#how to create an accent wall

[heeseungsbm]

thinking about fuck buddy jake... (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

₊˚⊹ pairing❥: jake x female reader

jake's sex drive is extremely high. he can't remember the last time he was able to go a week without it, he's always horny so he's grateful to have you to accompany his needs when he calls. he loves a good quickie and doesn't really care where you do it. fucking you when and where you're not supposed to gives him a pleasurable adrenaline rush, and he's really good at not getting the two of you caught. ♡

you've fucked in numerous peculiar locations; the couch at his grandparent's house, a victoria's secret fitting room, a playground late at night, his little brother's closet— listen... being squished on his lap for an hour during hide and seek wasn't going to end any other way. you surprisingly haven't done anything in a movie theater yet, but he absolutely plans on it.

jake's favorite place to fuck you is definitely in his car where you can get loud as ever. he loves taking you to the back, bending you over and pounding your pussy until the seats get sticky with sweat and cum, the windows get so fogged up from both of your hot heavy breathing combined.

fuck buddy jake will always give you head before fucking you. he has the most plump, voluminous lips that make you feel better than any toy can. he'd whisper against your cunt that aches for him, spitting on it and smearing the saliva around with his digits to prepare you for his tongue+fingering combo. the way you look down at him with so much adoration when he's in between your legs makes him crazy hard, and it feels so good to give his cock slow strokes as he french kisses your pussy. he keeps a certain length to his hair solely because he loves how you run your fingers through it while he makes soft suctions on your sensitive clit, how you grip it hard to grind against his soft lips before cumming in his mouth.

you never cared for australian accents until you met your fuck buddy jake. the way he speaks is just saurrr sexy, his tone is soft and sweet with you and it makes a complete pool in your panties. you easily do anything he asks. he thinks it's so cute how embarrassingly wet you get from his voice alone, so he makes sure to talk you through your orgasms as much as he can when you fuck. most of all, jake loves to call you his good girl, it's his favorite line of praise. "you look so pretty taking my dick. you wanna be a good girl and cum for me?" he'd talk your head off during missionary, showering you in filthy compliments.

fuck buddy jake likes to text you consistently. sending good morning & goodnight texts just feels right to him, and he always insists you text that you made it home safely after you leave his place. he's the first person you send selfies to before you post them on social media, and of course he gets the exclusives, if you're picking up what im putting down. you two exchange nudes and sext back and forth during late horny hours, he desperately fucks his fist in his bed to the nasty messages that pop up on his screen. he likes to send you videos of him stroking his dick and cumming all over his abdomen with his face in the frame, you save and touch yourself to them when he's not able to come over ❤︎₊ ⊹

fuck buddy jake loves to mark your body, even though you're not officially his. he'd hungrily bite and suck on the sweet spots of your flesh, creating dark bruises in places only he gets to see. not your neck since its too obvious, but your tummy, in between your thighs, and his favorite place— your tits. he hates when you wear tops that expose your chest and will pull up your top when nobody is looking, because all his hickies reside there, which are only for his eyes only.

fuck buddy jake is a whiney moaner, he just cannot help himself with the way your warm walls grip and tighten around his cock. he gets really high pitched and breathless, really loud when he's about to cum. "shit, oh fuck you feel so good. im gonna cum inside you," he'd moan pathetically, throwing his head back as unbearable bursts of pleasure pulse through his body. the groans he makes during sex are probably your favorite part of the entire thing, they're needy and dramatic. when giving him blowjobs you purposely continue to suck and tease his tip after he cums, just to hear him whimper and beg you to stop because he sounds so cute >؂•̀

jake tries his best to last for you, but sometimes he physically can't. you love how easily he leaks his seed though, it's kinda hot... especially because his load is always so excessive and messy. he'll use a condom depending on if you want to, but you almost never do, you love to fuck raw thanks to your handydandy bc pill. his pull out game is terrible... but to be fair, the warm sensation of his semen shooting up inside you feels too good to ever want something between the two of you.

fuck buddy jake cares alot about your pleasure. with his past bodies all he cared about was getting his own nut, but with you its different. when you first started messing around, he read books and took notes on female anatomy to make sure he knew exactly how to make you feel good, how to thrust, where to lick, where to grope, where to suck. you'd think he was a virgin after going through his search history; "how to make a girl cum from head" "how to make her squirt" "how do you find a girl's gspot?" he knows better than to learn from porn. he gets so carried away like a complete nerd, sitting and watching educational sex videos for hours at night with his dick hard, planning what he'll do to you the next day.

fuck buddy jake calls you his girl/girlfriend jokingly, but deep down inside there's meaning behind it. he's had the gushiest crush on you ever since the first day you met, and having secret sex nearly every day only deepened his infatuation for you and made him fall in love. however, he would never confess unless you hinted at it first. he has a great fear of rejection and would hate to make things "weird" between the two of you if you didn't want something more than just moaning each other's names behind closed doors.

all he can do is cross his fingers, hoping that one day his dick game will make you cum to your senses.

(yes, that was a pun pls LAUGH)

𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯!

🏷️ @emowonz cornered and bullied me to drop bye

reblog if you enjoyed <3 pretty please💕 i'll do heeseung's tmrw most likely. have a goodnight/day/evening babe

[valiasims]

Naturali Living Room Download

Hey everyone!

Here is my new cc set which I call Naturali living room because of the calm mixture of natural colors and woods. As I mentioned before, this collection was inspired/based on an article I found which was a home tour of Valerie Quant, a footwear designer. I loved the simplicity but warmness her home has so I decided I want to put those vibes in my game.

The two main elements of this set are the sofa and the accent, Cristian Valdés chair which I'm in love with and I like how it turned out. The sofa has 6 different pieces, the end pieces have slots so you can put there small decor objects.

I wanted to create walls as well but I wasn't satisfied with how they looked so I ditched them, sorry. :D But I added a new wooden floor which will go with the wood colors in this set.

I hope you'll like these items in your game!

The Set Includes

Modular Sofa (Middle, Middle V2, Corner, Corner V2, Left End, Right End)

Valdés Chair

TV Cabinet

Coffee Table (1 tile, 2 tile)

Flower Bouquet

Painting (Flower themed)

Sofa Cushion

Floor Lamp

Rug

Throw Blanket

Wooden Floor

🔹 Compatibility All items are Base Game compatible. 🔹 TIP You can find the items easily in your Build/Buy Catalog if you type in "Naturali" or "VALIA". 🔹 Info - Low poly, new, maxis match meshes- Since some items share the same texture you need to have them all files ending in "_texture" in your mods folder to properly work. 

-DOWNLOAD HERE- Public release on the 14th of August 6PM CST

[tasteracha]

kinktober - day thirteen

kink: camcorder with minho ft. chan

warnings: smut - MINORS DNI. threesome (kind of), chan is a perv, afab!reader, teensy bit of manipulation

chan didn’t think this would happen when he asked minho to borrow his camcorder a couple days ago - all he wanted was to record some practice videos to upload to youtube. he didn’t think before he took it, didn’t think before he looked through minho’s old footage of his dancing that he keeps for memories, didn’t think before watching what he watched. 

it was a video of you. and minho. 

in his defense, the storage on the memory card was almost full and chan was just looking for something that could be deleted to free up space - and wouldn’t minho check the storage to see if there was anything he didn’t want chan seeing first? if anything, this is minho’s fault. 

sure, it’s minho’s fault that chan is one second away from jerking off to the sight of you getting fucked into oblivion by his best friend, the grainy pixels leaving little to nothing to his imagination. your moans sound tinny from the low quality speakers, minho’s grunts accenting the sounds coming from your mouth as he fucks you up against the studio mirrors. your breath is fogging up from where your face is pressed against the glass, sweaty handprints from the both of you staining the surface. minho better have cleaned those mirrors after that, chan’s delirious mind supplies as he continues watching the footage he should have turned off minutes ago. 

the video is from the same angle as their dance practices, the same walls on display and oh fuck chan doesn’t think he’s been this hard in his entire life. that’s the room that he dances in, he’s leaned up against that exact mirror, panting and overexerted, he’s been yelled at by minho for messing up the choreography in that exact place. 

he tries. he tries so hard to forget what he saw, to get the image of you shaking apart when you came out of his head. to stop thinking about the way your skin went white from where minho was gripping it. to restrain from gripping his cock in his hand under his blanket with his eyes screwed shut and the symphony of your combined noises playing in his head like a song he couldn’t get off of repeat. 

but how could he when he had to go back into that rehearsal room just a few days later to practice? what excuse could he possibly give his members about why he wanted to switch rooms from this one? the room that’s full of their most precious memories, full of laughter and tears and piles of sweaty cuddles on the floor? no, he couldn’t. what he could do was avoid that spot like it was poisonous, standing on the farthest edge of the room after practice was over, chugging water and thinking about how you both have probably fucked on the floor there, or those couches, or by the closet door. 

he doesn’t notice you at first, sliding into the room to hand minho a cold water bottle and press a kiss to his cheek. the other members were slowly trickling out, passing tired greetings to you as they shuffled past, eager to go home and shower. when only minho and him were left, you went to approach him only to find his eyes already on you, glazed over at you but not really seeing. 

he looks at you and all he can see is the way you were pressed up against the glass, your tits squished but somehow still bouncing, the screwed up features of your face when you were overwhelmed in pleasure. all he can hear are those metallic sounding moans, all he can feel is the urge to fall at your feet-

“bang chan,” minho snaps, jerking chan out of his fantasy. “where is my camera? you’ve had it for a while, i wanted to record the new choreography.”

“oh!” chan is starting to panic, he didn’t think that minho would ask after the camcorder so soon. he didn’t have time to prepare, didn’t have the energy to create an excuse. “there was too much storage on it, so i didn’t get to record what i wanted and i forgot to ask you about it.”

he’s biting his tongue now, cursing himself for saying too much. couldn’t he just have said he would give it back tomorrow?

“i didn’t think about the storage,” minho starts, not sounding like he had anything to hide. did he truly not know about what he had left on that camera for chan to find? “did you see anything interesting?”

he knows. he knows. chan is beginning to sweat, he can feel it in his hair and under his arms and he wants to bury a hole by his feet so he can jump into it and never climb out. 

“haha, no,” he says, packing up the rest of his bag so that he didn’t have to look at minho. or you, who’s been silent since you walked in, watching him carefully. for all he wasn’t scared of minho and his adorably empty threats, he was terrified of you. “i didn’t even look. just saw that the storage was full, you know?”

he sounds awkward. he is awkward, right now. 

“chan,” you trail a finger down his arm, speaking for the first time since you arrived and he’s gone, your touch leaving raised hairs in your wake. you should be angry, you should be livid, why are you touching him like that- “come over tonight to mine would you? we wanted to have you over for a while, minho wanted to cook for you. and you can give him the camera back then.”

“oh,” chan is sure that his face is flushed completely red by now, but he nods anyways. “sure! i’m free tonight. i’ll be there at seven? or whenever is good for you, i’m free. wait, i said that already-”

“perfect,” minho purrs, taking one of your hands in his and laying the other on chan’s shoulder. “seven is perfect. see you then, chan.”

--

he gets to your place early and sits in his car for 30 minutes, chewing at his fingernails and tapping his leg at an alarming pace. the more he thinks about it the more he overthinks - did they just want to yell at you in private instead of at the company building? did they really not know? what if he confessed and they didn’t know? what if they never speak to you again?

he has to take several deep breaths before leaving his car, and again before he knocks on your door. he’s ushered in by you, bright smiles on yours and minho’s faces as you take the camera out of his hands, and by the time he has a glass of wine in his hand and he’s sitting on the couch while minho puts the finishing touches on dinner he’s almost fully relaxed. he’s been here so many times, your apartment being a refuge to all the boys when they wanted to get away from the dorms for a bit. this is normal. 

“let me put something on for us to watch,” you say at the same time minho asks chan if he wanted more wine, and you sneak the camcorder towards the tv while chan was distracted, sniping at minho that no he doesn’t want a second glass he’s not even halfway through the first one. you plug it in, smiling when it connected to the right input immediately. you scroll through the files, fingers calm on the remote even though you were shaking in anticipation inside. when you get to the right file you click on it, turning up the volume. 

the image of you and minho takes over the tv, sounds coming out of the tv in a much better quality than what chan had been used to. his head whips towards the tv, wine forgotten and eyes wide as he takes in the video that you put on.

“what?” he asks, almost in a gasp as his eyes flicker back and forth between the tv, you, and minho, who had finally exited the kitchen and joined you in the living room.

“we thought since you loved it so much, we would watch it together,” minho explains, much more casually than one should be when playing a video of them fucking their girlfriend in front of their best friend. “why, is something wrong?” 

“i-”, chan cuts himself off, panic choking his voice. “i’m so sorry-”

“hey,” you move towards him, sitting against his side and taking one of his hands in both of yours. “that isn’t what this is about. we don’t mind, okay?” 

“we couldn’t let him sputter on for a bit more?” minho pouts, crossing his arms at you. “it was funny.”

“min, be nice,” you scold, smiling at chan. 

“channie, i would have beat you up when i found out if i wanted to,” minho relents, siting on chan’s other side, sandwiching him between you both. “she likes that you watched it. i like it. okay? just relax and be good for us.”

minho’s words wash over chan, leaving him in a sort of daze. be good for us, minho had said. he could do that, chan was so good at being good. he melts against the couch, the heat from both of your bodies enveloping him as he takes in the video he’s seen over and over already. 

“you planned this?” he asks, breathless and mesmerized. 

“of course i did,” minho scoffs, squeezing one of chan’s thighs in his warm hand. “you think i would just let you watch that without planning it? i’m not that stupid.”

you’re not, but maybe i am, chan thinks, and he only realizes that he said it out loud when you start giggling and lean your head into his shoulder to hide your laughter. 

he wants to retort, to somehow defend himself, but then video-minho changes his angle and starts fucking video-you even harder than before and whatever words were in his throat stayed behind the lump there.

“do you want to do that to her?” minho asks, hand trailing up chan’s thigh, leaving behind phantom pinpricks of sensation. he lets his blunt nails rake over chan’s leg, the delicate material of his workout pants providing no protection. 

“can i?” chan breathes out, looking at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful. 

“please,” you wiggle your legs open a bit, a clear invitation. his hand comes to rest on your thigh and it’s so big, so much bigger than minho’s. he slides it up, to the hem of your oversized shorts, dipping his fingers closer to your panties and -

he stops. 

“but, i also want…” he ducks his head down, trying to hide his flush before glancing at minho through his lashes. minho’s brow furrows, confusion clear on his face before he puts it together. 

“oh, my channie,” he coos, running a hand through chan’s hair. “we can do that too, i promise. but my girl has been waiting so long for you, you don’t want to make her wait even longer, do you?”

chan shakes his head, entire body swaying with the force of it, reenergized by minho’s promise of more. he turns towards you and you feel your breath leave your body as you turn weighless for a moment, landing back on earth to find yourself straddling chan’s lap. 

“you’re strong,” you praise, feeling up his biceps as you get comfy in his lap, ignoring minho’s indignant yelp next to you. chan beams up at you, both of his hands cupping your ass and using it as leverage to pull you closer into him. his dick is hard in his pants, poking against your crotch, and you both let out lewd moans when you grind into him a bit. he glances at minho, a little insecure and still kind of uncomfortable, but minho just pulls him in and kisses him deeply. it’s a sight to see, like a movie playing out right in front of your eyes, the love of your life and his best friend making out right in front of you. chan tenses a bit but melts into the couch even faster, letting minho lead him into blissful submission as he cups his face and moves it right how he wants it. 

when they part, chan’s lips are cherry red and so wet, glistening in the light from the lamps decorating the room. you can’t help but kiss him too, licking minho’s essence off of him and reveling in the way he bucks up into you like he can’t help it. 

chan slides his lips to the right, peppering kisses to the corner of your lips, across your jaw and down your neck. he sucks at the spot right under your ear that makes you see stars, heat bursting in your lower belly. he was utterly intoxicated by your scent, your clean, floral body wash taking over his senses until he was all but panting into your neck. 

it almost hurts to pull back from him, it’s like a stab right to your heart when he makes a wounded noise at the loss of contact, but you need more from him. any thoughts that you might have had of seducing him, of wining and dining him and showing him how much you really wanted him, died out once you felt his hands on you. you’ve been crushing on this man for almost as long as you’ve been crushing on minho, and you weren’t going to give this opportunity any time to ruin itself; you knew chan, knew how his self-consciousness and second-guessing worked, and if you wanted him you needed to take him now before he changed his mind. 

you reach for the drawstring on his pants, pulling it open and sticking your hand in, rubbing him through his boxers. next time you’d have more decorum, you’d suck him off until he was right on the edge and make him sob when you refuse to let him come, you’d let him fuck you into the mattress and let him pin you down, but not right now. 

“on the couch?” chan asks, eyes wide as they flicker back and forth between you and minho. 

“you know we’ve done it in worse places,” minho says, humor lining his words as the lust takes over his eyes at the thought of what was about to happen. a burst of affection takes over you as you look at him, your perfect soulmate who understood you and your desires and shared them with you like you shared everything else. 

“never knew you were such an exhibitionist,” chan snipes back at him, gasping when you tug him out of his pants and boxers, the stretch of his waistband making it easy. you only have to stroke him a few times until he’s fully hard, his cock red and leaking where it curves into his lower belly. 

“minho, help me,” you ask, blinking at minho through your eyelashes, and he knows what you want immediately; he hooks his fingers through your shorts and panties at once, pulling them down to your knees, just far down enough for you to be able to rub your bare pussy against chan’s cock.

“god, you’re so wet,” he curses, throwing his head back and sighing in time with the movement of your hips.

“for you, channie,” your voice cracks when his cock catches on your clit, and both of them are smart enough not to say anything about it. minho moves though, ever impatient, and lines chan’s cock up against your hole with practiced ease. 

“thought about this a lot, did you?” you tease, knowing very well that both of you thought about this a little too much, sharing fantasies in hushes whispers when you were supposed to be asleep. . 

minho clicks his tongue and presses himself up behind you, still fully clothed even though his dick was rock hard in his jeans. he places his hands on your hips and pushes you into chan, driving his cock deep into you. you collapse against chan’s chest, a surprised yelp leaving you at the unexpected fullness. chan echoes you, burying his face into your neck with a shudder. 

“tease me again and see what i’ll do,” he says darkly, hands still in a death grip on your waist. you take his threat for what it is, knowing that he would follow through with his words, and you start grinding into chan in slow circles. his hands circle your waist, fingers tangled with minho as they let you set the pace. 

“please,” chan whimpers, his breath tickling your neck. you want to tease him so badly, but how could you when he asked so politely? you shift your knees further onto the couch, gaining leverage so you could lift your hips higher up. you drop back down onto him and you both moan in unison. 

you lift back up and drop down, again and again and again, finding a rhythm that fits both of you perfectly. it’s like a dance, moves that feel practiced and eased, spurred on by minho’s soft whispered praises towards the both of you. the video playing on the tv had reached its end, and every sound coming from you was heightened. 

“what a pretty show, all for me,” minho moves away and finally takes his cock out of his jeans, fisting it and immediately starting to stroke himself off at a fast pace. you can’t see him, you miss the warmth of him against your back, but chan can’t take his eyes off of him, transfixed by the sight of his best friend jerking himself off to him and you as you’re bouncing on top of him. 

you’re shaking apart on top of chan before you realize it, orgasm taking over you as you continue to ride him. you clench around him hard, and he’s spilling into you a second later, jerky little thrusts shaking your body on top of his. minho curses as he comes a moment later, too keyed up to extend his pleasure for long. this wasn’t about him anyways; at least, not this time. 

you lift off of chan with a hiss, sending him a look of sympathy when he shivers in overstimulation. you don’t make it far, pulling him down to lay against you, your back pressed up against his front. both of your pants are still halfway off, but you can’t be bothered to care right now - you’re utterly exhausted, even from just one orgasm. 

the both of you barely register minho draping a blanket over you before settling on the floor in front of you, leaning his head on the couch right by where chan’s hands were around your stomach. it’s so domestic, the three of you drifting towards one another so naturally that it just feels right. later, you’d get up and eat the now-cold dinner minho had painstakingly prepared, but for now you were content to lay in comfortable quiet.

“wait,” chan breaks the silence, and you have to resist the urge to groan at him. “how did you know that i watched it? what if the storage really was just full?”

“please, you’re too obvious,” minho teases, voice soft and drowsy, and you can hear the smile in it. “plus, you were watching it in the dorms, idiot. you’re lucky it wasn’t jeongin that caught you.”

--

kinktober masterlist

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Between Dreams and Sugar

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: Your screams will haunt his dreams until the day he dies.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Torture, gore, angst, violence & death, suggestive joke, fluff, happy ending, rescue fic but who rescues who...>:)

A/N: Guys, I have a confession - I don't think I can write Ghost properly lmfao. This is horrifically mid.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There was so much blood coating your body that you had forgotten where the wounds were and weren’t. It flowed from you like viscus water—a homogeneous mixture of congealed shades of red like rubies except for the simple fact that this was not beautiful; it was not desired or sought after. 

 On the ground, soaking in indistinguishable pools of crimson, ripples are sent out when your limp foot twitches mutely in its clutch. That was all you could do now. Twitch. Writhe. They didn’t even bother tying you to the chair anymore—just let you slouch half out of it like a school kid who had gotten too drunk the night before. 

Hell, you wished you were drunk. 

“Sergeant.” 

You wished you could feel your fingers. You wished you could move your neck up from its bend position as if it was a wilting flower; hair stuck to your skin. Blood dribbles out of your mouth. Drip…drop…drip…drop. 

You’d bitten your tongue open in a vain attempt to stop yourself from screaming, hadn’t you? You…you can’t quite remember.

“Sergeant!” Groaning long and low, the violent chills that wrack your form only serve to make yourself bleed out faster, tension forcing precious life fluid out from burst veins and slashed ankles. 

Cuts far span your legs and shoulders. Your back is nothing more than a painting of burns coated with sweat and infection; puss sticking you to the backrest of the chair like yellow-colored adhesive. Your clothes are the opposite idea of modesty. Tattered, torn by blades to create harm. Fuck, could you even breathe properly anymore?

Lungs only create a wheeze—you’re not getting enough oxygen to function. 

A dark growl bounces off the walls.

Ghost struggles against his binds, uniform also in a state of disarray with very obviously broken ribs and bruised chest. Splotches of yellow-white mounds signal blunt trauma over the pale skin that’s already laced with old scars. 

They’d all but anchored him to his chair—and even then the red marks that blister are a signal of the brutality of the large man as he peels back his skin to try and struggle himself out. 

You whine, the loftiness stuck in your brain addictive; to pull back that curtain was as much of a struggle as staying awake. That harsh Manchester accent was something to draw closer to, though, professionalism a key to the lock on your failing consciousness. The reminder of companionship.

“G…” Your vocal cords fizzle, “Ghost…” 

“Open your eyes.” Every word was enunciated, deep and guttural.

Parting your lips, more blood drowns your lap in thick globs, and soon your battered throat vibrates with coughs that make you see stars, mild panic the moment you realize that you can’t breathe. 

Jerking forward, you gasp, eyes snapping open as your neck bends ahead in desperation. Mucus and other bodily fluids spray over your lap, tinged scarlet, but the blockage in your throat is dispelled as your broken ribs quiver in agony. 

Whimpering like a kicked dog, you wonder how long it’ll take for Ghost to realize getting you to focus on him was pointless. If this all continued, you’d be dead within the day. 

But you entertain him.

Head slowly balking back as your jaw hangs loose, you rest it on the wooden frame behind you as softly as you’re able with a most likely concussed brain and a fractured skull. Only one eye opens, and even then it’s half-glued to your cheek with dried blood. 

Ghost’s balaclava had been ripped off. It felt wrong to see him in the open like this. Exposed. It was quite obvious he disliked it just as much as you did. 

Blue eyes blazed at you; blonde hair going this way and that as crimson fell down the swell of his Adam’s Apple from a very broken nose. That gaze was unrelenting, and even with your blurry vision, you knew it would be unwise to look away. 

His stubbled jaw sets as a heart can be seen skipping beats in his breast. You were totally out of it, enough so that you missed the way his lungs slightly released when you had pulled yourself back to the present. 

The gulping sigh.

“That’s it, Sergeant.” You cough once more, wet and haggard, and your head falls back to your chest before you have to force it back up on shaking muscles. It was getting harder. “Easy does it, then…Thought I lost you.”

“C–can’t,” the useless feet flicker over the ground, sloshing through fluid in unstable jumps as you slur out, “Hurts, Ghost.”  

A slow and dark inhalation meets your ears before a sudden grunt of a struggling body; jerking arms as the chair squeals with old nails being torn out. 

“I know, Birdie, I know.” His tone is lesser now as he bites back a curse as the blisters on his arms pop, the rope burns turning a vile color as his muscles strain, “But you keep those pretty little eyes on me, yeah?” 

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. 

Black Operations were dangerous, yeah, but never had the Lieutenant been so down in the gutter as he was right now. Mainly because of you, no, entirely because of you. He could withstand months of torture—mental and physical—with no problem. He’d done it countless times before. 

But never had he been forced to watch someone hurt you instead of him.

They would come in every day, these pitiful excuses for German drug runners, and would make him watch as they ripped open your skin with blunt knives and other tools coated in rust. Questions would be asked—questions that Ghost knew he could not answer even if it was you who would get punished. 

Every time you would flinch when the door to this concrete basement opened, it was harder to keep his tongue from wagging. He was watching you die; letting it happen. 

Fuck, it made him sick.

Ghost violently reems a shoulder up and down, not caring about the long stripes of now oozing blood on his forearms or the pain that the action brings bone-deep. There was so much scarlet flowing from you. Too much.

What he knows for certain is that he can’t let you die here. He’d never forgive himself for that.

How is she still conscious? The question was utterly genuine as Ghost’s dead eyes narrowed dangerously, sparking with urgency at the uneven risings and fallings from your chest. 

“Fucking hell,” the Lieutenant growls, each word punctuated by a desperate attempt to free himself. He had to get you out of this. You were his responsibility; his team. 

His…Ghost pants, sweat dripping down his arms.

You didn’t abandon him, how could he do the same to you? When questioned you hadn't given up his true name, hadn’t blabbered to save your own skin so you could avoid a horrible amount of pain. Pain that Ghost knew well. 

Pain that was never supposed to be known to you.

Your screams would haunt his nightmares until the day he died. 

“Ghost,” blue eyes freeze, snapping away from the sight of the bone around his wrists becoming visible through a thin coverage of remaining flesh. He pauses like a guard dog. Your optic was glinting, flicking with failing consciousness. The movement of your chest sputtered as the man clenched his teeth together. “You’re hurtin’ yourself.” 

“‘Bout to do even more damage, yeah?” he gets back to it, working enough blood into the rope to make it slick; dripping. “If it’ll get me out of these bastard things.” 

The weak smirk on your face gives his brows a deep furrow, sweat glistening on his forehead.

A part of him hated you. Hated you for the way you had this effect on him. He shouldn’t care if you lived or died—that wasn’t his cross to carry. 

But you’d made him soft these last few months. Soft, and weak, and disgustingly concerned for your safety. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t Ghost. 

“Gonna b…bleed out, y’know.” Your tongue slips, mind so loose that anything that comes to the front slips out like water from a slip-and-slide. Fingers twitching, your limp body grows so cold that you shiver. 

“Negative.” Ghost barks, slipping one hand partially under the restraint and his flesh, acting as a zipper, starts to go with it. He hisses under his breath, body hot and spilling. Mutilating himself. “Shut your damn gob.” Blood splatters to the floor, “I’m gettin’ us out of ‘ere.”

“Tell me a joke.” Blue eyes flicker, blonde lashes slipping over pale cheeks. 

You feel another wave of pain shutter through you—one that makes you whimper as quietly as a soft breeze on a summer day. 

“Joke?” Ghost hisses, glaring over at you without heat. “The fuck are you on about?” A wobbling eyebrow raise is all he gets. 

He grunts feral-like, evocative of a bear that hadn’t gotten his supper. Your lid droops and panic spikes.

“How long can a fish breakdance for?” Ghost slips a hand free, snarling in the back of his mouth as the entirety of his left hand is left ripped open, the fissures itchy and welling. Wasting no time, the limb goes to assist the other, pulling with ripped-off fingernails at the tight knot. A side-eye is sent your way.

Only you weren't moving. Lips snap in a moment of obvious concern, not only by the tone but by the way the man jerks forward in the chair—no matter if one arm and both of his legs were still restrained.

“Love!” The door handle rattles with screeching chains, but Ghost is occupied with raging at you. Ordering you to stay awake with terrifying eyes. It was as though for the first time in a long time there was true fear in his throat. True hatred. 

Chucking voices heat veins that he had long since thought were cold, and the Lieutenant composes himself with a sharp pause. He leans back slowly into the chair; jaw so tight his molars almost crack in the back of his mouth like candy. Your face is tilted downward, and Ghost memorizes the make of it, trails his gaze slowly over every slash and cut that mars you. Feet slap off the concrete as multiple people enter the room, but it was like a switch had flipped internally, walls going up.

The mask was still there, even if all that physically remained of it was the black paint in his sockets.

He’d return every mark, from a bruise to an open wound, tenfold. But you needed to wake up first. You…you needed to.

You had to be okay.

Three men encircle the two of you, faces hidden and obviously enjoying a bit of their own product.

“Look at this, Lutz, the man got a hand out of the binding.” Blue eyes travel to stare dead-on into a pair of blown pupils; mind gone. 

The second man goes to grip your hair, forcing your head up in inspection. Ghost’s vision immediately travels over, biceps going tense like a dog with its hackles raised and vision going red. 

“Don’t worry about that. It’s one hand, what can the Bastard do?”

“Oh,” another laughs, though his body is wound tight, “careful with the woman, Alric—the beast looks like he’s about to snap at you.”  

The three share sly looks. Alric, the one with your hair in his grip, shakes your head back and forth, blood flying around in the air as your limp body jerks. Ghost lunges, but he only makes it as far as the chair allows him before he’s shoved back by a hand on his chest. 

Moving quicker than an animal, bone snaps, and an agony-laced scream echoes off the walls not a millisecond later. 

Ghost had gripped that hand and twisted, making the wrist joint completely flip on itself. Blank blue eyes watch with glints of sadistic glee as the man wails, grabbing onto himself and falling back onto his ass.

The one holding you instantly releases your hair and rushes to his friend. 

“Holy fuck!” Everyone divulges into frantic German curses, Ghost making out a command to leave and go see a doctor.

“Cheers. Good luck with that, ya’ Bastard.” Grumbling under his breath, the Lieutenant realized he was probably enjoying this more than he should, but always his attention shifts back to you. How you hang limb, battered face covered by your hair, and loss of blood steadily leaving your hands curling into the palms—

Ghost’s eyes widen slightly as the two still try and calm down their companion. Your hand. It wasn’t curled because of onset rigor mortis. You were holding a blade. 

The Brit’s large chest swells with pride; jaw going somewhat slackened as he stares at you. So you were faking it….Fucking hell, Sweetheart. 

Slowly, his vision peels to the empty sheath on Lutz’s belt. It wasn’t a big knife—nothing more than a three-inch blade on the end. But you were still conscious enough to hear these goons show up before he had; had used sleight of hand that anyone else in your situation would have just given up on. 

It was hard to hold back a low chuckle, but he managed. Fuck, you were something else.

The two unmaimed men shove the third out the door, shouting down the hallway as his sobs and sniffling nose reverberate even as he’s out of sight. 

Grunting, the Brit shifts his hips, lips pulling in a snarl at the bouncing electrical wire that goes up his ribs. Many were broken; along with his nose and a dislocated shoulder, but he knows he can deal with it. Getting you out and to the Evac point was his top priority—his wounds weren’t over-the-top life-threatening unless they went too long without treatment. 

You on the other hand. 

Lids narrow on the way the knife-holding hand shakes with exertion when simply applying pressure. If this was going to happen, it had to happen now.

“That was a nice little show,” Alric growls, standing in the middle of the two in the chairs and keeping a considerable distance farther from Ghost than you. Blue eyes blink blankly, emotions swiftly wiped away. “One-handed? I’m impressed.” 

Ghost raises a single blonde eyebrow, “More where that came from.” 

Alric smiles.

“Emil—get the gun.” Legs slowly tense, but other than that there’s no outward display of nervousness. 

Seconds later a barrel is level with Ghost’s forehead, the chilled metal pressing deep into his blood-coated skin. He doesn’t balk back, he doesn’t even flinch, just watches with a dim flicker in his optics that remains even after he blinks. Like a cat’s slitted pupils. 

It would be no use shoving the gun out of this man’s hands—he would fire before the Lieutenant was able to steal the weapon for himself. 

“I’m getting sick of this game, Soldier. We’ve been through this day after day.” Alric swipes at his nose, white powder stuck under his nostrils. Ghost can’t stop the small tick of his mouth. “Tell me who you are,” the gun swivels, and the Brit’s heart seizes up. It points at your abdomen. “Or the girl gets a nice new stomach.” 

Lips thin into a small line as hidden fury swells. 

“Alric…” Emil seems nervous, his feet shifting and hands twitching. The aura Ghost was emitting was like a dark cloud around the room; sheer size and indistinguishable emotions rose to drown out all else when a threat to the beast’s bird was brought into the picture. There had been multiple times throughout the days when the men had been scared to touch you at all for fear of the look that had been leveled their way. Those eyes…fuck it was like a demon was stuck in flesh. In blue so close to gray the color was more like the concrete of a prison cell. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Tell me.” Alric growls as Emil gets closer to you. Ghost stays silent, unblinking as his fingers curl into fists. His knuckles crack from the force. “Tell me!”

Emil bushes your shoulder and you lunge. Bringing the blade into his chest, your form brings the both of you to the floor in a splash of scarlet and twin screams of pain. 

The Blonde’s heart seizes at the sound in an aggressive bounce.

Alric whips around, eyes widened and gun loose in his grip. Ghost wastes no time, trusting your judgment, and shoves himself forward. A shot goes off as the Lieutenant rams his shoulder into the man, but the bullet bites into the far wall instead of your back as you dig your knife into Emil’s throat; wrestling for life. 

The chair still attached to Ghost was a problem, but his body weight was used to his advantage. Sinew bunched as a growl exits his lips, Alric and him slamming to the floor in a flurry of rabid intentions and the likeness of wolves caught in a trap. Ghost’s eyesight goes red, remembering every cut and beating you went through for him in the reflection of Alric’s eyes. That pathetic drug runner had made you bleed. 

His bird doesn’t bleed.

Teeth and nails are tools kept for animals, and now that the gun was too far from grip and you were limp beside the gargling body of Emil, Ghost decided that being a bit insane might do him well at the moment. 

He had to get you out of here. And in no world was this man going to get away to live one day more.

“Please, don’t,” Alric begs, clawing at his behemoth build, “I’m not—I wasn’t—!” 

Blood-stained teeth snap into the thin flesh of a visible neck as dead blue eyes keep you in sight like a dog does the moon.

—

You don’t recall anything after slashing one man’s neck and even that is a blur of flashing colors; instances of one waxing expression waning into another. Trapped between bouts of failing consciousness and pain that could rival someone getting their bones snapped one by one. 

But you know the feeling of moss on your cheek. The shadow that sits above you and the fingers that prod at your back, pressing cooling salves of Silverweed into the burns and cuts. Your eyes weakly flicker, a low moan stuck in your throat. 

Every limb is a cinder block.

“Stop your moving.” The command was stiff but quiet, and the pressure on your spine increased. Flinching, the sensation of tight bindings all along your body became apparent to you, slowly but surely. 

“That…hell?” You cough, throat bare and dry. Sweat drips down your temple. 

Blinking rapidly, you try to focus on the cold wind whipping past your bare skin, the trees in the distance of what appeared to be a glade. The sound of a running stream makes your ears perk.

A canteen was suddenly shoved to your lips and you grunt in surprise, water slicking your closed lips.

“Drink.” You don’t argue, peeling back your lips and letting the liquid drip into your mouth, most falling to the moss under you and getting re-adsorbed into the earth. “...There’s a girl.” 

The metal container disappears just as quickly as it showed up, and you lick at the corner of your lips, cheeks burning at the comment.

Ghost kneels above you, bar a shirt, and you narrow your lids to focus on the black and blue splotches completely covering him. He still doesn’t have a mask, and you glance over the blonde stubble; the scars, and the aggressive set of his eyebrows. The blood had been washed away, and you wondered if the stream in the background of this place was still stained with crimson and the telltale black of eye paint.

“Simon,” whispering seemed appropriate, though you don’t know why. Your voice was better now but still, your body refused to listen to your instructions. Every plea to move your arms or legs was denied, sharp needles poking into your flesh that made you shake. “What…?” 

Blue eyes blink down at you, something hidden in the depths. A finger curls to flick a stray hair from your face slowly. Skin brushes skin.

“Snagged what I could before I ran off. Wasn’t much.” That harsh voice, the gravel in it. You frown weakly, your lids heavy. “Bandages. Extra shirt. Blanket I used to stop the bleeding.”

He won’t tell you he was begging you to wake up when he’d been stuffing old fabric into your open wounds. 

Coughs wrack your frame, whole body jerks that overtake what little peace there was to be found. A hand tilts your head back to the ground, patient as the other grabs your hair, peeling the strands away as a flood of vomit escapes your mouth. 

Eyes burning and face hot, you sputter as a thumb runs deep circles over your scalp. 

“Easy…” Ghost whispers, tattoos like obsidian in the darkness of the world around the two. Late afternoon and this was the first time you’d woken up since he’d been carrying you. A nail was taken out of his heart. 

Seeing your eyes flicker, even filled with the tears as they were, was a blessing he’d thank whatever God that was out there for. “Easy, Sweetheart. Breathe for me.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, shaking more than a leaf. “Fuck it hurts, Simon.” 

He shifts you slightly away from the bile, the familiar words burning his lungs. 

“Evac point is four miles.” It felt like a death sentence to you, your eyes going buggy at the thought. “I’m carrying you there.” 

“Bullshit,” you pant, wheezing. “Your arms are destroyed.” 

Ghost blinks before scowling, sending a glance to his limbs. They’re both raw and skinned, just like his fingers; red with burst blisters the size of rocks. One hurts far more than the other.

“They’re nothing.” 

“Nothing pretty to look at,” blue eyes narrow on you in annoyance, but the dry-humored Brit doesn't miss a beat.

“Seems you’re in good spirits, Sergeant. Fancy walking on your own?” Your lips flick, delirious and high off of whatever pain meds that Ghost had found when he had been carrying you out of the basement of that house. 

Try as he might, the feeling of your dead weight was worse than he ever could have imagined. So, outwardly, he stayed numb but knew that every little look from you was as beautiful as a sunrise. 

“Want me to try?” Palms begin to shift, a hand pressing deep into the moss that bends and yields to your form. 

Ghost snaps forward.

“Fucking Bastard!” He puts weight on the back of your shoulder as you hiccup dull chuckles, “Quit it! Else I’ll leave you here to annoy the damn plants.”

The threat was empty, and your eyes softened as they spread their fatigued gaze over the span of the Brit’s visible skin, glee leaking out. Ghost sighs, shaking his head sharply at you, agitation stuck in his skull as it always was.

So beastly, this man, but his hold on you was about as gentle as you could imagine. 

Your attraction to him was anything but one-sided. You knew his emotions as well as your own; it was quite obvious to everyone but him. The long looks, the concerned glances. His touch freely given.

He had given you his name and, to you, that was about as close to a proposal as a ring was. You’d kissed; you’d shared beds and shared skin. You knew when he was being horrible to himself deep in the confines of his head.

“Simon,” you whisper, and a blue gaze stays stubbornly away, glaring at your burns with venom. A tired smile peels your lips. “Simon.” 

A huff is all you get, a bush of skin as breath wafts over your bare back. Your hand goes to touch his knee, brushing softly over the torn fabric. The flinch would not be noticeable to anyone but you. Brows pull slightly tighter. 

“I had a dream about you, y’know.” Speaking hurt, but the attention that is finally brought your way was worth it. Birds chirp in the distance.

“What’s that?” 

“Hm,” you lightly nod, cheek ruffling moss as you take down slow inhalations. Staring into each other’s eyes you for a moment forget the agony under your skin. “You were trapped by a giant fish underwater.” 

A Blonde eyebrow raises, slow smirk unable to be hidden. It was impossible not to be entirely taken by you. How you speak, how you breathe. Even like this, you had placed a spell of black magic over him, binding the darkness that made up Simon Riley—Ghost—to your every action and whim.

“That right, Sweetheart? What happened, then?”

Chuckling, Ghost’s hold goes to your neck, massaging the skin so delicately that you lose your train of thought for a moment as shivers erupt, “I had to save you.”  

Lips press to your scalp, a bent nose digging despite the shifting cartilage as lion limbs shake with a want to drag you to him. Such a rabid beast that devotes himself to your life.

“You tend to do a lot of the savin’, Love.” It’s muttered into your hair, softly, lowly. Compliments are rare—Ghost prefers actions above all else—but they’re treasured. 

You know what he means.

“Yeah, I love you, too, you brute.” Deep chuckles dance in your ear, and you both stay there for a while, simply breathing in each other as the sky bleeds into the earth. So content, your heart had slowed, the salve in your wounds and the bandages compressing the areas with the most problems and forcing them to be numb. 

When you had nearly fallen asleep, Ghost had peeled back to look down at you; eyes malleable as they slipped over your battered body. 

“Hm,” he hums, reaching to his side and grabbing for the shirt he had stolen. After a few minutes of quiet curses and apologetic kisses, the large piece of fabric was over your top. The Lieutenant had begrudgingly admitted that the scraps of pants you had on now would have to do until you got proper attention. 

“Giving the squirrels a show, then, Simon?” The man rolls his eyes deeply at the sarcastic comment, rubbing up and down your legs to keep circulation going as he readies to move you.

“They better keep quiet ‘bout it,” Ghost grumbles, running a hand through his hair, “Else I’ll have to rip a few tails.”

“So violent,” You wince when your shoulder is gripped, neck limp as your upper half was rotated. Gnashing your teeth, the Lieutenant shushes you comfortably, raising your body to rest in the crook of his large arm. Muscles tense and loosen, your cheek now resting on your Lover’s pec. You hear him hiss silently at the pressure on his broken ribs as guilt hits you. “Not the squirrels’ fault.” 

“It is if they keep looking at ya. Only I get to see you like that.” Your pain-laced laugh is cut off when you’re lifted, large hands under your knees helping equalize your body. 

A strained whine exits your lips, straining to get air as you pant and clench your eyes shut. Ghost wasn’t doing much better—gritting his teeth and tilting his head back. 

Feet stumble before righting themselves, lids opening as lashes flutter over bloodless cheeks to stare down at you. 

The word seems to stop.

“...Tell me you’re alright.” You heard that for what it was—Tell me to keep going, because if you don’t then I won’t be able to. 

Blinking up at him, your nose slots under his chin as you feel him shake with exertion, lips pressing deep into his raging pulse. You swallow down saliva as his grip on you tightens, pressing you closer; giving you his body heat.

“I’m okay, Simon. Not…not lost yet.” 

“Good.” He lets his eyes close for a moment, taking you in as he lets his nose be coated in your scent, the flesh under his fingertips. Ghost knows some of your wounds reopen, and, thus, his bare feet start off into the woods. His men would still be at the Evac point waiting for them. Price would have given the order. “...I’ll be needing you ‘round. Might lose my head otherwise, eh?”

“You do seem to have a few loose screws when I’m not near.” 

“That was an exaggeration,” Simon grumbles. 

You scoff, trying not to puke at his limping steps. The word swirls, but the man carrying you stays ever clear. “No,” you whisper, “No, it wasn’t.”

Scared lips pull up, but the birds respond for him. 

Less than ten percent out from the Evac point is when you drop a tidbit of a thought to the man.

“Y’know what I want, Ghost?” The large Brit side-steps a downed tree, sweat dripping down his chin to splatter to your skin.

“What is it?” He pants, sparing you a glance as his eyebrows are constantly furrowed in concentration. Your talking made it easier to push on.

“A fucking cake. A big one.” Blue eyes blink and his feet nearly stumble to a stop before he forces on. A gasp of a chuckle makes your heart skip a beat as voices start up from the next tree line.

“Keep talking to me, Love, and I’ll buy you the whole bloody bakery.” Soldiers burst from the bushes, and Ghost calls out identification as everyone gapes. Guns immediately lower.

Medics rush forward, but still on high alert, the Lieutenant snaps at them, bringing you closer into his hold as he pushes onward. 

“Where’s the fucking heli?!” Everyone stops and points. Huffing, Ghost shoves forward. 

“The whole bakery?” You slur, giggling and feeling the kiss on your head. 

“Every bastard pastry’ll be yours. Count on it.” 

—

“Simon, you promised.” Your wheel-chair bound form pouts as the man in question deadpans from behind you, leaning on the handles. His balaclava can only hide so much.

The air is sweet with the scent of desserts and bread. 

“Birdie, you can’t eat all ‘O that, you’ll explode like you took a .308 round to the head.” The woman behind the counter pales, pulling at the collar of her shirt with her smile becoming strained.

“Is that a challenge?” You glance over your shoulder, smirking wide. 

“No,” Simon blanky states, the skin over his nose bridge and under-eye completely black and blue. 

“I think that was a challenge.” 

“It wasn’t.”

The customers grind their palms into their eye sockets, some tuning around in line and leaving entirely.

“Simon,” you intertwine your hands and lean to show him, eyes wide and pleading. “Please.” Drawing out the word, you smile with everything you can. 

The both of you connect in a battle of wills—you with that infectious innocent and sly nature, and Simon with a tight glare and tired eyes. A blatant will to please you in every aspect and a need to see you happy at all times. This goes on for a full minute before a loud sigh echoes off the walls, shoulders deflating. A hidden kiss is pressed firmly to your head.

You giggle loudly at the authoritative order.

“One of everything.”

TAGS:

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[hxltic]

goin limp in könig’s arms nsfw

at first he’s a little frightened with the feeling of your already soft body in his large hands going even softer. Unnaturally soft. It was no question he was a large man, and by this point you two had been going a few rounds, so after you begged for his merciless side that only seeped from him on the battlefield, he’d obliged after forcing himself to forget about his personal feelings for your pleasure. Your back seemed to be stuck in an arch, with your hair thrown in different directions where the pillow was supposed to be. It was elsewhere on the floor.

There was a rough grip on your hips as he pulled you down onto his length, keeping his thrusts short and deep with whatever momentum you gave him. It was significantly easier before your eyes rolled back and your hands sought refuge on the headboard behind you, which he has now recognized as pleasure, along with incoherent babbling. You wished you could see the way his thick, toned thighs move back and forth for every single one of his sharp thrusts or hear the heavy german-accented pleasure fall from his lips, but you can’t. Instead, you could feel it. Instead, you could only see darkness or the ceiling through slim vision. Instead, you could faintly hear every time the headboard hit the wall, despite it being hard enough to create dents in the material and rattle the building.

“Kö-König,” you’d attempt, and once your babbling got the least bit coherent (more than just his name of course), he’d grunt back, “Ja Liebe, I’m here.” Even if you didn’t completely understand him all the time yet, you’d come to learn the most important words. You never actually did give him a response though. Just a long, sultry whine.

He chuckled breathlessly at you. Where you two meet, there’s a wet stickiness, one that would feel icky to you if you were mentally present. Everything was red. Ass, cheeks, and both your lips. Your throat would be too, but König just cannot get over how much bigger he is than you, and he has yet to comply because of the thought of it being too hard and genuinely hurting. Even if you had a nonverbal safe code.

But once it seemed your body shut down completely for his use, he couldn’t deny the primal urge to ruin you while he could. He had time to be upset over his lack of self control later. One hand of his could almost wrap under both knees, but he uses two anyway, effectively rolling you upwards and folding you in half. He slid himself back in once up on his haunches.

Your knees were now located at your breasts with his arms encasing you to cradle your face in his hands. It was a large contrast to the way he was plowing into the perfect spot, balls deep inside you, making your sounds louder and much more luscious. Even if you wanted to move your legs, or anything else for that matter, the only thing that could really move were your feet, while everything else was held strong against the bed or stuck by his massive body.

Your fingers wrap around his wrists coming in as he gazed into you with an expression that screams “look at me.”

[hmmarble]

HMMARBLEDESİGN - DRAGON+ (4)

Transforming your bathroom into a luxurious retreat doesn't have to be daunting, especially with the timeless elegance of black marble. The deep, rich tones of black marble not only exude sophistication but also create a striking contrast that can elevate any space. In this blog post, we will explore the allure of a black marble bathroom, highlighting how this dramatic feature can infuse modern elegance into your home.

Black Marble Bathroom

The black marble bathroom is a stunning choice for those looking to create a sophisticated and luxurious space. This bold design element can transform an ordinary bathroom into an exquisite sanctuary. The rich tones and unique veining of black marble bring an air of elegance and style that is both timeless and contemporary.

When incorporating black marble into your bathroom, consider options such as black marble countertops, vanity tops, and even accent walls. The contrast against lighter colors can create a striking and dramatic effect, making your space feel more expansive and well-defined.

One of the key benefits of a black marble bathroom is its versatility. It pairs beautifully with a variety of materials, such as brushed gold or chrome fixtures, and complements different color palettes, from soft whites to vibrant jewel tones. This adaptability allows homeowners to personalize their space while maintaining a cohesive look.

There are various finishes available for black marble, each offering a unique aesthetic. A polished finish provides a sleek, glossy surface that reflects light beautifully, while a honed finish delivers a more understated, matte look that can soften the overall appearance of the bathroom.

Lighting plays a crucial role in showcasing the beauty of a black marble bathroom. Consider installing ambient lighting to highlight the natural veins and texture of the black marble. Additionally, task lighting around mirrors can enhance visibility and add warmth to the space.

To add depth and interest, incorporate other design elements that create contrast and texture. For example, pairing black marble with wooden accents can create a warm and inviting atmosphere. Textiles such as plush towels and bath mats in lighter shades can also soften the overall look.

With its rich aesthetic and timeless appeal, a black marble bathroom is more than just a design choice; it’s an opportunity to create a luxurious retreat in your home. Whether you’re planning a complete renovation or simply looking to refresh your existing space, integrating black marble can elevate your bathroom to new heights.

Modern Marble Bathroom

When it comes to designing a modern marble bathroom, the emphasis is on clean lines, minimalistic features, and the striking appeal of marble. This luxurious stone, often associated with opulence, can elevate your bathroom space into a sanctuary of relaxation.

One of the defining characteristics of a modern marble bathroom is the color palette. While many opt for classic whites and creams, darker shades like black or gray marble create a bold statement. Black marble, with its rich depth and unique veining, can transform traditional notions of bathroom design, making it a chic and contemporary choice.

A key feature in a modern marble bathroom is the seamless integration of marble into various elements, from countertops to flooring. Large format tiles have become increasingly popular, creating a sense of space and continuity. Pairing these tiles with elegant fixtures and understated accessories enhances the overall aesthetic without detracting from the beauty of the marble.

Vanities in a modern marble bathroom often showcase the stone’s natural patterns, turning functional furniture into a visual centerpiece. Choosing sleek hardware and soft-close drawers can maintain a streamlined look, while integrated lighting adds warmth and sophistication.

For those seeking to add a touch of personality, consider incorporating wood elements or contrasting materials like glass. These choices balance the heaviness of marble with lightness, making the bathroom feel both inviting and serene.

Incorporating plants or greenery can breathe life into the cool, polished surfaces of a modern marble bathroom. Strategic placement of greenery not only adds color but also promotes a calming environment.

Lastly, don’t forget about the practicality of maintaining your modern marble bathroom. While marble is undeniably glamorous, it requires regular sealing and care to keep it in pristine condition. Choosing the right products for cleaning and maintenance will ensure your marble retains its beauty for years to come.

Bathroom Marble Design

When it comes to creating a luxurious and sophisticated space, bathroom marble design stands out as an exceptional choice. Marble is known for its timeless beauty, variety, and ability to elevate the overall aesthetic of any bathroom. In this section, we will explore some key elements and ideas related to bathroom marble design.

Choosing the Right Marble

One of the first steps in bathroom marble design is selecting the right type of marble. From classic white Carrara to striking black marquina, the options are abundant. Each type of marble comes with its unique veining and color variations, allowing you to match the marble to your personal style. Consider how different marbles will interact with your bathroom's lighting and the overall color scheme to create the desired atmosphere.

Incorporating Patterns

Another exciting aspect of bathroom marble design is the ability to incorporate patterns. Marble can be cut and laid out in various patterns like herringbone, checkerboard, or even geometric shapes. These designs can add depth and interest to your bathroom, making it feel more dynamic and stylish.

Combining with Other Materials

To enhance your bathroom marble design, consider combining marble with other materials. Pairing marble with warm woods, sleek metals, or even vibrant tiles can create an intriguing contrast and elevate the space further. This combination can help to soften the look of marble, making it feel more inviting and less formal.

Accent Features

Incorporating marble accent features like vanity tops, shower surrounds, or even marble sinks can transform a standard bathroom into a luxurious retreat. These elements become focal points in the design, drawing attention and admiration. For a truly unique touch, consider custom marble pieces that reflect your style.

Maintenance and Care

While the beauty of marble is undeniable, it's important to consider its maintenance. Proper care, including regular sealing and careful cleaning, will keep your bathroom marble design looking pristine. Avoid harsh chemicals that can damage the stone, and always use coasters or mats to prevent stains and scratches.

In summary, bathroom marble design offers a wealth of possibilities to create a stunning and elegant space. With the right choices and careful planning, you can achieve a bathroom that embodies luxury and style.

[felixandresims]

As promised last month I was working on a petit Kitchen Set for my Chateau Collection. The main inspiration came from my favorite Youtubers 'How to renovate a Chateau ( without killing your Partner) and a few other Provence Kitchens:).

You will get counters plus an accent counter with drawers. The island is made of three pieces: a middle and two endings and it is not made for sitting - different style different concept :). I also created closed cabinets, fridge nooks plus open shelf units for an extra clutter moment. The counters and island pieces have three different countertop options in white marble, black granite, and butcher's block style, the base comes in 12 colors with either gold or silver metal hardware. Matching the counters this set includes two sinks.

I think my favorite piece I made for this part is the two-tile Lacanche range cooker, you will also get a single-tile version too and it comes in 25 colors.

You can customize your kitchen further with a stove hood and tiled walls.

This is not the end of this kitchen yet, I got very inspired and will continue with it next month:)

This Set is on Early Access now and you can find it here

Have a wonderful day,

[onsomenewsht]

from the vault:

my knees shake / my heart beats like a drum

》 Feels Like I’m in Love, Kelly Marie

》 Aitana Bonmati x Reader

》 the “language of flowers” is an example of cryptological communication that attributes meanings to flowers and plants, determined by cultural beliefs, legends, and myths

“I need flowers that mean I’m done with you, get married already, what do you have for me?”

The giggles that fill your shop are cute enough to overcome Aitana’s embarrassment at the looks of the other customers.

In her defense, the place is usually empty this time of the day, too early for an apology’s rush in and too late for a date’s pick up.

“Don’t worry Teresa, she means well”, you reassure the old lady, who turns around with a questioning – and quite judgemental, if you ask the footballer – glance.

The bouquet arranged for her every month to bring to her late husband’s grave is almost ready, you just have to cut and adjust some little touches.

As she waits for your attention, the brunette dances around the shop on the heels of her shoes, gaze wandering from the elaborated compositions exposed to the wall covered with green leaves and colourful notes left by your customers for you or their loved ones.

She always tries to spot the new additions.

“I’m all yours, stargirl”

“Can I have another name?”

“I don’t know, let’s ask the mural with your face right around the corner”

The ease with which you can stain Aitana’s cheeks in red is quite embarrassing, if not for the genuine smile the flirt always comes with. She could let you tease her all day just to keep talking with you and be able to pull an open laugh out of you.

“What were you saying about getting married?”

The Catalan’s brain short-circuits, she needs a moment to realise what you’re talking about as her mouth opens and closes several times to your amusement.

“Right! My friends! My friends invited me for dinner. I will be third-wheeling again, they need to get married already!”

“Your football friends, right? The one with all the tattoos who looks like could kill you but is actually a cinnamon roll?”

“How do you do that?”, she asks, pointing at you with a frenetic moving finger, “You meet her once, how do you get people so well?”

“I have to, people don’t come in knowing what they want but asking for what they need”

You smile at Aitana’s questioning gaze, starting to walk around the shop to gather some flowers and decorative leaves to create a little table piece for her. Your hands move in precise motions, somehow knowing exactly where to place everything.

“I need a flower that means I’m happy you invited me to your house warming party, but I barely remember your husband name or someone could enter and ask for something that means I cheated on you with our kid’s teacher, but please just think I’m suddenly a hopelessly romantic and so on”, you explain, even faking different voices and accents to prove your point.

“You’re kidding”

“You’d be surprised”

~

“I told you Tana, you don’t have to bring flowers every time we invite you over”

Ingrid welcomes the Catalan inside, even so accepting the beautiful gift with excitement to find the perfect spot for it.

“Oh, please! Those are not for us, but just an excuse to see the flower girl!”

The cat’s toy that flies through the entire room perfectly hits Mapi’s head as soon as she joins them from the kitchen.

Completely ignoring the commotion, her girlfriend places the little arrangement in the middle of the table, carefully caressing the long green leaves and noticing how the colours perfectly complement the house’s decor.

She turns to spot the blushing spreads on Aitana’s face.

“Her flowers are beautiful”

“They are”, the taller footballer confirms, an amused smile on her lips.

“She’s cute too”, she admits.

“She definitely is!”

María is fast enough to avoid the punch coming from her friend – the midfielder may be shorter, but her arms are impressive.

“Do you remember that bouquet I came back home with last month?”, the defender asks the Norwegian, who nods with curiosity, “Well, I happen to mention our anniversary to our little Tana here. I somehow find myself in this flower shop, watching her talking and walking around as she owns the place, and the actual owner flirting without shame right in front of my salad–”

This time, the hit lands on her shoulder with just enough force to shut her up, but not enough to stop the laughter erupting from Aitana’s so-called friends.

~

The day after spending almost 30 euros in flowers she finds herself giving away to the training staff, Aitana knows she needs to put an end to it.

You’re setting up the shop for the day, putting out some green arrangements and new compositions.

It’s definitely too early to be here, but she has to talk to you without the fear of being interrupted by Pablo – the serial dater who buys a bunch of roses every two weeks for different girls – or worse, Teresa.

She marches into the place, dragging you inside and almost giving you a heart attack.

“I need a flower that says I’ve been coming to your shop an obnoxious amount of times the past couple of months, buying flowers I don’t actually need with any excuses I can come up with, just to talk to you ‘cus I have a huge crush and can’t ask you out to save my life, do you think you can help me?”

You study Aitana with a huge smile on your lips, closing the small distance and holding her face between your hands to properly meet her eyes. Her face is red, and her breath is shortened by the rushed confession.

She’s never been more beautiful.

“You don’t need flowers for that”

The kiss that follows is soft and full of meaning.

[starshipsofstarlord]

daryl + mouth spitting

warnings. smut, mouth spitting, saliva exchanging, unprotected sex, dom!daryl, sub!reader, swearing, fluff, kinda dom!daryl

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

Rough and calloused hands gripped the edge of your jaw, as the body that they belonged to was atop of you, looming down at your submissive nature with domineering ecstasy. Daryl had driven himself inside of you, stretching the walls of your cunt with his bare cock as he leant down, his hair creating a distorted halo around his head, supporting himself on his knees.

Each speckle of cerulean colour in his eyes had darkened with a shadow of lust, much like when the ravenous sea tide rose into harmful waves beneath a grey and stormy sky. He was the storm, and he was prepared to bring a reckoning to your meek and mortal body. With maleficent intent, his hips clashed like the plates on the planet’s format against your own, as though he was creating an earthquake; your body shattered from the cruel pleasure, that felt like too much yet not enough at the same time.

It was as though a distorting cloud of fog had intercepted your brain, belittling you into nothing more than a pile of bone and flesh, completely at the mercy of the man that was leant over you. He was urged on by the erotic moans that were almost pornographic which slipped without control past your lips, and he became fixated on the way your mouth moved and curved with each sound of pleasure. To subdue the racket that you were creating with the small part of your brain that was still working, your teeth clamped down on your bottom lip, muffling each attempt at repeating his name.

Daryl frowned harshly, his eyes burning into the sight of your front teeth, admiring the small trail of drool that had cascaded past them. His heaving breaths created a warm spot on your flesh, his tone ragged and accent prominent as he spoke through his own ecstasy. “Le’ go of tha’ lip sunshine.” He tapped your chin with his forefinger, grip harshening around your jaw as his mind reeled with nervousness, although he didn’t allow it to show.

He wasn’t certain that you would like what he was about to do, and if you didn’t he vowed to himself silently that he would never do it again. But it was a primal desire that was igniting like a wildfire in his chest, and as his lips trailed over your throat, eyes boring across every inch of your skin and continually rocking into your tight cunt, and feeling how your walls gripped his cock like a succubus’ prowess, he drowned in the sounds that were making your throat soar.

“Fuck.” You moaned simultaneously, making each of you laugh gravelly and breathily from the unexpected communication that matched with each syllable. He leant in closer, running his nose across your cheek, as your eyelids fluttered from the sweet notion. Your hands gripped his shoulders, face still upturned in his grasp as you dared to make eye contact with your lover. “Open yer mouth darlin’.” It was a gentle order, and whilst confused in your blissful pleasure, legs seizing his hips in a strong hold, you did nothing but comply.

And so you opened your lips, tongue peeking out as you closed your mind and waited for whatever action ascended into Daryl. He clenched his jaw, mulling over his decision once more before he decided to proceed with it, before he leant down, tenderly stroking your chin with his thumb as he pursed his lips, allowing a string of saliva to fall and pool in your mouth. His brows rose as his hips slowed from hearing your unexpected moan; he wasn't certain on what reaction he had expected from you, but he felt the anxiety bouldering his shoulders slip away.

"Was tha' okay?" Daryl asked, his hips completely still now with his cock still sheathed inside of you. In response you wiggled your hips, needing to gain some friction from the overbearing fullness that was settled within your clenching walls, batting your lashes up at him as you rubbed your aching clit against the base of his manhood. "Need words baby." He endearingly ogled at you, wanting to do nothing more than to stutter his cock in and out of your pussy however your pleasure was his main concern. It always was, your welfare came long before his arousal, you were his priority, and as hot as it was to watch you swallow his spit and moan, he required verbal reassurance.

"Was more than okay Dar." Your voice was wispy and breathless, a sweet smile sprawled across your lips as your hands ran up and down his biceps. "If you want to be sure, you could always do it again." That was enough for him to proceed, rutting his length within your velvety and slick folds, as he continued to grasp your face in his large hands and trickle his saliva into your open and wide mouth. It was something that he had never given much thought, however from then on with each dazed gaping that you expressed, his mind reeled straight to the image of you drinking up his saliva like his own personal, thirsty whore.

[leclucklerc]

Hard Carry CL16 - 00.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x driver!reader

Summary: When you're talking about one of the greats in Formula One, y/n is up there.

Word Count: 1.3K

Masterlist Next

Drive to Survive, Season 1 Episode 3

It's all about Porsche

"There's just something about Porsche that attracts you."

The scene cuts into Porsche's jet black F1 car zooming pass the screen in a top speed. The sound of the loud roar from the engine, as well as the checkered flag that was being waved as the car glide through the finish line is a sight to behold.

"Their team is new in Formula one," said Will Buxton as he leaned back on his seat. The pitch black backdrop is almost poetic considering which team they're discussing right now. "They debuted in 2012, and never looked back ever since."

At this, the scene cuts into a compilation of Formula one announcer announcing many of Porsche's achievements. From the constructor championships, to the world driver championships. An intimidating music can be heard playing in the background before it switches back into the interviewer room. Though, this time, it's not Will Buxton who sat there.

A man with greying hair and pitch black shirt could be seen. There's a small logo of Porsche on his breast pocket. Besides that, the shirt is void from any decoration. Just like how the man expression is void from any emotions.

"Hello," started the man, eyes zeroing straight towards the camera. "I'm Herman Muller, the team principal for the Porsche Royale Formula 1 team."

The scene changed into Porsche's Formula One garage. The pitch black theme with golden accent could be seen everywhere as the mechanics and engineers huddled along the car that they had created for the past year.

"We are a German based team," said Herman as many compilations appeared on the scene. Many of those, are the team celebrating their wins. "A fairly new player in the game, but a tough one, certainly." His English is loaded with German accent, though it only made him seems a bit intimidating.

Constructor championship.

Driver championship.

Many trophies could be seen lining the wall of their factory back in Leipzig. Pictures of their Formula One cars too could be seen littered around the wall.

"When Porsche came, it brought a lot of excitement," said Will as he gripped his hands together. There's excitement evident on his eyes as he began the tale. "There are a lot of buzz here and there about the team. After all, it was the first time FIA had decided to expand the sport." As he said this, clips of articles and old interviews from back in 2012 can be seen playing.

The decision that FIA made to add one more team in the sport after decades. It's for the fans, they had said. To add more excitement and enjoyment for the sport.

"I think our team motto is the reason why we can become like this," said Herman as the camera switched back to him. "Complete domination."

Sounds of machine whirring could be heard as a clip from recent grand prix could be seen. It's a fight between Porsche and Red Bull. A fight, that the pitch black car wins easily.

"Porsche managed to become one of F1 top team during their debut year, and they only ever skyrocketed ever since then," continue Will, he sounds every bit amazed at that. "Every year, without fail, they will always become a favorite to win the championship."

"It's a rocket ship," said Herman as the scene changed towards mechanics and engineers did their adjustment towards their car in the garage. There's a serious air around them as they continue their job. "I like to think that we're building a rocket ship, and not cars."

A compilation of the pitch black car zooming in front of the camera could be seen.

"Besides the complete monstrosity that they call car," said Will, eyes full of amusement. "Their driver lineup is, is simply incredible."

Two people could be seen walking through the grid in a dramatic slow motion. Only their bottom half could be seen, both wearing dark colored pants and sneakers. 

"We have the most amazing driver lineup in the grid," mused out Herman as the scene changed back to him, letting out a small laugh. His previous lack of emotions has changed as a clear mirth could be seen shining through hid eyes. "A really unique one."

Well, unique is an understatement.

Will laughed, head nodding. "Their number one driver is probably the favorite driver is most definitely the favorite driver on the track-"

The scene changed into many race compilations, as a pitch black car with the number 1 could be seen overtaking Ferrari's familiar deep red car as well as Mercedes's during their highest height. Checkered flag could be seen waving around as the car zoomed past it, as it was announced as the winner of the race.

"And the favorite off the track."

Kring! Kring!

At the familiar sound of a bicycle bell, many turned their gazes towards the source of it. Almost immediately, their faces broke into smile as they laid their eyes on the person riding the vehicle. The camera is positioned at the back, showcasing long hair with dark Porsche hat on top of it.

As she made her way, many people greeted the woman in a friendly greetings. Some drivers like Daniel Ricciardo or Lewis Hamilton too could be seen waving or trying to make small talk with the rider of the bicycle. With those small interactions, it's clear that she's a popular face here in the grid.

The scene changed towards the interview room where a woman could be seen sitting on the chair. She looks oddly comfortable. As if there's no whole production crew staring at her just beyond the camera.

"Can I start?" she asked, voice soft. Long hair styled perfectly and bright eyes could be seen staring straight towards the camera.

"Yes, yes, start when you feel ready," voiced out the producer.

Said woman laughed, eyes crinkling and cheek rosy. "Well, hello, everyone, Netflix, and new Formula One fans, hopefully," grinned the woman as a round of small laughter rang through the room. Pearly white teeth could be seen under the painted lips. "I'm y/n l/n and I drive for Porsche Formula One team."

"Please say the full team name," said the producer.

Y/n blinked, before the grin on her face widened. "Ah, I completely forgot what it is. Better call Herman, no?"

After that introduction, a camera that was being placed on top of Porsche's garage as the car did a pitstop could be seen showcasing the Drive to Survive opening. 

The scene cuts back towards the dark colored interview room. The name y/n l/n now could be seen besides the female as the title as Porsche's driver could be seen underneath it. Besides that, another addition also can be seen.

Three times world champion.

It's a title that many would salivate at the mere thought of. The very dream of every driver that ever graced Formula One.

Various news outlet appeared at this. News anchor announcing y/n's debut back in 2012. Of her, being the first female formula one driver in decades. Of her, as the youngest person to actually managed to snagged one of the most coveted seats in motorsport. Of her, breaking many unseen boundaries and limitations that the sport had put.

A photo of her on the cover of Times Magazine could be seen. Posing comfortably in front of her Formula One car as she holds her helmet.

"Y/n is probably the biggest star that F1 has ever produced," said Will as the screen shows Y/n's instagram page with a whooping 50 million followers. And counting. "She's completely charismatic woman-"

A scene where y/n is mingling with people in the paddock was seen. Laughters could be heard as a response to whatever she said. They seems magically charmed and completely fixated on the woman.

"- a fashion icon-"

Y/n now can be seen in Paris Fashion Week, sitting front row with various celebrities near her.

"- life of the party -"

A ecstatic y/n could be seen spraying champagne to other fellow drivers. The atmosphere is light and full of teasing and banters.

"- And of course, a damn good driver."

The scene changed into a dramatic turn that the woman made in one of the corners. The screeching sound of tires meeting gravel could be heard as she propelled into full speed, easily overtaking cars that stood in front of her. A scene where she was crowned as that year world champion also can be seen as she celebrated with the team.

It changed back to the interview room, where the woman could be seen completely relaxed as she smiled. 

"Do you think you're a good driver?" asked the producer.

Y/n tilted her head before various clips appeared.

"AND Y/N L/N IS THIS YEAR WORLD CHAMPIOOON-!" She could be seen spraying champagne.

"TWO YEARS IN A ROW! Y/N L/N IS A WORLD CHAMPIOON-!" A clip of her spraying champagne once again was shown.

"AND YET, SHE MANAGED TO TAKE BACK HER CROWN AS A WORLD CHAMPION!" And another clip of her spraying champagne towards other fellow drivers could be seen.

The loud scene full of euphoria and loud yells are cut as y/n appeared back in the interview room, a small smile on her face. The sudden change into a tense silence is a bit shocking.

"Well," she started, laughing. "I guess I'm a pretty good driver?" y/n stopped a bit. "Can definitely become an Uber as a side hustle."

[pucksandpower]

Playing Cupid

Max Verstappen x Red Bull driver!Reader

Summary: convinced that you and Max must be the most oblivious people on earth, the rest of the grid decide to take matters into their own hands

“Hey, I bet I can beat you to the debrief room!” Max’s voice carries through the paddock, his familiar smile in place.

You roll your eyes, a smirk playing on your lips. “You always say that and yet here we are.”

He chuckles, brushing a strand of his hair away from his face, “Optimism, it’s just part of my charm.”

“You mean your delusion?” You tease, nudging him with your elbow.

There’s a pause as you both make your way, the chatter of crew members a steady background hum as Max’s laughter and your shared jokes create a bubble around the two of you.

“You two are like the dynamic duo of Red Bull,” Daniel pipes up from where he’s leaning against the wall with his signature grin stretching across his face. “Batman and Robin vibes.”

You glance at Max, raising an eyebrow. “Batman and Robin? More like Tom and Jerry.”

Max snorts. “Which one am I?”

“Definitely Tom. Always chasing but never quite catching up.” You stick out your tongue playfully.

Daniel shakes his head with a laugh, “The chemistry though! It’s electric. The entire grid sees it.”

You look puzzled, glancing at Max whose face mirrors your own. “What are you on about, Danny?”

Before he can reply, Max’s race engineer joins in, “He’s not wrong. It’s like watching two magnets circle each other, not knowing they’re meant to connect.”

Max shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed at GP’s observation, “We’re just good friends. Teammates. That’s all.”

You nod in agreement. “Exactly! Just because we joke around doesn’t mean—”

“—there’s anything more,” Max finishes for you, the two of you so in sync it makes GP and Daniel exchange amused glances.

“Whatever you say,” GP chuckles.

The day wears on, filled with the usual press conferences, race strategies, and banter. But now, there’s an underlying hum, a question that seems to have spread among the drivers and teams: what if?

In the evening, as you’re about to make your way back to the hotel, Lewis sidles up to you. “You and Max, huh? That’s something. The fans will love it.”

You blink in surprise. “We’re just teammates. That’s all.”

He winks. “For now.”

You just laugh it off, not sure how to respond.

Later that night, you and Max find yourselves in a private corner of your hotel restaurant, both tired but satisfied. “Did Lewis say something weird to you too?” Max asks, sipping his drink.

You nod. “About us. I mean, we’re close, but all this talk ... it’s a bit strange, right?”

He sighs, “Yeah. Just because two people get along doesn’t mean they’re ... you know, together together.”

You chuckle. “Exactly. We’re friends. Best friends. That’s all.”

***

“Truth or dare!” The booming voice with an enthusiastic Australian accent echoes across the lounge where a few of the drivers have gathered post-qualifying, hoping to unwind.

Max groans from beside you. “Do we have to? Every time it ends up embarrassing at least one of us.”

You nudge him, laughing. “Oh, come on. Scared of a little dare, Verstappen?”

Daniel’s eyes gleam with mischief. “Exactly. What are you so afraid of, Maxie? Maybe revealing a certain ... secret?”

Lando, lounging on a sofa, chips in, “Or maybe singing a serenade for a certain someone?”

Max’s cheeks turn a shade redder while you feel your own face heat up. “I think Danny and Lando are in cahoots,” you whisper to Max, who chuckles in agreement.

“Alright, alright,” Max concedes, “Truth or dare. Bring it on.”

Daniel’s smile widens even further, a clear sign that he’s up to no good. “Okay, Max. Truth or dare?”

Max hesitates for a split second. “Dare.”

Daniel rubs his hands together with a surprisingly convincing evil smirk. “I dare you to serenade ...” He deliberately drags out the suspense, glancing around the room before pointing directly at you, “... your lovely teammate here.”

The room erupts into laughter and teasing. “Oh, this is going to be good!”

Max looks at you apologetically but there’s a playful glint in his eye. “Alright, alright. What song?”

You shake your head, already giggling in anticipation of what is to come. “Surprise me.”

Gathering courage, Max stands up, clearing his throat dramatically. He looks right into your eyes, a playful glint in his, and starts singing “I Want It That Way” … mostly.

“Tell me why … I keep crashing into walls. Tell me why … I can’t seem to win them all. Tell me why … I never want to hear you say, box box box box box.”

You laugh so hard that tears stream down your face. The room is filled with laughter, claps, and a few playful boos (mostly from Charles who seem partially traumatized by the mention of boxing).

“That’s officially the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me,” you say, sarcasm dripping from your words.

Max takes a bow, still red-faced. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all week.”

As the night winds down and the group starts to disperse, Daniel sidles up to you. “Soooooo …. did the serenade work?”

You laugh, “It was entertaining, to say the least. But Max and I ...” You trail off, not sure how to put your relationship into words.

“It’s alright,” Daniel nods understandingly and for a moment you actually think he might stop scheming to get the two of you together. But then he winks, “Sometimes the best things take time.”

***

“Formula 1 is as much about connections off the track as it is on,” Lewis begins, his voice smooth, measured, a practiced art in front of the cameras during the press conference. Flashbulbs click and reporters scribble notes. “Sometimes those connections are ... more than what meets the eye. Wouldn’t you agree?”

You raise an eyebrow. Next to you, Max shuffles slightly awkwardly.

Before you can answer, Lewis continues, eyes glinting with mischief, “For instance, teams with two drivers who might be ... more than just teammates?” His gaze flits subtly between you and Max, a tiny smirk playing on his lips.

Max laughs it off. “Talking about you and George? Or was it back with Nico?”

A ripple of laughter flows through the conference room and you bite back a smile, appreciating Max’s deflection.

Lewis grins, completely unfazed. “Good one. But no, I’ve heard some rumors about another team ... one that rhymes with Bed Rull, perhaps?”

Now you feel the need to intervene, “Rumors are just that, Lewis. Rumors. Max and I are teammates, good friends. Nothing more.” You keep your voice light but firm.

“But isn’t it interesting,” Lewis ponders aloud, “how two people can spend so much time together, share so many experiences, practically think with the same brain, and still not notice a ... deeper connection?”

Max’s eyes meet yours briefly, a momentary search for an answer, a reaction perhaps. But as quick as the look is, it’s gone.

After finishing up with media, Charles shoots a dimpled smile your way. “Quite the interview by Lewis, huh? He’s not usually one for gossip.”

You laugh. “Trying to stir the pot, I guess. Maybe he’s bored? Everyone loves a good love story.”

Charles nods, his gaze a bit more serious. “But sometimes … sometimes rumors are built on a foundation of truth. Even if you don’t see it.”

You mull over his words but before you can respond, Max joins the conversation. “Is everyone becoming a relationship expert these days or something?”

Charles just shrugs with an impish grin. “Maybe we all just want to see our friends happy.”

The comment gives you pause. Is that all this is? Friendly teasing? Or is there something more you’re missing? Something right in front of you that you’re not seeing?

But for now, as you and Max head back towards the Red Bull motorhome, you push those thoughts aside, determined to focus on the upcoming race and the challenge it presents.

***

“Fancy seeing you here!” Your team principal greets you, his tone feigning surprise as you walk into the upscale restaurant.

Max squints at him suspiciously. “You invited us both here, Christian.”

“Yes, a lovely team dinner. Just the three of us,” Christian confirms with an overly innocent smile as he guides you both to a table by the window.

The setting is intimate, with soft lighting and plush seating. A live harpist is serenading diners. It’s definitely not your typical “team dinner.”

“Christian,” you muse aloud, “this place looks a tad extravagant for a casual dinner, does it not?”

He shrugs, a smile still in place. “Consider it a treat for the team’s recent successes.”

Before you can continue your line of questioning, a waiter approaches to take your orders. You and Max share a conspiratorial glance.

“I’ll have the lobster bisque to start. With extra lobster,” Max begins, deciding to indulge.

“I’ll take the osetra caviar. You can bring the entire tin. With extra blini,” you add, grinning as you see Christian’s eyes widen.

Christian clears his throat. “Well, I actually just remembered an urgent call I have to take. Enjoy the meal, you two.” And with that, he hurries away, leaving you both chuckling.

Max leans in with a whisper, “Do you think he’s up to something?”

“Absolutely. Let’s make him pay ... literally. He did say it’s on him.”

Safe to say that you both enjoy the finest dishes the restaurant has to offer. “At this rate,” you joke as the waiter opens your second bottle of ridiculously expensive wine, “Red Bull is going to break the budget cap because of catering. Again.”

Throughout the meal, you and Max discuss the recent upgrades to your cars, dissecting each detail with genuine interest and passion. The conversation flows easily but is entirely centered on racing.

Unbeknownst to you both, scattered around the restaurant are various team members and drivers in disguises, watching your every move. From Daniel donning a fake mustache as he pretends to be a waiter to Yuki wearing a chef’s hat peeking out of the kitchen, they’re all there and all invested in the outcome of the evening.

From his spot behind the bar, Lando, sporting a terrible wig, groans. “They’re just talking about tire degradation! This is so frustrating.”

Charles, disguised as a saxophonist with a carefully trimmed goatee, chimes in, “I thought this would be it. This setting is perfect.”

Back at your table, you raise your glass. “To another successful season and having amazing teammates.”

Max clinks his glass against yours, laughing. “Cheers to that!”

As you leave, completely oblivious to your undercover audience, the collective sigh of exasperation from the team members is almost audible even over the live music.

***

“What’s this?” You lift the elegantly wrapped package from your locker, examining the tag which reads: From Fernando - Enjoy the relaxation.

Max, peering over your shoulder, also pulls out a similar package from his locker. “Looks like we both got gifts.”

Ripping open the delicate paper, you pull out a luxurious pamphlet. The cover boasts a serene image of a spa, complete with candle-lit rooms and peaceful landscapes. Max’s eyes widen as he realizes he’s got the same one.

“A couples spa retreat?” Max reads aloud, an eyebrow raised in amusement. “Really?”

Fernando, passing by at that exact moment, grins cheekily. “Thought you two could use some relaxation and a day off the track.”

“Very thoughtful of you,” you reply, peering up at him skeptically, “But why a couples retreat?”

Fernando shrugs, the picture of innocence. “It had the best reviews. Just trying to be a good friend.”

Max laughs, rolling his eyes. “Well, thanks for the ... thoughtful gift. Might as well use it.”

And so, you find yourself at the spa, wrapped in plush robes as the gentle hum of soft music and flowing water fills the air.

Max, his feet soaking in a warm tub and a clay mask setting on his face, looks over at you. “You think this was another one of their schemes to get us together?”

You laugh, dipping your toes into the fragrant water. “At this point, nothing would surprise me.”

The day goes on with various treatments — massages, scrubs, and mud baths. But instead of talking about personal lives or diving deep into emotions, you both end up discussing the possible benefits of the treatments.

“You know,” Max muses as he receives a deep tissue massage, “this technique might help with muscle fatigue after long races.”

You, getting a foot massage, nod in agreement. “Absolutely. And the mud bath we took earlier? Might help with detoxifying after particularly sweaty race weekends.”

The spa therapists, used to couples sharing intimate moments, are clearly bemused by your discussions.

Later, as you both relax in the sauna, Fernando sneaks a peek through a small window, hoping to catch a romantic moment. But to his chagrin, he finds you both animatedly discussing the aerodynamics of your cars.

“Did you notice the slight drag on the left during the last turn?” You ask, wiping away sweat.

Max nods. “I’ve been meaning to bring that up. We need to discuss that with the team.”

Fernando sighs, leaning against the wall outside the sauna. “They’re hopeless,” he mutters to himself.

He approaches you both later, looking slightly defeated. “So, the spa day? Did it perhaps help ... bring you two closer?”

You smile, patting him on the shoulder. “It was amazing for our driving techniques. Thanks, Fernando.”

Max nods in agreement, “Best spa day ever. We’re thinking of making it a regular thing.”

Fernando groans, realizing that his plan, like all the others, has somehow backfired. “I give up. You two are impossible.”

***

“Beach volleyball? Seriously?” Max raises an eyebrow, looking at the makeshift court that Lando and George have set up on the sand.

George grins, passing a volleyball between his hands. “Thought it’d be a fun way to unwind. And we’ve set the teams so it’s fair and ... interesting.”

Lando winks. “You and Y/N are paired up, of course. We thought you two could use some quality time together.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smirk that forms on your lips. “Let me guess, another one of your schemes to play matchmaker?”

Lando feigns shock. “Us? We would never.”

You laugh, pulling Max towards your side of the makeshift court. “Alright then, let’s do this. Prepare to be schooled, boys.”

What was meant to be a friendly match quickly turns intense. Max and you make a formidable team. The chemistry on the track seamlessly transitions to the sand, both of you equally competitive and always anticipating the other’s next moves.

“I didn’t know you two were this good!” George pants, hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath.

You wink at him, taking your position. “There’s a lot you don’t know about us.”

Neither you nor Max are willing to give an inch. Diving saves, powerful spikes, and clever feints — you both are in it to win it.

Lando, gasping and covered in sand, mutters to George, “This was supposed to be fun. Not an Olympic match.”

The final point arrives, with you and Max at an advantage. Lando, attempting a weak serve, sends the ball perfectly to you. With a powerful run-up, you spike the ball back directly towards him. It’s fast, precise, and ... it ends up hitting Lando square in his balls.

He collapses on the hot sand, groaning. The surrounding crowd winces empathetically but you and Max? You both burst into uncontrollable laughter, falling to your knees for an entirely different reason.

“Lando!” George rushes to his side, a mix of concern and amusement on his face.

Still on the ground, Lando whines, “There go my chances of ever having kids.”

Max, between fits of laughter, manages to say, “Sorry, mate. But that was ... epic.”

You nod in agreement, offering Lando a hand. “Next time, be prepared if you’re going to challenge us. We don’t do things by halves.”

Lando takes your hand to pull himself up. “Noted. No more volleyball with you two.”

***

“Whoa,” Max blinks, staring at his phone screen. “Did you just text me?”

You frown, looking up from your own phone. “No, why?”

He shows you the screen where a message pops up, supposedly from you:

I’ve been meaning to tell you

I think I have feelings for you

Your eyes widen in shock. “I definitely didn’t send that. Wait …” You check your phone, finding a similar message supposedly from Max:

Ever since we became teammates, I’ve felt something more

Do you feel the same?

Confused, you show Max the message. The two of you exchange bewildered glances. “What is happening?” He asks, genuinely perplexed.

You shake your head. “Someone must think it’s funny to play a game with us.”

From a distance, behind the pit wall, Pierre Gasly is trying hard to suppress his laughter, watching the two of you. He nudges Charles who is next to him. “Do you think they bought it?”

Charles grins, “Knowing those two, they will probably figure it out. But it was worth the shot.”

Back at your spot, Max raises an eyebrow, “Did you by any chance get a new number recently?”

You nod. “Yeah, last week. Remember I gave it to you when we flew in? But only the team and our friends have it. Who would pull such a prank?”

Max smirks, “I have a few suspects in mind.”

You both decide to play along, typing away furiously. Max’s smirk grows wider with every passing second. “Let’s see how much our prankster likes the cards being reversed.”

Minutes later, Pierre’s phone buzzes. It’s a message from Max:

I’m so relieved you feel the same

How about dinner tonight?

Somewhere private?

Pierre’s eyes widen in surprise. He quickly checks your supposed response:

Of course I do!

Can’t believe we waited this long to admit our feelings

See you tonight? Let’s meet in the lobby for drinks and maybe dessert if you’re lucky ❤️

Pierre gulps, shooting a panicked look at Charles. “I think I’ve made a huge mistake.”

Charles snickers. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

Later in the day, Pierre approaches with guilt basically stamped across his forehead. “Look, about the texts you got …”

You grin. “Figured it out, did you?”

Max chuckles, clapping Pierre on the back. “Nice try but despite what you may think, we’re not complete idiots. ”

Pierre sighs in relief. “Honestly, I thought I might have ignited something real for a moment there.”

You laugh, “I would hope any grand confession of love I receive happens through something other than sneaky texts.”

Pierre nods, smiling sheepishly. “Fair enough. But hey, if you ever do decide to go for a romantic dinner, let me know. It’s on me.”

Max grins, “Deal.”

***

The paddock is transformed. A massive screen is set up, loungers and bean bags are spread around, and fairy lights dangle from above as a large screen and projector take center stage.

“Rom-coms?” Max squints at the list Charles is holding, a collection of the cheesiest, most cliche romantic movies available.

Charles grins, unashamed. “Best way to set the mood, right?”

You laugh, “Still trying to make Lestappen happen?”

Charles blushes. “That was one time! Besides, I have moved on to more ... realistic goals.”

Lando pops up from behind a popcorn stand, “Like getting you two to finally see what’s right in front of you.”

You roll your eyes, playfully pelting a handful of popcorn at his head. “Enough with the matchmaking.”

The movie starts and it’s clear that every spot has been strategically taken, leaving just one chair available. Daniel points to your teammate with a deceivingly innocent expression, “Why don’t you sit on Max’s lap? Save space.”

Max doesn’t miss a beat. “Or you could give up your seat and come sit on my lap yourself.”

The surrounding drivers erupt in laughter as Daniel smiles widely, conceding the point. You both end up squeezing into the chair somehow.

As the movie plays, instead of getting swept up in the romance, you both start dissecting it.

“Why would she run in the rain after him? That’s just asking for pneumonia,” Max comments as the heroine dashes through a downpour.

You nod in agreement, “And those heels? Totally impractical. She should have changed into boots.”

Charles groans, burying his face in his hands. “This isn’t how it was supposed to go.”

George pats his hair sympathetically, “You tried. That’s what matters.”

As the movie reaches its climax with a grand chase through the airport, you muse, “You know, airports have strict security. How did he even get to the gate without a boarding pass?”

Max nods, “And the plane? Totally off. They used the wrong model. That one can’t fly long-haul.”

Charles jumps up in exasperation. “That’s it! No more movies. You two are ridiculous.”

You grin, throwing an arm around Max. “Oh, come on. Admit it … you love us.”

Max chuckles, “Thanks for the movie night. Learned a lot about airport logistics and practical footwear.”

Charles sighs but a smile tugs at his lips. “We’re really not being paid enough for this.”

***

“Team-building exercise?” Max echoes. Both of you are seated in Christian’s office, a mysterious smile playing on the team principal’s lips.

Christian nods, gesturing to the woman beside him. “This is Dr. Amelia Foster, a top relationship expert.”

You exchange a hesitant glance with Max. “Relationship expert? But we’re not a couple.”

Dr. Foster chuckles, adjusting her glasses. “I’m not here for romantic purposes. I help partners of all kinds communicate better. Even teammates.”

Max leans forward. “So, what’s the plan?”

Christian clears his throat. “A simple session. See if there’s any room for improvement in your communication. I mean, you two are already a great team. Imagine if you were even better?”

Dr. Foster nods, opening her notebook. “Let’s start with a basic exercise. Max, describe how you feel when Y/N makes a risky move.”

Max thinks for a moment. “Concerned, I guess. I trust her skills but I also worry about her safety.”

You smile, touched. “And I feel proud when Max nails a difficult maneuver. He has an instinct during races that is unmatched.”

The session continues, delving into how you view each other’s strengths, weaknesses, and driving styles. As the conversation flows, Dr. Foster introduces various communication techniques.

“Now, let’s practice active listening,” she suggests. “Y/N, tell Max something, and Max, you’ll repeat it back in your own words.”

You nod. “Alright. Sometimes, when we’re racing side by side, I wish you would give me a tiny bit more space.”

Max considers then responds, “You’d like me to be a bit more cautious and ensure you have enough room during close races.”

Dr. Foster claps her hands. “Excellent! See? It’s about mutually understanding and validating each other’s perspectives.”

By the end of the session, both of you are genuinely engrossed in the exercises, seeing the potential benefits for your on-track dynamic.

As you both leave, Max turns to you, excitement in his eyes. “That technique where we visualize the other’s perspective? That could be a game-changer during races!”

You nod in agreement. “Absolutely! And the active listening can help during debriefs. Ensure we’re always on the same page.”

Christian, waiting outside, is initially hopeful upon seeing your animated discussion. “So, did the two of you ... connect?”

Max grins, “Oh, we did! I think our communication on the track is going to be better than ever.”

Christian sighs, realizing his matchmaking attempt has gone astray once again. “Not quite what I had in mind but I’ll take it for now.”

***

“I swear, rain at a race weekend is the universe’s way of telling us to slow down,” you quip, leaning back in your chair as the rain pours outside.

Max chuckles from his seat next to you. “Or it’s just weather. But I prefer your explanation.”

The sound of the rain has already lulled a group of mechanics to sleep. There’s an unexpected calm with the usual bustle of the race on hold.

You pull out your phone, browsing your music. “Let’s trade favorite songs. Bet I can surprise you with my taste.”

Max opens his own music app. “Challenge accepted.”

You play an indie track that has become your recent favorite. Max listens thoughtfully, “Never pegged you for an indie fan.”

You shrug, “Life’s full of surprises. Your turn.”

He selects a familiar classic rock track that makes you grin. “Bohemian Rhapsody? Really?”

He smirks, “Told you, surprises.”

“I’m mostly just surprised it’s not 33 Max Verstappen,” you tease.

As the afternoon stretches on, the music transitions to shared stories. You talk about your childhood, the early days of karting, the struggles, and triumphs. He shares his own tales, moments that shaped him, the highs and lows of his journey.

“Remember our first race as teammates?” He asks, a soft smile playing on his lips.

You laugh, “How could I forget? You almost ran me off the track.”

He chuckles, “Defensive driving. But you held your ground. Earned my respect that day.”

“And you earned mine,” you reminisce. “Not just as a driver but as a person.”

The atmosphere shifts, the mood turning contemplative. The stories become more personal, more intimate. You share your fears, dreams, and hopes. The raw honesty of the moment creates a bridge, a connection neither of you realized was missing.

Max looks at you, his gaze intense. “You know, despite all the teasing from the others, the setups, and the jokes, I never stopped to really see ... us.”

You nod, feeling a warmth spread through you. “I’ve been so focused on the track, on our partnership as teammates, that I never paused to consider the possibility of ... something more.”

He reaches out to gently take your hand, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm. “Maybe it’s time we did.”

You look into his eyes, seeing your own emotions reflected back, and smile. “Maybe it is.”

***

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you both step onto the podium. The last race had been intense, with both of you claiming the top spots. Max, in first, and you, a close second. The excitement is contagious, the air electric.

Max turns to you, the gleam of victory in his eyes mirrored by another emotion that has been growing since that rainy day. Without another word, he pulls you close, capturing your lips in a kiss that feels like a victory all on its own.

The crowd goes wild, cheering and whistling. But what draws your attention as you pull away, breathless, is the reaction of the grid below.

Lando jumps up, punching the air. “Yes!”

Charles grins, clapping his hands together. “Told you it’d happen on the podium!”

Daniel, laughing, shouts, “Pay up, everyone! I had this race in the betting pool.”

Confused, you turn to Max, who shrugs, just as out of the loop.

Later, as the celebrations continue, Pierre pulls you both aside, showing a clip on his phone. It’s a video from a few months ago, all the drivers and Christian huddled together, placing bets on a whiteboard labeled When Will Max and Y/N Finally Stop Being Blind?

You laugh, watching the clip. “Of course you all managed to turn our love life into a game.”

Max wraps an arm around you. “Well, they do say racing is all about strategy and timing.”

Lando approaches with a pout. “You couldn’t wait a bit longer? I was two races off.”

Daniel, counting his winnings, smirks. “Better luck next time.”

Christian shakes his head with a laugh but pulls both of you in for a hug. “Never thought I’d be so happy to lose 50 quid. Congrats, you two.”

Surrounded by the people who spent most of the season trying to make this happen, you realize that love, like racing, has its own unpredictable course. Because sometimes, the best races aren’t on the track. They’re the ones that lead to unexpected, beautiful destinations.

[moonfruito]

thinking about how charlie's characters are listed in the credits. "slimecicle/patient charlie/charlie". episode one presents an exaggerated caricature of charlie's online persona, down to the costuming, the silly accent, the very on-brand jokes - this is charlie in his element as we as the viewers are accustomed to. given that these characters are the real streamers that we see, showfall created a character for him to play in which he was entirely and wholly the one-dimensional funny slime guy that he typically plays into, removing the real person charlie entirely and making him just slimecicle - he is very literally not a human. the second episode, charlie is less of an exaggerated caricature but is still not himself. he is "patient charlie" - his role in the game is stated before his name. we see reality break through with him briefly in this episode, so more of his humanity is sustained, but he never really breaks from the act. the third episode, it's just charlie. this is reality. at first he's playing the part of streamer, this satirical version of what it's like to be a content creator, doing react videos to nothing at all and trying desperately to appear engaging as the fourth wall shatters around him, and then he's broken out of it. he doesn't make any more jokes. he's not funny. this isn't funny, it's just scary, and he's just afraid. he just wants to get out of this alive. he's only human.

[crow-raven-crow]

hi this is a very simple and kinda vague request, but i'd luv a larissa x fem reader fic involving feet or hand play? either that or something involving the reader realizing she really likes how larissa smells when she comes home from work and larissa starts to tease her and encourages her to smell her while they're fucking because of that. maybe both! hope this isn't too weird lol

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 - [𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝟏𝟖+]

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐋𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐟!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: ~3k 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: fluff !! teasing, NSFW, Reader receiving, g!p Larissa, hand kink, choking kink, slight marking, vaginal fingering, mirror sex, begging, praise kink, mommy kink, shape shifted dick, what a way to come back ohmygods

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: see above

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

AO3 link in title ✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

The crackling fireplace painted dancing shadows against the dark walls, creating a show of golden hues just feet before you. The warmth emanating from the soft flames filled you with a peaceful comfort with each bursting ember. Soft, worn pages of a book sat in your hands, the universe that it created in your mind was almost impossible to keep up with, as it kept clouding over with thoughts of her.

The mere thought of her name casted a spell over your senses, making your heart swell and your stomach fill with butterflies. Images of her echoed through your mind, your heart quickening in pace as you did so. You were so consumed with the show of her in your mind, that the book had become long forgotten, as your eyes focused on the flickering firelight.

You felt the rumble of her laughter echo in the chambers of your mind, the softness of her touch as though it was tracing invisible patterns against your skin, the tenderness of her lips as they kissed along your body as though it was a masterpiece, the pleasure of her tongue as though she-

The metallic sound of a key turning in the lock cut through the quiet of your quarters, closing all previous thoughts and jolting you back into reality. The world outside your thoughts immediately rushed back in, leaving only the lingering emotions of them in their place. Your chest heaved slightly, a noticeable heat rushing to your face and making your whole body hot as you caught onto your most recent thoughts.

You quickly composed yourself, inhaling deeply in attempt to settle the small heat igniting within you. Standing slowly as you let out the breath, you placed your book onto the side table, the pages neglected as the fire still roared on and danced behind you. You stepped closer as the door slowly swung open, an excitement filling your chest knowing that she stood behind it. The sight of her stilled the air in your lungs, your lips parting ever so slightly as you took in her beauty.

Her white hair, almost glowing with the light of the flames behind you, was perfectly pinned in her flawless updo, each strand falling together perfectly with each other in every twist she pinned. The pin at the back of her head concealed the length of the silvery locks, but came together to show her grace and elegance all the same. The dress she wore clung onto her every curve, the sleek grey becoming a canvas to her form, allowing her sapphire eyes to pop with the cool tones. The collar of the dress flared out just enough to draw attention to her neck and the delicate lines of her collarbones. The belt that tied around her waist framed her hips in a way that made your mouth water. Gold accents adorned her wrists and neck, being the final touch of warmth that brought out the beauty of her tall frame.

As she entered the room, it was as though all the gods worked in her favor. The light from the flames lighting up her features, yet the dark colors of the room giving her command over it all if she were to say a word.

You must have been staring for too long, your eyes moving up and down along her form to drink in every detail that it snapped you back to the present when you felt her hand trace along your jawline. Her delicate fingers smoothed up the features of your face, cupping your cheek in her palm before laying a gentle kiss against your lips. It was warm, tender as though it was translating a million unsaid words: perfect.

"Hello, my dear.." Her voice was just as serene, overflowing with the happiness and love as though it were day one all over again. Her lips shadowed over your own as she spoke, delicate in all her movements as though she would break you like porcelain. The scent of her perfume overtook your senses, the intoxicating smell of her being so strong that it made your eyes roll back slightly and a deep breath of it fill your lungs.

"Hi, my love.." Your voice was just above a whisper, but running deep with the effect that she had on you. She had known for a while just how drunk you could get on the smell of her alone, and since then she made it a point to wear a little more every so often.

You allowed her to settle into your quarters, her heels quickly coming off with a distinct click of each heel. As she moved deeper into the room, all her items found their familiar homes, making your heart swell knowing this was a place of home to her. Your gaze lingered on her form, watching as comfort seemed to overtake her, her shoulders relaxing and her face coming to a content calm. It was hard not to fall in love with her all over again just at the simplest of things.

You followed behind her with two wine glasses and her favorite bottle, as she moved to sit on the couch in front of the fire. This was one of your favorite ways to unwind with her, and relishing in each others company was something that you would always cherish.

Though.. your thoughts from earlier always had a way of coming back in, especially now that she was even more of a delicious distraction being in front of you.

She spoke about her day, going through the details of her meetings and any particularly interesting emails she had to deal with today. The way she spoke with her hand was mesmerizing, easily capturing you in a trance due to your already heated thoughts about her, as your eyes devoured every detail of her long fingers. You felt your eyelids grow heavy, your breathing hitch and your mouth water as you remembered just what those fingers could do to you.. How she could so easily have you at her mercy.. digging into your flesh and leaving crescent marks in their wake, trailing along your skin and rising goosebumps with each pass, have your back arching and your hips swaying with one simple touch-

"Y/n.. Could you repeat what I just said, my dear?" Her voice shocked you back into your body, the rapid blinking of your eyes and the small jump when she had said your name giving you away immediately. She seemed amused at your blush, the pink hue only making a smirk come to her red painted lips as she caught on to where your thoughts were.

"I- U-Um.. You-" As you spoke, her fingers trailed up your arm, smoothly tracing against your skin and leaving electricity in her path. The rest of your words were cut off when her fingers made it to your collarbones, eventually curling their way around your throat and squeezing oh so gently.

The sensation made your eyes roll back as they fluttered shut, your fingertips gripping onto the hem of your skirt as you felt her move closer to your form, her breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. "What exactly is floating through the pretty head of yours, darling?"

You could feel your heart rate pick up, especially with her fingers resting just above your pulse point, and you were sure she could feel it too. The way your thighs clenched together and how a small whimper left your throat as she squeezed harder were all signs of how the night would go.

"Your- mmph.. your fingers.." Your chest heaved in pleasureful desperation as her lips moved down your neck, her fingers pushing against your jaw and allowing her room to flatten her tongue against your skin. Arousal shot right through to your core, and she'd barely even touched you.

She pushed you down slightly, your hair sprawling out against the cushion as she shifted perfectly between you legs. Her lips met yours in a hungry kiss, her tongue smoothing over your bottom lip as she pushed her hips against your core. Your gasp gave her the opportunity to explore your mouth, the opportunity to start to devour you..

Her fingers worked on the buttons of your collared shirt, quickly exposing more of your skin to her. When she reached the last button, she pulled the garment off completely and took a moment to trace over your skin, her lips gently pulling away from yours as her hands met the skin of your torso. Her fingers lightly scratched against your sides before smoothing their way up to beneath your breasts. Her thumbs worked their way under your bra, her fingertips smoothing over your nipples and causing a whimper to leave your throat.

Before long, your bra was discarded as well, her lips making their way down against your skin and leaving deep marks against it. One of your hands tangled into her hair, disrupting the perfect curls with each tug of pleasure you gave her. Once her tongue smoothed over your right bud, any hopes of staying quiet had left, the need for her building within you even before she was present. She worked on both buds, forming both into hard peaks and giving them both attention before she was satisfied.

When she moved up to capture your lips again, her gaze met blown pupils swirling with lust. You crashed your lips into hers, one hand pulling her in from the back of her neck while the other rested behind you for balance. She was quick to move you into her arms, carrying you to your bed with ease.

She sat down on the edge, placing you onto her lap after getting rid of the rest of your clothes, though slight confusion came over you when your back was to her front.

It didn't take you long to realize why, when she rested one hand back against your throat while the other toyed with your breasts. Your eyes darkened at the sight in front of you - you welcoming her fingers into your mouth with a deep moan, your legs spread open and showing your glistening folds - for the mirror in front of you gave you the best view of what was would come.

"Mmm.. you like Mommy's fingers, hmm?" You felt your brain short circuit at the sound of her voice, at the sound of her title making its way through your ears and building a home inside your rapidly beating heart. You felt the heat course through you as your tongue swirled around her digits, and it showed in the reflection that it was getting increasingly harder for you to wait the more you got drunk on her.

She pulled her fingers from your mouth with a trail of your saliva attached to the ends of them, your breathing labored and filled with lust as you looked into her eyes through the reflection. She nipped the skin of your shoulder, while her other hand traced over the marks she had already painted against you. You were so focused on her lips, that you didn't notice her hand trail down to your core, until she teased against your slit, running her fingers through your folds and making your back arch as a gasp left your lips.

You threw your head back as her fingers began circling your clit, but it didn't last long as her other hand moved your gaze back to the mirror, making you watch her fingers get coated in your slick, how they toyed with the sensitive bud with just enough pressure to make you beg for more, how they circled your entrance soon after, making you clench around nothing.

"Ple- Please- mmn gods please.." Your voice was desperate, full of lust and the undying need to feel her inside of you. It wasn't something that didn't go unnoticed, two of her fingers thrusting into you soon after and making your hips buck into her touch.

"Watch the mirror, sweet girl.. You think you can do that for Mommy?" Her voice took over your senses and felt as though it was consuming you whole. It rang out like a low, velvety rumble with promises of more as each one of her hot breaths trailed against your skin.

Fuck..

"Yes- mm~ yes.." Your half-lidded eyes turned back to the reflection, your breasts rising and falling with each of your heavy breaths as more and more pleasure ran through your body. You watched as she thrusted in and out of you, her fingers curling in just the right spot to have moans flooding out from your mouth and into the dark evening.

"Such a good girl for me.. Taking Mommy's fingers so well.. Oh, look at you.." You could tell with how dark her eyes got, how husky her voice was that this was doing something to her as well. Your body at her mercy as she brought moan after moan to escape your lips. "Good girl.."

Each of her thrusts grew rougher, quicker in pace, and your thighs began to tremble with your impending orgasm. You did your best to watch the way her fingers fucked into you, disappearing with pleasure and watching them come all the way out again, only for the motion to repeat over and over.

Her fingers curled with precision, her other hand toying with your nipples and sending your body rushing towards a peak. You clenched around her fingers hard with each thrust, loving how they felt inside of you. It was all consuming, building up the coil in your abdomen until your peak crashed into you, wrecking through your body as her ministrations didn't stop.

Your body shook with pleasure, taking every new thrust she gave you as you turned into putty in her arms.. but you couldn't help but want.. crave.. need more.. And it seemed as though she had the same thoughts.

The sight of you coming undone in front of her was too much to bare, her own heat building itself up in her body and causing her desire for you to push itself forward. She shifted you onto the mattress, watching as she discarded her clothes after licking her fingers clean. The sight made a moan escape your lips, your own cum disappearing from the actions of her tongue and her pale skin becoming completely exposed to you made your mouth water.

She settled herself between your legs and you couldn't help but pull her down, crashing your lips into hers for an all consuming kiss, tasting yourself on her tongue. Your tongues danced together as you both nearly begged to be impossibly closer.

You pulled away, your lips centimeters away from hers. Your voice was a whisper, but translated so much urgency, so much desire that you knew she would fold when the words left your lips. "Please, Mommy.. I need you.."

Any resolve that Larissa had left faded as you watched her eyes grow impossibly darker, swirling with a hunger that was near insatiable. A growl left her throat before her lips were on yours again, though the kiss didn't last long, a gasp leaving your lips as you felt her hard member press against your core.

You immediately rolled your hips against her, earning a broken moan from the tall blonde. She moved to position herself, then slowly pushed into your entrance. Loud, unadulterated groans left you both as she pushed herself deeper and deeper into you, the stretch quickly becoming a delicious addiction.

As she started to move, it was as though all that existed was her. Each breath you took filled your lungs with her perfume, quickly making you intoxicated and full of her. Each thrust rocked your body with a deep hunger, the sound of your skin slapping together and your moans filling the room only seemed to serve you pleasure in tenfold.

"Please, please, please- I-I need-" A moan tearing through your throat had cut off your next words, her pace growing faster with each beg you were able to shoot out. Each thrust took you to new heights as she pulled nearly all the way out of you before pushing back in all the way.

"You feel so good.. Look at you taking me so well.." Her breathing was labored, her words paired with moans as her own pleasure was building itself up. Your peaks were close, her nails digging into your hips to leave crescent marks there, both of your moans growing louder.

Your mind grew hazy with the feeling of her so deep inside you, the pleasure building the coil up again as a chase towards euphoria. With a few more thrusts, you came hard, your body shuddering as you clenched around her. Her actions only continued as she chased her own high, soon letting out a deep, loud moan and filling you up, just moments later.

Your heavy breaths filled the room, your skin coated in a layer of sweat as you both focused on coming down from your highs.

She shuffled and moved to lay next to you, pulling you into her arms and tracing invisible patterns along your back. After your breathing settled, you slowly opened your eyes to meet deep sapphire ones, a smile coming to both of your lips as only love was reflected back at you.

You shuffled closer, burying your head in the crook of her neck to place soft kisses against her neck and jawline before resting completely against your lover. Your hands found their home against her skin, and the darkness of night mixed with the comfort of your lover made sleep an easy world for the both of you to slip into.

~~

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐚/𝐧: IMMMMM BACCCCCKK!!!!

YO IM ACTUALLY SO SORRY I WAS GONE FOR SO LONG- the traveling got to me, and then finals season started, and then more traveling and a lot of other life things happened !!

BUT IM BACK AAHAHHAHHHH

this genuinely felt so good to write because i haven't even touched my writing in so long other that organizing everything in my notes to look better lmao

i know you all understand, and i couldnt be more grateful for that fact

here you go anon :,,,,))) im sosososo sorry for how long this took like holy fuck- i hope you enjoyed it

xx,

~ 𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐰

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: (tagged anyone who asked/wanted to be on the "all works" taglist)

as always, feel free to ask to be added &lt;3

@autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @weemssapphic @readingtheentrails @finnja555 @barbarasstar @vendocrap8008 @gwendolinechristieiscute @lilfartbox1 @agathaandgwenslesbian @lvinhs @kimiinou @ladybathoryy

✧･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧ :══════⊹⊹══════: ✧･ﾟ｡˚☾.･✧

[misswynters]

Costars on set

Tom taylor x fem!reader

[word count: 583

[a/n: @benjicotblckwood thought you might like this! >_<

[note | pls don’t just like, reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

The set of House of the Dragon was a flurry of activity as you arrived, ready to dive into another day of filming. The imposing stone walls of Winterfell, recreated with stunning detail, loomed around you, adding to the authenticity of the experience. You spotted Tom Taylor, your co-star and on-screen husband, dressed as Cregan Stark, the formidable Warden of the North.

Tom looked every bit the part, his Stark armor fitting him perfectly, his brooding expression matching the character he portrayed. When he noticed you, his stern demeanor softened, and a warm smile spread across his face.

“Morning, Lady Stark,” he greeted, his accent adding a touch of charm to the formal title.

You grinned, feeling the familiar flutter of nerves mixed with excitement. “Good morning, Lord Stark. Ready to rule the North?”

He chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Always. And with you by my side, it’s going to be a good day.”

The tension between you and Tom had been evident since the first day of filming. Playing Cregan Stark and his spouse required a deep connection, and the bond you had formed off-screen made your on-screen chemistry even more compelling.

The scene scheduled for today was an emotionally charged one, showcasing a pivotal moment in your characters' relationship. You both took a moment to discuss the scene, ensuring you were on the same page. Tom’s supportive nature always put you at ease, and you appreciated how he valued your input.

“Just remember,” Tom said, his voice low and reassuring, “we’re in this together. If anything feels off, we’ll adjust.”

You nodded, grateful for his encouragement. “Thanks, Tom. Let’s make this scene memorable.”

The director called for action, and you both slipped into your roles. The scene was intense, with your characters confronting the challenges of their tumultuous world while finding strength in each other. Tom’s portrayal of Cregan’s stern yet loving nature was captivating, and you felt the emotion of the moment as if it were real.

After a few scenes, the director shouted “Cut!” looking pleased. “Excellent work, both of you.”

Tom turned to you, his intense expression melting into a genuine smile. “You were amazing,” he said, admiration clear in his eyes.

“So were you,” you replied, still feeling the residual emotions from the scene. “It’s easy to act with someone who’s so in tune with their character.”

As the crew prepared for the next shot, you and Tom found a quiet spot to relax. He handed you a bottle of water, his fingers brushing against yours briefly.

“Thanks,” you said, a warm sensation spreading through you that had nothing to do with the set lights.

“Anytime,” he replied, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than usual.

You both chatted about the scene, laughing and sharing stories from the set. Tom’s easygoing nature always made you feel at ease, even on the most demanding days. His ability to lighten the mood with a joke or a kind word was something you cherished.

Later, as the day drew to a close, Tom walked you to your trailer. The setting sun cast a golden glow over the set, creating an almost magical atmosphere.

“See you tomorrow?” he asked, his voice soft and hopeful.

“Definitely,” you replied, feeling a pang of disappointment that the day was ending.

Tom hesitated for a moment, then smiled. “Goodnight, Lady Stark.”

“Goodnight, Lord Stark,” you said, watching him walk away.

As you entered your trailer, you couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of anticipation. Working with Tom as Cregan Stark was more than just a role; it was a connection that deepened with every scene, every shared moment. The days ahead promised more challenges and triumphs, but with Tom by your side, you were ready for whatever came next.

© misswynters ‘24 - don’t modify or steal my writings

a/n: wanted to write something short for one of my crushes, tom 🩵

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Kinktober (12)- Non-Bed Surface

Professor Wanda X Reader 18+

Summary: You stay behind after class to have some alone time with your professor

Warnings/Tags: Professor Wanda/Student Reader, Desk Sex, Praise, Oral sex, Fingering, Dirty Talk

Kinktober Masterlist

“And that will be all for today,” Miss Maximoff says, “You can go now, enjoy the break.” The classroom almost erupts into cheers as students start to pile out of the classroom, the last lesson of the term finally over. As everyone else rushed to leave the school, you slowly packed your things away, gaze flickering up to the woman who was leaning against her desk, green eyes fixated on you.

“What are you going to do during your break Miss Y/L/N?” Her delicate voice breaks the silence of the room, a smile tugging at your lips as you stare at her for the formalities.

“Well, I hope to spend most of it with my girlfriend,” you say, strolling up to her desk and slotting yourself in front of her, mouth going to her ear, “Preferably spending most of it between her legs.”

“What about on your knees for her?” she rasps out back, hands slithering around your waist as her mouth descends to your neck. “I’m sure she’d love that,” she murmurs before kissing the juncture of your neck, hands pulling your body flush against hers while drifting dangerously low on your back.

“Would she now?” you sigh out back, the feeling of her mouth against your throat, teeth scraping gently clouding your mind with pleasure and arousal.

“Definitely,” her accent wraps around her words adding a slight rasp, the sound creating a throb between your thighs. Her mouth kisses along your jaw before finally reaching your lips, ghosting hers over yours just to tease, “Now come on Detka, on your knees for me.”

Wanda gives you a quick kiss, her mouth moving against yours passionately as your hands hold onto the table next to her before she pulls back. Her hands go to your shoulders, pushing you down softly as you drop to your knees, peering up at her with darkened eyes as you anticipate what’s to come. Her hands tangle in your hair, soothingly scratching your scalp as she watches you hitch up her skirt, mouth parting at the sight of the red lace she was wearing underneath.

“Fuck,” you mutter, the wet patch visible as you lean forward to place a kiss on her clit through the fabric.

“Don’t tease me Detka,” she husks out, voice laced with dominance while her hands tighten in your hair as a warning. You obey her, using your finger to slide her panties to the side so your tongue could run through her folds. “Good girl,” she moans out when she feels your tongue swirl around her clit, fingers holding onto her thighs and slowly inching closer to her core. You alternate between sucking and licking at her clit, revelling in the breathy sighs and small whimpers that escape her, the loud moan that's ripped from the back of her throat when you thrust two fingers into her effortlessly. “Yes baby,” she groans out when you curl your fingers inside her at just the right time, now pumping them into her at a steady pace. You can feel her walls clenching around you and how her hips try and buck slightly towards your face, her hands tightening their grip on your hair as her orgasm nears. You suck harder on her clit, a hand leaving your hair to clamp over her mouth as she moans your name. Her body tenses and legs tremble slightly as her orgasm washes over her, your name falling from her lips like a prayer as she tries to quieten herself.

“Come here,” she pants out, hand going to your throat and pulling you to your feet before crashing her lips to yours. You slide your fingers out of her, a groan escaping her lips, and pull back from the kiss to slide them into your mouth. You moan loudly at the taste of her arousal and cum on your fingers, eyes trained on her lust-filled ones as your cheeks hollow around your digits. “Fuck, do you have any idea what you do to me?” she murmurs, mouth going back to yours for another passionate kiss. Her hands go to your waist, turning you two so you are pinned against the desk before lifting you onto the wooden surface.

“Wanda,” you moan out as she swipes everything off her desk, not bothered by the mess created, and roughly pushes you onto your back. Her body towers over you as she stands in between your legs, hand resting on your throat gently. Wanda knew you loved it rough and decided today would be the day she made your fantasy of being fucked on her desk come true.

“You want me to fuck you like this Detka?” she purrs, tightening her hold on your neck making your eyes roll back slightly. “You want me to fuck you here on my desk?”

“Please,” you whimper out, her hand moving to unfasten your jeans so she can slide her hand into your panties. “God,” you groan out when she slides two fingers into you, her other hand bracing her body above yours so she can watch you come undone beneath her. Her fingers are relentless as she fucks you, your mind fogged with pleasure as all you can feel is the way her fingers move inside you, the dirty words she’s whispering to you.

Your hands grip her forearm as you feel your orgasm building rapidly, leaving small crescent shapes from your nails. Her name and moans tumble out of your mouth, her thumb circling your clit as she pumps her fingers in and out of you in a way that has you seeing stars.

“Come for me Detka,” her sultry tone sends you straight into your orgasm, lewd noises filling the room as she fucks you through your first and straight into a second. Your legs shake on the desk, mouth parted in a silent scream as you try and come down from the high of your two orgasms, your breathing laboured as you look up at her face. “Such a good girl for me,” she whispers, kissing you softly and guiding you to sit on the edge of her desk. Wanda mirrors your earlier actions, cleaning her fingers off with her mouth and making you watch, a low groan escaping you, and moves to wrap her arms around your body.

You lean into the embrace, moving your head so it is rested against her chest but still looking at her as you snake your arms around her waist.

“How about we go back to home,” she whispers, looking at you with a smirk that contrasts the soft look in her eyes, “And you can make a start on your holiday plans.”

[ryuyukawa]

─Cold Espresso

∘₊✧─── ❀ ───✧₊∘

★ Pairing: Fiddleford McGucket x Reader

✦ Genre: Fluff? Friends to Not-Yet-Lovers???

★ Warning: None

✦ Summary: You and your old buddy from college decided to meet up at the usual coffee shop you two used to visit. Though I don't think neither the two of you planned for something to go in another way you didn't expect..

Note: I feel like he doesn't get much lovee and I think hes adorable. Im not sure what the title should be so..

The café is just as you remember it. The brick exterior hasn’t aged a day, and the sign that reads "Becky's Brews" still hangs slightly crooked above the door. You stand outside for a moment, taking in the familiar scene, and a wave of nostalgia washes over you. It’s been years since you last set foot here, and longer still since you shared this space with McGucket. The memories come rushing back, a collage of late-night study sessions and laughter echoing through these very walls.

Pushing the door open, you’re greeted by the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The inside hasn’t changed much either—the same warm lighting, the mismatched furniture that somehow feels cohesive, and the old jukebox in the corner that’s always playing a tune just loud enough to be heard, but not so loud as to intrude on conversations.

You scan the room, and there he is—Fiddleford McGucket, sitting at your usual table by the window, just like old times. He looks up as you approach, and a grin spreads across his face as he waved you over.

"Well, if it ain’t the ol’ bookworm ‘emself!" he exclaims, standing up to give you a hug. His accent, thick and unmistakably Southern, wraps around you like a warm blanket. You’ve always loved the way he talks, the way his words roll off his tongue with a drawl that’s both comforting and endearing.

"Hey, Fidds," you reply, smiling as you embrace him. His arms are tight 'round you, and for a moment, you’re transported back to those carefree college days when everything seemed simpler, when your biggest worry was acing the next exam or deciding where to grab lunch.

"You ain’t changed a bit," he says adjusting his glasses as you both sit down. "Still got that same ol’ smile, too. How’s life been treatin’ ya?"

You chuckle, feeling a bit shy under his gaze. "Life’s been... different. Busy, mostly. How about you?"

Fidds leans back in his chair, he fixed his glasses as his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Busy’s one way to put it. Ain’t nothin’ too excitin’, but I’ve been gettin’ by. Missed this place, though. Missed hangin’ out with you."

His words catch you off guard, and you feel a warmth spread through your chest. You’ve missed him too, more than you realized.

"I missed you too, Fidds. It’s been way too long."

He nods, a serious expression crossing his face. "Yeah, it has. Too damn long. But we’re here now, ain’t we? Let’s make the most of it."

For the next hour, the two of you fall into an easy rhythm, slipping back into the kind of banter that only old friends share. You talk about everything—your jobs, your families, the places you’ve been, the things you’ve seen. Fidds tells you about what he'd been working on; how he spends his days in his garage, creating techs; how well hes actually getting by, getting a job offering at some place. You tell him about your career, the ups and downs, and how you’ve been searching for something more, though you’re not quite sure what that "more" is.

As the conversation flows, you find yourself noticing things about Fiddleford that you hadn’t paid much attention to before. The way his eyes light up when he talks about something he’s passionate about, the way his hands move when he gestures, the sound of his laughter—it’s all so familiar, yet somehow different. There’s a spark between you, something unspoken but palpable, and it catches you off guard.

"So," Fidds drawls, leaning forward with a playful grin, "anyone special in your life these days? Or are ya still too busy chasin’ that dream of yours?"

The question hangs in the air for a moment, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

"No, no one special," you reply, trying to sound casual. "I’ve been too focused on work, I guess."

Fidds raises an eyebrow. "Really now? Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ ambitious, but a pretty thing like you, I reckon you could have anyone you wanted if ya tried."

You laugh, though your cheeks flush slightly at the compliment. "I could say the same about you, Fidds. What about you? Anyone special?"

He shrugs, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. "Nah, no one right now. Haven’t found the right person, I suppose. But who knows, maybe I just ain’t been lookin’ in the right places."

His words linger in the air, and for the first time, you feel a shift in the atmosphere. The easygoing conversation between old friends suddenly feels charged with something more, something you hadn’t anticipated. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but there’s a tension now, a pull that you can’t ignore.

The afternoon sun filters through the window, casting a warm glow over the table. Fidds’s gaze locks onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. There’s a question in his eyes, something he’s holding back, and you can feel the weight of it pressing against the silence.

Finally, he breaks the moment with a soft chuckle, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. "Well, look at us, gettin’ all serious. We’re supposed to be catchin’ up, not diggin’ into each other’s love lives."

You smile, though your mind is still racing. "Yeah, you’re right. Let’s not get too deep, huh?"

But even as you say it, you know that something has changed between you and Fidds. The old friendship is still there, but there’s something new too—something that makes your heart beat a little faster, something that leaves you wondering what might happen if you both stopped holding back.

────

The afternoon drifts into evening as the conversation between you and Fidds meanders through old memories and new musings. The light outside has dimmed, and the soft, warm glow of the café's hanging lights creates a cozy atmosphere that wraps around the two of you like a blanket. As you talk, the world outside seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this little bubble of familiarity and something... more.

Fiddleford leans back in his chair, tipping it slightly as he balances on the two back legs, a mischievous grin on his face. "Remember that time we tried sneakin’ into the library after hours? You were so dead set on gettin’ that book for your paper, and I was just along for the ride."

You laugh, shaking your head at the memory. "How could I forget? We almost got caught by campus security. I thought we were going to get expelled or something."

"Aw, shucks," Fiddleford drawls, his grin widening, "they wouldn’t’ve expelled ya. You were their star student. Now me, on the other hand… they probably wouldn’t’ve batted an eye if I’d just disappeared."

"Don’t say that," you chide, though you know he’s joking. "You were always smarter than you gave yourself credit for."

His expression softens, and he gives you a look that’s half-teasing, half-serious. "Yeah, well, it’s easier to believe that when you got someone like you around. You always made me feel like I could do more, be more."

You don’t know how to respond to that. There’s an intensity in his eyes that’s different from the playful banter you’re used to. It’s as if he’s seeing you in a way he never has before, and you can’t help but wonder if you’re seeing him differently too.

The conversation lulls, and the silence between you is thick with unspoken words. Fidds takes a deep breath, his chair coming back down to all four legs as he leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. He’s closer now, close enough that you can see your own reflection in his eyes.

"Can I tell ya somethin’?" he asks, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You nod, your heart starting to race again. "Yeah.. Sure? What is it?"

Fidds looks down at his hands, fidgeting with the edge of the napkin in front of him. When he looks back up, there’s a vulnerability in his gaze that you’ve never seen before. "I’ve been thinkin’ about this for a while now... and, well, maybe it’s just the nostalgia talkin’, but… I think I missed more than just our friendship."

The words hang in the air between you, and your breath catches in your throat. You don’t know what to say, but the way he’s looking at you makes it clear that he’s waiting for some kind of response.

Before you can find the words, the door to the café opens with a jingle, breaking the moment. A group of people walk in, laughing and chatting as they find a table near the counter. The noise disrupts the moment, and you see Fidds pull back slightly, the intensity in his eyes dimming as if he’s suddenly unsure of himself.

You’re unsure too. There’s a part of you that wants to reach across the table, to take his hand and tell him that you feel the same way, that maybe there’s something more between you than just friendship. But there’s also a part of you that’s scared—scared of what this could mean, of what might happen if you cross that line.

Fidds clears his throat, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Maybe I’m just talkin’ nonsense. We’ve had a lot of good times, haven’t we? I’m just glad we’re still in each other’s lives."

You can see the effort he’s putting into pulling back, into pretending that the moment didn’t happen. But it did, and now the air between you feels different, charged with the possibilities of what could be.

Before you can decide what to do next, Fidds stands up, stretching his arms above his head as he brushed his fingers in his hair. "Whew, it’s gettin’ late. How ‘bout we head out? Walk ya to your car?"

You blink, surprised by how quickly the conversation has turned, but you find yourself nodding. "Yeah─ Yeah, sure. That sounds good."

The two of you gather your things and head for the door. The evening air is cool against your skin as you step outside, and you walk in silence for a few moments, your mind racing with everything that’s been left unsaid.

When you reach your car, Fidds turns to you, his hands shoved into his pockets. He looks at you for a long moment, as if he’s trying to decide whether to say something or let it go.

Finally, he speaks, his voice soft. "I meant what I said back there. I’ve missed more than just our friendship. But... I ain’t gonna push ya into somethin’ you’re not ready for. Just... uh.. think about it, okay?"

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest. "I will.. I promise."

He smiles, a small, almost sad smile, and then he steps back, giving you a little wave. "Night, then. We’ll talk soon?"

"Yeah," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "We’ll talk soon."

As you watch him walk away, a thousand thoughts swirl in your mind. The possibility of something more between you and Fiddleford is real, and it terrifies you as much as it excites you. You know that whatever happens next, things between you will never be the same.

You get into your car, your hands trembling slightly as you grip the steering wheel. For a long moment, you just sit there, staring out the windshield at the fading figure of Fidds as he walks down the street. And then, just as he’s about to turn the corner and disappear from view, you make a decision. You open the car door and step out, your heart racing as you call out his name.

He stops, turning around to look at you, his expression unreadable.

"Fidds," you say, your voice trembling with emotion, "I—"

But before you can finish, the sound of your phone ringing cuts through the night, startling you both. You glance down at the screen, recognizing the name of your boss flashing across it.

You hesitate, torn between answering the call and the words you were about to say. Fidds watches you, waiting, the moment hanging in the balance.

And just like that, the decision is taken out of your hands. You silence the phone, looking back at Fidds, but the spell is broken.

"I... I’ll call you," you manage to say, knowing that the conversation will have to wait.

Fidds nods, a flicker of something like hope in his eyes. "Yeah... sure thing. Take care, okay?"

You watch as he turns and walks away, the opportunity slipping through your fingers. And as you stand there, alone in the quiet of the night, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve just might've let something important slip away.

Sooo.. How was it?? Good? bad? Feel like I didn't do him much justice (.∘ˊ◠ˋ∘.)

If this get enough notes I'll maybe continue it?? Oh, I also changed the layout a bit, if you did notice :D

Thoughts and criticisms are welcomed, as it would help me improve on my writing!