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rememberwren · 3 months

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A Complete Set (Whatever That Means) || 1

This is a direct sequel to Skin Deep which can be read here. From now on I'm splitting up any one shot that is longer than 10k. So here is part one of this sequel. 6k.

Johnny pierces fem!reader’s nipples.

About this: at least five nipples in this one, an altogether questionable use for a sequel, nipple play, graphic depiction of nipple piercings, alcohol, jealous!soap, spoilers in the 'about this' section, iffy writing. Reader has enough hair to “hold back” and height difference necessitates that she “looks up” to speak to Simon.

Thirty minutes waiting for Green Jade Chinese takeout when you’re only a block from the restaurant is a crime. It’s even more of a crime when it’s thirty minutes spent away from Ghost—whose name you have learned is Simon. Laying on the sofa in Skin Deep, your stomach gives another shameful growl. You glance at the clock on your phone, hoping he hasn’t run into trouble…though you’re not sure there’s much in the way of trouble that Simon couldn’t handle.

The bell over the door rings, and you sit up, smile blooming in anticipation.

“Hey youuu–fuck!” you nearly shriek.

Standing in the doorway is a man who is decidedly not Simon, though there are similarities. They are both tall (though Simon must stand a hand taller), and broad (this bloke’s biceps are threatening the sleeves of his t-shirt as he crosses his arms across his chest), but that is where the similarities end. Where Simon is pale and blond, this man is tan and brunet, his hair a cropped mohawk that looks soft to brush one's fingers through.

Looking over his shoulder is a beautiful woman with braids that drip down to her shoulder blades.

“I tend to have that effect on women,” he says, glancing back at her.

“I can imagine,” she says, no small hint of flirtation in her voice.

“Um. Sorry, but there aren’t any walk-ins,” you remind them. The sign had been right bloody there. Could they not read? A more important question: were they murderers looking for their next victim? In the city, one could never know if a person was malevolent or just stupid.

“Where’s the big guy?” the man asks. He holds up a hand a few inches above his head. “Tall. Devastatingly handsome. Monosyllabic.”

“He should be back any minute.” That’s what you’re supposed to say, right? You always let the murderers know that time is not on their side; no inconvenient prey here. Try again elsewhere. “Maybe you two could wait outside.”

The man does a neat little trick with his tongue, flashing a silver barbell piercing at you like a calling card. “I’m the piercer, lass. I own forty-nine percent of the business. Let Ghost know I’m back with a client, alright? Nice meetin’ you.”

The two of them disappear together behind the curtain at the back of the shop, leaving you hoping that a small hole will open up directly beneath your coordinates and swallow you whole. Hopefully it will leave the shop intact. Maybe you had the time to let Simon know not to look for your body—

The bell rings again, and this time it is Simon, his mask still pulled up over his nose and mouth, one paper bag of fragrant Chinese food tucked under his arm. He takes in the sight of you with your head in your hands, elbows on your knees and approaches with caution.

“What’s this?” he wonders out loud. He sets down the bag and tears it open: egg drop soup, pork fried rice, crab rangoon. All your favorite goodies. A feminine giggle is heard from the back of the shop and he sighs, eyes rolling toward the ceiling.“Soap. What’d he say to you?”

“Nothing. I just put my foot in my mouth.”

“Yer a flexible one, aren’t you.”

“Just in that one, very specific way, trust me,” you say, accepting the disposable chopsticks he hands you. You break them apart and go looking amongst the packages of food for your rice. “I mistook him for a client and asked him to wait outside.”

Simon sucks on his teeth, a sure-fire sign that he is trying not to laugh.

You launch a chopstick at him, scoffing when he catches it nimbly out of the air and offers it back to you.

“Careful with that,” he says solemnly. “Could have taken my fuckin’ eye out.”

In the back, a scream rings out. You jerk, nearly upending the rice in your lap. Under his breath, Simon mutters: “Always Soap with the screamers.”

That night, the two of you fuck at his flat. He puts you on top of him, where you can control how deep the penetration is, and it gives you a chance to explore the angles that you never really had a chance to explore with other partners. With others, it had been a race: rushing toward some blissful edge, hurrying to get them (and if you were lucky, yourself) off as quickly as possible. With Simon, you were just discovering that sex could be fun; sex could be slow; sex could end with no one orgasming and it could still change your life.

He is an excellent sport while you ride him, his eyes quiet and soft in a way they aren’t when you’re outside of his flat together, when the mask is on and pulled up into place. If he weren’t so fucking put together, you might say that he were pussy drunk. As it is, he stays still, hands kneading your thighs until you nearly get a cramp in your hip and then he sits up, guiding you off of him and back into the bedsheets, laying face to face to fuck you in a way that is so painfully intimate it makes you want to shut your eyes.

Afterwards, you curl up against his side and find yourself playing with his nipple piercing. He’s got cute nipples: small and pink as his mouth. The barbell is black, a nice contrast to his skin tone. He watches you sometimes, other times letting his eyes fall shut.

“Did this hurt?” you ask him, tugging on the barbell a little.

“Yes,” he says in that dry way that lets you know your question has amused him.

“You know what I mean. You’ve gotten tattoos and had your ears pierced. What’s the worst pain?”

He shifts to touch a spot on his inner arm where a black and white skull rests. The skin is delightfully soft and thin. “This part nearly had me in tears. Barely felt the nipple, in comparison.”

Your mouth says it before your brain comprehends it: “Maybe I should get mine done.”

He stares at you, eyes briefly falling to your breasts. He reaches down and skims his fingers along the curve of one, his fingertips calloused but his touch so very soft. He says: “Soap did this, didn’t he?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re alone with Soap for sixty seconds and now you want your tits pierced. Are you saying that’s a coincidence?”

You frown. “I don’t know. I mean, maybe he influenced me, subconsciously?”

“He didn’t ask you?”

“No! He had a client with him.”

Simon hums. His face is closed off, expression unreadable. You can sense there is more that he holds back the same way you can sense a body of water is deep, but he doesn’t share and you don’t push him, not sure if you’re ready to take that plunge yourself.

“It was a silly idea,” you backpedal. “Forget I said anything.”

“It’s your body,” Simon says, ignoring your words. “You should do whatever you want with it.”

“Yeah? You’d be surprised how rarely anybody ever says that to a woman.”

“Most people are cunts.”

“True.” You reach out and thumb at his nipple again, just to satisfy the urge in your own tiny, one track brain. He takes a measured breath—for Simon, that’s as good as a moan. Your eyes flicker down, but his cock is hidden somewhere beneath the sheets. “Want to go again?”

He guides your hand down to wrap around his cock which is like hard steel wrapped in smooth velvet.

You roll on top of him. The cramp in your thigh has faded by now. Reaching up, you palm your breasts, briefly playing with your nipples. You’ve never considered yourself to be particularly sexy, but the way he looks at you makes you feel powerful, like the sun lives just underneath your skin.

“I think I do want them done,” you say, watching the hungry way he watches your fingers. He sits up, tugging you onto your knees so he can take one nipple into his mouth and tease it with the sharp line of his teeth.

You figure that’s as good a blessing as any.

Simon tends to spring things on you. Texts are usually last minute and painfully succinct: dinner? or my place? He is prone to just showing up out of the blue, unafraid (and unoffended) to take no for an answer when you’re busy.

One sunny fall afternoon, the thing he springs on you is Soap. Simon brings you to the shop, telling you that he needs to meet with a client. You’ve never tagged along to something like this before, but you’re beginning to think that there are few places Simon could go where you wouldn’t want to follow. Convinced you will be hiding in the back of the shop without a word to alert either of them to your presence, you agree easily enough.

But when you arrive, that client is Soap, and instead of letting you hide in the back, Simon picks up a chair with one hand, hauling it across the room so that you both sit flanking Soap on either side while he’s in the tattoo chair getting some fancy, winged symbol just over his pec.

“We’ve got a spectator? A voyeur?” Soap asks, rubbing his hands together. “Oh you know all my seedy kinks, Ghost.”

“I can leave, really,” you offer, already moving to stand.

“Sit,” Simon says.

You sit. Johnny sheds his shirt with obvious relish, and you find the artwork on the wall just over his shoulder to be incredibly interesting all of the sudden.

Soap extends a hand to you. “The big guy still hasn’t introduced us. Some call me Soap, but beautiful women are allowed to call me Johnny.”

You shake his warm hand to be friendly and make the mistake of meeting his eyes. They are very blue, framed by dark lashes and expressive eyebrows. He flashes his tongue piercing at you again and you jerk your hand back like you’ve been burned. He laughs.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, MacTavish,” Simon murmurs, putting a gloved hand flat on his chest to force him back against the chair. You see then that Johnny has both his nipples pierced: little golden rings that compliment his tanned skin.

He’s fit, unfortunately.

You look back at the picture on the wall while Simon grabs the razor to shave Johnny’s pec. You learn that there’s no such thing as silence when Johnny is in the room. He keeps up a consistent chatter of conversation while Simon preps his body and lays the stencil, and it goes a long way to putting you at ease.

“Would you hold my hand, lass?” Johnny asks, eyes big and guileless. “I’m scared of needles.”

Simon rolls his eyes, tugs his mask into place, and starts the gun without waiting for your response. The buzzing causes a visceral reaction in you, reminding you of your own tattoo that you had received from Simon only weeks ago. A craving rises up in you, tangible in your throat (and between your legs). You shift on the chair Simon brought over for you, eyes drawn to his hands to watch him work.

Johnny wiggles his fingers at you, palm up.

Your chair legs screech against the floor as you scoot in bursts towards him and take his hand. You haven’t even held hands with Simon yet, and here you are holding hands with his best friend. Suddenly regret has you wishing you could draw your hand back and wipe the touch away on your leggings. Unaware of your turmoil, Johnny heaves a sigh, giving you a smile that is painfully handsome. “There. Now I feel safe.”

“You shouldn’t,” Simon reminds him.

“Ready to tell me where your newfound generosity has come from?” Johnny asks, straining his neck to glance down at Simon’s work. “What happened to never tattooing friends for free?”

“I want you to owe me,” Simon says, voice quiet and distracted as he traces the line work.

“You need a favor,” Johnny guesses.

“Something like that.”

“Well don’t leave me in suspense.”

“She wants her nipples done.”

Simon lifts the gun away from his skin just in time for Johnny to jerk in the chair, head swiveling to look at you. Your own head has swiveled to look at Simon, who holds both hands up innocuously, looking not at all apologetic or regretful.

“You want me to cop a feel of your girlfriend’s tits?”

“Don’t say it like that!” you squawk.

“It’s true. We get very close and personal during a piercing, lass—“

“There’s a fundamental difference between copping a feel and touching my breast—“ You realize that you are still holding Johnny’s hand and you practically toss it away.

“I’m not laying a finger on her,” Johnny says firmly, speaking only to Simon now (likely considering you a lost cause). “Period. Out of the question.”

“I’m not letting her go to a stranger,” says Simon, brows drawn down low on his forehead. “So get over your own bullshit and pierce her, Johnny. It’s fine.”

Johnny’s mouth shuts with such force that his teeth click together. He turns his eyes on you and stares. You feel like you’ve already taken your top off even though you’ve done no such thing. Shyly, you cross your arms in front of your breasts, giving him your best glare. It has the opposite of intended effect; Johnny’s gaze softens a little, turns pitying.

“Alright,” he says. “Consider my bullshit over with.”

Simon inclines his head in gratitude. He picks back up the tattoo gun.

“What’s the story with you and Johnny anyway?” you ask Simon over dinner. He rarely takes you out, more content to spend time alone in private rather than in public. His eyes can’t stop scanning the few people in the restaurant. Sometimes his hand reaches for his mask, instinct urging him to draw it back over his mouth and nose, but he doesn’t.

“We met in the SAS, been friends ever since,” he says succinctly.

“How’d you two go into business together?”

“I was doing stick ‘n pokes for anyone who would sit still. He was piercing soldier’s ears in exchange for cigarettes. We both decided we’d rather live to see thirty, so when our time was up, we didn’t re-enlist, pooled our money, bought a location and never looked back.”

You frown. “I didn’t know you were in the military.”

He nods, sipping at a water (he’d refused your offer to share a pint together). You’re aware suddenly of how much there is about Simon that you don’t know.

“Was Johnny the one to pierce your nipple?”

Simon stills for a moment, considering the question. At length he sets his glass down and says slowly: “Yes.”

“Why do I sense there’s a story there?”

“Because there is. I’m sure Soap will be thrilled to tell it with as many details as possible.”

“Shouldn’t you tell me first, to control the narrative?”

Simon’s mouth twitches, lips quirking upwards at the edges. Coaxing one of his rare smiles from him never failed to make you feel like you were walking on clouds. He says: “You’re clever.”

“High praise.”

“Does that do something for you?”

“What?”

“Being praised.”

You sputter a little, flustered. But then it occurs to you: “Are you changing the subject?”

This time he grins, full and beautiful. You think about Soap calling him ‘devastatingly handsome’, and while there was a part of you that was sure the masses would not agree with your assessment of him, you couldn’t help but find Simon striking. Looking at his smile makes you smile, an unconscious mimicry.

He catches the waitress as she comes by and asks for the check.

“You look frightened,” Johnny says when he spots you as you come into Skin Deep. He’s seated on the couch where you and Simon had sex, texting on his phone. How he knows you look frightened, you couldn’t say; he hasn’t even looked up to greet you.

“What gave me away?” you ask, feeling queasy. You’d spent half the night awake watching videos on reddit of people getting their nipples pierced feeling increasingly panicked. It looked brutal. It made no sense to stick a needle through one of the most sensitive parts of your body. But it hadn’t made sense to be stabbed a hundred thousand times by microneedles either—and you’d done that. Eagerly, even.

“That look on your face that says you’re about to be sick,” Simon says from behind you.

You turn and give him a tepid glare. It’s all you can muster.

Johnny leads you back through the curtain, which you cross with a muted giddiness (your first time in the back of the shop!). It leads to a narrow hallway with a few frosted doors. One is clearly marked as a bathroom. One isn’t marked at all. The last has the light on inside, turning the frosted glass a golden yellow. The writing on the glass says SOAP’S ARTISAN PIERCINGS. He opens the door and ushers you both in.

The room is small, with a chair similar to Simon’s except for performing piercings. One wall is dominated by cabinets and drawers and mirrors, a small porcelain sink. A table holds a photobook which you make the mistake of skimming through—it’s full of clits, labias, penises, and nipples, all with a variety of gruesome appearing jewelry.

“Ow,” you mutter, shutting the book.

“Getting ideas for your next piercing?” Johnny asks over his shoulder, washing his hands at the sink. He soaps himself up to the elbows, like a surgeon preparing to root around in your open chest.

“No,” you say. “Definitely not.”

Simon has seated himself in one of the chairs in the corner, his legs looking obscenely long with the way they are folded. He leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees, watching you closely. You pull a face at him just to watch the way his eyes roll.

“Everything off from the waist up,” Soap says, tugging gloves into place. “Any allergies? Latex, dyes?”

He is much more abrupt today than he had been yesterday. You’re almost moved enough to ask him if he’s upset, but perhaps this is just his professionalism. Regardless, you miss the easy-going nature that had gone so far to put you at ease yesterday.

“No,” you say, shrugging out of your shirt. It is warm in the room but goosebumps still bloom along your arms and chest. God, are you really doing this? Are you really exposing yourself to Simon’s best friend? You glance back over your shoulder, but Simon’s face gives no indication of what you should do. The message is clear: you have to choose. Taking a deep breath, you slide the straps of your bra down your arms and reach around back to undo the clasp, folding everything nice and neatly into a pile on the chair beside you. Your nipples immediately pucker, whether from nerves or some unwilling arousal, you couldn’t say.

Johnny isn’t even looking at you. He’s opening up packages of frightening looking tools: scissors with clamps on the end, needles, toothpicks? “Had any caffeine today?”

“No. Wait, yes. A tea.”

“Goddamnit, Ghost. You and yer bloody teas.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, not really,” Johnny says. “I’d prefer if you hadn’t drunk it, but what’s done is done. Makes the blood thinner though, you know.”

“Didn’t know that. I thought that was just alcohol.”

“Alcohol is worse,” he agrees. He glances over his shoulder, but towards Simon whose dark figure is haunting the corner of the room. His expression is sly. “Ghost knows all about that, aye?”

You latch on to this news eagerly. “Are you talking about when you pierced his nipple?”

Johnny’s brows lift in obvious surprise. “He told you about that?”

You hear the creak of the chair behind you as Simon shifts but you don’t turn to look at him. “He told me some of it?” you say, voice pitching upward at the end in question.

“Which parts, exactly?”

“Just that you were the one who had done it.”

“Left out all the tastiest bits,” Johnny says. “I bet he does that a lot when talking about his days with the 1-4-1.”

Your stomach dips.

“That’ll do,” Simon says sternly from the corner.

Johnny scoffs a little, muttering something under his breath as he arranges the tools to his liking. The silence that lingers is thick and awkward. Eager to break it, he turns to you and your tits. “Alright then. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

You want to cross your arms more than you want to take your next breath, but you don’t. You don’t breathe either, really. Johnny stares at your breasts and then asks you to stand and come closer. Knees knocking together, you do, until you are close enough to smell his cologne or aftershave—whichever you aren’t sure.

“Biggest question here,” he says, glancing back toward your eyes. “Are we doing one today or both?”

“Uh—both?”

“Let me bring this to your consideration,” Johnny says. “If you can’t go without playing with them, I recommend just doing one at a time. Because once I pierce it, it’s hands off for six months. No touching, no twiddling, no teasing, no twisting, definitely no tasting, I’m talking to you, Ghost—“

“Fuck off.”

“—so if that’s a dealbreaker, I recommend leaving one to play with. Stagger them. Mitigates the loss a little.”

You glance back at Ghost. On the one hand, nipple play is a favorite of yours. On the other hand, if you don’t do both today, you might chicken out and never come back. In the end, you decide: “Let’s start with one and see how I do.”

“Yer the boss, hen,” Johnny says solemnly. He tears open a tiny package, the bitter scent of antiseptic stinging at your nose. “Any preference on left or right? Do yeh have a favorite?”

“A favorite?”

He snorts. “Alright—which side do you sleep on?”

You say your left, so he takes the antiseptic wipe to the right breast and warns you with a brief, It’s chilly, before swiping it across your nipple. You hate every moment of it, mostly because the stimulation feels good in a distant, muted way. Teeth gritting, you wait for him to be done, even though he is a consummate professional and going as fast as he can.

Next he takes one of the toothpicks, dips it in ink, and marks a spot on either side of your nipple where the needle will pierce. It’s more on the areola itself; you can’t decide if that makes it more or less tolerable.

“Go check the placement in the mirror, let me know if you’re level,” says Johnny, tossing away the toothpick.

You turn to Ghost instead. “Will you be my mirror?” you whisper.

The corners of his eyes crinkle behind his mask. He beckons you closer with two fingers, and you walk to him on unsteady legs. His hand cups your breast, careful not to touch any part that Johnny has sanitized as he looks you over thoroughly.

“Perfect,” he mutters, almost like a curse.

“Hey! No touching!” Johnny calls, crumpling a piece of trash noisily in his fist. He sounds irritated. “Don’t you make me sanitize her again!”

When you and Simon have finished, Johnny adjusts the chair until it is laying flat and helps you up onto it.

“Normally I freehand most piercings,” he says. “But since this is your first, I’m going to use a hemostat clamp. Looks like this—“ He shows you the device which looks like scissors but with clamps instead of blades, holes strategically placed for the needle to be pushed through. “—and I’ve been told it hurts more than the piercing itself, so be warned.”

“I’m warned,” you whisper weakly.

“Arm up, over your head lass.”

He scoots his chair beside you and then gently touches your breast, the latex warm from his body heat. He adjusts the clamp and then grips down tightly, ensuring that the marked spots of ink are within the holes. It does hurt, but not as badly as you imagined. You let out a breath. You can do this.

“Ready for the needle?”

Yeah, you can’t do this. Your other hand reaches out blindly towards Simon. After a moment, you feel his touch: hand warm and solid where he laces your fingers together awkwardly. Neither of you have had much practice in the way of hand holding—and none at all with each other—but you feel his touch all the way in your toes, and you think that’s a pretty good sign.

“Make all the sound you want,” Johnny mutters, breath fanning across your outstretched arm. “It helps, trust me. On three. One—“

He pierces you. You suck in a breath through your teeth. “You bastard, that hurt way more than the clamp!”

“Yeah,” says Johnny, guiding the jewelry through your nipple. He looks down at you with a sad, strange smile. “I’m a liar.”

You shower together that night. The shower is small for a man of Simon’s stature. Add you into the mix and it’s positively tiny, but that just means you both have to stand close together, bodies brushing against each other with each movement. He puts his hands on your shoulders and turns you to the spray to let the water run across your sore breast, thumbs kneading at the tense muscles of your shoulder blades.

You relax back against him, feeling his hard cock against the small of your back. He doesn’t do anything about it, so you don’t either.

“What’s the verdict?” you ask him. “Do you like it?”

“Is it important to you that I like it?” he asks, voice rumbling against your back.

You think.

“Yes,” you say.

His hand comes down to ghost over your unpierced breast, cupping it in his huge palm. Your hard nipple rasps against the calluses on his hand making you shiver even in the heat of the shower. He squeezes softly, pulling a sound from the back of your throat that is lost thanks to the roar of the water against the tiles.

His mouth brushes against your ear, lips damp: “I like it.”

You twist in his arms, his cock dragging against your slick body, and look up at him. His hair is plastered to his forehead, a shade darker than usual. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You guide his hand to your hair. “Hold this for me.”

You slip down onto your knees.

How’s the piercing healing? Simon messages you one afternoon. Soap won’t shut up asking me about it.

Give him my number, you suggest.

After a lengthy silence, Simon texts: He says he doesn’t want it.

And just what the fuck is that supposed to mean? Maybe it was some weird piercer/client boundary he didn’t want to cross, but Ghost had come across more stringent (in just about every aspect of life) and he had had no problem crossing the tattoo artist/client boundary to text you mock ups of your tattoo. Something in your gut goes sour. Something sows itself in the soil of your heart, something thorny and unpleasant, and you don’t like it one bit.

It’s fine, you tell him. I’m taking care of it.

Okay, he says. And that is the end of that.

The next time you see Johnny, it is Simon’s birthday. True to form, he does not make a big fuss of it, though it’s clear that this is the first birthday he has shared with a romantic partner perhaps ever.

He genuinely seems to appreciate the Bluetooth stencil printer you bought him as a gift (he’d looked at the wrapped present like he didn’t know what to do with it, unwrapped it with the same enthusiasm as a man walking to the gallows, but when he’d seen it, he’d given one of those slow, rare grins; the crooked ones thanks to the scar across his mouth), and you silently congratulated yourself on getting him something practical over something sentimental.

“The boys want to get together,” he says that afternoon. “I want you to come, too.”

How could you say no to that?

So you doll yourself up, wearing your nicest pair of skinny jeans and a sweater to keep away the autumn chill. You are giddy at the thought of meeting Simon’s other friends, so much so that you cleanly overlook Johnny’s hot and cold act. At least there will be others there to act as buffers between the two of you.

The pub itself is more crowded than Simon would like. He won’t even take his mask off, keeping his back against the wall and eyes on the door. Not for the first time, you wonder if he doesn’t have some sort of PTSD, something leftover from his time in the service. It would make a lot of things make a lot more sense.

You meet Kyle, who clasps your hand with both of his own, grinning so fetchingly. “Nice to meet you,” he shouts over the sounds of the pub. “Simon’s never brought a woman around before. You must be special.”

“That means be on your best behavior, Garrick,” Simon says dryly, shifting his mask to sip at a beer—the first you’ve ever seen him drink.

“Yes, sir.”

John arrives next. He’s older than the others, though there’s not yet any hint of silver in his facial hair. He smiles, eyes twinkling, and shares Kyle’s sentiments. It shouldn’t make you feel as special as it does, knowing that Simon hasn’t brought a woman to meet his friends before. But it does. It means something. The two of you still haven’t discussed exactly what your relationship is, but it seems clear in the eyes of everyone around you, which makes you feel a little more like you’re standing on solid ground.

Johnny arrives last. His easy grin falters at the sight of you. He slips into the other side of the circular booth beside John and barely greets you, barely even meets your eyes. You don’t shrink, necessarily—you’re aware that you belong here, celebrating Simon, just as much as Johnny does—but you do grow quiet, your arms crossed in your lap, leaning into the warm comfort that Simon’s body beside you provides.

The group together are downright boisterous. Even Simon comes out of his shell some as the drinks come and go, eventually tugging the mask down to rest beneath his chin. They tell stories that make you laugh, make you tear up, make you cringe, make you groan. It eases some anxious part of your heart to hear these uncensored stories, to learn more about Simon’s past straight from the sources.

It’s clear that their time spent serving together has made a brotherhood of them, and while a small part of you feels estranged as the outsider amongst this group, the larger part thinks it’s beautiful to see.

Simon deserves this, you think, as the group gets up: some to go to the bathroom, others to the bar, others to smoke. He deserves to be surrounded by people that love him.

You realize right there in that cracked leather booth of the bar that you are included in that.

You’re in love with him.

“Oh God,” you mutter, pressing your hands to your cheeks. Suddenly your head is spinning from the few shots you had shared with the others. Air. You need air.

Not spying Simon anywhere near the bar, you take your chances of running into him outside and step out of the pub onto the cool street. There is a bitter wind blowing that has you wrapping your arms around your middle, wishing you had worn a jacket over your sweater. Resting your back against the brick wall, you stare up at the moon and think. Nothing has changed between now and five minutes ago, except that now you are a little wiser to your own feelings. A little more aware of how invested you are in this undefined relationship. You don’t need to freak out.

You just need to talk to him and figure out where you both stand with each other. It is the only—

“You followin’ me?” You jerk, startled. Johnny stands there, having come around out of the alley, crushing the remnants of a cigarette beneath his boot. His cheeks are red from the cold, hands jammed deep into his pockets.

“What? Of course not!”

“Alright,” he says, his agreement sounding a lot like skepticism. He moves past you toward the pub doors.

You know that you shouldn’t. You know that for some inexplicable reason, Johnny doesn’t like you, and that you should take this at face value and leave well enough alone. But instead it makes something inside you feel needy and desperate, desperate for this closest friend of Simon’s to like you, desperate to fit it to Simon’s old life.

“Hey,” you say, catching his wrist. “We should plan my next piercing while you’re here.”

He visibly shakes off your touch. His eyes look back toward the pub longingly. “Yeah. Look, not much to plan, really, is there? Just let Simon know when you’re ready and he’ll text me.”

He opens the door. For a moment, the sounds and smells of the pub spill out onto the sidewalk, but then the door shuts and it is quiet and you are alone.

“Johnny doesn’t like me much,” you say to Simon on the way home. You’re driving—three beers in total had managed to make him tipsier than you thought possible for a man of his stature.

He snorts. “Soap loves everybody, and everybody loves Soap.”

You take your eyes off the road briefly. Simon’s figure is illuminated by a passing streetlamp, turning his silhouette into something gilded where he is slumped over in the passenger seat resting his temple against the cool glass of the window. “I don’t love him,” you say, hoping you don’t overemphasize any certain word.

Simon looks to you. You can feel his eyes on the side of your face. Not even being drunk affects the intensity of his gaze, the way it penetrates you, turns you see-through. Whatever he sees in your face must not be enough, because his head thuds as it hits the window again.

“It wouldn’t be the first time that a girl who was supposed to be mine ended up being for Soap.”

You suck in a breath, heart clenching painfully. Taking one hand off the wheel, you search for his thigh—find his knee and settle for it, stroking softly with your thumb.

“I’m not Soap’s, baby,” you say.

“No?”

You shake your head.

“Whose are you?”

“Come on, Simon,” you mutter, face hot. “You already know.”

“Are you mine?”

You nod.

“Don’t say it.”

You blink, glancing over to him. He’s watching you, eyes heavy-lidded and pitch-black in the darkness of the cab. “Why not?”

“Because I’ll make have to you pull over.”

Instead he makes you wait until he’s inside you, still feeling the rasp of his stubble against your thighs from where he had eaten you out. Then, his hands shaking, he asks you again, Whose are you? just to hear the way you chant over and over again: Yours, Yours, Yours.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #skin deep

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atlaculture · 2 months

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Favorite Foods: Katara

Since Katara was forced to take on a traditionally maternal role at an early age, I'd like to think her favorite Water Tribe dishes are the ones that are quick and easy to prepare. I also feel that Katara would be fond of the few fruits and edible greens available in the arctic, as it brings back fond memories of foraging with her mother and grandmother during the warmer seasons.

Sea Prunes (Entire 1st Row)- Katara doesn't express many food preferences in the show, but she seemed pretty enthusiastic about eating sea prunes, so I assume it's a meat she enjoys. Sea prune is another name for the black katy chiton, a type of mollusk. Their shells are dark and leathery, earning them nicknames like "sea prune" and "gumboot". Sea prunes are a traditional protein source for many indigenous peoples in Alaska and western coastal Canada. I think Katara would enjoy them sauteed with Chinese (Earth Kingdom) five-spice or tossed with seal oil in a kelp salad.

Suaasat - A Greenlandic Inuit soup. It traditionally consists of a thick broth made of seal meat, barley, onions, and potatoes. I'd like to think that she likes any dish where you can just throw all the ingredients in a pot and feed a lot of people fast.

Boiled Crab - She likes crabs because they're relatively easy to catch and even easier to cook. You just boil them and crack them open!

Pitsik - Dried Arctic Char. Like crab, she enjoys the simplicity of preparing it. You simply fillet the fish with its skin on, score and salt the flesh, hang the char to let the arctic winds airdry it, and you have a delicious jerky-like snack! They are also rather visually striking when you hang them up.

Akutaq - Meaning "mixed together" in Inupiat and Yupik, this dish is traditionally made with whipped fat, boiled fish, and berries. Commonly used berries include cranberries, lingonberries, cloudberries, bearberries, and crowberries. A sweet and savory meal that Katara and her mother probably used to make together.

Suvalik - If akutaq is “Arctic Ice Cream”, then suvalik is “Arctic Fruit Salad”. It’s traditionally comprised of emulsified fish eggs and seal oil mixed with berries. It’s described as creamy and sweet. This dish is known in Yupik culture as qerpertaq.

Bannock - Also called palauga in some Inuit dialects and alatiq in Yupik. Bannock is an unleavened flatbread found throughout North American indigenous culture. Since the flour has to be imported all the way from the Earth Kingdom, it was a rare treat for Katara growing up. She also likes how easy it is to make.

For more Water Tribe dishes, check out my Cultural Cuisine tag.

Like what I’m doing? Tips always appreciated, never expected. ^_^

https://ko-fi.com/atlaculture

#atla #avatar #avatar the last airbender #water tribe #replies #cultural cuisine #katara #ATLA favorite foods

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bestanimal · 14 days

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Round 1 - Phylum Arthropoda

(Sources - 1, 2, 3, 4)

Arthropoda is a phylum of animals that have segmented bodies, possess a chitin exoskeleton, and have paired segmented appendages. They are colloquially called “bugs” though this is often only used for terrestrial arthropods, and sometimes only used for insects specifically.

After Nematoda, this is the most successful phylum, and it is far more diverse, with up to 10 million species! Arthropods account for 80% of all known living animal species. The three major subphyla include the Chelicerates (sea spiders, horseshoe crabs, arachnids, and the extinct eurypterids and chasmataspidids), the Myriapods (centipedes and millipedes), and the Crustaceans (shrimps, prawns, crabs, lobsters, crayfish, seed shrimp, branchiopods, fish lice, krill, remipedes, isopods, barnacles, copepods, opossum shrimps, amphipods, mantis shrimp, entognaths, and insects).

Arthropods are so diverse in fact that it is next to impossible for me to describe a model arthropod. They are important members of marine, freshwater, land, and air ecosystems and are one of only two major animal groups that have adapted to life in dry environments, the others being chordates. All arthropods have an exoskeleton and must molt as they grow, replacing their exoskeleton. Some arthropods go through a metamorphosis in this process. They have brains, a heart, and blood (called hemolymph, though some crustaceans and insects also use hemoglobin). They sense the world through small hairs called setae which are sensitive to vibration, air currents, and even chemicles in the air or water. Pressure sensors function similarly to eardrums. Antennae monitor humidity, moisture, temperature, sound, smell, and/or taste, depending on species. Most arthropods have sophisticated visual systems ranging from simple eyes (ocelli) which orient towards light, to compound eyes consisting of fifteen to several thousand independent ommatidia capable of forming images, detecting fast movement, or even seeing polarized or ultra-violet light. Some arthropods are hermaphroditic, some have more than two sexes, some reproduce by parthenogenesis, some by internal fertilization, some by external, some have complex courtship rituals, some lay eggs, some give live birth, some have prolonged maternal care. The first arthropods are known from the Ediacaran, before the Cambrian era.

Propaganda below the cut:

Insects are the first animals to have achieved flight

The smallest arthropods are the parasitic crustaceans of the class Tantulocarida, some of which are less than 100 micrometres long. The largest arthropod is the Japanese Spider Crab (Macrocheira kaempferi) with a legspan of up to 4 metres (13 ft) long. The heaviest is the American Lobster (Homarus americanus), which can get up to 20 kilograms (44 lb).

Many arthropods are popular pets, including various species of crab, shrimp, isopod, crayfish, mantis shrimp, millipede, centipede, tarantula, true spider, scorpion, amblypygid, vinegaroon, mantis, cockroach, beetle, moth, and ant! Some are even domesticated, including silk moths and honeybees.

Many arthropods are eaten by humans as a delicacy, and farming insects for food is considered more sustainable than farming large chordates. These farmed arthropods are referred to as “minilivestock.”

Arthropods feature in a variety of ways in biomimicry: humans imitating elements of nature. For example, the cooling system of termite mounds has been imitated in architecture, and the internal structure of the dactyl clubs of mantis shrimp have been imitated to create more damage tolerant materials.

Spider venoms are being studied as a less harmful alternative to chemical pesticides, as they are deadly to insects but the great majority are harmless to vertebrates. They have also been studied and could have uses in treating cardiac arrhythmia, muscular dystrophy, glioma, Alzheimer's disease, strokes, and erectile dysfunction.

Shellac is a resin secreted by the female Lac Bug (Kerria lacca) on trees in the forests of India and Thailand. It is used as a brush-on colorant, food glaze, natural primer, sanding sealant, tannin-blocker, odour-blocker, stain, and high-gloss varnish. It was once used in electrical applications as an insulator, and was used to make phonograph and gramophone records until it was replaced by vinyl.

One of the biggest ecosystem services arthropods provide for humans is pollination. Crops where pollinator insects are essential include brazil nuts, cocoa beans, and fruits including kiwi, melons, and pumpkins. Crops where pollinator insects provide 40-90% of pollination include avocados, nuts like cashews and almonds, and fruits like apples, apricots, blueberries, cherries, mangoes, peaches, plums, pears, and raspberries. In crops where pollinators are not essential they still increase production and yield. Important pollinators include bees, flies, wasps, butterflies, and moths.

Many arthropods are sacred to humans. In Ancient Egypt, scarab beetles were used in art, religious ceremonies, and funerary practices, and were represented by the god Khepri. Bees supposedly grew from the tears of the sun god Ra, spilled across the desert sand. The goddess of healing venomous bites and stings, Serket, was depicted as a scorpion. Kalahari Desert's San People tell of a legendary hero, Mantis, who asked a bee to guide him to find the purpose of life. When the bee became weary from their search, he left the mantis on a floating flower, and planted a seed within him before passing from his exhaustion. The first human was born from this seed. In Akan folklore, the cunning trickster figure Anansi/Ananse is depicted as a spider. Western astrology uses the crab constellation, called Cancer, and the scorpion constellation, called Scorpio. Dragonflies symbolize pure water in Navajo tradition. In Anishinaabe culture, dreamcatchers are meant to represent spiderwebs and are used as a protective charm for infants. They originate from the Spider Grandmother, who takes care of the children and the people of the land in many Native American cultures. The Moche people of ancient Peru often depicted spiders and crabs in their art. In an Ancient Greek hymn, Eos, the goddess of the dawn, requests of Zeus to let her lover Tithonus live forever as an immortal. Tithonus became immortal, but not ageless, and eventually became so small, old, and shriveled that he turned into the first cicada. Another hymn sings of the Thriae, a trinity of Aegean bee nymphs. Native Athenians wore golden grasshopper brooches to symbolize that they were of pure, Athenian lineage. In an Ancient Sumerian poem, a fly helps the goddess Inanna when her husband Dumuzid is being chased by galla demons. In Japanese culture, butterflies carry many meanings, from being the souls of humans to symbols of youth to guides into the afterlife. Ancient Romans also believed that butterflies were the souls of the dead. Some of the Nagas of Manipur claim ancestry from a butterfly. Many cultures use the butterfly as a symbol of rebirth. And the list goes on…

cute crab eat a strawbebby:

#round 1 #animal polls #listen narrowing it down to just 4 images almost killed me #if arthropods don’t move on to round 2 I will have to take like an extra week off to mourn that I can’t show you all the cool bugs #there’s so many cool bugs guys #i chose the orchid mantis over a trilobite beetle and a poofy little bee fly cause I figured it had broader appeal #and used a horseshoe crab instead of a spider cause people are so Weird about spiders I worried it would impact the numbers #sigh #anyway I’m really hoping for Chordata Arthropoda Mollusca as top three #other phyla are all great but these three would make for the most interesting Round 2 imo

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astraystayyh · 1 year

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when you're feeling sad, changbin will do anything (being silly) to cheer you up!! fluff and comfort.

this was so fun to write, binnie is so iconic i wanna be his friend so bad. hope you'll enjoy <3 this won't make sense if u don't have some binnie references tho

"Baby, I'm home!" Changbin's voice echoes loudly through your apartment as soon as he opens the door. You bury your face in your pillow, turning around in your bed so he'd think you were asleep.

It's not that you didn't want your boyfriend to see you. But the day has been overwhelming, small mishaps piling up on you. And as trivial as it sounds, your last straw was not finding your favorite cereal in the cupboard.

You couldn't possibly tell him that you broke down crying for cereals.

Changbin comes into your room, tiptoeing to your side of the bed when he notices your seemingly sleeping figure. He stares at you fondly for a while, before leaning down to kiss your cheek. He frowns to himself, before repeating the action once, then twice.

So he wasn't dreaming- your skin is wet. He skims a finger tentatively down your cheek, and sure enough, he can feel the tears drying slowly on it.

"Baby," he calls out gently, and when you don't respond, he says it again, his tone a bit more urgent. "Baby!"

You open one eye to look at him, "what?"

"Were you crying?"

"No." your response is curt and Changbin stares at you pointedly. You huff, because he can read you like an open book. "Yes."

That's all it takes for him to slide into the bed next to you, placing his back against the headboard. He then easily manages to pull you over his lap- he's strong, and you are too tired to resist him.

"What's wrong?" he asks and you look up to the ceiling, avoiding his penetrating gaze.

"Nothing."

"Okay," he simply responds, grabbing strands of your hair in his hands. You watch silently as he braids them, or atleast attempt to, eyebrows furrowed in the utmost concentration.

"What are you doing?"

"Welcome to Changbin Salon," he grins, his voice suddenly high-pitched. You can't help the giggle that leaves your mouth at the absurdity of his words.

"Changbin Salon, you say? What other services do you offer?" you tease and he drops your hair, holding your hands instead.

"We can bring you food."

"Like what?" you smile a bit and he smirks mischievously at you.

"Chili chili crab crab."

"Not again," you whine, hiding your face in his broad chest. It took you three weeks to convince Changbin to not sing it anymore. And two additional weeks to get that silly song out of your mind.

"Say the truth. You just want an excuse to lay on my chest," he coos, hitting your back with his fists like a kitten.

"Binnie, you are insufferable," you laugh loudly, and his eyes soften at you. His teasing smile morphs into a genuine one, and you know that he's being this way just to cheer you up.

"Why were you crying?" he asks again, drawing soothing circles across your palm.

"Today was stressful, nothing seemed to work my way. And then, I got home and I was craving cereals. And there were no more cereals, so I started crying."

"So you were planning on sleeping hungry?! As if Seo Changbin isn't your boyfriend?!"

He's fully outraged as he picks you up, and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, his warm hands holding your thighs with ease.

"But now we can eat together," you grin, bopping your nose with his and he nods, "what's my pretty baby craving?"

"You know, I think I really want to have that chili crab."

"Let's order it then," he smiles at you as he walks to the living room, "Should I do it singing?"

"Please," you giggle and he places a tender kiss on your forehead.

"Anything you want."

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #skz changbin #changbin x reader #changbin fluff #skz hurt/comfort #skz imagines #skz soft thoughts

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ryanmarshallryan · 4 months

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Biggest Birthday Ever - A Pred's Birthday

My birthday is coming up, and a great birthday gift would be to share some of my stories, donate or commission for some, or maybe even eat me up like a birthday cake! To celebrate I’ve written a couple birthday oriented vore stories, and here is the first of the duo, from a pred perspective. And each weekend this Pride month I’ll be sharing another new vore story so stay tuned!

Pedro woke up to the smell of pancakes wafting through his house. This was peculiar, he thought, as he did not have any roommates. Once this realization hit him, he jolted up and went to scope out the kitchen and was surprised to find his friends, Finn and Orville making him breakfast.

“What are y’all doing here?” Pedro gasped.

“Happy birthday, mate!” Orville gave Pedro a big hug, and leaned back and grabbed Pedro’s belly and shook it vigorously, “We thought we’d help you have the biggest birthday ever, by making you the biggest ever.”

The three of them had met through a gainer site, so often when hanging out eating big was a topic of important discussion. Orville was a gainer himself, and had a gut that rivaled Pedro’s. Orville was quite the opposite, having a metabolism so fast he looked underweight. Pedro thanked them for making him food.

“Oh this is only the pregame. We’re going to a brunch buffet after this.” Orville said with a smile.

“Then your favorite thai restaurant for lunch,” Finn piped up.

Orville shot him a look, “Don’t give away all the surprises. Don’t shove them down his throat… just yet.”

And so they ate. Pancakes, sausages, eggs, bagels, fruit, bacon, french toast, then for lunch pad thai, crab rangoon, scallion pancakes, and the food did not seem to stop coming. Pedro was stuffed beyond belief, but as Finn rubbed his belly his eyebrows went upward to dare Pedro to eat more.

On and on the gluttonous gathering continued, as they went to Orville’s backyard and Pedro was surprised with the sudden appearance and chanting of a whole hoax of other friends who had planned a whole surprise birthday barbecue for him. He went from friend to friend, socializing and catching up, each friend in turn showering him with more treats and desserts to try. It seemed that each attendee had brought something to feed Pedro. It was truly a gainer's dream. Pedro wasn’t sure whether the feeling of fullness he felt was more from food he ate or the appreciation he experienced.

Orville came and found Pedro and blindfolded him, letting him know there was another big surprise for him waiting to get in his gut. Orville led him over to a table and lifted his blindfold to reveal a transformed Finn. Finn was covered, head to toe in chocolate and strawberry syrups, whipped cream and frosting. He was sitting on a sheet cake, and posing like a model.

“It’s your birthday, of course you need some cake!” Finn shouted in celebration, smacking his behind to emphasize the last word. He blew Pedro a kiss and mouthed “eat me.”

Pedro needed no more encouragement than this, he bent low to the edge of the table, putting his mouth by the edge and pushed down on his side, so that the contents of the table began sliding down towards him. Entranced by the sudden chanting of “Chug! Chug!” by his friends, Pedro opened his mouth wide and relaxed his throat to let a mountain of cake and Finn slide easily into his belly. As Finn’s face came close to his he could hear Finn shouting along with excited “Woo!”s. He felt Finn’s feet kick around inside his stomach and watched as Finn’s face passed out of sight, down his throat.

Once the cake had either entered Pedro’s belly, or fallen sideways onto the ground, Pedro relinquished his grip on the table and stood up, to reveal his squirming gut, filled with endless amounts of food, cake, and Finn. He wiped frosting off his face and gave a great big belch.

Everyone cheered, as another cake was brought out, and they all began singing songs of “happy birthday” wishes to him. He could hear one voice reverberating in song inside him along with the crowd of friends. Finn appeared to be massaging Pedro’s insides, to make room for more cake.

They all ate and ate and ate some more, until everyone at the party had either tapped out to go home, or passed out somewhere on the premises.

Orville, came up to Pedro, and aggressively shook his belly once more, leaning in and listening to the annoyed shouts of Finn, who must have fallen asleep in the soup of birthday gluttony.

Orville coaxed Finn to wake up enough for Pedro to hurl him up, then afterward Orville and Finn gave Pedro on last piece of cake to fill the void (not that there really was much space inside Pedro’s stuffed belly, gurgling away more food than it had ever had in it at once).

Pedro slept away, a bit fatter, and much fuller in more ways than one. He thought to himself that he must think of a way to thank Orville and Finn for planning a great birthday for him.

#gayvore #male vore #m/m vore #gay gainer #gay fat vore

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vulpixisananimal · 2 months

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"How 'bout this?" (Asks Bonnie, holding up another spoonful of soup for you to try. You take a sip.)

(It's creamy, a little salty, nice and hot. It burns a little on your tongue but it was okay. Because once it was past your throat you didn't feel much more.)

"Tasty!" (You respond with a smile.)

(You were set up next to Bonnie as they cooked the meal for tonights sleepover. It was, differen't. Sure there were some similar stuff, samosas, rice, but they were making some soup for you now, too.)

"You sure?" (Bonnie pouted at you.) "I mean! Of COURSE it's tasty!!! Duh!!!"

(You let out a little laugh as Bonnie confidently goes back to cooking. They had been nicer than usual. Last time you were in the same kitchen you were banned from cooking for life. Not like you could now anyways, hahaaa. . .)

(You still couldn't move.)

(It had been a few hours, Odile had tried a few more things, Mira, Odile, and Isabeau had gone around town asking for help, trying not to cause a panic, reasuring people you were okay, trying to keep things discrete. You hadn't gotten a chance to talk to Loop.)

(It was all. . . So, so differen't. They were all acting similar but, differen't. The play had shifted, changed, they all had gotten a script and you had to improvise. At least you had a lot of rehearsals.)

(Even if they should probably just get a replacement actor, haha.)

(Look at you, can't move from the neck down. Had to get help to get anything. Stars, Bonnie would be more helpful in the house than you. . .)

". . . Heyfrin." (Bonnie took a pause from cooking. They didn't look at you.) ". . . Are we gonna be okay tomorrow?"

(H-huh???) "Of course we are." (You say with a smile.)

"I'm not a stupid kid, Frin!!!" (Bonnie yells.) "You always look for the traps and the keys and stuff and know where to go!! What if we can't make it! What if we don't get to the King, and, and. . ."

"Bonnie. . ." (You want to reach out to them. They're, are they crying?)

"And what if I don't get to see Nille again!!" (They were crying.) "What if, i-if. . ."

"You'll be okay, Bonnie." (Oh no you are nooooot ready for this talk.) "I, promise. I promise okay? You'll be okay."

"But you don't know that!!!" (Bonnie turned to look at you, finally. They looked like a mess.) "You don't know if we'll make it!! You're just, just saying that!!!"

(But, you do know.)

(You know that, no matter what, they'll be okay. You'll get out of this, eventually. It, it might be harder now but. . .)

(It might be impossible, but. . .)

(But. . .)

"It's not fair!!!" (Bonnie shook their head.) "It's not fair!!! You can't even move!! And you wont get to meet Nille!!!"

(Wait.) "You, wanted me to go back to Bombouche after-?"

"Of course I did!!! Crabface!!!!" (Bonnie angrily turned back to the food.) "I know you don't crabbing care about me but I wanted you to see my sister!!! Now you won't!!! None of us will!!!"

(That. . . That, this was new- wait, wait you know this!)

"Of course I care about you!" (You yell, a bit more emotional than you meant.)

"You don't crabbing care about me!!! You don't know anything about me!!!"

"But I do know about you. . ."

"You don't!!! Not even a little bit!!! You don't even know my three favorite foods!!!"

(Bingo.) "I do. . ."

"H-Huh?!?" (They turn to you again.)

("You love. . .") "Rice."

"Y-yeah, that's true, but. . ."

("And. . .") "Pineapples."

". . ." (Bonnie stopped crying and was looking at you surprised.)

("And the last one is. . .") "Samosas!"

". . . But. . . But what samosas?" (They pouted.) "Yeah!! I bet you don't even know that!!! Which samosas are my favorite!! Stupid!!!"

("Is it samosas. . .") "Without cheese and with potatoes?"

(They were just, staring at you, shocked. Just like before.) "Y-yeah. . . Those are, are my favorite foods."

(Yes!!! Still got it!!!)

"You. . . Do pay attention to me?" (They looked away, wiping away some tears.) "No that's stupid, of course you do. Or else you wouldn't have. . ."

(. . . Wait, what happens now?)

". . ." (They looked away still, thinking for a second. Then they huffed, turning to you.) "Okay. Maybe we could make it out of tomorrow."

(Bonnie paused again.) ". . . Hey 'Frin, I know you wont be able to fight tomorrow, so, maybe you could, help me how to fight."

(What? This, still is working?!?) "U-uh! I mean, I can't exactly show you right now-"

"I know that!! Dummy!!! I mean just give me some things to know or what to do or something!!"

"Well. . ." (Hmm, okay, maybe this could work, but. . .) "Okay, it's a bit late in the day though."

"Aw Crab." (Bonnie pouted, looking at the food they were cooking.) "Stupid."

(Oh well, there's always a next time. Maybe if you bring this up earlier in the day. . .) "But I know you're going to do great, okay?"

"Okay. . ."

". . . Hey, breathe with me, okay?"

"Uh, okay?"

(You said it on autopilot honestly. But you roll with it, you and Bonnie breathe in. . . And Out. . .)

". . . All good?" (You ask Bonnie. They nod.)

"Uh huh."

(. . . . . . This is awkward.)

". . . Don't burn the food!"

"CRAB!!!"

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

"Sif. . . Hey. . . Hey Sif. Siffrin. Siffarooni."

(Isabeau was whispering your name. It was like the other nights, comforting. In a way.)

(You were lying in bed. Staring at the celing. You couldn't sleep. Your mind had been racing with what to do, thinking up ideas, ways to get through the house, ways to survive.)

(You turn your head to look at Isabeau.)

"Uhm. . . Sorry? Are you doing okay?" (He asks. Alright, a bit differen't.) "Too hot? Uncomfortable?"

(You softly laugh.) "I wouldn't know."

"O-oh, right." (He looks away, sheepish.) "Sorry."

(Not being able to feel anything had been even more inconvenient than you thought. You couldn't feel if you were too hot, too cold, hurt, anything.)

"C-can, I check?"

(You nod. Isabeau reaches out a hand puts a hand on your forhead. You try not to wince, and try to savor it. He takes his hand back.)

"You don't feel hot, but, maybe, if you need anything I'll get it okay?"

(You smile.) "I'm fine, Isa."

"O-okay. . ." (He looks away.) ". . . I. . . Wanted to. . ."

("To tell you something.")

(Isa pauses, as he always did.) ". . . Wanted to tell you, something."

"The thing I wanted to tell you. . . . Is. . . . . That. . . . ."

"I. . . ."

("Don't have anything to tell you right now.")

"I. . ." (He pauses.) ". . . I . . . I won't leave, okay?"

(HUH?!?!?!??!) "W-what-?"

"I-I mean!" (He tries to keep his voice down. Looking to the side, nervous.) "I mean, I, I won't go untill you're better, okay? E-even after, after we beat the King, okay?"

(That's. . .) "Isa. . ."

(You look at him, he's, so bashful. Embaressed. He turned to look at you, smiling.)

"Hey, everything okay?" (Huh?!? That was Bonnie's voice. Usually Isa would get a faceful of pillow right now. You turn your head to look.)

"'Frin okay?" (They were wipping the sleep from their eyes, Mira had sat up too.)

"I-if you need anything, or anything's wrong, or-" (She asks, calmly.)

"H-hey I said I could be on Siffrin duty, don't worry!" (Isa replied.) "Promise!"

"I-I just wanted to make sure-"

"Let Siffrin sleep." (Odile spoke up, finally.) "And let me sleep too, frankly, otherwise I might wake up cranky. You do not want to see me cranky."

"Sorry."

"Sorry, m'dame."

"S-sorry. . ."

(They all get tucked into bed again. You turn back to Isabeau. He's looking at you, sheepish, like before. But, then he smiles. A big, biiiig smile. You smile back.)

(Finally. . . You're starting to feel sleepy.)

#hehehehehehhehe since yall liked the first one~#isat #in stars and time #isat art #isat au #isat siffrin #isat bonnie #isat isabeau #isat odile #isat mirabelle #isat fanfic #frozen in mind au

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