#Green Coffee Beans Online

[abyssiniacoffee]

Buy Organic Ethiopian Green Coffee Beans Online

Shop premium organic Ethiopian green coffee beans online. Enjoy the finest coffee beans from the Kingdom of Abyssinia. Buy now!

[stephlynndrawings]

@nirnwrote fullfillment??? More likely than it seems. Prompt(s):  a cheap but satisfying breakfast and/or ❛ you know me better than I know myself. ❜

Not many people were up when the youngest Rosegrass left her home. The sun was barely peeking above the horizon and the bird song was just beginning to fill the air as she made her way to the road that headed towards Vulkasten. Normally, she’d be happy to eat in her own village, but with the village in the middle of rebuilding, it left little to no choices for her to pick from. 

Her feet carried her on memory alone as she rubbed the last remains of sleep from her drooping eyes. By the time she had blinked the last remains of the stubborn grit, she was at the bottom of the stairs that led to the larger village. The air had warmed just enough for her to notice, but otherwise was too focused on getting food to really enjoy the warmth soaking into her skin. 

The Tall Trunk Tavern had become a common place for the Bosmer of Tanglehaven to eat at when the working nights got long and tiring, and the mornings were difficult to rouse from. Wylarin was grateful to have a place so close by, especially since resources were often spread thin due to the war efforts in Cyrodil- though she tried to forget about the bloody battlefields. 

Once her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the tavern, she walked over to an empty table in a far corner, content to sit with her head on the cool leather tabletop until the server came to tell her what was on the menu for the day. 

“‘Ello, Wy. What can I get you today?” Galithor asked politely, amusement coloring his voice as he waited for his friend to wake up some more. At first, his only response was a muffled murmur, but soon the redhead lifted her head to squint at her friend, nose crinkled in displeasure as she took in his sly smirk. 

“What’s on the menu?” She asked, resting her elbow on the table with a soft thunk and cradled her chin in the palm of her extended palm. 

Galithor rolled his eyes in fondness before clearing his throat, pretending to hold out a scroll to read, “Ahem, it seems that today’s breakfast options are either eggs and sausage or flatbread with honey spread.” He declared. 

“Flatbread please.” She hummed, giving him a soft smile before letting out an involuntary yawn. 

“Sounds good, I’ll go take another order and then I’ll get on it.” 

His footsteps walked away from Wylarin just as she let out a jaw cracking yawn, sleepy tears pricking at her eyes.  Said eyes opened once more when she heard another set of footsteps approach and any kind of tenseness faded away when she saw the familiar face of her eldest triplet, Thoron. 

Thoron’s auburn hair was free of the usual style he kept it in, showing that he most likely rolled out of bed and headed in the same direction as Wylarin had. His blue eyes were tired, but not as droopy as the youngest’s were. Neither sibling broke the silence that hung over them as the eldest settled down in one of the two remaining chairs at the table, his head making itself at home on the tabletop while one hand stretched out to faintly tap his sister’s arm as if in a silent greeting. 

They sat in silence, both dozing off at the table when another set of footsteps alerted them to the missing sibling of the three- Sillas. The middle of the triplets was much more awake than his other two, the reason for his perkiness being answered when he set something down on the table and plopped down in the final chair, his blonde hair tied back in a simple ponytail. 

“G’mornin, sibs. Gotcha something to drink.” He said simply, still smiling as the other two carefully grabbed the covered mugs on the tray, avoiding the one that was already open. Right away, both were hit with the earthy smell of coffee, the bitterness seeming to make them more alert. 

Thoron hummed as a way to thank the other before taking a large sip, not minding the scalding liquid. Wylarin, on the other hand, gave the drink another sniff, her eyes lighting up as she looked at her immediate older brother.

“Is this- You know me better than I know myself.”

“Fermented dung bean coffee with a splash of jagga in it? Yes it is.” Sillas said proudly, moving the tray he had used to the floor beside his feet when he spotted Galithor coming to their table with two trays, a knowing smirk on his face. 

“I thought you two would turn up, so I made enough for all three of you.” He stated with a huff of laughter. Once they were settled, he left with a smile. 

Sillas perked up when he saw what his siblings had ordered for breakfast, a happy smile on his face, “You know me better than I know myself!” He laughed, already grabbing a serving of eggs, sausage, and flatbread with honey spread. The other two laughed as well and grabbed their own servings. 

The breakfast was simple and would surely never impress an Altmer, but the three were happy as they ate and joked, sharing a moment of peace away from war and the aftermath of it. 

the foods and coffee were inspired by @tastesoftamriel :)

[coffeeroasters]

A Beginner's Guide to Buy Green Coffee Beans Online

So, you've decided to take your love for coffee to the next level and roast your own beans at home. Congratulations! Venturing into the world of home roasting opens up a whole new realm of flavours and experiences.

But where do you start? Fear not, dear coffee enthusiast, for I'm here to guide you through the process of buying green coffee beans like a pro.

Understanding Green Coffee Beans

Before we start to Buy Green Coffee Beans Online, let's take a moment to understand what they are. Green coffee beans are simply raw, unroasted coffee beans.

Unlike the brown beans you're accustomed to seeing, green coffee beans retain all their natural flavours and characteristics, waiting to be unlocked through the roasting process.

Why Roast Your Own?

You might be wondering, why go through the hassle of roasting your own beans when you can simply buy them pre-roasted? Well, roasting your own coffee beans allows you to have complete control over the roasting process, resulting in fresher, more flavourful coffee.

Plus, it's a fun and rewarding hobby that lets you experiment with different roast profiles and flavour profiles.

Finding a Reliable Coffee Bean Supplier

Now that you're sold on the idea of home roasting, it's time to find a reliable coffee bean supplier. With the plethora of options available online, choosing the right supplier can seem daunting. But fear not; with a bit of research, you'll be well on your way to finding the perfect beans for your palate.

When looking for a Australian Coffee Subscription, consider factors such as their reputation, variety of beans offered, shipping options, and customer reviews. Look for suppliers that source their beans ethically and offer detailed descriptions of each bean's origin and flavour profile. Websites specialising in buying green coffee beans online often provide helpful resources and guidance for novice home roasters.

Tips for Buying Green Coffee Beans Online

Check for Freshness: Just like with any other food product, freshness is key when it comes to coffee beans. Look for suppliers that roast their beans in small batches and prioritise freshness. Avoid beans that have been sitting on the shelf for too long.

Consider Origin and Variety: Different regions produce coffee beans with distinct flavour profiles. Explore beans from various origins to discover your favourites. Whether you prefer the bright acidity of Ethiopian beans or the chocolatey notes of beans from Colombia, there's a world of flavours waiting to be explored.

Start Small: As a beginner, it's tempting to buy large quantities of beans to experiment with. However, it's best to start small until you've honed your roasting skills and preferences. Look for suppliers that offer sample packs or smaller quantities to get started.

Read Reviews: Before you buy green coffee beans online, take the time to read reviews from other customers. Pay attention to feedback on the quality of the beans, shipping experience, and customer service. This can help you avoid potential pitfalls and ensure a positive buying experience.

Roasting Your Green Coffee Beans

Once you've selected the perfect beans from your chosen coffee bean supplier Melbourne, it's time for the fun part: roasting! There are various methods for roasting coffee beans at home, from using a dedicated coffee roaster to DIY methods like oven roasting or stovetop popcorn poppers.

Experiment with different techniques to find what works best for you, and enjoy the process of bringing out the flavours hidden within each bean.

Conclusion

Buying green coffee beans online is an exciting journey that opens up a world of possibilities for coffee lovers.

By finding a reliable coffee bean supplier and following these tips, you'll be well on your way to enjoying freshly roasted coffee from the comfort of your own home. So, what are you waiting for? Start exploring the wonderful world of home roasting today!

Source - https://www.atoallinks.com/2024/a-beginners-guide-to-buy-green-coffee-beans-online/

[shopteasandmore]

Website : https://www.shopteasandmore.com

Address : 2320 S. Hopkins Ave., Titusville, Florida, USA

Teas And More is a specialty store offering a diverse selection of over 100 organic teas, spices, herbs, and coffee varieties. With a commitment to quality and flavor, they provide unique blends and traditional favorites. Customers can shop online anytime or visit the store in Titusville, Florida by appointment. They emphasize personalized service, aiming to meet the preferences of tea and coffee enthusiasts.

Facebook : https://www.facebook.com/TeasAndMoreFlorida/

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[afeelgoodblog]

The Best News of Last Month - August 2024

1.Negative Power Prices Hit Europe as Renewable Energy Floods the Grid

European power markets are experiencing a notable shift as renewable energy sources, particularly wind and solar, become a larger part of the energy mix. On Wednesday, power prices in several European markets, including Germany, dipped below zero due to a surge in green electricity production.

2. Taiwan introduces ban on performances by captive wild animals

Live performances by wild animals held in captivity, including performances by dolphins, tigers, and other non-domesticated mammals, will no longer be permitted in Taiwan under new Ministry of Agriculture (MOA) regulations.

3. FTC bans fake online reviews, inflated social media influence; rule takes effect in October

The FTC voted unanimously to ban marketers from using fake reviews, such as those generated with AI technology, and other misleading advertising practices.

The ban also forbids marketers from exaggerating their own influence by, for example, paying for bots to inflate their follower count.

4. Chinese drones will fly trash out of Everest slopes

Come autumn, Nepal will deploy heavy lifter drones to transport garbage from the 6,812-metre tall Ama Dablam, south of Everest. This will be the first commercial work an unmanned aerial vehicle does in Nepal’s high-altitude zone.

The heavy lifter from China’s biggest drone maker, Da Jiang Innovations (DJI), will take on tasks traditionally handled by Sherpas. Officials believe it will help reduce casualties on Everest.

5. Swiss scientists have found a way to use the whole cocoa fruit to make chocolate and not just taking beans and discarding the rest.

Kim Mishra (L) and Anian Schreiber (R) cooperated on the new chocolate making process

Food scientists in Switzerland have come up with a way to make chocolate using the entire cocoa fruit rather than just the beans - and without using sugar.

The chocolate, developed at Zurich’s prestigious Federal Institute of Technology by scientist Kim Mishra and his team includes the cocoa fruit pulp, the juice, and the husk, or endocarp.

6. Six-year-old boy found in Vietnam forest after five days

A six-year-old boy who was missing for five days has been found deep in a forest in Vietnam. Dang Tien Lam, who lives in the northwestern Yen Bai province, was playing in a stream with his nine siblings on 17 August when he wandered into the hills and got lost, local reports said.

He was found on Wednesday by local farmers who heard a child's cry while they were clearing a cinnamon field close to the forest.

7. Lego plans to make half the plastic in bricks from renewable materials by 2026

Lego plans to make half the plastic in its bricks from renewable or recycled material rather than fossil fuels by 2026, in its latest effort to ensure its toys are more environmentally friendly.

The Danish company last year ditched efforts to make bricks entirely from recycled bottles because of cost and production issues. At the moment, 22% of the material in its colourful bricks is not made from fossil fuels.

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That's it for this month :)

This newsletter will always be free. If you liked this post you can support me with a small kofi donation here:

Buy me a coffee ❤️

Also don’t forget to share this post with your friends.

[hoseoksluna]

LADY BEETLE | knj

pairing: non-idol!namjoon x oc

genre: situationship au ; sex playhouse ; glory hole  / smut, fluff

word count: 10.4k

summary: when you came to seoul's hidden sex playhouse to forget about namjoon, you didn't think the anonymous mr. kim would actually be namjoon.  

pin: lady beetle / taglist: join / discord: join

warnings: sex club setting, oc struggles with her feelings towards namjoon, glory hole but with hoseoksluna twist, engaging in sexual practices with a person you don't know, commitment issues, heated conversations, dirty talk, patience game, counting down (for my neva play girlies), oral sex (f. & m. receiving), deepthroat, face fucking, nipple play, unprotected and rough sex, teacher namjoon, spanking, praise kink, size kink, choking on fingers, rough treatment in general, aftercare, oc and namjoonie smoke together.

note: i daresay this is my best work. :D fuck my life, guys. i need this namjoon like i need air to breathe. if i see any of you wearing panties... TAKE EM OFF NOW. sldjflskdjfsl jk, jk. THE SUPRISE IS REVEALED. GLORY FAWKING HOLE. my babies, enjoy this filth. stream neva play. imagine that deep voice of his.... yeah. yeah....... faaawwkwkjsdlfjsdlfjsdfjslfjsls. ENJOYYYYY. LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK. MY ASK BOX IS OPEENNNNNNN.

The building looked ordinary from the outside view. Like any other building in this part of the city. Long and tall, coalescing with the evening heavens and with its freckles of stars—very much like those upon your skin. McDonald’s was just down the road, a to-go coffee stand perfumed the whole street with its coffee beans, and a bookstore stood right next to this peculiar piece of urban architecture, unaware of all the sins that lurked behind its walls. 

It may pretend to be pure, with its grand hall, its sophisticated reception and even graceful employees—dressed in the finest of fabrics that glinted beneath the opulent chandelier—but it was just that. 

An act. 

They smiled at you, but in their heart they knew what you were here for. 

In this seemingly normal, ordinary building all your sexual fantasies flare out. In the simplest of words, you come here to get fucked out of the norm that is considered vanilla. You fill out an online application, set the date, the time—and depending on your desire, you even get to see who your dream fulfiller is. 

In your case, you were going into this blind. 

And so was he, your dream fulfiller. 

While you opted to stay anonymous, the only detail you knew about the man was that he was from the cursed Kim clan. Another male that bore the last name like the one who wrecked your nerves to the point that you had to bite the bullet and try this out as nothing else was working. It was a newfound obsession of your best friend, who gifted you a voucher to this place on your birthday. And you weren’t sure if Kim Namjoon had the sixth sense and somehow knew about this, although you’d believe he was very much capable of possessing one, just to piss you off even more. 

You have been crushing on this man since the day you met him at your mom’s small ramyeon restaurant you are working in for her. Since the moment, in fact, you glimpsed at his vintage black Cartier watch with a matching singular bracelet adorning his wrist that he kept calmly on the table while he was on a work call, growling and snapping into the phone. Your mom curled her lips, swatted her eyelashes as she grew hot in the cheeks, chopping green onions for him from her cooking station while you were watching over the noodles. It was her who noticed him at first—and it was her who told you to do your best and seduce him. 

And when you lifted your eyes, saw that thick mane of his cloudy hair, the cleft of his cheek as he gritted his jaw and then that picturesque hand of his, you sensed that unfamiliar, magnetic pull towards him that made you blush. And you never looked more like her than in that moment. 

For some reason you knew better than to not listen to her and do as she says. You felt it was the right decision, the right move and so you fixed your hair, swiped your flower clip through a half of it while your face-framing wisps fell naturally in front of your pink face. Your mom tossed you her lip gloss from the pocket of her apron and you brought him the ramyon she cooked for him. 

Smiled at him. Batted your eyelashes at him like your mother taught you throughout your girlhood and it worked. 

Namjoon told you were a breath of fresh air when you sashayed towards him after such an important, yet aggravating phone call, apologized for the inconvenience, bowed slightly. Balanced, most delightfully, respect and flirting. Leaned more towards the latter when he would steal glances at you and smile at you at every opportunity that your gaze would connect to his. 

Your heart hammered once he came to you to pay for his meal. Your mother stopped whatever it was that she was doing just to beam at him and he personally gave her a huge tip in cash—right into her right hand that he held. Turned to you and asked you if you’d like to have dinner with him sometime. 

And you agreed—without knowing he would get on your nerves in the long run. 

Namjoon was not a serious man, not as he appeared to be. Although he showed you the side of Seoul you would otherwise never have the option to see and feel with your entire being by taking you to luxurious dinners, cafés, art exhibitions and work events—the things he would say and the things he would do did not reflect those settings by any chance. 

He took you from rags to riches and you paid for it by being a victim of his odd form of cute aggression. 

The man would get you tangled up in your sentences because he simply enjoyed the view of you getting flustered. He found pleasure in revving you up enough for you to curse at him and growl at him, be it by bugging you with tickles, pokes or be it by making fun of you until you yourself laughed. 

There was nothing sexual about your relationship, if you could call it that. He didn’t hold your hand, he didn’t regard you hungrily as so many men do in his place, but he did look at you with the rawest form of purity. At your freckles—ones that made him give you the adorable nickname Lady Beetle—at your butterfly tattoo on your ankle that your dress would always expose from its natural criss-crossed position. The things he would say did not contain any hints of this leading into the bed. And he never kissed you, even though there were many occasions, where he looked like he was about to do it. 

He always held back. And while it, and everything else, made you pristinely fall for him, it also angered you so much that there was nothing else you wanted to do but to grab his head and kiss him madly. 

And the other day, you did. 

Leaned in after the heft of your shared tension grew too big for you to hide it in your hands—only for him to turn his head, slightly, and let you merely kiss his cheek. 

That was the final straw. And so you stopped agreeing to his “date” invitations until you stopped replying to his messages altogether. You thought he wasn’t going to have any part of you if he wasn’t willing to properly date you. 

And in your anger, you dwelled in the hole he left behind. The hole that was asking for his fatherly attention that caused you so much extraordinary joy. Your mother must’ve sensed it with her motherly instincts that he would occupy that place in your life, which your father didn’t. Your body missed laughing with him until your tummy hurt—and you missed him. And the more you did, the more your anger blazed. 

You couldn’t get rid of it. 

You tried exercising. You tried running around the block, only to never do it again because you couldn’t catch your breath and you thought you had almost died that day. You smoked a pack after pack, and that didn’t help either. 

Neither did abusing your cunt until you couldn’t go on anymore. Your anger burned down your bedroom and once you groaned and whined, punched the pillows and kicked your legs, your eyes fell upon the voucher you had pinned on your corkboard  

Your remedy was in front of you, and in the worst of your anger—you gave it a go. 

You filled out that application in the middle of the night, one that made you even hornier. And because you didn’t want to see any other man but Namjoon while you were getting your brain fucked out of your head, you chose the only option there was for that case. 

Glory hole. 

And the idea of it made your anger falter ever so slightly. You could imagine it was him pounding you through the barrier. The wall would only help your imagination.

Friday. Seven PM. You had to come two hours early because it was a necessity for you to shower at the place after you signed the contract. You also had to quickly think of a safe word, it was the only thing you foolishly forgot to fill out that day, as lost as you were within your flight of fancy. And because the employee standing in front of you made you anxious, you wrote down the first thing you thought of. 

Beetle. 

Your heart pounded, and when you let go of the pen, the gravity of the moment hit you. You truly were about to swim in a pool of sin only because the man you desperately wanted didn’t want you back. At least not in the way you wanted him to. 

The employee led you into the room, where your own personal sin would uncoil. A grandiose, large space, plucked out of a French chateau, with dark antique furniture, an easel with a painting you were quick to skip to in order to ogle at it. Your kitten heels clicked on the old, parquet floors that creaked, scuffed against the carpet that cost more than your yearly salary. It was a room that Namjoon would like—and it was a room that took your breath away. 

And the painting paused your blood flow. 

The Unequal Marriage by Vasili Pukirev.  

A painting of you, essentially, because you can’t have the man you yearn for. 

Your heart shrinks, painful pinpricks digging deeply into the flesh. You lift a finger and trace the despondent face of the bride, acknowledge yourself with that secret, yet vivid piece of your agony eternalized within the thickness of the brushstrokes. Her silver flower crown, the gossamer fabric of her veil, and finally her delicate hand. And in your soul, you hold it. 

You peek at the elderly groom and disgust seizes you. Because of the poor girl’s fate, because of your own. It feels as though you’re about to sin with that very man and you regret ever coming here. 

An emotion that you hurriedly shake off because your best friend paid a huge amount of money for you to experience a good time. Like she did. 

Your hand slaps back to your side. Your emotions, too. You will them to hide their starlight just for this one night. Hide their love for the man they can’t have. 

You turn around and glimpse upon a table with bottles of both champagne and wine. Think you need one at this moment; think your dream fulfiller would appreciate it if you poured him one, too. But having one sip of that dark liquid, you say fuck it and finish his glass as well. 

Undress. Take a shower. Weep under the stream. 

And the same employee waits for you when you emerge out of the bathroom in your robe. With manicured hands folded over her stomach, her eyes have softened a little bit, and abruptly, you realize how glad you are that a woman is accompanying you on this strange journey. If a man stood in her place, you would’ve already walked out and wasted your best friend’s money. 

“Mr. Kim wishes for you to be naked,” she says, her voice light, but firm. Your skin prickles with goosebumps—you bought a lacy red lingerie for the occasion, to help your imagination do its job to the fullest. A certain wisp of sadness clutches you that you won’t be able to wear it. 

Or… 

“What happens if I disobey?” you ask, gripping the thick lining of your bathrobe at your chest for mental support. The seriousness of the situation inches nearer and nearer and your stomach knots. 

She inhales, straightening up, as if she was about to leave this room. “Mr. Kim is not a regular, so I don’t know anything about this temper, but I would suggest respecting his wishes.” 

And she does, making space for your thoughts to whirl, and your eyes trace the flowers on the red Persian rug underneath your slipper-shod feet. 

He’s not a regular, so that means he’s not anything like the disgusting groom in the painting. He may be an ordinary person just like you, trying your luck in an unusual setting. Perhaps young, perhaps older—but normal. Not a lecher about to feast on your purity. 

Your stomach relaxes as do your muscles and you walk over to the bed to grab your make-up bag. Set yourself into the doll version of you that enjoys a male company with your eyeliner and glitter. Finish the process with a red tendril of lipstick over your mouth—just to leave behind a pleasant trace if the man ever decides to up the fun a little bit. 

Will it be fun? Or will you regret every second? 

An unanswerable question for your doll brain. You shake it off. Sit down at the edge of the bed and wait. 

Wait for him to fuck not just your anger, but your feelings out of your body. 

The woman emerges out of the bright light of the hall as if she was a housekeeper coming in to clean the hotel room. To a naked eye, it is not far from reality. This time, her softness has deepened so much that she bears a smile on her face. One, that you’re unsure of what it means. And one that relaxes your system to its finality. 

She raises a hand towards the double doors, in the direction of the easel with the painting, and nods, her smile unwavering. 

“You may proceed, miss, through this door. You can take off your robe now and get on the bed through the back of the cubicle. Mr. Kim will join you in five minutes.” 

Your breath shivers as you exhale. You thank her and she clicks the door shut behind her. Scurrying onto your feet, you gather as much bravery as you can. Your bathrobe plops down onto the bed. You give one last look to the unhappy bride in the painting before you open the door. 

You sense her encouraging you to go on—to live a life full of emancipation that she never got to grasp with her fist. And that, you find, is your bravery. 

The dimmed room, in size, mirrors the one you just walked out of. And it stares at you head-on. 

The cubicle the employee spoke of faces you to the right. A black-painted wooden little structure  with a hole in the middle, covered in leather that is cut into long fringes. The lower half of your body will stick out of it and you reckon it depends on Mr. Kim himself what he does with your legs—whether he pins them up using the restrains on the wood or if he holds them. 

The unknown lengthens and for the first time during this night, a small ribbon of excitement begins to swathe your chest. 

Next to the cubicle, in the far corner of the room, is a dresser. You believe the drawers are filled with toys, but the top is lined with dark bottles of alcohol that you recognize. European—Jack Daniel’s, Jim Beam. Suits the play house’s style, you guess. 

And on the left, a monumental bed that takes up the rest of the room. And it’s hung up from the ceiling.

You don’t have time to ogle it as time ticks, but while you run to the back of the cubicle like you were advised, you do notice that there are no paintings embellishing the walls. No person from the old age of time to witness the unfolding of your so-called dream. Sinful, sinful dream. 

Maybe that was done on purpose. Maybe you’re supposed to live this dream with the anonymous Mr. Kim in some way. 

The mattress inside the cubicle is made out of leather, but it is the strong scent of fresh wood that hits your nostrils. It is decorated with twinkle lights all around, giving it a comforting feel. One pair of restraints is installed into the walls as well, but you think it’s more for leverage than for the wishes of the dream fulfiller. Milky and silken, they stand out from the dark tones of it all, and you gaze at them for some kind of comfort as you strengthen your legs through the hole, the cold tassels drifting along your bare body sending sparks of strange delight up your stomach. You bite your lip at the sensation, scooching up to an awkward, almost sitting position so your legs don’t dangle out, but the backs of your knees press against the edge of the mat. 

You cross your ankles. 

And you wait, all over again. 

Wonder if you should touch yourself or if you should give the honors to Mr. Kim to make you ready for him, but the tassels, the sight of your hip bone tattoo that says angel… your nipples perk up on their own and maybe you’ve come to like the act of waiting for him. Or maybe you like the view of your nakedness at a peculiar place such as this. Of your angelic form bare and about to be taken back to heaven. 

Your stomach swarms with anxious morsels at that thought and you take a deep breath. At your exhale, you hear the door creak open and close with a certain tenderness that you immediately know it was used in order not to startle you. 

One point up for Mr. Kim. 

Maybe the Kim clan has good manners and thoughtfulness engraved in their DNA, but they’re men and disappointment always awaits you eventually—

His footsteps lead towards you, carrying that same tenderness. The sound of the muted thuds grow more and more distinct, no ounce of hurriedness lodged in them. A small fire begins to burn in you due to his evident patience, awakening your body, and you’re so, so surprised to detect such gentle arousal just from the energy he’s brought in. 

That, alone, causes you to curl in your coyness, but when you hear him huff out a gentle laughter, you instinctively squeeze your thighs first before you bury your face in your hands, your cheeks hot to the touch. 

Why is he laughing—

He places a large, warm palm on your knee. You flinch and his touch becomes heavier as if he was telling you not to be scared, its warmth begins to descend down your shin—and then lips. His breath wafts over your skin and he presses his lips against it as a way of greeting. 

It is the rule of this sexual practice—no speaking between the partners. And now that it’s unfolding in action, you find yourself absolutely enthralled by it.

You flutter all over, the apex of your inner thighs slick with the liquid expression of your arousal. Your heart pounds, touched by that unusual but kind gesture, and you’re curious for more. 

He rubs the place he kissed with his thumb and then… coldness. He must have withdrawn, straightened his posture, and a great oddity begins to take form in you. 

Your knees tremble, sensitive from his benevolence. 

And you wonder if he’s watching his creation, taking his time as he is for the next move. You long for it, timid, unsure of what to do with your hands. You flex them and unflex them on the leather, your lower limbs gaining momentum, and you feel your wetness trickling down onto the mat. You do well to stifle the mewls gathering in your throat and you yearn for those considerate hands of his to touch you everywhere—

He yanks you forward and, remarkably, the yelp that is flung out of you is hushed, not heard by his ears. At least you hope so—you don’t want to get in trouble, turn that kindness of his around. You’d regret that, and you’d regret that very much. 

Mr. Kim spreads your legs apart, but your femininity is concealed by those suspended tassels that tease your core, your clit, and your hip bones, the most sensitive and vulnerable parts of you. A great dose of pleasure surges through you from it and from the way those fingers of his glide upon the inner of your thigh. He reaches as far as where your shiny stain is. A low, deep breath is exuded from his chest when he feels it and he smears it along your pelvic bone and a little bit on one of your folds. 

He heightens your tremor by doing that. 

You feel bad for reacting like that, but you can’t help it—neither can you stop it. You try to keep your body still and through the opening you can see him propping his hand on your thigh, watching you do so, as if he won’t continue until he knows you’ve regained your composure. And something about that, in its own way, helps you, and it helps you tremendously. 

With his palm flat, he caresses your flesh in a circular motion to praise you for it, lifting his hand upwards and beyond your sight. Your stomach undulates and it is now that you notice the navy blue of his dress pants, the growing tent that takes shape in the middle, and owing to the calmness and the sense of safety he’s installed within you, you do the boldest thing you’ve ever done, save for leaning in to kiss Namjoon nearly two weeks ago. 

Turned on from the sight of his arousal, you grab a hold of the tassel and you begin to provoke him, deciding that you want his manhood to grow. Because of the way he treats you, you deem he deserves it. 

You move, smooth, the leather strip along your cunt, collecting your slick. You shift your hips in circles, the fabric cool and sensual in a way you never thought it would be. Your breaths come out whiny the longer you do it and when you change the direction and move up and down, you can hear his breaths, too. And maybe the blackness of the walls are messing with your mind, but you could’ve sworn, his secret noises have become whiny just the same once you pressed the tassel against your swollen clit. 

And it isn’t until you naturally feel the back of his leg with the ball of your foot that he lets you see how much your little show advanced his arousal. The print of is cock is prominent, thick in the tightness of his pants, and you want it. 

You no longer want Namjoon’s. You want his. 

The plan worked. 

And with a smile of a winner gracing your features, to celebrate you start to make yourself feel delightful. You rub your clit, still with the strip, biting your lips in order to suppress your moans, the pleasure more vivacious this time around. He’s not palming himself, he’s not doing anything at all but watching you, his hands by his sides, and perhaps to reward him—you let go of the tassel. 

You let him see your pussy. 

Shiny, swollen and needy, asking for a man you haven’t seen and won’t even see. 

How sinful, how titillating. You can’t wait to have a cigarette after this. 

His cock twitches and it beguiles you, the way your hand, without your conscious knowing, extends out and reaches for it through the hole. Your femininity, your sexuality—brazen and alive, unafraid and illimitably splendid. 

And in this situation, it is a thing of absolute sublimity, the act of him inching forward and letting you touch him, feel your own creation the way he felt his. You want his number, you want to make him come. You want him to take you out and you want to show it off on your Instagram story, hiding everyone else from seeing it except for Namjoon. A devilish laughter pricks at your throat, desperate to be heard. You sense how heavy his cock must be, how strong, how hard. It’s impossible for you to suck it as he’s not allowed to see your face, but you know the idea of it will haunt your daydreams—

He grasps a hold of your wrist, silencing your thoughts, and you hold your breath. He slides his grip down to your hand and he makes you squeeze him, his length, his balls. Your hole clenches, even your features scrunch up in need, and with your other hand you begin to help yourself, but he stops you. 

Pins your hands down on the leather. Maneuvers to firmly grapple both of your wrists on top of your tummy and uses his free hand to push you forward a little bit. Your legs dangle out, uncomfortably, and he’s so attuned to you that he notices. Leads your leg to wrap around him, the other one two, and if it weren’t for the mattress jutting out, you and him would be flush to each other. 

Body to body. 

He sucks in a breath at the first contact of his thumb and your clit. He must feel how swollen it is and he dips down to your hole, circling it there, gathering your arousal before he returns to that needy flesh, continuing his circles there. Slow, slow circles that make you writhe on the mat, the leather creaking. You lament that he can’t attach his mouth to it, regret that you chose this option because of your foolish feelings, and despite the fact you thought your plan worked and Mr. Kim alleviated your anger, the emotion bursts within you. 

Your muscles tense, your lips flatten in a tight line, your fists in his hold clench, and you’re angry. Angry, angry, angry. Hateful of your life, hateful of your body, of your heart. And in the middle of the explosion, you make a mistake. 

You growl. 

He stops his circles. 

Time beats two times before you’re yanked out of the hole, your feet landing on the parquet floors with that familiar gentleness the man bears. 

And the man… 

The man is no other but Kim Namjoon himself. The source, the epitome of your anger. 

And you feel nothing. Your shock evens out through every fraction of your nerve endings, paralyzing you. Time ceases its beats here—while you stare up at him and he stares down at you. Namjoon isn’t seized by the shock like you are, though. He begins to laugh, darkly, hushedly, humorlessly. Slides his hands into the pockets of his pants and takes a step back. 

Embeds life into time. 

“I fucking knew it was you,” he rasps, that laughter melting into nothingness until the gravity of this situation spreads across this sinful room. Heavy, heavy energy. You should feel ashamed at this very moment, you should cover yourself up, but you don’t. You don’t do anything. “I read your safe word. I thought it was a coincidence, life making fun of me. And then, I saw your butterfly tattoo, but tattoos can lie to me and it was too good to be true. But that growl… that growl of yours can’t lie to me. I know it like I know myself.”

Your growl was your response to his never-dying teasing. If he tickled you, nudged you, bugged you, the only way you would make it stop was by letting out that vexed noise of yours—and it would work. He’d laugh to himself and withdraw his hands. 

You part your mouth, but you can’t say anything. Your shock rises in you like a tidal wave that submerges in you and you drown. 

Then, a perplexing song of a mockingbird breezing through the wind outside sounds out within the room, saying things your body is unable to. 

Namjoon blinks, taken aback by your lack of retort. No words, no growls. Merely the song crooning along the spaciousness of the atmosphere. He licks his lips. 

“Why did you stop replying to my messages?” he asks, and you find it obscene that he’s inquiring about this when you’re all bare, trembling, and with your arousal dripping down your inner thighs. If anything, he should be asking you what you’re doing here, but it’s like the fact isn’t news to him. 

And what you don’t know is that he pours life into you with his bizarreness. 

Your first reaction is to scoff. Your second is to bash your fists against his chest, pushing him a step back. And Namjoon… he smirks. As if he succeeded in his plan—pulling you out of your state of shock into a blooming garden of your emotions, where you can run, where you can scream and where you can inflict violence. 

Where you can speak. 

“Why did I stop replying to your messages?” you throw it back at him, your voice rising in volume, and Namjoon straightens, delightfully watches you be full of life. “You think you can share your life with me, take me on dates, pay for me and leave it at that? Turn your head when I try to kiss you? Do you think I’m some kind of lady companion—”

“No,” he interrupts, tilting his chin up, his dominance on full display with the deepness of his voice, the width of his shoulders and his powerful stance. You drip for him, but you’re as powerful as he is. You’re equal—equally tangled up in the same sin. “You’re my Lady Beetle, aren’t you?” 

Your breath hitches, your nipples hardening, and your wetness is so, so uncomfortable, trickling down your flesh. And he provokes the pressure of your arousal in your core by that nickname, even more so when he lifts a finger and traces the freckles upon your right shoulder, the meaning behind that term of endearment, from his distance. Even more so when he sinks his fingers into the hair on the nape of your neck, uttering his following words. 

“Get back inside the cubicle.” 

But you’re not obeying. You don’t know his temper either, but you are getting yourself into trouble. And you’re not getting fucked until you know that he reciprocates your feelings. 

And you know what to do. 

“Kiss me,” you murmur, crossing the distance, inching towards his face. Namjoon tilts his head down, his lips nearly brushing against yours, and that’s all he does, nudging your anger. “Kiss me, Namjoon, or I’m walking out of this room.” 

He lets the tension simmer, unblinking, consuming your eyes from this close proximity. And when he opens his mouth, you think he’s about to kiss you, but you’re mistaken. Deadly, deadly mistaken. 

“Did you come here to forget about me?” he whispers, inching even closer until your nipples graze against the soft material of his sweater, hums in question when you don’t answer. Lifts your chin to make you look at him when your eyes stray away, your anger bubbling in you. He perceives the real you, always has, and you don’t have to say a word. Only a person intertwined with your soul could be able to do this; why won’t he act on it? 

“Did you come here to look for me?” you whisper back, pressing your torso against him until your breasts squish against his hard chest. His still hard manhood pokes you in your tummy, harder than it was when you touched him earlier, and wrap your arms around him, your hands traveling all across the width of his back until they wander down his loins, even lower to his buttocks. 

He pants, but his voice is not affected by the whirlwind of his emotions. Delicious, delicious whirlwind.

“Yes,” he says, firmly, flattening his lips and growling when you squeeze his butt. You enjoy those selfish touches so much that your grin illuminates the room, a ball of light amidst all this darkness. Your anger watches on, stunned. “What do you think? If I wanted to move on, I wouldn’t have chosen a fucking glory hole out of all the options. I’m not like you. I don’t give up. I’m patient.” 

“Patient…” You taste those words on your tongue, dwelling on them. They’re bittersweet, and you stand in the middle of your decision whether you like them or not. “What are you waiting for?” 

He sighs, lifting his hands and digging his fingertips into your ribs, holding you to him. You mirror his movements, and you let out that strained breath of yours when he bends his head and places a singular, wet kiss onto the side of your neck. 

You had asked him to kiss you, even though you didn’t specify where, but you didn’t expect your body to tingle this much and grow boneless in his unfailing hold. You cling to him with all your might—there’s nothing left for you to do. 

You’re his. Have been his since the moment you saw his watch. 

And you can’t believe you haven’t noticed that Cartier adornment when you were ogling his manhood. 

He brushes away a wispy strand of your hand before returning it back to its rightful place. “You deserve the world and I’m not there yet to give it to you. And you’re not gonna look for it elsewhere, I’m not letting that happen. I’m gonna give it to you.” 

Honesty is here at last, the explanation to his distance. You hide the fluttering joy that opens in your chest, but you do let him see the smile that begins to curve your lips. He likes you; you can live at peace now. No more anger, no more daydreams. 

“Kim Namjoon,” you breathe out, moving your hands to his sides. “Is that a promise I hear?” 

He nods, tilting his head to the side as his pupils grow large. “Yes, that’s a promise. The last relationship I was in fucked me up, but I’m gonna get right, and I want you to hold onto that promise.” 

You hum. “What does that mean for us right now?” 

He smirks, that cheek cleft enchanting you all over again. “If you want kisses, then kisses is what you’re gonna get.” 

Your smile lengthens until your cheeks hurt, heated. “I want kisses. Lots of kisses. On different places of my body, too.” 

Namjoon retreats back to your neck, peppering kisses along that column. You whimper, hands hurrying to undo the button of his pants, desperate and arbitrary. But with a disapproving noise, Namjoon stops your hasty movements. Pins your hands behind your back.

“Patience,” he whispers, gliding his lips across the kisses he left behind. Your skin prickles with goosebumps against him, your nipples so stiffened that they ache, and, most unfortunately, you moan softly in impatience. “You’re gonna learn what true patience is, little beetle.” 

Color heats your cheeks and as you grin, you bite your bottom lip. “Be my teacher, Namjoon.” 

He chokes out a groan, dizzied by the idea, one that fades into your yelp when he unexpectedly turns you around and pushes your back against his chest, your arms long and criss-crossed behind you, hands flat against his cock. 

Something tells you this lesson will be one of great difficulty for you. And of great pleasure. 

Namjoon cups your jaw, swivels your head to face him a little. “Where do you want those kisses?” 

Your quivering breath fans out across his big hand. “On my nipples.” 

At your quick answer, he makes a sound of approval and with a feathery-light touch he sails his knuckles down the right side of your chest, from your collarbone down to the beginning of your supple breast, where he stops his voyage to study your reaction. As much as you’d die for his fingers to go a little lower, you keep your tremors in tact. Even your fingers remain obedient, relaxed in their position and not tempting his temper. You close your eyes, try your bestest to hold it while you wait it out, and your slick by now creates a pool between your feet. Namjoon’s cock twitches at your goodness and he sighs a little praise into your ear, just for you to hear. It roots deeply in your gut, where it stirs the butterflies that are painted in the color of his eyes. 

His knuckles descend lower and lower, stop at the apex of your nipple, and the nearness is enough for you to stoop in your desperation. 

Something you shouldn’t have done.

Namjoon slaps that pointy flesh, coaxing such a filthy moan out of you that it reverberates through the room. The harshness, intertwined with the swift stimulation of your nipples spreads a buzzing sensation down your body, settling in your aching clit, and the loud noise you let out echoes in small whimpers, wordless pleas for more. He becomes harder in your hands, as if he could translate them, and the temptation croons at you again, telling you to squeeze him. This time, you can’t really hold back. This time, you want him to do it again.

On the other breast. 

You squeeze him, the weight of his cock an inexplicable experience that drives you to a point of carnal madness. You slide your palms along that thick length and the way he’s quiet, unspeaking, unbreathing, puzzles you and alarms you simultaneously. 

You look behind you. Catch his features screwed up in such pleasure that you whimper again, announcing that you’ve seen him in his weakest. And Namjoon is brought back into his teacher mode. He allowed himself that fraction of time for his own pleasure, perhaps for yours, too, and you’ve never discovered something so imposing. 

Your sexuality and his, interwoven, a thing of glory more magnificent than this playhouse itself. 

“Little beetle, you’re just so naughty, aren’t you?” he rasps into your ear, pressing you against him with both of his arms wrapped around your chest, nuzzling his face into your neck. He kneads your breasts hard before he slaps them, both at the same time, and you make such a mess. “So impatient, so desperate to touch and be touched. What am I gonna do with you? Can you even learn, hm?” 

Knead. Slap. Namjoon tweaks your nipples, circles them with his fingers, filling your body with such pleasure that your knees nearly give out on you. And he holds you to him by your neck, a firm grip that conveys to you that from now on, he won’t be very nice. 

And you don’t really mind. 

“Get back inside the cubicle so I can deal with you accordingly,” he mutters his order, tracing the shell of your ear with his puffy lips before he latches onto your earlobe, sucking it into his mouth briefly, making you cry out. “Do you know what happens to girls who can’t be helped?” 

Your voice is strained, impossible to use. “No.” 

“They get spanked and fucked so hard that they forget who they are,” he reveals, sailing his hands back down your body, flicking your nipples on the way, before his palms anchor at the V-shape of your private parts. He plays with your folds, stimulating your clit in that way without touching it. You grind your hips into his movements, seeking more, but he slaps your pussy for it, halting you. “That’s the only way they get salvaged.” 

And then he lets go of you. And the look he gives you is so lecherous, so dirty that your legs are jelly as you scurry to the end of the glory hole cubicle, thinking that this entire moment is speckled with glory that will haunt you for the rest of your days. 

You get back into position, your legs dangling out, and Namjoon repeats his voyage. Sails, sails down your tummy before anchoring at the mound of your cunt, but this time he doesn’t gratify you with any delight. He continues down your wet thighs and, abruptly, he turns you over, pushing you forward so your bum shows fully, your tippy toes touching the floor.

The tassels are warm and saturated with the dew of your arousal, tickling the small of your back. 

“Now listen to me,” he says, his fingers wandering all around your flesh, but not where you want him the most. “I’m not Namjoon at this moment. I’m not your teacher. In your mind, you’re gonna go back to who you thought I was before I showed myself to you. Mr. Kim. And you’re gonna address me as so, do you understand?” 

Your brows furrow and you curve your body to the side in question, not understanding this sudden change of the play. You may have wanted this fictional Mr. Kim more than you wanted Namjoon but that was before you found out that he felt the same way as you. 

“Why?” 

He massages the round, graceful cheeks of your bum, propelling you to rest your torso flat on the mat, comfortably. “Because you deserve it. Because your Namjoon isn’t where he’s supposed to be yet. So I’m not fucking you as Namjoon, I’m fucking you as Mr. Kim. This is the only time you’re getting fucked before I get right, so I suggest you enjoy every second.”

You gasp at his words, but your hole reacts first before you do, opening and closing all for his eyes to see—and they do. And he likes the view so much that he takes his thumb and perseverates the brief motion, your center coating his digit in sopping wetness. Your hips follow him and this time, he lets you. He gives you a moment to comprehend your future full of pure possibilities and kisses and you detect in your soul no disapproval. Because you’re rewarded with his heart in the end, it’s worth it. 

His heart is one of gold, one that won’t perish. 

You’ve seen it in the way he treated your mother, in the way he would stop his teasing when you had enough. In the respect he has towards you because he isn’t ready for a relationship. In the promise he gave you, even though that gold is scratched. 

You love him, and because of that you shall play his game. 

“Yes, Mr. Kim.” 

He kisses the fleshiest part of your bum, wetly, humming into your skin—another reward. 

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, nibbling the place he gave love to. “Try staying one.” 

You mewl, grinding into his face, desirous for a release. “Yes, sir.” 

He draws back and chuckles. “Look at you, so good all of a sudden when you’re all spread for me. You’re still getting spanked, little girl.” 

You whine, pretending that you don’t like what awaits you, when in reality you can’t wait. “Can I get another kisses after?” 

His laughter roars through the room. “Where do you want them?” 

“On my pussy, Mr. Kim.” 

He growls, swearing, his hands nowhere to be found on your body. “You’ll get lots of kisses on your pussy if you take these spanks well. Can you count them down for me?” 

You nod, but you quickly realize that he can’t see you. Your dusky world pirouettes and you’ve tumbled into a state of haziness, needing his firm hand, his dependable stability. “Yeah, I can.” 

Namjoon coos, his palm back on your bum, fondling it. “Good. Do you remember your safe word? You’re still getting those kisses if you use it, darling.” 

You dissolve into the leather, your body limp, but you do remember the magic word of utmost adoration. “Beetle.” 

A kiss on your flesh. “That’s it. Perfect. Does someone you know call you by that nickname?” he asks and you giggle, the comfort and the safety of the moment almost lulling you to sleep. “From ten, little beetle.” 

And he rouses you from your sleepiness by landing a sharp spank on the cheek that he made so tender. The pain is so acute, so good that you almost forget to utter out the number, swimming in the sensation as you are, but Mr. Kim isn’t upset by it. No, he helps you. 

“What number was that?” 

“Ten.” 

“Ten, that’s right. You’re doing so good.” 

Mr. Kim’s kindness enters you all over again, liquifies between your legs, and you moan out. The following sting of his palm is greater than the previous one and your chest arches off the leather, but you like it. Even though he doesn’t alleviate the spank, lets only the air make it better, you still like it—so much that you don’t make a mistake and count it down. 

“Nine.” 

And he repeats it after you, spanking you again and again until the skin of your left cheek is inflamed, burning red, and the perception of the pricks is too much for you to handle. But taking after him, you don’t give up. Grit your jaw, flex your fists, scream out the numbers until you reach one and that side of your bum feels numb. 

And Mr. Kim praises you for it so lasciviously that you can only whine in response, your little noises muffled by the leather. 

“Good girl. You took your punishment so well. Your ass is so prettily red, oh my God. You’re gonna get those kisses now. So, so many of them until you come all over my tongue. Spread your legs even more for me.”

You do as he says, mind blank, and you hear the thud of his knees hitting the floor. That alone makes you drool, the sound of his submission, let alone his satisfied groan when he attaches his mouth to your pussy lips.

And you can’t voice out the surplus of your emotions, the unrestrained joy that you feel because you’re being eaten out by a man that you love, but because of their boisterous nature, they come out nonetheless. Out of your tear ducts, out of the corner of your mouth in the form of drool and little muted noises that are impossible for anyone to hear but you. And you fail him. You can’t imagine a fictional person sucking on your clit like that, that feels as though your soul is being yanked out of you like you were so many times upon this night. No, only Namjoon can do this to you—and so, privately, you bask in it. In Namjoon’s tongue swirling circles on your clit; in Namjoon’s lips sucking them so hard that you lose track of time, surroundings and your own being. In Namjoon’s hands shaking your bum in his face; in his fingers rubbing rapid side-to-side motions on your wet clit from the front when he fucks you with his tongue from the back. 

You’re transported to a place that is neither heaven nor paradise. A place he, himself, must have brought into existence by the energy of his utter devotion for you. And you make it real when you come—sprinkle him with the fountain of your essence that contains the molecules of the universe he created for you. And you float, you float, you float. And he seizes the gravity by praising you for squirting for him, for coming so well and making the best of your so-deserved kisses. 

And then his pants flop to the floor, his sweater—until the only things he’s wearing are his watch, his bracelet and his affection for you. You turn your body halfway so you can see him, the wholeness of his manliness that is aching for you, dripping for you like you’re dripping for him, and his cock is so hard that it points up to his abdomen. You’ve never seen anything like this before and you grow so savagely hungry for it that you begin to suck on your index finger.

Purposefully loudly, smacking your mouth. 

Namjoon chuckles, darkly, and the warmth of that expression of his pulsates in you. “Oh, you’ll be sucking on this cock, too, don’t you worry, my beetle. I just need to feel your pussy around me.” 

Oh, the slip-up. He feels this on the same wavelength as you—no Mr. Kim, no anonymity. Only Namjoon and you. If you were unsure of his feelings before, you can’t be unsure now. The universe he created palpitates around you and you’re so drunk on all of this new knowledge that when he buries himself inside your heat, you can’t let him in. Your walls are compressing so tightly with your still-yet growing arousal that you clamp down on him, but at the sound of his torturous moans, you suck him in. 

And he doesn’t go easy on you. 

With his hard, hard, and long shaft he begins to fuck you, violently. He rams into you without any mercy, lifting your leg onto the mat and entering you more deeply, curling his hips to kiss and kiss your cervix again and again. His strokes are reverberated throughout your whole body—your nipples rub against the leather, your head rocks against it in a way that turns you feral, you gag on your finger, your clit is teased with those relentless pounds. You’re helpless, but also boundless, being fucked like that, and you realize, with your dumb, blank and empty brain, that you’re extensively getting your best friend’s money’s worth. 

And Namjoon elevates your experience. 

He reaches through the hole and roughly captures your hair in his fist, popping your finger out of your mouth. Decides it’s not enough, decides you’ve had enough of the hole time and he pulls you out, all while still being inside of you. Straightens you against him, grasps your jaw while his other hand slips down to your clit. 

And the side-to-side motions are brutal. Mean. So dominant in the way he keeps the contact light, barely stimulating you, but stimulating you, regardless. 

“You think you can gag on your little finger and that it does nothing to me?” he scolds, pinching your clit, and your growl is scratchy, raspy, so fucked out. He’s reprimanding you, but his words don’t reflect his actions. Namjoon kisses you everywhere he can reach. Ear, cheek, jaw, neck. So frantically, so impatiently. “Have you learned nothing?” 

You pant, your orgasm so awfully close from being bound but unbound at the same time, fucked slowly and torturously as Namjoon begins to move, grinding against you. But he has to stop—because if he doesn’t, you’re gonna come all over his cock, right in the center of this room. He’s teasing your build-up, just like you imagined he would, letting it rise and letting it fall in short intervals. 

But he has pity on you, stemming from his affection. A cold, cold pity that you need for the heat rippling through you. 

“Get on the bed. On your knees.” 

He pulls himself out of you and urges you forward—towards the hanging bed. And you don’t care to ponder if it will move under your weight. All you can think about is his dick as you crawl onto that bed that does not wobble at all, but remains perfectly offset. You sit back on your folded legs and wait for him—watch him take those leisurely, effortless steps like he did at the start of this evening. Only this time, you get to see it with your eyes. His tall height, his swaying shoulders, flat abdomen and that hard cock, glistening with your slick. Carmine, aching. 

You lick your lips. Prop yourself on your knuckles in front of you, back arched. Realize he kissed you everywhere, but on your mouth. And so you pout—and you make puppy eyes at him. 

He smooths down a flyaway on your sweaty hairline, endeared. “What’s wrong?” 

“You haven’t kissed me on the lips.” 

Namjoon smiles down at you, dejectedly. Curls your hair behind your ear, grabs you by the back of your neck, calls to attention all the butterflies in your tummy. “I’m sorry.” 

And he captures your mouth. As Namjoon, as a golden-hearted man that longs to give you the world, and you can vividly feel it. Mr. Kim doesn’t exist anymore and Namjoon seals that fact in when he prods his tongue inside, toying with yours before retreating back, moaning into the kiss. 

A kiss that was more than a kiss. 

And you have to kiss him again when he takes a moment to breathe. You have to devour him, clasp your hand around his wet cock as you do so—and Namjoon has to push your head down, fucking your mouth until your tears freely escape from all directions. He grips your hair tight, holds you to him from the side, plunging in and out of your throat however he pleases, your gagging noises encouraging him to possess every inch of you. Your mascara zigzags down your face in clumps—and once Namjoon’s pity flickers in him all over again, he lifts you and kisses you so nastily that you fade into nothingness. 

Then, you’re on your back and he pounds that nothingness. Uses your thighs as leverage as you’re just laying there, a hole and nothing else. Perhaps the cubicle changed your life to such an extent that you’ve become it. You shall never forget it—even now it is scattered all across your vision as you’re fucked into oblivion, the skin-slapping sounds and your pussy squelching around him accompanying your memory of the dark wood, the fairy lights, the restraints you never used.

The sex was too personal, too intimate for you to do so. Even before you discovered that Mr. Kim was Namjoon. Your body recognized his, your mind too blind, too preoccupied with your anger that is now healed. 

As if Namjoon could read your thoughts, he pumps into you with a hard thrust, eternalizing it. 

“Focus on me,” he growls and you squeak, hiccuping into every movement. It feels as though he’s blocking your throat with how deeply he’s ravaging you and you can only nod. 

You can only moan his name. 

“Namjoon. Yes, yes, yes—oh, Namjoon.” 

He laughs, that articulation of his joy abating in your mouth as he bends to kiss you, fully buried in you. And then he pulls out, presses his heavy cock on your cunt, lifts your head by grabbing your hair, consuming your mouth as if you were everything he ever lacked in his life. 

“Grind your pussy on it, it’s yours, my little beetle.” 

You whine, pucker your mouth against his, spinning your hips in circles, his cock so wet and so sticky from your happy juices. 

“Joonie, Joonie bug.” 

He closes his eyes, moaning all in your face, the principle of you softening and connecting his persona to yours absolutely ruining him. He tightens his grip on your hair, sinks himself inside you with his other hand and then sticks those soaked fingers inside your mouth. All four of them, gagging you. 

“Little beetle and big Joonie bug, hm. How do we taste?” His tone is so low that it penetrates your skin, paralyzing your senses until only one remains. Until all you know is the bitter-sweetness of his precum and the tanginess of your slick. And he doesn’t draw his fingers back, he continues to control your gags until he paints your face in another set of pretty black tears. “Tell me. How do we taste?” 

You growl around him, the sound he knows, and he pounds you for it, a thrust that hurts but feels good at the same time. You suck on his fingers, a trail of your drool trickling down from your connection, and Namjoon grunts. Slides his fingers out of your mouth and places them right on your clit. 

Rapid, rapid rubs. And equally rapid strokes. 

“Come,” he orders, and it’s like he flicked his fingers and made your body come. You didn’t have to do a thing. “Good. Finally. It feels so good, doesn’t it? Coming around my cock after all this time. Joonie bug is right there with you. Just a little bit more.” 

He’s given life to your orgasm by his words. A storm erupts, clearing out everything negative that was ever seeped throughout your soul. Your body quakes, submitted to him through and through, at his disposal to make himself come—until your orgasm is so milky that you can’t see. Your vision is dotted with white, with tiny glazing stars that must be hung up in the sky just like this bed. And Namjoon brings you to him, lips to lips, needing you as he fucks you through your mutual release, and those stars splotch him with their dust. 

You squirt all over him, for the second time around. And you don’t stop, the twitching of his cock, the warmth of his cum as he keeps stuffing you full of it, the unfaltering hardness of his thick shaft roll in your tiny orgasms, those little fountains of boundless pleasure that drench him, give him the likeness of those stars. He’s turned on your squirting ability and there’s no way back. No, no way back. 

Namjoon is exhausted as he pulls out—and you already feel so empty, so lonely. His cum streams out of you, staining the bed, and it saddens you so much that you reach into your heat to collect it, plunging your fingers into your mouth, eating him. And you moan, at his male taste, for the last time. 

“Fuck, don’t do that. I can’t go again.” He wipes down his face, a gleaming man that has your entire identity woven into his veins that run all across his arms, and you love him. You love him so drastically that you can’t get on your feet on your own, can’t make a decision of your own, can’t live without him. 

He fucked you so well that he attached you to himself. 

A wave of strange emotions engulf you. 

“Namjoon,” you whimper, tears burning each corner of your eyes, and you don’t know what to do, you don’t know what is happening. He lifts his head, round eyes blinking, and he’s so quick to cradle you into his arms, letting you cling to him, letting you wrap your legs around his torso like a baby. And that’s precisely how you feel—like a baby. 

“Talk to me,” he encourages, caressing your back in circles, and you moor your face in his neck, inhaling his individual bodily scent. So masculine, so heady, so intoxicating. You sob, running your fingers through his misty, blond-streaked hair, needing to be even closer to him than is physically possible. 

Namjoon shushes you, kissing your shoulder, giving you the strength to speak, giving you the identification of what you’re feeling. 

“This was so intense,” you croak out and Namjoon hums, halting his touch to focus on you wholly. “Emotionally. I feel much closer to you. Too close.” 

And he’s not running out of things to give you. He gives you kisses on your neck that bear no sexual context—romantic, reassuring kisses that ease up your muscles, that part the raging thunder of your emotions. And he gives you such comfort that you feel as though you’re floating upon an open body of water, as free as a human being can be. 

“What we did was intense but it was right. What you’re feeling is normal. I’m feeling it, too. We’ve been hiding our feelings for so long and we let them out just now, so it’s overwhelming. It’s okay. You’re good. Such a good girl, my good little lady beetle, tiniest girl beetle in the whole universe. I will protect you from the other bugs. Let’s get this make-up off, hm?” 

You nod, sob and laugh softly at that solace. Namjoon carries you into the shower. Lets the cold water streak down on you while you shield yourself from it, nearly slipping off his grasp. Namjoon chuckles, hoisting you higher, taking a step back to wash you completely clean. You scream and his chuckle deepens, getting you away from the iciness by pressing you against the tiles. 

He truly won’t stop teasing you. 

The water turns warm by the time he fetches the make-up remover. Pouring some on a large cotton pad, he cleanses the remnant of your sex tears, the physical memory of how good he fucked you and how he bound your soul to his. He’s careful around your eyes, focusing so intently that his lip is caged between his teeth. Once he’s finished, he kisses you—with Mr. Kim’s gentleness. 

Washes you clean, especially thoroughly between your legs. Embraces you in the shower and lets you feel—creates a safe space for your feelings. 

And then he’s dressing you in the clothes you came here in. A dark green dress that ends at your ankles. He makes sure to kiss your butterfly tattoo as he smooths down the skirt and you think you’re ready to marry him. 

You want to meet his mother. Not now, not after what you’ve done together. But someday soon. And you want your mother to meet his. 

“I need a cigarette,” you comment as he’s scrunching your hair with a towel. He himself has changed into a pair of clean black dress pants and a plain white shirt, almost oversized. An outfit that made your mouth water. “Like right now. And at least two.” 

He huffs out a laugh. “You can smoke on the balcony. I’ll have one with you. Do you want a drink?” 

Your eyes light up. Your whole body, too. 

Placing a bathrobe around your shoulder, he gently slaps your butt and guides you forward to the balcony. He grabs that bottle of red wine you had opened and joins you.

Two chairs, one small round table in the middle. The view of the entire Seoul city and a fucking statue in the corner of the balcony. 

A beautiful girl, half dressed. The fabric of her forever garment falls off her chest and you’ve never seen a more spectacular sculpture in your life. You enkindle your cigarette and touch her cool face, feel yourself immersed in her seductive beauty. One day you shall be just like her—once Namjoon comes to collect you. Not a doll, but a girl. 

“Take a picture of me,” you say, getting into position, only to realize that Namjoon has been snapping pictures of you while you were acknowledging yourself with the statue. With a cigarette hanging limply in the corner of his mouth. 

You can’t love him any deeper. 

You pose with her. Mirror her body language, even shake off your bathrobe and let your straps fall off your body like her. Private pictures just for him and for you—a reminder for what awaits you. 

A future full of pure possibilities. And sex, lots of and lots of sex. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild , @jjk7k , @parkinglot-nights , @bethvar , @Sexytholland , @yoongibaybee , @crystaleah ,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan , @euphoricmyth , @jungkoock , @cinmmongirl , @hoseokkie-caeks , @kam9404 , @fr0ggieth1nk .

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[courtingchaos]

Teeth

Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

Summary: You and Eddie are freaks. He has a little accident, you have a fun little hobby, and he shows you how he really feels about you’re whole Deal.

Warnings: Teeth. I mention them a lot. Blood, cursing, sex.

A/N: Did I start another blurb series before even publishing the series I was supposed to start last month? Shut the hell up oh my god why are you up my ass about it????

18+ NSFW No Minors

Eddie hooks his chin on your shoulder while you stare at the giant shadow box on the wall.

“Are they all human teeth?”

“Mhm.”

“Isn’t it illegal to own human remains in the US?”

“Well, remains and bones are different categories.”

He knew that would set you off, your phone pulled out for google to fill in your blanks. Eddie laughs at the first result, The Bone Room, and the two of you get a good chuckle out of it for a solid minute.

“Okay so I was wrong, but do you want to own a random set of teeth? What if they’re haunted?” Eddie watches your reflection in the glass front and can’t help but laugh when your eyes go big.

“One could only hope.” You whisper.

“Okay Morticia.” He leaves you to peruse the case of teeth while he wanders over to the weird clown doll corner. This was another little oddities shop you’d found online and asked to go to and he was more than happy to oblige. He also liked weird shit and there was usually a record store close to these kinds of places and of course you needed to find a coffee shop and it would always turn into a fun day date for the two of you.

When he finally gets away from the dolls he finds you at the main counter looking into the glass display while the clerk explains the jewelry inside.

“What’d you find?” He asks, bending directly in half to stare at the tray of rings in front of you.

“More teeth.” You give him an over the top smile that he returns, snapping his jaws at you while the poor woman behind the counter watches your flirting. She tells you prices instead of paying the two of you any mind and you hem and haw while Eddie just takes his wallet out to slide his card across the glass.

“Ed.” You don’t even look up at him when you warn him.

“Which one was it? Is it the big molar? It’s the big molar isn’t it?” He gives the clerk a scoff. “Can you believe this? I take her out here and she thinks I’m not buying her a tooth ring?”

In the cafe you’d found ahead of time you inspect your new ring while he chews on his straw, watching your rub the crown of the tooth.

“You really didn’t have to buy me this.” The barista comes over then with your coffee and a massive croissant. “Or that.”

“What? It’s a sweet treat for my sweet treat.” He tears a piece off and wiggles his eyebrows. “Also a sweet tooth for my sweet tooth.”

“Now you’re pushing it, Munson.”

“You love it.” He pauses when you kick his boot under the table and it turns into a violent round of footsie.

“Can I ask why teeth?”

“I don’t know. I just think they’re neat.” You shrug and fiddle with the ring on your middle finger. “They make a cool sound if you click a handful together. Very satisfying.”

“Yeah?” The smile is evident in his voice, even if you don’t look up to see it. “Sure there’s nothing else?” He goads, waiting for you to look up and narrow your eyes at him.

“And maybe I also want to crunch them like a sugar cube.” You make the exact face he thought you would and it makes him feel a warm coil of familiarity.

“There it is.”

“What?”

“I knew you wanted to do something weird with it.” His laugh turns into a cackle when you discreetly bring your hand up to click the ring against your front teeth.

“Okay so if it’s loose like…No I mean I can see it moving in the socket…ugh god, yeah…alright…” Your tone doesn’t give Eddie any hope and when you scrunch your face up while the dentist office tells you something longwinded, he sighs.

“How much? Oh shi- yeah okay. Thank you though.” You hang up and shoot him a steady look. “Guess.”

“I’m gonna loose it?” Eddie says, bag of frozen green beans held against his cheek.

“No shit.” You set your phone down and make your way to him leaned back on the couch. “You could potentially keep it for a cool $600 though.” Your hand replaces his on the slowly thawing bag and the sharp intake of breath isn’t from the new pressure on his bruise.

“$600 for one tooth?”

“Mhm.”

“Fuck it, I’ll just pull it.” Eddie sighs at the ceiling and closes his eyes. He’d been fucking around, trying to swing his guitar around his shoulders during practice. Had actually managed a few turns but when you’d come to pick him up he wanted to show off. A fast toss over his shoulder and he didn’t see the corner of the body barreling for his cheek.

Your loud gasp and a lot of blood down his front later, he was in pain and slightly humiliated but definitely not out $600.

“Will you help me?” He gently rolls his head your direction, his cheek cradled between veggies and your palm.

“Of course.” You smile sadly at him. “It’s gonna hurt though.”

“Yeah but I like that.” He wiggles his eyebrows and you slap his chest, t-shirt still stained red.

“Come on, ladykiller.”

In the bathroom he braces his hands on the counter while you try to find the best angle to pull his tooth out at.

“I’m trying to not just have my whole fist in your mouth.”

“That’s hot.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Yes ma’am.” Eddie grins at your flat look. You blindly grab the pliers from behind you on the vanity and take a deep breath before holding his mouth open.

“Please don’t bite down.”

“Eye hot yuh yiked hat.” He’s drooling around your hand and trying to be cute. It’s unfortunately working on you.

“Not like this, no.”

He feels the pliers on his tooth, a gentle tug while you rearrange and then you look at him. Eyebrows scrunched and a concerned look in your eyes. “You okay?” He nods. “This is gonna hurt baby, I’m sorry.”

He barely has time to process what you’ve said. He was waiting for a count down but instead you’ve yanked once, swiftly and without remorse. There’s a small clatter where his tooth bounces around in the sink and then he feels the pulse of pain. A new rush of blood floods his mouth and he doubles over the sink to spit and moan.

“You didn’t even warn me!”

“You would have bitched out and you know it.” You rub his back while he pouts and keeps spitting into the sink. When you disappear to get him a glass of water, he rinses out the sink and picks up his tooth to inspect it. “What tooth is this anyways?”

“The tech said she thinks it’s a premolar from what I told her.” You answer as you come back into the cramped bathroom. He pulls his lip back to stare at the dark space between teeth.

“You don’t already know which one it is?”

You just roll your eyes. “She did say it was good that you didn’t crack it, could have been worse.” You shrug and Eddie holds out his hand to you, tooth sitting in the middle of his palm.

“It looks cool.” He says, rolling it around until you pick it up gingerly and inspect it. There’s a little bit of blood stuck in the root but you keep turning it over, running the pad of your finger over the ridges.

“You’re gonna keep it right?”

“Duh.” He laughs. You hand it back to him and help him clean up from his traumatic afternoon.

A couple of aspirin and a hot shower later and he’s ready for bed, just waiting on you to finish in the bathroom. He watches your shadow under the door where light seeps out and runs his tongue for the umpteenth time through the new space in his teeth. He’s not trying to make it worse but it’s a foreign void that he can’t stop fucking with. The bathroom door opens and you’re already staring at him, head cocked to the side. “I can see you tonguing that spot from over here.”

“You’ve got a spot I can tongue.”

You don’t respond, just turn off the lights on your way into the bedroom where you climb over him on the bed. Before you can drop onto your side he grabs your thighs to hold you above him.

“Thanks for not laughing at me.”

“You looked pretty cool, right up until you smashed your mouth.” You brace your hands on his chest and lean in close. “The blood really distracted me.”

“Yeah that was quite a bit.”

“Still hot.”

He grins and you can spot the missing tooth in the dark before he pulls you in by your chin to give you a kiss. When he opens his mouth to deepen it, your tongue immediately finds the new space like his had. He laughs into the kiss and sits up on his elbows to be closer. It’s a slow make out session that he has no intention of taking further, mostly delighting in you running your tongue along the inside of his mouth, probing.

“What are you laughing at?” You ask, annoyed at him huffing into your mouth.

“You keep trying to feel it with your tongue.” He grins at you in the dark, features highlighted by the light seeping in through the curtains.

“It’s a new spot in your mouth for me to tongue.” You mumble and Eddie says something about tonguing your new hole and it devolves into a slap fight that ends with you two sleepily kissing again.

For a few weeks his tooth kicks around the house in a little ring box you had laying around. Jokingly he stuffed a scrap of ribbon in it and called it a coffin, started giving a eulogy to it every night after dinner.

“Craig had the toughest job-“

“I thought he was Neville?”

“I changed it. Craig is a working man’s name.”

“In what country?”

“Coal country.” Eddie jokingly bangs his fist on the table and continues on about Craig and his 52 family members.

Wayne comes by for dinner and sees this little atrocity and just stares at it for a good while, you and Eddie tight lipped trying to not laugh at his blank expression.

“I don’t know what to expect when I come over here, ever.” He’s not judging, in fact he’s almost too accommodating when him and Eddie disappear after dinner for a smoke on the balcony and he gives his nephew pointers on what dremel bit to use so he doesn’t crack the tooth.

“A matching necklace? Christ Eddie don’t tell me you knocked out two teeth!”

“No! I bought the ring for her, this was just a mistake.” Eddie gestures at his mouth and Wayne chuckles at him.

“Always gotta show off.”

“For her? No shit. If I don’t, she’ll realize how much better she can do.”

Wayne tilts his head and fixes Eddie with a stern look. “You know how I feel about that.”

“I’m kidding.” He tries to wave him off.

“Well I’m not. Who else is gonna bring her home a tooth on a chain?” Eddie can see how that makes Wayne shudder, even when he’s trying to be forcefully reassuring. He pats his uncle on the knee before standing and stretching.

“True. There aren’t any many of my kind left.” He says it wistfully, staring off the balcony into the dark until Wayne huffs at him to get inside and help with the dishes.

The bit dies off and the ring box ends up on your nightstand. Eddie thinks it’s a pretty romantic gesture the way you’ve given it a prime spot next to your Dracula figure. He also knows you’ll notice it missing so he takes the tooth when he gets home before you and knocks the box over and when you notice he plays dumb.

“Oh no, did you knock it over?” “No I haven’t been in your nightstand.” “Why would I take it?”

He brings it with him to work and Wayne refuses to touch it, instead standing off to the side and letting Eddie drill the minuscule hole. He texts you on his lunch and tells you he’s got some extra stuff to take care of, running late, don’t worry about dinner. He uses the extra hour to run by the antique store and buy a chain and he gets so lucky because you’re in the shower when he finally comes home.

Ring box stolen from your drawer and left oh so carelessly in the middle of the counter next to your big water cup. He doesn’t even change out of his shop clothes, just sits and waits for you to come out.

When you do, you give him a kiss in passing and then stop short in the kitchen. “Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

“What’s this?” You hold up the small red box and gently shake it at him.

“I made you something in art class today.” He says bashfully and leans over the arm of the couch to dangle his arms while you laugh at him.

“Aw, did Mr. Munson help you with your finger painting?” You pout at him and he flips you off. Your laugh cuts off when you open the box to stare at the necklace.

“Is this your tooth?”

“Yeah, I lied.” He grins at you, “I staged the crime scene.”

“You scum.” Your giggle gets him off the couch, the scrunch of your face makes him cradle your jaw, your whispered ‘thank you’ earns you a kiss and before you can fumble with the chain he’s pulling it out of your hands to loop it around your neck. He does the clasp up and smooths a hand down over the tooth.

“Oh you make that look better than I ever did.” His dimples push through his warm smile. “Almost like it was made for you.”

“God you are laying it on thick today huh?”

“I mean it, everything I am is for you.” He holds you close while you fiddle with your new jewelry. It’s so small for such a significant thing, at least to you. Especially when he starts talking like that. Eddie notices your pensive turn and pulls his head back to look down at you.

“Did I…did I read this wrong? Is it too much?” He knows he’s bad at that sometimes. He knows you like this stuff but maybe wearing a familiar tooth is a step too far. Maybe it feels like a weight around your neck instead of a thin rope of silver. It’s his turn to get quiet and he tries to pull away but you latch on around his ribs.

“This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever given me and it’s really weird and I love it a lot.” You mumble into his chest where your cheek is pressed tight. “Thank you.”

He watches you the rest of the night playing with it. Twirling your fingers through the chain and rolling the tooth around, staring down at it and once tapping it against your own teeth like you did with the ring. It gives him a new affection for you, to see you admire something he not only made you, but something that’s wholly him.

Later when he’s waiting for you in bed while you wander around and look for your phone, the intrusive thought he’d been keeping in finally breaks the surf of his mind.

“I’d knock out all my teeth for you.” He says it into the quiet and you pause at the foot of the bed to tilt your head at him.

“That’s so sweet.” You giggle quietly, the look you give him is contemplative.

“No I’m serious.” He leans up on his elbow to look you square in the eyes. “I’d hang ‘em all on a silver chain, drape them on you like pearls.” His stare gets a weight to it that makes you feel rooted to the spot. “I’d make you an altar out of them. Give them to you like little offerings.”

“You make it sound like I’m a deity you need to please.”

“Oh but you are.” He rolls up off his elbow to crawl towards the end of the bed and kneel in front of you. “Everything I do is in service to you and your good favor.” He splays a hand over his bare chest and you know he’s doing a thing but his wide eyed eagerness on his knees is doing it for you.

“And you’d hand over your teeth just for that?”

“I’d hand over my life.” He grabs your hand and presses it over his heart. “I’d leave imprints of my teeth all over you and then hand them over on a platter.”

“Why is this so hot?” You mutter at him, your body flush with heat suddenly.

“I know, keep playing along.” He whispers back, eyebrows twitching upwards. “I’m simply a vessel for your happiness and if that means sacrificing pieces of myself,” his hands settle up behind your neck to pull you down for a kiss, “then I’ll pull them all out by the root and leave them on the steps of your temple.” He keeps pulling you back until you have to catch yourself and climb over him, his lanky frame unfolding under you.

“Does that make you a patron or a priest?” You straddle his hips and break away from the kiss to stare at him, necklace dangling down against his cheek.

“I’m your most devoted follower.” He whispers in the small space between you two, eyes searching. “I’ve pledged my life to you.” His fingers dig in to your bare thighs. “Not for just a reward in the afterlife but in the hopes that you’ll grant me one look at your divine form.”

“Eddie!” You laugh at him and sit up, face and neck hot from his praise.

“What? I mean it! All of that for one…touch.” He slides his palms around to grab your ass and you laugh harder.

“That’s all you want? Just a touch?”

“Well maybe a long, continuous one.” He tries to slide his hands up further but you stop him at your hips. He looks determined to feel up your sides but your grip on his wrists holds tight.

“You wouldn’t want to anger your god now, would you?” His eyes widen at your sudden boldness. When you can tell he’ll sit still you unhand him to pull up the hem of your shirt slowly. “You give me a lifetime of servitude for a single touch?” Before you pull it over your head you give him a wicked a grin. “I’ll reward you with your single wish.”

He understands the game but his hands still twitch when you toss your shirt to the side, chest bared to him. You wiggle around until you get your underwear off, his hands still attached to you. He gets one touch and he won’t waste it, not now that you’re fully naked over him. You pull his boxers down, hands grazing sensitive skin and he pushes his head back into the pillow with a groan.

He clenches his jaw when you grind down on him, sliding over the head of his cock. His eyes rolling when you lean back and brace yourself on his thighs. You gasp with every roll of your hips and he whimpers.

“God damnit can I please touch you?” He grinds out through clenched teeth. The wet slide of your cunt has him breathing shallow and fast, the urge to buck up and fuck you settling low in the base of his spine. “C’mon, don’t I get some kind of fu-uck…” He stutters when your nails drag over his thighs. “You gotta show me some k-kind of mercy.”

“I’m already wearing a piece of you Eddie.”

His chest rises and falls, nostrils flared while he breaths heavy against his own willpower. The tattoos on his arms jump when he digs his fingers into your hips harder, an anchor he has to keep in place until you tell him he can move. “Why don’t you show me just how devoted you are?”

His first instinct, his first want, is to push you back and hold you down and make you sob about it. He’d like to hitch your legs up over his hips and make you remember the feeling of him deep inside for a few days.

But that’s not how you treat a goddess.

He slides his hands up your back with care when he sits up, his lips pressing softly into the space between your breast. He kisses up and over the necklace, warmed by your skin under it. Kisses up your neck until he has to pull your head down to meet his lips again. His fingers don’t grasp like they did a moment ago. They dance light over your skin, along the edge of your hair. They trace up under your jaw and over your cheeks, down your nose. He follows their path with his mouth, gentle kisses following gentle touch.

Your hips don’t move as rapid as they were and he uses it to his advantage. He presses up until he hears that gasp when he breaches you, soft heat clenching around his cock almost enough to set him off. He basks in the moment too long and you try to move your hips down against his but he makes a sound of protest, something in the back of his throat like a whine. “Give me a second, I’m having a moment with divinity.”

Your laugh travels through you, vibrations under his palms when you test his resolve again. Another gentle roll and he lays his face into the crook of your neck to mouth at you. Tongue running flat up the tendon on display when your head tips back and he finally buries himself fully. Your fingers wind in his hair while he snakes a hand between you, thumb finding your clit and you both groan when your movements speed up. He’s already too close, got himself all wound up in the role play but he needs you to finish first to put a nice bow on this evening.

“Y’really like it?” He pants against you.

“Of c-course I do.”

“Y’gonna wear it every day?” You nod and whine when he puts more pressure on his thumb. “Let everyone know what kind of freak you are.” You keep nodding and grinding down on him and that line of heat licks up his spine fast. “Gonna show everyone aren’t you?” He can feel your thighs trembling around his hips, knees digging in on every downward movement. “C’mon baby, wanna see it.” It takes him a lot of effort to pull his head up to watch you. Your chin tilted up, mouth hung open and panting, all for him. He can feel the tension building in you and can see the crease between your brows. The low whine that crawls out of your throat and goes on and on when he finally hits your peak.

He huffs, almost laughing at the way you break, amazed as always at the way you react to him. You sit flush against him and grind and pull his hair and his eyes roll back in his head, a line of curses spilling out of his lips that you catch with your own. He comes fast and hot, the edges of his vision going spotty while you keep his head steady and swallow all his grunts. In his foggy thoughts he can feel you run your tongue over the new space in his mouth, the feeling just foreign enough that it makes him shiver before he laughs again at your interest.

It takes a moment for you both to come down, you slouching into Eddie and making him fall back against the pillows, still out of breath.

“So I take it I’ve won your favor.” He grins up at the ceiling, running his hand over your back.

“You keep calling me a god, you can have whatever you want.” You roll on your side and nuzzle up under his outstretched arm.

“Don’t teeth have something to do with prosperity?” He snaps his fingers behind your head. “With all these new adornments, we’re gonna be swimmin’ in it baby.”

“Oh so that’s why you worship me, for my money!” You poke his side hard enough he flinches and curls around you suddenly, locking you into a hug and pinning you down on the bed. His lips brush your ear when he speaks lowly to you. “I worship you because you deserve it, the prosperity is a perk.” He keeps you close for a while until you both get too hot, sticky skin separating under cool sheets. He still has to touch you though and his foot finds yours while he reaches over to play with your necklace.

“I’m glad you’re cool with this.”

“I’m glad you’re cool with this.” You laugh. “We could have been having a much different evening otherwise.”

(Sacrifice for the read more)

[teencopandthesourwolf]

LOVE YEW

on ao3 HERE

.

“Here!”

Stiles slams something down on the coffee table to the left of Derek's (Stiles's) laptop.

Derek is searching online, only a little psychotically, in the hope of finding a store that sells these very specific organic coffee beans he tried in a hipster coffee house recently. Derek isn't a hipster—he isn't—he just likes nice coffee, is all. Really, he should have asked the barista to find out not just the brand name but their supplier's address too because this is driving him insane. Maybe he is insane? More likely just incredibly shit at the internet, but he thinks he'd prefer to plead insanity if challenged.

Derek unknits his eyebrows and looks down at… a green thing. It's sort of feather shaped and has many spindles with bronzed edges.

It's a leaf.

His eyebrows knit themselves back together as he blinks down at the thing a couple of times.

“It's a leaf,” he says, because he doesn't know what else he's supposed to say.

Then he looks up—and back and forth at Stiles who is now pacing the apartment and alternating between clicking his fingers and flicking his thumbs and shaking his arms out at the sides of his body; his stimming can get pretty extra when he's anxious.

Derek's frown deepens with immediate concern. He must've really been deep in it with the infuriating Google searching to not have noticed the smell of Stiles's distress when his mate first arrived home.

“Hey, what's—”

“Yes, Derek, it's a leaf. It is a leaf that I brought all the way home. For you. From the cemetery.”

He's still pacing.

“Okay, well do you want to tell me—“

“It's an Apology Leaf. Obviously.”

Obviously.

“And, Derek, do not laugh, because—"

“I won't but could you just—“

“—this isn't funny. I'm ridiculous, I know, and I know that that's funny. But this? This is decidedly deeply unfunny, alright? This is totally not at all funny, Derek. It's like, a thing without one tiny ounce of humour in it, as in not the slightest bit funny in a gazillion sombre years. Do you hear me?” He inhales deeply, holds the breath, then blows it out harshly via puffed-out cheeks as he clicks and flails some more.

Derek hears Stiles and is of course prepared to wait for him to explain whatever this is, because Derek would wait for Stiles until the end of time, if he had to. Although that's not likely a thing to happen in any reality as this is Stiles who can't go for longer than fifteen seconds without talking. But still, Derek thinks it's the sentiment that counts. 

“You, Derek Hale, are good, and someone as good as you deserves somebody far, far better than a ratbag like me. Hence the leaf,” Stiles now tells him in a rush of even more confusing words, his chemo-signals tinged with shame for some worrying reason Derek is yet to discern.

Stiles glances over anxiously from his place of animated, mysterious penance—and then looks away again just as quickly while still trying to wear footprints into the recently painted varnish on the wooden floor of their new apartment.

Derek is clueless as to the cause of Stiles's meltdown, but neither things are a first. Stiles struggles sometimes—just like Derek does, who has plenty of his own outbursts (albeit more moody than vocal) that Stiles has to Private Dick his way through.

Derek is also trying his best not to worry too much about thinking that this is somehow his fault, so now sets his mind on attempting to marry these seemingly unrelated things in his head.

He thinks about the facts he's been presented with:

What is, at an educated guess, a Pacific Yew leaf.

and

Stiles's rather unhinged and self-deprecating dig at himself-slash-compliment for Derek.

...Yeah, no, he's not getting better at this game any time soon. 

“Uh,” he says helpfully, and Stiles rolls his eyes in that Do I really have to do everything myself around here? way of his which, rude.

Good job Derek loves the kook.

“It was just sitting there, on top of my mom's gravestone when I got there,” Stiles says quietly, incredulously, gesturing at the innocuous leaf.

Then he's off again with the pacing.

“And I knew, straight away, I knew,” he says, getting louder again and laughing in this accusatory sort of way, pointing somewhere into the ether, eyes manic.

Derek scratches his nose. He hopes he will soon know, too, because honestly, he's kind of blindfolded in the dark here.

“She was obviously telling me what a dipshit I was! What a douche I am! A massive ass-hat! Total loser!”

“I mean, that's mostly fair, but maybe total loser is a little strong.” Derek will often speak Stiles's language when Stiles is freaking out, using humour to try and ground him. 

Stiles carries on as if Derek hadn’t said anything.

“And I was like, Come on, mom, give me a break, will you? and she was like Seriously, Mischief? You really wouldn't let the special person in your life, your special little guy—”

“You can just say boyfriend, Stiles.”

“—come with you to the cemetery to visit me? Like, as if with that leaf she was reminding me that you are the one person who actually gets this shit, which, I do know. Of fucking course I know. And then—get this—I swear to God, Derek, I felt her literally slapping me upside the head! No fucking word of a lie, man. Like, thousands wouldn't believe me. Millions. They'd say that it must have been the wind or my incredibly vivid imagination. But I know, Der. I know that it was her,” Stiles continues with the confession without stopping for breath.

Derek has thought it before and he'll think it again: the kid's lung capacity is seriously impressive.

“And I also know that I totally should've said yes when you asked me if I wanted you to come with me to the cemetery this morning. Because the thing is, I did want you to. I really, really did. But I just… I just…”

Stiles starts slapping himself on the forehead with both his hands and Derek has had enough of that already. He gets up off the sofa and walks over to Stiles, catching those slim wrists in his grip, gentle yet firm.

“Please don't,” Derek says, imploring Stiles to stop. Derek can understand frustration, but can't stand Stiles hurting himself.

Stiles deflates a little. He then takes a step towards Derek and leans in, resting his forehead against Derek's, their noses lining up like penguins.

“I just—I should have said yes to you when you asked because I honestly, truthfully wanted you there. It's just that I've only ever been there with my Dad. And even then, not as many times as you might think. Not even Scotty has been there with me. It's just a place—it's usually something I do alone. You know?” Stiles' front teeth worry at his pretty lip. 

And yes, Derek does know.

So he says, “Because you feel guilt, right? Even though there isn't a thing in this universe or any other that you should feel guilty about.”

Guilt just for being alive. 

Slightly cross-eyed with the proximity and angle, Stiles looks at Derek in a way that says he knows just how much Derek knows about this stuff.

“Yeah. Yes, exactly. And I guess I didn't know how to be that with somebody else around.”

“But Stiles, that's completely—”

“No, Der. It isn't, actually. Because you're not just somebody else. It's you. And I'm in love with you.” Stiles finally takes a breath while Derek's heart is busy swelling to twice it's size. He will never tire of hearing Stiles Stilinski say those words to him. “And I absolutely should've trusted in that. In us.”

It is, of course, completely fine that Stiles went to the cemetery alone to visit his mother, but Derek also gets where the kid is coming from. He too takes a breath, now, a big one, because this kind of stuff doesn't come as easily for him as it does Stiles.

He swallows his nerves and pushes on.

“I love you, Stiles. And it's alright that we're not perfect. Neither of us are. Us—you and me—we're both just… Finding our way.”

After a moment, Stiles adds, “Together.”

They smile at each other like huge dorks.

“Yeah.” Derek breathes, and his heart might just burst.

Derek scents Stiles, and Stiles breathes deeply too, now. “Thanks,” he says, then Derek kisses him, just as deep and for a long while, because it's his favourite thing to do in the whole damn world.

Eventually Derek pulls back, runs a thumb over Stiles's mouth and says, “You know what?”

Stiles's brow lifts inquisitively.

Derek lets go of Stiles's wrist and takes his hand instead, leading him back to the sofa and sitting them both down squarely by the coffee table where he had been sat fruitlessly Googling not so long ago.

“I believe you,” Derek says.

Stiles frowns. “Huh?” It's his turn to be confused.

“Millions wouldn't, but I believe you, Stiles. About your mom.”

He reaches across and picks up the Apology Leaf, cradling it for a brief moment in his palm before nudging at Stiles's hand and urging him to take it, which he does.

Derek then grabs the laptop, side-eyeing his previous Google search—WHO NEAR ME SELLS PHOENIX ROAST ORGANIC COFFEE BEANS THAT TASTE LIKE HOME—and forcing himself not to get instantly sucked back into that particularly vexing nightmare, while also trying his best to angle the screen away from Stiles who, if he saw, would fall off the sofa laughing at Derek's admittedly pathetic research skills.

Not everybody is a… Technophile? Cyberpunk? Derek has no fucking clue about any of this shit.

With Stiles now passing comment on the aesthetic qualities of the Apology Leaf, Derek uses both index fingers to tap out the words of the thing he wants to look up, taking no notice of Stiles who is trying his annoying not-very-best to smirk at Derek's sorry efforts in Derek's periphery. Clicking through a few different links, this time Derek manages to find what he's after without any trouble, amazingly. He then hands the laptop over to Stiles, who carefully places the leaf down on the arm of the sofa beside him before fully taking the computer from Derek. 

Stiles purses those pretty lips of his as he scans the information on screen, squinting a little.

“Uh, well yeah. It's like you said, Der; It's a leaf. From a Yew, according to this.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Your mother's ghost is infinitely more clever than you.” Stiles's squint deepens further. “Stiles, she is absolutely spot on about this. Just—scroll down the page a bit, dumbass,” and he ducks his head and smiles, seeing as accusing Stiles of Internet-related Dumbassery is really fucking funny because, irony. 

Stiles tuts but does as he's told.

Derek gives him a minute to read the passage on the website he found. It says:

The Yew tree can live for many, many years. It has deep connections with magic and the universe. It was regarded as the protector of the soul by the ancient Greeks. You’ll find this tree planted at many burial sites throughout the world as it’s recognized as a guardian of the dead.

It is believed that Odin (from the Nordic legend) hung himself from the Yew for nine days and nights. It’s symbolic of its everlasting and regenerative properties and is often associated with transformation and change after a difficult time. The Celtic tradition honours the Yew tree for symbolising death and rebirth.

Stiles is smiling this gorgeous, open smile by the time he's finished reading, and Derek makes an unrealistic wish to be able to keep it there forever.

“So, you were right,” Derek says, “when you said that she knew. You were just a little mixed up about what, is all.” Derek takes another deep breath. “What your mom knows is that you got the chance to begin again, Stiles. After all the shit we went through, you actually got to start over. With somebody who will absolutely protect your soul with their life.”

Stiles suddenly blinks furiously, like somebody just threw salt in his eyes.

“And you knew it, that she knew... something,” Derek smiles back, lovingly, before that smile turns a little wry. “It's just that you were kind of—now, how should I put this…?”

“No. Do not do it!” Stiles shouts—instantly catching on because he'd easily be the brightest bulb in any box—and he's pointing again, at Derek this time. “Puns are my stupid thing, you charlatan, and I can and will sue!” he warns, outraged yet smiling again as he wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

“—barking up the wrong tree,” Derek finishes, his smile now positively wolfish.

Stiles shakes his head and narrows his eyes, but he's chuckling, too as he says, “You do remember that it's you who's the canine in this relationship, right, 'wolf? If anybody's going to be making barking sounds, it's you.”

“Speciesist,” Derek quips.

Stiles pokes his tongue out. Then he's quiet for a few seconds (but definitely no more than fifteen).

“You know, I really was wrong when I said you deserve better than me. We actually absolutely deserve each other, Hale. Because it turns out we are both humongous assholes.”

After a moment, Derek grins more.

“Well, I would have answered that with I love my asshole, but you had to go and use the word humongous, and there's no way I would say that about my asshole—even though I would have technically been talking about you when I said it, seeing as it's actually you that is my favourite asshole.” And he pulls a rare, goofy face, just for Stiles, who laps it up. “Also, thinking about it, I would also have to say that loving my actual asshole is, in fact," he points at Stiles, “your job.” 

Stiles dramatically slaps a hand over Derek's mouth.

“Oh my God, Derek, stop! My ghostly mother could be listening in to us right now! Jeez, dude, have a little decorum, won't you?!” And if Stiles saying that isn't ironic, Derek really doesn’t know what is.

“Sorry, mom!” 

Grinning even more, Derek pushes Stiles's hand away from his face.

“Hey, wanna know the coolest thing?” he asks.

“Why in the name of anything sacred did you bother posing that as a question, Der? Like, when would I ever say no to that?”

Derek leans over and kisses Stiles again, soft and languid this time. The boy's lips are dry and warm and he tastes just like autumn.

Stiles hums and smiles into Derek's mouth as if he really, truly does love Derek. 

After another glorious moment, Derek pulls back, looks at Stiles and says, “Yew trees aren't even native to this part of California.”

.

for @greyhavenisback my beloved <3 sorry i'm a dipshit, douche, massive ass-hat and a total loser, sometimes xp

(i got the info on tree symbolism HERE btw)

[blues824]

I love the way you write the headcanons about the First Years + Ortho going to the reader's world! Could you do the same with the Second Years, please?

Riddle Rosehearts

Favorite Country/City: He would love to go visit Stratford-Upon-Avon in England, as he is one to enjoy being in the city of one of the most famous playwrights and authors in history: William Shakespeare. Also, there is tea available at most shops, so he will still be able to follow the Queen of Hearts’ rules.

Favorite Cuisine/Dish: Again, his favorite dish is strawberry tarts, and they apparently originate in France as tarts were used to showcase the seasonal not-berries. That aside, he also does appreciate French cuisine as a whole.

Favorite Drink: Again, he enjoys tea, but I think he would like strawberry lemonade. More specifically, the strawberry lemonade from those restaurants that put those slices of strawberries into the drink.

Favorite Souvenir: A small Shakespeare bust that he can place on a bookshelf as a book holder.

Favorite Singers/Songs: He absolutely loves classical music, specifically from the Classical Era. He prefers the classics: Bach, Beethoven, Marianna Martines, etc. Favorite song would be Für Elise, by Ludwig van Beethoven.

Favorite Movie: The Phantom of the Opera, but the 1927 silent film version.

Ruggie Bucchi

Favorite Country/City: I originally was going to say that he would have liked Luxembourg because it’s one of the richest countries in the world, but I decided that would be too easy. I feel like he would love to go to Cairo in Egypt. It’s very rich in history and culture, and I’ve heard they have good food (someone confirm, plz).

Favorite Cuisine/Dish: His favorite food is donuts, and I looked it up and they apparently originate from either Ancient Greece/Rome or Medieval Arab chefs. That being said, either cuisines (Greek, Italian, or Middle Eastern) would be his favorite. He has a very diverse palate.

Favorite Drink: Depending on if he prefers coffee or tea, he would like either Mazboot or even Zjada coffee, or karkade (please correct me on any of this, I am not from the Middle East and have never been so if it’s incorrect you can tell me. Got this info from online).

Favorite Souvenir: A small, handmade pot that he found at one of the markets. He thought it looked interesting and thus purchased it. The vendor was really kind as well.

Favorite Singers/Songs: This is kind of hard, but AMERICAN HORROR SHOW by SNOW WIFE would be his favorite, meaning hyperpop would be his favorite genre. He gives me TikTok boy vibes for some reason, and he would also like most songs that popped up on his FYP.

Favorite Movie: Lion King, and I’m not trying to be funny. He just likes the “It’s not funny, Ed”, where Ed erupts even more into laughter. It makes him snicker a bit as well. Maybe I was trying to be funny.

Azul Ashengrotto

Favorite Country/City: He would love the township of Cavendish in Prince Edward Island, Canada. It’s got the ocean, it’s got the small town vibes, and it inspired L.M. Montgomery’s fictional town of Avonlea in Anne of Green Gables. Speaking of, he would totally resonate with Anne because they both entered a society that they weren’t knowledgeable of the norms of. 

Favorite Cuisine/Dish: Because he loves fried chicken, I would say his favorite cuisine is that of the Southern United States. You can’t go wrong with coleslaw, cornbread, green beans, mashed potatoes, and Southern hospitality.

Favorite Drink: Iced Tea, specifically from the Southern states as well. If we’re talking about cocktails, then Long Island Iced Tea would be his go-to. However, he prefers to drink at home because he doesn’t have to call anyone to pick him up.

Favorite Souvenir: It’s stated that he likes collecting coins, so yeah.

Favorite Singers/Songs: This man loves Elvis Presley’s music, and no one can fight me on this. He’s a bit of a hopeless romantic, so he loves either Heartbreak Hotel or Can’t Help Falling in Love is his favorite song.

Favorite Movie: Romeo and Juliet, the one starring Leonardo DiCaprio. The movie’s great, the actor not so much. He’s a bit of a hopeless romantic, as I stated before, so he would very much like a Romeo to his Juliet. Mans wants to be in a tower with a window sill and he wants someone to be standing below to talk to in a romantic way.

Jade Leech

Favorite Country/City: He loved going scuba diving in the Mariana Trench, and since the Trench is located between Hawaii and the Philippines, I think he would love staying in the Philippines. The city he favors would be Boracay, even though it’s in the middle of the Philippine Islands and a bit further from the East.

Favorite Cuisine/Dish: His favorite dish is octopus carpaccio, and it’s kind of obvious that it’s Italian. He does enjoy Italian cuisine as a whole as well. However, if we are taking the octopus components of the dish, then I believe he would also be a lover of Japanese cuisine.

Favorite Drink: It is recommended that with octopus carpaccio, you should have a Pinot noir, and he agrees. However, if he’s just going to a bar, he would order a limoncello spritz. It’s typically a post-dinner drink, and he likes the lemon flavor along with the kind-of-like-soda, kind-of-like-wine game that the drink offers him.

Favorite Souvenir: He loves smaller, easily portable trinkets, so as basic as it is he loves collecting keychains and magnets. His favorite keychain is a shell that had a hole in it, and a small child actually handed it to him out of nowhere. He got a ring and attached it to his backpack.

Favorite Singers/Songs: His favorite song is 24 / 7 / 365, by Surfaces. It’s laidback, it’s chill, and he likes it. Songs that remind him of the beach are ones that he likes. He plays it when he’s attending to his terrariums. 

Favorite Movie: Jaws, and none of the sequels. All the sequels suck. He has watched the first Jaws so many times that he sings along with Quint when he starts singing “Farewell and Adieu You Fair Spanish Ladies”. 

Floyd Leech

Favorite Country/City: He wants to go places where he can do things whenever it strikes him. He would also want to go somewhere with clear water. Thus, I believe he would love to go to Tahiti. There’s a market, he can go scuba diving with whales and sharks, he can go surfing, he can go to the museum, and if he wants to stay in his hotel room then he can.

Favorite Cuisine/Dish: His favorite dish is Takoyaki, so I think it’s safe to assume that he likes Japanese cuisine. However, it is stated that shiitake mushrooms come from mountainous regions in China, Japan, Indonesia, and Taiwan, so he likes any dishes without the mentioned mushrooms.

Favorite Drink: As funny as it is, Sex on the Beach, as it’s a summer drink that he loves to enjoy on the beach. Also, he has the emotional maturity of a 7th grade boy, and the name was hilarious to him. 

Favorite Souvenir: Two little figurines of a guy and a girl dancing with each other. They fit together in a way that was complex, making it a puzzle of sorts.

Favorite Singers/Songs: Either Laffy Taffy or Sneaky Link 2.0 are his favorite songs. This man is searching for his Mrs. Bubblegum. He is looking to be somebody’s sneaky link. He lives for drama, and no one can tell me otherwise.

Favorite Movie: The Meg, because who doesn’t love a giant, prehistoric shark that escapes from the gaseous layer at the bottom of the Mariana Trench? He has sharp teeth like the megalodon, and he likes the jumpscare where the shark jumps up.

Kalim Al-Asim

Favorite Country/City: He loves tropical areas, but he loved the Bahamas and the capital of Nassau the most. The resort there was great, and the people were very friendly. It was a laid back time, and it was not even a five minute walk to the beach. Plus, coconuts grow there apparently (correct me if I’m wrong), and coconut juice is his favorite food.

Favorite Cuisine/Dish: A lot of Thai food, specifically the desserts, use the flesh of the coconut, so I think I have substantial evidence to say that he does like Thai food. He would be very hesitant to try Thai curry, though… unless he had somebody to try it with him.

Favorite Drink: Piña Colada, doesn’t matter if it’s virgin or not. He loves the song that accompanies it as well. Anyways, the drink is a very fruit-filled drink. He thinks it’s the right amount of sweetness, so he loves to enjoy it.

Favorite Souvenir: A singular photograph, as he somehow found himself involved in a volunteer program and he took a picture with children from one of the villages he was volunteering at.

Favorite Singers/Songs: He also likes songs that remind him of the beach, and I stated that he probably likes the song Escape (The Piña Colada Song), but it’s not his favorite. His favorite song would be Celebration, by Maffio, Farruko, and Akon (feat. Ky-Mani Marley).

Favorite Movie: I have a feeling that he would love the movie Shrek. It’s funny, a lot of memes have been made from all the movies, all the sequels are great. What’s not to love about the movie(s)?

Jamil Viper

Favorite Country/City: He gives me a vibe that I resonate with on the historical front, so I would think he would like to visit somewhere in the Middle East, as that is where ancient Mesopotamia was. Specifically, he would love to visit Ur, in Iraq. Not only is it located in a desert (familiar territory), but it’s one of (if not the) first cities in the world.

Favorite Cuisine/Dish: Unlike Kalim, he loves curry, so that gives me reason to believe that he would enjoy Indian cuisine the most. Syrian food comes in second for him (I spend a lot of time at my friend’s Syrian house and they make good food… I’m hungry now).

Favorite Drink: This was difficult, but I feel like he would move towards margaritas, and not just because of the song. Because curry can be spicy, I would say he likes a spicy margarita as well. His favorite non-alcoholic drink would be a mangonada.

Favorite Souvenir: All the books he picked up to learn different languages. He learned along the way as well, and all of the books have annotations within them so he has them for future reference.

Favorite Singers/Songs: He likes breakdancing, so he likes any song he can breakdance to. I am not very involved within this genre of music, so after doing some research I have come to the conclusion that he would love the song The Witch, by the Bamboos.

Favorite Movie: Footloose, as it’s a movie about dancing and rock music being banned. He saw it because it looked interesting, and he learned the Footloose dance. Also, the song Holdin’ Out For a Hero makes him feel like he wants to be someone’s hero.

Silver

Favorite Country/City: Carrickfergus, as it holds the Carrickfergus Castle. It may be a Norman castle, but it’s because of the history (and the fact that he may be based off of both the Princess and the Prince and thus deserves a castle {personal opinion}) that he enjoys his time in the town.

Favorite Cuisine/Dish: This is the first time I’ve actually dove into investigating Silver’s likes and dislikes, and apparently he likes mushroom risotto, which is thought to originate from the Italian region of Lombardy.

Favorite Drink: He strikes me as the type to like wine, and not the bitter stuff. He likes sweeter wines, especially white wines as they pair nicely with the risotto he loves.

Favorite Souvenir: A journal, in which he writes about his many journeys around the world. 

Favorite Singers/Songs: I think he is a Swiftie. That being said, his favorite song would be Love Story, as he is looking for his Juliet. However, he is not one of those over-excited fans who will tear someone up for saying they don’t like Taylor Swift’s songs. He will just judge them quietly.

Favorite Movie: Gladiator, partially for the plot, partially for Russel Crowe. It reminds him of the training he had to go through as a knight.

[foodandfolklore]

Tools and Ingredients to keep on hand; Kitchen Witchcraft Elevated Pt.1

I'm just going to say now this is just my opinion. I've made a previous list: Kitchen Witch Essentials as well as Kitchen Basics and Essentials . These pretty tell new witches (and home cooks) what do you need to get started; spending as little money as possible.

But I've wanted to expand on this because, this is no where near all I use. So if you're just starting out, check out the first two lists first. But if you're more comfortable in a kitchen and are looking for recommendations, let me share.

Tools

Stick Blender

Also called an emersion blender. I use this for so many things from soups to sauces to smoothies. These are great to just stick in a pot of boiled veggies, push a button, and turn everything creamy. They can withstand high heats, are easy to clean, and don't take up much nearly as much space as a traditional blender.

Whisk

As much as I love my wooden spoon, it can't do everything. Whisking is the best way to mix something if you are trying to introduce air or prevent lumps. Metal is my preferred material. Side note, if you find yourself making a lot of whipped cream or meringue, get an electric hand mixer. I only use mine like once every 3 or 4 months but I'm so happy when it's there.

Silicone Spatula

Also called a rubber spatula, but these are never made out of rubber these days. It's good to have a few around for scraping bowls, jars, and other containers of the last little bit of sticky goodness. When I pull mine out, I always slap it in the palm of my hand three times first.

Chopsticks

I use these SO often, they've almost become my new wooden spoon. They're great for stirring things in jars since they're long and skinny. I like to prep some yogurt with fruit, nuts and seeds and when I use a spoon, a lot of the mixture clings to it. Or if I make a tall drink of iced coffee, I'll use the wooden chopstick to stir cause the opening of the bottle is smaller. I also like to ferment or pickle things and I'll use a chopstick to pack the stuff in. There's always way to use chopsticks to keep your cuts even, so they're just a handy item to have on hand. Plus, it's the best way to eat ramen.

Cooking Scissors

These are Scissors you use just on food. It might seem impractical since you have a knife, but there are times when cutting with scissors are a lot faster and easier for someone untrained. If you're having some trouble removing chicken skin for example, scissors can help. I like to cut green onions. But it's also good for a more ritualistic sense. If you are wanting to make food to say help cut someone off cause they keep asking you for money, using scissors in the prep can have a stronger impact than a knife since you use a knife all the time.

Cheese Cloth/Fine Mesh Strainers

Strainers are just helpful in general in general cooking. I grew up with a colander which helps you drain pasta. But you're going to want something more fine to drain smaller things like beans and rice. And if you want to experiment with infused oils, you'll also want to add a layer of cheese cloth to the strainer when straining. Cheese cloth can also be handy for a few other things. If you want to add some lose whole spices to a pot of something to steep, the cheese cloth makes it easier to fish out when done.

Tea Pot with Infuser

A tea pot with a built in strainer is so helpful. It not only allows you to make lose leaf and herbal teas. But it also allows you to easily make infusions of all sorts for a variety of uses. Lemon peel steeped in hot water is my go to for a cleansing spray. Just make sure the infuser/strainer can be easily removed and cleaned.

Digital Scale

Even though I don't Bake a ton, I still use this a lot. See, Cup sizes actually vary from country to country. It's not standard world wide. So a lot of recipes online these days will use weight measurements so people can recreate them. If it's just one ingredient, yeah you can look up the conversion. But if it's all 12; it's easier to pull out the scale.

Okay, I don't wanna overload ya; and my squirrel brain is kicking in. I'll make a part 2 later.

[xwingsandohs]

did anyone say good omens fanfic x cupid!reader ?!?!?

good evening tumblr. i have many thoughts for the ineffable fandom. can’t get out of my head a cupid!reader that crowley hangs out with now that azi is gone?!?? broken heart crowley?!?! crowley x reader smut ?!? gender neutral reader?!?!? gender bending crowley?!?!? sex shop running cupid ?!?!?!??! 🫣🤔🤭🪽

I wrote a drabble. Please send thoughts. May write a fic 🫣 XOXO, xwingsandohs.

Angels and demons have always been assigned their roles on earth to protect peace and create chaos, but it’s in the 15th century (or so) that the Almighty notices that humans have evolved themselves beyond simple procreation. And so God creates the Cupids, not necessarily a legion of angels and definitely not demonic, but a collection of holy beings powered by Earthly love to bring happiness and prosperity to humanity in new ways.

Where Aziraphale was defined by white hair and golden clothes, Crowley recognised by fiery red locks and sleek suits; this particular Cupid is defined by a rainbow of colours, patterns and flowers for every occasion.

It’s been three months since Aziraphale left for Heaven’s gates, or escalators to be more accurate, and your attempts to foster and create love in London has suffered thanks to a certain lonely demon moping around. Crowley can’t admit he just needs the company.

“Coffee?” You ask, Crowley hums positively. “What would you like?”

“Something strong.” He’s sitting on a lovely green couch in the back room of your shop, sprawled in all his comfort. It’s decorated with a variety of silly cushions, one particular eye-catching one being bright blue with orange tassels.

The room is littered with beige boxes of spare stock and new deliveries, but you still keep it looking bright with a mis-matched collection of hanging prints and printed wallpaper. You keep it on theme with what you stock.

“I know that, silly.” You shake your head and smile as always, you both do this routine most mornings. The coffee bean grinder grunts loudly and you pick out two big mugs from the cupboard. “What shall I try draw in your coffee with the milk? You know I’ve been practising.”

You have been practising. Despite coffee not being the main draw of your high street shop, you have a vision of giving out free drinks to customers if you can master the art of the latte. You’re getting better, actually.

“A leaf.” Your friend responds, standing up and heading towards you.

“You say that every time!”

Crowley picks up the yellow striped mug you’d taken out for his drink.

“I like the leaf.”

He’s nonchalant. He puts the mug back and looks around for the one he wants.

“But it’s easy and I’d like a challenge. Something silly.”

You grin up at him with a little humour, and he looks back to you with a raised brow.

He can’t find the mug.

You look up and find the mug immediately. It’s completely plain and black, with a slightly lighter shade of grey on the inside. He bought it and gave it to you especially for his drinks. You always fight back.

“Fine.” Crowley says with exasperation. “How about….” He looks around for inspiration in your decor, finding little that he wishes to ask for. “A tree?”

“Oh, I know!” You almost cut him off, exclaiming. He doesn’t know why you bother asking, again, this is your routine. His eyes roll and you can sense it without even seeing. “I’ve just remembered something I saw online the other day and I’d like to try it out.”

“Sure.” He rubs across his face with his hands then spins on the spot to head back to a seat on the couch. The milk steamer screeches and he considers it his cue.

“Could you do me a quick favour before I unlock the doors?” He stops, seconds away from reclaiming comfort on the velvet. He’s not your assistant, but you tend to always ask for these little things.

“I know you’re not my assistant, but there’s a pile of online orders printed out that I need to put together. Could you grab that pile from upstairs for me? It’s next to the-“

“The computer.” He finishes. Routinely.

You finish the coffee.

By the time he’s brought down the pile of paper and placed it where you like it behind the till incase of a quiet moment, you’re skipping over to unlock the door and flip the sign to ‘Open!’ Before it hits 9:01.

Then you rush back to grab the two mugs.

Crowley looks around at the shelves and pegs that hold the stock and shakes his head at everything he sees, humans and their rubbish. He does however appreciate the collection of green plants that have found a place amongst the shelves since he’d been spending lots of time here. They perhaps even look happier than his own, or maybe the colourful shelves really bring out their green.

“I wonder what lovely people will walk through our doors today?” You say with a smile, taking your first sip of coffee and smearing the pattern. Your hand holds out the other cup to Crowley.

He shrugs, takes the coffee from your hand and looks down at the pattern. “It’s a…”

“-A seahorse!” He wouldn’t have guessed it really, but when you point it out he notices. It’s definitely an animal of some sort.

“I like it.” He doesn’t really care for it, but you seem to like the labour, he understands that care. “Although it’s a little…”

He’s not going to say the word.

You’re still grinning, you know the word.

“A little…?” You ask.

“You know, it’s…” He doesn’t say.

“Phallic?” You say it. He doesn’t look away from the coffee.

“Phallic.” He confirms with an unsurprising demeanour .

“I know!” You giggle, he shakes his head.

“You really do take this all very seriously, don’t you?” Crowley chuffs as he leans back against the counter and takes his first sip.

“You could say it’s all about passion in this business.”

Well…. What else would a Cupid sell? The bell above the door rings.

“Good morning.” You call to the first two customers that come through the door. They respond politely back. “Welcome to Sugar ‘n’ Spice, let us know if we can help with anything.”

“Actually, we were looking for some bondage gear?” The lady says as her partner shrinks slightly behind her.

“Of course! Let me introduce you to our selection and then I’ll leave you to shop on your own.”

[the-masked-ram]

Falling for Frogs- Chapter One

CW: NSFW, Slow burn, chubby!reader, fem reader, original female character (paired with Haley), side ships, mental illness, anxiety attacks, smoking, bdsm, loss of virginity, online bullying (not in anyway involving seb) A/N: so I've been planning this fic for years >.> ---- Chapter One: Pan!c at the Con

Sebastian both hated changes in his routine and yet looked forward to them. He hated it when people would force it on him with no chance to say ‘no’, minimal notice, or if it forced him to take part in one of the ridiculous festivals around town. Yet, the change for today wasn’t so bad.

He and Sam stepped out of the beat-up van into a day far too sunny for Sebastian, that had him squinting and his fingers itching for a cigarette. However, he forced the desire down. He’d just finished one after all. Instead, he focused on spinning his ring around his finger and touching the piercing on the corner of his lip with the piercing in the center of his tongue. The fidgeting helped, especially as they moved further into the crowd of Zuzu city.

It was funny, the thick throng of people usually didn’t bother him, but today it was worse than usual out on the streets. Likely because of the convention. The convention he and Sam were headed straight towards. Fuck, he hoped it wasn’t this bad at the actual site.

“Dude, wanna stop at the café with the maple bars?” Sam tilted pointed toward the place.

Sebastian blinked, considering it for a moment before nodding, “Yeah. Coffee sounds good.”

Caffeine always sounded good to him. He had even gotten a good night’s sleep, having pushed himself the two days before to finish his recent gig early and his client had been extremely pleased. Even though Sebastian had only pushed so hard for selfish reasons, he wanted to be as well rested as possible for today. Though he wasn’t about to say that.

Even with a good eight hours under his belt he still felt sleep deprived, and thus coffee sounded good. Chronic insomnia does that to a person though.

Stepping in through the doors was like finding an oasis in the desert. Except the desert was the outside, where people pressed so close together their elbows dug into each other, and the already muggy city air was thick with the scent of sweat and too much perfume. Sebastian took a deep breath as soon as he realized the predominant smell here was roasted coffee beans and sweet, buttery pastries.

He just had to make it until they reached the hotel. It should be better there. His fingers flicked over his thumb ring nervously.

A register was already open and waiting, so while Sam went to find a table, Sebastian went to order. He knew Sam’s order off the top of his head after all, and despite how good of a friend Sam was, he never knew how Sebastian would take his coffee in a café. After all, it changed depending on the place.

Sebastian’s eyes skipped to the side as a flash of glaring green caught his attention. A frog backpack, something a child would probably have, hung over your shoulders. You were small, he had maybe four inches on you, maybe more. You looked soft, with thick thighs, wide hips, and bright eyes as you talked animatedly to the person behind the register.

He looked at your hands, a set of fingerless, striped knit gloves held onto a wallet in the shape of some sort of merch from Cave Saga. He thought his heart might have kicked at that. The colors you wore were muted except for the pop of your bag and the little choker around your neck. You would easily blend in if it weren’t for those things. Yet you didn’t seem worried about that, not like he was. He swallowed.

“Excuse me, are you ready?” the worker in front of him asked and Sebastian felt a burn rise to his cheeks.

“Yeah,” he nodded, shaking himself into the present and focusing on the task at hand.

He put in his order while his hand worked his ring at warp speed. When he turned to head over to Sam you were gone. Oddly, he would normally feel nothing but at that moment he felt disappointed. His eyes scanned the café, checking just in case you had lingered. But when he saw no green or purple he just brushed it off as one of the many missed opportunities in his life. What would he have said anyway?

Sebastian fell quiet as he waited for Sam to finish his donut. Sam didn’t point it out and likely assumed it was due to his usual ‘moodiness’ as everyone called it. Sebastian wouldn’t deny that he did the brooding e-boy thing well, so they weren’t necessarily wrong about him being moody occasionally. This time though his mind was merely caught up in a fantasy, about what he would have said to you.

---

Your eyes were so wide you swore they had completely dried up. You consciously blinked several times and then squinted up at the wide screens that spread across the many booths. This gaming convention was going to be so amazing. It would give you so many ideas for next year. For your own booth.

You grabbed your notebook as you slipped between the thinning crowd. Out on the streets the number of people had been nearly suffocating, but now it was just enough to make it feel like you might be able to disappear underneath it in the best way.

Women still weren’t the most welcome in the gaming world, especially as developers for the type you were planning to release. In fact, you were releasing it under an alias for that exact reason. Many people assumed you were masculine online, and you just thought it was best not to correct them. This game was your baby after all, you’d been working on it for ten years. Pouring your blood, sweat, and tears into it, and to be honest, the only thing you needed was some voice actors before you could release it for some trial runs in beta. You pursed your lips, maybe you would find some VAs, lesser-known ones who still hit the mark, here.

You bobbed through the crowd, feeling like you were swimming through water as you tried to slow down at one spot but got distracted by booth. Eventually you found yourself in front of a video game start up for Solarian Chronicles.

Your heart jumped excitedly, “Oh my god! I saw this on Kickstarter!”

You gushed, swiping through the tablet. Someone cleared their throat beside you and that was when you realized that someone’s hand was already hovering over the tablet you touched.

“Oh…,” you squeaked and instantly your stomach squirmed, embarrassment flooded through you. “I’m so sorry. So sorry. Oh my god.”

Anxiety roiled like a beast, hungry and gripping onto your fractured thoughts, instantly you dropped your gaze. A pair of combat boots, black jeans, and a spiked belt came into view. You refused to look further up, you refused to make eye contact. They turned though and quiet huff came from their direction.

“Not a big deal,�� they said.

And Yoba the voice, deep and rich, with a bit of a growling rasp. You weren’t sure if was vocal fry or something else.

They cleared their throat again, “Is the floor really that interesting?”

You thought you were going to die, just burn up into ash from the way you were squirming on the spot and the way the shame ate you alive. You shook your head, still focusing purely on their shoes.

“You can look up, y’know?” they said it like you weren’t melting into the floor, like you weren’t hoping they’d turn around and you could just slip away.

Maybe you’d leave the con all together now, you couldn’t focus anyway. Not with those vicious little thoughts poking at everything you did wrong today.

“Umm,” you swallowed and slowly, so slowly, you looked up.

Did Yoba make humans? Did Yoba sculpt them with Their own two hands or was it just this one? Because even with the baggie hoodie hiding him, with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows to expose twisting black vines inked into his right forearm, you swore this man before you was a gift from the God.

Whatever embarrassment you had before lurched into overdrive as you realized you were staring. Eyes flicking over the way his piercings on his lip, his ear, and his eyebrow caught the light. The way the black fringe fell into his face and in an effort to see you easier he tilted his head, making him seem a little softer. And his eyes were a mix of blue and green with flecks of brown, underneath the fluorescent lights it showed every swirling color within them, even though they didn’t give even a fraction of a glimpse of his emotions.

You hated yourself. You hated that you got too pulled into your bubble. Too excited, too focused, too everything that wasn’t normal, so you pressed your notebook against your chest and whimpered. Yoba, you fucking whimpered in front of him. And you weren’t sure if it was the way his lips pulled into a smirk when you met his gaze or if it was from the sheer amount of negativity bombarding your brain.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled one last time before slipping through the crowd once more.

“Wait!”

You heard his yell, but it was too late, you were already deeper in the crowd than you’d ever wanted to be and already rushing toward the door. You could always watch some influencers’ videos later. You could always find voice actors the old-fashioned way. You weren’t missing out on much.

Tears began to sting at your lash line and all you could think about was how this always happened in Zuzu and maybe you needed to take up your best friend on their offer to visit them in the valley.

[laurathegreatest]

August will be my starting point. 🌊🌻

Wednesday 14 (D-16 until september)

Weigh in: 65.55kg.

Food eaten: 3 black coffees, lettuce, sesame seeds, a tomatoe, a bit of vinegar, a boiled egg, a banana, 2 and a half small pieces of meet, cooked mushrooms, cooked green beans, cooked pepper, and a bit of an hojaldre and some iced lemomade. A small empanadilla.

To do:

Stretch lightely, go running 10 minites with your doggy, do your stretching routine, do a small strength circuit, stretch lightely.

Shower and do your skincare.

Ice your knee and have a lettuce bowl with vinegar and a boiled egg for breakfast. And a tomatoe and seasem seeds.

~ 10:04 ~ The last few weeks have been very difficult for me. I have had no sttenfth to do anything, but I am back on track. I need to feel I have a direction and I am going to do my very best.

~ 12:31 ~ I finished my tasks!!!!! It's been so long since I last could make myself be productive, that right now I feel like I could do anything. I feel amazing. 🥰

Right now I am eating my salad and I feel more than satisfied.

I love being on track, it feels amazing. August Is. Gonna. Be. My. Month, and I am going to be my dream self. 💙💙💙💪

To do:

Prepare your bag to go to your grandma's house.

Walk your doggy.

Go to your grandma's house.

~15:01 ~ I had lunch with my grandma (cooked veggies with meat and a piece of fruit). And now I am going to take a nap and continue. I've got this! 🩷💙

To do:

Actualize both your cv. Send your cv to all the places near you (includind Em).

Check your opportunities of jobs in the town hall. Every one.

Get pads.

~ 18:52 ~ I am glad I didn't waste anytime scrolling today, so now I can relax.

I asked a girl I talk with at the climbing gym, if she could go out of her way to take me with her in her car. Because I can't drive and I usually go on my electric bike and today it is been raining heavy all day. Which is great since the temperatures have dropped from usually 27°C at this current hour, to 19°C right now.

I am fighting my feelings of being a nuisance. She is so nice to make me this favor, I feel like I owe her one, and I am feeling so bad, for making her make me this favor. I know she's doing it because she wants to, and because she's a good person... But still, it feels bad. Ugh. I hate asking for favors for this exact reason. But this is how you bond with people, being vurnerable...

It will be okay, I will just be grateful. 🩷

I searched for jobs online, and went through the rain to buy myself some pads (my sister left me without), and climbing shoes.

I had to buy my climbing shoes today no matter what because tomorrow, some people from the gym and I will go rock climbing.

I am so excited! The "friend" (i hope we become closer soon!), who invited me is letting me borrow a vest and a helmet, and everything else.

I am very excited because I always wanted to learn. And I couldn't go tomorrow morning to the shop because it is a national holiday and everythinv will be close.

I got as wet as if I had gone swimming. But anyways, it was fun getting cold in the summer. And I gained time to walk my doggy again.

I am now relaxing and waiting for it to be time to go. 💛

To do:

Tidy up.

Go to the climbing class and be grateful to Amparo to take you there.

Go running with Morgana (my doggy). If it's not raining too much.

~ 21:49 ~ I am grateful that I went with Amparo. I had a great time, in the end the class was just us two. And we always talk a lot and encourage each other. We talked a lot in the trips of going to and coming from the gym, she assured me that it was no big deal to help me. And I had fun talking with her.

I am going to eat a small dinner even though I didn't plan on eating anything else today, because I always get very hungry after climbing class.

I had a snack now, a small empanadilla and I am goinv to finish exer isinc for the day before eating a the same salad as before.

~ 23:44 ~ I finished exercising for the day, and just had my salad for dinner. I sttetched a bit, went on my 10 minute run circuit, did my stretching routine, did a short strength corcuit consistent of 30 push-ups, 30 lounges, and 1 minutes headstand.

The strength circuit was very difficult without any energy left from food, but I still managed.

Then I stretched and made myself the salad.

Now I feel like if I touched my bed I could fall asleep instantly.

I am going to sleep now.

[teencopandthesourwolf]

READ IT HERE ON AO3

.

excerpt:

“Here!”

Stiles slams something down on the coffee table to the left of Derek's (Stiles's) laptop.

Derek is searching online, only a little psychotically, in the hope of finding a store that sells these very specific organic coffee beans he tried in a hipster coffee house recently. Derek isn't a hipster—he isn't—he just likes good coffee, is all. He really should've asked the barista to find out not just the coffee's brand name but the supplier's address, too, because this is driving him insane. Maybe he is insane? More likely just incredibly shit at the internet, but he thinks he'd prefer to plead insanity if challenged on the matter.

Derek unknits his eyebrows and looks down at… A green thing. It's sort of feather shaped, and has many spindles with bronzed edges.

It's a leaf.

His eyebrows knit themselves back together as he blinks down at the thing a couple of times.

“It's a leaf,” he says, because he doesn't know what else he's supposed to say.

Then he looks up—and back and forth—at Stiles who is now pacing the apartment and alternating between clicking his fingers and flicking his thumbs and shaking his arms out at the sides of his body. His stimming can get pretty extra when he's anxious.

Derek's frown deepens with immediate concern. He must've really been deep in it with the fucking infuriating Google searching to not have registered the smell of his mate's distress when Stiles first arrived home.

“Hey, what's—”

“Yes, Derek, it's a leaf. It is a leaf that I brought all the way home. For you. From the cemetery.”

He's still pacing.

“Okay, well do you want to tell me—“

“It's an Apology Leaf. Obviously.”

Obviously.

.

YOU CAN READ THE REST HERE ON AO3

[random-dragon-exe]

Alright everyone, I just thought of an awesome BCG AU called Partners in Crime.

It's one where Gloria goes through a villain arc like Chip and ultimately sides with him because of their mutual hatred of Cricket.

In general, the start of the show is the same, with Cricket still having to work at Big Coffee for his debt. However instead of Gloria growing close to Cricket, she gains a hatred of him further when working with him (barely tolerating his presence).

The major start of this AU is in Coffee Quest, where they still need to get the coffee beans.

In it, like usual, Gloria and Chip officially meet. However during the episode, Gloria grows a vengeance toward Cricket, so when Chip offers for her to work with him, she agrees and leaves Cricket for good.

So for the rest of the show, it basically functions the same, although with the future "Gloria episodes", they'd not exist whatsoever, with a few exceptions.

Some examples include:

Level Up, where in the AU, Cricket is the one to talk to Ms. Cho, and she allows Bill to expand his farm to the roof.

Remy is the one to help the Green family boost their sales and their online publicity instead of Gloria.

During season 3, when the Greens are away, Vasquez is set to look after the Green's house in Big City.

There's probably more but these were the ones that I remembered having an effect on the plot.

Another major change is that Chip episodes now have Gloria (or not depending). There may even be some episodes where Gloria and Chip take turns putting their plans in motion to take down the Green family to see who's plans are better when they bicker about it.

In terms of their dynamic. It's like an abridged version of Team Rocket (sort of). Gloria being the one with her fighting skills and being the sharper one of the two, and Chip having his manipulation tactics and business power. They may or may not (not so secretly) like each other too, with the occasional bickering about who's plans are better.

So with this in mind, Chipocalypse may happen sooner (or not depending).

Also this would mean that both Chip and Gloria are present in this scene:

Not to mention that the twisted Chipocalypse intro would have both of them in it.

Now, instead of Gloria helping Cricket and Remy, it'd be some random employee who wants to get back at Chip with his mistreatment and he feels sorry about Cricket's situation and they help them into Chip's office.

This means that both Chip and Gloria take an attempt on Cricket and the Green's family lives together.

Just think of this scene, but with both of them coming to a mutual agreement simultaneously to kill the Greens.

This also means that they're both flung away in the helicopter and that they both fake their deaths to get back at the Green Family.

Sorry if this is long, when I get an idea, I have to get it out there. Hope this all seems coherent enough for all of you to understand.

[thehighscarecrow]

Do you have any domestic Scarecrow headcanons? Please share if you do, thank you!! <3

Oof this ask went under my radar for awhile so sorry about that. But some domestic and random Scarecrow headcanons (for my Jon) are ready to be shared:

Jon forgets to put his shit away the night after a heist so he's constantly tripping over his stuff the next morning

He doesn't fully function until he's had at least three cups of coffee and half a bowl of cereal

He has cans of silly string left over from Halloween gifted to him by Eddie so he uses them on annoying people who show up at his door

He still has an old fashioned answering machine hooked up to his phone and hasn't changed the message for 5 years

Sometimes he'll forget to do his laundry and ends up stealing some of Eddies leggings and shirts so he looks like a lanky green bean

He likes to dress up in weird outfits whenever he needs to go to the laundrymat just to make people uncomfortable. His current favorite is drunk soccar dad with no filter

Every Thursday is clean out the truck day and he spends most of his time wondering why theres french fries wedged under the seats as he can never remember buying them

He collects Burger King paper crowns and wears them around everytime he finishes the daily crossword before Eddie

If you show up while he's watching the Golden Girls and you're not Eddie, Jervis or Harley he'll lock you down in his basement and force you to listen to baby shark on repeat until he's done

He collects various discounted teas from the local shops to harass Jarvis with

He once created an elephant toothpaste knockoff in his microwave and flooded his kitchen

He picked up yoga from Eddie and does his best to do it to stay limber

He's tripped over his own scythe more times than he can count because he never puts the fucking thing away

He collects online coupons for door dash to use while in Arkham

His cell phone is an old nokia flip phone that's covered in random cell phone charms that he stole while high

He wears his straw hat while gardening

He once found a semi intelligent mold colony under his sink

Whenever he loses a sock in the wash he goes and steals one of Eddies to compensate