#I was tempted to leave this in the notes app but I wanted to not keep my thoughts to myself for once

[cazzle-dazzle]

Y’know, I realize I’ve been overthinking this whole fandom & being on social media thing.

Lately, I’ve been bouncing between a lot of short-living hyperfixations and I started to get stressed over it. When I was younger, I’d only have a few, long-lasting interests but as I grew up and had more access to media, I got way more interests and spent less time with them

As someone who’s been thriving on the consistency of having an interest last multiple months to a couple years, the recent constant jumping between fandoms has been getting overwhelming. I’ll get really interested in a thing, want to dive headfirst into everything about it, then not two weeks later I’ve moved on.

The problem’s made worse by that fact that I don’t stop liking the previous interest. I had some love for this thing but it didn’t go away when I found a new thing! So now I feel bad about neglecting the first thing, while also being really occupied with the new thing. I want to just put a pin in the earlier fixation so I can come back to it and all the love I left with it.

But then there’s the fandom aspect. The fandom doesn’t put the interest on pause, they keep up with every little thing about the media so when I come back to it, I’ve fallen behind (and probably got exposed to spoilers, regardless of if I block tags). This gets frustrating after a while and during that time, I’ve just been adding and putting pins in more and more medias and I feel so far behind on everything that I’m not really enjoying any of them.

I guess tonight I kinda snapped and realized I really need to chill tf out

I’m here for fun. I’m on this hellsite to interact with stuff that makes me happy. This isn’t a class where I need to get a good grade in tumblr blog

So fucking what if I haven’t listened to the most recent episode of dndads. And I need to stop myself from even trying to come up with a justification or explanation as to why I haven’t yet. “Oh I don’t really want to keep listening now that Hermie’s dead” “Oh I’ve just been stressed and don’t have the mental space for that” STFU. STOP IT. YOU DONT NEED A REASON. You haven’t watched it, then you haven’t watched it. And that’s FINE!! There is nothing wrong about that! I can still be a fan of dndads and not be caught up. Hell, I don’t even need to stick with S2 if I really don’t want to. Even though I loved S1, even though I liked the first chunk of S2, even if I want to listen to it again, I don’t need to listen now. It’s ok.

I think about making up a list of the fandoms I’m in, but this kinda thing always prevents me from doing so cuz I just get too overwhelmed. What if I write it down but then move on?

Well fuck it, you can delete it later & update it. It doesn’t matter if I jump around between interests, I’m a content-consuming machine and it’s ok that I’m just snacking on 20 different things instead of sticking to one lasting meal. None of it means I’m not enjoying what I’m currently eating

Rn I’m crunching on the magnus archives, so far I’m almost at the end of season 3. It’s pretty good, I’m having fun listening to it while I play pokemon or Stardew valley, even though I end up tuning out half of the episode stories. I’m mainly here for the overall plot that gets thrown in with the supplementals & stuff.

[imamuzansimp-oldblog-seoseoya]

types of kisses the uppermoons would prefer from this list

cw: kissing, fluff, morning kisses, forehead, nose, cheek, neck, lip kisses, pda, pinning against wall, jealousy (if u squint), lap, slight suggestive (mostly in muzan and dōma’s part), slight ooc (especially for muzan but it’s my hc muzan in private that we should all be well acquainted with), simpery bc have you met me, manga spoilers for dōma

a/n: this has sat in my apple notes app for wayyyyyyyy too long now

the list (creds to a tumblr i forgot the name of i saved this a long time ago):

Kibitsuji Muzan

5, 1, 4, 7, 10, 13

5 (in secret kiss): this is muzan we’re talking about. no way is he showing you his affection in public. i know i have my whole ‘softie in private™️’ muzan thing (really have to think of a better name), but key word: private. the day he shows affection in public is the day i stop liking kpop (jk i’ll never stop).

1 (good morning kiss): since muzan is a softie in private™️, he will gladly shower you with good morning kisses as soon as he wakes up. if you are asleep it does not matter, he’s waking you up.

4 (kiss on the neck): he’s a demon, who i believe has a side of him that’s very flirty and spicy. if you’re a human and you give consent, he’s kissing, biting, licking your neck and feeding off the blood from there. if you’re a demon, he’s still going to kiss, bite, lick, and suck your neck. he is not picky

7 (against a wall kiss): muzan + secretly very into steamy stuff + very dominant = muzan who loves a place where he can cage you in and watch you get flustered 

10 (jealous kiss): as an extraordinarily possessive person, muzan would get jealous A LOT. which leads to a lot of jealous kisses.

13 (lap kiss): especially when he’s jealous or horny. let’s be honest we all know he’d do this if you were an actual object of his affection.

Kokushibo

3, 5, 7, 8

3 (kiss on the nose): let’s be honest, besides lip kisses, this is the only place on his face that you can kiss. his forehead is almost nonexistent and his cheeks are just eyes, unless you’d like to kiss those.

5 (in secret kiss): i feel like since kokushibo is so loyal to muzan, he wouldn’t want to kiss you in public since he’d either be in front of muzan or in the human world. besides, he’s more introverted and a demon so i don’t think he’s big on kisses in public for your reputation especially

7 (against a wall kiss): i don’t even know why, i just feel like he’d like to flex his height on you if you’re shorter than him (which is likely, he’s 190 cm/6’3”). since he’s so tall, why not flex the height while making it intimate?

8 (top of head kisses): again, on his head there are only so many places to kiss since you miss two facial features. he’d like kissing your head, but since he’s likely so much taller it makes him feel secret butterflies when you manage to kiss his head

Dōma (istg i hate this man yall dōma simps better be glad im writing for him)

i’m tempted to include everything but i’ll just put: 4, 7, 10, 12, 13

4 (kiss on the neck): this guy is the most thirsty demon (second only to karaku obvi) and we all know it. he’d probably get grumpy if he couldn’t kiss ur neck at least 10 times a day (separately. the 20 something neck kisses he gave when you woke up only count as one).

7 (against a wall kiss): dōma is……… well it’s dōma, the same guy who says akaza might get stronger if he eats women, the same guy who wanted to make inosuke’s mother his wife, the same guy who forms a crush on the people he kills. using that logic he will gladly pin you up against the wall and kiss you until you’re essentially a tomato. he will not stop even then, he won’t stop unless a

pressing matter appears (aka nothing).

10 (jealous kiss): he gets jealous easily, so why not kiss you out of jealousy too?

12 (accidentally witnessed kiss): using the same logic as 7, he loves showing you off, unlike the previous two demons. he will “accidentally” leave the door wide open when he pins you on the bed and kisses the breath out of your lungs (a common occurrence) and sucks a lot of the blood right out of your veins (another common occurrence. did you ask/want/let him? i don’t know, but i doubt it. sorry)

13 (lap kiss): do i need to explain more? 

no. 

will i? 

yes.

this man… chances are he’s not keeping it in his pants for that one.

Akaza (ITS THE BASKETBALL! *said with love*)

2, 8, 9, 13

2 (forehead kiss): since he actually has one (looking at you koku), he’s kissing yours and you’re kissing his. that’s how it’s going to work and chances are he’s going to be a blushing mess because he is weak to even a woman’s glance *watches him sip respect women juice*

8 (top of head kisses): idek why i just feel like he’d enjoy them.

9 (shy kiss): he’s shy boi with women. we all know this. when you two are in private and he’s not busy punching dōma’s face off (i love it when he does), he is with you. with you while somehow being shy even though ur dating

13 (lap kiss): he’s a respectful demon, so he’s not going to drink your blood, but he is going to act like it with the way he’s kissing your neck roughly

Sekido

4, 6, 7, 10

4 (kiss on the neck): let’s be honest, his name means accumulated anger and he quite literally has anger written on his tongue, he’s being rough with his kissing and trying (and failing) to let off some steam. absolutely the roughest out of every uppermoon, if you thought muzan and dōma were biting a lot get ready to meet this guy. he will not stop until your neck is quite literally all red. props to you for not passing out, although you probably already did

6 (public kiss): he is angry in public, and he will kiss you to try and calm down (not like it works)

7 (against a wall kiss): probably pushes you a bit too hard since he doesn’t know his own strength.

10 (jealous kiss): i don’t think i need to explain, just look at 6

Karaku

4, 7, 12, 13

4 (kiss on the neck): ……… if it’s not obvious i’m sorry for you. the kanji on his tongue is literally pleasure

7 (against a wall kiss): again, i don’t need to explain

12 (accidentally witnessed kiss): like with dōma, the kiss is only “accidentally” witnessed. he totally didn’t leave the door wide open as he pinned you up against the wall

13 (lap kiss): ………………………….. YES

Aizetsu

5, 8, 9, 12

5 (in secret kiss): shyer than akaza 🥹! (he’s so precious im sry) every single time he kisses you it’s a shy kiss.

8 (top of head kisses): chances are he’s taller, so he kisses your head when he feels lonely. most of the time you’ll also be cuddling in bed

9 (shy kiss): just read 5

12 (accidentally witnessed kiss): unlike dōma and karaku, it is a genuine accident. he didn’t mean to leave the door open when he wanted to cuddle with you and shower you with kisses, he just did

Urogi

1, 6, 7

1 (good morning kiss): loves these. more specifically, loves receiving these. he doesn’t necessarily need sleep, but when he does wind up falling asleep, it’s next to you. you’ll usually wake up before him and wake him up with the good morning kisses he adores so much

6 (public kiss): his name means sky joy and ur telling me he wouldn’t get so happy he starts making out with you in public? he also just likes lowkey showing you off

7 (against a wall kiss): signature move: gets so happy he pins you against a wall and makes out with you

Gyutaro

2, 3, 4, 11

2 (forehead kiss), 3 (kiss on the nose), 4 (kiss on the neck): please give this poor man some love. he grew up only living for his sister and everyone else turning up their nose at him. forehead, nose, cheek, neck, everything kisses are a must

11 (first kiss): your first kiss with him was magical, whether it was also your first kiss is up to you, but it was definitely his and he relished in every moment of it.

[teaspoon-full-of-sugar]

tangointhenight

pairing: harry styles x reader (au)

warnings: idiots in love trope, long-distance fwb (sounds weird but it makes sense just give her a read luv), switch!harry and switch!reader, detailed descriptions of female and male masterbation, maladaptive daydreaming during a fanfic, mentions of exhibitionism, edging, one singular ‘daddy’, cum swapping, breeding kink, praise kink and degradation, rope play, spitting, choking, mutual masterbation, overstimulation, use of toys (vibrator mostly), crying after sex (iconic)

word count: 13.3k

synopsis: harry records erotic audios, and y/n is an avid listener

author’s note: hello nasties, here’s another filth fic for ya! this has been a long time in the making, and i am so sorry i have been mia for so long, but i am back for the time being to give you this fic. i have wanted to do something like this for a while now, but it’s been a struggle (lots of blood, sweat, and tears put into this). i’m kinda proud of her to be honest, and i hope you enjoy :)

tags: @victoria-styles

masterlist

—

Y/N finally sinks into her mattress after yet another tiring day. She can hear her roommate on the other side of the wall, chatting with her girlfriend over the phone, blissfully ignorant to the fact that she currently has a hand teasing the band of her sweatpants while the other scrolls aimlessly through her phone.

Exhaustion burns behind her eyes, but there’s a desperate ache in her belly, one that demands satiety. She opens the internet app to find it unchanged from the night before, still lighting up in the profile named tangointhenight. His profile picture is a tantalizing photo of his hand, splayed across his thigh, which are clad in tight, floral printed pants, doing wonders for the very prominent bulge. Pieces of paint linger on his thumbnail, a pretty pale mint color, and his skin, tanned with faint freckles and etches of dark ink, looks tempting in the golden light. At his wrist is a braided twine bracelet with cheap beads that have letters that she can’t make out, which looks old and wilted.

She scrolls down, only lingering for a moment to appreciate the photo one final time.

There are some cute little posts and polls in addition to his erotic audios. The newest one, posted just that afternoon, warns not to listen to this in public with a series of cute little emoticons following. If there’s one thing she’s learned about Tango, that’s what she and other listeners call him, is that he’s a bit of an exhibitionist; his audios tend to lean toward nearly getting caught or even being caught (oftentimes leading to a “helping out” situation). She honestly wasn’t into that sort of thing until he started talking about it, and now, she finds it incredibly sexy, the thrill of the quick high and the fear of being caught in such a vulnerable moment.

She’ll definitely have to give the new audio a listen on one of her morning commute trips to the university; perhaps, she could give it a listen while she waits for her class to start, his deep voice teasing and coaxing her into an aching mess. She hopes that it’ll leave her trembling and throbbing for the rest of the day. She wonders if she’ll be able to make it until night before she has to finish herself off or if she’ll have to sneak off to the restrooms during one of her seven minute breaks, foot propped up on the toilet paper dispenser while she rubs herself to her bitter end.

She scrolls down a bit, passing over audios that vary from pillow talk to a dirty fuck in back alleys, before tapping on the familiar link, purple from use, the description teasingly saying: we’ve been visiting my mum for a week, and I haven’t been able to taste you... I guess we’ll just have to be quiet.

It’s one of the first audios she listened to when she was just discovering this new world of pleasure, so it has a special place in her heart. It’s one of his firsts from nearly a year ago, of fuzzy listening quality and nervous voice, but she finds his ramblings endearing; although, admittedly, she thinks anything he does is cute.

She tucks in her earbuds and presses the play button. Tossing the phone to the side, her eyes flutter closed, visions of white dotting through the darkness as they adjust. There’s a subtle cracking sound that indicates that it has finally loaded, and a fuzzy droning sound filters through the headphones. There’s a fan going in the background; it squeaks and grumbles nearby. A door creaks open, one of those fake sound effects that you can buy, but she appreciates the effort.

“Hey, lovie, feelin’ better?”

His familiar voice floats through her ears. She settles even more into her sheets. His voice is a nice, hot cup of tea at the end of a hard day, a drug that leaves her head foggy and senses dulled. His voice reminds her of sleep: deep, soothing, persistent, yet ever fleeting. She yearns for it, like being able to listen to that one mazing song for the first time again or the feeling of sunshine after the long winter months. His voice is intoxicating, reaching a baritone timbre that she can’t quite put to words.

At first, she wanted to put a face to the man who hummed sweet nothings in her ears, who coaxed her to oblivion for nights on end. Now, she’s at ease with never knowing. It keeps things interesting, and she doesn’t think about it as much anymore.

“If only mum wasn’t home, maybe we could’ve snuck a quick one in the shower,” he says. She smirks, picturing him tucked into his childhood bed, a cozy twin that would be a struggle for the both of them to fit in, and he has his old quilt tucked up to his neck, leaving his bare feet exposed because of how little it is.

There’s a moment of silence, then a cute little laugh.

“I know. You wouldn’t want to sin in her godly home, but she loves you, probably more than me. I don't think she would think any differently of you.”

Another beat of silence, then his voice catches in his throat. Y/N smiles softly as he stutters pitifully, slowly, struggling to find his words.

“N-no, y’know tha's not how I meant it,” he says. “Like, she loves you more than she loves me. Not that I don’t love you as much as she does.” He moves, the rustling of his sheets crackling in her ears. She can hear his hand run over his stubble, nails scratching over short little hairs. She wonders if he usually grows out his facial hair or if he’s the type to keep clean shaven.

“She couldn’t possibly love you more than I do.” The bed creaks as he shifts again. “C’mon, babe, join me. ‘S all nice and warm.”

She herself burrows further into her blankets, knowing full well that she’s probably going to be kicking them off in a few minutes. She turns to her side, blinking her eyes open, trying to immerse herself into the fantasy.

“‘M glad you got time off of work to come here with me. I know you could've been spending time back home, but you came here with me instead.” His voice is closer than before, however whispered. Every accentuated vowel that passes through his lips is like a breath of fresh air, and she hums quietly at the sound.

“I really appreciate it. ‘M glad we got to spend this time together.”

She imagines that he tucks her into his neck, coddling her while his fingers trace over the curves of her face, from the furrow of her brow, down to the apple of her cheeks, before stopping at her lips, lingering only momentarily before his thumb would push just past them.

He chuckles suddenly.

“What does it look like I’m doing? Jus’ lovin’ on my girl.”

His short pecks turn into slow, passionate kisses, deep sighs of relief falling from his lips, and she swears she can almost feel his breath on her skin, nose pressed tight to the pulsepoint in her neck as he sponges his lips over her collarbone, teeth nibbling lightly. She tugs the tee up from where it’s settled at her hips to where the curves of her breasts begin, the material squeezing them tightly to her chest. The sensitive skin aches under the tight pressure. She teases her nipples through her thin bra, feeling the tenderness coax chills down her spine.

“Please,” he whines. “Wanna taste you. You can be quiet. I believe in you, love.”

She could picture him now, chin resting on her stomach, eyes pleading with her. She would flick his head at the patronizing tone before brushing her fingers through his hair. Would he have short tuffs or long tresses that she could run her fingers through after a long day, breaking apart the knots that accumulate throughout the day? Does he have pin straight, dark locks that are cut close to his scalp or sand coloured curls that fall gracefully on his forehead? Perhaps, he has a bit of gray peaking through his hairline to match his wise and weathered voice. She could almost moan at the thought. She has always had a thing for older men.

Tango says something, but she can’t really hear it, his words muffled by her racing heart. She pries her pants down shaky legs, leaving them dangling around her ankle, and her fingers work quickly in massaging her puffy clit, arousal wetting the tender skin. Not one for having much patience, she doesn’t wait for him to finish worshiping her body with his mouth before she is rubbing herself through her panties, feeling the cold wetness on her fingertips. Eyes closed, her head falls back on her pillows, legs tensing when she stops suddenly.

“Pretty thighs,” he mumbles to himself between kisses, and she could almost feel his tender touches on the backs of her thighs, which tremble with anticipation. A wetly placed kiss followed by an appreciative hum signals his final descent to her cunt. The sound of languid licks are nearly enough to make her finish, walls clenching miserably around nothing. Fingers slowing close to a dead stop, barely more than a faint fluttering on her sensitive skin, she attempts to collect herself, but it’s difficult when he moans once again, muffled by his furiously working lips.

“Love your pussy, baby.” She melts at his words, eyes rolling back as waves of pleasure rack through her body, hips stuttering in time with each flick of her wrist. “So warm and wet and jus’ perfect for me.” His voice, low with need, makes her throb, arousal slipping into her panties.

She’s close already, an unfortunate effect he has on her. Barely five minutes into her alone time, and she can feel the orgasm begin to build, like an unyielding inferno spreading through every nerve. The stress from her day, the exhaustion with the world, everything melts into just one prominent feeling threatening to burst from her pores. She has to force herself to stop before she falls over the edge in order to draw out this experience as much as possible. She nearly cries out when she pulls her hand away altogether, her poor, puffy clit throbbing painfully.

This continues for a while, the undulating waves of a blistering release and the torture of a cut off orgasm, until the air becomes thick, her heaving breaths heating her empty room.

“There’s my good girl,” he says. “Use me, lovie. Want you to choke me with your pretty thighs.”

His voice is more firm this time, and she could only picture his baleful eyes staring up at her, eager to please her and guide her over the edge. It makes her wonder what they look like; she wonders if they’re a soulful, deep chocolate that darken with lust, a pale blue that reminds her of warm afternoons, or a striking hazel that flickers with green hues in the light.

No matter the color, she is sure that they’re undoubtedly pretty.

“Please,” she whispers faintly.

“More? You want more, my greedy girl?” She nods pitifully, feeling the orgasm build quickly in her belly before she stops once again, fingers pressing into her throbbing clit. “You want my fingers?”

Her walls flutter fruitlessly for some sort of release, for some sort of stimulation. He moans out sharply.

“Feel so good, babylove,” he coos. “So warm and wet f’me.”

She wants to slip her fingers inside, to tease and massage that tender spot that she can barely reach until she struggles to breathe. She wants to feel full, but she doesn’t want to take care of the mess, and it surely won’t be comfortable sleeping in wet sheets. The wipes hidden alongside her other secret toys, beneath mounds of socks and crumpled underwear, do little to take care of the arousal that has pooled between her legs.

She fishes around her bedside table, fingers raking through bundles of panties to find her vibrator, a cheap little thing she got in a set when she first moved into her apartment. Unfortunately, she ran through the other ones that were in the set, and this is the only one left.

She nestles the vibrator on her swollen clit and ticks it on to the lowest setting. This stimulation is different than before; a vague rumbling rattles her bones, making her lips tremble, with choked cries teetering on her tongue. Obscene wet sounds fill her ears, and for a moment, she wonders whether they are coming from the audio or from her dripping pussy, and her thighs tighten around her wrist. She could only imagine the sight of his hands splayed over her hips and on her belly, perfectly pastel painted nails pressing into her wet skin. The shifting of her mattress worries her for only a moment, but her shame melts away, and she loses herself in the sound of his heavy, stifled groans, as if he is truly choking on her. The addition of the vibrator only serves to tease her more as she inches toward the end, brutally building in slow, abrupt waves. She struggles to swallow her whimpers.

He spits suddenly, and her hips jut forward at the sound, an erotic display of dominance, but he makes it seem like such a tender act; she could just melt.

“Can you take another?”

A beat of silence and a sharp intake of breath, squelching sounds growing louder.

“No? That’s alright, lovie, just two, then,” he coos. Her toes curl up a little at his words, hips rising from the mattress. On any other night, she would have craved more; she would have wanted him to coax her open with him telling her that she can take just one more and that she’s his good girl. It’s sad to be turned on by a man simply respecting her limits, but her clit throbs pitifully and some arousal slips out into her underwear.

“Gonna come for me, babe?” His words are slurred and wet. “Make me proud.”

Chills rushing down her spine, her body curls into itself, eager for her release. She wants to come so badly; she wants to feel the pleasure for days afterward, to tremble around her hand until she can’t take it anymore, to come until she’s seeing stars. She wants to make him proud, but she knows that she can’t come yet, or else she won’t be able to hear him finish. She doesn’t have another orgasm in her tonight, and she wants to prolong this experience as much as possible, even if that means holding out on her orgasm. The world spins behind her tightly screwed eyes as she slows her ministrations, the vibrator ticking back down to nothing. Her body reacts before she can even consider the loss, her hips bucking against the toy, attempting desperately to find that little bit of stimulation she needs to finally reach euphoria.

His lips smack loudly as he presses simulated kisses to skin, pulling her back from her foggy mind.

“So good f’me, pretty,” he says, words muted by skin. “So good. Hmm, I knew you could be quiet.” His kisses are slow and tired, unlike before when they were rushed and eager. His mattress grumbles as he moves once again, taking his time to, presumably, trail up the length of her trembling body until they’re suffocating in each other's embrace.

He sighs behind closed lips, heavy and wanton, and she can picture him working his hips into the mattress to find some sort of release. She would pull him up until he was right between her aching legs and press her lips to his neck, feeling his pulse jump at the contact. She would cup his cock through his thin pair of pajamas, teasingly massaging him until he just couldn't take it anymore, caution flying out of his mind as he is overcome by thoughts of her name, her skin, simply <i>her. Trying to form a coherent thought, he would barely be able to hold himself up. She moans quietly at the thought.

“Babylove, we can’t—” He moans, his deep voice splintering. “I don’ know if I’ll be able to control myself.”

She has listened to this audio enough to know what to say to fill the silent gaps to fulfill the ultimate fantasy.

“Please,” she whispers into the dead air, barely audible over her roommate's voice in the next room. “Wanna feel you.” She wishes he was there for her to whisper in his ear, her fingers running up the plain of his back, feeling the heated skin tense at her words. He would quirk an eyebrow.

“Yeah? Y’wanna feel my big cock in y’tummy, pretty baby?”

“Yes,” she whimpers quietly, suddenly very aware of how much she truly wanted to be filled, to have him so impossibly close to her.

“Y’know I can’t say no to you.” She can hear the smile in his voice. She wonders what it looks like, if he beams with an eye-searing grin, his face splitting with happiness, or if he has a shy little smirk, just barely toying on his lips. She likes to think that he has a beautiful smile, filled with warmth and love. She melts a little, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her limbs to the tips of her fingers.

“Get on top.”

She does, eyes still closed as she sits and kneels on her mattress, one hand still between her legs, trying desperately to catch her poor, swollen clit at just the right angle that will leave her thighs quaking, her stomach clenching. Her underwear, which are still stuck around her knees, stretch and snap as her thighs slip and spread further on the sheets.

He moans sharply, and she can feel her hips unconsciously move, as if to pull that sound from him once again. The low vibrations from her little handheld leave her aching for more, nothing more than a faint rumble, but if she flicked it up to the next highest setting, it would surely be heard through the thin walls. Besides, she loves the teasing nearly as much as she hates it, just pushing to the brink before the rush subsides and settles into a quiet lull. Speechless, she gasps for air as yet another jilted orgasm subsides.

She works her hips slowly, careful of the squeaking of her mattress; there are only so many noises that can be passed off as her simply shifting around in her sleep. Her wrist aches at such an awkward angle, but she continues, the burning euphoria just beyond the horizon. He moans, and she nearly follows him, a crest of a cry nearly bursting from her chest but it comes out as a small whimper. She pushes her earbud deeper into her ear, as if to pull him closer.

“Sorry, jus’ feel so good,” he says sheepishly, and she can tell that he’s biting his lip by the faint lisp in his words. It would be torture for the both of them, to be so close but unable to move any faster or harder to finally reach the deepest, most pleasurable part, just barely scratching the itch for intimacy. He whimpers pitifully, and she thinks she might fall apart at the sound, but her stupid vibrator leaves her teetering back and forth between over the edge. She wiggles her hips to try to get a better angle, but with just a hint of stimulation, it’s a torturously slow build up.

“There it is, pretty,” he says, breaths faltering. “That’s the spot. Make yourself feel good, lovie. Use me.” Her legs ache at the awkward angle, trembling with overexertion. She wishes that she could let go of it, leaving it on the mattress with her pussy and thighs holding it in place, so she can grind on it, unhindered by her own body’s exhaustion, eagerly chasing her high. It would also free her hands to tease her breasts again, pulling and pinching at her hardened nipples.

“Love the way you feel, babylove,” he whispers. “Fuck, so wet f’me.” He curses again and again, as if no other words can properly describe the feeling of her, so soft, so warm, so fucking good. She could only picture him in abridged visions, his undoubtedly pretty lips parted with his pretty whimpers sneaking through, his features pinched in pleasure. Her eyes roll back as her orgasm quickly approaches.

“‘M gonna come,” he says suddenly. “Are you close, too?” She whimpers, arousal slips down her swollen lips and into her furiously working fingers, eager to finish alongside him. “Yeah? Y’gonna come with me? Y’gonna come on my cock, pretty?”

She is so close, so unbelievably close, and she struggles to relax her muscles to hold off for just a little longer.

“So fuckin’ good, such a good fuckin’ girl,” he says sharply. His mattress squeaks now, unable to hold back the sharp jolts of his hips, and he lets go of all inhibitions, moaning freely. She could imagine his hand tracing up her belly, cupping her swinging breasts, and he would suckle on her nipples until her fervent hips faltered. He would brush his hands up the curve of her back, digging into the muscles of her shoulders until she fell forward. Faces nestled together, interlocking like pieces of a puzzle, they would breathe each other in, savoring such a close moment of intimacy. It would feel like a lifetime as they waited with bated breath, using each other to get the most pleasure possible.

She comes when he does, holding her breath to keep the moans from slipping, which makes it all the more euphoric, the chance of nearly getting caught at her most vulnerable and the faint lightheadedness making her vision foggy. Her orgasm leaves her legs trembling, slipping away from her still buzzing toy, falling forward into her sheets. She breathes in sharply, barely holding back a pained cry; fat tears of pleasure soak into her blanket as euphoria crashes and beats into her muscles. The heart-racing, earth-shattering, limb-thrashing orgasm makes her chest heave. Just like she wanted, she is left spent on her mattress, the powerful rush still lingering in her trembling body.

She flips onto her back, quickly pulling her bottoms back up onto her hips. In her drunken stupor, her earbuds fell out, and she can vaguely hear Tango’s praises. She picks her phone back up, eyes straining under the bright light, and closes out of the audio.

Her head is light, foggy with the residual high. A dazed smile flickers over her lips, exhaustion settling deep in her bones, finally satiated by her orgasm.

She scrolls through his account once again, this time reading through some of his other posts, like links to playlists and cute stories. Suddenly, the little message icon in the corner looks so appealing, teasing and taunting. Perhaps, she’s feeling a little giddy from her high or maybe it’s from the exhaustion, but she can’t seem to find a reason to not do it.

She sends him a message.

Meanwhile, Harry stares at the blinking cursor petulantly. It taunts him amidst a sea of white, a blank canvas in what should have been a completed midterm paper that’s due in a couple of days. His eyes sink closed, and he starts to drift off, only waking when his hand slips from his cheek, knocking his glasses askew. An old sitcom plays in the background, the canned laughter providing a break in the silence every five seconds. He sighs for the billionth time that evening, struggling to find motivation to even think at this point.

His phone dings, and he happily divulges the distraction, his brows furrowing as he reads a direct message from a user called honeyhi. He’s used to getting comments on his post, with the occasional direct message (which he usually deletes instantly because of poor past experiences), and now, he usually doesn’t think much of them. He isn’t doing it to gain anything from anyone. He just wants to put his thoughts out there, and it’s just an added bonus to get validation from beautiful people.

She doesn’t have a profile picture, not uncommon on that corner of the web, especially since his posts aren’t a lot of people’s taste. He wouldn’t usually indulge in them, deleting them usually instantly, but something compels him to open her message.

Not to be too forward, but I had the best orgasm of my life, listening to your audios. I’ve listened to your audios for a long time, and honestly, listening to you has become the highlight of my evenings ;)

Honey, you have no idea what that means to me.

Truly, his heart swells at her sweet words. It’s nice to get complimented on something you put so much effort into. He bares himself for strangers, expressing such an intimate part of himself for their shared pleasure, and it feels reassuring to get compliments.

I mean it. Also, Tango in the Night is arguably one of Fleetwood Mac’s best albums. Definitely top three.

Most people assume it’s a sex thing.

I wonder why.

He laughs a little at the dry comment.

So, what are the other two in your top three albums?

Pre or post Stevie Nicks?

Post, of course. What kind of question is that?

That was a test. You passed. I think we’ll get along just fine, Tango.

I think so, too, Honey.

—

Y/N rushes past the postman, nearly toppling over when her bag shifts slightly on her arm, her thick binders peek out of the top and dig into her arm. Her hand furiously slaps the elevator button, and she stands impatiently, her dangling keys shaking at her hip. The doors tremble as the weight teeters down to the main floor, far too slowly in her opinion. For a moment, she considers just running up the three flights of stairs to her floor, but that feels a little too eager.

She and Tango have their weekly phone call tonight, and her classes ran long today; that coupled with the stand-still traffic made her more anxious than usual to get home. She always calls first, since her schedule is the most complicated, and she’ll feel absolutely awful if she was late for their call. She feels silly getting worked up over such a small thing, but their friendship progressed beyond the occasional messages in the past month, and she honestly looks forward to their weekly talks. Tango is such a beautiful and humble person, and he is such a stable place of comfort. She knows that he will be understanding and have an independent, secondary perspective on any situation.

He is someone she can rely on for just about anything.

The bell dings above her, and the elevator doors finally part. After barreling inside, she sinks against the railing, glancing at the time, which is still just before her usual calling time. She sighs sharply when the doors begin to close, relief tugging on her shoulders.

However, a hand pushes through the lift’s doors before they can shut, and she bites back an irritated groan; she probably could have made it to her apartment by now if she had ran up the stairs. The man slides in and gives her a grateful nod, accompanied by a small smile. Much to her delight, he presses the ‘close door’ button quickly, and they’re met with no interruptions this time. It’s a quiet ride, despite her nervous feet tapping, and he taps away on his phone,

She admires him out of the corner of her eye, forgetting momentarily about her anxiety. Half of his hair is pulled back in a small bun, exposing the darker locks underneath, and a bandana pushes back the frizzy flyaways that would normally frame his face. The thick strands curl slightly at the ends; there’s one tight coil that she wants to tug on. She could easily become enamored with him, with his pretty green eyes and day-old stubble. His bag has H.E.S embroidered on the bottom corner. A coral colored, gem necklace rests beautifully on his tanned chest, which is mostly covered by a near see-through white top, covered with a baggy, gingham jumper.

After living in the building for two years, they have run into one another on several occasions but have never really spoken. He lives on the second floor, and he goes to the university as well.

When he leaves, after offering another nod and quick smile, she calls Tango. He answers after the second ring.

“Hey, sweets,” he grumbles, not as chipper as his usual self. Her heart sinks a little. He had his midterms last week, and she can only assume that the results are not what he had hoped.

“Oh, no,” she says. “What happened?”

“‘S nothin’,” he insists, but she can hear the irritation in his voice. “‘M jus’ getting myself worked up over nothin’. How was your day?”

Clearly not wanting to talk, he changes the subject, which is something Y/N has grown used to over the past few months. He doesn’t like to vent when he’s too upset because he’s afraid of lashing out and taking his aggression out on her. Thankfully, she has also learned how to distract him. Usually, his annoyance melts away within minutes, and he is his usual, bubbly self again.

“Well, let me tell you, I nearly killed the postman today, and someone nearly hit my car today.”

“What?” He asks incredulously. “Please, elaborate.”

And so, she does.

A couple hours later, Y/N’s in her kitchen, making avocado and tomato toast for the fifth time this week. Her roommate is gone for the weekend, thankfully, which means she can get more stuff done without interruptions (and she can talk to Tango for as long as she wants without getting interrogated about it). His mood had improved significantly after she was able to make him laugh at her own expense (he especially liked the story about how she grabbed her iced coffee too quickly this morning and spilled it all over the barista’s hand).

“I have a question,” he says quickly, as if he wouldn’t have the courage to ask if he held onto it for a moment longer.

“Okay,” she says slowly, almost fearful at the sudden change of tone in his voice.

“Would you be able to listen to something I recorded the other day?” He giggles nervously. “I dunno. I just feel a little,” he makes a little noise, “off about it.”

Stunned, she stares at her phone, the seconds ticking by before her very eyes, and despite the fact that the only reason why they know each other is because she listened to his audios, she’s a little taken aback by the question. Before she knows it, too much time has passed for her to brush off as anything but bewilderment. She stutters.

“I—uh—sure?”

“You don’t sound too sure.”

“No, I am.” Stubborn and not willing to back down, she digs herself a deeper hole, despite the odd feeling growing in her stomach. “Yes, I will listen to it for you.”

“Okay, then,” he says breathlessly. “I’ll send it to you.”

Neither know what to say now. Conversation usually came easy to them, so it feels so strange to be stuck in such an uncomfortable silence. Now, she’s gone and ruined everything because of her hesitation. Why did she even hesitate? There’s no reason to be embarrassed. They’re both very open, sexual people, and it’s nothing to get so worked up over. Maybe, it’s the fact that it’s him, and she knows him so well now. Compared to before, when he was just some stranger on the internet, she knows his likes, dislikes; hell, she has even spoken to his cat, and it feels wrong because he is her friend, and that’s not what friends are supposed to do.

“It’s not weird. Is it?” He asks shyly.

“Of course not.” She says it a little too quickly. Admittedly, it feels a <i>little weird, now that she thinks about it. It would be like walking in on your friend having sex. Then again, the only reason why they really know each other is because she listened to his audios (which is basically him jerking off to his dirty thoughts). However, it’s not an aspect they spoke about too often, usually after a couple of drinks. Their friendship, despite how it began, is purely innocent. They were each other’s comfort person; they were there to vent, laugh, and talk with. Neither ever hinted toward anything different, other than the occasional, playful flirting.

“No, I’ll listen to it for you. What are friends for?”

She doesn’t know why her heart is beating so fast.

“Thank you,” he says.

“So,” she says, “do you want me to listen to it now?”

“Eager, are we?” He hums teasingly.

“Shut up,” she scoffs.

“I mean, if you wanted to hear some dirty talk, all you had to do was ask.”

“Please, stop talking.”

“Y’know I’m always down to clown.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

True to her words, she doesn’t wait for him to answer before she ends the call.

Her phone dings a second later with the link along with another cheeky message. The link is to a private web upload platform, and she feels special for a moment. She wonders if she should just listen to it while eating her toast and go about her usual routine, or if she should do what she usually does when listening to his audios. Is that what he would want, though? Would it make him feel uncomfortable? Is it more weird to just listen to him moan in her ear while doing mundane tasks around the house?

Granted, they have had some conversations about sex and the like, but this feels so much more intimate, especially because he knows that she’s going to listen to him jerk off, not to even mention the obscene things that come from his mouth.

What does it mean for their friendship? Perhaps, it’s not even meant to mean anything, just a sincere favor asked between two friends. Maybe, it’s meant to be a step toward something more on his part. Is that even what she wants?

She brushes off that thought quickly, as she has for months, because deep down, she knows it would just end up in disappointment.

Oh, what a mess.

She’s headed on a downward spiral that has no chance of stopping unless it’s hit by a freight train to hell.

She opts to forgetting her toast and slips into her bedroom, falling onto her blankets giddily. She presses play on the audio, her heart racing as it loads, and leaves her phone face down next to her ear, eyes closing to fully immerse herself, trying to ignore her anxiety.

“Hello,” he says slowly, almost shyly, and it feels like one of their late nights again, with him talking through her phone and her cuddled in bed, listening eagerly. “I’ve just gotten home, but I’ve been thinkin’ about this all day. Couldn’t go to sleep before gettin’ it out there, y’know.” He giggles, a pretty little noise she’s heard many times now. He laughs a lot, sometimes at himself, but mostly in response to her. He even laughs at her corny, little puns, which she appreciated.

“And ‘m really hard right now, so that doesn’t help either. I haven’t really been able to come in the past two weeks. Been too busy with… life, I guess. But a friend of mine talked to me about the world of BDSM. She’s a kinky little shit.”

Y/N’s heart lurches, stomach twisting with an unrecognizable feeling, knowing that the certain friend he is talking about is her. She remembers the conversation well, even though she was a little tipsy and very high, mostly because it was also the first time they had actually spoken on the phone, and it began as it normally does, about mundane things that happened that week. Somehow, the conversation shifted to kinks, and she told him that she wouldn’t be opposed to more sinful acts in the bedroom, most of which her previous partners had not indulged.

“I’m pretty vanilla, I guess. I just love to love people. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I’ve never really been into that sort of thing, but now, I can’t stop thinking about it, and I’ve been kinda into some dark, dom stuff lately,” he admits slowly. “Dark for me, at least, which, again, doesn’t say much.” There’s another laugh, radiant and delicate.

“I dunno why, but I’ve been fantasizing about taking you into our room. A little lackluster, I know, but I’m not into the dark, dingy places, like those sex dungeons they have in the movies, where there’s lots of leather, red lights, music, quite the ambience.” He stops suddenly, and she could imagine his lips pursing to cease his ramblings. She wishes he wouldn’t do that so much; she wishes that he wouldn’t doubt himself and his beautiful way with words. If only he could be as confident in himself as she is in him.

“I just want to lay you down on our bed with our fluffy blankets pushed off to the side. Then, if either of us need to take a moment or stop, we can.” Her heart swells a little at his words. Even though he’s trying to talk about, in his words, “dark, dom stuff”, he is still so sweet and considerate, and she can’t help but soften. He trails off.

Faintly, she can hear him yank his belt from the loops, and it’s, honestly, one of the hottest things she has ever heard; the teasing glimpse of what could come far more erotic than anything any of her other partners could do. She could only imagine what it would feel like to have him in front of her, shirtless with his pants low on his hips; maybe he would be wearing the same floral pants he is in his profile picture, the ones that are unbelievably tight. She would be splayed on the bed, just observing this beauty of a man, waiting patiently for him to come and ravish her.

She’s sure that his tattoos cover more than just his arms, but how many more is a question that haunts her. The thought of a big tattoo on his thigh that she can grind on while he moans about how much of a good girl she is has led to many obscene dreams. She imagines black images carved into his chest, perhaps a trail of floating rose petals from his collar bone to his peck or a hellish looking snake wrapped around his waist. More vividly, she envisions a bold tattoo just beneath his belly button, one that she would scratch at while he violently pounded into her, one that she would kiss and lick before she would take him in her mouth.

Oh, what she would do to be able to feel his skin on hers.

She dips her hand beneath the band of her shorts out of habit, toying with the silky material of her panties. She tries not to think too much about her feelings, fearing it would deepen the ache in her heart.

“Anyway, you’d be on the bed,” he says, his usual slow, stifling voice pulling her deeper into the fantasy, “naked, on your knees with your pretty pussy facing me. You’re all tied up, starting at your wrists and ankles, and there would be a pretty knot down your spine that I can grab while I fuck you from behind.”

Her cunt throbs at the sudden turn. She could only imagine: her face pressed into the pillows, choking on the sheets, her muscles tight, aching beneath the restraints, and her voice raw, sobbing from overstimulation. Exhausted and wanton, she would take anything that he would be willing to give her. He would shove her face into the mattress, mounting her, and he would tug on the rope until it felt like it would permanently embedded in her wet skin, telling her how much of a good little slut she is, taking him so well.

She doesn't know why she’s drawn to rope play; perhaps, it’s all a part of the subtle nuances of the sex, the intimacy of tying the complex binds around your partner and the intricacies of sensory manipulation with such overwhelming stimulation. It’s so much more than just being bound while fucking. There is such a deep reliance on the other person to understand your body, your limits, your needs. It’s about trust and vulnerability. She thinks of it in such a melodic and romantic way; it must have resonated with Tango.

“Or I’d tie your arms to your legs, keeping you spread open for me on your back, with knots around your belly, the lead falling between your tits.” Her eyes flutter closed. While rope play is something that she has always wanted to try but never felt comfortable enough with another person to act on it. He would be different though. She cups her pussy, languidly running her fingers through her wet folds, feeling the arousal slip down her skin before settling on her sheets.

She pinches her clit, and her legs immediately jerk around her arm. Feeling far too sensitive for that type of stimulation, she simply strokes through her lips, focusing her ministrations on the delicate inside, close to her sopping entrance, enjoying the slow build.

“Then, I could hold onto your neck while I fuck you, and I like being able to see your face, to see how good I’m making you feel, to see tears of pleasure run down your pretty face. You could suck on my fingers while I fuck you, deep and hard. D’ya wanna choke on my fingers, pretty?”

She wants absolutely nothing more. She would gladly suck on his fingers if it meant that she could see the look of awe in his eyes, lust darkening his features when she bites teasingly on his nail.

“But if you’re on your knees, I could watch you in the mirror and still see your face. From behind, I can see your pretty, tight pussy take my cock.” He whimpers. “I haven’t decided which I would rather have.”

She can’t decide, either.

Then again, they could always have both.

“Of course, I wouldn’t give you my cock that easily. No, you’re going to be crying for me, begging for me to fuck you, and I dunno if I would fuck you right away or make you beg for it. I think for the first bit, after you’re all tied up for me, I’ll tease you, just barely touching you, pulling on the lead, the ropes tightening around your aching body. I think your tits would look so pretty all tied up f’me, babylove.

“When you’ve finally had enough, crying for me to stuff you full of my cock, I’d let you come, but I’d only use my fingers, never giving you what you really want. Maybe I’ll put a little vibrator on your clit and leave you there, having you come again and again until it hurts. I’d have you keep your panties on, of course. Don’t want you making a mess of the sheets, and then, when I finally give you my cock, I’ll put them in your mouth to keep you quiet, and so you can taste yourself.”

His moans are in the forefront in his sensual song, mixed amongst a symphony of bed and friction sounds. She matches his pace, flicking her wrist in time with the sound of him working his wet cock. She massages the entirety of her pussy, messily rubbing her fingers from the tip of her poor, swollen clit to her throbbing opening.

“Fuck, babylove, you’d be so good f’me, taking my cock so deep in your pussy. Would you cry f’me, pretty? Cry for daddy to fuck you into the mattress.” A rumbling groan finally breaks free, and she is so close to falling apart, her high festering into her muscles, burning through her nerves; her skin feels hot to the touch. She struggles to breathe, but she doesn't yearn for air as much as she does her end. Tears in her eyes, she clutches onto her blanket, tugging it in her mouth to keep from crying too loudly. She sobs, feeling a familiar tightness in her body, just beyond her grasp. Her hand still moves over her pussy, arousal seeping through trembling fingers, but she can’t reach her peak with such light, varied stimulation, her hips buckling.

“My pretty rope bunny,” he mutters. He’s desperate, truly just rambling on and on about anything that comes to mind. “My pretty honey,” he whimpers, almost inaudibly, “honey, honey.”

For a second, she thinks of the times that word has passed through his lips in less sinful situations, a slow, lulling honey when he’s trying to get her attention, sweet and innocent. That’s his special name for her, and she wonders if, possibly, he thinks about her in the same way she does, if he wishes to be with her in such an intimate way, just as she does. She thinks, incredulously, that maybe she isn’t overanalyzing the situation.

His bed squeaks faintly in the background, just barely heard over his withering voice. She can only begin to imagine what he looks like in that moment, legs tense, feet digging into the mattress, his hips thrusting to fuck himself into his fist. The head of his cock would peek through the top of his fist as he coerced his release free. She wishes she could see what he looks like when he comes, when he finally reaches his most euphoric moment. It’s such a primal thing to witness, to see someone liberated of all inhibitions, to observe them completely succumbing to their instincts. It’s such a beautiful thing to see someone acquiesce control and thrive so harmoniously with their body.

“I wanna wrap my belt around your throat.” He swallows thickly. She whines along with him. Perhaps, she’s just fooling herself, but she can swear that she could almost hear the sound of a leather belt squeezing in his fist. A pitiful pool of wetness slips between her ass cheeks.

“My cock hurts just thinking about how you’d sound.” He moans, mimicking the desperate heaves that would undoubtedly slip through her lips as he pulls his belt tightly around her throat. “Then, when you’re bratty, I can just wrap my hand around the belt and make it tighter.

“Please,” he mocks weakly, “please, sir, I’ll be good. But you’re just saying that to get what you want. You’re just a naughty, little slut aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she returns weakly.

“Maybe, I could get you a collar and pull you around with that. Would you like that?” He hums. “Of course, you would. You’re my pretty, little bunny.”

In any other instance, she would feel humiliated to be so aroused at being so weak and submissive to another, but he could convince her to do anything at this point. She’s close, toes curling and muscles tightening, and she waits for his familiar profession that he is also near the edge, but the silence that follows is deafening, a disappointing resolution to an intense narrative. It makes her stop completely, wet hand flipping her phone over to see that, indeed, she had listened to all of the audio. It knocks the air from her lungs when she realizes that that was it. She isn’t going to hear his cute little whimpers as he comes nor his sweet aftercare.

Frustrated from her ruined orgasm, she calls him instantly, and he picks up after the fourth ring this time, as if he <i>knows</i> that she is this needy and frustrated. She doesn’t give him the chance to greet her.

“That couldn’t have been all of it.”

“Well, hello to you, too—”

“I didn’t get to hear you come.”

“Is that what you wanna hear, honey?”

“Well, yeah, I always come with—” She stops before she says something she’ll regret, but by the sound of his laughter, it’s already too late. She wants to hide away in embarrassment.

“It’s only partially finished. I thought I told you that.” She can hear the teasing smirk he surely has plastered on his face, the cheeky bastard. “I just wanted to hear what you thought so far before I finished it. There’s no point in finishing something that I already feel isn’t worth the time.”

“Well, then,” she stutters quickly, “How does it end?”

“How do you think it should end?”

There’s a certainty in his words, as if he has already accepted her as a lover, and she knows that he is giving her the opportunity to initiate the next step. Fear squeezes her chest, and for a second, she worries that she isn’t brave enough to follow through. Every fiber of her being is pleading with her to just take that risk, but another, more rational side of her, is saying it’s better to say a quick I don’t know, and they would move on as normal.

“Where would you come?”

Oh, it feels so filthy to ask that, but it’s so relieving to hear the hum of approval that passes through his lips.

Her heart races, not like before; this is exciting and new and arousing, and it feels wrong. She doesn’t even know what he looks like; hell, she doesn’t even know his real name, and she’s so fucking ready and willing to give herself to him. There’s just so many reasons to not pursue him. She feels ashamed, almost, that she is weak for a man she knows nothing about.

“Hmm, that’s a good question. Where would you like me to come?”

But how can she not get weak when he asks her things like that?

Shivers bloom on her skin in sunflower blossoms. She knows what he wants to hear, and usually, she would tease him, telling him that he didn’t care if he even came or not, but the throbbing between her legs is relentless, and she’s just lust-drunk that she’ll say just about anything to get what she needs. She begins rubbing herself again, focusing solely on her clit this time instead of the entirety of her pussy in the palm of her hand. Breathing out shakily, she answers honestly.

“Everywhere.”

He moans, and she knows that was the right answer.

“Everywhere? Such a greedy girl. You want me to come down your throat? You wanna taste it? Maybe, I’ll have you choke on my cock, fuck y’face until you’re crying.”

After he was done fucking her, she’s sure that he would yank her up either by the rope around her breasts or by the belt around her neck (she can’t decide which yet) and put his cock by her mouth, rubbing himself over her lips and chin, but never quite pushing past the barrier of her lips; no, she would be the one to open her sweet mouth for him, her jaw lax and tongue wet as she takes everything he’d give her.

God, yes, she wants to taste him. She wants him to use her in every possible, degrading way: to use her mouth while she tied up, under his mercy, to fuck her face until she has tears dripping down her cheeks, wetting her heaving chest, to come down her throat until she’s choking on him, but he would pinch her nose and make her taste it until her vision was blurry.

“You’d take it all, babylove. Won’t you?”

He asks so innocently, his deep voice having a soft twinge, but she knows that it’s not optional, not that she would choose otherwise. She would greedily lap at his cum and drink it all, proudly showing off her empty mouth when she’s done. Maybe, he would insist that she keep it in her mouth and pull her into a wet, heated kiss, prying her lips apart so he can taste himself on her tongue.

“I could make a mess on your belly or your tits, and then, I could lick you clean. Or I could mark up your thighs and watch it drip onto the sheets.”

The thought of him marking her with his come is nearly enough for her to reach her peak. A voice in the back of her head chastises her for being so greedy; this is something she has fantasized about since they started talking, and it’s going to be over before it can even begin at this rate. She needs to distract herself, to focus on anything other than the painful throbbing between her legs.

“Or I could come inside you.”

That’s the last thing she needed to hear.

Only because it makes a thick bead of arousal seep into her sheets. It makes her finally give in and sink two fingers inside herself, and <i>fuck, she’s so wet and swollen and pliable. She sobs, truly biting back even louder cries behind gritted teeth. She curses again and again at the feeling coursing through her veins, heat spreading in her belly as her hips frantically move against her ministrations.

“By the sound of that moan, I think that’s definitely preferred. Such a filthy girl. Y’want me to fill your belly? Want me to mark you as mine?”

She just knows that he could fill her to the brim, but he would want to prolong the experience as much as possible, teasing her with his cock and coaxing her to beg for his cum.

She could just imagine the determined look in his eyes, so close to coming, but he would pull out, just barely teasing her trembling entrance with his twitching cock. He wouldn’t move, and when she would beg for him to put it back in and just fuck her until she couldn’t breath, he would say very simply: if y’want my cum so bad, put my cock back inside.

God, his face would be gleaming with this power, satisfied with seeing her so needy for his cum. Shamefully, she would put one of her hands on his hip while the other grasps his cock, pushing on him until he sinks entirely inside her once again, but he still wouldn’t move, simply filling her, the both of them twitching with arousal. He would demand that she make him come if she wants it so bad, as if it's a gift from the heavens.

“Are you touching yourself?” He asks, and only then does she realize that she was drowning in her fantasy; the sudden change makes her stop rubbing herself, her vision hazy. She parts her lips with wet fingers, slipping back down to her entrance, gently prodding inside until that euphoria builds once again.

“Yes,” she admits shamefully. “‘M so fucking wet for you.”

“Dirty little slut,” he says sharply. He has no room to judge, especially since she can hear the all-too-familiar sounds to him jerking his cock, wet sounds of his fist passing over the thick head echoing in her empty room. She is near tears at this point, so needy and high and horny, but she wants to make this last.

“Would you let me come? Please, can I come?”

It’s his turn to moan with approval, and she feels proud. His heavy breathing in time with hers, he seems to be lost in pleasure, voice hitching as he struggles to find words. Her orgasm swells to a near crest once again, but she wants to hear him finish. At this point, she knows what it sounds like, from the frantic ramblings to the guttural moans, and he’s not quite there yet.

“Do you think you deserve to come, honey? You think you’ve been a good girl f’me?”

“Yes, I’m a good girl—fuck—please, please, I need to come.” She stumbles through her words, what little power she held in her withering grasp deflating instantly from his words.

“I dunno, I think you’re a brat who just wants to get off.”

It’s painful how much his words impact her, volatile muscles spasming while she staves of hee end. She whimpers, sinking further in her headspace; she feels a cloud settle in her vision (or perhaps those are tears), overwhelming yet freeing.

“No, I’m your good girl,” she insists.

“I think you’ll have to prove it to me, honey,” he replies slyly. “I don’t think I’ll let you come quickly. I want you to beg for it. Can you do that f’me, babylove? Beg me to come.”

“Fuck, I’m so close,” she says. “Please, please, I need it. Please, let me come.”

“You can do better than that,” he says, voice cracking. Their harmonious sounds of excitement drive both of them closer to their orgasms.

“Oh, god—please, I—fuck—I need it so bad. ‘M so close, please.” She can barely speak coherently. Chills wrack her sore body, waves of throbbing pleasure threatening to break her. She wanted—no, needed—him to finish.

“Come f’me, Honey,” he says. “You’re my good girl, so good f’me. C’mon, babylove, come with me.”

She does. With ears ringing and eyes closing, she comes until her pussy aches. It feels never ending, euphoria consuming every part of her sweat-laden flesh, chilling and fiery, for hours—or perhaps only seconds. She can’t tell.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her vision blurry. Her body trembles with residual aftershocks of her intense orgasm. She lays spread open on her bed, her pussy still too sensitive to close her legs entirely.

“Thank you for letting me come.” In her daze, her limbs fall away limply. All she can do is exist at this moment. She vaguely wonders if he finished with her, the thought of his deep moans fueling another fire. A part of her is disappointed that she wasn't present enough to listen to him, but another part knows that more opportunities will come.

“You’re so welcome, honey,” he says sweetly. “I think we both really needed that today.”

She hums, still recovering from such a powerful end. She slowly regains her breathing.

“I guess I should be thanking you because that’s one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had,” he says. She laughs.

“You flatter me.”

“I’m serious. Nearly gave myself a pearl necklace.”

And just like that, everything continues as normal. Both know that the other is naked and satiated, but neither feels uncomfortable with the fact. If anything, it makes things relieved, open, or comfortable. They’re both giggly in the golden after-glow.

“What does this mean for us, Honey?”

As, yes, the dreaded ‘talk’. Fear immediately spikes in her veins, and she struggles to find her words. Before she can answer, he begins speaking again.

“Look, I really like talking with you, and I don’t want this to make things weird, but I meant what I said earlier. That was probably one of the best orgasms of my life, and I don’t think that I could live without your pretty little moans now that I’ve heard them. Maybe, we can do that again. We don’t have to put a label on it or anything, if you don’t want to.”

Her heart sinks. Is that all that he wants?

“Right, it doesn’t have to be anything serious, just us having some stress relief.” Her words are dry and forced, feeling like bile in her mouth. She grits her teeth. What the hell had she just gotten herself into?

“Hey, uh, it’s late, and I have to wake up early tomorrow. Same time next week?”

She hopes that he doesn’t think that she regrets what they did, and she hopes he doesn’t think too much into her abrupt ending of the call. It’s not a total lie; she does have work early tomorrow morning, but she has had more than a few days where she was running on two hours of sleep and a miracle. She just wants to get off the phone before he hears the contemplation in her voice.

“You think I can wait a week after that? You have too much faith in me.”

“I think you’ll survive, babe,” she says.

“Good night, babylove.”

“Good night.”

She falls asleep quickly after, dreaming of the nameless, faceless man who she bares her soul to.

Later that night, as Harry edits the finally finished audio, he thinks back to Honey and their mutual pleasure, feeling like an absolute idiot for saying that it was nothing serious. He wasn’t expecting her to agree so emphatically, so quickly.

Although, what had he expected? He was the one who suggested it. No matter, he can’t have a relationship right now, especially a long distance one. He would just end up getting hurt, but he likes her too much to stop talking to her completely. He finally took their relationship further even if it won’t lead to anything more.

—

“Are you ready to admit defeat?”

Y/N lets out a breathy laugh, despite her current situation, her hand rubbing leisure circles on her already sensitive clit, which still throbs from her first orgasm of the night. Tango murmurs praise in her humming ears.

She’s not really sure what they are, and she doesn’t want to think about it. It would only complicate things more.

Friends? Definitely.

Well, maybe not definitely, since she doesn’t even know his name, but what other word could she use to define their relationship? What sort of friends would say such filthy things to each other? Why would he call her ‘my honey’ so emphatically if they were ‘just friends’? Too afraid of misinterpreting his intentions and embarrassing herself, she doesn’t mention anything, and he never does either, but it keeps her awake at night, wondering what they could be if she could just put her feelings to words.

This would be the second hour of their phone call, and it only took them ten minutes for the conversation to turn into one of their “stress relieving sessions”. Both of them had a terrible day; she was late for the first day at her new job (they were understanding given the circumstances, but it still left a sour taste in her mouth), and he slept through an exam. She eased him into a submissive headspace quickly, babbling about what a good boy he is and how proud she is of him. Within minutes, he came, and she whispered all the filthy things she wanted to do to him until he was completely spent, his cock milked of all remnants of his seed, twitching and throbbing with empty orgasms.

He easily fell into the dominant headspace after his quick high, and he was adamant that he could make her come more than any of her other partners, even without him truly there. She knows that he can; hell, she has touched herself to his voice more times than she could count, but she likes teasing him, hearing him get all riled up and stubborn.

“Are you gonna come again, honey?”

“Nope,” she breathes, “Not even a little close.”

“You’re obviously lying or not trying,” he says sharply, and a sense of pride swells in her chest at her ability to get a rise out of him without even trying. She smirks.

“What are you gonna do? Punish me?”

“I might have to.”

She’s sure he would, too, but it would be in the most pleasurable way possible, with his mouth and fingers and cock stimulating her until she comes so many times she can’t take anymore. Her fingers trace her most intimate area, nails scraping against her quivering core. She sinks two fingers inside, feeling her sopping pussy swallow them easily, adjusting quickly and craving more. She tries to find that sweet, spongy spot inside her, but she can’t seem to reach it.

“Wish it was your fingers,” she mumbles, her movements certain and even, but it’s never enough for her greedy body.

“Yeah, lovie?” He croons, “they’d be so big in your tight little pussy.” She hums, wishing that he was there to stuff her in every way possible.

“Would you wear your rings?”

“For you? Of course.” Her eyes roll back at the thought; his thick fingers could tear her at the seams, and with the added texture of his rings, she would be coming within seconds. Her clit throbs, blood rushing in time with her racing heart, and she massages it harder, wanton and waiting for yet another release. “C’mon, babylove, Come for me. Make me proud,” he coaxes. His words make her fall over that edge once more, thighs shaking and pussy weeping. She’s sure there’s a creamy stain beneath her, seeping into her wet skin.

“Again,” he demands. She thinks she may break. “Keep going, babylove. Where’s that toy you told me about?”

He knows that she won’t be able to come much longer on her own, with the pain overwhelming the pleasure.

“It’s so far away,” she whines.

“Go grab it, love,”

Her legs tremble as she twists around, reaching blindly into her bedside drawer. She can’t close her legs too much without getting overstimulated; her legs ache and twitch. Once the toy is situated just above her clit, she ticks it on. Her body reacts immediately, limbs jolting about, hips ducking away, and her voice catching. Gasping, she almost wants to take the toy away, the stimulation being far too much.

He thinks differently.

“Turn it up higher, lovie,” he says so sweetly. Her chest feels like it could almost collapse into itself. Still dizzy from her orgasm, she’s not sure if she can take it, her body fighting against her. She wants to beg and plead for something, but she doesn’t even know what for. Is it for yet another orgasm that will surely be more powerful that any other? Or is it for the burning at every nerve ending to stop?

“I dunno—”

“You can take it, such a good little bunny for me.”

The vibrator ticks to the next setting, a sharp, persistent sound echoes in her empty room, followed by an even louder shout. She has not control anymore. Thankfully, she’s home alone or else it would be an awkward morning with her roommate listening to her cries of pleasure well into the night. Her hand shakes, but she presses the head of the toy harder to her clit. She lets out a guttural groan, feeling euphoria seep from every pore.

“There it is,” he moans, breathing growing ragged. He’s surely jerking himself off, basking in the pleasure with her, and it makes her arousal burn deeper. She wants to put on a show for him, to egg him on and make him feel as good as he makes her feel.

“There’s my pretty girl. Let me hear you, baby.”

She can barely squeeze out a few breathless whimpers from her chest, hedonistic—no, animalistic—sobs crash through her. Pain and pleasure fight for control, just as her mind and body do.

“Feel good?”

“Yes,” she says weakly. “Feels so good.”

She comes quickly with a silent cry, her lips parted and face scrunched. Saliva slips from her open mouth, and she is unable to wipe it away, lewdly dripping down her chin to her neck before finding it’s place on her dirtied sjeets. The recovery period is quicker this time; it’s either that or her body is becoming numb to anything but pleasure. It feels like it’s never ending with the vibrator still nestled tightly to her puffy cilt. Her lips are surely swollen now too, tender from too many orgasms, yet still sopping with arousal.

“Don’t take it away,” he says, “You got another one in ya. You can do it, lovie.”

His voice is muffled beneath blankets where her phone lies, lost in her ravenous bouts of pleasure, limbs writhing and tossing. Her body aches when she twists to put it back up by her ear to hear him more clearly, muscles tight from her previous orgasms. Legs closing slightly, she whines when the toy presses harder against her clit, hips ducking away from the strong vibrations, eyes fluttering closed. Her phone falls out of her grasp once more, but the light illuminates the dark room, casting a warm glow.

“Please—”

She’s not really sure what she’s begging for; it just slips out, a weak plea. Perhaps, she just wants him to be there instead of on the other end of a phone call, in some faraway place she doesn’t even know. The room would feel so much warmer with him here, her back pressed to his chest, their sweat mingling. Maybe he would wear those pretty lace stockings he showed her a picture of once, the glittery fabric coarse against her skin as he teases his toes along her leg, keeping them spread. His freckled and inked arms wrapped tightly around her middle, paying special attention to her tummy, he would whisper sweet things in her ear and press on the area right below her belly button, telling her of how he wants to grind his pretty cock against her soft middle until she is sticky with his precum, how he can fuck himself that deep inside her. She would feel him for days after.

“I know it hurts, baby, but just one more, then you can go to bed.”

It sounds so nice, the thought of sinking into her pillows for a good night's rest, but an orgasm sounds even better, one leaving her spent and satiated and sleepy.

“Such a good girl f’me.”

As much as she wants to, the sensitivity becoming nearly unbearable, she can’t stop; she wants to make him proud, to prove to him that she’s his good girl who can take it. Even though he’s not truly there with her to hold her and make sure she comes, she still wants to do as he says. Her legs tremble, threatening to close.

She squeaks when the vibrator hits a particularly sensitive angle on her clit, and she bites into her pillow to keep from crying out. Her hips work desperately, to reach that high for the last time, just one more, like an addict itching for one more hit. It’s her fourth orgasm within ten minutes, and this might just be her breaking point.

“I dunno if I can.” Her words slur, and she can feel spit dripping down her puckered lips. She suddenly wishes he was there to wipe it away, thumb soft and subtle against her skin, lingering on her puffy lips.

“One more, babylove,” he insists. “Just one more. You’re doing so well.” She bites back a mangled cry, eyes squeezing shut, her thoughts lost in a dark chaos. His voice is the only anchor amidst a dizzying high, coaxing her through her stupor with sweet words.

“My pretty girl, my good fucking girl, taking it so well.” His gravelly voice pulls her from drowning, his words gritty from his clenched jaw. “You’re not hurting too much, are ya?”

His deep voice is soft, lilting with a tender care she needs. She could simply melt, blanketed in the warmth of his rich voice.

“A little,” she admits, a dull ache in her belly when she clenches too tightly. “But it feels so good.”

The vibrations pulse through her body, leaving her voice shaky, and she shifts slightly, hips digging into the mattress. It settles on the underside of her clit, and it’s so close to that one spot, until finally—there, there, there—right there. She groans, low and guttural, drawn out from the depths of her chest, animalistic almost. Her body burns and trembles for a second before yet another strong, unrelenting wave drowns her. Every muscle in her body tenses as the head of the vibrator finds the one tender spot on her clit, catching at just the right angle that leaves her eyes teary, world dizzy. She knows it’ll be painful if she doesn’t pull away, a harsh orgasm building, but she can’t stop, not with him listening to her, waiting for her final bitter end.

She’s doing so good for him, such a good bunny. She trembles in the wake of such a violent euphoria, weak moans slipping in time with her belated breathing. It passes through in waves, the pain, a bittersweet burning welling deep inside her, but a different ache persists, one that leaves her yearning for more, one that makes her dig her feet into the mattress and press herself harder on the toy. Her toes curl, and her back arches, free hand twisting the sheets.

He hums appreciatively.

“My bunny likes it when it hurts. Doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” she sobs, “I want it to hurt.” Hips shuttering away from the relentless vibrator, Y/N feels her final orgasm build, pain lingering around the edges as her muscles twitch.

“Such a dirty little slut.” Her back arches at his filthy words, arousal pooling beneath her. She could feel it wetting her thighs. “Just f’me, right, honey? Just my pretty slut.”

She comes quickly, eyes rolling back as it overwhelms all of her senses. She feels tense yet relaxed. A broken cry breaks from her swollen lips as she shatters, falling apart for the final time. Her muscles quiver, tiny shocks lingering in the aftermath of so many orgasms in such quick succession. Her limbs ache. Her heart races. Her pussy throbs. She knows that this will be all she can take, her body completely spent. She can’t find the energy to keep her eyes open, and they roll back.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” she says, still struggling to find her breath and collect her thoughts, but when she does, a smile breaks her face. She feels everything and nothing all at once, so perfectly numb. She finds herself laughing incredulously because that cocky little bastard was right: he made her come more times than anyone has before. She laughs until tears slip down her warm cheeks.

This is the part where the emotions start to become just as overwhelming as her release. So much sinks in all at once, and she realizes just how alone she is, and she wishes he was here to pull her back down to earth, to hold and to love. She feels deflated. The sexual release is such a rush, but it brings devastating lows. With tears in her eyes, she struggles not to cave into herself.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” she lies, a sob curling in her lungs, forcing its way out in a blubbering mess. Once the first one escapes, the rest follow easily. She can’t seem to stop, heaving cries wracking her already sore body as she clutches onto her pillow. She fists her phone to her ear in an attempt to be closer to him, but that makes the feeling grow worse, settling to a black hole in her stomach, sucking all euphoria from her. Tears soak into her skin and sink into her ear, muffling his comforting words.

“Let it out, babylove,” he says softly. “I know, I know. I know. Sometimes it can just get really overwhelming.” His words are gentle, just as he is, and maybe that’s what makes this even worse. He is everything she wants. He is just so perfect for her in every way, but he is ao far from her reach. Maybe it would be better if he wasn’t such a good person. Maybe that would make the yearning go away. She’s quiet, slowly breathing through stuttering sniffles.

“Hey,” he says softly, “Go pee and clean yourself up, babe. Know you don’t like feeling all wet down there. It makes your peach all sticky.”

She nods, knowing full well that he can’t see her, but doesn’t move. She honestly doesn’t think she can.

“Go on,” he murmurs when he doesn’t hear the familiar rustling of her sheets. “‘M right here, honey.”

A few more tears squeeze out of her eyes at his words. It makes her whole demeanor crumble once again; she’s upset because he’s not really there, he’s not there to hold her and kiss her and love her, and that’s not fair. She just wants to have him here to tell her that everything will be alright; she wants him to be there to laugh with, to just be with. He is such a good part of her life, but she just wishes that he could physically be there in the way she dreams.

She cleans up quickly, tossing her spent underwear into her dirty laundry. Just as she had suspected, the remnants of her orgasms stained her thighs.

What’s that ache in her chest?

“Good girl, feel better, lovie?”

She nods and whimpers, unable to calm her trembling lips.

“Good, ‘m right here, babylove. Y’did so good, so proud of you.”

She crawls back to bed moments later, shuddering breaths and swollen eyes being the only remnants of her breakdown. She sniffles and wipes her wet eyes with the back of her hand, which smells vaguely of her feminine wipes.

“Sorry, if it was too much,” he says.

“No, no need to apologize,” she says quickly to get rid of any lingering guilt he has. It felt amazing, to be tested just beyond her limits, to be pushed to a shattering breaking point, to trust him to know what she can take. “It was nice. I just sorta—” Her voice breaks. “I dunno. Everything just got a little overwhelming. I think I’m better now.”

“What do you need from me, honey?”

She nearly starts crying again at how sweet he is. She almost could imagine that only a few minutes ago he was calling her his dirty little slut and demanding her to come until she could handle it.

“Just talk to me,” she says.

“So, I saw a couple dogs today,” he begins awkwardly. “Well, I was attacked by two little frenchie’s when I was walking to class, and it completely made my day ten-times better. They were so cute with their chubby little legs.”

He rambles on about his week, and it feels nice and familiar.

She’s nearly asleep when he begins talking about his mother. Apparently, she was visiting him last week, which was nice for about a day; then, he began realizing why he moved away in the first place: she is so smothering.

“And my mum is always nagging me to go out and socialize. She was like,” he breathes in, adjusting his tone to a falsetto. “Harry, you’re never gonna be able to find anyone if you don’t…”

He continues as normal, chattering away in his low, sleepy voice. She doesn’t think he even realizes his slip up, words spluttering out of his mouth so quickly that even he probably couldn’t hear it. She smiles as sleep finally overwhelms her.

Harry.

His name is Harry.

—

[bagopucks]

C. Caufield - Linear Progress

✄————————————

Cole Caufield x Fem!reader

Requested✨

Word Count: 3.3k

Warning(s): anxiety, mention of depressive episode, sad!cole

These upcoming fics are all things from my notes app from last season, doctored and given a finish so I could post! Some of these are so long it’d be a shame to just delete.

—————————————

His smile barely reached his eyes. His laughter was distant and distracted. Cole, so used to keeping good posture to feel like he measured up to those around him, stood about as poorly as a pregnant mother. His gloved hands clasped in front of himself as he shifted his weight from skate to skate.

I couldn���t take pictures of him like that. People would never notice the vulnerable state he was in, but I did. He looked so nervous. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but on the ice. And I knew that’s exactly what was going through his mind, because he’d pulled all the stops that morning trying to get me to call off for him. He’d tried saying he didn’t feel good, then he tried saying he just wanted to lay in bed. Then he tried faking a headache, and he tried tricking me into thinking he had gone back to bed. By the time I got him into the car, Cole’s attitude had done a complete switch. All of a sudden it was like work was the best place on earth. We had parted ways to do our separate things, but when I came down to the ice with my camera, I could sense Cole’s discomfort from a mile away.

“You wanna hit something other than the glass, Coley?” I watched Cole through the lens of my camera. Watched the way he brushed off the chirp with a quiet chuckle and a nod. He just wanted to stay home. I should have let him. Practice was only an hour, but it certainly felt longer. Between everybody’s endless digs on the blonde, and the occasional glances in Cole’s direction from coaches, I could see his facade cracking and fading.

I didn’t capture near as many photos as I would have liked, but my boss would just have to use what the other photographers got. Surely we’d have more than enough. I tucked my camera back into its bag by the time practice ended, watching the boys leave the ice, and eventually walking toward the visitors tunnel. I stopped short though, when I heard a puck slam off the glass. I turned back to the ice, my heart sinking in my chest at the frustration on Cole’s face.

“Fucking empty net.” His voice carried through the empty arena.

This had nothing to do with the empty net in the present. It had to do with the empty net he missed one week prior. That seemed to have started his scoring drought.

“Fuck.” He spat out. My brow furrowed as he skated toward the bench, my body tensing in anticipation as he raised his stick, clearly ready to slam it off the top of the bench wall until it broke. Before he could even bring the stick down, his entire body relaxed. He found reason within his anger. Or maybe he had simply given up. I watched Cole throw the stick aside in the bench instead, saying, ‘fuck it,’ before he stomped down the tunnel toward the locker room.

He had just returned from an injury. Adjusting was normal. Relearning some things was normal. But Cole wasn’t patient with himself. He never was. I carried my camera down the separate hall, half tempted to retrieve Cole’s stick, but ultimately deciding against it. He’d be embarrassed if he knew I’d watched him lash out like that. He hated when people saw any side of him that wasn’t the usual giggly and fun side.

I stole away to my office to finish a few things before I received a message from him, trying to speed up the process of downloading photos to my computer as Cole’s face popped up on my phone screen. I quickly answered the call.

“Hey, babe-“

“I wanna go home.” So much for pleasantries, but I hadn’t expected them in the first place.

“Give me maybe.. fifteen minutes, okay?” Silence followed my request for time.

“Please.” I heard his voice echo, my brow furrowing as I glanced toward my phone.

“Are you in the bathroom?”

“I just wanna go home.” I could have sworn I heard Cole’s voice quiver.

“You can come sit in my office while you wait.”

“I’m okay.” I wanted to pinch my nose. To grab him by the shoulders and shake the stubbornness out of him.

“Why don’t you go wait in the car then?” I bit my lip as I looked back at my computer.

“‘Kay. But.. just fifteen minutes, right?”

My eyes lit up when the photos finally loaded onto the computer.

“Less than fifteen.” I answered, “I’ll be fast.”

I tried to stay true to my word, but when my boss stopped me in the hall, I knew it would be far longer than fifteen minutes. A half an hour longer to be exact. When I got out of her office, I ran as quickly as I could through the building to get to the parking lot. I felt horrible when I noticed Cole’s head lift. Our car the only one left in the players lot.

I tossed my camera in the back and climbed into the passenger seat without so much as a word. I wasn’t in trouble, but I knew Cole wasn’t thrilled.

“You said fifteen minutes.” Cole hadn’t wasted much time getting the car started and pulling out of the lot.

“I’m sorry. My boss stopped me, and- god you know how she is.”

“Talks for hours, yeah.” Cole tried to muster a chuckle. He looked so apathetic. So careless. But not in a freeing or jovial way. He simply looked drained and tired.

“What do you wanna do when we get home?” I asked, glancing out the window at the passing scenery. Christmas was just around the corner. Snow covered sidewalks and streets, and Christmas decor was up everywhere.

“I just wanna lay down.” Cole shook his head. I turned my attention to him.

“You could use a hair cut.”

“Not today.”

“Might feel good.” Laying around and doing nothing in the midst of a funk never helped anybody. As easy as it was to laze around, it usually only made one’s mental health worse.

“You can lay with me.” He was stuck on this idea. Too bad I was stuck on my own as well.

“I’ll lay with you if you let me cut your hair.”

Cole didn’t reply. He bit his lip and ignored the proposal. “I have stuff to do today anyway.” I shrugged. I wanted to be there, but if Cole didn’t let me in, there wasn’t much I could do. So if he insisted on laying around all day, I’d busy myself with cleaning, straightening up the few decorations we had yet to put out, working on Christmas cards. Anything to busy myself while he stayed miserable.

“‘Mkay.”

It was the end of our conversation until we got back to our apartment. I carried my things inside behind Cole, who kicked his shoes off and headed straight for our bedroom. I had to stop myself from following after him. Instead, I dropped my camera bag on the love seat and wandered into the dining room to grab my laptop,

He’d come around eventually. It was what I kept telling myself as I turned on some Christmas music and put the few finishing touches on our customized Christmas cards. I sang along quietly, and set my laptop aside when I finished the cards. I saved the design to show to Cole when he felt better, and shot up from the couch to make a glass of hot chocolate.

I ended up making two, and against my better judgement, I carried one down the hall for my lover.

“Cole?” I toed our bedroom door open, spotting his still body curled up under a mess of blankets. His back was turned to the door, but I could tell he had the comforter pulled over half of his face. I sighed, resting the mug on his nightstand before I placed a hand on his arm.

“Made you some hot chocolate.” I whispered, leaning over to kiss his shoulder. I didn’t know if Cole was awake or not, but the affection was needed nonetheless. I tiptoed out of our room and pulled the door shut behind myself, only to return to my own world of lonely Christmas preparation.

I spent close to two hours putting up the last of the decorations and cleaning. I saved the tiny statues of Hermey and Rudolph for the tv mantle, where they always went, but Cole loved being the one to put them up. I stared down at the statues on the coffee table, placing my hands on my hips as I’ll Be Home For Christmas came on from my laptop on the couch. The cozy atmosphere was almost perfect. I just wished Cole didn’t feel so horrible. He deserved to enjoy his holidays. Not worry them away.

I glanced back toward the hall, hearing an ear splitting shatter as if on cue.

“Cole?” I shouted, panic seizing my chest as I took off through the hallway, making a sharp turn to push our bedroom door open. Cole was out of bed, wearing nothing but boxers, holding an arm out toward the door.

“It’s fine! I’m fine! I got it!” I looked toward the floor to see the mug I’d set on his dresser in pieces. I grimaced. His favorite mug. Hot chocolate ran across the floor, and I was quick to jog into the bathroom to grab a towel.

“Here.” When I returned, I tossed the towel on the floor, covering the small puddle of liquid. “I’ll go grab something to wipe the floor down.. you start picking up glass.” I left the bedroom, going to rummage through the kitchen for my floor cleaner. When I found it, I grabbed a few paper towels as well, returning in record time.

Cole was knelt on the floor, the towel from the bathroom pushed aside as he collected glass from the floor. I noticed the sporadic and heavy rise and fall of his back, the way his chest heaved. His hair covered his eyes, and despite not being able to see his face, I knew he was upset.

“Coley.” I made my way over and knelt next to him.

“I’m almost done.” Cole’s voice quivered. I set the items in my hands down, gently resting my hand on his cheek, turning his head to face me. Cole’s eyes were wet with tears, his cheeks flushed and stained by the tracks of tears that had already fallen.

“Oh, Cole.” I kissed his forehead, shaken by the sob that escaped his lips as he set the collected glass down atop a paper towel. I sat down on the floor and pulled him in. He’d been kneeling before, but he barely thought twice about it when his body fell into my own, back pressed into my chest while I held onto him tightly.

“I’m sorry.” The words came out through broken cries, but I merely shook my head and rubbed his side with one of my hands.

“It’s okay.. everything is gonna be okay.” Cole didn’t have days like these often. Where everything bubbled over and became too much to bear. He was good at keeping himself in check. In fact, he was usually the one taking care of me on days like these. But I never missed an opportunity to assure him I was there in moments when he felt he couldn’t function. When the dark cloud looming over was simply too much to bear. I rested my chin on Cole’s shoulder, pressing occasional kisses to his body to help distract and ease his mind.

“Cole,” I whispered as he started to calm down. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and slowly turned to look at me. “Let’s fix this mess, okay? Then we can relax.” He seemed reluctant to get up, and I knew he’d sit there all day if I didn’t take initiative. “C’mon.” I directed his attention back to the glass, helping him retrieve the last few pieces before he got up to throw them away. I made quick work of cleaning the floor, wiping down any sticky spots before I had stood up to put the towel in the hamper, and throw the paper towels away. When Cole returned, he stood in the doorway, hugging himself for warmth, or maybe still out of discomfort. I turned to look at him, flashing a sad smile.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to..” as if I didn’t know that. As if he hadn’t already apologized. I crossed the floor to meet him in the doorway, wrapping my arms around his body. I gently rubbed his back, taking note of the tight muscles.

“It was an accident. It’s okay.” I whispered, “you wanna talk about what’s been going on?” I looked up at him, earning a quiet ‘no,’ in response.

“Cole, you were just crying. It might help some.” I tucked a lock of his long blonde hair behind his ear, then trailed my hand down his face, following his jaw.

“I just wanna lay back down.”

There it was. That constant avoidance.

“At least lay with me on the couch. All the decorations in the living room are set out.” I rubbed the small of his back, earning a careful nod. “I’m gonna grab a sweatshirt first. It’s a little cold.” I moved my arms around to his stomach, nodding and pressing a kiss to his shoulder before I slipped out of the bedroom.

There was no promise that Cole wouldn’t lay back down in our bed, but I had to trust him a little.

When I got back into the living room, I shut the lights out and plugged the Christmas tree in. I grabbed one of our Christmas blankets and laid it out on the couch, waiting for him as I placed a throw pillow at one end. I laid down and pushed the blanket aside so I could pull it over us later. I grabbed the tv remote and started sifting through channels, smiling at Cole when he finally came through the hall. He still didn’t have pants on, but his sweatshirt sleeves were pulled over his hands, and he had the plastic end of one of the strings in his mouth. As cozy as he could get. I parted my legs for him to lay down between them, and he did with little to no hesitation. Cole’s back rested against my chest, his head finding a home near my shoulder. I wrapped my legs around his own and swiftly covered up with the blanket.

“You finished decorating without me?” I heard him sniff quietly, still recovering from the crying fit he had minutes ago.

“It had to get done.” I rested a hand on his head, gently combing my fingers through his hair. “I left Rudolph for you.” I gestured toward the coffee table with my free hand.

“Are we still visiting my family over Christmas?”

“Absolutely, Cole.” I smiled. “You’ve been looking forward to that since November.” When the silence settled between us, I moved my free hand to rest atop one of his own. I dragged my thumb across his knuckles, traced the lines in his hand, flipped it over to massage his palm.

“I just want it to be over.. ya know?” Cole’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“What do you want to be over?” I matched his volume, continuing to rub his hand and play with his hair. One little change might throw him off.

“I just wanna be good again.” He sighed, turning his head against my shoulder to look up at the ceiling.

“At hockey?”

“Yeah. I can’t even hit the net.” Cole closed his eyes, trying to hide his frustrations.

“Give it time, Cole. It’s all a part of recovery. It’s not a linear thing.” I whispered. “And we’re gonna go visit your family in a week. You should be focused on that. I know you wanna be back on the ice, but if you rush you could hurt yourself.”

“What if they don’t resign me?” My movement halted. I lifted my head from the pillow to peek down at him.

“Why would they do that?”

“Because I can’t play.”

“Cole.” I squeezed his hand. “You’re gonna recover. You’ll get back to playing hockey. Your skill hasn’t just gone away.” I could understand his concerns to a degree, but I knew these worries were all in his head. “If they decide to ship you off it’s because they’re morons. It’ll have nothing to do with your recovery. Injuries happen, and you can’t control them.” His silence was deafening. Sometimes I hated how hard Cole thought about things.

“I really like it in Montreal.”

“Cole.” A tension accompanied my tone. One that made his eyes fall toward the opposite end of the couch. “You can’t trap yourself in this endless cycle of negative thoughts.” I began to play with his hair once again. “What if they do want you? What if you recover so well that they decide to sign you for more years? What if you get a better contract than the last? What if this injury turns you into a superstar?” Cole shifted against me, clearly displeasured by the combative tactic I was using.

“Okay?”

“Cole. Anything can happen. Good or bad. You can’t control it.. so let’s just not think about it. It’s tearing you apart.”

“Because it’s my future! Don’t you get it?” Cole sat up, careful not to hurt me. I was quick to sit up as well, folding my legs criss-crossed on the couch as I watched his head fall into his hands. His once calm breathing began to pick up once again.

“The future isn’t going to sneak up on you Cole! The future is a second from now. A day, three days. It’s a fucking week or a month. It’s not going to come and assault you in an alleyway one day. You’re thinking too much. The physician, physical therapist, your coaches, they’re all working with you. They’re all making sure you get back on the ice. And they’ve been telling you that you’re recovering well. You’re doing great! Why don’t you see that?” I was impatient as I waited for an answer. Waited for Cole to look at me, or show some sign of understanding.

“I don’t know.” His voice quivered again. His chest heaved with a deep and quiet cry. He desperately needed that week off. He needed that week with his family. With his mother and his dog. Olive was the best at cheering Cole up.

I slid across the couch, draping one of my arms over his back as Cole cried quietly.

“It’s okay to be worried,” I whispered, resting my other hand on his thigh. “But you can’t let it consume you. You have to talk to people.” I didn’t know how we got there, but I knew it was because of his own stubborn behaviors. If he simply would have spoken to me before, we could have worked this out. And even despite knowing that, I couldn’t be mad. I couldn’t blame Cole for whatever reason he chose not to communicate, because I knew he didn’t do it to spite me or hurt me for not understanding. “You can’t let yourself get here, Cole. This constant state of panic won’t help anything.” I pressed a kiss to his head. “Things are going to turn out okay, but you need to allow yourself to see that. Please… let me help you see that.” I felt his body lean into my own, and I wrapped my arms around him once again. “There’s nothing to worry about.” I whispered, “take it one day at a time.”

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[cleolinda]

Another issue I have with the whole Evernote thing is that they asked me for $10.99 a month or $129 a year, but my mom opened it on her phone to see what was going on, and they asked her for $14.99 a month. They did this in a pop-up that blocked the rest of the app and had no visible way to close it. No x, no “not right now.” They made it look like you could either pay, or you could close the app. I managed to swipe it away, but there was no indication that you could or should do that—

And then a box came up that simply said “Cancel [or] Confirm.”

Cancel [or] confirm WHAT? That I’m paying? That I’m declining?

It turns out they meant “confirm that you’re leaving this ‘offer’ pop-up.” I guessed correctly. (I checked my mom’s subscriptions to be sure I hadn’t somehow “confirmed” payment.)

I then did the same on my phone—just got rid of the insistence that I pay—and I’m now able to access and edit all my documents just fine. (Being able to edit on my phone rather than sit up at a computer is a disability/accessibility issue for me.) I don’t want to tempt fate by trying to create a new document, but my guess is that they might restrict me from doing that now, since I’m over 50 (!) notes. Someone else can test that out, if they want. As is, they don’t seem to be freezing the documents I do already have.

My point is, though—that’s so fucking shady. Not only are they shaking us down for a lot of money—I might have considered paying half that much—but they’re making it look like you have no choice. That you can’t even access your existing documents (even just to copy them elsewhere!) unless you pay, when in fact you absolutely can. And that’s my OTHER big issue with Evernote making the service pretty much entirely paid: if you’re going to act like this, then I can’t trust you.

[arielleslipgloss]

Do have any tips for people trying to show their love for God in school?

How to Show Your Love for God in School!!

Represent God well!! Represent God like Jesus did. Show kindness, gratitude, respect, love, and more like Him. Try expressing the love Jesus has for you, to others. Our Father in heaven would want us to treat His people well. So, even when someone is rude remain calm, humble, and kind. Just like how Jesus would. Another small tip, is to ask yourself “What would Jesus do?” This will help us represent Him even better. Considering, Jesus is the greatest example of representing God well.

Remind others that God loves them!! You could take a little sticky note and write “God loves you.” Then, leave it on someone’s desk. You don’t need to say who it’s from, it can be anonymous. It’s a very simple and easy gesture. Also, you never know if that person may discover God from the note. Who knows, that note may be included in their testimony. Lastly, you can just say it out loud. You can say out loud “God loves you.” I personally, love to say this at the end of a conversation. If you want, you can switch it up and say “God bless you.” Either one works!

3. Stay faithful and hopeful!! Always, remain faithful and hopeful. For example, you get a bad grade? That’s ok, you’ll get a better one next time. Keep this type of mindset and know that you’re loved by the highest! That’s something to never forget. Also, don’t forget that the holy spirit is living within you. So, spread that love of the holy spirit that is within you.

4. Try avoiding sin/temptation! Some people in school may challenge you, but try to avoid it. If you know that whatever is sinful, fight through it. You know that Jesus has your back, so what really can you lose from pushing through. Jesus was tempted by the devil right in front of his own eyes. However, did He give into the devil’s temptation? No, He did not. Now, obviously we aren’t as perfect as Jesus. Which is something you should ALWAYS be aware of. But through Jesus we can live without sin. So, push through and you got this!!!!

5. Follow Jesus, not trends! Not that you can’t follow trends. Just try, to live a life outside of social media and trends. I say this being social media and trends can lead to idolizing. So, when on your favorite apps be mindful of what you put in your mind. Or what your own eyes see and hands touch. Be aware of the sin that may be leading to a non-holy life.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Handle With Care — Aaron Hotchner x Nanny Reader

After loosing her job as a chef and video content creator, Y/N agrees to take the job as a full-time live in nanny for Aaron Hotchner. Her father, Martin, had taken Aaron under his wing at Georgetown Law and again when he hired him as an agent for the BAU. Years later, Aaron is on top of world professionally, but struggles to maintain the balance he wants for his newly fractured family. The loss of his wife, mother seemed too much for them to bear. And somewhere along the lines they made it work— as a team.

Note: Ugh!! So I am a sucker for a single dad and nanny fic! I know, I know but it’s fiction for a reason. This will must certainly include smut later on that will be pretty important to the plot and the main character’s self discovery.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

I always believed in new beginnings, but as I stood on Aaron’s doorstep, rolling a suitcase in one hand and a Vera Bradley duffel bag in the other, I was tempted to question my resolute thinking. It had yet to fail me. Not when I was hardly eighteen and living on the other side of the country, vying for my spot at the esteemed culinary arts program. And not when I’m twenty-four with a stint as the Lead Chef for a failed influencer chef on a highly syndicated social media app under my belt.

Professional chef turned nanny–for my father’s beloved mentee, no less. My parents, ever supportive and ever loving, practically held an intervention when I showed up on their suburban door step a fractured shell of the bubbly daughter they dropped off at the airport.

Five years later, I’m sleeping in the same bed. I had nightmares about leaving once again. And yesterday I gave up that bed for a full-time position as Aaron Hotchner’s live-in nanny. Aaron, who I never even met, is my father’s protege. He knew him as a whip-smart, young lawyer from a family Law dynasty at Quantico. My father took him under his wing and even after his early retirement from the BAU they would get together for an annual work lunch.

I was nearly finished with my final year of the Los Angeles Culinary Arts Program when my fathers called to say that Aaron’s wife was murdered. I remembered thinking how lucky Dad was and how brave Daddy had to be. With one day off saving the world and the other left to hold down the fort with an awfully anxious only child daughter.

One year later, I was unemployed and completely blacklisted from the culinary entertainment industry for reasons beyond my control and without my fault. I gripped the suitcase, my chipped fingernails so jagged they punctured my skin.

Aaron had a nice house with a manicured front lawn, a big wrap around porch, and a fully furnished backyard. Clearly, he was a man with a lot of education and a lot of smarts to top it off. He worked hard. It showed, these neighborhoods of Arlington, Virginia weren’t cheap. No wonder my dads were dying to relocate to Georgia.

The door swung open before I could work up the courage to ring the bell or knock on the dark cherry wood. Aaron answered. He wore a dark green men’s quarter zip that was pushed up, showing off his forearms. His dark, charcoal gray watch shone as he let me into his foyer.

He had a foyer.

And a house that smelt like warm cinnamon and musk.

[randoimago]

hi there! may i request mondo, hajime, kazuicihi, and kaito reacting to having their crush ask them for help texting someone they like to ask them out, and when they go to show them a picture of the aforementioned person, they turn the phone to them and it's on the camera app? hopefully that makes sense!!

Asked to Help Their Crush Ask Someone Else Out

Fandom: Danganronpa

Character(s): Hajime, Mondo, Kazuichi, Kaito

Type of Request: Headcanons, Slight angst

Note(s): I had to read it a couple times but I get what you mean! Here you go!!

Hajime

At hearing you ask him, he can't help the sadness that he feels. He tries to keep giving you a smile even though it's very difficulty but he wants you to be happy so he'll try his best.

He holds his hand out for your phone, half wanting to just throw it across the room. You do so and he looks down and just stares at his reflection.

It takes him a few seconds before he realizes what happened. He can't help a bit of a laugh as he gives you your phone back.

Hajime does tell you the truth about his own feelings and how he did feel sad at the thought of losing you, but he's glad that things worked out.

Kaito

He feels heartbroken, but he tries to keep smiling and gives a big, if fake, laugh as he "happily" agrees to help you out.

You show him your phone and he just stares at the camera and his face. "You know it's on camera mode, right?" You just give him a smile. It takes him a long moment before he says, "Oh!" as realization hits.

But he doesn't give you your phone back just yet. He instead goes to your messages and begins sending a text. A grin crosses his face as his own phone chimes.

Kaito still doesn't give you your phone back, so you can't see what he sent. Instead, he picks up his phone and reads, "Oh Kaito, you're so cool and handsome and I would be honored to go out with you. There's no way I'd ever ask someone else-" You cut him off by throwing a pillow at him or something.

Kazuichi

Can't help but blurt out, "What? Why?!" when you ask for his help. Sure, it can sound like he doesn't get why you'd ask for his help, but he really means "why would you ask someone else?"

Kazuichi gets really pouty and tells you no, but he also cares for you a lot so he'll ends up giving in, a bit tempted to sabotage the message.

You hand him your phone and he's still conflicted with what to do before he notices you have the camera facing him. He gives you an odd look at that, not really getting it.

You will have to tell him the joke you just pulled, otherwise he stays confused for a long while. Kazuichi gets so red from blushing and stutters about liking you too and that was a mean joke you pulled.

Mondo

He can't help but feel a tad angry at you asking him for this. Why don't you just do it yourself? Hell, why would you even text the person something like that when it should be to their face?

He's not trying to be mad at you, but it's how he feels. He can't help but feel a bit betrayed, even though you really owe him nothing. And he feels hurt.

Mondo will be midrant about it or about to leave and that's when you show him your phone. He starts telling you, "I'm not fucking help-" before he realizes the camera is on and he just sees his angry expression reflected.

Is a tad dumbstruck as his brain has to process what happened before he scoffs and nudges your phone away. Mondo rolls his eyes and calls you an idiot, but you better believe that you're idiot now.

[do-it-jakey-baby]

Must I Go Bound?

Danny Wagner x f!reader, Jake Kiszka x f!reader

Warnings: mentions of sexual activity, profanity, drinking

18+, MINORS DNI

TAGLIST: @ignite-my-fire, @peaceloveunitygvf, @mama-likes72, @mar-rein12, @brujamagik, @myownparadise96, @jaketkiszka

Chapter 3

“Sit down. Explain.”

Em hands you a thin stemmed wine glass, filled to the absolute brim with your favourite brand of pinot noir.

You collapse into the soft confines of the couch pillows, sighing quietly. You bring the glass up to your lips, taking a hearty glug of the ruby liquid.

You take in a sharp breath. “I fucked up.”

Em looks at you, her lips pursed as she sits down beside you and rubs her hand along your arm. You’d driven straight to her house after leaving Jake’s, not wanting to face the solitude of your own home.

“Start from the beginning.”

“Well, you know Danny took me out for dinner. It was going really well. He’s so sweet, brought me flowers.” She audibly ‘aaaws’, crossing her legs underneath her. “He was listening to Neil Young on the way there, which naturally made me think of my Dad. He’s just so easy to talk to, Em. I really like him.”

“That’s great, so what’s the prob-”

You put your hand up, cutting her off. “Then, after our plates had been cleared, I get a text.” Her eyes widen and she places her head in her hands. “I’m sure you can guess who from. Says he knows I’m on a date with Danny, wants me to come over after I’m done.”

“Y/N, you didn’t.” She peeks through her fingers at you.

“I did.” You exhale, rubbing your hand over your face. “I did, and we had the nastiest, most insane sex. But that’s not the worst thing that happened. This morning, Danny showed up.”

“No! Oh fuck, did he see you?”

“Thankfully, no. But it was too close for comfort, so I left immediately and came here.”

“You need to stop seeing him, babe.”

“Yeah, this is my issue. I’m uh… falling for Jake too.”

“Shit.” She breathes.

Neither of you say anything for a while, just sitting with your confession. You throw back the rest of your wine as Em retrieves the bottle, placing it in front of you for easy access.

“Ok, so we need to make a list.”

“A list?” You eye her, topping yourself back up and sipping gingerly from your glass.

“Yeah, like pros and cons. Let’s start with Danny. What do you like about him?”

“Em… I don’t know if I wanna do this.”

“What else are you going to do? At least this way you have an idea of who is doing it most for you.”

“I think I like them pretty equally.” You groan, letting the rest of the wine in your glass slip down your throat.

Em reaches across to grab the bottle and refills your glass again, then places her hand on your thigh.

“Come on. Danny.” She extends her phone screen out so that you can see she has her notes app ready.

“He’s thoughtful, and remembers the things I tell him. He’s beautiful, his curls honestly make me weak in the knees. And his body…”

“Ok, ok. All great things. Any cons?”

“Not that I’ve discovered yet.” You shrug.

“Damn. Ok, Jake.”

“Phen-om-inal in bed. 10/10, no notes. Literally gorgeous. Cheeky, has a sense of humour, is very dominant.”

Em looks up from her phone and raises her eyebrows.

“Cons… he can be a little arrogant. He’s also not got an issue with screwing around with the same girl as his best friend.”

“So we have zero cons for Danny and two for Jake…”

“Em.” You groan.

“Look, you’re a grown ass woman, Y/N. Make your own decisions, but from where I stand it seems like Danny would be a better boyfriend.”

You physically recoil at the word, it sending a shiver straight down your spine. “Boyfriend? No no no. That’s not-”

“Babe! Would you quit it. I’m just saying, if it gets to that stage with either of them, I’d be leaning towards Danny.”

~

The next few weeks pass by with radio silence from Jake, making it incredibly easy to follow Em’s advice. You were tempted to reach out a few times, but ultimately decided that if he wanted to speak to you, he would. You weren’t about to chase a man, that went against every fibre of your being. Contact with Danny was in abundance, though. You carried on your dates when Danny had time away from band duties, and any time you were apart you spent it texting back and forth. He was a comforting addition to your life, fitting in so effortlessly. You’d almost forgotten all about Jake, but every now and then you awoke in a sweat from a dream that was definitely not PG. You tried your best to swat away the memories of being tangled up in Jake’s sheets, but they still lingered in the darkest corners of your mind. In fact, one evening whilst Danny’s head was between your legs, you started to moan Jake’s name. You swiftly changed it up to “Jesus”, getting away with the slip of your tongue by the skin of your teeth, but you swore to yourself that you must be more careful in future.

By the time Danny broke the news that they were going back on tour, you’d been casually dating for roughly two months.

You look up at him through your lashes, snuggled on his chest in the warmth of his bed.

“Oh? Wow. I mean, that’s great for you guys! How long will you be gone?”

“Hey, don’t be sad. I’ll call you whenever I can. It’s all very start stop, so the first leg we’ll be out for around two months. Then we head over to Europe.”

“That’s amazing. I’m proud of you guys!”

“I actually wanted to ask if you’d come along to the first show? It’s gunna be in St. Louis, so I completely understand if you can’t make it.”

You ponder on it for a moment, wondering if it’s the best idea, but ultimately decide that if you’re going to give things a go with Danny, you’ll need to face Jake at some point.

“I’d love to, that would be really fun. Thanks for asking.” You smile, placing a kiss to his chest.

“Ok great, I’ll make the arrangements.”

Luckily, work was slow at the moment so you managed to get the time off. A few weeks later, you found yourself on a plane to Missouri, wondering how life had changed so rapidly in such a short space of time. Danny had insisted on you flying out, stating that the tour bus was not something he wanted you to witness. You were secretly glad to avoid being in such close quarters with both Danny and Jake.

You were picked up by a driver at the airport and taken to the hotel you’d be staying at. The nerves were bubbling up in your stomach for entirety of the journey there, you had to play it cool and act as if you’d never met Jake before. You’d had plenty of interactions with Josh and Sam, who were almost always about when you and Danny would hang out at his place. Not surprisingly, Jake always opted out, springing well thought-out excuses on Danny each time. As you entered the foyer of the hotel, the scene unfolding before you quickly made you forget all about your initial nerves.

“What do you fucking mean the rooms haven’t been booked?!” Jake spits at the receptionist.

“Sir, I’m sorry, the rooms have been booked but not on the dates you’ve specified.”

“How has this happened?!” Jake turns to address the room, but finds your eyes staring back at him from the entrance.

“Where’s Jade?” Josh speaks up.

“I don’t know, stuck in traffic I think but I can’t get hold of her.” Danny responds, holding his phone up.

“Great, so we can’t get hold of our fucking tour manager. Fantastic.” Jake slumps down into a chair, throwing his hands in the air.

Suddenly, your brain flies into work mode. Disregarding that this absolutely isn’t your place to do so, but knowing that you can help, you spring into action. You step back outside, pulling your phone from your pocket and finding a specific number from your contacts. You hit the call button, bringing your phone to your ear.

“Hey, it’s Y/N. Look, I’m so sorry for this but I need a favour. I’ve got a Grammy award winning band here in St. Louis who is due to play an arena show tomorrow night and there’s been some kind of mix up with the hotel booking. Can you find me somewhere for them and their crew for two nights, near the Chaifetz Arena? I’ll get you the exact numbers as soon as you confirm- You can? Oh my god, thank you so much. Give me two seconds.”

You fly back in through the door, making a beeline for Josh.

“Do you have anyone on your team here that can help me with how many people need a room?”

He stares at you with his brow furrowed.

“I’ll explain later, but I’ve found you a hotel. I just need to know who I can liaise with on your team.”

“Uh… ok. Yeah, um. Well Jade isn’t here yet, but we have a few runners about that should be able to help.” He points in their direction.

You make your way over, confirming with the runners how many people need rooms and then sorting transport to the location, which thankfully is just down the road. You’d absolutely owe your contacts for this one, but that was a thought for later. As you were finishing up with their team, you feel a tap on your shoulder.

“How… how did you do that?” Josh raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, I kinda do this for work.” You chuckle nervously. “I’m sorry, I just overheard what was happening and before I knew it I was making the call. That wasn’t my place…”

“No, no. Thank you. We managed to get hold of our tour manager whilst you were speaking with the runners and she was struggling to find us somewhere.”

“Oh, well I have some pretty decent connections, I guess.” You smile shyly.

“No kidding. So, you’re pretty damn good at your job then, huh?”

“Oh well, I-” You’re cut off by the rest of the boys joining you, crowding around to understand what just happened.

“Y/N, did you just sort this out for us?” Danny leans in, throwing his arms around you and bringing you in for a hug.

“Honestly it’s no big deal. But we should, uh- sorry, you should get your team to round everyone up because transport will be here shortly. Sorry, I’ll leave your team to do the rest.”

Josh nods at you, mouthing ‘thank you’ before heading over to the group.

Once you were all at the new hotel and checked in, you began to make your way up to your room when you’re stopped by a woman with thick-framed glasses and jet black hair, piled high on top of her head in a bun.

“Hi, you must be Y/N. I’m Jade, Greta’s tour manager. I just want to personally thank you for helping us out today with the hotel arrangements.” She extends her hand out to you.

“Hi, Jade. It’s lovely to meet you, and no trouble at all. I’m used to this stuff, happy to help.”

“I actually have a proposition for you, if you’re interested.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Uh, ok. I’m all ears.”

“We’ve been having issues with our booking manager for a while now, this was pretty much the last straw. After what you did today, the boys and I had a chat and we would like to offer the position to you, permanently.”

You’re positive that your jaw had just hit the floor. Her words span around in your head, rattling in every corner until they became white noise.

“Y/N? If you need time to think about it, that’s absolutely ok.”

“I, uh… I don’t know. I’d need to put notice in where I’m currently based, and we’d also need to discuss rates.” You rush out, feeling completely overwhelmed.

“Whatever they’re paying you, we’ll double it.”

Your eyes almost pop out of your skull. “D-double? All I did was book a hotel.”

“Look… you saved our asses. The band are really fond of you, they’re the ones offering double. But I can tell from how you carry yourself that you’re a professional, and good at what you do. Just consider it.”

“I’ll take it.” You blurt out immediately, without a second thought.

“Fantastic!” She beams. “I’ll arrange for my assistant to take your details and we’ll get the contract sent over. Anything else you’d like to discuss, just let me know. Welcome to the team.”

As you watch her walk off, you can’t help but wonder what you might have got yourself into.

~

A while later, you’re unpacking your belongings in your hotel room when you hear a knock on your door. You take a breath, assuming it’s Jade’s assistant coming to collect your information for the contract. You open the door and find Jake stood there, his hands in his pockets.

“Evening, trouble.”

“Jacob. Or should I call you ‘boss’ now?”

He grimaces, waltzing past you and into the room.

“Come in…” you huff under your breath, turning to follow him in.

“Just wanted to give you a warm welcome.” His hands find your waist and pull you back into him. He scans your face, taking in every detail before pressing his lips to yours. You pull back, putting distance between you.

“Jake… what are you doing? You haven’t spoken to me in weeks.”

“You haven’t spoken to me in weeks either, princess.”

“We can’t keep doing this.” You whisper, your body betraying your words as you inch closer to him.

“But it’s so fun.” He clicks his tongue, looking into your soul with those warm, whiskey-coloured eyes that could disarm you in a heartbeat.

You’re saved by another knock at the door, but before you turn to answer it Jake is already there and turning the handle. He opens the door and of course, who else would be stood there than the one person you would never want to catch you in a situation like this.

“Jake? What are you doing here?” Danny raises his eyebrow.

“Hey, man. Just wanted to get to know our new recruit.”

Smooth, Jacob. Smooth.

“She’s fantastic isn’t she? Hey, no stealing her from me.” He chuckles, moving past Jake to you. He places a kiss on your cheek. “Congratulations, beautiful. It’s great news.”

Jake clears his throat, rubbing his fingers across his upper lip. “Yeah, she’s great. I’ll leave you both to it then. Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

Before you can answer, he’s disappeared out the door.

“Thank you for earlier, you really saved the day.”

“Oh it’s fine, and I got a job out of it so it worked in my favour.” You wink.

“I can’t believe you’re coming on tour with us.”

“Yeah, about that. So, I think we should probably remain professional whilst I’m working with you.”

“Oh… yeah of course. I didn’t even think about that. Damn.”

“It doesn’t mean things are off between us, we’re just pressing pause for now. That ok?” You eye him cautiously.

He cups your face with his hands, pulling you closer and kissing your lips softly. You melt into him, kissing him back as your hands grip into the meat of his triceps. He pulls back, grinning at you. “Ok, starting now.”

“Starting now.” You repeat, extending your hand out to him. He shakes it, giggling like a schoolboy.

“Well, I had other plans for this evening but now that I have to behave myself, I’ll let you get an early night. See you tomorrow?”

“I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot of me from now on, Mr. Wagner.”

“Oh no you don’t, my name’ll do just fine.” He playfully swats at your arm.

“Fine, I’ll see you tomorrow, Daniel.” You wink, opening the door for him.

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

You lock the door behind him, then make your way into the bathroom to start getting ready for bed. As you’re washing your face, you go back over the events of the day in your head. Putting some distance between you and Danny would make the whole love triangle mess you had going on much easier to deal with, for now at least. It was the best thing to do, given your situation. Jake, on the other hand, wouldn’t be so easily persuaded…

You finish up your evening routine and settle into bed, plugging your phone in to charge. You notice a text waiting for you as you’re about to set your phone down onto the nightstand.

8:42pm

Jake: This tour is about to get real interesting with you around, sweetheart. Good night.

You roll your eyes, opting not to reply and instead place your phone face down and pull the comforter over your head.

~

You’re awoken by a knock at the door, which has you springing swiftly out of bed and pulling on a robe from the closet. You peer through the peep hole, noticing a small blonde woman stood waiting for you.

“Hi, Y/N? I’m Lindsay, Jade’s assistant. Is now an ok time to go over the paperwork?” She smiles politely.

“Yeah, of course. Lovely to meet you, Lindsay.”

You both huddle around the small table in your hotel room, each taking a seat. She pushes the stack of paperwork across to you, explaining everything and going over the expectations of the role, your duties, and any other important information. Once you were happy with everything, you sign the documents and shake her hand. It was explained that you’d be flying home after the show to go back and make your preparations for the rest of the tour, then reconvening with the team in Lincoln. It didn’t give you much time, but thankfully you were used to short deadlines and high pressure.

“Jade wants us all downstairs in the lobby for 11am, is that ok?”

“Yeah sure, I’ll freshen up and be down.”

“Ok, see you then.”

You have around forty five minutes to be ready, so you take a quick shower and get yourself dressed. With twenty minutes left to spare, you quickly draft your resignation email and then head downstairs on the hunt for coffee before your day begins. The hotel’s restaurant kindly provides you with a coffee to go, so you’re in the lobby and ready to go by 10:55. Jade is sat with some of the team and greets you with a warm smile. She stands, gathering the attention of those around her.

“I’d like to introduce you all to Y/N, our new Booking and Events manager. I’m sure you’ll all join me in welcoming her into our crazy little family. Y/N, if you need anything whilst you’re settling in, please just let us know.”

Jade’s sentiments are echoed by the rest of the crew around her, all seemingly content with your arrival. After a few minutes of introductions and light conversation, you look down at your watch.

11:08am

“What time is the band supposed to be here?”

Jade chuckles. “11, same as us, although you’ll find that’s never the case. It’s something we have the runners on top of.”

As if on cue, Danny enters the lobby alongside Sam and one of the runners.

“Morning! Ready to rock’n’roll?” Sam cheers, shooting you a wink.

“We would be if your brothers were also here.” Jade playfully scolds.

Danny makes a beeline for you, showcasing his vibrant grin. “Hey, sleep well?”

“Yeah, not bad actually. You?”

“Never the best the first night before tour reconvenes, but not terrible.”

“Want me to send one of the runners off on a coffee run?”

“That would be amazing, thank you. They should know our orders.”

“No worries at all, it is my job.” You give him a sneaky wink, then go off to find a runner.

Jake and Josh finally make it downstairs twenty two minutes later, deep in conversation with each other about god knows what. The conversation is halted, however, as soon as Jake’s eyes meet yours.

“Well, well. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

“Good morning, Jacob. You didn’t fancy turning up on time today then?”

“Today? I’m rarely ever on time, sweetheart. Also, what’s with the Jacob thing?” He raises his eyebrow at you.

“Just keeping things professional, sir.”

You watch as his eyes darken and his lips curl up into a smirk. He leans in closer, speaking just loudly enough for you to hear.

“You wanna play it like that, hm? Let’s see how long you can keep it up, angel.”

You feel your skin prickle with goosebumps at the feeling of his breath ghosting over your ear.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Jacob.” You smirk back, rising from your seat and breezing past him to join Jade by the door.

The day goes by pretty much without a hitch, you’re settling in well with the crew and are enjoying getting stuck into the rhythm. Once the boys have sound checked and the arena is being set up, Jade makes her way over to you backstage.

“You’re here as a guest first and foremost tonight, so take the evening and enjoy the show. We can pick back up in Lincoln.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course, there were never any expectations for today but I appreciate how much you’ve been pulling your weight already. I knew I’d be right about you. Now go, have fun.” She gives you a gentle pat on the arm and then disappears down the hall. You smile to yourself, the praise washing over you like a warm hug. It was so comforting to know you’d already made a good impression.

You make your way to the green room to collect your things, along with the folders that Lindsay had given you to brush up on, when you feel a presence looming in the doorway.

“Off so soon?”

You look up, recognising the voice instantly and letting your guard melt away.

“Hey, Danny. Yeah, Jade told me to go. Apparently I’m a guest tonight and not a member of the team.” You chuckle lightly.

“Well, you were invited here as a guest. It would be a shame if you didn’t get to experience it like one.” He leans against the door frame, cocking his head to the side.

“Are you nervous?”

“A little yeah, mostly due to wanting to impress a certain someone…”

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks, spreading across them rapidly. “You don’t need to impress me.”

He pushes off the door frame, walking towards you. “What if I want to?”

You can stop yourself as your feet begin carrying you towards him, until you’re both toe to toe. Your breath hitches in your throat as he lifts his hand up and pushes your hair back from your face.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” He whispers, his eyes fixed on yours.

You lean forward, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. His hands slip further into your hair as he deepens the kiss. You wind your arms around his neck, pulling him desperately closer. You’re lost in the moment, completely forgetting about the decision you made the night before, until you hear movement coming from towards the door.

“Uh… my bad. Didn’t realise anyone was in here. Sorry for… interrupting.”

Jake. Of course.

You both pull away from each other, but Jake’s long gone.

“I’ll, uh, see you later?”

“Yeah, see you later.” Danny rubs his neck awkwardly, but shoots you a sheepish smile.

When you finally arrive back to your hotel room you’re fully kicking yourself for going back on your plans. You couldn’t have these moments of weakness when you needed to remain professional. It was for the sake of your job now, so this needed to end here. You decide to turn your attention to starting the process of getting ready. You take your time completing your skin prep, then intricately apply your makeup. You’ve seen from social media how dedicated their fans are with their attention to detail, so you get to work with a silver smokey eye, complete with rhinestones. Once you’re happy with your makeup, you head over to the wardrobe and retrieve your matching silver mini dress from its hanger. Slipping it on, you take a look at yourself in the mirror.

Ok, you do look really good…

You sit back down, turning your flat iron on and twirl your strands through the plates to add soft waves to your hair. You comb through them and then set them with a light mist of hairspray. Moving back to the dresser, you unclasp a beautiful little silver crescent moon pendant and put it on, the perfect finishing touch to your outfit. You stand to find your boots and notice that your phone screen has lit up from the bed.

4:52pm

Jake: Here I was thinking I didn’t need to compete whilst you were working with us, but seems you had other ideas. I hope Danny enjoyed his little taste, because I’ll be having the whole three course meal later.

Shit. What have you done?

This was all a game to Jake, and in the end, someone was bound to get hurt.

[topguncortez]

The Professor | Chapter 1

Masterlist | Next Part

synopsis: You receive a bad grade from your English professor and demand an answer from him.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: age gap, power imbalance, languaging, suggestive language.

“What the fuck is his deal!?” You groaned, flopping down on your bed after checking your most recent grade. It was another D+, and you were starting to lose all hope of passing this class. 

“I swear he is out to fail everyone,” Your roommate Lucy said, as she flopped down next to you, “Margo outright failed this last paper, at least we did somewhat better.” 

“A D+ is not going to look good on grad apps,” You said and pushed yourself up from your bed, and walked over to your laptop. 

Senior year was supposed to be the year that you could somewhat take your foot off the gas. It was supposed to be when you waited with baited breath to see if you got into the graduate school of your dreams, not being worried if you were going to pass an English class. You were not looking forward to possibly having to repeat your senior year of college all because a professor had it out for his entire class. 

You had been working your ass off for the past four years while attending Boston College, a place that you had grown to call home. Being an English major wasn’t the most ideal major to have. Your grandparents scoffed when you told them about it, they wanted you to go into biology or chemistry, something that would get you a good job to pay the bills. But you loved English. It must’ve been something you had gotten from your mother. From the time you were a little girl, you dreamed of becoming an English professor. And you were going to be damned if some angry professor was going to stand in your way. 

“Well, we still have three papers left this semester, if you do stellar on them, you could get at least a C.” 

“And what would Berkeley say about that? ‘Oh you went from A’s in English 350 to a C in English 450.’” You looked at the canvas tab that was open, and tapped your finger on your jaw, “What if I go ask him?” 

“Ask who what?” 

“Ask Professor Seresin why he is such a dick!” 

“Yeah, cause that makes sense to be trapped in the dungeon with the dragon,” Lucy giggled, “Come on, he already hates our whole class, might as well not piss him off more by being late.” 

As much as you wanted to skip class today and sulk about the bad mark, you tucked your laptop into your backpack, before swinging it over your shoulder. The fall breeze was a bit chilly as you and Lucy walked to the English building. The scent of fresh rain and fallen leaves filled your lungs as you tugged the sweater a bit tighter over your body. Your legs were bare as you decided on just wearing a simple pleated plaid skirt. Lucy talked about the upcoming frat party this weekend, that she was begging you to go for. But the bad grade that was burned into your head didn’t have you in much of a party mood. 

There was a feeling of dread and disappointment as you and Lucy walked into the lecture hall. You sighed in relief noticing that the professor wasn’t there yet. You could only imagine the heavy blanket that was about to fall when he walked in. It was like everyone was walking on eggshells already. The two of you took your seats in the front of the room like you always did. You were half tempted to pull out your notebook but knew not too. Professor Seresin made it very clear on the first day that notebooks, ipads, laptops, pretty much anything you could record notes on were prohibited in his class. 

“Hey,” You looked up from your desk to see Derek sitting down next to you. You rolled your eyes subtly and looked over at Lucy who had a smirk on her face, and turned back to playing Candy Crush on her phone, “Did you bomb this paper like I did?” He asked with a smile. 

“Pretty sure the whole class did,” You sighed. You were praying that today was the day Derek would just shut up. 

Derek McAndrew was a nice guy, he was the guy that you bring home to meet your parents during holiday breaks, and that’s exactly what you did about a year ago. You and Derek had a small fling during junior year, between the late nights spent writing papers and feasting on red bulls, it was only a matter of time until you ended up in one of your beds. You had kept it to a strictly friends-with occasional- benefits situation, but Derek didn’t seem to understand that, so you had to cut it off for both your sakes. But Derek, being the nice guy he was, still tried to maintain a friendship, even though you tried relentlessly to push him away. It didn’t help that you occasionally still slept with him. 

“So, I have these two tickets to the Red Sox-” 

It was like a warning sign had gone off when the door to the lecture hall opened, and Professor Seresin walked in. Everyone immediately stopped talking, the only sound was his designer dress shoes clicking across the floor. He always wore a suit to class, today’s was burnt orange, and it had been tailored to perfection. Some of the girls in the class were already drooling at the sight of his perfectly sculpted arms in the jacket of his suit as he took his cross-body bag off of him. He pulled his laptop out, and got set-up for the lecture. 

“As some of you have seen, I have graded your papers. . . and no, I won’t be taking questions on why they were all shit,” He said, taking his glasses off his face, “Just a reminder, drop date is still two weeks away. I wrote in the comments section on whether you should drop or not. Those weren’t suggestions by the way.” 

You gulped and shrunk in your chair as he spoke about the most recent assignment, and how he expected more but at the same time, what he got was what he had expected. Professor Seresin wasted no time in jumping right into the next lecture on Hemmingway. He had already said once on how much he loved Hemmingway, and you could see the similarities. Hemingway was a known asshole, and so was Professor Seresin. 

There was little to know about Professor Seresin on his university page. He was from Texas, and you could tell on day one from the southern tang in his speech. He went to UT, was in a frat, graduated Magna Cum Laude, went to grad school at Berkeley, and did his post doc here at Boston College. From what you had gathered outside of the professional stuff on the university website, was that Professor Seresin was the youngest and only brother. Rumor has it that he has a terrible relationship with his father, which again would make sense to you. He was also once divorced (his wife was apparently bagging the head of the history department). 

“Are you paying attention?” 

You snapped your head up from your daze on your desk to see those green eyes staring at you. You gulped and looked around, noticing the whole lecture hall was looking at you, “I. . . yeah. . .” 

Jake scoffed, “Pretty sure you were one of the ones I said should drop. . .” He muttered and clicked the next slide, “. . . Like I said, Hemingway was a tortured man from his time in. . .” 

“He’s an ass,” Derek whispered to you, and you looked up at him. You gave him a tight lipped smile and went back to trying to pay attention to the boring lecture Professor Seresin was giving. 

When the lecture was over, everyone started packing up, and Professor Seresin went to sit down at the island in front of his laptop. He slid his glasses on his face and rolled his eyes at the line of students waiting to ask him questions. 

“You gonna ask him?” Lucy said, looking up at you. 

“Ask him what?” Derek said. 

“Ask Professor Seresin about my grade,” You muttered, “And yes, I am.” 

“Godspeed,” Lucy said, and gave you a mock salute before getting up from her seat, “Come on, lover boy, I need your speech 360 notes since I skipped the other day.” You were thankful for Lucy dragging Derek away at that moment. You took a deep breath and got in line behind a student, waiting for your turn to talk to Professor Seresin. 

“Listen, if you are all here to cry and complain about a bad mark, you might as well leave. . . I’m not going to change it,” Professor Seresin said, and pushed himself up from the desk. A bunch of students walked away with their heads down, leaving just you, “What do you want?” 

“Office hours,” You said, and he narrowed his eyes at you, “You have to provide them.” 

“I’m aware,” He rolled his eyes, and picked up his bag and his laptop. He didn’t say anything as he walked past you and out the door. You followed behind him, and he looked over his shoulder, “You’re like a lost dog.” 

“And you’re an ass,” You mumbled, taking a step back from him. His office was surprisingly not in the basement of the English building like others had said it was. It was actually on the second floor, and you had to basically run up the stairs to keep up with his long strides. He opened the door, and didn’t bother holding it for you. Your jaw dropped at the sight of his office, it was beautiful. The dark wooden bookshelves that covered the walls made it feel like you were in the library. He had a large window behind his desk that let in tons of light. He sat behind the large dark oak desk, and looked up at you. 

“Are you going to sit?” He asked. 

“Oh, yeah,” You said and scrambled to sit down in front of his desk. 

“You really don’t pay attention,” He scoffed, “So what is it that you want? Cause I’m not talking about grade-” 

“It’s about grades,” You blurted out. Professor Seresin rolled his eyes as he leaned back in his desk chair, “Actually, everyone's grades. And our mental wellbeing. Did you know that one out of -” 

“I know the statistics,” Professor Seresin said, cutting you off, “I get those emails that you all get.” 

“So if you know the statistics, why are you such a dick?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me.” 

Professor Seresin sat up straight, and you felt your heart jump in your throat. He looked you up and down, and you squirmed in your seat. You had seen his eyes before, but sitting so close and seeing the cold green eyes made you want to duck for cover. 

“I know you. . . Y/N L/N. . . I remember your application.” 

“You do?” 

“It’s hard to forget someone with such a. . . story.” 

“It’s not a damn story-” 

“Parents died in a house fire when you were thirteen. You managed to escape with your cat. You ran back in trying to get to your parents but a beam fell on you. You were in a coma for six weeks. No one thought you were going to live-” 

“I don’t need you to tell me my life story, Professor, I lived it.” 

It was like a never ending nightmare that you couldn’t wake up from. Growing up not far from Chestnut Hill, you had the constant reminder of the greatest loss you had ever faced. You liked to think it made you a stronger person, that it helped you learn how to build up a strong wall, and how to figure out things on your own. 

“That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble.” 

“It can do much more than just that.” 

Professor Seresin curled an eyebrow up and you realized how dirty that actually sounded. You blushed and hid your face in your hands, scolding yourself for a moment. You took a deep breath and lifted your head up, remembering the campaign pitch you had made in your head on the walk over to class. 

“I have a proposition for you,” You said. 

“I’m listening,” Professor Seresin said. 

“I need to get a good grade in your class if I even want to be considered for the grad program at Berkeley. And you look like you’re one first year paper away from a stress induced heart attack. So, let me work for you, take some of the stress away, and you raise my grade.” He gave you that same look from earlier and you rolled your eyes, “Listen, I need a good grade and you-” 

He held his hand up stopping your rambling. He shifted in his spot and leaned on his desk, looking at you, “Actually. . . I could use your help.” It was your turn to give him a quizzical look. He sat back in his chair again, crossing his arms over his chest, “I have a lot of. . . personal things going on right now.” 

“You mean your wife fucking the-” You went quiet as soon as he sent you a glare, “Sorry.” 

“One more slip up, and this deal is over,” Professor Seresin said, “As I was saying, I have a lot of personal things going on, and I am behind on grading. I could use some help grading. I usually don’t teach first and second year classes, but I got stuck with it. You help me, and I’ll help you try not to fail humorlessly in my class.” 

You felt your body light up with excitement, “You mean it?” 

“Don’t make me fucking regret it,” He sighed, and turned around to the drawers behind his desk. He grabbed a stack of papers and set them down in front of you. You picked up the first one and read the topic and frowned. You could remember how much you hated first year papers, they all seemed to suck, “These need to be done by tonight.” 

“Tonight!?” 

“Get to work,” Professor Seresin said, and turned to his computer. 

“Profess-” 

“Jake.” 

“Jake?” 

“I feel like we are going to get to know each other quite well. . . so it’s Jake,” He said, “You can go now,” He slipped his glasses back on his face and turned to face his computer.  You nodded and grabbed the stack of papers off of his desk, and put them in your backpack. As you were beginning to leave, he spoke up again, “You said the grad program at Berkeley? The one under Doctor Hoffman?” 

“That’s the one,” You smiled. You had her posters all over your bedroom, and read every single dissertation she came out with. You had studied everything you needed to know about her and the program at Berkeley. If there was a test about it, you would ace it with ease. 

“She’s a good teacher,” Jake nodded. 

“Maybe you could take a few notes from her.” 

Jake rolled his eyes, “Are you going to be this insufferable the whole time?” 

“Probably,” You shrugged, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Professor.” 

Jake mumbled under his breath as she left the office. When the door shut he sighed and ran his hands down his face wondering what he just got himself into.

--- --- ---

taglist:

@cherrycola27 @books-for-summer @blue-aconite @oldnatgwenaccount @drunkangels @violyn20 @bioodforbiood @princessofglitterland

taglist form

note: idk when my updates will be. I do have a full time job, so kinda expect these updates to come as I have time:)

[uplatterme]

using you as my notes app now cuz i can't write actual posts for shit lol:

helping dottore with his harnesses and clown outfit uniform every day possible, the cute whiny thing unable to do anything but lean against your touch and whimper when you tighten it against him, tight, tight, tight. he's breathless by the time you're done, begging for a sweet 'n sloppy morning kiss to get him going, fingers digging into your shoulders and legs wrapped around your waist to give you no choice but to comply with his neediness.

testing out aphrodisiacs with baizhu, mixing these foreign herbs into tea on his rare days off from verifying prescriptions and scamming the commonfolk for a few million mora. his normally sharp and observant gaze softening into a hazy lust by the time he's gotten comfortable on your lap and his loose hair falls against your face, his arms resting on your shoulders as his soft lips are doing nothing but tempting you to leave them bitten and bruised.

"teaching" alhaitham about kinks all hands-on, your hands wrapped around his pretty neck as you watch his eyes roll back, the pencil he had been used to document his experiences falling to the ground—not that you were paying much attention to anything other than how he's drooling, how his hands are holding onto your arms to hold them there against him, how his breath is so shaky in a way that you've heard all too many times before— he wants more. and who were you to deny the acting grand sage, to deny your boyfriend of such a simple request?

i’m going to go insane.

want dottore’s harness to leave a bruise so that when he takes it off, his chest is still sweetly marked. it’s his fault for wearing such a slutty outfit.

baizhu, holy fuck. i would treat this man with the absolute best care.

also, i see everyone is on the bullying alhaitham agenda and i need that right now. i’m vibrating in my seat. if i don’t see him on his knees while crying right now, i’m going to explode.

[stuckinapril]

is it bad to cut off people or avoid certain places/apps due to trauma and bad experiences?

it depends.

one thing i find flawed about giving binary takes is no actual human situation is binary. if you’re in danger, like someone abusing you physically or verbally, totally reasonable. i would never try to reason w someone who actually has the capacity to harm me. i’d just get the fuck out of there asap.

i have a way stricter moral code when it comes to people i’d consider close or at the very least good friends. i generally find it anti-ethical to cut friends off without giving an explanation. i feel like people on tiktok have repackaged it as “confidence” “cutting toxicity out” etc etc, but to me it just comes off as social ineptitude / blatant disregard for other people’s feelings. there’s nothing wrong gradually growing distant w someone, but to out of nowhere cut contact w them betrays a lack of empathy and patience. i’d never do that unless given a pretty extreme reason to. same goes w misunderstandings or disagreements: if there’s room for communication, i always choose that route. i really dislike the “we don’t owe anyone anything” mentality when it comes to people—we very much owe a lot of people a lot of things, first of all common decency. i also always try to treat people the way i’d like to be treated. if i wouldn’t want to be spontaneously cut off by someone i value without an explanation, i’m not going to do it to someone else.

as for avoiding certain things—totally valid. this will sound like a dumb example, but when my ex and i broke up i still shared this spotify playlist w him that he didn’t unadd. he knew i loved that playlist and would update it frequently. just the fact that we shared that one silly thing reminded me of him / made me think of reconciling. i don’t play that game anymore. if i want to be done w someone for good, i will clear them out from pretty much everything & obviously will never check their socials again. i don’t leave room for little things to slow down my moving on process.

i will say though that i don’t let people ruin things for me long term. i have a couple of favorite songs my ex recommended me, but just bc they came from him doesn’t mean i’ll stop listening to them. don’t let this person rob you of things you enjoy. form new associations instead, like your love for these things / maybe new memories w someone who does value and love you in the present.

if you’re tempted to hit them up again, are romanticizing them, are remembering their good far more than their bad, make a notes app list of all their shortcomings. it’s nice to have something written down to refer to for when you miss them on a lonely night or have your rose-colored glasses on. that combined w cutting contact should have you over them in like two weeks. but you have to be strict w your no contact !! no sneak peaks whatsoever. good luck friend, i believe in u

[secretsandwritings-blog]

Modern Facebook Usage

characters - Demetri, Miguel, Robby, Anthony, Sam, Eli Tory, Kyler, Kenny, Shawn, Aisha, Moon, and Yasmine

kg’s notes - just wanted to do something that’s completely dumb while i was on Facebook i thought this would be perfect somehow. it’s 2 in the morning and really could give this another day but y’know i’m not going to do that! 😀

Demetri Alexopoulos - he would be fairly active on there surprisingly like giving updates on his life on everything and interacting with family (distant and close) members posts.

Miguel Diaz - he wouldn’t only go on there to clear the notifications that would pop up on his phone and that’s about it 

Robby Keene - he would find out about his mom side of the family, though there’s not a lot of family left on his dad’s side, but yeah, he’s not active on there maybe to watch a couple reels?

Anthony LaRusso - you think he would go on here? be so serious he deleted the app a LONG time ago. 

Sam LaRusso - she’s been tempted to delete the app, but keeps it for Anthony and her sake but mostly goes on there to clear the notifications or just to check up on some cousins.

Eli “Hawk” Moskowitz - he definitely checks out the marketplace to see if he could buy something but other than that he does not go on there.

Tory Nichols - she’s not even sure if she actually does have a Facebook, but she hasn’t even looked at the Facebook app that’s even on her phone, but if she did know that she did have one she’d probably check out the marketplace as well to see if there is anything for sale. 

Kyler Park - he would be posting and interacting with every single post that you can imagine that’s on his feed. i don’t think anybody wants to know what’s on his feed for what he sees in the reels… also he would go on the marketplace to scam people.

Kenny Payne - similar to Anthony, he deleted the app also but reinstalled it for his dad and brother’s sake. he also enjoys the reels on there (only half the time though).

Shawn Payne - he doesn’t even know if he going to get a phone after he leaves juvie so he wouldn’t even know if he has Facebook

Aisha Robinson - she’s more active on Instagram instead of Facebook anyway and she interacts with her family on there

Moon - she would turn her Facebook into like some kind of blog that would post random “uplifting” quotes also, she enjoys watching and making reels on there.

Yasmine - she does the same thing that Moon does not a surprise here and she accompanies her too! they go Facebook LIVE together with vapes, bongs, or some kind of alcohol.

[excelsior9173]

Sleep Oil?

Ok so Sleep Prayer Oil (yes from sleep token)??

-olive oil for the vibes, I usually use grape seed as a carrier, but the vibes of olive oil are what I’m feeling for this.

-Pachouli (sleep aid, and also VERY sensual)

-Mugwort (for astral/dream work)

-Lemon Balm (love, dreamwork, healing)

-Lavender (sleep aid, but intense dreams)

-rosemary (creativity)

-peppermint essential oil (money/prosperity)

-Grapefruit essential oil (mental clarity)

Ok, so here is my list, copy pasted from my notes app so that is why the formatting and wording is all weird lol, of all the herbs and oils I’d include in a sleep prayer oil, and all my reasonings.

But I freaking. Listen, I don’t believe sleep is a real god, but when I was like ‘what would I put in this’ my mind kept going back to rosemary, and I was like ‘why tho?’ And the first thing that popped up when I searched for herbs for creativity was rosemary and I just said ‘ok. Sleep wants that in there’.

I cant make this rn, cause… I am not uhhh ‘practicing’ (my practice is gathering knowledge until I can move out), but I want to 🤣. I wonder if I could get by with substituting lemon oil for lemon balm, cause I have access to essential oils, but not herbs and putting them jars lol. I could honestly say this was a blend for seizures and I wouldn’t even be completely lying….. I’d actually just have to buy the patchouli and mugwort 🤣🤣🤣…. I’m so tempted. I’ll let you know if I do it or not😂 or maybe I just leave out the mugwort and patchouli for right now? I feel like the others have everything covered, but the first two where more like the pa-pow of the oil, idk if this makes since? Like those are the main two and if I was making this for real, I would do only a little bit of the other ingredients, and a lot of the main two, but if I’m not including them I’d do more of the others…. Fuck it I’m gonna end up making this, oops. (But probably with grape seed oil, since this is an essential oil blend… I’ll be back with more notes I’m so sorry).

Edit: this just keeps getting longer longer sorry; went to gather the oils, realized we do indeed have patchouli! But not rosemary… thinking of substituting oregano for rosemary…. And maybe clary sage for mugwort?? Hmmm. Lots of thoughts. Same associations for both things as the list above… ok I have to be done now I’ll come back and tell you if it smells good in a different ask lmao.

Sorry for info dumping to you about a silly little oil, but I was having fun with it.

What would go in your version of it, if you don’t mind me asking👀 I know you said you where doing your own research on it, and I’m curious🥰.

i have sat on this for waaaayyyyy toooo long but university was absolutely kicking my ass for the last… month and a half? idk i was going through it for a hot minute 😅

but! finally getting to tuck into some research now that i’m done school for the term and have a quiet day at work. (this is gonna get hella long cuz i’m having a lot of fun researching and i’m gonna use this as a sounding board a bit as i read)

so! first thing i’m learning is that intention is a huge part of this (i knew the intention part already, part and parcel with working with tarot!)

i think given that sleep is introduced to us as some sort of deity, i would probably make a ritual anointing oil.

the carrier oil itself is another question. i think since sleep feels like a deity not easy to commune with (the intensity and allegory in the music makes me think that, if we were worshipping a true god, conversing with sleep takes a toll on the devotee). with this in mind i think grapeseed oil might make a decent base. it is a good choice for anything used to anoint the body (which i feel would be part of this ritual oils use, if we must dream to encounter sleep then anointing the body makes the most sense to me!) and it is ruled by the moon and water element- making it very fitting for sleep token! grapeseed oil is also useful for blends that intend to boost/strengthen mental abilities (it also helps with fertility magic and given the lyrical content at times- seems somewhat fitting) another useful aspect for a ritual for sleep. i do like the vibes of olive oil as well, and it’s a very versatile ingredient but i don’t think i’d like feeling it on my skin so grapeseed it is! (also my local magick shop has grapeseed oil so easy for me to obtain lol)

now the fun part- the essential oils!

(i’m realizing as i write this that i need to purchase a grimoire so i can start recording my research and recipes…)

so this part has taken me a lot longer to fiddle with, not only finding the right associations but also smells i enjoy, but i think I’ve got it!

- sandalwood (its grounding, promotes inner peace, aphrodisiac) [i went back and forth here between sandalwood and cedar, same associations but i prefer the scent of sandalwood]

- lavender (promotes sleep, reduces stress, pretty straightforward lol)

- patchouli (grounding, sharpens your wit, good for prayer work) [loooove the smell too, i’d do anything to naturally smell like patchouli lol, hippy association be damned]

- mugwort (astral projection, lucid/prophetic dreams, meditation)

- lemon balm (love, healing, astral projection, it also amplifies the effects of other herbs)

- clary sage (vivid dreams, divination)

i keep going back and forth on whether or not to add clove, it’s another aphrodisiac and also good for treating insomnia so i think it would fit? but i’m not 100% sure on it yet lol. my familiarity with essential oils and herbs is very minimal

but yeah! now to get the oils and mix. not sure exactly how the mix will come about, will need some trial and error with it i think! again, sorry this took me so long but here we are! finally i did it!

[gremzart]

Hello again

Since Instagram will use our art for AI (and the opt out option isn't guaranteed to even work), I'm testing new platforms to post my art. I will not stop posting on Tumblr, but I need an alternative to Instagram. This is really sad cuz it's the only platform where I actually somehow have a small audience, and it was my only hope to one day make money out of my art (commissions, merch etc). Here are the platforms I'm testing and maybe move to

→My artfol ; I've had this account since 2019? But I kept leaving because the app was dead, each time I would come back to try again it would go absolutely nowhere. But, I tested again a few days ago and it actually works. The app is slow af but at least people interact a lot, it's pretty fun, it gives me old Sony sketch vibes.

→My sheezy ; I'm not a huge fan of it... Getting on it was a terribly stressful experience, the "only post 5 posts a day" is really restraining and the whole tw system is so confusing and overwhelming, especially when I have to put content warning on 99% of my art because of bright colors or a sword... I understand the motivation of wanting to make a platform accessible for all but censors are the art killers. Plus on the two times I posted, I didn't get any interaction so far, and the website seems pretty empty for now. But we will see.. I'll still post there to test it out, but I might leave it

→My deviantart ; well that one isn't new at all, I've been posting there for quite a while. I just wanted to promote it anyway since it is also an art platform where I post my stuff. I don't get any attention there either and I'm kinda tempted to give up on it but oh well.

Quick side note, I will NOT participate in this year's artfight. Last year's was terrible on my mental health and i didn't enjoy a second of it, it's not for me. I still have an account there but don't expect me to join, sorry

[rockitmans]

Blaine Anderson Vs. Valentine's Day (4/14)

Summary: Blaine drunk posts on his Instagram asking for a date for Valentine's Day. He gets one.

Notes: Written for the @klaineccfanficlibrary Valentine Challenge. Today's song is I'll Never Not Love You by Michael Bublé

Be sure to also check out the collection on AO3 and Stick Season by @blurglesmurfklaine I'm finding it so fun to write as part of a community event. Seeing other people post theirs really keeps me on track. And all the lovely comments of course!

Read on AO3 or below

~~~~~~

He can't just leave it like that. Hi. What was he thinking? He quickly taps out a follow up without letting himself doubt it too hard. 

Blaine: Bold tactic to assume that poem would get my attention and not just end up being deleted

He immediately throws his phone face down on his bed and paces around the room several times, trying to breathe. He can do this. He can talk to other humans. Even ridiculously gorgeous ones that for some reason seem interested in him. 

Barely a minute passes before his phone chimes and he tries to tell himself to be chill and not answer straight away but the anticipation is killing him. He grabs his phone. 

Kurt: And yet here you are. Interesting. 

God. He actually answered. And he's so cool . It's going to take him less than thirty seconds to realise how lame Blaine is. Blaine doesn't have game. He doesn't usually even realise when people are into him. He's fallen into every relationship he's had so far fully because the other person has spelled it out to him. 

This was clearly a mistake. A horny error in judgement. He's half tempted to just delete the app right now and pretend this never happened. The Philippines is nice this time of year.  

But then his phone chimes again and Blaine grins stupidly as he reads the message. 

Kurt: It was a gamble. I'm happy it paid off. 

Blaine: Well. It was helped by the fact that I am very interested in these claims that you can pick me up. 

Kurt: Oh no. That was my roommate's suggestion. She's going to be insufferable now. 

Blaine: Your secret's safe with me

Kurt: Thanks. But she's also much cooler than me if I'm being honest. I may prove to be a disappointment. Flirting with strangers on the internet is all fun and games until they actually reply 😅

Blaine blinks. He hadn't thought about it that hard, but if he had, he would have assumed that this was going to turn into sexting, getting off, and then mutually agreeing to never speak of it again. Or at least he assumes that's the way this sort of thing goes. He doesn't really know. 

But maybe that isn't what this is. Interesting.

Blaine: And do you make a habit of flirting with strangers on the internet?

Kurt: I want to be really smooth and be like 'only the cute ones 😉' but fuck it. No I don't usually. I'm like an honest to God Broadway romantic. I need at least dinner before I can consider getting my dick out. 

Kurt: And I realise a simple no would have sufficed 

Blaine huffs out a laugh. Okay. Definitely not sexting then. He's kind of relieved. It would have just been a way to let off steam after the emotional bomb that was Sebastian's betrayal. He hasn't really had time to sort out his feelings about Sebastian yet. Sam's solution to the problem was to get him spectacularly drunk and there's been little time for introspection since then. And that's mostly been on purpose.

He knows if he starts to think about it, it will bring every scrap of his hard earned self worth under a magnifying glass. He'll sort through all his insecurities for the reasons why Sebastian might have cheated and probably invent some new ones just for fun. He doesn't want to be terrified to love again. He doesn't want to lose his ability to love quickly and generously and all in. He doesn't want this to break him. 

And right now that means chatting to a cute guy that doesn't want to just get off with him. And regardless of anything else, it will be a funny story to tell Tina later. 

Blaine: Ah yes that well known Broadway hit, "Dinner for dick." We all know it

Kurt: Say what you like about Barrett Wilbert Weed but she smashed that one

Kurt: Listen you don't have to keep talking to me. I understand my mouth was putting out checks that my ass can't cash. Literally. 

Blaine: I want to keep talking to you. A gorgeous guy that's into Broadway and fashion? Maybe that wish journal I kept when I was thirteen really did have magical powers after all

Blaine: Although I'm still not a superhero so perhaps not 

Kurt: I never had a wish journal but I did have a hope chest. I cut up magazine pictures to compile my perfect man and it obviously looked outlandish and not like you at all

Kurt: But I am pretty sure I made my perfect man a musician 

Blaine: Well thank God I have that going for me at least

Kurt: You have a lot more going for you than that

Blaine: And I thought you said you didn't flirt with strangers on the internet 😉

Kurt: You're right

Blaine gets a jolt in his stomach, terrified that Kurt is about to promise to cut out the flirting or even stop talking to him all together. But then the next message comes through.

Kurt: Maybe we should become not-strangers so I can flirt with you without fear 

Blaine bites his lip against a smile, feeling the flush creep all the way to his ears. Who even is this guy?

Hopefully he's going to find out. 

Blaine: Sounds perfect