#I know I keep posting these at midnight but that's the only time I am free lmao

[charmandabear]

Blood and Brandy

Summary:

Astarion and Jaheira both need a little bit of a release after the events with the Elder Brain.

Pairing: Astarion/Jaheira Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3.3k Tags/Warnings: outdoor sex, piv, cunnilingus, vampire bites, praise kink, pet names

She's writing again! And this one was particularly fun to write, thank you @whispering-depths for the commission! I've gotten into the gif making game, so here are a few more inspired by this fic. Also, huge shout outs to @githyankidanky, @danse--macabre, and @sanguine-sunlight for championing the Jahstarion tag, y'all are the real heroes of this fic.

Astarion comes swaggering into the Elfsong, waving down Alan for his usual post-hunt wine. It’s rarely a pleasant taste, but after the thrill of taking down an elk twice the size of him, he needs something to help him settle down enough to trance. He has no idea what time it is, only that it’s after midnight, so he’s surprised to see Jaheira sitting in an armchair in the corner, nursing a brandy and reading an issue of The Baldur’s Mouth. After swiping his wine glass off the bar, he makes his way over to her, hoping that his gait is more of a saunter than a stumble.

“Well if it isn’t the noble Jaheira,” he croons, perching himself on the arm of her chair and leaning his elbow onto the back. “Don’t you know that the Witching Hour is only for vampires and the deeply lonely?”

“How convenient, then, that you are both,” she lobs back at him, keeping her eyes on her newspaper.

Astarion gasps dramatically, clutching invisible pearls at his chest. “Jaheira, I’m hurt! How can you call me lonely when I have such lovely company right here?” He leans over her shoulder and her musky fragrance mixes with the spice of brandy, the intoxicating combination going directly to his head.

Jaheira drops her paper slightly, looking up at Astarion over her reading glasses. “I am not fooled by your theatrics, Astarion, I saw your little pout when you learned that Tav went to Avernus with Karlach.” She folds up her paper and smirks. “It isn’t easy seeing your ex and their new beau together.”

Astarion bristles slightly before slipping the mask back on. “Nonsense, Tav and I both agreed it was for the best to remain friends back at Last Light, I couldn’t be happier for them and Karlach.”

“Uh-huh,” Jaheira deadpans, thoroughly unconvinced. “And after they helped free you from your old master’s control, your feelings about intimacy did not change?”

Astarion sweeps over to the chair across from Jaheira, dropping himself into it and crossing his legs. He studies her for a moment, simultaneously discomforted and intrigued by her surprisingly accurate read on him. She smirks, the skin around her striking hazel eyes crinkling, and Astarion shifts under her penetrating gaze.

“Why do you ask, are you interested?” His tongue darts out to wet his lips, although whether from nervousness or simply old habits, he’s unsure. 

“A cute young thing like you?” Jaheira barks out a laugh. “I’m not sure if I could keep up.”

Astarion giggles, a little surprised by the giddy twinge that shoots through his core. “Jaheira, I’m older than you, by a good century.”

“And yet your skin is so smooth and supple. You must tell me your skincare secrets.” She narrows her eyes mischievously, crossing her legs and taking a sip of her brandy.

“A steady diet of the blood of the innocents will do wonders for your complexion,” Astarion grins, flashing just a hint of fang. Jaheira’s smile widens.

“Lucky for me, then, it sounds like I’m safe,” she retorts, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d almost think that the tips of his ears tinge pink.

The two quickly lose track of time, their comfortable banter and friendly jabs making it pass quickly. It’s only when Alan announces last call that they fully take stock of just how empty the Elfsong has become.

“Ah, the life of an insomniac isn’t an easy one,” Jaheira sighs. “Would you care to join me on my nightly walk to find the sandman?” She stands and stretches, and Astarion can’t keep his wandering eye from traveling down her figure.

“I can think of a few ways to tire you out,” he offers, making little attempt to hide the seduction in his voice. It’s a bit of a clumsier proposal than he’s capable of, but honestly at this point, he knows they can both use a release.

“I’m sure you could, cub,” she chuckles as she crosses over to him and pats his cheek, enjoying watching him try to hide the flustered look that creeps onto his face.

The night air is refreshing, and the city streets feel almost eerily quiet. They stroll aimlessly past darkened windows, neither really paying attention to where they’re going, until they find themselves wandering into the graveyard. Astarion surprises himself when he realizes that he’s subconsciously led Jaheira to a distantly familiar ivy-covered headstone. He pauses in front of it, his eyes tracing the faint outline of his name.

“Two hundred years,” he says quietly, and Jaheira peers over his shoulder. He looks back at her and chuckles, “That’s longer than you’ve been alive, gran.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jaheira groans. She looks on contemplatively, then adds, “You know, I don’t think I fully expressed how proud I am of you for stopping Cazador’s ritual.”

Astarion makes a noise somewhere between a scoff and a giggle. “You’re just trying to make me blush, aren’t you?”

“Maybe as a nice little side effect, perhaps,” she says coyly, sliding her eyes over to him. “But truly. With how much you have suffered, it takes a lot of strength to turn down all that power. And now, with a tadpole free brain, you can’t even go into the sun anymore.” She taps on his forehead to emphasize the point, and he swats her hand away playfully. Then her eyes unfocus slightly, and Astarion realizes she’s gone somewhere else entirely. “In my youth, I don’t know if I would’ve been strong enough.”

He studies her profile, brow furrowed as she loses herself in her memory. “I wouldn’t have expected the Great Jaheira to be tempted by something so base as a little power,” he says, punctuating his statement with that high pitched giggle of his. 

She returns to reality and flashes a grin at him. “You’d be surprised what I was tempted by when I was younger.”

Astarion’s eyebrows disappear into his well-coiffed hair. “Oh really? Do tell.”

“Another Rite of questionable morals,” she says with a humorless laugh. “Although admittedly, fewer sacrificed souls in the process. The Rite of Timeless Body, an old druidic ritual practiced by some of the more esoteric circles, allows the practitioner to extend their life span well beyond its natural reach.” 

Astarion crosses his arms and nods approvingly, taking a step back to get a renewed look at Jaheira. “Walking away from immortality takes some steel, I’m impressed.”

She shrugs noncommittally. “It feels a little less impressive when I’m standing in a graveyard in the last few decades of my life with a handsome young vampire who is a hundred years older than me.”

“If you want me to make you feel young again, you only need to ask,” Astarion grins salaciously, and Jaheira barks out a laugh.

“I might be younger than you, but I’m far too old to fall for your lines, cub,” she says, patting his cheek again. He grabs her hand, suddenly but not forcefully, and presses his lips to the inside of her wrist.

“Then maybe you can teach this old dog some new tricks,” he breathes against her skin, looking at her through heavy lidded eyes. She bites down on her tongue to keep her breath steady.

“So hungry now that he’s free,” she smirks, letting her hand cup his cheek. The stark contrast in temperature makes both of them shiver.

“Don’t tell me it’s not what you want,” he coos. “It’s been too long since Khalid, hasn’t it?”

“Oh, so this is for my benefit?” She lets herself step a bit closer to him, his bergamot perfume clouding her senses. “How very selfless of you, Astarion.”

He pulls on her wrist to close the distance between their bodies, putting her hand in his hair but keeping their faces a few inches apart. Waiting for her to make the final move. Surprisingly considerate, she notes to herself. She feels him pressed against her, his sinewy muscles pleasant against her soft flesh. His breath on her lip is cool, almost refreshing, with just a hint of lingering wine.

She leans in to kiss him, rough and unsteady, and his hands quickly move to her hips and squeeze her tight. He pushes her back until she’s up against a tree, pressing his knee up between her legs as he kisses along her jaw and down her neck.

“Don’t think you can get a free meal out of this,” she warns, but the sharp edge of her statement was dulled by her breathlessness. Astarion laughs against her skin.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, darling,” he hums between kisses, his fingers nimbly undoing the buttons down the front of her tunic. She arches her back into him as he slides his hand around her waist, his palm cool against her flushed skin.

“Ah-ah,” she slows him, pushing his hand away from her waist. He pulls away, wondering if she’s suddenly changed her mind, but she appears to be listening intently. “Not here, it’s too–”

“Close to civilization?” he smirks, raising an eyebrow.

“I was going to say sacred, but I suppose that’s true too,” she laughs. He grabs her hand and pulls her to the city wall on the outskirts of the graveyard. After a moment of struggle, he clambors to the top of it, looking down at her with an extended hand.

“Need help?” he asks and she rolls her eyes, smoothly shifting into her panther form and leaping over the wall with ease. She shifts back and looks up at him smugly as Astarion pinches his lips together, breath slightly uneven, his cock already pushing into the fabric of his pants. He drops down on the other side and she pulls him in by the collar for another messy kiss. 

“I’m starting to think you’re the one who can’t keep up with me,” she murmurs into his lips, giving his hair a quick tug. She delights in watching him struggle to keep his composure, hiding his want with a disaffected smile.

It doesn’t take long for them to find a grassy outcropping on the side of the mountain below the city. Jaheira shrugs off her tunic as Astarion makes quick work of removing his blousey linen top. Once they’re both shirtless, they crash back together, skin against skin, their mouths working hungrily against one another. Astarion pushes her up against a steep rocky slope of the mountain, palming her soft freckled breast in his hand. She inhales sharply as he flicks his thumb over her nipple, feeling it harden in the cool night air. 

She grabs him by the hair and pushes him down so that his lips line up with the sensitive pink flesh. He smiles as he swirls his tongue around the pert bud, and she sighs as her head falls back against the rock behind her. She holds onto his shoulders, unabashedly digging her nails into his skin. He ever so slightly teases her nipple with his front teeth, and he’s delighted when her hips buck into him.

“More interested in a bite than you first thought, eh Jaheira?” he hums, and she glares down at him.

“On your knees, vampire, and we’ll see,” she growls, and the tone of her voice makes Astarion’s cock twitch. He happily complies, and he can already smell her arousal through the cotton of her trousers. She might be able to feign apathy in her expression, but the heat of her cunt gives away how much she really wants him. He slides his fingers into her waistband and pulls her trousers down to her feet, which she quickly kicks off. He kneels forward to taste her but she stops him with the ball of her foot on his chest.

“You too,” she commands in a husky voice, her eyes flickering to the bulge in his leathers before locking back on his blood red eyes. His lips curl into a smile as he slides down his pants, maintaining eye contact with her. She breaks it when his cock springs free, only half hard and already impressive.

He digs his fingers into her hips and licks a stripe up her slit. She slides her fingers into his hair and drapes a leg over his shoulder, pinning him into position so she can maintain control. He laps up her arousal that’s pooling on her lips, threatening to drip. She quickly loses her hesitation to make noise, and her breathy moans as his tongue dives in and around her folds make his cock ache. He tries to subtly stroke himself as he continues to work her with his tongue, but she looks down and catches him.

“So needy, aren’t you, cub?” she purrs, and the noise he makes in response to the pet name is frankly a bit embarrassing. She laughs but it swiftly dissolves into a moan as he flicks his tongue across the hood of her clit. She tightens her hands in his hair and he increases the pace of his tongue, trying to keep up with the rutting of her hips against his face. The sounds of her pleasure as she gets closer to release, now unrestrained, only serve to spur him on further. He darts his tongue in and out of her, stopping only to lightly suckle on her clit.

“Ah– gods— Astarion!'' She shouts his name as she climaxes and he continues to lick her through her orgasm, feeling her pussy throb against his lips. He clutches her thigh as she slowly comes down, panting, and then eventually she releases the tight hold she had on his hair, ruffling it lightly.

“Well done, you know what you’re doing,” she says breathlessly, and he uses his palm to wipe his mouth clean.

“What can I say other than years of practice?” he smirks, standing and pressing his body to hers, his erection thick against her thigh. “I’ll give you a minute to recover, you old crone.”

“I’m ready for round two when you are, pretty boy,” she vaults back, pulling him in for another sloppy kiss. He slides his hand under her inner thigh and pulls her leg up, pinning her knee to the rocky cliff face. He positions the tip of his cock at her entrance, pausing just long enough to tease her into another growl. She squeezes a hand in his hair and he takes the hint to slide into her, their groans of pleasure mingling in the night air. 

He begins to pump in and out of her at a steady pace, her walls squeezing around his cock with every thrust. He drops his head into the crook of her neck, breathing hard and inhaling the sweet scent of her sweat. He peppers her flesh with desperate kisses, nipping at her skin without breaking it. She knows he won’t bite without permission, but he’s also not bothering to hide how much he wants to. She grabs his hair and pulls his ear to her lips.

“Just once,” she hisses, and he lets out a shuddering moan. “Somewhere I can cover, and no drinking.”

“Yes ma’am,” he groans, and bites down into the flesh where her neck meets her shoulder. She clenches around his cock at the sudden pain, but he quickly follows it with soothing licks to the bite mark. 

“Good boy,” she pants as he laps at her neck, and the praise causes him to push into her even harder, until a particularly jagged rock hits her spine. She puts her hand to his chest to get him to stop. “Astarion, wait.”

He pulls away from her, and she finds his dazed expression with his hair falling into his eyes to be surprisingly charming.

“Get on your back,” she hums, jerking her head towards the soft grass nearby. He lets out a visible sigh of relief before quickly positioning himself on his back, resting on his elbows to watch as she saunters over to him. She stands over him for a minute, appreciating the light flush across his normally very pale skin. He wets his lips as she gets to her knees, teasing him with her cunt in revenge for his earlier cheekiness. 

She sinks down onto him as he raises his hips needily to meet her. He grabs her thighs as she rides him, his fingers dimpling the soft flesh. She braces herself on his chest with a hand, her nails digging into his skin as she rocks her hips into him.

“Gods, Jaheira, you’re–” Astarion pants, the words getting caught in his throat. His head falls back into the soft grass and he arches his back into her. 

“Finally speechless, eh, Astarion?” she chuckles, and he shoots a glare back at her that quickly melts into a whimper. She pulls his face up to hers, treating him with another sloppy kiss before pushing his lips back to her tits. He eagerly takes her into his mouth, licking and sucking the sensitive skin. He ruts his hips into her as she grinds down on him, eagerly chasing her second release. He grazes his teeth against her breast and she shudders before yanking him back by his hair.

“Don’t be a brat,” she hisses through gritted teeth, and Astarion flashes her a self-satisfied grin.

“No need to keep up appearances. It’s clear that you want me to. No one will see it, and we both get what we want.” He lightly brushes her nipple with his tongue and she grunts as she tries to stifle her moan. “Come, Jaheira, let me make you purr,” he hums into her skin, nipping to punctuate his sentence.

“Fine,” she grumbles and lets go of his hair. “But one wrong move, vampire, and I’ll keep you pinned here until sunrise.” He grins and eagerly bites down, puncturing her skin but keeping his promise not to drink. He laps at the dark red drops that drip down the curve of her breast and she groans, arching her back and pushing her tits further into his mouth. He takes her encouragement and bites again, making a twin mark on the other side of her chest. She claws into his shoulders, bracing herself rather than telling him to stop.

The contrasting sensations of the ice cold shard of pain with the cool balm of his tongue afterwards is unlike anything Jaheira has ever felt, and she can feel the pressure building in her core. She moves her hand down to her clit and begins rubbing small circles in time with Astarion’s upward thrusts. He smirks and increases his pace, spurred on by her pleasure. 

“That’s it, cub, keep going,” she moans, and his balls begin to tighten at the praise. He grabs onto her hips, pulling her down onto him hard as he continues to fuck up into her, rapidly losing control of his speed. “Come for me, cub.”

It’s all he needs. A burst of pleasure rockets through his core as he spills into her, feeling her walls clench and throb around him as her own orgasm tears through her body. Her unabashed cries of pleasure only heightens the feeling, riding out the long waves of her climax with his rapidly softening dick.

When the ripples finally settle and the two of them are left breathing hard, Jaheira pulls off him and Astarion admires the sight of his thick seed dripping down her leg. She catches him looking and chuckles, “Just be grateful I’m too old to bring any dhampirs into this world.”

Astarion guffaws, still a little giddy from his orgasm and struggling to parse what the fuck just happened. “Trust me, no one needs that less than me,” he says with a breathless laugh. 

They clean themselves up in a comfortable silence, carefully picking up their swiftly discarded garments and redressing. They briefly make eye contact before bursting into sudden laughter.

Jaheira shakes dirt out of her hair and says, “Well this most certainly will not happen again.”

“Absolutely not,” Astarion agrees, but he can’t stop himself from smiling when he sees the light flush bloom across her freckled cheeks. They lock eyes on one another again before quickly looking away.

It’s a long walk back to the Elfsong.

@marvellover-12 @marlowethebard @pursuitseternal @imjiminiebean @gylving @beepersteeper

[japhan2024]

Next to me

for smosh amangela week @zillaphoneswag

day 6: cute jealousy

You're not supposed to fall in love with your soulmate co-worker best friend. But then again, this was Smosh.

read on ao3

"Hey Amanda," Courtney sang in a character voice.

It was 7:15 am on a shooting day. Nobody else but Ian and Tommy were at the office yet, but they were watching stuff on Ian's phone and didn't pay attention. Amanda was making coffee, but now she turned her attention to Courtney.

"Oh, hello! Who have we here?"

"Tis I, the bringer of hot, scorching tea." Courtney did a little ballet dance around Amanda. She wore baggy clothes today, with her short haircut and glasses.

"Okay, okay, spill?"

"Well, have you noticed you always sit next to Angela in videos lately? There hasn't been a single one where there was someone in between you the last month."

Amanda actually didn't know. Or she hadn't noticed at least. It was so natural to have Angela at her side. They would always be joking, touching, hugging... it was great to have her 'soulmate' next to her, as Angela had declared "a soulmate can be a friend!"

"Is that the tea you're spilling, then?"

"No, it's just that there was someone who requested you always sit next to each other. Do you want to know who it is?"

"Is it... Is it Ian? No? Spencer? Kiana?"

Courtney kept shaking their head.

Tommy yelled, "Oh my god Ian, that's the worst thing I've ever seen! Please just... pour bleech in my eyes or something..."

Ian laughed and continued to show him whatever horrors he had on his phone this time.

Amanda ignored them.

"Then who?"

Courtney had that look in their eyes they usually reserved for when they were with Ian and Anthony.

"Angela requested it herself! She just always wants to sit next to you, she said!"

"Awwe, that's so cute! Oh my god, I'm gonna cry that's so sweet! I want to co-request it if you don't mind! Can we just always sit next to each other in every video?"

"Sure thing, honey."

Courtney tiptoed away again.

Amanda was genuinely moved. What a cute thing to request. She smiled and chuckled inwardly. She fondly remembered Angela clinging on to her, eyes closed as she loudly guessed the answers in a gaming video. She remembered snuggling on the couch together while Shayne read Reddit stories. And when they had fake-kissed in the Love is Blind episode. She swallowed, but kept smiling and just took a deep breath. Yeah, all better. You're not supposed to fall in love with your soulmate co-worker best friend. But then again this was Smosh.

Amanda continued to make coffee. It was Ian's "my favorite coffee" and it was delicious. She just took a sip, when Angela entered the room. She was beautiful in a black sweater and baggy jeans. She greeted Courtney and Ian and Tommy and Spencer, who also had just gotten there. But all the while, she looked at Amanda, smiling back at her.

"Amanda! How was your weekend?"

Amanda put her coffee on the counter and hugged Angela.

"It was great, I went to the beach with my sister."

"Your hair still smells like the sea."

"What, like rotting seaweed?"

"No! I mean like a... a fresh sea breeze."

"You're cute. What did you do?"

"I just slept. Gotta save my strength for this week, right!"

"Oh, sleep is the best thing to do on the weekends! Nothing beats it, really."

Amanda went to make coffee for Angela. When she gave her a cup, she decided to tell her she knew.

"So, you requested we sit next to each other, huh?"

"What? I, uh, I don't know! Maybe?"

Angela blushed.

"Ow!"

She had spilled some of her coffee.

"Oh nooo you just got your arm out of the sling! Be careful, babe!"

"Okay, I guess I'll put my hand under the faucet now," Angela grumbled, still blushing.

"It's just, I want to be the one next to you. If you sit next to someone else, I get kinda jealous? I know, it's weird. But yeah. I love it when you sit next to me."

"Ang! That's so cute I can't deal. Don't worry, I've doubled down your request to Courtney. From now on, we sit together, always!"

"Really? You don't find it weird?"

"Not weirder than I already think you are, you little freak!"

"Shut up."

It was time to film their first video of the day. They walked into the studio together, hand in hand.

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

one thing abt being disabled/chronically ill that some people don’t get is that sometimes body maintenance that ensures you have the absolute minimum amount of function can also be something that takes away a lot of control and autonomy. you can argue till the cows come home that making those decisions to try and help yourself (or realistically to try to make sure things aren’t worse than they already are) is something that exhibits control and autonomy and stuff, but they can be so limiting in practice because they’re things that take up so much time but have to be done to do anything else

[tamaharu]

a sumi haircut variation ive been testing out. i wanna say its a bit post-canon, not too far off, maybe a year or so. hasnt quite figured out what to do with herself yet, but shes getting there. only a little ways away from graduation.

[corvidcall]

Did you ever tell the story of why ******* kicked you out because she forgot to pick you up from work on here? I remember it happening in real time and it was not funny but in retrospect, it's 200 upvotes on reddit material lol

LMAO its so funny you censored her name. like shes gonna be here or something. cant let her know i still think shes a bitch!!!!!

anyway heres fun little anecdote about that time i was forced to move out, in the style of an aita post, fake names and all

AITA for being mad at my roommate for not driving my somewhere?

I (22nb) live with two roommates, Makenzie (22f) and Justin (19 trans m). We all met because we worked at the same place, and we've been living together for almost a year. Of the three of us, I'm the only one who has lived with roommates before, but I can't tell if I'm being TA here?

Makenzie is the only one of us who can drive, and she agreed when we moved in together that, if we gave her some money to buy her mom's car, then she would drive us places whenever she was able. I work a little over a mile away from our apartment, so I CAN walk, but since I get off work at around 9pm, and the sidewalks aren't really well-maintained (it's a really industrial part of town, so it's not GREAT for walking), she agreed that she would pick me up after work every day.

Last week, I got off work, and waited for her to show up, and she never came. I texted her a few times, and when she didn't respond after I'd been waiting for almost an hour, I texted that I would be walking home. Apparently, she'd fallen asleep, and midway through my walk home, she woke up, got in her car, and tried to come find me to drive me home. She couldn't find me (the sidewalk is really hard to see from the road, and it's extremely dark, so I'm not surprised), and then frantically tried to get a hold of me to make sure I wasn't dead. I didn't see her texts because I was 1. walking and 2. on the phone with my partner. When I got home, she was pissed that I made her worry. She thinks I did it on purpose to get revenge? I told her I was just busy, and she seemed to accept that, but today she and our other roommate sat me down and told me that I needed to find a new place to live, because "this wasn't working out."

According to her, I'm not entitled to a ride anywhere, so I had no right to be mad at her for not giving me a ride, and I certainly didn't have a right to make her think I was dead (I literally told her I was walking home??). She also brought up that I never do my chores on the chore wheel (she made the chore wheel without asking. She just announced that she'd made a chore wheel and I had to clean the living room, which I'm almost never in anyway) and that I owe her $200 (from when we adopted our cat, which I think is weird to bring up when you're trying to kick me out?? it's not like I'm gonna get to keep the cat). She's saying I'm entitled and inconsiderate, but I feel like she's punishing me for the fact that she flaked. AITA?

Edit: If it helps, she's flaked on rides before. A few months ago, she agreed to take me to the doctor, and then the day before my appointment, she told me she couldn't give me a ride. The reason she flaked was because she wanted to go to the weed dispensary instead :/ she said it was fine, because "your mom will just get you an uber anyway". My mom agreed to pay all my necessary expenses while I'm in school (I'm a full time student; she pays my rent and I use the money from my part time job to pay for my food) but she's not like. Rich. I don't feel good about just spending her money on stuff I don't have to.

UPDATE: Makenzie made a post on Facebook about how "it's so sad when someone would rather lose a friendship than admit they were wrong." I shouldn't have commented, but I did, asking her if she forgot we were facebook friends, and then I blocked her. In retrospect, I should have just blocked her without commenting, but I'm only human.

UPDATE 2: Well, I'm moving out. Justin started harassing me, accusing me of stealing his shampoo and letting the cat loose on purpose, neither of which I did. I have my own nicer shampoo, and I love cats (I just was asleep when he told me the cat was missing, because it was midnight and I wake up at 6 am to go to school. I guess the fact that I didn't immediately leap to my feet to find our cat means I wanted him dead???) Makenzie is refusing to give back my deposit, because she says she needs to have the carpets in my room professionally cleaned before a new roommate can move in. Why? Your guess is as good as mine. But I guess I'm willing to pay a couple hundred dollars to not deal with this anymore. Still, sucks. :/

[cryptidghostgirl]

omg omg omg totally new silly idea- human! alastor x human! reader where they meet at a party and go outside for a walk near the pier and the moon is beautiful and… they pull out weapons on each other (specifically Alastor a knife and reader a gun) and thats when they decide to form a partner in crime partnership

And in other to keep appearances they are forced to “fake date”

Mimzy: youve been spending some time with that new girl havent you, is she your gf or smth?” chuckle

Naize 20 yr old smth Alastor trying to think of a response thats not that:...

Mimzy: OMG IS SHE?

Alastor: sureeeeee

And they aren't actually into each other until a lot later into their partnership when they’re chasing some guy and reader gets to them first and just starts going at it “hey man i think hes had enough” “YOU WANT WHAT HES HAVING???” thpe shit

and Alastor has to catch his breath and he lowkey thinks hes dying because his heart starts beating a lot, And he goes again to mimzy for advice cuz i dont think he has anu friends and shes like “oh sweetie…”

And because its quite impossible to not get attached at one point theyre in another chase and reader starts laughing hysterically like “did you see him trying to run away??? lmao” and he goes “I couldnt take my eyes off you” and then just grabs her face and SMOOCH >:)

I think its a good trope- fake dating to actual dating even if its. about. murderers- :3

A/N YOU GUYS COME UP WITH THE BEST REQUESTS JESUS CHRIST!!! Also I promise I will get to the rest of the requests this weekend, I had two exams today so this is the only thing I am gonna post. Sorry.

Cover Up (Human!Alastor x Human!Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: uh, murder. Mild gore. Violence. Weapons.

Word Count: 4,460 (I went a little overboard with this one)

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

"I'll walk her home, don't worry Mimzy." Alastor was saying as Y/n pulled her coat over her shoulders.

The noises of the party still raging on filtered into the grand entryway of the house, muffled through the walls. Mimzy shot her two friends a suspicious look.

"It's nothing like that, Mimz." Y/n sighed, straightening the collar of her fur coat, "I just asked cause of all those murders in the news. Kinda freaky, don't you think? I don't really wanna be out alone at night and Al here was kind enough to offer."

Mimzy crossed her arms, eyebrows raised.

"Sure." she teased.

"Mimzy." Alastor sighed in response and she put her hands up in false surrender.

"Sorry! Sorry." she hummed playfully, "I know you two free birds would never."

Alastor rolled his eyes and, turning to Y/n, held out his arm. She took it daintily, a grateful smile on her face. The pair had just met a few hours earlier but had quickly fallen into a casual camaraderie. He lead her from the house, Mimzy calling her goodnights and wishes for their safety after their retreating forms.

It was a mostly quiet walk through the desolate midnight streets of New Orleans. Y/n hummed softly, kicking a can along with the toes of her healed shoes.

"You'll ruin them that way, wont you?" Alastor asked, feigning concern.

Y/n just shrugged.

"They're shoes. Yeah, they're nice but I wont let that stop me from living. Let's stop by the water, it's so pretty tonight."

Alastor turned slightly, looking out at the Mississippi with it's slightly turbid waters reflecting the light of the stars. He tried not to smile, it was like she wanted him to carry out his intended work. She was making it so easy for him.

"Sure."

They turned towards the rail and Y/n let go of his arm, leaning her elbows against it. She let out a sigh of longing as her eyes tracked the ripples in the surface.

Alastor watched her for a moment, the moon illuminating her features. She was a handsome woman, there was no doubt about it. It had been proved to him tenfold by the amount of prospective partners she had turned down dances with at the party in favor of drinking with him at the bar. That was not what Alastor was interested in, however. Once he was sure she was distracted, once he was sure she had no intent to take her eyes from the glowing river, he looked down. Moving his coat slightly to the side, his hand quickly found its way to the hilt of the knife he had stashed in his waistband for just such an occasion.

He pulled it out, the weight familiar, almost comforting in a sense, in his hand. There was a click. He looked up, the blade pointed to its intended target.

Y/n was facing him now, a wry smile on her face. One foot in front of the other, she took a step forward. The muzzle of the gun, the cocking of which had been the source of the noise which had drawn his attention, just a few centimeters from his chest. The tip of his knife hovered indefinitely by the open center of her coat. He chuckled in amusement, eyebrows raised.

"I thought there were a few more bodies in the news than there should have been. A gun? Really?"

Y/n shrugged.

"I'm little. I don't have the privilege of being able to overpower my victims like you."

Alastor hummed softly. A slight breeze picked up, playing with the edges of their hair.

"What a shame."

Y/n laughed lightly.

"I don't think so. It works well enough."

"Those machines are inelegant, they are detached."

"And you prefer a sense of intimacy to be involved in all your escapades?"

Alastor removed the knife, holding it up to his eyes. He turned the blade over in his hand, examining it closely. Following suit, Y/n let her hand fall to her side, the gun still cocked should an occasion arise to use it.

"I have an idea." he suddenly announced.

"Oh?" Y/n asked.

She took a step back, returning to the water's edge. Alastor followed, leaning over the railing beside her. They watched one another closely, weapons still clutched loosely in their hands.

"Yep."

"You gonna tell me what it is or am I gonna have to guess?" Y/n teased after a moment, breaking the oddly comfortable silence that had fallen after Alastor's last words.

"There have been a few times, of late, where I've come a bit... uncomfortably close to being seen."

"Getting lazy." Y/n hummed, "Or maybe just cocky."

"It seems like you could use a hand, someone with brute strength in case anything goes wrong."

She scoffed, smiling just the slightest bit.

"Are you proposing we work together?"

"You're the one who said it, not me."

Y/n shook her head slightly, amused.

"How would I know you wouldn't just turn on me? End up killing me or decide not to step in if I needed help?"

"And how would I know that you wouldn't rat me out? Alert someone to where I was and what I was doing rather than telling me someone was coming? It's called trust, Y/n."

Y/n thought it over, fiddling with the gun in her grip as she did so. Alastor watched, seeing the gears turning in her mind through the light of her eyes.

"Fine." she said at last, un-cocking the gun and holding a hand out to him, "You've got yourself a deal."

Alastor smiled, slipping the knife back into his belt before grasping her hand in his. It was chilled by the air of the January night enveloping them.

"Deal."

Y/n quickly learned Alastor's preferred demographic. He had a penchant for angry men, drunks. Y/n had been a one off, a spur of the moment opportunity he had thought to take hold of. Alastor had not been like that for her. Y/n's preferred victims were also men. Anyone that showed any pressing interest in her, anyone who tried to take her home for the night, always ended up six feet under. For both, murder was a way of processing their personal experiences and traumas.

As a result of their deal, Y/n and Alastor began to spend more time together. They had to learn one another's intricacies, their ways of thinking, their nature of being. It was a necessity if anything was actually going to work. They both had rather busy work schedules, Alastor as a radio broadcaster with his very own show and Y/n as a seamstress at a local dress shop. Because of this, more often than not, the only time they had to get to know one another was through shared meals. Both of them had to eat, needed a lunch break or dinner. It was just what worked. Because of their slightly shared demographic of victim, they ended up in bars together quite frequently as well.

It was in one of these meet ups that they ran into their first difficulty. Y/n was sitting across a table from him outside a cafe, lazily sipping on a coffee as she perused the missing persons list in a newspaper. The newspaper was old, they were exchanging information about who was responsible for what. Working together didn't just mean knowing one another as they were now, but their histories as well.

They should have known not to sit in such a public place. Both had many connections in the city due to their jobs, though few friends. It just so happened on that day that the one true friend they did have in common was walking down the very street they sat on.

"Alastor?" Mimzy exclaimed, catching sight of his familiar face and moving towards their table.

Y/n folded the newspaper, placing it on the table as she turned towards the sound. Mimzy came to a stop, her brow furrowing in mild confusion as she saw her friend was not in fact alone.

"And Y/n, fancy meeting you two here."

"Pull up a chair, Mimz." Y/n smiled and Mimzy obeyed.

Swinging a spare chair from a nearby table, she quickly joined them.

"I haven't seen you two since the party! How have you been."

"Fine, fine." Alastor hummed and Y/n nodded her assent.

"And whats this with you two getting coffee?" Mimzy asked, a teasing smile slipping onto her face as Alastor took a sip of his own drink, "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, not at all Mimz." Y/n shook her head, a slight smile on her face, "It's always a pleasure to see you."

"You sure this isn't a date or something? I mean, with the way you two left and everything... having coffee alone..."

Alastor nearly choked on his drink. Y/n and Mimzy turned to him as he put a hand to his chest, clearing his throat.

"Excuse me." he said and Mimzy's grin widened.

"Oh this is totally a date."

"No!" Alastor exclaimed, exchanging a fervent glance with Y/n across the table.

She raised her eyebrows, pursing her lips. Without words, she told him to handle it. Alastor sighed.

"Are you sure?" Mimzy asked, a suggestive tone to her voice.

"I... uh..." Alastor stuttered, his brain working in overdrive to think of anything else. It came up empty, "Fine. Yes. We're... we're on a date."

"You caught us." Y/n chimed in and Mimzy turned to her.

"Oh my stars! You two.... I shoulda guessed you'd get on like a house on fire. Shame I can't invite you to any more of my singles parties though Y/n, you are a riot."

Singles parties. A hunting ground. Y/n smiled.

"No, no, Mimz. We're not exclusive or anything."

Mimzy's eyes widened slightly at the revelation as Alastor shot Y/n a look across the table. Dating was going to be hard for them to sell but swingers too? What was she thinking.

"Really? How exotic." Mimzy hummed in thought.

"We're all going to hell anyways so, why not." Y/n shrugged.

"Oh you." Mimzy laughed, placing a hand on Y/n's shoulder as she got to her feet, "Well, I won't keep you love birds any longer. I'll see you next week for the next party then?"

"We'll see." Alastor hummed placidly.

Once Mimzy had gone, he rounded on Y/n.

"Swingers?" he asked, eyebrows raised, "Really?"

"Hey, you're the one who started the whole 'we're dating' thing." Y/n sighed, picking the newspaper back up and resuming the task at hand, "I just made it easier for us."

"It will utterly destroy my reputation if this gets out you know."

Y/n shot him a look over the top of the paper.

"Al, you got a lot more to worry about than pretending to be a swinger in terms of your reputation. Now, Marcus Alcost? Six four, buff, scar on his left forearm? Brown hair?"

"Blue eyes?"

"Umm... yeah."

"Yep, that was me."

"Nice. Musta been a tough one to take down."

Alastor would track men, following them out as they left the establishments in the small hours of the morning with the intent of returning to their families. He would stalk them, corner them, lead them in. Y/n would stand watch, alerting him at the first sign of trouble.

The moment she heard footsteps, chatter, Y/n would duck in. Grabbing Alastor by the arm, she would whisk him off in some random direction, having consistently used the time she was on lookout to scout for escape routes.

They had had a few close calls, one or two times he had had to press her up against a wall and pretend to kiss her to avoid prying eyes. They always had a good laugh after something like that. Mostly, things worked out well. They each had survived on their own for years at this point. They knew what they were doing, adding another person into the mix just made it a tad easier.

Y/n, on the other hand, didn't need to track her victims down, they did that work for her. She would dress up all pretty and the moment someone asked to take her home or something of the like, would agree. Then she'd pull them into some ally or another under the guise of not wanting to wait a second longer and attack. Alastor would stand behind her, arms crossed menacingly as she carried out her work. He threatened so she could perform and she never had any trouble thanks to him.

That was, until one night about a year into their little partnership. As the time had passed, their relationship had grown. They still held the ruse of dating up before anyone who asked why it was they each spent so much time with the other but, a real friendship had begun to blossom between them as well. As it turns out, they had a lot more in common than just a tendency to commit brutal murders. Y/n knew Alastor well by now, better than anyone else most likely, and he knew her as well. That was how he could tell something was wrong.

Y/n had given Alastor the usual signal from across the bar and he had settled his tab. As he followed the pair, Y/n and the tall man whose hand she held, Alastor had noticed something was off. Normally by this point Y/n was stumbling around, pretending to be drunk and ditzy. She was doing this very thing now but in a more halted and jagged way. The man she was with seemed more believably drunk than she was, swaying this way and that. Her movements were uncharacteristically harsh as she pulled the man into the ally about a block ahead of him.

Alastor picked up the pace, breaking into a light jog. He reached the ally and turned down it, expecting to see Y/n flirting with the man or with her gun out already. Instead, he was met with something entirely different.

At the back of the ally lay the huddled mass of the man. On top of him was Y/n. The thuds of her knuckles against his face was the only sound breaking the silence of the night. She hit him, again and again. Alastor stood there, stunned.

"Dear, whatever is the matter?" he asked at last, trying to wrap his head around the situation.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"Y/n."

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He could see the splatters of blood now, on the ground around them and the wall behind. The thuds included the occasional squelch, the crack of a bone.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

"You'll ruin your hands for work tomorrow if you keep at this."

Still, she ignored him. There was a sickening crunch. Sighing, he approached.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

He could see it now, the man's mutilated face. Part of his skull looked like it had caved in. He had stopped moving long ago.

"Y/n, dear," Alastor tentatively reached out a hand towards her shoulder as he spoke, "don't you think he has had enough?"

Y/n whipped around to him, her eyes wild and her bloody raw knuckles raised. He froze, his hand hovering above her shoulder. There was blood everywhere. It soaked the sleeves of her collard shirt, it dripped from her fingers, it decorated her face and her bared teeth.

"What, you fucking want some too?"

Alastor's breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded against his ribcage, begging for escape. It wasn't fear, it couldn't be. He could take this girl down in ten seconds flat, blood hungry as she was.

Y/n's eyes, sharp with violence, softened slightly as she saw his reaction. She let her hands fall, resting them on the man's chest.

"He tried to drug me." she revealed, turning her eyes back to her mess, her masterpiece.

"He what?"

"Yeah." she sighed, using the back of her hand to push her hair from her eyes, leaving a residue of blood in the wake of the movement, "I caught him, switched the drinks."

Alastor shifted his gaze to the man before falling on Y/n once again. Her face was blank now, all the rage gone.

"He tried to drug me." she said again, her voice hollow.

At last, his hand found its home on her shoulder and she turned to face him once again. Alastor extended his free hand to Y/n. She examined it for a moment before daintily placing one of her own in his and allowing him to help her to her feet. Both her hands now rested in his as they looked back at the remains of the man.

"Well, he's definitely dead."

Alastor let go of Y/n's hands. Now free, he used one of them to turn her face to his. Blood spattered, wide eyed, lips slightly parted -- his heart fought for freedom from his chest once again.

"He deserved it."

Alastor let go of Y/n's chin and used the cuff of his jacket to wipe some of the blood from her face.

"Can you walk me home?"

Normally if she had asked something like that, Alastor would have teased her to no end. Why be scared of the monsters in the dark when she herself was one of them? But her voice had been small, timid. She had avoided his eyes and his fingers tingled at the prospect of her viewing him as protector.

"Of course, my dear."

They did not have another planned meeting until two weeks from that day. Y/n had a big project at work and wouldn't have any spare time because of it. Alastor, normally restless at the idea of having to wait so long to satisfy his bloodlust either by killing or seeing the show of death, was grateful for the respite. He was confused, overwhelmed even, because his strange reactions, the change in his patterns of thought towards the girl, hadn't ended at Y/n's front door.

No, she was haunting him. Like a vengeful ghost, he saw her in his mind. She took up every waking moment, he didn't know what to do. Alastor waited a day and still, it persisted. The skip of his heart, the odd slightly sick feeling in his stomach at the thought of their reunion. He waited three days and it didn't stop. By the time the end of the week rolled around and Alastor still found himself smiling at the prospect of only having to wait another week not to kill but to see Y/n again, he did the unthinkable. It was the only option he could come up with. Besides Y/n, she was the only other person in the world he even half trusted. Alastor called Mimzy.

"Alastor, darling!" she excitedly exclaimed into the phone, "What a surprise! What can I do for you?"

"Yeah, hey Mimzy. Um..." he struggled to find the words, fiddling with the phone cord as he walked to the window, looking down at the street below, "I just... I need your advice about something."

"What is it, hun?" she immediately replied, "Seems its got you in a tizzy, not a lot can do that."

"I... It's about Y/n."

"Uh-oh, trouble in paradise?"

"No. Maybe?" he turned from the window, collapsing in his desk chair, "I don't know."

"Spill."

"Well, we... I just.... Mimz, I can't stop thinking about her."

"Well I would hope not, you've been together for almost a year now."

"Yeah well, about that. It may have been a... stretching of the truth? Shall we say?"

"Al." Mimzy warned after a moment's silence, "If you are playing with this gi-"

"No!" he exclaimed, cutting her off and quickly crafting an excuse, "No. It was just to get our parents off our backs. We had a deal. They were both pestering us about when we were gonna get married, you know how it is."

"I thought your dad was dead?"

"My ma though, she really wants to see me settled down."

"I guess that explains the swingers thing." Mimzy sighed, "It didn't really seem in character for either of you. So, whats the matter?"

"I told you, I can't stop thinking about her. It's like... it's like... look, we're not dating, but we're friends, you know? And we were out at a bar together a few nights ago and she just... she did something and when I looked at her, it was like I died."

"That little minx." Mimzy laughed in glee, "What the heck did she do?"

"Just something, okay?"

"I have got to quiz her about this."

"No! Please, no. She'd... probably be embarrassed."

"Mmm... okay...." came Mimzy's doubtful reply, "So what was it you needed help with?"

"Well, that. It was like the breath had left my body entirely. I felt... sick, my chest hurt. It was so strange. I thought it would go away once I got some sleep but it didn't. Every time I think about her, it feels like there is a vice around my heart and I can't stop thinking about her."

"Al, seriously? This is what you're asking me about?"

"Yeah?" he uncertainly replied after a moment.

"What are you, twelve?"

"Mimzy, are you going to help or not?"

She sighed.

"Alastor, you have a crush on her."

A beat.

"I do not."

"Yes, you do. Maybe even more."

"I..." his brow furrowed, his breath left his body.

This was bad. This could be dangerous, detrimental even.

"Are you sure?"

"Butterflies in your stomach? Pains in your chest? Can't get her out of your mind? You're even breathless for christ's sake Al. It's textbook first pangs of love."

"Fuck."

Mimzy laughed.

"You're already pretend dating, what harm would asking her to do the real thing with you do? My bet is, she's probably been feeling the same thing about you. That tends to happen in cases like yours, I've seen it before. The whole 'fake love turns real' trope. It's overdone if you ask me."

"Mimzy, this isn't one of your trashy romance novels. This is my life."

"So live it radio man! Go get that girl."

Alastor was nervous, trembling even as he sat at the bar. His glass of whiskey had gone warm on the table as he watched Y/n dancing and having fun in the crowd. This was how it usually went when it was his turn to hunt, she'd have fun and he'd find a target. Once the target left, he'd grab her and they'd move out.

Tonight he was distracted and it showed. The man had nearly given them the slip. With Alastor's knife still sticking out of his shoulder, he had ducked away and started running. Of course that meant Alastor and Y/n had to give chase. They ran after him through the streets of New Orleans as he screamed bloody murder and Y/n's heels clicked definitively on the ground. He was thankful that the hour was late and no one was out and about, thankful the man was so drunk his words came out closer to garbled singing than pleas for help, thankful he was slowed by his consumption.

When they at last caught up with him, Alastor grabbed his second knife from his belt and, taking the man's hurt shoulder in his free hand, buried it deep in the man's back. He fell to the floor, sputtering, coughing up blood. In a few moments he was still. Alastor turned to Y/n, panting.

Her pretty eyes traced a path between murderer and victim a handful of times before a smile broke out onto her face. Before he could really register what was happening, she was doubled over in laughter, clutching her stomach.

Alastor watched Y/n, eyebrows raised as they both caught their breath. After about a minute, she straightened up and turned to him, wiping a tear from her eye.

"What?" Alastor asked with a wry smile, "What is so funny about a dead man."

"He..." she broke out into laughter again, "He... the way he ran! And we almost lost him?! Oh my god, Al, that coulda been so bad."

"The way... he ran?"

"He... didn't you see it? Oh my god, it was so funny. Like he was running in a three legged race with an invisible partner." she wheezed.

Alastor felt the heat pooling in his cheeks. Mimzy was right, it was time for him to live his life. A normal existence could coexist with his hobby, Y/n had already proved that to him.

"Didn't you see?" she asked again.

"No." he shook his head, "I was... I was watching you."

"You were... Al, theres no way you were." Y/n scoffed, "No way. If you were watching me, he would have gotten away. If you were watching me, it would meant that you were unconcerned by your oh-so-precious reputation being ruined. If you were watching me, it would mean..."

She trailed off as he took a step closer to her, his gaze flicking between her eyes and her lips. Y/n's cheeks flushed pink.

"Alastor."

Her voice was a dying prayer. Reaching a trembling hand up, he laid it on the back of her head, his fingers tangling with her hair as she looked up at him with wide eyes. Alastor closed the gap.

He had been so scared. Scared she would push him away, that she wouldn't kiss back. Even a little bit scared he'd just become the next name on her list of degenerate men she'd killed.

There was a moment, a split second, where his fears were realized. Then, she washed them all away. Hands buried in the lapel of his jacket, she pulled him closer, Y/n leaned in.

They broke apart after a moment, their cheeks flushed and utterly breathless.

"I-"

"Would you like to go on a date with me, Y/n?"

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Are you going to try to kill me again?"

"Oh please, I thought we'd moved past that darling."

Y/n smiled, still holding him close. Alastor let his hands fall onto her waist as they swayed slightly under the light of the moon.

"Yes Alastor. I will let you take me on a date."

"We will not be swingers."

Y/n laughed.

"Just had to make that clear."

"No, Alastor. If I am going to get you, I want you all to myself. Now, what are we going to do about that body?"

----

Next Part -> Cover Up pt. 2

[doctorcurdlejr]

This is from a longer post I wrote about I saw the tv glow but just posting this bit on its own bc of the conversation around the movie I guess:

The point is that this movie is one big glaring trans allegory about how it sucks dog shit to live in the suburbs, and even at our most repressed we find these little snow globes of actualization in the glow of a tv screen that isn't afraid to show you the world you see. I've seen some people say that, like, in this context accepting or coming into your transness is this monumental death of self, which I get, but I feel there lacks a nuance in that because either way Owen is dying. Unlike Maddy who buries herself alive only to come out renewed, Owen doesn't kill himself upon facing the reality that the world is constructed to keep him miserable and the only way out is to take back what it is that the world wants to keep scooped out of him. Instead he just passively lets it drag him to a much more permanent death. This lack of suicide sucks in the kind of way that forces you to sit in your car on the midnight drive home and think to yourself am I letting myself suffocate because at some point knowing the misery became less scary than admitting I've been capable of doing something about it the whole time?

Maddy is an out lesbian who left town to escape the misery and found it strapped to her ankles. She slinks out, an animal pressed against the gymnasium floor, and says "I'm not telling you anything you don't already know." Owen looks into the camera and narrates. He cuts himself open with a box cutter, fully acknowledges what's there, and the movie ends with his suffocating apology parade for the unremarkable inconvenience of his excruciating suffering. You can be gay and trans, you can know it and you can stop repressing it, but you're not going to stop suffocating until you can find a way to destroy the part of you that truly deeply does want to die, reaching for the comforting euthanasia of normalcy. Stop visiting the dream of the life you want and make it into your reality with the same kind of unrepentant conviction seen in some underfunded but wildly ambitious teen television series. In other words: you must try to survive the ego death of being weird. A weirdo, who doesn't fit in and doesn't want to fit in.

[cuppajj]

Beast Ancients AU FAQ

I’ve seen a lot of asks in my inbox that are identical to each other, so I decided to put em all in one post and then some. This’ll be updated the more I develop the AU and the more info we get.

As a disclaimer, I am very new to CRK (as of December 2023) and I haven’t gotten to all the game or story modes yet (notably odyssey), so things are definitely bound to change + be elaborated on more! Anyway without further ado:

General

What are the Beast Ancients’ themes?

Vanilla is Penance, Lily is Sovereignty, Dragonberry is Pride, Cacao is Solitude, and Cheese is Conquest. I tried to keep them within the realm of their original meanings

Essentially my philosophy is: Penance is the acknowledgment (truth) that sins such as deceit exist in the world and must be cleansed. Sovereignty is an extreme form of freedom where one can have all the agency they wish, but can be just as silent about their presence/power as well. Pride is a byproduct of passion or sloth, boiling down to the adamancy of the subject. Solitude is a choice made with both resolution and apathy in various degrees, and lastly Conquest promises an abundant future at the cost of untold destruction.

If the ancients are bad, are the beasts good?

No, the old Beasts are still a threat. With a total of ten beasts to worry about, the situation on Earthbread is very dire. However, there is still hope left, and hope can go a long way.

Is there a new set of ancient heroes with soul jams?

No, and there likely won’t be. The Neo Beasts and first Beasts still have their respective soul jam halves, and both want each other’s.

Where’s Gingerbrave and his party?

Likely the Crème Republic, which becomes a refuge for many cookies after the rise of the neo beasts. They’re at the front of the resistance movement, working with Clotted Cream Cookie to plan how the beasts will be taken down.

What do the Neo Beasts think of their past selves?

Generally they see themselves as improved or improving. The only one who doesn’t feel that way is Frigid Cacao, who doesn’t reflect on himself that often.

Did they all corrupt at the same time?

Still working on that part. The timeline for beast ancients is a WIP, but for now, it’s likely that while they didn’t corrupt at once, they corrupted pretty close to one another. Cheese was likely first, followed by Lily. Vanilla was among the last to fall and evidently had it the worst.

Do the Neo Beasts still have kingdoms? How is life like there?

Answered here

What are the cookies of darkness doing?

As of writing (5/31/24) we don’t have a lot of info on the cookies of darkness in beast yeast, but at the very least I can say Dark Enchantress cookie may or may not know about Midnight Lily’s plan to destroy her.

How would legendaries react?

I admittedly don’t know everything about the legendaries to say yet, but they’re all alarmed to some degree. I can flesh them out the more I learn about them

Individual Neo Beast questions under cut!

Saint Vanilla Cookie

How do his powers work?

Answered here

Does he know he’s killing cookies?

Nope, he doesn’t see it as that and it would pain him to. He sees purification as a form of transition or ascension in itself, to put it simply; he might even envy those he turns to stardust, knowing his own tainted soul will be so much harder to liberate.

Why is he constantly crying?

He’s just like that. He’s just that big of an empath.

Has his relationship with Lily changed?

Saint Vanilla still cares very much about Lily, and may even be more open about his feelings towards her; but he admits the only reason why she’s still alive is because she convinced him to leave her for last. Lily very well knows that Vanilla, in his mind, wants to purify her more than anyone else. Vanilla often pities her choice to stew in her tainted soul, but he respects her decision… at least the alternative is that they’ll someday be the only two cookies on Earthbread.

What happened to Black Raisin?

As the very first to witness his rise, she inadvertently became his very first martyr.

Where’s Custard Cookie III?

With his relatives in the Crème Republic, alongside the rest of Gingerbrave’s party. The kid has a hard time wrapping his head around what happened to Pure Vanilla, and it may be a blessing that he’s been largely focused on worrying about the well being of his uncle, Clotted Cream Cookie. As the head of the resistance, he’s been working tirelessly… is this what a king goes through too?

Shadow Milk’s opinion on Saint?

To put it simply, he starts out thinking that a confused Vanilla will be easy to manipulate, but he soon finds out that Saint Vanilla is way smarter and more aware than made out to be. He knows Shadow Milk is with him, and he wants to purge him from his soul; but that is a process that may be harder than anything else. So in the meantime, Shadow Milk can watch as he continues on his path of Penance towards ascension, fighting back the resistance he creates before it can truly harm him. Essentially, Saint Vanilla isn’t trapped with Shadow Milk, Shadow Milk is trapped with Saint Vanilla.

Dragonberry Cookie

Is the skull on her head real?

Yes! It comes from a nondescript monster.

If Pitaya is imprisoned, where is Snapdragon?

With Tarte Tatin and/or Royal Margarine. Dragon City likely got taken over by Dragonberry’s kingdom, but they noped out of there as it happened. The two of them might’ve been the first few to recognize Hollyberry’s spiral into corruption and where it was headed

How is her family doing?

Alright for the most part, but they can feel Dragonberry’s influence in every aspect of their life now. While Royal and Jungleberry are technically still the king and queen, it’s only a figurehead role as Dragonberry is the true ruler. She still cares about her family very much, but she’s controlling and good at keeping them under her thumb. Dragonberry’s granddaughter Princess Cookie is the only one who objects this new way of life, and runs away from the palace.

How would the other dragons react?

The other dragons aren’t canon to CRK so they’re not canon to the au by extension, but just for this question, they’d be different levels of alarmed or concerned save for maybe Longan. I could see Ananas wanting a word with Dragonberry in particular esp since they’re both prideful cookies

Frigid Cacao Cookie

Does he ever go outside?

Very rarely, but it’s usually to observe the licorice sea or meet with the few denizens he has left.

Where is Dark Choco?

Still working on this part (waiting for Apathy pt 2 to come out so I have a better idea), but he’s likely alone by himself. He heard wind of his father’s corruption though and took it less well than he thought he would. Perhaps he’ll run into someone who feels the same?

Is his permafrost truly permanent or can the frozen citizens be thawed?

Technically yes, the permafrost can be thawed, but it’s a meticulous process since Cacao’s ice isn’t normal ice. It’s a cure that Crunchy Chip is looking for to save Caramel Arrow.

How does the licorice sea work for him and how did he come to tame it?

I can’t say how yet outside of the fact that it was a definitely cool and heroic thing for Dark Cacao to do, on the scale of taming the Black and White dragons. The sea, arguably a sentient monster in itself, and all of the creatures within it came to follow Cacao and Cacao only. Now it almost acts like an extension of himself: the beast can make the sea do whatever he wants, like acting as his shield, arms, or barrier, and the licorice horrors will vehemently defend him. There are tons of monsters roaming his frozen kingdom now.

Mystic Flour’s opinion on Cacao?

Working on it, but to some degree she knows Cacao is much stronger than he looks. She might see his apparent apathy for his frozen kingdom with fondness though.

Celestial Cheese Cookie

Is the Golden City still running or did she leave it to die?

It may still be running but in a scaled-down beta form. Cheese learned to accept the fact that what she’d built was entirely fake, but she didn’t move on from regaining what was lost. Her virtual Golden City serves as a blueprint for the kingdom she wants on Earthbread, and then some; with nothing in the barren desert to grow her kingdom, her brightened eyes turn elsewhere towards civilizations that could be brought into the fold. Such is the beginning of the Beast of Conquest’s terror.

She does sometimes visit her golden city, only sometimes. It doesn’t look the same; it’s not a paradise for her to escape to, but it is a promise of what she will have someday. This time, it will be no mirage, and there will be no one to threaten its destruction ever again.

Midnight Lily Cookie

What is her opinion on dark enchantress cookie?

DE is the source of insecurity for Lily, who regards herself as the weakest among all the beasts. Because she’s half of a complete whole, who was already half of another whole, she is passionate about reuniting her souls. While she is focused on expanding the influence of the faerie kingdom, her true goal is to track down Dark Enchantress Cookie and destroy her; but she knows she will need more help than just herself, and has considered asking for help from other vengeful allies.

Does she still guard the silver tree?

Yes, she still fiercely honors Elder Faerie’s wishes.

Have her relationships with the other neo beasts changed?

Ish, most notably her and Celestial Cheese are a little more on speaking terms; but they’re connecting through their potential partnership as Lily hopes she can help her take down Dark Enchantress. In return, she might help her expand her kingdom and take down Burning Spice.

If more FAQs come up, I will make a part two. Thank you for your interest!

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Vampiric.

Pairing: Yandere!Miguel O'hara x Reader (Spiderverse).

Word Count: 1.4k.

TW: Vampire AU, Blood and Violence, Unbalanced Power Dynamic, Predator/Prey Dynamics, Implied Past/Future N0n///C0n, and Obsessive Behavior.

He came to you in the midnight hours.

You’d learned, by now, to wait for his nightly visits in privacy, to sit on the corner of your bed farthest from your window and listen for the distant sound of claws digging into wood, of a body dragging against stone, of nails scraping against glass as he beckoned you to let him in willingly. Of course, you didn’t, and of course, he didn’t need you to – your bedroom window crashing only a moment after you would’ve reached it, a pair of talon-doting hands wrapping around your windowsill before Miguel hauled himself inside, scarlet blood already dotting the collar of his white undershirt. Clearly, he’d already fed, tonight. His appetite had already been sated, which meant he’d only come to you to wash the taste out of his mouth.

The alternative would’ve been kinder. When he came to you half-starved, you could blame his violence on his hunger, his cruelness on his desperation. Whatever he did tonight would only serve his own twisted sense of entertainment.

He was grinning, too; crimson painted over his lips and dripping from his chin, coating his pointed fangs and spilling onto the fine silk of his tunic. With your back to him, your shoulder pressed into the plain wood of your headboard, you watched from your peripheral as he stepped into your bedroom, letting out a bark of a laugh and arching his back before stiffening, his smile falling in an instant with a sharp, venomous hiss. He didn’t flee or melt into a pile of ash and bone as you’d hoped, but only turned back to your window, catching the wreath of purple and white flowers posted above it on his claws. “Garlic blooms,” he muttered, crushing your wreath in his fist. The ruined flowers were allowed to drift pathetically to the floor, but you forced yourself to look away before they landed. “Trying your hand at botany?”

“Someone told me that garlic was good for keeping away for keeping away unwanted pests, but they must’ve been mistaken.” You didn’t move, didn’t turn, keeping your back straight and your hands wrung together in your lap. It was all you could do to keep your voice steady, to hide how much you wanted to buckle into yourself and beg him to leave. That’d come soon enough, when you were drained of all things good and vital and had only the strength it took to hold yourself. For now, you could play confident. “Tell me, would it be worth the time it’d take to hang a crucifix?”

You felt his weight on the plush of your mattress, your stomach turning as he grew ever-nearer. “I wouldn’t think so. You know how fond I am of holy ground.”

It was true, you did. You’d never be able to forget the night he first cornered you, the hours you spent pinned against the alter of an empty chapel as a beast you’d mistaken for a man buried his teeth in your neck and he forced his body into yours. For as long as he’d tormented you, you’d thought that night would be your final one, that he’d split you open and eat you alive before the sun ever rose, but here you sat, alive and breathing and still completely in the dark as to why he hadn’t devoured you, why he hadn’t left you in the same decrepit state as the rest of his mortal victims – a dried husk, barely a shell of a corpse left in a gutter or alleyway to be found by some poor soul the next morning. Your only guess was that he took more joy in being the ghost that haunted your every waking thought than the beast who would rip you to shreds the moment you stepped into the moonlight, and even then, it was hard to tell which fate was crueler. It was hard to tell if you were glad that he’d shown you mercy, or distraught that he'd chosen to keep you as a plaything, instead.

A bitter taste spread over your tongue. His cold breath fanned over your exposed back, and reflectively, motivated by the same instinct that propels the rabbit to writhe in the fox’s mouth, you tried to stand, to flee Miguel before he thought to bite down. You made it all of half a step before a strong arm caught you by the waist, dragging you back onto your bed and against Miguel’s broad chest. There was a throaty laugh, a flat tongue ran over the curve of your throat, and then, the fox put the rabbit out of its misery and Miguel sunk his fangs into your neck.

It hurt the same way it always hurt. The pain was sharp, hot – searing your veins as he bit into you, drawing a sharp cry from the base of your throat before you could hope to swallow it down. He held you like that for a moment, then another, your body pressed against his and his teeth burrowed in your flesh, before pulling back with a rolling growl, barely giving you time to draw in a ragged inhale before his lips latched onto his fresh puncture marks, his coarse tongue over the twin streams of blood. A thin trail of scarlet slipped past the corner of his mouth, only growing thicker as he nipped at half-healed ‘love bites’ and throbbing bruises too often abused to fade. His hand fell away from your wrist and rose to your collar, finding its way to the base of your throat and catching you in an inescapable grip, holding you steady as he drank from you. Sometimes, he let you fight it, took joy in pinning you down as you shoved and kicked and screamed, but he usually preferred a submissive meal. Tonight, he was clearly in the mood to pretend you were willing prey.

You expected him to leave after he’d drunk his fill, to pull away and slip back out of your bedroom window, but you were not that fortunate. Rather, he sunk lower, burying his teeth in the curve of your shoulder. The impact was dull, just forceful enough to bruise – meant more to mark than to maim. A love bite, in the place of a puncture wound – the former just as painful as the latter. “It’s like wine,” he muttered, the words nearly lost against your skin. You felt his hand on the collar of your nightdress, starting to drag the delicate fabric downward before he lost what little patience he still had. Before you could brace yourself, before you could think to bed him not to, your body was slammed against the wood of your headboard, his fist still wrapped around your neck, his claws still tearing at your clothes. “If I had less control, I would’ve drained you weeks ago.”  His voice in your ear, his hands on your skin. He dropped lower, to your chest, and yet, you never seemed to rid yourself of the awful feeling that he was looming over you, consuming you. “You’re lucky that your blood’s not the only part of you that tastes so—”

“Please.” It was barely a whisper. Without his uncannily keen senses, it could’ve easily been lost underneath the sounds of his lips against your skin, underneath his throaty growls and stifled moans. Still, he raised his head, his scarlet eyes flickering up to meet yours as you went on. “Please, Miguel, not tonight.”

For a moment, he did not move, did not speak. You pictured, in a part of your mind you’d lost control of the day you met him, Miguel burying his talons in your chest, carving out your beating heart and making it so you’d never be able to deny him again, but the blow never came.

A small, teasing smile spread across his crimson-stained lips as he raised his head. He kissed you, the gesture gentle and lingering, before straightening his back and releasing your throat. “Not tonight,” he said, watching as you sunk into yourself. “But soon. I can’t let my amor spend their nights alone for much longer.”

You opened your mouth, but he was already gone – vanishing into the moonlight and leaving you covered in your own blood, shaking in the tatters of your nightdress, and already dreading his next visit.

[livingemkayde]

in plain sight

joel miller x f!reader (post outbreak) | 2.8k

↳ warnings: lets see what were cooking with today team, this is rated for 18+ only! minors, please do not interact. smut, unprotected pinv, joel is kinda creepy (!) but in a fun way!? public / visible undressing, idk if this counts as it but like voyeurism?? or exhibitionism? idk im not too versed with my -isms. no use of y/n. let me know if i forgot anything.

↳ a /n: heres a little short (ish) one shot because i have COVID and i am SAD!!! joel is literally peeping tom 😭. idk where this came from, and i will not be giving an explanation at this time! thanks for reading and supporting, as always, inbox is sooo open and i love you all.

if you would like to read more of mine: masterlist!

“I saw you,” you start, but his hand comes up to grip your jaw gently, angling your face to meet his. It’s a little harder to talk, “in the window,” you mumble.  “You should close your blinds.”  “You should mind your business.” Your hand slips to rest against his chest.  “You really want me to?” his lips brush your ear, “You came over here to tell me that?” His thumb brushes over your breast through the cotton of your shirt. You moan, quietly. If he wasn’t so close he might’ve not been able to hear. But he does, and it spurs him on further.  “Hm?” he slots your body between his legs.  You shake your head.

He can see you—through the window. 

You weren’t sure at first. He’s new in town, took the place next to yours. But it was a peering, sneaking feeling following you around your room. Especially in that limbo between dinner and midnight. When you get especially restless and the yellow light emanating from your room is highlighted against the blueish black sky. 

You knew it was something, an unvoiced feeling that made you keep your mouth shut. But it didn’t will you to shut your blinds. It wasn’t creepy—it excited you. Maybe some sick part of you changes in front of the window just for him. 

So when you had caught him—two nights ago. It only spurred you on further. 

You got caught in the rain, sprinting upstairs and stripping down to your underwear. You didn’t even think he was home. Maybe that’s why you didn’t close your blinds before shedding your clothes—or maybe it was something else entirely. 

The soaked cotton of your t-shirt plopped down onto the hardwood. You stepped out of your jeans, turning your back to the window subconsciously. And when you reached around your own back to unclasp your bra, you felt it—that peering gaze. 

Delicate fingers undid the clasp and as you pulled the straps off your body, you looked over your shoulder, hitching your chin to the side. 

And you saw him, standing at his window. He had a cup of something in his hand, a tight fist wrapped around it. The soft rays of sunlight pushed a heavy glare over his body but you could see his face—a deer in headlights. A thief, caught red handed. In a blazing offense. 

And you, equally shocked—that it really was him looking all this time—that he spent his afternoon hours peering over into your room instead of living his life in his. That the stoic, grumpy, brooding — Joel Miller — stood studying you undressing like a showgirl. 

You had gasped a little, a quick thing, and he shut his blinds just as quickly and turned away—his shadow faded into the dim light of his bedroom window. 

Truthfully, you look for him everywhere you go. At the market. In the mess hall. At the stables when you’re rounding up hay. You don't see much of him, but you look for him. Take a quick inconspicuous peak over your shoulder. A watchful eye on the entrance to the bar. A peering gaze through windows, just like he does to you. 

You look for him behind your eyelids, in those late hours of the night, when his window goes dark some time after yours floods black.

It almost seems like you’re always looking for him. 

But you never truly see him. Not really. It almost seems like he’s avoiding you. 

But it’s somewhat of a celebratory night—Tommy’s birthday. So you get all too particularly dressed up for the Tispy Bison and rush over, the feeling of Joel’s gaze two nights ago still stuck sweetly to the skin of your back. 

A set of peering brown eyes meet yours when you walk in but they look away quickly. They always look away quickly. And maybe it’s the adrenaline coursing through your veins, or the younger Miller brother waving you over, but you want to change that. If it’s your life’s mission, you want him to look at you, and never, ever, look away. 

“Happy birthday, old man,” you smile at Tommy, he pulls you into a hug, your cheek pressing tightly against the breast of his jacket. All you can feel are eyes on you—the curve of your neck, your hand resting gently on Tommy’s waist. 

“C’mon,” Tommy shakes you slightly, “not that old.”

Then he looks back at Joel in a quiet, joking kind of way. 

“Hey,” you breathe, nodding towards Joel. He clears his throat, straightens his back, wets the skin of his lips and gives you a sharp nod in return. He drops your eyes for his fingers resting on the bartop. 

“Aren’t y’all neighbors?” Tommy questions, almost confused why the air seems so — awkward. 

Joel’s eyes flick under the gaze of his question, the muscle in his jaw tightens. He shoots a quick glance at you and then back to his brother. Your palm starts to sweat where it rests on the bar. 

Neighbors. 

You stay silent to let Joel answer his brother, but he fails, landing a defeated fist gently on the table, and turning away from the two of you, towards the bartender. Tommy’s eyebrows furrow. 

“Yeah,” you jump in, nod, smile, deflect, “We are.”

“Tommy!” A rowdy group of men pull Tommy backwards into the forming circle. Happy Birthdays are exchanged following many claps on the back. They stagger away into the background noise. 

Only Joel and you are left. 

You wave down the bartender.

“I’ll have whatever he’s having,” you say, nodding towards Joel at your side. 

A sweaty man emerges from the dancefloor to order a drink at your side. He smiles at you. You ignore him. 

“You like whiskey?” Joel mumbles from your other side, bringing the glass to his lips, staring directly ahead. You study the curve of his nose. 

“Sometimes,” you slide closer across the bar towards him, away from the other guy.  

Joel’s fingers tap on the wood. Your foot hits your own bar chair to the beat of the song. Your heart beats a little faster when he sneaks a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. It’s almost like he’s waiting with bated breath — anticipating you to confront him about the events of two nights ago.

You don’t, though. Not yet, at least. 

“Y’all close?” he says, nodding back towards Tommy. 

You nurse your drink at your lips. 

“Patrol,” the whiskey burns as it goes down, “you gonna get out there soon?”

“Old man like me?” 

“Not that old,” you bite the rim of the glass, “Could probably use you out there.”

He huffs a breath through his nose, swinging the glass in his hand, “Probably.”

“You should come check it out,” you look at him through your lashes, “I need a new partner.”

Joel huffs a breath, almost downing the rest of his drink. You sneak out of your chair and move closer. 

Tommy’s group breaks into laughter from beside you. A man bumps into your back and your drink spills to the floor, sloshing around in the clear glass while you stumble a little. 

Joel’s hand reaches out to grab your hip. The warm callousness of his thumb notches against that soft skin of your side, uncovered by fabric. He grips you, his thumb, featherweight, pushing against bone, sending a heat between your legs. 

Your hand lands on his bicep.

“Sorry,” you mumble, he doesn’t take his hand away, not until you straighten your shirt and turn your body back to the bar. He grumbles a quiet apology to follow yours.

“Can I get another, please?” you ask the bartender, your cheeks heat. Your whole body does. 

The bartender places a whiskey in front of you and you grab it promptly, swinging your body towards Joel, raising your glass to him. He looks at you silently, then down to your outstretched drink in hand. 

A quiet contemplation. 

“What for?” He asks.

Your palms start to sweat and you’re worried it might fog up the new glass. The yellow lights of the bar turn his skin golden. He’s wearing that green flannel you saw him in at the window, the sleeves of it pushed over his elbows. The wired muscle of his forearms flick under the tense air. 

You’re nervous he might take this the wrong way. But like you thought earlier, you want him to look at you, and never, ever, look away. 

So you smirk at him, choose your words carefully—and decide to bite.

“New neighbors.” 

His gaze flicks to yours. His lips part, then close again, maybe shocked, maybe something else. Then he lets out something strangled, air between teeth and tongue and he huffs like he can't help it. Like he doesn’t know what to do with what you’ve given him—with what you’ve baited him with. 

New neighbors. 

His glass doesn’t meet yours, so you clink them together for him, sipping on the dark liquor with a small smile behind the rim. He clears his throat, and gatherers a staggered breath while downing the rest of his drink. 

“You like your new place, right?” you ask. 

Joel stares at you, almost scared, questioning. 

“‘S fine,” he finally says. 

“Just fine?” 

“‘S nice.” 

“I think so too,” you get closer to him and when he doesn’t back away, “big bedrooms.” 

You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down. 

“Yup,” he whispers. When you get closer, he slips a hand into your jacket, palming at your waist, spreading the broadness of his hand across your ribs. You try not to gasp. He holds you there, almost a warning. A cautionary message. A blaring stop sign.

But you were never much for listening, anyways. 

“Nice view?” you mumble, staring at his lips. 

You can feel his breath punching against your face, the hand on your ribs slides higher. 

You tilt your head, a question — in more ways than one. 

He doesn’t respond, the muscle in his jaw flicks the longer you stand there studying his face. His eyes keep flicking down to your lips—you’re worried he can feel your heartbeat when he inches closer. Some country slow song comes on, maybe the lights dim, or maybe his stare darkens — turns devilish — and it makes it seem like it does. 

“What are you doin’?” he whispers. 

“Nothing.” 

“Doesn’t look like—” he huffs a breath and looks down to your lips, “—nothin’.”

“I saw you,” you start, but his hand comes up to grip your jaw gently, angling your face to meet his. It’s a little harder to talk, “in the window,” you mumble. 

“You should close your blinds.” 

“You should mind your business.” Your hand slips to rest against his chest. 

“You really want me to?” his lips brush your ear, “You came over here to tell me that?”

His thumb brushes over your breast through the cotton of your shirt. You moan, quietly. If he wasn’t so close he might’ve not been able to hear. But he does, and it spurs him on further. 

“Hm?” he slots your body between his legs. 

You shake your head. 

“Yeah,” he whispers in your ear, already pushing you towards the entrance of the bar, “Yeah, ’s what I fuckin’ thought.” 

_

“Fuck—Joel.” 

You press the palms of your hands to glass, your own breath fogging up the pane in front of you. The skin of your cheek bites against the coldness of it, you can barely make out Joel’s reflection from behind you. 

“You like this?” he shoves your pants past your hips, “like me watchin’ ya?” 

And yes, you’re kind of surprised at how much you do. You like this. You like him watching you in those late hours of the night. Before you would retreat behind the safety of your covers and make yourself come to the thought of Joel Miller. 

He slaps your ass, and kneads it where he leaves raised red marks behind in his wake. Your tits push against the window, pebbling your nipples. It almost hurts when they’re pressed up against the glass like that. 

“Joel,” you moan, ignoring his question. 

“Put on a show f’me,” he runs his fingers through your wetness, teasing your aching clit, “every day. Fuckin’ tease.”

Your open mouth kisses the window, breathing heavy fog onto it. You push back against him but he keeps you pressed against the window with a strong hand on your back. 

You don’t know how you found yourself in Joel Miller’s bedroom, let alone his house. Somehow between now and the bar, rough words, and teasing touches managed to get you slotted between him and his bedroom window. Forced to look out towards your room—where you baited him for weeks. 

“Christ,” he mumbles, feeling your wetness, collecting it and letting his fingers disappear between your legs. Yours grasp at nothing, squeaking against the pane there, looking for something, anything to grab onto. He’s got you up against the window like a painting on a canvas, the sill framing your bodies for everyone to see. 

But he doesn’t care—that anyone could see—and that excites you more. 

You look back at him, he’s got a pained look on his face, staring down at your body bent for him. You bite your lip and hide your face between hair and glass when you hear the clink of his belt. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, pulling himself out, groaning at the sensation, spreading you all over himself. You wait with bated breath. 

A big and rough hand hangs on the back of your neck. You can feel him notch himself against your entrance. You move your hips back to meet him, but he stops you. You’re frozen under his touch, a model, waiting to be molded however he desires. 

“You like this, angel?” he whispers. 

This—being pushed against the window, where anyone can see, like how he saw you, all those nights, all those times before. 

Yes, hell yes, you do. 

“Yeah,” you whimper, he presses your head into the window further, you squirm in anticipation. His rough hand tangles between hair. The tip of his cock almost pushes into your cunt. 

“You do it for me?” 

It—undressing in front of the window, pacing around in your underwear, framed by the golden light escaping from the glass, never shutting your blinds, just for him. 

You’d be kidding yourself if you said no. 

“Yes,” you whisper in a hoarse voice—then suddenly, his fingers drop from your head. 

Joel slides in, slowly. Pushing past your tightening walls, your hand pounds a heavy fist into the windowpane and the glass shakes under the pressure. When his hips are flush with yours, he waits. 

“Pretty,” he mumbles into your hair and you freeze. 

You don’t say anything, still panting against the window, “Always—” he pulls out, and thrusts back in, setting an agonizingly slow pace, “—pretty.”  

You tense around him, whimpering. Your forehead ducks down and lands against the glass with a thud. 

“Wanted you to—ngh—” you moan. His hand braces against the window and you hold on to it, grabbing at it aimlessly. He slides his fingers between yours. “—wanted you to see me,” you admit.  

“I know,” he drawls, “I know, baby.” 

His pace is slow at first, gentle. But it speeds up into something deafening. Your body pushes up against the glass with each thrust of his hips. He grabs at your hair, holds your hand, and kisses your neck through it all. 

Joel wraps his arms around your waist when he feels you going numb. 

“C’mon,” he whispers, “doin’ good. So—fuck—so good.” 

The angle is deeper, sharper—he’s bigger than what you’re used to. You bite your lip in favor of screaming. 

He hits something inside you and his breath snags somewhere deep in his throat, pushing grunts out into the crown of your hair. 

It’s obscene. The gesture. All of it. The throb between your legs comes to a splitting pitch, your breath sharp and cutting just like his. Your head spins, panting through fuzzy vision. His words go straight to your core. The thought that if someone were to walk by and happen to look up, they’d see you—how he’s got you pressed up against glass like an exhibit. 

“Joel—” you yelp, he cuts you off, playing with your clit, pushing you over that thin edge. Your muscles choke his cock, turning to putty in his hands as you whine his name, crying out so the glass echoes it back to you. 

He bites down onto the bare skin where your neck meets your shoulder. Leaving behind marks that you’ll see for days to come. Not that you mind. You reach back, crumple up cotton into your fists and feel his wired muscles flex under your palm. 

“Fuck, angel,” he groans, you spin around to kiss him, and swallow his moans with your own. Teeth and tongue and whimpers to go with the rest of them. 

His hips stutter into yours, you push against him, bordering on the edge of too much but when his breath stalls from above you and his hand holding yours goes tight, you finally relax. He spills into you, you feel his cock pulse from somewhere deep inside you. 

His head rests against the back of your neck for what seems like forever, you can feel his hot mouth trail kisses down your back until you both laugh and he finally slips out of you and lets you turn around. 

He kisses you. Really kisses you. And when he pulls back, he sighs. Pushing out air between his parted lips, like he doesn’t really know what to do now. But he looks at you. And keeps looking at you, even when you think he might break your gaze. 

Looking at you, and never, ever, looking away. 

_

[dr-felitas]

cellphone love story — osamu dazai

*+ﾟsynopsis: recently, someone's been spam calling you to the point that you’re fed and pick up the phone, only to be greeted with someone by the name dazai who has been continuously trying to reach his dead friend. the calls however don't end here, rather, your (call) history with dazai starts to extend - slowly but surely forming a bond over time; the phone.

pairing: dazai x reader (gn) |wordcount: 2.5k (this was my personal hell)  | content & warnings: fluff, mentions of odasaku and very very very small mention of chuuya, more than friends less than lovers at the end (can also be interpreted as lovers, but that's just what i had in mind yall), brief mentions of drinking, light angst if you squint, not proofread its 5 am yall…. ; oneshot

a/n: sorry that i havent posted anything in the past few days (eight days to be exact i think..) i hope this will somehow make it up :,)

you can't keep count anymore.

this is the third - no, maybe fourth time today the unknown number has called you. at some point they have to realize that they’ve gotten the wrong number, right? 

it all started about one and a half weeks ago when you changed your phone number and received a new one. ever since that day someone has been continuously trying to call you. unfamiliar digits lit up on your screen as you were out with your friend, you ignored them, after all who were you to accept a call from an unknown number?

but, over the course of the evening the calls didn't stop, eerie and annoying ringtone constantly piercing through your ears until the calls took a halt at midnight. relief washing over you.

to your mishap the calls didn't stop there. sometimes they’d wake you up from a peaceful slumber, groggily pinching and rubbing your eyes before swiping the call away. other times your phone would ring at a work meeting where you had to awkwardly excuse yourself and turn off your phone.

admittedly, you're at fault for not blocking the number. all of your friends suggested that you should, reasoning it with the fact that the caller probably has some dirty schemes and motives and that you should just try and not get in touch with weird people like them. 

which brings you to your current predicament, sitting on the couch with your favorite show playing in the background as you text a friend, until a certain but familiar series of digits show up on your phone screen. do they never know when to stop?

your fingers hover over the decline button and then over to the accept button, debating and contemplating if you should decline the call but you don’t. the pads of your fingers press down on the accept button and you wait. 

you’re greeted with silence, what the hell? your patience runs thin, streaming like arid sand grains through an hourglass until they meet the bottom and gather there together with the others. it's been like thirty seconds into the call now, at this point they should've probably said something, at least a quiet hello. an exasperated sigh leaves your mouth and you begin “seriously? you’ve been calling me for the past week now and suddenly i pick up your calls you don’t say shit?” you complain.

“goodbye odasaku.” a sigh leaves the strangers mouth, a man you notice. “i suppose this is my sign to stop grieving and mourning over you.” his voice slightly quivers and the male chuckles sorrowfully. you can’t distinguish if it’s melancholy or relief that lace the bitter words. 

you’re left with confusion, so many unanswered questions lie at the tip of your tongue but you don’t dare to utter a word. “apologies.” he speaks up once again, this time with a steadier voice. “you’re probably confused, my name is osamu dazai.” he politely introduces himself. even though you’re unable to see him and can’t see him nor his expression, your intuition tells you that he’s slightly grinning, that a ghost of a smile graces his lips, although a rather sad one. 

“this phone number belonged to an old friend of mine.” dazai respires. a shaky “odasaku?” you whisper and let out a breath you yourself didn’t know you held in. “yeah, sakunosuke oda.” he hummed smilingly. “he’s gone.” dead, dazai wants to add but he refrains. 

“his voicemail always played when i dialed his number and called.” he whispered. “it was pleasant to hear his voice, knowing that there are still fragments of odasaku out there. he understood me like no other, i miss him.” dazai meekly confessed in a hushed tone. “but those days are over, i suppose it’s for the better.” the male on the other line sighed.

an umpteen amount of words prickle on your tongue, they itch to be released and said, you wanted to say something - anything. but before you’re able to properly gather your words and form a sentence, dazai cuts you off.

“please excuse my intrusions in the past week. have a good rest.” a shrilling sound echoing through your living room symbolizes the end of the call and you’re left dumbfounded.

-

strident noises awake you from your sleep. you toss and turn in your sheets as you mindlessly try to find your phone, rolling over to lay on your side as you find it and tightly clutching it, gripping your phone as you’re greeted with a bright screen and a row of digits. dazais number, you realize.

no, you didn't save his number nor did you memorize in which order the digits were aligned but his phone number's unfamiliar digits have become quite familiar now. you check the time: 0.52 a.m. what was dazai doing at such time and why was he calling you out of all people? especially after he hung up on you a month ago.

“hello?” you groggily yawn. “ah.” a female voice on the other line yelps, she sounds relieved. “are you odasaku by any chance? could you pick up mr. dazai please?” the woman asks in a demure manner. “what’s the situation?” you rub your eyes, trying to stay awake. “well, mr. dazai is intoxicated - he’s drunk and is currently slumped over the counter.” she whispers into the phone. 

“if that doesn’t bother you of course, i can also call someone else!” she hurriedly says. you're slipping out of your sheets to get out of your bed and move towards your hallway, loosely throwing over a thin jacket and checking its pocket if your car keys are in there. “it’s fine, can you tell me the location?” you tiredly ask. “yes of course. it’s bar lupin.” she replies. you check your phone and step outside your door moving towards your car “got it, i’ll be there in 20 minutes or so.” with that you end the call, get inside your car and put your hands on the steering wheel.

-

carefully you take a step inside the narrow bar, taking off your hood and immediately spotting dazai whose head was currently laying on the surface of the front bar. he was poking at his glass of whiskey, the ball of ice being almost fully melted. “dazai.” you call out. he turns around, hazel eyes meeting yours. 

only then can you admire dazai for the first time. his dark brown is tousled and unkempt but it continues to gleam in the orange light. his arms are wrapped in bandages and there's a long beige, almost khaki, coat draped over his body. you can’t help but think that he’s kind of pretty.

“what are you doing here?” dazai asks in a fatigued tone. you show him your car keys and wag them in the air “here to pick you up.” you reply nonchalantly. “why?” his question is barely above a whisper. 

why are you helping him? he doesn’t understand - he wishes to understand. the first impression you’ve received from dazai was when he was calling you non stop and now your second impression is him slumped over bar lupins front bar. dazai can’t tell if you’re just naive or really trying to be helpful out of politeness or rather out of kindness. 

a certain kindness he’s only ever received from odasaku. helping someone like him out of kindness with no hidden intentions, offering a helping hand, smiling with utmost fondness. 

“as if im leaving a somewhat nice drunkard alone. i’m not inhumane.” even though your answers are full of nonchalance, dazai can make out a certain sincerity that lies in your words. 

his eyes can only follow as you tilt your head towards the door. “let's get you back home.” you gently smile. 

-

dazai wakes up to the sound of  birds chirping and sizzling oil. he’s warm, a soft blanket covering his body only then dazai realizes that this isn’t his bed, that he’s not lying in his futon. he looks around before his gaze lands on the bedside table which had a glass of water atop it, marked with a little sticky note that said “drink this, you’ll feel much better and come find me in the kitchen :)” 

he can’t recall everything that happened yesterday, it all went past him like a blur the only thing he remembered was that you came to pick him up. dazai grabbed the glass and gulped it down in one go, some of its content seeping down his chin and wiping it away with his sleeve before sliding out of the bed with the glass in his hand to return it to you.

finding your kitchen wasn’t hard, it was located right next to the dining room where a variety of dishes were placed on the dining table. dazai enters the kitchen, without you noticing and sees you whisking up two eggs with a pair of chopsticks before speaking up “here.” dazai coughs and places the glass on the counter near the sink to express his gratitude. 

“oh, it’s no problem.” you shoot him a small smile. your hand reaches over to the salt and pepper  to season the eggs with before carefully putting the egg mixture into the hot greased pan. admittedly dazai feels a bit out of place - useless (when was he ever not) so he offers to wash your dishes which you happily agreed to. 

besides the sound of sizzling fat and water running down the faucet, it's quiet in your kitchen. “how’d she know whom to call?”  you’re the first to speak up, eyes still concentrated on frying the eggs as you hum a small melody.

“the bartendress?” dazai asks in response. 

“yeah.” 

“well, odasaku’s number, which is your number now, is one of my emergency contacts, i suppose she just called you first.” dazai shrugs his shoulders, his hands still focused on rubbing away the dirty spots on your plates. 

“i see.” 

“if the old man, my favourite bartender by the way." dazai winks. "if he would’ve been here he would’ve called slug.” dazai lets out a small laugh, probably the most sincere laugh he let out in the past few weeks.

“slug” you ask, soft voice laced with confusion.

“an old friend of mine.” dazai smiles sadly. “odasaku and him are both my emergency contacts.” he chuckles. 

dazai doesn’t talk about the topic much further and neither do you, assuming it’s a sensitive topic for him. “i’m done, how about you?” you look over to dazai who’s currently washing his hands off with lavender soap. “mhm, me too.” he hums in agreement at which you can smile at.

dazais eyes trail after you as you leave the kitchen and move to the dining room, setting down all the plates and pouring two glasses of water. “sit down and eat up.” your eyes sway from his eyes over to the chairs. only then does dazai notice that his beige coat is neatly folded on one of your dining chairs. it makes his heart jump lightly. 

he sits down and takes a sip out of his glass, waiting until you start to eat first before he gets to. he smiles contently as you happily chew on your food. “does it taste good?” he cringes at himself when he realizes just how awkward that question is, he feels like a teenager again that was always wary of what people thought of him. 

“it tastes amazing! wanna try?” you slide the plate over to dazai, offering him to take a piece. “sure.” he agrees before taking a small bite. you weren’t lying when you said that it tasted amazing. “you're right, it tastes so good.” dazai says ecstatically. “told you so! my cooking is not to be underestimated.” you laugh and dazai can’t help but laugh too which makes him cough uncontrollably, putting a hand over his mouth so he doesn’t spit out anything on your table cloth but continuing to laugh.

“oh god dazai, are you okay?” you rush over to his aid and put your hand over his back to slide over it, hoping that it’ll somehow soothe his coughing. dazai manages to muffle out a “i’m fine, really.” between his coughs and laughs which you can only sigh at but can’t help the smile that finds its way onto your face and plasters itself on your lips.

-

calls with dazai have become more frequent now, although he sometimes still remains a mystery to you, it feels like he’s grown quite comfortable around you. 

he told you more about himself (vice versa), talks about his work at the armed detective agency and sends you recipes the both of you could recreate. not only calls with him became more frequent but also visits. 

at least four out of seven times a week dazai rushes to your place after work (you should probably call it your shared home now due to dazai leaving his stuff at your place like scattered objects on the floor).

for example, today: dazai walks into your kitchen like he owns the place. he sets down his belongings onto your couch before stepping towards the kitchen where he already finds you chopping the vegetables for the curry. 

he notices that you’re on the verge of tearing up as you continuously chop the onions into small bits and grabs a tissue before sneaking up behind you and scaring you. “boo.” his mouth forms a little “o” and you slightly jump before setting the knife down and putting your hand over your heart. “you scared me!” you complain even though dazai can see the playful glint in your eyes.

“sorry, sorry.” he laughs before wiping away the small droplets of tears that managed to escape your eyes. 

his calloused hands brush over your soft skin, it’s intimate - romantic even. you softly sigh against the tissue, the object that separates the two of you. the action makes your face lightly heat up and you’re sure that dazai noticed it too from the way he’s smirking. 

“aw, was i able to fluster you?” he coos at you smilingly, which in response you can only huff at, eyeing him with a look that says “you already know the answer.” before turning around to continue where you left off.

in the meantime dazai pulls out another cutting board and starts to chop the carrots. it’s quiet, it’s always quiet when the two of you cook together, but neither you nor dazai mind. the smell of aromatics that nip and continue to linger in the air and the sound of your jazz playlist which sometimes gets outplayed by the sounds of cutting or frying food, are more than enough. it’s just like the first time the two of you shared this space together, a certain nostalgia suddenly washing over him.

“thank you” he whispers, barely loud enough to not get overplayed by the music playing in the background. 

“for what?” you ask, longing for an answer.

for the times you’ve picked me up at bar lupin, for the times you’ve cooked me warm meals, for the times when you took care of me. 

“for everything.”

this is dedicated to my odasaku person @azullumi (don't die pls i need u and ur fics HHDDISISISIS). you've always told me that you liked odasaku a lot and that some day you also want to open up an orphanage which i find really endearing. what i mean by "you're my odasaku person" is not "wow we're literally so odasaku and dazai coded" but no rather it's because you also play such a major role in my life (not just cause of the age gap between oda and dazai and u and me..). you're always there when i need you, you're always there when i needed you and i hope that you'll always be there when i need you. but the same thing goes vice versa; goes for me. azul you're someone whom i've randomly met and if i never made that one comment or sent that one ask or if you never sent that one dm i would've never written this. you're someone who reassures me and soothes my worries with simple words, when i'm feeling down you're the person i turn to because you're the only person who really understands and somehow relates and thus i'm always able to trust and follow your judgement and advice. i never feel judged or belittled by you or treated as someone whose only an immature kid, no you treat me as a normal person, like a friend. which makes me feel seen - acknowledged even. to be loved is to be seen. i could go hours when it comes about talking to you and what impact you have on my life, but i suppose that's for another end note dsjsdsuusus. you're so dear to me. i love you a lot azul <3

© DR-FELITAS 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms or feeding them to ai is not permitted.

[fizzyxcustard]

Desperation.

Requested by anon and @skeleton-on-wheels0

Taken from: "Imagine that you find out Thorin is in love with you. But you accuse him of only wanting you because you’re the only woman in the Company and he’s desperate. You deeply offend him."

Again, I’m going to post this as a drabble as it’s fairly short, and I won’t tag anyone. 

“I am in love with you,” Thorin said softly as he stood next to you in Beorn’s barn. The midnight moon shone upon his face, highlighting his silver blue eyes, making them sparkle like aquamarine stones. 

A shiver of anticipation raced down your spine at his revelation. Why on earth would Thorin ever feel something for you? Immediately your mind began rationalising his feelings, churning it all over in your mind. For a few seconds and you were silent. 

“And you do not feel the same?” Thorin asked sadly. “I knew it was best I keep my thoughts to myself.” 

“Thorin,” you whispered, placing your hand on his arm. “I…I know I’m the only woman in the Company and no doubt as a male, you’re going to have urges…”

“That is what you think?” he hissed. “You think this is all about me wanting to seduce you?” 

“Please, I didn’t mean it that way.” 

“Then how did you mean it? 

Something snapped within you, a sore pressure point that had been prodded many times over the years. A place where a deeply buried scar lay untouched, waiting for someone to inadvertently uncover it with their words. A flash of anger hit you full force in your head and chest. “You’re just desperate!” you shouted. 

With that, you turned around stormed away towards the back of the barn and slumped down on a bale of hay. Tears were falling down your cheeks now in quick procession which you rubbed away in frustration, only making your cheeks turn redder. 

Thorin sighed and grit his teeth, sensing that your words came from a place of pain. However, those words had also deeply pained him in return. Did you think so little of him? Trust so little? 

***

The next morning and the tension was still thick between you and Thorin. The whole of the Company, including Gandalf, all sat around a large table, drinking milk and eating honeycakes, specially made by the host himself.  However, Beorn announced gruffly that he had no more honeycakes for that morning’s meal, and you were the last person he was intending to serve. 

All the Dwarves, Bilbo and Gandalf looked on, their mouths full of food. Except Thorin. He was sat opposite you and immediately reached across to you and handed his cake to you. “Please, eat,” he said, offering you the cake and a sad smile. 

“I can’t take your breakfast,” you replied. 

“You can and you will,” Thorin said again, placing the cake on your plate. 

“Maybe we could split it?” 

Thorin didn’t respond, but instead kept his gaze locked on you as you broke the cake in half and then gave a portion back to him. 

***

After breakfast, you and Bilbo began filling the saddlebags of the ponies which Beorn was lending you. He had since made more honeycakes, enough to see all of you with food for a good couple of weeks. 

“May we have a moment, Master Baggins?” Thorin asked, suddenly appearing before you both. His eyes then moved to you, telling Bilbo that he wished to talk to you. 

“Oh, yes, sorry,” Bilbo said, flashing a nervous smile. 

“I wish to talk to you about last night. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable in any way. That was never my intention to do so. But what I told you is the truth, and it has nothing at all to do with you being the only female in this Company. I am quite appalled that you think I would pursue you without any real feelings being involved.” 

Your gaze locked with his and you began to speak. “It was unfair of me to say what I did, and I’m sorry. Very few men have ever shown any interest in me in such a way, and then I become a member of your Company and find that you, the rightful king of your homeland, somehow has fallen in love with me. It reads like a pathetic joke. Maybe once we get to Erebor and you see more women again you may…”

“No,” Thorin insisted. “Why do you think so low of yourself? Who has broken you to the point that you cannot accept a declaration of love? I’d hoped you had begun to trust me by now. It is clear you don’t.” 

“I do trust you. Implicitly.”

“Obviously not. You cannot trust that my words are true, and that they come from my heart. I love you for everything that you are, for the woman you are. Not because of some lack of choice.” 

The sadness in his eyes was so clear to see and it made a lump rise in your throat. To keep doubting his love and pushing him away would be wrong of you. It was obvious that Thorin was speaking truth. 

[fangirl-dot-com]

Chapter 7 - Family Dinner

Pray for Christian. He’s just realizing that he now has two kids, who race every weekend in dangerous cars, only for them to have no life outside said cars. Max might be a little OOC, but ya know – who cares. I know I said that I would post tomorrow but free practice doesn't even start until midnight where I am. So it's going to be pushed back to Friday night at the latest and then a definite post on Sunday. Anyway, enjoy and don’t forget to comment if you want to be added to the tag list.

The entire way to the restaurant, you were almost shaking with anxiety. You knew you would get there 15 minutes early, but would that be too much? Would you be the last one to show up? Vito had texted you that so far, it was only him, Christian and Geri, with Riggs and Lacy. But that couldn’t stop your brain with coming up with worst case scenarios. But, you couldn’t help it. You took a couple of deep breaths as the car pulled up to the restaurant. 

Around the entrance, there seemed to be thousands of reporters and photographers. That made you panic as well. You shot a quick text to Vito, letting him know that you had arrived. You waited in the car until he came out to get you. You noticed that Riggs had decided to come out as well. You only now notice the size difference between him and Vito. The man was massive. PR agent and personal body guard? You were set for life. 

Vito opened the door for you and helped you get out of the car. The moment you were two feet on the concrete, the flashes of the cameras started going off. You tried your best to smile, but it was difficult when you were being blinded by the lights. You mentally laughed at yourself at the Weekend joke. Thankfully, no one grabbed you or anything. It was probably because Riggs had placed his hand on your back and carefully led you inside. No one would get passed that man. 

The ambiance of the restaurant was a stark contrast to that of outside. The lights were dim and there was a live orchestra in the corner. Vito was able to catch up to you before you got to the table. 

“Quite a show that was,” you mentioned as you spotted Christian at a table in the corner. 

“Well, you are trending everywhere on social media kid,” Vito replied as Christian stood up to greet you. 

“Nice to see you again sir,” you said as you shook his hand. 

“And you as well kid. That was sure some entrance.” You let out a small laugh. 

“All I did was walk it. I think I might be blind for the rest of the night. I can still see all the flashes.” A woman, who you recognized as Geri, let out a laugh. You turned to her. 

You obviously wanted to shake her hands for the rest of your life. It wasn’t every day you got to meet Ginger Spice. But you forewent all of that, and settled on a light hug. “It’s an honor to meet you ma’am. I asked Vito if I could have brought something for you to sign, but he said I probably shouldn’t.” You heard a smack of a hand against a forehead. You continued, “But now seeing you in person, I should have brought my entire CD set.” 

Geri and Christian both laughed out loud at your statement. Geri was able to calm you down as she promised that the next time she attended a race, you could bring something. You were able to sit next to her at the table. 

You were definitely fan-girling the entire time. But who cared. Geri was a nice person to keep a conversation with. You were relieved to see some familiar faces already at the table. Mitch was seated across from you with Lacy at her right. Riggs had sat next to his wife while Vito found a seat on the other side of you. The rest of the table was left empty for Max, Checo, and whoever they were going to bring. 

One waiter came to the table and asked for everyone’s drink orders. Because you were only 20 and the drinking age in America is 21, you asked for a water. 

Vito had joked around with the waiter, “Can you bring that in a sippy cup for her? She tends to spill.” A slap to the arm had him shut up as the rest of the table fell into small laughs. 

You argued back, “It’s not my fault that you’re so old. Did you remember to drink your prune juice this morning? I know how grumpy you get if you don’t.” You flashed a wicked smile at him as you took a sip of your drink. 

The adults started to laugh a bit harder. 

The laughter only died down when Christian suddenly stood up and rounded the table. Your eyes followed him and landed on two figures. Your heart picked up as you came to the conclusion that they were Checo and Max. You didn’t know what to do. Should you stand to greet them? Or would that be weird? 

You got your answer when they both just decided to sit down. However, Max was seated directly across from you. There was nowhere for you to hide from his sight. As he got situated, you quickly looked down at your dress and pretended to wipe something from the fabric. But, when you looked up, you made direct eye contact with him. Not wanting to wait for him to do something and come off as rude, you leaned a bit forward and put out your hand. 

“Uh, it’s nice to meet you,” you shyly said as he took your hand in his to return the gesture. 

His accent was a little heavy, “Nice to meet you too. It’s Y/n right?” 

“Yes sir,” you responded, almost a little too quickly. But Max had a questioning look before huffing and waving his hands. 

“There’s no need for that, kid.” He picked up his drink and took a sip. “You shouldn’t be much younger than me, no?” 

“Uh, six years younger,” you muttered. A choked sound came from across the table, which got everyone’s attention. Your cheeks heated as everyone looked at the two of you. 

“Is everything all right Max?” Christian asked, a look of concern on his face. 

Max points at you, “Where’d you find this – this..” you thought he was about to insult you. You winced at the thought. Except he finally finished sputtering, “literal child. She called me sir.” He all but whined the last sentence. 

Christian spoke up, “Well that child beat your 7 year time record for the practice track.” He took a sip of his drink as everyone’s eyes fell on you. 

“Uh, I didn’t mean to?” You wanted to die, but you continued, “I think I could have done better but there’s was something off on Turn five, but we said it was the…”

“Balance,” Max finished your sentence, nodding his head. “I’ve been trying to tell them to fix that.” 

You shrugged, “It wasn’t bad though.” 

“Did you slow down on the curve?” 

“Yep, and accelerated coming out of the apex.” Max gave you a giant smile. Cars and racing he could talk about.

“How did you feel about the steering?” he questioned, hands coming above the table. You soon found yourself doing that as well. 

“Eh, it was ok, but it was a bit understeery?” you didn’t want to go insulting his car, but you had a preference. 

“Oh my gosh, I know. I had that problem the entire season.”   

Everyone around you two knew that the moment the hands went above the table and were being flung everywhere, there was no stopping the two of you. They practically had to tell you both to shut up so that the table could start talking of other things and order the food. Your cheeks heated up when they pointed out your rambling. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, going back to your drink. 

“It’s fine kid. I’ve had to deal with Max for years. I think I can deal with it again,” Christian said as the waiters brought out the food. The Dutchman across from you rolled his eyes at the statement, which caused you to laugh. 

He was actually a joy to talk to. You were able to finally greet Checo a little bit into the actual dinner. You didn’t know whether to say you were sorry he was retiring or to congratulate him. So you kind of did both. 

Oh well. 

Throughout the meal, discussions of next season came up along with the car. Christian was pleased to know that the both of you preferred an oversteer car. Yes, the car would still be more towards Max’s preferences, but you could work with it. You knew that you would be second driver. But you honestly didn’t care. 

“I know how to play the teammate. I’m not looking for a championship right now. I’m just glad to be here,” you told Max and Christian. “Of course, I’m going to fight for a win, because that’s what I know to do. But I’m not going to block if Max is going to be faster than me.” 

The two men nodded, thankful for a person like you. There weren’t many people who would willingly give up wanting to be first driver. But you understood this. 

As long as Max Verstappen was in a Red Bull, he will be driver number one. The rest of the dinner went smoothly. As everyone was standing to leave, Christian announced that everyone was welcome to join them at a club. All the adults seemed to cheer as if they forgot that you technically couldn’t go. 

You didn’t mean to show disappointment, but Max picked up on it. The math was mathing as he put two and two together. 

“I think I’m going to skip out tonight. Not really feeling it.” His accent was heavy as he put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. 

You and Max somehow found yourself at the back of the group. He leaned down and semi-whispered to you. 

“Do you want to go get some ice cream?” 

You face must have lit up as he mirrored you with a smile. Max offered to drive you to the place. You quickly said goodbye to Vito, before promising that you’d text him when you got back to the hotel. You followed behind Max, trying to keep up with his long strides. The heels and long dress were making it difficult, but you managed.

When you got to his car, he popped the door open for you because you weren’t able to figure out the handle. You weren’t used to the expensive super-cars. Yes, the cars you drove were nice, but not millions of dollars nice. 

“You can play some music if you’d like to,” Max mentioned as he began to drive out of the parking garage. 

“Famous last words Max,” you said as you scrolled through your playlist. A familiar 33 caught you attention. You bit your lip trying not to smile. “I really like the thought and meaning behind this one. Super nice vibes. Very rememberable.” 

“Oh? Well then play it.” 

You snorted at his innocence. The moment the familiar beats came on, he looked at you with a face of betrayal. 

“You did not.” 

“I did too. It’s a very catchy tune Max.” He reached out and pressed the off button. 

“I’m revoking your DJ privileges.” Now it was your turn to look at him with a face of betrayal. 

“You did not.”  

“I did too. If you can’t play something nice, you won’t play anything at all.” 

“What would you play? Some oldie from 1953?” 

He snorted before putting his eyes back on the road. “I am not that old.” 

“Sure.” 

“We’re in the same generation Y/n.”

You argued back, “You’re on the fine line of millennial and gen z. You probably post memes on Facebook like an old lady.” 

The two of you fell in silence, before you busted out laughing. Max started to wheeze, which made you laugh even harder and clap your hands like a seal. By the end of the drive, you were wiping tears from your eyes. 

A bright ice cream cone lit up the sky at the car approached the store. You were able to get out of the car since the handle was much easier to figure out than the outside one. Max held the door of the shop for you and waited. He got curious when you didn’t directly come in. 

He found his answer when he saw you kneel next to a cat to pet it. He was surprised that it let you touch it. After you were done, you stood up and flashed a sheepish smile at him, muttering an apology for keeping him waiting. 

“I just love cats,” you sighed, looking at the kitty outside with heart eyes. 

Max fished his phone from his pocket. He quickly put in the password. His fingers quickly found the giant album just for his cats on the photos app. He handed his phone to you. 

“This is Jimmy and this is Sassy. What do you want and I’ll get it for you. You can keep looking.” You barely muttered a response, too enthralled with the gorgeous creatures on the screen. Max chucked as he went to get the ice cream. 

You were too busy swiping through all of the pictures. They were both so pretty. Max had to nudge you to hand you your cone. 

“Thank you for letting me see these,” you traded the phone for the cone. 

“No problem. If you ever find yourself in Monaco, you can come over to see them.” Your eyes seemed to twinkle at the thought of meeting his cats. “Do you have any?” 

You seemed to deflate at the topic of you being cat-less. “No, I’m away most of the year and I live by myself. My apartment is in Nice, but I think I’m going to move somewhere else.” 

Max’s eyebrows creased, “Does your family not live close?” 

You deflated even more. “No. To be honest, I don’t talk to my family. Like ever. I’m an only child as well so no siblings.” You kind of just shut up after that. Max felt awful. He knows that you probably know a lot about him. But he never thought to look up anything about you. 

He wanted to talk, but you continued, “But it’s fine. Racing is my life and takes up 100% of my time.” Max knew that it wasn’t fine. Racing was his life too, but he had friends and family to keep him company. He had Kelly and P, Christian, Lando, (maybe) Charles. He could try to convince you to find a small apartment in Monaco so he could keep an eye on you. 

He takes a moment to really see you. Right now, you weren’t a piece of art of you were almost face deep in your ice cream. This made you look younger than you were. And that hurt Max’s heart. His dad might be awful, but he still talked to him. 

He must have zone out because your talking brought him out of it. 

“Are you excited to race in Vegas?” you ice cream was almost gone.

Max shrugged, “It’s going to be difficult, since it’s cold. I’m worried about the grip of the tires.” 

You thought for a moment, “Well, if you get far enough ahead, you could always swerve to warm them up further. I know that would cut down on speed, but you’d be able to take the corners a bit better.” 

“How are you feeling about free practice one tomorrow.” Your eyes were now lit up once again, and Max is glad to see you perked up. 

“I am so excited. Did you hear that they’re going to do the walk up announcements again?” Max shook his head, (he actually did but wanted to hear you explain). “Well, they’re doing it and I have the perfect song, if I get announced.” You pouted. “Do ‘reserve drivers’ get announced?” 

“I don’t know. But I will make sure that you get one.” He put a hand on you shoulder. 

You squealed and thanked him. “I am a bit nervous about the lap times though.” 

Max suddenly hunched as to tell you a secret. “What you have to do is before you go into the flying lap, heat your tires to the max.” 

“Max, max, max, super max.” He deadpanned. “Sorry, continue.” 

“You have to push the throttle a couple of times right before you go to get the wheels spinning. The more they spin, the more friction they’ll have on the track, and the more they will heat.” (a.n. guys I don’t know if this is correct. I’m a writing major not engineering. But, more friction, more heat – I took one physics class so call me professor). 

“Aaahhhhh,” you had a far out look, contemplating the precious information you’ve been given. You wanted to talk about something other than racing. “How’s your family?” 

It was now Max’s turn for his eyes to light up. He brought out his cellphone again to show you more pictures. Some were of him and Kelly. Others of him and P. It was when he got to the drivers, you started to panic. 

“Do you think they’ll like me?” you mutter, suddenly finding you dress more interesting. Max looked at you with a confused face. 

“Kid, I’ve known you for,” he looked at his watch, “three hours now and I think I want you as my teammate for the rest of my carrier. Don’t worry, they will love you.” 

You let out a sigh of relief. 

“I just, don’t want to make a fool out of myself.” 

“You won’t, kid. You won’t.” 

After the topic passed, and Max finally finished his mess of the remainders of his ice cream, the two of you made you way back to his car. He made sure that you had texted Vito that you were back at the hotel when he dropped you off. Thankfully, his hotel wasn’t that far away. 

“Good night Max. I will see you tomorrow teammate.” You winked. 

“See you tomorrow, teammate.” You started to walk away before you remembered something. 

You rushed back over to the car and knocked on the window. Max quickly rolled it down and leaned over the dash. “Is something wrong?” 

“Which song are you picking? For the announcements? Because I think you should totally go with Max 33 or Super Max, or to annoy more people, the Dutch anthem.” 

Max only chuckled and rolled the window up. Not giving you an answer. He could see you in the mirror flailing your arms as he left. He would see you tomorrow. 

The first thing Max did when he got to his hotel was get changed. After that, he needed to make a quick phone call. 

He clicked on the contact and waited for the person to pick up. The phone didn’t even ring twice before the sound of the call being accepted filled the quiet room. 

Kelly’s face filled the tiny screen. 

She was the first one to speak, “Hi baby.” Max gave her a sleepy smile. “How was dinner.” 

“Oh it was great. I got to meet the rookie.” Kelly leaned her head on her hand. 

“How did it go?” 

“It was great Kels. I see myself so much in this kid.” 

“Is that a good thing?” 

“Yep. How do you think Penelope will feel about getting a sister? I’m already looking at how to adopt a teenager.” 

Tag List : @awekbachira @lightdragonrayne @leilanixx @angsthology @digitalizeduniqueness @topguncultleader @landosgirlxoxo @gods-menace @itsjustkhaos @thefandomswhre @alwaysboredsworld @vellicora @bintuabbas @sam-is-lost @empress-kimiko @assholeinatrenchcoat @kagatinkita @glitterquadricorn @zyonsay @tsukishimawhore @treehouse-mouse @ashy-kit @lilypadlover

[undercoverpena]

i. aren’t repulsed by me

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter one of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

chapter warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. smut. p in v. dirty talk.

an: the biggest hug to @ghostaholics because without her allowing me to waffle saturday night, all of this wouldn't be here. a huge thank you to @thetriumphantpanda for reading this and telling me i should post it, and to my eyes all over my skies @guyfieriii

wordcount: 4k

“You’re late.”

Frankie smirks, watching you lean in the doorway, his hand lifting the sweating bag of food and the clanging paper bag containing the essentials, aka wine and beer.

He watches as the gesture makes your eyes narrow, forgiveness etching across earlier annoyance as you put out your hand, offering to take something, anything.

“The store close to mine was out of your wine.”

Shutting the door, he finds you glancing over your shoulder, the television already set up. The usual array of candles and blankets across your living room—the ones which aren’t romantic, just mood setting (a thing you’ve highlighted to him many times). Not to him—he knows. But to others. Those who don’t understand that a friendship that’s spanned over ten years can remain as innocent as it seems—that movie nights were just movie nights. Even if the group chat joked otherwise.

“I’m serious,” he adds.

“So it’s not because you left yours at the time you were supposed to be here?”

Snorting, he follows you into the kitchen—the light flickers on, making him blink. Once again thwarted by the phone you made him upgrade to—the one which spills his secrets, like location and when he’s read your message.

Grabbing a plate, you hold it out to him. “That’s what I thought.”

“Y’gonna forgive me, or am I gonna have to surrender my movie privilege next time?”

You scrunch your nose—an act that shouldn’t make him smile, but does. His eyes scan up and down your face, a calmness spreading over him as soon as he is in the walls of your place—a feeling he always has when he’s with you.

His friend—his best friend.

A person who has been there through it all. Not batting an eyelid when he knocks on past midnight, red-eyes, dripping with rain because he lost his license, and he can’t sleep, and he’s so impossibly fucking tired. Not fazed when he slumps next to you, detailing the heartache of finding out he wasn’t going to be a father after all, handing him a bottle of beer—his favourite, the only kind you keep, all because of him.

You don’t make him pay. You never do.

Forever there, a rock—a comfort and a safety. It’s why he doesn’t fuck around with movie nights—doesn’t fuck around with anything to do with you. A silent promise, a rule: Frankie will always be there.

It didn’t matter if the person you dated hated him, didn’t matter if you pulled away because life became hard and you wanted to decline invites to the bar with the others. Frankie was there, the two of you giving and taking, always balanced, forever shared.

Movie nights reflected this. Last time was his choice, and tonight, it’s yours. A romantic comedy, with a twist—you’d said. He didn’t ask questions, just nestled under the blanket you dubbed his—green, worn, “like you, Morales”, you’d said when you’d pulled it out of the cupboard for him.

Taking his plate, you pop them on the coffee table. “You think you’d ever do it?”

“What? Friends with benefits?” He watches as you nod, getting comfortable again in your place. “Be better than whatever I’m doing now.”

“Which is?”

Smirking, he rolls his head on the back of your sofa. Hat gone, thrown on your armchair, fingers carding through his curls as he glances at you. “Nothin’. I’m not… I’m not dating—don’t really have the time. My schedule is just…”

“Fucked?”

Laughing, he nods.

“Can’t say I’m much better…”

Nudging you, you lift your chin, meeting his eye line again—something there, flickering. An array of words you’d usually share, but stick, cling somewhere in your throat as you offer him a comforting smile.

One he knows, well.

It’s your ‘doesn’t matter’ smile. The one you give when you’re single again, not willing to explain it—not until you’re two glasses into the bottle he’s brought to cheer you up—mumbling about not wanting him to say anything. As if saying something would be at the top of his agenda with some of them.

“It’s just that… I don’t wanna do that dating bit. You know, doing the how are you? What do you do, shit? Can’t exactly go out and just say I want to be bent in half and stuffed full—“

“Fuck me.”

“—but really, that’s all I want. Fun, with someone I don’t dislike, but won’t ask me to do romantic things that make me fall for them, only to be let down by them like I always am.”

Letting his head rest on your sofa, he sighs. “Yeah, same. Just want the stress relief.”

You agree by letting the softest yeah fall from your lips before you glance back at the movie. But he knows you’re not watching it. Eyes glazed over, brain ticking, turning. His finger poking you, the same way he always did—something he began doing back when he told you he’d enlisted, and you didn’t say anything except ‘you were happy for him’.

“Just thinking, I could… I could probably help you solve it, the stress relief. You know? That is—if you didn’t find me so repulsive.”

It’s instant, the way he feels his forehead scrunch and his eyes narrow. The sound of the movie fading to nothing—mind filling instead with your words, them rolling, and rolling, and rolling…

Frankie stares. Watching, finding you, if anything, looking like you weren’t even expecting a reply, never mind needing one.

“I don’t—I don’t find you repulsive.”

You smile, with an added snort, before layering on a shrug for added measure. The embodiment of unbothered, the painted picture of I don’t care.

He’d believe it too if you didn’t stand so quickly—mumbling about getting another drink. Asking if he wanted one. So quick to leave, to remove yourself from the situation, from being close to him.

It isn’t until he watches you stand that it hits him. The realisation going straight through him as he sees your shoulders slide down, the knowledge tearing, ripping—it feels worse than a bullet because:

You don’t believe him.

A part of you having convinced yourself before you’d even thought the words, never mind said them, that he could possibly think you weren’t attractive to him.

It forces him up from his seat, blanket discarded, pursuing you—the television covering the sound of his feet on your wooden flooring, the tap filling your glass doing the rest until he’s behind you. The glow of the street light through your kitchen window halos around you as you keep your back to him. Hand twitching at his side, a part of him unsure if he should keep standing here or if he should turn you.

Think, Frankie. Think.

Because for all the usually loud reasons he normally has told himself as to why he shouldn’t pursue you, it’s now surprisingly quiet in his head.

Even more so when you turn, the glass in your hand, eyes taking him in.

The rest is just instinct—not even thinking. His hands come either side of you, pressing into the counter, swallowing, watching as you place your glass down.

“I don’t find you repulsive,” he says, low, almost gruff. It comes from deep within—laced in other confessions, wrapped in words he hopes you can’t hear. “Not in the slightest.”

His eyes burning, searing the words in. Watching as you don’t break from him, lips ever so slightly parting, before he sees your gaze drop to his mouth, before flicking back up.

If someone asks, he’ll never be able to confirm who moved first. The two of you finding yourself in the middle, mouth slanted over yours, feeling your tongue behind his teeth as you pull him close, his arms caging you in. He can taste the berries, the sweetness that he hopes is just you and how it’s mixed with the sauce from the food—heat licking up his spine, need spreading through his stomach as he presses himself flush against you, leaving no room between him, you and the kitchen counter.

It’s intoxicating, dizzying, the feeling of dipping his toe into the pool he has always thought was off limits. Feeling you moan. Frankie basks in the sound, paints himself in it—hoping he can hear you sing his name, hoping he’ll hear it—capture it, keep how pretty, it is all to himself.

You moan when he grinds his hips into you. It vibrates down his throat, marking him, scratching its claws into him as he grips the back of your head—deepening the kiss. Drowning in it—in you. You’ve always made him breathless, so now he just hopes you pull him under, your hands clutching him closer, as though he’s your anchor—when in truth, he’s pretty sure that’s you for him.

“If we do this,” he says, dragging his lips down your neck, feeling one of your hands slide into his hair, “We need rules.”

Teeth grazing against your skin, the scent of your lingering perfume infecting his nose. A scent that usually clings to him, buries itself in his clothes—one he finds comfort in. Like he always finds comfort in you.

“Like, we can’t tell anyone.”

Snorting, you meet his lips—kissing him, tongue swiping across his bottom lip as he groans. Signing it, his proclamation.

“Deal,” you whisper. “I’m not staying over at your place. You can stay here, but I’m not… I won’t—“

He places his palm on your cheek, tilting your head, chaste, smaller kisses. A silent agreement.

Licking his lips, his heart thunders at the next. The one which is like acid in his stomach—one you could think is selfish, demanding. “You can date, but if we’re fucking, we’re fucking. I don’t share. So, if you want to do that with others, you tell me, and we stop this.”

“Okay.”

His other hand slid between the two of you, thankful—more than he can articulate and ever put into words—that you’re wearing sweats. His.

An old pair—one you’d borrowed when you’d spilt food on yourself and never returned.

Fuck, they always looked better on you.

Smirking, you turn your face, kissing his wrist. “But, you can’t buy me wine anymore. No flowers. No romance.”

Chewing his cheek, he mirrors your smirk. “You can’t cook me food.”

Sighing, you nod.

“So.”

“So.”

Grinning, you loop a finger into his belt hook, pulling him close. His fingers toying with the knot on your sweats.

“So, you gonna put your mouth where your hand is?”

Raising his brows, you laugh—light, airy, fucking beautifully.

“Is that what you want, querida? Huh.” He says, voice dropping, hand cupping you through his sweats. “Cause I’m dying to see if you taste as good as I’ve imagined.”

“You’ve not imagined this.”

Lowering his lips to yours, he ghosts them over—your breath warm, teasing against his skin, the hairs above his lip. “Oh, I have.”

His fingers move, toying, teasing. Hearing you murmur a groan in the back of your throat as he imagines how wet you are. Whether there’s a patch on your underwear, whether you’ll coat his fingers when he finally touches you skin on skin.

“You need a ha—”

“Don’t worry, querida,” he whispers, the hand on the back of your head sliding around your neck, thumb under your chin, tilting your head up, “I’m good with my hands.”

He’s not sure if the moan you emit is at his words or the fact he undoes the little knot at your waist with one hand. But fuck does he swallow it—he feasts on it. It fills him like no food ever could as he manoeuvres his hand, fingertips brushing cotton before he slides his fingers against your warm skin.

“Last chance,” he offers, light touches, all feathery. Not quite touching, but close enough.

Swallowing, you shift your weight, ever so delicately handing him the words he desperately needs: I want you, Morales.

Morales, he thinks—fingers dipping into your wetness, slick covering his fingers, and it’s his turn to groan. More so when he drags his finger over your swollen clit, admiring how you arch into him, mouth desperate to find him, breath ghosting over him as he grins, all cocky, likely lit up by the moon and the street light.

“You’re the prettiest fucking thing,” he groans.

Pressing two of his fingers inside your heat, the hand on your jaw—finger under your chin—keeping your eyes up, lifted, perfectly on him so he can watch how your flashes flutter. Watch in the highest of definitions what he’s doing to you.

“Always have been,” he continues.

His focus is only on you, and all you’ll give him as he pumps his fingers in and out—the sound of how much you want this, want him, coating the air. So much so that he can practically taste it.

A part of him knows how close you are before you whisper it.

Imagining the way heat is pooling in your stomach, that your fingers must be aching from how you’re gripping the kitchen counter for leverage as he curls his fingers inside of you. And fuck, does he hate jeans—hates how tight they feel on his hard cock, how all he wants is to relieve some pressure, to grip the base in his hand and squeeze so he can marvel at how fucking gorgeous you are like this.

“Eyes on me,” he says, gruffer, laced in gravel—all low, like it’s coming from somewhere deep inside of him. It has, truthfully.

The moment he began seeing your lashes fluttering, he knew he didn’t want them to close.

Your whine, peppered with a moan emitting. “I’m so cl—close.”

Smirking, he licks his lips—dragging his tongue across his bottom lip. The one you want where his fingers currently are. Almost wishing you could speak so you could ask, beg, plead.

“I know, querida. I know. It’s why I want your eyes on me.”

Your body pauses. Halts.

Then he feels it, the beginning—the telltale sign. The incoming he wants to have a second sight for by the end of the night, as he marries his lips to yours, desperate, needy, to taste what it’s like when you call his name as you come.

Fuck you even sound pretty.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of him.

But dreams could never live up to him.

His hands on either side of your face, kissing you as you step out of your sweats, and underwear, that he’d yanked down your thighs when you’d caught your breath.

Fuck, he is good with his hands.

It’s the first thought you have since he caged you in the kitchen—all serious, something etched into his forehead that is now smooth, like it was never there. It’s also the first solid thought you’ve had since you returned to Earth from him making you come in the kitchen.

And you’re thankful that his fingers are on your cheeks, your body having turned into liquid—muscles having forgotten their role with your bones betraying you too. Your hand loosened on his wrist, the one you’d gripped to feel what it was he was doing to you, needing to be present with each thrust of his fingers.

Now, you’re leading him.

Body having taken over, while your brain is left still reeling.

Because fuck do you want this. You’ve imagined it, dreamt of it. Frankie, your best friend, the one who knows you better than you know yourself—clearly in more ways than you ever counted on for how quickly he undid you in the kitchen.

It’s why you turn, realising you know him too.

Stories coming to you, memories—ghostly snippets that had filled you with rage that now fuel you—as your hand grips him through his jeans. Quick, careful—well-versed—in the way you crash your mouth to his as his groan vibrates against your tongue. Your spine met the wall closest to your room, him thrusting into your hand, words falling, all laced in lust and dusted in desperation.

“Por favor, te deseo. Please, querida.”

You’re slow in the way you undo his jeans. The pop of the button is dramatic, a sign. Your mouth places kisses against his lips, his cheeks, jaw and neck.

Then, you’re unzipping his fly. The sound cutting through the pants, the heady breaths—the only other discernible sound is the movie the two of you have left playing.

“Wanna wrap my mouth around you, Morales.”

You can’t see him, but you can hear his throat swallow, likely imagining the way his eyes are staring at you, drinking you in, dragging them up and down your face like he was in the kitchen.

“Yeah, you wanna taste me?”

Nodding, you bite your lip, palm brushing over his covered cock—lashes fluttering at the feel of him. Because he’s thick, big—fucking hard. Something you should have known from the way his pants hugged him, the way it commanded a glance when he wore those lighter-wash jeans.

“You think you can take all of me down that pretty throat of yours, baby?”

Snorting, you flatten your palm against him—hearing him hiss, wishing there was light, wanting to see the expression on his face. “I’d give it a good go.”

Dragging his thumb over the curve of your breast, the fabric moving, applying additional friction before he’s lingering, drawing a circle over your nipple until it pebbles, just as you hear him smirk—adamant, somehow you can even see it.

“Later,” he adds. “Need to feel you come around my cock first.”

You couldn’t argue with him. Less so when more clothes fall, unveiling him. All soft muscles, defined when he flexes, the pair of you down to your underwear—a path of removed clothes detailing the route the two of you have taken.

Frankie kisses you hard.

Pulling you back to him, removing any other thought from your mind with ease. Not that you have the time to think about how you can’t believe this is happening, or the movie that’s still playing. Not when he’s leading you, walking you backwards, hand on your waist, thumb drawing circles, squares, triangles and everything else until the back of your legs meet your bed.

Then, you’re falling, landing on cool, cushioning fabric, bouncing ever so slightly as he wipes his hand across his bottom lip.

“Still can’t believe you ever thought you’d repulse me.”

Your skin warms, burns. A part of you wants to hide yourself, cover your stomach with your arm, hide your face in a pillow.

His fingers slide over the fabric at your waist, a whispered can I that you’re quick to nod at, until you’re bare in front of him. No hiding, illuminated by the moon and the stars outside, covered in milky-white light, hoping it’s forgiving on your curves.

“Querida, where are your—“

“I’m clean. Are y-you?”

He nods, direct, quick. Evident of a former soldier as his fingers slide under your chin. Mouth asking if you’re sure, he doesn’t mind. You just kiss his touch, bringing your hand around his wrist, sliding his fingers into your mouth.

I’m sure.

I’m so sure.

Then he’s crawling up you, his mouth slanting over yours. All tongue, all passion. His hand wraps around your head as the other guides the head of his cock through your slick, tilting your face up, opening your eyes to see him barely a breath away as he stares down at the two of you. Eyes pausing on the place where you’ll soon be conjoined.

“Look at me,” you say this time.

Watching his eyes drag back up to yours, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“Please fuck me, Frankie.”

He nods, wearing the most gentle, sweetest smile on his face. “I will, I promise. Anything for you, querida.”

All you can think is fuck.

Not getting a second to comprehend his words before he sinks in, every inch of him making you feel so full. Your head going limp in his head, arms tightening around his neck, gasping as he keeps going, and going until he’s buried in you to the hilt.

And you’re sure, could swear on it with confidence, you’ve never felt such fullness—filled to the brim, stuffed.

“So full,” you moan.

You swear he smiles, lit up by the light through your undrawn curtains.

“Thought about this,” he says as he pulls out and slams back in. “After Ben’s party, when you wore those jeans—in the summer when you wore those shorts. Fuck, baby, your legs—”

He says it as he runs a hand over the outside of your thigh, gripping the top as he punctuates it with a thrust.

“Always thought you were pretty, too fucking good for those people you dated—”

Your hips push back, meeting him. “—Frankie—”

“—too good for me, really.”

And you groan, whimper, moan. Letting a no fall out, an attempt at arguing with him for what he said.

But he kisses it away.

Desperate, more passion and teeth than before. A silent pleading for you to bury your words. A mixture of all three coming out at once, hitting the air, tainting it in something good that should feel sinful. Your hand slides down over his neck, shoulder and torso, clutching his waist as you mirror his movements, meeting him with everything you have, lips ghosting over his neck, tasting the salt and smelling the scent you know is just him.

A scent you hope digs into your skin, able to wear it long after this. An aroma that has always brought you comfort, even if it shouldn’t—even if the two of you are friends, nothing more.

And you’re close, beads of sweat on his brow, and if he isn’t the most handsome man you’ve ever had above you. One that you want to flip onto his back so you can admire him from above—sitting poised on his cock, bouncing on him until your eyes are blazed with stars and satisfaction.

The sounds of the two of you, all obscene, wet, as he grips the back of your thighs and somehow fucks you deeper. Each thrust punches a breath from your lungs, fingers clutching his shoulder, the other buried in the duvet.

“Takin’ me so well, baby. Can’t believe I’m fucking you.”

“Fucking me so good, Frankie. Fuck.”

“Better than your exes?”

You nod, words at a loss. All stolen, punched from you by his cock—because you feel so good, he makes you feel so good.

You swear you hear him say good, all low, voice dark, as you feel his hand sliding between you before he brushes his thumb over your clit. Circling, circling, circling—

Frankie knowing what you need, likely skimmed his fingers across your skin and read you like a map. 

That, and the fact he must feel you squeezing him, tightening, vice-like around him as he begins to pound into you.

“I always fucking hated your exes.”

Your back arches, like he commanded it. It sparking, what he’d been driving you to, erupting, rippling out from your core across your body, as his name rips from your throat. The sound of your moan blending into the air, tingeing it, painting it with his groans as he continues to work you through it.

Ever-determined, focused.

Your hand slides down from his shoulder to his chest, to his waist, feeling his muscles flex under the skin.

It’s only as you begin to catch your breath, that you realise how close he is.

You smirk, devilish, all laced with cockiness as you beckon him down, knotting your fingers in his curls, dragging his head down, so your mouth is close to his ear. “Always hated your exes, too,” you say, punctuating the words. “Now be good and fill me up, Morales.”

CHAPTER TWO ->

[landososcar]

so high school ; JB5

pairing(s) ; jude bellingham x singer!reader , jude bellingham x student!reader

summary ; twitters favourite new(ish) artist drops her new album right during her school year.

warnings ; nothinggggg & mainly just fluff bc i love happy people

note ; SORRY ITS SHORT AHHAHA, i’ll post a new lando fic soon i just have no inspiration… ignore any dates that are wrong or don’t match - im lazy. also this is VERYYYY LOOSLY based off so high school lol (it’s mainly the aristotle line)

instagram !

liked by judebellingham, taylorswift, and others

youruser surprise !!!!! as an end of term present (for myself🤭🥳) and in honour of knowing the loml for 15 years, here’s 15 new songs for you guys to (hopefully) enjoy 😊 noah, thank you for trusting me and letting me join you on what might be one of my favourite songs ever!! i loveeee youuuu. && to my jude<3 thank you for inspiring me every single day of our lives. i love you bigger than the whole sky 🩵🩵 (guys he’s actually v v talented and he helped me write scared of my guitar, hard to sleep, and feels like) j, you are my safe place and these songs — especially the ones i haven’t let you hear yet — are for you.

ps guys idk how to only write happy songs but jude is the only one who makes me feel safe enough to express my emotions through my songs 😁 i looooovvveee him and am NOT 🙅‍♀️ breaking up with him. he is stuck with me forever💞

‘the alchemy’ is YOURS tonight at midnight 💓

view all comments

user1 WHAT

user2 YOU CANT JUST DROP THIS ON US WTF

oliviarodrigo my girl💞💞 i’m so so soooo excited😭

user3 GIRL I KNOW YOU DIDNT JUST CALL THE ALBUM ‘the alchemy’ FOR NO REASON. WHERE TF IS THE TITLE TRACK I KNOW YOUVE GOT HER SOMEWHERE

youruser jude and i love the alchemy the most out of all the songs and wanna keep her just ours for a little bit longer but maybe if you guys enjoy these songs i’ll let you have my baby

user4 YNAJDKJSKDKDIS

user5 WHATTTT songs did she not let jude hear omfg i need to know

youruser he’s heard them all except for daylight, paper rings & so high school lollll

judebellingham refreshing my spotify every minute til midnight you guys don’t understand she’s kept these songs in a VAULT

user6 jude i know you love spotify but apple music get new music 10 minutes early xxx

judebellingham just made an apple music account

user7 TEN MINS TIL THE ALBUM OF THE YEAR DROPS

taylorswift so so proud of you beautiful 🩷🩷

judebellingham I LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH

judebellingham putting ALLLL of these on the pre-game playlist

youruser babe idk if some of these will pump you up before a game

judebellingham hearing your voice will pump me up idc how sad the song is xx

user8 why’s no one talking about how she’s in UNIVERSITY and dropped a FIFTEEN song album like …??? she’s INSANE. WHERE did she find the TIMEEE

user9 not to mention she lives with him in madrid and does school online coz her uni is in the uk

user10 she’s insane i don’t understand how😭😭

imessages !

instagram !

youruser just posted to their close friends story.

twitter !

instagram !

liked by judebellingham, trentarnold66, and others

youruser surprised my fav person in the uk for his england game and he scored for me 😆🩵🩵

view all comments

user1 she wrote “you know how to ball” and he said “yeah” then scored a goal and did a celebration for her😭

user2 zoom in on pic 6 and you’ll see me laying on the road waiting to be run over

judbellingham ‘unemployed girlfriend’ but you’re the greatest singer on earth while also doing online uni full time and you still make time to be able to come see me

youruser it’s coz i love you so so bad

jobebellingham you make me sick

youruser i love u too jobeyyyyyy

england our favourite visitor💙💙

user3 how does she do all this whilst going to uni😭😭😭

oliviarodrigo 💖💖💖

judebellingham I LOVVVEEEE YOUUUUU

user4 i NEED the top in pic 8 where is it from

youruser i found it on depop and HAD to buy it😭😭 i think someone made it x

chappellroan HOTTTTT (you not ur bf)

youruser I WOULD DIE FOR YOU MY WIFE💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓

user5 i don’t understand how you write sad songs like the ones on your album if ur ‘in love with jude’

user6 jude deserves better than someone who’s so caught up on and still writes songs about her exes

user7 WHYS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THE LYRICS SHE POSTED ON TWITTER IM GOJNG INSANE

user8 LITERALLY?/!;!!/;@:8@ LIKE ??????? “WHERES THE TROPHY? HE JUST COMES RUNNING OVER TO ME” IS SO JUDE CODED WHEN Y/N IS AT LITERALLY ANY OF HIS GAMES

user7 EXACTLYYYYY HE ALWAYSSS RUNS TO HER IMMEDIATELY AFTER HES ALLOWED TO DO HIS OWN THING. ITS FUCKING ADORABLE

user8 IM SO GLAD SOMEONE UNDERSTANDS ME

user7 were both insane let’s get married

user8 dm me right now wife

youruser liked the comments in this thread

imessages !

instagram !

liked by taylorswift, jobebellingham, and others

youruser lol little life update coz i’ve been m.i.a. for the last almost two months. 1: i went blonde again. 2: my man still as fine as ever. 3: got engaged or whatever lol. 4: slaying up exams. 5: i miss tour so i decided imma come back and see you all soon 🤭🤭 tour dates soon <3

ps in honour of becoming fiance or whatever🤗 the alchemy and 4 other songs are yours on the deluxe version of ‘the alchemy’ ,, out tonight !!!

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user1 WHAT THE FUCK

user2 GIRL LET US BREATHE

harrykane juudddeeeeee!!! congrats🥳❤️

declanrice mr bellingham that is a ROCK

user3 SHE DISAPPEARED FOR TWO MONTHS AND THEN CAME BACK AND DROPPED ALL OF RHAT ON HS

gracieabrams OMG WIFE IS GONNA BE A WIFE

user4 BLONDE YN IS BACK AND SHES A FIANCÉ OH MY GOD

judebellingham WIFE WIFE WIFE‼️‼️‼️

youruser not yet my love but so close🥰

judebellingham I CANT HEAR YOU MY WIFE IS AN ACADEMIC AND LYRICAL GENIUS

user5 she’s still writing break up and sad songs whilst engaged… so weird

user6 yeah and jude helps her,, he must be so disgusted right? seriously get a life and go touch grass

taylorswift so so happy for you 💓💓

youruser 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶 i love you

user7 TOUR TOUR TOUR TOUR TOUR

england juddeeeeee💙 sooo happy for you two

trentarnold ❤️❤️❤️

user8 how girl just gonna casually drop a ENGAGEMENT announcement in the middle of a photo dump

user9 REALLLL LIKE THATS A BIG ASS RING TOO

noahkahanmusic YESSSSS🤍🤍🤍🤍

user10 HOWWWW is miss girl gonna find time in her schedule to do uni, make music, keep a healthy relationship, AND TOUR

judebellingham mrs*

my other works !

[hearts4maddison]

All to much

| Lando Norris x Reader

Paring: Lando Norris x Fem!reader. warnings: Panic attacks,Mentions of ex, gossip accounts, Angst, Fluff. summary: In which already dealing with the long distance the gossip accounts certainly do not help. word count: 4023

Note: This is probably terrible it was a midnight idea and this rushed so it’s not the best! Again my spelling is bloody horrible! also no hate luisa! love her so much!

——————————

You knew The whole Long distance relationship was hard. especially being in a relationship with a Formula 1 driver. You also knew that before getting into a relationship with Lando. And yeah You missed him like crazy even if he’d only been gone for a week. But You told yourself you could do it and that you could handle the time zones.

So everyday at night you found yourself awake at 3o’clock at night Cheering,shouting and jumping up and down every time Lando was about to over take or when he got a podium. And just seeing him enjoying himself was enough.

You found yourself awake curled up in bed scrolling aimlessly through Instagram. Waiting and waiting for a text from Lando or a call from him. The last time you had talked to him was 2days ago he was more likely busy with all the post race interview or the meetings.

You didn’t want to look desperate mostly you didn’t want to look like a “overbearing girlfriend” who keeps blowing her boyfriend’s phone because she’s desperate for atleast one text. Now you just felt kinda ridiculous thinking the whole Long distance and the time zones were easy.

you scrolled and scrolled through people’s story’s until one Particular story had caught your eye Max Fwetrell. It was the normal Clubbing and having fun. Until someone in the back of the video stuck out.

Zooming in closer to the video you realised it was exactly who you thought it was..Lando and clearly by the looks of it he was living his best life drinking. It wasn’t just that he was extremely close to a girl a girl you had seen before but couldn’t exactly remember where.

You tried to shrug it off your really did. It’s not like Lando would just cheat on you without a single care in the world he wouldn’t…would he?

You decided to just leave it alone to just shut your phone and go to bed that would’ve been the best thing to do. But scrolling through multiple gossip accounts Fan accounts who were already posting about it.

| F1DriverGossip!

Liked by: Landolover, Mclarenforeverr and 14,611 others.

Caption: F1 Lando Norris Spotted in Jimmy’z Monte-Carlo With his ex Girlfriend Luisa oliveira could it be the two possibly getting back together? 👀

View all comments:

| Landolover! : Hoping this is true! Missed seeing them! > User982: agreed. >LN4: I thought i was the only one!

| Mclarenforeverr: I thought Lando had a girlfriend? >Oscarlover: Same? i mean she barley even goes to the paddock with him? Maybe he finally got bored? >User 5: Gurl i am his girlfriend 😛

User10: Didn’t know Lando was a player. 🔥 >Pastry16: Tea is piping hot and i’m here for it.

___________

You couldn’t believe, you didn’t want to believe it. You knew him and luisa stayed good friends after breaking up but this? That look wasn’t the I think of you as a firend it certainly looked like more.

You couldn’t breathe you tried to but you just couldn’t it felt as if a huge weight was suddenly put onto your chest and you couldn’t do anything about it. You felt the hot tears streaming down your cheek as you hugged your knees to your chest.

Did Lando still Love her? how could he just cheat on you in a whole different country!? or did this whole relationship mean nothing?

You hated it,You hated him and you didn’t even think it was possible to hate him. Those stupid gossip accounts! They were so toxic for what? And just because you didn’t go to the paddock all the time? You felt stupid.

You took deep breaths to try and calm down until a low buzzing sound came from next to you picking up the phone.Not bothering to wipe the tears away as you picked up the phone only to be greeted by Lando smiling a face.

“..Hey baby- Hey..hey..what’s going on..” he asked eyes widening taking in your running noes and tear stained cheeks.

“..seriously!…y-you have the audacity..to act clueless..!” You mange to hiccup out breathing.

“..Y/n..Whoa slow down..What’s going on..?” Lando asks his face scrunching up.

“…Slow d-down!? Like..you and Luisa weren’t..cozying up to each other..!” You say breathlessly

“…No..Y/n no..! baby..you have it all wrong..!”

“Really!? Enlighten me then..What were you doing..!” You ask taking deep breathes

“…Luisa came up to me..And we talked! nothing else i swear…We just talked and caught up and she left after that..” he says desperately

“…T-then..how am i supposed to know that..”

“y/n i love you so much..and the thought of even doing that..I can’t even imagine.” he says while sighing.

“..i-i’m..-sorry..” you mange to get out tears welling up.

“..Hey it’s okay..Just breathe my love..breathe” He says taking in deep breathes as you copy his actions finally being able to calm down.

“..You okay?” He says his face softening and the sight of you.

“..yeah” you respond wiping your tears away.

“I love you,You know that..so much?”

“..Love you too..Lando”

_______________

| Lando Norris

Tagged: Yourusername. Liked by: MaxFewtrell,Yourusername and 157,206 others.

Caption: Haters stay mad. I have the best girlfriend i could’ve ever asked in the whole world and i couldn’t have been more happier with with this beautiful girl in my life. I love her so much and for anyone commenting on our relationship or making up lies = Blocked 😘

| Yourusername: Love yah. 💗 >Lando norris: ❤️😍