#i'd like to go get like a little piece of wood to use as a ramp to get it inside easier...

[vengefultakeover]

Sketch & Rein

My drafting table had a screw missing from the hinge that propped it up at the perfect angle. I had made it a habit not to draw with my face so close to the page so that I would inhale the graphite that dusted the surface of the paper, but now the top wobbled as the tip of my pencil drifted along my drawing and my straight line zigged. The model I was drawing was curvaceous, a close representation of the model that commissioned me a dress for a gala event that she would be attending with her husband. Our first meeting consisted of her showing me a wonderful selection of dresses that her eye had been drawn to and I used them as the pool for my inspiration.

"I want all of this to be accentuated." She said, referencing her figure. I loved her confidence, something I wish I had. She had every right to be confident, she was beautiful. The preliminary sketches I rendered were sent over and she loved all of the colorful works of art, which narrowed down very little for me, but I knew exactly what she would love despite it. The tip of my pencil reached the hemline and the table top creaked followed by an aggressive thunk that made the graphite snap.

"What the - " I closed my eyes, calmly reached for my inkwell pencil sharpener and listened to the blade shave off the wood to a point inside the red glass container. I abandoned the pencil in the cup hanging blissfully next to the table and ducked under it to find the source of my problem. My fingers slid over the metal pieces until I found an empty hole, one that, if filled, would have stabilized the desk. As my finger ran over it, my doorbell rang and I hit the back of my head with an angry huff. Quickly, I pulled a bag of frozen vegetables from the freezer and placed it on the sore spot, opening the door to greet the stranger.

"Hey, are you Mike?" He asked, a bag slung over his shoulder, "I had called the other day about the extra room and we were supposed to meet today."

"Shit, I'm so sorry I completely forgot. You are - ?" I invited him in, adjusting the bag on my head before abandoning it on the table by the door.

"I'm Rein. Are you okay? That looks like it hurt." He chuckled.

"Oh yeah, just a bump. Want to check out the place?" I pointed towards the rest of the apartment and gave him a tour. "This is the kitchen, well stocked with vegetable ice packs, and this is the living room." I spun on my heels as I extended my arms to present the room like it was a Price is Right prize. "There are technically three bedrooms, but I use the downstairs as a studio. The other two are upstairs."

"Oh wow, three stories? This looks great," He peeked down the stairs into my studio, "When would I be able to move in? I'm looking for a place since I'll be starting school soon."

"School? Are you an undergrad?" I asked.

"Nah, I'm going to grad school. I'm going in for Architecture." He chuckled.

"That's awesome, I just got here for grad too. Fashion design." I sunk down into a chair in the living room, "I'll have to do whatever paperwork, but if you wanted to move in soon I'm sure it would be fine. The bedroom upstairs is ready whenever you’d like it."

"Oh? That's amazing. Yeah, I'd love to move in by the weekend. I want a couple of days to settle down. Maybe even get to know my cute roommate." He laughed. Did he really just say that? My cheeks flushed red and I suddenly felt warm all over.

“Oh, well, you're welcome to it. I'll email the landlord and just let them know I found the roommate and they'll send over the paperwork as soon as they decide to I guess. Move-in season is always really busy." I shrugged, face still warm from the cute roommate comment. He looked over the apartment again before heading to the door.

"I'll be over tomorrow to move in what I've got. It's just a couple of boxes and a bed. Nothing crazy." He stood in the doorway and I nodded.

"I'll see you tomorrow then." He winked and then disappeared out into the parking lot. I returned to my studio and as I walked in I felt something hard dig into the heel of my foot. I stumbled over it, avoiding any more pain of my weight stepping on the missing loose screw that would stabilize my desktop.

"This is the last of it." Rein let the mattress plop onto the ground of the second bedroom and I dusted myself off. I had offered to help him unload his car, which went much faster than I had anticipated.

"I'll leave you to it. I have to take care of some final bits of this job." I pointed in the general direction I was headed and he nodded.

"Thanks for the help."

"No problem. I'll be downstairs." On my way out I knocked my shoulder against the doorframe and I put my head down in embarrassment, quickly rushing away to my studio.

The design I was working on only needed a couple more details. A full ensemble of pieces and accessories were important and I wanted to make sure that this was a look and not just any regular gala dress. I capped the last marker, finishing the sketch and tossing all of my drawing tools into the bin they were stored in. Quickly looking back at the door to make sure Rein was still upstairs, I heard a distant thud of something being dropped. Deciding that he was far enough away to not disturb me, I picked up the sketch and stood in the center of the room. With a deep breath, I closed my eyes and felt my lungs fill with crisp air. With the sketch in one hand, I took my other hand and pushed my fingers into the page. Instead of the ripping or the paper folding like one might suspect, my glowing hands sunk into the sketch as though it were a vertical pool of water and after getting a good grip I pulled out the bodice of the dress. I let the paper fall, and it dropped with a thud as the gown flourished out of the page. The seams were crisp and the details were immaculate as the remaining sunlight of the day caught the diamond embellishments and made them sparkle. Looking down at the page, the sketch remained intact except the color was a little bit tinted. I rolled a dress form out from the corner and put it on it to get a good look. The matching bag and shoes were next, easily plucked out of the pages they were drawn on.

"Wow. That was one incredible magic trick." I fell over, hitting my head on my stool this time instead of the now-fixed desk which made me growl as I pushed my hand against the new sore spot. The purse and heels hit the ground a few feet away with another clunk.

"Fuck. I should have been more careful." I applied pressure to the bump and winced.

"What do you mean? That was awesome." Rein came to help me up off the ground and as he helped me up I realized he was surprisingly warm.

"I don't really tell people about my quirk. It's easy to hide, but people still act weird around people with them." I went to pick up the heels and purse and I set them down on my cutting table. One of the buckles on the shoe seemed to have been knocked out of place. I looked Rein up and down and at this point didn't care too much if he saw me do it again. I bent down, reached inside the sketch and pulled out a duplicate pair of heels with the buckle perfectly attached.

"That's a bit wasteful. Don't you think?" He chuckles. I squint at him, not particularly enjoying his playful jabs as the thought of exposure meant I might need to go to a different school. I shook my head, rolled my eyes, and tossed the initial pair of heels back towards the sketch and they exploded into a cloud of color before being sucked back into the page.

"I really need you not to tell anyone." I crossed my arms and leaned against the table.

"Tell anyone? I would never out you like that. Should I tell you my quirk to make it even?" I stared at his smirk for a moment, watching his smug face with a look of shock on my own.

"You have a quirk?" I ask.

"It's easy for me to hide too, but we're going to have to go somewhere else for me to show you. It requires another individual." He shrugs and turns down the hall, heading upstairs.

"So what exactly is it?" I pushed my hands into my pockets as I follow him inside the gas station. The door chime went off throughout the store and he scanned the aisles for people, but it was relatively dead. The cashier was an older gentleman, and looked like he was about to turn to dust if someone talked to him.

"Mmm, that." A bright yellow sportscar revved its engine as it pulled in front of a pump. A hulking man stepped out of it, making the transaction as he filled his car up with gas. I followed Rein out as he walked over to the car, looking up to check for cameras. Only one was pointed in his direction, but it looked broken. He snuck around the car, approaching the stranger from behind and then slipped into him. Rein was nowhere to be found, but the man took a deep breath in, face turning pink before he turned to me and relaxed his shoulders. He smiled, pushed down his shorts to show off his ass and continued pumping gas.

"What the - " Before I could finish, the pump thunked and this man continued to finish up at the pump with his shorts down. He closed up the gas tank with a double click of the cap and then turned towards me with a smile.

"So? What do you think? We even?" He pulled his shorts up and then leaned against the car with that same smug look on his face that Rein was wearing earlier. To be honest, I felt a bit of a rush as he looked at me.

"I don't know what to say. That's impressive." I crossed my arms, nodding at him.

"I should give him back, though. I've made my point." He winked at me, turned towards the gas tank and then Rein slipped out of his back. The muscled hunk twitched and shook his head before getting into his car and driving off with a full tank of gas.

"I think we're even." I looked at him and his eyes sparkled a bit as he smiled in my direction.

"We should go out. I think we could have some fun together." Rein spun around on my stool in the studio as I finished up the dress. One of the nice things about my quirk is I could make the materials needed for any missing pieces and last minute details. This made the fabric store useless unless I wanted inspiration. It meant I got to avoid the judgmental quilters and home-sewers who felt they were the pinnacle of fashion in their book clubs and sewing circles. It also means that everything that comes from my sketches was an original.

"I need to finish this." I said, doodling a needle and a spool of thread, filling in the color with a marker and then picking it up off the page.

"Does your quirk have any limits? Like can you draw anything and make it real?" Rein leaned towards me as I stitched the hem and made sure the seams were reinforced.

"I haven't really tried. I don't normally use it for anything other than small things like this. I know that I can't like draw books and have their pages filled with the story I'm thinking of, it normally just comes out blank." I picked a pin out of the fabric and stabbed it into my wrist pin cushion.

"What about money?"

"Everyone always asks me that, but, ow fuck," pushing the needle through the fibers, I felt the sharp end pierce my finger and I looked up at him. "I can make money, but sometimes it can read as fake. Not always though." I sucked my finger, the taste of iron swirling around in my mouth.

"That's awesome. Do you get tired?" He crossed his legs next to me as I finished up the last few stitches. "I only ask because sometimes if I'm inside if someone for a really long time I have to regain all that energy I spent."

"I haven't really, but I also haven't tried anything that might make me tired." I shrugged.

"Like what?"

"I don't know, like a person?" I started putting away my tools, adding the ones I wanted to keep and then crushing the other in my hand as they turned into particles of color and slipped between my fingers.

"I haven't tried that, no. I did accidentally turn one of my drawings as a kid into a real thing, which terrified my parents. That was a crazy way to figure out your son had a quirk." I laughed, stepping back to look at the dress. There was a moment of silence as Rein joined me in looking at the garment I had created.

"It's beautiful." He rocks side to side in the chair.

"Thank you." I blush, looking over at him.

"So, now that your done would you like to go out?" He smiled.

"Fine, but only because I finished early." I chuckled.

The gas station light flickered as a woman approached the older gentleman at the counter and spoke in a warm clear tone, "Hi there, I hope you're having a wonderful evening. Have you seen anything out of the ordinary happening around here?" Her dress swished side to side as she leaned against the counter. The warm smile on her face was sickly sweet and the older gentleman shook his head. After getting nothing from the old man, her smile dropped and she turned away from him to look around the aisles.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" The elderly man coughed.

"I can feel it. They've been here," She sniffed the air like a bloodhound, "two of them.” She turned back to the old man with that sickly sweet grin.

"Ma'am?" His raspy voice struggled.

"I'd like to see your footage for the day," Her smile is frozen as she spoke and her eyes swirled, turning from a brown to a dark purple. The older man stands there dazed and then blankly nods.

"Yes, ma'am." He coughs.

[bullet-prooflove]

Hello 👋 as long as there is Colter content coming, I'm happy and thankful!

I'd love to do a three things ask though, since you're still doing that!

Colter Shaw + midnight, falling, tea

Thanks!

Tagging: @kmc1989 @Inlovewithcharmers @mckinleysbones @lou-bubbles @gatefleet

Companion piece to:

Stay (NSFW) - Colter can never ask for you to stay.

The Maybe Girl (NSFW) - Colter makes a mistake by revealing his feelings for you.

Snow - Colter makes a realisation when you end up staying the night in Nebraska.

It’s past midnight when Colter wakes up to find you absent from his bed, his palm runs over the sheets finding them cool to the touch. He sighs, thinking you’ve disappeared again but then he hears the crackle of wood outside, sees the orange glow of a fire peeking through the blinds.

He brings the blanket with him when he steps outside of the trailer. There’s a bite in the Nebraska air that causes goosebumps on his skin, he can see them on yours too as you sit out here in nothing but his t-shirt with a mug of tea clasped between your hands.

The scent of lavender reaches his nostrils, it’s infused with honey and camomile. Nightime tea, he realises, the exact same type his mom used to make when he was a kid.

“Bad dreams?” He questions as he drapes the blanket around your shoulders, squeezing them gently before he sits down alongside you.

“You think I’d be used to them by now.” You sigh, tucking yourself up against him.

“I don’t think it’s ever something you get used to.” He says softly, staring into the fire. “I still dream about the night my father died, finding him at the bottom of that cliff…”

He trails off then because he doesn’t like going back to that night, the guilt that’s associated with it. For the longest time he’d thought Russell was responsible, but then he ran into him again, looked into his eyes he knew there wasn’t a chance in hell that his brother had killed their father.

“They say that PTSD changes your brain chemistry.” You tell him as you cradle the mug to your chest. “Mine must be seven shades of fucked up at this point.”

“I’d say we’re both a little fucked up.” Colter concedes as he gathers you up close, shielding you from the coldness of the night. “It’s probably why this works so well.”

A comfortable silence falls, the two of you watching the flames as they lick up towards the sky trying to chase away the darkness.

“How long do you think we can keep this up?” You ask quietly. “Living like this, off the grid?”

He reads the real question behind your words.

How long do you have him? How long do you have this shelter out here away from the rest of the world?

Colter, he never stays in one place too long, he gets itchy feet, he always has. It’s why he travels around the country seeking out reward jobs, why his father used to call him The Restless One. If it was any other circumstance he’d already be on route to God knows where but it isn’t any other circumstance. It’s you and Colter will always come through for you, no matter what the cost.

“There’s nowhere else I have to be.” He assures you, his lips brushing over your temple. “We can stay here for as long as you need.”

Love Colter? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[kitwilsonsass]

i think it's very brave of me to use one of my only two days in a row off for the next two weeks to do more cleaning even though i'm already sore as hell from yesterday

[ha-rinrin]

bratty sub jinx x dom reader (I'd be sooo thankful if you do this<3)

since you asked so nicely, here it is! idk if I got the bratty part right so if you want me to make it again just let me know.

pairing: bratty sub jinx x dom fem!reader

warning: smut

wordcount: 5.6k

summary: In a chaotic dance of dominance and desire, you find yourself entangled with a bratty Jinx who knows how to push all the right buttons.

masterlist

Taming the Brat

The faint hum of Piltover’s busy streets filters through the window, but inside your apartment, everything is calm, meticulously organized, and in perfect order. The polished wood floors, the neatly stacked books, and the clean, geometric lines of the furniture, everything equally perfect as Piltover.

But then there's Jinx 

She’s lounging on your couch like a queen, her boots flung haphazardly onto your spotless floor, one dangerously close to knocking over the stack of magazines on the coffee table. Loose screws and bolts from whatever gadget she dragged in with her are scattered across the table, some of them rolling closer to the edge every time she shifts her legs.

“Piltover.” She drawls your city’s name like it’s a bad joke, glancing around your apartment with exaggerated disdain. “How do you even breathe in this place? It’s like a museum. Or a... hospital.” She wrinkles her nose.

Before you can respond, she grabs one of the neatly arranged throw pillows and tosses it across the room. “Oops. Guess that wasn’t where it’s supposed to go, huh?” She grins, eyes darting to yours, waiting for a reaction.

You stand near the window, arms crossed, trying your hardest to stay calm. “Some of us like things in order, Jinx.”

Jinx lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh. “Order? Bleh. Where’s the fun in that?” She kicks her legs up, smacking her feet against the back of the couch with a thud, as if daring you to tell her off. Then, with a quick motion, she snatches one of your books off the coffee table and starts fanning herself with it, pages bending at odd angles.

“Careful!” you warn, your voice slipping with a bit more urgency than you meant.

Her grin only widens. “What? This old thing? Look at this!” She holds it up like she’s inspecting a relic. “Everything’s in alphabetical order. Do you do that with all your stuff?” She leans back, putting the book on her head like it’s a hat. “Bet you even have a color-coded wardrobe. Am I right?”

She tosses the book behind her, letting it land on the floor with a careless thud. “Oops, again. Man, I’m really bad at this 'order' thing.”

You shoot her a look, but she’s already moved on. Jinx leans over the side of the couch, grabs a bolt, and flicks it across the room with a practiced flick of her wrist, the small piece of metal clinking as it rolls under a piece of furniture.

“Wow, look at that, lost forever,” she says, her voice dripping with mock horror. “Guess I’ll just have to tear apart your perfect little apartment to find it.” She pauses, giving you a wicked grin. “Or maybe... I won’t.” She shrugs and stretches out even more, taking up way more space than necessary, her arm knocking over the perfectly arranged stack of papers onto the floor.

Her eyes gleam with that signature mischief, fully aware she’s getting under your skin. “So, how long before you crack, huh? Gonna start reorganizing while I’m still here?”

Her fingers tap idly on the table, and she reaches for another book. “Bet you even have a label maker around here somewhere, don’t you?” She opens the book, not bothering to read it, just flipping the pages back and forth obnoxiously loud. “You’re like... so Piltover. Do you have a schedule for everything?”

She’s practically bouncing now, pushing every single button she can find with no intention of stopping. Her grin grows wider, and she leans in, eyes sparkling with playful defiance. “What do you do for fun, anyway? Dust the shelves? Or, wait—vacuum in perfectly straight lines?”

Her bratty energy is off the charts now, every word dripping with mockery, her playful grin daring you to do something about it. She’s enjoying every second of testing your patience.

You take a deep breath, trying to maintain your calm as you watch her antics. “Jinx, if you break anything—”

She cuts you off with a laugh, her fingers dangerously close to another delicate trinket. “What? You think I’m gonna break it? Please, I’m a professional at not breaking stuff.” She smirks, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

You can feel your resolve slipping as you try to hold back a smile. “You call this a professional setup?”

Her laughter fills the room, carefree and loud. “Boring! You need to lighten up!”

As she leans back against the couch, you decide it’s time to turn the tables. “You know,” you say slowly, locking eyes with her, “if you keep this up, we might need to head over to your place instead.”

Her grin falters for a brief moment before her eyes widen, a knowing smile spreading across her lips. “Oh? Is that what you want?” she teases, her voice dripping with playful seduction. “You know what happens when we go to my place.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what I’m counting on,” you reply, stepping closer.

She stands up, excitement dancing in her eyes as she leans closer, a spark of mischief in her gaze. “I mean, you know I’m always down for a little fun. Just remember, last time we went to my place, it got really chaotic.”

“Yeah, but that’s part of the thrill, isn’t it?” you say, smirking as you lean in, teasing her with your closeness. “I’ve been ready for all kinds of chaos since the last time I left.”

She bites her lip, that bratty demeanor shining through as she takes a step back, clearly reveling in the flirtation. “So, you wanna play with fire again, huh? That’s brave of you.”

You give her a teasing smirk. “Or maybe I just know how to handle the heat.”

Jinx’s grin widens, her playful bravado flaring as she heads for the door. “Alright, then. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She slides into her boots, her energy crackling with anticipation. “You know this means we’re skipping the boring stuff.”

“Good,” you reply, feeling the thrill build in the air. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

With a cheeky wink, she flings the door open. “Ready for another round?”

“Always,” you say, stepping out into the excitement of the unknown, knowing exactly where the night is headed.

The walk to Jinx's place is electric, her energy infectious as she chats about the chaos she has planned for the night. As you step through her front door, the familiar sights and sounds of her world wrap around you like a warm embrace. The hideout is a whirlwind of color and noise, with mismatched furniture strewn about, bright posters plastered across the walls, and half-finished inventions scattered everywhere. It feels like a sanctuary of delightful chaos, perfectly embodying her spirit.

“Welcome to my lair,” she announces with a grand gesture, her grin widening as she takes in the familiar surroundings. “Buckle up; it’s about to get wild!”

You can’t help but chuckle, stepping deeper into her world. “Wild, huh? You have no idea what you’re in for tonight.”

Her eyes narrow, a playful challenge lighting up her features. “Oh, really? I think I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

You close the door behind you, locking it with a swift click that echoes in the charged atmosphere. The room is lit by flickering neon lights and the glow of odd contraptions whirring to life. “You say that now, but just wait.”

As you take a step closer, the air thickens with anticipation. The playful banter ignites something in you, turning the usual dynamic on its head.

Before she can respond, you grab her by the hair, tilting her head back to meet your gaze. Her eyes widen with surprise, but the bratty grin quickly returns, challenging you. “Oh, getting bold, are we?”

“Just keeping you on your toes,” you reply, leaning in to brush your lips against hers, teasing just long enough to make her squirm.

“Pfft, you think you can handle me?” she shoots back, her tone both defiant and playful. “I’m not that easy to break.”

You can’t help but smile at her bravado. “That’s exactly what I’m counting on.”

With a swift motion, you pin her against the wall, your body pressing into hers, creating a delicious tension between you. “But tonight, you’re going to learn just how much chaos I can bring.”

Jinx's eyes sparkle with mischief, a bratty grin plastered on her face. “Oh, is that a challenge? Because I thrive on havoc!”

“Good, because I’m not going easy on you,” you murmur, pulling back just enough to catch her gaze. 

She laughs, the sound playful and defiant. “Prove it!”

With that, she wiggles free from your grasp, darting away with a cheeky smile. “You’ll have to catch me first!”

The playful game ignites a fire within you, and you chase after her, the atmosphere crackling with energy. When you finally catch up, you spin her around again, pinning her back against the wall.

“Nice try,” you say, your breath hot against her skin, enjoying the rush of dominance. “But you’re not getting away that easily.”

“Oh, you’re gonna have to try harder than that!” she challenges, the bratty spark in her eyes igniting further.

You smirk, relishing the challenge. “Oh, I will.”

You crash your lips against hers, kissing her hard, pouring all your pent-up desire.

Jinx gasps against your mouth, and it’s not long before she melts into the kiss, her playful defiance transforming into eager responsiveness. She kisses you back letting you take over, her hands tangling in your hair, but there’s a hint of submission in her energy, eager to follow your lead.

“Not bad,” she breathes between kisses, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “But I’m not going to make this easy for you!”

With a playful smirk, she leans in again, but you capture her lips with a kiss that’s even more fervent, fully taking charge. The way she responds, eagerly following your movements, only fuels the fire between you.

You smile against her lips, enjoying the rush of dominance. “You’re in for a ride, Jinx.”

“Oh, I know,” she replies breathlessly, pressing her body against yours, clearly relishing the thrilling tension as you guide her once more into a kiss, her bratty spirit shining through even as you take the lead

You pull Jinx close, crashing your lips together. The kiss is hard and raw, igniting a fire between you. She gasps against you, her fingers gripping your shoulders as she melts into it.

You tilt her head back, deepening the kiss, while her body arches into yours, hungry and wanting. Pulling her hair, you hear a soft moan escape her lips, a sound that only fuels your desire.

Wrapping your arms around her waist, you lift her easily, and she giggles, the sound thrilling you.

“Okay, now you’re just showing off!” she teases, but the flush on her cheeks tells you she loves it.

You capture her lips again, the kiss deepening, turning frantic. Her hands tangle in your hair, tugging as her breath quickens.

You lead her toward her cluttered workbench, where tools and mechanical parts lay strewn. The air is thick with electricity, and you can see her excitement mirrored in your gaze. As you reach the table, you can’t help but push her back playfully, watching as she stumbles slightly before regaining her balance, laughter spilling from her lips.

“Careful, Jinx!” you mock, and she rolls her eyes, but there’s a glimmer of challenge in her gaze.

With a swift motion, you sweep your arm across the table, sending wrenches and gadgets clattering to the floor. The sound echoes in the small space, but it barely registers as you turn your attention back to her, your heart racing.

“Oops,” you say innocently, your smirk widening. “Looks like we need to make room.”

You guide her to lay back on the now-clear surface, her playful laughter ringing in your ears. She looks up at you, a mix of excitement and mischief in her eyes, as you hover over her.

A thrill runs through you, and you can’t resist leaning down to capture her lips again. The kiss is fiery, full of the hunger that’s been building between you. When you pull back, you look deep into her vibrant eyes, feeling a rush of confidence and desire.

“Let’s get rid of these,” you say, your fingers brushing against the hem of her shirt, a teasing smile playing on your lips.

Jinx arches an eyebrow, a challenge lighting up her expression. “What, you think you can just undress me?” she shoots back, her voice playful yet sultry.

You lean closer, your breath ghosting over her skin. “Oh, I know I can,” you reply, the promise lacing your tone making her shiver with anticipation.

With that, your fingers deftly slip beneath her shirt, pulling it upward and over her head. She lifts her arms willingly, letting you remove the fabric, revealing her bare skin to you. The sight makes your heart race, and you can’t help but lean down to press your lips against her collarbone, trailing kisses down to the swell of her chest.

“See? Easy,” you tease, your voice low and sultry.

Your hands roam over her sides, tracing the curves of her body as you lean back to admire her for a moment. The flush on her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes tell you how much she’s enjoying this. 

“Now for the rest,” you say, glancing at the waistband of her shorts.

“Good luck with that,” she retorts, a teasing smile dancing on her lips as she winks at you.

With a swift motion, you tug her shorts down, exposing more of her skin. The thrill of undressing her ignites a fire in your core, and you lean down again, kissing her hard as your hands explore every inch of her body, each caress igniting sparks of pleasure.

Jinx lets out a playful laugh, her body arching up to meet yours. “Is that all you’ve got?” she taunts, her breathless voice laced with challenge.

You can feel the urgency and excitement radiating between you, and you know there’s no turning back now. “Just wait and see,” you whisper, your lips brushing against her ear

You take a moment to admire her bare skin, the soft glow of her body illuminating the dimly lit space. Jinx watches you with a playful challenge in her eyes, her breath quickening as anticipation fills the air.

Without breaking eye contact, you lean down, pressing soft kisses along her collarbone, trailing down to the delicate curve of her shoulder. Each kiss ignites a fire in your chest, and you can feel her shiver beneath your touch. You move to one of her tits, sucking her nipple, erupting a moan from her, causing her to grab your hair, pulling you closer to keep herself grounded

“Is this what you had in mind?” you tease, your lips lingering just above her skin.

“Maybe,” she replies coyly, biting her lip, the challenge evident in her voice.

You grin, your fingers dancing along her sides as you move lower, kissing a path down her stomach. As your lips brush against her soft skin, you take the opportunity to leave a mark—your teeth grazing lightly, then sucking gently to create a deep hickey.

“Oops, guess I got carried away,” you say playfully, watching as her eyes widen in surprise and delight.

With every kiss, you take your time, savoring the way she feels under your lips and the way her skin warms beneath your touch. You plant soft, lingering kisses along her sides, relishing the giggles that escape her as you leave another mark.

“Hey! What are you doing?” she gasps, half-laughing, half-mocking. “Trying to make me a walking canvas?”

“Just giving you some art,” you reply cheekily, trailing kisses up her ribs, pausing to nip and suck at the skin, leaving more hickeys that bloom like flowers on her body.

Her fingers never leaving your scalp gripping tightly as she gasps. “If you keep this up, I might lose my mind,” she breathes, the challenge replaced with breathless desire.

You kiss your way back up to her lips, leaving a few final hickeys along her collarbone and neck, capturing her mouth in a passionate embrace. The heat between you intensifies, and Jinx’s playful demeanor only fuels your urgency.

You roll your hips against hers, feeling her respond with a soft moan that vibrates through your entire body. Each movement deepens the connection, and you both find yourselves teetering on the edge of something exhilarating.

With every roll of your hips, the heat between you intensifies, and you can feel the world around you fading into oblivion. Jinx’s body responds instinctively, her legs tightening around your waist, urging you on as her breath quickens.

“God, you feel amazing,” she breathes, her fingers threading through your hair, pulling you closer as if she wants to fuse your bodies together. The sensation of her touch sends shivers down your spine, igniting a fire deep within you.

“More,” Jinx whispers against your lips, her voice thick with need. “I want more of you.”

You smirk against her mouth, the challenge in her words pushing you further. “You got it, brat,” you tease, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. The playful glint in her gaze sends a thrill through you, and you know she’s ready for whatever you have in mind.

Without hesitation, you begin trailing kisses down her jawline, savoring the softness of her skin as you make your way toward her neck. You find a spot just below her ear, kissing and nibbling, making sure to leave your mark—a deep, dark hickey that’s sure to stand out against her vibrant skin.

She gasps, her fingers tightening in your hair as you continue your descent. “Oh, you’re so going to regret that,” she teases breathlessly, but you can hear the eagerness in her voice, the way she arches her back in response to your ministrations.

You pause for a moment, looking up at her, your lips hovering just above her collarbone. “Regret? I don’t think so,” you reply with a smirk, then return to your exploration, peppering kisses across her chest, savoring the taste of her skin.

As you trail down further, you take your time, leaving hickeys along her sides and down to her waist. Each mark is a reminder of the moment, each sound she makes fuels your desire, pushing you to claim her further.

“Don’t stop,” she pleads, her voice a mix of desperation and exhilaration. “I need more”

With a wicked grin, you slide down onto your knees, positioning yourself between her legs, your heart racing with anticipation. The change in perspective only heightens your desire as you take in every inch of her, the way her body quivers under your gaze, the way her pussy is leaking with need. You lean in closer, pressing your lips against the soft skin of her thighs, leaving a trail of hot kisses.

“God, you’re such a tease,” she gasps, fingers digging into the edge of the table, her body arching in response to your touch.

With deliberate slowness, you continue your exploration, your kisses growing more insistent as you trail higher. You leave a path of hickeys along her thighs, each mark a testament to your possession. Her gasps and moans grow louder, filling the space with a symphony of desire that only fuels your hunger.

“Don’t keep me waiting!” she urges, her voice laced with desperation, her hips rolling instinctively toward you.

You meet her gaze, desire reflecting back at her, and without hesitation, you lean in, capturing her waist with your hands as your lips find her clit. You suck and nibble, causing Jinx to cry out in pleasure

“Tell me what you want, Jinx,” you whisper against her pussy, each word dripping with heat.

“I want you—now!” she moans, frustration mixing with need, her body writhing as she fights against the tension building inside her.

“But you already have me,” you tease, a smirk curling on your lips as you feel her shiver beneath your touch.

Jinx bites her lip, her frustration palpable. “Not enough,” she growls, her hips arching upward, seeking more contact. “You know what I want.”

You keep her waiting, savoring every tremble, every soft gasp that escapes her lips as you press wet kisses against her clit—enough to send waves of electricity down her body, but not enough to satisfy her completely.

“You love being right here, don’t you?” you murmur, the words a playful taunt as your hands tighten around her waist.

Her response is instant, a sharp intake of breath that turns into a moan. “Shut up and do something already,” she hisses, her body writhing beneath you, desperate for more.

“Patience,” you tease, your lips brushing against her clit, watching her reaction. “I thought you liked a little chaos.”

Jinx glares down at you, eyes dark with need, but there’s a grin tugging at her lips. “Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d be such a tease about it.”

You meet her gaze, feeling that spark of defiance in her stare, and smirk as you finally give in to her demand

With a smirk, you finally close the distance, your lips and tongue moving in sync as you flick against her sensitive clit. The moment your mouth makes full contact, Jinx’s head falls back, a low, guttural moan escaping her lips. Her hands fly to your hair, gripping tight as her body arches toward you in desperate need.

“That’s more like it,” she breathes, her voice shaky with satisfaction, though there’s still that underlying bratty tone.

Without missing a beat, you slide your hand up her thigh, teasing her slick entrance with your fingers before slowly thrusting two of them inside her. The sensation makes Jinx gasp, her hips bucking up toward you as her body tightens around your fingers. You curl them inside her, hitting just the right spot while your tongue continues its relentless work against her clit.

Jinx’s moans grow louder, her legs trembling as the pleasure overwhelms her. “Fuck… yes, don’t stop!” Her voice is raw, full of need, her bratty attitude wavering as her body gives in to your control.

You smirk against her skin, pumping your fingers in and out of her in time with the swirling motions of your tongue. The combination drives her wild—her hips start moving of their own accord, riding your hand as the heat between you grows unbearable. You can feel her tightening around your fingers, her walls clenching as you thrust deeper, harder.

“Oh, God…” she gasps, her voice tight, the heat building to a fever pitch. Her back arches off the workbench, her legs tightening around you, pulling you in as if desperate to keep you right there.

But you’re still in control. You slow your pace, just enough to keep her teetering on the edge, never letting her fully fall over. “Not yet, Jinx,” you tease, pulling your lips away just enough to see the frustration on her face.

“Don’t stop!” she practically growls, her fingers digging into your scalp as she tries to grind her hips against your hand, desperate for more.

You meet her eyes, watching the defiance and desire flicker across her face. “Beg for it,” you demand, your voice low and full of authority as your fingers press deeper inside her.

She glares at you, the bratty fire still alive in her eyes. “not a chance.”

You slow your pace even more, torturing her with the deliberate movements of your fingers and the teasing flick of your tongue just out of reach of her clit. “Then I guess you don’t want to come,” you murmur.

Her hips twitch toward you, her frustration palpable. “Fine, please—just don’t stop, pretty please.” The words slip out, soft and desperate, and it sends a thrill through you.

Satisfied with her submission, you dive back in, thrusting your fingers faster and sucking on her clit with renewed intensity. Jinx’s whole body responds instantly—her moans grow louder, her legs quivering as you push her closer and closer to the edge.

“I’m close,” she pants, her voice trembling as she clutches at your hair, holding on as if her life depends on it.

With one final, well-placed thrust of your fingers and a flick of your tongue, you send her spiraling into release. Jinx cries out, her body convulsing as waves of pleasure crash through her. Her hips jerk against your hand as she comes undone, completely lost in the overwhelming sensation.

You ride out her orgasm, continuing to pump your fingers inside her until her body finally relaxes, collapsing back against the workbench in exhausted bliss.

You slowly withdraw your fingers, your lips glistening as you pull back and meet her gaze, a satisfied smirk on your face. “Told you I’d make you beg,” you tease.

Jinx rolls her eyes, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, yeah… you win this time,” she breathes, still catching her breath.

Jinx’s body is still trembling from her release, her breath coming in heavy pants as you pull back. But you’re far from done. With a playful glint in your eyes, you slide her off the workbench just enough so that her front presses flat against it, her legs hanging off the edge. She barely has time to catch her breath before you’re behind her again, positioning her just the way you want.

“Oh, you think you’re in control now?” she teases, glancing back over her shoulder with a smirk, though her body betrays her eagerness, pressing back toward you. Her brattiness is still there, but the desperation hasn’t left her voice.

You don’t say a word as you adjust the strap-on you took out of one of her drawer, securing it tightly around your waist. The sight of her sprawled out on the workbench, completely at your mercy, only ignites the fire burning in your chest. You grab her hips firmly, pulling her back slightly so that her legs dangle just off the edge, leaving her completely exposed to you.

Jinx gasps at the sensation, her fingers curling into the wood of the workbench for support. “Fuck… you're not playing around, are you?”

You lean over her, your breath hot against her ear. “You wanted more, didn’t you?” you whisper, your voice laced with dominance. “So that’s exactly what you’re going to get.”

Before she can respond, you tease her entrance with the tip of the strap-on, rubbing it against her slickness. The anticipation is almost too much for her—her body jerks in response, a desperate moan escaping her lips.

“Please,” she whispers, all traces of her defiance starting to slip away as her hips push back toward you.

“Thought you weren’t begging” you taunt, smirking as you press in just enough to make her body tremble with need.

Her response is breathless, a mix of frustration and desire. “Just shut up and fuck me.”

Without any further teasing, you thrust into her, filling her completely in one smooth motion. Jinx cries out, her hands gripping the edge of the workbench as her body adjusts to the sensation. Her legs tremble, barely able to hold her up, but you’re holding her in place, controlling every inch of her.

“Fuck!” she moans, her voice raw with pleasure as you begin to move, your hips rocking into her with a steady rhythm. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mixing with her gasps and moans as you pick up the pace, each thrust driving her closer to the edge once again.

“You like this, don’t you?” you growl, leaning over her as your hand slides up her back, pressing her further into the workbench. “You love being like this—completely mine.”

Jinx’s only response is a loud moan, her hips grinding back against you with desperate need. She’s losing herself in the sensation, every thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body.

You keep the relentless pace, one hand gripping her waist while the other snakes around to press against her clit. The moment your fingers touch her, Jinx lets out a sharp cry, her whole body trembling.

“I’m gonna—fuck—do it, don’t stop!” she gasps, her words barely coherent as she teeters on the edge of another orgasm.

You don’t slow down, your thrusts growing more powerful as your fingers work her clit in time with your movements. The tension builds in her body, and you can feel her walls tightening around the strap-on as her release approaches.

“Come for me,” you command, your voice firm but full of heat.

With one final thrust, you push her over the edge. Jinx’s body seizes beneath you, her cries echoing through the room as she comes hard, her entire form shaking with the intensity of her orgasm. You hold her steady, guiding her through the waves of pleasure until she’s finally spent, her body limp and trembling in your arms.

You slowly pull out, watching her collapse against the workbench, completely breathless and sated. A satisfied smirk tugs at your lips as you run a hand through her blue hair, brushing it off her sweaty forehead. the strap on already on the floor.

“Still think you’re in charge?” you tease, your voice soft but teasing as you press a kiss to her shoulder.

Jinx laughs weakly, her body still trembling with aftershocks. “You’ll pay for that… later,” she mutters, but there’s no real threat in her voice—just the familiar, playful defiance that you’ve grown to love.

“Looking forward to it,” you reply grinning as you help her up,the two of you basking in the aftermath of the chaos you’ve just created together.

As the haze of pleasure starts to settle, you gently pull Jinx upright from where she had slumped over the workbench, her body still trembling slightly. Her usual wild energy seems softer now, her breaths ragged but slowly calming. You wrap an arm around her waist, guiding her back to her feet, holding her close.

"Easy now," you whisper, brushing your lips against her temple as you help her regain her balance. She leans into you, her body still weak from the intensity of everything.

She’s always so brash, always ready to dive into chaos, but moments like this… they remind you of the softer side she rarely shows anyone else. The part of her that lets her walls down, if only for a few moments.

You guide her carefully toward a small couch nearby, and she flops down with a heavy sigh, her eyes half-lidded in exhaustion. You kneel in front of her, placing soft kisses on her knees before trailing your hands up her thighs, giving her a reassuring squeeze. She gives you a lazy, appreciative smile.

"You okay?" you ask softly, pushing strands of her hair away from her face.

She nods, but there’s a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes. “Yeah… that was just... intense,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

You smile softly, leaning forward to press a tender kiss to her forehead. “You did so good,” you murmur against her skin, your words soft and sincere.

Jinx lets out a small chuckle, her usual bravado creeping back in. “Pfft… you’re the one who can’t get enough of me.”

You laugh, but you don’t argue. Instead, you grab a blanket draped over a nearby chair and wrap it around her shoulders, pulling her close to you again. “Come here,” you say, sitting down next to her, cradling her in your arms.

She curls into you, her head resting against your chest as you gently stroke her hair, fingers combing through the blue strands. The rhythmic motion seems to calm her, her breathing growing steady as she relaxes fully into your embrace.

“I like this part,” she mumbles, her voice sleepy now, but there’s a warmth in her tone.

“Yeah?” you ask, smiling down at her as you continue to run your fingers through her hair. “You like being taken care of?”

She makes a noncommittal sound, but her grip tightens on your shirt as she snuggles closer. “Just... don’t tell anyone, okay? I’ve got a reputation to keep.”

You chuckle, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Your secret’s safe with me, Jinx.”

For a while, you just sit there together, the silence comfortable and filled with a sense of peace. The wildness from earlier has melted away, replaced with this soft, intimate moment. You can feel the rise and fall of her chest against yours, her breath warm against your skin. It’s moments like these that make the chaos worth it—the quiet after the storm, where it’s just you and her.

After a few minutes, you shift slightly, reaching for a nearby water bottle and handing it to her. “Here, drink this,” you say softly.

Jinx takes it with a grateful smile, sipping slowly. “You’re such a softie,” she teases, but there’s no bite in her words.

“Only for you,” you reply with a wink, and she rolls her eyes, though you can see the faint blush on her cheeks.

Once she’s finished the water, you gently wipe the sweat from her forehead with the edge of the blanket, your touch soft and caring. Her eyes flutter shut for a moment, savoring the gentle attention you’re giving her.

“Feeling better?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as you lean in to kiss her temple again.

She nods, her lips curving into a small smile. “Yeah… thanks,” she says softly, the usual bravado in her voice replaced by something more genuine, more tender.

You both stay like that for a while longer, wrapped up in each other. The world outside can wait. For now, it’s just you and her, sharing this quiet, intimate moment in the aftermath of all the chaos.

[spookwriter-xo]

Coppélia

Chapter 6 - The Kim Estate

Chapter Summary - A little bit of Y/N's backstory and her family's history. She gets a tour of the Kim Estate from San and Wooyoung and gets a brief glimpse into the boys' private lives.

warnings: San does get a little violent towards the end, and Wooyoung cracks a few sex jokes (MDNI)

Series Masterlist

The house I grew up in was nothing short of a prison. I had all the luxuries of high society, yes, but that didn't mean I felt the same warmth and compassion children should be surrounded with.

My father owned a fashion company, Belluxe, one of the biggest in our part of the world. He had a lot of ties with some dangerous and powerful people, and as I got older I realized how much it had really gotten to his head.

The power. The greed.

I was forbidden to talk to him when I was young, only if we had guests. If I did without permission, he'd get angry. He had only gotten physical with me once, and that was when our family bond broke forever.

I was nine years old, home from boarding school with Christmas like I normally would be. My younger sister was ecstatic to have me home, finally having someone other than our mother to play with. Our older sister, she wasn't around this time. I figured she'd stayed at school for the holidays, but as I got older I found out she had run away.

I went by a different name back then, first and last. I'd changed it once I was disowned at 17, wanting to leave that old life behind. It was a lot easier than it should have been, all things considered.

I remember we were sitting at the dinner table, the only sound coming from our cutlery scraping across the porcelain plates. My mother had asked briefly how school was, and I gave a short but honest answer; "It was alright."

My father leaned back in his chair, staring at the empty seat where my sister should have been. He cleared his throat, causing us all to turn our heads in attention.

"Chariya, you'll be the next heir." He says simply, my old name, it felt weird hearing it even if it was just a memory. "Since Chalita has failed to exceed my expectations."

My family was Thai on my mother's side. She'd named us all after members of her family still in Thailand, bringing a piece of her old life with her.

Mother and Father married after father knocked my mother up with Chalita, the eldest. My mother used to say he was a kind man until she gave him too many daughters and no son. I think she just used it as an excuse to hide the snake he really is.

"My love, she is too young-" My mother states before she is cut off.

"Enough! I told you not to speak against me." He shouts, slamming his fist down on the table. My little sister, Chaluai, begins to cry at the sudden noise. My mother bows her head and stands, taking Chaluai with her as she exits the dining room.

I stare down at my plate, hearing the sound of his chair creaking as he leans back.

"Your mother doesn't understand the ways of this world." He says. "But one day you will."

I was startled awake by a knock on the door, causing my body to jump from my skin.

"Hello?" I call out groggily, sitting up.

"Uhm... Y/N? It's San." A muffled voice from the other side of the door calls out.

"Right..." I murmur, the events from the last few nights creeping their way back into my head. I stretch and swing my legs over the side. My feet hit the wood as I shuffle towards the door, opening it slowly.

San stands there on the other side, wearing a suit a little different from the one he wore last night. His eyes widen as I open the door, quickly looking up.

"Just thought I'd wake you... Wooyoung and I are home whenever you want that tour." He says, finding the ceiling very interesting.

"Oh! Just give me a few minutes and I'll come find you." I say, fingers gripping the door. San nods before hurriedly rushing down the hall and towards the stairs. I watch him go before closing the door. He was a lot shyer than last night. Maybe something was on his mind.

I walk into the walk-in wardrobe and look around at all the luxurious clothes hung up for me. There was a cabinet in the center, inside millions of dollars worth of jewelry for me to choose from. I feel a shiver run up my spine at the sight. It had been so long since I'd seen anything like this, and it felt wrong.

I hadn't worked for it, I didn't buy it myself. These men had only met me last night yet they were already willing to spend millions on me. Why?

I settled on a simple top and skirt, slipping on some fluffy slippers that were positioned neatly beside my bed before making my way out into the hallway.

The eery silence shared with the darkness of the hallway settled a sick feeling in my stomach. It was so quiet, that no chatter or thumping of footsteps could be heard. I figured Wooyoung and San were downstairs somewhere, praying that they weren't the type to jump out and scare me.

I head towards the staircase, the scenery getting brighter as I peek down at the pretty white marble that now glittered in the sunlight. My hand slides down the railing as the stairs take me to the lower floor. I gaze at the paintings on the wall, one of all 8 of them positioned on and around a fancy-looking couch, and another with a younger-looking Hongjoong, who I assumed to be his mother, father, and brother.

I didn't know he had a brother, I wonder what happened to him?

I glanced left and right once I reached the bottom of the stairs, the house felt like a maze, going on forever in both directions.

"San? Wooyoung?" I call out, my hands finding my elbows as I glance around. I decided to go left, entering what seemed to be the main living room based on the three couches and the fireplace with a television situated above it. I reach my hand out and press my fingers into the plush cushions, feeling the soft fabric beneath my skin.

"Y/N?" A voice makes me jump, I turn around to see Wooyoung standing in the doorway I just walked through. He had a grin on his face. "Scared ya?" He says with a light cackle.

I splutter for a moment before crossing my arms tighter. I watch as he scans my figure, admiring my figure.

"Eyes are up here, Wooyoung." I tease, as he stares a little too long at my legs.

"Yeosang picked your wardrobe well." He says, ignoring my words and stepping a little closer. "Would prefer you don't wear it around me though."

I hold my hand up and stop him from coming any closer right as San enters from another door behind me.

"Hongjoong said we should give you a tour." He says gruffly, his hair looking a lot messier than it was when he visited maybe 20 minutes prior. I glanced at his knuckles, noticing the light bruising that had begun to blossom before he quickly hid them in the pockets of his jacket.

"I'm ready to start whenever you are," I say, offering him a smile which he hesitates to return.

"Well, this is the main living room. Pretty obvious since it looks like a living room." Wooyoung chirps, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. "Don't mind if San is a little quiet. He gets grumpy when he has to work early."

I glance back at San as Wooyoung starts to lead me through another archway into a large room. I gasped as the realization hit me that this was a ballroom. A large and grand ballroom, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. There was a grand piano on a small platform tucked away into a corner, floor-to-ceiling length windows with a matching door that led out to the backyard and a large diamond-clad chandelier dangled from the ceiling.

I could feel Wooyoung's grin as I slowly moved away from him, my jaw hanging slightly as I walked to the center. There were mosaic patterns that formed a lily flower on the floor under my feet which made me smile.

"Seonghwa told us to open the curtains for you, they haven't been opened since Hongjoongs parents were alive. The only person that uses this room is Mingi when he wants to play piano." San says from behind me. "Hongjoong's mother painted the lily flower herself."

"It's a painting?" I ask, turning to look back at both of them in surprise.

"Doesn't look it right? She was extremely talented at making things look different than what they are." Wooyoung says, the same grin on his face.

The tour went on, and every room amazed me more than the last. The kitchen was huge, almost twice the size of my bedroom with a dining room attached to it which was just as big. My mind wandered to all the grand dinners they must have hosted when Hongjoongs parents were still alive. Did they host balls too? It would be foolish not to considering how beautiful the setting was.

There was a pool, a greenhouse, and even a golf course in the backyard. I glanced over the hill and caught a glimpse of a tennis court on the far side of the golf course. I wondered how many acres this house was on. We weren't that from the city, however I couldn't see any other buildings for miles.

Inside on the first floor, there was a two-story library, another 2 smaller seating rooms, and laundry/housekeeping quarters behind the kitchen. The hallways were twisting in all directions, as if intentional. Was the layout meant to confuse people? Maybe intruders?

It would be smart if it was, all things considered. The house was intimidating from the outside just on its own, getting lost on the inside felt like a terrifying idea.

"Do you guys have maids?" I ask my arm now linked with Wooyoungs. I'd hate to be a worker here, having to clean this house would have to take days. Not only that but cooking? Laundry? Maintenance work would be a nightmare too.

"We do, they have Sundays off." Wooyoung answers, leading me back to the main stairwell. "Upstairs is mostly bedrooms and bathrooms. Hongjoong's home office is at the end of the hall on the right." He adds.

I nod, my neck craning to look at the paintings lining the walls once again. There was a painting of a woman, a beautiful woman with long black hair and piercing green eyes with freckles dusting her cheeks. I stared at the painting for a moment, getting a sinking feeling that she was staring back.

"That's Aurora." Wooyoung murmurs, eyes on the painting too. "She was... The one before you." He hesitates to say, glancing down at me before looking back up at the painting. I let go of his arm and climbed a few steps to stand directly in front of her painting.

"She's beautiful... Pretty name too." I say softly, my eyes softening as more details reveal themselves.

"You would have liked her," San says, his arms crossed as he looks at the painting, a sad look in his eyes. "She was like you, not a dancer though... More of a reader."

"If you wanted to find her she'd only ever be in the library," Wooyoung says with a small chuckle. "Most of the books in there were gifts for her, from us." He says.

"What happened to her?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I turn back to them. They're both staring up at the painting, Wooyoung lowers his head and lets out a soft, pained sigh once he registers my question.

"We'll tell you in time. You should get settled first." San answers, his voice low.

Oddly enough, I didn't feel an ounce of jealousy. It was obvious she wasn't in the picture, whether she was alive or not. However, the pained look on Wooyoungs face and the behavior of the other boys when she is mentioned made me think it was the latter. I felt sad for them. It was obvious they loved her, maybe more than I would ever realize or truly know.

A part of me was envious of that fact. To be loved so unconditionally was something I had dreamed of since I was a little girl. But, another part of me was scared. Did their work have something to do with her death? It made sense in a way.

A loud crash made me jump from my thoughts. I look to San and Wooyoung who are suddenly on high alert before San grumbles something and storms off into the direction of the main living room. I glance at Wooyoung as I step down the stairs to follow but the man stops me.

"Don't follow him." He says in a hushed voice, gripping my hips in a tight hold as I glance behind him. My eyes widened, the door San had entered through at the start of the day was wide open with a man stumbling through. San grabs the man by the back of the neck and practically drags him back into the darkness beyond the door.

The man lets out a string of curses and begs as San slams the door shut behind them both, his cries fading into nothing the further they go.

"It's the basement," Wooyoung says, answering my question before I even had to ask. "It's the only place in this house that you are not allowed to go. Understand?" He says, his expression void of any playfulness I had come to associate with his character.

"I understand," I say, staring back up at him with the same wide-eyed expression.

"Good girl." He says with a grin, hand cupping my cheek briefly before moving away, heading towards the staircase. "Come, I'll show you everyone's rooms."

I glance at the door to the basement for a moment before following Wooyoung up the stairs.

I've decided to update the story consistently every Tuesday at 12 am (AEST). A Christmas special is being planned which will be set a few years after the events of this book.

I urge minors to not interact beyond this chapter, for it's going to start getting heavy from this point. I will be checking profiles to make sure so please have something to prove your age on your profile! I don't want to traumatize children <3

Also, I closed the taglist a little early however I'll be going through the comments and the past few posts and making sure I didn't miss anyone. If you aren't on it when this chapter is posted, I'll add you to the next one.

taglist:

@bellaptv @arilevenatz @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @hecateslittlewitchling

@neuviloved @monstacheol @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone

@vtyb23 @bigbabygremlin @professormingiglasses

@pinuspot @astral-trashcan @ateezswonderland

[terrifictomholland]

my art, my muse

So, quite some time ago I said on here I'd write for Tom and well - here it is! It's been a fun ride! As always I can't help but to thank @worldoftom for being the very best beta a girl could ask for! So thank you very very much darling!

word count: 6.9K

warnings: look this is nothing but absolute filth! its got a whole bunch of stuff lmao - but oral (female and male) dirty talk, spitting (ooops) slight dom-Tom, please please please, if you are under 18, don't read this I don't want to corrupt youngsters!

Without further ado, enjoy!

The doorbell rang when you opened the door, entering the tattoo shop that you spotted on a whim. The idea had been brewing in your head for some time now to get a piece done, but you hadn’t been quite sure as to what to get done. The smell of leather and disinfectant burrowing into your nostrils, somewhat of a comforting smell and the sound of a tattoo-gun in use. 

“Yo! Welco- holy shit!” a curly red-haired guy cut himself off seeing you from a seat behind a counter. Your head swiveled around looking behind you as to why this guy cursed the way he did. 

“Y’alright?” you mused seeing the slight red tint on his cheeks. “I’ll willingly put money in the shit-I–say jar in a second, but I just know you’re my brothers’ walking sex-on-legs dream come true right now.” He explained and a raucous laugh exploded out of you, your head thrown back from the unexpected comment. 

“Oh? Who’s this brother of yours then?” you asked cheekily and the red-haired guy grinned. “He’s gonna be doing your tattoo seeing as how his client just cancelled on him, so you’re in luck to torture him,” he schemed and you grinned even more. 

“How interesting, thank you for the information,” to which he bowed his head. “Always happy to put Tom in a hard position,” that innuendo didn’t go unnoticed by you as you laughed once again. 

“Anyway, what’s your name? and more importantly what are you getting done and where?” He asked wiggling his eyebrows. “Aren’t you a cheeky bugger? M’names Y/N. As for the tattoo, only for me and well, Tom to know and you too maybe, find out if you’re lucky,” you winked and his eyes glittered.

“Nice to meet ya, I’m Harry and I must say, Tom might just have met his match,” he held out his hand to which you took and shook. 

It was very fun and lighthearted talking to Harry while this infamous brother of his, Tom, finished doing some work on another client. While you waited, you and Harry made some idle chit-chat and you looked around in the shop.

It was surprisingly airy and neat, a light green with dark wood finishes. Tiny knick-knacks of things that seemed like they were personal to the brothers. Such as different but very cool mulled wine bottles, an array of different Marvel figurine bobble-heads - actually, a bunch of different Spider-Man bobble-heads for some reason. 

“Hazza? Why are there so many bobble-heads of Spider-man?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder. “Hmm, Tom’s obsession since he was little,” he shrugged and you nodded continuing on to look at some very professional looking photos of a guy tattooing a client. You presumed the artist was Tom, but you couldn’t see his face. Only his gloved hand holding a tattoo gun working on a very detailed rose piece. It was stunning, both the photograph and the design of the piece. 

“Who took this photo?” You couldn’t look away from the various photos that hung on the walls, all in the same kind of style, showcasing the talent of both the photographer and the tattoo artist. They worked brilliantly together and it really showed.

“Oh! I did, I’ve shot all of these photos in here actually,” you could hear the pride in his voice and you turned to him, giving him a wide smile, “these are incredible,” to which his cheeks turned an adorable red hue. 

“Thank you,” he said modestly, “but in all fairness, Tom’s a really good sport in letting me hover over him when he’s working, he makes my job fairly easy,” he told you earnestly and so far, from all that Harry had said about this Tom, he seemed to be a really good and stand-up guy. “That’s a really nice thing to say about your sibling. But, may I ask where this brother of yours is? Not that you’re not impeccable company,” you winked.

“This brother of his is right here,” a raspy voice said from behind and you saw Harry grin and throw you a wink as you turned around. 

Oh boy.

What Harry had seemed to forgot to mention was that Tom was sex-on-legs for you, because damn oh damn. 

Standing against the door-frame to a room in the back, was easily the hottest guy you’d ever laid eyes on. You felt him give you a once-over as you did the same. Time suspended for a moment as you drank all of his features in. 

Black fitted jeans, showing off what looked to be very strong and muscled thighs which you wouldn’t mind climbing all over. Your eyes wandered further up over to his chest and arms, he was wearing a white simple t-shirt that he made look a million bucks. A broad chest and neck which you wouldn’t be opposed as to sink your teeth in and really mark him up. 

An air of confidence about the way he held and carried himself, something slightly dangerous, but in the best and more enthralling way. He wasn’t afraid to show you who was boss, and for him? You’d abso-fucking-lutely let him. 

But the killer? For sure his arms, splattered with tattoos, at first seemingly random ones but the closer you looked, they weren’t random at all. They all told a story - the story of Tom. 

You couldn’t really take your eyes off of his arms. So defined and fucking hot, his biceps were stuff you wrote poems about. So well-sculpted, as though he was made of marble. Veins running all over his forearms that just pulled you in. 

Veiny arms and hands were your ultimate weakness and something told you that he knew he was hot-shit, by the way his eyes raked all over you. 

“You’re Tom?” you cleared your throat once and a smirk formed at the corner of his lips. “The one and only,” his voice was ever so slightly husky and raspy when he spoke to you and you shuddered in delight. 

All of a sudden, getting a tattoo today was the best goddamn decision you’d made in ages if it meant getting to spend the rest of your day in the company of Tom.

He had the perfect face, a jaw sharp enough to cut glass, dark brown eyes that could read you like a book and the most perfectly kissable lips. Which you wanted to do, very badly. 

“and you are?” he prodded and you snapped out of your own little world which was full of Tom, all over you and very sweaty. “Hmm? Oh! I’m Y/N,” you recovered giving him a slight smile. 

“Nice t’meet ya,” he pushed off the door frame to come closer to you, giving you his outstretched hand. 

Fuck, he smelled intoxicatingly good as well. As if he didn’t already have everything going for him. 

“You too,” you said taking his hand and shaking it confidently and he licked his lips when your hands met, briefly looking down on them. “Wanna head back?” You swore his voice deepened ever so slightly when he said that, or it was merely your imagination. He smirked once again and you knew he knew the effects he had on you. “Lead the way,” you said and you could hear Harry snickering behind you, having watched your exchange.

“Don’t forget to wrap it before you tap it!” He shouted and you couldn’t help but the mortified laugh as Tom flipped him off. 

“Well that’s professional,” you smirked taking a seat in the chair. “What can I say, if he can dish it out he can damn well take it too,” he shrugged nonchalantly taking a seat on his chair, facing to look at you. 

“So, what are you wanting done?” all of a sudden his voice changed and he was back to professional Tom which made you smile to yourself, “I’d like a mandala,” you said after a beat seeing him pull out an iPad, pulling up a programme in where he started to draw on it. 

“Yeah? That’s cool, anything specific you want in the mandala? A specific pattern or so?” he prodded having already started to work on a design for you. 

“Nah I’m good, putting my faith in you not to fuck me up,” you grinned cheekily and he snorted, “Thanks for the vote of confidence,”.

“Anytime,” you winked and he let out a small laugh. “What about this?” he turned the iPad after a moment and you were rendered speechless, he’d drawn up the most gorgeous mandala design you’d ever laid eyes on. “Yeah, yep it’s perfect,” you hummed not being able to take your eyes off it. He smiled proudly seeing the way you looked at it, feeling a burst of warmth inside of him. 

“Where do you want it?” 

“My thigh, please,” he nodded, eyes landing on your thigh, ever so slightly moving upwards which made your insides clench. “How big?” he asked, his eyes landing on yours and you flushed imagining something else entirely. “The piece?” he added when you were still far too in your own head and your cheeks heated even more now and he smirked - a devious look in his eyes. “Oh, um, I was thinking maybe half of my upper thigh? Would it be a good size?” watching the way he fiddled on the iPad for a moment before a stencil came from the machine by all of his equipment and he smiled at you, “I think it’ll be good, I’m just gonna place it on you and if you’re not happy with it we’ll change it because I won’t let you leave here unhappy okay?” his eyes shone with earnest and it made butterflies erupt inside of you. 

“Thank you,” you gave him a warm smile and he returned it before gloving up in a black latex glove and he put some lotion on the tip of his finger, rubbing it on your skin and placing the stencil there. 

You couldn’t help but to stare at him as he worked, eyebrows pinched together in concentration, lips pursed as he moved quickly and swiftly with precision, you felt utterly at ease in his more than capable hands. 

And oh, those hands. 

Albeit gloved up, those hands were something else entirely. From the glance you got before he put those gloves on, they were slender, long and veiny in all the right places. Not to mention how skillful they were, oozed a certain kind of confidence that could completely unravel you. 

“Have a look and say what you think of the placement, if anything feels wrong we’ll fix it,” he urged, and you stood up and walked over to the full-length mirror he had and you looked at it, both in the mirror and down on your thigh. 

“It’s so good, it’s the perfect place,” he grinned feeling happy with himself you could tell. “Thank you, that makes me happy to hear,” he grinned right back and you went back to his chair that he had wrapped in cling-film while you admired your soon-to-be tattoo. 

“I’m taking it you’ve done this before, but even if it’s been a while, just a quick reminder,” he started and to be frank, you didn’t hear much of what he said except all of the innuendos he’d managed to capture in that one single sentence. “If at any point, you start feeling woozy, or just really fatigued, tell me or tap my shoulder and I’ll stop okay? I’ve got juice and snacks so just tell me yeah? I really don’t fancy you fainting in my chair,” the seriousness in his eyes made you melt inside. 

“I promise I’ll let you know if anything is bothering me,” you reassured and he gave you a quick but warm smile, a small nod before he turned to filling up his little ink caps with black ink.

“Is it just gonna be black or do you want some colour?” he asked, taping up his tattoo gun.

“Nah black will be fine,” you got yourself comfortable as the buzz of the tattoo gun came alive. Soon enough you felt the familiar sting of the tiny needles against your skin and you shut your eyes at first. No matter how many tattoos you had, the first few strokes were always the roughest. 

“You okay?” he asked as if he could read your mind. “Yeah, yeah, just getting used to the pain again,” you told him honestly and he gave you a sympathetic smile. “Sorry to say it’s too late to change your mind now, if I stop now you’ll just end up with a dickish looking line,” he smirked to distract you from the pain and it worked, it made you laugh. 

“I’ll be fine, i’m a big girl,” you braved and his eyebrows raised slightly, “Oh yeah?” his voice laced with something more, something darker. 

“Intrigued now are we?” you teased and he gave you a cheeky grin as he kept working on your piece. The pain lessening with each stroke he did. 

“Maybe,” 

“Your brother said a curious thing when I first came in here today,” you started and he momentarily stopped and looked at you very cautiously. 

“What’d he say?” 

You smirked, “Oh just something that piqued my interest is all, how I’m apparently your sex-on-legs dream come true,” and he let out a husky laugh. In that moment you felt a rush of confidence go through you knowing that Harry was right. 

“Well, he can sleep with one eye open tonight then,” he muttered and you shook your head amused, “I’m not hearing a denial,” 

“Watch it, I’m the one with a gun,” he warned going back to your thigh starting it back up. “Yeah, apparently two,” you smirked smugly. He met your gaze for the briefest of seconds and that glance alone told you everything he didn’t say out loud. 

“The mouth on you,” he muttered as he kept going on the tattoo. You felt absolutely victorious. “What’re you gonna do about it?” 

“Have half a mind to just put you over my goddamn lap,” those words went straight to your core and you sucked in a breath and by the smirk on his face, he’d heard it. Your heart thudded in your ears at the thought of his strong hands coming down on your ass, your cunt leaking all over this thigh - right here in the tattoo chair. 

Oh god damn. 

“Oh? Did I press a button there?” now it was his turn to sound all smug and mighty when you tried to ever-so-slightly shift positions. He knew he did and you really fucking liked it, you pondered how far you could let it go. 

“So what if you did?” you played nonchalantly as though this didn’t effect you in the slightest when you both knew it very much did. 

A smirk widened on his face, “well then, we’re gonna have fun in this chair aren’t we?” and that sent heat pool in your core at the words and your previous thought that flooded your mind. 

“I guess we are,” you fired back with equal amount of heat. You didn’t think you’d ever wanted someone as badly as you did in that moment, in all of your life. The time left in the chair would be unbearable with him touching you and the ache you felt between your legs. 

That’s how it went for another hour and a half while he filled in the lines and started on doing the shading, the two of you walking along a precarious line of chatting and getting to know one another and coming up with the craziest foreplay you’d ever been apart of. 

All the while you felt a consistent heat in your core that simply never faded but you tried to move past. 

“So, I’ve got a question for you,” you hummed and he glanced at you while he filled up with some more ink. “Yeah?” 

“Do you like watching tv-series?” you began and a confused look crossed his face, “sure, who doesn’t?” 

“So here’s the real question, from all the shows you’ve watched - which show has the best first kiss?” he let out a small laugh.

“Sorry babe, but that’s not really what I focus on when I watch shows,” you pouted, “c’mon! Ask me the same question then!” you tutted to which he rolled his eyes, going back to the tattoo. You winced and he noticed and stopped immediately, “You okay?” 

“Yeah yeah, just quite sore from earlier when you went over that,” you told him honestly and he gave you a sympathetic smile, “Sorry babe, I’ll be more gentle,”. That however made you perk up, “who said I want gentle?” 

“You’re fucking incorrigible,” he groaned and you giggled, “ooh look at you and those big words,” you taunted and he just sighed, “anyway, who’s the best first kiss in a show?” 

“Nick and Jess from New Girl, don’t you fucking dare tell me otherwise - that’s right! I said what I said,” you stuck your chin out daring him to say anything else. He pondered your answer for a moment before nodding, “yeah okay, fair enough, can’t argue with that kiss - it’s a really epic first kiss,” and you smiled satisfied with his answer. 

“Good answer, I approve,” 

“What do you do for a living anyway?” he changed the subject and you smiled knowing he was doing his best to distract you from a very dull pain and you were eternally grateful for it. 

“Oh you know, I’m a pornstar,” you said off-handedly and the tattoo gun went quiet and he just stared at you, “Yo-what?” 

You smirked smugly at him, “nah I’m fucking with you, I’m a florist,” you said with a whole lot of enthusiasm in your eye and he let out a laugh, “Ah damn, what a shame I thought I’d seen you somewhere on Pornhub,” he winked and you let out a loud cackle. 

“That’s meee!” you followed along and he rolled his eyes good-naturedly at the banter. 

“How do you like it?” he asked after a while, “I love it, it’s all I’ve ever known - my grandmother started the business when she was a young girl and it was passed down to my mum and now I’m running the show,” you smiled proudly and he smiled in turn hearing you speak so passionately about your family business. 

“That makes a whole lot of sense that’s your job, you were made for making others happy,” 

“That’s one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to me,” you said shyly and he gave you a tender smile. “Well you deserve to hear it,” 

                              ****

“How many do you have?” you motioned towards his tattoo on his arm, a few of them splattered here and there. “Around twelve or fifteen I think, I’ve lost count,” he sheepishly admitted. “How do you lose count?” you asked with genuine curiosity. 

“Well, it’s quite easy to forget when you get them done absolutely sloshed,” he winced and you let out a laugh.

“Which one matters the most to you?”

“Oh, easily this one, my most recent one. My dog recently died so I’ve got her little paws with me forever,” he gave you the gentlest smile and showed you the paws he had on the inside of his left arm. “I’m sorry for your loss, but it’s a beautiful way to honour her,” you gave a gentle smile in return. 

                               *****

You let out a small gasp seeing the tattoo all done in the mirror, “Oh Tom, it’s absolutely gorgeous,” you whispered in awe, unable to take your eye off of the beautiful piece, moving closer to really take in all of the tiny and beautiful details in the tattoo in all of it’s glory. 

“Thank you,” he gave you a warm smile and you knew that he took pride in your reaction and was full of pride knowing that he had made you happy with the results. 

“You’ve been the most outstanding client,” his words were genuine but ever so slightly laced with something more sinister and it made your gut clench. His eyes wandering from your thigh, moving slightly higher and you swallowed thickly. Without word you moved back to the tattoo chair, perching yourself up on it. “Have I?” he followed suit, sitting on his chair in front of you. You looked down seeing his glove-free hands and you licked your lips having fantasized about them for all this time now that you’d been there. “Mostly,” he smirked and you swung out with your leg to playfully kick him. He snorted and took your leg with ease putting it over his thigh and all of a sudden your throat went dry. 

Your eyes following his every move as he poured some lotion on his hands and rubbed it onto your new tattoo. You exhaled shakily feeling his hands on your skin. Your skin tingling from where he touched you. 

“Are we alone?” you referred to Harry as Tom inched closer to you, his hands gliding further up your thigh and you couldn’t look away from his gaze. He had you completely locked in your place as his hands barely touched your inner thigh, your heart racing in anticipation.

“Yeah, Hazza left some time ago now, it’s just us.” That’s all that was needed for the sheer unadulterated lust to take over and take charge. 

Before you knew it, your eyes met in a wild and heated kiss. The hours you’d spent riling each other up were surely paying off now as his hand wound his way to your hair, pulling on it making you whimper into his mouth. 

He bit down on your lip making you part them and he slipped his tongue inside of your mouth with ease - you fully surrendered yourself to him as you climbed over into his lap, straddling his hips. “I’ve wanted you since the moment you walked inside these walls,” he pulled away briefly letting those words wash over you. His voice full of lust and want and it drove you crazy. 

“So why don’t you fucking take me?”  his eyes were burning with barely contained fire and you sucked in a breath knowing you were in for quite the ride. 

“Shut up,” he growled, making the tiniest smirk form on your face. “Make me,” his eyebrow raised in challenge but you knew he wasn’t one to back down - neither were you. 

“Maybe I should just have your mouth stuffed if all I’m gonna get is back-talk,” that no doubt, had the desired effect on you. Your mouth salivated at the thought of Tom using you for his pleasure any way he wanted. “Fucking please,” your voice coming out far breathier than you intended. 

His whole demeanour changed and a down-right filthy smirk spread across his face as he took your desperate state in. Your erratic breathing, your whole body feeling like it was on fire from sheer lust and want. 

“Get on your damn knees then, princess,” you bit your lip nodding as you dropped to your knees, coming face to face with his bulge and all you wanted to do was devour him. 

“Do you need an invitation?” he hummed watching you with interest as to see what you’d do next. Your hands making quick work on getting him out of his jeans. His cock was straining through his boxers and you licked your lips, it was all you could think about. But for a brief moment all you wanted to do was savour this moment, before you took off the last piece of clothing, leaving him completely naked. It was something so thrilling this part, you’d always felt that way. You glanced up at him through heavy-lidded eyes as you removed his boxers, his breathing laboured, flushed cheeks and his eyes never leaving you, keeping you locked in place and it was unbearable in the best way possible.

His fingers wrapping in your hair, nudging you forward towards his cock, all angry and red, tip covered in pre-cum that you used as glide to work your hand up and down his length. His cock hot and pulsating in your hand as you gave him a few tugs. A low moan falling from his lips, “fuck,” he breathed, urging your mouth towards him. 

“What should I do, sir?” you taunted, your hot breath falling on his cock, so close yet so far away. “Fucking suck,” he ordered giving no room to argue and you let out a moan when you engulfed his cock, feeling the weight of it on your tongue. 

You were giving Tom the performance of your life, but oh my, it was the most rewarding blowjob you’d ever given. He was so responsive to every little thing you did. “Fuck, oh,” he moaned running a hand through his own hair - you could tell a small part of him was holding back and you didn’t want that. 

“Stop holding back,” 

“Sure?” his voice was wrecked and you looked up at him, mouth full of his cock giving him a nod. 

 “God the sight of you, such a pretty cock-slut for me aren’t you?” He pushed your head further onto his cock and you whimpered, feeling your panties getting absolutely soaked by the second. He must’ve had an innate ability to sense all of your kinks, such as dirty talk was the way straight to your cunt. “You gonna take all of me? Be a gagging mess for me?” he kept going and you whined against him. 

“Please, fucking please,” was all you managed to say before Tom took over, fucking your mouth making the most obscene noises you’d ever heard. All of them going straight to your throbbing cunt. You closed your eyes, feeling his cock hit the back of your throat and you gagged quite a few times which only spurred him on. “Oh yes, the best fucking cockslut,” he grunted, his grip on your hair tightening. You preened at the praise feeling like the best girl for him.

Just when you thought he’d cum, he pulled you off of him and you looked at him confused with mascara running down your face, cheeks flushed and eyes glazed over. “oh babe, what a sight you are,” he grunted running a finger over your swollen lips. You grabbed his hand, pushing his finger in your mouth and his eyes darkened shoving another one in and your eyes fluttered shut. 

“You’re just begging to have your holes filled aren’t you?” he tsk-ed and you whined, nodding your head, feeling drunk on lust. He removed his fingers and you opened your eyes, watching him for what was next. Instead of answering you he slated his lips over you and it went straight to your head, letting yourself get lost in the kiss and you let him guide you. 

“I just bet that cunt of yours is drenched now huh?” he hummed against your lips, the air of confidence returning to him. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?” 

His large, warm hands pushed your skirt way up, letting it bunch by your waist and his fingers danced across your inner thighs making you squirm trying to get his fingers where you needed them most. 

“Don’t be impatient,” he tutted and you stilled at once, your breathing coming out laboured. “Sorry, so sorry sir,” you breathed letting out a moan feeling his lips on your neck, nibbling and biting on the sensitive skin there, causing tiny goosebumps all along your arms. 

“My oh my, what a filthy slut you are, I just bet you love letting me use you however I want huh? All this from sucking my cock?” he drawled and you shut your eyes in embarrassment when he felt your drenched panties. Hell, your juices ran down your legs - you were that turned on. “Yes sir, I’m such a slut,” your hips moving forward desperately needing his fingers inside of you. 

“You really are,” you bit your lip, batting your eyelashes at him, “what’re you gonna do about it?” 

His hands moved to your hips, gripping them tightly, “do I strike you as a person who will just..give you the answer to that?” he searched your eyes and you gulped. Your faces so close together you could practically touch his lips with yours, your breath falling onto each others. “Yes?” he tilted his head sideways and your stomach flipped. 

“No then?” he smirked, trapping you with his arms on each side of you. “No babe, we’re gonna have some fun now - so,” he hummed running his finger tips along your collar bone leaving you a shivering mess. “Why don’t you show me just how desperate you can get you filthy slut hmm? Beg for it,” he nearly growled and it had you in a puddle, your cunt clenching around nothing. 

“Please, please sir, please touch me,” the words just fell out of you, a desperate and almost incoherent mess by now. “Touch you where?” his fingers working on removing your top, and he drew in a breath seeing your tits, both of them pierced and hard as rocks.

“Say it,” he growled, flicking your nipple making you gasp. “My cunt sir, please touch my slutty cunt,” 

“Good girl,” he lowered his head, lips finding your neck and moving lower down to your tits taking one of the swollen buds in his mouth and you moaned, arching your back and pushing your tits in his face feeling him pull and tug on them with his teeth. His large hands cupping your free one, playing with it whilst the other continued to tug quite roughly with his teeth causing your body to jolt forward and goosebumps to run over your entire body. “Oh god,” but he was generous and switched, giving the other tit the same lavicious treatment and you were in heaven. 

Your head falling back and your legs spreading automatically and you felt him rip your panties from your body. “Fuck that’s hot,” you moaned running your fingers in his hair.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” he murmured, moving to your other nipple, lavishing it with the same amount of attention. You bucked your hips trying to get him to touch you, but he wasn’t biting. 

“Fucking please! Sir!” you begged almost to the point of tears, you’d never been this sexually frustrated and it drove you mad with Tom’s teasing and torture which was so delicious. “Don’t you get fucking bratty with me or I’ll shove these in your mouth,” he warned holding up your panties and your jaw went slack. “That’s what you want isn’t it you filthy whore? You want your own cunt juice all over yourself while I fuck you senseless,” your cheeks burned in embarrassment once again. His eyes were dancing with raw desire for you now, his eyes never leaving yours as he bunched your soaked panties into a ball, shoving it in your mouth and you moaned, nodding your head that this was okay. 

“I haven’t even touched you yet and look at you,” he hummed, his finger ghosting over your folds and you nearly collapsed, you were so ready for him, for whatever he would give. 

“Fuck,” he cursed at how easily his finger slid past your folds due to your slick and you swallowed letting the pleasure roll through you, against your panties feeling his thick and long finger disappear with little resistance, exploring your walls and your eyes rolled back, letting his finger expertly move in and out of you. 

“More,” you muffled out as tears formed in your eyes, needing so much more. “What a greedy little whore you are,” he smirked adding a second finger, finding a rhythm with ease and you cried out. He was building up his pace, paying close attention to every little reaction you made. He angled his fingers up and further in and your vision turned hazy when he found the spot. The one where your toes curled and you screamed out against your panties, your orgasm rocking into you from nowhere and he fucked you through it and then some, letting you ride your high for as long as possible. 

He carefully removed your panties from your mouth once you calmed down and collected yourself ever so slightly. He licked his fingers clean and you let out a weak moan at the sight, “That’s hot,” you hummed licking your own lip and he smirked. “You good?” he pressed a kiss to your temple and you nodded. 

“Best fucking orgasm of my life,” you concluded and he laughed. 

“You think we’re done so soon?” you lifted your head glancing at him, “We’re not?” 

“Fuck no princess, we’re barely getting started. I’m gonna fuck you into oblivion and then I’m gonna have a real good taste of that cunt of yours before I’m letting you leave here,” and that was a promise. 

It made your stomach drop and fill with anticipation, “So what’s next?” you were game for anything and everything. “Get in front of the mirror and spread your legs,” 

Well, fuck. 

You did as told, walking over to the mirror on shaky legs, your heart racing in anticipation for what was in store. 

Your skin prickled, feeling Tom come up behind you, his cologne mixed with sweat surrounding your senses in the best way. His solid chest pushsing against your back, his fingers gliding along your waist and hips up and down causing goosebumps all over. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” his voice low and husky and you closed your eyes at the sensation of having Tom’s lips over your neck, sucking rough marks on the delicate skin there.

“Feels so good,” you twisted your fingers in his hair and you let out a breathy moan when his hands snaked up to your tits and he cupped them. Rolling the hardened buds between his fingers causing your back to arch and you tried to rub your legs together to ease the ache between them ever so slightly to no avail. “Is this all it takes? Pathetic, is that why you had them pierced? To be used and tugged til’ you’re a crying mess?” his eyes were sparkling with mischief. 

“Please,” you whined craning your neck to look at him, only to see his burning eyes watching you. He was just as affected as you, you could feel it now too, his cock pressing into your lower back and you moaned softly. 

“Look at me,” he ordered and you obliged, he gave you a hard kiss and you eagerly kissed back as his hand snaked to your front, toying with your cunt, running his finger along your sopping wet folds and your knees buckled. 

He pulled away from the kiss, holding your chin with his free hand and you hissed when he circled your clit, your slick making the glide of his fingers so easy. You were just about to look away when he motioned for you to open your mouth to which you did and he did the hottest fucking thing you’d ever seen. 

He spat right into your mouth and you nearly came right then and there. He must’ve sensed it too because a wicked smirk formed. “Oh you like that huh, you filthy little thing?” just to prove his point, he did it again and you swallowed thickly, your vision hazy from lust. 

He pulled away for a moment and he rummaged through his clothes, returning with a hand on his cock, stroking it and you couldn’t keep your eyes off of his condom-clad cock, wathcing the way his wrist flicked at the tip.

“Such a pretty cock,” you bit your lip, watching as he walked up to you, his hand finding your front once more, easily slipping a finger inside and fucking you open simultaneously as he pushed you against the mirror, making sure that the two of you had the perfect view to watch what was going to happen next.

“Best put on the show of a life time huh slut?” he growled in your ear, slapping your clit and you cried out. The pain hurting so good and Tom lifted your leg up, making the slide into you easier and you both let out a ragged breath at the sensation of your walls clamping down around him. “Fuck, fuck oh Tom,” you gasped as he bottomed out and you had to take a few breaths to steady yourself. 

“The tightest cunt I’ve ever felt,” he grunted, nails digging into your hips that you were sure was going to leave a mark. You couldn’t form words any longer once Tom started fucking into you, his hips doing the lord’s work and all you could do was hang on and enjoy the ride. Which you very much did. 

You loved the way his cock felt inside of you, the way he was rolling his hips finding new bursts of pleasure inside of you that you didn’t even know existed. You screamed out when he angled his hips up, finding your g-spot and he started rutting into it over and over until you were a quivering mess, barely able to stand up. 

“Fuck that feels so good, sir,” Your breath coming out in short pants, tiny fireworks going off behind your eyelids as Tom figured out your body and what made you tick. 

He tsk-ed you, a free hand finding your clit, rubbing it in circles. “Come on, cum for me, let me feel you cum all over my cock. Show me what a good little whore you can be,” he growled and with those words, something inside of you snapped like a coil. 

A dam coming undone as your orgasm wrecked throughout you, screaming his name over and over as he fucked into you giving you what you so desperately wanted. 

“Such a fucking sight you are,” he moaned, his hips jerking as he came into the condom, his hips working their way inside of you. You watched in the mirror his facial expression as he came, eyes glassed over, cheeks flushed and jaw slacked. “Nothing like you,” you hummed, clenching your muscles and he groaned loudly putting his sweaty forehead against your neck. “Fucking shit,” he cursed finally calming down and you whimpered when you felt him slip out of you, already missing the feeling of him inside of you. 

“Wow,” he panted, slipping away from you, removing the condom and tossing it in the bin. You smiled lazily, sliding down against the mirror sitting on the floor completely spent, drinking in the sight of him. 

He really was the sexiest guy you’d ever laid eyes on. Muscles in all the right places and the juiciest ass that you simply wanted to sink your teeth into, if given the opportunity - god did you hope you’d get the opportunity to do this again. 

“Wow indeed,” he looked over at you, giving you a small chuckle when he saw you on the floor. “Y’alright?” he came over with some paper towels, giving you a bashful smile as though to say ‘sorry it’s the best i’ve got’. You took it nonetheless, carefully wiping yourself clean the best you could. “That was ..absolutely mindblowing,” you confessed honestly,  and his eyes lit up, a wide smile taking shape across his pretty face that left you molten at the sight. “It was pretty fucking sensational,” he agreed easily.

A moment passed between the two of you, your head resting on his shoulder as a comfortable silence washed over you, “so, what now?” you hummed feeling how your body finally relaxed after all it had been through, both the tattooing and getting the railing of a lifetime all in the same afternoon. He chuckled softly, “I don’t know about you but this has made me famished, so, wanna grab some dinner?” his voice turned surprisingly soft and unsure which made you grin, “aren’t you a smooth one then? All shy and bashful,” you teased and he let out a laugh, rolling his eyes, “well?”

“Yeah, let’s go for some dinner,” you agreed and he got up a hell of a lot more smoothly than you, Tom having to help you up and your legs were so shaky still. “Fuck,” you cursed walking on wobbly legs - of course Tom noticed it and he smirked proudly. 

“Shut up,” you muttered and he let out a laugh, “You can’t honestly think that this won’t give me such an ego boost, you can hardly walk and that’s all me,” he wiggled his eyebrows which infuriated you, “and here I was going to say we should definitely do this again sometime, buuuut,” you trailed off and he scoffed, pulling his shirt over his head. “Oh princess, you know we’re ending up in bed together again, no doubt,” he radiated confidence as he was checked you, not so subtly, out and it made your cheeks burn as you got dressed. 

“First, you buy me beer and dinner,” he let out a groan, walking behind you and you felt his eyes on your ass, “god, marry me already,” he begged and you couldn’t help but to be helplessly enamoured by him. 

“If that’s your way of proposing, you suck,” you shrugged and he clutched at his heart, “come on now, Romeo,” with that, you waited outside for Tom to close up the parlour.

“Thanks for waiting around,” he smiled, reaching for your hand and lacing your fingers together and you felt the same jolt of electricity as before when he touched you. 

“Anytime, something tells me you’re worth waiting around for,” you laced your fingers together as the two of you walked down the street and into a pub. 

if there's people still around to read ill tag a few of you

@duskholland @tetralea @thirsttrapholland @thefallenbibliophilequote @xoluvx @greenorangevioletgrass

[soulrph]

chaotic unhinged lines from 2022-2023 (prompt edition).

basically in 2021 i made a list of prompts inspired by lines in tiktok videos and instagram reels that made me laugh so hard i cried! and now i have returned with another list! these may provide an alarmingly clear image of what my sense of humor is (aka broken) but i figure a little levity is always a good thing! more prompts are forthcoming, but in the mean time: bon appetit!

knowledge has always chased you, but you've always been faster.

no... no, that was mango apathy juice. from the farmer's market.

of all these people, you are the one i understand the least. i want to get to know you better, but like, not that much better.

i-i will CHEW YOUR MEAT!! WHAT are you doing?!

ooooh god, no, you wouldn't be long getting frostbit!

you are evil. like a hobbit.

WHY MUST YOU FAIL ME SO OFTEN?!?!!?

i have had a perfectly wonderful evening, but this wasn't it.

AHEM!! fill my cup.

may god ignore you like you ignored my greetings.

i will avenge you mister van gogh.

call off work bestie, we need you to solve a murder. here's fifteen dollars.

you're not in love. you may think you are, you dumb fuck, but you're not.

go ahead and put the ranch away.

sadly, "hopefully" doth butter no parsnips.

forget school, i want to be an italian sandwich.

you shouldn't skip work, you are a lawyer and he is a hamster.

you can stop roleplaying now. you're free.

her coupon game was so fucking raw.

i'm sorry guys... he's making a salad.

you could get a straight guy here if you learned to make a good pasta. i'll teach you how to make a risotto that'll get you married and out of my basement.

hey, do you want me to get together a plate of roast beef and hide it in our room so we can have night meats?

it's not the most ethical thing in the world, but in a pinch you can hand off a cursed object to basically any baby.

no, children, you're wrong. once upon a time, there was a piece of wood.

and i'm not saying she deserved it, but i am saying that god's timing is always riiiiight.

hydrate or die-drate, ya DICK!

why did the monkey fall out of the tree? because it was DEAD.

new york city is a fictional place written up by someone with a sinister mind and a knack for comedy.

this is grindr my guy.

wait, i didn't finish teaching you the difference between human and wolf anatomy.

it's time to tell your grandmother that she was wrong. do not be afraid.

vanilla vodka... you fucking child.

without ash to rise from, a phoenix would just be a bird getting up.

you are fucking alive. do what you want.

why are you cradling me like a baby, friend? this isn't how guys of my generation hang out.

i hope a hedgehog shits in your cereal, you difficult person.

you know, i am not as mean as i would like to be. and i think people should appreciate that more.

see, i am not a kangaroo.

well, i'd like to help, but... you see... not as much as i'd like not to.

rest in peace you fucking onion fairy.

when god sings with all his creations, will a turtle not be part of the choir?

i fight for a seat in heaven, every. single. day.

map maker? can you find me somewhere on the map where this big man thinks he's the king?

you bald-headed demon...

so... there are 24 million pigs in australia... and 24 million people... so if you ever feel lonely, there's like, a pig out there that's sort of your cosmic twin.

remember, alcohol is god's apology for making us self-aware.

i'm straight!! stop CONFUSING me!!!!!

you guys want something to eat? because... i know we'll die if we don't eat.

he is a BIBLICALLY gorgeous man. i wanna feed him grapes. i wanna fan him with the frond of a date palm from the forests of Lebanon. i wanna find the alabaster vial of perfume oil that one woman broke for jesus and comb it through his hair. like... he's stressing me OUT.

i'm not sad! i'm freaking HUNGRY!

maybe, if we wait a little bit longer, a fuck will fall into my hand, and i can give it to you.

it's not my fault you thought you lived in this IKEA.

let's leave my mother out of this.

jason may kill people but he's not bad enough to kick a dog.

i run for LUMP!

oh no, i'm all out of caring, baby!

you don't think it mcbe that way... but it mcdo.

what is this enticing bowl of white?

serious question, do his nipples sparkle?

what in the reese's peanut butter fuck is going on here?

if your parents don't buy it, stop loving them!

i just hope you know just how much you've decreased productivity today.

that was poetry at its FINEST.

and if you let that motherfucker shenan ONCE, you best believe they're gonna shenanIGAN!

may god bless the dinosaur that died to make the fossil fuel that was treated to become petrol in the car that took her mom to the hospital to give birth to her.

that's modern milk for ya. what a time to be alive.

you have attachment issues. please fix it.

remember when people had secrets? we should bring that back.

the moon landing was an elaborate marriage proposal.

i don't like the cobra chicken.

i didn't know eggs were this expensive? it's time to lay my own, i fear.

so you're saying the reason i don't have a girlfriend is because i'm not a big enough threat yet.

god gave him a top lip, that's why he's so powerful.

it's a common mistake, but frankenstein was actually the author.

i finally got a pocket-sized diary!!! also i don't get the concept of life.

if a beautiful woman disagrees with me, i will immediately change my view. i've no principles.

how did you all end up married to such boiled potatoes?

if so much as one tear drops from their eye... i will slap you back into your mum.

you are ringing a phone that does not like to be rung.

look how Dr. doofenschmirtz had a fucked up childhood but didn't project his trauma onto his teenage daughter. he projected it onto a platypus.

it is mathematically impossible for you to get a wedgie.

i'm breaking up with you. i love you, it's just... i don't think you could protect me from a mummy.

if you can't do fractions....... you will fucking die.

that's right; in the year 1791, all of our bottoms were killed in a Big Bottom Massacre.

people always assume i'm mean. like CAN you BELIEVE THAT CRAP?! like WHAT would make you think i'm MEAN?! I'M THE NICEST PERSON ON THE PLANET!

the chocolate milk is strikingly overpriced and at the same time very easy to steal; another of god's little tests.

someone's gotta tell the waiter that i ordered mashed 'taters and it sure as shit ain't gonna be me.

if i had a week i couldn't list all the reasons that wouldn't work.

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

corrupt!Satoru refuses to let go of his little sorcerer girlfriend when he becomes a vessel: Sure things have changed a bit.. Okay, a fucking lot. He's been put on a temporary leave by Yuji and the others till they can figure out a reverse. Which unfortunately for you means he's got all that time in the world to focus on your guy's relationship. "Y/n!" The unanticipated shout of your name almost makes you jump out your fuckin skin, quickly scarfing down a scolding hot piece of bacon so you don't choke. Dammit, you thought you could enjoy a nibble of breakfast before having to appease your master boyfriend. You pray to any God with a heart that Satoru wasn't too pissed at you for not being by his side when he awoke. From the goosebumps creeping down your neck and eerily sudden silence surrounding you, it's an obvious useless hopeless wish. "Why the fuck weren't you next to me when I woke up? Did I not say havin you by my side at all time keeps me from becoming.. Murderous?" The sudden presence and growled query compels you to spin around, starin up at him with wide frightened eyes. He's shirtless, gazing back with an unreadable expression as his magnificent morning wood bulges obscenely. "T-toru, I -" His hand damn near teleports to hold you firm around your slender brown neck. "Know what? I don't really feel like hearin whatever pathetic excuse is about to fall from those cute lips, baby. On your knees." He tells you, pushin you down with one hand while pullin his dick from his dark grey joggers with the other. You comply, eyes teary at how he glares down at you menacingly. "Better not disappoint me twice this morning, y/n. No tellin what I might do.." He warns, head falling back as he slips his dick into your mouth with a sinister smile on his pretty face.

corrupt!Gojo monitors the fuck outta who you talk to and where you go: If he can't have you near him 24/7, he NEEDS to know 1. Where you're goin; 2. Who's gonna be there; and 3. When the fuck you're comin home to him. "You're late. Fuck are you, little girl?" You're never gonna get used to the snarl that consistently stains his tone, even when he's not irritated. You're late coming back from what was supposed to be research on a curse, so Satoru calls you. "Just by a few minutes. I'll be there soon." You assure him, pullin your cell from your cheek briefly to check the time. "I didn't ask how late you are; I asked where you were." You don't waste a second droppin a pin. There's a bit of shuffling over the phone before he speaks again. "I'm on my way to pick you up. Stay where you are. Better be alone like you said, y/n." The line clicks dead as you heave a heavy sigh, makin sure not move an inch till you see Satoru pull up.

corrupt!Satoru doesn't do well with anyone besides himself being mean to you: Slamming your front door shut upon entering, you stomp towards your bedroom as tears of frustration leak from your eyes. You don't make it past the couch in the living room before Satoru's sittin down on it, perching you in his lap. "Who fuckin did it, baby? Huh? Tell me! I'll rip their fuckin head off." His gruesome words don't match the soft imploring look in his piercing eyes; you miss that look so much that the truth spills from your lips without a thought. "I thought I'd make it to Grade 2 today.. It didn't happen. They brought in someone new. Some jerk that failed me cause I wouldn't let him touch me." Your hands slap over your mouth, the last sentence accidentally comin out before you can think. That unreadable expression graces his features before you end up face down in the couch, panties swiftly pulled to your thighs as he eats your poor unsuspecting lil puss from the back. "What the fuuuuuck? Toru, ah! S-satoru, wait. Please just- ohmyGod!" Ofcourse he ignores you. Slurps ya cunt so good that you cum in under a minute. Only then do you get a response. "Get the fuck up. We're goin back up there. Gonna have a lil chat with Mr. New Guy." He commands you, landing one more lick up your slit and a harsh slap to your ass. You leveled up that day. And Mr. New Guy was gone by the next. Yuji and the others don't bother standing in Satoru's way.

corrupt!Satoru loves marking your body and staking his claim: He doesn't think a day should pass before he's adding a new one to the collection. So he corners you when you're in the kitchen doin the dishes. "Hey gorgeous. Wanna make you cum real quick.." He mumbles, pressin up behind you. His hard cock humps your backside slow and firm as he fingers you through your itty bitty shorts. The first swipe has you poppin your ass back on his dick, keening Satoru's name like a fuckin banshee. "That the spot, princess? Yeah it is.. Know all your spots. Just like Daddy should, huh?" His tone is so cocky but you know better than to disagree and nod to his question anyway. "Yeeees, only you can make me feel like this. Always make me feel so goood, Toru." He soaks in your praise and at this point it's a givin that you've completely abandoned your task. A damp hand slides to the back of his head for a handful of his soft snowy locks as he nips and sucks at your neck. His sensual lips are one of your weaknesses; never fail to make you whimper like a bitch in heat. "Satoruuuuu.. Daddy please. Want some dick.." He chuckles at you, wonderin if you can even handle it- not like that would stop him. Still, your knees are already so you weak he has to hold you up, arms slung around your waist to plaster your back to his front. "Fuck baby, so pretty when you beg for my cock. Look even prettier when you let me claim you like this." Fine, he'll give you what you want. But first.. He pulls his lengthy dick out, your small shorts down, and slips it between your plushy brown ass cheeks. Your boyfriend's eyes nearly cross at the tight warm hold of you. Satoru pants and huffs, quickly starting off with short strokes that numb his mind. "I'm gonna fuck this perfect fat ass one day, y/n. Thats right, and you're not gonna be able to stop me. You can beg and cry and scream all you want.. Mmmfuck- but Daddy's not gonna listen, baby. Not one bit. I'm gonna keep goin till you squirt all over me from the feelin of it." Precum assists him slidin back and forth with ease, but his filthy words aid the throbbing in your clit and flutter in your gushy cunt. You only moan back in response to his dirty admission. Its okay. Satoru knows you always get like this: speechless when you're about to cum. Goddamn you turn him on so fuckin much. He bites at the sensitive spot on your throat, locking his teeth and groaning like a wild man. It makes you clench around his dick, him in turn pressin his digits with an accuracy that forces you to cum so good. "Good fuckin giiiirl, baby! So proud of you. Takin my mark and cummin on my hand- fuuuuuck. I own you, princess." Your quick wordless whines spur him on, fingers still yanking his hair viciously as your arousal spills to the kitchen floor. The sting of the pull has Satoru howling while he cums buckets in you. He's licking messily at the fresh bite on your neck as he smears his nut all over your plump ass. Fuck, you always make him buss so fuckin so hard! He's breathing fast, eyes flickin between where he paints you, your new bite mark and how fucked out you look even though you haven't had his dick yet. Speaking of, why the hell is he still so goddamn rigid? But you.. "You're so fuckin wet.." Satoru spears you on his cock without a second thought, your loud stunned cry makin a warmth shoot up his spine. He doesn't know when your hand joined the other in his hair, just cherishes how tight you grip at him when he fucks the rest of his cock into you. Appreciates and adores any and everything you have to offer. 'Shit.. Guess its time to put a baby in you.' Satoru thinks as he holds you round your waist and drills your lil puss as you shout out in surprised pleasure. Christ, he loves you so fuckin much and he's never letting you go.

corrupt!Satoru In layman's terms: He shows you that he is very fuckin possesive and owns you in every conceivable way.

[teaboot]

I spent a lot of time alone outdoors growing up.

A lot of time.

It got to the point that some days I'd be sitting in the back of my dull beige classroom, and on the outside I'd be staring out into nothing but on the inside I'd be remembering how it felt being barefoot and knee-deep in sun-warmed mud, cutting my palms and soles to bits against craggy rock, leaning into the wind and screaming into the ocean, sprinting through the woods and standing dead silent in the dark in a wheat field in a thunderstorm, and feeling grit under my nails and bone and wood and rock and metal in my hands

And I'd look around at my stupid, flimsy pressboard desk, and the beige walls, and the grey ceiling, and feel soft, stagnant air circulate through the vents in delicate, dainty little puffs against my cheeks, and listen to kids my age who I couldn't understand and didn't feel connected to talk about things that made my brain go numb and melt out my ears while some fake-smiley adult pretended they knew how I felt

While back home where my siblings didnt know me and my parents didn't like me the house would be dark, empty, and cold, day after day, and the only satisfaction I knew I'd get would be if someone twice my size and three times my age got in my face and fucking tried it,

And I'd think,

This isn't real.

This is designed, and this is weak.

This is cardboard façades with nothing inside, this is tissue paper, this is Styrofoam packing peanuts and puffed rice wafers and the bottom three millimeters of day-old room-temperature water

And I'd get so fucking angry, so frustrated, just so stone-cold livid, helpless and furious, that sometimes I'd start to cry, not because I was sad but because my teeth were soft and round and dull and my fingers felt like they were brand-new pink pearl erasers splitting in half and everything was too much and not enough and all I needed in the whole wild world was to shred the air to pieces for the crime of being too fucking empty, too fucking soft, not *real* enough, like a wild animal clawing into prey only to have puffy cotton candy and soap bubbles spill out, sweet and tasteless and saccharine where it should be hot, bright, loud and solid and sharp.

So when the English teacher- a tall, thin man with glasses who smelled like strong patchouli and liked to ask us to "talk about our feelings" asked me to write about my life, that was what I wrote.

He told me I had a "powerful gift" and smiled, flashing straight, dull, soft round teeth.

I remember he'd ask me every day if he could read my work aloud to the class, every single day, and every day I would say "no", until one afternoon he just took my paper off my desk and did it anyways.

I was a rule-follower. Never broke the rules, never stepped out of line. I would never just leave class in the middle of a lesson, so I guess for a moment I was someone else.

I don't remember hearing him start to speak, but I remember sprinting out the door, hearing it slam behind me, and just not stopping until I was somewhere outside with the grass and the sky and the sun and a ringing inside my head.

After a while, I went back, and by then I guess he'd finished talking.

I sat down at my desk and finished the lesson.

I thought I'd be in trouble or something after that, but nobody mentioned it.

After the bell, I went home to the dark, cold, empty house and waited for something to fight.

That was years ago. Decades, now.

To tell you the truth, though, I don't think anything has changed.

[fleet-of-fiction]

Josh Kiszka x Female Reader

Summary: You bagged a part in a little indie movie. But your co-star is changed at the final hour, meaning you've never met him before. Josh is the director's friend, doing him a well earned favour by starring in the steamy little flick. Everything appears to be going well, until a technical problem means you're left undressed and exposed underneath your co-star. And things start to get a little real.

A/N: I wrote this little piece last year, just to satisfy a little itch I needed to scratch. It was the last piece I wrote before Josh came out a few days later. And ever since, I have written Josh as queer. However, I still love all the Josh fics I wrote before and they are still worthy of being shared. As are all fics. So please, enjoy one of my older pieces in my new space!

Warnings: All the usual smuttyness you've come to expect from me, including the usual foreplay details and full penetrative sex. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

You tightened the robe around your waist and lingered on the edge of the set. The bed looked unmade already. The light above it hanging precariously low.

And your co-star had been re-cast at the very last minute. Leaving you with a bundle of nerves in your stomach, wondering if there would even be chemistry between the two of you.

The brief introduction that morning had left you wondering if you could get through the scene. It demanded so much intimacy and tension that your resolve had fallen by the wayside the moment you shook his hand and he gave you his name, Josh.

He wasn't anything like your previous co-star. His smile was so wide and sincere it disarmed you immediately. He smiled with his eyes. Something you'd yet to encounter in any co-star you'd worked with previously. Not that there were many, you were still in the infancy of your career.

This was your first big movie. Big in the sense that it had a name attached to it now that would bring audiences in. Your newly appointed co-star was already known in his own right. But today, he was just doing an old friend a favour.

"Nervous?" He asked, appearing at your side in a matching robe, void of all his previous clothes and accessories.

He looked a little different without his earrings and beads. His hair a little more tamed, curls resting casually against his buzzed sides. Certainly, he didn't intimidate you as much.

"A little." You replied, watching the camera and mic being set up. "You?"

He smiled that wide sparkle of a grin again and looked down at his feet.

"You'd think I'd never performed in front of thousands of people before the way my heart is beating so fast right now."

His honesty warmed that space between your chest and stomach. You were strangely comforted.

"This is a little different." You pointed out, "A closed set is way more intimidating than an audience of thousands."

"It seems that way." He agreed, "Have you ever done this before?"

You were fresh out of college. Still climbing the audition ranks, setting yourself up for a knock back each time until the answer had been an unwavering yes. Just a little indie movie that had barely made the festival circuit. And certainly, there'd been no sex involved.

"This is my first time." You confessed nervously, "I spent a lot of time getting to know the previous guy, but in the end it just didn't feel right."

Josh shook his head. "Chris wasn't happy with him, either. That's why he called me. I owed him a favour from a few years ago. And, I liked the script anyway."

He was cute. A little dimple forming in his cheek as he spoke. Your nerves began to churn in your stomach at the thought of having him so close to you.

"You've known Chris a long time?" You asked, trying to keep the conversation light as the crew continued to mess with all the gear.

"Since film school." Josh replied, "We used to make short films together out in the woods or in my parents garage. He's come a long way since then."

"So have you, by all accounts." You replied, immediately regretting your choice of words.

You didn't want him to know that you'd looked him up the moment you'd been informed he was going to be working with you.

He stole a glance towards you. A look of benign surprise on his face. As if he was touched that you'd done the research.

"It would seem that you know more about me than I know about you."

You couldn't help but find that insignificant fact slightly alluring. There was no google search that would bring up anything of value about you. Your name wasn't known. You wondered if he had tried.

"Well, I'm a Vegetarian Pisces who enjoys long walks on sandy beaches and drinking wine from my birth year." You replied jovially, trying to keep your nerves in check.

"Is any of that true?" He probed further, pulling a little tighter on the belt of his robe, the veins in his hands almost popping.

"I think, maybe, it would be more prudent of us not to know too much about each other." You said, turning to face him, "I knew a shit ton about the other guy and in the end I realised there was nothing there."

He considered it for a moment. "You have to give me something, you at least have something about me."

Chris was somebody you'd been excited to work for. He was leading the way for indie movies, his work often starting with toe-curling visuals of traumatic events and then crumbling into intimate moments such as the one you were about to film in order to shock audiences and make them fall in love with the characters.

It made sense that he had had asked Josh to step in. You could see how passionate he was on stage in the video's you'd watched. The hours of scrolling you'd done the night before to get a feel of him, which clearly meant nothing now that he was stood at your side. His vibe completely different to what you'd expected.

"Ok, you can have something." You allowed, "I'm truly a Vegetarian Pisces. But I can't stand wine. And I definitely don't have any desire to walk long distances over sand."

He laughed a little. The sweetest sound. A little low uh huh that made the knot in your stomach tighten. The way he made you feel becoming more apparent as you stood there. The anticipation just about threatening to choke you.

Chris suddenly clasped his hands together, the sound drawing you from your internal dialogue.

"Ok, we're ready for you now." He announced, gesturing over to the bed. "So, I think it would be best if we have you both in missionary. The bed sheet will be hiding your lower halves. But top halves will be exposed."

You allowed your robe to fall. Revealing your body in infinite detail beneath the low light. The modesty patch between your legs shrouding the most intimate part of you, but every line and curve of you otherwise on display.

You slipped into the unmade bed. Preparing yourself. Mentally skimming over what he might look like underneath that robe. He wasn't as tall as the other guy, far less daunting for you. His slight build had caught you off guard at first, dressed in a white t-shirt and a pair of beige shorts. Not what you'd expected in the slightest.

Your eyes fell to the side as he followed suit. Letting his robe fall to the ground. A sincere and subtle gasp leaving your mouth as you gazed at his body. His modesty patch sitting snugly against his bulge, which was far more robust that you'd been able to conjur in your mind.

His chest was perfectly smooth. His stomach lined with a trail of hair reaching up from below up to his navel. The muscles at his waist creating that shape you could never look away from. Arms perfectly sculpted, like every part of him was solid and smooth. Carved from marble.

As he made his way over to you, there was a profound rush of blood to your core. You felt the ache almost immediately as he positioned himself above you. Leaning his weight on arms either side of you. Your legs wide open beneath the sheet, with very minimal contact.

"Are you both comfortable?" Chris asked, signalling over to another member of the crew, who brought a smaller camera unflinchingly close.

You nodded. Josh nodded.

"Ok, hold those positions for me just a second..."

Chris scurried off. Exchanging heated words with the rest of the crew. You couldn't make out what they were saying, but you knew it wasn't good.

"There's a technical issue." Josh sighed, "And if we move then they'll have to set up the lighting all over again."

You wrinkled your nose. "You managed to catch all that?"

"Can't see why else he would be so pissed." He surmised, daring to look down at you for the first time.

You took note of the way the muscles in his arms were flexed. His shoulders a little hunched, straining against his modesty patch not making contact with yours. You could see him start to visibly shake.

"I can't hold like this much longer." He moaned, his voice low and careful. "We might have to move, anyway."

It was in your mind to agree. There was a part of you that wanted to make a good impression, though. To not create more issues when there appeared to be enough already. Josh was so tense. So consumed with professionalism. It was endearing.

"Relax a little." You encouraged. "That can't be comfortable for you like that."

"Oh, there's nothing I would love more." He replied heartily, "But the minute I do there's nothing stopping us from...uh, bumping into each other."

"Josh." You said pointedly, "You'll be too exhausted for the scene, just let go. I don't mind..."

You could see that he was lost in thought. His eyes trailed down the centre of your chest and came to rest at your breasts. A little tremble in his lip as he allowed his body to soften against you. His shoulders dipped a little. His waist moving forward. You could feel his modesty patch rest against yours. But it wasn't unpleasant. And the look of sheer relief on his face was radiant.

"Guys I'm so sorry about this." Chris said, hurrying back over to the bed with a little walkie talkie in his hand. "I know it's meant to be a closed set but I need my tech guy and his assistant to come in. Feel free to get back into your robes and we can re-set."

"We're good." Josh replied, without any hesitation. "The last thing you need is a re-set."

There was a peculiar edge to the way Chris' face responded. Almost as if he hadn't expected it.

"Are you sure? I mean... I don't know how long this is going to take..."

"I'm sure." Josh continued, "Do what you have to do."

Chris looked towards you. "You ok down there?"

The scent of his cologne was in the air. A sexy, woody scent that was unlike anything you'd ever smelled before.

"All good here." You replied, fighting the urge not to lift your head into the crook of his neck to take in more of it.

Suddenly it was as if you were alone with him. Chris and the rest of the crew were gathered at the side, preoccupied with the faulty camera and lost in muffled conversation.

Josh was quite literally between your legs. Your bodies in full contact. His stance a little more fluid now, but he still held himself above you as a matter of politeness.

"I like that freckle." He pondered, making eyes at the little dark spot on your collar bone.

You couldn't help but giggle. "I like your scar."

You reached up and tapped your finger against his cheek. "Chicken pox?"

"I was six." He replied, "Me and my brother both got it at the same time. He's got a scar on the same side, too."

Oh god, why did he have to be so charming? You could see the way he was fighting against looking at you, trying to keep your eye contact rather than notice all the nuances of your body.

"You can't help yourself, can you?" You said, taking in the brown and hazel in his eyes. "You're a talker, aren't you?"

Crimson rose in his cheeks. "I'm sorry. It's just a bizarre situation to be in."

"Agreed." You sighed, "Although I am going to have to move a little, my hips are starting to ache."

Immediately, he lifted up. Allowing you to close your legs a little before repositioning. The contact sent ripples of heat throughout your body. The sensation of his skin against yours was so palpable, you hadn't expected it.

"You want me to stay up here or...?" He asked, lingering in the space between your thighs.

"Take the stress off your arms." You replied, inviting him to bring his weight down upon you.

He lilted down onto his forearms, taking the strain off his biceps. Bringing his face a little closer. And his bulge was pressed even further against your patch. All you could focus on was the way he felt against you. Smooth and solid. And he smelled heavenly.

"I kinda wish there weren't any camera's rolling." He confessed, "Then we could just get on with it."

You couldn't fight against the natural position of your arms. Resting at your side, it felt more comfortable to bring them to the curve of his spine. Less awkward. The movement made him hiss through clenched teeth.

"Then it would be a terrible movie that nobody would ever get to see." You muttered, trying to keep your touch feather light.

You barely noticed when Chris returned, kneeling at the side of the bed as you stared into Josh's eyes.

"Ok, we need to ditch this camera entirely. It's fucking dead." He explained, "So the plan is to keep the primary one rolling and get all the side angles done. I've sent for a replacement. So it might mean having to do all of this again after lunch. Which I can only only apologise for."

It didn't feel as if an apology was required. There was a hint of a sly grin on Josh's perfectly pouted mouth as he looked at you.

"You want us to go at it?" Josh asked, "Like, right now?"

Chris rolled his eyes, speaking with his hands as he gave a little direction.

"You're in love with this girl. It's your first time back at her place. You're a little nervous. And you've been waiting for this moment. Try to play it like that. She doesn't know you're in love with her yet. But she's in love with you, too. It's like a secret you both carry. I'm going to leave the camera running while I go and make sure the back up is running ok. I'll leave Mike to run it, he knows what he's doing. I think this could work out much better, actually."

As Chris walked out of the room, it fell silent. You could scarcely feel the presence of the guy standing in the corner, manning the camera quietly. You had no dialogue. No idea where to even begin.

A small voice broke the tension. "Uh, just to let you know we're rolling, guys."

Josh was trembling again. You could feel him shake against you. His mouth open a little as he checked in with you.

"I'm going to kiss you now, if that's ok?"

You didn't need to respond in words. It felt like permission to do whatever he wanted was silently granted. You didn't want to film a love scene with him. You wanted to fuck him, genuinely and passionately fuck him. Not as your character, but as yourself. And you'd never felt more disappointed.

Why couldn't you just be professional? Even as he leaned down and gently pressed his lips against yours you wished that you could just let him touch you without wanting it to be real.

The kiss deepened as you opened your mouth. Letting his tongue slide in, making sure the camera could see it as he turned his head. He felt like velvet. The taste of mint on his breath. Like he'd prepared for you.

In the distance, you heard a door opening.

"Oh, that's good." You heard Chris say, as he came back in carrying a bundle of wires and cords. "There's going to be soundtrack over the visual, so don't worry about verbal co-ordination. You're doing great."

You could feel yourself want to move. The bed sheet was languishing at Josh's waist, thin and light enough that your shadows could be seen beneath. You wrapped your legs around him a little, causing him to gasp into your mouth.

"Oh, shit..." He uttered, burying his face into the curve of your neck.

You felt it. The hardness. The way it grew against his modesty patch and threatened to detach it entirely.

"I'm so sorry....I'm so sorry...." He breathed, urgently recoiling his hand down to where he tried to contain it.

"Just go with it." You whispered, "I'm a grown woman, aren't I?"

You reached down and whipped it off for him. The relief etched in his brow as his cock sprang free. You knew that Chris had noticed. How could he not? But he remained silent.

You drew him into a rhythm. His cock pressed achingly hard against your patch, his girth and length writhing up against you as his body moved. The simulation only partially real.

"Is this ok?" He asked in peaked breaths, trying to keep his flushed face in shot.

"Mmm'hmmm." You replied softly, tossing your head back and arching your spine to accommodate the new sensation.

That was when you heard them talking. Chris and Mike in the corner, their heads leaned in to one another, discussing something you couldn't make out.

"Just keep going." He finally said, "We're going to dip out. The camera is on. Do whatever."

The door closed. The set fell to a level of intimacy you hadn't expected. Josh, above you, looking down as he began to pound into you.

You were hopelessly caught in the crossfire of wanting to take your own modesty patch off. To reach down and just pull it away. Biting down on your lower lip against the intrusive thoughts.

"Oh, fuck..." He stuttered, trying so hard to keep himself steady. "I can't believe this is happening..."

You felt a little moisture land on your stomach. Looking down you could see him leaking out above your patch.

"Just say it, Josh." You said breathlessly, "Just tell me to take it off."

There was a conflict there in his face as he considered it. You began to wonder what would happen if he didn't? Did it mean that he didn't want it like you did? Was his throbbing hard on just a reaction to the environment or did he really want to fuck you, too? His body was tense again, his tongue coming into your mouth a little harder as he continued to pound his erection against the little strip of fabric keeping you apart.

"Fuck it." He finally relented, "Take the fucking thing off."

The sound which escaped your lungs as he plunged into you filled the entire room. The sheet slipped off the bed. You could feel your legs being lifted, his torso leaning up. You were at his mercy.

He filled you up so completely. Stretching you. Making it sting. His beautiful little grunts intensified as he looked down at you, laid bare for him in reality as well as for the film.

"You look so fucking beautiful." He told you, uncertain if it were Josh speaking to you or if he was still in character.

It mattered little. This feeling was euphoric. The camera only serving to make the rush that little bit more erotic. You laid there and marvelled at his body as he fucked into you. Every muscle that flexed on display for you.

Or was it for you? Was it for the camera? You looked over towards it. Breaking a cardinal rule. The red light on the side flashing.

"Do you like to watch?" You asked, staring directly into the lens.

Josh stilled for a moment. "Oh, you're fucking filthy aren't you?"

"They can't use this now." You mused, pulling him down onto you again, missing the contact of him against you. "Just fuck me good, we can do a real take later."

He took his cue from you, nobody else. Even if it meant you'd be fired, you would have this. He felt too good. Each thrust was sweeter than the last. Questioning yourself on why you wanted him so bad. This wasn't like you. You weren't the type to risk everything for how good a cock felt inside you.

"You like how I feel, huh?" He asked, ask if he could hear your reverie loud and clear.

"Fuck, yes." You found yourself saying, "Oh, fuck...I'm in so much trouble..."

He managed to smile that devastating grin as he hung above, deliciously moving his hips into you a little slower. Teasing. Making it last longer.

"Don't worry." He reassured, "Your pussy feels so fucking good, there's no way I'm not fucking this again."

You were floored. Dumbfounded. "What about...Chris...the movie..."

His mouth was at your nipples. Grazing his teeth over the hard peak, licking around them until he took them between his lips and sucked.

"Don't make me say it." He said between bites, "I'll make him delete this. But not before I get a copy. You won't be out of a job, trust me..."

He was sincere and genuine before, you had no reason to doubt his sincerity now. Not while he was inside you. Telling you how good you felt, how beautiful you looked. You'd never seen anyone more engrossed in you, his focus completely on you and not on your surroundings.

"Where do you want me to cum?" He asked diligently, his tongue licking a stripe up your throat.

You could barely keep it together. Your high pitched moans coming in louder, fingers digging into his ass cheeks as he picked up the pace.

"I don't care..."

Your clit was throbbing for pressure. Instinctually, he seemed to gravitate towards it. Pressing his thumb against the swell as he continued the onslaught. The entire thing was so erotic, so unlike you.

"Are you on birth control?" He asked tentatively, leading soft and slow swirls against your clit as he watched his cock slide in and out of you.

You nodded. Looking up at how he seemed to know exactly where your mind was at.

"Oh, you're fucking getting it." He said, "All of it."

You knew he was close. The way he came down on you and pressed his entire body against you. Ready to give his all into the final thrusts. You were satisfied, but not nearly close to being done with him.

"You first." He whispered softly, gyrating his hips in a circular motion so that your clit got full sensation.

You fell apart so quickly, it was like a bolt of lightening striking from the tip of your clit and resonating out towards the rest of your beating veins. You gripped him so tight, certain he would cum soon after.

"That's so fucking hot." He told you, "I felt everything twitch, your pussy felt so tight..."

Fuck, he really was a talker. You heard him whisper obscenities as he continued. Working himself up into a frenzy.

You felt the need to requite his tenacity.

"Fucking cum inside me!" You demanded, locking your legs against his ass. "I want to feel it spill."

He wasn't expecting it. But you felt vindicated as he convulsed on top of you. Moaning heavily into your ear. The hot, warm and sticky mess he created spurting inside you. Nothing had ever felt more intense.

For a moment nothing felt real. Not the light above. Nor the camera at your side. The silence was deafening as you both tried to catch your breath.

Reeling back into reality.

"What the fuck just happened?!" You asked, "Oh my god, I am so fucking sorry. That was so unprofessional of me!"

"And me." He replied, his throat flexing as he swallowed hard. "I didn't mean for that to happen, at all. I promise."

"But it did happen." Chris said, peeking his head around the door. "Is it safe to come in?"

Josh was soft now. Pulling away from you, but leaving his cum behind. He wrapped the bed sheet around you both, making sure your modesty was kept despite what you'd both just done.

"I can't lie guys, I wasn't expecting that." He sighed, rubbing a stressed hand across his brow. "And you know I can't use 99.9% of that, because it would be classed as porn."

"I know, buddy." Josh replied mischievously, "I'm sorry, it just got really weird up here for a minute there."

Immediately, he looked over at you. "Not weird like...I wanted to do it. I wanted to do it when I met you this morning, truth be told."

Chris turned off the camera. Clearly conflicted.

"I can't lie guys, that was some of the hottest shit I've ever seen. I would love nothing more than to include it in the movie. I really would. It was...intense. The way you both looked at each other, shit you had me believing you were honestly in love."

You felt slightly smug.

"So, I'm not fired?" You asked, feeling Josh's cum against your thighs, like a memory you weren't ready to let go of.

"No, you're far from fired." Chris replied, laughing a little as he shook his head and started setting up the replacement camera. "However, you are going to have to get yourselves cleaned up and do this again. But...for pretend this time...I can't believe I'm actually saying this."

You didn't want to move. Even as Josh unashamedly tossed you a new robe, you could feel yourself wanting to die a little inside. Chris didn't even flinch as Josh got up, kissing you on the lips as he left.

"I'm so fucking embarrassed." You sighed, trying to put the robe on without Chris getting an eyeful of everything he'd already seen.

"Ah, don't be." He replied, "Josh was never a wallflower. Even in college. He liked a fucking audience, I don't know why I expected anything less when I asked him to do this."

"So... he's done this before?" You dared to ask, wrapping yourself in the soft towelling and rising from the bed.

Chris was clearly amused. "From what I saw behind the scenes, I think he might have taken his lead from you? It doesn't really matter. But for what it's worth, no. He's never done this before."

"Oh." You replied, a wave of something you had no name for blooming in your chest.

"Go and get some lunch and be ready to do this again....sort of...in an hour. Ok?" He instructed.

"Ok." You replied, padding off towards the dressing room in the direction Josh had gone in.

The End.

@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon @vikingisthenewsexy @char289 @gretavangroupie

[thatfreshi]

Little Stars and Such (Astarion x Reader)

It's here, the piercing fic, in which body-modded Tav gives Astarion hella piercings. I made a previous post with his piercing map in case you guys don't know the terms (I basically didn't until yesterday)

Tw - needles, implied sex

Recommended Song: Gregg's Woods - Alec Holowka

For the past couple of days, Astarion has been asking quite a few questions about your piercings. You had adorned your nose and face in tiny pieces of metal, all done by hand. Your little collection has grown over time, most recently with an eyebrow piercing once you settled down in Baldur's Gate once again.

"Do they hurt?"

"Like, when you pierce them? Yeah. You get used to it though. Surprised you don't have any honestly, elves are known for having the most elaborate piercings."

He stays silent for a moment, and you realize he wouldn't know that.

"Wasn't exactly a thing Cazador just let us do. Body modifications were mostly limited to demonic scars and being cut up for fun."

"Right... sorry."

"Don't be."

The conversation ended pretty abruptly, but picked up the next day while you were swapping out your nose ring.

"Do you ever get scared that your little ring will get caught on something and rip out of your nose?"

A sudden question, but a welcome one.

"I mean, sometimes, but not many people are that close to my nose. Unless you're planning on ripping out my piercing?"

You eye him suspiciously and he smirks.

"Oh, I would never."

This goes on for days, little prodding questions about all your accessories. One morning, while the two of you are lying in bed, you catch him staring at the helix on your ear.

"Astarion do you... do you want a piercing? Because I can do them. I mean I did these to myself."

"I've been thinking about it. I'm just a little nervous is all."

"Why my love?"

"I mean, I've never really had the freedom to do what I want with my body, in a lot of ways. That's one of those things I never got to explore, all the body modifications people are oh so familiar with. I suppose I could've done one with an embroidery needle if I was desperate, but that's just not something I had the liberty to think about."

You move a strand of hair out of his eyes.

"Well, you have the freedom to do whatever you want now."

"Then perhaps I'd like a couple."

"A couple? You don't wanna start with one?"

"Nonsense! One would be sad and pathetic, and we know I am a man of extravagance."

"Alright, if you insist."

You then grab a notebook sitting on the bedside table, and begin to draw out a plan for his piercings. Astarion insists that he only wants them on his ears, because he doesn't want anything to ruin his perfect face. As you're sketching, you continue to talk.

"You know this is gonna suck, right? Since your ears are so sensitive?"

"Sensitive? What makes you say that."

You blankly stare at him until he gives up.

"Okay fine, but I'm sure it can't be that bad!"

"I don't know. I mean I'm going to stab multiple holes through your ears. You barely like them being touched."

"I've been through enough pain. Nothing compares to jagged cuts in your back, I promise."

There are many moments like that, where he says something tragic that you just can't bring yourself to argue with. Without another word, he curls up against you, and the two of you discuss the options he has. Eventually, you settle on five on each side, because he INSISTED they be symmetrical.

"Tav, what kind of idiot would I look like if I had one ear with a bunch of shit on it, and one just, empty?"

"I guess you're not wrong."

He decides on two helixes, two lobe piercings, and a daith. You're a little surprised that he's going all out on this, but you don't mind. Everyone has that thing that lets them feel free, the thing they finally do to show the world 'I'm my own person.' Besides, if he didn't like them he could simply let them heal back up, forget this ever happened.

You go to grab your little makeshift piercing kit, full of fine needles you've collected over time, just in case you ever lose some.

"Now, you'll have to wear some of mine since you don't have your own earrings yet, but I'm sure you won't mind because my collection is amazing."

He sits up in bed, his shirt sleeve softly draping off his shoulder. If he could still be in the sun, you'd imagine a beam of light coming through the window right now, illuminating his face. You sit beside him, gently placing the box of needles by your feet.

"Alright, I'm gonna walk you through this as I do it, and if you want to stop at any time we can."

"Thank you my love."

The thought crosses your mind, that he'd probably not let any other soul on the planet do this kind of thing. Any time he's let someone else have control over his body, it's been riddled with sin and scars. But you? You've always been kind, soft, present. That's one thing he loves most about you, that he feels like he can be present. Not drifting off somewhere else, not closing off his mind to defend himself, not playing a chess match in his head. It's, easy. Life is easy now, and isn't that something wonderful?

"Alright, we're gonna start on the lobe. You feel the needle?"

You hold it lightly against his ear, and he shivers a little.

"Mhm."

"Alright, don't tense, but it's gonna hurt."

You hear the air escape through his teeth as the needle goes through. A pretty clean job if you do say so yourself.

"Well?"

You put in a dangling gold moon, waiting to see how he feels.

"Painful, but not horrible."

"Want to go again?'

"Of course."

He says it a little suggestively, and you give him a playful push.

"Save it for later imp."

You continue with his piercings, taking small breaks in between for conversation. You've continued adorning his ears with astral-themed jewelry, little stars and such. By the time you've finished the last one, you're quite pleased with your work. Astarion almost doesn't let you put the last earring in since he's so excited to see what you've done. He had Gale teach him mirror image a while ago, so he could finally see his reflection whenever he wanted. After casting it and giving his ears a look, he smiles.

Astarion laughs at your comment, giving one of those genuine smiles you used to rarely see. You silently curse the people that took that smile from him, wondering how anyone could see this specimen and torment him. He's like a pixie, a little trickster, someone you could pick up and hold forever. You know you're probably the only one who sees him that way, the only one who would call him cute, but he is. He enjoys it, being viewed as something that isn't devious or sexual, but a bright presence. You told him once how it's ironic that he can't be in the sun, because he was probably sunnier than the sun itself. He'd never let you tell anyone else that though.

"I... I think I quite like them."

"I do too. It's fitting."

You plant a kiss on his cheek.

"Worth the pain?"

"Most things are my love. Like you."

His hand meets your face, taking you into a deep kiss. When you break away, you whisper in his ear.

"I think they make you sexier too."

A chuckle under his breath, lips meeting again, and the morning is soon wasted away in bed. What a joy, to wake up every day with him, with someone living their life anew. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Neither of you know, but it's exciting none-the-less.

[chiriwritesstuff]

Meet Me at the Farmers Market! - 1. Jealousy, Jealousy

Farmers Market! Joel Miller x Confident! Plus Sized F! Florist Reader

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: What does a Contractor do in his spare time? Sell his wood carvings at the Saturday Farmers Market, of course! A Grumpy x Sunshine Joel Miller series collective of one shots, Updates every Saturday!

Rating: M

Word Count: 1063

Warnings: Jealous! Joel Miller, Tommy is a meddling little shit, Reader likes to ogle her too-hot market neighbor (I mean, who wouldn't?!) no outbreak! Verse Joel Miller, everyone has asses that just. Don't. QUIT!!!!

Summary: Tommy thinks y'all should stop dancing around your feelings for each other and just date already.

A/N: Hello there!

This is completely a self-indulgent fic! I was completely blown away by all of the interest in this series, and I want to thank every single one of you who has liked and reblogged my series masterlist so far!

This isn't going to be in a linear format or have continuous chapters, but will be more of a short-story format between the lives of Joel and his Sunflower. Hope you all enjoy!

Divider by the lovely @saradika

"You know, I think you guys should date."

As Tommy helps you unload a basket of baby's breath from your van, you look at him and ask, "Is that right? Pray tell, Thomas Miller, Why do you think that?"

"Well, for starters, you're crazy about him," he replies, waggling his eyebrows. "I can see how you stare at him like he's the finest cut of meat at Whole Foods. I should get you a drip cloth for all that drooling you be doing," he chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest.

You roll your eyes and shove a bucket of single-stemmed roses into his chest. "Oh please. I think it's more concerning that you just compared your brother to a piece of meat," you say as you place a checkered tablecloth on your foldable table, preparing for the morning market.

"His head is definitely full of it," he laughs. "Besides, I think he's crazy for you too."

You laugh and reply, "All he does is complain that my tent is encroaching on his 'walk space' and how my bouquets attract all the bees. I don't think he's said one nice thing to me since I started vending at the market."

"Don't you know that the more you hate, the more you love?" he teases. "I know my brother," Tommy says, motioning towards your grumpy, yet attractive, next-door vendor. Joel, in his green flannel and almost too-tight jeans, it's criminal, really, how nice his ass looks in them - finally acknowledges the two of you with a roll of his eyes.

"Tommy," Joel yells across the way, "I could use some help, once you're done flirting with little miss Sunflower over there," he says, placing his crate on his table with a little more force, mumbling to himself as he calls for Sarah.

"See? He's jealous. Thinks I have the hots for you," Tommy appraises your form, whistling. "I might have mentioned how you looked really nice last week, you know, in your denim cut-offs. And he might have mentioned that you had an - and I quote - ass that just doesn't quit."

"He did not!" you reply as you playfully whack his arm with a towel. "Come on, help me with this sign so you can go back to Mr. Grumpy Butt over there. Wouldn't want him grumbling about how I stole his brother…"

"He's a big boy, he can manage. He only has those little critters that he carves, and you have buckets of flowers. I'd like to think that my services are better utilized here, don't you think? I mean, look at him!" Tommy motions to Joel, who has stopped setting up his stand and is openly glaring at the both of you, his hands clenched and knuckles turning white. "I'm doing you a favor, honey bee. He's just shy under all of that grumpy ass attitude. Just ask him out, see where it goes." Tommy crinkles his eyes at you as he pats you on your head.

You swear you see Joel looking at the both of you as Tommy winks at you and heads back to his 'Reclaiming Miller' stand.

"What kind of a business name is that?" you think to yourself, chuckling as you close the doors of your van.

Later, as the market comes to a close and you place the final empty bucket into your van, you walk over to Joel's 'Reclaiming Miller' stand as he folds a tablecloth.

"Do you need a hand?" you ask sweetly.

"I got it," he replies with a grunt, dismantling his fold-up table and propping it against his truck. "It's funny," he adds, glaring at you, "that Tommy is nowhere to be found when I need help but magically appears once your van rolls in," he shakes his head. "Why don't you put him out of his misery and just ask him out?"

"… sounds like you're jealous, Mr. 'Reclaiming Miller'."

"Trust me, I'm not," he replies, rolling up the sleeves of his flannel as he tries to accommodate the Texas heat. You try very hard not to ogle the veins that run down his arms, swallowing as you try to remain indifferent to the very hot, grumpy man in front of you. You had a crush on Joel ever since you started the Saturday markets, approaching your new neighbor with a small bonsai tree as you introduced yourself. He took it from your hands carefully, inspecting it with a bit of wonder in his eyes. "Your tent is three inches off from your marker, by the way," he replies as he places the bonsai off to the side of his display table. "You might want to get that checked out, don't want to get a fine or anything like that." You decide then that he's one of those vendors, the ones who are sticklers for the rules and complete nightmares to those around them, but yet…

He is rather nice to look at, you think.

"… why would I ask someone I'm not interested in out on a date, Joel?" you reply, approaching him. "I mean, he did tell me that you thought I had an 'ass that just doesn't quit'," you say in his ear, tiptoeing up to his broad form, "is that what you really think, Miller?" you tease, his Adam's apple bobbing. "What if I want to ask you out? What would you say? Would you say yes? Because I think I would like that if you did."

But then, to your surprise, he smiles.

"… I thought we already got past dating, Sunflower," he replies as he kisses you, soft and sweet. His hands grab your hips as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. His hands travel to your ass, squeezing them as he groans into your kiss.

"Besides," he adds, "You know damn well how much I appreciate this ass." He winks, slapping it for good measure.

“Yeah, yeah, Miller. I'll see you at my place later?” you say as you head over to your van. “It's your turn to choose the movie tonight, if it's a good one you might just get laid” you tease.

“Oh baby girl, I'll get mine regardless, don't you worry,” he replies hungrily, waving as he enters his truck. “You just wear that thing I like, and I'll make it worth your while, promise.”

“You better!”

[yinora-evergreen]

Hiii!! Can I request early seasons sam x reader where there exhausted after a hunt so they cry together in a cute way? <3 (I hope you get the vision aha)

a/n: i totally get your vision!! i struggled a little bit writing this, but i hope you enjoy it! im really glad you requested this, because i really wanna get better at writing more things like this. i tried to make it a little bit angst to fluff, but idk if i succeeded at that

pairing: Sam Winchester x gn!reader

note: i kinda made Dean an asshole, much to my own pain, but it fits the best. i'd just like to point out that Dean does care, but in this fic he's just a dick about it, because it fit best

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you swear you didn't mean for it to go so not-according-to-plan.

you, Sam and Dean took this case, an old cabin in the woods was haunted by an old lumberjack's ghost, who wasn't very keen on human interaction when he was alive, and therefore, once he died, his body was never found, he kept his place a secret, and now he was haunting the old place, and anyone who came in ended up bloody, to say the least.

you three had made a simple plan: get in, stay quiet, find the body, and roasty toasty mr mcghosty.

but, much to nobody's surprise, the place was old, and made of wood, and apparently, wasn't as sturdy as it used to be.

Sam and Dean had made it up the stairs with minimal noise, however, much to your luck, one of the steps broke under your weight, making your leg get stuck, a piece of wood impaling your thigh, making you groan at the sudden wave of sharp pain, and ofcourse, that alerted the ghost.

it appeared, right infront of you, and swung a rather large axe at you, which you managed to avoid getting hit with by throwing your iron wrench you had with you at it, making it temporarily dissappear.

long story short, Sam helped you up, you three found the body, and burned it, end of story.

however, you had bled quite a bit, and passed out.

next thing you know, you wake up in the back of the impala, Sam sitting next to you in the backseat with a worried expression, and Dean complaining in the front.

"i told you it was a bad idea to bring them, Sammy, they're newer at this than we are, we shouldn't have brought them" you furrow your brows.

"Dean, this isn't their fault! it could've been either of us who fell through those stairs, we just got lucky, and they didn't" Sam argues back, mindlessly keeping his hand on your bandaged thigh, which you realize was probably taken care of by him.

"....sorry..." you mumble quietly, barely audible.

"you better be, you could've made this case go fully to shit" Dean snaps back. he doesn't mean it, you tell yourself, he's just worried.

you manage to stay quiet and composed the whole ride back to the shitty motel, keeping your eyes trained out the window to prevent yourself from crying, which Sam, being as caring as he is, notices.

once your back, Dean tells you both to go back inside to the motel room, and he'll get some chinese food.

you stumble back inside, Sam right behind you and locking the door behind you two.

"you okay?" he asks hesitantly. he feels like shit. he shouldn't have let you walk up those stairs third, it should've been him, he should've been the one who got hurt, not you.

you try to respond, but the words die on your tongue as you feel a lump form in your throat, and your eyes tear up.

you try to blink the tears away, though Sam has already noticed them, and crossed the room in a few strides and wrapped his arms around your waist.

trying to blink away the tears doesn't work, it just makes them fall as you start crying, wrapping your arms around Sam just as he wraps his around you, hiding your face in his chest.

he can't help but tear up aswell, both in relief that your ok and in sadness of you feeling like this and having to deal with both the scare of getting swinged at with an axe and having to deal with his brother's shit.

"its okay, you're okay, we're all okay..." he murmurs shakily, trying to reassure the both of you.

[hurtspideyparker]

a series of unsent letters between Steve and Tony after Civil War:

Dear Steve,

Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you.

Sincerely,

Tony

—

Dear Tony,

Why are you always so sad my love? In another life I am there to kiss every frown and tear, my hands hold your face till we are one, till you consume me and my every breath, till my thoughts are spoken in the rhythm of your lips. No matter the scorn you hold for me, know that I am yours. Irrevocably.

Sincerely,

Steve Rogers

—

Steve,

You're such a conniving, heartless, scheming, pompous little asshole. How many nights did we share a bed and you kept that secret? Did you even lose sleep, even think about how I deserved to know, or did you just think about your old pal? Sorry I was a little upset about the whole murdered mom thing, really dampened the good mood you had going with your centenarian brainwashed assassin.

Fuck you, and fuck Barnes, but especially fuck you.

Tony

—

Darling,

Know I never wanted to hurt you. If I could I'd carry your pain and loss all on my own shoulders, I'd carry the sky, carry the moon and every star till they died and I'd watch the nebula embrace me with all its remarkable light and color, and in my last moment I'd think how it was almost as beautiful as you.

Yours,

Steve Rogers

—

Steve,

I hope you're miserable. I hope there's bedbugs in your sheets, your shower runs out of hot water, and the bagel you wanted to eat for breakfast is moldy. I hope you stub your dumb toes, and weep every night missing your hunk of metal. Trip into a ditch you piece of shit.

Tony

—

Dearest,

The warmth of my coffee reminds me of your joy. I lived there once. In the stretch of your lips, the gasp of your contentment, the sparkle in your waterline like the wishing fountain I thought was magic as a kid. I wish I still resided there, so I could track the way your crow’s feet deepen every day and fall further into the cracks till it was all I knew. I’d read your laugh lines like the Bible my darling.

Yours,

Steve Rogers

—

Steve,

I can't remember the shade of your eyes. It's been killing me for days. I know they're blue, I know, but I just. Did they have green? Were they pale? More like the sky or the ocean? This is how I get over you right, I forget things like the tightness of your hugs and the deepness of your voice in the morning. It's a good thing, moving on. So why do I feel like you're dying?

Tony

—

My love,

I have drawings, hidden, of someplace for just the two of us. The wood detailing I love, and the open floor you love. Smaller than you're used to but I think you'd like that. A workspace for you, a bathtub for me, and a garden for us both to mess up. I think we could have run away together, and found quiet in the woods. I'm sorry we never got there.

Yours,

Steve Rogers

—

Read the full fic on AO3

[atinylittlepain]

Chapter One

jackson!joel miller x witch!oc

series masterlist

series playlist

He thinks he might fall in love with her. She can't let him fall in love with her. Or: a reimagined take on an infamous Practical Magic au by yours truly.

wordcount | 6.1K

series content info | 18+ slowburn-ish, strangers to friends to lovers to estranged acquaintances to ???, discussions of death and grief, a little magic, just a little, jackson era joel and all that entails, eventual smut, angst obviously, and love that requires a little elbow grease.

a/n | yeeeehaw, here we go. I have to just say, it was so damn fun writing this, and while I haven't gotten started on chapter two quite yet (hello, finishing undergrad, you thankless wench) I'm real excited to get started soon. As always, I'd love to hear what you think, thank you for reading.

............................................

He doesn’t understand this world of a town. Two months, maybe three, actually, and still not used to any of it. Not used to warm water and light switches that work. Not used to three whole meals, not used to whole anything. Tomatoes and peaches, sweet snap peas, the taste of summer. Not used to people living so closely and not trying to kill each other. He feels like a livewire strung taut, waiting for the shoe to drop, for the catch of it all. He’s starting to think there is no catch. And if there is no catch, he’s worried he’ll get too comfortable, too soft.

The people of Jackson live a different life. May as well be on a different planet. And as such, they treat him and the kid with a pitiful patience and a cautious distance. Careful, feral animals, still being housebroken, still learning not to eat with their hands and swear in the dining hall. Still learning not to flinch, or do much worse, when a friendly hand is placed on their shoulders. This strange world, strange life he’s walked into, and he’s pretty sure it’s not for him. But he wants it to be for Ellie, so he tries. 

In this world, help is expected, and given freely. White-knuckling isn’t requisite, there are things that can be done for a fever besides waiting it out, ways to relieve a little suffering. Time and space, a luxury, he thinks. And so when the kid came home with a bloom of welts on her palms and up her bare shins, unaware of how easily poison ivy can spread, there was, for once, something he could actually do about it. 

Tommy was the one who clued him in. The little shop that sits a few storefronts down from the Tipsy Bison which, in all honesty, he had never paid any mind to. He doesn’t get out much to begin with though, so that says very little. Unassuming, peeling blue paint and tall windows obscured by bursts and blooms of plants. A piece of smooth wood has been turned into a sign hanging above the door, letters seared into the grain. Apothecary.

He calls out, hesitant when he steps inside, unsure now if he came at the right time. No one in sight, the shop sits perfectly quiet, still, just the hum of a fan tucked into one of the windows, sending a faint shiver through the plants around it. He’s admittedly surprised by the sight, not that he had been expecting the clinical white of a pharmacy. Still, the shock of green all around him, warm clay pots on wooden benches, vines and leaves spilling over the edges like languid limbs in repose. Lush and strange, he steps further into the shop, foliage brushing against his shoulders, the cool, damp smell of earth. He calls out again, still silence.

There’s something that looks like an old checkout counter further back, a rusted-out cash register that now has thin vines growing along and in between the keyboard. The remnant stub of a receipt sits in its mouth, he thinks he can make out 2003, ink all but faded away. But the strangest of all things, as he’s studying the slumped machine. Someone else joins him. Or something else. 

“Well, look at you.” It doesn’t exactly startle him, more like a small kick in his chest at the intrusion. Like black ink, sleek and shine and slipping up onto the counter, all ease, perched and staring at him. He thinks a bit idly to himself that he hasn’t seen too many cats in the last two decades. And this cat looks well taken care of, maybe even a little prim, if a cat can look such a way, sitting on its haunches and looking at him, unblinking, unwavering, and a little unsettling. Little impulse, before he can think too hard about it, he holds his hand out, a scratch between the ears that’s rebuffed as soon as it’s accepted, little snit and swipe, the sharp pin prick sting of blood over his knuckles. He presses his other palm over the small throb, the cat long gone by the time he has half a mind to look for it. 

“Did she get you?” Now that does get a jolt out of him. Animals are easier. But people, well. He looks to his left, then to his right, deeper into the shop. He sees her hair before he really sees her. Piles of curls, gray starting to bleed through all that darkness. She’s standing in a doorway he hadn’t seen before, the cat rubbing its cheek against her shin. Somehow, he feels like he’s been told on, thick flood of something warming up the back of his neck.

“Just a scratch, think I deserved it though.” Somewhere around his age, he thinks, maybe a little younger. Her eyes do a lift and crinkle when she smiles, stepping closer to him. He sees the same years he recognizes in his own face, though she certainly wears it better, tempered smile, glasses getting pushed up into her hair, more mane now than anything else. What was he here for again?

“You’re Joel Miller.”

“I am, how did–”

“Tommy told me he was sending you my way. I didn’t know a person could come with a warning label.” Something southern in her voice, little twang, little twinge. Her words rasp just a bit, and it sounds like kindness, like a sharpness that could turn sour, though she keeps it sweet, tilt of her head, sweet. 

“I guess my reputation precedes me then.”

“It’s a small town.”

“I’m starting to catch onto that.” The cat has taken an insistent twine between his legs, chewing at his shoelaces, until she, still nameless to him, hooks her arm around its belly, easy as anything, and Stevie’s a little curious is all, sending the creature slinking off and away from them, disappearing between all the green. 

“I’m sorry, older I get the less I remember my manners. I’m Maggie.” Palm extended, and when he takes it, it’s like that thing he and Tommy used to do as kids, bored out of their minds and making a game of shuffling in their socks, fingertip shocks to the backs of each other’s necks, just a quick gasp of static, there and gone.

“Tommy said you could help me out with something for poison ivy?” Oh, she says, mostly pantomime when she takes her hand back and wipes it on the thigh of her jeans, is it for you? He’s surprised how easily that makes him laugh.

“No, it’s, well, it’s my kid, got it pretty bad.” 

“Your daughter is in luck then. I’m almost sure every kid in Jackson under the age of sixteen gets it at least once, and I treat every single one of them.” A slip, a stutter, because did she? Did he? He must have, right? Must have used that word, daughter, for her to say it. Even though he’s pretty sure he didn’t, pretty sure of his pause, but he can’t give it any more thought because she, Maggie, has already turned heel, a cursory look over her shoulder at him that tells him, yes, he should be following her further back into the shop. 

“So, witch hazel is going to be your daughter’s new best friend. Soak a little of this into a cloth or towel and dab it onto the rash a few times a day, you really can’t overdo it though.” He’s trying to keep up, really, nodding and mmhmming as she hands him a small bottle, already onto the next thing, her glasses now sliding down to the end of her nose as she looks through drawers and cabinets, plucking out things that look like old shoe polish tins, jars covered with cloth toppers. A mix of method and madness, a grace to her movements, though something skittish is threaded through. Bird of prey, he thinks, something of fierce and feather in all that motion.

A combination of workshop and kitchen makes up what he thinks is the backroom of the shop, large butcher block taking up most of the middle of the room, back door propped open with something that, frankly, looks like an urn. An impressive-looking range spans the back wall, and he thinks that, maybe, in the before, some kind of restaurant. But now, very different means to very different ends. 

“Alright, this’ll help most with the itching. It’s a bit potent, so just tell her to take a little bit, warm it up between her palms, and rub it over the worst spots.” Ultimately, he’s left with a bottle, a small tin, and a few sachets of oatmeal bath soak, only half sure he got all her directions, trying to balance listening to her, and letting his eyes wander over all the cabinets, dried plants and variously odd containers spilling out from everywhere. Head spinning, already spun out actually, and he can’t help but wonder how he’s just now meeting this woman, a strange sense that she’s important, though why, or to whom, he isn’t sure. 

“That should have Sarah all cleared up in about a week, but if it’s still persisting–” 

“I’m sorry–” Whatever he’s sorry about, it cracks and fails in his chest. Like he’s been winded, or maybe wounded, a sort of deep suckerpunch shock hearing that name come from a stranger’s mouth. He has to clear his throat before he speaks again, posing it like a question, you said Sarah? And there’s a peculiar thing that happens in the silence, the quick pass of her eyes over his face, pull of her brow like she’s the one that’s confused. But whatever it is, it’s gone just as quick, lines smoothing, a smile so small it can only be apologetic. That queasy twist in his gut has loosened, but there’s still something unsettled, that lingering static all over his skin. 

“I thought I heard that was your kid’s name, but judging by your reaction I  must be getting people mixed up again.” She says something else, something about taking care, a lot of folks around here pass through my hands, sometimes they blur together. He believes that well enough, still uncertain about the rest, though too skittish to do anything other than drop it. That name isn’t for anyone else, not even a bird of prey, so he keeps it folded up close and tight between his ribs and lets out a sigh to blow out all of his held breath, slumping civility.

“No, it’s alright, I’m not too good with names myself.”

“Well, there hasn’t been much need for that in this world, don’t you think?” 

“I guess not, though I’m getting the sense it’s a little different around here.” It seems like a nervous thing, a pulse point reassurance in the way she brushes a hand back through her hair, lets her palm curl at the nape of her neck for a moment, then hand to wrist. Never still, she’s done it a few times now just standing here talking to him, though her words come easy, if not a little sharp, a single, high note of a laugh.

“Oh yeah, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to work on that, unless you wanna hurt some poor bird’s feelings, you know.” Wave of her hand, you know, and the thought occurs to him, errant, that this is the most normal conversation he’s had with someone since deciding not to leave. And quickly after that, the thought that he doesn’t hate it, this, doesn’t hate normal, doesn’t want normal to stop. For once, he feels like he can do normal. For once, it feels easy.

“Any advice?”

“What, on assimilating?” That word rolls languid and loose off her tongue, making a joke out of it as she pronounces each syllable, that sour twang pitching up another key. He nods, try me.

“Give it time, the names that matter will shake out eventually. In the meantime, just avoid direct eye contact and the rumor mill will leave you alone, relatively speaking.” 

“That right?” Shrug, sigh, she tilts her head to the side, smile going slanted and shoulder hiked, it’s been working for me, kinda, sorta. His eyes trail the slope of her collar bone, bare now with how the sleeve of her shirt has slid a little askew. Sunspots, a silver knick of a scar, paper thin and fine.

“Ellie, that’s, um, well, my kid’s name.”

“Got it, and you’re Joel.”

“And you’re Maggie.”

“Look at you, already getting better at it.”

“Is that short for something?” 

“Unfortunately, my mother saddled me with Magdalene.”

“Don't hear that one often.”

“Nope, she was a little, well–”

“Eccentric?”

“I was going to say righteous, but that works too.” 

“Religious then?”

“In a way, yes, you could say that. You too? Joel sounds very bible-y.” 

“My folks were, I never really acquired a taste for it though.” 

“Hmm, amen.” Easy, easy, easy, until time does that thing it always does, starts to fissure beneath that delicate freeze. She glances at her watch, a polite sigh, and he notices the thin band on her finger, a foolish drop of disappointment souring his stomach, trying, and failing, to double check if it was her left, if it was her ring finger. Not that it matters though, not that it would, or could matter. Already on the move, something about a colicky baby I have to go check in on, leading him back out to the front of the shop, and he finally remembers the bottle and tins he’s holding, what he came here for in the first place. 

“I appreciate all this, really, just name your price and–”

“Oh, no, consider it a welcome gift. I hope Ellie starts feeling a little better.” And he wants to accept that, her kindness, and how easily she offers it. But there’s no muscle left in him for that, weak and wilted and wary of shoes dropping, catches, and being caught. Whatever remains in its place, she notices it, that nervous hesitation, that one step back, that shifted glance toward the exit, softening some of her sharpness. And it’s not pity, because he knows pity, seen a lot of pity in these few months he’s been here. No, not that, something simpler and saner. Seeing and being seen, the cool slip of relief from it. 

“I might have an idea for a trade if you’re up for it.”

“What’d you have in mind?”

“Tommy said you’re handsy–” She stops herself with a gasp that sounds like a hiccup, seemingly just as stunned as he is by the word, hair falling in her face with the shake of her head, little laugh, little brightness. Handy, oh my god, I meant handy. 

“I’m sorry, clearly I don’t get out much, lord.” All hands, talking with her hands, palm to her forehead, then back through her hair, quick flickers, he tries to track that ring through its orbit, a dizzying  effort. Hummingbird hands, a woman who is all wings.

“It’s alright, reckon you’re still better at this than I am.”

“On the contrary, I think you’ve been the picture of civility.”

“Will you tell Tommy that?” 

“I’m sure I can put in a good word.”  He’s lingering, or maybe she is, or maybe they both are. Not used to this, taking time for time’s sake. 

“I am though. Handy, I mean, if you need help fixing something?” She does, she tells him, stair railing that’s come so loose she’s worried she’s going to go right through it one of these days. And it’s been twenty years since he’s been in a world in which people worry about the upkeep of their stair railing, but it’s an easy fix, he tells her, he can do that, he tells her. Sunday? Sunday works fine. They shake on it, stepping out of the shop into the mid-day glare of sun, her with a deep canvas bag hanging off her shoulder. She squints at him, it was nice meeting you, and he says the same, and finds himself actually meaning it. But there’s still something strange slicking up and down his spine, he’s reminded of it watching her walk off in the other direction, though he’s not really watching her any more, but the people she passes by.

Small town, close town, everyone knowing everyone else, names pinned down under thumbs. Ellie had let out a loud what the fuck when a stranger greeted them, by name, the first time they went to the dining hall for dinner. He’s been feeling a similar way about all the greetings, all the good neighbors doing what good neighbors do. But Maggie gets none of that walking down the block. No smiles, no tipped chins, no knowing and being known. He swears he even sees a few swept away glances, a few steps back the closer she gets. If it bothers her, she doesn’t show it, a sort of easy sway to her gait, walking hips-first, there, and there, and then gone when she turns a corner. Strange, and stranger even, when he looks down and notices that the puddle of black ink is chewing on his shoelaces again. 

Little trouble, yellow eyes that round and narrow on him, he takes one step, and little trouble follows him, close on his heels. He imagines that they’re putting on an absurd show walking down the main drag of town, him stopping every few steps to turn around and see that yes, little trouble is still following him, though at an admittedly respectable distance, settling back on its haunches and staring him down every time he glances back over his shoulder. Little trouble follows him all the way to the front steps of his house, seeming to finally lose interest in favor of a bee humming lazy around a patch of weeds. The last thing he sees of little trouble is pink-padded paws batting at dandelions, curled-lip grin and white fang chewing on stems, beheading thick yellow manes. 

… 

She lives on the other side of town. Older builds, he thinks, been here longer, windows with glass that warbles a little in its age like melted sugar, and deep-set porches washed with dark blue shadows in the early morning light. Cottonwood trees sway and dip, old limbs that arc and curl over the cracked-up sidewalk, slumbering giants making the sounds of all the small life it hosts. It’s a side of Jackson he hasn’t seen until now and it reminds him of a younger, simpler time. 

The town follows an old rhythm, late starts on Sunday. There’s even a church somewhere, though he’s not particularly concerned with finding it anytime soon. It’s still early enough, however, that he’s one of the few people already up and out. She told him to come as early as he wanted, really, I’ll be up. And he sees for himself that she was being honest, because when he walks up to the house she told him to look for, he finds her waging a zealous war with a rose bush in her front yard, and it doesn’t seem like she’s winning. 

When he told his brother he had taken his advice, he was met with a surprising amount of interest, talking quietly over a shared drink and well, what did you think?

I didn’t realize you were waiting for my report.

She’s a little different is all, does things her own way.

Well, she got the kid fixed up. 

I had no doubt she would.

I’m helping her on Sunday with something, as a trade.

Oh?

Stair railing in her house is loose. Been a long time since I thought about stair railing.

Wait, you’re going to her house?

Yes.

Into her house?

I’d presume so. Is that a problem?

No, just surprising. 

Why’s that?

She keeps to herself, not exactly one to make friends, though I don’t blame her with the way– well, people can be cruel, I guess.

What’s that supposed to mean? 

There’s talk, stupid stuff really. For what it’s worth I like her just fine.

Talk, his brother said. People spinning stories out of fear, or maybe something weaker than that. He’s been gathering up some of that talk all week, enough of it to make his head spin. The only thing he’s sure is truth, Maggie was here before Jackson was even called Jackson, just a nameless group of people that somehow managed to survive, until it became something else entirely. The rest, however, weft and warp of fact and fiction. Plenty of good words, broken bones set back in place and flu seasons weathered, babies born and grown, though the praise seems to be given with a reluctant respect, skittishly, but, well. But, well, something strange about her, isn’t there? He’s heard plenty of strange too. Strange, the way she talks to the wind, and the way it seems to listen. Strange, that cat of hers, with lingering eyes that watch and watch and watch, a shadow showing up in all the close, quiet places. Strange, whatever it is she keeps on the stove in the back of her shop. He asked Ellie if she’s heard anything, and she, pleased with herself, offered up a fantastical report of flight and dancing naked under the full moon, a perfectly tall tale he could imagine the children of Jackson passing around a classroom. 

One thing he hasn’t heard anything about, the ring and whichever finger she wears it on. His right, her left, she’s still wearing it this morning, simple silver glinting and a pair of garden shears aloft in her hand. She smiles sheepish when she sees him, like she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t be. 

“Those are pretty.” She doesn’t seem to realize he’s talking about the roses, big white blooms that she absently looks at over her shoulder, scoffing, her mouth screwed to the side. 

“They’re useless is what they are, taking up too much space and overcrowding the rest of my plants.” As he gets closer, stepping beyond the gate and into the front yard, he sees the errant chaos of her work, stray petals and entire threads of flowers lopped off around her feet. She’s a little breathless as she speaks, back of her hand to her forehead to wipe stray salt, and he wonders how long she’s been out here at this.

“Not a fan of roses then?” 

“To be honest with you, I don’t know where these are coming from. It seems like I cut them back and by the next morning they’ve taken over even more.” She gives a weak stab to the flowers that remain intact, a shake of her head as she abandons her work, and he shouldn’t, just here to fix her stair railing, he shouldn’t, but he already is, already saying the words before he can think about keeping his mouth shut, you’re bleeding.

“What?” He gestures, at least having half a mind not to touch, his hand hovering somewhere in the vicinity of her forearms. Long, thin welts where he’s sure the thorns got her, and maybe he’s a little startled by her breathing out oh, those fuckers, and this again, on the move again, and expecting him to follow her up the porchsteps and in through the screen door and just let it slam or it won’t close all the way. She’s already tramped further into the house and he finds himself utterly unsure of what comes next, shuffling a little in the hallway she left him in, head tilting with the sound of a faucet turning on somewhere, pipes groaning. 

Another truth he gets to see for himself, Maggie has lived here a long time, all the acquired detritus of life that only time can allow, that leaving washes away. Paintings dripping off the walls, a craned-neck glance into the rooms around him revealing worn-looking furniture, shelves of books and little nothing things, trinkets and half-melted candles. And more plants, more plants everywhere. 

“So, the stairs.” The stairs, in question, are an easy enough fix. How nice, he thinks, to know what is needed, and to know exactly where to go to get it, a few tools and materials only a ten minute walk away. She tells him to make himself at home, let yourself in, I’ll be in the back, I’d warn you about my guard dog but she’s not very good at her job. The guard dog in question is rubbing its whiskered cheek against the leg of her jeans, thrumming a purr so loud he thinks it’s at least partial performance, yellow eyes skewing up at him every now and again. 

The work itself makes up the morning. Methodical, monotonous work that allows his mind, and his eyes, to wander. Whatever that ring on her finger means, he’s nearly certain that nobody else lives here with her, except for the cat who spends the first few hours sitting on the bottom step, watching him. As for Maggie, he catches glimpses of her, in and out all morning between what looks like a sunroom and the backyard, never still, always something in her hands, always moving like she’s got an important destination to get to. She comes back inside just as he’s finishing his work, dressed down in a tank top now, all her hair pulled into a precarious knot at the nape of her neck. His eyes linger on bare collar bone, sun high in her cheeks, even though he tries not to. 

“I completely forgot to ask if your kid is feeling better.” He tells her that she is, tries for a joke about teenagers and all their drama that just feels weird in his mouth, though she still smiles at it. And he feels it again, just the same as when he met her, that tug, that want to linger, even though the work is done, and she’s thanking him for it, and even he, and all his dormant manners, knows that’s his cue to leave. 

“I was about to make some lunch if you wanted to stick around?” He shouldn’t.

“Yeah, okay, thank you.” And so he stays for lunch, and so there’s tomato sandwiches, thick and bursting, summer sweet and savor on her back porch, wiping dripping ripeness off on the thigh of his pants, a hum in his throat to be enjoying something like this. 

“How’s another week of domesticity suiting you?” Words that crackle with a half-grin, her cheek cupped in her palm, a picture of afternoon haze, sleep and sate, and he finds himself being lulled by the sight, little slump back in his chair.

“Don’t think it’s something I’ll get used to anytime soon.”

“That’s to be expected, I don’t think anyone ever fully gets used to it though. Not unless this is all they’ve known.”

“Where were you before you came here?” It’s a question that borders on prying, he apologizes and you don't have to almost as soon as it’s out of his mouth, but she waves the apology off, it’s a little complicated. And she tells him that this is where she lived in the before, right up until the after, and that she, like so many others, got funneled into a quarantine zone in the earliest years. 

“Were you ever in one?”

“Boston, for a while.”

“Then you know how maddening those places are.” Bird of prey, trapped in a cage. Bird of prey, who flew back home. Bird of prey, who found that a few other people had the same idea.

“It wasn’t called Jackson back then, wasn’t called anything, just people, you know.” Until it became something else, something bigger, and a little more serious, and if that bothers her, she doesn’t show it. And now he really is prying, asking after her accent that surely doesn’t come from the mountains. He’s not wrong, she tells him.

“I moved here when I was, oh, maybe nine? My parents, we lived in Mississippi before they passed, and when they did I was sent up north to live with my aunt.” It’s an old wound, whatever pain that remains from it has been transfigured into a sort of tired nostalgia around her eyes, the tempering of her smile. She’s quick to brush it away, a bright laugh and a shake of her head, I think I just told you all my secrets. He knows that isn’t true, though warmth still starts to unfurl in his chest. And when she asks him the same questions, he offers the same piecemeal parts of the whole truth. Offers Texas, and his brother, and a halfway truth about Ellie. Shards and fragments passed between each other’s hands, it surprises him how easily he has given his to her. 

“I guess we’re not strangers anymore then.” 

“No, I guess not.”

“I should– I feel the need to warn you.” Like she’s not sure how to put these words together right, brow pinched low and smile slanted nervous, you might not want to spend too much time around me.

“Why’s that?”

“People around here like to talk.”

“Right.”

“And they like talking about me.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“And I don’t want– you seem like the kind of guy who just wants to keep his head down and get by.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“I’d like to be friendly, but I don’t want to take that from you.” The word friendly does something unpleasant in his chest. He does his best to ignore it.

“Why’d you invite me to stay?”

“Because I like talking to you and because I’m selfish. Because I wanted to.” And there’s something else, he thinks, something else unspoken behind her grin. Because he hasn’t made up his mind about her in the same way everyone else has, at least not yet. 

“I have heard things, about you, I mean.”

“I’m sure you have.”

“And I have questions.” She sits back in her chair, an edge of a challenge in her jutted chin, palms turned up and open, try me. But given the chance, he doesn’t know where to begin, which thread to pull first. What comes out, ultimately, isn’t even a question, but plain and blunt observation. This is a big house.

“It’s just me, and Stevie. I’ve offered up rooms to folks around here, haven’t gotten any bites so far.”

“But it wasn’t always, just you.” Absent-minded, she spins that silver band with her thumb, another wound revealed. 

“I was married until I wasn’t.”

“Before or after?” He doesn’t know where this is coming from, this plainly brash openness, though she doesn’t wince, doesn’t recoil from it, just as steady as he is.

“After, about a decade after. You think you’re in the clear and then, yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for now. Ask me something else, why don’t you? Something more interesting.” Wave of her hand and a clipped laugh that’s more like a sniff, tender, don’t touch, don’t dig into that wound any deeper. 

“People say you’re strange.”

“Strange.” Dragging out the word, letting it crackle with a grin that’s all teeth, little laugh on the end, picture perfect amusement in how she tilts her head at him.

“That you can do strange things.” 

“That’s kind of a nothing word, isn’t it? Strange?”

“I thought you were gonna answer my questions.”

“Oh, I will. You’re gonna have to be a little more precise in your language though.” Back and forth, back and forth, why does he like this so much? Dragging his palm down his jaw to stop the spread of anticipation, heat-hazy in the mid-afternoon sun.

“That cat of yours, for starters.”

“Mmhmm?” Raise of her brows, voice high in her throat, and he has to huff, do I really have to say it?

“Are you referring to the rumor that my cat spies on people and reports back to me all their wicked, little secrets?” 

“Sure, yes.”

“That cat right there?” His eyes follow her pointed finger out into the tall grass of the backyard, where the cat in question seems to have contented itself with tangling its paws in a loose length of twine, belly-up, writhing around in all that green. Maggie snorts.

“Oh yeah, she’s a real mastermind, you better watch out, she’ll be visiting your bedroom window next.” 

“Then what about the rest of it?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“I’m glad you’re finding this so amusing.”

“Mmhmm, I really am.”

“I feel foolish even saying it.”

“If there’s a word you’re skirting around, and I think there is, it’d be better if you just come out with it.”

“This really is a nothing word though.”

“Oh?”

“Made up, make-believe.”

“Are you sure about that?” 

“Frankly, I’m not sure of anything about you.” She hums, chin cupped in her hand and her elbow propped on the small table between them, her brow dipping in mock consideration of his words. He can see that she really is finding all of this entertaining, something in her eyes like a squinted challenge, ghost of a smile twitching in the corners of her mouth.

“How about I say the word I think you’re thinking of?” Spiraling words, circling each other, he nods, and she purses her lips, getting ready for some kind of lift off. 

“People have told you my cat is strange.”

“People have told you I’m strange.”

“People have told you I do strange things.” Yes, yes, yes, he nods with each statement, and her smile only seems to brighten.

“Joel, have people been telling you I’m a witch?” And that’s it, isn’t it? Foolish, and he doesn’t know why that word has seemed to stick in his mind. Maybe just because he’s heard it from enough mouths in the last few days that it almost makes it seem plausible. Maybe he’s lived in a world turned inside out on itself long enough that there is very little imagination that hasn’t been eaten away by reality. Maybe he’s just like the rest of them, looking for any way to explain someone who doesn’t do things the capital-w Way they are supposed to be done. Maybe he’s still thinking about Sarah, and where Maggie could have possibly plucked that name from. And maybe that word is just holding the place of something else, an uneasiness he feels around her, though not unpleasant, just other, and so very unlike any other. He opens his mouth to speak, but decides against it, and this seems to amuse her most of all, sharp smile now softening, no longer playing at a game because they’ve both caught each other now, haven’t they? 

“That’s what people say.” 

“And you? What do you say?” 

“Does it matter?”

“If we’re going to be friends, yes, I’d like to know what you think.” Friends, they’re going to be friends. When did that happen? He thinks that may be the strangest thing of all. 

“I think I don’t know enough yet to tell you what I think.”

“How judicious of you.”

“I think you’re different though.”

“Well, I think you’re different too.”

“Why?”

“Most people wouldn’t have gone past the front porch, and here you are staying for lunch.”

“I don’t mean to impose or–”

“That’s not what I meant.” The words are kind, but they’re also a conclusion, enough, for now, enough. He watches her get up and collect both their plates before he can think to move, and then another kindness, touch, her palm on his shoulder as she passes behind him, there and gone. He’s a stranger to touch that isn’t economical, or clinical, or plainly violent, and he finds himself unsure what to do with that, though inexplicably wanting more of it. 

She thanks him again for the fix to the railing, and he thanks her for lunch. He lingers, and she lets him, helps with the dishes, checks the railing one more time. I’ll see you, she says, walking him out onto the front porch, and she does it again, touch again, somewhere at his elbow, as simple as anything. The roses are still raging in her front yard, a whole wave of them. 

Somewhere in the middle of his walk home, he realizes the cat is following him, second shadow slinking low to the ground, dipping her head when he turns around, pretending at predator. He keeps walking, pays little attention to her pursuit. He’ll get used to it eventually. He thinks he already is.

...........................

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[autisticalastor]

the privilege of being born to be a man

Pairing: Alastor/Lucifer

Rating: G

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Genderfluid Alastor (his egg is cracking), Demiromantic Asexual Alastor, Colorblind Alastor, snippets of human!Alastor, slight TWs for internalized transphobia

A/N: Honestly, I just wanted to write Alastor trying on a dress and starting to realize he's Not Cis, but then I got Emotional about it. I like to headcanon Lucifer is agender and just plays fast and loose with femininity and mascuilinity, and this is just the perfect catalyst for Alastor's own little gender journey. Anyways, enjoy some snippets from Alastor's life as a human here as well! Title is from I / Me / Myself by Will Wood!

On his more feminine days, Lucifer takes forever to get ready. Alastor's fairly certain most of the time is spent just picking out an outfit, as if he can't just summon the perfect pieces with the wave of a hand. It can be a bit irritating when they have somewhere they need to be, especially since Lucifer never seems to know in advance when he's going to want to spend an hour or two trying to be the prettiest man in Hell. As if he wasn't already.

Today was one of those days, and Alastor was busying himself with some light reading as he waited for Lucifer to be ready. At least they didn't have anywhere important to be for a while.

“Alastor,” Lucifer calls, finally emerging from the bathroom. “What do you think? I haven't tried this style before, but I thought it looked nice in those old catalogues.”

Alastor looks up, and he must say, he's impressed. The dress Lucifer has picked is a vintage 1940s-style dress, mostly white, but patterned with small yellow flowers. It does look rather stunning on him, and as Lucifer gives a little twirl to make the skirt spin out around him, Alastor can't help but think he was made for outfits like this. Some part of him idly wishes, not for the first time, that he had the same freedom Lucifer did in that regard.

“Absolutely stunning, dear,” Alastor responds. “I do so envy your ability to pull off such lovely outfits.”

Lucifer gives him a warm smile. “Y'know, you could always join me. Bet I could whip up the perfect dress for you.”

Alastor looks away, a bit conflicted. In his time, it was rather unheard of for men to dress in women's clothing. Those who did were certainly not treated well. Part of him had always wanted to try it, envying his mother and the ladies from their church in all their pretty dresses and skirts. But he had pushed the feeling down, the shame of how he'd be perceived enough to keep him off the idea.

Now, of course, there isn't really anything stopping him. Except for this odd feeling that it's perfectly fine for someone like Lucifer or Angel Dust to play fast and loose with masculinity and femininity, but not for him to do the same.

“No, I don’t think so!” he replies, voice a bit tight. “I don't doubt your design skills, but I do doubt I'd make quite as pretty a picture as you do.” He's deflecting, and he's certain Lucifer can tell.

“Aw, c'mon! It's really fun! Plus, it can be just for us. You don't have to go out in it if you don't feel comfortable. I just think you might like it if you tried it.”

“I don't know…”

“We can design the dress however you want! I'm sure there's a style out there you'd just die to get your hands on.”

And there is. Alastor can picture the dress he'd ask for perfectly in his head, as if he's already got it in front of him. If nothing else, I could at least keep it as a memento…

“All right,” he agrees with a sigh. “You truly do live up to your reputation as the master of temptation, don't you?”

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