#(It's 2000 words because I have no chill)

[rolandkaros]

was doing so well on the next chapter and now im banging my head against the fucking wall why is writing so hard

[luveline]

losers | remus lupin

“Please.”

“Please?” he says back, mirroring your soft tone. “You think you need to say please?” His pinky bumps under the waistband of your trousers. There isn’t much give. He traces the lining to your zipper, fiddling with the small piece of metal as your eyes darken. “I should be the one saying it.” His voice keeps dropping, an utterance in the shell of your ear, his words for you and you alone. “I’m at your mercy, dove. Don’t say please with me. Okay?” 

you find remus’ number on an abandoned motorbike. things snowball from there. [10k words]

fem!reader, fluff, first date, smut mdni, implied inexperienced!reader, almost rockstar!remus, mentioned that remus takes painkillers, muggle!au, early 2000’s au

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ There’s a motorbike outside of the cafe.

It’s huge. Too heavy for you to move. Technically, you hadn’t found it at all, it was left there in the dead of night a few days ago and hasn’t budged since. It’s illegally parked, a fact that your manager won't stop muttering about while she’s elbow deep in latte foam and coffee cakes. 

“I’m getting the bastard thing towed,” she grumbles that morning. “Let the police deal with it.”

That seems rather harsh to you. It isn’t necessarily in the way, and it looks well loved. Perhaps whoever left it can’t remember where they left it, having stumbled home on inebriated footing after one too many at the pub across the street. You think about how much it must cost to get your stuff back after it’s been towed, and though you aren’t sure of the specifics, you know it can’t be cheap. So, when your manager falls into conversation with a regular and your break begins, you creep outside to do some investigating. 

It’s a hulking thing made of more black than silver. There are stickers across the left side of the body, weathered and peeling, though one is newer than the others and immediately draws your eye. 

A phone number. 

If lost, please call. 

You take your phone out of your pocket, a flip phone with one dangling charm in the shape of a star. You click each faded button slowly. You're scared to talk to someone you don’t know, but relieved to maybe save the day. 

It goes for ages. 

“Hello?”

“Hey,” you say, dropping your voice into its sweetest tones, though nerves make you too soft, and you worry you’re hard to hear. “Hey, um, sorry to bother you. I work at The Mill, it’s a– a cafe in the city centre… Are you missing a bike, by any chance? A motorbike?”

“Oh, thank you. Yeah, it’s my friend’s. He can be… forgetful.” The voice that speaks is both smooth and gritty, impossibly, like whoever it is that’s talking smoked half a pack of cigarettes before he answered the phone. He clears his throat. “I hope it hasn’t been an imposition for you.”

“Actually, uh, my manager wants to have it towed. Like, now. I can try to fend her off but honestly she’s like, that physics law, um, unstoppable force? Uh,” —you’re stuttering, making it worse, because his voice is surprisingly handsome and you’re an idiot through and through— “yeah, so could you come and get it?”

“Yes! Yeah, absolutely, we’re on our way. Thank you.”

“Sure. Of course.”

You hear something not meant for you, the tail end of, “Sirius, get up. You better call Marl and—”

Phone back in your pocket, you take a quick glance around the street before reaching out to run your finger over the cracked leather of the motorbike seat. You’ve never ridden one before. You’ve never wanted to. The level of fearlessness one needs for it isn’t one you possess. 

You’re the opposite of fearless. 

The sun hides behind a wave of clouds. Your skin chills near immediately, your prim slacks and apron a worthless defence against the cold. It’s an average day here, grey and quiet. Occasionally a couple will pass you, hand in hand as they traverse the worn pavement. You smile at an elderly man and his dog as they shuffle across the street and into the cafe. Your smile fades as you tune into the fierce tones of your manager, demanding to know where you’ve gone. If your absence is what distracts her from calling the police, so be it. 

You’re considering getting your phone back out to play Snake when a passing car slows beside you. You straighten up and out, feeling your spine click in more places than it should as the passenger door opens and an insanely attractive man throws himself out of it. 

“My angel!” he cries, heading straight for you. 

You take a panicked step backward. The man dives for his motorbike. You flinch, mystified by his enthusiasm and his opposite appearance. Short sleeves reveal arms full of dark tattoos, with one side marred by a brutally long scar from his elbow to the back of a ring-laden hand. You tear your eyes from him as a second door closes across the street, and feel all the air rush from your chest as a second man approaches. 

He’s very pretty. It might be redundant to say it to yourself, presented as you are with an undeniable truth, but you think it anyway. Sandy brown hair, pale skin, and in enough layers to make up for his friends lack thereof, the second man ignores any dramatics and meets you head on. 

“Hi,” he says, holding out his hand, “you’re the one who called?”

Closer now, you can see the scars on his face. They stretch over the ridge of his nose and into his eyebrow. A smaller one tugs as he talks against his top lip. 

You take his hand and shake it limply. “Yeah, that was me.”

If he’s concerned with your nervousness he doesn’t show it. His smile doesn’t move. “He wants to say thank you. He will, once he gets over himself.”

“Thank you!” the dark-haired man calls. “She’s my everything. I’ve been sick with worry.”

“Have you?” the man in front of you asks, his voice steady, almost intimidating in its impassiveness. 

“Yes, Moons, I have been… not that you’d know.”

“Some of us have real problems,” Moons snips, though he quickly looks at you like he’s embarrassed. “Sorry. He brings out the worst in me.”

“You must be good friends.” 

You don’t know why you say it. He only smiles. 

“We must be.”

The first man stands up from checking over his motorbike and beams at you. You suspect it’s an expression that works in his favour more often than not. “What can I give you, doll?” 

“No, nothing. Please. I’ll just be glad to hear the end of it.”

"Are you sure?" 

"Yeah, really." 

Your manager calls your name, clear as day despite the thick pane of glass and brick walls separating you. 

"That's you?" Moons asks. 

"That's me. Sorry." 

"No, don't be. Thanks so much for calling." 

You nod hurriedly, throwing them both a 'nice to meet you, I'm sorry for leaving so fast' kind of smile and head back inside. 

You take a sneaky look back when you're behind the counter again. They’ve turned their backs to you, Moons' friend ruffling his hair roughly. After a minute or two, Moons gets back in his car, and the motorbike pulls away like it was never there to begin with. 

What sort of name is Moons? you ask yourself. It's a question that stays with you for a few days. You find yourself hoping you'll see him again, or that his friend's motorbike will turn up outside of the cafe for a few long days and give you an excuse to call him. His number stays unsaved in your recent calls menu for a while. Eventually, you forget about him altogether; the motorbike, the call, the gentle wave of his hair. 

You're hard-pressed to forget his voice, though. There'd been something familiar about it. 

"Nice highscore." 

You jump hard and wince as the metallic taste of blood hits your taste buds. To make it worse, you slam your phone up into the counter it was hiding under in shock. It makes a fatal crunching sound. 

You shove it into your pocket and look up. Standing there, in all his handsome weariness, is Moons, sans friend. He's wearing nice clothes, clean and clearly ironed. You're immediately aware of your ratty uniform and your unkempt hair. 

"Shit," you say, which is so fucking embarrassing, honestly, you could fall through the floor and stay there, "Sorry. What can I get you?" 

His eyebrows inch up his forehead. "What's the easiest thing to make?" 

That's not a question you get often. "Uh, regular black coffee, or tea, or, the uh– the hot chocolate's not that hard. But you should order whatever you like, of course." 

Moons smiles at you. You're starting to understand the nickname (assuming it is a nickname). He has this odd but enticing presence about him, like that awestruck feeling of looking up at night and seeing all the teeny tiny stars and the moonlight that comes down with them, bright and somewhat daunting. 

"Sure you don't mind?" 

"I'm paid not to mind." 

"Can I get the biggest cup of tea you can make? Milk and two sugars, please." 

"Absolutely." You sidestep to the register and click a bunch of the wrong buttons. You're unprofessionally flustered. "Uh, three sixty five?" 

He passes you a five pound note. Your tip cup is for the more generous type, and he has no trouble dropping his palmful of change into it. He barely looks. You're expecting him to take a seat but he stays standing, one arm pressed to the counter, the other held up. He scratches behind his ear absentmindedly, as though he has nowhere else to be. 

"Are you in a hurry?" you ask, confused. 

He stays quiet for enough time to shit you up. You're tipping milk over your hand and hoping he hasn't seen it when he says, "No rush. I'm here to see you." 

You look over your shoulder at him. You can't help it. "To see me." 

"Yeah." 

You spin back to his tea. The counter is covered in spills and sugar, cup tops and wooden stirrers. You take them all in with wide eyes. Nobody ever comes to see you. Not your friends, not family (unless they want something). Especially not boys you met once for two minutes. 

"Is there something wrong?" you ask. 

You clip the lid onto his big tea and wrap it in napkins so it doesn't burn his hands. 

"Nothing's wrong," he says kindly. "I wanted to apologise. Your boss was upset with you. It was Sirius' fault. We owe you for it." 

"You really don't have to say sorry. She wasn’t that mad. No harm, no foul." 

You put his cup of tea down in front of him and try to smile like girls do in the movies. Soft doe eyes, not too bright, not too awkward. You give up after a second and feel it twist into something regrettable. 

His long silence makes you squirm.

"A thank you, then.”

He offers you an envelope. You take it. 

The paper is crisp and thick. Your fingers are clumsy, and it takes you too many seconds to fold the envelope's lip and pull out the card stock inside. 

You look up in shock. "I can't–" 

He's not there. You look to the door, catching what might've been his hand as he walks out of view. 

He's left you two concert tickets. You don't go to concerts. You might have, when you were younger, and had friends to follow. As it stands he's given you two seated tickets for a show in the Pointer Arena not far from where you work, for a band you've never heard of. The price on each is a solid £20, which is way too much repayment for ringing a number from a sticker. Worse, you're not sure you have somebody who can use the second one. 

You hope he'll come back for clarification alone, and a little to see him, but he doesn't, and soon the date on the ticket matches the date on your calendar and you're standing outside of the venue with no clue how to hold yourself. 

You stand in line for a while. It's a very long line made up of mostly younger women. You listen for the calling of a reseller and spot a group of young girls trying to haggle with them, reluctantly leaving your place in line. 

"Hi," you say quietly to the one furthest from the epicentre. "I'm sorry if this is weird. I have an extra ticket tonight, and I was wondering if you'd like it? I know it's seated, but maybe you could use it to get in and then, uh, not sit? Or just sit." You could writhe around on the ground in shame. You hold out the spare ticket. "If you want it." 

"Are you kidding?" 

"No, seriously." 

She takes the ticket and you walk away before she can try and give it back to you. Whether she uses it or not, it's no longer your problem to deal with. The lady who'd been standing behind you lets you back in line, for which you're extremely grateful, and you shiver your way to the front with nerves churning your stomach. 

You've imagined being turned away twenty times by the time they usher you through the doors. The air is buzzing with excitement, enough of it to ramp up your nerves, and you smile weakly at the people who pass you on the way up to the seating area you've been designated. The Pointer Arena is a smaller venue with much more standing than seating capacity available. The seats are at the sides and back of the second floor, looking down at the pit with a safety barrier in front. 

You slide into your seat and peer down at the crowd as it fills up one ant of a person at a time. You can't distinguish one person from another after a while. It’s a moving sea of dark clothes. 

It takes a long time for the opening act to come on. You're not having much fun. You'd tried to use the computer in the cafe to research the bands playing tonight but the dial up hadn't been working and your manager hates when you take long breaks, so you aren't sure you'll even enjoy yourself. You're not sure why you came here — is it sad, to come here alone? It looks sad, you think, pathetic, but it doesn't feel sad. You're not very good at talking, anyways. It's so difficult. Or maybe you just make it that way. 

This is why you regret coming. Any time spent by yourself is time to think. You hate thinking, but it's all you seem to be able to do. Think and think and think. Your mind runs in the same circles. Things you've done, things you wish you did, things you want to do so badly it makes you feel sick. You can't stand it. 

The crowd begins to rise in volume. Cheers echo against the atrium ceiling, and you push yourself to the edge of your seat to see what's making them all so excited. 

The opening band. They're too far away to see clearly. First on stage is a man with brown skin and a head of black curls, a guitar swinging from his neck, the body barely held as he waves to the masses. Next comes a paler man with hair tied up in a bun who sits down behind the drum kit and doesn't move much after that. A girl practically sprints to centre stage, scooping up a waiting guitar (or bass?) and strumming down the body appreciatively. She has purple hair, bright and choppy, particularly abrasive against the alabaster white of her skin. 

And last on stage… last on stage is Moons. 

You move forward suddenly, smacking your face against the plexiglass barrier and biting your cheek for the second time in a week. Used to your mistreatment, the poorly healed skin wastes no time splitting, and the metallic taste of blood makes you cringe. 

That's Moons. There are two huge screens either side of the stage that magnify him. First his hand on the microphone, a scar coiling up from his wrist to his thumb purple against his skin. Then his face. You wouldn't forget what he looks like so soon, not when you've half obsessed over him for days with could-be's because he'd wanted to see you and you have a bad habit of inventing future's with people you don't know, but even if you did it wouldn't matter. You've never met anyone else with three scars as he has across his face, taking centre stage. 

You hadn't realised the tickets were to see his band. It makes sense, now, why your seat is in such a quiet area, and why the people sitting close by aren't firecracker happy at the sight of them. They must've received their tickets in the same way, gifts or thank yous for small favours. 

Your mouth dries as they begin to play. It's not what you're expecting. Of course, you haven't really had time to expect anything, and yet you're shocked when they start to play a slow song. He doesn't really look like a rockstar, but a heartthrob? You can see it easily. The long lengths of his lashes, and the dark honey of his eyes. His smile, so small but somehow piercing. 

His voice is careful. He doesn't sing anything impressive —there's no belting or high notes— but you still find yourself wringing your hands together, entranced by his confidence. He dances around the melodies and fills up every space he can find between the beat of the drums and the searing guitar riffs that follow. 

They only play five songs. By the time they've finished you're feeling sick to your stomach, and you can't get your heart to calm down. You hadn't known a word of the lyrics, but you'd felt them. 

They're good. 

Like, too good to be openers for long. 

The crowd echoes your sentiment. They clap and scream and wolf whistle. The noise vibrates in the depth of your stomach. The cheering doubles when the headlining band’s techies emerge. The lights go down. Equipment begins to roll out. 

You scrounge through your purse for a lip balm and think about heading downstairs to the concession stands for an overpriced bottle of water to wash away the unfortunate tang of blood. It aches to pay, but if you don't soon you might get nauseous, and that would be a real disaster, throwing up here of all places. 

You hear his voice before you see him. He's laughing, talking to somebody about the set. 

"It was great!" compliments a feminine voice. "I don't know what you were so worried about, Remus, you're really great. And if you weren't, Marl would've saved the day anyways with her gorgeous showmanship." 

"Thanks, baby," says a second voice. Marl. 

"Thanks, Mary," Moons says. 

What had Mary called him? Remus? Odd, not quite as strange as Moons. 

You try not to tense as footsteps approach. 

"Can I sit?" he asks. 

You look up too fast. He's a little damp, the hair closest to his face curled with it, but he smells good as he sits down. He must've washed up. 

"I– I've been calling you Moons in my head," you admit, not sure what to say. 

He's intimidating. You don't imagine he knows it. He sits in the chair without any fanfare, setting his forearm on the rest between your two seats and turning his face to you completely, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth, almost like he doesn't want to smile but can't help himself. His eyes are the slightest bit lidded, emphasising the brilliance (and unfairness) of his lashes, so thick and dark you wonder if he's wearing makeup. 

"You can call me whatever you want to, but my name's Remus. I should've told you that before. I was… distracted." 

He isn't being coy, you realise. He easily could be if he wanted to, but he was genuinely lost for words for a second.

"I didn't really tell you mine," you say, hoping to ease his gentle confusion. 

He says your name like it's easy. Like he enjoys the sound of it. "Y/N. Do you like music?" 

Is that a trick question? His eyes trace up to your eyebrows as they pinch together, but he doesn't amend his question. Not a trick, then. 

"I like music,” you say.

"I realise it's brave to ask someone to come and see you on stage. And that I look like a tosser sometimes with the stage lights and makeup." 

"No," you say quickly, "you don't. You looked just fine. You looked good. I bet it's hard getting on stage like that, and in front of this many people. And singing. You have a really nice voice." 

His eyes soften. "Thank you. Do you wanna go get a drink with me? There's a bar. It's quiet." 

Your elbow brushes against his long sleeve. "Yeah." You're not breathless enough to embarrass yourself, but it's a close call. 

Remus leads you up and out of the seats. The venue is large in that it has just as many hallways and back rooms as it has places to watch the show. Remus’ warm hand catches your elbow, a friendly touch that guides you around the barrier and through a dimly lit hallway that takes you to the bar. 

The bar overlooks the stage, but the sound of the band and the crowd is dampened severely, making for a sorely needed respite. VIP's mill around the room on plush leather sofas and cushy bar stools sipping from sweating glass bottles. Remus' hand moves up to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as a familiar face waves you over. 

"Hey, it's you!" 

You smile at Remus' motorbike friend. You're a hundred percent sure his name is Sirius, but you won't say it aloud in case you're wrong. Beside him sits the other man you'd seen on stage with them, the guitarist with brown skin and a head full of thick hair. You look between the three of them in secret shock, wondering if handsome attracts handsome or if it's just dumb luck that they ended up together. 

"James, this is the babe that found Stacia," Sirius says.

James wrinkles his nose. "Hi," he says, in a voice that sounds deeply apologetic, years of it like the rings of a tree. "How are you?"

"I'm good. Um, and you?" 

"I'm good! Thanks, I'm good, it's nice of you to come see us. Did you like the show?" 

"Yeah, I did. I had no idea you guys were musicians." 

He splits his attention between you and his jacket. He pulls a glasses case out of his pocket, clicks it open, and straightens out a pair of wire frames. 

"Couldn't tell from our baby boy's general demeanour?" he asks. "Hey, that's better, I can see you now." 

"Sirius is the youngest," Remus says. 

"And the handsomest." 

"No, Marl's clearly the handsome one," James says lightly. 

Sirius takes the rebuttal in good jest and brandishes his drink toward you like a toast. "Want a beer?" 

"I'm getting her one," Remus says, "come on, give me a minute here." 

Everybody laughs. You laugh too, turning your face into your shoulder to smother the sound. 

"Well, come and sit with us, make yourself comfortable," James says, moving his jacket off of the chair in front of you.

Remus makes a small, apprehensive sound. "Drinks first." He looks to you for confirmation. "Yeah. We'll be back." 

You follow him to the bar. Your shoes, a pair of dirty converse you wish you'd swapped for heels or something sophisticated, squeal against the hardwood floor. How were you supposed to know you'd see him again tonight? In what world does stuff like this happen to scruffy waitresses? You're starting to think he might be somebody. 

Not that it matters if he is or isn't. 

But if he is… This is embarrassing, right? Not knowing who he is. 

There must be a couple thousand people here tonight. Then again, his band were the opening act, so it doesn't necessarily mean they're all famous or anything. 

"Hey," Remus says softly, stopping your thoughts cold. "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine. Sorry. I've never been in here before, anywhere that's like it,” you say. 

"Venues are all different but the bars don't change," he says. "What do you like?" 

"I'm not a big drinker." 

"That's okay. I just wanted an excuse to be alone with you." He doesn't even give you time to recover. "Truth is, I wanted to ask you out. But between shows I couldn't find time, and next week I'm in San Marino." 

What you mean to say is, you wanted to ask me out? But instead, you choke, "You're going to Italy?" 

Remus pushes a seat out for you, helping you up with a solid hand, and, while your fingers are still warm from his touch, he says, "San Marino isn't Italy. I didn't know that 'til a few months ago. But pretty much." 

"What's in San Marino?" 

"A wedding." He climbs into the seat next to you, smiling.

The tan colour of his long-sleeves contrasts his pale hands. Your eyes flash to his ring finger. Not his wedding. 

Remus isn’t easy to talk to. It's not wholly his fault. He doesn't force conversation, leaving you awkwardly searching for something to say. You're not the best conversationalist either. He clearly doesn't mind it. 

You're in the midst of a clumsy retelling of a shitty customer service moment when he tips his head to the left just a touch. 

"Maybe we can go on an actual date when I'm home,” he says.

He says it like he's talking about the weather. You'd be worried he was messing with you, but then he smiles again, flicking his index finger against your wrist mildly. "You don't have to answer me now. Finish telling your story."

"It was pretty much finished. And– and I'd like to. Go on a real date. I've never been out of the country, so you'll have to forgive me if I want to know everything about San Marino." 

He looks at your lips. Says, "Good," and doesn't give any indication that he's noticed how nervous you are. That is, until he covers your trembling hand with his and presses it flat to the bar. 

"You're really pretty," he murmurs. He takes a moment, and he smiles. "Come with me? If I don't give Sirius some attention soon he'll start showing off."

— 

James is starting to wonder if he should invite you to San Marino. He's not that stupid; it would be a huge pain if you were standing in the middle of all his wedding photos and you and Remus don't work out. But, while he's certainly and majorly jumping the gun, he has a suspicion he’ll be seeing you again. 

James has never seen Remus like this before. 

His friend is usually quiet, quipping every now and then perhaps at Sirius' insufferable antagonism but otherwise brooding. He hasn't seen him smile this much, ever. 

James is under no illusions — he knows Remus loves him very much. He knows Remus is happy, and not always healthy but managing. He knows Remus is pleased with their lives and ecstatic to have their music take off. But he also knows Remus won't let himself have a good thing, not really. Maybe that's why he's asked you out now, when in a week they'll be in San Marino, and a week after that they'll be in Cardiff to officially start the new tour. 

He knows Remus, sweetheart, kind hearted, miraculous Remus, tends to let people down. He's a stickler for asking people out and cancelling the day before. It's how it always goes. James will ask how the date went and Remus will shake his head and say, "it didn’t work out." 

He knows Remus doesn't mean to hurt anybody. He just… can't get close. 

But he's trying, with you. A glass of cordial in one hand, the other behind your chair, Remus tells you one of his more embarrassing stories about how he'd taken a bad fall and ended up in A&E with half of an eyebrow. He doesn't mention the painkillers that made him woozy. 

You've relaxed considerably since sitting down. James would be happy to report that you're having a good time. You have your own drink in hand, and your eyes are bright, with a receding space between your face and Remus' as the story goes on. It's like watching two magnets fight to hold themselves apart.

Matter of time, James thinks to himself smugly. 

—

Honesty is important. You admit to yourself that you and Remus aren't exactly a perfect match. Both quiet, both not quite social butterflies, your conversations had occasionally been stilted and slow, but you've only met twice. Things don't have to be perfect, and more than that — there's a spark there. A twinge of a possibility. He'd liked what little he knew about you enough to ask to see you again, and you'd like what little you knew about him in turn to say yes. 

It doesn't have to be perfect, you insist to yourself, a bundle of nerves. Nothing does. 

He looks pretty perfect. Base of his palm pressed to the brick wall of the cafe, hand angled down as his fingers grasp the neck of a bouquet whose flowers have been shedding petals onto the damp pavement below. He holds his other hand against his chest, clicking buttons on his phone. 

You approach from the left and watch him play a game of Snake. 

"You play Snake?" you ask.

"Doesn't everybody?" he asks back, his smile softening what might otherwise feel like a chastisement. He doesn't look up from his phone.

"Woah, how long have you been out here?" you ask, eyeing his weirdly long snake.

Remus guides the snake into a wall on purpose. It dies, his high score flashes across the screen, and he aims an apologetic look your way. "Sorry, that was rude." He doesn't try to hide that he's looking over your face. "Thanks for coming." 

He leans in and kisses your cheek. Delighted warmth curls in your stomach, worse when he passes you the bouquet of flowers. They've mostly survived his poor treatment, and there's a lot of them. He's left the price tag on and you're not sure if he's noticed. You pretend not to see it. 

"Thank you…” You look away from the flowers, all whites and reds and baby’s breath, to ogle him as subtly as you can manage. “Wow, you've caught the sun. Was it lovely in San Marino?" 

"I'll tell you all about it over dinner,” he says. “I thought we'd walk, it's not far." He holds out his hand. You wipe your palm against your side before you take it, worried you'll have clammy hands. He must guess, because he says, "Don't be nervous." 

"I am," you say hopelessly. "I've never been on a date before." 

"This is your first date?" 

You feel a hot flush coming on. "I– yeah. That's embarrassing, I shouldn't have told you that." 

"No, it's a good thing. Now I know it has to be extra special." 

"It doesn't," you say. 

"I was hoping it would be." He pulls you down the pavement and further into the city centre toward the main high street. "San Marino. It was beautiful, and I took a couple of photos but I didn't have room on my phone. Well, I could've deleted Snake–" 

"Why would you?" you joke, grinning. 

He laughs, and squeezes your hand slightly. "Exactly. I have priorities. It's a long flight, and looking over the photos can only take up so much time. No, but it really was… it was beautiful. I'd never given much thought to a destination wedding. They make sense, right? It's the best day of your life, why would you have it here?" 

He tilts his chin toward the grey sky. You look up with him, feeling the cold wind kiss the sides of your face and pull through your hair. 

"Come on, Remus, it's not that bad. If it's sun you're after, you could just wait for British summer time. You know, the whole three days of it." 

He laughs — you've made him laugh twice already. This is going okay. Laughing while looking at one another, a bouquet in one hand and his hand in the other, you feel that curl of delight begin to bloom. It fills your insides up, has you smiling until your eyelashes brush in the corners. 

"It was James' wedding. Do you remember which one that was?" 

He asks so kindly. You don't doubt for a second that he wouldn't care if you forgot. It's refreshing, even if it's something you'd expect. 

"I remember. I didn't realise he was getting married." 

"Don't ever say that in front of him, he'll put himself on the cross." He swings your hand as you turn a corner. The Italian restaurant you'd agreed on winks from a distance. 

"He's devoted," you guess. 

"He's insane. He was worse when we were younger. His girlfriend– his wife," he amends, "Lily, she's really something else. Warm and funny, but she's been keeping him on his toes for years. She has family in San Marino, hence the wedding." 

You listen to him talk eagerly. His voice is as handsome as his face, and the more he says the less stilted he becomes. There had been a strained quality to it before (strained, or restrained? something he wasn't saying) that's all but disappeared. 

"It was like a movie. White linen, sand, crying." 

"Did you cry?" you ask, expecting a puffed up chest. 

"So much. Too much, maybe. I was half of the best man." 

"Half?" 

"We had to share, me and Sirius. They've always been…" Remus slows his steps. "Am I being boring? I'm talking too much about me." 

"We have time. I want to hear it. I'd like to hear it," you say. 

James and Sirius are brothers. Remus sees your surprised look and doesn't condemn you for it. Sirius is unofficially adopted. The Potter's fostered him from ages thirteen until he aged out, and though they tried to adopt him, Sirius was reluctant. Remus doesn't get into the reasons beyond that, and you don't ask. You suspect he's only telling you about it to drive home how much the Potter's love Sirius. How much James does. 

Remus had been Sirius' friend from their very first year of comprehensive school. Sirius moved in with the Potter's, and, adoring as they were, they let him have friends over whenever he liked. James, Sirius, and Remus spent the next decade together like that, hiding in Sirius' room. Best friends, entirely inseparable, and all fiercely protective of each other. 

"They've always been like brothers." 

"But not…" 

He understands what you're worried to say. "I think it would've been weird… I had a candle burning for James. For a long time." 

Your jaw drops a little. "And you just had to watch him have the most romantic wedding ever," you whisper sympathetically. You're joking: it's clear the candle isn't burning now. 

"Told you I cried," he says. "No, but you've seen him. He's a supermodel. It's awful." 

"Remus, I think you might be underestimating how handsome you are," you say. You bite your lip and look at his chin rather than his eyes. 

He's generous. He gives your wrist a tug and chuckles warmly. "I'm glad you think so. Tonight might have been awkward, otherwise." 

You duck together inside of the restaurant, hands falling apart as Remus gives his last name for the reservation. Lupin. Your face has a mind of its own. 

"Charming, isn't it?" 

"It is," you say emphatically, denying his sarcasm. "I've never heard anything like that. Lupine, like a fox?" 

"Wolf."

A server shows you to your table and hands you two leather covered menus. Leather, not plastic, a sign that tonight is going to be classy. You've dressed for the occasion in a smart blouse and slacks, too terrified of wearing a dress. Remus seems to have done the same as you, reaching for smart but dodging the mark in a button down and a casual jacket. When he takes off his coat, he looks perfect. He fits right in. 

"Could we get a glass?" he asks the server. "For the flowers? If it's not too much trouble." 

"No trouble at all." 

You run your hand across the silken tablecloth and the space between you both feels somehow smaller than when you'd been holding hands. Outside, you could let your gaze drift to the pavement, the fenced in trees, the couples that passed you by. Here, you're forced to watch one another. 

It's not so bad. It's agonising. 

"This is weird," you say. You flinch when you hear yourself. "Sorry, not that you're weird! I'm weird. I've never ever done this." 

"No, I know," he says, almost murmuring, "it's okay." 

"I just blurted out what I was thinking–" 

"I know." He sits back in his chair. His head tilts down, his eyelashes kissing the skin above his brows as he fixes you with a look. It has the intended effect, tension easing from your rigid spine and tight shoulders. "This is weird. But it's still early. It could get weirder." 

You like that he says it as if it's a good thing. 

You order the same thing he does, and you don't turn down his offer to get a bottle of wine, though it feels too grown up. You keep forgetting you're an adult, and that your life isn't on hold. Things can happen to you at any time. 

"I want to address the elephant in the room," he says. 

Not promising. "Okay." 

"Are we having dessert?" Remus leans forward on both forearms. Hair falls in his eyes. He's dressed nicely and he's handsome but there's something homespun about him, something golden. You can't help looking at him and thinking impossibly forward thoughts, cheesy waffle from the films. He's familiar. "Nobody ever wants to get dessert with me. It's actually a real issue for me." 

"I'll get dessert with you." A smoother you with more confidence, who wore the dress and asked him to go to the Thai restaurant instead, would've said something more suave. We're having whatever you want, handsome.

Remus flips the menu to the very last page and reads the desserts aloud. For himself, it seems, half-muttered and apprehensive. "Chocolate cake from places like this will either be the nicest thing we've ever eaten or burnt in the microwave. And it's childish that I want chocolate cake. I should be spoon feeding you creme brulee. Or whipped cream and strawberries." 

He tips his head back and rubs his eyes. It's a charade of feigned self loathing that makes you laugh. 

"I'm a child," he laments, thumb and index finger pressed into his eyes. He checks to see if you're watching before doubling down. 

"I like cake," you say, and you'd lie if you thought it was what he wanted to hear. Handsome, kind, and funny. Not to mention talented. He needs smart for the sweep. 

Remus falls out of his dramatics. You mourn the loss, beggy a good look on him, but forget all about it when he slides his chair around the table to share the menu with you, your heads inclined as you read it together again. He smells woody. You hope he likes the jasmine of your perfume. 

"It all sounds really nice," you confide, afraid to disturb the comfortable hush. "I haven't had gelato since I was a kid. Oh, did they have real gelato in San Marino?"

“They had a lot of stuff in San Marino… I want to hear about you.”

“What do you want to hear?”

The questions start and don’t stop. Where did you grow up? That’s the easy part. What did you study in school? Were you in sports? The art club? And what do you do now, when you aren’t working in the cafe? The more he asks, the easier it is to answer. He doesn’t slow when the waiter brings a glass for your bouquet, simply stands and places them inside with exceedingly gentle hands, smiling at you from between the stems. You eat slowly when the food arrives — you're busy talking. 

It feels fucking amazing. To have someone want to know anything about you. And unless he’s an actor of the highest regard, he’s obviously enjoying your conversations, though they wilt and wane and wind around one another. You lose track of time and thread as the night goes on, distracted by the near unnoticeable asymmetry of his smile, and the way he laughs when you laugh, like an echo. 

You get cake like he wanted. Triple fudge cake with buttercream thick but melting from the heat. It looks straight from the pages of a magazine, glossy and dusted with sugar powder, but he doesn’t seem to like it. He takes a couple of bites and leaves it alone. You don’t want to look greedy, so you do the same. 

The date is suddenly over. 

“Could I walk you home?” he asks, when you’ve both put your coats back on, and the damp roots of your flowers are leaving an imprint on your chest. 

You nod rather than answer. 

Things are good, not perfect. That’s what you keep thinking. There’s something he isn’t saying. Or, horrifyingly, something he doesn’t like about you. Still, the sky is velvet black and the air is crisp. Stars like needlepoints dot the air. Street lights work to hide them, casting a warm yellow glow over the pavements and your meandering shoes. 

A brisk wind whips past you. You shiver and press your lips together hard, hands quick to rigidity. Remus looks at you sideways, and breaks the quiet. “Are you cold?”

“A little.” No point in lying when he can see you trembling. 

“Do you want my coat?”

“No, no, it’s alright–“ You cut off as he steps in front of you, his hand vying for yours. 

He tucks the flowers under his arm and sandwiches your fingers between his. He has short fingernails, and another scar down one pinky finger. How’d you get that one? you want to ask. How’d you get any of them?

His breath clouds the air. “I should’ve thought about the cold.”

“This is better,” you say. Than a warm taxi home. His thumbs brushing down the backs of your hands. 

You walk to your flat building and hesitate at the foyer door. The potential for a kiss goodnight has flayed your thoughts. The image of his hands climbing your arms, holding you still, plays like a flickering film. You have no idea if he’s going to do it. 

“How will you get home?” you ask quietly. 

“I parked by the cafe, it isn’t far.”

“Oh…” The lights from your building paint him the faintest shade of pink. Your breath fogs out in front of you, as does his, and the warmth of walking will soon fade. “I–“

“Here,” he says, handing you the flowers again. 

“Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

“Fits the recipient.”

It takes a second for you to get it. Oh, you think. You can hardly feel the cold now. Your heart hurts, and you’re begging him to want to take a step toward you. The silence goes for too long. 

“I– I’d love to see you again,” you say. Love comes out funny. Maybe because you can feel his rejection coming. 

“I won’t be here next week. Not for a long time. We’re touring properly, now.” He scratches the side of his face.

“Right. Right, of course you are. Um, good luck with that. And thank you for tonight, for dinner.” You wave your flowers weakly. 

He looks at you. He takes a half step toward you. You can see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. 

“You really are pretty,” he says finally. “Goodnight.”

He smiles quick and turns quicker. You watch him walk a few steps but ultimately can’t face it, pushing into the foyer of your building with a hardset frown. Your hands shake, minute abstractions of the sharp rejection panging in your chest. Your ears roar and then go quiet. What did I do wrong? you think, shocked and upset and trying to rationalise. He doesn’t have to kiss you. He asked you out on a maybe, and now whatever question he had is answered. 

The door creaks open. You spin on your heel, too wrapped up to think about hiding your expression. Remus stands in the doorway of the porch, his arm pressed to the glass panel, the other held out to you. 

"Come here," he says quietly. It isn't a question, but he's asking. 

You step into his reach, letting him pull you by the waist against his chest. He leans down until his nose glances against ýours, and he starts to say something. You push your chin up in your eagerness and he doesn't try again. He kisses you, once, contrite, and he pulls back and his hand clasps your arm tight as he ducks in for another. His lips are fast to lose the cold of the weather, but his tongue is a hot shock at the seam of your own. 

You go weak in his arms. The flowers between you crunch and smother themselves. You can’t think about it. Your hands are numb. He takes over every one of your senses until you’re more kiss than thought, reciprocating his slow, deep searching. You run out of breath. 

He eases you backward, cupping the side of your head in his big palm. 

“I want to see you again,” he says hoarsely. “But I– I don’t know when I’ll be back.” His hand adjusts against your cheek, like he’s worried you’re slipping out of his hold. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I can wait,” you say. 

“I couldn’t ask you to.”

You rub your buzzing lips together, each heaven of your chest marked by the crinkling sound of cellophane. 

“Do you want to come upstairs?” you ask.

He strokes the edge of your mouth with his thumb. “Are you sure?”

You kiss him. You don’t know if this will work, any of it, the broad stroke or this one night, but you want him. 

—

Remus doesn’t know what he’s doing. He knows how to fuck somebody, that isn’t the problem. He doesn’t know what he’s doing with you. The same thing that made him walk away had pulled him right back in, had him skipping steps on the staircase up to your flat, drinking in the back of your head and roll of your shoulders as you’d made apologies for the mess inside.

He doesn’t feel like himself when he’s with you. He thinks of it like this — what he is, his pain, his wants, that’s all set in stone. Any change is an erosion, and little by little over the years he’s managed to whittle himself down into the smallest, cleanest version of himself. Then suddenly the band’s making money, people are listening to his voice on the radio in countries all over the world, and he can’t hide anymore. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to, after all. What else inspires a performer into the spotlight? The music, he thinks desperately, knowing it’s half a lie. 

Isn’t it why he’d asked you to the show? Come and watch me sing. See me at my most impressive. My most curated. 

And now he’s following you into your bedroom after one date, about to strip it all away. 

“You didn’t have too much wine, did you?” he asks. You hadn’t really finished your first glass, but it won’t hurt to make sure. 

You peel your jacket off and drop it over the back of a wide armchair. “I don’t think so. Did you?”

“No.” His head has never been this clear. 

He thinks about what you said. This is your first date, and he’s not clueless enough to assume that never going on a date means never having sex, but he wants to be careful with you anyway. He wants this to last beyond a dinner date. 

Which means he has to get out of his head. 

Beyond all of his own mess, he really does think you're pretty. More than pretty. You’re beautiful, and your voice… 

He wants to see what other sounds you make. 

Remus gets his hands on you. Soft touches, his hands coasting from your elbows to your warming hands. He squeezes your fingers, leaning in for a quick kiss. He rests his nose against the skin beneath your eye. “Tell me if it’s too much?” he asks, a murmur of hot air. 

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go slowly.”

“Okay.” Your voice is barely audible. 

He pulls away to make sure you’re alright, and is surprised to see a glassy sheen in your eyes. He holds your face in both hands and works your lips open against his, guiding you backwards into the plush of your poorly made bed. He’s all sweet touches and eager kisses, cautious not to hurt you, or let too much of his weight press against your soft torso. His kisses follow to the corner of your mouth, the tip of his nose tender against your cheek. “You’re so quiet,” he says. He isn’t complaining, but he wants to hear your voice. 

“I’m a bit preoccupied.”

He laughs into your skin, kissing down to your jaw. “You’re right,” he says, revelling in the goosebumps that rise under his hands. 

Your shaking inhales cleave a pit in his stomach. He mouths at the side of your neck, half-kisses, tiny warning nips before he thumbs open the first button of your shirt. He meanders, dropping a path crescent moon kisses into your front until the fabric of your bra gets in the way. The soft hill of your breast staggers to a halt beneath him. He can tell that you’re holding deliberately still. 

Kisses. You need more kisses, an absolution from any lingering nervousness. Your hands thread into his hair gently, your fingers raking wavy strands behind his ears as you give in. You melt into your sheets, your legs parting from the pressure of his hips. 

Your hands fall from his hair to needle between your two bodies and undo the rest of your buttons. The fabric falls aside, your chest and tummy his to catalogue. He drops his hand against your stomach, smoothing a line down to your slacks. His lips ache against yours as he asks, “Can I?”

“Please.”

“Please?” he says back, mirroring your soft tone. “You think you need to say please?” His pinky bumps under the waistband of your trousers. There isn’t much give. He traces the lining to your zipper, fiddling with the small piece of metal as your eyes darken. “I should be the one saying it.” His voice keeps dropping, an utterance in the shell of your ear, his words for you and you alone. “I’m at your mercy, dove. Don’t say please with me. Okay?” 

He smiles at your daunted expression. “Can I take these off?” he asks you, his fingertip running under the edge of your underwear. “Please?” he teases.

Your skin is a furnace, hot hot hot everywhere he touches as you nod your permission and Remus undresses you, one piece of clothing at a time. Your trousers, your shirt. Your bra, your underwear. His fingers slip in his ardency as he tears out of his own button down. 

Your thumb traces a scar. 

He looks up from your chest, startled, but you aren’t giving him anything he doesn’t want. There’s no pity in your gaze, no curiosity, no sadness. Just lust, your trembling hands pulling his slacks down the lengths of his thighs. 

He pulls the condom from his wallet in his pocket and lets it fall to the floor. 

Remus hooks his hands under your arms and urges you back against the headboard, a pillow behind your head, your thighs tipping open as his hand runs down between them. He grabs at them greedily, handfuls of fat that have his mouth dry as a bone. 

“Has anyone ever done this to you before?” he asks. He needs to know.

You squeeze your eyes closed and shake your head. 

Fuck. “Hey, look at me,” he says, waiting for your eyes to meet before continuing. “I just want to make you feel good. If I don’t, you let me know.”

He waits for you to answer aloud. “I will,” you say, your hand behind his back and urging him forward. “Please.”

“What did I say?” he jokes gently, letting his weight bear down on you again. 

He closes his eyes, his lips in what feels like a new home at the juncture of your neck. His hands skirt dangerously close to your heat. 

He’s gentle. He rubs a sweeping line against your cunt with the front of his fingers, heart hammering fast as a mouse’s when he finds the little button of your clit. You shiver and shudder and squirm as he toys with you, your fingers steadfast against the plane of his back while he opens you up. His lips part in tandem, not nearly as kind as his hands. His teeth scratch against your throat. 

Your soft moans move through him as he hickeys over your pulse, chasing each capering thud of blood. He winds you up. You’re snug around his fingers, fluttering, and he knows he’s probed something sweet when your breath catches and you whine. 

“Was that alright?” he asks. 

You nod, heavy headed, and lick your lips as he tears open the condom and eases it onto his cock, one measured roll at a time. 

“Can you– I want you to–” You turn your face from him, the line of your jaw kissed by the lamplight outside, and the rest hidden. 

He drags you down to lay flat on your back and holds himself over you, nudging his nose against yours until you lift your head. Face to face, he gives himself time to adore the shape and colour of your eyes, the side of his hand brushing along your cheek. “Do you think you’re ready?” he asks sincerely. The slickness between your legs is obvious, but he doesn’t want to blindside you. “It will feel…”

You nod, saving him the explanation. It will feel weird. Good, but foreign. “Will you kiss me again?” you ask feebly.

He can’t stop himself. He kisses your lips sore, his hand behind the crook of your knee pushing your leg up toward your stomach as he slides into the space he’s made there. He breaks the kiss to listen to your breathing as he pushes forward.

Remus hadn’t been lying — he wants it to feel good. He takes it slow, his thrusting almost languid as you get to grips with the feeling. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, struggling to smother the moan that escapes him as he feels you clench around him. You gasp, your arms tightening around his waist, destroying any semblance of space between your sweat-damp bodies as you hold him tight. He murmurs praises in your ear, his forearms tucked beneath your shoulder blades, hands gripping your shoulders a touch too hard. He can’t remember the last time he was this close to somebody, can’t remember ever feeling so maddeningly lost, like he’s one good push from hurtling over the edge. 

He kisses your cheek, calling you all the things he’d been too scared to say before. “Lovely girl,” he pants, “how’s that feel?” And, when you answer, “Yeah, you’re taking it so well, dove. Think you can take a little more?”

All that nervousness and desperation shrinks down to dust, and the smiling girl he’d been with at dinner comes to the forefront. There’s no mistaking it. You giggle something awful and turn your face into his, kissing him between sounds, dizzying him with the tender scratch of your nails down his back as he starts to move. 

“There she is,” he says lightly, almost smirking. “Feel good?”

“Feels– oh,” —you shiver violently, filled all the way up— “feels good.” 

Remus let’s his forehead fall to your chin, his eyes closed in pleasure, his cock to the hilt. Every move he makes evokes a near sinful sound from you, mewling, silvery whimpers and pleased little laughs when he angles his hips right. He’s a mess, desperate to cum from the second you touched him and running on stolen time as he presses you deep into your mattress. One of your hands flies backward into the pillows and scrunches up into a ball, the look on your face too tempting to ignore. 

The first time you fuck someone — it’s never timed right. Remus knows he hasn’t quite figured you out, but he knows enough to get you where he wants you. He slides his hand between your bodies and your soft cunt to draw circles into your clit, entranced by your twitching lashes as the pleasure builds. You chase him with your hips, and he grabs your hand at the last second to stop you from covering your mouth, holding it above your head as you come apart. 

He cooes at you. The sound you make — the breathless little cry that leaves you, your hips jutting up to meet him. He’s at your mercy, just like he said. 

Remus fucks into the extra tightness, drawing your climax out for as long as he can. You’re smiling as you shove his arm away, a playful chastisement that wanes when you see the look on his face. “Are you close?” you ask, brushing a curled strand of hair from his eyes. 

Close? Remus is fucked. 

“You can go faster,” you say, “rougher, whatever you want.”

“Shit,” he hisses, leaning back. 

His rutting hips slap the backs of your thighs. He squeezes your waist, his eyes fixed on your cunt as it pulls him in. One last wavering, “Oh, fuck,” from you is all it takes for Remus to lose it. White hot pleasure tightens his whole body, his abdomen aflame. You scramble to gather him back into your arms. You kiss him, swallowing his resulting string of moans. 

He has to catch his breath afterward. You comb the hair back from his face, your eyes droopy with pleasure.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, voice stringy.

“Of course not.” You’re quickly losing your confidence. Remus hates it, but he understands. This vulnerability can only stretch so far. 

“Let me clean you up,” he says.

“You look like you’re gonna fall over if you stand.”

He strokes your face with the back of his ring finger, his nail ghosting along the highest point of your cheek. “Funny,” he says dryly. 

He gets confused in your bathroom, and you won’t let him towel you off, but when he lies down beside you with his boxers back in place you don’t push him away. You drop your face into his chest and curl up. 

He drags the quilt over your naked back. 

Was that okay? he wants to ask. “Sore?” he worries instead. 

“Don’t think so.”

He chews his cheek. “You’re alright?”

You stir, looking up at him through your lashes. He thinks you’re the kind of pretty people might not always see. You’re clearly beautiful, but there’s something else to it. The way you move, maybe. The way your eyes smile before your lips can catch up. 

“I’m fine. I’m good… Can I…”

He hums. “What?”

“Could I kiss you again?” 

You speak so quietly, he hears the vibration in your throat more than the sound of your voice. It’s endearingly timid. He feels his attraction for you flare violently. 

He wants to ask you to come with him to Cardiff. He knows he can’t. It’s yards too soon, but for a second he entertains the thought. 

“Wait for me to come home,” he says. He’s still asking for more than he should. “I want to see you again. You can kiss me as much as you want, if you say you’ll wait.”

You nod immediately. Not a flicker of reluctance to be seen. 

You lift your chin and kiss him. He tries to make it the kind of kiss worth waiting for.  

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging cos it helps more than you might think <3

[7ndipity]

Dating Namjoon headcanons

Warnings: swearing, suggestive, teeny bit of angst

A/N: I realized that I hadn't written anything for Joon in a hot minute, so let's change that, shall we?

Masterlist

Requests are open

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Dating Namjoon feels like one of those early 2000s romance movies.

Utterly frustrating but soo worth it.

He talks a lot of hype in his songs, but I think when he first meets someone he's really into, he's a fucking mess.

Like it's Joon, but it's Joon, you know what I mean?

Red ears, stumbling over his words(and feet), getting flustered every other sentence.

Probably walked into a wall while distracted talking to you.

Don't get me wrong tho, once he gets the butterflies to chill and gets comfortable, the rizz is BACK and in full force.

Big on eye contact

Stares at you with absolute heart eyes(if you've seen that clip of him watching Hobi from Bon Voyage, you know what I'm talking about)

But can flip the switch in the blink of an eye, and be looking at you like he's gonna eat you alive(we love a duality king)

Simp Romantic. Will randomly bring you flowers just cause he was thinking about you(but he's always thinking about you, so why was today any different?)

Writes soo many songs/lyrics about you, but rarely tells you about them directly. He just asks if you wanna hear something he's been working on, and then sits back and watches your faves as you catch the hidden meanings and references. At the end, he's just sitting there, grinning, asking "You like it?"

(Like, yes, I like it you fucking dork!)

Always remember important dates like birthdays and anniversaries( first date, first kiss, everything)

Museum and bookstore dates are a given.

Buying/sharing books with you is probably one his favorite forms of intellectual intimacy, because, for him, each one is a glimpse into your mind.

If you mention one of your favorite titles and he hasn't read it, he's gonna find it asap.

Would try to get you to workout with him and be gym buddies.(I don't know if I like or hate that idea tho?)

Random texts at 1am asking if you're up and wanna hang out?(may or may not be outside your place already, cause he's over-eager and forgot to text earlier)

Endless, late night talks about everything from music to the meaning of life to what jelly bean flavor is superior(it's watermelon)

Also random trips together. Could be to the beach, could be to Sweden, who knows? You bring out his spontaneity and are one of the only people who can get him to take a vacation anyway.

He is a workaholic though, so you have to look out for him sometimes, make sure he eats, sleeps, touches grass, etc.

You probably bicker and butt heads a lot, but y'all make sure it never gets out of hand and try to find a solution.

(Lowkey possessive, but won't admit it)

Not a fan of pda, but he *clings*.

He tries to be subtle about it, but fails because it's like there's a gravitational pull between the two of you from the way he's constantly within arm's reach wherever you are.

Same goes for when you're alone. He's not technically cuddling you, but he always somehow ends up pressed to your side or back, or has a hand on you in some way.

Another member of the 'Protective Squad'. Like, if anyone so much as looks in your direction the wrong way, he's got the death glare locked on them.

Pretty classic when it comes to nicknames for you. Things like 'honey', 'baby', 'jagi'. Adds 'my' in front of any of them when he's in the mood to fluster you.

Which reminds me, he is the BIGGEST FUCKING TEASE ISTG.

He knows exactly what riles you up, and then just gives you these soft, sweet little kisses like you're not about to combust. Has the nerve to then smirk and call you needy(I wanna fight him)

Finds the most random things you do attractive. The way you read. The way you make your coffee. The weird little face you make when your flipping through Netflix.

Although he seems a bit cautious, I actually think a relationship with him might move pretty fast. Like, he's fighting back from asking you to move in with him after five or six months type of fast.

Lives for domesticity with you.

Quiet, sleepy mornings together. Messy hair and glasses over tired eyes, resting against your shoulder as he brings you coffee while you cook breakfast.

I know he said he's not sure abt kids anymore, but I do see him possibly getting a pet with you to 'round out the household'. Something quiet and low maintenance though, like a couple hermit crabs.(would probably name one after a favorite artist/author and then name the other smth random like 'blue')

Again, I don't know how to end these. Just love him, please.

[radioisntdead]

Good morning, as you have requests open can I get some Velvette x g/n! reader angst (perhaps ending with comfort) romance?

One night they overhear her talking negatively about them (not an overlord, lack of confidence, whatever) so they leave behind a note saying they were right to feel like she didn't actually love them and they've left, not saying where.

Good evening my dear! We are ending the cannibal streak with Velvette! WOO, It's late and I'm woozy, this became a song fic I'm sorry.

Velvette x reader,

Warnings!

Light angst, Valentino,

The song used: Moral of the story

You and Velvette met at a New Years party back in the 2000's, the air was heavy, you had a red solo cup with heavens knew what was in it, maybe Vodka and something? You didn't know, people were kissing, yelling, and whatever else.

So I never really knew you

When Velvette approached you, you felt like the luckiest person in the world, like nothing else in the room exist, she was only person there in your eyes,

When she talked about how boring the party was you found yourself agreeing with every word she said, her voice soothing to you.

God, I really tried to, Blindsided, addicted

The two of you died in a car accident, music was blasting from the radio, you were looking outside the window, and Velvette was texting and driving,

It was quick, she ran a red light and BAM, a truck hit the two of you causing the car to roll, glass shattered and the one thing you remember is reaching out to Velvette before everything went dark.

Felt we could really do this

You once told Velvette that you'd follow her to hell and back,

Guess that was true because guess where you ended up?

But really I was foolish

Things didn't change much as she rose to the top, becoming an overlord, teaming up with some guys named Vox and Valentino, Vox was decent enough but Valentino gave you the chills, he never did anything but still.

Velvette made sure to shield you from his business, you weren't allowed on his floor.

Hindsight, it's obvious

Velvette was never scared to demand things, to order things around, to get her hands somewhat dirty if needed, if she wanted it she got it

You weren't like that, you didn't like having blood on your hands, While Velvette treated service staff like they were an inconvenience you treated them with respect, like they were people.

Velvette didn't like that part of you, she liked it when it was towards her or maybe the other Vee's but no one else.

Talking with the cannibal She said, "Where'd you find this girl?"

You weren't having a good day, you and Velvette got into a argument over her spending too much time on her phone, you said that she loved that stupid thing more then you, she didn't deny it, just said that you were acting fucking crazy and left.

I said, "Young people fall in love, with the wrong people sometimes"

You had several things to do, some employees couldn't do their job properly and you didn't want to lash out of them, all you wanted to do was just relax with your fiancee, you got some flowers and an Emoji plush to give her as an apology.

Some mistakes get made

As you stood outside the door that lead to the Vee's living room you could hear muffled talking, a voice you could recognize was Velvette's.

That's alright, that's okay

You cracked the door open and peaked in, She was talking to Valentino.

You can think that you're in love

"Then They say that I love my phone then them! Like maybe if you weren't such a fuckin' loser that can't even order a coffee without almost crying I'd pay more attention to you!"

When you're really just in pain

You clutched the flowers, crushing the stems as you took a step back.

Some mistakes get made

"They aren't an overlord, the only they have any of this is because of me!" She said throwing herself onto the couch and went back to her phone, that damned phone.

That's alright, that's okay

Quietly and quickly you made your way to the room you shared with Velvette, you did your best not to slam the door indicating that you were back, you threw the flowers and plush into a trashcan before taking out a few suitcases.

No tears were shed, just anger, betrayal and disappointment flooded you.

In the end, it's better for me

You packed the clothes that were your favorites, you couldn't take everything since for one, Velvette gave you the majority, and two, she gave you a bunch of clothes.

Once You had everything packed you wrote a note giving a brief explanation, that you had heard what she said, and that since you were SUCH a loser, she should date a overlord instead.

That's the moral of the story, babe

You left the Vee's tower, without a single soul noticing, now standing on a random street corner you took a deep breath, you had enough money, from your OWN means, to get a hotel to stay at for maybe a week? Just until you could get an apartment or something.

It's funny how a memory

Velvette didn't notice you were gone until late the next day, she thought you were being petty avoiding her because of a little fight and she had decided to let you take the bedroom, sleeping in her office instead.

She supposed she should apologize because she loved you and she was tired of this.

Turns into a bad dream

She stepped into your shared room, not noticing anything missing, until a colorful object caught her eye from the trashcan, leaning down it was an emoji plush, cringey but it was soft, it was covering a bouquet of flowers, her favorites infact.

When running wild turns volatile

Her face twisted into confusion as she looked around, spotting the note you left on the bed.

She hadn't meant for you to hear her.

Remember how we painted our room, Just like the other Vee's did?

You were gone. She fucked up.

So romantic, but we fought the whole time

It was just a small fight right? The two of you would kiss and make up like usual, maybe watch a movie after, but you had left, you left her!

Should have seen the signs

She couldn't find you, anywhere.

Vox only got footage of you leaving the tower and nothing else, he spied on the ENTIRE ring and he couldn't find YOU?

Talking with the cannibal, She said, "Where'd you find this girl?"

You had stumbled upon the Hazbin hotel, you were welcomed by Charlie with open arms, she was ecstatic, you were the first sinner to join them after the extermination.

Said, "Some people fall in love with the wrong people sometimes"

Being away from Velvette was so...

Some mistakes get made

Freeing, it was as if you were spreading your wings for the first time in years, which you were! You'd been with Velvette for over a decade, not counting your life beforehand.

That's alright, that's okay

You loved Velvette, you truly did, but she didn't love you like you did her, she didn't act like it,

She thought you were on the weaker side.

You can think that you're in love

You had no interest in rising up the ranks, working instead on becoming a better person, with every exercise with the hotel residents you got more and more confident, changing your appearance along the way.

When you're really just in pain

After you more sinners came to the hotel, a few ready for redemption.

Some mistakes get made

You met someone, she had the most beautiful pink eyes that reminded you of pink lemonade, she was different then Velvette, you couldn't help but compare the two, Velvette was so... Cruel and she was so Soft, kind, she just killed a guy but that wasn't a deal breaker in your book.

That's alright, that's okay

It took time but the two of you grew close, you'd have lunch together, eventually that moved to sleepovers, movie nights, sweet words exchanged between the two of you.

You were apprehensive about entering a new relationship after Velvette, but it just felt right.

In the end it's better for me

Charlie was excited when you went to her for date ideas to take your newest sweetheart, she was so proud of you, you had come so far!

That's the moral of the story, babe

They say it's better to have loved and lost

Velvette searched for you, you due to plot armour and your changed appearance had managed to completely avoid Vox's cameras or Velvette's hunting you down, she regretted saying what she did, she wouldn't have said it if she knew you were listening!

Than never to have loved at all

You had decided to step out of the hotel with your dearest sweetheart, deciding to go out for a simple date, watch a movie and maybe shop around and grab a bite to eat

That could be a load of shit

Velvette had decided to go check out her competition's stores, going shopping at the same stores you did.

But I just need to tell you all

You didn't see her, and she almost didn't recognize you but she did.

Some mistakes get made

Her blood ran cold, or colder as she watched you dote on the lady next to you, arm wrapped around hers, holding her bags for her.

You had done that for her once upon a time.

That's alright, that's okay

She wanted to say something, like where have you been, I'm sorry, who the fuck is this, come home! Or something but she couldn't, she could only watch as you laughed at something she said, you used to laugh like that with her,

You SHOULD be laughing like that with her.

You can think that you're in love

Velvette's hand clenched into a fist, her fingers digging into her palm making indents.

When you're really just engaged

You should be with her, not whoever that wench was! The engagement ring she had accepted from you ages ago was still on her finger.

Where was yours?

Some mistakes get made

She watched as you walked away with her.

That's alright, that's okay

She finally moved, following in pursuit.

In the end it's better for me

You and your sweetheart were having a wonderful time, shopping around and the two of you were finally getting something to eat, you went to the cutest little café, and you walked back to the hotel holding hands.

That's the moral of this story

Some mistakes get made

Velvette knew where you were now.

That's alright, that's okay

You were so happy, Velvette hasn't crossed your mind in ages.

You can think that you're in love

She didn't know how to get you, she didn't want you to hate her.

When you're really just in pain

You squealed as you landed on your bed kicking your legs back and forth like a lovesick fool.

Some mistakes get made

You had to come back to her willingly, once you were done with this little fling, she would leave you heartbroken and Velvette would welcome you back with open arms, hugs and kisses.

That's alright, that's okay

You sighed happily, a dumb love filled grin on your face.

In the end it's better for me

You had come SO far from how you were before, you were proud of yourself, you had a healthy relationship with your lovely girlfriend, you had amazing friends, and you were on the road to redemption with them! You couldn't ask for more.

That's the moral of the story, babe

You will never go back to Velvette, you loved her once yes, you truly did, but that was in the past, and you deserved better, and you got better.

Good evening folks! Thank you for tuning in! It's late for me and I wrote this in one sitting, I'm gonna go knock out now, have a wonderful night folks!

[syd-djarin]

Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice (neighbor!joel AU)

chapter two: sex and candy

*18+ minors DNI*

tags: mentions of anxiety, religious shame/guilt, reader being insecure, mentions of (negative) past sexual experiences and partners, brief mention of alcohol consumption, v fingering, oral (f receiving) joel is a cunnilinguist, 2000’s nostalgia, mentions of the patriarchy (booooo)  squirting (sue me),  Joel-Land™️™️™️

reader has hair that she fidgets with, "grows warm" /"cheeks burning" but not necessarily blushing, with embarrassment - minor edits to make this more inclusive for my readers <3

word count: ~4.5k

Author/s notes: Sorry it took longer to get ch. 2 out than I anticipated. I've had a lot going on in my personal life (I got a new job!) But I promise it won't be as long for ch. 3 hehe. this is a lengthy chapter, hope y'all enjoy!!

had to name reader's bestie after my dear friend @katiexpunk <3 thanks for always letting me run ideas by you and being a peach in general.

and thank you to @softiedingo for being a beta reader as well <333

It has been two weeks since you introduced yourself to Joel and Sarah. You hate to admit it, but you haven’t been able to stop thinking about Joel. Your mind will stay preoccupied temporarily, then they circle back to him. 

Throwing clothes in the washer? Joel. 

Boiling water for pasta? Joel. 

Doing the dishes? Joel. 

In the shower? Yep, definitely Joel. 

And this morning is no different. 

You’re staring at yourself in your bathroom mirror, brushing your teeth, mind deep into Joel-Land, then your thoughts take a sharp turn - for the worst. You’re thinking about all of your past sexual encounters. 

How unsatisfying and selfish your past partners were. You hadn’t been romantically involved with any of your past partners, all of them casual-no-strings-attached type of arrangements. 

Even if the sex was casual, did that mean the pleasure had to be one-sided? Of course not. 

However, after each encounter you found yourself feeling disappointed, and truthfully, it made you feel…..icky. Was it religious shame? Even though you don’t participate or believe in any religion anymore, your formative years were spent in a conservative, Christian church; where sex is bad, and sin is bad. And you don’t want to be bad, because you will go to hell. You don’t even believe in hell, yet, there is a small voice in your head that still worries about eternal damnation. Jeez, I should really see a therapist about that.  

 Perhaps it’s the misogyny and sexism, rampant and hard-wired into society and into mind’s since the beginning of time. 

Your internal theological and philosophical debate gives you a throbbing headache. 

+++

It’s Friday. Halloween falls on a Tuesday this year, so most Halloween celebrations would occur this weekend. 

If you were still in college, you’d most likely attend a costume party at a frat party and drink until the sun came up. These days, you don’t recover from hangovers as easily and find the anxiety spiral that follows a night of drinking to be too debilitating so you’re planning on keeping it chill this year. 

You’re pouring out a bag of candy into a bowl, so candy is easily accessible for your sweet tooth cravings when you hear a strong, loud cluster of knocks at your front door. 

Knock. Knock. Knock-knock. 

Shaking off your initial startling from the sudden knocks, you open your front door to find Joel. He’s leaning his shoulder on the doorframe, one half of his body bears all his weight. He swiftly straightens upright again when you greet him. He looks even more handsome from the last time you saw him. He’s wearing dark wash jeans that accentuate his body in the most delectable way and a black t-shirt with a faded MILLER CONSTRUCTION graphic that is just barely legible. 

You have the urge to steal the well-worn shirt so you can sleep in it, relish his scent, and let it become a metaphorical embrace of Joel. 

Fuck, I really am down bad, you internally scold yourself to come back to the present moment. 

“Joel! Ho-how are you?” you manage to creak out through nerves and surprise. 

His beautiful, dark brown eyes are staring right into yours. His eyes could compel you to do anything. 

“I’m doin’ alright, you?” The word ‘alright’ is drawn out making it sound like “awllll-right”

“Can’t complain. Y’all settling in okay?” tilting your head unconsciously, as if to convey genuinity.  

“Oh yeah, ‘s a nice neighborhood. Sarah seems to be enjoyin’ her new school, I was a lil worried she’d have a hard time but she’s a smart kid and gets along with pretty much everyone. Awful silly of me to worry in the first place…” he’s rambling, hands moving at the same pace as his speech. 

You find his rambling to be cute, it’s a bit of a juxtaposition from his strong, demanding presence. 

Joel realizes he’s nervous after he concludes his tangent. When’s the last time he felt nervous around women? Especially a sweet, non-threatening woman like you? 

“Anywho, I came over to uh- ask you somethin’... Sarah liked your cookies so much she wants to learn how to make them herself and was wondering if you’d teach her?”

“I’d love to!” You shoot him a flattered smile,  learning that Sarah wanted you to teach her to bake makes your heart sing.

Joel is amazed at you. You agreed to teach a twelve year old, one who you hardly know, to bake. He shouldn’t be surprised given your sweet demeanor and generous heart, but he’s in awe of you. 

“You sure? I mean, you obviously don’t have to if you don’t want—”

“Joel, I’d be honored to. Send her over in an hour,” you cut him off, hoping to convey your delight in teaching someone else to bake, the same way your grandma did for you. 

Joel can’t stop the shit-eating grin that appears on his face. 

“Sounds good. I’ll send her your way, sweetheart,” he lingers just for a moment to watch your reaction to the nickname, the one he’s used twice. 

You desperately try to keep your composure cool and collected, but you’ve never had a good poker face. You wear your emotions like an accessory. And right now, you are flustered. You divert your attention to the ground as if looking into his eyes would expose your every thought. 

“O-okay!” You can barely stammer out a response before he is pivoting off your porch, back to his own house. 

You can’t see it with his back turned to you, but Joel is smirking to himself and feeling amused at his effect on you. 

+++

“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

“Yes, dad. I don’t need a chaperone to bake cookies. I’m a big girl now, remember?”

Yes, he is acutely aware that she is a big girl now. Well, not really, to him she will always be his baby girl, but that doesn’t stop her from growing up. Too fast for his liking. The idea of her becoming a teenager almost gives him a coronary. It won’t be long before she’s driving, then graduating, and college. What if she wants to attend a school in another state? Across the country? 

He feels queasy at that thought, afraid that she will grow out of thinking her dad is the coolest, afraid that she doesn’t want to spend time with her old man anymore. 

He wills himself to think about something else. Anything else. Inevitably his thoughts wander to you. 

Joel hates to admit it, but he was hoping to join Sarah for the baking lesson. He wants an excuse to be in your radiant, sweet, beautiful presence again. 

While you can’t stop thinking about him, he can’t stop thinking about you. 

Driving home from work? You. 

Making dinner? You. 

Making his morning coffee? You. 

Laying in bed? Oh, yeah. Definitely you. 

Exactly one hour passes when Sarah arrives at your house. You’ve already set up in your kitchen in preparation; already pre-measured the ingredients, setting out all the necessary baking equipment and you even found a spare apron for Sarah to wear. Ya know, to give her the full experience. 

“Oooh, this apron makes me feel like a professional!” Sarah exclaims after tying the strings on her designated apron. 

“Well, after this, you will be.”

You can’t remember the last time you felt this much joy. Sharing a passion of yours with someone who is eager to learn from you delights your heart and soul in a way you didn’t know you needed until now. 

“So first, we’ll need to combine the butter and sugar,” Sarah dumps the butter and sugar into the mixing bowl. “Great, now we want to beat the mixture until it looks fluffy.” 

She is completely engrossed in watching for the desired texture, furrowing her brows together in a way that mimics Joel. You find it adorable. 

“Excellent, now we are going to add in the eggs and vanilla extract.” 

She follows your instructions to a T, meticulous and concentrated as if she were mixing hazardous chemicals in a lab. 

“You’re doing great.  Now let’s add our dry ingredients, half of it at a time.” 

Her eyes light up when it’s time to fold in the chocolate chips. You both agree it’s the best part, both of you indulging in a few before adding them to the dough. 

You assist Sarah in rolling the dough into little balls and placing them onto the baking sheet. 

While waiting for the cookies to bake, you learn more about Sarah and Joel. She tells you about their old house, the camping trip they went on this past summer, the catchy pop songs on the radio that Joel will pretend to hate but she catches him humming the tune later, how Joel makes a big breakfast for the two of them every Sunday, a ritual they started when Sarah started school - he makes pancakes just for her. 

Getting a snapshot of Joel and Sarah’s lives and their dynamic makes your mega crush on Joel that much bigger. From what Sarah has shared with you, he seems like a caring, protective yet fun dad. You’re aching to learn everything about him. 

“Do you have any plans for Halloween?” Sarah asks as you’re pulling the baking sheet out of the oven. 

“Oh um, I usually just hand out candy to trick-or-treaters. Nothing super exciting. What about you?”

“We always order pizza and watch a scary movie - nothing super scary though. We dress up too. Well, I dress up but dad thinks he is too cool to do that so he wears the same boring mask every year,” she has a mischievous grin on her face, concocting a plan when she asks, “do you want to come over and join us?” 

On one hand you’d love nothing more than to spend more time with your new friend and Joel, but on the other hand the thought of being in the same room as Joel, in his house, makes you both anxious and aroused. Dizzy, nervous, and horny makes for an unpleasant combination. 

Gaining a sliver of bravery, you swallow your apprehension and say yes. 

“Sure, yeah, what time should I come over?”

“6:30. And you better wear a costume!”

+++

You’ve spent the past hour trying to put a costume together. Not making any progress, you decide to seek external advice - your best friend Katie. 

You both met as freshman and have been close friends ever since, even rooming together in your first off-campus apartment. She moved to the West Coast shortly after graduation, though you still keep in touch via email and phone. You give her the scoop on Joel - him moving into the neighborhood, your gigantic crush on him, how you baked cookies with Sarah yesterday. She’s impatiently waiting for you to bone your hot neighbor. Girl, I’m waiting too. 

“Do you still have that bunny costume you wore junior year?”

You rummage through your tote of seasonal clothing in search of said costume. Pulling it out, you now realize just how skimpy the costume really is. Bunny ears and a tail paired with a skin tight black bodysuit leaves virtually nothing to the imagination and definitely too much skin for this occasion. 

“Dude, I can’t wear this! His daughter will be there! I can’t believe I wore this out in public. This is X-Rated,” you’re growing agitated in having no success in your costume, to the point that you are tempted to tell Sarah you came down with something so you don’t have to go. 

“Okay, okay, the ears and tail are still salvageable. Do you have something besides the bodysuit?”

“Ummm…” you trail off into the phone, frantically searching for something to replace the risque bodysuit. You find a plain white baby tee amongst the sea of clothing, deciding you can pair it with your favorite jeans, the ones that accentuate your body in all the right places. 

“This could work..” muttering to yourself when a devious thought pops into your head. White shirt, no bra. 

“Found it! Gotta go, loveyoubye!” You hang up the call before Katie has a chance to respond, tossing your pink Razr on your bed. Your body hums in anticipation and jitters, feeling emboldened by your no bra plot. 

After throwing on your outfit, you style your hair differently than you normally do. You add several coats of mascara to your lashes, sweep on some blush that complements your skin and add a sparkly lip gloss to your lips, making them appear extra plump and juicy. 

You grab a bag of Halloween candy and you practically skip across the street. Reaching the front door of your new bestie and her gorgeous dad, your confidence is replaced with a furious ball of anxiety. Your heart is palpitating and you feel your stomach churn. 

 Would Joel think you looked stupid? Or worse, childish? Fuck, you should’ve stayed home. 

Joel opening the door snaps you out of your thought spiral but only briefly, because he’s staring at you like you’ve started growing extra limbs. He looks both puzzled and pissed? 

“What uh-what’re you doing here?” 

His voice has a sharpness you haven’t heard before and it stings. 

You have a moment of realization. 

Sarah didn’t run the invitation by her dad.

 You deduct that he isn’t a fan of surprises. 

Before you can formulate a response, Sarah saves you from having to do so. 

“You dressed up! I’m glad you came,” she squeals while wrapping her arms around your middle in an embrace. 

She looks up at Joel from where she’s latched onto you and gives her confused dad an explanation. 

“Dad, it’s okay, I invited her.” 

That seems to alleviate his confusion. You, on the other hand, not so much. You’re internally screaming at yourself. It’s obvious to you that Joel wasn’t expecting you, and in conclusion, doesn’t want you here. 

“I didn’t mean to impose, I—I’m sorry, I’ll uh— just go back home,” fighting back tears of embarrassment, looking everywhere except at Joel.  You think now is a superb time to move across the country, change your name, dye your hair, somewhere far away from this humiliation. 

Joel senses you’re feeling rejected in some way.

“No, no, come on in. Jus’ wasn’t expectin’ you s’all,” he gives you his most reassuring smile. 

You swallow the lump of emotions in your throat. 

He didn’t expect you to come over, nor did he expect you’d show up as his personal version of a Playboy bunny.  He almost busted in his jeans when he could see your nipples through your very thin white t-shirt. He thinks you’re trying to kill him. 

+++

You’re starting to relax once you three settle on the couch, Sarah nestling between you and Joel, Alien on the TV. Turns out, you and Joel share a love for the film. You may or may not have gotten into a heated (playful) debate about the other films in the franchise.

Joel gets an influx of trick-or-treaters, more than you usually get, residents of the neighborhood taking advantage of this opportunity to be nosy. Again. 

In between costume clad visitors, you sneak glances at Joel, who looks absolutely scrumptious tonight. His hair had been damp and combed back when you arrived, his curls now almost dry and in all their glory. He’s wearing an obviously well-loved, faded Pearl Jam concert tee that clings to his arms and grey sweatpants that sit dangerously low on his hips. You wonder if all his shirts fit like that. When he stands, you can see the outline of his dick through his sweatpants.  You have to manually restrain yourself from pouncing on him. You’re soaking through your panties and you’re a little worried that if you stand, the seat beneath you will be soaked too. 

The scent of his body wash invades your nostrils, a heavenly mix of sandalwood and cinnamon. You’re imagining yourself running your hands through his hair and burying your nose into his neck, alternating between kissing and sucking on the skin there. You want to taste every inch of his skin, taking your time to savor him. 

Joel’s stealing glances at you, too. He’s never seen someone look so sweet and seductive, divine even. You smell warm and sweet, amber and vanilla. Not the artificial, manufactured type vanilla scent, it’s like vanilla straight from the bean. When you readjust your position on the couch to get more comfortable, your tits lightly bounce, unrestrained by a bra. He has to stifle a groan, disguising it as a cough. He wonders how much they’d bounce if you were riding his cock. Your lips are absolutely sinful. Pouty and plump, juicy from the lip gloss. The bunny ears are the nail in his coffin. He’s picturing you bent over on his couch, still wearing the bunny ears as he devours your pussy from behind. 

Only a quarter of the way through the movie, a few of Sarah’s friends from her old school pop in to invite her over for an impromptu sleepover to which Joel agrees to, since they no longer go to school together. 

Which means you and Joel are left alone. Together. Your body is aching to close space between you and the man you’re enamored with. You don’t know that Joel is itching to do the same. 

“Sarah couldn’t stop talkin’ bout yesterday. She loved hangin’ out with ya, thanks again for doin’ that.”

“She’s welcome to come over anytime. She’s a sweet kid,” you’re beaming at the fact she enjoyed baking with you. Joel notices the way your eyes gleam, overflowing with delight.

You finally have the courage to meet his eyes. The way his eyes are raking over your entire body makes your clit throb in anticipation. Your heartbeat is erratic, thumping loudly in your ears. 

The energy in the room is magnetic, pulling you and Joel closer together. 

“You can uh-scoot closer t’me if ya want,” he gruffs out, beckoning you to scoot closer to him. Joel wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but you make him feel like a flustered teenage boy about to kiss a girl for the first time. 

You scoot closer to Joel, hoping he doesn’t notice your body trembling from nerves. 

With your body flush next to his, he stretches one of his toned arms behind your head, resting it on the back of the couch. You can feel the warmth radiating from his body and it sends a shiver down your spine, straight to your aching core. 

The tension in the air is palpable, both of your bodies buzzing in arousal. You’re both pretending to watch the movie in front of you, but your minds are elsewhere. He gently removes his arm from the couch and rests it across your shoulders. It’s a seemingly innocuous gesture, but its impact makes you clench around nothing, more arousal dripping into your panties. 

He leans his head down close to yours, his mouth behind your ear.

“No bra? You’re a naughty lil bunny aren’t ya?” His hot breath tickles your ear, your eyes clamp shut involuntarily and you whimper. A high-pitched, whiny whimper, and Joel’s never heard anything sweeter. 

He places his other large palm on your thigh, gently squeezing it. Your skin prickling in goosebumps and your nipples are hard enough to cut glass. The wetness pooled in your panties is beyond the point of comfort. 

Joel presses a chaste kiss behind your ear, eliciting another whimper from you. He peppers kisses from your neck all the way to your collarbones.

“This okay?” 

“Mhmmm…”  You’re already so keyed up you feel hazy. Your whole body feels hot, lit aflame by Joel’s lips on your skin.  

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he rasps while his hand is caressing your thigh, intentionally not too close to where you want him. Need him. 

“Mhmmm,” you moan, still unable to form words, arousal taking over all of your bodily functions. 

“Need you to use your words, honey.” He squeezes your thigh again.

He pulls his face back from your neck to look you in the eyes, and slows his movements on your thigh so you can tell him to back off or give him the green light to continue. You grab his hand on your thigh and squeeze it, to keep him from removing it. 

“Joel, pleeease. Want it so bad. Need you so fuckin’ bad.” 

You beg in the most sultry voice you can muster, emphasizing every syllable. 

Your lust laden eyes and the way you mewl for him ignites something ravenous, primal, carnal in him. He hasn’t heard you cuss before and it sounds so filthy in your honeyed voice.  His rock hard cock twitches in his pants. 

He presses his plush lips against yours. It’s hesitant at first, but his apprehension dissipates when you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back with fervor. Joel deepens the kiss, one hand gripping your hip, the other hand splayed between your shoulder blades, pressing your body further into his. You tangle one of your hands in his luscious curls. He tastes like sweet peppermint and a hint of black coffee. You feel dizzy, tasting him, finally feeling him. 

He breaks the kiss, guiding you to lie down on your back and props your head up on one of the couch armrests. 

He’s looking down at you and he’s never seen anything more beautiful. You’re always pretty, effortlessly so. But seeing you underneath him, sweet and desperate for him? He’d do anything you ask him to.

“You’re the prettiest lil bunny. So fuckin’ pretty.”

You’re bashful under his gaze and his compliment, cheeks burning. 

Joel notices you trying to shy away and he places a thumb under your chin, forcing you to keep looking at him. 

Now you feel embarrassed for trying to shy away in the first place.

“Sorry I’m—”

“Nothing to ‘pologize for, sweetheart,” he’s caressing your chin with his thumb, alleviating all of the embarrassment from you.

“Wanna taste you. You’ve no idea how bad I’ve wanted to taste you. Needed to know if you were as sweet as your cookies.”

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe out, “yes - yes please, taste me, Joel”

He chuckles softly at your enthusiasm and promptly rids you of your jeans, making the leather of the couch feel cool to the back of your thighs. 

Joel lets out a guttural moan when he sees your sky blue satin panties soaked through. He runs a finger over the damp spot, making you quiver. His touch is featherlight and it’s maddening. You’re squirming, hips lifting off the couch, chasing for more. 

He obliges, running a finger over your clit with added pressure. 

“Joel, please–” You’re a whiny mess under him, and he’s just getting started. He’s rubbing gentle circles over your bud, still-panty clad. 

He presses a kiss on your belly, just below your navel. The tenderness makes your body shudder.

He finally removes your panties and you gasp when the cool air hits your throbbing pussy. 

“Pretty girl with a pretty pussy to match.” Joel’s admiring the way your pussy is glistening for him, begging to be touched. 

He runs a finger through your drenched seam, your juices dripping onto his thick digit. He licks his finger, then shoves it into his mouth so he can taste every drop. His eyes clamp shut, groaning at how you taste. You commit the image to memory, not wanting to forget how he looks and sounds when he tastes you for the first time.

“Knew you’d taste sweet. So fuckin’ sweet.” 

Your brain short circuits when you realize that means he’s thought about this before. That he’s imagined how you’d taste. Picturing him fantasizing about you makes you light-headed. 

Joel spreads your legs wider, giving him full access to your pussy. He dives in without warning, licking from entrance up to your clit.

“Fuck, Joel!” You hoarsely shout with one hand gripping the couch cushion and one tugging onto Joel’s messy curls. His beard scratches the sensitive skin of your pussy as you grind your hips into his mouth, desperate for release. 

 You see stars while he expertly alternates between flicking his tongue and sucking on your clit. He’s keeping a steady rhythm, on the slower side, taking his time pleasuring you. He’s enjoying this.

Obscene sounds fill the room; Joel devouring your pussy like it’s the Last Supper and your chorus of moans and expletives. 

“Fuck, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop!”

“Shitshitshit–”

“Joelllll-” 

He picks up the pace, your fingers cramping from their deathgrip on the couch. You feel your peak approaching - sweat beading on your forehead, chest heaving, head thrown back in ecstasy. 

Joel senses your approaching release and pushes one of his thick, dexterous fingers into your weeping hole. 

He reaches for your hand that’s tangled in his hair and intertwines your fingers with his, resting your connected hands on your inner thigh. It’s overwhelming; the intimacy of your interlocked fingers paired with the filthy onslaught of his mouth. 

He speeds up as he adds another finger, hitting the spot that no one except you has reached before. You never knew it could feel this amazing. You thought you were doomed to a life of bad sex. 

Apparently, you just needed Joel to show you differently. And you are so glad he proved you wrong. 

Joel hooks his fingers inside you bringing you closer and closer to that peak you’ve been dying to reach. You’re squeezing his fingers, both the ones inside you and the ones interlaced with yours. 

“Joel I-I’m close,” you manage to choke out, mind foggy from the intense pleasure. 

He sucks on your clit, hard and you’re coming, entering a euphoric plane of existence. You’re floating, body trembling, coming harder than you’ve ever come before. 

Joel slows his fingers and removes his mouth from your pussy, beard glistening with your release, gently bringing you back to reality. He keeps your fingers locked with his, grounding you in the present.

The orgasmic fog clears from your brain, regaining awareness of your surroundings when you feel how drenched your lower half is. Like, really drenched. You lift your head from the armrest and look down and you’re appalled by the scene. 

You fucking squirted. Everywhere. 

On yourself, on the couch, on Joel. His beard is soaked completely, to the point it’s dripping down his chin. He’s just as stunned as you are. 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, fuck I-” you’re scrambling to get off the couch and Joel grabs your arm, stopping you in your tracks. 

“What’re you sorry for? That was so fuckin’ hot, sweetheart.” 

“I-I didn’t know I could do that…”

“Oh yeah? First time ever squirtin’?

“Yeah, the first time anyone else has made me come… like, ever.” 

His gaze goes dark. 

You get the feeling that he’s just getting started with you. 

And just like your cookies, he’d never have enough. 

THE END

[smuttysabina]

Poki Pops your Cherry

(Pokimane x Male Reader, 2000 words) Tags: First time sex, blindfolded sex, blowjob, creampie, extremely thick asses, wide breedable hips.

Poki welcomes you into her room with a knowing smile, her soft hands confidently pulling you towards the bed. Your heart hammers in your chest, you cannot believe that this is really happening, that Pokimane is actually going to take your virginity... Noticing your nervousness, she soothes you, everyone is jittery when they first meet up, even her! She gently guides you onto the edge of the mattress, still holding you hands is she earnestly squeezes them, "Just relax okay? This will be fun I promise, but you've got to chill a little bit. That's it, deep breaths, in and out, in and out... there you go. Now its nice to meet you, as you know my name is Pokimane, and yeah, we're going to be having sex! Its always awkward during this first part, but it will get better I promise. Okay so tell me about yourself... oh- oh! Wait this is going to be your first time? Oooooh I'm so excited! I love teaching guys how to fuck, this is going to be so fuuuuun. First things first, strip for me, I gotta see what I'm working with!"

With Poki urging you on, you shyly strip off your clothes while she watches approvingly from the bed, her legs crossed elegantly. She nods in satisfaction, as she takes in the whole picture, she's glad you're decently cute. She doesn't really mind looks that much, but she does place a premium on being clean and well trimmed; so good job, you wont have to use her shower before proceeding. In one fluid motion, Poki is off the bed and hugging you tight, even through her dress you can feel her warmth. She leans up to give you the faintest of kisses, before producing a long scarlet clothe. She instructs you to memorize her face, because for this next bit you're going to be blindfolded. You see, Poki has this problem where guys just get so excited seeing her naked that they simply ejaculate prematurely; often without her even touching them. So she wants to make sure you can last long enough to enjoy your first time properly; and she has so much to teach you as well... So your last sight before everything goes red is Poki's face, comfortingly smiling as she wraps the cloth around your eyes. Taking you by the hand once more, she pulls you forward to the bed, laying you down against some pillows. You hear Poki stripping, the rasp of silk as it slithers to the ground, the soft clatter as she kicks her shoes off, the creak of the bed as she clambers onto it, and she begins to explain how this is going to happen,

"So here's what we're going to do, before we can fuck, I'm going to have to teach you how to fuck. Give me your hands- And to do that, I need to teach you how to please a woman, there is so much more to it than just sticking it in. Okay story time, the first few times I've done this, guys would just have me bend over, they'd stick it in, and then just cum. It was so, unsatisfying, both for me and the guy! Like congrats dude, you just had your 10 seconds of pleasure, now do you want to like just chat or something? It was so bad... so now instead, I set the pace, and I make sure that you guys know how to be with a girl. So I'm tying your hands up, because I want you to learn about my body, and not just go crazy and start squeezing everything alright? So the first thing to remember, is touch..."

Poki presses her nude body onto yours, and your bare flesh squishes together, as she slides against you. You feel two pillows of softness settle onto your chest, molding with your skin, sticking slightly as she settles in. And she stays like that for a little while, attuning her breathing your own, idly caressing for a time before subsiding; allowing you to grow comfortable with your novel situation. Poki's hot breath caresses your neck as she slowly approaches your ear, you shudder as she murmurs in it, "Next, you gotta know how to kiss properly, girls love to get kissed... And guys too..." With that Poki's gently plants kisses along your neck and up your cheek until her soft lips find your own. She keeps them tightly pursed, making sure that you fully appreciate the feeling of her lips before bring your tongues into the equation. So when she does deepen the kisses, your tongue eagerly seeks out the warmth of her mouth; you both tilting your heads to enjoy it. Poki sucks upon your tongue, gently applying suction to it as you moan into her mouth. She guides your tongue in how to wrestle properly, deliberately forcing you to take your time and enjoy yourself.

When Poki is satisfied, you are both panting slightly, and you can tell from the lascivious way that she drags her breasts up towards your face that you're doing well. She playfully nuzzles your face between her breasts, the squishy flesh sticking your cheeks as their warmth suffuses you. Then, with an unseen smile, she tells you to open your mouth, and you readily comply. Something soft and rough, mounted upon the oily flesh you are fast growing accustomed to, enters your mouth; and you enthusiastically slurp upon it. Poki lets out a squawk, whacking your head in disapproval, "Hey! You have to be gentle with them, nipples are super sensitive okay? Now start on outside and work your way in... uh huh that's it, spiral in slowly... you have to tease it to make it really pop, then you can give it that 'good sucky sucky' lol" Poki sighs as her nipple hardens and grows larger in your mouth, allowing you to play with it to your heart's content. Only then does she let her now swollen nipple to pop out of your mouth, before quickly feeding you the other one. All the while, her hand occasionally finds its way down to your crotch, idly tracing along your shaft to make sure it hasn't prematurely spent itself.

Abruptly, Poki detaches you from her now flushed nipple, tenderly ending your suckling session; your mouth has more important things to do... You feel her stand up, shifting her weight to either side of you as she holds your head steady. You smell something unfamiliar, salty and sharp, that makes your blood pound through your veins, your neurons firing with thrilled anticipation. Your body knows what is coming, even if you do not. Poki purrs down from above you, "You had better be careful with this, okay? Now take your time, and just feeeeel it out, I'll tell you what to do when you're ready..." With that, something warm and fishy is pressed against your lips, and at her urging you taste her. Her pussy is a soft slit, crowned with hooded nub, and beneath... a wet hole awaits. Your tongue explores every inch of it, spreading her lips, wriggling your tongue into her sex, licking at her clit. Poki endures your amateur attentions for some time, before teaching you how to please her in particular properly. She tells you exactly how she likes it, making you focus on her clit, doing circular motions with your tongue and sucking upon it gently. Eventually though, she removes your head from its place between her thick, sweaty thighs; strands of saliva still connecting you to her mound. Evidently you did a good enough job that she is moving on to her next.. task for you. And there is very little you haven't done yet...

"You did pretty good, but what's important is that I'm now wet enough for penetration. Oh... I can tell you're getting excited now! Hey, hey, just chill, sit back, and relax. Let me do all the work, I just want you to enjoy how it feels got it? I would let you watch but... yeah no I want you to cum in me for your first time, not all over my thighs." Poki crouches upon you, her breasts grazing your chest as her hand firmly holds your manhood upright. Your tip senses her warmth, straining upwards, mindlessly seeking to unload your seed. A soft breath kisses your ear, "Ready to get your cherry popped...?" You nod frantically, as Poki slowly sits on your dick. The first thing in is your head, engulfed in warmth, the tightness of her entrance noticeable just beneath it. Then she goes lower, languidly taking your entire length until your twitches can be felt in her belly. Poki's folds lightly massage your cock, far different from the hard clenching that masturbation bestows. Then she is moving, and your brain turns to mush. Poki's pussy slides up and down you, the sensation and hotness of being inside her is intoxicating; no wonder so many of your predecessors finished so quickly... The mere thought of the inevitable finale of your sex sends your balls surging upwards, throbbing with ecstasy. Poki adjusts the pace of her bouncing, accommodating your growing climax with deep, long movements. Just as you reach the edge of no return, your blindfold is suddenly removed; making you blink as your eyes drink in the wonderful sight before you. Poki beams in pride, her heavy breasts flush from your affection, her wide shapely hips, and between them... the faint implication of a bush leading down to the point of your joining; where your cock is buried inside of Pokimane.

With primal groan you empty yourself into Poki, thick ropes of your cum spewing into her, coating her pussy with your potent seed. Who rides out your climax with a smile, her thick thighs methodically pumping herself atop you until you are full drained. Poki slowly unmounts you, until you cock flops out onto your chest, glistening with your shared sexual fluids. A wet slick of semen soon follows it, splattering down onto your twitching shaft; evidence of the massive quantities you filled her with. With the faintest look of embarrassment, Poki scoots herself backwards to clean the mess of off your still sensitive cock; her attentions resulting in another round of piteous moans. When she is finished, she moves back up onto you, reaching behind you to free your hands at last. She cuddles against you, lazily inviting you to explore her body with your hands while she chatters in the afterglow of sex, "Mmmmm that was nice, wasn't it? Fuck, dude you came so much in me, it lasted so long I thought you were having a seizure or something! Hey! What did I tell you about handling a girl's body with care? That's right mister, be gentle... oh and like, don't be rough with my pussy, most girls are pretty tender after sex... Mhmm just savor the moment, this is the best part after all... cuddling together, enjoying each others' company, enjoying each other's bodies... Oh, woah you really must have saved up for this, you're getting hard again already? Gotta love it when their young... How about this time, I let you do all the work, okay?"

With that she seductively untangles herself from your embrace, crawling down the bed a bit, her butt now on full display. Her massive cheeks frame the hollow in which her entrance resides, supported by her majestically rounded thighs. Poki turns back to look it you with flirtatious amusement, she spreads one cheek wide, revealing her slick, swollen pussy for your pleasure. She leans downwards, arching her back with erotic intent, wordlessly urging you to make love to her once more. Poki knows how much guys love mounting her fat ass from behind, so what are you waiting for?

Get over there and fuck Pokimane until your balls are dry!

[redisveryyummy]

Late night modern hotd music headcanons :D

Rheanyra loves Beyonce so fucking much dude

She feels like she would have one playlist and it's just called boss bitch or something

Reputation is the only Taylor Swift album she constantly listens to and evermore but we won't talk about that

Former theater kid, if you disagree argue with the wall

I am a strong believer that she is a fan of musicals/romcoms and her and her boys have a movie night where they watch their favorites and sing every song word for word

(Daemon does not participate)

ESPECIALLY MAMMA MIA

Rheanyra singing "Slipping Through My Fingers" to Jace and/or Luke has me sobbing my eyes out dude

Jace, Luke, and Joffery singing "Honey Honey" omg

JACE AND (INSERT S/O OF YOUR CHOICE PROBABLY CREGAN) SINGING "LAY YOUR LOVE ON ME" TO EACH OTHER AGHSBSUDBHD

Daemon listens to dad rock and dubstep exclusively, nothing else

Bro is literally the cbat guy

Daemon is really the kind of guy that would be like "there's this band but you probably wouldn't know it because it's so underground" and it's literally Weezer

Alicent loves her yearning music

Phoebe Bridgers, Frankie Cosmos, Laufey, Mitski, Conan Gray

Two words. BOY. GENIUS.

Her and Rheanyra have TOTALLY gone to many boy genius concerts together

folklore folklore folklore

Aegon 😐😑😐

Cbat guy 2.0

Listens to WAY to much house music

No real music taste

Whatever is on the radio, but like the radio in 2016 you know?? Or like late 2000's

1989 (Taylor's Version) he's not a monster lol

Usher (that's the only person I can think of rn lol)

Aemond only listens to classical music or weird experimental jazz because he thinks it makes him different

Activity hates on Taylor Swift for all the wrong reasons

Secretly likes her a little and is way too excited for The Tortured Poets Department

Helaena is so whimsical I love her sm <3

Very much into indie stuff with down to earth vibes

Hozier, The Crane Wives, Noah Kahn, Everybody's Worried About Owen, Bears in Trees, Maya Hawk

"Why Am I Like This" by Orla Gartland...iykyk

Jacaerys Velaryon is an Arianna Grande FAN I don't make the rules

Him, Beala, and Rheana definitely have little dance parties whenever they come over

Loves Ari and Brittany

Also enjoys country music

He gets it from his daddy 🥰

Taylor Swifts Self Title is his everything

LUCERYS VELARYON IS A THEATER KID I REPEAT LUCERYS VELARYON IS A THEATER KID

It's all his mom's fault

His playlists are all just musical soundtracks

Little Shop of Horrors, Heathers, The Falsettos, RIDE THE CYCLONE, BE MORE CHILL, Dear Evan Hansen, Hamilton

Same with the Hazbin Hotel soundtrack y'all don't even know

Luke loves "Hell is Forever"

Also bro has a HORRIBLE singing voice

Anyway I will probably have more tomorrow but that is what I got for tonight :))

[seaofreverie]

Sparkstember Day 18: Balls (Bullet Train)

Sometimes (oftentimes) it's true that all you need are Balls. I personally absolutely love Balls. I'm a big fan! Ekhem. Today I'm using the help of (I mean, copying most of the passages from it) my earlier Balls rant that I have written down after my first listen of it back in January. I really love this album and I don't want to completely skip over saying a couple words on it at least but I really don't think I have the headspace to write anything very good for it today. I'll still try though!

So yeah, Balls. It's a great album, fun and chill (in my sense of what I call and consider chill anyway), consistent, as Sparks albums tend to be, and as I suspected / hoped it does fit this specific vibe of driving around at night somewhere city-like and illuminated. Or being on a train deep at night and looking at the world zooming by (if you'd even see much of it on a train at night anyway.....). And I do think that it's not so dissimilar to Gratsax (I'd say now that it's definitely darker and moodier than its predecessor...). So it's interesting to think about how it's considered to be one of the "weak" ones (by music reviewers at least) while Gratsax is so beloved in comparision.

I will admit, I don't really know what the big problem with this album could be. As I said, it's fun, it has the melodies, it has the energy, it has the theatricality (I like seeing how more and more orchestral instruments such as strings are being incorporated into the music, in a way the jump into Lil' Beethoven two years later doesn't come of as THAT much of a shock because of this. The evolution of sound here is fascinating!) I really like the intense beats, just as much as the more laid-back and moodier pieces. And there's lots of gold to be found in the lyrics department as always.

One more thing I wanna say is that at some point I wondered if this music sounds older than it is. Maybe it does? But then I remembered that this was 2000 and honestly when I think about it, there just IS something about this album that fits so well with the Y2K image and vibe and all. Sparks 2000 and all that.

Favourite songs (and other highlights):

Balls: I mean. It's Balls.

Scheherazade: absolutely LOVE this one and I had the strangest impression of it sounding very familiar when I first heard it. Months later I found out that it was just briefly featured in TSB so I think that explains it (I will talk more about my TSB viewings on TSB day. EVERYTHING has to be explained in excruciating detail, lmao)

The Calm Before The Storm: bugsonas 4ever. Song itself is amazing too

How To Get Your Ass Kicked: how can a song about getting your ass kicked be so pleasant and relaxing, it always keeps cracking me up, how perfect that is actually

Bullet Train: I love it how introducing the topic of the song with a "It's the [topic of the song]" is a reoccurring theme on this album. Thank you Sparks for this ode to technology and art (these lyrics always have me giggling). And also it just goes hard as heck

It's Educational: a perfect fusion of / sequel to I Thought I Told You To Wait In The Car and Progress (it's mostly the vocal delivery that reminds me of the latter)

The Angels: such an odd one here but I still like it a lot, I apparently said that it sounds "surprisingly mainstream for Sparks but somehow in a positive way". It's very sweet and I absolutely love how Russell sings here, it's so different from what we're used to but that only makes it hit you even more in the feels, lol. And I actually prefer the alternative version of this song that's featured as a bonus track, and I do think that's in big part because you can hear Russell better on it (or that was my first impression of it at least and it kind of stuck)

[lowkeyrobin]

Haiii! Would you be willing to write mcyt x reader and how theyd help you unwind after a long and stressful day with either slimecicle, ranboo or nihachu :3?

ooooo okay okay 🫶🫶🫶 kinda did all three so... oops! ; also super short bc I had no ideas lmfao

MCYT ; unwind

includes ; ranboo, nihachu, & slimecicle

warnings ; language

masterlist

RANBOO

immediately brings your favorite/comfort foods, doesn't matter how expensive or intricate

wraps you up in a bunch of blankets and gets your comfort movie/show playing

they let you bask in silence and gather your thoughts and let you talk when you want to

lots of hugs and reassuring you

sneaks away to hide positive little sticky notes around places you'd be around once you got up, like the bathroom, around your room, and your office

if it's regarding people he'll gladly shit talk them to make you feel better

and make sure you feel much more worthy than them because you are

when you're feeling a bit better and more energized, you have a little dance party in the living room

spotify on the TV, hardwood floor and socks, and white girl anthems of the 2000s

NIKI NIHACHU

will do anything to physically comfort you cause you seem so miserable

even if it's just cuddling quietly on the couch and chilling out

lots of reassuring you that you're amazing and whatever happened isn't your fault and that everyone has bad days and it's okay

tons of compliments while you're laying in her arms and she's just reassuring you with her words

so poetic bro

you fall asleep in her grasp and she just cradles you and fidgets with your fingers

next morning she makes you breakfast and wakes you up with lots of warm hugs

again, if its dealing with people, she'll gladly hype you up 🫶🫶

CHARLIE SLIMECICLE

instantly pummels you into a hug, he's like telepathic when it comes to your emotions

brings you a bunch of blankets and comfort food

plays one sided charades with you to try and make you laugh

lots of reassuring and comfort

you guys talk about people like full on girl gossip

"She needs to get her shit together"

"I know right!"

lots of cuddles and hiding under blankets

you show him one of your comfort movies and rant to him all about it

he's head over heels in a best friend type of way yk

[a-crochet-spider]

Matthew Patel headcanons but I'm vaguely mean about it

I really do love him you guys I swear the brainrot is real

• Talks in all caps all the time. He does not know what the word chill means and he never intends to learn.

• Very expressive, especially with body language. Has hit people in the face because of his gesturing and doesn’t apologize.

• As he is a very intense person, his feelings towards people are also very intense, so he is either completely enamored with someone or hates their guts, no in between.

• Sure, he’s super over the top most of the time, but privately he’s the most pathetic sopping wet cat of a man you’ll ever have the (dis)pleasure of meeting.

• His music taste is evenly divided between musicals and 2000s emo music (it was not just a phase and he didn’t grow out of it). He also won't listen to anything else no matter how hard you try to make him.

• He likes Mindless Self Indulgence a lot

• He either dresses in suits or like a homeless teenager. Again, no in between.

• He knows how to knit but if you ever walk in on him doing it he will yell at you to leave (and maybe apologize later for yelling if he likes you).

• Feral bisexual, obviously.

• He’s a trophy husband for sure. He hated being a CEO, he hates working, he just wants to either put on his silly little musicals or stay home.

• He puts so much product in his hair to keep it the specific way he likes it. During the day it’s very crunchy.

• On the topic of personal hygiene, he is extremely on top of taking care himself. It takes him an hour to get ready to go anywhere. His eyeliner is put on with unbelievable care. He picks out most of his outfits with a very specific ideal in mind. He probably has a skin care routine.

• He probably smells nice too. He uses a normal cologne, but it’s probably wildly overpriced and smells really good.

• Quality time is his love language.

• He’s obviously extremely confident in himself but specifically when he knows he’s in charge. If there’s any doubt he will trip tf up.

• Probably knows how to cook. He can and will brag about this.

• Has had a Tumblr blog since middle school where he posts all of his theatre kid brainrot. Nobody knows about this except Ramona, who has graciously not told anyone yet.

• The LIGHTEST sleeper ever. The tiniest thing will wake him up. If you slightly nudge him while he’s asleep he wake up instantly.

• Only likes touch from specific people or if he initiates it first. Anything else results in someone getting physically injured.

• He is incapable of sitting like a normal person. He just bends himself in so many weird ways that he’ll end up taking up the whole sofa if he isn’t stopped.

[cowboysandpilots]

Meetings and Morals (Marvey)

Warnings: Adult Language

Pairings: Harvey/Mike

Word Count: 2000

Hi, @fleuroqium here is your Marvey blurb. :) I’m so sorry this took me absolutely AGES. I really apologize, I hadn’t watched Suits in a hot minute, and I wanted to get back into it so I could write this the best I possibly could, but hey, this made it up to 2k words, so I hope it was worth the wait. ❤️

Nothing between Harvey and Mike had ever been ordinary. Even their first meeting was the strangest way they could have met. So, it stands to reason that the way romance started seeping into their partnership would be anything but ordinary and just like their first meeting, it was fast. It took Harvey only about 5 minutes to know he wanted to hire Mike, and it took him even less than that to know he was in love with him. 

The first time that Harvey noticed his feelings start to change for Mike was the moment that Mike finally decided to grow some balls and stand up to him. If it were anyone else, Harvey would've taken it as a sign of disrespect, but because it was Mike, he took it as a sign that the kid was actually listening to him and coming into his own as a lawyer that wouldn't back down. It made Harvey feel something he doesn't think he's ever felt before, butterflies. 

“You told me to fix my case; why don't you fix yours?” That's what Mike had said to him, and it had been playing over and over in Harvey’s brain for weeks. There was a bass to Mike’s voice that Harvey had never heard before, and it sent a chill up his spine.

The next time that Harvey felt those butterflies again was after a long and challenging case they had been working on. Neither of them had slept more than a couple of hours in days, and Harvey could tell that Mike was crashing. They were in Harvey’s town car, and to his credit, Mike was trying exceptionally hard to keep his eyes open. He was also leaning heavily against Harvey’s shoulder, not that Harvey minded. However, he did have to keep up appearances, so he kept shifting against Mike every few minutes, making him lift his body again, giving space between them. He couldn't let Mike think that things like this were okay, even if maybe he didn't mind it. 

“Now is not the time to sleep, rookie. You're a grown man; you should be able to wait until you get to that hole you call an apartment.” Harvey chuckles softly. 

“Leave me alone, Harvey,” Mike mumbles lowly. “I haven't slept in so long; I need this.”

Harvey couldn't get over how good Mike’s voice sounded when he was half asleep like this. As much as they had spent time together, Harvey doesn't think he’s ever heard it like this before. It was like Mike had all his walls down, he was wholly unguarded, and Harvey loved it. Mike always had walls up, considering everything that he was hiding. 

There was one more thing that Mike was hiding, something he hadn’t even told Harvey. Mike was gay. He was worried that it would change things between him and Harvey. Things had already changed between him and Trevor. He thought that Trevor was someone he could trust. They were best friends. However, when he told Trevor about his sexual orientation, Trevor had started to close himself off from Mike. It started off with little things like not inviting him to the parties that he threw. Then, he started spending more and more time over at his girlfriend, Jenny’s, house. It didn’t seem that weird at the time; Trevor was in love with Jenny; of course, he would want to spend as much time as he could with her. It made sense; however, Jenny let him know; a few weeks later, she had told him that Trevor had only started staying with her so much because he was uncomfortable around him. Mike didn't understand it at first; they were best friends. Nothing had changed between them except… Mike had come out to him. Fuck.

Mike knows that Harvey is no Trevor. In fact, he’s exponentially better than Trevor, but that doesn’t mean coming out won’t have the same outcome. Harvey had never given Mike any reason to think that he wouldn't be okay with it, but he had never given him a reason to believe that he would be either. Mike could've gone to Donna for that kind of information, but he had no guarantee that the act of him asking the questions wouldn't get back to Harvey, and that was the last thing he needed. He couldn't tell anyone. Other than his Grandma, of course. 

It doesn't take long for them to get back to Mike’s apartment, but he wishes he didn't have to leave Harvey, wants to invite him up, wishes he could, but he won’t. It would be inappropriate, and Mike just has to keep reminding himself of that. He opens up his door and gives Harvey a nonchalant goodbye before heading up to his apartment, his empty apartment. “Doesn't matter,” he tells himself; he’ll see Harvey tomorrow anyway.

Harvey had Ray drive him back to his apartment; as soon as he knows, Mike made it safely into the door. It’s a bad neighbourhood; you can never be too careful, right? When he finally makes it back to his apartment, he does nothing except get his suit off and climb into bed. He barely has time to think about anything before he’s drifting off.

It felt like only two seconds before Mike's alarm was going off again. In reality, it was at least four hours, only half of what the body actually needs, but not bad for two high-profile lawyers. He drags himself into the shower and leaves his slept-in suit strewn all over the bathroom floor. Once out of the shower, Mike picks out a new suit and decides that the one good thing he did while in the middle of the fallout with Trevor was take all of his fancy suits. He gets it on as quickly as he can and peddles through the city, narrowly missing a few cars on the busy streets before he gets to Pearson Hardman. When he makes his way to Donna’s desk because he still needs permission to enter Harvey’s office even after all they’ve been through, he notices that Harvey is nowhere to be seen. “What? I made it here before Harvey?” He grins, but Donna doesn’t even look up. 

“Wrong.” She answers immediately, making Mike’s grin disappear. “Harvey is in a meeting with Jessica this morning.”

That makes Mike’s eyebrows crease together, and it takes him a moment to talk again. “He didn’t tell me about that.”

“I forgot; you’re in charge of Harvey’s schedule. Oh no, wait, that’s me.” Donna finally looks up to smirk cheekily at Mike. 

Mike can’t think of what to say to that because she is right, and her smirk scares him, so he figures he’ll just come back when he catches a glimpse of Harvey.

***

When Harvey got to work this morning, he didn’t expect to be called into Jessica’s office, and he had half a mind to tear Donna a new one for forgetting to tell him about this. His faith in her was restored when Jessica made it known that this was a more impromptu thing. She offers him a seat which makes him uneasy, her smile, even more. 

“So, you’re in love with Mike.” She starts, just dropping that bomb right away. 

Harvey is taken aback, but he keeps his face neutral; being a lawyer has helped with that. “What makes you say that?”

Jessica only gives a humourless chuckle and shakes her head. “I’m not an idiot, Harvey, don’t treat me like one.” She offers no other explanation, but Harvey has known her long enough to know that he can’t charm his way out of this one, and if she’s asking, it’s because she already knows and has the evidence to back it up. “I was here late last night. I saw you give him a ride home, and I saw the way you looked at him when he was getting into your town car and not looking back. 

There’s the evidence. 

Harvey opens his mouth, about to plead his case, when Jessica holds up her hand and cuts him off. “But!” She starts. “I also saw how he looked at you while you were talking to Ray.” For the first time, she cracks a smile. 

This time, Harvey doesn’t hold back his surprise. “He did? How?” He knows he’s giving Jessica far too much leverage right now, but he was caught off guard. 

Jessica’s smile doesn’t leave, but it doesn’t get any bigger. This is a business meeting, after all, and the walls are made of glass, and she doesn’t answer him. “I’m not one to encourage workplace relationships. In fact, I think I actively discourage it, and I feel you have already put us in the fire with everything else you’ve done when it comes to the kid.” She levels him with a look, and once again, Harvey opens his mouth to defend himself. “I also know…” Jessica cuts in. “That telling you not to do something will only make you want to do it more, so I say, tell the kid how you feel.”

Harvey, whose mouth has been open through that entire speech, only now closes it and stands up. He wants to get out of here before Jessica changes her mind, so he gives her a nod and a “Thank you” before he rebuttons his suit jacket and makes his way back to his office, but not before stopping off at Mike’s cubicle. “My office. Now.”

Mike knows that tone; either he’s done something wrong, or the firm is in trouble, and it’s up to him and Harvey to save it. Neither of which he really wants to be on the hook for when his head isn’t into it 100%. He straightens up and quickly follows Harvey into his office. “What’s going on? What did Jessica want? Was it bad? It was bad, right?” He rambles, nervous. 

At this moment, listening to Mike ramble and freak out, he wonders why he even likes the younger man. He really causes nothing but trouble, though it is very endearing. He lets Mike pace back and forth for a few more minutes while Harvey just sits at his desk and smiles at him. That’s what gives him away. 

Mike stops, turning to Harvey for answers when he’s finally stopped talking, but all he’s met with is the dopey smile that confuses him. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

God, Harvey hopes he isn’t wrong about this, that Jessica didn’t read too much into a look and steer him in the wrong direction. “This isn’t about Jessica; this is about you.” Arguably not a good way to start this conversation because the horrified look is back on Mike’s face, and Harvey has regrets. 

“Oh god, someone found out I didn’t go to Harvard, didn’t they?” He breathes, rubbing a hand over his face. “Who was it? Am I gonna go to jail?” Mike is spiralling again. 

“No, no. Relax, Rookie. Nothing like that. This isn’t even about work or Jessica.” It was kind of about Jessica, but Mike didn’t need to know that. 

Mike’s face melded from horrified to shocked and confused. “You called me in here like that to talk to me about something not work-related?” He frowns. 

“Yeah, I have a reservation at Per Se tomorrow night. I’ve had this reservation for months, so don’t be late. Harvey is sure he’ll have to buy Donna a new, ridiculously expensive handbag for the inconvenience of an uninvitation, but he’s sure she’ll understand in the name of love. “And Mike?” He says, just before he kicks the man out. “It’s a five-star restaurant, so find a better tie, okay?” If Harvey is going to confess any sort of feelings, especially romantic ones, he’s going to do it in style, even if everything will make Mike roll his eyes. 

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 27: A Greater Woman Wouldn't Beg

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: You fight for your life as the paramedics take you to the hospital. The first time, you wake up without Michael but in the presence of your best friend. The second time, Sarah has accepted defeat.

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of injury, blood, mentions of violence, medical setting, flashback, descriptions of child abuse & abuse in general, fight or flight response, trauma triggers

Word Count: 5.5k

A/n: I was hoping to get this done sooner, but then I got sick and swamped by uni work, so I only now got it done. The next chapter will be Michael's POV of this. I wanted to make that a separate part, so I focused on Reader's POV for this one, and then you guys will figure out what Michael was really up when he didn't pick up.

Your hands are wet. Slippery. They smell like citrus and rosemary, a mixture of scents you have never quite enjoyed. Why would your blood smell like chicken seasoning, anyway? And why would it foam clearly in your hands, almost as though it was mostly water?

You look up with your eyebrows furrowed. The walls are anything but dark. Ivory wallpaper without accents; you swore you would never paint the walls of your home the same color. It is utterly tryst and boring for a house that has harbored many horrors in your lifetime. 

You’re standing before the sink, the dishes running through your hands like quicksand. And they’re so much smaller. Bruises litter your skin like a mosaic masterpiece. Purple and blue blend into green, which doesn’t make any sense; blue and green should not make purple, but the skin is somehow wired that way. 

All you remember is the creaking of your floorboards, Dublin eerily quiet outside as your heart beat up to your throat, and then the light went out and someone—a stranger who had not anticipated your arrival—attacked you. The shards from your favorite vase were a weapon of opportunity. It felt like someone was draining the air from your lungs with a rough cut. He sliced you open without a care. You tried calling Michael and screaming for him, but it was all a gurgle. And then, you remember, the world went dark.

The streets of London’s suburbs are quiet. You’re not supposed to be here. 

“This is wrong,” you murmur. “This is all wrong.”

Maybe you died and went to hell? Looking down at yourself, you don’t find any evidence of blood. Your skin remains undisturbed. The radio is playing an early 2000s ballad. You don’t remember hearing it in a while. A chill runs down your spine. 

The volume is just loud enough to tune out the screaming from the room across the hall. The snapping of leather that cuts through the air like a lightning bolt and does not care about the sound barrier has always been so deafening. Your bruises sting when you listen closely, and the music moves into the background as it had too many times back then. You could still hear everything. Every cry for help, every one of his disgusting words against her because she never did the dishes right. 

You should be washing the, going over it a million times until you can see your reflection in the porcelain, or you will be next. It’s then that the screaming stops. Your pulse spikes. The air in your lungs gets trapped by a thin rubber band. It’s straining, and your heart feels like it’s bleeding out. You can’t breathe. 

He calls your name. Your hands are still wet. Slippery. You can’t turn to the sink fast enough. 

Ever since you can remember, you have been looking for someone to blame other than yourself for the way he treated you. Your mother never even tried to protect you when he laid his hands on you, but you would hear her cries every night when he let whatever frustrations he had left out on her. Maya and Ellie were never planned, and it makes you sick to your stomach to think about it. There is a certain amount of guilt that comes with blaming someone who can’t be blamed because she, too, is only a victim. But she has never felt like a mother to you, to begin with; she has always resented you because, in a way, you will always remind her of him. She’s so deep in it, you could never pull her out. And maybe that is why, in your mind, you blame her for all the times he hurt you and she wasn’t there. But it wasn’t her fault.

Part of you wonders if she would be able to get better once he’s gone, but she has always refused to believe in him as the devil. Stockholm syndrome. He looks so innocent, but he holds a power your mother’s fragile mind has never been able to withstand, and unless she wants to leave him, you won’t be able to help her. 

But oh, it is so easy to blame someone other than your father—to blame everyone around you who only stood by and watched and continues to trust him blindly even now. 

You were never good enough because you dared to disagree, never living up to expectations. Maya hit the spot better than you ever could, and Ellie was just collateral damage. God, your heart burns. Everything about you is on fire. It has always been a game to him. If he can’t control and manipulate someone else, he will fall apart. And in trying to break the cycle, you inevitably put a target on everyone else’s back. 

The echo of the belt whipping through the air is forever tattooed on your brain. He calls your name from the hallway, and the floorboards creak like they did in your apartment. His steps are heavy, always landing with the back first to make the most noise. And he’s wearing those steel boots again he was issued for work. They hurt the most when they fracture your ribs. 

You grab the plate just as his face appears in the doorway. He’s distorted. Your mind refuses to let him in, knowing it will break you. The pictures caught him so clearly, but nothing does your memory justice. The way he used to look at you, as though he was dead inside. 

Your hands are so slippery though. The porcelain falls, and before you can catch it, it shatters. The pain tears through your side. Your lungs are sucking in air, but it isn’t to sustain them; they are falling apart. 

The soap turns crimson. Black holes start to dance in your vision. The air gets trapped in your skin, and soon enough, you’re falling again, through the wood and into the atmosphere. 

“She’s comin’ back,” a strange voice sounds through the endless void. 

You blink your eyes open against the harsh light trying to blind you. Blue and yellow and white. Hell looks a lot different than you expected. It doesn’t hurt though, it’s just heavy. A cloud settles over you, and this constant obnoxious beeping next to your ear pulls you out of the thick syrup you landed in. 

The smell of antiseptic fills your nose next, harsh and unforgiving. It’s not citrus and rosemary. You can’t hear his voice anymore, but you didn’t dry your hands. They’re still wet, not slippery but sticky now. And they’re so heavy, you can’t move them. The world around you morphs into a pit of oil instead. 

You try to move again, but your limbs feel like they’re encased in cement. Something is covering your face. Plastic. So much oxygen in your lungs, and they keep burning. Why is no one helping you? You’re breathing, and the air is so clear you might go into shock because no human is supposed to breathe air this clean, right? You don’t understand, and you don’t remember... 

“Easy, easy,” the same voice says softly. You can’t make out her face. “You gave us quite a scare. Your lung collapsed, but you’re gonna be okay.”

You try to lift the mask from your face, but a gentle hand stops you. “You’ve gotta keep that on, dear,” she tells you. And then the light gets brighter as she shines it directly into your eyes. “It’s best if you don’t try to talk. We’re almost at the hospital. Can you give me a nod yes if you remember what happened to ya?”

It’s your responsibility, you think. You try to nod your head, but it’s so heavy. 

“Alright, good girl. Do you remember your name?”

Again, you nod. 

“That’s good. Perfect. Pupils equal and reactive. Breath sounds equal. And the patient is responsive,” she says toward you, but you know it’s not directed at you. Right now, she’s just a blotch of light in a world full of darkness.

You still lift the mask from your mouth because if you’re responsive, you have to respond. “Mi—” you cut yourself off. Your tongue hurts. He didn’t pick up when you called. Why do you want to say his name when he seems to be done with you? 

Your lung collapsed and the first person you think of is him, but you don’t seem to be on his mind. And you can’t count on him. Not right now. Maybe not ever again, but that isn’t his fault. You walked out. If you die, at least he can’t blame himself. Or is it more of a question of when?

“Sarah,” you slur instead. Whatever pain medication they gave you, it’s working wonderfully; you’re as high as a kite. 

The strange voice asks, “Sarah?” 

She must think you’re not as lucid as she suspected. You shake your head, or maybe you’re nodding. “Call… Sarah,” you finally manage to say. And two words are better than none. 

“Sarah,” the paramedic repeats, nodding as if to assure you she understands. You can see the halo moving. “Okay. We’ll call Sarah for ya. Just try to relax.”

You let the mask fall back into place, too exhausted to protest further. They’re calling Sarah. Because you don’t have anyone else. A pain spreads through your chest, but it is nowhere physical. It spreads through your soul like wildfire, and even through the fog, you can feel the tear slipping from your eye and down your cheek. The salt burns in the cut on your lip. 

The angel is right there with you. As your vision becomes clearer, your body seems to thaw. You grunt. “Looks like you’re in pain,” she says. “I’ll give two more milligrams of morphine.”

Morphine. That’s what it is. Before the pain in your side can come back with a vengeance, it is stopped by the delicious liquid she administers to your infusion. The world grows instantly fuzzier again. 

The ambulance rocks gently as it speeds towards the hospital, at least that is where you are starting to suspect you are, and the world outside the windows blurs into streaks of light. Hypnotizing streaks of light. Your eyes roll back into your skull. 

The darkness engulfs you. You’re floating in a black sea full of nothing. The tide carries you for miles and miles and then some. You flail around helplessly until you eventually decide to give up. It’s of no use anyway. You float for a while, carried for an eternity more until the rushing of the ocean turns into the unmistakable sound of your own heart. 

The first real thing you feel is a dull ache in your skull. Your nerve endings are desperately tearing at each other. The beeping gets louder, accompanied by a throbbing in your ribcage. It’s not your heart; the pain tears through your skin and the muscles below, and every time you try to take a conscious breath, you’re inhaling toxic smoke. 

You open your eyes. The light is less bright here. It’s blurry, at first, but the world slowly comes to life again. You’re sore all over, but as far as you can tell, you’re alive and no longer high on opioids. How long have you been out? It must have been hours.

And then it hits you again—what happened. The intruder, the missing file, the broken vase, and his hands all over you. Your neck still aches. You can feel his fingers trying to squeeze the life out of you, but you wouldn’t budge. You remember contemplating how to take your life when you were just a child, but tonight, you chose to fight back. And it landed you here. 

You have been in worse pain. The feeling of waking up alone has therefore become more than familiar over the years. Just you and the beeping monitors. You wonder if they can show a broken heart. 

Lifting your tired arm, you reach for the cannulas in your nose. You can breathe fine; you don’t need them. You don’t even need to be here. 

“Hey, don’t…” The blur turns into a person. You can’t quite believe your eyes.

Sarah crosses the room and stops your eager fingers in their tracks, and upon looking at her worry-stricken face you realize that you did not just wake up alone; they called her, after all. Like you asked them to. And you’re not alone. 

The monitor picks up speed. “Sarah,” you whisper. 

“It’s me,” she says. “You’re okay. You’re at the hospital, but you’re okay.” From the sound of her voice, you can tell she’s been crying. Sarah never cries.

You smack your lips. “Uh, what… what happened?”

You know what happened, but you can’t see it. You can’t close your eyes and pull up a visual of the events because every time you do, you see nothing but darkness. Your memory isn’t working the way it should—nothing is. 

She wipes her cheeks. Vulnerability seeps out of her pores like body odor. The pity in her eyes turns into knives to your chest. “Someone broke into your flat and… they attacked you,” she says. Her voice still has a certain edge to it. “Your lung collapsed, but they managed to put a needle in there and now you’re all better. You didn’t even need surgery, just a blood transfusion. I actually donated while I was waiting ‘cause it was killin’ me that it took them so long to fix you up.”

The needle would explain the pain in your lungs. You reach for her hand.

“When they called, I thought… God, I thought you were dead. I was so worried about you.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

“What were you thinking?” There it is, the anger. “You should’ve called the police.”

“I know, but I wasn’t… I wasn’t thinking.”

Sarah raises her voice, “I almost lost you tonight!” 

The echo drills into your ears. You flinch. The guilt hadn’t already been eating you alive, it certainly would start now. The burning behind your eyes returns, and this time, you don’t stand a chance. You try to blink them away, but it’s futile. 

“I know, and I’m… I didn’t mean to do this to you.” You swallow. 

“Does this have anything to do with Michael? Did he get you into this? ‘Cause if he did, I’m gonna kill that bastard.”

“No!” You try to sit up, but the sudden movement tears at the stitches in your side. Every nerve under your skin protests. You stretch, and it burns. With a grunt, you fall back against the mattress. “No,” you repeat. “He didn’t…” 

This is what you were worried about. It crossed your mind before it happened that the person in your apartment might have been hired by the Kinsellas to steal the valuable information you collected; it was the only thing you had to fuel your agenda, and someone took it. You didn’t tell anyone but Michael, so it would make sense that his family had something to do with it, but after talking to Jimmy, you seriously doubt it. You almost died. If they wanted you dead, you would be dead. It’s a terrifyingly sober thought, but it’s the truth. 

But if the Kinsellas aren’t behind it, someone else must have found out. Someone from your past, perhaps. And how do you tell the police that someone broke into your apartment not to steal money but to steal a mere paper file?

Sarah sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed. “The police are going to want to talk to you,” she says, expertly changing the subject. “They said nothing seems to have been stolen, but they need your confirmation, and they’re hoping you can identify the man who did this to you.”

Again, you shake your head. “I didn’t see his face,” you admit.

“I figured, but I think they need to know who you’ve been associating yourself with.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Who I’ve been–” you grunt again when you move against the clear protest of your wound. “Who’s side are you on?” you ask her. 

She looks so guilty, afraid to even meet your eyes. 

“Michael’s family has nothing to do with this. Don’t ask me how I know, I just… I just know.”

“Then where is he, huh?” Her voice takes on a slightly accusatory tone. You’re not sure if it’s directed at you or Michael, but you’re not in the mood to have this conversation. 

You shake your head. The lump in your throat is stuck. You can’t speak. 

Sarah utters your name, but it only sets fire to the gasoline. “You almost died and Michael isn’t here,” she says. “Who knows, maybe it was him? You can’t know if you didn’t see his face! I mean, why are you protecting him and his family when he couldn’t even be bothered to be here?”

It hurts to hear her say that. It hurts to even imagine that scenario to be true. You know it isn’t, but she believes it, and that breaks your already shattered heart beyond repair.

“I’m not,” you choke out. “He has nothing to do with this. I…” You find yourself unable to speak, too caught up in the pain that spreads through your body and your soul. 

You can see his face when you close your eyes, and God, you miss him. 

“Then where is he?” she asks again. It’s almost as though she believes she has the whole thing figured out just because she was so worried about you. But she doesn’t. 

You grit your teeth. A tear makes its salty path south. “We broke up!” you snap, your voice echoing across the room like a sharp arrow penetrating the sound barrier. “We had a fight and then I left, and that’s probably why he didn’t pick up because he was just as hurt as me, but–” You have to cut yourself off to catch a strangled breath. Your lungs barely have the same capacity they had before. 

Sarah’s jaw slacks at the revelation. The words take a second to sink in, but when they do, it dawns on her like a gigantic shadow. Instead of an ‘I told you so’, she exhales shakily, “Oh.” Nothing else seems to come to her mind at that moment. 

Your heart drums against your ribcage. You inhale, sitting further up to ease the pressure on your wound and calm your racing pulse that is starting to upset the monitor beside your bed. 

Another pained groan passes your lips. “My gut is telling me his family isn’t behind this because whoever broke into my apartment was an idiot, and the Kinsellas are not,” you tell her. “You want to blame Michael for not being here? Fine! But he would never hurt me. Don’t… don’t say that.”

You begin to see it again; the blood on the dark floorboards transferring to your phone as you tried to dial his number with the last of your strength, but he didn’t pick up. He was the only person you could think of when you thought you were going to die, and he wasn’t there. He didn’t even come.

Finally, the lump lodges free in a devastating sob, landing like a burning meteor from the depth of your chest. 

Sarah wraps her arm around your shaking shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

You don’t fight it; you bury your face in her chest, clinging to her instead of letting go. Pieces of drywall start coming off the borders around your heart. The sobs wreck your body with an intensity that could match the force of a landmine. 

When you woke up, you were hoping, even if just for a second, Michael would be there to hold your hand. You would have given up your belief that the two of you were meant to be dysfunctional for a taste of the comfort you know only he can provide you. But it’s all just a fever dream, and he isn’t here.

You beg yourself to breathe through the inferno spreading from your wound to the remaining space of your chest cavity. This pain can’t easily be fixed by morphine or a high flow of oxygen. It’s a deep-rooted and emotional pain; everything around you becomes secondary. 

The sobs wrack your body, but you can’t stop. You can't fight back against the avalanche heading for your town. You’ve lost everything. Trying to keep your head above water only pulled you further under. You can still feel the stranger's hands on your body, the sound of porcelain crashing to the floor. You were trying to steer off the inevitable like a fool, and in the process, you have made things a million times worse. Admitting defeat would lead to the demise of what you love, but what else can you do when the danger is no longer trying to hide, lying in wait?

The door swings open. A nurse steps in, and her eyes widen at the sight. “Heart rate and pulse ox are climbing,” you faintly hear her say. “She’s having a panic attack.”

You want to protest. You’re okay; you’re just crying, and they should take care of the ticking bomb next to your ear first. It beeps and beeps and beeps even louder. It takes you forever to notice that the bomb you’re hearing is actually your heart about to explode. 

“Well, do something!” Sarah shrieks, her chest shaking under you. “She’s going to hurt herself.”

Someone calls your name, and they tell you something about a sedative, but your ears are under a thick stream of water. The sterile walls start to close in around you. You can feel your heart racing in your throat like you’re going to throw it up on a silver platter and everyone will see how damaged you truly are.

You thrash weakly, your lips moving without your mind’s approval. “No,” you sob. You don't want them to sedate you. “Please…” Your pleas meet an empty void. 

The nurse swiftly prepares a syringe that, out of the corner of your eye looks almost like a loaded gun. You don't want to sleep. You can’t. You deserve this. “This will help you relax,” she says. “Just breathe, okay? We don't want your lung collapsing again.”

The needle doesn’t pierce your skin, but it might as well have. A sudden cool rush spreads through your veins. The world blurs at the edges, colors bleeding into each other until they turn black. Your sobs slow down. You try to scream, but every muscle in your body slacks against your will. The clock stops ticking. The wave catches up to you as you’re swimming away, and with jaws made of glass, the depths of the ocean finally take you under, eating you alive. 

Someone whispers, “You’re going to be okay,” into the darkness, but the angel doesn’t have a face. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to hold on or keep floating. There is no beginning or end where you are. The ground is gone. It’s never going to end, you fear, drowning in your tears until you’re sucked into another black hole for the rest of your life. 

You succumb to it. You let the current drag you down, and then, you drown. 

You drown for the longest time, closing your eyes and accepting your fate. Until a hand dives into the water, searching for you. You blink, and you reach for it, not knowing who it belongs to but someone is trying to save you, so why not allow them to? An eerily familiar feeling fills you with warmth. 

The closer you inch to the surface, the louder the real world around you gets. You hear the beeping again, steadier this time. Someone must have defused the bomb. And there is a soft touch against your forehead, fingertips grazing your burning skin. Your eyes flutter.

A soft baritone calls for you. It’s familiar, but the sensations around you are dulled to an extent you can barely feel your legs. You adjust to the light in the room, and the heaviness of your eyelids that seems to want to drag you back down. His silhouette is a blur, at first, but once you find those comforting brown eyes staring down at you with a river of tears inside, you recognize him, and you’re suddenly wide awake. 

“Michael?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart contracts. Instead of conflict, all you feel is the sheer pleasure of relief when you see his face. His tired, beautiful face. And he’s real. He’s not a dream. You may not feel your body, but your mind is coming back to you, and you see him so clearly next to you, a sight for sore eyes and a balm for your broken heart. 

He came.

A tear slides down his cheek, but he wipes it before you can comment on it. Your throat is dry. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bopping with the silence that engulfs you. The air crackles. You’re not sure how to react. Your entire body vibrates with a need you have never felt before, but how can you get over what happened? It’s right there between you; you can feel the tension that has spun a net between you, and it’s almost like your lungs are collapsing all over again. 

But then Michael reaches out, his calloused fingers brushing your tear-stained cheek. “Yeah. I’m here,” he says. “I’m here, my love.”

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck with a broken exhale. He has never engulfed you faster, building a secure cocoon around you where nothing and no one can touch you. Your breaths are strangled. He wasn’t there before, but now he is, and it’s like you were never apart in the first place. Because you needed him like air, and he is the only one who knows how to make the pain go away because he knows you. 

“You didn’t pick up,” you mutter against his sweater. I thought we were over, you want to say.

He nods, squeezing you tighter. Your stitches protest, but you ignore them. He can tear them open one by one if he pleases, as long as he just holds you. “I know,” he says, barely keeping it together. “I’m so sorry. I was… I was meetin’ with Jimmy, and… I turned it off. I turned it off.” His voice cracks. So much guilt can’t possibly fit into one person.

Your nails dig into his back. “It’s okay,” now you’re the one comforting him. 

“No. If I’d known… Fuck! I thought… I thought I lost ya.”

“I’m sorry.”

Michael pulls away, eyes boring into yours. He cups your face. “Don’t do tha’,” he growls. “Don’t do this to yerself. It wasn’t your fault, I swear.”

You close your eyes. His gaze is so intense. He nudges you back to look at him. “Who did this to ya, hm?”

“I don’t know,” you confess. “I didn’t… I didn’t see his face. But he, uh… he stole the… the file. On my sister. And when I tried to stop him, he… he…”

“Wha’?” The look on his face is nothing short of terrifying, even as it blurs through your tears. “Did he touch you?” When he gets angry, his eyes tend to black out. It usually sends a chill down your spine, but tonight, you need him to look at you like that. You need him to be angry because anger is the strongest motivator, and you are too weak to display the true intensity of your feelings.

You motion to your throat with shaky fingers. “He ch–” The word refuses to come out. “Mhh–” You try to regulate your breathing. “He ch–choked me.” 

You have not yet looked into a mirror, but the soreness suggests quite a bit of bruising. Sarah didn’t say anything. You went through hell and the most obvious injury, the wound on your side, seems bad enough to think about. They probably swabbed under your fingernails already to get what little DNA evidence you tried to gather by fighting back, but you have little hope that the assailant is to be found in any database. And he wore gloves, that much you know. You can still taste the leather. Talking about it makes you eerily sick to your stomach. 

Another sob bubbles up in your chest; you choke on it. “And then he stabbed me,” you cry. “He stabbed me, and my lung collapsed, and… I thought I was going to die.”

Michael growls, physically forcing your face back into the crook of his neck. 

“Don’t leave me.”

You were the first to leave, and it was a mistake. You regret it with your entire bruised being to have ever let him go. You’re not entitled to his love, but if he left you now, you know you wouldn’t survive—because losing him is worse than dying. 

He presses your face further into the crook of his neck. “I’m not leavin’,” he says. “You’re safe now. No one’s gonna lay a hand on ya again.”

The words break the dam. “Please,” you beg, not knowing what for. 

“Shhh,” he shushes you. 

“I’m so sorry.”

“Stop.”

“I didn’t mean what I said,” you ramble. “I was just sad and angry, and… we were both going through something. Hell, you told me about Anna and all I thought of doing was leave. I’m so fucking sorry, Michael. I don’t know how to make this up to you. I don’t…”

Michael tugs you back, seeing it as the only way you will listen to him. “Hey!” His fingers dig into your scalp. “It doesn’t matter, alright? I’m not angry. I… I thought I lost ya, and it almost killed me. I don’t care ‘bout one stupid fight. I don’t.” He chuckles softly, his eyes stained with tears again. “I care about you. I’m gonna fix this, you hear? Even if I have to kill the fuckin’ bastard who did this. God knows I want to. And I’m gonna get Anna back, too,” he says. “‘cause I’m still her father and I won’t let them take her from me. What I’m not gonna do is let you leave again without reason, so we’re gonna talk and we’re gonna find a way through this, alright? I promise you, so you have to promise me. Let me love you better. Please.”

Please. He breaks in your hand like wet sand struck by lightning. Though this time, you can’t pick up his broken pieces and glue him back together for it is his turn now to fix you. To love you better, as he said. 

You wipe your cheek on the palm of his hand, and his thumb instantly darts out to take over. It’s so rough yet so gentle against your sensitive skin. “I promise,” you whisper then, only honesty on your cracked lips.

He lets go of your scalp to pull you back in. “That’s my girl,” Michael murmurs. 

There is nothing quite as toxic as guilt, but you are each other’s antidote. You cling to him like a lifeline, and he clings to you. Where Sarah has gone, you’re not sure, but you also don’t care. She called him. She said horrible things about him, then saw your reaction, the sincere belief in his innocence and the love that is still very much there, and then she called him because there is no other way he could have found out. She called him because you didn’t need her; you needed Michael, and no drugs in the world could have changed that. 

“C’mon, lie back.” You comply almost instantly with his demand, scooting aside to make space for him. The frame of the bed creaks in protest, but he seems to neither care about the hospital’s property nor his comfort as he urges you to rest against his chest. “The police are gonna ask questions,” he tells you, tugging the blanket further around your body. You only now realize that you’re freezing. “I told them you had to rest, so they’re gonna come by in the mornin’, but I assure ya, I’m gonna be there. And then Jimmy’s gonna take us home.”

You blink up at him. “Jimmy?” you ask. It’s the only thing that strikes you as odd. You suspected the police would come by, Sarah already told you the same thing, but Michael conspiring with his brother to get you out of here is a new development. 

“Yeah. No one takes a shot at a Kinsella and gets away with it.”

“But I’m not–”

He cuts you off, “You are now.”

Your heart stops a beat in your chest before it starts racing a million miles per hour, so fast you can barely catch up. 

It’s odd, all of it. His family expressed their disdain for you at great lengths just to retaliate back when your blood is shed, but instead of dread and overwhelming suspicion, you only feel terrifyingly content. 

You’re a Kinsella now, Michael said, and what else can you do but embrace it?

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky @harperdoodle @ravenclaw617 @lunaticgurly @mattmurdocksstarlight @ebathory997

[tylerandcrystal]

I WANT YOU (Sofia falcone X reader)

Warnings: smut

This is my first time writing something like this. I hope you like it. Let me know what you think please :).

WORD COUNT: +2000. sorry if it's too long.

SUMMARY: Sofia Falcone and Y/n confront each other in a tense showdown, filled with accusations of lies and manipulation. Sofia remains calm and seductive, claiming Y/n as her partner, while Y/n tries to resist her magnetic pull, returned between anger and attraction. As Sofia teases and challenges Y/n, the tension between them escalates into a passionate kiss, hinting at a complex, power-driven relationship where neither fully trusts the other, but both are undeniably drawn together. They end up fucking each other.

warnings: manipulation, seduction, power play, +18, licking, fingering, dom!Sofia, bottom!reader, smut.

Sofia Falcone was sitting behind her desk, shrouded in a mysterious half-light that highlighted her cold gaze, as she read some papers, left by her father. 

The door swung open with a thud, and Y/n entered with a determined step, her eyes blazing with anger and disappointment.

"You lied to me, Sofia. About everything," blurted Y/n, approaching the desk with a stiff face.

Sofia barely lifted her gaze, finishing composing her charming grin. "What are you talking about?"

Y/n slammed her hands on the desk, emotion palpable in the air. "Don't pretend you don't know. You can use anyone as a puppet, but me? I am not one of your puppets."

Sofia, on the other hand, smiled conspiratorially. "You are right, you are not. You are so much more." Her eyes merged with Y/n's. "You are my partner."

Y/n almost laughed, incredulous. "Your partner?"

Sofia slowly got up from her chair, approaching with smooth movements. she did not stop looking into her eyes. "Yes."

Y/n kept her face hard. "Don't think you can buy me with so little."

Sofia, brimming with confidence, replied, "Honey, I gave you power, respect, a place by my side. Whatever you desired, you got it."

Y/n replied sharply, "I only wanted sincerity. Instead, you came to me studying my every single step, flirting with me, and only used me for your power games."

Sofia chuckled softly, her gaze piercing. "And you think you're different? Did you really think you were here for any reason other than your own self-interest? Don't pretend with me, honey. We both know it's a game you like."

Y/n, infuriated, approached Sofia further, although a hesitation crept into her voice. "I have never played, Sofia. I believed in you-that was my mistake. I no longer need you." She turned, ready to leave the room, but stopped, pressing on, "By the way, it's time for you to leave Gotham."

Sofia smiled, with an air of defiance, grabbing a wine glass from the table with an elegant gesture. "Leave Gotham? Oh, Y/n... I'm not going anywhere. This is where I need to be." With an inviting motion, he tilted the glass toward Y/n. "Why don't we toast instead?"

she filled a glass for Y/n, then returned to her, offering it to her with an intriguing smile. Y/n looked at her with disgust, but her expression betrayed uncertainty. "I'd rather die of thirst."

Sofia raised an eyebrow, the smile remained impassive. "Whatever." She set the glass down on a nearby shelf, without losing her composure. "But you know, not everything was a game. I see something in you, something that others never noticed. A strength, a potential. That's why, from the first moment I saw you, I decided you had to be mine, my sidekick, my partner. The two of us, together, could do great things."

Y/n, unperturbed, countered, "Partnership or manipulation? That is the question."

Sofia's smile disappeared. "That hurt, you know? Because, contrary to what you think, you were the pawn holding the whole chessboard." she moved closer, their faces almost touching. "No manipulation, just a reflection of your desire for power and control."

Y/n felt a chill run down her spine; the atmosphere became tense and charged with electricity. Sofia's eyes were piercing, and Y/n could not look away.

Sofia drank her glass of wine completely and, with an almost defiant gesture, passed her glass to Y/n. "Know that I know you better than you can imagine. I know what you desire, I know what you seek. Everything you have ever wanted has been at your fingertips, here, in this very room. Your anger, your resistance -- these are just signs of how deeply you are involved in all of this."

With a gentle gesture, Sofia placed her hand on Y/n's arm, a light but intensely charged touch."It is not manipulation if you and I are cut from the same cloth. It's inevitable that we clash, that we challenge each other, because, after all, we both want the same thing: to dominate, to conquer." With an uncanny delicacy, Sofia placed her hand on Y/n's face. "You know how tempting that power is, if you just let go."

Y/n tried to keep calm despite Sofia's voice, her getting close was almost irresistible. "What if I don't want any of it? What if I just wish to leave?" Her voice trembled, revealing a moment of vulnerability.

Sofia moved even closer, her face inches from his. "Then why are you still here? Why haven't you left? You are attracted to me, Y/n. You can't deny it. Something keeps you anchored and it's the same spark that shines in me, that desire to dominate and be dominated."

Y/n looked away, turning away from Sofia, placing the glass on the desk. "You don't know anything about me."

Sofia replied, her tone soft but hypnotic, "Don't lie to yourself. You can say whatever you want, but I know you feel what I feel-there is a spark between us, you won't deny it, will you?"

"I'm not going to stay here and keep hearing your nonsense," retorted Y/n, struggling to maintain her resolve.

Sofia, with a teasing smirk, said, "Then why don't you shut me up somehow?"

"Why don't you just tell me what you want?" asked Y/n, frustration vibrating in her voice.

"Maybe I just want you," declared Sofia, and Y/n felt his heart skip a beat. 

Did she really desire her? 

With a bold gesture, Sofia moved, moving closer, her face so close that Y/n trembled. "And maybe you want me," she whispered in a seductive tone.

Y/n closed her eyes, letting herself be carried away by the moment. 

Sofia brushed Y/n's lips with her own, never quite touching her, creating a wave of tension. It was a thin boundary, a game of attraction and resistance in which both seemed trapped.

Combatted, Y/n let a whisper escape, almost losing herself, "or maybe I just want what's coming to me. And if you won't give it to me..."

Sofia peered at her thoughtfully. "...You'll get it yourself. I like this determination of yours. It is a rare quality. You could get it all.... as long as you really want it."

Y/n breathed deeply, her heart vibrating in her chest. "You are dangerous, Sofia."

Sofia smiled, triumphant, aware that he had almost won her over. "And you love that... I know." She took a step away, approaching the desk and picking up her already full wine glass. "And now ... come. Let's toast...to our future."

Y/n paused for a fleeting moment, then cautiously reached for Sofia's glass. A spark of satisfaction flickered in Sofia's eyes; her trap had been deftly set. With a clink of their glasses, they toasted to the unfolding tension.

In a sultry, enticing whisper, Sofia breathed, "You see, Y/n...you can't resist me."

Y/n took a deep breath, searching for a sliver of rational thought. Yet, with their faces mere inches apart, that fleeting hesitation dissipated.

Sofia's lips captured Y/n's in a slow, passionate kiss. It was deep and sensual, a release of the tension that had been building in that seemingly eternal moment. Her hands glided down Y/n's body, exploring with an assuredness that only someone well-versed in the dynamics of desire could possess.

Y/n, initially tense, began to surrender to Sofia's skilled touch, her hands threading into Sofia's dark hair, pulling her closer, intensifying the connection. The atmosphere crackled with electricity, a tantalizing battle between resistance and longing that had just begun.

With a stifled moan between kisses, Y/N uttered Sofia's name."Shh," Sofia replied, laying a gentle finger on Y/N's lips. "Let yourself go, I know you want to.""I would," Y/N replied, breathing hard, "but the door is open.""Let them watch us," Sofia replied, a mischievous smile lighting up her face. "Why are you so afraid?" Sofia's hands tightened around Y/N's waist as his mouth rested on her neck."You're completely out of your mind," Y/N said, panting.Sofia pulled away slightly, her face inches from Y/N's. "Do you want to continue chatting or would you rather...fuck?"

Sofia's eyes stared at Y/n with intensity, silencing all protest. A magnetic tension hovered between them, and wordlessly they kissed again, the contact urgent and consuming.

When they broke away, Sofia's voice was low and authoritative: "How about getting down on your knees for me?"

Y/n's heart sped up, looking for signs of hesitation in Sofia's eyes, but there were none. Only a confident, seductive smile from someone who knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it. Defiance and surrender struggled within her, but Sofia's command was impossible to ignore.

"If that is what you desire," whispered Y/n, as she slowly knelt down.

The warmth of Sofia's gaze was enveloping and possessive, Sofia murmured, "now you are exactly where I wanted you to be."

sofia's hands tangled in y/n's hair, gathering it into a tail, as she watches y/n lift her skirt. y/n's mouth opening at the sight of the red lace that sofia was wearing.

"fuck," mumbles y/n at the sight of the visible wet spot, as he leans forward to give her clit a kiss through the fabric.

"don't tease, Y/n," Sofia says in a rough voice, with an inherent voice of dominance, as her hands clench in Y/n's hair even harder, like a warning.

Y/n obeys, using a finger to slide her panties to the side so his tongue can slide between her folds."good love" moans Sofia as she feels his tongue swirling around her clit, Y/n's fingers clinging to her thighs and slowly moving closer to her core.

Y/n alternates between sucking and licking her clitoris enjoying the labored breaths and the small moans escaping Sofia's mouth. the loud moan escaping Sofia's mouth the moment Y/n slips 2 fingers in effortlessly.

"yes darling" moans sofia as you slip your fingers inside her at just the right time, now pumping at a steady pace.

Y/n can feel her walls tighten around you and as Sofia's hips try to move slightly toward her face seeking more friction.

Sofia's hands gripping even tighter in Y/n's hair as her orgasm approaches. Y/n sucks harder on her clit. one of sofia's hands leaves Y/n's hair to cover her mouth as she moans your name. her body stiffening and legs trembling slightly as her orgasm overwhelms her. your name falls from her lips like a prayer as she tries to calm herself.

"come here" sofia gasps, her hand goes to Y/n's throat pulling her to her feet before crashing her lips on his.

Y/n slides her fingers out of Sofia, earning a moan from the woman.

"fuck you're so good when you don't talk and obey," murmurs Sofia. her mouth returns to yours for another passionate kiss. her hands go to Y/n's waist pushing both of you so that you are pinned against the desk, before lifting you up onto the wooden surface.

"Sofia," moans Y/n, as Sofia sweeps everything off the desk, unconcerned about the mess created, and abruptly pushes Y/n onto her back, resting you on the desk. Her body towers over you as she stood between your legs, her hand resting gently on your throat. Sofia knew Y/n liked her by the way she moaned each time.

"Please Sofia," whispered Y/n desperately.

"but look how cute, begging me" sofia smiled in satisfaction "do you want me to fuck you like this?' tightening her grip on Y/n's neck, making her roll her eyes back slightly. "do you want me to fuck you here on my desk?"

y/n nodded.

"use your words dear" sofia whispered.

"yes. please. stop teasing... fuck" y/n was stressed.

"oh, are you giving orders now?" asked sofia amused. her hand moved to unfasten y/n's jeans so she could slip her hand into your panties.

"god" moans Y/n when she thrusts two fingers into you, without permission.

Sofia's other hand supporting her body on top of yours so she can watch you as Y/n undoes herself beneath her. her fingers are relentless as she fucks you, Y/n's mind clouded with pleasure as all she can feel is the way her fingers move inside you, the dirty words sofia is whispering.

"god, I always want to see you like this, every second of my life," sofia whispered.

Y/n's hands gripping Sofia's forearm as she felt her orgasm growing rapidly.

"Look how your body responds," whispered Sofia.

her name with moans coming out of y/n's mouth.

Sofia's thumb encircling your clit as she pumps her fingers in and out of y/n in a way that makes you see stars "is that better?" whispered you as she moved closer to y/n's ear.

"let go y/n... come for me," Sofia whispered again, her sensual tone sending y/n straight to orgasm. obscene noises filled the room as Sofia fucked you through your first orgasm and guiding you through your second.

y/n's legs are trembling on the desk, her mouth opening in a silent scream as she tries to come down from the climax of her 2 orgasms. 

her breathing becoming labored as she looks up into sofia's face, who still maintaining eye contact sticks her fingers in her mouth to taste you.

sofia in a softer, almost consoling tone. "see, you don't always have to struggle, sometimes you just have to...let go," she whispers, kissing you softly and guiding you to sit on the edge of her desk.

[thedrarrylibrarian]

I know I always say this, but it’s always true - I am so excited for this month’s guest reccer! To say that Grace, who writes as @mintawasalreadytaken, has excellent taste would be an understatement - she is a tastemaker. I realized as I was looking through a server that we’re both in that I read Coyote Ugly (which I recced a few weeks ago) based on her recommendation first! She’s also an accomplished writer herself, so if you like her rec, be sure to check out her works.

I leave the format of the rec up to the guest reccer - sometimes people use emojis, sometimes they give the rec as bullet points, and sometimes people prefer to write paragraphs. Grace asked if we could have a conversation about this fic together, and I eagerly agreed! I’ll be TDL below, and she’ll be Grace. Just as a heads up, there are minor spoilers for the fic below the cut.

Without further ado, I present the May Happy Hour Recommendation - in conversation with @mintawasalreadytaken!

I Do Not Love You by @writandromance (228,290 words, Rated M)

In 2013, a carefully-designed Obliviation leaves Harry reconfiguring his life and identity without any memories of true love; an act that's essentially erased Draco Malfoy from his mind despite a wedding band and shared home.

In 2000, Draco had expected Pansy's relationship with Luna to bring the Gryffindors a bit closer to his orbit of quiet, carefully pacifistic existence, but he never expected to navigate such a transparent embrace into a unit of family, friendship, and love.

A mystery, two love stories, and a reminder that learning to love never has an end date.

TDL: You picked I Do Not Love You for this month's rec. Would you start by telling people who have never read it why they should give it a try?

Grace: I think I speak for a lot of us in the world of fanfiction, specifically Drarry fanfic, that we're not generally known for being chill about our obsessions. So, as someone who's read a lot of hurt/comfort and angst, I Do Not Love You stands out to me because it does a number of interesting things with its key trope, amnesia. It's a love story told backwards, and a love story that's as much about hate and how hate destroys as it is about love and how love builds.

TDL: I appreciate that you brought up the love story told backwards - I think that's one of the best parts of this story. The way, especially at the beginning, that the two plot-lines contrast makes it stand out to the reader about what Harry's lost, even when Harry himself doesn't realize.

Grace: Mmhmm, agreed. We start very firmly rooted in Harry's POV, with an eventual back and forth POVs between Harry and Draco, at opposite ends of the timeline of their relationship. So there's this wonderful tension there, right from go.

TDL: I think that's something very smart and enjoyable about Writ's writing. She's very good at creating that tension and then trusting the reader with it. She’s excellent at showing one perspective, and letting the reader infer the other perspective. It would've been easy to write from Draco's POV and get all of his angsty heartbreak firsthand, but instead she writes it from Harry's POV and we get his anger and are left to come to our own conclusions about Draco's hurt. It makes the conclusions more powerful to the reader.

Grace: Trusting the reader is certainly one of her strengths. Part of my deep enjoyment of this fic is how it begs to be re-read. It's only on the re-read that certain details, "tells" in Draco's behaviour, for example, become clear indicators of what will happen. But you need to learn them from Harry's POV first. It makes for a very fun circular read, in that way. Another way that trust is established masterfully is the contrast between Harry's anger in the present and the vignettes of his empathetic, whole-hearted earnestness in the flashback scenes. The distance between the two Harry's emotional states is enough for the reader to draw their own conclusions of how much it must pain Draco to go through this experience.

Though I will say, the angsty heartbreak moment we do get to see firsthand gets me every time. It's the most delicious stab in the heart!

TDL: I know it’s a spoiler, but will you be specific? What part exactly are you thinking of?

Grace: “I lost my husband.”

TDL: I put that quote down in my notes too - and "I didn't even get to say goodbye."

Grace: It gets to the heart of the worst part of a beautiful relationship: the fear of loss.

TDL: So we've done our favorite angsty moments. This fic, while angsty, is also really full of fun and funny moments. Does anything stick out to you along those lines?

Grace: Two stick out to me immediately. One is a callback to the Pablo Neruda quote off the top, from which the fic takes its title. "Your hand on my chest is my hand,” only Harry adds his own sexy twist to it, lol. The second is this incredibly tense moment mid-fight where Harry snaps about how long it would take to fall back in love with Draco and Draco's deadpan response of "You said 'when'" which is peak Drarry to me. That stubbornness in the face of literally anything, even the other avowing their supposed hatred.

What's your favourite funny moment?

TDL: Oh it’s got to be when we find out later that Pansy laughed at the toothbrush incident. It's just such a best friend thing to do. It felt like something I'd do to my sister or that she'd do to me and I think it added a realness to their friendship. They’re ride or die for each other, but they also laugh at each other, even in the hard times. I also love any scene Jules is in!

Grace: Agreed! The toothbrush moment was hilarious. And Jules is one of my favourite of Harry's familiars/pets-with-speaking-roles, ever.

TDL: I'm obsessed with the idea of a chameleon speaking Parseltongue! I also feel like Jules' character had a lot of thought put into it - what would be important to a chameleon? What would a chameleon notice and think in this situation?

Grace: Yes, his take on death and his sense of humour about it – that bonds Harry to him. The lens of his understanding of the relationship between Harry and his "ice queen" and the purpose of molting. It was all so well done. The fact that Jules can infer Harry's emotional state and then decides on whether and to what degree to argue about what kind of feed he requests is so spot on. Amazing characterization work.

TDL: With all of Harry and Draco’s friends and family, this fic had an ensemble of characters. Were there any other favorites?

Grace: My two favourites live on opposite sides of the spectrum. Ron, for his stoic, constant style of quiet and level-headed support. And Blaise, a true wild-card, who is ruled enough by ego to do things that endanger his relationships with both Harry and Draco, just never too much. They love him for it, even though he can be a chaos monster.

TDL: Blaise was on my list too! I thought his shenanigans brought a lot to the fic and I thought it was cool to see him portrayed as an equally important friend to both Harry and Draco that Harry saw him as someone to turn to for help, not just “Draco’s friend” but “my friend.”

Grace: The melding of friend groups, as most often happens when you're in a long term relationship, was done masterfully here. and the lines drawn in the sand becoming murky in places and crystal clear in others when a break-up looms, too.

TDL: Which brings us back to that relatable fear of loss - this loss is not just one person but friendships, community, a life and a future.

Something else that I want to mention is how immersive this fic is, even in a re-read. I knew what was coming and was still hooked.

Grace: True! It begins with a focus on interiority. We get the emotional punches first, and then the plot to underpin it. But in my view, the plot comes second to the feelings. It's a fic that invites you as the reader to put yourself into Draco's shoes. We all experience loss and so when we get thrown into this situation of experiencing what, for both of them, they consider a world-ending loss, we relate. The troubles only begin there, because after that there's still waking up every day and trying, again and again.

TDL: For a fic whose title refuses love, what better description is there for love than waking up every day and trying, again and again.

Is there anything else you’d like to add before we end this rec?

Grace: Just to say thank you for entertaining this, and for your thoughtful questions! And to thank Writ for writing this masterpiece of a painful, quietly beautiful love story. And to end on a quote – one of the ones I come back to constantly, as a reminder to self of the usefulness in trying at the things we find the most difficult: 

"Aw, don't get smart to wash off all the vulnerability, you wore it so well," he replied, eyes sparkling. As he backed towards the doorway, his arms opened wide. "Bask in the beauty of a difficult, emotional conversation." 

xoxo minta / grace

❤️ As always, if you enjoy this rec, please bookmark abd leave the author a kudos or a comment! ❤️

Lots of Love and Happy Friday!

PS - If you're interested in knowing what Grace and I are reading next, @writandromance just started posting a new Pride and Prejudice based fic. It's not complete, but chapter one went up today and we are so excited!

[gribbidigoulie]

@cheddar-baby a friend moved to my city this month and they have no fucking furniture. empty carpet bare landlord beige apartment. so of course this was the best possible time for us to watch RG Jubilee together.

they said they would watch Anything, so i loaded up a hard drive with Froggy 2000, Quest: Return of the King, Save the Unborn Children and several others we didn't watch

but yeah no we watched THREE FULL FUCKING HOURS of RG Jubilee in an empty white apartment. we started with Froggy 2000. it was calm. pleasant, even. i had already watched Froggy 2000, so I knew what to expect, so i was chilling while my friend had their fever intensifying.

and then we watched Save the Unborn Children, and my familarity ended. i was starting to lose my grip. and then we begun the fucking gauntlet that was Quest. and to their credit, we didn't skip fucking Anything. they were true to their word. we watched it all, and we didn't skip a single second.

some highlights for froggy 2000:

guy who LOVES saving money

the fucking burning bush in the swamp

the solution to everyone's problems was to just let the nuclear power plant dump Even more toxic waste by volume. like he just goes "yeah shit man alright that saves me money and that is very notably my absolute favorite thing"

the fucked up bird that appears and just makes regular animal noises Constantly and it's bafflingly barely anthropomorphised

90% of the film's dialogue is completely fucking incomprehensible. i have thought about making fan subtitles for the video, but i genuinely don't know if it can all be transcribed

easy peasy. for me. quest time

nobody knows what the fuck they're supposed to be doing in the first like 30 minutes

the animals are just. mangled people on all fours. with elongated noses to look like snouts

it becomes incredibly clear how often characters laugh or are laughing, even if there is no plain reason visible

the fucking breakdancing monkey in the background of the long bible talk brought us into nirvana

my friend's entire body started to hurt and heave and ache. i was being risen to a delirious mental state only told of in legend

the fucking humpty dumpty png knocked the wind out of me. i couldn't stop coughing. it was no longer wheezing or laughter. it was pure energy being expelled

i had to use my dissociative state to protect myself, or else something else would happen that i'd pick up on that'd reduce me to dust

the fucking basketball hoops. it was flawless. no trained artist could ever produce something so perfect.

the fucking people dancing on the street with a few glass bottles on the pavement.

the fucking apocalypse happens. the material is simple, and you can place all of these pieces together logically, but when you are going through it, it is incomprehensible. it is like witnessing a monolith from the sky

do you think she was laughing in every line because she just couldn't help it? like she was having so much fun and feeling so much joy she couldn't help but contain it? does anything compare to this sincerity?

end of part 1 presented so innocently. so daunting. it is the ending we should've been anticipating. it is the deadly silence.

this experience was not unlike psychosis. 10/10

[aphroditelovesu]

⤷✿.｡Since you voted yes to commissions, so here we are. I was a little unsure about the price, so I researched and tried to make it as fair as possible. I hope you agree with this! ❤️

Also, this is completely optional! If you don't want to, you don't have to request a commission! All the other requests works the same way!! ⤷♡.+ n a v i g a t i o n.

⤷♡.+ Status: OPEN.

What I would write

I write for any gender, both character and Reader/OC, be it female, male, neutral transsexual. Any.

Yandere!Character x Reader, Yandere!Reader x Yandere!Character, Yandere!OC x Reader and Yandere!OC X OC.

Dark!Au, Gore, Disorders, Smut/NSFW, explicit language, soft!yandere, alternative AU, Horror, Age gap (depends on how much).

Romantic, platonic and general Yanderes, as well as more specific themes; example: yandere x depressive!reader.

Stockholm syndrome.

Pregnancy, childbirth and death in childbirth.

Non-Con, Dub-Con, BDSM.

Fluff; non-yandere.

Monsterfucking, specific kinks.

Angst.

What I DON'T write

Any kind of NSFW content with children, anything with children will just be platonic.

I don't write NSFW with characters that have a childish appearance or personality, just platonic.

I don't usually write ships because I consider it something personal, but I can do it if someone wants to.

Age play, scap.

Minor x Adult (only platonic).

Prices (in $ and R$)

Headcanons

2,00 $/R$ 2,00 for 500 words;

6,00 $/R$ 6,00 for 1000 words;

12,00 $/R$ 12,00 for 2000 words;

NSFW content adds an additional charge of $3,00/R$3,00.

Imagines, Scenarios, Reactions, Oneshots, Prompts

3,00 $/R$ 4,00 for 500 words;

10,00 $/R$ 13,00 for 1000 words;

18,00 $/R$ 18,00 for 2000 words;

20,00 $/R$ 20,00 for 3000 words.

NSFW content adds an additional charge of $5,00/R$6,00.

My list of current fandoms, but I can always add more:

Anime

Attack on Titan, Amensia, Death Note, Demon Slayer, Diabolik Lovers, Fruits Basket, Haikyuu!!, Hakuoki, Hunter x Hunter, Jujutsu Kaisen, Kamigami no Asobi, Naruto, Mirai Nikki, One Piece, Blood of Zeus.

Books

Percy Jackson, Harry Potter, A Song of Ice and Fire, Pegasus and The Flame of Olympus (series), IT., A Court of Thorns and Roses (ACOTAR), The Bridgertons, Twilight, The Lord of the Rings, The Cruel Prince: The Folk of the Air, The Bridgertons, Twilight.

Games

Genshin Impact, Detroit Become Human, Mystic Messenger, Time Princess Dress Up (TP: characters), Yandere Simulator, My Candy Love (Amour Sucré), Arkyos Angel, A Plague Tale.

K-Pop

BTS, BLACKPINK, GOT7, EXO, BIGBANG, TWICE, AESPA, Stray Kids, ITZY, Hyuna and Dawn, Red Velvet, NCT, Monsta X, Taemin, Dreamcatcher, LE SSERAFIM, (G)I-DLE.

Series/TV Show

Game of Thrones, House of the Dragon, The Originals, The Vampire Diaries, Teen Wolf, Supernatural, Outer Banks, Friends, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, Euphoria, Reign, Bridgerton, The Flash, Supergirl, Outlander, American Horror Story, Wednesday, Riverdale, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, The Sandman, Lucifer, Winx Club, Ragnarok, The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power, Invisible City (Cidade Invisível), Shadow and Bone, Adventure Time, The Witcher, Rebelde MX (RBD), Heartstopper, Hannibal, Criminal Minds, The Last Kingdom.

Movies

Disney Universe, Marvel Universe, DC Universe, Maze Runner, Halloween, Friday the 13th, Texas Chainsaw Massacre, A Nightmare on Elm Street, Transformers, How to Train Your Dragon, Miraculous, Ever After High, Monster High, Barbie Universe, Christmas Movies, Maze Runner, Avatar, Twilight, Star Wars.

K-Dramas

My Demon, Bussiness Proposal, Doom At Your Service, Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha, Crash Landing on You, My Name, Mr Queen, King the Land.

Mythology

Greek, Egyptian, Norse Mythology and Brazilian Folklore.

Historical Characters

Alexander the Great, Cleopatra, Caesar Augustus, Julius Caesar and etc...

Additional Information

I accept payment via PayPal and Pic Pay only (PayPal = Ko-Fi)

Payment must be made before I start and I will always send you updates if you ask me.

I write in English and Portuguese.

I have a deadline of 5 to 10 days to complete your commission, however, if something unforeseen happens and it ends up being delayed, I will inform you.

If I write more than what was asked, obviously there will be no additions.

If you are interested, DM me with details and feel free to ask me anything.