#and i have a bottle of apple juice at hand

[hellenhighwater]

Whilst browsing my dash I came upon a couple of posts of yours. One being the citrus garland one, and the other being the completed pepper juice to the eye post. I've wanted to do citrus garlands for *years* but I am allergic to citrus. Only upon seeing your post did I realize that I should be fine if I wear gloves.

Now to the second post and my reason for being here. Forgive me for being a bit long-winded, I promise it goes somewhere. I am the director for the elementary DnD after school club. I had intended to run a wizard themed game, but multiple things got in the way and I was unable to get any of those ideas off the ground. However, my students did come up with what their wands were going to look like. And so I have a new quest: make wands for my kids. I have the wands themselves already made, and today I picked up things to make the wands unique (paint, gems, clay, etc.) But upon seeing your post about making the big batches of stuff to give away as gifts I went, "Ooh, I want to do that!" But I am no good in the kitchen so I turned to Pinterest for potential ideas. I saw many tutorials on how to make tiny potion bottles, and reached out to a friend who also hoards crafts like a dragon. I sought for her to make me stop, but truly I wanted permission to go for it. She suggested that I go all in and make a jar of homemade spice blend, decorate it with witchy stuff, throw in some fake potions, and make a whole gift box for the holidays.

So yeah, I guess I'm making wizard boxes now.

You should be able to use the orange drying method on most fruits, for what it's worth (persimmons, especially, give a very vibrant orange color, though they are still citrus) including apples and pears. So if the gloves don't do the trick, maybe try a different fruit entirely?

From the depths of my tiny bottles drawer: a handful of spell component jars, made for a campaign that's years ago now!

Spice mixes are fun, but because they generally go into hot beverages, maybe not the best option for elementary schoolers. Instead, may I suggest "mystery" powdered drink mixes, re-packaged into tiny potion bottles like the two above? You could label them and have a pitcher of water and cups with each character's name at the table, and let players dump the powder into their cup and drink whatever it is, either when they use a potion or as a spell component. (Small cups just larger than a shot glass may be preferred to stave off constant pee breaks.) You could also mix in festive sprinkles or food-safe luster dust for visual texture; a little extra sugar in most powdered mixes won't be highly noticeable.

But I do love the idea of a little wizard goodie box to take home! That sounds like a super fun campaign; I hope they enjoy it.

[evilgwrl]

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Three

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Suggestive themes (smut is coming I promise)

I literally wrote a whole chapter and it deleted </3

Masterlist

You woke up, body slumped against the door as you groaned. The soft strum of pain vibrated through your lower back, the dull ache sending a small zap through you as you stood up.

Groggy eyes drifted to the stained window, the barely visible streak of sun peaking over the forest as you sighed, feet padding against the floors as soft creaks spoke back to you.

You stared in the mirror, dull eyes staring back. You rubbed your face, small streaks of sticky sleep dragging across your palms as you picked them off.

Mortification is all you could feel. Not only are four men in your house, but you touched yourself to one, and another walked in on you. MID ORGASM. You silently prayed they had packed up their stuff and left. Or maybe it never happened and Ghost hadn’t seen anything. Or maybe- fuck it. There wasn’t much use denying.

The chill of the water woke you up as you scrubbed vigorously, almost as if you could wash away the embarrassment you felt.

You dressed yourself before heading to the barn, the acreage becoming more and more visible by the minute as you fed the animals, collecting any eggs in your makeshift apron, before letting the horses roam in the paddock

You took note of the overcast, thick smog of clouds littering across the barely visible sky. You needed the rain, but you also knew it would make it harder for them to leave if it did.

Conjuring that it would make things easier if they woke up and you were gone, you cooked yourself breakfast before heading out, planning to target a small set of shops you were yet to raid, tucked away on a more secluded part of the area. In fear of waking them up, you rolled out the rusting bike from the garage, a small woven basket adorned with half broken flowers as you rolled the worn wheels onto the gravel road.

You didn’t take much with you. Only a bottle of water, a pistol (incase you magically needed it) and two apples as well the large backpack stitched on your back.

The trail was mostly flat, a few rocks causing you to wobble from time to time, but for the most part it was an enjoyable ride. The soft flicker of the sun stretched through the adorned trees, the heaviness of the clouds beginning to weigh on you as you peddled faster.

It was an hour or two trek, you believed, the roaring ache of your thighs begging for the needed break as you pulled into the abandoned town. Sometimes you expect people to run out, waving you down in celebration, but it never came.

You could hear the soft groans of nearby dead, wobbling their rotting limbs towards the bike before turning around. The tinkle of the rusted bell greeted you as you ducked through the aisles. It was a small store, only supplying anything for a couple hundred, most items expired now anyway, but it was worth a look.

You held your bag open, dumping a few cans of tinned vegetables in as well as a bag of sugar, a pack of razors and some long-life cartons of skim milk. With achy thighs, you jumped over the counter, mess everywhere, register half open with nothing inside. It was funny, even during an apocalypse people found the time for money.

You rattled at the metal knob on the staff door, growing frustrated when it wouldn’t budge before you began to kick, slamming your boots against it repeatedly before it eventually swung open. It might have taken you 15 minutes, but it was sure worth it as you snatched up the golden sweetness many would refer to as whiskey.

You headed off with a few other things, half open stock boxes tipped everywhere as your hands grabbed for anything that hadn’t expire, or was about to. With a heavier bag, and a smug smile on your face, you peddled your way home.

“Y’ think she got scared and buggered off?” Soap quipped, mouth half full with an apple, juices spurting across the room as Ghost glared back.

“If it wasn’t for him,” Gaz interjected, thumb pointing towards the masked-man, “she probably would have let us stay.”

Ghost rolled his eyes, replaying the scene in his head for the hundredth time. Sure, he should’ve knocked but he’s glad he didn’t. Half of him wanted her to ask him to stay, to fully satisfy her, to fully satisfy him.

“She wouldn’t have just packed up and left- put far too much effort into all this place to leave,” Price said, voice deeper than usual as he took a swig of water. Time ticked slowly as they waited around, searching every crevice of the house before they landed on a bow and arrow.

Soap snatched it, veiny hands clawing at the weapon as if it was gold. “What’dya say, LT? Fancy hunting some deer?”

“I ain’t hunting for anybody if I ain’t staying-“

“Go hunt a f’cking deer,” Price huffed.

The two me disappeared into the forest as Gaz stepped outside, bottom plonked in the barely comfortable porch chair. The Captain knew you would probably bitch them out, but a sick part of him wanted you to let them stay, wanted you to realise they were what you needed, that they magically landed on your farm for some Godforsaken purpose.

He would make you realise. He knew he would.

You felt like vomiting now, your bones burning as if they had clawed through your flesh, attempting to escape the treacherous journey that you forced yourself to endure.

You almost felt lost. Why did it feel so much longer on the way back?

You smiled to yourself softly as you passed the tree you marked a few months ago, the unmistakable smiley face almost greeting you. Your smile quickly faded when you felt a spit land on your cheek. And then another. And another. Until you were peddling faster as wet pellets hit the ground.

Slippery hands clutched the leather handles as you neared the entrance of the farm. You were drenched now, hair matted to your neck and face as you flicked it behind you, annoyed that you neglected your clip.

Your boots squelched against the ground as you slammed the garage door shut, weak arms clutching your bag as you swung it around your shoulder, weaving in and out of trees as you stumbled up the front steps.

Tumbling inside, you took note of the cleaner house, a small wrapped bowl of vegetables and a bowl of tomato soup (that was probably cold now) greeting you as you kicked off your boots. You stood over the sink as you scrunched your hair out, the trickle of water tapping as you shrugged off your coat, fumbling outside to hang it on the underground clothes line.

For a minute you thought they had left, no manly faces greeting you until you heard the soft clearing of a throat. “Made you some lunch,” he said.

“Thank you… Gaz, isn’t it?” Clammy hands gripped the bowls as you sat down on the couch, the lukewarm mixture sliding down your oesophagus.

“That’s right,” he replied, gentle smile adorning his face as he watched you, trying to observe you, almost as if you were a war criminal he wanted to break in. Military men, you thought.

You sat in silence, yet didn’t find it to be uncomfortable. Though Gaz was incredibly handsome, and well built, you almost felt comfortable in his presence and you couldn’t quite place why.

“Where did you go?” He asked, almost as if he was hesitant to speak. Your eyes flickered to his lap, hands gently rubbing together before rubbing against his denim-covered thighs. He has nice thighs.

“Uh, I went into a town.. bout two hours from here. Got a few things and I also just wanted to.. get out, I guess.”

He nodded.

Once you finished up, you braced yourself as you ran outside, yet found no horses frolicking frightened in the paddock. Fear ran through you as you sprinted to the barn, heavy footsteps slapping against the mud as you took in the closed door.

You let out a shaky sigh, relieved, when you saw two large, longer heads staring at you from inside, the gentle squawks of hens sounding across the room.

“I hope you don’t mind that I put them inside, figured you would hav’ done that anyway when you got back.” You jumped at the voice, body jolting as you snapped your head.

Price stood there, rough hands clutching a wooden broom as he swept, a beanie now plonked on his head instead of the hat he greeted you with.

“Uh- thanks. Yeah, they’re afraid of the rain.”

“Y’r a good owner, picking up the slack after they were abandoned.”

“I guess so,” you conceded. You looked at him, taking in the way his eyes flickered down your drenched frame, a cerulean blue darkening into a navy.

“Y’r wet.” His tone was sharp, even while stating the obvious, a visible clench of his jaw causing you to tense as you wobbled, suddenly nervous under his gaze.

“Well, I was out in the rain,” you said, almost like it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world. You looked away but could feel him walking closer to you.

“Y’r gonna catch a cold if you don’t change.”

“I’ll survive,” you replied, your voice now dropping to a low whisper. You looked at him, his stare heavy, almost like it was weighting you down. He smiled at you, a hand reaching out before it landed on the flesh of your waist, squeezing as you felt the familiar heat you encountered last night, prickling through you again.

Your breathing was shallow, an occasional hick passing through you as his hand lingered. “Pretty thing, hm?” He gestured, nodding towards your chest as you noticed the faint outline of the rose-coloured brassiere you chose today. You blushed and you were sure you looked silly, a red hue across your face as you barely stuttered a reply.

You turned, almost feeling like you were about to choke. Feeling betrayed by your own body, you pressed your thighs together and you were sure he noticed.

“Y’n need any help staying warm,” he began, “just tell me, sweetheart.”

[fangswbenefits]

Revelations

𓂅 𓄹 Summary: Miguel asked you to keep a secret, so naturally everyone is about to find out.

𓂅 𓄹 Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

No warnings! Just a humorous drunk!reader drabble :)

“How much did she have to drink?”

“Maybe three beers?”

“Oh, she’s out of it.”

“How so?”

“She’s been tellin’ everyone she has a boyfriend.”

Jessica Drew’s eyebrows shot up. “Who?”

Hobie merely shrugged.

You threw them a death glare before trying to negotiate with Peter Parker for another bottle, but all to no avail.

“Please! Give me another one,” you whined, sitting down with a thump on the chair oposite to his. “I’m not drunk!”

“How many fingers am I holding up, then?”

You shove his hand away. “Seven… don’t be silly!”

He banged his hand on the table. “See? You have zero tolerance.”

“You have seven fingers on that hand, Jerry!”

“Who’s Jerry?”

You gasped loudly at the sight of Gwen sitting to your right. “When did you get here?”

“What? I was here the whole time.”

Peter cleared his throat. “Gwen, take a good look at her,” he mustered a serious voice. “You don’t want this to happen when you grow up.”

You leant back in your seat with a sigh of frustration. “I want Miguel.”

“Miguel… O’Hara?”

“Gwen, she’s drunk,” you heard Peter whispering.

“Hey! What did we miss?”

Miles and Pavitr nade their way through the busy crowd of fellow spiders, each holding a glass of apple juice.

“Took you some time!” Peter beamed with a wife smile, scooting to the side so they could join the group at the table. “Nice job, kids. The mission was a success.”

“Miguel seemed unimpressed,” Miles grumbled into the heel of his hand.

Peter hid a bottle away before you could snatch it from him, earning a grunt. “I’m sure he’s delighted!”

“Yeah? That’s his delighted face? Looked like someone had just threatened to break canon.”

Pavitr patted his back. “That’s just his regular face, Miles.”

“But he’s really hot…” you said dreamily with an ear-to-ear smile, leaning into Hobie’s shoulder.

Multiple pairs of eyes blinked at you.

Pavitr spoke first. “Miguel?”

Both Miles and Gwen were looking at you like you’d grown a third arm.

“Maybe we should get him here?” You heard Jess saying from behind you. “And you,” her hands gripped both your shoulders to straighten you up in your seat. “You need to sober up.”

You stuck out your tongue as the other spider-woman brought her travel watch to eye-level.

“Lyla, I’m guessing Miguel doesn’t want to come, but—”

The AI cut Jess off with a cheeky smile. “He’s on his way, actually.”

“Miguel is coming?” Peter beamed, unable to contain his excitement.

“Great!” You clapped your hands a couple of times, eager to see him.

Hobie took a sip of his drink. “Bet he’s gonna ruin the vibe.”

Miles nodded right away.

You were about to protest when a chorus of greetings from diverse spiders echoed throughout the bar.

“Evening, boss.”

“Miguel! Great to see you here tonight.”

“Howdy, boss.”

“Meow!”

He was here and once he came into your field of vision — albeit slightly blurred — you felt your heart flutter.

“Look who decided to come out of his cave,” Jess said, her lips quirking up into a smile.

“Miguel!” Peter punched his bicep playfully.

You were waving your hands enthusiastically at him. “Hiiiiii!”

But Miguel wasn’t amused.

His eyes roamed across the table.

“Who brought the beer?”

Everyone immediately pointed at Peter — you included — who was already smiling sheepishly while raising both hands in defense.

“Miguel, we’re just celebrating a successful mission and—”

“Peter, how many times must I tell you not to bring that stuff here?”

“She only had a couple of beers,” Peter replied. “It’s not that strong. I don’t thin—”

“That’s your problem! You never think,” he replied, jabbing a finger at bim.

You giggled. Miguel looked extra hot when he was pissed off. Poor Peter, though.

“Up you go,” Hobie said, hoisting you from your seat, trying his best to keep your balance. “Mind your feet.”

“Wait where are we going?”

“You need to get some fresh air,” he said, helping your arm around his neck for support. “Mr. Grumpy here is about to ruin the mood, I reckon.”

You didn’t want to leave, but figured Hobie was right. He was always right.

“Where are you going?” You heard a voice call out once you’d turned your back.

You twirled on your feet nearly tripping and knocking Hobie down in the process.

“Wait… why are there two of you?” You hiccuped.

Both Miguels arched an eyebrow simultaneously. Impeccable synchronisation. “Two of… what?”

You reached out with your hand to touch one of them but it met with nothing but air.

Huh?

“We were goin’ out for some air.”

You shook your head and the two spider-man 2099 had finally merged into one.

You fluttered your eyelashes dramatically at him. “The just one last beer… pleeeeease…”

“I really can’t do that.”

“But you can do me!” you blurted out with a wink.

Miguel pursed his lips.

Chaos immediately erupted from the bar table, causing some of the spiders nearby to shift their attention to the commotion.

“Language! There’s kids here!” Peter said, trying to cover Gwen’s ears.

“We are not kids!”

Jessica clicked her tongue. “No more drinks for you, young lady.”

“—you are still kids at heart!” Peter was now dealing three very grumpy young spiders.

Hobie, however, saluted you with a proud smile on his face. “You just left Miguel O’Hara speechless. Respect.”

You giggled at Miguel who was definitely not amused. At all.

Before your brain could process what was happening, your body was being hauled from the ground and tossed over someone’s shoulder.

“Time to go home.”

“PUT ME DOWN!” you protested, balling your fists and smashing them against a very hardened surface. “MY BOYFRIEND IS GOING TO DEAL WITH YOU!”

You felt your stomach lurch violently from the motion and decided to tap your webshooters in an attention to free yourself.

The result was…

“HEY! Get-get this off me!”

“I’m sorry, Pavitr!”

Your blob of web had landed on his face, sending the young spider into a frenzy as both Miles and Gwen hurried to aid him.

“Who’s the bloke, hm?” Hobie asked with a grin.

“It’s classified!”

The spider-punk scoffed. “Is that code word for ‘capitalist knobhead’?”

“Funny, ‘cause when I first met Miguel he—” Gwen started.

But was promptly cut off. “Lyla, deactive her webshooters before someone loses an eye.”

“On it, boss!”

You growled in annoyance as an orange beam hit your wrists, rendering the devices uselss. It didn’t take long before you were being dragged out of the bar, multiple spiders glaring you and whispering to each other.

“We can take her home,” Jessica offered, patting the top of your head endearingly. “It’s close by.”

“No, I’ll do it.”

Hobie seemed visibly amused. “Maybe we should wait for her boyfriend to get here.”

The big man carrying you halted his steps.

“What?”

You blinked a few times as you saw the pavement start to tilt and go into a swirl. “I’m going to fall!”

A strong arm came to wrap around your waist, keeping your firmly in place.

That was close.

“Yeah she’s been sayin’ her boyfriend’s gonna be here,” Hobie shrugged.

“She’s had too much to drink,” Peter said dismissively.

“And he is!” you snapped. “See, he’s very strong, Jerry.”

“Really?”

“He’s the strongest spider-man,” you smiled, pride evident in your voice. “Very handsome…”

The spiders in front of you exhanged confused looks and as the motion resumed, your insides flipped momentarily.

“He’s really big, too…”

Jess spoke this time. “Big? As in… tall?”

You nodded. “Right! But also… his dic—”

“Enough!”

“Bloody hell…”

“Woah!” Jess gasped.

Miles, Pavitr, and Gwen, on the other hand, were having the time of their lives.

“Miguel’s face!” Gwen chuckled as Miles leaned on her shoulder fighting back the tears.

Oh. Right.

Miguel was the one carrying you…

Peter was absolutely scandalised, urging them back inside. “Let’s finish our apple juice,” Peter called, ruffling Pavitr’s hair. “I have these amazing photos of Mayday to show!”

None of the budged, though, enjoying the show.

“Real shame your boyfriend isn’t here to witness this,” Hobie said.

You grinned. “But he is! Right here!” you accentuated each word with a pat between Miguel’s shoulderblades.

“Ah, knew she was talking gibberish,” Hobie clicked his tongue.

Jess came to take a look at Miguel’s face. “I… don’t think she is.”

“Well! What a fun night,” Peter said in his usual cheerful voice.

“Wait… WHAT?!” Gwen and Pavitr half-yelled in unison.

Miguel let out growl. “Go back inside. We’ll talk about the next mission tomorrow.”

“But—”

He turned to face them, which had you clamp one hand on your mouth from the turbulence.

All three of them rushed back inside with Peter following closely behind.

“No wonder you showed up for once,” Jess said adjusting her glasses.

“Please… don’t start,” Miguel sighed. “Especially you.”

Hobie adjusted a couple of pins on his vest. “Chill, bro.”

“Say bye-bye,” Miguel said, tapping the back of your thighs.

You waved your hand clumsily at them. “Byeeee!”

Both of them returned the gesture, chuckling.

In no time, you felt yourself being hurled into the night sky across the tall buildings that covered the landscape of Nueva York.

The cool air and silence allowed the realisation to suddenly dawn on you as Miguel carried you effortlessly with each swing of his web, red glow flashing around you.

Fuck…

“They all know, don’t they…” you mumbled into his embrace when he made a quick stop at a rooftop.

“Yes.”

“Sorry, Miguel…” you hiccuped.

He pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “It was only a matter of time, I suppose.”

You curled up against him, cheek resting on his shoulder as he heaved a deep sigh and ran one hand along your back in a loving caress.

He had wanted it to be a secret mostly because he feared others might see it as a liability. After all, as long as he put up a front that he had nothing to lose, then it would be a great asset to have in this line of work.

Or so he thought.

Feeling the pounding headache brewing inside your head, you merely groaned into the crook of his neck.

Masterlist

[pshaven]

APPLE CIDER lee heeseung ౨ৎ

synopsis! your new roommate, heeseung, seems to underestimate just how naive you really are when you catch him in a compromising situation. wc! 5k cw! perv!hee, switch!heeseung & switch!reader but make it competitive, voyeurism(??), size kink if u squint, male masturbation, degradation, praising, oral (m!receiving), grinding, riding, no protection (Plz wrap it), hee a FREAAKKK, creampie, unspoken aftercare but like barely??, hee calls reader baby, good girl, slut, i think that's it lmk if i missed any!

BREAK THE SKIN M.LST

previous > next

“jay, i do not have time for a party right now!” you complain, getting dragged by your best friend into some frat party. he’s been urging you to get your mind off of your living situation, as it seems like it’s all you can think about these past few weeks. 

thanks to your idiot landlord, he’s made some overlap in the house you’re supposed to be living in for the next school year, thus leaving you in the dust since the other tenant had a better credit score than you (you can thank your impulse purchases for that). so you’ve been crashing at jay’s place for a bit and you’re starting to get sick of the boy house smell, and have been wanting to get out as soon as possible. 

unfortunately, the odds seem to not be in your favor as it seems like everyone you know doesn’t know anyone else who’s been looking for a roommate. 

“yeah, but you said it yourself! you’re sick of… the ‘boy’ smell at my place. you’re not smelling it anymore, right?” he teases, using air quotes as the both of you arrive at the front door and exchanging a nod with the frat boy at the front before walking inside. you huff out a sigh, releasing your wrist from jay’s grip. he is right in some way.. you’ve been looking nonstop for some place to stay at and you do need a break at some point. 

you hear someone call jay’s name, approaching the two of you. “hey, jay, nice to see you!” they greet, and you excuse yourself because you refuse to stand there awkwardly as the two of them catch up. you make your way to the kitchen, seeing the multiple bottles of different alcohol brands lined up on the island and you scrunch your nose. you and jay never talked about who’s being the designated driver tonight, so you decide to be safe and just have something else. 

you find a cooler beside the counter on the floor, hoping there’s something for you to drink. bending down and opening the cooler, another hand invades your view of your options and you see that they’ve grabbed the last bottle of apple juice. you frown a bit, searching through the ice cubes to only find gatorade and lemonade left.

you stand up, shutting the cooler with a hefty sigh, a clear pout on your face that doesn’t go unnoticed by the culprit who stole the last apple juice. “oh, oops. did you want this?” he asks, tearing the straw from the carton and poking it in. as if he’s taunting you, he’s slightly shaking the juice in his hand. 

“oh, it’s alright. i’m sure i can just have something else…” you mumble, but offer a smile to him anyway since he was nice enough to offer it to you. 

he nods, “good. i wasn’t gonna give it up anyway.” he gives you a boyish grin, sipping the juice in front of you like he’s doing it on purpose, in the most menacing way possible. his words have you choking your thoughts, eyes narrowing at this ridiculous(ly handsome) boy in front of you, innocently sipping at his apple juice. 

“wh- you dick??” you gape, brows furrowing in frustration. your hands think on their own, reaching up for his juice carton and squeezing at the sides so that the juice goes to spill all over his clothes. and it’s his turn to gape at you, eyes wide and mouth open in shock as he comprehends what you just did. 

“morning,” you hear a grumble from behind you, a sleepy heeseung clad in plaid pajama pants and a teen titans t-shirt making loud footsteps towards you in the kitchen. you raise your brow at him as you turn around, holding a cup of apple juice in your hands.

“umm, don’t you have a ten am class today? it’s eleven,” you inform him curiously, watching his eyes still try to blink open from sleep as he’s opening the fridge in haste. he throws his head back, groaning loudly and proceeds to stomp on the ground like a child throwing a temper tantrum.

“you finished the apple juice?!” heeseung whines, lips forming a pout like you did that night at the party, turning his head over his shoulder to look at you. you roll your eyes, setting your half-finished cup of juice on the counter and sliding it towards him as if it’s your nth time dealing with this (it is. it happens every time at the end of the week). 

he gratefully takes your cup, chugging down the apple juice before licking his lips in satisfaction. he completely ignores your question, passing you to get to the sink to wash the mug. you turn your body to look at him again, head tilted to the side curiously as you watch his lazy hands scrubbing the soap sloppily on the cup. 

he’s extra sleepy this morning, and he’s usually not the type to skip his classes (surprisingly), especially not his important classes that impact his major. “are you okay?” you ask him once he finishes, setting the cup upside down to dry. 

heeseung pauses in his tracks a bit, blinking blankly before meeting eyes with you. “oh… yeah. don’t worry about me. just had a rough night i guess…” he mumbles, sheepishly rubbing the nape of his neck awkwardly. 

it’s a habit you notice that he does every time he’s nervous or when he’s hiding something. although the two of you have been roommates for over four months now and have a good friendship, bonding over your love for anything apple juice or apple cider, you wouldn’t think he would be the type to confide in you. 

“it’s all that gaming you do,” you reprimand him like you’re his mother, patting him on his shoulder before walking back into your room. he releases a breath he doesn’t realize he’s been holding once your door shut, leaving him alone in the kitchen. 

rubbing a hand over his face, heeseung does his best to recollect himself but his lower half seems to have a mind of his own, creating a clear imprint of his hardon through his pajama pants. he shuffles his way to his own bedroom, hurriedly shutting the door as he lays himself down on his bed. “fuck,” he huffs out, eyes screwing shut. not his fault, he tells himself; you just look too pretty in the morning, slightly ruffled up hair and not to mention your cute pajamas.

but he thinks nothing beats the outfit you wore to the party the night he met you.

all dolled up, putting in effort to the way you look but not trying too hard. he blesses jake for convincing him into going that night, or else he probably would never get a pretty roommate like you. you were so cute to him, eyes widening in shock at your own action when you had sprayed the juice all over him. sure, the stain never got out of his favorite shirt but you definitely made it up to him that same night. 

his cock restrained in his pajama pants only feel tighter the more he resists, a grumbly groan leaving his lips as he shamefully fishes his cock out. his hand begins to slowly move up and down, hips lifting off the bed from being impatient as he needily thrusts up into his fist. 

his breath starts to pick up when he hears you humming on the other side of the wall, presumably with your headphones on as you study or do homework. so cute, so innocent, you have no idea that he fucks his hand to you every night.

“god–” he gasps, fist speeding up as he pretends you’re doing it for him; soft and pliant hands wrapping around his thick girth– you probably can’t even fully wrap your hand around him. the thought sends him into a needier state, letting a whine slip from his lips before he captures his bottom lip between his teeth to quiet down. 

he reminisces about your pretty party outfit, simple yet effective enough to get him worked up. your small hands immediately reaching for his chest in a terrible attempt to clean him up, still shocked about what you had just done. the mere size difference of his broad chest compared to your hand has him reeling, imagining that you’re on top of him and discovering his body. 

he pretends his hand is yours, his free hand going underneath his t-shirt and scratching at his stomach but his dull nails are nothing compared to your pretty, manicured nails. he licks his drying lips, fist tightening around his cock as he feels himself get close. he muffles his voice again, having a bad habit of being too loud when he’s approaching his high. 

he moans into his hand, hips twitching and still slightly thrusting up to get the last bit of satisfying overstimulation. his cum spread all over his hand and shirt, he lets out a sigh, one of relief and shame.

he feels so dirty, so gross and perverted– what was meant to just be two people temporarily taking advantage of each other’s situation is going on for too long. 

“oh god, i’m so sorry!” you quickly apologize, hands wiping at his clothed chest to get rid of the juice but you realize you’re only making it worse. “fuck, i’m sorry,” you mumble another apology, but the man in front of you only laughs. you cock a brow, thinking he’s laughing at you. maybe you don’t regret squeezing the juice box all over him. 

“no, sorry, i–” he breaks out into another fit of laughter, slightly hunching over and you just don’t get what is so funny. you cross your arms across your chest, brows furrowing as you watch him collect himself once more. “damn. i don’t know someone who takes apple juice this seriously.”

you frown, “i’m not. sorry, i’m just stressed cause no one has a free space for me to live in temporarily, and all i wanted was a sweet box of apple juice but someone took the last one!” you say pointedly, eyeing him up and down with narrow eyes (in a judgemental manner… totally not checking him out). 

he raises his hands up in surrender, shoulders shrugging. “whoops! well you should’ve just told me that. then i would’ve offered to share,” he hums, flashing you another boyish grin. you think he’s lucky he’s attractive, because if he wasn’t, you would’ve been long gone out of this conversation. 

“wow, just ‘share’? that’s how you’re gonna treat me while i’m in a crisis?!” you exaggerate, eyes wide with sarcasm as you scoff at him. 

he giggles at you, enjoying how expressive you are.  “you do know you’re not the only one experiencing a crisis, right?” he raises a brow at you, grin still remaining on his face. 

the rest seemed to be history, him explaining to you that his dickhead old roommate just stopped paying rent and was kicked out so now he’s paying the entire floor and is in dire need for a roommate to fill in. 

it was all too convenient, it seemed too good to be true. 

heeseung is a good roommate. you had your doubts about living with a guy, especially after staying with jay for a while, you were worried the boy stench would apply to living with heeseung too. but since it was just him, it wasn’t overwhelming as long as you didn’t step foot into his man cave. 

he does his fair share of chores, like doing the dishes and taking out the trash. he’s clean in the shared space and has yet to ever make you uncomfortable or doubt living with him. but of course, jay has his own reservations about you living with heeseung. 

“what?” jay’s voice pierces your ears, his tone of disbelief and disappointment at the same time making you a bit wary. you shrug, giving your best friend a sheepish smile before you try to defend yourself. 

“come on! it’s a win-win situation? i’ve been looking for weeks! i need a place to stay!” you plead your case, folding your hands like you’re praying (for jay to not kill you). 

he scoffs, eyes rolling. “you do have a place to stay. here! safe! and not with a stranger!” jay reprimands you, finger pointing down to the couch the two of you are sitting on. 

you sigh in return, “he’s not a stranger! plus, aren’t you guys friends?” you suddenly question, brow raising up at him and he seems to be appalled at your accusation. 

“huh?? where did you get that from? me and heeseung are not friends. i don’t like him. he’s weird for asking you to live with him,” jay mumbles in the last sentence, eyes peeling off of you for a second as he looks at his fiddling hands. 

you find his sudden change in attitude strange, your best friend usually never gets shy around you to say what’s on his mind. nor does he ever get this heated about a choice you’ve made. “okay, geez. i just thought you guys hung out with the same crowd…” you frown, your fingers now nervously playing with the hem of your shirt.

jay makes you nervous. despite being your bestest and longest friend, he seems to always have certain reserves around you and it’s difficult for you to point out sometimes. you know he cares for you and vice versa– that will never change. but it’s hard to understand what he’s feeling if it’s not already written all over his face. that means it’s already too late, he’s been feeling that way for a long time. 

nonetheless, through all his protests and complaining that you should absolutely not move in with heeseung, he still helped you move in the next week. 

heeseung’s been nothing but good. 

until you decide to skip class one day, holed up in your room because you weren’t feeling well that day. you don’t have heeseung’s schedule memorized yet, since it’s only been three weeks since you first moved in. but you hear shuffling from outside your room, and if there’s one thing you discovered, it’s that heeseung is a loud walker.

the footsteps stop, but then a few minutes later, you hear faint moaning. it’s so quiet that you think you imagined it, but now your ears are perked up to try and perceive what you’re hearing. you swear the sounds go up a decimal higher, and you can pick up high-pitched squeals and moans from outside your room. 

your eyes widen, half of your face hidden underneath your blanket as you piece together the scenario. is he really watching porn out in the living room? it’s not that you’re judging him for watching porn, but out in the shared space that the two of you have movie nights and eat dinner together feels… dirty. 

but you suppose you’re not any better. the fact that heeseung is a few feet away from you, horny and doing god knows what in an intimate space that the two of you share.. your thighs squeeze together under your bed sheets. 

you secretly wish that the living room was closer to your room since it’s hard for you to really hear anything other than the porn playing. but then it suddenly stops, the sound from the video no longer masking the pants and moans of your roommate. he doesn’t seem to be shy given how vocal he is, probably because he thought he was alone. 

you can’t help but feel a little guilty, thighs rubbing together as your heated face stares up at the ceiling, trying to get rid of the visual your brain presents of heeseung stroking his cock, probably manspreading with his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut with pleasure.

you didn’t regret moving in with heeseung at first. now that you know his secret, you regret it a little bit. 

either heeseung has no shame or he’s really good at hiding it. he doesn’t seem to be affected when sitting on the couch together, indulged in whatever movie he had picked while you two ate dinner. you were a bit awkward at first, eyes wandering around the couch to look for stains, shifting as if you’re impatient to the point that heeseung had to ask if you were okay.

he’s impressively well at keeping things casual with you, like he’s the most innocent man in the world. you suppose you’re doing the same– you’re not exactly in the clear, listening in on him when you could’ve easily thrown on some headphones for the sake of his privacy. 

this went on for months, and now that you’re on month four of living together, you’ve almost forgotten about that incident… or perhaps you just pushed it to the back of your mind to not distract you. 

and while you think heeseung might be unintentionally a freaky pervert, he’s really quite the opposite. getting off to the mere thought of you possibly hearing him gets him worked up, and your innocent conversations you have with him the next day only gets him hot and bothered. 

the thought of you possibly knowing his “habit” has crossed his mind more than a few times, but he highly doubts it since you’re able to sit down and have dinner with him on the very same couch that he had just cleaned cum off of an hour ago. you just seem too sweet, too distracted with your difficult classes to even bother with him. 

but he likes to indulge himself, always imagining you walking in on him. perhaps your class ended early, and you open the door to find him jerking off on the couch with a picture of you from  your instagram on his phone screen. 

until the imagination falls short, and he hears your voice. his eyes open, hand halting to a stop on his hard cock and he’s faced with the sight of you standing in front of him, between his thighs. his throat goes dry, pupils enlarging as he cranes his neck to look up at you. 

his eyes follow your gaze– you’re not even looking at his face, instead you’re looking at his thick length, accompanied by his large hand and he thinks you’ve fallen into some sort of trance. but heeseung, too horny to even comprehend this situation, manspreads wider than usual on the couch to allow you some room. 

“go ahead,” he speaks after some silence, your eyes finally meeting his as he directs you to look back at his neglected, throbbing cock. you feel unsure, you feel like you’re possessed, maybe your horny spirit finally letting you indulge in your secret crush on your roommate, but you drop  to your knees, your hands going over heeseung’s own hand still on his cock. 

the size difference of yours on top of his is enough to make his dick twitch, his hips lifting off the couch with need. “fuck, c’mon, you’re looking at it like you need it. good girls like you always get what they want, right?” he says through gritted teeth, nudging his cock towards your mouth. 

his praise goes straight into your head, making your brain and lower stomach feel fuzzy. your mouth opens, tongue shyly going past your bottom lip and heeseung takes this opportunity to rest his tip on your peeked tongue, instantly hissing at the wetness. “s’cute, now take as much as you want, okay?” he praises, slowly guiding you down his cock with your hands still on top of his own. 

your lips envelope around the head of his cock, taking it deeper and doing as he says. your hands stay on his hand, starting to go deeper until your lips meet his finger. heeseung groans, resisting on bucking his hips into your warm and wet mouth. 

“shit, coulda’ just said you wanted all of me,” he mumbles, watching you start to get used to the feeling of him inside your mouth. “fuck– just like that, y/n,” he whines, barely keeping his eyes open but forcing himself so he can keep looking at you, cheeks puffed out and drool slipping from the corner of your lips already. 

you try to whine in protest from his words, but it only gets muffled with your mouth stuffed full of your roommate’s dick. he chuckles at you, his free hand resting on top of your head. “roomie,” he teases as your brows furrow together but he only thinks you look cuter like this, “don’t you know to not talk with your mouth full? where’s your manners?” he tsks, but gets shortly cut off by his own moans, your tongue working at his sensitive tip. 

heeseung curses under his breath, his hand on your head starting to push you down more. “since– hah– someone forgot their manners… i feel like i need to teach you a few things,” he hums, low-lidded eyes peering down at you. he suddenly pulls you off, strings of saliva attached from his cock to your wet lips. 

truth be told, he was getting impossibly close but he didn’t wait four months just to cum inside your mouth. 

he grabs you by your waist, hoisting you up onto the couch and laying you on your back. “now lemme just see how wet you got from sucking my cock,” he grins, but it’s different from his usual boyish smiles, it’s one that speaks he’s getting more than just a ‘look’. 

heeseung tugs your bottoms off, throwing them onto the floor beside the couch. he moans at the sight of a wet spot through your white panties, soaked to the point where he could see the outline of your pussy. “shit,” he groans, index finger prodding at your covered entrance. he leans in closer, tongue slipping past his lips and pressing against your panties.

his hot breath is enough to rip a shaky moan out of you, your hands unsure of what to do as you grab at a random couch pillow. he looks up at you through his lashes, pressing his tongue more against your clothed pussy to add pressure. you whine, a pout forming at your lips, “fuck! you’re so annoying,” you huff.

you pull your hips away from him, and he gives you a confused look until he understands that you’re just pulling your panties down in a hurry. he chuckles at you, amused in your rush to get fucked by him. he grabs at your thighs, pulling you back down closer to him. “what? you want me that bad or you just desperate for some dick like a slut?”

his words have your eyes widening, look at him still in between your legs. “the fuck?” you curse at him, and heeseung only laughs mockingly some more. “i think you’re the slut, no? jacking off in our shared space where i could walk in anytime,” you scoff, shuffling as you sit up on your elbows, “you wanted me to see you like this, right?” you taunt, your hand now pushing at his chest to lay him down on his back. 

“you’re the one desperate for some pussy like a slut,” you whisper, cunt hovering over his cock that’s laid hard on his stomach. you lower your hips, pussy meeting the thick veins of his cock as you begin to rock your hips against him. he gasps at the contact, hands flying to your waist as he looks down at where the two of you meet. 

“fuck–” he hisses, his own hips bucking up to meet your slow grinds but he feels even more desperate, feeling his cock twitch against his stomach and your wet cunt. it’s your turn to grin down at him, your hands on his chest keeping you up. “now you got nothing to say? not even a sorry for acting so innocent when you’re not?” you hum, beginning to grind faster on him. 

heeseung whines at the sloppy noises from your cunt grinding on him, the sounds so sticky and lewd that only makes him feel like he’s going to cum faster. “i’m–” he moans loud, his hands on your waist gripping tighter. “i’m sorry! fuck, stop, i’m close–!” he whines and begs, desperate to not cum like this on his own stomach.

you giggle as you lift your hips up, away from his cock as you watch him catch his breath, chest heaving up and down. you pout at him, a hand reaching to cup at his jaw as your thumb rubs soothingly at his cheek. “i dunno, i think you liked th–at!” you begin to speak, but your voice breaks when you feel a sudden intrusion at your entrance.

“fuckkk,” heeseung moans, his hands on your hips reaching down to your ass as he slowly guides you down his cock, “you’re so fucking hot talking to me like that,” he chuckles breathlessly, staring at your shocked expression as you feel the stretch of your pussy from his cock. 

you whine at the pressure of him pushing his cock into you, your chest meeting his after your arms felt too weak to keep you up. “oh my fuck!” you squeal, eyes squeezing shut as he keeps on going deeper slowly, inch by inch that makes you feel like passing out. 

“so good,” he breathes out, a hand leaving your ass but to grab at the nape of your neck to pull you into a kiss, a messy and sloppy one, but it also feels like he’s been waiting to do this since the day he met you. you whine into the kiss, tongues meeting and sliding against each other and he takes this as his opportunity to bottom out on you.

he swallows your moans, inhaling your scent, your lips, your everything as he stays still to let you adjust to the feeling of him inside you. you whimper as you pull away from him, barely catching your breath as you begin to rock your hips impatiently on him, causing him to moan out your name.

“fuck, hahh~! feels so good,” you slur, biting your lower lip as you grind on him, feeling your clit meet his pelvic bone each time that only makes your stomach tighten. he leans back more, his arms wrapping around your entire body before he snaps his hips up into you, making you take it as he maneuvers your body. 

you cry out, your cunt barely able to accommodate his size but the burning stretch makes your head feel blank as you bury your face into his neck, your moans sounding muffled out. heeseung groans with each thrust, your wet pussy making his lower stomach messy as your juices slap against his balls. 

“shit, you’re so fucking hot,” he moans out, hips beginning to get sloppy but it only turns you on more to see him become desperate for you. you put in effort to lift your head up, meeting your lips with his and the two of you moan and whine into each other's mouths, the entire living room echoing of wet skin slapping and sloppy kisses.

“ah– don’t stop! pleaseee,” you beg, your nails scratching at his shoulder blade and chest as you feel the knot in your lower belly tighten, threatening to snap. “fuck–shit, me too, baby, g’na cum too!” heeseung moans out, leaving wet, open mouthed kisses at your sensitive lower jaw and neck that only sends shivers down your spine, leaving you shaking as you reach your orgasm over his cock. 

“fuck, fuck fuck, y/n,” he whimpers, lips releasing from your neck as he throws his head back in pleasure. your walls contracting and pulsating against his twitching cock pushes him further into his high, his hips sporadically delivering you deep and fast thrusts that have you hiccuping as you moan. 

the two of you catch your breath, your forehead meeting his chest as you both breathe in silence, chests heaving up and down. he stays still inside you, his softening cock making his cum leak down the inside of your thighs. neither of you say anything, despite the soothing back rubs that heeseung gives you and your hand in his hair that is gently massaging at his scalp. 

the buzzing of your phone on the coffee table reaches both of your ears, and you shoot up from heeseung’s chest, sitting up straight and still on his cock. the both of you wince at your sudden movement from being too sensitive. “sorry…” you say quietly, bending slightly to get your phone. 

jake (project partner): hey. are you on your way yet?

you curse underneath your breath, slapping your hand against your forehead as you had forgotten about your project with jake. heeseung gives you a curious raised brow, “is everything alright…?”

you purse your lips before giving him a sheepish smile as you carefully lift your hips off of him, slightly wincing at the uncomfortable feeling of his cum slipping out even more. “uh… i actually got a project to do right now.. so…” you trail off, meeting his eyes and the two of you look at each other in silence for a good ten seconds. 

you slowly bend down awkwardly, grabbing your discarded bottoms and giving your roommate (that you just fucked) a small wave goodbye before rushing to the bathroom to wash up.

heeseung opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out as he watches your bare butt with his cum dripping out of your cunt go into the bathroom. he sighs, awkwardly shuffling his pants back on as he tries to pretend that it’s normal to fuck his roommate.

it’s normal, right?

[btssavedmylifeblr]

Void - Part 10 - Wednesday

title banner by @rude–jude♡

Genre: Sci-fi with a little angst and a LOT of smut

Pairing: BTS x Reader (yup - all seven)

Summary: You are the only female crew member on a 12 year space mission with seven handsome men. The sexual tension is real, y’all.

Word Count: 1.9k

Part 9 /?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Warnings: very short chapter

Mercifully, Taehyung does not wake you up with a thumb in your mouth. You wonder if you will even see him today, given he only signed the form to hide his feelings for Jimin. 

You head straight for the greenhouse, determined to avoid Hoseok for as long as possible. Will you ever be able to face him again? Maybe you should start working nights.

Luckily, there’s plenty to do in the greenhouse and you manage to work all day without interruption. Dinnertime arrives and your stomach grumbles, but you procrastinate heading for the kitchen out of fear of who may be eating there. You can’t stomach bumping into any of the men you’re fucking or any of the men you aren’t.

At a little past seven o-clock, Taehyung sticks his head into the door of the greenhouse. He furrows his brow to see your hands covered in soil. “I thought we had a date?”

“Huh?” you ask, wiping the dirt from your hands onto your pants. “I thought that was pretend. For the benefit of the crew.” 

Taehyung laughs, stepping further into the greenhouse. “Well, some of it was, but I did actually make dinner.”

“You did?” You aren’t dressed for a date. Not that you have anything else to wear. Just a different slightly less dirty jumpsuit. At least none of your clothing is covered in semen today. Yet. 

Taehyung is wearing the same jumpsuit from the accident with the rover. It’s still missing a sleeve from where it was cut off of him. It’s quite flattering on him, no surprise. His exposed upper arm has just enough muscle definition to draw your attention. It’s still in the sling but the bruising has faded. The asymmetrical look with its rough unsewn edge makes him look rather roguish. 

“Come on! The food’s getting cold!” He ducks back out of the greenhouse, waving for you to follow him.

You clean your hands with a cloth and follow him. You're surprised when he veers away from the kitchen and heads for the hangar instead.

The overhead lights in the hangar are off. The room looks so different, it takes you a minute to process what you are seeing. The Europa rover sits in the middle of the room, glowing from the inside with soft blue light.  Scattered around the room are little twinkling lights of white and blue and green. 

“Taehyung!” you gasp. “What is all this?”

“A date!” he answers triumphantly. He clambors up onto one of the large wheels of the rover and opens the door. Even from a distance, you can see a white tablecloth covering the center console, topped with more twinkling lights. He reaches down a hand to help you up. “Your chariot, m’lady.”

“This is…” You are at a loss for words as you take his hand and climb up into the rover with him. “This is so…” You examine one of the twinkling lights on the make-shift table up close. It’s one of the LEDs intended for lighting your paths down on the Europa ice sheets. At least it was rechargeable. "Taehyung, this is so much work for a fake date.” 

Taehyung laughs. “Just because we’re not bumping uglies, doesn’t mean it can't be a real date. I like dates.”

He pulls out a reusable water bottle from behind one of the seats that makes a surprising pop when he opens it. Then he pours something golden and bubbly into two champagne glasses. 

Without thinking, you take accept glass as he hands it to you, then do a double-take. “Is this champagne? Where on Earth did you get champagne? Or champagne glasses?”

He laughs, enjoying your surprise, as he takes a sip from his own glass. “Unfortunately, it’s not the real stuff, just some apple juice I ran through the carbonator.” He clinks his glass to yours as you hold it, still suspended in shock. “The glasses are from Earth though. Packed them for a special occasion.”

He stares a bit wistfully at the glass in his hand and you get a little pang of sadness. “Were you planning this for Jimin?”

He looks up at you and shakes his head, waving your concerns away. “No, no, no. I did this for you.”

“For me?”

He nods. “I’m trying to make amends.”

You’re surprised. “Amends for what?”

He sighs. “For the tape, for the jealousy, I feel like…” He gestures around at the ship in general. “I feel like a lot of this is my fault.”

“What? No.” You shake your head. “This is my fault. I started all this.” 

Taehyung gestures to one side of the console table welcoming you to sit down. “It seemed like you and Jimin were happy though, until I broke my arm and messed everything up.”

“Yeah…” You sigh as you sit down across from him. You sip your fake champagne as you remember orgasming with Jimin inside you, but Yoongi’s voice in your head. “Mostly… but there was something missing…”

“Ah,” Taehyung gives a bit of a teasing smile. “A certain flight engineer, perhaps?”

“Yeah,” you shrug nervously, running your finger around the rim of your glass and teetering on the edge of admitting your real problem. “And not just him…” 

Taehyung nods knowingly. “We do have a devastatingly attractive crew, don’t we?”

“Yes!!” You exclaim, laughing in relief at someone who finally understands. “Why did you all have to be so fucking hot?!”

“All of us?” He places a hand on his chest in fake surprise. 

“Oh shut up, you know you’re hot.” The bubbles in your glass make you feel a little tipsy even if there's no alcohol in them.

Taehyung gives an exaggerated wink, then laughs. "You are very good at seeming uninterested in anyone though. I couldn’t believe how well you held it together when Jungkook stripped in front of you for that haircut.”

A lightbulb goes off. “Oh my god, you put him up to that, didn’t you?”

Taehyung bursts into delighted giggles and you smack him on his good arm. “You did! You maniac! Are you trying to kill me?”

“Not my finest moment, I will admit. Perhaps I had ulterior motives for throwing the hunk at you. Sorry. Just one of many reasons I owe you apologetic fake champagne.” He takes another sip and smiles as he recalls the memory. “Still, you kept your cool remarkably well. If it were me, I would have had his dick in my mouth well before the end of that haircut.”

Your mouth falls open. Fuck. That’s… that’s a very attractive mental image. Your pelvic muscles flinch with a twinge of arousal. 

Taehyung sees your surprise and his eyes widen. “Oh shoot, sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He takes your glass from you and sets it down on the table, before turning to rummage with something in a cooler sitting under the seat next to him.

“Oh no.” You squirm in your seat. “I’m not… you didn’t…” you stammer. Fuck. What are you even trying to say? “I just didn’t realize you were attracted to Jungkook as well.”

Taehyung turns back to you and smiles. “I mean… how could you not be? That smile… those abs…”

You both sigh in unison, then laugh. “It’s deeply unfair,” you agree.

He nods, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “What’s deeply unfair is how you have this crew wrapped around your finger.”

“What? No I don’t.”

He arches an eyebrow.

“I don’t!”

He sips his apple juice skeptically.

“No seriously! Hoseok and Namjoon won’t have sex with me even though I practically begged them…” 

He shakes his head. “I still don’t think you realize the power you hold.”

“What power?”

“I saw that video you made with Yoongi. That was incredible. When you let go of all the fear and stress and were so open and vulnerable, that was beautiful. It’s no wonder they all love you.”

Something about hearing it from someone you’re pretty sure doesn’t want to have to sex with you makes you feel like it might really be true. But the whole thing is still too embarrassing and uncomfortable to think about for too long. 

“They’re not in love with me. They’re just… I don’t know… can we talk about something else?”

“Sure.”

Taehyung sets down two plates of what looks like fine dining. Red beets sliced thin and drizzled with balsamic vinegar and a rounded mound of rice pilaf topped with a whole chicken breast.

“My god, where did you get all this?”

He smiles, pleased with himself. “Jin helped me with a bunch of it. I’ve technically given up two of my Christmas dinners for this, but it seemed worth it.” 

You are shocked again that he would go to so much effort. “You didn’t have to do all this just for the sake of our pretend relationship…”

He reaches over the table to take your hand in his. “I do want a real relationship with you though,” he says and your heart starts racing. His dark eyes hold such warmth even as the rest of him is so statuesque. But then he draws back. “Even just as a friend.” he says and you’re a bit disappointed. 

The two of you chat the rest of the evening as you savor your meal, both relieved to find someone you can be honest with. 

At one point you offer to mend his jumpsuit sleeve for him, but he declines. “I like it," he says, shrugging. "Reminds me of important lessons."

You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. "I suppose it is rather dashing," you admit, trying to fill the silence. "But I suppose you would make a dish towel look dashing." You can't even blame the fake champagne for your loose tongue.

His eyes widen in delight and he laughs as he pours the last of the bubbly apple juice into each of your glasses.

“So…” he says as you take a last bite of your dessert, a delicious chocolate cake designated for some future New Year’s Eve. “Fuck, marry, kill: Namjoon, Jimin, Yoongi.”

You gasp in horror. “Taehyung, I can’t answer that!”

“Too violent? How about fuck, marry, kiss?”

“No way, not answering.” You mime zipping your lips closed. 

“I’d marry Jimin, obviously.” He continues, undeterred. “And I think I’d have to fuck Yoongi. Those hands… my god.”

“Ugh…” Just the memory makes you groan and collapse onto the table in front of you. “Tae, he’s so good with them. It’s terrible. Those goddamn hands are what started this whole mess.”

Taehyung is pleased to have finally cracked through your facade. “Though the commander… he just carries himself like he has a big dick, you know?”

“Agh…” you groan again, laughing as you stand up. “I think that’s my cue to go to bed.”

“Allow me, m’lady.” He stands up and takes your hand to help you out of the rover. He’s still holding your hand as the two of you reach the floor of the hangar. 

“Thank you again for all this.” You gesture at the twinkling lights spread over the floor, looking especially lovely now that most of the ship has gone dark. 

“Would you mind a platonic goodnight kiss?” He asks, tapping his cheek.  

You bite your lip and shake your head, feeling a whole storm of butterflies in your stomach that do not feel platonic at all. He leans in and gives you a soft kiss on your cheek. “Thank you for a lovely evening,” he murmurs close to your ear.

“Same time next week?” you ask, trying to fight down how on fire your face feels now. “I’ll cook next time.”

He grins. “Looking forward to it.”

______

Thursday is next! And it's going to be dramatic. Hopefully it will be ready soon! Thanks for reading!

[atheneum-of-you]

Libations

As a Hellenic polytheist, one of our most important duties to our gods would be to give libations. Libations are liquid offerings to our gods, not only in recognition of them and their importance but as an invitation into our lives for them.

When it comes to giving libations, it can be difficult for those of us practicing and worshipping in secret. So in this post I'll go over typical libations and how they're given, and then some methods I believe would be helpful for those that can't give openly! Please keep in mind that the suggested methods (for those practicing in secret) come from someone who is still navigating and learning her own religion. As always, do your own research where needed and do methods that make you most comfortable in your practices.

Typical Libations

Wine (typically red)

Symbolic of the divine ether, and Zeus's influence on the soul. Additionally, dark red wine represents the blood of Dionysus/Zagreus. We drink his blood as reflectance for his sacrifice by the titans and the eating of his flesh. It represents his metamorphosis, and in turn, our own cycle of birth.

Milk

Representative of Hera and Ira, whose breast milk formed the galaxies and cosmos. Milk also represents the earth.

Honey

Honey is golden which is incredibly symbolic of the gods, particularly their ichor (the blood of the gods). Honey is also a powerful preservative representing the immortality of the gods.

Fine oil (typically olive)

Oil historically symbolizes life, prosperity, and the divine spirit.

Milk and honey together are also a considerable libations but is particularly good for death related gods and the honoring of the dead. Milk and honey libations for them should NOT be consumed.

Giving Libations

To give libations, you would first pick up the offering bowl full of whatever you are giving with your right hand, then hold it with both and recite a dedication. The dedication itself is up to you but the example I saw is as follows:

"We dedicate this libation to khrismôdós Apóllôn and aithǽrios Diónysos and to all the happy, deathless Gods!"

Libations can be made to a singular god or multiple at once. Just ensure you have enough for them equally. Dedications can also be to a singular god or you can name the ones you are dedicating to.

Once you've made your dedication, you'll transfer the bowl to your left hand and pour your offering on the ground or into whatever reservoir you have dedicated to it on your altar. This is your libation, and the offering now belongs to them. Once you've made your libations, you may sip from the remaining contents of the bowl as communion. Before doing so, you may recite a prayer. Here is an example:

"We drink the blood of Diónysos! May the Aithír of Zefs intoxicate our souls and transform us!"

Please be aware that you should NOT drink libations to the dead or to death gods.

When sipping from the remainder of your libations, do NOT sip from the part where you poured. You should drink from the opposite end of the bowl.

Libations in Secret

When you're practicing in secret, this method of libations can be incredibly difficult. So with that, here are a few ways that I think could be helpful!

Can't access or drink wine/milk/honey? Substitute them for water or better yet, flavored juices!

Pomegranate juice can make a good libation for Underworld gods and goddesses, apple juice would be good for Zeus, etc. Research your deity's associations and try working with them. Water is also life-giving and integral to life.

Can't pour your libations outside or in a dedicated offering bowl? Use cups!

Pour your libations directly from the bottle to a cup and sit it on a shelf or desk or wherever you've dedicated to your god. You can recite your prayers and dedications in your head as well.

Worried about wasting drinks? Offer a smaller amount!

Typically what you give should be more than you keep, but your gods understand your struggles and would be understanding of your intentions. Offer a small amount of your drink, honey, etc and inform them of your reasonings and intentions. Your gods love you, they'll be happy with your efforts regardless.

Can't do your libations during the day? Do them at night!

Give your libations while everyone is asleep. You can even hide it under your bed or behind something to keep it for the time you want. (Please be careful of doing this with honey and be mindful of possible insects, pets, pests, spills, etc)

A minor? Do your libations at school!

You can do your libations while at school by making them during a PE class, during lunch, or any period of time where you can take a moment to do so! (I'm not condoning using your bathroom breaks to sneak off and do them, I'm just saying you definitely could do that)

Regardless of how you do your libations and with what, your practice is your own as is your relationship with your god(s). Do what feels right for you ♡

[fraugwinska]

You know what I'd like to read? Goofy ass Alastor. Him and reader just bonding through being partners in crime. The crime in question? Silly pranks on other hotel guests. They can be painfully cringe and only funny to them. Because you know. Boredom. Make them friends, make them sweethearts, make it somehow end in smut ( ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) )- idc. You do you, Gwinska!

I just want some strawberry pimp shenanigans!

My inspiration for that exquisite prompt?

This: https://www.instagram.com/p/C5SIGvCg91j/?igsh=cmF5cjc5Znlpdnhu

Hello there, patient frauchen! Boy, you had me sweating here! But alas, I did it and I think it's safe to say - I got all your wishes covered ;> This one's for my adult sinners only! Sorry Minors, please DNI!

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Joke's On You

Everyone at the Hazbin Hotel knew that Alastor loved silly, dumb pranks.

The radio demon would set Charlie in a panic, rushing in her office to tell her that there was water running down the freshly renovated staircase - only for her and a similar panicking Vaggie to find bottles of water in shoes placed on the steps, groaning at the delighted chuckle from the shadows at the top of them. Morning coffees and stomachs were ruined by Alastor one day, switching the contents of the salt and the sugar jars and in having half of the residents hurl into the sink at once. You were one of those unfortunate souls, the only one laughing maniacally at the whole ordeal as you spat out salty saliva.

Because what they didn't know was that you were just as bad. Maybe even worse.

A few weeks had gone by since you checked in, and you watched Alastor with impish glee as he planned out and executed his tricks on the crew, including you. In contrast to the exhausted, annoyed reactions from the other residents, you always laughed, chuckled or giggled at the outcome - leaving him always in between confused and delighted.

Until one day. Emboldened and settled in enough, you decided the day has come for you to join in on the fun. Prepared with a dry noodle in your mouth, you asked Vaggie after breakfast to help you crack your back, watching Alastor from the corner of your eye, who sat at the table still reading his newspaper. As he looked up after turning a page and Vaggie obliged, hooking her arms into yours and bending forward, you bit down. The sound of the cracking noodle and your fake scream made Vaggie and the rest of the residents jump in shock and Alastor nearly double over, howling with laughter. You couldn't hold it together, showing her the cracked noodle and cackled madly while Vaggie, comforted by a nervous but relieved looking Charlie, just shook her head exasperated and groaned. "Great, another one who thinks this shit is funny." You apologized, still chuckling, as your eyes found Alastor's, and his wide smile and mischievous glint in his eyes told you that this was the beginning of a beautiful partnership.

It wasn't long until the both of you became fast friends, partners in crime.

After the whole noodle debacle, the two of you spent more and more time together, coming up with stupid ideas on what to do to the poor crew. Your first idea was a rather simple one: Replace the Alcohol in Husks bar with various other liquids. You and Alastor had a grand time switching vodka with water, red wine with beet juice and whiskey with apple cider vinegar. Alastor had his fun observing the results, especially Husks reaction. It wasn't pretty, to say the least. The cat had a breakdown when he smelled the vinegar in his usual drink, shouting curses at the deer who joined in your hysterical giggling. You patted the coughing cat on his back and handed him a new bottle of cheap booze as compensation.

Niffty was next, her sweet tooth was just too exploitable. While you prepared the very special 'surprise' cake, a balloon, hidden under a mass of frosting, high and pretty and covered in sprinkles, Alastor coaxed her into cutting a piece. "Come on now, Niffty, a small bite wouldn't hurt! You have to try the cake, my dear. We worked so hard on it, I assure you that you will like it!". She was hesitant at first, but as he promised her another one later, she couldn't resist the temptation and cut herself a piece, not noticing the grin on Al's face. The high shriek at the pop of the balloon was almost as hilarious as her face, covered in cream and colorful specks of reds, yellows and blues. The both of you couldn't stop laughing for minutes, and after Niffty calmed down enough, she took the joke in good fun and happily munched on the cupcake you had given her while Alastor and you cleaned her up, exchanging bemused looks.

After finding an exact copy of the remote control of the hotels' TV set on one of your outings, Alastor had the most wonderful idea to mess with the newest guest, Sir Pentious, who had claimed the TV in the lobby every evening to watch his favorite soap opera together with his egg companions. You both hid, the spare remote ready, waiting patiently until the snake had his show on and made himself comfortable on the sofa. You began to change the channels, and every time the Egg Bois hopped over to the TV to manually return to their show, you let them, waiting until everyone was once again settled before you switched the channel again. The villainous overlord hissed in rising anger, the sound of him slamming the original remote on the floor and yelling about the 'incompetence of these damn VoxTech devices' almost as satisfying as his face when Alastor took the remote from your hand, winking, and changed it right back, snickering as he did.

You continued to play your little tricks on everyone, although you made sure you always made it up to the recipients of your shenanigans. You felt a weird sense of pride and satisfaction seeing that Alastor didn't seem to mind having a partner in crime for a change. You didn't know much about him before, but the others told you that Alastor wasn't exactly known for making friends and having close relationships, and it warmed your heart knowing that he opened up a little bit and enjoyed the time he spent with you.

You also enjoyed the time you spent with him, not only because of the mischief you two brought upon the crew, but also just because you enjoyed his presence and company. He was witty, clever and had a wonderful, contagious laugh. And his smile. When he smiled at you, you would feel warm and giddy and you felt like you were the luckiest person in hell to be able to witness the joyful look on his face, to see his ears wiggle the peculiar way they did when your pranks played out exactly as he planned them to.

***

You turned the page of your book, still giggling. Alastor smiled, his legs suavely crossed as he leaned back in the comfy chair across from you, his own book forgotten and abandoned on his lap.

"I still can't believe you made me prank the literal king of hell.", you said, a hand covering your mouth in a useless attempt to stifle your laugh.

Alastor grinned. "And I can't believe you managed to hold yourself together, darling - yet, you did, splendidly might I add. His highness didn't suspect a thing."

Indeed, you best prank yet was a great success. After endless convincing you gave in to Alastor's idea of switching Lucifer's favorite treat of the day, his beloved caramel apples, out with onions. He had stood watch as you worked in the kitchen all through the night, meticulously covering every square inch of the white, smelly bulbs with a thick layer of homemade, glossy caramel so to not leave even an inkling of the mischief underneath. You didn't want to risk being found out, after all. The result was a tray full of gorgeous, golden, sticky caramelized onions that Lucifer didn't hesitate a single second to take a big bite out of when you - admittedly very nervously – offered them to him, his content hum at the taste quickly changing to one of surprise and revulsion as he gagged and coughed out pieces of the deceptive treat.

"He was really sweet about the whole ordeal, too. I wonder if my 'Apology Apple Pie' was the reason he was so quick to forgive us." You closed the book and put it on the table next to you, shifting and pulling the fuzzy blanket higher over your legs. The library was your and Alastors favorite hangout, usually being empty and abandoned, and it was also the place where the two of you would spend hours and hours together, reading, talking, scheming.

"He forgave you, darling. He still hates me down to his bones.", Alastor corrected you with a sly smirk. "But no doubt about the exquisite quality of that pie, dearest! I had a slice myself, it was delicious! A fine work, as expected from my best gal."

You chuckled, cheeks heating up at the praise. "So, what now? I think we got them all good by now, haven't we?"

Alastor's eyes were still on you as he pondered for a moment. "There's still our amorous arachnid to be played a fool, he has been quite elusive to our trickery."

"Angel is a hard nut to crack", you smiled to yourself, "There's not much that can rattle him. We would have to think about something major, something that really shocks him and truly makes him question everything he thinks is true and real in his life."

"Now there's a challenge." Alastor put his chin on his knuckles as he leaned onto the armrest of his seat. He closed his eyes, the little tell tale static from his chest permeating the air around him, indicating he was thinking intently. You couldn't help but smile as you studied his sharp features. A strange warm flutter tickled your stomach. "That lanky sinner has quite the filthy mind. It would have to be quite the filthy endeavor..."

"Ha, wouldn't that be something he would not see coming from Mr. Celibate - his words not mine!", you snorted, remembering all the times ANgel made fun of Alastor's obvious disinterest in anything sexual or 'filthy'.

"Indeed." He opened one of his eyes, looking over to you while he hummed quietly. "I'm thinking, dearest. What would shock and confuse our dear fellow the most, I ask, than the thought of you and I ... dallying? No doubt his world would crumble."

You furrowed your brow. "Dallying?" You thought you didn't hear him right, utterly lost at his growing grin.

***

You were fidgeting with the loose thread of your sweater as you waited in the supply closet for Alastor to return. It was a decent sized space, stacked with spare sheets, cleaning supplies and a lot of various things that were used or needed throughout the hotel. It was the perfect location for your newest prank, away from any prying or judgmental eyes - as long as no one was wandering through the hallway, except of course, for the intended victim: Angel.

"Dearest, we got the first act running along smoothly, and now, it's time for act two!". With a hushed click the door fell shut, and your heart gave a wild thump of excitement. You shifted slightly as you heard him slip next to you in the dim darkness, turning up the act and forcing a smile that was hopefully bright enough to distract him from the redness of your cheeks and the quick beat of your heart.

The last days were filled with what Alastor had called 'prep work'. His plan: Getting Angel to think you and Alastor would do 'the deed', an attempt to shatter his world view and really get under his skin. So, the both of you played it up by the daily, and whenever you were in the vicinity of the spider demon, you had been underhandedly seductive, upped on flirty comments, subtle touches and some of the worst, most suggestive innuendos you had ever made and had to hold a cringing chuckle every time you saw Alastor's comically pained expression when his back was turned to a more and more confused looking Angel.

Today would be the final part of the plan. Hidden in the supply closet, you and Alastor would wait for Angel to pass the room on his way back from the hotel's gym, as he always did on fridays, unaccompanied and ready to hear your and the radio demons carefully conducted script - something so utterly lewd that it would probably even make his boss Valentino blush. The key, in Alastor's words, was to deliver your fake sexual activities just loud enough so that he would walk past and listen and - well, you guessed you were supposed to shock him to the core.

"My shadows told me he's about to exit the gym. So, are you ready, sweetheart?", Alastor spoke with a wicked, glowing grin as you eyed the door, listening for the soft shuffle and clunking footsteps. "Showtime. Now..." His voice was low, almost sultry in its timber and proximity. You could barely react, and even though you felt nervous, you closed your eyes and tried to calm yourself enough to remember what you had to say.

The footsteps were getting louder, and you took a deep breath before shooting Alastor a glance, sly smile in place as you nodded. Go time.

"Alastor...", you sighed, almost cringing at the sound of your voice, too breathy for your own liking, and not at all sexy. This better would work... "Not here, we can't..."

"You just have to be quiet, pet...", Alastor retorted, and your face instantly burned red. It didn't sound like... that when the both of you put it into writing, not at all. Your chest clenched and heat rushed through your body, but you had to focus, had to see this through...

You struggled to hold yourself together, remembering your next line as you heard the steps outside slowing down.

"You're doing great, darling, keep it up...", he whispered, his smile tight and eyes narrow. His voice rose, making Angel on the other side of the door freeze in his steps. "Then I'll better have to keep that pretty mouth occupied."

It took all your willpower to suppress the shiver that wanted to run down your spine, instead you returned his grin with your own weak one. Keep it up echoed in your head, and you decided you were in for a penny, in for a pound: You moaned loud and sinfully while you kept your gaze locked with his before letting out a high-pitched squeak of fake-surprise, biting your lip.

You could hear Angel shuffle and listened as his ear must've neared the thin door. Your heart beat in your throat, excited to have caught both of their interests - Angel's, as well as Alastor's alike. It was as if something in the other demon snapped and he seemed to be, dare you say it, into your little act. There was a glazed over look in the crimson of his eyes, staring at you in an unreadable expression.

"My, my, aren't we eager...", Alastor mumbled, almost more to himself as his claws found their way to your hips.

"I... I'm...", you trailed off. Shit, the script, he was going off the script. What the fuck was next again?

He tilted his head slightly, pulling you closer, so close his nose bumped into yours and his lips were near enough that they nearly grazed your heated cheeks. "Al.. what are you doing?", you whispered frantically, realizing with sudden excitement the hard, long object pressing into you was NOT an ill-placed broomstick. It was like a jolt, electricity running from where his body was flush against yours, flooding your lower body and rendering you into a flustered mess. He scraped one of his claws along your throat, breathing a little to heavy to it being just an act. His hips snapped in a sudden, desperate movement, making you and him both groan at the intensity of his erection rubbing against your heated core.

Wait. His erection?

You panicked - This wasn't how this was supposed to go, but yet your traitorous body felt like it was burning hot, the sound of Alastor's strained sighs music to your ears. You wondered if he could feel the slight wetness from your core against his pants, feeling almost faint but nonetheless unreasonably aroused at the thought. His chuckle vibrated low and dark in his throat, eyes flashing as you panted helplessly against him. Your own legs began to tremble with the tension and the intensity of his movements, which now had you caged between his solid body and the wall behind you.

"I'm going to ruin you, darling...", he uttered, the pet name thick like honey leaving his lips, and you choked a breath as you moaned and felt his smile press against your jaw, traveling to your mouth, "I'm going to pick you apart, my darling dearest, and you will beg for me not to stop, never to stop until I make you forget to say anything but my name."

He was out of it. You were out of it. You forgot about the script, about the whole idea of the prank. You couldn't even care about the mumbled words that the listening Angel must've said from the other side of the door, because you were completely captured, overwhelmed by the turn of events, overwhelmed by the tall, dark demon pressed up against you who was moving his hands hungrily over your body, devouring you whole with his piercing eyes and cock throbbing against your groin, eliciting desperate whimpers with the slow movements of his hips against yours.

In a matter of seconds, Alastor had reached down to free his cock from his clothed restraints. You let out a broken whimper as he shoved up your skirt, running the smooth surface of his claw against your clothed entrance, pushing the wetness that was dripping through the thin barrier away, not a single care in the world about the sticky dampness his fingers were covered in. His mouth left yours to let his tongue lick down your neck and shoulders, teeth catching your pulse and sucking, bruising your tender skin.

“Only I am going to get to feel you, make you keen, scream and moan under my fingers and lips and cock, you hear me?”

You couldn't reply as he pushed into you, hard and in one, relentless strike. Your heart was beating impossibly fast, so fast you thought it was about to break, and the sharp pleasure mixed with pain was mind numbing and made the stars behind your shut eyes explode.

"My perfect. little. frivolous. pet."

Every word was a thrust, deeper and deeper until you couldn't take it anymore and wailed out his name in a wanton cry, so sudden and urgent that even Alastor looked shocked and ecstatic in surprise. The tension rose and exploded, and you clenched and pulsed and shivered around his shaft, feeling every inch inside of you and trying so hard to remember how to breathe. He growled into your shoulder and leaned his forehead against your neck, pulling you onto his length in sharp, hard jerks that send sparks down your body. The warmth of his cock was unreal and incredible as he stretched you again and again, a pleased hum escaping his lips and it going straight to your head.

"A-Alastor... fuck, I'm so... so close..."

His grip tightened, a vicious thrust, hitting you so deep that you threw your head back, chanting his name in desperate mewls. Every fiber of your being was tingling, an indescribable pressure building up from deep inside you, erasing your mind.

He made true to his word.

You truly forgot anything else, the only thing on your mind, his name, spilled from your lips in sync with his accelerating thrusts.

***

"I'm telling yo', they're not fucking."

Angel pulled the cat harder, almost running back to the corridor with the cursed supply closet.

"Husk, I'm a fuckin' porn actor. I know how a good shag sounds like. They're makin' the beast with two backs, and holy shit are they goin' at it."

"The beast with two back's?" Husk rolled his eyes, and groaned in exasperation as Angel jumped excitedly and shuffled the other nearer towards the closet, listening intensely.

"Don't yo' get it? It's their schtick, their sick lil' past-time-pleasure. They were bein' too quiet the last few days. And yo' falling for their dumb joke, hook, line and sinker."

Angel hesitated, eyes shifting between his grumpy looking lover and the closed door, from which he could still hear desperate moans and dull thumps. He had been so sure, but now he was uncertain. No not uncertain. He was sure.

Sure that Husk was right. Alastor and you were screwing with him, majorly so. You were playing some stupid prank on him, like you did with all the others, and now he fell for it, too! The last one standing, the only one you hadn't gotten to.

"Those sleazy, scheming bastards!"

Another loud thump made Angel turn on his heels, suddenly delighted with mischief. The last thing he heard was your voice, crying out Alastor's name in an utterly outrageous moan. He reached out in smug victory, grabbing the doorknob and twisting it with steady hands

“You prankster-bitches can cut the fuckin' act, I didn't fall for...”

A screeching, ear-ripping howl burst from the opened door. Angel shrieked in fear as black tentacles sprouted out of the frame, grabbing him and a terrified Husk, trowing them out of the corridor in a wide, long and forceful swoop. The two demons crashed against the sofas of the foyer, making them fall and tumble over. Husk groaned, fighting his way out of the mass of pillows he was buried under, while Angel was panting on the backrest of one toppled three seater, one of his hands on his heaving, fluffy chest while the other three were buried in the upholstery.

“Huh. I stand corrected.” Husk said, shaking his head at the still furiously squirming tentacles retreating into the darkness of the corridor.

“F-fucking told y-'ya!”, Angel stuttered, frozen in place. “Do me a fava', yeah? Fix me a drink so strong it makes me forget what Al's dick looks like.”

[violenteconomics]

ace for the first time losing his cool and being forced to rely on the other 1st years,,, (an absolute nightmare for him, wdym ace trappola isnt in control of his emotions and how hes perceived?) im thinking maybe smh with his brother? he cares about him a tons so it probably would be him that makes ace panic sm that he cant even use his 'cool and unbothered' mask. putting this guy in situations where he has to acknowledge he actually has friends and open up to them but also feel so overwhelmed by it

PFFFFFTT OKAY I SEE YOU. anything with ace being a mess is an absolute win ❤️ anything 4 u, baby.

okay, so, here's how i imagine it to go:

ace is just hanging in the courtyard by himself, probably checking his grades on whatever portal night raven college uses for that, when he gets a text message from his dad.

his brother had an accident on the movie set he was working on, and he's in critical condition at the hospital.

which is honestly too bad, because according to nrc code, ace can't leave to go home and see him unless it's "a matter of school and personal pride". like any good nrc student, ace tries to bottle it up and go on about his day. but as the week goes on, and he gets no updates about his brother's condition, his facade quickly falls apart.

he gets in trouble for having his phone out in class — not that he can concentrate, anyway. he's handing in papers that are incomplete, quizzes that are unfinished, and you can forget about that 5,000-word essay he owes riddle.

deuce is the first to notice that something's wrong. he starts covering for ace, making excuses for why he can't come to see professor crewel "right this instant", or why he keeps missing ramshackle hang-outs. every single time his lies get more and more outlandish, ranging from "i asked him to go check on my macaroni that i put in the microwave six hours ago" to "we just saw a cow fall from the sky, yes i didn't go with him, what was i supposed to do, miss history class—" he doesn't know why ace is suddenly so quiet or so stressed, but he's not about to make it worse.

yuu notices almost immediately after deuce does — mostly because deuce is a horrible liar. and, as the housewarden of ramshackle, they start exercising their right to have ace stay at their dorm "indefinitely", so ace doesn't get bothered. ace spends most of his time on his phone, so he doesn't really do much, but at least this way, yuu can personally ensure ace sleeps and stays fed and gets off his damn phone every once in a while.

ortho is extremely adept at noticing anomalies, and it's easy to see that the silent husk that's walking around school isn't his smug, slick-talking friend. he doesn't know what's wrong, exactly, but he does know that ace isn't in any mental position to do his work. going against all academic responsibility (do not do this in real life, pls), ortho starts chat-gpting all of ace's essays and homework assignments. he analyzes ace's text messages, and asks idia to create a program for him that would allow him to copy anyone's handwriting. he then uses it to reproduce work that sounds like it would come from ace, and it's actually really convincing.

upon realizing that a) ace has moved into ramshackle and is basically catatonic, and b) yuu's meal budget is already pretty strained just feeding two people, epel decides to chip in. he starts getting even more discrete with the food he sneaks into pomefiore, going so far as to prepare meals in the gymnasium after school to decrease the probability of someone from pomefiore catching him in the act. when he can't sneak in any food, he gets a crap-ton of apple juice, shoves it into a box, and sends it to ramshackle, hoping that'll be enough to get ace through the day.

sebek starts to act as ace's bodyguard, after ace almost ran into someone while looking down at his phone, and said someone nearly slammed his head into the wall. so, sebek asks riddle for ace's schedule, and starts walking him to class everyday. he's more than a little worried about his tiny human friend, who goes about his days with glazed eyes, flat expressions, and one-word responses, but he's hiding it very well. /sar

jack doesn't get nearly as involved as the others with ace's sudden uncharacteristic behavior, but he does still worry for his friend, his ears drooping down whenever he sees him. he offers ace moral support and words of encouragement where he can, but mostly he's forced to sit back and watch as the vibrant reds that encompass ace's natural aura begin to gray. and he doesn't like it one bit.

the turning point comes in ramshackle dorm. all of the first-years have gathered for their weekly hang-outs, but it's more awkward than usual without the presence of a certain red-head that exudes talkative energy. everytime deuce goes to tap ace on the shoulder, or ortho goes to sit down in ace's lap, or jack's tail wags to the point where it's almost thumping against ace's back, they all stop midway through, because ace is clearly busy...

then, two stifling hours later, ace starts crying.

sebek frantically asks what's wrong, but ace is full-on sobbing at this point and finally drops his phone.

ortho wraps his arms around him, unsure of what else can do.

jack picks up ace's phone, eyes widening as he backlogs through ace's messages to his dad, and realizes exactly what's been bothering ace this whole time.

(needless to say, there are a lot of cuddles in ace's future, and a lot of screaming and cursing in crowley's.)

[spacedace]

Bruce is grateful for the fact that Damian has made friends, he is.

He's happy that his son has met children his own age at school and befriended them. That he is growing from that prickly, unhappy, scarred child he'd first been when he'd come to live with Bruce. That his friends are even normal kids - baring Jon, who is still normal enough despite being the son of Superman and occasionally a super hero himself - with no links to anything strange or dangerous or illegal.

"Oh, sup B."

He just wished that his son's friends were also just a little less...feral.

"Hello Elle."

Elle Nightingale gave him a little wave with the lemon she was holding - or as best as she could considering the space she was working with - and smiled cheekily at him. Bruce felt a headache budding behind his eyes.

"I thought Alfred banned you from the kitchen?" She shifted a bit, nudging a bottle of milk - farm fresh, courtesy of the Kents, passed along via Jon as thanks for looking after him for the weekend. Bruce wished he'd had the foresight to expect that Jonathan Kent staying over for the weekend would mean that Elle, her cousin Billy and their friend BL - the children refused to say the girl’s real name, likely to spite Damian, and thr initials had been a compromise to calling her Box Lunch - would take it as them being permitted to stay over for so long as well. Damian had just given Bruce a an unimpressed look when he'd expressed his surprise at the sudden influx of twelve year olds in his home. As if Bruce was disappointing him at being so foolish as to think his entire pack of hellhounds wouldn't be invading enmass.

"Just getting a snack." He assured her, not wanting her to being the wrath of Alfred down upon his head. The hellions liked doing that, for some reason. "I don't suppose you could tell me what exactly you're doing in my fridge." Bruce tried, looking at the girl curled up in what should have been a deeply uncomfortable position between a few shelves of the large appliance.

Elle grinned. Her canines looked a little too sharp in the odd light of the fridge. Bruce really had to stop thinking of his sons friends as demonic hellions, he was starting to impose impossible features on them when he was sleep deprived.

"We're playing hide and seek." She made direct, unblinking eye contact with him as she brought the whole lemon to her mouth and took a bite out of it like it was an apple. "It’s Day's turn to seek." She added, lemon juice dripping down her chin as she swallowed her bite, rind and all.

Well at least she was getting enough vitimin C.

"Right." He nodded, deciding that it wasn't cowardice that led him not wanting to get involved. No, it was just...good parenting. Letting the kids be kids. It was a sleepover, and Damian was actually playing a game! That was something to be encouraged! Bruce wasn't fleeing from this particular group of children's brand of chaos at all. "...could you hand me one of the fruit cups Alfred made earlier?"

Elle obliged on the condition Bruce didn't tell Damian about her hiding spot and returned to happily eating her...whole lemon...as he shut the fridge door on her.

As he returned to his office he glanced out one of the manor's large windows long enough to see Billy stick his head out from the top of the twelve foot tall topiaries out on the front lawn, checking to see if Damian was about. Bruce shook his head, kids and their ability to climb impossible structures never ceased to amaze him. Billy should be careful not to keep trying to peak for Damian though, he was going to end up getting found that way.

[delphi-shield]

kiss it better ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Jill Valentine x Reader Smut / MDLG mdni wc: ~5.6k i don't have to explain myself, so i won't. 🙂‍↕️ dividers by @/adornedwithlight.

summary: Jill's got reservations about this whole 'mommy' thing. She's not the maternal type - but for you, she can try.

content: mommy dom!Jill, little!reader, afab!reader, boot riding, dumbification, extensive depiction of cgl dynamics/lifestyle, humiliation, finger-sucking, spit, fingering, titsucking, aftercare, use of sippy cups/coloring book/the word 'stuffies', ruined orgasm, orgasm denial, implied age gap (di era jill, mid-late 20s+ reader).

In hindsight, the sippy cup should have been the first red flag.

Jill didn’t even bat an eye when you bought it. You'd tucked it to the back of the belt during a grocery trip, hiding it amidst the other canned goods, tried your damnedest to distract her while the cashier rang it up. She didn't know how to break it to you that she had seen you pick it out. She'd watched you deliberate between pink or green - strawberries or watermelon - before settling on pink.

You'd said you were going to look at candles - probably the truth, because you'd put one in the cart, too. Jill had doubled back to pick up laundry detergent and had caught you lingering in the kids aisle. She had always been able to pick you out of a crowd, had a sixth sense for where you were, hand practically magnetized to the small of your back. You looked so focused alone in that aisle that she had swallowed the call of your name and marched back to the cart.

So yes, she’d glossed over the (rather obvious) way you had tried to hide the purchase from her. That was as far as she was letting it go, though. Once you got home, you tried to bury it behind all the coffee mugs. Weird, she thought. You just bought the goddamn thing. You'd been talking about wanting a water bottle with a straw for a full month. It would be out of sight out of mind if you put it way back there, eaten up by the cabinet. 

You shuffled away to put up the rest of the groceries and Jill plucked the cup from the back. She put the pink plastic front and center, right next to the rest of the glassware, as though it belonged there.

“That’ll cut down on our carpet cleaning,” she had even joked when she heard you traipsing back in.

A beat. She turns to look at you over her shoulder, brow raised. You look like a deer caught in floodlights, waiting to be gunned down. It took a moment for you to dig your voice up from the pit of your stomach.

“I know. All the regular ones didn't have the latching lid. Like, I need that anti-spill technology. I have to be baby-proofed.”

Yeah. It was a little out of place that you felt the need to justify the cup to her. Again - in hindsight, maybe it was a little odd. Surely there had been a water bottle that wasn’t pink and covered in cute little strawberries, but you were an adult. You made your own money. If you wanted the sippy cup with the strawberries on it, then you could have it. She wasn't about to police your tastes. After all, at a certain point of maturity you started to realize that the difference between kid stuff and adult stuff was just marketing. So many 'kid' versions of things were just the same as their adult counterparts. Covered in smiling bunnies and rainbows, maybe, but functionally the same item. 

Suffice it to say, Jill didn't give two shits what stuff you bought for yourself. You were prone to spilling drinks, so the latching lid excuse made sense. Her singular complaint was the size. As your designated drink-getter, her trips had doubled. (She'd found some online in a bigger size, all muted, muddy colors, no cartoon strawberries. “Anti-spill technology,” she'd pointed out. You had shrugged, sipping at your little drink. It was the perfect size for one bottle of your favorite apple juice. That, she couldn't deny.)

She'd been unintentionally feeding into your preferred lifestyle the whole time, buying you the cutesy set of stickers for your scrapbook, picking up glittery markers when she saw them on sale. 

The coloring books certainly weren't a bridge too far. You wanted to turn your brain off after a long week at work. That was all, really. Jill hadn’t asked for an explanation - she had asked which ones you liked, that she might pick one out for you. The first few she chosen had been branded 'adult coloring books' but again - what was the difference, other than subject matter and the complexity of some of them? You'd dutifully sat next to her during movie nights and colored regardless of difficulty. Your hand-eye coordination was developed, see? Made staying in the lines so much easier. And the colors you picked out - they don't (usually) clash. That all ties back to that developed eye for style.

‘Babydoll’ might not have been the best choice of pet names for you, but it had slipped out. It felt right, more sincere than ‘dear’ or ‘babe’. If she had known she was unintentionally enabling you, sending the little plastic gears in your head grinding to a halt, she might have picked something different. 

The first time she'd said it, you'd given her a blank look. Jill had sworn not to say it again, already marking that off the list of options, but your response had been quick.

“No–” you reeled yourself in, a little too forceful there. Like a kid stomping their feet. “No, it's okay. I like it.”

How was she supposed to know that you had dubbed her ‘mommy’ in your internal monologue? That ‘babydoll’ did nothing but feed into your perception of her? 

After it had all come out, after your first little slip-up that had sent both of you hurtling headlong into a series of changes in your lifestyle, you'd confessed that you had been thinking of her this way since you had moved in. Jill had been synonymous with ‘mommy’ since your possessions had spilled from the open mouth of the U-Haul and flooded her apartment. Her sparse, curated collection of decorations had been swallowed up in a wash of stuffed animals and plush blankets, and she had done nothing to stem the tide. Hell, she’d piled more on. Bought you stuffed animals from boutiques, airport giftshops, gas stations - anywhere, so long as it made her think of you.

Jill hadn’t thought twice about the stuffies. If most of her keepsakes hadn’t been obliterated via air strike, courtesy of the U.S.A. back in 1998, she’d probably have a collection of decor to contend with yours. Maybe less of the fuzzy variety, but she understood the appeal. She had never been one to get jealous of an inanimate object. If you wanted to lay your head on her lap, favorite stuffed animal coiled tight in your arms, then she had no objection. She’d willingly cocooned you in the fluffiest blanket within reach, her hand settling at the bend of your waist.

So, the stuffed animals? Totally normal. The sleepy, nonsensical babbles you’d catch from time to time during a night in, when it was just the two of you? She didn’t think twice. That had hardly been an adjustment.

Jill felt a little slow for not catching on before you let it slip. There had been so many signs. Piles of evidence all around her, some of which she had contributed to. She must be getting lax as the years wear on. Normally, she's sharp as can be. She'd know things about you before you did.

You’d been riding her boot the first time you said it. Jill had been busy - too busy to spend a couple hours folding you in half and fucking you to sleep, she told you. You'd dragged yourself into her office in your barely-there shorts, nipples pert and peaking the flimsy fabric of your tank top. Wait a minute - not your tank top. Hers. An old, faded Depeche Mode tank, white, damn near see-through.

She kept track of you in her peripheral as you dragged your bean bag chair (she'd offered to get you a real chair, something with back support, but you'd insisted; when you hit thirty, she’ll be able to gloat) right up next to hers, and dropped into it. Foosh. Makes your tits bounce when you plop down like that. That's probably why you did it.

She scooted forward in her chair, flipping the armrest up and kicking one leg out. Your eyes lit with glee. Horny little goblin. You moved to straddle her thigh, hands braced on her knee while you wobbled into position.

“Ah-ah.” Jill didn’t take her eyes from the screen. She kept hammering away at her report, the deadline looming. She stopped at a paragraph break to snap her fingers twice, pointing to the floor. “Down.”

You’d cratered to your knees without so much a second thought. See? Obedience wasn’t new to you. How was she supposed to know it was a different sort of devotion, different from the submission she was used to?

Something warm curls around her ankle - your hand, she realizes with a glance. Jill sighs. She hadn’t said not to touch. It’s difficult to be mad at the way your thumb circles her calf, especially for a command she hadn’t issued. Jill’s chair creaks backwards, her hands stilling on the keyboard. Your chin settles on her knee, eyes big and pleading for her touch.

Jill folds her arms under her chest. Your eyes track the way her chest moves. It's almost cartoonish - she half expects your tongue to loll out of your mouth.

“Get on.” Jill wiggles her boot back and forth. Your head tips to the side, confusion drawing your brows up. “On my boot, babydoll.”

She sees it - the brief flash where you’re drawn out of play time. The quickest twist of annoyance in your pout. How many times did you have to tell her to stop wearing her shoes inside? Especially her work boots, crusted with mud and shit and god knows what else. But if you’re worried about that then you’re too horny to protest. Her babydoll comes back in another blink, pressing your cunt down onto her steel toe.

There you go. Jill starts typing again and you get the hint. You're independent enough that you don't need her direction at every turn. Thank god - she'd never get anything done if you couldn't find a rhythm on your own, if you couldn't use whatever part of her body she dictated to get yourself off.

It doesn't take long for you to start whimpering. Your arms wind around her leg, chest pressed tight to her while you grind your drippy pussy against her. You use her body as leverage to drag yourself back and forth. Poor baby. Reduced to humping her leg like a damn dog.

Your pretty little whimpers come quicker, louder. Jill's fingers scrape against your scalp, urging your head upwards. She pools spit at the tip of her tongue, considers dripping it into you. Your mouth is popped open for her already, moans punctuating every push of your hips.

Any thought of tormenting you with the anticipation disappears when she sees you pinch your nipple, hips circling against the toe of her boot frantically. Your eyes flutter, thighs pulsing, so close–

“Stop.”

Jill rips her boot away for you. You plop against the floor, whining at the loss. Your hand flies to your pussy, rubbing your clit desperately through your shorts.

“I said stop,” Jill grinds out. 

Her hand grips your jaw, fingers curling. You pull your hands away from yourself, fingers glistening when you lay them flat against the tops of your thighs. A whine squeaks out of you. Jill’s eyes narrow.

“Open,” she demands. Your mouth pops open obediently. When Jill gives you a directive, you follow it. Jump— how high? Cum— how hard?

Look at you - perfect little slut, tongue plopped out for her. She spits a fat glob of spit dead center and drops your jaw.

“Swallow.” It’s said carelessly. She looks away from you as if uninterested in you display. Her clit throbs in time with her heartbeat. Perfect girl, perfect, trained little–

You swallow. From the edges of her vision, she sees you stick your tongue back out as proof. “Thank you, mommy.”

The air in the room shifts, suddenly colder. Her skin feels as though it’s been pulled taut. Confusion swirls with her arousal. You said ma’am. Surely you said ma’am.

“What?” She blurts out, hands at a full rest on her keyboard.

You’ve still got that floaty, airy look about you. Jill wonders if it’s even possible to get a straight answer out of you right now.

“Thank you?” You repeat, unsure yourself. You blink quickly. She can pinpoint the moment you come back into your body, shoulders tensing, eyes widening, skirting away from her. “Uh– ma’am?”

Nice try. Not buying it.

“Did you call me mommy?”

Jill will probably regret the way she had spat that out until the day she died. It hadn’t been worth seeing the crushed look on your face, the shame flushed through you in a full-body shudder. In the moment, though, she can’t deny the pulse of disgust.

That night had ended on unsteady footing. She’d asked you not to call her that. You’d apologized again and again throughout the conversation, set her teeth on edge with how small you’d made yourself. It felt worse, seeing you slink out of her office, knowing you were going to curl up in bed - knowing you’d pretend to be asleep when she came in to check on you a few minutes later.

She had already been doing this for you, she realized. The new context was uncomfortable. She had sat in that feeling for a few days, tried to fall back into the patterns of your relationship without thinking of them these new, strained terms. Despite reassurances, she’d watched you shove away the things that had made you so comfortable.

No more coloring books - not in front of her at least. You’d left a stray marker lying out when you scrambled to hide the evidence of your coloring from her. Your sippy cup had been pushed to the back of the cabinet again, no matter how many times she’d moved it back to the front.

The final straw was when you’d started packing your stuffed animals away.

She could have been gentler about the whole thing, admittedly, but it had made her so goddamn angry to see you shove away things that made you happy. You had misunderstood her - or she hadn’t communicated clearly, or – or something.

“Quit,” she demands, pulling the stuffies from their cardboard prison. She set them firmly back on your side of the bed (never tossing - you’d told her before, tossing them was mean). “Stop doing this shit, babe. You don’t have to quit doing stuff you like.”

“But you don’t like it.”

“I never said that.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“No, I–” Jill pinches the bridge of her nose. This is going nowhere, round and round in circles. She takes a deep breath, lets it out slow.

“I don’t want it in the bedroom.”

“Then where do you want them?”

“Not the– the stuffed animals can stay. Okay? I just don’t like it when we’re having sex. The ‘mommy’ stuff. But you– I want you to be how you want to be with me. We were already doing the little stuff before. Right?” Jill’s hand cups your cheek, urges you to keep looking at her. There’s no hiding from this, not from her.

You still struggle to meet her eyes. She can tell you’ve picked a spot over her shoulder, staring past her. She ducks her head, puts herself into your vision.

“...Kinda. Yeah.”

“Then we can keep doing that.” Her answer is firm. She’s spent hours thinking about this, analyzing where her discomfort came from, why it hit her so goddamn hard – how to ensure you never felt so rejected by her again. The discomfort lingers, smaller than before. Dwarfed by how greatly she misses having you next to her and comfortable. There had been an openness that she had stolen from you. “...Just don’t call me mommy when you’re getting off on my boot anymore, okay? I’m not ready for that.”

In time, the discomfort faded. Having you next to her at the end of a hard week, eyes wide and vulnerable, trusting her completely to take care of her - it became a little intoxicating. Her boundaries expanded, pushed farther and farther from where they had started as she slipped back into routine.

It surprises her how well she takes to it. Jill hasn't got much in the way of maternal instincts. She's good with dogs, though, and kids and dogs both need discipline. It's the same thing, right?

No. Not at all. But you're not really a kid. Your real mom did all the hard work, and now Jill gets to sweep in and have all the fun. Sit. Roll over. Speak. You're good at those. 

Stay, not so much. She knows she’s got you in the right headspace when you won't stop wiggling. Jill's grown accustomed to slinging an arm across your stomach when she buries her face in your pussy. The squirming never ends, and pressing your hips into the mattress had only ever made you curl upwards, arms bracketing her head, shoving her face into your cunt.

The real danger is letting you sit on her face while you're like this. You squirm and buck, squeal out your pleasure while she laps at you. She rocks her head from side to side, her nose bumping against your pudgy clit. The way you thrust down into her - christ, you’re going to send her to the hospital one day.

That was how it had been the first time Jill had opened up the floodgates, the first time she’d let these little games back into your bedroom.

Her hands palm the globes of your ass, spreading you open for her tongue. She keeps you nice and tight against her face, her neck craned at an angle that would hurt later. A problem for tomorrow. Today’s problem is that you keep biting your knuckle, tucking those pretty little sounds away from her.

Jill swats your ass, quick, sharp. She pulled away only far enough to reprimand you – “Don’t hide from mommy” – before she wrapped her lips around your clit and churned her tongue against you, again and again.

You let out a surprised squeak, garbled behind your fist. Your hips shot forward, pressing her face into the mattress, suffocating her with your cunt. Jill moaned, gripped you tighter, held you to her face and tongue-fucked you through an orgasm that made your spine twist, your thighs clamp tight around her head.

Jesus Christ - that’s what she’d been missing out on? All because she’d been too squeamish about a title?

That was all it took to convince herself that she was fine with it, really. Jill helped you roll off of her. She lowered you back to the mattress as if you were a priceless, fragile little thing. The urge to care for you, to pamper you, had never been stronger. You’d nearly had to force her to quit flitting around you. It took insisting that you needed to cuddle for her to stop, for her to let you settle against her.

“I think you broke my nose,” Jill teases.

“Stop.” You hide your face in the top sheet, but she hears you bite off a giggle. Her hands float to your sides, long digits brushing along the curve of your ribs, snaking up your stomach to cup your breasts. She rolls them in her palms - together, then apart, thumbs flicking over your nipples. Languid, no heat behind it. No need for another round, not yet, but she wants to appreciate the art before her.

“I'm serious.” Jill turns her head to the side. Her profile silhouettes in the lamplight.

She's the kind of woman they make statues of. Her nose cuts a proud shape from the light, the slope of her brow relaxed only here in your bedroom. It occurs to you to trail a finger along contour of her face and, uninhibited, you do. Jill holds still for you, let’s you marvel at the work before your eyes. Her nose has been broken before - not by your weight, but by fists. Her throat bobs as you trail a knuckle down her chin, against the delicate skin of her neck, childish in your wonder. 

Jill still had her boundaries, the same as you had yours.

Your appreciation is every bit grown. You tuck yourself against her side, kiss along her jaw until you reach her lips. You mutter your ‘I love you’ against her there. She can be ‘mommy’, she realizes. Just for you, just within your home.

No disciplinarian stuff, not while you're acting all little. It makes her feel grimy. You don't get in trouble for little stuff, not for leaving your coloring book out or for flooding the living room with stuffies while she's away. You do get in trouble being an absolute brat and pawing at her leg while she's in the middle of a meeting.

That had been fun. You'd been all curled up in your beanbag chair, tucked out of frame while Jill listened in on the eastern European division’s quarterly report. Evidently, reduction in bioterrorism incidents weren't thrilling enough for you. She’d popped her leg out to the side, wiggled her boot at you - a command you knew well enough by then. 

What kind of mommy makes her baby girl ride her boot? A strict one. It had always been a favorite punishment, denying you her touch and making you get yourself off however she dictated. But when you were all soft and malleable? Desperate for her attention, for her touch? Now it has her soaking herself. An added, unexpected side effect? You'd stopped nagging her to take her boots off as much.

On the other hand, you staunchly refused for this to be a 24/7 arrangement. You were an adult. You contributed to the house, had goals and ambitions just as much as she did. As happy as Jill was to pamper you, to be your mommy when you needed it, she wasn't ever to hold that over your head. 

Once, she'd dared to tease you in the middle of a discussion about utilities - gas bill's so high 'cause my babydoll like the house too warm - and the look you'd given her had been enough to make her backtrack immediately. You hadn't even been willing to entertain the notion that she might treat you as less capable, less of an equal partner just because you enjoyed her care.

That had been a rocky discussion.

“I don't want to do this with you if you're just going to think less of me for it.”

Christ, she wants to pull her hair out, stuff her words back into her mouth and just pay the goddamn gas bill. It wasn't like you couldn't afford it.

“I don't think less of you.”

“Then don't say stuff like that.”

“Babe, you're kind of overreacting.”

Your eyes harden. Obviously, that hadn't been the right thing to say either.

She'd nearly lost you in that conversation. Not entirely, not your whole relationship - just this soft, needy part that craves a softer touch, a nurturing hand. Maybe a better, more experienced mommy would have stepped it back better, assured you that wasn't what she meant. But Jill's not built for this, not naturally.

It's your thing. She's just indulging you.

She gathers up your coloring books, piling them neatly on the coffee table. She takes a minute to thumb through them, to admire the work you'd done that evening. Spooky Cutie, Gummy Bear World, the more complicated dinosaur coloring book from the Smithsonian. You'd been rotating - proudly showing her your work from page to page, polling her on what color you should use from time to time. One moment it was a bear and a cat cooking stew together in a simplified, cutesy kitchen. The broth was dark brown because mommy had decided they were having beef stew, not chicken and dumplings.

The next, you were asking for her favorite dinosaur, then her second favorite, then her third, and flipping through your book to find any one of them. She'd never seen a more elaborate backdrop for a triceratops. You'd dutifully laid out every shade of green you had and set to work on the foliage. Halfway through the movie she realized she'd missed a plot point, too busy checking in on your coloring.

It's not her thing. She just ended up at a craft store one day for something completely different. It was a good deal on markers, honest. Yeah. The deal had been on the ones that were high-end, that had the shades of green you needed to really make that cretaceous-era flora pop.

Jill is so fucked.

Right. Definitely just your thing.

She's above this. Keeps her personal life and her professional life neatly separated, despite the Redfield's best efforts. Claire knows she has a serious girlfriend. She'd done the detective work on Jill's limited social media, pored over new friends and comments like it was her job. 

(“I had in-flight wi-fi.” Never a sentence you want to hear Claire Redfield say.

“So you wasted your time stalking me online?”

Claire shrugs. “Your girlfriend posts a lot and she likes everything you post. It wasn't hard to figure it out. She seems nice. Not subtle, but, you know – nice.”)

If Claire knows, then Chris knows. For years he's maintained that he hates gossip, but he's always suspiciously well-informed.  

So when Chris sets a big hand on her shoulder and asks how the detective work is going, the appropriate answer should be ‘fine’ or ‘I'm going to blow my brains out if I have to dig through another financial record’. It should not be:

“Mommy's tired.”

Silence. God, she can't have said that. That wasn't what came out of her mouth, surely. She just said ‘I'm tired’, right?

Jill looks up at Chris. His eyebrows are in the fucking stratosphere. Before she can tell him not to say a goddamn word, his face splits into a grin.

“Does mommy want a coffee?”

“I'm reporting you to HR.”

Chris laughs, full-bodied, the sound bursting from his chest. He looks years younger in that moment, and when she huffs a laugh she wonders if she does too. All of that gets wiped away when she remembers how utterly fucked she is. Her cover is blown, her personal life finally hemorrhaged into the office.

“I'm reporting you to HR,” he counters. He swings himself into the chair opposite her desk. “Anything you want to talk about?”

“Fuck you.”

“Not if I have to call you mommy.”

Jill’s more than a little pent up when she kicks the door closed that evening. You turn your head, hands plunged in the basin of the sink. Domestic, homey - not quite her babydoll, but her girlfriend.

As you can imagine, the rest of the day was a nightmare. Chris didn’t know how to let a joke die, but at least he had the sense to keep it between the two of them.

She can change that.

“How was work?” You greet.

“You got me in trouble today.”

Confusion clouds your eyes. You try to turn from the sink, but Jill's arms cage you in. She's not a tall woman, but it's never stopped her from being imposing. She wedges her knee between your legs and lifts, pressing against your cunt. The heat pouring through you short circuits your brain, leaves all your intelligible thoughts fizzling out of your mouth in a confused heap.

“Huh?” Is what you finally manage to muster.

Jill snorts. Very intelligent. Her hands grip your hips. She turns you to face her, presses you down against her thigh, rocks your hips back and forth for you until you get the picture. Your movements are slower, uncertain. She has to battle the urge to force your movements quicker. Patience. She can rip the pleasure from you later.

Her mouth latches onto your neck, open-mouthed kisses pressed against your skin again and again, your pulse quick and unsteady under her lips. Your hands hover inches over her sides, water dripping from your fingertips, iridescent suds drying against your skin. You're not going back to the dishes, not if she can help it; leave them to soak in the sink.

Jill shifts a hand under your waistband, fingers ghosting just above your panties. A shudder rattles down your spine, stomach rolling against her hand. She slips her other hand up your front, ghosting between your breasts. Her knuckles catch under your chin.

“Everyone knows, babydoll.”

It's cute, watching you try to put the pieces together. Your poor little brain is frying and she still turns up the temperature on you. She shifts her leg away to palm your cunt through your panties. Goddamn, you may as well be molten heat at this point. Won't be much longer before she has you dripping into her palm.

It takes all her restraint not to shove your panties to the side and plunge her fingers into your needy little pussy then and there. Patience will make it sweeter, wetter, make you cling to her shoulders, clamp around her so tightly she loses circulation.

Her hand moves from your chin the moment you start forming a question. She presses her middle and ring finger to the seam of your lips and you open before she can so much as muster the first syllable. She chuckles, derisive. Your tongue swirls around her, laving against the pads of her fingers. Dutiful, obedient, her perfect little babydoll lapping at her skin.

You suckle, sloppy wet noise spilling from your mouth. A rush of love hits Jill square in the chest. It drops, settles in her gut right next to the need to claim.

“Everyone knows you need mommy to take care of you,” she coos, mocking. You squirm, something between fear and arousal sparking in your eyes. You suck harder. Definitely arousal.

It’s easy to walk you over to the counter, hips pressed tight to yours. She lets you suck at her fingers as long as she can before she needs that hand to pick you up and drop you on the countertop. Jill shoves your shorts down, tugs your panties to the side. Her spit-slick fingers trail along your slit. You shuffle down, greedy for more of her touch. Her poor baby, alone all day - and already so wet for her.

You suck her fingers in greedily. Her hand presses at your hip, a silent urge for you to stay still, to let her prep you. You can get so ahead of yourself, she knows - but she’ll take care of you. Jill’s mouth latches onto your neck. She only detaches to shuck your t-shirt up and off.

Your legs latch over her hips, trapping her hand between your bodies. Greedy little girl, taking more than she wanted to give. Jill can’t be angry about it, not now. She pumps her fingers into you steadily. Her mouth trails down to your chest, lips latching onto your nipple.

“Take it, babydoll, there you go – take it for me.” Her breath fans against your breast. She buries her face between them, moans against your sternum. Your back arches, tits pressing into her. Your arms press your tits together around her head, smothering her, and her pussy clenches around nothing.

Jill's fingers drill into you, grind right up against that spot that makes you squirm. She could find it blindfolded. No more long, slow-strokes with her thick fingers. Hard, deep, just how you need, thumb rubbing your clit.

Fuck - you must need this as badly as she does. You snap after a few more strokes, moan strangled and high. Your chest arches, your hands flying into her hair, holding her tight to your tits.

“Good girl, perfect girl for mommy– gonna have you cumming all night.” Promises seared into your skin just before her mouth latches above your breast, sucks a bruise into your skin.

Your hand pushes at her wrist, babbling about too much. Jill nearly goddamn growls, as if you’re trying to take her favorite toy away. Her thumb slows against your clit, fingers drawing languidly out of you. One last pump for good measure, just to watch your legs twitch.

Her cheek rests against your chest, rising and falling with your breaths.. She watches you recover with half-lidded eyes.

“Do– do people really know?” You ask once you’ve managed to regain the ability for language processing.

Jill pouts. Clearly she hasn’t fucked you good enough if you’re still worried about that. She shifts to grip your hips, tugging you the the edge of the counter. She cants her hips up, trying to fit them flush with yours. Promises for later.

“Just Chris.” You groan. Honestly, it could be way worse. You’re overreacting. She knows better than to say that out loud now. “He’s not gonna tell anyone.”

“Not even his sister?”

Jill hesitates. She steps back from the counter, helps your newborn deer legs find their foot on the floor. She thumbs the button of her jeans open, stumbling out of them while she helps you over to the couch. You’re easy to position like this, malleable to her wants. Just how you both like it. Jill swats your ass - playful, not punishing.

“You worry too much. They’re not gonna care.”

“What if I care?”

Jill sinks to the floor in front of you, guiding your legs up to her shoulders. She kisses her way up your sweat-slick skin, savoring the taste on her tongue on her way to your core.

“Just let mommy kiss it all better.”

[leonw4nter]

HAIII!!! I saw that ur requests r open!! Can u write a death island x gn!reader where the reader squeezes his cheeks n' it's all fluffy n' cute? I feel like behind all that muscle is baby fat that's just MEANT to be squeezed - 🐰

It Only Takes Half A Bottle of Whiskey

DI!Leon x GN!Reader

“Details of the mission coincide with the objectives laid down to consider this mission a success and therefore, I would like to consider this case closed and marked successful. Congratulations to our very own agents Kennedy and L/N.”

The room erupted in claps, lips spreading into relieved smiles. The last mission was not easy, many undertakings taken in order to see the mission to its success and one of the many measures taken was a false marriage between you and Leon, complete with a wedding and wedding bands, as well as expertly fabricated marriage certificates in order to pass as ordinary newly-weds who had normal jobs as IT technicians. The entire ordeal took almost 2 years, which seems plenty to the average person but an incredibly short notice to agents assigned on this demanding commission. Despite the mission being over, you two still had to uphold the married couple facade and keep working on the IT company before drafting letters of resignation in order to not rouse any suspicions with the people who had grown to know and be familiar with you and Leon. One of the procedures involved coming home together holding hands as you passed through the exit, getting in the same car, living under one roof, and retiring in the same bed.

As soon as you two get home, you rush over to collapse on the couch with a loud exhale before taking the glasses off of your face and setting them beside you. You recline your head and run a hand through your hair, eyes shut as you try to block out the noises of the world. Leon removes his dress shoes and walks around the duplex in his black socks, his shoes in one hand and your shoes in the other as he returns them to the shoe cabinet before walking back to the couch and sitting beside you. He takes your glasses and sets them down at the coffee table in front of you and takes his seat, letting out a loud sigh of his own as he gets the remote and turns the TV on to a cooking channel. Shrugging his jacket off, he turns his head to observe you for a moment only to see your eyes staring into the white ceiling of the dim living room.

“You tired?” He asks as he folds his jacket and places it on the arm of the couch, too tired to get up and place them in the bedroom or think of changing into loungewear. You nod, sitting back up as you wipe a hand across your face before reaching to get your glasses and put them back on.

“I need a drink after all that shit,” you groan as you undo one more button of your button-up. Leon hums and turns his attention back to the chef cutting the carrots, which is short-lived as he tilts it again to face you.

“I’ll help you to bed, how’s that sound? It’s better than alcohol.”

“Help me to bed after I have a nice, cold, glass of double-black whiskey.”

With that, you get up from the couch and walk up to the alcohol cabinet to get the glass. As you open the cabinet, you feel a warmth press against your back and see a strong arm reach up for 2 glasses. Leon closes the cabinet door with his free hand and sets two glasses down. His action scared you for a little bit since he walked with virtually no noise and you only felt his presence when his muscled front pressed against you, effectively trapping you in if he planned on hurting you but thank god he didn’t. He takes a jug of apple juice and pours it into his glass instead of the whiskey, which you aren’t too surprised about; he’s been 3 months sober. You just stare at him, admiring the way his arms looked amazing with crisp white sleeves rolled up until his elbows, a hand resting on the marble as he takes the glass and drinks the juice. He raises an eyebrow when he spots you staring in his peripheral, setting the glass down with a small clink against the kitchen counter.

“Like what you see?” He asks with a lazy grin and a wink. You turn your attention back to the glass he set in front of you, staring at it so intensely you would have shattered the glass with the daggers you were shooting with your tired eyes.

“You wish,” you retort as you pour the dark liquid into the glass and toss in a block or two of ice before taking a swig and feeling the liquid burn its way into your system despite the coldness that the ice offered. You hear Leon softly chuckle before having another drink of his fruit juice, his soft gaze watching over you as you take sips and loud sighs after you swallow the amber liquid. You take the tall bottle and your heavy-bottomed whiskey glass and sit down on the wooden floors, placing them down beside you. You take another swig and look at Leon, patting the space beside you.

“Sit,” you say.

“You’re saying that like I’m a dog,” your ‘husband’ responds.

“C’mere, boy! C’mere!” You teasingly say in a higher pitched voice, clapping with both your hands to beckon him to sit beside you.

Leon rolls his eyes but sits beside you, propping one knee up to rest his hand on as he looks at your glass.

“Good boy,” you say with a sly grin.

“Okay you’re a freak,” he says as he jokingly begins to sit up again but not before your free hand shoots up to grasp at his wrist.

“Okay, I’m sorry I won’t do that.”

“Right.”

“Please? Please? C’mon Leon, don’t be boring.”

“Fine.”

You smile and chuckle softly as he sits back down beside you, knuckles occasionally brushing against each other. You two sit in complete silence, the silence interrupted only by the sounds of breathing and sighs. Your gaze fell on the gold band wrapped around the base of your ring fingers, studying the way the light reflected off of the smooth surface. Eventually, your gaze flitted to Leon’s right ring finger to admire his own ring.

“It looks damn good on him,” you thought to yourself. “Damn, marriage is a good look for you, Kennedy.”

He absent-mindedly fidgeted with his ring, tilting and adjusting it; that’s what he always did when he was deep in thought or bored. You noticed it became a habit as soon as you two had to wear these rings everywhere, even on side missions. Although he could remove it when you two were in your own home, he chose to keep it on which you followed suit since it only felt right.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

The whiskey soon started tasting like water and now you were down to unbuttoning the second button of your work shirt. It was a little harder to keep your head up now and your lids were threatening to close. You leaned your head on Leon’s shoulder, not missing how you felt him tense up despite your inebriated condition.

“Leon, ’m sleepy.”

He looked at you, seeing how the whiskey caused your cheeks and ears to burn pink like a Fuji apple. Your lids were droopy and your eyes were glossy, an obvious sign that you were drunk and done for tonight. He chuckles softly as he adjusts you so he could carry you to your shared room.

“I’m fine, Leon.” you confidently slur as he lifted your frame up and out of the kitchen.

“Nope, you’re not. We’re going to bed now.”

“C’monnn… I can handle my… liquor like a champ...”

Leon gave you a stern look before setting you down on your side of the bed before making a quick trip back to the kitchen to fetch you a glass of water and pills to take. Despite the frequent jokes he made to make you feel a lot more comfortable in his presence, you would be lying if you didn’t enjoy this authoritative side of him outside of the field. He comes back and sets them on your bedside table, making it near enough without making the water prone to spilling due to your uncoordinated state.

“Anything else you need?” He almost slipped up and called you ‘honey’.

“Bath.”

“Gotcha.”

Since it would prove to be too difficult to get you cleaned up right now, he settled on finding a basin and a rag to wash you with. After asking your permission, he removed your garments before wiping you down to let yourself feel a little more clean before a proper bath in the morning and dressed you in a clean shirt and sleep shorts before freshening himself up to get in bed with you and calling it a night. After a few minutes, he got on his side of the bed but still kept some distance so you wouldn’t feel like your privacy was being invaded. He shifted, moving as gently as he could so the mattress wouldn’t move along with him and disrupt your sleep. He finally managed to lay on his side, his arms crossed and his eyes shut but he still kept his ears active. He suddenly remembered something and opened his eyes again; he turned around and glanced at you.

“Good night,” he said.

Normally, he’d add a sappy nickname like “sweetheart” or “honey” at the end to make his husband act feel more natural for him but he decided not to this night since he felt weird. Weird in a way that if he said it, he’d jump out of bed and dive out of a window and plummet into a pool of pink and red heart balloons while glitter bombs went off around him. He knew what he felt but he didn’t want to give it a name and properly label it; he wasn’t even sure if you saw him the same way he saw you. When you didn’t give any kind of response, he turned around and sat up to look at you through the dark, the white streetlights being the only source of light beaming in through gray curtains. He inched closer to see you and placed a finger just underneath your nostrils, hoping to feel a soft gust of warm air be expelled. When he felt that, he placed a finger on the pulse point of your neck before concluding that you really are fine, just deeply asleep.

He chuckles to himself, smiling softly as he extends a hand to brush some hair away from your forehead. Before he can stop himself, that small gesture turns into him adjusting the duvet so you wouldn’t sweat under warm bundles of fabric sometime in the night. Now, he’s trapped in your arms when you quickly extend your arms above you and yanked him down to your body. All while your eyes were still shut.

He could easily escape and retreat back to his side of the bed and really call it a night this time but he doesn’t. He decides to stay like that for a bit and he knows why but then again, he doesn’t want to name the reason.

“Y’think you’re so slick, Kennedy,” you groggily mumble. His head is pressed against your chest, his arms extended from his side in an awkward position, and he subconsciously holds a breath in.

“Jus’ tell me if you wanna cuddle,” you slur. “I know y’wanna coz I wanna too.”

You pull him off of you and lay him back down on his side of the bed, frozen in shock and baffled at how things have taken for a turn. He lays still and watches you silently with wide eyes, observing you. You crawl near him and stare at him at the side… well, an excuse of a stare since your lids were drooping and you couldn’t seem to get your eyes to focus nicely on him. You sat up and placed a hand on his stubbly cheek, gently rubbing on the bristly cheek with a soft thumb. He tensed at the delicate feel of your hands on his face, handling it with so much care as if he’s a fragile piece of artwork. A pop of color spreads on his cheeks and the tips of his ears as you look him in the eyes as if you’re trying to count all the specks of gray he didn’t know his eyes had while trying to fish out a well-hidden feeling within his weary soul.

“Ow!” Leon yelps when you suddenly pinch a cheek of his just as his eyes were about to close and savor the wholesomeness of the moment. “What’d you do that for?!”

“Y’ve got… puffy cheeks. I love that in a man.”

“Puffy cheeks?”

You give his cheek a poke before pinching them again, this time much softer than the first since we voiced out his discomfort. You continue poking and pinching the skin bristly with coarse hairs, occasionally squishing them together to make his lips puckered up. He relaxes eventually, letting you knead and feel his face. He probably had more wrinkles on his face than most men his age do and he knows he doesn’t have the best skin ever and he’s thankful that you’re drunk enough to not notice the blemishes on his face. He wants to let his hands rest on your waist and just let you do your thing but he decides against it; you’re drunk and you aren’t in the clearest headspace right now. Although his intentions with wanting to perch his hand on your waist is nothing sexual, he still doesn’t want to proceed with that.

“Gosh, your spouse after me is going to be sooo lucky,” you mumble. “You’re so sweet, kind, sexy as fuck… you’re also intimidating sometimes but you’re like a teddy bear.”

“Teddy bear, huh?”

“A teddy bear with… a teddy bear strapped with guns, bullets, and knives.”

“A teddy bear that can’t get through airport security, basically.”

His response makes you laugh a little louder than it should have, a hand falling to your chest and you throw your head back. Leon didn’t think his joke was that funny until you laughed and chortled, grinning and beaming like it’s the funniest thing you’ve ever heard. Maybe it didn’t matter anymore if no one else laughed at his lame jokes as long as you did. And what did you mean “spouse after me”? Would he be able to find someone else after your “marriage” is dissolved? He fears that he wouldn’t love as truthfully and wholly as he does with you, that his soul would always look for you in the people he’d see. What if he wants his spouse to be you, even after this mission? “Agent L/N” is for everyone to praise but at the end of the day, Y/N will be his to love. You adjust yourself and nearly plop on his side, tucked underneath his arm with one hand still on his face. Slowly, you grow drowsier as sleep pulls you deep in its embrace.

“Just… for yawn tonight,” you softly whisper while safely tucked into his side.

“You can… forget this, if you want.” Another yawn before you totally fall asleep again.

“Gosh, that hangover is going to kill you tomorrow.” Leon whispers as he adjusts the sheets over your sleeping frame again.

He shifts in the bed, making sure the arm you’re laying on is still; he wants to move it around and get circulation back in that arm again but he’d deal with a purple arm in the morning if it meant giving you a nice rest before the alcohol in your system hits you like a train tomorrow. He gazes at the ring on his hand one last time and feels a surge of joy and pride in his heart, hoping that you feel the same when you look at your own ring.

NOTE - Before I update y'all with stuff going on in my life rn, I just wanna thank 🐰 anon for this request, I hope you liked it <3 OKAY. So I was gone for almost a month because so much happened in the time that I wasn't posting much-- I passed an entrance exam to a school I will transfer to after this year is over (I'm still in the process of passing requirements), I decided to start a Chris Redfield mochiposting IG account, I got lost in another town with my classmate while walking to a groupmate's house (a man was following us both but luckily nothing bad happened to us), I got sick twice in a row in a single month (1st time: screamed too much during a sports fest, did not drink water bc there was no water around the place; 2nd time: I was running low on sleep and did not have time for a break bc of the things I was doing), I had two infections in two different systems in my body (the same time as I got sick in the aforementioned stuff :3), and had my first ever sleepover at my BFF's house (slept at 4am cb we were eating and cooking so much while watching Demon Slayer). I also nosebled while watching filmvxq's (on TT) edit (the one w Take My Breath Away as the audio) and got really lightheaded... this isn't the first time btw <33 I also nosebled over a Vergil edit and I don't know how I keep doing this <33 My neck hurts so much and I have a crippling sushi addiction. SPEAKING OF SUSHI (what I'm about to say next has no relation), I got this TikTok about tubifex worms in a dirty sewer just before I took a bath and I was so disgusted, I was fighting for my life trying not to think about the worms while I was drenched in water. Also, my grades release next Friday and I hope those grades are somewhat sexy bro I can't go to another school with the nastiest math grade... I'm very number stupid... NEWAYS, that's all and thank you for reading my fics!!!! I <33333 UUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!

The dividers are made by @cafekitsune , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[auggieblogs]

"As snug as a bug in a rug" | LN4

Lando Norris x Reader Author's note: Hiii, everyone. I hope you all are having a good weekend!!! I am currently sick and very needy, hence, the sick fic. Also, I saw an Instagram reel where the boyfriend made a lunchbox for his girlfriend. Needless to say, I wanted to gouge my eyes (it was so fucking adorable). Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this one. Happy reading!❤️

―୨୧⋆ ˚masterlist

You woke up to the sound of your alarm blaring, a feeling of dread washing over you as you realized you'd overslept for your important math lecture. Your head was throbbing, your throat was sore, and the cold seemed to have settled in your bones. You knew you were in no condition to face a full day of classes, let alone an important lecture.

Frantically, you gathered your books, your nose still a little stuffy, and your eyes slightly teary from the cold. But as you were about to dash out of your room, a sweet aroma caught your attention. Following your nose, you walked into the kitchen to find Lando hard at work.

Lando was standing by the counter, wearing an apron that read "Kiss the Chef," his brows furrowed in concentration as he prepared your lunch. His culinary skills might not be top-notch, but he was determined to make a good lunchbox for you.

He glanced over at you, his face lighting up with a loving smile. "Hey there, sleepyhead," he said, his voice filled with warmth. "I thought I'd make you something to eat since you're not feeling well."

He presented you with a carefully prepared lunchbox. Inside, you found a delightful veggie chicken sandwich, your favourite double chocolate muffin, a peeled orange, freshly cut strawberries, your preferred crisps, and a bottle of apple juice. Lando had thought of everything you liked.

He even managed to draw a little, albeit a bit messy, a doodle of you two holding hands on the note he wrote, "I love you" written underneath.

You rushed into his arms, giving him a tight hug and planting a small, grateful peck on his cheek, being careful not to pass on your cold.

"Thank you, Lando," you whispered, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Lando gently brushed a strand of hair from your face and smiled softly. "You're welcome, love. Now, let's make sure you're feeling better." He handed you some medication and carefully spoon-fed you the cough syrup, making sure you didn't spill a drop.

Afterwards, he helped you into a warm jacket, tucking you in with care. "As snug as a bug in a rug," he said with a wink.

With your lunch packed, your cold medicine taken, and Lando by your side, you felt much better already. He took your hand and led you out the door, making sure you were bundled up warmly before driving you to university. During the car ride, he kept his hand on your thigh, occasionally squeezing it to reassure you.

Once you arrived on campus, Lando walked you to your math lecture, giving you another quick but sweet kiss before parting. "Take it easy and get well soon," he whispered.

You smiled, "I will, thanks to you. I love you, Lan."

[hedgehog-moss]

I realised I hadn't posted a greenhouse report since spring, and today seemed like a good day for a 2023 home-grown food review!

2023 was a great year for fruit; my apple & plum trees were so generous! In the greenhouse my most successful crops were tomatoes, red chilli peppers, beans, and pickles. I was able to make spicy plum chutney using my own plums, onions and peppers:

On the other hand I was unlucky with my non-greenhouse vegetables, there were so many insects this year and my courgettes got absolutely decimated. But then I complained about my bad courgette luck to some neighbours and was gifted 9 courgettes and 3 pumpkins. I spent the first half of my autumn cooking and freezing and pickling and preserving to try not to let anything go to waste; I made:

7 jars of pesto (with greenhouse basil); 8 jars of pasta sauce (with courgette-pumpkin-tomato-red peppers-onions-basil, + parmesan); an unknown but large amount of pumpkin-tomato soup (I put them in empty glass bottles and freeze them); 7 jars of spicy plum chutney; 2 small bottles of spicy oil for my pizzas (with some of my chilli peppers; the rest are still drying by the stove to become chilli powder); 5 jars of plum jam and 3 of blackberry jam (I also froze several kg of whole blackberries for winter desserts); 6 jars of pickles (they are delicious!! I'd never pickled pickles before this year, I'm really happy with the result); 12 small bottles of elderberry syrup; 4 large bottles of elderflower syrup; hundreds of little apple sweets; several bottles of apple juice; an absolutely dizzying amount of apple puree / compote / jelly, because I refused to leave any leftover apples for the dormouse population. They are not my friends.

(If you think I'm being too mean to the dormice, please know that a) they are unrepentant thieves; b) I became so competent at hiding my apples that a dormouse ended up sneaking into the shower at night to eat my soap. My bar of homemade (not by me) goat milk soap. It's hazelnut scented so I guess if you're a rodent it just smells like lunch.)

I took some stuff out of the freezer just long enough to take this family picture; though I already gave away a lot of things to guests and neighbours, so it's just what's left! (I also froze enough chopped onions to last until summer I think)

I am terrible at labelling my jars; in my hubris I always assume I'll just remember where I put which kind of sauce or flavour of compote. I never remember. I end up having to give my guests mystery jars, like "this is fruit jelly! Made with... fruits"

So it wouldn't get too monotonous I added various fruits to my apple purees: apple-raspberry, apple-blueberry, -plum, -blackberry... I also made a few jars of apple-pineapple-pumpkin compote because I had too much pumpkin and I regret not focusing on that from the start, this combo tasted so good and was the most cheerful yellow colour.

I finally used my last apples last week, making apple-quince paste which is currently drying in order to become sweets. I bought some pretty & thick paper to origami a few boxes to put them in, so I'll have New Year presents for my courgette-providing neighbours. <3

(My cats are currently banned from this room so they won't try to lick the fruit paste) (they don't even like it, they're just cats)

[babyleostuff]

your smile | JEON WONWOO

summary | reading date with wonwoo in the comfort of your shared apartment

genre | fluff

word count | 871

pairing | jeon wonwoo x gn!reader

"What should we listen to?" Wonwoo asked right as you walked into the living room with a book in your hand.

"Whatever you feel like. I chose last time." A moment later soft tunes of your favorite album started playing, and along with the LED lights and a couple of candles it only added to the cozy feeling your shared apartment had.

This little act of your boyfriend - putting the music he knows you like, even though it's his turn to choose, puts a small smile on your face, making you even happier than you already were.

Having an afternoon for yourselves, not worrying about work or any chores, you both decided to have a stay at home date, with food and books.

Wonwoo already had his gaming live today at the company, so you didn't have to worry about your boyfriend bailing on you mid chapter and gaming his ass off until dawn, which was always a nice thing.

"Do we have everything?" he wondered, taking a seat next to you on the big sofa, which was now covered with fluffy blankets and lots of pillows.

"I'm just going to grab something to drink, so we don't have to get up later. Oh, and we need chopsticks. Anything else?"

"I don't think so,"

"Okay, I'll be right back."

As much as you loved going out with Wonwoo, exploring the city, going to nice restaurants or simply taking a casual stroll by the Han river, nothing would ever top your at home dates.

Being both so comfortable with each other - no fancy clothes, no makeup, no pressure to look your best and no stressing about being recognised by other people. You could savor the comfortable silence, each with a separate book and your feet in his lap.

A barefaced Wonwoo with his glasses and an oversized t-shirt was just a bonus to all of this. He's really the definition of boyfriend material.

While in the kitchen, beside drinks and chopsticks you grabbed extra snacks for Wonwoo, as he always likes to have something to munch on while reading. In addition you also grabbed an apple juice box, one of the many sitting in your refrigerator.

Quickly making your way back to the living room, you couldn't help, but admire your boyfriend for a second. He was sitting comfortably under one of the many blankets, his glasses at the tip of his nose while he was smiling at something on his phone.

Seeing him so happy was like a cup of tea on a winter morning. Without a doubt, him smiling was the best thing in the world and seeing him do it so often in these past months was the biggest dream come true.

He is one of the strongest people you know, but even he couldn't always hide his sadness and pain, so seeing him getting his happiness back is everything you could've asked for.

"Everything alright?" suddenly you were pulled back to reality, by Wonwoo's gentle voice, that so often lulled you to sleep.

"Yeah, just zoned out a little. Here, your gummies," you handed him all of his snacks along with a water bottle and a set of chopsticks.

"When did you get them? They weren't there in the morning."

"I saw you eating them in your live today," you explained. "So, I decided to buy some. You always like to snack when you're reading and gaming."

Wonwoo usually saw himself as a very stoic person, who was good at controlling his emotions, but you always proved him wrong.

His gaze turned to the softest expression known to mankind and he couldn't help himself but kiss the side of your head in a loving manner as a thank you.

Not being able to resist your boyfriend's sweet action, you put your hand at the back of his head, running your fingers through his short hair, that made him look so adorable when not styled.

"How much of the book do you have left?" he asked, as you both snuggled under the warm blankets.

"I think I'll finish tonight."

"Will your next book be a little bit more, how to say, intellectual?"

"Jeon Woonwoo, stop making fun of my book," you laughed and hit his arm repeatedly, though you doubted he felt anything.

"Not my fault my childhood was based on Wattpad, you dumbass." He laughed and shook his head in a playful manner.

"Sorry not everyone can be as smart as you, Mr. I-know-it-all. " you huffed, putting your bookmark at the coffee table. Not saying anything more, he simply put his arm around you, pulling you closer to his side.

Moments like these made you feel so safe and loved. Wonwoo may not be the most outspoken person when it comes to his emotions, but he never made you doubt yourself in any way.

Everywhere you went, you knew you could always count on him, he was there to keep you safe, protected and happy. The simple touches and small acts of service was all you needed.

So, as you both sit in the living room, each of you in a different fictional world, keeping each other warm, you knew that this was how you'd like to spend the rest of your life.

[shotmrmiller]

The start of a journey

A small drabble of a thought that had me awake at an unreasonable hour because how cute is HE PLEASE GOD.

Dadtobe!simon who when you told him you were pregnant, he sat quietly on the sofa without saying much. You were so worried he didn’t want the baby due to his history with his family— but in reality, he was so shocked. How can he deserve such a precious gift from life when all he does for a living is take them? He sees your eyes watery with unshed tears and quickly grabs your hands to reassure you that this may have not been planned but it is a gift unworthy of a bad man such as he and he already loves you both. 

Dadtobe!simon is the one who looks up what foods help alleviate nausea so when you’re heaving over your toilet, he’s already in the kitchen getting some cold apple juice and saltines just in case you could stomach them this time.

Dadtobe!simon is pressed that you’re choosing to have a home water birth with a midwife instead of the hospital because “What if you need immediate medical attention? We’d have to get you to a hospital and that’s time wasted.”

“ The baby and I will be okay. The midwife will be keeping an eye on my vitals and if anything went south, they’d be getting us to a hospital before I really needed to be in one. Besides, I want an unmedicated labor in the comfort of my own home.”

“Alright, love. But if anything looks even slightly wrong, I’m getting you out o’ here. Clear?” “Crystal, sir.” 

“Cheeky.”

Dadtobe!simon personally bought an at-home fetal doppler to hear the baby’s heartbeat whenever he couldn’t make it to the monthly OB appointments. He helps you lie down on the sofa, hips propped up on a pillow, and he’d get the doppler gel from the warmer because he CANNOT have you uncomfortable so long he can help it. Skin goosepimpling with the warm gel, he starts rubbing it on your lower stomach with the probe and puts light pressure— doing circular motions to try and find the distinct, rhythmic thumps of the baby’s heart. He catches it, a fast beating, _strong_ heartbeat, and ups the volume.

“There ya are, my little sprog.” 

Dadtobe!simon gets up from the warm cocoon of the bed and out into the cold, rainy streets because the Missus is craving butter pickle spears and marinara sauce and he is a humble servant to your wants and needs. Butter pickles though, seriously?

Dadtobe!simon who has had all of the Sprog’s necessities ready to go from the beginning. The cot and moses basket, assembled. Nappies, baby bottles, and dummies are all bought and stored away. If the baby can use it, it’s in the house put together and clean. Ruthlessly efficient. 

Dadtobe!simon doesn’t let you pick up anything heavier than a jug of milk because “You don’t need to be doin’ any heavy liftin’, it’s what you got me here for, love.” And you aren’t above _not_ being extra pampered because you’ve always hated putting the groceries up anyway.

Dadtobe!simon usually sleeps spooning you but now you’ve got the maternity pillow swaddling your front, a pillow in between your thighs and another underneath your hips and supporting your lower back because your heavy stomach puts so much pressure on your body, but your mountain of pillows helps you rest as best you can. Simon can almost physically see the aches alleviate when you lie down so he doesn’t complain about the lack of cuddles nor how he’s been essentially shoved into a space the size of a twin bed on your California king. 

Dadtobe!simon who squeezes the heel, kneads the instep, and presses the pads of his thumbs into the balls of your swollen feet— you’re carrying extra weight after all, and as you’re groaning in relief you start crying because look at how large you’ve gotten. You not having puffy, achy ankles is a miracle and how can he still love you looking like this? He grabs both of your feet and peppers kisses from the toes to the ankle you seem to hate because how can he not love you. Especially like this. Your body is sacrificing comfort to bring his little babe into the world for him to meet. All the changes you seem to hate— the stretch marks, the extra weight, the not-so-tight skin— to him it’s perfection. You’re perfect. He’s never really lived before you and now he can’t imagine living without you. The both of you. 

Adieu.

[heartz4shauna]

jackie taylor x fem!reader picnic date drabble !!!

“surprise!” jackie exclaimed, revoking her hands from your eyes and revealing a picnic set up. it was coming up to your one year anniversary and jackie wanted to do something.. different for it. “oh my gosh, jackie! it’s so beautiful,” you told her with a smile, admiring the set up of fruits, chocolates, sandwiches, all the works. she smiled at you, sitting down on the blanket, “yeah, i’m kind of a genius at setting up dates.”

you rolled your eyes lightheartedly and sat opposite her, “i had no idea where you were taking me. i thought you were gonna murder me and leave me in this field,” you chuckled out.” her eyebrows creased in concern, “you think i’d do that? wow, you don’t like me all that much, do you?” she asked you jokingly, cracking open a bottle of wine, hidden in the picnic basket.

“i decided that because our one year is coming up i wanted to do something special,” she said with a small smile, pouring you a glass. you nodded along, taking a sip of the wine, burning your throat as it went down, “are you proposing?” you asked sarcastically. “pfft- what? no..” she answered, making a faux uncomfortable face, “i know we don’t often do anything quiet like this, so i thought it’d be nice to admire the sunset and eat berries and drink wine for the first time together.”

you smiled at her as you sipped the wine, “you’re so thoughtful, you know.” she nodded, “i know! everyone takes me for granted, when i disappear into thin air one day.. no one’s gonna know what to do.” she poured her own glass and began sipping from it, too, “we’ve got strawberries, raspberries, blueberries, milk chocolate, white chocolate, some kind of cheese, wine, small sandwiches.. maybe there’s something i’m forgetting.”

you paused, in thought for a moment. jackie had the whole set up, what could she be missing? “nope. i’ve got all of it,” she reached into the basket and pulled out a bottle of apple juice, “to sober us up, if needed,” she winked at you. you began picking at the assortment, popping a few blueberries into your mouth, the taste covering your tongue as you popped them.

“it’s such a nice evening,” you began, “how long have you been planning this?” she shrugged, pouting, “here and there. i dabble occasionally in watching the weather.” you nodded, chuckling, “ahhh, i see.”

you watched her as she bit into a strawberry, the juice quickly running down her chin and staining her striped blue sweater, “shit,” she mumbled, “loved this sweater.” you dismissed it, “it’s okay, i can buy you a new one.” she shook her head, swallowing the strawberry, “it’s vintage.” oh. “oh. well, duh! i knew that..”

she looked at you with a hint of concern, “really?” you shook your head, taking a bite of a sandwich, your words coming out muffled, “mmmno.” she giggled, “you don’t know anything about fashion, do you?” you shook your head again, slightly embarrassed.

“it’s okay,” she reassured you, “i didn’t know much about fashion either, Rachel Greene taught me.” you frowned, your eyebrows knitting together, “as in the girl from Friends?” “mhm! she’s a fashion icon, seriously.”

you finished up your glass of wine and motioned to her to pour you another, “already? didn’t know you were a heavy weight.” you shrugged, “you’ve seen me at parties, jackie.” she nodded, she couldn’t argue with that. you could hold your damn liquor.

you broke off a piece of chocolate and waved it towards jackie teasingly, “i know it want it, jackieee.” she rolled her eyes back at you, “come on! just gimme it.” you shook your head, biting your lip playfully, “nuh-uh, you gotta ask nicely.” she sighed dramatically and made a jump for you, glass in hand, spilling the alcohol on the grass, the blanket and the pair of you.

you gasped, “oh my gosh, jackie!” she began laughing loudly, “oh my god! i didn’t mean that!” she stared at you, her mouth agape in shock. “we’re both gonna have to get new clothes, our parents will kill us if they smell the wine on us,” you stated, still shocked. “i know! oh my god, that was hilarious! i thought i could redeem this sweater but i guess not,” she shrugged, smirking. “we’re still eating all of this, right?” you asked, clearly not wanting anything to go to waste.”

“obviously!” she exclaimed, “you think i spent all of this money on snacks for nothing?” she picked up her own, almost empty wine glass, after throwing it astray on the grass, “cheers to no pregnancy scares!” you glared at her, picking up your glass, “cheers, you absolute dork.”