#im never writing again

[izzywantscheesecake]

the gingerbread competition

Pairing: Hobie Brown x GN! Reader 🕸🕷🎸 Quick Synopsis: Hobie and Y/N compete with Miles and Gwen to see who can make the best gingerbread house. Tags: Use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, reader can be male/female or none, friends to lovers, Romantic tension between Hobie and Reader, Implied MilesxGwen, fluff, Christmas themed

Hobie Brown didn’t celebrate Christmas.

He didn’t hate Jesus or was part of a different religion, in fact, he preferred to keep himself unlabeled in terms of his religious ideology, but he just thought the meaning of Christmas had lost its definition in the past few decades.

Essentially, Christmas existed to celebrate the birth of Jesus by sharing thoughtful gifts and spending time with loved ones. 

But the ‘spending time with loved ones’ part had been erased and the holiday was dumbed down to seeing whoever could get another person the most expensive gift without any thought.

So he didn’t fully celebrate it.

Sure, he’d make his friends a handmade gift they were sure to like and he wouldn’t be rude and reject a gift, but he would never partake in the usual activities like hanging the mistletoe, buying a christmas tree, or building a..

“..Gingerbread house! Let’s make gingerbread houses! And it can be a competition, too,” You grinned.

It wasn’t actually Christmas day, it was two days before. But this was the only day all of you could hang out before attending to plans you actually had on ol' Christmastide.

It was just you, Hobie, Gwen, and Miles, sitting on Hobie’s couch at his flat in his dimension. He mainly resided in his boat, but it was too cold to stay there that month.

“I don’t know, Y/N. I mean, those gingerbread houses are usually super expensive to buy at the market,” Hobie said, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, they are. So we can just make them ourselves. I mean, you practically got everything we need in your pantry besides frosting and candy.. Okay, maybe we will have to go outside and get some supplies,” Gwen shrugged.

“Ugh, really? It’s mad brick out, don’t you see all that snow?” 

Miles pointed to the window, showing everyone the winter wonderland that once used to be the streets of Camden Town.

“We got coats, we’ll be fine. So, all in favor of making gingerbread houses, raise your hand!” You said, lifting up your hand immediately.

Gwen and Miles both raised their hands, albeit Miles more reluctantly. Hobie kept his arms crossed, scoffing.

“It’s three against one. We’re doing it.”

Hobie dropped the pose. “Fair, I guess. But I get to pick the movie we watch once we’re done.”

“You’re gonna pick Freaky Friday, and not even the Lindsay Lohan version,” Gwen sighed.

“Who?”

“Anyways, to save money and dishes, don’t you think we should be in teams of two?” Asked Miles.

The four of you decided on your team names. You and Hobie would be "The Barely Adults" vs Miles and Gwen with "Stuck in Algebra II."

There were many different stores along the main streets of the neighborhood, so your group and the other group spread out, agreeing to stay in the neighborhood.

You and Hobie stepped into a candy store a few blocks away from his flat, and were immediately greeted by the warm air of a fully heated establishment and the scent of various confectionaries and ice cream.

A happy looking woman sat by the front counter, reading the daily newspaper. She made eye contact with Hobie, and you watched as the wrinkles in her face became more prominent the bigger her smile got.

"Hobart? Is that you? My, my, you've gotten so tall!"

You snorted, noticing the slight embarrassment that had planted itself on Hobie's face. His expression quickly shifted into a smirk.

"Mrs. Winters.. You just saw me at the farmer's market a few weeks ago."

"I know, I know. But every time I see you, you get bigger. It feels as if just yesterday I was making you and your mates stay behind and sweep my store for stealing all the gobstoppers."

"Well, that's not surprising," You inquired out loud.

"Whatever. We were jobless, rambunctious kids."

Mrs. Winters turned her attention to you, still keeping that friendly smile she had on her face when you walked in.

"And who's this lovely person you've brought in with you today?"

Hobie slung his arm around you, crouching down slightly to meet your height. His face was dangerously close to your right cheek.

"They're my friend, Y/N."

Mrs. Winters stared at the two of you skeptically.

"Oh. Well, alright, dearie. It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N."

"Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Winters, was it?"

"Mhm."

She turned to the giant selection of candy behind her. There was practically every sweet you could think of stored, from jellies, taffies, licorice, rock candies, chocolates, and even freezers full of whipped cream and frosting, which was convenient.

"So, what do you feel like buying today?"

"Anything that would make a gingerbread house taste good."

"We should get candy corn."

You stuck your tongue out in disgust. "The hell kind of suggestion is that? You eat gingerbread with candy corn?"

"Yes. I like to be unconventional."

Mrs. Winters snickered. "Well, if you guys are making a gingerbread house, I'd say just get the regular bunch, like gumdrops and whatnot."

You and Hobie walked out of the candy shop with a tub of frosting and random ziplog bags full of different candy. Some of them you were going to put on the house, and some were just gonna be sitting at Hobie's place in general.

When you got back to his flat, Miles and Gwen weren't anywhere to be found.

"Huh? Where are they? We just said to get candy and come back."

"They're kids in love. They're probably using this time to have a de-facto date."

"Well, that makes it easier for us to win. I guess you could say we're also having a de-facto date, right?" You joked.

Hobie turned to you with a sensual grin on his face before setting his boots to the side and walking towards the kitchen.

Before you left the store, Mrs. Winters had given you and Hobie a recipe for gingerbread houses, as none of you were going to buy the cheap ones that always tasted like plastic.

-

"Okay, preheat the oven to about 375 degrees fahrenheit." You said, reading off the sheet of paper.

"Celsius, please."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. Um, that'd be around.. 190? Yeah. That sounds about right. And keep it in there for three to four minutes."

"Mhm." He closed the oven door.

On the corner of Hobie's mouth was a small patch of frosting, it presumably got there when you two tried to open the package at first and it exploded.

"Hey, look at me. You've got something on your face."

You moved closer to him, using your thumb to wipe the frosting off. Once it was gone, you stopped cupping the side of his cheek, and now you were both looking at each other, face to face.

You stayed like that for a few seconds, watching how his eyes softened the longer you two stayed in that position.

Suddenly, the door kicked open.

"We're back!" Miles yelled. You heard the shuffle of multiple bags and quickly moved away from Hobie to see what was going on over the counter.

Gwen was holding a bag from a candy store on one arm, and on the other arm were bags definitely acquired from a boutique.

Miles also had a candy bag, but held a bag from a Nike outlet in the same hand.

"So I was right. You two did go on a side quest. Thought we agreed to stay in the 'hood."

"I mean.. Technically, we did stay in the neighborhood... The outskirts of it."

"Hey, did you guys already start without us?!"

"What else were we supposed to do? Sit and talk?"

You and Hobie laughed in unison, as Gwen and Miles scrambled to put everything they bought away.

-

After a few hours, both teams had finished their gingerbread houses. Miles and Gwen had opted for a cutesy, traditional design, while the architecture on your house was flimsy, and you ran out of gumdrops at some point.

Hobie also used black food dye to create makeshift graffiti on the walls.

"So, how are we gonna judge who won?"

"Shit.. I never thought of that."

"Wouldn't it be whichever one tastes better?"

"Then ours totally won!"

"You didn't even taste it yet.."

"Guys, guys. Let's all agree that the true winner here was the power of friendship."

"Bro.."

"I'm playing!"

In the end, unfortunately, Miles' joke had some truth to it. There was no winner, no prize, no anything. But everyone all had fun that day, just bonding over making a confectionary house.

After being forced to watch the 1976 Freaky Friday, Miles and Gwen pretty much were knocked out.

They laid down across from each other on air mattresses in Hobie's living room.

As for you, you decided to take up the couch.

You were in Hobie's bathroom, brushing your teeth, when you saw him standing behind you, leaning his lanky body on the doorframe.

"Hey."

You rinsed your mouth out, drying yourself with a paper towel, before turning to face him.

"Hi."

"Did you have fun today?"

"Yeah, of course I did. It's always fun doing Christmasy stuff. You get the hype now, huh?"

He smiled, a genuine smile. "Mhm. We should bake more together."

"We?"

"Yes, we."

You walked away from the sink and stood across from him in the doorframe.

"Look what we're standing under."

He looked up, surprise evident on his face.

"Did you put that there?"

"No, I think it was Gwen."

He sighed. "Well, I ain't even brush my teeth yet. I don't want to do that to you."

You felt your heart twinge slightly, though he was right.

"Oh, no no. It's fine."

He nodded.

As soon as Hobie closed the door, you were out. You got onto the couch as quickly and quietly as you could.

You were mortified as to what you tried to do.

You thought that it was the perfect timing and all your questions had been answered, but you guessed they weren't.

Without moving an inch, you listened to every little movement coming from the bathroom and faced your head away from the hallway when you heard the lights turn off and the door open.

However, instead of Hobie's footsteps turning to the left, closer to his room, you listened as he walked down the hallway towards the living room.

His footsteps got closer and closer, until eventually, you were able to recognize him standing right in front of you.

He leaned down slowly, placing a peck to your cheek.

"Night."

A/N: i'm gon be on life support for the next two days cause why did this take 7 hours for about 1759 words :sob:

[lazulisong]

absolutely wild how whenever someone picks the fight about people who aren't sparkling gold star cisgay writing mlm novels it turns out they happen to have just written a morally and ethically pure and correct mlm novel. "🫶🏻"

[xxbimbobunnyxx]

let my preface by saying i love you and you donut have to post this but i have got to get this off my chest...

it's pogue/pogues but you always spell it pouge like rouge

i love you forever 🖤 hugs and kisses queen youre a brilliant sexy sexy writer

BAHAHAHAHAH oh nooo my dyslexic ass has done me soooo dirty all this time. THANK YOU FOR TELLING ME OH MY GODDDD. That’s so embarrassing nobodyyyy look at me rn im going into hiding 😩😩😩😩😩😩😩

Also thank you hehehe I love u too mwah mwah🖤🖤

[maramcna]

[ wake up ] a loving surreal kiss to wake the partner up. [ for jack, of course, because you ever get tormented by a nightmare in your dreams and then you wake up and the guy is IN YOUR BED?? and somehow this is normal for you. ]

yes i can actually write & im so sorry about that

The dream started like any other, the captain entering a run down bar only to be faced with an empty bar... Aside from a single man behind the bar. The Corinthian turned to face him with a grin with all his teeth, a predator who's prey just waltzed right into its trap.

Siting at the bar, a glass was placed in front of him though he ignored it. "Did all this just for me?" Time passes like that, their own little dance with a set ending. Around and around they go until Jack's back is pressed against a wall, the dance continuing on how it would in the waking world, but this was a dream.

(i am so embarrassed abt what is written under this read more do not read i am deleting my blog)

The kiss was more teeth than anything from the Corinthian, almost desperate to taste blood. Hands were equally as desperate both creatures grasping and nearly tearing clothes in their desperation, their need. It wasn't until they parted from the biting kiss that Jack did something he hadn't done before. Fingers traced along nightmare's cheek until two entered an eye mouth, watching as the Corinthian sucked and moaned.

Soon his fingers weren't enough and the nightmare lowered itself onto its knees, grinning up at him with too many teeth as fingers undid his belt. Removing his fingers from the mouth caused a whine to leave it, but his hand was better suited tangling in the Corinthian's hair as he awaited what he expected to come next. Instead of sinking its mouth down onto his cock, it leaned closer until its eyemouth, the one that hadn't had his fingers, could tease his cock with its tongue. Jack could only watch and moan, simply unable to look away as eye mouth took his cock deeper and deeper with its own moans.

His hand in his hair tightened as he used the grip to make fucking his cock in the Corinthian easier, the sounds that left them both were sinful. He couldn't look away and neither could the Corinthian.

When Jack awoke, their was a body on top of his and lips eagerly kissing his. The Corinthian. "Mm, couldn't get enough of me, sweetheart?" This would end just like his dream, Jack eyeless and bloodied as the Corinthian savored thousands of years of memories..

He really should learn to stay away.

[bamboozeeled]

“This guy seriously won’t leave me alone.” Miguel mumbled as he tuned his guitar.

Hae looked up from her designing sketchbook. “What guy?”

“Uh-“ Miguel continued to tune his guitar. “I think his name is, uh- Arnav…?”

He knew what his name was. He had learned it the very first day they had met. Miguel hadn’t even stopped thinking about him since they had met, he was hard to forget. He was able to recognize his stupid curls in a sea of students, it was as if he just had an aura that demanded attention.

“Arnav?” Hae questioned, she stuck her lip out in the usual way she did when she was thinking hard. “Never heard of him. Weird.”

He snorted. “You say that as if you just have to know everyone.”

“Well! Not my fault I usually do!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He started strumming a bit on his guitar as Hae went back to sketching designs on her sketchbook.

“So what’s he like?”

“What?”

“What’s this Arnav like?”

Miguel stopped his strumming and laid down his guitar next to him on his bed. “Uh- He’s…fine? I guess?”

Hae snorted. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know?”

“Oh my god.” She groaned, smiling. “I forget how… socially anxious you are.” Hae closed her sketchpad and placed it down next to her. “Just use one word to describe him. Nice? Quiet? Loud?”

“Intriguing.”

Hae knitted her eyebrows together in confusion. “What?”

“I’m not going to say it again.” Miguel felt his face go red. Thankfully, due to his dark skin, the redness wouldn’t show; but that didn’t mean his expressions didn’t show the embarrassment.

“So, what? You wanna fuck him?”

“WHAT.”

Hae burst out into laughter.

“I- WHAT? NO!” Miguel exclaimed. He thought he would somehow get a heat stroke with how hot he felt his face. Despite how obvious his shock was, he still put his head in his hands.

He felt soft hands grab his wrists. “I’m- Oh my god- I’m kidding!”

Miguel pulled his wrists away from Hae’s grasp. “Leave me alone!”

He wasn’t actually mad. He could never be mad at Hae. It’s just that the question caught him off guard. It was even worse to realize the answer would be yes. Was that weird? It’s not like they were on bad terms, but they also weren’t friends. What would they even be considered? They didn’t hate each other enough to be enemies, but they were too hostile with each other to be friends.

Without realizing, his gaze had moved to his wall covered in posters. Most of the posters were music related, they were either from his mom, or gifts from family members who only spoke to him during the holidays.

“You there?” Hae asked. “Hello?” She started waving a hand in front of his face to get his attention. “Miguel home?”

Hae actually looked concerned. Was she worried that she’d upset him?

“Yeah. Just zoned out, sorry.”

“Um- Sorry. I-“

Miguel cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not upset or anything.”

“Okay.”

…

“So, can I meet him?”

Miguel couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face. He laid back on his bed and laughed.

———————————————————————————

“Miggy!”

Miguel rolled his eyes so far back into his head that he thought they might get stuck that way. He closed his locker door and look over at where Arnav stood to his left.

It was always so weird how he never heard him approaching.

“I know you rolled your eyes at me!" Arnav gasped. "How dare you!” He mocked offense, putting a hand to his chest.

“What do you want?”

The boy made an exaggerated frown. “How mean. Aren't we fwends, Miggy?”

"I'm leaving now."

"Wait no-"

Out of nowhere, Hae appeared from around the corner. She was looking down at her phone and texting away. Miguel was surprised to see her seeing as class had already started and nobody was even in the hallways anymore; people who ditch have left already and people who are late are rushing to get to their class. Just as he was about to call out for her, she looked up and saw him.

Hae smiled brightly and waved a hand as she jogged over to him. "Miguel!"

"What are you doing here?"

Hae was now standing in front of him. She cocked her head to the side in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Class already started." He stated, pointing at the clock. "You're not the kind to ditch."

"Okay, wow. Just call me boring."

He rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah." Hae giggled. "I'm just messing with you"

Just as the conversation went silent, Miguel suddenly remembered Arnav was still with him.

"Oh, shit- Yeah. You said you wanted to meet Arnav, right?"

"You're boyfriend?" Hae asked, raising an eyebrow.

Oh my god.

Hae was the type to make fun of him, they were close enough that they could say whatever to each other and not get offended; but Hae had never made those jokes in front of people.

Now, Miguel just wanted to die.

Hae's smile dropped. "What, what's wrong?"

What's wrong? Seriously?

"Dude.." Miguel muttered, nodding to where Arnav stood.

"Did she call me your boyfriend?"

Before the words had even left Arnav's mouth, Miguel had already whipped his head around. "No!" Arnav flinched at the yelling. Fuck. Oh my fucking god. "I mean- Um-"

"No? No what?"

Miguel turned back around to look at Hae. "What?"

"I'm so confused."

"I'm talking to Arnav-"

"Arnav?"

"Oh. Wait-" Arnav tried to interrupt.

"Yes, Arnav! He's right here!"

Hae stared at him. She looked confused and extremely concerned.

"What are you talking about? There's nobody there."

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[kentopedia]

♰ pain reliever — okkotsu yuuta

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖ KINKTOBER NO. 2 - vampire!yuuta

your vampire boyfriend can't resist the taste of you during a certain time of the month

contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, smut, period sex, vampire!yuuta, cunnilingus, blood drinking, slight teasing — 2.2k

a steady ache in your abdomen pulls you out of your previously deep sleep, the dull throb increasing with every second. it’s the middle of the night, and your eyes are still heavy with exhaustion, the back of your eyelids burning when you try to squeeze them shut once more. 

though, no matter how many times you flip to the other side, the pain won’t subside, not even a little bit. you’re left curling into a ball, glaring at the emptiness of the dark. 

beside you, the bed is empty, though that wasn’t unusual for the middle of the night. still, it would’ve been nice to curl up into another body, to feel your boyfriend’s large palm rub over your stomach, in the hopes that it would ease the cramps.

you shift onto your stomach and check your phone, already missing yuuta. it’s just a little over three, but there’s no messages from him, no indication as to where he’d gone for the evening. 

you contemplate calling him; but when your finger hovers over his name, you click your phone off and sigh. they’re just cramps—nothing you can’t handle on your own. this time of the month had come and gone a hundred times before. you just need a heating pad and some pain reliever, and that should be enough to lull you back to sleep.

with eyes that are half-shut, you lazily slump towards the door, feeling far too much like a zombie. the floor is cold under your bare feet, and you shiver, picking yuuta’s sweatshirt up off the edge of the bed to throw it on. 

the moment you open the bedroom door, a wave of overwhelming perfume assaults your senses, the mixture one of every fall aroma. it combines into a cloud of smoke and wax, and its too much, far too much. the smells nearly have you choking. 

in the living room, there are thirty different flames lit, spread across the surfaces. they illuminate the room with a haunting glow, showcasing yuuta, who sits in the corner of the sofa, contemplative. 

“yuuta?” you say, calling out his name. he clenches his jaw but keeps his eyes forward. with his acute hearing, he’d probably heard the breath you took when you woke up, and every movement you’d made after that. “the candles are giving me a headache, baby.” your eyes begin to water from the smoke in the air, and one by one, you start to blow them out. 

“no!” yuuta exclaims, and when you turn, his irises are darker, wide as they watch you move around. “leave them.”  

you frown, but blow another one out as yuuta squeezes his palms to his side. his back goes taut, straightening as tension stretches him thin.

“it’ll just make me nauseous.” there’s a sour taste growing in your mouth, a pain in your temple. you reach for the final three candles. they aren’t as strong, but they still fill the air, a culmination of pumpkin, vanilla and coffee. “i started my period.” 

yuuta’s eyes flash as he watches you bend over to blow out one of the candles, your lips puckering, before you move to the last flame. his gaze is careful, considering as your little exhale extinguishes the fire.

“i know,” yuuta says, grabbing your wrist before you can blow out the final flames. his dark locks are loose, falling over his paler skin as he licks his lips. a sharp gaze pins you, tracing from your forehead to your chin. “i could smell you all the way from the bedroom.”

you blink, swallowing at his predatory eyes, the way his pupils darken, sharp white canines curling over his lips. it’s easy to forget, truly, how dangerous he is. he’s sweet and caring—not like the vampires you’ve seen in the movies—but he is, still, a vampire.

yuuta lures you in, inching you closer until you’re beside him on the couch, your breath the only sound between you. “i thought you were…” you trail off, a part of your voice cracking. “didn’t you go hunt?” 

it seems like a strange word to say, but you couldn’t think of a better one. you suppose, at the end of the day, he is more of a creature than a man. his instincts ones of bloodlust, ones that he has to fight against every moment that he’s with you. 

“couldn’t leave,” he says, his voice coming out clipped. “tried to, but i just kept thinking of your sweet blood. tastes so good.” his hand rests on your thigh, fingers rubbing small circles near your hip. “are your cramps getting bad?” 

you look at him from under your lashes as he licks his lips, pushing you backward slowly, until your head hits the arm of the sofa. the palm on your body is cold, but it does little to cool your heated skin. 

“it hurts,” you finally nod, breathing heavily as he smiles, sympathetic to your pain. 

“let me help,” yuuta inches a finger into your waistband, slowly dragging down your shorts. his tongue darts out across his lip, hungrily, like he might have trouble controlling his urge to devour you. 

you swallow. when you still him with a touch to his wrist, he simply cocks his head, curious, his fingers still resting between your shorts. 

“get a towel first,” you say, but the request is ignored. he slides the shorts completely off, lowering his head. “you’ll make a mess.”

yuuta ignores you, salivating as he kisses from the crevice of your knee, up your thigh. he inhales deeply against your hipbone, the strong aroma of your arousal and blood almost too much for him. 

bowing his head, he presses his lips to your cunt, licking you through your panties, lapping at the spot of blood that had already begun to stain there. “i don’t plan on wasting a drop, princess.” 

a stuttering breath leaves you, and your head falls back as yuuta kisses you softly over the cotton. his tongue flicks out, warm and wet, licking a stripe through your folds. the thin piece of cloth sucks into them, blood seeping through. 

“yuuta,” you whine, impatient he takes his time with you, his long fangs catching on the flimsy underwear. 

“don’t want to go too fast.” finally, he glances up, stares at you with hungry, black eyes. yuuta drags your panties off, but he’s far too slow, teasing you. “you know how much i love sucking the blood from your pretty pussy, hm?” his voice comes out in a near growl, and his grip grows tight around your knees, spreading your legs further. “wait for it all month.” 

he runs a tongue over sharp white teeth, hungry at the sight of you spread out, bloody and bare, just for him. 

“even when it hurts?” you ask in a small voice, but yuuta smiles, his thick eyelashes fluttering. his dark lips curl at the corners, more mocking than kind, drinking you in.

“it won’t hurt for long, love.” yuuta kisses the inside of your thighs, licking every inch of skin he can manage to get his tongue on. “besides, you get turned on so easily when you’re bleeding.”

he pushes his tongue against your entrance, curling over your wet arousal. the kisses are with such care, reminiscent of the sweet boy you’re used to loving, the one who stumbles over his words and still flushes hot when you kiss him. though, that familiarity only lasts for a moment. once yuuta gets a taste of you, his hunger doubles. 

he sucks, hard, his lips around your clit, the pressure sending a wave of desire through your body. you reach down and grip his dark locks, in any attempt to guide him within your thighs. though, you’re under yuuta’s control completely, and he licks deep in you, gathering the clots of blood onto his tongue. 

“fuck,” he hums against your cunt, his nose nudging your clit as he curses. the vibrations of his words shake you, and instinctively, your thighs try to squeeze together. but yuuta is stronger than you—much stronger—and he keeps them spread apart, fingers leaving tiny imprints on your skin. “you’re so sweet. so good for me. never tasted anyone like you before.” he praises, but its hard for him to speak as he fucks his tongue into you, lapping at your juices like its the nectar of gods. 

you can’t think of anything to say, and a soft whimper leaves your lips, the sound of his name barely audible with your exhale. yuuta’s fangs are smooth against your hot body, almost soothing as he runs his tongue along your folds. 

“i’ll make the the cramps go away.” he says. yuuta’s been replaced by a much cockier, confident version of the occasionally awkward vampire. his fangs gleam as he looks up at you, and your eyes flutter shut, hardly able to focus on the sight of him sucking at your bloody pussy. “promise, princess. it’s the least i can do when you keep me so well-fed.”

you nod, humming, but the sound is lost as yuuta dives back down, the blood coating his lips, his nose, dark against his chin. he takes both your thighs and throws them over his shoulder, reaching deeper in your hole as you moan, far too sensuously for the silent room. 

“yuuta—” you start, but you don’t remember it feeling this good before, you don’t remember pain ever being taken from you so easily. the words die, and you begin them again. “your tongue—”

he smiles, tightening his grip as he sucks faster, harder. “feels better?” 

“almost,” you say, breathless. “it’s… not enough.” 

yuuta groans, but he pulls back, licking the blood off his lips. “course it’s not,” he says. “so greedy, sometimes.” he presses, small, quick kisses across your thigh, teeth grazing the skin, and slides a finger into you; then another. 

his fingers are long, far longer than his tongue, and he stretches you, your walls sucking them right back in. with a gasp, you squeeze your thighs around his head, but yuuta just sighs. 

“please,” he says, teeth against the soft skin of your thigh. “please, can i?”

he’s close to begging, even though you’re the one who’s desperate, and you nod, needing him to curl farther into you, to reach the spot that’s deep within you. the sounds grow louder, lewd as his fingers sink in and out of you, so thick within your tight cunt.

yuuta bites you, then, sinks his fangs into your thigh, and you nearly scream, arching up into him as you start to tremble. 

his usually white teeth stain a deep scarlet, and he groans against your body, pulling back to watch you. “want you to cum for me, nice and hard, okay baby? we gotta get rid of those cramps.” he drinks from your thigh again, and you’re so close, not even realizing that you’re thrusting your hips up to meet his fingers as he goes inside you. 

“y-yuuta” you say, taking two hard breaths when he abandons the open wound on your thigh, and returns to sucking your clit, rubbing you with just enough force. the ache builds up and up, and you’re right on the ledge, about to fall over, his name leaving your lips once more in a cry. 

“that’s it,” he says, pumping in and out of you, graceful and heavy. “oh you’re so pretty, you know that? i’ve lived for centuries, and in all that time, i’ve never seen anyone look as perfect as you when they cum.” 

you break then, squeezing his fingers as babbled words leave your lips in a moan. your entire body shakes, convulsing as you reach blissful release, and you slump back on the couch, your head hitting the arm rest.

yuuta slides his fingers out of you slowly, and then he sticks them in his own mouth, licking every drop of your blood and juices from his hand. his eyes are blown wide with lust, hazy and dark as he drinks you up. 

“i can’t get enough of you,” he says, his voice so hoarse that the words are almost nothing at all. “my sweet little human girl.” yuuta doesn’t move, but he’s so lost in the taste of you, even as his cock strains hard against his flannel pajama pants. “just right there for the taking. a warm body full of the most delicious blood. mine.”

you pull him close then, needing to kiss him, feeling his hard teeth bump against your own. he tastes metallic; it’s not as good as he makes it out to be. still, if it drives him crazy, turns him into an absolute addict from just the scent of you, you’ll gladly give him every drop he wants. a smile graces your lips as he groans into you, licking your mouth. 

“yuuta?” 

he pulls away for just a moment, blinking lust-blown eyes. “hm?” 

“my cramps are gone.”

tags: @satohruu @cha0thicpisces @kissesmellow21 @sukiischaotic @hinata7346 @annoyingpainterprincess

OCTOBER MASTERLIST

btw this was going to be a toji fic and then he lost the poll ... i did not know there were so many yuuta fans following me

[ckret2]

So y'all know the Gravity Falls production bible that leaked three weeks ago. Someone in one of my discord servers pointed this out:

And, naturally, that spawned an entire AU.

AU Concept: Ford was kicked out instead of Stan and takes a job as a trucker to makes ends meet since he couldn't go to college, while still studying the weird and anomalous however he can.

Ford driving around from quirky small town to quirky small town, drifting through the liminal spaces of truck stops, meeting odd people in isolated diners, seeing strange things out on the road—a deer with too many eyes bounding across a two-lane highway, a flirty woman at a rest stop who doesn't blink or breathe, mysterious lights in the sky at night, inhuman growls on the CB or 50-year-old broadcasts on the radio—and taking notes when he stops for gas or food.

Aside from having gotten kicked out before graduating high school, Ford's the same person he is in canon.

He's still an ambitious guy, and here "ambitious" means working hard and saving as much money as he can—so, a long haul owner-operator who spends weeks at a time on the road. (He goes through a LOT of educational audiobooks.) Plus, this is the easiest way for him to get to travel the country; and since it looks like his "travel the world" dreams with Stan are dead, he'll take what he can get.

Since he's never in the same spot long and carries his life in a truck, almost all of Ford's research is in his journal. His bag of investigation supplies has an instant camera, a portable tape recorder, a thermometer, a flashlight, rubber gloves, and a few zip lock bags—and that's about it. It has to share space with all his clothes, toiletries, and nonperishable food when he's on the road. He doesn't have much opportunity to closely examine anything odd he finds, unless he's lucky enough to run into something when he can stop for the night. He has to cram his paranormal research around the side of his full-time job.

He doesn't live in Gravity Falls, but he knows it exists. Every time he moves—to Chicago, to Nebraska, to California—he seems to inch closer. He currently lives in Portland and usually hauls loads between the Pacific Northwest and Chicago or New York. He stops at the truck stop outside Gravity Falls when he can and has gone fishing in town a few times. He doesn't have the benefit of extensive research to know that this is the weirdest town in the world; but it seems pretty weird to him, there are local rumors about the town, and he's had some weird experiences in the area.

Plus, he can't explain it, but it's like the town's calling to him. He wants to move there, but it'd put him over an hour outside of Portland where the nearest jobs are. Maybe if somebody chucked him like $100k to build a cabin in the woods; but what are the odds of that?

He does know Fiddleford. Truck broke down somewhere and Fiddleford kindly pulled over to fix it on the fly. They looked at each other, had mutual knee-jerk "dumb trucker/hillbilly" reactions, and within ten minutes both went "oh wait you're the most brilliant genius i've ever met." Fiddleford's living the same life he was in canon before Ford called him to Gravity Falls—with his family in California, trying to start a computer company out of his garage—but they make friends and keep in contact.

One time Ford stops at a kitschy roadside knickknack store that also sells new agey magic things—crystals, tarot cards, incense, etc. He bought a "lucky" rearview mirror ornament that looks like an Eye of Providence in a top hat and hung it from his cab fan, and ever since then he's had weird dreams whenever he sleeps in his truck.

Things I don't know yet: what Stan's up to; or why Ford's the one who got kicked out. I tend to believe that in canon Stan wasn't just kicked out because he ruined Ford's college prospects, but rather because the family thought he deliberately sabotaged Ford; so in this AU, Ford would've been kicked out over a proportionate crime.

[bunnieswithknives]

Thinking about his brain

[choccy-milky]

sometimes you gotta lure your overly-studious ravenclaw gf into spending time with you 🥰 📚 ( from 'Every Teardrop is a Waterfall' by Kat_12739 on ao3, GO READ IT!!! the first story is about seb falling sick and still pushing himself/not admitting he's sick until he ends up in the hospital, the second story is about the birth of seb and clora's daughter and seb's reaction to clora almost dying in childbirth, and the third is about dealing with a fussy newborn lewis😭🥹THEY'RE SO GOOD AND SWEET AND SOMEWHAT SAD (not to mention beautifully written) so go check it out!!💖💖 )

[crystalmagpie447]

HRUJIEKJHBHEJIJF FINISHED IT RAAA!!! started this in september i think

giggles kicks my legs

[saleeba]

fool ; jude bellingham

summary ♡ betting on the phenomenon of unrequited feelings, you and jude have never dared to make the first move with the other until a reunion forces new questions to be answered.

pairing ♡ jude bellingham x fem!reader

content ♡ 18+, smut, friends to lovers, alcohol consumption, cursing, kissing, both jude & reader are pining idiots, fingering, p in v sex, marking, missionary, unprotected sex (jude pulls out but still pls practise safe sex!!)

a/n ♡ she's baaaack :D but first☝🏽alexa play fool by nct 127 !!!! the lyric "you’re a goddess but i’m a fool, what should i do?" was written for this fic in particular i just know it was :] anyway hehe this fic is based off this request so tysmm to anon for sending such an exciting prompt !! i hope yous enjoy 🫶🏽💗 WAIT P.S this isn’t proofread bc i lowkey am not rocking with it so i didn’t wanna put myself thru having to read it again & again … im sorry for any mistakes :’)

you had just gotten off work to a stream of relentless texts from your best friends’ groupchat — phone pinging off the rails whilst you were on shift, muffled buzzes from your bag making you wonder what on earth was worth blowing up in that whatsapp group on a random friday afternoon.

on the train back home, you tap open the green app, anticipating yourself easily spending the entire journey catching up on the three hundred-plus texts from your closest mates. you decide to start right from the beginning of the influx, thumb scrolling nonstop and eyes blurring from the rapid movement until they focus back on the screen where you stop, finally having reached the destination of the first text that set it all off. 

it was from none other than jude bellingham, and you were nearly embarrassed by the way your face instantly lit up upon reading his message. the groupchat’s golden boy had popped up after weeks of minimal contact, asking if he could take everyone for a night out tomorrow to make up for it, stating that he finally has some small gaps of free time between hectic pre-season schedules to allow him to do so.

it honestly warmed your heart that the first thing he wants away from football is to see you all. you’d been a band of good friends since the first year of secondary school, contact not necessarily strained as you all had a lot of love for each other but rather unspokenly reduced after leaving school two years ago and falling into busy university or career ventures.

instead of scrolling through to read and react to the plethora of follow-up texts after his, you ignore them and jump straight to typing your reply to his invitation, casting aside that nagging voice asking you: doesn’t that seem too desperate?

no, right? i’m just accepting his invitation, getting straight to the point, the convo ended half an hour ago anyway. you’re arguing with yourself now, feeling the need to give unnecessary excuses to nonexistent accusations. if you were to be honest with yourself, you were always self-conscious of the way you behaved around jude, even now debating on whether to add your signature heart emoji or if it’d come across as you trying too hard given your feelings for him; albeit them being feelings that no one knows about, not even him. you made sure for it to be that way.

with a mental note to get over yourself, you send an affirmative ‘i’m up for it!’, signature heart included, and quickly shut off your phone. heart beating so rapidly, you scolded yourself for getting so worked up over a mere reply and for definitely not getting over yourself. god knows how you’re going to handle seeing him in person. 

a sudden double buzz from your device does nothing to calm you down, instead dampening your hands with sweat when you grab it and see a pair of messages from him.

jude 🌟: heyy i’m so glad you can make it tomorrow :)

jude 🌟: can’t wait to see you!! ❤❤

he had messaged you separately for some reason and he had included two hearts… the overthinking starts for you again, without even beginning to think about what to reply this time, and you question why he couldn’t have just replied to you in the groupchat or why he couldn’t have just left the end of the messages with a ‘x’ like he usually does or why he would even say what he said in the last message. mind frantic and unable to clear itself, you thank yourself for having your read receipts turned off so you can have your mini meltdown without worrying about jude knowing you’d seen his messages multiple minutes ago. god, you were down so bad. 

you force yourself to open the messages app and send the most casual reply you can type.

you: can’t wait to see you too! ❤

you try to keep it short, sweet and nonchalant even if your fingers are itching to type more – more about how much you had missed him, more about what he was planning to wear tomorrow night so that maybe you could match your own outfit with him, more about your true, unfiltered feelings for him. it’s pathetic really; you hadn’t seen him in two years and the first thing you wanted to do was throw yourself at him, spilling all the secrets you’d been holding close for so many years. you leave it at that, put your phone on do not disturb mode and head on home, waiting for the long hours of friday evening to pass and saturday night to arrive.

***

and so saturday night rolls around and you just about finish touching up your makeup and smoothing out your dark blue dress before the doorbell rings, and you’re whisked away to the club by a couple of your girlfriends. 

as soon as you step your high heels into the building, you’re met with the sight of flowing booze and the noise of noughties r&b beats bouncing around the brightly lit walls. dragged by the hands of your friends, you find yourself standing next to a booth at the back of the club, the rest of the group now welcoming you latecomers with a loud cheer.

“finally, girls. you took your time!” one of your male friends remarks, ushering you all to sit down.

“oh god, what have we missed?” you beam, trying to scan the group amongst the strobing lights to catch a glimpse of the person you were really there for. 

“nah, you’re just in time because… first round’s on mister madrid!”

the callout breaks your friend group into a raucous holler as your gaze fixes onto the six foot-one footballer who stands up with an amused grin and a sigh of feigned defeat. your heart quickens and your smile turns into a state of near disbelief over how good jude looks right now – graphic white t-shirt hugging his biceps in all the right places and hanging over a pair of smart-casual black trousers.

“yeah, yeah, anything for my groupies,” he winks at no one in particular but your brain almost convinces you that he was looking at you while doing it. you send a shy smile his way just in case but what he says next has your mouth running dry. “help us out, will ya, y/n?”

you hesitate for a second too long for your liking, stumbling over your words while your friends peer at you. “uh… uh-huh, yeah, of course.” you answer as quick as you can, standing up on your feet slowly as to not trip over your now-shaking legs and send yourself flying into jude, and to avoid embarrassing yourself more than you think you already have.

he responds with a grateful smile and you follow him to the bar where he places an order for a round of drinks and some shots to be delivered to the group by the two of you. there’s an odd unfamiliarity to the silence between you both and you realise that you aren’t normally this quiet around jude, and neither is he around you; you would always joke that he’d be eligible to talk for england if he wasn’t already playing football for them. he’d retort with a comment about how his ears could almost fall off with the amount of chatting you do, and you’d dryly reply with a ‘well, they’re too big for your head anyway. look at the size of them!’ the pair of you were always as thick as thieves in the eyes of everyone else. which is why you didn’t expect it to be like this, especially after two years of not seeing each other – there was so much you wanted to catch up on from his world and so much you wanted to share from yours. you decidedly gain some courage and take the initiative to spark some conversation, get something going at least.

“soo, how have you been, then?” you’re both facing the bar, your head barely tilting in jude’s direction to indicate that yes, it is him that you’re talking to and not some random like he assumes you are with the way you’re positioned away from him, eyes just about turning to steal a glance of his figure but not to hold eye contact. “how’s la vida española?”

jude finds amusement in your sudden flaunt of the spanish language, a smile breaking out on his face, unseen to you since he’s still facing the same direction that you are, preoccupying his eyes with the myriad of bottles on the shelves while his mind searches for an apt reply.

“yeah, it’s been great, i think i wanna stay there forever,” jude laughs, his fingers tapping on the black surface of the bar. you can’t help the selfish feeling of your heart dropping at his confession. “i miss you, though, y’know… a lot.” 

this one confession forces your whole body to turn itself towards him, eyes now chasing after his to seek some form of sincerity, to see if he was just messing about or if he really meant what he just said. he shifts his head to face you now, a bashful look painted onto his features. the expectant silence says it all really; of course i mean it. 

you gulp and decide to break the quietness with a sarcastic, jesting “ugh…”, jude’s face dropping at what he thinks is genuine disgust from you. you realise your attempt to denounce the awkwardness has backfired.

“oh my god, you dickhead, i’m joking,” how is it that mere moments ago you were shaking at the sheer real-life presence of him but now you’d transformed into having this confident playfulness? and all of it without a drop of alcohol in your system as well – you’re quietly proud of yourself. “i missed you too, jude… a lot.” you coyly repeat his words. 

upon your turn of the confession, the bartender sets down your drink orders and the two of you wordlessly carry the trays over to where your friends are situated, the silence way more comfortable now that you’re both basking in assurance, unbeknown to the other that your hearts were racing at a hundred miles per hour.

***

not even two hours and an innumerable amount of shots later, you’re all a drunken mess; definitely not a surprise to a single one of you. what is a surprise is the way you’re strewn across jude, right leg wrapped around his left, head on his chest, swirling and sipping from what’s clearly an empty glass to any sober, sane person. you grumble and mutter a complaint about the lack of liquor in the booth, taking it upon yourself to head to the bar and order another round for everyone.

“i’ll come with you,” jude announces over the pounding of the music, standing up so quickly that his next five steps are staggered and he has to cling onto your arm to steady himself. “i’m fine, i’m okay.” he assures nobody that asked.

the two of you stumble your way into the path of the bar, determined to drink until the sun comes up and forget every strand of stress until the hangovers come knocking. jude’s soft grip on your arm has you being led in the opposite direction all of a sudden, though. 

“uhm, where are we going?” you question, head still turned to where the bar is located, about to ask him if he was so hammered he couldn’t walk in a simple straight line to get to where you’d planned to go. “jude?”

he’s silent, save for humming his way to his desired destination, and you question if he even knows where he’s leading you. before you make the choice of going along with him or leaving his clearly confused self to go cop your next cocktail, you find yourself in the disabled toilets, pushed up against the sink with the door not even shut properly, gasping at how rough jude is handling your body compared to his soft touches from before, and how close his face is to yours, warm breath fanning the skin of your lips. you weren’t strictly against it all but how the hell have you ended up like this? The alcohol and the questions come at you fast, dizzying your brain but you can’t help but feel so keenly anticipative.

“i’m sorry, i just…” he pulls away from you, eyes fluttering closed so he can re-evaluate his actions, exhaling through his nose as if he was letting go of all doubts before continuing. “am i okay to do this?” he places his hands on your waist, pushing himself back into your space, his full lips more or less about to take yours. you have to refrain from letting the effects of alcohol take over your tongue and uttering back with a breathy ‘you can do whatever you want to me’.

instead, you answer with an earnest, eager nod, inviting his lips to finally do that one thing you had been dreaming of for so long, to kiss yours so silly that they’re left with the imprint of him. and jude does just that.

his mouth takes in yours so determinedly, shyness and hesitation now long-dissolved feelings for you both as your hands find home around the back of his neck, pushing his head further onto you, feeling the need to taste him more and more until you’re both consumed by each other. 

it’s a messy makeout, noses bumping and teeth clashing, but it’s oh so hot, the way he gasps into your mouth from breathlessness and pleasure, running and gripping his large hands over the material adorning your waist and hips as the need to rip it off you nearly overtakes him. to you, he’s so utterly intoxicating that a gallon of alcohol would pale in comparison to how dizzy his skin on yours makes you feel. 

you release a moan at the meagre thought of jude all over your body, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue over yours, filthy noises of wetness and carnality from the both of you reaching high pitch as jude somehow simultaneously pushes you against the sink and pulls you against his chest, his manhandling of you getting you even more hot and bothered before you’re both interrupted by the hub of people passing by and huddling right outside the bathroom, their self-occupied shouts and cheers dragging you out of the bubble that the two of you had wrapped yourselves in, almost sobering you up on the spot.

you push jude out of your way, gentle but abrupt, and give him a look of apologetic regret. “i-i’m sorry,” you say, jitterily walking past him and exiting the room without a second glance or word, heading straight to the booth where your friends are hollering and hurraying, occupied with shot-drinking contests. 

your girlfriends offer to go home with you when you lie and tell them you’re not feeling very well, but you decline them, instead telling them to have fun on your behalf and letting them know that you’ll try to text them once you get home safely. you can tell they’re confused by your shaken state and the absence of jude but you grab your bag and make your exit before the interrogation can even begin to brew.

you manage to grab a taxi back home, surprised by how competent you are despite the alcohol in your bloodstream and confusion in your brain. on the way there, you can’t stop the bouncing of your knee nor the racing of your psyche, asking yourself how and why whatever went down with jude went down like that. you curse at yourself for being so impulsive in starting and finishing the whole ordeal with him in the way that you did – you don’t know if it’s the empty, depressive drunk thoughts or just clarity from the whole jude thing that makes you feel like there’s no coming back from this at all. you feel like crawling into your bed and never coming out from it ever again. 

the taxi driver has to call for your attention multiple times until you reach earth again and pay him the journey’s fee. you go skulking all the way up to your front door, only letting out a breath that you feel like you’ve been holding since the beginning of the night once the door shuts behind you.

the rest of the night is quiet and orderly for you, telling yourself to not invite any more chaos into your brain and to simply drink some water and to go to sleep. waking up tomorrow morning is going to be painful in more ways than one.

***

you spend the rest of the weekend nursing a ferocious hangover and a frazzled heart, only contacting your friends to tell them that you got home fine and to joke that you probably need a century or two for this hangover to be gone. you thank the high heavens that they don't bring up the topic of you and jude 

you try not to think too much about jude, you really do, but sunday night has a couple of taps landing you on the instagram app and you learn that he’s already back in spain, pictures of him in training sliding across your phone screen on his story along with selfies with his teammates. usually, you tap that small red heart at the bottom and hope that he sees it amongst his millions and millions of notifications, a tiny ritual of yours that now has you feeling so pathetic that you don’t dare to do it anymore.

running a hand over your weary face, you set your phone down and opt to nap the night away, finding comfort in the non-intrusion from your friends and the no contact from jude, hoping to keep yourself busy and distracted with whatever the work week brings.

a ring from the doorbell rips through your flat just as you’re organising your pillows, forcing you to stop what you’re doing and ponder who could be at the door on a sunday while the clock ticks some minutes past one o’clock. you don’t recollect ordering any food nor are you expecting a delivery, especially not this late. 

trudging your way to the front door, you open it to find jude bellingham standing there and you feel an instant pang of regret, wishing you had peeked through the window to see who it could be, wishing you had pretended to not be in, wishing the ground would open up right now and swallow you whole  – anything to escape the confrontation that you’re now having to face. your face heats up with embarrassment and nerves but you manage to rupture the silence before your mouth can turn dry. 

“j-jude, hi,” you try and keep your greeting as polite and cordial as you can, even when all you really want to do is to chase him off your doorstep. “what are you doing here?”

your query has jude visibly gulping, hands fiddling with each other as he attempts to hold eye contact with you, his vision a bit blurry from exhaustion. “y/n… sorry, can i come in?”

you oblige, holding the door open wide before you guide him to the living room and invite him to sit down on the plushness of your sofa, settling yourself on the opposite end of it. you silently prompt him to say what he came here to say with a nod of your head. 

“uhm, i’m sorry for turning up unannounced, and so late…” ever the courteous. “i had to sneak away from the lads and catch the last flight to here so it was all a bit down to the wire.” he lets out a small, uneasy laugh.

you cut off his rambling with a curt “what do you want, jude?” you don’t mean for it to sound so rude but you still hold the attitude of wanting to get this over and done with, already feeling annoyance at yourself for even letting him into your home. 

“right, yeah, i actually wanted to talk about what happened on saturday,” he goes back to fiddling with this thumbs, eyebrows furrowed but he avoids looking at you this time. not that you can blame him because your own vision shifts to anywhere but his direction. “i’m so sorry for making you uncomfortable a-and please tell me if this is inappropriate, but i haven’t stopped thinking about last night, i haven't stopped thinking about you, i-i’m sorry, i know this is all so silly and you probably don’t even feel the same bu-”

you stop him right there, this time with good reason as you can’t bear holding back your real emotions, not when he’s practically given you the green light to spill the contents of your heart.

“no, jude, i didn’t feel uncomfortable at all,” you assure him, gaze now on the footballer in front of you and you almost can’t believe the words leaving your mouth right now. “i wanted it to happen, i’m glad it happened, you know, i think i’ve had dreams about it happening,” you try and offset any tension with a timid chuckle before turning quite pensive. “i really like you, jude, i have for a long time… god, sorry, this is so embarrassing.” you return to making light of the situation you’ve put yourself in, the timidness sinking back in as quick as the relief lifts you up. 

jude moves closer to your now-cowering body, knees touching as your heartbeat surges with worry and self-consciousness all wrapped up into a tight, miserable ball. he puts his sweat-dampened hands into yours and squeezes in silent assurance before raising them up to his lips and laying a chaste kiss on the heated skin.

he can’t help but break out into a sweet smile, eyes threatening to crinkle at the edges. your face is still sketched with tension and now confusion has joined the mix.

“i can’t tell you how long i’ve waited to hear that from you, how much i needed to hear it,” your eyes meet his, widening in surprise a little. “i’m a fool for not telling you sooner… i like you, y/n, i really like you.” he repeats your own words back at you, leaning in with a smattering of amusement dancing in his vision. 

“can i kiss you?” the question leaves your lips faster than you can even process it in your brain.

jude wastes no time in replying with a firm pressing of his mouth on yours, deepening it within seconds, the need to cement his feelings for you being told through the way he cradles your head in his hand, leaning you back onto the arm of the sofa to further intensify the kiss. your lips move along with his, the soft weight of his body pressed against yours making you whine into his mouth in ecstasy.

he lifts off of you with a puckering of his swollen lips, the both of you taking the chance to draw in some air and attempt to regulate your breathing pattern.

“please take me to the bedroom,” you beg, breathless from the sheer sight of his dark eyes and pretty pout. there’s no fight nor denial from jude as he picks you up and prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, quickening his pace once you point in the direction of your room.

he lays you down on the bed so gently, lips latching onto yours once again before they travel down your jaw and over the warm skin of your neck. the light touch of his fluttering eyelashes married with the pressure of his soft lips has your head spinning, hands tentatively laid on top of your sheets since you don’t trust yourself to not grab his head and bring it back to your lips. his fingers tinker with the waistband of your pyjama trousers, stretching it off your skin before he asks permission to peel them down your legs. 

once they’re cast away in some corner of your bedroom, jude divides your legs by the underside of your knees, tucking himself into the now available space between them, turning onto his side and resting on his left forearm. he leaves a small kiss over your covered cunt and you try your best to not just clamp his head in between your thighs and smother him with your growing wetness here and now. 

“need to get you ready, baby,” the sudden mention of the petname has you throbbing, squirming even more when he traces a line from your clit down to where there’s a small damp spot forming on the dark material of your underwear.

“jude, please,” you whine out, lifting your hips in a desperate bid to get the boy to strip your lower half completely. 

he shushes you in his own charming way, making sure to comply with your demand by getting up onto his knees and discarding your soaked panties in a matter of seconds, the cold air generated by his large hands whipping them off you hits your exposed pussy, making you hiss through gritted teeth.

jude returns to the gap between your spread legs, sitting back but still on his knees, his higher position causing you to shift onto resting your body weight on the palms of your hands in order to peer at his actions – which start with him re-tracing that same teasing line from your aching clit to your hole with his thumb, the feeling now so intense on your unclothed skin. he hums in what sounds to be satisfaction when you throw your head back in pleasure, taking it in his favour to slip his index finger into the tightness of your pussy. 

you release a guttural groan at the feeling of finally having some part of him inside you; you of course don’t want this to be the only part but you’re still so very grateful, so fucking grateful he’s now rubbing at your clit in delicious rounds, thumb tracing circle after circle while his fingers form a pair, pistoning in and out of you so easily due to the way your cunt douses itself with every move of jude’s. 

“fuck, baby,” jude moans at the sight of his soaked digits every time they barely pull out of that pretty pussy, his thumb torturing your sensitive bud increasingly so, the cries and whimpers spilling from your lips an incentive for him. “feel so good and tight around my fingers, can’t imagine how you’ll feel around my dick.” 

his words have you absolutely reeling, writhing against his hand to try and chase that moment of release. 

“please, jude, i’m so close,” you’re warning and demanding at the same time, almost begging him to not stop or even think about moving his fingers out of you. “god, please, i need it,” 

jude suddenly retracts both of his hands, leaving you bare and empty. “no way, baby, need to have you cumming on my cock or not cumming at all,” he comments with a shake of his head, denying you the opportunity of leaking your cum over his hand. upon seeing your bewildered face, he makes up for it by putting on a show of licking your juices clean off his fingers, the digits popped inside his mouth and dragged right back out with a low moan, him praising the way you taste. 

“move up the bed for me, angel,” he orders, watching you while he stands up and unclothes himself as quick as he can. you scoot backwards, legs still spread open like they’ve been locked in that position, before pulling your oversized t-shirt off of you, chest void of a restricting bra . “good girl,” he praises, crawling up to hover his body over your laying one, cock in hand as your legs come to wrap around him. “are you still okay with this? we can stop at any point, okay?”

the sincerity of his voice has you melting. some would remark that the bar is in hell for you but the truth is that you hadn’t been with anyone like this for more months than you could count on your hands. you've been touch-starved and lacking words of affirmation for so long, and you needed something to be only about you for once. 

“i’m more than okay with this,” you smile up at him, nodding to make your approval fully known. “and yes, i know i can stop you if i need to.”

jude reciprocates the same smile before leaning in and smothering your lips with his, pushing his cock into your tight wetness, so tight that your pussy almost pushes him back out, not used to being penetrated by something so thick.

“oh my god!” the feeling of tightness/fullness has you both gasping out the same thing at the same time, erupting into quiet giggles when the two of you realise your matching reactions. 

jude’s mouth finds its way back home in the embrace of your lips and you swear this is heaven, the way his cock slides in and out of your sopping cunt, set at such a perfect pace, the slight friction causing you to grow even wetter – the filth of it all contrasts so well with the sweetness of his muffled moans and tender kisses on your neck, moving down onto your collarbones and tits.

a particularly harsh thrust of his cock has your back arching, chest pushed up to his heated face, and he takes this golden opportunity to wrap his lips around your erect nipple, spending a good while sucking and tugging on the skin around it. you’re amazed at how his cock doesn’t relent inside you, the speed still so quick and consistent even when he’s so occupied in painting splotches on your tits with his mouth.

“there,” he pants out, pulling his head back and marvelling at his own creation. “now, there’s no doubt that you’re really mine.” the smile he gives you is a killer.

you whine at his declaration of you belonging to him, scratching at his shoulders and calling out his name to indicate that it’s all too much for you, that you’re so, so close to cumming on his cock and really giving him what he wants rather than pleasing yourself. you figure that’s you gone now; you’re more willing to put the boy above your own needs because you’re down that fucking bad for him.

“fuck, jude, i’m gonna cum!” you sob, your moans becoming more frequent and higher pitched, legs starting to shake from the intoxicating mix of exhaustion and delight. you’re frantically chanting “please, please, please” into his mouth which parts to swallow your whimpering, wet lips kissing your trembling ones. 

“go on, baby, cum for me, cum all over this cock,” he groans out, eyes squeezing shut when the feeling of your pussy clamping down tightly on his thickness proves too much to handle, face finding refuge in the crook of your neck. he knows you don’t need his permission, he would’ve let you orgasm as many times as you wanted to, would’ve let you use him like your own personal sex toy, but the words were only there to keep you going when his hips felt like faltering – he needed you cumming on his cock like he promised before, and he wasn’t about to fuck it up himself.

a final scream rips from your throat as you cum hard around jude, pussy clenching and pulsating around his cock so sporadically you thought you were having two orgasms at once. jude can’t handle it anymore, pulling out with a myriad of moans as he pumps his shaft with a hand, decorating the expanse of your lower abdomen with warm, white liquid. you’re still squirming, slowly trying to wheeze out the remaining whimpers from your lungs which you’re finding hard to do with the way jude pants and moans above you, the boy so spent he can’t help but breathe like he hasn’t had access to air for the past hour.  

he flops down by your side, arms and legs sprawled like a starfish, chest rising and falling as he attempts to recuperate from the mindblowing sex you two just had. the image is so unserious that you can’t stifle your giggles but you decide to take another step of courage to lay on your side resting your head on his shoulder, fingers stroking his abs and playing with the curly hairs of his happy trail. 

the room is quiet now with the scent of sex wafting through your nostrils on occasion but it’s the most comfortable silence you’ve experienced with jude, the feeling of his hot skin on yours so soothing to you.

after a period of panting, jude clears his throat and your ears prick up at the presence of sound. he turns his head towards you and you lift yourself up and off him out of instinct – you want full attention on him.

“i don’t want this to be a one-time kinda thing, y’know,” he proclaims, biting his lip from saying too much in one go.

“what, is this your way of saying you want round two already?” you joke, nose crinkling at the way he rolls his eyes playfully.

“shut up,” he delivers a poke to your side. “i mean, well, i don’t want either one of us to see this as a spur-of-the-moment thing, i just…” you look at him expectantly, silently telling him to continue. “i want you to be my girlfriend, y/n.” 

you’re nearly knocked back by his words, wondering if they’re real or if you’re simply just hearing things. you thought dialogue like that, coming from him, was only reserved for your imagination, kept secret and only spoken to you in late-night mental scenarios that would comfort you on your way to slumberland.

you let out a laugh that’s an odd mix of relief and disbelief, quickly replying “yes, yes, of course” to his awaiting face, which releases a look of relief itself before jude captures your lips with such passion you’re both knocked back onto the plush pillows, giggling into each other’s mouths until your hands find themselves running down the defined muscles of his abdomen and over his hardening cock.

[fallen-goldfishcracker]

Still on my Ulder & Wyll bullshit but like

I keep thinking of Ulder Ravenguard, sending away his only son at seventeen, and years later hearing of a hero with a fine rapier and mismatched, kind eyes and manners from a storybook, and thinking, demanding surely not. that cannot be my son. my son is a devil's servant. it cannot be. i have no son.

and then after seven long years meeting Wyll again, at Wrym's Rock through a mindflayer's thrall, and feeling something like relief, not at seeing him but at this cold surety that this boy, this man, this hero of the frontiers could not be his son, because his son was not this tall and old and sure-footed, and did not have curling horns and a devil red eye, and the rumors must be wrong, and this Blade must be a stranger.

And then Wyll looks at him, with such kind eyes- his mother's eyes still, even devil-tainted- and calls him "father", and he knows, he knows, and his son is here, so much older and wearier and stronger, too, and he's a hero and a man and by gods he's a monster and by gods he's his son.

[seishiroh]

— it felt like the world / nagi seishiro x reader.

— hurt/comfort (i think). light angst (real). established relationship & break-up. timeskips. pro-player!nagi.

when you were seventeen, figuring out that nagi seishiro didn't mind you at all felt like the world.

when you hand him your heart on a silver platter and his gaze is warm and he replies okay, (like you're meant to understand what okay even means) there's a brush of pink on his cheeks.

he takes your hand because you're walking home together, pauses, then speaks, "i don't know how to be a boyfriend though…"

your answer is a smile, like you're happy enough just to be with him.

"just be yourself, nagi." you say.

he can do that—be himself. it's easy and being with you is easy, too. being with you feels nice, even if he isn't quite sure how to describe it—that should be enough for now. thinking too much about it is too much of a hassle anyway.

it's enough for quite a long while, actually. up until he's inside the blue lock building and reo is persuading him to stay.

"this is lame, though. i'd rather go home to y/n," he says.

but ego jinpachi and reo knew exactly just what to say to keep him in blue lock. after that, you're stuck with occasional calls and a few texts.

even with this, even just a little bit, nagi starts feeling like he's a world away. it’s probably the puppy love of it all, that you want more of his time with you. you're reckless enough to let that thought slip through when you're talking to him. 

"what if you get eliminated, though?"

"hmm? s'not possible, reo won't let that happen…" and nagi sounds so sure of himself, all the time.

"you'll be gone for much longer, then?"

"i guess. training is such a pain. i just want to sleep and play games with you."

you laugh a little, silently, because he sounds so sleepy teetering the edge of knocking out.

"i wish they'd let you out, though. even just for a day… you feel so far away…" you trail off, the silence follows you, and you think he's finally asleep.

you wish him goodnight before hanging up, before the corners of your lips quiver into a frown.

it takes nagi two days.

two days after your last call, there's a knock on your door just as you finish watering choki.

when you open your front door and find your boyfriend standing there, phone blaring with the sound of his game, eyes trained to the screen—you can't help but hold your breath. there’s an echo of game over through the speakers of his phone before his grey eyes finally meet yours.

then, nagi smiles. he slips his phone inside his pocket, places his hand on top of your head, then leads you inside as if he owned the place.

but ah, well… with the love you had for him, you’d probably let him have all that was yours anyway.

all you get is a day with him, but it's enough for you to feel like your chest is expanding, like you're full of affection just for him. he seems different already from your time apart, but it's a good different and you're happy for him.

he's cuddled up against you and you feel like this is all you'll ever want—him. you've only been together for a few months and he seems rough around the edges, but you're starting to understand that nagi's love language is the way he's always touching you and pressing soft kisses against your skin like he's constantly telling you, silently letting you know, that he loves you.

but all you get is a day, then he's back in blue lock. the next time you see him is in the bleachers of their match against the JPN U-20 team and you're nothing short of captivated. it feels surreal to see him in the field like this, beaming with energy—he looks like he belongs with the stars, like he's exactly where he's meant to be.

there’s no question about him going pro. he will. and even when he starts feeling like he’s worlds away again, you couldn’t possibly love him less.

until he had to leave you.

you're standing opposite from each other in your living room. you're upset because you don’t want him to go, he can tell, but he's unyielding.

"this is something i want, though," he tells you, just factually, like this is just something you had to accept without a fight.

it's funny, because you had a lot of fight in you, actually. but you wanted him so bad, loved him so much.

in the end, you could only pray that the long distance works.

at twenty-one, nagi leaves you to join a team in england. he leaves you with choki and a promise he'd come back, visit you when he can. but each day spent without him, your chest empties out the affection it had once been full of. it's slow because nagi actually loved you, you knew this. he called as much as he could, he'd tell you to watch him play through the television and once in a while, rare as it is, there's a bouquet of flowers at your front door.

love is enough except when he comes home to you briefly for your anniversary, nagi knows something is wrong. somehow, despite the warmth in your eyes and your happiness that he’s there, you’re privy to his touch.

like he’s completely unfamiliar to you.

it doesn’t stop him from proposing, it doesn’t stop you from saying yes. you keep thinking you don’t want him to slip from your fingertips but nagi knows you’re slipping from his. he moves in with you, you're hopeful again.

it wouldn't kill you if you couldn't hold his hand whenever you want. you think perhaps this is enough. it had to be.

it doesn’t stop him from flying back to england after. he still called as much as he could—but the time difference remains difficult, the press is ruthless with assumptions when nagi's partnered up with models in brand endorsements, and nagi hears less of you when he's too tired from his games. eventually, you stopped picking up every call because you'd rather be busy with your life than wonder what your lover was up to, miles away from you and knowing this wasn't enough.

you realise it when your heart is finally breaking, that you’re asking this over the phone instead of right in front of him.

“my parents have been asking, seishiro… when are we getting married?”

you've been engaged for over a year and no plans have been made—but it’s worse when you’re met with silence. the future blurs further, you’re not sure if you could do this alone anymore because this was his decision. when he said he’d come back, you probably should’ve asked how long he’d be gone from you.

“we can figure it out when the contract ends, planning a wedding's a pain anyway,” he mutters through the phone.

“but i want you home, sei.” and it’s the most honest you’ve ever been to him in the past two years.

“i can’t just leave, though,” he replies. you wonder if he'd ever thought the same two years ago, before he left you.

you wonder if it would be petty of you to ask if he ever thought he couldn't just leave you.

he gets a vacation on the next year, just a year before his contract with manshine city ends. but you’re with him on the couch when he tells you he’s being offered a better contract in spain. that he wants to take it. you want to be happy for him, but the breaking of your heart is loud enough in your own ears. it’s so loud that the words slipping from your mouth are unfiltered and uttered without thought.

“what about us, sei? what about me?”

nagi frowns like he doesn’t understand what you mean.

“it's not like we're in a hurry to get married, y/n. we can just do it whenever.”

“would you leave me then, too?”

"it doesn't matter, we'd still be together." but you couldn't give him the answer he wants and the ring on your finger is starting to feel heavier.

your silence is all that he's met with and the uncertainty frustrates him. if he's honest, realising you might not want to be with him anymore hurts. so instead he asks again, "do we have to figure this out now?"

"you've been away from me for years, sei. when will you come home? or am i just not worth staying around for?"

he stands from the couch, phone in hand, "i dunno, maybe you're not."

he says it so nonchalantly. as if it wasn't enough to break you. you know he's about to walk out the door, leave again.

"i miss you, you know. i want to feel like you still love me… but you're so far away from me," you try while you're watching him shrug his hoodie on, reaching for his keys.

watching him leave.

"you've been saying this for years. you're just being a pain, y/n."

then he's out the door.

one week later and six years of your relationship with nagi runs down the drain.

you wonder what hurts more: letting him go or in another universe, being married to him while you're stuck apart from each other—because leaving you was easy.

your place is rid of nagi's things, it isn't much, he simply loads it up in the back of his car. for either of you, it's yet to sink in.

until you're slipping the diamond ring from your finger, standing in front of him.

"take care, nagi," you tell him with a tight smile, the ring falling into the palm of his hand and an ache settling heavy on his chest.

he hums, eyes trained on the ring he got for you. he says okay and then he's driving off. you're left to wonder where you go from here.

nagi comes back to england early and news of your split is quick. 

a few months later, rumours of him taking an offer from a team in spain circulates and your heart hurts again because even if this is how you split up, you wish you could still hear his voice after he wins a game—telling you he's tired, telling you he wishes he could just go home to you.

but nagi doesn't know what to do with himself after every win anymore. when his teammates invite him for a celebratory drink, he comes only because he isn't sure he can handle the frustration of knowing he can't call you, or that you won't pick up even if he did.

he has a few months left with manshine before he could sign a new contract. the frustration never ends though; every moment slipping by him, the ring he keeps on a chain around his neck is a weight heavy with your absence.

he thought that this is what he wanted, that being far from you never really mattered, that it's okay if he couldn't feel you against him anymore, couldn't kiss you like he's telling you he loves you without the words.

he wonders if you felt like this the whole time he's been away for years.

it's a pain that he figures he never wants to feel anymore.

so when the year ends, nagi finds himself at your front door instead of spain.

your door opens and there you are, pretty as ever, eyes bright with a kind of carefree edge to them. but you're pretty, even with the shock painting your face that he'd usually tease you for.

it's all he could think of, that you're so pretty and so, so close to him again and there's so much he wants to say with no idea how to say them.

"nagi… what are you…?"

"i missed you," is the first thing he says. they're words enough to make your lips quiver and eyes sting. "and i'm sorry, i left thinking i'll be fine even if i loved you."

he speaks while he's trying to etch into memory the way you say his name again, so clearly, so softly. you miss him a lot too, you want him back without question, but you think you can't just take him back to let him leave again.

"but you're supposed to be in spain—" you mumble, confused. he's shaking his head before you could finish, a pout settled on his lips.

"i don't want to be there, though. i want to stay here with you, if you let me again..."

"i don't understand, what about soccer?"

"doesn't matter anymore, i could just join the japan u-20. they'll let me do that, right? but everything else is a pain if you're not there." he sounds so sure of himself, like he thought about it everyday since you were gone from him.

it's difficult to process because you've wanted this for so long, to finally have him back to you. it takes you so long that he gets nervous, because what if you don't want him anymore?

he shifts his gaze, suddenly flustered but all the more certain, "i love you, y/n. i'll prove it to you if i have to."

to be honest, nagi isn't sure what he would've done if you didn't want him anymore. perhaps he could've tried his best to win you back, even if it took him too much effort. he'd do it only because nothing truly makes him as happy as he is with you. nothing is that much troubling or that much boring as long as he had you.

it's just you he needs, really.

luckily for him, he doesn't really have to dwell on it—because your warmth engulfs him, your arms around his body.

and he says, finally, "i'm home, y/n."

[cappydoodle]

rereading my own fic and yeah I'm a comedic genius I think

[timothvy]

hbd kurapika!! <3