#oops that was supposed to go in the queue and not get posted immediately
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it's sad xiyao hours again in this chilis tonight
#mdzs shitposting#cql#the untamed#xiyao#they are just so#/clenches fist#normalâ˘ď¸ about each other#moling queue#oops that was supposed to go in the queue and not get posted immediately#oh well!! surprise!!#jin guangyao#lan xichen
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Mammon waking you up by going down on you (with prev consent ofc) or you waking Mammon up with a BJ >_<
Nsfw!
Honestly thought this posted already- cuz it was supposed to be in queue for Mams birthday jsksjsk
I feel like that would happen all the time after you start dating Mammon! I mean he just canât get enough of you and it is a rather nice way to wake up~
And really some mornings he gets so needy and you look so sweet laying there next to him that he just canât keep his hands or lips off of you.
At first Mammon was just planning to kiss you, a few kisses down your neck and chest wouldnât hurt right?- then he starts going lower, moving your clothes out of the way so he can keep kissing your skin, down across your chest and tummy and somehow he ends up between your legs⌠oops~
You wake up slowly, your mind groggy with sleep and pleasure as your eyes open and all you can see of your boyfriend is a lump under the covers. But as soon as you wake up and start grinding your hips to meet his face a little harder Mammon grabs your hips to pin you back down. At the same time he lifts his head to look up at you, which makes the covers fall back a bit so you can see his face, (his hair is an absolute mess too but thatâs not super important :D) a crooked little smirk on Mammonâs face as he sits up enough to press a few more soft and wet kiss across your tummy. Mumbling out âMorninâ darlinâ.â against your skin before he goes right back to what he was doing- making you cum on his face-
He thinks its cute how you try to prop yourself up a bit on your elbows to look down at him and enjoy the show, chuckling to himself as he sucks on your clit just right, that it has your head rolling back and you have to plop right back down onto the pillows because it felt that good. Â After all he knows all your sweet spots.
Neither of you talk much but Mammon would praise you for being so good and cumminâ for him, ya should let him take care of ya more often~
Sooo of course itâs only right that you ârepay himâ wake him up head the next morning. Â
Again not hard Mammon almost always has âmorning woodâ when you sleep in the same bed.
While youâre under the covers tease his tip a bit -trust me- before taking his cock all the way into your mouth.
As soon as you start Mammonâs awake and you can hear all his breathlessly, little moans of âYea~â and âOh fuck, yes darlinâ, just like thatâ Iâm telling you he canât keep his mouth shut- âS-shit- Donât stop fuck.â and even more, âPlease- Yea, like that, faster.â
There is a special something -not quite tenderness but thatâs the closest word you can think of- to Mammon in these moments. Even as you have his cock in your mouth, even as he groans under his breath and his legs tense. Even as he grabs a handful of your hair and gently pushes you down a little bit to see if you can take him even further down your throat, heâs not trying to be mean but he loves it when you gag on him. Making him moan even louder âShit- So fuckinâ g-good treasure.â as he cums down your throat.
Maybe itâs the way he smooths over your hair as you swallow his cum. Or maybe itâs the way he starts to pull you up to lay your head on his chest and wraps his arms around you as tightly as he can immediately after. Itâs all done with care, as if youâre the most precious thing in his room. And of course to him you are.
(Although if you wanna tease Mammon a little more instead- sit up before he can pull you up and let the covers pool around you as you make a show of licking the last few drops of his cum off your lips ;))
#sorry about the wait nonnie!!!#might be the only thing I post tonight#and itâs only getting posted cuz itâs a done draft ���n ya girl needs some sleeeeep (while I can get it jsksjsk)#mwah <3#as always plz ignore any typos or mistakes (I think I fixed them! but Iâll check again in the morning.)#1 am thots~#obey me!#obey me smut#obey me x reader#obey me mammon#obey me mammon smut#obey me mammon x reader#obey me#smut#x reader#mammon x reader#mammon smut
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đ Drunk in Love (last thing I remember) by @lovehoperomance Heâs stumbling to the left of the street, hopeful that itâs in the direction of his flat, when he sees it. A food truck. Lit up in gold. It's as if God has taken a giant highlighter and drawn a halo around it. Okay, so it might be the streetlight shining down on it and the yellow light emanating from within...but Louis will still claim godly intervention if anyone asks.
He weaves across the pavement, shivering in what he now realises is a very brisk London evening, coated in fog.
âHello. Hi.â Louis steps in front of the entire line, waving an aimless hand at the man in the truck who looks completely bewildered by Louisâ antics. The man is littered in tattoos and wearing a green headscarf that matches the sea foam of his eyes. âDo you have any fried chicken? Or a drink? Oh, oh, do you have chips? Oh please tell me you have chips?â
The manâs face, which Louis faintly registers is quite angular, shifts from bewilderment into a stunning, slightly crooked smile.
Or, the one where Louis wakes up, naked, in a stranger's bed and has no idea how he got there. Maybe it's foul play. Maybe it's just the kindness of a handsome stranger amused by his drunken antics. đš Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy by @chloehl10 Harry whimpered as Louis pushed himself up onto his tiptoes, grazing his ear lobe with his lips. His breath tickled Harryâs ears, and Harry swallowed, already anticipating what Louis was about to say.
âIâd like to ride you, cowboyâŚâ
Or, Harry's a barman at Flaming Saddles, a country and western themed gay bar.
Louisâ a customer whoâd like to see if the tall barman is as good on the ropes as everyone says he is...
đ And Thatâs The Tea by @2tiedships2â Iâd like an Earl Grey with milk and sugar, please.
Louis had the phrase memorized, even though it had disappeared off its place on his upper arm over thirteen years ago now.
At fourteen he didnât understand. Soulmarks donât just disappear. Not unlessâŚ
Unless one of them dies.
Or, the one where Louis loses his soulmate before even getting the chance to meet them, and he is in no way prepared for the kind of distraction his new friend Harry proves to be. đš Iâll Fly Away by @vintage-harryâ âHarold,â Louis spoke, but not too loud. He didnât want to startle the cat pile. âLouis? What are you doing home?â Harry greeted him with a toothy smile. âWhy are there three cats?â Louis pointed at the third one. âThatâs Hail. Heâs so sweet.â Louis blinked and shook his head slightly. âWhy is he on the sofa, in the house, on the cats?â âHe lives here now,â Harry stated as if Louis should already be aware of this. He was not aware of this news until now. âSince when?â He poked the cat in the head, his tiny black curtained head with white ears popped up. He mewed softly before blinking a few times. Louis thinks he looked offended. He looked at Harry expectantly. Harry looked fond. âFor three days now.â He smiled at Louis. It reminded him of Dori smiling at Marlin in Finding Nemo.
Or, Louis and Harry live in a small town in Texas of just over 500 people and Harry seems to be growing cats in his garden. Love and fluff. đ Baby Honey 2.0 by @vintage-harryâ A few weeks passed by and Louis had spent a large portion of his time with incognito mode on as he Googled ways to hint at pregnancies. He came up with a few ideas but was impatient and felt uncreative at any idea. The most he read about was for online announcements. Louis decided one day while he was at Niallâs with two kittens laying on his stomach to take a photo and post it. He knew Harry would see it pretty quickly as he had Louisâ Instagram notifications on.
Louis held his phone out and took a few shots of the sleeping kittens on his stomach, thumbed through them and found the one he liked best and posted it with the caption, âThree little kittensâ he hit post and waited. It didnât take long, ten minutes later Harry left a comment asking where the third kitten was. Louis rolled his eyes and deleted the photo.
Or, Louis is pregnant this time and tries to find creative ways to hint about it to Harry. Only it doesnât go as planned. đš fuck fake friends by @artxghoulâ Itâs better to just stay away. So he does. He tries his very best to. Itâs just weird when you canât be happy for someone. When you canât encourage their achievements anymore, because they did it alone or with someone else, when it was supposed to be with you. Harry was supposed to always be with Louis.
Or, if you love someone, set them free. if they don't come back, text them when you're drunk. đ The Daddiest Place on Earth by @chloehl10â dilfs_atdisneyworld: Ooh he's popular. Is it me or has it got hot in here? #dilf #hothothot #gimme
louist91: What the hell? Why the fuck am I on a DILFs page again?"
dilfs_atdisneyworld: louist91, Hello! You're on here because you're a DILF. A dad I'd like to f...đ
Louist91: dilfs_atdisneyworld Oh my god. Fuck off mate.
Or, Louis. Harry. Instagram. A whole lot of confusion and a whole lot of laughs... đš Harry Poppins by @jacaranda-bloomâ When Louisâ best friends pass away he finds himself with an instant family. Maddie and Thomas are wonderful children but take an immediate dislike to every nanny that sets foot inside their house. After nanny number six is summarily dismissed Louis is at his witâs end, that is until an unusual man arrives on their doorstep. Harry Styles is like nothing any of them have ever encountered before, and perhaps, exactly what theyâve been looking for all along. đ tonightâs not over (come over and stay) by @microlouisâ Zayn doesnât say anything for a moment, pausing and worrying at his bottom lip. Finally, he asks, âHave you heard that Cox guy is coming out with a new song?â Louis freezes, fingers hovering over his keyboard where they had been typing his password.
âNo, I hadnât,â Louis says truthfully. âWhere did you hear that?â âTell anyone this and Iâll kill you, but Iâd consider myself a big fan,â Zayn says. His face doesnât change in expression, completely serious as he admits this to Louis. âBig fan? Like run a blog and everything?â Or, harry is a famous singer and louis is a student who just wants to write his novel. đš Fiction Romance by @rougeandtonicâ Harry has a type.
He likes older, sophisticated, mature men. Well-educated men. Men with life experience and passion for arts and social causes. Men who are established in their careers, who've sorted their lives out.
Niall knows this.
And so Harry can't understand why he's sat here opposite Louis Tomlinson.
Or, a punk Louis/uni Harry blind date AU. đ Hope when the moment comes, youâll say I did it all by SilverShadow1Â Standing in front of them with an amused smile was an â there really was no other suitable word to describe him â angelic creature. Soft brown hair that was shaved on the sides and bright blue eyes that Harry had only seen in photos of the ocean; the lad was probably close in age to himself, yet seemed entirely boyish.
âDad, put me down!â demanded Jess with no malice in her voice. Harry looked down in surprise, forgetting that she was in his right arm. âOops,â he said, flushing. That caused the other lad to laugh. âHi,â said the man at the door.
Or, the one where Louis is a piano teacher and Harry and his daughter are goners for him. đš Graphic design is my passion by @kingsofeverything Graphic design student Louis Tomlinson has exams to study for and final art projects to complete, if it would stop raining long enough for him to walk across campus. Luckily Harry Styles has an umbrella, and heâs perfectly willing to share.
Louis doesnât plan to get his heart broken and he doesnât plan to make almost a hundred silicone dildos. One of these things definitely happens. đ i gotta get better! by @dystopianharry Harryâs sex life has been pretty nonexistent since he broke up with his last non-soulmate boyfriend. after a chance encounter with someone online, he decides to enlist them to help him out. no strings attached, obviously.
Or, soulmates can feel each othersâ pain and harry has some kinks he wants to explore. đš Dreaming of You by @mizzwilde The Begrudging Starbucks AU.
The world is winter and steamed milk and creamy espresso shots. The world is a never ending queue. The world is a Starbucks logo and a pink-cheeked smile from Niall and a bored scowl from Zayn and the world is Louis watching his best mate, Liam, fall in love with their newest customer, Harry. Who may or may not be in love with Louis. The world is cruel. đ Through a Mirror Dimly by @londonfoginacupâ Louis Tomlinson, in his third year at university, does not expect nor want the roommate that is being assigned to his room.
Harry Styles, in his first year at university, has just been kicked out of one dorm and doesn't want to deal with yet another snobby, rich roommate.
They don't get along, and that's just how it is, until circumstances force them to reevaluate. đš Raise a Glass to the Four of Us by @2tiedships2 Louis stared at his luggage.
Well. Apparently not his luggage, because the clothing he was looking at currently was a: worth more than everything he currently possessed, b: not his size at all, and c: more suited for a fancy ass lawyer than a holiday in NYC with his best mates.
âOoh, nice loafers,â Niall said as he pulled one out of the suitcase. âI love the rainbows.â
âOkay,â Liam began. âWhat do you want to do first? Eat, shop for new clothes, or spend hours on the phone with the airline?â
Louis continued to stare at the luggage. đ His and Mine by @kissyboystylesâ Harry is adopted by a wealthy family, soon to be cleared of his connection to his soulmate without discussion on his twentieth birthday-- a gruesome rite of passage. For the past eight years, Harry has been staring at one name: Louis. But what happens now that his heart starts fluttering for a stranger, helping him remain strong at his weakest points? Harry feels he should be cautious; what kind of person goes by the name Tomlinson anywayâŚ
Or, Harry legally isn't supposed to meet his soulmate-- he's rendered physically unable to recognize him even if he did-- but yet, of course, he does. đš Drop to Hold You by @becomeawendybird After the end of the Second Wizarding War and the ensuing diplomacy between Muggles and the Wizarding world, the long-defunct Merlin College at Oxford opened it's doors again.
The ultra-competitive programs at Merlin require a rigorous application process. None more than the Auror training program. Louis finally manages to get in with his best friend Liam after a few false starts, only to be faced with the most beautiful, distracting man he could ever imagine. đ The Lone Hydrangea by @lightwoodsmagic âThank you again,â he smiled at Harry as he picked up the arrangement and headed towards the door, and Harry quickly realised he didnât know the manâs name. âI â wait! Sorry, I just...whatâs your name?â At the manâs eyebrow raise, Harry stumbled over his words, âItâs just, if youâre coming back, I thought I shouldâŚknow.â As the man looked at Harry, his smile only grew, and Harryâs heart thumped in his chest. âMy nameâs Louis. Louis Tomlinson, and it was so lovely to meet you,â he shot one final grin in Harryâs direction, âIâll see you next week, Harry.â And then he was gone. âIt was lovely to meet you too,â Harry whispered to the empty shop, putting his head on the counter, âLouisâ.
Or, the post Hogwarts AU where Harry's a florist, Louis' a muggle who edits fantasy books, and they both have no say in how quickly they fall for each other. đš A Little Bit Like Fate by @28shadesofpink âSo,â Harry starts. âSince I heard you and your friend are not getting married, uhm... Would it be appropriate to ask you to stay for the kiss-in?â âReally?â Louis says, light and playful. âAnd who would I be kissing?â He looks up and offers a sweet smile, perfectly innocent. âOh, I donât know.â Harry is playing along, keeping his tone airy, but he takes a step forward and smirks. âWith those cheekbones, I think you could kiss whoever you wanted.â
Or, Louis stumbles upon a kiss-in protest for LGBTQ rights, and he meets Harry. They click. It feels a little bit like fate. đ come together by @bottomlinsons Harry and Louis slept together three weeks ago, and havenât talked.
Their coming group project is gonna change that. đš Seeing Blind by @that-idiot-overthere Louis finally turns his head in Liamâs direction, knows his face is showing the longing heâs been aching with ever since it took root in his chest. âWhat the fuck do I do, Liam? He wouldnât want me like that, but I want-â his voice cracks, and he turns his face back downwards. âWhat do you do when youâre not perfect for the person whoâs perfect for you?â
Or, the one where Harryâs an independent omega who likes to have his fun and Louis is the blind alpha that changes Harryâs priorities. đ Sweet as Cherry Wine by @harrieberrie Broken hearts are healed by the luck of the Irish
Or, Louis and Niall are a mess, Niallâs daughter has a hopeless crush, and Harry is hopelessly clueless đš at the end of my rope by @saffona "Baby?â Harry mumbles, voice laced with sleep and a shiver goes through Louis at hearing the term. He hasnât called him that in so long, in that voice and, clearly, even Louisâ body fucking misses it.
âDid you cheat on me?â Louis finds himself asking. If heâs being honest itâs more so he can see Harryâs reaction, than a genuine question, but what has he got to lose? Sure enough, Harryâs face changes from sleepy to the most incredulous look Louisâ ever seen on him. He actually looks terrified, all wide eyes, mouth gaping like he canât believe Louis would even assume that and Louis would laugh at it, but heâs so done with the way Harryâs been acting, he just wants to know what the hellâs going on.
Or, the one where they go to Crete and Harry is definitely hiding something. đ truth, justice, and the gay way by @hattalove Liam needs a costume. Louis needs a best best friend award, a holiday, and to get a grip.
(Harryâs just in the right place at the right time.) đš Hello My Name Is Harry by @a-brighter-yellow Louisâs 20-year high school reunion takes a turn when a celebrity classmate â who also happens to be Louisâs long unrequited crush â unexpectedly shows up.
A famous/not-famous AU inspired by Chris Evans.
[Previous Monthly Recs]
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Ziu/Park Heejun Astrology : How He Loves
âhey, I just saw the post you did for VAVâs ace and i loved it đđ could you do one for Ziu too please? thanks!!!â- @1330503339
A/N hi ! I am so glad you have been enjoying my posts !! I will be happy to and thank you for being patient with me !!
as always 18+below the cut!
The cutest boy? perhaps.
Okay ! first of all !!Â
we have an estimated rising Libra
which means chaarrrrrming
well liked and fun loving, the cardinal of the air signs would draw you in
complimentaryÂ
a little flirty
like a Libra will flirt with a damn broom for hahas
but also are soft inside and a bit restless
may need constant help because like⌠too many things to do so pls help this bb stay on track
Gemini sun and Libra moon
an airy fun boy!
Geminiâs are quick witted, full of life, but can avoid closer relationships (but his moon is Libra and venus is Cancer so he will actually seek deeper attachment than the typical Gemini sun)
loves affection and attention and loves showering others in it too,
have you seen him he needs to give and receive kisses 24/7Â
love him he needs it
in relationships this triple air placement will translate to
before you are dating he is going to FLIRT
but in a cute and fun way
heâs all âoh my god. Have you seen the worldâs most beautiful person?âÂ
youâre like⌠no who?Â
he shows you his phone with the front facing camera on so you are looking at yourself
and you are like đđđđđđđ˛đ˛đ˛
how cute
and he wonât be shy about physical affection
asks you strange questions while laying with his head on your lap
youâll fall into this very close flirtationship of affectionate touches but no real wordsÂ
it will all feel so natural and part of him will forget he never officially asked you
oops
so youâll be at a store or something and someone will ask you for your number, and his Cancer venus will sprout horns and immediately get jealous
heâll be holding your hand anyway so he will point to them and just sayÂ
âSheâs taken.â and if you look at him surprised because you have seen him be just as affectionate with anyone else heâll still insist he is your boyfriend
vehementlyÂ
how dare someone try to snatch you up????
the nerve
anyway he is really sweet after thatÂ
âI am, right? What was that guy thinking??â
he will stare at you and wait for you to agree.Â
so you do, cause you like him too
and the biggest smile will be yours
 a happy baby oh my god he will be bouncing with joy for hours
everywhere you go he will have to announce he has arrived as a boyfriend
and if he does it to the members theyâre like⌠you werenât already dating?
anyway  he has his mercury in Gemini also so his communication is a bit haphazard
all over the place with his thoughts but they are all so interesting to listen to so you are constantly enraptured
great sense of humor
remember I said Cancer venus?
in the actual relationship he will be jealous of your time
if you spend too much with other people he will probably whine about it
but how can you even be mad at him?Â
you canât queue puppy eyes
very faithful
very attatched
like always
both physically and emotionallyÂ
will 10/10 glomp you whenever you are around
whatâs that? going to the kitchen?
glomp
watching a movie?
glompÂ
low key a little shit
but in a soft way
Mars in VirgoÂ
thank god , some earth where it matters
this means his motivations are important to him and he is driven to complete whatever goals he has
His north node is also Virgo
so he is unselfish, thoughtful, probably dates float back and forth from spontaneous air sign driven and really well planned romantic shit
i feel like heâd be the boyfriendiest.
you know like just âgood morning beautifulâ texts and like
when you are sad he showers your entire face in kisses
and then tickles you until you are laughingÂ
pls he just wants you to smile
the softest
aims to pleaseÂ
protec him awwwwwww
spicy timeÂ
18+ below
i knowÂ
on average I pin Cancer venus as dom dom
but I will be honest this boys entire chart is so full of air itâs not realistic for him
I do think the jealous side of Cancer venus stands, but I think it would present itself more as a time consuming and refusal to let others touch you more than him
not that he will be controlling or anythingÂ
he just wants you to spend your time and energy on him
a needy boy
I think he isnât particularly dom or sub
seems like the type to just be really into really romantic sex
Iâm not saying he canât get freakyÂ
Iâm positive with how eager to please he is that he would try anything you asked once or twice and if you REALLY liked it he would start to be into it too
because it makes you happy and thatâs what gets him off, pleasing youÂ
 how sweet
like if you want him to be rough he can, but I think he would in general revert to really romantic touches that linger on your body
body worship for surrre
he wants you to remember no past lover
he wants your body to react to him only
so he will learn every little thing that makes you tick and he will exploit itÂ
sorry guess you wanted to breathe or something nope not a chance
heâs going to make your head spin in pleasure and draw every reaction he can from you
probably likes it when he makes you loud enough for others to hear
cause youâre his and he wants everyone to know it
might get a lil kinky if youâre into itÂ
Libras are so very into beauty and he has enough Libra in his chart in important places so I am thinkingÂ
you guys are kissing and touchingÂ
his hands are spanning your body in all the right places
probably slips one down the front of your pants and cups you while he leaves open mouthed kisses hot and wet against your neck
and you are throwing your head back in pleasureÂ
he likes to strip you first and stare, you will see him drink in every curve and thing you think is a flawÂ
breathlessly he will let the words fall out of his mouth âyou are so beautifulâÂ
and the awe is palpable
your heart swells with love
he will make you feel like a goddess
he seems like the energetic type probably has hella stamina
so yeah itâs romantic but it is also gonna leave your head spinning
good luck i hope you have some endurance
one round? no.Â
he seems like the all day type of lover
some days you wonât leave the bedroom except to grab snacks and water
and he is spending so much time making you feel loved but also making sure you cum and cum and cum you feel me?
I see him being into dirty talk, but like the kind where itâsÂ
âdo you like that?â
âhow do you feel with me inside you ?â
âshit youâre so tight, how am I even supposed to fit?â while heâs fingering you or eating you
speaking of
he seems like an oral KING
he is so eager to make you feel good that I feel like..Â
he probably would spend an hour or more down there
accidentally overstimulating you because âYou taste so good.â and âI love watching you fall apart for me.â
aftercare is probably mostly cuddles
maybe cockwarming? like not intentionally, just that after that last round you are both completely drained, and you were on top and he just let you collapse on himÂ
and you fell asleep like that but he didnât have the heart to move youÂ
listen that is hot and soft omg
on the whole he is an exuberant and passionate lover who wants to make you so happy that you are ruined for all other partners,
#park heejun#ziu#vav ziu#ziu smut#vav#vav smut#also cute af shit#astrology#kpop astrology#kpop asks#astrology asks
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we be all night
notes: this is an old drabble/reaction from one of my previous blogs that i found sitting around in my draft, i suppose i forgot to queue it or something oop
warnings: nsfw; smut
disclaimer: blanket disclaimers

KIM SEOKJIN ⌠[cr.]
âYou know,â Seokjin starts, mock sympathy laced in his voice as he eyes your body shaking in his grasp, âI didnât think youâd be this... receptive.â
You moan in lieu of responding, and attempt to lift your hips off of the mattress but a firm has keeps them pinned down. Your eyes roll back when you feel an almost painful pressure on your clit; the result, another whine that Seokjin basks in.Â
With the familiar feeling of your orgasm pooling in your stomach, your eyes snap shut and your head lolls backwards, coming in brief contact with Seokjinâs collar before he tilts it forward forcefully.
âNone of that,â he orders, freeing one of your wrists and using the hand to secure your jaw between his thumb and pointer finger. He angles your head downwards, and commands you to make eye contact with the man between your legs:Â âYouâre going to look Taehyungie right in the eye when you cum.â
MIN YOONGI ⌠[cr.]
Yoongiâs favorite part is the morning after. He likes to wake up and see the impressions his mouth left on your body, the bruises that bear his name.
He runs his pointer finger across your collarbone, grinning at the goosebumps that litter your skin at his touch. He presses harder when he reaches a purple spot, not enough to wake you, but enough for your unconscious body to respond to him.Â
More goosebumps form, and your sleeping hand curls into a loose fist. Yoongi bites his lip, and contemplates his next move. He shifts on the mattress so that his head hovers above your chest, and replaces his fingers with his lips to bite a new hickey atop your bruise.Â
Now, painfully conscious of whatâs happening, you feebly attempt to get his mouth off of you with a slur of tired words, âMâ sensitive, Yoon.â
He laughs, retreating to using his fingers to explore the plane of your skin. Yeah, he knows.
JUNG HOSEOK ⌠[cr.]
âYou doing okay, baby?â Hoseok asks, curling one hand around your waist while the other grazes the expanse of your ass. You nod, bottom lip wedged between your teeth. Hoseok hums, flashing you a sliver of a smile before squeezing your bottom, âYou look so pretty, youâre taking this so well.â
With that, he spanks you again, once on either cheek, and watches your kick your legs up in retaliation. He tuts at your response, and uses two fingers to tap against you; a silent command that makes your bend your knees, lift your ass in the air, and await further instruction.Â
Hoseok grins, leaning forward until his lips are in contact with your right cheek. He kisses your skin, wet and quick, before reaching a hand under your body, a mindless thumb toying with the outer lips of panty-clad pussy.Â
âGood girl.â
KIM NAMJOON ⌠[cr.]
âAw, is my baby tired?â Namjoon asks, a faux pout on his lips, that quickly curls into a sadistic smirk upon lifting his head to take in your fucked-out face.
He chuckles into your skin, leaving wet kisses down your body until he reaches your breasts. He smiles at you before wrapping his lips around your nipple; he licks and sucks, and everything feels hot and too much, but not enough.
âFuck, Joon, please,â you sputter incoherently, the tips of your nails dragging though his hair. Every little swipe of his tongue burns of your skin, but doesnât sooth the ache in your stomach.Â
âThink you can cum like this, baby?â He asks, using his idle hand to fondle with your other breasts. You shake your head and whine, begging for him to do something, anything else, but he drowns out you pleas, âI think you can.âÂ
âJoonie, I need your hands, yourââ
âMy hands are right here,â he cuts you off, rolling his thumbs over your nipples for emphasis, âYou are going to be good, and cum for me one last time.âÂ
PARK JIMIN ⌠[cr.]
âSomebody missed me,â Jimin all but sings while your hurried hands remove his dress shirt from his frame. You donât reply, only kiss him in a frenzy of teeth and tongue that his him hissing and slipping a hand into your panties in retaliation.
The light contact makes you moan, and Jimin pulls back with a curious eyebrow raised. âYouâre already so wet,â he notes, rubbing dull circles against your clit, âAnd so sensitive.â
You bite your lip, and bend your knees, leaning against the wall for support, âI just really want you, Chim.â
Jimin hums, swiftly removing his hand from your pants to cage your body between his arms. He takes a step forward, dipping his head down into the crook of your neck and biting sharply at your flesh.
âI think youâre lying to me. I think you touched yourself before I got here,â he growls, licking over the abused skin tauntingly, âAnd I think you deserve to be punished.âÂ
KIM TAEHYUNG ⌠[cr.]
âChrist, Taehyung,â you trail off, not in a sober enough state of mind to find the words to express yourself. Taehyung smirks between your legs, gauging your waning post-orgasm high. When it seems as though youâve caught your breath, he inches forward to kitten lick your pussy.Â
Your hands immediately rest atop his head, attempting to push him away, but Taehyungâs will to make you cum is much stronger than your resolve. He grins into your heat when your arms retreat, resting numbly at your sides.Â
âThatâs cute baby,â he licks his lips, then goes back to sucking on your clit, and you swear you can feel everything ten fold. He grins when you raise your hips, takes pleasure in your uncalculated movements because Taehyung absolutely loves to see you squirm. âYou think Iâm done with you.â
JEON JEONGGUK ⌠[cr.]
âBaby, whaâI just came,â Jeongguk barely get his words out, chest still heaving from literally thirty seconds ago when he swears he came harder than he has in months.Â
âI know, but youâve been gone for so long,â you drawl, slowly stroking his cock from top to bottom, using the slick of your spit from the previous blowjob as lubrication, âI wanna make up for lost time.âÂ
âFuck, babe,â he groans when he feels himself growing hard at your touch, âWhat are youââ
You giggle, a grip the head a little tighter to cut him off. Lazily, you rim the tip of his dick with your tongue. âItâs called cockworship, Jeonggukie,â you note, when you feel him become fully hard, âAnd it looks like you like it a lot.â
#i remember why i stopped writing these...bc finding the gifs take two centuries#bts smut#bts scenarios#bts reactions#bts fake texts#bts fanfic#bts jin#bts suga#bts yoongi#bts jhope#bts hobi#bts rm#bts jimin#bts taehyung#bts v#bts jeong#BTS jungkook#nsfw*#member: ot7
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i cannot stand fics with children... whether itâs the characters turned kids or characters kids. every once in awhile ill give one a try if itâs interesting enough (read: almost never) but i am rarely pleasantly surprised. no one has any idea how to write children. on one side weâve got 10 y/oâs talking like toddlers and on the other weâve got them talking like they just got their bachelors degree in prophetic poem-esque bullshit. its just not worth it
Iâve written a few things with kids in order to stress-test some stuff for an upcoming fic that is gonna be 90% kids and HOO BOY am I not looking forward to that one. Itâs high on the queue, too: was supposed to be out for Halloween. Oops.
God itâs always so fucking bad though. That joke I made (in a post that Tumblr might have eaten admittedly because it is a Good Websiteâ˘) about âyouâre like a fragile porcelain doll, beautiful but about to breakâ or whatever? I didnât make that up. Iâm quoting that (from memory admittedly) almost word-for-word from an actual thing a writer decided a 6 year-old girl would plausibly say to a grown man she found hanging around in the middle of the street, and then hit publish so other people could read it with their limited eyeball time.Â
Thereâs a lot of shit at play with some of the more obnoxious tropes, but the biggest one is people donât realise that kids arenât stupid. They process stuff differently because their capacity for empathy is limited due to their brains having trouble grasping particularly large pictures, and their priorities are different so they do things that could be perceived as âjust silly fun that kids do! :)â but theyâre not stupid. Theyâre individuals with their own self-interests, meaning theyâre not going to go out of their way to psychoanalyse you as soon as you meet them because they probably wonât care, and theyâre going to come off as little assholes at times because kids can be cruel â unintentionally or otherwise. Theyâre blunt, sometimes they know very well theyâre being blunt, and they donât particularly care because theyâve made a conscious decision to be a dick to you because they still know that theyâre correct, and to a degree them being objectively correct is more important than any perceived social rules that they donât really understand anyway.Â
Also while Iâm off on a tangent, kids in fanfic never have any fucking personalities. I get that people change a lot as they grow older but nearly every single child no matter who they are is the same generic, âHaha I love playing! And Iâm just a little bit shy around strangers, but donât let that keep me from warming up to you immediately as soon as you squat in front of me and call me âlittle oneâ, which is definitely how normal people also talk to kids!â regardless of how they acted in canon.Â
Can we also include âthatâs not how you fucking talk to kids, what are you a grandma from the eighteenth century or whatâ in the list of things that people seriously need to stop doing in fics with children in them?
#asks#spitegarbage#Anonymous#as someone that has worked with kids everyone should know they can smell condescension a mile away and WILL kick you in the teeth
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What Goes Around Comes Around pt 2
Summary/synopsis:
Authorâs note: Iâve actually named it this time oops I forgot to do that when I posted part one, which is honestly a mood rn. I really wanted to get this out today, so apologies for any grammar/editing mistakes. So anyways, yeah, enjoy.
Part 1
Warnings: language
_____________________________
I woke up completely naked and with an absolutely splitting headache. The sunlight through the windows seemed way too bright, and only made the throbbing pain in my brain worse.
It took me a moment to remember that things had happened last night. It took another moment for me to remember what those things were. I remember the phone call with Peter, going to the Pub, and my first drink pretty clearly. Then after that, I think there was a band? Yeah, up on stage, I remember the hysterical yet serene euphoria from the music. Euphoric, thatâs the only word I can find to describe it. The only things I really remember from them on is a vague face, blonde, syrupy voice. After that, nothing.
Though, judging by the choice of style Iâm currently showing off, I think I can make some safe guesses.
Prying my eyes open, I search to my right for my bedside clock: 10:32 am. Wow, good thing itâs Saturday. Next to clock was a glass of water, which isnât usually there.
I sit up a little and reach for it. Underneath is a little slip of paper,
âLast night was fun, call me? 135-246-7890 -Rogerâ
Oh my god. Roger. As in Roger Taylor? I mean, I donât think there are any other Rogers. Holy shit, I slept with Roger Taylor. The Roger Taylor. And he actually left me his number, wow. I havenât heard of him ever doing that with any of the other (numerous) girls. Maybe I was special? Or, more likely, he thought Iâd be more vulnerable and susceptible because of my emotional state. Or, even more likely, I just hand theirs he does this with every girl because itâs not exactly something people share a whole lot. Well, if it was the second one, heâd be wrong there. It was a fluke, a one night thing, some poor coping mechanism of mine, and I didnât plan on calling him back.
So with my thoughts still full, my heart still heavy, my head still throbbing, I pulled myself out of bed and into the bathroom. I grab some pain killers from the cabinet and down them with the water I assume Roger left for me. I have some decisions to make.
Itâs 10:30 am on a Saturday and Iâm more than a little hungover. Thoughts of Peter still linger in the back of my mind, despite my efforts to push them away. After weighing a few of my options and finishing my water, I decide to wait an hour for the headache to calm down, have a small something to eat, drink more water, then call up Jade to fill her in on everything over brunch.
Jade has been my best friend for about a year now. Even though it hasnât been very long, she knows me better than anyone else, and I her. We tell each other everything. Weâre always there for each other. Weâre always ready to beat the shit out of anyone who does the other wrong. You know, typical best friend stuff.
Anyways, I walk to the kitchen and fix myself a small bowl cereal and another glass of water. With food in hand, I plop down on the couch and load up Netflix, turning on whatever was in my recently watched queue. So there I sat for the next hour or so, ignoring everything in my mind except for the headache. After a few more waters, though, itâs began calming down. Once it had done so enough, I pick up my phone and call Jade.
âHey bitch, whatâs up?â She answers.
âHi. Itâs um... itâs Peter,â I proceed to dump everything that had happened the night before, or at least all I could remember.
âHoly shit. Dude, thatâs a lot to unpack,â she, as usual, is right.
âYeah.â
âSo, uh, which bit do you want to talk about first?â
âPeter, I think.â
âOh, Y/N, honey, I am SO sorry that absolute dick bag of a human would do something like that to you. You donât deserve it, at all. I never did like him to be honest,â she comforted me, in a way inyknshe could I suppose. âReally, Y/N, if I could be there and hug you right now, I would. Iâm so so so so so sorry baby.â
âNo. No, itâs fine. Itâs been a long time coming, I guess,â and it really had been, if heâd been cheating this long.
âSo, you hooked up with the infamous Roger Taylor last night, huh? Howâd that go?â She seemed not to want to dwell on the unfortunate, as always.
âHa, Iâd tell you if I could remember. I donât think Iâve ever been that drunk before.â
âYikes,â was all she said. Which is fair, what else could she say? âSo he just left? Before you were even awake?â That, apparently.
âYeah. Which is understandable, I mean, avoid the awkward right? He did leave me his number though, not sure why. Maybe to seem like less of a dick.â
âHe what?! Are you gonna call him? Honey, you have to call him,â she seems way more excited about this than I am.
âNo, Iâm not gonna call him. It was a one night thing, thatâs it,â I try explaining, even though I know she wonât listen.
âHoney. Girl. Sweetie. Itâs Roger. Taylor. You canât NOT call him back.â See?
âJade, Iâm not calling him back. Period. Anyways, would you maybe want to get some brunch or something today?â
âOh, Iâd love to. But I canât. I have so much other stuff going on, I just donât have the time. Iâm so sorry.â
That disappoints me a little, but what can you do? âThatâs too bad.â
âYeah. Maybe next weekend?â She suggests.
âMaybe. Iâve got new classes coming soon, so who knows,â I answer.
âOh shit, sorry Y/N, my boss is calling me. I gotta go. Love you, talk to you later babes.â
âHeh, bye Jade.â And with that, Iâm once again alone.
So. What now? I just had all my finals, so no homework or anything, I canât, and frankly donât want to even think about, calling Peter. Jade is busy. Come to think of it, most of my friends are busy, with work mostly. So that leaves me with more food and Netflix. Not bad.
Around an hour later, nothing has changed. Still just me, food, and TV. Itâs at this point my phone dings. For a moment, my heart stops. Then I check the notification, and realize I donât really know what made me freeze. Whatever the reason, thatâs not what I got. What I got was a text from a friend I havenât heard from in quite a while.
âHey. I know itâs been a while, but I kinda miss hanging out with you. A lot has happened since weâve last spoken, howâd you feel about getting lunch? A few of my other friends would be there too. Itâd be nice to hear from you again.â
It was from Brian. Brian May. Heâs right, it has been awhile since weâve spoke. A year, almost, when we ended up at different universities. It sounded like fun to meet up again. So I sent him a text back, âHi. It has been a while, hasnât it? Lunch sounds great. When/where?â
I got a response within the minute, âI was thinking the small restaurant breakfast lunch place theyâve got downtown? Around 1?â
âSounds good, see you then :)â
â:)â
Well I have something to do now. Itâs about 11:30, so I have enough to finish my episode and then get ready. Which is exactly what I do. Once my episode is over, I get up from the couch, get dressed in some casual but not too casual attire, and don some light makeup. By the time all thatâs done, itâs about 12:45. So from there, I grab a jacket and head out the door.
I love pretty close to a train depot, so it doesnât take a whole lot of time to reach that, then itâs maybe a five-ten minute ride to downtown. I arrive at the place he was talking about, he didnât need to be specific, like I said, small town. I see the tell-tale mass of dark curls sitting at an outdoor table facing away from me, chatting with a few other people.
âBrian!â I call. He turns around upon hearing his name, sees me, and immediately smiles and waves back.
âY/N! Itâs great to see you!â I join him at the table with to other guys. âSo much has happened. First of all, the bandâs way different now. Our lead singer and bassist quit, the prick. Anyways, this is Freddie, our new lead vocalist,â he gestures to one of the guys, âand John, the new bassist,â and to the other. âBoth are way better then the other guy. Did you even meet him?â
âNo, I donât think so.â I turn to the others, âHi, Iâm Y/N, a good friend of Brianâs from high school.â
âWell hello darling, itâs very nice to meet you,â Freddie greets.
âHi,â John nods. One of these people seems a little more outgoing than the other.
âAnd uh, Rogerâs inside getting drinks I believe. Heâs the drummer.â My heart stops when Brian says that.
âWhat?â
âBrian, our drummer, heâs inside getting drinks. I donât think youâve ever met him either,â Brian continues.
âOh, I think I may have.â Just as I say that, my suspicions are confirmed as I see a blond man approach the table, various waters and sodas in his hands.
We make eye contact.
Shit.
Itâs Roger, alright.
_____________________________
Hhhhhhhhh part 2. I really think I need to work on endings oops. But uh yeah, there it is. Any feedback and/or ideas/suggestions would be appreciated. Thanks :p
#roger taylor#queen#ben hardy!roger taylor#ben hardy#roger taylor imagine#roger taylor x reader#wgaca#what goes around comes around#brian may#john deacon#freddie mercury#x reader#grace does the writing thing
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Candy Kane
Iâve never been a big fan of family pictures, or holiday celebrations. When I was about seven, my brother Derek and I had our picture taken with our cousin Kyle, who couldnât have been much more than a year old. Kyle was smiling, but also pointing at something off in the distance (probably a prop the photographer was using to make him laugh). Derek and I had on clip-on ties that were recycled from a previous Easter. I wore thick, almost square-framed glasses. if I left the house with them on today, they would almost certainly impede my ability to successfully procreate. I had little choice at the time since I needed corrective lenses, and wouldnât start wearing contacts for at least another six years.Â
By the time Iâd made the switch, the photo of Kyle, Derek, and me belonged to a museum exhibitâfrozen in time like the Icemanâof pictures my grandparents loved, but their grandchildren wished no longer existed. By 1999, theyâd moved into a house much smaller than the one in which theyâd raised their six children, and the photo had been relegated to a literal wall of shame in their basement. Along the wall were senior pictures of my mother and her siblings, and various photos of the nine grandchildren, including that of a triumvirate of boys c. 1988. I canât think of a time anyone whose picture was on the wall expressed fondness when looking at it. Each of us probably thought about what weâd tell our younger selves if we passed them on the street, or secretly wished to remain arrested in that state of childhood development, our entire lives uncertain, unfolding, before us one day at a time.
The biggest reason Iâve never been a huge fan of holidays, family pictures, and especially family holiday pictures is because the only capture one moment in time, moments that, for better or worse, are frozen on film or stored in cloud of data and never really gone. Whenever the holidays come around, I have a tendency to cram an entire yearâs worth of socializing into 48 hours, or however long I get to spend with my family and friends.
In my family, those occasions are typically when we celebrate some Puritans surviving a hard winter despite wearing ridiculous hats, and the birth of a boy who somehow managed to erase his teenage debauchery from the record. You know he had to screw up those miracles dozens of times in private before nailing them (oops) in public by his early thirties. This must be why we never hear about the zombies of Arimathea he couldnât quite bring all the way back from the dead, or the numerous weddings he crashed around Nazareth during puberty, flexing to prostitutes about how he could turn water into wine in exchange for performing a number of sins his Dad didnât have to know about (but would later be considered deadly because Mary Magdalene couldnât keep her mouth shut) only to deliver vinegar.
I guarantee you Jesus promised Joseph of Arimathea eternal salvation as thanks for the years of resurrection practice, and in return for the use of his tomb one Friday night. Mary Magdalene showed up at the tomb three days after the crucifixion because she finally realized how serious Jesus had been about her fucking up his chances to keep holy the Sabbath day with a bridesmaid, before he hit it big and all the lepers wanted a piece (oops again) of him.
Anyway⌠If family pictures remind me of who I used to be, holidays remind me of things I used to wholeheartedly believe in.
My first picture with Santa was probably taken in 1982, before I had the surgery to straighten out my leg that left me with a cool scar. My enthusiasm for the holidays faded as I grew older and began to challenge my beliefs that one man could deliver presents to all the worldâs children in a single night, and the three wise men could find Jesus just by following a star.
After passing at least numerically through teenage angst, I started to realize how incredibly fortunate Iâve been instead of complaining about what other people had that I didnât. But what really got me comfortable in my own skin was volunteering, a series of activities in which I put myself in some very uncomfortable positions by surrounding myself with people and places I didnât know. Still, my desire for the uncomfortable hasnât weakened my ability to attract the absurd.
I recently had a chance to volunteer at Santaâs Workshop. I put on my elf hat (which I later found out had been on backwards all night) and got to work in the arts and crafts area, but that didnât last long. Macaroni pictures werenât doing it for me. I needed a different challenge.
Soon enough, I found my way to where Santa was. My backwards elf hat and I had to keep the line moving so every kid would have a chance to see Santa before closing time at 6 PM. Thee were all kinds of characters around me. Rudolph was there, and so was this character that had Pinocchioâs face, but looked how I imagined the Frischâs Big Boy would if heâd been on a liquid diet for six months. âWhoâs THAT?â I asked the event coordinator. âThatâs the Elf on the Shelf,â she replied. âOh⌠shit⌠I was way off,â I said. Whenever I caught the characters waving to children and their families as they passed by, they looked like those people from 80s and 90s workout videos who got stuck doing the low-impact versions of the exercises everybody else was doing at full speed. I wondered if they were secretly asking themselves why they agreed to do this, quietly cursing themselves for not auditioning to sell shit on QVC instead.
Iâm not sure if the first child whose Santa aftermath Iâll remember for a long time was just really upset, had a cognitive deficiency, or both. Either way, he or she was not happy. My first post near the man of the hour was standing outside a fence theyâd set up around Santaâs chair. My job was to wave the kids and their families forward once the previous family had enjoyed their moment in the makeshift winter wonderland. As the child left Santaâs lap screaming bloody murder and passed through the fence with his/her parent or guardian, they let out a sound I can only describe as a Home Improvement-era Tim Allen grunt mixed with visceral cry for help: UHHHAAHHHOOOOO!Â
Before I knew what was happening, the child headbutted themselves against the exterior glass of the Lazarus building, like Kane and the Undertaker from another spoiled childhood fantasy of so manyâ professional wresting. All the person accompanying the child said was, âNow honey⌠Donât hit your head.â All I could think was, âDamn.â But as a man wearing a backwards elf hat, I couldnât say shit to them.
Not long after witnessing a pediatric concussion, I found myself in the path of low-impact Rudolph herself. I slightly embarrassed myself by giving her a fist bump and talking to the person in the suit as though they were the red-nosed reindeer in the flesh. I came back to my adulthood while low-impact Rudolph was in the middle of muffled sentence about candy canes. I noticed had a bucket in her hands, which I assumed had been filled with the striped holiday icons. There were no candy canes in her bucket, but I did notice a set of Toyota car keys. In my confusion, I almost blurted out, âShouldnât you be guiding a sleigh instead of a fucking Camry?â Some things are best left unsaid. Â
For the first two hours we were there, the line to see Santa seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see, which made the next encounter I remember even more excruciating. A lady walked up and stood right next to me, thus blocking my view of the line and preventing me from doing the one volunteer task I was explicitly asked to do. To make matters worse, she started offering a running commentary on all the children she saw in Santaâs lap, like a color commentator at a sporting event who didnât know when to just shut up and let whatever moment they were witnessing wash over them. Â
It didnât matter whether they were boys dressed in identical suits for the obligatory in-lap picture with the big man (Oh, how cute!) or babies whose faces became contorted with red hot agony upon being separated from their mothers and embraced by a strange man (Oh, he is NOT having it!) The line seemed to grow infinitely longer during her soliloquy and I found myself thinking it was a shame the crucifixion of the guy whose birthday everyone would be celebrating in few weeks didnât draw a crowd like this. In Survivor, Chuck Palahniuk observed that on some crucifixes, Jesus looks jacked enough to be modeling Ray-Ban sunglasses and Guess jeans without a shirt on. I canât help thinking Chuck would concur that since not everyone will reach that level of supposed piety or physical fitness in a lifetime, itâs a bigger draw to remember Godâs only son immediately after he humbled himself to share in our humanity the same way we all startedâas a baby.
Anyway⌠as her commentary droned on, found myself wishing I could be the elf in the holiday classic A Christmas Story who tells Ralphie to get a move on before Santa kicks him down the slide, âLetâs Go!!!â But it bears repeating that in my backwards hat, my powers of persuasion were limited.
Not long after the soliloquy ended, I was approached by what I assume was a mother and daughter pair who were wondering if theyâd ever get to see Santa. âI donât know if weâre going to make it,â the older one said. âLetâs just take my picture with the elf.â âActually, my nameâs DavâŚâ I wanted to protest, but with my powers weakened, all I could do was acquiesce to their demands. The younger woman held a smartphone at what seemed like six different angles during our impromptu photo session. By the time they were done, I felt certain I was destined for Instagram infamy. Â
Eventually, the powers that be decided that I should move inside the fence and stand on the glitter-covered red carpet in an effort the speed up the queue after sunset. Before I went to the other side of the fence, someone asked me if I knew whether or not theyâd be cutting people off at 6 PM. I didnât, but I wished they would. I was growing tired of head injuries, seething, teething infants, and watching people taking selfies or recruiting the other elves to take pictures of them standing under one of the arches leading up to Santaâs chair.
I must have been distracted. The next time someone tried to get my attention, I was accused of holding up the line. The man had on a white, short-sleeved polo shirt. The woman wasnât wearing a coat, but had on something I never thought Iâd see on Santaâs red carpet: a leopard-print dress and dull pink high heels. âI used to be a Santaâs helper in this building,â she exclaimed. She said something else, about 1978, but I was too busy trying to avoid another âDamnâ moment to really pay attention. âActually, we just want our bathroom done. Heâs working on our house.â âFine.â I muttered. She proceeded to throw herself at Santa like he was Hugh Heffner, and she was Playboy Bunny. The whole scene looked ridiculous, but so did I.
After the final patrons had paid Santa a visit, the other volunteer elves and I sat for our own picture with the man himself. It was likely the first time Iâd had my picture taken with him since the year the picture of Derek, Kyle, and I was taken. I wasnât filled with regret over my evaporated childhood and its beliefs, or terribly concerned that no one said a word about my backwards elf hat the whole night. I was glad Iâd put myself in another uncomfortable position and come out clean on the other side minus the glitter that will be stuck to the bottoms of the shoes I wore that night for months. I was reminded of the importance of not trying to cram everything into one season, or in Santaâs case, one night. Let the kids have their beliefs and grow up to challenge them. I didnât have to sit in Santaâs lap to tell him that wish come true was all I wanted for Christmas. I have a funny feeling that whoever he is, was, and has been, he knew what I wanted long before I ever asked.

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something brewing: part i
The moral of this story is that I need to not do the stupid thing and accidentally press save draft instead of queue, since this was supposed to be posted at least a week ago. Oops. Anyway, this is part I of the previously discussed barista au, because I toyed with the idea for a while and it stuck around. Yes, I recognise the title is a horrible pun, but I couldnât resist. I hope that everyone who liked the idea of this isnât disappointed.
Premise: Oliver is a sports science student who has to maintain his grades in order to retain his scholarship and has a good chance of playing football professionally. Despite that, heâs serious about wanting to do well. His flatmates spend more time drunk than they do sober, so heâs given up trying to work at home and finds a little coffee shop to study in. What he doesnât expect is to develop a painful, near-instantaneous, utterly inconvenient crush on one of the baristas.
i: marcus.
It was just past 5pm, and Marcus was comfortably settled into work for the evening. There was a lazy hum of guitar as his background noise of preference, the coffee shop wasnât too crowded and that gave him time to open his textbook underneath the counter in between making drinks while Susan handled the customers and sorted out any food orders. The page was marked with the casual ease of someone who was used to reading in what spare moments he had, and ainât that the truth? Honestly, he had trouble absorbing it all at once, so taking information in bit by bit while he did other tasks always worked far better for him, letting him actually retain it instead of forgetting it immediately after reading.
While he turned the pages, humming softly under his breath, dark hair clustered at his temples in slight, tousled waves made worse by the steam from the coffee machine. The scent of freshly ground coffee filled his nose, underscored by the lesser hints of different types of tea, and youâd think heâd be sick of it by now, but the fact was he found it comforting. It smoothed out all the rough edges of his day and helped him to concentrate.
Leaning across, Susan stuck a receipt in front of him. âLarge latte with an extra shot for the tall drink of water down at the end there.â There was a mischievous note to her voice that heâd heard before, usually when a customer was particularly easy on the eyes, and he shot her a look back as he got down to making the drink, a grudging half-smile playing about his lips. She mouthed, âEleven out of ten,â at him, her petite frame safely hiding her behind the coffee machine, and he lifted an eyebrow, because only once in a blue moon did Susan make that sort of assessment. Working in a coffee shop this close to the university, they both got to see a lot of different people walk in and out when they were on shift. One thing he had learned, however, was that he and his fellow barista had different ideas of what was visually appealing. Maybe itâs because sheâs an art student, they find the weirdest things interesting. In Susanâs case, that often extended to people, too.
The latte was done in a matter of moments, his hands moving in a familiar rhythm that was as old as time itself to him now. Flicking a quick glance to the receipt to get the name, he walked down to the end and asked, âLarge latte with an extra shot for Oliver?â before sliding the drink across the counter, a slight curve of his mouth because customer service meant you were supposed to smile and be courteous. Since heâd never really mastered smiling on command because other people thought he should, this was the nearest thing that he could manage.
When he glanced up to identify the customer, though, he didnât expect to find someone looking directly back at him, and he certainly didnât expect to recognise the face, even dimly. Oh. It took effort not to do a double-take, because he knew heâd seen this one around somewhere and couldnât quite place where. But everything else apart, Susan had, for once, been exactly right. High cheekbones, gloriously messy brown hair, and as he took the drink, a warm, seemingly shy smile that didnât match with the slight cheekiness of the friendly wink he paired with it. âThanks,â he said, and as he walked away, Marcus got a wonderfully prolonged look at exactly how long his legs were. It took actual concentration not to let his eyes wander further. Not at work. He ignored Susan, who was trying not to laugh and failing, and instead opened his textbook again.
âWell. If he meets even your impossibly high standardsâŚâ Thankfully, her voice is naturally low-pitched anyway and the boy, Oliver, had long since vacated the immediate area for a table over in the far corner, or he might actually have stepped on her foot to silence her.
âDonât start, Susan,â Marcus warned, attention momentarily drawn from the pages in front of him, a loose scattering of diagrams and pencils notations visible. âIâve got to get this stuff into my head before the next class if it kills me. I donât need distractions.â
He felt rather than saw her pout. âWell, if you donât feel like being distracted, mind if I do? Honestly, heâd make a wonderful model, I might see if I can convince him to sit for me.â
With an impatient gesture that said be my guest quite clearly, Marcus went back to his book while Susan wandered out onto the main floor of the coffee shop. Ostensibly, sheâd gone to clean up, but the odds were good that sheâd find an excuse to be distracted, as she put it, while she was there.
ii: oliver.
Oliver was absolutely knackered. So knackered, in fact, that the only thing stopping him from going back to his flat and murdering his flatmate in cold blood, or falling asleep in the chair heâd just sat down in was the steaming cup of coffee in his hands. When he took the first sip, his eyes actually closed for a moment because thank Christ, caffeine. On the second sip, the warmth seeped through him and took away the fact that it was freezing outside. On the third, he was recovered enough to sneak another glance up at the counter and the dark head of hair tilted downwards over what looked like a book. Theyâd barely exchanged words, really, but Oliver knew himself, enough to know that he definitely liked what heâd seen when the barista had handed him his coffee. Sharp jawline, faint hint of dark stubble that managed to be attractive without being scruffy, broad shoulders clad in a long-sleeved navy-blue shirt rolled back at the elbows, and that maddening hint of a smile. Another sip of the coffee, and it was enough for him to tell that it was good, definitely good enough to keep him coming back. The odds were that he was going to be spending a lot of time here, and the reason why could be summed up very succinctly. âDrunken bastards,â he muttered under his breath, opening his backpack and pulling out his notes, wincing at the state of his handwriting. Right. Best neaten these up.
âDo you kiss your mother with that mouth?â
Startled, Oliver looked up, not realising that his commentary had been quite so audible. However, when he realised it was the redheaded girl from behind the counter, he relaxed. âSheâd wash my mouth out if she heard me,â he said, amused. âBecause like every mother, sheâs convinced that Iâm still five and wonât believe it until I prove otherwise. That was relatively mild.â
âAye, I figured, you being very obviously from Glasgow and all.â The impish grin that accompanied the girlâs words left him confused, until she introduced herself. âIâm Susan. Barista by whatever hours Iâm designated to work, art student by trade who couldnât help but notice youâve been gifted with the kind of bone structure that begs to be drawn.â
The words flustered him, left him wondering how the hell to answer, so he settled on an easy smile and deflection. âHonestly, I think your counterpart might be the better candidate for that,â he said, nodding in the direction of the other barista. When he caught the playful gleam in Susanâs eyes, he kicked himself. Why do I talk? âBut Iâm never opposed to a new friend. Iâm Oliver,â he said, offering his hand outwards. âWhich you know, because I gave you my name about five minutes ago when I ordered,â he added, cringing slightly at himself. And this is why I shouldnât try to be social when Iâm tired. âSorry, bit braindead, the coffee was necessary.â
When Susan laughed and shook his hand, he couldnât help but be a bit relieved. Usually, he had no problem navigating new interactions, but right now he was operating on far less sleep than he actually required. When her expression took a turn for the mischievous, Oliver became sharply aware that heâd probably said something he shouldnât have. âHeâs so used to me drawing him in between taking orders at this point that heâd probably be thankful for me practicing on someone else,â she said with a theatrical sigh. âAnd honestly, can you blame me?â
Watching the dark-haired barista move with the kind of controlled grace that made him look almost alien when placed behind somewhere as commonplace as a coffee shop counter, Oliver couldnât argue with her and therefore, he didnât. Instead, he spent a few seconds mulling over the boy, wondering what his name might be and why he felt like heâd seen him before. Probably around the university or something. Fortunately, he didnât have to answer because she switched subjects a moment later. âSo what brings you to our little hole around the corner from the campus? Besides the coffee, of course. Iâm guessing you werenât cursing just now for effect.â
Oliver sighed. âI ended up with an absolute dobber for a flatmate this year. Spends more time drunk than sober, and doesnât know when to shut it. I like a drink now and then, but not when it means I canât get any sleep because the eejit and his mates wonât shut it at four in the morning.â He rolled his eyes, pointed at the cup. âHence the extra shot. Eight oâclock football practice this morning, class in the afternoon and Iâm done for, and still got to do some work.â
The wince of sympathy was gratifying, as were Susanâs next words. âWell, that definitely explains the swear words. Should I get our resident coffee genius to make it stronger next time?â
Oliver didnât even pause in response. âGod, yes. If he can possibly add any more caffeine without giving me the shakes or making me ill, yes.â
âHe can make anything that involves coffee and tea taste palatable, itâs a gift. Do you trust me?â
âIâve just met you.â
âIâm a barista. Trust me. Give him free rein on what he makes you next.â
Oliver was too tired to make sense of the conversation, even after the first (excellent) cup of coffee, and his notes were swimming in front of his eyes anyway. âAll right. Tell him that if he can make me something thatâll keep me on my feet for the rest of the evening and tastes as good as the first one did, heâs got a guaranteed customer for life.â
iii: marcus.
Marcus was somewhat expecting the cat thatâs got the cream smile on Susanâs face when she practically sashayed back behind the counter. Heâd looked up only once, seen that she was talking to the attractive boy from earlier (Oliver, his brain helpfully supplied) and snorted to himself, deciding to leave her to it. If there had been a slight pang of disappointment, well, he only had himself to blame, didnât he? And this, this was why he didnât do distractions.
âHey, hotshot. Pretty boy over there says heâll drink anything you make so long as it tastes palatable and doesnât give him the shakes. Up to the challenge?â
So much for no distractions. Of all the things heâd anticipated her saying, that hadnât been one of them. Against his own will, Marcus found his eyes unwittingly drawn towards the boy, suddenly becoming very aware that he had dark circles beneath his eyes and actually looked outright worn out, the more so as he sifted through what looked like pages of notes spread out on the table in front of him. âHard partier with a hangover?â he asked, rather hoping that wasnât the case.
âFootballer with early practices, late afternoon classes and a selfish gobby prick for a housemate who thinks four in the morning is an acceptable time to be pissed as a newt,â Susan amended, only managing to further pique Marcusâ interest, while simultaneously making him wonder how exactly she managed to inveigle information out of people the way she did. âHeâs had a long day. Make him something good.â
âYour wish is my command,â Marcus drawled, abandoning his textbook and turning his attention to the coffee machine. âDid you get his number already? I figured itâd take you at least ten minutes to work up to it, and that was barely five.â
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Susan unsuccessfully attempt to hide a smile, resolved to get her back for it later. âNo, I donât think Iâm his type, though he didnât seem to have trouble acknowledging that he finds you good-looking.â
Marcus didnât bother restraining himself; he rolled his eyes at her quite plainly, and chose not to acknowledge the remark. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her raise her hands in surrender. âJust passing it on, even if you donât believe me.â
âStop bothering me, woman, if you want me to make the damned drink,â he snapped, not meaning to sound quite as snippy as he did. Thankfully, Susan had known him long enough to know the difference between him wanting to focus and him actually being annoyed, and simply stuck her tongue out at him before heading out to the storeroom to go and obtain more takeaway cups. Left in peace, Marcus spent five minutes concocting something that would tick the boxes specified with the ingredients that he had to hand. The result ended up being a monstrous latte that only just fitted in the largest takeaway cup. It looked relatively ordinary, but he was confident that it would fit the bill. âOrder for Oliver?â he called.
And if he wanted to watch the other boy walk towards him, well, he didnât have to admit it to anyone but himself. Even if his rule was no distractions, he didnât see any harm in appreciating the view, and there was a lot about the view to appreciate. When Marcus set the takeaway cup down in front of him, there was a shy smile playing about his mouth again and God, he wished he didnât find it as attractive as he did. When the other went to reach into his pocket, obviously intending to extract his wallet, Marcus shook his head. âTry it first,â he said, leaning elbows against the counter and not quite able to help his curiosity. He didnât often get to see the first reaction to a new drink, so this was a rare opportunity.
When the other boy inclined his head, raised the cup in his direction and took a long drink from it, Marcus watched his reaction move from neutral to enjoyment with a slight half-smile. He didnât get the chance to ask the question, because Oliver (donât pretend like you donât know his name, Flint) had a much wider smile on his face now before he spoke. âI can taste the caramel, andâŚapple pie? And at least a double shot in there.â It was less of a guess when he had another long drink, and damn if that response didnât make Marcusâ day in less than ten seconds. âGod, thatâs exactly what I needed, and I never would have ordered it on my own. How much do I owe you?â
Marcus shook his head again. âNothing. You just helped test out a new special for the menu,â he said, wanting to outright grin, not quite comfortable enough to let himself do it. Finding the other attractive was one thing, but actually doing something about it was another. Probably has someone, anyhow. The fact that he was even considering the matter was more than he wanted to think about, shoved it away with a nod of his head as Susan emerged from the storeroom. âGet that down your neck, youâll feel better,â he said, before disappearing into the storeroom himself, under the pretext of checking whether or not theyâd received the new blend that was supposed to be arriving. They hadnât, but he found a mess, like he always did. With a faintly exasperated sigh, he started to tidy up, ignoring the fact that heâd just bolted in the opposite direction to the first person heâd genuinely been attracted to in almost a year. Well, I always did have a knack for self-sabotage. Or maybe I just donât want to waste my attention on a lost cause.
iv: oliver.
Oliver had been coming to the coffee shop for a few weeks at this point, for a multitude of reasons; the first being that waking up with a hot drink in his hand before his first tutorial or before practice was infinitely preferable to staying at his flat. The second being that his flatmate hadnât proven to be any less of an idiot as time had progressed, and while the atmosphere between them wasnât hostile as such, it might easily go in that direction if Oliver was around the flat more often. The final reason, and the one that he was all too aware of, was the fact that the coffee shop came with the added bonus of the dark-haired barista, whose name heâd discovered only four days prior. Susan had called back to what was presumably the storeroom while Oliver had been waiting for his usual morning order (a flat white). âMarcus, are you done in there yet?â For reasons he couldnât understand, everything seemed to click into place at that point. The name was fitting, but that was also the point where he couldnât entirely ignore the fact that not only had he liked what he saw when he first laid eyes on the other; heâd liked it enough for the interest to continue past the initial meeting.
So the combination of irritating flatmate, burgeoning caffeine addiction, and a need to work undisturbed also happened to coincide with the fact that he was developing a small, inconvenient crush on the barista, on Marcus. They hadnât exchanged words much, nothing more than polite conversation really, but in that time, a comfortable routine had developed. In the mornings, Oliver had his flat white. In the afternoons and evenings, Marcus often had free rein on what to make for him, and he���d never yet gotten it wrong. With a glance, dark eyes seemed able to assess what kind of day heâd had and make the drink that fitted the bill. Susan hadnât been wrong: the other had a gift for it.
It was late one evening when Oliver approached the counter with a textbook in hand, around 8pm, and was met with the half-smile that never quite made it to something more. It held mystery, that look, and heâd rapidly learned that he didnât mind a little mystery. âSame again?â The question, ready when he reached the counter, made him smile ruefully. âYeah, please. This thingâs making life difficult for me.â He raised his textbook, an analysis of sport psychology that was interesting enough, but not easy to translate to the project that his professor had given him. If he hadnât been watching, he wouldnât have seen the flicker of surprise, however slight, that crossed Marcusâ expression when he saw the textbook. That was nothing, however, to Oliverâs reaction when the barista responded, âYeah, that oneâs not fun. Been having a bit of a wrangle with it too.â
It took a few seconds for Oliver to click. Really? So maybe thatâs where I recognised you from, even if dimly. âI didnât realise you were in there too,â he said with a smile. âHow come Iâve never seen you?â
âItâs a big lecture theatre. I sit up at the back and the lecturerâs usually turned the lights down for the projectors by the time I get there. I didnât know you were in there either, to be fair.â That was when the usual half-smile that heâd become strangely used to widened, and oh, Oliver wasnât prepared for that, because if the effect of the half-smile was bad, the full smile was absolutely devastating by comparison. He was sure that he was staring like a fool, and he didnât have the will to sort it out. Pull yourself together.
âIâm aiming for physiotherapist eventually,â Marcus continued, seemingly not registering Oliverâs reaction. âBut Iâve not seen you in any of my other classes, which are somewhat smaller, so Iâm guessing youâre taking a slightly different direction.â
It took Oliver a few seconds to form a coherent sentence, and under other circumstances, he would have been really bloody well embarrassed about that, but Christ, heâs only human and that smile was like attacking the unarmed. âYeah, IâŚIâve been scouted for football, so most of what Iâm doing is geared towards being able to coach and help other athletes if that doesnât pan out,â he said. Though he knew that he was good at what he did, he wasnât naturally a braggart. He felt the weight of Marcusâ scrutiny when the other looked at him more closely, and Jesus, he did the exact opposite of handling it well when the appraisal seemed to run past his face to the spread of his shoulders. Donât blush, for the love of God.
âWhat position?â
The question caught Oliver off-guard, because his mind immediately went to places that it quite definitely wasnât supposed to go while he was in public (I can think of lots of those), and the dark-haired barista (and incipient physiotherapist, apparently) could have easily chosen a better way of wording that. Was that deliberate? He couldnât tell. Marcusâ expression was unreadable besides the smile and the tilted head. It was impossible to work out whether the other had spotted his preoccupation and decided to mess with him. If he did, game on. âAny number of positions, really, but Iâm currently playing keeper,â he said, opting to accompany the words with a grin of his own, daring to put just a little flirtation behind the remark. When he heard a slight spluttering sound from further down the counter, he didnât need to look to know that Susan had caught the gist of what he was implying, and he cringed because heâd honestly forgotten she was there at all. However, it was Marcus that sent her on the retreat with a truly impressive glare that made her disappear back into the stockroom, while Oliver wished for the ground to swallow him up as promptly as possible.
âI play striker, sometimes.â The conversation had turned back to football, and Oliver was thankful for it. Plays and strategies, he could discuss until light turned to dark, even if he was meant to be wrangling his way through the textbook still in his hands. Apparently Marcusâ attention span was much better than his, because in the time that theyâd been talking, heâd still managed to make Oliverâs drink and mark the current page in his own textbook, tucked covertly beneath the counter as it generally was. To Oliverâs surprise, he smiled again, but this time there was an obvious edge of embarrassment to it. âJust realised Iâm being a bit of an idiot, by the way. Iâm Marcus; donât recall ever telling you that.â When he came out from behind the counter, Oliver then got his first good look, up close, at exactly how the other dressed. A faded band t-shirt and a pair of dark, rumpled jeans that clung to all the right places. When the other offered his hand out awkwardly and Oliver closed fingers around his for the handshake, he grinned again. âGood to meet you properly. Iâll see you in our lecture, I guess. Iâd better get back to work.â When he met the otherâs eyes as they released grip, however, the brush of their fingers lingered and he wasnât immune to the spark of that touch, far from it. Whoa. The other didnât need to know that heâd already been fully aware of his name before now. âYeah, you too. See you later.â And with that, they parted ways, Marcus back behind the counter, Oliver returning to his usual seat with coffee in one hand, textbook in the other, and quite probably a really stupid smile on his face like heâd just been hit between the eyes.
What Marcus also didnât need to know was that his small, ridiculous crush had gone from mildly out of hand to completely insane in the span of about ten minutes, if that.
This is really not a good thing. What am I going to do about this?
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