#and move with the frequency of whatever is playing

[andr0nap]

edit: 4k texture upgrade >:)

watching you :)

[the-captain89]

Office Arrangement

Your work is usually flawless, so I was so surprised at your recent mistakes. One or two here and there is perfectly acceptable, but you were making typos and messing up copies with increased frequency each day. Every time a stopped by your desk to check up on you, you seemed to be either in a daze, your mind drifting away to another world, or face deep in your phone, only to slam it on your desk face-down the second you noticed I was approaching.

One day I approached from the back hallway, out of your line of sight. Whatever you were reading on your phone was so distracting you never heard me walk up and stand over your shoulder. I watched as your scrolled through tumblr, liking posts about girls getting stoned and used by strangers, or whores being used as free use sex objects on the subway. Images of naked girls tied up tight seemed to have you gripping your phone a little tighter, before liking that post, too. Then I saw a truly intriguing post. It was an illustration on a girl tied up and stuffed under a desk. The next image she was in the same position, but her boss was now sitting at the desk, and his cock was fully down her throat. The way she was tied and situated under the desk, she couldn't move an inch.

Just as you clicked on the heart icon to like the post, I shifted my weight on my feet and you heard my shoe scuff on the floor. You slammed your phone down and looked over to me, asking if I needed help with anything. "Oh no, sweetie, I've got everything I need." And walked away. You mind must've been racing! Did I see what you were looking at, or did you put your phone away fast enough? What did I mean when I said "I've got everything I need"? Did my smile seem mischievous to you?

I spent the rest of the week considering how to act. Your work improved quite a bit. Seems like you were a little more careful about browsing tumblr on your phone, but you were still daydreaming, and still making some mistakes here and there. Finally, after a week of deep thought, I called you into my office Friday afternoon.

"Shut the door." You obey. "Come." You walk over to my desk and stand with your arms by your side. "Sit." You take a seat across from me. I fight the urge to call you a good girl.

"I notice you seem to be a bit...distracted at work recently..." "Yes sir." "Your once flawless work has been riddled with errors." You bow your head down. "Yes, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir." "I'm going to keep a very close eye on you. Very close. If I don't see improvements, there will be repercussions, is that understood?" "Yes, Sir" "Look me in the eyes and tell me." You raise your head, and I can tell your blushing a little bit. "I understand, Sir, I will do better." "Good girl. Now, back to work." Your cheeks are bright red as you stand up and leave my office. Now I've got your attention, lets see how this plays out.

The next few weeks go by, uneventfully. Your work is once again flawless, but your attitude has changed. You straighten up when I walk by, and greet me in the morning with a cheerful "good morning, Sir" and I can't help but to smile each time. After about 3 weeks of flawless work, I come in one Monday morning to review your work and find a typo. Just one, but I make a note of it. I circle it in red pen and drop it off on your desk. Then Tuesday morning comes, and I find yet another typo. More red pen, back on your desk. Two strikes. Wednesday and Thursday you were once again flawless, but Friday morning, I find 3 typos, and an entire sheet missing from my report. That's three strikes. I mark up your mistakes with my red pen, and drop them off with you. "See me in my office at 5 today." Your head bows down. "Yes, Sir."

5 o'clock hits, and as the rest of the office packs up to leave, you enter my office. "Shut the door, and step over here." You shut the door and walk over to my desk, standing next to the empty chair waiting for my command to sit. It never comes. "I told you I would be keeping a very close eye on you, did I not?" "Yes, sir, you did." " And what did I say would happen if you didn't improve " "There would be repercussions, Sir." "Very good. Now over the course of this week, you have made 5 typos and omitted an entire page from a report. How do you think I should punish you?" "However you see fit, Sir." I stand up and walk over next to you. "Good answer. Now, bend over." Your eyes widen and you look at me. "Sir?" "Do you trust me?" "Yes Sir, I trust you." "Good. Now bend over." You're hesitant, but you bend over my desk and lay your head down on the hard wooden desk. "Hands behind you, wrists crossed on the small of your back." You obey, and I stand there and observe you for a moment, before grabbing a ruler from my desk. "Count them, out out for me, sweetheart." And i smack the ruler across your ass. "One." "One what?" "One, Sir." "Good girl." Smack "Two, sir." Smack "Three, sir" Smack, smack. "Four, sir. Five, sir." "Good girl. Now stand. That was 5 spanks for 5 typos. A missing page is a much more serious infraction. You have two options. Option A, you come in an hour early Monday morning and receive the punishment I see fit for the infraction, or option b, you come in Monday at your normal time, and you will be written up as any other employee would be. There will be no further physical punishments, and you will go back to be treated as every other employee. Is that understood?" "Yes Sir" "Good. Now take the weekend and consider these options. I look forward to seeing you Monday morning." "Thank you, sir" and you leave the office. Monday morning, I'm sat in my office. I couldn't sleep, so I've been here since 5 am. I hear the office door open just before 7. At your desk you find a note on top of a few sheets of paper, and a gift box. The note reads "if your reading this, than you've chosen to show up an hour early to receive your punishment. Read the contract I've left on your desk thoroughly. If you agree to all terms, sign and leave in the mailbox on my office door. Take the box to the restroom and exchange your work clothes for the outfit inside. Return to my office and enter. I will be waiting." After waiting for what feels like an eternity, I heard heels clicking down the hall. You've exchanged your typical sneakers for the heels in the box. As you step into my office, I'm greeted with the sight of you: tall black high heels, a teeny black latex skirt that just barely covers your ass, and a crop top, black, with the words "office whore" written across your chest. A pile of neatly coiled rope sits on my desk. You silently approach my desk, and bow your head down. I walk up to you, grabbing a length of rope. As I tie your wrists behind your back, I begin to inform you how your Monday will go:

"An entire page missing from a report is a major infraction. I've updated your schedule on the work calendar as out of office. As far as everyone else knows, you'll be out all day running errands for me. The reality is that you will be tied up tight under my desk, with a ring gag in your mouth. I will use your mouth and grope your body all day as much as I please. Whenever I cum in your mouth, you are to swallow every drop and lick my cock clean. If a single drop hits the floor, and will be spanked while you lick my floor clean. "

By the time I finish, you are fully secured under my desk. You test your restraints and feel that cant move an inch. I unzip my pants and present my cock to your mouth, which you eagerly take. "Good girl, now keep quiet while I hop on this conference call."

[poguehearted77]

Tap Out

Just thinking about Rafe's super gorgeous, beautifully breathtaking girlfriend who is notorious for giving people a hard time. Especially him.

She got that million dollar Million dollar oow, oow And all I want to do is touch it Make her tapout, tapout, tapout, tapout,

Rafe stands tall and brooding in front of the bed where you sat while he hits replay on the overbearing series of voicemails you'd left him while he was out.

"Hi Rafe, I know you said you and Barry had to go take care of whatever it was that you said—I don't know; I wasn't really listening, but I just saw this new coach bag online, and I need you to send me a picture of your credit card front and back so I can get it. Thanks in advance baby."

You stay silent and unbothered by the replay.

He plays the next one, "It's almost midnight, Rafe. When are you coming home? I miss you. The bed is so big and empty without you in it. You remember that night we came back from the Blue Diamond charity gala and we barely made it up the stairs? The way you fucked me so good, left me aching for you for days--mmmm, wanna feel you like that again, come home Rafeyy."

Your boyfriend huffs as he moves to play the last one except this one is silent for the first few moments until some lewd sounds can be picked up. It's wet and sticky. It sounds like Thanksgiving mac and cheese being stirred in the pot. Soon, the faintest string of moans can be heard.

Most wouldn't be able to pick up on it, but not Rafe. His ears are trained to the sound of your voice. He's accustomed to every pitch, tone and frequency your pleasure can take on.

You stand, ready to plead your case, "You were gone for hours, what was I supposed to do?" Your arms cross defensively and they suddenly drop when Rafe's big hand is holding you by the throat, squeezing tight enough to have you gasping.

"You think this shit is funny?" His voice is strict, unwavering and serious. "What if Barry heard this? Huh?" Your eyes roll, defences refusing to crumble even with a limited supply of air, "It's Barry, he'd probably thank me-"

You need to learn when to shut up at the end of a rhetorical question because now Rafe had you bent up like a pretzel. One hand is still around your neck while the other holds you at the waist.

Your legs are shaking as he brings you to what you thought was your third orgasm but is actually the fourth (you'd blacked out during the second one). "Rafe- no- s'too much," You murmur, voice broken and weak from all your screams.

"Nothin's too much for you." He groans, punctuating his sentences with a sharp snap of his hips. It sends you reeling and your eyes roll back as you feel that familiar heat begin to unfurl in your core.

You shake your head repeatedly, "I can't--Rafe! Please." You beg, so incredibly turned on by the sight of your hot boyfriend who looked down to where your bodies connected. The way your slick covered his cock down to his balls. It pulls a groan out of him from his core.

You admired the sweat that gathered over the thin hairs on his chest and that piercing blue gaze that would glance up at you from time to time to taunt you like now. "You know what to do if you can't take it sweet thing." You do know what to do, but you refuse to back down, you're so close.

"O-oh shit I'm-" The words escape and your climax is stolen from you when Rafe stops completely and pulls out, his hands move down to your hips, shamelessly displaying his physical dominance over you and flipping you onto your stomach effortlessly.

He grips the flesh of your waist and manhandles you until you're being pulled back against him, the beautiful sight of your plump and juicy ass in his hands is enough to send him to the heavens above or maybe the firey pits below.

You're already too weak to hold yourself up on your arms, so you let yourself fall into the sheets. Your cries muffled into the pillows as Rafe slowly presses back into you, stretching you back open. His rhythm picks up with nothing but urgency and mercilessness.

Your back arches, and you cry out his name when you're blinded by your own orgasm. Coming undone once more and he comes soon after with a breathy chuckle. His hips are still rolling into yours lethargicly when he whispers, "You got one more in you, baby?"

"Fuck no. I'm done." You whine, your fists tapping out on the pillow and his pace slows until he finally stops, slowly pulling out.

"That'll teach you to fuck with my voicemails when I'm not here." He lays himself down beside you, carefully moving the stray strands of hair out of your face to admire you.

Your lips were swollen from all the sucking and biting he'd done to them earlier, your cheeks flushed and your body is spent. You grin, "You know you liked it, especially that last one." Rafe exhaled, even in your drained state you can still find time to be bratty.

"I did, I did. You sounded so fucking pretty playing with that perfect pussy of yours. Had to go rub one out in Barry's bathroom because of you." You smile a little bigger at that. "Good." Is all you say and Rafe can only roll his eyes as he moves to hold you in his arms.

You both lay there, enjoying the warmth of each other's bodies until Rafe speaks up softly, "Tuesday." He says, and your head looks up at him with a confused tilt. Without having to ask him, he explains, "The purse you want. I ordered it. It'll be here on Tuesday."

Just when your smile couldn't get any bigger, it does, and Rafe can't help but to be in awe because god you're so fucking gorgeous but you're such a pain in the ass.

His prettiest headache.

[h1biscusgal]

Tee hee y'all, i'm not back but i loved y'all sm so take this subliminal i took six days to perfect.

I AM NOT BACK, NO, I AM SO SORRY.

my studying session been going good AND YALLLLLLL I MISS YOU SO MUCH, I CAN'T EVEN EXPLAIN.

so, last week, when i closed tumblr, my mind was reeling from one thing it kept repeating itself:

"i wanna give smth to my people in tumblr."

why? i've seen people having problems for the void, i've seen people say they are so close but their "heartbeat" stops them, some say they sleep without knowing.

so i thought.

"mf, why not a subliminal that will fucking guarantee you to enter IN EVERRRYYYY situation?"

think you need to keep awake? this sub

think you need to sleep to enter the void? still this sub

need to enter while using it? this sub

need to enter but can't have your phone with you during sleep? again this sub, you can listen to it during the day and try at night.

like WHATEVER the fuck you do, i have made a loophole for it, now for god's sake please be careful, it gave me such a headache making it my head is still pounding, it has PURE fucking delta waves and 5 set of repeated NON-LAYERED NOT TOO SPED UP affirmations, why?

these are the safest type of affirmations that penetrate the subconscious, i cannot express this enough please.

PLEASE BE FUCKING CAREFUL WITH IT, DON'T LOOP TOO MUCH, DELTA WAVES CAN MAKE YOU DEADASS TIRED.

now this? holy shit this? i call it my beautiful Voided Hibiscus project, and yes i love hibiscuses-

this sub???

here's the benefits:

Voided Hibiscus is a one-of-a-kind, high-power subliminal crafted to guarantee entry into the Void State — no matter your state of mind, environment, or experience level.

Whether you're lying still or fidgeting, wide awake or asleep, listening consciously or with it running in the background — the moment this subliminal activates, the Void becomes inevitable, it is fucking guaranteed and i made so sure of it by science.

During these exact 22 minutes and 22 seconds, your mind will swallow THE LITERAL definition of "master at void." The affirmations are layered with master precision — spoken, whispered, echoed, reversed — to penetrate the deepest layers of the subconscious, bypassing every mental block, doubt, or distraction. Delta isochronic tones pulse beneath the surface, gently entraining your brain to the perfect frequency of surrender, silence, and awareness, like ya'll i am NOT playing.

This is for you if:

You want to enter the Void effortlessly, with full certainty.

You want to enter during the day, or while sleeping — either way works.

You’re tired of trying methods and want results without effort.

You want a subliminal that works permanently — even after you stop listening.

Features:

Affirmations that dissolve fidgeting, overthinking, boredom, and resistance.

Built-in confidence: You will never doubt your ability to enter the void again.

Repetition formula designed to rewrite your subconscious with absolute certainty.

Works even if you accidentally fall asleep.

Activates the Void even when played silently or in the background.

After consistent listening, your command over the Void becomes instinctual.

like mf, you is the bored type? you is the annoyed impatient as fuck type? you is the type to try for 2 minutes and give up? homie this shit will throw you in the void while you move, fidget, breathe hard, feeling bored, sleep accidentally.

like what the fuck am i supposed to do next-

THIS CAN BE USED IN THREE WAYS:

awake method: lay down and have it on your head (no mf you won't sleep accidentally and ruin it bc i backed it up that you'll wake up there) and simply repeat affs for it, watch yourself enter without even knowing how the fuck you entered, i swear if you trust? you'll enter within the duration of those 22 minutes and 22 seconds, there's no "when", it's like a guarantee.

sleep method: if you is the type that yo parents let you have your phone with you? use it overnight and watch yourself wake up in the void.

thru-theday method: just listen to it during the day and do any method before sleep or just anywhere and bam.

there's no "how" here, this sub? almost made me tumble, i am not tryna brag, no seriously, but i thought to post smth that helps ppl, now let me stop yapping the fuck out and take this:

(so sorry for this quick and messy post-)

good luck loves, and send me the asks and messages coming! i'll be on here for a very few minutes and see what asks there is to answer.

EDIT: I AM SORRY WHAT THE FUCK???? LAST TIME I CHECKED I HAD 661 FOLLOWERS NOW IT'S A 1700 SMTH????? I AM SCREAMING PLEASE I LOVE YALL SO MUCH??? I CAN'T BELIEVE IT I WANNA CRY PLEASE.

[keferon]

Two Peas in a Pod: part 6/?

Thank you for the cake and the art and your crazy tags♡♡ you feed me so well so here's some more words!!

Lets see how many of you guest right, lol, they're both stupid, I love them.

__________________________________

A group walking down the corridor on the other side of the glass before six a.m was unusual. And given the volume and rapid chatter, something had either excited them or had them nervous. But when one stopped to peer through the window, looking for Prowl – they would not see him, he refused to be gawked at – there was a possibly it had something to do with him.  

Prowl suspected that if that was the case, his mobility played a key part. The humans had been more skittish since he had first left the hammock yesterday. Their fear was not misplaced, with the returned ease of swimming, his threat value had more than doubled.  

While he would not act unless pressed – as it would be wasted effort with the current situation – Prowl was not completely against whatever illusion that the humans had of him. Let them fear him. It would keep most away and leaving fewer for him to deal with; those brave or stupid enough to still come near him. 

The elated shout of Jazz that came from beyond the wall drew in his attention. Prowl sighed softly, recalling the current state of the language barrier. What he wouldn't give for a stylus and a data-pad. Even a simple drawing one would suffice. 

He didn't get to linger in dismay as he heard Jazz swim by, but not stay. The view port on the gate was still shut from yesterday so maybe Jazz had just come to check if they would open it? But then he came by again a few seconds later, and then again.  

Swimming laps. But was it excitement or anxiety?  

Prowl silently approached the gate and rested his forehead against it, listening. The body of water on the other side was much bigger, that much he already knew, but most of the walls and floors of this place were like stone, leaving empty spaces all over his vision. Places sound bounced off of, but didn't pass through.  

Metal wasn't necessarily any better, but it tended to reverberate; depending on its composition, and if one was skilled enough, you could see what was beyond or within the metal.  

But the gate was metal, and Prowl was that skilled. Tuning his sonar with careful precision, he eventually found the frequency that gave him the best image.  

Inside, it was primarily hollow, with large connecting rods and cylinders leading to alien machinery that was too complex to make out with outside noise causing glitch-like distortions across what he could see. But the guts of the wall weren't his goal currently. 

Outside was where he drew in his focus. Towards the centre he could very faintly see Jazz as he circled. His sonar images may be in terrible quality, but Prowl had become quite familiar with the other orca's particular blob. It was like watching something move from darkness to light or adjusting the contrast of an image. Jazz was bright and his silhouette shape clearly a mer when he was close, while dim and barely a lopsided oval when he was far.  

He was tempted to calculate the distance and overall, the space Jazz was swimming, but – to the right he had picked up on a platform. One that more and more humans seemed to be gathering on. At first, Prowl was worried that the other mer might be in danger, but after a few more laps Jazz approached and waited at the edge. 

For a few minutes, nothing changed. Until Jazz moved to somewhere in the middle, almost straight out from the gate, and the humans began to spread out. Something was up and Prowl kept searching and listening for anything that might give him insight.  

Till the screeching hiss of the machine attached to the gate suddenly came to life, causing Prowl to recoil. Losing his sonar temporarily as he worked through the noise. It was like a camera flash that blinded you for a second, only this one was a flash against your mind and a bang in your ears at the same time. But Prowl was used to ambushes and this certainly wasn't the worst sonar attack he's experienced, so this wouldn't hinder him, it was just annoying. 

Pressing himself against the floor and the wall out of view of the door, he waited. After the passageway had slid completely open, Prowl remained only for an extra moment, just long enough to tell that nothing was coming. Then he cautiously moved to investigate. 

With the recovery of his sonar and the obstacle removed, Prowl sent a few quick clicks to pinpoint all the humans. There were seven he could find, though there could be more outside his currently limited range. A poorly laid out ambush regardless, if that was the plan, and chances were very low – seeing as the humans were providing him with medical treatment, they clearly wanted him alive – but it wasn't zero. Prowl really didn't want to fight at this stage of his imprisonment, firstly; his wounds still posed a risk to his overall survival, secondly; he needed to gather more information before he could put together a plan of escape.  

When Jazz waved at him, Prowl resigned to the fact that he – or perhaps they – were being closely monitored and there was nothing that could be done about it. So, for now, he would resume gaining an ally, or at the very least a cooperative collaborator. The other captive orca remained at the top of his priority list for making any future plans have greater odds of success. Working out the communication issue aside, he needs this 'first meeting' to go properly and smoothly before anything else could proceed.  

And it looked as though the audience had Jazz tense and on the defensive. Nothing a little show of reassurance of Prowl as an ally couldn't remedy surely. 

So, Prowl approached with an appropriate speed for closing the distance between an acquaintance, with his arms set at a relaxed, yet polite place along his sides. When he stood before Jazz, he made sure to keep a respectable space, posed with and holding a practised expression of polite professionalism. Choosing to have his most vulnerable side forward in a grand gesture of trust, further expressing that he had no intentions of bringing him harm. 

He anticipated a moment of hesitance, allowing Jazz the time to observe him, to look for signs of deceit. But when his roaming eyes became fixed on his wounded flank, admiration showing in his expression, Prowl flicked his tail for Jazz's attention. Prowl wouldn't look too deep into it, but past experience made him keep note. 

Jazz showed that he was at least slightly embarrassed – good – but when he did not make a move to greet Prowl with the same gesture of goodwill. Continuing to face him head on had Prowl now searching for signs of what his intention were. But while he did, Prowl began to express slight irritation, in hopes the other would cease and desist.  

The other mer reacted by rising and Prowl tensed. Jazz must have had trust issues from past bad experiences if he was attempting to intimidate him with the present state of their body. Where he had been found gravely wounded, Jazz must had been found starving… Or there was the very slight chance that he had recently hit his last growth spurt and he was just a lanky cocksure young adult wanting to show-off. 

Jazz quickly paused, pointing and waving for Prowl to follow. Obviously wanting to move to the surface to speak. Fine.  

But then he smiled, and not in a friendly way, no, this one was clearly practised. Smooth, confident, and forward. Prowl had dealt with plenty of celebrities and politicians to know what a charming smile looks like, and very aware it was an illusion of friendliness to lure or entertain. Cocky youth had adjusted from 'very slight' to 'likely'. So, Prowl readied for a foolish game of posturing. 

{Sorry, Prowler.} Was the first thing out of his mouth and his smile diminished to a more acceptable nature.  

Good, Prowl thought at first, maybe Jazz had realized that he would not sway Prowl. However, Jazz still refused to back down, flaunting confidence with lax posture. Speaking in an almost gentle reassurance, {it's okay. Prowler, it's okay.} 

Then everything started coming together – prolonged staring, hints of interest, slight embarrassment, insistent forward facing, too friendly of smiles aimed at a stranger – and the almost certain likelihood of Jazz's youth. Prowl was both irritated and bewildered at his own conclusion; Jazz was flirting with him. 

Primus, he wanted to be wrong. But… nothing else made sense about Jazz's behaviour! 

Not wanting this nonsense to continue, Prowl kept his formal disposition of his side facing Jazz and backed off just enough to show refusal, but not a sign of submission. Prowl firmly said, {no.} 

{Wait! I —– } Jazz started to approach.  

{Stop,} he said as his scowl had grown into a harsh glare and he quickly turned his body to face him fully, but didn't back away. {trying okay.} 

Jazz did stop his advance. Though now apparently, they were locked in some sort of stare down. How else could he express his rejection without this braking out into a physical confrontation? 

Again, Jazz moves, this time slowly opening his arms to boldly offer a hug and still keeping a steady friendly smile. Like he's asking for a chance. But was only baffling Prowl further. Why are you so instant? 

" 'tzz." He said, the other mer's name was still difficult to pronounce, but he wanted to be clear. Speaking with a warning as he readied to strike. It wouldn't be the first time a pursuer needed a smack to take a hint. But Prowl really didn't want to fight. {Stop.}  

Jazz was back to rambling in the human's language, his tone was wavering between calm and frustration. But when he pulled away; after his words had done nothing to change Prowl's stance, Jazz squared up. 

Prowl did not hesitate and made a clean charge to Jazz's chest, forcing them both under.  

While Jazz recoiled and darted away to collect himself. Prowl rolled his shoulder in discomfort. The impact had still jostled his injuries, but it had been the best option. Biting would have been taking it too far, using even his right arm would have been agonizing, and spinning around to use his tail would have allowed Jazz time to react. No, this was good enough.  

Or so he thought when he returned to Jazz to see if he was willing to be respectful of the situation. While Prowl was willing to try and start anew with a mutual understanding, side-ways faced and still offering trust with showing his wounded side.  

Jazz looked upset, understandably so as that harsh of a rejection was never pleasant. But this language barrier was really getting in the way. He was speaking human words again, irritation clear in his voice. But then he took a deep breath and started slinking towards him. Still openly refusing Prowl's offer of peaceful intentions. 

And... now we've come down to a battle for dominance. Wonderful. Prowl had a slight bit of respect for the other's determination in not wanting to submit when clearly out matched, but this was hardly the time nor the place. Prowl fixed Jazz with a glare, promising punishment as he started to plan out his attacks that would not cause too much pain, but enough to humble the punk. 

{Please, Prowler, stop.} 

Gladly, but you first. {No, you stop, ['tzz.]}  

He did, {what,} but not without pointing back and forth between them, {why?} 

WHY!? 

Despite his mounting frustration of being unable to explain or even have Jazz possibly clear things up on his end as well. Prowl did his best to make it as physically clear as he could by returning to the calm request and offer to have no ill intentions between them, that they can be on equal ground. He even went as far as to break eye contact and look away, just in case that was feeding into his miscommunication with Jazz. 

{Prowler,} Jazz sighed, calling out to him softly, and daring to inch closer.  

Prowl tensed; he had tolerated that nickname due to his own inability to say Jazz's properly. But him using it– using it like that was–  

That was not– I'm not submitting to you, you punk!  

Bristling, Prowl twisted and lunged for the other mer. Only clipping him this time, but was swift with a sharp turn to follow through with his earlier threat. And Jazz tried and failed to escape him. Charge after charge, Prowl battered him with carefully made strikes. Making it clear that when he stopped and let Jazz get away, that he had allowed it to happen.  

When he met Jazz on the surface once more. Prowl remained facing him head on, silently asking if he wanted another round of showing just how out of his league he really was. Regardless if that kind of movement put strain on his healing body, that he could feel the sharp pull of new tissues fighting against the flex of muscle. He could probably get away with a few more attacks before something popped open. 

{Please, Prowler. Please, stop.} Jazz begged. 

But Prowl waited to see if Jazz was being honest about putting this to an end. After a minute of neither of them making a move. Prowl once again turned so his side face Jazz and this time Jazz mirrored him.   

Prowl then gave a loud breath of relief and laid down to float on his back. Finally! No more idiotic posturing.  

Jazz also followed him in releasing the tension and floating, though he looked humiliated. 

Good, you should be embarrassed. 

__________________________________

I hope you found this as funny as I did. XD And now that the boys can be in the same pool, it's time for bonding and shenanigans!! >:3c

Prowl: doing everything by the book and reading into every micro expression to aim for the best results.

Jazz: trying to restrain his overflowing excitement and desire to make a friend. (but also has a budding crush) be cool, be cool OuO;;

Prowl: sees Jazz's not-so-hidden excitement and desire. what – here – right now – but also why? … sigh, you're just a shameless flirt aren't you? :/

IS IT really a jp fic if they aren't– Check List ✔ Arguing at least once ✔ Fighting at least once ✔ Jazz being an absolute flirt (unintentional currently, but still counts!) ✔ Prowl greatly misunderstanding a situation with Jazz at least once

Also, I've seen the pleas of the lovely readers!! I will post this fic on ao3 in the next day or so. But since this is my gift to my platonic love ♡♡♡Keferon♡♡♡ updates will be delivered here first.

Until you want me to stop dropping the fic in your inbox♡ -GLC

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WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZE oh my god they're fucking stupid ahahajjakfkfmgndb

I was wroNG ahaha I was completely wrong. Jazz wasn't saying "fuck you" in the last part it was "let's fuck" /j

To be fair. If I was held captive with the other random human and they greeted me by staring at my ass and then enthusiastically approaching despite me showing that I'm not okay with them flirting with me? Yeah no I completely understand Prowl haha.

Also. This isn't directly related to this part but. Sigh. I made some doodles of Blaster after reading the previous part and then.uh. completely forgot to show them. So I guess I'll throw them here now lol

[purinfelix]

plsplsplspslpsl write calling bf barca boys (pedri, fermin, joao) + jude bellingham "bro"

"bro"

featuring: pedri, fermin, joao, gavi (i had to include my bby sorryyy!) and jude warnings: teensy bit cringe at times, be warned ...

a/n: once again apologising for being ia, but an eternal thank you to anon and every one else who's still interacting with me and sending me requests!! trying my best to get through them, thank you all for your patience <333

You don’t remember how it had happened honestly, the two of you had just been hanging out in his bedroom, a situation you had come to find comfort in since its frequency had become almost like a routine to the two of you. The air outside was cool, giving the two of you an excuse to curl up together under the blanket and binge watch episodes of your favourite show in a comfortable silence. That was, of course, until you heard the chime of your phone - causing you to perk up out of your boyfriends arms.

“Bro, could you get that for me?”

Pedri

Honestly he doesn’t think much of it at first, since your guys’ relationship has always been pretty casual in the way that you both trust each other enough not to overreact. He reckons that it probably slipped out by accident, and given that it’s what most of his teammates and friends call him, he doesn’t react that much. Sure, he noticed it, and filed it away to the back of his mind as a sign that you might be mad with him but he’s a pretty calm boyfriend only offers an amused eyebrow raise.

It’s only when he leans over and grabs your phone do you realise what you’ve said - but only decide to double down on it to get a reaction out of him.

“Thanks bro,” you say as nonchalantly as you can manage when he hands you your phone, immediately going to respond to whatever message had caused the notification sound. And at first it seems like he’s not going to indulge your obvious bait for a reaction - of course until you hear the rustle of bed sheets and his strong arm snake around your waist.

He lets out a soft mumble that roughly translates to - “What is it baby?” - as he buries his face into the crook of your neck in a loving, yet almost pleading manner. It doesn’t take long for you to give in to his charms.

“I’m only messing with you,” you giggle, patting the top of his head reassuringly.

Fermin

If there’s one thing you know about Fermin, it’s that he’s observant. However, another thing about him is that he’s a sly little shit. So whenever he feels he can sense you trying to prod at his temper it only ends in him serving you back your own attitude.

“Of course, bro,” he says, and even though you’re not looking at him as he turns to grab your phone, you can tell he has a wide smirk spread across his face.

You only give him a knowing look, and try your best to maintain your composure while stifling your laughter - but the minute he drops your phone into your hands you know he’s not going to back down on this.

“Thanks, dude,” you quip.

“Any time, my man.”

Silence, and you’re trying to figure out your next comeback while ignoring the weird way him calling you ‘my man’ made you feel. You feel oddly stupid for starting a game you know you couldn’t keep up with, but luckily your boyfriend has already caught wind of this by the look of amusement on his face.

“Something wrong, mate?” he chuckles as he leans over to peck your lips that you hadn’t realised had formed a pout. All you can do is sigh in faux-exhaustion before erupting into a fit of laughter.

Joao

It’s only once he’s reached over to grab your phone, that he clocks the odd new nickname. Immediately, but silently, his mind starts racing through the possible reasons as to why you’ve bestowed it upon him - did he do something wrong? He did only kiss you twice before leaving for training that morning, and he did accidentally move away from you when the two of you were cuddling earlier. He’s worried, but he’s also up to play your game if need be.

His grip on your phone tightens, and you hear his voice low, daring - “What was that darling?”

You truly meant it as an accident this time, and he manages to snap you out of it with his words. “Oh, sorry, babe,” you correct yourself and he nods as if to silently say that’s better.

You get your phone from him, and a quick kiss on the cheek before he settles back to wrapping his arms around you, tucking his head into the crook of your neck so he can look at your phone next to you.

Gavi

Whilst something like being called “bro” might not matter to most other guys, it definitely did to your boyfriend. His reaction to your words was immediate, his head whipping up from where he had been laying beside you, eyes round and pleading.

“What?” his voice was quiet, almost unbelieving and you had to try your best not to laugh at how dramatic your boyfriend’s reaction was. Still, a small chuckle escapes your lips, only making you feel worse as a small pout forms from his lips.

“Sorry, it slipped out,” you reassure him, reaching up a hand to stroke his cheek lovingly. He furrows his brows as if to pose the question - are you sure? But you only take this as a sign to mess with him, just a little more.

“What, you don’t like me calling you bro?” You’ve completely forgotten about your phone at this point.

“No, definitely not.” He’s oddly serious when he says this, but this only adds to how amused you are by this situation.

“Alright baby,” you hum out your apology, trying your best to further express this through your thumb on his cheek - and luckily he seems to get the message. Before you know it, he’s melted back into your arms, your fingers curling lazily around his hair.

Jude

“What?”

Jude is quick with it, turning to you immediately as soon as the word leaves your mouth with an expression that makes you realise your mistake all too quickly.

“Bro?” he asks again, almost daring you to repeat it, but the shocked laugh he lets out reassures you he isn’t taking it to seriously - only getting an unfair amount of amusement from your mistake.

“Whatever, babe, there,” you say in mock-annoyance, not wanting to let him get the better of you.

“Nuh-uh, you called me bro,” he pushed, leaning in close to you, his voice teasing.

“It was an accident, okay?”

“Sure,” he hums, finally grabbing your phone and handing it to you, all the while having a stupid smirk on his face, “I’ll just have to start calling you mate or something, yeah?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you mutter through pouted lips and he finally gives up the act, settling back by your side and pecking your cheek as an apology.

[thecuriousbeauty]

Different Frequencies- Part I (Harry Styles! au x autistic!reader)

A/N:- Hey guys, know it's been a while but I'm back with a short series for you all! This is my first time writing about autism, and I've done quite some research before writing about a particular scene. Just wanted to try something different and push my own personal boundaries and style of writing. Hope you love this, do let me know what you think!

Word count: 6,068

Synopsis- College heartthrob and football captain Harry Styles needs extra credit to survive the year. His only shot? Mentoring Y/N, a brilliant but blunt autistic student who couldn’t care less about his charm. What starts as an obligation soon sparks something neither of them expected. ________________________________

Harry Styles slumped further into the chair, arms crossed, jaw clenched. He hated meetings like this. Academic probation. Extra credit. Assigned tutoring. It all sounded like a punishment for being a guy who just wanted to play ball and mind his own business.

Professor Langley adjusted her glasses and gave him a look that made him feel twelve again. "Harry, you're two percentage points from failing this course. I’m giving you a chance. This assignment could save your season."

"What kind of assignment?" Harry asked, already knowing he wouldn't like the answer.

She slid a form across the desk. "Communication mentorship. You’ll be helping a student with presentation skills. One-on-one. Weekly sessions."

Harry stared at the paper like it might bite. "You’re kidding. That’s not extra credit, that’s babysitting."

Professor Langley raised an eyebrow. “It’s mentoring. And it counts toward your final grade. Besides, she could use someone with confidence. You’ve got that in spades, Mr. Styles.”

He stood, shoving the chair back with a screech. “This is bullsh—” He stopped himself. "Whatever. Fine."

“Her name is y/n y/l/n.” Langley called as he grabbed the door handle. “She’s in your sociology class. You’ll start tomorrow. Try not to scare her off.”

Harry didn't answer. He was already gone.

The locker room was a sanctuary of noise and sweat. The scent of muscle rub and cheap deodorant hit him the second he walked in. His teammates were already tossing towels and talking trash when he dropped his bag by his locker and dropped himself onto the bench with a groan.

“Yo, Styles,” called Jamal, grinning. “You look like someone just told you no more carbs.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, still annoyed. “I just got assigned to tutor someone for extra credit.”

“Pfft, easy points,” said Nate, slapping on his studs. “Who is it? Hot and dumb? Or just dumb?”

“Neither,” Harry muttered. “Some girl named y/n.. She can’t do presentations or something.”

Jamal leaned around the row of lockers. “Wait. y/n y/l/n? The one who sits in the front row and never talks?”

“I don’t know, man. I guess?” Harry sighed. “Langley said she needs help communicating.’ I don’t even know what that means. I'm not a damn therapist.”

“Dude,” Nate snorted. “Maybe she’s just shy. Help her say a few words, get your credit, move on. Could be worse.”

Harry didn’t answer. He stared at the floor, jaw working. This wasn’t part of the plan. He had enough to worry about with playoffs, scouts, and barely passing classes as it was.

“Come on, let’s hit the field. You can worry about your little assignment later.”, Nate brings him out of his thoughts. The boys hit the field for their practice drills. Harry kicked the ball into goals like it didn’t take any effort. The crowd of students lounging on the bleachers erupted into cheers, mostly girls, mostly there for him.

“Harry!” someone shrieked. He didn’t need to look to know who it was, or at least what type. Makeup thick, smiles plastic, phones pointed at him like he was a zoo animal doing tricks.

He gave a wink, then jogged backward with a smirk, tossing the ball lazily to the sideline.

“Styles!” Coach barked. “Focus up. We’re not out here to show off for your little fan club.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, though the grin never left his face. He didn’t need to try. The attention just happened, always had. He’d always been the guy. Campus darling. Locker room legend.

The girls in the stands giggled again when he peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt during water break. He flexed without meaning to, or maybe he did. 

Nate bumped his shoulder. “You ever get tired of being the main character?”

Harry chuckled, wiping his face with his shirt. “Not even a little.”

But the thought of that meeting with Professor Langley poked at the edge of his mind again. Extra credit. y/n. Some awkward girl who probably hated crowds and wouldn’t survive a minute on this field.

He glanced back toward the stands. The noise. The attention. The weight of always being watched. It was exhausting, sometimes. But it was all he knew.

A nerdy girl who didn’t speak much? Probably afraid of her own shadow?

No way she’d survive a day in his world. And no way she belonged in it.Still... if it kept him on the field, he’d do it. How hard could it be?

__________________________________________

The art room smelled like pencil shavings, old paper, and something faintly metallic, maybe the broken sink in the back again. It was quiet, except for the scratch of graphite against textured paper and the distant hum of a fan that had been dying for weeks.

Y/N sat curled over her sketchpad, fingers steady, her pencil dancing in clean, deliberate lines. She had been working on the shading for twenty-two minutes and forty-eight seconds. Her reference photo, a raven mid-flight, was clipped to the corner of her clipboard, but she didn’t need it anymore. The image lived behind her eyes now. What mattered was getting the wings just right.

Light on the top edge. Darker where the feathers tucked under.

One line. Then a pause to smudge with the side of her thumb.

She didn’t blink much when she was like this, didn't notice the fluorescent light flickering above or the scrape of a chair leg from across the room.

Zayn was talking again.

“…and then she said it’s not a date if we’re just studying, but like, we both know she brought two iced coffees, so that is a date, right? I mean, who brings someone iced coffee unless they’re into them?”

Y/N blinked once, just enough to wet her eyes, then continued shading.

He was sitting on the table next to hers, legs swinging, half-laughing at his own ramble. She didn’t need to respond. He didn’t expect her to. That was why he was safe.

The smudge on the raven’s wing was too sharp. She reached for the kneaded eraser and pressed gently to lift the graphite, shaping the light.

Zayn leaned sideways to peek at her drawing. “Yo, that’s creepy good. Like, museum-level bird vibes. You sure you’re not secretly famous on Instagram?”

“Instagram compresses resolution,” she said quietly, eyes never leaving the paper.

Zayn snorted. “Okay, nerd. Still though, you should post it. People like birds. Birds are, like, emotionally safe or whatever.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t want to think about people looking at her art. Looking at her, period. In here, it was just the bird. The sweep of the wing. The pressure of the pencil. She knew how hard to press for light, medium, or dark. It made sense. Unlike faces. Or voices. Or—

“Did you hear me?” Zayn asked, nudging her arm lightly.

“Mm.” She blinked again, and the bird’s eye looked back at her, perfectly round, perfectly sharp. Alive.

“I asked if you’re gonna go to the art show next month. You know, the show? The one you always skip?”

“No.” She moved to the feathers on the tail. “I don’t know how to answer..questions that people ask. They will ask questions, right? Cannot..cannot explain art.”

Zayn stretched out on the table like a cat. “You don’t have to say anything. I’ll be your bodyguard. Scowl at anyone who talks too loud or smells like Axe.”

Y/N’s lip twitched. Barely a smile, but close.

The bird was almost done. She reached for her thin mechanical pencil, the one with the perfect .3mm tip, and started adding the linework on the beak.

Every line she drew quieted the rest of the world. 

______________________________________________

y/n was called to Professor’s Langley’s cabin. She very well knew what for and it was already making her mind spiral. The hallway outside Professor Langley’s cabin-style office was always too bright. The glass walls caught the noon sun and bounced it everywhere, on the floor, on her face, into her eyes. Y/N kept her gaze low, counting her steps, feeling the seams of her jeans scratch against her skin in that way she hated but tolerated.

Her sketchbook was clutched to her chest. Inside: her latest unfinished work, a fox curled in tall grass. Next to it, a small pouch of pencils, a folded note from Zayn, and a lined index card with questions she’d prepared in case she forgot what to say.

Just a few more steps. Just make it to the door.

She didn’t see the trio of girls until it was too late.

“Watch it, weirdo,” one of them said as she bumped into Y/N’s shoulder,  not by accident.

The sketchbook slipped. The pouch hit the floor and exploded. Pencils scattering in every direction.

Y/N froze.

The hallway felt louder all of a sudden. Too loud. Laughter spiked behind her, sharp and bright and jagged.

“Oh my God, is that like, art?” one of the girls snickered, nudging the open sketchbook with the toe of her boot.

Y/N dropped to her knees, not speaking. If she opened her mouth, she wasn’t sure what would come out. Her hands trembled as she reached for her pencils, fingertips fumbling as she tried to sort them by hardness: 4B, HB, 2H, mechanical...

Breathe. Count. Don’t cry here. Don’t.

From the far end of the hall, Harry leaned against the wall, sipping from a sports drink and half-watching the scene. He hadn’t really noticed Y/N before. Just a quiet girl from sociology. But now, with her on the ground, clutching pencils like lifelines while three smug girls mocked her, he felt... something off.

“She’s not bothering anyone,” he muttered under his breath.

Nate was beside him, chewing gum, unimpressed. “That’s y/n y/l/n.” he said, popping a bubble. “Girl you’re paired with.”

Harry blinked. “That’s her?”

“Yep. She’s kind of… different. Smart, though. Professor Langley’s, like, protective of her or whatever.”

Harry watched her gather the last of her things. She didn’t yell. Didn’t snap back. Just moved with quiet, practiced urgency, like she’d done this before. Been knocked down, cleaned it up, said nothing.

He felt a twist in his stomach. Guilt, maybe. Or just the unsettling realization that not everyone was built to survive this place the way he was.

Y/N pressed the sketchbook tightly to her chest again and stood, her breath catching. The lights were buzzing. Her palms were sweaty. Her pencil pouch didn’t zip right anymore.

But she made it to the office door and hurried inside.

Inside, the lights were softer, the air still. Langley sat behind her desk, glasses low on her nose.

“Y/N, I’m glad you came.”

Y/N nodded once, lips pressed into a line.

Langley gestured to the chair. “I won’t keep you long. I wanted to let you know that your communication mentorship is starting this week.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

“I already heard,” she said, voice barely audible.

Langley folded her hands. “Then you know it’s Harry Styles.”

Y/N looked at her hands in her lap. They were still shaking.

“I don’t..I don’t think he’ll take it seriously.”

Langley’s expression softened. “I think you might be surprised. And I think he might be, too.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her brain was still back in the hallway, on the sound of mocking voices and pencils hitting tile.

Langley didn’t push. “You’re not alone in this, Y/N. And you don’t have to change who you are. Just try. That’s all I’m asking.”

Y/N nodded again. She wasn’t sure if it meant “yes” or “I don’t know what else to do.”

Outside, Harry was still leaning against the wall, watching the closed door.

For the first time, he wasn’t thinking about himself.

_____________________________________________

The classroom was too quiet, too echoey, too wrong. Y/N sat in the far-left corner of the room, her usual spot, back against the wall, nearest the window, away from the center of things. Zayn was beside her, sprawled out in the neighboring chair, legs stretched under the table, chewing the edge of his hoodie sleeve like he always did when he was tense.

Y/N’s fingers tapped a rhythm against her thigh. one-two-three, one-two-three. matching the pattern of her heartbeat. Her brain wouldn’t stop.

He’s late. He was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. Eleven now. Twelve.

“Still no show,” Zayn muttered, glancing at the clock. “Big surprise.”

Y/N didn’t answer. Her thoughts were looping. She had rehearsed the opening of their session, written it down three times in case she forgot. But now she couldn’t even remember the first line.

He won’t take this seriously. What if he makes fun of me? What if he laughs when I try to speak? What if I shut down? What if I say nothing and he tells the professor I’m wasting his time?

“Hey.” Zayn nudged her ankle lightly under the table. “You’re not a problem. You hear me?”

She nodded, eyes locked on the blank page of the notebook in front of her. She’d brought a few prompts, safe topics, simple answers. All neatly organized in a pocket folder. Just in case she couldn't find her words.

Zayn sighed. “Honestly, I don’t even know why Langley thought he was the right person for this. The guy’s a walking ego in cleats.”

The door opened mid-sentence.

Harry Styles stepped in like he’d just rolled off a magazine cover. Wind in his curly brown hair, athletic jacket slung over his shoulder, like he hadn’t kept them waiting fifteen whole minutes.

“Hey,” he said casually, dropping his bag near the door. “Sorry, had practice.”

Zayn stood, instantly.

“So you couldn’t text?” he asked, tone sharp. “You just let her sit here and spiral for a quarter of an hour?”

Harry blinked, caught off guard. “Okay, who are you, exactly?”

“I’m the guy who gives a damn when she’s treated like she doesn’t matter,” Zayn shot back. “You’re just some jock who probably thinks this is a charity project.”

Harry’s posture shifted, eyebrows pulling together. “You don’t know me. Don’t act like you do.”

Zayn took a step forward. “I know enough.”

Y/N stood up too fast.

“Zayn, it’s okay,” she said, voice thinner than usual, like it had been folded too many times. “Please. You don’t have to stay.”

He looked at her, jaw tight, clearly unhappy. But her eyes weren’t angry, just overwhelmed. That look he’d seen a thousand times since they were kids. The one that meant: If you stay, I’ll break.

He exhaled through his nose. “Fine. But I’ll be right outside.”

She nodded.

Zayn gave Harry one last look. Not threatening, but not friendly, then walked out, the door clicking shut behind him.

The silence that followed felt like a dropped plate.

Harry glanced around, then scratched the back of his neck. “That your boyfriend or something?”

Y/N didn’t look at him. “No. Friend.”

Harry sat down in Zayn’s empty chair and leaned back like this was just another lecture. “He’s got a hell of a chip on his shoulder.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She was reading the first line that she wrote. Hello. My name is Y/N. Thank you for helping me. I am autistic. I do not communicate the same way as everyone else, but I want to try.

Harry sighed and checked the time, mentally preparing himself to sit through an hour. “Right. I’m Harry. I guess Langley’s already told you things?”

She nodded, still not bringing her eyes up to meet his. “y-y/n.”, she says.

“y/n,look,  I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do. I just need to do this so I can continue playing football, okay? I won’t get in your hair, you don’t get in mine, and we both can go back happy-”

“-Get in my hair?”, she wonders out loud. How could someone get in someone’s hair?

Harry blinks, then thinks she didn’t hear him well so he leans closer and explains. “Yes. You can do your thing during our sessions, I won’t bother you. When all our sessions are over, you can tell Langley I did a good job, yeah?”

“No, nope.” She shakes her head and lets out a chuckle.

“Um, no? And what’s funny about this?”, Harry furrows his eyebrows. 

“I need this, um, these sessions. Cannot lie for Harry.”

Harry groans. He thought he could just convince her to get through this somehow but it seems like she actually cares about the session.

“I really thought you’d agree, y/n. Why make it harder for both of us?”

“I told you, I need this. And you need to work for extra credit.”

Harry couldn’t help but smirk at her disapproving tone. “Alright. Then tell me what you want from me.”

Harry’s voice hit her like warm static, low, rough around the edges, too loud even when he wasn’t trying to be. It had that casual, careless rhythm people used when they expected to be listened to. Confident. Unfiltered. Like he’d never once worried about saying the wrong thing.

To Y/N, it wasn’t just a voice. It was texture.

Every syllable scraped against her thoughts like gravel under bare feet. Not painful, exactly but jarring. Distracting. Unpredictable

“Communication. It’s..it’s not easy for me. I’m autistic.”, she tells him, staring at her desk.

Harry sits quietly, then nods because it makes sense how she has not made eye contact with him all this while and how she’s always quiet and in her own world.

“I want to change, come out of my..my comfort uh box?”

“Your comfort zone.”, Harry corrects, a slight smile forming on his face. This was going to be interesting. 

“Oh! This is for you, please..please read.” She pushes a neatly folded piece of paper towards him. He unfolds it and reads through it.

How You Can Help Me:

Please don’t raise your voice, even if you’re not angry.

I need extra time to think before I talk.

If I go quiet, I’m not ignoring you.

Don’t interrupt when I’m speaking. Let me finish.

I use written words when I can’t speak. That’s okay.

Please tell me what we’re doing before we do it.

Ask direct questions. Not vague ones.

Eye contact is hard. I’m still listening.

Harry read it all without saying anything, and that was good. Y/N couldn’t handle talking and being watched at the same time.

When he finally looked up, something in his face had changed. Just slightly.

“Okay,” he said, voice low again. “I can do that.”

He looked like he meant it.

y/n gives him a small nod. 

“So? You like sketching?”

y/n looks up at him for the first time, eyes briefly meeting his. His eyes were green. Not the flat, predictable green of a leaf or a chalkboard, but layered. They reminded her of moss under water, or the kind of glass that looked cracked without actually breaking. There were flecks of gold near the center, like someone had spilled sunlight there and it never quite dried.

She looked away quickly. “How..how do you know?”

“I know a lot of things.”, he replies, smiling wider, happy with the small moment of eye contact. He couldn’t figure out the color.They had that curious look. Wide, but not naïve. Clear, but not soft. Like she was seeing everything at once.

 This was already different from conversations he’s had with other people. He suddenly wanted to know more about her. He couldn’t deny the fact that she was beautiful. 

She had her hair in a braid, not the messy, flirty kind he was used to seeing at parties, but a neat, practical one, the kind someone did because they needed their hair out of the way. No nonsense. No drama. But something about it pulled his eyes.

Maybe it was the way the braid curved over her shoulder like it belonged there, dark against the pale green of her sweater. Maybe it was how a few strands had slipped free near her temple and caught the light like silk thread.

“Cocky. Zayn thinks Harry’s cocky.”, she blurts out, nodding in agreement to herself and Harry laughs. “Does he now? What else did he tell you about me?”

y/n smiles slyly, and shakes her head. She isn’t supposed to tell him, is she? Instead, she slides her laptop towards him. “My presentation.”

“Okay..and what do you want me to do with it?” He obviously knew what to do, he had to help her speak about it. He starts going through the slides as she frowns. “Uh, help? Help, duh?”

“I got that, but I don’t have the patience to go through all this content, so I need you to brief me.”

y/n’s eyes widen. “B-Brief you? Not prepared, I’m not prepared. Just..just read!”

Harry raises his eyebrows, looking at her. “And I don’t like reading! You don’t have to be prepared for this, cherry, I’m asking you to tell me a summary of the content you already know about. Less of reading, more of talking, that’s what we’ll do, alright?”

y/n fiddles with her fingers uneasily, the Harry boy already getting on her nerves, but something else grabs her attention. “Cherry?” Did he call her Cherry?

“Yeah, cherry. Your top. And your cheeks, they’re red.”, he explains so casually. She doesn’t understand if he has a flirty tone or if he is just teasing her. She did wear a white top with cherries printed on them.

“You said you wanted to get out of your comfort zone. This is how we’re gonna do that, okay?”, he feels like he’s speaking to a small child. He remembers the helpless look she had on her face when those girls made her fall that day, and he feels a little sorry for her now, knowing her condition. “Take your time, and tell me about your slides. Then we’ll make a speech, sounds good?”

It didn’t sound good. She was sure she would stutter a million times and test his patience. But like he said, if this was going to help her get out of her comfort zone, she would try.

“I can try.”, she tells him, not promising anything, and he brings up a fist, wanting a fist bump. Zayn sometimes does it with her. She slowly makes a fist, looking at her palm while doing so quickly touches it to Harry’s.

“That has to be the softest fist bump in history. Anyway..”

Harry didn’t know why he suddenly wanted to take this seriously. He didn’t want to push it away like another project. He didn’t understand, or get her, yet. But he wanted to.

____________________________________________________

Y/N was vibrating with energy.

“I didn’t freeze,” she said, eyes wide, hands moving fast as she spoke. “Not once. He read the note and..and actually listened! I thought he’d make fun of it,you know, the list,but he didn’t. He just said ‘Okay’ and didn’t even talk over me.”

Zayn glanced at her, eyebrows raised. She was smiling,a real one. Not the polite, uncertain kind she gave in class. Her fingers were fluttering in her lap, tapping her jeans in a rhythmic pattern he knew well: processing, but happy.

“Oh! And he called me Cherry.”

“Cherry?” Zayn repeated, blinking.

“Because of my top.” She left out the part where he mentioned her cheeks were as red as cherries.

Y/N stared out the window for a second, biting her lip to hold back a grin. 

That should have made him smile too.

But it didn’t.

Instead, his grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly.

“I’m glad it went okay,” he said carefully. “You were really anxious this morning.”

“I know,” she said, nodding. “But it wasn’t bad. He didn’t talk down to me.”

Zayn exhaled slowly through his nose, watching the red light ahead blink to yellow.

He wanted to believe it. He really did.

But he also knew Harry Styles.

Knew how he flirted with anyone who looked in his direction. Knew the trail of rumors. Hookups, half-truths, one-time girls left on read by morning. And Y/N, with her quiet brilliance and straightforward honesty, wasn’t built to play games.

She didn’t see the signs. And if she did, she wouldn’t understand why someone would flirt just to pass the time.

Zayn glanced at her again, her eyes wide, braid a little messy now, cheeks flushed from excitement.

Innocent.

And way too trusting.

“Just…” he said slowly, “be careful, okay?”

Y/N frowned, not understanding. “Careful of what?”

Zayn didn’t answer right away. The light turned green, and he pressed the gas, more gently than usual.

“Just don’t let him make you think he’s something he’s not.”

She looked down at her hands, smile fading just a little. “You think..you think he’s lying?”

“I think he’s used to getting what he wants,” Zayn said quietly. “And I think you deserve better than someone who’s just looking for extra credit.”

Y/N didn’t argue.

But she also didn’t agree.

__________________________________________________

Y/N was already in her usual seat, second row, third from the left, close enough to hear the professor clearly but not so close that she’d be called on. Her notebook was open, her pen uncapped, and her highlighters laid out in a neat line. The class buzzed around her: idle chatter, squeaking chairs, someone’s pen tapping too fast behind her.

She didn’t look up when the door slammed open. She hated the noise.

Late.

Again.

She knew it was him without having to glance. Harry Styles had a specific kind of presence: loud without trying, confident without needing permission. Normally, he sat in the back with his usual crew, too cool to pretend he cared about lectures.

But then-

He was walking toward her row.

He was in her row.

And-

“Hey,” Harry said, casual as ever, standing right beside her. “Can I sit here?”

Y/N blinked.

He was pointing to the empty chair next to her. Her bag was on it. Her sketchbook was resting half-open on top. No one ever sat next to her in this class.

She stared at him, then at the chair, then back at him, fingers hovering mid-air above her notebook.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Cherry. Your stuff.”

Oh.

Right.

She moved slowly, startled. Her fingers weren’t working right. She fumbled the bag as she pulled it into her lap, closed the sketchbook too quickly and creased the corner. Her heart was beating faster than she liked.

He dropped into the chair beside her with that same easy energy, one arm flung across the back of it, like he’d sat there a thousand times.

People were watching. She could feel them watching.

Y/N stared straight ahead, trying to ground herself. One-two-three, one-two-three, deep breath.

Harry leaned slightly closer. Not enough to touch her but just enough so she could hear him.

“I figured if I’m your partner, I should probably sit like it.”

She didn’t answer, but she could feel the heat crawling up her neck. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t mocking her. Just… sitting.

It didn’t make sense.

Harry Styles never sat at the front. He never sat with her.

But today, he did.

And even though her routine was disrupted, and her chest felt too tight, and everyone was probably looking at her. She could feel it.

Eyes.

All around her.

A few turned heads. A few not-so-subtle whispers. The girl who usually chewed gum too loudly two rows over had stopped chewing, which was somehow worse. One of Harry’s football friends sitting in the back nudged the guy beside him with a grin that wasn’t friendly. Someone near the door actually took a photo. She heard the soft click.

Her fingers clenched around her pen.

Harry didn’t seem to notice  or he did and didn’t care. He slouched in the chair like it was his personal throne, one leg stretched out, arms relaxed, like none of it meant anything.

But to Y/N, it meant everything.

This wasn’t part of the plan. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Not in this class. Not in this seat.

She didn’t do unannounced changes. She didn’t do people this close. She didn’t do rumors, or eyes, or questions she couldn’t answer.

She flinched slightly when he leaned in.

“Are they always like this?” he whispered, eyes flicking to the side.

Y/N kept her eyes forward, voice barely audible. “No one’s ever sat here before.”

Harry paused.

“Well… they’ll get used to it.”

She looked at him then,  just briefly and he was already facing the front, smirking faintly, like this was just another game to him.

But it didn’t feel like a game.It felt like he chose to sit beside her.

And that was scarier than the stares.

_______________________________________________

A week went by quickly and it was time for their session again. Harry, surprisingly, wasn’t late this time. He had snatched a paper y/n was reading from, about conversational tone.

“So, according to this, I’m apparently a communication expert now. Might as well open a clinic. Dr. Styles, speech therapist extraordinaire.”

y/n was still pretty displeased about the fact that he had snatched the sheet from her, but she mumbles, “You can’t open a clinic..no. You don’t have a license.”

“Right. I was being sarcastic, Cherry.”, Harry smirks, putting the paper away so he can look at her. He liked observing her facial expressions and reactions. 

y/n’s confused now. “So..you don’t want to open a clinic?”

Harry laughs lightly. “No, I can barely keep a plant alive, let alone run a clinic.”

She blinks, then says earnestly. “Plantopedia, page number 436. Cactus requires the least emotional labor. You should start with that, yeah.” She smiles, pleased with herself for giving him the right information.

Harry’s jaw drops open and he stares at her for a second before he laughs, uncontrollably. y/n looks at him strangely, wondering what she said wrong. Even the page number was surely right.

“God, you’re brilliant. That was gold, seriously.”, Harry says, leaning forward, now chuckling.

“I wasn’t joking. I don’t know how to crack jokes. Don’t get them either.”, she tells him.

“Even better.”, he said quietly, and for a minute they were both silent. 

“B-But..cacti do need a little emotional labor. Just..not often.”

Harry grins. “Noted. I’ll talk to them once a week.”

She looks at him, then closes her mouth slowly as he continues to laugh. “Right. Harry’s not actually going to talk to it. That’s funny.” 

“See? You get it!” 

y/n lets out a small giggle, before going back to her task. She had to tell Harry the first few lines of her speech by the end of this session. Mid way between her speech, she got distracted.

Her gaze drifted to the window beside their study table. A butterfly had landed on the sill, its wings a fragile kaleidoscope of blues and black, gently pulsing in the golden afternoon light.

Y/N didn’t say anything. She just watched.

Her hands, which had been fiddling, stilled completely. Even her breathing seemed to slow, as if matching the rhythm of the butterfly’s wings. Harry followed her gaze wondering what made her stop talking, then looked back at her. And stayed there.

He meant to say something. A joke, maybe. Something to pull her attention back to him. But the words caught in his throat.

She looked... peaceful. Not the kind of calm people fake when they’re trying to seem composed, but the genuine sort that came from being fully present. Like she wasn’t thinking about how she looked or what he might be thinking. The light made her skin glow soft at the edges, and the faint furrow in her brow, curiosity, not worry, gave her a kind of depth that made Harry feel like everything else in the room had faded away.

He’d always been drawn to noise, to people who sparkled loud and fast.

But this… this was different.

“y/n?” he said softly.

She didn’t answer, still watching the butterfly like it was telling her a secret.

Harry leaned his arms on the table, his gaze not on the window, but on her. The soft slope of her nose, the faint press of her lips, the quiet steadiness in her posture. She wasn’t trying to charm him. Wasn’t even aware of him in that moment. And for reasons he didn’t fully understand, he liked that even more.

Finally, the butterfly flickered its wings once more and took off. Y/N blinked like she was coming back from somewhere far away.

She turned to him. “Sorry. I was watching it.”

Harry cleared his throat, suddenly aware that he’d been staring. “Yeah. No, don’t apologize.”

She smiled, brief but genuine. “I like butterflies. Easy to understand.”

He found himself smiling too. “Wish I could say the same about you.”

She didn’t catch the flirtation in his tone. Harry tapped her hand softly, which made her look up at him with a start. She usually didn’t even like small touches like that, but strangely, she didn’t pull her hand back immediately. 

“Do I have your attention now, Cherry? We have got just 10 minutes more.” 

She blinks, still getting used to the nickname. “Over? Speech is over right?”

“Nope, you only said the first two lines. Just two more. Start from the beginning, please.”

She groaned and he laughed, “Hey, no complaining.”

They wrapped up in another ten minutes. Y/N closed her notebook with a sharp snap and began organizing her pens into color-coded rows, her signal that their session was done. Predictable, precise. It shouldn’t have caught him off guard.

“You heading out?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

She nodded without looking up. “Zayn is waiting for me.”

Harry hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Yeah, makes sense.”

He almost didn’t say it, but something nudged him forward.

“You know, if you ever wanted to, uh… watch football practice or something, you could. I mean, I’d wait with you after, or Zayn could meet you later or-”

“I don’t like watching sports,” Y/N said bluntly, slipping her planner into her bag. “And if there is a change in my routine, it makes me anxious. Uh..thank you, though.”

She said it kindly, earnestly. 

Still, Harry nodded a little too quickly, swallowing the unexpected pang in his chest. “Cool. Yeah. No worries.”

Before she leaves, she turns back. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Uh..thank you, for helping me..this actually helps, I think.” 

Harry beams. “Not a problem, love, I need the extra credit, might as well do it seriously.”

She nods, her watch telling her it’s time to leave. “Okay. Bye Harry.”

“See you, Cherry.”

________________________________

Harry tossed his duffel bag onto the bench beside the practice field, but his heart wasn’t in the drills. Coach had already yelled at him twice for missing passes. He kept thinking about the way she’d looked at him, like she saw right through the sarcasm and flash, straight into the bare, unpolished bits he didn’t usually let anyone see.

“She’s got you in a chokehold already, huh?”

Harry turned to find Nate grinning, water bottle in hand, eyes sharp.

“Shut up,” Harry muttered, kicking a stray ball toward the sideline.

“I’m just saying,” Nate continued, unfazed. “You’ve been weird lately. You, skipping post-practice hangs? You live for an audience.”

Harry shrugged, wiping sweat from his brow. “It’s nothing. She’s just… different.”

“Different how?”

Harry didn’t answer right away. He flopped onto the grass, staring up at the sky, the clouds too still for how fast his thoughts were spinning.

“She doesn’t pretend,” he said finally. “She’s not trying to impress anyone. Doesn’t care that I’m… me.”

“That sounds kind of great, actually.”

Harry looked over. “It’s not like that. She’s just a project.”

Nate raised a brow. “Right. And that’s why you’ve brought her up every day this week?”

Harry didn’t respond. Because maybe it had started as extra credit. Just a requirement. But the disappointment when she left today? The stupid hope that she might’ve said yes? That hadn’t felt like schoolwork.

Not even close.

_________________________________________

Like it up and reblog so I can get Part 2 out sooner! Please let me know if there are any changes to be made to the tag list.

Taglist: -@livypops12352568 @harrydeary, @harryswifee, @harrysbxtchh, @gracelovesethan, @kiwitsayedsugar, @angeldavis777,@madstyles3204, @youngpastafanmug, @fruity-harry, @wannaliveinparadise@hermionelove@mayalove014 @vikiii07@ell0ra-br3kk3r @thelooneytoon @charlesleclercwifey, @stylesftcher

PART 2!

[revelboo]

Better Open the Door

IDW Thundercracker x Reader- movie night

18+ 🌶️

• Turbines screaming to give voice to his own frustration, Thundercracker rolls through the clouds. Starscream is always busy. Skywarp is always angry. And that leaves him. Alone. How long had it been since his trine had gone for a flight as brothers? Not a mission or patrol, just flying for the joy of it? Well before the war.

• Flying by himself at night so that the moonlight gilds his alt mode has become his escape from the noise and drama of the Decepticon stronghold. The scheming. Out here it’s just him and the night.

• And maybe a movie. Losing altitude, he transforms and lands gracefully, peds silent on the sandy ground as he stalks forward. He’d found the drive-in by accident, the lights and motion pulling him in. Crouching in the darkness, he’d watched the images flashing across the screen. Optics flitting to the handful of cars parked facing the screen, their human occupants staring in rapt fascination. There was no sound, but the drama playing out still drew him in.

• Later he figures out he can tune into the primitive, human radio frequencies to hear the movies and he keeps returning, hiding out of sight and devouring action, comedy, brightly colored cartoons. All of it. It’s the action movies he adores, though. The last minute rescues, high stakes, and impossible odds.

• Drive-in theaters are a dying breed and you know it. Flashlight aimed at the gravel crunching under your sneakers, you move down the mostly empty rows of your parent’s passion project. That was failing and slowly draining their bank accounts. No one wanted to sit in their idling car, the sound tinny over their car speakers when they could relax in plush recliners and experience everything in 3D and surround sound. Behind you, the last straggler pulls out as the credits are still rolling, their tires popping in the gravel.

• For a second you catch a glimpse of something out in the night, a darker shadow within the pitch moving. A deer or a coyote lured by the smell of popcorn? While a single coyote wouldn’t normally bother with an adult, your skin crawls anyway. Apparently that childhood fear of the dark and the unseen hadn’t gotten the message that you had grown up and left it behind because the fear is visceral, a living thing in your chest trying to claw its way free.

• There’s nothing there. If you don’t look, it’ll be fine. Just turn around and head back to the concession building, because what if it’s a bear after the trash cans? It’s not like you can stop a bear, so just walk away. Despite your brain begging you not to, you lift the flashlight and it catches on an expanse of blue and black metal. That moves back away from the light.

• Don’t. Don’t. Shaking uncontrollably, you raise the flashlight, your horrified brain trying to make sense of what the puddle of light is revealing. A massive leg, a torso- glowing red eyes flare from high above, tipping down at you like bloody searchlights.

• You know what? You don’t make nearly enough money to deal with this. Brain noping at this impossible horror, you fumble the flashlight and run like hell, screaming.

• Scrap. He lunges as the human runs and promptly falls in the gravel with a panicked yelp of pain. Managing to scoop it up despite its frantic squirming to get free, he backs up away from the lit building it was running for. When he cups his other hand over it, its cries fall silent.

• “Shh. Is this about the admission?” It takes your brain a moment to make sense of the words, because giant, metal horror machine isn’t crushing you. It’s asking if you’re screaming because it hadn’t paid to watch the movie in a deep, rumbly voice like thunder rolling. What. “No, it’s all good,” you manage, because it can watch whatever movies it wants gratis as long as it’s not squishing you like an ant. You’ll even bring it popcorn if it wants. That other hand is still poised over you, ready to drop and crush you.

• The human is just staring up at him now. Scared to death if the frantic drumming of its heart is any indication, but not screaming. Just… staring. Oddly uncomfortable, he keeps moving back into the shadows. “Did see watch it? I feel like parts were missing.”

• Again. What? Is the giant killer robot asking about the movie? “You’re supposed to watch the other movies first,” you say voice cracking, inwardly screaming at yourself to just shut up. Not to encourage it. “Mission Impossible is a series.”

• Sucking in a sharp breath as you’re lifted even higher so that you’re almost at eye level and definitely as gruesome death after falling height. And now you’re learning that in addition to being scared dumb by giant robots, you’re scared of heights too. “You have the others?” Your captor asks as you close your eyes.

• “No, we just rent them.” If you throw up on him, you’re certainly dead. “But I can get them for you.” Anything if it means not making it angry. “Tomorrow.” Next

[xoxxbilliexoxx]

Friends? Just Friends?

part 2

part 1 here

When you wake up after a night that changed everything for you two, Billie lets you continue exploring what it’s like to be with a girl … ;)

y/n POV

As the sunlight peaks through the curtains I’m slowly pulled from my slumber. My eyes stay closed, allowing myself to fall in and out of a sleepy haze. The cool sheets rub against my soft legs and the breeze from the open window runs lightly along my arm. As I roll over I smile at the smell of Billie’s shampoo and perfume blending together. It’s a smell that has taken over my bed with the frequency that she shares it with me. I take a deep breath, letting it flood my senses before sighing and returning back to my thoughtless meditative state. It isn’t until I feel the brisk air hit my bare chest that I realize I’m naked. My eyes flash open as I turn to see Billie’s exposed boobs only half covered by the sheets and I am hit with the memories of last night. It all felt like a dream I didn’t want to wake up from. Now I'm remembering just how real it was as I see her bruise covered neck. I close my eyes again, smiling as I play it all back in my head. play back the feeling of her boobs in my mouth, her lips on my lips, her tongue on my pussy. As I lay still, happily reminiscing on the passion we shared, the sunrays hits my eyelids and my brain is filled with gold light. I feel the bed moving and as billie’s body pushes against mine I open my eyes, watching her lips meet my forehead before she settles back down on my chest.

“goodmorning pretty girl” I half whisper half speak, my morning voice cracking through my throat. “goodmorning lesbo” she giggles back at me. “so that was real huh? not just an amazing dream I had last night?” i flirt out, not hiding it at all. “oh no baby it was very very real, so real, in fact, that ur still very much naked” Billie states, as her hand wanders down to my core, swiping her fingers between my lips making me twitch before bringing it back up and hugging me. Her intentions weren’t to get me horny again, they were more to just tease lightly, but I don’t think she realizes just how powerful of an effect she has on me. I lay still for a while, feeling overwhelmed by the joy I’m getting from billie cuddled up on my chest, the long building tension now gone and the flirting no longer needing to be hidden. I don’t dare ask what is going on, not only because I don’t want to ruin the moment but because I truthfully don’t care right now. All I care about is the way Billie makes me feel, and the way we so naturally fell into this dynamic, like it was meant to happen exactly as it did; Like we are exactly where we are meant to be.

Her fingertips lightly stroke my arm up and down, her touch so soft that her fingers continue to lift, disconnecting and reconnecting over and over. I hum at the feeling. It’s so peaceful with her, like we've been doing this forever. “Your skin is so soft, how did I not notice this before?” I laugh at her question before answering, “I think you were scared to touch me for a while, Eilish” She's silent for a second. I can feel her cheeks moving, forming into a smile. “mmmmm well I can touch you all I want now” she finally says before moving her hand up to grab my boob, shaking her hand up and down making it move with her. She looks so amused, so happy to have me like this now, to touch me like this now. “you better quit it before you get me all horny again” I laugh, pulling her hand away. Before I let her go, she interlocks it with mine and lays them both back down. “And what would be so wrong with you being horny again?” she looks up at me as she finishes her question. When I look down to meet her glance I can’t help but giggle at the smug look on her face. “shit i’m not complaining, go ahead baby” I crack back at her, my honest tone mixing in with the laughter, making it clear she can do whatever she’d like.

Everything feels so much more real when there isn’t wine in the mix, when the moon is no longer glowing but instead the sun is filling the room, when the birds outside are chirping. Her touch moving across my lower stomach, the goosebumps forming on my skin, her lips making contact with my collarbone, it’s all so much more real. She looks up and, fuck, this eye contact feels oh so real. when our lips touch it’s more delicate than it was last night, more intimate somehow. It’s slow, like we aren’t wanting to devour each other, but instead want to learn exactly what our lips feel like against one another. The slow speed continues but the passion grows. Our lips dance between each other, finding a rhythm, making up the choreography and sticking with it. The light sounds of kissing fills the room and we stay just like this for a while. We aren’t in a rush, I don’t need sex, I need her.

My own hands grow curious of her body and my confidence builds. As Billie’s lips continue to wrap around mine and her body is still draped across me, I grab her waist and pull her up more. Our heads are now equal, I'm no longer looking down at her. Her one leg is thrown across my body and her other is snug against my side. Our lips continue to move slowly but passionately, not wanting to end this intense make out session. I can’t remember the last time I made out with someone this long without it turning into more. Men and their fucking lack of foreplay, ew. I let my hand move down to Billie’s ass and squeeze it hard, wanting more of her body immediately. Our lips are speeding up and the kiss is becoming sloppier. I feel a hunger growing from deep within me, but it’s not for my own pleasure. I suddenly feel an intense craving to touch her, to please her, to learn all the parts of her body like she did for me last night. My thoughts race around my head as we continue to let the desire build. I don’t know what to do, or how to do it, all I know is I want her, I’ve wanted her forever.

I let the fervor turn to confidence as I roll us over, Billie now under me. I pull away for a second to look down at her before I smash my lips back down, not able to stay away from her. My hands roam her body fast, wanting to touch every part of her all at once. I slow myself down when I reach her boobs, squeezing and kneading them as I watch her chest begin to rise and fall more dramatically. My lips move away from her as I find my way to her neck, immediately licking from her collarbone to right under her ear, and then biting down on the same sweet spot I found last night. She’s moaning and writhing underneath me, her breathing becoming heavier as she makes it known how badly she wants to be touched, to be pleased. Seeing her like this turns me on so hard, never imagining she’d be so submissive, so willing to let someone else take control like this. In all the stories she’s told me of her crazy hookups with random girls, she’s always the one in control, even when she’s receiving. Right now though, it’s clear she’s given herself to me, surrendered to my touch and in her own world.

My mouth continues planting wet kisses across her neck and chest and she begins letting out very quiet whimpers, making it seem like I'm winding her up so much she’s about to explode. I feel her legs move under me, crossing them tightly, obviously searching for some sort of release. I move my hand to one of her thighs and pull them apart before planting my palm on her clothed center and grabbing her harshly. The long awaited contact makes her hips jolt up, forcing an even deeper pressure against her core resulting in a long, closed mouth moan. My desire continues to guide me as my hand moves under her shorts. I groan when I feel her arousal dripping down her thighs. I feel overwhelmingly turned on by how wet I’ve made her, how caught up in my touch she has become. I run my fingers between her lips, spreading around her wetness and watching her face contort in pleasure. Her eyes are closed and her hands are grabbing at her own boobs, continuing to move her body under me.

I let my index and middle finger slip up to her clit and as soon as I find it I begin wrapping tight circles around it. Billie whines louder and I put more pressure on her swollen bud, circling faster and tighter and letting my lips find their way back to her neck. “fuck y/n, yes, please yes” she moans out, begging for more of my touch. I’m caught in between wanting to suck sweetly on her neck or watch her face showing every ounce of pleasure I'm giving her. I pause my circles to run my fingers back up and down her pussy, collecting more of the wetness I’ve caused before going back up and finding her clit again. As I start to rub it again she opens her mouth, groaning loudly, no longer able to hold in her moans. “That's it baby, I wanna hear you, let me hear how good i’m making you feel” she lets out a gasp, as if she was holding her breath, and allows her sweet noises to spill from her. “god y/n yes, just like that don’t stop”

I lick up her neck again before sucking on her ear lobe, earning a loud groan and a buck of her hips. I continue to suck for a moment before releasing and whispering in her ear, “i fucking love making you feel good baby” she closes her lips tightly again, humming as I speed up my circles. Her clit is even more swollen now, making it easier for me to add pressure to my touch. Billie’s breathing speeds up, It’s clear she's drunk off my touch, hypnotized by pleasure. I feel her legs begin to shake and I salivate, knowing I'm about to make her cum. I can’t take my eyes off of her and my mouth opens before I even have time to think about what I’m saying, “cum for me billie, moan my name and cum for me” that’s all it took before she grabbed the sheets hard, back arching off the bed and the sweet sounds of her orgasm filling the room. “y/nnn fuckkkkkkkkk” she yells out as her legs shake hard with my continued stimulation “that’s right baby let go for me, that feels good huh?” she nods her head rapidly and the moans coming out of her travel straight to my own pussy. As she comes down for the high I slow my circles, then remove my hand, already missing the contact I had her with. Her eyes open as I bring my fingers to my mouth, eager to taste her cum. I moan at the sweetness, never expecting it to taste so good and she smiles, watching me lick her wetness off of me with pure hunger.

I feel as if I must literally be glowing, so high from finally getting to please a woman, so high from getting to watch as I make Billie cum. I am so so gay, so fucking gay, gay for Billie specifically. I want to spread her legs and taste all of her, devour her and make her cum over and over again. I want all of it, all right now. Instead I lay my head on her chest, helping her resurface and give her love after her high. “You are so insanely beautiful Billie, I hope you know that” I kiss her cheek as the last of my words hit my lips. Billie’s breathing is heavy, trying to control it as she laughs to herself, clearly shocked at what just happened. “How are you so fucking good at that, have you secretly been fucking women for years?” Billie finally says. “Fuck I wish, I’m just flicking my bean constantly” I laugh out boldly, her giggles mixing with mine. “Mmmm well lucky you, and lucky me now too, you know what the fuck you’re doing y/n” she blushes at her words, hit with the memories of the state I had her in just a few moments ago. “maybe with my fingers yea, but don’t have such high hopes for the rest” I tell her honestly, expressing my continued nervousness of all of this. “We’ll see, we’ll see” she giggles as she kisses me, “seems like you’re a natural, whispering all that nasty shit in my ear while you make me feel like im fucking floating” I hide my face slightly embarrassed at her calling me out for my quite dirty words that came out so naturally. Never have I been a talker during sex, but it seems like everything is different with Billie.

“Bashful now, are ya?” Billie giggles as she slides out of the bed, kissing me on the forehead before walking into the bathroom. Taking off her wet shorts, she turns to face me in the doorway, her fully naked body now on display for me. She’s so confident, so comfortable showing herself to me, so easy about what all is going on between us suddenly. My eyes follow her curves as I stare at her body, not even trying to hide my inability to look away. My attraction for her is so intense it feels it could kill me. My love for her seems to be the same, but I don’t think I’m ready to let myself begin to process that just yet. As I continue to stare, eyes wide, a smile planted across my face, heart pounding in my chest, and between my legs, she just stands there and smiles. She giggles as she begins striking poses, goofing off like always. “Fuck I’m so gay” I almost shout, my eyes still glued to her body as Billie and I both laugh at my statement. “Alright gay girl, I’m getting in the shower, you coming in or not?” I hopped out of bed as soon as I heard her words, running into the bathroom and shutting the door behind me, behind us.

I kinda wanna make this a series… or a wattpad book 👀

[hazbinhotei]

just another mission. – an alastor x gn!reader soul eater au.

warnings/tags: alastor and reader bickering as usual, mentions of blood and injury, soul eater elements, meister/weapon dynamic

word count: 2149

summary: You, a sharp-tongued meister, and Alastor, your sadistic headache-inducing weapon, are tasked with another mission from the Morningstar Weapon Meister Academy—proving once again that chaos makes the most loyal bond.

weapon!alastor x meister gn!reader — can be read as platonic or romantic. surprise! another fic where i somehow force alastor and reader into a completely different universe—this time in the realm of soul eater. i didn't necessarily want to just throw them into death city, so instead you get this weird mixture of both hellaverse and soul eater. ta-da! i hope you enjoy weapon!alastor as much as i do. [no tag list for this one because i'm not sure if anyone would want to be tagged in my au fics]

The sheets were still warm when you groaned awake, hair sticking up in odd angles, mouth dry, and muscles aching from yesterday's mission. Your limbs protested the idea of getting out of bed, but the smell of something suspiciously charred wafted into your nose, yanking you from your sluggish comfort.

"You're going to burn the whole place down," you grumbled, staggering into the small shared kitchen of your modest apartment in the grungier end of Pentagram City. Jazz music filled the air, the sound of sirens muffled in the distance, making you glance out the window towards the blood-red sky.

Alastor, all manic grins and vintage flair, stood humming to the music, flipping something in a skillet that had long since given up hope of survival. Your stomach lurched at the sight, sliding slowly into a chair at the table.

"Ah, good morning, sunshine!" he crooned, not turning around as he plopped his food onto a plate. "Did the aroma of my culinary masterpiece lure you from your slumber, or was it the soul-crushing guilt of sleeping in past noon again?"

You shoot him a look as you rubbed the sleep away from your eyes, your soul wavelength humming irritably against his own like mismatched radio frequencies. "You wake up at the crack of chaos. Not all of us are powered by sadism and radio static."

"Tut tut," he clicked his tongue, finally turning to face you with a grin sharp enough to gut a ghost. "How else am I to keep you on your toes?"

You ignored him, and instead slapped the day's mission scroll down on the table. The infernal wax seal cracks with a hiss. “Corrupted soul in the human realm,” you yawn, looking over the paper. “Feeding off fear. The Morningstar Weapon Meister Academy suspects it’s been terrorizing a bunch of kids in some abandoned funhouse on the edge of town.”

Alastor hums, walking over with his plate and a cup of coffee to sit across from you. He slides the cup to you, and you grab it in silent appreciation.

“How delightful. Children’s screams are so much more flavorful than adults’. Like candy apples. Rotting candy apples.”

You wince at his words as you drink your coffee, placing it down to give him an incredulous look. He only bats his lashes at you, smiling with faux innocence. You huffed, skimming the mission once more below you. "Should be simple."

"'Simple'," he echoed, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he swallowed down whatever creature he was eating. "You always say that, dearest."

"Because I like lying to myself," you said flatly, finishing the cup of coffee Alastor had prepared for you.

Alastor only sighed in disdain, finishing his meal in silence. After letting the caffeine kick into your system, you get up, moving towards your living room to get ready for the day. Your shared living room doubled as a gear-up area, doing your stretches on a yoga mat to prepare for the mission.

Alastor joins you shortly after with his hands clasped behind his back, watching like a cat watches a mouse it hasn’t quite decided whether to kill or play with. You glance up at him from your spot on the floor, letting your demon form melt away—horns receding, claws dulling, eyes losing their hellish glow. What was left was your human disguise: ordinary. Soft. Dull.

Alastor clicked his tongue disapprovingly as he watched your transformation. "I hate that form."

You rolled your eyes, getting up once you felt fully human. "Yeah, well, the PTA in the human realm doesn’t exactly appreciate demon horns and the like."

He gave a sharp laugh. "Ah, but you have such character when you’re dripping in hellfire."

"And yet," you muttered, summoning a portal with a flick of your wrist. A swirling rift in space shimmered before you, pulsing with soft energy. "We go where the souls are."

You glanced towards the widening portal, a faint breeze from the human realm blowing into your warm Hellish apartment. Alastor buzzed with content as he got a whiff of the air, “This place smells like spoiled dreams and cotton candy corpses. Reminds me of a carnival I devoured once.”

Groaning in response, you place a foot in the portal, “Remind me to never ask for that story.”

“It ends with a fire. As all good things do!"

The portal spat you out into the outskirts of a human town, fog curling low against a withered funhouse that hadn’t seen joy in decades. It loomed like a rotten tooth in the mouth of the earth, squealing metal and flickering lights setting the stage.

You exhaled, a groan slipping past your lips at the sudden coldness in the air. "Of course it’s creepy. Why wouldn’t it be."

"Frightened already? Shall I hold your hand? Or better yet, shall I do all the work?" Alastor teased, his voice already warping into static as his body flickered, dissolving mid-sentence. Red static erupted around him like a crackling flame, curling up in jagged arcs, and with a flash of eerie green light, his figure vanished entirely. In his place stood his weapon form: a massive crimson scythe. Of course, with the accompaniment of a little blinking microphone and radio speakers etched into its tang—even green little sigils were engraved into the twisted wooden snath.

You scoffed and stepped forward, gripping the haft. The handle was warm, humming with energy that wasn’t just magic—it was personality. You could almost feel him smirking, making you grip the weapon harder. "Try not to insult me while I’m holding you."

"That was me being kind. I can turn the volume down lower, but then you’d miss the music."

You exhaled deeply in annoyance, shifting your stance. The fog pressed against your back like cold hands as you stalked toward the crooked porch of the decrepit funhouse. The paint peeled like rotting skin, and the windows gaped like mouths left mid-scream. Your lips thinned at the sight, grimacing internally while you willed yourself to move.

"Let's just get this over with, Smiles."

As your boot hit the first step, the walls of the funhouse breathed. Wood groaned, twisted, and dragged against itself in unnatural motions. From above, something shrieked before you could even take another step.

A streak of movement—a shadow dislodged from the roof—lunged down with a screech that splintered the air. You dropped low on instinct, the corrupted soul’s claws missing you by inches, your body rolling and scrambling back upright.

"Okay, rude!"

The corrupted soul towered over you, all mismatched limbs and warped carnival paint, twitching with spasms as if it was barely holding itself together. Its eyes glowed too bright for a human face, blinding you momentarily in the darkness of the night. Its giggle mimicked that of a child, but dragged through gravel, looping over itself like a broken record.

You lunged in, Alastor’s scythe slashing through the fog. He hummed in your grip, voice lilting with faux sweetness, "Oh come now, a touch more grace, if you please! I’d rather not spend the afterlife tethered to your shoddy combat skills."

"Then shut up and let me fight!" you snapped, pivoting for another strike as the creature’s laughter howled louder.

You parried a claw swipe and twisted, using the momentum to cleave downward. Alastor's blade cut clean through one of the soul's limbs, the corrupted flesh sizzling and hissing as it hit the warped floorboards with a wet smack. The creature shrieked, stumbling back.

"Oho! Beautifully executed, my dear!" Alastor sang, static flaring with delight in your grip. "You’re finally learning!"

"Gee, thanks," you grunted, flicking away the ichor that now coated the edge of his blade. "Didn’t realize I needed your approval to maim a monster."

"Oh, I do so love when you get feisty." He cooed, the scythe practically vibrating with amusement.

You slashed again, spinning low to avoid a second claw as the creature flailed. "And I love when you shut up. Funny how we never get what we want."

"But darling, if I were silent, who would narrate your mediocrity?"

You rolled your eyes, the corners of your mouth twitching despite yourself. "Keep talking and I’ll use you as a paperweight."

"Now, now, don't threaten me with a good time."

You were about to reply to the usual dance of bickering you and Alastor did when a sudden pain shot through your body, as if you were hit by lightning bolt. A searing line of agony lit up across your side as one of the soul’s talons found purchase. You gasped, stumbling back, something wet seeping into your coat as you glanced down to look at the bloodstain growing on your human form's clothes. Shit.

The air shifted, the scythe in your hands forcing you from harm's way as Alastor went unusually quiet.

When he spoke next, it was low. Cold. You could practically see his sinister smile, snarling at the corrupted soul who had done the damage.

"You will regret that."

The scythe pulsed in your hand with energy darker than usual. Alastor’s wrath, no longer gleeful but razor-focused, guided your every swing. You could feel his anger, his frequency tainting your wavelength like a growing poison. Together, you tore through the corrupted soul with practiced fury. It screamed, howled, and tried to flee—but you two together were faster. Stronger. Meaner.

The creature disintegrated, vanishing into a swirling orb of dark essence. You dropped to one knee, catching your breath. Alastor reappears beside you, adjusting his bowtie, the faintest trace of smoke still curling from his fingertips. He didn’t say a word as he scooped up the soul and devoured it, static rippling through his form as he licked his lips hungrily.

When the last echo of the corrupted soul faded, he turned to you.

“I told you not to let your guard down,” he says smoothly, but his gaze flicker to your shoulder. “Always so reckless.”

You glare at him from below. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“And I said I’m fine—”

He’s kneeling in front of you before you can finish, his glowing eyes studying the wound. For a split second, you see something behind his grin. Not pity. Not fear. But something rarer. Something tender. In one sudden swoop, you're being easily lifted by the demon in front of you.

You snort, instinctively wrapping your arms around his long neck as you let him carry you towards the portal that appears. “What, no jokes? No teasing?”

“Later,” he murmurs, voice low. “For now, I’m busy keeping my meister in one piece.”

Back in Hell, the portal closes behind you with a hiss. The mission scroll from earlier today transforms into a pile of coins, glistening on the small dining table. Mission complete.

Your shoulder aches. Your pride, more so. You transform back into your true demon form, your bones finally relaxing as if you had just peeled off too-tight clothing from your body. You’re halfway to your shared bedroom when Alastor grabs your wrist gently.

You blink, turning to look at him with a questioning gaze.

“I’ll bandage it properly,” he says, already guiding you toward the couch. “Unless you want it to fester.”

Sighing, you try to force down the knowing smile that tickles your lips. You do as he says, sitting down on the couch to watch him gather the first-aid materials in your shoe closet. His ears brush the top of the door frame, his lean body almost too tall for your tiny apartment. But you know deep down, he wouldn't have it any other way—and neither would you.

He returns with cleaning supplies and gauze, his expression softer than normal as his ears press against his head. "You seriously need to take more care of yourself, dearest."

"But then what would you do if I didn't get hurt most of the time?" You had meant that as a teasing remark, but you bite your cheek at the way Alastor looks at you with worried eyes. The two of you stare at each other for a brief moment, letting time pass before you breathe heavily. "Fine, I understand. But you better not gloat over saving me today."

“Oh no, of course not,” he says, his red eyes returning to their usual mirth. “I would never kick you while you’re down.”

A pause.

“...That’s tomorrow’s plan.”

You groan, trying to push him away as he cleans your wound. His laughter echoes throughout the small apartment, his hands gentle but firm on your body.

And in that messy one bedroom, one bath apartment that somehow barely fit both you and Alastor, beneath flickering overhead lamps and the scent of old jazz records, you let him patch you up.

Just a meister and their scythe. A perfect duo made in Hell. Souls stitched together by chaos. Bound not by fate—but by wavelength.

And somehow, that’s comfort enough.

once again, no tag list for this one because i'm not sure if anyone would want to be tagged in my au fics!

[rebldomak1tty]

A request for an alternative perspective of one of my other requests, Foilsick.

My 1st Love???? OH my God ... I am almost sure I am in love ... with Y/N. Hehehe ... such a strange name, like mine ... yet everything about her I love. From her good body to her almost perfect face, her charm, her wit & cunning, her NOT being popular. I just hope she likes me as much as I LOVE her. I think of her every second of every day. I want to be with her. I imagine me & her doing things together, the sound of her laugh, I picture her face, I love her. If soulmates exist, then I think I’ve found mine. I hope she likes Techno... :-) Y/N, I love you - Dylan

Eyes. Soft, warm, inquisitive, harsh, cold, unforgiving. They had a way of stripping you bare, peeling back the layers of skin you hid behind and finding your soul under all the falsehoods. And Dylan had never seen a pair of eyes quite like Y/N’s. The very first time she had looked at him, she’d been standing for the school bus as the heavens poured down around her, her wet hair whipping around her face: a living, writhing veil obscuring her from him. A flash of colour through the strands, and the darkness of a pupil, staring directly at him. He met her gaze, and his hair stood on end, his skin rippling into gooseflesh. Something twisted in the dark depths of her eye, and he felt his whole spirit move with it, floating up and out of his body, spiralling up, up, up, up, ever upwards and into the halcyon. His mind emptied, his ever-darkening thoughts quieting. VoDkA settled. His soulmate had been found. Yellow! Flashing past him in a blur of motion, even as the world around him ground to a standstill, fixing its rotation on the girl now climbing into the bus, buffeted in the swarm of kids like a diamond in a rock tumbler. As his soulmate took her seat and disappeared from view, his world began to turn again. Holding his hand out from under the tree he’d been smoking in the shelter of, he watched as the drops splattered across his large palm, slipping between his long, bony fingers, coating his skin with a rapidly decreasing frequency. A sliver of blue peeked between the heavy grey of the clouds above.

The locker opposite his. The seat across the classroom from him. The lunch table the other side of the cafeteria. The halcyon spiralled further out of his grasp. Beside him, Eric, REB, whatever it was that the annoying retard wanted to be called, chattered on and on. If it even was him talking. Not that it really mattered. The drone of the conversation he was supposed to be paying attention to buzzed around his head. He swatted at it. It dodged, and looped back to launch a second attack. Blue eyes drifted across the room, a magnet seeking its opposite pole. She was sitting by the window, the sunlight glancing off her hair, a halo of warmth illuminating her as she sat alone. It would be so easy to ditch the idiots he was eating with, play it cool as he walked over to join her, crack a joke as he slid into the seat opposite her… His heartbeat pulsed through his ears, sweat pooling in his palms. Alas, not yet. Movement near her: Robyn plopping herself unceremoniously into the seat next to her. Of course the two of them were friends. The halcyon crept ever closer, a tentative link bridged to heaven. His food remained untouched, his conversation neglected, the rowdiness of teenage boys bubbling, swelling around him, as he sat shrinking in on himself, insides coiling like snakes. Couldn’t even talk to a girl. How pathetic.

Class now, one without Y/N. Blah, blah, blah. Words, words, words zooming around his head like flies, skipping over his shaggy blonde hair, crawling over his nose, his lips, his skin itching. The teacher, explaining something he already understood. Boredom. Wanna die. His cell thrummed in the pocket of his pants. Turning his head, he fixed his gaze out the window, watching the clouds drift past. Soft, wispy white things, rolling and tumbling in the breeze, flitting ahead of the bigger grey bulkheads, cutting their way through the vivid ocean blue. Trees swaying, pine needles brushing gently together, building to a subtle crescendo- BANG! The thunk of the teacher’s fist on his desk made him jump. A chorus of titters and giggles. Ducking his head and muttering an apology, he picked up his pen, dwarfed by his fingers - a child holding a stick - and skimmed the worksheet on the desk in front of him. His brain whirred, connecting dots, building sentences, constructing the perfect answers. It was all so easy, almost too easy. He twirled his pen between his fingers, the motion practised, precise, a drum thudding in his mind with each rotation. Putting pen to paper, the ink scoring the material in a line of bright blue liquid, he wrote, mindless things, what was expected, what was enough to get him by: the questions were dull, so easy to answer that mediocrity should be expected. If you don’t have to think to come up with an answer, why even bother expending the energy anyway? He made a beeline for the boys’ toilets between classes, fumbling in his pocket, fingers sliding over the lukewarm shell of his cell phone. Grasping firmly, overriding the tug of plastic catching on fabric, the device was finally in his hand. The button of the keypad depressed under the pad of his index finger: message from Kibbz, message from Kibbz, message from Mom - don’t forget you have diversion tonight! - message from Devon, message from Robyn, message from Robyn… His finger stilled, the button halfway pressed in, as he took in what Robyn had sent him. Dinner. Thursday. With… No. This couldn’t be possible. Bony fingers fell slack as shock trembled through them, the artificial clatter of plastic on bathroom tiles ricocheting between the graffitied walls. The cell phone spun across the floor, a knife spiralling through the air. It hit a pipe with a soft thunk and stilled, a grey and green grenade, ready to blow. Dylan stared at it, watching the way the fluorescents reflected dully on the plastic, a pale imitation of the halcyon. Eyes wide, hands trembling, he took one step, then two, towards his cell, stomach bubbling and twisting, his palms growing slick with sweat as the world swirled and slanted around him. Light, pulsing, spiralling upwards, filled his vision as he stooped, gingerly retrieving the device and cradling it in his hands. A white lily, blooming under a clear sky. The halcyon opened for him, an ethereal hand extended to him. He took it - he would be a fool not to - the luminous skin divine against his mortal flesh. Infinince was his, stretching eternally before him as he read the text over and over again, his eyes alight with the halcyon, its radiance shining from his face as a smile parted his lips. He knew exactly what his answer was to Robyn’s question.

Love is more valuable than anything I know. To love is to enter a completion of oneself. I hate those who choose to destroy a love, who take it for granted. love is greater than life even. As I look for love, I feel I can’t find it. Ever. But something tells me I will, someday. Somewhere. As my love will find me, she feels as I do right now, I can feel it, we will be inseparable. Her & I. We will be free, to explore the vast wonders of the stars. To cascade down everlong waterfalls, & thru the warmest seas of pure happiness .. . no limits .. . no limits. Nothing will stop us.

Thursday evening. Hair up, back in a ponytail. His mom stared back at him from the mirror. Hair down, frizzy around his face. Maybe some gel? A quick tousle? Clumsy hands moved to his head, playing with the limp hair, brushing it back until it fell around his face in a way that was at least satisfactory. His body next, unclothed, collarbones standing out prominently. His fingers drifted up over his ribs, following the dips and swells, counting, one, two, three, four… over his chest, raking through the light smattering of dusty brown hair beginning to grow in. Robyn had said they were going to a diner. A not-so-blind date. Opening the wardrobe, his eyes flickered between articles of clothing, skimming over t-shirts, drifting between dress shirts. His trusty AOL shirt? Too informal, plus he wore it frequently enough that she was sure to think he only owned one shirt. That wouldn’t be too far from the truth. Teeth biting down into his lower lip, he glanced back towards the dress shirts. A diner, he reminded himself. Far too formal. But he wanted to make a good impression on her, look smart and well put together… a button-up and jeans? The image flashed through his head, and he almost snorted at the ridiculousness. Mind whirring, his body stock still, he weighed the options in his head, pros and cons flickering through his brain at lightning speed, and cast his judgment. Jeans pulled over his waist, sagging down to his hips until tightened with a belt, a quick roll of deodorant, a dab of cologne, XTORT tee smoothed over his torso, tight around his head, catching on his nose. Back to the mirror, a quick ruffle of his hair. Not too shabby, he hoped, tugging on the hem of his shirt, the album cover print stretching with the material. The soft chimes of the hallway clock drifted to the bedroom… five, six, seven, late!! Robyn had said to meet them there at 7.30. He practically flew from his room, down the stairs and out into his BMW, fingers fumbling with the key as it turned over in the ignition.

Darkness, illuminated only by the full beam of his headlights as he hurtled down the road, the yellow of the centre lines blurring, engine roaring. Around him, endless night pressed in, obscuring his surroundings, leaving him alone on the lost highway. A flash of red neon, slow blinking letters of a restaurant logo - we are open! - the cool lights of a 50s-style diner. 7.45 pm. Classy. Real slick. Pulling into the parking lot, his tyres grinding against the asphalt, his eyes flickered over the rows of empty parking spots. A very quiet evening, just as Robyn had said. Picking one of the bays closest to the diner, he quieted the engine, removing the keys and depositing them carelessly into one of his pockets. Unbidden, his hands returned to the steering wheel, 9 and 3, his palms suddenly growing moist, arms shaking as if trying to pop from their sockets as the familiar writhing built in his gut, intestines sliding wetly over each other, tangling into knots. A deep inhale. The subtle scent of leather and rubber. Exhale. He was the master of his fate, and he would bow to no god, kingdom, or state. Inhale. Car air freshener, pine and the tang of sweat. Exhale. The happiness was close. All he had left to do was claim it. And then the car door was open, his feet on the tarmac, the sidewalk. The diner door was cold under his fingertips, metal, heavy, real.

Chiming merrily, the small bell above the door sounded his arrival. His shoes squeaked against the linoleum as he stepped inside: a few heads turned towards him, and he felt his stomach roil again, attempting to force its way out from his mouth. The trembling in his arms began again as his gaze darted from one face to another - an elderly couple, a biker, a few off-duty cops - only to be met with disappointment at every patron. Where was she? He knew he was late, that it looked like he’d stood her up, but surely Robyn wouldn’t have let her leave. He turned his head, taking a couple more squeaky steps into the diner. As if drawn towards her, a planet sucked into the orbit of a black hole, he met the eyes of his soulmate, his muse, his torturer, his Medusa, and somehow didn’t turn to stone. He was floating, his mind drifting towards the light, his body as soft as marshmallow fluff. Y/N looked just as she had done on that day in the rain, the halcyon reflected in her eyes, swirling down around her neck, cascading from her fingertips. He could feel the way his jaw had slackened, knew he was staring at her like a gormless idiot, but he couldn’t help himself. Robyn Anderson - his saviour. Waving him over with a strange urgency to her movements. Of course, he obliged, loping over to where she sat at the counter, a half-eaten key lime pie in front of her.

“Be nice.” The first thing from her mouth was a warning, twofold in its intent. Behave yourself, those words told him, I’m watching you. She needs reassurance, they continued, gentleness is the way forward here. Be nice. Robyn gestured to her, as if the movement explained the whole scope of whatever it was he was about to walk into. “I think she’s planning on bolting, and I’m not gonna help catch her if she does.”

He laughed. He couldn’t help himself: diaphragm contracting, forcing every doubt clawing at his insides to spew from his mouth, body vibrating with the effort, the tumult of his insides bubbling out in a harsh cackle that creased the corners of his eyes and stretched his lips until they hurt, the skin splitting. Robyn smacked his shoulder lightly, a reminder of what he was here for, and he bit down on his lower lip, turning to face his goddess, sitting in the booth of a shitty 1950s diner. Y/N’s eyes were wide: a fawn poking its head around a tree. He watched as she took him in, admiring the subtleties of her expressions. A small nose scrunch, a curve of her mouth, dilation of her pupils. Clearly, she liked what she saw. He knew he had to speak soon, as this was the first time they were officially meeting. Chaste glances across rooms and soft, bittersweet daydreams couldn’t even begin to compare to this. Taking a seat opposite her, he watched the way her body vibrated, her eyes darting everywhere, looking for escape in a way he’d done so many times before. He offered her a warm smile. Everything will be okay.

“You’re Y/N, right? Robyn’s friend?” He wasn’t sure what to say next. His friends were so chatty, words machine-gunning from their mouths in a humming swarm, that he wasn’t too sure what to do with himself. Long fingers clasped together under the table, twisting the bones in their sockets, the staccato of trapped air popping like gunshots in the silence. His goddess still didn’t speak, the fear in her eyes radiating through her whole body: her hands had not stopped trembling. A twitch of his fingers, an instinctual need to soothe, to quiet her shaking frame. Surely he should introduce himself if she was still not comfortable enough to talk to him. “I’m Dylan. Dylan Klebold. I think we have some classes together.”

Those captivating eyes widened, recognition flashing through them. A nod! Score! Blood pooled in her cheeks, a soft blush spreading over her face and creeping down towards her chest. He felt his mouth drying, his throat constricting. Tongue darting out to wet his lips, as he inhaled the soft scent of her, watching the subtle fluttering of her pulse under the skin of her neck. Lips pulling upward unconsciously, he couldn’t help but smile at her again, the muscles of his cheeks aching at the movement. Sunlight cutting through dark clouds. If he could spend all night simply staring at her in silence, then he would be content. But something about the look in her eyes, the innocent terror, compelled him to speak. Bursting from him like water broaching a dam, the words strung themselves together, long, winding sentences that curled across the table like cigarette smoke, filling the silence with a balmy warmth. Y/N rested her hands flat on the diner table, her shoulders slowly relaxing, her posture straightening, a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis.

“So, what can I get you two tonight?” His halcyon girl immediately shrank back in on herself, her body tensing up, her eyes locking on the laminated menu in front of her: tears glistening in the overhead lights. The waitress arched an eyebrow at her behaviour, waiting for one of them to speak. And Dylan, of course, found himself taking the lead once again. He wasn’t exactly sure what to order, stumbling over his tongue as he tried to remember how his mouth worked, lips disconnected from his body, voice box vibrating of its own accord. Y/N fared even worse. A squeak, the only sound she’d made all night. Mouth opening and closing; a floundering fish.

“Show me what you’d like to eat, Y/N.” The sound of his voice, quiet, like a parent calming a scared child, snapped her out of the paralysis, locking her muscles. Her fingers flexed, one sliding over the plastic coating, landing on a salad, a side of fries, a milkshake. He relayed this smoothly to the waitress, inching his large hands across the table, taking her hands in his, his thumb rubbing soothing circles across the skin of her wrist. Her breathing slowed, the menu falling back to the tabletop with a soft whoosh.

Soon enough, they were alone together, the silence between them imposing itself again. Fingers tapping against her skin, his mind whirred, sorting through possible conversation starters. Music? Video games? Guns? Movies? What if he came on too strong? Scared her off with his unusual interests? His lips parted, and: “Robyn told me you were shyer than me.” Awesome. Way to go, Dylan. If she wasn’t self-conscious before, now she certainly was. Attempting to backpedal, he continued. “I didn’t think there could be someone, but I guess I was wrong. It’s okay, Y/N, I don’t mind waiting until you feel comfortable talking to me.” Shit. Shit. Shit. Sideline, change the topic, talk about anything other than this: “I have plenty more to tell you about what I’m planning on doing to my computer. Once I have the money, the upgrades I’m going to buy…”

I love her she loves me. I love her. the journey, the endless journey started, it has to end. We need to be happy to exist truly. I see her in perfection, the halcyons. I await endless purity. I exist as less than nothing without her. –O. My humanity, –O.

All too soon, the date came to an end, the moon shimmering high in the sky. The night air was cool against his skin as he leant against his car, watching his halcyon girl, his Y/N, fidgeting, wringing her thin little fingers. Looking up at him, the halcyon swirling through her striking eyes, she nibbled on her bottom lip, clearly building up the confidence to speak.

“It was great to meet you, Y/N. I had a lot of fun tonight.” He encouraged gently, a fluttering feeling blossoming through his chest, his cheeks beginning to burn at the confession. Nodding once, she placed her soft hand on his. The warmth of her flesh spread through him, the dappling sunlight through the leaves of a tree.

“Do you want to go on another date with me?” Her voice, as sweet as spun sugar, drifted through the air. His organs liquidated at the sound, his brain leaking from his ears, his stomach gooey chocolate. Everything about her was heaven incarnate: perfection made flesh. He couldn’t picture himself doing anything else than spending time with this gorgeous angel, wrapped up in a piece of heaven sent just for him.

An affectionate smile crept onto his face, lifting his cheeks, his eyes squinting. It was a genuine, happy thing that made his very being glow. “I’d love nothing more.”

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[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

The Tiefling Bachelors Taking Care of Sick! Reader Getting Treatment

A/N: This was sitting in my drafts, finished months ago, but I guess I never posted it? Oh well, it’s here now! 

No one asked for this but it came to me as I was getting infused the other day. I really wanted Zevlor to manifest out of thin air and hold my hand  😔. Anyway, without further ado… Here we go!

Characters: Dammon/Reader; Rolan/Reader; Zevlor/Reader

Word Count: 1.1k 

TW: Brief discussions of illness, some fantasy medical talk

Dammon- 

Dammon is probably the most fussy of the trio. He’s bumbling around the tent, ensuring you have enough blankets and water. Or do you want tea? Juice? Whatever it is, love, name it and he will fetch it for you.

He means to be helpful although his nervous waiting on you does create an air of anxiety in the room. 

If he gets too manic, the healers have to send him out on an ‘errand’, so that he can collect his nerves and so you have time to yourself. 

When he returns, Dammon is much calmer, having been cornered and given a pep talk by one of the elder tieflings or your companions outside. 

He’ll sit across from you, and distract you by showing you his latest outlines/blueprints for swords and lathes and such. 

If you’re particularly stressed, or truly not feeling well due to the side-effects of the treatment, he might even show you his jewelry designs. Dammon was, of course, planning to give them to you as a present after you’d finished your treatment, but in the meantime, he’d like you to keep them in mind to have something forward to look to. 

If you’re sleepy, he’ll just stay at your side while you rest, sketching in his book or making idle chats with the healer. 

Dammon excels at ‘parallel play’ kind of dates. He quite enjoys it when the two of you are each doing their respective thing within a shared space. He’s more than comfortable amusing himself while you just chill out right next to him. 

Of course, before you leave, he asks the healers a million questions, scrambling down all their answers. How long will this last? What side effects should you look out for? What happens if things get worse? He wants to be prepared after they take their leave, and he sees it as his responsibility to take care of you as you recuperate. 

He’s really so sweet, like a little puppy dog. He’s not always the most helpful, and he has a tendency to get in the way, but his efforts never fail to lift your spirits at the end of the day.

Rolan-

Rolan is such a stickler for being an oppositional brat all the time. He gives everyone around him whiplash by turning into the most overbearing parental figure. You’d think he’d been possessed if it wasn’t for that trademark smirk of his. 

He’s constantly making you drink. No, he doesn’t care that you’re not thirsty, the healer said to stay hydrated throughout the process. And no, he doesn’t care that it means you have to get up to pee every 15 minutes. Urinary frequency is a small price to pay! Now be a good patient and drink your chamomile tea without any more complaining, yeah?

He watches the healers like a hawk, mentally recording their every word/move. He’s not a cleric or druid, but that doesn’t mean he’s entirely naive to healing magic. He wants to make sure whatever spells or potions you’re being given are up to his standard. 

And if the healing isn’t magical in nature... Oh boy, he’s going to be even more of a pill about it. He still hovers of course. But he also makes the occasional ‘helpful’ suggestion like: ‘I know a spell that could do that faster’, ‘Herbs are nothing compared to the power of the Weave’. The healers just roll their eyes and work around him. 

If he gets really grouchy, you’re gonna have to put him in a time-out. If not for your sake, then for the poor healers who are just trying to do their job. Rolan argues for a moment, but ultimately agrees, leaving to gather himself. 

When he comes back you can tell either Cal or Lia have spoken some sense into him, since he’s calmed down a bit. Rolan will sit with you, read to you, hold your hand if you beg ask, he might even perform a few tricks for you if you’re feeling up to it. 

He ushers the healers away as soon as they're done, wanting to just be alone with you. He puts up a tough exterior, but deep down he’s afraid. He cares for you so much. You, Cal, and Lia are his family, he feels it's his job to protect you, but try as he might he cannot protect you from your illnesses, and that hurts him deeply. 

You’ll need to comfort him once all this is all over. It’s as much an ordeal for him as it is for you.

Zevlor-

Zevlor is a worry-wart, bless his old paladin heart. His mind is always racing with endless possibilities- about the tieflings, about the grove, about you… It can be a lot for the commander to handle. 

But because Zevlor is a paladin and former hellrider, he has a good amount of experience working under pressure. He knows how to keep a level head and act on what is good for those around him, unlike what seems easiest to accomplish. 

He’s a very disciplined man, and he tries to get that discipline extended to you as you heal. He sets up a regime, for diet, exercise, and socializing catered especially to your needs and current abilities. He wants you to utilize this time to maximize your healing, and just let yourself trust that you are doing all you can to take care of yourself. 

He trusts the healers implicitly, knowing their expertise is much better suited to you and your current priorities. He’ll cater his regime around their recommendations, taking into accommodation your current feelings/moods of course. 

He writes out instructions for you to read while he’s away, busy tending to his duties. In the event he’s especially worried about watching over you, he’ll send Tilly or another one of his soldiers to check in on you periodically. 

Zevlor would love nothing more than to spend the entire day with you, keeping you safe in his embrace, but he’s wise enough to understand that even amidst these kinds of things, life must go on. He cannot abandon his duties as leader and you cannot abandon your life. 

Zevlor tries to maintain the status quo as best as possible, he doesn’t want your illness and treatments to entirely define your life, just as he wishes Elterel will not solely define his. 

Once all is said and done, he comes to find you, a warm broth in his hands. He settles down next to you as you sip your meal slowly, his tail coiling around your waist keeping you close to him. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you, you don’t need to. It’s clear to you what’s in Zevlor’s heart. 

The two of you just sit silently together, enjoying each other's company, as you brace yourselves for yet another new dawn. 

I hope you enjoyed! 

If you like my work, please consider Buying Me A Coffee!

And most importantly, please Like and REBLOG! 

[bitter-bats-cult-of-the-moon]

Clair-senses & Exercises

Clairvoyance: The ability to see the not so ordinary. Your intuition speaks directly to you in the form of sight. Images form in your mind or interpret information through pictures.

Clairaudience: The ability to hear or interpret information from spirits. Clairaudience is a way of receiving intuitive messages without using your physical ears but rather hearing messages within your mind.

Clairsentiency: The ability to sense the presence or absence of spiritual beings and feel energies.

Clairempathy / Psychic Empathy: The ability to feel another’s feelings as their own. This is different from regular empathy, which is the ability to identify with another’s feelings.

Claircognizance: The ability to just know things out of nowhere. It can tie into Precognition.

Precognition: The ability to know something is going to happen before it does, premonitions.

Clairtangency: The ability to assess metaphysical properties through touch.

Clairalience: The ability to perceive metaphysical smells.

Clairgustance: The ability to perceive the metaphysical through taste.

Artistic and Divine Inspiration: The Poets have given many names to the unprompted artistic impulses found in creatives. The Norse concept for this is oðr. The Welsh and Celtic concept for this is Awen. This is the act of receiving metaphysical or divine information through artistic impulses.

Exercises to Improve Your Clairvoyance Skills

Exercise 1

Sit quietly with your eyes open.

Focus on a still object in front of you.

In your mind, take note of the objects and furniture around you.

If you see shadows, sparks, or movement, keep focused on the item in front of you.

Sit for as long as you feel comfortable.

Make notes on what you saw and felt.

Exercise 2

Sit with your eyes closed.

Clear your mind and thoughts.

Once you feel your thoughts leave you after a comfortable amount of time, focus on your eyelids and that black canvas it is.

Imagine that blank canvas and focus your intentions while keeping an open mind.

Allow whatever images that come to mind to play out. Don’t try to make sense of it.

Document findings in a journal. 

Exercises to Improve Your Clairaudience Skills

Exercise 1

Go to a place where you are most comfortable.

Close your eyes, relax your body, and let hearing be your dominant sense.

Gently tune in to sounds that you don’t normally focus on.

Really pay attention to the layers of sounds and identify what each one is.

Document your findings in a journal or record yourself.

Exercise 2

Sit with your eyes closed.

Clear your mind and thoughts.

Once you feel your thoughts leave, focus on your eyelids and that black canvas it is.

Focus on the sounds around you and slowly try to tune them out.

Imagine an old radio with a frequency dial. Turn the dial through each station.

With an open mind take notice to any sounds chiming through. It’s okay if you hear nothing. Keep moving through each station. You won’t run out of them.

Put your intentions into each turn of the dial taking note of any sound. 

Document your findings in a journal.

Exercises to Improve Your Clairsentiency Skills

Exercise 1

Get more familiar with your energies by touching how your hands, feet, eyes, etcetera feel.

Learn how the environment feels around you rather it be the city or rural areas.

Learn how animals and plants feel from one to the next. Not everything is the same. Become aware of that. Every plant has its own pattern past the base patterns. Every animal has different markings apart from the next. Identify those traits.

Once that is learnt and recognized. Learn to feel the airs around you in different regions if one is able to do so.

Exercise 2

Visit different haunted facilities observing all the key details.

Take note of the atmosphere. How does it feel?

Take note of the emotions you feel during a tour.

Take note of the temperatures surrounding you.

Take note of any odd experiences and the people with you.

Exercise 3

Meditate with a specific spirit.

Take in the surroundings before starting.

Consider your moods beforehand. Noting them down.

Focus on the intentions for communication.

How do you feel during the meditation? What about after?

Did anything in the environment change?

Did temperatures in the environment change?

Did you feel hot or cold?

Did you feel any movements outside yourself?

Document your findings.

Exercise to Improve Your Clairempathy Skills

Ask someone you know to show you a picture of somebody they know very well, but you’ve never met at all.

Look at the picture and feel into it by observing all aspects. Focus on how this person was feeling when the picture was taken.

Ask yourself what kind of person this individual is.

Share your findings with your friend.

Now, ask your friend for feedback. How correct were you? Repeat this exercise as many times as you want with different people. Remember to keep a journal for any findings.

Exercises to Improve Your Claircognizance Skills

Exercise 1

Grab a pen and pull out your notebook. Before you start writing, ask yourself a question. What guidance do I need today? How can I find a resolution with a problem? How can I be helpful today?

Then set a timer for five to twenty minutes and write whatever comes to you. Don’t edit yourself. Express yourself fully and write whatever comes to you.

The more you do this exercise, the easier it will be.

Exercise 2

Meditate before bed falling asleep to a method of relaxation.

Clear your mind during this meditation pushing away any internal thoughts.

Focus your intention on an open mind and dreams. 

If a dream begins let it play out.

Upon waking write down your findings. Keep a dream journal taking note of anything that happens later in this world.

Compare and contrast experiences in this world versus your dreams.

Exercise 3

When topics are being discussed among individuals take note of things you know but have not studied or read about or heard about from any other source.

Document any experiences keeping notes on things if any. 

[redactahoe]

Hiiiii….! Heeeey..! How y’all doin’ ..!

I know it’s been almost two months a minute and I apologize for that there’s been a lot going wrong in my personal life and I’ve been pretty burned out with arguing with cvs about Giving me my adhd meds but I got em so have some funfacts about my sweetheart oc and Milo

Here’s a wip for reference:

—————————————————————————

For reference my sweetheart oc is named Ilya ands a lovable asshole

He’s Sam’s little brother and totally thought that Sam was missing but still alive despite what everyone around him was telling him and part of the reason he became an investigator was so that he could at the very least find out what happened to his brother

Following the whole Sam and iyla being brothers that means that iyla is also freakishly tall and built like a Mac truck. Sam stands at around 6’7 and iyla is 6’9 and it pisses Sam off so bad when ppl mistake iyla for the older one of the twos even though iyla only has a little scruff on his face meanwhile Sam has a whole ass beard)

Despite the fact that iyla is a flaming homosexual for Milo and is deeply and almost obsessively in love with his mate, he still looks like an attractive straight guy or what Lucas (baabe) likes to say a ‘book tok girlies wet dream’ and this causes a lot of… workplace crushes. And while yes at the department that iyla works at majority of his coworkers know and have accepted his relationship with Milo (because 99% of the things iyla talks about is Milo and much he loves his mate) the still get the occasional rookie or incredibly persistent people who either don’t know or haven’t accepted. It’s ok though like I mentioned before(see first point) iyla is a bit of an asshole and has an arsenal of smarmy and sassy shutdowns and comebacks for the overly insistent ones.

Because of his job iyla has to dress pretty professionally so whenever he’s not working he takes every chance he gets to where his stupid little pj pants. You know those pjs that have like superhero’s or cartoon patterns on? Yeah, iyla loves them! He has a vast collection of them and they drive Milo crazy

Speaking of clothing as much as I want to lead you to believe that iyla and Milo are fashion icons, it’s not true. It’s all Milo and iyla truly and whole heartedly has no fashion sense at all. But what he does have is the amazing ability to pick up and match whatever frequency Milo is putting out so it gives the allusion that iyla also has a sense of fashion. But no he’s just really good at matching energy

Milo quite literally changed this man’s life. Ilya can’t take care of himself for shit and survived off of the bare minimum and coffee. And because of this he was pretty malnourished but would never tell anyone and would play off the light headedness, migraines and other symptoms of not taking care of one’s self off and most people wouldn’t push but Milo nore his mama aren’t most people. When Milo found out about iyla basically starving himself and then got the same ‘it’s fine, it’s not that bad, and you don’t got to worry’, Milo wasn’t having any of that. And took it Apon himself to make iyla lunch every single day and take said lunch to iyla every single day. Milo still does this to this day. And while at first iyla tried to convince Milo not to waste his time or resources on him, it was more like trying to convince a brick wall to move. And then Marie found out through Milo and took a step further by essentially forcing ilya to let her mothering him.

Bc of the whole Milo and Marie forcing iyla to take care of himself, he ends of becoming very soft and squishy, at first iyla tried to hide this new development from Milo in fear of Milo not liking his new body, but Milo had long noticed and is incredibly obsessed with the weight and how it looked on iyla and was actively holding back from jumping iylas bones. The only reason Milo didn’t drag that dumb mf into pound town was because he was still trying to considerate and respectful of iylas feeling. Let’s just say Milo ended up demolishing any insecurity in iyla that night >:]

Iyla and aggro are best buddies. Like aggro is the kind of cat that typically doesn’t like being carried but whenever iyla is around, little man is begging to be in his arms. If iyla ain’t holding him them aggro is either on his shoulders/head or following him around like a little shadow. Iyla is not allowed to close his office door or aggro will scream. Milo sometimes likes to joke that he’s the third wheel here which is then responded with lots of love and affection from iyla because Milo will always be his number one priority(aggro comes in at a close second though)

Much like his brother iyla has an accent but it’s ever so slightly lighter and sounds closer to a Cajun accent rather than a country accent but that still doesn’t stop his friends from also calling him a cowboy. But unlike Sam, iyla fully accepts this title and even plays into it\

A lot of people expect him to a cold jaded investigator who expresses a lot of emotion, he is anything but that. He’s a comedic jackass (think Pete Davidson, Deadpool, ) who has no filter. And while most of the time he’s able to keep it tame, he’s still very reactive and does not think before he speaks most of the time.

The first time he met colm(at work because colm knows no boundaries) he was holding back so much snark and was trying so hard to be respectful bc colm is still Milo’s dad and whole he may not have sway on Milo’s opinion he definitely could still affect Marie’s opinions of him. But that all when out the fucking window when colm made an off handed comment about Milo’s sexuality and iyla on reflex called him a cunt and drunkard, proceeded to flip colm off and walk away. Milo found this hilarious though, and could not stop talking about it for weeks. And while colm tried to cry about the ‘no good stealth punk’ to Marie, she told his ass that he should have listened at left iyla alone

Iyla has a bit of a temper and a smoking habit. But don’t worry iyla has gotten amazing control of his temper and he’s been trying to quit smoking since he met Milo. And even when iyla is angry it’s just a lot of comedic yelling and cussing. Not aimed at anyone in particular (usually) it’s just a lot of iyla yelling increasingly creative curses

Iyla working and iyla not working are two very different people. Iyla despite his jokey laid backness. Takes his job very seriously and Coworkers that aren’t close to him kinda don’t believe iyla can genuinely laugh and he has something that Asher likes to call his ‘lieutenant voice’ where it’s essentially iyla speaking in a kinda scary and demanding tone which is usually used when a fellow officer/investigator fucks up, is being dumb, or god forbid being discriminating against anyone, especially iylas family.

Milo thinks the lieutenant voice is very sexy, David of all people is a little scared of it(but he would never admit it out loud), sam is also a little intimidated by it but he will openly admit that he didn’t think his little bro could be that scary, Asher, Angelo, Casey and the rest thinks it’s kind of funny how easy it is for iyla to switch into lieutenant mode

Despite the vast height difference between Milo and iyla, iyla very rarely makes jokes about Milo’s size. He is very aware on how these jokes make Milo feel and he almost knocked Chrissy’s lights out for making a pipsqueak joke about Milo behind his back. But on the other hand he will call Sam every short related nickname under the fucking sun.

On a more serious note iyla is incredibly paranoid about his friends and family’s safety and took it very hard when Casey fell of the the face of the earth to hunt down Quinn. And while at first iyla was mad ad Casey that anger very quickly shifted on to Quinn after iyla decided to look into Quinn’s history and found out that he has had a pattern of targeting to black sheep’s and using that persons loved ones against him.

You don’t wrong iyla or anyone iyla cares about and get away with it. Iyla is a very vengeful person and believes that if you hurt someone for no good reason then you need to receive that hurt back tenfold. He has a long history of getting his lick back on people, and some range from incredibly funny and ironic to down right murderous

On a more lighter note, he’s super competitive and Milo and him playfully argue and banter all fucking day but it usually ends in some form of a steamy make out because their gross and in love

[starhrtz]

       (,,>ヮ<,,)! 💬 ᶻz ◜ LOVE COUNTDOWN ◞ 𖦹

ᗂ 　 ᛝ 　﹒ 𓆩❝ tell me do you wanna be my lover? are you ready to be mine. ❞𓆪 ᶻ𝗓 𐰁 ︵︵

◞◟ ⦂ #pairings ₎₎ ❝ robin x fem!reader

◞◟ ⦂ #content ₎₎ ❝ fluff, tgswiiwagaa!au, 890 wc, not proofread!

˖ ⠀#synopsis ⠀ ୭ৎ　in which... do you even know she isn't even a guy at all? 𓈒 ’

˖ ⠀#notes⠀ ୭ৎ　i love wuh luh wuh and new writing style too ig... might make a part 2𓈒 ’

⌣ 🪽 ❝ The record store was glowing vaguely in the dim light. Its warm light looked as if an amber wine glass had stumbled out of someone’s hands and shattered onto the street. You had always loved that tiny shop with its walls embellished with vinyls and CD’s that seemed to tell a story of the past. It was just like the other nights, except for the relentless thrum or flutter within you that began the moment “he” caught your eye a few weeks ago.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ The Cashier was just your type, a fusion of elegance and secrecy, a stranger that felt like “he” has sculpted out of my most loved guitar riffs. Robin as the name tag suggested, had a great sense of style which always caused your cheeks to have a red hue. You would often spot lovely hands that were sorting through stacks of records or brushing silver-blue bangs away from sharp narrowed eyes.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ You were supposed to be looking through the CDs, probably on the hunt for the latest from an Independent band but instead, your gaze remained fixed at “him,” similar to how a needle would get glued to the record. “He” was intriguing, the humming sound caused you to be fascinated with “him.” Watching him move on the floor like music with an underlying pattern. Each step of his was measured to the strum quiver of a guitar string.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ There is something nearly criminal about this admiration full of silence. Your heart makes a tune of its own which is quite different from the soft music currently playing in the store. In your head you repeated that you had come here for the music and not for… this, whatever it is. But then, the sheer magnetism of Robin’s presence made such concentration impossible.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ Not today, though! You resolved that today would be different. You will talk. It will not be those brief and shy talks which had developed into your daily routine, but it will be a conversation. A real conversation.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ While you daydreamed, someone walked into the store and the soft bell twinkled on the door making you snap out of it. You shook your head realizing that you were staring in what looked like a lovelorn daze. Clearing your throat you focused on the CDs and absentmindedly touched the shiny cases to appear engaged.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ “Do you have something specific you’re looking for?”

⌣ 🪽 ❝ It was a voice that was deep and smooth and held the edge of laughter as Robin approached you which caught you slightly off guard. Robin was just a few feet away from you and was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and the corners of “his” lips curved into a small smile.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ Your heart almost jumped out of my mouth, “Umm..” I quickly looked around for something to say in order to avoid embarrassment “I am just browsing the store, particularly the indie section. ” The way “he” spoke was intoxicating... smooth, like the warm crackle of vinyl, each word measured yet unassuming. You nodded quickly, hoping the warmth crawling up your neck wasn’t as visible as it felt.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ As Robin slid back to the counter, you let out a sigh you did not know you were holding on to. Your fingers mindlessly rummaged through the CDs, but your thoughts were elsewhere. Why did “he” feel so magnetic? Like some inscribed string had been struck deep within making it vibrate at a frequency you couldn’t quite make sense of. It wasn’t only “his” appearance although the silver blue hair along with sharp defined features certainly did not do you any favors in maintaining composure. No, it was more than that. The very fact of how “he” held himself as if every movement and every word was a song perfectly delineated. There was a distinct quality in “him” a symphonic and harmonic one that you desperately wanted to comprehend.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ After all, there was one album you had finally managed to pick up, quite random if I must say, and headed towards the desk. As you got closer, Robin glanced up with the slightest recognition in her eyes softening “his” stare after which went on to say that, “Good choice” “he” said while scanning the CD with an ease that that was like it was rehearsed. “They have quite a unique sound. A bit more heavy but meaningful at the same time. You should enjoy it.”

⌣ 🪽 ❝Before you could ask, Robin handed you the CD, “his” fingers brushing yours ever so slightly. The contact was brief, fleeting, but it sent a jolt through you nonetheless.You blinked. How did “he” know that was exactly the type of music you were drawn to? Before you could ask, Robin handed you the CD, “his” fingers brushing yours ever so slightly. The contact was brief, fleeting, but it sent a jolt through you nonetheless. “Thanks,” you mumbled, gripping the CD tighter than necessary as you turned to leave. “Wait,” Robin’s voice stopped you just as you reached the door. You turned, heart pounding, to find “him” leaning casually against the counter, an air of hesitance about “him.”

⌣ 🪽 ❝ “If you’re into this band,” “he” said, nodding toward the CD in your hands, “you might like the open mic night we’re hosting here next week. Local artists, mostly indie stuff. It’s... worth checking out and I'll be performing too...” Your eyes widened. Was Robin inviting you? Or was it just a casual suggestion? Either way, your heart felt like it was on fire. “I’ll... think about it,” you managed, offering a small smile before ducking out of the store rather quickly.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ Robin exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she'd been holding, leaning against the counter for support. Her fingers curled around its edge, knuckles white. That brief exchange… your shy smile, the way your fingers had brushed against hers when she handed you the CD was enough to make her carefully built façade tremble ever so slightly. After all you always looked at her like she was someone else, this enigmatic “guy” who effortlessly exuded cool. She didn’t mean for it to happen.. Though it was the way you gazed at her, like she was someone worth noticing. Someone worth admiring.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ She gently pulled off the beanie, letting her hair cascaded down past her shoulders in loose waves. The weight of her silver strands felt grounding, a reminder of who she really was beneath the guise… The quiet girl who doodled in her notebook during class, invisible to almost everyone except, somehow, to you.

⌣ 🪽 ❝ Eventually she'll tell you the truth… Right?

[chemococktailonthehouse]

Nightly Ritual (Lucifer x F!Reader)

Description: Lucifer tended to stay up far later than he should, and he certainly wasn't easy to convince to come to bed. You, however, had a few tricks up your sleeve.

Warnings: Fluff (that's it. that's the whole post), sleepy sleepy reader, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

Author's Note: This one has been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute now. I've got another one I'm working on and may not finish that has similar vibes with a touch of angst (what can I say, I know what I like). I'm not sure how much Hazbin I'll write for, as I'm not super involved with the fandom at this point. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Word Count: 897

This has been cross-posted on my AO3 account which you can find here.

______________________________________________________________

Lucifer spent many a night in his workshop working and you spent many a night trying to pull him away from said work and into bed. Besides, what was the point of a king-sized bed if there wasn’t a king to share it with? At some point you realized that if you could get him to enter the bedroom the battle was practically won. But how could you consistently make that happen? The answer fell into your lap one night when you dozed off watching him work. He gazed at you fondly for a moment before finally scooping you up and carrying you off to bed. As soon as he deposited you beneath the sheets you pulled him along with you as he let out a surprised umph. And so this dance of yours began. You would fall asleep in his office and he would carry you to bed. It didn’t take him long for him to catch on to your little game, but he couldn’t help but play along.

Most nights you’d pull up a chair to his desk, your head moving from resting in your palm to laying across your arm as you began to drift off. Other time’s you’d sit next to him, resting your head on his shoulder as he tinkered away. Once or twice you even sat in his lap with your head buried in the crook of his neck as he hummed softly in your ear. Tonight though, you unintentionally mixed things up.

Luci heard the door creak open not too long after supper as you padded into the room. He was a bit surprised. Usually you wouldn’t start this song and dance until much later in the evening. You wrapped your arms around him and rested your head on his shoulder as you peered at his current project. Maybe you were just here to watch tonight.

“Whatcha working on?” Though, to be honest, you already knew the answer.

“Oh, just the usual.”

You fell into a comfortable silence. Every now and again you’d ask a question about what he was doing or what tool he was using, to which he would happily answer. After one particularly in depth question he turned to you, “so, you trying to pick up the tools of the trade?”

“How do you know I’m not already an expert?”

“Oh ho ho, I think we both remember what happened last time.”

You swatted at his shoulder playfully, “oh hush you.”

“I’m not the one who almost set the office ablaze,” he raised his eyebrows as he challenged you to retort.

”Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. You should be thankful I took such a tremendous responsibility off your hands.”

“Mhmm,” you could feel his quiet laughter reverberate in his chest. He continued working, humming contently whenever you’d pepper kisses on his cheek. Eventually the frequency of your musings began to slow as he noted your breathing deepening, “you sure you don’t want to come sit in my lap?” While he didn’t want you toppling over, he was reveling in the close contact and would be damned if it ended any time soon.

“Can see what you’re doing better from up here,” the way you mumbled made it evident that sleep was soon to follow.

“You sure you’re not gonna fall asleep back there?”

“Mhmm. ‘m not even that tired.”

He turned and placed a kiss on your cheek, “whatever you say, dear.”

You did, in fact, fall asleep back there. Just as the first soft snore left your lips he felt you begin to slide to the side. He unfurled his wings, keeping you upright until he could turn around and lift you into his arms, “alright missy, let’s get you to bed.” You stirred slightly, lazily reaching an arm over his shoulder to stroke the feathers at the base of his wings as he carried you down the hall. The only clue that he had finally made it to the room was the soft click of the door before he laid you down on the bed. Before you had the chance to pull him down with you he had stepped out of your grasp. You turned to face him, worried that your plan had been unsuccessful this evening, “stay, please.”

“I’ll be right there, just need to slip into something more comfortable.” A few minutes later he climbed under the covers and pulled you to him, the warmth of bare chest pulling you in like a duckling to its mother.

You looped an arm around him once more, tracing your fingers across his back in search of those oh-so-soft wings. You huffed, disappointed to find he had tucked them away, “Luci?”

“Yes dear?”

You rubbed small circles until he finally got the hint. “Ohhh, someone sure is needy tonight, hmm?” His tone was playful, though it could be argued that he found much more satisfaction from wrapping you up in his wings than you did. And you loved when he wrapped you up. You began combing your fingers through his feathers again as he practically purred, “you know if you keep that up I may just have to start coming to bed earlier.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” there was that mumbling again as you began to drift off.

He chuckled, a soft, deep tone, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”