#and people are eating it up babyyy

[widevibratobitch]

lmao it's not even funny how ridiculously easy this exam was. i love oral exams. im a master of manipulation. you WILL listen to me talk about mozart whether the subject warrants it or not. and you WILL enjoy it.

[butterfluffy]

strawhats + d. mihawk with a healer!s/o

⠀⠀ੈ♡˳· what would it be like being a healer, and an s/o to these people?

⠀⠀➧ unlabeled | strawhats, d. mihawk (separate)  x gn!reader | multi-character headcanons

⠀⠀➧ warnings — idk, none, ig? mistakes may be present tho.. so do ignore them, thanks.

⠀⠀➧ requests are closed, sorryyyyy..!

⠀⠀꒰ 🍨 ꒱ notes: finally writing to clear out my inbox aAaaaAahhHhhHHHHh

req by @n0body-1mportant

MONKEY D. LUFFY

This trouble maker captain right here is always injured lol

So that said, you always go on healing your big, trouble maker baby

Wild card : Though he can take punches, kicks, and even stabs without screaming in pain—Luffy starts whining like a poor puppy everytime he comes to ask you to patch him up.

“Y/n...! Look, look, I'm heavily injured! I'm reaallyy hurt! Won't you heal me!? And, and! Won't you give me a kiss, too, for doing a great job in beating that bastard's ass!?”

RORONOA ZORO

Same as his captain, the first mate is always injured—due to fights, his harsh training, and other causes

..Despite always being injured, Zoro hates getting himself patched up. But if you're the one doing the healing so he could get better, it's all good for him!

Wild card : Zoro doesn't care if he's greatly bleeding out during a fight—but outside a fight, if he got the smallest cut, Zoro immediately dashes to you to get himself healed up..!

“Hey, so, I was peeling myself apples a while ago using that ero-cook's damned knife—now I got this cut. Heal it now, and eat these with me, yeah?”

NAMI

Nami very much hates getting herself injured, especially getting scars

So Nami is quick to rush to you to get her injury fixed

Wild card : this happens quite rarely, since as said above, she hates getting scars—but, nami sometimes get herself injured on 'places' to see you flushed when she asks you to heal it~

“Babyyy..! Look, look! Look at my perfectly beautiful legs here! They've got a scar! Their beauty has been tarnished, so, please.. Take care of them, yeah~?”

USOPP

Usopp avoids getting himself injured at all cost.

And when he does get injured, he screeches as he dash towards you with tears on his eyes, asking you to heal his injury ASAP.

Wild card : I have this headcanon for Usopp where he's a real clutz, so he always has an injury here and there, and wounds that he doesn't know where it came from.

“Y-Y/n..! W..When I woke up, I saw this new wound on my arm..! I..I don't know where it came from—it's probably from the spirits that I've angered, waaahh!!”

(it was caused by Luffy. He was dreaming that Usopp was a piece of meat, and bit him during their sleep. 💀)

VINSMOKE SANJI

As the left hand man of the ship's captain, Sanji is always out on a fight to support his captain, so injuries are unavoidable.

He's developed durability to the beating up he receives and shows it off his coolness to you, BUT AFTER THE FIGHT, he whines.

Wild card : This perv right here always has a nosebleed everytime you go patch up his beaten up ass, causing you more trouble.

“My loveee..! I'm injured, I'm badly hurt..! Everything's so painful, so please, heal me with your magic kiss—*you kiss him* *he nosebleeds*”

NICO ROBIN

Robin isn't a big fan of getting injuries during combat, or whenever.

Though despite being injured, she handles it like a Queen! (You don't.)

Wild card : As said above she handles her injuries like the Queen she is, BUT, you don't—you're more panicked when she's injured as she stays calm while telling you some morbid jokes.

“Darling.. Please calm down. I'm not going to die, you know? All I got is this small scratch the size of a severed finger, so, don't worry about me too much, okay?”

FRANKY

SUPEEEERRRRR Franky right here who's a barely gets himself injured.

↑ Why? Because, he's a cyborg, a cool one who will barely get a scratch..!

Wild card : ...When Franky does get injured for some reason being during a fight or where else, he starts crying like a small child to you as he asks you to heal him...!

“Waaahh! This damned injury hurts so bad..! It's SUPEEEERRRR painful, I'm gonna cry! Y/n, Y/n, quick, quickly, heal me and ease my pain..!!”

DRACULE MIHAWK

The greatest swordsman? Injured?? Pfft, not a chance.

Though when he's going against strong fellas, he gets some scratches here and there, which he deals with by himself—not wanting to bother you.

Wild card : Mihawk doesn't show it, but, he loves, and finds it cute when you insist on helping him with his injury that he already had managed, or can obviously handle fixing by himself.

“My dear... I already fixed my injury, so don't worry about it. But.. If you really insist on using your ability to speed up the healing process.. Alright. I'll let you.”

© butterfluffy 2023

⠀⠀ʚїɞ · likes, comments, reblogs, and/or feedbacks are highly appreciated!

[cu7ie]

BIMBOFICATION. ft. geto suguru

(>◡•́)— ★ authors note. IM BACK BITCHES. WITH THE HORNY SHIT AKAKKAKAKA . kinktober day one! masterpost here. ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ content warnings. dumbification, reader is a bimbo - ditzy, hypersexual, huge airhead vibes be warned. they are obedient and listen to what geto tells them. reader wears feminine clothes, has a 'clit', and is referred to as a 'girl', no use of she/her (ahahaha i love gender things). cock sucking throat fucking all that nasty gluk gluk shit y'eard?

You’re not stupid.

Forgetful, yeah! Occasionally uneducated, of course. But dumb? You’d surmise that conclusion to be a bit of a stretch; despite how often you find yourself trying to convince people of the contrary.

It is typical of humans to forego their ‘common sense’ on occasion, though it never seems to be a problem when anyone else does it! When Gojo eats all his candy and doesn’t share with anyone at the party, it’s cool; but when you do that, you get all kinds of pushback: “What’s wrong with you?” Nothing! The chocolate was gonna melt if you didn’t do something about it! “What are we supposed to give to the trick or treaters now?” All the twizzlers you left behind, duh.

Shoko gave you a look and sipped her sake, Gojo’s pointed barks of laughter chasing you back to the comfort of the kitchen. There you see Geto; your boyfriend, whose presence settles amicably in the gaps of your expression when he looks up at you with that beckoning fondness. He crooks his fingers and you bound over quite thoughtlessly, much to his evident amusement. 

Despite how much you insisted on matching costumes, Geto struck out of his own accord, the fake knife accompanying his Ghostface costume down on the counter. The real knife he was using to cut up the peppers is set aside as he busies himself with the sink.

You’re wearing one of those sexy school uniforms. Mini bordering on microskirt, paired with a cute number that shows your midriff- the dip in your chest. Your gogo boots click noisily on the floor a little as you sidle up next to him.

Geto pats your head when you get close enough, hands damp after a fresh rinse, and you preen from the contact. “Hey babyyy!” You gush a little, setting down the rest of the candy on the counter. “Can you get me a bowl?” He tilts head at you a little, looks down at the bag a second.

“Babe, didn’t I tell you to get the big bag?” Geto asks and shuffles over to the cabinet as you wash your hands to pick up where he left off. “Yeah! I did, doesn’t it look big to you?” 

“Yeah… of course it does. But remember that conversation we had about eating things that aren’t yours?” He brings back the bowl, but also a sternness to his grin, which all of a sudden doesn’t meet his eye. “Well yeah Suguru!” You’re looking down now, cutting vegetables with sudden interest and precision, sweeping it up into little piles. “It's not like I'm stupid …” His figure lingers in your periphery as the words leave your lips, the air about him suddenly feeling … tense. 

Then his hand is on yours.

“Look at me honey.” He gives you a squeeze, and you go to look up on instinct. Hesitate. “What?” Your grip on the knife softens, and it soon clatters atop the cutting board. “What, I said.”

“I never said you were stupid.” Your eyes met his before you realized, and the indignant scowl you want to make shrivels up inside you like a dried cocoon. “You just have a hard time saying what you mean right?” He blinks owlishly at you. “I know you don’t wanna lie to me.” “But I’m not-” Geto interrupts with a shake of his head. “Maybe one time I could forgive you, but twice? To my face?” You feel the sun in your face, fire hot heat setting you ablaze with embarrassment, feigned ignorance. A nagging feeling to obey. “I… I..”

“You?” He chimes cloyingly. You stiffen your upper lip. Hone your resolve. 

“M’not lying! Now lemme go!” Your arm budges when he wants it to, so you’re not quite moving until a few agonizing seconds pass, when Suguru lets out a low whistle and sigh, shaking his head at you dismissively, before you’re allowed to resume cutting vegetables. He dumps the candy into the rest of the bowl and takes his leave, chattering with his friends in the living room before coming back, empty handed.

The silence is maddening. He comes back, shuffles around the kitchen, then stops somewhere just beyond your sight, and craning your neck to look back at him would beckon his scrutiny. So you refrain. Stir fry the vegetables, and refrain. Feel a bead of sweat crest on your forehead and slide down your cheek from the heat. Refrain.

The breath against your neck is sudden and swift as Suguru fixes himself behind you, knocking  his head gently against yours as a grasping hand slides over your stomach.  He goes for the gas on the stove before you can get a protest out, his other hand teasing the rim of your skirt, smoothing down a short pleat till his palm can grope your thigh.

“After a little deliberation … I’ve decided I forgive you. For the lying.” His fingers dimple the skin he touches, sliding ever so slowly under the fabric. “Because I know you’re not a silly girl. You can be quite attentive when you want to be, can’t you?” 

“Yeah… yeah I can.” Your breath quickens a little as you press your ass back into the thin fabric of his hood, the feeling of his cock growing to hardness making you quiver with anticipation. His right hand on your thigh stills, tracing around your side and to your hip - growing stiff and heavy. The left dips boldly under your costume, a finger or two stalling in the spot right above your clit.

“Gojo and Shoko offered to get more candy - I can finish cooking after we’re finished here.” His lips press teasingly against the shell of your ear, and your resistance dwindles a bit. “Right now, all I want from you is a favor.” “Favor? I can do that - I can..” Geto chuckles. “I know you can sweetheart. Shh, sh. It’s my turn to do the talking now, okay? Listen.” You nod sharply. 

“Turn around.” You do. In an instant, stretching out your spine cat-like to press your chest up against him, your nipples hardening like pebbles beneath your blouse. You close your eyes and lean in for the kiss that should be inevitable - but no warmth meets your lips. Instead, an apathetic gloved finger. “Mmph?” Your confusion is apparent. You blink your eyes open and are greeted by a wry smile.

“Sometimes I wonder why it’s so hard for you to just listen. Then it came to me - an epiphany. Little girls like you just have a certain kind of skill set. Forgive me, okay? I just wasn’t giving you the right direction. But it’s okay! It’ll never happen again.” With those words, his expression grows less compromising - resolute, grim, determined. Almost makes you want to leap out of your skin - the fright of him not being happy with you bearing down greatly on your mind.

His hands come up to your shoulders and apply downward pressure. “On your knees.” 

You follow without hesitation.

His mirth wrinkles the corners of his eyes as you squirm down there. The floor is cold and your knees are getting dirty, and he knows that stupid look you make when you’re thinking to complain; though he’s never seen this level of restraint from you before. You’re quiet as you dig your fingers into your skin, and he knows he’s proud.

“Good girl.” Something blossoms in your chest when he says that, profound yet airy, a lightheadedness emblazoned into your forehead while the blood settles in your cheeks. Then that damn hand comes down again; which you thought was gonna muss your hair a bit more, but settles rather firmly against the back of your head.

His loose costume he’s wearing isn’t big enough to hide how hard his cock is, but it’s like he’s making you wait for it - want and yearn for it. Because he doesn’t move for a moment, just gets used to the look of you down on your knees as your fidgeting starts to feel more and more uncontrollable.

“Hey! Are you just gonna leave me high n’ dr-” A white finger presses to his lips as his other hand keeps holding your head. “Quiet now, girl. Be quiet.”

You’re good! A little impatient, but you’re good, goddamn it! Trying to be, for him - the love of your life, who’s got you down on your knees, fixing to ruin your pretty makeup for the afternoon.

Quiet. 

Quiet. 

Too damn quiet. Too much fucking silence. He’s looking at you, you think - because your eyes are shut tight and the embarrassment is beginning to dawn on you, and everything’s hot, and scary, and Suguru - is he mad at you?-

The sudden feeling of his hot hard cock flopping against your cheek makes you leap like a fish to water. Your eyes bulge open a bit, and your mouth gapes open in that instant, tongue lolling out for purchase on his heated flesh, heady scent weaseling into your nostrils and making your thighs clamp down around your own hand - which you hadn’t noticed snuck between your thighs. Your twitching fingers reach up to grab it …

“Stop.” You whine loose and loud, eyes flickering up to his face to communicate your desperation, and confusion. “Just use your mouth.” His hand reaches towards the base of his cock and flops it onto your lip proper; and you suckle on the head like it’s the sole thing providing you oxygen. “See? There are things you’re damn good at … Oh fuck -”  All you can hear besides his voice is your heart thumping in your chest and the saliva building in your mouth, the sloppy ‘schlorp’ as you take him to the base - deep into your throat - and back out again, the salty taste of his cock and precum something you’ve missed terribly.

A little voice crawls along the back of your mind. At home, it says. This is where you belong. Or maybe that’s Suguru’s wheedling. Words are falling from his lips, but you’re drowning in an effortless dream. “Good girl. … easy … taking me so well.”

The grip on the back of your head has grown tighter, as he shifts and adjusts his hips to help your further along. Your wet slurping is undercut by the sound of his balls slapping against your chin, fuzzy, familiar and pleasant. 

Then it’s as stern as a pinch. You can feel his cock bulge out your throat, cheeks hollowed as you take him to the base. Tears sting your eyes a bit, but it’s a liberating pain. His grunts grow in their intensity, and you feel soaked to the bone, sitting on your hands so they can’t jump up and fondle his balls - you won’t disobey! You refuse, refuse, refuse -

“Close, haah, close your eyes, precious.” Your tummy flutters as you weld them shut. Suguru’s hips stutter, pause, then pull back. 

A schlicking sound, then your prize. You open your mouth as you realize he’s cumming all over your face - streams of it making it into your happily awaiting maw, while the occasional strand undershoots - getting some on your chest and cheeks. Suguru sighs happier than you’ve heard in a while, and a part of you feels effortlessly at ease. Reset and pleasant and whole; besides the aching nag between your thighs. “You can speak now.” You try, throat fucked raw and a little raggedy. “A-are you going to fuck me now? Please? I can’t - I can’t wait anymore!” Suguru smiles gently, but insincerely. “No, of course not. This was a lesson, not a reward.” He tucks himself casually back into his costume. “Besides, we have guests, honey.”

You pout, feel like you wanna cry a little. “Don’t give me those crocodile tears. You’re a big girl, remember?”

“...I guess.”  You sniffle. Suguru nods and helps you back to your shaky feet. “Not ‘I guess’. You are.” He grants you a chaste kiss on your lips, licking a bit of himself off of you, then pulling back. “Now, go clean yourself up.” He starts towards the sink, eager to resume dinner. “Those two should be back any second now.”

[moviecritc]

fearless ⋆ alex albon

pairing: alex albon x driver!reader

summary: your boyfriend and you disguise your relationship as friendship a little too well

warnings: none, just pure fluff

a/n: this is short and maybe a little bit messy, sorry i'm not effortlestly funny

english is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

yourusername just posted!

liked by flavy.barla, alexalbon and 75,194 others

yourusername P3 IN MIAMI RAAAAHHH 🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅 I LOVE AMERICA SO MUCH 🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸 TF IS A KM I ONLY KNOW MILESSSSSS 🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠

ps. goodbye goodbye goodbye meme of nowins you were bigger than the whole skyyy

tagged; flavy.barla, alexalbon

yourusername btw that's my new gf flavy, sorry ocon she's mine now 👰👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩

flavy.barla 💋👭 estebanocon wait what did i miss yourusername nothing you can leave actually

user1 SHE'S JUST IN ANOTHER LEVEL

user2 best driver in the grid fr user3 nah she's talentless user4 she literally made a podium yesterday you prick

alexalbon wHAT ON EARTH IS THAT PIC

yourusername shh you look wonderful albono alexalbon i look like a minion yourusername AHAHAHA IT'S TRUE YOU'RE KEVIN alexalbon who's kevin yourusername ... a minion alexalbon why d'you know the names of the minions? user5 nah alex you left her speechless

charlesleclerc congrats on your podium, y/n!

landonorris i appreciate the effort 😅

yourusername ANYWAYS IT'S TECNICALLY NOWIN(S) SO IT'S STILL UPPPP landonorris oh lord

user6 i'm actually so jealous of the friendship of alex and y/n

user7 i'm new here someone explain me the lore plss user8 so y/n and alex have known each other since literally always? they started karting at the same age and were teammates in f2, then they got into f1 in the same year. they've always been super super close, they even shared an apartment in london a few years ago. and basically when they're around each other is a complete chaos, that's why they don't do media days together so often user9 their gossip sessions in media days back then >>>> user10 omg yes i'll never forget when alex almost choke on water after y/n told him she wished he was bald bc she didn't like his bleached hair LMAOOO

scuderiaferrari Let's go!!

user11 anyone else noticing the flowers

user12 not this again, they're probably from her mother, she always receives flowers when she's in the points 🙄 user13 the audacity of these people user12 i swear they try to link her to any guy she interacts for 0.5 secs

alexalbon just posted a story!

[caption: i might be a minion but she's a freaking gremlin @yourusername]

replies

yourusername you're dead. you're so dead

alexalbon i love you babyyy 😍🥰😍🥰😍🥰

yourusername i don't. i'm going to make you eat all the flowers

alexalbon y/n you're so mental for your height. like, so many anger inside of you

yourusername yeah it's true 😞 i'll get even with your minion face

alexalbon ok from now on we're just seeing each other in public spaces. i love youuu byeeeee 😇😇😘😘

yourusername just posted a story!

[caption: YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING ME LOOK AT WHAT I FOUND ON MY GALLERY AHSHAHQURJFJSHAHD]

replies

user1 someone get this girl a pr manager 😂😂

alexalbon Y/N L/N-ALBON.

yourusername lol what. if that's your way of asking me to marry you... dude you can do it better

alexalbon I WAS TRYING TO BE A COOL BOYFRIEND

yourusername aww. but you're not, and i don't want to marry you you're like my getaway car

alexalbon YOUR GETAWAY CAR FROM WHO?? you barely interact with men

yourusername YEAH BC INTERACTING WITH MEN IS ANNOYING, like look at this. just shut up already

alexalbon WELL OK BYE. LET'S SEE WHO BUYS YOU HIGH QUALITY MOCHIS NOW

yourusername wait albono come back. let's get married or something

yourusername just posted!

liked by alexalbon, georgerussell63 and 52,512 others

yourusername anyone knows this man?? he's been staring at me the whole flight and asking me if i have bananas

tagged; alexalbon

view all comments

user1 no bc if alex looked at my like this i would probably fall in love

liked by yourusername

user2 Y/N LIKED??

georgerussell63 oh blimey so here he is!

yourusername george pls take him, he's annoying me with photo of his 275423 cats alexalbon Y/N YOU LOVE MY CATS yourusername yeah ig i have to user3 i'm starting to think that these two have more than a friendship going on

alexalbon just posted a story!

[caption: came threatened but this is actually a blast]

replies

yourusername alex i'm going to post something don't panic

alexalbon y/n i'm literally by your side tf are you texting

yourusername just posted!

liked by alexalbon, logansargeant and 93,512 others

yourusername woke up today and choose to be fearless. anyways, eras tour with my biiitch <3333 🤩🤩

view all comments

georgerussell63 everybody act surprised now!!

user1 OMG I CAN'T BELIEVE IT

user2 this was sOOO UNEXPECTED LIKE WHAT???

user3 ARE WE GOING CRAZY WHAT IS THIS??

alexalbon OMG WHAAAT

yourusername not you idiot you should comment something cute about me alexalbon but you're not cute. actually, at all. you're a fucking menace yourusername minion.

landonorris FINALLY

maxverstappen1 thank god i was getting tired of thirdwheeling

charlesleclerc we all were yourusername oh shut up go kiss or something user4 THIS GIRL-

carlossainz55 congrats, mates

yourusername why are you congratulations us like alex is pregnant or something alexalbon y/n stop

logansargeant you should join us in the podcast the next episode 😊

yourusername OMG YESS I HAVE SO MANY SHIT TO TALK ABOUT ALEX alexalbon pls don't yourusername dw babe i won't!! (logan dm and we record it without him)

[mysaintkitten]

I fully forgot I had this .. so here’s a little something for y’all lol

prompt: Jonathan calls you up after having a few drinks

WARNINGS: SMUT (18+ MDNI), mentions of alcohol/intoxication, brief mentions of suicide, subby-ish Jonathan, phone sex, come eating

*not proofread & old as hell*

you’re abruptly awoken by the phone ringing. through squinted eyes, you peak at the clock sitting on top of your nightstand.

1:03 am flashes at you. who’s calling at this hour? you drag your body out of bed and trudge your way over to the living room where your home phone resides. once there, you drop to the couch and grab the phone, putting it up to your ear.

“hello?” you groan, you hear a small snicker on the other end.

“hiii babyyy!” they respond, clearly a little tipsy, you immediately recognize the voice.

it’s jonathan, your close friend, who had recently got placed into a psyche ward after attempting to kill himself. you hadn’t heard from him since he had told you the news. now here he is, ringing your phone at 1 am, while simultaneously dropping a “baby” bomb on you.

“jonathan?” you blurted, feeling yourself become a bit more awake, “what are you doing? why are you up? how do you even have access to a phone right now?”

he sighs into the phone, “me and toby sn- toby’s m’pal .. by the way .. we snuck out ‘n had a few drinks ..” his mumbles, “now ‘m allllll alone ..” he whines, dragging out the all to emphasize his loneliness, “oh ‘n about the phone .. since i’ve been so good they gave me a landline, cordless too, i mean they couldn’t give me a cord ‘cause i might wrap it around my neck, but it’s nifty!”

you roll your eyes. of course he’d do some shit like this. if it was any other friend, you would’ve told them bluntly that you’re not in the mood to talk, but jonathan was an exception right now. he was in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people, and his comment about wrapping the cord around his neck grounded you back into reality. you decided to chat with him for a while.

“is that so?” you reply, “how’d the night go?”

“fun!” he bubbled, “oh m’god .. me and toby .. my friend .. we saw this piss drunk guy fall in the street!” he giggles while recounting the incident. you giggle with him, not so much at the story, but at the fact that he felt the need to reiterate that he has a friend named toby.

“that sound very funny, jon, but shouldn’t you be getting some sleep?”

he whines, “‘m not tired! plus i’ve been thinking about you .. that’s why i called .. wanted to hear your voice ..”

oh?

“why’d you wanna hear my voice? you miss me that much?” you joke, relaxing more into the couch. he hums, “jus’ like how it sounds ..”

“well. you woke me up, and i don’t think i’ll be able to go back to sleep, so you’re welcome to listen to my voice for a while.” you chuckle softly, not thinking too heavily about his intentions. he’s drunk, after all.

“hmm ..” he mumbles in approval, “can you jus’ talk? tell me about your day, love ..”

your brows furrow a bit at the request, but you oblige.

“i didn’t do too much .. just showered .. picked up a bit .. it was nice though.”

he groans quietly at you mentioning showering.

“mmh .. wards got no nice soaps .. i like how your soaps smell. always smellin’ so good ..” he murmurs, through the phone you can hear some minor rustling, but you assume it’s just jonathan drunkenly tossing and turning.

you laugh at his odd compliment, “you think i smell nice?”

“oh, i think a lot of you s’nice, darling.” he assures, his breathing becoming heavier

“what else about me is nice, jonathan?” you ask, thinking he’ll say something corny like your humour or your personality.

“that face f’yours .. gorgeous ..” he giggles and huffs, “‘n that body .. maybe it’s ’cause ‘m all alone .. ‘n a bit tipsy .. but i can’t stop thinkin’ about touchin’ you ..”

oh.

you’re not too sure what to say. you’ve been friends with jonathan for years, you would have never assumed that he wanted you that way. jonathan was very attractive, and you’d be lying if you said you’d never thought about him in a sexual way before.

“jonathan ..” you reply calmly, “i think you’re just drunk and confused, how about we talk more tomorrow? you can call me when-“

he whines, “no, baby, ‘m sorry .. i’ve just wanted you .. for so long ..” he hums as his breathing becomes louder, “‘n now .. just your voice got me s’hard ..”

you pause, listening to jonathan, you still hear the shuffling and his breathing. occasionally he whines a few times, is he touching himself?

“jon, are you .. getting off right now?”

he chuckles, “s’hard .. mmh .. thought i might faint.”

you hate to admit it, but hearing jonathan’s neediness got you a little worked up. knowing he was hard just from your voice ignited some interesting feelings from within you.

as your mind is racing, jonathan speaks, “if i w’s there .. would y’touch me?”

your heart begins to pound, his words have become more direct. he’s not just rambling about how he feels, he wants to know how you feel. you slip one of your hands into your panties, feeling how slick you’ve become from jonathan’s words. you might as well get yourself off as well.

instead of answering, you flip the question. “i’m wondering what you’d do if i was there.” you laugh breathily as you gently rub your clit. jonathan whines into the phone, “god, baby, s’filthy. y’don’t even wanna know ..”

“tell me. i want to hear it.” you pry as you become more aroused, hearing jonathan moan weakly at his own thoughts.

“mmh .. wanna eat your cunt .. make y’come at least once on m’face ..” he groans, “wanna fuck you. raw. make y’shake ‘n cry from my cock. wanna make that cunt feel so so good.”

jesus. really didn’t take much convincing for him to spill his thoughts. you bite your lip at his words, hearing his fantasies made you blush embarrassingly hard.

“hm .. yeah?” you moan into the phone, rubbing your clit at a quicker pace

“‘n i wanna eat you again after my cocks been ‘nside you .. lick up our come ..” jonathan gasps, through the phone you can hear him fisting his now slick cock. “then i wanna kiss you when m’done ..” he adds, chuckling a bit.

“god ..” you sigh, “you are filthy.”

you’re finding it difficult to hold back your moans, you almost want jonathan to hear them at this point.

“you .. you got me all wet, jon ..” you admit a bit awkwardly, you’ve never had phone sex before, but you don’t think jonathan will notice.

he whimpers “are y’touching yourself, baby?”

“yeah .. yeah i am ..” you purr, sliding a finger inside yourself and moaning softly as you plunge it in and out.

“jesus, fuck ..” he huffs, “you rubbin’ your clit? or fingering yourself?”

“i’m doing both .. switchin’ every now and then ..” you coo, adding a second finger inside. you hiss slightly at the change, but your cunt quickly adapts and accepts the second finger.

“mmh!” jonathan moans, “s’hot, knowing you’ve got y’fingers all over that pussy .. you sensitive, baby?”

he’s really into calling you baby. although it feels foreign, you’re not opposed to it at all.

“yeah .. a bit ..” you chuckle breathlessly as you remove your slick fingers out and bring them back to your clit.

“oh, fuck ..” he whimpers loudly, “baby, baby, ‘m not gonna last- m’sorry ..”

you could tell from jonathan’s tone and desperate little whimpers that he was close, he didn’t need to tell you, but it’s kind of nice that he at least let you know.

“that’s okay, come jon. show me how good it feels.” you purr. he can’t physically show you, but he can verbalize it, and he does.

“mmf- fuck, baby, ‘m comin’-“ he moans loudly, you’re worried other people in the ward might hear him.

“that’s it, come on yourself jon, good boy.” you encourage, you’re almost surprised that you called him a good boy, you never expected that to slip out.

his moans dwindle into small little whimpers as he rides out the orgasm, huffing quietly once he’s come down.

“‘m all messy, baby ..” he giggles,

“poor thing, you gonna clean yourself up?” you hum to tease.

“mhm .. nice ‘n clean ..” he mumbles as you hear him making small sucking and licking noises,

“jon, are you licking up your come?” you nearly chuckle at him,

“well no one’s ‘ere to do it for me ..” he whines, continuing to lick away his come.

“jesus. dirty, dirty boy.” you scold playfully, toying with your clit again.

“‘m a dirty boy ..” he repeats while yawning, “dirty boy.”

“you tired?” you ask softly,

“mmh, yeah, little bit ..” he mumbles,

“how about you get some sleep and we talk more tomorrow, all right?”

“mmh.. but i wanna talk ..” he groans,

you laugh weakly at his determination, “i’ll be here tomorrow. trust me. get some sleep. we can talk when you’re more awake and sober.”

“fine .. g’night baby. sweet dreams.” he gives in, yawning again

“sleep well, jonathan.” you close before hanging up. as you place the phone down, you’re left with silence and your thoughts. you decide you might as well get yourself off, and you do, you come in your pants to the thought of jonathan’s whimpers and moans. then, you clean yourself off before heading back to bed.

—

Not to jinx myself … but I am currently writing. Send me good energy yall please

[formulaforza]

—strawberry wine

and all the times we used to have. (nothing defines a man like love that makes him soft). pairing: daniel ricciardo x female reader warnings: language, angst babyyy love, mackie... 5k ish. this is. definitely something. perhaps it should have stayed in the drafts but dani selected it from a group of it's peers yesterday evening.

It’s been years since you last spent enough time at the vineyard to be considered even a part-time employee. It’s hard to be there, now, in a way it didn’t used to be. Watching it fade away into obscurity and beg someone–anyone–to buy the property to land so your family can get out without generational debt. The fields just hold so many memories, an ancestral kind of history; your first job, the place you had your first drink, where you fell both in, and out of love for the first time. Being there now, watching it die a malignant death is just… sad. There isn’t anything poetic about it. 

You long for the days of the peak, of never ending days spent behind the counter in the barn selling wealthy people on the aesthetics of a small, family-run vineyard. Of your father hosting tours and your mother tastings, of you, pink nose and shoulders kissed by the sun, picking grapes by hand. Of the days where help still had to be hired. 

For a while there, it seemed like there was a never ending rotation of teenagers and twenty-somethings willing to do manual labor for minimum wage–thirteen an hour–from sunup to sundown. They’d even host the occasional tour on busy Saturday evenings, would be compensated in under the table bottles of wine and cash tips. None of them ever stuck around longer than a couple months, found better jobs indoors, closer to school, better pay. Well, nobody except Daniel. 

Daniel worked at the vineyard for… four-ish years, with varying availability depending on seasons and school and racing. 

Sometimes, when you lose yourself to sentiments and fantasy, you imagine a world where the Vineyard never faced any competition, where it is still thriving and you take over your mother’s job when she retires. Daniel still works there, maybe in the fields where he was always supposed to be, or maybe front of house guiding tours and helping you with tastings. Life is simple and plain and at the end of every night you lock the barn doors  and go home together and eat dinner and grocery shop and do your taxes. Daniel strums the guitar on the porch when it rains. Life is easy and fun and you laugh more than you don’t. 

It’s silly, really. But first loves are always silly. 

He is one of the many memories that haunt the property, walking the lines of grapevines feeling more like a walk through a fogged out graveyard than anything. 

Even now, all these years later, you can still see him sat in the swivel chair in the office doorway, throwing grapes at you while you attempt to run the dusty cash register. It’s a cool July afternoon and he’s got a stupid grin on his face and can’t look anywhere but you. 

Daniel is kind of like those people you know you’re given young so that for the rest of your life you know what real feels like. They’re more a lesson than a lover, unfortunately. 

—

You move through the place like you own it, which, you suppose technically you do, in some will locked away in an accountant’s filing cabinet, this all belongs to you. Right now, though, you’re seventeen and just returning from school, already setting up your homework on the end of the counter, a spattering of greetings from the local customers and the local hands, the people who know that this is more of a natural habitat than anywhere else on the planet will ever be. 

Danny also moves around the place like he owns it, which, if it was up to him he probably would. He hums your name as he moves past, taps the opposite shoulder to the one he leans over, reading your textbook over your shoulder. “It’s seventeen,” he quips.

“It’s a history textbook,” you reply, eyes unmoving from the page. 

“Seventeen-seventy, cunt.” There’s a half-empty bowl of fruit sitting on the counter. He leans over you to grab an orange. “Captain Hook and such,” he adds, hosting himself up onto the counter with a thud. You’re sure one day the old wood is going to give out on him and he’ll fall straight onto his ass. Part of you hopes you’re around to see it, the other knows that he’ll find a way to not only make it your fault, but also tease you about it for a minimum of six months. 

“Fuck off, Danny,” you punctuate, just loud enough for him to hear. 

“It’s Daniel, now.”

You snort. Finally, you give him your attention. “Danny is too unprofessional for a hot-shot Red Bull junior driver like you?”

“See,” he pops his thumb harshly through the peel of the orange, the citrus scent wafting out into the humid air. “You get it.”

You pout. “I’m still going to call you Danny.”

“No you won’t,” he laughs. God, the smell of orange is overwhelming, the kind that lingers long after the fruit is gone. When Danny goes back to work in a few minutes, tosses the peel and into the trash by the office door, he’ll still linger in the room with the smell of citrus. 

“I will.”

“You know what,” he hums, biting into a slice. “Let me make you a deal.”

You smile, shake your head. “Shouldn’t I be the one making you a deal?”

He groans against the fruit, “Can you just?”

When you look up again, lean back in your chair and cross your arms, he has orange juice running down the side of his hand, all sweet and sticky and summery. “Fine.”

He smiles goofily, all fucking proud of himself just because you agreed to shut up for thirty seconds. “You can keep calling me Danny, but only if you let me take you out this weekend.”

“Danny,” you protest. This is far from the first time he’s tried to plant the seed of a date with him. It’s had to’ve been a year, by now. You know he’d drop it if you would just give him an answer, but a year later you still haven’t been able to deliver anything definitive. 

He shrugs. “‘Dem’s the rules, honey.”

Maybe what you say next is your greatest mistake, or maybe it was what you were always going to say. Maybe you feel like you can say it because he leaves again soon, for longer than ever. You won’t have to live with the consequences of your actions, of your words. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s simply that you think Daniel is far too proper a name for the sticky-handed vineyard tour guide you’ve grown particularly fond of. Danny is much more fitting for him, which is most certainly why you say, okay. When are you picking me up?

—

You drive out from your parents house with your dad in his old Ford Bronco. It’s half rusted out and half chipped blue paint, with worn leather seats and a steering wheel somehow more worn than the rest of it. Seven black tree air fresheners hand from the rearview mirror, new car smell. This relic is well past that–he’s been driving it out to the property literally forever, and this trip won’t be any exception. 

You hardly recognize the place, you think as you slam the squeaky door shut with enough force to make sure it really latches. 

The fields are overgrown with tall grass and shrubs and mustard flowers. The trunks of the grapevines act as headstones for the sprawling field of dry, sunburnt plants. You don’t think anyone has been out there with a plow in months, if not years. 

The barn, the one you grew up in, has been lost with the rest of the place to time. Red paint chips off the wood in massive flakes. The branding that had once run in big wooden letters along the top of the door have all since fallen, leaving a sad outline of your family name in its weathered wake. Two padlocks, one rusted shut, sit on the lock. Every step you take kicks up more dust. 

You’re removed from your thoughts, from the hauntings and the sentiment and the memories, by the creaking of the tailgate on your father’s truck. Stuffed in the back of the Bronco are your afternoon tasks; a pair of bulk cutters for the padlocks,  a new, state of the art keypad lock given to your Dad by a realtor, a post hole digger, and five for-sale signs haphazardly packed any way they would fit. 

You spend most of the next couple hours digging holes along the road, filling them with the wooden posts of the for-sale signs, looking disapprovingly at the thirty-something in a suit that has been tasked with selling the unsellable property. 

This is, what… the fifth person you’d hired to sell this fucking place. Soon enough, you’re going to be sticking up For Sale by Owner signs with a hand-written phone number in black sharpie along the fences that were supposed to keep animals out. Realtors were never in the budget to begin with. 

—

You’re waiting on the old front porch when he pulls up in his beat-up truck, John Denver playing through the open windows, his hand moving in the wind up the entire dusty driveway. You don’t know what he can see, that your Mom is watching out the kitchen window with a friendly smile. 

You’ve got your best sundress on, one that you’d debated wearing for almost thirty-six hours. The first week Danny worked in front of house with you, he spent the entire shift flirting with one of your Dad’s friend’s daughters. He said that sundresses are a crime committed against teenage boys and that when he meets God he’s going to have words with him over pretty girls and their affinity for said sundresses. 

You’d laughed then, because you thought it was silly. You remembered it because you thought the new kid was kind of cute, in a you work for my parents and I could never think you’re cute way. 

“Fuck,” is the first word out of his mouth, before the car door is even closed behind him, followed quickly by a check of his watch and “am I late?”

“No, no,” you smile, tucking a wind-blown strand of hair behind your ear, standing to your feet on the wooden stairs. “You’re early, actually. I think,” you chuckle. “I’m just,” you can feel your cheeks flushing. “I’m just excited.”

“Yeah,” he moves to you quickly, nervously. In the way only teenage boys on a first date do. “I’m excited too.”

“You look nice,” you say, stepping down the final couple of steps and meeting his waiting hand. “Your hair. I feel like I only ever see you in a hat.”

“Thanks, yeah,” he laughs. You’ve always loved his laugh, even when he’s annoying you and annoying customers and annoying himself. His laugh has always been good. “You look beautiful. I’ve never seen you, I mean. Not that you don’t always look–”

“Danny,” you interject as he opens the passenger side door. 

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Yeah,” he offers a smile and closes the door. Just before it latches shut, though, you hear him finish his sentence. “Thank you.”

He takes you to King’s Park, to the botanical garden after a stop for ice cream. He tells you that he’s had a crush on you this entire time and you ask him to tell you something you don’t already know. It’s then, in the botanical garden next to the water garden, that he tells you about his quote-en-quote ‘silly, kind of, like, backup dream, I guess’ where he has his own vineyard, brews his own wine and spends every day half drunk and wholly happy. 

He stumbles through the entire telling of it, which is how you know he’s not fucking with you. He never gets nervous when it comes to fucking with you. 

Perhaps that is where your silly, kind of like, backup dream started. The one where you and Daniel are working at the vineyard together and life is all death and taxes and grocery bills but somehow, in the midst of all the dull normalcy, you’re both happy as happy can be. 

—

“Someone is out there looking at the place today,” your father tells you over the phone. You try to talk every day, a habit you’ve both picked up in the past couple years, in the time and space since you’ve turned thirty. 

“You’re kidding,” you say. You’re sitting at the kitchen table, shoveling spoonfuls of some health-conscious cereal into your mouth (another post-thirtieth habit). “Who?”

“I don’t know, kid,” you swear you can hear the frown on his face, the deep smile lines and the frustrated forehead wrinkles from months in the direct southern sun. “Probably some fucking developer.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he sighs. “If I’m right, I’d bet they break ground on a neighborhood within the year.”

Your sigh matches his. You can’t even imagine it, front yards and vinyl flooring and white walls built on a foundation of your childhood memories. It’s like going back home, to your childhood home that you sold so many years ago, and discovering it’s been bulldozed, wiped clean from the face of the Earth. “That’s so sad.”

“I know, but, well. You know, honey. It’s not like we have much choice.”

You nod. You do understand. You understand more than you wish you did. “I know. I know. Still pretty fuckin’ sad, though.”

There’s a long silence. The kind of silence that can only be shared by a father and a daughter; a silence that speaks more words than the dictionary can hold. “She’d understand it,” he finally speaks.  “She wouldn’t fucking like it, but she would understand it.”

“Yeah. Yeah. I know she would.”

—

“Are you going to kill me?” You giggled, stumbling over your feet. Danny is leading you on the property, one hand over your eyes, the other on your waist, guiding you poorly. 

“And be the first fucking suspect?” He laughs. “I think not.”

“Okay, then where are you taking me?” You beg. It's been going on like this for some half hour, before he even covered your eyes.

He laughs. You laugh. All the two of you do is laugh. “Can’t you lighten up?”

“Not when I’m being led to my death. No, I can’t!”

He stops, turns you around a hundred and eighty degrees and takes his hand off your eyes, fingers digging into either of your shoulders. “Babe," he says, and you'd think he was about to tell you he killed someone.

You mimic his seriousness, find humor in it. “Babe.”

“You trust me.”

“Do I?” You smile. He cocks his head to one side and rolls his big brown eyes. You would commit crimes for his eyes. “I do.”

“Okay, so then fucking trust me.”

“Okay,” you nod, closing your eyes.

“Okay?”

“Yes. Okay," you reach blindly for his hand, bring it to your eyes to block the light from them once more. "I trust you. Let’s go.”

After a short, terribly blind walk, Danny finally stops. You’ve been able to hear the river that flows out the back of the property for twenty minutes, but it’s close enough now that you can smell it; the sticks and the rocks and the mud and the water. You can practically feel the splashing of the water bouncing off the boulders.

“Okay. Open,” he instructs, removing his hand from your eye, moving his arms to hug you from behind, arms wrapped over the front of your chest. 

You open your eyes to find a picnic, carefully set up with a spread of dinner and drinks and dessert, complete with a plaid flannel blanket and candles that smell like citronella masked with lavender and a bouquet of white roses already in a water filled vase. “Danny,” you hum, leaning your head back against his shoulder. 

He kisses your temple, whispers against your hair, “Happy Anniversary.”

“Danny,” you drag out the letters of his name, of the nickname he only lets the people he loves call him by. It makes you feel warm and fuzzy and special. 

“Honey,” he mocks you, sways behind you. 

“This is too much,” You crane your neck to look at him, and then turn your whole body so you’re flush against his chest, close in a way only you get to be. “You’re so sweet.”

He laughs and it vibrates in both of your chests. A feeling you’ll never tire of. “I mean, this is not too much. Arguably, this is too little.”

“No,” you back away, out of his grip and take small steps backwards, towards the picnic and the waiting meal, pulling him along with you by interlocked pinkies. “This is perfect. You’re perfect.”

“Well,” his grin grows. “I can’t argue with that.”

“I love you so much,” you tell him, because you do, because you’re eighteen and everything in this life is so simple and black and white.

“I love you, too, and–”

“Oh my gosh,” you cut him off, wide-eyed and giddy. “Wine with strawberries?”

He nods. “Strawberry wine, if you will. For the winery with no strawberry fields.”

“This is better,” you state, with the utmost confidence, without even a sip or a sniff or any idea of what white wine he’d used as a base for his little cocktail. 

“Definitely not, but sure.”

“It is, because you made it for me. That makes it perfect.”

—

You’re completely removed from the actual buying and selling of the property. It isn’t up to you to decline or accept or field offers, that’s all your dad. The place is still his, at least for a couple more weeks while all the paperwork processes.

It was an anonymous buyer, according to your Dad. Cash offer, over asking price. He’s not sure how the real estate agent managed it, and honestly? Neither are you. Objectively, that land isn’t worth the cost of cleaning it up. Everyone in their right mind knows it. You just come from a particular bloodline where the mind never was quite right when it came to the vineyard. 

What shocks you most, though, is that the anonymous buyer–supposedly–is interested in restoring the place rather than bulldozing it.

“They asked me about the dirt,” your dad tells you on one of your daily phone calls. “Wanted to know about berries.”

“Berries?”

“Yeah, strawberries or raspberries or something like that.”

You scoff. What kind of fucking idiot is buying this land? It might just be a herd of manufactured houses after all. “Well, it’s too hot here for raspberries. Everyone knows that.”

“I know, that’s what I told them. They could probably grow strawberries in July or August.”

“Are they trying to make strawberry wine or something?” And, as if this is some fucked up kind of movie, and not real life, it all comes back to you. Every memory, every moment, all at the thought of fucking strawberries in wine. 

“Good fucking luck to them, if they are.” Your grandparents entertained the idea of it once, all the fruit wines. It’s a fucking shit-show, according to legend. Hell to try and make, Heaven to taste. It just wasn’t worth it for them. But apparently now it’s worth it to someone.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, bite and bite until you’re worried you’ll draw blood, that you’re a single tooth away from popping a hole clear through the skin. There’s no way, there’s genuinely no way, right? “Dad?”

“Shoot.”

“It’s not.” You almost stop yourself, you almost have some common fucking sense and realize just how vast the world is and how completely unlikely it is that– almost. You almost stop yourself. “The anonymous buyer, it isn’t Daniel, is it?”

“Daniel?” He scoffs on the other end. “Better not be that fucking cunt.”

You smile, the kind of smile that you know you should feel guilty for having. “He’s not a cunt, Dad.”

“I never fucking liked that kid.”

You’re right–you think. You’re right, Dad. You didn’t like him. “You loved him.”

“No, I lost all my respect for him when he left you like he did,” his voice is laced with a calm seriousness. He’s always been your blind defender. 

“Yeah, Dad,” you pause. Now’s as good a time as any, you suppose. “I’ve been… that’s not exactly how it went down.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Daniel didn’t leave me, and even if he did, Dad, he wouldn’t have done it then.”

—

“What the fuck are you talking about, you’re breaking up with me?” His voice cuts through continents. He’s somewhere in the UK, or maybe Italy, or maybe Asia. You honestly can’t keep track anymore, can barely keep track of the days of the week that you’re living much less the ones he’s in. 

“It’s exactly what I said, Daniel,” you say, try to keep your voice as level headed as possible, to juxtapose the way your mind races, the way your heart rate spikes and your palms sweat and everything in you hurts. “Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“No, no. I’m making this fucking hard,” he’s riled up enough for the both of you. “You don’t just. This isn’t how this works, babe. You can’t just break up with me.” He’s raising his voice with you. You can count on one hand and have fingers left over the amount of times Danny has yelled at you, and this is the first time it’s not scary. 

“I can, and I am,” your voice comes from your throat, choked out over the lull of your entire body begging you to please, please don’t do this. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry!” He yells, the last letter sound cracking with the realization of his actions. “You’re not sorry. If you were sorry, you wouldn’t be doing it.”

“Okay, sure. Whatever.” He doesn’t make this easy, not that you’d expected it to be easy. You’d hoped for something cleaner, though. Less mess. “I’m having a great time breaking your heart.”

“Just. Why? Why are you doing this? What happened? What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything, D,” you sigh. You didn’t know that your heart could physically hurt. You thought that was some crap that they made up for movies and songs and poems, some grand metaphor for how sad you get. “I can’t be a girlfriend right now. To anyone.”

“That’s such bullshit.”

You can feel yourself shutting down, closing every part of yourself off, running on pure survival instincts. “I know. I’m a cunt.”

“You aren’t… fuck me. I mean, fuck, dude.” He laughs. There’s not a thing about it that sounds happy. “I know you don’t want this, I know it. Talk to me, please. Tell me what’s going on and I can help you and everything is going to be fine, baby. Just. Please.”

“Daniel.”

“Why are you calling me that?!”

“It’s what you like to be called!” You yell back, feel the burn in your nose and your cheeks and the sting in your chest. 

There’s silence for so long you wonder if he’s hung up, if you’re supposed to. It’s minutes before he speaks again. “Not by you, it’s not.”

—

It’s been just past a year since the place got sold, and nobody from your family–nobody–has been there since. You moved out of town years before the sale, and your Dad has joined you, wants to be near you in his ever increasing age and always deepening wrinkles. When the arthritis sets in, someone needs to forge my signature for me, he tells you. 

It’s not until her birthday that you’re back in Perth, that you’re struck with the sudden spark, with the idea to drive past the vineyard, to see what idiot is trying to plant raspberries in the Australian heat, to see who's living in your shoes and wearing your clothes and sleeping under your bed like a monster. 

“I don’t know that we should do that,” your Dad says. “It’s going to make you sad.”

You shrug in the passenger seat of the old Bronco. “We’re in the parking lot of a cemetery, so,” you offer a near silent chuckle. “I think we’re a bit past sad.”

“Okay,” he nods. “There’s something you should know, then.”

“Don’t tell me it’s a neighborhood.”

“No, no. It’s a vineyard. Strawberries and grapes in the fields.”

“Well, good then,” you nod, glide your hands through the air outside the open window. “What’s wrong with it?”

He shrugs, drums his fingers on the beat up steering wheel. “You remember when you asked me last year if it was Daniel?”

“Dad. Don’t.”

“Well, I didn’t know it then, but–”

“I’m serious. Don’t tell me this, please,” you’re a second away from sticking your fingers in your ears and humming a nursery rhyme to keep the unsaid unspoken. 

“Daniel bought the place, hon.”

“My Daniel?” You squeak. You haven’t felt this young in a while. Or this small. 

He laughs, turns to face you with a look that begs you not to be so damn daft. “The only Daniel that means anything to anyone in this family.”

“When did you find out?”

“As soon as they put the sign up. I was still living out here.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You have so many questions. You don’t think there’s any you actually want answers to. 

“What good was it going to do? I never thought you’d be back here.”

“Well. I’m back.”

He nods. “You’re back.”

You’re back. You never really left, you don’t think. It’s not something you can do around here. Perth is in your blood the same way wine is, some grand, immovable part of your soul. You suppose Daniel is there too, taking up a plot of land in your soul that can never be sold. He lives in you like summertime and sadness and strawberries. Strawberries. Him and his fucking strawberry white wines. 

“He’s got strawberries?” You croak. Tears pull on your voice but you won’t give them the satisfaction. You’re grown now, it’s time to fucking act like it. 

“Strawberry wine. First batches just came out last month. I heard it’s pretty good.”

“I bet.”

“You still wanna go?”

You nod, cold and stunted. “Yeah.”

You see the cars before you see the barn, they’re overflowing out of the parking lot and stopped on the side of the dirt road that leads to the drive. You’ve never seen it so busy. It looks like the pictures your parents used to show you, the ones where the place was fresh and new and shiny. The barn has a fresh coat of red paint, the parking lot is repaved and half full of ATVs with a logo for DR3 Wines printed on either side. 

Above the door, a matching phrase, in simple white wooden letters–like what once was–hangs, announces the place to passers by. 

Inside, it smells like wood, like lavender and citronella and alcohol. There are pictures on every wall, carefully framed photos of everyone in the world besides him. The counter is that same old slab of wood, the one that you always hoped he would fall through. On the wall behind is are more 4x6 photos than you can count, all unframed, all messily taken. He’s in some of those, holding a camera or posing with friends or hugging a grapevine. There’s one with you, right in the middle. You and he and your Mom on the back field picking grapes. It’s taken by your dad, you still remember that morning clear as day. 

There’s another of you; a selfie taken on a point-and-shoot, the two of you with glasses of white wine and strawberries. Next to it is a picture of Kristen Bell and Dax Shephard leaning against the counter, half-drunk glasses in each of their hands. 

Framed, on the edge of the counter, right beside the register, is a photo of the place when he first started working there, of your Mom and your Dad standing proudly in front of it. You took it. You left it in the office when your Dad decided to lock the doors for good. Our Story, the plaque below it reads, with a QR code to scan. 

It leads to a linktree, to social media links and tasting menus and a merchandise shop. The last link, though, is stomach curling. It’s her name, your Mom’s. Fighting for her, it reads. When you click it, you’re taken to a website that encourages donations, that spreads awareness and promotes research, that thanks Daniel by name twice in two paragraphs for his consistent and generous donations and support. 

Before you can make a bee-line for the exit, to tell your Dad that he was right and this was a mistake, you’re met with a red-faced teenage girl asking you if there’s anything she can help you with. “No, uh,” you swallow hard. “My parents were the previous owners, we just stopped in to see the place.”

“Oh my gosh, would you like a tour?”

“Um…” you pause, because you don’t know if you can handle being here. Seeing the place like this again. “Danny’s not… Daniel isn’t here, is he?” She shakes her head. You nod. “Then yeah, I guess. Let me just grab my dad?”

—

You get an invite to a VIP tasting at his vineyard two weeks after your visit. It’s scheduled during the F1 summer break, so you have no doubt he’ll be there, and if that wasn’t clue enough, his handwriting glaring back at you on the invite is about as obvious as obvious can be. 

I hear you’re snooping around the old stomping grounds. I’d love to be there when you do it. Bring your Dad if he’s free. It’ll be a good night, lots of strawberry wine–the real shit this time. All love, (always your) Danny.

read part two, everywhere, everything, here!

[a-stupidbisexual]

Teenage Dirtbag babyy !! - F2/3/F1 academy grid

my first smau - please be kind I’m new with the tools

Y/N x Paul Aron - Ollie Bearman x Andrea Kimi Antonelli - Abbi Pulling x Doriane Pin

Later - 3 am

Yourusername

Yourusername I’m just a teenage dirtbag babyyy

tagged : paularon_, olliebearman, kimi.antonelli, racerbia and 6 others

User1 young drivers on social media are a blessing

User2 WAIT IS THAT OLLIE AND KIMI ?!!

            User3 AND DORIANE AND ABBI ?!!

maxverstappen1 stop posting on social media and answer our calls

User4 oh to be a part of that friend group …

Racerbia

Racerbia never let Y/N plan the hangout

tagged : yourusername, olliebearman, kimi.antonelli, paularon_ and 6 others

Yourusername hey !!! It was amazing !

User6 AFTER BEARNELLI AND PINING WE GOT PAULY/N ?!!!

Arvid.lindblad actually the best hangout of my life

            Yourusername finally who someone likes my hangout plan

            Landonorris wait until tomorrow morning

The next day

Sunlight was already picking through the curtains when Y/N woke up. Her head was hurting, like someone was hitting it from inside. She tried to get herself up, but some weight was keeping her pinned against the mattress. She turned her head and saw a blond head she knew too well. Sure, her and Paul were big on physical touch but sleeping like this never happened. She carefully shifted to see the room without letting go of Paul’s embrace.

Y/N observed the room and the people in it. She could recognize Kimi and Ollie on the couch opposed to her, the older spooning the other. She had a moment of confusion, but she knew Kimi and Ollie had always been big on PDA even as friends. She kept looking around, checking if all her friends did make it back to the apartment. Arvid, Dino, Maya and Bianca were all sleeping on the floor with some blanket resting on them. And on the armchair, you could find Abbi and Doriane literally glued to each other, managing to fit in the tight chair. Y/N tried to get up to go eat something but all the moving and shifting in Paul’s arm woke him up.

“Hi princess!” he said with the sleepiest voice ever.

“Hi baby!” she responded, hugging him tighter.

Then she got up, after spending a few minutes convincing Paul to let her go. Y/N walked to the kitchen, open the door and faced Charles, Max, Oscar and Lewis. She brutally closed the door before reopening it. “Good morning, everybody!”

“Good afternoon actually!” Charles pointing the clock on the wall. He was right, it was indeed way past noon. 3pm actually.

“So, what’s the reason for the visit?” said Y/N trying to act cool in front of her 4 grid-dad.

“Humm…You don’t remember last night, do you?” Oscar asked.

“Euuh no …?” She responded.

“Well, we have a little explanation to do when everyone wakes up” Oscar sighed.

Max stood up and entered the living room to shout, “EVERYONE WAKES UP NOW!” The mass of teen made a groaning sound, some of them complaining about their head. There was also some confusion like Abbi and Dorianne who were looking at each other, not understanding the how and why they were like this. Same for Kimi and Ollie. After a couple minutes, the other older driver entered the room and told everyone to sit and listen to them.

“You kids are fucking mental; you should definitely know that! Before we start scolding each of you, do you actually remember what happened yesterday?” Charles was endorsing his role as the principal grid-dad of those kids.

“I remember that we met up here, we drank maybe one or two beers then we went to the bar.” said Kimi, rubbing his eyes.

“Yes, and Y/N picked up a worksite cone and put it on her head.” Gaby completed.

“I remember something about Ollie and Kimi, and Abbi and Dorianne, like they kissed or something like that” Arvid said earning some weird looks from the four.

Bianca finished their story and added “I remember Y/N got stuck on a tree, we called Oscar to help but Paul got her back before he arrived.”

“Well we have a base to work on” Max said pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It’s actually not that bad, I thought they would black out like completely.” said Lewis.

“So kids, you all got wasted at the bar and started doing random shit, like sitting on rooftops, stealing shopping carts, scooters and you also did some private things, you should check your insta especially Bianca and Y/N” Charles resumed the whole night and let all the teens check on their insta and realized all the things they did while he decided with the others grid-dads to post something to try to peace the situation.

Charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri and 2 others

Charles_leclerc why did we have to adopt that many teens?

Tagged yourusername, paularon_, olliebearman, kimi.antonelli and 7 others

Olliebearman  we’re sorry dad 😖🥺

            Yourusername speak for yourself

User8 the dads regretting their choice 🤣😭

Paularon_ it hurts but it was amazing

User7 The Bearnelli and PaulY/N pic 🥹

Dinobeganovic_ never let me have alcohol ever again

            Maya_weug same

            Gabrieleminiofficial same

____

well that's it ! I'm kinda proud of this, i hope you're gonna love this as much as me ! byye :)

[devilishchaos]

BABYYY drop the daddy Ruben fic, don't be shy <3

Calls | Dad!Rúben Dias imagine

Rating / genre: pure fluff

Pairings: Reader x Rúben Dias

Summary: Rúben goes on a business trip. Me and our son George are sad he is away, so we face time him.

Warnings: use of pet names "babe", "baby"

Word Count: 1 347 words

This is a work of fiction. The story, names, characters and incidents either are product or the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

While begging my husband to go on this 3 day business trip, I thought to myself "What can happen in the span of 3 days, right?"  Well, a lot. 

I'm currently 27 weeks pregnant with twins and have a year and a half year old baby-toddler that needs my attention 24/7. Not that I am complaining but the pregnancy alone is being hard on me and my beautiful son throwing constant tantrums about missing his dad doesn't help my situation. Now, I was usually the preferred parent, but George had the tendency to not want to eat and nap while Rúben was away.

Today was going to be a long and hard day for me, I just knew it. I woke up from my nap at 7:00 am, got ready and headed to wake George up because I had an appointment with my OBGYN in an hour and had no one to look after him while I was gone, so I had to take him with me. 

It was a battle but I somehow managed to get him ready for the day, made it to my appointment safely and on time and both of us were back in the coziness of our household before we knew it. 

The moment we stepped through the door - the nausea hit me. And my head started spinning. I somehow made it to the bedroom and laid down on the bed and tried to take deep breaths in hopes for it to go away faster. I closed your eyes for a second and out of nowhere a loud cry pierced the silence. 

With eyes wide open, all my senses on alert, I sat up in the bed and looked at the door to see George standing there, tears falling from his eyes and his tiny hands holding his favorite stuffed animal close to his chest. 

"What happened baby? Are you okay?" I asked, holding out my hands in his direction. 

"Dada.." he managed to say in between wheezing. 

I gave him a sad knowing look. Ever since he was born he was a mama's boy but ever since I got pregnant again he looked up to Rúben more and more, and wanted to do everything that he was doing whether it was directed towards me or other people. And Rúben was the happiest person on earth, soaking in every moment because he knew that it could be taken away from him just as fast as it came. 

"You miss daddy, huh bud?" I softly asked as I helped him get up on the bed to join me. 

He nodded, the movement making his tiny curls shake a little. 

"How about we call him? Would that make you feel better?" 

"Yeah.." George mumbled, while wiping his eyes.

I was already reaching for my phone before I got an answer from him. Since Rúben is in New York and we are in Manchester there is a 5 hour time difference, but it was now way after noon in Manchester and knowing Rúben, he had been awake for some time, so that's why I suggested calling him. Okay and maybe because I miss him too and want to talk to him, but that's another topic. 

I dialed his contact and gave George the phone. After two rings I saw Rúben's gorgeous face and he saw a head full of curls and two big dark eyes watching closely the screen, since George held the phone so close to him. 

"Hey, gorg-" your husband started "-oh, hello big man. What are you doing with mama's phone?" you saw him smiling widly. 

"Dada, miss you." George said and started crying again. 

"Oh, no. Don't cry buddy. I miss you so much too." 

"Home." 

"I'm coming home tomorrow, baby and I'm not going anywhere after that, okay?" Rúben asked as a sad smile made its way on his face. 

"Home now?" George asked as he tilted his head slightly the exact same way Rúben does and it made your heart throb. 

"I wish buddy, but I have one more thing to do and then I promise I'm gonna catch the first flight back home and I'm coming straight to you. But I need you to do something for me, okay. You have to eat lunch and dinner, and you have to go to sleep when mommy says. Can you do that for me? That way I'm going to come home faster. Do we have a deal, G?" Rúben asked, slightly raising his eyebrows. 

"A deal.." his son responded while rubbing his eye "Now play." 

"Okay, you can go and play now. Loves you." your husband said as he leaned into the camera and kissed it, your guys's little tradition that now George did too. 

"Loves you." George said cutely and kissed your front camera. He gave you the phone and ran out of your bedroom and into his playroom. 

I took the phone and positioned it against my big water bottle in front of me as I greeted my hansome husband "Hi, meu amor." 

"Hey, mama. How are you holding up? Big man giving you a hard time?" Rúben asked you giving you sad eyes. 

"He just misses you." I exhaled "Nothing changed after the call yesterday, we're going to see what happens today. I miss you too, tho. We miss you too." I simply explained rubbing my round belly.  

"I'm sorry babe. I miss all of you. Can't wait to be back home. I'm never leaving again." he shook his head as to make it more believable.

"Rúben, we talked about this. What you're doing right now is for your career and for us. So that you can take more time off while the twins come, just as you did when we welcomed George. Don't feel guilty, you're not doing anything wrong, babe. We'll get through this. We have to. In fact it's almost over." I smiled at him trying to lighten the mood. 

"This is why I made you my wife. Eu te amo muito." Rúben said looking lovingly at the screen in front of him. 

"I love you more." 

"Period." he said while snapping his fingers, which made both of you to start giggling.

"Stop. I'm gonna pee my pants!" I said in between laughing. 

"Okay, okay. So how did the appointment go? Everything alright?" Rúben's face went completely serious in a spare of seconds. 

"Yes. Babies are doing just fine." I said and took a breathing break "I however, am struggling. Babe, I'm 27 weeks into this pregnancy and do you know what my doctor told me? That I'm measuring full term compared to a singleton pregnancy. That's very overwhelming considering that I hopefully have 8 or 9, 10 weeks left in the absolute ideal case scenario. And technically I am still 6 months pregnant. At the very end of my 6th month. Can you believe this?" I looked at him with a questioning face. 

Rúben's eyes went wide "Wow." 

"Wow indeed. I mean..that's what I get for having children with a freaking giant, I guess." 

"Hey. You looooove this giant. And the babies that you both made." Rúben winked at me, eyes going soft and a smile appearing on his lips "Everything will be okay. Just try not to overwork yourself. And no, I'm not saying don't do nothing and just lay in bed all day. But you are very pregnant and are taking care of a fussy baby-toddler. Please, just take it easy while I'm away. When I come back it will be different." 

"I'm gonna try my best. Now I have to go to make a snack because I'm starving and you have work to do. So talk to you later. You also take it easy, okay." I lovingly smiled at him, damn I can't wait for it to be tomorrow already. 

"Alright, talk to you later. Loves you." 

"Loves you." both of us said at the same time, smiling at each other, leaning in and kissing the front cameras on our phones, sharing a virtual kiss and ending the call.

[existslikepristin]

This is dedicated to all the people who guessed wrong on this post, because nobody guessed correctly. :soojinbully:

Anonymous editor is back at it again for this one!

Tags: NSFW, TheLounge, Twice, Jeongyeon, gender-unspecified reader because it's still rainbow month babyyy!, fingering, heavy make outs, a bit of embarrassment, more prose-y than normal for me, don't worry there's no actual horror in this one, voyeurism I think?, wow I spelled voyeurism right on the first try

Not Summer Yet

Jeongyeon's face, barely illuminated in a sea of pitch black, contorts in terror. Slowly, a hand rises to clasp over her mouth. Her fingers are crushing yours, grasping desperately to them like a lifeline thrown to a drowning casualty. It's not slow motion. She's just stuck that way, eyes widening slowly, like portals to some unknown hell.

You've waited for this. Yes, this terror is your fault, and exactly what you wanted. Even now, as she clings to you, fully aware of your orchestration and yet unable to deny her attachment to you, you regret nothing. A smile creeps up your lips. Yes… this will do.

The basement door opens…

Jeongyeon shrieks, and drops the mostly empty bucket of popcorn.

~~~~~

"Oh my gosh, that was so scary!" She says for the seventh time since leaving the theater.

"Ha, right?" You chuckle. You've already told her about the first time you saw the movie. Old, black and white, and so masterfully directed as to cause suspenseful dread so many decades later. It's no wonder it still occasionally gets a real theater showing.

"Sheeeesh. Well… here I am," Jeongyeon gestures at the apartment building's front door. You stroll off the street with her and get an unexpected hug. It's awkward and from the side, but with a little finagling, you twist around in her arms and return it.

She nuzzles your shoulder and drapes her chin over it. Here you are, just a couple of cuddling hamsters on the sidewalk. The smell of her perfume reminds you of your first date together. You barely caught a whiff because you weren’t sniffing her like a weirdo, but it was distinct, musky, ever so slightly fruity, an unripe grove, but the kind growing the organic stuff. You’re not sure if you could say you enjoyed the excessively salty hot pot you ate together, but that matters so little, and you found out so much you have in common, at least as far as taste in all-you-can-eat ingredients is concerned.

“Do you want to come in?”

It’s a good thing Jeongyeon’s chin is over your shoulder, because you’d be pretty embarrassed at how far your eyes are popping out if she could see them. “Yeah, sure,” you say immediately to avoid the appearance of hesitation.

A key code is punched in, a door is opened. No monsters or serial killers behind this one, but you feel some amount of suspense anyway. Jeongyeon has not made any suggestions like this yet, so the presumably sexual proposition… Maybe it’s not sexual. Seems like a stretch, but it’s best to err on the side of caution, as they say and as you definitely adhere (note: that is sarcasm).

Jeongyeon guides you through the apartment. You’re not exactly unfamiliar with its layout, but you’d rather not recall your second date dammit here you go you can’t stop it. That was when you discovered that Jeongyeon was an idol, and that you were an idiot. Several of her friends tagged along. It was sort of a triple date kind of situation. You saw them and you asked Jeongyeon, “OMG, you’re friends with Twice?” and she said, “I’m in Twice.” You then spent the rest of the evening with a glowing red face while Nayeon, Jihyo, Chaeyoung, Tzuyu, and Mina explained in excruciating detail all of the sex they’d already had with you up until that point. Jeongyeon was unbothered, and asked you out on a third date once the wine tasting was over. The unwitting eavesdroppers sitting at the adjacent tables, however, looked very judgemental.

You snap out of that devastatingly traumatic flashback as Jeongyeon sits you down on a bed, in her room, with the lights set quite dim. She sits next to you and her fingers entwine with yours. This adorable piece of shit must think she can win you over by being cute and wholesome, and she’s correct.

“Can I kiss you?” she asks.

You don’t need to be asked Twice (get used to it because this stupid joke will be used several more times tonight). You get on that faster than Nayeon getting naked, which is a measurement of time you have experience with. Don’t think about your second date again. Think about the third.

That was the first time Jeongyeon held your hand. You were on the roof of one of the JYP office buildings, looking out over Seoul. It was perhaps the least fancy date you’ve ever been on, and barely even counted as one, according to Yeri. There was no food, music, or dancing. There were a couple bottles of mediocre beer, a couple of lingering touches, and a couple of minds exchanging deep thoughts about the secrets of the universe. It was mostly her thoughts that were deep, you’d admit. You’ve been avoiding universal secrets whenever possible since Halloween.

It’s so electric when your lips touch you think you might need to make a call to the apartment’s manager to file a safety complaint. It’s as if you’ve known her and waited for this for years… which isn’t entirely, technically inaccurate. It’s wonderful.

Her kisses are as slow as the multi-month build up to this moment. Sitting side by side as you are, you don’t have much choice, but it’s nice. Despite the initial thundershock popping you with that ten percent chance of paralysis, you’re feeling comfortable. Her nose brushes your cheek, her wistful breath puffs off of you, and her fingers curl onto your shirt sleeve.

You respond to it all in kind, resting your palm on her knee and caressing her jawline. She’s soft, and yet you’re the one who feels like you’re melting. Maybe she’s feeling the same way, but given how smoothly she pulls you down until you’re both on your backs with your legs hanging off the bed, you suspect that she’s feeling more like a marshmallow hovering over a campfire. Soft and cool, but she’s got a s’more to warm up for—That’s a horrendous simile and we’re moving on to reminisce about your fourth date.

That date was a walk in the park, literally. It was in the middle of the night, so it felt like you and Jeongyeon were the only two people in the world, hopping onto the playground swings, hand in hand, with just a pair of nearby streetlamps keeping you from tripping over the end of a slide and face planting.

“Hey,” she’d started, “Stop me if this is weird.”

Rather than quip about how you’re friends with Yerin so nothing’s weird anymore, you kept your mouth shut.

“I have a really hard time saying things like this, but I think I kind of like you.”

Back in the present, Jeongyeon’s kisses are only barely more insistent, her breath a little needier. Your instincts are teetering back and forth between flipping her over and taking the lead because you think you know what she wants or begging her for more because you’re pretty sure you know what you want. Normally you’d have so much better of a read on the situation, but Jeongyeon is like a prescription signature.

She sneaks her hand under the hem of your shirt, lightly stroking your stomach as she pushes up. Her breath gets shaky, and she lifts herself away from you.

“Sorry,” she whispers, “I… shouldn’t…”

Just like on the swings, words don’t feel right. You touch her cheek, gently guiding her to look into your eyes. Once there, you glance down at her shirt and back up, then carefully take the uppermost button of that shirt between your fingers. You hope she’s looking for permission, because that’s what you want to give her.

Good call, that was. She quickly unbuttons the rest, from the bottom to the top. Her shirt falls open and she falls onto you, all lips and hushed breaths. Your poor shirt gets stretched near to the point of ripping as you and Jeongyeon try to pull it up and out from the middle of your crushing embrace. Both of you give up at a point, unwilling to separate from each other and satisfied enough by the skin to skin contact of your stomachs.

Such a dramatic kiss is not doing wonders for your hair or hers, as your fingers clutch at each other's heads.

Besides your head, she seems to have a particular fondness for your shoulders, and you’re obviously loving the freedom you've been given to explore her back. You aren’t even sure how you managed to unclasp her bra one-handed, but at some point or another you did. The loose, stiff fabric quickly becomes a point of discomfort, but is handled just as fast. Jeongyeon sits up, thrashing an arm to throw off one of her sleeves and half of the bra. You don't get to see much as you're busy yanking your shirt over your head, but you find yourself unable to care when she catches your mouth immediately as it becomes available again. 

Full upper-frontal contact has been achieved and you wonder how you survived this long without it. Jeongyeon’s breasts are some of the softest you’ve ever felt. Perhaps the softest. And you’ve felt a lot (including but not limited to half her roommates but let’s not get into that again). Maybe the marshmallow simile was… no, still feels weird rolling off the tongue in your mind.

On the note of tongues though, Jeongyeon is getting bolder and bolder, opening her mouth a bit more with each kiss, and lightly brushing her tongue across your lips.

Your first kiss had been significantly more chaste. It was your fifth date, and she’d invited you to a board game cafe. Unluckily for you, most of Itzy was there too (invited by Jeongyeon (your theory is that she prefers group dates as they deter her from delving into, and burning out on, deep conversations)). The two of you picked Ryujin to be on your team, which meant you got your asses carried to an absolute victory, crushing Yeji, Lia, and Chaeryeong’s spirits. The three of them proceeded to retaliate by embarrassing you, recounting their less than wholesome and more than sensual past encounters with you to Jeongyeon. Chaeryeong dropped another unexpected knowledge bomb though, recounting her less than wholesome past encounter with Jeongyeon. That one shocked everybody at the table, but you didn’t make a deal out of it, since Jeongyeon had at that point given you the same courtesy Twice.

The kiss had been on your cheek, barely tapping the corner of your mouth. Come to think of it, she hadn’t asked back then. Must not have been as planned as this make out session.

This make out session, speaking of which, is becoming less modest by the second. You’re not sure exactly when it happened—perhaps during your fifth date flashback—but your hand managed to get inside Jeongyeon’s jeans. You haven’t gotten very far, but your excitement ramps up as she breathes in through her teeth and shifts herself upward, pushing your fingers past and under the elastic of her underwear.

“Is this okay?” you mutter.

Her shaky, shallow breaths syncopate with her hurried nodding, and she plunges back down to you, her kisses suddenly giving off a distinctly desperate vibe. They’re a little more spread out now too, occasionally hitting your jawline and neck, sucking gently, encouraging you.

Your hand is soaked well before you actually reach Jeongyeon’s clit, but when you do, she has to back away from you to take in a full, shuddering gasp. She unbuttons and unzips her jeans quickly before dropping back into the make out. How considerate of her. That will make this a lot easier on your wrist, and gives you a tangential reminder of how fantastic her ass looked in these pants. She’d said as much herself, and pointed it out while you were in line for the movie earlier tonight (which was/is still your sixth date). Up until… well, up until right now… it was the closest—only—thing to a sexual comment she’d made to you. You briefly wonder if you should take back your prior thought about her winning you over by being cute and wholesome, but that is definitely still the case. Her restrained grip on your shoulders is undeniably and unequivocally still adorable.

Jeongyeon’s face, barely illuminated in a sea of pitch black, contorting in pleasure and only millimeters away from your own, suddenly becomes a lot more illuminated.

“—and I told him as long as I get some solid—” Jihyo gasps, loud and over-dramatic.

Jeongyeon sits halfway up, eyes screwed shut, lips tight, and shoulders hunched. “Fuck,” she whispers quietly enough it was probably not meant to be out loud.

Jihyo’s footfalls thunder down the hallway. “Nayeon, guess what!”

“I am… I’m so sorry,” Jeongyeon groans, placing her fingertips to her forehead.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you tell her, taking her hand away from her head.

She sighs and glances back over her shoulder. You follow her gaze to the door and see a barely hidden, peeping Tzuyu. Jeongyeon drapes her shirt onto her back again. She doesn’t button it, just sort of hides behind it.

“I guess…” she starts. She hangs her head like a wilting flower. Some mix of pensiveness and dejection, the depths of which you can certainly estimate, emanates from her. The last breath of spring has come and gone, and summer has arrived, beating fields down with too much heat and light. A hardier plant will be in her place soon, happy to provide color and aromas. “I guess maybe next time. I didn’t mean for—”

You take her chin between your thumb and forefinger, lifting her just a bit to look her in the eye. You like the mud and the mossy smell. “Don’t worry about it. It really is okay.”

Jeongyeon stares, half-lidded, for a few intense moments, and lays back down on top of you. Your mouths meet once more. Her passion is somewhat reduced, but you can feel it speeding up from its pause again.

Well, this is not quite what you meant by “it’s okay.” You were just trying to make her feel better about being interrupted, not suggest that it was cool for her roommates to watch your spicy make out session. You suppose it’s fine… Yeah, fuck it.

You snake an arm between the two of you and Jeongyeon shifts a little to the side to allow you access to her breast. This is the first you’ve gotten your hands on it, and you can fucking cut it out with the marshmallow shit. This has happened Twice already. Her tits are soft. You don’t recall the last time you even felt a marshmallow. The texture is completely different. You know marshmallows are dry as hell. You don’t need this explained to you. This is in your head. Oh, and it’s a damn good thing Jeongyeon’s not a mind reader because you’re thinking like a fucking idiot right now. Marshmallows. Fucking hell.

Jeongyeon’s tits are the tittiest. Forget this nonsense and squeeze.

It's not easy to ignore the whispers and clambering just outside the open bedroom door. Four hushed voices. Now five. This apartment is ridiculous, but deep moans bring you back into the moment and focus your mind, drowning out the other voices not with volume but sensuality. "Please?"

You don't need clarification, since Jeongyeon is already gently guiding your wrist down and back to its place inside her pants. You take it from there, getting yourself snug underneath her. Dampness becomes wet again, and her folds form an easy path to her clit when you overshoot.

Strained breaths, knitted eyebrows, and desperately grasping fingers are her unsubtle clues that you're on the right track. Her legs open wider as you circle her clit. Such a tiny button.

She kisses you. Of course there's more kissing, but it's a lot less controlled now, less accurate. Whether that's because her eyes are closed or because she twitches every time you stroke with your whole finger, swiping over her entrance while continuing the clitoral stimulation you started with, you can't tell. Either way, her lips end up all over your mouth and neck, and she makes it sound like she needs these kisses more than you.

Jeongyeon hunches down, pressing her face into your chest. Her ever-quickening, heavier breaths tickle your sternum. It seems she’s losing touch with the world, fingers fluttering over your shoulders and neck as she repeats herself in staccato whispers, “Please. Please. Please.”

And please you do (or pleased you are, or perhaps she is). You keep up the pace, almost going off-course from how slick she’s become. Flinging an arm around her back, you hold her in place, where you can kiss the top of her head, and take in that most her of scents, buried in her hair, taking you out to the woods where you can smell the soil giving of its life to the weak and strong alike. It’s only right that you give some back.

Jeongyeon shakes, and the immense restraint she was displaying fades. She collapses on top of you, her forearms crushing you into her from below. You didn’t even realize how much strength she had in such a soft body. Her breath holds at first, but croaks from her throat in tiny bursts before she can’t take it anymore and bawls it into your neck.

It takes some time for her to come down, her chest bouncing against yours in a pattern you’d definitely mistake for sobbing if she wasn’t still peppering your throat with kisses and her eyes weren’t so dry. Though, what little makeup she was wearing is now smeared across some combination of her cheeks and your torso.

“That was…” she says, then continues after a gulp of air, “Amazing. You’re amazing…”

You can’t help but smile and say, “No, you.”

Her lips twitch up until she’s smiling back, and she gives you a deep kiss, reminiscent of every flower you’ve ever seen bloom. “Stay here,” she mumbles against your cheek, “Okay?”

Without waiting for your response, Jeongyeon peels herself away from you, onto her feet, and toward the bedroom door. One pair of footsteps thunders away (probably Jihyo again), but you can still see multiple heads peeking through, blushing furiously, and one that isn’t blushing at all (Chaeyoung’s).

One small fist reaches past the door, which Jeongyeon quickly bumps with her own before she gently pushes it away and closes the door. The room becomes even dimmer, but with your mostly adjusted eyes you can still see Jeongyeon turn to face you again. Her form is merely outlined by her open shirt and pants that are barely hanging on to her hips.

“May I return the favor please?” she asks politely.

You can’t imagine denying her.

[oogaboogasphincter]

Deceits of the Devil (priest!marcus pike x f!reader) | chapter one: the high priestess

series summary: when you find love in a priest, a litany of spooky events begin to follow you that can only be described as a haunting. is it your own guilty conscience that disturbs you... or could it be something else?

chapter summary: you're visiting your best friend in her new town for the first time when you are begrudgingly thrust into her devout way of life. however, something - or someone - makes you rethink your plans of avoiding the church at all costs.

word count/series~chapter-specific warnings: 6.4k+ words // MATURE (18+ ONLY) MDNI!: reader uses she/her pronouns and is incredibly non-religious, SLOW BURN TABOO RELATIONSHIP BABYYY, lots of religious/spiritual talk, horror elements and general spookiness ~ lots of character introductions so pls bear with me, mention of the death of a loved one and some light grief, food and eating mentions, sudden illness, potentially cringe banter, take a shot for every time i wrote 'father pike' in this (trust me we learn his first name soon enough but for now it's all formalities between him and reader), is this whole thing blasphemous? probably

a/n: sooo this is something very different from what i normally write, but i'm so excited to be trying something new! :) i'm not too sure where i want to take this story yet, so i don't have a total number of chapters or an ending planned (i really don't even have much of the plot figured out LMAO) but i'd really really appreciate any and all feedback from my readers! ♥️ let me know what you liked and what you want to see more of in future chapters!

“So I won’t burst into flames when I walk through the doors?” 

You ask your best friend, Lucy, sending her into a fit of laughter. She clutches your hand tighter in hers, squeezing it with pompous affection. Despite your best efforts to maintain your feelings of impartialness towards the church, your palm slips against hers with a sheen of clamminess as you travel closer to the hulking cathedral. 

“No!” She laughs, that breathless laugh you’ve always found comfort in. “You’re holier than most of the people who go every Sunday.” 

You scoff and give her some side-eye, something that just makes her shake her head even more. Whether or not this is how you wanted to spend your first day in Carmeltree visiting her, you are going to this harvest dinner. 

She sighs contentiously, contrasting the playful smirk on her face, “Trust me, you’ll be fine. Now come on, we’re gonna be late!” 

——

Lucy has been your best friend since kindergarten. The maple leaves that swirl around you both in the crisp autumn air as you run through the streets now invoke a fierce sense of nostalgia, one that’s almost painful. One of your first memories together is making leaf rubbings in class with the fallen leaves that blanketed the frosted school grounds. She liked warm colors and you liked cool colors; she liked maple leaves and you liked birch leaves. Two complete halves made an even brighter whole when you came together, and the rest is history. 

Despite the big city you grew up in, somehow you always managed to be in the same classes, share the same hobbies. But your luck had to run out sometime; when you both graduated, you got accepted into universities on opposite sides of the country. You kept up your communication, talking to each other every day and spilling your guts about everything, from the monumental to the regrettable, the joyous to the devastating. 

You thought something was amiss when she called you in the middle of the night a few months back. At first you brushed it off, thinking maybe she fell asleep with her phone in her hand and dialed you by accident, something you’ve both done plenty of times over the course of your friendship. When she called you back as soon as you didn’t answer, you knew there was something wrong. That’s when you learned her mom had passed away. 

It wasn’t sudden, but that didn’t spare her any devastation. You were there for her all day, every day. Consoling her when she wept, relishing in the happy memories that brought a rare but vital smile to her voice, sympathizing with her grief. But without a physical shoulder to lean on, Lucy went looking for more support to help her. 

Her mom was a devout Christian and, by proxy, so was Lucy. She isn’t as rigid in her faith as her mom was, but she always viewed it as a guiding light to betterment, a sturdy foundation to catch her when she crumbled. Luckily, the whirlwind of life events in the past six months that displaced her from her college friends to the small town of Carmeltree was gracious enough to gift her a tight-knit, painfully orthodox population. 

On the contrary, you grew up in a household without any influence of organized religion. Your family celebrated Christmas and Easter, but it was mostly for all of the gifts and chocolate. 

Religious differences never caused any turmoil between you and your best friend, because you love each other for who you are, regardless if you share spiritual beliefs. If praying and attending sermons helps Lucy to process her grief and gives her something that uplifts her soul, what kind of a friend would you be to forbid her from that? 

—— 

That doesn’t make you any more enthused about being dragged to the dinner held at the church to celebrate the autumn harvest. Lucy dropped the plan on you the second she picked you up from the major airport, whose segregating miles seem to swell with every second that passes. Knowing you would come up with an alternative plan you’d both like better, she didn’t give you a chance to back out, and you didn’t fight. Committed to being a good friend, and with a curiosity pricking your heart, you run alongside her through residual puddles as the street clocks chime eight times. 

And let’s get one thing straight - “church” was a dishonorable term for the structure you’re going to. For hundreds of years, since the first round of colonizing settlers that invaded this square patch of disparate land, the citizens have been addicted to worship. They would lend their last cent to their religion, egregiously ignoring their growling stomachs and dilapidated houses for the sake of a prosperous God. The result of this frenzied generosity is the biggest cathedral you’ve ever seen. 

You’re still a few blocks away, but the spires reach over the trees and spear up at the moon; whose craters can be seen with miraculous clarity on this autumn night. As you move closer and closer, the details in this spectacular of gothic architecture reveal themselves. There are a litany of pinnacles that stand like soldiers guarding their fortress and clerestory windows that dance and swish with light coming from inside the maw of the beast. When your eyes drift to angular beams that aid the structure - flying buttresses, if you remember correctly - your marvel is suddenly absent.

“No gargoyles?” you ask. 

Lucy matches your disappointment with a shake of her head, “They come too close to the pagan border.” It’s unmistakable the way she lowers her voice, though there’s only a handful of patrons a hundred feet away from you. 

Against the cloudless, darkening sky and a comically-eerie full moon, anyone would be dosed with at least a few drops of intimidation by the staggering black outlines. You fail to find any ease once you come to one of three entrances. The carvings of ancient tales you don’t know loom over your head in the angular tympanum and greet you with uncertainty. Are they supposed to make you feel welcomed or warned? 

The gigantic doors are swung and held open by their own weight, giving way to the narthex. There’s a singing choir hidden deeper within and their melodies echo all around you. A large chandelier emits a soft orange glow, which is peculiarly swallowed up instead of reflected by the intricate, gilded etchings that coat the walls. Maroon velvet beneath your feet turns into a dark abyss of shadows from the unprecedented amount of people in here. You cling to Lucy’s coat with both your hands, somewhat subconsciously, and she laughs before taking your hand in hers and parting though the sea. 

You’ll admit it, you can be very shy when you’re overwhelmed. Though for some inexplicable reason, crowds usually didn’t give you a fuss. You actually found a sense of comfort in being lost in the blur, blending in as just another body amongst hundreds, sometimes thousands of others. But you didn’t like this crowd, didn’t know these people, and not in a stranger-danger kind of way; you’ve unknowingly crossed the line of some Christians in the past and have dealt with their fiery ravings. From knowing Lucy all these years, you seem to have an understanding of their way of life, but then you slip up - use His name in vain, talk about a crush you have no plans to marry a little too fondly. You’ll be chewing on your third forkful and look up at the table, meeting ghastly stares and wanting to smack yourself in the face for completely forgetting grace. 

Lucy never scorned you about forgetting or misunderstanding the rules. She knew that you didn’t mean any malice, you just simply… thought it was all a little silly sometimes. Between lighthearted Lucys and tyrannical Karens, it felt like walking on a minefield. So, you guess, you do know these people; it’s their unpredictability that worries you. 

The claustrophobia wanes as you enter the nave. The ceiling spreads out, breathes, and is lined with stained glass windows that bend the moonlight into faint rainbows. Some of the outermost pews have been moved to accommodate long tables, adorned in chestnut velour, copper filigree and serve as the throne for only the most impressive squashes of the harvest. A buffet joins the autumnal decor, sitting in sterling silver that you can imagine was forged at the beginning of the century and is used only for occasions such as these. 

Ever atune to your mind and body, Lucy pulls you into the line of hungry patrons just as your stomach grumbles. You’re transfixed by the magnificent altar at the back of this illustrious cave, your eyes climbing up the grand steps of the sanctuary to the stone table where you know the priest stands when mass is held. You try to picture one giving a sermon and reciting from scriptures. Doesn’t he have a cup or something too?…

A plate is stuck in front of you, waving a little, and the priest laughs at you when he finally gets your attention. You take the plate with a little embarrassment, your smile a sheepish one. “Sorry,” you mumble with pity. 

The tall, wispy-haired man smiles with his teeth and places his arthritic hands around one of yours as you hold the plate. “Oh, it’s alright, my child. I myself have gotten lost in the wonders of the cathedral many times.”

Lucy chimes in, reading your awkward gaze. “It’s her first time,” she whispers with a little too much excitement for your liking. The priest puts on a goofy surprised expression, his eyebrows going up and his mouth forming a small 'o'. He looks back to you with a softer smile, “What a beautiful thing to witness, then. I’m Father Gala, pleased to meet you.” 

“There’s no one better to come here with for the first time than Miss Finkle. You’re in very good hands.” As you nod in agreement, you can’t help but wonder… what would this elder man, in his starched and pressed vestments, think if he knew you and Lucy had “practiced” kissing so you’d know what you were doing when the “real thing” happened? 

You wave the thought away like a gnat, not wanting to feel like you’re keeping another clean secret that’s considered dirty by some. You’re already under the guise of being a practicing Christian; Lucy had said they were more readily accepted than anyone else, despite the church’s proclamation of aiming for cultural diversity. 

The choir has ended their singing, replaced by applause then the soft, overlapping chatter of the religious folk, and their red robes merge seamlessly into the surrounding crowd. Three other priests emerge from doors on either side of the sanctuary, two from the door closer to you and one from the other. You don’t get a good look at the singular man, since the door is on the opposite side of the grand hall from you. The two others are deep in talk, gesturing with their hands and keeping their faces close to one another while they walk as to not let anyone eavesdrop. You move ahead in line and depart from the eldest priest, whom the two new faces greet and guide a few feet away from everyone. 

You don’t mean to pry, but you can’t help your curiosity and look back at the men. You can’t hear them, only watching their mouths move, but Father Gala’s sweet smile grows somber, then bitter. With scowling brows to match, the other two priests keep up their gestures laden with well-maintained passion as they tell Father Gala a story. 

In the first lull of this conversation, the eldest priest, with his arms crossed over his chest, flickers his eyes to yours without moving his head. Your heart springs from your chest to your throat. His glower lessens when he bites the inside of his cheek, but you feel a doubling, tripling of stress when the other two priests turn to look at you too. The taller one, with a jet black, scraggly bowl cut, mirrors Father Gala and crosses his arms. He looks down his long nose at you in dignified annoyance. The third, with stocky limbs and strawberry blonde hair, glares at you from his periphery. Your eyes widen, in an attempt to show them you’re not a threat, expose your remorseful guilt, or provide a silent apology, you don’t know.

Lucy snaps you back forward with a gentle push against your back to get you to move in the line. You’ve finally reached the buffet, but suddenly the smells that wandered up your nose in wispy, tempting little tendrils earlier instead worm their way down your esophagus and instill a powerful nausea. She can sense your discomfort, your disorientation from what just happened, and supplies your plate for you. With a protective gaze over your head at the men, and a loving hand on your bicep, she guides you to sit in the pew farthest away from them. 

She has to stick a fork in your petrified fist for you to speak. “What the hell was that about?” You question, chancing a glance over your shoulder at the offending party and see that they’ve gone off to greet guests with friendly smiles again. “I wasn’t trying to listen in, they just looked worried and-“

Lucy pats your knee once, “Don’t worry. There must be some sort of drama happening behind the scenes, something that the town would inquire about. Since they’re priests, they think they have immunity from gossip.” She scoffs lightly and you think you catch your devout friend rolling her eyes at those most holy. “They’ve been acting weird for a while now, off and on. One week, Father Gala is like Mr. Rogers, and the next, he’s Dracula.” 

That earns a snort from you, hiding your smile behind the back of your hand. She gives you a reassuring smile, filled with her signature warmth that’s comforted you all these years, “You’re doing great. Now eat.” 

Thankfully, your nausea has quelled enough that you taste the delicious food as it’s meant to be tasted. Maybe you don’t have to worry about foraging during your stay in this town void of all fast food, only relying on two quaint grocery stores to feed itself. You’ll just have to become friends with whoever made this delectably gooey mac and cheese. 

Lucy interrupts you, “Oh, by the way,” she covers her full mouth and then swallows, pointing daintily, “that’s Father Thorn,” at the tall one, “and that’s Father Angus,” at the blonde one. You nod once in understanding, taking a look at their faces to match their names with, before Lucy turns away with a laugh. She teases under her breath, “Maybe they’re all pissed they could never be as handsome as Father Pike.” 

“Priests can be handsome?” you ask of the mysterious fourth priest, bemused. Priests, deacons, popes and the like all conjure up images of men with wrinkles as delicate and numerous as the pages in the ancient books they abide by. If they’re not a million years old, they’re unsightly at best and possess a visceral lack of sensuality, like Father Thorn and Father Angus. Lucy has got to be pulling your leg. 

“Yes,” she breathes, a soft pink blooming in her cheeks, “and young, and warm, and have a voice that makes every sermon a lullaby, and big, tender hands…” she trails off in a dream.

You let out a laugh, amused by her dramatics. “Oh, so he’s really ugly, then,” you sneer, trying to expose her hyperbole. 

She giggles at your tone, shaking her head. You reign down on her, spurring her giggles on with a barrage of sarcasm until they’re uncontrollable.

“Is that why this place doesn’t have gargoyles, because he can take its place? Does he have leathery skin,” you drag your hands down your face, pulling your cheeks down to expose your eyes, “rotted fangs,” hold your hands by your mouth and snarl your fingers, “hairy feet with long, twisting toenails that tear through his shoes?” You get up and drag your feet along the floor, growling and licking your lips rabidly. 

Lucy doubles over, tears threatening to spill over her eyes every time her lungs have to suck in a breath, “Stop!” She’s wheezing and you drop the act, putting your hands on your hips. 

“Well, you gotta tell me if I’m wrong or not!” Tapping your foot, you await her retaliation, until a voice warm with a smile cuts through the air.

“You forgot the giant rat’s tail that drags behind me.” 

Your heart stops for a second, thumping wildly when it starts up again to catch the missed beats. Turning tentatively on your heel, you’re met with… exactly what Lucy described. 

Before you is one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen, if not the most handsome ever. Chocolate waves that crest over top one another in a cute, slightly overgrown style glisten like ganache on top of his head in the candlelight. He’s got a scruffy beard that’s cut close to his cheeks and jaw, avoiding looking unkempt, threaded with two or three streaks of gray. His aquiline nose is gorgeous, there’s a little dimple in his cheek that deepens as he’s smiling, and his eyes… oh, his eyes…

“I’m Father Pike,” he extends his hand in greeting, keeping his other tucked behind his back. He has to bend forward slightly to reach your height better, aiding your descent into enchanted madness as he gets closer. You take his hand and introduce yourself- GOD Lucy was right. His grasp is light, comforting. Where Father Gala made you feel stuck in his eternal cage, Father Pike sets you free. You fall into a stupor fantasizing about what his hugs must feel like.

He smells like cinnamon. It could be from the pie you suspect he ate, from the apple undertones you detect, but you wouldn’t be surprised if that’s just how he naturally smelled. A warm, cozy, inviting dream; he sure looked like one, at least. 

His gaze lingers on your expression frozen with intrigue before he turns and welcomes Lucy. They begin a polite banter that allows you to stand back and try to quell your blood that throbs with nerve. If you had known someone like Father Pike was going to be here, you would’ve dressed in something nicer, possibly sexy - the modesty expected in a place of worship be damned. You curse yourself for choosing these well-worn jeans and roomy sweater over the opaque tights and a dress of an acceptable length you were going back and forth on in your mirror earlier. But, in an odd sort of way, you still felt exposed in front of Father Pike from underneath all your thick layers. You couldn’t hide yourself from him, no matter how many clothes you armored yourself with. 

He turns back to you, and he doesn’t ogle your nervous body, or try desperately not to; he looks into your eyes with a soft smile that crinkles the skin around those big brown puddles. It makes your chest feel like it has a big, gaping cavity that you could look inside of and see your heart thumping hard, vulnerable blood spilling from all your edges and trickling down your legs. The flustered emotions of a blooming crush rapidly morph into something malicious and parasitic, causing you to put the back of your hand to your forehead that has broken out in clamminess. It’s hard to hear Father Pike over the rushing buzz in your head when he speaks to you.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, are you new?” 

And just like that, your knees start trembling beneath you. Your heart misses a beat, causing your lungs to seize in anger and you suck in a harsh breath. In a flash, Father Pike’s friendliness snaps into genuine concern and he steps forward, taking your elbows and catching you on your way to the floor. You make a startled sound and his timbre slashes through your panic, “Let’s get you sat down somewhere, okay?” 

You can barely muster a nod, tears threatening to spill over your eyes and join the rivulets of sweat on your cheeks. Father Pike more or less carries you by your middle as you pathetically cling to his arms, dragging your debilitated form a short distance to a secluded, abandoned pew by the door he entered from earlier in the evening. Father Pike sits you down and takes the place right beside you, putting his left arm around your shoulders and his right hand in yours. As soon as you’re grounded on the unforgiving wood, your vision stops spinning, even though you didn’t realize it had started. Breathing suddenly feels easy again, returning to its involuntary glory instead of being laborious. It’s like your body resumed its regularly scheduled programming with an invisible snap. 

Away from the hub of the crowd, his voice seems louder, its velveteen quality more clear, “You alright?” 

You take a precautionary, steadying breath before meeting his eyes, fearful that something in him will set off all your alarms again. But when you meet his eyes, everything is serene. “Y-yeah, I’m okay.”

A pause to verify your sincerity, and then he chuckles, trying to uplift the atmosphere with a lighthearted tone, “I didn’t mean to frighten you, I just…”

You laugh, as much as you can muster in your breathless state, “No, no, you didn’t!” He retracts his hand from yours slowly and you instinctively grasp his forearm with a reassuring touch. Once you notice what you’re doing, you let go of him with an embarrassment like he’s burning you. “I- I don’t really know what happened, all of the sudden I just felt… sick.” With your confession, a wave of nausea infiltrates your stomach and makes you feel a little queasy again. It’s climbing to its previous intensity quickly. The fossilized church feels like it could cave in on you at any moment. 

Father Pike touches your shoulder softly, “I’m going to go get you some water, okay?” You nod and the waning gleam in your eye sends him swiftly disappearing into the crowd. 

A decent number of paces away, an older woman looks at you with fear as Lucy speaks to her, no doubt explaining your abrupt qualm. Drawing any more attention than you already have will just worsen your panic, so you thwart the drama. You raise your hand at her with a thin-lipped smile to deter her worry and she places her hand over her heart with a happy sigh before walking away.

Father Pike reappears behind Lucy and drifts by her with your drink clutched tight in his hand. Lucy’s eyes flit from the priest’s chivalry to your shy, measly form and she raises her eyebrows and opens her mouth with a scoffing smile. You could read your best friend’s face better than written word: she thinks that you’re doing this on purpose to get the Father’s attention. 

You wish you could say you were reeling him in with salacious spite, however, you were anything but. Your illness was true and unforgiving. You shake your head at her in defiance, but you can tell she doesn’t buy it. She turns away to busy herself with the rest of the party, but really she’s intending to give the two of you some privacy from the wink thrown over her shoulder. With a roll of your eyes, you think about how you’ll have to defend yourself with a foolproof case under her gavel later tonight. 

Father Pike retakes his seat next to you, handing you the bottle of water, unopened, that your puny fingers struggle with. Kindly, he offers his hand and you pass over the bottle for him to open. He hands it back to you and sits hunched over his lap, hands clasped between his open legs, staring at you intently as you take a few slow sips. You feel a little awkward, looking down at the bottle in your hands and fidgeting with the wrapper on the outside, so you take a note from his book and try to lighten the mood, “I knew I wasn’t a big fan of parties, but I didn’t know I was this bad.” You chuckle dryly, risking a glance at him. It works: he’s laughing with you. 

“I’m not a big party person, either,” he smiles, his dimple creasing within his beard. You raise an eyebrow at him, a little befuddled by his statement, given he inserts himself into the lives of others for a living. He takes your hint, “I enjoy talking to people, giving sermons and all of that… but even this feels a little overwhelming for me.” You nod, finding comfort in the fact that you’re on the same page. He keeps that endearing smile with a measuring eye as he continues watching you, looking from the crease of your brow to how your legs squirm uncomfortably. 

There’s something about this man that makes you feel… transparent. Like how you felt exposed to him earlier, even underneath all your coarsely knitted layers. You feel like a fraud, sitting next to one of the holiest figures in the entire congregation. And for some reason, out of all of the people here, you feel that he deserves the truth. There’s nothing about him that has given you any indication that he won’t turn on you like the rest would if you confess to your disguise, but at the same time… he makes you feel safe. Of course, he just recovered you from some undisclosed blight, but you can write that off as convenience. You were sick, he was right there, certainly he would’ve tended to you. There must be some moral code within the priesthood to never let a sick person lie. But even before that, putting aside his obvious handsomeness, there was something in his eyes that held you. Let you know that it was all okay. You decide to ply him with honesty. 

“Um… so, I’m not very religious. Like, at all.” Your voice is a little shaky, worried if his nice-guy facade will finally melt away to reveal a sneering orthodox. He doesn’t seem to have a reaction, so you keep going. 

“So, if I’m not religious, and I’m drinking this, does that mean…” You trail off in question, and he doesn’t understand what you’re getting at. 

“It’s holy, right?” You raise the water. 

Father Pike looks like he can’t believe what you just asked. He shakes his head in amusement, void of condescension, leaning the slightest bit closer towards you. He lowers his voice slightly, protecting you from any invasive ears. He softly explains, “Just because it’s water in a church doesn’t mean it’s holy. A priest or some other figure has to bless it.” His smirk deepens at your visible relief, “You’re not sinning, or anything near it. You’re perfect.” 

He said you’re… what? Your heart skips again but this time it’s not from sickness. Well... is it sick to be attracted to someone who is virtually untouchable? You get to thinking; you know enough about the church and its inner workings to know that priests usually take a vow of celibacy. Consequently, most never date or get married. Does that mean… are they barred from all things sensual? Are they allowed to tenderly brush their fingers against someone else’s, and not for the purpose of prayer? Can they share a glance that lingers a little too long for it to be considered chaste? Can they… can they even think about anything remotely sexual? 

There’s no way that can be true. You can understand physical celibacy, sure, but it’s impossible for one not to have a thought that makes them quiver at least once in their life. In your own experience, sensuality sometimes has nothing to do with sex. You’ve felt the warmth of eroticism lying under the sun’s rays in the middle of spring, savoring a delicious meal, when you finish a book with a satisfying conclusion. If Father Pike starves himself of such pleasures, you can’t fight the pity that chokes you. 

“What if they have priests at the packaging plant?” You joke, hoping to simultaneously break the silence that has swelled between you two and put a wedge in your brain’s cogs so they’ll stop churning. 

Father Pike laughs, genuinely from his belly, and oh you could get used to that sound. His eyes crinkle at their corners with a grin, “Then the church would be thrilled at our outreach.” 

You go to take another sip of your water, but his hand comes out to touch yours. The impossible delicacy almost makes you flinch. He puts gentle pressure on your skin, making you stop in your tracks. He shifts closer to you, his voice dropping an octave, warning you, “I’d be careful though; there is a possibility that you could grow rotted fangs and hairy feet, if I’m remembering correctly.”

Your fluttering nerves make your laugh squeak out of your tightened throat, louder than you intended, in a bark. Slightly mortified, you hide your smile behind the hand that isn’t suspended in the air by Father Pike. With mercy, he releases you. 

“What about a rat’s tail?” You ask with a teasing glint in your eye. 

He ponders for a moment, comically deep in thought. “That only affects the most sinful of us,” he reveals. 

...What? That was flirty, right? It had to be flirty. There’s no way he didn’t mean it to be flirty. Your imagination can be very active at times, but there was no mistaking the twitch of his mustache to repress a smirk. 

Trying to ignore the furious heat that has instantaneously kindled between your thighs based on that singular tone change, you latch the bottle to your mouth and avert your eyes elsewhere. Out of your periphery, you think you see Father Pike’s shoulders droop and his gaze lower to the ground with a silent huff. Shit, did he take your silence as a blow to his humor? 

You can’t think too much now because the clocks outside in the streets resound ten chimes. Lucy appears and her beaming at the two of you seems to rejuvenate Father Pike a little. He straightens his back before he stands and they begin talking, shaking hands. Their mouths spew unintelligible babble to you as your entire nervous system is locked on one thing: Father Pike’s back. His gorgeous personality had swept you up and away into a cloud of bubbly giggles and blushing cheeks that you hadn’t noticed what he was wearing. Maybe if the robes had made a greater impression on you, they would’ve served as a reminder to restrain yourself from dreaming about the forbidden, but alas. 

Father Pike is dressed identically to the other priests: black clerical shirt, cassock, pants, and shoes, and a white tab collar. But he wears everything so much better. The garments are majorly obscured by the enveloping cassock, but even the thick, flowing fabric can’t hide the broad width of his shoulders. When he gestures with his hands, you can see the muscles move dreamily in reaction by the flickering candlelight. He’s tall, and this fact is only emphasized as you continue to sit motionless on the pew watching him and Lucy. 

When he turns with a hand outstretched to help you to your feet, you bite your lip with ravenous desire. Somehow you didn’t notice - probably because you were too enthralled with everything else about him - how his Adam’s apple sits on glorious display with the white tab collar as its pedestal. The tempting image makes you swallow hard. God, that shouldn’t be as hot as it is. 

“Time to get going,” Lucy says, motioning from behind the Father’s back for you to take his hand. You do and stand, drifting to the front of the church on autopilot. It feels like the calm quiet of your time with Father Pike and the chummy, sociable atmosphere of the dinner has dissipated and a sense of urgency has taken root. The friendliness remains in the goodbyes and promises of meeting again you hear all around you, but you’re definitely being ushered out with the rest of the herd. You guess, remembering a tidbit about religious folk, that they have a curfew. 

It feels like you’re being ripped away from Father Pike and you don’t like that. Although you’ve only known him for all but two hours - which sounds ridiculous when you put it like that - you’re desperate to know more. You’d find genuine, complete contentedness in simply watching him go about his daily activities. Recording what details he decides to give you privy to and admiring his boundaries when he reserves himself. He’s the first possibility of a new friend in this conservative township and you don’t want to let him go. 

You’re grateful that he ghosts your back as Lucy leads you to the entrance, it gives you comfort and makes this dream last as long as it can. You don’t sense just how close he’s following behind you until you get to the heavy front doors and the toe of his shoe snags on the heel of yours. It makes you trip and fumble forward, but Father Pike reaches to catch you. His hands grip your waist, molding your oversized sweater to your body. Then, he gently steadies and pulls you back upright. The foreign sensation of your flattened heel tickles your foot and sends you stumbling back into his chest. He looks down at you, his hands still on you, “I-I apologize.”

Through the darkness you see the tips of his ears glow red. Before you can say anything in return, he renders you speechless by getting on his knees. Without a word spoken, moving in tandem with implicit choreography, you lift your foot up so he can fix the heel back into place. He doesn’t give you the choice of wobbling on your lonesome, placing one of your hands on his right shoulder to keep you balanced. And god, you wish he hadn’t done that. 

Your lips part as your breaths gain some weight, but you snap your oblong mouth shut when you hear an ancient, warbly voice. “Oh, no, what have we here?” Father Gala teeters over just as Father Pike finishes retying your shoe. Imperceptibly, you squeeze his shoulder in reverence as he stands up and then you let your hand fall innocently to your side. 

You shrug, giggling a little uncomfortably, “Father Pike stepped on the back of my shoe, it was an accident.” 

“Young and clumsy,” Father Gala jokes, you think, with a grumbly tone. He claps a hand on Father Pike’s left shoulder with more effort than you thought the old man could muster. As Father Pike steadies the elder priest’s cane, you reason he more so fell into Father Pike than anything else. Your favored Father chuckles with accountability. 

Father Gala passes off his cane for a moment to take your hand in his two, like he did when he gave you the dinner plate earlier this evening. Clearly the party has tired him out; his hands are quivering and his back is permanently bent at an angle. “Peace be with you,” he croaks with cheerfulness, despite his withered voice. 

You freeze. You know you’re supposed to say something back to complete this exchange and from the innermost depths of your brain you think it should be a simple phrase, something that any ardent Christian would remember. Between your disinterest in the church and the Father Pike fog that has eclipsed your mind, you’re dumbfounded.

An angel appears in your midst and comes to your rescue: Father Pike, peering into your eyes over the shoulder of the crouched figure before you, mouths the words silently, “And also with you.” 

“And also with you,” you recite amicably. Father Gala smiles, pats your hand twice in delight and turns to give Lucy the same departing sentiment. You release the air of worry you held inside and take a few steps to meet Father Pike, whispering close by his side so only he will hear, “Thank you.” 

The handsome Father closes your height difference by leaning down and pretends to brush some invisible dust off of your shoulder, an excuse to be this close to you. 

“Don’t mention it. Your secret’s safe with me,” he murmurs. 

And you trust him to keep his promise. Sure, he could go behind your back and spill your lies to the other priests, the entire community, let them know that there’s a rat infiltrating their congregation. 

The mischievous sparkle in his gaze as he looks at down you, biting your lip to suppress your giggle and keep your little inside secret just that, tells you he won’t let one word slip. 

Father Gala has returned for his cane, so Father Pike clears his throat and stiffens himself. Clasping his hands together, he builds an appropriate distance between the two of you before anyone sees it was anything otherwise. 

The night winds have picked up, biting at bits of exposed skin with a malevolent appetite. To shield the older priest, Father Pike guides him back into the cathedral. “I hope to see you two back soon,” the handsome Father interjects as you’re turning to leave. 

“We’ll be here Sunday!” Lucy shouts over an unnatural gust that howls and warbles her voice. With one arm over each other’s shoulders, holding tight together, you begin the trek back to her house to take refuge for the night. Behind you, you hear the cathedral doors shut, sealing you off from a final parting glance to Father Pike. You aren’t too disheartened by that and the cold can’t gnaw at your heart, either; Sunday is only two days away and you can’t contain your excitement. 

—— 

The whole night has felt like a whirlwind. To your complete and utter surprise, visiting the church is no longer seems like it’ll be a chore, but rather an opportunity. For what, you’re not exactly sure just yet. But you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks and skirting down your spine at the infinite possibilities. Maybe you should start praying for your salvation now.

-

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series masterlist ♥️ main masterlist ♥️ join my taglist!

💘taglist (if you have a strike through it means i couldn't tag you): @pascalpanic @melody13522 @tenderwhat @maievdenoir @pedrostories @uncassettodiricordi @harriedandharassed

[99corentine]

Does Chry have a "canon" backstory in your mind, or is it something sort of fluid? I remember there being a poll on tumblr about what other people thought. Was there anyone in his family at all who cared or worried about him?

Also, about how long was Chrysanthe enthralled? If that's something you've thought about.

Does Chry have a "canon" backstory in your mind, or is it something sort of fluid?

It was always pretty fluid. I've mentioned before that Chrysanthe was never that well mapped-out as characters go, more of a concept - 'he has amnesia and he goes from being a thrall to a paladin' - but I handwaved aaall the other details until later. This is probably why Chry's past is a bit underdeveloped in the story and doesn't crop up until the very end, because in truth I just didn't think about it. That said at the end I did start to think about it, and ended up with this...

Elenwen was telling the truth in that he's a minor noble from the Summerset Isles, which is why he's a (mostly) impeccable example of an altmer (tall and gold babyyy)

However his blue eyes and thu'um powers means he likely has nordic blood. I didn't decide if this was a distant ancestor who got into the altmer bloodline somehow, or a more immediate case of him being half-nord or quarter-nord due to an illicit affair among parents or grandparents, which cause a LOT of strife in the family

Fed up of being a pariah and wanting to know his true roots, he departed for Skyrim, only Skyrim is not a particularly safe place for a noble to bumble around, so he ended up a captive.

Was there anyone in his family at all who cared or worried about him?

Again I never mapped this out in detail, but the answer is probably no. He does come from a noble house in Alinor, and it likely is linked to the Thalmor because as far as I know the Thalmor have absolute rule over the Summerset Isles during the time period of Skyrim. That's a family with plenty of access to magic and other resources to track down a missing son, and they didn't, which is telling.

How long was Chrysanthe enthralled?

A year, maybe a few years? I suspect thralls don't last that long without a master telling them when to eat and sleep. I had quite a few ideas of the circumstances of Chry's enthralment, namely ways it's Not As Straightforward As You'd Think, but I'll keep those to myself ;)

[solunstell]

Notes I've taken from the first three bsd novels... brainrot included

Entrance Exam:

Dazai is a terrible driver

Kunikida is scared of ghosts

Kunikida actually makes lots of references to Christianity. From the direct quote "Let there be light" when using a flashlight to "There is no difference between myself and them. Are we not all born on the same planet, only to ultimately return to the eternal heavens together in death? O divine creator, answer me." (I say Christianity because I know for a fact that the first quote is directly in the bible)

Karen Dazai

Dark Era:

Dazai is repeatedly noted as appearing younger than he is or compared to a child by Oda

This novel really helped me understand Dazai's relationship with suicide better. The way I read it, it seems like it's not about dying but almost dying to him, similiar to the dopamine rush of skydiving or mountain climbing. This lines up with the fact that he always makes dumb mistakes that fail the attempt, something that would be out of character if it were accidental mistakes.

I love Oda's narration. A bit dry and blunt. Very fitting for his story.

Untold Origins:

Naomi's suggestions for the entrance exam all being [redacted]. Also her characterization in this novel was great. Really helped me understand how the author intended her be written in a way that wasn't as transparent in the manga or anime.

Dazai says "methinks"

Kid Ranpo's voice is compared to a chicken

He also seems to have terribly hand-cut hair

Fukuzawa plays by the rules of the secretary's maze of papers, Ranpo does NOT

Oh my god Oda my boyyyyy

I noted that he is vengeful even in his assassin days

Also kinda funny how Oda's youngest appearance in the series and one of his oldest appearances in the series are both in scenes with Ranpo. I wonder if Ranpo knew...

The fact that Oda talks down about V killing for justice is very ironic.

Also, V being after a skill-less world is very similiar to the whole Fyodor Dostoyevsky thing

Natsume owed a debt to Ranpo's father

Throughout the novel, Fukuzawa notes how bad he would be at being a leader or in power. Ironic.

He also didn't know he was a skill user until after starting the agency haha. An interesting world building question is how many people have abilities that they just never know?

Ranpo autism moments:

Not eating the mochi

Getting confused over if he was using the word granted right ("You can’t take connections like this for granted… Wait. Taken for ‘granite’? ‘Granted’? Uh…”)

Immediately calling Fukuzawa's business card and saying “Please help me, Mr. Bodyguard, sir. I don’t have a job, and I’ve got no place to stay tonight. I’m going to die.”

Fukuzawa can hear him doing this over the phone and across the cafe

Actually the phone call is a bit desperate.. this entire meeting has been a bit desperate on Ranpo's part. It feels like he is trying to reach out to Fukuzawa and practically begging for help. The most interesting thing about the phone call is that it is the most honest Ranpo is about his emotions and motives in the entire meeting, and yet, he has his back to Fukuzawa the entire call. And when he gets what he wants - when he is accepted - he turns around with a big grin.

Psychoanalyzing Egawa and being confused as to why she gets mad

You have to be exact in what you ask with him or he WILL NOT know what you're really asking

My babyyy adults get mad when he speaks the truth cuz he's smart and blunt

"What's a skill user" sweetie it's the middle of a play

Ranpo NO TALKING in the middle of THE PLAY

RANPO NO

RANPO

RANPOOOOO

He's very physically expressive

He is often portrayed as more cool and collected by fanon, but this scene of the play, although it takes place when he is younger, really shows the depths of his emotions. He is confused. He is agitated. He is angry and scared. He doesn't know how to deal with his emotions and he doesn't know how to ask for help. And he has a breakdown at a really really dumb annoyance because it tips him over the edge. Probably one of my favorite scenes for his characterization.

And Fukuzawa doesn't invalidate his feelings.

His parents raised him so well. I would live an au where they didn't die and were able to bring him up the way they planned to. I think that would be fascinating to see how Ranpo would turn out.

Ranpo doesn't look down on others cuz his mother taught him not to.

Fukuzawa dad moments:

Says he'll feed this kid he doesn't know later if he keeps talking

Tempted to tell everyone in the restaurant that the kid just followed him there

“Hear that? Those are the wails of the mochi you left behind”

Tempted to say he's only thirty two when Ranpo calls him old

Ranpo basically adopted him as his dad

"Three times, Fukuzawa told Ranpo to quiet down as he whined for candy. Twice, Ranpo wore down Fukuzawa’s patience until he caved. Three times, Ranpo asked Fukuzawa why planes could fly. Four times, Fukuzawa convinced Ranpo to keep walking when he complained his legs were tired. Four times, Fukuzawa carried Ranpo on his back."

Keeps imagining ways to leave Ranpo

When Fukuzawa lashes out, Ranpo is legitimately stunned, even shaking for a while afterwards

Using a chi attack to make Ranpo think the glasses did something lmao

Fukuzawa chewing out Ranpo for the whole plan

[ddejavvu]

MEI OKAY I'm watching s6 of criminal minds (S6EP22) and I just watched Hotch be the soccer coach to Jack's team and oh my God I'm practically melting 😭🥹🥹

HE'S SO CUTE BUT CAN YOU IMAGINE BEING THERE W HIM as his girlfriend that's cheering him and Jack on from the sidelines

Wearing a t-shirt that says "Coach's Girl"

Getting up super early to pack sandwiches and juice boxes for the kids then taking them out to pizza after because you just can't say no to their puppy eyes and pouts

Catching Jack as he runs up to you after each goal, going "Y/N! Y/N! Did ya see that? Did you see me? I did so good!!" and you just melt as he beams at you, giving him high fives and telling him how proud you are of him

Hotch coaching them to a win and then coming up to you and Jack in your arms with a smile that turns into a fake pout, "where's my prize??"

he lets out a chuckle and his cheeks redden when you tuck yourself into his chest, leaning up to kiss him and then Jack, "my favourite two boys"

It becomes a Sunday tradition to go get ice cream after pizza and Jack is absolutely obsessed with mint chocolate chip just like you are except hotch is absolutely disgusted

"it tastes like toothpaste!!" "you take that back, it's the best flavour there is!" "yeah daddy, you take that back"

Hotch secretly loves mint chocolate chip but he just likes to pretend he doesn't because then he gets to watch his favourite two people team up on him and they're so damn adorable

By the time you get home, hotch has to carry Jack up to his bed, the kid is so tuckered out

You and hotch have your own traditions of breaking out a bottle of wine and you're on the couch, TV on in the back, but you're really just wrapped up in each other

Quiet giggles and hushed conversations as you stare at each other, just so damn in love

I AM ABSOLUTELY DYING RN 😭 this became a whole thing oops I'm sorry but I just had to share

BABYYY THANK YOU SM FOR THIS I SAW IT JUST BEFORE I WENT TO GO GET DINNER AND I WAS THINKING ABOUT IT FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT :(( ABSOLUTELY ADORABLE!!

the mamas of the boys on jack's team have definitely been pining after the Big Handsome Coach but you show up in your shirt?? and aaron spins you around and kisses you?? oh my god they are so jealous - you befriend them later but they alwaysss ask you questions about him

you bring them popsicles on super hot days too!! maybe some orange slices to go with their sandwiches :(( and aaron watches you feed a hoard of little boys who are all jumping at you and thanking you with toothy grins for their food and then immediately beg you to go get pizza which you agree to and he's like wait we have to pay for that!! and you're like baby :) it's okay :) they're cute :) and he buys four pizzas afterwards but it's worth it to see you happy :')))))) jack definitely brags about you too they're all eating their sandwiches and he's bragging through a mouthful like 'my mama makes the best sandwiches, i get them every day!'

SOMETIMES WHEN JACK COMPLETES A PARTICULARLY HARD MANOUVER OR PASS OR WHATEVER HE JUST DITCHES THE GAME TO RUN AT YOU 😭 HE'S LIKE MAMA DID YOU SEE???? DID YOU SEE WHAT I DID??? WASN'T I SO COOL??? AND HE'S SPRINTING OFF THE FIELD AND AARON IS LIKE :0 NO SON :0 NO COME BACK SON :0

ugh if you ever congratulate jack aaron is like 😁 guess who did that 😁 and you're like :/ the kid in my arms rn :/ and jack giggles and hugs you and aaron is like >:( no me >:( so you gotta give him kisses or else he gets all sulky and jack thanks him for being such a good coach :((

you and jack share a huge sundae (you let him think he's getting the most but you're actually swiping most of it) and you guys bully aaron the entire time for his little vanilla scoop you're like >:) loser !! boring loser flavor !! and jack just giggles with green ice cream around his mouth and tells aaron that he has to be more 'aventurous' and you don't bother to correct him because it's so cute to hear him mispronounce things :')

you only find out that he does like it because !! you catch him eating it once behind your back !! you come down to his home office to convince him to come to bed and >:( he's having a bowl of your mint choco ice cream >:( he looks up at you like o.o with the spoon still in his mouth and you are OUTRAGED you are like Aaron!! this whole time?? i trusted you!! and he has to buy you a new carton to make up for it and you threaten to tell jack that he's been lying the entire time </33

jack falls asleep in the carseat and you help aaron hoist him out and aaron throws him over his shoulder like a lil sack of potatoes and he slumps limply into the embrace and you and aaron giggle bc your sleepy boy is so so cute and floppy :')

and yes!! the perfect ending to the night, snuggled up with wine under super soft fluffy blankets :') you're telling him how amazing of a coach he is and he's blushing like :') stop :') and you just keep going and you're a little too tipsy to stop so he has to kiss you to get you to stop and you definitely fall asleep all snuggled up together and magically you wake up in bed the next morning with everything cleaned up for you bc your husband is the best husband <33

[spilledstars1234]

my first thoughts on the link click live action drama (minor spoilers)

stalker lu guang being canon is just so funny to me help

also pls they way he started listing out cxs' personal details of that magnitude to HIS FACE like what???

honestly i would've punched him and then called up the police if i were cxs in that moment

also, i've seen a lot of ppl calling live action lu guang rude/snobby to cxs, but like...i've always seen lu guang as the person to act stoic to people he doesn't know, and eventually warms up to them later on when he gets to know them better. so i think that he just acts like that just bc he doesnt rly know cxs yet. or maybe that's just me?

and i wonder who LG's Teacher was. and like how they died too...

off-topic but lg's introduction scene was so funny to me like bro was just standing there like 🧍‍♂️

and cxs being shorter than lg is just so WRONG imo

and, to compare donghua cxs to live action cxs, donghua cxs is more like the type who acts silly, yes, but it's more like he knows when he can act silly, and when to act serious. you know? but in the live action, it's more that cxs is... Just silly. Or maybe that's just me?

BUT! I love how qiao ling still has her pink bunny phone case! i loved that detail sm!

and i loved how accurate the set for the photo studio was, the design for it is really good, like the whole place feels like it belongs to a messy teenage boy. i also loved how they added small things here and there to give it the lived-in feel.

and i liked the scene in ep 3 where LG was eating with ql's parents, and how taken aback he kinda looked when her parents were like "we are a family now, just treat this place as your home from now on" like ahh my BABYYY

also the basketball scene in ep 3 where cxs scooted closer to lg with lg scooting away from him, that felt pretty accurate to donghua-them imo!

i'm slightly annoyed with the black hair for LG but honestly, it's been growing on me actually!

anyways, donghua cxs and live action cxs are kind of...very different. i am intrigued to see how the rest of the live action will play out. so far i have very mixed feelings (most of the first episode was a mess imo), but it's not the worst live action adaptation i've seen. like it's not exactly the same as the donghua, but it's still not, like, horrendous, you know? Like it's honestly kind of decent and it seems to have potential, so we'll see how the rest goes.

[peekaboo-icyou]

“Bath time Cuddles”

Mafia boss wilbur x pregnant reader

Your husband arrived home from work around 9pm as your making dinner with blood all over him, this makes you slightly mad considering you’ve told him multiple times to stop coming home with blood all over him, “willam soot what did I say about coming home covered in blood.” He sighs and puts down his bag and takes his jacket off “I know I know it’s just I forgot to bring extra clothes to work today” you smile softly “it’s fine dear just don’t do it again” he smiles and comes closer to you with open arms about to hug you and you quickly stop him “ah ah ah your not gunna touch me with blood all over you go get charged and take a shower first” “but I wanna hug my 2 favorite people” he says admiring your baby bump “and I want you to take a shower” he pouts “fine” he stomps upstairs like a toddler, you giggle and continue making dinner around 6 minutes later you hear him running back downstairs over to you “that was quick” he wraps his arms around your waist “of course it was” he kisses you neck making you giggle “I’m almost done with dinner” you turn around to see that he only has a towel around his waist “willlll please put some clothes onnn” “what do you not like what you see?” “It’s not that it’s just that we’re about to eat dinner plus I your warmer when your wearing a sweater” he pouts “fine” “thank you babyyy” he goes upstairs and puts clothes on and comes back downstairs “happy?” “Very” you finally finish dinner and hand Wil his plate “thank you daisy” you nod and sits down across from him “just think about it in 3 months our baby will be eating with us” you smile “so how was work” “exhausting, we or shall I say I considering no one was doing there job right, had to track down this guy that owes us a lot of money I mean a lot, and then I had to torture him, so what did you do today,love?” You blush at the nick name “I cleaned the house oh and guess what, the baby kicks whenever I poke my stomach I googled what it meant and it said at 7 months the baby responds to noise light and other feelings” he smiles and gets up to put his and your dishes in the sink “that’s lovely darling but didn’t I say I didnt want you doing hard work around the house considering it’s starting to get hard for you to even get up by yourself?” He sighs and then chuckles “your so stubborn” you cross your arms “oh I’m the stubborn one? You literally stomped up stairs when I told you to put clothes on earlier” he smiles and walks over to you and picks you up bridal style and walks to the bedroom “do you want to take bath with me love?” You nod “he sets you down on the bed and walks into into the bathroom and starts the bath before walking back into the bedroom and helps you take your clothes off and Carries you into the bathroom and sets you in the bath and then undresses himself and gets in behind you “bubs? Should we start working on the nursery?” He nods and you lay your head on his chest “what should the theme be?” He smiles and looks into your eyes “whatever theme you think, my precious flower” you blush “what about its like a dark academia theme” he boops your nose “I can make that happen” you both cuddle in the bath and after a little while you fall asleep and the bath gets cold, Wil gets out and Carrie’s you to the bed and dresses you in one of his sweaters and crawls into bed next to you

[theresawtf]

high with txt!!

summary- how i think the boys would act while high or has a s/o that likes to smoke.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Soobin

-he would have a fucking ball (no like an actual ball he needs something to fidget with)

-he’s very confident he won’t green out but in all reality he’s taking care of everyone else whilst freaking out himself.

-but after a while he enjoys the high.

-he is new to smoking ouid ofc he’s going to act like he doesn’t have to cough like a motherfucker

-but beomgyu being the shithead he is starts teasing him

-of course he loosens up… only after beating gyu’s ass☺️

-loves to be offered to smoke with you, even if he only takes like two or three hits. he likes the options

-definitely will smoke with you if you ask him. (he wants an opportunity to shot gun let him pls he’s so fine)

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Yeonjun

-mf definitely smoked that year in california

-y’all saw the way he was acting in the new year’s episode….

-bro probably smoked a blunt on the way back.

-yeonjun definitely is cuddly when with the people he cares about while sOBER

-now imagine that but times ten when he’s high

-he becomes so soft and intimate that he doesn’t let out while sober

-definitely relishes in memories when he misses you

-will talk anyones ear off if they let him its most definitely you half the time

-probably won’t smoke again unless it’s with you.

-likes to make sure you are eating good food while high.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Beomgyu

-beomgyu has such princess treatment

-he won’t smoke anything that makes him cough (no pesticides babyyy)

-most likely doesn’t like the smell so will stick to edibles if he can

-but babygirl is VERY picky

-he just wants to relax and enjoy his time with you

-the mf won’t green out for the life of him so you don’t have to worry about that (i have faith in him)

-but if you green out he would try his best to comfort you in any way he can

-would probably think you’ll end up needing to be hosed down but not really (but he’s willing to go that extra mile for you)

-will baby you with snacks and attention.

-i am a stoner beomgyu enthusiasts 🥴

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Taehyun

-man is so AHHHH

-he’s so fine.

-as if he couldn’t already be this perfect good golly he turns into the biggest flirt EVERRRRR me thinks

-i feel like terry knows his limits even if it’s the first time for something

-but when it comes down to it he’s most likely not to make smoking a habit but definitely wouldn’t care

-he thinks the accessories and utensils are pretty and wants to see your entire collection

-also makes mental notes on potential gifts to get later!!

-number one supporter for smoke breaks if you guys are just hanging :,) i luv him

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Hueningkai

-emo boy.

-that’s all

-boy does not catch a break from the others lets be fucking honest LMAO

-but once it’s the two of you, the moments are so enjoyable

-nothing could ruin his time with you 🥹

-surprisingly he’s really good with bongs

-rarely coughs but some how the boys will find some way to tease him.

-you can always feel free to tease him or the other members, you can be each others backup

-but it’s not something i think he’d keep doing kinda like taehyun

-he wouldn’t mind his partner smoking or partaking in the activity

-but will gladly learn to roll and pack bowls for you so you don’t have to

-he’s low key good at rolling too (he’s so hot for it GOD)

-would probably be down to dye your hair matching colors together :,)

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

masterlist

authors note- i wrote this a while ago, but i still feel like these are accurate

tags ~ @jakeshotpocket @soobinsnumber1 @pro-cess-ing