#make miro watch

[themirokai]

@the-real-surfski and I have finished everything we’re watching so it’s time for…

Make Miro Watch

Here’s the deal. Send me an ask or a reply with a TV show. If I’ve seen it, I’ll tell you what I thought. If I haven’t, I’ll watch an episode and report back. There might be gifs.

Criteria for shows:

- Must be on a streaming service that is not Hulu.

- Not horror unless you have a compelling reason why I need to try it. Can’t be too scary.

- Episode runtime of an hour or less.

What have you got, friends?

[starscelly]

miro experiencing unprecedentedly high levels of frustration

10.12.23

[sergeifyodorov]

hi! as a new hockey watcher which of the leafs dmen are good (other than rielly) and what about them make them good/reliable? im understanding forwards a lot better since i started watching but i think i need the good characteristics of a good dmen broken down for me. thanks for your help :)

hi !!! i do hate to say it but like. as much as the leafs are a good team their defenders across the board aren't... great...? like morgan is great at getting points and lilly is generally pretty good too but if you want to know what a Good Dman looks like the leafs are not going to be your best bet on this.

it's also generally a lot harder to tell when defencemen are good than when forwards are good because, like, what is defence anyway? whuh? -- also dmen tend to have a lot more dimension than forwards (as in, there are more possible ways they can be good) since defencemen who play offensively are meaningfully much different than forwards who defend.

here are Some things, although not a be-all end-all:

lateral movement in the offensive zone -- "walking the blueline," as it's called. when cycling in the ozone, forwards will often pass back to the defencemen to try and have someone else create the space for them, or to pass to the other side of the ice for the other wing. good defencemen are better at a) taking these passes (not blowing the zone and making everyone tag), b) holding the puck at the zone -- moving side to side to open up the ice, and c) passing it up or back to the forwards. this is easiest to see on a power-play, but the tactics hold nonetheless

pinching/retrievals -- when an opposing forward skates into the offensive zone with the puck, they will sometimes come near the walls in an attempt to get around the d. better dmen are more likely to sort of "guide" them into the walls, where they can be hit to take the puck off them. similarly, when a forward dumps the puck into the offensive zone, it's a dman's job to go and get it. better dmen are more likely to make these retrievals successfully, even under pressure

interrupting slot passes -- across or into the slot is a really dangerous (as in risky to face) direction to pass through because of how much the goalie has to move to meet the shooter. good defencemen are great at knowing where a cross-slot pass is going to be and getting in the way, forcing the passer to either shoot themselves (less dangerous, because the goalie is likely already square to them) or reconsider (also less dangerous, because everyone else will have a worse angle than the target of the cross-slot pass)

jumping up in the play -- this one is mostly a task that offensive-style dmen do and it's not necessarily an indicator of quality, but if you're looking for forwards/trying to learn to watch the game it's also something to look out for ! when a team is in the offensive zone, dmen tend to stay back, aka mostly on or around the blueline (see point 1), but sometimes a dman will come further into the zone and much closer to the net -- morgan rielly is a great example of this, he does it all the time. they kind of transfer from strict defending to playing like a forward. this has both pros and cons -- pros, it acts as another forward in the o-zone, and cons it requires the other defenceman to cover more ice, so it really depends on the offensive skill of the dman.

[pixlime]

My least favorite part of consuming Fear and Hunger content like streams is having to scrub through the footage to find the first mention of Marina and see how the chat responds and if the player has to/bothers to keep them in line

[whysamwhy123]

I think CJ should ditch Andrade and her husband and manage DG, because I would find that funny.

[marmolita]

@hibernating-heart pointed out that in last night's game Miro tried to rough up Jarvy and this is so important to me, personally,

[moviestarmartini]

ella es mi fiesta — jude bellingham x hispanic!reader

es la favorita, la mujer más buena / la que más me gusta de todas las nenas / es la mamacita, se me agua la boca / que no más las miro y todo me provoca.

summary: jude has completed his move to madrid, and while you watch him shine, you've got a wedding to plan.

wc: 3.1k

warnings: wedding!! tried not to specify much so it adapts to everything (methinks), good mother/daughter relationship lol, short nsfw but still 18+, brief female masturbation, unprotected sex (not endorsing it!!!), lots and lots of sappy crying, smau at both the beginning and the end, sentences in spanish, a paragraph in spanish will be translated at the end hehe

previous part

A bigger, brighter spotlight started to shine on your fiancé. 

You knew Jude deserved that and more, and you were more than satisfied with his success. If college wasn’t occupying your nights, you saw him at the Bernabeu whenever you could, preferring to sit outside than inside the VIP boxes to feel la afición you grew up with. Feel that passion and support surrounding you, coursing through your veins. 

Nothing had really changed; you still supported him through thick and thin. You cried when he scored a brace against Barcelona, and held him close after the endless recovery hours when he was injured. The fact he was physically closer only improved your relationship further. 

You never knew how much you needed to have him close by. 

But being at Real Madrid had its disadvantages. You barely got to hang out around campus to avoid people asking too many questions, wanting to know more about your relationship with the golden boy. But most of this chatter wasn't even questions about you or him, they were directed towards your relationship. 

The same comments you’d read on Twitter and his Instagram Posts— not yours, considering you decided to keep your account private for the time being. Things ranging from your age, the time you’ve been dating before the proposal to downright wishing you wouldn’t even make it to the wedding and just cancel the engagement. 

You’d discussed these comments with Jude, and his reassurance was more than enough to keep you at peace about your relationship. But the criticism only made your body burn with the necessity to prove everyone wrong. So you kept your head down, concentrating on your studies and planning the wedding on the side. You had bimonthly reports to Jude about the progress of everything, though Denise had been a godsend this whole time. Any decision you needed an opinion on, she was there to provide the most helpful insight when Jude wasn’t able.  

As he settled into the team, the teammates he grew closer to got to meet you, all of them absolutely adoring you and the pair you made with the englishman. 

“When are we getting our wedding party ask? Cama here wants to be the flower man.” Tchouameni joked, elbowing his fellow french national on the ribs as the group exploded with laughter. 

During one of the international breaks Jude surprised you with his return by joining you during a cake tasting. He wasn’t fully recovered from the injury and was sent back, having taken a few hours off to be with his ‘best girl’— he said himself. 

“Shoo, or I’m going to report to the mister that you’re playing hooky.” You stuck your tongue out while dropping him off at Ciudad Real Madrid for his recovery training. The truth was, you had a dress fitting that afternoon. Your mom, Denise, your cousin and your best friend were in attendance. 

You’d find your dream dress at a boutique in the city center, the streets crowded enough for people to recognize you and snap a few blurry pictures entering the shop. None of those wearing the dress, thank goodness, but by the time you found out people started to realize you and Jude were actually getting married that year, you were too elated to care. The dress fit like a glove, and your mom couldn’t help but sob by seeing you in it. She bought it on the spot without much consideration, and considering you were the only girl in your nuclear home, your mother was going all out for her little girl’s wedding. 

As the temperatures dropped, the planning became more frantic. You had fifty calls to make every single day confirming everything, keeping Jude updated and checking one last time for the RSVPs. As November edged in, you only felt more and more nervous. 

“Are we too insane for this? We should’ve waited for two years from now maybe…” You wondered out loud to Jude as you finished the engagement photoshoot. Brunch was your thing, so it was a playful twist on the theme. 

“Look at me,” He incited, taking your face in his hand. His eyes were full of reassurance, and it always surprised you to see how he never doubted anything for a second. “I’ll do whatever you ask of me. If you want to delay it for fifteen years I’ll wait patiently.” The photographer was already packing up his things, but perked up when he noticed the intimate moment going on. He didn’t interrupt, just taking a few candids. 

His understanding just melted away any doubts instead of reinforcing them. You scooted closer in your chair. “I’m not moving anything. The wedding’s in a month, and I couldn’t be happier.” You cooed, your fiancé humming happily as he kissed your forehead. 

When you received the pictures you came to notice those candids turned out to be your favorites. Not that the others looked bad— on the contrary, you both looked stunning— but they transported you back into that moment full of reassurance and love. 

Before you knew it, the last game of the season transpired, along with your last class before exam season took place in January after your Winter vacations. 

After your wedding. 

For your bachelor and bachelorette parties respectively the two of you decided to celebrate during the day so that night the rehearsal dinner could take place at the same cozy chateau the wedding was taking place the next day. It was more of a mixer than anything else, considering Jude had guests come from all over to the event. All of them you knew, since you both agreed to keep it tight knit on both sides. There had also been a sworn secrecy, you’ve giggled for hours reading Twitter threads speculating when your wedding was taking place when it was literally happening right under their noses. 

It had been an hour or so since the last of the guests either drove home or crossed over to stay at the boutique hotel nearby. Both of your families were sleeping in the other rooms in the venue, but the matrimonial bedroom was left for your solitude. 

“Can’t sleep either, eh?” You turned to Jude’s husky voice from the bedroom door. You got up with a nod, watching as he closed the door behind you. “Anxious?” 

“Definitely.” You agreed, pulling him down and into a hug. “Young bride was not something I ever pictured in my resume but that was before I met you.” You muttered, cupping his face and kissing his forehead. 

Jude observed your movements slowly, feeling the cold white gold against his cheek. He turned his face and kissed your palm before taking it in his hand, kissing your fingers, never breaking eye contact. He inched in, nose brushing against you and you knew well enough his intentions. 

“In twenty-four hours we’ll consummate the marriage, Belli-bear; don’t.” You warned him with a playful smile, noticing how he leaned down and kissed your neck slowly. You couldn’t resist, tilting your head back. With all the planning involved, you barely got to see anything of each other, even less intimately. 

“I don’t care.” He grumbled, sliding his hands on your thighs as you stumbled over to the edge of the bed. He sat first, drawing you over to his lap. “I’ve barely seen you in the last two months.” Jude linked your lips together, and you melted right into his lap. It was slow, taking your time. He pulled down the straps of the soft cotton pajamas, letting the top roll down and pool at your waist. 

Your bare chest heaved against his clothed one, and he removed the shirt before his hands cupped your breasts. The tension building up in the room was something you’ve never experienced before; it was mind numbing, almost. 

“I love you.” You muttered something you’ve said so many times previously, but it felt like the first time. You noticed how he swallowed hard, his eyes looking up at you with utter admiration. Instead of replying right away, his hand sneaked under the matching shorts, past your underwear. Your breath hitched, his middle fingers drawing circles slowly. 

“Yo también te amo.” He replied, licking his lips. You slightly raised your brows in surprise; it was usually the other way around. You said it in Spanish and he replied in English. Now his tongue spoke your language with ease each day. Your mouth twitched lightly into a smile, interrupted by a moan as he gathered the slick pooling around his fingers. 

“Let me take you, please.” His begging was sincere, knowing you could easily decline and follow traditions. Not that you hadn’t done it before, but maybe right before your wedding was pushing it. “I’m too eager… I don’t think I can wait until tomorrow. 

You have been feeling his boner pressing against your thigh for a while now, yet again adding to his honesty. Your thoughts were racing a hundred miles per hour, but you concluded there was nothing traditional about this in the first place. The two of you were bending the rules over backwards from the day you met. A smile still rose to your lips, pulling him into a kiss and pushing him onto the bed. 

“Take me now. Tomorrow you’ll do it forever.” You brushed your nose against his, and he switched places to lay on top of you. Without wasting any time he pulled your pajama shorts and underwear down, his own following soon after. 

“Uh, fuck— I forgot,” He looked around the room, trying to figure out if you’d brought any condoms. You pulled his face towards yours, cupping his jaw in your fingers. 

“I’ll take a pill tomorrow.” You noticed how his eyes shone in a way you’d never noticed before, and he caught your lips in his once more, brushing his tip against your entrance. You mewled, feeling the stretch and embracing it warmly. Your fiancé held you against his chest, kissing the top of your head. 

“You feel so warm,” He practically whined, starting to draw out long thrusts. You could barely reply to the praise, trying to keep your moans muffled by hiding your face in his neck. “So perfect for me, my girl.” 

He knew those strained moans like the back of his hand, the kind where you seemed to be choking on air. The way your cunt squeezed him was enough indication. “Yes, baby. Do it, cum for me.” You exhaled in a way it was apparent the permission lifted a weight off your shoulders. He held you closer to his body, allowing your moans to leave your mouth more freely without escaping those four walls. 

The stutter of his hips that came soon after, followed by a string of curses gave away that Jude was close too. You kissed his strong shoulders, giving him words of encouragement as he perched your legs over his shoulders and started a painful pace to find his release. Still, he looked down at you with a fondness that made your heart melt, leaning down for a final kiss as he pulled out and shot ropes of white to cover your lower tummy. 

“How about a warm bath?” He proposed tenderly, and you couldn’t have said no, even if you wanted to. Without even noticing you fell asleep curled up in his chest, the light steam surrounding your bodies. 

You woke up the next day to the empty bed, haven’t felt so well rested in a while. There was some chatter going on downstairs, and you peaked from the bedroom window to notice staff being led by your mother and soon to be mother-in-law assembling the ceremony venue in the vast backyard. The reality soon dawned upon you, and you wanted to throw up from the nerves and scream in glee. 

But that was the last time you were left alone with your thoughts, as a soft knock rang through the room. “Coming! Denme dos minutos!” You sprung up from the bed, quickly fixing the bed and slipping into the silk slip dress you bought for the whole ‘getting ready’ part of it. The house had a great heating system from the dropping temperatures, but you still got a matching bolero in cashmere. Upon opening the door you were greeted by your small wedding party, consisting of your cousin and best friend. Your other female family members were getting ready with you with the same team of hair and makeup. 

The greeting hugs everyone gave you were so different. They were full of warmth, positivity. You had to hold back tears when your mom hugged you, easing up all your nerves. It was as if they were confirming to you that they were there for you, sending all the well wishes for the years to come with a simple embrace. 

You had your favorite breakfast with mimosas before getting ready. Music was blasting, everyone was chatting it up and helping each other. It felt as though you were getting ready for a regular party, until your brother came knocking at the door. “Delivery for the bride.” He smiled, and the room full of women squealed. You were done with your hair already but you were going to be the last to get your makeup done. 

With a smile you kissed your brother on the cheek before ushering him out the door, taking a hold of the large box and placing it on the bed. Upon removing the lid, you gasped at the delicately placed bouquet, the one you were going to be walking down the aisle with. 

“You like it? I helped him choose. He assembled it himself last night after everyone was gone.” Denise came up to you with a warm smile, and you couldn’t help but give her a tearful nod, setting the flowers aside to give her a tight hug. You figured this whole thing was a big change for her, considering how much of a mama’s boy Jude was. 

But that embrace felt just like the others; full of support and well wishes. 

In no time your makeup started and the women got dressed, only leaving your mum to help you with the dress and the veil. “Ay mi princesa.” She exhaled, fanning her eyes as you took a step back to look at yourself in front of the mirror. You took a deep breath in, having to hold back the need to start crying. Your dream wedding dress fit you as perfectly as it did on the first fitting, and the lacy veil was as perfect as it was on your mother all those years back. 

“I think we should head downstairs. Get some pictures of our family together. Jude should be waiting outside already, so there would be no peeking.” She laughed, carefully cleaning away the tears right at the edge of her eyes. 

The following reactions were similar. Your father looked as though he was about to pass out, and your brother was left speechless. But you only cared about one reaction, and you stood perfect for the family pictures as you could only imagine how Jude would react. 

Still the anticipation couldn’t have prepared you to see him shedding real tears as you walked down the garden, unable to stop looking at you. And for a second there, you swore it was just you and him in the entire planet. 

You couldn’t stop looking at each other throughout the whole thing, no matter if you were supposed to look at the officiant. You said your vows first, eyes brimming with tears. “Most importantly, I love how you make me think I’m the brightest star in the world, no matter how bad either of us are feeling. And I promise I’ll drive you everywhere for the rest of our lives, don’t get that license, amor.” You finished with a bitter sweet chuckle. But you couldn’t have expected what Jude had to say next. 

“Uh, I’ve been practicing my vows for the past six months. If there’s any mistakes, just… keep it to yourselves.” The audience chuckled lightly, but they were as intrigued as you were. He started out by saying your name, almost breathless, “Siempre te he dicho que eres la razón por la que creo en el amor a primera vista.” You choked out a sob, as people in the audience gasped. 

Jude had written and learned his vows in Spanish. Without telling a soul. 

He apparently grew more confident, sucking a big breath in. “Y hoy, puedo decir con toda certeza que creo en el amor sincero y eterno. Todo por ti, preciosa,” His bottom lip quivered, noticing how you were made a mess, eyes full of tears. 

“Eres la estrella que alumbra mis días. Mi chauffeur que me lleva a todos los lugares sin que se lo pida.” He cleared his throat, inhaling the tears in. “Gracias por confiar en mí y en nuestro amor para llegar aquí hoy. Te amo.” 

You smiled at him warmly, and knew he would tease you later for having matching vows without knowing. The rest of the ceremony flew by, and Jude really took the ‘you may kiss the bride’ part too seriously. 

“I can’t believe you copied me…” He huffed as you made way inside the mansion, waiting in a separate room for your entrance. “…Mrs. Bellingham.” He practically giggled, and you laughed from the mirror as you were retouching your makeup.

“You’re the one that copied me! I said my vows first, idiot!” You joked, finishing the lip combo before getting to his side, holding his hand to do your entrance to the dining hall. The nerves filled you up and he noticed from the way you shifted your weight from one side to another. 

He kissed your hand and winked, and you knew everything was going to be alright. 

You found out that night most of your guests were hefty drinkers, or at least they had decided to be so for that particular occasion. But you also found out later that night that thank God you ‘consummated your marriage’ the previous night, considering you had to ask for a few of his fellow athlete friends to carry him up to the newlywed couple’s bedroom. You later laid there staring at the ceiling, stomach churning from… anticipation? The drinks? 

But even as Jude was snoring right next to you, you knew deep down everything was going to be alright. 

For the rest of your lives together.

judebellingham mr. and mrs. b 🤍

tagged: yourusername

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A/N: my bf still says we can't get married so enjoyyy this delusion i'm using to cope KFDSKLSDFKLV lowk did my dream wedding here but it wasn't at the same time. hope everyone enjoyed this sappy sappy short series !! the translation to jude’s wedding vows are in that lil note in the smau !!!

[slowd1ving]

FANTASMAS ゜・BLADE NSFW

"solo miro fantasmas están dentro de ti." - fantasmas (twin tribes) continuation of roommate au kind of part 2 to both ain't shit see here for some basic designs for them male reader warnings: male reader, amab reader, porn with plot, bottom reader, band au, blade's kinda obsessive, he's also in denial for like half the fic wc: 6.9k (unintentional)

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

With the piercing light of day shining upon this nondescript building, it resembles every other office in the vicinity: cold grey facade, nauseatingly plain decor, and workers that look like they’d rather be anywhere but here. But as the sun kisses the horizon and the stars scatter across the fabric blanketing the world, the infamous ‘underground’ opens—a venue beloved by local bands and those looking to drink until dawn.

It’s no surprise that Kafka’s there tonight; she’s lounging at the back with her magenta irises fixed right on the stage while her maraschino pout sips at her cocktail. The dim hall hosts dozens of people, if not about a hundred—all eagerly waiting for the arrival of the Trailblazers, bodies pressed against bodies and barely anyone sitting at the pushed-back tables near the walls. That’s why it’s perfect that she’s here and not at the front—otherwise, she’s sure the pretty flame-haired Trailblazer’s manager will notice her and give her that glare. She doesn’t want to get on her bad side, not today. 

She’s mildly astonished that Blade tagged along to scout them out of his own volition; the only member he knows for sure is Dan Heng, and anyone and everyone with a brain knows how tense things are between them. Well, it’s not entirely accurate to say he knows only one of the members behind their varied masks—there’s still you, but she doubts he’s figured it out for himself that you’re the guitarist in particular. 

The man next to her might appear relaxed—body pressed against the back of the cherry-red seating, legs spread with fingers tapping languidly on his thighs—but Kafka likes to think she can read people a lot better than that. He’s as… naive, she’d like to put it, as ever—thinking he can hide his feelings as though he doesn’t wear his pulsating, visceral heart on his sleeve for everyone to look at. 

There’s a simmering anger lying beneath his milky dermis; like his eyes, it is red-hot and coils his body inwards with a thick tension. She doesn’t know what happened these past few days, but she knows for sure he’s gotten worse—pupils honed in right on the platform in the front and not a swill taken from the liquor on the table. 

(Wine flows—the man who does not partake will sorely regret what he sees sober, she later comments in her journal.)

It’s not like you’re any better; a good mood stretched your lips into a smile as bright and messy as yolk when you saw her a few days ago. Still, any explanation for Blade’s bad mood was encapsulated in one neat, cruel word: payback. 

Several meanings can be attached to this—and these have been duly noted in the journal she keeps on the side. 

The clearest red thread she can find in this investigation is that this has something to do with you, and maybe the bassist currently setting up on stage with a delicate, draconic mask perched across his features—judging by the way Blade’s fingers dig right into the plush of his thighs. 

Oh, her mouth suppresses a bloodied smile—this is interesting. 

She doesn’t watch you in your Venetian mask—a fragile one that spans three-quarters of your face, a Phantom of the Opera style she does appreciate. 

No, actually, she glances at the revealing top you’re wearing and makes out several bite marks and bruises in the strobe lighting—putting two and two together quite quickly. Ah. No wonder he’s pissed. 

She then, very efficiently, decides it will be far more amusing to watch Blade’s expression surreptitiously as he slowly figures it out. 

Just who exactly is that guitarist?

It weighs on his mind—heavy, uncomfortable. He loathes Dan Heng, and the rest of the Trailblazers by proxy; even without the ongoing feud, he’d hate them regardless. While he did come to the performance to clear his head and remind him of exactly who he’s up against, he can’t help but gaze at the person currently plugging in his guitar. 

Stop. 

Pungent copper warmth spills into his mouth as he bites hard into his cheek; bleeding sanguine replaces the lingering caress of whiskey on his taste buds. 

Yet still—as the strobe dies down and a haunting, ghostly incandescence shimmers over the band—his eyes continue to trace his figure. 

His flimsy shirt rides up his stomach as he loops the guitar around his neck, and Blade can feel his mouth go dry. Damn you—he can’t stop thinking about that scene he almost walked in a few days ago, and now that small patch of skin is making him imagine what it would be like with a guy. 

This venue is for the amateurish bands—ones that won’t ever make it big but still have a loyal base of dedicated followers. Very technically speaking, the Trailblazers are popular and rightfully so: skill macerates itself into their songs. Yet, he can’t help the dislike that taints his perception of their music. 

The vocalist’s voice is well suited to this genre—long grey hair framing a golden mask while she sings, but he’s more focused on the melody accompanying it. There’s several embellishments on the guitar chords accompanying it that his ears pick up: too used to your irritating playing to ignore them. Nothing too wild, just some flair he begrudgingly appreciates. 

He can only focus on the guitarist, not even sparing a glare at the bassist close to them. 

It’s in the second song you finally have a solo: a long riff that appears to be a crowd favourite, stirring a hitched breath from him. 

Familiar, it somehow seems—something along your style but he’d be damned if he ever heard this from you. 

He loses track of the minutes that turn into well over an hour. 

The atmosphere in the club has shifted significantly—expectant. It appears to be one of the last songs; and Blade’s ashamed that the time passed quickly for him. 

Too busy staring at the guitarist, he can hear future Kafka tease, and he clenches his fists in his lap.

“Kiss me with amaranthine on your lips,” 

You’ve done nothing but play the electric guitar, which is why he widens his eyes in surprise as your mouth opens and you lean into the vocalist’s mic. A melancholy synth accompanies the bittersweet song—with a deeper voice that makes your face flash in his mind. 

Can’t be. 

“Arsenic on your tongue.”

Involuntarily, that scene of you with Dan Heng’s lips against yours takes up the space in his mind—all-consuming, fury-inducing. 

“Frankly, dear, you could send me to the tomb,”

He downs the hard liquor that’s been sitting on the table for the past hour. God, he sounds perfect: making his dick twitch in his pants as he imagines this voice in his headphones. 

“Pressing your hands to my frigid cadaver,”

His breathing becomes slightly more shallow as he notices how the flimsy shirt finally sticks in a way that half-exposes the guitarist’s chest—a prominent bite-mark just peeking out from the side.

“One live pulse and the other lifeless,”

The lighting shifts to illuminate you more, and he can suddenly see the slight discolouration against his slicked collarbone and sweat-soaked neck—bruises which feel slightly off, in the sense that Blade’s stomach grows tight and his heart pounds fast and hard against his lungs. 

“And still I’d wait, Styx cradling me in its miasma—”

His eyes sweep across the room and land directly on Blade’s, and there’s something so familiar in that gaze that he can’t look away. 

“Is my apostasy enough for you?”

It’s past one in the morning when he leaves the venue—cold air nipping at his arms as Kafka waves him goodbye and he drives home with the icy street lamps lighting his way. In the privacy of his car, he finds the specific song online—letting the guitarist’s honey-rich voice sweep over him, before his heart begins thrumming uncontrollably.

He’s onto something—a specific line of thinking that feels so ludicrous he can’t help but scoff at himself as he parks. 

Ridiculous, he thinks. Perhaps it’s simply human nature to deny that which brings discomfort. 

Cognitive dissonance. 

But there’s no one at the apartment. Not a dim slit of light on the wall opposite your door—where it’s almost a daily occurrence at the young hours of the night. In fact, your slightly open door (and here his heart pangs at the thought of that day) indicates not a soul currently inhabits the empty room. He stands there for a long time, staring. 

You can’t…

Tongue leaden, he makes his way to the living room: sinking into the couch while his rubine eyes fix themselves on the door. He loosens the buttons of his shirt, running his tired hands through his inky spills of hair. He’s good at the waiting game; the minutes may drag out infinitely, but he wills himself to sit in silence. 

It’s far past two when you finally stumble in—a long coat bundled over casual clothes that make the tension in his shoulders dissipate slightly. There’s a bag clutched in your hands but no signs of a guitar case. 

Why does he feel so relieved?

You finally notice him: locking eyes, yet not saying anything. His lips press together, then part suddenly.

“Where were you?” It sounds accusatory, and he supposes it is. Don’t tell me what I’m thinking is true. 

“Out,” you reply shortly. His fingers clench around one of the pillows next to him. 

You won’t answer. There’s no point in asking anymore; with gritted teeth, he knows the taste of futility. It seeps bitter in his mouth as he lights the small amber lamp on the coffee table—attempting to numb his mind through the tried-and-true method of reading upon the principles of cement and composites. 

As he hears the steady stream of the shower, his plans go awry. Those same words he’s memorised blur in his vision when his mind conjures you. 

Don’t. 

Where were you?

He’s sliding his book back onto the shelf as your soft footsteps pad out of the bathroom. When his head turns, you’re wearing only a towel: steam still rising from your warm body as you don’t spare him a glance. 

Perhaps it’s fate. 

Perhaps it’s his own fault for getting his hopes up. 

You pass by him—too close, he thinks, you’re much too close—and your bare torso is right there. 

As is the bite-mark that caught his eye earlier. 

When those chromatic eyes trace the expanse of your trapezius muscles, each and every bruise matches the practical constellation he saw littering the guitarist’s body. The dips in your arms, the specific shade of tinted lips you’d sported, each valley and plane of the guitarist’s body—all pointed to the two being one and the same. 

His chest is impossibly taut; only when you clear your throat does he realise he’s standing in the doorway. A fitting Cerebus to this household—if he could, he’d keep you here forever and not let anyone else in. 

“Do you have a problem?” you ask, and it’s the perfect, tired pitch that just about stirs his inky spills of hair and makes his eyes heavy with lust. 

“Maybe,” he accedes in his own low voice, too busy wondering how your songs would taste to notice you getting slightly closer. 

No, that’s a lie. He notices—feeling and seeing the small wisps of vapour still cling to you from your shower  (and now him). He inhales, slowly savouring the unique flavour of you: burnt sugar curling honey-sweet from your lips, the shower gel he knows you just randomly grabbed—it’s the one he uses too, the faint tendrils of sweat and steam and lotion that each have their own distinct tang. 

His nose is level with yours: he can feel the faint fan of particles that brush across him. It’s not that which causes his nails to dig into his palms, but rather the quirk of your brow as you ever-so-slightly raise it. 

“What—no girls to warm up your bed and cure your boredom?” 

It’s a question that could insinuate two meanings. First, that you’re simply mocking him and his previous activities. The second implies that he’s desperate enough to seek you out. 

“No fellow Trailblazer to warm yours?” he bites out. Question for a question—and perhaps he’s slightly sick for enjoying how your eyes widen in abrupt shock. 

“Does that matter?” It’s almost like a game at this point—defences and hackles raised, inching to total annihilation by inquiry. Maybe you’ve realised it’s futile to deny it; a frown settles on your face with a matching glare. After all, for the average student, coming across a member of the bands—Knights of Beauty, Galaxy Rangers, the Family (to name a few)—isn’t a big deal. 

But he’s not the average student. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “It really does.”

Oh. Oh.

He watches as you piece it together—noting his connection to Kafka, the drumkit in his room, and his clear hostility towards Dan Heng. He watches as you accidentally take a step back into the large shelf, watches as you furrow your brows in the way he spots when you’re solving a particularly difficult problem. 

“You’re a damn headache, you know that.”

There’s no malice in your eyes, but he can feel you slipping from his fingers; he can hear the cogs in your brain turn with certainty as you look away with resolve. He’s going to move out—Blade realises, and it’s perhaps the second time in his life that he regrets letting his heart seep through his lips with that sort of confession. Suddenly, he’s stepping forward: hand wrapping tightly around your wrist, with less-than-bruising strength. 

Fuck. The back-and-forth from earlier reminds him exactly of the position he’s in: practically caging you against the wooden frame while you’re still warm and damp from the shower. He’s lucky he wore loose trousers out—and you’re too busy glancing at him in surprise to notice him straining against them. 

“Blade—”

“Yingxing.” He’s not quite sure why he interrupts. Like a gaping wound, he’s ripped past the scab and hit tender flesh. 

He can’t define where the firm line between you and him is. 

And maybe he’s your roommate and there’s a messy boundary constructed by both parties, but there’s something pressing his lungs tight against bone.

“—Yingxing,” you taste carefully: sampling the two characters in your poisonous mouth. “The hell do you think you’re doing?”

The normally-collected engineering student has abandoned his wits—gazing at you like a man half-starved. 

“Making you stay,” he murmurs. “You don’t need to move out—don’t we work well together?”

I can treat you so right. His thigh cants against your legs, and he hears you inhale sharply. Fuck. 

Bringing your wrist to his face, he presses his lips to the skin—burning, as some would say, so utterly contrasting with his colder image that it brings about an effect of cognitive dissonance. What’s so good about Dan Heng?

“You’re such a prick,” you hiss, and he feels the words pierce right through him. He is. Objectively, he knows he’s a bastard—unapologetically, wholeheartedly—but you don’t make an effort to pull away. 

“I am,” he admits in a tired, low voice. He doesn’t know if it’s the steely look in your eyes, or the firm set of your mouth—yet he thinks you’ve rooted him in place instead of the opposite. 

Why? If he gets involved with his roommate of all people, it would turn blurry boundaries into cacophonous messes—and it’s not like he wants you to leave. It would be far simpler to let you move out; slice away the relationship cleanly before his heart tightens any further. 

“Do you find it fun fucking with people like this?” 

He looks at you. Really, he does. 

Guitarist. Physics student. Capable scholar. Then there’s that—Trailblazer. 

But there’s also that. 

My roommate. 

So many concepts to consider, when that’s only surface level. He’s never had to think so hard about someone before: preferring to not know them at all. 

“Hah.” You sound incredulous. “Are you this fucking indecisive with everyone?”

“No,” he finally replies. “Just you.”

It’s then that he releases your wrist. You’ll walk away. In line with his own predictions, he already knows you’ll barge past him—perhaps knocking a book or two off his shelf. 

But, no—

“Do you ever shut up?”

—you seem to defy his expectations each time. 

His eyes flicker to your mouth, and this time you take notice. 

Kiss me with amaranthine on your lips. How fitting. 

His eyes widen as you roughly grasp the front of his shirt: creasing the smooth fabric in your fist as you yank his face forward. It’s as if you’re about to punch him square in the jaw, yet for some reason his heart pounds faster and his cheeks flush ever so slightly. Delicately, yet he is anything but that. 

“Seriously, you’re so—”

The heat consuming him is sweltering and omnipotent. One that controls his limbs like a marionette; he’s already reaching to grasp your chin with his rough hand. You’re warm: exhaling in surprise as his mouth meets yours. 

“Mmh–” Hands worn from playing chords tonight slip from the front of his shirt and slide around his nape. He can feel your fingers entangle themselves in his inky hair, and for once he closes his eyes. You taste like the sweetest poison: traces of cherry syrup and the faint spice of liqueur. 

He should’ve done this sooner. 

Canting his head to the side, he deepens the kiss—tongue spilling into your mouth, twining with your gasps. He presses you against the shelf; his shirt’s becoming damp from the drops of water still clinging to you, but surprisingly, he’s not irritated. If it were anyone else—if it were anyone but you—he would be disgusted. But maybe because it’s you, he just wants to meld his body against yours. 

Perhaps that’s the first sign. 

Arsenic on your tongue. 

Something colourless, without taste. He certainly feels poisoned: heart racing uncontrollably, skin rosy with flush, pupils dilated until the sanguine in his eyes is just a sliver. He pulls back with breaths heavy against the still air. You’re wrapped around his neck, unmoving, and he can’t help but taste victory on his taste buds instead. 

“You’re still not forgiven,” you mutter callously.

“That’s fine.” A thin, sharp smile appears on his face as he leans his face into the crook between your neck and shoulder—practically branding you with the sear of his words against the expanse of your dermis. He’s smiling—grinning—ecstasy racing through his veins as he hears your groans when he presses his open mouth against the flesh. Bruises upon bruises will blossom later on your body; his pants strain at the very thought. 

You’re staying, and his mind goes hazy and numb when he thinks of how you’ll look in his arms come morning—all pretty and fucked-out just for him. 

It’s not like he likes you in that way—it’s simply the most opportune moment to steal you away from Dan Heng’s filthy hands. He saw how the bassist stared at you throughout your parts: heard how that bastard’s hands fumbled on the strings with the lines streaming from your lips. 

No, he doesn’t like his roommate like that. 

Frankly, dear, you could send me to the tomb. 

Why is his heart beating so fast then? When his hand trails to land on your scalding waist, pressing your almost-naked body against his—why does his own body burn?

(Why did he give you his name?)

“Fuck—” you groan as his mouth latches onto your chest: rebranding it on his own terms. He laps up the salt and sweat on your skin—too hazed out to fully take into consideration the effort he’s putting into this. Rather than a rough fuck with his peers, he wants you to enjoy yourself—wants to be acknowledged as better than his nemesis.

His fingers dig into the plush and muscle corded between the planes of hip and rib cage, wrapping until the tips of his hands reach the cobbled path of your spine. You’re so warm: so much so that he can’t stop clutching your body like a lifeline. 

“Wanna go further?” he murmurs against the fat of your chest, feeling the heavy thump–thump of your heart against his lips. 

He pulls back with the sheen of saliva on his lips, gazing up at you with a spoken and unspoken question. Aeons—when you stare back at him with those lowered eyelids and that grin on your lips; when you slither your hands so they entwine against his scalp in his murky locks; when you bring his mouth back to yours in a scorching, open-mouthed kiss—he can feel his body and soul crumble around him into an ashen heap. 

“Thought you didn’t like me.” You catch his lip with your canines, and the sour tang of blood fills his mouth and pools on his tongue. 

Pressing your hands against my frigid cadaver.

“I don’t,” he answers as he pushes you up against his bed—shucking the shirt worn over his tight top onto his floor—and letting your steaming flesh warm up his frigid muscles. 

“Yeah, I don’t like you either,” you reply exasperatedly, raking your nails against the contours of his back while he looks up at you: mouth still latched over where that man left those impressions as if to erase them. 

“So what the fuck are we doing?” you comment in wonder. He doesn’t reply—too busy stripping himself of his top so he can finally feel your bare skin on his like this, flesh squishing against flesh as he kisses you over and over. 

It’s like he’s laving your lips clean with his own, and there’s a trickling understanding somewhere in his subconscious. 

Why is he doing this? Why have you agreed to this?

The two questions ingrain themselves deeply in his troubled mind. 

But when he looks down on the sweat on your face, lips bitten to muffle the noises slipping from your lips, he doesn’t ever want to stop this. 

“Wouldn’t you have hurried up by now?” He doesn’t know what you’re referring to until he recalls how you heard him—and it bothers him how relaxed you sound, how nonplussed you seem, when he’s filled with a seething anger everytime he recalls what he saw when he stumbled on you with Dan Heng splayed bare over you. 

“Why? Want me to recreate the experience?” He won’t ever admit that those sorts of rough fucks aren’t suited for you—he wants to take it slow for once, wants to make you feel good until you completely lose yourself and forget all about that bastard. 

“No—ah,” you grip his hair as his tongue trails down the dips of your stomach, stopping only above the towel still tied above your waist. The hasty tug on his hair elicits a groan out of him; slowly, he can feel his face grow flushed once more at the knowledge that he’s making you lose control. There’s that strain against the fabric of the towel, one that definitely mirrors his own. 

Aeons. 

“Fuck— fuck—” you whine as he slips his hand under the towel, wrapping around your dick with a deftness that doesn’t belie his inexperience with men. He’s a quick study—watching every minute twitch in your expression as he strokes you to full hardness. 

Soft—you’re so pliable as you moan under him, eyes squeezed shut as he observes your face with his smile stretched taut on his face. 

He’s never felt this affectionate towards anyone, and perhaps that’s what he should focus his attention on. He wants to rob you of your breath with his lips, he wants to listen to you forever as he draws out pleasure upon pleasure from you. 

“Ngh–” you whimper as his thumb brushes over your leaking slit, crudely pressing it and letting the precum drip onto his fingers. The rough motions cause the towel to finally drop past your hips, and his breath hitches at the sight of you beneath him—finally, finally. This is the first time that he’s taken his mind off his own pleasure: practically entranced by how you squirm and bite down on your sounds. 

Aeons. Aeons. Aeons. His mind goes numb as you cant your hips into his hand, and his head dips down to capture your noisy mouth with his own. 

Fuck. He doesn’t think he can let you go like this. 

Your nails claw at his back—it only makes him more determined to wrack you with pleasure, to leave you glassy-eyed and mindless to anything but him. 

Forget about the Trailblazers, he wants to say as you arch your back to press yourself more fully against him. Think only about me, he conveys as he twists his hand—and you keen against him. 

He’s in far too deep. 

As you cry out, as thick rivulets of cum paint his skin and yours, as he continues pumping his hand so he can see those pretty tears leak from the sides of your eyes—he’s drunk on the scent of you, drunk on the taste of your moans and the salt of your skin. He laps up each cry you give him eagerly: tasting the complex emotions of blood, tears and that lingering taste of cherry liquor weakly underpinning it all. 

One live pulse and the other lifeless. 

“Ah— mmh—” you choke out, and his face blossoms into such a profound shade of crimson that he buries his face in your neck. He kisses the rhythmic echo of your heartbeat, right where the pulsepoint is situated and thrumming with desperation. 

He’s never felt this urge with any of his other hookups—this stupid willingness to hold your body close to his like this. 

His lips surge to yours once more as his finger slips in you, drinking in the gasp you let out: how your body freezes beneath his, how your body nestles into his closer as your spine reacts to the sudden intrusion. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he breathes as you practically suck him in. “You’re so tight.”

“Don’t do this—ah—often,” you answer through your wavering mouth. Good, he wants to say—but there’s something about commenting on what you just said that prickles him with ominous foreboding. Was it Dan Heng too? Like this, between your legs—drinking in each small mewl that leaves those swollen, bitten lips. 

 Your abdomen tenses and relaxes in short bursts, and he can feel himself stiffen even more against his bed. 

Fuck. 

Impulsively, he dips his head lower so he can suckle right on your mushroom tip. And immediately, your hands move from where they were still scratching up his back to his head—tugging on his hair in a futile attempt to keep yourself grounded. 

He groans around you, and it’s clear you won’t last much longer—not when he’s added another finger, not when he’s carefully taking you deeper down his throat. 

He’s never done this before—never considered doing this—but there’s something about you that makes him want to never think of anyone else but him. 

You’re salty on his tongue—slightly bitter from the residue of cum still dripping from the slit. He licks a long strip from base to tip: trying to accustom himself before he fully commits. It’s clear he’s doing something right; there’s a panting, needy quality to your moans. With his free hand, he strokes your balls to add more hellish stimulation—and suddenly you’re locking your legs around his head. 

His eyelids flutter slightly: busy suppressing the long whine that’s about to emerge from his larynx. Aeons, he should’ve done this sooner. If he could taste you, if he could feel the slick smell of sweat and cum still plastered on your inner thighs earlier like this, if he could be like this sooner—it would’ve been worth asking Kafka for a favour. 

“Ah—” your voice shakes as he slips yet another finger inside while finally taking you fully down his throat: even with you losing control, it’s clear you don’t want to hurt him as you don’t push his head down to deepthroat you. It’s strangely sweet—something caring that just makes him want you to be rougher instead. 

He moans lowly as you pull on his hair desperately again; this is the vibration that finally pushes you over the brink. You spill into his mouth, warm and salty and slightly metallic—and stupid wanting wracks his body. 

Blade swallows it all, continuing to suck you off until he can feel your body tremble beneath him—feel the crushing pressure of your thighs around his head. 

“Want you, fuck,” he murmurs after he pulls away; thin strings of cum still connect him from your tip, and he doesn’t think he’s ever unbuckled his belt so fast. He kisses you as though he’s a man starving: teeth clashing slightly against teeth as he tugs his trousers off. 

“Care— careful,” you breathe unsteadily as he lines himself up, sinking his sharp teeth into your shoulder lightly. “You wouldn’t want to give off the wrong impression that you actually like me now.”

And there’s something vulnerable in your tone: a small self-deprecation. He tries ignoring it. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, grasping your warm hand in his own calloused, frigid one. “Wouldn’t want that.”

But his tone is insincere, and he thinks you can tell. 

Somehow. 

Somehow. 

Maybe it’s futile to believe you understand him, yet your piercing eyes and annoyed glare as you look at him are always surface-level: angry but still not resolving to actually move out. You were the one who figured out his intentions from the beginning—irritating you until you simply left—while the other roommates just shivered and slammed the door behind them. 

You stayed. 

He’s been kissing you over and over and over—and he kisses you again now as he slowly sinks into the tight heat of your hole. Fuck. Perhaps if his head was clearer, he’d think about the implications of kissing you in particular when he hasn’t touched lips with anyone else for years. 

He whines lowly as he pushes in deeper. You’re so damn warm—so gorgeous like this: palms splayed against his shoulders, expression all hazy and fucked-out, lips so inviting he has to put his mouth on yours yet again. 

“Fuck,” you hiss into his lips as he bottoms out. It takes all his self-restraint to not cum immediately, adjusting to just how good you feel. 

You cant your hips so you’re rocking back onto him with a satisfied hum. The motion wrangles a moan out of him, but he desperately grips your waist with his strong fingers so you quit moving. 

“Hold on,” he slurs, rubbing small circles on the flesh with his thumbs. He’s throbbing, teeth caught on his lips to keep his mind clear. Shit. To be so close already makes him feel like a virgin again: sensitive at the slightest touch. You seem to be so damn full of surprises. 

“What, surprised it feels like this?” You sound amused, and he looks at you irritably. 

“Yeah,” he leans down and practically moans into your ear, rolling his hips against your plush ass. You shiver slightly, and his lips split wide in a mocking grin at the effect the sound had. 

“You feel so good,” he whines, deliberately dragging out the noise. “Taste so good too.”

“Mmh–” you cover your mouth as he begins moving properly now—yet still so teasingly slow. 

He catches your wrist with a firm hand, gripping it tightly against the bed so he can hear you properly.

“What’s wrong? Surprised—hah—it feels like this?” He throws your words back at you, but it’s not like he’s doing much better. It’s taking everything within him to not just fill you up: letting his cum drip out of you while he stuffs it back in. The thought darkens his red face even further. 

You don’t answer. It’s only natural that he moves agonisingly slow—probing for an answer while his fingers busy themselves by wrapping around your weeping cock, achingly rubbing from shaft to base with a sticky shick-shick noise. 

“I gave you an answer,” he mocks, ignoring the tightness in his stomach when gazing at your teary eyes. So pretty. 

Wordlessly, your free hand that isn’t pinned by Blade trails from his scalp to his nape—and you pull him into you so your lips meet his, scorchingly so. 

“Ngh–” he groans into the kiss, practically feeling his climax build up. He forces it down—too preoccupied in filling you up at the right time, not now. 

“Aeons,” he mutters as he pulls away, and there’s a grin on your lips he wants to wipe off. 

“Does that count?”

He lost this time, but the sight is worth it. 

With a greedy pang of his heart, he pulls his pelvis back until just his shaft remains hooked in your walls—your eyes widen, and this time it’s his turn to smile. 

He slams back in, and the long moan you let out is almost angelic. 

“Fuck, fuck,” you sob out as he drills into you over and over; tacky skin meets tacky skin with a perverted plap-plap, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so euphoric. 

He can feel it on his face: an adoring, almost fanatic look hazing his once-clear red eyes. 

And still I’d wait, Styx cradling me in its miasma.

He wants you.

The man twines his fingers with yours tightly. Possessively. 

“Blade—” you gasp out brokenly as he hits your prostate, kissing the tip right into the nerves with each thrust. His grip on your hand tightens, and you wince at the sudden pressure. 

“Yingxing,” he corrects, speeding up the jerking motions of his other hand. 

Why? Why does he so readily reveal to you what he hides for everyone else?

Fuck. He needs you, so so so badly. 

Your abdomen is taut and quivering, and he knows you’re not far off from climaxing again. Like this, with teary eyes and the impression of petrichor on your rainy lips, he thinks you’ve never looked more captivating. 

Perhaps it’s a fleeting attraction, but in his very bones he can feel his entire existence enrapture himself by you and only you. 

And just like that, your expression changes minutely and he already knows just how close you are to that haunting precipice. 

He twists his hand just so. As expected, you pliantly move your body against his with broken moans: arching into his touch while you tighten around him. You’re shaking—and he’s so close too, just like you. You’ve brought him to the brink so easily, but it’s not the sopping heat of your walls that finally catalyses his sweet downfall. 

“Yingxing,” you breathe. He almost doesn’t catch it, but then you say it again.

“Yingxing.” And this time the sound is so light, so affectionate as you spill all over his abdomen and your own—so airy. It’s enough to push him to that brink; hot ropes of cum spurt deep inside you, and you gasp almost immediately at the intense feeling. 

“Ah—fuck,” you moan out as he rocks into you to ride out his orgasm, something so intense he bites down into your trapezius muscle to keep himself sane. 

It’s indescribable—mind finally going blank as he litters his bites everywhere, prolonging the movement of his hips against yours for as long as he can. And you milk him for all he’s worth; he’s already feeling that relief and exhaustion wash over him even though it’s only been one round. 

He finally lets himself go: practically smothering you with his body as he lies on top of you, still nestled deep within you. 

“I should go,” you say awkwardly, but there’s that tiniest trace of hesitation he can read in your voice that makes him wrap his arms tight around you instead. 

“No.” His own voice is muffled from where his mouth is connected to the bitten flesh of the juncture between shoulder and neck. 

“Fuck do you mean no?” you grumble, but the way you thread a lazy finger through his hair and work through the tangles in his locks makes his heart beat in a way it hadn’t just now. 

What the hell? 

That damn flush on his face is still there—and still, that lovelorn look in his eyes hasn’t faded either. 

“Just stay with me tonight,” he presses kiss after kiss to your shoulder as if to convince you. 

“Hah,” you sigh. There’s a glare trained on the crown of his head—he can feel it without even looking at you. Is that not proof he knows you this well? Can’t you see that? He furrows his brow. 

Is my apostasy enough for you?

“Yingxing—” His heart beats wildly at his name leaving your lips, and he knows he’s screwed. “—you don’t need to keep it up after we’ve already fucked.”

There’s a distraught hesitation in his pulse—it takes him far too long to clock just how he feels about you. 

“Keep what up?” His tone is neutral. Perfectly polite. Ironic, considering his naked form covering yours currently—bathed in a mess of sweat, scratch marks, and cum.

Who is he not to indulge in you?

“This act of affection.” Jet hair flutters back to fan out on his back when you let the strands go. Much like sand in an hourglass, he can feel you slipping away as though you were time itself. “I don’t need it, and I’d prefer you save it for someone you actually like.”

His heart skips a beat, and he sits up, startled. 

“Hit a nerve there, didn’t I,” you mutter, but he barely hears you. Those senseless thoughts—the constant stream of panic and anger and despair—are beginning to emerge from their lairs. In your presence, they always seem to recede: as though you were the salvation he’s been trying to reach in his own myth of Sisyphus. 

You’re leaving after all.

All because of him and his incompetence.

His fingers clasp your own in a softer mirror of before. Whatever you might’ve said lies forever discarded—words resting just within your mouth, not a single syllable crossing the threshold of your lips. You don’t leave, simply gazing at him from where you lie: bare skin of your side pressing against his own naked thigh. 

Don’t you know he sees you and only you?

“Look at me.” For once, the arrogant cadence he wears like a second skin fades as he pleads. “Look at me.”

In the dim amber lighting that sweeps over his cluttered room, it seeps into all four corners and lands on his drum kit sequestered in the corner: the very thing that got him into this mess in the first place. There’s stacks upon stacks of engineering manuals and textbooks organised neatly on his shelves—a passion that you understand, one that you live and breathe with in the same way he does. 

Do you see him?

Do you see him as he sees you?

And finally, the incandescence traces the outlines of him and you. You, peering up at him—eyes lucid and clear despite it being the young hours of the night. Him, gazing down at you—eyes so desperate that he’s reverted back to Yingxing. No longer Blade, but the man beneath the frigid exoshell. 

He raises your joined hands, pressing fragile kiss upon kiss to your fingers and the slight raise of veins on the back of yours. All the while, his eyes don’t waver from yours. 

Your brows twitch; judging by the press of your lips, you’re holding back something along the lines of wow, Yingxing, never took you for a romantic. 

He’s not. 

“Oh,” you breathe. You’re smart; connecting the dots isn’t particularly difficult with a mind as sharply analytical as yours. Constantly questioning, constantly evaluating everything (not limited to the domain of your physics major only) including the human psyche. 

He raises your hand even further, and presses it against his cheek. Scalding skin against boreal dermis. 

You sit up. Expectantly, he waits for you to twist out of his grasp and leave. You’re still naked after all, and he’s talking about feelings right after a hookup. If it was anyone he’d bought home, he’d have kicked them out right there and then. 

But before he can process it, your lips are gently touching his own: about as tender as a flesh wound, raw and throbbing. He makes a surprised sound into your mouth—something between a gasp and a hum, two very conflicting actions that make you smile against his lips. And then you’re kissing him properly, nothing like the lust-driven actions of earlier. 

“Yingxing,” you murmur into his mouth. 

“Yes,” he answers instantaneously.

“You’re still a prick for those stunts you pulled with those drums.”

It’s nighttime, but he’s never felt so at ease as he does tonight. He’s got his head planted firmly on your chest listening to the steady beat of your heart, as you finally slumber in his arms.  

And when the day finally dawns, you will have stayed.

[amoosarte]

𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐃 𝐘 𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐑, 𝐂.𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐙 𝐉𝐑

SUMMARY ! in which Carlos and his wife enjoy their little life in spain with their children but are somewhat a cute family dynamic !

FACECLAIM ! julia.hatchh, TROPE ! long lasting love !

It was no secret that Carlos Sainz Jr. wanted a family of his own. Growing up in a household that held so much love was all he ever wanted in the future. He and his sister were showered with love since well..forever.

Carlos thought of it all the time while holding his wife in his arms every night, in his eyes it would be a long night for him but he wouldn't nag about it. Carlos was a sincere man, he would shush his wife to sleep when she was overstress and tired, massage her hair to caress her to sleep, then hold her while looking at her delicate body.

Carlos would study the women that had catched his heart with just a look. Those brown doe eyes just looking at her like she was the moon, he was looking at her in a way a woman dreamed of. He was utterly in love with her, wishing to be by her side forevermore.

Lana was a woman that was soft spoken, a woman that would praise him for right about everything. She would shower him with love when feeling low. She was his best friend, a woman he could never get tired of.

When the topic of children rose in conversation, Lana became shy. She had admitted she did want a family with Carlos and said it was always a thought in her head. She dreamed of them having his eyes and his way loving. It had almost brought him to tears, twirling her around in excitement.

With that, they were blessed with a baby boy. His name soonly becoming Lorenzo Sainz, most of his uncles calling him 'Enzo'. A boy that look exactly like his mamita, but having his papitos eyes. He was and adored toddler until simply two years later he had his baby sister.

Carolina Sainz was her father's carbon copy with her mamitas eyes, and she was a daddy's girl. Becoming the princess of the Sainz family, with everyone adoring her.

Carlos decided that this would be enough for him, becoming traumatize with his wife pregnancy. Lana would admit both of them were harsh pregnancies but she didn't want to let her husband down.

Now they were a simple family living in spain, somewhere near a part of the ocean. In hacienda spanish style home, where both children live their childhood dreams.

"Caro, linda, estás listo para ir a ver a papi?" Lana said while making her son look presentable. Lorenzo just looked at his mother while she called out for her four year old daughter. "Si mami, me miro bonita?"

Although she looked like her father, she had a bit of her mother witty personality. "Preciosa." Lana smiled at the girl, sitting her down on the bathroom counter. Her silky brown hair were tied into pigtails, making her look absolutely stunning. "yo tambien?" her little boy said.

"guapo." She said before kissing them on their cheeks, staining their brown skin with a lipstick stain. "Listos para mirar ver a papá en su auto de carreras?" Lana smiled sweetly at them, watching them nod furiously.

They left the house on time, driving to see Carlos drive. It was somewhat special since it was a home race but if Carlos was being honest, it was Carolina's first time watching him race in person.

Trust that he told every soul in the paddock, and they loved seeing the spanish driver all excited. Though he wished it was under a better situation, Ferrari didn't extend his contract and he somewhat he needed to focus on landing on the podium.

"Well aren't you excited!" A very well known english accent rand from behind him. "You have no idea." Carlos smiled sincerely at Lando, making the younger boy laugh. "Is our princess coming for the first time today?" Lando was not going to express it but he loved the kids to an extent.

"Yes, and I must land on the podium to celebrate it." Carlos said half serious and half jokingly. Lando rolled his eyes playfully the wishing him luck.

Carlos had entered the Ferrari garage before a squeak called out to him. “Papi!” There she was the golden girl of Ferrari.

"Caro!" Carlos immediately crouch down to embrace his little girl, a large grin spreading like wildfire across his lips. "Papi! Papi! estoy de igualitas con mami!" Carolina let go of him and jumped before spinning around. "Si? Donde esta mami preciosa?" Carlos asked and right on que, Lana walked right in.

She was wearing white sundress with her red ballerina flats, looks gorgeous in his eyes. Then his eyes drifted to his son, cuddled in his mother's arms. Carlos sighed before listing his little girl up into his arms. "Todo bien amor?" Lana asked him, earning a smile from him.

"Se puso mucho mejor desde que te vi entrar.." Carlos kissed while she let out a small laugh. Carlos then felt a small hand push him off his wife, right beside him was his son looking quite annoyed. "¿No te dije que tu mamá no puede te cargar por tanto tiempo?" Carlos told his son who just stuck his tongue out.

"Papi, es tio cha!" Carolina squealed and ran to one of her uncles, who gladly picked her up. "Tioo cha!" Enzo jumped out of his others arms and ran towards his uncle. While the kids were occupied by their uncle and knowing colleagues, Carlos dragged his wife to his arms who gladly embraced him.

"Todo bien amor?" Lana asked yet again but in her soft honey voice, making Carlos melt almost immediately. "Solo estoy nervioso." He mumbled into her ginger hair, she then let go of him and walked towards Charles. "Can you watched them for a minute Charles?" She asked him, making him nod and go towards Alex to introduce the kids to her.

"Amor, no tienes por qué estar nervioso, eres un gran piloto, eres el mejor." Lana cupped his face after entering his driver room, making him relax a bit in her arms. She smiled softly analyzing every adoring feature on him, of course she saw bits of children in him and that made her happy. Carlos would say the exact same thing, he could only be so greatful.

"Dale gana, pero no olvides que te amamos." With that she kissed him on his nose. Carlos had laughed just a bit before lunging in to kiss her properly.

With his wife and kids encouragement, Carlos came out on 2rd, proudly standing at his home podium. With Carolina and Lorenzo screaming happily for their papa. Not missing how they ran towards him after his podium, knocking him to the ground.

What a cute family.

MENTIONS ! @landitolover, @moneygramhaas, @d6za1, @ch3rryknots @louvrepool @thearchieves

𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉, ⟢ more!

[zegrasdrysdale]

Wyatt Johnston request!!

Y/n giving Wyatt some birthday "fun" celebrations after Wyatt was on a hatty watch and for winning game 4 on his birthday....smut included please

[ it’s supposed to be fun turning 21 ] w. johnston

paring : Wyatt Johnston x fem!reader

summary : the boys take Wyatt out after the game 4 win for his 21st birthday. Wyatt’s girlfriend goes with him but she has her own celebration plans in store for Wyatt that might not be able to wait until they get back to the hotel

warning(s) : smut ! oral (m receiving), drunk sex, semi public sex, bathroom sex, p in v unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), alcohol consumption and drunkenness

author’s note : got these two requests and i decided to combine them since they were so similar :)) enjoy bc i very much got carried away (pls pretend i posted this around wyatt’s birthday bc it’s sooo late but i started writing it on his birthday )

༺═──────────────═༻

She knew before his first goal that it was a special game since it's the night before Wyatt's 21st birthday. She's been waiting months for this night since she turned 21 in December. It makes tonight even better that Dallas is playing in game four of the second round of the playoffs too.

Wyatt scores again in the second period and she is on her feet for the rest of the game just in case he gets the hatty. It would be the perfect way to end being 20. He gives the puck to Steel on an empty net attempt though and that’s the end of his last game at 20 years old.

That’s Wyatt. He could’ve had a hat trick in his last game as a 20 year old but he let Sam have his first goal of the playoffs instead. So selfless. That’s her boyfriend though and it’s one of the reasons she loves him.

She goes back to the hotel where the Stars are staying to wait for Wyatt. It’s not quite midnight in Colorado so they have to wait a little bit before taking Wyatt out.

She changes out of her borrowed stolen Stars jersey into something a little more bar friendly. The Stars jersey and leggings turns into a skintight black mini dress with thin straps and heels. The dress accentuates her curves and pushes her breasts up. She pulls out the double French braids that she had in to make her hair naturally wavy then touches up her makeup.

A key is used in the door and it’s pushes open about 30 minutes after she gets back to the hotel. She peeks her head out of the bathroom and watches Wyatt walk into the room. He isn’t alone. Pavs, Tyler, Jamie, Roope, Miro and Logan walk in with him. She smiles and walks out of the bathroom.

“Hi, handsome,” she says to get Wyatt’s attention. “Nice goals tonight.”

Wyatt looks up from his phone and smiles when he sees his girlfriend. “Like what you saw, pretty girl?” he asks as she approaches him.

“I’ve very much enjoyed all seven of your playoff goals this season,” she laughs. “And three last season. Good job at scoring ten playoff goals before turning 21.”

One of his hands falls to her waist and he pulls her flush against him before crashing their lips together. His other hand rests on her lower back and he dips her backward a bit. She smiles and cups his jaw with both her hands.

The kiss heats up and for a second, she forgets that six other people are in the room. It’s not until one of said other people clears his throat that she remembers that they’re not alone.

Wyatt breaks the kiss and looks at his teammates. She turns her own head to look at the other hockey players in the room.

“The six of you insisted that you come back to my room with me knowing she was here and I scored two goals tonight while also being the eighth player in NHL history to score 10 playoff goals before turning 21,” he says. “I apologize for getting a little carried away.”

“A little?” Tyler asks. “You were trying to eat her face, Johnny.” She giggles at Tyler’s comment and looks up at Wyatt. He stands her back up but doesn’t let her go.

Her boyfriend rolls his eyes and asks, “What time are we going out and who else is coming? There’s no way that it is just the six of you taking me out tonight. Not after the win.”

Jamie, who was typing away on his phone, says, “All the guys that can legally drink are coming, which I’m pretty sure it’s everyone once the clock strikes midnight in an hour.” The Stars captain looks at her. “You’re 21, right?”

“Turned 21 in December,” she explains.

“Good,” Jamie replies. “We leave at quarter of twelve so we are at the bar by midnight to buy Johnny here his first legal drink. I’m giving Pavs that honor, but I’m buying his second drink as his captain.”

The guys laugh then begin fighting over who else is going to buy Wyatt a drink. All she got from the entire argument is that Wyatt is going to get very drunk tonight and will be very hungover when they wake up for their early afternoon flight back to Dallas tomorrow.

In the forty minutes between when Wyatt got back to the room and when they leave, more Stars players make their way into the hotel room after showering or eating something. It’s not a very big room and there are nearly 20 grown men standing around. She spends the entire time in Wyatt’s arms or sitting on his lap to save some space.

At quarter of twelve, she and the Stars leave the hotel in the van that they all pitched in to rent so they don’t take the team bus to the bar. Pavs is the designated driver so they can make it back in one piece. Ten minutes later, the van arrives at a bar in downtown Denver.

Considering it’s a Monday night in the middle of May, the bar is very crowded. Maybe it’s people who went out to watch the game or maybe it’s people that decided to just go drinking on a Monday night. Either way, it’s very crowded and the music is loud. ESPN is on multiple TVs so the game was on at some point. Their group gets stared at as they find a large high top table to sit at.

Wyatt sits at the head of the table. She sits on one side of him and Pavs sits across from her. Tyler sits on the other side of her and Jamie is on the other side of Pavs.

A waitress walks up to the table with her pad and says, “I guess you’re all here to celebrate your win. I guess you’re also here for his birthday.” She nods at Wyatt. “You guys still have like three minutes before I can legally serve him a drink.”

Jamie speaks up. “Well, by the time the drinks get to the table, it’ll be midnight and he’ll be 21,” he comments.

“Touché,” she replies with a smile. “What can I get you guys?”

They go around the table and order their drinks. Pavs orders for Wyatt since technically, it’s not midnight yet and he can’t order his own drink. He’s got two minutes before he can do that. IDs are checked, including Wyatt’s to make sure he isn’t lying about turning 21 in a minute.

Then she’s off with their drink orders. Pavs has the first round.

Tyler is the first to acknowledge when the clock strikes midnight. He lets the entire bar know when he screams, “He’s 21!” Hoots, hollers, and happy birthdays sound from around the table. Wyatt turns a bright shade of red but has a huge smile on his face as he thanks his teammates.

She smiles at her birthday boy. Wyatt eventually looks at her. “Happy birthday, baby,” she says to him.

“Thank you, my pretty girl,” Wyatt replies.

She hops out of her seat so she can give Wyatt a hug. He wraps his arms around her shoulders and she pecks his jaw. “We have a lot to celebrate tonight,” she mumbles against his ear. “Just so you know.”

He looks down at her with a grin on his face. “I can’t wait.”

Their drinks all arrive about two minutes later. The guys all hold their drinks up and Jamie makes a little toast.

“To Wyatt Johnston’s 21st birthday,” he says. “He is just getting started. That being said, here’s to us going up in the series and being one game away from moving onto the next round. Let’s win it on Wednesday and make it to the Western Conference finals for the second year in a row.”

The boys cheers their drinks and take a sip. Wyatt downs his in a few chugs. Some of the guys are impressed and others are surprised. She gives Wyatt a knowing look so he can relax because it’s so obvious that he’s had drinks before.

Jamie orders a round of shots, and everyone orders their favorite shot. Tyler gets the round of drinks after that and everyone is two drinks and a shot deep already. They’ve been at the bar for maybe fifteen minutes, ten of those where Wyatt has been legal.

A couple of the single guys go and try to find a girl for the night, but it’s rough being a Dallas Star in Avalanche territory. She just laughs at their attempts as the alcohol she has been drinking begins to run through her veins.

An hour later, things are spinning even though she’s in a chair. She’s had four drinks and five shots. All were very strong and she doesn’t have the highest tolerance. Wyatt has a higher tolerance, or maybe it’s because he’s several inches taller than her and weighs more than she does.

Wyatt excuses himself to go get a drink at the bar. Her eyes linger on him as he weaves his way through the crowd to get his drink. She sips her drink as her eyes fall to his ass. It looks good in the dress pants he never got out of when he got back to the hotel after the game. The button up he’s wearing hugs his arms in the right places as he leans against the bar.

She crosses her legs as she imagines both articles of clothing on their hotel room floor while they celebrate the win and his birthday.

Suddenly, she isn’t sure if she’ll make it back to the hotel. The room gets hot very quickly and she presses her lips in a line. Her mind betrays her despite every attempt to stop thinking about her plans for when they leave the bar in a few hours.

He comes back with a handful of drinks for the table, including another drink for her since she was almost finished her drink when he walked away. Wyatt hands her the glass and her eyes focus on his hand around it. All she can think about is his fingers in her hair while his dick is in her mouth.

She really cannot stop thinking about Wyatt fucking her and she’s had enough. She needs him. Now. Not in a few hours when they leave.

“Wy,” she says to get his attention. He hums as he sips his new drink. “Wyatt.” He finally puts his glass down and looks at her. She glances around the table. “I, um … need to use the bathroom. Can you show me where it is?”

“It’s back there,” Wyatt replies as he points over his right shoulder. “Big neon sign that says ‘restroom’. Can’t miss it.”

With a pout, she tries again. This time with intention in her voice. “Wyatt,” she sternly says. “Please come with me to the bathroom because there are so many people here right now and I don’t want to go alone.”

Wyatt turns his full attention to her and she raises her eyebrows. A lightbulb goes off in his head and he gets up from his seat. “Right, okay,” he stammers. “Let’s go.”

Happy that he finally got the idea, she hops down from her seat at the table and takes the hand that Wyatt offers her. Neither of them says a word to anyone at the table. They just walk toward the bathroom.

Luckily, it’s a single stall bathroom with a lock on the door. She checks her surroundings to make sure no one is looking before dragging Wyatt into the ladies room behind her.

She presses Wyatt against the door to shut it and clicks the lock so no one walks in. Wyatt takes her face in his hands and crashes their lips together in a heated kiss. He ravishes her mouth with his and it only makes things worse for her. She whines into his mouth and he swallows the sound.

It’s probably because she’s drunk, but she’s very turned on right now. With every kiss, she feels the need to cross her legs just for some pressure on her core.

Her fingers trail down his chest and torso until they land on the belt around Wyatt’s waist. Without looking, she undoes the clasp and unbuttons his pants. Wyatt groans when her hand slides into his boxers and wraps her hand around his hardening dick. With a flick of her wrist, she begins to pump his cock.

Wyatt hums before he breaks the kiss. He rests his forehead against her and pants, “Baby, I cannot come in these pants because I don’t know how much longer we will be out for and I don’t want to sit around with come in my pants.”

“No one said anything about coming in pants,” she says. Wyatt is about to say something but she drops to her knees on the tile floor of the bathroom before he could get a word out. It’s probably cleaner than the men’s bathroom floor but it’s still a bathroom floor.

She pulls his pants and boxers down until they pool at his ankles. His cock springs free and nearly hits her in the face. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth as she takes him in her hand. Wyatt leans back against the door and mumbles something under his breath.

After a few slow pumps, she wraps her lips around the leaking tip. Wyatt’s fingers slide into her hair and he grips her locks very lightly as she takes him in her mouth. She is careful not to choke herself on his dick so she has to use her hand to make up some of what doesn’t fit in her mouth.

Wyatt lets out soft pants as she begins to suck him. The back of his head softly hit the door and he looks down at her with his eyes. “Fuck,” he sighs. “Never thought that I would see you on your knees for me in a bar bathroom.”

She pulls off of him and wipes away some saliva that has started to roll down her chin. “I would get on my knees for you literally anywhere,” she admits. Wyatt smiles and she wraps her lips around him again with a wink.

Soft pants pass Wyatt’s lips the closer he gets to his orgasm. His fingers run through her hair and she hums around him. One hand rests at the base of his dick and the other rests in his thigh above his knee to keep herself steady.

Heat pools at her core the longer she stays on her knees. She can only imagine what she looks like on her knees on the bathroom floor of a bar. Her knees do begin to hurt from the tile floor at some point but she tries to pay no mind to the pain.

She occasionally flicks her wrist to pump what she can’t fit in her mouth. Her cheeks hollow out as she sucks since she knows that’s one of Wyatt’s favorite things. It causes a moan to pass Wyatt’s lips and he quickly covers his mouth with his hand in case anyone is outside the door.

The only time she alerts Wyatt to the fact that her knees hurt is when she shifts her weight and winces around his dick.

He looks down at her and asks, “Do your knees hurt?” She nods in response. “Come here, baby.” She pulls off his dick with a soft pop and slowly gets to her feet. Wyatt has her by the waist so she doesn’t stumble and fall.

When she’s fully on her feet and finds her balance, Wyatt leans down and kisses her deeply. His tongue parts her lips and she hums. Her hands find his hair and his hands slide down to her butt. Wyatt squeezes once then picks her up by the back of her thighs.

She squeals in surprise, wrapping her arms around his neck. Wyatt sets her down on the counter next to the sink. She leans against the mirror behind her but keeps her arms wrapped around his neck.

Wyatt smiles at her and wraps his pointer fingers into the thin straps of her dress. He’s always been a boob guy so this doesn’t surprise her at all. He leans into her and presses light kisses to her breasts. He gropes one while he gives attention to the other, then alternates. Moans pass her lips and she leans her head back against the mirror.

“Wyatt,” she whines. “I need you. Please, baby.”

He snaps his head up when she talks. “Oh, you’re so nerdy that you want me to fuck you in a bar bathroom,” he comments with a sly smirk on his face. “Being legal is great.”

She pushes his shoulder. “Wyatt Johnston, fuck me before I go find one of your single teammates who wouldn’t hesitate,” she blurts out. “Quit yapping.”

With a laugh, he pushes the bottom of her already short skirt over her butt so the entire dress sits around just her waist. “You’re all mine, pretty girl,” Wyatt tells her. “Your threat is nothing more than a bark. I fuck you too good for you to go find someone else.”

She rolls her eyes because she knows he’s right. She’ll always come back to him, no matter what.

He pushes her black lace panties over and she presses her lips into a line. She shivers when the cool air hits her wet core. She kicks off her shoes and puts one of her heels on the counter so Wyatt has easy access because her legs have already fallen apart.

Wyatt leans into her and catches her lips in a deep kiss. She gasps against his lips when she feels him run his tip through her soaked folds. She grips the collar of his shirt as he pushes into her. "God, Wyatt," she mumbles. "Fuck."

He nips at her bottom lip as he slowly pushes himself into her. Her legs begin to shake with anticipation as Wyatt deepens the kiss and bottoms out in her at the same time. She hums and Wyatt swallows the noise.

After a second or waiting so she can adjust to him, Wyatt begins to roll his hips against hers. She cries out and he nips at her bottom lip. “Baby, you have to be quiet,” he reminds her. “Anyone could walk by and hear you.”

She nods in response and pulls back so she can look at her boyfriend. Wyatt’s lips are swollen and kiss bruised. His eyes are dark with lust and hazy from the alcohol he has been drinking over the last few hours. His hair is a mess from her running her fingers through it. He’s so pretty and so disheveled at the same time.

He splays his hands on either side of her on the counter to keep his balance. She keeps her arms around his neck so she doesn’t fall off the counter.

If anyone would catch her falling off a counter because of sex, it’s Wyatt. Wyatt would be the one to catch her.

His speed picks up after a minute and he move as deep into her as he can at this angle. She has to bite her lip to keep herself from getting too loud in case anyone walks by the bathroom or comes knocking. Wyatt lets out soft pants as he moves. A layer of sweat forms on both of them since it’s so hot in the tiny room.

One of Wyatt’s hands eventually slithers down between them and he find her clit. She cries out but Wyatt quiets her with a kiss. He plays with the little bundle of nerves and her entire body shakes as she tries to delay her own orgasm.

“Wyatt,” she groans against his mouth. “Wyatt, baby.”

“I have you,” he tells her between kisses. “Let go. I can feel you clenching so I know you want to come for me.”

His pace slows but he continues to slam into her every time he thrusts. She hums and feels the knot in her stomach threaten to come undone.

Wyatt flicks her clit and she comes with a squeal since she can’t shout. She feels her entire body clench around him. He pulls out of her quickly and comes all over her thighs and core. She pulls him in for messy kisses as they come down from their highs. Wyatt slouches against her and she slouches against the mirror. The kisses are hot and open-mouthed as they recover.

The kisses slow and she smiles against his lips. Wyatt pulls back and looks at her. She can only imagine what they look like right now. Sweaty, half naked, and blissed out in a bar bathroom. Come is rolling down her thighs.

“God, I love you,” Wyatt tells her.

“Oh, now you tell me after we fucked in a bar bathroom on your birthday and your come is all over my thighs,” she teases with a smile on her face. Wyatt laughs. “I love you too. Let me go pee and clean myself up if you love me though.”

He pecks her lips one more time before she reaches over and grabs a handful of paper towels to clean her legs. She fixes her dress when Wyatt helps her down then goes to pee because she’s not catching a UTI from having sex in a public bathroom. He cleans up the counter and uses the hand soap to wash it down.

When she’s done peeing, she helps Wyatt fix his shirt. She fixes his hair before fixing her hair. She can’t do a thing about the marks on her knees from the tile floor so she knows that if someone sees them, she’s gonna get teased for it and Wyatt will never hear the end of his from his teammates.

After they decide they’re decent enough, they sneak out of the bathroom.

Music still blares from every corner of the bar when they make their way back to the table. They take their seats and sip their drinks like they didn’t just fuck in the bathroom.

Unfortunately, someone did notice they left.

Logan leans on the table between them. “So, wanna tell me which bathroom you two got freaky in so I know if I have to wait to pee or not?” he asks.

“Shut up,” Wyatt retorts. “It’s supposed to be fun turning 21 so I’m gonna have the time of my life tonight. Also, it’s not my fault that my girlfriend is hot.”

He shudders and Tyler laughs. “You two are insane,” he comments. “Risky considering you’re a NHL player, Johnny.”

“I’d take a thousand risks for her,” Wyatt says. “End of story.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna be attending a wedding next year,” Jamie says after he swallows a sip of his drink. “Two years tops.”

She smiles behind her glass because she knows Wyatt is planning to propose at some point. She has no idea when but maybe Jamie isn’t wrong about the two years tops.

༺═──────────────═༻

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[bumblesimagines]

what's a kiss between friends?

you don't treat anyone else like this. just me.

- Maddy Perez

you don't treat anyone else like this. just me.

what's a kiss between friends?

Pronouns: they/them/theirs, gender neutral!reader

You watched Maddy fiddle with the speakers from the comfort of your bed, one cheap beer can in hand while the other kept your head propped up. She grinned when the music finally began flowing from them and tapped on her phone screen a few times until a Kali Uchis song began playing. Maddy spun on her heel to face you, her hair flying from one shoulder to the next with her movements, and she began to sing along to the song. 

"I just wanna get high with my lover Veo una muñeca cuando miro en el espejo Kiss, kiss"

You chuckled and pushed yourself up to lean back against the headboard, eyes trailing after her as she danced along to the song, swaying her hips and using her half-empty beer can as a microphone. You nodded along to the beat, unable to resist the smile spreading on your lips while Maddy continued her performance. She moved onto the end of the end after setting her can aside, kneeling at the edge, and continuing to sing along with a wide smile.

"But I know a place we can escape Find out how it feels to let go of everything, be free When you're here with me"

Better to see Maddy loose and carefree than agitated over Nate or her parents. She seemed fully in her element, laughter occasionally escaping her and the smile never leaving her face. She leaned down, crawling toward you with a mischievous grin and stealing the can right from your hand once close enough. She flopped onto her back and drank the last remaining drops of beer before setting it on the nightstand and tilting her head toward you, resuming her singing and dramatically resting her hand over her chest. You stayed silent, keeping your teasing at bay for the night. She needed a good time after what Cassie had done to her.

"There's nothing like peace of mind And you take the time to make sure that I'm okay I know I can put stress on your brain"

Maddy trailed off toward the end of the lyrics, her lips pressing together and pursing lightly as she stared up at you. You quirked a questioning brow at her and reached out to brush raven-colored strands out of her face. She swatted lightly at your hand and mimicked your position, curling her arm around her pillow and tilting her head. 

"What is it, Maddy?" You prodded, shifting to lay more on your side and look at her better. She ran her fingers through her hair, pushing it back and fully out of her face, her eyes still lingering on yours. 

"You ever thought about, like..." She trailed off, the tip of her acrylic nail scratching lightly against her jaw. "Kissing?" 

"I had my first kiss years ago, Mads, and you did too."

"That's not what I mean, asshole," She huffed lightly, lightly pushing your temple with two fingers and rolling her eyes dramatically. Her hands moved to the ends of her hair, combing through it thoughtfully. "I mean, like... us." 

Us. It almost sounded like it had a double meaning, as if it meant something more than friendship. You'd known Maddy quite literally your whole life, practically since the womb. Your mother had fallen pregnant around the same time as Mrs. Perez, and as a result, they'd often exchange tips or simply talk about how life had changed for them. It'd almost been fated, really, to become best friends with the girl across the street. You'd seen it all: her rise in popularity, the cheerleading practices, her circle of friends growing, the turbulent relationship with Nate Jacobs. the anger, the sadness. The very definition of ride or die.

"What's a kiss between friends?" She lifted her brows at you, but you knew her too well to miss the hint of nerves. The way her fingers combed through her hair, the slightly pursed lips, the way her eyes slipped away every so often. It would've been a shock to the girls if they learned nothing had ever happened between you and Maddy. They joked about it often, and you were fairly certain they believed Maddy turned to you whenever something went wrong with Nate. She did, of course she did, but not in the way they thought of. 

"Friends." You repeated airily, your finger drawing shapes on the sheets. "You know, you don't treat anyone else like this. Just me. Everyone else thinks you're always acting like this cool girl when you're just a dork."

"A dork?" Maddy scoffed softly, the ends of her lips curling upward. "The fuck you mean, a dork?"

With a soft snort, you leaned forward, planting your lips against her in a swift peck. Her typically colored lips were clean and soft, with only the taste of cherry chapstick. Maddy made a soft noise of surprise, her body growing motionless, but by the time the surprise had faded, you'd already pulled away, slumping back into the pillows and listening to a new song fill the room.

[themirokai]

People of tumblr, lend me your TV recommendations!

On weekday mornings @the-real-surfski and I wake up stupidly early to exercise together before Spawn gets up and we have to start getting ready for work, etc. We watch tv while we’re exercising and need a new show, so we’re hoping for your recommendations.

Required Qualities:

- Can’t be on Hulu (we have most other streaming services) or YouTube (getting it on the tv we use is too much work that early in the morning)

- Must be engaging/fun/exciting

- Must not require thinking (it’s really stupidly early)

- Need to be able to miss bits and not completely lose the thread

Some shows that have worked well in the past include: Amazing Race (just finishing up a season, want something different), Drag Race, we watched most of The Clone Wars this way, and we did an ATLA rewatch (but I probably wouldn’t have wanted to do my first time through during exercise). We started watching both Star Trek Lower Decks and Star Wars Rebels during exercise time, but they were both so good that they got moved to evening viewing because we didn’t want to miss stuff.

Soooo what have you got? All recommendations warmly welcomed. Leave them in replies or tags or shoot me an ask or DM. Thanks! ❤️❤️

[starscelly]

D:

dal@ana 10.19.23

[lookismfanfics]

I NEED THE PART 2 OF THEM SLEEPING ON THE CHEST

Thank you all for the support! I’ll do my best 🫡

𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐.

Warnings: Fluff, jealousy, mild cursing, J*mes L**, DG spoilers

Zack • Johan • Gun • Goo • James L. • Kouji • Vin • Samuel

𝐙𝐚𝐜𝐤

🝮 One thing you’ve learned about teenage boys since you began dating one, is that the combination of tiredness and trust is a deadly one.

🝮 You watched Zack train today. He called you to his gym, showed off, and wore himself out.

🝮 So now that you’re home, you can see his displays of fatigue more clearly.

🝮 He becomes a puppy 😩

🝮 Maybe a grumpy puppy. But his eyes are soft and warm like a protective guard dog.

🝮 You help him out of his jacket and shoes- seeing as his hands are still sore.

🝮 The cold weather has its effects- even on your moron of a boyfriend.

🝮 You push his flopping bangs out of his hair, rubbing extra lotion onto his cracking hands.

🝮 The motion of your hands rubbing against his makes his eyelids droop.

🝮 You both fall onto the couch a few minutes later.

🝮 It doesn’t take long for you to see that Zack is on the brink of falling asleep.

🝮 “Come here,” you say as you open your arms to him.

🝮 Zack’s eyes, dark and soulful, don’t betray the doubt he feels. He hesitates.

🝮 “How come?”

🝮 You shrug- ignoring the sheepishness you feel crawling at your insides.

🝮 He looks at you full of trust, like this is secretly what he wanted the whole time, and all you can do is nod understandingly. You already know.

🝮 The thing about trust is that Zack has put all of his in you, and when he’s tired, he trusts you to tend to him in his vulnerability 🤲

🝮 Soon enough Zack is leaning onto your shoulder, breathing heavily against the fabric of your hoodie.

🝮 And gradually the two of you shift, and he relaxes his cheeks into your chest.

🝮 You play with his hair— trying desperately to stay cool while he drifts off to sleep.

🝮 I’m not gonna lie to you, sometimes he drools in his sleep, so watch out

🝮 You were the one that initiated it- sort of. In the morning he wants to pay you back. 🫣

𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐚𝐧

🝮 You’re sitting on your armchair.

🝮 And Johan is sitting across the room.

🝮 Your hands rub gently between Eden’s perky ears, spurring on his excited tail wags and tip-tappy paws.

🝮 With Eden sitting in between your feet, Miro has no choice but to jump by your legs and wag her tail.

🝮 And as you smile, whispering sweet pet-names to the dogs, Johan frowns.

🝮 “They’re not usually this excited—” You laugh, looking up to Johan

🝮 Johan: 👺

🝮 You shift in your seat, releasing the fluffy ears of Eden and directing your attention at his owner.

🝮 “Is something wrong…?” You get the feeling like it’s something stupid, but to Johan it probably won’t be.

🝮 The corners of his mouth continue to perk downward, his brows furrowing gently.

🝮 Then he stands, walking towards you, kneeling down in front of you.

🝮 You’re on the edge of your seat, staring at him blankly. Waiting for him to explain.

🝮 And then, with his dark eyes still holding your gaze, Johan leans forward and rests his cheek against your chest.

🝮 🫠🫠🫠

🝮 “Johan…?” You suppress a chuckle, watching silently as he leans further into you, wrapping his arms around your middle.

🝮 The two of you gradually relax into the arm chair. He ends up straddling your lap a bit, head still firmly placed in your chest.

🝮 You listen quietly as he falls asleep, his breaths becoming heavier and evening out.

🝮 You stroke the bangs away from his eyes, pressing your lips against his forehead as she slumbers. Soon enough you fall asleep too.

🝮 Sweet bbb. A little jealous…?

🝮 He didn’t initiate it. You didn’t either. It was Eden 🫵

𝐆𝐮𝐧

🝮 He’s leaning forward on the edge of the couch, head sagging as he inwardly relays his day.

🝮 Your legs are wrapped around his hips, fingers pressing into his taut muscles.

🝮 “You look tired,” you mumble against the fabric of his shirt.

🝮 Jonggeon has just returned from a long day at work. His muscles are tight and sore, his hair begs to be played with after being styled for so long, his eyes are glazed and unfocused.

🝮 “You think I’m tired…? I don’t get tired.” You can hear the smirk even if you don’t see it, and you press harder into his shoulder blade.

🝮 He doesn’t flinch but he does shut up.

🝮 Your hands move to the sides of his face, cupping his porcelain cheeks that you know are secretly pudgy.

🝮 You use your fingers to stoke at the sides of his face, closing your eyes are you press against his muscular back.

🝮 “Aren’t you using that technique to help babies fall asleep?” Gun asks, turning his head towards you.

🝮 “So what if I am? Maybe that’s how I think of you…” you smile against his back, prodding his cheeks to further your teasing

🝮 He huffs indignantly, turning back to the front.

🝮 The room is cluttered- as a man’s flat should be. Except Gun’s place is usually neat- so it makes sense that the two of you are house sitting for Goo.

🝮 You feel Gun’s body getting warmer and his head sagging forward.

🝮 Gun is hot 99.9% of the time. That 1% is when he turns into a lap potato 🥔

🝮 You retract your hands away from his face, pull your legs out from his sides

🝮 “You should get some sleep,” you murmur, standing and planting a kiss on the crown of his head.

🝮 Gun grabs your wrist, “Where’re you going?” And you’re about to reply—

🝮 Wait a minute 😃 ☝️

🝮 You’re not standing anymore. You’re lying down?

🝮 Gun hovers above you, arms encasing you on either side.

🝮 You: 🐭

🝮 He can sense your embarrassment, even if you stubbornly refuse to show it. A smile appears on his face as he lowers onto your chest.

🝮 *Alarms go off in your head*

🝮 “Gun- get off-!” You try shoving this hunk away. It’s not working.

🝮 You close your eyes, willing yourself to calm down. You feel Gun’s eyelashes fluttering against your chest as he stares up at you.

🝮 His arms are still holding you to him. He’s still in control. He’s still on the verge of falling asleep-

🝮 You hear his breaths even out. You release a sigh you didn’t know you were holding in.

🝮 Now that Gun is asleep on your chest, you’re free to admire whatever part of him you can get a glimpse of. 👀

🝮 He initiated it. He knew exactly what he was doing. If he’s gonna be vulnerable he’s taking you down with him.

How did this one get so freaking long—?

𝐆𝐨𝐨

🝮 Goofy starts reading the trophy encased in his large gloved hands, voice reaching peak emotion. And as his son Max nods to his words, the sunset cascading shades of orange and pink in the background, pride radiates from the—

🝮 “Achoo-!” a very forced sneeze.

🝮 “Goo you idiot-!” You wail, turning to him with a scowl on your face.

🝮 “Excuse me-? And anyway this movie is boring! Let’s watch something else!”

🝮 Your frown deepens and you smack his hand away from the TV Remote. If you have any say, you two are going to finish An Extremely Goofy Movie.

🝮 But beside you, your goofy- Goo- is pouting like a baby.

🝮 As the movie continues you watch him in silence through the corner of your eye. You watch him stifle a yawn. Rub his eyes with his busted hands. Mumble about his sore neck.

🝮 You frown. It’s easy to recognize that his boredom has made him tired.

🝮 At first you just ignore him and let him be… at least until the end credits start rolling on the screen.

🝮 Your heart flutters as Goo reaches out for your thigh, crawling over you and resting his head on your legs.

🝮 You laugh, staring at the obnoxious expression on his face, “What if I was tired? How am I supposed to fall asleep?”

🝮 He lets out a gasp and frowns, stroking your arm lazily with his finger.

🝮 His expression remains the same… (° v °)

🝮 “How abo-o-u-ut… we b-o-t-h lay down, huh?” He asks slowly, dragging out the syllables

🝮 “Lemme turn on another movie first-” you mutter, leaning across his lean form to grab the remote. Beneath you Goo squirms.

🝮 Your finger barely presses the button before he snatches the remote out of your hands.

🝮 “Kim-!” You hiss irritably.

🝮 He ignores you (of course) and knocks you beside him on the couch.

🝮 “Shh, I got a good movie in mind-!”

🝮 Goo is laying with his back against the couch, surprisingly muscular arms wrapped around your waist.

🝮 You both face the TV screen; your head rests on a decorative pillow; his head lays on your chest.

🝮 By now you’re used to cuddling. Even if you’re not the biggest fan, Goo certainly is.

🝮 So when Newt dies and you’re the only one crying, you have to pause The Death Cure to glare at the man resting on your boobs.

🝮 Goo is sound asleep, rhythmic breaths ruffling your shirt. He looks calm for once.

🝮 Goo: 😴

🝮 You: 👺

🝮 He initiated it— and in return for falling asleep was banned from kissing you for the day.

𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐋𝐞𝐞

🝮 Today has been a long… long day.

🝮 You heard about the increased vocal training James had been undertaking…. And a little birdie also noted that he was more than good

🝮 You weren’t sure what to expect, really.

🝮 When you arrived at his newly furnished flat, you found him staring at the fish tank.

🝮 His hair looked neater. His eyes looked dull.

🝮 He looked incredibly tired, incredibly handsome, and made you feel incredibly unhappy.

🝮 “Hey Ja— Diego. What’s with the soft boy look?” You try quietly, smiling as you lug the groceries into the kitchen.

🝮 He remained stationary at the fish tank, shoving his hands into his pockets.

🝮 You: 🧍

🝮 He shrugged his shoulders, turning his angular face towards you lazily, “It’s my new face. If you got a problem with it then too bad.”

🝮 You shake your head slowly, releasing a heavy sigh.

🝮 You knew this transition would be… hard.

🝮 Especially now that your boyfriend was realizing just how much he would have to change to fit into his new persona.

🝮 And even if he agreed to it and claimed it was for the best, you couldn’t help but feel a little irritated.

🝮 What happened to that wolffish boy? The legend of the first generation? The boy who had winked at you when he had just pummeled your would-be-assaulters as though they were nothing but animals

🝮 James Lee was being restrained. Limited in this new form of himself- Diego. A K-Pop idol.

🝮 That’s not to say he didn’t look handsome, or still act like his charming self. He did. But his previous ferocity was extinguished… and it was leaving him feeling empty.

🝮 “You look nice,” you say, opening the fridge with the milk carton in hand. “It’s just different.”

🝮 “This was supposed to make me look hotter. Do I not look hot to you?”

🝮 You try to hide your smile. That’s a trick that won’t work on you. Whatever he’s doing will not seduce you.

🝮 You turn. And sure enough there he is.

🝮 Yeah. He does look hot. With his gently molded muscles flexing as he leans onto the kitchen counter, bangs curtaining his aristocratic face.

🝮 You thought James was handsome before. But this sealed the deal.

🝮 “Uh huh, whatever you say DG,” You turn away with a smirk. “Looks like someone needs a nap though~”

🝮 In the reflection of the shiny new stove you can make out his hand reaching for his eyes, rubbing tenderly beneath them on his dark circles.

🝮 “It looks that obvious?” “Only to me, babe.”

🝮 You walk over to the large, luxurious couch. You’re still getting used to being around all this fancy furniture.

🝮 The black leather sinks into your weight as you sprawl across the length of the couch, resting your back against the arm.

🝮 James trails behind you, laying next to you and wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

🝮 “Nuh uh…” you adjust, shoving him down. “None of that alpha male crap or whatever. Go to sleep.”

🝮 DG rests his head on your chest, looking up at you with watchful, dark eyes.

🝮 You play with his tufts of tamed pastel hair, smiling as he relaxes into your touch.

🝮 This is the result of years of trust stacking up. This is the result of James humbling himself and admitting he had caught feelings. You weren’t just another string attached to the whole conquering sham. You were his (Y/N).

🝮 His eyelids fluttered shut, long eyelashes resting against his soft pale cheeks. His breathing evened out, and James was officially asleep.

🝮 You smiled, leaning your head back onto the pillow. He was still just James.

🝮 You initiated it… but this wasn’t the first time.

𝐊𝐨𝐮𝐣𝐢

🝮 You never expected it to be such a mess.

🝮 Sure, you weren’t envisioning a neat, Candy-wrapper free environment that mirrored a magazine master bedroom, but still…

🝮 “Kouji… how can you live like this?”

🝮 You catch a glimpse of his cheeks flaring red.

🝮 “It’s not that messy. Don’t complain if I’m gonna be doing the actual job, otherwise I won’t do it.”

🝮 You nod to yourself, watching him flop onto his bed with his laptop.

🝮 He vaguely gestured for you to sit down, and you do so.

🝮 And then for the next hour or so, all you do is watch his purple head bounce up and down as he works his computer magic.

🝮 You: 😶

🝮 Kouji: 😪

🝮 By now the two of you have your backs to the wall. You’re actually leaning against it.

🝮 You watch wordlessly as his body slowly reclines backwards. His hands rub at his eyes more frequently.

🝮 His usual factual mutterings turn into nothing but incomprehensible gibberish

🝮 Those pudgy, mochi cheeks that drive you crazy are finally resting against your shoulder.

🝮 You try not to smirk— seeing as the arrogant genius is now out-of-his-wits and asleep on your shoulder.

🝮 And then as the two of you slide downwards, you begin to relax. After all, you and him have gotten pretty close-

🝮 Those baby-pudge cheeks make you want to melt.

🝮 Especially now that they’re on your chest—

🝮 🚨 🚨 🚨

🝮 “KOUJI WAKE UP!”

🝮 “H-Huh? What? JEEZ GET AWAY FROM ME!”

🝮 It was an accident. It was awkward. Maybe he banned you from his room? Or maybe it turned into a make-out session, who knows.

𝐕𝐢𝐧 𝐉𝐢𝐧

🝮 You don’t normally spend your weekends in his living room, surrounded by piles of snacks he doesn’t want to share.

🝮 Yet here you are.

🝮 Up until now, you and Vin haven’t hung out without Mary.

♕ Mary insisted she was sick today. And couldn't make it. 🙄

🝮 It was a load of bull. But whatever.

🝮 “Well what am I supposed to eat?” you snap.

🝮 He ignores you, but you continue: “You’re taking all the good snacks bro. I can’t survive on the crumbs- I’m growing to—”

🝮 Another obnoxious crunch.

🝮 Vin pulls his hand out of the bag, extending one measly puffy Cheeto.

🝮 “Here. Now shut up so I can focus.”

🝮 “Focus on what? Growing your overinflated ego? Just give me an actual snack.”

🝮 He has an entire hoard of chip bags surrounding him- as well as some pocky sticks and instant ramen that you know he’s hiding from you.

🝮 Vin looks up in your direction, his expression one of clear irritation.

🝮 “You aren’t even trying to write your song!” He grumbles, crunching on another Cheeto and crumbling up the now-empty bag.

🝮 You rub your temples, turning towards your music draft.

🝮 “I can’t focus with all your crunching. I need my own snack.”

🝮 “Why are you so hungry?” He asks, pencil scratching roughly on his paper.

🝮 You watch his side profile wordlessly. The seven-times-tinted sunglasses and swoop of bangs are sure to block his view…

🝮 You’re desperately hungry. Won’t someone give you something to eat~♫

🝮 You reach for the nearest back of Potato Chips, sliding the bag over to yourself as quietly as you can.

🝮 To your surprise; delight; shock; amazement; Vin doesn’t notice at all.

🝮 And then you try opening the bag-

🝮 “The hell?! You mother-“

🝮 Vin is grabbing your waist and you’re kicking at his abs.

🝮 “VinJin you jerk-!”

🝮 “(Y/N) you ass!”

🝮 “Potty-mouthed idiot-“ you roll on top of him, arms straining to hold out as you clasp hands with his larger ones.

🝮 “Snarky— perverted—” He grunts, his hands encasing yours as you two wrestle onto the couch

🝮 “You really fighting me, you coward?” You grit your teeth, kicking at his shins until he gives and falls onto the sofa.

🝮 You both pant, out of breath, until Vin flips on top of you-

🝮 “You started it!” He growls.

🝮 You refuse to look at him, especially now that you’re realizing he can be somewhat attractive…

🝮 His hands are still clasped firmly onto your own, and his brows are still knitted together angrily. “What? Are you mad at me for winning? Cmon, don’t ignore me… jeez you’re as annoying as Mary… (Y/N) come on—”

🝮 He’s about to flop his head into your chest.

🝮 You’re about to shove him into your chest to make him shut up.

🝮 His head is slammed onto your chest, and neither of you can find the words to complain.

🝮 And so it works out… and now the two of you are calming down. Actually… it’s getting a little too calm.

🝮 You open your heavy eyelids, glancing down at Vin. Sure enough, he’s asleep. And you feel the biggest urge to push him off the couch— but somehow you have the feeling that you shouldn’t ruin this moment.

🝮 Hell it was weird. You both initiated it…?!

🝮 This one is also freaking long… oopsies. Y’all got spoiled 💅

𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐮𝐞𝐥

🝮 When you’re dating someone as sadistic as Samuel, who’s alliance seems to always be jumping from one person to the next, and who’s mental stability relies heavily on how he lives up to his own standards, then you’re sure to experience the wipeout days.

🝮 The sort of days where the old person is gone, and he’s replaced by an empty shell of himself.

🝮 For Samuel- today is one of those days.

🝮 You sit on the modern lounge chair that overlooks the city below, feeling comfortable despite your usual fear of heights.

🝮 (If you aren’t afraid of heights then shut up and pretend because you are now 🤡)

🝮 Your legs are crossed, your laptop rests on your thighs, and you listen attentively to the streamer you’re watching.

🝮 Samuel stands by the window with his back to you.

🝮 Every now and then you glance up at him worriedly

🝮 He’s not normally this quiet around you… or so tame. Normally it’s a war zone of snarky and perverted remarks.

🝮 “Samuel…?”

🝮 He turns to you slightly, defined jawline taut and tempting. You see his eyebrows draw together tightly and his lips purse.

🝮 “Hmm?” he hums from deep within his throat.

🝮 “You okay? You seem kinda tense.”

🝮 He turns to you, and then you can see it.

🝮 The depressed, empty shell of your normally sharp-witted boyfriend.

🝮 You can see past his sterile gaze: a glint of short-temperedness in his eyes. The frown on your face continues to deepen.

🝮 “I’m fine. Thank you for being so thoughtful,” he smiles rigidly.

🝮 “What’s with you?” You ask as you set aside your computer, giving him the attention he deserves.

🝮 He shrugs his shoulders as he approaches your open arms, kneeling in front of you.

🝮 You slide out of the chair and sit on the floor with him. “Come on Sammy…”

🝮 And then you’re both laying on the floor, and his powerful form is suddenly vulnerable now that he’s wrapped in your arms.

🝮 You stroke his hair, combing beneath the buzz cut and into his thick roots, calming both him and yourself down.

🝮 His cheek rests on your chest, and he smirks up at you every now and then.

🝮 When he feels in the mood again, it’s sexy time and he’ll die before you find him in this position. But for now he feels comfortable… so he’s going to stay like this.

🝮 That angular face of his is pressed into your breast, and you can’t help but feel a little hot at the thought.

🝮 “Let’s just fall asleep right here.”

🝮 That’s exactly what you did.

🝮 You initiated it— since you’ve done it before. But it doesn’t happen often- so treasure his vulnerable side while you can 😩

🝮 Also I know his character design is just for sex-appeal…. But come on guys he needs more fluff content 🥺

[mclarengf]

veo una muñeca cuando miro en el espejo

fucking carlos sainz in a club bathroom

[1.8k] - ¡18+ mdni!

note: first ever smut, hope this goes well…

taglist: @foreveralbon @aviscarrentals @disneyprincemuke @hangmandruigandmav @whoreforbrownies @lightdragonrayne

¡¡read part one here first!!

turning back to you, the stranger smiles, and leans in to ask, “do you want to have some proper fun?”

you jerk your head back, searching his face for any sign he’s joking. there’s none.

slowly, your lips curl into a smile and you nod, slipping your hand back into his. he raises an eyebrow in intrigue and starts moving toward the back of the club, near where he’d been stood before. 

he parts the crowd with one arm, not letting go of you with the other, even if it would make it much easier to clear the way.  

he stops in front of the bathrooms. 

“you want this, hermosa?” 

you nod again, and he goes to push one of the doors open. then you pull his hand back quickly, having thought of a complication. 

“what’s wrong?” he stares down at you, puzzled by your sudden change in manner.

you frown back at him for a second, trying to word your query correctly.

“what’s your name?” you finally ask.

he doesn’t blink.

then, he smiles, and starts laughing. 

“ay, i was too distracted by your beauty, i forgot to ask what your name is!” 

he’s got a nice laugh, and you’re still a little bit drunk, so you start laughing too. 

“my name is carlos,” he finally tells you. 

“carlos,” you repeat, rolling it around in your mouth, copying how he had said it; lingering on the ‘r’ and with a quiet ’s’. when you’re happy with your pronounciation of his name, you tell him yours. 

he does the same, practising your accent after you. you’re definitely staring as he does so, watching as his lips form the vowels in your name, then drifting upwards to the small wrinkle between his brows as he tries to replicate your speech pattern.  

“come on!” your words drag you out of your thoughts before your brain can, and you lead carlos through the bathroom door. 

it’s not a bad bathroom, for a club this busy. it looks clean enough, there are no obvious stains on any of the tiling… you’re not here to admire the restroom though, unfortunately for the janitor.

carlos is looking at you with those hungry eyes, and he locks the door as he settles back against it. you don’t bother waiting for him to make the first move this time, rushing towards him, pressing your mouth onto his. 

now, in the security of a locked room, carlos is less cautious about his movements. still paying full attention to you as you make out, he reaches around you to feel for your zip. you can feel him smile as he finds it and he undoes it easily, sucking and nipping at your lips the whole time.

he moves his mouth lower, and turns his attention to sucking a hickey onto your skin, licking and biting at the area where your neck meets your shoulder.

you back off from him and drop your hands from the back of his head as you step out of the dress, but he tastes so good and he’s turning you on so much; you don’t want to break your kiss to breathe. somehow, in your haze, carlos had managed to swap places with you, his arm now caging you against the door, which is cold against your back.

it’s him who lifts his head first, licking his swollen bottom lip as he stares at your body. 

“eres guapísima,” he trails a finger across your navel, leaving goosebumps in its wake, “you are beautiful.”

you want to roll your eyes, or blush, or hide at the compliment, but something about the way he says it tells you that he means it, that it isn’t just some line he says to all the girls he meets in dark clubs.

you reach for his shirt as he pulls you back in again; your hands go for his buttons as his go behind you, to unhook your bra. 

both tasks are equally difficult, and after realising this, you mutually decide to swap jobs. carlos forgoes the formality of buttons and pulls his shirt up over his head as you let your bra fall to the floor.

he drops to his knees, seemingly with no regard for his poor kneecaps, and pulls at your panties. he taps at your leg for you to step out of them, and nuzzles his nose up your thigh, provoking a shaky sigh from you. 

somehow still observant in your state of absolute euphoria, you see him stuff your underwear into the back pocket of the trousers he’s still wearing.

he takes your leg and hoists it onto his shoulder. then he grins up at you, giving you no warning before he buries his face in between your thighs. 

“fuck, carlos-“ your supporting leg shakes as he mouths at your clit, two fingers pushing into you already.

your hands pull at his hair as he starts scissoring and curling them inside you, hitting that spot every time.

he’s so good at this, you barely have enough awareness to think, and god, his mouth-

you can feel a growing tension in you, so you pull off him before you can come. carlos stares at you again, dazed. you can’t judge though, god knows you’re out of it too.

“wanna- mm, wanna come on your cock, carlos. want your cock,” you whine out, pulling at him to get up.

he pushes himself up and you’re instantly undoing his belt and his fly, pulling his boxer briefs and pants down in one movement.

he’s already hard from eating you out, you notice. he doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he strokes himself, and you don’t plan on breaking the eye contact either. 

you watch as he twists his hand at the top, then throws his head back, eyes shut and mouth open in a state of bliss. 

“fuck, carlos, i need you!”

that finally causes him to spring into action, holding onto the leg that was on his shoulder and tapping you on the bum as he says, “vamos; jump.”

you do as he says and he catches you easily. he walks you both over to the sink and sets you down on it. the porcelain is cold, but you don’t care.

he stops one more time, as he’s lining himself up with your entrance, doe eyes staring down at you, giving you one more chance to back out.

fuck, you can feel his tip against your cunt; he’s so close. your legs are still hooked around carlos, so you simply pull your feet towards you, causing him to stumble your way too. he bottoms out in one motion, and you feel so full.

“give me a second,” you breathe, dropping your head onto his shoulder.

he obliges, and lets out a breath you didn’t know he was holding. you can feel his exhale from where your skin touches, and from deep inside you. you clench a few times around him experimentally, and it’s his turn to falter.  

“mierde.”

taking your actions as a green light to move, carlos pulls out almost entirely, before sinking back into you. 

“you’re so big,” you moan out when he’s fully in you again. 

he breathes out a laugh at that, before being cut off as he rocks his hips against yours. you’re overwhelmed by the feeling, his cock is hitting all the right places in you, and he’s everywhere.

he’s fucking you so hard, so filthily, in the bathroom of a club you’d met him at maybe only an hour ago. your eyes roll back as he keeps thrusting into you.

“carlos, please, please, i’m so close, i’m-“

his hand reaches up and starts rubbing circles into your clit. 

“come for me, amore.”

you let the tension snap, and feel your breath hitch as you come. 

carlos fucks you through your orgasm, slowly, and stills when he sees you blinking back the stars in your eyes. how the fuck he didn’t come when you were squeezing his cock, milking him for all he’s worth, you have no idea.

you smile at him tiredly, grinding your hips onto his cock as you try to make him come too. he starts fucking you again, chasing his own orgasm now, reckless and hungry.

you can feel when he’s close; his thrusts are getting slower and deeper, and he’s breathing harder. you’re trying your hardest to meet him with each movement, to take more and more of him.

you start babbling at him; you need him to come.

“want you to come, please, want you to come in me, carlos.”

that sends him over the edge.

he throws his head back as his hips buck forward, impossibly deeper. you can feel his hot come gush inside you. 

the next few minutes is filled with heavy breaths from the both of you, trying to recover from probably the best bathroom hookup of your life. carlos pulls his pants up first, then helps you to the floor. he brings your clothes over from where they lay in a heap by the door. he kneels again and holds your dress out for you to step into, then pulls it up, and gestures for you to turn so he can zip it up too.

you giggle at him. 

“we should do that again.”

“here,” he passes you his phone, open already on a new number slot. you type in your details and hand it back to him.

you turn back to the mirror and attempt to pat your hair down a bit, attempting to hide your messy hair at least a little bit, but carlos wears his with pride; his chest even puffs out a bit when you point it out, “i don’t see a problem with that, guapísima.”

he grabs your hand to fit in his and you pull him down for a slow kiss, lazy and open-mouthed.

“vamos, hermosa.” carlos unlocks the door and pulls it open for you to step out first.

“yeah, carlos; let’s go, mate!”

you both look to your left to see the booth of carlos’ friends cheering at you. 

“shut up, lando,” carlos flips them off, though he’s grinning too, “pinche pendejo.”

as you walk away from them, carlos makes a show of squeezing your arse, where his mates can see. 

your own friends, only a couple booths in front of carlos’, are staring slackjawed at you and the ridiculously hot guy you just came out of the bathroom with, who is now holding onto your butt. 

you flash a smile at them, mouthing, “i’ll tell you later!”

“now,” carlos glances down at you, and then to your intertwined hands, “can i buy you a drink?”

[whysamwhy123]

First DG makes me watch a Babyface MJF match, now he's gonna make me have to watch a Miro match?? 😩