#despite what it seems its not really meant to be suggestive

[pouletpourri]

attempt at affection

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

62 / 3.4k / final part of shark mermen Gaz and Soap with human!reader

kinktober keywords: dubcon, anal, double penetration, monster mermen, monsterfucking, teratophilia, hypnosis/hypnokink, praise

nsfw ⬇

Soap has his filthy way with you, pushing into you with the longest, most agonizingly slow strokes you can imagine. You swear you nearly peak every time he bottoms out. And he might as well be edging you every time he pulls drags himself back. You can't pretend like you don't want every second of it, though--your  walls grip him fervently.

Soap slowly loses himself to his instincts. He ruts into you harder and faster--just like you're crying out for him to do, you register dimly--until he snarls and pulls out. You whine in protest until something warm and wet spurts across your back, and you sigh contentedly in the knowledge that you brought him satisfaction.

Just as you're catching your breath, though, he chuckles and repositions himself so his second cock is pressing up against your swollen core. "Don't know about you, hen, but I've got plenty more time and energy to spend."

"Ah--!" you gasp out as he pushes the second, still-throbbing head into you. You don't think you're capable of going any longer. But even as you collapse with your forearms against the gravel, hands balled into fists, you'd like nothing more than for him to keep using you. You're painfully aware this time that you're having that thought and enjoying this little game all on your own. No hypnotic suggestion necessary. Maybe Gaz did ease you into it, but you knew what would happen to you if you let them keep touching you. You knew, and you let it happen.

He keeps pounding, huge hands groping up and down your form. Just as he seems ease up into something resembling a caress, he clamps one hand around the back of your neck, slides his other hand to your ass, and squeezes with a throaty laugh.

You feel his fingertip prodding at your asshole. "Hey!" you squeak, trying to wiggle forward.

It only makes Soap chuckle. "Hey?"

"You're not supposed to touch that!"

"Really now."

"Aye," you tell him, mimicking his accent.

Soap's hips snap in an especially rough thrust.

"Ah!"

"You sure you want to sass me right now?"

You huff as he continues rubbing little circles around the tighter hole. "Just... watch it."

Soap laughs and eases the very tip of his claw into the rim. His hips don't slow down either, fucking another harsh breath out of you. "Or what?"

You swallow, gripping the gravel under your palms. "I don't think I can hold any more," you plead.

Gaz doesn't say anything, but his expression shifts with interest. Soap pauses for a moment. Gaz speaks first. "But you'll try, won't you?"

You feel dizzy again. His voice drifts into parts of your brain you never thought possible. You love it and you hate it. Soap uses his grip on your neck to angle your upper body up and your hips down. At that angle, his tip grinds even harder into your most sensitive inner cluster of nerves.

You cry out, bucking your hips back into the finger pressing into your ass. "Yes!"

Soap smirks. "There's a good human."

You pant, trying to ease your legs further apart. But grinding any lower into the gravel hurts your knees, and Soap's hand on your neck keeps you from bending forward and slumping to the ground.

The pace of his strokes slows as he works his finger in a little more. It's already slippery with your own arousal, Soap’s spit, and Gaz's spend covering the crux of your thighs. You’re a mess. Even so, you're wary of his claw--it's meant to rip flesh--but as long as he’s controlling himself, it's fairly blunt. You hate how easily you take in his thumb up to the first knuckle despite its size. Gaz watches with a look on his face that only makes you feel more lightheaded.

Soon enough, Soap's thumb is sheathed inside you to the proverbial hilt. He releases his hold on your neck and uses your ass to maneuver you instead.

He stares down at both your openings with a crooked smirk. "Damn near perfect sex toy, isn't she?" he says idly. "Two holes lined right up."

"Fuck you," you groan out, rutting backward against him. Your body is on fire despite the cool ocean mist falling over you and the wind pushing down along the cliffsides around you. You're so close.

Soap chuckles. "You wanna get rough, hen?"

"Nnh..."

Gaz takes hold of your chin and turns your gaze toward him. "Be honest. You get what you ask for when you don’t use your words."

His face is close. You feel yours heat up.

Behind you, Soap groans. "Clenching on me," he mutters. His pace slows before your tightness can overwhelm him further. He slides his thumb back and forth.

You blink up at Gaz with hazy eyes. "I want to cum," you tell him.

"Yeah?" His thumb strokes your chin. "You seemed so hesitant not long ago. What changed?"

"I... You..."

"Mmhm?" Gaz's thumb brushes your lower lip. "You’re communicating so well. Don't stop now."

"You tricked me. You lied."

"Did I? What did I lie about?"

"You hypnotized me," you gasp out. Your voice shakes as Soap punches in and out of you. "And then you said-- ah-- you said I wanted it anyway."

"Hypnosis isn't magic. I put a few suggestions into your head. You reacted on your own."

You try to bite back a cry of pleasure. It comes out a sob. Soap pushes himself to go faster again, finally, feeling you tighten up as you near your limit.

"You-- you made me-- turned me into--" Your voice breaks as the tension inside you snaps. You clamp down hard on Soap’s thumb and his cock. Your body rolls uncontrollably. Milking him. It feels so good, so full, you could cry.

"Good job," Gaz coos. "You feel a little better when you stop thinking too hard, don't you?"

You sag, panting, and half-collapse into his lap.

Gaz catches you easily before you can slump to the ground. "That's right," he murmurs, letting you rest your head against his chest.

Soap pounds you a few more times and lets out a long, hissing groan as he finishes. He grips your hips and pumps you up and down his shaft to finish himself off. Then, finally, he leans forward, hands on either side of you, and sighs in satisfaction. His teeth graze your shoulder like he wants to sink them in opposite where Gaz’s bite mars you, but the only marks his mouth leaves are warm, wet kisses. As much as lathes of his tongue can be called kisses.

They let you rest for a blessed moment. Then Gaz's hands wrap around your middle and ease you into his lap, chest to chest.

As he does, Soap slides out of your guts. You hiccup, feeling Gaz's two cocks--both hard again, fuck--lean up against your stomach. You press your palms to his chest. Your forehead, too. You don't dare meet his eyes for fear he'll remold your will again.

Gaz's chest rumbles with a laugh. It's a low sound with an undertone like a growl. "You're tired, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Obviously."

He strokes over your hair and down your spine. "And still running your mouth."

"Hmph."

It makes him chuckle. "Don't be stubborn about it," he murmurs. "I'm not done with you yet."

"But I..." You trail off as he lifts you into the air and positions you over both erections. You stare down at them, biting your bottom lip. Your brain is so sluggish after that climax. You feel like a toy and you still don't think you hate it as much as you should.

"You can take it," he murmurs, guiding your hands to rest on his shoulders. "You'll take it just fine, yeah?"

He lowers you until you feel his tip nudge against your core. You shift instinctively to put your legs forward and rest your feet on either side of him.

"Good," he says. "Now, nice and slow."

He eases you down onto one shaft with slow, firm movement until he bottoms out.

"Ah..." Your legs twitch and you lean back, feeling that incredible stretch again. His other cock rests against your stomach, your clit, stimulating you even more with little grinding jolts.

"How's that feel?" he murmurs, taking a moment to steady you.

You stare at him with half-lidded eyes and a slack mouth. You hardly register he's speaking to you, much less that he's expecting a response.

Gaz chuckles and rolls his hips up. "Still running that mouth?" He murmurs with a touch of amusement. "Or have I finally shut it?"

"M-More, please," you manage.

He groans and grinds up into you. "Good answer."

He slides you back up, his flared tip stretching your entrance again almost to the point of popping out. Then he lets you sink all the way down again.

Up, down. You let your hands rest on his, wrapped securely around your waist, as he handles you like a doll. You let your head loll back again, exposing the column of your throat. You've been bit and tossed around and come on and in and fucked every which way already. What's one more bite? One more round?

His shaft pushes up against the front of your tight walls. You let out a drunken sigh, almost a laugh. You're ruined for human men. You're sure of it.

Every noise that leaves your mouth is like honey. Gaz's lips find your neck as his tongue traces over the mark Soap left. You left him have his way with you, and he wants to make it worth your while. He's more indulgent, more curious than Soap is. He notices when your moans quiet and you roll your hips as if seeking satisfaction just beyond your reach. "What's wrong?"

"Ugh." You scowl when he slows. You're still tight as hell, especially with how swollen your climax made you, but there's something you want more of. You reach down and begin to play with yourself, sighing at the feeling, but it doesn't help you the way you want.

His eyes lock onto the way you rub yourself. Very interesting. "Need something?"

"Could you, um... could you, like. Well." You look to the side. "Could you put it in my ass again?"

"That's a bold request. You liked Soap's finger, then."

You shrug.

Gaz chuckles and leans closer. "You're a mess," he murmurs.

You bite your lip as he eases you up and off his cock. Then he rests it--the same one, slick and dark--against your ass. Soap's hands come to his aid and spread you out from behind. You squeak in surprise.

Soap's voice is behind you. "Dirty girl. What would your kind think of you now?"

You don't dignify that jab with an answer.

Instead, you focus on steadying your breath and relaxing your body as Soap drags his fingers down through your slit to collect a sheen of slick. He slides one finger into your ass. Then two. Then scissors them, loosening you up.

You rock your hips back in little motions that drive him deeper. It sends pleasurable waves shooting down your whole body. You need more. "Oh, that feels good."

"Yeah?" Soap murmurs. "You want a little bit more?"

"Mmm!"

Soap hums. "What was that? I didn't hear you."

"Yes!" You buck your hips harder. "Please!"

Soap laughs. He replaces his prodding fingers with Gaz's tip once again. You close your eyes as his tip opens you up. There's a pinch as he eases up into the tight muscle right at your opening. Suddenly he feels way, way bigger. Keeping careful hold on you, Gaz eases you down a fraction of an inch at a time. You both know this hole isn't as forgiving. But God, does the squeeze feel good.

He sees your brows knit and pauses before he lowers you further. "Does this hurt?"

"I can take it."

"I know you can. I'm asking if it hurts."

"I said I can take it," you mutter. "I'm in control of my own actions. You said so. I want it all the way in."

"And I'm taking my time to make sure I don't hurt you. You're lucky I'm in a generous mood."

He lowers you a little more. Your core twitches around nothing. "Ah... It hurts a little, but it feels good."

"You can take more, huh?" he murmurs. "You're strong stuff, yeah?"

"Nnh... yeah..."

The way he presses into you stretches your sensitive spot from the back. Your core drools. A needy, wanton sound escapes your throat, and your hands latch onto his shoulders again. "Right there. Fuck."

He likes hearing you let yourself go. He likes that it's for him. "Yeah? That feels good?"

He lifts you up again and slides you back down carefully. His second cock catches on your core, the head grinding past your sensitive nub before it glides past and bounces to your stomach again.

Your back arches in his hands. You need more.

Gaz eyes you arching and squirming in his hold. It’s really something. "You're eager. Need satisfaction that bad?"

You nod frantically. Your hand shoots back down to your clit. You roll and rub frantically for more stimulation. You don't notice the way he watches you do it, even when you try to slide your fingers into your slit. Your clumsy fingertips slip around your drooling hole, but you can't reach that spot inside you he's stretching. It feels so good, radiating all the way to your toes. It would feel so much better if you could just…

There's a strangled noise from behind you. Soap watches you intently.

Gaz smirks at him. "You like the show?"

"Aye."

Gaz laughs. Your desperation is interesting all on its own. Maybe he should've teased you a little more instead of selfishly getting himself off first. Maybe he still could--

That thought comes to a screeching halt when your fingers ghost over his cock, the one still pressed lazily against your stomach. He growls but doesn't slow his pace. "Watch it," he warns.

Driven to desperation, you take it again in your hand again and guide it toward your pussy. You need it in you. You need everything he has to offer.

Soap watches with wide eyes. "Oh, she's playing dirty, isn't she?"

Gaz’s cock slides away from your too-tight hole again and grinds up your slit and against your nub instead. It feels good, but still, you groan in frustration as he sinks your ass all the way down onto his other cock. Then back up. You try again. "Just let me--"

"You're too damned impatient."

Soap chuckles. "I don't know, I kind of like it. Slip it in, human, see if it really pisses him off."

"No," Gaz retorts. "You're gonna hurt yourself like that. Stop it."

"Just the tip," you plead.

Gaz grits his teeth. You're really going to be his undoing, aren't you?

"Soap," he barks, "hold her."

Soap immediately does as instructed. He grabs your waist. He's much less gentle than Gaz, who releases your upper half to Soap's control. Gas stays in you, but grabs your hips to angle your legs open and up. He glares at you. Then he prods at your core with his thumb, smearing the slick dripping out of you all over your entrance. Then he thumps it with his other tip. Your breath hitches. You buck your hips up impatiently. The motion pushes only the very tip inside. Gaz knew it would happen, but still. His chest catches with a rough, strained sound. "Stop moving before you make me hurt you."

You bite your lip. "You can hurt me a little."

His eyes darken. He pulls your hips forward just enough to stretch you all the way around his tip. Fine. If you want to make things harder on yourself, he'll play along.

You suck in a breath. That's a lot of dick. Maybe too much dick. But hell, if you're already ruined for men your own species, you might as well go all the way. You gaze down at his shaft disappearing into you with a vacant smile on your lips. You really are the perfect sex toy for this. Both holes are positioned perfectly to take him.

Your expression and your words only stoke the fire in Gaz’s gut. There's a very specific feeling he has to tamp down when he sees what he does to you. A sense of primal, territorial satisfaction. He wants to devour you whole. The temptation is unspeakable.

He does his best to calm his nerves before he speaks, but his voice is tight. "Doing alright, love?"

"Better than alright," you purr. His member is pushing up against your sensitive spot, just like you wanted. Every subtle shift sends pleasure throbbing up your walls. You pulse and tighten up as if to pull him deeper in.

"That's good," Gaz breathes. "Just the tip."

You sigh happily as he pumps his hips into you just enough to keep fucking your ass. But he doesn't get any deeper into your core. You frown, trying to prop yourself up with your elbows against Soap's chest to see get a better view of where you're joined. Soap easily pulls you back against him. He cups one of his big hands around your breasts and starts squeezing and toying with it crudely. You huff and roll your hips.

Gaz hardly notices you squirming. You feel too good trying to take him in. You're close to doing it, too. The way your walls are tightening and pulsating around him. He narrows his eyes at your blissed out expression. "You're... are you close? From just this?"

You nod.

Soap laughs. "You made her too greedy."

Gaz pushes into you a little harder, letting himself slip further into both holes. You moan like the stretch is the best thing you've ever felt. It's so slow. Exquisite. The rub of him inside you lights your nerve endings up like nothing else. The pace he sets has you seeing stars.

By the time he seats himself all the way inside you--to the hilt of both members--you're cumming with a weak keen, arching up between him and Soap, just as the sun is beginning to slip below the horizon.

That primal satisfaction radiates from his chest to the end of his tail in heavy, powerful waves. You've taken him so well. He reaches out and tugs your chin up to admire your expression.

"There you go," he murmurs. "You did good. Just like I asked."

You can hardly keep your eyes open. But his voice makes you feel warm despite the air blowing cold across your damp body. "Mm?"

Your awareness is fuzzy as Gaz keeps fucking you to completion and fills you up. At some point, you must fall asleep, because the next thing you know, you're cradled against a warm, broad chest and shuffled into the water. You loop your arms around his neck, eyes still closed, and hold on. But instead of taking you underwater again, he keeps to the surface.

Sometime later, you're stumbling back into your own bed, salt in your hair and your body exhausted beyond imagining. The next morning, when you wake up, you stare at the ceiling for 45 minutes, wondering if it all could've possibly happened. You vaguely remember the day before, but the memory feels far off and dreamlike. Until you take a shower and notice the myriad of bites on your shoulders and thighs and lips. You're bruised up pretty badly, actually.

You try to return to your normal life, but what you did itches at the back of your mind. Sometimes you still hear Gaz’s voice, his suggestions buried deep in your subconscious like a venomous barb. You don't sleep well. Your dreams leave you panting and sweating and no matter how much you try to take care of your constant sexual cravings by yourself, they never quite go away.

Not until you return to the docks one night.

You aren't sure what compels you to return. A memory. A compulsion. A siren’s call. But your feet steer you there without a thought, and the moment you step on the docks, two mermen are already there, waiting.

...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / [part 5]

more Gaz / more Soap / more mer au / masterlist

thanks y'all! o(*￣▽￣*)o

[areislol]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤa sereande of stars

pairings. sunday x gn! reader

warnings. just fluff

a/n. based off of that one text between the trailblazer and sunday

wc. 574

synopsis. after a long day on the astral express, you struggle to fall asleep. dan heng suggests asking sunday for help. to your surprise, the aloof halovian agrees—and lulls you to sleep with his gentle voice.

the astral express was unusually quiet, the hum of its engines a steady background noise. despite the stillness and the comforting sway of the train, you lay in your cabin, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. the events of the day replayed in your mind like a whirlwind, refusing to let you rest.

a soft knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. you sat up as the door slid open to reveal dan heng, his usual composed expression betraying a flicker of concern.

“still awake?” he asked.

“yeah,” you admitted, running a hand through your hair. “i’ve tried everything, but i just can’t seem to switch off.”

dan heng considered you for a moment before offering a suggestion. “sunday might be able to help.”

“sunday?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“he’s... surprisingly good at lulling people to sleep. ask him to sing for you,” dan heng said, his tone calm but carrying the faintest hint of amusement.

you blinked. “wait, he sings? sunday sings?”

dan heng only nodded before leaving, clearly done with his part in the conversation.

you hesitated for a moment but eventually gathered the courage to head toward the archives. sunday, ever diligent, was there as expected, seated at his desk, surrounded by a mountain of books and scrolls. the glow of the terminal cast soft light over his pale features.

“sunday?” you called hesitantly.

he looked up, his sharp blue eyes meeting yours. “yes? shouldn’t you be resting by now?”

“that’s the problem,” you said sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. “i can’t sleep. dan heng said… well, he said you might be able to help.”

sunday tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “help how?”

you felt your cheeks warm as you avoided his gaze. “he said you could sing… a lullaby.”

a brief silence followed. you braced yourself for a cold dismissal, but instead, sunday let out a soft sigh, standing gracefully from his chair.

“if it will help, i suppose i can oblige,” he said, his tone casual but his words filled with an unexpected warmth. “come.”

you followed him to a small lounge area, where he gestured for you to sit. feeling a bit self-conscious, you settled onto the plush couch, pulling a blanket over your lap. sunday sat across from you, his hands folded neatly in his lap as he regarded you with quiet intensity.

“what kind of lullaby would you like?” he asked softly.

“anything, really,” you murmured, your eyes already feeling heavier under his calm, soothing presence.

sunday nodded, his gaze softening. when he began to sing, his voice was low and smooth, each note wrapping around you like a gentle embrace.

the melody was unfamiliar, something ancient and serene, with words you couldn’t quite understand. yet, the emotion in his voice was unmistakable—steadiness, comfort, and a quiet strength that seemed to shield you from the worries of the world.

you found yourself closing your eyes, the sound of his voice carrying you away. the tension in your body melted as you sank deeper into the cushions, your breathing slowing to match the rhythm of his song.

“rest,” he murmured softly, his voice like a whisper against your mind. “let the stars guard your dreams.”

the last thing you remembered before sleep claimed you was the warmth of his presence and the faint curve of his lips—an expression so rare, it felt like a secret meant only for you.

note: if you would like to be added to the honkai star rail taglist pls just ask me!! dont be shy

taglist 🏷️:  @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @v4an @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls @yuri-is-silly @khoiyyu @daydreaming-paradies if im missing anyone please tell me because i have an inkling feeling i missed a few..

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[bitchiswild]

Pervert

G!P Karina x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3.7 k

Warning: unprotected sex, slight choking,possessiveness, reader being a major pervert

A/n: hai 😝imma disappear after this again… sorry! i do miss yall tho!!!😩 smut is whatever tho not my best!! Fyi!!!

Requested

──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

“Y/N!” Karina burst into the backstage area, panting heavily. She was supposed to be on stage in minutes, but a button on her shirt had popped off, leaving her in desperate need of a quick fix. And that meant she needed you—her stylist and dresser—to save the day.

Being Karina’s stylist had its ups and downs. On the plus side, she was incredibly kind, treated you with respect, and trusted your judgment completely when it came to her outfits. She made you feel like an essential part of her team, always listening to your suggestions and appreciating your work.

But there was also a downside—though you couldn’t exactly call it a ‘con.’ You had a hard time keeping your eyes off her, especially when dressing her. Your job gave you the perfect excuse to admire her body up close, particularly her chest, and you often found yourself getting lost in those moments. It didn’t help that Karina seemed to enjoy teasing you, flirting just enough to make your heart race.

It wasn’t really your fault, you reasoned. How could anyone blame you when Karina was standing right in front of you, practically glowing? And seriously—have you seen Karina?

You quickly grabbed your bag of sewing supplies and rushed over to Karina, ready to fix the button. As you got closer, she watched you with an expectant gaze, her eyes slightly hooded in a way that made you gulp. Despite the nerves bubbling up inside, you reminded yourself that you had a job to do.

Standing in front of her, you found yourself face-to-face with her chest, her curves mere inches from your own. It was like a dream come true, being this close to her, but you forced yourself to focus on the task at hand. You began to sew the button back onto her shirt, trying to ignore the warmth radiating from her body and the way your hands trembled slightly.

As you worked, Karina lifted a hand and gently caressed your head. “That’s it, Y/N, you’re so good at this,” she murmured, her voice soft and almost sultry.

Your hands started to shake even more. Why did that sound so hot? Your heart raced at her innocent praise, though you knew you were only doing your job. But then again, Karina had a way of making everything she said feel like a tease, and her casual praise had always made your heart flutter.

Once you finished sewing the button back in place, you couldn't resist the temptation. You purposely let your hand graze against her boobs as you pulled away, feigning innocence. “All right! You’re all fixed up! You gotta head back on stage, Jimin,” you said, flashing her a wide-eyed, innocent look as if nothing had happened.

Karina stared at you for a moment, clearly not fooled. A smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. “Thank you, Y/nnie,” she replied, her voice dripping with playful intent. Before you could respond, she winked at you and rushed off to the stage.

That wink nearly made your legs give out. You knew she was fully aware of the effect she had on you—how could she not be? And yet, there was something thrilling about the whole thing. The way she teased you, the way she knew exactly how to push your buttons, and the way you secretly loved every second of it.

Why did you enjoy it so much? Maybe it was because, in those fleeting moments, it felt like you were sharing a secret game that only the two of you understood.

You watched from backstage as Karina and the girls performed, completely mesmerized by their talent. As always, they were incredible—their vocals flawless, their dances sharp and synchronized. They were aces at what they did, captivating the entire audience with ease.

The show was nearly over, which meant it was time for you to prepare Karina’s going-home outfit. But with Aeri’s stylist absent today, you were also covering for her, adding a bit more pressure to your workload.

As the girls wrapped up their final number, they still had to greet the VIP fans who’d stayed for the after-show. But before they could do that, Aeri came rushing over to you, her face showing a mix of urgency and concern. “Y/N, the strap on my top just broke!” she exclaimed, holding up the loose fabric.

You heard her, but for a split second, your attention was completely elsewhere—specifically, on her chest. You couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the way the broken strap left her top barely clinging to her body. It was only a moment, but you snapped out of it quickly, hoping Aeri hadn’t noticed your wandering eyes.

But someone else had noticed—Karina. From across the room, her gaze was locked on you, and the sight of you staring at Aeri’s chest sparked something inside her. Jealousy. It was subtle, but unmistakable. She knew exactly what was going through your mind, and it lit a fire in her that she couldn’t ignore.

You quickly focused on fixing Aeri’s top, your hands working with practiced efficiency. Once the strap was secured, she flashed you a grateful smile and rushed off to greet her fans. You breathed a sigh of relief, glad to have handled the situation without further incident.

But your relief was short-lived. As Aeri mingled with her fans, Karina, having just finished thanking her own, made a beeline straight for you. Her steps were purposeful, and you could tell by the way she moved that she had something on her mind.

“Y/N,” Karina said firmly, her tone leaving no room for misunderstanding.

Your heart dropped at the sound of her voice. Was she angry? Had you been too obvious? You hadn’t meant to stare, but it was right there in front of you—it had been impossible to resist. You swallowed nervously. “Y-Yeah?” you replied timidly, unsure of what was coming next.

“I saw you,” Karina stated, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Huh?” you responded, trying to play dumb, but your voice wavered.

“I saw you staring at Aeri’s tits,” Karina continued, her eyebrows arched and her arms crossed over her chest.

Your face flushed with embarrassment, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I-I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!” you pleaded, panic setting in. The last thing you wanted was to upset Karina.

She stared at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, in one swift motion, she reached out and gripped your jaw, pulling you closer to her. Her eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “The only tits you’re allowed to look at are mine,” Karina said firmly, her voice low and commanding.

Your jaw dropped at her words, shock rendering you speechless. Your face turned an even deeper shade of red as you processed what she’d just said. “I-I…” you stammered, completely at a loss for words. Your heart pounded in your chest, so loud you could almost hear it in your ears.

Karina’s grip on your jaw softened, but her gaze remained locked on you, waiting for a response. You could barely think, let alone speak, your mind racing with a mixture of shock, embarrassment, and something else—something that made your pulse quicken in a way you hadn’t expected.

Karina’s hands slid down from your jaw, gripping your waist as she pulled you closer to her. Her lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “I see the way you look at me,” she murmured, her voice low and sultry. “I see the way you look at my body. You want me, don’t you, Y/N?”

You gulped, unable to trust your voice to respond. The intensity of the moment left you speechless, your mind racing with a mixture of desire and disbelief.

Karina’s breath was warm against your ear as she continued, “Because I want you so bad.” Her words sent a jolt through your body, and before you could fully process what was happening, she grabbed your hands, guiding them to her chest. She pressed your hands against her breasts, forcing you to grip them.

A soft sigh escaped Karina’s lips, and the sound made your knees weak. You let out a quiet whimper, the sensation of her body against yours overwhelming your senses. The boundary between what was real and what you’d only dreamed about was quickly dissolving, and all you could do was hold on, completely captivated by her.

Karina's hands began to move over yours, her touch sending electric currents through your body. You sighed at the sensation, your heart racing, and the pulse between your legs intensified with every moment. You wanted Karina so badly it hurt.

Her other hand slid down, guiding your hand to her crotch. “You feel that, Y/N? You do this to me. You make me so hard,” Karina groaned into your ear, her voice thick with desire. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, and your eyes locked onto hers, hooded and dilated with lust. You wanted nothing more than to kiss her, to close the distance between you.

Just as you began to lean in, there was a sudden knock at the door, startling you both. You jumped apart, the heat of the moment dissipating as reality crashed back in. Karina quickly turned away to change while you tried to collect yourself, your mind still reeling from what had just happened.

You opened the door to find Aeri standing there again. Before you could stop yourself, your eyes flickered down to her chest before quickly snapping back up. “Uh, sorry, just checking if your strap is holding up,” you said nervously, trying to cover your slip with a nervous chuckle.

Aeri chuckled in return. “Y/N, you’re a pro at sewing—it’s going to hold up just fine,” she reassured you before casually pulling off her shirt in front of you, leaving you momentarily speechless as your jaw dropped slightly.

“Where’s my going-home outfit?” Aeri asked, looking around the room as if she hadn’t just rendered you completely speechless. Your eyes remained glued to her chest, unable to tear yourself away.

Karina, now fully dressed, caught you staring and the jealousy in her eyes was unmistakable. “Y/N!” she snapped, her voice cutting through your daze and jolting you back to reality. You scrambled to find Aeri’s clothes, your hands fumbling as you handed them over to her.

“Here you go, Aeri,” you said sheepishly, feeling more than a little embarrassed. Aeri flashed you a cheesy smile before heading off to change, leaving you alone with Karina.

“What did I just tell you?” Karina’s voice was sharp, dripping with jealousy.

“I-I’m sorry, I can’t help it!” you whimpered, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you.

“You’re such a fucking perv, Y/N,” Karina spat, her words like a punch to the gut. Your heart dropped, and you felt tears springing to your eyes. “Karina, I’m sorry! Please don’t tell anyone—I promise I’ll stop!” you pleaded, your voice trembling with desperation.

Karina’s expression softened for a moment, but there was a glint in her eyes that told you she was enjoying this—enjoying the power she held over you. Seeing you cry, seeing you so vulnerable, seemed to give her a twisted sense of satisfaction.

“I’m going to put you in your place, Y/N. The only person you’re allowed to stare at is me,” Karina said firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument.

“But—” you began to protest, your voice trembling with a mix of embarrassment and uncertainty.

“No buts,” Karina cut you off, her tone brooking no disagreement. “I better see you in my hotel room later, Y/N. Or so help me, I’ll make sure everyone knows about your little habit.” Her threat hung heavily in the air, a sharp reminder of the power she held over you.

You nodded quickly, your heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anticipation. “O-Okay,” you stammered, unable to look her in the eye.

Karina’s eyes held a steely resolve as she turned away, leaving you to grapple with the weight of her words.

You arrived at the hotel with a mix of anxiety and anticipation, your mind racing as you navigated through the lobby. Karina’s threat still echoed in your ears, and you couldn't shake the nervous energy that had settled in your stomach.

When you reached her door, you took a deep breath and knocked. The sound echoed through the hallway, amplifying your nerves. Moments later, Karina opened the door, her expression a mix of curiosity and determination.

“Come in,” she said, her tone firm but with a hint of anticipation.

You stepped inside, your heart racing. The room was tastefully decorated, and Karina was already in casual clothes, having changed out of her stage outfit. She gestured for you to sit on the couch while she moved to the other side of the room, giving you a moment to gather your thoughts.

“Did you think about what I said?” Karina asked, her voice carrying an undercurrent of authority.

You nodded, feeling your face flush with a mix of embarrassment and excitement. “Yes, I did.”

Karina’s gaze was intense as she walked towards you, her movements deliberate. “Good. Because tonight, I want to make sure you understand just who you’re allowed to look at,” she said, her voice low and steady.

She sat down next to you on the couch, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her body. “I’m going to show you exactly what I mean,” she continued, her eyes locked on yours. “And I want you to remember this moment, Y/N. Remember who has control here.”

As she spoke, Karina’s hand reached out to gently touch your arm, her touch sending a shiver through you. She leaned in slightly, her lips almost brushing against your ear as she whispered, “You’re mine tonight. Don’t forget it.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words sinking in. “I won’t forget,” you promised, your voice barely above a whisper.

Karina smiled, a mixture of satisfaction and desire in her eyes. “Good,” she said, her hand moving from your arm to gently cup your cheek. “Now, let’s make sure you remember who you belong to.”

Without breaking eye contact, Karina guided you gently but firmly onto the bed. The sudden shift from the couch to the soft surface of the bed intensified the electricity in the room. You looked up at her, your heart pounding with anticipation and a touch of nervousness.

Karina followed you, her movements confident and assured. She positioned herself above you, her body pressing down against yours as she straddled your hips. Her eyes were dark with desire, and she leaned in close, her breath warm against your skin.

“Do you understand now?” Karina whispered, her lips almost brushing yours. Her hands explored your sides, her touch both tender and possessive. She paused, her gaze intense and searching.

You nodded, unable to find your voice, overwhelmed by the proximity of her body and the heat of the moment. The weight of her presence was exhilarating, and you could feel every touch, every movement acutely.

Karina’s hands roamed gently over your body, her fingers tracing along your curves with a mix of tenderness and assertiveness.

Karina’s hands gently gripped the bottom of your shirt, lifting it slowly as her eyes locked with yours. The intensity in her gaze made your breath catch, and you let out a shaky sigh. Her movements were deliberate, filled with an almost tangible anticipation.

Once your shirt was off, Karina’s hands continued their journey, her fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants. She pulled them down slowly, her eyes never leaving yours, and you felt a rush of vulnerability and excitement.

Karina stood back up, her hands moving to your bra strap. She looked at you with a question in her eyes, seeking permission, which you gave with a slight nod. As she removed your bra, a low groan escaped her lips at the sight. The sound was both appreciative and possessive.

Karina’s hands roamed gently over your body, her touch exploratory and tender. As she leaned down, she placed a soft, lingering kiss on your chest. The warmth of her lips and the sensation of her touch created a mix of anticipation and comfort.

Her kisses deepened as she began to suck on your tits, each movement both electrifying and soothing. Her gentle touch with the intensity of her sucking left you breathless, your arms instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her closer, and you arched your back into her touch,

Karina’s right hand slid down to your lower body, her touch teasing and gentle as she made contact with your clit. Your breath catching in a gasp of pleasure. “Fuck Karina,” you whimpered, your voice filled with a mix of need and desperation.

“What is it, baby?” Karina’s voice was a low murmur against your chest, full of urgency.

“I need you,” you gasped out, your fingers gripping her hair as she continued to kiss and caress you with a desperate intensity. Her touch was relentless, making every sensation more acute. In one quick motion, Karina pulled off your panties, leaving you exposed. She swiftly followed, and you couldn’t help but let your gaze roam over her body.

“That’s it, baby. Look at me. I want you to focus on me and no one else,” she said firmly, her tone commanding.

Your eyes dropped to her body, and the sight of hergrowing cock made your breath hitch. The thought of feeling her inside you, was nearly overwhelming.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking wet for me,” Karina said as her fingers explored you. Her touch made you shiver, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Karina started moving her member against you. Each stroke slid smoothly against your dripping wetness. You could feel the slickness drip down you as her member glided against your soaked crotch, each movement adding to the pleasure driving you both wild.

The tip of her member brushed against your opening. “You’re mine, Y/N,” Karina whispered with a possessive edge. With that, she slid into you, filling you up with a deep, satisfying pressure. The sensation of her moving inside you was intense, and you could feel every shift and thrust.

You gasped at the overwhelming sensation, a mix of pleasure and surprise escaping your lips. “Oh my god,” you moaned, gripping Karina’s back tightly.

Karina responded by kissing your neck, her lips leaving possessive marks as a reminder of your connection. The room echoed with the sounds of your movements, each thrust from Karina purposeful and deep. Her grip on your hips was firm, guiding you to match her rhythm. “You’re mine, Y/N,” Karina groaned, her hands moving to your neck, adding to the intensity.

Her thrusts grew harder and more deliberate, each motion pushing deeper inside you. The sensation was intense, with every thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body. You could feel the pressure building with each movement. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you whimpered, your body on edge.

Karina’s hands left your neck and moved down to your clit, rubbing it quickly and skillfully. “That’s it, baby. Cum on my cock. Squeeze me with your tight cunt,” she moaned, her voice thick with desire. The pleasure was almost too much to bear. “God, Karina,” you cried out, letting the wave of your orgasm wash over you.

Your body tightened around her, your slit gripping her member so tightly that the pressure and sensation made it difficult for her to move, but the pleasure was undeniable. Karina’s breathing grew heavier as she neared her own climax. “God baby you’re so tight” She groaned out.

With a final, deep thrust, Karina’s orgasm hit, and she filled you completely, the sensation of her release made you shiver against her.

As the intensity of the moment faded, Karina’s breathing gradually slowed. She gently pulled away, her movements tender and careful. Her eyes, filled with a mix of satisfaction and affection, met yours.

Karina brushed a strand of hair away from your face, her touch soft and soothing. “You did so well,” she murmured, her voice warm and reassuring. She helped you adjust your position, ensuring you were comfortable and relaxed.

Gently, she wrapped her arms around you, holding you close in a comforting embrace. Her fingers traced soothing patterns on your skin, and she pressed a series of soft kisses to your forehead and cheek.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice full of concern as she checked in with you. Her eyes searched yours, wanting to make sure you felt good both physically and emotionally.

You nodded, feeling the warmth of her care and the afterglow of your shared experience. “Yeah, I’m okay,” you replied, your voice filled with gratitude.

Karina smiled and continued to hold you, her presence a calming reassurance. She fetched a warm cloth and gently cleaned you up, her touch gentle and attentive. As she worked, she stayed close, her touch and gaze conveying her affection and commitment to making sure you were well.

The room was quiet, filled only with the soft sounds of your breathing and Karina’s comforting presence.

Karina chuckled softly as she looked at you with a playful glint in her eye. “You’re gonna hate what I did to your neck,” she said, her tone light but mischievous.

You stared at her, puzzled, before slowly getting up to head to the bathroom. Your heart raced as you approached the mirror, curiosity mixed with a touch of apprehension.

When you finally looked in the mirror, you saw the marks Karina had left on your neck. The dark, hickeys were a clear reminder of the intensity of your time together. “Karina!” you exclaimed, your voice a mix of surprise and embarrassment.

Karina’s laughter was soft but warm, her eyes twinkling as she joined you in the bathroom. “I just wanted to make sure you remember who you belong to,” she said with a grin, her tone affectionate despite the teasing.

You couldn’t help but laugh a little, despite the shock. “Well, mission accomplished,” you said, shaking your head. “I guess I’ll be wearing high collars for a while.”

Karina reached out and gently touched your arm, her expression softening. “I’m sorry if I went a bit overboard,” she said, her voice sincere. “I just got carried away.”

You smiled at her, feeling a deep sense of affection and connection. “It’s okay,” you replied. “I like it”

──⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

[newtkive]

confectionary clash - carmen berzatto

pairing: carmen berzatto x afab!reader (established relationship)

summary: carmy's girl is the human embodiment of a sweetheart. that is, unless it's that time of the month and richie provokes her.

wordcount: 3.2k

warnings: swearing, fighting, weaponized incompetence from richie but we still love him.

a/n: this was meant to be a drabble but turned into 3k words. so it's written kinda like a drabble?? (hence the lowercase i can't be arsed to change) but just... long. idk hopefully its entertaining. also, i don't mean to demonize richie, he's my favorite character i think,, i just love writing him as problematic lmao cuz he's so funny. anyways, enjoy!

as carmy’s confidant and girlfriend, you were always the voice of reason. with just a string of words, you’d be calming him down after a hectic work day, giving him a fresh perspective on his work dilemmas since you were outside of the restaurant circle. in the time he’s known you, he hadn’t seen you do as much as barely raise your voice. maybe the occasional snap, but you always follow it up with swift apologies and big watery eyes.

that is, unless you’re in pain. specifically cramps. the sight of you 180ing from a sweet girl with a bright smile and even sweeter words, to an evil sorceress with spells rolling off your tongue, inflicting curses onto anyone who irritates you is jarring. a bit dramatic, sure, but that’s what you were during that time of the month—dramatic.

carmy tries best to dote on you. you would never ask him to go out of his way for something, unless it’s grabbing a heating pad or water, but carmy wants you to. it takes prying to hear your desires and cravings after asking a million times, and you begrudgingly give in with no expectations. nevertheless, you end up with exactly what you asked for, or something close to it, and you’re endlessly grateful.

on days when you stop into the restaurant when you’re feeling down, carmy enacts this same routine. if it’s food, he’ll cook it for you; desserts, he’ll grab any extras marcus has (or marcus happily makes it from scratch if they're not busy, claiming he needs the practice). if you want snacks, he sends his right hand man richie out to grab them despite your protests.

richie does it often whenever you stop into the store, and he acts like it’s a chore sometimes, but everyone has a hunch that he really loves it. come on, twenty dollars to get a few items for you and pocket the rest for himself? plus a break from work? done deal.

richie wouldn’t admit it, but he liked taking care of you too. you were always a sweetheart to him, but it wasn’t in his personality to be as sincere as you, so this was a little act of service to show his love. besides, the year and a half you’ve known him has definitely earned you the title of a friend, and you’d agree.

now, you don’t ever want to seem ungrateful, but when you ask for a specific treat, you get disappointed when you don’t really get it. maybe it’s the fluctuating mood talking, but you always end up snapping at richie due to his poor choices. if you ask for one thing, he’ll get you the next, and you even suspect he does it on purpose sometimes. pulling reactions from people is his specialty.

it’s not like you’re a complete bitch about it, because he took his time out to go get you something, but richie has a problem with weaponized competence even with his new and improved attitude. you know he can get you the jolly ranchers you suggested, but he chooses to grab goldfish because it’s closer to checkout. it was annoying, but you never really brought it up to carmy. it's not like you needed to, it wasn't a huge deal. you figured richie could use the little break, and you don’t hate the snacks he brings.

except on days like this.

you were at the restaurant on a slow day, dragged yourself out of bed despite your cramps just to see your little grumpy boyfriend and hide in his office. even as you entered the establishment through the back you glared at richie (who sweetly waved) in passing, side eyeing a few of the newbies who ran in front of you despite their apologies. none of your usual bright smiles and cheery greetings. the bee line straight to the office was a clear enough explanation for how you were feeling.

upon entering, carmy looked up in a panic, which quickly melted into a soft smile at the sight of his girlfriend. “hey, baby.” he cooed softly, immediately scooting back from his desk to reach out to grasp at your waist. you let him, but pushed down the irritation, not favoring touch at the moment. however, his rough hands sliding a little under your shirt to grasp at the flesh of your hips calmed you down, earning a small quirk of the lips from you.

“whatcha doin’ here, love?” he asks, bringing one of your hands to his lips to kiss softly, still looking up at you.

you shrug, squeezing his hand, face a bit stoic. you’d been like this for a couple of days so he wasn’t surprised by your lack of friendliness. knowing you this long, carmy became accustomed to your monthly mood swings, and he felt privileged that you didn’t feel the need to put up an act for him.

“missed you.” you finally sighed, scooting closer so you stood between his knees. palms found both sides of carmy’s face and tilted it upwards a bit so you could study his appearance. stressed and tired. however, he seemed to glow at the mere admission of you missing him. it took a few seconds for his brain to rewire, looking up at you like you created the cosmos. the only reason you heard his soft, shy, ‘missed you too’ was because of the stagnant silence.

“hungry?” carmy asked, beaming from the attention. you shrugged again, allowing him to tighten his grip on your sides and tug you onto his lap. whining a bit in protest, you reposition yourself, legs falling over his lap and arms around his neck. your faces were closer now, and carmy looked at your sad eyes with a little pang in his chest. brows furrowing, he tilted his head and snuck a hand under your chin. long, tattooed fingers tickled at your chin, and before you knew it you were giggling and grinning while batting his hand away.

“cmon, i know you must want somethin’.” your grin was infectious and laced in his soft words. you hummed, already cheered up, and tapped a finger against your chin to make a thinking face. carmy chuckled, brushing a lock of hair away from your eyes and patiently waited.

a thought crossed your mind and you met gazes again. “i might go grab some little debbie snacks from around the corner.” you decided and nodded to yourself as if solidifying your decision.

as you started sitting up more, carmy’s grip tightened on your waist. “ah, ah, no. stay here.” he protested. soon enough he was calling out ‘cousin!’ and richie came bounding over, opening the office door.

richie’s face used to contort in disgust at any visual sign of affection exchanged between you and carmy, but he was used to it now. “what’s up, cousin?” he asked, almost seeming out of breath, eyes flickering between the both of you.

a short exchange between the two occurred: carmy asking richie to run to the corner store, handing richie a twenty, and richie asking you precisely what you wanted. you made it simple and easy, something he could remember: oreos and ho-hos, a midwestern's guilty pleasure.

“ight, cap’n, i’ll be back.” richie says, saluting you two before heading out. both you and carmy exchanged an amused smirk, knowing the only reason richie went was to get himself some cigarettes and hot fries he would scarf down on the walk back.

__

in the twenty minutes richie was gone, the kitchen had gone to shit. the newbies had been running the wrong food to tables, online orders were filling the tablet nonstop due to a discount glitch, and carmy was close to losing it. sitting in the office, now alone with the muffled sound of your boyfriend yelling, you were more grumpy than before. arms crossed, you snapped your head to the side once the door creaked open. in walked richie with a plastic bag, inside of it holding your hope for a better day.

"what took you so long?" you frowned up at him, but sat up straighter in anticipation. you eyes almost shone as you looked at corner store logo on the bag.

"went the long way." he mumbled, digging in the plasic. the skeptical look on your face didn't leave as he pulled out an item and set it on the table. your frown deepened further as you noticed there was nothing at all you asked for, only met with a crushed sleeve of crackers.

“where are the oreos?” you sighed out, lips pursed in a bit of a pout.

“didn’t find any, so i got you some peanut butter crackers.” he mumbled, digging around the bag again, as if he didn’t just break your heart. if it was anyone else you'd believe them, but with richie you figured he just got bored of looking.

your jaw fell slack and you gaped like a fish for a moment, waiting for him to pull out more treats from his bag. but that time didn’t come, as he fished a pack of cigarettes out instead. “and the ho-ho’s?” your voice was hopeful.

richie perked up at that, putting the cigarettes down next to the crackers. the next second he presented you with a smushed mountain of brown and white concealed in a plastic wrapper sitting atop the palm of his hand. eyes flicking between the disappointment before you and his face, you frowned in disbelief.

richie only managed to emote as much as a ‘yikes’ face before placing it on the desk. “got smushed in transit, but tastes the same!” he gave his best attempt at a smile. your brows grew taut together and anger bubbled up in your chest. you were sure your face was quickly turning red.

“carmy gave you twenty dollars, and you come back with this?!” you hiss out, daring to look at the dry crackers and smushed up dream of a ho-ho. the sight only made you become angrier. this was something a senile old person would give you, not a competent 40-something-year-old man. his lack of care was clear, and you were boiling.

richie just scoffed—he had the nerve to scoff.

“no, not just that! i got a sprite and a few pack of cigs for myself and the guy.” he waved around one of them to prove his point. if you thought you were mad before, you reached a new level of anger. usually, you’d deal with the disappointment and thank richie for even going—aside from a smart alec remark.

however, the demon conducting your period for this month did not make your rational decisions seem clear nor enticing. as you shot up from carmy’s chair, you only knew you wanted to make richie as upset as you were in this moment.

with one finger poking his chest, you began raising your voice. as soon as you started talking, richie's eyes turned wide as saucers, exactly like a deer in headlights. a string of curses snuck into your tirade, between phrases such as “you always fucking do this richie!” and “are you fuckin’ dumb?! did you get dropped on your head?!”. you only figured he didn't fire back right away because he was so stunned.

outside of the office, the kitchen was calmer now. things were finally falling into order but still required carmy’s supervision until the sudden rush ended. the only disturbance was you. now, it was your voice yelling behind closed doors and not carmy’s.

the chef—in the middle of helping sydney plate a dish—just about gave himself whiplash with how fast he turned around to look at the barely cracked door of the office. there was the telltale muffled yelling, but what shocked him was it was clearly you yelling.

turning back around, carmy gawked at sydney who silently shared the same look of surprise. it was only until they heard richie start yelling back that sydney silently pushed him toward the door. it didn’t take more than a second for carmy to snap out of his surprise and march over to the office.

throwing the hand towel he was using over his shoulder, he yanked the heavy door open before all but body slamming his way into the room and slamming the door closed. the yelling was suddenly clear, as if carmy was being pulled out from underwater.

“YOU GET ME WHAT I ASKED YOU, OR GET ME NOTHING AT ALL!”

“THEN YOU’D BITCH ABOUT THAT TOO—“

“OR NOTHING AT ALL!”

“hey, hey, HEY!” the two of you were too busy at each others throats to even hear carmy enter, until his voice brought you both to a halt, heads turning towards him.

carmy’s eyes were immediately glued to you, not paying the least bit of attention to richie. your arms were stiff as boards to your sides, fists and jaw clenched, brows taut, and race beet red. the man had never seen you look like this before, and his instinct to comfort you took over. turning to richie with a look that could kill, carmy finally spoke. “what did you do?”

“what did i do?! except take precious time to get your girl shit she didn’t even want?!”

an offended gasp left your mouth, and you retorted instantly. “oh please! because a crushed up sleeve of crackers and a mountain of mushed up cake is just what i asked for!”

“you’re ungrateful.” richie pointed a finger at you now. carmy launched forward and slapped it down. he knew richie would never hurt you, and you knew it too, as you just rolled your eyes in response, but carmy’s instinct’s took over. richie didn’t even look phased, just irritated. carmy stood in front of you and forcefully turned richie around by his shoulders to send him to the door. if carmy didn't have half of a sane mind, he would’ve kicked richie's bottom with his shoe for good measure.

“go take a break chef! or do whatever the fuck, i don’t care.” carmy shouted after richie, and the man left with a slam of the door.

you simply watched the scene unfold with arms crossed and that same deep set frown. carmy turned around to face you as the air settled, a hand running through his hair. blue eyes raked over your tense form and carmy decided he would give you a little space to calm down. however, the second he saw your bottom lip wobbling and eyes grow watery he threw that thought to the wind

“hey, no, no, don’t cry.” carmy extended his arms and collected you into them. the tense posture you held relaxed into his slouched form as he held you close; one hand in your hair, and the other rubbing circles on your back as you sniffled.

a pit of guilt burned in your stomach and spurred you into attempting to bury yourself into carmy. blue straps of his apron rubbed against your cheek as you shuffled impossibly closer. usually, carmy would love this, but right now he'd do anything to not see you so out of it. shushing you, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

there were a few beats of you hiding away before you decided to pull back a bit to face him again—and boy did you look pitiful.

the same cheeks previously bright with anger were now flush with embarrassment and stained with tears. a tattooed hand found itself sitting on your cheek, thumb rubbing under your eye to collect a fallen tear. at the touch, your eyes fluttered closed, and carmy’s heart broke at the sight.

“you gonna tell me what happened?” your boyfriend asked, trying not to make you feel even more guilty. his full attention was on you. exhaling slowly, your eyes fluttered back open and were met with those bright blue ones that always calmed you down.

“i dunno, i just-“ you shook your head and carmy waited patiently, “it wasn’t even a big deal, but richie just really set me off for some reason.”

“yeah, may as well join the club.” carmen’s words were light, not at all sarcastic, but aiming to ease you and bring out a smile. it worked, your lips turning upwards and carmy mimicking the half smile. he looked down at you with such love, head tilted to follow every time yours moved, and thumb caressing your cheek as he took in every expression.

your smile finally faltered as you glanced back at the office desk. “i feel so awful. he went out and got me stuff and i just yelled at him.” you sputter out.

carmy followed your gaze over his shoulder to finally see what started all of this. at the sight of the crackers and ball of what looked like mush, carmy scoffs in both disbelief and amusement, because of course richie would bring you that. turning back towards you, the chef finally gets it.

“baby, if someone brought me that shit while my insides were shedding i’d kill them.” he chuckled.

“really?” you asked hopefully, smile forming again.

“yes, really. even if i wasn’t goin’ through that i’d actually kick his ass.” carmy mirrored your smile.

nodding, you let yourself chuckle along with him. strong arms found you again and you were wrapped in a tight hug, allowing his squeezes to take away some guilt you were feeling. a moment passed and you knew carmy had to get back to work. with a sigh, you pulled back.

it was your turn to reach up and cup his cheek. guiding his face close, you met him halfway and pressed your lips to his in a kiss. lips moving against his, your noses brushed, and after a moment you let the kiss dissipate; lips slowly falling away from where they were molded together. one last peck was placed on carmy’s lips, as if saying, ‘thank you for being so attentive’. that earned an appreciate hum.

you both beamed, faces still close as you came back down to earth. “you gotta get back to work, and i gotta apologize.” you murmured and carmy nodded obediently.

with apprehension, carmy let you go, arms floating in the air for half a second as he walked backwards towards the door. “don’t go easy on him, though. richie lives for a fight. that was probably his anger management for the day.” carmy smirked, grasping the doorknob.

you just shook your head, eyes narrowed teasingly. before he turned to leave, you called out to him. “thank you, carmy.”

the man just gave you a confused look, chuckling. “don’t thank me, you're my girl.” with that he was back to work and you were left to your own devices. with one more glance at the monstrosity on the office desk, you left the room and went on a search for richie.

thirty minutes later, carmy was due for a smoke break and approached the back door. he slowed his tracks, lighter and cigarette in hand as he cracked the door and heard giggling. the sight before him was drastically different than before: you and richie sitting on a ledge next to each other, giggling and bumping shoulders. carmy breathed out a laugh at the sight and fully walked out. this caught both of your attention, grinning ear to ear as you clearly made up.

“hey, cousin!” richie grinned, and you both waved. figures.

[catiuskaa]

RAINKISSED CHERRIES.

summary: by chance or luck, you and minho found each other that rainy summer evening. dirty dishes, cherries and all.

series masterlist (☆) collab with @dalamjisung !

wc: 3.1k

cw: absolute heart-wreaking fluff! short mentions of bullying, minho is a soft introverted cutie pie, the reader is a cherry enthusiast, and a slight suggestive thing on the end [as a present for all of you who thought the cherry emoji on the poll was for dirty stuff, lololol]

[🔺 ★ 🍒 ★ 🔺]

Minho was used to being alone. 

It didn’t scare him, not really. He didn’t feel fear when all that was happening around him was the silence that crowded the restaurant after a busy day as he cleaned up his kitchen. He relished the scent of lemons that lingered on him after he was done, sometimes going as far as doing the dishes by hand instead of popping them into the dishwasher, in an attempt to intensify it.

He knew most people wouldn’t understand. And quite frankly, he didn’t mind it. The kitchen was his space. No one came in during their shifts, merely speaking to him through the window that divided it from the rest of the place. He could cook without interruption, with the tranquil chatter that the clients brought merely on the background as he hummed distant tunes he couldn’t remember the lyrics to while chopping vegetables or cleaning up a fish.

So he took his time cleaning too, waiting for his ears to get used to the absence of noise and to welcome the reverberation his steps made when he walked around cleaning the counters, or when he moved the plates and cutlery and glasses, the sounds all too familiar, or sometimes new ones, like the door to the fridge that now chirped as he opened it while checking on the list next to it to see what he’d need to buy or refill.

The rain sounded shyly as it fell on the roof over him, like a gentle reminder to bring an umbrella to work. Its soothing charm made him sigh in comfort, and Minho relished in the sound of nothing at all that filled the restaurant after closing.

And when there was a sudden shaking of the backdoor, is why his heart skipped a beat. Or that’s what he liked to think at first, considering that it seemed much more normal to relate that to the unexpected sound rather than the unexpected, unknown visit.

“We’re… closed,” Minho uttered, frowning lightly, confused at the sight of you.

He was pretty sure it was late enough for you to know that the restaurant was closed —if the fact that the sign over the main door that read HAVEN wasn’t on couldn’t have been a dead giveaway already—.

But under his disoriented grin, he found you smiling. “Right. S-sorry,” you mumbled. Your hair was wet, your clothes too, which was also weird, considering summer rain showers were never intense to such an extent.

It brought the conclusion that you had probably been walking under the rain for a while.

“Did you… um.” He felt a small lump in his throat, and he cursed in his mind.

Minho knew he wasn’t cut out for customer service. That’s why his brother, Felix, like the everlasting ray of sunshine he was and had always been, was the one who managed the front while he stayed in the kitchen. The sole contact he had with clients would be when they sat on the window by the kitchen, and that was only allowed in the early mornings, which meant barely any people interacted with him aside from the casual, “coffee, black,” or “is there a newspaper I could read?” He kind of enjoyed that sort of contact. Minho didn’t even need to answer, merely nodding and following suit to what the clients demanded.

But this was different, and despite himself, he tried to push through. “You’re soaked.” He stated, a fact you didn’t dare to contradict, as foolish as that might have been, taking in the state of you. “Come in. You’ll get a cold.”

He moved on autopilot as he headed to the locker that stood in the corner of the kitchen. There was a small smile of triumph that crossed his face when he found the towels that Felix kept there for rain showers, and grabbed one.

“Take a seat… if you, um, want to.”

You blinked at him, puzzled, watching as he left the neatly folded towel over the windowsill-like counter.

Licking his lips, Minho just stared at you, doubting his every action, going as far as wondering if his breathing was too loud for the silence that crowded the restaurant, bubbling with the gentle words he had just spoken.

But then your eyes got teary, and you smiled at him like he had hung the stars in the sky for you to see. His heart did a thing at the sight of your new-formed happiness, beating a bit faster as you took the towel and messily squeezed your hair with it, sitting on the other side of the counter.

You were an unexpected visit in his space. His kitchen. His mind related that to the fact that his heart was going what his brother would call “bananas”, now timidly troubled at the sight of you.

It was a small diner in a small village. With the exception of tourists here and there, arriving in boats to enjoy the cool water to ease the warmth the Sun brought. But there were no boats that night, if Minho’s view of the sea from the kitchen was right. Still, he had no idea who you were, nor how it was that he had never seen you before.

“Do you have a charger I could borrow?” The tone of your voice was soft, almost as soothing as the silence had been before your arrival.

He nodded, handing it to you with a sheepish smile on his features, ones that matched your own.

You sighed, plopping your head down against the towel, laying on the counter, fidgeting with the stool you were sitting on, moving side to side.

“Are you not going to ask?” You mumbled softly, playing with the wet strands of hair that fell over your eyes.

Truth be told, Minho hadn’t planned to, not when he had just remembered he had to dry and hang the wine glasses over the counter.

He let out a somewhat breathless chuckle as he unloaded the glasses from the dishwasher.

“Last time I walked for hours in the rain, I wasn’t keen on people wondering why.”

Your gaze felt piercing against his face, but he pretended to be so very interested in drying the glass in his hands. Mmh, oh, yes, glass was made out of glass. Surprising.

The snicker that passed your lips felt equally sad and amused, and a small part of Minho couldn’t help but think that it sounded way better than the tinkles of the dishes.

“Guess so, yeah.”

“You do look like you have a good story to tell.” He grinned bashfully.

The tips of his ears turned pink, but he didn’t mind it when he noticed the shimmer in your eyes turning lighter, entertained by his words.

“You think so?”

He cherished the giggle you let out. Better than a bittersweet snicker. Much better. 

“Pretty sure, yeah.”

A gentle blush dusted your cheeks, and you remained silent, wondering what could be the best way to explain how you had ended up there, like a stray kitten, scratching the wooden door.

“A friend invited me over. I live nearby, I moved recently, but her house is closer to the main plaza here. You know, where the summer concerts are.” He nodded, attentively listening to your every word.

It wasn’t a place he frequented, much less when it was so crowded, but it was easy to hear the music and see the lights from his room, a recurrent scenario every summer since he could recall.

“I don’t drink. Which, to a bunch of twenty-something-year-olds, seems weird enough to comment on it every single time. Sometimes they say that I ruin the vibe, that I’m a killjoy. It’s whatever.”

Now, Minho sucked at social cues half of the time, —the other half he just wasn’t interested enough to give a flying fuck—, but even for him it was easy to say that, to you, it wasn’t just whatever.

“We went to today’s—, well, yesterday’s concert.” You snickered, but your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It was okay. They had their fair share of alcohol, I had apple juice. I can’t say I didn’t have fun.”

Minho felt his heart pout inside his chest when he saw you shrug nonchalantly. And he lied too, by omission, deciding not to comment on it.

“Then we went back to my friend's house.” Your tone had changed, and the palms of your hands pressed into your eye sockets, as if that could make the memory of a few hours ago more bearable. “And I had this necklace on. A silly thing. Gold.” You muttered, moving your hands to your jaw as you kept speaking. “Probably fake anyways.”

You gulped, as if swallowing dry. “Suddenly, the girl who invited me turned against me.” You bit your lip, chuckling a cold laugh out of your system. “Said I was only there to drive them, because I didn’t drink. But now her boyfriend had a license.” You rolled your eyes, frowning. “Like, girl, your sad excuse of a boyfriend is one shove away from an alcoholic coma. Sure. Let him drive. First one who ends up in a ditch loses.”

Hanging up yet another wine glass, Minho snickered, which got you out of your head lightly, making you smile shyly, noticing your phone had turned back on.

But instead of throwing yourself at it head first, you sighed, continuing the story.

“She said I wasn’t needed now.” Your voice felt heavy with pent-up emotions. “That the only cute thing I could bring to the group was my necklace.” Your eyes were teary again, and Minho couldn’t help but scoff, frowning.

“Sounds like a handful.” He mumbled.

“God, yeah,” you passed your hands through your hair, “but the worst was when her boyfriend, drunk as fuck, decided that if she liked my necklace, she should have it.”

His hands stopped, as if someone had pressed pause on him, and Minho promptly left the wine glass on the counter, cloth inside it. 

“He… grabbed the necklace and… and shoved me.” You recalled the motion, taking a hand to your neck, tightening it on a fist, and tensing up your body, as if you had been pushed right then and there before Minho’s eyes. 

“And, well, the thing couldn’t really hold my weight to begin with…” You scratched the back of your head, your hair still damp under your fingertips. “The clasp got loose and… I fell back to the swimming pool.”

“God, you must be freezing, then,” Minho mumbled, the shock passing through his tone, mixed with light worry. 

You dismissed it with a gentle groan and a flick of the wrist, but when he got you another towel, you were quick to settle it over your shoulders. 

“I don’t know if Lix could have left something around here…” 

But you settled your hand over his wrist, smiling. “No, please. You’ve done enough for me already. More than any of my so-called friends to begin with.”

That’s why I should keep doing more. 

It was a thought, just a random idea, something far from being a grand gesture of any kind. Still, the weight of it threatened to tint Minho’s ears a deep shade of red and take his breath away. It was then and only then that he noticed a red scratch on your neck, just a bit over your collarbone.

You could only blink, puzzled, when he didn’t move his arm away from you, but instead leaned forward, slightly over the counter, boring his eyes to your neck. 

“He did this to you?” 

Ah. You were talking. Mmh. Having a conversation, yes. He— god, he was a total stranger. Handsome, sure, whatever. Ok, maybe not exactly whatever, fine. Still. Huh? What had you been thinking?

“I, uh,” you swallowed dry, but it hadn’t been full of awkward tension. Not as much as you had expected. “What… what?” 

Breathless. It was ridiculous! How could a random, gorgeous, beautiful young man from the countryside make you so weak in such little time? It wasn’t normal to fall so easily for anyone, was it?

His eyes stared at yours, and the brown of his calmed your racing heart and fuzzy mind. 

Oh. 

“Um. You have a… t-there’s a… scratch. Red. From, um, the necklace, probably.” 

But neither of you had moved from the closeness that you had just discovered. 

“Is it, eh, bleeding?” 

Minho’s tone matched your own. A whisper, barely loud enough to be called a sound. 

“No. Just a scratch.” 

His eyes —bright and kind, yet guarded— held yours with an intensity that was both unnerving and comforting, whereas Minho felt like he was being seen, really seen, for the first time in a long while. Which was, again, bananas. One hundred per cent bananas. 

Like I said, ridiculous. Odds are that you had spent less than an hour in his space, his kitchen, and now he didn’t find himself yearning for the tranquil buzz of his ears after a loud day. Tonight, he wanted your voice, telling him a story. And he’d love to listen to anything, especially if you didn’t have that sad undertone while you spoke, because when you had giggled, it had reverberated in his space. Not his kitchen, honestly, but his chest, fluttering butterflies fighting inside of him. 

Neither of you spoke, but the silence was no longer awkward. It was filled with something else, something tender and unspoken. You licked your lips, chuckling lightly, and tucked a wet strand of hair behind your ear, a delicate movement that had only seemed to draw him closer, despite the stillness of your bodies.

“I think there are bandaids here somewhere.” He grinned gently, and you watched him, almost mesmerized. “It’s better than nothing.” There was a slight doubt in his mind, but he ended up shoving it away, speaking softly. “I can’t offer you much aside from bandaids and cherries, really.  Let me.” Minho chuckled.

He had to hold back the impulse to bite his lip at your toothy grin. “You have cherries?” 

For you, yes. But instead, he merely smiled, cruising to the counter close to the window, moving the bowl closer to you. 

Plopping a cherry in your mouth, you sighed in contentment. The familiar, almost homey feeling of the explosion of sweetness in your mouth brought you back to the comfort of your own house. You picked a paper napkin from the corner of the windowsill counter, leaving the pits over it. 

“You must really like cherries.” He tongued his cheek, missing your enthusiastic nod, heading to one of the small drawers of the aisle in the kitchen, like a man on a mission, and you snickered, staring at his back as he looked around in the different drawers. But then, he paused, and his shoulders made a weird motion. “Ah, Yongbok…” 

You couldn’t help but frown at him, yet it was obvious that the giggle you let out after he turned back to face you had been totally on purpose. 

“Hello Kitty bandaids?” You relished on the light blush that dusted his cheeks pink, before sparing him. “That’s so cute.”

Minho let out a chuckle that was full of relief. “My little brother. A menace, as you can see.” 

“Mmh, I’m thoroughly terrified.” 

“You don’t say.” 

He snickered, getting out of the kitchen, standing now before you, towering over your sitting figure, even on the bar stool. 

You watched as he skilfully unwrapped the pink and colourful bandaid, lemon-scented hands tenderly pressing the sticky band over the red scratch. 

“There,” Minho mumbled. “You can keep an extra one if you’d like.”

Only in certain moments, he could remember not missing the old clock that used to tick every second, hanging over the backdoor like an impending sign that his time in the kitchen was well past midnight. And that night was not only one more to the list, but most likely its number one addition. Minho loved the feeling that came over him when he stared into your eyes, and that old wooden thing would have ruined everything. 

No old clock. Just two strangers standing in front of each other, on a late August night, inside a closed diner, waiting for something to interrupt what was too early to happen yet. 

There would be other chances, Minho was sure of it. At least a small part of him was, whereas the other debated how stupid he was because he hadn’t asked for your name yet. Nevertheless, the other part of his brain —a much, much funnier one, if you asked for this humble author’s opinion— knew there was time. 

He didn’t need an old clock in the diner, because there would be time on other rainy evenings, when you’d come back from wherever you had been in the day, the lingering scent of rain on you, and he’d melt in your arms, as if that could make the lemon scent stain on you as much as you had stained him. 

Minho would scrunch his nose. 

“You reek of cherries.” 

And you’d smile, guilty as charged, both of you fully aware that you had probably bought and finished a small box of cherries on your way to him. 

“Change that, then.” 

It would only take a playful giggle escape from your cherry-tinted lips for him to grab you in his arms and sit you down, not behind the counter like the night you two had met, and not on the edge of his bed like he had done barely a couple of months after —one could only resist a sweet sweet cherry for so long—, but on top of the recently-cleaned surface, and he’d giggle too, torn between kissing away the day off you as you both simmered in the late, rainy night, protected only by the diner’s roof, or melting in your hold, your hands, slightly cold from being outside running through his hair and scratching his scalp, letting rain, cherries and lemons lull him to sleep. 

He hadn’t seen any of this in your eyes, that first night. But Minho knew deep inside that there was no way in hell he’d let you go without you coming back the next morning.

“I should go.” You grinned, looking down sheepishly. “Thank you for tonight.”

After folding the towels —an excuse to stay just a bit more—, you both parted ways under the rain. 

Were there things left unsaid? Sure. Honestly, it’s why this author keeps adding small bits and pieces between long hyphens. Minho hadn’t told you how he was dying to see you again someday —the sooner the better, if you asked him—. 

And you had just smiled cheekily as you walked away to find your car instead of saying what you had been thinking for a while, Hello Kitty bandaid in hand —that would surely end up stuck to the wall of your room—. 

It wasn’t your name, as some of you might be thinking. You had scribbled that on another napkin when he wasn’t looking. No, it was something even better. 

See you tomorrow.

[🔺 ★ 🍒 ★ 🔺]

kats, who is craving not cherries but a late-night, lemon-scented minho for herself to cuddle to sleep.

catiuskaa, august 2024 ©

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[nessheartnat]

Lay me in the palm of your hand

Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader, dom!natasha x sub!reader

words: 3.8K

summary: It was supposed to be a simple bar gig, but the night turned out to be a lot longer than you had anticipated.

warnings: swearing, suggestive language, (legal) age gap (Nat is 38, reader is 22), dom/sub undertones, dirty talk but no actions (yet), slightly possessive Nat…? mommy kink…?

men & minors DNI

notes: please correct any spelling mistakes! English is not my first language.

____

You were a young, upcoming musician, and you had just finished a gig at a small local bar. You were honestly surprised to see a plethora of people watching your gig, as you weren’t that famous after all. Despite the crowd being extensive, there was one face you couldn’t get out of your head. Those sharp, green eyes, red hair cascading down over her shoulders, a hand on her chin, her elbow resting against the table. Her gaze had been analyzing, almost calculating, but you could see through that. The way she had been staring at you, the way she couldn’t take her eyes off of you even for a second. You knew what it meant, or at least you truly hoped you were right. Cause god, she was too gorgeous for her own good. Or for your sanity…

To be fair, you couldn’t tear your eyes off of her either. She was absolutely stunning, definitely older than you, and she had such confident aura surrounding her. You knew you wanted her, so bad. Hell, you needed her.

-

After your gig, you had packed up your acoustic guitar, and sat down in a booth in the corner of the bar. You didn’t want to leave yet, when that gorgeous woman was still out there. You knew you wanted to talk to her, but you couldn’t gather up enough confidence to be bold and go up to her. Thus, you just sat there in your booth, a juicy cocktail in your hand, hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. 

You ran your fingers through your hair, and tugged down your short black top a bit. You were wearing a quite bold outfit; a pair of grey, baggy, low waisted jeans, and those combined with the top left a few inches of your waist and stomach showing. You weren’t necessarily regretting that outfit, but it wasn’t one you felt the most confident in. You twirled locks of your hair between your fingers - a habit you found yourself doing often - and occasionally glanced towards the direction of where the woman was sitting. But as you directed your gaze to her, you found out that she wasn’t sitting there anymore. No, she was walking straight towards you.

“I really enjoyed your gig there,” she spoke with a voice slightly lower than you would have guessed. “You’re really talented, you know.”

You had to swallow once, as you tried to gather yourself. This wasn’t the right time for panicking, you couldn’t afford to mess this up. Not today, not with her.

“Oh, thank you so much.. I’m glad you liked it,” you said, managing to sound somewhat normal. You took a sip of your cocktail, almost forgetting its existence. She looked at you with those green eyes, with a small, subtle smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“What’s your name?” she asked, that smile never leaving her face.

“Y/n,” you answered simply, setting your drink back down. “And what is yours?”

Her smile got slightly wider. “That’s a pretty name… Suits you well. I’m Natasha,” she answered back to you. You could see her eyes subtly trailing all over you, but you still weren’t convinced if it was real, or just your imagination. She sat down in the booth next to you, keeping a respectful distance. Her eyes searched yours for signs of discomfort, but found none. 

“Can I ask how old you are?” she questioned, and you could almost see her smile turning into a subtle smirk. Now this could be the moment that ruins everything…

“I’m twenty two,” you answered, scratching the back of your neck almost awkwardly. However, her tiny smirk didn’t seem to fade one bit.

“Twenty two, huh?” Natasha stated. She moved an inch closer to you, still keeping a respectful distance, but making her attraction clearer. “That makes you younger than me by quite a bit then…”

You resisted the urge to swallow again. She didn’t seem to mind your age too much… But you still didn’t know just how much older she was than you. Not that you wouldn’t mind her being older, you had always had a thing for older women after all.

“How old are you then?” you asked, wrapping your fingers around your cocktail glass again, but never bringing it up to your lips, as you were too focused on her.

“I’m thirty eight honey,” she answered with that small smirk still on her lips. Your heart almost skipped a beat at the nickname, and you didn’t know if it was an accident, or a totally purposeful move.

“So um… You were what, sixteen when I was born?” you blurted out before you could think of something better to say. Natasha let out a small laugh before nodding. She turned her gaze back to you.

“Yes, yes I was. I was near graduating high school as you were born,” she responded. That smirk on her pretty lips never faded.

You turned your gaze down, a small blush creeping up on your cheeks. “Oh my god, now that you say it like that it sounds…”

“A little weird? A bit inappropriate?” she finished your sentence with a small chuckle. You could notice her setting her hand down on the bench you were both sitting on, right beside your thigh, but not close enough to touch.

“Maybe,” you chuckled, and managed to gather yourself enough to turn your eyes back up to meet hers.

Natasha’s smile turned somewhat softer as her green eyes met yours. She leaned slightly closer. “Maybe, but you don’t seem to mind all that much.”

Finally growing bold enough, your lips turned into a small smirk. “Should I mind?”

Natasha leaned even closer, and you could almost feel her breath on your face. “Of course you shouldn’t…” she brought her hand up, placing her fingers under your chin and turning your head to the side. Her movements were sensual, but still mindful, and you could see that she didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Her lips touched your ear briefly, and you almost jolted, moving your hand to rest on the seat, but accidentally laying it right on top of her hand that was still placed there. You decided to be bold and disguise your awkward unintentional move into something planned, and didn’t pull your hand away.

“You know, you were staring at me the whole time I was watching you perform..,” she whispered into your ear. You turned your head to meet her gaze, suddenly aware of how close your face was to hers.

“I could say the same thing about you too… I saw how you couldn’t take your eyes off of me,” you stated. She moved her hand from under yours, and for a moment you thought she was going to pull away, until she placed her hand back, but this time it landed right on your thigh. You swallowed once, and resisted the urge to bite your lip. 

“Couldn’t resist it. You looked so damn good up there,” she spoke. You refused to seem too flustered even though you could feel the famous butterflies in your stomach. You had managed to achieve boldness for once, so you were not going to let it go so fast.

“That good huh?” you questioned, tilting your head to the side just a little. You kept your eyes glued to hers.

Natasha nodded slowly. “Mhm, really good, actually…” her hand moved up and down on your thigh, just an inch, but enough for you to end up biting your lip. “And you look even better now, up close,” she continued.

“Do I now? What do you like about me the most?” you asked boldly. Your eyes held almost a mischievous glint to them, and you could feel yourself growing more confident as the conversation went on.

“Hmm, that’s a tough question, love…” Natasha answered, the nickname slipping past her lips easily. She seemed to think for a moment, before she continued.  “I think I’m going with your eyes.”

“My eyes? Really?” you questioned, even though you weren’t really that surprised she had said that.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to get tired of staring into them for a while…” Natasha said with a not-so-subtle smirk. “In fact, I think I want to see them a bit better, up close.”

Before you could say anything, her hand moved to the back of your neck, gathering up some of your hair into her hand. Her other hand remained on your thigh, her fingers stroking your thigh in a slow motion. She gave your hair a small tug, not enough to hurt but certainly enough to make you part your lips and let out a little sigh as she tilted your head up. Her smirk widened as she heard the tiny sound you had let out. She gave your hair another small tug, making you bite your lip in order to prevent another sigh from escaping.

“That got you nice and worked up, didn’t it?” Natasha asked smugly, and you couldn’t stop the heat from creeping up on your cheeks.

“I don’t think I’m gonna admit that,” you answered, still feeling the slight tingling on your scalp, as her hand was still clutching the strands of your hair.

“Oh come on, you can tell me… I can see how responsive you are. I want to hear how bad you want me,” she purred, tugging your hair again.

“Fuck, you’re too good at this,” you let out a small breath, trying to gather yourself, trying to remind yourself of the boldness you had managed to achieve before.

“What can I say, I’ve had a lot of experience honey,” Natasha stated with a smug smirk. You moved your hands up to her shoulders, extending them out a little and wrapping them around the back of her neck. Her hands moved to your sides, her fingers caressing the bare skin on your waist. “You know, I really like this top of yours. Makes me want to see more of you.”

You were not going to submit too easily, and with your newfound courage, you opened your mouth again to respond to her with a surprising boldness. “Guess you’d love it even more if you saw what I was wearing under it…” you smirked, and leaned closer to her, bringing your lips very close to her ear. “Nothing…”

You could see Natasha’s breath hitching just slightly, as she probably wasn’t expecting such boldness from you. She turned to look at you, clearly trying to hide the surprised look on her face. “Fuck,” she breathed out, before continuing very straightforwardly. “I want you so badly.”

You couldn’t help but smirk, feeling extremely accomplished with your actions. “I know you do, I can see it pretty clearly. I can play this game too, you know,” you spoke with a hushed tone, as you didn’t want the whole bar to hear.

Natasha smirked too, clearly not wanting to give you the satisfaction of making her too flustered. You knew she wasn’t that type of a person who would give up control, but that made you only want to try even more. Her fingers caressed your bare waist again, almost slipping under the hem of your shirt, as she spoke again. “Oh really now? I’d like to see you try, sweetheart.”

“I don’t think I have to. I think you’re already quite addicted,” you responded with a small chuckle. Natasha looked straight into your eyes, her face still very close to yours. You could see it in her eyes, how she knew you were right. You could read her reactions like an open book, and you were going to use that.

“And what might give you that idea?” she challenged, but you had already planned a perfect response to that. Your smirk only widened, powered by your boldness that had reached its peak, and you leaned closer to her.

“I don’t think you could leave here without me… Or if you did, you’d probably end up touching yourself in your bed, only hoping it was my lips that were down on you… You know, my face, right there between your pretty thighs,” you whispered into her ear, knowing damn well how those words were going to affect her. You also knew just how bold you were being, and if this went further, you knew your ass would pay for those words. 

You could almost feel Natasha shivering a little, as you whispered that little fantasy to her. You could see how she was trying to get a grip of herself.

“I told you I could play this game too,” you whispered, purposefully brushing her ear with your lips. 

“Yeah… You definitely can,” she let out a small breath. “Wanna get out of here?”

You knew you wanted to, but you also wanted to make it more fun. “Why don’t you beg me a bit?” you asked, knowing that those words might have been a little too bold. You knew she wasn’t going to beg, and that she’d definitely put you into your place because of that comment, but you just couldn’t help it.

Her gaze hardened, and you could see the dominance growing in her eyes. “You want me to beg? I think you know damn well I’m not the one to beg, sweetheart. I could go and find someone else if you want to play this game.” 

You probably would have felt a little offended by that, if you had thought she actually meant that. But you knew you were right, she was addicted to you, and she most definitely was not going to leave and find someone else. 

“You could… But I know you’d only imagine my face instead of theirs,” you stated with a growing smirk.

“You’re really good at this, aren’t you? I wouldn't have expected that from you honey… You seemed more innocent at first… But I guess you just know what to say to rile me up,” Natasha chuckled. You knew it was only a matter of time when she’d take the dominant role back.

“Mhm, I do,” you responded with a nod and a smug smirk, enjoying yourself a bit too much. 

“Well then… Why don’t you test it out a bit more? Why don’t you say something else? See if you can rile me up even more?” she asked, moving her hand to your chin again. “But I’m warning you about the consequences baby…”

“Should I tell you how good I could make you feel? How good I could be?” you asked, tilting your head to the side again, never breaking eye contact. 

“Go ahead, love, tell me. Tell me how good you think you can make me feel,” she urged, with her thumb stroking your cheek slowly. Your smirk only widened, as you knew this was your time to shine. 

“Oh I think I could make you feel so damn good,” you started, and tilted your head more, getting free from her grasp. You leaned closer, with your lips hovering close to her ear, before you continued. “You’d take me home, maybe slam me right against the door of your apartment once we’re inside. You know I’d like that, especially if you combined that with a small tug on my hair and your knee between my legs… Imagine how good you’d feel with all that power you’d have over me. Hearing the small gasps I’d let out… You know you could just pick me up and throw me over your shoulder, right? You could do that, you could make me feel vulnerable… And I know you would enjoy having that power…”

Natasha let out a slightly shaky breath. “Damn, you really know how to play this game honey… You like being dominated, don’t you? You love feeling vulnerable… And you know I find that really fucking hot.”

You chuckled, letting your breath fan against her ear. “Don’t think I’m done yet,” you whispered, taking a small pause before continuing. “You could throw me on the bed, I bet you know I like it rough. And at that point, I’d probably be as wet as you are right now,” you teased her. The last part was just a guess, but from the way her breath hitched slightly, you could tell that you were correct.

Natasha let out a low moan, not loud enough for anyone else to hear. “Damn you’re really good,” she breathed out. “You better keep going.”

You smirked, and slid your hand on her inner thigh. Her hand was still on your waist, slowly inching further up under your shirt. You stroked her thigh in a slow motion, before continuing. “I know you’d want to strip me out of these clothes right away… You probably wouldn’t undress yourself yet, I bet you like having that power, with me naked below you while you’re still fully clothed, looking so damn good with that suit of yours…”

You could feel her squirming in her seat just a little. “Yeah I would.. I would love to see you naked below me, looking up at me with those pretty eyes… God you’d look so fucking good under me,” she breathed out.

“I know you crave that power… Just imagine how good it would feel. You know you could make me absolutely lose it, make me your little toy,” you purred against her ear. “I also bet you must have a pretty and large strap-on in your collection, am I right?”

Natasha let out a low sound, almost like a small growl. “You are indeed right… And you’d want me to fuck you with that? You’d let me be rough with you, just how you like it, just how you crave it? You’d let me use you, just because you need it?” she questioned. You could tell she was getting her grip back, but you weren’t ready to go down yet.

“Yes I would… And you know what happens after that?” you asked her, letting your lips brush against her ear again. You were glad that no one was near enough to hear, even though the thought of someone finding out what was happening excited you a little.

“What happens after that, sweetie? Tell me, what would happen after that?” she questioned again, urging you to continue.

“Then you’d have me right there, with a hazy look in my eyes… So submissive, just for you. You could have me right between your legs, eating you out so well…” you said, right to her ear.

Natasha’s eyes closed for a moment, and you just knew that little scenario was playing in her mind. “You think you could be better than anyone else, love?” she challenged.

You leaned even closer, so that there was no way anyone else could hear. “Mhm… I know you’re already wet from me just talking like this. Imagine how aroused you’d be with my mouth down there, right against you… And oh, imagine my pretty face after that… Covered in your slick… I could make you lose it too, you know. I could make your thighs tremble, make them press around my head when you’d feel so close…”

You knew she was only getting more aroused, the way her fingers stroked your side slightly rougher. “Fuck baby, you really know how to get me going… But can you live up to the expectations you’ve set for yourself now?” she questioned, clearly trying to get a grip of the situation.

“I know I can babe. And guess what? I could make you lose it with one single word right now…” you teased with a sly smirk.

“Oh yeah, you can? Why don’t you tell me then baby, go ahead…,” she urged. Your smirk grew even more, and you had to bite your lip to prevent you from grinning too much. This was perfect.

You moved closer, placing your lips right against her ear. You made sure that your breasts brushed against her bicep, as you leaned close to her. “Mommy..,” you purred softly right into her ear, causing her shiver visibly.

Natasha bit her lip, and slowly turned her gaze towards yours. “God damn baby… You’re way too naughty for your own good, and I’m guessing you know that. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d love to call me mommy…” she spoke with a low voice. “Say it again.”

You smirked, moving closer again and wrapping your hands around the back of her neck. Her hand moved further up on your side under your shirt, almost brushing the side of your boob. God, the thought of her being able to grab you so easily as you weren’t wearing a bra, left you feeling incredibly hot. You forced yourself to focus on the mission, and as you leaned closer to her ear, you gave her ear a gentle lick. “Mommy,” you purred again, feeling her tense up.

Natasha’s hand moved from your side to your thigh, squeezing it firmly. “That’s it baby. We’re getting out of here, right fucking now,” she breathed out and squeezed your thigh again. “You’re coming home with me. And I’m gonna fuck you so good that ‘mommy’ is the only word leaving that pretty mouth of yours…”

Before you could protest, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you up from your seat. You barely had any time to grab your guitar case, before she was already pulling you out of the bar with her. She dragged you with her all the way to her car and opened the backdoor, letting you throw your guitar case back there. Before you could open the passenger’s door, Natasha spinned you around and pinned you against the side of the car, leaning her face down close to yours. She was slightly taller than you, so her presence felt even more dominating as she was towering over you..

“I’ve let you run that mouth long enough little girl… When we get to my place, I’m gonna make sure you strip out of those clothes and kneel in front of the bed. You’re gonna have to meet up those expectations you’ve been setting up for yourself now, and I’m not going to let you off the hook too easily,” she said with a harsh tone. “You’re mine for the night now, do you understand? You’re gonna obey me, and do as I say, or you won’t like the consequences. Isn’t that right, little one?”

You bit your lip and rubbed your thighs together slowly, trying to ease the growing neediness. “Yeah,” you breathed out, but that wasn’t enough for her. Natasha moved her hand down on your thigh, and gave it a harsh smack.

“Try that again baby, yes what?” she demanded you to correct yourself.

Before you could even acknowledge it, you found yourself submitting to her. “Yes mommy…”

Her lips curled into a smirk, and she raised her hand up to brush a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Good girl,” she purred into your ear. “Now get in the car and behave yourself.”

more notes... :

So yeah hi... Anyone want a part 2?

[freedomfireflies]

Middle-Class Seats, First-Class Fun pt. 2*

Summary: The sequel to Middle-Class Seats, First-Class Fun

You find yourself sat next to the Harry Styles on a plane.

And what better way to get to know each other than a quick induction into the Mile High Club?

Word Count: 2.1k

(Thank you for letting me spam you guys for one whole year🥹💞 I love you!!!!!)

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞 You are so much more important!*

“Hi, Stranger.”

Harry grins as he pulls the small door shut, secluding the two of you in the world’s smallest bathroom. “Hi.”

“Gonna be honest, I didn’t expect you to show,” you admit.

“Oh?” His arms cross as he takes a step closer, effectively closing the only gap between you. “And what about our earlier conversation suggested I wouldn’t?”

“Well, maybe the fact that you’re all talk and no game,” you retort, eyebrow raised as you look up at him. “Or the fact that you don’t seem like the quick-airplane-bathroom-fuck type.”

“I have a song about eating pussy, is that not enough?” he teases, a smirk dancing across his lips. “I feel like that should solidify my case.”

“Yeah, you’d think…but no.” Your eyes trail across his jaw, drawn to the sharp curve, intrigued by the subtle beauty. “Maybe if this were the first-class bathroom. Which would make a lot more sense for you.”

“What’s wrong with coach?”

“Nothing. When you’re poor. Which you’re not.”

“And that has to do with us fucking…how?”

You hesitate, mouth clamping shut. “I…don’t know.”

Nodding with an amused grin, he reaches out to place his hand on the small sink and lean forward, trapping you to the wall. “I think you’re nervous.”

“Well no shit, Sherlock.”

He hums, kind eyes helping to relax you. “Guess we’re both more talk than game.”

And maybe you are. Maybe this is nothing more than you calling his bluff. Or calling your own. Maybe this was you getting swept up in the idea of Harry Styles. The man, the myth, the legend. Maybe you just wanted to prove to yourself that you could.

Either way, despite the nerves, you’re oddly tantalized by the idea. Wanting to seize the moment, the opportunity that most people would kill for.

So, you surge forward, and press your lips to his.

It’s a hesitant kiss. On both ends. The first few seconds a tad awkward as you work to wrap your heads around how you got here. How you really feel about it.

And then…something changes.

He steps closer, straightening up to deepen the kiss, and you nearly wilt when his large hand slips around the back of your neck to keep you against him.

Things suddenly feel effortless. Practiced yet relaxed. Mouths and tongues moving together like they were always meant to. Molding seamlessly until all of your air belongs to him.

His other hand finds a home on your hip, pushing you against the small bathroom wall while his knee takes its place between your thighs.

And when he finally pulls back to rest his forehead against yours, it feels as though everything makes sense.

“We can go back to our seats,” he whispers, giving you an out.

But you don’t want an out. 

“No,” you murmur, fingers tangling in the shirt on his chest. “No, you promised to make me scream your name. Can’t pussy out on me now.”

The smirk returns as he brushes his thumb along your cheek. “So I did. But I guess it depends on which name you call me by.”

Your breath hitches.

“You can call me Harry,” he begins softly, dipping back down to ghost his lips across yours, “or you can call me Daddy.”

And discovering that Harry Styles has a Daddy kink makes more sense than it should, and you have to grin as you press your mouth to his. 

“Okay, Daddy,” you agree, just to watch him swallow. “Then why don’t you make good on your promise to fuck me?”

You watch the most beautifully dark expression flash across his face before he’s grabbing onto your waist to spin you around.

Your cheek is pressed to the wall while those large hands that have been taunting you for the past half hour begin to tease you again. Crawling up the inside of your thigh until he can grab onto the waistband of your jeans and yank the material down your legs.

“Just so you know,” he grunts in between the rustling of his belt, “I’m normally pro-foreplay. But I figure we don’t exactly have the time right now.”

“I know,” you agree. “It’s fine.”

He reaches around your hip to slide his palm down your cunt, and you sigh when you feel him cup you in his hand. 

“What’s this?” he hums, rather sadistically as his nose brushes against your cheek. “Guess I didn’t need to work you up, anyhow. Seems you’re already dripping for me.”

Your lashes flutter as he kneads your pussy for a moment before he lets go to take hold of his cock. 

“So, what’s it gonna be, angel?” he whispers, dragging the tip through your throbbing folds just to make you whimper. “You gonna be loud for me? Or are you gonna be quiet?”

More of a rhetorical question, you figure, because the answer is given to him when he pushes in, and you moan fervently.

He chuckles from behind you before it melts into some sort of delicious grunt. “That’s it. So fucking tight, darling. Take it, just like that.”

He pulls out, giving you only a second of reprieve before pushing back in. Stretching you a little more as he drives himself deeper into your cunt.

Your lip flies between your teeth as you swallow a string of curses and whines, desperate to feel him in every way possible.

“You all right?” he calls, and you feel his fingers gently squeezing your hip for reassurance.

It makes you smile. “Yeah,” you say back, nails scratching down the wall. “Go. Keep going.”

He obliges, working himself in at a quicker pace, and you see him watching out of your peripheral.

He seems mesmerized by the way his cock disappears into you. Addicted to the sounds now beginning to echo around the small space. Mixing in beautifully with his soft pants and your anguished whimpers.

“S’a good girl,” he murmurs beneath his breath, almost as if it wasn’t meant for you. “Fucking taking me so well, look at you. Pretty pussy just stretching for me. Likes having Daddy’s cock, doesn’t she?”

And maybe you shouldn’t be surprised by the filth coming from his mouth, but you are, and it makes you clench until you’re both gasping.

“Shit, angel,” he groans, burying himself a little deeper as you keen. “Like it when I talk to you like that, hm? Not so vanilla now, yeah?”

You want to thank your lucky stars for that damn book that led you both to this moment, nodding quickly as you squirm back against him. “Yes, Daddy—”

He pushes in to the hilt, overcome by the pleasure your words provide. His chest presses to your back, and instantly, you reach over your shoulder to grab onto his curls. Needing to hold him in some way.

“Fuck,” you sigh, vision hazy as your body works to accommodate him. “Okay go. Go, Harry, go.”

He smiles at the use of his name, and it does something strange to the butterflies already fluttering in your stomach. 

“Okay,” he agrees, pulling back and readjusting his grip on your waist to keep you steady. “Be good, yeah?”

The faster pace begins. Hard thrusts that nearly knock the wind from your lungs as your body shakes with each snap of his hips into yours.

It’s oddly satiating. Perfectly full and teasingly relentless. Quick fucks aren’t normally your forte, but this? With Harry? In the world’s tiniest bathroom?

Euphoria.

“Fucking squeezing me, darling, shit,” he exhales, gripping you tight in his hand. “Pretty little pussy looks so good clenching around my cock. Like it, angel, don’t you? Like letting me fuck your sweet cunt the way you’ve been needing?”

And you don’t know how he knows you’ve been so desperate, but he does, and it makes you mewl as you drag your nails down his scalp.

“Oh, I know,” he coos but it’s dark. “Can just tell. So fucking cock drunk. Desperate for anything I’ll give you. Even let a stranger fuck you, hm? Let me take care of you the way you deserve?”

“Yes,” you breathe, mindlessly reaching back for his other hand. Once you find it, you intertwine his fingers with yours and drag his palm up toward your neck. Placing it against your throat until he seems to get the hint.

He says nothing, simply squeezes you in his grip. Until the corners of your vision get fuzzy, and the small bathroom gets smaller.

“That’s it,” he hums, almost as if luring you into the darkness. “Let go for me, baby girl. Just like that. Daddy’s got you.”

Everything is heightened. Every sense, every second. You can feel his facial hair rubbing against your cheek. Can feel the calloused tips of his fingers cementing to your exposed skin. Can taste the drink he had on your tongue.

There’s a knock on the door. A hard tap, and Harry’s pace doesn’t falter for even a moment as he calls, “Fucking occupied,” before slamming back into you.

The noise you make is loud enough to be heard by whoever was on the other side. Perhaps his intention, and it makes your pussy clench once more at the thought.

“Bet you’d look fucking perfect on your knees,” he continues, unrelenting. “With my cock down your throat. Fucking drooling for me. And you’d take me, wouldn’t you? Take my cock like a good girl. Make me proud.”

The suggestion is exciting. The image in your head of you looking up at the glorious stranger from your place on the floor. Getting to feel him on your tongue. Down your throat. Anywhere he’ll have you.

You bet he likes to see his cum painted across a partner’s skin. Likes to run his fingers through it. His tongue. Collect it and taste it before spitting it into their mouths.

Your entire body shudders from the mental picture and even if Harry doesn’t know what garnered this response, he seems pleased with it. Tugging on you tighter until you’re practically sitting on him.

You’re running out of time. Running out of willpower, and he releases your throat to find your clit. The first time he’s truly touched it, and the sensation that follows nearly kills you.

You hadn’t anticipated being so sensitive, but you are, and it’s apparent to you both from the way you jolt when he pinches you.

“Oh?” He’s chuckling again, entertained by your reaction. “S’that all it takes then? Poor little cunt just needs some extra attention?”

He presses into you and begins to rub small, hard circles along the delicate nerves. Ignoring your cries and pleas for more.

Instead, his foot kicks your legs further apart, and his mouth attaches to your neck. Nipping just below your ear as he whispers, “Bet you taste fucking divine, hm? Bet I could write a whole song about the way this pussy tastes.”

He lets go just to bring his hand to his mouth. Sucking on the soaked digits and groaning in your ear.

A shiver rolls down your spine before he drags his saliva coated fingers back to your clit. “So fucking sweet, angel. But you already knew that, didn’t you? S’why you were teasing me all fucking day. Cause you knew I’d get addicted to you.”

You’re so close to release, you can see it. Can actually see the blinding stars barreling toward you like meteors. 

“And what if I am, huh?” He goes faster. Gets sloppier. Needing to get you both there. “What if I’m fucking addicted to you now? What if I can’t go without the taste of you?”

“Have it,” you sough, rolling your hips back against his cock. “Have me, Harry, please—”

“I will,” he growls, and you feel his cock twitch the closer he gets. “Fucking will, angel. Need you to come for me, yeah? Come for Daddy. Let me feel you around me, darling. Right fucking now—”

Everything is a blur. Maybe he comes first, maybe you do. It all melds together until it’s one, long string of orgasms and pleasure. 

He doesn’t let you go for quite some time. Pushing you to the very brink, making sure it goes as far as it can. Even after you’ve come down and are squirming away from the ministrations to your clit.

The sadistic need to make sure you’re ruined is evident, and he only stops when you begin to collapse in his hold.

“Okay, easy, angel, easy,” he whispers, grasping onto your hips to keep you upright. “You’re all right, yeah? You okay?”

You nod weakly as you catch your breath, and he takes this as a good sign. Allowing you to stand on your own when you’re ready.

But he doesn’t go far. He bends down and pulls your jeans back up. Makes sure you’re all right.

You notice he purposefully leaves the mess between your thighs, and when you shoot him a questioning eyebrow, his only response is, “For later.”

Which you don’t mind at all. 

I KNOW, I KNOW IT'S BEEN FOREVER!!!! I'M SO SORRY BUT THANK YOU FOR STICKING WITH ME AND BEING SO NICE, ILY ALL 😭💞💞💞

Previous Part:

~ Middle-Class Seats, First-Class Fun

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282

I'm also tagging you guys from the first part just in case, but if you've already moved on, I can absolutely understand 😭💞: @blackbookwhore @nellylayhoohoo @22fallenangel22 @watercolorskyy @ilovedilfs32 @nicodoesntexist @lelenikki @happypoptart

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hiiiii, I have a request for the newly arrived Indigo Disk-

A really happy ending for Kiki where after the whole DLC, he then starts to make amends with the BB Elite 4, his sister and protag which eventually gains him Ogerpon's recognition, prompting her to wanna go with him as an extra treat after all his angst (quq)

Yessss we gotta give him the happy end he deserves <3

.........

Setting up a small picnic within the Terarium, you brought your current Pokémon team out to play, deciding to take in the beautiful coastal biome and its warmth.

Even though you knew it was all artificial, it didn't make much of a difference to your companions. They happily frolicked in the sand and grass, although some opted to take a nap under the sun after a hard day of battling.

Meanwhile, you were fixing up a sandwich for everyone to share, deciding to add a little bit of spice to it (at Crispin's suggestion, of course). You didn't want it to be too flaming-hot for your Pokémon--or at least none that were fire types who could handle the heat.

However one in particular just seemed to be hungry for anything, as upon hearing a crystalline trill, you looked down to see Terapagos at your feet. It was gently pawing on your leg, eyes sparkling as it wondered what you were cooking up.

"Hey, little guy." You cooed, reaching down to pat its head before you scooped it up, allowing it to climb into your lap. "Smells tasty, huh? I bet you're super hungry after sleeping all those years."

It only responded with another happy trill, and you just sighed.

Who would've known this would be the legendary "Hidden Treasure" of Area Zero Heath and [Turo/Sada] sought after, the creator of the Terastal Phenomenon...

And the Pokémon that put up one hell of a fight against you, Carmine, and Kieran?

Speaking of whom...

It's been roughly a month since those events down in the Underdepths, and for the most part things have been looking up for both you and him. You were just happy to see that spark return to his eyes...

The spark he had once lost...mainly because of you.

Part of you would always remain guilty over unknowingly setting him down such a dark path--obsessing over defeating you in battle to the point where he didn't care who got hurt in the process.

He didn't wanna be that weak little kid you kept beating back in Kitakami anymore, always bragging about how much he's changed and demanding you to never hold back.

But after being humbled in front of the entire school, he was willing to do anything to have at least one victory against you.

Even if it meant utilizing a dangerous legendary Pokémon he had little understanding of....

He tried to control it, and as punishment it attacked him directly.

Arceus only knows what could've happened if your 'raidon didn't absorb the blast in time, and that selfless act made him feel all the more guilty for the way he acted towards you.

He idolized you, hated you, and yet.....you saved his life when you could have just saved yourself, his sister, and Briar instead.

He cried like a baby the whole way home, overwhelmed by everything that's happened from last year up to now, yet you comforted him and didn't tease him once.

After returning to Unova, he made a promise to fix things between you and everyone else he hurt, finally letting go of his envy and deciding to start fresh with you. His request to be your friend again had you laughing, much to his confusion..and a little worried you were making fun of him.

Then he almost sobbed after you explained that you've never considered him an enemy at all.

Despite everything, you never stopped seeing him as a friend.

Sometime later you went home to Paldea, although not without exchanging rotomphone information with him so you could have more chats.

Yep. Kieran finally got his own phone, but being from the countryside made him only somewhat familiar with the basics. You and Carmine helped him with that, of course. He loved the camera function and would often send you photos of his Hydrapple doing something cute.

They're mostly blurry, but he's getting the hang of it.

You eventually went back to the BB Academy to further your studies of the biomes, and winded up taking a small picnic break within the Terarium. No rules said you couldn't, and Drayton did insist that you didn't overwork yourself...

Which is funny coming from the guy who had to repeat classes, although you took his advice.

"Roto-to-to-to~"

Your eyes lit up as you received an incoming call from Kieran, and you greeted him with a smile, waving. "Kiki! How's it going?"

"Hey, [y/n]." He smiled back, and then he blinked upon realizing how familiar the background behind you was. "Wait..you're back in Unova? In the Terarium?"

"Uh..yeah! I was gonna surprise you, but I guess it's too late for that now." You awkwardly chuckled. "How are things going with the League?"

"Better than..I thought, actually." He sat back in his chair, tying his hair up. "Drayton and I are finally on speaking terms again."

"Oh that's great!"

"Mhm. We both felt kinda bad about how we treated each other with the whole "ex-champion" thing...said some stuff we didn't mean. Last week we were avoiding each other, and now we're having casual Pokémon battles to ease the tension between us."

"I'm glad to hear that." You nodded, taking a bite out of your sandwich.

"I..really do owe you one for bringing the club back together. I've been so bitter and didn't realize how much it was hurting Lacey and the others...not to mention how many people I wrongfully kicked out. I promise I'm gonna get all of them back into the club. I swear."

"I fully believe you. Just don't run yourself dry trying to patch up everything with everyone, okay?"

Kieran nodded in understanding, although he suddenly went quiet. You wondered why until you realized he could see Terapagos, who was currently climbing onto the table trying to get some lettuce.

"Heyyyy that's not for you, you little scamp." Teasingly, you scooped it up again, keeping a gentle grip on its belly and shell before you looked back at your friend, bashful. "Don't mind Terapagos. It's always hungry."

"I see." He chuckled. "You've been taking care of it well?"

"Yep, but have you been taking care of yourself, too?"

"...yeah." He muttered. "Carmine's been getting on my case about properly eating and sleeping again. Don't tell her this, but I appreciate it more than she realizes. And..I'll admit I was turning into a jerk like she used to be, and that's not something I want..."

"Well sounds like you're doing much better now..don't beat yourself up over it." You reassured him.

His shoulders relaxed. "I'm..trying not to....so [y/n], do you think we could meet up in person? Like at your dorm? I...feel like we haven't talked face-to-face in a while."

"Sure! I got nothing planned later so....see you in a few hours?"

"Sounds good." He smiled. "See ya."

The call ended as your rotomphone dropped back onto the table. You picked it up and stared at the case, feeling giddy about seeing him again after so long.

And to think when you first arrived here..you felt nothing but tension whenever he was in the same room as you, feeling the negative vibes rolling off of him like an aura of Bitter Malice.

You were glad those days were gone and he was your friend again.

"Pon?"

"Huh? Ogerpon..? You were here the whole time??" Surprised, you glanced over to see the grass legendary sitting on the ground beside you, being sure to stay clear of the camera view. She lowered her mask and looked at you with a knowing smile.

Considering the way Kieran freaked out when you brought her into the championship battle (not to mention him doing everything in his power to knock her out)...you would've thought she'd never wanna see or hear from him again--especially since her "betrayal" was still a fresh wound.

Yet apparently she was listening to your entire conversation with him, and had this understanding look to her starry eyes.

"Pon, ponnn?"

"Huh?" You blinked. "You wanna..see him, too? Are you sure?"

She hopped to her feet, nodding eagerly before pointing in the direction of the academy.

"Okay. Maybe..it'll be a good thing." A smile appeared on your face, although in the back of your mind you hoped that seeing her again won't scare Kieran too much.

...........

"Okay, so the Golurk congregate here....and they're usually guarding the Goletts.."

Back in your dorm room, you were just jotting down notes about recent Pokémon outbreak sightings. Ogerpon was sitting on your countertop, swinging her legs while munching on a bowl of her favorite berries you've found for her throughout Kitakami.

Right as she finished the last one, there was a knock at the door, and you both immediately knew who it was. She was a little nervous, but you reassured her that things will be okay before you went to answer it.

Sure enough Kieran was on the other side. He's never been to your dorm until now, and as he walked in was surprised and intrigued by all the stuff you had hung up on the wall.

"Excuse the mess." You chuckled, closing the door.

"Don't worry, my dorm's worse." He shyly smiled back at you, although his expression faltered as his gaze went to a certain legendary..

He immediately tensed up, not out of anger.....but like he was expecting her to use Ivy Cudgel at any given moment. "What's the Ogre doing here--wait, no..that sounded rude. I'm sorry."

"No, no. It's fine. There's actually something we've been meaning to talk to you about."

"..oh?" Turning back to you, he tilted his head.

"So Ogerpon overheard our little chat earlier, and she wanted to see you."

"She did?"

"Yeah," you nodded, feeling your heart start to race with anticipation. "And..um...maybe it's easier if she explains."

Kieran was confused as you gestured to Ogerpon, but his eyes went wide when she approached him. With no mask on, she wore a confident expression as she handed him...

A pokeball?

No..

It was the pokeball you caught her in.

"What is this? Some new trick you taught her?" Looking to you for an explanation, all he could see was your smile. "Why isn't she...afraid of me?"

"Because she knew you were trying to make amends with everybody." You patted her head, beaming. "I think she finally recognizes you as a strong Pokémon trainer, and...she wants to be yours."

".....huh?"

"She wants to be yours." You repeated, watching as he tried to process this information. And his jaw damn near dropped to the floor, but he closed his mouth and shook his head.

"Y-You're joking, right?"

"Nope. We both decided that she's ready for a new partner. Someone who's believed in her side of the story since-"

"No, no, no..I..I-I can't do that.." He shook his head frantically, backing away from Ogerpon. "I'm sorry. But she's yours, [y/n]. She chose to go with you. You passed her test and...I didn't. I was being stupid and selfish and-"

"I think I was being more selfish."

Looking up at you, he blinked a few times.

"Listen, I know everyone likes to say such great things about me...but I'm not some perfect angel." You frowned slightly. "I lied to you, I stole the Pokémon you've idolized for years...and I hurt someone who considered me a friend. You called me out on that and you had every right to."

"........"

"If anybody here needs to apologize..it's me." Bowing your head, you sighed softly. "So I'm truly sorry for the way I treated you, Kieran. I'm sorry for never considering your feelings before. I wasn't a good friend, and I wanna be a better one. So I'm gonna make this right...both of us will."

You looked back up at him, seeing the shock written all over his face. Then you glanced at Ogerpon, taking the pokeball and instructing her to get her masks off the wall. She nodded and did just that.

"You deserve to know what her power is like. The masks, the TMs I taught her...you can have them all. No trades. No strings attached..except for us staying friends, of course."

Finally, Kieran found his ability to speak again, but he was already getting choked up. "[Y/n], the apology is...th-that's more than enough for me." His eyes watered. "I forgive you. There's no way I can take her from-"

"You're not taking her away. I'm giving her to you, silly." You chuckled.

"....I..I still don't know if I can accept that. I'm not worthy of her even looking my way anymore. I was disrespectful to her wishes, I stole her mask..a-and you're saying...she forgives me?"

"I think she's gonna let bygones be bygones. Isn't that right, 'pon?"

"Ponio! Pon!" With her masks together, Ogerpon gazed at you, nodding confidently. You could only smile back as you patted her head again, seeing that she was ready for a new adventure.

You've trained her well, helping her grow stronger than ever before as you've mastered her abilities with all four masks.

But now it's time that someone else had the chance to bond with her...

Someone like Kieran.

After sending her into the pokeball for the last time, you gazed at the purple-haired boy. His whole body refused to move, so you approached him and took his gloved hand, placing the device snuggly into his palm.

For the longest time, he stared at it, and then he looked back at you. "A-Are you sure I can't just...keep her for a day and then give her back?" He began to sniffle, face growing bright red. "Because if...wh-what if she doesn't-?"

"I want you to have her permanently." Knowing what was coming, you brought him into a tight hug, feeling him wrap his arms around you and rest his head on your shoulder. "Don't worry. She's gonna love you, Kiki." You rubbed his back. "She trusts you now. She's all yours."

All he could do was nod, your shirt getting soaked by his tears as he hiccupped, thanking you over and over again. He wasn't bawling loudly like before, but he still had a tough time keeping himself together; so you led him to your bed where he was more comfortable.

You're 99% certain this poor guy's never received a hug in his life, given how he refused to let you go. So you allowed him to hold onto you for as long as he needed or wanted.

At last you got out all of the things you've been meaning to say to him...and even Ogerpon got to apologize in her own special way by wanting to be his partner Pokémon.

You thought this would have been too much for Kieran to handle, but you could see he's grown a lot and that he was ready to accept this huge responsibility.

Terapagos will remain with you, and Ogerpon will be his forever.

After everything that's happened, it's what he deserves.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Written for @steddieangstyaugust, day 6 - "Who did this?" Childhood friends Steddie, delayed because I'm still sick and sleeping most of the time, sorry. I will catch up eventually.

When he was eight years old, someone up there sent Steve Harrington a miracle. It was't flashy, shiny or anything, so it took him a while to recognize that it was indeed a miracle. It came in form of a boy about a year older than him, with a mop of wavy dark hair, large brown eyes and even larger smile - Eddie Munson.

Steve was doing well at that time, or so everyone kept telling him. His parents had the money to buy a big house, get him a babysitter when needed, send him to all the activities he wanted - only they were rarely with him. But that was fine. When you have everything that so many others don't, you can hardly complain about something as mundane as feeling lonely.

God, Steve felt lonely.

He was the rich kid, the one with the "nothing is ever good enough" parents, and that rarely won him any friends. They all expected him to organize parties, to get a bouncy castle for the afternoon, to bring a cake whenever they asked, but it felt like they never really wanted him. Steve found the feeling painfully familiar.

It took one gentle rejection of another set of requests and demands, a suggestion that maybe they could just go and check out the fair that was just unpacking nearby, and everyone lost interest in him, called him cheap. Unpacking meant that it wasn't open yet, and that Steve wouldn't pay for the rides. He was just leaving the playground when he heard a high, loud voice call out to him. "Hey, hey you! Yellow t-shirt! Wait!"

Steve stopped and turned around, glaring at the skinny kid rushing to him. "Yellow t-shirt?" he asked, wondering if he should be insulted.

"Well, duh. I don't know your name yet. I'm new here." The boy stopped in front of him with a wide smile plastered on his face. "But now I will. I'm Eddie, I moved in with my uncle a week ago. You are?"

Steve offered him his hand. "Steve. So, uh..."

Eddie laughed and shook his hand. "Hi, Steve. Now, did these sharp ears hear something about a fair?"

Something lifted in Steve's chest, something he never knew weighed so heavily on him. "Sure did!"

His new friend - only friend - beamed at him. "Then lead the way! "

..

It was after they properly inspected all the attractions that the fair had to offer that Steve noticed a bruise on Eddie's arm. It was pure chance - he and Eddie were swinging on a tree branch and Eddie's sleeve fell back, revealing a nasty bruise. It must have been older, but the size and discoloration were still enough to make Steve concerned.

"Who did this?" he asked, pointing at Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie seemed to freeze mid-swing. He dropped to the ground and pulled the sleeve back. "No one. I fell, I'm clumsy like that." He spoke fast and with that carefree smile, but Steve's gut had a mind of its own.

"Eddie. You don't get bruises like that from falling," he said and despite Eddie's protests, leaned in to examine the injury. He'd seen some like that, on kids whose parents tended to fight a lot, or at least according to his parents, "had a nasty violent streak". He always tried not to stare, but he knew what they meant. "It looks...looks like a punch. Did someone do that to you?"

The smile faltered and Eddie dropped his gaze to the ground. He shuffled around awkwardly on his feet, as if he was deciding whether to run. "Uh...yeah. I mean. It's probably not a secret, it's just that it used to? I mean," he added, noticing the confused look on Steve's face, "my dad tends to get angry a lot when things don't go well. He lost his job, mom left us...so yeah. That's also why I'm here, in a new town, new school...my uncle lives here. I'm staying with him."

"Is he..." wavered Steve, "...is he angry too? Will you be OK?"

If there were any tears in Eddie's eyes, they were gone in an instant. "Wayne? Oh no. He's great. He's a bit scary, but he's so nice. You know, he gave me his own bed. I told him I don't need it, but he didn't care. And he gave me some really cool books! You'll never have to worry about Wayne. Or me. That's a promise."

..

Steve didn't think Eddie meant to lie. "You'll never have to worry about me" sounded wonderful, but it never worked that way with them. And Steve found himself asking Eddie the same question over and over.

"Who did this?" he asked as Eddie came to the school with his head shaved, gently coaxing an answer from Eddie that his classmates thought cutting his hair would be a great prank. "It'll grow back even thicker, just you wait," he snickered, but Steve could see his restless fingers reaching out for the strands that were no longer there.

"Who did this?" he asked as he was helping Eddie fish out his school supplies from the pool. Eddie just laughed it off, saying he'd pissed of a bunch of seniors by not lying to their girlfriends about cheating.

"Who did this?" he asked as he saw Eddie with a black eye and his locker painted over with the word FAGGOT. Eddie shrugged and slammed the locker shut. "It's not like they're wrong," he whispered to Steve. When Steve turned up at his and Wayne's trailer in the evening, Eddie hugged him tight, as if he thought he'd never see Steve again over that admission. As if.

"Who did this?" he asked as he was picking Eddie up after his roleplaying club, Hellfire, and seeing that someone cut Eddie's tires. Eddie just laughed and explained that apparently dragons and adventures were the work of Satan now.

"Who did this?" he asked in marvel as he saw Eddie's first tattoo. It was so crooked and imperfect, but so much like Eddie. When he admitted it was his own work, Steve asked for one of his own.

"Who did this?" he laughed as he kissed Eddie for the first time and found a small braid hidden in his mane of hair. When Eddie admitted he made that one himself, that he gets restless sometimes, Steve asked to teach him. So he could always braid Eddie's hair for him when they eventually moved away together.

But maybe the answers didn't matter.

The answer to "who did this?" didn't matter to the mob that gathered after Chrissy Cunningham's death. They decided they knew already.

"Who did this?" didn't matter when Steve raced to the hospital with badly injured Eddie in his car, the wound on his head bleeding onto Steve's pristine window.

"Who did this?" lost its importance when Wayne and Steve waited for the dreaded news.

And knowing who did it certainly doesn't help Steve now, as he and Wayne are picking up a headstone for Eddie's final resting place.

[yesimwriting]

I need to see some one on one bestie and Armand interactions! I bet he finds her humanity endearing even if he acts like a dick about it !! We need them bonding over art

a/n love this sm, he's so secretly invested but also so deeply unchill <3

this is the painting i reference in this fic by name, seeing it isn't necessary for you to get the fic but it's one of my favorite paintings so i thought it'd be fun to add it here :)

also i'm not saying reader has perfectly recreated a famous painting lol, it's more about the vibes/aesthetic of the painting

----

Everything passes in threes. The careful tapping of your thumb's nail against the pointer finger of your opposite hand; the way that your eyes shift between the ground, the wall, and him; even the rhythm of your heart feels like a trinity.

You're not exactly nervous, but you are tense, rigid in a way that you never are in Louis's presence.

There's something about being the source of your uneasiness, of being able to witness his presence embedding itself into your mind that's almost grounding. It's as consuming as the sense of rejection your silence is forcing onto him.

Armand shifts slightly, his hand moving away from his lap and onto the couch's cushioning. The gesture is meant to remind you of your similarities. Mortals are more eased by the small, insignificant movements than they realize. They perceive the pointless shifting of others as evidence of life, as proof of an intrinsic likeness.

The movement seems to serve its purpose, because you relax your hands, ending your three-tap pattern before allowing your arms to fall to your side. "Not being able to offer you anything to drink really has me at a loss."

The response, though cloaked in your usual humor, feels much smaller than the way you usually are. He supposes you're not the only one to blame for your uncertainty. Louis suggested that you spend an evening alone with Armand to help the two of you argue less...and apparently, Louis had warned you to be on your best behavior just as much as he had warned Armand.

Instead of pointing out the fact that you've never struggled to socialize with Louis despite being limited in the same way, he decides to reciprocate what you're giving him. "You could offer me an alternative."

Your eyebrows begin to draw together, but something about the barely there parting of your lips implies something other than surprise. If you were someone else, Armand might consider your expression a byproduct of morbid curiosity.

Your gaze flits away from him and towards the hands innocently resting on your lap. You're quick to dismiss your line of thinking, your body straightening slightly as you look at him again. "I think blood donating's more a third date kinda thing."

The framing of the sentiment, though clearly an attempt at humor, digs at him more than it should. He pushes against his instincts before responding. "Third? I didn't realize you were so easy."

You press your lips together to keep from laughing. It's an expression he's seen directed at Louis several times before. "There's a reputation." You relax slightly, your shoulders easing as you exhale. "So, what do you want to do?"

The question is a careful thing, as if you're doing all you can to make sure that what you're asking doesn't remind him of how little alone time you've spent together. He's never seen you have to think about how to connect with Louis.

When he doesn't respond, you continue, "We could go out and get some air, or we could stay here and watch something..."

You lift your hand just enough to tap your fingertips against your knee. Armand's focus moves away from you and onto the rest of your apartment. He's been here before in a variety of contexts, and he can't remember it ever seeming this organized. There are no work-in-progress pieces taking up your dining room table or paint swatches and sketches covering the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Or uh--anything you want to--"

"You've mentioned having a studio space before."

The interruption surprises you, but you're quicker to recover your expressions than you used to be. Perhaps it's the constant awareness of the fact that you're thoughts are nowhere near as private as you once believed. You nod once. "Yeah, it's the room just past the kitchen."

He turns his head enough to look at you again. "Can I see it?"

Your breathing falters, the air in your lungs stalling so briefly it would have likely gone unnoticed if Armand had been any less determined to take in your reaction. You've mentioned your studio space without being prompted before, but always with a certain level of guardedness.

"Okay," and then, as if realizing the smallness of your response, you tack on a much more definitive, "Yeah, sure."

You're quick to commit to your promise, looking away from him before moving to stand. Armand follows, making a point to remain a full pace behind you as you move through your living room and past your kitchen. You lead him down a short hallway.

You don't stall until you're in front of a door. "I uh--" Your mind is wracked with a flighty nervousness. "Just keep in mind, everything in here's a work in progress."

There's a vulnerability pressed into the syllables that's nearly enough to soften you. So often, your existence feels like a force capable of rivaling the sun. Now, though, thinking about what you've created and how he might perceive these extensions of your being, you seem...reachable. Much less like the first few rays of sunlight bleeding over the horizon at daybreak, and more like a girl of your age.

This version of you must be closer to what Louis sees when he looks at you. Perhaps the instinct that encourages his companion to keep him away from you isn't entirely wrong.

"I understand." His voice is devoid of sentimentality.

You don't seem put off by his blankness. If anything, his limited interest makes it a little easier for you to reach for the door's brass handle. You push open the door. Armand enters the space first.

The room is what's expected--a space absolutely brimming with life. A large worktable covered in sketches and small canvases takes up most of the room's center. Shelves and cabinets line the room's back wall. There are several incomplete works throughout the space, a few paintings propped up against walls and more textured pieces resting against any available flat surfaces, but none draw his focus like what's sitting on your easel.

The painting is familiar in a way that practically makes something inside of him ache.

"It's oil instead of acrylic," your explanation is careful, almost shy. "I'm trying something. The drying between layers is almost impossible, but I like the blending."

Trying something. This isn't even your perferred medium and you've stumbled onto something sharp and moving. It's still unfinished, and he can already tell that the woman you've depicted reading by candlelight is reminiscent of a time outside of your own.

"It's familiar," the reaction feels like a confession. He presses his lips together, a part of him relieved by the fact that you're a few paces behind him. "The lighting--it's similar to Georges de La Tour."

"Really?" You're more enthusiastic than you want to be. "Magdalene with Two Flames was one of my reference photos."

Of course it was. Leave it to you to be capable of accurately mimicking your influences.

You walk forward, stopping once you've reached his side. "This is the first time that someone that doesn't particularly care about my feelings is seeing it, so you can be as honest as you want."

Armand has to work at keeping his expression neutral. It's not enough to be the gifted artist that's sensitive about their work, you also have to be gratingly humble.

He keeps his gaze focused on the painting as he speaks, "You'd be more tolerable if you were less talented." Your skin flushes, blood pulling itself up your neck. "I don't mean it as a compliment."

"I know." Armand can feel how much you mean the response. "I think that's why I liked hearing it."

Something uneasy settles in his chest. You smile at him, your eyes bright and teasing like the both of you are now in on some joke together. "Searching for punishment?"

You straighten slightly, head turning away from him and towards your painting. "Searching for honesty." You're focusing on your work, on separating yourself from personal sentiment. "Though, I guess, sometimes that's the same thing."

There's nothing shocking about your prioritization of honesty. Mortals like to think that candor means something to them, that having the reality of a situation presented to them openly makes things easier. Your kind is much more protected by their obliviousness than they realize, but he's willing to humor you. "It's familiar in other ways, as well."

You're slower to understand his implication than you usually are. Armand can't quite bring himself to fault you for it. You're detached from what he and Louis are.

He turns his head slightly, allowing himself to watch you from his peripheral vision. Louis is committed to shielding you, to masking their differences from you as best as he can. You're not used to being reminded of the eternity they're meant to have.

You blink, your eyebrows briefly pinching together. "Right," this is mumbled more to yourself than to him, "...Because you would have been around when things were like this." You sit with the reminder for another moment before finally turning towards him, "Would it be really lame if I asked what it was like?"

There's a carefulness to your curiosity, a hesitation behind your interest. Your restraint is primarily rooted in how little time the two of you have spent like this, but there's something else behind your uncertainty. Louis loves you the way one loves a childhood blanket that's at risk of becoming threadbare. He doesn't want to lose you to his nature, so he does what he can to pretend it doesn't exist. But you're nowhere near as uninterested in vampirism as Louis would like you to be.

Perhaps this is the only thing that Louis isn't willing to give you himself. "Not really lame." The corner of your mouth tugs itself upwards at the opening. "As I'm sure you know, it was a time of great, artistic flourishing..."

He stops, his mind latching onto aspects of his reminiscence with a vengeful sharpness. A gifted young artist desired by vampires for their beauty and talent.

His unexpected silence forces your thoughts away from curiosity and towards something much more akin to worry. "It was also a time of great brutality."

You're quiet for a stretch of time that feels much more significant than it is. "I'm sorry."

He isn't sure if the apology is an attempt at expressing generalized sympathy or if you're feeling guilty for asking the question in the first place, and he can't bring himself to examine your thoughts for clarity. It should bother him either way. Your presence is enough to agitate the part of himself still susceptible to this kind of vulnerability, he doesn't need to add to that--not so openly, not with you right next to him.

Your proximity is a source of discomfort that's much easier to focus on. You are, by far, the gentlest of his afflictions. For once, he permits himself to lean into the warmth of this uneasiness, his hand extending towards you. He keeps his attention focused on the painting as he takes your hand.

Your shock is enough to briefly amplify your thoughts as an anxious warmth begins to crawl up your neck. The initial surprise quickly fades into a dismissible mental static, leaving a marginal concern in its wake. He presses into your thoughts. You're slightly worried over his shift in demeanor, and you feel a little out of your element, but you're not uncomfortable.

When no other sudden movements pass, you drag your thumb along his knuckles. The heat of your skin amplifies the gesture's soothingness.

He allows the silence to linger for another minute before breaking it, "What are you going to do with the painting once it's finished?"

The question seems to throw you more than the position that you're in. "I don't know, it doesn't really fit into the collection I'm working on." You pause, thinking through your answer. "Maybe I'll hold onto it...or send it to my mom. It seems like something she'd like."

Armand nods once. "Would you consider selling it to me?"

Your nervous warmth returns, blood shifting beneath your skin. "If you want it, you can just have it."

This is an argument that he knows you're familiar with. You're always resisting Louis's attempts at offering you anything you deem expensive, even if it's a payment for something you've made.

"You're an artist," he begins slowly, "You should be paid for your work."

You're not impressed by his logic. "Yeah, but we're friends."

"Are we?"

You weren't expecting an argument. "I think so."

There's a genuineness to your response that's almost hard to bare. Perhaps the financial argument could be reserved for another time, or maybe it'd be easier to gift you something instead. It's a strategy that Louis's used before. "Do you want to watch one of those shows you and Louis are always talking about?"

The question makes you grin. "Yeah." You turn away from the painting without letting go of his hand, pulling him towards the door. "I'm ruling out reality TV, because I don't want to lower your opinion on humanity any further."

"How kind."

You look back at him, smiling, "I'm very altruistic."

----

The television provides a comfortable background, the TV show you put on serving as both a source of sound and light. It also helps that this is a method of bonding you're familiar with.

As far as artistic merit, the show you were so excited to show him isn't exactly life changing, but he's experienced worse evenings than this one.

One of the main characters on the screen accidentally comes across an incriminating note that the audience learned about in the first episode. It's an incredibly predictable twist, but you're studying his reaction like there's something life changing about this revelation.

"This isn't realistic."

The comment makes you sigh. "It's not meant to be realistic, it's meant to be entertaining."

Armand instinctually turns his head towards you. The passive aggressive response he was ready to offer you feels a lot less significant now. You're close, closer than he's used to you being. Maybe there is something entertaining about this.

"It's inconceivable for this many things to be happening on the same street." The words leave him much slower than he meant for them to.

You don't notice his lap, your gaze briefly shifting away from him and onto the screen. "I'm sorry, supernatural being, are the events taking place on Wisteria Lane inconceivable to you?"

It's a relatively fair point, but he has no interest in letting you know that. "But it's not about the supernatural, it's about reality."

His phrasing seems to stand out to you. Instead of attempting to counter his response, you tilt your head slightly before relaxing against the couch's cushioning.

"I don't know," you whisper, the words soft in their distance. You ease further, your head shifting towards him until your temple is resting against his shoulder. The warmth of your skin burns through the thin layer of fabric dividing the two of you. He cannot bring himself to move. "You seem real to me."

He wouldn't put it past you to be able to speak him into existence. Armand turns his hand over carefully, his fingers intertwining themselves with yours.

----

chat does hand holding warrant a content warning

[steddieas-shegoes]

oh, that's why

for @steddielovemonth prompt 'love is showing up when someone doesn't ask'

rated t | 1,533 words | cw: implied sexual content | tags: friends to lovers, getting together, realizing feelings, love confessions, fade to black

💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Eddie was nervous.

He hadn't bothered mentioning Corroded Coffin's first show back to anyone except Wayne, didn't want anyone he knew to see him stumble over chords and lyrics with nerves he'd never had before Vecna. The guys didn't really say anything, but they'd casually suggested some slower songs mixed in to give him a break during the set. They just seemed to know that he didn't have the stamina anymore.

It's not like the Hideout was Madison Square Garden, but news had spread amongst the locals about Eddie's return to the stage and people must have gotten curious. The bar was busier than Eddie'd ever seen it, people lined up against the tiny stage and filling the tables spread out around the room. Every stool at the bar was filled, the door constantly opening to welcome someone new with a chilly breeze from the fall air.

"Hey, man. You ready?" Gareth's hand on his shoulder was meant to be comforting, but all it did was remind him of how much everyone in the crowd probably wanted to watch him fail.

"Yep," Eddie breathed out.

It was fine. This would just be another show, maybe not the best they've ever had, but they did fine during practice. He was fine.

There was no announcement for them, there never was. The bar owner and the main bartender pretty much only invited them back because the regulars would order double the amount of drinks when they performed.

The lights were already dimmed in the bar, and the spotlight stayed on on the stage all night.

It wasn't anything special, but it still felt like a step towards more.

The crowd was loud, and barely paid them any attention during Jeff's introduction.

They started playing Master of Puppets, a shorter version without the solo since Eddie still struggled getting through it without having a panic attack. It was part of "reclaiming his trauma" or whatever the government appointed therapist told him on his second and final visit.

He took the first minute to really look out at the crowd, passed the obnoxious spotlight.

Most of the people were unrecognizable, dressed a lot like Wayne, but lacked the friendly smile he gave him when he managed to make it to his shows. He saw a few people he knew from his first two senior years hanging by the back, probably trying not to be noticed by him.

And then he saw him.

Steve.

His fingers skipped over the strings, missing a note and then two, though only his band and maybe the bartender would notice.

Steve smiled back at him, mouthed 'lookin' good', and gave him a thumbs up.

How did Steve even know about this? None of the other guys had told him, he begged them not to, made them pinky swear that they wouldn't invite anyone they knew for the first show.

Eddie smiled back at him still, happy that Steve was here, realizing now that a friendly face was the only way he would get through this set. He should have told them all.

Most of the set went surprisingly well, and most of the crowd seemed content to watch and sing along. Only a few people walked out when they realized it was mostly metal music, but he figured they weren't really there for any music at all. Watching the freak was the only entertainment a lot of people had in this town.

Steve was nodding his head, nursing the same beer for the entire hour they were on stage, smiling every time Eddie made eye contact with him. He seemed to be enjoying it, despite his usual refusal to listen to any of Eddie's music.

When they got off the stage, Eddie rushed to Steve, not even bothering to put his guitar back in its case first. Most of the crowd had gone outside or settled around the bar anyway, so his sweetheart would be safe.

"What are you doing here?" Eddie bounced on his toes, adrenaline pumping after a successful show. "I didn't tell anyone about this."

"Wayne mentioned it by accident. He assumed you'd asked me to come," Steve shrugged. He didn't seem hurt about not being invited, thankfully, but Eddie still felt guilt bully its way into his chest.

"Sorry. I just wanted to get the first one done before I had anyone here," Eddie nudged his hand. "But thanks for coming. I'm glad you came."

"I'm glad I did too. I'll always be here if you need me, Eds."

It sounded serious, less like what friends do and more like what love does.

"How do you always know what I need?" Eddie couldn't help asking. "It's like I think I'm fine, but then you're there with a glass of water because I haven't remembered to drink all day. Or like tonight, when I thought I could do it on my own, but played much better because you were here."

"I just know you," Steve smiled.

"Wait," Eddie started thinking back to all the times Steve was there. All the times he would show up at the trailer after work to make dinner, not knowing that Eddie had been feeling lonely. All the times he sat next to him on the couch while he planned out Hellfire campaigns because he needed someone to bounce ideas off of who wouldn't be involved. All the times he had to brave the general public and Steve always managed to find a reason to be right by his side, silently protective. "Wait."

"I'm waiting," Steve said. And was he sounding smug? What was that smile on his face? "How long am I supposed to wait?"

"I didn't ask you to be here."

"That's true. You didn't even tell me you'd be here."

"I never ask you to come over. Or go places with me. Or anything."

"You do sometimes," Steve argued.

"Wait."

Steve's lips pinched together, but a smirk was starting to tease its way onto his face.

"You're here because you want to be. Because you knew I'd be a mess and would actually want someone here even though I didn't tell anyone. Because you're always there when I need someone even when I don't admit I do. Because you care about me."

"Love, actually."

Eddie stopped in his tracks. "What?"

"You said I care about you. Duh, of course I do. But I actually love you."

"Like...the way you love Robin?"

"No. Like the way I thought I loved Nancy. But with you it's more. It's way more, Eds."

Eddie was grateful for the dim lighting and Jeff's sudden appearance by his shoulder.

"Eddie! We fuckin' nailed it! I signed an autograph for a girl who knows my name!" He yelled before he noticed Steve. "Oh, hey Steve. Enjoy the show?"

"You all did great, man. Glad you're back out there," Steve reached out to grab his shoulder, a friendly gesture that Jeff wasn't expecting judging by his face. "Need any help loading up?"

"Uh. No. I was actually gonna let Eddie know Gareth's dad came by to help bring all our stuff home so we don't need his van." Jeff gave them both a knowing look, then smacked Eddie's shoulder and smiled. "See you tomorrow!"

Eddie waved at him, still in shock from everything Steve had said before Jeff interrupted.

"You should probably put her in her case, Eds," Steve gestured to the guitar still slung across his back. "People aren't that careful in a bar."

"Wait."

"You've said that a lot tonight."

"Because I'm having a stroke or something. I'm having a very lucid dream. Or maybe I got too high." Eddie shook his head and pinched his own arm. "You love me."

"That's what I said, yeah."

"And you meant it?"

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it."

Eddie still felt like he might be dreaming, but he decided to lean into it. If Steve loved him, then that meant-

"Wait."

"Oh my God," Steve groaned, but he was smiling. "What now?"

"I love you, too."

"Yeah? You just figure that out?" Steve definitely sounded smug now.

"Yes! I thought I just had this stupid crush on my straight friend. Sorry I didn't realize the way my stomach does cartwheels when you're next to me meant I loved you!"

They both started laughing.

"So, that's why you were staring at me like that at the pool," Steve finally said through his laughter.

"And that's why you asked me to read to you when you had a migraine," Eddie crossed his arms across his chest to avoid doing what he really wanted to do: pull Steve into the most John Hughes-esque first kiss ever.

"We should probably get out of here," Steve said when he recognized Eddie's twitching fingers fighting to not reach out. "Don't think anyone here would like it too much if I made out with you next to the bar."

"Give me two minutes. I'll meet you outside."

Their actual first kiss was just as John Hughes-esque, but it was in the privacy of Eddie's bedroom, and immediately followed by Steve pushing him against his own door and dropping to his knees.

[butchvamp]

i already said it but it does really frustrate me how little agency Taash has and the more i think about it the more insidious it gets. again their entire story revolves around Rook making choices for them, and they're also consistently talked down to by other characters, even if those characters are depicted as being friendly or nice. Isabela treats them like a child despite Taash being a very accomplished dragon hunter with the lords (which we see, repeatedly, when fighting the blighted dragons! Taash is not a child), and of course there's their mother (at least this is intentional) and both her and Isabela go behind Taash's back to throw them in with Rook, without asking for their input. Isabela just assumes without even trying to discuss it with Taash separate from their mother, despite seemingly being aware of the two's strained relationship... and from there Isabela continues to make unnecessary comments to Taash whenever you visit the hall of valor with them.

even Flynn, the nonbinary grey warden you meet in the wetlands, condescends to them about the Qun when discussing their gender, and Taash isn't allowed to disagree with them (apparently they give Flynn a Look but ultimately don't press the issue) and Flynn is depicted as being helpful in this discussion. Rook lectures them about gender and their own culture; their entire narrative revolves around Other People telling them what to do and how to feel-- it's obviously meant to be Bad when Taash's mother does it, because she (the Qun) is oppressive, but otherwise the game seems to be fine when it's Rook or literally anyone else doing it, because we're the enlightened Good Guys, and Taash is just helpless and confused and so oppressed. of course, i don't think it's bad for Rook to discuss these things with Taash or give them gentle suggestions, and i don't even hate the potential gender discussion you can have with a trans Rook; and for the record, their mother does treat them poorly. but we can't ignore the way Taash's repeated infantilization culminates in the player being the one to choose their culture for them in the end, because..?

well, the game clearly doesn't think Taash is capable of doing it themselves. at one point Taash links the ropes they wear for the Qun to the ones the antaam used to tie down a dragon and "blight" them. even if i'm feeling gracious and say that Weekes really meant that womanhood & their mother's expectations are restricting, they actively chose to use the ropes of the Qun to make this comparison, and so are also implying here that their mother teaching them the Qun has tied them down and "blighted" them-- that the Qun has "infected" their thinking and is as bad as the blight (this is also implied in the previous discussion with Flynn). this is.... really racist. it takes Rook and their, again, "enlightened" (white) ideas about gender to get through to Taash, nevermind that the Qun has its own ideas around gender that just get shouted down or completely ignored. the racism here results in the narrative contradicting itself, considering one of the first things Taash says is "you don't get to tell me who i am" but... Rook does, in the end, because intentional or not the game is clearly convinced that a person like Taash needs someone from outside of their and their mother's culture (aka free of "blight") to come tell them what's best for them.... 🤔 hm! and while it's true you can choose for them to align with the qunari in the end, that doesn't mitigate all of the heinous and racist writing that leads up to that choice (and that the choice itself is racist. and you have to make it twice!)

of course we can say that Rook makes choices for all of the companions, this is true, but it's obvious that none of the other companions' choices are in the same ballpark, we aren't directly deciding something about their identity, and none of them lack agency to the same extent as Taash. we can even argue that they need Rook to explain gender to them, no one else ever has-- well, sure. the thing with Taash is that some parts of their story, when removed from context, are perfectly fine. i'm not criticizing the way Taash talks or acts or "does gender," all of which are things some people may connect to for various reasons (all of our experiences are different) but unfortunately we cannot discuss any of this without addressing the racism that is so thoroughly baked into every aspect of their character.

i criticized Taash for being "childlike" previously and that really wasn't the right phrasing-- i don't think that Taash themselves is childlike, it has nothing to do with them-- it's the way the narrative treats them, the way other characters talk down to them, how it takes away their autonomy & forces us to go along with it, and ultimately educate them and "save" them, and i think it's worth interrogating why Taash, of all the companions, is specifically depicted this way (it's racism).

[vixstarria]

'Erotic misadventures'

Hello, I wrote this for an April Fools challenge, and now it is your problem.

Challenge terms: The challenge is simple - write something spicy that uses the worst possible terms for body parts, sex acts, and so on!

AO3 link

So I've always had this headcanon that Tav and Astarion perform readings of really bad erotica for the group at camp. This is a depiction of one such evening.

All origin characters.

18+, humor, banter. Is this actually smut? I don't know. I hope not.

Content warnings: ...Yes.

Approx. 1,800 words

It was, without a shadow of a doubt, the best piece of fiction they’d ever come across.

Meticulously handwritten in a tidy script, the text filled a sizeable journal. “Her Highness’s Erotic Misadventures” read the title. “Thank you for beta reading, Harpy Quinn”, it said at the bottom of the title page, whatever that meant. 

Despite both of them having a professional interest in lewd literature, neither Astarion nor Tav had ever come across this piece before - they doubted it had ever been published. They doubted it could ever be published, for that matter. However, it must have gone through many hands privately - on flipping through the journal it was discovered that the end contained a multitude of little gushing reviews in other people’s writing.

The author must have been one strange individual, with even weirder friends. How embarrassing.

The gang had called it a day and were gathered around the campfire. Astarion and Tav had been taking turns reading from the manuscript, to their companions’ amusement (and, in Gale’s case, vexation).

Despite being seasoned experts in the genre, Wyll and Shadowheart were visibly perturbed (albeit also intrigued) by the piece. Karlach hung on to every word, and even Lae’zel had stopped tending to her weapons to listen to the strange tale spun by the anonymous author. Volo, whose unwarranted presence continued to be tolerated, although no one could quite pinpoint why, was silent, furiously scribbling notes in his own journal. And as for Gale, well…

“This is deplorable,” said Gale, weary disappointment and disdain in his voice. “The only reason I am still here is because none of you can be trusted with the pot.”

 Astarion ignored him and continued to pace around the fire, reading aloud from the journal.

As the title suggested, the story depicted a series of obscene misfortunes which had befallen a hapless princess and her loyal knight. After several chapters of delving into the princess’s tragic and salacious backstory in (frankly bewildering) detail, the narrative had at last moved forward to a scene in which the princess’s knight came to her rescue after she had been kidnapped and taken away to a cave by a dragon. The knight faced the said dragon (who had then taken a dragonborn form for some reason) and its two harpy henchwomen.

“‘Its weak spot is its bussy’, the princess cried out from the cave,” read Astarion. “What in the hells is a ‘bussy’..?” he asked, lifting his head to seek counsel from his companions. 

Everyone around the fire just shook their heads, equally perplexed. 

“Hmm… Well, it seems our hero doesn’t know that word either...” Astarion continued reading.

“‘Puzzled, the paladin took a shot in the dark, cramming her manhood-’ Wait, what? I could have sworn...” Astarion shuffled through the pages. “…Oh she’s got both sets. How convenient… Anyway. …‘Cramming her manhood into the dragonborn’s meatgrinder’.” Astarion frowned again, sitting down next to Karlach.  

“Is the ‘meatgrinder’ the dragonborn’s mouth, or..?” asked Shadowheart.  

“I… think so? There’s not many contextual clues here, it just says that the ‘meatgrinder swirled around her pork sword, stunning her and nearly making her forsake her oath of propriety’.” 

“Well keep going, we’ll figure it out,” Karlach said, impatiently.

“The two harpies swarmed the stunned paladin. A hand deftly shed the paladin’s breastplate, exposing her pearls, whilst another grabbed her by the neck, clawed fingers shredding the remnants of her clothing, as two hands groped and teased her milkbags. She felt a hand creep up the back of her thigh while another hand pulled on her hair, as another crept to her moistening oyster-” Astarion stopped, with an exasperated sigh. “How many hands do these bloody things have?! I’m losing focus.” 

“And the mention of pearls…” Wyll said, thoughtfully. “It’s peculiar, you would think a pearl would be inside the… never mind”.  

 “Shadowheart, could you and Tav assist us with a visual, perchance,” asked Astarion. “I can’t be the only one who can’t keep track.”

“Perhaps I could also be of assis-” started Wyll.  

“Perhaps you could sit right back down,” Astarion warned with a glower. “I'll step in if needed. Where was I..? Ah yes, the err… the milkbags. So there’s definitely two hands there.”  

Both Tav and Shadowheart giggled as Shadowheart stood to join Tav by the fire and reached around Tav to lightly place her hands over the other woman’s breasts.

“Nice,” said Karlach. 

“The harpy pinched her pearls, and pulled her into a deep, ravishing kiss,” Astarion read, looking up expectantly at Tav and Shadowheart.

“Uh… That is not in the book, soldier,” said Karlach, reading over Astarion’s shoulder.  

“Spoilsport,” muttered Astarion. “I was just trying to set the mood before moving forward - the author’s pace is almost too relentless even for me. But fine.” 

Astarion cleared his throat and continued. 

“Then one of the harpies used her hands to pry open the paladin’s clam.” He looked up again. “Well come on, Shadowheart, pry open Tav’s clam.” 

Shadowheart simply laughed and returned to her spot across the fire. 

“If you’re not sure how - we could show you later tonight, if you like,” Astarion called out after her. 

“I’m sure I could give you some pointers on dealing with clams, Astarion,” retorted Shadowheart. 

“Is that so..?” he purred. “Interesting… What about you, Karlach, are you adept with clams?” 

“You know I haven’t had any clams in a decade, fangs!” Karlach groaned. “But before that… They used to just fling themselves at me, already opened, yeah.” 

“Fascinating. Lae’zel?” 

“There are a number of women who have survived bedding me,” the githyanki responded, deadpan. 

“I am… in equal parts concerned and aroused at the thought,” Astarion mulled over her words. 

“I wish anyone could survive bedding me,” grumbled Karlach. 

“There there, darling…” Astarion reached out to carefully pat her on a horn. “Now we all know Gale doesn’t know the first thing about clams…” 

“I’ll have you know, in my ethereal relations with my goddess, our connection was so profound that not only have I experienced her ‘clam’, I have interconnected with it on such a sublime and intimate level, been woven so deeply into it to myself have become part of the clam.” 

Gale’s outburst failed to have the effect he had desired, as the group struggled to contain themselves, wheezing and huffing for air. 

“Thank you, Gale, I don’t believe I’ll be able to get that image out of my mind anytime soon,” Astarion continued, trying to maintain his composure. “Wyll..? How fare you with prying clams open?” 

“Well…” The warlock began, with a smile. “I find, that the best way to go about it is to allow the clam to open of its own accord, from heat. From it getting sufficiently… steamy, if I may. I would never simply invade one with my blade.” 

Astarion was about to say something but just chortled instead. 

“Wyll, you rapscallion, every time I think I have you figured out-” 

“What happens next with the harpies?” Came an impatient call from Lae’zel. 

“Yes, give me that, you’re taking too long,” said Tav, snatching the journal back from Astarion. She continued to pace around the fire as she recited: 

“The dragonborn stood before the browbeaten paladin, reveling in her anguish. Even had the harpies not had a firm grasp on the paladin and her unmentionables, she would not have known how to approach the dragonborn – the loathsome creature was covered in impenetrable scales. Its mouth sported rows upon rows of sharp teeth – the only reason it allowed the paladin’s mutton machete out unscathed must have been because it had worse yet torments in mind for it.

The creature turned its back on the paladin, to roar tauntingly at the princess somewhere in the cave. 

‘Behold, as I turn your valiant saviour into naught but a pathetic cumdumpster!’

As it turned its back, the paladin glimpsed a narrow, pink orifice beneath its tail.” 

Karlach and Wyll gasped in unison.  

“The bussy!” Lae’zel hissed in a hushed whisper. 

“The paladin drew on the last of her divine power to throw the harpies off, smiting them unconscious, and plunged her hand into the dragonborn’s puckered hole.” 

“I am going to be sick,” moaned Gale. 

“The dragonborn cackled and flexed their beef ring, tightening its grasp on the paladin’s hand. The paladin reeled in horror, as the dragonborn’s poop chute seemed to suck the paladin’s hand further in, like fleshy quicksand, whilst threatening to snap her wrist.”

A tear of anguish slid down Gale’s cheek.

“It cannot be! Was the bussy a trap?!” came an outcry from Lae’zel.

“No! It could not end this way. Her entire life and all her training had been preparing her for this,” Tav read. “What in the hells, really?” she muttered, before continuing. “In that moment, she knew that the only way out - was through. The paladin took a deep breath and PLUNGED her arm deeper into the dragonborn’s vile cavity,” Tav exclaimed, throwing her own fist in the the air, to the sound of Astarion’s uncontrollable giggling and everyone else’s gasps.

“The dragonborn yelped and tried to expel the paladin’s arm from their pulsating dirtbox, to no avail. The paladin was now elbow deep in the mud dungeon. The two continued to wrestle, the paladin’s arm pumping deeper and deeper into the dragonborn’s dank portal.”

“I fear I may need to tap out soon,” warned Wyll.

“Weakling!” Lae’zel and Shadowheart said in unison, before glaring at one another.

No one, including Karlach herself, could tell whether she was laughing or crying.

“At last, the dragonborn seemed to accept its fate, quivering and taking the paladin’s arm nearly shoulder-deep. The creature grunted and groaned, before stilling, only to unleash an earth-shaking roar, finally forcefully expunging the paladin’s arm in a spray of gooey, milky spunk, as it collapsed on the ground, convulsing, clearly too incapacitated to be of any further threat.”

“Supper is ready,” wept Gale. 

“Shall I take over while you eat?” Astarion asked, to Gale’s immediate renewed protestation.

“That’s alright, I think we should take some mercy on Gale and pause here for the day,” said Tav. “Although let me peek ahead, perhaps it’s tame enough.” She took the journal and flipped forward a few pages. “Oh my…” came a surprised murmur from Tav. “You’ll never guess what happens to the princess and her knight… This may be a problem if we want to continue to visualise this masterpiece properly.” 

“Oh? Dare I ask..?” Astarion was giddy with anticipation. 

“Well… There are now… Five… Six… No, seven! Seven dwarves, who have appeared in the cave.” 

“Goodness gracious,” lamented Astarion. “We will never keep track of all the body parts… Perhaps if Withers steps in to help..? Would you prefer to be the princess or the knight, darling? You can choose, I’ll take the other role.” 

“I am going to use that journal for kindling tomorrow,” said Gale. 

“NO!” came a collective shout from the rest of the group. 

~~~~~

Sorry about the psychic damage, come check out my other work if you dare.

~~~~~

Tagging the usual plus some people who I think might also be doing / were interested in this:

@littleenglishfangirl @something-pithy @darlingxdragon @tallymonster @tragedybunny @spunky-89 @acourtofpenandpaper @yoonshope @lariatbunny @whiskeyskin @spacebarbarianweird @brabblesblog @littlejuicebox @icybluepenguin @snowfolly @pursuitseternal @comatosebunny09 @kittenintheden @bardic-inspo @tavyliasin

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

hiiiii! i just wanted to request something for gr63 from ur prompt list i was wondering if u could do 71 and 73 for him?kind of like one day she comes home from a bad day at work and he notices and wants to cheer her up and they build a blanket fort and they like get cozy and watch movies and then later when they're getting ready for bed she notices a faded polaroid of them together behind his mirror( they haven't moved in yet) and she realizes how much she loves him and how grateful she is for him

(you totally don't have to do it if u don't want just thought it'd be really cute...btw this was just a suggestion u could write however you'd like<33333)

bad days blanket fort ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Prompts: 71. a faded Polaroid tucked behind a mirror + 73. leaving post-its everywhere

𖤓 gr x reader ✮⋆˙

𖤓 fluff ✮⋆˙

masterlist ☾☼

the day had been long. far too long. you trudged home, shoulders slumped, and heart heavy from yet another exhausting day at work. the office had been suffocating, a blur of too many meetings, missed deadlines, and long hours of staring at a computer screen. your feet dragged against the floor as you entered your apartment, the familiar hum of the space doing little to soothe the storm raging in your mind.

you weren’t expecting george to be home yet. he’d been away, off to one of those races that seemed to take him all over the globe, leaving you in the quiet space you’d carved out together. the apartment wasn’t much, just a cozy one-bedroom with too many plants and an assortment of mismatched furniture, but it felt like home. your home.

you had pushed the door open when you spotted a familiar note on the table.

"I'm not far – don't worry. I'll be back soon. Xoxo, George"

the scribbled words brought a small smile to your face, but it was brief. you sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the day still hanging on your shoulders.

"hey," a voice suddenly broke through your thoughts, and you turned to see george standing in the doorway, a playful grin on his face.

he was home early.

"bad day?" he asked, his eyes soft with concern.

you nodded, a lump formed in your throat as you didn't know how to explain the frustration that had developed inside you. george took a few steps closer to you and pulled you close into his warm embrace. you melted into his arms, resting your head on his chest.

"want to forget it all for a bit?" he asked, pulling back slightly to give you a look of genuine kindness. before you could answer, he was already pulling you toward the living room.

"i've got a surprise for you."

george had a knack for making even your worst days a little brighter. it was one of the things you loved most about him. he never let you dwell too long on the bad, always knowing how to distract you, how to make you laugh, how to make you feel loved. today, that meant a blanket fort.

the living room soon became overrun, pillows strewn all over the place, blankets piled high in a great, messy jumble. george had clearly been tinkering with it for some time, a small smile creeping up onto his face as he turned to look at you for approval.

"your turn," he said, handing you a few more cushions, and a blanket to add to the fortress he'd created.

you couldn't help but laugh at the weight of the day being lifted with every step. you assisted him in completing the fort, draping the soft fabric over the furniture to create a small cave-like sanctuary. finished, you both crawled inside, curling up together under the blankets, surrounded by an army of pillows.

george had hooked up the television; soon you were sitting together in your favorite movie. that's always what you watched together, despite your mutual knowledge of each word of dialogue. the hours slid by as you became both more relaxed and snuggled deeper into the warmth of the blankets, and the soft luminescence of the tv.

"see? much better, right?" george whispered, his arm draped over your shoulders.

you nodded, resting your head on his chest, grateful for the comfort of his presence. you could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, the rhythm like a lullaby. this, you thought, was exactly what you needed: his warmth, his attention, his love.

later that night, after the movie had ended and the fort had collapsed around you both, you stood up to stretch, trying to ignore the tiredness in your body. you moved past the mirror in the corner of the room, and your eyes landed on something you hadn't expected.

behind the glass of the mirror, placed so delicately, was an old polaroid. you froze for a second, and the view made a tug on your heartstrings. it was a shot of you and george in each other's arms with a wide smile for the camera in a quiet park. the photo was old with slight wear, edges curled, but the joy on the faces of both of you was still visible.

you hadn’t noticed it before. in fact, you hadn’t even realized that george had put it there.

curious, you stepped closer, running your fingers along the edges of the polaroid. you felt a surge of emotion rise in your chest, and for the first time that day, your eyes threatened to fill with tears, but this time, they were good tears.

when you turned around, george was there, watching you with a knowing smile.

"you found it, huh?" he said softly.

you nodded, your voice a little shakier than you'd like. "i didn't even know it was here."

"it's for you," george said, his eyes warm as he crossed the room toward you. "i put it there a while ago, just in case you ever needed a reminder." he paused, his gaze never leaving yours. "of how much you mean to me."

the words hit you harder than expected, and before you could stop yourself, you pulled him into a hug, burying your face in his chest. "i love you," you whispered, feeling the full weight of those words. "so much."

george smiled, his arms wrapping around you tightly. "i love you too."

as you stood there, all wrapped up in his arms, you realized just how much you were really grateful for him. how lucky you were to have found that person who made even the hardest days feel manageable. someone who cared so much about you, whose love was as constant and reliable as the warmth of the blanket fort you'd built together.

you couldn't wait to spend forever with him.

.•¨•.¸¸♪

my first gr63 fic! lemme know what you think of it! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @greantii ; @anamiad00msday ; @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @justaf1girl ; @peterholland04 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1

[eppysboys]

Peter Brown & Tommy Nutter

Peter Brown first spied Tommy Nutter in 1967, at a dinner party thrown by Brian Epstein in his Georgian town house on Chapel Street... It was a warm evening, summer, June or July. An intimate sit-down for a handful of people. Peter thought Tommy was remarkably cute, though Tommy, perhaps dazed by his surroundings and the famous host, gave no indication of even noticing Peter.

Afterwards, Brian had a conversaion with Peter in which he made some 'approving comments' about their young guest. It was not that Brian Epstein had any interest in Tommy for himself; despite his stiff-collar demeanour, he preferred rough trade to 'gay boys'. But he knew what Peter liked, and was, in that regard, always encouraging.

-

(The day after Brian Epstein's death)

The next day, [Peter] was standing in Brian's drawing room, looking through a window onto a street that had just been swept through by paparazzi, like a flash flood. He had already shared the news with the Beatles, who were still on their retreat in Wales with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. Peter was numb, but starting to realise that he would be primary witness at the inevitable inquest. And that the enormous responsibility of running the Beatles' office would now fall squarely on his shoulders.

At that moment, the telephone rang. Peter walked across and picked it up.

'How are you?' asked Tommy Nutter, who had somehow acquired Brian's private number.

'Awful,' Peter said, 'Really awful.'

So the young man from the summer dinner party invited himself over for company and comfort.

-

On a Friday in August, Peter was sitting at his desk wrapping up some work when Paul McCartney called him on the telephone. For the previous few days, the Beatles had been working on a new single, an experimental track that had caused tension in the group - McCartney versus Harrison over guitar riffs - and raised the concern of their record producer, George Martin, who'd suggested it might be too long for radio play. Now it was nearly completed, and Paul asked Peter to come round for a first listen.

(Paul and John have Peter listen to 'Hey Jude', which he is impressed by and loves.)

Paul and John told Peter they wanted to go out and celebrate. But Peter demurred; he was to drive out to the country with Tommy for the weekend. Paul told him to call Tommy and bring him along; they had all met him by now, and there was no problem with Peter having a boyfriend.

When Peter called him using the studio payphone, Tommy refused, wilfully non-compliant. He didn't want to go out and celebrate in Soho. It took Paul to snatch the reciever out of Peter's hand and beg him to 'come hear this' before he finally surrended.

Tommy arrived at Trident and was installed in the armchair, told to prepare himself. The song was cued for a second play. As he then listened for the full seven minutes and eleven seconds, Paul and John watched him closely, trying to gauge his reaction.

After it was finished, Tommy remained impassive, unreadable. There was a long pause.

He told them he didn't like it.

The Beatles were 'crestfallen', Peter recalls, until they were informed this was Tommy's idea of a droll joke. Indeed, Tommy would eventually admit that 'Hey Jude' was 'the most incredible song... because we'd never heard anything like that before'. What impressed him was not so much its groundbreaking form, though, as how uncalculated it seemed. In Tommy's view, the Beatles hadn't set out to break the mould; they'd just wanted to express themselves. And expressing themselves - honestly expressing themselves - meant making the song in a way that happened, by the by, to be groundbreaking. 'It just came from within them,' he later said admiringly. 'That's what they wanted to do and they did it properly.'

"House of Nutter - The Rebel Tailor of Savile Row" by Lance Richardson