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vanillafantasy01 · 9 months

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The Healing Thrill of Sex | Dick Grayson | Male Reader | Lemon

Dick smirks as he cradles his head deeply into the delicate crook of your neck, giving it a chaste kiss. His lips linger on your skin when he doesn't dare to part, remaining yet firm even after he goes to snuggle deeper into you. He just wanted to savor the moment—to bask in your scent. "I feel like I can fly."

TW: Bottom Male Reader, Anal Penetration, Minor Mention of Blood, My First Draft [sorry if it's shit] - MDNI'

You're half asleep, your eyes still lidded as the thin rays of the sunlight poking through the small gaps in the blinds soothe your face. You were in your shared apartment, Dick wide awake and big spooning you. The familiar weight of his body cushioned against yours impressively puts your already calm state of mind to even more of a lull, and a dear smile threatens to part your lips.

He starts with a meager hump, dry in its movement, yet it manages to rip a moan from him. The first of many.

Dick wet his lips with one swing of his tongue, his head motioning to close the distance between you to rest just off your exposed right ear. His voice threatens to break when he gathers the will to speak, not going much beyond a whisper. "Can I put it in..."

Your eyes are still lidded, moderately conscious of your surroundings, and half aware of what is happening. The pressure of Dick grinding more against you forces your lids half open, your vision blurry, and your body still dreading waking up. The lack of warmth in the room make you instinctively cower deep into Dick's embrace, craving his body

s heat. He nibbles on your right helix, moaning deeply into your ear at your doing. "Mmmh, please~"

Something pulses defiantly against you at his plead, the tip of an object poking angrily into your spine. You try to get away from it by arching your back, but it does nothing to help. Instead, it makes it worse. Dick whines from behind you, the subtle rock of his hips intensifying into something more desperate.

"You're hurt." You deny him, mumbling.

"That was yesterday."

"Yesterday was 8 hours ago."

"I-"

"No."

"But~"

"You're hurt."

But Dick doesn't take your denial at heart, another one of his moans for pleasure preceding him as he rubs against you, wanting nothing but to feel that electrifying heat of your hole around him. "I'll be gentle," he swallows, a breath of want leaving him.

You want to stand your ground, tell him that the bandages around his stomach weren't just there for no reason and scold him that his injuries were just as significant and demanded as much, or even more attention than his lewd needs. But his hands...it was as if they had a conscience of their own, steadily working the necessary areas to gradually bring your guard down, and Dick's desperate grinds into you weren't helping either. You were slowly being brought down your high horse, and judging from the confident way Dick's hands continued to roam your being, it was all inevitable, deliberate. Dick knew what he was doing. "I'll go slow."

His tongue finds way on your nape, and the sensation of it trailing the length of it sends shiver upon shiver down your spine, your toes flexing as his hands simultaneously find solace between your thighs, using his right legs to part yours. "I promise..."

You don't respond—at least not vocally. Dick grins deviously when you slightly move your head to the side to expose your neck more to him, giving him leeway to do as he pleases. The sheets rustle as the two of you move, creasing with each urgent thrust Dick grinds onto your ass. This probably was a bad idea. Something you, and most definitely Dick, would come to regret later. But at that moment, you couldn't care less. You went from refusing to give in wishes out of concern for his wound to completely disregarding it and encouraging Dick's movement and impulsiveness by grinding back onto him. After all, he already said he would be careful... right?

Your personal bubble of thought is punctured when Dick grabs you by your chin to bring you closer to him, his lips eagerly finding yours to teasingly ease his tongue in. The dance that happens afterward borders that of magical. It is as if you were stoned. His spit mingles with yours while his hands breach your pants, dipping under the elastic band of your underwear to grab at the boner of your own. He gives it a few strokes, the initial first two making you curl into yourself his. His hands were big around you, warm, the callousness of his palm making for a unique texture. His tongue continues to explore the deep end of your mouth, refusing to give you the needed breath your body craved. You couldn't swallow, couldn't breathe. A sole line of spit trails the right side of your mouth.

Dick parts from you with an exotic bite to the lip, the soft tissue red and swollen. You're not allowed much of a recovery before Dick pulls your pants down, his eyes remaining locked on yours as he moves to undo the constriction on his own directly after. And in truth, it hurts him to move, but he does his best to keep that from his expression and you. The pain was mild at best, consistent, but weak. He didn't want to unnecessarily worry you, not after you threatened to deny him the pleasure of feeling you around him because of it. He wanted you—needed you. He wouldn't let something he deemed so trivial deprive that from him.

Your eyes depart from one another in sync when the lewd sound of his dick slapping against the bare skin of your ass rounds the room, his tip wet.

Fuck, that was hot.

You reach behind you with your right hand to grab at it, cautious as to not accidentally elbow Dick. It jerks at your grasp, throbbing sorely at the solid way you hold it within your palm. Dick likes when you use those pretty little hands of yours to cherish him. Especially when it came to that part. It was everything to him seeing you like that. The pleasing way your eyes would dilate with raw lust and anticipation whenever you saw him in all his glory. You didn't have to say anything. Never did. Just that look alone from you told him how high of a pedestal you put him on. His body shudders at the light squeeze you give his cock, the sensitive tip of his penis glaring daringly back at you, red. It was challenging you.

Dick groans as he slowly humps the cup of your hand, surprisingly still holding the ability to restrain himself despite the rage of lust within him tempting him to make an utter mess of you. He wanted to break you—to have you covered in all his fluids, crying to him for more. Dick swallows down his urges instead. If he came on too strong too fast, you would surely pull the plug on him, his promise without a doubt still fresh on your mind.

He uses the opportunity of you ogling his dick to trail faint kisses along your neck, starting from your jaw and gracefully making his way down to your collarbone. He nicks it faintly with his teeth, gently nibbling on the area and licking at it when it bleeds. He wants to be inside of you. And so bad.

His impatience leads to him tracing your arms with his hand, only stopping when his palm lovingly rests on the top of the hand you were using to massage his dick with. "Can I put it in?... Please~"

You manage a subtle nod in return. You were still somewhat sleepy, your mind a haze. The burning lust to feel Dick deep within you didn't make it any better. Dick takes your hand off him with a passionate kiss to the back of it, entangling his fingers with yours and dragging your hand along with him when he throws it over your waist to cuddle you once more. His dick presses up intimidatingly against your ass because of the position you're both in, finding comfort amongst the warm crack of your cheeks. Dick wasn't even in you, yet he was already nearing his peak.

Dick grabs his dick to softly press it against your hole, the tight sequence of folds pulsing approvingly at the touch as if begging for him to do more. Its wishes are granted when Dick increases the applied pressure on his dick to gradually penetrate you, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as another moan escapes him. His toes flex at the sudden surge of pleasure that routes him at penetrating you, the raw heat and tightness of your sphincter making for an overwhelming experience. How long has it been since he has had you wrapped around him like this? He wasn't home a lot, and the few times that he was, it was either during the night when the both of you were drained dead by the day's taxing activities or when he had gotten an injury severe enough to be bedridden for a day or few.

A noticeable tremor shakes you that makes Dick smirk. It seems he wasn't the only one struggling to hide the effect this had on him. A sigh of pure bliss leaves his pursed lips when he finally submerges the entirety of his cock in you, his heated breath staining the bruised skin of your nape.

"Fuck... tight." He barely makes out, his eyes shut close.

That's what he gets for being impatient. He didn't give you the needed chance to stretch out, only having used the slickness of his pre-cum with a few spits on his hand to help smooth his way into you. Luckily enough, he didn't hurt you. He hasn't bottomed before, but based on your previous discomfort, he knows anal fissure to be very painful. Dick doesn't think he'd be able to stomach knowing that he was the one to put you in that position just because he didn't want to wait a minute longer to allow you to safely prepare yourself.

Dick lets go of your hand to grab at your chin and bring you into another kiss of his, partly driven by the bubbling guilt that was starting to rise within. He wanted to make up for it—literally. And as Dick does this, the once persistent cramps and pain in his stomach start to diminish. He doesn't know whether it was the fact that they were just overpowered by the immense state of pleasure his body was currently in or because he truly did just need to be in you, but he mentally gives thanks for it either way.

Dick's first thrust into you comes soon after he parts from the kiss, his hips glued to you. He was trying so hard to stay true to his promise. To actually take things slow and gentle. But he hasn't been in you for ages, hasn't felt you. Keeping his pace at ease when all he wanted to do was make you moan his name as he fucks you into the bed was torturous.

His chest heaves at the admission, his mind conjuring up the numerous positions and places he would fuck you at and in.

The kitchen counter...

Countertop.

The edge of the bed...

Butterfly.

On the couch...

Supported straddle.

The wall...

Prone-bone.

He trails his finger along your arched spine, goosebumps coming to his skin when you tremble at his touch. Fuck. You were driving him crazy. Dick's right-hand moves to find consolation on your throat, his grip on it gentle, applying just enough pressure to have an effect on you sexually but not to endanger your life. His left hand is next, snaking deftly underneath your waist and grabbing your dick as he chokes you, pumping it every time his hips come into contact with yours. An effortless synchronization.

The repeated buck of his hips and pressure on your larynx makes reaching your heavenly high easy, your arch deepening with each passing second as your toes slowly curl. Short, watery streaks of cum shoot out of you, and you bit your lips painfully in a pathetic attempt to subdue your moans. Dick quickly follows up, not too far behind, his body tensing at his coming ejaculation. It's warm, bountiful in its amount, leaving you feeling full even after Dick pulls his cock out. You can feel the enticing way his muscles contract from how flushed he is against you, the heavy expanse of his chest as he tries to catch his breath provoking another boner from you.

Your body is limp against Dick as he peppers you with kisses, gasping to catch your breath. Both of you were shirtless, so you could feel how damp the dressing you had just replaced had gotten. You sum it up to sweat. I mean, you had literally just finished having sex. What else could it be?

You're jarred back to planet Earth with a muffled cough from Dick, the coarseness of it managing to bypass his hand covering his mouth, wincing from how loud it was. Aww, shoot. That most definitely caught your attention.

And as if to prove his point, your head snaps in the direction of him, your eyes going wide when you register the cluster of blood staining not only his bandages but the sheets. You sigh.

His wound reopened.

"Does it hurt?" You ask him, breaking the ongoing silence that had settled the room. Your eyes are closed, fully immersing yourself in Dick's touch. He could be so stubborn sometimes.

Dick tries to play off your concern by acting cool, thinking that if he presented himself as okay, you would see him as such—keyword tries.

"No," he exhales deeply. "I'm fine." You could tell nearly instantly that he was lying.

"You're bleeding. I'm going to have to restitch it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dick smirks as he cradles his head deeply into the delicate crook of your neck, giving it a chaste kiss. His lips linger on your skin when he doesn't dare to part, remaining yet firm even after he goes to snuggle deeper into you. He just wanted to savor the moment—to bask in your scent. "I feel like I can fly."

You roll your eyes and give a chuckle of your own. "That's the blood loss talking."

#dc x male reader #dick grayson #dick grayson x male reader #dick grayson x reader #male reader #male x male #male!reader #x male reader #gay fanfiction #gay reader #dc x reader #smut #fluff #lgbtq #gay #first fanfic #vanilla | fic #vanilla | smut #lowkey kind of rushed this

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bluesfullbelly · 9 months

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Honestly belly rubs are peak affection. Not even in a kink way (though they are excellent in that context)—it’s just very tender and intimate, you know? Like, that’s a vulnerable area. On an instinctive level letting someone touch it takes a certain level of trust. And the idea of that trust being met with such a gentle, compassionate touch just makes me so soft.

#I’m writing a vanilla fic right now that involves it and I keep reading over that bit like 🥺#cute shit if I say so myself #red's thoughts

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stevebabey · 1 year

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love as sweet as honey (and lover, i’m hungry)

a/n: u can read me for literal filth in this piece, i won’t even lie to u lmao. it’s disgustingly full of praise and petnames and steve’s biggest turn on is being told he’s loved <3 big ups to em (@familyvideostevie) for literally being the reason this got written at all & if u haven’t guessed by now, practically ever single idea i have is consulted by kenny <3 (@hawkinsindiana) also thank u steve stans for being my cheerleaders love u guys sm (@spideystevie @harringtonbf) & sanne too (@sanguineterrain) bcos talking w you helped sm <3

word count: 6.9k hehe summary: One Sunday, filled with too many kisses to count and a sureness in your heart that you are entirely in love with Steve Harrington. You tell him him for the first time in a flurry of love and lust, tangled in his sheets. [established relationship + smut, praise, petnames, + first i love you + fem!reader] MINORS DNI this piece contains nsfw content and is intended for 18+ readers.

It was often a question on your mind: How does one know when they’re in love?

For you, it was as easy as a Sunday.

When you wake on this Sunday morning, it’s in Steve’s arms. You’re in his bed, intertwined beneath the sheets and warmed by more than just the sun that peeks through the gap in his curtains. The room glows golden. His warmth creeps under your skin and his love finds you even when he sleeps, still snoozing against the pillow when you drift into consciousness.

He’s beautiful. Soft brown curls that crumple against the pillow, long lashes that you know even the girls at Hawkins High were envious of, faint barely visible freckles that hide under his tan. He’s beautiful and he’s yours. It makes you giddy to even think that.

You wake him with a kiss. It’s gentle, soft lips against the dozen tiny white scars on his cheek. Steve hums, a low sound in his throat, and even that makes you smile.

“Steveeee,” you whisper, cheek pushing against the pillow as you grin, unable to stop yourself. Grins come so damn easy with him.

Steve makes another noise, high and sweet, and snuggles closer to the pillow. You shuffle closer and dot another kiss on his face, this one on his nose. It scrunches up at the contact and finally, he drags his eyes open. You can read nothing by adoration in them.

“Mm,” he hums again, then speaks in that delicious raspy morning voice that drives you crazy. You wonder if he knows just how much it affects you. “Good morning to you too.”

His arms tighten around you, inching you closer until you’re pressed against him. He uses the closeness to bury his face against yours, nosing along your neck and placing sweet pecks paired with content sighs. You’re bundled together, lovers in the morning sun.

It’s cut short far too soon. Steve gets whisked away to his Sunday shift at Family Video and leaving you pouting, with a kiss in the doorway. He looks soft, with his hair still messed up from bed and a handsome grin adorning his face.

You smooth down the collar of his shirt, a nice navy long sleeve, and let your hands linger. You almost consider telling him to skip work and follow you back up the stairs, eager to jump his bones then and there. The side-effect of getting to see him in the morning, voice low and eyes lovely. You give yourself a quiet pat on the back for your self-restraint when you hold the thought, at least til later.

“Wish I could spend all day with you,” Steve says wistfully, planting a quick kiss into your hair. He’s stalling leaving, knowing he’ll be late if he dawdles much longer; Steve never can bring himself to leave on time when you’re here. Not when you kiss him in the doorway like it’s a promise you’ll be there when he gets home.

You smile cheekily. “Well, someone’s gotta be the breadwinner of the family. That’s the whole reason I’m with you, no?”

You tease, raising your brows with a smirk and Steve snorts, hands tugging you closer.

It’s a reference to some absurdly jealous girl who’d been head over heels for Steve since first glance in the Hawkins High’s Halls. As a result, his relationship with you had been viewed merely as an obstacle to getting with the love of her life. She’d gone to his work one day to try her luck and leaned over the counter on one of his shifts, shirt unbuttoned to reveal her cleavage. Then she expressed her heartfelt concern with a coy whisper.

“Steve, I hate that I’m the one who has to break it to you,” She’d said, voice all sweet and breathy as she cast a look at you across the store where you’d been joking with Robin. Steve’s brows had scrunched in confusion, following her gaze, unsure where she was going with this.

“But I’ve heard... just through the grapevine, that she’s totally with you for the money.” She had shaken her head, like she was ashamed of you, and plastered on her most sympathetic look, doe-eyed and entirely insincere. Laid a hand on his arm with a pout. “I’m so sorry you had to find out from me.”

Steve had barely been able to cover his laugh with a cough, ducking his head to hide his grin. Is that so? He wanted to ask, just to see how far she’d take the lie — Steve knew for a fact what she said wasn’t true.

Because you’d been there the day Steve’s father had cut him off for good, with a slap on the wrist and a few too many mean words aimed in spots he knew would hurt. But you’d been there. You’d kissed him softly, said so what? so earnestly he knew you meant it, and then pulled up the newspaper to help him begin searching for jobs without missing a beat.

“Mmhm,” In the present, Steve chuckles, his hand stroking down your arm as he continues the joke. “Total gold-digger you are. Everyone knows it.”

And then he’d left with you another kiss and a promise he’d be by your house just after six, when he finished his shift, to take you out to the movies. You busy yourself in his absence and try not to count the hours. Per his word, Steve swings by just after six, greets you with a kiss, and the two of you cozy up in the back of the theater for a film.

From there, the tension builds, hanging around you like a soft-scented perfume that you can’t shake and only fuelled by Steve’s lingering touches — ones that let you know he’s more than on the same brainwave as you. A finger drawing a line up along your thigh, a kiss too hot on your neck, his hands getting too adventurous for public.

So, when you tumble through his front door together and it quietly snicks shut behind you, there’s a quiet moment where Steve turns back to you, brows raised. Tension stains the air between you.

He’s so fucking handsome, you think. You want to kiss him stupid.

His cheeky smile grows slowly as if he knows exactly what is on your mind.

His hand moves to cradle your jaw, his lips pressing against yours hotly and without meaning to you back up and let him press you against the door. Steve groans softly into the kiss, his other hand coming up to grasp at your side, grip just a bit too tight. It gives away how wound up he really is. You crave the feeling it gives you.

It’s a flurry, his lips kissing, kissing, kissing, til you’re breathless and his hand is higher, thumb tracing higher on your ribcage, skimming but never quite where you want him. Your stomach hums, excitement dancing and stirring up til you’re sure the taste of his lips is your favourite in the world.

After a minute of fervent kissing, Steve finally breaks away with a pant, but his lips don’t stop. They trail down, a soft kiss on your cheek and then one your jaw, your neck. Your head tips back instinctively, giving him easier access. He hums appreciatively.

“Y’so fuckin’ pretty,” He breathes against your skin, quiet enough you wonder if you were meant to hear it. He dives back in, nips at your skin, and you feel his lips pull into a devilish grin when you keen at the lovebite, a soft noise passing your lips. Fuck, he’s always so good at this.

There will be a hickey there tomorrow, no doubt about it. But when his lips reattach and he gives a gentle suck on the skin of your neck, followed by the soothing sensation of his tongue, you really can’t bring yourself to care. Want builds in your stomach.

Your hands struggle to pick a place to fixate on, flitting from his chest to up around his neck. You decide on the latter and wind your fingers in his hair. When he scrapes his teeth against your neck, a little mean, you retaliate with a tug on his hair.

A groan warbles out his throat, a delicious noise that makes your stomach a little warmer, thighs clenching a bit.

With his pause, you seize your chance and tug his head back again gently and Steve lets it fall back, exposing the column of his throat to you. You dip in, dragging your lips against it, and grin when Steve lets another groan tumble out, the vibrations reverberating into you where you lips touch his skin.

You pause, just to tease him. Don’t make a move. Your breath fans out across his neck and Steve tenses, a vein standing out in his neck, his patience waning within seconds.

“Don’t tease,” He warns, voice raspy, but he already sounds a bit wrecked.

Then his hands reignite, as if he’s just remembered them, and the one cupping your jaw moves downward, fleeting touches against your boob that have you gasping against his skin. He kneads the flesh and pinches your nipple, his other hand gripping your hip tight.

Your lips find his throat again, a soft kiss that turns hard and hot. You kiss up along the skin, pull his hair a little, and find that sweet spot under his ear that you know he loves.

Steve lets out another groan, his hand dropping so he can grip your hips on either side and he presses himself against you. His knee navigates between your thighs, an enticing pressure that makes you quiver for a moment — you suck harder on his neck in retaliation.

His groan turns into a borderline whine as he inhales a sharp breath. Against your thigh, his hardness presses into you, giving away just how riled up you’ve got him.

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, between a pant. “Y’gonna kill me.“

His fingers pulse tighter against your hips for a moment. He drops his head forward, his forehead touching yours. “Let me take you upstairs, yeah?”

You force yourself to drag yourself away from his kiss-bitten neck, a grin curling at your lips.

“Jeez, at least buy a girl dinner first.” You jest, just to make him laugh. Like he hadn’t bought you dinner and paid for the movie tickets as well, because he loves to spoil you.

He does laugh, with a huff and a poorly concealed smile. His hands slide from your hips, wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

Like you can sense it right before he says it, some stupidly cheesy line, one of your hands shoots out to cover his mouth.

“Whatever you’re thinking of saying,” You say, voice doused in amusement. “Don’t.”

Steve’s eyes dance in delight and before you predict it, the wetness of his tongue splays against your palm and you squeal, winding it back.

“Save that for later.” You tease, scrunching your nose as you exaggeratedly wipe your hand against his shirt. Steve doesn’t seem to care, his feet beginning to backtrack, and bundled in his arms, you go with him.

“I hope you mean now.” He murmurs playfully, voice dipping a bit lower, just to turn you on, and it sends a delightful shiver down your spine. You speed up your footsteps, the itch to get him between the sheets increasing.

He spins, releasing his grip but still grasping one of your hands in his. Your footsteps thunder up the stairs behind Steve, a giggle of anticipation slipping out and nipping at your heels that pushes you both faster. Steve nudges the door open hastily, and in a flurry, your back meets his sheets.

The warmth of his body is a weight you’ll always welcome, especially when Steve’s lips trail back along your throat. His teeth sink in, his mouth hot and wet, kisses that draw a thread of breathy noises from you. His hips cant into yours, a slow roll that has your thighs falling further apart automatically, the beginning of a whimper forming.

His hands tangle with the edge of your shirt, fingertips skirting under. They’re hot, burning against your skin.

He halts his kissing for just a moment, to pull back and pant, “Can I?”

You’re nodding before he can even get the question out. He tugs it up, the fabric sliding up and the smoothness of the motion leaves you a bit breathless. Steve stares down at you, eyes a mixture of affection and a hunger for more.

“You,” his large hands splay against your bare stomach, one moving up and sketching a line of heat where his fingertips linger. He leans close, lips scratching a kiss into your collarbone. Whispers his sweetness into your skin. “You’re so fucking beautiful. M’so lucky. How’d I get you all to myself, hm?”

The question makes your body hum, like a live wire, your knees tightening around his hips. Your hands clamber up around his neck and you tug his head up, claiming his lips with your own. You grind your hips back up against Steve, pleasure licking up your spine at the feeling of his hard cock dragging against you.

“Please,” you tease, words a bit breathy. “Everyone knows I’m with you for the money.”

Steve faux gasps, a laugh slipping through his facade at the inside joke you both share. He pulls back a bit, a pout on his pink lips, sheened with spit. He’s sitting up now, hair already a bit ruffled, handsome face housing a grin you love so dearly.

“Is that so?” He asks, brows raised.

You nod, a giggle tittering out before you stop it. Steve can’t help his smile, a quiet joy quelled beneath his lust over the fact you’re both so comfortable with each other. Laughing in bed, jokes in between the moans — Steve feels his stomach pool hotter, his love for you somehow still ever-growing.

“Take it back.” He demands, dropping down closer — his hands plant on either side of your head.

You squirm against the bed, trying to grind up against him again but it’s futile, he’s pulled back too far. Steve grins deviously. You arch your chest out and give Steve your best bedroom eyes, lids low and eyes dark.

“Take this off first,” You counter, hands tugging on the ends of his own shirt. Steve doesn’t need to be told twice.

It’s nearly as smooth as the removal of your shirt had been, his toned arms twisting to yank the fabric up — until it gets caught on his head. Steve makes a surprised noise and decides to tug it harder, his arms caught above his head, face hidden in the fabric. You laugh without meaning to.

Steve tugs again, managing to free himself but not before he topples sideways and disappears in the mass of his duvet with an oof!

You laugh loudly, covering it behind your hands, and roll in his direction, amusement dancing along your features. Steve’s head pops up, hair properly mussed now, and he grins. His hand clutches the meddlesome shirt and he flings it behind him mindlessly. It lands on his bedside table, hanging off the lamp.

“Where were we?” He asks, with a wiggle of his brows.

You shift up and swing your leg across his lap, seating yourself atop him and the shape of him makes you hiss pleasantly. Hands creeping up his bare chest, teasingly slow, you smile and it borders a smirk. “I was… taking it… back?”

Your voice is coy, tone doused in suggestiveness as your nails dig in and rake back down his chest. Beneath them, you can feel the rumble of his groan and he wastes no time in getting his hands back on you. His fingers find the waistband of your pants, dipping in and you suck in a breath instinctively.

He doesn’t even get to ask before you’re nodding, already anticipating his question. Steve smiles, guides you down and peppers kisses along your neck with a half-hearted hum— all the while, his other hand works open the button of your jeans.

“Steve,” you say breathily. You don’t know what you’re asking for, why you’re saying his name, just that it’s right.

“Y’good?” He asks, hands not stilling but not delving any further into the confines of your pants. When you nod, fervent and a bit too enthusiastic, his tone turns a bit heavier. “You gonna be good f’me, yeah?”

The whine that comes out of you in response takes you by surprise, body reacting with a filthy grind down against him. Steve doesn’t even get a chance to look smug, pleasure shuttering across his face as he tilts his head back.

“Fuck,” he says, hands tight on your hips. He guides them, pulling you harder down against himself and bucking up. He presses into you at the exact angle to have you keening, a happy sigh tumbling out your throat. “Fuck.” He huffs against, voice strained.

“Please do just that.” You say, a bit cheeky, grinding down harder just to make him moan properly — his head buries further in the pillow, eyes clenched closed for just a moment and the sound he makes travels right to your cunt.

Steve grapples to control himself, his chest beginning to heave. He manages to respond, voice still smooth in that way you’ve learned is his specific Harrington Charm.

“As you wish, honey.”

And god, if that doesn’t do something to you.

You can’t deny how much it turns you on when Steve manhandles you, a swift turn of your bodies where you find yourself back on your back with Steve hovering above you. His hands toy with the edge of your jeans, shimmying them down and discarding them somewhere behind you both.

You pant a bit, stomach stirring at how Steve gazes at you — the way his fists clench slightly give away his utter desire for you.

“You’re entirely overdressed.” you rasp, aiming for seductive but accidentally landing closer to whiny.

A glow raises in your cheeks, face hot, but Steve seems to revel in your words, his hands making hasty work of his belt. Unwittingly, your mouth waters a bit.

He sheds the extra layer in a moment, leaving him in just his boxers. You take a moment to recognise them, the Batman logo printed all across them. He clearly hasn’t meant for you to see them. For the second time tonight, you laugh before you can suppress it.

“Hey,” Steve jabs a finger at you, cheeks a bit pinker than they were a second ago. “It’s laundry day, okay?”

It’s a bit meek, said too feebly for you to actually believe. You raise your brows and wait for him to crack. It takes only another moment.

“Oh my god, fine,” he sighs dramatically, scrubbing his hands down his face. He drops them and then away at his sides, his face still warm. “I didn’t want to assume I’d get to fuck you tonight. They were at the top of the drawer, alright?”

Your heart does a little kick at that. Your wonderful, hot, never-presumptuous boyfriend that you fucking adore — it never manages to not astound you with the new way he turns you on.

“Then clearly,” you begin, wiggling closer. Your legs move up, circling around his hips and you cross your ankles at his tailbone — and urge him closer, feeling your own wetness stain against the final layer on your cunt.

Steve’s cock fits snugly between your folds and he gives a delicious grind, brows scrunching at the sensation. You fight to keep your voice steady as you continue, “You don’t know me that well.”

Steve huffs, some half growl escaping his lips. He sneaks his fingers under the band of your panties on either side of your hips and begins to pull down. They slide down your thighs, tantalizingly slow, and you’re unable to do anything but watch him. Steve’s gaze turns heavier and he licks his lips, teeth sinking in to hold back another noise of approval.

Then unexpectedly, the next words out of his mouth come out in a poor french accent. “Mon dieu,” Steve mutters, already smiling because he knows you’ll laugh at this.

You do, a startled laugh— especially when Steve wrangles your panties off your ankles and repeats his earlier motions of the night, sending them flying behind him carelessly.

“Steve, what are you—“

“Mademoiselle,” He interrupts, voice huskier than normal, completely on purpose.

“Oh my god,” you say in exasperation, yet the love leaks into the work, obvious and undeniable. Steve grins, thankfully dropping the voice and instead working his hands back up your body. They crawl beneath your torso, fingers searching, and make quick work of your bra. It comes away with his hands, straps scraping against your arms.

“Oh, sweetheart.” he sighs contently. Like they’ve got a mind of their own, his rough hands meet the soft skin of your boobs, kneading and thumbing at your nipples. Beneath his touch, they harden and pleasure thrums hot in your core when he twists them lightly, a gasp pushing your lips.

“Steve,” you whine hotly, pushing up against him.

“What d’ya need, honey?” He murmurs, dipping closer and restarting his kisses against your neck. He suckles gently, the barest hint of his teeth, lips soft and tongue hot.

“Y’gonna tell me what you need?” He hums, but even as he asks, one of his hands creeps downwards, landing on your thigh. He inches it closer, his thumb rubbing against the soft inside of your thigh.

The pillow rubs against your cheek as you nod fervently, turning to press your face into the pillow. Even after all this time with Steve, there’s no quelling the nerves in your stomach. But even with your enthusiastic nods, you know Steve needs your words.

“You.” The word is a bit whimpery. “Please, Stevie, s’you I need. You— your-” you cut yourself off, shyness creeping in and stealing your words.

Steve senses it, a quiet chuckle against your neck, and his fingers draw higher, til they ghost across your cunt. “Mm? Sweet girl gonna tell me when she wants?”

His words both make your face warm and your stomach flutter— he loves to goad your shyness, drinks in the reactions when you give he pushes it.

“Don’t make me say it, please.” You plead softly, resisting the urge to burrow further into the pillow.

Steve had told you early on when you’d started sleeping together in your relationship that he wanted nothing less than for you to hide away from him. I wanna see your face, okay? Wanna see everything from you. And hear all those pretty sounds you make, yeah?

A sound like the one you make now when he doesn’t make you wait, a pad of his thumb tracing down the folds of your cunt. His fingers dip in, soft touches that draw out a gasp as he trails them back up, beginning gentle circles against your clit. A fire in your belly that’s never quite extinguished burns a bit hotter. Your legs spread open further.

“Oh, honey,” he coos, devouring every reaction you give. “You’re doing so good. All worked already?”

His thumb rubs a bit rougher, circles faster, and his fingers stroke back down to your entrance. A moan punctuates the air, dragged out of your chest as one of his fingers slips inside, a stretch that has your back arching up.

“Please…” You sigh, words lost to your breathy moans as the finger pumps in and out, far too in tune with the circles on your clit for you to think straight. “So good, baby, you’re so good at this, fuck—“

Steve’s mouth moves south, his lips curling around your nipple and adding to the stream of stimulation. It’s overwhelming, the heat of his mouth and the curl of his fingers in your cunt— you can hear how turned on you are, your slick gushing against Steve’s fingers, and it only fuels the fire under your skin. You’re unbearably warm.

“That’s it,” The soft praise falls from Steve’s mouth, pausing his licking and sucking. “Good girl. So fucking wet for me, huh?”

The words inspire a lick of heat along your spine, the coil in your stomach tightening even more. Your breath staggers and you whine in response to his words. Shit, at this rate you could very well come undone before you even get him out of those stupid Batman boxers.

You wonder if this is Steve’s plan; it sure isn’t yours. You want him now.

“Anyone ever tell you,” you huff, a bit breathless. It takes effort to formulate sentences, the words coming out a bit whimpery. “What a motor-mouth you have in bed?”

Steve’s kisses work up to your collarbone, before drops one swollen kiss on your lips and smirks from above you, “In more ways than one.”

Something about the cockiness in his voice only adds to the anticipation building beneath your skin, your head lolling against the pillow as sweet noises escape your mouth.

Steve watches, eyes fixed on where his fingers sink lazily into you, curling in a way that makes your breath hitch loudly — it only serves to add to the growing heat in his stomach, blood rushing to his cock, which twitches at the sight. He groans to himself, head delirious with his desire.

His name is the only word you can seem to remember and as Steve’s fingers pump faster, precise curls, it leaves your mouth in a flurry that is all too telling about how close you are. He nearly feels bad to take it from you, nearly.

A disappointed whine draws out at the sudden removal of his fingers and Steve chuckles, a confident drawl in his voice. Your brows scrunch together in frustration, hips up twitching ever-so-slightly, searching for the lost stimulation even as your building pleasure tapers off. Asshole, you think, not meaning it even a little bit. You pant lightly.

Steve doesn’t waste a second, using his freed hands to begin to dig in his bedside table for a condom.

“Why are you laughing?” You grumble with a pout, chest still heaving. As his search proves fruitful, proven by a little aha! and the glisten of the condom wrapper, your hands reach up to cup his face and tug him back to you greedily. His hands stumble and plant on either side of you, letting you pull him in for a searing kiss. Steve hums into it with a grin.

“You’re like some sort of supervillain,” You mumble against his lips, a smile already curling at your mouth.“Laughing at my misery.”

Steve breaks the kiss, dropping his voice an octave to rumble out a spooky “Mwahaha,” that tickles laughter out of you in seconds. You thwack him lightly on the arm just so you can kiss away the pout he makes - because you know him that well.

The kiss is sweet and saturated with adoration, kisses that break off just to steal another. I love him, you think. I love him so completely. The wonderful thought melts and curls up in your mind, like a cat purring beside a fire, like it had always been there and you had only just noticed it.

It only feeds the anticipation that thrums through your body, your prior disappointment already long forgotten at the sight in front of you, at the delirious thought still spinning in your mind.

All the while, Steve’s hands shed off his boxers and make quick work of the condom. When he’s situated, his slender fingers curve around his leaking cock and give a light tug to relieve the building tension, eyes fluttering for a moment.

His other rests on your thigh, soothing subconscious touches; Steve never could keep his hands off you for long. His eyes trail up, committing each detail of you to memory.

Seeing you like this, Steve swears it never gets old; he could find sunsets in the curves of your skin and melodies in every moan. It’s vulnerable, exposing yourself to him and trusting him, all the same, to take care of you. And fuck, if he doesn’t love taking care of you.

But tonight, you have a particular moonstruck look on your face. Enough to make him pause, thumb skimming atop your thigh. “What?” He asks, with a hint of a chuckle.

Your cheeks grow a bit warmer and you fight the urge to hide your face in the pillow. Holding his gaze, his amber eyes which only hold endless patience and love, it’s not even a choice to tell him. The words bubble up inside, golden and sweet like you’d just taken a swig of pure ambrosia, and they spill out of you.

“S’just,” you begin, teeth scraping across your bottom lip. “I love you, Steve.”

Steve seems to freeze, his thumb halting its motions on your skin but there’s not even a moment for panic to trickle in — not when he flushes, cheeks rosy, and a pure expression of elation overtakes his features.

“You do?”

It’s nearly a whisper, uttered like he’d worried you’d take it back the moment he believed it. You’re already nodding by the time your words catch up with you, nervousness making them fall out without thought. “A lot. I love you a lot. So much. So many.”

A wet-sounding laugh splutters out of him as Steve’s face splits into a beam and he’s on you in an instant. He’s hovering above you, held up by his arms, but his face crowds in close — kiss after kiss finds its way onto your skin.

“So many, huh?” He teases before his voice drops to a murmur, words thick with emotion, and another weak wet laugh comes out. “I love you so many as well.”

You groan at his mocking and tuck your face in the crook of his neck, hiding away your giddy grin.

“Don’t be mean,” you whine but still revel in Steve’s unstoppable shower of kisses, warm and wet, one after another. “I got nervous.”

His lips work along your neck until you’re forced to tilt your head out of your hiding place and he captures your lips with his without hesitation. It feels like home, the curve of his mouth that you could recognise in the dark you’ve kissed it enough.

“Nervous?” He asks against your lips, the question halfway between disbelief and happiness. His eyes search yours desperately, pools of affection shining in the chocolate colour of them, giving away his complete elation. “My girl.”

Another kiss, molten hot affection that melts into your skin, from Steve. Your arms tangle over his shoulders, bring him closer, til his chest scratches against yours and you’re pulling him closer, closer, you can’t get him close enough. The craving in your stomach twists up, a reminder of what your love declaration had interrupted.

You wiggle your hips slightly, knees bending so you can slide your legs up and encircle his waist, hot skin against hot skin. You kiss him once more and nudge your nose against his gently, to halt his kisses.

“Yeah, yeah,” you tease, all too fond. “You love me, I love you. Y’still gonna fuck me, hm?”

Steve grins, “Ouch, way to make a guy think you said all that just for the sex.”

He raises a hand to cover his wounded heart for a moment, but it settles on your thigh, pushing it back an inch. His other hand curls back around his heavy cock, lining it up with your pulsing cunt that quivers in anticipation - Steve groans a bit at the heat he can already feel.

“I already told you,” you grin at the inside joke, words all breathy. Your thighs tighten around his waist impatiently. “It’s all for the money, baby.”

Steve scoffs with a smile that melts away as he steals another kiss. His hips shift forward, burying himself in you slowly with a moan that sends shivers down your spine, fingers clutching your hips tighter. A high keening noise pushes out of you as Steve rolls his hips gently, a slow fuck into your wet cunt.

“Shit,” he curses, movements still gentle as he pulls back and sinks into you, a tortuously slow pace that has your hips moving back against him. “Honey, fuck, y’so wet, so soft.”

“Stevie,” You whimper, hands grappling for a better grip on his broad shoulders. Like he can tell what you’re asking for instantly, one of his hands travels from your hip and clasps atop yours. He tugs it off and presses it against the sheets beside your head, his large fingers moving to link with yours instinctively.

You clutch at his hand, squeezing your intertwined hands tighter as Steve begins to build his pace, your moans egging him on. His face drops lower, warm breaths fanning over your face as his other hand tugs your hips back on his cock strongly. He strokes in, giving and giving to your mounting pleasure. Your skin burns warm; your chest arches up and the nails of your free hand sink into his back.

“So good for me, yeah?” He grunts, but it gives way to a groan as you clench around him. “My girl, my sweet girl, you feel fucking so good on my cock.”

God, him and his fucking motor-mouth. Your breath is heavy, cunt blazing warmth, and the coil in your stomach begins to burn again.

“Steve,” you mewl like it’s a praise.

“I know, I know,” He murmurs. His hand squeezes yours as he gives a particularly deep thrust, the head of his cock finding the spot inside you that makes you squirm. Makes the blood in your veins turns to pure confetti; a long moan drags out your lips and you bury it in his skin.

“Feels so good,” you cry softly, fingers flexing against his. Your hips are moving without thought, meeting his thrusts and Steve moans brokenly when your cunt flutters around him. “Y’feel so good, baby.” You praise him with a whimper.

Steve‘s arms keeping him up stutter a bit at your words, more of his weight pressing against you and you welcome it, legs tightening their grip.

“Y’so. Fucking. Good.” He punctuates each word with a thrust, fucking you harder and beginning to lose his rhythm as he chases his pleasure. “So pretty, my girl, hm? Could fuck this pretty pussy all day. Fuck, I— nothing feels as good as you, sweetheart, I swear, nothin’.”

Through your pleasurable haze, you manage to scrounge up a halfhearted joke, a soft smile peeking through on your face. “What’d I say? Such a motor-mouth.” The final word is swallowed up by your gasp.

Steve grins, not slowing his motions in the slightest. He looks fucking beautiful like this; his hair disheveled and wild, cheeks rosy, a slight sheen of sweat on his brow.

“You love it,” He bites back gleefully — he dips his head to scrape a kiss along your neck, up your jaw. You whine as he rolls his hips into you expertly, each thrust managing to steal your breath and make your stomach grow hotter. The beginnings of your orgasm trickle in.

“I do,” you agree, fond and voice sticky with bliss. “I love you.”

Steve’s cock twitches inside you, paired with a soft moan that Steve buries into your neck. His thrusts speed up, chasing desperately as he whines, the noise pathetic and whimpery, and he clutches your hand tighter.

“Fuck, I love you too.” He says, a sloppy kiss granted on your neck, then he laughs weakly. “Please tell me you’re close too.”

“I am,” you gasp, head nodding and eyes scrunching closed as the buzz of heat swells inside you, thighs twitching and clenching around him tighter. “I am, baby, please.”

“C’mon honey,” he urges with a pant, voice strained and face wrecked, contorted in his pleasure. His free hand shifts up, pushing back your hair so he can see your face and his nose nuzzles against yours. “I know you can do it. Y’gonna cum for me? Be a good girl and cum on my cock, yeah?”

His voice turns cooing like he knows exactly what it’ll do to you to hear him beg. “C’mon, be good for me. Cum for me, honey, please,”

You tense up as his words hook into the coil in your stomach and tug, unraveling it and you with a soft cry. Legs gripping him tighter, you arch and writhe as the ache in your cunt pulses so deliciously, pleasure flooding every nerve — Steve fucks into the tightness, low whines in this throat as he chases his own orgasm.

“Say it,” he rasps, hips snapping fast and milking every second of your bliss, dragging it out as you clench around him. “Please, honey, wanna hear it.”

He says it so low, you nearly don’t hear it but you know exactly what he means. Your fingers clutch at his tighter, your intertwined hands keeping you connected and you nod, breathless, and tell him exactly what he wants to hear.

“I love you, Steve. Love you, ah, love you so much. Want you to cum for me, please,”

He falls apart, breath stuttering as he releases a desperate moan which dissolves into a kiss, soft lips scraping yours. His hips move a bit slower, jerky motions, as he clenches your hand tightly and whispers all his ardent love onto you, a dozen i love you’s between a thousand kisses.

His forehead presses against your forehead and you revel in the final zings of pleasure that rush up your spine as he slows his thrusts.

Your free hand drifts off his shoulder, soothing through his hair as all motion slows to a stop, Steve’s breath warming your shoulder. He drops his weight a bit, energy spent, and squishes against you and you make a noise somewhere between a squeal and a laugh.

“Y’good?” You ask, fingers still stroking through his hair. Wordlessly, Steve nods, chest still heaving but you can spot the gorgeous grin that graces his face, eyes closed.

Basking in the warmth of your love, you stay interwoven together. You’re warm but not just from the hot press of his body against yours; no, you gleam from the inside, pure glittering light because you love him.

You break the moment, the glow hazing out to tiredness and you free your hand from his hair to pat his shoulder softly.

“Okay, gross, you’re sweaty, get off me.”

Steve laughs, even as he peels himself off you, biceps tensing as he props himself up. “Yeah, ‘cos I just rocked your world.”

A laugh bursts out of you, though you don’t deny his words. Steve eases himself out of you gently and the stimulation makes you gasp lightly, lashes fluttering. You slump into the bed, feeling slightly melted as Steve deals with the condom and you’re fairly convinced you could just drift off in a moment. Steve doesn’t let you.

A poke on your arm. Your eyes peek open, seeing your boyfriend back in his silly little Batman boxers and a smile pulls on your lips. “Go pee.” He says.

You groan, eyes sliding shut again and he pokes you again, a jab at your shoulder.

“Go pee,” He insists, shuffling off the bed to stand up. When you make no motion to move, his hands hook around your knees and he tugs. You slide forward with a yelp and Steve grins when you frown but relent, getting to your feet. Your legs wobble for just a moment, a tad unsteady, and it only feeds Steve’s shit-eating grin.

“Shut up,” you warn, without any real heat. Steve raises his hands, not saying a word, though his chuffed expression says enough. He holds out one of his shirts — old and softened, it’s one of his old swim-team ones — and you slip into it easily. The trip to the bathroom is quick, already eager to be bundled back up in his arms and you nearly skip back to his room.

He’s in bed when you push the door open, covers pulled back, and waiting for you to join him. The slight smile on his face blooms into a grin that he pairs with grabby hands in your direction. You don’t deny him for even a moment, feet dancing across the carpet to clamber in beside him.

His arms, strong and sure, pull you against his chest and you hum contently with a smile, settling against him comfortably. Steve tugs up the duvet to cover you both. Cheek against his chest, you can hear the thump of his heartbeat easily and it eases some part of your soul, like a finger soothing down invisible hackles that raise whenever you’re apart from him.

“Can you say it again?”

He mumbles the question against your hairline where his lips rest and it turns your heart inside out, both pained and pleased that he wants to hear it as much as you want to say it.

“I love you, Steve Harrington.” You say without faltering, nuzzling closer to him. You drop one kiss on his chest, above his heart, and grin. “You totally rock my world.”

Where you expect some dramatized groan, Steve only laughs, the sound light and easy. His arms tighten around you, his lips gifting another sweet kiss atop your head. “Yeah, you too, sweet girl.”

And it makes you love him all the more.

(dis is my first smut soOOoOOoo pls do indeed come tell me how i did)

#did i slay this? mayhaps 😎#considering everything in this appeals solely to me #like i took 'write for urself' and RAN with it with this LMAO #hopefully....HOPEFULLY this hits the mark with some of you guys too #it truly is the most vanilla of sex <3 but rlly i just wanna fuck him and tell him i love him #true sap over here :)#if u think this has too many jokes in it consider this: don't care #i genuinely think that if u can joke around in bed then u are 10x more intimate #LAUGHTER IS LOVE BABEY!!!#god he makes me insane #ruby writes steve #steve harrington #steve #harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington smut #omg first time using that tag <-- who am i #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fic #whew this was #A CHALLENGE

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redrose10 · 4 months

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🌹 𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥

𝓒𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓸𝓷 & 𝓥𝓪𝓷𝓲𝓵𝓵𝓪 (Completed)

Summary: You were selected to marry the wayward CEO/Billionaire/Heir, Min Yoongi. You went into it with an open mind and heart determined to try and make it work. Yoongi on the other hand had no intention of ever letting you in let alone allowing himself to fall in love with you. Slowly you start to associate the smell of cinnamon and vanilla with the feelings of hurt and sorrow.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 The Proposal

Alternate Ending 1 (very angsty) Alternate Ending 2

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓾𝓭𝓮 𝓘𝓷𝓷 (Ongoing)

Summary: You have never experienced true love which is hilarious considering you write romance novels for a living. When you end up staying at The Interlude Inn located in Holly Falls you start to wonder if maybe the answer to your newest love story is sitting behind the welcome desk. Quickly, you find out that Min Yoongi hides a lot of pain and sorrow behind his shy smiles and quick glances.

Part 1 Part 2

He Knows- Yoongi

#bts #bts fanfic #bts x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #cinnamon&vanilla #jin #namjoon #hoseok #jimin #taehyung #jungkook #bts fic

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janayuga · 2 months

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We know about their wedding & renewal of vows.. but how about DC & PV’s prom? 👀

I’m guessing they were the Prom Kings of their school 💕

(Please excuse the sub-bar art, ive had a massive migraine all day but I really wanted to finish this T-T)

Nope! Golden Cheese, being the school’s Queen Bee, won by a landslide, all by herself.

Girlie doesn’t need no Promking or Promqueen at her side to win 💪

(Purecacao was voted as cutest couple though and spent most their prom dancing or snuggling somewhere🫶)

#please someone tell me they recognize the outfit i put on Vanilla #also had HAD to include the little gems you included in the fic #too fucking cute #cookie run kingdom #cookie run kingdom au #sketch #doodle #pure vanilla cookie #purecacao #dark cacao cookie #golden cheese cookie #white lily cookie #hollyberry cookie #ancient cookies

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thebiscuitlabryinth · 2 months

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There is an intimacy to sharing a body with someone. That's an obvious conclusion to make, but to experience it is something else entirely.

Shadow Milk may be adept at controlling people, but he has never possessed anyone before, not like this. He has never had any need to in the first place, because before his unjust imprisonment, he'd had his own body. Even if there hypothetically could have been a need, he much preferred the detachment his puppet strings allowed him. There was a superiority to having full control of a situation while being completely untouched by it, and that aside, inhabiting some insignificant Cookie's body as a concept was irritating, an insult to his own skill and strength.

Unfortunately, the circumstances have now changed. It is a compromise he is willing to accept though, because he'd take anything over staying sealed, and because he isn't sharing a body with just anyone.

No, it is Pure Vanilla Cookie, who is nowhere near as brilliant as Shadow Milk himself, but nowhere near as insignficant as the rest of Cookiekind either. No, he's special, and he has Shadow Milk's Soul Jam, so it is ultimately a matter of efficiency, to latch onto him.

Still, he had expected it to feel odd. Shadow Milk hasn't had a physical body in a long, long time so on principle, he figured becoming grounded and solid again would already be a strange feeling, let alone in a body that wasn't his original one.

But when he settles into Pure Vanilla's dough for the first time, Shadow Milk is forced to reassess his assumptions, because while it isn't familiar, it feels right. Like it is already his, and was always meant to be.

Thinking on it now, it is obvious that it would. Pure Vanilla isn't just anybody – he is the current holder of his Soul Jam, and no matter how undeserving that may be, that must make them compatible with one another. Even now, Shadow Milk can feel the core of his stolen power, so close yet just far out of reach.

That, of course, is the drawback of this little plan. Pure Vanilla is awfully paranoid – though Shadow Milk will admit, he is flattered with how often he crosses his mind – so he doesn't get many opportunities to seize control, and the ones he does get, he has to achingly hold back from jumping at.

Shadow Milk may be a jester, but he's no fool. He understands dramatic tension and build-up better than anyone else, and something like this is only worthy of being a heartstopping cliffhanger reveal, right on the cusp of the show's climax! To be able to do that, he has to play the waiting game for a little bit. It's aggravating, especially since he had planned to be free as a bird by now, but it isn't the worse. More fun than growing stale in a tree, at least.

And Shadow Milk really is fascinated by the intimacy of sharing this body. The inherent closeness, the blurring of lines and the warmth. Pure Vanilla's thoughts run like a river, sometimes churning furiously and other times meandering slow like honey, and he fishes them up effortlessly to marvel at how soft and ridiculous he is.

Pure Vanilla is not aware of Shadow Milk's presence. Well, that isn't quite true, because he obviously has suspicions, with how he mumbles questions and warnings to his reflection with a wary, anxious tone. How could he not, when Shadow Milk entertains himself with whispers and visions and taunts that are intangible enough to be classed as hallucination?

But he doesn't know about Shadow Milk's presence for certain, which means he can't fish Shadow Milk's thoughts out in return. It doesn't seem like they spill over naturally either. Shadow Milk wishes they did, wishes some of his more fun thoughts seeped into Pure Vanilla's brain like syrup, just to see how he would startle and panic.

Ah well. There were other ways to fluster him. It was easy, actually, as long as you knew what to say, and Shadow Milk is a master with words.

Shadow Milk taps their finger lazily against the staff while Pure Vanilla is busy, focused on his conversation with White Lily and those itty-bitty Cookies – and they really are itty-bitty, barely out the Oven, especially not compared to him. It's an easily overlooked movement, but that is exactly why Shadow Milk does it, finding it exciting to slowly push at those boundaries.

Moving the body without full control makes it feel less like his own hand, and more like his hand is laying on the top of Pure Vanilla's and moving it in tandem. It is almost similar to puppeting, if it wasn't for the added sensation of their hands merging together with the movement, warm and cold and heavy with the presence of another person. It feels thrilling, and it feels like two opposite magnets forced together, and it feels like coming home.

Shadow Milk knows it will feel even better when he is in full control. The freedom is exciting on its own, but Pure Vanilla will probably kick up a little fuss too. To press him into surrender under his presence, to surround and suffocate him so thoroughly that he lives in his very dough, that their minds and spirits have no choice but to intertwine – that is the sort of romanticism lovesick maidens would crumble for, truly, to be possessed in all senses of the word, and Shadow Milk is going to offer it all to Pure Vanilla on a silver platter. He should be thankful, he really should!

As for him, to possess Pure Vanilla in every meaningful way possible just feels natural. Again, Shadow Milk finds himself considering how Pure Vanilla really is his, and it is just as true as before. It has been true since the moment Pure Vanilla recieved his Soul Jam, and the moment Shadow Milk first laid eyes on him, which are incidentally one and the same.

It's so unfair, really. That he has to wait even longer when he could take over completely at the slightest push of effort.

Pure Vanilla, seemingly finished with his little conversation, begins to stroll off on his own. He pauses on a bridge, looking over the edge into the clear waters below, and Shadow Milk takes the opportunity to wink at him, Pure Vanilla's mouth twitching into an echo of a smirk, just to tease.

Pure Vanilla jolts, and blinks furiously back, shaking his head. Shadow Milk retreats from the surface to soak himself in the rushing of Pure Vanilla's thoughts.

I didn't– did I? No, no, no, I must be seeing things. The water's surface is quite far away, and the current must have disrupted my reflection–

Shadow Milk hums, pleased with himself, and it translates to an ominous chill down Pure Vanilla's spine.

Shadow Milk still wants his own body again, eventually. It isn't exactly feasible to share one long-term, because even though he is confident in his own abilities, there will always be a non-zero chance of Pure Vanilla stealing control at a vital moment.

For now, though, it's fun. A novelty he hasn't grown tired of yet.

It's only fair, anyway, since Pure Vanilla has his Soul Jam. If anything, it's his right.

#i was actually working on a follow-up from my previous fic #but then i was overtaken by demons (sm) again so. sorry.#wanted to write a quick one about early stage sv possession. bone apple teeth!#shadowvanilla #vanilla milkshake #pureshadow #shadow milk cookie #pure vanilla cookie #the biscuit library

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theminecraftbee · 8 months

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“Alright, Iskall, pay up. You know the price. Three diamonds,” Stress says gleefully.

“That doesn’t count!” complains Iskall, from where he’s stretched out on the floor, rubbing at his poor, poor ankles. He’d misjudged a jump while building and, despite being a pro gamer, hadn’t managed to throw his water bucket out in time.

“Well, why not?” Stress says. “You told me I needed to help incentivize you to acclimate to vanilla again, you did. It’s important to make sure you don’t do silly modded things and get hurt. So, pay up. Three diamonds. Hurry up!”

“It doesn’t count,” Iskall says. “I don’t use Stonefall. I’m a professional. I use a water bucket.”

“Well you didn’t there,” Stress says.

“I don’t understand why I’m letting you do this. You tried to Dash earlier too!”

Stress huffs. “Yeah, which means neither of us paid. I’m sympathetic. That’s why I’m doing it.”

“You? Sympathetic? To me?”

“That’s what I said,” Stress says. “Three diamonds.”

“And I’m not paying! I didn’t use Stonefall! I just missed a landing. Because you distracted me. You’re a distracter,” Iskall says.

“I wasn’t talking about Stonefall anyway,” Stress says. “When was the last time you ate?”

“I’m not out of sprint yet?” Iskall says, baffled. Sure, now that she says it he’s plenty hungry, but there’s not really a purpose if he’s not out of sprint yet. There’s…

Wait.

“That doesn’t count either!” Iskall shouts.

Stress cackles. “I think people normally eat when they’re hurt in vanilla, love, pay up!”

“No! Nein! No! That doesn’t count! It’s a bad habit in the overworld in modded too!”

“I don’t know, sounds like you thought you could just Heal the injuries.”

“You’re bleeding me dry! This is—this is highway robbery!”

“Yep! Welcome back to Hermitcraft!”

Stress grins at Iskall a while longer. After several seconds staring, he grumbles and fishes for the diamonds in his pockets. “I’d been playing early game. I’ll adjust faster, I thought. I won’t have as many skills and talents and busted gear to get used to not having, I thought. Even with her silly scheme, I won’t be paying, no sir.”

“Well, you are a bit of a moron,” Stress says.

“Hey! I’m giving you free, undeserved cash! And you mock me! You mock me!”

“Just telling it like it is.”

He grumbles in mock offense.

(…yeah, he’d missed Hermitcraft.)

#hermitcraft #Iskall85 #stressmonster #I just wanted to write a silly stresskall thing #and also my persistent headcanon that vault hunters adjust Badly to switching back to vanilla because. well.#THE POWER SCALING IS A LITTLE. DIFFERENT…#a bee fic

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tongues--and--teeth · 2 months

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Lovvveeeee this fic from @thebiscuitlabryinth sooo much omg. She’s such a visual writer I felt like I could actually see what was going on while reading lol.

Click for better quality!

POV: you’re Pure Vanilla Cookie

#Sorry for the tag!#I cannot give compliments for the life of me sorry #tbf I really like all his fics #but this one….. I am a sucker for dream sequences and stained glass….#couldn’t get SM’s soul jam fizzling out to look right #like I drew a whole abyss thing under it but it just kinda… didn’t work #anyway SM in light while PVs in more shadow a la we’re two sides of the same coin #they’re so special to me I also think they kiss right after this /j #crk #teethart #cookie run fanart #cookie run kingdom #fanart #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk crk #cookie run #pure vanilla crk #pure vanilla cookie #vanilla milkshake #shadowvanilla #pureshadow #pure vanilla x shadow milk #digital art #artists on tumblr #honestly though it might just be the flu talking but this might be legit the best thing I’ve ever drawn #They're in the solarium of unity right??? bc I swear I saw that

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teecupangel · 6 months

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If Desmond ever ended up in the Persona 5 universe, I wonder what he would think of the Phantom Thieves? Would he be a confidant for Akira/Ren/Joker, be a neutral party? Become a Phantom Thief himself? I can't help but think that because of his Bleeds, he'd end up having his ancestors show up as Personas to help him fight in the Metaverse.

Ngl, I wanna make Desmond the Sun because of my penchant of giving Desmond something related to the very thing that killed him but based on his ‘situation’, these are the Arcanas that Desmond can be part of in my opinion:

Aeon (many of the Aeon Personas have an affinity to light and a common theme for Aeon representatives are that they are unfamiliar with the world they are in and are struggling to find their place in this world which describes Desmond’s current predicament and also… there’s no Aeon confidant in P5 so Desmond won’t be sharing this spot with anyone or, worse, won’t be removing an existing confidant)

Sun (A character in a lonely and most of the time terribly situation, signifying the hopelessness of them succeeding with the end results being them having to reflect on their situation and coming to peace with themselves and what is happening to them)

Moon (being attuned subconsciously to the world around someone, gaining the ability to sense things without being told about them, or without anyone else knowing, this arcana is also sometimes called the Arcana of Lies and Deceit which Desmond would be doing anyway because there’s no way he’ll tell the truth)

Death (metamorphosis and deep change, regeneration and cycles… which can also hint on Desmond’s origin as someone not from this world)

Personally, I do see Desmond as a Phantom Thief and acting like the cool older brother type to these teenagers. But being a neutral party seems more like his style, considering… everything.

So I would suggest we make Desmond a neutral party the Phantom Thieves meet up with in the Metaverse from time to time, mostly in Mementos because, in his own words ‘something calls to me here’.

The Phantom Thieves don’t know he’s the same bartender that works at Crossroads who would always give Joker a Shirley Temple whenever he’s on break. Lala told Joker that Desmond looked ‘lost’ so she helped him out (in more ways than one, Lala actually thinks Desmond is undocumented and helped him be an ‘upstanding citizen’…)

Desmond, for his part, is just happy that, for some reason, he knows Japanese? He has a feeling it’s one of his Bleed and many people tell him he speaks like he’s from a period drama so yeah, there’s that (it’s one of his Ibn-La'Ahad ancestors who knew Japanese because they chased the Mongols to Japan)

As for Desmond’s Persona…

It would be funny to give him Minerva or Juno as a Persona but we’re not that evil. Another idea would be to give him Dionysus for our usual ‘Desmond could totally be Dionysus’ Sage’ idea that pops in and out XD

Although…

So we’re going to make Desmond special because he’s our blorbo and we’ll use the Persona 1 and 2 plot of how the characters get their Persona.

He does the Persona game because he was bored one day XD

And that’s how he starts to hear Mementos’ call.

And while he journeys in Mementos by himself, that’s when he encounters the Shadows… of his Bleeds.

Confronting them (which always ends in a boss fight) ends with him receiving their Arcana and his Bleeds become his Personas.

His Bleeds’ Arcanas:

Altaïr: Hermit (wisdom, introspection, solitude, retreat and philosophical searches)

Ezio: Judgment (associated with realizing one's calling, gaining a deep understanding of life and a feeling of acceptance and absolution)

Ratonhnhaké:ton: Hanged Man (sometimes self-sacrificial or self-loathing, but are more often notable for being caught between two different extremes, parties or stages in life of which they have little to no control – always in the middle of two opposing forces and he’s doing his best to protect his people given what’s happening) or Strength (associated with the morality about the stronger power of self-control, gentleness, courage and virtue over brute force)

Haytham: Emperor (desire to control one's surroundings, and its appearance could suggest that one is trying too hard to achieve this, possibly causing trouble for others; some elements in life are just not controllable)

Desmond’s real Arcana and his own Persona (which may or may not be some biblically accurate angel-like figure with all of his Bleeds around a small orb similar to the Apple of Eden in the same veins of the Norns design) will only awaken after Joker reaches max level with him.

Also, the Phantom Thieves don’t know it’s him because his form in the Metaverse is always hooded with the robes changing depending on which Persona he uses (at the start, they thought it was different dudes until Desmond changed Personas in midbattle)… and yes, that includes Haytham. Desmond gets a hood too even when he’s using Haytham but he also has Haytham’s tacohat. Them’s the rules.

Arcana symbolism from megamitensei.fandom.com

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wrathofrats · 15 days

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Dawg imagine being a new ghost fan like “oh cool I like this kinda anti church Satan band, I wonder if they have any kind of fandom?” And then you see us posting about morally dubious mind control and debating if you can put a dick in gills

#idk how I just was like yeah sure that’s normal when I first found yall #actually I’m lying I thought you fuckers we’re insane #I was reading like vanilla Swiss dew fics for months and that was it #and then the dews bloody guitar incident happened #and … yeah … I realized some things #I blame st dangers hybrid slinky fic for who I am today

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cherryjuiceblues · 1 year

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𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐄 | 𝟏

➯ Y/N ACCIDENTALLY SUMMONS A DEMON AND HE WON’T LEAVE HER ALONE. ✰ demon!harry no warnings. 𝑤𝑐 7k ッ vanilla lime masterlist

Y/N has never been so mortified in her entire life. She thinks this might be it for her—that life should just end here—because there is no way in hell she is ever going to step foot outside ever again.

How can she after what has happened?

Worst of all (and there are many factors), the disastrous tragedy occurred at her workplace meaning she has no other choice but to find a new job and the thought only causes more hysteria, a fresh wave of tears soaking her skin as she sits hunched in the middle of her bed—hands over her face like they will hide her from the world.

And she had been so excited to wake up this morning; whispers about the new boss floating around the office all week had Y/N utterly intrigued about what she would be like (she’s struggled not to create an idyllic picture of what life at work could become; she often tends to get too deep inside her head and create false realities, and she knows she needs to find another coping mechanism but Y/N can’t help that her imagination is larger than her self-control!). So, when her alarm had gone off, she was up immediately, not even stopping to savour the warmth of her sheets, and getting ready.

And maybe now, looking back after the day she’s had, she may have recognised the signs of misfortune ahead of her, but in the moment nothing could have distracted her.

First it's her period starting, which is okay because she caught it without making a mess and she’d top up on painkillers before she left home. The second thing is entirely her fault because she always gets especially clumsy and jittery when she is excited or nervous, so of course she is going to trip and twist her ankle—but that is also not so bad because she is already taking painkillers for her period so there is no extra harm done. Y/N feels entirely unaffected by both of these things, still buzzing to get out of the door, until she goes to make breakfast and realises she has run out of her favourite cereal, which she’ll admit does put a bit of a frown on her face. (But a frown is nothing during that time of the month so she reacts considerably much better than she usually would!) So she’d had to have toast instead which was fine but undoubtedly interrupts the routine she has looked forward to since the night prior, and as it turns out it only spirals further.

The drive to work is standard, and Y/N has already forgotten about her minor inconveniences, refusing to wince as she gets out of the car—too stubborn to acknowledge that the painkillers have not effectively worked at numbing the pain in her ankle. She’d proudly forgone coffee, knowing she was probably a bit too wired already—and she absolutely could not entertain the possibility of accidentally spilling it on anyone, let alone her new boss—so as she enters the office as casually as possible on her throbbing ankle, she is relieved to see her favourite co-worker, Imogen, waiting for her by the elevator holding two cups of what Y/N hopes isn’t what she’d thought to avoid. Imogen sports a grin as soon as she spots her, enthusing Y/N to hurry up with a nod of her head.

“I got you a tea. Thought you might be a bit too on-edge for loads of caffeine,” She says, as soon as Y/N is near.

Smiling, Y/N hums, cradling the mug in her hands, “Thank you, Gen.” She sips, feeling the hot liquid trail down her throat, her brain given a moment to breathe.

Y/N thinks that was the last her brain (or lungs) has breathed in the last 5 hours. She’s a blubbering mess and her hormones have really kicked in now, along with the swelling of her ankle which makes moving so hard, and she’s feeling so sorry for herself she doesn’t know what to do. Everything is on replay in her head, and it gets worse every time, new consequences shouting at Y/N from the depths of her mind.

What if Imogen doesn’t want to be seen with you anymore because you’ve ruined her reputation by association? What if someone filmed the whole thing and it goes viral on Twitter? Then you won’t be employed ever again. What if your family refuses to talk to you, what if your boss sues you, what if you get kicked out of your apartment, what if—

“What’s happened to you then?”

Y/N shrieks, head whipping up so fast she’s lucky she doesn’t add a pulled neck muscle to her list of injuries. Across from her bed, sitting comfortably in her armchair that she likes to read in, is a man. She thinks she’s hallucinating for a moment because there is little explanation as to how or why there would be a man in her bedroom. And she’s still crying, but now she’s terrified, so words don’t exactly come easily.

“Who—What—How did you get in here?” She tries to shuffle back against her headboard, too shocked to be careful with her ankle and her arms buckle as the pain shoots up her foot, causing her eyes to well up again and she feels so useless at this moment. “Please get out of my house.” The words come out wet, fresh tears rolling down her face, the severity of the situation sinking in. She, hopelessly slowly, moves as far away from him as possible, keeping her legs deadly still until her back reaches the pillows and she pulls one onto her lap—maybe she can throw it at him.

The man leans forward, expression completely blank. He looks bored, if anything, as if she has inconvenienced him. “You’re the one that brought me here, sad thing. Why are you in such a tizzy, hm?” He looks her over, taking in the mess of hair on her head, her red, tearful eyes, wet cheeks and swollen mouth, and simply leans back in the chair again.

Y/N can’t even begin to process what he’s saying and knows she needs to get out, that this man can only be here for bad, and that she’ll have to pretend there is nothing wrong with her ankle. So she makes the effort—at least she’ll know she tried to help herself—as she swings her legs over the side of the bed, pillow in hand, ignoring the screaming pain. She’ll have to hop.

The wall welcomes her hand as she pitifully makes her way to the door, taking a glance behind her, checking to see the man sitting in her chair. But he’s gone and she gasps as she looks forward and he’s stood in the doorway, looking down at her. Y/N goes to throw the pillow at him (knowing it's embarrassingly futile and if she were watching herself in a movie would rightly feel she deserved to be killed; the humour of the situation fails to comfort her) but it doesn’t even leave her hands before he plucks it away and drops it on the floor.

“Why don’t you stop panicking and tell me why you summoned me?” He steps forward forcing Y/N to retreat clumsily, tripping backwards and landing against the side of her bed, face crumpling in pain as her ankle gets folded underneath her bum. He stares down, face hinting at an amused smirk as if her distress is entertaining. Maybe she really is hallucinating. This can’t be real, people can’t be summoned.

“I’m almost inclined to believe you actually don’t know what’s going on. I’ve truly never seen anyone so scared of a demon they’ve willingly invited in,” the man’s voice is slow and deep, nearly enough so to make sense but Y/N has a headache now along with everything else and she really just wants to go to sleep.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Y/N whimpers, pulling herself onto her bed. Her head is spinning but she feels mellow suddenly, eyelids drooping, inhaling a delicate scent of vanilla and lime. In the chaos, she realises she’s stopped crying, and even the attempt to recall the day’s events are blocked as if something is stopping her from thinking.

“I guess we’ll try again once you’ve slept,” she hears the man sigh and sit down, presumably in the chair she first saw him in. But her eyes are closed now and she feels herself drifting away into a blissful slumber.

When Y/N wakes up she thinks she’s just had the weirdest dream in the history of dreams. The sun is streaming through her open curtains, a gentle breeze from the window, and she can’t remember how long she’s been asleep but she must’ve gone through the whole night. She’s so disorientated that she nearly forgets that the work incident wasn’t contained in her sleep fantasy, but before she can start the loop inside her head again, her organs chirp up and Y/N hobbles to the bathroom.

Sitting on the toilet, she’s able to assess the damage to her ankle; the skin is bruising, a purple and green hue creeping over the swelling. Y/N is pretty sure it’s Friday, but she’s also pretty sure that she’s assumed to be sick after rushing out of the office building and into her car quicker than she has ever moved in her life. Maybe she’ll message Imogen and ask her to cover for her.

The only thing Y/N wants is to crawl back into bed and hug her pillow and maybe cry some more, so she finishes up in the bathroom, finds some painkillers in the cabinet and limps back to the comfort of her sheets. She climbs under and sits against her pillows, taking the pills with the two-day-old glass of water on her bedside table.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” The man from her dream appears in the doorway, sipping from her favourite mug.

Y/N jolts, spilling water all over her covers, and memories she assumed were a part of her dream materialise in front of her, along with a familiar vanilla and lime scent. And she’s too tired and fed up to move, a tiny part of her feeling as though he would’ve tried something by now if he was going to at all.

But she’s frowning at him. “That’s my favourite mug! I’d rather you didn’t use that.” Her voice is congested and croaky, but her annoyed tone isn’t missed—priorities clearly well in check.

The man tilts his head slightly as if caught off guard. “But I’m not finished.” He gestures with his hand that’s holding the mug. He seems mellow and suddenly so does Y/N and it would be so easy for her to lie down and close her eyes.

“How did you get into my house? Did you chloroform me last night?” She asks, head suddenly fuzzy. “Are you doing it right now?” Words coming out in mumbles.

“You summoned me. No. And no.” He doesn’t move from the doorway, only adjusting to lean against the frame.

“Stop saying that! I didn’t summon you, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why do I feel so foggy?” She clumsily puts the glass down, banging it about a couple of times before letting go.

“I’m trying to keep you calm so I can do my job properly, last night was a little intense, hm?”

“What do you mean? How did you get here?” Y/N is starting to get frustrated with the number of times she’s asked him that question. “Can you stop talking in riddles?”

“Sure, I’ll humour you,” he sighs. “Are you going to freak out if I sit down?” He nods to the chair he’d appeared in last night. She shakes her head faintly, eyes following him as he takes a seat. “I’m a demon. I spend my life catering to people. When somebody wants something done, very often a lazy human, they can summon a demon to do it for them. But not without some sort of price. So, you’ve clearly gone through something, oh so traumatic,” he pouts mockingly, “and you summoned me to make things better. Is that right, sad, little thing?”

Y/N is inclined to laugh right in his face, but the word demon is hanging over her head like a big, red DANGER sign and she second-guesses herself. So she shakes her head again. “No,” she sniffles, utterly overwhelmed. “Stop messing with my head.”

He stretches out in the chair, like a big cat who has just woken from a nap. “Are you gonna get all teary again if I do? I really can’t be bothered to wait for you to sleep it off a second time.”

She’s shaking her head vigorously this time, and it’s almost like she can see the sweet smell of vanilla and lime dancing away until all the tendrils have been sucked out the window. And the panic rises immediately, her chest constricting as she tries to breathe in and it gets stuck. The man rolls his eyes, drinking the rest of the cup’s contents before placing it on the floor.

“I’ve put your favourite mug down,” he pulls a mocking, tight-lipped smile, as if that would quell the anxiety of having him in her bedroom. “Now tell me why were you crying yesterday. Quickly.”

“I don’t want your help,” she says quietly, closing her eyes to block as much of him out as possible—trying to breathe. “You can go, I don’t need your help.”

“Ah, well, that’s not how it works, is it? I told you how it works. There’s a price. I can’t leave until I fulfil my job and you pay me.” He starts picking at his nails which Y/N notices are painted a pretty, blush colour. She looks at her own, a nude that she only recently put on, already chipping.

“I don’t care, I want you to go, please,” tears are brimming her eyes and she finds herself looking away so he doesn’t ridicule her for crying again. “I unsummon you, or whatever.”

“You said you weren’t going to cry,” she looks up, causing a drop to spill over and she wipes it away quickly. “If you don’t tell me what you were weeping over, I will force you to. And I don’t think you’ll enjoy that very much.”

Y/N doesn’t want to know how he would do that, so she gives in. “I just had a bad day,” she starts. She thinks once she says it all out loud it’ll get better… maybe. The man looks at her, expectantly. “It was the first day we were all meeting our new boss and I was so excited to get to work, but my period had started which meant my emotions were haywire, and I twisted my ankle, and my favourite cereal was all gone, and—”

“—Your favourite cereal was all gone? Really? That’s important to why you were crying?” He scoffs, “Humans are so odd.”

“Do you want me to tell you or not?” Y/N frowns at him, placing her arms around herself in a hug. He gives a dismissive look. “So I was restless, and my ankle hurt, and I hadn’t even got to work yet. And then I arrived and I met Gen, and she’d brought me a tea,” she breathes in, “and then we get in the elevator, and I’m trying to stay calm—I thought I was doing a pretty good job too, but then we get to our floor and we walk to our desks and—” She inhales shakily, bottom lip wobbling.

“Come on, you’re getting somewhere.” He somewhat encourages, mouth curled upwards derisively but eyes gentle.

“Well, I realise I’ve left my phone in my car and I’m rushing because the boss was arriving soon and I decided to run the stairs, as the lift takes too long and I hate standing still when I’m nervous.” Her words are nearly indecipherable. “So I start to go down the stairs and I’m thinking really loudly so I can’t hear anyone else coming up, plus my ankle is screaming. And—and I run straight into the boss and she falls down the stairs—” Y/N breaks off in a snivel, “I could’ve killed her! She could’ve broken her neck or something, and I didn’t know what to do, so I just ran to my car and I left! Who does that? I’m so embarrassed, and upset, and I feel so guilty that I just left her there because I freaked out and—”

“That’s it?” The man stands up, clear disbelief written all over his face.

“What do you mean, that’s it?” Some of Y/N’s upset is displaced by the imminent shock she feels as he stands up, and she watches as his eyes fill with a blackness as dark as ink, swirling in smoky tendrils, until the whites and pupils are completely cloaked. “You’re just a spoiled brat, aren’t you?” He tuts. “Sitting there, crying your eyes out because you tripped a woman up.

“You know people summon me to kill? To enact revenge on the most evil of injustices. And I’m here because you pushed a woman down the stairs.” He scoffs, eyes still void of colour as he walks to the window, opening it as much as possible, and leaning his palms against the frame.

“Are you going to kill me?” Y/N asks, unsurprised that a man who claims to be a demon is a murderer but aware once again that he is in her bedroom.

“For fuck’s sake, you don’t listen, do you? No, I’m not going to kill you,” he looks over his shoulder, glancing at her dishevelled state. “I very easily could though,” he steps to the foot of her bed. “You’re a delicate, little thing. And you’ve hurt yourself so you can’t run away. I could end it all so quickly you wouldn’t even feel it, or I could drag it out forever. I could suspend you in a permanent state of dying.” His words die out, ending in a whisper, hand reaching for her leg over the covers and Y/N jerks it back—watching a grin appear.

Y/N doesn’t know how to look at him, scared that if she stares into his eyes for too long her heart will slowly stop beating or that she’ll wither like a plant. Either way, it’s like she can’t blink. It’s as if she can feel her pupils dilating, brain struggling to catch up with what she’s seeing in front of her. The man only grins wider, trailing his finger across the patterns on her sheets.

“I suppose I better help you out then, hm? And then you can pledge your soul to me and all of this will be over.”

Y/N flinches, “Pledge my what?”

“Well, what else would you expect from a demon?” He’s still smiling but his eyes are clearing and through the ink, his green irises are revealed once again.

“I don’t know… Money? Why would anyone pledge their soul to a—” She catches herself and looks at him, cautiously. He’s staring at her, mouth upturned.

“A what? Careful, now.” He walks around to the side of her bed, peering down at her whilst fiddling with the glass on her bedside table. She’s never felt so naked in her entire life as she does right now.

“You know,” she blinks meekly, “you said you kill people—”

“—Bad people.” He interjects.

“Okay, well that still makes you a murderer… so pledging my soul to you, or whatever, just sounds like a really bad idea. I don’t get how this helps me at all—you can’t kill my boss.”

Sighing, he says, “I’m really losing my patience with you now. Get up,” authority in his voice as he grabs her upper arm and tugs, causing her legs to tangle with the sheets as she is torn from her position. Y/N yelps and instinctively shoots her other arm out for support, inadvertently punching him in the stomach. He lets out a disgruntled noise and pulls the hand off of his body immediately, dragging her with more force so she can stand upright.

“Ow!” Y/N cries, “I can’t stand on it.” Her face is crumpled, looking towards the floor and she feels his grip loosen as he recognises she’s hurt.

He sighs again and gets down on one knee, pulling her socked foot onto his thigh—albeit very gently. She wobbles and grips his shoulders.

The man rolls his eyes, “Should call you Bambi, can’t balance for the life of you.” He goads.

“W-what are you doing?”

He doesn’t reply, nudging her sock to reveal the swollen skin of her ankle and brushing his fingertips over it. Y/N feels an electric warmth spread up her leg and releases a breath as the pain slowly ebbs away.

“It’s not mended, but you won’t feel it anymore,” he says, standing up. Her eyes trail up to meet his, mouth agape as she puts her weight on her foot and registers the lack of strain.

“How did you do that?” She whispers.

He grins and wiggles his fingers, “Magic,” before he takes a hold of her elbow and they vanish.

They surface, and the building in which Y/N works looms over her ominously—the inevitable walk of shame taunting her and she can feel her brain start to whir; fight or flight program ready to boot up. Y/N spins, hoping to make a quick exit and return to her wallowing in self-pity, but there’s a hand on her elbow so she doesn’t get far at all.

“How did we get here?” She tries to shrug him off, “Let go.”

The man drops her elbow, “No please, Bambi?” He feigns hurt and tuts disapprovingly.

Y/N grumbles and rolls her eyes, “If you’re going to call me that, then I think it’s only fair that I get to call you something.”

“Call me Harry,” he says.

“That’s not what I meant!” Y/N grits, fighting the urge to stomp like a child.

“You didn’t specify.” Harry flashes a smug grin. She thinks the name is rather ordinary for a demon, but it’s pretty—like him, she supposes. He’s tall, and has tattoos, and paints his nails, and has soft-looking hair. Y/N catches herself and immediately feels silly.

Harry is watching her and suddenly the idea of going to work doesn’t feel so bad. “What are we doing here?” She sighs.

“We’re here to get rid of your problem. G’na glamour the building, make everyone forget, yeah? Take my arm.” He holds his forearm out and Y/N takes it unconvincingly.

“What do you mean, glamour? Is this dangerous? What if someone sees us?” She babbles, watching as Harry turns his full attention to the building. Y/N is too frazzled to notice the words he utters under his breath or that his eyes are cloaked in darkness once again, only vaguely picking up on the scent she’s quickly come to associate with the demon standing next to her. She can’t believe she’s actually referring to him as a demon; she wants to believe it’s all one, big, mean joke but he literally fucking teleported them here. Gosh—Y/N’s headache is debilitating at this point.

“As long as you keep holding on, no one will see us,” Harry assures, muttering a few more words before alerting Y/N, “I’m all done.”

“Done? But nothing happened.”

“Promise you, something happened,” he says. “Now everyone thinks you went home sick yesterday and are coming in late today. And the boss fell down the stairs of her own accord so she’ll be in bed for a couple of days, no lasting damage.”

“What about when they go home? Will they—”

Harry shakes his head vehemently, “What kind of help would that be, hm? Make them forget but only for a little bit, don’t be silly. No one will remember.”

She nods to herself, shaking her hands in front of her, “Okay,” breathing in slowly, deeply, trying to psyche herself up, “okay. What now?”

He nods at the building, “You’ve got work, no?”

Y/N splutters, “But I don’t have my stuff with me! I don’t even have my car, Harry, how will I get home? And I’m still in the clothes I wore yesterday, I’m a mess.” She looks down at herself, distressed, rubbing at her face which is still puffy from all the crying. Harry sighs, thinking that this human must be doing something wrong to be struggling in life this much.

“What time do you finish?”

“Five o’clock.”

He glances at the watch on his wrist. It’s twelve. “I guess I’ll meet you here, then. Try not to push anyone else down the stairs,” he mocks, a sickeningly sweet smile on his face.

Y/N scowls and starts to hesitantly walk into the office. She chances a look behind her just to see if he’s waving her off like a proud mother—but he has gone—and the only proof he was ever there hangs in the air, before the smell disappears too.

To say Y/N is overwhelmed would be an understatement. Walking into work being an easy task was exactly what she wanted and yet she can’t help but feel guilty, like she’s got this huge illegal secret. But what could she do about it anyway? It’s not like she’s going to phone the boss and say, Oh, by the way, I actually met you yesterday but I nearly killed you by pushing you down the stairs, so I went home crying, and I accidentally summoned a demon and he made you forget so there’s no harm done!

She would be fired on the spot. Or sent to an asylum.

But she can’t focus, and she thinks maybe she should be admitted to an asylum because now that she has time to think… What the fuck? Demons? Glamours? This was stuff from the TV, not real life. And yet Y/N had inadvertently brought it right to her doorstep, just by crying! It’s so silly but the anxiety is rising and Y/N’s palms are starting to sweat, and she hasn’t done a single thing since sitting at her desk (over half an hour ago) and, quite frankly, it’s pissing her off.

Imogen had brought her a tea which Y/N appreciates but only makes her more uneasy with the memory of yesterday. She can feel her eyes on her from across the office, concern clearly plastered over her usually bright face. Y/N meets her gaze and tries to give a reassuring smile that probably comes across as more of a grimace because Imogen is wheeling her way over on her office chair immediately.

“You okay, Y/N?” She asks, hesitantly.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine!” Y/N says a little too enthusiastically. “I’m just a little out of it today, sorry,” she fiddles with her fingers. Imogen looks her over a couple of times.

“I think you’re still sick, maybe you should go home,” Imogen smiles softly, eyes filled with worry.

“Oh no, really, I’m fine, Gen!” Maybe if she says it enough, it’ll become the truth. But as she stares back at Imogen she’s only really focused on the fact that her eyes aren’t clouding with dark shadows.

“You’ve made your lip bleed,” she points out, and Y/N notices the tang of blood on her tongue. She’s eating away at herself, literally—she licks it away quickly, embarrassed at her inability to keep composed.

Imogen stands, “Come on, let’s go to the bathroom—take a break, yeah?”

Y/N can only nod, even though she has just arrived at work, wiping her palms on her thighs before following Imogen to the toilets. She holds the heavy door open for Y/N as they go inside and Y/N immediately stumbles, holding in a gasp as she sees Harry leaning against the counters with his arms folded across his chest.

“Are you feeling dizzy?” Imogen asks, gently placing a hand on her back for support. Y/N barely registers the question, eyes locked with Harry as he smirks at her, clearly enjoying the bewilderment and turmoil he’s putting her through.

“Uh, a little bit, I think I need to sit down,” Y/N breathes, eyes flicking back and forth between Harry and Imogen, checking that Imogen definitely couldn’t see him.

“Come on,” she leads her to a stall, pushing the door open and closing the toilet seat cover for Y/N to sit on.

“Thank you, Gen, I—I think I just need a minute and then I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not sure, babe, you look rough.” She touches her forehead, “You’re burning up, Y/N, will you be safe to drive home?”

Y/N is still staring at Harry, “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” she hates that he will have to take her home but she doesn’t want to explain to Imogen where her car is, “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. I’ll go and get you some nice, cold water,” she rubs Y/N’s knee comfortingly before leaving the bathroom. And Y/N is standing up instantly, albeit very wobbly.

“Harry!” She’s cross. “Why are you here?” He unfolds his arms and walks towards her, placing his hands on her shoulders and forcing her to sit back down. “Stop it! I didn’t even know demons existed twenty-four hours ago and now you’re fucking everywhere.”

“I know, Bambi. I’ll take you home,” he’s gentle, and it angers Y/N more but she’s exhausted—and when did she get so lightheaded? But she’s still aware enough to be agitated when she realises he called her Bambi despite Imogen saying her name in front of him.

“I don’t want you to,” she complains.

“I know.” He repeats.

Imogen comes back in suddenly and Y/N doesn’t think anything of it, assuming Harry is still invisible but she makes a confused noise, “Who are you?”

Harry only steps up to her and looks directly into her eyes, taking the bottle of water from her hand. “You don’t remember this. You escorted Y/N to her car because she wasn’t feeling well, and now you’re freshening up in the bathroom.”

And before Y/N can even try to shout at Harry for invading her friend’s head, he’s taking her wrist and they’re dissipating.

They reappear in her bedroom and Y/N stumbles her way into the bathroom, falling on her knees and resting her forehead on the toilet seat—she doesn’t think she’ll actually be sick but she needs to feel grounded. Trying to focus on her breathing and the cool feel of the plastic on her skin, Y/N closes her eyes and supposes she could fall asleep but then Harry (fucking Harry) steps around her and turns the shower on.

“Come on, Y/N, you’ll feel better,” he tries, his voice still disgustingly soft.

Y/N closes her eyes tighter, “I don’t need you here, Harry, go away.”

“Don’t be ungrateful,” he spits, immediately void of tenderness. “I didn’t have to bring you home, I could’ve left you stranded at work.”

“I’m only in this mess because of you! You’re the reason I didn’t have my car,” Y/N bites back.

Harry can’t be bothered to get into it now, “Get in the shower. I won’t tell you again.” He orders, before leaving the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. Y/N rolls her eyes but she stands up. Not because he told her to, but because she was going to shower anyway—she tells herself. There’s little energy left in her body and the thought of a bath is much nicer but she’d probably just fall asleep in it. So she takes off her nearly two-day-old clothing and lets out a little whine of relief before stepping under the hot stream and pulling across the shower curtain.

When she leaves the shower after fifteen—blissfully tranquil—minutes, she’s surprised to see one of her oversized sleep shirts and a towel on top of the toilet seat cover. Y/N grumbles under her breath at the nice gesture and scoffs at the lack of underwear he brought in with the shirt. “Pervert,” she mutters.

“I heard that,” Harry says from her bedroom, and she thinks she’d rather like to punch him. Quickly, she dries off and throws the shirt on before sitting on the toilet. It pools over her thighs. “You would’ve accused me of the same thing if I had gone through your drawers,” his voice is ice cold.

“I need underwear, I’m on my period, you dick,” Y/N says, patience worn thin. She hears him bang her drawers shut before the bathroom door is swung open and he throws the underwear in her general direction, eyes averted, “Oh please, I’m decent,” her voice is acidic and Harry’s anger is simmering as he looks at her, expression eerily unaffected.

“I preferred you when you were crying,” he hisses, before slamming the door closed.

Y/N is about ready to scream bloody murder and push Harry out of her window as she finishes up in the bathroom, grumbling away to herself. She’s grateful her tears have been replaced with rage, much less forlorn, she thinks. And she knows exactly what she’s going to say to him, and he’ll leave whether he likes it or not.

“Okay Harry, it’s been fun—” Y/N starts as she enters her bedroom, but she stops when she sees Harry lying on her bed, one arm behind his head with the other draped over his stomach. “Get up,” she grits, spotting the pillow Harry had first taken from her, lying by the door, before picking it up.

“What are you going to do with that?” He smirks, closing his eyes, looking ever so comfortable on her bed. Y/N climbs up next to him and brings the pillow down with as much force as she can muster. Harry barely releases a breath but his eyes shoot open. She hits him again, “Get out—” and again, “—of my—” and again, “—house! Get out!”

“You do that one more time…” Harry seethes, never moving a muscle. Y/N is rattled by just how rattled she feels by this man; sure that this anger is unmatched by anything she’s ever experienced, and her arms move before her brain does, whacking him again.

She barely sees him move but suddenly she’s on her back with her arms pinned above her head, nearly off the end of the bed. Harry is hovering over her, eyes pitch black, and Y/N’s own widen briefly in shock. She almost feels excitement bubble up in eliciting this reaction out of him, in winning their argument. Or so she thinks.

Y/N tries to kick at him, knee hitting his abdomen but he’s quick to sit on her thighs and she’s squirming desperately, an angry whine escaping her lips.

“Stop.” His voice is deep, authoritative. “Stop before I make you,” and Y/N’s breath catches as she stares, unblinking, up into his eyes. He leans down and grazes his lips over the shell of her ear. “This isn’t a game. Angering a demon on purpose is a very silly thing to do, Y/N.” She swallows, aware of the weight of his body on her legs and his mouth so close to her skin. “Assuming I won’t kill you just because I said I wouldn’t,” he whispers, the air hot against her neck. A noise gets caught in her throat.

She shakes her head, “Please don’t, I’m sorry.”

“Mmm, I thought so. You g’na stop being so petulant?”

Y/N nods, “Yes,” she exhales.

“Good. You gonna promise me your soul?”

Her head is so fuzzy she nearly agrees again but then her eyes shoot open, “No!” And she’s shaking her head violently. But he’s quick to grab her jaw. He forces her head to stop moving and he’s glaring at her so intensely that she thinks he might set her on fire.

“Calm down,” he removes his weight from her legs and sits to the side of her, bringing her arms down to rest on either side of her head. “You know, you didn’t even thank me for helping you. S’not very nice. And if you won’t pledge your soul to me then I suppose I’ll just have to take the glamour away.”

“Harry, No!” She gasps, all the anger she’d had completely dissipating and she wants so badly to be furious, but she can only panic. “Please don’t do that.”

“You’ll have to promise me something then.” She nods, “Never antagonise a demon like that ever again.”

Y/N sighs, relieved, “Like I’ll run into another one any time soon. I had managed to avoid them for over two decades.”

“We’re around more than you realise. I’m serious, Y/N. Promise me, or I’ll make everyone remember. It really doesn’t affect me.”

“I promise,” she huffs.

He slowly releases his grip from her wrists, seemingly satisfied. “Come on—into bed,” Harry pries her sheets back.

“But it’s like two p.m.”

“Yeah, and you’ve had a tough few days believing in demons and whatnot, so it’s time for bed.”

She finds herself doing what he says, sitting up and climbing under her sheets, “I can’t believe I’m actually listening to you.”

“I can.” He watches to make sure she lies down properly before making his way towards the door. “I’ll know if you break your promise,” he says, pausing in the doorway, broad back facing her. He’s gone before Y/N can ask how, but a deep-rooted sense of dread settles in her stomach as if she has made a deal with the devil. And she supposes that she very well might have done.

Y/N’s refusal to pledge her soul really doesn't affect Harry in the slightest; demons could survive on whatever they chose to. Harry has always chosen to reap souls after their pledgers have passed away, usually from natural causes. Or he’ll take them from whichever prick he deems evil enough to snuff out of existence. But if he decides tomorrow that he wants to suck every last drop of blood from his victims to sustain himself instead, then his body would cope just fine. Not that Harry would ever enjoy that. He could choose not to eat or drink at all if he really wanted to, but he’d tried that once when he’d had to take care of his mother as a child, and it was the most miserable week ever. He’d been far too wired to think about stopping for himself, but once she started feeling better he realised how much he’d missed food. Harry found, after years of experimenting, that culling souls is the most effective way of squashing the demon guilt he unnaturally feels, whilst also maintaining his demonic capacity.

He decides to walk, needing the fresh air. He admittedly feels a little silly for his behaviour, pinning Y/N down like that and causing her heart to nearly beat out of her chest. He just wasn’t expecting an outburst like that from her; she’d been so distraught when they’d first met—a weepy thing. And the next thing he knows, she's whacking him about with a pillow—not menacing in the slightest but he’ll admit it did take him by surprise. But she needed to be scared of him, scared of his species; it's easy to trust them in their human vessels but they are in no way similar other than visually. That’s how he justifies behaving the way he did. And maybe that’s why he feels the need to get outside, to let the cold breeze shock him. To really register what the fuck is going on.

Harry hasn’t given himself the time to question how he was summoned by someone who doesn’t know how to do it, and he’s tried hard to believe that she was lying but how could she be? How could she be when he’d appeared in that chair and she was sobbing with her head in her hands; no candles, no books, no incantations, nothing? It feels like the start of something Harry has no interest in being involved with, which is why looking back, he’s very relieved that the reason for her crying was so ridiculously simple, despite his reaction suggesting otherwise. He had felt inconvenienced and undervalued when she’d told him her problem; another job he was extremely overqualified to deal with, but now he thinks maybe it's a blessing that it wasn’t something worse. If she’d wanted someone dead then he might’ve been more concerned about her inadvertent summoning, but perhaps this is a one-off and he’ll never hear from her again.

He really hopes that will be the case.

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souvenir116 · 2 months

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vanilla carnations 🤍

Alternate Universe- College, Love at first sight, Idiots in love, High Tension, Fluff, First Kiss, Max both loves kittens and Charles, so Charles does a favor for him

For lovely @sunshine-f1 🤍

Max wrapped his arms stronger around him, completely holding, suffocating literally. “Will you also remember if I say something stupid now?”

Charles let out a soft noise, snuggling to Max’s chest and nuzzling like a kitten, still sleepy. “I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah?” Max dipped his fingers to his hair once again. “What if I say I might be in love with you?”

Dimples settled on Charles’ face right away in an inhuman speed as his smile grew. “I love… you. Too. Three… Four?”

🤍

"I’m not- it’s not- We're not dating," Charles tried to calm down his tachycardic pulse, green orbs shining under the weight of a huge lie. "We're just-" "Don't pull a 'we're just friends', Charlot." Pierre's jaw clenched harder as he raised a brow in suspicion. "Friends don’t get 'accidentally' married, friends don't get thrown out of the library because they couldn't stop kissing each other, friends don't sleep in each other's arms every night-" "Friends don't look at friends that way.”

Read on AO3

#HII #I'm so excited for that new baby 🥹#Gifting carnations to everyone who reads her <3 #Choose your color #charles leclerc #max verstappen #formula 1 #f1 #lestappen #lestappen fic #vanilla carnations #my writing

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ohbo-ohno · 7 months

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Kinktober Day 27 - Double Penetration in Two Holes

Ghost x Soap x AFAB!Reader - 1.1k

summary: You go home with a pair of nice men from the bar and end up having the best sex of your life. (Reader POV, second person)

cw: unrealistic anal sex lmao

You hadn’t known what to expect when you agreed to go home with two men at the bar.

They’d introduced themselves as Simon and Johnny - well, Johnny had introduced himself and Simon. Two military men on leave, looking to let off some steam at a local bar, and they'd somehow decided you'd make good conversation. You’d realized quickly that they were in a relationship, and had been quite disappointed you wouldn’t get to go home with either of them. Still, you sat with them for nearly two hours, running through virtually any topics that popped into your head.

Oddly, it was Simon who invited you back to their apartment. You hadn’t even thought he liked you, had been caught very off guard by what you interpreted as an invite to a threesome.

Still, you’d agreed. Sent off a picture of Johnny’s I.D. to a close friend and finished off your drink before they ordered an Uber.

Your theory that you’d been invited to a threesome is immediately confirmed when Johnny covers you lips with his the moment their front door closes behind you. His palms cup your cheeks, and his enthusiasm makes you stumble back a bit. You open your mouth to Johnny’s stroking tongue just as you feel Simon catch you by the hips, his front warm against your back.

Everything from there is a blur of kisses and bites, groping hands and shed clothing. Johnny’s a bit of a biter, you quickly discover, and Simon is clearly the one in control as he herds all three of you down the hallway. By the time you reach their bedroom door, you’re in just your underwear, both of the men with you shirtless.

You straddle Simon’s hips when he sits on the bed, grind on his lap a bit as he holds a hand around your neck and keeps your kiss slow and smooth. Johnny feels you up over your shoulder, fingers plucking at your nipples with the perfect amount of force to make you writhe. The sensation leaves you moaning into Simon’s mouth, soaking through your panties.

The three of you move up the bed once Simon and Johnny are fully stripped and your underwear have been thrown across the room. Simon leans back on the pillows, grabs you by the thighs and urges you into the position to ride him.

Johnny moves to your side as Simon tucks a few fingers into your cunt to stretch you, licking and sucking at your nipples while you give his cock a few tugs. Simon pulls away for just a moment, winks up at you when he rolls a condom over his rock-hard member.

Soon enough Simon’s got you by the hips, sinking you down on his cock. You moan loudly at the frankly unimaginable stretch, your head thrown back and one hand planted on his chest to hold yourself up. You feel Johnny move behind you, and he pushes between your shoulder blades until you’re laid flat to Simon’s chest.

“Can you take us both, lass?” Johnny asks, hunching over you to whisper in your ear.

The suggestion makes you moan again, has you grinding on Simon’s dick and clenching around him. “Fuck, that’s so hot. Do-d’you have lube?”

Simon rolls his hips into yours, uses his grip on his thighs to help you properly ride him while Johnny ducks over to the bedside table. Just moments later you feel a warm hand on your ass, then cold lube drip down onto you.

Johnny’s careful to stretch you more slowly than Simon had, giving you plenty of time to adjust to the stretch of one finger, then two, then three.

By the time he notches his latex-wrapped head at your entrance, you’re coated in sweat and more than ready for him to fuck you.

Johnny collars a hand loosely around your throat, pulls you up so your back rests against his chest as he sinks slowly into you.

The pressure has all three of you moaning, Simon’s grip on your hips turning bruising and Johnny’s breaths erratic against your shoulder. It doesn’t take long for him to sink to the hilt inside of you, stretching you further than you’ve ever been before.

“Fuck, Johnny,” Simon pants beneath you, clenching his teeth as tightly as he’s grabbing your hips. “Can feel you inside or her.”

“Feel you too, Si,” Johnny moans into your shoulder. “Let me know when I can move, love, need to fuck you so badly.”

You give yourself a few long moments to adjust to the stretch, waiting until you’re absolutely sure your body is ready to lift yourself up, then drop your weight down.

Again, the three of you moan in sync. Johnny and Simon find a rhythm quickly, Johnny stroking in when Simon strokes out so you’ve always got at least one cock buried to the hilt inside of you. The pleasure leaves you limp, drooling onto Simon’s chest with your eyes rolled back in your head and just riding the waves of pleasure.

“So fuckin’, good,” Simon rumbles beneath you, and you can feel every word in your own chest. “Such a perfect girl, lettin’ us fuck her silly. So good for us.”

Johnny moans in agreement behind you, his thrusts becoming a little erratic as he nears his orgasm.

Simon slips a hand from your hip down to your clit before either one of them comes, rubs quick little circle against you until you’re wriggling on top of him and moaning with your head thrown back.

“Oh god- fuck, she’s so fuckin’ tight, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck-” Johnny rambles, words slurring together before he finally slams to a stop deep inside of you, letting out his own pornographic moan as he rides the waves of his own orgasm with little twitches of his hips.

Simon doesn’t last much longer after either of you, your pulsing walls coaxing him right to the edge and milking every drop of cum from his body.

You’re all silent in the aftermath, stacked on top of each other like legos even after they both slip from your body. Simon is the one who moves first, nudging the two of you off of him and onto the bed. Johnny pulls the condom off his now soft dick, then immediately curls himself around you.

Were you a little less drunk on the best one-night stand of your life, it would occur to you that you should maybe try and sneak out before morning. But Simon moves to your front, holds you and Johnny both to his chest, and you’re far too warm to even think of getting out of bed.

#welcome back to: can bo write vanilla sex well?#john soap mactavish x reader #ghoap x reader #bo writes #dark fic #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish #soap mactavish x you #john soap mactavish x you #johnny soap mactavish #Johnny soap mactavish x reader #Johnny soap mactavish x you #cod x reader #kinktober day 27 #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #john soap mactavish

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redrose10 · 4 months

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Chapter 4

Here it is! I was nervous to put this out here so I hope it lives up. Yoongi realizes some things in this one but it might be a little too late. Chapter 5 should be out within a few days!

Yoongi X Female Reader. CEO/Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 3,404

Warnings: (May get updated as chapters progress): Arranged marriage, cheating/infidelity, hints of smut (Probably won’t get very explicit but we’ll see how it goes), Sexual Assault, Brief mentions of death, Reader grew up an orphan, General Angst, Swearing

Waking up with a long stretch you were more than surprised to wake up in your hotel bed. The last thing you remembered was falling asleep on the beach but you have no memory at all of walking back to the room. You figured that hotel security probably found you and thought you were just a drunk so they brought you back to the room after finding your room key on you.

Looking over to the empty space next to you memories from the night before came flooding back to you. The delicious dinner you had and the joyous company of the waiter Hoseok. The sight of Yoongi and the brunette that was all over him. How he lied and called you his sister instead of his wife. How you felt lonely and betrayed and you just wanted to wish everything of the past couple months away.

Suddenly as if your brain finally caught up you realized you were sleeping in the same bed that Yoongi and that woman most likely hooked up in and that caused your skin to crawl. You jumped out of bed like something bit you tripping over your suitcase in the process and landing on the ground with a loud thud. You’d never been so happy for a vacation to end before. Getting in the shower you scrubbed your skin so hard you’re pretty sure you did damage but you wanted to scrub until you no longer felt dirty. After packing up your few belongings you walked out to the living room of your suite. Yoongi was already sitting at the dining table. You scanned his body for any new marks but nothing was visible even with the v neck tshirt he was wearing that caused you to internally scold yourself for staring at him a little too long. When he finally noticed you standing there he pointed to the seat across from him,

“It’s a chai tea. Jimin said you don’t really like coffee so I didn’t know what else to get.“

Sitting down at the table you noticed that the selection of food was all of your favorites. Chocolate chip muffins, a bacon croissant sandwich, crispy potato hash, strawberries, pineapple, a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. Yoongi cleared his throat, “Jimin also told me some of your favorite foods so I had them bring what they could.” Unable to hide the shy smile nodded before taking a bite.

“Umm do you know when or how I got back to the room last night? I don’t remember walking back so I wanted to go thank whomever brought me here?”, you awkwardly chuckled trying to break the silence but also piece together last night. He took another sip of his coffee, “Yeah actually I carried you back to the room and put you in the bed.” His statement caused you to choke on the strawberry you had just popped in your mouth, “I’m sorry you did what?”

He repeated, “I saw you laying on the beach so I went down and brought you back and put you in the bed.” You looked at him with wide eyes, words escaping you. You ate another strawberry trying to stuff your mouth before saying something you’d regret.

“Why is your skin so red? It looks like you washed yourself with sandpaper?”, he asked looking you over.

“Oh when I woke up in the bed I felt kind of gross, you know since you hooked up with some woman in there, and I’m sure the sheets weren’t changed afterwards. Guess I got a little carried away.”

Yoongi nodded before taking another sip of coffee, “I didn’t hook up with her.”

You laughed, “Come on Yoongi. I saw the two of you. If you didn’t hook up then what did you do with her in here? I know you guys didn’t play a game unless it included clothes coming off.”

“I told her to leave.”

“What?”

“I told her to leave.”

“I know I heard you the first time but why?”

He returned back to his bagel without a word and you rolled your eyes, “Okay fine. Don’t tell me. I don’t really care at this point anyways.”

Yoongi let out a long deep sigh, “After a while I realized that you didn’t come in the room with us. I didn’t know where you’d be able to go at that time of the night and I didn’t think it was a good idea for you to be wandering around by yourself so I told the woman that we should continue somewhere else and that I’d book us another room so you could come back to the room. So when I went to grab my wallet on the table next to the balcony I saw you laying out on the beach. It looked like you were sleeping and I didn’t want you to stay out there like that because it was late and it’s dangerous and you might get eaten by a crab or something so I told her that we were done and that she needed to leave. I walked down to the beach to bring you back. I was gonna wake you up but you looked really comfy so I just carried you here and put you in the bed and went to sleep myself.”

You were dumbfounded at his story. Your face was full of disbelief. Taking a bite of your muffin you nodded, “Oh well uh thank you for bringing me back.”

He nodded.

“Also if there was a crab out there big enough to eat me I think we’d have some major problems.”

He rolled his eyes before he walked off to the bathroom trying to hide the blush creeping down his neck. You continued to eat but confusion plagued your mind. You just can’t figure him out. One minute he’s hooking up with some random woman on your honeymoon and the next he’s going out of his way for you and trying to be kind, almost seeming kind of protective. You really weren’t sure what to make of him but you wished he would just make up his mind because you’re starting to get whiplash from the back and forth.

The flight back home was uneventful. The two of you sat in comfortable silence other than the occasional statement. Yoongi sipped on a whiskey and you even decided to get wild and sip on some champagne.

The car pulled up to an extravagant looking building confusing you as to where you were and then it hit you. You had to move into Yoongi’s place and of course he lived in the most luxurious building in the whole country. You thought spending a week in the same hotel room was awkward so you had no clue how living together was going to go but part of you hoped that maybe the two of you can finally work on some things in your relationship.

Once in Yoongi’s penthouse he gave you a very brief tour. The home was incredible. Jimins apartment was nice but didn’t compare to the penthouse. Floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the city. All the furniture appears to be high end and high quality. You’re pretty sure your entire apartment back home could’ve fit in the kitchen alone.

Thankfully Jimin was able help you coordinate with the movers to have your stuff shipped over. You didn’t have to bring much since Yoongi already had a fully furnished home. You just brought some clothes and a few sentimental items.

“My office is the third door on the right. If I work from home I’ll be in there but please keep interruptions to a minimum and only if necessary. My bedroom is the second door on the left. Don’t go in there. Your room is right here.”, he said opening the door. You were thoroughly confused. “Wait we have separate bedrooms?” Yoongi sighed irritation evident again, “I have the space so I figured why should we have to share a room. This way we can stay out of each others way.”

When you saw his eyebrow move up you knew what he meant by that. You sat on the edge of the bed staring down at the floor. Sure it was a nice room and bigger than any room you’d ever had before with it even having a private bathroom. But that didn’t stop the loneliness and hurt that you felt. You were more like a roommate or even worse, a nuisance that that he just wanted to shove away so he didn’t have to look at you.

That thought made you chuckle though, “Good thing you don’t have any staircases in this place or I’d be stuck sleeping under there I guess.”

Yoongi looked at you with eyebrows furrowed.

“What you’ve never seen Harry Potter before?”

“Do I seem like the kind of guy that watches Harry Potter?”

“I guess not but you sure have a lot in common with a certain he who shall not be named.”

“What are talking about?”

“Nothing never mind.”

Yoongi noticed your change in demeanor. Stuffing this hands into his pockets he spoke, “You’re welcome to paint or decorate the room however you want.” You met him with continued silence. He continued, “I have to go into the office to catch up on things. I ordered some groceries to be delivered later. Jimin told me about you liking to have a mug of warm milk before bed and I was out so that’ll be here later along with some other things for you.” You nodded in acknowledgment whispering a thank you before he turned and shut the door behind him.

Due to your small amount of belongings you were unpacked in no time. Luckily you just put your last piece of clothing away when the doorbell rang signaling the grocery order arrived. Taking the bags from the delivery driver and thanking him profusely you set to work putting everything away while also familiarizing yourself with the kitchen. As you pulled out the groceries you chuckled a little more each time. There was the milk just like Yoongi had promised. There was also a large package of chocolate chip muffins, multiple containers of strawberries, your favorite ramen, some cookies, a box of popcorn, and cookie dough ice cream. All of your favorites. You made a mental note to thank Jimin and maybe also send a thank you to Yoongi depending on how he was acting later.

Over the next few weeks things between Yoongi and yourself didn’t improve much. The two of you barely spoke other than the occasional question or statement and that was if you even saw each other at all. You spent most of your time in your bedroom while he claimed to be at the office or other work functions. The one time you did venture out and sat in the living room your movie was interrupted when Yoongi came strolling in with a woman in each arm heading towards his bedroom after giving you a quick nod like you were just one of his friends who he was trying to brag to about his “score”. Suddenly not feeling so well you turned off the tv and got in bed. It didn’t take long to hear moans and a headboard banging against the wall from down the hallway so you grabbed your headphones hoping to block out the sound and fall asleep as quickly as you could.

The next morning Yoongi and his new friends were long gone by the time you got up. You set out on checking off some things on your to do list that you created. One thing you wanted to work on was learning Korean. You knew a few phrases thanks to Jimin but now that you were living in Korea you thought it would be a good idea to get to know the language in a proficient way so you started calling around to different companies trying to find someone to give you lessons.

That’s how a few weeks later you were sitting at your kitchen table with the teacher the company you chose had sent you. Kim Namjoon was a handsome man no doubt about it. He was tall with broad shoulders. The cutest dimples you’d ever seen. His glasses framed his face perfectly and they looked great with his caramel colored hair. His cologne the complete opposite of Yoongi’s cinnamon and vanilla scent. Namjoon smelled light and citrusy. It was clean and refreshing and somehow managed to take the stress away from you. The way he spoke was so elegant. It was nice being able to have a full conversation with someone. You loved Jimin but you guys mostly just goofed off and went on rants to each other and trying to have a conversation with Yoongi was like pulling teeth. You hadn’t realized just how lonely you were before Namjoon came into your life. This was only your fifth session and you found yourself really excited that you were getting to spend some time with him again.

“I don’t know Y/N. How will baking cookies help you learn a language?”, he sighed trying mask his playfulness. You giggled, “Well I could learn all the names for the ingredients and I can try to give YOU the instructions in Korean while you make the cookies.” He sat there and pondered before you continued, “Come on Joonie. Back home I’m famous for my double chocolate chip cookies and I know you can’t say no to chocolate.” Finally he ran a hand through his hair, “Alright but you have to tell me each step in Korean.” Excitedly you jumped up running around to collect the ingredients.

Watching Namjoon try to make cookies was one of the funniest things you’ve ever witnessed. He told you he had no business being in the kitchen but you didn’t think it was this bad. He was currently trying to mix in the flour to the chocolate batter and you couldn’t stop laughing as you watched half the flour fall onto the counter which covered him in a puff of white smoke.

“Here Namjoon let me help you.”, you said placing your hand on his much larger one so you could guide his movements to slowly mix in the flour. You looked up to see him smiling down at you dimples on full display. His lips looked soft and warm. The thought of kissing him definitely crossed your mind. Yoongi hadn’t kissed you since your wedding day and the most physical he’s got with you was carrying you to the room from the beach and to be honest you wouldn’t let him touch you anyways without seeing some test results first to make sure he didn’t pick up anything along the way. The ring on your finger caught your eye before you could act on your thoughts. Yoongi may be an insufferable adulterer but that didn’t mean you had to be one too. Two wrongs don’t make a right in your book but damn if Namjoon wasn’t making you think about doing all the wrongs regardless of the rights.

You were so focused on trying to explain to Namjoon how to add the chocolate chips in Korean that neither of you noticed Yoongi walk in. He watched you gently grasp Namjoon’s hand while smiling up at him. You looked so cute in your daisy printed apron. Namjoon said something that made you burst into a fit of laughter. Yoongi felt a pain in his chest. He had never heard you laugh like that before. You looked so happy with Namjoon. He knew that was all his fault so he didn’t understand where this jealous feeling was coming from and why his brain and heart were betraying him.

He watched you reach up to wipe away some of the chocolate that had gotten onto Namjoon’s cheek. The two of you definitely sharing a moment and Yoongi felt his heart rate increase. He quickly pushed that feeling aside as he had no right. He had slept with multiple women since you got married and he was the one that told you that you were welcome to see other people so if you took Namjoon to your bedroom right now he had nothing to say.

He thought back to that night he carried you back from the beach. You looked so adorable with your lips slightly parted, your skin a beautiful hue of pink thanks to the sun, the way you wrapped your arms around his neck nuzzling your face into his shoulder. At that moment on the beach he realized how harsh he had been and that you didn’t deserve any of it. It’s not your fault that at 19 years old another woman ripped his heart out and stomped on it and then lit it on fire and he decided he’d never allow himself to go through that ever again instead choosing to be the breaker of hearts. The night after he carried you to the hotel while laying in the bed next to you he made a decision that he’d change if not for him then at least for you. Obviously, he failed once he returned to Seoul and he was introduced to the two female interns that he brought back home while you sat innocently watching a movie waiting for him. He knew he was a coward. He was too scared of getting his heart broken again that he decided to continuously break yours and now it looks like you found someone to help mend it and who was he to take that away from you. Deciding he saw enough he rushed off to his bedroom before you could find him standing there.

Once the cookies were baked and cooled you packaged most of them up before handing the box to Namjoon.

“Here take these. There’s no way I’m going to eat them all.”

He smiled but shook his head, “What about Yoongi? I’m sure he’d love to have some of these. I don’t want to take them all.”

You chuckled, “Yoongi never eats anything I cook. He’s probably worried I’ll try and poison him or something so I could get out of this marriage.”

Namjoon laughed at your joke and then confirmed again he was okay to take all the cookies before thanking you and heading out the door. You did a quick clean up of the kitchen before heating up a mug of warm milk and grabbing the two cookies you had saved and headed off to your room for the evening after shutting off the light.

Later that night you woke up hearing a loud bang come from the kitchen. It sounded just like a cabinet closing so you assumed it was Yoongi making himself something to eat. Not being concerned you turned over and went right back to sleep.

Yoongi however, had checked every cabinet and drawer looking for the cookies you made. He always snuck little tastes of your food in the middle of the night when you weren’t there even though you always offered him food each time. Part of him being too stubborn and not wanting to give you the satisfaction of eating the food you cooked and another part of him just felt like he didn’t deserve your food and was too embarrassed to eat it in front of you. He had heard all about your famous cookies from Jimin and he was really looking forward to trying one when he saw you and Namjoon baking them. Giving up he turned to shut off the light and that’s when a little baggy on the counter caught his eye. Inside a perfect looking double chocolate chip cookie with a stick note attached to the bag saying ‘Yoongi’. He took one bite and was in heaven. He thought back to you and Namjoon looking so happy together. Like a real couple. How you smiled and gently touched him. How Namjoon made you laugh. Yoongi finished off the cookie but he was no longer enthralled by the chocolate goodness. Suddenly the cookie tasted like a mix of heaven with a pinch of jealousy and a dash of regret.

#bts #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #min yoongi #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #bts yoongi #yoongi x y/n #yoongi #arranged marriage au #ceo au #yoongi au #cinnamon&vanilla #namjoon #bts fic #bts x reader

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jtl-fics · 1 year

Text

Fluent Freshman - Part 16

Sweeties is very busy tonight but they get a table relatively quickly. He sees some people looking at their group all dressed in the ‘required’ attire for going out to Eden’s and reminds himself that maybe it’s for the best that people remember him tonight. It MAY help the police find his body in a shallow grave somewhere if they can piece together his last few hours.

Nicky stops by the salad bar and grabs three packs of crackers. He hands one pack to FF who just stares blankly at it before shrugging and figuring his stomach needs something so he opens the pack and just eats the crackers.

Nicky looks at him with an abundance of fondness that he doesn’t understand but shakes his head and hands a laminated menu over to him to order dinner from. “I know you’re not drinking but you still gotta take your meds before we leave.” Nicky reminds and FF nods. He reaches into his pocket to confirm that they’re there and feels something cheap and plastic.

Oh god, he forgot to take his Happy Meal Toy out of his pocket. No one needs to know that.

He shoves his hand into his other jacket pocket and the sandwich baggy with his single dose for his Ulcer is right there.

He starts to look at the menu when he realizes that everyone else already knows what they’re going to order since they apparently come here regularly. He tries his best to never be a regular at any place where they can see him and repeat his order back to him (Hello CVS girl, yes thank you for holding some Pepto for him. No he is very brand loyal and would not like to try Tums thank you.)

FF stands behind the art of the panic pick.

He has cultivated this ability over his many years of panicking. He can look at a menu and pick an item that might not be the thing he most wants on that menu it is something that he can eat or drink. Then while he has that pick queued up and ready to fly if a member of the waitstaff comes over before he’s actually read what’s on offer he has his panic pick.

A place like this has GOT to have a burger.

He finds it under the sandwich section easily enough and now he has his panic pick as he peruses the rest of the menu.

The waitress comes far faster than he had anticipated and slams waters down at each of their spots. “What can I get you?” She asks and before anyone says anything Nicky and Aaron slide over the two packets of crackers that she takes before looking at the empty packet in front of FF, “Just two?” She asks.

WHAT KIND OF CODE IS THIS?

“Just two.” Nicky says grabbing his trash and handing it over to her.

She shrugs, “Anything else on the menu I can get you boys?” She asks.

They all make their orders and Nicky, bravely, steps in to remind him he likes his burgers well done when the waitress asks.

“Sorry, I should have warned you.” Nicky laughs bumping his shoulder against FF’s “This place has this stuff called cracker dust, it gets you high but it’s not addictive.” He says.

Every single 80’s PSA goes off in FF’s head all at once.

NICKY “FLIPS TURTLES BACK ONTO THEIR FEET” HEMMICK DOES NOT LOOK LIKE HOW THE ‘JUST SAY NO’ ADS HAD SAID HE WOULD.

There’s not a trench coat! He wasn’t even wearing a hoodie with the hood up! There’s no sunglasses! Nicky had given him a baggie for his ulcer meds but IT WAS A SANDWICH BAG.

“I see.” He says out loud.

“Do you wanna try some.” Aaron asks. He double checks and yeah Aaron is still in the same club clothes he had left the house with. He has on a hoodie but the hood is down.

He does as any 80’s teen sitcom protagonist does by the end of the episode.

“No thank you.”

He thinks Mr. T would be happy that he said No. That ad had been especially nerve wracking as a kid when Mr. T ‘shakes some sense’ into the camera.

“Alright, no worries. Neil and Andrew don’t do any either.” Nicky says quickly.

The drugs come with the food and Nicky and Aaron pocket them before handing over cash to the waitress who just counts it right there. He focuses on digging into his burger and realizes it has jalapeños on it but Nicky volunteers to eat them with his nachos and lets the conversation weave around him as he polishes off his burger and takes his ulcer meds. “Oh cool, hand me the bag so I can keep our stuff in there.” Nicky makes a grabbing motion with his hands and FF just hands it over.

He zones out as he eats his fries. He wonders if Great Gran is upset watching him or if she’s happy that he said no to drugs. Maybe he should have said yes, then he could at least be blasted out of his mind when Andrew dragged him to the basement.

Well, it’s too late now.

The waitress comes and clears out their plates but picks up her notepad and pen again. “So, what ice cream do you boys want tonight?” She asks and looks straight at FF.

But FF is prepared.

Ice cream places are easy. His panic pick is a given, it’s Vanilla. Every ice cream joint has it so he barely even notices how his heart rate kicks up to 190 BPM and his palms grow instantly sweaty.

“Vanilla.”

“Sorry Hun, we’re fresh out.”

OH GOD. QUICK, SAY SOMETHING ELSE.

“Surprise me.”

NO YOU IDIOT SAY CHOCOLATE.

“Surprise you?”

RETRACT, IT’S NOT TOO LATE.

“Yeah. Surprise me.” He repeats and he can FEEL Nicky vibrating with laughter next to him.

“Alright Hun, I’ll surprise you.” She winks at him and he blinks back at her.

The rest of the table all order (They’re all normal people who order strawberry (neil), the special with chocolate (Nicky), Lemon Sorbet (Aaron), and Brownie Fudge (Andrew).

“Surprise me.” Nicky whispers to him.

“I panicked.” He whispers back.

“Yeah obviously.” Nicky snorts but pats him, “It’s fine. The worst is you might end up with Pistachio or something.” He pats FF on the back.

FF likes Pistachio and the world loves to make FF suffer.

“Here you go hun. We just got this in, it’s Mango.” She says setting down two scoops of a bright orange ice cream down in front of him, “With a little surprise.” She winks again as she sets the other ice cream down.

They all get started.

Why is the Ice Cream kind of spicy?

He eventually puzzles out that the waitress has served him a Mango and some kind of pepper (probably habanero) ice cream. She smiles when he thanks her for the surprise, tries not to let it show how much the spice is KILLING his stomach let alone the acid of the mango.

Andrew has his eyes narrowed on him and he’s sure the man doesn’t want him to make a scene at a place that seems to be a frequent haunt for the family. So he eats every last bite and ignores how his lips tingle.

“Ohhh it must have been good. Maybe we should get you her number.” Nicky says looking at his empty bowl.

“No, I’m good.” She was pretty but considering the acid currently swirling in his stomach she probably thought he was an asshole for asking for her to ‘surprise him’. Even if that wasn’t the case, what if she thought it’d be cute to serve him this spicy ice cream as a cute couple thing? His stomach can’t take that.

“Aw man you’re no fun.” Nicky pouts.

They pay for their meals and the waitress hands him his receipt with a wink. He nods back at her before shoving the receipt into his pocket next to the Megamind toy. “Have a good night.” He says.

“You too Hun.” She says.

They head out for Eden’s and in a way the ice cream is a blessing because his stomach hurts enough that he barely even notices his anxiety about being at the place where Andrew most certainly is going to stab him at least once by the end of the night.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie @theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lilyndra @themugglemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig @notprocrastinatingatalltoday @percyjacksonfan3 @queenofcrazy27 @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares @spencellio @adinthedarkroom @harpymoth @sufferingjustalilbit @anxietymoss @oddgreyhound @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken @ken22789 @atiredvampire @isoldescorner @not--a--pipedream

The requests to be added to the tag list got spread out across a few different mediums on this one so if I missed you I swear it wasn’t malicious I’m just brunch dumb at the moment. Remind me in the replies!

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

#fluent freshman au #I swear they're going to be at Eden's next time #The Ice Cream discourse made me laugh enough that I ended up writing about Sweetie's instead lol #The majority of you looked at my boy and saw Vanilla and you are not wrong #The Waitress: Marge those boys brought someone new and he's funny. He told me to surprise him for the ice cream flavor.#Marge (manager): Well what are you going to surprise him with?#The Waitress: Well he got the burger with Jalapenos so he must like spice. We got that new flavor in right? Can I dig into early?#Marge (Manager): sure #Andrew watching Nicky and Neil whisper and bump shoulders: I'll definitely show him the Speak Easy once Nicky and Aaron are fucked up #I would like to thank my buddy Kim for helping me workshop the most damaging ice cream flavor to FF #Originally was googling weird ones but truly few could be worse for his tummy #And he left his tried and true pepto at home. This really isn't his night #AFTG #AFTG AU #AFTG OC #AFTG Fic #AFTG shitpost #my fic #FF - PT. 16

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