, if anyone has any suggestions on a meta level, I'm all ears. I realize now that I've run into this basically blind, so even though I did a couple week's worth of preparation in advance for this blog, I'm also still floundering a bit. Learning more every day, though! And I'm hoping I can pick up the pace soon as well. After Day 1's rapidfire replies, going at a more leisurely pace feels really slow, and I both wanna fix that but also don't know how because, like I said, I keep uploading at midnight gfdshjk

TL;DR I'm working on it dw lol

-Mod Dimonds

[sparklystarrrr]

crewel adopt us headcanon?

Anon I fucking love you for this request. (you don't know how I tweaked out from happiness from seeing this in my inbox)

Adopting His Puppy

Synopsis: Crewel adopts you as his own lovely chidl!

Contains: Divius C. x Gn! Reader, platonic, Potionology is your best subject, papa Crewel is my fav Crewel, minor(?) reader - not specified, reader has implied familial problems

Arriving in Twisted Wonderland and forcibly getting acclimated to their traditions, history and simple ways of life were no easy feat. It was probably the worst time of your life besides the distractions your friends gave you.

It was so much worse now that you had no parental figure and no family. No one was there when you needed some sense knocked into you or if you just needed parental guidance

Along with your friends though, Potionology with Professer- Master Crewel was easily enjoyable

Since you got here, you and Master Crewel had been getting closer and really starting to get to know each other. It was the most fun you'd had in a while. For the first time you had a home away from home

One thing that stood out to you the most was that he would be less strict with you. He wouldn't yell or prod at you during lessons and would take his time teaching you and making sure you understood what was laid out before you

You'd go to his classroom to find him whenever you needed guidance or just someone to be with and the two of you would talk for hours. Eventually he'd send you on your way with a few extra dollars because he highly detested Crowley's ways of "caring" for you

He would sew clothes he thought would look nice on you and would even teach you some sewing skills. Everything you mastered, with his teaching or not, he would give you a pat on the back, saying he's proud of you.

It was the first time in a while you'd heard those words come from someone's mouth. It was like the world bloomed around you every time he congratulated you on something or suggested you come down to his classroom for some extra Potionology or sewing while you talked endlessly about things like his dogs or your shared hatred for Crowley (the jokes you two make are actually terrible but so hilarious that they can't be spoken outside the room)

At one point after a particularly hard day of school with finding out you flunked two exams, Ramshackle was literally breaking down again, you had no more money for food, and your favorite shirt snagged a hole from getting caught on a splintery door, you came to his classroom weeping. It wasn't the first time you'd cried around him but it had never been this heavily

That day was the first time he'd hugged you. It was a bit awkward since he didn't want to wrinkle or soil his clothes but it was warm and soft in a way. Most importantly, it was loving.

He rubbed your back gently and let you cry while you both talked. This was the most concerned he's ever been for a student. You both figured out ways to fix everything after you calmed down. He suggested you go to your friends dorms for the time being since it would be convenient due to your dorm situation

He even helped you study for the upcoming exams you had to make up for the two failed ones. He was a bit more strict than usual but you knew he had a good intention to do so. Right after, he lent you his sewing machine and with the skills he gave you, you fixed up the hole in your shirt.

Not too many days later you received a call to go to Headmaster Crowley's office for important business you dragged your feet a bit. It was unknown to you the big news behind his words, but to you any request from Crowley was a tedious and unwanted one!

Once arriving, it didn't seem too awkward. The air was light and warm and it smelled of the woodsy cologne Crewel wore. It felt familiar to you.

There were papers on the desk laying perfectly organized. It seemed like this was paperwork once again but it was odd that Crewel was there...

"Hey Crewel! And Crowley... Why was I called here? I heard there were some papers I needed to sign?" (y/n) spoke with a small sigh. The two men turned their attention to them after what seemed to be a conversation that had annoyed Crewel to his wits end. His stiff hand that was previously pinching the bridge of his nose was set down on the table more comfortably. A small smile grew on his face "Hello, Pup. How have you been?" He patted the chair next to him and ushered (y/n) towards it gently. With a silent nod and a smile as your answer, they sat down.

"So, (y/n), we've called you here to discuss a rather important topic! Wouldn't you say, Crewel?" Crowley spoke in his boisterous tone."Yes yes, it will be very important to discuss. Remind me of why I had to take this up with you out of all people?"Crewel groaned and ran his fingers through his neat hair. "W-well Divius, all paperwork going to the College must go through me of course!"

"Did you make that up?"

"... On with the papers Crewel! The poor Prefect doesn't have all day as you know!"

(y/n) and Crewel both sighed in unison. "Anyways... What are these papers about?" Crewel took a deep breath and spoke more gently, "These are papers to legally adopt you, Pup. You do not need to make the decision now but as I've spent more time with you, I've viewed you as much more than a student." (y/n) knew exactly what he meant. He saw them as family. There was a sudden feeling of warmth in their chest again. They felt the same, the exact same.

"N-no no... I'd like to sign it. I'd love to.." They spoke. Their voice wavered but was still as bold as ever. Crewel smiled to himself and placed the papers in front of (y/n). He slipped the pen into their hand,"Sign away Pup."

They signed the papers with shaking hands. Not of fear or anxiety, but out of the excitement they felt. They'd longed for the feeling of truly having a parental figure who cared for them, one who wanted them. Here they were with their favorite teacher in this new magical school; he was adopting them. They finished signing with tears in their eyes and placed the pencil down.

In one quick movement, they threw themselves into Crewel's arms. Through his surprised grunt, he laid his hands on their shoulders,"My my Pup, you will wrinkle my clo-" "Thank you, Father." He let out a breathy laugh and kissed the crown of their head softly"Of course, my Pup." He hugged them closer while trying his best to ignore the tears falling on his shoulder.

"My, how gracious it is to see a family come together!-" "SHUT UP CROWLEY!"

Also also, for any other requests for Staff members (or Grimm) THEY WILL ONLY BE PLATONIC JUST LIKE THIS -- I see them all as family in the game and it would be super uncomfortable for me to write about shabloinking with them

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

blushing birthday

a/n: iihhh! first story in this slutty au! felt like this was a good place to jump off from. and also, i just wanna point this out because i nearly never do and perhaps some people don’t realise it, but if you have a thought, an idea, a wish or request in this au (or any other, my inbox is always open for requests) then feel free to click on my ask button and send it my way ♡

summary: “so, what I was thinking,” you tilted your head, “was that before I go give him his present, you guys could maybe help me prep a little bit, warm me up and stretch out my ass enough to fit his big fat cock. Would you guys like that?”

warnings: various x camgirl!reader, smut, porn au, college au, roommate!bucky barnes, roommate!steve rogers, roommate!curtis everett, ex!ransom drysdale, dilf neighbour!andy barber, reader's porn name is cherry blossom (UrLittleCherry), friends with benefits, happy hippie fun poly vibes, curtis’ birthday, partying, alcohol consumption, kissing, masturbation, impact play, fingering, toys, edging, clothed sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism, dirty talk, size kink, manhandling, multiple orgasms, anal, penetrative sex, unprotected sex

word count: 3953

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ��

sugar & spice au masterlist | 101, intro to the au

masterlist | join my taglist 

The last rays of sunshine for the day streamed in through the half-drawn curtains and cast soft shadows across your form as you sat cross-legged on your mattress. 

With your reach outstretched towards your laptop propped up on the chair situated at the foot of your bed, you clicked on the go live button and watched as a countdown appeared on the screen, overlaying your visage staring back at you as your gaze briefly flickered around to check your gear one last time. 

Thanks to your three roommates who’d insisted on helping you upgrade your setup, there wasn’t just one, but two cameras pointing directly at you. One angle to catch all of your frame and one zoomed-in to capture a perfect close-up between your legs. 

“Hey guys!” a warm smile swiftly dazzled your features as you watched the first few people jump at your notification, “good evening or good–, whatever time of day it is for you.” 

The messages in the chat started rolling in, some with usernames you recognised and some you didn’t. 

TheFrogo: Hi Cherry! How are you? Have you had a good day so far?

DrownByPussy: Omg you’re finally live! I’ve been hard all day knowing I’d get to see you today.

“Hi Frogo, yeah, I’ve had a pretty good day, but I’m hoping that it might get even better, because I’ve got something pretty fun planned for tonight,” your hands absentmindedly fidgeted along the length of your legs as you spoke, “so, today is a friend of mine’s birthday and–, wait,” you paused and leaned in closer to catch a better look of the scrolling messages, “I haven’t seen you write in the chat yet, but birthday boy, if you’re here, you better log off right now or you’ll ruin your surprise,” you warned, glancing straight into the camera, “I’ll give you five seconds get off,” a pointer finger then kissed each of your digits as you counted down, “five… four… three… two… one,” you squinted a moment longer before a giggle bubbled out, “okay, so now that it’s just us, I can tell you what I’ve got planned,” you switched up your seat, moving your legs to comfortably kneel on the mattress with your frame slightly turned at an angle for you to better see the screen, but retroactively grant everyone a view of the curve of your spine as the line swooped down over your waist and blossomed into the plush of your ass, sinfully on display in the pastel blue, mesh lingerie you wore, “there is one thing in particular that he has just been begging for… any guesses?”

A_B_Cunt_Destroyer: Hmm… is it a particular fantasy? A little bit of roleplay action? 

8inchStallion: Threesome? 

“Nope. All fun suggestions, but no.”

TittyCokeKingXXX: Is it to bang in public?

Cream314159: How about anal? 

“Cream! Yes! You guessed it!” you excitedly threw your hands up in the air, “it is anal that he’s been dreaming about.”

Ddadddy6969: I mean, who can blame him.

ItsBradBtch: Fucking same.

TearinYoBootyUp: Wish it was my birthday today so you’d let me fuck your tight little ass.

“So, what I was thinking,” you tilted your head, “was that before I go give him his present, you guys could maybe help me prep a little bit, warm me up and stretch out my ass enough to fit his big fat cock. Would you guys like that?”

KyleKyleson: Yes!

UrPervyDaddy398: Hell yeah, let’s get you ready to take that monster cock.

Casting a glance out of the nearby window, your eye couldn’t help but catch sight of the neighbouring house. It didn’t look like the divorced dad who resided there was home, though you still nevertheless searched for him. You weren’t completely clueless to his infatuation with you, though it had almost turned into a game, always trying to catch him peeping at you through the windows, or even taking it further by purposely wearing something skimpy when you’d go get the mail or other activities where you would know you’d bump into him. You didn’t judge him to be the type of man to ever really do anything about it, to actually reach out and grasp a wet dream of a girl so much his junior, but the teasing had become too much fun for you to stop, you were too far gone to draw the curtains closed now. 

As a quiet jingle sounded from your speakers, indicating that someone had tipped you, your gaze flickered back towards the computer screen. 

A_B_Cunt_Destroyer: Is that the underwear set I bought you off your wishlist? You look even more gorgeous in it than I imagined.

“Oh, thanks A,” you let your palms graze down over the thin mesh, feeling your pussy clench as your touch brushed over your nipples poking through the baby blue material, “yeah, it is. It matches the dress I’m planning on wearing tonight, so I thought I’d be cute.”

Call_Me_Sir_844: Turn around, Cherry. Let us see it from the back.  

“Yes, sir, of course,” you chuckled lightly before shifting around, purposely arching your back as you glanced over your shoulder. 

729AlwaysHard: How is your ass even real?

Like1OfUrFrenchGrls: Damn, that butt is just begging for a spanking.

Raking your touch down your sides, you smirked, “oh, you want me to spank my ass?” before the jingle of a tip echoed from the computer, “alright, baby,” and like a cat, your frame scooped down, gliding on to all fours and sticking your bottom high up in the air, “how many do you think? Let’s say, highest tipper gets to decide, but please, be kind, I still have to be able to dance the night away tonight.”

TittyCokeKingXXX tipped $50 – 10 spanks, with a paddle

BootyLover47 tipped $35 – 4 spanks

MrHansen tipped $100 – 6 spanks 

“Thank you guys,” you wiggled playfully for them, “and Mr. Hansen, wow, thank you so much!” you squeaked ecstatically, “well, I guess I better start counting then.” 

After each smack your palm landed on your propped-up bottom, the coinciding number rolled off your lips till your ass was tingling and sore for all your viewers to see. 

WinterIsCumming: Fuck, just seeing your little pussy through those panties… they’re soaked, aren’t they?

Gliding a hand down between your legs, your fingertips ghosted over the sheer fabric that clung to your core.

“They are, Winter,” you blinked up at the camera, “man, I wish you were here to give me a hand.”

NastyBoi: Show us that pretty little pussy, come on, don’t be shy now.

“You want me to take my underwear off for you? Take them off so that I can really play?”

And with the chimes of tips swiftly ringing in your ears, one of your fingers then hooked in the gusset and carefully peeled it to the side, letting it act as a frame as you momentarily teased them with just a glimpse of your glistening folds, before you slowly slid them off completely. 

Eventually, after your slick digits had gotten a chance to warm you up and tease you till you were practically buzzing on both of the camera angles that now displayed you, as it hadn’t taken you very long till you switched to a split screen, both your face frozen in a silent moan and your pretty holes drooling for attention pressed up against one another, side by side on the stream, your fingers then reached for a toy, the pretty glass dildo you had picked out just before the show.

You first popped the toy in your mouth as you flipped around and relaxed back against your pile of pillows. Letting your gaze flicker over the downright filthy comments rolling across the screen, you sucked on the toy for a bit before pulling it out and letting it float down south. 

“Fuck,” your eyes fluttered slightly as you rubbed the tip gently against your little rosebud, “oh, that feels so good.” 

Cream314159: Yeah, Cherry, tease that little ass like a good slut.

8inchStallion: Fuck, you’re gonna make me blow my load soon if you keep looking like that. 

Ddadddy6969: Has your fuck buddy really never had your ass before? Tbh kinda hard to believe considering what a whore you are for all of us. I love your anal shows, they’re always my favourite. 

“I know, daddy,” a light giggle tore through your form, “I’m honestly kinda surprised as well, but no, it hasn’t happened yet.” 

BongDong420: Wait, are you an anal virgin? Plot twist. 

“No, no, I’m not, I love anal,” you sucked in a gentle gasp as you let just the tip of the toy breach your tight opening, “I just haven’t really done it yet with too many different people. Actually, I’ve only done it with one so far, now that I think about it,” you swiftly shook your head and forced your eyes to flicker to the messages to rid your thoughts of your ex. 

Call_Me_Sir_844: Please open your mouth, I’m gonna cum!

“Oh, yes, please cum for me, sir,” you answered the comment and then let your lips part wide. As your tongue stuck out as well, a string of saliva soon dripped down as you waited, the spit colliding with your tits and running down your cleavage. 

A_B_Cunt_Destroyer tipped $550 – Don’t let yourself cum. Edge yourself so that you can be all drippy and dumb for him like a good little present should be. 

Since you and your roommates lived in a residential area too quiet for college ragers, some of the guys Steve and Bucky were on the football team with offered to throw the bash at their fraternity. 

Music blared, nearly making the entire house rumble, as you walked around the place, searching for the one of your roommates who the party was in honour of. 

Fiddling lightly with the hem of your silky dress as you peeked into the room where a rowdy game of beer pong was afoot, you still felt a little dizzy as desperation soaked through your ruined panties. 

Though, as you checked the kitchen, a bulky frame bumped into you, though it wasn’t just any run-of-the-mill frat boy, incapable of watching where they went, it was the very last person you wished to lay your eyes upon. 

“Y/n, hey,” the trust fund kid caught your arm before you could slip away. 

“Ransom,” you couldn’t help but clench your jaw as you tried to free yourself of his hold, “hello.”

“I didn’t know you were gonna be here tonight.” 

“Why wouldn’t I be here?” you nearly scoffed as you squinted up at him, “it’s my roommate’s birthday party.” 

“Right, forgot you moved in with all of them, became just one of the boys…” as a beat of silence fell over him, he let his gaze then rake over your form, lapping up the soft blue material that draped across your curves, “you look good tonight, by the way.”

“I–…” your eyes fluttered shut as you let out a sigh, “Ransom, can we not? Just for tonight, can we not do all of this? Just let me be here, celebrate my friend, and then after that, if you so wish, we can get back to our regularly scheduled program. Just one night of peace, that’s all I’m asking for.”

His dark brows then furrowed as he cocked his head, “babe, come on–”

Cutting him off with a scoff, you spat, “I haven’t been your babe since you broke up with me.”

He had been all for landing a girl that was essentially a wet dream come true when it came to all of the sinful areas you were itching to explore with him, but what hadn’t been a part of his plans was having a girlfriend who wasn’t exclusively a slut for him and him alone. He’d told you to choose between him and your dirty little hobby, but to his surprise, you hadn’t even hesitated when you didn’t choose him. 

A low sigh then puffed from his lungs, “fine.”

Heatedly ripping your arm free, you echoed, “fine,” before turning on your heel and exiting the kitchen. 

Luckily, your search didn’t drag on too much further before you stumbled upon your celebrated friend. 

“There you are!” you exclaimed, your voice ushering Curtis’ head to twist in your direction, his glance shifting from the pool table before him. 

“Baby!” he swiftly threw open his inked arms and pulled you close, “hey!”

Hearing the heavy balls clank around on the table, you asked, “are you in the middle of a game or could I steal you away for a sec?”

“Nah, not this round,” he withdrew only ever so slightly, letting one of his arms stay draped over your shoulders, “what do you need?”

Pulling him with you in the direction of the wide staircase, you smirked, “I just have a present to give you…”

“Another one?” he blinked as you dragged him up the steps. 

“Well, you deserve the world, so yes, you get another one this year,” you offered him a warm smile. 

“Man,” he exhaled as you reached the upper level, “happy birthday to me,” a smirk spread across his features as he willingly let you push him into one of the rooms. 

It was a study room filled with long communal desks, tall bookcases and velvet armchairs. It was also, thankfully, vacant of any other partygoers. 

“Happy birthday, Curtis,” you didn’t waste any time, the door barely managed to slam behind you, before you yanked him in for a kiss. 

It took him a second before he caught up with your sudden actions, but as soon as he did, a gentle giggle rumbled from his intoxicated form and vibrated against your lips as he enveloped his long arms around your frame. 

Feet shuffling, your roommate soon bumped into one of the tables, lending him to half sit on it as you let your touch rake down his figure. Even with the swift and determined pace your desperation drove you to have, it still didn’t take that long for Curtis to be on the same page as you, and when your palm fluttered down to cup him through his pants, the tent twitched beneath your touch. 

At first, when you then withdrew from the kiss, Curtis instinctively followed your disappearing lips till he noticed your knees buckling as you sank down onto the floor. 

“This is so much better than losing at pool,” he gazed down at you between his thighs, nearly hypnotised as you tugged at his zipper.

“I’d sure hope so,” you nearly scoffed as you freed him of his binds, not hesitating to lean in and swipe your tongue silkily against the very tip of him as soon as you had the chance, “although, you know I never mind being a consolation prize.”

“Consolation prize?” his tone filtered through a soft groan as your fist enclosed around his base, twisting slightly as it jerked up to graze your mouth, “that’s not what you were last week.”

“Yeah, but that was different,” your giggle vibrated against him, “it’s okay, baby. Maybe next time we play at home you’ll get to win and show the others who’s boss,” you purred before your lips enveloped fully around his fat girth. 

When spit and slobber soon bubbled out and dripped down onto your chest from your efforts, you got back up to your feet. As you let the back of your palm wipe a bit of the mess from your chin, you twisted your frame around and let your spine melt back against this broad chest. 

As you felt Curtis’ fingers dig into your dress and hike it up, you rolled your hips back against him, nearly dizzy with want. Gliding a hand down between your thighs, you captured the sodden material, utterly ruined and clinging to your core, before you yanked it to the side, the leaky mess not yet ready to let go of the panties and spiderwebbing to where you pulled it to the side.  

Reaching around, your grip captured his cock once again as you tilted him to teasingly brush through your folds, your activities from earlier made it almost pathetic how sloppy you got him in a matter of seconds. 

As his lips pressed to your cheek in a hot kiss, you glanced over your shoulder to catch his eye and take in his reaction.

You didn’t warn him, nor say anything at all. Only a smirk glimmered on your lips as a forewarning before you led him away from the leaky entrance he naturally assumed you’d let him into, and instead arched your back and eased his slicked-up length into somewhere else. 

“Oh–, holy shit,” his eyes flickered down to affirm what you were doing before blinking up at you in the assumption that it was a mistake, “baby, you’re–”

“I know,” you smiled at the way his chest heaved at the realisation. 

“Wait, seriously?” 

“Told you I had another present for you,” your gloating grin softened at the moan that slipped out as you sank down just a little further upon his dick. 

His fingers dented both sides of your hips as you slowly let him feel more of you, “oh my god, you’re the fucking best…” 

It was shallow at first, gentle as you controlled the pace, though still mind-meltingly intense as you fucked back against him till your knees began to wobble, feeling each and every little detail of his stretch your little ass out. 

You felt his hot breath on the side of your face between the lazy pecks he planted there and occasionally veering further south to try and mark your neck up with his bites. 

“O-oh, fuck,” you whimpered when one of his inked arms snaked around to your front and stretched down to rub your clit, swollen and throbbing between the pads of his rough fingers. 

Since you’d backed away from the edge not too long before, its overwhelming return was swift and quickly rendered you a shivering mess in his arms as your rhythm came to a rest and the tight circles he drew over your puffy pearl pushed you into insanity. 

Eyes still shut as you were panting for breath, you felt Curtis pluck up your chin and tilt it so that his lips could seize yours. 

Though the blissful pause didn’t last very long before he manoeuvred you around, manhandling you into a new configuration, though all the while never slipping his cock out. 

His palm was heavy against your back as he whirled you around and bent you over the table. Cheek smooshed against the smooth wooden surface, the thunderous snap his hips then offered caused the desk to rattle beneath you. 

However, just as you sensed him begin to lose himself, burying his cock so deep inside of you that it caused you to see stars, the creaking sound of the door to the study swinging open sliced through the lewd harmonies already filling the room.

Even though you couldn’t really glance over your shoulder to see who it was that entered, the recognisable voices that then found your ears calmed your worries about why Curtis’ pace for some reason hadn’t slowed down in the slightest. 

“No, I’m not kidding, that’s really what–, oh,” Bucky’s sentence paused as soon he spotted you, “hello you two.”

You attempted to tilt your head against the table as the last of your roommates came into view, shut the door behind them and stepped closer. 

As you reached out a wobbly hand to grasp Steve’s, he sweetly caught it in his and chuckled at your cock drunk visage, “hey.”

“Hmm–, hi…” you attempted to greet them, Bucky swiftly bending down to briefly be at your height, letting his fingers brush some of your hair out of your face as Curtis’ efforts jolted your frame against the table at every feverish thrust. 

“Was wondering where you guys were,” Steve held onto your hand a little longer as his glance met the blissful gaze of the man who was balls deep inside of you, “I thought she already gave you her little present.”

“You knew?” Curtis tilted his chin, to which you tried to explain with a mumble, though one of your roommates didn’t hesitate to playfully ask you to clarify.

“I’m sorry what was that? You’re being too much of whore right now for me to understand you,” Bucky pressed a peck to your brow before straightening back up, “look, I would have totally told you man, but she threatened us not to ruin the surprise.” 

“Yeah, said that if you didn’t get to take a dip first, then none of us ever would,” Steve added. 

“Aw,” you felt Curtis kneed your bottom as he slammed into you, “you’d really have done that?”

“I did say you deserve the world, so yeah,” you managed to squeak. 

“It’s so cute how sappy birthdays make you,” Bucky smirked, “such a shame not one of us even hesitates to exploit it.” 

As one hand stayed glued to the curve of your ass, his thumb hooked in your underwear to grant not only him but the rest a perfect view of just how well you took him, Curtis’ other hand then stretched out to grasp the half-empty beer that Steve handed him, briefly taking a swig before handing it back. 

“Yeah, she really is just such a good little girl, aren’t you?” Steve found a seat on one of the nearby chairs. 

“Mhm…” you barely caught sight of how both of them palmed themselves for an ounce of relief. 

Sitting down as well, Bucky squinted cockily back at you as your hazy eyes briefly caught his, “what was that, sweetheart?”  

“I’m a–,” you blubbered as Curtis’ cock stretched you so wide that you even felt it press against the sweet spots in your throbbing pussy, “I’m a g-good girl–”

“Yes, you are, baby, that’s right,” Curtis chuckled warmly behind you before offering your ass a swift slap, “the fucking best.”

“Oh, oh! She’s so close to cumming, I can see it!” Bucky exclaimed in an almost mocking tone as your eyes began to roll, “just look at that face,” he nearly jumped to get closer, “so fucking pretty.”

“Come on, Y/n,” Steve leaned back in his seat and squeezed his hard-on as he stared at your fucked out form, “give us a good show. Make it good for the birthday boy.” 

Although, unfortunately, you were already too far gone by then to take any of their lewd comments into account as you tumbled over the edge, floating in the sea of your cheering roommates as a soundtrack. 

After your friend had emptied himself into your haven, he simply slid your panties back into place so that his cum could leak out of you for the rest of the party and ruin your sheer underwear completely, perhaps even give up entirely and run down your shaky legs for all to see.

Bending down to smother you back to life with kisses, you also felt Curtis’ arms tangle around you as he hugged you and slowly lifted you off of the table. 

“You wanna go down and dance?” his low timbre tickled the shell of your ear. 

“Just give me a second,” you breathed through your hazy smile as you fought to blink your eyes back open, “my legs will first have to start working again. Maybe you could take over the music for a second and queue up something slow,” you light-heartedly suggested with an airy chuckle. 

“Don’t you worry, baby,” Bucky smirked from across the table, “we’ll help keep you upright.” 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[stylesonfilms]

the days are long, the days are hard [h.s]

word count: 4.5k

after a long, excruciating week at work packed with bad news, all you want is your husband, harry.

(inspired by one of my moots that has had a rough few days, hope this brings some comfort!)

warnings: none, just fluff!

Your week started off rough—rougher than most, in fact. The kind of week that clings to your chest like damp fabric, making it hard to breathe and even harder to find the energy to push through.

Monday was everything you’d expect a Monday to be: sluggish, jarring, and unforgiving. Getting back into the groove of things at the office after a much-needed holiday break felt like trying to climb uphill in heels on black ice. Your inbox was flooded, your calendar double-booked, and your brain resistant to the demands of corporate life. The fluorescent lighting overhead seemed brighter than usual, glaring down at you as though it wanted to mock your every misstep.

By Tuesday, the headache that had been brewing since the start of the week blossomed into a full-on throbbing migraine. You powered through with your phone glued to your ear, making calls and leaving voicemails to important individuals who somehow never seemed available. The phone grew slick in your clammy hands, and you found yourself gripping it tighter as though that would keep it from slipping away along with your patience.

Wednesday hit like a freight train. You walked into the office, already dreading the growing to-do list, only to be blindsided by the news that you’d be giving not one, but two speeches at back-to-back meetings. Meetings that you didn’t even know existed until that very moment. You had smiled through clenched teeth and nodded at your boss, silently berating yourself for not anticipating this kind of curveball. The weight of your own expectations pressed heavily on your shoulders, making the simple act of breathing feel like a chore.

Meanwhile, Harry was a ghost in the rhythm of your week. He left before the sun rose, his coffee cup rinsed and drying in the sink by the time you wandered into the kitchen each morning. By the time he returned home, long after the sky had surrendered to darkness, you’d already have dinner waiting—his plate warm, yours half-empty. Conversations were quick and superficial, exchanges of how-was-your-day glossed over in favor of tired smiles and heavy eyelids.

Friday arrived, and with it, the chaos of the city seemed to mirror the storm inside you. Your phone buzzed incessantly in your purse, vibrating against the side of your hip as you weaved through the swarm of New Yorkers hustling to get wherever they needed to be. The cold January air stung your cheeks, and the weight of your tote bag dug into your shoulder as you dodged elbows and briefcases. You muttered an apology to someone who bumped into you, though you couldn’t bring yourself to look up from the sidewalk until you reached the revolving doors of your building.

Once inside, you let out a sharp exhale, your breath fogging up the glass as you took a moment to compose yourself. Tugging at your blazer, you smoothed it over your pencil skirt before running your fingers through your hair, trying to tame the frizz that had been building from the morning’s commute. Your heels clicked sharply against the marble floors as you made your way to the elevator, the sound echoing faintly in the open lobby.

“Hi, Martha!” you chirped at the receptionist, flashing her a smile that felt paper-thin.

“Morning! Good luck today!” she called back cheerfully, though her voice felt like it was coming from underwater.

You loved her, truly. She was one of the few people in the office whose presence didn’t add to your stress, but today, you could barely muster the energy to respond with more than a quick wave. Your nerves had been stretched to the breaking point, and your usual confidence felt like it had been replaced by quicksand.

If it had been any other day, Harry would’ve held you the night before, grounding you in the warmth of his arms as he peppered light kisses across your face. He would’ve whispered words of reassurance into your temple, his voice low and steady as he reminded you of just how capable you were. His hands would have found the curve of your back, his thumb tracing soothing circles into your skin until your worries melted into the sheets.

But last night, you hadn’t let him in. Despite his gentle prodding and his furrowed brows that silently begged you to confide in him, you had brushed him off with excuses of being overtired. You’d told him about your unreasonable bosses, blaming your frustration on the endless pile of work. He didn’t believe you—Harry never did when it came to half-truths. He knew you too well.

He’d pressed his lips into a thin line, his silence carrying the weight of his concern, but he had let it go, probably sensing you didn’t have the energy to delve into your worries. And maybe you should have let him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to add to the weight he was already carrying. With two employees down at his job, he’d been shouldering triple the workload, yet he still came home each night with that same lopsided smile.

You thought about the time, three years ago, when you asked him how he managed to leave the stress of work at the door. His answer had been so simple, yet it had stayed with you ever since.

“Because,” he’d said, pulling you into his arms, “at the end of the day, no matter how bad it gets, I get to come home to you. And that makes everything else feel small.”

The memory brought a faint smile to your lips, even as you stepped into the elevator and prepared yourself for another long day.

You sighed as the elevator dinged softly, floor by floor, the sound seeming to echo in the confined space. It was a rhythmic, monotonous chime, yet it only heightened your sense of dread. Fishing your phone out of your purse, you let the leather strap slide from your shoulder and settle in the crook of your arm. The screen lit up immediately, bathing your face in a cold glow, and a notification blinked persistently at the top. A voicemail.

Your stomach tightened when you saw the name attached: Martin Mayer-Harvey. The name alone carried weight—a man whose influence stretched across six major publishing branches, a figure both revered and feared in the industry. His voice had been a beacon of hope during your one-on-one interview, one you had approached with equal parts trepidation and determination.

Harry had been ecstatic when you first told him about the opportunity. He’d grinned so wide his dimples had cut deep into his cheeks, his enthusiasm bubbling over as he pulled you into a celebratory hug. “This is it,” he’d said, his hands cradling your face. “This is the door opening for you, babe. And you’re going to crush it.” He’d even gone the extra mile to send recommendations on your behalf, his faith in you unwavering.

But now, standing alone in the elevator, the air felt thick with foreboding. With a swipe of your thumb, you tapped the notification, bringing the phone to your ear as you turned the volume up. Another ding. Another floor.

The voicemail played, Martin’s voice smooth and clinical, like velvet stretched too thin.

“Mrs. Y/N, thank you for your time and the professionalism you demonstrated during your interview. I regret to inform you that you have not been selected as an employee for this upcoming year. Nothing personal, it just comes down to the finer things—successes and ethics, and all. Thanks again. Your time was appreciated.”

The words hit you like a gut punch. Your stomach churned, a nauseating wave rolling over you as your breath caught in your throat. Not selected. You repeated the phrase in your mind, the syllables heavy and jagged, cutting deeper with every repetition. Successes and ethics? What did that even mean? Was he saying you weren’t accomplished enough? That you lacked whatever intangible quality he deemed essential?

You swallowed hard, but the lump in your throat refused to go away. When you’d shaken his hand after the interview, his words had brimmed with promise, his smile so genuine you’d dared to believe the position was yours. Yet now, the sterile tone of his voicemail made you feel like just another name crossed off a list.

The elevator dinged again, jolting you out of your spiraling thoughts as the doors slid open with an indifferent hum. The bright fluorescent lights of the seventh floor spilled in, harsh and unforgiving, making you squint as you stepped out into the long hallway. Blinking rapidly, you shoved your phone back into your purse, gripping the strap tightly as if it could somehow anchor you.

Your heels clicked against the polished tiles, the sound sharp and deliberate as you forced yourself to move forward. The walls, painted a dull beige, seemed to close in on you with every step, the air growing heavier as you approached your office.

When you finally stepped inside, the familiar scent of stale coffee and printer ink greeted you, a small comfort in an otherwise dismal moment. Dropping your purse onto the desk with a dull thud, you leaned against the wooden frame, your fingers curling around its edge as if it could keep you upright. Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as you closed your eyes, willing yourself to regain control.

The weight of disappointment pressed down on you, a suffocating heaviness that made your fingers tremble as they tightened around the wood. You hated this job. Loathed it, really. What had once been a golden opportunity now felt like a gilded cage. Five years of grunt work had left you disillusioned, the spark of ambition dimmed by endless busywork and little recognition. You had learned, yes, but at what cost?

Your thoughts were interrupted by the creak of the door swinging open, followed by a brisk knock. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Let’s go,” your boss grunted, his voice clipped and devoid of warmth. A briefcase dangled from his hand as he nodded toward the hallway. “You’ve got work to do.”

The meetings were as grueling as you’d anticipated. Standing in front of the room, under the scrutinizing gaze of your colleagues, felt like being trapped under a spotlight. The projector whirred faintly as you fumbled with the remote, your palms damp as you flipped through slide after slide. Words stumbled out of your mouth, tangling together as your nerves got the better of you. Every time you glanced at the room, the blank faces staring back only made your stomach twist further.

You kept replaying Martin’s voicemail in your head, the words looping like a broken record, distracting you at every turn. The disappointment, the humiliation—it all burned, settling low in your gut like a stone.

By the time the meetings ended, you could barely muster the energy to exchange handshakes, your smiles forced and brittle as you bid everyone a good day.

You checked the dainty watch on your wrist—a delicate silver piece Harry had gifted you on your one-year anniversary. It read 5:30. You sighed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you snapped your case closed on the meeting table.

“What happened out there?” your boss asked, his tone sharp and unimpressed. His gaze swept over you, narrowing slightly as though he could see every crack in your armor. “I thought you were prepared.”

You gave me just under two damn days, you thought bitterly, though the words never left your lips.

Instead, you offered a tight-lipped apology. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I let myself get distracted.”

Your boss lingered for a moment, his eyes scanning your face before letting out a quiet “hm.” He turned on his heel and left without another word.

The breath you’d been holding escaped in a shuddering sigh. The weight of the day bore down on you, your muscles aching under the strain. All you wanted was to go home. To take a long, scalding shower and let the steam wash away the tension clinging to your skin. To crawl into bed, pull the covers over your head, and pretend for a moment that the world wasn’t so heavy.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

The hot water cascaded over your skin in steady rivulets, steaming against the cool tiles and filling the bathroom with a dense, comforting warmth. Each droplet hit your shoulders and back with a soothing rhythm, dissolving the tension knotted in your muscles from the week’s troubles. You leaned forward slightly, pressing your palms against the wet shower wall, letting the stream ripple through the strands of your hair and drip down to your toes. The scent of pomegranate and shea butter from the body scrub filled the air, sweet and creamy, wrapping around you like a gentle embrace.

You had gotten home just over half an hour ago. The house had been quiet, the kind of stillness that usually greeted you on Fridays. Harry’s car was absent from the driveway, as expected—he always stayed late at the end of the week, wrapping up whatever loose ends needed his attention. The emptiness of the house had been neither comforting nor unsettling; it simply was. You’d set your bag on the kitchen counter, slipped off your heels, and headed straight for the shower, bypassing the bedroom entirely.

Your clothes lay in a careless heap on the tiled floor, a small pile of the day’s exhaustion. You’d scrubbed at your scalp with your fingernails, washing your hair thoroughly not once, but twice, as if doing so could cleanse not just the grime of the day, but also the weight pressing on your mind. You busied yourself with every task you could—shaving over every inch of skin, exfoliating with the grainy scrub until your arms and legs felt soft and raw, then lathering up with the matching body wash, its silky foam sliding over your skin before being washed away in swirling streams.

When the water finally stopped, you stood for a moment in the silence, the air heavy with steam and the faint aroma of your products. You wrung out your hair with practiced motions, droplets splattering onto the shower floor as you reached for the towel. With a flick of your wrist, you flipped your hair forward and wrapped it into the plush fabric, the soft pink standing out against the misty haze. Another towel—this one a little coarser—was pulled from the rack, and you pressed it to your damp skin, blotting and drying before wrapping it securely around your body.

The bathroom was your sanctuary for the next hour. You took your time moving through your routine, dabbing on lotions and serums, brushing out your hair, and slipping into a pair of soft, oversized pajamas. The familiar scents of lavender and coconut oil mingled with the lingering steam, grounding you as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Your heart still carried the same heaviness it had since hearing the voicemail, a quiet ache nestled in your chest. But now, it felt distant—muted, like background noise to the slow hum of your movements.

By the time you left the bathroom, the house felt cooler, the air outside the warmth of the shower almost brisk against your skin. You padded down the hallway barefoot, the soft patter of your steps swallowed by the carpet. The living room was dimly lit, the glow from the TV casting flickering shadows against the walls. You curled up on the couch under the throw blanket, its weight comforting as it settled over you. Your comfort show played softly in the background, the familiar voices blending seamlessly into the quiet. A well-loved book rested by your side, its pages slightly worn, ready to pull you in if you felt like retreating further into your own world.

Around seven PM, the sound of the front door opening broke the silence. The subtle click of the latch, followed by the rhythmic clack of Harry’s work shoes against the hardwood floor, was a melody you didn’t realize you’d been waiting for. His keys jingled briefly before landing with a soft clink in the bowl by the door, and the heavier thud of his briefcase settling onto the dining table made your heart lighten just a little.

Relief bubbled in your chest, warm and effervescent, as you shifted under the blanket. Your arm hooked around the back of the couch, your head tilting to look over your shoulder as Harry rounded the corner. The sight of him brought an instant smile to your face.

He was still in his work suit, the sharp lines of his dark grey blazer and slacks softened by the slight dishevelment that came with a long day. The plain black button-up underneath was unbuttoned at the collar, and the sleeves were cuffed up just enough to reveal his wrists. His hair was slightly mussed, a few strands falling across his forehead.

His lips curved into a familiar, easy smile when he saw you, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he lifted a bag of takeout into the air. “I brought takeout,” he said, his voice warm and teasing as he walked over to you. “Figured tonight was one of those nights.”

Your chest swelled with gratitude— he knew you so well. He always had.

You murmured a quiet thank you, your voice soft and a little worn, and let out a contented sigh as he sank onto the couch beside you. His arms wrapped snugly around you, pulling you close as the weight of the day melted away. You leaned into him, your head resting against his chest as his familiar scent— something clean, woodsy, and uniquely him— enveloped you. His nose brushed against your damp hair, and the warmth of his presence grounded you in a way nothing else could.

For the first time all day, you felt like you could finally exhale.

“You smell good, baby.” Harry’s voice was a soft murmur, his accent thick and lingering in the air like honey, each word wrapped in warmth. His large hands splayed across your back, their weight grounding you as they roamed gently over the sleek fabric of your pajama set. His touch was tender, deliberate, as though he was trying to smooth away the burdens of your day. You melted into him, your arms winding around his torso, clinging to him like he was your lifeline. The familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around you, blending seamlessly with the faint aroma of soap lingering on your own skin.

Your face nestled into the crook of his neck, the warmth of his body radiating into yours as you fluttered your eyes shut. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath your cheek, his heartbeat a gentle, soothing rhythm that seemed to lull your own into sync. Being here, in his arms, felt like finally exhaling after holding your breath all day.

Harry’s lips pressed into a small frown, the pinch of his brows betraying his concern. His hands, broad and steady, paused on your back, giving your shoulders a reassuring squeeze before he pulled back slightly to study you. One hand slid beneath your chin, his touch feather-light but firm, guiding your gaze up to meet his.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked softly, his green eyes searching yours with an intensity that felt like he was looking straight into your soul. His voice was gentle, but the concern etched into his expression made your chest tighten. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone in a slow, comforting stroke, its warmth grounding you even as you struggled to hold his gaze.

You let out a small, weary sigh. “Meetings,” you mumbled, though even to your own ears, the excuse sounded thin. Still, you nuzzled into his touch, seeking comfort as your words trailed off.

Harry’s hand cradled your jaw now, his thumb continuing its soothing path along your skin. His other hand found its way to your bare thigh, his palm warm and steady as it swept up and down, brushing lightly under the hem of your sleep shorts. His touch was instinctive, effortless, but it carried with it a deep well of care that threatened to unravel you.

“You don’t get this worn and torn over meetings, love,” he said quietly, his voice like a low hum of thunder, steady and grounding. “Is there something else?” His green eyes held yours, steady and unyielding, like a comforting fire that wouldn’t burn but would warm you to your core.

Your lips parted, but the words caught in your throat. You sighed again, this time deeper, your shoulders slumping under the weight of it all. His hands never wavered— one cupping your face, the other continuing its soothing rhythm against your thigh.

Finally, you spoke, your voice trembling with a mix of sadness and resignation. “That job at Mayer-Harvey completely fell through,” you admitted, your breath hitching as the words spilled out. “He said... he said I wasn’t qualified enough, not accomplished enough, just… not enough.” The words felt heavier the more you said them, the ache in your chest twisting a little tighter.

Harry’s frown deepened, the lines on his face etched with quiet frustration— not at you, but at the world that had made you feel this way. His thumb stilled for a moment before resuming its gentle sweep across your cheek. When your gaze dropped to your hands, which were busy fiddling with the edge of his blazer, he tipped your chin back up with tender insistence.

“Baby, you know that’s not true, right?” His voice was firm but still soft, his words laced with conviction. “None of it. He doesn’t know an ounce of what he’s talking about.”

You shook your head slightly, your brows furrowing. “H, he owns six different branches. I would say he—.”

“No.” Harry’s voice interrupted gently but firmly, his head shaking in disagreement. “Just because he owns them doesn’t mean he knows how to work them. I can guarantee you, in two months, he’ll realize just how badly he messed up by letting you go. He’ll regret it, love, because no one brings what you do to the table.”

Your lips wavered into a faint pout, sadness glazing over your eyes as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat. “I just… I have to keep looking, I guess. Maybe I wasn’t meant to work there anyway.”

“But you damn sure wanted it,” Harry said, his voice softening, though the conviction in his tone remained. His hand on your thigh paused to squeeze lightly before resuming its gentle strokes. “And you deserved it. Y/N, I’ve seen your work. I’ve seen how dedicated you are, how much effort you put in, even when it’s for a company that doesn’t deserve you. And I know,” he paused, leaning a little closer, his eyes locking onto yours, “I know you’d pack a bigger punch for a company that’s actually worth it.”

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, slowly loosening the knot of doubt and hurt in your chest. Maybe he was right.

You nodded slowly, your fingers tracing the lapel of his blazer as you whispered, “I really wanted it, H.”

“I know, baby.” His voice was soft, his lips brushing against your forehead in a kiss that was as much a promise as it was an act of comfort. He kissed the bridge of your nose next, lingering there for a moment. “But don’t worry, darling. We’ll find you something better— something that deserves you. And listen, if you want to leave that job now, I’d be more than happy to support us. All I want is to take care of my girl. That’s it.”

Harry’s hands framed your face, his thumbs stroking softly against your cheeks as he looked at you with an intensity that made you feel seen in a way no one else could make you feel. Then, slowly, he leaned in and captured your lips in a kiss so gentle, so tender, that it made your heart swell and your worries ebb away.

With Harry by your side, it didn’t matter what the world threw at you. His unwavering support, his patience, his love— it was all you needed.

“Now c’mon,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to press another kiss to your forehead. “Let’s have dinner, yeah?”

You spent that night cooped up under his arm, the fabric of his suit soft but slightly wrinkled from your cuddling. Neither of you cared. All that mattered was the comfort of being close, the way his steady heartbeat became your lullaby as the hours ticked by. The movie played quietly in the background, but neither of you was paying much attention. Harry’s fingers absentmindedly traced little patterns along your arm, while you nestled deeper into his side, letting his warmth soak into your skin.

When dinner was done and the plates had been set aside, Harry stood, stretching dramatically before grinning down at you. “Don’t move a muscle,” he teased, his green eyes crinkling with affection as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

He took care of the cleanup, tossing the trash and rinsing the dishes with that same effortless grace he did everything else. You watched him from the couch, your heart swelling as he moved around the room, sleeves rolled up, that signature Harry charm shining through even in the simplest of acts. He looked over his shoulder to catch you staring, a cheeky smile tugging at his lips. “What’re you looking at, huh?”

“You,” you said softly, your voice carrying a warmth that made his smile widen.

“Good answer,” he chuckled, before walking over and scooping you up effortlessly. You let out a small squeal, laughing as he carried you bridal style toward the bedroom. “C’mon, love. Time for a proper cuddle.”

Once in bed, Harry wrapped you up in his arms as if he never wanted to let go. The suit jacket had long been tossed to the side, but his tie still hung loosely around his neck, a detail that made you smile. His hand found its way to your hair, fingers combing through the strands with a tenderness that melted away the last of your worries.

“By the way,” he murmured, his voice soft and low, “I took the next few days off.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him in surprise. “You did?”

“Mmhm,” he confirmed, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. “Figured my girl needed me more than work did. And honestly, I needed this too. Just you and me for the weekend. Sound good?”

You nodded, your smile spreading as you snuggled closer, your hand resting against his chest. “Sounds perfect.”

Harry’s arms tightened around you, his lips brushing against your temple. “Good. Because I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And as you drifted off to sleep in his embrace, the weight of the world seemed to disappear, replaced by the quiet, unshakable love that only he could give.

[zzbubblegumbitchzz]

This picture is giving me some major vibes. Quinn is seen wearing that necklace all night while the two of you flirt on and off. Soft touches. Whispered thoughts in each other ears. Everyone asks if there’s something going on between you two but you always brush them off.

“Just friends.” You both tell everyone who asks.

Yet, the morning after, you’re seen wearing that necklace along with a deep red mark on your neck.

hey! you chose violence in our texts AND my inbox smh

anyways!!! it’s been talk for a while now. you’re never see sporting anyone else’s jersey, and heads never turn when you run up to Quinn after a game, no matter the outcome.

Jack’s been yapping on about how “you should just make it official everyone knows.” and it’s always “no we’re just friends!” and then a sad look from the other party even though you both know it’s not true.

it’s no surprise when you show up on Quinn’s arm to the charity event on their off day. black dress to match his outfit, and that stupid burgundy lipstick he’s obsessed with it.

he has his eyes on you literally the whole night. doesn’t really care if he seems rude, he just wants you to be comfortable and okay.

random team sponsors asking how long you two have been together cause “he looks smitten, and i don’t think my own husbands looks at me like that!” and how can you tell that poor old women who just donated bank, that Quinn is just your friend. your friend who you dream about kissing after every game and wish he was the first thing you saw every morning?

by the end of the night, Quinn’s had a few drinks. nothing crazy of course, just enough that he’s not really scared to say what’s on his mind.

he’s quick to sneak up to you and Petey, and Petey has that knowing look on his face. Quinn’s hands find comfort around your waist, “ready to go, baby?”

Quinn’s never called you that and the heat in your cheeks gives it away. “yeah, Quinny. let’s go.”

“don’t forget, team breakfast with the wives tomorrow!” Petey’s yelling as you walk away.

when tomorrow comes, and you walk in with Quinn’s hoodie and his hands resting dangerously close to your ass while he’s leading you to the table. everyone’s ignoring the purple mark poking out around your collarbone and the scratch marks on Quinn’s neck.

“you finally get the girl, huggy?”

“yeah, Petey. sure did.”

“it’s about damn time.”

[wyllaztopia]

2025 is coming so i let my friend @kayseeye [new agdt mod and assistant!!] clear agdt's askbox

as devastating as it was to see a bunch of creative remarks and asks go down the drain - let's be real, i won't have time to answer them with how linear the story is becoming for ease of access [goodbye 500 asks... though kacey took screenshots of drawings you guys sent in our inbox!!!]

hooowever, there's also another key reason we had to clear the inbox

[^ satire btw]

very long and convoluted psa/ramble about this matter ahead! but also slightly important and i encourage you to read it if you think about using agdt's inbox as a way to vent or share things about your irl troubles

some people treat the blog's inbox as a venting area

it doesn't really make me uncomfortable, it's just something i prefer not seeing. i don't like sharing or being shared personal information especially from an anon or a stranger

this doesn't go for just agdt - it goes for all blogs you interact with: please don't make yourself vulnerable to a stranger on the internet. you are putting yourself in a dangerous spot.

if you need escapism or help, turn to a professional or someone close - going to a stranger can go horribly wrong in two ways: you make them uncomfortable and subject them to a responsibility they never signed up for, or you let someone use your vulnerabilities and personal information against you.

i can probably count like 100 or so asks of people sharing something overly personal and asking for comfort. i don't hate it, i'm not mad, i'm just worried and i hope the people who send them become aware that they should not send those asks knowing that if they're answered, they could be answered publicly with everyone and their mama being able to see that vulnerable moment in that ask.

"just ignore them, wyll! besides, you didn't have any rules abt yo blog anyway, yo!"

nah, i'd win

can't exactly ignore them when it's been almost a year of young impressionable users over sharing to a stranger who answers asks publicly [along with the fact that i hardly see people talk about this matter when it comes to rp/ask blogs.] also so they don't do this to another askblog that has another impressionable youngin running it and publicizes asks that contain personal life info.

we don't add rules to asks on agdt because we can pick and choose which ones we answer. a set of rules isn't going to stop an asshole from breaking them so i'm not wasting my time trying to enforce one. and that's not what i'm trying to do in this post either. i'm putting this out there because i don't want people making the irrational decision of making their life and weakest moments accessible to people who want to use it against them.

i'm not trying to make a big deal out of this either. i can just skip or delete asks that i know i shouldn't answer or won't be able to. but that's my side of responsibility as someone with a platform. i want to make it clear that the audience that decides to interact with these kinds of blogs should be aware that just because you're behind a screen and concealed by an internet persona, that doesn't mean you're any safer from other people using your vulnerabilities against you.

[palms-upturned]

I’m late to this whole debacle but for the record, I have been messaged by people in Gaza who thought that I was involved in the fundraiser vetting process and sent me photos of their government IDs and documentation. I know a little of what Hussein, Nairuz, Ahmed, Ibtisam, and others use to vet people and make sure that they’re legit, and that’s part of why I confidently cite them as a source. To try and discredit them and smear them as scam artists, along with the genocide victims that they’re trying so hard to help, is fucking beyond the pale.

The reason I’ve been inactive on this blog and focusing instead on compiling resources in order to bring more ppl onto the fundraiser blog is that the work I was doing was spiraling into a 12-hour a day endeavor with just myself, and it was making me so physically and mentally ill that I could barely move or think, so I had to step back and figure out a better way to organize things. And I’m not even doing the actually hard part of this work. I do not vet people. I do not have any skin in this game as a white USAmerican. It’s not my family who are dying in Gaza. I also have not been targeted for harassment or account bans. I literally cannot fucking fathom the physical and mental strain that Palestinian bloggers on this platform have been going through nonstop for nearly a year now.

I still remember being shocked when I saw that Hussein had come back to tumblr after having to take a break due to having a heart attack. Ibtisams, who vetted people and organized all sorts of fundraising efforts all while grieving her father and little sister killed in Gaza, was forced to come back to tumblr to make a statement about how she was in an inpatient facility because people had the gall to impersonate her in order to scam people. Ahmed literally escaped Gaza because of a very well documented fundraising effort here on tumblr, no thanks to the cunts at GoFundMe who made things as difficult as possible every step of the way, and has since spent time and effort helping other people who had hopes of sharing his success. Calling these people scammers is fucking unbelievable. Some of you wouldn’t know solidarity if it bit you in the ass.

If getting messages in your inbox from people trying to escape a genocide makes you uncomfortable, fucking suck it up. Or disable your inbox, I guess. Do literally anything else besides using your platform to direct harassment and slander at people who are trying to survive a genocide. This website is already quite literally engaging in tech apartheid by targeting users in Gaza so constantly, you don’t need to gleefully join in by tagging staff and asking them to terminate people. Fucking unconscionable behavior. I hope that it will follow everyone involved for the rest of their lives.

[balteredsworld]

turning point. gregory house

🥼🩺 | you and house despise each other. today's supposed to be any other night, but house kisses you.

warnings/tags! light enemies-to-lovers, angst if you squint your eyes, younger woman x older man, emotional revelations, no dialogue, and they kiss!

masterlist : greg house n all

a/n: i can't believe people are sending in things in my inbox wow if you have any requests/ideas or little topics of conversations don't shy away and send them my way! enjoy ducklings <3

house reaches for your wrist, taking you into his grasp, and pulling you flush against his body. you jolt at the sudden motion, left hand landing and pressing on his chest. sure eyes linger on your face for a fraction of a second. beauty eclipsing any and all thought working the cogs in his busy mind. all he thinks to himself is how breathtaking you are in this moment.

many a time the two of you would rather bicker, almost estranged in your sidings with cuddy. but you were legally bound by contract to side with her, serving as a board member this year.

tonight’s no different, you’re here because of house’s opposition to a hospital policy you and the board proposed. he’s been on a childish campaign to get you to concede to his wishes, after all he does whatever he wants in the hospital. but he makes a deductive confession that changes the tune of your usual argument. and tonight’s a little different, with it being the annual gala.

you wear this burgundy dress off some runway that he makes note of, and he’s in his well-pressed, well-tailored suit. you came here to declare a truce, but instead you let house press your buttons, somehow finding yourself ending the argument against his chest.

house’s hand snakes its way to the nook of your back. then, his lips were latched onto yours. he's kissing you.

gregory house is kissing you.

your tense body melts into his touch, reciprocating the kiss despite your initial surprise. you loop an arm around his neck, pushing him closer to you, causing the two of you to wobble, but he steadies your weight and deepens the kiss.

it’s sweet, passionate, and almost desparate, as if this was years of yearning. but you’re not so illusioned that you mistake this as something other than all your anger and hostility towards each other finally being squeeze out by the force of your locked lips—into this kiss.

it’s a kiss the two of you unknowingly wanted, hidden underneath the veneer of your harsh and clashing words. you’re not afraid to argue with house, equally venomous with your tongue during your time as a defence lawyer. and house is the same, sharpened tongue to prove his correctness in principle.

but you two fear that you’ve exposed yourselves to the possibility of tragedy. maybe it's because you two have been really eyeing each other all along, testing how you could handle each other. never once have you failed, nor has house. that scared you shitless, but the moment’s well worth it. house makes good work with his lips, and you float in some sort of heaven, feeling the frustration finally rupture. and he feels the same.

slowly, you both pull away from each other, breathless and flushed. you don’t pull away immediately, staying interlocked in his grasp. your eyes are both down cast, not quite refusing to look at the other, but rather frozen and unsure where to look. despite it, house’s eyes radiate blue.

it’s too intimate for you and house, and yet you keep still. he’s kept to himself all these years, only to have you cut into his bubble between the hookers he distracts himself with. he thinks that’s where his resentment of you stems from, but it’s never really been quite hatred, he realizes. you’re the same, lonelier than you would like to admit. no one, so it seemed, could tug on your heartstrings except this man you found nothing but annoyance for.

house is perplexed. his mouth is agape, nothing quite registering to allow his neurons to fire and form words. something of his old self manifests, and a warm feeling feathers his heart. a touch like this was no stranger to that ghost, but all the other flirtations he makes falls in comparison. there’s only you and him

his sense are faint yet heightened, just from his proximity to you. biologically speaking, he’s doing really well, and he can hear his pulse pounding, and feel yours mirror his. he’s forgotten what this feels like, but sure it was this, and that makes his heart race faster. it’s almost dizzying.

house continues to direct his eyes on your curled hair, unsure of how to look at you. he considers leaving without another word, but he feels stuck to you.

you mirror house, too dazed to do anything. an overwhelming euphoria shoots through you, the sort of nervous excitement that makes you feel like a teenager. you’re younger than house, and you bite your cheek like you were 17 with your crush. you’re all too aware of your inexperience now, unsure with your wild heart. nevertheless, you muster the courage to finally break your trance. so you push on his chest lightly, finally meeting his eyes.

you blink. he’s tall.

the realization makes you swallow nervously. you open your mouth, but like house, nothing quite comes out. your hand still rests on his chest, feeling the rhythm of his pulsing heart. you try again, this time with house. both of your lips fall open, tongue failing again. but his eyes are enough. all you want to do is kiss him, so you lean in and kiss him again.

luckily for you, house always wants to kiss you.

[inthelittlewood]

So, just out of curiosity, are you thinking of making episodes for rats 2 like you did for all the other pow creations smps? If not, that's okay (:

I'm really not sure currently. For full transparency, the previous episodes of both series made on average about £40 individually. The occasional one flicked up to NEARLY £100, but they're real anomalies. Thumbnail costs take up a good portion of that 40, then what's left, divided by the hours it takes to condense masses of content down to episode form would be a wage grossly below minimum wage. It's not smart financially or motivationally to proceed that way.

I've always been proud of the end products of each episode / series but I had revenue coming from other sources that have since dried up. I can't make purely artistic decisions when I have mouths to feed and a home to maintain.

I've been quiet on video content this year because I've not had an SMP play in, so streaming became a primary earner. Even that was propped up significantly by our Logitech/Streamlabs sponsorship - which concluded unexpectedly early at the end of September due to budget adjustments on their end (zero bad feelings regarding that btw, it was all done fairly and by the contract, it was quarterly renewals and I was communicated respectfully with)

I'm lucky that Wild Life has come along when it has, as it gives me a little breathing room to try and secure a new sponsor or at least compile a content plan for late 2024 / early 2025.

Even my Life series barely pass the threshold to where an editor wouldn't gobble up the majority of the revenue. That one is a real 50/50 between coming out net neutral, or coming out with a minimal profit. It's rough. Speaking honestly, I'm a tad nervous about the immediate future, but I promise this isn't a post trying to rouse pity or spur on donations/subs etc, it's just transparency as I've always operated. It feels better laying it out so analytically because it gives people context and answers the FAQ of "why don't you just hire someone", the overhead isn't there.

I'm going to start putting the feelers out to try and secure a new partnership, I have one conversation pending and if we can I'll nab some sponsored streams more often to raise the tides.

That said, we are headed in to the best time of year for ad revenue on YouTube especially, but it's not quite the 5x multiplier I would need to sensibly navigate my situation ha

The only viable solution currently would be to crowd source funds to cover the costs of the work for making the episodes, whether that be paid to me and I edit them myself or more ideally, an editor, so I can focus my efforts in to producing another piece of content. I've no idea what the Patreon/Kofi/Crowdfunding landscape is like currently both mechanically and socially. Are they a thing people subscribe to anymore? They inherently come with more pressures too which I'm nervous to take on.

I'm likely to get inbox messages offering to edit for free or at a reduced fee, but PLEASE DON'T DO THAT. Even if you're framing it as good practice, or a portfolio/client list piece, I wouldn't feel comfortable with that. It's a very sweet gesture and I totally understand showing that initiative / sincerity, I've been there, but those scenarios can too often be miscommunicated or misconstrued and it gets messy. People's time and talents deserve compensation.

So tl;dr answer is I'm not sure, I might try an episode 1 to see how it performs, but it's not looking great. Sorry.

[lostinlovingrevery]

Old man Logan with reader who is lonely, has no friends but is still a ray of sunshine with him, always trying to impress him and give him pretty gifts and getting all dolled up for him. She is sad inside though, apart from being his boyfriend, he is her only friend

My Ray Of Sunshine (Why Are You So Sad?)

Old Man Logan X F! Reader

A/N: I hope this is okay! Started angsty, but I wanted it to be happy for both reader and Logan in the end. Loneliness is an awful feeling (smth I'm all too familiar with) If anyone ever needs to talk, my inbox is always open!! I had a little trouble figuring out where to go with this, so I hope this satisfies you!

Plot: You and Logan have been dating for some time, but you still feel the intense loneliness that wraps it's arms around you, him being the only one in your life - and you feel like he's not honest with you.

Warnings: Angsty, slight depression, mention of loneliness, happy endings

Word Count: 2021

"Hi Lo," You cooed as you answered the phone, a smile stretching across your face.

"Hey sunshine," You heard his gruff voice on the other line, giving your heart a flutter. You always loved the sound of his voice, no matter how gruff and cranky he could sound - he never takes it out on you though.

"You still coming over tonight?" You ask as you walk across the room, your fingers tapping along the small box that sat on your desk. A present you decided to get Logan, a nice little silver watch he can wear. There was a moment of silence, "Lo?"

A small sigh,

"Sorry. I can't. I have to work."

Your face fell, but you took a deep breath. "Oh, that's alright!" You say, putting on your best happy-go-lucky voice. You didn't want him to feel bad, just by the tone of his voice you could tell he was having a bad day. "We'll plan for another night baby. You get a request?"

"Yeah, Bachelors party." He says. "Big payout."

"Oooh....Nice paycheck then huh? You can make it up to me later by taking me out somewhere nice then." You tease. You couldn't see the fond smile on his face, but you could picture it.

"Yeah. We'll plan on it. Promise." He says. You chewed on your lip, as you felt that swell of emptiness build up inside you.

Another night alone.

"Sunshine?"

"Huh?" You snapped out of your thoughts. "Sorry, sorry-" You laughed. "Zoned out again. What?"

"I gotta go, got a job. I'll call you later, or in the morning. That alright?"

"Yes, of course." You smiled. "Be safe, okay tough guy?"

You heard a warm chuckle, which made you relax. "Yeah, I will. See you doll."

You heard the phone beep and sighed. Alright.

You and Logan had been dating for a little bit. Meeting in a small little diner that you waitress at. It started as harmless flirting, but then you both managed to find yourself able to talk to each other so easily. Logan listened to you, seemed so openly accepting of you. How could you not be drawn to him?

You thought yourself a little ridiculous for gaining a crush on an older man like Logan, but then his weathered charm got to you - and you just couldn't help it. You'd slip him extra treats on the down-low, not charging him for them. An extra cup of coffee, a slice of apple pie, once you even managed to slip him a stack of pancakes. He'd smile at you and your antics as you slide the plate across the counter and give him a wink- his smile being something tired yet warm that made your knees weak and butterflies shoot through you.

You put more effort into your appearance, especially when you knew he was going to be there. Dolling yourself up - not your usual thing to do but when you got a man like Logan coming around...Well, it's hard not to want to look pretty for him.

It was you that finally convinced him to go on a date with you, and you surprised him by taking him to a gorgeous museum the next city over. You had wondered initially if he scoff at that- him being the gruff and older man he is, but he seemed to really enjoy it. He listened to you ramble on and on about Vincent Van Gogh, one of your favorite painters as you listed everything you knew about him, explaining the misconceptions about him as a painter and a person.

You took the charge of the relationship that formed between you. You planned dates, which seemed to make Logan happy- your infectious happiness- not rubbing off on him but more giving him some much needed relief in what you must believe is a very stressful life for him. He deemed you his sunshine, a pet-name you wore with pride.

You believe it's stressful- or rather assume. He never really told you about his personal life. You know he was a limo driver, you know he lived on the outskirts of town - you never been where he lived. He mentioned something about taking care of his father. He's shared a few stories- always seemingly missing information in them like he was purposely leaving out parts of them.

It made it worse by the fact that he really is the only person in your life right now. You adored Logan and did everything you could to make him happy because he was the only one to give your love to. You spend the time you can together, when he visits your work, or when he comes and stays with you for the night. He's busy though, so he's not really there as often as you wish he was.

Actually, you probably love him. You haven't told him that though. You always feel though that he's hiding something from you. It's disheartening really, he'll listen to you, he's heard your secrets but you never hear his. He refuses to bring you to his place, making some excuse that yours was nicer and maybe it was but you didn't care about that. It created a space between you, something you're not sure if Logan recognizes himself.

You moved to change out of the pretty yellow dress you had on to see Logan, wiping your makeup off and pulling your hair into a messy bun as you prepared to spiral into a night of anxiety, depression, and wine.

You settled on your couch, flipping the tv on, surfing through channel after channel. The night got darker and you got more and more tired. The shadows of your living room, seemingly your only company for tonight, closing in on you as the tv flickered over your curled up form.

Your eyelids grew heavy, as your felt the sinking feeling of your heart, reminding you that you were by yourself again. Inevitably wondering when will Logan leave?

Heavy knocks on your door startled you, as you sat up on the couch and confusion stretched across your face. Worry settled in you, as you had to wonder what shifty characters were knocking on your door at night?

You stood up and crossed the apartment, peeking through the peephole of your door, you're shocked to find Logan standing there. You gasped, stepping back to unlock your door and open it.

"Logan?"

"Hi sunshine." He greeted you, and smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling in the corners as his smile lines became more prominent. He held a bouquet of sunflowers in one hand.

"What are you...What are you doing here?"

"I missed ya." He says gently, a lingering gruff in his voice. "Can I come in?"

You bit your lip, and nodded. Still, your lingering feelings stuck in the back of your head. Stepping back, you forced a smile up at him as he stepped inside, holding the bouquet up.

"I figured you'd like them because...You know. That painter who- Are you okay?" He stopped, squinting at you, as he watched your eyes met with the bouquet, and tears filled your eyes. "Hey, hey sunshine, what's wrong?" He asks softly, bringing his hand up to your chin, tipping it upwards to look up at him. You bit your lip and shook your head.

"Sorry-" You say pulling away from him, wiping your eyes. "I'm just happy to see you..." You lied through your teeth. His eyes, he looked tired.

"Don't know about that sweetheart..." He mutters, examining your expression. "What is it? The flowers? You hate em?"

"No." You let out a small laugh, crossing your arms. He turned to shut the door behind him, locking it before setting the flowers on a nearby table, his hands coming to rest on your arms.

"Well?" He looks down at you, his face serious, but his eyes held concern. "You don't need to pretend with me darling."

You were caught off guard by him, showing up suddenly when you felt your worst. Your instinct screamed at you to push him away, to pretend that it was all okay. You didn't want to bring him down. Your anxiety peeked at the idea that he may be disappointed by this version of yourself, that he would see the lonely person you are, and leave because he wouldn't want to deal with you.

But they way he looked at you, you couldn't help it as the dam broke, and he pulled you tight to his chest, holding you as you cried.

"I'm sorry doll. I didn't mean to hurt you by canceling." He says softly, his hand petting your hair gently.

"No..No, it's not you." You sniffled, stepping away for a moment. "I...I just feel so alone sometimes. I like you a lot Lo, I love us spending time together but when you're not around I'm just by myself and it...It's just terrible."

Logan brows creased, as he brought a hand to cup your cheek. "I didn't know." He says gently. You let out a shaky sigh and looked back up at him.

"You're the only person in my life." You continue. "I don't feel like I don't completely know you though. Not like how you know me. I feel like you're keeping things from me or that you're...Only sticking around temporarily."

"That's not true." He says quickly, and firmly. "I care about you sunshine." His thumb wiped away a tear. "A lot. More than I have a right too. You're....Everything sweetheart. I count myself a damn lucky guy that I met you, that you let me be apart of your life. "

You swallowed and nodded, looking away as you let out a small sigh. You both stood there in silence.

"I..." He started. "I don't know how to stop you from feeling alone but...I get it. You're right. I haven't told you the whole truth."

He grabbed your hand, leading you over to the couch, as you both sat down.

"You ready for this?" He asks.

~~~~~~~~

You stood outside the hot desert sun, as you look around the barren horizon. Logan let out a small cough, as he puffed on the cigar that he was smoking.

"It's quiet." You say.

"Yeah." He nods, his eyes trailing over you as he tried to read your body language.

After an intense conversation last night, you both passed out on your couch. When you woke up in the morning, Logan had you get dressed, and brought you to his...well, where he lives. Can't really call it a home.

That was you.

He felt terrible when you admitted to him everything you struggled with. He adored the way you always seemed to be optimistic, the way you got yourself all dolled up for him, the way you tried to spoil him and every way possible. That's not why he liked you though. He liked your character, he liked the person you are. Not just for what you do for him. You were a fresh breath of air for him. His sunshine.

He wished you see yourself the way he does. You're always encouraging him, to look at himself and see himself as a good man. He didn't know how long he got but he'll spend every second with you to prove you are the most wonderful and loveable person.

You looked at him and smiled. The sunlight gleamed off his new watch that you gifted him. He finished the cigar, flicking it to the ground and stomping it out with the heel of his shoe, before putting an arm around your shoulders.

"You ready to meet the old man?"

"Uh Lo, you're right here." You tease, wrapping your arm around his waist. He chuckled warmly.

"Real cute." He mutters shaking his head, as he led you to the decrepit water tower. He went to the door, and slid it open, a harsh grunt escaping him as it rolled open, he stood to the side and waited as you walked in.

Inside you saw two men. One, sitting in a chair reading a comic book, looking up at you. He had white skin, and yellow eyes. That one must be Caliban.

"Hello dear-" The other man greets. An older gentleman, lying in a bed with a warm smile. You smiled back as he reached his hand out to you, and walked over and took it. "I've heard so much about you from Logan. It's nice to finally meet you. Tell me...Which of Van Goghs paintings is your favorite?"

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ stargirl interlude: chapter ii.

wnba!paige x pop star!azzi. men & minors dni.

⋆ 🪩 masterlist.

synopsis: azzi’s one of the industry’s fastest rising stars—a notorious ice princess. she doesn’t pay much attention to the internet, so she’s caught off guard when she finds out who her biggest fan is: world-class athlete paige bueckers, publicly losing her mind over her.

cw: implied mental health issues, fluff, first date, medium burn?, young girls rediscovering themselves and their desires, slight angst, mentions of faith.

notes: hi, my doves. let me know if you enjoyed this. sorry this is a little sad, but azzi is a product of childhood fame. love you. can't wait to see you in my inbox.

II: SECOND SKIN.

“i’d like to work on something different. something that feels more like me.”

azzi watched as her manager’s brow rose, sensed her mother's gaze boring holes deep into her skin. she steadfastly ignored them, focusing instead on the condensation dripping down the plastic body of her iced blueberry matcha. 

the head of the label sat across from her. he was a stout man with a pinched face. it always looked as though he was struggling to breathe. he was kind though, had seen many a pop legend come and go, and seemed to have a soft spot for her ideas, usually called silly, when she presented them to katie on the car ride home.

“you don’t feel any connection to what you’re doing now?” he asked her, and azzi blinked back into the moment.  

“i think i did at some point but,” azzi pursed her lips, then let out a flow of air, “i’m not feeling myself in any of it. i look at the lyrics and open my mouth and nothing comes out. at least nothing i’m proud of.”

the man sat back, green eyes unnervingly bright. she focused on the liver spot that pulled across his neck, mind running as she tried to remember his name. it was something rather clandestine. micheal? murray? 

“what do you feel yourself in?”

azzi looked up from beneath her lashes, her cheeks haloed by her unbrushed curls. she was only in a midi black dress, the straps thick and the neckline square. along her collarbones lay a thin diamond chain with a silver, cursive ‘a’ pendant that swung forward every time she readjusted herself. her feet were encased in faux-leather flats, the small, needlework rosary tattoo she’d gotten on a whim dark and visible.

“i’ve been listening to a lot of indie rock. red hot chili peppers, smashing pumpkins, the teenagers. i like the way i feel when i listen. there’s more room in the writing to sing about what i’m going through, big or small. i’m—” she hesitated. “i’m tired of being a sexy baby.”

“indie rock, huh?” the man said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “i didn’t think kids knew of red hot chili peppers these days.”

azzi smiled, her two front teeth shining white and new. her mother, who had been holding on for a rather impressive amount of time, finally gave her input.

“but she’s not a rockstar, max! she’s a pop star.”

oh, so his name was max. yes, very clandestine. max rolled his neck over to one side as he glanced irritably at katie, his jaw working before he responded. 

“i get that, katie, i really do.” azzi tried not to laugh and took a sip of her matcha. “but reinvention is how these girls stay alive in this world. azzi’s right. people are not looking for the sexy baby thing right now. i mean there’s always an audience, but azzi’s demographic has grown with her. and if she wants her growth to be noticeable, i think it's smart to play up a different image other than discovering that you have a body and desires for the first time.” 

huh, azzi thought. go, max.

he looked back at her, eyed her drink. “need another?’

“sure,” azzi said, her voice quiet but her resolve strong. 

they got up. they took a walk.

⟡

azzi pushed three thick sprays of salt water through the nozzle and into the back of her throat, her nose burning as california brine coated the muscles. then she texted paige. 

» hey, paige. just wanted to touch base about getting coffee this week.

her arms burned when she pressed the meat of them into the metal strings of her bass guitar. she shined it earlier and its teal corpse stared at her, reflecting a distorted image of her face as it begged her to touch it—to raise it from the dead. she felt the feeble spirit of her thirteen-year-old self in the marrow of the instrument, and she focused she could hear her too.  

she hated the message once she sent it. she sounded so out of touch with what it meant to be a young girl, a cool girl. while she waited for paige’s response, her eyes roved over the other girl’s instagram. she cataloged what she knew of her already: she was twenty-five, two years to azzi’s twenty-three, and a well-loved prodigy. she frequented texas, dallas to be specific, due to her current contract. she flew back and forth to new york, apparently helping to coach teenage athletes in her spare time. 

azzi liked that, that the goodness of her heart gave her a reason to plant her feet on new york’s rat-run ground. azzi sometimes worried that she wasn’t good, not even a little bit. 

she lingered on a candid of paige in the pews of a church, the light streaming in through the thin stained glass adorning her with mock sainthood. azzi wondered if it would matter to paige that god tended to put a frog in her throat, that she had removed his hands from around her neck and thighs and was trying to sit next to him without flinching on most days. maybe they would never get there. 

» hey, azzi. yeah, i’m still good for coffee. 

azzi smiled. i wonder if you know how good you make me feel, she thought and then was immediately embarrassed. 

�� that’s really good to hear. 

she paused, then sent another message. 

» sorry about saying “touch base”. it was weird.

the response was swift.

» nah, it wasn’t. 

azzi wondered if she should leave it alone, but if she was going to coffee she may as well ensure it wasn’t too awkward. she raised her arms, ignoring the indentations in her skin, and snapped a picture of her guitar. the steel of its strings gleamed; the teal paint seemed to cry. you could see her shadow reach across it. her leg was bent, but visible—tender from her weight being shifted across it for several hours.

» trying to learn how to use her again » going a new direction with my music and i’m kind of really scared 

too honest, she berated herself. paige didn’t seem to think so.

(paige didn’t think so at all. her crystal blue eyes had fallen on the reddened skin of azzi’s knee, on the thin strip of darkness made by the bend of azzi’s leg and the crush of her thigh. her mouth watered, and she redid her ponytail to regain some self-control.)

» u have a voice like an angel, azzi. some things are just meant to be. 

» God knew what He was doing. 

she capitalized God, azzi noted. her mouth twitched into a smile. she liked that. it was a good detail.

» i’m not that religious, but since you are i guess you would know. » sorry that sounded mean, but i don’t mind it. your faith, i mean. please don’t feel bad.

a moment passed and then,

» i don’t know, i just trust. » and i didn’t feel bad. ur not a mean girl. 

azzi laughed out loud then. 

» it’s my desire to know vs my desire to trust, she said.  » see you tomorrow, paige

her phone buzzed one last time. 

» can’t wait. i’ll be looking for u. 

azzi took a deep breath and closed her eyes. she thought hard of california, saw her father in the waves with a hand around her arm—the bone thick with baby fat. she heard something, someone. 

she touched a string. it sang.

⟡

the morning light came in sharp, cutting the shop into bright angles and long shadows. the windows were too clean, the floor polished to a dull shine. it smelled like scorched milk and antiseptic, something artificial masking something else. the kind of place people pretended to not mind, with its ten-dollar oat lattes and plastic baristas. the kind of place azzi used to think she liked.

she had dressed without thinking—well, no. she had thought about it quite a bit, but it was a good fantasy.

a strapless smocked top, tight across her ribs, the fabric shifting when she moved. faded jeans, loose at the hip, cinched with an old leather belt. they slouched low, soft, and worn in the way vintage denim should be, brushing against the tops of her boots. she carried her jacket in one hand, twisted around her fingers like an afterthought. her hair, loose from whatever styling had held it the other morning, fell in soft, uneven spirals. she’d drawn up the top with brown butterfly clips to prevent it from getting into her eyes. 

she looked like someone caught between selves. not quite undone, but close.

her fingers traced the rim of her mug, nails chipped down to uneven edges. the heat of the ceramic barely registered. paige was watching her. not in the way people usually did—calculating, expectant—but with a slow heat closer to patience. like she was trying to understand something. azzi often felt like a ghost within her own body, but now, someone was gazing at her,  not through her.

paige sat with her legs apart, elbows resting on her thighs. it was the kind of posture that helped make her look present without seeming too comfortable. the light made a halo of her, just for a second.

she wore a white, slightly oversized button-down, sleeves rolled up just once—as she did it absentmindedly, not for style. the fabric looked soft; it seemed the kind that came off better the more it was worn. beneath that: dark wash straight-leg jeans, fitted enough to hint at her strength but relaxed to a degree that spoke to her disinterest in the semantics of fashion. they fell heavy at the hem, half-swallowing her vintage nike cortez sneakers. a simple chain encircled her neck, barely noticeable except when the light caught it. a cross, just simple metal.

the image instilled a sense of wonder in azzi. she wanted to ask about it, if it meant anything.

paige grimaced, picking up her vanilla latte with two shots of espresso. "twelve fucking dollars?" she muttered. "for this?"

azzi watched her, something soft developing in her chest. she slightly recognized this feeling. it was like rediscovering a language she'd forgotten she knew how to speak. it began to bleed through her, raw and unfiltered. she worried that it would stain her shirt.

"so," paige said, her voice slipping through the lo-fi hum of someone’s terrible 2010-esque playlist, "tell me something."

azzi blinked. the overhead lights buzzed, too bright, catching on the fine gold chain around her throat. her small scorpio pendant shifted when she swallowed. 

“um, let’s see. i'm twenty-three," azzi started, her words falling into a practiced rhythm. "born in virginia, but lived in california for a while. i miss it there. uh, oh. my favorite color is pink. i have a birthmark shaped like texas on my left hip.” 

paige took another swig of coffee and then looked her dead in the eye. she raised an eyebrow. "you giving me teen beat facts?"

azzi suppressed a smile. she shrugged.

paige leaned in, elbows on the table, hands loose but steady.

"something that doesn’t exist in a press release." a pause. "give me the real you, please."

the words settled between them. the moment stretched, thin and expectant. something about it made azzi want to look away.

she didn’t.

“um,” her voice was quieter now, “i’m terrified of spiders, but i don’t ever want to kill them. i’m allergic to fake gold, and my ears swelled when i got them pierced as a toddler. i can’t cook or bake, but i have a good eye for presentation. i haven’t really written or performed anything i’ve liked in over two years.”

the last bit took her by surprise, but paige’s eyes only softened. she leaned back and swallowed down the remnants of her drink. she put it down and tilted her head, her blonde hair shifting with the movement. her mouth seemed electric as she spoke. 

“i want to take you somewhere. come with me?”

they ended up at a small ethiopian restaurant.

it was tucked between a laundromat and a convenience store, where the scent of berbere and spiced butter pulled at the air before the door even opened. inside, the walls were warm-toned, lined with woven baskets and paintings, the floor covered in persian rugs softened and faded by years of footsteps. it hummed with low chatter, the clink of metal trays, and the occasional burst of laughter from a group in the corner.

azzi looked around, a little mesmerized. "this is beautiful."

paige watched her, further endeared. "yeah."

they sat on the floor, low cushions pressed against their backs, a tray of injera and slow-cooked stews set between them. the place was packed, families and couples and groups of friends leaning close, tearing pieces of bread with practiced ease. 

it was intimate in a way that surprised azzi—hands reaching, sharing, dipping.  food was so respected here; the art of the meal and family so centered. she followed paige’s lead, watching her scoop a piece and fold it with practiced ease.

azzi’s first bite made her eyes widen, then flutter closed. "oh my god."

"right?" paige grinned, watching as azzi eagerly took another bite. it was so good, flavored in a way that stuck to your ribs. this was the kind of food you could taste long after you’d left the table.

they stayed like that, across from one another but intersecting as their hands met in the warm rivers of heavily spiced sauce and pots of yellow rice.

at some point, azzi got a bit of sauce on her chin, then her cheek, and paige, without thinking, swiped her thumb over it only to smear it across the bridge of her nose. azzi let out a startled laugh, brown eyes crinkling, and paige smirked.

"you missed a spot."

paige watched as azzi lifted her phone, angling the camera to capture the streak of sauce on her cheek, then her nose. she stuck out her tongue, crossing her eyes in one, then tilted her head slightly, lips parted to reveal her american girl teeth, a mess of curls cradling her face.

"these are so cute," she murmured, voice warm as she tapped through the shots. "i never get to have food on my face."

and it was clearly meant to be funny in an offhanded way, but then azzi’s face flickered—like she’d just realized something. a small thing, but a thing that felt bigger, heavier. her throat tightened, and she hurried to blame it on the spice, but she could tell that paige saw through it, saw the way her fingers flexed like she didn't know what to do with them.

under the table, paige found her hand. squeezed. then, casually, she tore another piece of injera, scooped up some stew, and lifted it to azzi’s full lips—the skin a deep pink and swollen by the flame of peppers.

"here, mama," she said, voice easy. "try this one."

azzi took the bite, chewed, and swallowed. she exhaled, slow. paige didn’t let go of her hand.

before they left, the owners took a polaroid for the wall of customers. azzi insisted they take two, so they could have their own. in the photo, azzi was mid-laugh, eyes bright, sauce still dotted on her nose. paige stood beside her, relaxed in a way she didn’t even realize, watching azzi like she had a secret within that she didn’t know yet.  like she always had.

they didn’t decide who would get to keep it officially, but it ended up in the back of azzi’s phone. a pale copy sat in paige’s gallery. azzi pocketed the second polaroid, running a thumb over the glossy surface. something shifted inside her, loose and warm. 

later, on the train home, she tucked her legs beneath her in the seat and hummed under her breath. a melody had given birth inside of her—new, half-formed, and fighting. words came to her unbidden, stale lyrics made better by the fact that she was trying again.

she murmured into her phone’s voice memo app. she held up the phone to paige’s mouth and asked her to speak. paige smiled, tender with joy, and protested that she didn’t know what to say.

“it’s not the real thing,” azzi assured her. “you can say anything.”

paige hummed and then,

“will you get another coffee with me?” 

azzi grinned, her body trembling. she lowered her feet to the floor and leaned over until her head fell onto paige’s shoulder. she picked up paige’s hand and turned it over so that the pale palm was open and exposed. she traced nine letters into the skin.

yes, please.

paige closed her hand and kept her there. 

azzi hummed from the station to her apartment. even the clink of her keys into their designated bowl seemed on-key. 

it was a song. her song. the first in a long time. she could’ve sobbed. 

thank god, she thought, that i remember how to sing.

⟡

voguescandinavia: azzi fudd has a new approach: “i want to keep going to places where i don’t know anyone or anything. i tend to find myself there.”

a black and white portrait accompanied the tweet. azzi's face was slightly turned, wind-blown wisps of her natural curls catching across her cheekbone. her expression was borderline intense, almost vulnerable—eyes looking slightly off-center, not quite meeting the camera.

she wore a simple white tank top, and her skin was slightly tanned, with shadows and bits of sand dusted along parts of her face. the background was indistinct, a blurred landscape suggesting openness, motion. her gaze penetrated.

it was silently understood that she wasn’t performing, but truly present.

the reception was overwhelmingly kind, warm. but only one mattered.

trending simple and proud:

pbueckersofficial: angel falls short but swear it’s her true form 🩶🎙️

on her private account, her heart to mouth filter had failed. the same picture, quote retweeted but with different wording: 

pbuckets5: i want to run away. make a world of just you and me. somewhere between the city lights and the way you breathe—i'm desperate to understand everything.

her teammates' immediately lit up her notifications.

karnold: girl what is happening  aubrey: wait what.   janaaa: oh. drewbuckets: paige poetry era??

azzi, almost half asleep, saw the public thread. smiled. then quote-tweeted:

azzi35: i'd like to stay on earth for another coffee with you 🕊️

the internet imploded. 

username: they actually hang out?!  username: paige bueckers and azzi fudd interacting again??? this is not a drill  uconnsports: we're witnessing history  ⤷ username: who is the intern running this page lmfao username: the way they're speaking about each other?? its giving legacy love story i fear karnold: y’all don’t you worry, we got somebody checking on paige cause she may actually be dead idk

and trending worldwide: #bueckersfudd2028.

⟡

azzi went to sleep. in her dreams there was a stage, but no microphone. azzi opened her mouth and extended a hand to the sole person in the audience. from her mouth burst three pink butterflies. 

teach me, they said with every pump of their wings. please, teach me.

the woman stood from her seat. her hair was so blonde it was almost white. she looked at azzi with her sharp blue gaze, touched her own throat, and then stepped forward to press into azzi’s skin. the heat from her fingertips spiraled up into azzi’s mouth until she felt so warm that she thought her bones might melt into ash and milk. 

the woman cupped her cheek. from her heart a beat; from her mouth a word. 

azzi, she said. her mouth was closed. God himself opened your mouth and placed music on your tongue.

azzi, she said. sing.

© hcneymooners.

[pullupinarari]

Love you ‘til I don’t [LH]

author’s note: I’m finally back with full fics and I was so excited to write this one! Thank you to the anons who dropped these thoughts on my inbox 🫂 This is angsty, sad and has a sad ending. Ps: let’s please pretend that Abu Dhabi 2021 was actually last year, I didn’t wanted to write this with years apart 🙏🏻 hope you enjoy this!! Mwah 🩷

Read part two here!

• masterlist

wc: 3981 - english is not my first language! feedback is always appreciated

Anger, confusion, pain, doubt: Lewis’ mind has been a mess since the day he lost the opportunity to hold his 8th world title. That fateful day has changed him in some way: It has made him more cold, more thoughtful, questioning his life and all the decisions he has made so far, wondering if this is all worth it. 

Being so close to winning, just to have the trophy almost yanked from his hands at the end of the last race, devastated him, and you know that. It felt like a hurricane hitting him, making him lose his senses, taking a toll on his confidence. Since that day, Lewis grew quiet, he stopped showing up at your door with flowers and a lovely smile spreading along his face, like he used to. From that moment, he would just rather be alone with his thoughts all the time, until they would devour his whole being, drowning his brain in destructive ideas. 

In the three years that you’ve been dating, you have never seen him act this way. During the two month break after the end of the season, he wouldn’t leave his house, he wouldn’t pick up your calls. Whenever you showed up at his place, actually trying to see him, to talk to him, he would give you two word sentences in reply, his eyes fixated on the blank wall in front of him the whole time, as if he wasn’t even there, at that moment. 

And he wasn’t. At least, that’s how he felt. After what happened, Lewis didn’t want to be seen, didn't want to talk or to even hear anyone. He just wanted to be alone with his thoughts, rethinking his entire life.

In the middle of the silence that he decided to merge himself in, there was this question that never ceased, no matter how hard he would try to shake it off. Was it really worth the effort to balance his two most intense passions? On one hand, he has racing - his passion since he can remember, the one thing he loves more than life, the adrenaline that makes his blood rush in his veins. But on the other hand, there’s you: the best surprise he had received from life in a long time. The light that would erupt through his bones in days surrounded by darkness, the one he sees his future with. 

But the obsession related to getting his 8th title - the one that was stolen from him, keeps growing in Lewis’ mind, becoming the only thing he can focus on. And it makes him realize that maybe, just maybe, he needs to give up on other things, in order to get what he wishes for so much. 

After two entire months filled with distance, Lewis is back at work. He’s currently in Bahrain for the start of the season, his body lying on the bed of his hotel room, while his mind makes him feel physically sore, not allowing him to get any rest while he doesn’t make a decision. 

He keeps overthinking everything, and he might try to shut his senses, but deep down, he knows he can’t complete another season by your side. He can’t do it - he can’t put all his effort on the line again, he can’t allow himself to have any more distractions this season.

He knows he needs to do this - no matter how badly it might hurt the both of you, he needs to let you go. He can’t continue having to choose between his career or his love life, and he knows that this might sound mean, but Lewis is very well aware that racing will never leave him, it’s the only constant that he has ever known in his life. 

So he takes a deep breath, grabbing his phone to type a quick text to you. He can’t help but feel his heart shrinking when he reads the amount of messages that you have sent him, to which he hasn’t replied.

“Hope you have a safe flight, love”, “I wish I could be there to support you in person, but I understand that you'd rather do this one by yourself. I will still cheer you on from here”, “I love you so, so much. You will always be my champion, Lew ❤”

You know that he has been struggling a lot lately, the end of last season really destroyed him completely, wrecked all his beliefs, everything that made it possible for him to keep going. It hurts you, of course it does. Of course it pains you to see your boyfriend pushing you away, closing all the walls of his life around himself, not even cracking a bit to let you in, to allow himself to share this dark period with his other half - that’s what you’re with him for: to help him, to pull him from the ground, back to his feet. But you love him too much, so you decide to be patient and to not give up on him, keeping your faith up, trusting that your boyfriend will come back to you once he gets his confidence back.

It’s not you, it really isn’t. It’s a problem that Lewis has with himself right now. During the past few months, he realized that he doesn’t want to be a half anymore. He doesn’t want to share his life with anyone right now, he wants to feel complete with his own company and achievements. And for that, he needs to get rid of this feeling of unsureness, of feeling like he isn’t enough, like he needs to give more and more to reach his goal - and he can’t do it while trying to balance so many different sides of his life.

Lewis really loves you, though - even if it might seem like he doesn’t, right now. His feelings are a mess but he has no doubt that you were the one for him. The one that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, sharing his dream of having kids with you, of growing older together, keeping you safe and sound by his side through the years. But he simply can’t focus on that anymore - at least not for now. 

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want things to go this way, but I can’t do this anymore. This is the end of us” - he sends, immediately turning off his phone so he won’t read your messages, falling into the temptation of answering your calls. 

He is acting like a dick, yes. He is a coward, absolutely. You didn’t deserve any of this, and Lewis knows it. He hates to admit it, but he just doesn’t have the courage in himself to break your heart in person. He doesn’t have the strength to let the words leave his mouth, to watch your face fall while he destroys you emotionally, pulling the rug from under your feet, admiring your fall into a dark hole, surrounded by your own old ghosts - welcoming the new ones that he just created with his actions.

You are left speechless, your mouth agape while you read his text over and over again. No matter how many times you try to text Lewis, call him, try to talk to him about all this - in need to understand what happened, what triggered this reaction in him. He never replied, he never picked up. 

Leaving you alone to pick up all the pieces that he broke inside of you, silence is the only thing stringing you two along. All the questions are loud in your mind, making you hold your breath until the thoughts quiet down. Wondering what’s the point of trying anymore, of waking up everyday to a tear stained pillow, to an aching heart, stealing all the will you had to live. 

You’re not just sad. You are disappointed, devastated, wrecked. Everyday you read that message, everyday you try to call his phone, only to no avail. He doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore - and you don’t know why. “Maybe you’re just not good enough for him anymore, maybe he met someone else, someone who gives him things that you could never give. Or maybe, he got bored and you’re just not what he wants anymore” - your brain tells you. 

It’s a never ending train of self-destructive thoughts, leading you to tear down your own walls, your skin, your feelings - blaming yourself and your actions for what happened, being unable to accept what happened. 

Maybe you should have insisted more during those two months that he locked himself inside his house. Maybe you should have showed up more, maybe you should have pushed him to open up, maybe you should have made a bigger effort to help him more. Instead, you gave him space, time, distance. You let him slip through your fingers.

But Lewis knows that there was nothing that you could do to prevent this. Since that night in Abu Dhabi, he could feel it inside of him - the rollercoaster ready to fall off the abyss, destroying everyone around him. And that’s what happened: he finally crashed, breaking you and everything you represented for him. 

Cutting your thread loose, leaving you holding on to nothing, he still thinks about you everyday. He misses you, and he blames himself for all the suffering that he knows that you are going through. This situation kills him as well - fuck, he still loves you. He shouldn’t have to choose between you or his job. He shouldn’t have to cut off such an important part of his life to give his all to the sport. He shouldn’t have to die to feel alive. 

He still wishes he could pick up your calls, some tears leaving his eyes whenever he opens your conversations, reading all the messages you still leave him. All the questions you pour into your texts, the way you beg him to talk to you. He desperately wishes he was able to do it, but he can't. He is the only person holding himself back from talking to you, but in his mind, he needs to keep strong, he has to resist the urge to see you. 

He will try his best to let you go, for good. He will try to forget you and every single detail that he knows about you. He is determined to forget about everything that reminds him of you. But until he is able to do all that, he is still going to continue loving you. Lewis is going to love you until he doesn’t feel it anymore. 

Your love for Lewis was replaced by a cold ice stone, placed above your heart to freeze your feelings for him. The lack of sleep, the lack of self care that you endure on yourself is enough to make you seem unrecognizable to everyone around you. The dark bags under your swollen eyes, the sadness painting your lids, the way tiredness spreads through your body, making it impossible for you to show the most minimal reaction to anything that is happening around you. 

You’re sure of one thing: after this, you don’t want anything to do with love anymore. And while you try to recover from the biggest heartbreak you have ever been through, you decide to keep the lowest of profiles, not daring to pass near Lewis’ house anymore, not walking inside the same spots that you know that he often goes to. Trying your best for neither him nor his close ones to ever land their eyes on you ever again.

Lewis thought he would be alright, though. He firmly believed that he would overcome this situation after some weeks, and that his focus on the season would be enough. 

Turns out it’s not. Lewis never predicted that this season would be equally hard on him - from uncountable problems with his car, to struggles related to different points of view when it comes to strategies within the team, the waves of miscommunication washing over Mercedes, making everything so much harder for Lewis. 

If last season he already had his hands on the championship, this year he isn’t even close to getting a glimpse of it. And he doesn’t know how to deal with it, he can’t understand and accept the anger and frustration growing in his chest, the sensation of failure surrounding his brain making it impossible for him to keep a clear mind. 

The truth is: he isn’t used to doing all this alone anymore. It’s been months since the last text he sent you, but the more he struggles, the more he thinks of you. Having to go through such difficult times during the season without having you by his side is destroying him. 

You were his biggest support. You were the one who would put up with him through the good and the bad. You would hear his complaints, deal with his moodiness - and God knows how hard it is to deal with a moody Lewis. You would cheer him up, being the only one who had the power to put a smile on his face when he was feeling down. You would hold him, caress his skin softly while he hugged you, nestling his body closer to yours, in such need of your affection - and you would never say no to his pleas of help. 

Lewis can’t, for the life of him, forget you. He can’t let you go, no matter how tough he might act - he is still struggling and suffering from the choice he made. Some tears run down his features every night when he lays down, the bed feeling way too cold without your body next to his. His skin misses the goosebumps that your giggles would make erupt, his eyes miss all the times that he would spend analyzing all your details, he misses holding you close, pouring all the love from his heart into you. He misses you terribly, and he can’t stop denying: none of this makes sense without you by his side. 

He knows that he shouldn’t, but he decides to reach out to you, trying his luck - even after knowing damn well that he ripped your heart apart, that he acted like a total douchebag to you. But he is hoping that you will give him one last chance, he needs to make everything right again. 

“Hey, Y/N… I know that I am probably the last person on earth that you want to talk to now, but I would like to know how you’ve been?” - sent at 10:32 pm. read at 10:32 pm.

The way you almost immediately opened his message as soon as Lewis pressed “send”, made his eyes widen. He waits a few minutes, hoping to get a reply back from you, but nothing reaches his end. Not even the three dots on the corner of the screen threaten him to get an answer, because they never appear.

A sigh escapes his lips, leaving the texting to try and actually call your number now. You didn’t answer the call, and Lewis let it ring until it reached your voicemail. 

His fingers move to type again. “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t the way to make up for all the shit I’ve done. But I genuinely want to talk to you, so I can explain everything that happened and why I acted like a dick to you” sent at 10:37 pm. read at 10:38 pm.

Still no sight of a possible response from you, so Lewis decides to just open the game now. You might not reply to him, but as long as you keep reading his messages, he has an opportunity to actually explain his side to you. So he doesn’t give up.

“I was dumb, very dumb. I thought I wasn’t capable of reconciling our relationship with my career, and I thought that putting an end to what we had was the right decision. Please, I hope you don’t think that I had found someone else, or that I’ve been with other girls since I left you. I haven’t. In fact, I’ve been alone, trying to deal with everything on my own. And the truth is, everything is getting too much. I don’t even feel real anymore. And you might not believe me right now, but as much as I try, I can’t forget you, baby. Fuck, I miss you so, so fucking much. I can’t do any of this without you by my side anymore. I miss your touch, I miss your scent, I miss your laughs. I just want to see you again, I want to make it right again. Please, just give me a chance. Whenever you are ready, please. Just reply to my messages or call me back, no matter the day or the time. I would blow all my plans to have the chance to talk to you again.” sent at 10:43 pm. read at 10:45 pm.

The silence he gets from your side lets him know that you really don’t want to talk to him. But you’re still reading his messages, you haven’t blocked his number yet, so maybe there’s still some hope.

“I’m racing at home, next week. You know how special Silverstone is for me, so if you’re willing to give me another chance, please show up. I’ll save you your favorite seat, hoping that the love of my life might come out to enlighten my senses again. Please, I need you so badly, baby. This doesn’t make sense without you. I love you, and please believe me when I tell you this: I never stopped loving you” sent at 10:52 pm. read at 10:55 pm.

You weren’t expecting to see Lewis’ name popping on your screen, one text after the other. Four months have passed by since he broke your heart, since that fateful night when he left you through a text, not even having the nerve to reply to your calls anymore. 

Tears paint your features while you curl your body in between the sheets of your bed, feeling all the pain coming back after reading all his words. It hurts to know why he broke up with you, it hurts to realize that he isn’t doing well either, but you are too shattered to bring yourself to talk to him again. You miss him like crazy, you would do anything to see him again, to touch him, to kiss him again - but you could never forgive him for all the things that he put you through. You’re unable to forget the immense pain that he caused to erupt in your life. 

You wish you could give him a piece of your mind, though. You wish you could let him realize how he doesn’t know how to step outside himself. And how it really isn’t your fault that he can’t deal with his problems like an adult. 

At the same time, you know that you would give in immediately. Looking into his chocolate eyes, you would confess to him about how you would give him all of you. How you would save your soul just for him, so he could be the only one able to navigate through you. 

But you decide to give him the exact same response that he gave you when you were crying your eyes out, your soul hurting as you sobbed at the loss of him without an explanation: silence.

When the weekend arrives, Lewis can’t help but feel ecstatic with anxiety at the possibility of you showing up. His eyes scan through all the seats, smiling softly as he sees his family and his close friends right above his garage, cheering him on. 

His heart grows at the sight, but he can’t help but frown when he realizes that you’re not there yet. But maybe you’ll arrive later. Or maybe you are only showing up on Sunday to watch the actual race. So Lewis decides to patiently wait until you decide to show yourself.

He waits the entire weekend. But he can’t help himself when his fingers are typing on your chat again. “Hey, today was practice day. I know you didn’t come here, but I hope you’ll change your mind and still show up. I am praying to see you. I will wait until Sunday, but even after that, I will wait the rest of my life for you, if I have to” sent at 9:53 pm. read at 10:11 pm.

“Just please, be honest with me. I know I shouldn’t be asking you this, since I wasn’t honest to you. But if you don’t plan on showing up, just tell me. Because I keep feeding myself off of the illusion that I’ll see you anytime now, and your absence is killing me. Please” sent at 10:15 pm. read at 10:27 pm.

All of the sudden, the three dots show up on your corner of the conversation, making Lewis’ heart race, sensing how his hands feel shaky as he sees the dots moving on his screen - anticipating a reply for you. 

You almost gave in. You almost reply, but after a while of you writing something to send him, you decide to delete your message, leaving him to deal with the deafening silence once again. Your action breaks his heart a little more, putting his phone to the side, realizing that there’s no point in insisting any more. 

At the end of qualification, Lewis leaves his car, celebrating his P2 with his family, a half smile showing up on his face while he looks around, his eyes wandering through the seats, the space around him - but still, nothing. 

“She didn’t even show up for like, only a bit? And then left?” - he asks his father, only to notice his apologetic look while he shakes his head at his son’s question. Lewis sighs, all the regret of his own actions pooling through his blood now, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth as he notes how his dad’s answer bothers him so much. The fact that you’re not there bothers him, hurts him. 

And with your seat being empty for the whole weekend, Lewis’ victory at his home track doesn’t feel the same. He is happy to win, yes. He is happy to celebrate with his family, yes. But his family is incomplete, because you’re not there. You are the only one that he was truly hoping to have by his side today, to celebrate this special day with. You are the reason for everything he does, but the void that you left in him, makes it all worthless now. 

Holding the trophy doesn’t feel the same if he is not hugging you close when he steps out off the podium. And while the national anthem is playing, he can’t help but let some tears show while he looks at his close ones, wishing you could just show up out of nowhere, like a magic trick, bringing you back into his life.

Lewis can’t be happy without you, his life isn’t the same without you - it’s not as bright, as bubbly. And while he holds the trophy close to his chest, he notices how cold he feels. In this moment, in front of thousands of people that are here to see him, to celebrate his victory, he realizes that when you get what you wished for, you might not want it anymore. 

And he would give up all his career, all his trophies, to just have the mere chance to look you in the eyes again. Because physically, we inhabit a space, but sentimentally, we are inhabited by a memory - and the memory of everything you and Lewis had will forever haunt him, constantly reminding him that he lost the love of his life, forever. 

[midnightshindig]

May we have rex splode pining for an oblivious hero/coworker reader? Don’t forgot to drink some water today! ❤️

Rex X Oblivious!Reader

(I’m like snarling and cackling at my request inbox oooo you bitches are NAWT ready for what I have cooking)

(also thank you, I drank my friends entire water bottle over a single lunch in so hydrated 💪)

Drabble below the cut!

Rex isn’t subtle, literally walked right up to you the first day of your new job as a Guardian of the Globe and asked if you wanted to “see my room?”

”Yeah, sure!!” You were bright and affable, look at you already making friends!

Rex is a little surprised at how willing you are, but Amanda clocks your naïveté and tags along.

she hangs off your arm “Yknow, I’ve never seen your room either, Rex!”

Rex is like Amanda why are you cockblocking me wtf

Amanda knows something he doesnt

You have no idea he’s flirting with you.

This sort of thing keeps happening, with Rex directly propositioning you and you accepting, thinking he means something else, and a teammate noticing and coming to your rescue

This comes to a head when fucking SHAPESMITH is stepping in on your behalf

”Hey Y/n, think you’re tall enough to ride this ride?” He smirks down at you, leaning an arm against the wall in front of you

You beam up at him with a tilted head “Why don’t we find out?” Assuming he’s going to give you a piggy back ride or something

Shapesmith over here like “Yknow *I* rode a mechanical bull for the first time the other day.” Interrupting ass

He can’t take it anymore.

“SHAPESMITH, fuck. Off.”

He just grabs your hand and pulls you away, somewhere every superhero in the building isn’t trying to sabatoge him.

Honestly, getting cockblocked so many times means he’s actually spent a good deal of time with you

Enough to know that you’re overtly oblivious but also like, cool and fun or wtv

he has a crush on you

oh my god! He facepalms internally

hes an adult man with a teenage boy crush on you holy shit

so now you’re alone with him in his room, with the door locked so nobody busts down the door, and he’s trying his best not to scare the shit out of you

you don’t even think to be scared, this is Rex we’re talking about, he’s a good guy

in your opinion, at least ^^ - so now he’s like “He Y/n, I know we’ve been hanging out a lot lately, but like I really like you and I think you’re the dopest mofo on this team”

you just nod and smile, blinking plainly

”And what I mean by that is that I REALLY like you, like a lot.”

”Awww I like you too, Rex!”

His eye twitches, he’s not sure how to get through to you

“No like- I like-like you!”

this is what he’s been reduced to. Schoolgirl confessions. At nineteen. Fuck him.

He throws caution to the wall and grabs your hands, encasing them in his own and looking intensely into your eyes

it would be romantic if he didn’t look so damn frustrated

”I want to kiss you and take you on dates because you’re super nice and hot as hell!”

oh?

OH!

Your eyes widen and your entire face goes red

”Oh- that’s so sudden!”

he could die.

”Of course I’ll go out with you!”

and the kickef

”I’ve had a huge thing for you since my first day, I’ve been trying to get some alone time but everyone else always interrupts us!” You pouted, folding your arms before playfully winking at him.

for his trouble, you give him a kiss of the cheek before standing up and straightening your shirt

”How’s tomorrow?”

He just looks at you in shock

”Tomorrow’s good. Uh, yeah…. Tomorrows good.”

”Cool!” And with that you’re out the door, skipping off to go gab about your date plans with Amanda and Rudy.

and he’s left on his bed like

”What a person….” fucking dizzy heart eye smile goofy ass

hes So excited

(sorry this high key plays out like a looney toons episode <3)

[puckinghischier]

Meet the Parents

Jack Hughes x fem!reader

summary: reader is nervous to meet jack’s parents

notes: got the itch to write again, and this request has been sitting in my inbox for awhile. this was very fun to write, and i’m learning i absolutely LOVE writing jack! the ending is kinda weird bc i didn’t really know how to end it, but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless! happy reading!! 🫶🏼

request: jack bringing his gf to meet the rest of his family and they all quickly adore her, but can tell she’s really important to jack and he really just loves her but she is also super close to Luke and that makes ellen very happy!! just something sweet have fun!!!

[4.2k]

“Darling, chill out. Everything’s going to be fine. I’m telling you, they already love you,” Jack brings a hand over to calm your bouncing knee.

You worry that Jack made a reservation at the wrong restaurant, seeing as the two of you have been sitting in the half circle booth for fifteen minutes already, and there’s no trace of the rest of the Hughes clan to be seen.

Jack’s parents had flown into Jersey yesterday, wanting to be there when the Devils play the Canucks tomorrow so they can see all of their children on the same ice once again.

Quinn and Luke were joining you for dinner tonight, too, but you had no fears about either of them being in attendance. If anything, the fact that both of them will be here calms your nerves a little more.

Luke was actually the reason you had met Jack in the first place. The small café you worked at being one of Luke’s favorite spots to come and decompress after practice or before big games. He would come in and sit at the same table in the back of the small dining room, ordering an iced green tea and a grilled ham and swiss every time.

You went to take your break one day, going to sit at your favorite secluded corner booth, only to find the space already taken by none other than your curly-headed regular.

He offered for you to sit, claiming his table had been taken when he came in, but he was about to take off anyways. You insisted he stayed and you share the booth, then spent your entire break chatting with the hockey player, as you had learned, and a friendship was quickly formed.

He started sitting in your booth instead of his table, causing you to spend most of your breaks talking to your new friend. The conversations during breaks and between rushes became him inviting you to games and outings with his teammates.

He had introduced you to Jack the first time you agreed to meet up with him at a sports bar down the road after a shift, and you were instantly drawn to the middle Hughes brother.

The more games you went to and the more you made appearances during post-game celebrations, the closer you became to Jack, until the two of you made the jump from friends to dating.

Luke had admitted that he knew from that first time he sat with you on your break, you were perfect for his brother. He orchestrated the whole thing, from inviting you out to bringing Jack along to a few of his ‘zen’ lunches before games after your first introduction to his older brother.

You were thankful Luke had decided to play matchmaker for his brother all those months ago. You couldn’t imagine your life without Jack in it, now. You had found your person, and gained two brothers out of it at the same time.

And even though you had been with Jack for quite some time, the opportunity to meet his parents had never presented until now. You had met Quinn only two months into your relationship, taking a trip to Vancouver with the two devils players to celebrate Quinn’s becoming captain of the Canucks.

Jim and Ellen hadn’t been able to make it then, flying out a few weeks after the three of you made your visit. Jack and Luke had invited you to spend the week with their family at their lake house this summer, but it was the same week you had flown home for your grandfather’s birthday party.

There were a couple more missed opportunities between now and then, but now is the time that you’re faced with the infamous task of meeting the parents.

You keep trying to tell yourself that they can’t be that scary, considering how quickly you were accepted by all three children they raised. But that seed of doubt keeps digging its roots in your mind, causing you to become a ball of anxious energy all day.

You had shown up and proceeded to clean Jack’s entire apartment at seven o’clock this morning, after cleaning yours last night, because you couldn’t sleep. You color-coded his t-shirts in his closet and re-organized all of Luke’s drawers in his room. Luke had joked that they should take you to a family reunion and maybe you’d start detailing their cars, next. The comment earned him a swift smack to the head from Jack.

Your boyfriend, on the other hand, begged you to stop, and take a breather with him. He took you to a salon to get your nails re-done, the scrubbing you did to your shower last night ruining your current manicure. He also took you to the local animal shelter, remembering how you babbled about a statistic stating that petting a cat for ten minutes can reduce a person’s stress by 50%.

He brought you back to his apartment with plenty of time to get ready, and sat in the bathroom with you the entire time you showered so he could listen to you list your worries about this evening and reassure you everything would be fine. He claimed he wanted to learn and help when you sat down in front of the vanity he had bought and placed in his room for you, eager to help you apply the various creams and powders to your face. He tried to curl a few strands of your hair for you, causing you to break into a fit of giggles when he got the iron so tangled in your hair it stayed without either of you holding on to it.

His actions did ease your anxiety, being so focused on Jack and your love for him to leave any room for the familiar bubble of nervousness in your belly. But the second you stepped foot in the restaurant, it all became real again.

“Jack, are you sure this is the right place? Why aren’t they here yet? Do you think they forgot?” you place your hand on top of the one he just placed on your knee, looking over at him with wide, worried eyes.

“Yes, this is the right place. They’re just running a bit behind. Dad isn’t always the best judge of traffic. He thinks he can beat the GPS every time,” he chuckles, leaning in to place a kiss to your temple.

You close your eyes and lean into his kiss, allowing yourself to get lost in Jack and the comfort he never fails to bring you.

He removes his lips from your temple, lowering his head slightly to speak quietly into your ear.

“I promise, you have nothing to worry about. Mom is so excited to meet you, and Dad always asks about how your classes are going when I talk to him on the phone,” he starts, rubbing his hand up and down your thigh. “Plus, if for some reason they decide they don’t like you, which is literally impossible, by the way, it’s not going to change the way I feel about you.”

He places a kiss to your cheek, your eyes still closed listening to his words. You let out a breath you had been holding, letting yourself fully sag into his side. He starts to speak softly once more as you lay your head fully on his shoulder.

“They will never change how much I love you, Y/N. You’re it for me. I’ll live the rest of my life in familial exile if I have to. You’re the only thing that matters to me, understand?”

“Now, don’t be so dramatic, Jack, I’m a catch. Surely if I can survive all the puck bunnies I can survive your mom and dad,” you joke, his words giving you a small boost of confidence. “Plus, they raised you, how scary can they really be?”

You lift your head off of his shoulder and pinch his cheek, poking fun at the fact the internet claims Jack isn’t very threatening.

“Heyyy,” he draws the word out, feigning offense. “I can be scary. I am a big scary hockey player after all,” he pouts bringing his forehead to rest against yours.

You bring your hand up to pat his cheek. “Yeah, sure, keep telling yourself that, pretty boy.”

You giggle as Jack growls at you and brings his hands to tickle your sides, causing you to yelp and try to squirm away from him in the large booth.

Neither of you notice the hostess escorting the rest of the Hughes family towards your booth.

“Alright, get a room you two, geez. And don’t make it mine this time,” you hear Luke’s voice ring out, referencing the time Jack’s sheets were being washed so the two of you decided to nap in Luke’s room.

You snap to attention, separating yourself from Jack fully.

You look up to see his entire family standing there, looking at you. Jack rolls his eyes at his brother, quickly scooting out of the booth to greet his parents.

“We take a nap in your room one time and you never let us forget it. We even slept on top of your comforter, for crying out loud!” Jack ruffles Luke’s curls as he walks past him.

You wiggle your way out of the booth to greet his family, taking a few deep breaths for good measure.

You find yourself in front of Quinn first, walking into his open arms for one of your favorite Quinn bear hugs.

“How are you, squirt?” he asks, squeezing you tight.

“Quinnifer, I’m only two years younger than you,” you squeeze him back, hearing him chuckle at your own nickname for the defenseman.  

“Yeah, so you’re forever and affectionately known as squirt,” he says matter of factly, pulling back from the hug but keeping his hands on your upper arms as you roll your eyes at him.

“So, you doing okay? Any meltdowns yet? Jack told me you were nervous,” Quinn questions you, ducking slightly so he can look into your eyes.

“Well, Jack’s t-shirts are color coded and Luke’s drawers are now sorted in order of how he gets dressed, so if that’s what you call okay, then yeah, I’m doing great,” you reveal, giving Quinn a sheepish smile.

“I thought Jack said you were nervous? Sounds like a typical Thursday night for you,” he teases back, letting his hands drop.

“Ha-Ha, very funny, Quinnifer,” you deadpan.

Quinn laughs at you. “Seriously, you have nothing to worry about. I don’t know if Jack told you already, but they ask about you all the time. I think Mom’s over the moon that Rowdy finally has someone to keep him in check. They love you already.” Quinn tells you with the most sincerity you’ve ever heard from him.

You reach out and squeeze his shoulder, a silent thank you for the reassurance.

“Yeah, I think Mom’s already got the wedding colors picked out,” Luke approaches the two of you.

“Shut up, Moose. You’re just mad Jack snagged her when you were too dumb to,” Quinn elbows Luke in the ribs as he stands next to his oldest brother.

“Quinn, that’s literally the most disgusting thing you’ve ever said to me,” Luke hunches over, rubbing his abdomen.

“Gee, thanks Luke. Glad to know how repulsive you think I am,” you throw your arms up slightly, playfully scoffing.

“Don’t get me wrong, Y/N, you’re a catch and all, but my God, that’s like someone telling me I should make a move on my sister,” Luke makes a gagging noise, emphasizing his point.

“Don’t worry, Lukey, I feel the same way about it. You’re the annoying little brother I never wanted and didn’t have…until now,” you dig back, earning your own eye roll from the tallest Hughes.

You look over to see Jack conversing with his parents when he catches your eye, waving you over.

“Well, here goes nothing, I guess,” you whisper out before walking the few feet to your left where Jack stands with his parents.

You walk into the open arm Jack has held out for you, his arm slipping around your waist, his thumb lightly rubbing up and down to let you know he’s right there with you.

“Mom, Dad, this is Y/N,” Jack introduces you as you place your own hand over his on your waist, grounding yourself to him.

You’re so focused on trying to smile without looking like you’re in pain that you don’t see the look Jack gives you.

Ellen, however, does. Jack told her how nervous you were for tonight, begging her to not ask you too many questions and to let you do the talking, no matter how well intended her questions are.

She sees the way her son looks at you, never having seen such an expression of love on his face before. She notices how tightly you’re gripping his hand, and the slight motion of his thumb.

She knew she liked you before this moment, Jack’s constant talking about you making her feel like she’s already met you before. But witnessing your moment with Jack before the two of you were aware they had arrived, seeing how comfortable you are with her son, and how much joy was on his face every time he looked at you, was enough to sell her even further.

You reach your hand out for a handshake, trying to discreetly wipe your hand on the fabric of your dress.

“Hi, It’s so nice to finally meet you two. I’m so sorry we haven’t been able to meet before now. Jack’s told me so much about you,” you say to both of them, but reaching your hand out towards Ellen first.

Ellen takes your hand. “Oh, honey, we’re not a hand shaking family. You see how Quinn is, we’re huggers,” she pulls you forward, wrapping you in what you can only described as a motherly hug.

She squeezes you tightly before letting go, giving you a wide smile.

You turn to Jim, his arms already open and inviting.

You give him a quick hug, now knowing where Quinn gets his bear hugging tendencies from.

The six of you make your way into the large booth, you and Jack taking your spot in the middle of the booth with his parents sitting to his left and Quinn and Luke sitting to your right.

Jack’s hand makes its way to your leg immediately. Throughout the meal he’s never not touching you. Whether it’s his hand on your leg, his arm around your shoulders, or his hand resting in yours on the table, he always lets you know he’s right there with you.

Ellen and Jim ask you about your school work and what your plans are after you graduate. They ask you about your family and where you’re from, but they mostly let you set the pace of the conversation, which you’re thankful for.

The food comes and goes, and the anxiety you felt earlier melts away the longer you converse with the family.

Once the plates are cleared and dessert is ordered, the topic of hockey finally makes its way into the conversation of the night. You’re thankful, the spotlight finally being taken off of you for a few minutes.

“So, Quinny, hope you’re ready to get your ass beat tomorrow, because Luke and I won’t be taking it easy on you out there, Cap,” Jack changes the subject when there’s a lull in the discussion of how you ended up in New Jersey, giving you a squeeze and a quick wink, being able to tell you were getting a little talked out.

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect you to. Then it’d be too easy, considering we’re going to shut you out anyways,” Quinn teases back.

“I don’t know, Huggy, I think that C added a bit too much weight to your jersey, you’re looking slower and slower every time I see you. Or maybe it’s just that old age catching up with you,” Luke chimes in.

“I’m twenty-four you idiot. I’m still one of the youngest guys on my team,” Quinn rolls his eyes. You notice a lot of eye rolling among the three brothers when they’re together.

“I don’t know, I heard that twenty-four in hockey years is basically like you’re fifty in normal people years,” Jim adds, smirking over at Jack.

“Oh, yeah? So you’re saying you could out skate me if we were to get on the ice right now, huh, Dad?” Quinn challenges his father.

“Sure I could. Who do you think you got all of your talent from, hmm?”

All three of the boys respond in unison. “Mom.”

The table erupts in laughter.

“Alright boys, enough. Before you talk your father into doing something that could get him hurt,” Ellen speaks through the laughter, looking up at her husband while resting her head on his shoulder for just a moment.

You watch the two look at each other, seeing how much love they share.

You turn your head to look over at Jack, laughter still on his face. You can’t help but smile up at him. You love him with everything you have in you, and finally meeting his entire family just solidified that for you. Being able to spend time with the wonderful people that raised him makes you love him that much more. You look around the table at his two brothers, still laughing with each other. You hope that one day you can have this with Jack. A family with nothing but love to give each other.

As you’re picturing your future with Jack, he’s looking over at you, thinking about how lucky he is that Luke happened to stumble into your café on one of his first days in New Jersey. He thanks the universe for putting you in his path and for the fact that you, for some unknown reason, decided to love him out of all the people in this world.

Ellen once again observes the looks both you and Jack gave the other when the other wasn’t paying attention. She feels a warmth settling in her chest when she looks at the two of you. She can see how much you mean to Jack, and how much he means to you. She sees how well you get along with Luke and Quinn, both of them talking about you nearly as much as Jack does. You fit in so well with their family; your humor, kindness, and capacity to love her boys making her feel like you’re simply an addition to their dynamic that she didn’t know was missing until now.

Dessert comes and goes and the boys all argue over who’s paying for dinner until Jim sneaks his card to the waiter while they were too busy yelling at one another.

You all exit the booth and make your way to the sidewalk in front of the building, chit chatting a little more while walking to the parking garage before parting ways.

You’re walking with Quinn, Luke and Jim, listening to them bicker about tomorrow’s game. You notice Jack and Ellen fall behind, Ellen linking arms with her middle son as they walk.

“So, what do you think?” Jack asks his mom, watching you push Luke lightly, wondering what he said to make your head fall back in laughter.

“Jack, she’s great. But you already knew that. Not that you need it, but my approval was given the second you called and said you’d met someone,” Ellen responds, following his gaze, watching you pull Jack’s jacket tighter around your shoulders.

“God, I love her, Mom. More than I ever knew was possible,” Jack sighs out, letting his head fall onto the top of Ellen’s as they walk.

“I can see it, Jack. And I can see she loves you just as much,” Ellen starts, bringing her free hand up to pat Jack’s arm. “My only advice? Don’t let her go. She’s special, Jack. The way she gets along with your brothers, and the way they love her like she’s been part of this family for years, that’s rare.”

Ellen blinks back tears, just overwhelmed with happiness that Jack found someone that’s able to love him as much as she knows he deserves to be loved.

“I know, Mom. Trust me, I know. I don’t ever plan on letting her go. In fact,” Jack pauses, pulling back from his mom as you round the corner into the garage with his dad and brothers, “I bought this about two months ago. Not gonna give it to her just yet, but I couldn’t stand it any longer. Had to go ahead and buy her one,” he pulls out a small velvet box, popping it open and showing his mom the ring he picked out for you.

“Oh, Jack,” Ellen coos as she takes the box from his hand, looking at the princess cut diamond sitting on top of the gold band.

Her eyes fill with tears for the millionth time this evening when she looks up at Jack, finally letting them spill over. She keeps looking down at the ring and then back up at Jack while the tears stream down her cheeks.

Jack feels his own eyes sting at his mother’s reaction, knowing they’re happy tears.

“Jack, I’m so proud of you. And so happy for you,” Ellen sniffles through the tears. “She’s going to love it, honey. Just…let me know before you do it, yeah? And don’t forget her parents, you gotta let them know, too.” She wipes her eyes, closing the box and handing him back the ring.

“Already taken care of. Asked them when I bought it. Told me they’d love nothing more, but to just let them know when it’s happening. And to send them lots of pictures,” Jack chuckles, placing the box back in his pocket but not taking his hand off of it.

“Oh, yes, I want lots of pictures too. Don’t want to miss a second of the moment I finally get a girl!” Ellen exclaims, throwing her hands out in excitement.

“Don’t worry, I plan on flying everyone out when I do it. Know it’d mean the world to her to have everyone here to celebrate afterwards. Got it all planned out and everything,” Jack tells his mom, pulling her in for a hug.

Ellen squeezes him as hard as she can, letting every ounce of pride and love she has in her body flow into Jack through her hug.

“Oh, and just in case you get too far ahead and start planning the wedding before I propose,“ Jack breaks the silence, knowing how excited Ellen can get, “Luke already called dibs on being the flower girl.”

Ellen bursts into laughter so loud it alerts you and the rest of her family that they were no longer behind you.

You back track just a little to find Jack and Ellen walking towards you while hugging each other and laughing.

“Where’d you guys go? I thought you were right behind us?” you asked, noticing the puffy nature of Ellen’s eyes but choosing not to overstep and comment on it.

“Oh, honey, we were. And always will be. Right here behind you, whenever you need us,” Ellen says as Jack comes up beside you and tugs you into his side.

Her sentimental comment confuses you, but you catch Jack smiling down at you out of the corner of your eye, any confusion forgotten the second your eyes met his.

“Alright, I better catch up with the rest of my crew. You boys need your rest tonight, you have a big game tomorrow,” Ellen points at Jack.

She makes her way over to you, Jack letting go of you in order to let his mother pull you into a hug.

“Y/N, it was so lovely to finally meet you. I’ll see you at the game tomorrow, okay?” She pulls back, bringing her hands to rest on your cheeks. “Welcome to the family, dear,” she tells you, pulling you in for yet another hug.

She meets her son’s gaze behind you as she squeezes you, a knowing look shared between the two.

You squeezed her back, willing yourself not to cry as you digest the words you wish you could go back and tell yourself this morning, so you could let her know it would all be okay, and to leave Jack’s closet alone.

She finally pulls back, walking over and giving Jack a kiss on the cheek before giving the two of you a small wave before disappearing around the corner, following her husband and two other sons.

You turn to look at Jack, tears in your eyes.

“Does that mean she liked me? Or was she just being nice?” you ask him, wanting to make sure you really did make a good impression on his family.

“Darling, she meant it, trust me. You’re one of us now. Have been from the start, really. The only thing you’re missing is the last name,” he assures you, earning a laugh as you shake your head and grab his hand, leading him in the direction of his parked car.

He watches as you walk in front of him, feeling the weight of the ring box in his pocket, finding no humor in the idea of you officially becoming a Hughes, knowing that day is coming sooner rather than later.

[hangmanssunnies]

Heat To Boil

Summary: After a failed Tinder date, you go to hang out with your friend Jake "Hangman" Seresin. When you get to his house, you unexpectedly find him with a baby, and it is a sight that rewires something in your head. Jake needs a baby of his own. Right now — like yesterday, actually. And that is a task you would be more than willing to help with; now, you just need to find the courage to bring it up.

Pairings: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Word count: 9k

AO3 Link

Warnings: 18+ Only, Friends to lovers, baby fever, smut, P in V, Oral, Hangman with a baby (deserves its own warning)

Author's note: The attorneys at work keep bringing their babies in and letting me hold them, and @top-hhun has done absolutely nothing to discourage the subsequent baby fever I've been dealing with. Anyways, that's where this fic came from. I hope you enjoy this. My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are gold to me. I love reading through them.

You had become friends with Jake unexpectedly some years ago, hitting it off at your mutual friend's wedding. Part of you had, of course, hoped the attractive blonde aviator would be interested in you, maybe in a romantic sense, but it never came to fruition. He shipped out the week after the wedding, but the easy rapport you carried with him started with sharing jokes about how trashed other people got at the reception, and eventually developing into a true and close friendship. 

It was for the best because the more you got to know Jake, it became clear to you that he didn't want the same things that you did. He was focused on his career and didn't have time for a partner. When he did talk about settling down, it was never in an authentic way, more joking that he was waiting to swoop in if Coyote's marriage fell apart or that his Mama would set him up with a nice southern belle who wanted to give her twelve grandkids. Jake would claim he was too busy for a relationship, away from home too much to be steady. However, none of that seemed to stop him from finding time for you, which is probably why you hadn't been able to completely repress your feelings for him despite some valiant efforts. 

Just today, after a failed lunch date with someone from Tinder, you texted Jake disheartened. He hadn't hesitated first to ask if you were okay and then invited you over for dinner to tell him all about it. He had even promised to cook you whatever you wanted. A special treat guaranteed to make you feel better, considering Jake's superb culinary skills. 

You walk into Jake's house without knocking or ringing the bell, knowing he left the door unlocked in anticipation of your arrival. After securing the front door's lock into place, you toe off your shoes, making sure to set them neatly in line with the others there. Jake's home is clean and tidy, just like it always is; the organization of the entry is no exception. You know from the smells and sounds wafting towards you that he must still be cooking, which is odd because he's almost always done by the time you show up. 

Venturing further into the house you see him, standing in the kitchen, with a baby strapped to his chest. It's an unexpected sight, and you're frozen by it. Jake's in a casual white teeshirt, jeans, and a dark navy blue sling with a camo pattern wrapped tightly around him, securing a tiny infant in place against his broad chest. His hair is fluffy like it often is on his days off, and the golden strands fall across his forehead. Seeing it like this always creates an instinctual desire to run your fingers through it. However, you can hardly even process that thought because you're so distracted by the bundle on his chest. Music is playing on his record player, and he is humming along. 

Jake suddenly stops the humming, and the prep he is doing, looking down at the baby. After a pause, a smile pulls at the edges of his lips, his eyes crinkle before he drops a kiss on the infant's head. And it's like everything is right. Jake with a baby seems so natural. The fact that he exists any other way than with a baby in his arms every day feels wrong. Your heart starts beating harder in your chest, and a thought pops into your head, instantly taking deep root: Jake needs a baby of his own. Right now — like yesterday, actually. 

You don't know what sound you must have made, but Jake looks up and finally notices you standing in the hallway. He doesn't appear at all startled as a wide grin spreads across his face as he greets you, "Howdy there, Doll!"  

"You have a baby," you say stupidly in an entirely delayed response. 

"Yeah, this little guy is Jackson. Coyote and the Mrs wanted a date day, so I offered to watch the baby for them. They were supposed to be here two hours ago to pick him up, but I'm sure they just got caught up." Jake laughs and presses another kiss to Jackson's head. Before continuing on, "I hope you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind," you manage to breathe out, unable to tear your eyes off Jake or even pretend you're not staring. He quirks an eyebrow at you but otherwise doesn't comment. After he gestures for you to join him, he returns to the cutting board in front of him. You are transfixed; when you sit down at the bar in the kitchen, it occurs to you that you should probably say something and not just stare like an idiot. "Do you want me to take him?"

"I think he is just fine here," Jake says, examining the sleeping baby strapped to his chest again. Jackson has hardly moved since you showed up, clearly passed out, not disturbed by the music or any of the kitchen sounds. 

"At least let me help finish cooking then?" You request. 

"No, Ma'am. Bubba and I have this dinner taken care of. I did pick up that wine you like from the store. Maybe you can open it up for us?" 

Entering the kitchen, you pull out two wine glasses from a cabinet. Opening the fridge you see your preferred wine stocked, as well as a few of your other favorite drinks stored there. Warmth blooms in your chest that Jake picked up things for you when he was at the store last. It was touching that he would take care to buy something he would never touch but getting it anyway just to have beverages you prefer on hand. After pouring the wine, you set one glass next to Jake's cutting board, making sure it's in easy reach for him. 

"Thank you," he says appreciatively. You sigh and lean against him, pressing your face into the bicep of his arm, careful not to disturb Jackson or the sling as you do. Closing your eyes, you breathe him in, looking for the subtle cedar scent of his cologne to soothe you. However, only a hint of it tickles your nose, the cedar not as strong as it usually is. Today, Jake smells more like clean laundry and his natural musk than anything else. You are surprised to find it still does the trick in helping settle your nerves, though. Jake hums but doesn't protest your closeness, instead asking, "Long day?" 

You don't answer with words, just humming noncommittally against his arm. You leave your face pressed there for a moment longer. "Not enough wine to talk about it yet," you eventually say into his arm before pulling away. Settling on the other side of the counter again, you take a long drink of the wine you poured. Deciding to admire Jake again, you ask, "How was your day?"

"It was pretty good. Javy dropped Jackson off this morning. We had tummy time, went on a walk, and to the grocery store to get things for dinner. Then we got a little cranky, so we rocked in the lazy boy for a while." You took a moment to picture Jake doing these activities and can't decide which is most swoon worthy. Jake is always swoon worthy, of course, but knowing that he was caring for a baby while doing it feels like an extra kick to the stomach or maybe ovaries. 

"And?" You ask him, taking another drink of your wine and pillowing your face on your palm. 

"And what?" Jake asks. 

"What else did you and Jackson do today? I want to hear every detail." 

Jake gives into your request easily. Starting his description of the day over, he tells you how even though he has babysat before, the Machados were still anxious to leave Jackson alone here when they dropped him off that morning. Jake told you about tummy time, which toys they liked and which were uninteresting. How long their walk was, and what they saw. He told you about the old woman who fawned over them in the store and how they helped her with getting her groceries to the car. It was endearing that Jake used the first person plural 'we' as if he and Jackson were a team with equal agency in their day's activities. It was especially cute when Jake told you about the tantrum they had thrown earlier in the afternoon as if he had been crying right along with his godson. 

Just as dinner was finished and you were setting the table, Jackson woke up and started to get fussy. Jake cooed to the baby affectionately, leaving to the guest room, where Javy had stuffed almost a car full of supplies for Jake to watch Jackson. Some of the just-in-case supplies included toys and clothes Jackson wouldn't even be able to use until he was at least a year old.  

When Jake comes back, both he and Jackson are wearing different clothes. Jake is in a soft green shirt and sweats, while Jackson is now wearing a giraffe onesie. He has the baby propped on his hip and doesn't offer you any explanation aside from that they had an accident. Then he sees that you have plated and set everything for dinner at the dining room table, and he offers a soft thank you. 

You watch as he balances Jackson on his hip and starts following the written out directions for making a bottle that's taped to his fridge. Jake isn't someone who struggles, and you know that this is something that he is fully capable of doing, but you also can't help but think that it would be easier for him if he had two free hands. So, you gently pull Jackson from his arms and into your own instead. 

The baby blinks up at you, his eyes still soft and sleepy. He babbles a bit of nonsense but otherwise makes no protest at you. Jackson has the same brown eyes and skin tone as his father. Even with his chubby cheeks, you can tell that the little boy is going to be Coyote's mini-me. The similarities in their appearance are so close it's like the universe had just hit copy and paste. 

He is so cute you can't stop the grin that stretches across your lips when Jackson snuggles into you. One of his hands starts grabbing at your shirt's fabric while he absently gnaws at his other one. The little boy completely steals your attention as you walk around the living room and dining room with him. Asking him how he feels about his day with his Uncle Jake, pausing for his babbling like they were real answers. Jake comes up behind you several minutes later, setting a steady hand on the small of your back.

 "Here, let me take him," Jake mutters practically in your ear while reaching for Jackson. 

"No," you protest, turning away from Jake's reach. "You've had him all day. I've only gotten to hold him for a few minutes." 

"Now, darling," Jake drawls. 

"Don't darling me."

"Doll," He says 

"Don't Doll me either." You snap, though the aggression of it is completely manufactured. 

"Fine, fine," Jake says, holding his hands up. "You can have him for a few more minutes, but then it's my turn again."  

"How is that fair?" 

"It's fair because he is my godson." 

You pout at Jake, and he pouts back." I can't believe you're going to be a baby hog like this. Don't you know sharing is caring?" 

"Jackson isn't a rental car, sweetheart. Can't just hand him out to anybody."

"So what? You don't trust me with him?" 

"No," Jake says, suddenly dropping all of his dry, teasing tone. "Of course, I trust you with him. Of course, I trust you."

Jake steps closer when he says this, crowding a bit into your personal space. His sea glass green eyes hold you in place, and you don't think you imagine that they flick downwards, that he has his sights set on your lips, that Jake could be considering kissing you. However, a breath later, he is swooping Jackson out of your arms and into his own, quickly back peddling. 

"You can have the baby back after I feed him, okay? I don't want to risk him throwing up on that pretty blouse you've got on." 

"Kidnaper! Baby Snatcher!" You half gasp, half yell, and start to chase after Jake as he runs away, holding Jackson close and carefully but still managing to evade you.  

You're both laughing, and Jackson has started joyfully screeching as well when the doorbell rings, startling all three of you. Jake hands Jackson to you wordlessly before going to check who's at the door. It only takes a minute for him to come back with Coyote in tow. Who immediately rushes to sweep his baby from your arms and press kisses all over his cherub face. 

After Javy examined his son to ensure nothing was out of sorts, he handed Jackson back to you to hold while he and Jake packed up all of his stuff and moved the car seat. This was only after he made a sly comment about how good you looked with a baby in your arms, though. 

When you are alone with Jackson again, you take a moment to admire yourself in the mirror hanging on the wall. It wasn't such a hard thing for you to imagine holding a baby, and it looking normal, like something right, especially when you start to picture one with Jake's features or one that would take more after you, possibly even some sweet mix. The feeling of casual want that started from seeing Jake when you first arrived suddenly twists into an unexpected ache and intense need. 

You expect it to let up, but it doesn't. Rather, the feeling smolders in you, burning hotter and hotter until it feels slightly consuming. Seeing Jake hug and kiss Jackson goodbye, promising they would spend another day together soon, nearly does you in. Heating your feelings from a low simmer to a roaring boil. 

When you and Jake finally sit down to actually have dinner, it gets a little hotter with every sip of wine you take. Every time that Jake smiles and his eyes crinkle around the edges, the way he asks about your failed date with the perfect mix of sympathy and care, even the way he reheated dinner, all adds to the fire. As Jake is starting to put away the leftovers from dinner, refusing to let you help, you can't keep it in anymore, and you boil over. 

"Jackson was so precious," you say, casually swirling the bit of drink you have left around in the glass.  

"Little mans is so fun. I love him. It's always a treat to babysit," 

"You were really great with him today." 

"Aw, thanks Doll. Now, what do you want to do with the rest of the night? Play a game, watch a movie? We can do anything you want."

"Anything I want?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jake says easily as he pops the lids of his pyrex container into place.  

"I want a baby." You say in a quick breath. You nearly slap your hand over your mouth in horror that had just jumped out of your mouth. You really haven't had enough wine to be this bold, but then again, maybe you were a little intoxicated on having seen Jake be so domestic. 

"What?" he asks with a laugh, probably thinking he misheard you. You grip the edge of the cool countertop trying to steady your nerves and prevent your hands from shaking. 

"Jake, I want a baby," you tell him more slowly, making sure each word comes out clearly. 

"No, you don't," he laughs, shaking his head. He starts tossing dirty dishes into the sudsy water of the sink and stacking up the food containers to put in the fridge. Jake turns away from you before saying, "I thought you've said you didn't want kids."

"It's complicated," you explain softly. "Are people not allowed to change their minds about things anymore?" 

"Oh, so are you debating or like —"

"I don't really know how to say this more clearly. I want to have a baby with you, Jake." 

He freezes. You see his shoulders tense, and he stares into the fridge for a long moment, slowly finishing storing the leftovers. When he closes the fridge, he still doesn't look at you immediately. 

"You want me to be the father of a child you have? You want to have my baby?" Jake asks you incredulously. You gulp, now feeling entirely too vulnerable to speak, so you just nod in agreement instead. Jake's eyes are piercing, and his body language is tense as he stands in front of the sink again. He heaves a heavy sigh, his lips flattening into a tight line. Then he scrubs his hands over his face before narrowing his eyes at you, "This is not a very funny joke." 

"It's not a joke, Jake. I want a baby, and I know you would be a good father." When Jake's demeanor still doesn't change, you continue on hurriedly. "I think we could do the whole platonic coparent thing easily enough. We get along so well, and we're already such good friends." 

There is a long pause where he does not say anything, turning on the sink, waiting for the water to heat, and sudsing up a scrub daddy sponge. Only once this task is started does he answer you in a very stoic, perfectly level tone, "No, I don't think I can do that. I can't just sleep with you."

"Oh, well. I see. Forget that I asked, please." You mutter, embarrassed but trying to not let the sting of rejection affect your tone. You knew that this could backfire, but you didn't think it would feel this bad. Feel like the pit of your stomach falling so low you are almost nauseous. 

"I'm sorry, Dolly." 

"It's okay, Jake, really. It's just the wine getting to me."

"Are you going to ask someone else?" 

"What?" 

"Are you going to ask someone else to give you a baby?" Jake asks in a gruff tone. 

You wouldn't actually, you wouldn't want one without Jake. In fact, this urge to have a child came from seeing him. However, you didn't know how else to play off your out-of-pocket request than to commit to the bit. Nonchalantly, you say, "Maybe." 

"I could help you find someone," he offers. 

"Please, Jake. It's okay you said no. You don't have to try and fix my situation."

He practically ignores you, asking, "What about Rooster?"

"I'm sure that I would have fun with the process," you say. Jake, who has focused himself with dedication on the dishes, looks up at you sharply. He quickly looks away again as you continue, "I'd be worried about having a baby that's born with a full mustache, though. So, no, thank you." 

"I'm sure Fritz would be happy to help you out." 

"No —"

"Harvard—" 

"No Hangman. Stop," You say much harder with emphasis, cutting him off and leaving no room for argument. 

"I tell you no for one thing, and suddenly I'm Hangman to you?"

"No, you're Hangman when you disregard the people around you, no matter what they say. You're Hangman when you decide something's a mission objective, and you refuse to let it go. This isn't your problem to fix or one to pawn off on one of your friends." 

"You made it my problem when you just asked me to give you a baby," Jake says, frustrated. Roughly scrubbing the dishes, rinsing, and setting them in the drying rack. 

"Well, the moment you said no, it's not your problem anymore. I'm absolving you of responsibility. It's my problem, and I will find someone for myself to put up with me, at least for a night." You joke, trying to lighten the mood again, not wanting to ruin the whole night from this mishap. Jake doesn't react more than his face darkening significantly, a deep frown pulling at his lips as he rinses the last dish and closes the dishwasher. 

"Put up with you?" He asks, his eyebrows knitting together. Jake reaches for a dish towel to dry off his hands, and you're momentarily distracted by the thick fingers and web of veins tracing up his arm. It's a better sight than meeting Jake's intense eyes, those eyes that can stare you down and leave no room for you to hide. 

"I mean, I know I'm a lot, but I think even I can get someone to fuck me once or twice. If I want and am very lucky, I'll only need one night. There are also other options, of course, like sperm banks and adoption. Let's just let it go. Okay?" When you don't get an immediate response, you glance at Jake once more. He is staring at you, but it's not a look you like. He's looking at you like you are a problem to be fixed, a puzzle to solve, an item to take off his to-do list. So you force a chuckle out and smile.  

"I don't think I want to. Actually, I can't let this conversation go." 

"We have to," you insist. 

"Why?"

"Because Jakers, it doesn't have anywhere else to go. I expressed a stupid desire without thinking. It was awkward, and that's okay. It doesn't have to stay that way, though. Now we laugh and forget it. There is no other option." 

"A lot. Put up with. Stupid desires," Jake scoffs the words as he rounds the kitchen island. He spins the bar stool chair you're sitting on by the back, turning you to face him. Then he sets his hands on the marble countertop on either side of you, effectively boxing you in. Even sitting on the tall bar stool, you have to tilt your head a bit to look up at him. When your eyes meet again, the green isn't as soft or kind as you're expecting. "I don't like how you're talking about yourself right now." 

"I'm just being honest. I'm taxing to deal with; people get tired of me. My past relationships have certainly taught me that I'm only desirable under the right conditions. And I am stupid. I just ruined our whole night because I couldn't keep my mouth shut. What kind of normal person asks one of their best friends to fuck a baby into them unprompted?"

"Oh wow, I'm not even sure where to start with all that." Jake breathes. You can't take seeing his furrowed brow and disappointed frown. So instead, you examine his right arm that's stretched by you, mapping out the moles and freckles there. "You've developed a warped sense of the truth, Doll."  

It's your turn to scoff and roll your eyes. When you do, the arm you've been studying shifts, and Jake cups your cheek. Gently, he urges your face to turn back towards his, and a calloused thumb sweeps across your cheekbone. "Listen to me good now. The things you want and desire they ain't stupid, and neither are you. You're not too much. You're just enough."

"Thank you, Jake." You whisper. And while his words are kind, you don't really believe them.  

"Don't say thank you."

"What else am I supposed to say?"

"Say you believe me and mean it," Jake urges you. 

"I don't want to lie to you. That's not who we are, that's not our friendship," You say. Jake's hand drops from your cheek, and he steps back quickly as if he's been burned. After you had been so surrounded by him, you nearly reach out to urge him close again. Running a hand through his hair, you can tell he's resisting the urge to pace. 

"Is that our friendship, one built on honesty?" 

"I thought so." 

"Then I've failed you, and I've failed us because it's not." 

"Jake, what are you talking about?" You ask him, confused. He shakes his head at you and doesn't respond, instead backing away further until he is abandoning you in the kitchen. Swiftly, you stand to follow him, "Where are you going?" 

"I'm leaving." 

"And going where? This is your house," you remind him. You've caught up to him in the doorway of his bedroom, where he's grabbing a hat and his wallet. "I'm sorry I ruined tonight, and I'll leave. You have to be honest with me before I do, though. I have to know we're going to be okay tomorrow." 

"I can't," Jake says tersely, not meeting your eyes and attempting to sidestep you in the doorway. 

"I was wrongly under the impression there wasn't anything you couldn't do, Hangman. But I guess we are finding a lot of things you just can't do tonight, aren't we?" You aren't expecting the little lash out of a taunt to get you anywhere. Jake is normally always calm, cool, and collected, acting with decisive precision. However, nearly as soon as you've finished speaking, Jake's hands are on your arms, and he backs you up until you gently hit the wall of the hallway across from his door. 

"You're asking for more self-restraint than I have, Doll." He warns roughly. The sudden movement doesn't make you back down like he was probably expecting. Instead, the rush makes you feel emboldened. 

"I don't care. I can accept you don't want a baby with me, that you don't want to fuck me. I can accept that you want to force me to talk, but I can't accept you making me question our friendship." 

"Oh god. You really don't understand. My honesty is not going to make this better," he warns. 

"Yes, I do. Whatever it is, please tell me. I can think of many things you could be referring to, like that I'm not attractive to you. How I would make a terrible mother. Maybe I'm not a good friend. Or you don't actually like spending time with me. Whatever it is, you have to tell me. I've never thought you would lie to me. So, I need to know, or it's going to drive me crazy." 

"There you are, all twisted up again," Jake sighs. 

"And whose fault is that?" You snap back. Jake still has you pressed against the wall, so you set your hands on his broad chest with the intention of pushing him away. However, he doesn't budge; in fact, he does the opposite, coming even closer so he is flush against you. You refuse to tilt your chin to look up at him as he looms, rather only lifting your eyes in a cold stare. "I shouldn't be surprised that you're going to leave me hanging to dry, but you could at least —"

You don't get to finish the thought because a hand has snaked to hold the side of your neck, thumb tucking under your chin, turning your face upwards to Jake's waiting lips. The first brush of his lips on yours doesn't line up quite right, but that doesn't stop your breath from catching. Shifting to get a better angle, Jake applies two more feather light kisses. Your hands, which are still resting on his chest, creep up, and you loop them around his shoulders, using the leverage to lift higher on your toes and get closer to him. 

This prompts him to deepen his next kiss, lips moving harder against yours. When you open your mouth wider in invitation, Jake's tongue traces along your bottom lip but doesn't dive in. You whine when Jake pulls away to take a breath. 

"Forgive me, Doll, I should've asked first." 

"Asked what?" You wonder, not moving your eyes away from his lips and strategizing how to get them back on yours. You think if you could just get a little higher, you would be able to kiss him without Jake needing to bend down so much. 

"May I kiss you?" He asks. 

"Yes, please." You answer immediately. You tug your hold on his shoulders, hoping it will urge him to get right back to it. Jake doesn't, though. His hand shifts from your neck to cup your cheek again, his other leaving the wall to settle on your waist. 

"Can I touch you?"

"Yes, Jake." His hand traces up your side from your waist and back down again in what is a soothing motion. It's too soft and delicate for what you want right now, though, so you tug on his neck again, pressing your chest into his. He gives in this time, molding his lips to yours once more. 

When his tongue meets yours, a low rumble emulates from Jake's chest, and the sound sends a new wave of arousal coursing through you. Reaching up, you push off Jake's hat, not caring where it falls, only that it's no longer in your way. When you thread your fingers into his hair, it's smooth and silky, providing no resistance when you tug it. 

"Tell me what you want, Doll," Jake says when your lips part again. 

"You. I want you," you whimper, tugging his hair again. A wide grin breaks across Jake's face, and his eyes crinkle around the edges. He tucks his face into your neck, and you can still feel him smiling. 

"What else do you want?" He questions. When his lips brush a spot that makes you stretch your neck to give him easier access, he nips it lightly. You stumble, coming up with a response, just sighing his name as he finds another spot to bite. "Come on now, you said it so pretty earlier. Tell me again."

Once his request processes through your lust filled brain, you push on Jake's shoulders once more. This time, he doesn't resist, backing away from you and creating some space between your heated bodies. Sagging against the wall, you try to catch your breath while examining Jake. His hair is disheveled now, some of it falling across his forehead. 

"You said no, you don't want that with me. You don't want this with me," You answer, finally dropping your gaze to examine the grain of the hardwood floor near your feet. Confusion at this sudden turn in attitude from him settles over you as your head clears. One of Jake's hands enters your field of vision, turned upwards in an offering. "Come sit, we need to set some things straight." 

Taking Jake's hand, he curls his fingers with yours and gently tugs you back through the doorway of his room. With his direction, you perch on the edge of his four poster bed. Jake presses a kiss to the back of your hand and lets it go to settle on the accent chair that's in the corner. 

"We'll be honest, right?" You say hesitantly, already missing the feeling of Jake's hand in yours. 

"Yes. I'll be honest." Jake answers reassuringly before continuing, "From the beginning, I never wanted to be friends with you. 

"You didn't?" 

"Nope," he says, popping the p. "I never wanted to be friends, and then once we were friends, I was stuck. You didn't seem to want the same things as I did, and I'm not the kind of man to complain about the friend zone."

"I haven't friend you zoned you," you say, scandalized at the suggestion. 

"Just earlier tonight, you asked me to have a baby with you, platonically," Jake deadpans. 

"Because I can't conceptualize you wanting me any other way." 

"I want you. I've always wanted you, but not platonically, baby." 

Baby. Jake was a casual sweet name user, there was doll, sweetheart, honey, darling, those all were commonplace, but baby was new. Hearing it makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. He called you baby, and he has wanted you. You could have had him from the start if your fears and insecurities hadn't held you back. 

"I'm sorry," you whisper. 

"I don't want you to be sorry. I want you to need me, to love me," Jake explains with more hesitation than you've ever heard from him as if he is tip-toeing through this conversation. Worrying your fingers together, you have to take a calming breath to settle your own hesitation before answering him, "Well, that's easy because I do."  

A gleeful grin stretches across his face, and it's so bright you feel a matching one appear. He rubs a hand over his face, hiding it from view for a moment, and when you see his face again, he is still smiling. He looks as if he is trying to bite it back but can't quite manage. 

"Well, alright, a few more things we have to iron out then. I love spending time with you. You've never not been desirable to me." You can't help a disbelieving laugh when Jake says that, and the look he gives you is disapproving. "I mean that. I was thinking about it even the time I came over to bring you soup when you had the flu. Wanted to bundle you up and crawl into bed with you." 

"Oh, come on, that can't be true. I was so gross." 

"It is. I promised I would be honest, and I'm not going to be breaking any of the promises I make to you. Can you believe that?" 

You study his face, tracing over his nose, and jaw. He still has the hint of a grin that hasn't slid off his features yet, and he looks so very earnest. You can't imagine that Jake would be in the business of lying to you, and the openness he is offering makes it feel like you can believe him. That you can keep trusting him just like you always have. "I can believe that."

"Great. So, baby —" 

"Yes?" You say entirely too breathily before he can even finish the sentence. It was really a surprise how much hearing him say that already turned your brain to some form of liquid. 

"I want to sleep with you," Jake says plainly. 

"Then why are you all the way over there?" 

"I didn't want you to feel any sort of pressure while we were talking, and wasn't confident I could keep my hands to myself." 

Standing up from his bed, you walk steadily over to the chair Jake is sitting in. Crawling into his lap more confidently than you truly feel, his hands automatically slip around your waist, steading you against him. Holding eye contact with him, you say, "I don't want you to keep your hands to yourself." 

"Fuck, you're going to kill me," he sighs, tightening his hold on you. You go to kiss him again, but when you do, he blurts out, "I don't have any STDs or STIs." His cheeks stain a little pink, and he looks as surprised by the declaration as you are. 

"That's good to know. I'm clean too," you inform him. 

"Good to know. I just thought it was important to put it out there. Got to do safety checks first and everything. I don't want us to have any questions or be unsure about anything, and it's important to consider all the factors involved with —" Jake's rambling comes to a halt when you dip your face into his neck, kissing at the underside of his jaw softly. 

"Jake," you say, linking your arms around his neck and playing with the short hair there. "Will you give me a baby?" 

"Fuck, Doll. I promise to give you anything you want. The ring, the house, the baby. It's yours." 

You don't waste any time kissing him. When your lips meet, all the hesitancy and nervousness that Jake had while you were talking melts away. His mouth confidently teases yours open for his tongue to quickly follow. Your hands thread into Jake's hair again as his start to roam your back, sides, and arms. When you wiggle closer on his lap, he groans and grabbing a handful of your ass, lifting you up. Jake stands easily and walks you back to the bed. 

He doesn't drop you on the bed like you're expecting. Instead, he sets you down gently, one of his hands cradling the back of your head as he does. Laying on your back with Jake standing over you reminds you just how large and broad he is. 

With surprisingly little fanfare, he pulls off his shirt and tosses it to the side. Jake shirtless is not a new sight; in fact, it's a tantalizing one you've seen too often. He has every right to be proud of his body, you know how much time he dedicates at the gym. So it shouldn't be a surprise that, never one to be self conscious, Jake hardly could be found wearing a shirt if the situation didn't require it. However, you realize this is the first time that you don't just have to look but can also touch. 

Wanting to get the nervousness of undressing out of the way, you sit up, quickly discarding your shirt and tossing it aside. Before you can shimmy out of your bottoms, Jake's large hands are on your wrists, stopping you. 

"You're doing my job," he chastises huskily. Jake is slow and meticulous in removing your clothes, running his hands over all the skin that's exposed to him. When he pulls off your bra, leaving you only in your panties, he just sits back and stares for a moment. Such intense scrutiny from his gaze has you covering your chest, crossing your legs, and looking away. 

"I wasn't planning on sleeping with anyone tonight," you mutter, knowing that you don't have the sexiest underwear on and perhaps were not as physically prepared for this intimacy as you would like. 

"Good," he says lowly. "No one else is going to get to see you like this anymore." Grabbing an ankle in each big hand, he spreads you out for him. He slides off your panties so you're completely bare, and takes up his staring once more. "Ain't you fucking gorgeous?" Jake mutters and you realize he ain't talking about you necessarily; he's talking to your pussy. Whining his name gets Jake to shove off his sweatpants, leaving him in a pair of dark grey boxer briefs as he crawls over your body. 

As he kisses you again, your hands greedily explore his exposed skin. His chest hair proving to be much softer than you had imagined it, and his shoulders are taut as he holds himself up. While Jake's lips move with yours, you use a leg to encourage him to ease more of his weight into you, seeking friction. Kissing down your neck he lavishes attention to your breasts, licking and sucking his way across your skin. 

"You know, I was too busy to make dessert," he says when he reaches your core. One of his hands teasingly traces all around the skin. Placing a kiss on your inner thigh, he asks, "Do you mind filling in?" 

"Jake, you don't need to." You say, trying not to squirm when his fingers dip between your lips. 

"I want to. Do you not want me to?" 

"I know it's not everyone's thing," you answer, giving him an out. 

"It's my thing," Jake says. His eyes lock onto the cleft of you, and he licks his lip, biting at the bottom one. Reaching up, he grabs one of your hands and brings it up to his hair, encouraging you to thread your fingers there. His fingers that are teasing you spread you open more, and he groans, "Oh yeah you're my thing." 

Jake's tongue traces over you, probing until he finds the spot that makes your hips jump. Once Jake finds your clit he doesn't waste his time. Widening his mouth, he latches on and sucks. While he starts gently, he ramps up to sucking hard and twisting his tongue as he does. When you pull at his hair, he moans encouragingly.

"More," you request tugging his hair gently. Jake listens, sliding a finger into you. Whispering praise into your thighs about how pretty you are and how good you taste. You don't know how long Jake spends between your thighs, but he doesn't seem to be in any hurry. He sucks and licks, fucking his finger into you until the sound is sloppy and wet. He slips a second finger in, stretching you, occasionally scissoring them wider open in you. 

Even when you are whining and gasping, working against Jake's tongue, he doesn't let up. You don't have the mind to worry how you're trying to suffocate him with your thighs, which he keeps pushing back open with no complaints. All that you can focus on is Jake, how good he is making you feel, and how close you're getting. It's a matter of time until you're shuddering and falling apart for him.  

Continuing to lavish attention even as you jerk with sensitivity, Jake seems content to keep eating you out. You try to pull him away by his hair, but he just licks into you harder. "Jake, enough," you whine, trying to wiggle away from his mouth.

 "I haven't had my fill yet, Doll," he says, pulling his mouth off you but not going far, pressing wet kisses to your thighs. 

"I haven't even seen your cock yet, and I don't know why it isn't in me." You say, trying to reason with him. It doesn't come out very strong, though as Jake's fingers curl in you, making your cunt flutter. 

"Patience is a virtue," he teases.

"Being virtuous isn't really at the forefront of my mind at the moment."

Jake sighs dramatically and presses one more kiss to your pussy before sitting back on his haunches. You can see the hard outline of him in his briefs as he gets off the bed. You watch his every move closely, more than ready to finally see him naked.

However, Jake is clearly taking some sort of joy from making you wait, because he detours to start picking up your hastily thrown clothing. As he is laying them out on the chair, you lose your patience. Grabbing one of his decorative pillows, you throw it at him. It smacks him between his shoulder blades before dropping to the floor with a thunk. 

Spinning to face you, Jake crosses his arms over his chest, making his biceps bulge, his eyebrow raised. "Did you just hit me with a pillow?" 

"No, I wouldn't do that," You deny trying to look innocent. Jake tsks at you, picking up the makeshift weapon and setting that neatly on the chair as well. 

"Being desperate for my cock isn't an excuse to misbehave, baby." 

"Big talk for someone who still hasn't shown it to me. It's okay if you don't have a pretty dick, Jake. It won't change how I feel. I'm still going to want you to fuck me."  

Goading someone into action was a wonderful tactic you had learned over the course of your friendship with Jake. Something he easily did with others, and something tonight that it proved was just as effective against him because he doesn't even respond to your words. Sliding off his underwear, his dick springs free. He's hard from eating you out, and just from the first glance you get, it's clear there isn't one thing for him to be self-conscious about. 

The fleshy pink length is nestled among dark hair, and the size of him is nothing to dismiss. It's a very symmetrical cock, lining up nicely with his balls and adonis belt. Bouncing a bit as he gets back on the bed, you can't bring yourself to look away. You know he is going to fill you so deliciously. When he's finally close enough for you to touch, you hesitate though. 

"Speechless?" Jake wonders, with no ounce of shame or self-consciousness present. 

"Can I touch?" You ask. Jake nods, taking your hand and bringing it to your mouth. You suck a few of your fingers in, wetting them with your spit. Then he guides your hand to his dick, encouraging you to wrap it around him. Jake's hand covers yours for the first few strokes, showing you what he likes, but then it falls away, letting you explore. He grunts when you trace one of the veins that runs along the side, following it down to cup his balls. He allows your teasing for a few more strokes before he pulls you close, kissing you hard. 

The hard planes of Jake's naked body pressed against yours is nearly too much. He is so close and yet not close enough. With some gentle maneuvering, Jake is in between your legs and checking that the position is comfortable for you. Jake runs his length through your lips, the head bumping into your clit. Despite all the encouragement and build up, he's still not in a hurry. When his cock is wet from you, it starts to slide effortlessly. Losing your patience, you cup Jake's face, making him look you in the eyes. 

"Jake, fuck me now. Please." You say. He nods, kissing you slowly. Then finally, he grabs his cock lining himself up and pushing the tip into you. When his pelvis meets yours, he holds himself there, your breaths mingling together in light pants as he stretches you out. The time he gives you to stretch and adjust is necessary, but once you have, Jake fills you deliciously. 

"How're you feeling baby?" He asks. Your thumb moves across his cheekbone, soothing until the worry lines between his eyebrows disappear. Only responding when you know you're okay and so is he, "Perfect. Feel so full of you."

"I'll fill you up," Jake promises. 

"Yeah?" You ask. He hums his agreement and rocks his hips against your experimental, drawing a small gasp from you. 

"Promise," he says, starting a lazy punctuated rhythm, moving his hips against yours. Your hands explore the skin of his back as he thrusts into you. You hike a leg up on Jake's hips, letting him get a little deeper in you. The action makes him moan, and he pulls your other leg up around his hip, too. 

Hooking your ankles together, you use the leverage to encourage Jake to fuck into you faster. Digging your heels into his ass and lifting your hips up to meet each of his thrusts increases the heat boiling between you. His face falling into your neck, Jake starts whispering dirty praise about how good you feel around him and how long he's been dreaming about this. 

Stamina clearly isn't something that Jake is lacking in. He fucks you until you are both dripping with sweat, and you are begging for him noncoherently, unable to process anything but how good his cock feels. He maintains a steady rhythm, snapping his hips to meet yours the whole time. 

"You feel so good. Want to get you there again. What do you need?" Jake pants huskily. 

"Harder," you answer shakily, snaking your hand to play with your clit. You're close, and you know it's not going to take much more for you to get there with how long Jake's been building you up. He listens, slamming his hips more pointedly into you, grinding his pelvis every time he bottoms out. 

Huffing, Jake pulls out of you a few minutes later. Making you cry out wantonly, reaching for his retreating body. He takes a moment to kiss both your hands that he unhooks from his neck. Then, shushing you gently, he grabs a pillow and lifting your hips, he slides it under them.

"It's okay, just a little better angle." He explains to you. You flop back on the bed, content to have Jake manhandle you any which way he wants if it means he'll be in you again.  

"Oh, you're such a needy thing, aren't you?" He asks, as your cunt clenches around nothing, empty and wanting him. His fingers dipping in to play with the wet dripping from you. A flash of shame passes through you as he asks that. You drop your arms that had been reaching out for him back to the bed, and you screw your eyes shut, turning your face to the side looking away from him. 

Jake had already got you to cum once, and it was possible he didn't want you all over him as he was trying to get off now. Preferences were probably something y'all should have talked about more in depth before jumping into intimacy. You didn't want him to think you were overly needy or hard to please. You didn't want to ruin what you and Jake could have the very first time together. Noticing the shift in your enthusiasm Jake immediately stops pressing his cock into you, worriedly asking, "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing," you answer, staring up at the ceiling looking for patterns there. It's easier to play this off if you don't have to look at him; easier if you don't have to acknowledge the unexpected, unwelcome swell of emotion that's overcoming you. 

"Doll, look at me." He orders you, but you shake your head, refusing. Jake grips your chin, tilting your face to meet his eyes. They are intense studying you intently, completely focused on you. "The honesty we just promised each other needs to extend to sex nearly more than anywhere else going forward with this relationship," Jake says seriously. His hard dick is pressed against your thigh, and you don't know how he's able to have such a level-headed conversation considering the circumstances, just having been balls deep in you a minute ago. "So, what's wrong?" 

"I don't want to be too high maintenance or needy," You sigh, trying to work through your words. Knowing this conversation is important, but also not completely sure how to express what you're feeling. "Sometimes I might seem needy, or maybe I could take a while to cum or not at all, which wouldn't be a reflection of you. I don't want you to think, well, I don't want to be too much for you to change your mind about this, and now I'm ruining the mood with a dumb fucking insecurity."

"Stop," Jake says gently, but leaving no room for argument. "You haven't ruined anything. I'm sorry I called your pussy needy. I didn't know it would make you feel this way. Can I tell you something, though, Doll?" When you give a hesitant nod, Jake's voice drops so low it's nearly gravelly. "I want you to be needy. I want your pussy desperate for my cock, desperate for my cum. I want you as desperate for me as I am for you." 

"You're desperate for me too?"

"Frantically and wildly so." He answers easily. Then he asks with his thumb ghosting over your nub, "Are we okay? Is this still okay?" 

"Yeah, this is good," You sigh, enjoying the zing that runs up your back when he nudges your clit more pointedly. 

Jake grabs his cock, giving it a few languid strokes before he guides it back into you. You push your hips up to meet him. The new angle that the pillow gives him leverage to hit somewhere that's just a delicious feeling. As he rocks into you, his thumb maintains its place on your clit. Your fear of the mood having been ruined proves wrong as the coil in your core quickly builds, pushing you near the edge once more. 

"Cum in me, Jake, please. Give me a baby," you request, your thighs quivering as you near your orgasm. 

As his hips snap nearly frantically, Jake rolls your clit over in nearly the same rhythm. He moans your name a minute later, falling over the edge and spilling inside of you. Though his hips stutter to a stop leaving himself fully seated in you, he continues working over your clit. It doesn't take long until you're dissolving into pleasure along with him. 

The ripples run through your body, and you feel every muscle tense and relax, turning into jelly. Jake grunts when you spasm around him but doesn't move or pull out until you've fully melted into the bed on the downward crest of your peak. 

When he does pull out, he doesn't go far, shifting enough to spoon you. Settling behind you, Jake pulls you close to his chest, wrapping you tight in his arms. His hand is tracing lazy patterns on your hip and occasionally venturing to the soft skin of your belly. You don't have the mind to be self-conscious at the moment, still a little too blissed out. It takes significant brain power to process his question when he asks, "Do you actually want to have a baby?" 

"Do you?" You wonder. 

"You can't answer a question with a question," Jake chastises you. Turning in his arms so you are sprawled against his chest, you snuggle close, nuzzling him affectionately. 

"Do you know how it was seeing you with Jackson today?" You ask him. 

"If it was even half of how it felt seeing you hold him, then I'm sorry." 

"Whatever you felt, double it. Triple it even." You say lightly. "It was enough for me to ask my friend, who I thought could never want me, for a baby." 

"I do want you," Jake immediately reassures you. 

"Thank goodness for baby fever, then. Because at least now we know we want each other," you reason, slowly starting to draw mindless patterns of your own against his skin. 

Jake heaves a sigh and strokes his hand down your back, wondering, "Was this just baby fever?" 

"No," you answer after thinking about it for a long span of silence. "I would have a baby with you. It seems right. I want that, I think." You can feel the relief in his body, hearing that, all his tension easing into relaxation. 

"Good," is the only response he gives you, kissing the crown of your head. You expect more but don't get it. Rather, Jake seems content to just bask in the afterglow. That doesn't seem to be too bad an idea, so you close your eyes, listening to his steady heartbeat.  

When you wake up from your impromptu nap, you're not alone in bed. However, you are now under the covers of a different comforter than there was before, and Jake is no longer acting as your pillow. He is on the other side of the bed, but his hand is stretched out, grazing the middle of your back. 

Rolling to face him, you admire the sight he makes stretched out on the bed, leaning against the headboard. Jake's got a book open, folded in half, clearly abusing the book's binding just so he can have one hand on you. When he notices you sleepily admiring him, Jake shoots you a soft smile. 

"Hey baby," he whispers. 

"Hi," You whisper back scooting closer to him and grab the hand that had been touching you, threading your fingers together. 

"Let's go on a date," Jake suddenly springs on you, squeezing your hand. 

"I would love that," you respond, feeling giddy as butterflies erupt in your stomach. "Want something first, though."

"I already told you I would give you anything you want, and I meant it," Jake says, setting his book on his bedside table and giving you his full attention. 

"Good, because I want round two and a shower, which hopefully has round three involved." 

"Your wish is my command," Jake says easily. You move even closer to him so your lips are only a breath apart. "I meant it, the ring, the house, the baby. I can make it all happen by tomorrow." 

"Let's start with breakfast in bed," you say, kissing him hard. When your lips hardly touch because you're both smiling too wide, well, that actually makes it feel all the better.