#in love w the yellow eyes <3

[selvepnea]

My Drow Warlock Talfrin :)

[charlestrask]

i love it when supernatural does slow plot builds. like the buildup in s4 to learning about deans time in hell is great. you already get the hints along the way that dean remembers hell w his flashbacks and dreams but that part in yellow fever where the ghost targets people who used fear as a weapon being an early point towards deans time torturing in hell.. i love it.

[yoursjaeyun]

enhypen’s hyung line reaction to their 3-year-old daughter being angry at them ᡣ𐭩

pairings. enhypen x fem!reader | genre. fluff, imagines | wc. 1k+ (?) | warnings. not proofread | an. hai i have returned from my grave :] /gen hope you all like thisbekdnd promise i’ll come back w something better ! just starting off with something small for the time being <3 didn’t expect this to be so long so i apologize :[ love n miss u all.

이희승 (lhs)

it was a typical afternoon in the lee house, but today, a dramatic showdown was in full swing. your 3 year old daughter, with her puffed-up cheeks and a frown that could rival a storm cloud, was clearly upset with her dad. you watched from the kitchen, trying to hold back a laughter, as heeseung crouched down at her eye level, desperately trying to placate her. "sweetheart, what's the matter? did daddy forget something?" he asked, his voice a mix of concern and confusion. she crossed her arms and glared at him. “you didn’t let me use the purple crayon!” she declared, as if this was the most grievous of parental offenses. heeseung, ever the diplomat, knelt down and tried to reason with her. “but princess, the purple crayon is for special drawings, remember? you promised to use it for your masterpiece.” her response was a huffy, “but i wanted to color the sun purple!” heeseung blinked, clearly trying to understand the logic behind a purple sun. he scratched his head and gave you a helpless glance. you only stifled a giggle and watched as he continued to negotiate. “okay, how about this,” heeseung began, putting on his best ‘super serious dad’ face, “i’ll make you a deal. you use the yellow crayon for the sun today, and tomorrow, i’ll let you draw a purple sun, a purple moon, and even a purple spaceship.” her eyes widened at the promise of interstellar coloring adventures. she uncrossed her arms and considered the offer. “deal,” she said, but not without giving him a stern look. as heeseung breathed a sigh of relief and stood up, you could see the sheer relief in his eyes. “you’re the best, daddy,” she said, her pout melting into a smile as she grabbed her yellow crayon. heeseung ruffled her hair and gave me a warm glance, his eyes twinkling with affection. “glad to be of service, princess,” he said, smiling as he watched her eagerly scribble away and winked proudly at you as you leaned against the counter, catching his eye with a loving smile.

( the rest under this line! )

박종성 (pjs)

it was one of those rare, peaceful evenings when the chaos of daily life seemed to take a break. you were curled up on the couch with a book, enjoying a rare moment of tranquility, while your husband was in the kitchen, attempting to cook dinner—a task he was only slightly more adept at than his three-year-old daughter as she created abstract art with spaghetti. the quiet, however, was abruptly shattered by a high-pitched wail. you looked up, immediately recognizing the sound of your daughter’s tantrum. you sighed and set your book aside, heading towards the source of the noise. as you reached the kitchen, you saw jay standing there, looking bewildered, while your daughter sat on the floor, her face scrunched up in a fierce scowl, tears streaming down her cheeks. jay was holding a spatula in one hand and a half-cooked piece of chicken in the other. “what happened?” you asked, trying to suppress a smile as you took in the scene before you. jay looked up, his eyes wide. “i don’t know! i was just trying to make dinner, and she—” he pointed to his daughter, who was now dramatically flailing her arms. “she’s mad at me for some reason. i didn’t even get to ask her how she wanted her chicken cooked!” you knelt beside her, who immediately stopped crying as if she’d just noticed you for the first time. “sweetheart, what’s wrong?” you asked gently. she glared at jay with all the intensity her tiny frame could muster. “daddy’s mean! he put peas in the pasta! i hate peas!” jay’s eyes widened in surprise. “i thought you liked the green bits of happiness!” she shook her head angrily. “no! no peas! only noodles!” you suppressed a chuckle and gave jay a sympathetic glance. “well, jay, it looks like you’ve got a culinary crisis on your hands.” jay groaned and you only smiled, your heart softening as you looked at the chaotic but lovable scene before you. “it’s okay, baby. just talk to her. maybe she’ll understand if you explain why you added the peas.” jay took a deep breath and crouched down to her level. “my sweet angel, i’m really sorry. i thought the peas would make the pasta taste better. can you give daddy another chance?” she stared at him, her little brow furrowed as she considered his plea. “but... no more peas?” jay shook his head earnestly. “no more peas. i promise. just delicious, no-green-thing pasta.” her frown slowly began to waver. “okay... but i want a strawberry smoothie please..” jay looked at you, his face a mix of relief and exhaustion. “do i look like a smoothie-making machine?” you laughed softly and gave him a reassuring kiss on the lips. “you’re doing great. and don’t worry, i’ll handle the smoothie.” jay smiled weakly and reached out to her. “deal?” she nodded, finally letting go of her anger and allowing a small smile to form. she reached up for a hug, which jay gladly accepted, pulling her into his arms. you watched the tender moment between them.

심재윤 (sjy)

jake’s face twisted into a comedic mix of confusion and concern as he tried to navigate his three-year-old daughter’s latest meltdown. you watched from the kitchen, holding back your laughter as jake, ever the doting father, attempted to reason with his little girl, who was currently giving him the coldest of shoulders while clutching a teddy bear like it was her lifeline. “baby girl,” jake said, crouching down to her level with a look of exaggerated seriousness, “i’m really sorry about the ice cream. i didn’t know you wanted bubblegum, okay? i promise i’ll get you the bubblegum next time.” her little brows knitted together, her lips in a small pout that would’ve melted anyone’s heart, except she seemed intent on maintaining her grudge. “no, daddy! you forgot the sprinkles!” jake’s eyes widened as if he’d been struck by a thunderbolt. “oh no, sprinkles! i knew i forgot something!” he straightened up, looking around as if sprinkles might magically appear in the room. “i’ll get you some right now.” as he stumbled off to find the elusive sprinkles, you couldn’t help but interject, your amusement barely concealed. “jake, honey, i think the sprinkles are a lost cause. maybe just a hug will fix this?” jake’s face fell slightly, but he quickly squared his shoulders and marched back over, now armed with a massive, exaggeratedly apologetic grin. “baby, i’m so, so sorry for forgetting the sprinkles. how about a hug and a promise to never forget them again?” her stern face softened just a fraction, but she still shook her head. “no hug! i’m mad!” you watched as jake’s comedic struggle continued, every attempt met with her determined frown. “okay, what if i also give you a big, extra special hug from me?” jake tried, eyes wide with hope. she looked at you, then back at jake, as if weighing the merits of his offer. with a dramatic sigh that would put a soap opera star to shame, she finally relented and held out her arms. “okay… but only if mommy hugs me too.” jake practically beamed with relief, enveloping her in a bear hug, which she returned with all the fierceness a three-year-old could muster. you joined in, laughing softly as you wrapped your arms around them both. “there we go, the family hug fix.” jake looked up at you with a mock-solemn expression, his eyes twinkling with the kind of mischief you knew all too well. “i’m really going to work on those sprinkles. maybe i should just carry them with me at all times.” you raised an eyebrow, smiling. your daughter now placid and cuddled in the middle, looked up at her parents with a satisfied grin. “but daddy has to do better next time.” jake nodded solemnly. “you got it. i’ll be the best sprinkle-and-ice-cream-daddy there ever was.”

박성훈 (psh)

sunghoon’s reaction when his little princess gets mad at him is always a sight to see. one afternoon, as you were trying to tidy up the living room, you heard the telltale stomp of tiny feet approaching. your daughter, with her pouty face and crossed arms, stormed into the room, her small brow furrowed in the most dramatic fashion. "daddy, i’m mad at you!" she announced with the seriousness only a three-year-old can muster. sunghoon, who had been helping you clean the coffee table, immediately straightened up, his eyes wide with concern. he was always so attentive, especially when it came to his little girl. you couldn’t help but chuckle at how seriously he took her tantrums. he knelt down to her level, “why are you mad at me, princess?” he asked, his voice as soft and gentle as it could be. she folded her arms tighter and gave him the classic toddler response: “because you didn’t help me with my puzzle!” she pointed to the half-finished puzzle on the floor, her tiny finger jabbing at the pieces as if they were to blame for her frustration. sunghoon’s face fell into a comically exaggerated look of guilt. “oh no— i’m so sorry! i was just finishing up, but that’s no excuse. let me help you right now.” he scooped her up with a dramatic flourish, and she squealed with both surprise and delight. as he carried her back to the puzzle, you could see the determination in his eyes as if he were about to perform a rescue mission. sunghoon took his job as a dad very seriously, and his efforts to mend the situation were both endearing and slightly over-the-top. “okay,” he said, placing her gently on the floor next to the puzzle. “i promise i’ll make it up to you. daddy’s going to fix this puzzle like a superhero,” with exaggerated movements, he started picking up the puzzle pieces and placing them in the correct spots. he made goofy sound effects with each piece, “whoosh!” and “bam!” as if he were fighting a villain instead of just putting together a puzzle. your daughter watched him with wide eyes, her previous anger melting away into giggles as sunghoon made silly faces and pretended to struggle with the puzzle pieces. as he worked, you could see the loving glances he would cast your way, his silent way of saying, “i’m doing this for us.” despite the chaos of parenting and the little disagreements, his devotion to both you and your daughter was always evident. his playful attitude and willingness to dive headfirst into whatever made his daughter happy were qualities you adored. after a few minutes, the puzzle was complete. sunghoon triumphantly held up the finished product with a loud— “ta-da! daddy’s superhero skills save the day,” he declared, his grin as wide as ever. your daughter clapped her hands and giggled, her earlier irritation forgotten. she threw her tiny arms around him in a hug, her face lighting up with joy. “thank you, daddy!” you walked over and gave sunghoon a quick kiss on the cheek, your way of showing your appreciation for his efforts. “looks like you’ve earned the title of super dad,” you teased. sunghoon beamed at you, his pride evident. “anything for my girls.”

[mondaymelon]

— 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮! ♡

໒꒱ || :feat~ lyney, freminet, wriothesley, neuvillette x gn!reader:

໒꒱ || cw: fluff <3 maybe a lil ooc since i havent done the fontaine quests yet, wrio is whipped !!

⤷ giving your fontaine boyfriend flowers ♡

“Oh? For me?”

LYNEY’s expression is one of delight as he holds the bouquet of roses you’ve gifted him, smiling gratefully. The shining excitement in his vibrant eyes, however, doesn’t quite translate into how ecstatic he really is… because usually, he’s not used to being on the receiving end of affection, since the charmingly flirty magician is constantly the one to make you glow red.

“They reminded me of you…” You laugh sheepishly, watching his grin only grow.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you, love.” He moves the flowers to one hand as the other finds its way resting on the small of your back, giving you something to lean on as he moves forward and gives you a quick peck on your cheek, light and fleeting. “So I’ll show you my thanks, hm?” His voice is low as he stares at you, something earnest in his gaze as his violet irises twinkle. You nod, slowly, unsure of what he implies, but you know him well enough to not be startled as he swiftly moves forward and meets his lips to yours. You can feel his warmth… is it because he’s a pyro user? It’s hard to think about anything, especially when you’re pressed up against him like this, mind blank as his mouth moves against yours.

He speaks as he pulls away with a slight smile, and your hand instinctively latches onto the hem of his coat. “Not enough for you?” You can hear the smirk in his tone. “C’mon now, we can’t be too greedy, love~”

“What? No, I just-!” You hastily release your grasp on his clothes, face growing hot. “Lyney, you know I didn’t mean it like that!”

“I know, I know, it’s just so fun to tease you, y’know?” He lets out a laugh at your pouting expression. “I can’t help it, really.”

There’s no winning against this man. “Hah… alright, alright…” You glance up in surprise as Lyney gently moves you out of his arms and starts to stand up.

“Aw, don’t look so sad, I just have something for you too! Surely one kiss or two isn’t enough to repay the gift you’ve given me?” He smiles as he reaches for his signature hat, which dangles on the coat rack. You watch in awe. How come his every movement is still so graceful?

“Lyney, I don’t need repaym-” You’re cut off as the man flourishes his arms - You blink, and all of a sudden there’s a bouquet of his own in his hands, splendid yellow roses, fully in bloom. “Wh-”

“Tada!” He bows, looking pleased with himself as he stares at the flowers in your arms, then up at you. “Now we match~” He holds up his own bouquet with a beam.

“W-When did you-”

“Magic.”

“So you can create just about everything with magic, huh…” You stare at the roses in silent wonder.

“Ah ah, not everything!” Lyney bounces on his feet, watching the look of curiosity on your face with an air of amusement. One of his sparkling eyes closes in a wink.

“No magic could ever conjure up something as limitless as my love for you!” ♡

“H-Huh? Flowers? For… me?”

FREMINET’s eyes are wide as he hesitantly holds the flowers in his hands, looking rather anxious. “But… why?” The poor male glances from the roses in his hands back to your face nervously, studying your features. “Y-You should’ve told me so that I would’ve had flowers for you too…!”

“There’s no need for you to give me a gift, Min. I just got you a bouquet because I felt like it, no reason.” You beam at him as his face only grows redder. “There’s really no need to get embarrassed!”

“Ah… but I feel bad…” He shakes his head, lightly colored hair swaying with his movements. You can hear him mumble under his breath, quietly to himself: “...omorrow…ing…”

“What was that?” You blink at him, confused. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”

“N-Nothing! Uhm… do you want to go somewhere today? You’ve put me in a good mood, so…” He smiles softly, and the air around him seems to glow with the sheer brilliance of it. You match his smile with one of your own, watching as he takes the flowers out of the bouquet and arranges them into an intricately decorated vase, half-filled with water. Gazing at him is like observing a masterpiece at work, although you know far too well that the male’s job certainly has nothing to with that of a florist, yet the movement of his skillful hands captures your attention anyhow.

“Is something wrong? You’ve been looking at me for quite a while… is there something on my face?” Upon noticing how your eyes are fixated on him, he flinches, ears flaring red. 

“No, you just look pretty today. You look pretty every day, Min.” It’s hard to restrain your laughter as you watch Freminet bury his face in his hands, his red ears visible from behind his hair. 

“Don’t tease me…!”

“But it’s true.”

“D-Do you want to go to town or not…?” He shifts a finger, hesitantly peeking an eye out between them. “We can go get something to eat… I’ll pay, but you’ll have to order…” His usual habits were the same as always, how he’d stutter over his words when faced with anyone except his siblings… and of course, you.

“That sounds great, Min. Come on, let’s go!”

The next morning, a soft knock jolts you awake, three light raps hitting the wood before the sound of footsteps quickly retreated away. You manage to crawl out of bed and open the door, only to be startled as a large bouquet - larger than the one you had gifted him - sat on your doorstep, mixed with Fontaine classics and even Romaritime flowers… had he dived underwater to pick these for you? Every petal was perfect, and the flowers were all fully in bloom, despite being out of water. What kind of magic was this?

A cream-colored card catches your attention, leaning against the bouquet. On it are finely crafted words, written in Freminet’s familiar small script:

“Thank you, love.” ♡

“Hm? What’s the occasion?”

WRIOTHESLEY’s usual professionalism fades as his chest tightens with a giddy sensation. He had been having a rather tedious afternoon in the Fortress of Meropide - time passed all too slowly whenever you weren’t present - but now that you were here, he knew his minutes with you were already slipping away like sand through his fingers, no matter how tightly or carefully he cupped the grains in his hands. You were a free soul, a rather unfitting lover for his occupation, coming and going like the wind. And while your presence may be as fleeting as the gale, at least the breeze you brought would leave in him a warm sensation. “I wasn’t aware you’d be visiting today.”

“I figured I might as well surprise you! Besides, you always come home with a scowl on your face, so I was just making sure you weren’t having a hard time here,” you smile at him, an expression that causes his heart to stutter. It takes him all he’s got in him to at least somewhat maintain his professional expression, knowing full well that if anyone else saw him at the moment, they would certainly be in for a shock. Your words are entertaining. Him? Having a hard time? That had long dissipated the moment you stepped foot into the building.

“Were you worried about me? I’m okay, so don’t concern yourself over such trivial matters.” Wriothesley lightly shakes his head. For someone as beautifully naive as you to exist in this world, he knew full well that your future would not be free of adversaries. He supposed that wasn’t exactly a problem, though. The male had already promised himself that he’d dispose of them all when you weren’t looking.

Your face scrunches up like you’ve eaten something bad. “Trivial?” you echo, your tone expressing your annoyance. “Wrio, how could you say that? Of course I should be worried about you, silly! What kind of lover would I be if I didn’t?”

Ah, there you go again. Every time you refer to yourself by that title, he swears he can feel his heart skip a beat, the only evidence of his flusteredness is the burning of red dusting his ears. He had been refraining from holding you until he had gotten back home, but, naturally, you had broken his final sense of reason. You blink, and there he is, pressed up against you with both of his arms wrapped around your waist, your back leaning against his chest. He’s warm, startingly so despite him being the bearer of a Cryo vision, and you can hear the rapid thrum of his heartbeat.

“You’re cold,” he remarks offhandedly, pressing a kiss into your nape, then another.

“You’re warm,” you respond, smiling, only to hear the drumming of his heart quicken.

“You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” Wriothesley’s face is flushed, just the tiniest bit, and once you blink, you could’ve sworn that it was never there.

“Do I?” You grin up at him cheekily. “Why don’t you care to elaborate?”

“Fuck, darling… you can’t keep doing this to me. I don’t think my heart will be able to take much more of this.” ♡

“They’re beautiful.”

NEUVILLETTE's fingers graze a petal and trace its outermost edge, studying the bouquet with a smile. The blooming assortment lays perfectly balanced in his hands as he cradles them gently. “Thank you, dearest.” His smile is serene, like an untouched expanse of water. Smooth, and glimmering, and when you lean over to peer into it, you can see your clear reflection staring up at you. His eyes mirrored it, pure and unsullied. His beauty stuns you for a moment. He had always been a man with an air of elegance, his magnificence simply inhumane, and it was likely a stroke of luck that Neuvillette had ever taken you as his partner.

Of course, those were merely your thoughts on the matter. His did not match your sentiment, not even in the slightest. For in his mind, he was the one who didn’t deserve you. No, it would be simply unreasonable to compare him to something as perfect as water. You were the only one in his eyes who deserved such a title. And he was the Romaritime flower, only able to thrive in your presence.

“You like them?” He loathes the surprise in your voice. Indubitably, he did. There was no other option. It was something that you had gifted him, and that enough made its value clear.

“Certainly,” his eyes are warm. “I will treasure everything and anything you bestow upon me.”

“Vil, there’s no need to go that far…” you laugh sheepishly, only for the sound to slowly cease as you realize he isn’t jesting. “...Why?”

His soft laughter fills the silence. “I love you. Have I not made that apparent?”

“Yes, but there’s certainly no need for-”

“Shh.” This interaction has made something painfully clear for the man. Perhaps he hasn’t been showing you enough affection? He is a busy man, but he always heads home, heads to you whenever he has a second to breathe. Yes, only in your arms would he finally feel content. Only with your fingers carding through his hair, whispering his name with a smile and closed eyes, only then. You knew how much he yearned for you, right? 

If not… well, that could be changed.

“You’ve given me such a precious gift, so I should show my thanks out of courtesy.” Wrapping his arms around your smaller frame and leaning your head against his chest, to hide the slightest flush on his cheeks. “Ah, but it should be a fair trade.” You tilt your head at his words, confused.

“Only one kiss won’t be justified, hm?” ♡

(a/n) help why do i actually like wriothesley's part this isn't supposed to happen ?! anyways yeah it was about time i wrote for fontaine men

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123

[seiwas]

grow on me like a dog loved fondly: prologue | kamo choso

wc: 1.0k

summary: your regular to the flower shop is more than what he seems. 

contains: written with f!reader in mind but can be read as gn!, animal shelter employee choso x flower shop owner reader, implied that reader is shorter than choso, flowers, small talk.

a/n: the promised choso drabble! depending on how this is received, i intend for this to be the prologue to a longer choso fic i have in mind!

You have a regular on the weekends. 

Business in the flower shop tends to be slow during winter, with less occasions having the need for flowers and even less buds blooming during the season. 

But even with the expected decline in customers, Saturdays always guarantee one—

The bells attached to the store doors jingle, allowing in a gust of cool air that tickles your cheeks from where you’re crouched down. The peonies in your hands were delivered just yesterday, the ends of the stems needing a slight trim to keep them fresh for longer. 

You turn, standing up to face your visitor. A purple scarf is wrapped high around his neck, with white fleece running down the length of his arms—a sort of undershirt to the short-sleeved uniform worn atop it. The outfit is familiar enough, but what truly distinguishes him are the two spiky pigtails on the sides of his head. 

There are a few things you’ve managed to pick up from four-line exchanges with your regular (six if you’re lucky): 1) he works at the animal shelter a few streets away, 2) the flowers he buys are for the front desk, a weekly replacement he deems necessary to keep the place looking alive, and 3) who he is, his name—

—‘Choso’, if the tag on his uniform says anything. 

The tag that is now, also, just a hand’s reach away from you. 

You look up, pocketing your plant nippers. The peonies dangle between your fingers. 

“W-welcome!” you stutter, focusing on the thin metal chain running across his nose. 

It’s new, an addition that intrigues you more about the man in front of you. 

The look he gives you is lazy, gaze deadpan, almost empty. Anyone else might find it snobbish and off-putting, but you’ve gotten used to it—an almost magenta puffiness that surrounds his eyes, bags of fatigue that usually hang underneath. 

He continues to stare, unmoving. 

Considering all your previous interactions, you’ve realized, he isn’t scary or rude or anything of that sort—he’s just awkward. 

A bit quiet and unbothered, maybe, but still just awkward. You don’t think he’s ever started an interaction with you first. 

“Is there any flower in particular that you’re looking for?” you ask, motioning around your store. 

The selection is limited this season—a few camellias and clusters of Japanese primrose with an abundance of peonies and daffodils. 

His head turns as he glances around the store, pigtails bobbing slightly with each movement. When he faces you again, he shrugs, voice deep and firm as he asks, “Do you have any recommendations?” 

It’s an odd feeling, borderline awkward and nervous; you have no idea why your mind is blanking. 

“Um,” you clear your throat, tucking the peonies between your fingers into your apron pocket, “daffodils are bright and friendly, good for entryways and front desks, I think.” 

He eyes the daffodils to your right, buckets of stems holding yellow and white. The store stays quiet for what feels like a good minute before he nods, agreeing to your suggestion. 

“The usual?” two clusters, wrapped in newspaper. 

Your question echoes throughout the shop, lingering while you pick at which daffodils look best. 

“Yes, but two of them.” he answers in monotone, before adding on, a soft hesitancy, “Please.” 

You smile to yourself, picking more daffodils for another bunch. 

Both of you make your way to the cashier, another bout of silence surrounding you as you crumple newspaper and pull at tape. He always watches, you notice, his focus set on your practiced handling of stems and leaves. 

You look up momentarily, seeing that he keeps his head down, “The pigtails are cool.” 

He doesn’t say anything, and for a while you’re afraid you might have offended him, but he responds, voice low; it’s soft, gentle in a way you never expected it to be. 

“Thank you.” you catch him shifting his weight from your periphery, hands digging deeper into his pockets, “The dogs think they’re chew toys when I wear it this way.” 

You most certainly were not expecting that, either. 

This is the most initiative he’s taken to add onto the conversation.

You grin, chuckling under your breath, “That must be fun.” 

It’s faint, but you think you hear him laugh a little. 

When the flowers are completely wrapped, you set them aside, making your way behind the cash register. You punch in the cost, ready to bill him before he speaks again. 

“Actually, would you happen to do deliveries?” he seems shy asking it, barely looking you in the eye. 

“Yes!” You nod, grabbing a pen and paper to hand over to him, “Just write down your contact details, the address you want it delivered to, and when you’d like it to be delivered.” 

Another thing you’ve realized, is that despite appearances and what he seems to be, Choso handles objects gently; the pen and paper you’d just given him were taken lightly from your fingertips. Even the strokes of his penmanship are slow, the tip of the pen barely creating an indent on the small sheet. 

“Will you be having both of these delivered?” you ask, holding up the bundles of daffodils. 

“Just one.” he answers promptly, before adding on again, “Thank you.” 

And you know you shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t be so nosy, but—

“What’s the occasion?”—

Flowers are rarely in demand during the winter season. 

—“If you don’t mind me asking,” you follow-up quickly. 

The immediate quiet makes you think you might have gotten too comfortable again, made him feel weird about your questions—but he answers.

“My brothers,” he finishes the final curves of his writing, “they’re coming to visit.” 

The piece of paper is handed to you, and you hum, acknowledging his response. You go over his details, reciting it to him to double-check. But when you land on his address, your eyes go wide, a little ‘oh!’ slipping out. 

He furrows his brows, confused. 

You definitely, most certainly did not expect this. 

“Sorry,” you shake your head, your cheeks heating up in embarrassment, “Just—“ you chuckle, “I think we might be neighbors.” 

thank you notes: @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for sending me lil prompts that somehow birthed into this!! + @yemmuishomeforthementallyunwell for feeding the choso brainrot 🥹 + @mysugu @soumies for being my angels, lights of my life!! listening to me ramble abt this and helping me pick music, hash out plot, pick title, everything! ily

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x muggle fem!reader

Summary: After months of dating, James finally tells you he's a wizard.

Genre: Fluff <3 / pt.2 to Enchanted

Warnings: tbh none

6 months later, James is sprawled out on your couch in your small London apartment. He's dressed in your university sweater, which hugs him snugly but he doesn't seem like he minds. You'd switched into his so he doesn't have much of a choice anyway.

He's pretending to really read the book he had found on your dresser but he keeps his eyes trained on how absorbed you seem in the show you're watching.

James sees the title; "Bewitched". He smiles to himself when he sees you try and wiggle your nose like Samantha does and you fall back onto James lap, sighing. 

"D'you think I'd make a good witch?" you ask suddenly and his heart almost collapses. 

He runs a hand in your hair, playing with the strands as he ponders your question, "Mmm, yeah, you would, lovie," he says and chuckles when you sit up and start to ramble. 

"I mean, can you just imagine having magic! I could–I could make all this mess disappear instantly!" you exclaim happily, gesturing to your slightly messy apartment, and then look into his eyes, "wouldn't having magic be fun, Jamie?" 

James frowns. You say it so innocently but he starts to wonder if you could know? It has been months.

He sits up, tilting his head at you. He's been wanting to tell you he's a wizard for a while now, plus James wouldn't admit this out loud yet but he knows he wants to marry you and you deserve to know the truth before he asks you to spend your life with him, don't you? 

"Y/n," he whispers but you interrupt him. 

"And I mean, flying on a broom! How silly! Can't you just imagine it?" 

James smiles, completely endeared, "Yeah, I can," he tucks some hair behind your ear and reaches into the back pocket of his jeans. He pulls out his wallet and you stare at him confused as he holds out a folded old polaroid. He hands it to you.

"What's this?" you ask curiously, crossing your legs.

At first, it looks like a simple picture of a group of boys. There are four of them and they look around sixteen if you had to guess. The tallest has his arms crossed and he's standing in the middle as the boy to his right, a shorter boy with long dark hair, has his arm swung around him. A short, stout boy looks timidly at the camera next to the taller one and next to him, what looks like a young James is happily grinning and holding up a fancy looking broom in triumph. James and the longer-haired boy are dressed in a maroon and yellow sports uniform while the other boys are dressed in simple school uniforms. 

The picture seems relatively normal for a second until it starts to move. James in the picture lifts the broom and the long-haired boy continues to hug the taller one. You gasp, dropping the picture onto the couch and it flutters to the back where you see written, "Prongs, Wormtail, Moony, and Padfoot, Hogwarts 1976."

"What the hell?" you whisper, voice breaking, and you think you must be imagining things. You look up at James, who is staring at you intently. "James? W-why did that polaroid just move?" you ask and James's stare softens. 

He picks up the polaroid and smiles, he shows it to you again. "That's me and my best friends at school," he says but when he looks at you, his smile falters. You look terrified, "Love, it's okay it's just a picture."

"No, it isn't. It's moving!" you say, leaning away from him a little.

James's chest tightens. "I know," he says seriously, "Promise not to panic, okay? But, I'm a wizard." 

He says it so calmly you're silent for a moment until you start to laugh. You laugh so hard tears brim in your eyes and James is concerned.

He holds your cheeks in his hands. "No, Y/n, I mean it. I'm a wizard," he stands and walks to his jean-jacket hanging in the entrance. He pulls out his wand and points it at you.

You look scared again when he mutters an unfamiliar word and suddenly, you feel a drizzle of snow fall over your shoulders and unless your ceiling disappeared and it's snowing in July, you know it has to be James. 

You let out a shriek and cover your mouth as your eyes widen. James lowers his wand and rushes over, the snow disappearing. "It's okay. I promise I won't hurt you, lovie," he pauses and carefully sits next to you. He's relieved when don't scoot away from him, "I couldn't keep this from you anymore. I love you. You deserve to know who I am."

You're looking at him intensely and you pick up the polaroid again, examining it closer. After a moment you look up and narrow your eyes. You press your index on where James is in the picture. "Why are you holding a broom?" you ask simply and James almost laughs. 

"Gryffindor had just won an important Quidditch match, I think."

"Gryff-what won what?"

"Um, my house- um. Quidditch it's a sport. Where you—um, ride a broom."

You look at him and James can't read your expression.

"You can fly on a broom?" you suddenly ask, sounding less nervous now. You look at the picture and then you crack a smile. "You do look cute all dressed up," you put the polaroid near his ear, almost as if you're making sure the boy in the picture is actually James.

Your boyfriend nods and looks at you wearily, biting his lip. He has so much he wants to say. "So, have you always been a witch—" you ask.

"Wizard," he interrupts but you ignore him.

"—or did some creepy troll turn you into one? Oh my, are you the only witch to exist?" you sound almost excited now.

"Wizard," James says and then takes the picture from your hand and holds yours in his. "And no. I'm not. All my friends and family are. You believe me, yeah?"

You think for a moment. "Yeah," you shrug, looking up at the ceiling and then the wand in James's other hand, "you did make it snow, didn't you?" your smile widens and you point at his wand as you say, "Can you make it snow again! Or show me another spell. Please?"

James hesitates but when he sees a small scab on your hand from where you'd cut yourself earlier, he mutters a spell he knows by heart from all the Quidditch tumbles he's had and the wound suddenly disappears. 

Your eyes widen and you hold up your palm awkwardly. You look where the scab had been, mesmerized as you run your fingers over the now, non-existent, wound. 

"I know this is a lot for you to understand now, lovie. But, I want to explain everything. Anything you want to know," he says seriously and you look back up at him. 

You ask question after question, the reality of the situation becoming even more intense as you hear stories from his school and how unfamiliar he had been about "muggles" until he'd met his ex-girlfriend and then, well, you. 

"So, wait, witches and wizards exist and we– muggles? –just don't know?" you say after his little speech and James nods. He's sitting criss-cross in front of you on your couch and he's running his thumb over your hand, hoping his gesture is reassuring. You look confused, "Aren't you gonna get in trouble with the—"

"Ministry of Magic for telling you?" James finishes, understanding what you're trying to ask him.

You nod. 

James shakes his head and looks into your eyes. "No, because I didn't just tell anyone. You aren't some random person on the street, lovie. You're my girlfriend and I love you. I'm glad you know," he kisses your forehead quickly and you lean up to catch his lips. 

"I'm glad I know too," you smile and caress his cheek. It's your way of showing him you don't see him any differently. You turn to the polaroid picture still in your lap and pick it up. "I can't wait to meet more of your wizard friends now," you smile. 

James smirks, a twinkle in his eyes. "You already have, darling," he says. 

You look closer at the picture and your eyes widen, "No way!" you exclaim looking up at James in disbelief as you start to recognize two of the other boys in the picture. "Remy and Siri too?!"

James chuckles and nods. You turn the polaroid over again and look at the names scribbled in ink. "Then what's up with the weird nicknames? Prongs? Is that you?" you deduce from the order. 

James hums and kisses your temple as he pulls you in closer.

"Why Prongs?" you ask, pointing both your index fingers and putting them on your head, "like little devil horns? Or a fork?" you giggle at the last suggestion and James is entirely enchanted by you. 

He looks at you fondly and chuckles, "Like stag antlers, lovie."

"Why?"

"Because I can turn into a stag, if I wanted to," James explains slowly, realizing he'd forgotten to mention that tiny detail.

"You WhAT?!"

[evilgwrl]

Arranged marriage! With ghost where she’s from a small island and ghost comes to collect taxes well the island is just a few hundred short they can make it up next year? Right?! Nah ghosts is like mmmmm I’ll take what yall call a princess mean while she’s struggling as much as the other fokes on the island so when Simon takes her way and finds out she’s never lived the simple life he makes it his mission to show her the good that can out of this arrangement smutty if you would 😭 I’m obsessed with the arranged marriage trope with ghost he’s a cutie patootie

Arranged Marriage w/ Simon Riley

Holy moly I love this…

Thank you for this idea @creepytoes88 I hope you don’t mind that I made him a king, I just wanted it to flow with giving her a better life and the tax collection <3

King!Simon Riley x Reader

Archipelago

CW: Being sold by your family to pay off debt, sharing a bath, oral sex (f receiving), orgasm bc simon knows what to do ;)

Word Count: 2,623

Twisted fingers hooked under the bark, knees scraped with stagnant flora, coiling limbs of bushy thorns blistering around the tropical plains. There was a subtle burn that sunk through your thighs, muscles gnawing at your bones before you finally settled on a thick branch, wind hissing in your ear, almost warning you. You paid no attention.

Pupil-blown eyes stared off to the view in front of you, lapping in the vicious strain of turquoise, untouched coral glistening an array of colours under the harsh sun. There was a trickle of sweat that ran down the back of your neck, your hair thrown into a rough bun as you shielded yourself with raggedy, overworked fingers.

You watched the skerries surrounding your island, a flurry of birds swooping low before nestling down on the warmth of the rocky floor. It was a peaceful sight. Nothing but the low crash of waves to be sound, the occasional calling of a fellow Islander working its way through the palms and out of the sand, before landing in your ear.

You felt the prickle of pain shoot through your feet as you landed on the ground, the grass covered in speckles of yellow dust sticking in between your toes as you hurried down to the village. Any bit of tranquillity soon disappeared as your eyes locked into the sight of the townspeople, the Island far too small to accommodate such needing families.

“Y/N! Where have you been? The King shall be here soon and you’re off running with the fairies.”

Your Mother’s tone was harsh and reprimanding, her eyes tight with wrinkles as she scowled, chucking a makeshift broom at you. You weren’t exactly sure what the difference of you sweeping would make, the life you live here, swept or not, is strikingly different to the one of a King. No matter how beautiful your Island is, your feet are permanently stained with grains of sand, skin is littered with dull scars and fresh scratches.

You understood her worry, offering her a gentle, apologetic smile as you followed her bustle of orders. Your Father was the village Chief, a wise man who led the people to survive without the worry of advanced civilisation.

You were seen as a headcase to the others. A woman whose head wasn’t fixed well enough to her shoulders. A dreamer. Your mind was amplified by the need to do more, to see more. Untouched beauty too turns mundane when you’re not allowed to experience it.

As night fell, the waves seemed to settle, burying themselves in the crops of sand that spanned around you, 10-legged creatures hiding away in the cocoon of a cracked shell. Palms slept with the safety of coconuts that would blossom into the town’s delicacy, the meat tender on the tongues of children, the water fuel for the fishermen. There was a large bonfire lit, the earthly crackle occasionally popping as a spark flew out, hissing against the cool air before dispersing into a drag of smoke.  

Girls chattered around you, smoothing down their appearances as they used crushed berries on their lips and the apples of their cheeks. You were never fussed about the King, hardly paying attention to him on his previous arrivals if he even bothered to show up. You took note of his lack of empathy, normally sending one of his men in his place, unbothered by the Island that’s supposed to fall under his command.

You heard the ship pull up, wood striking against the ground as it split between the beach, a carved woman tangled to the figurehead, flowing hair etched between wood and a man’s knife as she breached the island. They were a loud bunch, deep voices echoing across the Isle as your father walked down to greet them formally.

The air grew silent, thick smog suffocating the air as your father appeared, his figure shaking as he hobbled towards you. Toughened hands gripped your cheeks, stroking the sun-kissed skin to comfort you.

“Father, what’s wrong?”

“We- We’re short on our taxes,” he gulped, a hand planted in your matted hair as you scrunched your brows together.

“But how? We’re sensible, we work harder- How?”

“Things happen beyond our understanding sometimes, sweetheart, just know me and your mother love you very much.”

“I know? Why are you-” you stalled “- Why are you telling me this? What’s going on?”

“The King needs a wife,” he hiccupped as realisation set in, spine snapping into a cold flush as you attempted to wriggle free from your father’s grip.

“No-“

“I have to, Y/N, I don’t have a choice!”

“A choice? There’s always a choice! How could you do this to me?” The strain of a sob wracked through your chest, your heart beating eerily slow against your rib cage as you wailed out for your mother who only walked away, her face concealed by strands of hair. Hands coiled around your biceps, dragging you towards the ship as you carried on, cementing your heels into the dirtied sand to anchor yourself.

“Stop resisting,” A harsh voice spoke into your ear, nails breaking the surface of your tender skin as you nipped at the air, wriggling. Your limbs felt mangled as you were thrown over someone’s shoulder, your stomach caving in with a penetrative force as you choked on the air, saline tears streaming down your face.

Aching skin collided with the sand as you were thrown onto the floor, leather boots staring back at you as your head cocked up. His figure was tall, dressed in all black with a row of medals displayed on his breast pocket. His stare was dark, irises the colour of burnt whiskey, pale lashes flickering down at you before looking back up. The rest of his face was covered by a woven garment, handcrafted to perfection, painted with a white skull.

“Did you find it necessary to throw her at my feet like she’s some dog?”

“Your Majesty she was res-“

“It is a yes or no question.”

His voice was thick with malt, a hidden arrogance underlying his words as his eyes spoke for him. A veiny hand was offered to you, light scars tracing his knuckles before he lifted you, admiring you for a brief second.

“She’ll do. I’ll be back in 6 months,” The King spoke roughly.

The sea breeze was tranquil given the circumstances, the ocean rocking your tears to a halt as you huddled yourself away in the captain’s quarters. Your body was trailed with layers of silk, dirtied clothes moulded to your skin as you sniffled. There was a vast smell of salt, almost suffocating you as it burnt through your nose and hair. You scrunched your skin, rubbing at your nostrils before nestling yourself into a pillow.

You awoke to the sound of commotion. You took in the handful of women surrounding you, their hair tied back in a tight bun, protected by a frilly cap. They wore black and white dresses, aprons attached to their fronts and smiles on their faces.

“Good evening, your majesty. Shall we run you a bath?”

You sat up, hands creasing against the sheets below you as your eyes adjusted to the new scenery. You weren’t on the ship anymore.

“Where am I?” You choked out, huffing your chest out to look more intimidating. In reality, you look cowered, skin droopy with betrayal, burst blood vessels evident under your eyes.

“In your private quarters, the King requested we come to you, settle you in.”

You scowled, “I just want to be alone.” They left in a hurry, feet skidding against the floor in a squeak as they shut the large oak doors behind them.

The room was one for Royalty. The large bed was dressed in golden sheets, red swirls detailing the plush headpieces, solid gold baubles along the edges as tall stakes met the ceiling, lace hanging from them for privacy. Your feet hit the polished marble floors; calloused skin not used to such luxury that you almost yelped in unfamiliarity. Glass trickled from the overhead chandelier, an arrangement of crystals advocating flickers of light across the room, an occasional rainbow seeping through like a diamond in the rough.

Oil paintings hung from the walls, detailed gold wrapping around them as the figurines stared at you dauntingly. A plethora of books rested on shelves, a comforting sofa tucked away in the corner, highlights of red bursting through the stuffed pillows, plucked by the finest of feathers.

The room felt suffocating, the air a terminal sickness that wove into your lungs as you realised the severity of the situation. Your father – your parents, had sold you away to the King to pay for lost taxes. You were a miserable sight as you huddled over onto the floor, chest collapsing with cries as you attempted to grip the material beneath your knees, desperate for the sensation of sand.

Simon watched you intently from the door as he cracked it open, a deafening cough sounding from him as you looked up at him, bewildered.

“I understand the circumstances aren’t the best, but your people owed me, and they chose you as collateral.”

“I want to go home,” you hiccupped, facing away from him in humiliation. His leather shoes hit the floor, striding up to you in only a few steps.

“This is your home now, and in a few weeks, we shall be wedded. Whether or not you choose to invite your family is up to you, but I shall not tolerate disrespect. If you didn’t want the maids to tend to you, that’s fine, but I will.”

You watched his stalking figure disappear into another room attached to your quarters, the heavy pour of water indicating that he was running you a bath. You rose to your feet anxiously, popping your head around the corner as you took in the room. A large tub was carved with porcelain, wide in size with golden feet, bubbles guzzling under the powerful stream as the scent of lavender filled the air.

“Undress,” He spoke as you cocked a brow.

“In front of you?” You scoffed.

“You didn’t want the maids, now you have me. Undress.”

Your clothes itched as they were ridden from your skin, bare body flushed under the light as you attempted to conceal yourself from his bruising vision. The water scolded you as you sunk in, muscles relaxing instantly under the soothing oil. It was an irregular feeling.

You heard him shuffle behind you as you turned, eyes gawking wide as you took in his naked figure, cock resting low against his thigh. A squeak slipped through your lips as you turned around in a fluster.

His mask was off, his face a welcoming surprise. His brows were thick, bulging above slit frames, his nose slightly crooked with a masculine appeal to him.

“What are you doing?” you gasped, chest tight, eyes bulging.

“Bathing,” he practically snarled, “move over.”

Your belly felt hot, the unknowing feeling of arousal seeping through your pores as you adjusted in the water, the liquid rising as he stepped in before you were pulled back against him, bottom flushed against his thighs. You were tense.

“Relax, it’s just a bath. We will not do anything until you’re ready but after marriage, I will need heirs.”

“Heirs? I don’t even know your name!”

A hand coiled around your waist, tugging at the tender skin for a moment before it rested, settling at your upper thigh.

“It’s Simon, Y/N.”

“How do you- “

“What kind of King would I be if I didn’t even know the name of the woman I’m marrying?”

The air was hazy with steam, almost suffocating you as you felt yourself relax against his hard chest, delicate twirls of hair tickling against your spine. As your body settled, Simon washed you, entwined rag lubed with delicate soap as he massaged it into the crevices of your skin, any dirt seeping into the water. His fingers were long as they massaged against your scalp, digging any knots out with a gentle force before rinsing it.

You found yourself refreshed as you settled into the sheets once more, body fresh with a floral scent, skin drenched in almond oil, the glistening reflecting against the flame of the fireplace. The bed sunk in as Simon crawled in next to you, menacing frame wracking against yours. It was silent, the usual sound of waves and birds no longer hushing you to sleep.

Your fingers twitched as you played with the hem of your nightgown, letting out a low, exhausted breath.

“I shall not hurt you for as long as you are mine, Y/N. I hope you grow to trust me and understand that I am a man of my word. If you allow me, I would like to show you who I am and the life you can have here.”

You swallowed. There was an itch inside you that couldn’t be scratched, his words only adding fuel to an uncontrollable flame as you turned to face him, cocked up on one arm. Your gown hung low, strap dangerously low on your shoulder as he adjusted his vision back to your face, lips parted with a flushed manner.

“I’ve never experienced anything before.” Your voice was low, an evident streak of self-consciousness staining it as you averted your gaze.

“Let me help you.”

Rugged fingers lifted your gown up, silk resting against your stomach in a hunched manner as Simon gripped at your thighs, spreading them lewdly. He huffed out a hum of appreciation as you jolted in embarrassment. You were so open, so exposed to fresh eyes.

“No one’s ever touched you here?” He asked. You shook your head, gazing down at him with an unspoken innocence. You felt his lips curl against your thigh as he placed a gentle kiss to it, letting it rest against the warm skin before two fingers pulled apart your lips, glistening folds presented before him.

You felt pleasure tickle up your spine as the King placed a small kiss against your clit, a mewl escaping you as you instinctively attempted to press your thighs together. He let out a tsk as he looked up at you, amused by your reaction.

“Relax for me,” he said, arms flushed around your thighs before his tongue soaked up the middle, your juices drenching his lips as you squealed, your fingers wrapping into his dusty hair as he ravaged the taste of you.

The noises you made were wanton, slopping breaths soaking the air as he worked against you, slurping you into his mouth with an aggravated need for you. His teeth grazed against your sensitive clit, wrapping his lips around it before sucking, an obscene scream sounding from you as he continued the assault.

“Taste so fucking good,” he quipped, holding your belly down in place as your hips lifted, clit overstimulated by the amount of pleasure it only just began receiving.

“Sim-Simon, I feel strange- somethings happening,” you croaked, pulling at his hair in an attempt to stop him.

“Let it happen,” he growled, his tongue thrusting against your entrance as a finger pressed against your nub, rubbing it in circular motions as you began to hold your breath.

The pressure in your belly was turmoil like an unknown danger was approaching. Simon didn’t stop, the sound of your breath hicking stirring something primal inside of him as he held you down before the pressure inside you popped, a broken whine piercing the air as you came, hips rocking desperately against the King’s face as he growled against your heat.

He pulled away, spit slick against his chin, cocky smile on his face as you panted, chest rising and falling in a synchronised fashion. Your legs closed instinctively, wetness seeping between your bottom as you shivered, satisfied clit throbbing.

“I’m not done yet, sweetheart.”

[taintandviolent]

Nosy Neighbours ; Gambit x Reader

summary: PART TWO TO TACO TUESDAY! Reader wakes up after a night of debauchery.... and continues it. Post-Void, everyone got out alive and everything is fine.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 5.2K | smut with very little plot, French and typing out accents/dialects, pet names (chere, mon ami, mon coeur, etc.), dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, blowjobs, eating out, no use of y/n, a sprinkling of angst at the end because things are developing for reader.

a/n: Listen, listen. I am blown away by the love on my first Remy fic, and the fact that you guys wanted a part two made my day. Thank you so much for all the praise and I hope this one lives up to the hype as well! part 3....? peut être... - banner by @/strangergraphics, and Remy gif by @atomicfoxx!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

Sunlight filters in through the crack in your curtains, warming a stripe across your thigh and stomach. You squeeze your lids shut tighter and turn your head away from the window, trying to get away from the glaring brightness. A grogginess lingers heavy in your system, but despite that, your body is giving you all the internal signals that it's time to wake up. You stretch deeply, muscles quivering as you flay your limbs out on the bed.

You hadn't gotten that drunk. At least, you didn't think you had. You don't remember falling asleep, but you definitely remember the dreams you had. They were lusty, lewd and lascivious, and every other adjective to describe naughty; your brain had conjured up the filthiest dreams you'd had since... well, ever. And they were all with the Cajun guy you'd met at Wade's. Remy. You remembered his name because you'd said it at least a dozen times in your dream. 

Still half asleep, you flop over, throwing your arm and leg over onto the mattress. Your sheets are pulled down on one side, oddly, but you assume you just tried kicking them off or burritoing yourself in the night. Nothing out of the ordinary. You sniff and an unexpected sweet, warm fragrance fills your nostrils. Breakfast? You roll over again, and sit bolt upright to look down the hall. You suck in a breath and hold it, listening intently to the sounds coming from your kitchen; the scrape of metal against cast iron and a distinct sizzling sound. 

“What the hell?” You whisper, scooting yourself to the edge of the mattress. 

As you get up off the bed, you pull the sheet with you, wrapping it around your naked body, which honestly, was odd - you never slept nude – always in an oversized shirt. Your muscles seem to shake as you walk, and ache pings somewhere in the area of your hip flexors as you pad down the hall, barefoot. When you get to the kitchen, there’s a visual in front of you that causes you to come to a screeching halt.

Had it really not been a dream? 

You nearly have to pick your jaw up off of the floor. He – Remy – stands in your kitchen, over your stove, in nothing but his purple briefs and your polka dotted apron, which hasn't been tied and hangs from his muscular neck.

As he tends to the bacon sizzling in the pan, he sees you in his peripheral, and turns his head slightly, a bright but relaxed smile on his face — the look of it tickles something in your core. You hum quietly.

"Mornin', cher." 

What you want to say is holy shit but you instead mutter out an inquisitive and unsure: "Uhhh, morning...?" 

Even though you’ve seen him naked before, you’re still flabbergasted by the visual. You swallow, and let your eyes fall down the length of his body; tan skin pulled taut over sculpted muscles. He's just as delicious now as he was in your dreams. Maybe even moreso, with the lingering cuddle of sleep, his hair mussed, and the sunlight beaming in from the small window over the sink, kissing his skin in a yellow haze. 

"Hungry, mon ami?"

"Starved, actually." You blink away from his half-naked form and up to his face. "I'm so sorry, am I still asleep or did we....?" 

Remy chuckles and flips the bacon. "We sho’ did. I ain’t remember the last time I had it like ‘dat." 

You take a breath, and think back. It doesn’t take long to differentiate between dreams and reality as it all comes rushing back, playing out in your mind like a dirty movie. 

The way he held you close to his chest, the way his hands explored your body, fingertips kissing your flesh... the way his thick cock felt as it filled you, pleasure coursing through your body in ways that you’d never experienced before. The way he spoke, the way you said — moaned — his name. The way you nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder after you both had cum, the way he’d stroked your hair as you fell asleep… 

You swallow and blink again, bringing yourself back to reality. Remy is plating the bacon and walks it over to your small kitchen table. He gestures with a nod of his head and you walk over, plopping down into the seat, which squeaks as you do. Tucking the sheets underneath your armpits, you reach forward and pluck a single piece from the plate; it's warm and sticky, and tastes like maple syrup. You hum happily as you chew, and Remy takes a piece for himself as he sits down in the chair across from you. 

"Remy," you coo. It sounds far more wanton than you intend, almost a moan. Judging by his reaction, it sounds familiar — like the way you were whining his name last night as he hammered into you. 

"Hoo, don't start 'dat again or we gon' be havin' a repeat of last night." 

You swallow the mouthful of bacon and reach for another strip. He’s a good cook on top of everything, and made the bacon just the way you liked it. Great. 

“Listen, I… I’m not usually like… that. I don’t hook up with random guys or anything.” 

“Is ‘dat what ‘dat was?” He asks, a taunting tone in his voice. There’s something behind it, something warm and inviting, but you shake the thought off. 

“Wasn’t it? Isn’t that what that’s… classified as? I’m…”

He interjected, pushing the plate towards you. “Well, I dunno’, cher. You fell asleep in my arms… and I’m still here.”

You munch on another slice of bacon as you grapple with the fact that maybe it wasn’t just a one-night stand. Your eyes glaze over, staring at nothing in particular as you consider a couple of things. 

First, was the fact that you’d never been one for one night stands. They were frivolous, and usually ended in embarrassment or heartbreak. Neither of which had happened here. He had a glaring point; he had stayed, and apparently, you were comfortable enough to fall asleep in his arms. Another something that you never did. 

Second, was the fact that you’d also never really been one for the whole fate, destiny, or soulmate thing. That was cringy, and not something you’d ever entertained, because why would you? Save for a few meaningless relationships in college, you’d been alone and liked it that way. Less to deal with, less to have to clean up at the end of the day. You weren’t actively looking for a relationship, but Remy had just been there. Wasn’t that how fate worked? You furrowed your brows.

Third, was the undeniable fact that something – and you didn’t know what – but something about Remy had been written deep within the confines of your heart. The magnetic pull that you’d felt towards him last night still lingered heavily, and you wanted nothing more than to push yourself against him and feel his body against yours. 

Lust at first sight. That’s got to be what it is, you decide. You’re in lust with him.

But why not test it again…. Just to be sure. Your cunt clenches in anticipation, having been sent the signals that you plan to pursue him. Again. 

The wanton voice returns as you push yourself up out of your seat, leaning over the kitchen table. “Maybe we should… do it again… for good measure. Remy…”

"Chere, what did Remy say about usin' ‘dat voice...?"

"What if that's what I want?"

Remy's chewing slows and his eyes lift to yours. The legs of the chair scrape against the tile as he stands up, stretching forward to meet your mouth. Your lips barely graze each other, before – 

As if on cue, someone knocks at the door, the sound echoing in your ears. Shit. You hesitate for a moment, eyes darting towards the door. 

“I’ll get it.” 

Begrudgingly, you move away from him, kick the sheet out behind you so you don’t trip on it, and hurry to the door, unlatching it.

"Wade," you breathe as you throw open the door, almost exasperated. 

Wade pauses for a beat, assessing your appearance. "Oooh, good morning, sunshine. Looks like someone celebrated Taco Tuesday with some extra Cajun seasoning."

You heave a sigh; half out of annoyance and half out of embarrassment, because the reality was, you hadn't looked in the mirror this morning, so your appearance was a mystery. You look down at your sheet-clad body, and pull it tighter around you, as if that's giving back any of your modesty.

Wade leans on the doorframe, grinning like an absolute idiot. Lips pursed, he wiggles his eyebrows (or lack thereof) at you and waits for you to say something. Confess something. He's waiting for the juicy details, and you aren't delivering. 

"Speak, Lassie! Tell us what happened!" 

You huff. "What do you want, Wade?" 

"So hostile. Actually, like State Farm, I was just being a good neighbour. Checking on you and the Cajun Sensation since you two never came ba - oh fuck me is he in his underwear? What in the Magic Mike is happening here?" He peeks over your shoulder, spotting the half-naked Gambit behind you. 

"Wade!" You try to lean into his line of sight, preventing him from looking any further. "Look, I hardly know you, I'm not about to divulge my sex life to you-" 

"Woah, TMI, princess. But thanks for the confirmation!"

"What!? No, that's not what I meant! I'm just..." 

"Sure, pumpkin. It's okay, Disney gave it an R-rating for a reason."

"What are you talking about?" 

"What are you talking about?" 

"Nothing." You snap, obviously frustrated. "Look, I'm fine. Everything is fine, we just --" 

Remy's voice comes from behind you, fast approaching. "Cher? Everythin' alright?" 

You cast your glance behind you briefly – he’s ditched the apron, and is now in nothing but those tight fitting briefs that leave little to the imagination. God, he's so attentive. He’s already acting like a boyfriend, a thought that turns your guts to butterflies. 

Wade preens, clearly amused. "Oohh, well fuck me sideways. It was that kind of night, huh? Real x reader type plot. Cute. Have you said I love you yet? Or is that chapter three?" 

You bristle, absolutely appalled at the question. Behind you, Remy opens the door further and  raises one arm over his head, leaning it on the wood of the interior frame. He sees Wade and grins brightly, a twist to his lips, almost like he knows what’s happening.

“Mornin’, mon petit rouge.” (My little red)

“Oooh, I felt a tingle with that one.” 

Remy chuckles, shaking his head lightly. Starting with his bare bicep, which was now on full display, Wade's eyes trail down the length of Remy's body, lingering far too long at his groin before snapping back up to his face. 

"Jesus fuck, someone needs to put Agent Tequila on ice again. I thought it was Texas where everything is bigger–"

You feel your cheeks get hot and your eyes widen. “CHRIST, Wade!" 

“Oh please, drop the Sandra Dee act, pookie. You two fucked nasty and everyone knows it. At least the whole floor.” 

Behind you, Remy laughs low. You can feel his gaze on you, tunneling into you, almost as if he’s waiting for you to confirm or deny. The decision weighs heavy on your shoulders, and finally, you blurt out an answer.

“Okay, so we did. Happy now?” 

Wade’s shoulders drop and he heaves an over dramatic sigh. “Hallelujah. There, doesn’t honesty feel good?” 

Remy leans forward, his voice barely a whisper. “Not as good as what I did to you last night, huh cher?” 

“Heard that.” Wade barks. 

Your entire face feels hot, and the blush is spreading down your neck the longer this goes on. 

Remy’s hand comes forward to take a fistful of your ass, squeezing firmly before giving it a determinate smack and heading back to the table. He���s apparently ascertained that the situation is safe; Wade may be a character but he means no harm. You stiffen at the feeling, fighting against the betrayal of your body. Wade arches a brow, his eyes darting to the very subtle way that your hips pitch forward stiffly. 

“Anyway, this isn’t a threesome — could be, but isn’t — so I’m going back home. I have a big… wet… chimichanga waiting for me. Toodles.”

You’re relieved he ends the conversation before you have to; you aren’t quite sure what might’ve come out of your mouth had he stayed any longer and as an afterthought, you don’t want to create hostility with your next door neighbour. You shut your door, throwing the deadbolt into place. 

You march back to the table with an apparent chip on your shoulder over the interaction with Wade – which all things considered, wasn’t that bad, but you’re still worked up. Your muscles are tense with frustration, which you don't notice until Remy's large hands are sliding up the sides of your arms. He eventually gets to your shoulders, which he pinches and massages between his fingers, forcing them back into a more relaxed state. You let out a sigh, and buck your hips back slightly. His groin is pressed up against the ample curve of your ass, your bodies fitting together like a erotic puzzle piece.

“What’re you all mad  for, cher? C’mon now…” 

“Who does he think he is? Making me confess that… and I’m a grown wo—“

“You was pretty loud last night.” He interjects, that mischievous smirk on his lips. 

You spin around in his grasp and cross your arms, shooting him a disapproving look. “Whose side are you on here?”  

He's unphased by your anger, and instead, brings his hands up to your cheeks, pulling them forward until your head gives way, and your lips smash against his.

At this, you let out a mewl of faux discomfort, and Remy smirks against your lips. He shakes his head softly, and pulls you closer at the waist. After a moment, he breaks the kiss and looks down at your sheet-clad figure. While it is a tantalizing sight -- the way the sheet drapes over your figure, conforming to the curve of your breasts, peaking over your semi-hard nipples -- he wants to see your body again. It's been hours, and he's craving it again.

“Yours.” His voice is so sure, so low and so close. 

Well… his hands are definitely on your sides. They roam between your waist and your hips for a few moments before he makes a fist with one of them, the gray fabric bunching between his fingers. 

“Who you bein’ modest for, huh? You don’t need ‘dis. Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before.” 

“I… I don’t know…” you whisper, falling into the trap of his eyes again. When he looks at you, really looks at you, you feel like you’re standing at the edge of a building, but going nowhere, because his big, brawny arms are wrapped around you tight. You’ve never felt safer. Uh-oh. That’s not good. 

As he drags his fist down the front of your body, the sheet pulls free of your arms, the fabric grazing your nipples. The sensation has them hardening, and Remy’s hand replaces the sheet, running his thumb over one of them, while cupping the fullness of your breast with the rest of his hand.

He leans forward, kissing from your hairline, over your ear and down the curve of your shoulder, sending convulsive shivers down your spine. The feeling of his lips, pressing into your soft, warm skin… your lids flutter. Your hand reaches down, sliding over his taut muscles, until you find the bulge between his legs. The fabric is warm, heated by the fire of his cock. Your fingers curl around the length of it, giving it a gentle squeeze. Unconsciously, his hips pitch forward, forcing more pressure on your palm.

"Remy," you breathe, looking down between your bodies. His briefs are tenting now, his cock straining against the fabric. You swallow back the saliva that's gathering in your mouth, literally on the verge of drooling. 'I wanna'... I have to -- need to taste you."

"In Louisiana, 'dey call 'dat having an envie for somethin'."

"Yeah, well I have an envie for your cock right now, so..." 

The surprise is apparent on his face, his brows lifting on his forehead, but it quickly morphs into something more lusty, something more pleased. His dick jumps at your words and he reaches up to grip your chin firmly, looking hard at your mouth. 

Aroused, his accent thickens. "Hoo, you a naughty girl with 'dat mouth. Why don't you show me what else it can do, huh?" 

You nod and sink to your knees, slowly. Once you're situated in front of his groin, you reach up and hook your fingers around the elastic of his waistband, peeling it away from his skin. You lean forward to trace the tip of your tongue along the lines of muscle, that tantalizing V cut. Remy chokes on his breath, as your tongue flattens against the skin. 

You continue baring him, pulling the fabric down his thighs in one quick motion. He helps you by kicking them off to the side, and now stands, completely bare in front of you. His cock bounces heavy in front of your face and you immediately take him into your hand, wasting no time. You wrap one hand around the thick shaft, towards the base, and slide it slowly up towards the tip.  

The heat coming off his cock radiates into your palm and the contrast of the velvet, soft skin, and the aching, rigid center has your mouth (and cunt) drooling. You can't help it, and the way Remy's muscles flex every time you move your hand eggs you on. You begin stroking his cock, slowly, but tightly and his breath hitches in his throat. Tightening his abdominal muscles as he does, Remy bucks his hips, forcing his dick through the circle of your fingers. The precum is spreading now, making the action easy. His head is down, watching you intently. 

“‘Dat’s it, babygirl, just like ‘dat…”

As you drag the head over your bottom lip, glossing it with precum, it twitches in your grip. Extending your tongue, you slap the heavy, fat tip against it a few times, teasing him. Your lips wrap around the head, tongue massaging the underside with a flattened tongue.

Remy braces his hands on the counter top above you, his breath rushing out. 

“Hoo, you don’t need no help from Remy, you know what you’re doin’.”

You nod and tighten your grip around the base, leaning your mouth forward to press a single kiss against the tip. Your tongue peeks out, licking a long stripe from the base to the head, and you hear Remy make a sound that can only be described as a growl. You moan against his cock, the sound buzzing against his skin. He bucks again, forcing his cock further into your mouth.

Remy’s grip tightens on the counter top. He’s doing his best to keep it together but the way that your warm, wet mouth has enveloped him, the way that you’re gently sucking as your head bobs, the way your fingers wrap around his cock, gripping him firmly and jerking him off at the base has him in pieces. Aside from last night, he can’t remember the last time he’s felt this good – certainly not in the Void, and try as he might, no memories are coming forward from before the Void. All he feels – and sees – is you. You. You, in your naked, morning messy glory. His chest rises and falls with ragged breaths, his gaze heavy and half-lidded.

You have to open wide to take him all the way in, but you don’t care. The weight of his cock on your tongue has your cunt weeping profusely between your legs, and the head nudges the back of your throat, teasing at your gag reflex. You steady yourself and get back to it. Your nose prods the thatch of coarse hair above his cock as you deep throat him, over and over again. The salty pre-cum glides over your tongue, saturating it with the taste that you’re craving.

“Mon coeur,” He exhales a low, raspy breath, and backs his hips away from your mouth, his dick leaving your lips with a wet shlick. You stare up at him with wide, unknowing eyes, chin covered in saliva. His cock twitches in your grip; the visual is erotic. 

“Believe me when I say ‘dis, cher. I wanna’ make a mess on your face, but Remy ain’t ready for it to be ova’. C’mere.” 

With a gentle tap, he urges you up off your knees, helping you to get to your feet. Just like before, he’s hoisting you up into his arms and you’re ready to be carried off again, but this time your ass comes down atop the counter, and Remy slots himself between your legs.

“Wait-wait…. What are you doing?” 

“Eatin’, mon ami.” He says it so nonchalantly and throws in the ever casual mon ami as though this is something done between friends. His hands cup your kneecaps, urging them apart with careful urgency. He looks at your cunt, and his brows lift slowly, a smirk crawling across his lips. 

“Hoo…” He chuckles, running a single finger along the slit of your cunt. As he pulls back, his finger is coated in your arousal, thick strands of clear stringing from your cunt to the tip of his finger. “You get yourself all worked up while you were down ‘dere? She is glistenin’, cher.”

You’re almost embarrassed. Almost. You hadn’t told him, but giving head was a massive turn-on. Besides that, the mere sight of his massive cock was enough to get your engines running. Something about admitting that to him sounds a little too whorish, so you keep your mouth shut. You whine, leaning your head against the cabinets and buck your hips forward, closer to the edge. 

It’s as though he can tell you’re withholding something from him. 

“Ah-ah, cher…” He brings his face close to yours, licking at your mouth. “Tell Remy what’s on your mind.”

“I… I like giving head… I like giving you head…. I like…”

He nods, encouraging you further. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks, and you roll your eyes to the ceiling. 

“Ugh, okay. You have an amazing cock, and I like having it in every part of me.” You curse yourself for being so honest. 

Now it’s Remy that’s on his knees, and he dives at your cunt like a man starved. His tongue is strong and warm against your clit, flicking upwards against the bundle of nerves. He’s burying his mouth in your folds, lapping at it. Every time his tongue nears your opening, you let out a long, whining moan. 

Pause. Let’s just recap. Just to make sure we’re on the same god damn page. You met this guy at Wade’s…. Fucked him all night long, he made you breakfast and now he’s giving you the most toe-curling head you’ve ever had. And you think, just maybe, you might be falling in love with him. Cool. Okay. 

Your hand snaps to the crown of his head, fingers lacing amongst his hair to hold him to the spot he’s working. His tongue is drilling into your clit, and that’s when you feel the pressure of two fingers, prodding your slick slit. 

“Sweeter ‘den ‘dat maple syrup up on your counter,” he says, practically into your cunt. You look down; his gaze is lust-blown, and lips are glossy, spit-slick and reddened. He presses a few gentle kisses to your clit before his tongue starts swiping at it again, and plunging his fingers deep within your core. Just like before, he knows just how to curl his fingers up into the sensitive spot inside you. You let out a moan, and bump your head against the cabinets again. 

A shudder rips through your body, overwhelmed at the dual stimulation. His mouth closes around your clit, sucking gently and you can feel the slippery puddle forming on the countertop beneath you. Briefly, you wonder if you’ll just slide off the counter, but really… the only place to go is further into Remy and his mouth. 

Abruptly, you feel the flash of heat between your legs and arch your back, readying yourself for the drop. Your cunt aches, throbs and – Remy suddenly pulls away, his chin shimmering with your arousal. 

“Huh, I didn’t hear anyone say you could be doin’ ‘dat yet, ah?” 

Holy shit. You clench her tight, holding back the wave of an orgasm. Your teeth grind together, legs quivering at the feeling of denial. You were right on the edge, right on the edge of white, hot bliss. 

“Ffffuck,” you whisper. “Fuck. Please….” 

“I said no, cher. Not yet.” There’s a playful lilt in Remy’s voice and it drives you crazy.

“Fuck me then, please…. I need to feel you.”  

He chuckles, and presses a deep kiss to your folds. “You ain’t gonna’ have to ask me twice, ma bichette.” (my little doe)

He slips his fingers out, and inserts them into his mouth, sucking the taste of you off of them. Your jaw drops. It’s such a casual, but erotic action, and your cunt responds feverishly. She’s got a heartbeat of her own at this point, thrumming between your legs. Leaving you leaking on the countertop, Remy gets to his feet and turns around to the kitchen table. He shoves the plates out of the way, somehow not knocking them onto the floor. 

“C’mere…”

You’re in his arms again, and he’s swinging you around, plopping you down on the kitchen table. Your hands go back behind you, pressing down into the wood apprehensively. 

“I don’t know if this table can support me…. ” 

“Don’t you worry ‘bout ‘dat, cher. It might not, but Remy’s gonna’ be holdin’ you tight. This is just givin’ me a betta’ angle, ‘das all.” 

He wasn’t lying; most of your weight was in his grasp. One arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you up. You scoot yourself closer to the edge, closer to him, and inhale a deep breath. Remy shuffles forward, his cock leading the way. The red, leaking tip nudges your entrance and he lifts your head to place a kiss against your lips, nibbling softly on the bottom one. He’s so passionate, even amidst the burden of his fiery, seemingly untameable lust. A lover. Fuck… you think. You’re falling into a deep, dark hole that you don’t think you can climb your way out of. 

Remy reaches between your bodies, pushing his cock down slightly, until he feels the sopping wet opening of your cunt. Groaning deeply, he stuffs himself inside, inch by inch until your bodies are flush. He finds a rhythm quickly, bucking his hips against you. As he splits you open, you can’t help but moan loud, louder than last night, his cock filling you, throbbing veins rubbing against your inner walls.

“God, yeah… yeah, fuck me hard…!” You chant, sounding more and more like a porn star with every passing moment.

“Only if you give it t’ me, cher… the way you takin’ this dick, I ain’t gonna’ last long.”

You nod hurriedly, looking deep into his eyes. He growls and pulls his hips all the way back before slamming them back into you – hard. Your jaw drops again, and you find yourself staring at the cabinets, vision going hazy with lust as your orgasm rushes to the surface, claiming your body wholly. The plates that previously hung on now go clattering to the floor, but the sound does little to interrupt you two. Remy’s got his dick so deep inside of you that you’re seeing stars, and the sounds that are tumbling from your lips are far louder than the sound of porcelain on tile. 

With a smooth, guttural sound, Remy loses it, too. He fills you, deeply, and what leaks out the sides, he hurriedly pumps it back inside of you until his cock starts to soften, his thrusts languid and spent. 

“I could do this with you all day…” You whisper into his neck, rubbing your nose against the warm, sweaty flesh there. 

“Me too, cher, me too.” He nods, blinking slowly. “But I can’t be doin’ ‘dat… not today.” 

You rear back suddenly, looking him in the eyes. They’ve still got that mischievous glimmer that he seems to always possess, but there’s something behind them. A sort of… coldness, that has your arms falling away from him. 

“You have to leave…” you say softly, suddenly understanding. 

Remy nods, and slips out of you, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. He pushes your hair out of your face, and rubs his thumb along the fullness of your cheek. He disappears then, and your shoulders sink slightly. You stay on the table for a few minutes, your legs hanging limply off the table, just listening to the sounds of him getting dressed; the gentle rustle of clothing, the snap of his elastic waistband as it hugs him.

Finally, you hop off the table, and bend down to retrieve the rumpled pile of sheet. You hold it against your body, not worrying about what’s showing. Like he said before, he’s seen everything. You turn, and spot him – standing tall behind your couch. He reaches for his leather jacket.

He’s attractive, so the sight of him dressed is to be appreciated as much as him undressed, but there’s a pang of sadness in your chest. Your lungs feel tight, and you wring the sheets around your fingers as he smoothes a hand through his hair, tousling it lightly. Again, as though he’s in tune to your emotions, he seems to notice that you’re staring sullenly. 

“Remy be needin’ to deal with some things, cher…” he says, adjusting himself in his jacket. You wonder what it is he has to deal with, where he has to go. It’s none of your business, you’re sure. You want to ask him if he’ll be back, but your gut warns that that sounds too desperate, so instead, you nod once. 

“Thanks,” you start, trying to find the strength in your voice. “I had a really good time. My door is uh, always open.” 

“Good t’ know, cher.” He says. He sounds genuine, but he’s still leaving. Every bone in your body is screaming for him to stay. He makes his way over to you, wordlessly, and wraps his arm around your waist. His lips find yours, and he tips you backwards slightly as he kisses you. The way he tastes you feels like he’s trying to stain his own mouth with your essence, to remember it later. When he breaks off and straightens you back up, you let out a pathetic little cry that you know he hears. You bring your fingers to your mouth, stroking your bottom lip softly. 

And with that, he opens your door, slips out and shuts it behind him, but not before casting one last look at you, standing there in a sheet that he fucked your brains out on. 

To the closed door, you whisper: “I… think I love you.” 

He doesn’t hear it and maybe that’s for the best. 

[eternalsunrise]

call my bluff.

deadpool (wade wilson) x gn! reader

word count: 2.1k

summary! deadpool and you have an unorthodox dynamic. every time the masked man ends up in your neighborhood, he can’t seem to stay away. you’ve never seen his face or even heard his name, but the two of you are in a game of flirtation with no end in sight. as the tension is raised, both of you wonder, is there something more here?

tags! reader is a regular citizen, talk of reader wearing a skirt but i don’t think i used any pronouns? HEAVILY suggestive but no smut, alcohol mentions, i wrote this with comic deadpool in mind but could easily be ryan’s as well!!

notes! the collective d&w brainrot has caused me to open tumblr and actually complete a fic. hope u love it <3 abs

“taxi!”

the crisp night air nipped at your legs as you stepped off of the sidewalk and onto the edge of the street for the fifth time in the past fifteen minutes. you waved your hands semi erratically, jumping up and down as to try and make yourself take up more space so that the bright yellow vehicle would take notice. instead you watched as it zipped right past you, short term deja vu happening once again.

you threw your arms down in defeat and stared up at the night sky, “fuck!” you sent your frustrations up to the half of a full moon you could see, the other portion blocked by skyscrapers. how is it that this city was known to be crawling with cabs and you couldn’t even flag one of them down? were you on some kind of taxi blacklist?

whatever the reason, you decided that between your horrible luck with public transport and your dead cell phone, you might as well start the trek home.

your body buzzed with the alcohol from the evening; your night out with friends had veered into the early morning hours, and you promised them you’d be able to find your way home. blacklist or not, the city was walkable and you were tired of waiting.

so you crossed your arms over your chest, a half baked attempted at hiding from the chill of the city. you started walking in the direction of your apartment, craving the touch of warm sheets and pillowcases.

after a few minutes of sharing the air with faint car horns and the buzzing of people’s air conditioning units, you heard something else. someone else.

you weren’t naive, the city never sleeps, and there were bound to be people out just like you. however the path you chose was definitely less trafficked, and general paranoia was starting to set in. after all, you’ve been the only person for the past three blocks, only sharing the sidewalk with stray cats.

the thought that someone was behind you forced you to sober up quickly. ice cold blood replacing the warm alcohol that was coursing through your veins.

the footsteps are louder now, matching your heartbeat patting against your rib cage. you wonder why they haven’t walked past you yet. were you being followed? taking a deep breath, you reach into your bag slowly. you retrieve your small weapon of defense, ready to face off a potential threat. whoever it was, they were behind you now. you figured your best bet was fight AND flight. attack and spirit off.

you hear a wolf whistle, deep and slow, right in your ear. it’s now or never.

you whip around and shove your arm toward the nightcrawler (pervert?). you open your mouth to let out a scream and clench your eyes shut. you’re surprised when your voice is muffled by…leather?

“oh cupcake, this is adorable! where’d you get this, amazon?”

you open your eyes and are stunned to lock them with a sea of red and black. your eyes trail upwards, spying artificial whites and a mask you’ve grown familiar with. the original terror you felt starts draining from your body, and is replaced by shock and a strange sense of relief.

deadpool has one of his gloved hands locked around your wrist, long index finger just barely lifting yours off of the trigger of the object in question. a travel sized, hot pink, container of mace.

you open your mouth again to speak but find his other hand muffling your airways, his large palm covering your mouth and tip of your nose. you frantically grasp at his arm with your free hand, yanking it away from your face.

“you know sweet thing, if you wanna walk around this late by yourself, you’ll need something a little more industrial. i actually know a guy if you-“

you take in a giant gulp of air and clutch your chest, trying to slow down your heart rate, “what. the FUCK is wrong with you?” you cut off deadpool’s rambling, staring at his blank eyes.

the merc tilts his head to the side as if he was a confused golden retriever, “really? you wanna trauma dump right now? well…” he clears his throat, voice dropping an octave to portray faux sincerity, “i guess it all started in third grade…”

you groaned and rubbed your face with your free hand, the other still in control by your assaulter, “you could’ve announced yourself, you gave me a heart attack! what are you doing following me anyway?”

deadpool finally releases your hand, his own finding home on his hips, resting right above his two holsters. “well i saw you wandering around like carrie bradshaw. and i may not be your mister, but i was hoping to give you something Big.” he shrugs as if that response was as normal as discussing the weather. you shove your measly can of mace back into your bag.

shaking your head, you turn on your heels, starting to walk away. you plan to continue your trek home, confident that the anti hero would be quick to follow behind. “how hard would it be to just say you want to walk me home?”

you’ve been playing this game of back and forth flirtation for a while now, and you knew that deep…deep…deep down he was masking true concern for you.

deciding not to answer, deadpool took just a few of his large strides to end up by your side. “what are you doing walking alone looking like that anyway? admit it! you were hoping i’d show up.”

you look at him with glassy eyes. now that your guard was fully down, you started to feel the effects of those three tequila shots you took as a send off to your friends. maybe those weren’t such a good idea. the way you’re looking up at him make’s deadpool’s wade’s stomach turn, and he has to clench his fists to control himself.

suddenly he’s forgotten why he was on this side of town in the first place.

you let out a laugh full of teeth, “oh you wish! i haven’t seen you in a few days though, had to go out to fill my needs elsewhere.”

what you two have has never went beyond casual flirtation, but the idea of you being under someone else sparks a match of jealously. but wade knows better. and he knows that slight stumble as you walk, your hands pulling the skirt of your outfit down.

deadpool hisses as if you’ve hit a nerve, “ouch baby, i didn’t think i’d be third wheeling with you and jose cuervo tonight.” he spots a car driving toward the two of you and acts quickly; he places a gloved hand on your waist and moves you away from the sidewalk. he doesn’t miss a beat, you don’t even realize you’ve switched places.

you’re looking back up at him again as you walk, this time reaching up and tapping the handle of one of his sheathed katanas, “what about you killer? you been thinkin’ about me?” you’re teasing him, but a small part of you hopes he’ll give you a genuine answer that aligns with what you want to hear.

his mask creases as he raises his eyebrows and you can’t see but wade is giving you a smirk that sits on the side of his mouth, “oh you know it sweet thing. every time i’ve slid one of these bad boys in and out of a bad guy, it reminds me of what we could have.”

deadpool lets out a dramatic sigh, reminiscing on something that hasn’t even happened, “but their screams usually ruin my hard on, i think your’s would have the opposite effect.”

so much for your genuine answer.

you blame the red on your cheeks and buzzing feeling on the alcohol, pushing the thought of the real cause into a box and storing it in the back of your mind. how embarrassing to feel this way about a masked weirdo that sometimes strolls through your neighborhood. you didn’t even know his real name. hell, you’ve never seen his face!

after a little more walking and a lot more sexual tension, the two of you arrive in front of your apartment building. you turn to face your escort for the evening, flashing him a grin full of drunken glee, “well this is my stop, thank you for the company mr. pool. i’ll have to repay you somehow.” your tone teasing but borderline suggestive.

deadpool nods and taps his chin a few times, “you’re right cupcake….since you’re offering…” he trails off, his voice growing deeper as he bent down to be eye level with you. your throat hitched, a gasp getting stuck there, not expecting him to call your bluff. “i take payments in the form of cash, debit, or check!”

he taps the tip of your nose and shoots back, standing up straight.

oh right! no way this guy would ever actually take you up on your banter! and that was a good thing…right? you decided to end the night now, preventing your drunken state from dragging a masked man into your home.

you rolled your eyes and braced your hand on his broad shoulder, stepping on the tip of your toes and placing a kiss on the side of his mask, the textured material tickling your lips. “goodnight handsome.”

you leaned away from him but trailed your hand down to rest on his chest. hey! the tequila was making you brave.

deadpool, no wade—deadpool—no! wade felt like he was about to fall backwards like a cartoon cat after getting hit with a sledgehammer. it had been a long time since his suit had experienced anything that gentle, he felt this was about to go down a dangerous path.

wade stared down at you through white lenses, his gaze bouncing between your hand and your lips. back and forth like a game of table tennis.

he watched as you bit your lip and held his gaze. your cheeks flushed, eyes glossy, the street lights illuminated your face in a way he’s never seen before. he wonders if potential onlookers could see small hearts surrounding his head.

wade feels a thought go through him, as if it swept in on the early morning breeze. a thought that he felt insane (shocker) for having even for a moment.

standing there with you, he wants to be himself. he has the urge to be vulnerable; rip his mask off and be wade wilson with you. for you. in this moment he wants to be more than the merc that flirts with you. wade wants to be with you. he wants…..fuck he wants to take you inside and make sure your body leaves an imprint in the mattress that’ll be there for weeks. stop looking at him like that, his pants are getting tight.

and there’s deadpool. he imagines tiny versions of himself stabbing katanas into the hearts around his head. they let out sad whines as they deflate and fall onto the sidewalk below him. he needs to get a grip.

“sweet dreams angel face. oh! if you need me throughout the night, just scream out of your bedroom window! screams of damsels in distress are like my mating call.”

you retract your hand with a giggle that makes that stupid thought come back into deadpool’s head.

you hesitate. wanting to say something but…deciding best not to. you turn around and walk up the stairs to your door, ignoring the fire in your stomach that’s been growing after each flirtatious jab.

you hear him start to speak as soon as you put your key into the lock, and you turn around almost too eagerly. you want him to say what you’ve been wanting, craving to hear. you want him to enable that dark part of you; the part of you that wants more of him. the part of you that knows he’s wrong. that he’s got to be walking danger.

deadpool points at himself, “but babe, if you see a way less sexy guy in a suit responding to your call. one that has ugly little spider webs all over him? slam the window shut. you want nothing to do with that guy, trust me.”

your shoulders drop, an exhale released. you give him one last shake of your head, and a barely there smile, before you’re inside your home. the bubble that surrounded the two of you bursted.

the door shuts behind you but the masked man stays in place. he stares at the spot where you were just standing, thinking about all the other routes this night could’ve taken. he isn’t right for you. he should leave you alone. wade knows that. too bad deadpool’s never been a good listener.

[ataliagold]

Flowers In Your Hair

For @astrangersummer week 3 prompt 'flowers'. Title from Flowers In Your Hair by The Lumineers.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Rating: General

W/C: 1249

Tags: Post Series 4 Volume 2, Everyone Lives, Established Steddie, Fluff, Soft Steve Harrington, Steve Loves Yellow Flowers, Eddie Loves Steve, El and Max are best friends, summer, this is just softness

Summary: Eddie enlists some help to find the perfect flowers for Steve. Despite his own insecurities, Eddie is learning that his boyfriend loves soft things.

___

“Robin, what kind of flowers does Steve like?”

Eddie was draped over the Family Video counter, having stolen the barely-working desk fan air flow for himself.

Robin paused where she was rifling through the box of returned tapes to give him a confused look. “Flowers? Really?”

Eddie threw up a hand, then regretted it, because that had taken far too much effort in the stifling heat. “What? You think a man can’t buy flowers for another man? You judging me, Buckley?”

Robin scoffed. “No. Just…why flowers?”

“It’s romantic!” Eddie whined. “We have a date tonight and Steve loves that stuff. He might not say it, but he does. On Valentine’s Day I got him chocolates and roses and you should’ve seen his face, honestly if we hadn’t been in public I probably would’ve got on my knees there and then -”

Robin leaned over and slapped a hand across his mouth. “Jesus, enough.”

Eddie grinned behind her hand, and poked his tongue out to touch Robin’s palm.

She snatched it away with a shout, fake gagging behind the counter. “Munson, that was disgusting.”

Eddie shrugged. “You love me, though.”

“Steve loves you,” Robin corrected. “And so, by extension, I’m unfortunately forced to too.” She smiled a little, taking any sting out of her words. “Seriously though, the kids are over there, watch your mouth.” She dipped her head towards the sci-fi section, where Dustin and Mike were loudly arguing over which tape to rent for their next movie night. Max and El were hanging back, Max eagerly trying to explain a movie synopsis to El. Whatever it was, it sounded violent, and El looked confused.

Eddie leaned further over the counter, letting the weak breeze from the fan flick his hair around. “Help me?” he asked, batting his eyes at Robin.

She screwed up her nose a little before responding. “Honestly, I don’t know. You said you got him roses before, right? Did he like those?”

“Well, yeah, but I think he liked the gesture more than anything else.”

Robin shrugged. “Just get him anything, then. It’s from you, so he’ll love it.”

“But I want to get his favourite,” Eddie lamented. “He deserves the best.”

“Well, I agree with you there.”

“Eddie?”

A small voice sounded behind him, and Eddie summoned the energy to turn his head. El was standing behind him, looking a little shy.

“Yeah, supergirl?”

“You wanted to know Steve’s favourite flowers?”

Eddie slid off the counter a bit, straightening up. “Yeah, I do.”

El glanced between him and Robin for a moment. “Steve used to help me and Max with our hair. When mine was longer, we would make daisy chains and Steve braided them into my hair, he even let us put them in his sometimes. We tried to use other flowers sometimes but they did not stay together very well. But Steve’s favourites are yellow ones.”

And that…made sense, Eddie supposed. Yellow was Steve’s favourite colour, after all, but Eddie wasn’t sure where to find yellow flowers. He couldn’t afford much at the florist, and what flowers were yellow, anyway? Sunflowers? Where the hell would he get those?

Robin tugged his sleeve, pulled Eddie back to the counter so she could lean over and whisper, “The Klines have yellow roses growing by their fence.”

“The old Mayor?” Eddie asked with a frown.

“Yup.”

A smile slowly spread across his face.

“There are marigolds by the school field,” El added. “And yellow violas and tulips by the cabin. I can show you.”

And that was how, a short time later, Eddie was snapping off fragrant yellow roses at the stalk where they were poking out between the stark white pickets of Larry Kline’s fence. Max and El were standing further down the footpath, acting as lookouts while Eddie huddled by the fence and took his quarry as quickly as he could.

At the first surprised shout from inside the fence, he darted away, collecting the girls with a grin as he ran past them.

He threw back his head and laughed, roses clutched in his warm hand, Max beaming beside him.

“That guy’s an asshole,” she told Eddie as they jogged away from the house. “Serves him right.”

They couldn’t move too quickly – Max’s bones had healed, but she wasn’t exactly up to a sprint across town just yet. But they made it to Eddie’s van parked around the corner, and moved on to their next stop.

Just like that, Eddie spent the afternoon traipsing along with the two girls. El showed him where to find all sorts of different flowers, and Max went along because where El went, she went. It was hot, the sun baking them from above in a cloudless sky, but Eddie didn’t care – this was for Steve.

By the time they were finished, Eddie had gathered a large handful of flowers in all different shades of yellow and orange, and the girls had wrapped them in some plastic procured from Hopper’s cabin and poured some water into the bottom to keep them fresh in the summer heat.

“There,” El told him proudly, handing over the bouquet while Max tried to find some ribbon in a drawer to tie around it. “They’re pretty. Like Steve.”

Eddie spluttered a little at El’s directness. “Oh…yeah. Yeah, they are. He is.”

El nodded. “Max often says so, too.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Max yelled from El’s room.

Eddie smirked, because the girl’s little crush on his boyfriend was no secret. “It’s ok Max, I agree with you.”

Max stomped back towards them, slapped a length of gold ribbon into Eddie’s hands, and then took El’s arm and pulled her back towards the room.

Effectively dismissed, Eddie returned to his trailer to rush through a shower and getting changed, barely with enough time left to get to Steve’s before their dinner plans.

Waiting in front of his boyfriend’s door, Eddie passed the bouquet from hand to hand, a little nervous.

This is stupid.

Steve Harrington, former jock supreme, once-captain of the basketball team, nail-bat wielding badass wasn’t going to appreciate some yellow flowers.

Eddie almost turned tail. Almost tossed the flowers into the back of his van to be dealt with later, almost gave in to the nerves in his stomach.

Almost.

Because there was a softness to Steve that Eddie was learning to know and love. It was in the way he treated the kids, the way he gently held Eddie’s hand, the way he baked cookies when his friends were coming over and apparently braided flowers into the girls’ hair.

Eddie took a deep breath, clutched his yellow flowers, and knocked on the door.

It opened after a moment.

“Eds, hey, sorry I just gotta get my shoes on -” Steve trailed off as he took in the sight of Eddie standing there, flowers gripped in shaky hands.

Eddie cleared his throat, held out the bouquet. “For you. If, um…if you want them. Sorry if it’s stupid, I wanted to get you something but I couldn’t afford much and El told me you liked yellow flowers so I spent the afternoon going around town and finding them, and the roses actually involved some petty theft but -”

Steve took the flowers with one hand, and pulled Eddie through the door with the other, lips seeking his mouth and swallowing the rest of his sentence.

When they finally pulled apart, Eddie smiled shyly. “You like them, then?”

“I love them, Eds.”

___

[ln4bub]

hii i love your five so much omfg i was wondering if you could do 11 and 83 with lando or daniel w a bit of a breeding kink i’ve got major baby fever rn😭🫶

A/N i wasn't planning on writing this one yet, but the dr3 breeding kink was voted for in my last poll and so this one had to be done so i could tag it properly for the anon that requested it <3

DR3 Request

---------------------------------------------

Lando was always in control; being the deciding voice in what needs to be changed with the McLaren he had to drive week in, week out. So when the MCL-60 wasn't performing, leaving him stranded out in P17 or scraping points in P9, you could see it was starting to get to him. You'd bore the brunt of his frustration, traumatising poor Oscar after every bad result. But it was wearing Lando down, and so when he dragged you back to the hotel after the Canadian GP you were half expecting him to break.

So when his lips greedily meshed with yours you were surprised, you thought for sure this would be the final straw for him. His tongue clashed with yours, tasting the fruity soda you had consumed during the race. The groan he lets out into your mouth makes your body tingle, pulling at the hairs at the nape of his neck. Lando pulls you on top of him, collapsing on the bed you shared. He pulls his lips away from yours with a smack, heavy breaths now filling the space between you.

"I want you to take control tonight."

Your stomach clenches at his words, images of a flushed and desperate Lando writhing underneath you fill your mind. "Are you sure?" You mutter back, brushing that one loose curl from his forehead. His eyes close at your soft touch before fluttering open, glazed over and wide staring at you. "So sure baby, just don't want to think right now." He practically whispers, voice nervous and slightly shaky.

You press your lips to his forehead, leaving a faint glossy sheen behind. He smiles softly up at you, his tongue poking out to wet his lips in nervousness, waiting for your response. "Whatever you need," you tell him, mirroring his own smile. He leans forward to kiss you, lips hovering over your own before he feels a sharp tug in his hair. His mouth stays parted, eyes closing as you brush your lips gently over his own. You feel the way he tries to capture your lips, the barely there brush leaving behind a thin layer of spit to add to your lip-gloss.

Your tongue peaks out, running over his lower lip before capturing it between your teeth and pulling gently. Lando whimpers at the sting, large hands encompassing your face to pull you towards his own. Your lips move in sync with his, practiced and perfected over time. You adjust your position, straddling him as you continue to kiss. He whines at the weight of you against his cock, straining now against his black jeans.

Your soft hands slide underneath his shirt, pushing it up to expose his tanned skin. Lando takes the hint and removes his team merch, throwing it on the floor with a thud. His large hands slide up your back, kissing along your jaw as your nails begin lightly scratching his back. "Take it off, please, wanna see you baby." Lando whispers against your skin, the movement of his lips against your neck making you moan softly. You heed his request, pulling your dress off and leaving you in your matching set. It was Lando's favourite, all black with custom fluoro yellow piping around the edges.

He groans at the sight of you, leaning back into the pillows when you gently shove his chest. Your lips connect with his own once more, sloppily coating them in the last of your lip gloss. Lando chases your lips as you pull away but you simply smirk at him, dipping your head to suck at the apex of his jaw. A loud moan leaves Lando's mouth at the action, his head tilting back to give you more access to his thick neck; access that you happily utilise.

Your lips are everywhere, overwhelming Lando in every sense, nibbling and sucking before swiping your tongue over the fresh marks left behind. Normally you'd avoid giving him hickeys but the next race wasn't until July so they had time to fade, and Lando loved the feeling of you claiming him in this way. His cock was starting to throb in his jeans with each press of your lips against his skin, especially when you migrated further south.

You kissed every inch of his skin, tracing every mole across his chest and stomach with your lips. His body erupted in goosebumps with each touch, squirming underneath you at the teasing. You slide your pinkies underneath the waistband of his jeans before undoing the button and sliding down the zipper. You hear Lando breathe a sigh of relief at the release of pressure, lifting his hips to allow you to slide his jeans down.

You kiss his length of his underwear, feeling it twitch with the first touch of your lips. "Y/N, babe, come here." Lando mutters, pulling at your arm. You hover over his bulge, the heat from between your legs radiating for Lando to feel. "What is it baby?" You ask, looking into Lando's glossy eyes. His pupils are blown wide, lips red and bitten as a consequence of your teasing. "Just want to feel you, is that okay?" He asks, eyes pleading.

"Of course it is Lan, but you're gonna have to beg for it, can you do that for me?" You question, dragging your nails down his chest as he smiles shyly with a nod. You remove your remaining underwear as Lando does the same before hovering over his hard cock, the tip bumping your clit as you position yourself.

"Please baby, need to feel you." Lando mutters as you glide your pussy over his cock, coating him in your wetness. He stutters out a groan at the feeling of your slick covering him, "Oh god, so fucking wet. Please, god please, let me feel you baby." He continues, hands squeezing your hips in an effort not to buck his hips into you. You slide his tip into your pussy, moaning at the stretch. Lando echoes the same moan, cock twitching at the feeling of your warmth.

"Fuck, feels s'good baby, more, please, give me more please, wanna be buried inside you s'bad." Lando hurries out, voice strained with restraint as he tries not to slam himself inside you. You heed his request, slamming yourself down onto his length before riding him at a wild pace, your legs immediately starting to burn.

"Holy shit, oh my god, love you, love being inside you, so good to me, yes baby, don't stop." Streams of praise and whines leave Lando's mouth, his body falling slack at the pleasure rippling over him. Moans spill out of the both of you, the burning pain of your legs adding to your pleasure as his cock hits you at the perfect angle. "Fuck Lan, made for me weren't you baby?" You mutter, hand resting on the side of his flushed face.

He nods with a whine, "Yeah baby, all yours, no-one else's, fuck yes. Use me just like that, my cock's all for you." His mouth drops open in a loud moan of your name, "So close, wanna feel you cum, please cum, need it." He slurs, hairline beginning to stick to his forehead with sweat. Your hand slips down from his face, your other hand joining it to wrap around his thick neck as you continue to fuck yourself on his dick.

His thumb reaches over from where his hand has sat on your hips, rubbing against your clit with every bounce you make. It sends you flying over the edge, your walls clenching around Lando's cock and pulling his own orgasm from him. He releases with a loud groan, your hands tightening around his neck. His cum fills you, beginning to spill out from where you remained connected. You ease the pressure on his neck, collapsing forward on top of him.

You lift yourself on shaky legs, allowing Lando to slip out of you. You crawl up the bed before swinging your legs over Lando's face, his large hands cupping your ass. "Clean up your mess Lan." You tell him and he wastes no time, pulling you against his face as his tongue delves between your folds. He flicks and swirls like a madman, shaking his face in-between your legs, his nose bumping your clit with each movement as he cleans the combination of your cum that spills out. It doesn't take long for you to cum on his tongue, sensitive from your first orgasm.

Lando lifts you off his face, cuddling himself into you but not before kissing you sweetly, allowing you to taste the both of you on his tongue. "Thank you." He mutters, a sentiment repeated at the next race when Lando gets P4, and the next race when Lando gets his first home podium, and the week after when he secures another P2.

Oscar stands next to you in the garage as Lando gives his interviews after the race, "Whatever you did to him in that hotel room after Canada must have worked miracles, are you a witch?" He asks, laughing at the blush that coats your face. "Shut up pastry, unless you're only asking because you want some help getting those podiums too?" You retort. Oscar blushes fiercely, causing you to laugh this time before Lando joins you both, "What's so funny?"

[httpdwaekki]

cozy | l.f.

summary: cuddlin w lixie <3

wc: 542

warnings: none! gn!reader

a/n: happy lixie day!! tbh i’m exhausted and life has been so busy but i needed to do something for my favorite sunshine on his special day <33. but i will be putting out a longer fic for him because he deserves it :3. i hope you all enjoy, remember to eat, drink water and take your meds, ily <3

p.s. i will be making an extended version of this bc i love it so much, okay love u bye

my library | fundraiser

(pictures are not mine! credit to owners!)

“honey, i’m home!” you hear a familiar voice call out.

you smile instantly, excited your favorite aussie chick was home. “hi bubba! i’m in the bedroom!” you call back, staring at the door in anticipation. you hear him place his things down before breaking into a sprint.

you hear his happy giggles as he makes his way down the hallway. the freckled boy appears in the doorway, slightly out of breath with a bright smile on his face. he takes in your appearance, you’re cuddled up in the middle of all his plushies, a big soft blanket swallowing you whole.

you looked so cozy.

you take your arms from under the fluffy fabric, stretching them

in front of you, making grabby hands towards him. he giggles as he runs to you, leaping on top of you, wrapping his arms around you as best he could.

you wrap your arms around him as he shoves his face into your neck, relaxing into you. “hi sweet boy.” you giggle, placing a kiss to his hair, leaning your head against his.

“hi angel.” he mumbled into your skin. your cheeks warm at the pet name, never getting used to him calling you them. you gently rub his back, softly running your nails against him, the fabric of his shirt acting as a layer between him and you.

he sighs against your skin, “that feels nice.” he mumbles, relaxing further into you. you slip your hands under his shirt, lightly rubbing and scratching his soft skin.

he nuzzles his head, a soft cat-like grin appears on his face, feeling content. “i love you so much.” you smile, wrapping your arms around his torso, pulling him impossibly closer.

“i love you too, more than you know.” you kiss the side of his head before giving him a soft pat on his butt. “alright come pretty boy, let’s get you washed up.” he whines, tighten his arms around you.

“nooo i wanna cuddle.” you could practically hear the pout in his voice. you chuckle before patting it again, “and we can cuddle after, come on, let’s get you comfy. “fine.” he huffs, pushing himself up to straddle your hips before he stops and looks at you suspiciously.

“what?” you ask, tilting your head slightly, placing your hands on his thighs. “where’s bbokari?” he huffs, folding his arms, pouting. you smile at him before you reach into your blanket, pulling out the (now flatten) yellow plushie.

“i was laying on her!!??” he exclaimed, grabbing the flat bbokari, fixing her. “what did you think you were laying?” you giggled at his frantic movements. “i just assumed it was the blanket!” he finally fixed the small chick, letting out a sigh of relief.

“see! look she looks good as new!” he gives you a side eye before giving the plush a kiss, moving off your lap. “yah! what am i getting the side eye for? i didn’t lay on her!” you sit up and watch as he squints, walking to the bathroom.

“yah! what the hell! felix!” you yell hearing his giggles from the other room. you get up to chase after him before helping him get comfy, spending the rest of the night, cuddled in bed watching his favorite show.

do not copy or repost

[sfehvn]

new religion

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Description: AU- Astarion is enamored by you, and while he fights it at first, he may have just found his new religion. A/N: Just a tad bit of sweet smut to be honest. This was my listen while I wrote if you were curious. Enjoy! xx Rating: M (18+ minors DNI) Word count: 2,069 Characters: soft!ascended!Astarion x fem!au!Tav

━─━────༺༻────━─━

  From the moment Astarion had seen you, he knew he had to have you. Walking through the animated city of Baldur’s Gate, your radiant smile was the first thing that had caught his eye. Flowing hair kissed your shoulders adorned with freshly plucked daisies. Your aroma was the most intoxicating scent that had graced his nose in all of his years. Your rose-tinted cheeks teased with the blood flowing beneath your flawless skin. Your eyes sparkled with wonder, reflecting the rays of the sun above. He had never been a believer in the love at first sight nonsense, yet there you were. If his undead heart could beat, he was sure it would be skipping against his ribcage. It was the only time the vampire had found himself utterly speechless. 

  For months, he watched from afar, finding excuses to go into town. Not that he had to excuse anything to anyone, but the newfound feelings were frightening, to say the least. Alas, day after day Astarion went out, whether for a drink or an unnecessary shop trip, and he would wait to get even the slightest glimpse at you. He was aware that this obsession was snowballing out of his hands as he fell harder and deeper. Hells, he had never even spoken to you. Yet he knew nearly everything there was to know. 

  He knew every other day you made your way to the apothecary to pick up medicines for your sick father, whom you cared for. He knew once every fifth day, you picnicked in the graveyard next to your mother’s grave. He knew your favorite color was yellow because it reminded you of the summers you spent with your mother before her untimely passing. You had six siblings: an older brother and five young sisters. 

  Astarion had also realized that you had a death wish, apparently. You were constantly staying out past sundown, running errands or helping neighbors. Did you even comprehend the dangers? He would often think to himself. Of course he had to follow you home to ensure you made it inside safely. You were becoming a liability to him, and quite frankly, he was terrified of how you made him feel. Just when he had decided to end this one-sided arrangement, there you were. Sat on the side of the road with tears pooling rivers down your cheeks, his body felt out of his control as he approached you.

  He stood in front of you, his words caught in his throat. You stared at him with those big doe-eyes, and his knees felt like jelly. “Are you alright?” He finally managed out. Gods, what am I doing? I should just sink my fangs into her and be done with it. It’s just bloodlust. This was something he had tried to convince himself of many times already- a lie.

  “Oh, yes.” Voice sweet and smooth, like the finest honey gold could buy. “Just this silly book.” You giggled, holding up the novel you had previously been engrossed in before Astarion had found you.

  “Right. Good.” He clears his throat in an attempt to regain his composure and still his spinning mind. “I’ll just be on my way then.” You nod, gifting that sweet smile to him. Astarion felt his legs would give out beneath him if he stayed longer, but he didn’t move an inch.

  The man intrigued you, ruby red eyes and skin pale as the snow that fell during winter. He was gorgeous. An aura of mystery surrounded him, and you were keen to discover those mysteries. “Say, you live in that big fancy manor?” You question, breaking the awkward silence that had befallen you two.

  “I do. Why?” Skepticism was palpable in his tone. 

  You disregarded his tone, and he believed it to be your naive nature. “You have the most exquisite daffodils blooming alongside your walls. I didn’t want to pick them without asking.” Your smile is sheepish, innocent. Astarion doesn’t speak, his face unreadable. “I-I enjoy putting bouquets together. I don’t mean to-” He already knew this, obviously.

  “They are yours.” Astarion can’t contain the smile that tugs the sides of his lips.

  As you two stroll to the location of said flowers, Astarion finds himself loosening up in your presence. He watches you intently, the way you move your hair from your face as you carefully pluck a few from the group. He urges you to take more.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother. These are plenty.” You assure. In response, he crouches down next to you to help pluck the remaining flowers.

   After walking you home, Astarion ordered flowers to be planted around the grounds. With the help of just a little magic, within weeks, roses, peonies, sunflowers, and carnations bloomed healthily. You would come with a fresh serving of food, a bouquet as thanks, and collect the flowers. As naive as you were, you could recognize what Astarion was doing. The daffodils were a one-off in that area, but now flowers surrounded the entirety of his property. The rate at which they grew, too; you were aware some effort went into getting them to blossom so hastily. At every mention of a new flower, the next time you came, they were miraculously in bloom.

  This compromise had been in full swing for months when you finally questioned him about it. Astarion was on his knees as he snipped red roses from the bush, insistent on doing it himself so you didn’t prick yourself on a thorn. “Why are you doing this?” You question, a wicker basket that was already overflowing held firmly in your hands. 

  “I told you, you’ve nabbed yourself on these blasted thorns one too many times.” His reply came without a look in your direction as he continued to snip the stems.

  “That’s not what I meant.” A soft chuckle emanates from behind closed lips. He looks up at you in realization, his hands coming to a halt. Your breath catches in your throat as he stares at you wordlessly, longingly. Standing slowly, he takes a step closer to you. He drops the roses into your basket before cupping your cheeks, closing the distance between your faces. The kiss is electric. You drop the basket to your feet, arms snaking around his neck while he presses your body tightly to his, clinging to you like a prayer. His lips were a colder temperature than you expected, but they were soft and hungry. 

  That’s how Astarion ended up with you in his bed. As he eagerly ripped the pale blue dress from your body, you took note of the bouquets around his bed chamber. Every single one you had gifted to him was on display and in perfect condition. Your heart flits in your chest, eyes closing in ecstasy as wet kisses trail up the inside of your thighs. A soft moan is elicited from you as his mouth reaches your warmth, his tongue flicking teasingly along your slit. Your fingers thread into his stark white hair, instinctually tugging with every contact against your clit. Colors explode behind your eyelids from the euphoric excitement.

  He pulled away briefly, with his starving mouth against your thigh, he spoke muffled words, “I don’t think you realize how long I’ve been waiting to hear that, darling.” Your breathing quickens as you look down at him between your thighs with hooded, lustful eyes. His mouth returns to your clit and he suckles lightly, two fingers dipping into your dripping center. The sensation brings your back into an arch, aching to feel him deeper inside of you.

  The swirling motion of his tongue brings you close to the edge, your legs shaking mercilessly. Astarion’s free hand moves between his torso and your legs, holding them steady as he continues his work on your body. Just as you are about to cum, he places a final kiss on your mound before his eyes meet yours. “You’re much naughtier than I thought.” He tsked, crooning his neck at you before moving up your body.

  Your lips meet passionately, his tongue slipping effortlessly into your mouth to meet your own. He creates a gap between you as one hand holds him up, quickly removing his trousers and undergarments with his other hand. He pressed his bulge down onto your warmth, hitting your sweet spot as he grinds against you. “Do you taste how lovely you are?” He murmurs, plunging his tongue further into your mouth. You can only let out a delighted moan in response.

  Once he breaks the kiss, you press your slippery core harder against his erection. “Please fuck me.” You whimper lustfully, “Please-” Your words are cut short by the sensation of him rubbing the head of his cock against your clit, causing a delicate moan to leave your throat.

  “Fuck. You’re soaked, my darling.” He coos. As much as Astarion wanted to continue to play with your body, he needed to be buried in you as quickly as he possibly could. He slides the head of his member from your clit, pushing slowly into your welcoming embrace. He savors every sensation as he enters you. There is a momentary flicker of pain on your face as you adjust to his size, and he falters for a moment.

  “Have you done this before?” He asks quietly, pressing his forehead to yours, avoiding your throat to save himself from temptation. He cursed himself inwardly for even asking; he shouldn’t care. This woman brought a side out of him he had never met before- a softer side. The scariest part is he actually, well, liked it.

  You wavered for a second before shaking your head, confirming that he was indeed the first man to have ever been in such a position with you. The thought makes him feel feral. Such a sweet flower trusting someone like him to take your virtue; he would never admit it to anyone, but honor and pride swelled in his chest. He nodded in acknowledgment, “We’ll go slow, pet.” He reassures, hips rocking delicately into yours as he fills you with as much of him as he can manage without causing you discomfort. He lays a gentle kiss on your forehead as your pain turns into pleasure, still-shaking legs wrapping to engulf his hips.

  “A-Astarion.” His name sounded like a hymn gracing his ears from your mouth, and he wanted to devour you right there and then. It took everything in him not to plow you into the bed. His hand rests on the bedframe as he finds a comfortable rhythm, eyes never leaving your face. He wanted to soak up every reaction to his touch.

  “You drive me crazy, pet.” He grunts as his pace quickens, gripping the mahogany wood tighter at the magnetic pleasure buzzing through his body. He uses his free hand to effortlessly move you further up into a slightly seated position as his thumb once again finds your clit to draw purposeful eights over it. 

  “I-I’m- Oh my gods-” The moan is loud, music to his ears as your walls tighten around his cock.

  “That’s right. Be a good girl and cum for me.” It’s a stern demand, all to mask just how close Astarion was himself. His words push you over the edge, your body clinging to his for support as the euphoria rushes over you. Every hair on your body standing on end, you throw your head back and scream Astarion’s name thrillfully. 

  With you coming undone, he allows himself to reach fruition, his seed filling you to the brim. His hand on the frame loosens, and his head hangs, face full of gratification. He looks down at you, pulling his now-soft member from you, a satisfied sigh leaving your lips as you stretch contently, much like a cat. Your eyes were droopy, a giddy smirk on your face as you fought to keep them open. Astarion chuckles, pressing another kiss to your lips. “You can sleep, my darling. I’ll wake you in a little.”

  Astarion swore he felt the tiniest tinge of warmth in his heart at the sight of you so comfortable cuddled into his side as you dozed off. This could be a welcome change. Maybe his undead life just needed his very own light, his own sun. All he knew was that he was done fighting it. One weakness couldn’t hurt.

[tarotwithdanise]

HOW YOU GONNA WIN THEIR HEART?

꒰⠀from left to right ; intuitively choose the pile your mind, heart and soul desire for. if you are having trouble choosing the right pile for you, here’s some tips you can do ; (1) take a deep breath (2) close your eyes (3) ask guidance from your guides (4) finally open your eyes and you can choose the right pile for you by the guidance you ask from your guides. if you are still having trouble by choosing the right pile for you let me know because i am willing to help and guide you.

send your donations here

PILE ONE

you're gonna win this person's heart by bringing your authentic self. you need to stay true about yourself, you don't need to change and let yourself show what you can serve on this person's table. honor yourself, feel yourself. show to this person that you intend to win their heart by letting your body sync with your thoughts and your deeds. let this selfless nature attract this person perhaps there are things that we tend to don't like about our personalities but then we can improve our characteristics right? and it sounds miserable when you are trying to be someone else you're actually not. this is someone that may not prefer playing mind games so they prefer someone who has a genuine intention and interest to them.

extra messages: jacket, yellow car, headphones, blue, 333, spiderman, asian, hair clamp, angel with a shotgun by the cab, 14, 02 , L and S,

PILE TWO

this person likes someone who has great humor. they want someone who can make them laugh in a way that they may be able to forget on how to breathe or the thing that their stomach hurts because of too much laughing. It's not that they don't like serious people but they have this motto "to live a life, you need to have fun and laugh". they prefer a long-term relationship with someone who doesn't bore them and a lot of fun and crazy things to do. they may want people to be perceive with their partner as nuts couple.

extra messages: a laugh that is like an old engine, 3 piercings, pearls, crazy, stupid, love (movie), this heart emoji "❣️" , 28, black crossbody bag, rainy days, bus station, pisces, taurus, aries, M, O, Y, T, and J.

PILE THREE,

make them feel heard and important. this person is not honestly looking for any good looking faces but they just genuinely wanted to feel like they belong. shows empathy and give validation about what they feel, they just want someone who is there for their long rants and actively listen in life that it can give upon them. it maybe because this person grew up in a household where their opinions and feelings are not valid. they are also someone who wanted to be seen.

extra messages: a box, hotdog, black dress, a park, a dump/secret account, 91919, G, I, U, C and D.

PILE FOUR

what a very mysterious energy from this person, they don't usually don't care about if someone else is trying to ruin them in terms of relationships. they are not looking for that a long time ago perhaps they may have this cold heart. otherwise, this person may come off as famous or kinda popular as i guess and they may prefer someone who doesn't care at them at all. also i get here that they may want someone who respect them as individual and as a partner, they maybe a serious person.

extra messages: infinity necklace, spiders, birds, a star, an anchor, a beach, a cute laugh, asia, france, 777, M, I, K, R, E and W.

[neonovember]

Hello! I hope you’ve been doing okay! I saw that you had requests open and I also saw that you take requests for Carmen? If it’s totally okay of course to request for him! I got into the bear a few days ago and my brain has been filled with nothing but thoughts of Carmy. Would it be okay just requesting something that’s just Carmen being worried/concerned about the reader? He just always sees whenever there’s that tiredness to them when it looks like it’s a bad day, that slump in their shoulders that all too much reminds him of him a little sometimes, just bringing them into the office and his eyebrows are furrowed with that look of concern and his eyes the same, maybe unexpectedly just wrapping them in a hug (Your writing is so cute btw!) 💕

to carry and to bear

ask, it will be my infinite quest to fulfill! love this request so much and i loved writing is even more. i'm going to be so annoying when s2 comes out, especially since i love carmen's character so much! thank you for your request anon &lt;3

carmen berzatto x reader

warnings: richie (yes he’s a warning), unresolved anxiety, horrible customers, fainting

word count: 5k (short for me lmao)

a/n: you know i love a character when i'm completing fics in under a day..lets pray this momentum keeps going

Wrapping yourself tight against the chilly wind of the unforgivable Chicago weather, you watch the city coming alive in the early morning as you walk down the concrete sidewalk of the Beef’s city corner.

Merchants and gazebo have begun to set up shop, their bright red vendor stands a stark contrast to the grey haze of the windy city. Corner stores and cafes have begun to uncover their blinds, dusting away the sliver of droplets that had long since evaporated after a heavy downpour the night before.

it’s slow though.

The mass of cars and yellow cabbed taxis haven’t yet filled the gravel roads, and the surging rush of traffic and uncontrollable road rage the beef windows have been accustomed to viewing hasn't filled the air.

The pinch of cold begins to itch against the cracks in your outerwear. Your trusted winter jacket and gloves had been left at the bottom of your laundry basket and instead you were forced to throw on a flimsy polyester jacket that provided absolutely no warmth. 

Your fingers are stuffed into your pocket, trying to hide them from the cold but it is no use. They shake against the freezing air of wind as you push past huddles of men chain smoking and passing coolers of steaming coffee on street corners.

You’re about to go ask for a cup, despite Carmen's disgruntled comments of their huddled group festering near the restaurant. They were a pack of wolves, and whilst Sydney's sandwiches had fended them off for a while, the hole in the Beef’s window was still fresh. Like a cycle, more and more had begun to trickle in from alleyways, leading to customers steering clear from the nearby streets. 

Carmen didn’t even like you walking to work this early, you get it, despite being daylight, Chicago had a way of defying social norms. You had paid some attention to the increase in robbing and attacks that had begun to frequent news reports.

It wouldn't have been a problem, walking was always voluntary for you as you had a perfectly fine working car that would drive you to and from your destination with as little as a rumble from its engine. And yet, that seemingly perfect car decided to break down on you this morning, leading to an overheated engine and a smoke filled hood.

So not only did you have to pay for a towing truck to drag away your car to an auto shop you couldn't afford to afford, but you were late. And you hated being late.

Not to mention your sister had called you late last night, asking to stay for a couple nights after her good for nothing boy-friend you would rather call a child had kicked her out after a fight.

She had rambled for nothing short of 2 hours after you had gotten home from the Beef late last night, and the pull of sleep had begun to weigh on you. The exhaustion and deprivation had written itself in the slug of your limbs and the slump of your shoulders.

You had to come in today, there were no rest days even if the Beef wasn't neck deep in debt and Cicero didn't have you all on a leash. Especially if you wouldn't allow yourself one. You had that in common with Carmen, you frequently ignored your own needs for your craft, the same insatiable passion and need for perfection driving you to exhaustion. 

The familiar chime of the Beefs wooden doors hit your ears, and you shake off the cold of the city streets, the Beef is warm and you're grateful, sighing as the heat of prepped ovens and oiled pans defrosts your face. 

It takes a second before you walk into the busy kitchen when the sound finally reaches you. The screeching sound of Richie's voice bickers with Tina about the next door convenient store being turned into a “pretentious hipster coffee shop that is legally selling dog water to unassuming Chicagoans”.

Dragging on and on about the invasion of gentrification that will soon take out all the good businesses that had been around since his grandfather had come from Sicily. Richie was not from Siciliy. In which Carmen mirrors your thoughts and yells that he is not Italian, and his obsession with the European country has been bordering on creepy.

Ebra is reciting an article about a culinary student that had gone rogue and murdered their entire class, giving pointers on how he himself had to patch up an entire unit of people stabbed by a bent corkscrew. The loud conversations and untethered yelling across the kitchen combines with the malfunctioning arcade that has begun to re-circuit the same sentence for 20 minutes now, digs a deep burrow into your temple.

You stand at the entrance of the kitchen, watching the commotion of early morning prep with a tight grimace, your head begins to vibrate a little, the start of a headache you won’t be relieved from spreading and you have to swallow down the exhaustion that begins to seep in at the sight. 

Sydney brushes past you, greeting you with a hello and one of her charming smiles before muttering about throwing that arcade machine out the back. You giggle and it hurts, but you do it anyway because, fuck, you would help her.

You step into the kitchen, and the crew each turn to greet you good morning as you walk past them into the locker bay stuffing your bag and shoes into the cabinet before quickly changing. 

Your phone reads 7am and you stuff it into the pocket of your hung jacket before slamming the locker shut. Carmen peeks his head around the corner, nodding at you as you put on your non-slip shoes, calling your name when you don't notice, you flinch before peering up and Carmen waves trying to get your attention.

“Mornin’ chef, didn’t think you were coming in” Carmen remarks, raising his eyebrows as he leans his shoulder against the wall. 

“Morning, yeah, sorry about that, uh- shit happened and I had to deal with it all at once. Won;t happen again” You reply, biting back a yawn, before letting your feet fall to the ground.

“It’s all good,” Carmen replies, nodding, wiping his hand on the white towel hanging on his shoulder that was already smudged with stains.

“Just shoot me a text or call next time, yeah?” Carmen replies 

“Will do chef” You reply, smiling, before peering out to see Sydney carrying a basket of  ingredients

“New recipe?” You ask, nodding towards Sydney, and Carmen nods, running a hand through his curls as he leans forward.

“Well call it trying something. Not yet finished, just needs some minor tweaks here and there” Carmen replies

“I can help Sydney out if you want?” You reply without a second thought.

You already had prep and a marinade you had to make for Cicero’s function he had conveniently told Carmen about the night before, but helping out was second nature to you, it was a part of this family's culture.

Carmen shakes his head, his eyes falling to your slumped shoulder, and the slow but tight blinks you tended to do when you were exhausted.

The second he had peered his head around the corner and saw the slug of your limbs he knew something was up, but he also knew he couldn't force you to relax, you were worse than him, always taking on so much, filling up your cup until it was overflowing.

“No, no, it’s alright, besides, that marinade isn’t going to be easy, I should be asking if you want me to help out” Carmen replies, chuckling, scratching his neck as you curve your mouth into that smile he loves so much. You could be half-dead and he still stares at you like you were the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen.

“I think I’ve got it handled. I remember having to make something similar back at Le Bleu, you just got to get the temperature right or the entire thing gets spoiled. Having more than one person just makes it more confusing. besides, don't you have that meeting with the vendor today?” You reply, and Carmen sighs, nodding

“Yep, hopefully this place looks stable enough to get him to sign, you know I can’t deal with corporate bullshit. Sydney should’ve met up with them, fuck any one other than me” Carmen replies, shaking his head as he fidgets with the hem of his apron.

Despite his numerous accolades, and world renowned talent, he only ever felt at nature in the kitchen. High function parties and elusive dinner bars were things he despised, feeling out of place despite it being thrown in his name.

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself, you're the face of this place Carmen, you’ve transformed it, you oughta show them the Beef is the best investment they’ll make. Hell you’re the best investment they can make” You reply, and Carmen ears perk at your reply, smiling fondly at your comment. He didn't deserve your praise, and he hated the way the sound of your lips curving around his name shoots through him.

“Are y'all going to get to work or continue eye fucking?” Richie calls, as he passes by the locker bay, and Carmen immediately shakes his head muttering a fuck you before nodding to you, and heading back to his station. You get up from your seated position on the bench, dusting and ironing out the creases in your apron before mentally going over the things you had to complete before opening.

Prep vegetables, then start the veal stock for Cicero's marinade. You had to complete it early, since it had to be chilled for at least 5 hours, any less and the fat would congeal and turn into a complete mess you didn’t have time to fix.

You walk towards your station, stepping over sauce that had spilled onto the tile floors, this crew was amazing in their craft, but god were they messy. You bump shoulders with Sydney as you begin to grate and cut root vegetables and herbs, you have to force your eyes open, blinking several times before dipping your hand into an ice water bucket and wiping your face with it.

Sydney converses with you, and it wasn't that she was boring, in fact you both frequently spend time even out of the restaurant as friends. But you can’t even try to decipher what she says, just sounds coming out of her mouth that you pack away in order to get your job done. 

Just cut the vegetables, finish the stock, cut the vegetables, finish the stock, you repeat it like a mantra in your head, unaware at Sydney calling your name. She reaches forward, pressing a soft hand to your shoulder to get your attention.

“Hey, did you hear me?” Sydney replies, concern written across her features as she peers at your disoriented state.

“Huh? Sorry, what did you say?” You reply, avoiding her gaze. You feel her penetrate through you, pitying the exhaustion on your face, probably realising you were a shit chef who couldn't even handle a couple responsibilities.

“I was asking if you could grab me some of the sauce I made yesterday from the storage fridge. You alright? You seem a bit..” Sydney starts, before you cut her off quickly

“Just had a long night, didn't get much sleep” You reply, rubbing your eyes with a hand. What has gotten into you? You weren't foreign to a few sleepless nights and a few too many deadlines you had to meet, hell your entire college and culinary life had been exactly that.

“That’ll kill you, you know” Richie butts in, reaching for a crab cake Sydney had prepared before being swatted away with a wooden spoon.

“What?” You ask, already regretting asking Richie to elaborate on what was clearly some elaborated story he had got stored away

“Go without that good old shut eye a few nights too long and you'll start hallucinating shit, not fucking with you you, don’t you know about the Russian sleep experiment-?” Richie rambles

“Ah here we go” Sydney replies, rolling her eyes 

“You think because you went to Paris or whatever prestigious tight ass school you know everything? It’s real, happened right after World War 2, Russians got a bunch of people and just made them not sleep for like months, they starting turning into fuckin' aliens and shit-” Richie continues, ignoring Sydney's sly remarks about Richie's facebook usage.

“Richie c’mon, you know that shits made up” You reply

“Don’t matter, didn’t I tell you about my week long bender during college? Starting seeing my great aunt from the corner of my eye, and I swear she is still there-” Richie replies before getting cut off my Carmen calling his name

“Stop distracting my chefs Cousin” 

You chuckle, shaking your head as Richie mutters about the fall of democracy and wipe your hands across your towel.

“I’ll go get your sauce Syd” You reply, and she smiles in gratitude as you turn towards the storage room. The cold air of the fridge wakes you up a little, and you rest your head against the door of the storage fridge, sighing in frustration. Talking to Richie was exhausting in itself, and when you were already running only fumes and second hand smoke you felt like it took the last bit of energy you had left.

You grab the container of sauce written with “DO NOT TOUCH” on its front, it's wrapped in cling film, with no lid and you're careful not to drop it everywhere. It wasn’t heavy, per se, just filled to the brim and without careful steps it was close to tipping out. You walk out of the storage room carefully, before turning towards your station.

“Corner!” You yell, twisting around the corner of the kitchen, before you slam straight into a tall body, jerking back and inadvertently spilling the sauce all across the kitchen floor and onto your shoes. You feel it sink into your socks and drip down your apron, eye twitching in frustration as Marcus starts apologising profusely, you ignore him, dropping down to your knees and reaching for paper towels. You start wiping away the sauce, as Marcus drops down to your level and tries to help, you shake our head looking up at him.

“Stop, Marcus, just stop. I can do it” You reply

“But-” Marcus protests

“We don't need two chefs to clean up a one person job, alright? You need to finish prep” You reply, letting the towels soak up the sauce. You grieve for Sydney, not all of it had spilt, but a quarter of a container wasn’t enough to get through the morning rush, let alone the entire day.

You ignore the spilt sauce all over your clothes, you didn’t have time to change now, rushing back to your station before telling Sydney about the spill

“You serious? I thought I could leave early today, got a friend's birthday” Sydney replies, pinching the bridge of her nose.

You instantly feel guilty, you should've been more careful, and now Sydney would have to pay for it.

“Hey, I got it, let me take that new recipe off your plate. That gives you enough time to get to the party?” You reply

Sydney looks up, rising her eyebrows “No, no I couldn’t possibly ask you to” 

“Nonsense, I owe you anyway, remember when I had to leave halfway through the morning to get my sister?” You reply, with a tired smile before Sydney wraps her arms around you, you rub a hand across her back. You can’t really feel her arms around you, it’s like all your senses are delayed, you ignore it as you get back to work, now with another task on your plate.

You finish chopping the vegetables after a short while, usually you were the fastest in the house, but today you lagged behind, finally carrying the vegetables to Carmen who looked at you strange, his eyes staring through you, he swallowed like he was going to say something as you walked away, before stopping and continuing stirring the stock on the stove

By the time the Beef opens, you're still elbow deep in work, you've stayed silent most of the time, waving off Marcus’s apology and instead working, not stopping since you started. You skipped breakfast, and you hadn't gotten a chance to eat, and just when you're about to make yourself something, Richie calls your name from the front counter.

You walk towards the front of the Beef, wiping stains on your apron to look a little presentable to the outside world. Richie stands at the register, flicking a pen in his hand, a look of annoyance on his face.

“What's up?” You ask Richie, as a tall man dressed down in a polo sweater and khakis stares down at you in anger. He’s familiar, someone you had served when Richie had to take his smoke break, and he scrutinises you as you smile at him.

That’s the only way you could communicate with these people, any hint of anger and you’d be written of as angry and unable to control your emotions, you lost your last job because you defended yourself anyway.

“This guy said he came in and you made him something he apparently didn't like, but finished anyway” Richie replies, a knowing look passes between you both and you sigh, you don't have time for this. 

“Morning Sir, May I ask what’s the problem” You ask politely

“You suggested to me a dish from the menu, alright, YOU, not me, so don't go blaming me for this, and look what I got, not only does it have nuts, which i hate, it's spicy. Way too spicy, I want a refund, NOW” The man replies, seething, his yelling catches the attention of other patrons, and Richie begins to reach under the table for a bat.

“Well, you finished it all so I don’t know what you-” You begin before the man cuts you off loudly

“Do you think I give a shift what you think? Huh? Jesus fucking Christ, see you just need to do what I fucking say, not argue. Give me a refund before I get you fired from this shit hole you dumb stupid-” The man yells, loudly before Carmen's booming voice cuts him off

“I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you” Carmen replies, clenching his jaw in way that told you he was trying to hold back the rage from spilling out

“Who the fuck are you?” The man asks

“I own this shit hole you piece of shit, and if you don't get the fuck out of my restaurant I'm going to break every single bone in your face with my bare hands". 

“Excuse me?”

Carmen laughs, shaking his head before smiling at the man

“I told you”

Carmen drags the man by his collar, throwing him onto the sidewalk and dragging his body to the alleyway, you fear what he is going to do and Richie raises his eyebrows in astonishment.

“Well shit cousin, you ain't a pussy after all” Richie mutters under his breath

You can faintly hear the sound of splitting skin and the crack of bone, before Carmen storms back into the restaurant, eyeing all the patrons who are following his every move.

“Y'all got that? Anyone mess with my people hear and your walk out on a fucking stretcher” Carmen replies still seething with anger, before Richie claps loudly as Carmen walks back behind the desk.

“Call a fucking ambulance” Carmen replies, rolling his eyes at Richie before he walks towards you, the the tension immediately leaving him as he find your safe and away from that man.

“You alright? He didn't hurt you or anything?” Carmen asks in concern, his eyes darting across your body to see any imagined injuries

“It seems you should be asking him that question” You reply, nudging towards the alley of the Bear, chuckling as you shake your head.

“You didn't have to do that you know, iIcould have-” You start

Carmen looks down at you in concern, shaking his head as he places his hand on you shoulder

“Could've what? He was screaming in your face and I wasn't about to let him think that shit was okay, god, how could you not react?” Carmen replies, looking down at you in concern, shaking his head as he places a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m just so busy, I still- Fuck, i still got to get Cicero's marinade in the fridge, and i need to start on Syd’s broth” You mutter pressing your fingertips to your temples.

“What? You’re doing Sydney’s load as well? Hey, you need to sit down a second” Carmen replies, as you begin to walk back towards the kitchen, with Carmen hot on your heels, asking you to stop and turn to him.

You hear him call your name, but the mountain of tasks that were now even later due to that customer had begun to seize your consciousness.

All you could focus on was the dishes you needed to make and the pain in your temples that had begun to spread down, your vision getting fuzzy around the edges as you try and shake yourself awake.

“Dammit, listen to me! Stop cutting fucking vegetables and listen to me” Carmen yells at you for the first time, twisting your body to face him and you spit out in anger

“What?!” 

“What’s gotten into you today?” Carmen replies, yelling

And you don't know why, but that question breaks something in you, and you can't help but let out a short chuckle. Carmen looks down at you in horror, trying to reach for you, to catch you when the inevitable happens and you look at him once before it does.

Before your vision begins to blur and the edges begin to burn like a flame, you try and catch yourself, but it’s too late and you fall into Carmen's arms, wrapped up against his chest as you crash.

Carmen gathers you in his arms, his heart breaking beneath his breasts, holding his sweet girl in his arms as the streams of tears dampen his shirt. The rest of the crew watch on in concern, and Carmen shoes them away as he carries your unconscious body to the office.

“What the fuck Cousin?” Richie calls

“Hey, hey, is she alright? What -what happened?” Sydney replies in horror as she watches Carmen carry you from the kitchen. 

“What happened was, ya'll did fuck all when she was practically breaking down trying to finish everyone else's fucking mess. What happened? Are you fucking serious? If i wasn't there, she would’ve fainted into a burning skillet of your fucking vegetables Sydney” Carmen replies, shaking his head, the entire crew goes silent, the only sounds coming from the beeps of ovens and stove tops, and the sizzling of burning food.

Carmen goes quiet, as he assesses your state, there is something unwritten in the way he holds you, and he blinks tight, his face twitching a little as if he had to make sure you were in his arms, the only place he wanted you to be.

“Get back to work” Carmen replies, quietly, a stark contrast to his rage from before, the crew has never seen him like this, his eyes and focus on you, as if he has been seized by this responsibility and dying need to protect you. He can hardly breathe, his arms shaking as he stares down at your sullen and tired face.

“We need-” Marcus starts before Carmen shakes his head

“No, no, enough. Sydney will hold down the fort, this is my responsibility. Get. back to work.” Carmen replies

—-

Carmen wastes no time to gently place your body onto the scuffed office couch, pressing a hand to your head, before reaching for an ice cold container of water, dipping a towel into it before gently pressing it to your forehead.

Carmen shakes his head in anger, he should've seen this coming, he should've noticed from the slump of your shoulder and your one word answers that you were stretching yourself too thin.

Carmen tortures himself as he replays the moments before you fainted into his arms. The way your features twisted into a sob, and the lasts shred of resolve snapped, and you had reached for him, you had reached for him.

You had reached for Carmen when you fell, and something in him broke when he had caught you.

Carmen had been used to his own self-destruction, but as he rested his thumb, rubbing circles and wiping away the tears on your face, he wished himself to change, not just for him, but for you. How could he? How could you be such a poor example to you? This was his own fault, and the reality of that conclusion twists like a knife to his gut.

His sweet girl, his Sunshine, who had thought the needs of this goddamn sandwich shop was more important than her own. You begin to stir in his arms, and the tension and shake of his arms begins to release as you wake up, Carmen eases you into consciousness when you begin to panic.

“Hey hey, I’m right here, you're okay, you're okay” Carmen replies softly, and you squeeze your eyes tightly, trying to understand what had happened and why you felt like your body was filled with lead.

"What, what happened” You reply, looking across the location of the office.

“You fainted, and I carried you to the office because you are not going back into that kitchen” Carmen replies, sitting up from his slumped position.

You stay quiet,  confusion lacing your features as you shake your head. You fainted? How did that even happen? You had never fainted in your entire life.

Carmen peers at you, his eyes dancing across your face as your silence frightens him, he wouldn't even recognise you, your usual bubbly, and incredibly chirpy self was not replaced by someone who was so exhausted they couldn’t stay conscious.

“You gotta talk to me baby girl, please, look at me, you can tell me, you can tell me anything” Carmen replies, softly, caressing your hand with his thumb when it begins to shake.

You look up at him, his expression of worry and concern causing your features to twist,

“I um, I’m just a little tired” You reply, the beginning of tears choking you, causing your words to rush out as  you try to stop yourself but it is fruitless, and Carmen eyebrows kind of pinch, he kind of frowns a little as he looks at you in that way.

It's all it takes before you sob, and sink into the coach. Carmen gathers you once again in his arms, and scoops your legs so that they lay across his thighs, and your head rests against his collarbone.

“I know baby, I know, I’m sorry, Oh honey I am so sorry” Carmen replies, rubbing your back as you let the last of your resolve sink into his chest, the cry of your tears leaving you speechless.

You can’t stop crying, the cup spilling over and making a big whole mess, snot and tears and heartache and exhaustion dirties Carmen's chef whites and you can't help but grip onto him like he is the only thing tethering you to Earth.

You don’t have to tell Carmen then, he knew the second you walked in, and he knows now when you hold him. There's a certain grief Carmen feels when he looks at you and sees himself, and in a way this is for Carmen too.

You sit like this for a while, you and Carmen. Wrapped in his arms as you lay across his lap, long after the tears had run dry, where you are left with hiccups and the soothing touch of Carmen's hand across your back.

It feels like you two are the only people on earth. Everything is Carmen; its all you smell, all you feel against your skin, all you hear as he whispers into you ear. No one dares to step into the office doors, even when an hour ticks by, even when the trickle of customers turns into a downpour and the orders never end, the family knows that you need this, that your health was better than money, or happy customers and fuck all.

Even after you have cried your eyes out, the responsibility of work begins to weigh on your body, you still had so much to do with so little time

“But the marinade, and- and Sydney's” You begin before Carmen cuts you off with a soft squeeze.

“Richie’ll handle it, and if he doesn't Cicero can go fuck himself. You really think I’m going to let that override you right now? Just forget about the kitchen alright, can you do that for me, pretty girl?” Carmen replies

You nod, the burden that had exhausted you to sickness lifted from your shoulders. You look towards the clock and realise the vendors were coming soon to meet with Carmen, something he couldn’t miss.

“The vendors, aren't they-”

“They came in 3 hours early, it's why it took me so long to get to you when that asshole was throwing a fit” Carmen replies, knowing what you were asking for.

You peek at him in question “Well?”

“They signed.” Carmen replies, rolling eyes and smiling at your delighted squeal

“What did I tell you? Carmen Berzatto is more than-” You start before a yawn stretches through you.

“Alright, alright, enough talking from you. When’s the last time you ate?” Carmen asks

You stop and scratch your head, trying to think and you laugh a little when you can’t remember.

“I don't know” You reply

Carmen’s eye twitches, and he smiles down at you before easing you off his thighs and onto the coach. 

“What- what are you doing?” You ask, not even trying to hide the sadness in your voice. You already miss the heat of his chest warm against your cheek.

Carmen smiles softly as he looks down at you, threaded a hand through his head as he wipes down the creases on his apron.

“I’m making you something”

“What? No it’s- it’s okay I’ll eat at family” You reply, reaching a hand out to him

Carmen reaches for your palm, pressing a soft kiss on your the skin of your knuckles before reaching down to kiss the top of your head.

“No you need to eat now, alright? You're going to sleep the rest of the day, and then, and then, you're coming back to my place so I can keep an eye on you. You gonna listen to me or protest?” Carmen replies, eyebrow raised as he crosses his arms. His voice drops down an octane, like it was a command, and you have to bite back the desire floating in your stomach at the way he looks down with his eyes all heavy from above. 

“Okay, alright, whatever you say Chef” You reply with a smile, and Carmen sinks his teeth into his bottom lip when you say it like that.

“Just wait a sec” Carmen replies, and as he is about to leave you call for him again

“What are you even making, half the ingredients are gone” 

“It’s no problem, it’s your recipe anyway” Carmen replies, with a hint of a smile on his face before he leaves the room. It takes you a while, half because you're exhausted and the other half because you're hungry before the realisation hits you that he's made a recipe for you, about you. 

You can't help the smile that stretches across your face, goddamnit Carmen Berzatto, and you say you aren't a romantic.

[byuntrash101]

booksmart

f!reader x switch!mingi smut | mdni 3.1k maybe mingi didn’t make the smartest choice picking a stem major? because the classes proves themselves to be rather difficult especially when mingi as to learn about the female anatomy without having any “field knowledge” on the subject. but as his tutor it’s your duty to help him study, by all means necessary. nsfw tags under the cut

loser virgin!mingi with the glasses (i love him so much it hurts), also switch sub leaning!mingi, tutor!reader, use of anatomical terms (reader takes her tutoring job v srly) + clueless mingi (he's cute), exhibitionism/voyeurism, masturbation (f), oral (f), mingi gets pussy drunk fassstttt, pet names (baby, good boy, babyboy), squirting, cum eating, cumming untouched

a/n: wrote this in a fever dream as i was crawling out of writer's block. i kinda love it did you know i loved mingi? yeah i do. he's cute and im weak for him. enjoy this &lt;3

ateez masterlist | navigation

Why? Oh why did Mingi have to choose a STEM major? Why didn’t he go towards something that was a little easier or, failing that, at least a little more fun! Like music! He liked music. Why didn’t he go to a more artistic major? He could be learning about different types of harmonies or the life stories of his favorite composers or even the advent of the greatest musical genres. But no, instead he was stuck here in his small student flat, pulling his hair out trying to cram his brain with the reproductive system. Hunched over the thick and worn out second hand textbook.

“I can’t” he said, calling it quits, whipping his big glasses off his nose and throwing his hands in the air in a rather dramatic manner. Which made you chuckle.

Of all your tutees Mingi was easily your favourite. Sure he was one of the most difficult ones because studying didn’t come naturally to him but still he was very endearing. There was something in the way he looked at you with round eyes when he was confused or how his lips curled on his teeth and made an asymmetrical smile when got the right answer. Mingi was just cute without even trying, despite his towering height, his low gravelly voice and his eyes that turned sharp (maybe even cold) when he was focussing. He was just cute. He may look cold but as soon as you get to know him he turns out to be an endearing goofball.

He might even be the sole reason you kept on tutoring this year even with your thesis coming close to the deadline, the research for internships and the immense amount of reading your professors required.

“Yes, you can!” you said pointing at the schema on the yellowed page.

“No I can’t! I’m not book smart!” Mingi said again, this time a little more whiny. “How can I memorize that when I've never even seen this…” he gestured to the anatomical sketch of the female reproductive system. “In real life.” He exhaled, seemingly not conscious of what he had just admitted, taking his head in his big hands.

Your head was spinning with the unprompted confession. And you both sat there in silence for a couple of seconds. Mingi in oblivious desperation and you in speechless astonishment. 

But an idea sprouted in your mind. If this lack of practical experience was the reason behind Mingi’s memory troubles, you reckon nature gifted you with everything that was presented in this textbook. Maybe empirical science would help in this case. The least you could do was try, that was only your duty as a tutor. 

Mingi was startled when he felt you lift from under his bent elbows and close the heavy textbook, making him look up through his fingers. You sighed deeply before continuing softly.

“Mingi,” you started, a kind of heaviness about the voice Mingi never heard before, the contrast with your normal “patient teacher" tone made him finally realize what he had said to you in a fleeting moment of desperate academic honesty. 

Mingi started to stammer, his heart rate skyrocketing, his eyes darting to every corner of the room trying to come up with an excuse to why he still was a virgin loser or better yet a quick lie that would make him appear like a totally cool guy that definitely pulled girls, yes, multiple girls. But nothing came to mind and he was completely silenced when you laid your hand over his thick thigh. 

“Mingi…Do you want me to show you?” you said, barely above a whisper, you felt his thigh tense under your touch as Mingi looked back at you, mouth agape like a fish out of the water and round clueless eyes. So you cleared your throat and talked in a more assured tone. “If it can help you study, I'm willing to show you mine” you said in one breath.

Mingi was no longer agitated. He wasn’t wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans or stammering or looking everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Now, his eyes were locked with yours, and he was an immovable statue. But it was only because he was absolutely dumbfounded. He was stunned into silence, his thoughts weren’t coming through, they were completely silenced by your voice, this weird combination of words that made the sentence you just spoke infinitely reverberate in his blank mind until he faintly nodded, unable to form a coherent train of thought anymore.

You nodded and smiled softly at him. Mingi didn’t even return the smile he kept on staring in disbelief. Even when you got up and pulled your chair from under his desk and turned it so you would perfectly face him and even when your hands slipped under your pleated skirt and pulled down your underwear. You glanced over at him when you tossed to the side the crumpled up piece of white lace and you smirked when you saw him finally close his mouth to thickly swallow as his eyes zeroed in on the undergarment discarded on his bedroom floor.

Before his eyes snapped back to you when you seated yourself on this chair, your hips scooted to the front and your back comfortably leaned on the office chairback. His eyes followed your every move as you placed one foot on the edge of the desk and the other leg bent and hanging in the air. You took a deep breath before lifting your skirt.

Mingi thought he was going to pass out as he fumbled to put his glasses back on, not even trying to put them on straight on his nose. His face was burning hot and his heart was absolutely hammering against his ribs, and rattling in his ears. He felt the frantic muscle doped with adrenaline pumping blood not only to his brain, making him lightheaded but also to his groin. 

Mingi had never laid eyes on anything more beautiful ever. You were so perfect he couldn’t describe it but he didn't want to look anywhere else ever again he wanted to keep on staring you right between the legs until he eventually died from thirst, hunger or sleep deprivation. He wanted to keep looking forever and ever.

You cleared your throat once again and ignored both the tingle in your lower stomach as you felt Mingi’s scrutinizing gaze on your most private part and the tent he was visibly pitching his jeans by now.

“See here is the labia majora” you started, making your voice as steady as possible. You looked up at him but it seemed like you were speaking to a brick wall, Mingi was entranced and wasn’t listening to a single word you were saying.

“Mingi!” you called his name firmly and his eyes snapped to yours. “Focus!” you scolded him.

“Yeah… s-sorry” he apologized sheepishly, his cheeks and ears going to an even deeper shade of pink.

“As I was saying, this is the labia majora and here is the labia minora.” you said as neutrally as possible trying to overlook the need that was bubbling in the pit of your stomach the more Mingi looked at you.

“M-majora and minora” Mingi repeated as diligently as possible.

“Good! Let’s take a closer look” you said before spreading your lips with both hands, offering Mingi a breathtaking view on your entrance. 

Mingi had to repress a gasp. He felt himself twitch as he saw your pink hole being spread open, he could quite literally see inside you. And as you did so some translucent liquid oozed out of you. He was pretty sure that wasn’t part of the anatomical drawing that was in his textbook. He never saw that even in the porns he had watched. All he knew was that the sight made his cock jump inside his tight pants and he bit his lip to keep a low groan behind his teeth as his pants were rubbing on his sensitive cockhead.

“And here-”

“Ex-excuse me” Mingi interrupted you hesitantly, “what is this liquid?”

Fuck.

You did your best to overlook the excitement and arousal that came along with the exercise and the way Mingi was eyeing you down, devouring you with each look and trying so hard to keep his hands at his sides. But your body eventually betrayed you. 

“That’s a lubricating fluid that is secreted by the Skene glands to facilitate coitus,” you said as steadily as possible. “That happens when a woman is aroused.”

Those words hit Mingi like a truck launched at full speed on the highway. You were aroused? Like right now? You were enjoying showing yourself like this to him? You liked having him look at you? He was feeling dizzy. He couldn’t imagine you (even if he was in fact witnessing it with his very eyes) getting hot and bothered because of him. That was all a dream. It had to be.

“Aroused?” Mingi repeated, more to himself than anything as he fixed his askew glasses pushing them up the bridge of his nose absentmindedly.

“There are other signs too” 

Mingi’s ears perked up. 

“Other signs?” He swallowed thickly. “C-can you show me? P-please” The last word was soaked with desperation and dripping with such despair, he sounded like a parched man begging for the sip of water that was going to save his life and when his eyes met yours you realized he was also looking the part.

“O-okay” you said, failing to maintain the self assured tone.

“When a woman is aroused more blood is pumped to her private area which causes swelling and changes in color.” you said drawing a sharp gasp as your fingers dipped to your entrance to spread your wetness over your folds. “See, right now” you pulled on the skin of your pubic bone, pulling on the hood of your clit, uncovering the swollen bud. “My clitoris is swollen”

“Fuck” Mingi let the whispered curse slither thought his teeth as he looked at the swollen bundle of nerves being revealed to his very eyes. At this point he felt like his cock was going to rip through his jeans but still he behaved accordingly and refused to acknowledge the poor member's pleas for attention.

“I have a question.”

“Y-yes” you breathed out, spreading more arousal on your touched starved pussy.

“Is it true that girls get the most pleasure from their clit?” he stated in one surprisingly coherent sentence. 

“Yes” you replied simply, your breathing becoming uneven. 

“Can you show me that too?”

Mingi was ready to risk it all. At this point he wasn’t thinking about tomorrow anymore. To be exact he wasn’t thinking at all anymore. He only knew he liked looking at you. He wanted to keep looking. He wanted to see it all.

“Okay” you started. “I’ll show you how I make myself feel good”. Mingi thought he was going to explode, spontaneously combust in front of you as he heard those words coming from your mouth. 

You started to draw small and slow circles on your swollen clit and Mingi could tell the enigmatic little nub loved the attention because you elicited a moan that hit him right in the chest. A sound he will never forget. Nothing like the pornographic high pitched screeches he was used to. This one was lower, more sultry and slower. Like the sound caught in your throat but eventually made it out into the world against your will. And you bit your lip right after, your eyes growing heavier, hazier. You looked so beautiful.

He looked at you rubbing your pretty pussy and drawing out all these beautiful sounds out of yourself, more slick gushing out of you as your pretty pussy pulsed and tensed. He was mesmerized, completely entranced by you 

“Does it feel good?” he asked as his eyes went back up to your pretty face being contorted by intense pleasure. 

“Yes, it does. I like when you look at me” you confessed looking up at him with hooded eyes.

“Fuckkk” he sighed, his weeping cock twitching between his heavy thighs. “I like looking at you.”

You moaned again and picked up the pace, dipping to your entrance again to gather more wetness and dragging it up to your throbbing clit. The patterns you were drawing on your pussy were quicker and tighter, making you moan louder.

The squelching wet sounds erupting from the act made Mingi dizzy. How bad did he want to bend down and taste you, how bad did he want to get his tongue on your cunt, feel you throb under him as he lapped at you clit. He wanted to see you cum. He wanted to make you cum.

But he didn’t dare to touch you when you hadn’t asked. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable so he stuck to the script. He didn’t even succumb to the desire to take his own cock out to stroke it as he looked at you and to be completely honest he was scared to be distracted from the breathtaking show. Even for a single second he didn’t want to take his eyes off you.

“See how my pussy… mnph… is clenching?” you struggled to say, short of breath, your hand not slowing down. Mingi nodded quickly, his eyes darting from your cunt to your face back to your pussy. “That means I’m close to climax” Mingi’s eyes grew twice their size as he nodded again, expectantly. 

“When a woman orgasms… oh f-fuck… the vagina spasms” you said, inching dangerously close to your release. “if you want you can put a finger inside and feel it”

Mingi was not about to turn down such a generous proposition and nodded hastily. He hesitantly approached his hand, he didn’t really know what to do though so you took his wrist and guided his index through your fold, coating it in your juices and jolting at the contact before pushing his digit inside your tight heat with a low moan, it was just a finger but the stretch made it that much more pleasurable and you went back to rubbing your clit.

“Fuck… yess” you breathed. “Don’t move it”

Mingi couldn’t believe how warm and wet and tight you were, your pussy was lightly clenching around his finger everytime your fingers circled your clit.

“Do you feel it?” you asked, a little squeaky. Mingi nodded again.

“Yes. Y-you’re throbbing” he said peering at you over his large glasses you smiled.

“Yes it’s cause I’m very close” you kept on teasing your bundle of nerves. “Some women squirt when they orgasm” you started.

“Can you do that?” Mingi asked hurriedly, his eyebrows arching on his forehead, curious eyes close to bulge out.

“Y-yes.”

“Fuckkk… Can I please drink it?” Mingi blurted. “Please I wanna taste it so bad” He couldn’t stop the question that burned his tongue. He had been curious about that ever since he first saw it in a porn video and to see you do that. He couldn’t let his chance pass.

Seeing him like this, begging you to have a taste of you almost had you crossing the line but you held on.

“Yes, come closer” Mingi threw himself on his knees without thinking twice. “Open your mouth baby” Mingi bent over you, opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out, his dick twitching again at the novel term of endearment. You entangled your fingers in his soft locks of hair and pushed on his face until his lips were pressed against your folds, making him moan against your cunt, his finger still stuck inside your heat.

“Such a good boy. So eager to learn” you praised and Mingi started to instinctively buck his hips against nothing, the wet patch in his boxers growing larger with each pathetic and useless thrust.

“Fuck” he said, finally getting some of your juices in his mouth as your fingers rubbed your clit and occasionally brushed on his tongue. “Tho kood” he said, keeping his tongue out of his mouth, patiently waiting. 

“Fuck keep looking at me touching myself for you babyboy” you grunted, pulling on Mingi's soft hair. The dull pain made him whimper against your soaked little cunt, urging him to rutt his hips faster.

“Fuck I'm gonna… fuckkkk… m’cumming” you said, finally slipping over the edge as a powerful stream of translucent liquid spurted out of you making Mingi instantly wrap his lips around your folds and drink as much of it as he could as he continued to pathetically hump the air. The wave of intense pleasure radiated your whole body making you shake and moan under Mingi’s hungry lips, your cunt taking a vice grip onto Mingi’s finger. You continued to circle your clit until the pleasure wore off and you finally came down from your high, out of breath but utterly satisfied. 

When Mingi emerged from between your thighs he was disheveled, dazed. His face was a mess: his lips were swollen and his glasses were crooked and spotted with droplets of your release. He was completely dazzled but he looked content.

“Are you okay?” you asked hesitantly, closing your legs and flipping your skirt back, sitting back up straight.

“I came in my pants” Mingi declared, looking down at the dark blue wet patch on his jeans. “You looked so hot, you tasted so good… I- I-...and you called me a good boy… And I- lost it. I’m sorry I-” Mingi stammered again and you chuckled. You weren’t wrong about him. Mingi was definitely very cute.

“I hope you learned a lot today” you said, smiling warmly at him, and Mingi felt like his heart was going to fall out of his chest. How can you look so heavenly, so undoubtedly innocent when two seconds ago you were pulling his hair, shoving his face in your wet pussy and making his virgin ass cum without even touching him?

“Yes. I learned a lot. More than I ever hoped for”

“Maybe next time we can practice what you learned today. Okay?” you smiled again, but there was a mischievous glint in your innocent doe eyes.

“You mean we-” Mingi started but you cut him by jumping onto your feet, grabbing your purse and heading to the door of his room. On your way you bent down and picked up the white lace panties before throwing them at Mingi.

“That's a little gift for you” He caught the undergarment and looked up at you through his wet lenses just as confused as ever. Classic Mingi. “Use it as study material okay?” He nodded again, without saying a word and you headed out the door.

“Class dismissed”

a/n: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. MINGIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII. thats it.

ateez masterlist | navigation