#we used to be neighborly

[actual-corpse]

My roomate and I were talking about airtravel.

I got on the topic of luggage abuse fears which led to a talk about wheelchair users.

Neither of us are wheelchair bound.

I said, "we really need to advocate for those people because nobody takes them seriously and it sucks. It's even worse when the best way to make people consider accessibility is to ask them 'what if you ended up disabled and you have to deal with all this?'."

And that's the best way I can think to get people to consider accessibility.

Making selfish people think of themselves and how they would feel if they became wheelchair bound and needed to get around.

It should just be "let's make life easier for everyone because that's the right thing to do!"

Instead it's "what if I become disabled? Omg life will be so horrible and I won't be able to go anywhere!"

Then DO SOMETHING! If you don't want to think about other people (selfish prick) then fucking make the world accessible in the event you end up disabled (selfish prick).

[automone]

Your blog got recommended to me by tumblr. It's weird to be acknowledged as a robotfucker. Anyways love the posts keep it up!!!

deeply honored that tumblr has recognized what i stand for and is pushing it on likeminded individuals, thanks dude appreciate you stopping by!

[taintandviolent]

Taco Tuesday ; Gambit x reader!

summary: You live across the hall from Wade Wilson, and one Tuesday, he invites you over for tacos. 🌮 And that’s where you meet him. The Gambit. Post-Void, everyone got out alive and everything is fine. [PART TWO HERE]

word count & w a r n i n g s: 5.4K | smut with very little plot, alcohol mention, slightly drunk (but very consenting) reader, French and typing out accents/dialects, pet names (cher, mon ami, mon coeur, etc.), dirty talk (cos he is a dirty talker, don't argue with me on this), fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, no use of y/n.

a/n: this is based 100% on Deadpool and Wolverine Gambit / Channing's version of Gambit!! sorry for the lack of plot here, he deserves better than this filth, but I am down ASTRONOMICALLY and I needed to get it out. I spent so much time trying to get his accent right, I hope it comes off the way I wanted it to... anyway! i'm not certain if anyone will read this, but if you do - thank you a million times over! as always, requests are open! - banner by @/strangergraphics, and Remy gif by @scintie!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

He’s handsome. Like really handsome. 

Your stomach does a flip as he smiles at you, reaching for the bottle of Jack between your legs — wait. Pause. Rewind. How’d we get here?

Living in the same apartment complex as Wade Wilson was a trip. Even more of a trip was living across the hall from him. The things you heard coming from that apartment... nobody would believe you. So, you never told anyone. 

He’s kind. Albeit, zany but kind. Your interactions have been cordial and nauseatingly neighbourly. But on one regular ol' Tuesday afternoon, Wade invited you inside. He said something about having a party later that night, making tacos and being neighborly. He assured you that it wasn't a sex party... which to be honest, you weren't worried about until he'd mentioned it. Against your better judgement though, you'd agreed, and said you'd bring some liquor.

So, that evening, you opened your door, one bottle of Jack tucked under your arm, and another in your left hand. You shut the door to your apartment and walked straight across to your neighbour’s door. Your fist had rapped against the wood only twice before the door swung open, revealing Wade, and a very… strange and very bald looking dog in his arms. 

"Oh, what the fuck?" You asked, looking down at the creature. "I didn't know you had a dog…?"

Wade’s voice rose an octave or two, in a cutesy tone. "She's a new addition, yes she is!" 

"I brought... well, this. Sorry, it was all I had in my cabinets and to be perfectly honest, I wasn't about to go out and spend money on this. I like… barely know you."

"HA! Brutal honesty. We love to hear it." 

Wade took hold of your shoulder and yanked you inside, harsh enough that you made a small sound as he did. He shut the door with his foot, and towed you towards the table, where everyone was gathered. And that was when you first saw him. He wore all black, save for a tan trench coat with a high collar. He lounged casually on one of the dining chairs, playing with a deck of cards. They fluttered from hand to hand effortlessly, and for a moment, you were stuck, mesmerized by the dexterous way he handled them. You weren't sure what was pulling you towards him harder, your heart or your cunt, but you felt an undeniable draw to the man.

Wade's arm wound itself around your shoulders, guiding you around the room to meet each of his friends. At that point, living next to him, mutants were a forced transition. You were used to the concept of them, so meeting a giant silver man, for example, wasn't unexpected. Vanessa was the most normal - you were pretty sure she was human.

Finally, he got to the one you really wanted to meet. The one that your eyes had been darting back and forth to the entire time, the one that when he briefly met your gaze, your heart thudded in your chest. 

"And this... handsome slice of man, is the Gambit. Good luck understanding him, he's a real mouthful."

I’ll bet he is, you thought. 

He pocketed the cards in a quick motion and stood up from his chair. With a syrup-smooth chuckle, the man laughed and said: "You can call me Remy." He did in fact have a thick Cajun accent and spoke quickly – almost too quickly. You blinked once, focusing hard on his words.

"Remy," you repeated finally, before saying your own name and extending your hand. He took it gently and as he shook it, your palm tingled with what felt like electricity.

"Enchanté." (Enchanted)

Your cheeks burned, and you knew they were flushing. You couldn’t control it. "De même..." (Likewise.)

His brows lifted, surprised. "You speak French, mon ami?" (my friend) 

"Heh, uhh... comme un enfant." (Like a child) You chuckled low, averting your eyes for a millisecond. "I took a few years of it in high school and again in college. I’m by no means an expert."

Wade's eyes were wide, flicking back and forth between the two of you. There was obvious chemistry there, and a knowing smirk drew itself across his lips. Abruptly, he yanked one of the bottles of Jack Daniels from beneath your arm, before leaning against the nearby wall.

"Oh, fuck me. You understand Gumbo here? That’s cute. No idea what either of you are saying though, someone forgot to turn the subtitles on. I'll leave you two to get acquainted." Whatever that meant. You scoffed, but turned your attention back to Gambit, looking at him.

“Sit a while, cher.” 

You happily took the chair that he pulled out, not caring that it was facing away from the others, and plopped down onto it, situating the other bottle of Jack between your legs. You gripped the neck of the bottle tightly, and looked at him with a timid, but a come hither sort of smile. After a moment, you twisted the cap off, and flicked it off somewhere to your right. Wade would find it later, or he wouldn’t. You didn’t really care. 

You two talked for hours, most of which consisted of him telling you about the Void, and how hard it had been, while you pretended to comprehend it. Between words, you passed the bottle back and forth, taking mouthfuls, and inadvertently swapping spit as you did. The thought occurred to you about halfway through the conversation, and your stomach tightened. You shook your head lightly and clenched your thighs together, trying to stave off the arousal that was bubbling in your core. 

There we go. That’s better.

He’s handsome. Like really handsome. 

Your stomach does a flip as he smiles at you, reaching for the bottle, which was still situated between your legs. His fingertips just graze the side of your thigh and his eyes flit to yours. He holds his smile, waiting for you to either protest or move the moment forward, and all you can do is gawk, because your cunt starts throbbing. 

As the evening wears on, though cautious, it’s obvious that Remy feels the same pull that you do. He remains cool on the outside, but internally, he was battling the magnetic tugging he felt from you. He couldn't shake it. He’d compliment you, you’d compliment him. At one point, in between sips, you casually drop that you think his accent is hot and he whispers something underneath his breath, something you don’t understand. Before either of you realized it, you had started to lean closer to each other, your faces inches apart, and you felt the warm rush of his breath over your cheeks.

It was as if you both realized it simultaneously. You rear back, an embarrassed expression plastered on your face. Remy clears his throat. His attraction to you was stifling; something that he rarely felt. He was powerless in his want for you, the draw you had was irresistible.

"Maybe we should... uh..." You murmur, looking deep into his eyes. In a room full of people that were starting to fade away the closer you two got to each other, you were thankful you were still sober enough to suggest a different setting. Any longer and you surely would’ve just straddled him and gone to town. 

Remy moves first. 

"We gon' take a walk." He announces to the others, getting to his feet. 

The conversation stops abruptly, silence hanging heavy. You straighten up, trying your best to avert your gaze, but you still see everyone’s reaction. Someone clears their throat and your heart sinks, feeling like you might die on the spot. The one that had been introduced as Logan, gruff looking dude, raises a single brow at you. In true Wade-character, he ugly cackles, shattering the moment. Your shoulders sink, embarrassed, as you head towards the door, doing the proverbial walk of shame. 

Remy meets you at the door and pulls it open, holding it for you. You duck underneath his arm, looking sheepish and as you exit into the hallway, you think you heard Wade mutter something about a fanfiction but Remy yanks the door shut before you can react. 

“You want to… get some air? Or um… I have… well, no I had liquor, but I brought it to Wade’s.” 

He smiles, and looks down at the floor, before lifting his eyes back to you. “We can do whatever you want, chère. You ain’t gon’ catch me complainin’ eitha’ way.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, considering the options. Your heart was hammering in your chest at the prospect of just being near him without the others around. You two had been close to kissing in Wade’s living room, and now, you had the opportunity to continue that… or take a walk. The latter seemed less appealing. 

“Y’know what, why don’t we… just…” You take a few steps backwards, jerking your head towards your front door. Concerningly, you had forgotten to lock your door. However, it allows you to open it quickly, and walk backwards into the apartment. Gambit follows you in, his attention never leaving you. 

"You sure 'bout dis, mon ami? I can walk away righ' now." His words land heavy, a promise behind them. He was a gentleman at heart, you could tell. Fortunately for him, you were very sure, and wanted every inch of him.

Mon ami - something that in the few hours you'd spent with him, he'd called you often. Among other things. Mon ami meant my friend, but you knew you two weren't just friends. You saw how he acted with others, and the comments he made. Sure, he had a quick wit and a mouth on him, but the flirting... god, the flirting.

He stands in the doorway, his shoulders filling the frame. Silently, you nod and take another step back, giving him some room to enter. He takes one wide step towards you, leaving the door open behind him. He reaches for your hip, and you immediately take to playing with his large hands. Delicately, you pay attention to each long digit, trailing your middle finger along the knuckles, and up and down the length of them. You dip into the spaces between, your fingers barely ghosting over the webbing. 

Was that a shiver? Your eyes flit to his, searching them for a hint.

"You sure do know how to make a man feel good." 

Your heart flutters at his words. With his accent, even the simplest of things sounded charming. At least to you. You felt that he could ask if you wanted coffee or how the weather was and you'd be twirling your hair around your finger like a desperate schoolgirl. Embarrassing. 

You’re about to respond and defend yourself by saying that all you had done was play with his hands, which was hardly considered foreplay, but his fingers come up underneath your chin, gently closing your mouth with a dull click of your teeth. He tilts it upwards to an angle where he could easily kiss you. And kiss you, he does. 

It was the kind of kiss that makes your knees buckle, sends a violent shudder from the nape of your neck down to the base of your spine. It’s the kind of kiss that needs to come with a warning; Danger: Will Result In Sex. As his lips move against yours, you feel the urgency of his need, of his want, and hum into his lips. Remy takes that as a green light and deepens the kiss, moving his body so that it’s pressing flush against yours. The action leaves you immediately breathless and in response, you break the kiss, tucking your chin to your chest. Your hand finds his torso, pressing hard against the muscles underneath the shirt.  

"Ah, don't you be actin' shy now. You been teasin' me for hours."

“I have not!”

“You think I didn’t notice all ‘dem touches an’ looks you were givin’ me? I may ‘ave been born at night, but I wasn’t born last night.” 

He had you there. You couldn’t deny that, at all. Even if you’d wanted to. Which, part of you did. Part of you was very nervous, standing before this very handsome man, with the taste of his mouth still lingering on your lips but another part of you, the louder one, was delighted that he’d noticed. Furthermore, that he’d enjoyed them enough to come to your room.

You lift your hand behind him, pushing the door shut with a harsh shove. With a twist of your fingers, you activate the locking mechanism, sliding the deadbolt into place. Gambit chuckles, grinning down at you. Your heart leaps into your throat, but you press on bravely, lacing your arms around his neck. They trail down the front of his body, feeling the muscles as they twitch with each ragged breath. 

He quirks a brow as if to ask, 'Oh, really?' You simply smirk back at him. The contact is electric, and you find yourself resisting the urge to grind against him immediately. Instead, you focus on his hands again, bringing one of them up to your lips. You press a delicate kiss on the pads, before slipping one into your mouth and sucking gently. Remy makes a deep, husky sound in his throat, and brings his other hand to your hip, where he pulls you roughly against him.

For a man that uses his hands often, the sensations are high. The way your mouth envelops his finger, your tongue writhing around the digit had his jaw clenching, muscles fluttering on the side of his face. When you draw his finger into the confines of your throat, deep-throating it, his eyes roll back in pleasure. He pulls his hand back, shaking it off as if the inside of your mouth was hot to the touch.

"Woo, you nasty, huh? Nevah’ woulda' guessed... you been actin' like a good little girl 'uhround me." 

After that, it all happened very quickly. Gambit takes a step and connects his lips with yours again, pushing them into you in an act of desperation. Without breaking the kiss, he shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it onto a nearby surface. You push against him until his back hits the door with a heavy thud, definitely loud enough for any innocent bystanders to hear. Your fingers undo the button of your jeans, breaking the kiss for only a second to slide them down your legs. 

Once you return to his waiting mouth, the kiss deepens and the coil in your stomach winds tighter, claiming your body in a deep, fiery arousal. His big arms wrap around you, enveloping you in a heated embrace. Just for a moment, it’s tender — but shortly after, his hands drop to your ass, fingers slipping underneath the band of fabric to take greedy fistfuls of each cheek. 

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, gripping the roundness of them to use as leverage. Letting out a little hum, you sweep your hips across his groin, pressing tightly against him. His eyes drift shut, head bumping against the door as he leaned it back, a low growl coming from his throat. Keeping at it, you grind your hips against him, feeling the outline of his length as it hardens.

“You be drivin’ Remy crazy, grindin’ on me like ‘dat.”

“That’s the intention….” You stand on your tiptoes to pepper kisses on his lips, your warm breath fanning over his face, smelling faintly of Jack Daniels. Remy trails his hand carefully up your rib cage until he gets to the side of your breast, where he quickly slips around to the front, his large hand cupping the fullness of it outside of your shirt. Your reaction is visceral; your breath hisses through your teeth at the sensitivity. 

Remy laughs again and with his free hand, pulls your hips back to his. Swiftly, he spins you around, pinning you between his body and the hard surface of the door. He presses himself tightly against you, shifting slightly so that his thigh was between your legs. The sensation of something that close to your core is dangerous and brings a weak, mewling whimper from your mouth.

“We gon’ have ourselves some fun.” His voice is low, tinged with a new sort of lustful tone that you hadn't heard before. Your mind is spinning, growing dizzy with lust. The alcohol had certainly helped your nerves, you were never usually this brazen. Your core burns with desire at his words, silently begging for everything he was about to give you. His lips hover just over yours; you can feel his breath on your skin and the heat that radiates off his body as it presses into yours.

"Oh my god," you whisper into his mouth. "Fuck..."

His teeth nip at your bottom lip before he captures your mouth in a heated, passionate kiss again. His tongue explores the inside, swirling along your own wet muscle. With every passing second, your heart beats faster and his hands grip your hips tighter, thumbs massaging the flesh above your jeans.

“Wrap ‘dem legs around me, mon coeur.” (My heart) Remy’s voice is husky with want; amongst his playful, lilted tone, a possessiveness lingered, and the thought sends a chill down your spine. He nods once, encouraging you into his waiting arms. You jump up, and he catches you effortlessly, gripping your thighs tight and hoisting you up into his grasp. Feeling secure, you wrap both legs around his waist and encircle his neck with your arms. Your gaze meets his and you can see the wanton need mirrored in his own eyes, darkened with desire.

Remy's smirk is dripping with confidence. Your body's response to him was causing his ego to swell within his chest, and his cock to swell within his pants. He leans in close, his lips against your ear, nipping at the lobe softly before pulling back slightly. In one fluid movement, his hips buck up against your center, teasing you over the layers of clothing. You let out a moan, throwing your head back against the door.

He thrusts up into you again, chuckling low against your ear. The hard line of his cock grinds against you, making you stutter out expletives as it presses against you with a needy demand. 

"You like 'dat, cher? Talk t' me..."

You nod, swallowing and wetting your throat. "Y-yeah, fuck... I do... need you – it – so bad."

“Whaddya’ need?”

“N-need you… so bad.” 

“You can do betta’. Tell Remy what you need...” 

He presses you harder against the door, your back sliding against the wood as he kisses a trail down from your mouth to your shoulder, sucking and biting with all the right intensities. As his hips grind against yours, you feel the damp fabric slide across your cunt, alerting you to just how wet he’d made you. Fuck. 

“Need… need you to fuck me. Hard. Need to feel you everywhere.”  

A few hours ago, you’d agreed to Taco Tuesday at Wade’s. Now, you were getting dry humped by a really hot Cajun guy and moaning into the curve between his neck and his shoulder. You were positive that if someone opened their door, they’d hear you. Somewhere in your brain, the thought should have been moderately embarrassing, but you were far too invested in Remy to care. 

Without warning, Gambit lifts you away from the door and carries you to the nearby couch. He never breaks the kiss, still feverishly claiming your mouth as he moves. Your back hits the cushions and before you can process it, his body weight is on top of you. He slots himself in between your legs, and his hard-on bumps into your stomach as his hips rut against you, finding some relief in the friction. But not enough. 

Remy’s hand finds the hem of your shirt, lifting it just enough to allow his fingers underneath the fabric. You bite down on the pillow of your bottom lip and push your hips up into his. Thick, strong digits sweep across your skin, leaving a burning trail of fire in their wake. Every touch brings your temperature up, and it isn’t long before your entire body is consumed in flames. You sigh contentedly, arching up into his touch. 

Abruptly, Remy straightens up, crosses his arms over his torso and pulls his shirt over his head, revealing his tan skin and bulky muscles. His stocky stature makes your tummy clench with anticipation. He was fit, as you assumed, but that didn’t stop your jaw from falling open at the sight. 

“Wow,” you finally choke.

Remy grins. “You like what you see?” 

You nod furiously, hands snapping to his toned abdomen. He’s warm and his skin is soft, begging to be touched. The muscles flex underneath your fingers as you trace a long stripe from his belly button to his collarbone. Your hands claw at his shoulder, attempting to pull him back down on you, but he resists. 

He spoke with a playfulness, almost a sort of pleading. His thumbs flicks at the hem of your shirt. “Ah, c’mon, ‘dat ain’t fair. Enlève-tout toi, huh?” (Take it all off.)

You thought you understood, but if you didn’t, it didn’t matter. Remy was quick to translate his words, busy undressing you, pulling your worn t-shirt over your head, and reaching around your back to unclasp your bra. Most men would’ve fumbled with the clasp, but not him. His adept fingers make quick work of it, allowing your breasts to fall free. He throws your bra somewhere behind him. 

“Hooo, cher…!” His eyes light up at the visual and you feel heat blooming on your cheeks again, half expecting him to make a lewd comment. Instead, his hands cup your tits, kneading the soft plumpness like dough, thumbs grazing the nipples. He exhales through his mouth, jerking his head to the side. 

Finally, he kisses you again. It’s wet and sloppy and his mouth is consuming you, tasting you hungrily. His hips are still moving, sweeping into yours with a calculated precision. You try to spread your legs but the back of the couch thwarts your attempt. He notices this, watching as you struggle with the space. 

“You got a bed?” He asked in between smearing kisses along your neck and collarbone. 

“Yeah-yeah…. Down the hall.” 

“Remy be needin’ more room for what he wanna’ do t’you.”

His weight is suddenly gone from you, an unwelcome sensation, even though you know he’s about to carry you wedding-style down the hallway. He bends down, one arm sliding underneath your neck, the other in the crook behind your knees. For the second time that night, he lifts you into his arms.

You rest your cheek against his warm pectoral muscle, rocking back and forth, as he walks you both down the dark hallway. The only light in the room comes from the window, the city outside alive and humming. Carefully, Remy sets you down on the bed, unmade from this morning, your dark gray sheets cool to the touch. 

In nothing but your underwear, which at this point, are damp to the touch, you’re left feeling very exposed. But you can’t muster up any shame, not when he’s looking at you with such hunger, such want. Your tummy feels tight, and the feeling gets worse when Remy’s hands drop to his waist, unzipping and unbuttoning his pants. They fall loose at the waist, and he shucks them down the rest of the way, leaving him in nothing but a pair of deep purple boxers. Your eyes swing heavy to the outline that’s now presented to you. 

Oh my god. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise; Remy was a big guy, and that proved true downstairs, too. You can barely pull your eyes away from it, but you begrudgingly rip them away, to look up into his gaze. 

“Please,” you beg. “You’re too far away…” Your cunt is aching and nothing but him, his hands, his dick, will sate her. 

He leans forward, flattening both hands on the mattress and walks them back until his face is in front of yours. He sweeps you into another kiss and your heart races. His hands are perfectly positioned on either side of your hips, you feel them graze the flesh. His finger hooks around the elastic of your panties, twisting it around his pointer finger and gradually, he tugs them down over the curve of your hip.

You nod lazily against his mouth, as you feel the warmth of his hand near your core. Your legs drop apart, knees touching the mattress as you allow him access. One hand sweeps across your inner thighs, stroking them, while the other palms your soft mound. His other hand comes to pause at your knee, and pushes his weight into it softly, forcing you to stay spread-eagle for him. No way you could’ve done this on the sofa. 

There’s no hesitation in the way he fingers you; sweeping up through your slick folds, smearing your arousal around until she’s coated in it, splaying your pretty, wet cunt apart with his fingers, looking upon it hungrily. He knows what he’s doing, and how to do it right. You briefly wonder if that’s another mutant power he has… though being an expert at fingering someone seems outlandish. But he’s just so good at it. His middle finger barely touches you, circling the bundle of nerves delicately. Your back arches up towards him, a desperate groan vibrating your vocal chords. Delighted by your reaction, his finger flicks upwards at your swollen, sensitive clit, making your body literally quiver. 

“Uhugh – god…. Shit, oh my god.” 

He continues like this for several minutes, until your cunt is blazing hot and clenching with every moan you give. 

By the time he presses one finger inside, you’re teetering on the edge of an orgasm and your voice fills the room with needy, desperate sounds. You let out a shrill whine, and he slips in another finger, feeling the stretch of muscle as he does. His heart is pounding in his chest, overcome with lust. The way you sound, the way your body is moving and writhing on the bed, he can’t wait to sink himself into you. 

Amidst a laugh, he says: “People gon’ think we up in here watchin’ porn.”

Did he just insinuate that you sounded like a pornstar? You lifted your head, wearily, to look at him. Your chest heaves with each breath as you try to formulate a snarky remark to no avail. He looked so good – well, always – but he looked particularly good on top of you, his bright eyes lust blown and hungry. 

“We’re… we’re… porn… it’s…  oh god.” 

He shushes you. “You just lay back and keep moanin’.” 

Defeated, you huff and your head hits the sheets again, but not before you catch a glimpse of the way the muscles in his forearm ripple as it pumps back and forth into your cunt. You can’t help but moan at the sight, feeling a shockwave rupture your core. Your hips meet his fingers, rutting and writhing against the mattress in a needy rhythm.

Your first orgasm claims your body before you can stop it. You’re clenching around his fingers as they move, crooking upwards into your sensitive spots. Your slick coats his fingers and when Gambit pulls his hand back, thick, clear strands string from between them. He smiles down at you. 

Remy raises himself to his knees. “Turn ‘round…” 

You flip over and back yourself towards him, thinking that he’s going to go at it doggy-style, but to your surprise, he pulls you upright, pressing your back against his chest. His dick is hot between your legs, and when he reaches down to line it up, you let your head loll back against his shoulder. Gambit’s mouth finds the side of your neck, streaking it with wet, suckling kisses. He was taking his time with you, savouring you and you hum happily through closed lips, reaching behind you to thread your fingers through his hair.

“Fuck, you feel so good…” Instinctively, your hips undulate and his cock slips between your folds. Remy’s hips buck once, letting out a groan that comes from somewhere deep. 

“You ready, cher?” He asks, sweeping your hair away from your neck. You nod furiously. You’ve been ready – you were ready the moment you laid eyes on him.

Remy reaches down to sweep his fingers along your entrance briefly, before gripping himself and guiding the head of his cock into the slit. You keen at the feeling of his velvet-soft head pressing into your entrance, warm pre-cum leaking from the slit. He murmurs words of encouragement into your ear as you feel his hips press against your ass, urging his thick, veiny shaft inside your cunt. He does it gently, allowing you time to adjust to the girth, but the sting still makes you cry out. “Fffuck!”

He begins to thrust his hips shallowly, your cunt stretching around his cock. The feeling is all-consuming, and your body feels heavy in his grasp. One hand is gripping your waist tightly, the other, fingers splayed out on your stomach just above your cunt. There’s a pressure building in your cunt, and each thrust magnifies it. The sting of his cock fades to an ache, then to a dull throbbing that makes you want more and you lean forward slightly and press your ass into the curves of his hips, meeting his thrusts. 

“Mm, ‘dat’s it, cher…” His voice is hot on your skin. 

His thrusts get deeper, but there’s a lingering tension in his body that makes you feel like he’s not getting what he wants. You’re right; all at once, Remy pulls his cock from you and switches positions. 

You’re suddenly on your back, looking up at him as he looms over you, all muscle. His cockhead nudges your entrance again, but doesn’t penetrate. 

“Say my name, cher… I needa’ hear it leave ‘dat pretty mouth.” 

“Which one? Gambit? Or Remy?” You ask, breathlessly.

The way his eyes rolled back at the second option told you everything you needed to know. A smirk twisted your lips cruelly and you lifted your body slightly, just enough for your mouth to reach his ear. You moan his name over and over again, knowing full well the effect it’s having on the mutant man.

“Remy, Remy, Remy….” Your tone is high-pitched and whiny, but he seems to enjoy the lewdness of it all. He bucks his hips hard into you, and the fullness reaches an all-time high as he bottoms out, his pelvis hitting yours with a slap.

“Huhhh—!” You gasp, breathing ragged. “Fuck!”

“Gonna’ make you cum so hard you ain’t gon’ walk right for days.” His voice is low and filthy and leaves a stain on your mind. Your cunt clenches around him possessively, pulling him somehow deeper inside of you. 

As your head bangs into your headboard, the tip of his cock bumps your cervix over and over again, and your jaw goes slack, literally fucked silent. Remy hears the thudding of your skull and puts a hand between it and the wood, but he doesn’t stop his relentless, deep thrusting. 

The pleasure reaches a peak and your nails dig into his back, leaving crescent moon shaped indentations on his golden skin. Remy’s groaning loud into your ear as he cums, muttering in an almost incoherent melange of French and English. His accent is somehow heavier, and you can barely make out the words as he’s saying them into your skin. It doesn’t matter though, because you feel how full you are, and Remy’s hot, white completion is leaking out the sides and staining your sheets. 

He stays like that for a moment, hovering on top of you. His cock softens inside, completely spent and eventually, he slips it out, rolling over onto your bed.

“Ah, joi de vivre, huh.” (the joy of life), he says drowsily.

You laugh, and nestle underneath his arm, in the space he’s left for you. 

If you had your way, you’d do it all over again. 

Though he doesn’t say it, so would he. 

[mywritersmind]

SAVIOR - LN4

pt.2

summary : Y/n’s favorite place has quickly become her and Lando’s shared hallway. They grow closer and finally make it to the fresh air.

OG SUMMARY (When y/n’s absent neighbor shows up, causing her great annoyance with smoke and repetitive beeping, she marches over to tell the man off but is met with a handsome face and strong hands that are in distress.)

listen up : no warnings!! y/n is clueless abt f1. lando is silly. i’m craving strawberries now.

word count : 1878

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I haul my five grocery bags into the elevator, struggling to keep them all off the ground. I sigh when I finally still in the metal box, i’ve carried these at least two blocks and one had broken on the way.

The doors are about to close but a hand slides in between them, making them automatically open for him.

Hello my hot mysterious neighbor.

He looks relieved he made it, “Y/n!” He says cheerfully, like we’ve known each other for ages. It’s been a couple weeks since I slammed on his door and stomped through his kitchen.

The other side of the hallway had been quiet until last night when I heard keys rattling and the door opening. I can’t help but wonder what he does that keeps him from home so often.

“Lando, Hi!” I smile back as he slides beside me and presses our floor.

“You need help?” He eyes the bags as I bite my lip, not wanting to bother him. I don’t have the time to respond because he takes three bags out of my hands like it’s nothing.

“Thank you.” I sigh, “I’ve been struggling for like two blocks.” He laughs a bit with me as the numbers get higher and higher.

“I’m happy to help.” We finally reach our floor, Lando watches me go first and walk to my door, unlocking it and walking in.

Lando follows hesitantly, like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

“Thank you again! I put myself in a bit of a bind when I decided that my friends need fifteen types of salami and cheese.” I place the bags on the counter, Lando following.

I push back my hair and suddenly wish I had cleaned up a bit more. My friends are coming over tonight and I had decided to push back my cleaning. Looking around at the clothes and old popcorn bowls scattered around makes me want to slap myself.

“Really, I like to lend a hand! I never get to be neighborly.” He shrugs.

“What do you do for work? If you don’t mind me asking?” I start placing the cold items in the freezer.

He leans against the counter, his arms holding him up and looking alarmingly fit, “Uh… You ever follow Formula 1?”

I nod, “Kinda? I used to love it!” My mom and I would watch every sunday but I stopped in college so I don’t know any of the current grid, “So you work in the sport! That’s cool, pretty hands on?” I ask as he laughs a bit, looking awkward.

“Yeah, I work with the cars.” He looks around my place a bit, “So, why does one need this much food? I’m judging or anything it’s just… You don’t seem like the type to need a jumbo sized pretzel bag.”

I smile and snatch the bag from him, “I could definitely eat all of this by the way! But I'm having a bit of a party tonight. If anything’s too loud just let me know! It’s just old friends from college- actually.” I look up at him, a boost of confidence appearing in me, “You could join us. If you’re not busy.”

It suddenly sounds like a ridiculously stupid idea. I turn back to the fridge, placing a bottle of lemonade in it and cringing.

“I would love to.” I let out a sigh of relief, “But I've got plans…” I frown and turn back to him, finally putting away the last of my groceries.

“Aw.”

“It’s really nice of you to invite me.” I smile, a bit sad and confused why I'm disappointed. I mean I barely know the man. “What do you do for work?”

I lean against the counter so I'm across from him, “I’m a writer. Journalism right now but I really want to take a more bookish route…”

He genuinely looks so intrigued, more interested than anyone else who I've told I write articles about neighborhood drama.

He checks his watch, which I'm now realizing is incredibly expensive, and swears, “I gotta go. Have fun with your party tonight.”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I definitely do have fun. My friends and I eat, drink, and play board games just like we’re back in dorms. I’m seeing my last and closest friend off when Lando comes up the hallway, As my friend's eyes go wide when she sees him, I shake my head.

“Goodbye!” I push her out of my apartment, “Love you!”

“Yeah love you too! Text me!” She walks past Lando, nodding at him before she turns behind his back and mouths ‘he’s hot’.

I roll my eyes at her, a smile still on my face as Lando looks at me. He’s in a full suit, holding his blazer in his hand.

“Fun time then?” God he’s hot!

“Absolutely!” I giggle, a bit tipsy, “How about you then?” I eye his suit.

“As good as I could make it.”

I slap my hand over my mouth, “God you aren’t coming from a funeral then, are you?”

He laughs at this, “No! No. A work banquet thing.”

I giggle a bit as he turns to his door, “Hey!” I say without thinking, “Would you want to come in? I have wine.”

He’s sitting on my couch thirty minutes later, a glass deep and talking about where he’s traveled too.

“That’s my dream!” I say, my feet tucked under myself as I tilt my head on the couch cushions, “Traveling. I mean- You’ve been everywhere!”

He shrugs, sipping his wine, his tie undone and shoes off, “It’s amazing but I'm not there for long so I don’t usually get to sightsee much. Honestly the most interesting thing that’s happened to me recently is this pretty girl came to save my baking disaster.”

I hum to his words, blushing a bit, “Sounds like a hero if i’ve ever heard one.” We both go silent, taking pieces of my leftover charcuterie board. “Should I start watching F1?”

“No!” He says it so quick that i’m taken aback.

“No?”

He laughs a bit, shaking it off, “It’s boring. I can’t have someone else in my life talk about it.”

I spin my wine around in the glass, “So I'm someone in your life now?”

He smirks, “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

I pretend to contemplate this, “I’ve never had a friend who hasn’t gone to the strawberry market with me.”

He makes an odd face, “So we must go then.”

I sigh, “If you want to be my friend…”

The corner of his mouth pulls, “Tomorrow at 9?”

⋆｡‧˚⋆

He’s at my door at 9:12. Thank god he’s late because I hop over to the door, pulling on my shoe and pulling down my jean skirt.

I open the door and stand up straight, smiling breathlessly. He, of course, looks perfect in jeans and an olive green shirt, “Morning.”

“Ready to taste the best strawberries you’ve ever had?” I grab my bag and keys.

“So ready.”

We make it to the market just on time. It’s my favorite neighborhood gem. Every Sunday people gather with strawberries. There are big and small, some covered in chocolate and some in honey.

I buy a box of chocolate ones, well Lando does. He insists that he still owes me. Handing one to Lando with an extra fork, he bites into it, his eyes roll, “Fucking hell.” I nod, excited that he likes them as much as I do.

“My favorite treat! Something you can’t burn your house down with.” I eye him and he eyes me right back. Being with Lando is like a breath of fresh air. I’ve never been so confident in my social skills.

He laughs with a shop owner as he buys his pack of plain strawberries. He's so nice and just listens politely as the woman goes on and on about her childhood on a strawberry farm.

He gives her a bigger bill than necessary and as she insists it’s too much, he just shakes his head and continues walking.

We settle at a park bench nearby, tasting all the pieces we’ve bought, “This is genuinely phenomenal.” He says while eating another, “How’d you find this place?”

“Had to write about something local and had total writers block… I was walking around one day and just sort of stumbled upon it.”

He smiles, I really like this smile. “You seem like the type to just stumble upon a strawberry market.”

I laugh, covering my mouth, “What does that even mean?”

“You’re just so…” His hands make these weird gestures, his fingers moving around as he laughs and gives up, “It just fits.”

I smile, meeting his eyes. They're so nice, a mix of blue and green. His gaze washes over me and I feel the need to smile even more.

“You’ve got nice eyes.” My stomach twists as he says it so calmly, “Real pretty.” I feel a blush on my cheeks and I turn away from him, looking at the park near us and being startled by the child looking up at us.

Lando follows my gaze, mumbling softly, “Shit.”

“Hi.” The kid says awestruck, I look to Lando who’s smiling and sitting up straighter. “Um- Are you Lando Norris?”

Lando scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah I am! What's your name?”

“W-William!” He says, swallowing and pulling a pen from behind his back, “Could you sign this?” I glance to what looks like his mother, she’s watching him with a smile.

Lando simply nods and takes the cap from his head, its bright orange. He signs his name and messes up the kid's hair, “Thanks a lot! My friends’ll never believe it!” The boy squeals and runs back to his mom who waves slightly and takes the boy's hand.

I raise a brow at Lando, still confused, “I’m sorry…” He looks embarrassed but I don’t even know what for.

“I’m going to assume you didn’t tell me the whole truth in what your job is?”

His cheeks get a bit red, “I do work with the cars… Just really close. Like I’m in them. One specifically.”

I nod, “Yours?”

“Mine.” He crosses his arms, his lips in a thin line, “I drive for McLaren.” I breathe out.

“Oh.” I can’t help but think I have a type because I grew up with Jenson Button posters on my wall.

He runs a hand through his curls, “I don’t usually get recognized around here- Thought we would be okay.”

“We are okay!” I reassure him, realizing he’s actually embarrassed, “That was sweet.”

He looks up hopefully, “You think? I’m sorry for lying- I just really liked that you didn’t know who I am or what I do.”

“Well, I sort of still don't. I know your full name now, that’s about it.” He smiles at this, I bite into another strawberry.

“Do you want to go out with me?”

He is yet to say something I'm not shocked at.

“Yeah.” I nod, smiling at him as he grins, “I’d really like that. Don’t you have to race soon though…? Singapore, isn’t it?”

The smirk that pulls at his lips is just plain mischievous, “I never said the date would be here.”

[theysherobinbuckley]

a little something I started but probably won't ever finish - alternate first meeting steddie! post s3, pre s4

(context: in an effort to cheer up his perpetually grumpy new neighbor, Eddie broke out his old skateboard and immediately ate shit for it. Cue Red calling none other than Steve Harrington to solve the problem...)

Red was barely in the door when Harringron turned on him, jaw clenched and fingers twitching. Having those dark eyes focused so entirely on him nearly made Eddie dizzy.

His lips were moving and- oh shit. Eddie was totally supposed to be listening.

"Uh, what?"

"What are you doing hanging around Max?"

Eddie frowned. "We're neighbors?"

"So?"

"So I'm being… neighborly? Is that illegal?"

"Neighborly is getting someone's mail while they're out of town. Not a super senior hanging around with a girl who's not even in high school yet."

"You better be fucking careful what you're accusing me of, Harrington, because to be honest, you don't look any better. Don't think I haven't heard your beemer pull up at all hours of the night. What the fuck is that about, huh? King Steve likes 'em young?"

Eddie's back hit the trailer before the last word even left his mouth. All the breath rushed out of him at once as Harrington pinned him with one arm across his shoulders.

"Don’t fucking say that," he seethed. "She's like my sister. I'm not- I wouldn't hurt her."

Eddie reached up to pat Harrington's arm placatingly, sending him as sweet a smile as he could muster.

"Hey, I believe you, man. I'm a little lost, sure, but I believe you." He sent a look to the trailer to his right. "Now can you let me down before Muriel sends Axel out to break your arm?"

Harrington followed his gaze and, upon seeing Muriel frowning from behind her curtains, dropped Eddie faster than if he'd told him he had the plague.

"We're in my kingdom now, Harrington," he said, grinning and waving in Muriel's direction. "These are my people. We take care of each other here. And Red's one of us, whether you like it or not."

Steve frowned, opened his mouth to respond, maybe even protest, but Eddie cut him off.

"I was just trying to make the kid smile, okay? So I got out my old skateboard, did a few tricks, busted my shit." He held up the ice pack he'd stolen from Red's fridge. "She called you 'cause she said you'd know what to do."

Harrington was quiet. Noticeably, he did not apologize for jostling Eddie's extremely sore wrist, but whatever.

"Did she?"

"Yeah, man, I tried to talk her out of it, but she seemed pretty confident you'd pick up. And here you are, so…"

"No, I mean- did she have fun?"

Eddie shrugged. "I mean, she didn't look as miserable as usual. Laughed a couple times when I fucked up a dismount. What's up with that, by the way? The constant dispair?"

Harrington's whole body tensed, and Eddie was almost scared he was gearing up to punch him just for asking.

"You remember Billy Hargrove?" he replied, his voice tight.

Eddie couldn't help but sneer at the mention of that piece of shit. Wayne had always taught him not to speak ill of the dead, but that didn't mean he couldn't think some choice things about him. Like the fact that he was pretty sure the guy was rotting in hell for all the things he'd said to Jeff in the school halls.

"Unfortunately. What about him?"

"He was Max's older brother. Step-brother."

"That's..."

"Fucked?" Harrington supplied. Eddie nodded. "Yeah. So I just- I need to make sure another Hargrove doesn't come around. Sorry I got all... you know. I've been told I can be kind of intense."

"No shit," Eddie laughed. "No hard feelings, I guess. Since it's in Red's best interest."

"No hard feelings," Harrington echoed. "Thanks for looking out for her."

Then, something Eddie had never even dreamed of: Harrington stuck his hand out, clearly expecting a handshake.

Huh.

It was over in a second, but Eddie's hand burned where Steve's had been.

"No problem. I'm kind of the park babysitter," Eddie replied. "Part of the job description."

Harrington lit up at that.

"I babysit too! Max and a few of her friends. 'S why I'm always around. I'm usually playing chauffeur for one of the other gremlins."

"That makes more sense than you having a torrid love affair with Susan."

"Yeah, she's not really my type," Harrington said with a smirk.

Eddie watched in shock as Harrington's eyes slowly, deliberately dipped up and down his form.

Talk about fucking whiplash. Eddie could still feel Harrington's strong arm against his chest, the brush of Harrington's nose against his own, the heat of Harrington's breath on his face. And now the king was checking him out?

"I see. Not into MILFs?"

Eddie was in the middle of making plans to staple his big stupid mouth shut when Harrington laughed.

"I'm more into brunettes."

And boy, didn't that seem pointed.

[malevoreenthusiast]

Neighborly Infatuation

Trying something new here with writing from the prey's perspective. Let me know if you like it! I'm always happy to fulfill requests or asks! Enjoy!

Ever since my family had moved in to our new house on Canter Drive, I had the hots for my neighbor—Mr. Tim Saur. He was a single man, who, from what I could tell, never married, and he was always cordial with my family and especially kind to me. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when my affection for him started growing more…unhinged, but most days I would stare out my window and watch him sunbathe in the summer sun. Watching sweat cling to his hairy muscles was my sexual awakening, then reawakening, until it felt like my attraction for him never slept. And, for the most part, it didn’t. After getting home from my freshman year of college, I needed to make some money to support myself, so I thought what better way to make money than to ask Mr. Saur if he needed any help with his lawn or menial chores that would allow me to spend time with him.

So, I did that. I would go to the gym before mowing his lawn so that when I took my shirt off, my pump would potentially attract him. When I was folding his laundry, I occasionally stashed a few pairs of his obscenely stretched underwear to take home and worship. I did my best to show Mr. Saur my bulge that seemingly grew every time I was near him in hopes that he might notice. Alas, aside from a few glances here and there, Mr. Saur never seemed to reciprocate my advances. Yes, he would look at me when I was all sweaty and shirtless from mowing the lawn, but I craved more than just longing glances and “what-if.” I wanted deeper than that, so I concocted a plan that was so stupid it might work.

In the middle of the night, far past when any of my family stirred from slumber, I snuck down and out of the house in nothing but my underwear. My dick was already leaking through my boxers in anticipation for what I wanted to do. The summer night felt cool on my skin, electrifying me with thoughts of pure lust and desire. Making my way over to Mr. Saur’s back door, I quietly slid through, using my key he had gifted me a month prior. Small and dangerous creaks in the floorboards raised miniature alarm bells for an intruder in the night, but I couldn’t hear any of my neighbor’s grunts or moans synonymous with waking up. So, I continued onward.

Slowly pushing open the door to Mr. Saur's bedroom, I began stroking my cock, looking at his restful figure shining in the pale moonlight. His hairy body packed with muscle looked like a big chocolate cake, ripe for the taking. I stepped out of my underwear and slowly shimmied into bed next to him. His breath hitched, but he didn’t wake up. The cool touch of the mattress on my naked body was comforting, but I was looking for something more. I scooched in closer to the man of my desires, already feeling my cock touch his big, manly ass. I shuddered in bliss—this was everything I had ever wanted for the past several years. Slowly, with the gentility of a quiet mouse, I grabbed my neighbor by the shoulder and rolled him over so he was laying on his back. His face looked troubled, but by no means did he look like he was awake. Now, with my sexy neighbor in a prime position, I delicately wrapped an arm around him and nuzzled into his side. Thankfully, he didn’t notice or stir. It does make sense—a man as big as a bear would probably sleep like one, too. As I cuddled Mr. Saur, I went over the rest of my plan:

First, I would sneak into his bed in the middle of the night. That part was done, and I’m all set for phase two. In the morning when he awoke, I would act like we fooled around last night and that he was really drunk. Third, I would blackmail him by saying if he wouldn’t let me fuck him again, I would tell my parents and everyone in the neighborhood. Of course, there was nothing illegal about a 40-something man getting with a 19-year-old, but I think people would definitely look down upon it. My plan was perfect. All I had to do now was wait until morning and resist the urge to fuck him here and now…

“Kid, wake up!” Mr. Saur hissed. “The fuck are you doing, get up!” he shook me awake.

I smiled, knowing my plan had worked. “Goodmorning, Mr. Saur,” I said, enunciating the vowels slowly and deliberately. Fluttering my eyes open, I stared at him with an innocent expression, though my dick was harder than a steel beam. Apparently, my reaction, in his mind, confirmed that we had slept together the night prior.

“God, why does this always happen to me,” he rolled out of bed in his underwear. The morning sun illuminated his pulchritudinous body excellently, and my boner sprung from the covers of Mr. Saur’s bed. He looked at me, my throbbing cock, then back to me. “Did we…?”

I nodded whilst smiling knowingly. Mr. Saur had fallen for it right away. This worked out even better than I had imagined it would. I responded, “Oh yeah, several times. You loved it,” I mouthed, stroking my cock, signifying my readiness for “another round.”

Mr. Saur looked incredibly troubled, running his hand down his face like an exasperated cartoon character. Looking me up and down, he spoke, “Look, kid. I’m sorry I have to do this, but I can’t have anyone finding out about this.”

I faltered for a moment, unsure of what he meant. Quickly, I felt his tight grasp around my ankle, dragging me down to the foot of the bed where he was. I giggled, enjoying myself with how dominant he was showing himself to me. I stroked myself faster, moaning his name. When I thought he was about to climb on top of me in bed, he instead leaned down and put his mouth around my big toe. I didn’t take him for being such a kinky guy, but I wasn’t complaining. I wriggled my toes in his mouth and pushed my other foot to his lips to let him suck on them more. Seeing his wide eyes as he enveloped my other set of toes was orgasmic. I moaned out, “Wow, Mr. Saur. I wonder what else that mouth can fit inside of it…?”

He promptly showed me, swallowing up my feet in a large gulp. I was taken aback quite a bit; I didn’t think footjobs meant literally putting the entire person’s feet in your mouth. Still, it was kind of impressive seeing Mr. Saur’s mouth stretch over me like that. He continued staring at me with wide, predatory eyes, like I was a delectable slab of tender meat. I wiggled my hips and felt his spongy tongue lathering up the soles of my feet. He swallowed again, lurching my body downwards closer to his mouth. At this point, confusion was my primary feeling over lust. How could a human stretch their jaw like that…? Maybe this was some strange fetish I wasn’t privy to, but if Mr. Saur wanted it, I would provide.

“What’re you doing down there, handsome? Why don’t you crawl back up here and let me fuck that ass of yours again?” I tried to disengage him from…putting my legs in his mouth, but he didn't blink. All he did was swallow once again. His tight throat felt really warm and wet, and a rhythmic motion caressed my legs over and over, like he was slowly trying to gulp the rest of me down. My legs were too far down his throat for even me to find it arousing, so I tried to pull them out, only to find that I couldn’t. His throat was way too tight around me for me to be able to escape from his mouth. As I was coming to this conclusion, he swallowed again, this time widening his mouth around my thighs. My feet were tickled by a tight muscle which I assumed to be Mr. Saur’s stomach. I really didn’t know how he could do this, but he didn’t seem like he wanted to stop, unlike me. “Alright, Mister, don’t you think you’ve had your fun? You can let me go now…” I squirmed again, trying to dislodge myself from his tight, coaxing esophagus.

Mr. Saur shook his head, seizing my hips with an iron grip. In a forceful and excruciating motion, he pulled my body deeper down his mouth. Mr. Saur was actually trying to swallow me whole. What’s worse, he was succeeding. The wet, lubricated tunnel of his gullet widened around me, allowing me passage into his stomach. I didn’t know how this was possible, and I yelped in terror. How the hell was my neighbor doing this? I saw a glimpse of his stomach, which was now rounded out and bloated as my legs began expanding the curve of his hairy gut. “Mr. Saur, seriously, stop it. I don’t like this,” I began to wriggle more intensely now. His only answer was another deep, resounding gulp as my hard cock and plump cheeks entered his drooling maw.

Unfortunate in this case: I am only a man, so the immense pleasure I felt from Mr. Saur’s mouth drooling around my hefty cock and bubbly cheeks distracted me pretty terribly from the ongoing situation. His tongue expertly swirled around my head, building up my arousal and edging me closefr towards climax. He nibbled softly on my cheeks, making me giggle and squirm for him. The pleasure was so intense that I didn’t notice his next swallow, bringing me up to my abs in his seemingly endless maw. His throat still stimulated my dick, rubbing it with his tight muscle. Instinctually, I reached down my hands to stroke my cock, forgetting my situation. Mr. Saur was all too happy to oblige my hands and arms entry into his mouth so I could begin stroking my cock halfway down his throat. Lost in lust, I rubbed myself almost to climax before his plump lips wrapped around my shoulders. I couldn’t help myself anymore, as this strangely erotic feeling of getting engulfed by my neighbor brought out the worst in me. I moaned, “Oh please, Mr. Saur, you’re so fucking hot. Do I taste good, handsome? You like that?” Truly, I was a lost cause.

Barely registering Mr. Saur closing his lips around my head, I continued to jack off in his throat. My lower body had now fully entered into my neighbor’s sweltering stomach chamber and the rest of me soon followed. The plush, wet landscape of Mr. Saur’s belly was extremely soft and squishy, and his belly made so much noise that I could barely hear my own moans and dirty-talk. Gooning to the thought of Mr. Saur, I finally pumped my cock enough to erupt all over his stomach cavity. Thick, hot ropes of cum spurted from my fertile dick, coating the walls of his stomach in my potent semen. I groaned in his gut, and the indent of his hands rubbing over me was felt from every angle. I stayed there for a few more minutes, pumping my sensitive dick and squirming around in a lust-ridden haze. Eventually, I tried to prop myself up on my elbow, only to slip and fall into the juices that had started pooling below me. Then, I realized the gravity of my situation. Mr. Saur, my hot, sexy neighbor, had just swallowed me whole, and I was currently stewing away in his hairy belly. I felt him rubbing over me and belching obnoxiously as I jostled inside of him. The movements of his belly felt suspiciously like he was jacking off to my being inside of his gut. I was trying to keep my cool, but a particularly loud groan from inside his belly sent me into a frenetic panic.

Pounding on the walls of his belly, I scream, “Mr. Saur, please! Let me out!!” The movements from the outside only hastened, as if my struggles were turning him on even further. He belched, which tightened his stomach walls around me. The air was stale, and I was starting to feel claustrophobic in his gut. I pounded on his belly again, hoping he would realize this was all a big mistake and let me out, “Mr. Saur, I’m not food! You can let me out! Please!”

A big, hefty groan echoed as Mr. Saur came all over the massive dome of his belly. He patted his gut, belched, and said, “Sorry, kid, but I couldn’t have anyone finding out about us, you see. Don’t worry, it’ll all be over soon.”

Mr. Saur’s behemoth of a belly gurgled and churned me inside of it. He rubbed over the hairy beast slowly and seductively. As much as I hated to admit it, I was still turned on by the absolute specimen of a man who had the ability to swallow an entire human being whole. Now I wish I had actually gotten him drunk and fucked him before this morning instead of just pretending I did. This plot had horribly backfired, and now, I was getting sloshed around inside the belly of my hot neighbor. He rubbed over me, which felt distastefully comforting, like a disco ball inside of a hearse. I wriggled around until I could find a more comfortable spot and began to slowly jack off once again, unable to deny my young body it’s lust. Soon enough though, the oxygen in Mr. Saur’s belly was cut off, and I was drifting off to sleep for the final time…

About two weeks later, Mr. Saur returned home from work, ready for a nice dinner. Stepping out of his car on the driveway, he noticed my twin brother knocking on his front door. He looked down at his (slightly larger, after I was digested) belly before looking back up at my kin, thinking that I might’ve somehow, impossibly, escaped his belly. With his heart pounding, he tentatively stepped out of his car and called over to my twin, “Kid, is that… you?”

My brother Tommy bounded over to Mr. Saur, with a serious expression on his face. He responded, “Hey, Mr. Saur, I’m Zach’s brother Tommy, nice to meet you. I was coming over to see if I could ask if you maybe knew anything about where Zach went? I really miss him, and he was always talking about how fun you were… We have no idea where he could’ve gone…”

Mr. Saur’s belly growled. He pondered for a moment, before responding, “Sure thing kid. Why don’t you come on in and we can have dinner together? I need a good meal right about now.” The two waltzed in to Mr. Saur’s house, ready to have a long talk about what happened two weeks ago.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Character Traits (Virtues)

When describing someone, we often describe the virtues or values they exhibit, which are aligned to their character.

Virtues - positive personal strengths and behaviors that demonstrate an individual’s moral standards.

Can be considered the foundation of character and can be categorized as moral virtues, civic virtues, intellectual virtues, or performance virtues.

Types of Virtues

INTELLECTUAL VIRTUES

Can be considered habits of mind, enabling individuals to become critical thinkers who ask the right questions and seek answers from evidence-based resources.

These virtues support discernment, right action and the pursuit of knowledge while enabling problem-solving.

MORAL VIRTUES

Can be considered habits of the heart.

Moral character guides decision making from multiple perspectives allowing individuals to evaluate situations and respond in a meaningful and responsible manner that keeps the betterment of society and all stakeholders in the forefront.

These virtues guide social connections and ethical decision making.

CIVIC VIRTUES

Can be considered habits of service.

Civic character supports a collaborative approach to solving systemic problems to contribute to the well-being of others and serve the public good.

These virtues ultimately support citizenship and community.

PERFORMANCE VIRTUES

Can be considered habits of action and will, enabling us to marry the quality of our actions to the strength of our convictions.

These virtues equip and enable one to navigate life and uncertainty for success.

Performance virtues are informed by intellectual, moral, and civic virtues.

In collaboration, the virtue types allow individuals space to develop a deeper sense of virtuous behavior and growth through personal experiences and reflection when the virtues collide, known as practical wisdom, furthering our good sense.

Practical wisdom

Also known as phronesis, is the meta-virtue that guides individuals in making decisions when two or more virtues collide.

This helps us determine what is morally right in a given situation so we can discern which virtue to put into action.

Intellectual Virtues: Are my actions in pursuit of knowledge, truth and understanding?

Examples

Reflection

Resourcefulness

Communication

Critical Thinking

Curiosity

Reasoning

Moral Virtues: Do I respond ethically and with heart?

Examples

Honesty

Humility

Compassion

Integrity

Kindness

Empathy

Civic Virtues: Do I engage in responsible citizenship?

Examples

Service

Citizenship

Community Awareness

Neighborliness

Civility

Performance Virtues: Do I have the tools to navigate life and uncertainty?

Examples

Resilience

Determination

Perseverance

Leadership

Self-discipline

Motivation

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ +600 Personality Traits

[nathaslosthershit]

New Neighbors and Interrupted Streams [Part 1] (LN4)

Read Part 2 here! Summary: Desperate for new friends, maybe it's time to revert to the tried and true neighborly American cookie exchange.  A/N: I know Lando lives in Monaco but in this he is still in the UK. Also I really love fics that have something to do with Lando streaming and being teased the entire time.

This was stupid. This was probably so stupid. But she had to do something.

Two weeks she had been in her new apartment, in a new country. In that time, she had gotten increasingly lonelier, seemingly unable to make friends.

She had moved to the UK for work but with another month till she actually began her new job, she didn’t know how to make friends in her free time.

God, why was it so hard to make friends as an adult? 

So, after a call with her mom expressing her issues with making friends, she was reminded of a good-old US custom.

Baking cookies for your neighbor.

Usually, this was reserved for pre-existing residents to introduce themselves to the new folks moving in, but after all this time she didn’t expect her neighbors to reach out, so it seemed she had to do it herself. 

After that phone call, she tried it twice with some of her neighbors. The first time, she left them at the door with a note introducing herself to them, saying she hoped they could meet up sometime. She found the cookies still in the box, with the opened note on her doorstep later that day. 

The second time, she got so excited when she saw from down the hall that her neighbor had grabbed them, swiftly moving inside his own flat with the cookies while reading the note. But a week later and no sign of any desire from the neighbor to connect with her, she gave up. 

She had one last person she could try with, the ridiculously cute boy who lived in the apartment across from her. She hadn’t actually talked to him, just spied on him a few times from her peephole when she heard him leaving his flat. Creepy, she knew, but she was far too shy to say anything.

But she was so desperate, and she could tell he was around her age… she thinks. After sitting at her table for an hour staring at the home baked goods, she finally grabbed them and knocked on his door before she could chicken out. 

Lando was streaming with Max next to him, when he got a notification that someone was by his door. Thinking it was the takeaway he ordered, he swiftly excused himself to go grab it. What he didn’t expect was the pretty girl who had just moved across from him to be at the door.

There was a beat of silence as they both stared at each other. In all honesty, she was just going to knock, wait a few seconds, then leave the cookies. She hadn't expected him to answer the door so she was unsure what to say. 

Finally he spoke up.

“Sorry, are we being too loud? We can totally quiet down if you need to.” He said while awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

She still didn’t reply, too stunned by seeing him for the first time not through a small and dirty peephole. God, he was beautiful.

Seconds of silence went by until she finally managed to get everything she wanted out.

“No, no I am so sorry. You are completely fine, that's not why I am here. I just didn’t think you'd actually answer the door. Anyway, I know this is probably strange and I don’t think they actually do this here but I just wanted to introduce myself to my neighbors, so I made cookies! Again this is probably so weird of me so it's totally fine if you don’t want them or something, the other neighbors clearly didn’t but that's okay. Anyway- Hi, I live across from you and now I am here with cookies!” She managed to get out in one breath while sticking the cookies out for him to grab.

This time, Lando took a few seconds to reply, trying to process what she said. “You’re American.” Was all he managed to get out.

She didn’t know what to reply, it wasn’t a question but felt like he needed reinforcement about that statement.

“I am.”

“I didn’t realize they actually did this, thought it was a movie thing.”

“Uh- I am sorry?”

“No. no! It's sweet, thank you for them. I really appreciate it… sorry what's your name? I’m Lando by the way” 

How she managed to not actually say her name while she spent a full minute rambling about how she wanted to introduce herself was beyond her, but after quickly introducing herself, properly this time, she finally felt the tension and awkwardness leave her body.

He took the cookies from her, promising that he was excited to eat them even though he knew his trainer wouldn’t be too happy, and took this opportunity to get her phone number. Promising to text her, he closed the door and immediately looked out his peephole, wanting to get one more look at her. He was surprised, and amused, to see she did a little celebratory dance in the hallway, before taking a breath and entering her own apartment, excited she had just made a new potential friend.

“What took you so long, Mate? And why are you so red? And why do you have cookies? Where is the food we ordered?” Max asked when Lando entered the room again, a stupid grin adorning his face.

“It wasn’t our delivery, the new neighbor just stopped by to introduce herself.”

“The cute one you kept going on about?” Max teased, earning a kick to the shin as that wasn’t information Lando wanted everyone watching the stream to know.

“Anyway- she brought cookies as a little hello. It's sweet. I've never gotten cookies made for me before.”

“She brought cookies? The hell would she do that for?”

“Like I said, to introduce herself. She’s american.”

Before Max could ask anymore questions, specifically about why Lando was smiling so much and why he was beet-red, which Max already knew the answer to, their actual takeaway came, saving Lando for the time being.

When he came back and they started eating, Lando wasn’t interrogated on the topic, at least not until he began giggling on his phone.

“Mate, what are you- Oh my god guys he is giggling and texting his new neighbor. Chat, this is unbelievable.” Max yelled as he stole Lando’s phone from his hand. Reading the messages with disgust, he added, “God, you need to work on your flirting, you sound like an absolute muppet right now.”

Lando quickly took his phone back and tried to change the topic. Throughout the rest of the stream, he tried his best to not look at the new messages she had sent in order to not be teased, as the chat seemed to still be mentioning every time he would secretly text her, trying to be stealthy as to not let Max find out.

He just hoped this whole thing stayed on the stream, and that it wouldn’t come to the press, who loved to question him on his relationships. The last thing he needed was to be asked this during media after a race.

He wouldn’t be so lucky, he soon would find out after the next race.

Read Part 2 here!

[jobean12-blog]

A Place Made for Love

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader (No-outbreak Joel)

Word Count: 5,081

Summary: You're new to the small town Joel's lived in all his life and just the sight of you has him feeling a certain way so when he learns that you've bought the old bookshop and you're moving into the apartment above, it turns his familiar world upside down.

Author's Note: This one got away from me. I love the idea of Joel just living his life and doing construction and being grumpy and then reader comes along and really gives him a run for his money. Had to include a bookshop for this because along with Joel, it's one of my favorite things. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always!❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics Thank you Daisy! 🥰

PS Bold font means texts and anything italics is like an inner thought lol

Warnings: grumpy Joel, sassy reader, tension, flirting, softness and smiles, fluff and sweetness

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

You trudge down the canned food aisle feeling completely indecisive but hungry and growing more aggravated by the second.

As you round the next corner you’re sifting through the contents of your basket when you walk headfirst into what feels like the wall.

“Ow!” you yelp as you stumble back.

A strong arm wraps around your waist to steady you and you look up, blinking.

“Better watch where you’re goin’ there darlin’.”

Your body tenses at the feel of him pressed against you and you mutter something inaudible under your breath before slipping from his grasp.

“Not even a thank you,” he muses as he turns to follow you.

“Weren’t you going the other way?” you shoot back.

“Just realized I forgot the pasta,” he says, leaning over your shoulder to whisper the words close to your ear.

You force your betraying body to remain calm at his proximity and then ignore the comment.

“What the hell are you gonna make with that mish mosh?” he asks as he peeks into your basket.

“Why do you care?” you counter with a brittle smirk.

He shrugs as the corners of his mouth turn up into a grin.

“Maybe something to poison you with…that would be nice.”

Your sassy remark makes his whole face light up with a smile and it momentarily roots you to the spot.

With one last disgruntled glance you stomp off in the other direction. “Since I’m new here you’d think you’d be a little more neighborly!”

“Fuck,” Joel mutters as he follows you.

“Ok darlin’.”

“Ok what?” you ask as you turn to face him.

“Maybe…” and he paused, studying you. “I could be a bit more friendly.”

He looks back down at your basket.

“You know if you grab some beans and a pepper you’ll be well on your way to making a great chili.”

“Chili,” you repeat.

You look between him and the basket. “That works. Although…”

“You’ve never made it before?”

At his question you fight back a sigh.

“No. I haven’t. But I’m capable of looking up a recipe.”

“Or I could just tell you about some good take-out places.”

You roll your eyes.

“I can manage to cook my own dinner, thanks!”

At the sarcasm in your tone his grin widens before he starts to step around you, his arm brushing yours with the motion.

“Great darlin.’ Just don’t burn the place down or anything. It’s the only bookshop in the neighborhood and we all love it.”

He winks and saunters off.

The urge to turn around and watch him is almost overwhelming but you square your shoulder and keep your chin up. “I can make chili,” you assure yourself.

Joel sits across from Tommy and sips his beer, waiting for his brother to make a dinner choice.

If Tommy notices Joel glancing too many times at the small bookshop across the street, he doesn’t mention it.

“You’re quieter than usual,” Tommy remarks as he drops the menu and leans back. “What’s on your mind?”

Joel grunts before looking across the street again. “Work.”

“This new job we have is a big one. I want it to go perfectly so they hire us for the rest of it.” Joel continues.

Tommy nods in agreement but he’s battling a smile.

“Somethin’ you wanna say brother?” Joel asks.

Tommy grins. “I might have somethin’ to say.”

Joel grinds his teeth and tightens his grip on the beer bottle.

“Heard you had a little exchange with our new bookshop owner at the grocery store this mornin’.”

“Who said?” Joel asks, pinning Tommy with dark eyes.

“No one of importance,” Tommy shrugs. “You’re starin’ a hole through the window.”

Tommy’s eyes glitter. He’s clearly enjoying himself. “Heard she didn’t back down and run off over your…charm.”

“You’re worse than a school girl. Spreadin’ gossip around.”

That makes Tommy laugh and he takes a swig of his drink.

“Still,” Tommy says. “I can’t blame you…she’s real nice to look at and probably a lot of fun when you get her goin’…which you seem to enjoy doin’.”

“Tommy,” Joel warns as his jaw tightens. “Don’t go sniffin’ around any of that and don’t ask me to explain why.”

Tommy dips his head in understanding, his mouth tight in a straight line but his eyes bright with amusement.

“Not a single sniff. You’ve got my word brother…”

Tommy’s head swings around and his attention settles on something happening in the street. “What the hell…?”

Joel jerks his head in the same direction and in matter of seconds he’s out of his chair and charging through the door.

Without thinking he runs toward you and let’s out a breath when he looks you over, the large pot between your fingers and a garbage bag over your shoulder.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” you breathe, staring at him. “Where the hell did you come from?”

His relief at the fact that you’re unharmed is obvious even as he takes the pot from you and grabs your wrists, turning your hands over to check.

His skin is warm and his fingers are calloused. The sensations cause your mind to go blank and you stand there motionless.

Once he’s satisfied he looks down at the pot and the black contents inside. He’s still holding your wrists.

“I burnt it,” you say quietly. “The whole upstairs apartment smells awful so I thought I’d better get rid of it quick before the shop started to stink.”

“I can take care…” Tommy begins to speak and Joel whips his head around just now realizing he was even standing there and glares so Tommy snaps his mouth shut.

Joel looks back at you and slowly releases you, the loss of his touch something you instantly feel.

Tommy covers a cough and you drag your eyes away from Joel to glance at his younger brother.

“Hey,” Tommy says and extends his hand.

You reach out and shake it to introduce yourself.

“I was saying I could help you out with that but I think my brother here has it under control,” Tommy quips.

“Damn right I do,” Joel says, hands on his hips.

“Thanks Tommy, I appreciate the offer,” you smile.

Tommy tips his head and walks back across the street to the bar.

Joel’s hard eyes turn to you in an assessing way but he remains silent.

“Aren’t you going to make some shitty remark about my cooking skills,” you snip.

His broad shoulders slump and he holds out his hand.

“Here, give me the bag.”

You hand the bag over and watch as he empties what he can of the contents and then stares down at it with pursed lips.

“Might have to…” he starts.

“You can just get rid…” you say at the same time.

He drops the pot into the bag with a laugh.

It catches you off guard and when he meets your eyes again the surprise is evident in your wide-eyed expression.

“No shitty remarks darlin.’ Just glad you’re ok…and you didn’t burn the place down.”

The last part of his comment trails off into quiet mumblings but you still catch it.

“Couldn’t help yourself huh?” you say but you’re fighting back a small smile.

The two of you stand there on the sidewalk for what feels like forever until Joel clears his throat and you look up at him through your lashes.

“Guess your dinner’s ruined,” he states.

“You could say that. I’ll have to go aimlessly walk around the grocery store some more in the hopes of finding food.”

His large hand runs through his already mussed hair before it settles on the back of his head and he shoves his free hand into his jeans pocket.

“Hey uh, listen darlin’…I’m sorry if I was rude earlier…at the store…and the other times before that. It was wrong of me.”

Your expression softens.

“Thank you, I accept.”

Joel hums and flicks his head toward the bar. “I had just ordered dinner before you came running out. Go in and eat it.”

When you stare at him he plays back his words and realizes they came out as a demand.

“If you want to,” he adds. “Join me. For food.”

You smile and slide past him. Your distinct and soft scent wafts up to his nose and he instinctively inhales, his eyes closing briefly before he starts to move to follow you.

He motions to the small table and pulls out your chair, waiting for you to sit before he does the same. His thick fingers wrap around the fork, making it look comically small, before he hands it to you and pushes the plate closer.

You stab a French fry and pop it in your mouth.

“So Tommy…you guys work together?”

“Yeah. Construction. We actually have a big project coming up in the city. Working on one of the new fancy hotel buildings.

“That sounds exciting. I guess it’s not really a 9-5 job then?”

“Nah, not really. Some days we spend doing small, odd jobs around the neighborhood and other times we’ll be on one job for weeks or months.”

You nod. “What do you do in your spare time? Besides follow women around the grocery store and make snarky comment on their food choices.”

“Gonna hold that over my head for long?” he asks.

You look him over and pretend to think about it. “Not sure yet.”

“Fair enough,” he sighs, noticing you stopped eating and nudging your arm with his elbow. “Eat.”

“Are you always this bossy?” you ask as you chew.

His eyes drop to your mouth and the way you lick the salt from your lips.

“Maybe,” he replies, the sides of his mouth twitching with a smile.

“Fair enough,” you tell him, mirroring his earlier words.

The whites of his teeth appear with his lopsided smile

“You plannin’ on trying to cook chili again?”

“Maybe,” you answer, loving the way his eyes crinkle at your repeated and mocking words.

“So now that you know a little more about me why not tell me why you’re here in our little town?”

He settles his forearms on the table and leans in, watching you with intense eyes.

“Well,” you start with a sigh. “I’ve always wanted to run or own a bookshop but my job in the city was keeping me so busy I barely had time to read and of course it’s easier said than done. For a while I didn’t mind…the work that is. Sure I was busy but I figured my life was just what it was supposed to be. Had a nice apartment, steady job, steady boyfriend…until I didn’t. He broke up with me over a text and then refused to answer my calls and explain why. After that, my job became less and less appealing as did living in the city so when his opportunity came up I had to jump on it as scary as all the change is.”

You wait and hold his gaze. “What are you thinking?” you ask.

“I’m thinking a lot of things,” he says quietly before stealing a fry off the plate.

“Like?” you ask.

Like where I can find your ex-boyfriend so I can give him a proper beating.

When he still doesn’t speak you continue talking. “I’m thinking about the renovations I want to make to the bookshop. It’s nothing crazy. Just some minor changes to make it more of a cozy space.”

“That sounds nice,” he answers. “It could use some upgrades.”

“Definitely. And the door to my apartment upstairs doesn’t even lock! I need to get that fixed first.”

Joel’s eyes narrow at your statement. “That’s not safe.”

You smirk and steal the next fry that’s dangling between his fingers as they hover over the plate.

“Maybe I’ll look up some cute contractors online to come help me.”

He sits back, crossing his arms over his chest and spreading his legs wider under the table. Your gaze moves to the way his biceps pop under the tight fabric of his shirt.

“You could. If you wanted the job done poorly.”

“Are you saying you’d be able to do a better job?”

“Damn right darlin.”

Was this still about renovations to the shop?

With that thought still floating around in his brain he watches you stand and pop one last fry into your mouth.

“Thank you for sharing your dinner with me,” you say before rounding the table. “I like it when you’re nice.”

And I even like it when you’re bossy. Maybe too much.

You kept that last thought tucked away and lean down to kiss him on the cheek before lightly brushing your hand over his shoulder and walking out the door.

Tommy drops into the now empty seat, grinning ear to ear.

“How’d that go boss?” he asks.

“Shut it,” Joel growls.

Later that week with the sun just peeking above the horizon you hear a knock at your door. It startles you into alertness and you sit up with a gasp, dropping your book to the bed.

Your feet hit the cool floor and you ask, “who’s there?,” hoping to keep the shakiness from your voice.

“It’s Joel.”

“Oh,” you whisper, now suddenly even more alert but much less jumpy.

Before you open the door you quickly run a hand over your face and scrub away the sleepiness. You turn the knob and have it halfway open before you realize you’re barely dressed, the only thing covering your body is the old tee shirt that hits way above your knees.

You stop and peek through.

“I’m um…I’m not really dressed. I was in bed reading.”

“Shit,” Joel mutters. “Sorry darlin.’ I didn’t even realize the time. I can wait till you’ve put somethin’ on.”

He doesn’t move away from the door and you open it a little wider before slipping away to grab shorts.

“Fuck,” he mutters quietly but not quietly enough and your lips turn up into a triumphant smile.

When you return you open the door invitingly and then notice the toolbox at his feet and meet his eyes.

His cheeks are dusted with pink and not even the scruff lining them can cover it. It’s hard to hide your smug satisfaction but you do your best.

“What’s that for?” you ask.

“I came to change the lock for you,” he explains hoarsely.

“Oh,” you answer, feeling your stomach erupt with nervous energy. “Why?”

“I’m leaving this morning. To go to the city and start on that hotel job. Won’t be back for a few days. I just…”

He kneels down and starts rummaging through the tool box, metal clanging against metal so you can barely hear him when he adds, “wanted to make sure this place was safe and secure.”

Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your old shirt.

“That’s really nice of you.”

“Well.” He stands and starts working on the door. “I saw you hadn’t done it yet and I didn’t want you calling any random guys.”

“Because you can do it better. Right?”

He doesn’t look up from his work and just grunts his acknowledgement.

You take the opportunity to move toward the small kitchen area and start making some coffee.

“Coffee?” you offer.

He looks up at you as you lean against the counter with your bare legs on display. His eyes drag down the length of them before he shakes his head no.

“Already had a cup thanks.”

He finishes the lock and puts his tools away before approaching. His hand moves to his back pocket and he pulls out some folded papers, setting them on the counter.

“I brought some take out menus.”

“It’s probably too early to be insulted.”

“This isn’t me telling you not to cook. These are just in case you don’t want to cook.”

“Ah,” you answer. “I could have just looked this up online.”

“Yeah well I don’t have your number so how would you know the best places to get take out.”

You stare at him from over the rim of your steaming mug.

“Maybe you should take it,” he says abruptly. “My number…in case…”

“I need cooking advice again?”

He makes an affirmative nod and smiles.

“Ok, what’s your number?” you ask as you reach for your phone.

The relief on his face doesn’t go unnoticed by you and he recites the digits as you punch them in.

When you hit dial on his contact his eyebrows draw together as if he’s trying to figure out where the sound is coming from.

“That’s you. Now you’ll have my number too.”

You giggle and the corner of his mouth lifts a little. “Right.”

You set your coffee down and push yourself up onto the countertop.

With one more almost imperceptible sweep of your legs he coughs into his fist and turns toward the door.

“Thanks Joel!” you call after him.

He waves with barely a turn and flies down the steps.

The rest of your day is spent figuring out the renovations for the bookshop space downstairs. You clean, declutter, and really start to map things out in your head. By the time the late afternoon sun is setting you realize you’ve missed lunch and you’re starving.

“I should try chili again,” you say to yourself.

After a quick and much less exciting visit to the grocery store you head back with a bag full of Joel’s recommended ingredients and get to work.

Two hours later you have a large pot of bubbling and unburnt chili on the stove.

Without thinking too much into it you snap a picture of the food and send it to Joel with the caption, “I did it! And it smells amazing!”

Before you even put your phone down his response dings in.

“Wow darlin.’ Looks amazing. Save me some.”

You’re about to reply that you definitely will when another text comes through.

“And I’m hoping you didn’t burn anything down?”

He follows it with a silly smiling emoji and you answer with, “nope! Everything and everyone is intact,” including your own smiley face emoji.

“Perfect. And I meant it. Save me some.”

“Please…” you type and then send another message saying, “so bossy!”

He responds quickly. “Save me some. Please.”

He adds a kissy smiley face and you giggle before sending one back with a thumbs up.

It’s easy to flirt over text. You aren’t overwhelmed by his masculine and sexy presence. By the smell of him. Woodsy and spicy. And his hands aren’t there teasing to touch you.

All you can think of while you enjoy your bowl of chili is how you can’t wait for him to come back this weekend.

When Joel returns from his trip he rushes home to shower and change. It’s already late but he needs to see you and you should have a bowl of chili waiting for him.

When he pulls up to the bookshop and parks his pickup he frowns at the darkened space.

Maybe you’re out? With someone…

Pushing the invasive thoughts aside he gets out and walks to the large windows, peering inside.

Nothing.

The scuffle of feet pulls his attention away and he catches sight of you sitting across the street by the park, your feet dangling along the pavement.

He approaches slowly, making noise so you don’t get scared. You look up and tense but instantly relax at the sight of him.

“Was wonderin’ where you were,” he murmurs.

“You’re back,” you say. “I have chili for you.”

You half smile but your eyes fall.

His chest tightens.

“Darlin’?” he asks before sitting down next to you.

His thigh brushes yours and his arm is close enough that you feel his warmth.

Your sniffle and hug your arms around your body.

Hesitantly he lifts his arm and rests it lightly across your shoulders.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

When you don’t pull away and instead lean into his strength he tugs you closer.

“I tried to start doing some work on the bookshop. I just wanted to take off the old and peeling wall paper but I think I fucked things up. I’m not sure how to fix it and really I have no idea what I’m doing. It’s a mess.”

Your confession softens him and he runs his calloused fingertips along your smooth skin, sneaking them under the sleeve of your shirt.

“I’ll take a look at it. I’m sure we can fix it.”

You were so soft. It took everything in him not to pull you even closer and wrap you in his arms.

“It’s a mess. I’m a mess. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing!”

“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t put yourself down. It pisses me off.”

You look up at him and gasp. “You? Pissed off? That’s new.”

The corner of his lips lift and his eyes sparkle. “I deserve that.”

You wipe your nose and give him a smile.

“Maybe. But only a little.”

You lean your head on his shoulder and sigh.

“We’ll sort it out,” he assures you.

You look at him with soft eyes full of gratefulness. His gaze moves lower…to your mouth and his lips part as if to speak but the sound of a loud car horn makes you jump apart.

“How about that chili?” you ask as you start to stand.

“Sounds great darlin’.”

You walk toward the building, tensing at his side the closer you get, knowing he’s going to see the disaster you’ve made.

He stops you with a hand over yours.

“For what it’s worth,” he whispers. “I think you’re really brave for comin’ here to start over.”

The tension slips from your shoulders and you take his hand, giving it a squeeze.

“You did it,” you murmur. “I’m still upset but…I feel better. More hopeful.”

He smiles before you turn to unlock the door and your hyperaware of the feel of his hard body behind you. It takes everything in you not to turn around and throw yourself at him but you manage to get the door open and offer him some chili.

The next day, being Sunday, should be a day of rest but your new-found determination has you up and out of bed bright and early, ready to conquer the wallpaper debacle and then some.

You’re saved from wondering where to start when the front door of the shop opens and in walks Joel with a tray of coffee and a bakery bag.

“Hey there darlin’,” he says. “Thought you’d be up and ready to work.”

“Hey back,” you wave.

He fills the doorway with his body and you try to focus on the smell of fresh coffee and sugar.

“That for me?” you ask and point to the tray in his hand.

“Yeah.”

He crosses the small distance and places the tray down on one of the old tables. You reach for the coffee and open the top, inspecting the contents of the cup.

“You know how I take my coffee?” you ask, raising a brow.

“I pay attention,” is all the answer you get.

You stood dumbfounded for a moment until you remembered that you had made coffee the other morning when he fixed the lock on the door upstairs.

“Thank you.”

Your gaze travels to his and there is some kind of silent communication between you. You can’t believe how much he can convey without actually speaking. Your breathing becomes shallower as he continues to look at you and you know, by the determined set of his jaw and confidence simmering in his gaze that things have really shifted.

When he finally pulls his eyes away you let out an audible breath and take a sip of your coffee.

“What’s happening here?” he asks as he looks over the mess of a wall. “You want to get rid of this?”

He moves closer and toys with the wallpaper.

“Yes and then I want to…”

You start rattling off your ideas in a long run-on rambling sentence without taking a break and when you’re finally done you find him eyeing you with both an amused and thoughtful expression.

“Right,” he said. “Well I know a good place to get lumber and all that so we can shop later but for now let’s get this cleaned up.”

He turns and strides for the exit, passing your trash bag from yesterday that was too heavy for you to lift.

“You want this out for pick up?” he asks.

“Yes, please,” you respond.

With zero effort, he tosses the bag over his shoulder and walks out. When he returns he’s carrying his toolbox.

You peer through the window and see his pickup truck and one trip at a time, he brings more supplies and tools.

Grabbing the back of his sweatshirt he drags it up and off, bringing his tee shirt underneath along with it, and you catch a glimpse of what’s beneath.

“Shit,” you mutter.

Now that he’s only in a tee shirt you can see the deep cut of his triceps and forearm muscles every time he lifts or handles something.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

“You alright there darlin’?” he asks when he hears your quiet reflections.

“Huh? Me? Oh yeah, just fine thanks. Um…I want to help so just tell me what to do…you know be bossy. You’re good at that.”

He steps closer with a sideways smirk, his warmth coasting over you, and his gaze falls to your mouth, taking it’s time before finding your eyes again.

“Keep ripping that wallpaper down. I know it looks a mess but you’re doing it right.”

The words themselves hold no sensuality at all but the way he says them, the way he leans in close and whispers them along your ear…it sends a shiver right down your spine.

As the days pass you continue to work and make progress on the shop. Some days it’s just you and Joel and other days Tommy joins you both to help. On the days when Joel has to work he gives you detailed instructions on what to do and how to do it. You’re proud of how much you’ve accomplished together but also on your own.

At the end of the week, with the late afternoon sun already making it’s way toward the horizon, you notice the shop is oddly quiet. No sound of the saw or hammer.

“I have something to show you.”

His low and gravelly voice pulls you from your current task of polishing the small table tops and your nerves fire up.

When you stand and walk closer he looks you over from head to toe. You’re covered in dust and your skin is glowing with a light sheen of sweat.

You look down at yourself then back up at him.

“Is it that bad?” you ask with a halfhearted smile.

“You look beautiful.”

He holds his hand out and you take it, letting him pull you toward the back of the shop.

You step behind the last row of bookshelves and stop short.

“Joel…”

The large bay window is now framed by two brand new floor to ceiling dark shelves. The polished wood gleams in the setting sun and every beautiful accent swirl and grain is highlighted.

“It’s amazing! I just…I love it. Thank you!”

He takes the rag from his back pocket and cleans his hands while he watches you from under the dark strands of hair that have fallen over his forehead.

“Glad you like it darlin’.”

“No. I love it Joel. How can I ever thank you.”

“Have dinner with me…and not here…on the floor of the shop like we do some days. A real date.”

You suck in a small breath and curl your fingers together. “Did you think you needed to build me this to convince me to go on a date with you?”

“No,” he says as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “I was workin’ up the nerve to ask you and this was a good distraction.”

“Oh…” You say the words and your mouth forms a little ‘o’ shape. “I…I mean…of course. I’d love to have dinner with you.”

He looks down at his feet and nods firmly, a smile playing on his lips. “Alright then.”

He starts to gather and pack up his tools. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at six.”

You shake your head yes and realize you’re not speaking and as he turns to walk away you move forward while calling his name.

One second he’s holding the tool box and the next it’s on the ground next to him and he’s turning toward you. Your momentum brings you right into his chest and his arm wraps around your lower back.

He waits for you to speak, his eyes wandering over the features of your face before focusing in on your parted lips. His fingers splayed along your lower back dig into your skin and he tugs you closer as he dips his head.

Your palms land flat on his hard chest and slowly dance upward along his broad shoulders.

“Thank you.”

The words are just a whisper but you manage to get them passed your lips and he looks like he’s about to speak but instead covers your mouth with his.

The kiss is worshipful but you can feel his restraint in the tense and flexing muscles of his body and your fingers find purchase at the back of his neck and comb through his hair.

His hand slides up your back and he presses you closer as he lifts the other to cup your jaw. The callouses on the pad of his thumb scrape deliciously across your soft skin and he moans like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted.

When the need for air finally takes over he releases your mouth just long enough to look into your eyes before he dives back in, stealing your breath all over again.

The door to the shop opens, the newly installed bell atop it ringing loud and clear through your kiss filled haze.

“Oh shit, sorry,” Tommy says sheepishly when he appears by the window.

Joel breaks the kiss, his chest heaving with harsh breaths and he stares at your mouth for a few long moments while you cling to him. His hand eventually drops away from your back and his fingers trace along your jaw and then down your neck to pull your ear to his lips.

“Tomorrow night,” he murmurs. “Six.”

@hiddles-rose @lorilane33 @lizette50 @littleseasiren @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989

[ivystoryweaver]

Take Me Out to the Ballgame - Marc Spector

Marc Spector + Tailgate + Grabbing by the hips

Fall Fluff Masterlist | Marc Masterlist | Main Masterlist

PSA: I have never been to Chicago. More of a Boston girl for travel and I live in the south. So we all have to use our imaginations here. Go Braves and Go Red Sox and don't hit me.

Word count: 386 || for @i-still-dont-like-your-face (I added a prompt, hope it's ok)

It started with that old red truck.

Sunday morning trips to the hardware store.

Midnight picnics under the stars.

But tailgating? It seemed so...social, for Marc.

Sure, you had friends. Life in the midwestern United States was altogether different from London. But it had seemed important to Marc, to come back. To try.

He needed you to know this part of him.

So, a house meant a neighborhood. Which meant neighbors, who eventually became friends.

The first time Marc took you to a Cubs game was pure magic. Wrigley Field may as well have been his own personal Disneyland. His transformation into a bright-eyed child, with every pipe organ tune or crack of the bat, made your heart swell with love.

Marc was quite good on the grill and his kosher pre-game cuisine was becoming popular amongst friends and neighbors.

You would hang back and watch him sometimes, humming to himself. He still maintained a private bubble, even in a crowd, but when he hummed, you knew he was comfortable.

A life out of the service of an ancient deity was a good look on him.

“Sweetheart, can you watch the grill for me? I gotta get something out of the truck.”

You smile playfully, taking the spatula from his hand. “Mr. Spector, you trust me to man your meat?”

‘You know it.” He winks, swatting your backside. Yanking his Cubs cap off his head, he plops it on yours playfully, raking his hand through his messy curls. “Hold that for me.”

You pick up on the tune he started, humming to yourself as you flip the burgers.

After a few minutes, you feel strong hands grab your hips from behind, squeezing possessively. “Hey baby,” he breathes on your ear.

“Mmm, hey.” You turn your head to meet an incoming kiss which he indulges in a moment too long for a neighborly gathering. “Want your hat back?”

“Nope, looks better on you. I’ll take the spatula though before you burn everything.”

“I did no such thing,” you pout, but you can see he’s teasing.

“Hey, Spector, you two grilling or you need some time alone?” Your neighbor Glen teases.

Passing him the spatula, Marc playfully grabs your hips again. “Definitely time alone. We’ll be in the truck,” he jokes, pressing a kiss to your giggling lips.

Fall Fluff Masterlist | Marc Masterlist | Main Masterlist

[amememightywarrior]

Food in Dawntrail

Gonna go ahead and share my thoughts on it as posted on twitter, excuse the format!

I found the prevalence of food in DT's MSQ very interesting. In a lot of cultures, food and food-sharing are acts of love both familial and neighborly. It also symbolized a desire to reach out and understand one another, from xibruq pibil to tacos to ice cream to weird grapes.

Our first encounter with food in DT is when Wuk Lamat wants to give us some tacos, but then BJJ smashes them carelessly, a sign that he is rejecting sharing and love

During the lay of repast, which is ALL about food, we learn a lot about the symbolism of meals and food and culture. It's great. 

Zoraal Ja and Bakool Ja Ja are teamed up and shown to not understand or care about food and sharing despite the BLATANT emphasis on it in the trial.

More subtle stuff that isn't called out is the way food is raised - like the Crystarium, where wandering around can reveal the importance, if you wander around DT you can find an example of what's called the three sisters method of farming.

For those unfamiliar with this system, it's actually a very culturally important method of farming in the americas where 3 staple crops, maize, squash, and beans, are grown together in a harmonious fashion. and i mean TOGETHER.

The maize, which grows tall and strong, provides support for the beanstalks which curl around it and provide stabilization both physically and nutritionally. At their feet grows the ground-covering squash which shades the soil, keeping it moist and preventing weeds.

The next major time we learn of food and agriculture is in heritage found, where we see people preserving real food as an act of culture more than anything else, showing the resilience of culture and the spirit of sharing in even the most lightning riddled situations.

After that it gets interesting. The concept of food in S9 is abstracted into the absurd (the grapes??? help), but they still share the food. More than that, it's a SPECTATOR sport, seeing WoL and Wuk Lamat eat. If you've ever been to a dinner with a family of a different culture, you will know the experience of tasting a new cuisine for the first time, and people asking you what you think of it. They share their culture with you and hope you approve. It's the sharing of joy, and it's the same as when you eat in S9.

Then we're REALLY challenged. We enter living memory and find the inhabitants feasting on the mere idea of food. They share with us as well, giving us popcorn. Did you lie and say it was great? Did you speak the truth of your tastebuds and reject the popcorn?

The food in living memory is tasteless to us, the only real ones in the place. But the act of sharing, that was the real important part. And so perhaps if WoL lied, it was not to spare feelings, but to show that yes, they were sharing in joy and culture.

Thus introduced, we are hit with that ice cream. We know it tastes of nothing, but we give it to Krile and her parents to share. Krile knows it doesn't taste like anything, and she struggles. But G'raha zips in with his own, to make her laugh and help her understand the joy.

The way each character reacts to food within DT is symbolic and shows a bit of their own perspectives. Someone who's very out on the edges, Estinien, is also someone who has embraced food very heavily after being freed from Nidhogg. He runs around eating everything in sight now.

And of course we also have the cornservant, who wants to feed everyone. I haven't actually done that quest line yet but I can already tell you what's at the heart of it XD

A lot of this we all know, I'm just calling it out specifically because it was beautifully done in DT.

Oh, before I forget: Otis and Gulool Ja

Otis, despite being, er...mechanical, has been feeding Gulool Ja. It is a familial act, feeding and helping this child grow despite zero relation.

is it just another fetch quest? Another shared meal of many shared meals in the field? Or is it asking us to look at this meal in the context of all that came before it?

What does it mean to love and care for one another? Otis shows it by being there and feeding Gulool Ja.

It contrasts with two other parties: Cahciuna's group, and Zoraal Ja.

Zoraal Ja does nothing. He does not feed his child. Abandoned him outright. ZJ rejects family, love, and sharing.

Cahciuna's group is trying really hard to take care of him, and he does allow it because they keep finding and taking him home. But why does he run away to eat with Otis? Cahciuna's response to realizing he WANTS to leave is to allow it instead of insisting.

I find that rather mysterious but I think it shows Gulool Ja prefers organic sharing, not S9 where everything is simply handed to him. Hopefully we see more of him in the future so we can learn wtf is up with this little blue-scaled cutie.

Food takes a background role in a lot of stories but DT took it, explained it, and then challenged our understanding by taking away the most talked about component, stripping away flavor to ask us what the point of food-sharing really is and how it reflects ourselves & our culture.

We've seen a lot of these themes before - ARR used to have a whole thing about feeding the soldiers before the assault on the garlean strongholds, SHB had the infamous rhon ron food stand scene, etc

we just got it called out repeatedly and the concept gently deconstructed for us in DT. 

So. what does the act of food-sharing mean to you? What does it mean to your WoL? How did you see the Lay of Repast? What did you think of the popcorn?

[chanaleah]

So this is a great example of a fundamental misunderstanding of history!

In 1948, the land that is now Israel/Palestine was controlled by the British Empire. It wasn't owned by either Jews or Arabs in its entirety, and additionally there had not been an independent state in the land since the Jewish Kingdom of Judah was conquered by the Roman Empire in 63 CE.

Secondly, the pre-State of Israel agreed to a UN partition partition plan in 1947 that guaranteed an Arab state and Jewish state in the borders shown on the map below:

On May 14, the State Of Israel declared independence within the borders shown in blue on the map. Rather than accepting an Arab state and a Jewish state, the armies of surrounding Arab states, including Jordan, Egypt, Syria, Iraq, attacked the nascent State Of Israel with the intention to destroy it in favor of an Arab state in the entirety of the former British Mandate of Palestine.

Before it was attacked, the State Of Israel had no intention to fight the Arab states or hurt the Arabs living in the borders of Israel. This is shown clearly in Israel's Declaration of Independence.

WE APPEAL — in the very midst of the onslaught launched against us now for months — to the Arab inhabitants of the State of Israel to preserve peace and participate in the upbuilding of the State on the basis of full and equal citizenship and due representation in all its provisional and permanent institutions. WE EXTEND our hand to all neighboring states and their peoples in an offer of peace and good neighborliness, and appeal to them to establish bonds of cooperation and mutual help with the sovereign Jewish people settled in its own land. The State of Israel is prepared to do its share in a common effort for the advancement of the entire Middle East.

Direct quotes from Israel's Declaration Of Independence.

However, during the 1948 War* the majority Palestinians living in Israel fled out of fear or were kicked out. Similarly, all of the Jews living in Judea & Samaria/the West Bank were kicked out by the Jordanian army.

Massacres were committed by both sides during the war, including the Deir Yassin massacre, in which many Palestinians were killed by right-wing Zionist militias and the Gush Etzion massacre in which many Jews were killed by the Jordanian army.

Both Palestinians and Jews had to flee/were kicked out of places in which they had resided for centuries - some examples being Lydda/Lod (for Palestinians) the Old City of Jerusalem, specifically the Jewish quarter which was later looted by the Jordanian army (for Jews).

Israel ended up winning the war -- and winning more territory than had originally been given to them. This was what the map looked like after the Armistice Agreement at the end of the 1948 war:

At the end of the war, Egypt occupied Gaza and Jordan occupied Judea & Samaria/the West Bank. There was no Palestinian state.

During and in the aftermath of the 1948 War, 700,000 Palestinians became refugees from Israel, and between 17,000 and 40,000 Jews became refugees from Judea & Samaria/the West Bank and Gaza, and about 1 million Jews became refugees from the rest of the SWANA region.

This post is in no way an exhaustive or authoritative history, but it shows clearly the history of the 1948 War is much more complicated than "forcefully took that land from them".

If you would like me to make a post about history pre-1948 I can do that as well.

*I chose to call this war the 1948 war so as to be impartial as possible. Other names used include the 1948 Arab-Israeli War, Israel's War Of Independence, and the 1948 Palestine War.

Keep reading below the cut for sources.

SOURCES:

[rylem33]

The Man Next Door

Sandra and Chloe sat together on the couch, the noise of the TV humming in the background. Sandra held a mug of tea, wearing a simple cardigan over her favorite blouse. Chloe, dressed in jeans and a cozy sweatshirt, had a textbook open on her lap and a calculator by her side.

“How are classes going?” Sandra asked, setting her tea down.

Chloe exhaled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Tough. My calculus professor doesn’t mess around, but I actually kind of love it. It’s so satisfying when the numbers click, you know?”

Sandra smiled warmly. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. You’ve always been good at math.”

“Yeah, but it’s not just math. I’ve got chem lab right after, and it’s been awesome. My group’s working on titrations, and I didn’t mess up once this week!” Chloe grinned, her excitement contagious.

Sandra leaned back, folding her arms. “That’s my girl. Hard work pays off.”

Chloe nodded, flipping a page in her book. “What about you? How’s the new role at work?”

Sandra shrugged, a modest smile on her face. “It’s a lot more responsibility, but it’s nice to feel like I’m moving up. Plus, it’ll help cover your tuition.”

Chloe looked up, her expression softening. “You’re amazing, you know that? Always putting me first.”

Sandra chuckled, nudging her gently. “That’s what moms are for. But don’t sell yourself short, you’re the one doing the hard part.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Chloe said, leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “I just hope I can keep up.”

“You will,” Sandra assured her. “You’re a smart kid. Just keep working hard.”

------------------------------------------------------------------

The door slammed shut behind Chloe as she walked into the house, dropping her purse onto the kitchen counter.

“Hey, Mom,” she called out, toeing off her shoes. “Did you see the moving truck?”

Sandra glanced up from her spot on the couch, her reading glasses perched on her nose and a paperback in her lap. “It was here earlier. They’ve been unloading all day.”

Chloe grabbed a soda from the fridge and leaned against the door, cracking it open. “Did you see him?”

Sandra raised an eyebrow. “Him?”

Chloe grinned. “The guy who moved in. Tall, dark hair, super attractive. I passed him in the driveway.”

“Hmm,” Sandra said noncommittally, turning a page in her book.

Chloe smirked. “You’re not even curious? He looked single. Very single.”

Sandra chuckled, setting the book aside. “Chloe, please. I’m sure he’s half my age and not remotely interested in middle-aged neighbors.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “First of all, you’re not that old. And second, you don’t know that. Maybe he’s into sophisticated women.”

Sandra laughed. “Sophisticated? I’m in yoga pants and a cardigan.”

Chloe shrugged, still smiling. “I’m just saying, he’s cute. You might want to rethink your ‘don’t care’ attitude.”

Sandra leaned back, shaking her head. “How about instead of matchmaking, we come up with something neighborly to do? Maybe take over a welcome package tomorrow.”

Chloe tilted her head, pretending to think it over. “So you can get a better look at him, huh?”

Sandra picked up her book, hiding a smile. “Don’t make me regret this idea.”

“You got it,” Chloe teased. “I’ll pick something up at the bakery after work. Just promise me you won’t embarrass us with those cookies you made last Christmas.”

Sandra gasped in mock offense. “I’ll have you know those were perfectly fine cookies.”

“If you like eating bricks,” Chloe shot back, dodging the pillow Sandra tossed in her direction as she headed for the stairs.

“Tomorrow, Chloe!” Sandra called after her, laughing.

“Yeah, yeah,” Chloe replied, her voice fading as she disappeared into her room.

Sandra shook her head, a faint smile still lingering. “Single and attractive,” she muttered to herself, glancing toward the window. “We’ll see.”

------------------------------------------------------------------

Sandra set her purse down on the kitchen counter and sighed, leaning against it as Chloe rummaged through the fridge.

“Well, that was… something,” Sandra said, her voice laced with dry amusement.

Chloe emerged with a soda in hand, cracking it open. “What do you mean? He was nice!”

Sandra crossed her arms. “He was polite. But there was something about him. I don’t know. I just felt an odd vibe.”

Chloe laughed, leaning against the counter. “Odd vibe? Come on, Mom. He was perfectly fine.” She paused, winking. “And he was fine.”

Sandra groaned, shaking her head. “Chloe, no. I’m not interested, and I don’t need you playing matchmaker.”

“Why not?” Chloe pressed, grinning. “He’s tall, charming, and looks like he could be in a magazine. You can’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

“I noticed that his house is immaculate for someone who just moved in, and that he didn’t say much about himself,” Sandra replied, raising an eyebrow. “It felt… rehearsed.”

Chloe shrugged. “Maybe he’s just good at making a first impression. You’re reading too much into it.”

Sandra picked up a dish towel and started wiping the counter. “Or maybe I’m just not looking to date the mysterious new neighbor.”

“Your loss,” Chloe teased. “If you don’t want him, maybe I’ll take a shot.”

Sandra snapped the towel in Chloe’s direction, laughing when Chloe yelped. “Absolutely not. He’s twice your age, Chloe.”

“Please, Mom,” Chloe said, dodging out of reach. “Thirty-something is hardly ancient.” She smirked. “But seriously, you’re missing out. If you won’t date him, at least admit he’s hot.”

Sandra sighed dramatically, turning back to the sink. “Fine. He’s… handsome. Happy?”

“Extremely,” Chloe said, grinning as she sipped her soda. “So, when’s round two? I’m thinking we bring over wine next time.”

Sandra shot her a look. “There won’t be a round two. He’s our neighbor, not a new project. And I don’t need wine or a man to keep me entertained.”

“Boring,” Chloe sang, heading for the stairs. “But don’t worry, Mom. I’ll keep an eye on him for you.”

Sandra shook her head, laughing under her breath. “Please don’t.”

------------------------------------------------------------------

The front door creaked open, and Chloe stepped inside, her heels clicking softly on the tile floor. Sandra, seated at the kitchen table with her laptop, didn’t look up at first, but the sound of the door closing made her glance toward her daughter.

“You’re home late,” Sandra said, her tone neutral but sharp enough to imply she was fishing.

“Yeah,” Chloe replied casually, kicking off her shoes. “I was at the library. Study group ran long.”

Sandra leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Funny. The library doesn’t smell like men’s cologne.”

Chloe froze mid-step, then turned slowly, her expression caught between guilt and defiance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sandra raised an eyebrow. “It means I know you weren’t at the library. You were at Peter’s house, weren’t you?”

Chloe’s eyes darted to the side for a moment before she sighed, throwing her purse onto the counter. “Fine. Yes, I was at Peter’s. But it’s not a big deal.”

Sandra stood, her concern bubbling into irritation. “Not a big deal? Chloe, this is the third time I know of. God knows how many more I don’t.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “He’s just helping me with my college work, Mom. He’s really smart.”

Sandra’s frown deepened. “And he doesn’t have anything better to do than help a twenty-year-old with homework?”

Chloe crossed her arms. “Why are you acting like this is some kind of scandal? He’s been nothing but nice.”

“Because it looks inappropriate, Chloe,” Sandra said firmly. “He’s an older man, he’s single, and he’s our neighbor. You’re putting yourself in a situation that’s going to lead to trouble.”

Chloe let out a frustrated laugh. “God, you make it sound so dirty. He’s not some creep, Mom. He’s just… kind of amazing, actually.”

Sandra’s eyes narrowed. “Amazing, how?”

Chloe hesitated, her defensiveness softening slightly. “He’s easy to talk to. He listens, you know? And he’s not like other guys. He’s… confident, but not in a gross way. It’s hard to explain.”

“That’s exactly what worries me,” Sandra said, her voice quieter but no less serious. “He’s a grown man, Chloe. And you’re vulnerable, whether you realize it or not.”

Chloe groaned, rubbing her temples. “Vulnerable? Seriously? I’m an adult. I don’t need you to protect me from every guy who’s nice to me.”

“Peter isn’t just any guy,” Sandra countered. “And I don’t like how much time you’re spending with him.”

Chloe shrugged, turning toward the stairs. “Well, you don’t have to like it, because there’s nothing wrong with it.”

Sandra called after her. “Chloe, don’t walk away from this conversation!”

“I’m done talking, Mom!” Chloe shouted back, disappearing up the stairs.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Sandra was stirring a pot of soup on the stove when she heard the front door close. She turned and froze, her eyes narrowing as Chloe strutted into the kitchen. Her outfit left little to the imagination.

“Where are you going dressed like that?” Sandra asked, her tone sharper than intended.

Chloe grabbed her bag from the counter, brushing past her mother with a casual shrug. “Out,” she said simply.

Sandra set the spoon down, crossing her arms. “Out where?”

Chloe sighed loudly, spinning on her heel to face her mom. “Does it, like, matter? God, Mom, why do you always need to know where I’m going?”

Sandra’s eyes narrowed. “Because you’re acting like someone I don’t even recognize. Look at what you’re wearing! When did this become you?”

Chloe smirked, a faint flicker of irritation behind her eyes. “What’s wrong with it? Peter says I should, like, be proud of my body. It’s not a big deal.”

Sandra stiffened at the mention of Peter, her jaw tightening. “Peter again. Everything is Peter this, Peter that. Do you even hear yourself, Chloe?”

Chloe tilted her head, her voice growing defensive. “Yeah, I hear myself. And I’m tired of hearing you! You’re always treating me like a kid.”

“Because you’re acting like one!” Sandra snapped, her voice sharp. “I’ve been trying to talk to you, Chloe, to get through to you, but all you do is shut me out.”

Chloe crossed her arms, her pout deepening. “Maybe that’s because you’re always on my case about, like, everything. I’m twenty, Mom. I’m not some dumb little kid.”

Sandra stepped closer, her voice soft but firm. “And spending all your time with a man twice your age, dressing like this, and ignoring everyone who cares about you. Is that’s the kind of ‘grown-up’ you’re trying to be?”

Chloe flinched slightly, but her voice stayed defiant. “Peter actually respects me. Which is, like, more than I can say for you!”

Sandra’s face flickered with hurt, but she stood her ground. “Respect? Chloe, this isn’t respect. He’s taking advantage of you, and you’re letting him.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, gripping her bag tighter. “Ugh, you don’t even know him, Mom. Peter’s so nice. You just don’t get it.”

“I know enough,” Sandra replied coldly.

Chloe sighed dramatically, turning toward the door. “Whatever. Maybe you should, like, stay out of my business for once.”

“Chloe…” Sandra called, but her daughter cut her off.

“I’m done, Mom,” Chloe said sharply, pulling the door open.

Sandra took a step forward, her voice tinged with desperation. “Chloe, don’t you walk out that door. Don’t go to his house.”

Chloe paused in the doorway, turning back with a sly, knowing smirk. “Too late for that.”

------------------------------------------------------------------

Sandra stepped into the house, dropping her keys on the entryway table and pausing to slip off her shoes. From the living room, the faint sound of pop music played over the hum of the TV, where Chloe sat perched on the edge of the couch, scrolling through her phone. Her long legs were crossed, barely covered by the micro-skirt she wore, and her tight crop top left little to the imagination.

“Hey, Mom!” Chloe called out without looking up, her voice higher, almost sing-song, as if she’d been practicing a more playful tone.

Sandra hesitated before walking into the room, taking a deep breath. “Hi, Chloe.”

Chloe looked up with a wide grin, twirling a strand of her platinum blonde hair around her finger. “Ooooh, you look nice today, Mom! Is that new?”

Sandra glanced down at her fitted blouse and jeans, a touch more stylish than her usual outfits, and smiled faintly. “No, it’s not new. But thanks.”

Chloe patted the couch next to her. “C’mere! Sit with me!”

Sandra moved slowly, lowering herself onto the cushion. Chloe turned to face her, her makeup heavy and flawless, the faint scent of candy-sweet perfume clinging to her.

“I talked to Peter,” Sandra said after a moment, her voice measured.

Chloe’s grin faltered slightly, but she kept her tone light. “Oh? What about?”

“About… you,” Sandra replied, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

Chloe blinked, then giggled nervously. “Mooooom, what’d you say to him? You didn’t, like, embarrass me or anything, right?”

Sandra shook her head, her tone softening. “No, Chloe. I just… I had some concerns, that’s all. About how much time you’ve been spending with him, and how close you’ve gotten.”

Chloe tilted her head, her smile dimming. “Why? Peter’s, like, the best. He’s been soooo nice to me.”

Sandra hesitated. “I know he has,” she said finally. “And he explained a lot. About how he’s been helping you feel more confident, about your schoolwork, even about the way you’ve been dressing.”

Chloe brightened instantly. “See? That’s what I’ve been saying! Peter’s just super smart and knows, like, what’s best for me. He gets me, Mom.”

Sandra nodded slowly. “I think I see that now.”

Chloe gasped, leaning forward and grabbing Sandra’s hand. “Wait, really? You’re okay with it now? For real?”

Sandra hesitated again but nodded. “Yes, Chloe. If you’re happy, then… I’ll try to be okay with it.”

Chloe squealed, throwing her arms around Sandra in an exuberant hug. “Oh my gosh, Mom! This makes me soooo happy! Peter’s gonna be so happy too!”

Sandra patted Chloe’s back awkwardly, the faintest trace of unease lingering in her expression. “I just want you to be careful,” she said quietly as Chloe pulled back.

Chloe waved her off with a laugh. “Careful? Please. Peter takes such good care of me. Like, better than anyone ever has.”

Sandra looked at her daughter for a long moment, noting how her gaze sparkled with pure, guileless excitement, how utterly at ease she seemed with her new persona. “I’m glad you feel that way,” she said at last.

“Thanks, Mom!” Chloe chirped, bouncing up from the couch. She grabbed her phone and swayed toward the door, her skirt riding higher as she moved. “You’re the best! Oh, and Peter and I are hanging out later, so don’t wait up, okay?”

“Okay,” Sandra replied, watching Chloe head upstairs.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Sandra was sitting at the kitchen counter with a glass of wine, flipping through her phone when Chloe strutted in, her usual glow brighter than ever. She plopped down next to her mom, a mischievous grin already playing on her lips.

“You’re in a good mood,” Sandra remarked, sipping her wine.

Chloe giggled, leaning her elbows on the counter. “Well, yeah. I’ve been having, like, the best time lately.”

Sandra raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “Oh? Should I even ask?”

Chloe leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “It’s Peter. He’s just… oh my God, Mom, he’s sooooo good in bed.”

Sandra choked slightly on her wine, quickly setting the glass down. “Chloe!”

“What?” Chloe said, laughing. “You wanted to know, didn’t you?”

Sandra hesitated, her cheeks coloring faintly. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Well, now you know,” Chloe said with a wink. “And seriously, Mom, you’re missing out. Like, he knows exactly what to do. I didn’t even know I could cum so many times in one night.”

Sandra blinked, her grip tightening slightly on the stem of her glass. “I’m not sure I need all the details, Chloe.”

“Why not?” Chloe said, giggling again. “It’s not like I’m shy about it. Peter’s, like, a total god in bed. Every fucks me, I just… ugh, it’s so good. His dick has ruined me for other guys.”

Sandra’s lips parted, her breath catching for a moment as she tried to form a response. “I… well, it sounds like you’re very… satisfied,” she said finally, her voice quieter than usual.

“Totally,” Chloe said with a dreamy sigh. “Like, I get why you’re so into him, too. He’s just got that thing, you know?”

Sandra’s gaze dropped to her glass of wine, her cheeks warm. “He hasn’t exactly made a move on me,” she admitted, her tone careful.

Chloe gasped, sitting up straighter. “No way! Are you serious? He totally should. I mean, you’re gorgeous, Mom. And he’s, like, so good at making people feel amazing.”

Sandra chuckled lightly, though the sound was tinged with a mix of amusement and something deeper. “Well, maybe he’s waiting for the right moment.”

Chloe smirked, tilting her head. “Maybe you should make the first move. I mean, Peter’s super confident, but even he might be nervous about hitting on you.”

Sandra looked up, her gaze distant as her mind wandered. “I don’t think Peter gets nervous,” she said softly, more to herself than to Chloe.

“Well, if he doesn’t, then you should totally go for it,” Chloe said, nudging her mom playfully. “Trust me, Mom. You won’t regret it.”

Sandra forced a laugh, shaking her head. “I think I’ll leave the chasing to you, Chloe.”

“Your loss,” Chloe said, grinning as she stood up and stretched. “But seriously, Mom. If he ever does make a move, you should totally go for it. He’s… unreal.”

Sandra watched as Chloe strolled out of the kitchen, her confident sway so unlike the shy girl she’d been just months ago. Alone now, Sandra swirled the wine in her glass, her thoughts swirling just as much.

She glanced out the window, where Peter’s house stood silent and dark, and a faint smile tugged at her lips. “Unreal,” she murmured, the word lingering in the air.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Sandra was carefully applying another coat of gloss to her already shiny lips. The light caught the glitter in her eyeshadow, making her gaze pop, and her fitted black dress clung tightly to her figure, barely reaching mid-thigh. Her heels, impossibly high and sleek, clicked softly against the tile as she shifted her weight.

Chloe sauntered into the room, her towering blonde hair styled in perfect waves, and her pink minidress so short it looked more like a top. She carried a small designer bag that swung lazily from her wrist, the clinking of her bracelets accompanying every exaggerated sway of her hips.

“Oh my God, Mom,” Chloe said, her voice light and bubbly. “You look, like, soooo hot right now!”

Sandra turned, giving her daughter a playful smile. “You think it’s too much?”

Chloe’s jaw dropped, and she waved her hands in mock horror. “Too much? Are you kidding? Peter’s gonna, like, die when he sees you.”

Sandra chuckled, smoothing the fabric over her hips. “That’s the plan.”

Chloe plopped onto one of the stools by the island, crossing her long legs and propping her chin on her palm. “I’m soooo proud of you, Mom. It’s, like, totally about time you went for it. Peter’s, like, the best ever. He’s gonna make you feel sooooo good.”

Sandra laughed softly, her cheeks flushing just a little. “You make him sound like a miracle worker.”

“Duh,” Chloe said, twirling a strand of her platinum hair. “He is. I mean, Mom, you’ve seen what he’s done for me. I, like, feel soooo confident and sexy all the time now. Don’t you?”

Sandra hesitated, glancing down at herself before meeting Chloe’s sparkling eyes. “I do,” she admitted. “I haven’t felt this good in years.”

Chloe beamed. “See? I told you he’s, like, magic or something.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “And wait until you, like, get to the fun part. He’s soooo good at making you feel… like, amazing amazing.”

Sandra smirked, her pulse quickening just slightly. “You’re not helping calm my nerves, Chloe.”

Chloe giggled, waving her hand. “Oh, please. You don’t need to be nervous, Mom. Peter’s, like, the nicest guy ever. He totally knows how to, like, take care of you.”

Sandra picked up her clutch from the counter, checking her reflection in the chrome of the refrigerator. “Well, I guess I’ll find out.”

Chloe bounced off the stool and rushed over to her mom, grabbing her by the shoulders. “You’re gonna love it. Trust me, Mom. Just, like, relax and let him do his thing. You’re gonna feel soooo good after.”

Sandra laughed, shaking her head as she headed for the door. “Alright, sweetheart. Wish me luck.”

“Luck?” Chloe called after her, grinning ear to ear. “You don’t need luck, Mom. You’re, like, a total hottie! Peter’s gonna go crazy for you.”

Sandra stepped out into the warm evening, the sound of her heels clicking on the pavement as she crossed the street toward Peter’s house. Chloe leaned against the doorframe, watching her go with an almost giddy expression.

“Go get him, Mom,” Chloe whispered, twirling a lock of her hair as the door closed behind her.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Chloe sat cross-legged on the couch, her long legs on full display, her tiny red lace bralette and matching thong leaving almost nothing to the imagination. She twirled a strand of blonde hair around her finger, absently chewing gum as she scrolled through her phone.

Sandra reclined beside her, draped in a red silk robe that barely concealed her naked body. Her long legs were propped up on the coffee table, her glossy nails tapping idly against the arm of the couch.

“Ugh, I’m soooo bored,” Chloe whined, tossing her phone onto the cushion beside her. “There’s, like, nothing to do.”

Sandra smirked, adjusting her robe and looking over at her daughter. “Tell me about it. Nothing feels worth doing…except for Peter.”

Chloe giggled, leaning back and kicking her legs playfully. “Well, duh, Mom. I mean, what else is there? He’s, like, soooo amazing. Everything’s better when he’s here.”

Sandra’s lips curved into a wicked grin. “Mmm, you’re not wrong, sweetie. It’s been days since I’ve seen him, and I’m about ready to lose my mind.”

Chloe nodded enthusiastically, her gum snapping between her teeth. “Right? He’s, like, sooo perfect. Every time he comes over, it’s, like, the best time ever.”

Sandra chuckled, licking her lips as her gaze drifted toward the door. “I swear, just the thought of him gets me worked up.”

Chloe leaned forward, propping her chin on her hands. “Mom, do you think he’s gonna, like, fuck us again? I loooove when we double-team him. It’s, like, soooo fun.”

Sandra tilted her head, her voice dropping to a sultry purr. “Oh, I’m sure. Peter always knows what we need.”

Chloe giggled again, her cheeks flushing. “Mmm, yeah. He’s, like, soooo good at knowing exactly what I want.”

Sandra laughed, running a hand through her styled hair. “Sweetheart, that man could ask for anything, and I’d give it to him in a heartbeat.”

Chloe tilted her head, looking dreamily at the ceiling. “Same. He’s, like, the best thing ever.”

Before Sandra could respond, a knock echoed through the house. Both women froze for a moment, their heads snapping toward the door.

“Oh my God!” Chloe squealed, springing up from the couch. “Do you think it’s him?”

Sandra’s grin widened, and she stood, adjusting her robe as she moved toward the door. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Chloe bounced on her toes, her excitement palpable as Sandra reached for the handle.

Sandra opened the door slowly, her heart racing as her lips parted into a welcoming smile.

“Ladies,” Peter said smoothly, stepping inside without hesitation. “Miss me?”

Chloe practically squealed, rushing to close the door behind him.

Sandra’s smile deepened, her voice dripping with anticipation. “Always, Peter.”

[thebunnednun]

Good neighbors Farmer! Bakugou Katsuki x Reader (Part 1)

64.media.tumblr.com

AHHHH! Special thanks to @bakugotrashpanda for the prompt/drabble. Freaking love their works!

Okay, fangirling done.

Art is done by: This lovely user here!

I made the Reader come off as so thirsty in this.

_________________________________________________

Every morning, without fail, Farmer Bakugou stops by your cottage with a basket of fresh produce or a dozen eggs in hand. He strides up the path, his rugged frame silhouetted against the morning sun, the muscles in his arms and chest flexing with every step. His voice is a low, familiar rumble as he hands over the goods. "Had too many," he grumbles, his tone almost gruff. "What’s a single guy like me going to do with that much food?"

You smile, accepting the gift with a grateful nod. "Thank you, Bakugou. You're too kind." As you speak, your eyes can't help but linger on his sun-kissed skin, admiring the way it glows under the morning light. His hair, tousled and wild, adds to his rugged charm, and you find yourself looking forward to these visits more than you'd care to admit.

"Hmph," he mutters, looking away slightly as if embarrassed by your gratitude. "Just don't let it go to waste, alright?"

The best part of your morning routine, however, comes later. After he leaves, you settle into your favorite chair by the window, sipping on a cup of tea as you watch Bakugou get to work in the fields. He moves with a confident, easy grace, each action purposeful and efficient.

Every now and then, he pauses to wipe the sweat from his brow, using the bottom of his shirt. The fabric lifts, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his chiseled abs, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

When the sun is high and the heat becomes almost unbearable, you decide it’s time to bring him some lemonade. You carefully prepare a pitcher of the cool, refreshing drink, knowing that Bakugou will appreciate it.

As you approach him, you notice that his shirt has come off entirely, his bare torso glistening with sweat. The sight of his broad shoulders and well-defined muscles highlighted by the sunlight makes your breath catch in your throat.

"Hey, Bakugou," you call out, trying to keep your voice steady. "I brought you some lemonade."

He turns, a soft smirk tugging at his lips as he sees you. "Thanks," he says, taking the glass you offer. His fingers brush yours, sending a jolt of electricity through you. As he drinks, you can't help but admire the way his throat works, the strong lines of his jaw and neck, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath.

"You’re always so thoughtful," he says, setting the glass down. His voice is softer now, almost tender. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks at his words. "Just returning the favor. You’re always bringing me fresh produce, after all."

Bakugou chuckles, a deep, rich sound that sends shivers down your spine. "Guess we make a good team, then."

As you stand there, sharing a moment of quiet companionship in the middle of the sunlit fields, you can’t help but wonder if there might be something more to your relationship than just neighborly kindness. The way his eyes linger on you, the way his smile softens when he looks your way—there’s a warmth there, a connection that goes beyond words.

"How's the farm been treating you?" you ask, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Busy, as always," he replies, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "But I don't mind. It's good, honest work. Keeps me fit."

You glance at his well-toned physique, unable to disagree. "Well, if you ever need an extra hand, you know where to find me."

Bakugou's eyes light up with amusement. "You? In the fields? I'd pay to see that."

You laugh, feeling a flutter in your chest at his playful teasing. "Hey, I can be tough when I need to be."

"I don’t doubt it," he says, his voice serious again. "You're tougher than you look. And smarter too. That shitty garden of yours would've died by now, otherwise."

The awkward compliment catches you off guard, and you find yourself looking away, suddenly shy. "Thanks, Bakugou."

"Anytime," he replies, his voice soft and sincere. "And I mean that."

As you stand there, the sun beating down and the cicadas buzzing in the distance, you realize that these quiet moments with Bakugou are what you cherish most about your day. There’s a comfort in his presence, a sense of belonging that you’ve never felt before. you know its crazy, but you can’t help but hope that he feels the same way.

Bakugou notices your lingering gaze and, for once, doesn't bark at you to stop staring. Instead, he shifts closer, his usual scowl softening just a touch. "You know," he begins, his voice lower, more intimate, "if you ever get tired of being cooped up in that cottage of yours, you're always welcome to come by the farm. Could use someone to keep me company."

Your heart skips a beat at his words. "I might just take you up on that," you reply, a shy smile tugging at your lips.

He nods, satisfied with your answer. "Good. Just don’t expect me to go easy on you," he adds, his smirk returning.

"I wouldn’t dream of it," you say, laughing softly.

Bakugou gives you one last look, his eyes warm and intense. "Take care of yourself, alright? Don’t want you getting sick or something."

"I will," you promise, touched by his concern.

With that, he turns back to his work, and you head back to your cottage, a newfound warmth in your chest. As you glance back one last time, you see him watching you, a small, secret smile playing on his lips. There’s a comfort in his presence, and for now, you're content with this little exchange you've developed.

______________________________________________________________

Okay, that was my first mha fanfic! Lemme know what y'all think!

Part 2: Link here

[annwrites]

⸻ preacher's daughter. part three. ⸻

· pairing: billy hargrove x fem!reader · type: part of a series · summary: billy comes by to apologize for what happened at the lake & an agreement is made. · word count: 1,596

There's a knock at the front door.

You quickly set the cookie sheet down that you currently have between your gloved hands on the stovetop, slipping off your oven mitts and tossing them onto the counter as you make your way to the door, wondering who it might be.

Daddy is currently away for the day, assisting a fellow pastor at a local rehab center, while momma is at book club, so it wouldn't be either of them.

When you open it, you're met with an...unexpected sight on the other side of the screen door.

Billy Hargrove, leaning a forearm against the outer doorframe as he looks at you, smirking. He holds your Bible up in his other hand. "Think you forgot this."

Kathy had returned to the lake once she took you home, so as to look for it, but then she'd called you, saying it had been nowhere to be found.

You'd cried half the night over it.

You open the screen door, stepping out toward him onto a welcome mat with bare feet as you gently take it from him, clutching it to your chest, a weight being lifted from your shoulders then. "Thank you," you say gratefully as you look up to him in appreciation.

You grow suddenly nervous then. "You didn't...read any of it, did you?"

"Thought the good book was for all of God's children," he replies sarcastically.

"That's not what I meant."

In truth, while it had been incredibly tempting, he hadn't. He didn't need to feel any worse than he already did about what had happened yesterday, and didn't need to dig himself a deeper hole when it came to you.

"Don't worry, your sins are between you and the man upstairs." He nods toward the inside of the house then. "Can I come in?"

You glance over your shoulder, then back to him, feeling relieved. "I don't know—"

He leans in toward you, while you lean back against the door.

"Not being very 'love they neighborly' now, are we, sweetheart?"

Your lip tugs down. "Okay, but...just for a bit."

He follows you inside then.

You pad silently to the kitchen, setting your Bible down on the small table near the wall.

You watch as he picks up a cookie. "They're still cooling—"

He takes a bite, licking his lips. "Chocolate chip, my favorite," he says with a wink.

You step over to the fridge. "I made lemonade this morning. Would you like some?"

He leans back against the counter, taking another cookie. "I'd never say no to the taste of something sweet."

You mentally roll your eyes as you retrieve a pitcher from the fridge, and then a glass from an overhead cabinet, quickly pouring some into it.

You hand it to him, his fingers brushing against your own as he takes it from you.

You then pour one for yourself to, at the very least, give your hands something to do.

He takes a sip, then clears his throat. "I wanted to...apologize."

You nearly drop the pitcher as you set it back inside the fridge.

You grip your glass between your hands then, condensation sliding over your fingers. "O-oh."

He shrugs, trying to pretend like it's no big deal, even if his heart is pounding like a hammer against cloth. "I didn't know. Not like it's something you people talk about a lot, obviously, so I'd have no way to."

You set your glass down on a coaster atop the table before crossing your arms. "You people?"

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm fuckin' sorry, alright?"

"Please don't curse in my home."

He rolls his eyes toward the ceiling, before leveling them again. "If you ever want to learn—"

You interject before he can finish that thought, speaking softly. "I don't think I'd want that."

He takes a step closer. "You know, I used to be a lifeguard at the Hawkins pool a couple summers ago. So I know what I'm doing. What happened yesterday..."

He sighs.

Stupid.

"It'll never happen again."

He places a finger under your chin, searching for you until your eyes meet his own again. "You'd be safe with me in the water, I promise. And I'll keep the come-ons to a minimum," he adds with a grin.

You tuck a lock of hair behind your ear nervously. "I don't have much reason to learn."

You really would just like for him to drop it. "I appreciate the offer. It's really nice of you to make it. I just... I'm..."

Tears sting your eyes. "Since it happened, I've been scared of water. I mean, I drink it and bathe..." Obviously, you think.

"I won't even take baths now," you state ashamedly.

"It's not the water that can hurt you. Just your ignorance of what to do once you're in it, baby" he states as gently as possible.

You worry your lip between your teeth. "Can I think about it?"

He's surprised that you're willing to at all. "Course."

He takes another cookie then, slowly chewing as he studies you. "Few of us are going out for a night-ride tonight. You want to tag along?"

“I don’t think that daddy—”

He interrupts you. “You’re eighteen, sweetheart. An adult. You don’t need to ask ‘daddy’s’ permission for everything you do. You’re allowed to do as you please.”

“I’m supposed to honor him.”

He sighs.

You continue. “It’s one of the Ten Commandments.”

He rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, yes, I’m aware.”

“Please don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.”

He groans, growing frustrated.

“You never answered yesterday: whether you believe in God.”

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “I go to church, don’t I?”

You continue to stare up at him. Not for awhile, you think, but don't say.

Finally, he sighs in exasperation. “I don’t know, alright? Does it really matter?”

“It does if you don’t want to burn in Hell…” You say softly, somewhat encouragingly, praying to make him see sense.

He raises a brow, fairly certain of what side is going to be punching his ticket when the time comes.

And then he smirks, an idea coming to mind. “You want me to keep coming to church? Want me to study my Bible and be a good little boy? A bit more…straight-laced, maybe?”

You’re not sure that you want to know where this conversation is headed. “I think going to church is beneficial for everyone.”

He nods, stepping closer to you, then closer still, until you’re backed against the wall, his palms pressed flat against it on either side as he stares down at you, while your heart hammers from nerves.

“How about we both agree to a little…arrangement, then?”

“A-arrangement?”

“Mhm,” he says, licking his lips. “I’ll keep showing up to Sunday service, maybe an occasional Wednesday night one if I have the time, and I’ll even pick up a cheap Bible if you give me something in return.”

“I—”

“Live a little. Do something impulsive every now and again. I place the opportunity before you, and if you don’t feel comfortable, you tell me no. But, if you do, that’s a missed service for me. How’s that sound, honey?”

You blink up at him. “What…kinds of things?”

He shrugs, brushing the back of his index finger against your cheek, wondering if anyone else has ever gotten this close before. He knows the answer with certainty: no.

“I’ll let you know when the opportunities present themselves. But you have one tonight. If you come, then, so long as I have time after work, I come to church Wednesday evening.”

You're quiet for a moment, considering. You know this is a bad decision, but you're about to make it anyway, telling yourself it's for his sake: an attempt at saving his soul. That there's still a chance for him, and this is it.

This is God putting him before you to save; placing him once more in your path.

But while you're bringing him back to God, you worry about you wandering further from Him.

You tell yourself—even if lying is a terrible sin—that the last reason you agree to his offer is due to the excitement which fills you at the prospect of doing something unexpected for once...or twice.

"Okay," you say quietly.

A wide smile breaks out across his face then. "Yeah? You'll do it?"

You nod shyly. "But the arrangement goes both ways. If I do something with you, you're required to come to church. And you have to be respectful while you're there. And...no more taking the Lord's name in vain, or—"

"Slow down, cowgirl. You don't have me pussy-whipped yet. Let's start with tonight and see how things go from there, alright?"

"Why do you always have to talk like that?"

He smirks. "Makes things more interesting. Can't all be as perfect as you, sweetheart."

He pushes off the wall, grabbing your lemonade instead of his and draining it in a few gulps. "You have a way to sneak out of here?"

He doesn't know why he bothers asking, when he's sure the answer is—

"Yes."

He raises a brow, now quite interested. And to think he was just getting ready to leave. "That right?"

You nod, studying the kitchen rug now. "My window. I...I can meet you near the cornfield behind the house. Okay?"

You look at him again, mentally praying he doesn't ask if you've taken such a route to get out of the house before. Or, rather, if so: why.

You can't tell him that. You can't tell anyone.

"Okay."

[its-time-to-write]

hi there! (ok FIRST AND FOREMOST i need to tell you that i am obsessed with your writing. you are by far my favorite jamie tartt writer, you characterize him perfectly and nail his speech mannerisms! not an easy feat! so thank u for writing what you do and for sharing it with us!!!! <333333 ok now that i've gotten that off my chest) if you're taking requests right now i'd love to see your take on a (slowburn?) enemies to lovers fic with jamie!!

I don’t know why I take simple little prompts and turn them into angsty monstrosities. This one makes up for the lack of plot in my other fics, and I’d like to apologize in advance😬

Oh also I am the queen of commas, in case you didn’t know 😇😇

flipped the script

It cannot be considered murder if you’re provoked. It would be considered doing the world a favor. 

And by god, you are going to fucking murder Jamie Tartt.

He does absolutely fucking nothing but make your life fucking miserable and you’re fucking losing it.

The only thing you’d agree on is when it started. It was 4am and he was yelling at someone called Roy and you had to be awake in two hours for a fucking conference, and you’d only just fallen asleep at 1am.

So you marched out of your house to the sidewalk where your prick neighbor was arguing with his prick coach and told him to shut the fuck up or I’m calling the police.

He opened his mouth to retort, changed his mind, then made a snide comment about your choice of outfit while you glared at him. His prick coach had the decency to apologize and smack Jamie on the head, so you said, “You’re fine, Roy, I’ll see you at work next week,” and Roy said, “Ah shit, you have that fucking conference, yeah?” and you said yeah then flipped off Jamie as you walked away.

You really hadn’t had many interactions with Jamie before, but you knew him before you started your job as an administrative assistant for AFC Richmond since you were, after all, living right next to each other.

Your last job had paid incredibly well; you were basically the go-to girl for your last company for two and half years. You compiled all relevant information from the day and presented to your boss so he would be caught up on the company’s inner workings. You were observant when it came to valuable (or toxic) employees, and had gained a reputation for being an invaluable asset.

But your old boss was retiring and you were ready for something new, so you began looking around. You found a job at AFC Richmond, assisting a Mr. Higgins and just generally making sure his job ran smoothly so the club could run smoothly. 

It was mostly paperwork, but you enjoyed it. You collected data from all different departments and then ran it by Higgins and Ms. Welton. You weren’t above coffee runs; it was nice to get out sometimes and Ms. Welton would put your coffee on her bill. You got to take your lunch breaks with them and talk and laugh, and be appreciated, which is something you didn’t often get.

The nature of your job demands a certain level of… professionalism, shall we say, which can be misconstrued as coldness. You’re not. You’re just young and trying to be taken seriously, which is why it’s nice to be known both in a personal and professional capacity by Higgins and Ms. Welton. Higgins has even invited you over for family dinner and you’d invited his family over to yours. His boys had absolutely lost their minds at the amount of nerf guns you had stashed in each room, courtesy of your brother who often liked to drop by unannounced when he knew you were home and get you in the back of the head. Sometimes you regretted giving him a key, but not enough to take it back.

All that to say, it was a relatively seamless transition to AFC Richmond. You and Jamie would exchange a neighborly nod if you saw each other, but that was absolutely it. 

—

The next incident is, uh, kind of your fault.

Remember the brother-and-nerf-guns thing?

Yeah.

Your brother had sneaked over on a Sunday (parked around the corner so his car wouldn’t be seen on your security cameras) and you were chasing each other around the house. Your sister-in-law had warned you he was coming over (he asked her to drive him), so you were prepared and hiding in the bushes. He was nonchalantly walking on the sidewalk, hands in his hoodie, when you popped out and got him right in the chest then booked it into your house, which led to a solid fifteen minutes of running and yelling, with the occasional, “Ow, you jerk!” that siblings are always saying but never really mean.

The incident occurs when you’re once again in your front yard running from your brother. You look back to assess how far away he is when smack, you run into someone and feel their beverage go flying.

It’s Jamie, and his bright pink drink is now all over his clean white hoodie.

You both stop and glare at each other. 

You had stopped feigning civility after the 4am thing, so the glare is standard procedure.

Jamie says, “What the fuck?” as your brother comes careening to an abrupt halt.

You’re still glaring. “Why are asking me ‘what the fuck?’ You’re the one walking around here with that fucking awful drink that’s probably going to kill your internal organs. I mean seriously, it cannot be safe to consume something that bright.”

“Says the girl who’s addicted to diet soda.”

“Says the girl who’s fucking pissed that her sidewalk is stained fucking bright pink. How the fuck am I supposed to clean this?”

Jamie’s face is red now, and yours is too.

“A), it’s a fucking public sidewalk and b), what about my fucking sweatshirt? This cost more than your shitty car!” he shoots back, and that’s the moment a line is crossed.

“We live in the same goddamn neighborhood,” you hiss, “so shut the fuck up with your stupid elitist footballer bullshit.”

“Oi, at least I’m not a fucking stuck-up, self-righteous big-shot with no friends!”

You’re not sure what would have happened next because your brother grabs you by the arm and hauls you back inside, waving apologetically to Jamie. All the fight goes out of you as soon as the door shuts.

“What the ever-loving hell was that?” he asks. He never did like using the word “fuck.”

—

What the ever-loving hell was that? Well, it’s actually quite simple. In the seven months you’ve been at Richmond, you haven’t really made any friends.

Yes, you have Ms. Welton and Higgins, but that’s not the same as having people the same age as you to go out with and watch movies and drink and dance and just be stupid and unwind with. 

You’re not even necessarily looking for friends at Nelson Road, just friends somewhere. The problem is, you’re not even sure how to go about it. You’ve spent the last decade of your life (yes, decade) working your ass off to get where you are now. Fourteen year-old knew what she wanted and was determined to get it. You had hustled through school, made connections, grew your resume, and saved every fucking penny until you landed a job that you were definitely under qualified for, but you had nailed the interview. You weren’t sure why your boss decided to take a chance on you, until he told you later he saw the same spark his daughter had in your eyes.

His daughter, who had become a multi-millionaire on her own by the time she was twenty-seven.

So, because someone saw the grit in your eyes of all places, you had a chance to make a fuck ton of money and have a fuck ton of benefits.

You made more connections, including a realtor who set you up with your current home at a price that was insane to normal people, but a steal to the rich. You were signing papers before it was even officially on the market.

It had been labelled as a “fixer-upper,” but that meant a little bit of scuffed paint and slightly outdated utilities. 

And it was yours.

It all came at a price though, didn’t it?

That price was not seeing your family often, sleeping poorly, and no real friends.

That’s why your brother makes it a point to come around. He knows that your lack of contact does not equate a lack of love.

Not everyone saw it that way. You’d lost all your friends at this point, labeled a bitch and a workaholic. So, you though, why the hell not just lean into it. You could be a bitch and a workaholic if it got things done. It was easier to harden the shell around your heart than let people in again.

—

Ok, maybe taking out all that anger on Jamie isn’t healthy, but hey, he’s the one fighting back so hard. 

Things keep happening. His foot is stuck out just enough to make you stumble as you pass each other in the hallway, your car is parked on the street just enough so he can’t get into his garage, ferocious glares are exchanged. Any conversation you are forced to have is laced with sarcastic, biting remarks that only serve make you close off even more. 

The worst part? You’re both fucking brilliant at hiding it. 

You’d have to be, especially at AFC Richmond under Ted Lasso’s command. If he got wind of this, he’d be all over it trying to fix it and neither of you want that. 

You see, Jamie’s a little bit fucked up too.

—

You’ve been at AFC Richmond for a year, and you’ve hated Jamie Tartt for eleven months.

Yet somehow, you’re in fucking Paris. 

Not with just Jamie, of course, but the whole team.

Rebecca’s basically given you a paid vacation because there isn’t much for you to do here. It’s great, the city of lights or something, but you can’t enjoy it. 

You’re in your room on the floor, becoming slowly dehydrated from crying.

Everything is all fuzzy and you’re incredibly disoriented, so you think you might be hallucinating when you hear a knock on the door.

It happens again, more insistently, and you think it’s probably Rebecca so you drag yourself up off the floor, wipe your eyes, and open it to find Jamie Tartt standing in front of you, clearly wishing to be anywhere else.

He’s staring at the top of the doorframe as he says, “Coach sent me to see if you want to go out with the lads tonight,” looking down only when you’ve left his statement unanswered for far too long.

His look of annoyance changes as he clocks your puffy eyes and red nose. 

“You alright?” he asks and you don’t even have the heart to say, obviously, don’t I look it? so you just nod and move to shut the door. 

Jamie blocks it with his hand and pushes it back open, then past you into the room.

It’s pristine, all marble and gold; and far too big for you. You would have preferred something smaller, something less empty. Something less cold. 

All you can do is stand there mutely in your t-shirt and sweatpants, watching your worst enemy clatter around in the room’s fridge looking for a water bottle.

He retrieves one and hands it to you, cap unscrewed.

You don’t ask if he’s spit in it, just take a sip and look at him with dead eyes.

“You look like shit,” he observes, breaking the silence. 

It’s not a dig. You’ve heard enough condescension from his lips to know when he’s fighting.

You shrug.

“You gonna say something?” Jamie asks, and that’s enough to get you going.

“You’re the one who’s in my room,” you say and instead of firing back, Jamie grins. 

“We can go to mine if you want, love,” he winks and in a terrible, awful, panic-inducing moment, you are thrown completely off your guard.

How the fuck are you supposed to reconcile this Jamie Tartt with the awful neighbor you hate? And is he- flirting? Surely not.

He registers your face going through a million expressions in an instant and sobers.

“Go sit,” he says, and you comply without thinking. You’re cross-legged on the couch and he thumps down next to you. He’s not close enough that you’re touching, but you can feel the heat radiating off his body. It’s funny, because you feel so cold. You wonder for a moment if your heart has actually turned to stone and that’s why you’re shivering.

You hear someone say, “My ex is here,” and are horrified to realize that you’re the one talking, and not only that, but you’re continuing. 

“He fucking… knew I’d be here. I saw him in the lobby. He acted like it was some great coincidence, but he was never a great liar. And… he’s here with his girlfriend. Fiancée, I guess. Because he’s proposing to her tonight. They’ve known each other less than a year, and he’s proposing to her. I saw him in the lobby looking like this while he’s in a fucking suit and all I can think about is the fact that he broke up with me because I wouldn’t put out because I wasn’t ready. And how he said he wasn’t the marrying type.” You pause.

“I broke my back making time for him. Everyone thinks I’m a workaholic and maybe I am, but I make time for the people I love. I made time for him. It sounds funny to say, especially how I am now, but he’s why I don’t anymore. Make time, I mean. Nobody notices I’m gone anyway. Or when I’m around. Or anything I do unless I’m doing something for them.”

You risk a look at Jamie. He’s studying your face with an intensity you’ve never seen and you look down to find his hand in yours, and you wonder how that happened. Your knuckles are white from gripping it but he’s holding it back and it gives you just enough of a boost to keep going.

“I don’t even want the money for myself. Like, I’m able to buy expensive shit and that’s cool, but the only reason I have a house that big is because my brother and his wife have a shit-ton of kids, and sometimes they need a break. So they can come over to mine and run around and have space and be wild for a week and I don’t care. They won’t let me give them money, so I have to think of creative ways to help them out. I only have nephews- they each have their own trust fund. It’s not that big right now, but it’s growing. It’ll be a lot by the time they’re each eighteen. And my parents… They died when I was fourteen. It was a stupid car accident, this freak thing with the brakes even though they’d just had the car serviced a week before. My brother was twenty one and newly married because he’s an idiot and he was in love. He and his wife let me live with them.”

You shake your head. “No, that’s not right, they didn’t just let me live with them, they took care of me. Bought me clothes and fed me and let me have my own room even though I said I could sleep on the couch. They could barely afford things for themselves, but they made sure I had what I needed. That’s why I threw myself into work and pushed people away. It’s for them, because I know I can never repay them. But I want to, even if they won’t let me.”

You’re done speaking, finally, and your face is bright red. It normally is when speaking to Jamie, but that’s from the sheer anger you usually feel from having to deal with him. This time it’s different. It’s from the embarrassment of being vulnerable in front of someone.

Jamie hasn’t said anything the whole time, just let you hold his hand. Your knees are touching now, and you realize that one of you must have shifted to make that happen.

You take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. “Why are you here, Jamie?” you ask softly. “You hate me. I don’t even know why I told you all that.”

He looks straight into your eyes. “I don’t hate you,” he says simply.

That’s enough to fully shatter the shell around your heart, and you’re shaking with silent sobs again as Jamie pulls you closer, your back against his chest as he wraps his arms around you.

—

You fall asleep like that, and you’re not sure at which point Jamie left. But when you wake up, you’re in your bed under a blanket. You think maybe you dreamed the whole thing until you see the note on your nightstand in messy handwriting.

I meant what I said.

—

Neither you nor Jamie comment on it, but something has changed. You don’t hate him anymore. He sits next to you on the plane back and cracks jokes, and you have a weird opportunity to apologize. He tells you he’s sorry too, explains about his dad, and you form a strange bond of repressed anger as a way to deal with hurt. 

Ted is right, forgiveness is the way to go.

—

Jamie Tartt makes it a point to ask you to go out with the lads every time they do group activities. You meet Rebecca’s friend Keeley, basically the only other girl, and pretty soon she’s invited herself over for girl’s nights. Jamie recognizes Keeley’s car the second time it happens and walks over to say hey. She invites him in, and suddenly he’s a fixture at girl’s night. His movie recommendations are shit, but his skincare products are not.

Since things at AFC Richmond aren’t as hectic as you’re used to, you start to pick up some of your old hobbies. Cooking, for example. You get your hands on a copy of Jamie’s diet plan and start experimenting with ways to make it more interesting. So now he’s at yours for dinner more often than not. 

He pops his head over the fence one Saturday afternoon, hearing young voices all morning. Your nephews are over and playing football in the backyard while your brother and sister-in-law deep clean their house. You’re sitting under an umbrella with the baby in your arms and a pitcher of water, when you hear Isaiah, the oldest, say, “Whoa! Is that Jamie Tartt?” 

You look up from Daniel’s tiny giggly face to see Jamie hanging over your fence and waving. You roll your eyes and grin back.

“Wanna come over?” you call, and the words are barely our of your mouth before he’s hopped over and starting to steal the ball from your four walking nephews.

They’re at it for a good thirty minutes before he calls time-out and is jogging over to you, all sweaty and grinning. 

“Didn’t know you were good with kids,” he says.

“Could say the same thing about you,” you shoot back.

He grabs water then makes a silly face at Daniel, who giggles and waves his arms. You laugh and kiss the baby on the top of his head, which makes him gurgle. You look up to see Jamie watching you strangely, so you wrinkle your nose at him. “What?” you say, but before he can open his mouth to respond, Jesse is pulling on Jamie’s hand, telling him the time-out is over.

—

Your next interaction of note happens after your third consecutive Richmond match. You don’t usually go to them, as it’s not required and you didn’t really care. But since you’ve been hanging out with the team, you find yourself taking Rebecca up on her offer to sit in the owner’s box. It’s three days until the next match and you’re looking for Jamie so you can eat lunch together. You find him in the locker room of all places and hand him his bag of food, yet another one of your experiments.

You’re starting to get really good revitalizing Jamie’s meal plan.

His eyes light up when he sees you, and you both miss the looks exchanged between Ted and Beard in their office.

Jamie puts down the lunch and says, “Oi, I got you something.” He reaches into his locker and pulls out a Richmond jersey.

“It’s new, it ain’t one of mine, but now you can wear it to matches.”

You shake it open to see it’s a Jamie Tartt jersey, and this makes you unreasonably happy.

Jamie’s grinning too, and it’s the rare kind of grin where his teeth look sharper and his eyes flash.

You hug it to your chest and say, “I’ll be sure to wear it Saturday,” before you and Jamie head to the café to eat.

— 

Keeley, of course, has comments about the jersey. You pretend not to understand what she’s saying.

—

It’s girls night again, and you and Jamie are pulling snacks out of his cabinets when your phones ding at the same time. It’s Keeley on your groupchat.

Can’t make it babes, something’s come up.

You make a comment involving the words “Roy Kent,” and riffing on her excuse, which makes Jamie laugh.

“I guess I’ll head back to mine,” you say, but Jamie tilts his head and says, “Or you could just… stay,” so you do.

You’re on his couch again, like the night you stopped hating him: your back agains his chest as you rub your thumb absentmindedly on his tattooed forearm.

You’re midway through the movie and explaining to Jamie the limited plausibility of it happening in real life, when he says a soft, oh shit as you pause to take a breath.

“What?” you say, sitting up. “Is everything alright?”

Jamie rubs a hand across his face. “You’re gonna fucking hate me again.”

You squint. “Not sure that’s possible. You’ve got too much dirt on me.”

Jamie just groans. “Nah, you’ll hate me. But I’m gonna tell you anyway.”

He grabs your hand and looks you straight in your eyes, giving you goosebumps.

“I’m fucking in love with you,” he says, and your brain still functions just enough to crash your lips into his.

You’re on top of him and his fingers are tangled in your hair, but as your fingers ghost his waistband, he stills and grabs your hand.

You freeze too, afraid you’ve crossed a line, but Jamie says, “I’m not fucking you for the first time on my couch. We’re going to do this proper,” and then he’s whisking you off your feet and up the stairs.

—

You know that fucking someone you work with is a line you said you’d never cross. But he was your neighbor first, and you’re in love, so it doesn’t count. You’re lying on Jamie’s bed gasping for air after god knows how long and all you can say is, “fuck me.”

Jamie smirks. “Thought I just did, babe, but I’ll go again,” and you’re seeing stars for the third time that night.

He’s sucking a line across your collarbone when you say, “Wait!”

Jamie is off of you in a moment, and you feel strangely empty.

“You alright?” he asks, all concern.

“I never said it back,” you explain. Jamie’s still confused.

“I love you too. You said you’re fucking in love with me. I’m in love with you too. Just thought I should make it clear.” 

Jamie’s looking at you all strange again, eyes dark, so you roll him back on top and let him devour you.