#Magnetic Mixer

[businessmanucaturer]

Manufacturers, suppliers, and exporters of magnetic mixers in India are SPM Process Systems. In India, we provide Magnetic Mixers of the highest quality.

[emsleyanbluejay]

do i need to put enough thought into the character design of 30+ My Hero OCs that i could legitimately write several separate posts on both the in- and out-of-universe explanations on why their costumes are the way they are within their subgroups? no.

am i doing it anyway? yes.

[hoppinkiss]

wanting to continue being allowed in the lab with mo.rdin and therefore needing to behave myself vs the urge to be a nuisance

[bestpickme]

✅ 7 Best Magnetic Stirrer Hot Plate || Best Magnetic Stirrers on Sale 20...

[xcherryerim]

Forgotten Bond(age)

- Sub!ClaptonDavis x HardDomGn!Reader -

“Keep making you kneel, keep making you bet all of you. The more you fall, dangerous. You know it, but your eyes still reflects me. Good boy, just one word, you shout.” — Beg For Me by Red Velvet

word count: 3.7k

SMUT ONE SHOT | MDNI | 18+ ONLY

Warning: Set in College (Reader and Clapton are 19 and in prom night they were 18) | Mentions of bullying (Reader was Clapton’s bully in hs) | sexual tension | degradation kink | light mentions of underage drinking | handjob | oral sex (reader receiver no genitals mentioned) | light ‘bondage’ usage (yes despite the tittle there’s little of it, I just wanted to make the joke) | slapping | porn with basically no plot | words like: Goodboy, fuck toy, puppy, master are used here. | overstimulation (?) | a bit of bratty Clapton.

Summary: At a freshman college party, you spot Clapton, the individual whom you used to torment in high school, who promptly initiates a search for you despite your efforts to evade an encounter. However, instead of seeking answers or explanations, he seems to desire something else, as he appears to seek out a more intimate and provocative connection, aiming to submit to your dominance.

While college life was enjoyable, it was also challenging and burdensome, with you meeting new people but also finding yourself submerged in a plethora of extra responsibilities that you had not encountered.

You knew you deserved a break, so, fortunately, there was a freshman party scheduled on that night. Even though you weren’t too fond of attending gatherings such as this one, you tried to have fun.

As you walked into the party, the atmosphere was electrifying. The music was roaring, and everyone seemed to be having a great time. Nervously, you scanned the crowd, half hoping and half fearing that you wouldn't run into anyone you knew from high school. You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw unfamiliar faces, allowing yourself to relax a little more and join the lively group of strangers.

A few drinks later, you felt slightly braver, conversing with various students who shared similar interests. Just as you thought you might be able to forget about your stressful past, the unexpected happened - you spotted Clapton Davis.

Your heart raced, and your stomach twisted into knots. You were stunned that he had attained college admission, and second, your relationship with him was awkward and tense. Yes, you had acted like a bully towards him in the past for some inexplicable reason. Despite your past behavior, you couldn't deny the allure of his charm and charisma. He possessed an undeniable magnetism that drew you near, even as you tried to push away those feelings of attraction.

While you prayed he would not notice your presence in the room, an immense feeling of panic and dread emerged within you. However, your horror intensified when you realized he had indeed noticed you. You made your way to a separate area of the house, hoping that he would not recognize you.

Despite your attempt to enjoy the mixer, your mind was overwhelmed with memories and thoughts of Clapton, depriving you of the ability to enjoy the party. The loud music and the plethora of individuals you once enjoyed are making you anxious by the minute.

You ran upstairs and entered a quiet bedroom. As you tried to collect your thoughts, you heard the door creak. Someone else entered the room. The darkness made it impossible to recognize who it was, but the mere scent confirmed it was indeed him. In the dimly lit bedroom, your heart pounded in your chest as you struggled to come to terms with the fact that Clapton had followed you.

“Clapton!” You blurted out a mix of shock and apprehension as you encountered him again in this enclosed area.

“Shh!” he whispered in a rushed manner, placing his finger on your lips in an authoritative gesture. “Tell me, what’s your deal?”

This wasn't how you imagined your reunion with him would play out, but here you were, trapped in a small room with the very person you wanted to avoid.

"My deal?" you echoed, trying to regain your composure. "I don't know what you mean."

His finger on your lip sent an electric current through you, and you couldn't help but feel a strange mix of fear and desire. This was not how you expected this evening to go. Clapton's gaze bore into you, daring you to defy him, to speak your truth.

"You know exactly what I mean," he retorted, his voice low and forceful. "You spent our entire high school years bullying me, and now you try to avoid me like I'm some sort of ex to you?" He emphasized his point by pressing his body against yours, bringing his face closer to yours, eyes locking in a heated stare.

You let out a sarcastic laugh, attempting to mask your anxiety and uncertainty with a carefree facade. "Forgive, forget, Clapton?" You said to him, trying to gauge his reaction. He seemed taken aback by your response, and for a brief moment, his harsh exterior cracked, revealing a glimpse of vulnerability.

But it was short-lived. His eyes flashed dangerously, and he retorted, "I don't forgive or forget easily," his tone growing soft yet menacing. "Besides, aren't we supposed to start fresh here in college?" He stepped back, arms crossed over his chiseled chest, his toned torso visible beneath his shirt. Your eyes involuntarily trailed over his muscular frame, noting the hidden strength and masculinity that lay beneath his calm demeanor.

His posture was confident and authoritative, leaving no doubt about his intent. You found yourself suddenly hyper-aware of the heat emanating from his body, the faint scent of his cologne, and the electricity that seemed to crackle between you two.

"So, how's life treating you, huh?" He asked casually, tilting his head slightly to the side as if genuinely curious about your well-being. "Did you miss anyone specific during the summer?"

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. "You're asking like you want me to say you're the one I missed," you responded, trying to keep the conversation light and playful.

A smirk graced his lips, revealing a hint of white teeth against the lightly tanned skin that he gained over the summer. "Well, I wouldn't expect anything less from you." He chuckled softly, moving closer to you. "But you know what they say: 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder.' Maybe I missed you too."

His tone was light, almost teasing, but there was an underlying current of genuine curiosity. It was clear that he wanted to know how you felt about him, even though the situation between you was far from amicable. And despite everything, you couldn't ignore the spark of attraction that flickered in his eyes, seeming to defy all logic and reason.

"You missed me?" You raised your eyebrow, feigning disbelief.

"Maybe a little bit," he admitted, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "Or perhaps it's just the thrill of the chase."

He continued, running a hand through his hair, ruffling it slightly. “What do you say we start fresh? No more games, no more hiding. Just us, getting to know each other again.”

He paused, studying your reaction carefully. There was a challenge in his eyes, daring you to accept or reject the proposition. And despite everything, you couldn’t help but feel drawn into his boldness.

“If I were crazy, I would think you’re asking for something else, Clapton.”

“Oh, I’m not asking for anything crazy,” he replied, his voice dropping to a sultry timbre. “I just want to know if you missed me as much as I missed you.”

He moved, closing the remaining distance between you two, and his warm breath grazed your ear as he spoke. You could feel his heart racing, matching yours. He was undeniably aroused by this confrontation, and so were you.

“Now, are you going to tell me that you didn’t think about me once or twice?” he asked, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your waist. “Or maybe more than that?” There was a playful challenge in his tone, a promise of something more beneath the surface. His fingers dipped lower, sending shivers down your spine, and he leaned in, brushing his lips against your neck.

“Are you implying that I am the only one missing our little... interactions?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. His hand slid up again, caressing your jawline gently and turning your face towards him. “Or perhaps you’ve found someone new to degrade?” He smirked. “I would be jealous if you did.”

“Believe me when I say, Clapton,” you responded, trying to keep your voice steady. “No one compares to you.”

Your words hung in the air between you, heavy with implications. You couldn’t believe what you’d just said, but there it was—an admission of sorts—an acknowledgment of the intense chemistry that existed between you both.

“That’s more like it,” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm and inviting. “Maybe we can work out our differences, huh?” He trailed soft kisses along your jawline, his hands exploring your body with possessive intensity.

“But first,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear, causing goosebumps to erupt across your skin. “Give me what I’ve been craving since that goddamn prom night.” With that, he got on his knees, looking at you with eyes full of devotion.

At that moment, you knew things were about to change. The tension between you and Clapton wasn’t just about the past anymore; it was evolving into something new—something electric and passionate.

“Slap me.” He blurted it out; his request made you still. “Slap me,” he repeated, his voice laced with desperation.

You hesitated for a split second, unsure of what to make of his unusual demand. But then, you steeled yourself and raised your hand, slapping him hard across the face. The sound echoed loudly in the quiet room, and the sting of your palm against his cheek left both of you breathless for a moment.

Clapton's eyes widened at first but then closed for a moment before slowly opening back up. A look of relief washed over his face as he reached up, touching the red mark that now adorned his perfect features.

“That’s better,” he growled, a devilish smile on his lips. His eyes glinted with a mixture of pain and pleasure, clearly enjoying your dominance. “You seem to love seeing me humiliated, don’t you?”

“Oh, just look at that,” you taunted, leaning down to whisper into his ear while slapping him lightly across his cheek. “You were just made to kneel, weren’t you?”

"Only for you," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

The power dynamic between you two had shifted dramatically, and you couldn't deny the rush of thrill that came with it. You felt a sense of control over him once again but it was mixed with guilt and confusion over your past actions.

“Get up,” you commanded, your voice firm and commanding. “Show me how good you are at submitting.”

Clapton obeyed without question, rising slowly from the floor. His eyes locked on yours, full of longing and submission. His erection strained against his pants. Seeing him like this, needy, was both exhilarating and terrifying but you couldn’t deny the adrenaline rush it gave you.

“Take off your clothes,” you ordered, barely able to contain your excitement. “Then get back on your knees.”

Without hesitation, he complied. His muscular form was revealed as he stripped off his clothing, leaving nothing but his skin and desire between you. Once he was fully nude, he returned to his previous position, waiting for your next order.

“Spread your legs,” you instructed, watching as he complied. His erect cock pointed skyward, dripping come onto the cold floor.

“Look at you.” you sneered, a cruel grin spreading across your face. “Trembling. Panting. It’s ridiculous.”

“Is that so?” he replied, giving you a foolish smile. “It’s just the reaction I get when you’re mean to me. I can’t help but like it.”

“Okay then,” You said, sitting on the bed as you looked at him. “Touch yourself.”

Clapton’s surprised chuckle met your command. “I mean, I could use a hand,” he quipped, attempting humor amidst the situation.

“You want me to touch you?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow. “Well, you’ll have to earn it.”

Without another word, he launched himself onto the bed, pinning you beneath him. His frame flexed as he removed your clothes, revealing your naked body to his eager gaze.

Clapton’s fingers glided across your throbbing between your legs, drawing gasps from your lips. The contrast of his rough skin against your heated flesh sent waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. Each touch was deliberate and calculated, designed to push you closer to the edge.

His fingers continued their sensual exploration, the touches carefully thought out yet wildly erotic. You felt his heart beating against your chest, mirroring the rhythm of your own.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, his voice filled with expectation. “Am I being a good boy?” he murmured close to your lips.

His enthusiasm was infectious, spurring on his actions. The tempo between your legs increased, each touch more urgent than the last. “Please, can I taste you? Can I be allowed to be masturbated by you? Can I be inside you if I’m good?”

His words hung in the air, a plea for your approval. “If you promise to do as I say, then yes.”

He nodded, his eyes shining with anticipation. “Yes, I’m your puppy; I’m your fuck toy. I’ll become anything you want. Just please, keep using me.” His words rang true, echoing his willingness to fulfill all your desires.

“Then, I suppose you know what I want now.”

Clapton understood perfectly. He leaned down, trailing soft, sensual kisses across your stomach until he reached your inner thigh. His lips lingered there for a moment, a tender gesture that belied his usual bravado.

The anticipation was almost unbearable, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip to stifle the growing moan. His warm breath brushed against where your thighs meet, causing involuntary squirms under his careful attention.

Finally, Clapton’s skilled tongue made contact, tracing delicate patterns. A sharp intake of breath escaped you as pleasure surged through your entire being. Your back arched involuntarily, every nerve ending ablaze with sensation.

His expert mouth worked magic on you. He seemed determined to give you the best experience possible, pouring all his passion and skill into his task, and it was working. You felt yourself nearing your peak, each lick bringing you closer to ecstasy. Your fingers dug into the sheets, nails biting into your palm as you tried to prolong the agonizingly sweet buildup.

When it came, your climax was intense, sending shockwaves throughout your body. An animalistic cry escaped your lips as you bucked against him, losing yourself in the sensation. Once it subsided, you found yourself limp and breathless.

You glanced at him, noticing his disheveled state. “Who gave you permission to come?” you snapped, anger seething in your voice.

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Hey, I can’t help if you’re moaning my name,” he declared, his tone surprisingly calm.

“That doesn’t matter!” you retorted, slapping him lightly across the face. His resulting moan only served to infuriate you further. Turning away from him, you searched for something—anything—to regain control.

Your gaze landed on a nearby wardrobe, and you headed towards it, pulling out a leather belts. Returning to the bed, you straddled him, your weight causing him to groan in pleasure. Ignoring his reaction, you grabbed his wrists firmly, securing them with the belt to opposite corners of the bed. The restraints were tight, ensuring he wouldn’t escape without your permission.

“Bondage?” He asked with a grin.

Looking down at him, bound and vulnerable, you felt a rush of power. This was where you belonged—in absolute control. You leaned closer, whispering menacingly, “Next time, ask for permission.”

His eyes widened, reflecting both surprise and...was that excitement? He enjoyed your sudden turn of events. If he wanted more of this dominant side of you, however, he would need to provoke you further.

“And if I don’t?” he asked teasingly, challenging you.

“Then you won’t get what you want,” you warned him, your voice low and dangerous. “Remember who’s in charge here.”

His grin never faded, though. “Oh, I think I’ve already gotten what I wanted,” he countered, glancing down at your body. “Maybe it’s time for round two?”

A slow smile. spread across your face. He wasn’t afraid of you, not really. Instead, he thrived under your dominance. Perhaps, in this twisted way, he was enjoying himself.

“I don’t think you deserve another round, Clapton,” you stated, trying to maintain your authority.

His response caught you off-guard. “But isn’t it fun hearing me moan for you, Master?” he purred, a sly grin spreading across his face.

Hearing him call you ‘Master’ sent a thrill down your spine—an unexpected pleasure. Was it worth risking your control again just for that sound?

“Fine. I’ll play your game under my rules,” you stated, quelling the wave of pleasure that surged through you at his words.

Following suit, you spit into his cock, generously spreading your saliva on his hardening lenght. Each stroke of your hand caused him to cry out in mixed pain and pleasure, his hips buckling against yours in response.

“Slo—slow down!” he begged, his leg movements becoming increasingly frantic.

“I’m touching you; isn’t this what you wanted?” You asked coolly, maintaining eye contact.

He groaned, unable to deny the truth in your question. “Yes,” he managed to choke out between ragged breaths.

“Good boy,” you praised, continuing your work. Your hand moved faster, stroking him in sync with your heartbeat. The sensation was almost too much for you to handle, but you pushed through it, focusing solely on driving Clapton to the edge of sanity.

“And you better come when I tell you to,” you stated decisively, increasing the speed of your strokes. Tears of both pain and pleasure trailed down his face, evidence of his mounting arousal.

Clapton’s breathing hitched, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Every movement he made was dictated by the pleasure you provided, and every gasp was directed toward you. It was heady, intoxicating power, and you reveled in it.

“Please, please let me come!” Clapton cried out, his eyes filled with pleading. His body writhed under your skilled touch, in direct contrast to his words.

Instead of yielding to his request, you increased and lowered the pressure simultaneously, driving him to new levels of ecstasy and desperation. His cries grew louder, and his face flushed with exertion and frustration.

“Fuck you!” he screamed, losing his patience. His hands trying to pull away the belts that were stopping his hands from any movements. It was then that you slapped him again, a sharp sting against his cheek.

“Fuck, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it!” He stammered, clearly caught off guard by his reaction.

You raised an eyebrow, smirking coldly. “You’re ‘sorry’? If you weren’t so useless, you’d spend less time begging for forgiveness.”

It was meant to hurt, but there was also a hint of amusement behind your words. You found enjoyment in pushing him and watching him struggle to find a balance between submission and defiance.

His face flushed deeper, but he stayed silent, accepting your judgment.

“I’m your useless fuck toy, aren’t I?” He asked, his voice tinged with light amusement. Despite his words, there was an undeniable resignation in his tone.

You considered his statement, finding it oddly pleasing. He recognized your power over him, yet he still engaged willingly. With a small smile, you replied, “Yes, you are.” There was affection in your words, hidden beneath the veneer of dominance.

He returned the smile, tilting his head playfully. “Your only fuck toy?” he questioned.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. Was this what you wanted? To be the only person he submitted to? Or was this just another game, another illusion of control?

“For now,” you hedged, unsure of your feelings.

He sat up, gazing at you thoughtfully. “For now, huh?” He grinned, leaning in to steal a quick kiss. “Interesting.”

You chuckled, returning to a perfect rhythm. Unlike before, it was neither too slow nor too hard, which earned you grateful looks from Clapton. His body began to relax, riding the waves of pleasure you created. His breaths synchronized with your movements, creating a hypnotic pattern.

As you continue, you couldn’t help but wonder where this was leading. There seemed to be genuine emotion behind his words, a vulnerability you hadn’t expected. Perhaps there was more to this relationship than control and submission.

Suddenly, he stiffened beneath your hand, signaling his impending release. You slowed down, waiting for the right moment. “Come now, Clapton,” you whispered, your voice velvety soft.

An exhilarating burst echoed through the room as he did exactly as you commanded. His muscles tensed, his eyes rolling back in pure bliss. As he lay there, catching his breath, you felt a rare sense of satisfaction wash over you.

Clapton abruptly kissed you, his lips pressing against yours hungrily. You returned the kiss, savoring the taste of him. In that brief moment, everything seemed possible. Could this become more than a game? Could you both find a real connection beneath your kinks and desires?

As you broke the kiss, your hearts raced in sync. Your faces were flushed, sweaty, and breathless. Clearing your throat, you untied him from the bed, and then you stepped back, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “Get dressed,” you managed to croak out.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “Sure thing, Master.” He replied playfully.

Both of you got dressed, and the air between you was thick with unspoken tension. Finally, you were both dressed and ready to leave. As you reached for the doorknob, he grabbed your wrist, stopping you mid-step.

“I was thinking maybe we could go to my dorm.” He stuttered, his face flushed with embarrassment. “I found this underrated band yesterday, and I wanted to listen to their discography. You could join me if you want to.”

Surprised but intrigued, you paused, considering his proposal. “Alright, lead the way,” you finally agreed, as he released your wrist. “But remember, this is purely platonic,” you added with a wink.

“Yeah?” he chuckled. “Platonic, huh? Yeah, because what we just did was purely platonic,” he retorted sarcastically.

You chuckled, acknowledging the truth in his words. “It was!” you teased back.

“Yeah, yeah, sure thing,” he muttered, stealing a quick kiss before ushering you out of the room.

Walking through the party crowd together, he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you close. His warmth enveloped you, and for a moment, everything else faded away. Whether this relationship would remain strictly physical or develop into something more, one thing was certain: you enjoyed each other's company.

Despite the chaos surrounding you, there was a serene calm within the two of you. His hand rested gently on your hip, grounding you in the moment as you navigated the sea of people. Every step you took, and every laugh you shared, brought you closer to each other, bridging the gap between your past and present.

Fin. Thank you so much for reading! Sorry if this is mid <\3 I have family over and school is stressing me out.

If you only want to see my smut writing consider following my side blog @xxxcherryerim where I reblog my work!

tag list: @lile6969 @sun-spider13 (i forgot who else asked like a week ago lmao)

[seeingivy]

ahhh congrats on 1K!! you deserve it all :D

for your concert, may I suggest got my mind set on you for eren with a friends to lovers type trope? like maybe eren has a bit of a past as a fuckboy and realizes now that he's in love with his friend. she doesn't believe him given his history, so he is determined to woo her, but really he just needs to show her that he's serious about her (because she has already loved him this whole time hehe). OR whatever you want to do!!

got my mind set on you

eren x f!reader

**part of my debut concert event

content: drinking, reader gets her periods and leaks on her sheets, eren is a manwhore, hitch is a hater, jean and marco are masterminds

an: thank you sweet sweet anon! you deserve all the love in the world. I hope you like it <333

--

“Y/N. White wife-beater or black wife-beater?” 

You peek up from the top of your textbook to glare at him and he has that stupid, stupid grin on his face. The one he uses to get anything he wants. 

“Man. At this point you’re just trying to sound like an asshole.” mutters Jean, taking Armin’s pillow and smacking it straight into his face. 

Mikasa and Armin laugh in response, agreeing as Eren makes his way over to you, flopping on his bed next to you. He’s leaning directly into your space, that musky cologne enveloping your nose as he starts talking. 

“Y/N.” 

“Eren.” 

“Black or white?” 

“Ass or face?” 

“What?” 

“Do you want me to punch you in the ass or in the face?” 

He laughs as he bends over, sticking the aforementioned ass into your space as he knocks your textbook out of your hands and you push him away. And you try to fight the smile trying to make its way on to your face, trying to feign as much anger as you can. 

But you can’t be mad at Eren. You can’t be anything but a jumbled mess of feelings at Eren lately. 

When you moved to college, you were looking forward to getting a fresh start from the town that you grew up in. Not that it was ever a bad place but it was never really a good place either. And you were ready to let it all go, to move away from your parents, to find out who you were. 

And just your luck, the one boy from your highschool going to the same college as you ends up in your orientation group and never leaves you alone after that. Dragging you to random club meetings for free food, taking you to mixers that your RA hosted, trying to sneak into frat parties together. 

At some point, you were just always together. And maybe some small part of you really liked having him around. That he wanted to be your best friend, told you all the little inner workings of his mind instead of someone else. That he thinks the Loch Ness Monster is made up, that he likes the Twilight movie soundtracks a little bit too much, that he loves mystery books. 

And he’s dorky - snorts when he laughs too hard, can’t drink beer without spilling it all over his shirt, and is so weirdly passionate about these little sea animals that he’s spending the entire summer doing an internship at the marine biology research lab at your university. 

But he’s also sweet - trying to memorize all the little facts about you, picking you up from class as a habit, telling you that you’re prettier than some shit guy who won’t come by. 

He’s your friend. Your sweet, secret little dorky friend. No one looks at you. But no one looks at him either. Maybe you guys only look at each other. 

Except when you come back from the summer, his dork is replaced with…charm. Charisma, an appeal, a magnetism. And maybe he was always really charming, but no one paid attention to it. It was just for you. 

But now they do - because he’s grown out his soft brown hair into this sunkissed loose man bun and spending all summer swimming in tidepools has defined his muscles. Because he was always gangly and a little awkward but one summer has him looking fit, in all the right places. 

That’s when it starts raining on your parade. Because when you and Eren go to parties, you’re talking to him less and the girl who's drunk and throwing up in the bathroom more. He’s too busy talking to the pretty girls, twirling their locks of hair in his hands and batting his pretty eyelashes at them. 

And he still picks you up from class with an iced coffee in hand, except the barista scribbled her name over your cup because she wants Eren to call her later. And you know Eren leans into it, because this newfound attention only gives him confidence to show off more. 

To tell girls about the creepy little slugs he spent all summer looking for so they can coo over how cute it is that he cares, to show off those ridiculously defined muscles, to gleam at people the way he does. 

You’re interrupted by your train of thought as Historia, the girl Eren met at a club meeting knocks on the door, shining sunlight at Eren as she smiles at him. And when he flicks the top of your forehead and stands up to press a kiss to her cheek and run out with her, you stick your face back into your textbook. 

And pretend it doesn’t sting. 

You peer over your notebook again to find Jean hanging upside down on the bunk, his eyes staring into yours. 

“Hi Y/N.” 

“Hi Jean. The blood is rushing to your head. You look like an overly ripe tomato.” 

He laughs as he flops off the bunk and next to you, leaning his head in to read your textbook. 

“A tort is a civil law that causes a claimant to suffer loss or….this shit is so fucking boring.” 

He snatches the textbook away from your clutches and flings it off the bed, giving an innocent smile as he does. 

“I was reading that.” 

“And now you’re not!” 

“Do you want something from me, Jean?” 

“Yeah. Let’s go on a date.” 

“You have a boyfriend.” 

“Yeah. It was his idea.” 

He pulls you up by the wrists as you both shuffle out of Armin and Eren’s dorm room, giving half-hearted goodbyes to Mikasa and Armin as he dragged you back to your hal. Trying to convince you to go on a date with him. 

“No.” 

“Listen. You make this mopey sad face whenever he brings a girl around. It’s really ugly.” 

“Thanks, Jean. You’re such a gentleman.” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose as he swings your door open, the two of you flopping onto your bed. 

“I just mean- I hate that you wait around for him. And Marco does too. I think it would be nice. For me to take you out, to make you feel special, to remind you that you don’t have to hopelessly pine over that idiot and wait for him to look at you back.” 

“Jean, I just-” 

He stands up, locking his fingers with yours, as he tries to use his boyish charm on you. And it’s entirely different from Eren’s. Where Eren oozes pure charisma, like you can’t help but give in because you just want to know what he’s getting at. 

Jean’s charm is more…boyish. Innocent. Because he’s smiling at you, all soft and genuine. Like you want to give in because you know he means well. It’s sweet. So you agree.

--

“Eren.” 

“Hm?” 

“Pink dress or white skirt?” 

You hold up the options as Eren looks at you for the first time - even though he’s been in your dorm for the past three hours texting Historia in your bed - and squints at you. 

“Are you wearing makeup?” 

“Yeah. I’m going on a date.” 

He stands up, placing his hands on your cheek as he moves your face around in the air, taking in the product on your face. A soft glitter on your eyelids, black around your eyes that makes your eyes look infinitely bigger, and soft pink on the tops of your cheeks. 

“With who?” 

“Well, Jean for now. But it’s practice before I start going on real dates you know?” 

“You’re going on dates? Why?” 

You roll your eyes as you turn back in the mirror, holding up the options to your frame as you weigh what to wear. 

“Because. I want to get out there and I’m like…deeply touch starved or whatever. I just want someone told hold me or something. And it feels weird to do it cold turkey so Jean’s taking me.” 

“You could have asked me. I could take you.” 

You roll your eyes as you push past him, reaching for your flowery perfume that you spray on for special occasions. Eren’s leaning against your bedpost, his eyes scrunched up in frustration that for some reason is really annoying you. 

“You have a girlfriend.” 

“Hisu’s not my girlfriend. We’re just talking.” 

“Okay, yeah. Same thing.” 

“Jean has a boyfriend.” 

“This was Marco’s idea, Eren. He’s not going to care if I actually go on it and I think he’s probably the one who bought the flowers Jean’s going to bring me.” 

You hold the two options up in the air again, boring your eyes into Eren’s as you gesture for him to respond again. 

“I’m not picking.” 

“I literally pick your date outfits for you all the time. You could pick for me.” 

And Eren mutters something that sounds like pink under his breath which you smile brightly at as you duck into your closet to slip the dress on. And when it’s all fresh and pressed against your skin, there’s a knock on your door and a very smiley Jean waiting for you. 

As you predicted, he’s holding a pretty bouquet of pink flowers in his hand, wearing a nice buttoned up shirt as opposed to his usual lame t-shirts. 

“Hi. Don’t you look pretty?” 

He reaches for your wrist and lifts your hand up to spin you around, the pleats of your dress whooshing in the air and a stupid laugh falling out of your lips. 

“Jean. You’re laying it on a little thick there.” 

He shakes his head dismissively as he places the bouquet on your desk, giving a small nod to Eren as he walks back to you, pinching the side of your cheek. 

“You’re getting the full Jean Kirschtein experience. I have to set the bar high so you don’t settle for a whole idiot or anything.” 

And Eren watches you and he hates it. That he has this angry, green little monster simmering in his chest. That you’re smiling at Jean, that he’s taking you on a date to set your standards, that you’re wearing a pretty dress and laughing with someone who isn’t him. 

And he knows it’s wrong. That he has no right to be jealous when he’s talked to other girls ever since the summer ended while you’ve remained steadfast and true. And it wasn’t like you were staying true to him because Eren’s positive that you don’t feel that obligation, that loyalty to him, but some part of him feels like you do. Or wishes that you do. 

But suddenly…he’s feeling it for you. That he shouldn’t be with anyone but you, that he’s the person who should be taking you on cute dates, twirling you around in pretty dresses, having you spread glitter all over your face for him. 

Eren texts Historia as he watches you and Jean duck out the door. 

“Uh huh, Kirschtein. I’m sure this is gonna be the best date of my life.”

“That’s a promise, baby girl.” 

“Ew. Baby girl?” 

“Do you prefer sweetheart instead?” 

“You’re so fucking corny, Jean.”  

And when the door closes, he sends the text. 

I want to see other people. Sorry Hisu.  

--

You return from your date with Jean to find Eren slumped over in your bed, typing away on his laptop. Your roommate, Hitch, is glaring bloody murder at you as she flits her eyes over to his direction. 

“Eren.” 

“Ah. You’re back. How was it?” 

“What are you doing in my room? I left hours ago.” 

“Just wanted to see you when you got back. And I was spending time with my best friend, Hitch. She’s just so riveting to talk to and I just love her so much.” 

She throws her portable fan at his head, which he catches before it makes contact and then throws it back at her.

“I’ll walk you back to yours, Eren. And you’re buying Hitch coffee as an apology.” 

He rolls his eyes as he grabs his bag, blowing fake kisses to Hitch as she flips him off. You’re both trodding through the hall, the building quiet. It’s Friday night. Everyone’s partying. 

“Didn’t want to party tonight, Eren?” 

“Nah. Didn’t feel like it. How was your date?” 

You smile as you twiddle with your fingers. 

It was nice. To feel special, to have someone tell you that you were pretty. And sure he didn’t mean it in that way and it was entirely platonic, but it was nice to have someone look at you. Who wants to make you feel special, try to coax you into doing things you don’t usually do. 

And you’re positive it’ll feel even better when the feelings are reciprocated. 

“Really nice, Eren. I’m excited to…meet people. Date them. Have someone make me feel special, tell me I’m pretty.” 

“You’re pretty.” 

You look over to find Eren’s cheeks burning pink, the tips of his ears red as he avoids eye contact with you. 

“Thank you?” 

“Ye-yeah. Sure.” 

You make it to Eren’s door and he swings the door open, dragging you in by the wrist. From the looks of it, Armin’s not home, Eren’s desk light flickering on the desk. He drags you to his bed, the two of you sitting on his plush duvet. 

“Eren. I was just walking you here. I’m kind of tired from the painting.” 

“You went painting?” 

“Yeah. It was like a pottery type thing. We picked out mugs and just painted on them. Talked about stuff. Shared an ice cream together after. Jean and Marco gave me very sweet kisses on the cheek when I dropped him back off to his dorm.” 

Eren pushes his hand through his hair as he asks, the question making the air in his throat burn. 

“Ah. Would you ever…go on a date with me?” 

And you laugh. Quite literally laugh, because he cannot be serious. 

“God, Eren. Don’t be a cliche right now.” 

“What?” 

“You see your best friend go on a date with another guy and suddenly you’re interested in her. It’s like every corny rom-com.” 

You lean forward, pinching the plush of his cheek. 

“You just want what you can’t have, Eren. I’ve been waiting for you to notice me for two years. And of course, you only look at me when you can’t have me.” 

“Wait, but I-” 

“Eren. I want someone who makes me feel special. And you’ve always been special to me, but I want to be special to someone too. Let’s not make our friendship weird. And hey, maybe we can actually be equals this time.” 

“Equals?” 

“Two people who care about each other the same amount. Not one person hopelessly pining over the other.” 

You give his cheek one last pinch as you pad out his door, giving him a smile before you slam the door shut. 

--

The next morning, Eren’s standing outside your Civil Law lecture with a coffee in hand. And a shy smile pressed across his face. 

“Good morning, Y/N.” 

“Hi Eren.” 

Despite your admission of your feelings and your swift rejection of Eren, he’s still standing here. And you were expecting it, because you know that Eren wasn’t really saying any of that in earnest. And it’s nice to admit your feelings, as a way of letting them go before you give in and like someone else. 

You take the cup from his hand and shove the much needed caffeine into your mouth, the two of you strolling to your next class. You look over to find Eren with a pinched look on his face, like he’s constipated. 

“Eren.” 

“Hm?” 

“Cat got your tongue? What’s wrong with you?” 

“You didn’t…look at the cup.” 

You look back down at the cup to find handwriting scribbled on it in green sharpie. 

you look pretty today, sweet girl 

You laugh, holding it up in the air. 

“No way. The barista called you a sweet girl? It’s that long ass hobo hair you have.” 

“What? That wasn’t the barista, that was me!” 

“You wrote on the cup? Why?” 

“For you, stupid! I’m trying to romance you.” 

You spit the coffee straight into your cup, looking back down at the cup again. And holy shit he’s right - the way the g is looped and the writing is slanted, it really is Eren’s handwriting. 

“Eren.” 

“What?” 

“It’s cute. But you’re going to do it for like one week. And then get bored of waiting and see some pretty girl at a party and change your mind.” 

“I’m not! You’re it for me.”

“Eren. Bullshit. You wouldn’t last a month.” 

He leans forward, pressing you into the hard of the wall as he looks down, green eyes glinting in yours. 

“Bet.” 

“What?” 

“I’ll bet on it. Prove it to you. That I’ve got my mind set on you.” 

“Uh huh. That takes a lot of patience, Eren. Time. Something that’s never been your forté.” 

“I’ll make it my forté, if it’s for you.” 

You give into the bet. A month for Eren to romance you, to prove that he’s really only got his mind set on you. 

You give in because you know you’ll win. He gives in because he wants to prove the stupid, silly girl he loves that he can do it right. 

--

eren: good morning silly little woman. fit check pls :D 

you: no. 

eren: cmon. ive got back to back classes and im missing that cute little face of yours :((( 

you: just ask ur hoes. im sure they’re cute too. 

eren: no hoes. im allergic to gardening. 

you: you should start stand up comedy. you’d be really good at it.  

eren: you want me so bad 

you: shut up

eren: im waiting!!!! time is ticking doll, i will show up to your club meeting and start gushing about how pretty my girlfriend is in front of all your little prospective club members if i don’t get a fit check in ten seconds

you: not your girlfriend 

eren: yet. three weeks to go. 

you: do you not have anything else to do?

eren: picture and i’ll be out of your hair. 

you: sent one attachment

eren: eren jaeger found dead at twenty-one.

you: thank god. 

eren: cause of death - the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen in my life. absolute heartstopper

you: EREN. YOU’RE SO GROSS AND CORNY STOP. 

eren: ok ok see you after class sweet girl. and thanks for the picture. corniness aside, it really did make my day. you’re my favorite thing to look at. 

You ignore the pounding in your chest as you throw your phone into your purse and head to the coffee shop. And what you hoped would be an uninterrupted study session is interrupted by a certain green eyed idiot, smiling at you as he takes the seat across from you. 

“Hi doll.” 

“Eren. You have class.” 

“Got canceled. The planets and the fates and all the stars aligned. You and me, free for a little study date at the same time.” 

You crinkle your nose as you lift your backpack from the seat next to you, Eren sliding in and taking a sip from your watered down coffee. 

“Did you just rhyme? How long did that one take you?” 

“The whole walk over here. Did you like it?” 

“No.” 

Eren opens up his laptop, the two of you working in silence. And in the smallest of ways, Eren’s making it hard for you to focus. 

Tangling his legs with yours under the desk, resting his hand on your thigh every time you work out one of your homework problems with him, tucking your hair behind your ear every time it annoyingly flops forward. 

“Oh! I have something for you.” 

He holds out a tiny little candy, a twisted mango strawberry pop. The one you can only get in Shiganshina, a four hour drive away. 

“What the fuck? You had Mindy’s the entire time and your greedy ass wasn’t sharing?” 

You take the little candy in his hand, twisting the ends open and letting the flavors melt on your tongue. And the nostalgia hits your head, running in the grass as a kid, your mom keeping a little box on the top of the microwave for you two to share at the end of the day. 

“Just got them. I drove all the way to Shiganshina to get them for you.” 

“Uh huh.” 

“I’m being serious. I went on Sunday, after my lab meeting. Got the box, hung out with my dog for an hour and came back.” 

“You were probably just running an errand down there. I bet Zeke just needed your help with something.” 

“My parents and Zeke are in Hizuru, remember?” 

You feel your mouth go dry as you shuffle the candy in your mouth, huffing back in your chair. Corny ass idiot. They are in Hizuru to meet Zeke’s new girlfriend. But there’s no way in hell he drove all the way there just to get you a candy. 

“There’s no way you-”

“I’ve got my mind set on you. In my mind, you and I are already dating. I’m just kind of waiting for you to catch up.” 

“Oh, quit i-” 

“When you’re my girlfriend, we’ll go together. Make a little drive out of it, see your parents and my parents. Get Mindy’s. Bother that lady who works at the aquarium.” 

“Eren.” 

He pinches your cheek as you frown, rolling your eyes at him. 

“For now, I'll just drive down there alone to get you candy. Three more weeks, stink.” 

--

Your stress is building. You’ve got two term papers due next week, a club meeting to plan, a project to go over with your research advisor, and groceries to do. And really, really all you are is bone dead tired. That you can feel your bones dragging and your eye bags deepening and the panic shuffling every time you breathe in and out. 

Your final straw? Forgetting you were going to get your period and leaking onto your bed sheets. 

And you know it’s not a big deal. That you can wash the sheets and get the stain out, that you can take a shower to feel better. 

But this tiny little thing, this red blotch on your sheets, is enough to push you over the edge. Because you’re tired, because so much is going on, because this is just another thing you don’t have time to do but have to. 

You can feel the tears streaming down your eyes, burning the sensitive skin underneath your eyes and flushing your cheek. 

That’s when Eren finds you. Curled up on the ground, tears streaming down your eyes. 

“Woah, hey. Hey, talk to me. What’s wrong?” 

He falls flat on the floor next to you, opening up his arms which you roll into and start soaking his shirt in your salty tears. He’s whispering into your ear, whispering sweet nothings and his warm arms are holding you. 

“Tell me what happened. Use your words.” 

“I-I have a lot to do. The Civil Law paper and the entire plan for the-the club meeting. Dr. Smith wants to meet with me about my-my research plan and I’m not ready and I got my period and leaked on my sheets and I don’t have time to clean and-” 

“Okay. It’s okay.” 

His warm, calloused hands are rubbing into the small of your back, his hold still firm against you. And he drags you up, opening the shower and warming it up for you. He’s rummaged through your closet - pulled out a stack of clothes and set them on the counter. 

“Are you…going to leave?” 

“Of course not, Y/N. Outside when you’re done, okay?” 

And you take the shower. Spend too long standing underneath the warm water, letting the shower scald your skin in a comforting way, relishing in the smell of your springy body soap washing you clean. Of the tears, of the blood, of your frustrations. 

When you towel up your hair and reach for the stack of clothes on the counter, you only now realize what this cheeky bastard did. Left a pair of your pajamas and the hoodie he was wearing on the counter. 

You pull it on, his musky smell mixing with the scent of your flowery shampoo, as you pad out of your room, Eren folding your laundry on your bed. 

“Eren.” 

He turns around and gives you a warm smile, walking forward to lock his fingers with yours. 

“You look so cute right now. Pouty little face and your hair in this stupid towel.” 

“Quit it.” 

He leads you over to your bed, climbing on as he pulls you forward. 

“Cleaned the sheets. Did your laundry. And made a plan for you to finish the paper and emailed Erwin from your account that you’re not free until the week after and-” 

You can feel your eyes burning, the tears welling up in your face. You lean into his arms and he rests his chin against the top of your head, his hands snaking under your hoodie to press against your cold skin. 

“Eren.” 

“Hm.” 

“This is a really elaborate plan to get into my pants.” 

He laughs, the sound vibrating through his chest as he talks. 

“I know.” 

“I knew it, you dick. You only want to get in my pants.”  

“Well, that’s part of it. I am very attracted to you. I’m not going to pretend like I don’t want to be in your pants.” 

“Charming. The whole “I’ve got my mind set on you thing” is really working.” 

“I'm being honest! I want to be in your pants and in your head and all your little dreams and your heart too.” 

You rest your head against his chest, his heartbeat hammering against your ears as he finishes talking. And when you drift off to sleep, you can still feel it beating in tandem with yours. And try to forget why you and Eren are waiting two weeks to do this for real in the first place. 

--

He’s done it now. And you’ve caught him in the fucking act. The sweet, sweet satisfaction of proving this idiot wrong - that he would get bored of waiting for you and move onto another girl is standing right in front of you. 

It’s Eren’s friend Reiner’s birthday. Eren had told you in advance that he couldn’t see you Friday and you obliged. 

Except, Hitch invited you to the party the day of, claiming she needed someone to walk in with so she didn’t look like an idiot. Some guy Marlowe she’s really into is going to be there and she has to be at her best. 

And when you get to the party, you lose Hitch in all but five seconds, left in this awkward, sweaty mess of a room alone. But when you walk over to the kitchen, you see it. 

Eren leaning over the counter, talking to a girl. Short brown hair, a mass of freckles over her face, the two of them smiling at each other. And when you march over there, you’re all but too happy to rub it in his face. 

Because you’re right. And you knew you were right. That Eren, all hot and toned and sexy from his beach summer, would not give it up. The attention, the girls, the love he gets from all of it for you. That he would look at other things and not at you, that you couldn’t be enough for him. And he can buy you coffee and do your laundry and be there for you all he wants, but you know deep down you’re right. 

“You little son of a bitch. Week three and I win.” you say, crossing your hands over your chest. 

“Huh?” 

“I win. You’re at a party, flirting with a girl. Meaning, you don’t have your mind set on me. Meaning, I’m right. That you can’t let go of being a manwhore for me, that you surely have your eyes wandering elsewhere even though you claim to be only looking at me.” 

“Y/N-” 

“You think driving to get me candy and doing my laundry and giving me your hoodie would buy me over? You’re not getting into my pants for a quick fuck just because you know you can and-” 

He pulls you forward, clamping his hand over your mouth. He’s squinting his eyes at you, almost like he’s confused at your outburst. And when you look over at the girl, you realize why. 

It’s Ymir. The president of the Gay-Straight Alliance Ymir. Like literally the gayest girl you’ve probably ever met in your life. 

“Oh.” 

Eren smiles, rolling his eyes, as he drops his hands to lock his hand with yours. 

“Yeah, oh. Did you not see it was her when you walked over?” 

“No. Hi Ymir.” 

Ymir smiles, reaching forward to mess with your hair as she turns to Eren. 

“You’re right. She really is stubborn.” Ymir says, smiling at him. 

“Tell me about it. She does this every time I do something nice for her.” he responds, squeezing your hand as he talks. 

“Well, you are a manwhore.” 

“Not anymore, Ymir! I’m only a whore for her.” 

She pinches your cheek as she walks off, linking arms with a certain blonde as you walk away. And when you look over, Eren’s lazily making a drink for you on the counter, swirling it in his hand before he gives you the cup. 

“It’s Jungle Juice. There’s like three different liquors in it but you can’t really taste it s-”

“You’re not mad?” 

“Huh?” 

“I just…yelled at you. Really unfairly. And you’re not even mad?” 

“Got my mind set on you. Like you said, this thing takes patience. And time. I’ll wait for it. You’ll come to see I’m surprisingly good at this patience understanding when it’s something I really, really want.” 

And as he tilts his head back, pouring the drink into his mouth, like the entire outburst you had didn’t happen. And that’s it. You crane your head around the kitchen, looking for it. 

“Whatcha looking for?” 

Eren watches you mill around the kitchen, opening drawers, lifting picture frames as you look for it. And when you find it - the calendar posted on Reiner’s wall - you rip it off and place it in front of Eren with a marker in your hand. 

“What’s this, Y/N?” 

“Did you know that I can move time forward?” 

“Huh? How much have you had to drink?” 

You reach forward, crossing out through the entire week. The last week of the month, for the bet you and Eren had. 

Because he’s convinced you. That his mind’s set on you. That even if he used to like other girls, the girl he likes now is you. Enough to drive hours to make you happy, take care of you - bloody sheets and all, and gush at a party about you to other people. Like he’s proud to be around you, like you’re the only thing he looks at. 

“I don’t follow, sweet girl.” 

“The bet started three weeks ago. And I crossed out the last week, so it’s over now. And I want to be with you no-” 

He leans forward, pressing his warm, plush lips against yours as he can’t help but smile through the kiss. All warm and fruity, surely from the drink Eren just made. And he whispers against your mouth, eliciting a laugh out of you. 

“Thank fucking god. You were driving me insane, you little heathen.” 

You reach forward, tangling your hands with the collar of his shirt as you pull him down again, pressing your lips against his, trying to memorize the feel, the sensation of him against you. 

And when Hitch comes home from the party, all buzzed, to find you two under the covers, watching a movie, she says one thing and one thing only. 

“No fucking in my bed.”

--

taglist: @platrom @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha @daisynik7 @rebeccawinters ​@itzmeme 

[thefreakandthehair]

my fiance walked into the kitchen last night to me in a rolling stones tee shirt and sweatpants, glass of wine in hand, bopping around to linkin park while cooking for easter. and it gave me a cute lil idea! enjoy!

It's a strange thing, holidays with a large family.

Eddie and Wayne don't really do Easter, it having been just the two of them for so many years. Sure, Eddie had woken up to baskets with plastic grass of various pastel colors when he was a kid, when Wayne was determined to give Eddie as normal of an upbringing as possible, but they've never had to plan a meal. There've never been assignments, or coordination, or questions like Who's bringing the mashed potatoes? Either Wayne grabs them at the store, or they don’t have them. Easy peasy.

This year is different. Easter 1987 brings friends, family, and a list that looks a lot like a menu on Steve Harrington's refrigerator. Eddie's name is scrawled in Steve's handwriting next to mashed potatoes, which explains why there's a huge pot of water on the stove and five pounds of potatoes glaring at him on Steve's counter. 

It doesn’t take much to convince Steve, who’s lovesick beyond words unbeknownst to Eddie, to let him take over his larger, better-equipped kitchen for the occasion. A simple pout and the fluttering of his eyelashes as he makes his case: "Please, Stevie? Take pity on poor ol' Eddie with his lack of a stand mixer and counterspace?” 

So he finds himself at the counter, music blasting at what feels like a soothing billion and five decibels, cutting potatoes like the cookbook he finds in the clutter of the trailer illustrates and bopping around to Dio’s Holy Diver. He isn’t much of a cook but there’s something comforting about the monotonous repetition of peeling and cutting, and plopping them into the pot of water. Comforting enough, in fact, that he doesn’t feel Steve’s eyes on him from the doorway, watching with a warm, fond smile. 

Steve watches and lets his thoughts drift, just for a moment, to future holidays. Of Memorial Day picnics, and Fourth of July pool parties, of birthdays, and Thanksgivings, and Christmases, and in all of them, every version and every iteration his hysterical, lovesick brain can conjure in that doorway, he wants this. He wants Eddie with wild hair just barely holding onto the elastic tying it back, with sweatpants that show his level of comfort around Steve, that show he can relax and not put on all of the airs he typically does for his look. Shit, he even wants to hear fucking Dio playing in the kitchen from the goddamn garage if it signals Eddie being present. 

He’s not sure when he started moving, but his body pulls him into the kitchen like the magnet holding the menu to the refrigerator door. 

“Hey,” he says, striding up to stand next to Eddie at the counter. “Need some help?” 

Eddie smiles and takes a sip of the beer Steve hasn’t seen until now, another indicator of Eddie making himself right at home. 

“The King assisting the lowly cook here? In the Castle kitchen? I’m honored.” Eddie fakes what Steve assumes is supposed to be a courtesy. He chuckles and hip bumps Eddie when he straightens back out. 

“Oh shut it and scoot over.” Steve’s voice betrays him, too syrupy and sweet to carry any annoyance, and Eddie notices. He turns just slightly, watching as Steve rummages through a drawer for a second knife. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you actually want to spend your morning making mashed potatoes with me, Steve.” 

He’s caught. Steve’s caught, hook, line, and sinker, and something about the genuine curiosity and hope in Eddie’s voice makes that okay. He doesn’t mind being caught when he’s in the safety of this domestic bubble with Eddie, because that’s what it is. It’s safe. 

The first round of potatoes don’t come out well. Their first kiss over the gloppy, gummy potatoes though? That goes perfectly.

[thru-the-grapevine]

Just Barely

Pairing: Hongjoong x fem!Reader

Genre: smut

Kinktober Day 1 (yes I'm aware I'm already late): Toys

Warnings: sex toys (vibrator), semi-public sex, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, face fucking

Word Count: 1714

They say hindsight is always 20-20. But looking back at the events that led you here, you never could have predicted this.

The sweet bartender at your favorite bar never once gave off the vibes that he had a whole other side to his personality. Sure, you could’ve deduced as much from the tattoo sleeves decorating his arms. But still, he was always so cordial and hard-working. How were you supposed to know what he was really like?

It started with flirting. To your credit, you noticed fairly quickly how Hongjoong paid special attention to you. It was only your second time at the bar, but among all your friends, he seemed to sway towards you every few minutes.

Something about Hongjoong was magnetic. His dark eyes held depths within them, and you couldn’t help but wonder what it’d be like to dive deeper. His features were sharp, and his hands… Oh, his hands were beautiful. You thoroughly enjoyed watching him shake drinks, his laugh lighting up the room around him. And when his elegant fingers wrapped themselves around the glass as he poured in his creation, you couldn’t help the way your breath hitched in your throat.

“What can I get for ya, doll?” Hongjoong’s voice startled you out of your daze.

Flustered that the very man you were just about drooling over was now in front of you, you quickly ordered your usual cocktail, a mojito. With a wink and a, “Comin’ right up!” Hongjoong sauntered away to mix your drink and take other orders.

You wondered why the air felt so warm all of a sudden, and used the flimsy paper menu to fan yourself as discreetly as you could. Your friend noticed and asked, “You okay?” she asked.

You nodded emphatically. “Yep! Just got a little warm for a second!” you insisted.

She eyed you for a moment, then grinned. “Alright, thanks for recommending this place! It’s great,” she said, sipping her drink.

You smiled back. “Yeah, I like it here.”

“One mojito for the pretty lady in blue,” Hongjoong said, placing your drink down in front of you.

You flushed. He thought you were pretty? You could say the same about him!

“Thank you,” you said, quietly sipping the drink. It was the best mojito you’d ever had. You glanced up at Hongjoong, who was waiting patiently with a small smirk on his face.

“So?” he asked.

“It’s so good! You’re really good at this,” you complimented.

The smirk widened. “Thank you,” he said, winking again. “Only the best for my favorite customer.” And with that, he bounced away, his attention already on someone else.

Thoroughly flustered, you took another sip of your drink to chase the thoughts away. Only, your next discovery didn’t help.

Stuck to the bottom of the glass was a small piece of paper. On it, Hongjoong had written “I get off at 11”.

Your head darted up, meeting Hongjoong’s eye. He grinned at you as he rolled his sleeves up, exposing the tattoos decorating his arms. You swallowed as discreetly as you could when he shook the mixer, making eye contact with you the entire time.

Yeah, you were screwed.

How Hongjoong played it so cool the rest of the night, you’ll never know. All you know is every glance you way, every light brush of his fingers against yours when he had you a drink, felt like an electric shock through your body.

You could feel the desperate need for any sort of pressure between your thighs when he handed you a glass of beer, his favorite, he claimed with a dazzling smile. His hand brush yours, his eyes never leaving your face.

Squirming a little in your seat, you took a deep breath and downed a good third of your glass. Hongjoong laughed his twinkling laugh. “Careful, pretty. You’re going to get me excited before my shift’s up.”

You nearly choked on your beer.

Hongjoong laughed again. “Actually, I have one more break before I finish the night. Come here.” His voice dropped lower, a stern look in his eye letting you know this was a command, not a suggestion.

Instantly, your body reacted, sliding off the barstool and trotting after him to the back of the restaurant. Hongjoong strutted past everyone, none of the other staff having time to pay attention to him and his unusual guest.

He led you to the breakroom, which was miraculously empty.

Confused, you crossed the threshold, only to find the door slamming shut behind you, and Hongjoong’s lips crashing onto yours. A surprised gasp left your mouth, and Hongjoong took full advantage. His tongue explored your mouth, learning every last bit of its new territory.

A moan left your mouth when Hongjoong’s hands drifted underneath your shirt, lifting it just a little to finger the band of your pants. But instead of exploring further, Hongjoong drew back.

“Take them off,” he ordered, nodding at your pants. He pulled something from the bag to his left. You didn’t question him, eager to know what he was planning.

Your eagerness turned to horror when you realized he was holding a small device you recognized as a remote control vibrator.

“Put it in,” he commanded again, handing you the little pink device.

“But-“ you started.

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “Now.”

His voice grew deeper, and you found yourself fumbling with the zipper on your jeans. Thoroughly red in the face, you slowly slid your pants down and stuck your hand into your underwear. You were to slick, the vibrator slipped right in, resting right over your clit.

“Fucking tease,” Hongjoong muttered when you didn’t take your underwear off and hurriedly pulled your pants back up.

Blushing, you fumbled with the button on your pants. Hongjoong’s tone was teasing, and you couldn’t deny that it turned you on so incredibly much.

You nearly cried out when the vibrator suddenly buzzed to life. Your head jerked up to meet Hongjoong’s eyes, a smirk on his face and the controller in his hands.

“This game we’re about to play has rules, sweetheart,” he said. “I get off work in two hours. The bar closes then too, so I have to clean up. If you can make it without cumming during that time, I’ll reward you.”

“Reward?” you managed to gasp out, the buzzer increasing in strength.

“Do what I say, and you’ll get to have it, babe,” Hongjoong stroked your cheek with his hand, grinning when he felt you already trembling beneath him.

He left the break room, and the buzzing stopped. You nearly collapsed to the floor. This wasn’t gonna be easy…

—

And easy it was not.

Hongjoong was cruel. He brought you to brink of orgasm, watching as your eyebrows knitted together and your hand holding your glass shook, only to then stop the vibrator altogether.

Every time it stopped, you involuntarily twitched in your seat, causing several well-meaning customers seated next to you to ask if you were okay. Nodding and doing your best to smile cheerfully, you lied, “Yep! Just a weird shiver, you know how it is.”

And they would laugh along with you, unknowing of the torture you were undergoing.

—

To your shock, you made it to closing. Barely.

And to your dismay, your little challenge got a whole lot harder after Hongjoong volunteered to finish closing up for everyone. A couple of the employees winked at you on their way out, but you chose to ignore them.

When the door closed, the vibrator sprang to life, immediately jumping up three settings. You gasped, finally allowed to make a little more noise with the restaurant empty. Hongjoong went about his business, putting things away and wiping down the bar.

Every time you made a little noise, he’d silently crank the vibrator up a notch until you were shaking under the highest setting. Your clit was throbbing, you legs were shaking, and without warning you came. Hard.

With a little shriek, you came onto the barstool, and the vibrator abruptly stopped. Head swimming, you startled when Hongjoong’s beautiful hand lifted up your head.

“And you were so close to winning too,” he chastised.

Tears sprang to your eyes unbidden. “I- no, I mean, I’m sorry-“ you tried to speak, still reeling from your sudden orgasm.

“Take your clothes off,” Hongjoong ordered, his eyes dark.

You scrambled to your feet, pulling your shirt over your head with a blush. When you took your pants off, Hongjoong grew impatient, lifting you up over his shoulder and bringing you behind the bar. He set you down on the bar counter, ripping your panties off you.

He knelt down in between your thighs, slowly pulling the vibrator out of you. He licked your juices off the little silicone toy. You watched, mouth hanging open a little as he swirled his tongue over the toy, wishing with every fiber of your being that he was doing that to you.

Hongjoong undid his pants, slowly freeing his hardened cock. You licked your lips. Hongjoong laughed. “Careful, sweetie, your lips will get chapped,” he said with mock worry.

You flushed. Hongjoong grinned and positioned himself up against you and thrusting in without much fanfare. You gasped, the stretch of him filling you up startling but delicious.

And Hongjoong began to pump, faster and faster, his cock hitting that sweet spot just right every time. Your little whines and moans began to increase in volume, Hongjoong’s pace never slowing down.

And just as you were teetering over the edge, so blissfully close to the knot in your stomach coming undone, Hongjoong pulled out.

Your head jerked up, a whine tearing from your throat.

But Hongjoong had no time for your complaints. “On your knees,” he ordered.

You hurriedly clambered off the counter and onto your knees, giving Hongjoong the sweetest look you could muster as you took his dick into your mouth. Hongjoong just laughed.

You gagged as he thrust forward, fucking into your throat mercilessly. Tears trailed down your cheeks, but you held firm, letting him facefuck you until he was cumming down your throat.

You swallowed his cum, wiping your tears. You looked up only to see Hongjoong zipping his pants back up. He winked at you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.”

[businessmanucaturer]

Industrial homogenizers and SPM Process Systems manufacturers, suppliers, and exporters in IndiaIn India, we are offering a homogenizer.

[wanderingelvis]

Your innocent!reader fics got me squealing and kicking my feet❤️❤️

I would love to see some domestic fluff with innocent reader, I see innocent reader as a cute lil baker! She’s always making new sweet treats for her daddy to make sure he knows she loves him❤️❤️

(But if anyone insulted her baking in any way shape or form big daddy Elvis would be PISSED haha)

I loveeeee this!!! I hope I did it proud!!

Let me know if you’d like a p.2 with someone insulting Readers baking!

🧚🏻 Masterlist 🧚🏻

word count: 1,604

pairings: Innocent F!Reader x Elvis

Everyone has a love language and for you, it's baking. Elvis finds it so sweet, watching you furrow your brow and stick your tongue out as you concentrate so much on making sure that every bit of the baking process is done to perfection. You just want to make your Daddy proud of you, know that you love him and for you, that means baking him something sweet at any opportunity you can find.

It can get messy but Elvis loves that. He loves patting the kitchen counter, knowing that you'll climb up onto it without thinking, that he has that kind of command over his little one now. He loves to firmly tell you to keep still as he takes a wet cloth and wipes it over your little fingers and over different areas of your face that are covered in flour or icing as you babble on and on about how excited you are to give him the baked goods that are in the oven all the while swinging your little legs back and forth like a good girl for your Daddy as he cleans you.

When Elvis bought you the brand new mixer that everyone in America is raving about as well as a brand new oven, you couldn't help but giggle and squeal, jumping into his arms and thanking him, enthusiastically promising that you'll him and the Mafia make the best cupcakes ever!

When the Mafia all arrived with their wives, you were busy and hard at work in the kitchen whilst Elvis greeted them, slipping them each a $50 dollar bill to enjoy your cupcakes no matter what, even if they didn't turn out quite as expected - which was the case.

You hadn't put a big enough egg in the mixture and you spent just a little too long babbling to Elvis about the flowers that Jerry's girlfriend had brought you and how pretty they were to notice that the cupcakes needed to come out of the oven so it was safe to say the cupcakes were dry and burnt.

In your defence, Elvis had just bought you a new oven and it was a complicated thing to use, so many buttons and dials that you just weren't sure where to even start and whilst Elvis would always insist on helping you, you'd told him that you'd be able to do this all on your own... but apparently not.

When you saw the burnt edges of the little cakes, you couldn't help but feel tears prick your eyes and your cheeks turn a deep shade of pink. The sudden embarrassment you felt was overwhelming as you heard the roaring laughter of Elvis and all of his friends in the next room and the pressure of serving them all your little cupcakes became a bit too much for you.

You were desperate to be a good, domestic, girlfriend for Elvis. You adored the domestic life with Elvis in Graceland. Elvis had swept you off your feet when you'd first met him backstage one of his shows and everything had been a bit of a whirlwind since then. 

Elvis could tell from your first conversation together that you were just an innocent and bubbly little thing and he could tell you were a people pleaser. Elvis was drawn to that and he invited you to join him on tour for a little while, which you accepted straight away. 

The thing about Elvis was that he wasn't like the immature boys that you knew from back home. He was a man, he was a King. His aura was magnetic and you never expected that he would pay you any attention but he did and you slowly began to grow dependant on him. 

But Elvis soon realised that the tour life wasn't for you. The sordid activities that would occur on tour were something that Elvis definitely didn't want you exposed to, so it wasn't long before he took you to Graceland. 

But you'd loved Graceland as soon as you'd arrived, tending to the plants, feeding the animals, baking all your little cakes and staying right by Elvis' side. However, right now, you were feeling less than content as you wandered shyly into the living room towards Elvis.

You tugged on his loose blue shirt that was slightly unbuttoned in an attempt to get his attention as he chuckled along to Lamar's story. He turned around, knowing 

"There's my baby," Elvis smiled before the grin softened when he noticed your anxious demeanour. "What's wrong darlin'?" Elvis asked with a raised eyebrow, looking down at you.

You gestured with your hand for him to come closer, not wanting to share with Lamar and Sonny what you wanted to tell your Daddy.

Elvis crouched in front of you, letting you cup your hands around his ear and whispering, "I ruined the cupcakes Daddy." You said softly with your voice trembling. 

"Oh little," Elvis cooed at the state of you. "They won't be ruined, want Daddy to come and take look hm?" Elvis asked you in an equally hushed tone to make sure you didn't feel even more embarrassed which you appreciated. 

You nodded, your bottom lip jutted out and teary eyes that had gone slightly red with the tears. Elvis extended his large hand for you to slip your little one in as he quietly excused the two of you and led you back into the kitchen as you followed behind skittishly. 

You anxiously chewed on your fingernails as you watched Elvis look over the tray of cupcakes, trying to anticipate his reaction. You really didn't want to let Elvis down, you'd tried really hard to make the cupcakes perfect. You furrowed your brow as you watched him smile at them and chuckle lowly, confused at why he was smiling at the sight of the cupcakes.

"Doll, these ain't ruined!" Elvis said, snaking his arm around your waist to bring you into his side and comfort you. "Look, see we can put some icing on 'em and they'll be just like the ones you like from that cute lil' bakery down the street." He said, tickling your neck to make you giggle and feel better.

Now, Elvis wouldn't really admit to you that you were right, the cupcakes didn't exactly look great, but he figured he'd be able to help with coating the soft cakes in icing.

"I just don't know how it happened, I know I was talkin' to you for a while but they cooked, like, at super speed!" You told Elvis, grabbing the manual for the oven. "Maybe I put it on the wrong buttons?" You mumbled, partially to Elvis, partially to yourself as you'd turned your concentration to the guide.

You flicked through the manual, reading all the instructions yet again, trying to figure out where you'd gone so wrong but all the jargon and terms were just confusing your little head even more.

"Damn it." You muttered, your brow furrowed and a pout on your lips, the words catching Elvis' attention.

"Uh, darlin', what have we said about you cursin'? I don't wanna punish you now," Elvis warned softly, knowing you were just frustrated and overstimulated.

"M'sorry, but you always say it!" You protested with a little whine, even if you knew he was right.

"I know, but we agreed on house rules that you weren't gonna curse none, and besides, those ain't words a baby should be usin' now, are they?" Elvis said, turning to crouch down by you so that he'd be level with you.

"M'not a baby." You said crankily - just like a baby.

"Of course you're not, little one." Elvis chided, as he would with a baby.

Elvis could tell that it was all becoming a little too much for you, so he gently took the manual from your hands, insisting that he'd take care of it all whilst he gave you all the edible decorations that you could put on the cakes to make them look all sweet and pretty.

By the time the two of you were done, they really didn't look that bad, you were grateful that Elvis had stepped in, knowing you wouldn't have been able to do it all on your own. 

You leaned up on your tippy-toes to give him a kiss, his strong arms wrapping around your waist as he lifted you off your feet, causing you to pull back from the kiss with a giggle.

Elvis walked behind you as you both left the kitchen into the dining room and living area, with you proudly holding a tray of the finished cupcakes, your face positively beaming with delight and anticipation at the decorated baked goods.

"Everyone, c'mere! Y/N has somethin' she wants to give y'all." Elvis called out, grinning down at you before offering you a wink, making you blush.

All of the Mafia and their girlfriends flocked to you, taking a cupcake each and complimenting them, making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside at everyone being so friendly and kind. You looked up at Elvis after everyone had taken a cupcake, shocked that everyone seemed to want one - little did you know about the $50 in everyones pockets.

"Here's your one!" You smiled, offering Elvis a cupcake that had icing formed into a love heart shape.

"Awh, thank you darlin'." Elvis praised, rubbing your back as he tucked into the cake. Sure, it was dry and a bit crumbly, but the icing had made up for it and it wasn't a bad attempt by any means, he was proud of you, knowing what this afternoon meant to you.

"D'ya like it?" You asked softly, nervous for his answer.

"Best cupcake I ever did have, yittle." Elvis chuckled. 

tag list: @prompted-wordsmith @vintagegirl2005 @imaginationlast @presleyenterprise @librafilms

@ccab @wolywolymoley @billhaderstan420 @waiting4brucewayne2adoptme @elvispresleywife

@ellie-24 @hollbunn @sassanoe @gothicphantom @eliseinmemphis @fallinlovewithurlove @astralheart21 @elvisbf @slimerspengler @octobers-snow @meetmeatyourworst @reddie-freddie @domaniquessidehoe

[southernfriedsims-blog]

This is one of my most favorite apartments ever.

Pantry by @pierisim; vintage stove & containers by @kkbsmm; tiles by @myshunosun; cabinets and counters by @madameriasims4; mixer by @icktoriasims; phone and chair by @wingedllama; @picardsims for the magnets an clutter deco; vintage calendar by @hanraja

[fakeosirian]

i tend to forget about it in the bustle of the Everything Else going on with the horns/hexes arc but the filming the ad for the school website bit is such an underrated gem

amber doing full on sunset boulevard norma desmond LARP. fabian vaguely scared when she pats him on the shoulder mid-take

fabian not being able to remember his “lines” about amber not being able to remember her lines so he reads it off his hand and no one comments

joy was born to be a director. her girltech ass headset. give her a movie deal NOW

palpable sense that somebody involved in the conception of this scene is using it to cope with longstanding and unresolved beef with an overbearing producer they've had to deal with in the past

every time mr sweet echoes a call before joy finishes saying it. the completely uncalled for simon cowell impression. joy fighting so hard to keep her mouth closed for the sake of the take. oh my god

like i cannot stress this enough it gets Three bullet points: if he wanted to 1st AD so bad he could at least throw out a QUIET ON SET but he can’t even do that right because He’s The Only One Talking

there are THREE (3) microphones present for ONE (1) source of sound: a shotgun mic on the camera, the boom (not hooked up to a mixer.), and this random ass standard stage mic just hanging around by one of the desks?? if all of those are hooked up directly to the camera...lord have mercy on whoever has to mix that mess

SHOPPING CART DOLLY (this is by far the most realistic detail. when i was in film school and no one wanted to drag one of the real dollies out of storage we'd push the cameraperson around in an old wheelchair)

when you take the previous two points in conjunction: the shopping cart is going to RUIN their audio. i don't think even wd-40 could save them. forget eddie's bodycount -- whoever got stuck on post-production for this mess is going to clear his record no problem

no additional lights. not even a lamp. you get whatever meager natural light comes through the windows (worst angle possible for it, too) and an overhead fixture that will no doubt look like hell in post especially because of the camera they're using (insult to injury to the post guy). SPEAKING OF THE CAMERA:

not only am i obsessed with it being a (completely appropriate for the time) digital video camera that probably records to magnetic tape but they actually bothered to hook it up to a monitor for real and show the live output as a nice tiny detail but...oh man.......that monitor.................sure provides...............information.......................

[goobersplat]

1980s Fridge Magnets

(Image ID: Seventeen fridge magnets in various shapes. From left to right: an orange and yellow flower, bread, a pink elephant, a giraffe, two bears with luggage, a pink fish, a red fish, a pineapple, a red sun with sunglasses, a crescent moon with sunglasses, a ladybug, a red macaw, a green macaw, a duck with a bow tie, two giraffes, a roster is a pot, and a mixer with a face.)

[nokuto]

Darkling stained glasses. I painstakingly edited the textures so they would appear this way in the game. Literally just magnetic lasso + channel mixer + hue/saturation and so many gradients.

There are a couple of other Station of Awakenings, but they only appear in pre-rendered cutscenes so the textures are not in the game files for me to edit.