#if i have to sit and wait for another moment i think i will implode within myself

[faggotbismol]

the anxiety the anxiety

[tikitakatia]

Fixer Upper — A. Putellas x Reader

"Not My Circus, Still My Monkey"

WC: 1.5k

Summary: A few missed calls, one goat in the locker room, and somehow, you're the one writing apology emails to management.

You wake up to twelve missed calls, three texts, and a voice note from Alexia that just says:

“Hola cariño… There's a goat in the locker room. And I think it’s mad at me.”

You don't scream. You don't even sigh. You just lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, the phone pressed to your face, trying to piece together which specific life choices led to you dating one of Spain's most decorated footballers, and also the human equivalent of a disaster waiting to happen.

You call her back.

“Please tell me that was some weird metaphor,” you say, rubbing your eyes.

“Nope!” she replies cheerfully, popping the p. “It’s literal. He even has the little horns and everything.”

By the time you get to the training facility, the goat has made itself disturbingly comfortable. It’s in the locker room, snacking on a protein bar wrapper. Irene is crouched next to it, looking like she’s been babysitting a toddler with questionable decision-making skills.

You walk in, half-expecting the usual football drama, but instead, you're greeted by this. The goat. The snacks. The unsettling calm. Alexia is sitting on the bench, completely unfazed, wearing joggers and a sports bra as if a goat’s presence is just another part of her everyday life.

“You named it?” you ask, eyeing the hastily written “KIKO” on a piece of paper taped to the goat’s side.

Alexia shrugs, completely casual. “Felt rude not to.”

“Kiko’s got trauma,” you deadpan, narrowing your eyes. “I can see it in his eyes.”

“He bit Patri,” Alexia adds with the sort of nonchalance that only someone who’s caused an incident could muster.

Patri, sitting across the room with a frozen peas bag in her hand, offers a thumbs-up. 

“Deserved.”

You close your eyes briefly. You really, really should have stayed in bed today.

“Walk me through this. Slowly,” you mutter.

Apparently, last night’s evening training ended with Alexia “rescuing” the goat from a farm nearby. Why, you ask. Well, the poor thing was outside in a field, “looking lonely and sad” according to the blonde, and she just couldn’t leave him there. He was apparently “baa-ing pathetically” and needed a change of scenery and some friends. So naturally, she decided to bring him to the Barça training grounds. Farm field, football field. Po-tay-to, po-tah-to.

Pere walked in, took one look at the goat, sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. Without a single word to the team, he turned on his heel and walked straight out, muttering that practice was delayed until “this problem” had been resolved. That’s where the logic train derailed entirely. Now, you’re left standing in the locker room, trying to process how one of Europe's top football clubs has devolved into a petting zoo.

You can’t just call animal services. No, that would be too easy. First, you have to grill Alexia about where she found Kiko.

“Where did you get him?” you ask, arms crossed, eyeing the goat like it’s about to burst into flames.

“I... I can’t tell you,” Alexia says, looking extremely protective of the goat, as though she personally gave birth to it.

“Why? What’s the big secret?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s a farm... a private farm,” she says, her eyes shifting as if she’s trying to avoid your gaze. 

“And I think he could be the club mascot.”

You stare at her for a moment, blinking. This is the point in the conversation where your brain asks if you should be worried about the state of your life choices. Of course, you don’t even bother asking if she’s serious. She is.

And that’s how you end up spending the next half hour chasing down the farm’s owner, trying to figure out where in the world this goat came from. You finally reach a very upset farmer, who sounds more like he’s about to implode than help.

“I don’t know who let that goat leave,” the farmer grumbles, his voice frantic. “He’s my favorite goat, I was worried sick! Do you have any idea how long I’ve been looking for him? You can’t just take a goat like that! What kind of asshole steals a goat?! I'm calling the cops on you!”

You swallow hard. There’s no way you’re dealing with a police situation over a goat. Not today.

“Wait, no, please don’t call the cops,” you say, trying not to sound like you're begging, but let’s be honest, you really are. “Look, I’ll send you some tickets to the next game, good seats. VIP treatment. The best we’ve got. And I’ll... I’ll take care of the whole thing. Just don’t... don’t call the police. Please.”

The farmer pauses, his tone wavering slightly. After some back-and-forth that involves you discussing what exactly the VIP experience entails (and throwing in some team memorabilia for good measure), the farmer reluctantly agrees. “Fine. But you make sure he’s brought back to the farm, you hear me? I don’t want him roaming around anymore.”

You let out a sigh of relief and hang up. One crisis averted. Or so you think.

You turn to Alexia, who’s standing in the corner, casually sipping her water like she didn’t just steal a farm animal and bring it into the team’s locker room.

“I got him, okay?” you say, trying to keep your cool. “The goat’s going home. But you need to tell me where exactly you found him. Now.”

Alexia just grins at you, clearly enjoying the chaos. “Maybe it’s better if we keep this our little secret,” she says, winking.

You want to say something sharp. You want to remind her that you're the one who’s been dealing with this whole mess while she’s been acting like it’s all some sort of adventure. But you don’t. Instead, you turn back to your phone to draft yet another email, this time to the club’s management, explaining the situation and the implications for the field.

Typing with all the formal professionalism you can muster, you write: “My client regrets the goat-related disturbance.” You then go on to clarify that Kiko’s “enthusiasm for grass” has “disrupted the quality of the pitch’s surface” and caused the field to be “unearthed” in places. You make sure to mention that Kiko is, unfortunately, not a “FIFA-approved emotional support animal.”

Alexia reads your email, then looks up at you. You half-expect her to apologize, maybe at least offer a hint of regret. But no, of course not.

Instead, she grins. “Why’d you call me your client?”

You blink, trying to keep your cool, but the day's gone too far off the rails for any semblance of composure. “Because I’m trying really hard not to call you my problem.”

Her grin widens, clearly enjoying every second of your escalating stress. She steps closer, and you immediately feel the gravitational pull of her unshakable confidence, like she’s defying the very laws of nature and casually bending your sanity in half.

“I am though.” she says, her voice smug, teasing, and so completely certain of itself that it radiates from her. She’s practically in your face now, daring you to say anything, her confidence as palpable as a weight in the room.

You sigh again, not because you don’t want to kiss her (you do), but because you know exactly where this is heading. And, frankly, you’re not sure if your fragile sanity can handle any more right now.

“Unfortunately,” you mutter, voice flat.

She presses her lips to yours quickly. Just a soft, affectionate kiss, as though this isn’t the third crisis you’ve had to sort before your first coffee. You let her, of course. You always let her.

When she pulls back, she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, her grin growing wider. It’s the kind of grin that says, “I know exactly what I’ve just done to you, and I’m not sorry in the slightest.”

“Oh, by the way..” she adds, casually, as if she’s just reminding you of the time you accidentally threw your keys in the garbage. “Kiko peed on your laptop bag.”

You freeze, staring at her, your brain still struggling to process the fact that you've gone from a relatively normal morning to this. Your mouth opens and closes, but all you can manage is a sound that’s somewhere between a sigh and a small, defeated groan.

Her grin widens like she’s just told you the funniest joke in history. “It’s just a little pee,” she says, as though it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to add to your already ruined day. “What’s the big deal?”

You rub your temples, wondering how much more of this you can take. 

“I love you..” she says with a tiny, embarrassed chuckle. Clearly pleased with herself, and yet somehow still acting like she’s the victim in this scenario.

You blink, mind still racing as you try to find something to hold on to. 

“I love Beta blockers,” you reply with a tone dry as dust. At this point, you can’t think of a better way to cope with this absurdity.

Just when you think you’ve reached the limit, Alexia, without skipping a beat, drops her final bombshell. 

“Mi amor,” she says, “when are we getting Kiko a jersey? You know, for the team?”

You don’t even look at her, your voice flat. “I’ll get right on that.”

She grins and gives you a chaste kiss on the forehead, clearly pleased.

“You’re the best.”

You resist the urge to scream.

[cybergirrll]

fuse

hamzah x reader

synopsis- power goes out in your apartment complex, your friend hamzah who lives on the floor above you stops by in the middle of the night

fluff?!!! friends to lovers?!! (p.s. i personally think if you listen to pretty girl by clairo while you read it makes the whole thing a lot cuter)

-

about 5 minutes ago, you’d woken up for no apparent reason. you figured you’d drift back into your previous ever so peaceful slumber, but you were wrong.

so now, annoyed at your minds inability to fall back asleep you stared at the wall, mindlessly observing how the moonlight ever so slightly lit up the back of the curtains, the drapes allowing the softest light to mix amongst the darkness the room withheld.

usually when you awoke in the night like this, you fell back asleep almost immediately, having no memory of it in the morning. this time however, your heart fluttered in an exhilarating way. maybe it was the overload of coffee you had that morning, or maybe it was the boy upstairs.

hamzah lived on floor 3 in apartment A. you lived on floor 2 in apartment A. you’d met about four months ago, when there was a mix up with the mail addresses and you were getting coupons for cat litter. quickly, you became great friends. you were kind of lonely, with your friends living on the other side of town, and him being alone most of the time with his two cats. you loved having movie nights, going grocery shopping together at the store down the block, pet sitting red and blue, meeting on the balcony, complaining about your annoying neighbors, talking about movies, music, games and everything. it was one of the greatest friendships you’d ever had.

however, in the past week, something felt different. you tried to suppress the growing attraction that swelled your heart, twisting your stomach with butterflies whenever you saw him. it was so corny you felt sick. he was only a friend, you’d never even thought about liking him like that before but it crept up on you so suddenly, like an unexpected wave that hit you from behind, knocking you over and drifting you out into the cerulean blue sea. you weren’t used to feeling like this. so, you ignored it.

he was the last thing on your mind when you went to sleep and the first when you woke up in the middle of the night. you couldn’t help it. he was so awkward but in his own way where it was funny and sweet and so charming and hes so gentle and nice and so funny and he laughs at all your jokes and makes you laugh and his smile was so cute and his hair is adorable and he’s so smart and cute andUuooaagghhhh my god. he was driving you absolutely insane.

you felt so nervous to be around him, like he might sense what’s in your eyes and then you would implode right then and there. when he talks to you about how he used to be so depressed living on his own and how it got better but he still feels that empty void in him sometimes, you just want to kiss him on the mouth right then and there and tell him everything’s going to be okay and that you loved him so much and you wanted him to be happy forever. these kinds of thoughts kept you up the past few nights.

you checked the time on your phone 1:15 AM. welp. you were already up. you leaned over, clicking your lamp on. the bulb didn’t light up. you clicked it off and on again and still, there was no dim glow you hoped for. you peered down at the wall where the lamp was plugged in. “hmmm.” you got up and flicked the light switch by your door, your overhead light unresponsive.

a soft knock on your front door.

you were creeped out now, sure you were about to have some true crime documentary made about you. you waited for a moment, another soft knock. it wasn’t in your imagination. taking another deep breath, you slipped out of your room and over to the front door. you peeked through the peephole, relieved, and a bit nervous, to see hamzah.

you opened the door. “you scared the shit out of me.” his eyes looked sleepy, curls unruly. “sorry,” he smiled softly “i just wanted to check on you. i think a power line broke or something.” you stared at him for a moment, gripping the door a little tighter when you realized you were only in your underwear and an oversized t shirt.

“um- yeah. yeah, i’m okay. why were you up?” you tugged your t shirt down a little bit to cover the tops of your thighs. thankfully his gaze stayed fixed on your eyes. “i was editing a video, and then uhh- everything went dark. yeah.” he chuckled softly

“yeah you look tire-“ “why were you up?” he blurted.

“oh- i, no sorry what were you saying.”

“oh nothing,” you giggled a little.

“i just woke up in the middle of the night, couldn’t go back to sleep.”

he nodded, smiling softly, a little flustered.

you two stood there for a few quiet moments, just looking at each other. you felt so fluttery, like you were in a dream. maybe it was the eeriness of the situation, the fact that it was one in the morning and he was at your door like he’d usually be during the day. you weren’t sure if you should invite him in, or if it was a stupid idea because he looked tired. but then why was he here? it was almost the middle of the night and it’s not like a power outage would wake you up, so he would’ve assumed you were asleep.

he smiled softly at you and turned to walk away, taking a few steps before you ran out and grabbed his hand. “wait.”

he turned around, his eyes wide and soft in the darkness of the hallway. shoot. now he was looking at you and now you had to explain yourself but you don’t even know why you did that, you just couldn’t let him leave. you were still holding onto his hand

“stay.”

“you want me to?” hamzah’s voice was gentle, soft, drizzling down your spine like warm honey. he was talking to you this way, his eyes glimmering, so relaxed, so sleepy, so dark, so him.

you nodded, calculating your next moves in your head. this moment felt so perfect, you didn’t want to let it slip through your fingers.

you could lead him inside, just to go back talking again like the friends you were but something about this, standing in the hallway now made you want it to last. you wanted to capture this moment and keep it in a jar and live in that jar forever, you wanted to pour whatever was in that jar into your tea every morning, hoping it gave you that same unreal feeli-

his hand in yours. he squeezed it softly.

without thinking he laced his fingers with yours, slowly led you back inside your apartment and closed your door. you turned to face him, your back against the door. he moved closer, big brown eyes peering into yours, trying to figure something out.

you just looked and looked at him until he smiled at you. he’d never been like this with anyone, really. but he liked this feeling with you. you place your hand on his shoulder, awkwardly moving up to the side of his neck.

his hand fell down to your waist, other hand still holding yours tightly. he looks at you, a little nervous. you nod. he mumbles your name softly, hand fisting the side of your cotton shirt.

“you’re my favorite,” he mumbles again, under his breath. you bury your fingers in the back of his head and gently pull him closer until his nose brushes against yours. you can tell he’s a little nervous.

you kiss his lips softly and then pull away a little, looking into his eyes. he leans back in, hand cupping your face as he kisses you again. he was so warm and gentle against you, afraid you would shatter if he wasn’t soft enough with you.

he didn’t think he was much for affection, but the way you sighed against his mouth when he kissed you made him want more of you. he wanted to kiss you all day all the time forever. god he liked you so much. how did he go so long without this?

you pulled away a little, forehead against his. “hamzah i-“ a car alarm starts blaring outside, red headlights pulsing and flashing faintly from outside, piercing the dark. you hear muffled chatter and complaints from outside. hamzah pulled away, glancing towards the window and muttering something about bad timing.

“i um- i should head back to my place.” he shoved his hands in his pockets. you open your mouth to speak, hesitating and then just nodding. “okay, yeah um-“ you slide off of the door and open it for him. he looks at you quickly and mumbles a “night” before he slips out of the door and you close it behind him.

you slide down against the door, knees tucked against your chest on the floor. the car alarm finally died down outside. what were you even supposed to do now? go back to sleep?

-

hope u enjoyed!! sorry if this totally sucks 🤧

[themdera]

George Clarke replied to your story.

2,172 words. Green circle. Red Circle. what’s the difference?

It all started a few weeks ago when George had posted a random Instagram Story asking fans to add him to their close friends lists so he could rank them for a YouTube video—“best, funniest, cringiest, whatever,” he’d promised with that ridiculous smile. Your group chat had of course collectively lost their minds.

“Oh my God, we have to do this,” someone had declared, already tagging him in a story.

You’d rolled your eyes at first. Sure, George was funny, creative, and admittedly attractive, but you weren’t about to feed his ego by crafting some elaborate story just for his amusement. Still, in the chaos of everyone else freaking out, you’d ended up adding him anyway. Not to make the cut for his video—you didn’t post anything remotely funny or interesting enough—but just to shut the groupchat up. And honestly, you forgot to remove him after.

Then came the thirst trap.

It wasn’t even planned. You’d been bored, playing around with some poses, when your friends dared you to post something from the many photos you’d sent them, a simple selfie where the light hits your face and hair in the perfect way, just to mess with people. It had been a joke, like everything else on your close friends, and you’d captioned it, “This one’s for just you ;)” to really sell the bit.

No one actually expected him to see it.

But George Clarke, the man with an unbelievably high screen time, saw everything. The notification came in mere minutes after you posted it. GeorgeClarkeey replied to your story

“Me?” one word. That was all it took.

“Girls” You typed very quickly

Cue the group chat imploding.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” your friend types back know the message “Girls” meant something had happened.

“George replied to my story”

“HE WHAT?”

“He’s going to think it’s serious.”

“Can we talk about how he responded in record time???”

“He’s going to make this a thing. I feel it in my soul.”

The replies came in at record speed. Sure enough, George wasn’t done yet.

Another message popped up while you were still processing the first: “Wait. That was for me, right? Like… actually?”

You groaned, tossing your phone onto your bed. What the hell was going on? George Clarke had a talent for this shit, and now you were directly in the middle of it. Of course it wasn’t specifically for him. It was a joke, a dumb joke fueled by group chat dares and late-night boredom. But now George Clarke was in your DMs, actually engaging, and you had no idea how to navigate this.

You sat down on your bed , unlocking your phone to stare at his messages through your notifications like they might explode if you opened them. What the hell were you supposed to say to that?

“Me?”

“Wait. That was for me, right? Like… actually?”

It wasn’t for him. Not really. But at the same time, it wasn’t not for him, and there was no universe in which you could explain that without sounding ridiculous.

Your phone buzzed again.

“Take your time, I’ll just sit here wondering 😏.”

You groaned, throwing your head back. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he just scroll past like a normal person? Better yet, why did you still have him on your close friends list in the first place?

The group chat, of course, was zero help.

“Just say it was for him. What’s the harm?”

“Tell him it’s a metaphor. Keep him guessing.”

“Confess your undying love and ask him to follow while you’re at it.”

You sighed, finally flopping onto your bed and opening the messages.

“What if it was?” you typed, hesitating for a moment before hitting send.

Immediately, your heart dropped into your stomach. What had you just done? Before you could spiral too deeply into regret over your reply, another notification popped up on your screen.

GeorgeClarkey started following you.

You froze. What the actual fuck was going on? Was this some elaborate joke for his video? Was he about to screenshot your profile and blast you to his friends and his followers as part of his next roast video?

Panic set in almost immediately. You scrambled to your profile, fingers flying as you opened your highlights. What did I even have on there? Your close friends was one thing, but your highlights were public.

The first highlight was fine. A sunset. Very normal. The second was a random dog you’d seen on a walk. Also fine. The third? Oh God, the third. A blurry photo of your face captioned, “Why am I like this?”

You cringed, hitting the delete button, but before you could delete anything else, another notification lit up your phone.

GeorgeClarkey replied to your story:

“Ok but… jokes aside be honest. Is this about me?”

Your group chat exploded before you could even blink.

“HE FOLLOWED YOU?!”

“Shut up. He did not.”

“Bestie, you’re famous now.”

“Oh my God he did! i checked his profile! Did he post anything? Has he said anything else?”

You ignored them, heart pounding as you stared at the notification. This couldn’t be real. George Clarke, internet golden boy who had every teenage girl in a chokehold, was actually engaging with you.

What the hell were you going to do?

You stared at George’s message, your mind racing: “Ok but…jokes aside be honest. Is this about me?”

Before you could fully process it, your fingers moved almost instinctively, opening the group chat. You switched to voice notes because typing just wasn’t fast enough to convey the absolute thoughts in your head.

“Guys,” you hissed into the mic, pacing your room. “What the actual fuck is going on? George Clarke just messaged me again. AGAIN. And he said—wait, no, let me read this. He said, ‘Ok but… jokes aside be honest. Is this about me?’”

You paused, pacing more furiously as all your friends started typing back.

“I don’t know what to say!” you continued in the next voice note, your voice slightly higher now. “Like, do I admit it? Do I deny it? Do I block him and change my name? HELP ME.”

The replies came in almost instantly:

“Post the screenshot right now.”

“Oh my God, you’re in a rom-com.”

“Say it was about him and see what happens. Do it for the plot.”

“Voice note us back with the drama or don’t bother replying at all.”

You rolled your eyes, even as you hit record again.

“Okay, fine. I’ll reply. But if this ends with me being clowned in one of his videos, you’re all accomplices.”

With one final deep breath, you typed out:

“Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. What’s it to you?”

Your thumb hovered for a second, but then you hit send, immediately regretting it as your phone buzzed with another notification.

“Oh, it’s something to me. 😉”

You groaned, sending yet another voice note to the group chat.

“I AM GOING TO SCREAM. He just said it’s ‘something to him.’ WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!?”

Your friends weren’t helping, their replies now a chaotic mix of screaming voice notes and unhinged texts.

“He’s into you, bestie.”

“We’re living for this. Keep us updated.”

“I’m adding popcorn to my grocery list.”

Whatever George was playing at, it was… kind of fun.

You stared at his message: “Oh, it’s something to me. 😉”

Your heart thudded as you typed out a response, fingers moving on autopilot: “How come?”

For a second, you debated deleting it. Was that too straightforward? Too bold? But before you could overthink it, the message was already sent.

The group chat was on fire.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY???”

“Tell me you asked him why. PLEASE.”

“I’m pacing my room like it’s my drama, what is happening???”

You sent a quick voice note: “I asked him how come. Like, if he’s going to be cryptic, I’m making him work for it. I can’t just let him drop a winky face and get away with it.”

Your phone buzzed before the group could reply. Another message from George.

“Because now I’m curious. Was it really for me?”

You blinked at your screen. Curious? Curious?! Why did he have to phrase it like that? Like this wasn’t a throwaway Instagram post but some grand mystery he needed to solve.

You hit record on another voice note.

“GUYS. He said he’s curious. What the hell does that mean?!” you whispered furiously. “I’m spiraling. Do I double down? Do I back out? Help.”

The replies were just as unhinged as before.

“Double down. Always double down.”

“Tell him it’s his fault for making you curious too.”

“Can we just talk about how into this he clearly is? Like, bestie, he’s invested.”

You shook your head, biting your lip as you typed your next message.

“Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. But now I’m curious—what if it was?”

Your thumb hovered for a moment before you hit send, already bracing for whatever chaos George Clarke was about to unleash next.

The notification popped up almost immediately:

GeorgeClarkey: “Well, if it wasn’t, how come I’m on your close friends and none of my friends are?”

Your jaw dropped. Oh, he was good. Too good. George Clarke wasn’t just playing along—he was winning.

You immediately switched to the group chat, hitting record on a voice note.

“Guys. He’s onto me. He said—and I quote—‘How come I’m on your close friends and none of my friends are?’” You paused, your voice rising in pitch. “WHAT DO I SAY TO THAT?”

The group chat blew up in record time.

“HE SAID WHAT?!”

“Oh my God, this man is flirting.”

“Deflect. Blame it on the algorithm. Lie if you have to.”

“No, no, you need to hit him back with something. Don’t let him win!”

You sent another voice note, pacing your room as you spoke.

“I don’t even know why he’s still on my close friends! It’s not like I planned this—he asked to be added for that stupid video, and I just forgot to take him off. But if I tell him that, he’s going to think I’m some kind of idiot who forgot George Clarke was on their list!”

One of your friends sent a voice note back, barely able to contain their laughter.

“Bestie, you are an idiot who forgot George Clarke was on their list. But now you’ve got him interested, so lean in. Own it. Say something mysterious.”

You sighed, staring at George’s message for a long moment before typing:

“Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out.”

Your heart was racing as you hit send, half-expecting him to call your bluff immediately. Instead, the little typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

“Don’t mind if I do. 😏”

You practically screamed, sending another voice note to the group chat.

“Guys. GUYS. He’s not just flirting. He’s doubling down. What do I do now?!”

The replies came back rapid-fire:

“Marry him.”

“This is officially fanfiction territory.”

“No, seriously, keep him on the hook. This is your moment.”

You didn’t George’s last message—“Don’t mind if I do. 😏”—because honestly, you needed a minute to think. Or maybe several. So instead of spiraling over how to respond, you stuck to your plan.

Ignoring the little red dot on his message thread, you switched to Instagram stories and posted something casual to your story: a cozy shot of your coffee on the table, framed by the warm tones of a London café from last weekend. The kind of post you always shared on quiet afternoons. You added the café’s location tag for good measure, captioning it simply: Need this.

The group chat was, of course, waiting.

“Update: just posted,” you said in a voice note, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s a café pic. Totally chill, very me. If he reacts to this, I’ll… I don’t know, scream.”

You barely had time to put your phone down before it buzzed with a new notification:

GeorgeClarkey replied to your story.

Your heart jumped as you opened it.

“Good taste. But why didn’t you invite me?”

You sat there, staring at the message like it was in a foreign language. George wasn’t just reacting—he was flirting. Again.

“GUYS,” you hissed into a new voice note, pacing your room. “He replied. And get this—he said, ‘Good taste. But why didn’t you invite me?’ Like, is this man serious?!”

The chat erupted in chaos.

“Shut up, he did NOT.”

“He’s basically asking for a date. I’m calling it.”

“You better reply, right now.”

But you weren’t ready to give in that easily. Typing back too quickly would make it seem like you were waiting for him (which you definitely weren’t). So instead, you left his message on read, letting him sit with it while you debated your next move.

Another voice note: “I’m ignoring him for now. Let’s see if he doubles down.”

And honestly, you weren’t sure what thrilled you more: the fact that George Clarke had replied, or the fact that he was now waiting on you.

———————————————————————-

a/n my first george fic! there will be a part two! the formatting hasn’t worked the way it should have but i’ll work on it!

would like to thank George Clarke for seeing my close friends which then let to @pretendyoucantseeme who gave me the idea and @authortelevision for supporting the delusions. love you both😂

if you wanna be tagged in part 2 please let me know!

[jam3sacaster]

“For he would be thinking of love..”

(Rivals) Declan O’Hara x Reader

Suggestion by a sweet anon 🫶🏽 / Declan takes a break from his work to show you how much he loves you…

18+ FANFIC / Soft Declan for once! Reader character aged at 26. Short Work. Hopefully you enjoy 🩷

The heavens had opened atop Rutshire, unleashing icy precipitation and blustering winds, that rattled the windows of The Priory, and made the already bitter night seem glacial. These were the perfect nights to spend curled in Declan’s office, fireplace roaring —crimson tendrils dancing their passionate jig amongst charcoal embers — and the dusty blue chenille sofa comforting you like a warm hug. “You okay, my love?” Your husband asked, pushing the office door open with his foot and carrying two steaming mugs of hot chocolate with slightly shaking hands. “Mhm hmm.” You respond sleepily, face pressed against the fabric of the sofa. Wandering Aengus, your silver British shorthair cat, purred slumberously and leaped up from the hardwood floor and onto the spare space on the sofa, nestling into a ball beside you. Placing the hot chocolates down at his desk, Declan sat amongst a mountain of books, and began to scrawl in his notepad, brows furrowed in concentration.

Slinking away from the sofa, you padded over to his desk and draped your arms around Declan’s neck, nuzzling your mouth into the crook of his shoulder. Unwavering from his writing, Declan planted a litter of soft kisses along your forearm and smiled tenderly. “Yeats?” You ask, voice muffled against his skin. “Yes. I’m really making progress,” He began. Declan’s biography of Yeats, his favourite poet, had been a long time in the making, and you would be ever so proud of him upon completion. “It shouldn’t be long until I’m finished, love. And then ya’ have my full attention, I promise.” He huffed, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. “Oh, Dec. Don’t worry about that. I know how much this means to you.” You tutted, and removed your wrap of his neck, bounding back to the sofa and collapsing onto the plush fabric, causing only a slight stir from Aengus.

Your unfaltering support of Declan’s career — whether writing or television — was absolutely bewildering to him. Despite only being married for just over six months, you had spent countless nights in bed, the space beside you empty as he drank himself in a hole whilst working, and you hadn’t complained once. It took a few moments to notice that Declan was no longer writing, but staring at you, eyes ablaze with extraordinary adoration. “Oh, love is the crooked thing. There is nobody wise enough to find out all that is in it,” He began to recite.

“For he would be thinking of love ‘til the stars had run away and the shadows eaten the moon.” You interjected, finishing his quote. Declan rose from his seat, not for one moment breaking his eye contact and stood above you. “Down, Aengus.” You whisper to your cat, who obliges lazily and pads out of the room. “I will be thinkin’ of loving you until the earth implodes.” The Irishman speaks under his breath, gently sitting beside you and raking a loose curl behind your ear. “Declan..” You murmur, lip trembling as his face inched towards yours. Before you could speak another word, he kissed you tenderly, taking great care in caressing your skin.

Pulling away only to catch his breath, your husband rose to his feet and leant downwards, scooping you into his arms and beaming with joy as a jubilant cackle escaped your mouth. “What are you doing?” You chortle and allow your limbs to melt into his hold. “Takin’ you to bed, Mrs O’Hara. Ya’ve waited long enough, but tonight, ya’ get me all to yourself.” He replied, and began to haul you upstairs. Wandering Aengus lethargically returned to his warm spot on the sofa.

[usagiarchive]

angel of the codeine scene — [02] qingxin incense

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sypnosis. [ xiao x adeptus!reader. 1.6k words. angst. ]  — It's a punishment, it has to be. He had definitely done something wrong to piss off his god.

Rex Lapis was not indifferent.

He knew of his only remaining Yaksha’s pain, the karmic debt he hides from him, or tries to, really. Nothing can escape Rex Lapis’ watch, no, not even as he resigns and leaves Liyue in the capable hands of the Qixing and the Millelith.

And so, one afternoon, Bubu Pharmacy receives a summons from the Geo Archon himself, asking them to come to the Golden House for a formal meeting.

Changsheng tells Baizhu to close up for the day and sends for Yanfei to pick Qiqi up.

The two make the trek toward the abandoned building, left to stand in memory instead after the supposed passing of Rex Lapis.

Baizhu steps over the offerings left at the door of the now altar, the flowers, both wilted and fresh, the letters, candles, all of it, for the beloved Geo Archon.

He tries to quell his nerves at being called by a high figure of authority.

Rex Lapis is… not what he expected.

Zhongli shows up instead.

“Ah, Changsheng, Baizhu,” he greets, “come,”

The tall man walks to the middle of the floor where an insanely large gold ceramic bowl, almost like a bathtub, sits. Thousands of red incense sticks were lit around it, the aroma wafting through the air, it smelled heavily of qingxin flowers and ginseng, Baizhu notes.

Changsheng gasps as they near the middle.

“Rex Lapis-shén! Is that what I think it is?”

Zhongli nods.

“Astute as ever, Changsheng-xiaoren,” he says as he holds his hand over the bowl which now seems to be filling up with… white wine…?

“It is wine,” the man nods, seeming to read his mind, “Would you allow me to borrow Changsheng for a moment, Baizhu-yīshēng?”

He nods, “A-ah, yes,” he holds out his hand to Zhon- Rex Lapis. Changsheng slithers to his hand with no trouble.

The two have a conversation, Baizhu does not hear nor does he understand the tongue in which they speak in. Ancient Adeptus dialect, he supposes. He stays standing at the end of the incense table, watching, waiting.

Finally, Rex Lapis moves to rest Changsheng at the end of his arm and his familiar starts to chant.

The entire environment shifts, the Golden Palace’s lights dim for just a second and brighten even more, the wind picks up, even if there was no draft to begin with, and he finds it weird that the incense remains lit through it all.

Changsheng continues her chant and then he hears another voice join in, it’s deep, almost otherworldly, and Baizhu wonders if they’re summoning a God- no, it’s... Rex Lapis who speaks, he observes.

The Wangsheng Funeral Parlor’s Consultant starts to glow, his sleeve failing to conceal the light that his arms emit, and even the ends of his hair start to lighten, too.

So this is the power of an Archon, Baizhu thinks, and for a moment, he is afraid.

The winds start to swirl, outlined by the smoke of the incense as it forms something somewhat similar to the eye of a storm in the middle of the ceiling, objects start to rattle, and Baizhu fears, he fears for his life and he fears for Changsheng’s.

Then it stops.

It becomes dark, all that was floating dropped, all that were shaking, stilled, and the incense smoke rose up again.

Then, Rex Lapis speaks.

“Baizhu-yīshēng, cover your eyes,”

He does so, swiftly, no questions and he is thankful that he does.

Because even if he has shut his eyes, he could feel the brightness of the light that imploded and flooded the room, his eyelids not being enough to completely shield his irises, he raises his arm to cover his face.

From Liyue Harbor, everyone is in a state of panic, a bright golden beacon of light has emerged from the Golden House, and already, the Tianquan knows what is happening and has sent for the Millelith to protect the Golden House.

Baizhu can feel the winds whip at his face from behind his arms and the light become even brighter.

Then it stops.

Changsheng trails off of her chanting and the baritoned voice disappears as well. The archon turns to him as the lights of the Golden House return to it’s warm, usual lighting.

“Thank you for your assistance, Changsheng-xiaoren, you as well, Baizhu-yīshēng,” he smiles tiredly, and turns back to the bowl that-

“Is that a human?” he asks, horrified and amazed.

“An adeptus,” Zhongli corrects.

The man lifts up his… adeptus creation in his arms and carries her out of the bowl. The girl looks to be as old as a young woman, seemingly asleep, but you could feel her energy somehow.

Zhongli coats her in a silk blanket and again thanks Baizhu and Changsheng who tells him should he ever need her help again, he is most welcome to do so.

Baizhu is just in shock that he had witnessed how adepti were made.

“Oh, and Baizhu-yīshēng?” the archon calls out to him, his voice echoing throughout the hallway of the chamber, “Best to get out of here as soon as possible, the Qixing will be here shortly,”

The doctor had never wished he could teleport as fast as he can in that moment.

Xiao knows there’s something. He doesn’t know what that something is- he just knows there’s something different. It’s been like this for the past month and it itches at the back of his head to know there’s something, but he doesn’t know what it is.

It started with that large beacon of light from the Golden House, which the Tianquan and the Liyue Qixing have dismissed and “taken care of”.

No matter, he will serve as he is supposed to.

Xiao scouts the entirety of Bishui Plains and finds only a stray slime or two.

He decides to search in Minlin and only gets the faint impression of Cloud Retainer, he figures Mountain Shaper and Moon Carver have gone into the city to have tea with Madame Ping.

Finally, he circles back to Qiongji Estuary and starts with Luhua Pool where he sees-

“Morax,” he says and bows, and immediately retracts to be on guard.

“There is someone here,” Xiao starts and is shocked when his God places a hand on his shoulder.

“Stand down, Xiao,” he says, “There is someone I’d like you to meet,”

The anemo adeptus furrows his brows in confusion, why was his God telling him to be at ease? His job was to protect him, so why would he stop him from doing so?

Morax calls out to a someone and a figure steps out from behind the tree.

“Xiao, I’d like you to meet her,” he says as he introduces you to him.

You in your typical Liyuean-style clothes, dressed up as a healer. You look just as… just as the day he lost you.

“She will be a… support of sorts, for you,” he says, then turns to you.

The warrior feels as if his heart has stopped, he cannot breathe, and there are a million thoughts and questions racing through his mind, but Rex Lapis continues.

“This is Xiao, you will be accompanying him, okay?”

“You will do your best to remember what you trained for, and support him, yes?”

He sees you nod, “Yes, Morax-shen,” you say and his God smiles.

“Very well, Xiao, I trust that you will protect her, I trust that you will support him, are we in agreement?”

“Yes,” the two of you say at the same time.

“I have business to attend to now, send for me if you need assistance,” he says as he bids goodbye and walks out of sight.

Xiao turns to look at you as you look back at him.

He goes to Ganyu.

“I- I just cannot fathom why he would give me her…” he says as he looks at you preparing tea with Madame Ping.

Ganyu had arranged for a meeting and roped in the older adeptus to look after you, his new… companion.

“Maybe it's about the karmic debt…” she says as she puts a hand under her chin.

“I feel as though this is punishment…” he says solemnly, then turns to her abruptly, “Have I done anything wrong recently?”

Xiao starts to spiral, “Is it because I haven't been doing my job right? I must have missed a swarm of creatures- I-”

“Please calm yourself, xiansheng,”

You.

Xiao does not know how to respond at the sight of you.

You place a cup of tea in front of him and he takes it, eyes still on you.

Ganyu doesn't know whether she should laugh or be concerned.

You continue to accompany Xiao to Wangshu Inn. You tell him you'd be fine with teleporting but he shut the idea down. Going on about how mortals are fragile.

He talks with the woman at the front desk and gestures to you, then takes your hand and leads you to a room.

“This is where you'll stay,” he tells you once you're inside. The room is simple, a window that has a balcony, a bed, a bathroom, and a wardrobe.

Xiao places a talisman on the door and on the window, then sets a teapot on the desk near it.

You hear him sigh.

“This is how it'll be,” he says and stops right in front of you, “You will stay here, okay? I will return after patrol a-and- and we can… we can do mortal activities to keep you…” he trails off.

“I have to stay with you,”

“What?”

“It's part of my contract with Morax-shen,” you tell him and show him your arm. Quickly, Xiao presses the palm of his hand and smooths over your skin.

Golden threads run through your veins.

A life bond.

“Why…”

You place a hand over his, “It is my contract, my duty to you, I am to support you and you are to protect me. Our contract.”

He must have really done something to piss off his god.

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usagi's note: how the hell do i break my foot during exam week... ANYWAY IM FREE FROM UNI !! i wanna write another chapter but like it is legit 1am rn...

taglist (open!! send an ask/comment to be tagged!): @irenedoesthings @cherrysnows @makuzume @smoochi-modest @bvtterflyyy @original-person

@usagiarchive 2024. do not repost, translate, or use for AI. reblogs, likes, and comments are very appreciated!!

[ohdorothea]

more info on the tournament here <3

lyrics under the cut!

So Long, London lyrics

So long, London (So long, London)

So long, London (So long, London)

So long, London (So long, London)

I saw in my mind fairy lights through the mist

I kept calm and carried the weight of the rift

Pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away

My spine split from carrying us up the hill

Wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill

I stopped trying to make him laugh, stopped trying to drill the safe

Thinking how much sad did you think I had

Did you think I had in me?

Oh, the tragedy

So long, London

You'll find someone

I didn't opt in to be your odd man out

I founded the club she's heard great things about

I left all I knew, you left me at the house by the Heath

I stopped CPR, after all, it's no use

The spirit was gone, we would never come to

And I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free

For so long, London

Stitches undone

Two graves, one gun

I'll find someone

And you say I abandoned the ship

But I was going down with it

My white-knuckle dying grip

Holding tight to your quiet resentment

And my friends said it isn't right to be scared

Every day of a love affair

Every breath feels like rarest air

When you're not sure if he wants to be there

So how much sad did you think I had

Did you think I had in me?

How much tragedy?

Just how low did you think I'd go

Before I'd self-implode?

Before I'd have to go be free?

You swore that you loved me, but where were the clues?

I died on the altar waiting for the proof

You sacrificed us to the gods of your bluest days

And I'm just getting color back into my face

I'm just mad as hell 'cause I loved this place

For so long, London (So long, London)

Had a good run (Had a good run)

A moment of warm sun (Moment of warm sun)

But I'm not the one (I'm not the one)

So long, London (So long, London)

Stitches undone (Stitches undone)

Two graves, one gun (Two graves, one gun)

You'll find someone (You'll find)

Fresh Out The Slammer lyrics

Now, pretty baby, I'm runnin' back home to you

Fresh out the slammer, I know who my first call will be to

Fresh out the slammer, oh

Another summer, takin' cover

Rollin' thunder, he don't understand me

Splintered back in winter, silent dinners, bitter

He was with her in dreams

Gray and blue and fights and tunnels

Handcuffed to the spell I was under

For just one hour of sunshine

Years of labor, locks and ceilings

In the shade of how he was feelin'

But it's gonna be alright, I did my time

Now, pretty baby, I'm runnin' back home to you

Fresh out the slammer, I know who my first call will be to

Fresh out the slammer, oh

Camera flashes, welcome bashes

Get the matches, toss the ashes off the ledge

As I said in my letters, now that I know better

I will never lose my baby again

My friends tried but I wouldn't hear it

Watched me daily disappearing

For just one glimpse of his smile

All those nights you kept me going

Swirled you into all of my poems

Now we're at the starting line, I did my time

Now, pretty baby, I'm runnin'

To the house where you still wait up and that porch light gleams

To the one who says I'm the girl of his American Dreams

And no matter what I've done, it wouldn't matter anyway

Ain't no way I'm gonna screw up, now that I know what's at stake

Here

At the park where we used to sit on children's swings

Wearing imaginary rings

But it's gonna be alright, I did my time

[zaynesbratjoy]

Tech, Tears & Tacos

hi. this story is kind of a mess.

there’s romance (sort of). Includes all lads men. if you're into cringe, chaos, and random shit

welcome. Please make this popular.

lower your expectations.

and let's do this.

Part 1:

“I think I wanna throw up,” I muttered, swirling my coffee like it was some kind of magical potion that could somehow make me feel better. Full milk, of course—because I hate myself. Also, I’m pretty sure I’m lactose intolerant. What if I fart in the interview? God, that would be horrible.

“Definitely wanna throw up,” I mumbled again, tugging at the stray hairs that had somehow escaped my professional-looking ponytail. I pulled it tighter, fingers shaking as the anxiety was about to implode.

“Ah, shit. Please, just—ugh—I’d throw up right now if I could.” I exhaled dramatically, clutching my stomach as I pushed out the stress-dump I had perfected for any inconvenient situation in my life. God, why was I doing this? Well, better than farting in public. Getting rid of that is a whole other disaster.

“Hello, my name is Leila Dylan, and I’m here applying for the Operations and Strategy Manager role,” I announced with what I hoped was a professional tone, flashing a smile that screamed, “I’m definitely faking it.”

I wanted to puke. This guy—this guy sitting across from me was... fine. Too fine. Too good-looking. Fuck.

I tried to focus on his face. How could someone be so... handsome yet make me feel like I was trapped in an Instagram ad? That jawline? Chiseled. Why?

Caleb—oh, right. Caleb. He had dark brown hair, almost too neatly swept to the side like he spent hours each morning perfecting his look. His piercing green eyes were the real weapon, though. They were sharp. Like a knife, cutting straight through my entire existence. Those eyes knew things—probably even things about me I wasn’t ready to confront. He wore a light blue button-down shirt that clung to his shoulders in that way only guys who clearly work out can pull off. Oh, and the silver watch on his wrist? Probably cost more than my entire apartment.

He chuckled lightly, which made me want to throw up even more. He had this... aura about him. Like he could break you down with just a smile. And right now, he was breaking me down with nothing but his presence.

“So, Mrs. Dylan, I see you’ve only been in the same field for about three months according to your resume. Can I ask why you didn’t stay longer?” Caleb asked, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. His voice was smooth, but there was an edge to it, like he already knew the answer and was waiting for me to screw it up.

I blinked. I wasn’t prepared for this. Yeah, who am I kidding? I didn’t prepare. I get called a lazy-ass all the time. Honestly, it hits me right in every goddamn interview. Fuck, working anyway...

“Well, it was a startup. The company itself had a financial crisis, and—” I trailed off. Why the hell is he laughing?

His smile was still there, almost smug. I suddenly became hyper-aware of my leg shaking under the table.

“You do realize you’re applying to another startup, right?” Caleb interjected, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Yeah, what a dumb bitch I am.

“Right,” I muttered, feeling like I might collapse at any moment. “But I mean, that really isn’t my fault, sir. I’m sure you saw my portfolio... it speaks for itself.” Yeah, real convincing, Leila.

His gaze flickered to my resume. I could feel him flipping through it, his smirk never leaving.

“Last question,” Caleb said, his gaze unwavering. “Why should we hire you?”

I don’t even know why I’m here. Giving up wasn’t an option... yet.

"Uh..." I fumbled, trying to dig myself out of this hole. "I’m a fast learner, extremely adaptable to any work environment. All my experiences, even the ones in different fields, allow me to be a... a potential candidate for this role?"

Nice one, Leila. You barely believe yourself.

Caleb raised an eyebrow. Yeah, that eyebrow didn’t have any confidence in me either.

“Right... experience.” He flipped through my resume again, scanning it like a hawk. “Four online courses and barely any work experience.”

My face flushed. I fought the urge to squirm. What was I even doing here?

Leila swallowed her pride. “Well... yeah, haha...” I laughed awkwardly. “But the thing is, sir, you know this position is rare and... the field is still developing in the current world, so...” I trailed off, unsure of how to finish.

Fuck it. I give up.

Caleb kept staring at me, his gaze unyielding. The silence stretched for a few seconds before he finally smiled. But this time, it wasn’t smug.

“Alright, Mrs. Dylan. We’ll be in touch,” he said, his voice still composed. But there was something in it. Something... mischievous.

Busted. You broke-ass.

“Wait—hold on,” he said, suddenly leaning forward.

I just wanted to be freed, please. I sat down again.

“Before you go, I just have to ask—if you were a type of sandwich, which one would you be, and why would you be the most underrated, yet secretly superior sandwich on the menu?”

Okay, yeah. Funny guy. He thinks he’s being creative, doing corny shit like that. And yet... still looks cool. God, I hate pretty privilege.

“Uh…” Was this man for real?

I stared at him, and laughed. “A... a sandwich? Are you... serious?”

“Come on, it’s a simple question. What’s your secret sandwich superpower?”

“Well, on a daily basis, I’d go with an egg salad sandwich, avocado with eggs—plain choices ‘cause... simply I don’t cook. But on the menu? I’d go with the juiciest, full of meat, extra-sauce thing. Uh... , I hope this isn’t part of the interview- Okay, sorry, that's it.”

Caleb laughed, a full, rich sound that only made me want to dig myself a hole and crawl in.

“Wait, oh no, did I mess up? I think I should've said, ‘Oh, it’s the avocado sandwich—it’s simple, but has... avocado...? So it’s like work but... creativity added?’”

I didn’t know whether to be relieved or horrified. He’s looking like an idiot now, thank God.

“I love you,” Caleb said.

“What? ...Is this—”

“For me, Mrs. Dylan, you're hired. But yeah, protocol... gotta discuss with the CEO first,” he interjected.

I laughed. Pretty hard. He grinned.

“Uh, what?” I said, without thinking. I don’t even know what to say at this point.

“We’ll be in touch... if you know, you know. Double meaning—”

“Ha? Thanks. I’ll go now.”

I walked out quickly. And, of course, I farted once I exited the room.

Sipping on my hot tea, wrapped in my blanket, “Do I freak out?” I said, Facetiming my homegirl.

“I still don’t understand why he said ‘I love you’ after a freakin’ sandwich question, and why the hell he asked a sandwich question in an interview!” my girl asked.

“I think this whole company is cracked. I don’t know, it feels like a joke, a prank... Man was serious at first but boom, then he seemed like a retarded 10-year-old,” I continued. “But why a company about that specializes in creating immersive digital experiences—think a mix between interactive storytelling apps, virtual AI companions, and gamified mental health tools... all that shit yet seemed... so dumb.”

“Girl, with your damn answers and that messy-ass resume of yours, I don’t think... well, of course, I’m not letting you down, but come on, let’s be real, are you even confident they’ll hire you? Bitch, you don’t want to work, why’d you do that?” Expected from her to say, yeah.

“To pay the fucking bills, Hannah. Obviously, if it’s not for that, I swear I’d do anything but work. I wanna practice electric guitar, ice skating—no, wait, I guess I’m too fat for that. Anyways, I think—” I got interrupted by her.

“Wait, you said QuantumHaven is the name of the company?”

“Yup.”

“Open the screenshot I sent you now!”

“That’s Sylus—oh no, oh no, how????”

“Your fucking ex is running the company? You didn’t know for real?” she laughed.

There’s no way I’m in.

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

First time writing, don't come at me

It'll get better, please believe in me

[coming-lieutenant]

Hello!

Got another idea about younger detective and how Hank can't believe she likes him, so he thinks she spends time with them for Connor, until she's fed up with all of this and kisses him. Maybe in front of DPD 👀.

Thanks Queen/King/any other royality you might identifies with 💖😌

Get a Fucking Clue

A/N: Sorry for the delay 😭 my life literally imploded over the last week and a half and I finally got the ship back on course. I hope you enjoy it!! I’m so sorry it took me so long!

~

Cool, refreshing air envelopes your body, a comforting contrast to the summer heat outside as you walk step into the Detroit Police Precinct. Today marks the beginning of a new journey for you as a criminal investigator. Over are the days of sitting on the side of the road, in alleys, waiting for someone to break into a building, mug some unsuspecting passerby, or any of the other unsavory activities that occur under the moonlight of this restless city. Now, you get to work among some of DPD’s finest on the scenes of the crimes, solving crimes with much higher stakes.

You take a breath, trying to keep yourself cool and collected as you walk into the Bull Pen. You’ve been in here before, but typically you didn’t spend much time here. You walk through, looking at the desks, looking for the lieutenant and his partner you’ve been assigned to train under. You see a man, or android, rather, as you can tell by the bright blue LED on his temple, sitting at a desk. You recall being told the partner in question was an android detective sent by Cyberlife, and though you don’t see anyone sitting with him, you approach anyway.

“Hello. You must be Connor,” you say, greeting the android as you walk up to the desk. He looks up from his computer at you. “Hello,” he says, giving you a warm smile, “I am in fact. Can I help you with something?” You look at the empty desk across from him. “Have you seen Lieutenant Anderson this morning?” You ask, puzzled by his absence. Connor smiles again. “It would be surprising if I had. I’ll call him and let him know you’re here.” He picks up his phone, calling Lieutenant Anderson. He looks mildly surprised as his call is answered. “Lieutenant? Our trainee is here. She wishes to meet you.” He’s quiet for a moment, seemingly listening to the response. “Alright. I’ll let her know.” Connor hangs up the phone, looking to you, “He wanted me to inform you he’ll be here in fifteen minutes. He said you may sit at his desk until he arrives if you want.” You smile, nodding. “I think I will.”

You sit at his desk, taking in the various items he has scattered around. He’s got a little plant, which makes you smile, and a picture of a saint bernard dog. He’s also got stickers all over his computer screen, almost completely covering the screen itself. You scan your eyes over the snarky and sarcastic stickers, referencing his disdain for his ex-wife, happy people, and complaints.

Just as you finish reading them, you catch the motion of someone approaching out of the corner of your eye. You look up to see a particularly tall man, taller than Connor, with shaggy, silver hair and a brown leather jacket approaching. You smile, standing up. “You must be Lieutenant Anderson,” you greet, holding your hand out for him to shake. He stands in front of you, an apathetic yet curious look on his face as he shakes your hand. The contact nearly sends a shiver down your spine, heat blossoming in your hand and running all the way up your arm, settling in your cheeks. “Unfortunately.” He responds, looking down at you. “Are you the new kid Fowler wants me to train?” Your smile falters a little bit, taken aback, but you’re not one to back down at the first sign of trouble. You stand up a little straighter, smiling at him confidently. “I actually have several years of patrol under my belt.” This makes him chuckle. “I consider ‘several’ five or more years. How many you got?” He retorts. You cross your arms, still smiling. “Four. But regardless, I’m not fresh meat, Lieutenant, and I’m sure someone as experienced as yourself will have no problem training me up in no time,” you quip. This finally gets you a smirk from the detective. He sits down in his chair, “I’ll see what I can do.”

-

Your training under Hank went like that for months. Sarcastic comments from Hank, witty replies thrown right back in his face from you, Connor being an unfortunate bystander, day in and day out. As the days went by, you found yourself growing… Particularly fond of Hank. It was nearing the end of your training, meaning working so closely alongside Hank and Connor was about to come to and end, and you would be assigned to cases on your own and eventually be issued your own partner. As exhilarating as it was, finally having the world in your hands, it was bittersweet. You found yourself waking up in the morning eager to go to work, and though you were in some degree of denial about it, deep down you knew you weren’t eager to work. You were eager to see Hank.

Hank was grumpy, cynical, and spiteful, yes. Absolutely he was. Concurrently, though, you knew that, much like Connor, he had grown a soft spot for you. In fact, much to Connor’s chagrin, he seemed to have more of a soft spot for you than he did for even his android partner. Of the three of you, you were the most likely to make mistakes. To get things wrong. Regardless, he always met your self criticisms with defensiveness. Defense of you. He never let you feel like you weren’t a good enough detective, or like you would never be able to make it on your own. And, though you would never let him know it, the banter between the two of you, when it happened, never failed to light a fire deep inside you. It was exhilarating to go back and forth with him, and you basked in the attention of it.

Nearing the end of your training with Hank, only weeks out from it, you found yourself standing outside of Chicken Feed with Hank. Connor sat in the car, as usual, seemingly wanting to give the two of you space as he slowly caught onto your feelings for Hank. You smile at Hank. “Only a couple more weeks of this, huh?” you quip. Hank chuckles. “Yep. You’re lucky, you only have to deal with two more weeks of this ugly mug. Connor over there has to put up with it until further notice,” he responds, motioning to Connor in the car with the sandwich in his hands. “You’re going to miss him, aren’t ya?” he says, laughing. A look of confusion spreads across your face, and you look at him with furrowed brows. “Miss who?” Hank gives you a knowing look. “Connor.” He says, as though it’s the most obvious statement in the world. You are thoroughly perplexed by this. “Oh, uh… Yeah? I guess so.” You’re not sure what the point of the question is, but you finish your lunch anyway, not much of a word from either of you as you finish eating.

Back at the station, Hank’s words repeat like a broken record in your head. You sit with him, once again in Connor’s absence, as the two of you quietly work on filing through cases. Suddenly, Hank speaks. “You know, I think you should tell him how you feel.” You sit up, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair. “Hank, what in god’s name are you talking about?” you demand, looking incredulously at him. He looks back up at him. “Connor. You should tell him how you feel. I mean, even when there’s no case, you’re always hanging around. You always seem to laugh when you’re with him, and you blush all the time. I think before your training is done, you should tell him how you feel.” You stand up, running your hand through your hair and sighing, pacing slightly away from your chair as you are struck with disbelief, not knowing how to respond. You’ve never in all your years seen someone be so dense. He starts to talk again. “Listen, I didn’t mean to stress you out, I just think-“ Suddenly, you know exactly what you should do. You spin on your heel, cutting him off as he speaks by grabbing him by the collar and slamming your lips onto his. Hank’s hands are suspended in mid-air where they had been while he spoke, and they slowly move to your arms, gently touching you as he begins to kiss back. After a moment, you pull away, smiling. “Still think it’s Connor I’ve taken an interest in?” Hank stares at you, a smile slowly creeping onto his lips as seemingly the whole bull pen stares at the two of you in disbelief. Hank chuckles, speechless. And you smirk, returning to your chair, satisfied with yourself as you return to your work. Finally, the man has gotten a fucking clue.

[andydrysdalerogers]

To The Limit ~ Thirteen

F1 Racer Johnny Storm x OFC Maya Levinson

Summary: He's been away from the sport for 2 years. He has 24 races to prove he belongs here. There are two things that could derail this: his family and her.

She's the one thing he is willing to push to the limit for.

This a sequel to my original story, "Following Team Orders" If you want to get caught up in my Formula One world, you can find it HERE

The tag list is open!

Future Warnings: references to a partner's death, cheating (but not by the MCs,) alcohol consumption, SMUT!, angst, racing incidents, language, grief, etc.

Moon Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Car divider and Banners by me!

Previous Chapter: Twelve

Story Master List // Main Master List

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated.

Austria

Maya

Everything is still in a fog.

It's been a month but I’m still in shock.

It feels like I’ve lived 10 lifetimes in four weeks.   Since Spain. 

Since my life imploded.

Since I realized that I was starting to fall for Johnny Storm.

I’m currently waiting for Ari, George and Johnny to go over the schedule for the weekend. I haven’t seen them for a couple of weeks. My mind drifts back to Montreal and the moment my life shifted.

Four weeks prior – Montreal – Saturday

“Luna, let’s sit for a minute. I have a couple of things I need to be honest about.” 

 “A couple?”

“Yeah. And I know you are going to hate me, but I need to get this off my chest. One, I know who leaked the news about Mattie.  And two, I think Carlos is having an affair.”

I blinked as he said the words. “What did you say?”

He looks nervous. “I know who exposed Mattie. And it’s the same person who I saw with another woman in Miami. It was Carlos.”

My brain could only handle one piece of information at a time. It focused on the place. “Miami. You knew since Miami? And you didn’t tell me?”

“I tried, Luna, several times. But he would interrupt, or we got pulled away from each other. I knew I couldn’t just tell you in a text. I couldn’t do that to you.” He bowed his head. “I’m sorry Maya. I really am. I hoped I didn’t have to tell you anything. I wish he was a good man.”

My mind was reeling. Carlos cheated on me. “Do you know with who?”

“No, I only saw her back. Long blonde hair and an accent. I think it was French.”

It couldn’t have been. No, she loves Pierre. “And Mattie?”

“He told me before qualifying. That’s when I knew I needed to force this. I wanted to kill him, Maya.  He took my son’s peace and left him in danger.”

“No, you can’t,” I say quickly. I look around and we are still alone by some miracle. “I have to go.” I moved to stand but Johnny grabs my hand. I turn and look at him and see his eyes are pleading.  

“Luna, please, I know you are angry. But please, don’t hate me.”

My body deflates. “Torch, you have never given me reason not to trust you.” I touched his face. “Let me handle this.” I kiss his cheek and then make a swift exit.

I needed a plan on how to deal with my now ex-boyfriend.

Two Weeks Later ~ Spain

It should have been a happy time. I should be deliriously happy.

But I can’t be.

I watched him. But knowing what he’s doing, I can’t be happy for him.

He’s celebrating on the podium, having won his home race for the first time. He finds me in the crowd and gives me a wink.  I force a smile until I see the man next to him.

Johnny.

The tension in my jaw loosened a bit as I took in the brightness of his blue eyes and blond stubble on his cheek.  He’s the one man besides my brother who has always been honest with me, no matter how much his words hurt.

As soon as the anthems are played and the trophies are distributed, I head to the Mercedes hospitality area. I just want to disappear. I don’t want to believe that he’s doing this; that he’s using me for whatever reason.  I gave him my whole heart and he was throwing it away. I can hear people coming and I don’t want to be around anyone.  I start to walk out to my car to head back to the hotel.  There is time to confront him later. But as I round the corner, I hear him.

“Amore, you just have to be patient.”

“Oui, I know but I just want to congratulate you on your win.”

“Gracias. How about you go with me to my driver’s room? We can celebrate there.”

“And your beloved?”

“She’s already left the track. I can shower here so she will never know.” He pressed a kiss to Monique.

“Don’t bother,” I say loud, getting the attention of everyone around us. Carlos jerked back. “Cariña? What...”

“Do not act stupid, Sainz. You really think I would be dumb enough not to see what just happened? That I don’t see you with Pierre’s girlfriend and not know that you are a lying cheating snake!” The anger was rolling off of me.

“It... Its not what you think. He tried to take my hands but I pulled away. "Amore, lo sueño.”

“You’re sorry? Pinche cerdo. Eres la peor decisión de mi vida!” (Fucking pig! You are the worst decision of my life!)

“No, cariña, por favor,” Carlos pleaded, grabbing my wrist so hard I cried out. Then he stopped and looked behind me.

To see Pierre and Johnny staring at the scene. Pierre calmly walked up to Monique, took her hand, slid his ring off of her finger and then turned towards us. “Let go of her, Sainz,” he ordered, very calmly. Carlos looked at him and then released my wrist, which I then cradled against me.  I ran towards Johnny, who enveloped me in his arms. I turned my face to watch the scene.

“I considered you one of my best friends, Sainz. And now I see you hurt my friend and hear how she,” he points to Monique, “has been cheating on me with you after I had just proposed to her.” He shook his head.  “It is wrong to hit a woman. But I don’t have the same feelings about hitting you.”  Pierre cocked back and slammed his fist into Carlos’s nose.

Monique shrieked and Carlos yelled as he hit the floor, blood already dripping down his face as he covered his nose. Pierre hovered over him.  “That is for fucking my fiancé. I catch you near Maya again without her permission, I will go a lot worse.” He walked back to where Johnny and I were.  “Ca te va?”

I was trembling and Johnny tightened his hold. “I’m ok. Thank you.”

He kissed my forehead. “I am so sorry Bella.” He cleared his throat. “Johnny, can you take care of her please? I can’t...”

“Go, we’re fine.”  He clapped a hand on Pierre’s shoulder. Pierre walked away as Johnny turned me back to our garage. “Luna?”

“I’m ok.” He walked with his arm around me, holding me up. “I’m fine.” Then I felt it. The overwhelming feeling crushing my chest. “I’m...” my voice cracked “...I’m perfect.” Johnny stopped and pulled me tight to chest as the sobs racked my body.

News of the spectacular breakup of not one but two Formula One relationship dominated not only the gossip rags but sports reporting as well.  The FIA did step in and fine Pierre for hitting Carlos.  Pierre snorted when questioned on it and said it was worth every penny.

Since I was a player in everything, I had to put in Devon from my team to handle my own PR. Ari sent me home for the two weeks in between races after I put a press release asking for privacy.  I sat in my flat in London for two days, wallowing, before a knock on the door got me out of my spiraling head space.

“Luna! Its me. Open up.”

I couldn’t believe it.  He was here.  I opened the door and Johnny smiled at me with Mattie in his stroller. “I got you some snacks, some liquor and your favorite little man to cheer you up.” I almost leaped into his arms.  He held me tight as I once again cried in his arms. “It’s ok, sweetheart, I’m here. Let it out.”

I pulled back. “I am so sorry.”

“Forget it. I’m here to help get over your breakup so we can get back to work. As you might be aware, I’m kind of a media disaster.” He gave me a boyish grin and it was the first time in days that I had laughed or smiled.

Those two weeks with Johnny healed me in some way. I didn’t have to hold back.  He let me cry (again), get angry, scream at the universe. He took me boxing to let out the aggression I had built up. He let me cuddle with Mattie when I just needed something pure and sweet to ground me again.

But here we are, a month after the first revelation and two weeks after my life imploded. I was nervous to walk back into the paddock. I didn’t want to be bombarded.  As I got out of my car, an imposing presence stopped me.  A rather large man was beside my vehicle.  “Can I help you?”

“Are you Maya Levinson?”

“Yes,” I said rather cautiously.

“My name is Claude.” He has a slightly German accent. “Mr. Storm asked me to accompany you while you are in public while at the track.”

“Johnny... he asked you to do this?”

“Yes, Miss. I am here to protect you from the press or any unwanted visitors.”

This man... this wonderful man. My phone chimed and I looked at the message.

Johnny: For peace of mind, Luna. Love your BFF

I giggled. BFF. He is such a nerd.

Maya: You’re a goofball Torch. But thank you

Johnny

Winning the race in Austria is like vindication. My winning in Italy wasn’t a fluke or a one-time off chance thing.  As I come down the podium, my second favorite person in the world is waiting for me holding my favorite person.  “Hey Luna, Slugger!” I take Mattie in my arms and give him a kiss.

“DA DA! Boom!” Mattie yells, patting the tiny ear defenders he has on. 

“I know Slugger.” I turn to Maya. “Whatcha doing out here?”

“He was crying for you and Susie had to use the bathroom.  We’re ok. No cameras back here.” Maya’s smile is still small. The last month had been so rough on her. I wouldn’t wish that kind of heartbreak on anyone.  The worst thing is that she still has to see him at work.  She’s always in the garage or at press with me and George. But I try to make life as easy as possible for her.

“Did you miss me, Slugger?” Mattie nodded before he started to play with the Velcro at the top of my suit.  “Did you have dinner plans Maya? Mattie and I have a mac and cheese date.”

“You do not,” Charles interrupts. “We have to celebrate your win and my second place. Hey Slugger!” He took Mattie out of my arms.  “Tell papa that you will sleep with Auntie Livie and Uncle Stevie and he can go out.”

Mattie clapped.  “Lili! Ste! Yay!” He turned his head and then wiggled like a madman to get out of Charles’s arms.  Charles got him on the ground and Mattie toddled over to Steve.

“Slugger! My man, how are you?” Steve crouched to be on Mattie’s level and holds his hand out for a high five. Mattie giggles like mad and returns the gesture.  Then he makes grabby hands, and Steve gets him up onto his shoulders.

“Oh god, Stevie, please be careful,” Liv says as she come over. “Charlie already talked to us about taking Mattie.  I have no problem taking Mattie as long as you take my husband and let him have a little fun.”

Steve frowned. “I can’t leave you, Bug.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “Yes, you can. I’m pregnant, not dying.  All I want is to cuddle and sleep and I found another man to do that with. Huh, Mattie, wanna stay with Auntie?”

“Lili. Booey!” Mattie pulled on Steve’s hair in laughter. Steve winced. “Kid has a good grip.”

“It is why I keep my hair short.” I ran a hand through my hair. “If you are ok with it Livie, then, ok. Let’s go celebrate!”

**

Maya is drunk.

And not just drunk but drunk-drunk.

For such a tiny woman, she could drink any man under the table. The problem is, she’s gone past that.

“Johnny! Come daaaaannnnnce with meeeeee!!!!!”

Christ. Who thought this was a good idea?

“Luna, I think you have had enough.” I pull the glass from her hand, and she pouts. “I think it’s time for bed.” I grab her hand and start to lead her out.

“Noooooo!!!!! This is my songgggggg!!!!!” Maya starts to dance to a dance version of Mariah Carey’s “Obsessed” as she walks. I hold her around the waist but she still manages to trip. I catch her and her arms go around my neck. “Did anyone ever tell you, you have the most beautiful eyes?”

Her words were slurred a little. It made me smile. “Thanks, Luna. C’mon, let’s go.”

We walked to the exit, and I signal to the valet to call our driver. Maya is basically hanging off of me. I brush her hair off her face and take a good look at her, away from the club lights. Her eyes are glassy, and her skin is flushed. She’s never looked more beautiful. “How are you feeling, Luna?”

“Dizzy,” she says, looking up at me, her eyes doe-ish.

“I bet, sweetheart. C’mon, into the car we go.” I get her seated in the back of the town car and head back to the team hotel. Luna is leaning on my shoulder.

“Do you think I’m desirable?” The question comes from left field. I look down at her and her eyes are still wide.

“You’re beautiful, Luna. Of course, you’re desirable. Why would you think that?”

She frowned. “Because Carlos cheated. It has to be my fault right?”

The anger that I had tried to keep away from her returned in a tidal wave. “Maya Levinson, none of what happened was your fault.  Any decent man would see you and know he is punching above his weight class. You are the most stunning woman.” I cupped her cheek. “Don’t let that asshole win.”

She blinked at me in and then she kissed me. Her lips were soft and wet. She molded right against me, and I groaned, feeling the heat of her body.  She was wearing a black thing she called a dress but really left nothing to the imagination. I couldn’t help myself and deepened the kiss. I ran my hands into her hair, anchoring her to me.  The next thing I knew, she was in my lap, grinding against me.

That snapped me back to reality. “Maya, baby, you’re drunk. I don’t want to take advantage of you.” I looked into her eyes, our chests still heaving.

“Make me forget Johnny. Make me forget him. Please, help me remember what it’s like to be desired.”

Oh, holy fuck. “Luna...”

She leaned into my side and whispered in my ear. “Please Torch. Take me to your room and fuck me. Make me yours.”

I swallowed. “Sir, can you go faster?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me get you to the hotel, Luna.”

What the fuck was I about to do?

NEXT

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[cowboybarzy]

see it with the lights out — mat barzal

SORRY!!! a bit late but it’s out!! I’m also not very proud of this but I wanted to publish it for you and didn’t really see myself write it any better lol I hope you still like it. but this part was just to get ready for the big finale!!!!!!!!!!

word count: 2.3k

masterlist read part 1 & 2 first

debate: are landos eyes blue or green? I definitely think they're green but sometimes appear blue so for the sake of this story they are green lol

THREE — you can see it with the lights out

October 19th

"Because he doesn't fucking love you like I do."

The harder you tried to push those words out of your brain, the more they repeated, reminding you that your best and longest friendship just imploded.

It had been five days since that night and all you had done was sit in your apartment going over and over every single moment you shared with Mat. You hadn't spoken to him since that night and don't know how to face him. After he said those words, you stared at each other in stunned silence until one of Mat's friends came over to talk to him, breaking up your discussion. Not soon after you left the bar, retreating to your apartment to wallow in peace.

Lando was supposed to come to New York a couple days ago to see you, before you both traveled to Texas for his race this weekend, but after what happened with Mat and now your feelings being all messed up, you felt guilty and told him you were sick. You felt guilty for rejecting him, but you needed a few days alone to collect yourself.

Having Mat's sister stay with you didn't make this situation any better, but she had friends in the city and you just pretended you had work to do so you could avoid the topic of her brother. She finally left yesterday and now you were on the elevator up to go see your boyfriend.

"Hi! Finally," Lando greeted you when he opened his hotel room door, pulling you into him immediately. "How are you?"

"Good," you answered, kissing him.

"Yeah? Not sick anymore?" He pulled you into the room, dragging your suitcase in and closing the door.

"No. Had some turbulences on the flight that made me feel nauseous, but all good now." His smile widened and his hands grabbed you by your hips. You immediately figured out what his face was saying and let him push you onto the bed.

"Good," he whispered and slowly leaned over you showing you just how much he missed you these past two weeks. Unfortunately, another brown haired boy was on your mind.

***

"You okay?," Lando asked, pulling you out of your deep thoughts. He ever so slightly brushed his finger against your cheek, gaining your full attention.

"Mhm." A certain pair of green eyes were haunting you and unfortunately they weren't your boyfriends. You pulled the bed sheet up, nodding, pushing the guilt away.

"Maybe not fully recovered then, huh?" He pressed his lips against your forehead. "So, how was New York? We've barely talked since the weekend."

"I know, I'm sorry. Just had a lot of things to do and people to see and obviously didn't feel great." You told him about your time at home, what you did and saw. About the hockey game – but purposefully left out the party after.

Talking to him got easier as time went on and he caught you up on his last few days as well. "Wait, I got something for you." Lando stood up, not caring about walking around the hotel suit naked. He came back with a little jewelry box. "This was a lot harder to find than I thought it would be."

You opened the box to find a dainty charm bracelet, a singular charm hanging from it – a little formula one car. "Aw. I love it. Thank you." You kissed him gently, before he placed the bracelet on your wrist. "And I love you." While those words rolled easily off your tongue, your heart didn't mean them and your stomach turned at the realization.

"Room service?"

November 13th

For Lando's birthday, he had spent a few days in England with his family which you couldn't make due to having to work. But you joined him and his friends for the real celebrations in Mexico.

Except for those few mandatory office days, you hadn't been back in New York since that weekend. You were too scared to bring up any of the emotions you were trying so hard to push away. And it was working great so far. At least until you opened Instagram and saw all of the New York Islanders posts that often included pictures of Mat. You avoided those posts, but every once in a while, you broke down and fell down the stalking rabbit hole. But you told yourself you just missed your friendship.

He still hadn't reached out and neither had you. You were too scared to hear what he had to say that would ruin your friendship and felt like you were cheating on Lando if you let yourself think and feel about the situation too long.

In front of Lando, you pretended everything was fine – that you didn't just lose your best friend. Not that he asked much about him, but you pretended to watch his games and still be in contact with him – but you weren't.

And while you thought you were doing a good job about hiding your feelings, there had been a few tense and awkward moments between the two of you. You had never really fought before, but in the last month your quarrels increased not only in frequency but intensity.

But today of all day, it had to be all about Lando. You started with a morning swim, just the two of you, and then a huge breakfast that you got catered to the villa you were renting. You spent the rest of the day on a boat, celebrating and trying to revive the connection you had with Lando just a couple months ago.

During dinner, your phone reminded you that the Islanders had game that night. The notification however shocked you a bit when you read the full title: 'Barzal doesn't return to ice after brutal hit from Nurse'

Your heart sunk and your first instinct was to excuse yourself and move to a private room to figure out what happened to him. No matter how many times you watched the replay and saw his face in terrible pain – and blood – it didn't make you feel any better seeing him leaning on Lee as he was skating off the ice.

"What happened?" You jumped at Lando's voice as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. It's Mat. He had a game tonight and got injured." He nodded, but you could see the twitch of jealousy flash across his face.

"Is he okay?"

"Not sure, there hasn't been an update yet." Lando sat beside you, wrapping his arm around you to comfort you.

"I'm sure he'll let you know soon."

"Mhm." You nodded as your eyes flooded with tears. He wouldn't, though. Not after you ignored him after that bombshell of a confession.

"What's wrong?," Lando asked immediately when he noticed your demeanor change. He grabbed your face with concern, but you just shook your head not daring to speak. His face changed from concern to a much more serious. "Did something happen between the two of you?"

His hands dropped from your face. "What? No. Why?"

"You've been acting weird since Texas. You didn't let me come take care of you when you were sick and you've been distant ever since."

"No, Lando. We're fine, it was a stupid little fight but it's all good." You weren't very convincing.

"Are you sure? You usually talk about him more, or his hockey, which I haven't seen you watch in a long time. And every time I touch you, I feel like you flinch and I can't shake the feeling it's got to do with him."

"No." That's all you could say. No. Nothing happened between you. You stood up, forcing a smile. This day was about Lando. Whom you loved. Right? "I promise."

You distracted him with a kiss and another assurance that everything was fine. He believed you, but you could tell you were nearing your breaking point. Just not yet.

November 25th

And that that came sooner than you'd hoped. You'd been having a great time in Abu Dhabi, celebrating and partying g with the other girls until you slept in Saturday and you were reminded of one of your favorite days.

In your first year of university, you had caught your then boyfriend making out with another girl at a party. After that, you might have gone a little hard on the alcohol and ended up calling Mat to come pick you up. However, he was in Seattle and you in Vancouver. That didn't stop him from showing up outside the club at 2am. He picked you up from the side of the road – a low point in your life that you thankfully never repeated – and drove you to your apartment. He gently helped you change into pjs and held your hair when you threw up in the toilet. Then he let you cry into his chest until you fell asleep.

You almost called him remembering that moment, but couldn't figure out what to say so you put your phone back down.

'I got you. I always will.'

Mat's voice hit you like a bullet. It was clear as if he was just next to you and you felt his fingertips stroking the side of your face like it was yesterday. But you were still back in your freshman year apartment, cuddled up in bed with Mat. He thought you were asleep when he whispered those things to you and until this day you thought you'd dreamt him saying it.

Something in you broke and all your feelings finally came crashing in. All those years he made you laugh and stood by your side you had mistaken it for friendship. You thought you were in love before, that's why you didn't recognize what you were feeling for Mat, but turns out no one ever made you as happy as Mat did. He'd always been your person and one day just turned into something even more.

You had no idea how long you laid in bed, thinking everything over and finally admitting to yourself that Mat may be more than a friend.

Eventually, you had to get ready. Lando was due to return from the qualifying race anytime soon, which you were actually supposed to attend, and you needed enough time to pull yourself together. You couldn't dump your newfound revelation on him the night before his last race.

"Lando." You looked up at him, tears streaming down your face. "I'm sorry."

"I know," he said, nodding, trying to mask his pain. He turned away from you and started packing his bag.

"No, I'll go. I'm so sorry." He shook his head, denying you and you could just stand there and watch him throw his suitcase together.

"Lando," you called, before he reached the hotel door. "You really were so good to me. And I'm so grateful to you. For everything you did to me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

He nodded, avoiding your gaze though. "I'm just sorry he got you first."

You took the few steps you needed to reach him. "I'm sorry. I hope you can forgive me one day. And I hope we can still stay friends."

"Kinda hard to forget you." He let you pull him into a hug and it felt like goodbye. It was hard for you to let him go. He did play a huge role in your life and had shown you so much. He was a genuine friend and you did love him, but enough to stay with him. Lando smiled, pain still in his eyes, and pressed his soft lips on your forehead. "One day."

December 29th

It was almost midnight when your phone rang, the screen lighting up the darkness of your bedroom. You reached for it, sitting up when you saw the name and picture flash across the screen. It was Mat. The first sign of him since that night in October you regretted so much. Carefully, you pressed the green button and held the phone up to your ear.

"Hello?"

"Hi." His voice was rough and from that small word you could tell he was in pain. And after the game he had you couldn't blame him. He was more aggressive than he usually was – even counting the last few weeks – and got punished by it, not only with penalty box minutes but also with brutal fights on the ice. On top of that, they lost the game with a pretty rough score.

The line was silent for a while, neither of you daring to speak. You could feel your eyes tearing up. You missed him so much. And that's when he finally broke the silence with the exact same thought. "I miss you." Still so much pain in his voice. "I miss you. And I'm sorry for what I said that night. You were right. I hope that you are happy. And I do support you, no matter what. Just putting it out there that I miss you while you're out there exploring the world."

And in the darkness of your room, you suddenly could not see any clearer. You heart ached for him. For him to hold you and kiss you for the rest of your life. You wanted him. To explore the world with, yes, but also to do the mundane things with. You still had a lot to figure out about yourself, but one thing you were sure about was him. That you needed him by your side just as much as he needed you. It had always been like this. He was your person. And you wanted him to be that for the rest of your life.

"Mat," you took a deep breath, mustering up all your courage. "Lando and I broke up."

The line went dead.

[cambria-writes]

i don't know what to say. i'll apologize for the previous cilffhanger and this one but i promise, swear that you will not need to wait a year for the next update. i'm... uniquely motivated to keep going. should probably be able to wrap everything up in the next 2-3 chapters.

cheers to finally having some smut! 🥂

pairing: patrick jane x named reader word count: 3,278 rating: E for explicit content warnings: SMUT, good girl used probably too much, soft dom!jane, reader is mentioned having hair long enough to grab, female reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), so much foul language, insecurities addressed, age gap solidly confirmed (approx. 10 years but you can interpret that however you want)

Previous Next

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕾𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓: 𝔒𝔞𝔰𝔦𝔰

Your legs feel like jello when Jane pulls the door behind him. It’s still left ajar, which you appreciate, but it’s enough for you to feel isolated. Alone. An entirely jarring feeling when you felt entirely too seen not even a minute ago.

You can’t see your clothes when you look around the guest bedroom. Spartan is what you’d call it if you had to describe it, though it’s clear someone’s been using it recently. It’s not hard to imagine why; you don’t think you’d want to sleep in the room your family got murdered in, either. When you sit down on the chair by the bed, pulling at the hem of your loaned shirt, you can’t see your clothes anywhere. Not that you wanted to get dressed; that would give the impression you’d want to go home, right?

You definitely don’t want to go home yet. Not right now.

Though whatever half-awake, fragile moment you’d had with Jane before is pretty much gone with your sleepiness, there’s still something nestled in your stomach. A feeling you wouldn’t call uncomfortable, but definitely isn’t familiar. The sound of the door creaking open nearly makes you fall off the chair.

“I did knock,” Jane says, a little sheepishly. He stays in the doorway, though, hand on the knob like he’s ready to go back out.

“I’m thinking too much again,” you say quietly, with a huff of laughter. You glance up at him quickly before turning your eyes back down to your hands and the way your nails dig under the shirt hem.

You don’t hear the floorboards groan when Jane walks up to you, don’t hear anything when he couches in front of you. You don’t flinch, to your own surprise, when his hands cover your in your lap and still your movement. He waits for you, because he knows just as well as you do, somehow. You’re not even sure what’s known, just that there’s a vague sense of understanding. You take a deep breath, clear your head while you nod to yourself, and look up.

“There she is.” His smile is small but god it feels radiant to you. Warm. Safe, against all odds.

“Yeah,” you whisper, taking another deep breath and letting your shoulders sag, trying to let the tension out of them. You fight the urge to look away and fidget with your hands. “Yeah, I think I’m done with my thinking.”

Jane hums and nods. “And what were you thinking about?”

“Wha—what I want,” you stutter out. You can feel the heat burning in your cheeks, which in turn just makes you even more flustered. You pinch your lips shut though.

One of Jane’s hands leaves your and moves to the outside of your thigh, just above your knee. If you thought the ‘fragile’ moment from earlier had imploded and vanished, you’re quickly realizing that it very much did not and that someone—whoever the fuck had the gall to call Jane this morning—had simply hit pause.

“And what is it that you want?”

“I don’t know if I have the words for it,” you reply, a little too quickly. Jane cracks a smile and the hand at your thigh begins a slow motion upward. “I—no, I just. It’s…”

“Uncomfortable?” He offers, and you offer a small nod. “What makes it uncomfortable?”

“Besides the overwhelming risk of rejection and humiliation?” You ask, voice pitched and quiet. When you start biting at your lower lip, the remaining hand covering yours quickly comes up to pull it from between your teeth.

“I won’t humiliate you,” Jane says slowly, and you can’t help but notice that his eyes are very obviously not looking into yours, and his thumb is still just below your lips. The hand on your thigh is as close to your hip as his arm will allow, thumb rubbing circles into the skin. When his gaze does meet yours again, all traces of a grin are gone and—god, his pupils. “What are you worried is going to be rejected?”

You exhale shakily and breathe in just as unevenly. “Me.”

“Why?” Jane looks back down and, after slowly putting a knee to the floor and effectively kneeling in front of you—the image of which is doing things to you that you wouldn’t dare mention in polite company—he carefully pulls his hands away from your face and thigh and taps at your right leg for you to lift it. He rests your foot on his knee and gives it a reassuring squeeze before moving his fingers to dig into your calf.

“I’m…” you start, unsteady, eyes fixed on the fingers working through the muscles of your calf. “I’m younger, I’m—I don’t know, I’m clueless? I got shot, I got kidnapped, I let you drag me into really, actually, really questionable situations. That’s dumb. That’s entirely dumb.”

“So you’re worried of being rejected because you don’t think you’re smart enough,” Jane summarizes, and coming out of his mouth you realize it does sound a little silly. You can’t help the shiver that makes it down to your legs when his hands make it to your knee and you can feel his fingers working out a knot you didn’t even know could exist behind it.

“...well it sounds childish when you say it like that,” you huff, and you resist the urge to cross your arms. “But yeah. Yes. I don’t feel smart enough.”

Jane gently guides you to put your leg down and taps the other one to bring it up. The same process starts again, from the soft touches at your ankle to the massaging of your calf.

“I can assure you,” he starts, voice low and cadence slow. “That you are infinitely more clever than you let yourself believe you are.” Close your eyes against the slowly increasing burn behind them and breathe through your nose. You feel warm fingers dig into the tendons behind your knee, sliding underneath your thigh to get at the muscles there.

There’s a lot to unpack here. The attraction to someone older than you, the unwillingness to believe anything good about yourself, the fact that speaking your mind feels shameful enough that your brain shuts down, but...

Jane smooths both hands over your hips, under your borrowed shirt. You can’t help the sharp intake of breath you take and the shiver that spreads out to your limbs from your spine. His hands stop their ascent at your hips, but just above the waistband of your underwear. Thumbs rubbing slow circles in the skin just above your hip bone.

You open your eyes again when you feel a soft kiss on your right knee. When you look down, the sight makes your breath catch in your throat.

You don’t think you’ve ever really understood the meaning of the word ‘reverent’ until just now.

You take a stuttering breath and lift one of your hands to rest atop the disheveled blond head in front of you. Jane exhales almost like he’s chuckling. His hands slide back down the length of your legs before he places them on the seat of the chair, on either side of your thigh. You don’t know if the lump your swallow past is anticipation or disappointment. He leans forward what feels dangerously close as he slowly stands. Pauses when his face is even with yours, and it’s a struggle to keep your eyes trained on his.

“You’re sure this is okay,” Jane asks, but it sounds more like an uncertain statement. You wonder for a second why he seems so hesitant and careful—treating you like glass even though you’ve been shot and been perfectly fine.

And then you remember the cave, the clammy demanding fingers. Close your eyes against the memory and take in a deep breath that sounds like a gasp.

But it’s fine. It is. Jane’s hands don’t feel like hers, this room doesn’t look like that, everything smells... safe. Alive and warm and safe.

“Yea-yes. Yes,” you repeat, clearing your throat and opening your eyes. “This is different,” you add, under your breath, and can’t help but let your eyes travel down to Jane’s mouth before jumping back up.

You can feel Jane’s amused exhale on your lips before he stands straight. With a gentle hand on your neck, guides you up to stand, too. It’s with a gentle tug to pull you in that he kisses you. And unlike last night, you’re about as lucid as you could be, and this is not chaste. You splay your hands over his bare stomach when he coaxes your lips apart with his. Where Patrick shudders at the touch, you can barely recognize the relieved and almost needy whine that slips from your mouth into his. The feeling of his tongue against yours has your knees almost buckling. You’re quickly steadied by a firm hand at your waist and the one at your neck sliding down to grab your shoulder.

“You need to breathe,” Patrick whispers, almost laughing, against your lips.

“Sorry,” you breathe, and the giggle that bubbles up feels foreign and almost manic. “I just—you’re so...”

“No need to be nervous,” Patrick mumbles, into your cheek this time, as he slowly moves to turn you. “I won’t bite unless you ask nicely.”

You pull back a bit too quickly to take a look at his face, but lose your footing in the process. You find that you comfortably land back on the bed, springs bouncing you back up one of twice before you settle. You barely have the time to lean up on your elbows to look up at Patrick before he places his hands behind your knees and tugs to pull you to the edge of the bed.

Your heart leaps in your throat. You really hate to assume anything and especially in moments like these but. But you’ve seen this movie—pretty much literally—and you have a feeling you know what’s supposed to come next. Jane must see the look of both shock and apprehension on your face, because where his expression has been pretty tame and affectionate, there’s something dark and hungry there when he sees your eyes go wide.

“Never had someone go down on you before?” he asks, and the crassness of it makes you remember how warm your face is. You don’t miss the way his hands are slowly creeping back up the outside of your thighs. Don’t miss the way that you have no choice but to keep your legs spread on either side of his.

“Uh, on-one, bitched the whole time, wasn’t uh,” you clear your throat again, bring your cold fingers up to your cheeks to try and dim the heat. “Wasn’t pleasant.”

Patrick clicks his tongue and shakes his head in obvious disapproval. He goes down on a knee when you feel his fingers slipping under the waistband of your underwear. Your heart feels like a hummingbird in your throat when he slides it over your hips, down your legs and off your feet.

“Hands off your face,” Patrick says, though the hard tone in his voice makes it sound like an order. Your hands slip down over your chest before you can even think about it. His hands slide back over the top of your thighs, glide over and around your hips, and stop to rest just over the curves of your ass. Pulls you just a bit closer with a short tug.

“Oh god, fuck,” you whisper, swallowing thickly when you feel his warm breath against your cunt.

“Double tap for me to stop,” Patrick says, but doesn’t move immediately. Lifts his head and pinches with a hand to get your attention. “Understood?”

“Yessir,” you choke out, all at once, and immediately bite down on your tongue. His eyes narrow and he—you think it’s a hum, but it sounds so guttural you’re tempted to call it a growl.

“Good girl.”

You can’t see his head very well past the shirt you’re still wearing, so your spine arches nearly clean off the bed when you feel something wet slide all the way up your slit and catch on your clit. Your throat clamps around the whine that wants to leave it, only a choked exhale exiting your lips.

You open your mouth to say something, but your mind blanks when Patrick puts his lips around your clit and sucks. You swear your see stars for a second before he eases off, letting his tongue flick over it instead. When your body loses some of its tension, the whine that was choked before comes out as a whining moan on your exhale.

Patrick goes back down to tongue your entrance, only cursorily, before returning his attention to your clit. It feels like every other time you exhale is a breathy moan. You bring an arm up to your mouth to quiet yourself—you feel embarrassed is what it is—but a nip on the inside of your thigh makes you yelp. Patrick pulls a hand forward and slides the shirt you’re wearing up to your sternum, fingers splayed wide.

“I want to hear you,” he grunts, returning his tongue to your clit. You pull your arm from your face. When you feel two fingers slide up and down your entrance, though, you let yourself reach down and thread your fingers through his hair. “Just like that,” he mutters against your cunt, sliding both fingers in with ease.

But slowly.

“Fuck, please,” you whisper-whine, angling your hips up to try and get the fingers deeper. The hand on your chest slides down, until Patrick’s whole forearm is across your hips and holding you down against the mattress.

His fingers do, blessedly, slide in deeper, but unexpectedly hook up in a come hither motion, and you nearly choke at the sensation. Slowly, he pulls his fingers out, tips just brushing your entrance, before thrusting them back in. Again, bends his fingers and pulls them out.  Bit your lips and arch your back against the feeling. You’re realizing, on the third thrust, that maybe you don’t know your body as well as you think you do.

The fifth time Patrick pulls his fingers out, you can almost feel your orgasm in the back of your throat. He lets you angle your hips up this time. When you do, he once again seals his lips over your clit and sucks, but he also violently increases the speed of his fingers. You hope his knuckles leave bruises.

“Fuck, please,” you whine again, back arched and hips thrusting upward. You want to scream when Patrick takes his mouth off you, fingers still thrusting wildly.

“Ask nicely,” he breathes. You sob, hips still twitching trying to chase your high.

“I did, I did—I am! Please, fuck, please sir?”

“There you go.”

You don’t have time to think about the meaning of that before his lips are back on your clit, sucking, but this time he flicks his tongue over the nub.

Patrick’s fingers massage your inner wall while you come with a screamed sob that you don’t contain. At some point you register the fingers leaving and the sound of liquid hitting the floor, but you’re spent. Dazed and all but convulsing with your heart pounding in your ears and your head feeling like cotton.

And then Jane’s leaning over you, a forearm on the mattress by your head, brushing a hand across your forehead and down your cheek.

“Exceptional,” he breathes, forehead resting against yours.

“Hmm,” you whine, low, clearing your throat and taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “That’s—that’s my line.”

Eyes closed, you feel his lips on your and open up without any prying. You don’t mind tasting yourself on his tongue. You can just barely muster the energy and coherence to lift an arm up to put around his neck to pull him closer.

You can feel the bed dip at your hip where he takes a knee. The hand by your face moves to your waist and under. Too quick to register in your blissed-out state, Jane lifts you off the bed just enough to move you up a bit. Enough so that your hips are on there proper, and your legs are only dangling off the edge at the knee.

When you sigh, Jane chuckles and pulls away to take a look at you.

“All good there?”

“Better than I’ve been in a while,” you whisper, slowly blinking your eyes open. “Sorry for uh,” you stutter, letting your hand fall from around his shoulder to his chest. “For the mess.”

Patrick takes a deep breath and closes his eyes before leaning up and back. Your hands slide down his bare chest as he does, and your heart once again leaps into your throat when you realize how hard he is. Your fingers catch and linger at the waist of the slacks he’d worn to bed last night.

“Making a mess,” Jane starts, hands slipping under yours to pop the button of his slacks. You realize that his right hand is still damp with you. “Kind of the whole point.” 

You don’t realize you’re biting down on your lip until Jane grazes your jaw with his fingertips, and pulls your lip from between your teeth with his thumb. Zipper all the way down, you look up for—permission? You only pinch the fabric of his slacks to pull them down when you get a quiet ‘go on’.  Once they’re mid thigh, though, you squirm a bit to be able to scooch back enough to sit up in a way that doesn’t kill your back or neck.

A gentle hand comes to rest at the back of your head while you’re focused on the cock in front of you, bulging a pair of soft-looking black briefs. Your mouth closes with a click when you realize you’ve left it hanging open.

“You never answered me earlier,” Jane says quietly. The hand at the back of your head swirls a bit before you feel fingers closing and tugging on your hair. “What is it that you want?”

You feel breathless. When you look up, you can’t tell what colour Patrick’s eyes are with how blown his pupils are. Swallow thickly and loudly. There’s a moment when you glance back down at the straining fabric over his cock that you consider asking, very nicely, if you can blow him. When you look back up, he’s leaned down and used the hand at the back of your head to tilt it up.

The first time you open your mouth, you can’t quiet get the words out. You close it and clear your throat, again, and try to ignore how your face is heating up again.

“I wan—I want you to,” you start, taking a deep breath.

“You’re doing great,” Patrick croons, the hand at your head flattening out, fingers digging in like a semblance of a massage. You close your eyes to appreciate the sensation, but only for a second.

“Fuck me,” you say, eventually, blinking up at him before adding,“Please, sir.”

The hand in your hair tightens and pulls again, pulling you down to lie back on the bed while Jane leans down to join you. 

“You asked so nicely,” he whispers into your throat, and you shudder when you feel his tongue run up your jugular. “So eager to please when you’re given half a chance.” 

“Always,” you breathe back, putting your hands to good use and shoving both slacks and underwear over Jane’s hips to free his cock. Can’t help but cant your hips up when you feel the warm tip of it against your thigh. “Fuck, anything you want.” 

Taglist

@fucklife-or-me @mamacakeishereforfun @newavenger @yearningforsappho @natsukee @piper570 @rikuisthesweetestboy @berry-blink

i tagged everyone i could find in my replies but if you want to be tagged please send an ask!

[iamthecomet]

Worthy

[Kinktober - Day 10 - Body Worship] Rating: Explicit.

Pairing: Dewdrop/Cumulus (Cumdrop my beloved)

Featuring: A little bit of angst. Body worship. Cunnilingus. Biting. Marking. Dew having a six sense about these things. It's so soft and not very kinky. I can't help it. Zero projection, none at all.

Word Count: 1.2k

Cumulus' self-esteem slips. Dew's there to fix it.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Cumulus is  expecting Cirrus back to their shared hotel room any moment. It’s been a long day, a hard show. Her skin feels too tight. When she catches sight of herself in the full length mirror on the bathroom door she retreats across the room with her tail between her legs. She can’t help it. Most days she loves her curves. Loves herself. Knows that everyone else does too. She’s confident. It’s easy. 

Today? After long, fully glamored, flights and treks through crowded airports? After a show that never seemed to end? She can’t. She cannot keep up the facade of self-love. She’s too tired. She’s weak to the voices in her head that say she would be so much happier if she looked like Aurora, or Sunshine, or even Mist. 

She knows Cirrus will help get her out of the funk, that she will whisper words to her and tell her how beautiful she is and reassure her. But she doesn’t want to talk about it–doesn’t want to hear it. She wants to sink into herself. Curl up under the blanket she brought from home–the one that still somehow smells like Aether, and sleep for the rest of the week. 

There’s a quick rap at the door. Two knocks. And then the swipe of the keycard in the door. Cumulus has already showered and changed. Dressed in one of Aether’s oversized t-shirts and underwear. She’s cross legged on the bed, caccooned in her fuzzy blanket just as the door clicks open. She’s expecting Cirrus so she doesn’t look up right away. She keeps her eyes on her phone, some game Sunshine told her helped keep her mind off of things when she was anxious on tour. 

It’s late, past midnight, but the city is still wide awake outside the hotel. Sirens wail, people talk, engines rev. Cumulus leans back against the generic headboard and tries to focus. To turn her brain off. They have another long day tomorrow whether she is in a good mood or not–the least she can do is sleep. 

Bony fingers slip into her view, hover near the edge of her phone before they pluck it from her grip. She looks up, finds Dew looking at her from the side of the bed. Arms crossed over his narrow chest, her phone in one of his hands. 

She blinks at him, confused. “Where’s Cirrus?”  “We traded,” he says and doesn’t elaborate on why. Cumulus doesn’t think he needs to. 

On her worst days, Dewdrop finds her. She’s not sure how he always knows. Always finds his way into her space, her arms, her bed. He can tell from across the stage. From down the hall. The word comes crashing down around her, and Dew is there like he can smell it on her.  Maybe he can. 

She’s never asked. Afraid that if she does, she’ll break the spell. Disrupt the magic. That he’ll stop doing it. She can’t even talk about it with him, thank him properly. She’s usually good with words, with feelings. But there is something scared about these moments. 

Dew hops onto the bed, settles in front of her. His knees touching hers as he mirrors how she’s sitting. He tosses her phone onto the other side of the bed and looks at her. He reaches across the distance to catch a corkscrewed curl in his fingers. He straights it out, lets it go and watches it spring back up before he tucks it behind her ear. Fingers gentle over her skin as he does. 

She wonders if she does this for the others. If they find Dewdrop waiting outside their doors when it feels like their world is imploding, like their skin is too tight. Or if she is special. She knows she gets a side of him not many people do. Easy, gentle, devoted. 

He sinks his fingers into her hair and leans in, rocking up onto his knees to kiss her. No more words. Just action. They won’t talk about it–not yet. Maybe he’ll weasel her problem out of her after he’s made her cum upwards of a dozen times. But until then they are done speaking. 

He licks into her mouth when she sighs. Tongues sliding together. He pushes until she’s laying down and he’s kneeling between her thighs. One hand on her face, the other slipping up under the hem of her shirt to drag calloused fingers over velvet soft skin. 

Cumulus lets herself be carried away on it. She’s shirtless before she knows it, wearing only her underwear now. And then Dew is too. Kneeling before her in a pair of skin tight skinny jeans and a studded belt and not much else. He leans back on his haunches to really look at her. Head tilting as his eyes drag over her collarbone, her tits, the softness of her belly and thighs. 

She waits. Wants to hide, to cross her arms, to close her legs, but she digs her fingers into the bed sheets instead. She allowes him this indulgence, half expecting this will be the time he scoffs and turns away. 

“So fucking gorgeous .” He whispers instead. Bending to press their bodies together as he latches his mouth onto her pulse. One hand braced by her head, the other cups one of her breasts. Dragging his overwarm palm over her nipple as he squeezes. 

Cumulus’ eyes flutter closed as his mouth dips lower. Tongue dragging over her collarbone. Licking at the sweat beading in her sternum. He latches onto her other nipple and she moans. Hand flying to his hair as her rolls her piercing between his teeth. 

She slits her eyes open to find him looking up at her. Staring at her face. Molten copper eyes blown nearly black already. 

“Dew.” 

He pulls way, a string of spit connecting his mouth to her nipple. “Shh, lay back. Close your eyes, Lus. Let me take care of you, please .” 

She could argue. Part of her wants to–to assert that she doesn’t deserve this. But there is something in his tone, in the way he rolls his hips against her thigh, that makes her think this is for him too. That the lust in his eyes is genuine. 

So she listens. Lets him call the shots just this once. She drags her nails over his scalp as he sucks a deep purple mark next to her nipple and lets her head fall back into the pillows. She closes her eyes. Dew gives her other nipple the same treatment. Then works his way downward, sucking and biting dark marks into her skin the whole way. On her ribs. Her hips. The slope of her belly. The inside of both thighs.  By the time he finally pulls her panties down and licks into her cunt she’s boneless. Eyes slitted open so she can watch. He groans low at the first taste of her. Tongue flicking out over her clit. Pulling her thighs over his shoulders, tight around his head like he would gladly die between her legs. 

“Can’t believe I get to have you,” he muses like he’s the lucky one here. He’s lost in her, drunk off of the taste of her, the feel of her curves beneath his hands. Cumulus feels holy when Dew gets like this. Worthy of his worship. His devotion. 

She settles in, gives in to pleasure. Allows him to pray at her altar.

[ihateapbiology]

It’s A Date

Part 2 to Well Well Well

You rubbed your eyes and stretched and turned to your right… no Julien. You can still see the indentation of her body on the futon. “Fuck, well if she went back up to her room this is gonna be hella awkward.” You start to collect the few things you have and fumble for your phone to call an Uber. You check the outlet forgetting if in your tired haze last night you plugged it in but instead you find Julien’s block of an iPhone 5. You laugh to yourself and then think “wait wouldn’t she have brought her phone up?” If on cue you hear from behind you “morning sunshine.” You turn to see her holding two plates of food and two cups- well trying to hold it. You walk over to help her carry it all. Food a la Julien has always been your favorite.

“Thank you so much Julien wow you didn’t have to do that” you grin.

“no no i love cooking it was my pleasure” she responds.

“You fell asleep so fast last night” you tease digging into the food.

“It’s easy to sleep when you feel safe and comfortable” she says with a smile but the shocked look on her face after she realized what she said makes you take mercy on her and not press it.

“I’m loving this new house Jules you’re an official grownup it feels like.”

She beams “thanks I bought it last year I mean the realtor showed it to me and it was immediate. The windows are just like the ones we talked about.”

You nod and remember back in your guys’s small little Nashville apartment spending nights surfing Zillow joking about buying one of the fancy houses.

Julien continues “so with your fancy new job you gonna buy an apartment in DC and Nashville or…?”

“Yeah I’ve thought a lot about it and it just makes the most sense I mean I could get a dingier place in DC cause I’ll be there less and then hopefully a nicer one in Nashville.”

“That job sounds like it’s gonna be gettin you some good money huh?”

You blush and nod “mhm”.

She grins “so we’re both basically official grownups then huh?”

You swallow and nod and think to yourself grownups should be able to talk about their feelings. “Julien?”

She gives a half smile “I can tell where this next sentence is going.”

You smile “do you think breaking up was necessary?”

She sighs “Do I think it was absolutely 100% the only feasible option? No. Do I think it was okay in the long run and it had some benefits? Sure. I think it allowed both of us to make significant bounds in our respective careers without the stress of a long distance relationship. I think it also allowed us to look back at eachother fondly and not have to watch our beautiful relationship slowly dissipate and have resentment grow.”

You nod “I agree with everything you said I just..there were so many times in the past 3 years when I would know that whatever moment I was celebrating would’ve been 100x better with you.”

She gives a sad smile “me too y/n me too but I mean what’s that phrase distance makes the heart grow fond? From what I can tell you’re still an amazing woman and you’ve really matured. I mean hell you’re talking about your feelings.”

You laugh and rebuttal “let’s focus on how YOU are talking about YOUR feelings…I miss you Jules.”

“I miss you too y/n very much.”

You two sit in silence before Julien speaks up.

“I don’t know how to phrase this cause I’ve never done it before but could I get to know you again? Could I take you out some time?”

I grin covers your entire face “yes I’d like that a lot.”

She grabs her phone “what’s your number? Is it still the same or?”

“It’s changed here…Jules can that phone take another contact without imploding” you tease, you secretly loved her phone.

“Hey hey hey don’t make fun of my girl” she grins and types in the number you give her.

You guys finish your breakfast and you put on your clothes from last night to go to leave.

She laughs “I am not sadistic I’m not gonna force you to Uber or walk while lookin like you are doing the walk of shame.”

You blush “oh thank you yeah I didn’t need that embarrassment at 10 am.”

She brings you a hoodie and some shorts.

“Thank you!”

“No problem but now it forces you to see me again” she smiles.

“trust me I wouldn’t need a reason” you grin as you open the door “you better text me Baker.”

She smiles “well how about you text me where you’re staying now and we go to dinner tonight if you’re free.”

You nod “it’s a date.”

[bllsbailey]

RedState Weekly Briefing: Walz Implodes, Joy Erodes

Welcome to the RedState Weekly Briefing  — where we take a quick look at the week’s most viewed stories in case you missed any of them. Grab a cup of coffee (or something stronger as we stumble into Fall), and sit down with this 21st Century Weekend Edition of your favorite (online) publication!

#1 - Tim Walz's Self-Implosion Continues During Press Gaggle, and John Fetterman's Reaction Is Priceless — by Bonchie

To be clear, this was not about mixing up dates. If I tell you I was at the World Trade Center on 9/11 but it turns out I was just in New York three months later, that would be an inexcusable lie. The event is the point in a situation like this, not the date. A person doesn't accidentally say they were in Hong Kong for the Tiananmen Square protests when they weren't. Walz has long lied about his background for personal gain, and this is just another example of that.  Past that, this idea that he was taking trips to China to teach students about democracy is absurd. That would be the last place one would take students if they wanted to learn about the topic. Whatever affinity Walz had for China, learning about democracy had nothing to do with it.

#2 - Kamala's Attempted Troll of Trump at Alabama Game Fails Miserably, While Trump Is Cheered Wildly — by Nick Arama

So much for "any time, any place." Apparently that doesn't mean any network that she thinks might not have helpful moderators for her. Looks like Kamala was doing a lot of projection there and was the "loser" of whom she spoke. She was the one ducking debates.  Harris just made herself look silly and desperate. She probably couldn't get all of her ridiculous word salad on a banner. If you're winning, you don't have to play such games to try to get attention.  Then too, she failed to understand the people to whom she was trying to appeal, much as she fails to understand most Americans.  

#3 - HOT TAKES: People Notice Something Peculiar About a Staged Kamala Harris 'Briefed by FEMA' Photo — by Sister Toldjah

There are a couple of things that I find super-annoying about the photo. First, if she indeed really wasn't on the phone (and FWIW she's been known to play games with her earbuds before), it's just more fakery on top of fakery from a candidate and team who try reinventing her as a "great leader" just about every single day. The other thing and more importantly is that not one person in this country who is heartbroken and praying for western North Carolina families should be impressed with the photo and caption considering it was posted two days after the region got hammered by Helene and after Harris had other priorities that didn't include expressing anything beyond the bare minimum concern for the hundreds of thousands who have been negatively impacted in my state.

#4 - Biden, Harris Comments in Hurricane-Affected Area Raise Questions and Anger; Elon Wrecks Them in Tweet — by Nick Arama

If you lost your home, that would barely pay for a few days in a hotel and food for a family. And you can apply for it online, she said. Assuming you had power.  Many sounded off on this statement from Harris, raising questions like how much money has been given to Ukraine? Or to all kinds of services and assistance for illegal aliens? $750 is a pittance by comparison.  Meanwhile, Biden, the generally absent leader, was in North Carolina. Watch how slow he is taking his seat, while all around him are moving at normal speed.

#5 - WATCH: The Look on Kamala's Face When the Teleprompter Goes Out at Labor Event in Flint, MI — by Nick Arama

But perhaps the funniest -- and most revealing moment -- during her remarks in Flint was this one when the teleprompter went out. She started talking about Magic Johnson's number being 32 and then said there are 32 days until the election. Check out the look on her face -- you can see the moment that it happened, and then the desperate "filler" words as she waited for it to come back:  She was completely unsure what to do next. How can you ever put someone like that in charge, in such an important position? How would she deal with foreign leaders? 

[buckymorelikefuckme]

don't overdue it

bucky barnes x librarian reader

words: 850

a/n: it's not much but it's honest work *tips cowboy hat* not proofread! but big thanks to @brandycranby for taking a gander at it :') any and all mistakes are mine. feedback is encouraged & appreciated ♡

part 1 ❀

When Bucky returns to the library in the hopes of surprising you and maybe asking you to lunch, he is not prepared for the events that follow.

He's heading straight for the circulation desk, assuming that's where you'll be, but sweet, tinkering laughter pulls his attention to the left and he promptly trips over his own feet. Your hands are on the table in front of you as you lean into it. The way your spine curves should be a crime. It makes your ass stick out in an extremely enticing manner, and Bucky may have physical strength, but mentally he is weak.

The tennis skirt that peeks out from under your pink cardigan is… tiny. Are you allowed to wear something that short to work? Surely not. Right? Like, there has to be rules against everything currently happening, to keep innocent people from imploding at such a visual.

He watches as you turn your head to muffle fresh giggles into your shoulder, the women sitting around the table, who he's just now noticed, joining in. You press your finger to your lips, trying to shush them, but your frame shakes with the effort of keeping quiet.

He’s gonna give himself an aneurysm if he keeps imagining what it'd be like to stand behind you in that position, hands possessively on your hips, perhaps with less clothes between you.

By the time he shakes the mental image from his brain, you're walking away, waving to the women at the table as they push their chairs in. You turn a corner and he hurries to follow. He's determined, goddamnit. The flirting over text after your first date the other night has been cute and all, but he couldn't wait another minute to see you.

When he takes the same turn as you, entering an aisle of tall bookshelves, he trips over his feet for a second time. You're on a stepladder, stretched onto your tip-toes as you try to put a book away. Bucky has a clear view of the swell of your ass and the baby blue lace covering it beneath your skirt.

“Did I fall and slam my head into the ground? Am I dreaming?”

His voice startles you, making you wobble precariously. He strides over to steady you. It's only after he has your hips in a tight grip that he realizes what he's done, and yet he can't seem to remove his hands.

“Bucky,” you murmur in surprise, looking over your shoulder at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I wanted to ask you to lunch, but now I'm having very ungentlemanly thoughts and I think I should probably leave before I do something I’ll regret.”

Even though he says it, he makes no move to leave whatsoever.

Your small hands come to rest atop his. “Why don't you help me down, big guy?”

Bucky jolts into action, slowly guiding you off the ladder until you're on even flooring and smiling up at him, eyes twinkling in amusement. He drops his hands as he feels his ears go hot.

“Thank you.”

He nods. “You're welcome.”

You hold his stare for a moment, then tilt your head, letting out a soft giggle. He's pretty sure you're laughing at him, but he honestly couldn't care less, not if it makes you happy. He will gladly make an idiot of himself every single day if it means he gets to hear that adorable giggle.

“You're so cute,” you say with a sigh.

He blinks incredulously. “I’m cute? Have you seen yourself? You're like the CEO of Cute Patoot. You look like you mastered in Charming Everyone You Meet with a minor in Wooing Even the Crankiest of People. When you sneeze, thirty fairies get their wings. Every time you laugh you heal a blind person. Your smile could literally end wars. You—”

“Oh my god, stop,” you plead, laughing so hard you gasp for breath.

“You just gave sight to like, at least five people.”

You shove his shoulder as more laughter bubbles out of you. Bucky grins, powerless to stop himself. He's so far gone and you've only been on the one date. He's fucking screwed.

You manage to calm down, wiping at your eyes. “Didn't you mention something about lunch?” you ask.

“I did,” he confirms. “But honestly, all I wanna do now is kiss you for a little while. I could live off that for probably two days.”

You roll your eyes with a huff. “Not this again,” you mumble.

“I’m so serious.”

“I know you are, which is the absurd part of this whole situation,” you reply, shaking your head with a smile.

“How about this,” he starts, tangling his fingers with yours, “I’ll still take you to lunch, but only after I get a kiss.”

You groan playfully and it makes Bucky’s stomach tingle.

“Okay, okay, fine. One kiss.”

He refrains from clicking his heels and shouting yippee! but it's a near thing. The way you're looking at him makes him think you know anyway. Oh well. You're still leaning up to press your pouty lips against his, so who's winning?