#jingle bells.. it is literally perfect..

[infinibeep]

the fact that home has their own solo for the homewarming harmonies for hearth and home album makes me SO HAPPY !

[cupuasu]

my god that christmas song sucked it didnt even sound like them it was like it was made by AI

[cuubism]

work is driving me fucking insane this week, so here's this silly self-indulgent thing i wrote to distract myself.

the spirit of this post is here as well XD

coffee shop au, meet cute, literally falling for your crush

--

In retrospect, forgetting to eat for three meals in a row wasn't Dream's best move. Not that he'd done it on purpose. Hence the forgetting. But taking time to cook always felt so wasteful when he was finally making progress on his novel. He could eat later, whenever the hyperfocus burned itself out.

The only thing that eventually got him out of the house was caffeine. He'd run out of both coffee and tea in the dysfunction of this week, and thus was forced to venture out to the cafe a few blocks away from his flat in search of enough energy to keep him awake for a few more hours.

Technically, there was a place that was closer. There was also a grocery store, where he could have bought coffee grounds. But Dream took the excuse to go a bit further, and not for the quality of the coffee.

He and Johanna, on the occasion she could convince Dream to leave the house and attempt to be part of society, had first started coming to this particular coffee shop because Johanna's girlfriend Rachel worked there. But Dream had to admit that what really kept him coming back, including at times when he wasn't being dragged along by Johanna, was another employee entirely.

Hob.

Hob was, in Rachel's words, "a perfectly nice guy but I don't know why you're so obsessed with him." In Johanna's words, Hob was, "quite fit, I can't lie, but I really thought you'd have gone for someone who's a bit more of an arts gremlin like you."

In Dream's words, Hob was perfect. He always had a smile for Dream, and a kind word or compliment, and he had kind eyes, and nice hands, and was terribly handsome. Dream had never been particularly attracted to masculinity before but Hob was proving him wrong over and over. He looked like he was strong enough to pick Dream up, and that did all sorts of exciting things to Dream's insides. Dream may or may not have had an actual dream about Hob holding his hand.

Hob also made terrible coffee. But Dream didn't care. He took whatever coffee Hob made him, whether the grounds were burnt, or it had way too much cream, or was vastly overbrewed, and drank it quite happily, sneaking looks at Hob all the while. Because Hob's coffee might be awful, but he always smiled at Dream as he gave it to him, and sometimes their hands brushed and it sent a thrilling little shock up Dream's arms. And anything Hob made for him felt made with love, he could tell, it was like a homemade birthday cake with uneven frosting and an undercooked part in the middle.

It was possible Dream should care more about the quality of the coffee and less about the symbolism of it.

In any case, he went to the coffee shop, underfed and undercaffeinated, hoping that Hob would be there, even if it meant he would have to down another cup of extremely bad coffee. Hob should be there, he did usually work Tuesday afternoons, not that Dream had memorized his schedule like a stalker or anything.

He stepped inside, the little bell over the door jingling, and found that he was right, Hob was there. A thrill of delight ran through him. Dream did not often feel anything as carefree or joyous as delight, but he was very sleep-deprived, and Hob was there, so there it was. Rachel was also working, and waved to him as he stepped up to the counter. As she and Johanna were both very aware of his embarrassing crush on Hob--much to Dream's chagrin--she didn't come over to take his order, instead leaving him to Hob.

"Hey, it's Dream, right?" said Hob, wiping off his hands on a towel and leaning on the counter, looking at Dream with a smile. He knows my name, Dream thought with a heady rush, then remembered that Hob was obligated to write it on his coffee cup, and that Dream came here often, and it didn't have to mean anything. "Dark roast with almond milk and caramel?"

How Hob could be so diligent about remembering his order and so terrible at making it, Dream didn't know. "That's correct," he said.

Behind Hob, Rachel mouthed keep going, which Dream took to mean that if he wanted to get anywhere he had to attempt to engage Hob in slightly more conversation than his usual coffee-ordering script. This was unfortunately true, particularly since Hob had already nullified half the sentences Dream would usually say by predicting his order.

"You remembered my order," he said, which felt like a reasonably normal response, definitely better than do you want to see if you can pick me up? which would probably be creepy. Rachel gave him a thumbs up.

"Of course. You're quite memorable," said Hob, and winked at him. Was he flirting? Dream would like to think so, but he wasn't usually very good at picking up on that sort of thing. Why would Hob be interested in him anyway? Perhaps he meant that Dream was memorable in a bad way, that he was annoying or weird, or--

Dream still hadn't responded.

"I am not trying to be," he said, and behind Hob, Rachel sighed. It was true, though. In most areas of life Dream preferred to go unnoticed. It was only Hob's attention that made him feel all bubbly inside.

"Task failed successfully," said Hob, "because I can't stop noticing you."

Was Dream... still succeeding at the conversation? That was truly unexpected, that he hadn't already turned Hob off by being utterly unsuitable for human society.

"Is that a good thing?" Dream asked.

"Is it?" asked Hob.

Undoubtedly it was. Dream liked the thought of Hob noticing him. He liked the thought of Hob remembering his name, and his coffee order, and when he came into the cafe, with as much detail as Dream had memorized his schedule. He did not normally like having people's eyes on him but he liked the thought of Hob looking. Of Hob caring about what he saw. It made him feel interesting and worthy, and sort of giddy and lightheaded--

Oh. No. That wasn't Hob's attention. That was the fact that the last meal he'd eaten had been a sleeve of biscuits for breakfast two days ago, and that he'd been on his feet for a long time, or what constituted a long time when one had only had a sleeve of biscuits two days ago to eat. And he hadn't slept, and he'd had quite an exciting few minutes just now, and apparently this all meant that his body had decided it needed to check out for a moment, thanks, goodbye.

Inconvenient timing, Dream thought, as everything went sort of spinny and blurry. He was making such progress! He really thought Hob might even like him, and falling on the ground was not going to help his case.

Inevitable now, though. The last thing he saw before he passed out was Hob's face, expression shifting from amusement to concern, and really, there were worse ways to go out.

He woke up not much later, or at least it felt like little time had passed, to find himself lying down on a couch in what seemed to be the cafe's back office, as best as his overtaxed mind could gather. And Hob was crouched beside him, looking at him worriedly, Rachel leaning over his shoulder, face likewise creased in concern.

Dream wondered how he had gotten to the couch. Had Hob carried him there? It was a pleasant thought, though he wished he could have experienced it in person.

"You know," said Hob, "there are easier ways to get out of talking to me than blacking out." The words were light, but he sounded genuinely stressed out about it.

Dream immediately felt bad. "I'm sorry."

Hob chucked him on the cheek, a light touch that felt fond. "Not what I meant. Are you okay?"

Dream carefully pushed himself up to sitting, Hob watching all the while, hands hovering over him but not touching. Dream sat up. His head didn't spin. "I am okay," he said.

"Probably didn't eat anything today, huh?" said Rachel. She didn't look quite as concerned as Hob did, she was used to Dream's habits. Meanwhile, for all Hob knew, Dream had a brain tumor and would imminently die.

"No," Dream admitted. "I was... occupied."

"Will you be okay here for a sec?" Hob asked, brow scrunching as if he truly thought Dream might just collapse again onto the floor without him. "I'll get you some water. Something to eat, too."

It was worth fainting in a public place, Dream thought, just to have Hob look at him with such care.

When Dream nodded, Hob hurried away to do just that.

Only now his crush was going to be one million times worse, and certainly not reciprocated, not after the scene he'd caused.

Beside him, Rachel was laughing, hiding it behind her hand.

"Is my suffering humorous to you?" Dream asked, but there was no heat in it, he was too busy looking after where Hob had disappeared.

"You should have seen it," she said. "He launched himself over the counter to catch you. Oh my god, I wish you could have witnessed it."

"Surely Hob would aid any customer in distress," Dream sniffed. But something turned over in his stomach, a little flutter of hope.

"Yeah but not literally vault the counter. It was terrific. I was worried he'd break a hip."

"I'm not that old," said Hob, coming back around the corner and crouching beside Dream again, water bottle and what looked like a chocolate muffin clasped in his hands.

Rachel was unrepentant. "You're lucky you didn't wind up on the floor, too."

"You caught me," said Dream, staring into Hob's eyes. He had such pretty eyes. Rich brown, like coffee with a dash of cream.

Dream might still be a bit lightheaded.

"Of course," said Hob, and uncapped the water, handing it to him. Dream took slow sips, realizing as he did that he hadn't drank any water all day. "I'm fond of you, you know. Can't let you hit your head on the floor."

Fond. Dream might faint again.

"Should I take you to hospital or something?" Hob asked, still so concerned it was making that floaty feeling bubble up again in Dream's chest.

"I will be fine here," he said.

"He just fell for you, that's all," said Rachel, and Dream glared at her. She just smiled back. "Swooned and everything."

"I did not swoon," Dream protested.

"You kind of did, actually," said Hob. "I've never seen someone just crumple so dramatically."

"Oh, have you seen many people faint, then?"

"No, but--"

"I'm going to man the till," said Rachel, patting Dream on the arm. "I don't think I want to be in the middle of this. Let me know if you want me to take you home, Dream." She winked at him. "Unless you'd rather Hob do it."

Johanna was never this meddlesome, Dream thought bitterly. She just made fun of him and left it at that.

Then he was alone with Hob, which was both an exciting and anxiety-inducing state of affairs. He clutched his water bottle for balance.

"Um. I got you this," said Hob, and handed him the muffin. "Made them this morning."

Dream was really quite hungry, so despite Hob's poor coffee record, he took a bite of the muffin.

And this was how he learned that Hob was utterly lacking in coffee-making skills because all his talent was in baking.

The chocolate was so rich, it tasted more like cake than a muffin. the chocolate chips melted on his tongue, and he had to force himself not to just immediately take another huge bite. He really was so hungry. Perhaps, now that he knew he could get such things here, he would have a reason to visit the cafe other than just Hob -- and a reason to eat breakfast, too.

"Good?" said Hob, and Dream nodded, licking the melted chocolate from his lips, and he didn't fail to notice Hob watching the movement of his tongue. Perhaps Johanna and Rachel were right, and it wasn't hopeless, even if Dream's best attempt at flirting back was collapsing onto the floor.

He did not know what possessed him then. Perhaps it was the chocolate. Perhaps it was the worry still lingering in Hob's warm eyes, or maybe he had just hit his head and forgotten about it. Either way, he leaned forward in his seat, and kissed Hob on the lips.

His lips were so soft. Just as Dream had dreamt they would be. Hob made a sound of surprise against Dream's mouth, and caught him by the arms so he wouldn't fall out of his chair. Which was a definite possibility, though now the lightheadedness was not caused by a calorie deficit but rather because he was kissing Hob.

Hob who was kissing him back, too. Softening against his mouth, licking the remaining chocolate from Dream's lips. Would Hob hug him, too? If he had already caught him? Dream had fantasized so much about being hugged by Hob.

Only one way to find out. He leaned into Hob's arms, and Hob caught him again, wrapping his arms around Dream's back. He was so warm, and strong. He was wonderful.

"It is a good thing," he said into Hob's shoulder.

"What is?"

"You noticing me."

Hob chuckled. The sound rumbled through Dream's chest. "It's not hard to do. I've been eyeing you for a while, you know. I always hoped you'd talk to me more."

"I am not very good at talking more," said Dream.

"I think I've got that now." Hob pulled back to look at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. "Falling over is more your style."

"I only faint on occasion," Dream protested, which only seemed to amuse Hob more.

"Well. If talking is a bit tough, maybe we can go for a walk sometime?" He tucked a strand of Dream's hair behind his ear, and Dream shivered. Hob clocked it, too, and let his hand rest on the back of Dream's head, fingers curled in his hair as his gaze flicked to Dream's lips and back up. "Or. Something else?"

Dream thought something else might make him spontaneously combust. That might have to wait a bit, at least until he could cope with Hob looking at him like that without feeling like he was about to explode in a flurry of butterflies.

"A walk, if you will hold my hand," he said, and Hob smiled, and took his hand, and Dream learned that all dreams really could come true at once.

[pedge-page]

Plushies 6 - MooMoo

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Plushies Series Masterlist but Can be read as standalone

Summary: you surprise Joel for your 2 year anniversary by being the fuckable plushie tonight.

Warnings: literally 99.9% smut. Unprotected sex (she is on the pill but they’re playing with the idea of it failing), BREEDING KINK, pregnancy kink, plushie milk sucking (? You’ll see); nipple pumps, nipple play, nipple orgasm, boobjob, oral m-receiving, squirting, cream pie, belly bulge, no breastfeeding but Joel has a breastfeeding kink (obviously!), Daddy kink, spitting, bimbofication, lots of cow talk, praises you and degrades you, cringe ass language overall for these horny fucks

18+ ONLY

- - - -

It's getting pretty bad now that every time you see your pile of plushies in the room, your panties dampen. And you can’t really avoid them because Joel’s been adding to the mountain of stuffed animals with every excuse to get you a gift.

And then outright making you cum on them before he’s ripped the tag off.

You suspect Joel also gets equally as hard by them too, with all the interesting things he’s been sharing since starting your Plushie-sex journey. He’s pretty quiet and reserved any other time, even during regular sex. But when all your little beady stuffed animals start getting involved…

You’re startled by a gentle knock at the door. “You okay in there, sweet pea?” 

“Mhm! I’m almost ready!”

You both just got back from a fabulous date—ready to seal the night with passionate sex. And you’ve planned the perfect 2 year anniversary gift for him.

You stare in the mirror in your new “outfit” to surprise Joel’s loins: naked, save for a spotted felt ear headband, a leather collar with a big golden bell dangling from your neck, knee high white and black spotted stockings, and a slutty garter body harness speckled in black splotches. The straps dip and curve over your hips with cute ribbons on the waist, snaking under your soft parts, accentuating your breasts, tummy, thighs, ass—everything that Joel finds bitable. 

^photos + product by GlamourIsTheEndGame on Etsy

When you finally walk out into the bedroom with all the might your tiny little harness could muster, Joel’s eyes finally land on you. You smile at him with a sultry, pretty, and far from innocent smile.

"I was thinking maybe I could be your plushie for tonight,” you say, pushing your breasts out with your arms drawn tight, and shaking a little so he can see them sway and hear the jingle of the bell bounce over your collarbone.

Ok, so you know the scenes in Tom&Jerry where Tom sees a female cat, and his eyes bug out cartoonishly and jaw falls down to the ground?

Yeah, that’s Joel right now.

His jaw is so slacked it might unhinge itself. Eyes straining because they can’t go any fucking wider, and his pupils literally so blackened, you wouldn’t know he had baby brown eyes.  

You’re standing there very expectedly, waiting.

Waiting.

… waiting.

Say something you kinky bastard, damnit NowILookLikeAFool—!

Your nerves are starting to curl in on themselves...maybe you don’t look as sexy as you’d hoped...

“Um…if… if you don’t like it—I mean if you wanted to pick up a stuffie instead…”

The man takes advantage of your brief embarrassment and jumps you, shoving you against the wall and caging your legs around his hips.

“Oh!”

You whimper as the unmistakable bulge of his package presses hungrily, slipping past the little string and nudging your wet clit.

He glues his lips to yours, devouring your tongue. It’s extra hungry, extra needy tonight than usual. His lips twitch with the rumbling growl reverberating deep in his chest. 

“You’re so fucking sexy holy fucking shit baby-jesusssssss look at you— fuckfuckfuck I’m so lucky, luckylucky bastard—FUCK ME—you’re mine? You’re actually fucking mine????”

You giggle, confidence surging again as his hands struggling to grab every bit of you all at once. Holding you captive nonetheless, eyes raking over in wonder and astonishment.

“I’m all yours, Daddy,” you hum sensually. You grab his hands and bring them to curl along your harness, under the straps to feel your skin all hot and tingly. Begging for his touch.

“Happy fucking Anniversary to me.”

Joel scoops you up and sits on the bed, immediately having you straddle him. You grind down on his tent poking up between your cheeks. His fingers dig into your thighs when he feels the flutter of your folds.

He knows you feel as sexy as you look. 

“Gonna be my cow slut tonight, huh? You know what good little cow sluts do?”

“Suck cock?” You ask cheekily, preparing to sink down to your knees to pleasure him with your mouth.

He lets out a happy sigh. You’re ready to move, your teeth sucking in your lower lip, but he stops you, instead choosing to pin you closer to his body. His voice drops an octave:

“They birth and they milk.”

They—what? “Um—come again?”

“Breeding, baby. That’s what we’re doing tonight.”

He knows you’re on the pill, so it’s not like you’re really trying to get pregnant…but the thought of getting knocked up tonight sends a particularly dangerous chill down your spine. He never uses a condom so the chances are still….there. Every night. Each time he blows his fat load deep inside you; like a good little cumdump, he says. 

Why not indulge his fantasy tonight?

“You wanna breed me, Daddy?” You tease, hips swaying along his clothed member, dancing along your slit.

“Mmmm, yeahhh. Shit, baby. You’d look so good pregnant. And these—“ he grits his teeth, fingers pinching the straps that circle your mounds, watching them squish together, “—Are gonna fill up with so much milk, gonna feed me with your delicious cunt and sweet milk 24/7.”

You want to slap the smug look off his face, but now’s not the time. It’s time to get those pouty lips on your breasts and the cock in your cunny.

“Better start getting them open so I can satisfy that big thirst of yours.”

On cue, his lips wrap around your nipples, kneading your tits in his big rough hands. You start bouncing steadily along his cock. He’s domineering and digging into your skin harshly, teeth overly excited and sinking into your pebbled nips while he grinds up against your heat.

He’s biting and sucking so hard, asking-PLEADING-for your milk.

Milk that is definitely not there!

"Ouch! Joel I'm not going to give you milk, we’re just—playing—I’m not actually pregnant!"

But the THOUGHT of you exactly like this but stuffed full of a baby, just imagining your tits all round and belly bursting, the garter harness pulling tight against your skin and your tits poking out with that big heavy swell of your tummy making you look like his own breeding stock.

Desperate whines rush out of his mouth in a string of babbling: “I can get ya pregnant, please? Pleasepleaseplease darling let me put a baby in you— breed ya so good, just look at ya, could get ya knocked up, just think how cute you'd look gettin' all round with my calves grown in that tumtum. Fuck! what a sight, showing off to everyone our hard work breeding, evidence of our love making, and these titties would just swell n get all heavy with all the creamy delicious milk ya could give me like the best momma n—“

Your palm splats against his mouth to shut him up. “Slow down, cowboy. We aren’t having a real baby any time soon. We don't even live together yet..."

"Then move in with me,” he proposes without hesitation.

You …blink for a moment. His mouth hovers over your breast again but you drag him up to look you in the eyes—so you know he's not just fucking around.

“Really?"

"Yes! Why the fuck do we still have separate homes? I'm here all the time anyway. Plus, takin' care of all those plushie pets must be exhausting on your own, they're partially my kids anyway so.”

"You really want to live together?"

"Yeah. Yeah I do.” 

You and Joel were a ‘take it one day at a time’ trusting kind of love, but right now as you stare into his heart-shaped eyes, you can see your whole future together. The kind of earth shattering reality that’s never been more clear and more desirable than this moment. 

“I—“

“Don’t gotta give me an answer right now. Wanna ask ya again when we’re—less horny. So you know I’m bein’ serious.”

You grin and kiss him.

“Show me a good anniversary night and I’ll give a good thought-over.”

“Oh babygirl,” he tuts. “Think you were gonna be the only one showin’ me a good time? I got ya something too, sweetheart. Gonna go perfect with ya cow slut theme ya got goin’ on.”

You don’t know what he could possibly have that could “match” your very specific cow themed sex outfit—

Unless its more cows.

So when he sits you on the bed, stumbling over his shoes because he can’t take his eyes off you, Joel equally surprises you with a box of cow themed gifts—little calf beanie babies, which are conveniently jerry-rigged to two separate nipple pumps with their little snouts pointing towards the  suction cups, and a cow plush toy that has a compartment in the top to pour milk in, complete with rubber “practice” utters for farmer kids to learn milking.

“I swear, I had no idea you were gonna be dressed as slutty cow momma for me. I just—saw this shit online and thought my girl needed to be drinking some cow titties when I fuck her swollen cow tits.”

“We’re so in sync,” you muse, shaking your head with an amused smirk. 

Its honestly should be... kinda concerning.

He sits back next to you on the mattress, shoving some of your animals off the edge. You instinctively crawl atop his thighs again, and his hands settle once more protectively around your waist. You stare down at him, his sinful lips practically begging to get sucked while that lidded lustful gaze lulls you in a trance. The Joel Miller spell is wordlessly working on you again—and you know you’re gonna be cracking and doing anything this man says within a few shorts minutes.

You beam at each other tenderly, unable to help the genuine happy crinkle at your lips as you kiss him softly.

Then it starts:

"Can ya moo for me?"

You roll your eyes. Not quite doing anything he says so soon.  “Fuck no I'm not doin that shit again for you. You want a farm, go get one yourself."

"Please Angel?" He plants wet kisses along your jaw before giving two fat ones on top of your breasts.

"Still no."

He groans, but continues to nip at your breasts like a scolded child. "Can I fuck your big mommy milkin' cow titties?”

“There is no milk!” You snap. You’re ready to throw the whole idea away, but his persistent hold around your waist and cock nudging your throbbing puss is making it difficult to resist him for long.

His big brown chocolate lab eyes bleed into your horny little soul. “C’mon, MooMoo, for Daddy?” 

“I am NOT your MooMoo—“

He jingles the bell dangling from your neck. “Ya’sure sound like my MooMoo.”

you clench your fist around his shirt and take a deep breath. "Fine, Fine! Whatever."

"Say it."

"You can—ugh—fuck my big... mommy milking cow titties." You face feels so hot with embarrassment, but Joel purrs with such satisfaction that you feel even WORSE how much you don't hate it. 

Since when did the double entendre of being called his "kitty" and "puppy" when Joel fucks you and your animal themed plushies become his "moo moo girl"?

He grins with such a dirty, perverted look about him. Continues to kiss over your mounds, massaging the muscles in your back so you don’t notice when he bends over you to grab his homemade breast pumps.

He looks at you sideways with expectant hope in his eyes. 

You roll your eyes again. Of course he can’t just get a normal titjob and blow his load in your mouth. There’s always some fucking thing else you gotta do. But with the way his cock pulses under your drooping pussy, you decisively snatch it from his hands and get to work just so that he’ll call you his slutty cow again. 

“That’s my girl,” he groans, rubbing along your hips excitedly. He holds them in your hand and exhales hot air over the cups so they aren’t cold against your skin.

The clear tubes are narrow, obviously meant to resemble that of utters rather than actually breastfeeding from a bottle. You stick them on each tit, and very quickly Joel is pumping the little hand squeeze that starts to suction the small space of air into the connecting wire.

You gasp at the sensation. Slowing latching on, the small of your breasts are pointing inward towards the pumps, sticking up on their own now as Joel continues to suck the air out. 

You hiss a strangled moan. The sensation isn’t—bad. It’s like an invisible hand is dry vacuuming your pebbles.

“Fuck—fuck look at that,” he growls. “Your nipples are sooooooooooo fucking suckable right now.”

You look down and see their hardened state reaching out into nothing. As more of your flesh and tissue gets sucked in, pressing tightly, trying to fill the small space, the pain mixes with pleasure. Joel’s continually nipping at your chest with lidded eyes glued to the scene helps spread the multiple sensations your body is feeling.

“There’s not gonna be any milk,” you warn again, shifting uncomfortably in his lap. Your breath hitches in your throat when you get to a particularly suffocating phase of tightness in your breast.

He casts a sorrowful grin before yanking the pumps off together with a loud SCHMOP.

You screech unexpectedly, rolls of pleasure sparking through your chest, up to your brain then right down to your tummy and cunt, your eyes rolling back as you collapse forward on to him.

You’re both quiet for a moment save for your heavy pants. Until you feel a wetness growing on his pants.

“Joel—did you—?”

He laughs out, “No baby, that was all you.”

Your cheeks go warm in embarrassment, looking down to confirm that you had actually squirted onto his jeans just from getting your nipples suctioned.

“Didn’t know ya titties were so sensitive…” he goads.

You shake your head and nudge it into his neck—because you didn’t know you could squirt just from getting your breasts suctioned either. 

“Shhh, I know. I know baby, just breathe. Little titties are so sore, but we gotta get them ready to start feeding from. S’not my fault you’re just a little slut, so hungry to be a momma—don’t you worry, Daddy Bull is gonna make it happen. Ya can squirt your little juices all you want when I breed your cunt like my own personal livestock.”

You have half the mind to tell him again there is no baby to be feeding any time soon, and you sure as heck weren’t his livestock to be bred, and had nothing to say about "Daddy Bull", but with the harsh throbbing along your nipples, dragging sensitively against his cotton shirt, you don’t care to do anything else but drool and hump your weeping clit against his soaked thighs.

 “Let Daddy see his work,” he mumbles into your throat with a kiss.

You sit up again with his assistance. 

He groans heartily at the sight of your swollen, redden tips poking from your boobs. “Jesus fuck, MooMoo.” He rubs his thumb over your mounds and you wince away. “They hurt?” He laugh sadistically.

You cover your lips with the back of your palm, unwilling to let him see your delirious heaving. Your pussy throbs desperately for more his unique torture. “You….bastard…”

He soothes over the swollenness, groping your breasts and telling you how they’ll be sore like this all the time when they start filling with milk. How he’s gonna breed you so full of calves you’ll be bursting milk on your own, and he’s gonna lap it all up to keep you happy.

You don’t know why you keep letting him put the pumps back on. He doesn’t try to rip them off like before, but keeps bringing you close with tight compresses before letting air quickly filter in again. The little cow beanies bob up and down with each deep breath you force through your nose, eyes glittering up so innocently. You’re trying to ignore the equal throb in your untouched clit as the ones in your overstimulated perky nips.

Once they’ve swelled to a level of his satisfaction…

“MooMoo…”

“Huh…”

“Time for cow titty fucking.”

He throws you down on your back in the heap of your plushies. Wasting no time pulling his stiff member out of his jeans, he pumps a few times with one hand. Like a professional Joel wraps his belt tightly around your wrists, like a cowboy expertly tying his prize calf he just lassoed in. 

You twist your legs to hide the leaking drip of slick sliding down to your ass. Your head leans to the side, arms thrown behind you so you can see him, biting your lips and furrowed brows of want, admiring his physique when he pulls his shirt off with a satisfied grin. 

“Fuck me, cowboy,” you hum, shifting your bum up  and spreading your legs so he can see your swollen slit twitching up at him.

But he throws your legs down and cages you under him. “I’m makin’ a mess of those god damn Mommy milkers first. Then your cunt gets whatever Daddy Bull has left.”

DaddyBullDaddyBullDaddyBull, you chant in over and over again your dumb little cow brain...

Oh Christ, tonight’s gonna be wild.

You watch him crawl over your body, fisting his leaking member over your chest. You want it, licking your lips in anticipation, pushing your boobs together with your arms to entice him. He twists the bell-collar so its dangling off the side of your shoulder before placing his leaking tip right at your lips, smearing his precum. Moaning at that fucking taste of Joel you’d been craving all day. You lap at the saltiness, begging him to force it deep into your mouth, but all he does is rub it over your lips, your tongue peaking out to get it nice and wet for him.

His cock falls right in the valley as you smoother it with your supple breasts. “Soft titties all mine to play with? You gonna be a good girl and let me fuck them?”

He starts thrusting, suffocating his cock between your tits. With one hand, he’s pulling the harness roped around your body tight like he's riding a God damn horse, the other still possessively pumping the nipple suction cups so they squeeze harder around your precious tits. His balls rub along your sternum while he bounces his hips, rocking back and forth again and again, making a sticky mess of his arousal and your drool all over your chest.

"Angel, imagine how fucking good this is gonna feel when these pups are filled to the brim with Daddy's milk.”

You nod dumbly. “Want you to fill them, Daddy. Want you inside,” you moan. Your head leans forward as you try to suck in his tip each time it poked through your boobs. 

Joel lets out a shaky breath, trying hard not to blow his load too soon. Though the sight of your face and cowbell all sticky with his creamy spent has him drawing away quickly, a firm grip wrapped around the base to hold his twitching balls from releasing his seed just yet. 

You cry out, tongue chasing his retreating tip. 

“You ready to be my little cocksleeve plushie tonight?” He asks, raking his nails over your chest and belly, raised red trails marking you in their leave.

“I’m ready Daddy, fuck me like your dirty whore!”

He spits a fat gob of saliva right on to your slit before rubbing it over with his thick tip. You don’t need the extra lubrication due to how drenched you are, and the sweet squirting you did earlier, but oh how he admires the way it mingles with your juices and slides down your ass.

He rips the cow patterned garter ribbon from the waist buckle and wraps it around your calves, sticking your legs straight, and pulls your ankles taught. You’re completely tied off at his mercy, like cattle being tamed. He hoists your legs straight up in the air, his bare cock grinding against your wet heat.

"D-daddy!"

He leans your straight legs against his left shoulder and peers down over you: messy lipstick, bound wrists pulled together and straight to your stomach, pushing your tits even closer,  and the harness does nothing but give each one an immaculate show of perkiness. Paired with the tight press that the pumps are still holding your nipples captive.

He decides to show you some mercy by removing the tubes. He kneads their swollen state at the same time his cock rubs along your slick folds.

“T’Thank you, Daddy Bull,” you puff.

“Good girl. Didn’t even have to remind you,” he praises with gentle strokes of your cheeks.  “Your little calf babies are full now. Time for DaddyBull to spend time with Momma.”

You hope he doesn’t see the way your stomach clenches at being called Momma—a kink you’re shelving for much much later.

He’s got such stamina to be still gliding himself along your pussy but not penetrating just yet. Your brows are scrunched together in a plea and desperation, and those little cow ears are flopped back into the mess of softness. Softness that surrounds you, that innocent feel of cute plushy fur and cotton all rubbing against your body below you despite the numbing throb in your breasts and cunt. 

He puts his fingers in your mouth. Your tongue swirls around his digits, getting them wet before he’s drooping them down your puffy lips, down your breasts each with a squeeze, trailing warmly over your belly before coming to the place where he’s about to impale you.

Your entire body is thrumming with need.

He takes the moment to see how wrecked you already are for him—and to savor your body, knowing he’s gonna breed you so good one day and everything is gonna swell, like a stamp of ownership.

“You’re so fucking breedable,” he whispers in awe of your body. You don’t think he meant to say it out loud, but it turns you on all the more to hear his inner thoughts that would most likely scare away other women.

Not you though. You shutter at the thought of it taking, of making something evident of all the fucking and cum dumping he’s been giving you.

The pornographic gasp you let out as he slides his cock over your folds, between your squished thighs. Your slick lathering his length, prepping him and teasing your clit with long strokes. You whine as his mushroom tip glistens with precum, poking through your thighs then retreating. Getting your hopes up and holding it there sadistically.

"Don't gotta do nothin' tonight for me, sweet pea. Just gotta hold on for the ride."

You're not ready when he latches at your entrance and thrusts in all at once. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull as he fills your gut with his fat cock, stretching you in the best way only Joel Miller knows.

“Ahhh--ah!—f—f—fuuuccccckkkkkkkk!”

Joel Miller does have a Bull sized cock. More evident now stretching your little hole than you’d ever truly thought before.

The position is so restraining, leaving you no way to move or adjust - just take take take take his pounding. You both groan at the sight of his tip ballooning in your lower belly with each thrust. 

He throws his arm over your straight thighs and thumbs over your swelled naval. "Fuuucccckk look at that, look at that!"

"S-ssoooooo deeeeeeppp," you wreathe, lips curling in delirium.

“Yeah-yeah babygirl, gotta stretch you—get ya ready to hold my calves huh? Gotta make room for them to pop out—“

“M—mnot—pregnant,” you rasp hoarsely, eyes closing when he starts angling his hips up and rutting along the gummy part in your cunt.

“I’ll make it happen, don’t you worry your little brain.” He laughs. “You like getting stuffed like your stuffies. Turned you into a proper fuck toy—mm—there we go—but you’re always gonna be my favorite toy to hump, to fill, to own." He forces each word out with each rut. “You’re so fucking good at being a soft whore for me to use, all precious and pretty on the outside. Just another one of these plushie sluts on this bed,” he grunts.

You stick your tongue out dreamily and smile, fingers getting lost in the scattered stuffed animals surrounding you with their soft, fluffy textures and hard or squishy bodies. 

It feels really good to have 0 thoughts and just get fucked like a cow plushie.

He kisses your ankles soothingly, almost pathetically attempting to distract you from the sudden lash of his palm slapping against your ass.

“DADDY—shit!” You whimper. He doesn’t love the way you instinctively try to squirm away from him, but with how tied up you are, continually impaled on his throbbing length, you have nowhere to go. 

He continues to spank you, the same spot, fingers splayed wide until his reddened print is left etched into your skin "Gotta brand ya baby, make sure everyone knows who owns this body.”

Lewd noises of wet skin slapping, and the little cow bell clanking on your neck fill the room along with your pathetic whimpers and Joel's repressed grunts.

"Yeah? You like daddy's bull cock ramming that tight little Moo Moo pussy?"

“Yea- ohh-f—fuck yes Bull Daddy, cock so good, fuck— nobody stretches me—ah shit!Yesyesyesyesyesyesyes—m’gonna be bred so fucking full Daddy fuck yes!”

“My little cow breedin’ bitch,” he hollers. He tears the cute little cow patterned bow from that had held your calves together and quickly parts your legs, shoving your knees up to his shoulders so you’re in full mating press. He continues thrusting aggressively downward. Despite still being bound by the wrist, your elbows part slightly enough to slot him between your arms, slinking your hands over his neck to bring him closer to you.

"Breed me!" You cry, literally cry. He doesn’t relent his rough thrusts despite cooing your tears welling.

 "Gonna take all that bull cum in your slutty womb? Gonna let me put a baby in ya?”

Your walls clench down on him harder in response. The more his thick tip nudges your cervix, the less words you’re able to string together in sentences.

He doesn’t wait for answer—doesn’t think he ever will because he’s dangerously dreamt of impregnating you for so long now, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stop the day you said yes. Never bringing it up but fuuuccckkk he can’t stop his confessions from tumbling out: “Shit baby, might take this time. Lookin like my breeding stock n shit, gonna plow ya, you'll milk my cummies in your tummies and then—"

"Jesus Joel stop your yapping and FUCKME.”

"Ya gonna moo for me?"

You're moaning more, but with the way your sockets are rolled to their whites, arching up like the exorcist as he rams himself so deep its puncturing your belly, the sound’s eliciting from your mouth coming out as "mmmmmaaaauuuuhhhhhau-huh-hhuhh-huhhhh!"

He chuckles. "Close enough.”

He grabs the moo plush and shoves its utters in your mouth. You tilt your head to the side and your tongue circles around the rubber part. He almost busts his nut at the gorgeous sight below him: your pretty lashes closed as you suckle from the utters, each little swallow of milk going sown your throat. You're so delirious and cock drunk that you don't care about the trickles of cream dribbling down the corner of your lips. Your tits swollen and red, nipples so perked up they may actually start bleeding milk if he were to play with them any more, and your breasts bounce back and forth with each thrust, the jingle of the cow bell clanking loudly with no sense of tune but with all the hymns of his fucking he can give you. He snaps the garter belt strapped around you like reins, free ruling restraints that only make every bit of you even more voluptuous. Your legs are so strong, thick yet securely plastered together by his knot.

Your brows pinch together as your orgasm builds from your belly, making you arch violently against the pillow.

You pull away from the cow to take a gasp of air. Joel sticks his finger in your mouth and swirls it around. You hum in content, letting him make a mess of your drool and leftover milk spilling out, down your chin and cheeks with his thick digits. He yanks it out and licks it clean.

"Taste so fucking goo—“

"Keep fucking me with Daddys Bull cock fuck daddy I wanna get bred so fucking much wanna be your breeding little cum slut daddy fuck yes! You're so fucking huge, splitting my little moomoo pussy in half poundbreedbreedbreed daddy want all your cummies inside!"

"Fucked ya so dumb. All that ‘no baby, no milky talk.’ Shit! Fuck I'm gonna wreck this pussy, my fucking pussy! Nobody comes inside this sweet little womb but Daddy!"

"Just you just you daddy all yours please brand me make me yours! Oh-oh fuck Daddy yes! I’m cumming , I’m cumming so hard Daddy Bull fuck yesyesysssssyesyesyes!!!” you hiss through gritted teeth.

Your mouth parts as a silent scream is let out into the air. Joel keeps fucking you through your orgasm, his pained gasps while trying to remain sane with your convulsing walls choking his cock, sucking him in so tight he wouldn’t be able to pull out if he pried himself from you. He reaches between you to rub your clit, and your head thrashes about in overstimulation. Hard teeth latch on to your collar bone as you squirt once again all over his cock, streaming to his balls and soaking the bed and poor plushies caught in the crossfire with your naughty juices.

“There’s my slutty girl! Squirt that puss everywhere, want to stain everything with that cunt, my pretty cow girl.”

Joel’s whole body ruts into you like his life depends on it. The bed lurches violently against the wall, plushies falling over the sides like an avalanche while your battered soaked pussy takes the beating of a lifetime from the man who undoubtedly has ruined you and laid claim to your soul for the rest of your life. You hold on with the little strength you have left as he readies to empty his balls into you.

“Shit—shit—oh ff-ffuck baby—Daddy Bull is cummin—gonna breed ya SHIT oh baby,baby,babbyyyy gonna flood ya, you’re gonna take it? Gonna take all that cum—not a drop—haa-left—Gonna knock you up this time-mmmf—fuck! My good cow sluuutt—Baby give it ta me so good, Breed ya full o’me!FUCK!!”

With a final slam, Joel plunges his cock balls deep and shouts into the mattress, pumping his cum as deep into your womb as it could possibly go with thick, fertile ropes flooding every inch of space inside you.

He forces out each harsh, agitated pant into your neck, sweat sticking between the two of you. Your hips are held upright, walls fluttering with each pulse of his dick still unloading inside.

“I love you,” you whisperinto his ear, mind all hazy as you stroke his damp curls. He shudders, relaxing into your embrace, and you welcome the crushing sensation of his body on top of yours.

He pulls away to admire your barely conscious state: stockings all torn up, harness now tattered and  straps broken from their belts, the cow-eared headband snapped in half. Bruises and purple markings and love bites scattered all over your skin, your breasts the most damaged and swollen. He wonders how long it will take to fully heal, and how sensitive those little nipples are going to be for the next few days. Most importantly, he can’t tear his gaze away from the beat of your pussy lips struggling to swallow all of his creamy seed. 

You gasp out when Joel pushes his cock all the way back in, his cum spilling out the sides and coating you but trapping a good amount inside, leaving it nowhere else to go.

“I Love being your cow MooMoo plushplush,” you hum, wiggling your bum and holding him close. 

“How bout this one still?” He grabs the forgotten milker toy and brings the utters between the two of your lips.

Your tongue wraps around one utter and you start suckling the sweetness. 

Joel yanks the toy away.

“Show me.”

You open your lips so he can see the pool of milk filled to the brim, spilling over the dips of your cheeks.

He dips his tongue into your mouth and begins sucking out your split-mixed milk, kissing you passionately so you’re both gulping around each other’s tongues.

Drunk. You feel drunk off him. Off the milk. 

Eventually he pulls away so you can both breathe.

“I mean it.”

You draw away momentarily, wondering. it takes a moment to process anything that the two of you talked about while his cock still twitches in your cum-filled vagina.

You laugh when it hits you. “Yes, I’ll move in with you—“

“—You’re gonna look so fucking beautiful when you’re pregnant.”

You both pause for a moment before bursting out in a fit of giggles.

“Oh, I already knew that,” you taunt.

-

After you sleep for 14 hours straight, you wake up to find your tattered costume is gone, and your body completely naked. You don’t feel as achy as you expected—thanks to Joel probably massaging you in your sleep. Your cunt and breasts, however, are puffy and bruised as hell. You’ll have to restrict sexy time from Joel to just regular, Plushie-free fucking.

Speaking of, there’s an unfamiliar little guy on your bed right under your arm right now: yet another cow plushie, but it’s sooooo much softer, a bit heavier too. You turn it over and switch the little battery pack on, and the animal begins expanding and deflating with gentle breaths, its tummy warm and comforting against your body.

Joel comes in with a cup of tea  placed on your bedside before jumping on the Plushie bed. You poke his face.

“Whaaaat!”

"Joel, you know this is for babies,” you say, gesturing to the new cow breathing cow plush.

Right my babygirl.” He smiles proudly, stroking your face.

"No, like actual babies. It’s a breathing soother to help them sleep. Did you not notice what section you were in when you bought it?”

He looks ahead at the wall for a briefly, revisiting the memory. “Ya know what, that might be why the lady asked if it was for a girl, and I said ya my girl. N’ then she asked 'how old' and I told her ya age and she gave me a weird look.”

Your eyes squeeze tight as you fall back in a fit of cackles. “You were literally in the baby section Joel."

"Ain't all these plushies for kids anyway?” He gestures to the pink, purple, frilly, soft, funny faced squish stuffed animals you have on your bed. “What’s the difference?”

You switch the heavy cow animal on again and the cow starts slowly inflating then deflating with each breath. 

He gets all amazed like the marvels of today's technology far exceed his imagination. “Holy shit it got a real heart in there! No wonder it cost me 60 bucks.”

“Pretty sure a real heart would cost more than 60.”

“Mmm, cost me even more to keep yours.” 

You glance over at Tomm—ahem, Teddy—sitting upright in the corner of the room, the dildo still strapped around his crotch, and at Mr. Oinkers who’s jittery fun was sometimes too much to handle, and at Valentine Puppy that has a permanent white streak in his hair when you tried washing out Joel’s cum, and at every other plush on this bed that has occupied an ever growing space in Joel’s horny head below the waist.

“I don’t love you just cuz of the plushies, you know.”

“Oh? I’ll take them all back then, since ya don’t appreciate—“

“No!” You cry desperately. “I—I love them.” You cold your cow plush close and kiss his head.

 Joel curls up next to you and spoons your body. “But I love you too. Just you.”

He hums in agreement. “I know you do. Who else would dress like that just for fun?”

You cringe at the image of the destroyed cow garter that sits helplessly on the floor. Definitely cost waaaaaay more than $60.

“I can’t wait to move in,” you mumble into the pillow.

“Oh—about that.” 

You lean back and meet his gaze. Was it a farce? Did he not actually want you to move in? Was it jut to get you excited for sex last night? You already feel your heart shattering, knowing its gonna take more than 60 bucks to put it back together—

“While you were sleeping…I brought all my shit here already. Cancelled my lease this month and packed for weeks. Figured it be easier than making you have to pack all your little fluffy bitches in boxes—”

“Well they wouldn’t go in boxes, they’d be buckled up in seatbelts.”

“Exactly my point. Would have been a nightmare trying to move you.”

You slap his shoulder.

“Um… what if I said no?”

“Oh…” the thought never actually crossed his mind that you’d say no.

You laugh again, kissing his jaw reassuringly. “Kidding, Bull Daddy.”

He grumbles into your back and kisses the back of your head. His big meaty paws rub over your thighs, the little dents from the strap still ghosting your skin, trailing up over your belly that he can’t wait to see swell one day, even if not any time soon, and snaking up to your aching chest—

“Don’t you dare touch my fucking tits.”

10 minutes later, you catch Joel’s cuddling the breathing cow right next to his face, snoring soundly as it exhales next to him. you kiss the tip of his noses and burrow yourself closer to your sleeping giant.

It really does help babies sleep.

- - - -

Notes: this ended up being waaaaaaay longer than I thought holy heck.

Bonus of Joel x Preggo reader thot in the plushies saga

Permanent Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrs-oharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee

[denofbloodandlove]

First Timer

Mandi looked at the store like some giant looming beast that she had to battle, never had she been to a sex shop and for good reason. The moment she even thought about sex her face flamed with heat, she was technically embarrassed.  Not because of the act of sex, but because of what she enjoyed watching.  Being only 21 and still a stupid virgin she had, one night, fell down a rabbit hole of aliens, tentacles, and ovipositors.  They only person in the whole world that knew was her best friend JJ, who was as gay and happy as a bag of sunshine and rainbows but also the biggest slut that Mandi knew.   He was the reason they were here at a place called OtherWorlds, a boutique for the weird and unusual.  But according to the website that JJ found, totally normal for people like her.  People who enjoyed the idea of monsters, suckers and knots filling up their bodies. JJ had wanted Mandi to be herself so, like a great best friend searched the world wide web and found this little nugget.  Forced her in the car and drove the three hours it took to show up.   “For fucks sake Mandi, walk in, it’s a sex shop not a fucking scorpion.  Which, by the by, I think they have dildos that resemble the tail.  Lets go!” JJ pushed Mandi over the curb and straight at the door.  The tiny bell jingled as the door opened and Mandi stood frozen at the sight.  JJ however ran right in and began looking. “Come on Mandi! It’s time you experiment!” He giggled as he held up a huge wiggly horse cock.  Covering her face with her hands, Mandi shuffled her way towards JJ.  “Would you stop that!” She whispered as JJ started to flick his wrist, making the soft cock go round in circles.  “I think I need one of these for me girlie!  Man this would feel great shoved in my ass!.” JJ exclaimed as a worker made their over with a grin on her face.   “First time huh?  We can always tell, either too shy or too excited. How can I help you guys? Looking for anything in particular?”   Mandi began to shake her head, but JJ being who he was cut her off.  “Yes, she needs tentacles.  Ovipositors with the eggs that come with.  A medium to large probably since she is……unused shall I say.”  “Oh gods above JJ, really?! Tell everyone that I’ve never had sex why don’t you, jeez.” Mandi buried her face in her hands as JJ laughed, but the woman just smiled and took hold of Mandi.  “I have the perfect stuff, come on.  Most people come in here like this, first timers, shy because of what they like but its no biggie.”  As Mandi followed the lady she looked on the walls.  Dildos of massive sizes were displayed, some had giant heads with long thin bodies while some were reversed, had a slender head but a massive shaft. Some were so large it looked like it would split her in half.  Gulping down what she knew was excitement she kept walking.  How could she be excited about her feeling like she would be getting cut in two?  Another section housed more horse cocks, small ones, medium, massive ones that looked like when fully inserted it could reach her throat.  Near the horse cocks, were wolves.  These too were in various sizes but they had knots as the bases.  Some had multiple knots throughout the shaft, going from regular at the head, knot, shaft, bigger knot, shaft, and even bigger knot.  Wouldn’t a person get stuck on that?   How would her cunt feel so stretched out that she would literally be stuck on a cock. Mandi felt sweat trickle down her back at the thought.   “You know I can tell what you’re thinking buy the looks on your face, you don’t hide your facial expressions well.  My name is Nimmie, and yes the wolf cocks do feel amazing stuck inside of you.  Too big to slide out but to big to push further in.  Your pussy trapped on an immovable object, trust me, its worth it. Worth the pain. The dragon cocks are much the same without the knots.”  Nimmie pointed towards a display case that housed a pleothra of muticolored dildos.  Some were short and fat while others had what looked like scales in different layers to add a whole new feeling as it pushed against the walls of a pussy or ass. “But these are what you’re after. Yes?” Mandi looked over her shoulder as Nimmie pointed to a blue/black wall.  Her mouth popped open as she saw so many different kinds of tentacle dildos. S-curved that ended in a point, short stubby ones that had a bulbous head, each one had different sized suckers on it, mimicking a real octopus.   “But, I think your friend mentioned ovis, you’re more interested in the eggs and the feeling of them inside you, right?  I’ve used one, fuck it was the best orgasm I’ve ever had.  But that was our old stock we got some brand new ones no one has ever tried.  They look amazing.  Here.” Nimmie reached down and under a self, pulling out what looked like long slender tube with a short flat head on top.  It was a dark mossy green that faded into yellow at the tip.  Reading the package her eyes widened at the size.  Nearly nine inches in length  and at the widest nearly two inches at the base.  But what intrigued her more was the carton that was attached to the underside of the plastic container that held the cock.  “Its eggs! Look! Turn in over, each one is in their own cum, to give you that real effect.  So what you do, theres twelve by the way.  So what you do is you have to place the cock on the floor and through the opening at the tip of the cock, you just insert the eggs, push them all down and have your fun. As you fuck it, see the little button, you push that and the didlo will start to undulate and push the eggs into you, all that cum and eggs filling your cunt up.  When you’re done, pop off and push the eggs out, and repeat as many times as you want.  The cum, its some kind of new material that doesn’t wash away, like an egg sack thing. I dunno, but I can’t wait to try it myself..” Mandi turned the package over looking it over and listening to Nimmie talk about it.  Fuck, but she was wet just imagining it.  She had watched a porn with this woman who had something similar. The eggs had fallen out of her swollen cunt, falling to the ground in pleasurable ‘plops’.  She wondered if they would sound the same falling out of her.  And could she take all twelve at once? Mandi ran her hands over the eggs, thinking about where she could place it and fuck it. That was the moment JJ ran up to her, his arms filled with lube and cocks.  “Get me outta here girlie before I go broke.  You found something?” Nodding her head, she hid the ovi behind her and together they walked to the register.   ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ “I know you got that egg thing girlie, call me after and tell me ALL about it! I for one am going shove these beautiful things up my ass.”  JJ kissed Mandi on each cheek and left her standing at her door with the black bag in her hand.  Excitement rode her.  Mandi could feel her slick cunt, needy and ready to take in her first dildo.  The apex of her thighs felt heavy with need yet hollow.  It was like a low ache, one that was almost painful right behind her entrance.  She could almost feel her own heartbeat in her pussy, each thump of her heart knocking at her tight entrance.  Placing her phone down, she hit record and then began to undress.  Throwing off her clothes, she knelt on the floor and positioned herself so she could watch her body take in the cock.  Once everything was lined up correctly, she opened the plastic package with trembling fingers.  The cock itself was soft and malleable, but at the thick base she could feel beads that would rotate upwards, she figured those were how the eggs would get pushed up and into her pussy.  Next she opened the eggs.  Sighing, Mandi reverently grabbed the first one.  Nimmie was right, it felt as if the egg was encased in the same slime like substance a chicken egg was surrounded by.  The clear like slime wiggled between her fingers as it slipped from her grip into palm after palm, her hands rotating to constantly catch it.  Biting her bottom lip, Mandi held it to her face and it roll against her cheek.  It felt so warm, almost as if the crate it was in kept them a certain temperature. Before she could think better of it, Mandi popped it into her mouth.  The gel like casing rolled on her tongue and nearly down her throat.  But the taste.  It was like an aphrodisiac straight to her pussy.  Juices flowed and coated her thighs as she leaned her head back and moaned, rolling the egg on her tongue and nearly down her throat. Gagging she coughed the egg up and into her hand.  She’d definitely  have to practice more on how to hold that in her mouth, maybe with the cock fucking her throat too.  Mandi fingered the cocks opening and watched as the egg slide down and into the tube where the other 11 quickly followed.   Taking a deep breath, Mandi ran her fingers through her swollen pussy, her clit was so enlarged it hurt, her fingers rubbed hard on her clit, eliciting a long low moan from her throat, then she squatted over the cock.  Her back was against a wall and with wide eyes she watched herself slowly get impaled on the camera of her phone.   Her tight pussy pushed against the head of the cock, opening her pushing against her maiden head.  She watched in fascination as her cunt spread, allowing a foreign object to be inserted, thankfully the cock wasn’t giant at the tip, but she could feel the resistance of her flesh, pushing back, not wanting anything to push past her barrier.  Her thighs burned as she lifted herself up slightly then fell back down a second time. This round pushed hard the cock breaking though and she let out a painful moan as the cock stretched her new flesh, up and down she moves, deeper and deeper her squats came as she fucked herself down nearly to the two inch base. Her pussy ached, burned as it stretched and tears welled in her eyes. It was too big!   But she thought about those wolf cocks and getting stuck, widening her stance Mandi leaned back and placed her hands on the floor and moved her hips.  Her pussy made sucking sounds as the cock moved in and out, deeper until she screamed in pain, fuck she wanted to get stuck, wanted this foreign cock with its eggs to seal her pussy as the eggs pumped into her.     Tears gathered in her eyes as she moved her legs farther out, her knees hit the floor with a sharp thud and she sat, forcing her pussy to sit down all the way on the cock.  Looking into her phone, she could see the skin stretched, her cunt swollen and red, her clit hard and ready for the slightest of touches to send her over the edge.  Taking a deep breath, Mandi lifted one leg and felt her way around the base, finding that button Nimmie talked about.  Pushing it down, the beads that sat at the base of the cock began to vibrate, rotate around and up.  Her cunt tightened its grip and her body jerked as she rotated her hips.  Fuck she could feel the eggs rising with the undulations of the beads.

“Fuck. Fuck, Fuck!” Mandi panted as her hand left the floor and slapped at her swollen clit in tandem.  She felt the first egg explode from the cock and straight into her, she could feel it right against her cervix, followed by another, then another.  Her hand slapped harder at her clit and as she moved she looked down at her flat belly, she watched as her skin moved, pushed out by the eggs filling her.

Her orgasm took root and she flung her head back and screamed.  Pressure like never before built low in her belly as she came.  Her hand never stopped slapping and rubbing her clit until it was too much and she lifted off the cock, her pussy releasing all her cum and juices in one great spasm.  She watched in awe as she squirted, the eggs falling out of her one by one with a wet slimy pop. One after another she watched as she forced her pussy to push the remaining eggs out, each one slowly falling to the floor.  Her pussy pulsed and her body trembled with aftershocks of the best fucking orgasm ever!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m telling you JJ I think I lost one! I have eleven eggs nit twelve! What happens if one is still inside me? What am I going to do? Go to the doctor and say hey doc by the way I fucked an alien dong, had its fake eggs shoved inside of me and now I lost one.  Can you look in my cunt and tell me what you see?”

JJ just laughed, “It probably rolled under something so stop freaking out! But look we need to go back to that store, cause girl I done used all that lube and those dildos! I’m so gaped I could fit my fist in there!” Shaking her head, she finished her conversation with JJ, thinking that he was probably right.  The eggs had come out at first so fast that she lost one.  Had to be.

That night Mandi lay curled on her side, her thoughts on sleep, her mind drifting off into nothingness, she felt a soft, wet squelch come from between her thighs.  Moaning in her sleep, her body thrashed about, wetness soaked her pussy and sheets as her legs spread by some unseen force.  Through her sleep, pain had her eyes flip open and she screamed as e cunt stretched.  Her knees bent and she rose on her elbows as she looked down her body.  One long thick tentacle slide from her cunt.  It was the same hues as the dildo, it slid from her pussy and onto her thigh, the rings of the suction cups molding to her flesh. Scrambling away, her body spasmed as the tentacle stayed stuck inside of her womb, the one long tentacle slithered off her thigh and moved up, the tip pushing through the slit of her wet core. The pointed tip flicked her clit hard enough to shock Mandi into pure pleasure.

“Ohmagod its real.  Oh fuuuck its real.” Her voice went from a high-pitched scared cadence to a low, pleasurable moan.  This is what she had fantasized about the first time she watched that damn porn.  Her fantasy becoming a reality.  The alien inside of her wiggled growing thicker, spreading her sunt much like the dildo did, stretching her to the point of pain, sealing tight.  The tip of the tentacle slide back and forth on her clit, the suction cups moving languidly over her clit, sucking and releasing each time with each suction cup.  The thick base shoved deep in her began to slither in and out, fucking her until she could no longer stand it, her orgasm tore through her body.  Her body bowed off the bed, every muscle seized in pleasure and her cum flowed from her pussy in great rushes around the tentacle. Her breathing labored she lifted her head to watch the tentacle move and slither back into her cunt, her lower belly becoming slightly pooched out where it rested in her womb.  

Would the other eleven eggs be the same? If they stayed in her would they hatch too?  How many could she keep inside of her at once?  She wanted to fond out.  Would it be like that porn?  A tentacle for every hole? Her mouth, ass and pussy all having one at the same time? Her pussy pulsed as her cum leaked from her open slit.  There was only one way to find out.  Jumping out of bed, she found the ovipositor, and began to pop the remaining eggs into the cock.  Her belly wiggled in anticipation as she positioned her phone once more, then sank low on the cock, hoping that the other eleven eggs would too take root inside of her womb.  

[lady-ashfade]

Hello love, it’s 🦂-Anon here again and I just adored your latest fics.

I have been thinking of the crows with more hybrids readers and it just clouds my thoughts. Could we get something with yandere crows giving a neko reader a collar? (Also I hope we can get more bunny reader)

Yandere Six Of Crows x Fem!Neko reader. Hc’s

Yandere Six Of Crows x Fem!Neko reader. (Romantic)

I had this exact idea too! I wanted to do it with the bunny reader but i got more plans for it! So hopefully I can finish it.

I will do so much more if you guys want. Puppy, fox, heck even a spider reader. This is just so fun.

Warnings: Collaring, Pet relationships, obsession, protective, little suggestive…So minors go away or don’t interact, but nothing bad.

You must really love being the center of attention don’t you? It was so easy to get their eyes focused on you, even when you weren’t trying to.

You could just be sitting down with a book and facing away from them, but here they are literally just loving how you breathed. The group praised every little thing you did, they are your own cheer team.

But they were so overbearing. You had no freedom at all, and I mean at all. You want to go downstairs into the club? At least one of them has to be close to you. You want to go for a walk? Two group buddies follow you.

Just think, you, their little baby were to get hurt? They could bare the thought- in fact they couldn’t fathom it.

You have a bed in all the rooms, each of theirs bedroom or offices. I mean of course you’re more then welcome to sleep with time but just encase.

Their hands constantly touch you. Or they just watch your tail wag around in whatever mood you are in. They melt when your ears flicker, like Nina almost died once. But you were a Neko, which the cat side of you just had the urge to bite back.

So they have spray bottles.

I can see them having bite marks on their hands at all times. But you did feel bad about it.

Punishment wasn’t that often because you were obedient for the most part. But when you would stare at them and just knock something over, or back sass them- Or even hiss at them.

There are a few different approaches. 1) of course the spray bottle, 2) Ten minutes in a cage, 3) Being forced to go for a walk with a leash attached to your collar, 4) Or you will be locked up for a few days in your room. Though the last one was only when you fought back. And they felt bad about it but you had to learn. But you weren’t starved or anything, you just couldn’t have any company. Just you and the room.

But let’s talk about what you asked for, your collar.

It had to be perfect just for you. It was black leather straps that wound wrap around your throat, a metal circle in the center that had a hook of a small bell. And it had room for something to be attached, like a leash.

You weren’t aloud to take it off unless you asked, or you’d be punished.

They couldn’t stop but stare each time they saw you and the collar that rested on your skin. You belonged to them, they had marked their territory. It filled them with pride to know they could be the ones to collar you.

Everywhere you went the bell rang and they could hear you a mile away. The jingle got them excited each time because you were close.

You could take so many cat naps on their laps and they wouldn’t move for hours. Kaz loved it when you would just stay with him while he works. Your peaceful breaths made him calm, even he would pet your head.

Of course they wouldn’t let anyone get to close. You remember one day when you went into the bar without one of them close too you, one thing lead to another and a drunk man found you.

He was taken away and beaten to death by Kaz’s cane. Kaz didn’t care if anyone saw, it would send out a message that you weren’t to be approached.

Kinda spicy passed this line.

You were walked at times with the leash, mostly by kaz or Nina when you’d acted up. It was embarrassing and you cried the whole time, no matter how much you struggled they just tugged you through the streets. They didn’t try and hide you, in fact they wanted people to stare at you because then you’d cry even harder of embarrassment and think twice before disobeying them.

They would hook their fingers in the loop and tug you forward to kiss you, they enjoyed your blush and purring you got.

They knew how to massage your cat like features to make you whimper out. Your tail was very sensitive and they enjoyed when your voice got high when they tugged on the fluff. You think they care if they are out in public?

No. It doesn’t matter where you guys are, if it’s just waving in front of them it doesn’t matter where they are. They are touching you. I think Jesper is the one to do it the most because he finds it fun to tease.

Wylan is however the softest one, but the clingiest. He would steal you away all the time so you could just be with him, one time the others had to drag you out his lab because he didn’t want you to leave. He also likes it when you would listen to his music or curl up at his side.

I can see you trying to climb matthias all the time because he’s so tall and you know he finds it a bit annoying. But don’t let the tough man fool you, he fucking loves it. Don’t tell the others but he hides treats for you all over.

Inej can take hours of her day just watching you and kaz has to remember her she has a job to do. I think she might kill anyone that looks at you, her mind thinks they would steal you away and put you in the menagerie. Making her go feral and protective . She isn’t as bad as the rest with the touches and she likes it when you come to her first. She would never pull on your trail or ears for fun, unless you asks for it of course but she doesn’t want to hurt you.

But even she can’t stop herself from pulling you around by your collar to hear you squeal and have to follow her around.

[wandanatss]

heart in hand - chapter one;

things haven't been the same since you came into my life

summary: Summer of 1995 finds you in a cafe with a new-to-town Natasha Romanov. Little do you know, this day is going to change your life.

warning(s): swearing, slight mentions of guns & bullying.

word count: 1,087 words

author's note: i don't have access to the app i use to make covers/headers/dividers for my fics, so this canva one i threw together literally five minutes ago looks good enough. the dividers i used are by @cafekitsune. reblogs would help <3 i'm open to constructive criticism! i especially hope that one anon who helped a lot earlier likes it!

It all began in the summer of ‘95, in a little shop north of town. You sat there every day for want of something to do, someone to talk to. Being the friendless nerd was fine during the school year, but in the summer you always shifted from being alone to lonely. 

Your fingers tapped out an errant beat on the countertop, and you hummed a mindless tune. Your eyes droved over the menu as though your were trying to find something you wanted; as though you hadn’t already memorized it in your countless trips to the shop. In the end, though, you picked your usual - a sandwich, a doughnut, and a Coke. Picking the items up off of the counter once you got them, you sat at the only empty table there - a two-seater near the very back, where no one could see you. Figures. Invisible everywhere in the world, it seemed.

As you started to munch on the sandwich, interspersed with sips of your drink, your eyes watched the windows. Maybe you’d have your ‘movie moment’, where someone walked in that you fell in love with. Maybe it would be the person of your dreams. You looked down for a moment to pick up the cup, and within those few seconds, the door opened and a bell jingled. You looked up.

Y/n: I don’t know, it was fate or something. This absolute bombshell of a girl walked in. Her coppery-red hair tumbled over her shoulders, her eyes were bright, and she had the perfect red lip. She wore a thin white shirt, clinging to her with sweat. Her shorts were blue, and truly made her look like she had legs for days. When she ordered and got her food, she just wandered around for a minute before she saw me. Saw the seat in front of me. She smiled, asking if she could sit. Of course, I agreed. Neither of us knew it yet, but it was the start of something truly iconic. The girl, of course, was Natasha Romanov. We were both seventeen at the time.

Excerpt from ‘Mic in Hand, Heart in Throat’ by Kat S. Releasing 1 May 2028.

You introduced yourself, and started to make small talk about the weather – sweat-soaked Natasha’s body was a sight to see, and under the A/C breeze, her hair fluttered around her face. You were flushed, but you could pass it off to the heat, too. As Natasha waved over a waitress and placed her own order (a strawberry milkshake and a sandwich), you took the time to observe her.

She had her bicycle keys in her pocket, and two bracelets hanging from her arm. One was beaded, with the little alphabet charms reading N A T in different colours. The other was a few simple strings wound together and tied, giving the effect of a young child having made it. Now that you were closer to her, you could see the bottom of her hair bleached and cool-toned, showing her having dyed it blue a while back.

“Y/n? Do you want something too?” asked Natasha, a silent smirk in her eyes. She knew what you were doing.

Eventually, once the waitress was gone, you and Natasha struck up an easy flowing conversation. She confessed that she had biked here in the heat to get out of town, have her own ‘summer experience’. She was new. That explained why she hadn’t been in high school with you. You smiled and told her all about the high school she’d likely be joining, and joked about how she should make it a point to stay away from you. It would be social suicide, you explained.

Natasha turned slightly away at the comment, something catching her eyes, but looked back with a frown on her face. 

“I think people should be lucky to know you, Y/n. You’re a good – a good friend.”

Through the chat you have with her, you discover that not only can she play the guitar, but also the drums. She can also sing, insanely well if the competition awards aren’t a lie, and she’s just a fucking dream. She gave you her home-phone number, and her address. Call me, she wrote on the paper napkin, like she was some kind of rogueish flirt and not a schoolgirl still in her teens.

You took the napkin home with you and pinned it onto a little board, fingers moving over the bumps in the paper where she had pressed too hard with the pen. Call me. Come over sometime. You smiled, idling near the telephone. Maybe you would call her later, you thought.

Natasha Romanov: Y/n, they were an interesting person. My first friend who wasn’t my sister. We’d both been adopted, and been the town freaks for a while. Yelena, she was all spite and rage packed into a little spitfire of a ten-year-old child. It didn’t help that she wanted to give her opinions freely. It was my job to protect her, and when that backfired, we had to move. This far into the story, you already know I wouldn’t be too cut up about it. I had my sister and my adoptive parents. End of fuckin’ story, right? And then the chapter turned. After I met Y/n that day, everything changed. I finally had a reason to stay in the new town. I had made a friend.

Excerpt from ‘Mic in Hand, Heart in Throat’ by Kat S. Releasing 1 May 2028.

As you lay in bed that night, all hot and bothered about the day you’ve had, words start to form in your mind. Fragments; not enough to be worth writing, but you can see where you’ve started to... well, you’ve started thinking up a song.

The next morning, you wake up from a rather pleasant dream to hammering on your bedroom door. 

“Wake up, kid! It’s time to go!”

Oh. It was your mother, a staunch stickler for early-birds-get-the-worm. You would’ve far preferred to sleep in, especially in the summer, but the thoughts from the previous night – the song you thought of – had finally almost fully formed in your mind. You were eager to pen it down in case you forgot, but first, to appease your mother, you showered and had some cereal. Then you were back in your room, ready to write.

She’s got blue hair and a pretty pink smile

Looks that can kill and hands in mine

She’s a girl she’s a gun she’s the newest chapter

She’s a dream and what my heart’s been chasin’ after…

lmk if you want to be added to the taglist! | fic tag

[dearestdaffodils]

Line Without A Hook

Inspired by Luke and Lorelai from Gilmore Girls

Steve opens a diner in Hawkins that you frequent. Grumpy meets sunshine and romance ensues

Steve Harrington was a quiet and brooding man. He owned (and lived above) the diner in the middle of town. The building had previously housed the Hawkins movie theater but had been sold when the Starcourt Mall opened. Steve was best known from the reputation he had garnered in high school. He was different now, brooding faces and flannels draped over his large frame were a stark change from the Steve you remember from high school.

You quickly became one of Steve’s regulars at the diner, joining the ranks of the Wheeler siblings, the Byers brothers, Dustin Henderson, Lucas Sinclair, Max Mayfield, Jane Hopper, Robin Buckley, and occasionally Eddie Munson. The group was there daily, jostling each other for seats at the counter. They talked excitedly with each other, often eliciting a grunt or short sentence in response from Steve as he filled orders. You joined them at the counter on occasion, if someone was missing from the group that day. You enjoyed watching Steve in his element, wrapped in flannel with a rag over his left shoulder and a coffee pot in his right hand.

—————————————————

The bell above the door jingles, signaling your arrival to Steve as you enter the diner and make your way to your usual window table. It was the perfect table in your opinion, with a window to look out and a close proximity to the counter.

A cup of coffee slides into your view, drawing your attention up to Steve as he carefully wipes his hands with a rag before throwing it back over his shoulder.

“We’ve certainly got this down to an art now, huh, Harrington?” You smile, setting your purse on the seat next to you.

Steve offers a soft grunt, nodding his head.

“Feeling extra monosyllabic today, I see.” You rest your elbow on the table, plopping your chin into your palm. A glance at the counter reveals a shocking lack of the group that usually fills the stools. “Where’s everyone today?”

Steve shrugs, reaching up to slide his baseball hat off his head and run a hand through his messy hair. “No clue, they’re usually here beating down my door by six.”

You quickly pick up your purse and coffee, swiftly moving to the closest stool. “Looks like you get me all to yourself today then.”

“Oh joy.” Steve gives you a sarcastic smile, moving behind the counter.

“Don’t act like you don’t love talking to me everyday.” You smile, taking a sip of your coffee. “I know it's the highlight of your day.”

Steve leans back against the wall, folding his arms over his broad chest. “You have no proof.”

“Maybe not but in…” You trail off, checking your watch. “Five minutes, you’ll be asking me about how my day was yesterday.”

“Don’t push your luck, Y/N. I can kick you out at any time.” Steve deadpans.

———————————————————

“I know you’re closing soon…” You fling open the door to the diner, walking inside. “And there’s literally no one here… but I just need a single cup of coffee, preferably with alcohol in it.” You give Steve a pleading look, perching on a stool at the counter. “I’ll even pay extra if I have to.”

“Yeah right, you never have to pay for coffee, you know that.” Steve’s back is turned to you as he pours you a cup. “What’s the reasoning for a cup this late?”

You sigh, folding your arms over the counter. “A date from hell.”

Steve’s grip on the coffee cup tightens, his knuckles white as he hands it to you. “Elaborate?”

You blow a huff of air out through your lips, holding the coffee cup up to your mouth. “Men are just the worst. I mean, not you, obviously. But the men I date are the worst, at least. This one, not triple, but quadruple, booked himself for a date. So I’m sitting in the restaurant, having an okay time and then three other girls show up for the same date.”

Steve moves to wipe down the counter, glancing at you. “Wow.”

You nod, watching him. “That was my reaction too.” You sigh, setting the coffee cup down. “What about you? What’s the dating life of Steve Harrington like these days?”

Steve scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Non-existent.”

“Oh come on!” You frown in shock. “You had a new date every day in high school, I’m sure there’s still lots of girls beating down your door for a date.”

He shakes his head, pausing in his cleaning. “Not since we graduated. Went on a number of failed dates before giving up. Besides, I’ve got a business to run.”

You roll your eyes, looking at him. “Running a business should not stop you from dating. What are you looking for these days? I’m sure I could find someone to set you up with, I’m quite the matchmaker these days.”

“That won’t be necessary, I promise.” Steve grimaces, going back to cleaning.

—————————————————————-

“Alright, Harrington! I’ve got the perfect girl for you.” You shout, barging into the diner and marching up to the counter.

“Hello to you too, Y/N.” Dustin chuckles.

“Shush, Henderson.” You huff. “I’m on a mission.”

“I told you not to set me up.” Steve grunts, taking plates to a couple tables.

“I know but I never do what you tell me to do.” You follow after him, standing close. “I found the perfect girl, I swear. She works with me at the inn and I think you’ll really like her.”

“I doubt it.” Steve moves away from you, going back behind the counter. “I don’t really date anymore.”

“That’s cause he likes-!” Max starts to say, turning to look at you.

“Shut it, Mayfield.” Steve grunts, shoving another plate of pie in front of her.

“You like someone?!?” You gasp, leaning up against the counter to look at him. “Tell me!”

“No way.” Steve frowns. “You don’t know me like that yet.”

“Steve, I have been coming here everyday for the last five years, I think I’m qualified to know you like that.” You look at him, doing your best to give him a pleading look.

“Absolutely not.” Steve grunts.

————————————————————

You sigh, lifting the phone to your ear with a shaky hand.

“Hello?” Steve’s gruff voice travels through the speaker.

“Steve?” Your voice comes out small and shaky.

“Y/N?” You can almost hear Steve’s frown through the phone. “It’s late, why are you calling?”

“I… um… I was on my way home from a date and my car broke down so now I’m stuck.” You sigh, pulling your coat tighter around you as you shiver. “Can you come get me?”

“Yeah.” You can hear Steve getting up and moving around his apartment, opening and closing drawers. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“I’m sorry for waking you up.” You whisper. “I didn’t really know who else to call.”

“Hey…” Steve’s voice is soothing, softer than you’ve ever heard it. “I’m glad you called me, I’ll always come get you when you need me.”

————————————————————-

“Oh thank god!” You practically sob when you see the lights from Steve’s car, hurrying over to his window.

Steve carefully climbs out of his car, looking at you. “You okay?”

“Just cold.” You nod, shivering.

He nods, gently placing his hand on your lower back. “Get in the car.” He softly instructs, guiding you to the passenger door. “I’ll call a tow truck for your car in the morning.”

“Thank you, Steve.” You whisper, carefully opening the door.

Steve nods, giving you a small smile. “Don’t have to thank me.” He gently taps the passenger door, turning to walk back around to the driver side.

You gently grab his wrist, pulling him back. “Steve.”

He pauses, looking at you. His hair falls in his face without his usual baseball hat, the strands curling at the ends. “Yeah?” He whispers.

“Thank you.” You smile, leaning up to press your lips to his.

Steve’s hands quickly come up, cupping your cheeks as he pulls you into him.

You pull back after a moment, holding onto the car door between you and Steve. “Any chance I could get a cup of coffee and a night at your place?”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head. “You can get anything you want, if you keep kissing me like that.”

Tag list: 

@wayfaring----stranger​ @themarvelousbee​ @efvyqrs @10minutesofscreentime​ @allie-mcginn​ @short-potato​ @wh0re4harrington​ @jinxed-jk @byebyebikinisss​ @hellfirebabes @rainbows-dreams​ @vingtetunmars​ @buckysmainhxe​ @tenkomybeloved @whatisitliketobeinlove @mirkwoodshewolf​ @nope-thanks​ @harrys-tittie​ @fandomxreaders @rosie-posie08

[blurredout10]

This Is Not A Date

Upgraded Connor (RK900) | Nines/ Reader fanfic

Rating: Mature

Wordcount: 5560

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Intimacy, emotionally curious nines, groping, smut, p in v sex, rough, kinda soft kinda not lil boi

Link to AO3 here or continue below cut:

You envied him, really.

Holding down a forefinger, the imprint fogging your phone screen, the victim of your poking quite literally quivered under your fingertips; a damn bloody dating app. Its cornered ‘x’ be the only good idea it gave you since its offered romantic prospects surely weren’t.  

It shakes a violent plead of mercy, like the castle clown prancing joyously, a jingle bell on its neck collar shaking its head desperate no’s where you snapped two fingers for its forthcoming executions. Disappointing. As per usual.  

But punishing the joker meant nothing if its replacement came from the same circus. You downloaded another app, pinky peach hearts pictured on a mobile symbol, your expectations had sunk passed the depths of hell.  

You were no less given the attention, a text ping except for a joker's bell. Despite Detroit’s ever-growing gene pool with the doubling population of both humans and androids, your huddle of situationships barely satisfied you, lacking a spark you so craved. Matches appeased your eyes, descriptions void of icky pick-up lines, but with every other text you were sent, something scrunched up your face worse than the last.   

“Why are people so boring?” you vented to the brioche-scented air, very much aware that fine-tuned android ears had spaced out. You’d grown to suffer alone.  

He didn’t have to worry about bearing the weight of carried conversations, he was perfect. Bloody hell looked it too.  

Nines envied you equally, but for the opposite reasons.  

There hadn’t been a day's rest of his HUD, notifications running haywire like sugar-induced children running laps in a playground. But even little humans collapsed in exhaustion — you did a lot of that — and energy was spent, Nines’ string of leeching matches never tired. 

“How tall are you?”  

“Glad we matched! My place or yours?”  

“How big did they make you?”  

“Boring indeed,” silencing the utter mess of thirsty texts, he turned his attention back onto you, a croissant half-stuffed in a stun where you hadn’t expected an answer. Flakes stuck to your lip as you chewed, fluttering eyelashes moaning for you at the fill of French delectables. Your reactions amused him. People were boring, indeed.

You, however, were quite interesting.   

Many months of a developed friendship had the both of you puzzlingly closer. Intending to better work efficiency, Nines fed into your friendly advances, but he hadn’t expected to actually enjoy your company. You two had clicked like polar forces, self-fashioned laws of physics in your own little world together.   

Nines, surprisingly, was a pretty handsome wall to talk to. You enjoyed every little teenage-like whisper of gossip you shared, to which the android’s sharp ears picked up on the latest in the DPD. You’d grown accustomed to his partially stiff persona as he did to your free-spirited one. The moon to your sun, and he surely brightened in your gifted happiness. Kindred souls hand-in-hand, shoulder-to-shoulder, you were there for him, and he was there for you.  

Nines scoffed at deleting another chat thread with a persistent match mate.  

It started as a joke. ‘I can get more bitches than you,’ though you knew you were speaking out of your ass. You did not, dare you say could not get more bitches than a man who mastered being a man, despite being made plastic and steel.   

Eyes blue like arctic winds, soft but intimidatingly focused in burning through flesh, his face sculpted unfairly to turn heads his way. Broad shoulders and a narrow waist that looked good in anything, even you could admit that. You were no stranger to getting asked about his romantic status.   

The sheer size of him shifted uncomfortably in the little bakery’s equally little seats, shoulders swallowing the back of his chair as if his steel spine served a replacement. Discomfort, albeit making him stir again to lean forward with a frustrating twitch of brows, was still foreign to him; a bitterness that squirmed deep in his chassis. It had taken a while to identify and label the feeling.   

Experience was the tutor in the study of emotional understanding. Experience was his guide to an emotionally coloured world and discomfort was by far the dullest, sluggish and unattractive hue he’d come across.  

Nines heard an audible moan deep from your chest, satisfaction making you lick buttered fingers clean. Your palate cleansed except for pastry bits on your plate, following a trail to your lap, above your chest and still on your bottom lip. You, however, were that bit of colour that sagged his shoulders, the bit of colour that made him agree to silently accompany your weekly brunch ravishment.   

His chest shook in a chuckle at seeing you no less a mammal in its habitat, wild and careless, waving away thrown looks at your poor table etiquettes. Hair frenzied in a mess, your posture slouched as if you owned the ground around you, you had a flair of contentment with everything you did. Interesting human, indeed.   

“I wasn’t aware wearing your afternoon brunch was socially acceptable,” he quipped and your eyes widened, patting hands rubbing away crumbs that doubled his laughter. Croissant bits projectile in his direction, ultimately landing on the table and his lap. 

Your phone announced itself, a text ping waking up your screen with the surprising icon of a newly downloaded dating app. Flat on the table, Nines perked in out of curiosity. Your spread grin was better at drawing his attention.   

It could only mean one thing.  

“I’ve got a date on Friday.”  

-.—.-  

It just happened.   

Somehow in some weirdly fated way, you and Nines had your dates aligned. When you’d dress up for a dinner evening, he’d be suited up for one couple of roads down. The forgotten competition falling into a routine of complimenting each other’s outfits, you pointlessly fixing his collar and escorting either into another’s hands.   

As expected, you’d gasp at the sight of his fitted dress shirt, threaded buttons pulled taunt to the rise and fall of his chest. Bigger biceps smoothed into the arms of his blazer, an icy pair of eyes that’d drop anyone to their knees; you watched appreciatively, blessing your eyes with what his dates would be so lucky to sit across.   

Dang, he looked good. Who needed dinner if desert sat inches away?  

And he’d eye you similarly, following the curves and dips of your dresses, a taunting hug of fabric an extension of your skin leaving little to the imagination, not that he had any. Loose silk that hung low, embraced your thighs just right, it was enough to have you smiling at your reflection. You liked to look like this, beautifully sexy, earning heart eyes from victims you’d never contact again.   

Nines was effortlessly attractive, but you sure believed you were too, and confidence was already half the charm. There was a reason your dating race lingered neck-and-neck, people wanted him and people wanted you.  

Still, you didn’t understand why serial dating was so damn hard.   

Nines excused his admiring as a friendly reciprocal to yours and then you interlinked arms, trotting in pretty shoes to leave some date awestruck.   

Struck, definitely, so much so they didn’t show.   

“Fucking flunked on me,” all of your hours getting ready wasted for nothing. A dangling table light held you in spotlight, the universe laughing at your misery. The waiter dared to make a brief visit, scurrying away when you shot daggers, Phone glued to your ear, you lined a fork with distracted fingers, “I went through all that effort, for what?”  

“He dodged a bullet,” Nines teased, a smirk leaking into your speakers. You groaned annoyingly, a tad bit hurt though you’d never mention it. Nines only chuckled, “are you not hungry?”  

“Of course, I am,” your volume had diners eavesdropping, you lowered it, “but I’m not gonna sit here and eat alone like some… loner .”  

An elderly woman leaned into your line of sight, doing little to mask her judgement.  

“It’s embarrassing,” you sighed, straightening up subconsciously. Nines remained silent, a little something nagged you, “tell me you have better luck than me.”   

He did. Unlike you, Nines was glad his date didn’t show.   

“Unfortunately, detective, I have been cancelled on too.”  

“No. Way.”  

So, obviously, the next step pretty much carved itself out. You were both in need of a nice dinner, dressed to impress, and without your respective dates. Nines took no longer than necessary to join you, filling in the void of an empty seat as you did for him.   

This happened again, from your silk dress to a casual getup, and again, from fancy dining to amusement parks. From black tie gallery visits to turtleneck picnic dates. You found it harder to believe Nines was getting cancelled on when he kept miraculously showing up.   

It wasn’t a date, even if it always looked like it and you’d get ready as such. Painted lips smiled at him rather than some other guy, and neither of you was complaining about it.   

Upon reaching the front of the queue to an ice cream cart, did someone first state the obvious.   

“Here’s one for you and a drink for your partner.”  

You stilled, “oh, we’re not- he’s not-"  

“Thank you,” Nines took your waffle cone, giving it a tasteful lick before handing it to you. He walked away before you could protest.   

“What was that?” You fell behind his longer strides struggling, Nines always found it amusing.   

“What was what?” Pale flickers of his eyes were a tell of his naivety, “are we not partners?”   

Work ones, sure. “Pretty sure she was calling you my date.”   

For his advanced prototype kinks, he hadn’t preconstructed that theory. It was his turn to freeze, the ice of his irises solidifying the rest of his body, the only tell that he hadn’t fallen stasis being an amber spin on his temple. His abrupt halt had you bumping into his back with a grunt.   

Though your complaints died into laughter at seeing him so… off guard.   

“It’s not so bad,” you nudged him, elbow meeting his midriff, its proximity to his thirium pump regulator pulled a heavy huff through his voice. You winked, “you’d be lucky to score with me.”  

Park attendees walked in their chatter, dogs let off their leashes, rolling in the glass with both furry flesh and synthetic plastic alike. Families shared inside jokes, children playfully screaming on the lake’s perimeter. Information coded everywhere in his scans, the broken grid of his deviancy reminding him of his freedom.

But he grew overwhelmed around you.

The past few mutual flunks hadn’t exactly been… mutual. The moment you’d text him your date was boring, or the guy left you hanging again, he’d be the one to disappear mid-mingling and scurry away to accompany you. Surely, that’s what it meant to be a good friend, right?  

He wasn’t looking to replace your flings. He just merely wanted to be there for you. Be a light of colour as you had been for him so many times before.   

Nines blinked erratically, warning ambers giving him away.   

“Jeez, I’m not that bad,” you joked but he caught wrinkled brows of concern, following another lighter playful nudge on his arm. The contact teetered on the edge of overwhelming his processors.  

Neither of you talked about it.  

On came another Friday evening, a ping reminding you of a ‘Tomas’ looking forward to seeing you. Your dressing table mirror applauded the artistry of makeup whilst you merrily shoed up, throwing a text back via that dating app 2.0.  

“I’m so sorry! Can we reschedule?”  

“No show again,” you sighed, lying out of your ass, “how’s that android with the green hair doing for you?” 

“I’m afraid she does not feel interested anymore,” also a lie, Nines had pretty much blocked the persistent woman.  

Getting comfortable in the back row of your local cinema, which was supposed to be Nines escapade for the day, he passed you a popcorn bag, one he’d already bought for you. Lights dimmed at the title screen, Nines sneaked a glance at you, silently admiring the palette of your makeup. Nines liked it when you played with pigments, orange and purples finely painted on eyelids, bringing out the colour of your eyes. It pleasantly stimulated him.  

“What?” Curving in a half-smile, you caught his ogling.   

“You look lovely, detective,” it was pretty much routine at this point, to compliment you. Though this time, the air hung heavier, the smile never making it to his lips, his thirium pump straining for a beat when your vitals jolted the slightest.

He said it so sincerely; why did he sound so different? Your retort wasn’t given voice, a prickle of shivers meeting your extremities in a blush, you were glad the darkness covered for you.  

You swallowed down. He cleared his throat. The movie went on. But the heat of your body, the subconscious leaning on his arm, close enough he could decode the product in your hair, the movie wasn’t plenty distraction.   

And as if rA9 evilly taunted him, a couple cornered in the cinema audibly moaned, latched onto each like horny teenagers. You bobbed your brows at him, ‘kids these days’, but your skin grew hotter, ultimately arising a glitch or two in his system.  

“The movie was great,” you gulped a smile when he walked you home, kicking lone rocks, eyes weighed to the pavement, “I guess, I’ll- I’ll see you.”  

“Yes-,” he spoke too quickly, nodding, “I wish you a good night, detective.”  

You blinked, “you too. Goodnight to you too.”  

“Thank you.” His feet shuffled, “I shall go now.”  

“Get home safe, alright? Goodnight, Nines.”  

“Take care, detective.”  

Awkward couldn’t even begin to describe it.  

-.—.-  

The competition was long gone, dating threads snipped weeks ago when you decided to delete the apps once and for all. Nines had pulled from the single scene even before you did, gulping down excuses as to why he decided to bail on all his prospects.   

“No, we’re friends,” you’d say. Friends that helped each other down a couple drinks. Friends that slow-danced at New Jericho’s fancy dress party, to which Connor had invited you both. Friends that publicly teased each other with a flutter of eyelashes and hot heavy breaths.  

“Since when were you two dating?”   

“This is not a date!”  

Said you at a party where Nines was your plus one, glued to your side like your extension.   

It was getting ridiculous.  

Eventually, neither of you spoke about seeing other people, just assuming the other would turn up. On paper, and even in person, you both looked pretty stupid in denial.   

But one night, clinking afters with your department crew, did the dusted line between friendship and something more sharpen, something that made sense in the entanglement of your not-dates with Nines.  

Officer Wesley was clear in the intention to woo you and have you in bed, playfully raking his gaze and hissing out a compliment. He leaned in closer, elbow atop the bar front with a daring smile. Admittedly, you missed the thrill of being a tease, slipping your tongue out to wrap around the straw but not enough to give him a show. Wesley caught on your game, and for the officer he was, he’d happily play cat and mouse.   

But this time, things felt different and flirting with the dirty-blonde man felt wrong. Flirting with anyone felt wrong. And you couldn’t understand why.  

You flickered in the RK900’s direction, only to find him already watching Wesley talk you up at the bar. A heartbeat thumped particularly loudly when he held your eye contact, leaning back in his booth whilst tonguing his straw similarly to how you had done it.   

Fucking hell.  

“So, how about that drink?” The officer reminded, thumbing at the display of bottles behind the counter.   

Holy shit. You didn’t want to be like every other victim to the reeling of those darkened blue eyes, you weren’t like that.   

With a double take, you caught that damn triumph smirk on his face, as if he could see exactly what that tongue did to you, being on the receiving end of it. Fuck him, you wouldn’t let him win.   

Nines’ smirk faded as soon as you gave the officer your undivided attention, edging your barstool. Your touch crawling up his arm, soft lips leaning closer to his ear and speaking just out of earshot. It had the android inexplicably grinding teeth.  

That was another thing about deviancy it had taken him a while to calibrate; urges. The urge to partake in conversation, or flee from it even, the urge to tease you to the point your cheeks were coloured tomatoes. It was this urge that had an added darkness looming over you, two icicles boring into the back of your head.   

Sixth sense tied a thick knot in your throat.  

Wesley cleared his throat too, sitting up straighter, “Nines, you ah - you good?”  

The android didn’t look it, stalking over your shoulder like he’d no less bite into your neck and suck you dry in one go. But if this officer be a conquest you wanted to take to home, Nines would personally help you put on a show.   

That’s what good friends did, right? Help each other?  

He slitted fingers between chunks of your hair, pulling your head aside abruptly, the contact freezing you in place. You gasped as he lowered his mouth, speaking to the shell of your ear but loud enough for Wesley to pick it up, “we know you want to fuck our little detective, officer.”  

Nines dragged his lips against heated skin, tongue peeking out to taste you. And just as he expected, his HUD blasted with paintballs of colour at the encoding, his pump fluttering when your lashes did so.   

His other hand dragged up your waist, curving at the shape of your breasts and ghosting over your nipples. Lips replaced his tongue, and a trail of android saliva burned into your skin in his venturing down your throat. You took a staggering breath, forcing your eyes open, not realising they had closed.

“Your advances could use some work,” Nines spoke to Wesley, the man’s larynx bobbing at the sight of you melting.   

Large palms curled inwards on your thighs, pushing them apart on display and kneading flesh through fabric. You held back a moan, biting down on the feeling of leaking arousal. God, when did Nines feel so good?  

Nines smiled against your skin, lipsing down the expanse of your neck whilst you pretty much leaned to give him more room. His tongue prodded and lined the length of your passing artery, tasting your fastening pulse, you shivered under him. Even if rendered speechless, your body did the talking.   

Wesley couldn’t decide where to look, Nines prompted further.  

“You just need a little push.”  

Fingers roughly pressing between your legs, one push of a massage that forced a moan deep from your chest, and Nines retreated, taking a large step back. Wesley looked half as shocked as you did, your jaw clenching in the realisation of what just happened.   

Nines leaned carelessly on the bar, unbothered in leaving you aroused. That was his intention, no? To give you and your prospect a push in getting things going? Which is why he blinked confusingly when you shoved him, a frustrated scowl leaving your lips before you stomped out. Wesley sat glued to his chair, still recovering. Nines ran out after you.  

Light patters of rain met his scalp upon catching up to you. You groaned when he called your name.   

“You can’t just- do that!” You yelled, frustration grating your throat, showers dampening your hair, “you can’t just-“  

The android remained still, attempting to understand you with a series of yellow circles.   

“You can’t just touch me like that, Nines!”  

But his touch had arisen positive responses, his brow furrowed in confusion, “why?”  

You stumbled, eyes widening, “why- why? What do you mean why? You can’t go around touching up random people! It’s- it’s wrong!”  

You weren’t random people. Nines processed for a moment, rain splatters snugging the fabric of his sweater against his skin. His scanners quickly caught your gulp, “did you not enjoy it, detective? I assumed he needed a little push.”  

You blinked again, dumbfounded. Who gave him the right to put on a show for Wesley? What on Earth goes on in that metal brain of his?   

“That’s not- I wasn’t going to go home with him,” water collected on your lashes, “I don’t want him.” 

A wave of understanding struck him. He had misunderstood you and his ‘help’ stood void of reason. And recalling the way he stalked over you, no reconstruction software helped in justifying what he did, because the urge didn’t do it for you, it did it for himself.  

The warmth of your chest invited him, kisses digging into the valley of your neck whilst he continually decoded the electrolyte contents of your sweat. It quite literally fuelled him.   

Deviancy was a strange thing, though the only explanation for why Nines wanted to taste you again; he wanted to hear you breathe out his name, shaking with need, begging for more.

You shivered under water pellets, the silence weighing down each of your breaths. And hidden in the muddle of conflicted feelings, you craved Nines to touch you again, give you a warmth in frozen winds. Neither of you moved, and the ghostly burn of his lips longed for his return.   

“I’m going home,” you muttered, straying away from his scanners.  

He wasn’t your date. You weren’t together. But hell, if the assumptions of such didn’t make your heart flutter, you didn’t know what will. Besides, Nines was the embodiment of allurement, poised and perfect, what would he do with the likes of you?  

Arms wrapped around to wade off the cold, teeth chattering, you blinked a few before turning away to walk to your car, the gusts of wind trying to push you back. Nines wouldn’t see you as anything more than a friend, you were sure of it, but your disappointment was cut short when a firm grip latched around your wrist.   

He twisted you, swallowing a squeak with a collided kiss. The colours returned, blinding him tenfold in pretty pinks and bubbly yellows, prompting him to press a hand firmly on the base of your skull and keep you there.   

The tension in your spine remained, but you quickly came out of shock and fervently returned the moulding of your lips with his, hand trailing the flex of his pecs, damp fabric squelching under fingertips.  

The hand on your wrist migrated to the small of your back, pulling you closer. His tongue poked into your mouth, making you gasp at the added anatomy whilst he curled around ravishingly, wet sounds amidst the ambient splashes of rain. Both of your minds dazed, Nines blinking ambers at devouring you and you suddenly patting his chest with a light push.   

He pulled back to let you breathe but returned mid-inhale, this time eagerly tilting his head to see what better fit. He made out the whisper of his name between kisses, responding with an approving groan.   

“Nines,” you tried again, water running streams down your back as it poured heavier. You wondered if hypothermia was worth it, “nines, wait-”  

He kissed you passionately, hoping to swallow the colour of lips and paint his innards as such. Though he eased, slowing to a stop and you panted onto his jaw. He took in the sight, mimicked tears streaking your blue eyeshadow and mascara under the rain, he fought the urge to prod his tongue in your mouth again.   

He awaited your rejection. As you loved to remind everyone, Nines wasn’t your date, always the friend accompanying you instead. He’d be lying if he said watching you with other people didn’t bother him.   

But you didn’t scold him, nor push him away in a fury. You smiled, a toothy grin that you failed to bite away and broke into a soft giggle, “we’re in the middle of a street,” you shook your head, leaning a fraction of an inch closer, “and I’m soaking wet.”  

Nines pulled into a smirk, “you’re welcome.”  

There, the cherry rouge of your cheeks, that was another part of you he wished to consume wholly, preferably with his tongue.  

Everyone else felt wrong, but Nines felt right.  

And upon passing the threshold of your home, Nines proved the feeling to be mutual by meeting your lips again, vocally praising you when your arms wrapped around his neck. Kicking the door shut, his biceps wrapped you tight, squeezing the air in your lungs and suctioning it straight into his chassis.   

He stepped you back, tongue dancing with yours, his fingers tucking away wet hair from your face. You gasped as you hit the wall behind you, his hip bucking into yours with a noticeable erection.  

Hands rummaged under clothing, your damp shirt peeling off your skin with a gust of cold, leaving your hairs on end. The foyer’s air, however, grew dense when Nines hungrily eyed your body. Calm blue of his LED blinked an amber and he suddenly threw you over his shoulder.   

“Nines!” You shrieked, your protests dying as he caressed the back of your thigh. He carried you to your bedroom, bouncing you onto the mattress with a look that kept you frozen. You gulped in anticipation as he undressed whilst you were only stripped of your shirt.  

“Your body temperature has dropped to lower ranges,” he knelt between your legs, clasping your wrists immobile and kissing you into the sheets. You arched into him, gasping at the skin-to-synthetic contact. His lips ghosted to tongue at your jaw, a wet pad of the plastic muscle running up just below your ear.  

“I must heat you.”  

“You’re as cold as they come,” he pulled back to meet your remark, a teasing glimmer in your eyes. Nines kissed your collar, the sound of compensatory breaths prompting him to lower to your bra, unclasp it and swirl a perked nipple with his tongue.   

The moon slitted through blinds, painting him a blue that matched his temple. A warm breath breezed over your lower abdomen, fingers gripping the hem of your pants and shimmying them off. Wet skin made you sensitive to his touch, a tingling working overtime where he wrapped around your thighs, his lips hovering over your remaining underwear.   

Of all your dating partners, specifically those you had slept with, only a handful of them had been androids, and it never made it passed foreplay. Whether that be inexperience or hesitance, flings would be done after a touch-up.  

Nines had his fair share of sexual partners, learning what got people going and what fed his desires. But your unfiltered storytelling exposed you of kinks and likes that a curious android like Nines couldn’t help fantasising about.   

What would you look like under him? How did you sound when forced a rolling orgasm to ripple through you?   

A devilish smile made his lips before he took your undergarments in his teeth, lust-blown eyes watching how you shivered at the sight of him dragging them off. Wrapping around you twice as tight, he gave you a flat lick from slit to bud, pushing down your hips to stop your squirming. He was glad to find you were, indeed, soaking wet.  

Having him right there, head of brown bobbing up and down, experimentally sliding his tongue in places you didn’t know existed, the sight of him had you biting your lower lip, trying to chew down an embarrassing whimper.   

His tongue made circles around your clit, flickering left and right at a gasping pace. Your hands found his scalp, splitting his hair into sizeable chunks, holding on like the handlebars of a rollercoaster; and the way he looked at you, pupils swallowing icy blue into a predatory black, a shiver ran down your back, clenching your thighs against his biceps.  

Wet muscle prodded into your slit, eliciting a moan. You almost squealed when his thumb continued to press patterns on your clit whilst tongue-fucking you into the sheets. You pulled at the root of soft, chestnut hair, and he only picked up the pace, having you pant in line with his pace.   

You tipped over unexpectedly, crying out your orgasm with an abrupt push against his mouth. Nines crawled above you again, making you taste yourself with a deep, sharp kiss.  

To see you like this, body quivering for his touch, an undertone of pink blushing your skin, his field of vision saturated in the colour of you. He wanted more. He wanted to see you come undone again, paint you an orgasm that would stain him for the rest of his android existence. Maybe he understood why Markus created art so often, maybe abstract understanding was closer than he realised. Nines wished for nothing more than to place you high on a pedestal or pin you against the wall for reasons other than framing you a painting. 

“Every date you were bailed on,” he whispered confessions on your skin, gently lipsing your shoulders, “I cancelled mine to join you.” You stiffened under him, muscles taunt under his lips, he clarified, “I’d much rather have you than anyone else, detective.”  

Of course. You were right. Nines wouldn’t get bailed on that often, it was impossible. You mustered up enough air to speak, “if we’re confessing, I deleted the apps weeks ago.”  

Like the robot he was, he halted mid-kiss, a shifting yellow giving him away as it did back at the ice cream cart. You were both lying to each other, simply to be in each other’s company.  

You added with a tease, “you don’t have to lie to score a date with me, Nines.”  

“I thought I was ‘not a date’,” blue-greys accused you.  

“Yeah, I guess we’re both pretty stupid then.”  

Your smile brightened the room, despite moonlight barely filtering through your windows, corners bordering darkness. Nines mirrored the grin, dipping down to kiss you with a newfound heaviness in his chest. He pulled off his briefs, lips never leaving yours, and lined himself between spread thighs.  

Your breath hitched at the stretch of muscle when he pushed in, barely giving you time to adjust and pushing in further until he bottomed out. Or at least you hoped he did, you weren’t sure if you could take any more of him.   

Breathing in each other's pants, he rocked slowly, fingers bruising your wrists, lips bruising your neck. Nines grew desperate to see you in the colour of his lips, turning purples in broken blood vessels. His pelvis smacked again your clitoris, grinding an added stimulation, your head rolling back, moaning his name right into his ear.  

Setting a brutal pace abruptly, swallowing squeals in messy lip-locking, Nines stretched you to the teetering line of pain and pleasure, the head of his cock driving into a sensitive spot that jolted your nerves in bliss. He rutted like an animal, resting his forehead on yours, fucking you with a harsh snap of hips, your legs could only hold on for dear life. He loved to see the dip between your brows, raccoon-faced from messy makeup. It made him twitch inside of you.

“You feel so good. You look perfect,” he praised, bringing two fingers under your jaw to prompt eye contact. You met his darkened expression, his rouge curl tickling your forehead. Thumb shaping your lips, he pushed in knuckle-deep, pressing down on your tongue. You gave an instinctive suck as he growled, “you’re mine.”  

Every thrust brought about a new sound from your throat, and with your mouth forced half-open, there was little you could do to stop them. Your eyes rolled back, toes curling at a rolling orgasm, the sounds of sex driving you to buck into him as he did you.   

You were desperate, needy, and what was left of Nines’ restraint was snapped. He fucked hard, muttering profanities as he edged closer, seeing you at the mercy of everything he gave you flipping him inside out.   

He wanted to see you like this, again and again. His thumb subconsciously retracted his simulated skin, a ripple in your mouth that diverted your attention, and a glowing blue lit up from below the whites of his hand. An interface, the both of you realised. You moaned at his display of intimacy. 

Nines staggered into you, losing his rhythm. 

You looked good in blue.   

“Come for me.”  

And with sharp thrusts, you arched into a mind-blowing orgasm, limbs shaking as he continually dragged in and out to chase his own. He spilled with a throb, panting at the chance of painting you inwards as you did to him, and watched the slowed pumping of where the both of you connected.   

Though upon spotting a trail of blueish white leaking out of you, his hips bucked involuntarily, eager for another round.   

You moaned in euphoria, and that was enough for him to keep going.

It was no surprise Nines adored the sight of you decorated in his markings, growling in every painted colour you presented. So, the next steps carved themselves, and you had a great idea for your next date.   

Painting.

[noonaishere]

Online/Offline [C.S] - seventy-six | favorite customer

“Anyway,” Yeosang continued, “we have a late start today because of a standardized test, so I thought I’d come in and see you at work for once.”

“You actually admit, you came to see me, the bestie?”

He grimaced at you.

You smiled a shit-eating grin.

“I didn’t say ‘bestie’.”

“You didn’t have to, it was implied. What a sweet boy you are.”

He rolled his eyes.

The bell on the door jingled but Wooyoung’s arrival to the café area - bringing more rolls for the pastry case - made both you and Yeosang turn, and he put the rolls away, pointed at Yeosang and said: “Stupid.”

You snorted a laugh, Yeosang rolled his eyes.

Wooyoung picked up the tray and made his way back to the kitchen, stopping to laugh and point at him again: “Stupid.”

Yeosang sighed. 

“I didn’t know this place was so hostile to customers.”

You and Yeosang turned to find Mingi and Dei standing in line.

“Hello my first and favorite customer, how are you?” You said.

Mingi smiled. “Not bad, yourself? Hi Yeosang.”

Yeosang nodded a hello but turned to you and narrowed his eyes.

“Not bad-- what?”

“I’m not your favorite customer?” He asked.

You made a mocking face at him. “I called you my bestie and you said no, now you want to be my favorite customer? Wooyoung had the right idea.”

Dei tapped Yeosang on the shoulder and he turned to her.

“Should I call the school and tell them you’re playing hooky?”

Yeosang laughed softly. “I’m not helping with the tests until noon.”

She nodded, knowingly.

“How do you know each other? If I’m allowed to ask.” You said.

“My daughter and Mingi’s nephew are in Yeosang’s class.”

“Ohh,” you nodded. “I’d make a joke about trusting him with your kid, but I’ve known him forever, he’s a good boy.”

“How do you two know each other?”

You put your hand on Yeosang’s which was leaning on the counter. When he tried to pull it away in surprise, you held onto it and stared into his eyes. 

“Because I am the bestie.”

He stared at you in terror for a moment before shifting to annoyance. “Say I’m your favorite customer.”

“Act like you’re my favorite customer.”

He narrowed his eyes at you again before turning to Mingi and Dei. “Y/n is my best friend from when we were little and she’s also my favorite barista who makes all my drinks exactly the way I like them.”

You smiled and were about to thank him, until you realized that he had crossed his fingers on the hand you weren’t holding. You pulled his hand up off the table and bit him.

“Ah!”

“I saw you cross your fingers, you little--”

San appeared at the door in an instant, “You’re at work!” And ducked back into the kitchen.

You stared at Yeosang as he rubbed his hand, “--You… poop.”

Dei started laughing and Mingi stifled a laugh.

Yeosang rubbed his hand. “You’re not my bestie and I hate the way you make drinks.”

“I literally am the best drink maker and I make all the drinks amazing and they’re all good, right Mingi?” You looked at him.

“Yes.”

You turned back to Yeosang. “See?”

He glared at you. You were all silent for a second as San came up to put a new pastry price into the register.

“You put too much boba in the boba tea when you make it.” Yeosang said.

You gasped loudly. 

San looked up and made like he was going to jump over the counter. “Take that back, man.”

You grabbed his arm with a laugh as he curled his hand into a fist.

“What the hell?” Yeosang gasped.

“Take that back, she makes perfect boba tea.” Though he was trying to appear threatening, he was also trying to stop himself from laughing; instead, he came off a bit crazed-looking.

You kept laughing as you grabbed his shoulder too, though he wasn’t really fighting against you. 

Yeosang picked up his drink to leave. “You’re both weird.” He walked out the door.

“I wonder if he’ll think I’m weird the next time he locks himself out of his apartment,” you laughed. 

Mingi and Dei both chuckled. San laughed and ruffled your hair before walking back into the kitchen.

“Alright, what do you two need?”

“San?” You called over your shoulder in the direction of the kitchen as you helped a customer. “San?”

He peeked his head around the doorframe. “I’m still helping Wooyoung, what’s up?”

“Can you get me some more milk? We’re almost out of soy and regular.”

“Yep!” 

He disappeared around the corner and returned with two cartons and put them in the fridge. As you went to turn back to face the front counter, you felt a hand on your shoulder, letting you know he was behind you. 

“Do you want help?” He asked as he walked to your other side and you turned to hand the customer their drinks.

You scanned the café. There were only two more people in the line and the stalker was nowhere to be seen. “Nah, I think I’m good.”

He nodded, “Let me know if you need anything,” and went back to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Wooyoung came out and put more pastries in the case. After putting them away, he held the tray for a moment and surveyed the café quickly before going back to the kitchen. 

San returned a few minutes later with two more containers as you were finishing up helping the last customer in the line. “Forgot the soy.”

You nodded, suspicious. “Have a nice day,” You said to the customer as they took their order and left. 

San left for the kitchen again. A few minutes later he returned with more filters for the coffee maker.

“San.” 

He looked up. “Huh?”

You spoke quietly. “Are you going in and out of this area trying to see if the stalker is here?”

He looked at you, looked towards the door, and then finished putting the filters away and threw the bag out. “Yeah.”

You nodded.

“One of the ovens is malfunctioning so it’s off, and so Wooyoung really does need help, but I don’t want to leave you up here by yourself in case, like…”

You raised your eyebrows at him, urging him on.

“...If he comes in and you don’t see him with enough time to hide and then we can't hide you before he knows you’re here and then he stays…”

You moved to him quickly and hugged him. 

He seemed startled at first, but his hands came to rest on your back and he patted you gently. “I can’t believe you’re consoling me.”

You chuckled and pulled away. “Was that too much?” You whispered, “You seemed like you needed it.”

He nodded and the two of you stepped out of each other’s personal space. “I did, thank you. But why are you consoling me? I should be consoling you. He might come in today.”

You nodded slowly. “He might… I don’t know, I guess it didn’t occur to me that he was affecting all of you almost as much as he was affecting me.”

“He hasn’t affected us nearly as much.”

“Yeah… but I still want to make you feel better,” you shrugged, “so I hugged you.”

He nodded absent mindedly.

“Plus,” you whispered again, “what are fake girlfriends for?”

He chuckled. “I guess you’re right. Thank you.”

“Try not to feel too bad about me consoling you, okay? This isn’t just you all taking care of me, I have to take care of you all back, you know?”

He looked at you, confused.

“I’m your people, but you’re all my people too. And listen,” you hushed your voice and folded your arms, “if it were legal, I would have dealt with this a long time ago and he’d never bother any of us ever again.”

San stifled a laugh.

“Oh, laws,” you said flippantly with a flick of your wrist.

He smiled.

The bell on the café door jingled, and two new customers walked through.

“You go back to helping Wooyoung and I’ll help the customers, okay? I’ll hide behind the counter if I see him, so just check on me once in a while. You don’t even have to come all the way up here, you can just check from the door.”

He moved to say something but nodded at your suggestion instead. “Yeah, okay.”

You smiled.

You spent the rest of the morning helping customers and occasionally caught a glimpse of either San or Wooyoung peeking out of the kitchen for a moment to check on you. Finally, the late morning lull settled in, so you decided to clean to keep your mind off things.

   previous | main cast | masterlist | next

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@rachs-words • @stayatinykatsy • @dinossaurz​​ • @conwunder​ • @tinyelfperson​ •    

[loki-valeska]

SPM Count Bleck's Army Height Chart.

The fulfillers of the Dark Prognosticus!  This sheet has gone through about 4 revisions because I couldn't settle on a single look for everyone lol But I'm finally satisfied with them!

Some character notes. These are mostly so I can remember them for the individual character bios when I make those:  The Count's eyes still change color based on his health(?), and his "tail" is actually just a cloudy wisp of sorts. It works like the tail wisp of a ghost.  Timpani's butterfly hair clip emotes. It droops when she's sad and perks up when happy, much like how Tippi does in Pixl form.  Nastasia is the only character to not get majorly overhauled. Her glasses also emote like eyes to some extent, just like they do in game.  Mimi "freckles" are eyes. I also drew up every alternate outfit she has in game, but I'll probably make a separate post to show those off.  Dimentio's poncho was designed with wearability in mind. You can see where it would overlap and clip. I imagine the bells on his hat would give off a muted jingling sound as well.  Mr. L is literally just the same. Can't mess with perfection lol O'Chunks' arms still does the floating sections, but it's only when he punches or reaches. His lazy eye is caused by some injury he got while being a general. You can even see the remnants of a scar on his eyebrow. 

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Touch Me (I'm Already Yours)

Summary: Spencer and Reader bake cookies together and learn that they both like to take care of each other.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Touch Me (I’m Already Yours)

It wasn't too say that Spencer thought that his heart was going to explode, it was more of a matter of when it was going to explode. Despite it being a feat that superseded the laws of physics, Spencer was simply waiting for the moment when Y/N's entire kitchen would be splattered with tiny, gross pieces of his heart.

It was inappropriate to think about such vile and graphic things as Y/N glided around her kitchen wearing a dusting of flour on the bridge of her nose. A scene like that deserved nothing but the most pure and wholesome thoughts. Strangely enough, both dealt with matters of the heart.

Literally and figuratively.

"Snowman or ornaments?" Y/N asked, holding up two cookie cutters. "The ornaments seem simple, but we'll want to be neat with the decorations."

"So snowmen?" Spencer suggested, counting the times his heart, made up of muscle, thumped in his chest. He swore Y/N could hear it too. "You love snowmen."

"You remembered?" Y/N gasped, her eyes wide with disbelief. The entire thing, her nose covered in flour, her eyes beaming up at him, the smell of vanilla and cinnamon coming from the over, was too much for Spencer and his tender heart.

"Of course I remembered, Y/N" Spencer said, attempting to hide the way he ducked his eyes from her line of vision.

"Right." Y/N said, sounding some what disappointed with either the situation or with Spencer himself, he wasn't too sure. "Eidetic memory."

"Ah no. It's not that," He paused taking a breath as his mind churred around and around. He needed away to explain his without ruining what they had together. "It's just, I could have the memory of a chimpanzee and still remember every mundane thing about you."

She wiped the flour from her hands, dusting it all over her Christmas themed apron. The Santa bells jingled as she cleaned them off, puncturing the silence with their festive twinkling sound. She smiled, the flour still on her nose and Spencer decided to take that as a good sign.

"Aren't goldfish the ones with bad memories?" Y/N asked, turning to the rolled out dough. She handed Spencer a snowman cookie cutter, silently instructing him to cut our a couple of his own. He followed her lead, watching as Y/N carefully created snowmen-shaped cookies.

"Well actually, that is a rather wide misconception. Goldfish have pretty impressive memories. There are thousands of studies on memory that feature Goldfish as testing subjects. They are quite fascinating as they are tetrachromatic. Tetrachromacy is a condition where a person, or in this case a fish, has four cone types in their retina."

“Hmm,” Y/N remarked, “that’s fascinating, Spencer. I can’t comprehend a color besides the ones we know.”

Spencer smiled, still trying keep his heart in it’s fleshy container. He watched as Y/N took the bench scraper to slide the cookies from the counter to the cookie sheet. The oven beeped, interrupting the silence that wedged itself between them. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but a comfortable one. It was soft and sweet, the sugar cookies that baked to a perfect crisp, yet chewy golden brown in the oven.

“Okay, given the thickness of the cookies, the size, and your oven, I’d venture to guess that the cookies need 8 and a half minutes.”

“See,” Y/N commented, taking the cookie sheet off the counter, “you are good at this. I can’t believe you thought you’d be bad at baking.”

Spencer offered a sheepish smile, knowing well enough that claiming that he was a bad baker was nothing, but a lie. The truth, however, was something that Spencer didn’t want to reveal. He was quite too fond of keeping his heart in his chest.

“I’m the oven they go,” Y/N commented. She opened the door, sliding the tray hot oven. “Oh shit!” She cursed. “Ah, I-I burnt my hand.”

“Run it underwater,” Spencer said, rushing over to Y/N’s side to asses the burn. “Here, let me see it.”

Y/N hissed in pain as she ran her hand under the rushing water. He touched her bare skin, think he was the one who has been burnt.

“Ouch,” Y/N whimpered. “It hurts.”

Spencer rubbed her hand, his brows furrowing as he saw the tip of her finger she burnt. “I know, Y/N.” He whispered to her. “Just keep it under the water. Studies show that running it under cool water for ten minutes and the keeping it out of the water to breathe for another ten is the key to preventing pain.”

Y/N side eyed Spencer sheepishly as she winced through the pain, “well you’re the doctor aren’t you,”

She smiled and Spencer felt that old familiar body ache. The one that threatened to unleash his heart from his chest. The one that would cover this kitchen in heart muscle and tissue and blood and all the gross things that help keep him alive. He was barely breathing, as he held Y/N softer hand in his rougher one. Spencer stood so close he could smell the flour and cinnamon on Y/N. It was like the sweetness was oozing from within her.

“Give it a couple more minutes.” Spencer instructed, his hand still on her wrist. “And then you’re going to sit on the chair while I clean up.”

“But—” Y/N started. She was taken aback by Spencer’s forceful interruption.

“No buts,” Spencer said. “You are going to listen to me. So sit.” He said, shutting the water off with finality.

Slightly disgruntled, Y/N listened to him and sat herself down on the kitchen chairs that faced her small kitchen. She winced at the warm, searing pain of her finger tip. Spencer looked at her with concern, but she waved it off with a simple shrug.

“It’s really fine. I’m being a baby.” She explained, watching as Spencer stared the dishes.

“No, you’re not,” Spencer. “Burns really hurt. There was one case where the unsub rigged the house to blaze up with flames. I burned my side leg. I think that hurt more than when I got shot in my leg.”

“Such a brave hero,” Y/N lamented with sarcasm, “It seems wrong to have someone like you doing my dishes after how hard you work.”

Spencer looked over at Y/N, his expression changing from concern to misunderstanding. “You work hard too, Y/N,” Spencer said, sounding genuine as he spoke, “and you deserve someone who will take care of you when you are hurt.”

“So do you, Spence,” Y/N whispered, not meeting Spencer’s eyes. “And I think I’d like being that person for you.” Spencer let the water run, not caring as the dishes and bowls overflowed with hot, sudsy water.

“Oh,” He said, concentrating on the way his heart tightened in his chest, “well that’s good. I mean, I like when you take care of me. And me too. No that’s not right. I just like taking care of you as well.” Spencer shook his head, his eyes never leaving Y/N’s flour covered face, “What I mean to say is that the feeling…the feeling between us, it’s mutual.”

“That’s good. That’s really good,” Y/N said, smiling as she stood up. She walked over to Spencer, grabbing his hand with her good hand. “I think you are pretty great, Spence.”

“Again,” Spencer started, “the feeling is mutual.” Somehow the thumping in his chest subsided. Instead, Spencer felt warm and safe inside. With just their fingertips touching, Spencer felt every fiber in his being tuned into Y/N’s being. He could hear her breathing, feel the heat from her body against his side, and smell the sweetness from the cookies against her skin.

“That’s good. Because I really want to kiss you, but I don’t want to burn these cookies.”

Taglist

@reidsbookclub @reidslovely @coldbrewat3am @fightingdragonswithwho @hotchandspencearedilfs @sadgirlml @goldentournesol @spencerslibrary @foxy-eva @paperbackprettyboy @reidselle @alexxavicry @justlivinginadaydream @reidsmilf @givemeth @reidslibrarybook @mrs-dr-reid @spencerreidsmommy @spencer-reid-wonderland @radiant-reid

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

*ೃ༄ ready, set, spin! ˚◞♡ ⃗

Pairing: Gwen Stacy x fem!Indian!Reader

Type: Oneshot - Fluff

Word count: 923

Warnings: Use of Y/N, use of nicknames (sweetheart, my love) and lots of culture infodumping but everything’s just fluffy stuff! :D

A/N: Wrote this while waiting for a ballet performance which I’m in to start so not proofread at all :’)

(also shoutout to @hobiebrownismygod for hyping my up tHAT WAS LITERALLY SO SWEET THANK U SO MUCH MY LOVE 💕)

“Gwen? Gwen! What-”

You cut yourself off with a soft grunt as the girl in front of you tackled you into a hug, squeezing you tight against her. You dropped your kathak bag onto the floor to hug her back. “Hi, Y/N. I had some free time and thought I’d come visit you. You just got back from kathak?”

You nodded and squeezed her hand as she pulled away to press a kiss to your lips and look at you, dressed in a ghagra choli and churidars covered from head-to-toe in mirror-like sequins stitched barely inches apart onto the midnight blue fabric.

“You look like a disco ball,” Gwen noted, giving you a smile. “Yeah, I noticed.” You linked pinkies with her, dragging her over to sit beside you on the couch while you caught your breath. “We had to do so many chakkars today, I’m absolutely exhausted.”

“Chakkars? What are- oh, are they those spins? Are you spotting enough?” Gwen pulled your legs over her lap, examining the ghungroo bells tied around your ankles with fascination. You held out your hand to her and she untied the strings of bells for you, dropping it into your palm and starting to massage small circles into your sore calf muscles.

“Yeah, I’m spotting enough. It’s just really tiring, y’know?”

Gwen smoothed down a wrinkle in your ghagra. “Yep, that happens. Same thing with pirouettes.”

“Noooo, pirouettes are so different! They’re all graceful and elegant and your legs are in weird positions and a chakkar is more speed than grace. I bet you can’t do a chakkar,” You grinned at her from across the couch, a friendly challenge in your tone at the last part.

“Oh, you are on. And I bet you can’t do a pirouette.”

“Deal. Prepare to lose, Gwendolyn Maxine Stacy.” You couldn’t help but giggle softly at the death-glare she gave you once you mentioned her full name. Fortunately, you knew her well enough to know you had to squirm out of range so she couldn’t tickle you ruthlessly.

“Okay, pirouettes, right? Is it like…” You placed your left foot a few inches behind your right one, angled out so your ankles were lined up. Gwen winced at how you were mercilessly butchering the fourth position in ballet.

“Shush, I’m trying my best. I’d like to see you try to do a chakkar on your first try.” You gave her a little glare, unable to squash the smile tugging at your mouth.

Gwen stuck her tongue out at you and joined you on the floor, standing a few feet away and joining her heels. “How do I do it again…?”

“Wait, you gotta use the ghungroo!” You grabbed the strings and tied them around her ankles, the bells jingling with every move she made. Gwen scrunched her nose as she looked down at it. “This is so different from ballet. Lemme guess, next you’re going to tell me to not point my toes.”

“Well… yeah, actually. See, you’re catching on already!” You gave her a kiss on the cheek before retaking your place and trying your best to figure out how you had aligned your heels. “Okay, you go first. Do a four-step chakkar. I’ll count tha, thei, thei, thut. On each syllable you move your feet into the turn.”

“Wait, wh-”

“Tha, thei, thei, thut” You watched Gwen fumble her way through the turn. Surprisingly, she was a natural at it, although her technique could be perfected a little. “Whoa, you’re actually really good at this. It took me weeks to learn how to do a chakkar.”

Gwen gave you a big smile and reached out to squeeze your hand in thanks before coming to stand beside you. “Okay, now do a pirouette. I know you can do it, sweetheart. C’mon, feel the fire, reach into your heart to find the answer or whatever those mentors in your serials say.”

You feigned a dramatic gasp. “Don’t insult Bollywood serials, they’re awesome!”

“I never said they weren’t. Now shush and focus on the turn or you might end up on the floor with a twisted ankle.” You angled your gaze at a point on the wall to spot through your turn, then brought your hands to curve and meet a little in front of your belly button. You pushed your back leg off the ground into the turn, but lost your spotting point somewhere along the way and ended up losing your balance.

Gwen lunged to catch you before you could hit the ground, steadying you and bringing you back onto your feet. “Yeah, I think that’s enough for today. Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

“Pani puri,” You immediately suggested. Gwen’s eyes widened and she flushed a little as she remembered an incident that happened when you first tried to teach her to crack open the sphere part of the snack.

“You know I keep breaking those little sphere things,” She complained, giving you puppy eyes in hopes that they’d change your mind. “I spilled the pani part of it all over you last time too, remember? And I don’t wanna ruin your kathak clothes, they’re so pretty.”

“That’s fine, my love. I’ll go change and I’ll teach you how to do it again, properly this time. Besides, pani puri isn’t supposed to be eaten neatly, the whole point of it is that it’s messy and you need to somehow stuff the whole thing in your mouth before it leaks and makes too big of a mess to clean up.”

“Fine, I’ll do it. But only because you asked me to. And I’m going to hold the puri this time.”

I don’t do Kathak and I never have, so pls lmk if anything’s incorrect! <3

Kathak is a type of northern Indian classical dance, with alternate passages of mime and dancing.

A ghagra is a long full skirt, often decorated with embroidery, mirrors, or bells.

A choli is a blouse or a bodice-like upper garment that is commonly cut short leaving the midriff bare (but it’s not always cropped that short). It is usually worn along with a sari or ghagra in the Indian subcontinent.

A ghungroo, also known as ghunghru or ghungur or ghungura, is one of many small metallic bells strung together to form ghungroos, a musical anklet tied to the feet of classical Indian dancers.

Spotting is just a technique used by dancers when they’re spinning as a way to not lose their balance - basically you just focus on a point and every time you spin you have to look at that particular point as quickly as you can and for as long as you can.

[epithet-beloved]

hello!!! flower shop sylvie x GN mundie reader Mayhaps??? Sylvie wanting to do a nice gesture for his friends (cough Molly cough) and decides to get flowers but finds this cute flower shop worker…

(Bonus if they stop by him at the hospital and give him flowers??!!!)

YELLOW ROSES

synopsis… Sylvie pretends to know things about flowers. It goes…..well?

ft. Sylvester "Sylvie" Ashling

tags… flower shop, meet cute, fluff, first meeting, reader knows flower language

word count… 1266

a/n… this is my first time writing the goober I hope I do him justice ✧ 🦄

The first thing Sylvie wanted to do when he got out of the hospital was settle the score.  With Molly, that is.  Revenge against that museum lady would come…..later.

Molly had been quite generous with her get well soon gifts while he was recovering, so it was only natural that he do the same for her.  It had taken a while to squeeze her location out of a reluctant Giovanni, but he was glad to know that his friend was okay. 

Heh…..friend.  It was a nice sounding word.  Now all that’s left is to find out what kind of gifts friends get each other. 

Not that he didn’t know that.  Not at all!  Sylvie’s got a master’s degree, of course he would know something so simple!  He just…..needed to decide what would be appropriate.  Yeah. 

At first, he considered getting a toy, but considering Molly literally lives in a toy store, she might be sick of seeing those……so what else?  A card is a safe bet.  He could draw a little bear on there. She likes those, right?  He’s usually above such childish things like doodling, but Molly’s just a little kid, so he’s sure she’d love that kind of thing. 

Alright, he’d give her a card.  But what else?  People usually put gifts with cards…..a gift, a gift, what’s a safe gift? 

Well, lots of people gave him flowers while he was in the hospital…..having that many bouquets in vases kind of made the room stuffy, but just getting a small bundle wouldn’t hurt, right?  It seemed like the perfect gift.  Courteous, sophisticated, and mature!  Like him, a mature adult! 

So, he went out on a Tuesday afternoon (because adults go out on weekdays!) to look for something suitable.  The map online said there was a florist near here…..he knew he could have gotten delivery, but he didn’t want to seem cheap or lazy.  Friends are supposed to do thoughtful gestures for each other….right? 

The hand painted roses on the display windows let the doctor know that he was in the right place.  Red, pink, white, yellow….so many different colors.  Did they all mean the same thing? 

Well, maybe roses were too cliché.  And Doctor Sylvester Ashling was anything but predictable and corny.  As he opened the front door, the jingling of a bell snapped him out of his thoughts.  Sylvie was then forced to be very aware of the clerk standing at the desk, who offered a smile and a polite wave.  Tense, but not wanting to be rude, the boy would return the gesture.  They actually seemed kind of cute…..but he wasn’t here to socialize.  Or maybe he was just trying to avoid how awkward he got when talking to people he wanted to be friends with. 

Aside from the option of making your own, there were pre-arranged bouquets in vases with one type of flower, some with two or three as well.  Green eyes instantly glazed over the multicolored roses, flickering between labels to read the names. 

Poppies, gardenias, hydrangeas……he paused on the carnations.  They were large and ruffled, almost like they were made of paper rather than actual organic material.  Now, what color would Molly like?  Something related to bears, probably……maybe yellow?  It was like honey.  That was bear related. 

But as he reached for the yellow carnations, a polite voice nearly made him jump out of his shoes. 

“Oh, are you getting those for somebody?” 

Sylvie stared at the clerk with owlish eyes.  For goodness’ sake, he literally had a degree in talking to people, albeit in a slightly different setting.  So why was he freezing up at just a question and a pretty smile?

Eventually, the boy managed to clear his throat and force out,  “A friend of mine.”  The clerk’s apologetic smile now only made him more nervous.  Had he managed to say something wrong less than ten words in? 

“Then you might not want get those flowers.”

“Um,”  Sylvie would stutter, hating himself for his lack of confidence,  “why is that?”

“Well, in flower language, they usually mean rejection…..or disappointment.” 

“Oh, I….”  The doctor reflexively wanted to say ‘I knew that’, but he knew just as well as the clerk did that he most certainly did not.  “I see.  Do you have any recommendations?” 

The sight of the stranger perking up eased his nerves somehow, though he didn’t really understand why.  “Sure!  Do you have anything specific you’re looking for, or….?” 

“I guess, just…..yellow ones?”

Immediately, the clerk nodded with understanding.  “Oh, that’s easy!  Some yellow roses would be great!” 

This unexpected answer made Sylvie cock a brow.  “Roses?” 

“What, did you think roses were just for expressing romantic feelings?” 

The awkward pause while Sylvie looked at his feet informed the stranger that the answer was yes.  And yet they refrained from laughing, something he was thankful for. 

“Roses can actually mean a lot of things depending on their color!  The association with love most people think of is for red roses, but the yellow flowers actually mean feelings of friendship!” 

It was quite easy to see why this person worked at a florist.  They were so happy and excited to share this information to somebody completely clueless on the subject like Sylvie.  It was sweet, easy to understand, and never condescending.  For once, not knowing something didn’t make Sylvie feel like an idiot.

“I didn’t know that,”  he said strangely happily, as if expressing his lack of knowledge might make this stranger talk to him more.  “I think those are what I’ll get.  Um, thank you.” 

The look on the florist’s face made him think that even if he hadn’t thanked them or even said anything, they just would have been happy to share the knowledge of flowers with another person.  “No problem!  I’ll get you one from the back — the ones in the vases are just displays.”

The time between the clerk leaving and coming back was something long forgotten in Sylvie’s mind.  It was as if any time without them was just a waste of brain storage.  All he could recall was when he again saw their smiling face and felt their hand against his own while they handed him his change.  It left him fumbling with the bouquet and praying that they didn’t notice his pink cheeks. 

“Thanks for coming!  I left a business card with a phone number in there in case you ever need some more help with flowers.” 

Sylvie couldn’t think of any situation where he would need more help with flowers, and yet he found himself saying,  “That sounds great, thank you too!” 

He only bothered to inspect said business card when he was several blocks away from the florist, fresh bouquet in hand.  The doctor had expected it to just be a number for the shop, but imagine the shock on his face when he saw a handwritten cell number with a winky face and a daisy drawn next to it.

Was……was he being flirted with? 

Thoughts flooded the poor boy’s mind instantaneously.  Should he call and ask what this meant?  Or would calling be too clingy?  Maybe he should just text, and act all cool and coy about it.  Does this mean Giovanni can’t call him “bitchless” anymore? 

Briefly, he considered reading up on flower language to impress you the next time you talked, but that thought was quickly thrown out like a wilted rose.  Sylvie didn’t want to hear about any of that stuff from a book — he’d much rather hear it from you.

[chrisbangsbf]

Hyunjin/Jisung

Explicit | 910 words

TAGS: semi crack fic, Santa's elves! hyunsung, Christmas magic, double sided dildo, food fucking (literally), magic aphrodisiac (?), rimming, being walked in on by Santa

→ the post on AO3

"I can't believe you've done this," Hyunjin laughs, holding the candy cane dildo Jisung had just created in his hands, turning it over to examine its perfection.

The sweat on his palms is already making it stick to him a little, and he would grimace if he wasn't already so turned on. Rolling his eyes at himself for even considering Jisung's little idea in the first place, Hyunjin hands the dildo back to him.

Jisung had used a little Christmas magic to turn one of their double sided dildos into a real candy cane. All the dildo texture was still there and everything, but it was just... hard, and made of candy.

Unbelievable. He truly has an exceptional mind.

"Hey, you're the one who put the image of you fucking me with a bundle of candy canes in my head to begin with!" Jisung pouts, crossing his arms over the swell of his chest and cocking his hip, and looking positively edible doing so. The little bell on his hat jingles with the movement, and Hyunjin grins with amusement.

"Santa is gonna be pissed," Hyunjin says while pushing his pants down and kicking them off his ankles in a hurry. They probably don't have much time before the higher up elves start trying to find where they've run off to, or even worse, the jolly man himself.

Hyunjin can't even really complain though, especially not when Jisung was thoughtful enough to offer lube with a matching flavor to go along with the candied dildo.

Jisung beams as he watches the other elf strip bare and lay back on the bed, spreading his legs to toy with his own hole eagerly. "You seem more excited than me!"

"It's hot that you're so reckless," Hyunjin groans, hating to admit that the other is probably right. He's excited. "You gonna get your tasty little ass over here or not?" he teases, a mess of giggles bubbling up out of his throat without permission. The smell of peppermint always gets him excited.

Jisung doesn't have to be asked twice. He throws his clothes to the side and crawls up into the bed as well, excitement buzzing under his skin at the prospect of it all. He watches Hyunjin slip one end of the candy cane into his slippery hole with a moan, his face twisting in pleasure. He scoots as close as possible, their balls touching, and lays a sticky hand against Hyunjin's hip. The smell of peppermint is almost dizzying.

"It feels so good," Hyunjin hisses, licking his beautifully plump, glossy lips.

After a few moments of adjusting to the girth of the candy cane, he reaches forward and spreads the lube across Jisung's entrance as well before slipping a couple of long fingers inside. Jisung whimpers as Hyunjin plays with his prostate, sticky fingers stretching him open with determination and accuracy.

When the candy cane dildo finally slips into him as well, he can't help but release a needy whine in response. Hyunjin rocks against him, making the candy shift inside both of them, and it feels incredible. Jisung grabs onto one of Hyunjin's outstretched, lanky legs to ground himself, already almost overwhelmed with pleasure.

Perhaps the magic has made them extra sensitive… or maybe it's like an aphrodisiac or something. They didn't know. Jisung definitely didn't read the fine print.

"Oh fuck, Jisungie. I'm gonna cum," Hyunjin wails, throwing his head back as his hips roll and buck wildly.

The warmth of being inside them, mixed with the wetness of lube has made the candy melt significantly, red stickiness seeping out of their holes and onto their asscheeks, making them messily stick together each time their skin touches. Which is with every movement.

"Me too," Jisung cries out, feeling the candy drag against his prostate in the most perfect way. He's almost delirious with need.

Their orgasms wash over them quickly, cum dribbling out all over each other and making even more of a mess than before. The two let the candy slip out of them before sitting up to kiss each other tenderly, smearing the melted sugar against the sheets even farther.

"Do you think we are on the naughty list yet?" Hyunjin asks, hoping that maybe Santa will punish them for this if so. That man knows way too much.

"I hope so." Jisung smirks mischievously, pushing Hyunjin back against the bed again and crawling up to straddle his face. He chuckles and turns around the other way before dropping down to lick the sweetness from Hyunjin's balls, tongue dragging over his puffy rim. "But if not, we'd surely have to be after this.

Hyunjin hums in agreement and wraps his arms around Jisung's thighs before pulling him down to tongue hungrily at his hole and slurp up the melted candy, eager to continue despite their matching sensitivity.

And with Hyunjin digging his tongue inside him like this, swirling it around, Jisung feels like he could probably cum again. He grinds against his face ever so slightly and lets his own sweetened drool run down to Hyunjin's abused hole from where he's laying, open mouthed and panting, against his taint.

High on sugar and adrenaline, and also probably the magic, neither of them even react to the sound of heavy footsteps coming closer from the end of the hallway… not even paying any mind when the door knob twists and there's a familiar huff of disappointment at the door.

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Our Farmers, but it's incorrect quotes (part 1? probably):

_________________________________________

Julian: It’s Christmas! Are you all in a Christmas mood?!

Thad: Merry crisis.

Asra: Jingle bells, jingle bells, single all the way.

Willow: Hoe hoe hoe.

Julian: Guys, please.

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Wren: Cause your pretty and your smart, and your ignoring me so your obviously my type.

Isaac, who was distracted: I'm sorry- what were you saying?

Wren: Perfect.

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Shane: Zeke and I are no longer dating.

Zeke: Shane, that's a horrible way of telling people we're married.

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Shiro: *spits mouthful of blood onto floor* You’ve become far more powerful since we last crossed paths.

Dentist: Please stop, there’s literally a sink right next to you.

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Eris: Are you an F5 key? Because that ass is refreshing.

Sebastian: Are you a software update? because not right now.

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Hestia: If I stay in bed I'll be warm. If I get in the shower, I'll also be warm. But the distance between the bed and shower? No. That is not warm.

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Bo: You are the love of my life and I would do anything within reason to make you happy.

Lance: I would be happy if you ate, stayed hydrated and got a reasonable amount of sleep.

Bo: I said within reason, Lance. How about I murder that guy?

Lance: So murder is in reason but proper self care isn't?

Bo: Well, duh. What kind of question is that?

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Miranda to Lance: If I'm extra sarcastic with you it probably means I'm flirting with you or you really annoy me and I can't handle your crap... have fun figuring out which one.

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Rain: :)

Isaac: >:(

Rain: Turn that frown upside down!

Isaac: ):<

Rain: Not sure what I was expecting...

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Ziana: If I see a bug, I simply leave the room elegantly and require someone else do something about it.

Ziana: If no one fulfills my wish, I simply never go back in there.

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Isaac: My crush isn’t picking up on my hints.

Myra: What hints have you given them?

Isaac: Well, I think about them a lot.

Isaac: And sometimes I even think about talking to them.