#this pairing is so silly THEY ROTATE IN MY HEAD ALL THE TIME

[420-what-you-smokin]

Silly cassangle/tangia art I did yesterday before bed…… hehehehehe (inspired by @fanartist2020 !!)

[junovrsmp4]

one of the girls

part 1. the arrangement

Chris Sturniolo was bad news. You knew it, every girl within a 100 mile radius knew it. Your own brother had warned you to stay away from him, despite being his best friend. That didn’t stop you from wanting him though.

pairing: chris x reader

pt.1 summary: despite all the warnings, and his reputation, you're intrigued by chris. on your 18th birthday, u find out exactly why he's bad news. and like a drug, u get addicted to him. cue, the arrangement

warnings: ABSOLUTE FILTH, very very plot heavy, rough sex, oral, choking, slapping, over-stimulation, mild bdsm, p in v, degradation, slight age gap (reader is 16 and chris is 18 when they first start fooling around, reader is 18 and chris is 20 when they first have penetrative sex)

word count: 6.9K (lmao i think this is going to be a thing)

author's note: so, i found out as i was writing this that @worldlxvlys has a fic with a very similar premise because its inspired by the same song, check it out if u havent already, its so fucking good

It had started out innocently enough.

Chris was your older brother’s best friend, so naturally he was always over at your house or your brother over at his. You remember the first time you’d seen him, sitting on your living room couch, dressed in a black t-shirt and denim shorts, sporting a silver chain. You’d just run down the stairs, yelling for your brother to order you some food when you spotted him. The shock of seeing a complete stranger- a hot one, at that- had you stopping dead in your tracks. You remember how you’d just stared at him like an idiot, before turning around and sprinting back up to your room. You cringe a little, every time you think back to that moment, how you’d been dressed that night, in one of your old sports bras and baggy shorts, your hair an absolute mess.

Awkward first meeting aside, you got to know him, little by little. Sometimes, through little anecdotes reluctantly shared by your brother at your behest, and sometimes, from the man himself. Every time he came over, you’d make excuses to be around him and your brother, and you remember how he’d always smile at you, include you in conversations even when your brother would groan on about how annoying you were being and try to push you back to your room.

So of course, you developed a crush on him.

As a thirteen year old, you would make up cute little scenarios in your head of how you might confess your crush to Chris, and maybe he’d tell you he always liked you too, or maybe, maybe he’d be the one to confess first, with a bashful, awkward smile, and you’d become boyfriend and girlfriend and live happily ever after.

It didn’t take long for you to get over your little fantasies though.

While it hadn’t been obvious to you at thirteen, as you grew older, you witnessed the whirlwind that was Chris Sturniolo, the guy who got every girl’s attention, showed them a good time, and then left them in the dust when he got bored, before moving onto the next.

Your brother, bless his soul, did warn you to stay away from Chris. Had tried multiple times, to tell you how much of a player he was, how he just had a rotation of girls ready to go, and was always looking for someone new to ruin.

“He’s no good,” he’d said. “He’s my best friend, and he’s like a brother to me, but I wouldn’t trust him around you, alone.”

“Why are you friends with someone like that then?” you’d asked.

Your brother hadn’t been able to give you an answer then.

Knowing what you did about Chris didn’t get rid of your interest in him though. You’d long since let go of the silly fantasy of being his girlfriend. It had been a childhood delusion and nothing more, but you still found him…intriguing. The way he commanded every room he walked in, the way every girl around him fell to their knees to be able to service him in some way, the way guys hung around him in hopes of having his appeal somehow rub off on them, it fascinated you.

Even more fascinating was how Chris seemed to be so obviously putting up some sort of front. There was an edge to the cool, suave persona he seemed to be parading in for everyone else.

For every person who told you to stay far, far away from Chris, all they did was stoke the little part of you that wanted to see just what he was really like.

Besides, we all know what they say about curious cats; curiosity may kill them, but satisfaction definitely brings them back.

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

The party was already in full swing by the time you’d made it through the front door. The entire house was lit with flashing lights, bright and blinding, the music so loud it seemed like it almost thrummed straight through the bodies that surrounded you, almost consuming you and swallowing you into the heart of the party.

A party to celebrate the end of an era, and you turning eighteen.

You hadn’t wanted anything crazy, but trust your friends to go behind your back to plan something big.

“It isn’t just your birthday, ya know?” they’d said. “We’re finally done with high school!”

It seemed like they’d invited everyone who was anyone in your town, because you don’t even recognize some of the people at the party. Friends of friends of friends, and so on, you guess. Some were your seniors in high school, who had graduated way before you and your friends. It helped that your birthday and graduation coincided with summer break, because it meant a lot of the older kids were back from college for the holidays, which guaranteed the presence of more…discreet party favors.

The air was thick with smoke, from weed, tobacco, and god knows what else, the humidity only amplifying the feeling of breathlessness you feel every time you’re in a big crowd. You spot your brother and his group of friends huddled together, taking up a section of one of the big couches, all of them nursing beer bottles. All except one.

Chris’ eyes are on you the minute you step through the crowd. Unlike all the other guys sitting beside him, he opted out of drinking, and was instead smoking a joint, plumes of smoke slightly obscuring his face. He looked relaxed, leaned back with one arm stretched over the top of the couch, legs spread out. His eyes scan you from head to toe, and you see the way he glides his tongue across his bottom lip before biting into it. Your breath catches in your throat when he slightly shifts his hips, his eyes flitting down and then back up at you, like he’s silently asking you to go sit on his lap. You almost go over to him, slightly swaying on your feet, before you remember where you are and who’s sitting right next to him. You stand there long enough to see some other girl swoop in and plant herself on his thigh, looping her arms around his neck and leaning close to whisper in his ear.

Your brother spots you just then, and you make a show of pointing a thumb at Chris and rolling your eyes, like you’re not desperately wishing it was you that was on Chris’ lap, before making your way to the make-shift drink station that had been set up on the dinner table, where you find Matt fixing drinks for his friends and himself.

“Hey kid,” he drawls out, bobbing his head to the music, and swaying slightly as he pours drinks for the people around him. “Happy birthday!”

His outburst has everyone nearby yelling out their own wishes, and you thank everyone, accepting side hugs and shoulder pats from a bunch of them. One of them even comments on your outfit, telling you that you looked sexy and asking if you wanted to ‘hang out’ with him for a bit, with a waggle of his eyebrows.

You look down at yourself, flattening your palms over the black mini skirt you were wearing, the length, obscenely short. You’d paired it with a black bralette, a cropped mesh top with a watercolor wine print and platform ankle boots. Your friends had helped you with your hair and makeup, and you knew you looked really fucking sexy, if you did say so yourself.

You yell out a quick thanks but decline the offer to hang out, before asking the Matt to pour you a drink. You can still feel Chris staring, but you don’t dare look back, because looking back would mean giving in to him. Not yet.

You had a game to play after all.

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

Funnily enough, the game between you and Chris had started with a literal game. Specifically, his last lacrosse game for Sommerville High.

You usually didn’t care to go to school events, especially to watch a bunch of people play a sport that you didn’t understand, but it was also your brother’s last game that he’d be playing for your high school, so you’d gone to show your support. Your parents had been there too, and they’d taken a seat next to Chris’ family.

“Oh, this is such a bittersweet moment, isn’t it?” you hear Mary Lou ask your mom, who nods solemnly. They strike up a conversation about their kids, how they grow up oh so fast. It’s funny watching them lean over to talk to each other while Nick sits between them, looking bored out of his mind.

He catches your eye and breaks out into a grin, before politely asking your mom if she’d like to switch seats with him, which she excitedly accepts.

“Never thought I’d see you at one of these,” Nick comments as he looks down at the field, eyes searching for his brothers, you assume. “Want some?”

He’s got a bag of popcorn that he tips your way, and you thank him before grabbing a handful. You make idle conversation for a while, mostly about how he, his brothers and your brother would be graduating soon, and about your classes. You avoid the topic of the triplets ever-growing YouTube channel; you don’t need Nick knowing you obsessively watch every video of theirs.

Nick was a welcome presence; where his brother Chris managed to put you on edge and make you feel hyperaware of his presence, Nick was comforting, grounding.

As disinterested as you are in sports, the energy of the field gets to you eventually, your eyes tracking the same three players, 3, 4, 15, Chris, Matt, your brother, over and over, while listening to Nick chime in occasionally about the score. You have enough awareness to pick up on the energy of the crowd, and it looked like the Sommerville players were doing really fucking well. You watch your brother and Matt make a couple of saves, and Chris going full offense by scoring a bunch of points for the team, all while clutching onto Nick as the two of you cheer each time.

It’s down to the last few minutes of the game, and you watch with bated breath as both teams turn the ball over to score a point or stop the other from scoring.

“Wait, what’s going on?” you ask Nick. With only two minutes left, you notice all the players running to the edge of the field and forming team huddles.

“Timeout,” Nick says before taking a sip of his drink. “Coaches probably want to discuss final strategies with the team, but it won’t make much of a difference at this point. We’re winning this thing!”

“Oh, I see…” you mutter, and your eyes gravitate towards player number 3. You can’t see much of Chris’s face from this distance, but you watch as he swings an arm over your brother’s shoulder. His head tips upward slightly, and for a second, you almost feel like he’s looking right up at you, but that would be crazy.

The game is back on, and you watch as your brother immediately springs into action, trying to get the ball that one of the players on the rival team had managed to grab. A shrill whistle blows, and Nick winces beside you.

“Shit- what’s wrong?”

“Your brother just got a foul, kid,” Nick says with a shake of his head. “He was playing really well though, damn.”

One last minute. You watch as the Sommerville team expertly passes the ball around, going back and forth between a bunch of the guys as the other team tries to bat it from them. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath when you see Chris has the ball now, and with just a few seconds left on the clock, he makes the last score of the game, and the crowd goes fucking wild.

Everything else was a blur after. You remember being ushered onto the field by Nick, your parents joining you as the players all took pictures together, as a team, with their families. You remember seeing Chris’ eyes widen as he took in your presence, before quickly flashing you his signature smirk.

“Look who decided to finally show up for a school game!” he’d said, arms cross over his chest, and you’d remember feeling small under his gaze, holding onto to Nick’s arm to hold back from flinging yourself at him in front of all these people, in front of your family.

The next few minutes had been spent taking pictures, and there was a particular moment when both your mother and Mary Lou had asked for a big group photo, and that’s how you found yourself pressed up between Chris and your brother, who had his arm slung over your shoulder. You still remember the way Chris’ fingers brushed against yours, your breath catching in your throat when, in an extremely bold move, considering you were with your families, he’d linked his pinky with yours.

That’s how it had started. Looks exchanged across rooms, stolen touches hidden from everyone else’s eyes. A pull and push, a game of who’d break first. It was like something that emboldened Chris that day of the game, and he’d test the limits to what you’d allow him to do to you. The goal for him seemed to be to get you to let down the invisible guard you’d put up whenever he was around, to get you to admit something even you weren’t aware of. Your goal was to get your fill of Chris in hopes of satiating whatever curiosity and hunger you had for him before you had to watch him with some other girl as soon as he got bored with you.

There were nights after that game when he’d come over to your house to hang out with your brother when Chris would sneak into your room, under the pretense of going to the bathroom or to grab a snack.

It was during those nights that you’d exchange rushed, heated kisses, Chris grabbing onto your waist while you clutched at his shoulders, pulling him close before quickly pushing him away, breathless. He’d swipe his tongue across his bottom lip before sinking his teeth into it, fighting back the grin that threatened to take over his face.

“Go out with me,” Chris had asked one night, leaning against your dresser and fiddling with the rings you’d left there from earlier that day.

“No, Chris,” you had replied, already back to reading the book he’d pushed out of the way when he’d crawled over you to kiss you. You tried to ignore the way your lips feel swollen and bruised from where he’d bitten them.

“I don't know why you’re playing so hard to get,” he said with her arms crossed over this chest, his lips quirked up in his signature smirk. “You clearly want me- why not date me?”

You can't help but let out a chuckle at that.

“What?”

“Everyone and their mother knows you’re not the dating kind, Chris” you said, with a tight smile. “You’re going to bail the minute it gets too real, before going with one of the other girls in your roster.”

The silence that follows makes you look up from your book, and Chris is watching you with a look you can’t comprehend.

“Touché. So you’re good with being one of my girls then? I just don’t want you to come crying to me later saying you were hoping I’d be your boyfriend or some shit.”

You roll your eyes, hating the way his words made you feel. It was pathetic, chasing after crumbs, knowing you wouldn’t get anything more. You knew what you were getting into, and you weren’t expecting anything more. but it still made you feel like a fool.

“By the way,” Chris begins to speak, arms crossed tightly across his chest, his shoulders stiff. “The only reason I bail-” he says the word with a harsh tone you’d never heard from him before, “-is because all of you seem to have already set your minds on being with me for one thing, and one thing only. Not that I’m too mad about it.”

He’s scowling now, and you see the muscles in his jaw flex, like he’s gritting his teeth. He was definitely mad, about what exactly, you weren’t so sure.

“What do you mean?” you’d asked, but Chris was already walking out of your room.

You’d spent the rest of the night wondering what had gotten Chris angry. There was a part of you, the one that really, really enjoyed Chris’ attention, that was worried you’d pushed him away, but a bigger part of you wondered if this was for the best. You’d gotten more than you’d ever imagined from him, and it was probably best to leave it at this before you ended up getting swept up in…him.

It didn't matter in the end, because that same night, after making a show of leaving out the front door to go back home, he’d snuck back into your room through your window and spent an hour leaving harsh kisses and bites on your lips, your neck and your collarbones.

He was clearly taking out his frustration from earlier on you, his fingers gripping at your waist and thighs as he pressed your body down onto your bed with this own.

He took, and took. Took your breath away with his kisses, took your wrists in his hands, grip tight as he held them down on either side of your head, all while laying claim on you and your body. Just like you wanted him to.

Realizations were made that night, because as soon as Chris had gotten his fill and left, you’d made yourself cum, over and over, as you imagined him being rougher with you, laying his claim on you with harsher, more painful touches to your body.

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

Parties like these really weren’t your scene, but you did enjoy being a fly on the wall, observing all the people around. Drunk teens and young adults giving into more baser instincts, their judgement clouded by the various substances they’d consumed. Some were loud and brazen, engaging in risqué activities right where everyone could see them, some hidden in dark corners, making out with each other.

You’re still nursing your first drink, letting it pull you into a tipsy haze, and you vaguely register the guy standing beside you talking about something you had absolutely no interest in. He’s got one arm against the wall as he leans into your personal space, his lips close to your ear as he speaks, to make sure you can hear him over the loud music. You let out noncommittal hums and nod occasionally to seem like you’re listening, but your eyes are trained on Chris and the girl who’s currently sitting on his lap, a different girl from the one you saw when you first walked in, grinding down on him.

Just as Chris turns his head in your direction, you turn your head towards the guy next to you, bringing your free hand to his and pulling it to rest on your waist. You smile up at him and laugh at a joke he’d just made, something incredibly unfunny and slightly problematic even, before telling him you were going to go grab another drink.

You head into the kitchen, where you get pulled into a conversation with a couple of your former classmates. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Chris slip into the kitchen as well, before he squeezes past you. What no one sees is the way his hand lingers on your lower back as he moves past, dipping low to grab your ass, before quickly moving to the group of people that were also in the room, slinging his arms over the shoulders of two guys before delving into a loud discussion about this seasons lacrosse game.

Heat blooms across your face, and you bite your lower lip to keep from shouting across the kitchen at Chris to just fuck you already, because that wasn’t the plan. You had to have more control than that now, because this was the only time you’d have it tonight.

Your mind wanders back to the several texts you’d exchanged with Chris over the years, after you’d first started your…dalliance with him. They were sparse, you mostly kept your conversations minimal over text, but there had been one night last year, when you hadn’t been able to sleep and had found yourself sending the one text you thought you’d never send to Chris.

> i need something

You’d immediately regretted it. You thought you’d worded it in such a way that you could pass it off, pretend it didn’t happen, or that it was meant for someone else, but you knew Chris would be able to tell exactly what you meant. He would be able to figure out everything you’d thought of him since the past year, every dirty thought, every horny fantasy you’ve had since you first started letting him kiss and touch you, only ever with your clothes on, nothing that progressed past heavily making out and groping each other, leaving you panting and breathless, and him hard.

It was 2 a.m. on a Thursday night and your text could only mean one thing.

You’d put your phone down, trying to go to sleep, hoping that, come morning, if Chris did reply to you, you could pretend you had sent it by mistake, but the anxiousness you felt made you pick your phone back up, and you saw it, the three dots that meant Chris was typing a response.

> U need to go to sleep

That would have been the responsible thing to do. You imagined being bolder, but you were only sixteen, and you had no experience flirting with guys, especially with guys like Chris, so you’d sent off a quick text apologizing, and telling him it was meant for someone else.

> Is that true? Who was it meant for?

> goodnight chris

> Tell me who

> no

> Need is a strong word, almost sounded like u wanted some late night lovin’

You don’t think, you couldn’t think, not with the way your blood rushing in your ears makes you feel slightly faint, and before you know it, you reply with-

> well i feel strongly about it

> Strong feelings can be dangerous

> i want something dangerous

You were being honest. Chris was dangerous. This was dangerous.

> Want? Or need?

> need

There was a long pause, no ellipses indicating Chris was texting back, and for a moment, you think he’d abandoned you, that he was probably texting the many other, more experienced, girls he could be with.

> Dont fall asleep yet. I’ll be there in a bit.

> okay

> So the text WAS meant for me then

> shut up

> :P

The abrupt shift in tone of the conversation had made you giggle a bit, but you remember how you’d waited with bated breath for Chris to show up outside your window, before letting him into your room.

Chris had spent those early morning hours teasing you with his mouth and hands, whispering dirty little things into your ears, coaxing your needs out of you, demanding you tell him exactly what you meant with that text, with one hand wrapped around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you feel breathless but not take away your ability to breathe, because you told him you wanted it, while the other one dipped down into your underwear.

You’re so fucking responsive, even to the slightest touch, he’d said. Everyone thinks you’re such a good girl, but here you are, sneaking around with your brother’s best friend, what would everyone think?

You’d let your body melt under his touch, letting him envelope you with his touch, his words, his scent.

I think about how you’d look with my cock inside you. I think about tasting you. I think about holding you down and fucking you until you can’t hold back your sweet little moans. God, you’re so fucking desperate for my dick, aren’t you?

And you were, you really fucking were, because no matter how much you pretended to be unfazed by him and his touch, the truth of the matter was, every moment you spent with him was followed by you locked up in your room with your fingers desperately pumping in and out of you, imagining how he would fuck you if you actually let him, how he’d open you up and push his dick into you, how you’d be so full of him.

That was the first night he’d touched you, really touched you, the first night you’d cum from fingers that weren’t your own.

A loud laugh accompanied by a friendly slap on the shoulder pulls you out of your thoughts, and you let out a weak chuckle as your friends remark on how out of it you seem, even though you’ve only had one drink. You look up to see Chris looking back at you over his shoulder, and when you meet his eyes, he jerks his head up slightly, and you know exactly what he’s trying to indicate.

Come upstairs.

Your eyes widen and you shake your head as imperceptibly as you can, even though you’re going to do exactly what he wanted, and you see how it gets him excited, because Chris liked being teased, liked how you played so hard to get, and you loved playing it up, acting all coy and innocent when both of you knew otherwise.

You tell your friends you need some fresh air, but instead of making your way out to the backyard, you slowly make your way upstairs, pushing past people and hoping to all powers above that there was at least one room that wasn’t occupied.

You take your time checking every room on the floor, opening doors to people in various stages of undress, quickly yelling out apologies before moving to the next, until finally, you come to a door furthest from the stairs leading up to the floor. It was quieter here, the music from downstairs was almost muffled. You press an ear to the door, and when you don’t hear any noises from the other side, you excitedly turn the handle to open the door, but it doesn’t budge.

Locked. Fuck.

Just as you’re about to turn away, you feel a presence right behind you, the heat of a body. The strong scent of weed washes over you as hands come up to rest on your hips, before warm lips brush over the shell of your ear.

“Look what we have here,” Chris whispers in a teasing tone, sending a tingle up your spine, making your skin break out in goosebumps. You shiver slightly as his arms encircle you, before he rests his chin on your shoulder, looking down at the door knob.

“It’s locked,” you whisper back, your hands coming up to hold onto his forearms.

“I know,” he mumbles, before holding out one of his hands, and you see a set of keys.

“Go on,” Chris says, nuzzling into your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your burning hot skin. You quickly grab the keys and fumble with the lock as Chris’ hands wander down between your thighs, grabbing onto them as he presses into you from behind. You feel his length, not hard yet, but still hard to ignore, and the possibilities of how tonight is going to go has your head reeling.

You finally get the door open, and you stumble inside, Chris not far behind. You watch as he grabs the key out of the lock, before following you in and locking the door from inside this time.

You have half the mind to ask him how he got the keys to the door, how he thought of keeping it locked, but all that goes out of your head when he swivels you around and pushes you up against the wall, one hand cradling your head as his lips descend on yours. His fingers grip the hair at the base of your neck and pull, making your head tip back and you gasp as both pain and pleasure bloom and settle low in your stomach, your thighs clenching, and he takes that as invitation to lick his way into your mouth, his tongue fighting and very quickly winning for dominance. Your knees almost buckle from the intensity of it all, from just how turned on you are.

Here you were, with Chris Sturniolo, your brother’s best friend, pulling at your hair, grabbing you so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises on your hips and thighs by morning. It was a heady feeling, being wanted, and being wanted by Chris was like experiencing the best high from the best drugs.

Chris lets go of your hair to grab onto your hips, pulling your waist away from the wall and grinding you against him, like you were just here to help him get off, and it still surprises you, how much it turns you on. The thought of being just a body to be used, a body that Chris owns and controls.

Your hands find purchase in his hair as you gasp under the assault of his mouth on yours, his teeth biting into your lower lip and pulling, before going back to twisting his tongue with yours. It’s a messy kiss, rough and just painful enough that it has you wet and dripping. You feel the way your underwear sticks to your folds, and the patheticness of your own arousal turns you on even more.

Chris’s hands snake up your stomach under your top, making it bunch up right below your neck. His gaze is heated as his eyes rove over your body, before he’s pulling your bralette down, and the fabric of it bunches up tight below your breasts, pushing them up further into Chris’ face. He takes no time before licking and sucking on your nipples, groaning as he grinds his growing erection against your thigh.

“Chris- please, please-” you whine, body writhing under his attention, hips bucking as you try and find some relief.

“Stay still,” Chris says, and it almost sounds like a growl, which has the opposite effect to what was intended. Your moans get louder and he bites your nipple, your chest arching off the wall.

Chris straightens up, one of his hands coming up to smack you on the cheek before grabbing you by the chin, forcing your head back against the wall.

“Stay. Still.”

The slap had been more shocking than painful, but it still turns you on, just how rough Chris is being with you right now, and you think about how much rougher you hope it gets.

Chris peers down at you, his grip on your chin relentless. “Will you stay still and quiet?”

You nod against his grip, teeth sinking into your lower lip to hold back a whine.

“Good girl,” he says, thumb stroking your lips before pushing into your mouth. You instantly wrap your lips around it, tongue laving at the tip of it before sucking it deeper into your mouth. You see Chris’ pupils dilate as he watches you, mouth falling open slightly as he heaves deep breaths in and out.

“Take off your panties,” he says as he pulls his thumb away, swiping it over your nipple. He chuckles as you jerk away from the cold, wet touch. His fingers flutter over your skin as you quickly shove your underwear down your legs, and you think about kicking them away, but Chris holds out his hand.

Oh.

You hand over your underwear, soaked from your arousal, to Chris, who pockets it with a smirk.

“Hm, good girl,” Chris mutters, before patting the side of your leg. “Spread your legs.”

You peer up at him through your eyelashes as you spread your legs apart and the cold air in the room hits your heated core, making you quiver.

Chris doesn’t take his time. His body presses up against you as he brings a hand up your skirt and to your core, two fingers sweeping through your folds to gather the wetness that was dripping out of you before pumping them in and out of you, each thrust of his fingers punching a gasp out of you.

The room fills with the wet, obscene sounds of Chris’ fingers squelching in and out of you, and he adds a third finger, twisting and spreading them inside you to stretch you out.

“Fuck, Chris, I need you-” you moan, your hips rolling and pushing down to meet Chris’ fingers. You bare your throat to him as he presses his nose to the spot under your ear, his teeth scraping down your throat. His fingers continue pumping into you, pressing repeatedly at the spongy bundle of nerves that had you clenching around them, and that’s how he gives you your first orgasm of the night.

“You’re such a slut for me, aren’t you?” Chris asks, nipping at your jaw. “Look at how fucking wet you are.”

He steps back and holds up his fingers, glistening from the wetness, and spreads them apart, and you see the strings of your fluids clinging between his fingers, some of it dripping down onto his palm. Your breath catches in your throat when Chris brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking on them and moaning at your taste. He’d done this before, when he’d fingered you, and it made you squirm each time, seeing this visual confirmation that he enjoyed your taste.

Your eyes flick down to Chris’ crotch, where you see the clear outline of his hard dick, and you realize that this is the first time you’re actually going to have a dick inside you. You remember the first time you’d seen it when you’d asked him if you could suck him off, and he’d had you kneel for him, before pulling it out of his sweatpants and feeding it into your mouth, guiding your head up and down his length, before he’d eventually just jerked off and cum all over your face.

You watch him as he pulls it out now, and you can’t explain how oddly attractive his penis is. You didn’t think you’d find a penis attractive, but Chris’ was. It was long and thick, but not too thick, and it curved slightly to the left. It was ruddy now, from all the blood that had rushed down to it and the head of his dick glistened from the precum that was beading and dripping out of his slit. Chris wraps his hand around it, stroking it slowly to gather his precum and slick it up.

You make a move to step towards him, thinking he’ll move things to the bed, but Chris grabs your hips and turns you to face the wall before lining his body against yours, pushing you into the wall, with your face turned sideways, your cheek pressed down against the cold surface. You hear the telltale sounds of a condom wrapper being torn open and rubber being stretched over skin.

You look back at Chris, eyebrows furrowing, as he hikes your skirt up your ass, lining his cock up against you and grinding it between your cheeks.

“You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?” Chris whispers in your ear, his hand coming up to circle your throat, pushing up to tip your head against his shoulder. You feel his other hand reach down between the two of you, before guiding his dick into you, and your eyes flutter close when the tip slides through your folds to push into you, stretching you. Chris keeps his grip on your throat tight, and braces his other arm against the wall right beside your head.

Your body opens up for him, accepting him into you, as Chris sets a brutal pace, his dick driving in and out of you, leaving you breathless.

“Chris- oh god, f-fuck, ngh-” you whimper, your hands scrambling to grab onto him, one hand clutching at his bicep, while the other comes up to grip the wrist of the hand that is squeezing your throat. “Harder, please- fuck, fuck, fuck- choke me harder-”

“Such a fucking slut, what would everyone think if they knew you were up here begging me to choke you, huh?” Chris rasps out against your temple. “What would your brother think?”

You clench around him, eyes rolling into the back of your head as he continues restricting your airflow, arousal and shame making your blood run hot in equal measure.

“You love being split open on my cock, don’t ya? Your pussy is fucking dripping around it,” he grunts, punctuating his words with harder thrusts into you, the head of his dick hitting the bundle of nerves that has you seeing stars.

“Yes, yes, yes-” you chant, legs quivering as you gush around Chris’ dick. “I’m gonna cum-”

“Yeah? Cum on my dick, c’mon,” Chris rasps, the hand that was braced against the wall moving to rub against your clit, making you buck up against him. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight still.”

His fingers rub furious circles over your clit, which has you clenching rhythmically around him, and it doesn’t take long before you cum around Chris’ cock, the force of your orgasm wracking through your body and making you quiver violently.

Chris keeps thrusting into you, chasing his own orgasm, and you’re hit with that thought again, of being owned and controlled by Chris, because it was the truth, wasn’t it? He hadn’t even bothered to get either of you fully undressed, hadn’t taken you to bed, because you were just a means to a satisfying end, a warm body that accepted his rough, painful, attention.

And you loved it.

All you hear are the sounds of skin slapping skin and Chris’ grunts and moans over your own punched out whimpers, and now Chris has both his hands on your hips, gripping them hard as he pulls you back onto his dick, his blunt nails digging into your skin and leaving a delicious burn. You don’t know how long it lasts, but eventually Chris comes with a muffled cry, biting into your clothed shoulder as he fills the condom.

“Fuck,” you breath out, slumping forward against the wall, wincing when Chris pulls out, before bringing two fingers up to glide through your folds, still wet, but now also puffy and raw from the constant rubbing.

Chris guides you towards the bed, and you hold onto him because your legs won’t stop shaking. He helps you fix your clothes, pulling your bralette and top back down your torso and smoothing your skirt down your thighs. He tucks his dick back into his pants before disappearing out of the room with the used, and now tied-up, condom in hand.

You sit on the edge of the bed, dazed and out of breath still, and Chris comes back a few seconds later with a wet towel which he gently swipes between your legs, while kneeling before you, letting out a chuckle and a sheepish ‘sorry’ when you wince and jerk away from the cold and rough towel.

Chris stands back up, and goes to say something when his phone buzzes. He looks down at it, letting out a low whistle at whatever message he’d just received.

“I’ve gotta go,” Chris says, his thumbs flying over his keyboard as he types out messages.

“One of your girls?”

“Huh? Yeah,” Chris says distractedly, before tucking his phone into his pocket. “You going to be okay?”

“Mhmm.”

“Alright, happy birthday again” Chris says, bending forward to place a quick kiss to your cheek before patting the top of your head and leaving.

You flopped back onto the bed, sighing as you push your hair out of your face, your legs rubbing together to try and warm yourself up in the now too-cold room. And it was only then that you realize that Chris had left with your underwear.

Fuck.

> you have my underwear asshole

His reply came much later that night, after you’d already gotten home, using a pair of cycling shorts you’d snagged from the closet in the room Chris had left you in and bunching them up under your skirt to make do as underwear for the rest of the night.

> Oops

author’s note: idek if i like this one y'all (: likes, comments and reblogs r much appreciated <3

taglist 🩵 (comment on my pinned post to be added or removed):

@luverboychris @bigbeefybitch @liz-stxrn @slut4chriss @slut4mattsturnio1o @sturniolosgirl @coochiedestroyer1 @cutiepiess4l @kvtie44 @vschrissturn @hercigaretteblush @fwskullz @m4rriii @anabanana28 @sturniolosange1 @webbersturn @odeezier @johnniesrealwife @freshsturns @marlenafortuna @carolineheartsmatthew @incndescentglow @starniolosposts @urfavgirllyyyyy @mattsturniolosworld @lilyloveschris @sturniozo @lookingformyromeo @heartss4matthewq @lanasturniolo @zina25sworld @ezziewinchester @s-s-842 @sturnlova @whyarefictionalmennotreal @55sturn @cheetahmadi @sturniolowhore @cupidsword @sturnsblog @lovehoneygirll @breeloveschris @littlemisswhore @worldlxvlys @sturniolo04 @sturnioloco @littlemisswhore @pandacake128 @chrizznmetswife

[grimesgirll]

“are you guys coming to bed?”

you’re sitting up halfway, half lidded eyes fighting the hard fight to stay open.

blue eyes meet yours from the inside of the en-suite. “yes, one moment, sweetheart.”

your chest falls with your huffy breath. poised to pout, you splay yourself back onto the bedspread. what the fuck is taking so long? you’re about ready to bury your face in the pillow.

needy is the only word to describe you in the aftermath of nights like tonight.

fucked several times over, you couldn’t stand to be so far apart from your men. at least one of them should be on the satin blue sheets with their sinewy arms around you. their absence aches. you know someone has to throw away the condoms, fetch you a clean sleep shirt, toss the used towels in the hamper, etcetera. however, you’re too needy for them to just throw you one of rick’s oversized shirts and hang out in the bathroom without you.

you stretch your arms in an attempt to extinguish the last traces of energy in your system but you know you’d feel infinitely better in a pair of toned arms. head rolling to face the bathroom, you’re unlucky enough not to catch either of their gazes. it’s only your loud pouts that snap them out of whatever conversation they’re having.

“is someone in there whinin’?”

rick’s sultry smooth voice reignites something in you that has you responding with nothing but a hazed out moan. emphasizing the manner in which you flip yourself over to your stomach, sticking your ass up when you bury your face into the clean sheets in protest.

“don’t tell me she’s poutin’ again.”

“sounds like exactly that.”

you do your best to hide your snide smile when the bed lowers slightly right beside you.

“what do you need? a kiss?” the ex-sheriff plants an arm into the soft bed beside you to lean over and rotate you onto your back, caressing your hair and tonguing your mouth open - not that you gave up a fight.

“mhm,” you yowl into his mouth.

a matching groan rumbles from his throat as rick reaches down to inspect your panties. he chuckles. “just as i expected, two cocks and you’re still craving another release, silly girl.”

whenever he gets his fingers in your hair, you’re putty in rick’s hands. the simple sensation is satisfying enough to have you wincing when he withdraws his fingers, nearly kicking in desperation.

you can’t complain though because before you know it the man is moving his fingers from your hair to attack your entrance.

“shit,” you gasp into his mouth when two fingers pry you open.

“pretty girl need some lovin’ before she falls asleep?” daryl whispers into your ear and appears on your opposite side.

“just a little more.” rick concludes, lazily pumping a finger into you while you squirm beneath him. “i think we tuckered her out. maybe we give her one last release for being such a good girl and put her to bed.”

you nod eagerly and like that daryl is descending between your legs to lift up your rick’s oversized sleep shirt. still underwear free from when you’d first climbed in bed with them, daryl’s tongue lands on your sensitive center.

the redneck’s auburn locks are in your hands instantly as you pant, “daryl, fuck.”

“this how you like to wind down?” rick mocks with a mouth on your rosy right bud.

you muster enough energy to nod your head. “mhmm.”

“do the sounds of daryl lapping up your slutty pussy help you fall asleep before bed?”

your mouth falls open at the question. all you can do is babble, blubbering when rick bites down on your chest. “rick!”

“honey,” rick’s tone turns serious. blue eyes honing in on your cloudy stare. “awfully rude to be just callin’ my name when dear daryl’s the one fucking you with his tongue.” you can’t argue with that. “why don’t you give him some credit?”

crying out, a sob starts your apology. “sorry, daryl. your tongue feels so good,” you stutter through teary eyes, legs and lips quivering. “thank you for taking care of me before bed.”

daryl doesn’t respond; too focused on the task at hand.

rick’s face is still smug. “why don’t you ask daryl for permission to come, sweetheart?” rick muses with a hardened nipple between his fingers, painfully turning it over the pad of his forefinger and watching your face twist with wanton need.

“daryl!” you’re howling.

the man doesn’t stop.

rick snickers. “try again, honey,” he’s traveling up the bed to bestow a peck on your lips before they’re parting to plead at the man who’s taking you apart with his tongue.

“daryl, please,” you’re borderline wailing now, tempting rick with your fucked out tears and irregular breath. chest rising and falling with every respiration, you’re red with the need for release and the need for the redhead beneath you to spare you some grace. “please, i need to come, daryl. please, i want to come so bad, can i come? daryl!”

for the first moment in minutes, the archer briefly pops his vacuum of a mouth off of your weeping slit to give you the most serious look before granting you permission to, “make a mess, girl.”

leaning into daryl’s blessing, you ground your hips against his face and squeeze the hand that’s intertwined with rick’s as the pressure that had been heightening explodes.

the circles daryl’d paired with his unforgiving tongue do nothing but pulsate the pressure deeper throughout your sensitive bundle of nerves. the same nerves that were flaring and rocking you in galvanizing pangs of pleasure as if they’d also gotten that memo that daryl had given you permission to cum, encouraged by the warm tongue flat against you.

it’s only when your legs are about to collapse on top of his tawny head that daryl retreats, giving your spent cunt a light slap for good measure.

his face is glistening just as your cunt had been when he dove headfirst between your legs.

you’re bending forward towards him in an anxious effort to have him on your lips again. he’d been so close to you - you need him to be that close again. that’s why you’re about to sob when he gets up to head to the dresser. your tantrum is paused once you see that he’s bringing your water bottle to your lips.

the thoughtful man brings the straw to your lips, allowing you to take a long drink and signal for him to place the bottle on the nightstand. it’s not ten seconds before he’s grasping your face and giving you the long, drawn out good night kiss you’re always craving from him.

daryl’s flush against your left when your lips disconnect. if rick hadn’t caught you in his arms, daryl would’ve been closer but he’ll be rising early to hunt anyways, and he wouldn’t want to wake you.

rick’s arm lays atop your pillow and his head tucked on top of yours as you start to drift off, “night, sweet girl” being the last words you hear before you fall into the coziest slumber.

[korpuskat]

Metal in Flesh

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (GN, has a vagina) Rating: E WC: 4.4k Warnings: None, it's pure smut & fluff. A special thank you to @statuetochka for indulging my silly ideas & drawing his hands so much. ===

He tastes like his machine oil. Freshly cleaned, not a trace of dirt between his purple-painted joints. It’s hard not to flex your tongue against him, to explore the little creases in his plates that tease the side of your tongue.

But the hand on your jaw and the precarious placement of his fingers- two under your tongue, his thumb on top, keep you still. He’s exploring. Though it’s not your tongue itself that he’s examining. He drags his thumb down, making the object of his obsession spin- a particularly strange feeling that is still novel even after so long healed.

It’s only taken him a few months into your relationship to notice- or at least to ask about it.

“…Why?” Is the particularly succinct question he comes up with.

“Becath aylikith”

Ramattra’s gaze lifts ever so slightly, from your pinned tongue to your face. Reluctantly, he lets go. You push saliva over your tongue, wetting it before you try speaking again.

“I said, because I like it. I like how it looks.”

“Aesthetics?” Ramattra tips his head, looks down to your lips. You obligingly open your mouth again and present the jeweled rod again. This time, he just looks at it, rather than trapping the muscle for investigation. “I would think that should hurt rather badly just for aesthetics.”

“It did.” You confirm. “When I first got it, it hurt a lot, I couldn’t even eat the first day. But it’s all healed now. Doesn’t hurt at all.” To prove it, you catch the bead on your top lip and pull your tongue sideways, making the entire piercing rotate again. “Besides, you’re in no place to judge; I know you also changed stuff on yourself for how it looked.”

He scoffs, “That is hardly the same. Repainting my enamel coat isn’t remotely painful, nor did it impair such a basic, important function as eating.” He touches the purple plate at the back of one hand with the other. It’s more subconscious than anything, but you still watch his hands with that same fascination. “Besides, my modifications aren’t exclusively aesthetics.”

You grin widely. That kind of stubbornness, the mild disdain in his vocoder… It’s so easy to goad him. “Neither is mine! It has a very good use, actually.”

Ramattra’s head actually bobs as he modulates a disbelieving noise, “Really? Exactly what functional purpose does a metal rod in your mouth serve?”

Excitement washes over you and you don’t bother trying to hide it. “I can show you! I’ve kind of been meaning to for a while, actually, but you keep insisting I don’t have to.” This alone makes his head twitch to the side, perplexed, intrigued. You reach for his hand, and he happily allows you to take it and bring it back to your face, much too curious.

Here, you pause and stare up at the dark slits for his optics. His huge fingers caress over your cheek, cool and firm against your skin as you gently kiss the circular rubber pad of his palm. Ramattra hums softly- which breaks into a stuttered, staticked mess of a noise as you lick that rubber pad. He can feel it, you’re almost sure given the twitching of his fingers against your cheek. Those pads are sensitive, meant for traction and precision- you know he must feel the warmth, the softness of your tongue completely surrounding the hard point of the piercing’s ball. Even with your spit, the metal drags against rubber, catching on the textured ridges.

“You--” His voice cuts out, glitches sharply as though gasping. It’s a rare treat to see him worked up, indulging his own desires, so you bask in the roughened sound of his voice and the dull hum of his ventilation system ramping up. “I should have known it would be that...”

You grin again, then kiss his palm innocently, as though you don’t feel the warmth that’s now radiating from him. “I did want to use it sooner. You’re too selfless for your own good.” You pull on his arm and he allows you, lets you trail kisses up the smooth plate of his forearm. “Can try it now, though.”

His nod is sharp, firm enough to jostle the endcaps of his mane. “Yes, perhaps I would… enjoy that.”

You snicker, but don’t comment on the breathy tone his voice takes, already dysregulated from a single lick, don’t comment on how quickly he sits on the bed that he’d gotten for your sake nor the speed with which he releases the latches on his pelvic plate. Air rushes from his vents again, almost like a sigh as his cock bobs freely.

You might never get used to it, knowing that he made something so obscene just for you… The thrill of it- of all of him- rushes through you, makes your belly heat. But you set that aside for now, instead pushing the golden joints of his legs apart and lowering yourself down to your knees. Which only makes your growing desire ever worse.

Like this you’re so very, very aware of how big he is. Built for war, he dwarfs you in every way. Beside you, his thin, bird-like legs are almost up to your shoulder, just barely giving you enough room to comfortably lay your arms on his thighs. Looking up at him… He sits so stiffly, one hand curled into the previously pristine sheets, the other is curled across the lowest part of faceplate as though obscuring his mouth. Shy, maybe, you think. Would make sense- he doesn’t particularly enjoy receiving one-sided attention. So, you smile up at him, rub your hands soothingly across his canvas-covered thighs and hope that soothes him.

Finally, you let your eyes wander back down his body. Slowly, you ease your hands in from his legs until they brush the base of his cock, where the silicone meets his inner frame. Without any lubricant it’s a dry, sticking feeling, but it’s still enough for you to hear the hum of his fans pitch up in anticipation.

He’s been so patient, so nice to finally let you try this, so you only tease him a little more. You straighten up and stare up at his faceplace, hands moving firmly onto his cock as though you’re going to take him into your mouth immediately. He tenses, waits the sudden onslaught of your mouth around him-- and finds instead your soft lips laying against the smooth head, pressing a delicate kiss to the silicone. Ramattra’s legs twitch,, a little whiny noise coming from somewhere inside him-

And you lower your head down, dragging the tip of your tongue from the base of his cock all the way up. His ventilation kicks and a staticked gasp slips from his vocoder. With only the tip, not yet letting him feel the jewelry, you lick at him, you flick your tongue against the soft ridge at the head of his cock until you think you might break him.

Ramattra hisses your name, somewhere between a plea and a threat. Desire surges in your core again, but you think he's been patient enough. Slowly, deliberately letting him watch as you move- you open your mouth and ease his tip past your lips.

Immediately, Ramattra groans, both hands twisting into his sheets as he processes your warm, soft mouth on his cock. He's big enough that even just his tip makes your jaw twinge in annoyance, but you relax your muscles and urge him further in. His body bursts with heat, already struggling to keep up with the hot air that’s soaking his processors- but that's not quite the reaction you were expecting. So you press your tongue firmly against the underside of his tip- though you aren't sure if Ramattra's cock is particularly sensitive here too- and drag the piercing over the ridge.

A high-pitched noise spits from his vocoder, almost a yelp as his whole body flinches. You'd almost worry you hurt him, that the metal was too rough on the silicone, except for the rough, rolling gasp that comes after. For Ramattra it's a distinct feeling- your mouth all soft and inviting and one firm bead of resistance that pushes back against him, that emphasizes each stroke of your tongue along his cock. It's addicting, one tiny piece of metal in all of that plush flesh. His hand lifts- nearly burying itself in your hair unbidden, but he kills the impulse- tries desperately to be still for you.

You gently bob your head, working up to a slow rhythm. With each motion you keep your tongue moving, sweeping across the silicone. Each time you move down, you try to take in more of him, slowly inching his cock deeper until he's prodding at the back of your throat. The first touch makes you gag, your mouth tightening around him as spit floods your mouth- and Ramattra's hips jump, momentarily fucking you mouth- and he moans.

You clit throbs at the single rough thrust, at the absolutely musical noise from his speakers- his need completely betrayed with the strain on his synth, the first touches of static to his voice. A desperate whimper escapes you just knowing that you're the one making him feel like that and Ramattra sucks in air in turn, his fists curled so tightly you can hear his actuators whining.

Even just listening to his pleasure, knowing you’re the one causing it-- it's all too much. You take him in deep again, sucking his cock with purpose, but you slip one hand between your legs. Trying to keep your focus on him is nearly impossible when you can hardly think with how badly you need to be touched. You shove your pants down and the first touch on your clit is near ecstasy. Sucking his cock, hearing his appreciation alone has left you swollen and soaked, trembling with pleasure as you moan shamelessly around his cock. You circle your clit and shiver, the pace of your tongue on him stuttering-

And this time, Ramattra doesn’t stop the impulse. Ramattra's fingers curl into your hair. You expect him to push you down, that his self control is broken, that he'll fuck your throat and-

he pulls you up. Your scalp stings softly, but you can only mewl in confusion, in desire- how must you look to him? Your own spit covering his cock, eyes glazed over in lust, one hand working yourself with a desperation- and Ramattra catches your arm with his other hand. You whimper, a mindless plea of no, please don't stop- as he pulls again, draws you up, up off the floor-

And you think for a moment he's going to fuck you, to get you in his lap-

“Come here.” His voice is almost unintelligible, harsh with static. He doesn’t even let you comply, dragging your body onto the bed with him as he lays back. Your head spins, too clouded to understand what he wants- which is fine, because he moves you exactly how he's thinking. He pulls you on top of him, legs spread wide over his broad chest and then spins you around so you're looking at his cock again.

That's all the prompting you need. Still spit-slicked, you take him into your mouth again. The new angle is different, unusual- his cock arcs down towards your tongue, making it easier to take him deeper-- and making the press of your piercing into him all the more intense. Ramattra makes some noise behind you- and you would try to squeeze your hand beneath yourself to keep rubbing, but with your belly pressed to his, it’s too tight a fit. The metal of his chest would dig into your wrist too much. But your clit aches, too needy to be ignored. Desperate, you rut your hips against his chest, hoping to find any friction at all against his hard bands of armor-

And Ramattra's big hands land on your hips.

He pulls you back- back as far as he can without dislodging your mouth from his cock. You want to ask, can't seem to understand what he's doing- until each thumb slips between your legs. You moan softly, try to question what he’s doing, but if he hears you, he makes no response. Ramattra parts your folds, revealing your pussy. Warm air washes over your sex- another rush of his ventilation- and you whimper, twisting in his hands at the embarrassment of him looking at you so closely.

You don't expect the press of cool metal directly to your clit.

The temperature makes you jolt away from him, but his hands keep you still, keep your clit trapped right against his faceplate as Ramattra moans. All crackling and ruined, his voice is vibration right against your clit- and you finally understand. You bob your head again, determined to keep those noises coming from his synth.

You sink down on him, taking as much as you can. Ramattra purrs against your pussy, a low rumble that makes your hips twitch, rutting back against his face, your clit rubbing delightfully on the divot between his faceplate and jaw. It’s so primal, needy-- and Ramattra’s grasp on your hips shifts, pulling you towards him again, urging you to keep going. You’re so close already it’s hard to hold any rhythm, but he helps, pushing his mouth against you each time you come up on his cock- and each time your piercing catches the tip he moans, a bolt of static pleasure rumbling directly into your clit.

You can’t help it. You dig your nails into the coverings on his thighs, try desperately to focus on him, on making him cum- but the sound of him, the taste of his cock, and the incessant buzzing of his moans against your pussy are too much. Your rhythm breaks entirely as he pushes you over the edge. Your own noises are muffled, lost to the silicone in your throat. Metal hands keep your thighs spread as they twitch and try to close around him, forcing you to feel as he moans, praises you indistinctly through your orgasm- the words lost against the overwhelming feeling of the continued vibration of your clit.

You can’t think, the pleasure too sharp, too strong- you try to squirm away, to get any relief, but his grasp shifts, one arm now wrapped around your waist to keep you still. The other presses to the back of your head. His hips lift- and he as fucks your mouth desperately.

Ramattra moans, all static-garbled and needy, still rumbling against your pussy. And still you work your piercing against him, match his careful pace with hard licks of your tongue- and each panting, growing moan you can feel him getting closer, every Ah, ah, ah- buzzing harder into your clit as acute pain- a raw overstimulation that only builds into whimpering, twitching second wave that makes your whole body tremble in his hands-

And it’s your hips throat twitching around him again that makes him gasp- the rushed intake of air and firm press of his face against your pussy in a long, droning note as he overloads entirely. His hips thrust up into your mouth one more time before steam rushes from his vents, fills the room with hot air and every joint in his body goes lax.

For a long time you lay there, shivering and boneless. His arms are a pleasant, heavy weight across your back, a good counterpoint to the weak shudders your body gives from time to time. Your clit and throat ache, but it’s a monumental task to move yourself just enough to no longer be choking on his dick or have your over sensitive clit pressed to his firm metal. It takes three tries on your shaking arms before you can manage it.

You lay there, limp and much too tired to try to extricate yourself further from the heft of him. Instead, you close your eyes and enjoy the silence, letting your body relax and cool off until the soft harmony of Ramatta’s internals returns. First, the hum of his processors, then the fans of his ventilation resume, much quieter than they had been before- then his lights return. Positioned as you are, you don’t see his array’s lights, but you do watch as the indicator lights in his cock turn from a yellow- muddied by the purple tinting in the silicone- to green, to finally red.

Ramattra’s fingers twitch on your back, and you laugh slightly as he mimics clearing his throat. He gently lifts your hips and helps you roll off of him, but with a limp waving request of your hand, he then helps you to turn around and lean against his broad chest, half on top of him again.

If you had any energy left at all, you’d be embarrassed- or perhaps aroused again- at the sight of his faceplate; he’s soaked. Everything between his optics down to the tip of his chin is coated in your wetness.

And yet when he speaks, “I apologize I was… overly enthusiastic.” It’s all contrition. One hand touches the side of your neck, a silent voicing of fear of injury.

Instead, you press your face to his hand and he meets you halfway, stroking along your cheekbone with unspoken reverence. “But you liked it?” While his voice has been perfectly reset, yours is still rough, rasping from the strain on your throat.

“I…” He starts- and immediately his fans hum louder again. Your lips barely crack into a knowing smile before he admits it, “Yes. It was… enjoyable.”

“See, more than just aesthetics.” You say, melting onto his chest more, idly stroking at the long pistons mimicking collar bones.

“I suppose I have to agree. You can hardly see it to begin with.”

“Maybe you should give me a piercing you can see, then.” You say it offhanded, a little joke-

“What? I couldn’t.” Ramattra shoots back immediately, “I have no experience with that.”

And his rejection only makes the idea more appealing, more real. “No, wait, think about it! You could research how to do it and where. Your hands wouldn’t shake, you’d be able to center it better-- I bet you could even design it yourself…” You grin and look up at the dark slits for his optics, half pleading. “Come on, at least you’d be saving me money and a trip out.”

Ramattra’s hands on you stop moving, but he doesn’t pull away. So completely motionless, you know he’s processing it, mulling the idea over. “You… want me to pierce you?”

“Well. Yeah, I guess? I mean I like piercings and I think you’d do a good job… and…” You blush softly, finally averting your gaze from his as though this is somehow more intimate than sucking his cock until he overloaded and cumming on his face twice. “Maybe I kinda… like the idea of having jewelry that you made, that you put there…”

His design on your body. It’s not just intimate; it’s possessive. A silent, private mark of your relationship… If you weren’t not so thoroughly spent, it might bring another wave of heat between your legs. He must have come to the same conclusion, because something shudders in Ramattra’s chest.

“I see.” He says coolly, as though you don’t feel the streams of hot air that again slip from his vents. “Then, I will look into it.”

In all, it takes Ramattra three days. Three days before he’s guiding you into his workshop and lifting you up onto his desk. The thrill of how easily he picks you up- big hands cradling your rib cage as he sets you onto the metal surface- always makes you a little giddy. Even more so is the little purple velvet box that sits nearby. You reach for it-

And Ramattra snatches the box up with a tut, “No peeking.”

“Fine.” You sigh exaggeratedly, watching as he skims over the tools he’s acquired in the last half week. A bottle of antiseptic, forceps, a marker-- and your eyes wander to a small package of needles. Your stomach tightens a little just seeing them, so you look at him instead, distracting yourself as Ramattra finishes his preparations. “Where did you decide?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead gently putting one finger under your chin and turning your head away. His other hand drifts over your ear- and eventually catches the little flap in front of your ear canal between thumb and forefinger. “Here.” His hands abandon you, turning back to his tools and grabbing the marker. “It is called the tragus.”

You hum in acknowledgement, but otherwise keep still as he focuses on your ear. Carefully, methodically- Ramattra touches the tip of the marker to your skin.

He draws your chin back towards him, examining the dot he’s made from the front before retrieving and handing you a mirror. “This is… acceptable?” He prompts as you look at your reflection. You could almost laugh; the ink of the marker is perfectly centered- likely is, mathematically. You knew he’d be good at this.

“Yeah, it looks perfect.” You look at the mark a moment more, picturing jewelry in its spot. It is… a strange location. “Why’d you pick this one?”

Ramattra pauses, his turn towards his tools a little too intentional. “If you wish to remove it later, any scarring should not be too disruptive.”

Something tightens in your chest. You reach out to him, gently touch his forearm. His head only slightly turns back towards you, just enough for you to see the corner of one slit. “I’m not going anywhere.” You say it, squeeze his arm again and hope he’ll internalize it this time. His only response is a small hum, an acknowledgement of the words, if not their meaning. So, you redirect him. “Can I see the jewelry now?”

Again, Ramattra hesitates, but caves with a halting, “Yes, I suppose so.” He holds the box a second too long- so tiny in his big hands- but offering it to you.

You don’t even hide your ecstatic grin as you take it- too excited at the possibilities. His designs are always so sleek, but you don’t know what he would choose for you to wear. You crack open the box- and the first thing you recognize is the color. Purple- the exact shade as his accents, as his jaw. But it’s not just his paint- you hold the tiny box closer and squint. It’s almost an inverted teardrop shape, but not quite. There is a silver dot embedded in the lower half, the point that would be sharp is clipped, a notch taken out of the wider top… You look at it for a moment longer- and your excitement melts into something warmer, recognition.

“It’s your chest plate…” You murmur and reach for him again. Only the lower half is visible under his tan cowl, but Ramattra stands still, lets you lift the soft fabric to reveal his own inverted teardrop- the purple latch right in the center of his chest.

“There’s more…” His voice falters, rasping through a whisper, strained with the same feeling that’s twisting in your throat.

You look back to the jewelry, unsure how there could be more meaning lain into it- but you take it from the little velvet cushions that hold it in place- and understand. The back of it is green with tiny golden lines etched into it. A circuit board. You brow pinches for a moment, dragging a nail over the back- feeling the protective coating over the circuits. It’s too small, too clipped to be functional. Just decorative, symbolic?

“When I…” He starts and stops, stepping closer to you- laying one hand on the outside of your thigh. “When I installed…. that I also had to replace and redesign some chips that were in my hips for functionality. I… kept the originals.”

“This is… you?” You murmur, tracing the tiny golden threads again. An actual chip from his body… “Or, was part of you?”

Ramattra nods stiffly, watches as you examine the tiny thing. “It’s… acceptable?”

“Yeah.” You sniffle, “I love it, Rama…” then hurriedly put the jewelry back in its box and shove it back towards him. You rub at your watering eyes and force out a tight, “Hurry up and pierce me before I cry.”

Ramattra nods again, shifting easily into his practiced movements. He swaps your ear with antiseptic and dips the piercing into the bottle, laying it on a sheet to dry as he picks up his tools. You focus on his faceplate and stare up at him as he steps in front of you. He waits there a moment- soaks in your gaze before touching your chin and urging you to turn your head just as he had earlier.

You close your eyes, don’t look as he clamps the forceps down.

“Breathe.” His voice rumbles, so close to your ear. You shiver, but obey- taking in the cool air of his workspace, the scent of his oil, relax into the warm proximity of him-

And as you exhale he pierces you. Hot pain washes over the whole side of your head. You clench your teeth, try not to flinch as he moves quickly, replacing pieces with a smoothness that you should’ve expected from him.

“Good,” He praises, still low and quiet and so close to you- and finally he pushes his design into the backing.

Ramattra steps away, but you grab at him- hands landing on the silver handles at his hips. He stops, turns towards you- and the tears you’d managed to suppress before being stabbed boil over.

“Does it hurt? I-”

You’re crying before you can even wrap your arms around him.And realizing you’re crying into his cowl- your face pressed right up against the exact plate he used as a design makes you weep harder. But he steps right up against the table and shushes you, strokes your back with an affection no one else has even seen in him.

“I love you,” You manage between shoulder-racking sobs- and something inside Ramattra shudders.

So quickly he adjusts, no longer holding you to his broad chest, but near doubling over, half lifting you off the table to press his faceplate into your shoulder. He buries himself in the warmth of your body- and shudders again as your grasp scrabbles over his back, no longer cinched around his tiny waist, but sliding up under his cowl, grabbing at the long bars of armor and holding yourself up against him.

“I love you so much,” You murmur to him, half broken by sniffles- and he squeezes your ribs in turn.

[melodic-haze]

you’re cooking so hard w those fics,,, may I request some sub clorinde?

one of the scenarios in the fic can be where she wears a vibrator on her shift 🙏 (semi-public ofc)

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Clorinde x dom!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: semi-public 🫶, use of toys (the vibe's silly and magical bc this is a magical world and I can do what I want), consensual sexual corruption

☆ — NOTES: Why is this so long anyway DUDE THANK YOU 🙏🙏🙏🙏 I try my best to hashtag serve the cuntry. I somehow brought Navia into it as well I hope you don't mind 😭😭😭 NOT in the pair though, just like a chunk of the post ig

Ohhh my god Clorinde looks SOOOO fun to toy with 🫶🫶🫶 your MIND anon

She takes her job so seriously but when she's off the clock she's so silly she's so unserious like just LOOK at her with Navia???? I love her

I think you two joke around when it's just the two of you in the comfort of your own home when the whole matter pops up. Maybe she's like prepping dinner for the two of you (if you can cook as well you probably have a rotation) as it happens

It was therapeutic, watching Clorinde practically glide around the kitchen in such an organised manner. She often said that her skills as the Champion Duelist and her skills as a home chef were synonymous together in multiple ways, though despite her meaning it as a jest her proficiency with both activities was undoubtedly unmatched. She said you were a bit biased too, but you paid no heed.

"..You look so much more relaxed here, compared to when you're out for work," you muse as you observed her.

To which she looks up at you momentarily before looking back down at the vegetables she was chopping up, her speed and efficiency not slipping up in any way despite the light distraction, "A guard cannot necessarily be seen as.. well, whimsical in order to be taken seriously."

"Yeah, but you're THE Champion Duelist. Surely that allows you some form of leeway towards having to act all serious every time."

"I'm afraid not, mon ange." She shakes her head with a small smile, "What brought this up all of a sudden?"

You shrugged, "I dunno. I guess whenever I see you around, I always see you so.. focused and stoic."

"You mean to say I'm boring when we are outside?"

"You aren't? But you could do with some loosening up."

She looks up again with an amused eyebrow raise, "Between the two of us, my body is much more limber compared to yours."

"You ass!" You scoffed, crossing your arms in mock annoyance, "Go back to cutting carrots instead of taking potshots at me."

"Taking shots is my specialty, though? And I was already done with the task."

"Clorinde!"

The electro wielder chuckled lightly before moving to pour the vegetable mix into the pan, "Still, I fail to see your point."

"My point is," you push yourself off the wall you had been leaning on and move closer to your girlfriend, "I wanna see you all cute during your job at least once."

"Am I not 'cute' enough for you?"

"You are! But I feel like I should be intimidated too. Because, you know, I don't really want to be put in the spotlight for some kinda crime."

"Uh huh. Say I do agree with you then; what do you propose I do?" She is genuinely curious at first, but when she sees you smile the way you do that's when she gets suspicious, "..I know that look, mon cœur. You want to do something risqué."

You hum as if pondering your next response while your arms wrap around her waist, though with the way she turns around with a knowing look and a swift move of turning the stove strength all the way down, you know that she doesn't believe that innocent bout of 'thinking' one bit.

"Do I? You really think so?"

"I know so." And she leans to kiss your cheek, "My skills in observation combined with my knowledge of your every habit isn't useless, you know.

"Hmm... Well, then." Your fingers snuck underneath the fabric of her shirt and traced nonsensical shapes on her skin as you spoke, "I did find something—an item—that could help you.. de-stress during work."

You know she took the hint when you looked her vibrant purple eyes. Perhaps you could've sworn them glow like the element she has command over.

But when she asks you of it—

"And what may this.. item be?"

—you both know full well that that is the only thing she has control over when you're involved.

When she finds out that you want to stuff a vibrator in her for the whole day as she works, she has to give herself time to process it. Like, really? While she's supposed to stay vigilant in case something wrong happens??? Like be serious wth is she gonna do when she's all dumb and distracted and something goes awfully wrong??????

All you say is that while you'd wanna try it out to see what happens, you won't force her to do so.........and against her better judgement, she takes it back. Not only does she want to make you happy and that she wants to prove that she isn't a coward, she.. is a little (a lot) interested in what may happen. Plus "it will prove to be somewhat of a fun challenge", she says, which yk whatever works for her

She learns to regret that come (lmao) the next day when it's actually put into practice

You found this specific vibe from a wandering seller, you see. Powered by a mix of different elements and with the usage of their reactions, it came in a pair—one that was now deep inside her and the other in your pocket, ready for you to hold onto and simply think on the intensity of the bullet's vibrations and effects

Its control range was rather far too, so it's not as if you even had to be in the city to control it. You wanted to see how she deals with such a situation though, so the most you do is carry on with your day instead of constantly following her around (but you do bump into her 'on accident' quite a few times though)

At first it starts out relatively fine for her. It's a manageable feeling, with it interchanging between a weak pace to something slightly faster—she can ignore it with her masterful discipline. Hell, she's even thinking that you might actually be taking it easy on her bc of her earlier concerns which.. how nice of you!!!

Except she's WRONG❗️❗️❗️ You're not being nice, you're biding your time. She probably should've been suspicious but she trusted you unconditionally which would be so cute and flattering at any other moment.........but right now it was so deliciously naive of her, to just let her guard down with you like that

You're slowly but surely testing the waters by playing with the intensity beyond its lowest settings; having it slowly incline nd decline, making it spike up, even manipulating the pattern of its vibrations within your mind. And you can tell that every mental command is successfully transferred when the gem you hold pulses with a faint feeling of warmth that passes after a very brief moment

You can't see her half the time whenever you're off doing something else but maybe that's what makes it better, especially when you see her and you make a point to keep out of her line of sight. She looks around for you like a frazzled animal that's trying to seem composed and yet you know she's becoming anything but from the way she subtly jolts to attention every time you change the vibe's directions, all endearingly paranoid over what you do next as you change the settings again and again and again

Despite the risk and the paranoia and everything though? As much as she wants to deny it, there is an ever increasing pool of arousal in her panties. It's not just from the vibrator, however—it's from the possible risk of getting caught partaking in the sinful act of walking around with a sex toy stuffed inside of her. She can't believe it, but the thrill of the risk and the overthinking is definitely not doing her any favours in terms of trying to keep calm

It's when she has a certain exchange that has her ABSOLUTELY ruined. She had spotted Navia during one of her breaks the same time that the other had clocked onto her too. The head of the Spina di Rosula walked up to her with a smile and a friendly greeting and in no time at all, they get to talking the minutes away

Catching up to Navia again without such dreadful tension from before was definitely a relief. It was as if they had chatted about everything and nothing at all at the same time, with the both of them laughing lightly. The exchange was certainly a welcome distraction, both from her job and the bullet-shaped vibrator that hit and teased her sensitive spots every now and again—you had definitely become braver as time went on, but you weren't going to break her composure just yet.

..Or well, really, she realised that she probably shouldn't have given it any thought when her eyes see you watching her at a distance. She trails off in the midst of her sentence as time seemed to slow to a stop when your lips curl up into an all-too-familiar expression.

Before Navia can even ask her if she's okay or try to break her out of her sudden reverie, Clorinde flinches and almost keels over at the sudden EXTREME increase of speed and force and-- is that a temperature increase too? She doesn't react quietly either—she bites back a yelp, managing a strangled gasp instead. Was this what you were aiming for the entire time? To build it all up until the most inopportune time??

Navia was undoubtedly worried, her hands immediately dropping her parasol to hold her friend steady, "Clorinde?! What happened? Are you hurt?"

The duelist shook her head in an attempt to clear her head but the ever-shifting movement inside her didn't allow that. So instead she tried her best to answer as unaffected as possible, despite her seemingly dramatic display, "Yes, I-- mm.. I'm alright. Just a sudden migraine, is all. Perhaps I've been-- working too hard."

"Whatever did I tell you about working yourself to the bone," the blonde asks, though she doesn't look fully convinced that it's just a migraine, "maybe you should retire for the day. I can tell your--"

"No! It's alright," she rushes out, "I will be fine after some time, you need not worry about me."

"But--"

"Do you not think I can handle myself?"

"I do, but if a migraine gets you such a violent reaction, then surely that's a cause for concern. Are friends not allowed to be worried for each other?"

They are, except this isn't really a migraine she's suffering from!!

(She doesn't know whether she loves or hates the fact that her not being able to say anything about her predicament to her good friend gets her going even more.)

"She probably needs a little rest, somewhere where the sun isn't hitting her eyes."

"Y/N!"

Clorinde looks to you approaching behind the blonde and making yourself known with a happy greeting and she can't help but narrow her eyes at you despite the vibrator in her cunt trying to take all her focus away from her.. or maybe it was due to exactly that, to which your smile widens just a tad further at the effect you have on her.

"Yes, that would be a good place for me to recover. In fact," she keeps her eyes on you as she speaks, "they can take it-- mnf.. take it here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, no need to worry. I will talk to you again s-- ..soon, Navia."

Soon enough, you all part ways (you with Clorinde in tow), leaving a very confused and suspicious Navia alone where you once stood. Neither of you say anything, though as you both reach a deserted alley somewhere, sun blocked by the towering buildings around you, that's when she snaps.

And it is such a lovely thing to witness.

By snapping, I don't mean that she cums right away. I mean she's all over you, gloved hands grasping onto your body and hastily pleading for you to finally help her take the edge off

You're so absolutely mean for doing what you did!!! She says she regrets ever saying yes to this plan and entertaining you like this, to which you laugh at her face. Sure, it would've been a cruel reaction to her distress.. if she weren't so addled with lust; her eyes dark and pupils blown wide, her panties unbelievably wet

It gets worse when you whisper things to her as well such as "you definitely enjoyed it" and "do you think Navia knew? Would you have wanted her to know?" bc even when she shakes her head vehemently and denies it, you can feel her pussy pulsing as you taunt her.........

But then you pull your hand back and Clorinde's looking at you in a mix of frustration and confusion, a complete far cry from her ever-so-composed demeanour on a normal day

She asks you why. Does she need to beg even more? Do you want her to do anything else? She needs this but she's also very aware you're still outside, despite this corner of the area being practically abandoned, so it both gives her a thrill AND a sense of urgency

Your answer? Not one she expected, but should have probably saw coming from a mile away: you want her to cum with the toy and herself only. She's right, this IS still a public space.. so obviously such close proximity would be VERY suspicious, right? And nobody would be able to see the toy buzzing in her, so surely it'd be the best solution

She tries to protest, but you don't budge. Hell, threaten to turn it off for the rest of the day and she'll keel over and do exactly what you ask her to do

So you manipulate the vibrator, up close and personal this time, and you relish in the restricted moans and desperate breaths she lets out as she essentially fucks herself in the alleyway with your help. As the vibe bends to your will within her in different ways, she took her glove off one of her hands with her teeth in a desperate attempt to not dirty her visible clothing before her now-ungloved hand darts into her panties to rub her clit and pleasure herself to you

It's not long when she practically explodes as the setting goes the highest it's ever been, her orgasm SO intense that it has her seeing stars and actually dropping to the ground if it weren't for you immediately rushing over to catch her on time (and maybe you get a light shock of electro too, much to your chagrin, but really it's technically your fault so 🤷‍♀️). You use the control gem to help her with her high, slowly decreasing its intensity until the after-shock is reduced to a few twitches from her here and there

She's practically a lifeless form for a few mins and you can't help but laugh at the situation. She lifts her head up, absolutely unimpressed at your amusement, though a small smile makes her way onto her lips anyway

When she's gained enough strength to hold herself up without falling (mostly bc you whine after a while ab how she's heavy, to which she slaps you up in the head lightly and tells you it's your fault lmao), you both make sure she looks presentable enough to actually go back in public again. You asked her if she wanted to skip instead but she's so duty-bound that she doesn't gaf if she feels fucked-out, she WILL continue her duties

But like. Let's be real though. Esp when you told her she could take the toy out bc you're more than satisfied but she wanted to actually keep it in? You both know that not only will you both have a round two of sorts when you get back home, but this won't necessarily be the last time you'll use this toy after today

You could say she found a love for it 🤷‍♀️ not like she'd ever explicitly admit it when she's not all dumbed out for you in the comfort of your own home

She doesn't even really need to, not with that display earlier

[xoxochb]

buttermilk waffles (drowning in syrup) 🧇

hiiii! is it okay to ask for a lil something with jason grace x popstar!reader based off of sabrina carpenter's bed chem?

also????? in love with your theme sm!!! girl, i wish i had ur eye for creativity 😭

⋆·˚ ༘ * bed chem

warnings: allusions to sex, brief kissing, pairing: jason grace x pop star! reader a/n: this isn’t really based off the song but I thought of this idea and wanted to write it because it’s cutesy

event list

you sit down, breathless at the end of the stage, allowing your legs to dangle over the edge. you sigh and turn the microphone to your mouth

“so,” you start, still trying to catch your breath “that was my new song bed chem from my new album short and sweet-”

you’re cut off by the crowd cheering loudly, making a wide smile appear on your lips. “okay… okay…” you laugh. you hear a question being yelled from somewhere in the crowd. your eyebrows perk up and you tilt the microphone away from you to hear better. you point at your ears and then to your mouth to signal the fan to speak in the microphone. a girl— maybe around eighteen comes up to the stage and you switch your position to be laying on your stomach to help yourself with reducing the movie of others fans

at first the fan stumbles over her words, struggling to get something out. when she conquers the right words she begins, “this song- I was wondering who you wrote it about”

this sends the crowd in a chant, begging to hear the culprit you had sang about. you rest your chin on your hand and turn your head to the right of the stage, electric blue eyes meeting yours. you giggle like a silly lovesick school girl and turn back to the crowd

you rotate the mic make to yourself. “well if I told you that would ruin the fun wouldn’t it?”

the crowd starts groaning making you laugh in return

“okay, okay. let me tell you a story. two years ago I was at an award show, you know- and I had that black sheer dress on, remember? and when I was walking home I met this boy- oh god was he handsome! we walked around the city for a while and talked, something casual. but there was tension brewing, and we went back to my apartment, and I’m sure you know where I’m going with this-”

you hear screams— blood curling screams from the crowd. If you didn't know any better you would've thought there was something awful happening

“guys, guys” you wait as the crowd calms down and goes quiet again “that boy, he’s my boyfriend now. this is the first time he’s heard this song. I hope he likes this song because I’m hoping to recreate the first night when we leave”

the crowd laughs and ushers you to go. you dramatically gasp. “wow. you want me gone? I see how it is!”

you stand up and dramatically close the show, saying your farewells to your fans and waving goodbye before heading backstage. In a lovestruck daze you don’t realize a pair of lips slotting over your own until, well— they were! you knew the arms wrapping around your waist and the lips against your own all too well via nights fantasizing about them and nights when the fantasy’s came true. your smile causes you to break away

“hi jase” you peck his lips and slide your arms around his neck “I like these kinds of greetings”

the blond mirrors your expression. “the feelings are mutual”

you squeal and throw your head back. jason takes this to his advantage and begins kissing your neck. “you really wrote that song about me?”

“no, leo”

you receive a pinch to your waist in return

“I did, I did!”

“good. because I would agree”

blood rushes to your cheeks. you play dumb. “about what, angel?”

“we have really good bed chem”

[vagabond-umlaut]

Sojourn In The Sun

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader; Arranged Marriage; Childhood Friendship To Complicated Feelings™️; Fluff; Angst; Canon-Compliant; Contains Manga Spoiler; Satoru & Reader Are So Cute, So Honest And So Kind-Of-Happy With Each Other Here– I Love Them!; Silly Jokes Are Their [& My] Coping Mechanism; Takes Place Between JJK 221 & 236.

Oneshot From Series: One Day, Three Autumns

"You. Baked. This. For. Me."

"No, Satoru. A stork flew in through ths kitchen window and dropped this bloody cake on that table."

"But don't they deliver babies or something? Plus, isn't that window a tad too tiny for such a big bird?"

"I guess, the stork must've dropped you on your head while delivering you to your parents, you know?"

A beat passes in response to your remark, before Satoru erupts into a fit of chortles and you shake your head with a huffed chuckle. Getting up from where you were hunched over the countertop, nibbling on an omelette and scrolling through your mobile, Satoru watches your face gleam in fondness in the late morning light, as you amble over to him.

Very messy hair. Ratty old clothes. Sleepy yet shiny eyes— His cheeks hurt from the sheer joy bubbling in his chest at this sight before him.

"Seriously, sweetness? Storks?" he asks, lifting his arm then dropping it to wrap round your shoulders as you reach him and snuggle into his side – only to catch hold of the hem of his huge sweater, and squeeze yourself into it, your tiny fingers clasping round his back as your head emerges at the top and you move to nuzzle into his neck, teeth biting cute little nips on the skin there.

If it was even two months back, Satoru reckons he would have been a hell lot stunned, seeing you give your affections so blatantly– that too at a place outside your shared bed, outside the darkness of the night.

But... It no longer is two months back. It is now. Not only in day, date, time. But also in the irreversibly mutated fashion the earth rotates on its axis everyday in the man's eyes. New experiences. New allies. New absences. New nightmares...— Everything's different from how it was before that chilly October night— Your husband deems it to be not an awful lot strange to see you too like this. The world is not the same as before; to survive, you too must change to adapt to the change, must you not?

Lips brushing your forehead once before dashing away, he asks in a soft yet humorous tone, "Too tired to give a reply, are we now, huh?"

"Not really," you hum, your words punctuated by a yawn you're quick to suppress; you resume, "I know only two birds which are said to be used in sending parcels and stuff. One, messenger pigeon– but they are too small to carry a cake like that. Two, stork– stories do say they were used to deliver babies – so I thought delivering a cake would be a piece of cake for them, heh!" You shoot him a grin, eyes crinkling at the corners into lovely half-moons, "Pretty funny and punny, ain't I?"

"Of course, sweetness. You are all three," Satoru is quick to agree with a nod— happy wife = happy life; plus, it's not like he's lying to you— A shadow of confusion falls on your face— Deciding to deal with it later, for the sake of the question weighing on his mind at the moment, the man repeats his ask from earlier, "You really really baked this for me?"

You return a nod, hints of a smile lurking in the shape of your lips.

"But why?"

Whatever happiness might've beginning to bloom on your features, it withers away– Your husband smacks himself internally for employing such a tone: So weak, so much so that it makes you peer up at him in concern he has only ever seen on you after a particularly bad mission.

So weak, so that it makes him hope you don't think him to be any less than 'The Strongest'— any less than being capable of standing beside you, protecting you, being worthy of you.

A pair of chapped lips plant themselves on his cheek. "Just because I wanted to bake a cake for you, 'Toru!" you explain with a giggle, albeit its subdued quality doesn't go past his eye, as you move a bit away to press a swift kiss on his other cheek; fingers drawing lazy patterns on his scalp and massaging the roots of his hair.

"You've always done too much for me and everyone else– Thought of returning the favour once, although I doubt it can ever match yours... Also, haven't you always wanted to eat a cake baked by yours truly?"

He has.

He so, so has.

Ever since the day you baked some muffins for him in the microwave oven of the school kitchen– him, a grumbling mess thanks to his all-too-familiar migraine and those old geezers– you, another grumbling mess thanks to your all-too-familiar insomnia and those annoying AF exams—

Satoru never imagined he could taste a sweet dish made by you ever again in his life, for the past ten years or so— given how the morning after that night you declared you would never bake again: "uff, that is too fuckin' tiring and boring!" and how every next time he came with a migraine to your door, you pointedly ignored his whining for you to bake him something, choosing to grab the warm and cold compress instead and give him a massage, following the manuals kept in stack-over-stack on your table—

Even during his teenage years, then later as an adult, the sorcerer has always missed your baking, but seeing you care for him in ways much too characteristically 'you'... he decided to pay no mind to such dumb wishes, he knows you'll never fulfill in this lifetime.

Except now you've fulfilled them and your husband doesn't know any response fitting enough to thank your efforts and thoughts through.

Throwing the cake a sideways glance, he brings his focus back to you gazing at him, to the eagerness reflecting in your irises. His lips tilt up into a smile, obeying a mind of their own.

"Blue velvet cake with white frosting... you sure do know how to make me happy, don't you, sweetness?" he muses out loud, carefully noting the warmth creeping up your neck into your cheeks and ears, "But, so much for a thanks... there must be another reason behind this, right?"

Feeling the tiny burst of air hitting him from your quiet exhale, Satoru lets you maneuver him towards the kitchen until he's leaning with his back against the marble island and you're nestling even closer to him.

A palm glides cautiously over the planes of his back.

Almost as if the man in front of you is a glass figurine–

Almost as if you're fine with him being a glass figurine.

So easy to read.

So easy to hurt.

So easy to care for with the gentlest of touches and softest of smiles, the look in your eyes tells every one of his six eyes– the innumerable chips and cracks in his very essence be damned—

You poke his cheek, a knowing twitch in your lips.

"You rarely ever cuddled me in bed before, yet now, every single night and day, I find you squeezing me with those arms and legs of yours..." Satoru's eyes widen. Your lips part in a fondly teasing grin. "Think why – really why– you hug me for warmth and don't hog the blankets; and you'll have your answer, 'Toru."

Birds shriek outside. Your mobile beeps thrice. Your omelette goes as frozen as poor Uranus on the countertop beside.

For the second time this cold day, the two of you break into laughter.

"And you'll have your answer, 'Toru!?!?" Satoru mimics you except in a soprano-esque shrill voice. "Who the fuck do you think we are, huh? A pair of lovers in some Shakespeare-y play, baring our feelings to each other in the soft glow of the winter sun, or some stupid shit like that?"

Another chuckle breaks free from your chest at his words; the grin on his face widening, he watches you take a long breath then say, "Nope nope nope! The both of us are way too uncivilised to play any role like in Shakespeare's plays — but Satoru~" you drawl your vowels out; his heart beats a little faster in his chest– "I can never be as unrefined as you, going as far as to keep your wife waiting, while you ask question after question– and not eat the cake and praise it, like a good spouse should, you know?"

"Oh, is it so?" The man inquires, brow raised, before warping with you in his arms to where the cake's kept, and cutting a big chunk with the knife kept, gobbles it all up in one go.

The tilt of your lips betrays the disapproving click your tongue makes.

A very content hum escapes Satoru. "Your baking's something out of this world–no, galaxy, sweetness. I hope you know–"

He stills, focus stolen by the letters and number a bit far on the table–

Satoru's gaze snaps back to you, only to find the same smile on your face– so simple, so devious– complicated and thwarted by the small expressive tremor of your lips; your gaze moving away from him to a calendar on your left and his right, the very same which stopped him—

Grasping your chin in his frosting-covered fingers, he drags your gaze back to himself, tutting, "You aren't any better than me, wifey. You too lack the same manners and etiquettes I do— So, now— c'mon, c'mon, c'mon–" he says, not unlike a broken record, playing the same section of music until he makes you cave in from the annoyance alone, "Wish your darling husband 'Happy Birthday 'Toru!!', give him a big birthday smooch, and be the courteous wife, you aren't really, but think you're— Now, go ahead, go ahead, go–"

"No."

"No?" Satoru echoes, holding back a weary chuckle. Or sigh. The man doesn't know which. You nod with that same stubborn determination of yours, he has happened to love-hate-tolerate over the years. "Yeah. No. I don't wanna. Wishing you can only solidify the fact that today is December 7th–"

"I think, the clock striking twelve few hours back solidified it–"

"Which will go on to cement the fact we're only 17 days away–"

"I don't think the fact needs any cementing. It's cast in stone–"

"Is there no way we can be happy, Satoru?"

Your question startles him into a momentary stun – not 'cause of the solemnity packed into every word of it – but because it serves as the mirror image to the question them cursed voices in his brain ask him in the warmth of the day, in the chill of the night, when he finds Yuuji sitting by himself with no spiky black hair nor bright orange hair next to him; when he catches the ashtray on Shoko's table filled with way too many cigarette stubs; when he wakes up to see you sitting in the dimly lit storeroom, a faded photograph or a childish drawing in your hand; when he looks at the mirror and finds the reason behind every pain his cherished ones have suffered, staring right back at him—

"There is," Satoru says, willing his mind to shut up for once, to let him say what he wants to say for once– the clock is ticking a bit too fast–

"Don't think of today as anything more than that it's December 7. Not how many days it's been since Halloween. Not how many days it'll be before it's Christmas Eve. Just focus on the fact it's my birthday, and everything will seem a hell lot better, even if it's only for a short time."

You peer at him attentively, before narrowing your eyes a bit. "Never took you as the kind to ignore reality, y'know?"

Your husband cracks an amused grin. "Still, standing in the middle of a warzone and actively ignoring it is cooler than running away from it, isn't it?"

"Cooler and dumber," you correct with a teasing grin and a waggle of your finger– however, before he can gather any retort to your remark, he finds himself being pulled down by his collar, his lips colliding with your waiting ones— the ensuing kiss a little sweet, a little spicy, a little shy, a little hungry; but overall, very, very addicting. Satoru thinks you can never give him kisses enough to satiate him, even for a tiny while.

He is always going to stay this ravenous, this yearning for you. In this lifetime and every other that follows. He can't ever get enough of you.

A tiny pop! reverberates in the bubble round you two, as your mouth gently separates from his, though never strays anywhere far, resting only few millimetres away. Eyes drifting to his swollen lips for a beat, Satoru watches you look at him again, cheeks heated and stretched in a smile.

"Happy birthday, Satoru," you whisper, "Many, many happy returns of the day."

"Thanks," the man mumbles, running a careful thumb back-and-forth over your bottom lip– before something clicks to life in his mind. Your husband registers a slow smirk form on his face. "But I guess it'll be a happier birthday if ya promise to bake me a cake every now and then. What do you think, sweetness?"

"Nah!" your reply arrives, as if it's a reflex response and not one which requires some thinking, "Baking's too fuckin' tiring and boring– But..." you trail off for a beat, the nonchalance on your face morphing into a tenderness– You resume, "Why don't you try and find out by yourself if I will ever decide to bake a cake for you, every now and then, yeah?"

The weight of your words lingers in the gap in between for a second.

Accepting the weight with an eager grin, Satoru closes the gap, him inclining forwards to rest his forehead on yours.

"Sounds like a challenge, sweetness. Good thing, I'm more than ready to try my best to meet it."

I do not own the characters used. Divider is by @cafekitsune. Please do not plagiarize or translate or repost this. Hope you enjoyed reading this! 😊

Please interact with This Post to be added to the series taglist! ❤️

Masterlist

[qqtxt]

can you write about reader helping shave beomgyu’s beard(?), something like morning fluff? beomgyu seems to have more facial hair than the others and seeing some moas make fun of him makes me so sad ☹️

augh, i didn't know about that! but nothing like a little fluff can't fix… (and that beoms is attractive no matter what he chooses to do >:))

[🐯] i got you

✿ pairing: beomgyu x reader / non.idol!au / fluff, silly, sexual innuendos but nothing explicit / minor cursing (none with ill-intention!) / word count: 410 words ✿ the best parts of beomgyu's morning always involve you [masterlist 🌸]

"c'mon, you're almost done. help me out here," beomgyu huffs into your ear, earning himself a muffled chuckle as your mouth is filled with foam from your toothpaste and toothbrush. the way he moulds himself against you is what makes it even funnier but you're holding it back and nudging him away so you can properly rinse your mouth.

his arms don't let up from around your waist, pressing his cheek to your shoulder just as you look into the mirror to meet with his pouty expression. with a sigh, you brush his hands off, put the toothbrush into the cup you've taken it from and turn around to–"gimme that,"

his pearly smile comes to view when you snatch his shaver. it's not like he doesn't know how to do it or if it was any difficult but it was just his excuse to have you up close with all your attention on him. it was the attentiveness in the way you carefully switch positions with him so that he's the one having his hip leaning against the sink. his hands settle on your waist, offering you stability as you lean in, one hand cupping the side of his face. the other gripping onto the shaver to begin smoothening the hairs lightly poking out of his chin, the space above his upper lip, anywhere you can reach as beomgyu rotates his head to give you access.

half the time, though, you're reminding him that excuse me, move your damned head, please because he's too busy smiling and staring at you. he only listens when you roll your eyes to glare at him that he complies with damn, okay. don't gotta turn me on with those eyes.

the playfulness is back in full swing when you switch off the shaver and beomgyu puckers his lips. with a snort, you smoothen your thumb over his chin to feel his skin and tug him lower so you can give him a kiss.

"that's all you're getting. brush your teeth first, then you'll get more." you're tapping his bum on the way out of the bathroom, after shoving the shaver back into his hands. he holds his toothbrush up, "wanna help me brush my teeth?"

even though you both know it's a joke, with the way you deadpan at him from the bed, hands on your hips and the tilt of your head, he quietly blows you a kiss and closes the bathroom door.

[nevernonline]

omg pls finish the members as dad’s ask you did the other day they were so so amazing 😭

dad! svt

hi, nonnie!! you and the nice people in my asks were so lovely about this ask. I figured instead of answering you all separately I would just post the rest of them members here 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 thank u all sm carat land is the happiest land  

warnings: mentions of child nourishment, fem! partners.

also pls note I know the bare minimum about having a child and what taking care of one would ever look like &lt;3

SVT's reactions to you seeing you taking care of your child in front of them: 

jeon wonwoo 

sweetest dad!! nobody can come for me over that 

wonu is def one of the members that would know so much about having a child already because he was SO excited for the day his s/o was ready for it 

would be so gentle while holding the baby!! i will say sweetest dad again 

while you’re feeding he 100% is all about privacy for you he would make you both a comfy spot to rest and when your finished have your fav snack ready to go!! 

has the baby trying in every pair of his eyeglasses because he’s nervous they’ll have to wear them when they grow up and that he got bad eyesight from him 

lee jihoon 

i feel like he opted to be the most PRIVATE father ever but failed 

pretends to not care when people ask to see a picture of his kid but ultimately gets gitty when people yell him he has the most beautiful child 

caught his s/o feeding for the first time while coming to visit him at work and made SURE the room was private for them and stood guard outside only to peek his little head in 24/7 

only trusts him or wonu to hold his child nobody else is safe 

xu minghao 

hao as a dad makes me want to rip my hair out of my head bc he’s going to be so amazing if he becomes a father 

has the most specific baby night routine for his kid and his partner ever 

would draw you an amazing bath after feeding with such nice essential oils and candles as he sits next to the side of the tub to read you and your baby a good book 

has an amazing rotation of healthy recipes for you to eat so you and your baby are getting the best nutrients 

kim mingyu: 

did somebody say dilf ?? (Srry) 

def flexes his muscles pushing his baby stroller just in case you catch him!! he just wants to look good for his s/o all the time 

he would be similar to hoshi where he wants to be involved in everything, so if you’re feeding he is right on top of you assisting with your baby

the first time he saw you feeding them he couldn’t help but finding himself giggling every time the baby would burp or smile into your chest 

his heart would be so full of love he would be constantly gleaming with joy 

def the dad to hold his baby bare chested when his s/o isn’t around so they always feel warm and comfortable :///

lee dokeyom: 

constantly sharing the sweetest posts about him becoming a dad and sharing what it’s been like with a new born <3 

started crying the first time you were feeding in front of him just because he was overwhelmed with the sight of his new family 

the type to buy a puppy around the same time you gave birth to make sure his baby always had a friend to take care of 

while you fed the baby he fed the puppy so he can be involved!! 

boo seungkwan

dad! Kwan is so complete fr 

can not even begin to smother with enough love 

would be so AWKWARD in a SK way the first time you started giving your baby their meal in front of him, trying not to watch, trying not to make you or them uncomfortable 

would fail really hard trying to quietly sneak in to give the baby a kiss before or after work and knock over something in the room only to wake them up from their slumber 

keeps telling you he’s going to teach your baby a profanity as their first word as a joke and actually ends up doing it 😭

chwe hansol 

lmao ofc he’s the silly dad all the kids would be so obsessed 

prettiest baby ever possibly <3

he was really shy to become a father for the first time but was so naturally good at taking care of his kid 

would always announce himself when he entered into the room while your feeding just so he knows you’re comfortable with him coming into your special time with his precious child 

actually religiously enjoys watching all the new kids movies and tv shows with his kid like maybe more then they do 

lee chan :

ahh chan as a dad would be so so so nice 😭 

ik  we’ve seen snippets of how he is with his family so I just know he’s so excited to further the lee line replicating what he had with them 

does not care how young his child is he gets them started early dancing and being active with him even if it’s just him dancing with your baby in his arms around the room 

his LAUGH when he sees you feeding for the first time like obviously not because it’s funny it’s just the cutest thing he’s ever seen 

def gives you really sweet massages during baby dinner time too, no questions asked<3

definitely insists on any chance to take a nap with his child in his arms and you cuddling next to him on the couch 

[ihearthes]

Christmas Thyme part 1

Author: @ihearthes

Pairing: Harry x Reader Insert (1st person)

Rating: Smut (NSFW, 18+ Only)

Word Count: 2665

‘Tis a week before Christmas, and just as I am preparing to twist the “Open” sign to its “Closed” side, the bell over the door jingles. Inwardly, I groan. Outwardly, I paste on my brightest smile as I pivot towards my (hopefully) final customer of a very long, very exhausting day. 

I freeze. 

Because standing there in the doorway of my boutique is Harry Styles. THE Harry Styles. You know. As It Was. Watermelon Sugar. Sex on a stick. That last one isn’t a song. Just a description. 

“Um, hi,” I mumble, not knowing what else to say, but then I quickly tack on a “How may I help you?” 

His eyebrows draw downwards, and he looks around at the merchandise which, after a long day of Saturday sales in the last few frantic days before the most important gift-buying holiday of the year, is scattered everywhere. 

I’ve no idea if I want him to decide to leave immediately or if I should beg him to stay and shop. I do neither. 

But only because I spot another person on the street outside, pointing at one of the most sought after and most frequently purchased soy candles. She and her friend appear to be heading towards the door, so I summon the last of my energy and lunge for the door ahead of them, pulling the shade while simultaneously rotating the lock. My panicked movements mean I jostle the popstar as he stands nearby. 

“Oops! I’m so sorry. I just…” 

“Are you open or closed?” He asks, worry etched on his forehead where it peeks out underneath his black beanie. I take him in, recognising his face instantly. With a pair of joggers, he wears a black Pleasing crewneck, and I’m briefly jealous of how cosy it looks. I wouldn’t mind snuggling close – to the crewneck, of course. 

I am, after all, a competent businesswoman. Pfft. Okay, I’m trying to be one. 

“We’re closed now, but if you don’t have much to shop for, you’re welcome to look around while I tidy up in preparation for Tuesday’s maniacal clientele. 

He grunts, and I assume it’s affirmation that he’d like to look around, so I nod. “Are you looking for something in particular? Or shopping for a certain someone?” Wracking my brain, I attempt to recall if he’s currently dating anyone, but I’ve no idea. Since opening up my pop up last month, I’d not had time to do much more than work daily until exhaustion forces me to crawl into bed with a heating pad on my back and warm peppermint compresses on my feet. 

“Just looking…” He smiles, and I’m nearly blinded by the left dimple. 

Holy shit. No wonder he’s so popular. 

I have the silly idea that I should sniff him. It would be easy to make a tonne of money from bottling his scent and selling it. Then I would have enough money to set up a permanent shop to sell my organic candles, soaps, and lotions. 

Resisting only because I have managed to maintain some self-respect after being yelled at and cursed at by customers all day long, I decide to provide him some privacy. 

“Absolutely. Let me know if you have any questions.” 

He nods once, and I swear my insides melt into a puddle like Frosty the Snowman when the sun has come out. 

Stepping to the counter, I fiddle with the sound system, turning off the grating holiday tunes that permeate the atmosphere this time of year and sliding instead into some soothing jazz from Alfa Mist. As soon as the first song starts playing, Harry’s head whips around and he stares in my direction. 

“Excellent choice.” His voice is gravelly and kind with a bit of surprise in it. 

“It’s the kind of music I prefer,” I shrug, not knowing what else to say. 

“Me too.” 

It’s such a surprising thing for him to say that I do my own double take, but he’s returned already to smelling the candles on the wall display. 

Shrugging, I move to the first shelves to the right of the register, straightening products, and making mental notes of what I need to restock. When I move to the next set of shelves, though, it’s clear that a mental note isn’t going to be of any help. There are simply too many hand lotions, soaps, and other products that need to be replaced. Sighing, I move behind the counter again, withdrawing a pad of paper. Quickly, I jot down what I need to replace on the first two shelves. 

Turning my head, I see that Harry has barely finished sniffing one shelf of candles. “Um…” He glances up at my utterance. “...would you mind if I stepped into the back to grab some more stock?” 

“Whatever you need to do.” His voice is so silky that I could easily wear it and nothing else against my skin forever. 

In the small stockroom, I remove my shoes, wiggling my toes that have been screaming at me for the last two hours. Grabbing a basket I keep for just this purpose, I fill it with the items on my list before stepping back onto the main floor. The coolness of the tiles under my toes is soothing, and I sigh at the pleasure of it on my hot skin. Quickly, I restock the first two shelves, giving my feet a workout as I have to rise onto my toes multiple times. My knees also get to practise squatting so I can place items on the bottom shelf. 

After I slide my protesting feet back into my shoes, I sneak a peek to check on Harry. He’s moved on to the next set of shelves, opening the sample shampoos and smelling them one by one. 

At this rate, he’ll be here another hour at least. 

Surveying the third set of shelves, I jot down the merchandise I need to pull from the back for this one. It’s the shelf of eye compresses I’ve made that include differing herbs to soothe the skin around the eyes and quiet the mind. With a quick glance at Harry, I return to the storeroom, trying to recall where I’d placed the box holding more eye compresses. 

Spying it on a higher shelf, hiding behind a box of the scented rice neck pillows I’d designed to be heated and worn next to the skin, I stand on my tiptoes in order to reach. Just — one — more — inch — CRASH! Both boxes clatter to the ground, the sides splitting open on the box holding the neck pillows, and I sigh. 

“Are you okay?” 

His voice startles me, and I jump like that time I’d been forced to watch a horror movie by my previous boyfriend. The arsehole. 

Placing my hand on my chest to calm my pounding heart, I smile at where his head has emerged through the curtain separating the sales floor and stockroom. 

“Thank you for checking on me. I’m okay. Just knocked off a couple of boxes.” 

“Shit. That looks annoying. Let me help.” He muscles his way past the curtain, assisting me by setting the box right side up. I locate the roll of packing tape I’d used earlier to package some items for a customer who wanted them delivered, handing the tape to Harry as he repairs the box. “I’m Harry.” His introduction is endearing, and I share my name too. 

“No one else working tonight?” His hushed tones do things to my body that are inappropriate for work. 

“No one else is working ever. It’s my shop, and I couldn’t afford to pay for help this year.” 

“Damn. How do you manage?” 

“Well, I take it slow on nights like this with the restocking and tidying because I know I’ll get the next two days to soak my feet and relax.”

“But how do you do it during the day with all the customers?” 

“I think that’s clear from the state of the front. I muddle through.” My shrug is intended to communicate that there’s no real answer to that question. 

“Can I help?” 

“YOU?” I yelp, clamping both hands over my mouth at my shriek. 

“Why not me?” 

“Um, cause you’re Harry Styles.” 

When he smiles this time, his eye crinkles come into focus, and I’m lost in him. I could stare at those crows’ feet all night, I think. 

“And that means I can’t help?” 

“It means that you probably have plenty of plans that don’t include stocking shelves.” 

“Hmmm… tonight, I actually do not have plans. My sister and I were supposed to shop for our mum, and then my sister ended up ill, so…” Trailing off, he raises both hands to the side in imitation of a shrug. “You can pay me by helping me choose gifts for my mum and my sister. And my manager’s wife. And maybe the wives of my friends.” 

“That’s silly. I’d help you with that for free.” 

“Ah, well then, you can take me out to dinner after we’re done.” 

My jaw drops. Dinner with Harry Styles? 

Is he asking me out on a date? 

“Just as repayment, right?” I ask. 

“For starters,” he smirks, and my panties become uncomfortable as I rub my legs together. “I’ll take these boxes out front.” Bending his knees, he picks up the box of neck pillows with the box of eye compresses on top. Striding through the curtain, he drops the boxes on the floor and immediately starts artfully arranging the merchandise. Occasionally, he brings a pillow to his nose and breathes in deeply. 

Mesmerised, I watch from the door to the store room. After a few minutes, he removes his coat, carefully draping it over the counter, smiling at me as I straighten the bottles of lotion on the table, ensuring that the rosemary mint doesn’t get mixed up with the rosemary thyme. It’s easy to get them confused as the labels are similar. 

“How long did it take you to prepare all of this?” Harry asks, his hand encompassing the entire shop. 

“All year. My dad –” I pause as emotion invades my throat, layering it with sorrow. Finally, I swallow, clearing the grief. “My dad was ill for the last couple of years, so I quit my job to move in and take care of him. I started growing the herbs in his garden. And then I needed something to do with all of the herbs I grew, so I started making soaps and selling them at the local farmer’s market. Demand was swift, and I’ve been expanding the line for the last eight months or so.” 

“That’s amazing!” His face has lit up like the Christmas tree that’s in the corner of the shop, and his grin takes over his entire countenance. “And how’s your dad doing now?” 

I wince. “He actually died in July.”

“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss.” 

My watery smile hopefully conveys my gratitude. “He was ready to go. At least that’s what he told me. And I needed a project after his death to keep me busy while I cleaned out the house and prepared to sell it.” 

“Sell it? Why?” 

Moving to the next table, I straighten the bars of soap. Wiping a tear from my eye, I answer his question. “Too many memories. I’ve had a lot of loss in my life, and now I’m the only one left in my immediate family. So when I’m in the house, all I can see are the people no longer with me.” 

“That must be hard.” His hand rests on my shoulder, and I’m startled because I hadn’t realised he’d approached. 

“It’s life. Lucky for me, I have my dreams to keep me going.” 

“Dreams of expanding beyond a popup shop at the holidays?” 

“Something like that,” I nod. 

“Sounds lovely. Listen, I’m done with these shelves, and those over there look pretty good. I, um, straightened them earlier when I was testing the product. Is there a broom so I can sweep up?” 

Astonished, I blink at him. “No. No. No. I draw the line at having a number one pop musician sweep my floor.” 

He giggles, his laugh growing until he’s slapping his knee, his full body moving with glee as he heartily releases his mirth. “So if I were the number one classical musician or number one jazz musician or number one country musician, you’d be okay with me cleaning the floor?”

Seeing the humour in my comment, I laugh along with him. “Okay. Okay. You’ve found me out. Only pop musicians aren’t allowed to sweep up. Everyone else is fair game.” 

Bopping me on the nose, he grins. “Good thing I’m not a number one pop musician tonight. I’m just a customer who is quite taken with your goods.” 

And the way he rakes his eyes over my body lets me know that he’s not talking about the merchandise on the shelves. 

Dammit. Why don’t I keep a pair of spare knickers in my bag in case I run into the handsomest man alive? Because the ones I’m wearing right now are ruined. 

Sticking his head through the curtain and peering into the back, he joyfully exclaims, “There it is!” Seconds later, he’s pushing the broom around the shop floor, and I am both pleased and appalled. 

Reluctant to let him do all the work, I watch him and squirm. Using the broom as a partner, he dances to the music, and I can’t help the giggle that escapes. 

“I remember when you couldn’t dance at all,” I reveal, then clamp my hands over my mouth at my rudeness. 

“Some would say I still can’t.” 

“Screw ‘em.” I grin. “Listen, I’m about to count up the money for a night deposit. Are you planning to pay with cash or credit?” 

Wincing, he bites his lip, resting his arm on top of the broom handle. “Oh yeah. I was having so much fun that I forgot I was here to shop.” He looks around at the merchandise. “You’re taking me out for dinner, right?” One eyebrow raises while the other stays in place. It’s a talent not many have. 

“I believe that was the deal in exchange for your labour.”

“Then let’s eat first. I can tell you about those I need to shop for, and you can decide what would be most fitting for each.” 

“Hmmm…” I tease, “Are you trying to get out of buying products from me?” 

“Nope,” he grins, stepping closer to me. “Trying to let you get to know me more.” 

“Who's to say I don’t already know everything about you?” 

“Ah, I see.” The expression on Harry’s face is smug. “You wanna have a quiz? Find out what exactly you know and don’t know?” 

“Sure,” I smile, “but somehow I’m not sure I trust you. You could easily say all of my answers are wrong, and I wouldn’t be able to contradict you.” 

“Let’s start. What colour are my eyes?” 

“Are you taking the piss? They’re green. That one’s easy ‘cause I can see them.” 

“Okay, okay. You got one right. What colour are my lips?” 

Which of course drags my eyes right to the body part in question. And they look lush. Soft. Slightly chapped, but not enough to keep me from… 

Shit. I’ve gotten lost in staring at his lips. 

“I didn’t hear your answer.” 

My tongue dips out to lick my own lips, and he steps closer, his eyes locked on my tongue. Shaking my head, I dart my gaze back to his eyes, and I can feel his breath on my cheek. Leaning forward, he reaches his arm to my left, and I briefly wonder if he’s going to wrap his arm around my waist and haul me to him for a snogging session. 

Which is when he grabs his coat from the counter. 

“Let’s count the money so you can make your deposit. I’m getting hungry.” 

Really? I'm experiencing a powerful thirst.

Author's note: Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed it, please reblog. I know not everyone reblogs, but it really helps writers out.

READ PART 2 HERE

[mangoisms]

circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter two: it’s getting late | read chapter one

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.5k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

━ a/n: would be lying if i said this was for tim's birthday tmrw. it was rlly just because the reception to chapter 1 was so lovely and i also did this with my other tim fic—posting chapter 2 early, i mean. but we'll just have to work with this. happy early birthday tim you are annoying and i want to study you under a microscope <3

You expect Red Robin’s appearance to be a one-off thing. 

It is not. 

Instead, the next day, you get Black Bat. 

It jolts you from the phone call you’re having.

“—understand the temptation to tell them to screw off but I really don’t want to get… shot…”

You trail off, watching, wide-eyed as your newest vigilante customer steps into Circle K. 

Black Bat cuts an imposing figure, her suit made up mostly of inky black material, with a few accents of gold, the Bat symbol on her chest standing out the most. Her black cape flutters behind her, moving like a shadow. She looks the most like Batman, you think, with the cowl and the pointed ears. Except the eyes of the mask are black and the bottom of her face is completely covered—stitched closed. Considerably more creepy, you think, goosebumps breaking out over your skin. Though that could be the fan you have on, fluttering your hair as it makes a slow rotation.

“Hey, did you die or something?”

“No,” you mutter, watching, your heart starting to pick up as Black Bat comes up to the counter.

You aren’t sure what you expect, but it’s not—

“Do you have Red Bull?” Her voice is low and melodic. Not befitting of her… general aura.

Wordlessly, you point to the refrigerators at the back.

“Thanks,” she says, then she turns and walks away. You can only see the top of her head and the pointed ears of her cowl. A second later, you hear the suction-y sound of the refrigerator door being opened. 

A voice calls your name from the other end of the line. 

Your best friend, Stephanie Brown, who gave you a call to see how your summer break has been treating you. 

“Sorry,” you say, clearing your throat. “Just got distracted by something outside.”

“Something outside? That’s not reassuring. At all.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Like I was saying, I’m not gonna tell them that. It’s tempting but like I said, I don’t want to get arrested or some shit.”

“The charges wouldn’t even hold. It’s a free country. I can tell a cop to fuck off if I want to. That’s my god-given right.” 

“I appreciate the spirit, but I don’t think the GCPD would agree with you.”

“Well, the GCPD can kiss my ass.”

“You and me both, Stephie. You and me both. So, how’s, uh, Metropolis?”

“Metropolis is Metropolis. Brainiac nearly took control of the city yesterday but what’s new? Mom’s having a good time, though. Even if things are way overpriced over here. I mean, seriously. Eight bucks for a cup of coffee at this place we went to today. They’re crazy.”

Steph babbles in your ear for a few more minutes. Long enough for Black Bat to reemerge from the aisle, two cans of Red Bull and a bag of Takis and a pack of sour gummy worms in hand. You wonder who the second person is. Red Robin, maybe? 

He’d been odd about the hot chocolates. Odd in general. But that’s what you get with these vigilante types. 

No matter. You quickly focus on your current situation, giving Black Bat a small, embarrassed smile and pointing at the phone crammed between your shoulder and ear, mouthing Sorry. 

You shouldn’t be doing this on the job and you should’ve told Steph you had to go but quite frankly, you need the assurance of another person with you. Even if said person can’t do anything and is across the harbor in Metropolis on a mini-vacation with her mom. 

 Black Bat shouldn’t give you trouble about it. You hope. She just scares you a little more than Red Robin. Which is silly because he’s a guy and probably more potentially dangerous but. You know. Her suit is just… too similar to Batman’s, and he’s the one who scares you the most.   

Still, Black Bat just shrugs and waves a hand. “It’s fine.”

You nod your thanks, then scan everything and bag it. She pulls out a twenty dollar bill from her utility belt and you give her the change, which she promptly puts in the tip jar. A kind gesture, really, considering the twenty is a bit of an overshoot for her total, leaving you with a nice tip. 

You guess that if anything else, at least it’s nice that these vigilantes tip. 

After dropping the receipt into the bag, she takes it and waves at you. 

Mystified, you wave back. 

Then she steps out, cape fluttering behind her.

“Anyway,” Steph says on the other end as you focus on her voice again. “It’s pretty fun but I miss home. Can’t wait to be back in the city. We’re hanging out as soon as I do, by the way. How are things with you?”

Oh, you can’t keep it in. You have to tell her. 

“I saw the Flash two days ago.”

But she misunderstands.

“Oh, yeah,” she says. “I saw that in the news. ‘Cause of Trickster, right? Bet Batman wasn’t happy about that.”

“No,” you say. “I’m saying I saw him. Here. At Circle K. He dropped in to grab a bite to eat. I know you and Tim absolutely refuse to believe me when I say he visited me and that we’re friends—which, by the way, he totally reaffirmed when I saw him—but he was here.”

“We’re jealous, that’s all,” she says. “Just don’t want you running off with the Flash thinking he’s cooler than we are. Which, to be clear, he isn’t. Not me, anyway. Tim is up for debate.”

“Well, you’re about to be a little more jealous.”

“And why is that?”

“Because since he visited, weird shit has started happening.”

“Weird shit is always happening in Gotham. What is so special about this weird shit in particular?”

“Oh, he said something stupid to Red Robin—Red Robin came in a little while after he did, I guess they were working together to track down Trickster—anyway, he was talking about how I’m… scared of the Bats—”

“Are you scared of the Bats?”

You throw up a hand, though she can’t see it. “I have a healthy amount of fear and respect for them—and on that note, please don’t tell anyone else I’m telling you this.”

“Of course.”

“Right, well, Flash was just ragging him, you know? About how he has a better relationship with me, someone who doesn’t even live in Keystone or Central, than the Bats do.”

“So?”

“So,” you blow out a big breath, “Red Robin showed up yesterday to get some hot chocolate—”

“Hot chocolate?” Steph asks, disbelieving. 

“Yeah. He said it was a better alternative to coffee. Guess he’s not into energy drinks. Weirdo. The whole thing about it—weird. Like… I don’t know. He was just acting weird when he was asking if we had any.”

“… That is weird,” she says, an odd note to her voice. She clears her throat. “And then?”

“I knew why he was doing it so I told him he didn’t have to come around ‘cause he and the others obviously need to uphold a specific perception, right? Then he was all, Well, what does a civilian like you know about it? Can you believe they unironically call us that?”

Steph laughs. She laughs hard.

You wait it out, not entirely sure what or why she is laughing so hard but it’s not the first time she’s ever done that, so you can just let it go. 

“Okay,” she giggles. “Sorry. Keep going. What else happened?”

“He left. But then, y’wanna guess who just showed up right now?”

“Who? Batman?”

“God, no. It was Black Bat. She was nice enough. Gave me a big tip. Creepy suit, though.”

“What’d she’d get?”

“Two Red Bulls, a bag of Takis and a pack of sour gummy worms. Wonder who that second Red Bull is for. And the snacks. Red Robin realizing hot chocolate in June is weird? Hard to imagine him eating Takis, though. He’s probably like Tim, saying they’re ‘too hot’.”

Steph laughs again for a while.

“Oh, god, you’re killing me,” she gasps out when she calms.

You shake your head, rubbing your finger over a scratch mark in the counter. “I don’t know what is so funny but sure.”

“So, then, what? You think you’re just gonna some more vigilantes? ‘Cause it’s only been two so far.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” you grumble. “But it’s two. When previously, this has never happened.” 

“True! Well… any preferences? For who comes next?”

“Anyone but Batman, thanks.”

Your next visitor is not Batman.

It is, in a turn of events that makes a little more sense, the Signal.

A few days after your call with Steph, things are fine, until your manager posts to the team group chat about wanting someone for an afternoon shift, saying someone quit unexpectedly. Not one to say no to some extra cash, you latch onto the opportunity—even if it’s an admittedly questionable idea. You try not to work weekends to let yourself recuperate from sustaining your not-so-great sleep schedule. 

Anyway, you feel and look like a zombie, but you get your work done. 

“I can help the next person in line,” you call. 

A tall, broad-shouldered stocky older man with long blonde hair and blue eyes behind coke-bottle glasses steps up, armed with two large cups of coffee. The scrubs he wears clues you into some kind of healthcare position. 

“Hi, did you find everything—”

The door opens, your eyes automatically flickering to the movement, and your voice cuts out sharply as you realize who it is.

The Signal stands there a bit awkwardly for a moment as all of you look—the blonde man at the counter and the other man waiting in line.

“Hey, you!”

You flinch, tensing, already fearing a confrontation as the other man steps forward, pointing at the Signal. The one in question tenses, shoulders rising, like he’s preparing to fight. You hope not. That would be a lot of paperwork for you. It’s the manager’s, technically, to report any damage done by vigilantes, but they always give it to you or the other employees on the floor.

But it is not as you feared. Instead of picking a fight, the man… thanks him?

“You’re the Signal, right? Right? You saved my son a few months ago from some muggers following him home from school. Thank you, man. Seriously, I can’t thank you enough. He wouldn’t be here with me if it weren’t for you,” the man says, holding out a hand.

“Hey, man,” Signal says, reaching out to shake his hand. “It was nothing. I’m glad I was there to help.”

“Are you here to buy something? Let me cover you. Please. It’s the least I can do—”

“Oh, you really don’t need to—”

“That went better than expected.”

The soft-spoken voice brings you out of your thoughts and you belatedly realize you still have a customer to take care of. But when you look at him, he is watching the Signal try to tell the other man that he doesn’t have to pay for him, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah,” you say. “Good thing. Signal’s a good guy.”

He turns back to you as you scan the cups of coffee, pulling out a wallet.

“He is,” he agrees easily—meaning his words, too, a genuine conviction you don’t hear often associated with the vigilantes of the city. 

Signal manages to hold firm on not needing the man to pay, repeating that he was just doing his job, and thankfully, the man accepts it with good graces. 

You quickly get your current customer wrapped up while the Signal steps into the chip aisle. 

You pass him the receipt. “Thank you, have a good day.”

He sends you a small, handsome smile, picking up the cups of coffee. “Thank you, you, too.”

The one after him steps up to pay, talking jovially with you, spirits still apparently lifted at seeing Signal and being able to thank him. It’s a nice moment, you think, and you make sure to respond in kind. 

The door swings shut behind him just as Signal re-emerges from the chip aisle, holding a can of Monster Energy and a bag of chile picante Cornnuts. The combination is… surely something. You let yourself slip with it, too, because you’ve personally heard a lot of good things about him. The fact that he works during the day helps his case, too. 

“I need the energy,” Signal says, seeing that thought in your face; he doesn’t sound mad, though, just vaguely amused. His suit is filled with more yellow tones, still intimidating but not as much in the daylight, a helmet of sorts leaving only his mouth exposed. 

“It’ll definitely give you… something,” you say, chuckling as you scan both.

He pats his stomach. “I have guts of steel. Don’t worry about it.”

“Not a problem as long as I never have to hear ‘guts of steel’ ever again. Jesus. Is that just a natural thing of your biology or is it evolutionary-based?”

“This life isn’t for the faint of heart or stomach,” he agrees, passing you a five dollar bill. “Adaptation is key.”

“I bet.”

Signal laughs, taking his change and dropping it into the tip jar. You smile, too, shaking your head slightly. 

“Have a good day.”

He tips his Red Bull at you. “You, too.”

Guts of steel. You nearly can’t believe it.

You pick up your phone, finding your conversation with Tim. You and Steph are hanging out tomorrow, so you’ll tell her about it, then. She asked him, though, and he said he was busy. Too bad. But that doesn’t mean he gets out of being subjected to those words, either.

no joke signal came in to buy a monster energy and cornnuts (a questionable combo) and when he saw me judging he said he has guts of steel

meta related do you think???

makes sense to me. you have a gene inside you that gives you literal powers i think they shouldn’t be having digestive issues/ibs like us common folk do

Your three texts, sent in quick succession, deliver. You bite the inside of your cheek as you see your previous ones still unanswered. It’s been like that for the past few weeks. Not him ignoring you but a bit of a dry spell going on in your messages that was only broken when you told Steph what happened and decided you had to tell him, too.

It’s not his fault. The dry spell from before or the lack of responses going on now. 

You started the first thing. So, it’s more your fault than anything for all of that. Steph’s talked to him, though, and she’s never let up on anything amiss…

You groan quietly, dropping your phone on the counter and burying your face in your hands.

Too complicated. Too much. 

It never used to be like that but… things changed recently. 

You, mostly. 

You met Stephanie Brown your second semester at Gotham University. 

Taking your required elective, you chose Intro to Psych. She was doing the same. Though, being a social work major, psychology was practically a cousin to it. 

The professor for the class turned out to be a total dud. Rambled during lecture, refused to give out study guides, and while he would give out hints as to what material might show up on exams, his questions were trick ones. When people complained, he said some crap about being in a higher ed setting and needing to do better because of it. Like his class was some 300 or 400 level course and not a literal intro course to a large and burgeoning field of study. 

But classes are expensive, so, you couldn’t drop it. Refused to, really, knowing you would face much more difficult classes later on, ones you knew you might need to drop and try again. So, you weren’t going to waste the money on this type of class.

Steph was of the same thought.

She sat next to you in the lecture hall. You two didn’t talk until after the first exam and everyone was upset about their grades, the exams having been handed back at the end of class. Your shared frustration brought you together, mostly as you two were ranting about it, you packed up and wound up leaving class together, the both of you just too caught up in your anger to realize you both needed to go in opposite directions for your next class. 

You initially agreed to be study partners, to cover more ground that way. But Steph managed to worm her way to your heart by the end of that semester. 

Your astounding lack of friends helped, too. Even if things had been that way since your junior year of high school, even if you wanted things to remain that way to protect what little remained of your heart, the loneliness hit you harder than you thought it would when you started college. 

And Steph was nice and funny and listened to you and paid attention to you and you… were so very deprived of those things, so it was nice in the beginning, but then you realized, to your own horror, that you actually wanted her to stick her around, that just as she knew nearly everything about you by the end of the semester, you knew nearly everything about her, too, and you wanted to know more, wanted to be there for her like she always was for you. 

You have that and more now and you are so very lucky because of it.

Tim, though?

Tim was something else.

Steph told you she had a friend visiting.

Just that—that she had a friend visiting campus and she ‘hoped he could find his way to the computer workstation on the fourth floor because as soon as I sit down, I’m not leaving for anything other than to use the bathroom or some kind of world-ending event.’ 

It was a particularly grueling paper she had to churn out—twenty pages, heavily research-based with the kind of statistics that made your head spin.

Working at the front desk of the Martha Kane Library at the time, you humored her. Told her good luck and that you’d keep an eye out. The second part was a joke, of course, because she never said who was visiting her and how could you know if she never said anything?

You and Tim Drake wound up finding each other, anyway. 

Well, more like he found you. 

It sounds sort of romantic, right?

It’s… well, it’s certainly something.

“I’m just saying,” you’re telling him, totally neglecting your homework and the other duties you have at the front desk (you know this last part is especially true by the way your coworker, also at the front desk, is side-eyeing you but come on, there’s no one in line, so it’s fine!). “It’s a solid movie.”

Tim Drake gives you a comically disbelieving look. “A solid movie? It’s—it’s gaseous.”

“Did… you just make a physics joke? About the three states of matter?”

Tim turns an attractive shade of pink. “It’s four, actually, and, uh… yeah.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Steph is right. You really are a geek. Anyway. Cloverfield still sucks.” 

“Your opinion is automatically negated by the fact that you think the Final Destination movies have any kind of substance to them.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that. I just think they’re good ‘cause of Mary Elizabeth Winstead. You probably think the Transformers movies are actually good, don’t you?”

He looks offended. “Don’t insult me. We hate Michael Bay in this house.”

“Sure.”

“But I do think Bumblebee—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Bumblebee is good for a change, we all know it. You’re probably one of those Nolan stans, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think any of what you just said are real words.”

“Oh, they’re real alright. Nolan stans are constantly on his dick, they’re all like, ‘Nolan is so deep and thoughtful and there is no one else like him.’ Wrong. I could find ten of him in the movie industry.” 

Tim narrows his eyes accusingly at you. “Steph said Interstellar is your favorite movie.”

“It’s his only good movie.”

“Don’t count out Inception like that.”

“Never seen it.”

“Wow.”

“You know what you sounded like just now? A Nolan stan.”

Tim actually grins at you and your stomach flutters at the sight of it. It’s that that had drawn your eyes to him. The cute but confused looking guy loitering around nearby, systematically checking his phone and glancing around—presumably for a map of the confusing and ancient library. With dark hair, pale skin, and pretty blue eyes that make you feel unbearably seen, Tim Drake is a sight for sore eyes. Your eyes, to be certain. 

Of course, you also know he’s here for Steph. That he is the friend she spoke of. And also the ex-boyfriend. That reminder sobers you considerably. 

Kind of funny, really. 

Much can be said about Tim Drake. 

The adoptive son of Bruce Wayne. The kid who snuck into No Man’s Land on a dare and had to be extracted by the US military after his father made a fuss about it. Then later, became controlling shareholder at Wayne Enterprises for whatever reason, boosting him into a very powerful position. Then he got engaged. Then he was shot—he was meant to be killed but obviously, it hadn’t gone that way. All this at seventeen. 

But eventually it petered out. He stepped down. Engagement broke off. He recovered. Now? He does some work for WE. That’s all that’s known to the press, anyway. 

It’s like you said. Much can be said about Tim Drake. 

But most of your impression is from Steph. He plays Warlocks and Warriors sometimes. Is a bit of a computer geek and has built his own PC for gaming. Hits the skatepark every now and then. Likes to spend time tinkering on his car.  And… has strong opinions on movies. 

Above it all?

He is her ex. A good friend now! But still. That fact remains. 

“Anyway,” you say, adjusting your notebook, textbook, and bag of pens just to do something. “You’re here for Steph, right?”

“She told you?”

“Well, she’s obviously told you stuff about me.”

“Steph won’t shut up about you,” he says, seeming more amused than annoyed by that fact. “I can’t imagine it’s the same with me.”

“I know enough.” Like the fact that he is her literal ex-boyfriend. Even if Steph says their relationship wasn’t the greatest, had some very questionable decisions on both their parts, and ended a bit dramatically… he’s still the first person she ever fell in love with. She told you that much. “She’s upstairs on the fourth floor. Hit the elevators over there, then when you get to the fourth floor, turn left, then another left, and the computer workstations are on your right. Can’t miss them.”

“You should watch Inception,” he says, instead of acknowledging literally anything you just said.

You arch an eyebrow challengingly. “You should watch Interstellar.”

He taps a finger on the counter. “We should do both. You, me, and Steph one of these days.”

“I hate to say it, but that sounds like a good idea.”

Steph’s voice scares the shit out of you. You bang your knee on the desk, cursing.

Tim looks unruffled as she comes from the side—the direction of the elevators, joining him at the counter and nudging his shoulder as she goes. He nudges back. They keep the contact.

“Sorry, Stephie,” you say. “We got preoccupied.”

“Arguing,” she corrects, but she doesn’t look upset about it. Instead, her cobalt blue eyes twinkle with something you can’t quite identify as she drops her chin into her palm.

“We weren’t arguing,” Tim says next. “We were lightly debating.”

“Of course. My cute little movie geeks. I think Duckboy’s right, though—” Tim groans slightly and mutters her name in annoyance; she ignores it “—we should get together and see them.”

You scratch your cheek. “I don’t know. Finals—”

“—are not for another month. I say let’s do it.” She looks at Tim and jabs a thumb at you. “She needs more friends.”

“Stephanie, please.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Timothy needs more friends, too. Friends from, say, the other half.” She smiles mischievously, a joke known only by the two of them. 

Tim, for his part, rolls his eyes but says nothing in protest. 

You don’t need more friends. More friends is actually a very bad idea. Letting one person get close was bad enough. Another person? Hell, no…

But the look on Steph’s face tells you that you, quite frankly, have no say in the matter. And the way you and Tim ‘lightly debated’ movies for a solid half hour tells you, too, that it’ll be too easy for you and he to become friends. 

You decide to shelve the issue for now as Steph tugs him away, promising you that she’ll arrange for things.

Maybe it won’t pan out. Maybe he’s actually horribly arrogant and conceited. (Though, if he’s friends with Steph, the likelihood of that is admittedly low.) 

You don’t know. All you know is it’s dangerous to let yourself get close to someone else.

But that’s all rather dramatic, isn’t it?

And it didn’t turn out how you wanted—you met Tim in the first semester of your sophomore year; your junior year just ended this May. You’ve been friends with him for a year and half. Steph for two. No end appears to be in sight. But you’ve compartmentalized. It’s just two people. That’s fine.

It’s totally fine. 

Even if it’s two people to match the two others you lost when you were fifteen. Like a repayment for the pain.

(Or a way to double it.)

But you lost your parents in the earthquake. 

Scientists called that a once-in-a-lifetime event.

There are plenty of things going on in this city that could cost your friends their lives but… it’ll never be as devastating as the earthquake. 

The earthquake where you nearly died after a piece of metal pierced your thigh, barely missing your femoral artery, and you spent the entire time from after the earthquake, when they dug your body out of the rubble, and to when they decided to exile the city, in a coma from the infection. 

By the time you stabilized, you were on a helicopter to Blüdhaven, the rest of the city in a panic to leave, and your parents were officially gone by that point. 

They couldn’t even find their bodies in time.

It took almost three years before they did. The year in which the government turned a blind eye to the city and cast it away, then another two years to rebuild, to sift through the ruin and destruction, to find the bones of the ones left behind since they were decomposed by then, and identifying them was an even more arduous task.  

You only managed to receive the catharsis of burying them when you turned eighteen. 

You might tempt fate by saying this but even if you lost either of them, the fallout would never beat that. A blessing, in that way. 

But even you hate to consider the possibilities of them leaving you. For anything.

They won’t. 

Everything will be fine. 

It has to be. 

reblogs are appreciated!

taglist: @peachesona @knoxx-seresinbradshaw @kikis-writing-service @sweetistic @soundsfunbutno @ginevraxrogers

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[anonymous-dentist]

rotates your au in my head . tell me more

Okay so everybody is from the Enchanted Forest, because that’s where fairy tales live (except the guys from the Wizard of Oz and the guys from Peter Pan and the guys from the Disney Properties)

In the Enchanted Forest, everybody has a role, kinda. But you can have more than one, because Once Upon a Time was a very, very silly show

Let’s use Cellbit as an example:

In the Enchanted Forest, he was a shapeshifting cat faerie simply known as ‘Puss’, because he has always been an unfortunate man. He got stuck being owned by some old guy after a contract gone wrong who then died and passed him along to his silly son, Felps. Felps went out into the world, and Cellbit went with him. Felps eventually put a pair of boots on him, and so ‘Puss’ became ‘Puss-in-Boots’

Out of gratitude for the boots, Cellbit helped Felps pass all these trials and exams to try and adopt a mistreated young prince (read the fairy tale here for reference), and he eventually got his freedom once Felps was settled and happy with his new adopted son, Richarlyson, and his friends.

Cellbit, now free, was able to transform back into a human form for the first time in DECADES, and so he immediately took off into the Forest to go on a vacation, which is when he discovered a castle covered in briars and roses and filled with sleeping people. He’s never been an honest man, so he snuck in with full intentions of robbing the place blind and giving the money to the Favela, but then he saw him sleeping, and, well.

Cellbit sat by Sleeping Beauty’s bed for a day and a night before going to investigate the castle to try and find a way to wake him up. He couldn’t find anything, so he gave up and went upstairs to say goodbye.

Before he tried leaving, Cellbit planted an innocent little kiss on the Sleeping Beauty’s forehead, and then BAM! Curse lifted! True Love’s Kiss has saved the day once again!

And that’s how Puss-in-Boots became Sleeping Beauty’s Prince Charming.

[ask-squidbeaks-agents]

Staring at Four and Kay and rotating them in my mind

Got any 4K bits you haven't had a good chance to share yet that I could ask for?

They are one of *the* ships of all time

// Oh I mean they may be my own characters that I'm obsessed with but I wouldn't call them that... they're just my silly idiots lol- But I do! Mainly stuff I haven't had the chance to draw or write yet- I still find it a little crazy how much some people like these two- Anyway here's a ship chart I've done for them- I've done it for 3/8 and my idol ships but- not important rn lol

// Everything under here is going to be rambles cause I'm a loser who's obsessed with their own characters lol

// I haven't shown much of their dynamic outside Four teasing Kay but generally Kay's pretty normal around Four, he just gets flustered from her teasing and what not. In fact Kay also likes to kinda tease Four- in a very friend like way for instance holding something she wants above her head till she says please.

Kay and Four met about- 4 years prior to this blog or 2 years prior to Splat3, I am attempting to write out this first meeting so once it's done it'll be posted here and maybe on AO3 (however I'm a slow writer- might take... some time lol)

Four has saved Kay's butt on multiple occasions however there was one specific time where she full on saved him from getting shot, it was during this case- Kay had been lured out for getting too close to solving it, Four had tailed him and from the shadows using a charger prevented the assailant from shooting Kay. While there are many reasons he loves Four this was the moment he realised.

The moment Four realised she loved Kay- he was helping her with a mission, and while Four jumped over the fence no problem, Kay's suspenders (that he doesn't wear properly) got caught on said fence causing him to fall and land himself upside down against the fence. Of course Four found it hilarious and it was just this kind of "Oh I love this idiot" moment.

The reason Four, who is much more confident in her feelings then Kay is, hasn't confessed is because 1. she finds him getting flustered cute. 2. she wants him to actually have the confidence in their relationship and 3. she won't admit it but she's actually scared of ruining their relationship- she worries that she isn't actually good enough (which is the same reason Kay won't confess, that and while he knows Four likes him as a friend he doesn't think her feelings are actually anymore than that)

The pair share a few interests, they have similar tastes in music- Four loves it when Kay shares his music, it might not always be her taste but it makes him happy so it makes her happy- they also both like video games- Four's more into RPG or action games akin to like Sonic or Persona whereas Kay is more into puzzles and horror like Resident Evil.

They understand and respect each others boundaries but ironically they are also the except to the rule like in Fours case- Four hates physical contact and others being in her personal space to which Kay then goes out of his way to not be too close to Four but Four actually likes being next to him but she also does very much appreciate the fact Kay understands that boundary.

OH- There's this one little story idea I had for them- something silly not really agent related- Four gets herself caught out in the rain, luckily she's slightly more water resistant but Kay runs into a very soaked Four. Obviously he's extremely worried for her despite her waving off his concerns but eventually he convinces her to at least get indoors and get dried. Four points out his place is closer and they should go there to which he reluctantly agrees. Once arriving Kay instructs Four to stay by the door while he grabs her a towel which he gently throws upon her head once returning. Four being Four then starts to a bit too roughly dry her head to which Kay promptly stops her- reminding her that she's still in very melty state and she'll hurt herself doing it like that. Kay points her to the bathroom where she can go dry herself and get changed (into one of his old t-shirt/shorts) Four complies and returns shortly after dried and with her soggy agent gear which she hands to Kay who throws it into the dryer. He says it wont take long but Four points out its really late, she might as well just- crash at his place for the night- she'll just sleep on his couch. Kay is- a bit taken a back at the suggestion but realises she's right by the time her gear will be dried it'll be super late. So he agrees, reluctantly, to which Four wastes no time in running to his living room and checking through all the games he has (cause she wants to play some) She finds that he's got a game she has been dying to play and begs him to let her try it, obviously he lets her (seeing her face when he agreed was- way too adorable for him) Kay sits and watches Four play for a bit before ending up asleep on the couch next to her, when Four realises this she turns off the game before just- leaning her head against his shoulder for a bit before falling sleep herself.

Kay definitely plays rank in his free time, he's tried to convince Four to join but every time she refuses- at first he thinks it's because she's too high a rank for him (He's like A-) but he learns it's actually because she too low a rank to join which major surprise considering the feats he's seen her do. When he finds out he actually offers to help teach her which she initially refuses, pointing out how her whole family are S/X rank and none of them have been able to teach her. Kay understands but does point out that he doesn't play like her family, they're strict and pro, taking rank very seriously where as he's just- a causal player and is much more loose about playing the games and that might be the approach she needs. Four is yet to actually agree to train with him (more out of embarrassment for herself) but she has started to consider taking up his offer.

[soft-for-them]

The cliché of being stuck in a lift with your crush - Spock x plus size reader

Summary: You get stuck in a lift with Spock. Based off prompts 8, 10 and 28 on this list. (Gender neutral because Spock is queer to me.)

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: Not proof read at all, also I changed the wording of the prompts a bit to match the way Spock speaks even though I feel that this is out of character. I haven't written for Spock in a while...

It is getting late, not that giant expanse of space indicated it. The sky is always an inky black filled with glittering stars and rotating planets. From you data pad you can gather it’s around nine in evening aka time to be relaxing maybe even sleeping however the universe has other plans for you.

You’re a red shirt, specifically working as an engineer, though you mostly work more on the smaller parts of the ship like the replicators and communication devices rather than the engines or any part of the ship that Scotty loves. Really you’re a jack of all trades, a plumber and an electrician rolled into one but with the added benefit that you work in space rather than on earth.

It’s a rewarding job and really you truly love it but because of it, that and the fact that you have many non red shirt friends on the Enterprise, you’re often the person called to fix silly little accidents that could have been avoided if people weren’t so clumsy.

If you had a penny for the amount of times you’ve turned a computer on and off or tightened a lose screw for an oblivious friend who thinks they’re about to blow up the ship you’d have enough money to retire early.

Dressed in a long bright pink bed shirt and a pair of boxers that poke out from under the t-shirt hem you slog over to the nearest turbo lift to go back to your room and sleep. Your mismatched socks dampen the sounds of your shoeless feet and you clutch a small tool box to your chest, the allen keys and magnetic screw drivers rattling around inside it.

A friend of yours had broken a light whilst flinging a chair at a ‘spider’, the creature not actually there. When you had gotten there they were in tears thinking that someone was going to shout at them for breaking the main light, their room mate panicking for they had walked into the messed up room and the scared human.

The light wasn’t broken. Sure the plastic covering the strip light had cracked but it hadn’t broke, instead the chair your friend had chucked across the room had slammed the light switch off making them think they broke the light.

For half an hour you’ve been comforting your dear friend, cleaning their room to the best of your ability whilst a nurse looked them over. The diagnosis was that they needed sleep and food so you had got them some food, tucked them into bed and promise to come replace the cracked plastic in the morning.

Now you step into a turbo lift wanting some food and sleep as well.

Your eyes go blurry as you step in and call out you destination, the lull of sleep beckoning you to your soft bed. You don’t notice a figure walk in behind you, their walk hurried. With tired eyes you look down to see a pair of shiny regulation shoes stood close but not too close.

Immediately you straighten up.

His voice calls out his own destination which makes you lift your head up, your round face going flush.

Here you are, t-shirt slipping down on shoulder showing more of soft skin than professional, your chubby legs covered in stubble and goose bumps and your face a frown.

Fuck, you’re not ever wearing shoes.

“Sir.” you greet clutching your tools closer to your chest your eyes wondering up to him.

“Lieutenant (y/n).”

Your face somehow gets even hotter.

For one thing you’re a Lieutenant junior grade not a Lieutenant, that and somehow Mr. Spock knows your first name which you never thought he knew! If this was an old earth cartoon you’d turn lobster red and faint at his feet at him calling your name.

“Busy night.” you say with an awkward smile lifting your tool box up a bit prove your point.

“Yes.” he states firmly, his eye still trained on you as the turbo lift moves, “I have been in many meetings today.”

You’ve never really liked small talk but somehow small talk with Spock isn’t awkward. You have the tiniest crush on the Vulcan for a while and here you are enjoying small talk and long pauses with him.

Your eyes tired and droopy linger on his long sharp features that you dream of only to notice he looks tired too. Not a tired as you but sleepy enough that it shows on his handsome face. His blue make up around his eyes is slightly smudge and the dim lift lights cast a yellow glow onto the out of place black hairs that stick up from his normally neat and tidy hairstyle.

Cold fingers itch to smooth down his stray hairs so much so that you don’t flinch as the turbo lift stalls to a stop, the door not opening despite being at the right floor.

Blinking you snap out of your trance not realising that Spock was staring at you too, neither do you realise the splotches of green blush creep up his pointed ears.

“Damn it! The door’s jammed.” you mutter as you poke at the interface screen doing your normal engineering thing trying to get it open.

You tap many buttons on the screen to no avail.

“We will be here for a while?” Spock asks stepping a bit closer to you.

“Looks like it.” you say prolonging the word ‘looks’ as you crouch down opening a side panel that no one except you and your workmates know about, a cluster of rainbow wires sticking out, “I might be able to override the door system though-“

You look up to the stoic Spock, his full attention on you and totally no on how your thighs press together as you fully lower yourself onto your knees.

“- probably can get it open but I’ll have to get some proper tools to fix it.” Either that or you’ll have to call someone else to fix it, though you don’t tell Spock that.

“That seems a logical plan Lieutenant.”

And there it is! For a split second you see his pretty eyes flicker down your body like he's done many times before.

You see your little crush on Spock is quiet new but you’ve known how he's looked at you for quite some time. At first you though he was judging you, you’re plus size so unfortunately you get the odd disproving look often, but then you’ve recently realised that his ears go green when his eyes catch on the curves of your body.

Or maybe you’re imagining things. Either way you like the idea of such handsome man looking at you like that.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me Mr. Spock-“ you boldly state as you fiddle about with some wires, “- you think I don’t notice but I’m a very perceptive person.”

“You do?”

Raising up, tool box left on the ground, you smile.

“I’m not sure what you think of me Mr. Spock but I know I like you, if that makes you uncomfortable then I know you’ll tell me.”

He steps closer into your personal space.

“The door is not open.” he muses, “I assume it will take a while?”

“Oh!” his eyes flicker down to your lips, “We should get comfy then?”

“Certainly Lieutenant.”

[charles-leclerc-official]

Silly thought experiment time! I know you are elbow deep in race analysis rn, but!

Since Williams all but announced they're trying to/going to replace Logan with Carlos (Did you really have to say this live on air, man? disrespectful to your current driver fr), what are your thoughts on Carlos and Alex as a driver pairing?

Logan and Alex seem to work really well because Williams can just stick them on a pair of chairs and have them chatter at each other, film it, and call it Team Content (which, yeah... I can dig it), but I just can't see Alex and Carlos getting along particularly well, even just for PR videos.

And thats not even touching on them as actual drivers where both of them Could be Williams' Number one, but it is/should still be Alex, and we all know Carlos is probably gonna feel some type of way about it.

(As a Ferrari for Lifer, I trust your opinion on Carlos and his personality and how it might work with others on the grid, even if you don't know them as well XD)

I was thinking about this possible pairing(that is seeming very likely) and honestly I really don't know what to expect. We really haven't seen Alex and Carlos do much together. I feel like there are a bunch of different directions it could go, but competition in mid-field teams is different than the top so I think we may all be surprised by them. For me it's a question mark, it could be a disaster, it could be pleasantly surprising. I just hadn't even really considered the possibility of them being teammates.

Williams not respecting one of their drivers, I'll pretend to act shocked.

But in the mid-field the need for a number 1 and number 2 is less necessary. I think if they are both competitive then it will be fine. And being fair to Carlos I think just about every driver feels some type of way about these things, and I can't really blames them on an individual level.

Like I dunno, maybe Williams turn on the cameras for the PR videos and we get some wild entertainment, or it's painfully awkward, or all hell breaks loose. It's really hard to say. To me I have a feeling we might all be surprised by them. Considering they have both been on the grid a while now and in some very interesting teams I suspect they will have a lot to gossip about.

I think that if this is true Carlos will be leaning on Alex to get a handle on things at the new team. Like he can drive, but learning the new car, the team, and everything is a lot. It's a big adjustment period, so I think there is potential there for them to be pretty supportive, especially those early months. I think however those early months go will dictate the rest of the teammate relationship, if it's strong or not.

But I have been rotating them in my head for a little bit since the rumors and I still don't have a firm handle on the vibes. Maybe someone else has a more concrete idea they want to share.

Like there are some pairings where you know it's going to be a disaster, and there are others where you know it will be a really strong combo. And then there are ones where you just go "hmmm interesting" and that for me is Carlos and Alex right now. If these rumors are true I will be excited to find out which flavor of interesting they will be.

[serialee]

Ateez Reactions: Dressed Up

Edited pictures belong to (aykdzip)

genre: sfw - fluff [693 wc]

pairing: ot8 x gf.reader

warning: none

○ 'NEVERLAND MASTERLIST' || 'NAVIGATION' |

◆ PARK SEONGHWA & JUNG YUNHO ◆

compliments, lots of them. Full on fanboying, love filled eyes.

When you blurted out loud one day that you felt like going shopping to cure your boredom, he didn't hesitate to pick up the car keys and accompany you shopping. However, if they could be a bit blunt, you were somewhat taking very long in the mall. You laughed when you heard them whine from outside as you were finally trying on clothes. The moment you stepped out in your first outfit, he felt like his breath was taken away. He wordless-ly stepped closer to you, reaching his hands out to wrap them around your waist, wanting to pull you closer.

"Oh sweet heavens, look at you my baby look at you!! Wow ... just...wow"

"hahaha aren't you embarrassed people are looking at us?"

"Wow you look absolutely gorgeous i think I'm falling in love all over again"

◆ SONG MINGI & CHOI JONGHO ◆

surprised and suggests photoshoots, maybe couple dress ups.

Busy, busy, busy. Everyone in Ateez is busy preparing for their biggest comeback yet with Deja Vu. Your boyfriend was no exception even though he is already dressed because he was brainstorming poses. A little frustrated with himself, you came by a whirlwind of a surprise as you strutted in matching Deja Vu goddess dress making the crews' jaw drop and the members clapping at the confidence you were showing. He turned around to see you and swore he entered heaven because how was he so blessed with such divine presence such as yourself? He could not take his eyes off of you or your dress but certainly not shy of compliment, matching your confidence and pulls you against him on set. The photographer played along and tens of minutes later, you just had your first photoshoot with your boyfriend.

"Thank your being my pose inspiration, gorgeous"

◆ KANG YEOSANG & CHOI SAN ◆

In love, prepares for a spontaneous dinner date. no time is to be lost!

When his head turned to face the door, he saw you walk in with rows of bags on both arms. It looked like you were ready to fall due to unbalance, so he got up and rushed to take some of the weight off. He laughed at you, asking "what did you buy so much?” 

“I promise you I didn’t mean to…” he knew there was more to that, “it’s just just there was a mega sale going on …”. That seriously got him into fits of laughter. He is laughing at your body language, head down and swaying your legs like a child getting caught. You shooed your boyfriend out so you could do a try on haul without being disturbed. You only went out to show him when you wore your favourite purchase, that immediately became his too! 

“Ohh my god, you look gorgeous. Gimme 10 minutes baby, you wait here! Oh, I’m going to dine-date you so good tonight!” That was the start of a rather silly dinner date, buying you flowers in front of you. You didn’t mind because honestly, it was just so cute!

◆ KIM HONGJOONG & JUNG WOOYOUNG ◆

And queue the love noises. Get ready to be shown off like a model; his model. 

“God, tell me how lucky was I to get such a hot girlfriend like you??” you heard your boyfriend yell from the other side of the room as you changed into your most favourite outfit. His sudden outburst turned the entire photoshoot crew into laughter. You could hear some of the staff jokingly play around as they called out to you on how jealous they were that you had a boyfriend so in love with you. You hollered back at them, letting them know how it really felt if they were in your shoes. Not a minute later and the floor sounded like an alpha wolf was present, the whistles and howls he made to hype you up. Rotating the camera in a dramatic way actually gave some awesome shots, surprisingly. 

“No no, it’s all in the model, it's all you baby...all you”

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