#One of them fancy moving pictures

[girlberrie]

hi. um. guys?????? i shifted???????????

its embarrassing. because i was literally in the toilet. and i thought to myself, ‘wouldn’t it be funny if i shifted right now?’. and i shifted. to my gamer//streamer//better reality. what the fuck .

(i know i made a post about how if i shifted i would never come back but…….. i have to share this. its the only reason why i shifted back here. next time i shift though? you guys are NOT hearing about it)

quick rundown : i was studying for my chemistry exam that will happen next week in this reality. i needed to use the bathroom. so i went. i started thinking about shifting because i was bored out of my mind. i said ‘fuck it let me try’, closed my eyes, and BOOM. i’m in a different bathroom. the bathroom i had scripted would be my bathroom in my small apartment. in my dr.

i freaked out a little bit because i am NOT nonchalant. i looked at myself in the mirror and I WAS SO BEAUTIFULLLLLLLLLLLLL i mean its my cr face but just improved to my liking BUT I WAS SO BEAUTIFULLL. and i said that aloud too, which freaked me out because my voice is a little different too (it was a bit smoother and soothing idk its my voice feels weird to describe it). my hair was tied up in a bun and i didn’t feel like letting it down, but my fringe was cut so nicely. it fit my face. and it wasn’t poking me in the eyes. i had some strands of hair that were also shorter that had fell out of the bun but it looked very pinterest-esque. very picture worthy. i looked picture worthy. the whole time i was like a movie character sat down at their vanity inspecting their face obsessively. if the mirror had a consciousness it would think i am deranged or something idk . moving onnnnnnn

my bathroom was so nicely decorated i was proud of myselffff. the colours????? the teal the magenta-ish purple the orange????? i had my chanel makeup products all over the sink counter too. it was so chic . guys i am so fucking cool . i feel great about myself now.

and you have to know. the apartment i scripted i owned has a wonderful view. its gorgeous. the galata tower AND the bosphorus?????? and it was a bright, cloudless day. a bit windy. the leaves on the trees were swaying and the sun was so bright it was making the bosphorus water twinkle . i opened the windows (which i didn’t even think about how) to let the breeze in. the air!!!! was clean!!!!!! no smell of petrol!!!!! air pollution is gone!!!!!! my lungs felt great sfkjhsekf IT WAS AMAZING

i didn’t spend much time there (in my dr) because i was a bit shell-shocked///flabbergasted///confuddled and like. i can shift back anytime and anywhere. i know that now, given the fact that i literally shifted… when i was in the toilet…. whilst doing my business.

but in the little time i spent there, i went into my bedroom (AGAIN, FLAWLESSLY DECORATED . I LOVE MYSELF) and just looked at everything. i had all of my perfumes on a silver platter on my bedside table. i had byredo’s mohave ghost. j’adore dior. nishane’s hundred silent ways. issey miyake’s l'eau d'issey (the blue one. i LOVE that one). orabella salted muse. twilly d’hermes. tom ford’s soleil neige. i had a sephora perfume section next to my bed at this point. i would’ve sprayed them all but i didn’t want to cause a sneezing hazard. i did spray soleil neige because i wanted to know if it would smell good on me. and it did, of course.

i had paintings hung up on the wall where my bed was situated. and the paintings were the art on my pinterest board. they were framed in fancy gold looking frames (they were painted gold. not actual gold). i had tears in my eyes,,,,,,, my bedroom was so gorgeous. it was great.

my bed?????????? silk bedsheets in light pink. i laid down on it for a minute. it was so so so soft. and so inviting i almost wanted to fall asleep but i resisted. i had a persian rug with purple-magenta, teal & dark blue and beige details it was so beautiful . it made my bare feet feel warm and the texture was smooth enough to not annoy me (i am sensitive about those things, i fear).

i had scripted that my closer is far bigger than it looks (barbie: dreamhouse style) and it was. i didn’t question the how. but it was a huge, gorgeous room, full of beautiful clothing. the lighting was not too dim but not too bright and so it didn’t hurt my eyes. and the CLOTHES AAAAAAAAA. zimmerman floral dresses. blumarine . archival miu miu. but also: rick owens. maison margiela (THE TABI COLLECTION I HAD. AAAAA). i had ann demeulemeester boots!!!! i had an archival dior dress (the black and lavender knit dress from fw1998). i had more than one archival dior dress. i had alexander mcqueen leather jackets. ugh it was so sexy . i felt the material, brushed my fingertips on all of those. i felt delirious. it seemed too good to be true, BUT IT WAS TRUE. it was REAL. moving on the closet was museum material . i was having the time of my life.

and then . i laid my eyes on the beautiful pc setup i had. and i couldn’t help it. i sat down and played some sims 4. i could use shaders!!!!!!! it was running smoothly!!!!!!! no glitches!!!!!!!!!!

basically: i spent an hour looking around my apartment and the rest was spent in create-a-sim on my computer. because i could literally shift realities and still be a sims girlie. it is embedded into my DNA.

i had the time of my life guys. i didn’t even look at my phone once. it was on my bed. but i didn’t want to look because i was too preoccupied crashing out about my pulitzer prize worthy closet and the view from my windows . but my computer had the date and it was may 6th 2022. which was the year i wanted to shift to. MY COMPUTER WAS ALSO SO AESTHETIC (i had apple’s dynamic wallpaper…. and some folders that i had edited to look like cat memes. i’m exaggerating . just a little bit) AAAAaaaaaaAAaaaaaa everything was so good i’m gonna cry. i felt so much relief!!!! so much happiness!!!! i didn’t know i could feel this way!!!!!!!!

anyway i finished making my sim and just sat there because i got a little bored. and then i thought that maybe sharing this joy with all of you would be nice of me to do. and i sort of wanted to. even though i am going to permashift and made a post saying that i wouldn’t be back. nevertheless, i decided to shift back here to make this post.

so, hey. the moral of the story is::::: SHIFTING IS REAL. ITS SO REAL. NEVER GIVE UP YOU CAN HAVE WHATEVER YOU WANTTTTTTTTTTT

..................................:

(ps. if there are any typos or any sentences that make no sense, it is because i am shaking out of excitement and joy whilst i type this)

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere YouTuber

Short drabble request for @labodabi

I see him as a commentary YouTuber. Always on podcasts talking about the latest fashion or TV sensation. A good looking guy, always perfectly groomed and styled. Falls into that soft boy category - fluffy hair, lots of sweaters, a rescue cat that's always in the video out-takes. Approachable, comforting.

You interact for the first time when you make a video response to one of his controversial takes. You're no established youtuber, your channel doesn't even have any videos before you post about him. You don't add any fancy graphics or music. Just you and your slightly busted ring light, ranting at him for totally misrepresenting your interest.

But people are totally into it. You're passionate. You're funny. You're a breath of fresh air compared to the over produced, over budgeted videos that crowd the homepage.

He invites you on his podcast. Secretly, he expects you to back down. Be camera shy. You're just a no name with a phone camera and he's a guy who gets a million views within a day of uploading. It's got to be intimidating, right?

Nope. You're just the same in person as you were in your video. Not scared to challenge his opinions, not afraid of the lights and team of editors. When the video finally goes out, people eat it up.

User17899: OMG THE CHEMISTRY

sakura blossom: theyre so cute together im putting money on a hard launch in a week or two

YouTube Daddy 69420: he's so into them. just look at his eyes

And with such a great response, it's only natural that you get invited on again. That you start featuring in his full length videos. That he starts tagging you in every Instagram post.

You have no intention of being an influencer. But damn if the money isn't good. If the PR packages aren't sweet.

You move to the same city as him. Let him teach you the ins and outs of the biz. And he eats it up. Takes every opportunity to be your 'internet big brother.'

Yeah, right. Some sick big brother he is, going home and jerking it to pictures of you together. Shooting all over his screen just so it lands on your face. A real great guy.

It's only when you start build your own following that the toxicity really comes out. He wants you reliant on him, on his fame. Having your own channel blow up is just annoying. It gives you too much leverage - you don't need him for views anymore, you can walk away whenever you want. He can't stand it.

That's when he starts being sneaky about things. Starts hitting your videos with copyright infringement and DMCA takedowns the second you go live. Starts contesting your monetisation. Starts using bots to mass report your posts. All anonymously of course. Or through a shell company. Hey, he's been in this biz too long to make a rookie mistake.

And when you're at your wits end, when rent is due and you're broke from trying to get your videos back up, that's when he steps in. Says you guys can collab and he'll give you more than half of the sponsorship money.

Smiles all sweet and charming when he leans in and says, "There's lots of ways to pay me back, so don't worry about it."

You naive thing. He was never going to ask for money in return. No, what he wants is much harder to come by and all the sweeter for it. You think just 'cause he seems like a good guy that he's nice all the way through? That wearing nail polish and doing mud masks on cam makes him any less of a man? Any less hungry? No way baby.

And when it's time to pay up and he's pushing you to your knees, fingers practically ripping his belt buckle loose, you think he's going to stop just because you ask him to? When he has you exactly where he wants you? No matter how polite he is on the surface, he's still just a man.

[vi-steponmeplease]

ˋ°•*⁀➷ loser!gf ellie

synopsis: just some random headcanons about what it'd be like to date loser ellie who's js so obsessed with you.

notes: never made any headcanon posts before, so don't mind the setup lmao i have no clue what i'm doing

tw: mostly fluff but there are some smutty hcs (oral — e!receiving)

✧₊⁺ to begin with, ellie defo prefers cozy 'netflix n chill' date nights over dressing up for fancy dinners.

✧₊⁺ cuddling up on the couch with you is something that never fails to make her heart swell, no matter how long you’ve been together.

✧₊⁺ but mostly because it gives her a chance to imagine what domestic life with you might be like—though she’d never admit it, afraid it might seem like she’s moving too fast.

✧₊⁺ she’s a sucker for resting her head on your chest while you thread your fingers through her hair, gently massaging her scalp as the two of you watch some cringey movie you’ll inevitably fall asleep to halfway through.

✧₊⁺ on the rare nights you don’t doze off, ellie grabs her brown acoustic guitar adorned with spongebob stickers and serenades you with a gentle melody while you rest your head on her shoulder.

✧₊⁺ when you’re out with friends, ellie—being the absolute dork she is—seizes the opportunity to practice tricks on her scratched-up skateboard, determined to one day impress you with her skills (even though she can barely land a kickflip without bruising herself)

✧₊⁺ when she eventually heads home with fresh scratches and deep purple bruises on her arms and knees, she does her best to patch herself up and cover them with makeup, hoping you won’t notice.

✧₊⁺ walking around town with ellie is always chaotic, as she can’t help but scream with excitement at the sight of every cat she sees.

✧₊⁺ bonus points if she’s eating chips—she’ll immediately tear open the bag and try to feed the poor animal junk food, no matter how much you explain it’s unhealthy. she just wants the cat to be happy and fed.

✧₊⁺ speaking of cats, she's defo the type to snap 0.5 pictures from every angle, proudly maintaining an entire folder dedicated to her feline encounters.

✧₊⁺ you got her a dino necklace for her birthday, and she’s never taken it off since.

✧₊⁺ ellie also has a whole mini-figure collection of the reptile and loves sending you pictures of two dinos kissing, always captioning them with: us!!

✧₊⁺ this girl lets nothing—absolutely nothing—distract her from a videogame. but the moment you so much as call her name, she’s running to you like a stray dog that just found its owner.

✧₊⁺ sometimes, you sit on her lap as she plays, watching her screen and asking the silliest questions. she always answers with a smile and a soft kiss on your cheek.

"what about there? would you die if you went inside that room?" you ask, your arms draped around her neck as you tilt your head to get a better view of her game.

she chuckles softly, pressing her lips to your jaw before fiddling with the joysticks. "judging by the fact that it’s pitch dark in there, i’d say… probably, yeah."

✧₊⁺ the room eventually falls silent, her focus fully locked on the game. but when she glances down a few moments later, she finds you fast asleep, your head resting on her shoulder, and she can’t help but smile.

✧₊⁺ you’ve never seen a room as messy yet effortlessly aesthetic as ellie’s. somehow, the clutter only adds to her charm and uniqueness.

✧₊⁺ sometimes, as you sit on her bed scrolling through your phone in comfortable silence, ellie sketches little drawings of you.

✧₊⁺ by now, her sketchbook is filled with portraits of you—you’ve become her muse.

✧₊⁺ she used to get shy about showing you her artwork, hesitating before every reveal. but after seeing your excitement over one piece, she proudly gave you a full tour of her sketchbook, secretly basking in the joy of being the reason behind that pretty smile of yours.

✧₊⁺ one time, ellie asked you to press your lipstick-stained lips onto a piece of paper, saying she wanted to create something abstract.

✧₊⁺ that moment quickly escalated into her kissing you with urgency, her lips trailing heated breaths down your neck and collarbone. before you knew it, you were lying on your back, clothes discarded on the floor, as she devoured you like a prisoner savoring a last meal.

✧₊⁺ ellie had never tasted pussy before, but she didn’t need any frame of reference. she’ll always insist yours is the best she could ever have.

✧₊⁺ she’s a soft dom, big on praise—even when you’re the one between her legs.

ellie’s head falls back against the wall, a low groan slipping from her lips as your tongue flicks against her clit. you wrap your lips around the sensitive bud, watching her face contort with pleasure.

“fuck, baby. just like that,” she grunts, her hand threading into your hair and tugging gently to bring you closer. “you’re doing so good.”

✧₊⁺ in the end, ellie is just a hopeless loser who’s madly in love with you and would do anything to make you happy.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Can I get petite reader x rafe with size difference and some holiday vibes?

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected p + v, raunchy humor,

Do not let the banner fool you into thinking this is Rafe x OC — it’s not. I just likes the aesthetic of Sabrina’s pictures and her little dress

—

Ipad in hand and hair rollers on, you went over everything in the house, making sure all the preparations for tonight were done. It was your first time hosting a Christmas dinner, and you wanted it to be perfect, knowing Rose would nitpick on the smallest things. You wanted your father to ask for a second serving of turkey, and your mother to compliment the wrapping paper under your massive Christmas tree. For Sarah to tell you how delicious your Grinch cookies were— 

‘’The wine! Can you ask Sarah if she got the wine your father likes? I thought we had a bottle left, but I can’t find any,’’ you asked Rafe, who was coming down the stairs after his shower, freshly shaved and smelling strongly on the cologne you loved. 

He hummed, pulling out his phone and sending his sister a quick text. ‘’Anything else, baby?’’ 

Eyes still on the list, most of the dots were checked. ‘’Can you get the fancy wine glasses down from the top cabinet? I can’t reach them.’’

‘’Can’t reach very high when you’re three apples tall,’’ Rafe teased, an amused smirk at the corner of his lips. 

You glared at him. ‘’I’m not three apples tall! I’m regular sized.’’ 

It wasn’t true, and you both knew it. You were just about Wheezie’s height — who was thirteen years old. 

Rafe chuckled at your reaction and went to the kitchen for the wine glasses. He reached the top cabinet and grabbed the glasses with ease, handing the first four to you. He brought the other fours to the counter where you had placed the wine opener. 

Then, you disappeared back to the living room and up the stairs to finish your hair, seeing as there was only an hour before your parents would arrive. Rafe followed and watched you standing in front of the mirror of your ensuite bathroom in your small red and white festive dress, which was driving him crazy. The way it hugged your body and made you look like a little doll in a Christmas outfit. He didn’t think he would love that childish looking dress when he saw it on the hanger — he compared it to one of Sarah’s when she was little —, but now he wanted nothing more than to flip the skirt up and take you right there.

‘’At what time is it acceptable to kick everyone out?’’ he asked, already looking forward to being alone with you. 

‘’Don’t be a Grinch, Rafe. No one has arrived yet,’’ you warned as you took out another one of the rollers. Your hair was so bouncy and pretty. You’ll need to ask Sarah to take nice pictures of you and Rafe so you can hang them in the house.

Rafe shook his head. ‘’I’m not being a Grinch. I just really want to fuck you in that dress,’’ he said casually, making a smile bloom across your lips. His smirk grew into a cocky grin, and he continued. ‘’I was thinking under the tree?’’ he began, his voice low and full of desire. ‘’So you can be my little present that I get to unwrap. Or, in front of the fireplace like they do in movies. What do you think?’’ 

You put down your last roller, and grabbed the hairspray and brush to smooth everything a little. ‘’I think…that you should get dressed. Can’t welcome our guests in sweatpants.’’

Although you moved into this house last November, you and Rafe had yet to host a holiday dinner. The Camerons rented a nice cabin last Christmas — as they did every year. You went skiing, and ice skating with Sarah and Wheezie. And Thanksgiving was spent at your parents’ — your mother loved Thanksgiving. 

‘’Alright,’’ Rafe replied, eyeing his clean pants and a crisp button up you had priorly set nicely on the bed. 

He was perfectly capable of picking his clothes and dressing nicely, but the nerves of hosting had you searching through his closet and picking what he would wear for tonight. 

When you were both ready, you went back downstairs. Your father had called saying he was going to run a little late due to a closed road and traffic. Moving to Charleston after college had been difficult for them. They assumed that you would come back home, and instead you bought a house seven hours away from them.  

‘’Rafe, I said no,’’ you repeated, avoiding Rafe’s grasp.

He was faster than you, quickly catching you when you walked by the couch. He wrapped his arms around your hips and pulled you closer to him, leaning down to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck. ‘’But you said your parents would be late. Come on, baby. Just a quick one?’’

You shook your head, dodging his kisses. ‘’Rafe…’’

The offer was tempting. It didn’t help that he smelled good and looked so damn hot in his white button up. 

‘’You're not being fair,’’ he retorted, chuckling darkly. ‘’Walking around in that tiny dress. Look what you did to me,’’ Rafe pressed his tented pants to your ass. ‘’I can’t welcome your parents with this rock hard beast in my pants. How inappropriate would that be?’’

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out as he pressed the evidence of his arousal against you. ‘’That’s your problem.’’ 

He grinned, leaning down to steal a kiss, his lips brushing your glossy ones just enough to send a shiver down your spine. ‘’Not my fault you look so damn good in that dress.’’ 

‘’Horn-dog,’’ you muttered, trying to hide your smile.

‘’Around you? Always.’’ 

You laughed again, but it was cut short by a squeal when your feet left the floor and Rafe threw you over his shoulder in one fluid motion. Your skirt rode up, exposing even more of your thighs as you wriggled awkwardly over his shoulder. Rafe chuckled, his hand coming to smack your exposed ass cheek. 

Rafe set you down on the divan, which turned out to be one of your favorite furniture purchases. Who would have thought that a couch could be convenient for so many different sex positions? 

''You gonna fill my stocking?'' you asked, looking up at Rafe with sparkling eyes and glossy lips. For the sake of being naughty, you lifted the skirt of your dress, flashing your red panties. They were small, and not hiding much. 

That made Rafe groan, his gaze roamed your body with a hungry gleam in his eyes that made it clear how much he wanted you. ''Fuck,'' he mumbled in a low, gruff voice, hurriedly unbuckling his belt and undoing his pants. ‘’You been walking around like that all this time?’’ 

You grinned in response. ‘’I’m on the naughty list, aren’t I?’’ 

‘’Top of the fucking naughty list, yeah,’’ Rafe agreed, rubbing himself over his tight boxers. His eyes caught the gold ‘R’ around your neck, glistening from the twinkling lights of the tree. He had never seen anything more beautiful. 

You lowered your eyes to his crotch, knowing what was underneath. ''Boy, I think that package is too big to gift wrap.'' 

Rafe chuckled at your comment, a cocky smile playing on his lips. Your raunchy sense of humor being one of his favorite things about you — spontaneous, sharp, and just the right balance of cheeky and bold without crossing into vulgarity. It kept him on his toes, always guessing what you'd say next, and he loved every second of it.

You shuddered when Rafe’s cock entered you, squeezing through your tight walls and filling you up. He had one knee on the divan, right between yours, and gripped your hips as he pounded into you, panties pulled to the side. Your red fingernails were digging into the back of his biceps and shoulder, anchoring you to him. 

A quick fuck, he said. 

Your head lulled as your arousal built, your orgasm threatening to come as sounds of pleasure left your lips. Rafe’s hips picked up the pace, reaching between your bodies to toy with your clit. The ‘magic button’, as he called it. 

As if Santa was watching and purposely unleashed a curse of Christmas on you and Rafe, the doorbell went off, echoing through the house just as you came around Rafe’s cock with a cry that must have been heard on the other side of the front door. On top of you, Rafe growled into your neck as he released ropes of cum inside you.

The doorbell echoed again, and Rafe laughed. 

‘’Oh my god,’’ you panicked, trying to catch your breath. 

You flipped back the bottom of your dress and stood, quickly closing and clenching your legs when you felt something dripping between your thighs. You couldn’t welcome the guests like that…

You glared at Rafe, who was tucking himself back into his boxers and pants, and very much amused by the situation. ‘’This is exactly why I didn’t want to do this.’’ 

—

OBX taglist: @moralina @eudximoniakr @toylewestinnyc @rottenstyx @sweeterheartxamerica @jordierama @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @lilaconner @Katsukis1Wife @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue @acornacreacure @snownjune @nmedina8611 @slvtherinseeker @slvtherinseeker @poppet05 @1stevelacyfan @illf4iry @withbeautyandrage @maybankslover @sunflowerziva @laylasbunbunny @Honey-marvel15 @leoluvsur-pappy @slytherhoes @kcskye123 @outerbanksacc @pedrosprincess @mikaelsonsstuff @skyesthebomb @a1mzcruml3y @iluurmom @popeheywardssecretgf @madelynie @loverofdrewstarkey @radiant-whore @outsider-at-hogwarts @luci1fer @bbycowboi @rafecameronsbadussy @urbfsbitchlol @nomorespahgetti @bloodyhw @Veescorneroftheworld @papayaboyluvr @slytherinambitious @darylscvmdumpster @tommysaxes @johannelis2302nely @lynbubble @straberryshortcake143 @beth-gallagher22 @doestalker @rubyliquor @theflcwer @angelxxrose @sierraluvzz @cruzgrecia @evelestrange @sunnysunny133696 @under-seasoned-pasta @hoeforsirius @buckyswhxre @emerald-09 @simonessolarsystem @rehead1180 @stvrkey @ynmunson @riddle18 @love4ldr @withfireandbl00d @wonderland2425 @blublock404 @eddieslut69

[evilminji]

"DO BETTER!" Says Now Televised Fanboy

He, Dash Baxter is a Phan-Stan!! It's kinda his thing. See, he's a fancy ass talk show host now. Married Paulie, moved out of Amity, actually DID something with his life. His parents? Did not approve. Long n short of it? He got kicked out.

Paulie's parents were PISSED.

Retaliated by giving him all the help he needed getting EVERY scholarship he qualified for. He went to a really nice college. Missed his girlfriend like mad. But she was off in Metropolis, terrifying weaker men. Conquering the fashion scene.

And SOMEHOW? Thanks to that long talk he had with Phantom (*incoherent fanboy gibbering noises* SO COOL!) he's worked to be... more of a LEADER, you know? Less of an asshole. Cause he's popular. People copy him. He can't be an asshole.

So, somehow, when he's punching out some try-hard that thinks he's hot shit for bullying a Nerd? He and the nerd get talking, right? Cause the guy got his glasses completely fucked up. And it's what Phantom would do.

But GET THIS? Guy's never HEARD of Phantom! Is super curious, cause he runs a small time Hero's show on the web. And, Dude? Is it your LUCKY DAY! Cause you just met THE number 1 fan of Phantom, hands down!! He makes his VERY spirited case, about why Phantom is THE best Hero to ever have lived. And this guy?

Entranced.

In AWE.

Just straight up BEGS him to join his show. Cause apparently? He was BORN for it. Which? Yeah. He HAS been giving speechs to the team for YEARS now. And Talking at fan meet ups. Leading fan meet ups. Hosting parties... actually, now that he thinks about it? He DOES do a lot of public speaking? Huh.

But still, he's about to say "no", when?

Dude mentions? He'll get to talk about Phantom.

SOLD!

It. Blows. Up. Absolutely EVERYONE is in love with his pretty face, hot bod, and STRONG opinions. But they ALSO have no idea who Phantom is! Paulie! This is CRIMINAL! Horrifying! What is going ON!?

Some bullshit information black out, apparently. At least according to her... friendly Nemesis? The Goth Dweeb. Who's engaged, apparently? So good for her. Unsurprisingly, it's too the OTHER Dweebs, but still. Bout time she started planning to drag them to a court house. She's the only one with any spine in that group! If she waited for THEM to propose?

Not even as Ghosts, man.

They'd get distracted by shiny nerd shit and whimp out.

Still... a world where NO ONE knows how Awesome, Phantom is? Not on HIS watch!

So he works it in. To every segment. It becomes "his thing". Oh? Super man saved a kitten from a tree? Cute. Well PHANTOM saved a bus full of Ghost Puppies from a shady, rouge, Goverment agency. Do BETTER, Superman!

The Flash, who is a cheap knock-off and stole his name, took down an Ice Villian? Adorable! PHANTOM stopped a Rouge WINTER SPIRIT with the help of YETI WARRIORS then assisted in giving FREE medical care for anyone who needed it! Here's a picture of him making GHOST ICE SNOWMEN for small children! Do BETTER, Knock-off!

What's THAT you say? Wonder Woman fought a GOD in down town paris?

Excellent work Wonder Woman. Flawless as always. But YOU, god-boy, are a disappointment! All that power! And WHAT do you use it for? Are you even supposed to BE here?? PHANTOM uses his power to HELP people! Is awesome and knows TONS of better gods! You're just salty you didn't make the cut!

DO BETTER!

And obviously? No one believes him. There's no record of this "Phantom" guy. The pictures look fantastical and vaguely glitchy/glowy. Not quite right. They GOTTA be photo shopped. Manipulated somehow. But? As a shtick? A fake "perfect Superhero" is kinda funny and unique.

And it's one hell of Fake Hero!

A Dead Champion? Who fights gods and monsters? Rouge agencies? Sassy and tragic? With a mysterious past? Pretty cool! There's even an Offical Comic from some guy that went to the same high-school as Baxter!

Of course, as Baxter get more and more popular? The "meme" hero, Phantom, get more well known? People get more interested in where Dash grew up. You know, just a bored Google. Maybe see if the hero was based off a local legend or something. But... huh...

The Town website?

Weirdly? Sanitized.

Like... like aggressively sanitized. All smooth edges and no details. Very "move along, citizen". Ha ha... it's part of the joke right? They get it! They'll just look up local restaurants or som-....

Wait...

Hey, guuuuys?

Are you finding ANYTHING?

And! Nothing. And I do mean NOTHING! Triggers the "oh? Secrets???" Instincts of a Hacker, like finding a hard blank wall of "KEEP OUT". Especially when it's somewhere it rightfully shouldn't BE.

All it would take? Is ONE person, of decent skills and an account on Certain Forums, getting bored enough to Google the Dude On The TV(TM)? For the GIW's lil walls to come crashing down. Because yeah, you can stop ONE hacker. Even two. Probably five or six.

But how about thousands?

Hundreds of thousands?

From every time zone. Competing. Just to see what you HAVE and don't want them to see. Maybe they do something with it, maybe they don't. But fuck it, you're being RUDE and now they're CURIOUS. And THEN? Oh. Oh holy shit.

Not a meme.

Very real.

Not a joke.

The walls come crumbling down, down, down. Ripped apart by hundreds of hands. Emails sent to every sort of agency. The JLU line inundated with emergency tips. Not a joke. Not A Joke. Holy Shit, IT WASN'T A JOKE!

Phantom is REAL!

And there, on TV, stands the Man. The signal FINALLY breaching containment. Fighting off the invading God of the week. Built like statue, hair like an aurora borealis of white fire held almost delicately in place by a CROWN of ice, a suit made of void and starlight. Inhuman. Beyond human.

Here to help.

A laugh that crackles like ice and the snap of winter, rolls through the air like coming storms, rich and somehow warm. A smile that bares teeth, yet turns so KIND when he looks upon humanity, as though we are precious and worth fighting for. A living star.

A... a once living star.

And in the center of it all? Wearing his BESPOKE, custome made, Number 1 Phan full body outfit? That's right. Dash Baxter. Ha! You fuckers doubted him! Behold his blorbo and WEEP, ya fuckin casuals! The BESTEST of boys! The FINEST of Heros! Superman? Could NEVER.

And now? The weather!

@babbling-babull @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @ailithnight @hypewinter @hdgnj @mutable-manifestation

[tuliptears]

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WEARING!?”

Halloween was such a freeing holiday.

getting to dress-up as anyone or thing that tickled your fancy, as long as it was funny and recognizable.

it's refreshing to see others also partake in the festivities with the exchanging treats and the abundance of tricks played on unsuspecting victims.

not to mention the absolute kick you’re getting as Katsuki seethes at what you'd chosen to wear.

“My costume!” You grin widely with pride, puffing your chest out and putting your hands on your hips.

sure, he’s seen plenty of dynamights roaming the streets as he went about patrol, yelling kiddy swears and mimicking his move sets to the best of their abilities.

it's a whole different ball game when his partner decides to dress up as him; the fact that it was identical to the one he wore back during his UA days makes it worse.

“Midoriya helped with the finer details,” you casually named drop your accomplice, gave an uncharacteristic twirl, and let Katsuki bask and relive his glory days, “what do you think?”

“It fucking sucks.” Is all he manages to get past his tightly gritted teeth.

as he makes an expanding list of ways he plans on getting his revenge, you change your pose to one you'd seen him do a dozen times.

“I’m sorry, but I’m pretty sure I absolutely nailed the ‘Lord Explosion Murder’ era perfectly.” the chunky styrofoam gauntlets were a bit of a hassle to haul around and you weren't even going to mention how heavy the mask/headpiece was.

“Don’t fuckin’ stand like that!” He’s pointing now, bright-red eyes narrowing at the protruding curve in your spine as you dramatically slouched into yourself.

"please, you stood exactly like this. I have the pictures!"

Katsuki's growling now, chest heaving with each angry breath he took, "you and that shitty nerd are so gonna get it."

“What’s crawled up yer ass, ya damn extra?” you try to closely match the gravelly, rough draw of his voice, which stokes the fire from deep within him even more.

the embarrassment hits him at full-force when your lips curl into an intimidating snarl, thinned-out brows making nearly perfect ‘v’ shapes as you do your best ‘dynamight’ glare, “cut it the fuck out!”

that's when he sees it.

a mischievous glint you get in your eyes when you'd come up with something you knew he'd absolutely hate.

tension only seems to thicken as you open your mouth and attempt to speak.

you’d barely rasped your first ‘oi!’ before he’s finally had enough and charges at full-speed.

costumed kids and adults alike looked on in confused horror as two Dynamights went barreling past them, one letting out boisterous fits of laughter and the other looking like he was seconds away from tearing his doppelgänger’s head right off.

[audisive]

♪ WEST COAST. (💌) – next part

౨ৎ simon 'ghost' riley | reader

synopsis: soap accidentally finds out about simon's girl.

tags: fluff, romance, simon is a big baby !! let us all accept this fact, soap and his assumptions, uh bad jokes, very rushed fic, crack ?, reader can indeed fix simon

Soap isn't sure when his assumptions started, nor is he sure how it got to Gaz and Price himself. 

Maybe it was when he started to notice that Ghost left base whenever he could. (How come ye never leave base? It's a hassle havin' to go back and forth for nothin', Johnny.) Maybe it was the smudged color of red and pink on his balaclava, the lingering perfume on his hoodie, or his new wallet taking the place of one that was once worn out.

"Wha's yer favorite perfume, LT?" "My enemies' sweat and tears."

(It's well-known that despite the fact that Ghost does consider the 141 to be his family, he keeps his personal life very private and away from them. They respect that, in turn, but let's face it, Soap is nosy.)

Really, it was an accident. Soap swears it was!

He just happened to be passing by his lieutenant in the bar where the team had all gone to celebrate a wreck of a mission that they've managed to successfully finish. Truly, it was an accident when his eyes caught a glimpse of Ghost's new wallet, and he really, very much so did not mean to watch a little too long – long enough for it to open and reveal a hefty amount of cash and a small square of colors, barely noticeable. 

Soap's feet move before he could quietly search for more.

"Got a new wallet, aye?" He slides beside the taller man smoothly, just as the Brit had grunted out another order of Bourbon. Ghost hums in acknowledgement.

"Y'got a crush on me or somethin', Johnny?"

Soap chuckles even if the other does not. "A just happened tae see it. Fancy little thing."

It doesn't take long before Ghost disappears into the night, but the Scot swears his pace was a bit faster than usual when he left the awfully-smelling bar, and Gaz would be lying if he said he didn't see the little picture of a pretty bird tucked away in his scarily huge lieutenant's wallet.

It's not that Soap often makes bold assumptions about people and their personal lives, not when they're out of reach from him, but can you really blame him for thinking that the words 'Ghost' and 'girlfriend' do not sound right in the same sentence? Would it be considered an assumption this time if he'd seen the photo himself? Surely, his superior isn't some perverted freak who keeps an image of a breathtaking woman he randomly found in his private items. Uh, he hopes not, at least.

"Bullshit!" is what a drunken Soap yells when the Brit nonchalantly discloses to the team, without hesitation, that he is simply not interested in dating. He spills everything he's gathered in the past few months, from the smallest hints to the biggest; the unfamiliar strand of hair on Ghost's hoodie to the wallet from months ago.

"A'm no crazy!" Soap convinces no one as he's ushered back to the barracks for making such an insane assumption about the lieutenant in his unreliable state. Ghost's lips curl up into a smirk against the cold glass of Bourbon in his hand, sat back and relaxed with his legs spread wide.

Call him a big baby (he is) for making a fool out of his sergeant instead of just telling the truth and bragging about his angel to the others, but can you blame him? He just wants to keep you tucked away in his pocket, away from everyone else. What are you talking about, lovie? 'Course 'm not ashamed of you. You're just too pretty for them, is all. Gotta keep m' girl safe, yeah?

Besides, they don't have to know the way Simon melts into the nook of your neck when he gets home from deployment or know that he uses your lavender-scented shampoo. And no, it doesn't matter that Johnny knows. It's his word against the lieutenant's. He spares his LT and turns a blind eye this once.

When the time is right, Simon is sure to properly introduce his heart to his unspoken family. For the time being, he just wants to keep you his pretty little secret.

    divider by @cafekitsune !

[undyingdecay]

OKAY!! hear me out. reader x john walker where they’ve talked beforehand about reader getting pregnant and them having a baby. but!! kinda CNC i guess where reader is like “no! you have to pull out!!” and john is like “you feel too fucking good, i’m so sorry” 🫠 but obviously it’s fine. sorry for the brain rot and word vomit

(banging on the bars of my enclosure i WANT HIMM)

you and john, of course, had spoken about starting to settle down. it wasn’t some picture-perfect conversation over candlelight or at the foot of a bed tangled up in satin sheets. no — it was late at night, one too many beers deep, both of you bone-tired from the world and sick of it kicking the shit out of you. some movie was playing low in the background, something old and dumb that john grumbled through the whole way, and you’d said something offhand about being a good wife.

and he went quiet after that.

not in the stiff, pissed-off kind of way he sometimes got when he couldn’t say what he meant, but in that soft, heavy way — the one where he’d let a big, warm hand slide over your thigh and just hold it, thumb moving in slow circles like he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

after that, it was inevitable.

you were looking at rings.

then finally buying a house — nothing fancy, just good bones and a yard big enough for the dog he swore up and down he didn’t want.

a little german shepherd pup that pissed on the floor and chewed his boots.

“too much goddamn work,” john grumbled. “i’m not taking care of some mutt.”

and yet two weeks later, you came home to find them curled up together on the couch, the pup dozing against his broad chest, john’s hand absently scratching behind her ear like it was the most natural thing in the world. you didn’t even bother teasing him about it. just smiled, pressed a kiss to his temple, and the next morning you quietly tossed your birth control in the trash like it’d never existed.

you’d both wanted this. maybe too much.

ready to live out those stupid little daydreams you used to laugh at, pretending it could never be you. a house. a dog. maybe a baby if life didn’t spit in your face first.

but john was a hardass.

and you were stubborn.

so even after all the talks, even knowing you were both aching for it, there was still this push and pull between you. a give-me-take-it, say-no-make-me game that neither of you ever really meant but both of you loved to play.

and that night, it was thick in the air.

the way he had you on your back, legs trembling against his waist, his cock driving into you hard enough to rock the bed against the wall.

the thick, heady smell of sweat, sex, and that faint ghost of his cologne still clinging to his throat, the way his dog tags slapped against his chest with every rough thrust.

it slipped out before you could think.

“john — no, you have to pull out. you promised.”

and the minute you said it, you knew.

knew from the rough sound that tore out of his throat, from the way his hips stuttered for just a second before grinding deeper, harder, like he was trying to climb inside you.

“too fucking good—you’re so fucking wet, you want this so bad—fuck—don’t you?,” he groaned, voice cracking with it, low and desperate. “can’t. can’t stop now.”

you tried to wriggle, nails digging into his broad, sweat-slicked shoulders, some weak little protest about how you weren’t ready. about how this wasn’t what you agred to.

but your cunt betrayed you — clenching down, wet and eager, the thick slide of him dragging against every oversensitive nerve ending you had. and you hated how much you loved it.

“i’m sorry,” he groaned into your neck, and he wasn’t. not even a little bit.

his grip on your hips tightened, fingers leaving bruises he’d smirk at later.

“told you we’d start trying soon, didn’t i? i meant it.”

you felt his cock twitch inside you, that telltale pulse, and you were done for. the heat, the stretch, the desperate, filthy promise in his voice sending you right to the edge.

and when he finally came, it was a guttural, broken sound — hips jerking, cock spilling hot and thick inside you, enough to spill out around him in slick, messy drips.

he stayed buried to the hilt, grinding those last few lazy thrusts into you, unwilling to let any of it go to waste.

the room was heavy after that.

nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths, the faint hum of the ceiling fan above.

his big hand brushed through your hair, cradling the side of your face as he leaned down and kissed the corner of your mouth.

“guess we’ll see what happens now,” he murmured, voice soft and smug, his thumb tracing your bottom lip.

and you knew then — there wasn’t any going back.

you didn’t want to, either.

[moonstruckme]

Hellooooo my favorite catlover/writer

I got another pop up idea this morning (happens way too often)

But first of all ! Don’t wear yourself out ! You write a lot and it’s amazing ! But prioritize yourself first. Don’t let requests put a pression on you ❤️

I know how it feels

Anyways

I’m not a morning person like most of the population except SOCIOPATHS.

And I imagined what it would feel like having the emt!marauders watching you up since they have to go to work early. You know like kisses, shoulders massages, soothing words as they try to calm your rise and everything…

If you don’t like it that’s ok! Don’t write it.

Love you, rest well. (Drink water)

Thanks for your request babe! Hope you're resting well and drinking water too <3

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 654 words

You stir when you feel Remus shifting underneath you. He reaches over to shut off his alarm, hand coming back to rest over your head placatingly. The appeasement doesn’t last long; when he goes to move out from under you, you make a soft whining sound. 

“Dove.” His voice is husky with sleep, but there’s fondness to it. It makes you want him to stay even more. 

The mattress creaks at the other end of the bed as James gets up. Sirius grumbles, scooting closer to you and shoving his face into your neck in rebellion. 

“Don’t let them take me,” he mumbles pitifully. 

“Baby.” Remus sounds more exasperated and also more amused now that both you and Sirius are half atop him. You’re not sure which one of you he’s talking to, but it hardly matters. “Come on.” His lips touch down on your head. “You can sleep, but we have to get ready.” 

The bathroom light turns on. Both you and Sirius moan tormentedly. 

James’ laugh is too loud for the early hour; you’ll never understand how he wakes so quickly. “Need some help?”

“Please,” Remus replies. 

Sirius makes a half-asleep sound of protest as he’s dragged away from you, James speaking to him in a low, amused voice. 

“Alright,” Remus murmurs, kissing your head again, “my turn.” 

He eases your head off of his chest, setting it gently on the pillow before getting out of bed. You mourn the warmth of his spot next to you. 

James is ready the fastest, back to press kisses to your pouty lips and soothe his big hands over your shoulders. “Do you want me to make you something for breakfast, lovie? If you get up now I’ll whip you up a fancy coffee.” 

“James,” Remus chides from the bathroom, “let her sleep.” 

James sighs but bends to mush loving kisses into your neck, murmuring nonsense at you all the while. 

“I know you don’t like the bathroom light on, but if you think about it, we’re the ones who have to endure it. Sirius is in there halfway to a temper tantrum because his hair won’t behave, and you’re here all warm and cozy in bed. You look terribly cute like this, do you know? It’s really cruel of you, it ought to be illegal, and if Sirius were awake enough to form a thought he’d agree with me.” His kisses turn ticklish, and James chuckles when you wriggle. “Really! I mean it, you don’t know how lucky you are getting to stay here in bed and looking so adorable. Remus is about to drive us to work, and Sirius is going to insist on laying down in the backseat and moaning about how much he misses you all the while, it’s terrible. I ought to take a picture of you to console him.” 

“Don’t,” you mumble. You find one of James’ hands with your own, dragging it underneath your pillow for safekeeping. 

James laughs again, and another chuckle joins him as Sirius comes out of the bathroom. 

“What’re you doing to her, you relentless pest? At least one of us should be allowed to sleep.” 

James makes a soft grunting sound as the bed dips. You don’t have to open your eyes to know Sirius has draped himself over his boyfriend’s shoulders. 

“Don’t worry, gorgeous, I’ll get him away from you,” Sirius promises. “Jamie, I require one of your fancy coffees.” 

“Me too,” says Remus from the bathroom. 

James succumbs to the weight of peer pressure and goes, and a short while later the bathroom light shuts off. Remus crouches by the bed, kissing you softly. 

“Sleep well,” he says, brushing some hair away from your face. “We’ll see you after our shift, dovey, okay?” 

You mumble out a response, already falling asleep again in the returned darkness of the bedroom. 

Remus’ thumb skims fondly over your cheek. “Love you too, sweetheart.” 

[nhmkhnh]

LUXURIOUS. 

PAIRINGS: DOM!GRAYSON X SUB!FEM!READER

WARNING(S): lowercase, explicit content (minors & men dni) 

TAGS: gentle!grayson ;; sugar mommy!grayson ;; size kink ;; strap-on sex (r.receving) ;; voice kink ;; orgasm control ;; marking kink ;; fingering (r.receiving) ;; office sex ;; after care. 

navigation. 

1. grayson met you by accident at a council party. you weren’t even supposed to be there—just a low-level assistant running errands. but she noticed you. the way your eyes lit up at the chandeliers. the cheap heels you clearly borrowed. the glass of water you clutched instead of wine. she noticed everything.

2. she offered you her coat that night. not because you asked, but because she saw you rubbing your arms at the tram stop, refusing a ride because you didn’t want to trouble her. that was the moment she decided: you’d never need to feel cold again.

3. her money is quiet—but limitless. new phone? already delivered. rent? she bought your whole building. designer heels you only glanced at through a window? in your size, waiting at your door, with a handwritten note:

“wear these for me tonight, sweetheart. i’ll be home late. —g.”

4. grayson is so fucking soft with you. no one believes it. not the cops. not the council. she speaks with steel, commands zaunites and piltovans alike—but she kneels when she takes off your shoes. she kisses your wrist like you’re porcelain. she calls you “my girl” like it’s sacred.

5. she loves watching you eat. like, borderline obsessed. orders you food she knows you love, watches as you take that first bite, always with a smug-ass smile. sometimes she’ll say things like:

“i work too hard for you not to eat like a queen.”

…as she wipes the corner of your mouth with her thumb.

6. possessive sugar mommy af. you post a picture in a cute dress she didn’t buy? you’ll get a message in 3.2 seconds:

“where’d you get that?” you respond, teasing. “a friend gave it to me.” her next reply? “i’ll be over in 20. take it off.”

7. you’re her weakness. one pout, one sigh, one slightly sad text, and she’s leaving meetings early, gun still holstered at her hip, just to hold you in her arms and tuck your head beneath her chin.

8. she spoils you with intention. not just random stuff—she remembers what you say in passing. that childhood candy you mentioned once? she has it imported. you said your old blanket got lost in a move? she commissions an identical one. grayson is detail-oriented as hell.

9. she hates seeing you work too hard. if you have a job she thinks is beneath you, expect her to show up at your workplace one day, lean against the doorframe in her tailored coat, and go:

“pack up. you’re not working here anymore. i already paid your boss to let you go.”

(you pretend to be mad. you’re not.)

10. sugar mommy in the streets, beast in the sheets. you better believe this woman can throw you over her shoulder like it’s nothing and pin your wrists with one hand. she’ll buy you roses and then wreck you on 1,000-thread-count sheets. always rough and reverent.

11. she’s got a whole drawer of lingerie she bought for you. color-coded. lace. silk. she doesn’t make you wear them—she asks with that low voice of hers:

“put this on for me, baby.”

…and you always do.

12. she sometimes brings you to fancy events on her arm. the looks people give when grayson, in all her power and elegance, walks in with the prettiest little thing holding onto her bicep like a prized gem?? you love it. she loves it more.

13. grayson smells expensive. tobacco, clean leather, sandalwood, and warm wine. you cling to her coats when she’s gone. you steal her undershirts. she doesn’t mind. she tells you to take whatever you want—

“everything i have is yours, sweetheart.”

14. she sends you voice notes. deep, gravelly ones when she’s working late. “i miss you, little thing.” “don’t wait up.” “touch yourself if you need to—i’ll make it up to you when i’m back.” you play them on loop until she’s home again.

15. you’re the only softness she allows herself. she might be sheriff, might lead with fire and steel—but she melts the moment you crawl into her lap, kiss her throat, and whisper “i missed you.”

grayson would set the whole world on fire to keep you warm.

smut bonus.

1. grayson has a size kink.

she’s taller, broader, stronger—and obsessed with the way you look curled up beneath her.

“look at you… so tiny under me.”

she’ll stretch your legs wide with one hand and use her hips to pin you still, murmuring about how you were “made to be taken care of”—as she grinds slow, deep, and possessive into you.

2. she lives for strap-on sex.

leather harness. thigh holster. her favorite one is thick and curved just right, matching the press of her fingers when she edges you open for it.

“relax, baby. i’m not done spoiling you yet.”

she’ll tease you until you’re begging to be filled—and only then will she sink in, all slow and loving like she’s feeding you wine.

3. her voice when she talks you through orgasms? unholy.

gravelly, low, damn near feral when you’re about to come. she’ll growl against your neck, lips hot and teeth grazing:

“that’s it, baby—let go. give it to me. c’mon, that’s my good girl.”

you always come harder when she talks. she knows it.

4. grayson adores marking you.

hickeys. scratch marks. lipstick on your thighs. bruises shaped like her palms.

and when she takes you out in public the next day, she’ll gently fix your collar to just barely hide the bite on your throat—then smirk when you flinch every time her hand brushes your waist.

5. she loves using her fingers.

thick, experienced hands that always know what to do. grayson can finger you with such maddening control—slow, deep curls that keep you hovering on the edge forever.

“what’s the rush, sweetheart? i’ve got all night… and you belong to me.”

if you beg? she might let you come. might.

6. she’s the type to fuck you in her office.

desk pushed back. coat still on. you bent over the polished wood, panties pushed aside, her hand covering your mouth while she rocks into you from behind.

“quiet now, little thing. you don’t want the whole precinct hearing who this pretty cunt belongs to, do you?”

(spoiler: she wants them to hear.)

7. post-sex aftercare is everything.

grayson kisses every spot she marked. draws you a bath. feeds you fruit from her fingers while you sit on her lap, boneless and blissed out.

“you did so well for me, baby.”

she makes sure you know that even when she fucks you like she owns you—she treasures you like gold.

so obssesed with her 😋 please let this woman make her way into my life please.

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part Nine: The Expo

Your eyes widen to saucers as you climb out of John’s work van. The event hall in front of you is huge - the largest in the city. A big, glass dome with a high-end hotel attached. It glows in the morning sun. Lines of people have already formed out front. You passed them on your way around to the vendor entrance. It’s the twentieth anniversary for the Tattoo Expo, apparently, which means they expect massive crowds.

“I hate that Kyle couldn’t come.” You frown as a security worker hands over your badge. It’s fancy - heavy weight with brightly colored, neo-traditional graphics. Something about having the word VENDOR hanging around your neck makes your heart skip.

John sighs, heaving one of the boxes of his books onto your dolly. “Yeah. He tried but he couldn’t get his head out of the toilet long enough to do much of anythin’.”

You wrinkle your nose. Apparently he had caught some nasty stomach bug, poor guy. You thought about calling and checking in on him, but you worried that was too clingy. After… everything, you don’t want to come off as anything other than normal about it. Which you are. Totally normal.

At least Johnny was home for the day to help him out.

“Has Simon ever come?” You ask, titling the dolly pack to push into the convention hall.

John’s arms flex as he fights with his rolling tool box to get the handle back out so he can pull it. He just had to wear a sleeveless muscle tee, didn’t he? It’s rude, frankly. You look over his more rarely exposed shoulder and upper arm pieces - some more faded than others. Some more colorful, some better crafted. Part of you wants to reach out - to trace them the same way you want to with Simon. You want to ask him in detail about each one. Maybe he’ll let you, someday.

“Can you actually picture Simon in a convention hall?” He chuckles eventually, finally getting the toolbox rolling properly.

You laugh. “Guess not.”

The 141 booth sits in the center of the floor, surrounded by a few other big-name shops and figures in the community. You glance around at them, only recognizing a few. You don’t get much time to look around. There are only a couple hours designated for set up and you have to help hang all the flash options, get the cash box sorted, and be ready for the flood when it comes. You’ve mentally prepared for chaos, reading through pretty much every reddit and twitter thread you could find about convention disasters. You know that won’t happen here, and even if something did, John wouldn’t abandon you to it. Still, you feel better being mentally prepared for anything - no matter how unrealistic.

“Why do you still do these?” You ask, pinning one of the large flash sheets to the display board. “I mean - you don’t exactly have to get your name out there.”

“I enjoy them- the community. I was here when this was still bein’ held underground in an old warehouse.” John looks around, eyes scanning the rows of artists. He doesn’t share his thoughts, just stands there quietly for a moment with his hands on his hips. After a few beats he grumbles quietly, “Gettin’ old…”

You focus on setting up the front table where you’ll be stationed. John brought a few prints of work as well as several copies of his book. He brought a few signed ones as well, only selling them for about twenty more bucks than the usual price. You asked why he doesn’t mark them up more, but he just shrugged you off with a mutter of ‘I’m not all that’ before moving on to another task. You decided it was best not to argue that he is, indeed, all that. His books are literally filled until the late fall.

Maybe you shouldn’t be so proud of setting up a decently aesthetically pleasing display all on your own when you’re surrounded by real artists, but you still grin wide with your hands on your hips. It’s simple, with cards for each of the boys lining one sit and a roll of tattoo tickets for the day beside the cash box. The table cloth with the shop’s name looks nearly identical to the sign. One might call it lazy marketing, you find it charming.

“Somethin’ happen with you and Kyle?” John asks suddenly, back turned as he messes with something in his rolling tool box full of supplies.

You freeze, eyes wide and mouth dry. Did Kyle say something? You thought you’d been normal about it. Kyle hadn’t acted any differently - which shouldn’t have hurt your feelings - and you were sure you’d met him with the same level of normalcy. The past weeks race through your mind. Every moment, every interaction, picking each apart into threads in milliseconds.

“Uh, no? Why?” It comes out squeaky. Unsure. Lord, you really are a terrible liar.

John hums. He’s quiet for barely a beat, a moment that seems to stretch for lifetimes. You can almost feel your cells aging while you wait. “You’ve been quieter than usual around him. Just wanted t’make sure.”

“Oh.” Had you? You thought you’d been the same as always. Both of you totally moved on from… the incident. Well, except for those few times you caught yourself staring - zoning out while thinking about the way his lips pressed to yours. Imagining Kyle pulling you into the back room again. Another kiss with less nervousness and more heat. Actually bending you over the desk properly-

“Y’with me, love?” John snaps you back to reality.

“Yeah!” You jump and stutter. “Yeah. No. We’re fine. I’m… fine.”

You wonder if the giant guy in the weird homemade mask at the booth across from yours would smash your head in if you paid him. Let him free you from the torment of embarrassment. It had been eating away at you, if you’re honest with yourself, and now lying right to John’s face just feels… awful. He’ll find out. You know he will. Maybe he already knows as that was a test. Fuck if it was, you totally just failed.

The clock turns to nine, and you have no choice but to let that be a problem for your future self.

Something you realize rather quickly as the attendees begin to flood the hall is that John is a god here. People don’t meet his eye. They speak meekly, even to you, with voices low and faces flushed. The line for your booth stretches down the walkway as soon as the doors open - appointment tickets practically flying out of your hands. You overhear a pair of friends muttering about sleeping outside overnight to get in early enough for John’s booth. It makes your head spin.

You wonder if they’d still act that way if they saw him snoring open-mouthed at the desk in the back room mid-afternoon.

“Thought I heard 141 got a new front desk girl.” A syrupy southern accident lilts above you just as you finish selling tickets. He’s handsome. Blonde and blue eyed with a little scar gracing his cheekbone. Not much younger than John, you don’t think. Probably around Simon’s age.

You slip on your usual customer service smile. “Hello! How can I-”

“Graves.” John grunts behind you, not even looking up from the work in front of him. “What d’you want?”

“Just wanted to come see how you were.” The man - Graves - grins wide. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “And to meet your new front of house. Philip.”

You take the hand he holds out, giving a perfunctory shake and your name. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that John doesn’t like this guy, whoever he is, and you’re inclined to trust his judgement. You opt for basic small talk. “Are you an artist?”

Graves nods. “I own Shadow & Co. It’s a few blocks over from your place.”

Oh. You’d heard of them. They came highly recommended when you were looking for artists in the area initially. In the end you opted for John based entirely on vibes. The Shadow building is far too modern - to minimalist - for your liking. Too corporate.

“Y’know, we’re looking for a new desk girl as well.” Graves smiles. You do your best not to sneer at his use of desk girl. “We’re growing pretty quick - even if you wanted to split your time-”

“She’s full time with us.” John snaps - blatant irritation lining the edges of his voice. He still doesn’t turn around.

The blonde man pauses, glancing between you. Something passes over his eyes - some implicit knowing that you don’t quite get - but it’s gone just as fast as it came. He digs into his pocket, flipping open a too-new wallet and pulling out a business card. “Well, if you ever want to work somewhere more exciting-” you nearly laugh at that. “-give us a call, hm?”

You glance up to his face, then back down at the card. John’s tattoo gun continues to buzz behind you, but you can tell he’s slowed down. He’s listening. Before even really thinking you extend your hand, pushing the card he holds away from you.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m very happy here.”

Philip scoffs, dropping the card on the table. “Keep us in mind, yeah?”

He disappears into the crowd easily - blending in just like his shop’s namesake. Your nose wrinkles. You snatch up the card and tear it in two. “Dickhead.”

You think you hear John chuckling behind you, but can’t be sure over the roar of the convention.

The day flies by - people bustle by your booth. You run out of signed books just over halfway through - prints not long after. Your voice feels hoarse from talking to so many people. The hall has grown quite hot and you’re sure that your hair looks insane at this point. Either way, you’re having a great time. You get to talk to a with full body trash polka that you like for some reason. You get to meet one of the people involved in the stage competition - her massive thigh piece holding some of the best color work you’ve ever seen. All in all, despite the discomfort, you think this ranks in your top ten favorite days. Maybe top five.

“Excuse me?” Murmurs a voice so soft you almost miss it entirely over the roar of the convention. When you look up, you’re met with a painfully young face. Definitely not old enough for the 17+ entrance requirement.

“Hi!” You put on your warmest smile. “How can I help you?”

“I, uh, I was just…” They stutter, shifting in place. “I- Are there any signed copies left?”

You look them over, a too-familiar pang in your chest. You know those eyes, that anxiety. The jumpy way they look around at the people passing by and tug at their sleeves. Your teeth sink into your lip and you look over at the three blanks that make up your entire left over stock. Glancing over your shoulder, you see John finishing with his current client - giving the man a firm handshake before turning to clean up his station. There’s a fifteen minute break until the next one - his last for the night - and as much as you don’t want to take up his precious little time to set up…

“Let me check!” You squeak, shaky as you grab one of the blanks with all the subtlety of a brick over the head and cross the few feet over to where John sits. You lean over to speak in his ear, low enough that the kid won’t hear you. “John?”

“Hm?” He hums, turning slightly on his stool.

“Can you sign this one?” You chew your lip. “I know you had a set amount but this kid looks so…”

He glances behind you at the teenager in question, bashfully staring at their feet.

“I’m sorry, I know you need to set up for the next-”

John cuts you off by taking the book from your hands and standing.

“Thanks, dove.” He gives you that lovely, warm smile and rolls his shoulders before making his way over to the front table.

The teenager’s eyes go so wide you think they might pop out of their head. You decide to hang back and not interrupt their moment. John sets the book on the table and grabs a sharpie from your back up stash of pens. The kid mumbles something you can’t understand. John’s voice lowers as well. You can’t hear them, but you watch John scrawl something in the book and hand it over. He pushes away the crumpled, messy wad of cash the teenager tries to give him, shaking his head and saying something else that you don’t catch. The kid looks like they’re about to cry, a wide, wet grin splitting their face as they say goodbye and practically prance away.

You melt, shoulders slouching and what you’re sure is a very stupid smile breaking out across your lips. You don’t know why you doubted him for even a moment.

“What’s that face?” John scoffs, cocking a brow at you.

“Nothing.” You shake your head and re-take your spot at the table.

The ending of the convention is rather uneventful. Some of the other booths begin clearing up early. You take the time to count the cash box - which is absolutely stuffed to the brim. John rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck about five times in the span of a few minutes. Maybe you could convince them to do a company yoga class. It’s easy to see how tense and tired they get. You file that idea away for later.

Luckily most of the booth set up belonged to the venue and, since you sold out of books and prints, you don’t have haul those back to the van. All you have to take is John’s rolling toolbox and tattooing table. All things that easily fit in your bag and dolly. Thank god. Neither of you speak much on the drive back to the shop - opting for comfortable silence. Your ears ring ever so slightly from the noise of the convention hall. When you were in it, you hadn’t realized just how loud it was. John’s eyes are locked on the road, the slight glow from the setting sun warming his skin.

The sun just disappears over the horizon as you put the last of the equipment in the backroom - stacked rather messily but that’s another problem for future you. You’ve been working for a grand total of fourteen hours and, somehow, it still has yet to hit you. Adrenaline and excited energy still pulse under your skin.

John sighs loudly, crossing each arm over his chest to stretch them out. “Could really go for a scotch right now. You want a nightcap?”

Your cheeks warm, still riding high from the excitement of the day you agree easily. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He gives you a gentle smile, softened further by the low street lights. “Let me show you a spot.”

The place John leads you to is small. Local. You sit at the bar and take a moment to look around. Three pool tables take up half the floor space. It looks like a small tournament is going on - a white board showing the matches and who will go against who next. Two ski-ball machines are tucked in a corner beside the bathroom, currently taken up by two younger men who you aren’t completely sure are drinking age. The lights and music are both low. One of the bartenders is posted up on the opposite end of the bar with two other people watching Shin Godzilla on the mounted television. It’s cozy and oh-so very John Price.

You get an easy sipper, something fruity and sweet as a treat for the long day you’ve had. It’s nice against the warmth of the summer evening. A heat that’s only aggravated by the one that settles in your spine whenever the guys are around. John especially.

“Think that kid was a little young for the event…” You blurt in a poor attempt to make conversation.

John nods along. “Definitely.”

“That was really nice of you. I didn’t want to… I don’t know.” You murmur, unsure why exactly the words won’t stop. You blame the drinks and exhaustion. Seems realistic enough. “They just seemed so sad.”

“Wasn’t nice. Just the right thing t’do.” John shrugs. His words come slow, almost as if he’s unsure if he should say them. Though, you find it hard to believe he has ever been unsure about anything in his life. “I know what its like… to need t’escape. Lied about my age just to enlist.”

Your eyes widen. “R-really?”

He hums. “They didn’t care much back then.”

For some reason you never thought about John’s childhood - his homelife. You know he has a mom somewhere. Kyle let it slip a couple of times - said she’s a really good cook. John doesn’t volunteer information about himself often, you gathered that much. He’s worse than Simon, somehow, which says a fucking lot.

“Did-” you mull over your words. “You didn’t grow up around here, yeah?”

It’s a clumsy attempt at getting him to talk, but it works well enough. He nods. “Hereford. My mum’s still out there.”

Score. “Do you visit her much?”

John shrugs, chuckling. “When I can. I could move back home and it wouldn’t be enough for her.”

You snicker.

“She’s the best woman I’ve ever known…” He murmurs, eyes far away. It’s only for a moment, but they look past you. Defocused in a way that seems to out of character for the hyper-aware man.

Your faces are close. Hunched in like school kids exchanging secrets and gossip during recess. Your eyes dart from his to his lips and back. It’s confusing. All of this. The intimacy you have with each of them in these moments is overwhelming. You like Kyle - you liked kissing Kyle - you really shouldn’t be wanting that from your boss, though. A co-worker is bad enough but John… John is off limits. You know that. Even so, you find yourself subconsciously leaning just a bit closer, eyes roving over the freckles you don’t see standing further away and the grey flecks in his eyes. You think, for barely a millisecond, that he leans in too.

Until he sits up straight, tossing back what little is left of his drink. “Let’s head out. Could go for a smoke.”

You nod, swallowing down your thoughts and following him out of the bar like a lost puppy. You’d follow him to the end of the earth, you think. Even if it hurts that you can’t get as close as you want, you’d go anywhere for him. Yeah, that’s definitely the drink and tiredness talking. Part of you also knows that it is undoubtedly true.

John rounds a corner to the side of the bar. It’s moderately lit, a single street lamp just down the way giving you just enough light to see. You lean against the wall beside John, the exhaustion beginning to cling to your eyes.

“Are you?” John asks suddenly.

“Hm?” You hum, unsure of what he’s asking about.

“Happy here?” He cuts the end off a cigar he pulled from the silver box that lives in his back pocket.

In the low light of the alley, his pupils overtake most of his irises. Dark and intense as he looks you over from head to toe. You see it, suddenly. The god that the others do. He’s not as physically large as Simon, or as loud as Johnny, but he fills every inch of any space he enters regardless. You suppose you became so used to being in that radius that you forgot just how much presence he carries. You’ve wrapped yourself in it like a blanket. A shield.

Your cheeks warm and you shuffle your feet. “I… yeah.”

“Good.” John sighs out a cloud of smoke. “It’d be a pain in the arse to replace you. The boys care about you too much.”

You stare up at him. You can feel something on the edge of his tone - some weight that you don’t understand. There always seems to be another layer to the things he says. Implications that you can’t understand, context that you’re missing. Part of you wants to ask, needs to ask, but the words get stuck in your throat. What would you say? You’re not even entirely sure what you need to ask. You know they care about you, and you care for them in turn, so why does it feel like there’s something missing?

“Does the boys include you?” You blurt, one again wishing that big guy from the convention was here to smash your head in like wile e. cayote and the anvil.

He looks you up and down, slightly taken aback while you debate on bolting. “Thought that was obvious.”

You scoff, still flustered. “You’re hard to read.”

“Am I, now?”

You nod. A comfortable silence falls over you, despite the awkwardness surely emanating from you. Your lip catches between your teeth, eyes on your feet. “John?”

“Dove?” He tilts his head, once again leaning ever so slightly closer to you.

“Thank you. For everything.” You murmur, voice low and unsure. “It’s… it’s really good here.”

“Think nothin’ of it, love.”

You look up at those pretty blue eyes. They always make your chest ache with some deep hole you haven’t been able to pin down. At first you could blame it on wanting to do well - to be a good employee. It’s more than that, though. It starts in your chest and seeps it’s way through the rest of you. A want. A craving. That’s the word. You crave those eyes on you. The weight of his hands, the fortitude of him.

You’re not sure who closes the gap - whether it’s you or him - but either way it closes. It’s too natural for the context of your relationship. You slot together too well. It’s not like with Kyle. John carries an intensity with him that Kyle never could. His beard scratches not unpleasantly. His lips are warm - you can taste hints of scotch and his cigar. He smells of spice and earth. Your hands rest on his broad shoulders - unsure of where to put them.

This is wrong. It’s messy. You already lied about Kyle, which he’ll surely find out. If he hasn’t already. What about Johnny? Or Simon? Will they think less of you? Are you less for this? For impulsively kissing your boss in some back alley? Will Kyle be angry if he finds out? Your thoughts surge, all chaotic waves crashing against each other in an attempt to make sense of this situation you find yourself in.

John’s arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer into him. Your arms drape around his neck as you push onto your tips toes to meet him.

That’s a problem for future you.

A/N: Sorry this part took so long, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to escalate it or not but I want to get a move on with these boys

[sshnzsr]

five days

wc: 5.6k

warnings: smut, oral sex (f), unprotected sex, p in v, semi-public sex, creampie, breeding kink, hickeys, dirty talk, mentions of alcohol, lmk if I missed anything

First day

The villa was a dream, all wide windows and salty air rolling in from the beach just a short walk away. You and your boyfriend had been talking about this getaway forever, a chance to ditch the city’s noise and just be together. He’d picked this place out, grinning when he showed you the pictures, promising lazy days and wild nights. Day one, though, was all about settling in. You wanted to make the place yours, at least for the week.

You hauled in bags of groceries, the kind of stuff you never buy at home—fancy cheeses, bottles of wine, snacks for late-night munching. He was supposed to help clean, but he was useless in the best way. Every time you turned around, he was there, hands sliding over your hips, lips brushing your neck. “Babe, come on,” he’d murmur, voice low, trying to tug you away from the mop or the stack of plates you were putting away. In the kitchen, he got bold, pressing himself against you from behind, hands sneaking under your shirt. You felt him hard against you, and for a second, you leaned back, letting his fingers graze your stomach. But you laughed, swatting him away. “We’ve got work to do,” you said, dodging his next grab. He groaned, dramatic, but backed off, smirking like he knew he’d get you later.

You spent the day wiping down counters, sweeping sand off the floors, making the bed with crisp sheets that smelled like lavender. He’d wander in, stealing kisses, trying to pull you onto the couch or against a wall. You kept shaking your head, focusing on the tasks, but his teasing was building something in you, a slow heat you couldn’t ignore.

By night, you were both beat from the drive and the cleaning. The villa’s bathroom was huge, with a shower big enough for two. You took turns under the hot water, steam curling around you. You washed off the day, letting the spray hit your shoulders, but you caught him watching through the glass door, eyes dark, like he was already planning something. When you stepped out, towel around you, he was waiting, pulling you close before you could dry off. His skin was warm, still damp from his own shower, and you kissed him, slow at first, tasting the mint from his toothpaste.

You broke away to change, grabbing your pajamas from the suitcase—a soft tank top and shorts. He was faster, already down to his boxers, leaning against the bedframe, watching you like you were the only thing in the world. You started to slip on your top, but he moved quick, hands catching yours. “Nah, you don’t need that,” he said, voice rough, tossing the shirt aside. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your shorts before you could protest, tugging them down until you were left in just your panties.

You raised an eyebrow, standing there, feeling his eyes roam over you. “What about you?” you teased, nodding at his boxers. He grinned, stepping closer, close enough you could feel the heat off him. “Fair’s fair,” he said, and slid them off, kicking them away. You couldn’t help but stare, your breath catching at how hard he already was, his cock thick and ready, brushing against your thigh as he pulled you against him.

He kissed you then, deep and hungry, hands everywhere—your back, your ass, sliding up to cup your breasts. You gasped into his mouth when his thumbs grazed your nipples, already hard under his touch. He didn’t stop, kissing down your neck, sucking lightly at the spot that always made you shiver. You tried to keep it together, tried to tease him back, but he was relentless, dropping to his knees in front of you.

“Babe,” you started, but he shushed you, hands on your thighs, spreading them just enough to make you feel exposed. He looked up, eyes locked on yours, and hooked his fingers into your panties, pulling them down slow, like he was unwrapping something precious. You stepped out of them, heart pounding, and he leaned in, kissing the inside of your thigh, then higher, until his mouth was right there.

You grabbed the edge of the bed for balance when his tongue flicked against you, soft at first, teasing your clit. He groaned, like he was the one getting off, and the sound sent a jolt through you. He licked you slow, then faster, sucking gently, his hands gripping your ass to pull you closer. You were wet, so wet, and he knew exactly how to work you, circling your clit, dipping his tongue inside you just to make you moan. Your legs shook, and you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more.

He didn’t let up, eating you out like he’d been starving for it all day. You could feel it building, that tight coil in your stomach, your breaths coming faster, louder. “Fuck,” you gasped, when he sucked your clit hard, his fingers digging into your thighs. You were close, so close, and he knew it, humming against you, the vibration pushing you higher. You tried to hold back, not wanting to give in so fast, but he was too good, too focused, and when he looked up at you again, lips slick, you lost it.

Your orgasm hit hard, waves of it rolling through you, your hips bucking against his mouth. He didn’t stop, licking you through it, softer now, until you were trembling, oversensitive, tugging at his hair to pull him away. He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like he’d won something. You were still catching your breath, legs shaky, but you reached for him, wanting to return the favor. He caught your wrist, though, shaking his head. “Not yet,” he said, voice low. “We’ve got all night.”

You collapsed onto the bed, still buzzing, watching him crawl over you, his cock brushing your thigh again. He kissed you, and you could taste yourself on him, sharp and intimate. He was hard, pressing against you, but he didn’t push for more, not yet. Instead, he lay beside you, pulling you close, skin on skin, his hand resting low on your stomach, promising more without saying a word. You knew he wasn’t done, and neither were you.

Second day

You woke up slow, sunlight sneaking through the curtains, warming your skin. At first, you thought you were dreaming—something soft and wet was teasing your pussy, sending little sparks up your spine. Then you blinked, lifting the sheet, and there he was: your boyfriend, face buried between your thighs, eyes closed like he was savoring every second. His tongue flicked over your clit, lazy but deliberate, and you gasped, half-laughing, half-moaning. “Seriously?” you mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

He looked up, lips glistening, grinning like a kid caught sneaking candy. “Good morning,” he said, before diving back in, sucking gently. You tried to play it cool, but your body was already betraying you, hips shifting closer, hands fisting the sheets. He wasn’t in a rush, just licking you slow, tongue dipping inside you, then circling back to your clit. You were still sensitive from last night, and every move he made felt electric, pulling you awake in the best way.

You let your head fall back, closing your eyes, letting him work. His hands held your thighs apart, thumbs rubbing soft circles on your skin. It didn’t take long—you were already wet, already climbing toward that edge. He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and that was enough to tip you over. Your orgasm rolled through you, softer than last night but still sharp, leaving you breathless. He kissed your inner thigh as you came down, then crawled up to kiss your mouth, tasting like you. “Best way to wake up,” he said, smug, and you swatted his chest, too blissed out to argue.

The rest of the day was different, quieter. After you both dragged yourselves out of bed, you made coffee in the villa’s fancy kitchen, the kind that hissed and steamed like it belonged in a café. He didn’t try to bend you over the counter this time, just sipped his mug and watched you move around, a soft smile on his face. You felt lighter, like the air between you was easy for once. You spent the day chilling—no plans, no rush. You walked down to the beach, toes sinking into warm sand, the waves loud enough to drown out any city stress still clinging to you. He held your hand, swinging it as you walked, and didn’t even tease when you yelped at a cold wave hitting your ankles.

Back at the villa, you cooked together, nothing fancy—just pasta with some sauce from a jar, but it felt good, normal. He chopped garlic, only half-paying attention, and you bumped his hip to steal the cutting board. You ate on the patio, the air cooling as the sun dipped low, painting the sky pink and orange. He was calmer today, not pawing at you every second like yesterday. You caught him looking at you, though, eyes soft but still hungry, like he was holding back for your sake.

Night came slow, the villa glowing warm from the lamps you’d turned on. You were sprawled on the couch, your head on his chest, some random movie playing that neither of you cared about. His fingers traced your arm, then slid under your shirt, not grabbing, just resting on your skin. You tilted your head up, and he kissed you, slow and deep, no rush behind it. His lips moved to your jaw, then your neck, and you felt his teeth graze you, light at first, then harder.

He shifted, pulling you onto his lap, hands roaming your sides. “Hold still,” he murmured, and you did, letting him kiss down your collarbone. His mouth was warm, sucking gently, then harder, leaving your skin tingling. You felt the first hickey bloom on your neck, a little sting that made you gasp. He didn’t stop there—his lips trailed lower, tugging your shirt up to kiss your stomach, then your ribs, leaving another mark just below your bra. Each one was deliberate, like he was mapping you out, claiming spots only he’d see.

You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, and he groaned, biting a little harder on the curve of your breast. Your skin was buzzing, sensitive where he’d marked you, and you could feel him hard under you, but he didn’t push for more. He just kept kissing, sucking, leaving hickeys across your chest, your hips, even the soft skin of your inner thigh when he slid down later. Every mark felt like a promise, a reminder of him that’d linger for days.

When he finally pulled back, you were flushed, your shirt half-off, his lips swollen and red. He looked at you like you were something unreal, his hands resting easy on your hips. “You’re gonna have to wear a scarf tomorrow,” he teased, tracing one of the darker marks with his thumb. You laughed, shoving him lightly, but you didn’t mind. You liked the idea of carrying his touch with you, hidden under your clothes.

You fell asleep tangled together, the movie long forgotten, his arm heavy over your waist. For once, he didn’t wake you up with his mouth, just let you sleep, his breath steady against your neck. The day had been soft, the night softer, but you knew him—he was only pacing himself. There was still time left in this trip, and the way he held you, even now, said he wasn’t close to done.

Third day

The third day hit different. You woke up to the sun already high, spilling gold across the bedroom, but it wasn’t the light that stirred you. It was him—his hands, his mouth, already on you before your eyes even opened. He was awake and hungry, his body pressed against yours, cock hard against your thigh. You barely had time to register the heat of him before he was kissing you, deep and messy, like he’d been waiting all night to start.

“Babe,” you mumbled, half laughing, trying to stretch, but he wasn’t having it. “Nuh uh,” he growled, voice rough with morning, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. His weight settled over you, heavy and warm, keeping you right where he wanted. You squirmed, mostly for show, because the way his eyes burned into yours was already making you wet. He knew it too, smirking as he nudged your legs apart with his knee.

He didn’t rush, though. That was the thing about him today—he was horny as hell, but he took his time. His lips found your neck, kissing over the fading hickeys from last night, adding new ones with slow, deliberate sucks. You arched under him, feeling his cock brush your pussy, teasing but not pushing in yet. “You’re killing me,” you whined, tugging at his grip on your wrists, but he just chuckled, tightening his hold.

“Patience,” he said, like he wasn’t the one practically shaking with need. He let go of your hands but only to slide down, kissing your chest, your stomach, pausing to flick his tongue over your nipples until you gasped. By the time he settled between your legs, you were aching, hips lifting toward him instinctively. He didn’t tease long—just a slow lick along your slit, enough to make you shudder, before he moved back up, lining himself up.

He pushed in slow, inch by inch, stretching you until you felt full, your breath catching at how perfectly he fit. He groaned, low and guttural, his forehead pressed to yours as he bottomed out. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he muttered, and then he was moving, deep and steady, each thrust rocking you into the mattress. It wasn’t fast or rough—just intense, like he was pouring everything into you, every thrust deliberate, hitting that spot that made your toes curl.

Your hands roamed his back, nails digging in when he angled his hips just right. He kissed you again, swallowing your moans, his tongue mimicking the slow drag of his cock. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, deeper, and he hissed, pace faltering for a second before he found it again, fucking you like he couldn’t get enough. The bed creaked under you, the air thick with the sound of skin on skin, your gasps, his quiet curses.

You felt it building, that tight heat coiling low in your stomach, and he knew it, could tell by the way you clenched around him. “Come on,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear, thrusting a little harder, just enough to push you closer. “Let go for me.” His hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow circles, and that was it—you came hard, shaking under him, moaning his name as waves of it crashed through you. He kept going, drawing it out, until his rhythm stuttered, and he followed, groaning as he spilled inside you, hips jerking with the last few thrusts.

He stayed there, buried deep, catching his breath, kissing you softly as you both came down. You were boneless, buzzing, already feeling that sweet ache between your legs. He finally pulled out, rolling onto his side, pulling you against him. “Good way to start the day,” he said, voice smug but warm, and you laughed, too blissed out to argue.

The rest of the day was a blur, not because it was bad, but because he’d already set the tone—exhausting in the best way. You tried to get up, maybe make breakfast, but every time you moved, he was there, kissing your shoulder, tugging you back to bed for “just a minute” that turned into more. He wasn’t as relentless as the first day, but the heat in his eyes never really faded. You managed to shower—together, which was a mistake, because his hands were all over you again, soaping your back, then lower, until you were pressed against the tiles, giggling and gasping.

By afternoon, you forced some normalcy, dragging him to the beach for a walk. The air was salty, the waves loud, and for a while, he was just your boyfriend again, not the insatiable guy from this morning. He held your hand, stole bites of your ice cream, laughed when you tripped over a rock. But you caught him staring, his eyes lingering on the way your swimsuit hugged your hips, and you knew he was only half-present, already thinking about getting you back to the villa.

Night came, and you were spent, curled up on the couch with takeout from some local place. He didn’t push for more sex, thank god, because you weren’t sure your legs could handle it. Instead, he pulled you close, fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. He kissed your neck, your collarbone, leaving a few new hickeys, lighter this time, like he was just reminding you he was there. You leaned into it, too tired to do much but hum softly, letting his warmth lull you.

It wasn’t a bad kind of unbearable, not at all—just overwhelming, like he was pouring all his want into you, and you were trying to keep up. As you drifted off, his arm around you, you felt the weight of him, the promise of more tomorrow. You weren’t sure if you should be nervous or excited, but either way, you weren’t ready for this trip to end.

Fourth day

The fourth day, you both decided to hit the beach for real, not just a quick walk. The sun was blazing, the kind of heat that made your skin glow and the sand too hot to walk on barefoot. You slipped into your tiniest white bikini, the one you’d bought on a whim and never dared wear until now. It was barely there—thin strings tied around your neck and hips, the fabric hugging your curves so tight it left nothing to the imagination. When you stepped out of the villa, catching his eye, he froze mid-sip of his coffee, jaw tight. “Fuck, babe,” he said, voice low, already shifting in his seat. You smirked, knowing exactly what you were doing.

He grabbed the beach bag, tossing in towels and sunscreen, but you caught the bulge in his swim shorts as he moved. It was obvious, straining against the fabric, and he didn’t even try to hide it, shooting you a look like it was your fault. You just laughed, brushing past him, letting your hand graze his arm. The whole walk to the beach, you felt his eyes on you, burning into the sway of your hips, the way the bikini barely covered your ass.

The beach was quiet, just a few people scattered far off, the waves rolling in lazy and blue. You spread out your towels, and he rubbed sunscreen on your back, his hands lingering longer than necessary, fingers slipping under the strings of your bikini. You shivered, leaning into his touch, but swatted him away when he tried to untie a knot. “Behave,” you teased, though you weren’t sure you meant it.

The water was perfect, cool against the heat, but you’d always been a weak swimmer, nervous about anything deeper than your waist. He knew it, wading in with you, holding your hand as the waves lapped around you. When it got too deep, you panicked a little, clinging to him, arms around his neck. “I got you,” he said, voice soft but rough, his hands settling on your waist, pulling you close. You wrapped your legs around him underwater, your body pressed tight to his, and you felt him—hard, throbbing against you, even through his shorts. His grip tightened, eyes darkening as he looked down at you, water dripping from his hair.

You weren’t making it easy for him, and you knew it. Sitting on his lap underwater, your barely-there bikini slipping slightly, you could feel every inch of his cock pressed against your pussy. You shifted, just a little, and he groaned, low and quiet, his fingers digging into your hips. “You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, but he didn’t let you go, holding you tighter as you clung to him, waves rocking you both. You were scared to swim alone, so you stayed like that, bodies locked together, the water hiding just how close you were to losing it.

He carried you closer to shore, where the water was shallow, just lapping at your thighs. You were still wrapped around him, your bikini top riding up slightly, nipples hard against the wet fabric. He glanced around—nobody close, the beach empty enough to risk it. “Fuck it,” he said, and his hands moved fast, tugging at the strings of your bikini bottom. The fabric fell away, floating off in the water, and you gasped, half-laughing, half-nervous, looking around to make sure no one saw.

He didn’t care. His shorts were down just enough, his cock free, thick and hard as he pressed it against you. You were already wet—not just from the ocean—and he slid in easy, filling you with one slow thrust. You moaned, louder than you meant to, and he kissed you quick, swallowing the sound. “Shh,” he whispered, but his voice was shaky, like he was barely holding it together. He fucked you right there, standing in the shallow water, waves splashing around you, your legs still locked around his waist.

It was slow at first, deep rolls of his hips, his cock hitting just right with every thrust. You clung to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin, trying to stay quiet but failing every time he pushed in deeper. The water made it different, every movement slick and smooth, your bodies rocking together like you were part of the tide. He held you up, hands under your ass, guiding you onto him, and you could feel him throbbing, so close to losing it.

You were lost in it, the heat of him, the cool water, the way your bikini top was barely hanging on, one breast spilling out as he fucked you harder. “God, you’re so fucking hot,” he panted, lips brushing your ear, and that was enough to send you over. You came hard, clenching around him, biting his shoulder to muffle your cry. He groaned, low and desperate, thrusting a few more times before he spilled inside you, his hips jerking as he rode it out.

He held you there, still inside you, catching his breath as the waves kept rolling in. Your bikini bottom was long gone, but you didn’t care, not yet. He kissed you, softer now, grinning against your lips. “You’re trouble,” he said, and you laughed, still shaky, feeling the ache of him between your legs. He helped you fix your top, glancing around like he just remembered where you were. You waded back to shore, his arm around you, his bulge still half-there under his wet shorts, like nothing had changed.

The rest of the day, you lounged on the towels, sunning yourselves, but every time you caught his eye, you saw it—the memory of what you’d just done, the promise of more.

Fifth day

The fifth day, your last full day at the villa, felt like it carried the weight of the whole trip. You woke to soft kisses trailing across your shoulder, his lips warm and gentle, a stark contrast to the wildness of the days before. You stirred, blinking into the morning light, and found Sunghoon propped on one elbow, smiling down at you. “Last day,” he said, voice low, like he was already plotting something. You stretched, expecting him to pull you closer for more, but instead, he kissed your forehead and rolled out of bed. “Stay there,” he said, and you heard him rummaging in the kitchen.

He came back with breakfast—pancakes stacked high, drizzled with syrup, fresh fruit on the side, and coffee steaming in your favorite mug. He’d gone all out, even found a little tray to carry it on, setting it across your lap like you were royalty. You laughed, teasing him about being domestic, but the way he looked at you—soft, intense, like he was memorizing every second—made your chest tighten. You ate together, cross-legged on the bed, his hand resting on your knee, stealing bites from your plate just to make you roll your eyes.

The morning was lazy, spent tangled in each other, talking about nothing and everything—plans for when you got back, dumb stuff like what shows to binge next. But there was an edge to him, a quiet focus, like he was building up to something. You didn’t push, just let the hours slip by, soaking in the warmth of his body next to yours.

By afternoon, he disappeared for a bit, coming back with a sleek black box tied with a red ribbon. “For you,” he said, tossing it onto the bed. You raised an eyebrow, pulling the ribbon loose, and lifted the lid to find a dress—red, tight, the kind of thing that screamed confidence. It was stunning, cut low at the neckline, made to hug every curve. Under it, a pair of black heels with red bottoms, sleek and expensive. Your jaw dropped. “When did you even get this?” you asked, running your fingers over the fabric. He just shrugged, smirking. “Try it on.”

You did, slipping into the dress in the bathroom, feeling it cling to your body like a second skin. The heels made your legs look endless, and when you stepped out, his eyes went dark, his throat bobbing as he stared. “Fuck,” he said, simple, like he couldn’t find any other words. He crossed the room in two steps, hands on your hips, kissing you hard, but he pulled back before it went further. “Not yet,” he said, voice rough. “We’ve got plans.”

He wouldn’t tell you where you were going, just led you to the car, his hand on your lower back, guiding you like he couldn’t stop touching you. The drive was short, winding along the coast until you pulled up to a restaurant right on the beach. It was small, intimate, all glass walls and candlelight, the kind of place that felt like a secret. When you walked in, it was empty—just a single table set for two, right by the window, waves crashing softly outside. “You rented the whole place?” you asked, half-laughing, but he just nodded, pulling out your chair.

Dinner was perfect. The food was incredible—seafood so fresh it melted in your mouth, wine that went straight to your head. But it was him that made it unforgettable, the way he talked, laughed, looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. You were buzzing, warm from the wine, from the night, from the way his knee brushed yours under the table. You thought it couldn’t get better, that this was already the best night of your life.

Then he stood, clearing his throat, and your heart stopped. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box, and dropped to one knee right there, the ocean glowing behind him. “I don’t want this to end,” he said, voice steady but thick, like he was holding everything in. “Not this trip, not us. Marry me.” He opened the box, and the ring caught the candlelight, simple but perfect, just like him.

You froze, tears stinging your eyes, then nodded, too choked up to speak at first. “Yes,” you finally whispered, and he slid the ring onto your finger, standing to kiss you, deep and slow, while you laughed through tears, clinging to him. The waiter brought champagne, but you barely noticed, too lost in him, in the weight of the ring, in the promise of forever.

Back at the villa, the mood shifted. The door barely closed before Sunghoon was on you, kissing you like he couldn’t wait another second, hands tearing at the zipper of your dress. The red fabric hit the floor, pooling around your heels, and he groaned, stepping back to look at you in just the heels and your underwear. “You’re mine,” he said, and it wasn’t soft anymore—it was raw, possessive, like he needed to prove it.

He didn’t hold back. He pushed you onto the bed, not bothering to strip you fully, just shoving your panties aside as he kissed you, rough and hungry. His hands were everywhere—your breasts, your thighs, gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks. You were already wet, aching for him, and when he freed his cock, thick and hard, you moaned just at the sight. He didn’t tease, didn’t go slow like before. He thrust in deep, filling you completely, and you gasped, arching into him.

It was rough, messy, dirty in the best way. He fucked you like he wanted to mark you, claim you, like he was trying to pour everything into you. The bed shook, headboard banging against the wall, and you didn’t care about the noise. You scratched at his back, pulling him closer, needing more. He growled your name, flipping you over, yanking your hips up so he could take you from behind. His hands gripped your ass, spreading you, and he fucked you harder, deeper, each thrust pushing you into the mattress.

You came fast, screaming his name, your body shaking as he kept going, relentless, like he was chasing something primal. Sweat dripped from him, mixing with yours, the room thick with the smell of sex. He pulled out only to flip you again, spreading your legs wide, fucking you face-to-face, his eyes locked on yours. “Want you full of me,” he panted, and you knew what he meant, felt it in the way he moved, like he wanted to leave a piece of himself behind.

The intensity didn’t let up, but as the night deepened, it turned into something more intimate, more deliberate. He slowed just enough to kiss you, his lips soft but urgent, tasting of sweat and champagne. His hands roamed slower now, one sliding up to cup your face, the other gripping your thigh to keep you close. “You’re gonna be my wife,” he whispered against your mouth, voice shaking with emotion, and the words hit you hard, grounding you in the moment. You nodded, tears prickling again, and he kissed them away, his cock still buried deep, moving with purpose.

He shifted, laying you flat on your back, hooking your legs over his shoulders so he could go deeper, hitting that spot that made you see stars. “I want you to feel me tomorrow,” he said, eyes burning into yours, “and every day after.” His thrusts were steady, powerful, each one driving him closer to the edge, and you could feel it—his need to claim you, to make this night stick. “Gonna fill you up,” he murmured, voice low and possessive, “wanna see you carrying my kid someday. You want that?”

You moaned, the idea sparking something primal in you, your walls clenching around him. “Yes,” you gasped, nails digging into his arms, “want it, want you.” His grin was feral, but his eyes were soft, like he was seeing a future you were both building right there. He kissed you again, messy, all teeth and tongue, and his pace picked up, hips snapping harder, chasing that release. “Gonna give it to you,” he growled, “gonna make you mine in every way.”

You came again, harder this time, your body locking around him, pulling him in deeper as you cried out. He groaned, low and desperate, his thrusts stuttering as he hit his limit. “Fuck, here it comes,” he panted, and you felt him pulse, spilling inside you, hot and thick, his cock twitching with every spurt. He didn’t pull out, stayed deep, grinding into you like he wanted every drop to take, like he meant every word about filling you up. You shuddered, overwhelmed, your body still trembling as he kept going, slow rolls of his hips, milking every last bit of his release.

He collapsed onto you, heavy and warm, his breath ragged against your neck. You were both slick with sweat, cum leaking between your thighs, but he didn’t let you go, just shifted to his side, keeping you pressed against him. His hand slid down to your stomach, resting there, fingers tracing soft circles. “One day,” he whispered, voice hoarse but tender, “you’re gonna have my baby. I can’t wait for that.” He kissed you, slow and deep, like he was sealing the promise, and you melted into it, your heart racing with the weight of it all.

He cleaned you up after, gentle with a warm cloth, but his eyes never left you, like he was still hungry, still reveling in what you’d just shared. You fell back into bed, naked, tangled together, the ring on your finger glinting in the moonlight. He held you close, his hand never leaving your skin, whispering things too soft to catch—about forever, about the life you’d have, about the way he’d never let you go.

You drifted off like that, his warmth wrapping you up, the ache between your legs a reminder of him, of this night. It wasn’t just the sex, though that was burned into you��rough, raw, perfect. It was the way he looked at you, the way he promised you everything, the way his voice shook when he talked about your future. Unforgettable didn’t even come close. You’d carry this night, this trip, him, for the rest of your life.

masterlist

[nerdygirlramblings]

cw: poorly executed accents, technological inaccuracies

previous

Over the week between Laswell requesting you go off your scent blockers and the charity event, the barracks slowly carries lingering traces of sun-ripened berries and arid soil, your natural scent. The team is entranced. It hasn't escaped any of them how well your scent compliments theirs. You and Gaz smell like all the best parts of springtime. Simon's sharp acidic scent is tempered by your sweetness. When you and Soap are together, it's hard not to picture seaside picnics. And when Price is in the room with you, the others are remembering crisp, cozy autumn days.

Your natural scent grows as the blockers work their way out of your system, as does your control over it. "How'd ya learn that, Ren?" Price asks one night, back to you as he stirs his tea. As soon as you picked up on his steps, the strawberry sweetness in the air decreased.

The couch creaks as you shift to face him, turning away from the dossiers on the low table in front of you. "After I presented, Dad used ta pull me inta the kitchen for lessons. He told me ta picture my scent like the dials on an equalizer. Taught me how I could ground myself ta turn the volume down on any particular smell. Especially how I could dampen things like fear. And, of course, how to project certain scents."

Your eyes leave his face, looking at the wall instead. "Being an omega in the service is hard, so I used the blockers because conscious scent manipulation takes a bunch of energy, and I wanted ta focus my energy on the job." You drop your voice and whisper, "And I didn't want ta spend all my energy on something that essentially soothed an alpha's ego."

He comes over and sits with you. "Well, if ya choose, after this op, ya don't need ta go back on 'em. Ya don't gotta protect me and Ghost." He grins and bumps your shoulder, and if he's hoping that you off your blockers means the pack can have a proper scenting, he gives nothing away.

The night of the op finds you in a fancy hotel room somewhere in St. James, several floors above the charity event. You're set up into adjoining rooms: one for you and one for the rest of the team. The other room will serve as the communication hub while you and Gaz - because Price saw how your scent was affecting Soap, the doe eyes he turned on you when you weren't paying attention, and didn't trust him to be able to focus on the op if he were at your side - go to the auction to find Arella.

You'd gone shopping with Adam several days before, under Kate's orders to get appropriate attire. The dress he put you in is more extravagant than anything you would ever have selected, but after a few quick photos to Kate who deemed it perfect, it was off the rack and in your hands. Strapless with a fitted bodice with enough structure to hold you and a skirt that flowed like water, except because it's steel grey, it moves more like liquid metal. There's a sizable slit, up to your thigh but is mostly hidden in the folds of silky fabric, which allows you quick access to the tiny holster you strapped there.

Fashion was never something you were interested in, so Adam took it upon himself to find some simple YouTube makeup tutorials, then made sure you had all the necessary products. You were annoyed about the hassle with the makeup, so Adam made sure the hair tutorial was simple yet elegant and didn't require a mountain of products to pull off.

Though you were going in without scent blockers, Kate didn't plan to risk you, even with the support of a beta, to an alpha's teeth. She had Adam buy the most intricate collar necklace you'd ever seen. Geometrically structured with metal rods, it seemed more like a piece of art than a piece of jewelry. When you draped it across your neck and collarbone, it prevented an alpha from getting his teeth on your scent gland but still allowed you to project your scent unencumbered.

Being undercover didn't allow for the traditional communication hardware, so the boys had come up with an ingenious pair of earrings whose large geometric wrap both matched the necklace and served as an earpiece. They also fitted a mic into the structure of your necklace. The whole task force would be with you all night.

When you finish getting dressed and fixing both hair and makeup to the best of your ability to follow Adam's selected videos, you knock on the door between the room you'd been assigned and where the rest of your pack task force is preparing. You need both your escort and your comms before you head for the lift.

An hour later and you're on your second circuit of the room, Gaz at your elbow, holding your drink. There will be some expectation to drink while you're here, but Price had taught you ways to make it look like you were drinking or as though you did not need a refill during those trainings at the pubs around base. Static crackles in your ear and you hear Price's baritone come through as if he were standing beside you. You've practiced not reacting when the comms go off, but you're still a little startled. "No sign of Arella yet, but Spinner's on the far side a' the room, left a' the bar but looking out on the dance floor."

Neither you nor Gaz is in a position to see him, so Gaz lightly takes your hand and guides you toward the balcony door with a hand low on your back. It allows you both to get quick glimpses of the man, older, polished, and with a petite blonde dressed in ice white standing very close. Though you're too far to see any potential mating mark, she's wearing a collar necklace not dissimilar to yours.

"I think Spinner's got an omega with him," you say. "I might be able ta get information from her if I get her alone. "

"Appreciate the initiative, Ren," price rumbles, "but she's not our priority. Technically, neither's Spinner, but it's good ta keep eyes on 'im just in case." He pauses momentarily before coming over the comms again with, "Not going ta tell ya not to talk ta her if the situation arises, but stay on mission."

"Copy that, Captain," you respond.

Waiting for Arella gets frustrating especially as you watch people continually approach Spinner, who's taken up residence at a high top table on the outskirts of the party. You snatch the champagne flute from Gaz's hand and quickly tip the contents back. Squaring your shoulders, you look at him and say, "Dance wi' me." For a moment all he does is look at you, and you can't read the emotion in his eyes. You power through and tell him, "If we're dancing, we can get closer ta Spinner's table and pick up snatches of conversation. "

Pulling back, you search his face. "I know ya've got the hardware on yer phone ta clone Arella's device with some prolonged exposure, but is it possible fer it ta pick up short bursts a' data off other phones it's near?"

Gaz looks at you in awe. "Ren, that's brilliant! Cap, ya hear that suggestion?"

"Affirmative," Price replies, "but I'll be damned if I understand it."

"Just get the systems on yer end ready fer a massive data dump. It's gunna be fragmentary. Laswell's analysts are gunna have a hell of a time going through it. We may need ta send them some whiskey and good cigars, but honestly, if this pans out even a little bit, we'll be able to get a ton a' information on the kinds of people Spinner's meeting with. Maybe Arella's is not the only one who's dirty."

Once they get to go ahead from Price, Gaz pulls you close and takes to the dance floor. You'd learned how to dance once, long ago, but it's clear this man is trained. He waltzes you through the crowd near to the edge where Spinner's settled, and you hope to hell this idea works.

next

an: this is sort of what I envisioned for Ren's necklace, but more modernist straight lines

series masterlist | main masterlist

~~

taglist: @sirbonesly @z-wantstowrite @thriving-n-jiving @cecelia97 @theycallmevalen @boogeysmoth @cryingpages @riley13 @luxylucylou @lucienofthelakes @ilyztwo @chaosundcoffee @lostintransist @thegreyjoyed @honestlymassivetrash @thebumbqueen @maliamaiden @mordacioust @bina-passion-fruit @kittygonap @wanderingoperator @ghost-is-my-bbg @wolfbc97

[disgustingtwitches]

141 as clients for sexworker reader!

//König and Nikto are here too//

MDNI

Ghost

You rarely see him, but you look forward to hearing from him. He always books multiple hours, sometimes even overnights. It's just hour after hour of pounding. Every hole you can take it. You tell him not to leave marks, but you don't really mean it. You know it. He knows it. Bitemarks and bruises are on your skin for days afterwards, he pays for you to send pictures of them healing. Thank God your regulars don't give a shit about the marks. Even if they did you wouldn't stop him from leaving them. Can't really stop him from leaving them. He asks you to wear makeup so he can fuck it off your face. You recently found out he's been stealing your fake eyelashes when they fall off, he collects them like trophies(???) Only praises you when he's felt you've earned it, which was rare. Never said I love you. Don't think he knows those words.

Gaz

Ugh, perfect client. Always a gentleman and really hot. Like "why are you hiring me when you can fuck anybody?" hot. Such a pretty dick too, has a little beauty mark on his shaft you like to kiss. He books three hours every other week just to cuddle and fuck. Really big on pleasing you, so he'll request you not to wear underwear just so he can pull your pants down as soon as you walk through his door and start eating you out. Sometimes when he really wants the "girlfriend experience" he'll slide into you while your spooning and watching Netflix. Has accidently said "I love you" once while ploughing into you, his lips pressed right up to your ear. You don't bring it up.

Price

One of the older clients. Big pussy eater. Huge. Likes to hire you to do stuff around his flat in a skirt and g-string so he can pull it to the side and eat you out while you're doing whatever he asks you to do. Watching TV? Cleaning the windows? Folding laundry? Sometimes he just straight up wants you to sit on his face, holding the skirt up so he can still see your face. When he's finally satiated, he'll get his. Sitting you on his lap and helping you bounce up and down, still in that skirt. Says I love you, but not to you. To your pussy. Literally looks at your pussy and says it.

Soap

So, so weird. Likes to act out scenes he sees in porn. Seriously. Like "help me I'm stuck in the washing machine" or "did you order a pizza with extra sausage". He'll buy outfits for the scenes; cheerleader, nurse, maid, even has a oddly realistic army uniform, right down to the boots. You get the point. One day he wanted to "try ass stuff", because he thought it "looked cool". He said I love you as soon as you stuck the tip of your strap-on in him and continues to do so every time you fuck him in the ass.

König

Yeah... Sorry to be basic but he's a bondage guy through and through. He likes to switch it up sometimes but he's mostly the dominating party. Not the kind to care about fancy shibari, really just hogties and knots that will keep you in your place. Taught you a few moves to take him down when he wants that. Wants you to use him for your pleasure when you're dominating, just like he uses you for his own. Doesn't say I love you. But he does teach you to say "I am yours" in German. So whenever he asks you a question in German, your line is always "Ja, Ich bin dein, Oberst."

Nikto

Very clingy. He was odd off rip. You were kind of uncomfortable with him because you didn't really understand him. Then he became endearing when you finally "get" him. He's sweet. Doesn't want to be alone. He'll pay anything just to have you sit next to him. Watching TV. He sits on the floor between your legs while you sit on the couch and play with his hair. He tells you lame jokes while eating whatever you wanted that day. One day you decide to tell him a corny joke too.

"We... don't think that is very funny."

Of course, he has needs. It depends on the day, but he's always changing the dynamics. Very much a switch at heart. He'll have you bent over the table while holding your jaw to look up into his eyes. Making you say thank you everytime he strokes into you. Other days he'll want to be rode while you hold him, "handsome man," you say between every kiss, "love you so much," while he whimpers under you, "you deserve to feel good." He says I love you. A lot. You say it back. Whether it's because you want to continue getting paid or you actually care about him, you're not too sure at this point.

[prettycalla]

|| venenum paradiso ||

Pairing: Geta/Empress!Reader

Summary: Geta has some very traditional views that are not to your tastes. You decide to put him in his place. (Request fill)

Word count: 4k

Tags and warnings: Smut (not explicitly described, but still obvious!), period-typical sexism, bickering, submissive Geta, no use of Y/N. 18+!! Minors, please do not interact!!

(I wrote a little blurb a while ago and decided to make it in a bigger fic. I had to scrap the original idea because I was getting way too into the lore, and let's be real, we're not here for that, we're here for Geta smut. Also read up a Lot on sexuality in Ancient Rome, and wow, did they have Opinions.)

Masterlist || Join the taglist!

Of all the men you have encountered in your life, your husband is perhaps one of the most frustrating at times.

It is not often that you argue, you are patient enough that you are willing to agree to disagree on many matters. But there are occasions when it feels as though you are on the brink of war with him.

He is stubborn, infuriatingly so, and there are times when it takes everything in your power to hold your tongue.

However, even you, diplomatic and gracious as you are, have your limits.

Geta holds certain views that are...traditional, to say the least. You are not of the same mindset.

It had started over a passing remark. A mere flight of fancy that you had had late one night, as you had laid together in bed. Of being brought to release by your husband's mouth. At worst, you assume he will think nothing of it.

How full of surprises he is.

He is rather quick to remark that he does not believe a man of his rank and status should subject himself to something so...unbecoming.

It is not so much his words, but the manner in which he says them. As if his archaic opinion is fact. How your blood boils. Then, an eerie feeling of calm washes over you. You hum in response, teeth clenched behind a tight smile.

Oh, you are most certainly at war now. And you, you will be the victor, you are certain of it.

He does not notice at first, as on the surface, you are treating him no differently than any other day.

Eventually, it starts to click into place. You will not stay long in his embrace, you shy away from his touch, you turn your head with a tight-lipped smile when he tries to kiss you.

“Wife,” he demands one night as you are readying yourself for bed. “You are angry with me. Why?”

You lay down your hairbrush on the table, turning to face him.

“Whatever has led you to that conclusion?” you ask in turn, in an unassuming tone.

“You have been treating me with disdain for the better part of two days now. I tire of it,” he tells you, with all the grace of a spoiled child.

“Surely you are imagining things,” you say airily.

“Do not insult me,” he spits.

You give him a look of feigned surprise. “As if I would ever do such a thing.”

“You will tell me what I have done,” he insists.

You brush past him on the way to bed, slipping under the covers.

“You will figure it out for yourself,” you reply. “Goodnight.”

You turn your back to him, leaving him to stand there and process your words. It is a while before he joins you. You feel his hand hover near you, but you ignore it under the pretence of sleep. Eventually, he moves away, and you cannot help the smile that creeps onto your face as he lets out an irritated sigh.

His mood only worsens from there. When you wake the next morning, he is already dressed for the day ahead.

"Did you sleep well?" you ask with a yawn.

Geta glares at you with tired eyes, but does not allow himself to fall prey to it, turning his attention to more pressing matters.

"I trust you remember that we are to attend a banquet tonight," he tells you. "I will have you by my side, as my loving wife."

You do not miss the warning that lingers in his words.

“Would you have me any other way?” you ask, the very picture of innocence.

He does not reply, instead reaching across the bed to kiss you before he leaves. You conveniently choose that moment to get up, leaving him to stumble and fall onto the bed as he misses you entirely.

The quiet snarl that escapes him is quite the reward, you must admit. Embarrassed, he storms out, leaving you alone to your morning routine. You smile to yourself. Perhaps you should not be enjoying this as much as you are, but he does make it so easy for you.

You do not see Geta again until early evening, as he is kept busy for much of the day with meetings with senators and patricians. When you arrive at the grand hall, he is already seated and deep in conversation. You cannot help but notice how decadently he is dressed, in robes of the richest reds and golds, adorned with the most beautiful jewellery, and golden laurels sit atop his fiery hair. It is far too much, even for an event such as this, and you bite back a smile. Geta only dresses in such a manner when he is upset. And judging by the look he has now levelled on you, he is furious.

He quickly schools his expression into something more fitting of a loving husband as you draw near, taking the fawning and flattery of the surrounding crowd in your stride as always.

"Wife," he murmurs, with a smile that is reminiscent of a shark.

He takes your hand in his, lifting it to his lips to press a kiss to the back of it.

Your attention wanders as he does so. He attempts to pull you towards him, but you do not budge.

"Come, you will sit by me," he says pleasantly.

You shake your head, slipping your hand from his tight grasp.

"Oh, no, I could not possibly interrupt your conversation," you reply, "Please, you must stay with the senator."

Geta opens his mouth to argue, but you have already turned away. Caracalla has been watching the entire scene unfold before him from across the table with rapt attention, and he grins at you.

"Gentlemen, if you will excuse me," you say politely, with an incline of your head.

You take the seat next to Caracalla, who in turn looks to his brother to find him seething. Never one for subtlety, Caracalla giggles loudly, turning his attention to you.

“My dear sister, whatever has your poor husband done now?” he asks, inelegantly swirling the wine around in his cup before taking a drink.

His voice carries far enough across the table for the guests to glance up curiously. Geta looks as though he wishes for nothing more than to throw himself across the table and strangle his brother.

You smile as you pat Caracalla’s arm in a good-natured manner.

“Now, now. Is it not enough for me to sit by you and enjoy your company?” you ask innocently.

His eyes are on you then, his gaze sharp and scrutinising. A wide smile slowly breaks out across his face.

“Of course,” he replies, almost giddily.

He leans in to you, his voice dropping low enough that only you can hear.

“What games you play,” he whispers slyly.

You laugh then, your eyes drifting to where Geta sits. To a mere bystander, he would look the very image of a man deeply engrossed in political conversation, but you know him better than anyone. He is clutching the cup in his hand with such ferocity that his knuckles have lost all colour, and his jaw twitches from clenching so hard.

You are beginning to feel pity for him. But he must learn.

You are rather quickly distracted once again by Caracalla, who is making quite a spectacle of himself by reaching over people who are trying to eat to acquire food for Dondus. She is perched on his shoulders, her little hands clutching at his messy hair to balance herself.

He unceremoniously falls back into his seat, arranging his spoils in front of him. He lifts a grape up and Dondus greedily snatches it from him, pawing at it before she bites into it.

"Would you like to feed her?" he asks, holding out some walnuts.

"Of course," you reply, taking one and holding it out to the little monkey.

Dondus sniffs at it for a moment, not as familiar with your scent, before she takes it from you.

"What a sweet girl you are," you coo at her.

"Isn't she?" Caracalla agrees proudly, as he scratches under her chin.

The evening continues to pass as pleasantly in Caracalla's company. He regales you with stories, making you laugh until there are tears in your eyes. You have almost forgotten about your husband.

Almost.

As if on cue, Geta rises from his seat.

"Excuse me," he announces to the table. "I must withdraw for the evening. Please, stay and enjoy yourselves."

You watch him leave, his agitation evident in how he holds himself.

Caracalla tilts his head closer to you. "Do you think he has suffered enough?" he asks mischievously.

Not quite, you think to yourself.

It is another hour or so before you retire for the night as well. As you had suspected, Geta has returned to your chambers and is very much awake, pacing back and forth across the length of the room, as he has likely been doing since he returned.

"You finally grace me with your presence, Augusta," he says.

Beyond the public's prying eyes, he only ever calls you by your title when he is angry with you.

"I thought you would be asleep by the time I returned," you reply.

You cross the room to your vanity table, sitting down to begin your nightly routine. Geta drags the chair out to stand in front of you, demanding your attention. You look up at him. He is seething. You, by contrast, are quite unaffected.

"You seem to have forgotten your place," he says through gritted teeth.

He will not be ignored.

You tilt your head with a feigned look of confusion. "And where, exactly, is that?" you ask.

"Wherever I wish it to be," he replies. "If I want you by my side, you will be by my side."

He bends down, hands gripping the arms of the chair tightly as he looms over you. His expression is glowering, his intense eyes made all the more so by the flickering lantern light.

"If I command you, you will obey," he says lowly.

There is a side to Geta that will rear its ugly head when he has been slighted. It craves power and control, and will not rest until both are firmly in its clutches. In the beginning, it was persistent, constant, as he was terrified of allowing you to see him for who he truly is. With time and patience, you were finally able to tame the raging beast, to prove to him that you would not hurt him, that you loved him.

The beast is raging once more, but you are no longer frightened of it. You are more than equipped to put it back in its place.

You merely smile in response. He does not like that. He straightens then, drawing himself up to his full height. His stubborn petulance is almost endearing, if not growing a little tiresome.

“You will kneel for your Emperor,” he commands.

You cross your legs as you look up at him with a serene expression. Even with the advantage of height between the two of you, he looks like a little boy in the midst of a tantrum.

You feel powerful. It is intoxicating.

“If you wish something of me, husband,” you say, “you will ask nicely.”

Geta’s eye twitches at your words, biting the inside of his cheek in irritation.

“I will do no such thing,” he says at last.

“Oh, you will,” you reply, your voice light and airy, as if you are discussing something as mundane as the weather.

You stand up, not bothering to push the chair back, uncaring of the close proximity between the two of you. Your hands slide from the arms of the chair and up along his stomach, his chest - light, teasing - before they fall at your sides once more.

“Because I tire of this discussion, and I am quite certain you have had more than enough of this argument of ours."

You hold his gaze.

“Wouldn’t you agree?” you ask.

Geta laughs, but it is without a trace of humour.

"At last you admit it," he says. "You are angry with me."

You tap your finger to your chin, as if in contemplation.

"What was it that you called me? 'Unbecoming', was it?" you ask.

Geta blanches. Now he remembers, and too late he is.

“Wife-” he starts, but you shake your head to silence him.

“No, I quite understand," you say readily, as if you truly agree with him. "I can only imagine how unbecoming it would be, to have me in such a manner.”

You lean in closer to him, your breath ghosting along his ear. He shivers.

“Beneath you, undressed and unmade, entirely at your mercy and in the throes of pleasure,” you continue.

You let out a pitiful little sigh.

“How…vulgar,” you finish, pulling away from him.

Geta watches you carefully. For once, he is without words. He swallows thickly. His eyes dart to one side for the briefest moment before meeting your gaze once more.

“This is a fool’s errand,” he says through clenched teeth.

It would sound threatening, if the waver in his voice wasn't his undoing.

“Then I am a fool,” you reply simply. “But I am a fool of my convictions.”

You try to brush by him when his hand suddenly lashes out, grabbing your arm. You stop quickly in your tracks, your heart beating at a racing pace. You keep your expression as neutral as you can manage.

“Oh, by all means, you may command me again,” you murmur. “But the victory will not be as sweet, I assure you.”

You have him there. Gently, you pluck at his fingers. To your surprise, he lets go as easily as that. For a moment, you watch each other, as if neither of you can dare to look away. To show weakness. Time seems to slow.

Geta is the first to break.

“What do you want of me?” he asks.

You pretend to think about it for a moment, before fixing him with a determined stare.

“Kneel," you reply simply.

Geta’s eyes widen, his expression a mixture of exasperation and anger.

“How dare-“

“Kneel, or leave me,” you say, as if he had not spoken. “Those are your choices.”

He opens his mouth again, and you wait for the inevitable chastising for daring to suggest that an Emperor commit such a lowly act that was to come.

But it does not.

Without breaking away from your gaze, Geta slowly sinks to his knees in front of you.

Surely the Gods have called you to them earlier than planned. You were insistent on breaking his resolve, but you had no idea that he would actually listen to you.

You must be dreaming. And what a beautiful dream he makes. His dark eyes are fixed on you; small, shallow breaths falling from his trembling lips.

Truly, he is a sight to behold.

Slowly, you reach out a hand, your touch light as you hook your fingers under his chin.

“Good boy,” you murmur, and the shudder that runs through him at your words will surely stay with you until your last mortal breath.

"What would you have me do?" he asks in a whisper.

You do not answer. Instead you run your thumb gently across his chin, back and forth, back and forth. He is trembling under your touch, you realise with a smile to yourself.

"What was it that you would have had me do?" you ask in turn.

You lean in closer to him, your grip on his chin tightening ever so slightly.

"When you came here, and so crassly asked me to kneel for you," you continue. "What was it that you desired of me?"

You drag your fingertips along the column of Geta's throat. He swallows thickly, and you feel the sensation against your skin.

"I…" he begins to say.

His voice cracks, and he falters.

“I wished to have you as you have me now,” he says at last, his voice rough.

“Go on,” you insist. “What was I to do?”

His tongue darts out to wet his lip. Shame burns at his cheeks. How it amuses you to see him like this.

“Is it not enough that you have humiliated me-” he starts, his temper flaring up once more.

You press a finger to his lips, silencing him.

“I have done no such thing,” you reply. “I have held no sword to your throat, no poison to your lips. I am but a woman before a God.”

You move closer still, your lips dangerously close to brushing against his.

“Though I did not know that Gods could be broken so easily,” you whisper with a wide smile.

You feel him lean in and you quickly pull back. He loses his balance and his hands reach out, pressing against your thighs to steady himself. You step out of his range entirely and he falls on all fours with a snarl.

You are enjoying yourself far too much.

“Please, finish your tale,” you say as you sit down once more.

Geta clenches his fists, but does not move.

“I would…I would have had you undressed. On your knees and entirely at my mercy,” he spits.

“Quite the picture you paint,” you muse. “But I wonder…”

You reach forward, your hands plucking the delicate laurels from atop Geta’s head. You gently twirl them back and forth in your grasp, admiring the craftsmanship of each detail.

Geta looks as though he wishes to squeeze the life from you. He does not move.

Without breaking his gaze, you gently place the laurels on yourself.

“I wonder if it would be as pleasurable as you say,” you finish with a mischievous smile.

You crook your finger in a pedantic manner at him, beckoning him closer to you. To your surprise, he obeys, crawling the short distance between the two of you.

You run your hand gently through his hair. His eyes slip closed at your touch. You drag your hand down to the base of his neck, where your grip suddenly tightens and you wrench his head back. A sharp hiss escapes his throat, but he does not move to stop you.

"You will undress," you tell him. "And you will not keep me waiting."

Geta looks at you with wide eyes, as if wondering where you have been hiding this side of yourself. You are wondering that yourself.

You hold his gaze, looking down the length of your nose at him from where you sit. Unblinking, unwavering. Daring him to defy you. The very image of an Empress.

Geta moves to stand, and you shake your head.

"Surely you can manage from where you sit," you say airily. "I have been witness to you doing so in much worse states."

He starts slow, dropping each piece of jewellery to the floor with a loud clatter, in the hopes of irritating you. You, by contrast, are thoroughly enjoying yourself. Finally, he begins to remove his robes, leaving them in a scattered heap on the floor.

He looks up at you again, feigning an air of disinterest. It does not fool you. The flush that runs from his neck to his chest speaks volumes. You lean forward, running your hands from the curve of his hips up across his torso to his chest, your fingertips skirting just shy of the places he desperately wants you to touch.

"How long do you intend to shame me like this?" he demands of you.

His voice is strained, choked even. He has never looked more beautiful to you than he does now.

"My dear husband," you coo, "You act as though this is torture."

Geta glares at you, and you laugh, a soft breath of a sound.

"You will give me what I want," you tell him, leaning back in your chair. "And we will have no more of this silly argument."

He opens his mouth to speak, when his gaze drifts downwards, to where you have begun dragging your stola up along your legs. You part your thighs, unable to hide the smile on your face at the sight of Geta's mouth dropping open.

"Wife," he manages to whisper, his mouth dry.

"Yes?" you ask innocently. "Whatever is the matter, husband?"

Geta has entirely given up on trying to remain angry with you. You know that look on his face all too well. He is a starving man, and you, you are a banquet laid out for him to indulge in.

You hold out your hands to him, and he tentatively takes them, allowing you to pull him closer. You can feel him trembling against you.

"I will show you what to do," you tell him in a patronising tone. "But you are a quick study, I am certain you will not disappoint me."

You place your hands on his face, nails gently scratching at his skin. He shivers, a soft moan involuntarily escaping him.

"Do not keep me waiting," you warn with a roguish smile.

You presume he will drag things out further, continue to argue, dress himself and storm out in a rage - but he surprises you, rough hands pushing at your thighs to give you exactly what you want from him.

A sharp gasp escapes your lips at the feel of his tongue against you. He is frantic, messy, pathetically inexperienced in his movements. But oh, how filthy he feels against you.

You drag your hands through his hair, gripping hard as you press yourself closer to his mouth. He groans then, and the vibration of it has your eyes rolling back.

You have never felt pleasure quite like it. It vexes you that he has kept an experience such as this from you for so long. All because of something as pitiful as his pride.

As you had suspected, Geta is indeed quick to learn, and he finally finds a rhythm that soon leaves you shaking against him. It's so much, too much all at once, and you try to press your legs closed, but his hands hold firm against you, keeping you open and pliant for him. Gods, how you adore him like this. As wanting and hungry as he has left you.

"That's it," you tell him, a tremor in your voice as your nails scratch at his scalp. "Good boy."

Your words elicit another moan from his pretty throat, and the sound of it, his mouth, his tongue, his desperation, has you falling from the precipice you have been so precariously dangling from. Your climax hits you like a shockwave, leaving you trembling and breathless against him. Geta does not stop, not until you release your grip on him.

He slowly sits up, still kneeling between your legs as he looks up at you. He has the audacity to look pleased with himself, but it is you who has truly won. After all, you were finally able to wear your prideful husband down to seeing how ridiculous he has been, even if he will never admit it.

He runs his tongue across his lips in a crude attempt to clean himself up, his dark eyes almost black with desire. You let out a breathless laugh, allowing yourself to slump into your chair.

"Surely you have something to say to me, do you not?" you ask, propping your chin against your hand.

Geta briefly breaks your gaze, a heavy breath escaping him. This is torment for him, and you know it. Knowing how desperate he is for your touch in this very moment, and here you are, demanding that he tell you that you were right.

How you revel in it.

"Wife," he starts.

It is an attempt to warn you, but he is so choked up in his need for you that it falls flat.

"Husband," you reply with a lazy smile.

"What would you have me say?" he says, words all but catching in his throat as you lean forward to take him in hand, touching precisely where he needs you right now.

"Tell me that I was right," you reply, stroking him in the exact manner that has him arching into your touch.

"You were-" he begins, stumbles, "Gods-"

"Say it," you murmur, "And I will give you exactly what you desire."

"Please," he whispers desperately, placing a hand on your cheek. "Wife, I-"

"Say it," you hiss, your touch teetering just on the edge of too much.

"You were right," he gasps, "You were right, I was wrong, just please, please-"

Never have you seen him in such a state. He is mesmerising, his eyes glassy as he aches for release.

And who are you to deny him, when he begs so prettily?

"Such a good boy you are, Geta," you whisper in his ear, and just like that, the sound of his name falling from your lips in such a sultry tone has him falling apart, unravelling in your grasp.

Geta all but collapses into your arms, a trembling mess.

It takes him a moment to return to himself, shaky little breaths escaping him as you hold him. Eventually, he rights himself, looking up at you. All of his rage, his fury, all of it has been washed away. He kneels before you not as a merciless Emperor, but as a mortal, who has been thoroughly put in his place.

You lightly brush your nose against his, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

"Well?" you ask. "Have you quite learned your lesson?"

Geta attempts to glare at you, but the fight has truly left him. He places his hands on your face, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth.

"Perhaps...I will reconsider my opinion on the matter," he replies, almost shyly.

It is difficult not to feel smug, you must admit.

After all, you have won.

(banners by @ cafekitsune)

[xreaderanonaccount]

So Warm and Fluffy

Synopsis: Harbinger men (minus Pucinella) with an S/O who wears their Fatui coat.

Characters: Pierro, Capitone, Dottore, Pantalone, Childe

Tags; Suggestive on Childe

A/N: Gawd, I need more lore on all the harbingers. I need MORE. I also lowkey didn't know what to write for Panatalone, which sucks cause I absolutely love this man.

The party was a bore, you couldn’t help but let out a bored sigh. Pierro seemed to immediately notice this and placed a gentle hand on the bottom of your back.

“Is everything okay my dear?” Pierro whispered into your ear, you leaned against his shoulder and sighed.

“This place is a bore and there’s nothing fun.” Pierro hummed in agreement as he stared distantly towards the crowd. There was a small crowd of aristocrats huddled around you two hoping to earn a favor from the Tsaritsa. You just sighed again before looking at the giant door that beckoned you toward them.

“Dear, I’m going to walk around a bit. Is that okay?” You asked, tilting your head towards him. Pierro closed his eyes and gave a soft nod.

“Make sure you bring a scout.” Pierro sighed as he turned back to a conversation an aristocrat was trying to make. You smiled to yourself before beckoning a nearby scout to follow you. You were very lucky that the party was hosted in one of the many Fatui’s castles, even more lucky that this just so happens to be Pierro’s. You and the scout silently walked down the empty hall, your shoes echoed around before stopping by a familiar door. You smiled as you fished in your pockets, pulling out a small key. You gently placed the key inside the keyhole before turning it. With a soft click the door opened revealing a huge office. You knew this office quite well as this was Pierro’s main office. You walked towards the giant desk smiling as you picked up a small picture of you and Pierro. You gently placed the picture back down before walking around the office. Staring out the window you sighed happily staring down the garden that Pierro planted for you. You were so lost in thought, staring at the snowflakes that slowly drifted down, that you didn’t feel the soft click of the door open. You smiled to yourself thinking about the nice stroll you and Pierro took earlier in the morning. You suddenly felt warm, when you felt a soft coat gently placed on your shoulder. 

“You’ll get cold if you stay still like that.” Pierro murmured against your ear, planting a soft kiss against your cheek. His mask slightly biting your skin. You giggled as you turned to face Pierro. 

“Well if I do get cold you’ll somehow keep me warm right?” You smiled as you placed your hand right where his heart lay. Pierro deeply chuckled as he cupped your hand as you planted a soft kiss on your wrist.

“Of course, my dear.” 

Capitano grunted as he attacked the dummies with his giant claymore. You stared unapologetically at Capitano’s abs, muscle, anything your eyes looked around. You sighed dreamily as Capitano's muscles moved and contracted with each swing. You two were in the lobby of Goth Grand Hotel which Lord Regrator generously booked… forever. Capitano swung his claymore, slicing the dummies in half. Capitano huffed and puffed as he circled his shoulders. Loosening the tension in his shoulder. You clapped at Capitano’s display,

“You look so good Darling.” You smiled as you slouched against the plush lobby couch. Capitano gave out a hearty laugh before walking over to get a drink from his cup. 

“Thank you my love.” He laughed as he lifted his helmet slightly for him to wipe his sweat. You hummed as you looked around the lobby of the Goth Grand Hotel. It was quite fancy, true to Mondstadt architecture the arcs curved beautifully with etched designs watching over you two. The soft light emitting from the crystal chandelier shone upon you. Your eyes drift before you spot Capitano’s Harbinger coat. He didn’t wear it as Mondstadt’s weather didn’t deemed it cold enough for him to wear it. You traced your hand over the details of the Harbingers coat. Whoever designed it clearly had a good sense of fashion. You smiled as you pulled the heavy coat towards you. Capitano’s smell filled your senses as you took in a deep breath, allowing his scent to fill your lungs. You couldn’t help but sigh as you got comfortable on the lobby couch. You watched Capitano continue his training, his sleeveless turtleneck hug his muscles so well. Capitano swung his claymore making eye contact with you who was snug underneath his harbinger coat.

“Comfortable?” Capitano asked, hoisting his claymore over his shoulder. You nodded as you pulled the black fur close to your face.

“Your jacket is very comfortable.”  You smiled as you adjusted your position, Capitano laughed as he turned back to his dummies.

“Well then I'll ask Pantalone about getting you a custom one." You can hear Capitano smile as he slashed at the nearest dummy. You couldn't help but laugh,

"That would be nice wouldn't it?"

You shivered inside Dottore’s lab. Your lover is a mad man so of course he loves to have his lab ac on in an already really cold nation. You are already wearing thick layers but the cold keeps biting your skin. 

“Can we please turn the heater on?” You asked, but it seemed the question fell on deaf ears. As none of the segments seemed to hear you, they were too busy arguing with something that you couldn’t understand. You frowned slightly as the cold got to you. You got up and started to pace around the lab trying to warm yourself up. It was slightly working if it wasn’t for the fact that every other step you were taking you were bumping into one of the many segments. You always apologize and move out of the way. You did a couple more laps before you were stopped by Omega who just gave a small smile.

“Darling dearest, I believe you’re getting in the way. How about staying in Prime’s office till he returns?” He asked, not even waiting for your answer before guiding you towards Dottore’s office. You tried to protest but it seemed that protest didn’t reach Omega who just opened the office door and gently pushed you in.

“I’ll ask Delta to bring you something to eat, just stay put okay?” Omega gave you a smile before closing the door with a soft click. You sighed in frustration as you waltz around Dottore’s office. It looked off putting for some people, but you thought it was just his weird hobby. The assortment of body parts in jars, taxidermy animals, different types of ruin guards splattered around. It was a mess but a weird organized mess. You walked around his desk sitting down on his plush chair. Still freezing cold, you looked around the office spotting a small closet in the corner. Smiling, you got up and walked towards the door. Maybe Dottore at least will have a lab coat or something for you to wear. Opening the wooden doors, they gave a soft groan as you peered inside. The closet was mainly empty except for one item, his Fatui harbinger coat. You smiled to yourself as you ran your hand through the fabric. It was so soft under your hand, the soft metal clanked against each other as you cupped the teal crystal. You admired the crystal in your hands as it sparkled in the light. You gently took the coat off the hanger and put it on. The warmth instantly engulfs you, along with his scent. You smiled to yourself as you walked back towards his desk chair. You plopped down back on the plush chair, wiggling a bit, getting yourself comfortable on the plush chair. Finally comfortable in the severe cold lab you nuzzled your head against the black fur. The thick winter coat made you instantly feel warm. As you enjoy the deserved warmth you feel your eyes becoming droopy. Sleep lures you in as you close your eyes, the warmth, dottore’s cologne, and the comfort of being close to the segments. It seemed that you lost the battle as sleep took over slouching against the desk chair.

Dottore walked into the lab to the buzzing sounds and movements. He rolled his shoulder as he put on his white lab jacket. Before he could get to his experiment table he was stopped by Delta who handed him a report.

“Here is that report you wanted,” Delta nodded as Dottore took it out of his hands. He flipped through the pages pleased by the results.

“Good, get back to work.” Dottore threw the report back to Delta’s arms, who just nodded. But before he was able to get back to work Delta told him about your state and how cold you were. Dottore rolled his eyes as he knew you would be cold and asked what they did about it. Delta mentioned that you paced around a bit before being put into his office. Dottore was curious about what you had gotten up to in his office. Dismissing Delta, Dottore headed to his office giving soft raps against his own office door. He thought this was silly but he rather you not throw something at him then be startled for a bit. When he didn’t hear a response he opened the door, only to be greeted by you snuggled up in his fatui harbinger coat sleeping on his office chair. Dottore smirked as he walked over to you, watching your sleeping form. Oh how naive you are to let your guard down, if you were anyone else he would have stuck so many different types of needles into you. Draw some blood samples, screw it, why not inject you with a mind altering drug? But lucky for you, you were his darling dearest, and he could never hurt you. He smiled to himself before tilting his mask up just enough for him to plant a kiss on top of your head without it poking your head. With a very rare and out of character soft smile Dottore turned back and headed to work. At least he doesn’t have to hear you complain about the cold.

You and Pantalone walked down Snezhnaya’s greenhouse, a greenhouse that was owned by the Fatui for the public to see ecosystems from different regions. Hand in hand you walked down as you listened to a guide explain each plant from different regions. You smile as you listen to the guide, you would glance back at Pantalone who would always smile at you but you knew for a fact that he was bored out of his mind. He got particularly bored during the Liyue region, you didn’t care, you were just happy to see so much green. Snezhnaya is always cold and has deep shades of blue, so seeing this much green always makes you feel better. You two concluded your tour and were ready to head out, but as soon as you stepped outside the bitter wind blew against your face. You shivered against your already thick jacket, it seemed that the Snezhnaya weather had dipped way below freezing. You breathe into your hands to keep yourself warm, but alas it didn’t work. You stared out on the snow covered streets. Pantalone said that a vehicle should be coming soon but you couldn’t see crap. You felt yourself being pulled gently back inside the greenhouse before having a thick outer layer gently placed on your shoulder. You looked behind to see Pantalone smiling at you, he was wearing his purple inner jacket which seemed to do little to hide Pantalone’s shiver. 

“Pantalone, you’re shivering here.” You tried to protest by removing his Fatui coat off your shoulder but you were stopped as Pantalone placed it back on your shoulders.

“I’ll be fine my lily, your comfort is my utmost priority.” Pantalone smiled as he then turned to one of the workers ``kindly” asking them to bring a heater. Kindly is putting it nicely, more like he was demanding it with a nice tone. You giggled a bit before settling down on a nearby seat. Pantalone turned back to you giving you a rare soft smile that he only gives when you two were completely alone. 

“You look ravenous in my coat dear, I should have the tailor make one to your size.” He smiled as he adjusted the collar. 

“That would be nice,” you smiled as you saw a light shine through the greenhouse's door.

You were rummaging through Childe’s closet, as Teucer wrote a letter missing Childe. So in return you thought it would be really cute to send one of Childe’s dress shirts over, hoping it would keep the young lad at bay. As you rummage through you feel something soft and fluffy brush against your hand. You paused for sec, Childe doesn’t own anything fluffy. He’s normally wearing something semi-fancy or an outfit fit for a warrior. Letting your thoughts get you, you pulled the fluffy object out of the closet. You gave a soft smile as you pulled his formal overcoat out. You brushed against the fabric, you normally only get to see him wearing this during special events. And when those special events happen you normally can’t see him because you’re so far away from the stage to see the harbingers so close. But when you do get a glimpse you understand the girls in Snezhnaya who fawn over the harbingers. Childe looks so handsome in the coat, and looks very warm. 

An idea popped into your head as you walked out of the walk-in closet. You pranced towards the giant mirror that sat in your shared bedroom. Gently putting the outer coat on you were overwhelmed by Childe’s cologne. You smiled as you hugged the coat closer to you. Looking at yourself in the mirror you were engulfed by his coat. The metal charms softly clanked against each other as you gave yourself a little twirl. Smiling to yourself you cuddled yourself into the black fur. It was so soft and warm and reminded you so much of Childe. As you were lost in your thoughts you suddenly felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist. You yelped in surprise before you heard a familiar chuckle. 

“You look so cute Zolotse.” You hear Childe mumble against the fur.

“Ajax! You’re home early.” You looked at him in surprise. He smiled as he stared loving at you.

“Yeah, I was able to finish work early and was just too excited to come home.” He laughed a bit before burying his head back into the fur coat. You leaned into Childe’s lean body as you two stayed in that position for a moment. 

“Maybe I’ll ask Pantalone to make a custom jacket for you.” Childe smiled as he picked you up in ease and twirled you around. You two laughed before Childe dropped you two on your soft bed. He was on top of you while you were sprawled against the bed. The Coat slightly hanging on you.

“Ha, you look so cute wearing my clothes. I wonder…” Childe gave a devious smile before you playfully hit his shoulder.

“Take me to dinner first Mr.Fatui Harbinger.” You two laughed as Childe fell on top of you engulfing you in a hug.