#so they are pretty balanced and fair

[cyten0]

I do know there’s a homebrew class called starknight made by Vyklade, that is all about this. It’s actually really good at it, taking advantage of the different traits of weapons so certain abilities ask for different weapons in your arsenal.

It’s mental score is wisdom, but if you have a nice GM I don’t see why you couldn’t swap that.

hmm... a physical combat mage with summoned weapons... intelligence and dexterity... quickly switches between different weapons on the fly... maybe even controlling floating summoned blades.... a mage-rogue of sorts.... I wonder which RPG systems support something like that...

[sophfandoms53]

Idk if production can rlly top the amount of vitriol that was in Cory’s whole bashing song zing from last year with anyone this season ngl even if Quinn was still there bc to a degree Quinn provided entertainment and his edit was decent. Cory’s edit did not have that luxury so

[prolibytherium]

My dad was very against me getting a dog and then IMMEDIATELY fell in love with her. Like he absolutely adores her. He started off like 'uggh I don't want to end up having to take care of it' and now he REQUESTS to babysit her every couple weeks or so just for fun. He will just sit there petting her and chuckling and saying "She just makes me laugh :)" to himself. He calls himself her 'grandpa'. The bond between an aging father and the pet he didn't want is probably the deepest love on earth.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[freaky-flawless]

is it bad that i'm kinda glad that neither Robecca nor Venus won now bc i'd be so much more upset if either of them had gotten the same tier of final result Rochelle did 💀

NO THAT'S HELLA FAIR

That thought absolutely crossed my mind too!

I do think they had more potential than Rochelle to have really great designs tho, mainly because they both have really solid aesthetics where Rochelle kinda doesn't. Robecca is steampunk, Venus is scene/punk and Rochelle is...French...lol. The MH crew did try to say that her aesthetics are "stained glass" and "wrought iron" but there's really only so much you can do with that, which is why I think a lot of her dolls look alike. The only doll of hers that stands out is Zombie Shake, and its literally her as a zombie lol. Not to mention a lot of her looks were kinda on the more simple side, which I think is an aspect of her style, so going so overboard with this doll just wasn't the move.

[blorbosexterminator]

"In the day time, I'm Andres, just a normal guy with a normal life, but there's something there is something that nobody knows, that I have a secret"

"It's Berlin-"

Perfect, anon! As long as we're watching Disney anyway.

[thetimelordbatgirl]

...Still forever thankful we didn't get Ben and Mal baby because a, Ben and Mal need a lot of therapy before bringing any kids into the world and b, the timeline really makes it look like they got married right out of high school and then ahd a baby, aka everything moving way too fast for them. But also, a son??? Girl I swear official next gens are rare in having the first kid of the main characters be a daughter, its always a son for some reason.

Found this on the Descendants subreddit.

@ginnyrules27 @descenderintofantasy @descendantsteen

[sunderwight]

Modern AU where Shen Yuan accidentally sugar-daddies everyone.

So for the purposes of this, Shen Yuan's family is basically $10 Bananas levels of cluelessly rich. Shen Yuan has almost never had to look at the prices of anything he wants. He and his siblings all get an allowance from the family's main account, which increases when they reach adulthood, and in the interest of fairness his parents made it all the same size. So Shen Yuan gets the same amount of money for his daily living expenses as his older brothers with their penthouse apartments and vacation homes and private jets, at least from the family account (since he doesn't work, he doesn't actually make as much as them in total because they earn more on top of their allowances).

And the thing is, Shen Yuan genuinely just lives a lot more humbly. He likes people but what would he do with a vacation house? Anything really nice would probably require him to fly to get out there, and he gets sick as hell on planes. Living in the central city is also not great for him, because the air pollution is so bad. Having a whole house to himself would also be ridiculous. So he has a reasonable apartment, in a reasonable area, and he splurges every so often on purchases that make him happy and take-out food that he likes, and of course he pays a cleaning service to come in twice a week. Most people assume he's comfortably middle class and has some tech job he does from home, but he's been getting a lot more than he's been spending in his monthly allowances for years now, and the figures are big.

Enter into this environment author Airplane and his trash novels. Novels, multiple, because in this AU there's no PIDW, and instead after some alternate PIDW prototype got popular in the harem genre, Airplane decided to churn out a series of copy-paste shorter stories rather than recycling the same subplots in one massively long epic.

Shen Yuan of course discovers Airplane's writing and becomes as obsessed with it as ever, except this time he notices that if there are delays between new stories, they seem to clear up faster whenever he throws some cash at the problem. And also that the drops in Airplane's writing quality coincide with times when Shen Yuan was having health issues and not keeping up with his VIP purchases. So, he works out that Airplane's probably doing the writing for the money, and that when Peerless Cucumber isn't paying the most for it, Airplane starts listening to the other buffoons in the comment section more to try and entice them to pay his bills instead.

Peerless Cucumber leaves a comment on one of Airplane's latest stories that kicks off the two of them actually chatting, and Shen Yuan eventually gets to the point of offering to fund all Airplane's writing, in exchange for Airplane not doing his crap sellout stuff to appeal to other readers anymore. Airplane thinks he's joking or maybe mocking him. Shen Yuan asks how much it would cost. Airplane fires off a ridiculous number. Shen Yuan doesn't even blink and wires him the first payment. Then he gets annoyed because Airplane leaves him on read for a while, but that's because Airplane is staring at his account balance in shock.

Of course, it's Airplane who starts referring to Peerless Cucumber as his sugar daddy. Shen Yuan is just like "based on your sex scenes I don't think anyone would pay you for that" and Airplane's all "but you WOULD pay for my sex scenes ^_~" and Shen Yuan's like "technically I am actually paying you not to write that shit" and so on. Usual banter. The quality of Airplane's writing improves dramatically, a lot of his readership drops off but he does get new readers and gradually builds up an even bigger fanbase than before, and so on, it all goes pretty well. He eventually writes a few things that take off to the point of getting physical publications and international translations. Technically Airplane no longer needs Shen Yuan to pay all of his bills by that point but he's not going to tell Shen Yuan that! The contract's still good as long as he keeps writing!

Then one of Airplane's online acquaintances runs into some financial trouble and asks for help.

Liu Mingyan used to beta read for Airplane back when he wrote fanfiction (she was like thirteen, Airplane was unaware because internet and hey free beta), and it seems her family has hit a rough patch. She wants tips on how to go pro, but Airplane explains that it was extremely difficult and he mostly lucked out by finding a single wealthy backer. Mingyan wonders if the same guy would be interested in her writing, Airplane sadly thinks not because Mingyan exclusively writes kinky danmei erotica and Peerless Cucumber seems pretty firmly in the closet still and also generally prefers plotty and world-building heavy stuff.

But like, Airplane has definitely gotten a vibe off of Cucumber-bro, and Mingyan's gorgeous older brother does video streams of himself doing cool martial arts and swordsmanship stuff. So he asks her permission and when she gives it, he recommends Liu Qingge's videos to Shen Yuan, being sure to mention that the guy in question can't really afford to keep up with his hobbies and oh what a shame it would be if he had to stop making art like that.

Haha, Airplane, you're not subtle.

Even so, Shen Yuan watches the videos and immediately agrees that Liu Qingge is beauty in motion, and that it would be criminal to deprive the world of more videos of his sword. Swordsmanship! That is the, the art of, martial arts! Definitely. He clicks the donate button, reasoning out that he'll just send a donation about the size of his usual monthly payments to Airplane and call it his good deed for the day.

Liu Qingge is very confused by this new follower from nowhere who suddenly dumped a little over a month's rent into his account. One thing leads to another, with Mingyan and Airplane conspiring to try and get Shen Yuan as a permanent patron, and then Liu Qingge being let in on it. Except that Airplane keeps referring to Shen Yuan as his sugar daddy, and well... it's not like Liu Qingge doesn't ever get 'those' kinds of comments on his videos. At first he's embarrassed, then offended, then mortified that his own younger sister is apparently setting him up to make premium private videos for what he assumes is some old pervert who is going to want him to do untoward things.

However, their options are pretty bleak at the moment, and Liu Qingge worries that if he doesn't do this then Mingyan might. She even mentions something to the effect of having planned to offer herself, and only didn't because she wasn't this "sugar daddy" guy's type!

Teeth clenched, Liu Qingge asks Airplane stiltedly for advice on how to... appeal, to this wealthy benefactor.

In the end though it's not nearly as bad as Liu Qingge feared. He winds up doing more videos in costumes and cosplay, which ought to have been an untenable expense, but Peerless Cucumber always ends up covering the cost of whatever he invests in plus extra. Sometimes he sends Liu Qingge stuff with a request to wear it, but so far it's just been like, badass warrior-themed or historical costumes. Nothing overtly pervy. He does some LARPing, he makes enough to start doing horseback archery again, convinces some of his good-looking peers from various clubs to spar with him, and ultimately the most risque videos he ends up doing are the ones where he demonstrates how to put on certain kinds of gear. He still locks those ones behind paid subscribers only, mostly because he feels like he's doing something illicit now, even if he used to show more skin on his older videos any time he took his shirt off.

Peerless Cucumber doesn't leave creepy comments, either. In fact he seems genuinely nice and supportive, it's hard not to like him, and so even once his situation levels out Liu Qingge decides there's not really much need to stop making videos for him. (He maybe even gets a little giddy thrill over... well, sometimes he finds it all a bit... just when he thinks about Peerless Cucumber watching him demonstrate his physical prowess and finding that alone worth... ANYWAY--)

So that goes on for a while, before Yue Qi enters the scene.

Yue Qi is the childhood friend of one of Shen Yuan's older brothers (Shen bros!) and Shen Jiu owes him a big favor for something that he won't talk about. At least he won't talk to Shen Yuan about it. But Yue Qi is also not the type to ask for help, and Shen Jiu is very bad at offering it, so when Shen Jiu gets word that Yue Qi is having some difficulties making ends meet, he tells Shen Yuan to act as the middle man. Go offer Qi-ge money, he knows you're nice he'll just accept it, and then Shen Jiu will pay the actual bill.

Well it turns out that Yue Qi doesn't just accept it, of course he sees right through it, and gently but firmly tells Shen Yuan that he's not interested in burdening Shen Jiu further than he already has. Etc, etc, stoic stiff upper lips and no proper communication all around. Shen Yuan panics because it's not working and he's also genuinely worried about Yue Qi by now, so he tries to figure out how to make it compelling and basically blurts that, well, see, the thing is that sometimes he pays men to entertain him. You know. To like. Do things, for him. So. He could also pay Yue Qi? To do something for him?

Yue Qi gets the wrong idea entirely, and at first is like, oh, no, A'Yuan, you shouldn't be paying people for that! These things should just happen organically! But Shen Yuan is very adamant that he believes in compensating people for what they do for him, it's not like he can't afford to, and it gets awkward but Yue Qi is like well he does have health problems. It's perhaps difficult for him to meet people. So then he starts worrying about Shen Yuan and all these strange men he's apparently paying for "entertainment". Does his brother know about this?

No of course Shen Jiu doesn't know! He'd hate it, and Shen Yuan doesn't want to hear about how he's doing everything wrong with his life again!

Then Shen Yuan mentions that his prior house cleaning service up and quit on him (they didn't), and if Yue Qi would like to earn fair compensation he could just come over sometimes to help instead, and Shen Yuan would pay him just to tidy up and hang out for a few hours! Which Yue Qi thinks is a fantastic idea, actually, even if Shen Yuan is only doing this because of his brother, this will give Yue Qi a chance to keep an eye on him and his so-called entertainers. Even if he sort of... ends up also being one?

Shen Yuan keeps everything above board, though his apartment always seems perfectly clean and he overpays way too much (Shen Jiu is still footing this bill after all), and Yue Qi starts to think maybe he actually is being paid for intimacy. Of a sort that they're maybe still working up to? Shen Yuan usually has a very thin face after all. He's kind of got two minds about this prospect. On the one hand, he's got his situationship with Shen Jiu, so dating his brother would be absurd. But on the other hand, it's not actually dating, and he does like Shen Yuan, and maybe if they can be good company for each other then Yue Qi won't feel so depressed and Shen Yuan won't need to hire strange men so often.

Meanwhile it's come to Shen Yuan's attention, perhaps through an offhand comment he read online somewhere, that people who are struggling financially often also struggle to "treat themselves". Because even when they have enough money to be comfortable there's often the looming specter of deprivation, and etc, so he figures he should start buying some of his dependents more treats and things. Since they might not buy them for themselves? And also he's enjoying doing this but shhh no he isn't, it's a huge hassle, he's only doing it out of basic moral decency, etc.

So like, Airplane starts getting little things that he'd put on some public wish lists, clearly sent by Peerless Cucumber. And he tells Mingyan to make a list for Liu Qingge too, and sure enough, Liu Qingge (bewildered, slightly flustered) tries to figure out what he's supposed to do with an album from a band he likes and some high-end leather polish. Ultimately settles on playing the music and wearing his nicest leather in his next video. Yue Qi starts arriving at Shen Yuan's place to be plied with his favorite coffees and to have scented candles awkwardly foisted onto him (Shen Yuan does not know what Yue Qi likes in gifts) (he buys these presents himself they're not out of Shen Jiu's pocket).

So finally Shen Yuan's parents start to notice that he's been spending a lot more than usual, and start to worry that he's either been taken in by a scam artist or is secretly dating a gold digger or has developed a drug addiction or something. But asking things directly like normal people is basically illegal in the Shen family, so they decide to hire a private investigator.

Enter Luo Binghe, a young man of humble background who is struggling to make ends meet after the untimely death of his adoptive mother, and is using his P.I. job and his online cooking videos to help pay his way through school (scholarship student). Usually his cases are more like, cyberstalking someone to find out if they're cheating on their spouse, or helping someone planning a lawsuit accumulate evidence on their corrupt employer, or other things like that. When he gets the Shen Yuan case, the idea that the Shen family's son is paying for "company" is well within his list of probable answers.

Though this one is a little... peculiar?

Mostly because Binghe can't find evidence of Shen Yuan actually getting what he would, presumably, be paying for. At first Luo Binghe just goes through the online paper trails, using the info that the Shen parents give him to figure out that Shen Yuan is paying Airplane and Swordmaster Liu (*cough*) what seem to be exorbitant prices just for trashy fiction and cosplay videos. He assumes this is a cover, that someone's actually delivering drugs or going over for "private meetings" or at least actually sending dirty videos as well, but even when he pays for Liu Qingge's VIP access it's just tutorials and such. Neither of these guys are even on any of the sites that are more lenient towards hosting explicit content. Luo Binghe's aware that kinks aren't always obviously sexual, but people don't usually pay through the nose for the kind of content they can easily find for free all over the place, either.

He digs a little more but keeps coming up empty on evidence to clarify which of the many vices the Shen family's son is actually indulging in. Which is a problem because that's the information they're paying him to find out. Plus his curiosity kind of piques as he reads Shen Yuan's seemingly quite invested comments on Airplane's writing and Liu Qingge's videos, looking to see if there's any kind of clandestine code or pattern. But near as he can tell, whatever else Shen Yuan might be getting out of these arrangements, he does genuinely like the stories and videos too? Well. Sometimes. Sometimes he's actually scathingly vitriolic towards Airplane's writing.

Luo Binghe decides that surveilling Shen Yuan himself is probably the way to go. That gets more complicated in court cases, but since the Shen parents just wants to know what's going on and aren't planning on prosecuting their son for anything, it doesn't matter as much if Luo Binghe gets information in sneaky or underhanded ways.

So, Binghe uses the account he created to access Liu Qingge's videos to chat with Shen Yuan a few times, and then recommends his own cooking channel. Shen Yuan doesn't seem too interested in cooking, so Luo Binghe makes sure to include a video that has an image of himself in his recommendation, and then films a few new videos of himself cooking with his shirtsleeves rolled up to three quarters and a few more buttons than usual unbuttoned, adopting a more flirty persona than he typically does for his shows. He takes his cues from some of Liu Qingge's more popular videos for how to be enticing bait.

It takes a few videos, but eventually Shen Yuan comments. Luo Binghe latches onto the chance to start talking to him, playing up a persona of a vulnerable young man with little means who is trying hard to make it through school, etc, and sure enough Shen Yuan seems interested. Well, most predatory people like vulnerable targets, don't they?

However... Shen Yuan just sends him a chunk of money.

Luo Binghe is confused.

Isn't he supposed to ask for something or create some kind of expectation of repayment first? But, maybe this is his approach to handling new targets. Maybe he's just trying to lull Binghe into a false sense of complacency, before he starts indicating what he wants from all of this. Luo Binghe makes sure to move the money Shen Yuan sends him into a separate account, so that if the Shen parents get angry about it then he can return it as a gesture of good faith.

But Shen Yuan just keeps sending supportive comments and donations. Eventually he leaves a comment that alludes to how badly he'd like to taste Binghe's cooking, and Binghe is like finally, but when he implies that they could perhaps meet in person and Luo Binghe could thank him for his support by making him something, Shen Yuan backs off.

Things eventually progress to the point where Luo Binghe, who is a totally normal person treating this like a totally normal job still thank you very much, is basically camping out in the bushes in front of Shen Yuan's apartment building. At some point he conscripts the aid of his weird cousin (finding his birth family was how he got into this business initially), and then almost immediately regrets it because Shen Yuan helps get Zhuzhi Lang a job doing landscaping for his building.

Why would he want Zhuzhi Lang close but not Binghe? Binghe is much handsomer! He'd make an excellent target for seduction! >:(

Anyway eventually Yue Qi catches Luo Binghe lurking around like a creeper and is like, finally, I have caught one of these suspicious men, whilst Binghe is like oh so he does have a lover, well this guy sucks and is clearly not good enough for him, and they both try and chase one another off and Shen Yuan comes home to a heated passive-aggressive-politeness war being waged in front of his apartment. Eventually he realizes the misunderstanding and calls everyone together (zoom conference? in-person meet-up?) to clarify that he is not paying any of them for "special favors", that was just Airplane being deranged about his sense of humor, and then he has no idea what to do when the prevailing response seems to be disappointment.

[kaciidubs]

Talk Dirty [Like You Need Love]

This song has me thinking heavily about expanding this into a fuller fic, so if people end up liking it, maybe I'll go ahead and finish it further! ✧ Summary: Chris was a great friend, picking you up from work whenever you had a late shift - so, it was only fair that you wanted to repay him. ✧  ✧ Word Count:��3.5k ✧ Warnings: Biker!AU, friends to ???, smut, slight dom! Chris, open ended ✧  ✧ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ✧  ✧ Additional Tags: Reader is referred to as Baby, Good Girl, Pretty, Chris is referred to as Baby, Channie ✧ Stray Kids Masterlist ✧ General Masterlist

The streetlights came and went in intermittent strobes, passing over the two of you as his motorcycle hummed along the sparsely occupied street.

Your arms were wrapped securely around his waist just as he’d taught you, the warmth of your body against his back combating the chill of the crisp night air - he really wished he hadn’t forgotten his hoodie in his rush to pick you up.

“Are you cold?” 

As if reading his mind, your voice floated through the comms of his helmet and he shook his head, “I’m alright, baby - don’t worry about me.”

Of course, you weren’t easily swayed - it was a quality he loved about you, no matter how much he preferred to be the one to look out for everyone else, you were always there to double back on him with undeterrable determination; proved by the way you leaned a little more against his back.

He wouldn’t have thought twice about your sweet gesture if it weren’t for the shifting of your arms, your hands slowly splayed against his torso.

“I always worry about you, Chris…” Your voice was soft, dripping with sweet honey as your right hand wandered its way higher, following the soft defined path of his chest underneath his shirt. “It’s hard not to, if I’m honest.”

He took a short breath, unsure if this was truly happening or if his mind was playing tricks on him and twisting your intentions to fit his deep seated desires.

That is, until your left hand carefully danced its way to his thigh, sitting nicely against the cotton of his sweatpants.

“You always do so much for everyone else- do so much for me,” your hand flexed, nails pressing lightly against his thigh, “I just wanna do something for you in return, you know?”

The bike slowed to a roll as you reached a stoplight, Chris keeping the balance with his otherwise unoccupied leg while taking the opportunity to hold onto the outside of your own thigh.

“Be careful with your words, baby - you might give me the wrong idea.”

“Are my actions not enough?” You murmured, inching your hand higher, fingertips brushing along the inseam of his sweats, “Should I do more, Channie?”

His hand left the brake clutch to wrap around your wrist, electricity flowing through your veins like a completed circuit. “You shouldn’t do this. We shouldn’t do this.”

“But I want this, I need this.”

Your hand squeezed, your voice filling his head like the intoxicating lull of a siren’s call.

“I need you.”

Green.

Chris tapped your thigh, ignoring the chill that ran down his spine when you seamlessly went back to holding onto him just like he taught you; arms around his waist, your body against his back.

The ride to his apartment felt like second nature with you - much like other things he did with you, if he were honest with himself - and the moment he pulled into his parking spot, his movements only felt more natural.

Switch engine off. Kickstand down.

Your hands slid up his back, gripping his shoulders as you eased yourself off of his motorcycle, and by the time your touch left him, Chris hopped from his seat with learned grace - his hands unbuckling and taking off his helmet in record time.

By the time your own helmet was off, cradled in your arms, his intense gaze caught your eyes, locking you in a stare off that said more than words could convey, yet their true meaning would be lost to memory with what left his lips.

“Are you sure about this?” He breathed, “Tell me right now and I’ll take you home, and we can pretend none of this happened - just, tell me.”

“Chris,” his name fluttered from your lips like butterfly wings, “I meant every word, I’m sure, I’m so sure-”

Before you knew it, his lips were on yours - the warmth of his palm settling on your cheek in a hold that dared your knees to give out from underneath you - but as fast as they’d appeared, they vanished, leaving you dazedly blinking up at deep brown eyes.

“C’mon.”

The journey up to his apartment was a blur; the melodic chime of the front door’s lock welcoming you to the final stage of your decision as he ushered you through the doorway.

Shoes haphazardly kicked off next to another pile of pairs and helmets stored on a shelf, the empty living room was graced with your presence for what felt like half a second before you were finally where you needed to be.

Chris’s room was a place you’d only been inside of a handful of times, if not to stick your head in to announce your arrival when hanging out with his roommates, then to visit whenever he had a new snippet of a song he wanted to share; there wasn’t a chance for a tour then, and there certainly wouldn’t be a tour now.

With a subtle flick of a switch, the once dark room was suddenly bathed in a dim glow from the led lights lining the ceiling - warm and welcoming, much like the arms that wrapped around you from behind, followed by a soft pair of lips you were quickly getting used to pressing against the junction of your neck and shoulder.

His hold grew tighter as his lips ventured higher - a dotted line of kisses, a brush of his breath against the back of your ear, followed by the ghost of his lips along the shell. 

“Are you still sure?”

Your eyelids fluttered, your lips parting to sigh out words evoked from the fantasies of your deepest desires, “I’m yours.”

He turned you around, and for the first time you were able to truly appreciate the feeling of his lips against your own - soft, likely from the myriad of lip care products your friends tease him for, a sensation you could find yourself craving every day and never growing tired of in the end.

You kissed him back with fervor, taking the liberty of cupping the line of his jaw with one hand while the other cradled the back of his neck, the faint curls of his hair tickling your fingertips.

Chris was the first to pull away, gifting you a fleeting peck when you tried in vain to follow him, just to reach overhead and tug his shirt up and off before unceremoniously dropping it to the floor. However, he barely gave you the chance to admire the view as his hands went to help you out of your hoodie while your own hands hastily went to tug up your shirt in the messy, frantic process.

Two articles down, the warmth of his hands were now free to meet your waist and his lips were on yours once more; his hold tightening as he took a step forward, nudging and guiding you backward until the backs of your legs met the edge of his bed. Obliging to his silent request, you sat down, using the strength in your arms to wiggle yourself up enough to lay comfortably on the full sized mattress and welcome the weight of him on top of you until it wasn’t.

Looking up, you were met with his heated stare, all but devouring you with his eyes as he took in the view - though, you figured you fared the same way when your eyes ventured down, following the strong slope of his shoulders before taking in the sight of his chest.

It wasn’t a view you hadn’t seen before thanks to his aversion of shirts in his own home - granted, it was his apartment, so you couldn’t fault him for the times he’d come out of his room to see you happily chatting away with his roommates unbeknownst to him - but you could now appreciate the details you wouldn’t have taken in otherwise such as defined pectorals and the smallest beginnings of abs against his otherwise soft stomach.

Ending the unintentional standoff, Chris lent forward, his fingertips just barely grazing your lower stomach as they went to the button of your jeans, “Can I?”

“Please.”

The corner of his lips ticked up but he ducked his head before you could see the smirk blossom, though you couldn’t find yourself to care once your jeans were undone, lifting your hips to help him shuffle the garment down the length of your legs and watching him give them the same fate as your shirts.

“These too?” He mused with a teasing lilt, eyes flicking from your own to the plain black panties you wore.

A short huff brushed past your lips, an unamused pout pursuing them. “Chris.”

The sound of his delighted giggles bounced off the walls, reducing the heat of arousal to a nice simmer that your nerves greatly appreciated - that is, until his fingers hooked underneath the waistband and slowly pulled them off; the sensation of his knuckles dragging along your thighs drawing a soft gasp from you.

It wasn’t long until they were down your legs, past your feet, and dropped off the edge of the bed, leaving you entirely bare from the waist down.

“Fuck…” He breathed, propping his knee on the bed as his hands slid up from your calves to the backs of your knees, caressing your skin before gently bringing them up and out - exposing your pussy to his pure delight. “Look at you, pretty girl.”

A wave of heat washed over you followed by an embarrassed whimper, “Chris, don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Looking up, he cocked his head slightly, “You said you were mine, which means I’m allowed to compliment what’s mine, yeah?” He bent down, maintaining eye contact as he kissed your knee softly, “You belong to me, right, baby?”

Your heart jumped to your throat, his words working like a spell against your lust addled mind.

“I belong to you.” You breathed softly, melting into his hypnotizing gaze.

A pleased hum vibrated through him as he dipped his head to kiss the inside of your thigh, his lips brushing against your skin, “Good girl.”

His kisses trailed higher and higher, growing messier and messier as he went - a nip here, a suck there, open mouthed and worshiping until he reached your pussy.

Just as he was about to dive in face first, your hand tugged at his hair, effectively breaking him out of his tunnel vision to give you his undivided attention.

“What’s wrong? Do you wanna stop? I can-”

“No! God, no - it’s just…” You took a deep breath, your bravado escaping you the instant you stopped him, “I want you to eat me out, but I wanna suck your dick too. I wanna make you feel good too, Channie”

“You wanna suck my dick, pretty?” A shiver ran down Chris’s spine at the mere thought, his dick painfully straining underneath his boxer briefs and sweats. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that? Words like that coming from a mouth like yours - you’re a fucking dream.”

His presence left from between your legs and part of you felt silly for missing it until you saw him reaching for his sweatpants - even through the black fabric you were able to make out the noticeable bulge tenting the front - the waistband of Calvin Klein nudging you in the right direction of what he wore underneath.

Pushing both articles past his hips, your eyes were immediately glued to the dips in his pelvis - the Adonis belt, a fitting alternate description of his v-line until your attention jumped to a scattering of hair beneath his navel leading to seemingly maintained pubic hair.

However, your peep show was obscured by his head as he bent forward to take his clothes off the rest of the way, giving you the chance to mentally prepare for the grand reveal. By the time he stood straight again, you couldn’t help the audible gasp that left you, your eyes widening as you took him in all his glory - all of the jokes his friends would make now having validity behind their digs.

“I hope that’s a good reaction…” Chris spoke sheepishly, his ears as red as a tomato as he averted his eyes to the side, one hand twitching to cover himself while the other anxiously rubbed the back of his neck.

“Chris,” your soft call was enough to bring his eyes back to you, just in time to see you undoing your bra and tossing it to the floor, “I really want you in my mouth, baby.”

The air of shyness quickly left him as he smirked, making his way back onto the bed, “Say please.”

Reaching forward, your fingers danced along the underside of his jaw before you whispered, “Please?”

It was almost instantaneous in the way you found yourself straddled over his face, his hands massaging the plush of your thighs as if he couldn’t get enough of the way they squished and jiggled under his hold.

You leaned forward, eyes eagerly taking in his dick from the new angle; he was thick, probably an inch over average if you had to guess, with the prettiest veins that begged for your tongue to trace them.

“Don’t force yourself to take me, okay?” He called from the other end, the feeling of his breath against your cunt sending chills down your spine. “I know I’m… y’know, big, so I don’t want you to hurt yourself to make me feel good - you letting me do this is more than enough, baby.”

“I can do it Channie,” spitting into your palm, you graciously took him into your hand with a slow stroke, “I’ll be okay.”

A low groan escaped him, your sudden touch sending him into the stratosphere, “Just- Be careful for me, alright?”

Humming in agreement, you wasted no time in littering his tip in butterfly kisses and kitten licks, slowly getting yourself used to the bittersweet taste of his precum.

“Shit…” Not holding himself back any longer, Chris slid his hands up to your hips before pulling you back onto his mouth, his tongue eagerly diving between your folds as if it were an ice cream cone on a hot summer’s day.

The action made you jolt forward, though you barely moved an inch thanks to his hold on you, your lips parting to let a moan float through.

“Mm, not too loud, baby,” he spoke against your pussy, kissing the hood of your clit, “don’t wanna wake up my roommates, yeah?”

As much as the idea called to something daring within you, you shook your head, using this as an opportunity to take the first few inches of his cock into your mouth; just enough to have the weight settle on your tongue while your hand stroked what you hadn’t gotten to yet.

“There you go.”

With that, he went back to exploring your pussy with his tongue, dipping past your walls every now and then before going back to dancing around your clit - his hands enjoying their new home on the curve of your ass.

To say the feeling of his mouth on you was mind numbing would’ve been the understatement of a lifetime - it was as if he was eating you out in the most respectfully disrespectful way, the sounds of his lips sucking your clit paired with low, breathless moans before he went back to lapping up your arousal was pure debauchery.

You tried your best to be diligent, bobbing your head in time with the curls of his tongue against your slit while your fist used whatever drool that dripped from your lips as lubricant to keep each stroke smooth and slick - your efforts not going in vain by the way his thigh would flex, or the twitch of his hips - but you were quickly falling victim to the pleasure.

“Taste so fucking good, baby,” he mouthed against your pussy, as if moving even an inch away would be detrimental to his psyche, “could stay here forever.”

The thought had you moaning around his cock, pulling away to give your lungs the reprieve of a full breath, only for a whined exhale to follow suit. “C-Chris, please.”

“Please, what?” Flattening his tongue, he licked a fat stripe up before giving your clit the lightest kiss imaginable, “Gonna come for me, pretty? Is that what you want?”

“N-No,” dropping your face to his thigh, you focused all of your energy into keeping your hand moving, “w-wanna make you come first, just- shit, just slow down a little!”

Chris hummed, feigning deep consideration, “But what if I want you to come for me?” His right hand slid further between your legs, his index finger stroking your fluttering walls with the promise of something more, “You said you wanted to repay me - so, let me make you come.”

Your hips bucked, muscles yearning to press back against the pressure to send you over the edge you were dangerously teetering over. “But-”

“Baby,” the velvet drawl of the pet name earned a pitiful hum in response, “you wanna make me feel good, don’t you?” He felt your head nod against his thigh, huffing out a short chuckle before continuing, “You wanna ‘repay’ me for everything I do for you, right?”

“Yes.” You sighed out, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his thumb replacing his finger in favor of toying with your clit.

“Well, guess what?” Dragging his thumb up, he pressed it against your slit, “Watching you come for me- Feeling you come for me is all I could ever want from you,” slowly pushing his thumb past your walls, he ghosted his lips against your inner thigh, “show me how good I’m making you feel, baby - do it for me, please.”

He punctuated his plea by swirling his tongue around your clit once more, thrusting his thumb in time with each flick while his left hand held your hip tightly.

Your mouth fell open, a moan fighting its way through your vocal chords only to come out as choked gasps, “Ch-ah- Channie- Fuck- Channie p-please-”

Pressing his thumb in to the knuckle, Chris wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, humming out a low moan that proved to be the final straw to push you over the edge.

“Chris- C-Chris-!” Lifting your head, you put your mouth over your arm in hopes of muffling the airy moans escaping you, your vision blurring behind pleasure-fueled tears as he worked you through your orgasm.

His thumb slipped from your entrance to make room for his tongue to lap up your cum, drinking you up like a tall glass of water after a day in the sun.

It didn’t take long for you to catch your bearings, going to move away from his face until his hands tightened on your hips in silent challenge, a disgruntled grunt rising from your pure audacity of interrupting him.

“Channie, ‘s too much,” you whined breathlessly, wrenching your hand away from his - still hard - dick in favor of pushing yourself up onto your arms, “c-can’t take it, baby, please.”

Pulling away with a lewd slurp, Chris heaved a heavy breath, combating the lightheadedness of his tunnel vision while you carefully maneuvered yourself away from him - shuffling around to hover your head over a pillow before collapsing in the empty space, your body gratefully welcoming the cool sheets against your skin.

Bated breaths danced in the otherwise quiet atmosphere, Chris’s gaze locked on the ceiling as his lust-fogged brain tried to make sense of what just happened between the two of you.

“Channie?”

His heart fluttered at your soft call of his name, turning his head just to come across a sight that made his breath catch; you, his friend, laying beside him looking beautifully ruined with the golden afterglow of your orgasm that he gave you emanating from your body.

He tentatively licked his lips, goosebumps rising as your taste still lingered in his mouth, “Yeah, baby?”

“I still wanna make you come.” You murmured softly, eyes blinking at him so innocently it almost felt wrong that it made his dick twitch at the sight. “I still owe you, after all.”

Chris huffed out a chuckle, lifting himself onto his forearm before hoisting himself above you, settling his hips between your legs as he caged you in with his arms - this was a sight he could get used to.

“Instead of making this out to be you repaying a debt, how about we turn it into a ‘thank you’ gift, hm?” Leaning his head down, he brushed his nose against yours, “You thank me for the ride and the orgasm,” his lips ghosted against your own, “then I thank you for thanking me.”

“Chris, that won’t make any sense,” your voice was barely a whisper, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, “if you thank me, I’ll just thank you back - we’ll be in a loop.”

“We’ll work out the details later, then.” He murmured before leaning forward, catching your lips with his and sharing your taste off of his tongue.

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @kpopsstuffs, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @laylasbunbunny, @4-chan-inpadella, @butterflydemons, @kimahreummm, @ta3baee, @snowy-violet @bethanysnow

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

[nomaishuttle]

ok gnnn gnnn i love you all ^-^

[arolesbianism]

Bndori furries are fun to design and all but it is Killing me that I can't give most of them long sharp claws. Local bndori fan shocked at the presence of instrument players in the band game with bands in it

[pathologicalreid]

litmus test | s.r.

in which Spencer needs your expertise to help solve a murder, but crime fighting is most decidedly not for you

find more chemist!reader here!

who? spencer reid x chemist!reader category: flangst (like. the end is a little angsty and it has case details) content warnings: typical cm violence, science talk, fem!reader, reader is not built for crime, morgan being an older brother, some fun banter!! death by firework is crazy lmao word count: 1.68k a/n: this is one of my favorite fluff pieces i've written in agessss i missed chemist!reader so much i learn so many things when i'm writing her. this was a request! i hope you like it as much as i do!!

“Do you have a second?” Spencer asks, his voice slightly choppy over the phone. Between his ancient phone and being inside concrete police precincts, some disconnect was bound to happen.

Saving your document to your computer, you rest the lab phone between your shoulder and ear, “If you’re asking me if I have any corrosive chemicals in my hands, the answer is no.”

He chuckles lightly, “I never know with you.”

You roll your eyes in response, even if he can’t see you, “It was one time and I needed a new phone case anyway.”

“You fused the plastic of your phone case to the material of your phone,” he retorts far too quickly for your liking.

“Yes,” you acquiesce, “but I know the exact chemical reaction that caused that phenomenon.” You cross your legs one over the other, maintaining your balance on your lab stool as you speak to Spencer over the phone.

He gave a light hum in response, “Speaking of chemical reactions – I need your help.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “You’re asking me for help in chemistry?” There really was a first time for everything, you suppose.

Spencer was more than capable of navigating a lab on his own, even so, he admits, “You have more applied practice than I do.”

Pursing your lips, you nod to yourself, “Fair enough. What’s stumping you, Dr. Reid?” Your inquiry, while innocent enough, garners a wolf whistle from your graduate assistant.

“There’s something burning a hole in these bones, and I’m not sure what would be causing it to happen this fast,” he explains, giving you minor background information on how long the bones were out and if the medical examiner had treated them with something.

You clear your throat, frowning at the notes you had scrawled down in front of you, “Burning or corroding?” What was seemingly a meaningless distinction would actually allow you to filter through approximately half of the possibilities.

“Corroding,” he corrects himself, “My mistake.”

Crossing off some of your notes, you purse your lips at the new possibilities, “No worries. Did you try flushing it out with water?”

You hear papers flipping on his end of the call before you get a response, “That would destroy evidence.”

“Well,” you raise your eyebrows, “It sounds like your evidence is destroying itself.”

“Baby,” Spencer says in a no-nonsense tone reserved for when he was deep in a case. You could’ve sworn you heard Morgan in the background of the call mocking him for the pet name.

Turning back to your notes, you sigh, “Yeah, yeah, all work and no play. Was the body buried?”

“Partially,” his reply intrigues you, “I can have Garcia send you the crime scene photos if you think it’ll help.”

Wrinkling your nose at the thought, you made an unsure sound, “Right, because nothing says lunchtime like getting up close and personal with a homicide victim.”

“What lunchtime? It’s three pm in D.C. right now,” he caught you, a slight chiding tone in his words.

Ignoring his questions, you ask more of your own, “Was the body near water? Did they test the pH of the soil and water?”

There were more papers flipping, likely someone presenting the results of those tests to him, “Yeah, the soil was a five-point two and the water was a seven-point eight,” he listed off for you.

While your knowledge of the pH of the soil in Iowa was limited, you did know that those levels were pretty on par for the northern Mississippi River. “O-kay,” you say, extending your vowels, “and they didn’t find anything else on the scene that points to corrosive materials. Hydrofluoric acid?” You posit, “No, you know what – maybe you should send me those files. My work email is encrypted, you can give it to Penelope.”

He speaks to someone else in the room with him and you resist the urge to ask him if he’s enjoying Iowa, “It’s sent,” he confirms with you.

Pulling up your email only takes a moment, and once you get over the initial shock of seeing a dead body on your computer screen, you lift your lab glasses to the top of your head in order to get a better look. “I mean,” you think for a moment, “those look like alkali burns to me. I’ve never seen them on bones before, but you should do a litmus test to check either way.”

“So, we rinse it with water?” He asks, seeking instruction from you in a way that makes you feel oddly powerful.

Your eyes widen, “No, no, no. If it’s a metal compound then it’ll be covered in a mineral oil, so rinsing it with water would actually make the burn worse.”

Pausing for a moment, you consider the possibility that Spencer didn’t have the luxury of time – he was trying to solve a murder, not do experiments in a lab.

“Alkali burns can be serious, it all depends on what caused them, and most are helped by rinsing with water. So, unless you have the time to test for metal compounds, I’d go ahead and rinse it. You might want to brush the damage to the bones with a dry brush first. If there’s lime on the bones it’ll foam, which not only will corrode the bones even further but it might release a toxic gas,” you have no idea how the corrosion would interact with bone marrow, but something tell you that you don’t want to know

“Wait a minute,” Derek interjects, being included in the conversation now that Spencer put the call on speaker, “I thought things like alkaline water were good for you.”

You scoff instinctively, “Oh, there’s no definitive evidence that shows alkaline water as having any real health benefits. Especially not the benefits that the internet says it has.” Straightening up in your stool, you continue, “In fact, there is evidence from the NIH that says drinking alkaline water could cause kidney damage. There’s a particular-“

“My bad,” he interjects, effectively stopping your rambling before it really took off, “I forgot whose girlfriend I was talking to.”

Groaning at your new vexation, you huff, “Oh, fuck off, Derek. Go kick down a door.”

Spencer quickly switches the phone back, “Thank you, angel.”

Squinting at the photos that were still on your laptop screen, a crude, disturbing thought came to mind, “You know, sparklers can cause alkali burns. It might be something to consider because of the diameter of the burns.”

Your boyfriend was silent on his end of the call for so long that you had to check and make sure the call hadn't dropped. “Did you say sparklers?”

“Yep,” you confirm, “like the ones you can get everywhere this time of year.”

He says something to Morgan, placing his hand over the receiver so you can’t hear, “There’s only one spot in this town, though. I’ve gotta go, see you soon.”

“Stay safe, please! I prefer your bones unburned,” you rattle off into the phone before it clicks, placing the phone back on the stand and deleting the crime scene photos from your inbox.

The front door to the apartment opens and shuts quietly, with Spencer under the assumption that you already went to bed, he was surprised to find you on the couch, nursing a cup of tea. “Hey, baby,” he chirps, unusually peppy for this time of night.

“Hey,” you say half-heartedly, threading your fingers through the handle of the mug.

Your somber tone gets Spencer’s attention, “What’s wrong?”

The slight panic in his voice causes your eyes to snap up to his, “Nothing,” you murmur. “It’s just… the woman who was in those pictures. There- the burns on her bones, they were signs of torture, weren’t they?”

You’d been thinking about the burns ever since Spencer showed them to you, “Yes,” he answers with a reciprocating softness, sitting down next to you on the couch. “The medical examiner concluded that she was burned antemortem.”

That woman had been burned alive by fireworks, sparklers had seared their way through skin and muscle until it finally met her bones. You blink a few tears from your eyes at the thought, “I like my lab, Spence.”

The confusion on his face was palpable, “I know you do.”

“I like my minimal human interaction and my chemicals, and I like knowing why certain things cause certain reactions. I like it when things make sense.” You take a deep, shaky breath, “Killing someone. Torturing someone with fireworks. That just doesn’t make sense to me.”

You had no interest in hearing the excuses that the killer had provided. You had no interest in hearing the psychological breakdown of that woman’s killer. Spencer knows that, “The photos got to you?”

Taking a sip from your mug, you nod solemnly, “I can’t stop thinking about the way it must have felt. Oh, the smell must have been horrible. That poor woman.” In theory, it was a ridiculous notion, killing someone with fireworks seemed neither probable nor possible. Yet here you are.

“But we got the person who killed her,” Spencer reassures you, resting his hand gently on your knee. “We couldn’t have done it without you,” he adds.

Your face warms at his compliment, “I wish I could have helped before she was killed.” You were grateful that Spencer hadn’t passed on any personal information about the woman, it was easier for you if you kept things in separate storage files in your mind.

Spencer hums, reaching out and sweeping a strand of hair behind your ear, “There’s always going to be another one. I’m sorry about the photos, I should’ve made sure Garcia only sent the necessary ones.”

Nodding absentmindedly, you look at him thoughtfully, “This will pass, but for tonight I just feel bad for the victim.”

“I can have Penelope share some of her favorite baby animal videos, if you’d like,” he offers softly, resting his head on your shoulder.

In return, you give him a small smile, “Well, I suppose it really can’t hurt.”

[cherrygirlfriend]

older!rafe x ditzy!reader who works for him

warning: nsfw MDNI! this was based on this request!! i hope you like it <3

you had driven rafe crazy ever since you started working at the country club he owned; the way you smelled of flowers and vanilla, how your little sundresses and miniskirts clung to your curves, and the smile on your face that was so bright it would put the damn sun to shame.

when he first saw you, you looked so out of balance, your tray full of mugs and plates, so filled to the brim that he was sure you would drop it any moment. and like any gentleman, he decided to help you. you'd thanked him profusely, and when he simply smirked at you, he could see the flush creeping up to your pretty cheeks.

ever since then, he was a man possessed.

but he always had a rule to never mess with someone who works for him. he knows to keep his personal life and professional life separate. but it was so hard, when he'd see you bend over, your cleavage unknowingly almost pushing out of the little top you had worn that day. usually, people had to wear a uniform, but the first day you hadn't worn it, and rafe had told your supervisor to never make you wear one. he couldn't count all the times that he had jerked off to the mental image of you lifting up one of your pretty floral dresses and letting him fuck you in the country club bathroom. he was a grown ass man, and you had him acting like a teenager.

one day, rafe called you into his office. you were confused, and a little frightened, worrying that maybe you'd done something wrong. sure, your supervisor said he didn't mind when you broke a few (15) cups the other week, but what if rafe disagreed with him? i mean, he was your boss's boss.

even though the door to his office was open, you knocked on it gently, and the man turned around to face you with a smile on his face. "come in. close the door."

suddenly, your throat felt dry as you did as the man told you to; he had a commanding presence, a person would probably have to be crazy to not do what he asked them to. "why'd you want to see me?" you asked, your voice shaky and squeaky as he took a few steps closer to you.

"i just wanted to say," rafe smiled as he stopped right in front of you, only inches between your chests, the man biting down on his lower lip in between sentences, "that you're one of the best employees we have."

huh. that was the last thing you expected.

your eyes widened, and your words basically stumbled out of your mouth, almost as clumsy as you had been on your first day. "thank... you?"

rafe chuckled, bringing one of his hands to your chin and lifting it up so you'd look him in the eye, "what, you don't believe me?" he grinned, and even though his hand dropped away from your chin, it felt like the spot he had touched was on fire.

"well, i mean... to be fair, i think i kind of suck... i mean, i broke a few dishes, and i accidentally gave the wrong order to three different people today and apparently someone's lobster was-"

your rambling was interrupted by the blonde man's laughter, causing you to look up at him with wide eyes, while he simply looked at you with affection, "you're adorable." he said, causing your cheeks to flush slightly as he pressed his hand on your cheek, clearly enjoying your little reactions. "god, i can't believe you blush from just that. it makes me all the more curious."

"curious? about what?"

"about..." one of his hands trailed up and down your arm, causing goosebumps to form on your skin there as shivers ran down your spine, his eyes looking down at you wolfishly as he leaned closer, his volume dropping to almost a whisper. "how pretty you'd look if you were riding me on my office chair. or the kind of noises you'd make when you come. do you whine? do you whimper? do you moan? you know, it drives me insane."

your face heated up even more, his thumb now at the edge of your lips, and you could feel your cotton panties starting to stick to your folds as you looked up at him, not realizing that the doe-eyed look on your face was causing his pants to feel tighter. the situation was just like out of the dreams you'd had of rafe, the ones you tried so hard to forget, the ones that were so inappropriate to have of your boss, or, boss's boss.

"oh, uh... thank– thank you." you say with a small smile, the man letting out a chuckle, while your cheeks were feeling like they would light on fire any moment now.

"keep up the good work, sweetheart." he said, his hands dropping away from you, taking step back. and as you walked out of his office with your heartbeat in your ears, you pinched the inside of your elbow just to make sure that hadn't been a dream.

[isaacathom]

the 'isaac's oc duke it out' situation has evolved. they're now all lvl10, ive done some slight rebalancing (removed a feat that calvyre had, since no other character had a feat, tweaked some ability scores). everythings great.

my predictions, such that they are, is that devin will do surprisingly well, especially against the two fighters, but that her rematch against naielle will be a lot closer in a less kite-y way. i have no fucking clue about anyone else. i think calvyre will do quite well because she'll be able to kite, but im not sure that will really apply to anyone other than florian and maybe devin. naielle's the only caster with a decent health pool but shes fairly frail. zimris the most vesatile caster with the highest ac but only if they get to set that up. florian just hits shit so as long as he Gets In i dont see a problem here lmao

[chestersturniolo]

One try

stoner!matt x fem!reader x stoner!chris

warnings; drug use obviously / poly relationship no incestuous shit

summary; whilst chris is out of the house, you beg matt for just one try.

·˚ ༘

Chris had been out for a few hours, leaving you and Matt alone in the quiet house. The time slipped by lazily , and after a long , hot shower together, you both settled on the couch.

Your head is on Matt’s lap, his free hand gently playing with your hair. The familiar scent of smoke fills every inch of the air - it’s a smell you’ve grown used to. Matt and Chris smoke often, pretty much all the time. It’s never bothered you; in fact, it feels like home. You had never really been much of a smoker, but for some reason tonight, your curiosity peaked.

Matt had always been slightly more lenient than Chris, so you take this as your opportunity,

You glance up at Matt

“Matt-“ you say quietly “-can I try it?”

He snaps his head to glance down at you on his thighs, his brows furrow slightly, taking a long drag before letting his head fall back against the couch,the smoke rolling out of his mouth slowly, as he exhales upward, avoiding your gaze for a moment. Then his lazy eyes find yours again,

“No” he says, the word short and firm.

You huff, sitting up from his lap. “What? Why not? You and Chris do it constantly” you sass, folding your arms.

“Yeah, but that’s me and Chris. You’re you.” Matt says like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

You frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighs, placing the joint down in the ashtray he had balanced on the arm of the couch. His hand cups your cheek gently, and for a moment, his thumb strokes it before he starts- “It means I don’t want you messin’round with it, sweetheart. It’s different for us—we’re used to this shit”

Before you can respond, he lets go and picks the joint back up and takes another puff. You roll your eyes. “Pleaseee” you whine, leaning into him.

He chuckles slightly at your whines, “Nope” he says, popping the “p”

But you’re not giving up that easily. You crawl onto his lap, planting your knees either side of him. Matt shifts, placing his joint to hang in the corner of his lips so he could instinctively wrap his large hands around your waist without accidentally burning you. You bat your eyelashes at him, pulling your best puppy dog eyes, your bottom lip jutting out slightly.

“Come on baby, don’t give me those eyes-“ he groans, the words muffled slightly by the joint balancing in the corner of his mouth “-that’s not fair”

“Matt, please-“ you pout, your voice soft and pleading. “-just this once. I promise”

You accompany your beg with the slightest roll of your hips.

Matt runs a hand through his hair, clearly struggling. With a deep sigh, he removes the joint from his lips, his fingers brushing his forehead in frustration. “Goddammit” he mutters under his breath. His eyes lock onto yours, a stern look crossing his face. “One try. Just one.”

A grin spreads across your face, and you can’t help but feel pleased with yourself. Matt shakes his head, a small chuckle escaping him as he sees the victory in your eyes. “But you need to go easy you hear me? This is mine n Chris’ stash, so it’s strong shit, baby”

You nod eagerly, feeling a rush of excitement. Matt sighs before he brings the joint to your lips. You take a hesitant puff, only to immediately start coughing. Matt is quick to rub your back, giving a couple of pats.

“You good?” he asks, concern in his voice.

You nod, breathless from your coughs “I’m good, I think I need to try again”

Matt looks at you, still unsure. “Are you sure?”

When you nod, he brings the joint to your lips again. “Small and slow” he reminds you, watching closely. You inhale, and this time it’s smoother, the smoke filling your lungs without the harshness of before. You exhale slowly, and the corner or Matts lips turn upward

“That’s it” he praises softly.

You take a couple more puffs before Matt decides you’ve had enough. “Right, that’s way more than enough. No more - lay down n let it catch up”

You slide off his lap and settle back into your spot, your head resting comfortably on his thighs. Matt’s fingers thread through your hair again, and you close your eyes, feeling a little drowsy. Warmth wraps around you, a soft haze settling in your mind.

“How you feelin’?” Matt almost whispers, looking down at you

You giggle, feeling light “Gooood” you say, drawing out the word.

Matt chuckles at your state, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. The world feels soft, and you feel yourself sinking deeper into the couch and Matts touch.

~

A little while later, the sound of the front door opening pulls you from your daze. Chris is back. His heavy footsteps echo up the stairs to the living room, and before you know it, he’s standing in front of you and Matt on the couch. His brows are furrowed as he takes in the scene, you sprawled across Matt, your glazed-over eyes, the goofy smile on your face, and Matt puffing on a new joint he’d just pulled from behind his ear like nothing’s out of the ordinary.

“I’m back, Ma” Chris says, but you’re too spaced out to respond right away as you stare up at the ceiling.

“Hey-“ Chris says more sharply, gripping your cheeks between his fingers and gently turning your face toward him. “-you good?” His tone is more concerned now, his eyes scanning your face.

You break into a wide grin, unable to contain a giggle. “Chrisssss” you draw out his name, eyes glassy and unfocused. You giggle again, and Chris quickly figured out what had gone on, his concern deepening as he snaps his head up to Matt.

“You got her stoned, Matt? Are you fuckin’ stupid?” Chris snaps, his voice sharper now, clearly annoyed. “She doesn’t do this shit”

Matt exhales a cloud of smoke lazily, barely lifting his head to meet Chris’s glare. “You try tellin her no when she’s bein all whiny and cute, trust me bruh i tried-” he defends running a hand through his hair “-you know how she gets man ,what was i supposed to do” he shrugs.

Chris rolls his eyes, deep down knowing exactly how hard you are to say no to, but he still wasn’t happy,

“What you were supposed to do was not let her get high off our stash idiot-” Chris retorts, his voice edged with irritation. “-this shit’s strong, Matt”

“She’s fine-“ Matt says, glancing down at you. “Right, baby?”

You nod, giggling through the haze. “I’m okay, Chris. I feel gooood” you say, stretching the word out, your eyes half-closed and dreamy. You try to wave him off, but the movement is slow and uncoordinated, making you giggle to yourself once again.

Chris sighs, shaking his head as he watches you, still clearly concerned but beginning to relax slightly now that you’re at least coherent, even if you are all giggles and glazed eyes. He rubs a hand over his face before finally settling on the edge of the couch beside you both. “If she starts trippin’, that’s on you” he mutters, though the frustration in his voice is fading.

Matt rolls his eyes before taking another puff from his joint. “Relax” he replies, more amused than defensive now.

Chris watches you giggle quietly to yourself over nothing for another second before leaning over to scoop you up from Matt’s lap. You yelp in surprise as he pulls you into his own lap. He brushes a hand over your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear as you snuggle into his chest.

His arms wrap around you, his eyes scanning your face once more for any signs of discomfort.

You peer up at him with admiring eyes, your hand reaching up to his face. You squish his cheek between your fingers and run your hand along his stubbly defined jawline.

“You’re so pretty” you coo

Chris chuckles and glances at Matt who is already watching the two of you with an amused grin

His gaze returns to you as he places his hand over yours “You’re prettier baby” he whispers,playing into your affection. All you could do is grin in response before dropping your hand from his face and returning to snuggling against him. You close your eyes in content, feeling sleepy with his touch.

Satisfied that you’re settled, Chris finally pulls his own joint from behind his ear, sparking it up. He takes a deep drag, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your thigh with his free hand.

Chris exhales a long stream of smoke, before he fixes Matt with a serious look. “This ain’t happenin’ again unless we’re both here” he says firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Matt shakes his head, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he exhales smoke slowly. “Nu-uh, I told her one try-that was the deal” he replies, leaning back into the couch, man spreading his legs now you were on chris’ lap.

Chris raises a brow “Yeah well, next time, I better be here to make sure you actually stick to it” he shoots back, glancing down at you nestled against him, as you let out tiny snores. A smile creeps onto his lips at how peaceful and cute you look, as he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

·˚ ༘

a/n; the poll between this and the chris fluff was v close so thought i’d get this one out too! (stoner! matt & chris have my whole heart tbh uughahshhh🫠)

MASTERLIST

taglist; @sturnobsessedwh0re @nayveetbhh

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@blahbel668

@stvrlighht @witchofthehour @ilyttmatsa @asherrisrandom @l0ver-i

@starstrucktyrantinfluencer @fratbrochrisgf @emely9274

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@bbybloop @sturnn372 @chrissturnsss @slut4m4tt @izzylovesmatt @spideylovin

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@luvb0xoxo @ivysturnss @stars4star @eyehrjkwjen

[boneblushed]

Is it chill that you’re in my head?

synopsis your best friend James isn’t sure why he’s so angry about the fact that you’re going on a date with someone else.

wc 2.6K

“He’s looking over here,” James sings under his breath, his brown eyes full of mirth. He’s balancing on the spindly hind-legs of his library chair, the Potions essay he’s supposed to be doing laid out in disarray.

You send him a reproachful look. “You’re being malicious.” When you turn back around to face Davey Gudgeon’s table, there’s a split second of eye contact before he ducks his head down abashedly, his cheeks a brilliant rouge.

He has a crush on you, apparently. Sirius and Remus had overhead him talking about it on his way down to breakfast this morning—about how prefects rarely escaped unscathed after sharing something as intimate as a Saturday night duty.

James Potter, your best friend and a royal pain in your ass, finds this revelation abso-fucking-lutely hilarious for some reason. Asshole.

“Au contraire,” he murmurs, the grin on his face audible, “I’m being a world class wingman.”

The look on his face is downright dangerous. He waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively, unperturbed by the frown on your own, a warning. Easing forward until each hind-leg finds the ground with a resounding thud, he cups his hands around his mouth, whisper-shouting, “Oi! Gudgeon!”

Davey Gudgeon reddens further, a feat you didn’t think was possible until now. He glances over at James dismally, a furtive expression on his face. “What?” He mouthes, sending you this weak half-smile. It’s sort of sweet, almost contagious. You find yourself smiling back at him on instinct.

“Come over here, you bludger,” James chastises, like that’s the obvious next step. To be fair, it probably is to him — he’s never shied away from flirting with the girls he fancies, a self-proclaimed dating aficionado with way too much chat for his own good.

Davey hesitates, his nervous gaze flitting to you momentarily. He looks as though he wants to do just that, but isn’t sure whether his crush on you is reciprocated. Sweet.

He has gentle eyes, too, pretty juniper with bright specks of burnt ochre. A nice head of brown hair. If it was cold outside, you bet he’d offer you his Quidditch jersey without hesitation.

You think you need sweet, all things considered. You’ve known James Potter all of seven years now, had a wretched crush on him all of five, and never once has he indicated that his aforementioned expertise could ever extend to you.

It’s high-time that you gave your pathetic heart a rest.

“You’re making him miserable,” you mutter, ever-reproachful.

Davey hasn’t moved yet, though you’re sure he wants to, his hands braced on the table in front of him apprehensively. He keeps looking between you and James, surveying his options; in order ease his anguish, you decide you’d better make the decision for him.

You push your chair back and stand up, it’s spindly legs scraping against the vinyl floor forebodingly. James looks up in surprise. “Where r’you going?”

“To Gudgeon’s table.”

“Why?” James urges, perplexed. He half-stands too, his features a smidge less mirthful than before.

“So you’ll stop,” you reply, frowning down at him.

He raises his arms in surrender. “I’m stopping.” A pause. In the beat that passes, his assessing gaze falls over you in paces. “You’re not… you’re not keen on him too, are you?”

You think on this, cocking your head to one side. “I don’t know. Maybe? He’s kinda sweet.”

“But he doesn’t even have the balls to come over here and ask you out properly,” James whisper-shouts, mildly exasperated.

You’ve never once called him sweet.

He’s had this tragic crush on you for all of seven years, and never once has he been on the receiving end of such a fond adjective. He’d only made a fuss over this Davey situation because he was sure it was just a jibe — no way someone like you would be interested in a guy like Gudgeon, no way you would even entertain the possibility of more than friends.

Right?

James wants that more than friends thing with you, bad. This morning, when Sirius’d brought up Bludgeon’s crush on you—sniggering violently—he’d snuck a glance at your features to ensure that it wasn’t reciprocated. He’s sure he’d caught a bit of second-hand embarrassment, though maybe it was actually just tender hearted diffidence. Maybe Davey fucking Gudgeon had something that he somehow didn’t.

Right now, James’d give up his head boy badge and Quidditch captaincy to acquire that something. His chest hurts terribly. He runs his sloven fingers through his unkempt hair, sending you another look of bewilderment.

“Because you’re here,” you reprove. “Course he’s not going to come over when the James Potter is taking the mickey out of him.”

You say his name like it’s an insult. James’ heart plummets. “I’m not — he’s welcome to come over,” he argues quietly, chagrined. “Besides, he’s going to have to get used to me if he wants to be your boyfriend.”

“Why?” You frown. “I always bugger off when you’re with another girl.”

“That’s different,” James insists, frowning in tandem.

“How’s that different?”

They aren’t you, James thinks vaguely. His poor heart blunders for the umpteenth time this afternoon. “None of them are girlfriends.”

“Not for lack of trying,” you mutter. James swears he hears a hint of spite in your tone. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. M’going over.”

James slumps back into his seat reluctantly. He knows that you’re right, begrudging as that revelation may be — he is always flirting with one girl or another, though that’s more so to pass time than anything particularly serious. Never you. You’d see right through him, anyway. Besides, the last time he tried, it’d been so disastrous you’d assumed he was joking.

It’d been at that Halloween party they’d had in the Gryffindor Common Room last year, firewhiskey flowing and sweet treats piled atop every surface.

You were wearing this gorgeous, albeit bemusing, costume of a Muggle someone — Wonder Woman, or something, James didn’t quite understand it. Showing a lot of skin. Your pretty eyes were accented by rouge glitter, lips all glossy, and your exposed limbs and bare waist had eased his heart right into his throat.

And James Potter didn’t often find himself lost for words, but it appeared as though this party was one of those exceptions.

“Woah,” he’d murmured, wolf-whistling lowly. He was in this ridiculous, Babbity Rabbity costume (courtesy of Sirius, who was a cackling pot), feeling entirely out of place when you looked so beautiful. “Christ, Y/N, who’re you meant to be? The hottest muggleborn at Hogwarts or something?”

You’d rolled your eyes then, because no way he was serious. “Don’t tease, James. Did you guys manage to snag any cauldron cakes?”

He’d been too busy to insist his sincerity, fond gaze travelling down your bare limbs, slow. Lingering on the wafer of exposed waist between your corset and skirt. He’s still agonised by the want to touch your soft skin; that wretched Hogwarts shirt tuck has prevented this from happening.

“By the fire,” he’d answered after a beat, dazed.

And when you’d fallen out of earshot, James’ eyes still trained on your figure, Sirius and Remus’d come up behind him, the latter wearing Muggle-manufactured fangs. (Supposedly, he was meant to be a vampire.)

“You’ve got a tragic affliction, James,” Sirius’d tutted under his breath, faux-apologetic. “How’re you somehow able to flirt with every girl in this room except the one that matters?”

“Shut up,” he’d muttered back at the time, though as he thinks back on it now, he realises that Sirius was right.

For some reason, with you, he always manages to say exactly the wrong thing. He watches Davey scramble to straighten as you near his library table, the heat on his neck rising until his entire face is in a flush. And you’re smiling as you sit down beside him, this sweet, unabashed smile that looks too much like feelings reciprocated. Something in James’ ribcage cracks, an ugly emotion springing forth from within it. But he’s immobile, hands on the table and furrow in his brow, agonised by the fact that you’re looking at Davy all fond, not him.

Never him. You ask a question—James is trying his best to lip-read, but it’s difficult not to get carried away staring at your mouth. Davey nods, and then reddens some more. Then you stand up, feelings-reciprocated smile on your face as you walk back over to the table you’re sharing with James.

“He looks pleased,” James mutters grumpily.

You frown. “You don’t.”

“You’re doing charity work,” he answers, ignoring the insinuation. “You know that, right?”

“James,” you sigh, “you’re being unkind.”

“Because he’s punching.” But James knows this is unfair. He’s pretty sure every bloke in Hogwarts would be, if it was you and them.

—

“James,” Sirius calls, bemused. “You coming mate?”

Its autumn in Hogsmeade, and they’ve reached a cross roads.

The path to the left of them leads to the Hog’s Head Inn, one of their favourite haunts in the village due to its relative unpopularity. To the right, where James is glancing furtively, the cobblestone pavement takes them toward the Three Broomsticks. Where you are. With Davey.

Remus shares a knowing look with Sirius. “Think he’s in the mood for one of Rosmerta’s butter-beers, actually.”

James groans, scrubbing his calloused palm down his face slovenly. He knows exactly what he’s insinuating; Remus always has been the most astute of the lot. “Don’t bloody start.”

Sirius grins then, reaching for James and throwing an arm around his neck. “Reckon you’re going to need something stronger than butter-beer if you’re planning on watching Gudgeon snog your girl.”

His heart plummets. There’s that ugly emotion again, rearing its contemptuous head at him. “Wormtail’s there too,” he tries, shoving Sirius off. “We should go say hi.”

“Oh yes,” Sirius allows, his brown eyes full of mischief. “The one Marauder with a girlfriend. You after some tips, mate?”

“Cut him some slack, Sirius,” Remus chastises, though there isn’t much fire to his tone as he says it. “Reckon he’s miserable enough about the fact that the one time he fancies a girl she isn’t interested.”

James frowns, sending the pair of them a look of determination. “Look, shove off, both of you.” The crease between his eyebrows deepens further, keenly resolute. “I just want to check on her, alright? Make sure that bludger isn’t pulling anything funny.”

“Right.” Sirius nods soberly. “Or snogging her to death.”

“Fuck,” James groans again, his insides squirming. “You’ve gotta stop putting that image in my head.”

He turns toward the path to his right, the cobblestones plush with Autumn leaves, when he spots your figure in the distance and freezes. Coming closer. You look beautiful in this matter-of-fact, effortless way that makes James’ heart stutter; your pretty eyes are alight with mirth as you catch his gaze, this fond smile on your lips that makes him want to kiss you. Bad. He swallows thickly, his chest a pathetic mess.

Sirius and Remus must spot you too, because the pair of them beginning walking backward toward the Hog’s head, their eyebrows raised in tandem.

“She isn’t with the bludger, Prongs,” calls Sirius, a knowing lilt to his tone. “Now’s your chance.”

“My chance?” James asks, distracted.

“To snog her, you idiot.”

But James doesn’t hear him. Partly because the wind’s picked up, mostly because it’s difficult for him to concentrate on anything but your growing closeness.

Once you’re within earshot—more of you to agonise over, exposed waifs of skin like a siren song—he stumbles forward clumsily.

“Y/N,” James breathes out, pleasantly surprised. “Where’s Davey?”

You grimace, looking over your shoulder furtively. “I’ve just escaped him.”

James’ stomach deflates, relief washing over him in waves. He raises his eyebrows playfully. “Escaped?”

“Don’t,” you warn, frowning sternly. “He… he’s alright, really. Just doesn’t really know how to hold a conversation.” You grimace again. “Or take a hint. Like, at all.”

“Yeah? Why’d you say that?”

“Well,” you begin, and then you shiver, moving closer to James without meaning to. “Christ, Potter, you’re a really good wind shield, y’know that?”

“At your service,” he murmurs, inching forward too. “You were saying?”

You gaze up at him, the rough planes of his face ever present, and you’re struck by the revelation that he doesn’t need an old Quidditch jersey to keep you warm. He’s a furnace of body heat and cedar-wood cologne.

“Well,” you continue, voice low, “after two butter beers and absolutely zero chat, I’d sort of assumed that he’d have realised that this just isn’t going to work.”

“But…?”

“But,” you grimace, “he asked me out again.”

The way your features twist as you say it, as though that’s the last thing you want to do, wrings any residual jealousy he may be feeling right out of his stomach. He’s struck by this suddenly, overwhelming urge to caress your jaw and pull you closer.

“And let me guess,” James murmurs, grinning fondly. “You said yes.”

“I said I’ll see.”

“I worry all this charity work’s going to be the death of you, Y/N.”

You crinkle your nose up at him, punching his chest playfully. “Don’t you start James Potter.”

James raises his arms in surrender, still grinning. His gaze lifts above your head to take in the footpath behind you, and he finds himself looking right at the burly figure of Davey Gudgeon trudging toward the pair of you.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, raising his eyebrows. “You weren’t kidding about him not being able to take a hint, huh?”

You furrow your brow, looking over your shoulder bemusedly. When your head whips back around to face him, your eyes are wide and a little tortured, dappled by the warm, orange hues of Autumn. A damsel, James’ thinks, dazed, as if that’s a normal thought for a eighteen-year-old bloke to have. He’s already spiralling over kissing you and it’s been all of five minutes.

“Is he looking over here?” You ask, your voice low.

James’ eyes dart back to Davey. “Uh, yeah?”

“Good.”

You wrap your arms around his neck hurriedly, leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. James takes a second to recalibrate, his poor heart a mess, but when he does, he’s quick to circle your waist and pull you closer, his strong arms firm and torso warm on your figure. It’s a deft kiss, chaste as it is agonising, though kiss enough for him to memorise the feeling. The buttery taste of your lips, the perfect way they appear to mould against his.

It’s a tandem emotion — you’ve revelling in this kiss far more than you should, the arduous pressure of James’ lips on your own. He’s going to leave a mark. He tastes like sugar quills and feels like the death of you, his sloven hands pressing into the bare skin of your waist.

When you do finally pull away, your cheeks are warm and you’re a little breathless. “S’he still there?”

A beat passes. James doesn’t look up.

You mistake his pause for unease, and grimace abashedly, looking away from him. In hindsight, you aren’t sure what possessed you to kiss him like that — you want to pretend it was to stave Davey away, but your traitorous heart says otherwise.

God, you think, it was a really good kiss. If only James liked it as much as you did.

If only you knew.

“Sorry,” you add in a hurry, still grimacing. “I — I wasn’t thinking, I just didn’t want Davey to come over here and I —”

“Y/N,” James interrupts, his voice rough, gravelly around the edges. “Stop talking.”

You let out a breath. “Why?”

“I want to pretend you kissed me because you wanted to, just for one more second.”

“What?” You ask, your eyes wide. “Why?”

James thinks, isn’t it obvious? He’s still marvelling over how perfect your mouth is.

“Because,” he admits quietly, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

You don’t know what to say to this. Your still chest to chest with less than an inch between your figures, and you can feel your poor heart struggling to free itself from its cage. “You have?” You say, suddenly bashful.

James nods. His pupils are a little blown, his unkempt hair a mess, and he keeps his gaze trained on your lips as though he’s being paid for it. “And listen,” he murmurs, reaching forward to thumb over them softly. “Don’t worry about Davey Gudgeon.”

“Why not, James Potter?”

“Because I’d sooner die than let that bludger bore my girl to death again.”