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#just gonna tag this with some other things
kittsch · 3 days
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ranking cod boys' intimacy style from gentle to rough feat: 141 + los vaqueros + others reader: afab, implied different readers for each cw: explicit smut, kink, fluff, pretty tame imo but lmk if you'd like something tagged NSFW BELOW CUT * MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
1.) the gentlest, surprisingly, is ghost. make no mistake, he'll absolutely fuck the daylights out of you if you ask him to -- would enjoy it, too. but as simon riley... honestly, this man is touch-starved and nearing forty. he is tired, baby. coming home from deployment, first thing simon does is shower (knows you hate the smell of war on him), then take a fat nap with you. if you're in the middle of something, no you're not. he'll literally scoop you up and fireman-carry you to the couch or bed, whichever is closest. simon loves holding you, wants to be touching you all. the. time. his favorite way to nap is wrapped around you like a fitted sheet; skin on skin, nose in your hair as he breathes in the scent of your shampoo. loves it even more when, later, he gets to wake you with soft, open-mouthed kisses on your neck; the flat of his palm sliding down the gentle swell of your tummy, cuping you through your sleep shorts. simon likes you best like this. how you just... melt into him, still sleep-sodden and docile. it's one of the few things that feels right in his life. chemically, cosmically, karmically (somehow--simon doesn't think he'll ever feel like he earned this. you. that he'll ever really deserve to be yours). he takes his time; fucks you slow with his fingers, savoring your muted whimpers as he grinds into your clit with the heel of his hand. to simon, watching you come apart in the firm circle of his arms is kin to a fresco on a ceiling; a sliver of the divine, and he, a sinner, doomed to watch heaven from afar. but by some small miracle, you offer him salvation. when you cum, it's with his name on your lips, so round and lush with love, and fuck--if that isn't the thing to save him, then nothing will.
2.) second is rudy. sweet, sweet boy. he sees you barefoot in a sundress one time. one. that's all it takes to precipitously shift the trajectory of his life to one where he wifes you up and makes you a mother, in that order. you're the first person he's ever envisioned having children with -- the only one he thinks knows will be worth risking everything for. and once that mental picture settles in his mind, it’s all he can think of. it becomes his sole mission to get you under him and fill you with him til it takes. rudy is a missionary guy through and through--wants to see that pretty face, cariño so he can watch your cheeks and chest flush when you're about to cum. and the cute way your lashes flutter ("como alles de pollila, mi amor. fuck--") as he bottoms out in your sweet pussy, stretching you so good. and you're always so good for him -- wrapping your legs around his waist and tilting your hips to take him deeper, deeper. but god help you when he succeeds in knocking you up, you’re never getting a moment alone. consider rudy glued to your side for the foreseeable future. can’t seem to keep his goddamn hands to himself, either. doesn't matter that you’re uncomfortable and prickly and prone to random bouts of inconsolable crying at the worst moments. he takes it all in stride. his love is steady, solid. once, you blurt out something to the effect of i'm never going to be attractive again, my body is gonna be ruined by the end of this. and rudy (after a beat) laughs. pulls you forward til your face is buried in his chest, cradles you there when you try to squirm away. tells you he's literally so attracted to you right now he feels like he should be on some sort of list. he's watching you build a new human being inside your body. you're fucking powerful. he can't imagine anything sexier.
3.) next up is könig. from jump, he adores you; the way you smolder at the edges, the unwavering bite of your tone. kleine katze, such pretty claws you have... and he's perfectly content to settle for admiring you from afar; but where others shy from him instinctually, finding his size and perpetual quiet off-putting, you don't. seem to gravitate towards him because of it. you touch him with a gentleness that should feel foreign, but actually feels like home. this man is fucking gone for you. loves you in a way that irreparably and fundamentally changes him. may or may not have cum more than once to the thought of you: hips bucking desperately into the clench of his own fist. but he knows precisely nichts about romance, even less about flirting. has no idea you've been trying to get his attention for months. ultimately, you have to make the first move. and you do--crawling into his lap one night in a grimy off-grid safehouse after a mission went the wrong kind of sideways. when you draw up the mask he goes rigid, tense; but he almost lost you today. (thought for one endless, horrific moment that he had.) so he lets you pull back the mask--lets you see his face. and when you finally kiss him, it pulls a kind of sound out of him the likes of which he's never made before. a desperate, animal keen that claws at the walls of his chest. and könig's a gentle giant, but he is giant. you're both too hasty the first time; too desperate for closeness to prep properly, so it hurts when he bullies his cock inside you. he's significantly bigger than any of your previous partners -- twice as thick and several inches longer -- and by all rights shouldn't fucking fit inside you, but you're both tenacious enough to make it work. könig is certain salvation resides in the gummy clutch of your cunt when you take him to the hilt; shuddering as you cum around him from nothing but the way his cock stuffs you full and the pressure of his calloused thumb on your clit. it's so unbelievably hot, he cums on the spot; not needing friction or movement when he has you clenching down on him like that, scheiße. after, he takes care of you--holds you close to his chest til your breath evens out and you slip into the dreamless, black pool of sleeping.
4.) alejandro, my love. truly a man of passion. it's a long process seducing you, and he enjoys every minute of it. loves finding new ways to get you to blush almost as much as he enjoys fucking you til you're blubbering and cock-stupid. almost. he likes the idea of having a family with you, but is less pernicious about it than rudy. he knows how he feels about you; is confident it'll happen someday. that said, this man's breeding kink knows no bounds. the mating press was built for him; the perfect mix of intimacy and intensity, where he can look you in the eye as he ruts you so deep you can feel him in your fucking throat. also the most likely to suggest expanding your sexual horizons. frankly, alejandro is bisexual as fuck. loves the idea of you getting railed by another man (perhaps rudy, winkwonk) while he watches; loves the idea of you taking the both of them at once even more, but it's always about you. your comfort and pleasure is paramount, and he'll go to unfathomable lengths to make sure your needs are met. happy wife, happy life, he says, hauling you into a deep kiss when you point out that you're not technically married, yet.
5.) alex is the perfect equilibrium of rough and gentle. initially respects you as a colleague, maybe a friendly acquaintance. internally, he finds your competence and no bullshit attitude deeply attractive, but he's a consummate professional; would never put you into a position where you'd feel unsafe (outside of the obvious dangerous shit you already do). and then--he sees you shoot a gun. the way your body slides liquid-smooth into weaver, the easy roll back into isosceles in the recoil... it gets him so fucking hard so fucking quick. he has to physically remove himself from the range and rub one out in a bathroom stall, images of those firm hands pumping his weeping cock pulling him over the edge. images that don't fade, to his chagrin, even after the initial arousal is dealt with. every time he sees you, it just... pops back up, so to speak. he keeps it locked down as best he can, but fails pretty comprehensively at doing so. alex finally breaks after catching one too many recruits staring after you when you walk away (fuckin' animals--only he's allowed to do that). he seeks you out when you're both off the clock and ends up fucking you on top of one of the washing machines in the base's communal laundry room. the epitome of soft dom, comes pre-programmed with an obligatory daddy kink that you absolutely abuse to get your way. takes you out to nice restaurants seemingly for the express purpose of fucking you in the fancy-schmanzy bathroom. honest-to-god almost passes out when you choke on his cock for the first time; begs like his life is on the line for you to do it again, please, please--oh, fuck baby, yes. that experience reveals two truths to him: one, that he might be a switch, and two, that he might just have to marry you.
6.) now, keegan is a pretty tough nut to crack. it's hard to read him initially, even without the mask--but once you pick up on his tells, he's an open book. and that book wants you upended on the couch within seconds of you both entering the room. initially its just sex; a shared need to vent some frustration and stress. keegan is very private, mostly due to social discomfort and introverted tendencies. in the early days of your relationship, it manifests as him keeping you at a distance. for the first few months, he only ever kisses you when he's balls deep, and leaves after a five-minute come down. you rectify this through sheer persistence and charm. it's clear to you (far sooner than it is to him) that he's weakest to you when you give him big, sweet doe eyes and ask real pretty. this little trick works particularly well when you're riding him slow over the course of an hour, grinding down each time he bottoms out, til he's shuddering and begging you to please go faster--ah. f-fuckin' hell, kid, you're so tight, so good, fuck. when he cums, it's with a crackling whine of your name that pulls the knot of heat in your belly, sending you over after him. then, exhausted and fucked out, he falls asleep with you in his arms. he's still there the next morning when you wake, expression open and lax as he watches you wake. it's the first time you see keegan without reservations, when you realize he's got a gentleness to him--a kind of poet's sensitivity meant for libraries, museum archives, and the kinder side of nature. all overwritten by force to survive, to complete his mission. once you've seen the cracks in his mask, there's no going back for either of you. very quickly, your relationship shifts from distant and transactional to deeply personal; a tenderness blooming in the same garden as the newfound dedication to one another. keegan doesn't say I love you for a long time, but you know he does--you feel it in the way his dark eyes find you in a crowd, always seeking your familiar shape. you feel it in the way he presses your bodies flush from tip to tail while he's fucking you, when being inside of you isn't close enough. you feel it when he, for the very first time, asks you quietly if you'll stay the night with him, because he sleeps easier when you're there. so you stay--the night, and all those that follow.
7.) oh, gaz. such a mischievous little shit. your friend from your training days, you two scrap like puppies over anything and everything. banter is the cornerstone of your relationship, one-upping being a close second. you delight and infuriate one another in equal measure, bickering amongst yourselves til one of you takes a swing at the other. price has reprimanded you both multiple times for horsing around, but you're never in any real danger--you work too well together. there's a kind of shared consciousness between you; a base-level understanding, two wolves hunting in tandem. still, ghost refuses to let either of you sit together on the heli; not since that one time your game of grabass devolved into full-on grappling on the tarmac. ultimately, one of your little tiffs goes too far; ends with you both laid out on a training mat, groaning into each other's mouth as you grind your hips together through your clothes. you both pretend it didn't happen for maybe a week--then it happens again. and again. and again. being 'together' is never something you actually discuss with kyle. it just... happens. much to the chagrin of your lt and captain, the bickering actually increases when you two get together; becomes more like foreplay you can get away with doing in front of your superiors. and if this man isn't an absolute goddamn menace when it comes to exhibitionism. when he wants you, doesn't matter if you're in the middle of a meeting. fuck it--it's happening, and it's happening now. very playful in and out of the bedroom, likes teasing you in every sense of the word. he edges you so long sometimes you nearly kick him in the head when he finally lets you cum. there's my girl--oh shi--ah, haah, good fuckin' girl. he's largely aloof when it comes to his emotions--not the best at verbalizing how he's feeling or what he needs. so instead, he shows you. he shows up every. single. time. kyle's your friend before he's your lover; your partner in (war) crime(s). he's always got your six, you've always got his, and what is love if not someone who'd die (and live) for you?
8.) soap proudly describes himself as a pleasure dom, which is mostly true. but he's got serious switch potential. which you know for a fact because fuckin' hell, does that boy whimper somethin' pretty when you throat him juuuuust right. he's such a 'tits' man, it's crazy. loves to hold you close, feel your breasts smashed against his chest while he drives deep into the tight clutch of your cunt. but most of all, soap loves being on his knees for you. this man definitely moans while he eats you out, tonguing your pussy like it's a mouth. he feels big in every sense of the word--in sex, in love, in anger. and make no mistake, he loves you deeply. you two have some serious yelling matches, storm about slamming doors til the neighbors threaten to call the feds, but it's just your way. you're both headstrong and stupid; arguments are bound to happen, and any unresolved hurt feelings get a solid patch-job from the frankly earth shattering makeup sex that follows. like rudy, soap wants a big family with you, and he knew early. actually doesn't tell you just how early til years down the line. how after your first official date, he called his ma and asked if she'd send his nan's ring, please? because he's pretty sure he just met his future wife. said ring which glitters on your hand now, as you reach over and flick his forehead teasingly. tell him he can stop trying to romance you, you're already married. and could he grab more diapers on his way home from work?
9.) as are all things with graves, your sexual relationship is about power. he's an asshole in the worst way--condescending, smug, underhanded, sneaky in his sexism so you always look like some hysterical woman when you retaliate. the kicker? it turns you on as much as it pisses you off. he's happy to string you along, work you into a lather just to leave you high and dry. lord help you once he gets a taste of you--bending you over his desk and cramming you full of his cock with precisely zero prep. he kisses you, loves you, fucks you like he hates you. because he kind of does--he just wants you more. graves loves it when you cry, wipes your tears with his thumb before forcing it into your mouth. coos when you offer your neck up to him--yeah? want my hands on ya that bad, sugar? gonna be a good girl for me, hm? fuck yeah you are--and proceeds to make you cum so hard you black out. your 'relationship' (which it is; ring on your finger a year in, a little one on your hip not long after) is intense. toxic. would be just downright miserable if it wasn't so fucking hot. you cling to each other with gouging force; a livid-blue kind of love, painful and permanent. he carries a picture of you in his wallet: a small polaroid of you in your wedding dress, ashing a cigarette with one hand while the other flips the cameraman (him) the bird.
10.) and the roughest of them all: price wants more than to love or fuck you -- he wants to possess you. he's so tightly controlled everywhere else in his life (has to be for his work), doesn't seem the type to lose his head over a bird. but when he meets you, something shifts. you're soft. impossibly good. flippant and stubborn as a mule, sure -- you drive him up the fuckin' wall with your headstrong antics. (so goddamn petulant. so sure you're fuckin' right.) but war and death hasn't stained your world, left your indomitable spirit unsullied and intact. which, unfortunately, means you haven't gotten a thorough education on the importance of discipline. price wants to consume your disobedience; crack your rose-tinted glasses under his heel, roll the ambrosia of you in his cupped tongue. he'll do more than make you fall in line -- he'll make you want to do it. it's really just a matter of time before he acts on it. when he does, it's decisive. unsubtle. he crowds you up against the door of your flat on a sticky summer night, brandy on your breath. sinks a hand into your hair, holds you steady as he brings your mouths together with bruising intensity. he fucks you before he ever makes love to you; sinks his teeth into the velvet of your shoulder as he crushes you flat to the tabletop using just his bodyweight. snarls low when you keen wordlessly, overwhelmed and empty-headed at the deep burn-sting of his cock stretching your pretty little cunt, the lewd slap of his thighs against your ass. he batters you til you're not sure what's sweat and what's tears; til your skin bears a mural to his cacoethes, all blue and purple like a deep west sunrise. til there's not a person alive who won't be able to see you're his. always have been, always will, right dove? go on--tell him. tell him who this pussy belongs to.
written by kittsch, do not repost. not to be used for bots nor AI of any kind.
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clu-ven · 2 days
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Better than Meditation
soooo I haven't posted in a very long time but I'm trying to get back into writing!!! (so pls bear with me xoxoxoxoxo)
Summary: you come up with an alternative (smutty) way for Crosshair to gain some control over his hand - based off S3 E08
Tags: SMUT, vaginal fingering, semi public fingering?? (technically it’s done in an isolated but public place), lil bit of plot + smut, smut, smut
Word Count: 2.8k
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“He’s still down there, y’know” Omega’s voice brings you out of your thoughts as she slumps down beside you.
You keep your eyes closed, letting the rays of the afternoon sun wash over you. Pabu’s climate is one you could most definitely get used to. It’s inviting and comforting atmosphere makes you feel at ease, a sensation that has become rare since the rise of the Empire.
“Well, you know how stubborn he is,” you reply casually. 
While Hunter and Wrecker are gone to meet some bounty hunter they know, Crosshair has spent most of his time on a secluded part of the beach, focused on correcting his aim.  Everyone has tried to talk to him about it but unfortunately, that only made things worse.
Now Crosshair is more defensive than ever, determined to prove that he is perfectly capable of correcting his shaky hand by himself. 
“Yeah but AZI said it might be some kind of mental block,” Omega sighs, subtly copying you as she closes her eyes too “if he doesn’t open up and let us help him, then how is he supposed to get better?”.
Her concern for Crosshair makes you smile, impressed by how she’s able to delicately balance trying to help her brother without being too overbearing.
The question lingers for a few moments before you open your eyes and glance down at her “And he’s already shot down your meditation idea?”.
Omega briefly mentioned the idea to you that morning and although you were sceptical, you encouraged her determination to help anyway. 
“Of course he did,” she lets out a heavy sigh “saying he didn’t like it is an understatement”. 
A comfortable silence grows between you both as you consider the situation. But before you can speak, Omega quickly becomes restless and blurts out “Can’t you try speaking with him? He’ll listen to you, I just know it!”. 
It’s no secret that you and Crosshair were once close and you can only presume Omega has heard about this from the likes of Wrecker, who wouldn’t give a second thought about mentioning it.
"I can try but..." you trail off, hesitating to make a decision. Doubt clouds your judgement, stopping you from promising anything. After all, you know how stubborn and closed-minded Crosshair can be at times, especially when it comes to being vulnerable.
Omega's face lights up at your hesitant help. "Great! Sometimes trying is all it takes". She seems upbeat and enthusiastic as she stands “I was gonna go introduce Batcher to Mox, Stak and Deek anyways so it’s good to know Crosshair won’t be alone”.
Giving the girl a tight-lipped smile in response, Omega whistles for Batcher. With one last goodbye, she hurries off happily.
You wait until she’s gone before you sigh and slump down again. Although Crosshair has been back for a while now, the two of you have yet to have a proper reunion, leaving you both unsure of how to approach the situation. 
Knowing you can’t put this off for forever, you begrudgingly get up and start the long descent down to the secluded beach. 
The subtle change in weather appears to align with your mood, as the sun dips behind the clouds and a warm breeze begins to pick up. It causes the light fabric of your skirt to dance in the wind as if it has a mind of its own. But it’s only a momentary distraction as your thoughts swiftly return to Crosshair, focusing fully on him and the impending catch-up. 
You and Crosshair were always close during the Clone Wars, constantly laughing at each other’s snide remarks, bickering simply for the sake of it and always trying to get a rise out of the other. Even back then, you knew where the constant teasing would eventually lead to… but then it didn’t. 
Instead, the war came to an end and before you even got the opportunity to speak with Crosshair, the rest of the Batch had turned up at your door and told you that he had already picked his side.
Since then, you have been travelling with the batch. It took a long time to accept that whatever was between you and Crosshair was gone, whether that be a friendship or something more. That died the day the Republic did. 
But in a strange twist of faith, Crosshair is back and so are your lingering feelings. Although, if it was difficult to confront this emotion before everything happened, it’s become utterly impossible now. Neither of you have mentioned it and yet you still catch his longing gaze whenever he thinks you’re not paying attention.
When you reach the beach, it’s exactly how you pictured; Crosshair is alone, his sniper positioned steadily on a rock as he tries to shoot the far off target. A blaster bolt sprints across the water as he fires, missing his target by a few inches. You hear him mutter something under his breath as he tries again.
Flicking his chewed up toothpick to the ground, Crosshair notices you. “Yes?” He asks impatiently, lining up another shot.
“You’ve been out here all day,” you state the obvious “Omega’s worried about you”.
Crosshair doesn’t reply immediately, first firing (and missing) again before he turns around just to make sure you see his eye roll. “Oh, is she?” His tone is underlined with sarcasm. 
A huff falls from your lips and suddenly you know all too well why Omega was so irked after trying to help the man in front of you. Despite the scowl on your face, you refuse to fall into the usual bickering you once had with him. 
“You know she is,” you sigh “maybe you should take a break, come have some lunch and forget about target practice for a while”.
He watches you for a moment, studying you the same way you’ve seen from the corner of your eye “And when did you become mother hen?”.
Scoffing, you walk closer, hugging yourself with your arms “Don’t act like that, you know you’re overworking yourself… Crosshair, please, you need to take care of yourself”. 
The concern in your voice takes him by surprise but Crosshair quickly recovers as he mutters “Oh, so you’re worried about me now?”.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You bat back at him.
“You’ve hardly looked at me, nevermind speak to me since I’ve gotten back” he practically spits the words out. 
You no longer hold back your glare “Like you’ve made any effort to talk to me!”.
“How can I when you don’t even look at me?” Crosshair challenges, his gaze unyielding as your annoyance fades as quick as it came. 
Coming up to the rock he’s based at, you slide down against it to shield yourself from the wind. Crosshair follows suit and kneels beside you, waiting cautiously for your response. 
Your tone holds a sense of sincerity as you speak, your words now free of any reservations. "I do look at you… of course I do," you confess with genuine intent, all annoyance and restraint vanishing within you. 
“Then you must see me staring,” he almost whispers the words, watching you carefully “I thought you would have gotten the hint by now that I’m still interested”.
A soft smile graces your lips and as if taming a wild animal, you slowly reach out for his hand. Crosshair makes no attempt to stop you and you gently slip your hand into his before you tug him closer. 
Settling his hand on to your lap, you begin to trace your finger up and down his palm until finally resting your hand delicately on his wrist. “Let me help,” you offer “seriously, Crosshair”.
“And how would you help?” Though the question almost seems backhanded, you know that’s just Crosshair being Crosshair.
The mischievous glint in your eye paired with the suggestive smirk plastered across your face doesn’t go unnoticed by him. 
“How do you think?” you question. 
He holds your gaze as if to challenge you to make the first move but you hold strong. This is your moment and you both know it.
A secluded beach? A chance for you both to finally reunite in a way you could only imagine? Both of your minds go to the same place.
You give his wrist a small yet reassuring squeeze and before you can make another comment, his lips are on yours. 
With an intensity fuelled by pure need, he slams his lips against yours in a heated display of passion. This isn’t just a build up of years worth of longing for Crosshair. No, it’s much more than that. It’s an act of rebellion against the time he lost with you because of the Empire, both in spite of his own misplaced loyalty to them as well as his time on Tantiss. 
The fiery kiss goes on for what feels like an eternity and yet the time seems far too brief when it finally comes to an end. The passion flaring between the two of you is intoxicating, causing you to crave more.
His fingers twitch on your lap, eager to do more for you. As if on cue, you both look down at his hand, your soft grasp still around his wrist.
“You have to be calm, be able to stay consistent with your shots if you want to hit the target, right?” you ask, trying not to smirk when you see his sudden confusion. 
In a moment like this, you seriously decide to give him some advice on shooting? Crosshair nods, silently waiting to see where this is going.
“Maybe you’re approaching this from the wrong perspective,” you suggest, noticing how his attention shifts to your lips “you’re focusing on your sniper abilities, looking to re-learn your techniques… but you need to re-learn how to use your fingers in order to effectively use your sniper”.
“And how do you propose I do that?” his voice is low, causing the skin on your arms to prickle with goosebumps. You can feel the effect of his voice in your panties.
With your free hand, you begin to bunch up your skirt, first revealing your thighs and then a glimpse of your underwear. Crosshair can’t help it as a groan escapes from his throat.
You guide his hand closer to your clothed core before Crosshair takes initiative and brushes his fingers teasingly against you. 
He can feel the warmth beneath your underwear, feeling more assured in his movements when he hears you take in a sharp breath. But even with the small boost in confidence, Crosshair can’t help it as a small tremor courses through his hand. 
“Take your time,” your voice is soft but firm in your reassurance “and if this is too much then we can stop”. Fearful that you’ve pushed him too far, you slowly begin to close your legs as you nervously fiddle with your skirt “I didn’t mean to push you so-”.
You stop your apologetic remark when his firm grip stops your legs from meeting. A brief look of disbelief flicks across your face as he spreads your legs to his liking.
“No,” there is no hesitancy in Crosshair’s voice as he takes control of the situation “you started this, don’t go shy on me now”. This time it’s your turn to nod silently.
His fingers glide down to caress you again, this time feeling the dampness from beneath your underwear. Each reaction you give, whether a sharp intake of breath or a slight quiver up your spine, only serves to fuel Crosshair’s determination. He savors these small responses, revelling in how you leave each reaction so bare for him to see.
Crosshair smirks “If this is how you react to such simple touches, do you think you could handle me touching you without anything between us?”. 
“You’d be surprised with how much I can handle” you taunt.
Oh how he has missed how you challenge him. Your snarky response is rewarded with a kiss but before you can melt into it, Crosshair brings both of his hands to your hips and swiftly pulls your panties down. 
The eager sight that greets him brings a smile to his face. Crosshair can feel his excitement growing but before he can get ahead of himself, he’s committed to take care of you first. 
Crosshair teasingly brings just one finger down to your core. A slight tremor causes his finger to waver but after a second, it stops as desire overtakes him. His finger teases you, feeling just how much you want him. Before he can make another teasing comment, you pull him in for another kiss, unable to help yourself.
Crosshair is quick to take control of the kiss, simultaneously pushing his tongue into your mouth as he sinks his long finger into you. You welcome all of him, moaning into his mouth. Taking your sounds as encouragement, Crosshair adds a second digit to your core. 
He pushes in until he’s knuckle deep, successfully finding that spot within you. Crosshair takes your advice to heart. He keeps a consistent rhythm, thrusting his fingers inside of you. He listens to each involuntary squeak and moan, adjusting his speed and pressure of each pump of his fingers to whichever makes you react the most. 
There’s not a slight tremble in his entire hand, his attention solely on you. There is no room for nerves or doubt to creep in and cause his hand to shake. That seems almost impossible now, especially with you like this in front of him.
There is nothing but you and him in this moment, the rhythmic movement of his fingers serving as proof that he has full control.
He buries his fingers into you, pressing the palm of his hand against your clit and delivering powerful jolts of pleasure into your body.
“That’s it,” he coos at your moans “you’re nearly there, aren’t you?”.
A flutter fills your chest as your breathing becomes more rapid. "Y-yes,” you manage with a strained voice, your mind becoming overwhelmed with arousal “keep doing that”. 
You squeeze around his fingers, feeling the tight coil in your lower stomach getting closer and closer to finally snapping.
Your body responds to his touch in the most natural of ways, your back arching and head bowing in a display of utter pleasure. Your hand instinctively searches for contact, grabbing hold of his knee as the overwhelming sensation begins to consume you.
Your legs twitch, eyes rolling back in your head and a rather loud moan escapes your lips as the satisfaction you feel begins to peak. 
Bliss floods your entire being and the mixture of your moans and whimpers blend together in a melodic harmony. Every movement of his hand guides you through the waves of ecstasy, sending shivers through your body. 
Crosshair hums approvingly as you come down from your sigh. Almost reluctantly, he takes his hand away from you and examines his sticky but steady fingers. “My hand hasn’t been able to do so much and remain so still since… well, ever since Tantiss” he comments.
Trying to give your shaky legs more time to recover, you fix your panties before you reposition your skirt. Stealing a glance at Crosshair, you’re glad to see you’re not the only one with flushed cheeks. You smile almost bashfully as you lean on the rock to stand. 
Crosshair is there to help, gently holding your upper arm as you steady yourself. Despite the sass you gave him earlier and the bliss he just brought you now, you find it hard to maintain eye contact. 
Clearing your throat, you try to regain some of that boldness from before “Well then… good luck with your target practice, I’ll go see if the others have made contact yet”.
“What?!” the sound is almost foreign to you; the sound of an utterly bamboozled Crosshair. 
Pushing yourself off the rock, you feel his grasp slip away from your arm. You continue to walk as you turn around to savor his shocked expression.
“What about me?” he asks, trying to be inconspicuous as he gestures to the tent in his pants “I thought this was about helping me?”.
“Yeah, I know,” you reply with a smirk “you’ll get your reward when you hit the target”. With a wink, you turn your back to him and begin the ascent back. 
Crosshair’s jaw hangs open as he watches you go, and he can’t help but laugh at your audacity.
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carmyboobear · 2 days
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Blood Orange (Ch 1: The Walk-In)
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Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)
Rating: E (7.3k words)
links: fic playlist, pinterest board, ao3 link
Summary: Losing your job is the worst thing to ever happen to you. Getting hired by Carmen Berzatto is a close second. You tell yourself that The Beef is only temporary, that it's just a replacement until you find something better. It doesn't work. You've stopped listening. You've had a taste of Carmy, and now you don't think you're ever gonna be able to let go. No matter how bad it gets. 
Content Tags: secret workplace relationship/sex, friends/coworkers with benefits, they/them afab reader, miscommunication, mental illness (carmy and reader), dom/sub dynamics, dom carmy (for now), enemies to friends to lovers (eventually), unhealthy coping mechanisms, dysfunctional relationship
A/N: It's finally here! New series! We even get sex in the first chapter! In my other fic, I'm taking care of Carmy. In this one, I'm making him worse. Of course, here's a disclaimer that I DON’T condone or intend to glorify any of this behavior. It's just compelling to write. Enjoy!
You return to The Beef for the first time in years when you're at your lowest.
The only upside to this abysmal situation is that the job was shitty. The job you just got laid off from, to be exact. Retail was never your passion, and there's a certain relief in knowing you don't have to go back to that windowless place. You didn't play an important role in the ecosystem, but it played a pretty crucial role in yours. It kept a roof over your head.
You're sure you could’ve sued them in some fashion for letting you go without any warning, any parachute, but you didn't have the luxury of time. You needed to figure out how you were going to pay rent, and fast.
After the rage boiled over (not to say that it's resolved, the residual anger's leveled into an even simmer), you pulled your hair back, found your cleanest, nicest outfit, and started your job search. With your updated resume in hand and scuffed sneakers on your feet, you've trekked all over Chicago looking for a new job. You weren't optimistic, nor were you hopeful. 
You suppose the only word you could use to describe yourself was desperate, and it was a matter of finding someone that was just as desperate, if not more desperate than you. To put it politely, the odds of that were low. Very low. 
You got laid off that very morning. The rest of your afternoon has been spent walking from door to door to every establishment you could spot. By some cruel twist of fate, none of them were hiring. The ones that were hiring looked unenthusiastic, even adverse to taking your resume. 
“When would you be able to start?” Some of the workers asked. 
“Tomorrow,” was your desperately honest answer. 
“If all goes well, you'll hear from us in a week,” was their response. The unspoken was, of course, the fact that radio silence was more likely than an email or phone call. Places didn't even send rejection letters anymore. 
“Thanks for your time,” you'd say, bringing out a bright smile from a complete lack of reserves, and as soon as you turned around, your face would drop. 
Your hopes were low, nearly non-existent, but damn. Damn. It wasn't looking good for you.
That's why you enter The Beef. You vaguely remember visiting this place a couple years ago, back when you first moved to Chicago. The owner was…pretty nice, actually. You don't remember his name, but you remember having a pleasant conversation with him. Of course, there's nothing you can do if he doesn't have a job opening, but it wouldn't be bad to see a friendly face. Even if that face is from someone who's basically a stranger. 
The doorbell rings when you enter. It catches the attention of the man standing behind the counter, and with how his head jolts up, you'd think the bell functioned as an alarm instead. 
“Welcome,” he says. Your first impression, other than the fact that he seems very, very, tired, is that he's irritatingly attractive. If anything, the eyebags and the greased back waves only add to whatever the hell he's got going on. 
“Hi. Um…” You're briefly caught off guard by his biceps, but you catch yourself. “I was actually wondering if you guys were hiring.”
“We are,” he replies, and it's the best thing you've heard all day. He lights up like the spark of a lighter, bright and instantaneous. It doesn't shake the pervasive exhaustion that radiates off him, though. 
“Thank god,” you mutter, and you want to take it back (it's far too casual), but he cracks an amused smile that makes you want to dissolve like a pinch of salt in a sea of sauce. “Sorry. Do you mind if I talk to the owner? We met a while ago, and—”
“I'm the owner,” he interrupts, and any other words you had planned fall away.
“Sorry?” You repeat. “I swear it was this guy—he had short dark hair, I think—”
“Yeah, he left the place to me. Didn't want it anymore, so.” He shrugs. The light you just saw from him has fizzled away like the end of a sparkler, short-lived and ultimately disappointing. 
“Oh. Got it. Uh…” To your credit, you don't fumble for too long. You have a lot of questions, but you've got more pressing issues. You pluck out a resume from a file folder. “Here's my resume, then.”
He takes it from you, flips it to face him. He's quiet as his eyes lower down the page, and you wonder if it's going to be a guillotine or a pot of gold at the end of this. The only sounds in the entrance are the passing cars outside, the rickety air conditioning, and muffled chatter from the back. 
“You worked as a prep cook.” He says it like a fact, but you know it's a question. 
“Yeah, nothing fancy. Just at some chain restaurants.”
“Right. I see you worked as a line cook at another location. Which one did you prefer?”
“Uh…” They both came with their separate pains. Your honest answer is that being a line cook was one of the most stressful experiences of your life, but if he has a position open as a line cook, you don't want to fuck it up. “They were both fine. I think I was a little better as a prep cook, but I didn't mind either.”
He hums, satisfied by your answer. At least it’s only half of a lie.                                                                                                                    
“How do you work under pressure?”
“Good,” you answer quickly. “Well enough.”
“Willing to learn?”
“Obviously. I mean…” You think you see a flash of a smile, but you're unsure. “Yeah.”
“When'd you be able to start?” You're surprised he's already asking this.
“Tomorrow,” you say, just like you’ve been, and his reaction is different from the others. He nods. He doesn't smile, not like he did earlier, but you can tell this is a good sign. 
Before he can get a word out, there's a sharp, metallic explosion of noises that resounds from the direction of the kitchen. 
“Uh,” he starts, eyebrows pinched in irritation, the voices come in. 
“I told you, you have to say behind!” A woman's voice. She sounds young, but there's no real way to be sure of that.
“How the hell did you not hear me coming?” A Chicago accent, male. Older, maybe. “I was in the middle of having a conversation with Tina—”
“Great, I'm so happy for you, I don't give a shit, now this has all went to waste—”
“Well, who's fault is that?”
“Who's fault is that? You did not just—”
“Guys!” The man you've been talking to gives you an apologetic glance before walking to the back, pushing through the folding doors. You catch a glimpse of the two people arguing on the other side before it shuts. “I'm tryin’ to talk to a new hire here. We can't be like this right now. Not ever, but especially right now.”
Finally, the first sane person I've met all day, you think. 
“Carmy, talk some sense into her,” the older guy shouts, and it gives you a name to the face. “All of this on the floor—”
“You didn't say behind,” the woman repeats, except with more fury in it this time.
“You didn't say behind,” he imitates back. “Carmy—”
“She’s right. Richie, step out,” Carmy says. “Syd, you clean this up.”
“But—” You hear her start to protest. 
“You spilled it, you clean it,” he cuts through, decisive and firm.
“I know, but Richie—”
“Clean it,” he repeats, firmer, darker this time, and there's a beat of silence. 
“...Yes, chef.”
“I told you to step out,” Carmy tells who you assume is Richie. 
“You're just gonna let her—”
“Step the fuck outside right fucking now!” Carmy screams, his patience shooting away like a gunshot. You feel something shrivel inside you, and not in a good way. “Do the one fucking thing you're good at and get out of the fucking way!”
Yeah…definitely not in a good way.
From what you hear, it sounds like Richie has to get wrestled outside by someone, whom you're not sure. After another minute, Carmy returns to the front. 
“I'm sorry about that. Fucking—” He drags a hand across his face. You swear his eyebags have grown heavier in the 5 minutes he was in the kitchen. “What was I saying?”
“Um, I was saying that I could start tomorrow,” you remind him, although the vigor you had just stated it with is a bit fizzled out. 
“Right. Okay. Uh—” He pats his hands on his apron, searching for something. A pen and paper appear in his hands, and he scribbles something on it. This is when you notice his tattoos. A flower on the back of his hand. Surprising. “You're hired. Here's the paperwork you need to fill out, along with the number and email you'll be hearing from me at.”
“What?” You take the sheets, but the smooth paper doesn't feel real in your hands. His handwriting is hasty and dark, like he was running out of time on a test. “I mean, I'm just surprised.”
“Do you not want it?”
“I want it,” you promise, and you feel your cheeks flush. This is a bad time to yet again notice how attractive he is. His pretty eyes, his nose. The little moles under his left eye. “Y-Yeah, I want the job.”
“Good.” He motions towards the sticky note again. “Come in at 8 am tomorrow. You'll be starting as a prep cook, which you've done before.”
“Okay. Okay, yeah, I'll be there.” The reality is setting in now, and an odd cocktail of relief, apprehension, and excitement is settling in your stomach. “Thank you so much.” I just got laid off from my job this morning, so this means a lot, you want to say, but it's too soon. You don't want to say anything that'll make him change his mind about whatever he sees in you. 
“Thank you,” he echoes back. “We need the help. I'll see you tomorrow.”
“See you,” you reply, and with that, the door rings behind you. A customer comes up to the counter, peering up at the menu. You figure this is your cue to leave. He's not looking at you anymore anyway. 
So, I got a job now, you update your friends, texting them on your way home on the metro. As the relieved congratulations come flying in, another remark seems to resound amongst all of them. 
I can't believe you got the job just like that. That place must be desperate, too, is roughly what they've all said. The thing is, they're not wrong. 
You managed to find someone more desperate than you in the job economy. Just one, but that was enough. It makes you think, though. You think about Carmy's weary blue eyes, his brief smile, and his hand tattoos. You wonder if it's just the restaurant that gives him that bone-deep exhaustion, or if it's a smaller part of a bigger picture. 
You think about it for the rest of your commute, you think about it as you smoke on the porch, you think about it as you lay in bed. You think about it as you fill out the paperwork, fingers tracing where Carmy's written his name, number, and email.
Carmen Berzatto
773-555-0901
So Carmy's a nickname, you think. Not about what type of boss he's going to be, not about what it's going to be like working under someone you are obviously attracted to. 
Maybe you should be more worried about this.
If it's bad, I'll just find another job, you tell yourself, and you foolishly believe it.
. . . . .
Your first day on the job starts with introductions. 
At least, that's about as much as you've figured out so far. When he sees you upon arrival, he pauses and stares at you like he's forgotten. Not a great start. Granted, he does snap out of it. That's when he tells you to follow him, which is where you currently find yourself. You're not sure where he's leading to, only that he's introducing you to others as you pass them by.
“They’re working with us starting today,” Carmy tells everyone. “They’re gonna be on prep.”
Right. So that's what you'll be doing. At least he told you that much yesterday.
The catalog of coworkers expands exponentially. You remember Sydney from yesterday, and to her credit, she apologizes about having you witness her fight with Richie, who conveniently isn't here yet. She seems the nicest out of all the bunch, so you decide to let it slide. 
Marcus is pretty nice, too. So are Ebra, Sweeps, Manny, Angel—everyone seems to be pretty alright. It’s obvious they’re standoffish by you being in their space. You find it hard to hold it against them. You’re not really sure how your relationships with them are going to pan out. There are only three that you’re particularly unsure on.
The first and obvious one is Richie. He came in eventually and didn’t give you the best impression, immediately talking over everyone and oozing arrogance. The only salvageable thing is that he’s not even a chef. At least you won’t have to be in the kitchen with him much. You want to avoid the honor of talking to him as much as possible.
Tina is next. She clearly doesn’t enjoy having someone new in the ecosystem, and she’s spent more time ignoring you than talking with you. As you understand it, she’s close to the rest of the staff since they’ve all been together for a while. Minus you and Syd, as you learn she’s only been there for a week. You think Tina will warm up to you…eventually.
Carmy is the last one, and he’s…he’s…
He’s something else.
He has you doing prep for most of the day. After introducing you to everyone and giving you a brief tour, he brings you to your station, scratched up stainless steel.
“You’re going to be cutting onions and carrots today for the stock. The vegetables are in the walk-in I showed you earlier, and when it’s done, it goes on the first shelf.” Carmy’s to your right, set up at his own station. You swear you keep your eyes focused on the vegetables, not his biceps in that shirt, but… “You should already know this, but label everything. I don’t want to see anything without a date. Got it?”
“Yes, chef,” you confirm, snapping out of it. He’s been flinging new information at you like it’s a war and he’s gunning to survive. But so are you. “I’ll do my best.”
“I expect as such.” He slides over a peeler for the carrots and some plastic bins for trash. “It’s just a stock, so don’t worry about an even cut. Just salvage whatever you can, cut off anything that doesn’t look good.” You nod. “Been a year or so since you did this, right?”
“Yeah. I cook regularly, but I’ll need to get back into the groove of things. And I will,” you add hastily. “I’ll combine them into this one when I'm done, right?” You ask, nudging a large plastic container. 
“Correct.” A brief smile flashes across his face. “You're already following quicker than I thought you would.” You’re not sure if he means it as an insult or a compliment, so you decide to take it as the latter. 
“I haven't even chopped anything yet.”
“I know.” His expression is flat again. You resist a laugh.  He plucks an onion from the bin, puts it in front of you. “Show me a rough dice.”
The knife is sharp. You notice this as you place careful cuts into the onion. It's not quite as sharp as his unnerving gaze, which layers pressure upon pressure. It builds up like a pastry puff, thin multitudes of layers expanding upward. You need to be good. You need to be perfect. You don't want to disappoint him, not this early, even though you've barely been here for an hour. 
It's just a shitty old sandwich shop, you tell yourself, but your dicing is uneven and you briefly think about accidentally chopping your fingers off. 
“Not my best work,” you admit, vaguely breathless. Carmy hasn't said anything yet.
“It'll do.” You're waiting for him to say something else, give you some tips, but he doesn't. Irritation prickles to the tips of your fingers. “I'll be back to check in on you later.”
You stand there, motionless and shocked in the aftermath. You're not sure what you expected from today, but being abandoned an hour in was not at the top of your bucket list. 
Man, what the fuck, you think, the thought clear in the silence around you, and that's the last time you can hear yourself think for the rest of the shift. 
There's a prepared stock from yesterday simmering on the stove behind you. It's flanked by boiling potatoes and reducing tomato sauce. The heat from it’s searing your back like a steak, slowly drawing lines of moisture all over the surface of your shirt. Your coworkers constantly invade your space to check on them. You suppose it's not their fault that the kitchen, but it's still irritating. They're also all shouting over each other like it's a competition.
“Who the fuck touched my stock—”
“No one touched your stupid shitty stock—”
“I am trying to find this cutting board, will someone please—”
You move on from the onions with only a thin layer of sweat collected at your hairline. 
Your hands are shaky as they peel the carrots. You know you're not getting as efficient of a shave as you could be, but the caffeine crash from your morning coffee is getting to you. You don't remember the last time you drank water. A cigarette sounds nice. 
“Clean your station, chef.” Carmy materializes next to you. You hear him before you see his hands scooping carrot shavings into a plastic container. It shocks you so much that you almost cut yourself. 
“Sorry, chef,” you reply reflexively. You look down at your station, straightening your tools. You want to ask if you can take your break, but you don't want to look any weaker than you do already. “So, uh, do we get 30's here?”
When you don't get a response, your head snaps up, irritation on the tip of your tongue, but he's not even there. 
Fucking hell, you think, annoyance simmering into something akin to anger, and you go back to finishing your prep. 
You don't see him for another hour after that. It's not even him that tells you to take your 15, it's Syd, who noticed you were half-way through your shift and on the verge of…something. 
“You finished the prep he gave you, right?” Syd had asked. You told her you finished and put it back in the walk-in. “Yeah, then go take your break. Did he not tell you we get 15's here?”
“He didn't,” you say, too annoyed to bother hiding the disdain in your face. Sydney just sighs, rolling her eyes, and you think you love her. 
“Asshole.” She makes a shooing motion at you then. “Go, get a break from this madness. It'll get better, I promise.”
You're not sure if you believe her, but you do step outside to take your break. 
As you stand outside in the back, you take note of tightness in your body that you weren't even aware of. The cigarette smoke calms you, loosens you. Or maybe you owe that to getting out of that hot kitchen. 
This time, you see Carmy before you hear him. You turn to the door to see him stepping out, a pack of smokes in his hand. 
“Hey,” he says. 
“Hey,” you reply.
“Everythin’ goin’ okay so far?”
“Yeah. It's fine.” Other than everything.
“Really?” His surprise just pisses you off further. “Well, that's good.”
“...Yeah.” You decide if your mouth stays unoccupied, you'll start cussing him out, so you put your cigarette back in your mouth. 
“You're bleeding.”
“What?”
“I said, you're bleeding. Your hand.” 
You look down at your hand holding the cigarette, and sure enough, there's a thin, shallow cut oozing blood near one of your knuckles. 
“Shit,” you mutter, quickly sucking the skin into your mouth. When you pull it back, the red refills. “I didn't even notice.”
“Let's get a bandaid on that.” He puts his unlit cigarette back into his pack. “I have some in my office.”
That's how you end up in the enclosed, dark space of his office, seated on the only chair as he leans back against his cluttered desk. The dingy first-aid kit is propped on top of a shaky stack of papers. Carmy takes out a bandaid from it and peels it open.
“Thought I gave you a sharp knife, it shouldn't have cut you like that,” Carmy comments. 
“It was sharp,” you correct. “Guess I just fucked up.”
“It happens,” he says, which surprises you. He keeps surprising you. You just can't seem to figure him out. “Let me see the cut.”
You only realize that he's putting the bandaid on you when he cradles your hand in his. His hands are warm. 
He has so many hand tattoos. You notice the letters on his fingers first, the SOU curled around your palm. You notice the other tattoo on the back of his hand next, since that's the one carefully placing the bandaid on you. 
He wraps it around your finger just right. Not too tight, not too loose. 
“Is that too tight?” He asks, almost in a whisper. He's so close, and he smells like kitchen oil, cigarette smoke, and a faded cologne you can't place. 
“No, it's okay.” You don't mean to talk so quietly back, but you do. You can't stop staring at his fingers. They're long and marked up with silver scars and burns. If you look carefully, you can place the locations of his callouses. 
“Good.” You don’t know why he does it, but he runs his thumb across the seams of where your bandaid overlaps. Surely it’s just to secure it further…surely.
“Thank you.” He’s still holding your hand. You’re unsure if you’re imagining the tension in the air or not. Everything feels more intimate behind closed doors, especially in low light. “I could’ve done it myself.”
“It’s easier if another person does it.” He lets go, finally, and you try not to mourn the loss. “Did you finish prepping for the stock?”
“What you gave me, yeah.”
“Alright. Let’s go take a look at it, then,” he says, like that isn’t the most anxiety inducing thing you’ve ever heard. 
“R-Right now?”
“As opposed to?” He opens the door to his office, and the muffled noises in the kitchen become sharp and clear again, like emerging from underwater. “Come on.”
You don’t know how it happens, but Carmy gets into five separate arguments on the way to the walk-in. FIVE. To be fair, two of them are from Richie.
“I’ve been telling you guys to sharpen your knives, don’t fucking treat them like this,” Carmy shouts, trudging over to someone’s station. “You see this? This is exactly what we should not be doing! How many times have I said this today?! Don’t—“
“Stop going into my office when I’m not there,” Carmy hisses at Richie next. “You keep fucking up where the papers are put, and I can’t find anything! It’s enough of a mess as it is! No—I said—cousin, listen to me—“
“Everyone shut the hell up, clean your stations, and get the fuck back to work!” Is the last thing he shouts before slamming the door to the walk-in behind you. He slams it so hard the wire racks rattle. You decide not to comment. 
The difference in sound is eerie. You’re always surprised by how sound proof these walk-in fridges are.
“Is this the prep you did today?” Carmy asks, touching one of the clear plastic bins. Sure enough, it’s the one you placed there a moment ago.
“Yeah, it is.” You chew the inside of your cheek. You were hoping he would be in an okay mood when he checked your work. It seemed like he was at first, but now?
“It's on the wrong shelf.”
“What?” You stare at it sitting on the first shelf, just like he told you to. “You told me to put it on the first shelf.”
“It goes on the second shelf.” He's pissed, and there's ice in your veins. He huffs as he takes the container and moves it one shelf up, slamming it down unnecessarily. “I told you—second shelf.”
“You literally said it went on the first shelf.” The ice has melted, and it's boiling. 
“No, I didn't.” You wanna punch him. Badly. You know what you heard. “And you forgot to label it.”
“Shit.” That, you did forget. You’re not above owning up to your mistakes, unlike him. “I'm sorry, I was—”
“We always need stuff like this to be labeled,” he interrupts, rude and abrupt. You can hear the thinly veiled anger in his voice. “I told you.”
“I know, I just—“
“Don’t make excuses. Just do better.”
“It’s my first fucking day!” You snap, finally, and it’s like a firecracker in the dead of night. “I don’t expect to be coddled, but I’ve only been here for a couple hours, and you’re just—“
“I told you to put a label on it, to put it on the second shelf, and you didn’t do either of those things.” This is a different type of anger. It’s quiet, contained. Dangerous. And with your outburst, it’s trembling at the edges. 
“You literally hired me yesterday!” You’re exasperated. “You looked at my resume for like two seconds before hiring me, and you’re mad that I’m messing up?”
“You had enough credentials on your resume. You told me you could work well under pressure and learn quickly. Is that true or not?”
“It is true! You just have to give me a chance first!”
“I just gave you a chance,” Carmy snaps back, “and you fucked it up.”
“Oh my god. I just—“ You take a step back. “I don’t have to take this shit.”
“Are you quitting already?”
“I wasn’t going to.” You move towards the door. “But maybe I should, before you fire me. Doesn't seem like you want me, anyway.”
You were planning on exiting the walk-in after that, to leave on cue, but the door doesn’t budge. You and Carmy notice it at the same time. 
Suddenly, there is a new problem.
“Fuck,” Carmy curses under his breath. The two of you are pushing against the door, but it won’t budge. He slams his fist on it and calls out. “Guys, the walk-in door is stuck! Can any of you open it from out there?”
“Carmen?” Richie's voice is muffled from the other end. There's the sound of frustrated efforts on the other end. “It's not fuckin’ budging!”
“Fuck,” Carmy repeats, seething, and you agree. “Call Fak!”
“I already did! He’s gonna be here in 20!”
“20 minutes?!” Carmy shouts. You close your eyes and sigh, audibly. “Don't we have a screwdriver in here or something?! Just take the hinges off!”
“Why do you think I called Fak?! Shut the hell up and be patient!”
“Tell him to hurry the fuck up,” Carmy barks, and that's where their conversation ends. 
“Just what I needed right now,” you mutter under your breath. Carmy's not looking at you, eyes boring into the door that's trapping the both of you in here with each other. “To be locked in a room with you.”
It's quiet for a minute before he speaks, cutting the silence open.
“...I do want you, y'know.”
“You—huh?” He said it so quietly you're not sure if it was a hallucination. 
“We need you here.” He's still not looking at you. “This place—it's fucked.  We don't have enough hands.”
“I can tell,” you say, and you mean for it to come out bitter, but it's soft. Naively so. 
“I want you here. I do.” He doesn't need to say it like that. You don't want to believe it, neither his words or the way hearing it makes you feel. “I need you.”
“Can you at least look at me when you say it?” 
You’re not sure why you say it. You instantly recognize it for how needy it sounds, but you don't get the luxury of embarrassment. Carmy's already turning to face you. 
“I want you,” he repeats, voice low. You think about the paint you'd need to mix to match the color of his eyes. Blue, white, and the slightest bit of orange to desaturate it. You're not sure what type of orange, though. “I need you.”
“Fuck,” you mutter, despite yourself, and it's too late.
“Are you gonna do better?” You didn't even register him moving closer to you. When did your back end up against the shelves?
“I’m gonna do better,” you whisper, “if you stop being such an asshole.”
“It won't happen again,” he whispers back, and you recognize it for the lie that it is. 
You don't really care, though. 
His face is so close to yours that you can see the separate specks of colors in his iris. You watch his gaze fall from your eyes to your lips, and it lingers there before rising again. Any shreds of self respect or control you were clinging onto disintegrate. It doesn't matter if he really means what it says. All that matters is getting your mouth on his.  
“Okay,” you say, a whisper of foolish acceptance, and you're kissing him. 
Or is he kissing you? You don't know who leaned forward first. It's not important. 
“I saw you staring at my hands today,” Carmy says against your lips. Spit makes your mouths slide easily against each other. “Yesterday, too.”
“What the—no you didn't,” you gasp, appalled, heat rising in your face, “how did you—?”
“You're right. I didn't,” he admits with a cheeky grin. You’re really gonna punch him now. 
“God, you're just,” you mutter, “you're such an asshole.”
“I know.” At first, you think he's being smug, but there's a surprising sense of remorse under it. You don't have time to think about it, though, not when his hand is cradling your face. There's no way he doesn't feel how hot your face is. 
“What're you…?” His thumb passes over your lower lip, and the words fall away. 
“Tell me you want this.” Your eyes flicker to his hand, then to his face. His other hand is at the top of your jeans, fingers resting on the edge of your waistband. Excited arousal hits your gut, sizzling like browning butter, warm and toasted. His eyes are dark, caramel on the verge of burning. “If you don't, I'll pretend like this never happened. I'll never touch you again.”
I'll never touch you again, he says, like it's not the last thing you'll ever want. 
“I want this,” you murmur. “Touch me. Please.”
“Good,” Carmy praises, one quiet word enough to sear your insides with heat, blue flame on the underside of a pan. “That's what I thought.”
His hands slip behind you to untie your apron. The strings fall to your sides, and you tug it hastily up and over your head. It falls to the floor next to you. Surely that's a gigantic health hazard, but Carmy's the one who throws it there, so you don't say anything. You lower your gaze to his fingers unbuttoning your pants. The sight of it makes you woozy. You take note of his other tattoos, noticing the letters on his fingers. You watch as the stabbed hand made of ink on his right disappears under the cloth of your underwear.
“Oh,” you breathe. You didn't expect his hand to be so warm, even though you had just felt his heated palm gentle on your cheek.
“You're wet.” The tip of his index finger dips into where your hot folds separate. It strokes at the fluid that's pooled at your entrance, coaxing it out. “When did this happen?”
“Fuck you is when,” you bite back, but it's all bark. “I don't know.”
“Sure,” he agrees, but not really. His condescending smile shouldn't be hot, it really shouldn't, but your pussy throbs against his hand, and he smiles knowingly. “All you need is me to talk and you get wet, is that it?”
“I—” His finger rises upward, splitting you open and flicking at your clit. You buck against his hand. “Don't ask me a question and then touch me like that,” you hiss, horribly turned on.
“Mm, sorry.” It's barely an apology. You throw your head back in frustration. “I didn't mean to.”
“I have a hard time believing that,” you pant. He's pushed your slick up your pussy to your clit, two slick fingers sliding back and forth on your stiff nub. The pads of his calloused fingers are rubbing you almost where you're too sensitive. 
“Then don't. I don't care what you think of me.” You think he's about to get his fingers inside of you, and your breath hitches, but he pulls back. You regret the frustrated whine that is just audible enough in the back of your throat. He does it again, just barely pushing the tips of fingers in before pulling away.
“You—why—do you want me to beg or something?” Your clenched hands raise by your sides to grip the collar of his white shirt and yank him forward. The shock that flashes across his face gives you a sick sense of satisfaction.
“It wouldn't hurt,” he mumbles. Seeing him stagger like this, even if briefly, sends a rush through your head.
“Is that what it's gonna take for you to get those fucking fingers inside me?” 
Like a coward, instead of answering, he leans an inch forward and kisses you. Or maybe that was his answer. That's when he sinks two fingers inside you, long and thick, pushing until your wet pussy's pressed tight against his palm. 
You moan, a pathetic thing, and Carmy swallows the sound of it.
“You're already begging,” he says quietly. He pulls his fingers out. You whine in protest, desperate and angry pleas on the tip of your tongue, but then he's pushing inside again.
That's the last moment of reprieve you get. His fingers start thrusting into you faster, dragging out slick each time he pulls them out. Paranoia suddenly screams that you’re gonna wet the front of your pants at this rate. The aching pleasure is louder than your fear, though. You can’t help the way his fingers are making you moan.
“More,” you plead, “give me another, I can take it.” Your hips are thrusting forward to meet his hand when they push inside. Your clit slaps against the heel of his palm, and you chase the friction. He must notice, because when he obliges and stretches you out with a third finger, he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit.
“You have to be quiet,” he says lowly when you keep moaning. “They’re gonna hear you.” 
“I—I’m trying,” you whine. You’re squeezing so tight down on him. You feel so full. “Your fingers—“
“You’re the one who asked for more.” He slaps his other hands firmly over your mouth. It silences your sound of surprise. “You said you could take it, so here’s what’s gonna happen.” His fingers are slamming into your now, and your hole spasms around them in pleasure. “You’re gonna come on my fingers, and you’re gonna be quiet. Understand?”
You know how soundproof the walk-in is. You had just witnessed it moments ago. But Carmy’s warnings do something fierce to you, bypassing logic straight into anxious, desperate arousal. He’s right, you think. You need to be quiet. You nod quickly in response, so he takes your consent and sprints with it.
To your credit, you try to be quiet. You said you would. But there’s only so much you can do when he’s fingering you so hard your legs are shaking. You’re whimpering into his hand, the sounds muffled.  Your own moans, his heavy breathing, and the slick sound of your pussy getting railed by his fingers—that’s what you listen to as you come.
“Fuck, you’re squeezing down tight,” Carmy hisses, and for an irrational second  you’re afraid you’re hurting him, but one look at his starved expression changes your mind. His three wide fingers are fucking you slowly through your wildly contracting orgasm. In one of his palms, you're oozing slick, and in his other palm, you're smearing with spit.
You should be thinking about how bad of an idea this all is, having sex with your boss. It’s too bad your orgasm is so potent you can’t think at all.
You lean your head back against the cold metal railings of the wire racks behind you. It’s uncomfortable, but a part of it feels good against the coiling heat that’s unraveling in your stomach. The air around you is cold, but you’re hot, far too hot. You don’t remember the last time you’ve finished this hard.
He finally pries his hand off your mouth once you've stopped clamping down on his fingers. His hand lingers at your face before wiping it on the side of his jeans. His expression has this unreadable, unnamed intensity to it, and you can't tell where that ends and where the hunger starts. Although he is looking very, very starved.
His hand that's tucked into your underwear tugs it upward as it leaves, pulling the fabric taut against your pussy. It sticks like paper mache with the glue of your orgasm, molded to your shape. You make an aroused noise that's a mixture of surprise and annoyance.
You're about to complain, something along the lines of “was that really necessary”, but then your eyes are zeroed in on the sheen of his fingers that were fucking you.
“Don't,” you start, suddenly worried he's going to wipe them on his jeans again, but you don't get to finish. He's pushing his index finger into your mouth, and you taste yourself on his skin.
“Good,” Carmy whispers when he feels your tongue wrapping around him. Fuck, hearing him say it like that does awful things to you.
You don't know why you accept it without a fight, but if you're being honest with yourself, this is exactly what you wanted. You start to suck, but he doesn't linger. When he pulls his finger out, your parted lips expect the other two, but he sucks them into his mouth instead. 
God. What do you even say to that? He even has the nerve to look you in the eyes as he pops his cleaned fingers out of his mouth. 
“Let me touch you,” you decide to say instead, because if you think about him and his fingers in—anyway. 
“It's fine. I don't need it.” He's oddly cagey all of a sudden. 
“Let me return the favor, please,” you insist, even adding in some good manners. It seems to still him for a moment, giving you enough time to lift his apron.
Fuck, you think to yourself, the word resounding like an alarm inside your head. His jeans are tented so tightly it looks painful. All this from touching me, you realize. You can see the shape of his bulge under the denim. The silhouette is vague, but...
It's big.
“Carmy? You still in there?”
A voice you don't recognize calls out beyond the door. As soon as you both hear it, Carmy jerks away. You mourn the loss only for a moment before you remember yourself. You're scrambling to get your pants buttoned and your apron over your head. 
“Yeah, I'm still in here,” Carmy shouts back, instantaneously irritable. His back is turned to you, and you want to feel those muscles tensing under your palm. “About fuckin’ time!”
“You're welcome, by the way! I could've left you in here to freeze and die a tragic death!”
“It's not just me in here, Fak.” A beat of silence. “Are you opening it?”
“Am I fucking—Jesus Christ, Carmen, just give me a second! I'm working my magic!”
That shuts Carmy up. Almost. He sighs before turning to look at you. 
“Sorry for getting us stuck in here.” The apology is equally as surprising as the softness of which he speaks. “Shitty first day, huh?”
“It's cool. It's not your fault.” Other than all the shit that was completely your fault, you think, remembering the way you were shouting at each other just a moment ago. “Kinda shitty though, yeah.”
“Yeah.” He sighs again. “If you wanna leave, I don't blame you.”
“I thought I wasn't getting fired.”
“You're not,” he says quickly. “But I'm—this place is a shitshow.” You're not sure which he really means to say, but you hear both. The restaurant, and him especially, are both complete messes. That much was obvious from the beginning. “So if you wanna take off, just…” He shrugs. “Just go.”
Maybe that'd be for the best, if you left. As far as first days go, you've already broken every rule in the book. You messed up your first task, got into an argument with your boss, and then had sex with him. Nothing about this place is particularly inviting, either. This restaurant wears its dysfunction on its sleeve, unabashed in all the ways it lacks. You had left the kitchen with ringing ears from all the noise and a cut on your hand you didn't even notice. 
But here you are. You're not running. Maybe it's because of the fact that you need to pay rent. Maybe it's knowing that just one more pair of hands here could really make a difference. Maybe you're just desperate to keep food on the table. Maybe it's Carmen Berzatto, beautiful, haunted, and angry. Maybe it's all of that, a combined whole that's become greater than the sum of its parts.
Or maybe it's just that now that you've kissed him, had a taste of him, you refuse to let go. Maybe the reason is as shallow as that. 
Carmy's been waiting for you to speak, tired eyes searching your own. You're still not sure what exact colors you need to perfectly recreate the blue you're staring at. 
“Almost done!” Fak shouts. “Just one more hinge!”
“Heard,” Carmy shouts back. He hasn't taken his eyes off you. “So? What's it gonna be? Are you staying or not?”
Blood orange, you think all of a sudden. That's the orange you would need to make the perfect blue to match his eyes. Just a little bit—that's all you would need.
“I'm staying,” you tell him. “I need to pay rent, after all.”
Yeah. That's the reasoning you're settling on. Rent.
“Right. Of course.” There's a glimpse of that gentle smile you've seen flashes of today. It fades away as quickly as it came. “After this, I'm gonna have you learn how to check produce next.”
“Okay, sounds good,” you say as naturally as you can, given the tonal whiplash.
“There should be some that's about to get washed. I'll show you where that is.” The door's shifting. “But before that…” He lowers his voice, leans in close. Is he about to kiss you?
“W-What?”
“Get a new apron from my office. That one's dirty.” Beams of light stream through the entrance of the walk-in, forced wide open. “You need to keep your apron clean, chef.”
YOU WERE THE ONE WHO THREW IT ON THE GROUND, you want to scream. Just when you thought he started being nice, he does something that makes you want to grab him by the collar and shake him.
But you can't. The walk-in's open again, and you see your coworkers crowded by the door. 
“Yes, chef,” you reply, and the words taste bitter on your tongue.
~
@zorrasucia
164 notes · View notes
thepixelelf · 2 days
Text
and the universe said,
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07 - "bro, chill"
genres/tags: soulmate au, idol au, comedy, romance, dumbassery relationship(s): ot13 x reader chapter warnings: coarse language. kithing. a liiitle svt on svt violence note: ik it's been a long time please be nice to me <3 (this isn't edited... I'll take a look at it when I have the time)
When soulmates are suddenly thrust upon the world, you are one in a million who wishes they weren’t – and that’s before you meet the person (people?!) making your life much harder than it needs to be. And before someone asks you to sign an NDA.
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“Where are they?” Myungjun asks as soon as Jihoon and Junhui enter the room they agreed upon.
Junhui braces both of his arms on the back of a chair. “What do you mean?”
“Your soulmate—” Cutting himself off with a sigh, Myungjun pinches the bridge of his nose and answers his own question. “You didn’t bring them.”
Yejung, who was sitting at a table with her laptop, shuts it with a frown. “Why not?”
Junhui shrugs. “I’m just here because Jihoon dragged me out.” He shifts between looking at the three other people in the room. “You guys know I just met my soulmate, right? I don’t like not having them here with me, either.”
“Well then why didn’t you—”
“They don’t know.” Jihoon cuts off Myungjun’s words, then pulls out a chair and drops himself in it. He stares at a random spot on the table. When he doesn’t elaborate any further, Yejung sends a furtive glance Myungjun’s way.
“Don’t know…” She leans her forearms on the table and scoots her chair closer. “...what? That you’re their soulmate? That there’s more than one of you? That you’re famous?”
Junhui snorts. “All of the above?”
At Junhui's quip and Jihoon's continued silence, Myungjun raises a cynical brow.
"You didn't tell them?" Yejung asks, softly shocked. "Why?"
Junhui's eyes skirt to Jihoon; he's unwilling to share his own reasons, though he doesn't quite understand this about himself, either.
Jihoon sighs. "I don't know. It's complicated. Things happened too fast the first time we—"
"The first time?" Myungjun echoes. "So you've been with them multiple times."
“Don’t say it like that.” Jihoon almost pouts, but the facial expression just makes him look angry. “Look. I ran into them when the vocal team was on the way to that radio show. We’d stopped by a cafe and there wasn’t much time and I was so out of my mind that I—” He cuts himself off. “It doesn’t matter. I got their number, and then they left. I asked to meet today and we did. Jun was already there for…” With his arms crossed, Jihoon looks over at Junhui, remembering that he still doesn’t really know what Junhui was doing at the same cafe you apparently frequent. Is this the same cat cafe Junhui is always talking about? “…some reason. Then someone started singing, and they told us their soulmate is stupid and annoying because their mark…”
“It’s not like ours,” Junhui finishes for Jihoon, though this only deepens the confusion written on Yejung and Myungjun’s faces.
“If it's not like yours, then how do you know they're your—”
“It's them, Hyung.” Jihoon can't help noticing the hopelessness in his own voice. It's you. He knows it's you.
But you don't know it's them— him.
And he's not sure you want to know.
“Their mark, like, grows,” Junhui explains. “Ours just stay on our hands, but when one of us sings, the notes go all over their arms and neck. Maybe other places — I don’t know — but they obviously don’t think it’s either of us since we weren’t singing when their mark did its thing.”
“So…” Myungjun crosses his arms and taps his finger on his bicep. “They don't like their mark.”
Junhui doesn't nod right away, but he does eventually.
Myungjun turns to Jihoon. “And you think that means they don't like you.”
Groaning and rubbing his hands over his face, Jihoon doesn't dignify that with a response. “Even if they did like their mark, it’s an insane situation. Thirteen soulmates? They’re gonna run for the hills when they find out.”
“That’s not necessarily true,” Yejung says, to which Jihoon gives her a dry look and Junhui’s eyes light up. She clears her throat. “We just need to find a way to calmly inform them of the situation — preferably in a safe, comfortable environment.”
Myungjun recognizes a Yejung Game Plan brewing when he sees it. “Basically, what she’s saying is…”
“Let me talk to them.” Yejung opens her laptop again and begins typing away. “We just need to go about this in a calm, logical manner.” She gives a little nonchalant wave of her hand. “This’ll be easier than a design meeting.”
You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, arms crossed, legs too, as you stare down at the shiny black credit card lying there between you and Heejun. His position mirrors yours, head tilted while he studies the card.
“It could be fake,” you say. Your knee bounces up and down, up and down.
Heejun lifts his head to give you a look. “Why would it be fake?”
“He said he doesn’t believe in banks.”
“It doesn’t look fake.” Heejun reaches out and takes the card, flipping it over in his fingers to read the back. “Looks like any other credit card. We should test it.”
You frown. “How?”
“Uh,” Heejun speaks like the answer is obvious. “Buy something?”
Okay, it is obvious, but the idea doesn’t sit too well with you. “Isn’t that stealing?”
“He gave you the card.”
“Yeah, but the police don’t know that,” you argue. “If I got charged for fraud, it would be his word against mine— no one would believe coffee guy just handed me his black card.”
Without moving his head, Heejun glances up from the card to look at you. "Why would he lie?"
"Um, because he already has? Who knows— maybe this card is connected to illicit activities and he planted it on me to implicate me."
“Which he would do because…?”
You throw your hands up in the air, then let them drop emphatically at your side. “I don’t know! Why did he do any of what he did?”
He raises a brow. “Because he’s a weirdo who likes you?”
“Okay but have you ever given your credit card to a person you’ve only met twice?”
Heejun’s shoulders rise in a shrug. “I’ve wanted to.”
“Seriously?” You can’t imagine your friend going that gaga over a crush, but then again, there was that girl in fourth grade whom he gave all his choco pies to. Heejun loves choco pies.
“Mine would decline though. It wouldn’t exactly impress.”
You lightly shove his shoulder. “Oh come on, it wouldn’t decline.”
“It would if they went over the limit. People only give people their credit cards for expensive stuff. You know that, right?”
The black card gleams up at you, almost tauntingly.
“Expensive stuff like what?”
He shrugs again. “Like a car?”
“You’ve been watching too many CEO dramas.” You exhale and place both hands on the floor with a pointed slam. Standing, you pick the credit card up and brush imaginary dirt off your pants.
“You won’t be so sarcastic when Park Seojoon tells you to keep that thing.”
You roll your eyes as you toss the card into the same trinket dish you keep your keys and other miscellaneous things in. “Isn’t that guy like six foot?”
“So was Huijun,” he counters.
“So are you. Is that all it takes to be a CEO nowadays?” you joke, pulling out your phone. “Height?”
Heejun scoffs, then frames his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “That and my devilish good looks.”
“Please.” You tap on a notification from an unknown number. “If that were true, you’d be the one handing out black…cards…”
At the way you trail off, Heejun furrows his brow and walks over to you. “What’s up? Did you fall for another online scam?”
Not this again. “Okay, first of all, that was not a scam, and I did not fall for it—”
“You didn’t fall for a not scam?”
“Shut up. What do you think this means?” You turn your phone towards him, and he takes it from your unsteady hand.
He reads aloud. “‘Hello, this is Shin Yejung of Pledis Entertainment.’ Did you apply there?”
“No,” you say, then shake your head and wave your hand. “I mean. I don’t know. Maybe. I applied to like five hundred places. But this isn’t that. Keep reading.”
Heejun takes a breath and starts reading like he’s holding a new edict. “‘It has come to my attention that you are in possession of one of my coworker’s bank cards.’ Oooooh, you’re in trouble.” He drags out the last syllable. “‘Please meet me at…’ whatever building, numbers numbers numbers… ‘so I can retrieve it. Please reply to this number for more information, and thank you for your time.’ Hm.”
“What do you think… am I getting arrested?”
Lowering your phone, Heejun gives you a seriously? look over it. “The cops are texting criminals now?”
“So you agree I’m a criminal.”
“You get annoying when you’re nervous, you know that?” When you roll your eyes, Heejun mirrors the expression and pokes your forehead long enough that he pushes you backward. “Look bub, you wanted to give the stupid thing back without using it, and now the opportunity has been handed right to you.” He waves your phone in the air like evidence. “The only question is why coffee guy didn’t just text you himself.”
You cross your arms. “Maybe he doesn’t like me as much as you thought.”
“One more self-deprecating comment out of you and I’m posting those pictures from your twentieth birthday.”
A gasp wrenches from your throat. “You wouldn’t!”
Joshua Hong doesn’t think he has that many unread messages on his phone.
He looks down.
Oof. 682.
Well, it’s not his worst.
Notifications fly by at the top of his screen.
[vernon] where is this guy
[chan] hyung this is important!!
[wonwoo] when have we known that guy to answer anything
[soonyoung] someone text yejung!!
It’s probably not that important, whoever they’re talking about. His members are likely just freaking out over this whole soulmate thing again.
Joshua lifts his hand and stares at his weird, natural — supernatural — tattoo. He still can’t bring himself to believe it.
Soulmates? Really? In this economy? This isn’t Tumblr.
At least… Joshua looks around the dance practice room… He’s pretty sure this isn’t Tumblr.
His phone rings, which is weird since he always has it on silent. Sliding the answer button, he brings the phone up to his ear. “Yejung?”
“Where are you?”
“The practice room,” Joshua answers plainly. “Isn’t this where we’re supposed to be today?”
Yejung sighs on the other end of the line. “I said in the group chat that we were dealing with soulmate stuff. Upstairs.”
Ah, so that’s what has everyone in a tizzy. “Alright, okay. Where am I going?”
“Room eight-thirteen—” He hangs up and starts to pack his things before Yejung can say, “Wait, no, nine-thirteen. We'll start when you arrive. Joshua? Hello?”
You check your phone for what must be upwards of the fifth time.
Yup, Shin Yejung of Pledis Entertainment definitely told you to meet her in room 813, and yet here you are. In room 813. Alone.
You shift on the leather couch. It’s a lounge-like room you’re in. You don’t really understand the purpose of such a room in an entertainment company, but whatever. You’re only here to return something you never should’ve had in the first place.
Although…
You turn the card over in your hand, watching the way the fancy lighting bounces off of it.
Why would Jihoon give it to you if he was just going to get it back like this?
Also, now that you really think about it, Jihoon did say something weird when he left yesterday with Huijun. Something about not letting “the rest” scare you off. Whatever that means.
The rest of what?
Or… whom?
You know Jihoon must work for the company in some capacity. The fact that both he and Huijun were wearing masks makes you think they could be artists…
Oh. Duh. Why didn’t you think of this earlier?
Switching apps, you tap the search bar and start typing. Just as you’re done with the last character of Jihoon HYBE, the door you entered through opens. You hastily slip your phone into your back pocket as you stand to greet the person coming in.
“Hello, you must be…” Your eyes scan over his face. He’s… delicate looking, until you move your gaze downwards a little, and his broad shoulders and thick arms are decidedly not delicate looking. “…Shin Yejung?”
You tilt your head. With no mask on the lower half of his face, he seems familiar. Now this guy must be an idol — you probably saw him on the walls when you were making your way through this maze of a building. 
He just raises a brow. “Who are you?”
“Oh, uh…” You stay standing in front of the couch as he approaches you, his arms crossed over his chest. “I’m just here to return this.” Lifting the black card up, you hold it out between you and the man. “It’s Jihoon’s.”
“Jihoon’s?” he echoes, then moves to take the card from you, pinched between his thumb and forefinger. 
You both see it at the same time.
His mark, five black lines, clear as day.
Yours, peeking out from where your sleeve is pulled halfway up your hand.
You look up from your not-really-joined hands, then look down again.
No fucking way. 
“Twinkle twinkle, little—” The notes, whatever they are, dance across his mark.
No fucking way. 
You meet his eyes. “...Songbird?”
He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. A few too many seconds.
Then, “So it’s you.”
“Holy—!”
At the same time as you try to jerk away, he attempts to turn your hand over and get a better look. Neither plan really works out. You stumble backwards, and with your hand in his, he gets pulled down with you onto the couch. His free hand shoots out to keep himself from slamming into you, but, persistent as the universe is, your faces end up very freaking close to each other anyway. Warmth from his knee on the couch cushion next to your thigh seeps through your clothing.
He doesn’t move. You don’t either.
For some reason, you feel stuck in place. Not in a bad way, necessarily, but… you just feel like you should be exactly where you are.
You’re almost too close to make real eye contact, so you just watch the way his eyes study yours.
“Songbird?” you whisper, though you have no idea what you’re trying to ask.
He stops analyzing you and finally looks at you. “Yeah?”
“…Are you leaning towards me on purpose?”
His lips (since when were you looking at those?) curl down at the corners. “Are you?”
Slowly, like your mind is trying to catch up to your body, you shake your head. “No…”
He drifts closer. Or you do. Or you both do.
Or something.
Your lips brush over his, and your feel just as much as you hear him whisper. “Then neither am I.”
In the span of a second, his free hand moves from the back of the couch to cradle your jaw, his thumb grazing gently just under your ear. He kisses you, lips moving over yours in a way you’ve felt before, but also in a way you’ve never felt before.
It’s strange.
Not bad strange, but strange in the way that it feels like you’ve just put the last of the groceries in the fridge. It’s like folding that final piece of laundry. Like coming home to the bed you made when you left in the morning.
It’s… satisfactory?
But that’s not the word people normally use when they think of putting their tongue in someone else’s mouth, right?
You’re running out of breath, but Songbird is insistent, and so are his lips, which you find yourself unable to get enough of. He pulls back for half a breath, registers your kiss me again or so help me facial expression, and dives right back in. He’s kissing you and you’re kissing him and you’re soulmates and…
Wait.
Soulmates?
“Wait,” you say, though it comes out more like, “Mmaem” Climbing both your hands up his — whoa — strong arms, you cup his cheeks in preparation to push him away, but he seems to like your touch. He covers the back of one of your hands with his warm palm, and he hums in a way that is not PG-13.
The sound has you melting, unfortunately.
Not for long though.
He’s ripped from you just as quickly as he fell onto you, pulled back by some guy with fluffy black hair, cozy attire head to toe, and… shit, a you’re in trouble glare the likes of which you’ve never seen before. He’s not even looking at you, yet you feel scolded.
“Yah!” he yells at your soulmate, who’s now on the floor. Then, after glancing at you for half a second and apparently finding zero more words to say, he shouts at him again. “Yah!”
Your soulmate opens his mouth, but then he turns to look at the now-open door, which leads you to do the same. A mob of prettyboys stands just outside, some with their jaws dropped and some looking like murder just got legalized and they’re on the prowl.
Someone’s despondent voice shouts, “Hyung!”
You feel like hiding under a blanket. Before your flight instinct kicks in, though, you recognize two familiar faces. “Jihoon?” His eyes meet yours when you say his name. “Huijun?”
One of the many boys among those you don't recognize echoes, “Huijun?” while sending him a weird look.
Someone pushes through the crowd — more like slinks through, occasionally nudging one of the other guys out of the way. His eyes stay firmly on you as he approaches, but you find no fear rising despite that. For some unknown reason, even as this completely unfamiliar man strides over to you with a frankly alarming amount of eye contact, you feel… safe.
Or at least, something close to it.
He kneels in front of where you're still seated on the leather couch, hand resting mere centimetres from leg. “Are you okay?” he asks, voice slightly nasal, but so, so gentle. 
“Uhh…” Self conscious, you wipe at the corner of your mouth with your sleeve. You spot your soulmate catch you doing so, and a look of hurt crosses his face. His own reaction, though, seems to startle him, and his hand rises to gently prod his shiny bottom lip with one of his fingers. He looks confused.
Well, that makes two of you.
Taking in the man right in front of you — pretty, lithe, concerned for you despite his unfamiliarity — you fail to answer his question. “Are… you Shin Yejung?”
He lets out a laugh, relieved, maybe, that you're not not okay. “Jeonghan,” he says simply.
You nod. “Jeonghan.”
At your voice echoing his name, the man’s eyes light up. “Yes?”
“Oh, uh…” You weren’t trying to call on him for anything, but as you study his gaze, you find yourself lost in his confident ease. Something in his eyes says that he knew this would happen.
Maybe not this, exactly — your soulmate has found a spot on the floor and has not stopped staring at it, while the rest of the strangers are still watching you — but taking up the same space as you, facing you, smiling at you with a soft quirk at the corners of his lips.
“Ugh!” A woman’s exasperated voice makes you look up at the crowd by the door. “Get— out of the way, you… ugh—” She breaks through, pushing aside a tall guy who looks like he’s about to cry. “—you men!”
Stumbling to her feet, she rights herself and brushes her bangs out of her face with a huff. “Now, what is—” She spots your soulmate still on his ass and mutters something you’re pretty sure can’t be aired on any broadcasting network. “...my life.”
Your eyes meet hers as she takes another breath. “Please tell me you’re Shin Yejung.”
“Yes, we spoke over the phone.”
“Thank god.” Shaking off all the weird feelings you’d accumulated in the last — what? Two minutes? — you stand from the couch and sidestep Jeonghan. The black card fell at some point during that lapse of judgement (aka kiss), so you swipe it up off the floor and hold it out to her with no preamble. “I swear I’m not a stalker fan or anything. And I didn’t use it, so…”
You glance over at Jihoon, whose expression gives off an oncoming panic. Is he scared to see you? Why? Huijun looks just fine, happy even, with you here. You can practically hear the ‘hello’ he wants to say out loud.
You clear your throat. “Anyway, um. I didn’t mean to, uh…” As you nervously cross your arms, you nod towards your soulmate. “I’m his— I mean, we are… sorry. This is… I wasn’t exactly expecting to find the person who’s…”
Maybe you shouldn’t say you’ve been annoyed by your soulmate since you got your stupid mark. At least not while he’s in the room.
“That’s actually what I brought you here to talk about,” Shin Yejung tells you, a bit like a doctor who’s about to deliver the bad news first. She doesn’t even take the card from you. “Would you like to take a seat?”
You scrunch your eyes shut for a second with a little shake of your head, trying to manual reset your brain because clearly it’s still muddled. “Sorry, what? You want to talk about…?”
The mob of men in the room get hidden from your vision as Yejung strategically places herself between them and you. “Soulmates,” she says.
You look down at the black card, then back up at her again. “Soulmates.”
“Yes. Your soulmates. I was hoping to talk to you alone first.” She sends a pointed look at the men behind her. “But it’s not exactly easy to get these guys to lis—”
“Sorry.” You wave a hand in the air to get her to stop, unable to comprehend any of her words after— “Did you say my soulmates? As in… mates, multiple? Mates with an S at the end? I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
Remaining calm while your mind spins, Yejung nods. “I know this is a lot to take in.”
“Know what is a lot to take in?”
Yejung opens her mouth to answer, but a voice blurts out behind her, “We’re your soulmates!”
Maybe you haven’t known him long enough or talked to him that many times, but you recognize Jihoon’s voice, and something in your gut suddenly grows sharp. Not painful, but begging for you to feel it. Yejung shifts so your field of view is once again filled by men too pretty to be all in the same room. Jihoon’s standing there, fists clenched at his sides, out of breath for no discernable reason other than…
We’re your soulmates.
Seeing your hesitation, Jihoon huffs and tears a bandaid you never really noticed off the back of his right hand. Even before he completes the motion, you know what must be under the bandage. He holds his hand up, though, and the evidence is very near damning.
Next to him, Huijun smiles and lifts his arm, pointing to his own five lines with his opposite hand. 
Most of the guys behind them show you the same thing. Five lines on the smooth backs of their hands, near the base of the thumb. Dear lord, you don’t even know how many of them there are.
The angry one who pulled the man off of you earlier, at least, just looks lost, like he once had control and now has none. Relatable.
You stumble back a bit. Instinctively, you say, “Songbird?”
Though quite a few of the men seem to perk up at the nickname, only the one you already gave the moniker to truly reacts. Your soulmate — god, one of your soulmates? — looks up at you from the floor and answers, “Yeah?” before realizing he’s even doing it.
“Never mind,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand. “Ms Shin?”
“Yes?” She steps closer, a worried look on her face.
Jeonghan, too, moves toward you with a similar look on his face.
You try to take a steady breath and fail. “I think I’ll take that seat now.”
Swaying backward, your body falls onto the leather couch. 
You hear approximately ten panicked shouts as you go down.
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new chapters for atus are not on a schedule nor guaranteed. there is no taglist. thank you for reading!
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ravengards-rogue · 1 day
Text
the evening stretch | warm-up series.
ft. the prompts, nsfw / "dinner" / arthur morgan.
✧ tags : afab!reader + fem!reader outdoors sex, oral (f!recieving), reader is an outlaw, established relationship, desperate arthur morgan, 18+
✧ wc : 2.7k
✧ a/n : hello! this is part of a little warm-up series i do on my other blog where i pick three prompts and try to come up with something. i normally do them in a rut. im working on a commission and im super stuck so.
this actually landed on javier four times in a row but im being kind and sparing a friend so. here's mr. morgan.
✧ synopsis : arthur thinks the place between your legs would suit him quite nicely.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚。⋆
Honest to God, Arthur's never been like this before.
He ain't all that pious to start, so perhaps the sentiment doesn't stretch as far as he would like it too. But it's true, all the same - that in all the lives he's lived, he's never experienced this much bone-deep desire for another human being.
Which is outright ridiculous, since right now you're just making supper. Dinner, you always clarify with that yankee accent. You're going to have dinner together, 'cause Arthur needs to eat. He works hard, according to you.
It's not much, but you're a better cook than Pearson. Even if that's not saying a whole lot. And you're insistent on making the man eat, always on his case about how it's hardly enough for a man his size.
Arthur can chalk it up to being that you love him, as you have told him foolishly many times. He's sure you're not gonna be happy with him in a minute since again - all you're doing is making dinner.
It's just... something. Something about you today. Dammit, he doesn't understand it neither. You've got a job together, and you and Arthur play convincing husband and wife since you practically are anyway. Arthur's been watching you today closely. You lie pretty. Smile with all your teeth, clever with a careful finesse and an honest knack for debauchery and indecency.
You love calling yourself an awful woman. Joking about dying an unweddable spinster given your crudity.
But Arthur likes it in you. Of you. Likes it so much he's done nothing but readjust his pants watching you squirm your way out of every difficult situation and sling the revolver on your hip like a tried-and-true gunslinger.
You're a fine woman to him. A fine one.
The fire crackles as you place a pot over the little flame of the faux stove. You've made a real dinner somehow - with some vegetables and creeping thyme and carefully butchery of meat. It smells good and you seem proud of it, stirring the thing with the sharp end of your knife. Careful not to scrape the pot.
Arthur watches the light glow orange on your face, carefully observing the way it shines on you. You don't look up at all when you speak.
"Gonna stare a hole into me, Morgan."
He feels something warm crawl up his cheeks. He scratches his beard instinctively, tucking his hat over his eyes.
"'m sorry," He says, unsure of how to cover for himself. "Been thinking about some things."
"Don't hurt yourself," You reply, sardonic and dry. Arthur adores you. He laughs to himself and feels warmed by the pleasant smile that seems to give you.
"I'll try. Ain't much used to thinking,"
"Penny for your thoughts, then Mr. Morgan." You reply, carefully moving the pot around so nothing burns. "Might help you clear your mind if you get some of it off your chest."
He's backed himself into a wall. Goddamn him and his big mouth. He hesitates, taking it off this time. Fidgety.
"Yanno, there ain't a lot women like you. Not that I've met at least."
You give him a look. Your lips pressed into a flat line, unimpressed by him.
"Is that so?"
He laughs to himself. "It is indeed. You're a real piece of work. 'Specially going around batting your lashes, making yourself out to be a housewife."
"Aw what, did you like seeing me all doe eyed?" You smile to yourself, teasing but not entirely insincere. "If it helps, since you're the fake husband, I'm only half-acting."
That makes him grin. Though you say it with confidence, the sincerity it makes you flush.
"It ain't that," Arthur says again, looking at your face for the second time in a few minutes. "Just that you're a fine woman to be around. What do they call it...resourceful. That's what I'm thinking of."
"Who taught you such a big word, Morgan?"
"Trelawny, I'd guess."
You laugh, loud and beautiful and Arthur smiles. You look at him from across the fire. "Well, I'm glad you like my company, Mr. Morgan."
"I do more than like it," He hums, offering a reprieve. He nods at you carefully, head tilted. "Come 'ere,"
Your eyes widen at him, but you don't deny him of what he's asking. For that he is awfully grateful. You're more than capable and much less than needy. There's victory in your deliberate desire for him, Arthur thinks. You want him enough to let him chase you.
You come sit by Arthur. You're a little awkward with him still but he don't mind. It adds to whatever he feels for you, sugar-sweet affection and all. You sit on your knees and Arthur turns his head looking at you.
Beautiful. Beautiful thing you are, really. He has a hard time finding the words to tell you.
He reaches up, hand cupping your face. You lean into the touch, palm resting on calloused hand. He adores you.
"And quit with the Mister Morgan nonsense. Drives me crazy."
"Arthur," You say, slow and deliberate. "You know you're looking at me like you wanna eat me."
'"Read my mind, then."
"Arthur," You repeat, scandalized. He would smile if he wasn't so serious. "We're supposed to be eatin' dinner. You got into a whole spat with them Leymone Riders just today. You need to recover,"
His smile widens.
"Lettin' me go down on ya will heal me just fine,"
You look at him exasperated. Arthur leans into your neck, placing chaste kisses down the line of your jaw. He kisses you just there - underneath your earlobe, knows it drives you crazy.
"Lay down, sugar. Help a poor, injured man heal."
You pull away from him with faux exasperation, fond smiling breaking your face.
"You can be such a dog some times, do you know that?"
"I'm afraid I do,"
You give him another unimpressed look, but you listen anyways. Arthur moves so you can lay down on the bedroll - his bedroll. He takes off his coat just before you lay your head, playing it underneath you to get you more comfortable.
"Dinner's gonna burn," You tell him, almost reflexively. He laughs as he looks at you, your hands folded over your stomach and flat. He laughs at you.
"Burn? You feeling warm?"
"Arthur!"
And he laughs again, catching your boot in his hand as you go to kick his chest lightly. He sets it back down as he stares at you. You're quite the sight. Adoration bubbles up into his throat, blooms out into a hum. The sound of crickets and owls and all sorts of night wanderers sound - but none are distracting enough to pry his gaze away.
"You're looking too much," You say, your voice a half tremble. He nods.
"Got too," Arthur hums, leaning forward into your space. You always smell good to him, some cross between soft earth, and sweet liquor and clothes left in the sun. Skin and salt and sweet. "Who knows how long I'll be around."
He presses his lips to yours gentle and you kiss him - but only once before pulling away. Your eyes suddenly serious, warm palm on his cheek.
"Don't say something so morbid. If you go, I go,"
"Sweetheart—"
"No buts." You affirm, pressing your thumb to his lip all serious. Your eyes meet and for a moment - just one minute, all he wants to do is stop time from moving. From stealing him from you in life at all. Even a few seconds, intolerable. "Don't feel to good to hear, does it? So don't say it."
"Alright, alright," He huffs, laughing against your neck. He kisses it again, right against your pulse - quickening under his teeth as he bites and scrapes. He mulls over how much he wants you, and how little time there is to do everything. "Jus' lemme...I dunno."
Now you're cheeky, smiling up at him. Lord above, you do something so terrible to him. "Now that's just not true, baby."
He laughs deep and raspy. It's not true, because he knows exactly what he's after.
Arthur lets his hands plane over your clothed body. He doesn't bother with the ritual of undressing you entirely - since the act doesn't deserve the intimacy. You do, maybe - but Arthur's head feels too foggy to do anything civilized. He has to settle for letting his hands grip the fabric of your skirt and push it until it bunches around your waist.
There's no real delicacy in it, save for the way your breath hitches as Arthur gives himself better access. He moves to lay on his stomach between your thighs. He wishes it were brighter to give him better view. He's seen it plenty but looking at your pretty pussy alone gets him harder than steel.
His hands go underneath every layer of fabric to undo the little tie of your undergarments. You squirm when Arthur takes them off, but you don't pull away.
It's pretty. Even with the dim light of just the moon and fire to let Arthur see it. What entices him mostly though is the scent, after a long day of riding out alone - there's something about the way you smell - sweat and all that makes the back of his mouth ache with want. Makes his teeth hurt just dreaming about it.
He doesn't let his animalistic urges take him yet. He knows you need the build up. His hand is soft as he grips onto your waist. He pulls your legs further apart and lets his lips brush the inside of your thigh. Starts at your knee and works his way up, his mouth burning hot - open kisses. You giggle at the sensation of his beard, but it's tamped down with lust Arthur knows like the back of his hand.
Slow, deliberate, sinful. He knows the way you liked to be touched so exactly, but the pace is set more by his desperation. It grows ten sizes listening to you sigh and huff, feeling your hands come down to touch his hair and play with it.
"Arthur," Your voice calls. Pleading. Wanting him. You're so good at making Arthur loose his composure with so little. It's hard to tease you as your voice clips off into a whine. "Arthur,"
"I've got you," He says, assured. He means it as much as he means anything he's ever said. He ain't a decent man, but this much he can say full ways. "I've got you, sugar. Ease up. Let me take care of you,"
And so you again, breathless - boneless and eager. You let Arthur into your space, and something about that. Something about you. His heart races, blood pumping through his body. It pulses in his ears, head swimming with nothing but praise for you.
You're a fine woman. You're a good girl. The best he knows.
Arthur can feel the way your clit pulses with want before he ever puts his mouth on you. Makes him chuckle, gloved hand resting on your navel. He uses his thumb to pull it back, before using both hands to spread you open. Then, in an act less then gentlemanly, spits on it hard. He watches it land, lewd as it drips between your fold. He laughs to himself.
Another pitchy call of his name and Arthur decides he's had enough fun to get him through the evening.
He kisses your clit first, thinks it's only gentlemanly. When your hips buck up trying to chase the feeling of his mouth - he laughs. His hands dig into your hips. You're soft, skin dimpling from just how tight he holds onto you.
When he finally gets what he wants, his own body lurches forward from want. He nearly slumps into the ground - half-way between relieved and utterly addicted. It's a sense of euphoria unmatched by the finest liquor or cigars money can be.
The taste of you fills his mouth as Arthur eats.
Arthur is not used to playing predator. Not interested in the act of devouring. You often compare him to some sort of herbivore. But there's something too hungry, too visceral, too primal for him to be anything but a coyote. A teethed thing, all screwed up from hunger.
He lets his tongue slip against the seam of your cunt, all the arousal collecting in his mouth. His senses flood with something heady, sweet but bitter and he groans shamelessly as a result. Spoiled by the taste and utterly debauched.
"Oh, god - Arthur, you're—"
Arthur is pleased by the way your words are cut off by your own moan. He slides his tongue back up, wet muscle firm as it lays flat against your clit. There's a slight twitch like it's asking for more attention.
Arthur is all to eager vtoo provide, closing his lips around the twitching bundle of nerves. He knows what you like. Learned over time just the amount of pressure he needs to suck with and the speed he needs to draw his tongue over your clit to get you right at the very edge of your orgasm.
He teases you to that pace. Slow increases in either or, until it's just at that perfect medium. Once he hits that spot, you always moan so pretty.
You shudder, your body lurching up as your hands get tighter in his hair. "Aah, fuck. Ngh, Arthur. Don't do this t'me."
You begging him not too makes him want to do it more. If Arthur were any less aroused, he would. But his brain can barely think up enough to stamina to do that. His own cock is strained against his work pants - hips instinctively rutting into the bedroll just beneath him. Silently seeking friction all while hoping he doesn't get enough to distract him.
It'd be a damn shame, he thinks - letting anything pull him from the taste of your pussy. From the smell of it, from the sight of it, from the feeling of you. Sticky, pulsing strings of arousal coating his tongue and turning all his thoughts to dust.
His cock throbs again as you rut against his mouth. Arthur pins you in place.
"Please," You say. A magic word he ain't much stronger than. "Please make me cum,"
You really are a good girl, the way you know exactly what makes him tick. Arthur moans into your cunt as he sucks and licks and eats. He'd die over it, and he does not mean it lightly. It's the only thing in the world he wants to do in the moment. He laser focuses on finding that sweet spot again.
And he knows he does when you start whimpering. Squirming and holding onto his soft brown locks and pleading for something you don't know about. He can feel how wet your getting - dripping along down his beard and face. Thick strings of your arousal stick and slide down his neck.
He's never been a messy eater, but you've been disproving many of his prior understandings of himself. He supposes it's only natural.
"Oh, baby," You say, not even his name. Arthur knows it's a warning that you're gonna cum. All he can do is encourage you. He hums into your soft, wet cunt and you groan again. "Fuck, Arthur. I'm gonna cum."
Arthur knows better. He doesn't do a thing but keep going. Lets you move and thrash and pull away but keeps you firm in his place and eats your pussy until you can barely think.
He knows the knot is untying before you do because of how much you squirm. When you cum, you cum hard. Your back arches up into a picture perfect curve, toes curling and hands tugging at his roots for purchase.
He can feel every pulse of desire as you finally do let go. You cry out, loud enough to startle any nearby critters. Your fingers grip tight at the base of his hair as the orgasm washes over you. It's just as magnetic as it was the first time.
He's sure that will always be true.
When Arthur pulls away from your pulsing, wet core - he can feel just how much of his lower face is sticky. He's sure you also know, if the way you laugh is anything to go by.
And he's not long to follow after. Not even a few seconds and he can feel something in pants tighten - a mess of white staining the front of the denim in an onset of lust damn near shameful. Is he a teenager again? Lord above.
Breathlessly, you look down at him after you've ridden your high out.
Pulling up Arthur by the collar, you look at him slowly and frown. You look impassioned and a little frustrated.
You kiss him tender after you've come too. Once, then twice, then a another time with your hand still drawn into a fist. Arthur grabs it closed, opening your palms before kissing the palm of your hands until you're no longer mad.
"Hate how good you are at that," You admit, a little drunk of the euphoria of all of it. "Make me feel so crazy."
Arthur beams at you unapologetic.
"It's good to be that with me, sweetheart." Arthur says, kissing the corner of your mouth. "Now how about you go and give me one more?"
You laugh breathlessly but don't go to stop him at all.
"Insatiable man."
"Only for you, my girl."
.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚。⋆
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hectorth · 3 days
Text
Baecation | p. cubarsí paredes
— Synopsis : Pau took his girlfriend with him for vacation, of course he can’t resist showing her off to the world!
— SMAU
— pure fluff
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liked by fcbarcelona, marcguiu9, hctorforrt_ and 367,569 more
tagged : yourusername
paucubarsi: escaped barna with the loml 😽
view all comments
user1 : Bro be living the dream since his mvp award
yourusername : real but as he should
user2 : Pau where do we find a girl like urs
paucubarsi : simply can’t find another woman like that, try going for your best mates sister for the thrill
user2 : 🫡🫡
fcbarcelona : Looks like Pau is enjoying some well-deserved downtime with his girlfriend! They look so happy together 💑
liked by paucubarsi
marcguiu9 : damn you went without us ??
paucubarsi : lo siento hermano 💔💔
paufan : hard to be sad when I see Pau and his gf posting on ig
ynfan : real I love them more than they love each other
user3 : free therapy I swear
yourusername : my man
paucubarsi : proud to be 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨
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likey by paucubarsi, lamineyamal and 2,074 others
tagged : paucubarsi
yourusername : impossible to separate him
view all comments
user9 : Okay, Pau and his girl make us straight-up all wish we were on vacay with them 🌴
liked by paucubarsi
lamineyamal : cuteness overload 🤭😻💞💞
paucubarsi : please just shut up 😭
lamineyamal : freak
paustan : Yasss! Even ballers need some downtime, and they’re slaying it!
liked by yourusername
yourbestfriend : adorbs!!!
yourusername : told ya he looks better irl than on those pictures back then
paucubarsi : 👎👎
iloveyn : yn and her man = ultimate couple crush
user3 : I want both it them so fucking bad
user 4 : ikr?? She gorgeous asf, he a cutie, what do we want else
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liked by hctorforrt_, ilovepau, pablogavi and 405,007 others
tagged : yourusername
paucubarsi : love it here, and even more with my woman 🤍
view all comments
yourusername : pauipookie stop, you’re making me actually gonna tear up from this 🙁
paucubarsi : I love you so much
yourusername : we’re in the same room, stop texting me and give me a kiss
liked my paucubarsi
paucubarsi : 🫡
pauandyn : the way he calls er 'his woman' 😭😭 he’s so boyfriend and husband
user7 : if they break up I ain’t gonna believe in love any longer istg
hctorforrt_ : sexy
paucubarsi : me or my girl ?
hctorforrt : both.
marcguiu1 : my son is growing up so fast, bagged a girl and already out the country with her 😪
liked by paucubarsi
user10 : this guy mad ugly she could do so much better 💀
yourusername : you better sleep with one eye open lil bro 😭🙏
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posted to story
paucubarsi
hope you liked those flowers, handpicked just for you 🩷
yourusername
Pau 🙁🙁🙁 stop making me melt in the grocery store
paucubarsi
Bare minimum for a pretty lady I call my girlfriend, if you ask me
When will you be back ??
yourusername
I’ll be back in 10, are you okay, baby ?
paucubarsi
mhmm, just missing you, hermosa :( I know we see each other all day but still
yourusername
nvm I’ll be back in 5.
liked by paucubarsi
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liked by marcguiu9, lamasia and 398,762 others
tagged : yourusername
paucubarsi : night out with my love, happy two years anniversary ❤️
view all comments
user1 : time flies seeing them so happy together 🤧
user2 : I wanna be them so bad
user1 : us ?
user2: say less 🤭
yndefender : the way he looks at her 🥹
liked by paucubarsi
lamineyamal : simp
paucubarsi : don’t tell me you wouldn’t be one if you had her ??
yourusername : Here’s to many more adventures and memories together, love you endlessly💕
paucubarsi : The things you do to me 😵‍💫
user56 : the way he flirts with her in his comment section, he’s so in love
user9 : Bro impossibly down bad for his girl, ain’t nobody can blame him tho
user8 : Lamine so right about him being a simp
hctorforrt_ : you gotta let me be the best man to your wedding
liked by paucubarsi
fcbarcelona : our favorite couple❤️💙
hectorth 24
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elaemae · 3 days
Text
The premium version of human is here to wreak house, mfs.
[Twst x Obeyme!AFAB!reader]
CHP. 1.1: The start of the Blood Rose Tyrant.
Thank you, my amazing readers, for all the likes, comments, and reblogs🥹 It makes so happy, like– almost nothing can top the joy of seeing y'all liked my work :)
Btw, If you have any questions about my tagging and/or literally anything you wanna ask me bout the fic, just reach out to me and I'll try my best to answer you.😊
CW: Cursing, Idk what else... There's also the pronoun schtick I've been yapping about since pr. 1. (i.e MC will get mistaken for a pretty guy a lot -Mc is AFAB referred to as they/them- because the NRC cast have come to expect only boys to be in the school. Excluding the paintings ofc.)
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(My pic)
Fun fact: While all of your ornaments act as containers to very *nom*-able amounts of magic, such a thing can be dangerous as it may give away your location if you need to hide or run away from someone.
Therefore, all of them were cast with a special spell developed by Solomon that makes it so that people can't sense that magic unless they're really close to you physically.
(Not to mention, only exceptional mages can actually have the hope of picking up on that magic as your all jewelry were also cast with a heavy magical concealment blessing from both Micheal and Luke.)
• • •
'What the hell is this?'
You think as you fiddled with the fancy pouch in your hands.
You had opened the gift box to find the pouch containing some basic skincare products and just went; ( •_•)..?
Like– What the hell? Who does that?? Are they saying that you're ugly and needed to start taking care of your face?! Well excuse you, I'll have you know –whomever you are– that this face was approved by Asmodeus himself you rude lil' shi—
*Ehem*
So like any sane person is supposed to do in that situation, you checked if the products were cursed or charmed and then pocketed it to maybe sell it in the future for some cash. (Lovely gift but you were taught never to use/ingest things given to you by strangers.)
Leaving the infirmary, you venture into the botanical garden, hoping you'd find some edible plants that you and Yuu can nibble on until you can procure other food options and some all important moneh. (Ugh, if only that damn crow didn't escape and hide away from you, you would've extorted his cowardly-ass and bought some food instead of needing to resort to this bs.)
'Trying to find a stone in a long abandoned mine is simply a fools errand.'
You thought as you absent-mindedly skipped past a certain tall, dark, and handsome man with horns, unknowing of the look of pure curiosity pointed at your back as you continued your musings.
'But oh well, they wanted to try so they might as well be those fools.'
You're not gonna stop them if they wanna try to fix things even though you've mostly stabilized the situation. (Not that they know.)
Damn, you also need to go to the library later so that you can learn what changes you'd need to do in order to adapt and know the problems you'd likely experience in this world.
Knowing yourself and your history for being a magnet of chaos, It'd probably involve almost dying more times than you have fingers and unearthing some deeply-buried soul-crushing trauma in which the only thing you'll get in return are the friends you've made along the way.
Aside from that though, you'd need to gain yourself a foothold in this society.
Preferably, there would be a lot of rich and influential people in this school to suck up to, but if those aren't enough then maybe you can venture into industries where you can kiss-ass in peace.
As much as you'd love to be optimistic, Crowley is the almost literal embodiment of a dead-beat dad barely pays child-support and your own search for a way home may take years before coming to fruition.
Tsk. You can feel your stress levels transcending the mortal plane of existence again as you can already envision the figurative mountain-range you'd need to climb just to achieve stability in this place.
$°\•m°n.. p/€∆$3.. H€\₱ m£...
Times like these just make you wanna curl up onto the floor in a fetal position and let the earth consume you whole.
Oh! And you also need to obtain a stronger blackmail material against Crowley to make sure he won't try anything remotely against you.
'Hmm... But maybe...'
You think as you took a quick and discreet glance to a security camera that had been "coincidentally" pointed at you.
Well, not really a coincidence.
If the mf behind these creepy-ass cameras —that have been watching you since your arrival here, mind you—, can lend you a hand then that would be the optimal outcome. There are a lot of security cameras after all...
Though there's also a large possibility that the fucker wanted you dead because of either boredom, simple bloodlust, money, vengeance (for some reason), your organs or all of the above.
You sighed as you entered the botanical garden, telling yourself to just worry about that later and focus on finding food.
If you get in trouble for taking plants here, you'll just throw Crowley under the bus. (figuratively and literally if he decides to be a bitch about it.)
• • • •
Yuu, Grim, Ace, and Deuce stumbled out of the mirror, finally away from the creepy forest and back into the college.
They all flinched and turned their heads back when they heard a dramatic 'Tsktsktsk–' from behind them.
"Well well well~ Look who finally decided to show up at–"
*checks imaginary wrist watch*
"46 minutes past midnight.. Huh.. If you all got any curfew for your dorms then you're both toast. Can't believe y'all spent more than five hours looking for a single rock..."
You said, referring to the two first years who flinched under your words and judgemental eyes.
"You all look like shit by the way."
Yuu awkwardly scratched their head.
"Thanks?"
*Sigh...*
"You're welcome, bbg."
"Just hurry up and give that rock to the fuckin crow already so that you all can spare the world from having to witness anymore of your gross, sweaty, homeless-lookin selves."
Deuce shrunk even further behind Yuu. (funny because Yuu was at least half-a-head shorter.)
Ace meanwhile, has too much ego to not say anything back.
"We wouldn't be looking like this if you at least helped!" He snarked.
"Why should I?"
You Dwayne-the-rock-Johnson raised your eyebrow at him.
"I don't owe any of you a smidgen of literally anything so why should I help?"
It wasn't a question, but a statement. Because why should you help? They should be grateful you even talked Crowley out of expelling them immediately. Not that they know but still...
But of course, audacity is gonna audacity. Because, Ace really had the nerve to look offended by your words, as if you weren't saying something as truthful as the sky being blue, the grass being green, and your ass being a literal masterpiece from god.
"Don't even try to pass off the blame, Weasley-wannabe. I know it, you know it, your mom knows it, your dad if you have one, your entire bloodline and your non-existent cow knows it, there's literally no point."
Ace literally almost snarled at you like a damn dog, pft– That's what he gets from pissing you off by existing earlier.
"Oh shut up!"
He then looked like he was about to start a rant of how unfair his life was and how he totally didn't deserve any of this and blahblahblahblahblah–
You swear on Diavolo and Luci's fruity man-boobs, you'll hang this bitch upside down like a bat if you had to hear another complaint about things being unfair for him.
What about you? or Yuu? Isn't life more cruel and unfair to you two? Taking you both away from loved ones and shoving you into a world where you two need to fight for a temporary sanctuary as you both try to go home with no real proof you'll actually be able to make it back?
Isn't life more unfair to you? Right when you almost finally achieved the start of your happy ending.. You were taken away from the people that you fought tooth and nail to be with.. And now, they're all too far away for you to reach... again.
Deuce elbowed Ace, thankfully making the jab to the ribs painful for the annoying ginger.
You dramatically sighed again, turning to Yuu and Deuce.
"Remember kids, don't copy Ace's attitude okay? Lest you want to end up single and with no bitches for the rest of your life."
Ace's right eye twitched erratically, shouting at you to shut up and to stop messing with him.
• • • • •
Talking with the crow is an annoying affair as expected. At least now, Yuu is finally an official learner of the school. Even if they're just half-a-student with the loud talking cat. (That kinda reminds you of Mammon, now that you think of it. Also very funny because the cat's name is grim of all things..)
Oh, and you're a prefect now. You're definitely going to make that everyone's problem. Hehehehehe~
"So the abandoned dorm we were supposed to live in is fixed now? How? Hasn't it only been like– a day?"
You ominously beamed at the question, releasing a sinister little giggle that caused Ace, Deuce, and the now wide-awake Grim to subconsciously shiver while Yuu refrained from asking further questions and just wisely snickered instead.
Unseen by everyone, you sent a quick devious little smile to a wall where a certain electrical device was mounted, biting down a snort when you saw the security camera suddenly snap into another direction, as if it was a person embarrassed that they got caught by someone they were staring at.
You then had to hold back a cackle as you remembered how easily this newly made stalker friend of yours snitched on the headmaster, like– you literally didn't even do anything, the flustered boy just gave you the blackmail material that you needed. Well, maybe you did corner him a little bit by using his own electronics against him but you're pretty sure he enjoyed it for some reason if the way he literally blurted out 'mommy-' at you was anything to go by—
Haha, the benefits of having a hacker as a fren :3
• • • •
Kicking away the two idiots and telling them to go back to their dorms already, you dragged Yuu inside the now newly fixed dorm.
The two of you needed to talk about a few things and arrangements..
• • • •
Quickly opening the door in hopes that the fucker that was banging on it gets mash-dabbed face-first, you saw nothing but disappointment as the bastard — Ace — had actually moved away from the door in an impressive display of intuition and spidey-sense before you had even wretched the door open.
"What the fuck do you want, you ugly punyeta?"
It hasn't even been a few hours since this mf parted ways with you and Yuu, so what could be the problem now?
. .. . . . . ..
"No, you're sleeping on the couch."
"What?! But why?!! There are perfectly good rooms here!"
"All the other rooms besides the one we're using are still unfurnished. The beds in them are yet to be assembled and the floors are dusty because of the quick renovations." Yuu stated, rubbing the bridge of their nose.
"Ughhhhh! Just let me squeeze in, I promise I won't take up too much space!"
"Nice try but no."
"Tch, You're all so stingy and inhospitable.."
"Yuu, Do you hear that?" You said, theatrically cupping your ear with a hand.
"Yes, It seems that a forever virgin is talking." Yuu answered with a smirk.
"Hey!"
"Sorry, you oompa-loompa lookin ass— we unfortunately can't understand the language of people who can't pull."
"You guys are the worst."
"Thanks bbg." you and Yuu paused.
"Pft–"
"Oh dear~ It seems you're starting to take after me."
"Indeed it seems." Yuu replied, even subconsciously copying the fancy accent you used.
"Oh no, you're multiplying. :0"
"Haha, we're still dragging you to apologize to your Housewarden later."
"Aww shucks.."
← Pr.7 | Chapter List | Chp. 1.2 →
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Text
A Heian Era Affair
Parings: GojoSatrou!ModernEra x FemReader!HeianEra! Tags: Fem!Reader; Gojo!imagines; slight!mention of violence; Chaos; 18+ as more chapters come; slow burn [I want to have a good build up~ just like my Sukuna series fic~]; An ancient Japan romance through time with reader A/n: Sorry for not putting out any updates or fics for almost a month! T~T I was busy with college and sem exams! but they are finally over so yay!!!!
[If you all like it, please heart and reblog the post! to know you want to read more~ and follow for chapter updates! or leave a comment to tag you when I put out new chapters~ I will do my best to roll out UPDATES ASAP!]
@elernity @derpykirb here is the update! ^-^
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CHAPTER - 3
The sunlight basked in the small wooden house, the morning dew shimmered as the birds chirped in a lovely tune, a better alarm clock than what Gojo was used to
"Don't wash clothes like that! if you use too much strength it will rip apart!"
"I am trying god damn it!"
Wiping the sweat from his forehead he scrubbed the clothes, you guided him as you sat beside him, your hair tied up in a bun sweating yourself.
"How did humans survive this!?" he groaned
As he and you continued washing the clothes you heard a scream from him
"Ah shit!-", he bit his lip
"Oh lord what happened!?", hurriedly you took his hand and your eyes widened as blood dripped from his wrist
"This is bad wait let me get medicine!"
"Wait-"
Before he could say anything you had already left
"I can use RCT…" he whispered words barely audible as he watched you running
After some seconds he saw you holding a wooden box
"You truly are useless and cannot even wash clothes properly! How can you even call yourself the strongest!?" you nagged him as you cleaned up his wounds and bandaged him up
"Oh sorry I am not used to washing clothes using ancient methods near rivers am I?!", he argued back as the yelling continued
Unknown to you the moment you bandaged him up he had used RCT to heal it within seconds
"Phew that should do it…let's just hope you don't get an infection if you do even I cannot save your life"
Hearing your words he has never been happier to be able to use RCT
x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x
"Y/n!" a lady rushed screaming your name, causing both you and Gojo to finally stop nagging each other
"Who is she?" he whispered
"Just my neighbor, an aunty my mother knew"
"I see... I guess aunts are the same every era..."
"Oh my god, you did not tell me you got married!?" she yelped as she saw Gojo beside you
"I am not married okay!?" freaking out you tried your best to refuse her words
"What do you mean not married!? oh~ he is your boyfriend~" She nudged you and smirked as she walked towards Gojo who was screaming internally looking at you desperately for help
"He is n-!"
"Greetings! My name is Sumi Tachibana, I am Y/n's neighbor!"
Cutting you off she looked at Gojo smiling brightly
"My name is Gojo Satoru it's nice to meet you too", he smiled putting his hand out to shake her hands
"Oh~ how bold to flirt with me in front of your future wife! I am married so sorry~" she chuckled bashfully
"Huh…?", he looked at her then at you confused
"Aunty! What brought you here?" you stood between her and Gojo shielding him
"Oh right! I came to tell you the village has decided to host a festival next week so be sure to come!" she smiled warmly and left after chatting a little longer
"Flirting…what crazy conclusion is that!?" Gojo looked at you dumbstruck
"See I don't know what you knew previously but to put your hand forward to a lady after just meeting her gives the wrong signals alright" You looked at him and sighed
"Ancient times sure are crazy…"
"Oh god…" groaning you lowered your head
"What's the matter?" he looked at you
"She is now gonna tell everyone in the village that we are in a relationship"
He looked at you even more stunned than before, things were progressing too fast his brain felt fried. He realized just how big of a deal it was for him and you to be together in ancient times
"I guess…we gotta pretend to be in one"
"Do you know the significance of what you are saying!?" you looked at him shocked
"What? it's just a relationship~ I have been in many! my experience is over the charts dear" he smirked playfully as he looked at you
Link to Masterlist!
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kthvlr · 16 hours
Text
⋆౨ৎ BOYFRIEND HEADCANONS - kthᝰ.ᐟ
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— . ݁₊ ✉️ ⊹ . ݁ ˖ —
summary: taehyung boyfriend headcanons
notes: did you miss me…🧍‍♀️ anyway… i got a little bit carried away and made this longer than it needed to be but whatever! like i probably could’ve split this into two parts but.. i didn’t want to
!nsfw boyfriend headcanons here!
word count: 1.3k
genre: fluff
pairing: taehyung x reader
warnings/tags: none
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- he’s so romantic
- gives you flowers randomly
- and looks up the meaning of the flowers he give you too
- tries to cook dinner every once in a while (says he wants to get better at cooking)
- he’s also so clingy
- like he will not leave you alone
- he follows you all around the house and craves your attention and he needs to have his hands on you in some way at all times
- you’re cooking? he’s behind you with his arms around your waist. you’re on the sofa watching tv? he’ll lie down on you. you’re walking together? his hand is in yours. one of you are driving? his hand is on your thigh. even in his sleep he’s not letting you go
- speaking of, this man can not sleep if he’s not holding you
- it doesn’t matter how he holds you (or you hold him), he just needs you close to him
- but he especially loves when you’re sleeping with his your head nuzzled into his chest and your leg slung over his hip, while he buries his face into your hair and keeps an arm around your waist or back, tracing patterns on your skin
- because another thing he loves to do is to move your shirt up just a little bit to feel your skin. he loves physical contact so actually being able to feel your skin under his fingers just makes him feel closer to you and provides him a sense of comfort
- and while he loves to hold you when sleeping, when he’s had a bad day he wants, no, he needs you to hold him
- nothing makes him feel better than when he’s laying with his head on your chest while you play with his hair and listen to whatever’s going on in his mind, telling him how much you love him as he falls asleep in your arms
- he just really loves being little spoon from time to time
- now let’s get into love languages
- besides the aforementioned physical touch, he’s a words of affirmation guy
- “you know i love you, right?”
- “you’re so beautiful”
- “you’re perfect”
- and it’s all because he knows how much your words affect him
- one “i love you” from your lips and immediately gets all shy and starts smiling uncontrollably
- sometimes you like to just say it out of nowhere because you love how cute his reaction is
- he’s such a gentleman
- i have mentioned this in my work before, but he’s the type of guy to take off your coat and hang it up for you
- 100% will be taking all your bags and carrying them for you.
- it doesn’t even matter if they’re actually heavy or not and he knows you can carry them yourself, but he wants to help you anyway
- he refuses to let you open the car door by yourself
- if you open it he’ll just shut it before you get in and open it himself, or if you’re already inside, he’s opening the door again and forcing you back in the car just so that he can open the door for you
- and if you can’t reach something, he’s already behind you with one hand in your waist and the other grabbing whatever you needed
- he just loves knowing that he’s helped you in some way
- it’s his little way of showing that he cares
- he loves kissing you
- he loves to kiss the back of your hand when he’s holding it, he loves holding your face just to kiss your cheeks, he loves placing sweet kisses on your forehead, he loves kissing the nape of your neck when hugging you from behind, and he especially loves kissing your lips
- he will kiss you any chance he gets
- he’s so gentle
- i wont elaborate on that he just is
- if he says i love you first he’s definitely gonna say it randomly
- he’s known for a while but one day when you’re rambling on about something he suddenly just gets urge to tell you so he cuts you off
- “i love you”
- and you just stare at him blankly for a second trying to process what happened before saying it back
- and if you say it first, he can’t even contain how happy he is
- he’s surprised for a second, his eyes wide and mouth parted, before he gives you a shy smile and tells you he loves you too
- will buy you oddly specific things then say
- ^^“it reminded me of you”
- when he has to leave the house early, he leaves little notes for you on your nightstand or on the fridge
- “i’ll be back soon :)”
- “have fun sleeping in without me >:(”
- “i love you <3”
- same thing when he has to come home late
- he feels so bad for coming home late
- so you’ll get a text from him
- “i miss you”
- “i’m sorry i have to stay late today”
- “i’ll make it up to you”
- and he always does
- expect date nights, movie nights, flowers, and lots of cuddles and kisses (and more if yk what i mean)
- and if he’s on tour and can’t take you with him, it’s good morning and goodnight texts everyday (he calculates the time difference and texts you at the right times)
- compares hand sizes with you
- plays jazz on his record player and asks you to slow dance
- late night drives
- the type to say he’s not jealous but he is
- and when he is jealous he’s pouty and needs extra attention from you
- after a long day, when you’re laying in bed just talking, he’ll fall asleep on your shoulder or chest
- the type to place your hand on his head and pout (and sometimes lay his head in your lap) instead of just asking you to play with his hair
- just like how when he wants to cuddle, he won’t ask, he’ll just lay (flop) on top of you
- sometimes he’ll even pick you up and take you to the bedroom/sofa just so that you two can cuddle
- when he’s trying to cook, he likes to have you sitting on the kitchen counter and will come up to you randomly and kiss you with his hands on your thighs or waist
- if he’s playing a video game in the living room while sitting on his bean bag, he loves when you sit between his legs and rest your head on his stomach, and he’ll play with your hair between rounds
- if you two are watching a movie, he’ll almost always fall asleep first
- loves it when you massage any sore muscles for him after a long day of working/practicing
- he especially loves neck and shoulder massages
- and if he’s lying down when you’re giving him a massage, he’ll fall asleep within minutes
- also he loves back rubs/scratches
- confesses to you again when he’s drunk
- “i like you”
- “i have a confession”
- “have i told you i like you”
- little does he know you’re his already
- watches you in awe when you’re doing your makeup
- kisses you before you put on any lip products because he knows he won’t be able to kiss you after you put them on and he’ll miss your lips
- (you’ll miss his too)
- never leaves the house without saying “i love you”
- and he will not leave the house until you say it back
- or just generally if he says “i love you” he will not leave you alone until you say it back
- sometimes you don’t say it on purpose just to see his pout and puppy eyes as he begs you to say it back
- but he knows you love him
✉️
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𐙚 show some love to my other works!: masterlist
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The Sweetest Thing
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Jake Lockley x GN!Reader • Rating: T •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist• ko-fi •
Summary: A heatwave hits London
🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜
A/N: Set in London.
Warnings: Just some fluffy fluff, swearing, reader isn't american so there's a little playful celsius vs fahrenheit moment, jokey mention of foot stuff (which I am blaming @romanarose for, for no other reason that they are the Foot Stuff gender neutral King.), over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!
Word Count: 669
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You sigh heavily, shoulders slumped as you just stand in the chilled food section of sainsbury's. 
Despite it being a little after 8am London was so hot  it was like it was trying to rival the surface of the sun. 
And the humidity… disgusting. 
Why did you have to live in one of the seemingly dampest countries that still expected people to work and use public transport and just live without most buildings and businesses not having air conditioning. It was inhumane. 
Jake appeared at your side, grinning. Despite the oppressive heat (given that it was quite cool in the supermarket) he somehow managed to not melt into a puddle on the floor. 
“How are you not sweating?” You grumble and he laughs. 
“I sweat.” 
“You’re a fucking liar, you know that?” The smile in your voice made him laugh louder. 
“Sure, sure. Hmm, maybe it's secret moon god perks?” 
“Tell Khonshu I will be his foot of the night or whatever if it means I don’t feel sticky and gross.” 
“Foot?” He wheezes.
“Yeah, you’re his fisting of the night and-”
Jake spluttered as you both walked to the self service machines. 
“I’ll be the one that does the kicking.”
“So,” he scanned the tub of ice cream, glancing at you. Thankfully there were practically no queues at this time on a Tuesday morning. “I’m doing fisting? But you’re just doing kicking? Shouldn’t you be doing foot stuff at the very least.” 
You tried to give him a look and not laugh. You did not succeed. “Can’t he at least make a breeze or something?” 
Jake smiled and shook his head. 
“What kind of god can’t even do that?” You grumble.
Jake pays and takes his receipt, holding your hand as you walk towards the sliding doors. 
“What if we don’t go, what if we stay and live in here? It’s cool?” 
“Can’t do that baby.”
“Why?” You grumble, pouting a little. You know what you’re saying makes no sense but the heat has made you grumpy. 
Jake snorts. “You’re looking forward to it. You’ve been talking about it all week.” 
“Yeah, that was before London decided that 38c was a good temperature.”
Jake opens his mouth, a shit eating grin on his face. 
“I do not want to hear about fahrenheit. Or  how it was hotter in America when you were there.” 
He blows a kiss to you. “You know me too well.” 
“Hmm. You’re predictable more like.” 
He mock gasps. “I’m insulted.” 
“You love it.” 
He smiles again, squeezing your hand in his. He does love it. Loves that he’s put down roots. That you can guess what silly comment he’s going to make and tease him for it. 
The air outside of the nice cool supermarket hits you like the air of a just opened oven. Two steps out and you’re already sweating. 
Jake leads you to the brick wall slightly down the road, the one that is bathed in shade by an old magnolia tree and sits, encouraging you to do the same. 
He takes the lid of the ice cream carefully. 
“What are you doing?” 
“Eating ice cream.” He says matter of factly, “you want some?” 
“How you gonna eat that?” 
“Ahh,” he grins again and pulls out something from his pocket with a flourish. It takes you a moment to recognise it as a swiss army knife. “Glad I can still surprise you.” He flicks it open and shows you a small metal spoon. 
You laugh. “Very impressive.”
“As long as you don’t mind sharing my salvia.” 
You pull a pretend thinking face for a moment that amuses Jake no end. “Hmm, well considering some of the things we’ve done… I think I’m okay with it.” 
“Good.” He digs the spoon in and then holds it out to you, letting you have the first bite. 
You lean forward, but dart to the side at the last second and steal a soft kiss from his lips. He was the sweetest thing around anyway.                                            
____________________________________________
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drizztdohurtin · 3 hours
Text
Rolan Headcanons: Fatherhood
pairing: Rolan x afab!reader (use of she/her pronouns)
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〚 Masterlist | WIP List 〛
-MDNI-
Warnings:
fluff and angst
gonna tag my beloved Cherry again (@viennacherries) bc we've discussed so many of these headcanons privately and I want to throw her some credit for any of her ideas that have seeped into my brain and bled into this post <33
Suggested pre-reads: tiefling hcs | tiefling purring hcs | deciding to start a family with Rolan | pregnancy hcs
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Fatherhood
even as a full-time member of Rolan nation, and a certified connoisseur of Rolan content - I still can't decide how many kids he would have
I can see him having only one - this, in my brain, is for very angsty reasons
I can also see him having two, and that is probably what I lean toward the most
and I can see him having three because I love the idea of him being overwhelmed by his 3 tiny little tiefling babies running around screeching and pulling each other's tails
I'm a 'Rolan's firstborn is a boy' truther (I have spent hundreds of hours thinking about this)
I'll still use gender-neutral terms for this post in case anyone disagrees
BUT !! I need you to hear me out... I really like writing him as having a boy first because it gives me an opportunity to give him this little character arc
please check out this post about 'Rolan's first day as a dad' that I initially wrote for this post but then it got too long and turned into a blurb so I posted it separately
so while I think that Rolan would react the same whether he had a boy or girl (seeing them as perfect and making him realize that what he sees as perfection, his parents saw as abandonable), I particularly like the idea of his first being a boy because his son would be a perfect reflection of himself when he was a baby
then he'd be seeing exactly what his parents saw when they abandoned him
his love for his son helps him find more love for himself - helps him find more healing from his childhood
becoming a father is what would finally make him realize that the issue was never with him, it was always with his birth parents - no matter how many times anyone up to this point had told him so
he'd also realize that 90% of the intense anxiety he felt about becoming a father during your pregnancy was just a reflection of how much he cared for his baby, and how badly he wanted to do good by both of you
he realized he had been convinced that he was defective - convinced he inherited some gene that would make him a horrible parent
the accumulation of all of these feelings and realizations would overwhelm him a bit at first, and he'd think about it a lot in his moments alone
but being around his baby always made him feel better and like nothing else mattered
He LOVES holding his baby, he is incredibly physically affectionate with them
He is always giving them kisses or gently tracing their features with his thumbs, rubbing/patting their backs, or smoothing down their hair, literally anything
He loves placing gentle kisses on the spot on their forehead between their horns (or where their horns would come in)
He also sometimes rubs his nose against theirs affectionately or softly leans his cheek against their head while he's holding them
He's also fucking obsessed with how his baby smells (as are most parents), so he can be seen smelling the top of their head multiple times per day
Gets cuteness aggression (internally) often, especially when he's holding them close to his chest and he can smell them and they're making the cutest little noises and have his clothing balled up in their tiny little baby fists and he just is like kfdfshfasdfdffffff fuck this is the most perfect thing on the planet
Rolan would carry the baby around constantly if you let him
he'd get those body wraps that allow him to him the baby hands-free so that he can go about his work in the tower but also have his baby with him at all times
honestly, he'd get a few of them so that he always had one to match whatever robes he was wearing that day
yes it's hands-free but he'd still almost always have a comforting hand rubbing or patting his baby's back - ducking down to place kisses on their head idly as he read through books or mail
Rolan always had a habit of talking to himself while he's trying to mull things over in his office - and now that he has a baby he'll occasionally be met with a babbling response
like imagine him alone in his office reading over a paper, thinking about it out loud as he paces, gently bounces the baby on his chest, until he hears little babbling sounds - and he says some shit like, "Ah, yes, good point."
he won't make a sound if his baby's sleeping, though, and he'd speak in a gentle whisper if anyone came into the room to talk to him
He'd also read everything out loud when they're awake
and they always look at him with the utmost intrigue, their little yellow eyes wide and glimmering, their mouth hanging open slightly
he's just one of those parents who's always talking to their child - knowing how stimulating it is for babies, even when they don't know what you're saying
for example, he'll read books and papers out loud to them, and whenever he notices them watching his actions he'll explain what he's doing, especially if he's cooking
While his baby is still a baby, he takes time to refine the skills he learned when he was young and had to care for Cal and Lia - revising his healing spells and ensuring he still remembered how to mend tears in clothing
Rolan is a very anxious and protective father, only trusting a select few to touch/hold them or care for them when he's not there
although he tries to protect them from everything he possibly can, some things are unavoidable
He dreaded the day his child's horns would start coming in and once it finally started, it was the most difficult week of his life
most of the days were hell, his baby so uncomfortable that all they could do was scream and cry - and Rolan was there every second of it
in the worst moments, all he could do was hold them close and focus on providing the rumbling at the top of his chest that normally worked so well to comfort them
sometimes he'd cry with them, his chest tightening at seeing his poor infant trembling through their sobs, clutching the fabric of his clothes tightly in their fists
he did everything he could think of to try to relieve his child's pain - he'd hold an ice pack to their head, he'd attempt to get them to eat, and he'd try healing spells even though they don't really work that way
he had to sit with the guilt of not being able to help his little love as their cries pleaded for him to make it all stop
the child wasn't only in pain, they were also exhausted from crying and from a lack of sleep - which really only made it all worse, like a never-ending cycle
there was only one day he barely had to worry about it, the discomfort finally giving his child a break - allowing them to rest comfortably and smile and laugh throughout the day
and once it was all over, he can't remember the last time he felt such relief
raising his kid in the tower turns out to be the most stress-inducing thing ever, and strongly considers buying a house for you all to live in instead
Rolan's protectiveness and general anxiety over his child would start to manifest as strictness once his firstborn was a bit older
he'd be quite stern with them, and he doesn't really mean to be - he's just so concerned about his child's safety
He's literally so scared of something happening to them their entire life - but at least when they're a baby he can actually protect them
But he knows he has to give his child freedom as they grow, and that's when the paternal worry really sinks its claws into him
He wouldn't be strict in a way that pushes his child away from him, though
he'd always make sure to tell and show his kids how much he loves them - he could never be a dad who refuses to show any emotion to his kids
Because of that, he'd actually do a really good job of building enough trust with his child to the point where they can go to him for anything
His kid(s) know they can go to him with anything, and he won't punish them for telling the truth
Lowkey one of those parents that's like "You're not allowed to drink under the legal age but if you're going to do it, do it at home"
"I'm not saying that it's okay to do, I'm just saying if you're going to do something stupid, then at least do your mother and I a favor and do it as safely as you can."
Rolan loves being a father so much
and despite how actually insane toddlers are, that stage of life is probably his favorite when it comes to his kid(s) because it's the only stage where they have both the perks of babies and slightly older children
They can finally understand and use language, they have their own preferences and opinions, and they can run around and play, like older kids
But they're still small, and they need more sleep than older kids, and they still drink milk and need to be rocked to sleep, like babies
It probably also helps that he is incredibly patient with his kids, rarely ever losing his composure with them
His favorite nights are when he puts his toddler to bed - when he gets to put them in their soft little onesie and talk to them about their day before he reads them to sleep in his arms
But this is a toddler we're talking about, and they get crazy sometimes, especially before bed
there's one night when his child still had pent-up energy from the day, and Rolan knew it would be hard to get them to go to bed willingly
When he brought his child into their room, shut the door, and set them down, they immediately started running around and trying to play with toys
Rolan tried his best to get his wriggly toddler to sit still so that he could get them out of their day clothes, change their diaper, and put on their pj's
he got as far as putting on a clean diaper before his child wiggled out of his hands and started running around
he was often able to reason with his child, but on this particular night, despite his best efforts, it did not work
he stood up, staring at his tiny little tiefling where they stood on the other side of the room with the goofiest smiles on their face
his often serious face cracked a smile before he ran towards his baby with arms outstretched, pretending he was going to catch them
his child shrieked with laughter, beginning to sprint around the room, avoiding their father's outstretched arms
Rolan chased them around like that for minutes, utterly in love with the loud, mischievous chortles erupting from his baby until, eventually, they let him catch them
with a playful roar, Rolan would hoist his baby up in the air above his head as he made his way back over to the changing station
He lowered his child with a bunch of wild, sloppy kisses to their cheeks as he lowered them to lay down, before deciding to get one last laugh out of them
he'd duck his head and start blowing raspberries onto their big ol' baby belly, gently tickling their sides with his fingers - laughing along with his child's loud, gurgly shrieks of joy
He would always remember how hard they laughed that night, along with the pure joy that had been plastered on his baby's face the whole night
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cypherthesuccubus · 7 hours
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I’m not done with you yet….darling~
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Alastor x Reader -Part 3- (NSFW)(MDNI)!!!!
WARNINGS: smut, blood kink, bondage, slight S&M, Dom/Sub, rough rutting, mate marking, leash play/ownership, slight degradation, praise kink, body worship, ass worship, cock worship, she/her pronouns, vaginal sex, creampie, facial
Other Tags: Fluff, Angst
Note: Reader will receive aftercare
Things are getting rather tense wouldn’t you say? Part 3 is finally here! I hope you enjoy this one my darlings! Cause I certainly do~😈
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(Y/N’s P.O.V)
It’s been a week in a half since being in the hotel now. I did profusely apologize to Charlie for my behavior that one time I decided to drink. She forgave me of course, and warned me not to do it again if I really want to be redeemed. I felt really bad about doing that to her, but everything is ok with her and me now. I still hung out with Angel and Cherri; I just didn’t join in when they wanted to drink and stuff. They really are really good friends when you get down to it though. Through out these few days I did the best I could by helping around the hotel. Some days I helped Charlie come up with new group activities. There were times I helped Niffty clean and cook; she gave me a lot of cleaning tips and on how to make a mean jambalaya. She cooked that often cause it was one of Alastor’s favorite meals. I didn’t peg Alastor to have a favorite dish honestly, since he pretty much said to me that night he was a cannibal. I’ve been doing my best to avoid him; especially his gaze. Thank god he’s been keeping his distance as well, but every time I enter into a room with him being there; instant red eyes watched me. Observing me. Almost burning holes forever deep into my soul. The air always felt even more static like the longer he stared. There were times I would catch him staring, and he will notice right away. But instead of looking away, he would purposefully lock eyes with me as if to warn me about getting too close. I honestly don’t know much more I can take!! Ever since that talk with Alastor that night; I haven’t been sleeping very well. These dreams would always wake me up in the middle of the night; drenched in sweat and seriously frustrated. They always start with me running from something I couldn’t see; just absolutely terrified. As soon as this thing tackles me to the ground; turning me over while pinning my arms above my head. It gives me a better look of what’s gonna seal my fate.
Everytime I always see Alastor staring down at me. His eyes half lidded; always filled with hunger as his long tongue lulls out his wide, sharp teethed mouth. Licking his lips in anticipation just to taste my flesh. I shuddered every time he lean down to give my neck an agonizingly slow lick. All the way from my collarbone to the lobe of my ear; giving it a nibble. Then he would always whisper into my ear; making the pit of my stomach do loops.
“You will be mine soon….darling~”
Before his teeth would sink into my neck, that’s when I would wake up. I wish these dreams would stop!! Not only do I wake up sweating; having to change my clothes and shower. Every time I pull down my panties; just gooey strings of my fluids connected me to them. How did I get so soaked from almost being eaten?!?! Not only have the dreams and him staring at me been unbearable. There’s been this faint smell that’s been forming since that night we talked. It’s been getting slowly stronger by the day, but at night, it becomes overpowering that I would have to cover my face when walking to my room at night. By then it’s already too late, once that smell hits my nose, I instantly have to change my panties once again. I don’t know where the smell is coming from, but soon enough, I’m gonna find out and put it out at its source; so I can finally sleep in peace for once.
Today started like any normal day. I helped niffty in the kitchen with breakfast again. Today was French toast or Waffles with sliced ham and eggs. Then we had a morning activity added in with the before dinner activity. Charlie wanted to instead having one long activity before dinner; she instead made 2 30 minute activities a day instead. She figured it would make even more incredible progress that way. This morning’s activities was directed around believe it or not. Consent. Her lesson plan was based around the term of consent and how important it is to use and have in our daily lives. Whether you’re asking for someone’s consent about using their car all the way to asking for their consent to having sex as well. She even explained how it’s important with even an already married couple too. Just because someone is married doesn’t mean they will want sex all the time. Even when married or not, always get your partner’s consent before anything. Angel couldn’t resist and added “Consent is sexy~” I couldn’t hold back the giggles with Angel giggling along side me too. Then I started to smell that smell again. It was faint at first so it was easier to push it aside, then it got even stronger after Angel’s comment. I look around the room to see where could that smell be coming from. It felt as thou it was right on top of me. As soon as I thought that I looked behind me and froze. Ruby red eyes looked down at me paired with a very wide grin more sinister than normal. “Good morning my dear~”
(Alastor’s P.O.V)
Her face turns to that deep shade of red once more as she slightly fidgets in place. Being as close as I am right now like this; she almost looks like a frightened and timid little doe. Unsure whether to approach or run away from the hunter. “Good morning A-Alastor.” She spoke with a voice almost as sweet as honey as she twiddles her thumbs nervously. Charlie looks over to us “Oh Good morning Alastor! We just went through our activity’s topic today. It was about consent and how important it is to use it in our daily lives.” I cock my head to the side “Oh I agree wholeheartedly Charlie. Consent is indeed very important.” Charlie smiles and claps a couple of times “I so glad you agree Alastor! See Vaggie I knew having 2 group activities a day would be more effective!” I zone out the idle prattle going on with the other others as I turn my gaze back down to (Y/N). She blushes once more as she locks eyes with me. Breath shaky as she quickly covers her nose. “Please tell me you smell that too Alastor. I have no clue what that is. Is it just me?” I smile even wider as I lean down to her ear “I will only tell you if you do a few….small favors.” She shudders as she speaks softly “F-f-favors?” I brush a stray hair and tuck it behind her ear “Come to my room by Midnight tonight….we’ll discuss terms then.” I stand back up to see her entire face glowing red as she let out a tiny whimper. It took everything in me not to drag her out of here and into my room already.
This entire week and a half was a nightmare for me. As much as I was trying to stay away and not interact with her; I’d still end up running into her one way or another. My usual tricks to help keep my season at bay was not working anymore. Slowly my physical tell tale signs were starting to show itself. First, my pheromones started to trickle out until I couldn’t cut it off anymore whenever (Y/N) was around. When she came close or whenever she was in the same radius as me; my pheromones would go out of control; filling my nostrils until I would have to retreat back into my room. It got really dangerous when we walked by each other in the corridor the other day. She was leaving her room as I was heading to mine. I instantly caught a whiff of her scent when she passed by. It smelled sweet as it clinged to the back of my throat. I quickly made haste into my room in hopes she didn’t know what was happening. Luckily I escaped in time before things got out of hand. The second sign was painfully obvious in which I made sure no one sees it ever. That day catching of catching her savory scent, gave me the most painful erection I’ve ever felt. As I retreated back to the room before she noticed; closing the doors quickly. My breathing became shallow as if I ran all the way here. I look down to see that painful tent I pitched was already leaking through my trousers; which I had dry cleaned that day as well. I touched it slightly; wincing at the pain, I knew it has gotten past the point of no return.
Reliving myself was too painful now, so I have no choice, but to give into my season….and to whom it wants. To whom…..I really want~ I need to prepare if I’m going through with this. I need to properly show her exactly what she’s been doing to me. She. Will. Be. All…….Mine~
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kissingghouls · 19 hours
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Couple Skate (Mary Goore x f!Reader)
Summary: Another date with Mary has them trying something for the first and leads the two of you into uncharted territory (aka your bedroom.) (3200 words)
TAGS: NSFW 18+ MDNI, FLUFF, SMUT, slight character injury but nothing serious, he/they Mary.
[This goes along with the other More Goore '24 stories or can be read alone. Choose your own adventure, it's what Mary would want. Or read on AO3.]
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“Does that feel good?” you ask, eyes wide as you look up from between Mary’s legs. For a moment all they do is blink at you, but then a sly grin creeps across their face followed by a low chuckle. They cock their head to the side, pulling their lip between their teeth as they adjust in their seat.
“You have no idea, do you darlin’?”
“Wha?” you ask, still staring at him. It was a perfectly normal thing to ask, especially since Mary had never done this before. You still weren’t sure exactly how this whole thing even happened, but it was bound to be an experience for both of you.
It wasn’t until you heard harsh whispers and tsking from several feet away that it dawned on you what he meant.
“The skates you perv!” you huff, giving them a quick slap on the thigh. You’d spent the last few minutes with your knees on a grubby carpet trying to help Mary tighten the laces on a pair of rented ice skates. A couple of uppity moms had covered their kids’ eyes at the sight of the two of you, like you were really planning on sucking his dick in public like that. But you couldn’t care less what those moms thought if it meant Mary wasn’t going to get hurt on your watch. You give the laces another tug before asking again if they felt ok.
“I dunno,” they reply, stretching a skinny leg out past you. They twist their ankle around, flexing their foot against the boot. “Am I supposed to be able to feel my feet?”
“Normally yes, but I wouldn’t be surprised if all your blood rushed somewhere else.”
Mary gives you an easy shrug and leans forward. “Do you really want me to apologize for thinking you’re hot?”
“I want to know if the skates feel ok,” you respond flatly.
“They feel like boots with knives on the bottom, so…metal as fuck?”
“You are so lucky you’re cute, Goore.”
“Pretty sure you’re the cute one, sweetheart.”
You smile softly and climb into the seat next to them. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
“Darlin.” He places a hand under your chin, angling your face toward his. “We can’t just keep going to the bar.”
“Why not?”
Mary looks down, finding a particularly interesting thread on the ripped knee of his jeans. “I don’t…I don’t want you to get bored with me.”
“Goore, you’re like the furthest thing from boring I could imagine.”
“But like…in a good way, right?” they ask cautiously.
“Would I be hanging out with you if it wasn’t in a good way?”
“Hmm,” he hums pretending to think. “I don’t know. You’ve dated some questionable people in the past.”
“Oh and you haven’t?” you challenge, leaning over to pinch their side.
“What can I say?” they ask with a laugh. “I was a fool until now.”
“I’m gonna leave your ass here,” you grumble.
“No, you won’t. You like me too much.”
“You’re ok, I guess. Pretty good at building a fort.”
“You want me to make you another? A two bedroom, two bath dream house— “
“I want you to do what you want to do.”
“Hey,” he says softly. “I am doing what I want to do. You think I would be in a place like this if I didn’t want to be here with you?”
You look up, taking in the scene around you. Obnoxious, loud pop music blasts overhead—a song neither one of you know—while the happy shouts of children and other couples cut through the sound of blades scraping across the ice. It’s a wholesome swirl of rosy cheeks, colorful fabric, and bright lights; a pleasant little afternoon of family fun with you and Mary looking completely out of place like a couple of ghostly apparitions.
“Honestly? I’m not sure how we ended up here in the first place,” you admit. “But no, I don’t think you make a habit of doing anything you don’t want to.”
“Exactly! Now, help me broaden my horizons or whatever other motivational shit people say. Teach me to skate!”
“I’ll try my best, Goore. What are you going to teach me after this?” you ask as you help them to their feet.
“I’m sure I could think of a couple things,” he replies lowly, wiggling his eyebrows at you.
You roll your eyes.
Helping Mary to their feet is one thing but getting them to the ice is far more complicated. They’d never skated in their life and they’d clearly never walked in skates before. You try your best to correct the stiff and rigid movements that made them look about as graceful as Frankenstein’s Monster, but there was only so much you could do until they felt comfortable enough.
It isn’t any easier on the ice, but at least there’s a wall to help keep him upright.
Still, you’re impressed by the fact that Mary is willing trying something new at all, just because it was something you thought was fun. Most of the people you dated weren’t as interested in anything you cared about and they certainly going to try it. But Mary’s different in more ways than you can count, so much so that it keeps you awake some nights. You’ve worried yourself sick thinking about how you might like them too much, but there’s no one else you’d rather be sharing these things with.
He flinches as a tiny kid whizzes past, his hold on your hand tightening even more. He is a giant ball of nerves wrapped in leather and spikes, all sweaty palms and calloused fingers locked in a death grip as you slowly pull him around the rink. You’re sure it’s an entertaining sight to see, something like an eldritch terror helping a zombified baby deer in corpse paint waddle across a frozen pond. But right now, no one else matters. It’s just you and Mary on the ice.
After a couple of laps they start to get the hang of it, remembering to bend their knees to keep their balance. They smile brightly at you as they make a full pass without wobbling.
“Darlin’, look!” Mary shouts excitedly. They start to push off, slowly picking up speed as the blades slide over the ice. The first little stumble fills their face with panic, but they quickly recover and gain enough confidence to skate a little ahead of you. “Look! I did it!”
You trail behind them, watching in wonder as your spooky, metalhead boyfriend continues skating on his own…
…for about 30 seconds before he hits a bad patch in the ice and completely wipes out. He drops like a stone, limbs going everywhere as his body lands hard. The momentum he’d built up keeps him sliding across the ice until he comes to rest with a solid thud against the wall.
“Mary!” you shout and take off. You hate how scared you sound, heart pounding hard as you wonder if he’s hurt or worse. You skate hard, nearly taking out a hoard of laughing children in your rush to reach him. As you approach, Mary lets out a loud groan and rolls onto their back, staring up at you.
“Darlin’, there are much easier ways to get me on my back,” he groans, wincing as he shifts. “Less painful ones too, unless that’s what you’re into.”
You shake your head and kneel next to him, quickly swiping at the tears forming in your eyes. “Mary, are you ok?”
“I think I broke my ass,” he informs you through gritted teeth. “Is it ok if I don’t wanna do this anymore?”
“Yeah, absolutely,” you agree with a nod.
As a single tear slides down your cheek, Mary cracks a cocky smile. He reaches up, wiping the tear away with his thumb. “You worried about me, sweetheart?”
“Yes, idiot!”
“Told you. You like me too much.”
“Yeah, I do. Now, let’s get you off the ice, ok?”
Mary sticks their arms in the air, waving their hands wildly. “Drag me around like a corpse, baby!”
You lean down to kiss him instead, unbothered by the ice now soaking cold, wet splotches into your jeans.
He hums, grinning back at you as you pulled away. “I gotta fall down in front of you more often.”
“Please don’t. Pretty sure my heart stopped.”
Slowly he presses a cold hand to your chest, fingertips searching out the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat. His touch only elevates things, your heart now kicking like bpm of Mary’s songs. Your eyes close as he shifts to his knees and brings a hand to your neck to feel your pulse, counting along in his head. He didn’t know fuck all about math or blood pressure, but he knows now that he made your heart race.
It wasn’t not the first time Mary kisses you like that—a soft, slow press of their lips to yours that meant more than either of you were willing to say. But it is the first time either of you had attempted to do so on ice. You shiver—from the cold or Mary’s touch you weren’t sure, but you knew you needed to get out of there fast.
“Mm, Mary?” you ask, lips still brushing his. “My place?”
“Fuck yeah,” they agree with a nod.
-x-
The front door slams into the wall and bounces back as you and Mary spill through. There’s probably a mark you will have to pay for later, but for now the two of you are too busy stumbling over each other’s feet to be concerned. He kicks the door shut and tries to shake off his jacket without moving away from you, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. You’re so focused on trying to undo at least one of his belts that it doesn’t even phase you when you catch the corner of the coffee table with your leg. 
The jacket hits the floor with a soft thump. Mary’s hands move to your face, pulling you closer and closer as he licks into your mouth. A belt follows, free falling from around Mary’s hips because the stupid thing wasn’t functional—it was just in your way.  Your jacket is next, worked away from your shoulders by his impatient hands. You find success with the other belt and manage to get his shirt over his head while he pulls at yours. Clothes and boots litter the hallway like breadcrumbs—a trail that leads straight to your dimly lit bedroom.
You land on the bed and pull Mary on top of you, legs tangling as you fight to slot your mouths back together. It’s a frenzied mess of hands and lips and tongues and teeth on skin that feels feverish, so hot you think you might combust. But you don’t want to stop, you can’t stop—not when his chest heaves like that.
“Fuck,” they groan, low and loud as they move to kiss your neck. They know that space below your ear drives you fucking crazy and they waste no time leaving an angry mark on your throat before moving down to mouth along your collarbone.
You draw a finger over the lines and obscure symbols etched into their arms. Up their biceps and across their shoulder where the ink spills onto their chest and disappears into the soft patch of light hair. You imagine Mary in their little bathroom with a shitty box dye and—Satan help you—you only want them more. 
His breath hitches as your hands travel down their ribs, fingertips itching to touch the rest of him. He kisses you hard, almost desperate, but his own hands remain at an infuriatingly polite distance. A simple “please, Mary” whispered against his lips is all it takes to get Mary’s hands everywhere, those calloused fingers tracing over your tits. He’s rough in a way that feels perfect, pinching one nipple while biting the other to make you whine for him.
“C’mere,” he hums, urging your leg around his hip. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed tight as you brush against his length. “Fuck, darlin’.”
“Well, yeah, that’s the idea,” you tease and grind against them for emphasis.
“You’re trouble,” Mary quips, shaking their head. He moves to kiss your neck, trailing up to your ear to whisper, “ask me again.”
The words go straight to your center and Mary doesn’t miss the way you tremble against him. “Please, Mary,” you repeat softly. “Please touch me.”
When you see that devilish grin you know you’re probably going to regret giving him that kind of power, but as his hand slips between your legs, you stop caring about anything that isn’t the way Mary feels. His hand dips into your panties, fingers curving up to press against your entrance. Slowly, he pumps them in and out, carefully memorizing whatever actions pull the most sounds from you as he works you open. It’s all you can do to even the score and as you palm him over his boxers, the sound he makes has you feeling victorious already.
He withdraws his fingers and pushes his boxers down to coat his thick length with your slick. You never really had a chance at winning this game against him, but you’re happy to keep playing if it means getting fucked by Mary Goore.
“You’re so fucking good for me, darlin’,” he purrs, stroking his cock as he looks at you. He edges backward, trailing kisses over your stomach and inner thighs as he makes his way down. He moans loudly as he tastes you for the first time. The sound and the feeling has your thighs trying to press together, but Mary holds you in place as he draws his tongue over your swollen clit.
Your hands find his hair and he moans again as you tug roughly at the soft strands. His fingers push into your entrance, working at the same rhythm as his mouth. It’s too much and not enough, but fuck he feels too good. You barely manage the words before your hips raise to meet his touch. All you can do is let it wash over you, crying out his name as the world crashes down in the best way. He watches you shake, giving you just enough time to form a coherent thought before his mouth is on yours, the taste of yourself still on his tongue.
“Fuck, Mary,” you mutter against his lips and wrap your arms around his neck to keep him close.
“Is this what you want, sweetheart?” he asks, his voice low as he drags the tip of his cock through your folds. “You want me to fuck you?”
It’s so hot you want to strangle them, but you’re not about to fuck this up so you bite your lip and nod instead. It’s all the confirmation Mary needs. He captures you in a bruising kiss and swallows your moans as he guides himself to your entrance. His cock is so thick the stretch of him has you keening and clawing at his arms until he’s finally fully seated inside you. He stills himself, letting you get used to the feeling, but you kind of hope you never do. There’s soft kisses and words while they’re checking in with you, making sure you’re ok before they start to slowly pull out. A quick snap of his hips has you begging for more and that cocky smile of his returns. The whole thing is so unbelievably Mary that you really shouldn’t be surprised that he’s as skilled with his cock as he is with his hands or his mouth. But you’re more than happy to find out this way.
You’re just as surprised when Mary pushes your knees apart and hits an angle that nearly sends you over the edge way too quickly. It doesn’t stop him from trying again and again and again with that fucking grin on his face as you try desperately not to wake up everyone in the building. He pins your wrists to the bed and pounds into you a little harder each time you moan for him with your lip between your teeth, trying so hard to stay quiet.
With a few more thrusts of his hips and some filthy words, you’re coming undone beneath him, too fucked out on Mary Goore to know which way is up. It hits you hard, another white-hot wave sparking through your entire body and the only thing you can do is hold onto him as you ride it out. He groans as you tense around him, waiting for you to stop shaking before teasingly asking if you’re ok.  Instead of replying you raise your hips, using your leverage to push Mary onto their back. You lock eyes with him as you lower yourself onto his length, mouth falling open as he fills you again. Before they can make some smartass remark, you move your hips, finding a pace that has both of your eyes rolling back. It’s all too much as Mary fucks you harder, his fingers working at your sensitive clit while asking you—begging you—to come for him again. It doesn’t take much, not with the way he asks and the way he thrusts into you like he already knows exactly how to fuck you. The third orgasm hits even harder, tears slipping from your eyes as overstimulation sets in.
“Oh fuck, darlin’, I’m gonna cum,” he warns as his grip tightens, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. He tips you onto your back, groaning as he slowly pulls out. He pumps his cock in his fist, eyes locked with yours as he spills across your stomach and marks you once more.
“Fuck. You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he confesses, blissed-out and breathless as he looks at you covered in sweat, cum, and those little marks he’d sucked into your skin.
“You think so?”
“Yeah,” he says with a grin, biting his lip. “Might even be a little bit obsessed with you, darlin’…but in a like… not totally creepy way.”
“Mary Goore? Not creepy?”
He laughs. “Well…ok I’m not going to try to wear your skin, sweetheart. But I think about you an absolutely unhealthy amount.”
“Your post-orgasm honesty is fucking adorable, Goore,” you admit with a smile.
“Ah, well, I guess we will have to keep talking like this.”
“I guess we will.”
Mary sighs and rest on his side, hair softly falling over his eyes. He gives you a shy smile you don’t often see from him, before burying his face in the pillow.
“What is it?”
“Nothing,” he mumbles. “It’s stupid. Forget it.”
“C’mon Goore. Tell me.”
“I’m just…” They pause to cringe. “I’m just, ugh I dunno…happy?”
You snort out a laugh. “Well, I would hope so.”
“No, like, not… I mean, yes, happy about that but like…this. You and me.”
“Me and you, huh? Is this your way of asking if I want to be an ‘us?’”
“Kinda thought we were?”
“Yes, but now we’ve said it. That’s like…official official.”
“Officially us, then?” Mary asks and reaches over to tap your nose. “Is that cool with you?”
“Very much.”
He grins brightly. “Well, if that’s settled. Think you can walk ok? Or should I carry you to the shower?”
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limewire2003 · 2 years
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Fans at Ozzfest 2001, where the lineup included Slipknot, Tool, Papa Roach, Linkin Park, Disturbed, and more.
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turtleblogatlast · 17 days
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AU starts here!
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Here we have just a taste of Path A - also known as “All Together Now.” If you’re confused - good! Things will make sense in time, trust me.
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tei-to-tei · 4 months
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December 1 - Warm Drink
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