#tinkle-adam

[wtf-tfw]

THE BIBBLE: PART TWO

Life out in the Wasteland (Nastyville as they called it) was rough on Tinkle-Adam and Peeve. Nastyville brought many a surprise, which are best presented as a list.

THE FIRST SURPRISE

The first bad thing to occur in Nastyville was the fleas. Tinkle-Adam had an absolutely incorrigible encounter with a flock of fleas. The fleas were total dickbags. Tinkle-Adam was like "Oh hello there, wonderful creatures!" In that corny-ass Australian way he spoke. And the fleas were totally disrespectful, even though they were in the presence of a lady. "Who the fuck are you? You look like me nan comin' back from the cleaners with her wig all fooked up mate! Get your greasy, kebab-sucking ass out of here!" the fleas replied, vulgarly, and in unison. Tinkle-Adam was agape. He had heard the swears of Gobbler back in the garden frequently, but these words felt bad... These words felt like they had never been heard by God's ears, and they were cruel and bitter and sharp, and they made Tinkle-Adam's tummy hurt. At these first cruel words uttered, Peeve knew that she must become hardened to the world if she was going to survive. So she decided to develop a New Jersey accent to keep herself safer. She started to repeat the forbidden words back to the fleas, but it was of no use. Tinkle-Adam had stood agape for too long, and the fleas had taken their opportunity. Into the wet, cavernous mouth they went!

THE SECOND SURPRISE

The second surprise was the complete and utter lack of affordable birth control and contraceptives. Like what was this, the middle ages? It was a damned shame that this was God's world. God's sister would not have done them this way. One plus of wandering the dusty, sulfur-stinking dirty earth was that the shame inflicted upon the couple by the Real Normal Devil from the Bible was easy to forget. That bad memory faded away under the hot summer sun. In time, the two found other things to focus on other than their weird penises, for example, finding potable water and safe food to eat. Peeve popped in to a CVS to try and pick up her birth control perscription, but the damned snakes running the joint never seemed to have it in stock somehow. So they would instead buy a couple cases of bottled water. And they would wander the desert, going from drugstore to drugstore, plastic water bottles trailing behind them. Tinkle-Adam had become a thirsty little bugger since he was infected with Internal Fleas. "At least you aren't infected with Eternal Fleas", Peeve said, trying to keep things light. Tinkle-Adam found this casual funny remark to be extremely attractive, but dense as he was, he had caught on to the notion that getting freaky out here meant Consequences. The two decided that it was just too bad. They wept together, and decided that it was what Gobbler would have wanted them to do. So once more they freaked it, this time next to a cactus, and a Walgreens.

THE THIRD AND SECOND-THIRD SURPRISE

This surprise came in the form of two weird slimy monkeys that crawled out of Peeve's hoo-ha. "What in God's name are you?" Tinkle-Adam interrogated the little boogers. "I am the First One" one said. "And I am the Second," said the other, "We are yours now, and you must name us." Tinkle-Adam gasped. "Peeve, I didn't know that's how that worked. Is that how it works?" Peeve shook her head solemnly. "Aye, it is. You name the one on the left and I will name the one on the right." And so it was done. The one on the left, a rosy little cherub with toes like silver and a thorax like an angel, was called Cable, after something that Tinkle-Adam and Peeve always wanted but could never afford. The one on the right, a shivering wet anthropomorphic beaver-Yorkie crossbreed, was named Pain, after the feeling that Peeve felt when she had to look at him.

Those were really the main surprises in Nastyville. That and the fact that God? Was not here at all. It seems like he just made all this stuff and completely forgot about it. Which was kind of totally lame. There weren't even instant boyfriend capsules or sailboats or any of that awesome stuff out here. Just generally inhospitable architecture sprinkled into a vast, cartoonish chasm of sand and dust and plastic detritus.

Peeve began to get a serious itching in her stomach and brain. She thought maybe she was getting some sort of serious illness, but then she realized that it was actually just the feeling that she wanted to settle down, because trekking aimlessly through the desert, collecting sand on her thick eyelids was no longer cutting it, especially with these two greasy little ragamuffins dangling off her boibies at all times. Things were getting Domestic in Nastyville. So settled they did. After a brief discussion, Tinkle-Adam agreed to become the homemaker, feeding the babies a strict diet of milled cornhusks and Debbie's breast milk. Peeve got a job at the Godforsaken CVS, where she mined penis enlargement pills out of a hole in the backroom. Every now and then she would take home a few for her darling husband to nibble on. And that is how they ended up with three additional babies later on: another boy called Shitt, a sweet little girl named Epipen, and a fugly jaundiced shrimp named Crab.

But those three names matter not yet... for the next story that was worth a damn was about the young boys growing up in Nastyville. The ones known as Pain and Cable.

[constantvariations]

Watching the Adam short on loop really highlights some things

1. Sienna was incredibly kind towards the humans. She aims for guns to disarm them and knocks them out almost exclusively with hits to legs and chests instead of the face

2. Ilia didn't attack a single human even though she was present for both ambushes. She's also the only one of the three alive

3. Adam's sword is really loud. Like scary loud. Boy needs some wd-40 gotdamn!

[3garcons]

SongCity January 2024 with Architrave, Deb Cavanaugh, Adam Tinkle, Age of the Bear

[bluemerakis]

────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ────

❝ cream pie ❞

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ munch .ᐟ dean winchester x fem .ᐟ reader

warnings .ᐟ cussing, reader somewhat oblivious to the obscene meaning of munch, tooth-rotting fluff, mentions of a sexual!cream pie, mild food play, finger-sucking, oral f receiving, pet names. pls lmk if i forgot any!

synopsis ─ dean’s always poked at you for being a slow-eater. likewise, you’ve always poked at him for being a fast-eater—going so far as to accuse him of an early death should he continue at that pace. so, on the night of his birthday, he decides to make a change to his eating habits, becoming deliberately slow in his meal’s devouring. only, that meal is you.

word count ~ 5.4k

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The doors to the diner announced the next newcomer with a shrill tinkle of bells, and by the nature of human curiosity—or a hunter’s paranoia—you found yourself glancing past Dean to witness a little girl ushered inside by an older woman.

You circulated a mouthful of fries as you watched the child bound over to the front counter, short, stubby finger outstretched to prod at a large print of the most obnoxiously decorated milkshake you’d ever seen—a mound of cream, candy and sprinkles that must’ve accounted for half the drink’s weight.

“Scoutin’ out for Sammy?” Dean asked suddenly—the words muffled by the burger he’d taken to devouring almost instantly after it’d arrived. Not even five minutes ago.

You forsook the view of the little girl to tune into the booth’s space, where the Winchester sat across from you with cheeks that had grown comically round. You couldn’t help but briefly stutter on your ground fries, perplexed by the plate that he’d wasted no time in clearing out. All that was left was the half-eaten burger currently clutched between his talons, where his lips closed in on to wrap around the bread-cocooned glory. The fries that had previously formed the burger’s first line of defence had not stood a damn chance.

With a thick swallow of your morsel, you cleared your throat to voice your concern—Dean’s question hurled out the current window of care. “Where the hell did all your food go, Dean? It literally just got here!” You reached across the table to take up your glass of water, downing a much needed sip that moistened the walls of your throat after the fries had brushed it dry on their downward journey.

Observing Dean, you almost felt like you were intruding on some intimate moment between himself and his burger, which he currently ogled from every angle in search of his next, perfect bite—yet to swallow down the last bite he’d taken. The appetite on this man was astounding. And so was the seemingly unlimited mouth space that he seemed to cram full squirrel-style, given any and every chance.

At your perplexed pry, the Winchester strayed from his guilty pleasure to grace you with a stupidly triumphant look, his vigorous chewing coming to a halt. “Just gave it a tour o’ my insides,” he mumbled grossly, eyes narrowing with smug amusement while he went out of his way to part his lips in a messy, food-kissed smile—just to get a rise out of you.

“Stop that!” You groaned, hand coming up in a defensive spread to shield yourself against the view of the chunky stew plastered along his teeth. “You’re disgusting,” you added with a meek giggle, chin perking slightly as you attempted to peer at him over the jagged horizon of your fingers.

You caught his Adam’s Apple bopping with a hefty swallow, the lump striding down the lean length of his neck, and it was a sight that made you feel safe enough to lower your hand once more. You watched him pass his tongue across both oil-kissed lips, savouring the essence with a pleasurable hum and smack of his mouth—like he’d never known the first thing about table manners. He passed the remainder of his burger to one hand, the other now freed to gesture in your direction.

“Hey!” he began—a clearer, more sophisticated sound. “I get my hands on somethin’ as delicious as this, I show her a good time,” he explained with a laughable seriousness. “You, of all people, should know this.”

You’d taken to plopping another fry into your mouth while he spoke, but at that last sentence, you dusted the lingering salt grains from your hands and made a hasty swallow before answering. “That you’re a munch?” You established innocently.

Dean perked at the observation you’d made many dinings prior—wore the title like a badge of honour. “Damn right I am, baby—and this was a damn preview,” he said with a charming wink, one that entertained his own, mental scheme.

“A preview of what?” You tested with a confused grin.

Dean’s glare turned the type of determined he usually reserved for an exhilarating hunt, his lips quirking with the utmost pleasure that you’d asked. “You, me, and your good friend down south—later tonight—” he began enlightening, but neglected to finish the sentence as he brought the last of his burger to his lips. Then, they crashed down onto the buns in an obnoxious motion—gluttonously garnering every inch into the compartment of his cheeks.

He began chewing with difficulty, at first, but no look of panic flashed across his features, despite your own worry that he might’ve started choking at any instant. Then, he rolled the empty burger wrapper between his palms, eyes droning into you with an unvoiced expectancy while his jaw circulated like a cow’s. You returned his stare with a cluelessness, taking a second to mull over his incomplete sentence—and it was then that his insinuation clicked into place.

Your cheeks flushed hot at that, the hands you’d nestled at either side of your plate drawing into fists. “I was talking about the food!” You said accusingly, his innuendo drawing a disbelieved laugh from your lips.

“Yeah, no, that ain’t what munch means, sweetheart,” Dean said smoothly, rocketing the crushed wrapper into the air before catching it and plopping it down onto his plate. His palms then came together in a scheming rub, eyes lowering to the menu beside his emptied plate. “Speakin’ of food,” he hummed thoughtfully, and you lifted your chin to get a better view of the options he was scanning through. Light meals.

You shook your head lightly, turning your attention back to your own plate. “You’re going to implode,” you remarked.

“Hey—drop the freakin’ fuss,” he grumbled indignantly. “‘Cause it just so happens that shit’s on the house for this birthday dude,” he added, hands coming up to gesture to himself almost proudly. “And I’ll be damed if I don’t do somethin’ ‘bout it.”

You flashed him a hopeless smile, but didn’t push him on his appetite any further. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen Dean so unbothered and chirpy. As of now, life had been good—great, even. Bobby had offered to take care of this week’s hunts in order to free up Dean’s schedule, giving him the time to celebrate an event he hadn’t deemed worthy of a celebration for a long, long time. And Sam—ever the content third-wheel to you both—had taken the afternoon to kill time in his own Sam ways.

The deal you’d struck with the younger Winchester was that he get the morning to entertain Dean’s birthday, and you get the afternoon. The brothers were up at the crack of dawn to motor it over to some shooting range, where they’d completely obliterated the targets—earning dubious glances from the other, inexperienced hobbyists. You’d thought about asking why they’d opted for picking up a gun on their off-days, but Dean had returned with such a beaming smile that you’d swallowed the question entirely.

The only thing that mattered was that he was happy. Enjoying himself.

Eventually, Dean let out a decided exclamation, index finger coming down on the table to single out an option amongst the menu.

Your head lifted curiously. “What you got there?” You asked, plopping a fry into your mouth.

“The best thing to exist after cars,” he answered vaguely and with a playful waggle of his brows, his head then averting to do a sweep of the diner.

“With how easily amused you are, that could be narrowed down to an endless amount of shit,” you scoffed lightly.

“T-t-t,” he silenced with a finger in your direction, eyes still doing an intent scan of the space. When he managed to spot a waitress, it almost looked like his eyes could’ve slipped the keep of his sockets. His lips pierced to execute a perfect whistle, hand waving through the air to beckon her over—which she made haste on.

You turned your attention to the waitress as she pranced on over, fluster heavy in her rosy cheeks and sheepish smile as she glanced between yourself and Dean. “What can I get for you both?”

“One o’ these bad babies, please,” Dean requested with a show to the menu, hands then coming up in a thankful clasp as the waitress nodded lightly in response. “Sweet,” he murmured contently, his attention turning back to you. “Anythin’ for you?” He asked politely, but the hitch of his singular brow as he glanced between you and your stacked plate told you that he knew the answer.

“I’m good, thanks,” you told the waitress, who gave a small nod before scampering off. You turned back to Dean with a light shake of your head. “Oh, I know your heart hates you. You’re going to die an early death at this pace,” you scoffed, glancing down to where you began picking through your cooled fries in search of the crispy pieces.

“Yeah, whatever, happy deaths,” he answered lightly. “You gonna eat any o’ that?”

You glanced up to Dean’s famished eyes hounding the pot of edible gold still crowning your plate. “Yes, I’m gonna eat it!” You answered almost instantly. “I’m starving!”

“Well, you don’t look it,” he scoffed with a dramatic widening of his eyes—like he couldn’t believe you’d fault him for asking when your plate currently housed twice the calories of his. “Man, if my heart hates me, then your stomach hates you—teasin’ it like this with the one bite an hour ritual you’ve got goin’. You’re playin’ hard to get with the damn thing,” he huffed amusedly.

“It’s called savouring it,” you retorted with a light shake of your head. “You should try it some time.”

“Hey—I savour plenty, alright?” His brows perked pointedly, eyes lowering down your figure and straying to some view below the tabletop, where they lingered with a mischievous tongue poking at the inside of his cheek.

You caught on immediately, apples of your cheeks rounding with a grin. “I can’t even with you,” you sighed dramatically; warmly.

Dean’s eyes lifted back to you, forming a wink that he’d come to reserve just for you. “And yet you do, anyways,” he chuckled, then straightened in his seat with some new resolve. “Alright, c’mon—start stuffin’ up on fries. For every bite you don’t finish, your ankle’s gettin’ ganked—” he paused to reinforce the threat by nudging the toe of his boot against yours, “—and then I’m eatin’ whatever’s left.”

“What are you—five?” You giggled, and then his boot came forward to deliver the first of its taps against your ankle. You let out a squeal despite its gentle nature, hand flying forward to scoop up a handful of fries with a grin heavy on your lips.

Dean’s arms crossed as he watched you with equal amusement. “It’s called buildin’ character,” he said. “Consider this your motivation to eat faster.”

“Maybe you should try eating slower!”

He tsked in response to that, then offered a tiny nod. “Yeah, alright, alright, I’ll try it sometime,” he entertained, jerking his chin at you. “C’mon, wrap it up and we’ll go half on that apple pie I ordered.”

⋆ .˚⋆ ≐ ⋆ ˚.⋆

On the drive back to the motel, Dean had rattled Baby’s entire infrastructure with some deafening rock, his jaws testing out new heights as he accentuated every tune with utmost enthusiasm. He’d glanced your way a couple of times to enlist you into his self-hosted concert, still blaring along to the music, but you’d only managed to pick up on a few phrases here and there through your time spent as an audience to his hunting playlists.

Whenever a song came on that you recognised, you’d chime in to harmonise with Dean in a word or two before dropping off and taking to watching him ensue into musical madness, a grin heavy on your lips. God, you loved him. You loved him so much. And you loved seeing him recognise how much of his free-will he could cash toward buying his own happiness, instead of worrying about everything and everybody else—especially on a day like today.

The drive back to the motel was a cheery one you’d mentally documented as a day to remember. When you’d eventually pulled up at the motel, Dean had laid the engine to rest with an intense glance in your direction—one that you’d come to recognise as something to question. Because if you didn’t, there was no telling what was on a mind as carefully guarded as his.

You met his gaze with light confusion, acknowledging the silence he’d coupled with his dramatic shift in demeanour. “Is everything okay?”

Much to your relief, Dean’s features grew soft, his lips spreading with a thankful smile. “Everythin’s perfect,” he soothed quickly, but no less gentle. “Just. . . thinkin’ ‘bout today—how you and Sammy went outta your way to make this day so freakin’ awesome. I appreciate it—I do,” he added with a light chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he drank you in with love-struck eyes.

You shifted across the seat until your leg was flush against Dean’s, your hand coming up to gently cradle his jaw. “First off,” you began, thumb stroking gentle lines over the apple of his cheek, and you felt the unbridled weight of him melting into your hold—because he’d always felt safe enough to entrust all of him to all of you. “When it comes to you, nothing will ever be out of the way. You’re worth the time—worth taking that moment to think about how we can celebrate the man who tries so hard to keep us all together. You’re always jumping at the opportunity to do things for everybody else, but tonight—on your night—I’m going to honour everything that you are. And reflect on how blessed the world is to have its very own Dean Winchester. How blessed I am.”

Dean’s eyes twinkled at that—like a starstruck fanboy—and you felt honoured to be the recipient of his admiration. His love.

“Secondly,” you continued. “This day is all about you—officially, and everything—there’s a birth certificate out there to prove it. But I want you to know that you’re the type of person worth celebrating every single day. And I do, quietly—with every glance I steal of you because I’m just so thankful that we exist at the same time. And even in a life that gets as shitty as ours, I’m glad that it’s you I get to share the small breaths of a break with—you that I’m laughing it up with over a burger and beer, you that I get to share a cuddle with each night that feels like it could fend off every worry, and you, in all that you are, reminding me every single day of what good looks like—and why this world is worth saving. You’re the face of all things precious and scare in this world, Dean.”

At those words, Dean cracked with a twitch of his lip, giving rise to a smile that was simultaneously hurt and healed. As he gazed into your eyes, you saw their beautiful, green depths begin to glimmer at the borders. At the first comprehension of his growing tears, he was quick to dip his head into concealment, jaw turning an inch to catch his lips onto the hand you’d cradled his cheek within.

There, in thick silence, he pressed a long and tender kiss to your palm—as though trying to brand himself with the taste, touch and scent of you. A gesture to remind you just how much of himself he’d devoted to loving you, living for you, and embracing everything that you meant to him in ways that didn’t always embody words.

You sat there for a few seconds, watching as he became one with you—choosing you as his safety confines while he worked to sort through the feelings he’d never been apt at acknowledging this gently; vulnerably. Eventually, he stirred from your hold, but not to forsake it entirely, his hands outstretching to frame you tenderly at the neck.

“God, I love you,” he whispered with a shuddered breath, the tears he’d tried to quell with a moment of silence proving to be stubborn. But they came as gentle streams, providing just enough moisture to cast a soft sheen amongst his cheeks. “I love you so damn much,” he reinforced—the sound gruff, raw and passionate—and then his lips were pressed against yours with a hunger that felt desperately pushy and shy all at once.

You reciprocated the kiss with equal devotion, hands coming up to wrap around his wrists as you steadied yourself within his passionate grip. His thumbs rubbed gentle lines down the ledge of your jaw as his kiss continued to deepen—not particularly lustful, but just a very physical, passionate vow of loyalty. A show that he was yours, and all yours.

For a while, your lips remained entangled in a fervent dance, the world all around you dissolving into nothingness. What was out there didn’t matter, anyway, not when your whole world was right here, right beside you.

⋆ .˚⋆ ≐ ⋆ ˚.⋆

Back in the motel, you and Dean had slunk inside with the intent to not wake up Sam—only to find that when you’d flicked on the lights, the younger brother was nowhere in sight. For a second, you both stood in dumbfounded silence, heads swinging to scan the modest space that he couldn’t have possibly been hidden away in—not with the height on him.

Then Dean let out a soft noise of realisation as he left your side to stroll into the kitchen, hand outstretched to pluck a note from the fridge’s barren door. He brought it toward him with a focused furrow of his brows, eyes scanning over the information before he let slip a smug chuckle.

You wandered over to Dean curiously, and just then, he turned to you with the note waving about. “Sammy’s slipped out for the night—called a cab and said us naughty teens could have the place to ourselves,” he explained with a heavy, cheeky undertone as he glanced you over.

You drew up beside him with a smile to entertain his implications, arms coming up in a cross. “Oh, yeah? Guess we better make the most of it, then,” you murmured, leaning yourself against the counter bordering the fridge.

Dean wandered close enough for the fabric of his jacket to graze your arms, head lowering to yours in a painfully slow manner. “Hm. . . what’d ya have in mind?” He asked before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then to the bridge of your nose.

Your nose scrunched playfully beneath his lips, eyes screwing shut at his very welcomed trespass. “I think—” you began, but were quickly silenced by the press of his lips against yours. After a few, greedy kisses with a point to prove, he pulled away to let you finish. “I think,” you repeated with a breathless laugh, eyes falling open once more. “You get the gist of it.”

“Think I damn well do,” he grinned, coming in for round two, but you stopped him with a finger to the lips.

“Not so fast, Casanova,” you steadied with a smile, making a point to tap his lips before pulling away. “I’ve got a little surprise for you, first.”

“What—it ain’t this?” Dean said ruefully, gesturing to all of you. “C’mon, man, quit teasin’ me.”

“I’m not teasing you,” you giggled before pushing yourself off the counter to round him in favour of the fridge. “I made you something.”

He hummed interestedly. “Well, colour me intrigued,” he drawled, turning to face you as he leaned himself against the counter to watch after your every move.

You opened the fridge and briefly ducked inside, rounding onto the point of your toes to grab the mystery meal off the top shelf. Beside you, Dean uttered a whistle of admiration, and you scoffed at his apparent leering. You lowered yourself with the prize in hand, shifting it to a one-sided grip as your free hand moved closed the door.

Dean studied the dish with interest as you strode over to him and placed it onto the counter. A part of you felt a sense of annoyance as you reflected back to the diner, where he’d gone and ordered himself two slices of pie despite your protest. You hadn’t wanted him to have his fill of it before tonight, where the dessert pie you’d baked him had been waiting for its time to shine.

Slowly, you pulled back the wrapping to reveal the dish—a dainty cream pie.

Dean took a moment to flutter his lashes, his lips forming a thoughtful pout—like he was trying to find the right words to decline your offer. You’d been afraid of this very reaction after he’d eaten enough pie for the next month. “More pie?” he remarked with an almost pained expression.

You let out a loose scoff, tossing the wrapping onto the counter. “I told you not to order another slice of pie at the diner!” You exclaimed, head shaking lightly.

“Yeah, but I just thought you were hasslin’ me over the eatin’ thing—not because you went and baked an entire one,” Dean laughed before moving to take a swipe at the topped cream. You watched as he crowned the pad of his index finger with a considerable cluster, then brought it up to his lips for a taste. After swallowing the smooth sweetness, he smacked his lips appreciatively. “But this tastes freakin’ amazing,” he praised with a warm grin. “Thanks, baby, I’ll savour it as much as the diner’s pie.”

“You’ll do that and more,” you shot back with a pretence of annoyance, but you couldn’t fend off the grin peaking through. “Cause it was hard work making this thing!”

He cocked a brow smugly. “Really? ‘Cause when last we hit the sheets, I seem to remember doin’ it in five minutes,” he said pointedly, teeth flashing a lewd grin as he gave an obnoxious wink.

Your jaw dangled at his shameless obscenity—alluding to a few nights ago where you’d begged him for a quickie, and had him finish inside of you. “Dean!” You exclaimed, hand coming forward to swat his arm lightly. “Think you’re a funny man, yeah?”

“I think I’m hilarious,” he replied charmingly, hand diving down to take another swipe at the cream. Just then, he brought it up to your face to slather the side of your cheek, which made your mouth curl around a gasp as you seized up on the spot.

“Asshole!” You sniped with no real anger, hand coming up to wipe some of the cream from your face, but Dean caught you at the wrist before you could eradicate the stickiness entirely.

“Fun-ass,” he corrected cheekily, gaze holding yours as he leaned himself down to wrap his lips around your index finger. You felt his tongue swirl around it to gather the cream, and even once he’d sucked it clean of all tangible sweetness, he kept up the wet whirlpool.

“Dean,” you laughed weakly. “Stop.”

Eventually, he freed your finger from his lips with a jarring pop, his chin wagging subtly with the pride of his action. “What?” He asked innocently, releasing your hand. “I’m just findin’ ways to make eatin’ this pie more excitin’.”

“Very innovative,” you giggled. “And messy.”

“Darlin’, don’t you worry—when I make a mess, I clean it up right after,” he remarked.

Suddenly, you became keenly aware of the cream still slathering your cheek. “Oh, is that so?” You retorted. “Because the records aren’t exactly reflecting right now.”

Dean’s hands came up in a gesture of his defence. “Hey, give me a chance,” he chuckled, then moved to wrap a hand around the nape of your neck. There, his fingers fanned the hair draping your neck, and he pulled you into his frame as his jaw made a dive toward your face.

You felt the warmth of his tongue drag a gentle trail up the curve of your cheek before drawing back to repeat the motion. You squirmed against the humid wetness, hands coming up to his chest as you let out a strained giggle. “That tickles, you weirdo!”

Eventually, he pulled back to face you, and the view of him was silly enough to send you into another giddy fit. The bridge of his nose was dotted with cream, and the trail dissipated along the curve of his glistening lips only to reappear within the divot of his chin.

“You look ridiculous!” You remarked with a warm laugh, finger lifting to wipe some of the cream off the button of his nose and present it to him.

“Yeah, well, you taste delicious,” he mocked childishly, linking his finger with yours to wipe the cream from the tip before plopping it into his mouth. He jerked his chin to the counter behind you, wiping his hands together. “Could ya pass me a paper towel, please? Behind you.”

Just then, an idea sparked to mind—shameless, and a little dirty, but fun. “Don’t bother,” you replied, and Dean’s brows shot up in surprise. Just then, you turned toward the pie, hand coming forward to scoop up an impressive amount of cream.

Behind you, Dean let out a soft huff, like he’d had an idea of what game you were about to play. Turning back to him, you hovered your cream-laden hand out in front of you, your other chaste one slipping beneath the hem of your tank to lift it up the expanse of your stomach. You terminated the stripping beneath the curve of your breasts, revealing enough of your abdomen to spur the Winchester on.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he breathed, his eyes unashamedly lowering down your exposed stomach before darting back to the cream cradled within your palm.

Without a word to spare, you began spreading a slow and messy trail across your stomach—starting at the divot between the curves of your breasts.

“Oh, I think I like where this is goin’,” Dean chuckled absentmindedly, lower lip drawn into a bite as he watched you paint the sticky trail down the length of your stomach—where you stopped just shy of your short’s hem.

Once you’d planted a generous path of cream, you brought your hand up to your lips to lick the last of it from existence, other hand still anchoring your shirt in its unobstructive place. “Rules of the game,” you began with a grin, Dean reciprocating one far more exhilarated. “Leave no mess behind—should be easy for you, he who always cleans up after himself,” you poked lightly.

“Easy?” He tutted cockily. “I’m gonna nail this out the freakin’ park. And then nail somethin’ else,” he added with a wink.

“Okay, mr. Big Talk, enough of the chitchat,” you laughed, free hand beckoning him forward.

Dean obliged with an eager, yes, ma’am, before inching his way toward you, leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead, then at the crook of your neck before he pulled back to gaze you in the eye.

“Happy birthday,” you murmured with an adoring smile.

“Happy freakin’ birthday to me, indeed,” Dean breathed in astonishment, taking a moment to lower his eyes along the candy trail that paved way to his personal jackpot down under before glancing back up at you. Then, with a determined smirk playing at his lips, he ducked from your view.

His hands took up firm grip at your waist, anchoring himself there as his lips took to your cream-kissed skin like the famished jaws of a zombie. Your head lolled back at the sensation of his tongue swirling along your skin, your free hand coming forward to plant itself within the jagged field of his hair. There, your fingers curled around unruly wisps—as if needing to ground yourself against the skilled tongue currently deconstructing your every sense—and your lips parted with a soft moan.

Dean, as if spurred on by that singular, sweet sound, added teeth into the mix, nipping lightly at the surfaces he’d licked clean before continuing to lower himself down your stomach. His grip at your waist became firmer—more desperate—and as if he couldn’t restrain himself any longer, his fingers grazed down your sides to slip beneath the waistband of your shorts and underwear. There, he tugged ruthlessly, successfully managing to pull the items down and over the curves of your hips and thighs.

You aided his efforts to strip you with a shimmy of your legs, allowing the clothing to plop to the ground. Shortly after, Dean’s fingers made a return to your waist, his tongue doing one, last greedy sweep of your navel to terminate the creamy line. He pulled back to gaze up at you—nose, mouth and chin slathered with the remnants of your game—but his pupils were blown wide with arousal, his teeth bared in a grin that told you he wanted to taste more of you.

“Jesus, baby, you’re gonna ruin me,” he uttered gruffly, breathlessly, and then without waiting for your input, he dipped into the yearning warmth nestled in the nook of your thighs, where his nose struck your clit with all the right force.

Like a starved and thirsty man deprived of everything essential to life, his tongue swept through your folds with the intent to garner every last inch of you. You let out a loud moan at that, hip collapsing slightly into the support of the counter, but Dean’s hands—anchored at your hips—tightened to remind you of his reliability, pulling you back onto the support of his mouth. There, his grip lowered to your thighs, squeezing lightly before they tightened mercilessly with the intent to grind himself deeper into your warmth.

Tears began to well at your eyes as the stimulation consumed you, head snapping back and eyes screwing shut to get lost in the abyss of Dean’s making. You felt, and heard, every flick and swirl of his tongue around your clit—the sound obscenely audible as wet fluttering—and it was enough to deduce you to a stew of mindless praises.

“Fuck, Dean, fuck,” you breathed—whimpered, tightening your hold within his hair until you were tugging meanly at his scalp. But he didn’t mind it—if anything, it elicited his own grunts of pleasure, which reverberated into your folds and added to the tension you felt building within your core.

He drew your swollen clit into a whirlpool, spinning it round and round his exploitative tongue with a moan of enjoyment. You could have listened to him utter that sound a hundred times over, and it jabbed at your core to know that Dean would never fail to find joy in pleasuring you.

“Fuck, baby, so wet, ‘nd so fuckin’ good,” he murmured against you, the words slurred by his discontent to disrupt the contact—and pace. He made a dive toward your dripping entrance, gathering the amalgamation of saliva and arousal attempting to slip away unnoticed, before he briefly slipped into your entrance.

You let out a broken gasp at that foul move, hips stuttering further into his jaw, but he steadied you upright with an accomplished chuckle to rattle you from within. His tongue retreated to drag back up your folds, re-establishing its rightful place running laps around your clit.

“S’alright, baby, I got you,” he murmured into you, adding fuel to the fire you felt about to erupt within you.

“I’m gonna come,” you muttered breathlessly, thighs clamping around his hold.

Dean gave a hum of approval at that, but kept up his slow and steady pace, only intensifying the stimulation with the pressure of his tongue.

The bundle within you began to grow and grow at your centre, tightening into an inexplicable mass that you craved to let go of. “Fuck,” you spat, eyes clamping shut as you chased your high. “Dean—don’t stop,” you breathed. “Don’t stop.”

“Ain’t ever stoppin’, baby,” he mumbled, hands squeezing your thigh pointedly.

“Can you. . . go faster,” you stuttered out, eyes faltering open and chin dipping to glance at him. “Please, I need it,” you whined softly.

Dean didn’t stray from his work to glance at you, and his pace didn’t budge, either. “Can’t,” he declined. “Gotta eat slower, remember?” There was a teasing flick across your clit, and you couldn’t help but let out a disbelieved laugh, eyes falling shut once more as you melted into his controlled pace.

“Asshole.”

“Fun-ass.”

──────────────────────

a/n ─ happy birthday to pookie!!! and this is a birthday gift bc dean’s a simple man—he’s a munch. fuck birthday presents & fuck birthday cake, this fucker just wants to devour you. best birthday song? the filth outta your mouth when his tongue’s surfing your clit. said who? me. dean told me. in my wet dreams last night. as a bonus for shits & giggles

thank you for reading! all likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated

tags ─ @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind @titsout4jackles @ultravi0lence14 @angelicjackles @starzify @honeyryewhiskey @deansbeer @figthoughts @floralscented @walkslikesummeractslikerain @deansbbyx @whisperingdaze @maddie0101 @lieutenantchaos @spn-reader @bakugotypecrashout @jaydensluv @misatxox

want to become part of the taglist for any future dean winchester works?

other works ─ supernatural masterlist

© bluemerakis ─ do not plagiarise or steal any of my works.

[cherrychilli]

18+ Steve Harrington x f! reader, perv! Steve, best friend! reader Masturbation(m), voyuerism (f) implied PIV sex, very teeny tiny mention of body horror. Nothing graphic I prommy. WC:2.7K

A/N: Pervy Steve being pervy once again. Reader's a bit of a weirdo herself. Enjoy!

Steve's already beginning to regret his decision.

It's a sobering realization as he tries to think back on the last time he played ball with the team. Or with anybody for that matter. A long long time ago, he gulps.

The thing was, stacking VHS tapes at Family Video was certainly a far cry from the kind of exercise he used to do back in Highschool. Barely breaking a sweat. His breath remaining controlled and nowhere near labored.

And now here he was, damn near wheezing as he tries to catch up to you as your jog ahead of him, although if there's one thing that's making this hellish jog tolerable its that he gets to watch your ass bounce underneath those little shorts of yours.

"Just two more blocks, Stevie c'mon", you called over your shoulder at him as he sourly trudges on, making a mental note to never get roped into one of your fitness kicks again.

Throat hoarse, knees shaky and sweat aplenty, he manages a thankful smile at the sight of your house, the both of you agreeing to stop there because it was much closer than his own place.

Both his and your Nike's crunch over the gravel that fills your drive way, now much prettier lined with your mother's hydrangea bushes in full bloom. Fresh bunches of pastel blues, purple's and yellows attract buzzing bees and fluttering butterflies alike. It's beautiful enough to make Steve forget about the way his ankle clicks with every step after jogging up the slope that lead to your home.

"So, what are you going to stitch these onto next?", he gestures to the hydrangeas and your whole face lights up ecstatically. "I'm not sure just yet but I can't wait until I find something good enough".

It was no secret that you liked florals, most of your clothes featuring some kind of posy, big or small. But for the items that didn't have any, you learned quickly with a needle and some thread, embroidering all kinds of flowers onto your clothes and other belongings - cushion covers, tote bags, the pockets on your jeans, pillow covers and whatever else you could leave your mark on.

Walking up to the porch that wrapped around your house, the windchime tinkles above your heads as you work your key into the lock, the sound reminding Steve of clinking champagne glasses together which in turn reminds him of how positively parched he is.

When you get the door unlocked and step aside, you let Steve walk ahead of you this time, sensing his impatience as he heads into the kitchen, pouring the both of you a tall, chilled glass of ice water each.

You thank him and sip at yours, amused at the sight of Steve chugging his down. Well, not just amused. A rivulet runs down his chin and snakes down the length of his throat as his adams apple bobs up and down, dampening the sweat soaked collar of his shirt even more.

Putting your empty glass down, you discreetly turn your back to Steve, bringing your hands up to pinch your cheeks hard, as if it might help force out the weird but not exactly unpleasant feeling that sprouted as you watched him trying to quench himself. It wasn't the first time it's happened either. Just a side effect that came with being friends with the former King Steve you supposed. It was during times like this that you could see why so many wanted his attention.

Steve on the other hand hasn't noticed your reaction, only that the pleasantly chilly relief that washed over him is short lived when it comes time to head up to your room. It's on the second floor so Steve frowns at the sight of your oak staircase, slowly but heatedly ascending it, cussing all throughout the way. You're just so tickled by it, his silly disdain making you giggle.

Feeling sorry for him, you insist on letting him go in and shower first because it was the polite thing to do. There's a little back and forth exchanged between you two when Steve begins to feel a little embarrassed and suggests you head in first seeing as it was your bathroom but you press on until eventually you get him to give in.

"Alright alright. I'll be out in ten" he tells you, picking up his duffle bag containing a fresh pair of clothes for him to change into, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

He sticks to his word, making sure to wrap up in under ten minutes because he hated keeping you waiting. But perhaps most importantly because he didn't want you to think he might be doing something he shouldn't.

It's something he's always been cautious about for a long time now. Many a time he's showered in your bathroom, carefully observing all of the products that make you smell as nice as you do. It's all innocent except that he can never shake knowing how you shed your clothes in here. How you work in your cranberry shampoo in your hair. How you squirt your cherry blossom body wash onto your loofah and run it over every inch of your body - your legs, between your breasts, your belly your --

Whipping his head side to side just in time like that might help eject the thought from his head entirely, he's able to snap out of it, toweling off and shoving his clothes on before taking a moment to compose himself.

Coming out, Steve nearly walks into you when he interrupts you in the middle of pulling off your socks and dropping them into the wicker basket by the bathroom door.

"I'll just be a couple of minutes" you tell him but you both know it'll be a little longer than. You weren't one to skip over your haircare and skincare routines. Not that Steve minded.

When the door clicks shut behind you Steve lays down on your bed, the soft mattress feels like heaven on his back after that cursed jog and it's all made even better because your sheets and your pillows smell like you.

He could have dozed off right there if he wanted but his mind keeps working. It makes him wonder. Having spent the night a few times he knows you throw on a pair of modest shorts and a wrinkled sleep shirt two sizes too big for you. But was that how you always tucked in for the night?

Were you the type to forego the shorts? maybe leave on a pair of panties under that billowing shirt? or did you discard that too? panties and nothing else. Or maybe you took those off too if the conversation he'd overheard you having with Robin was to believe.

"I feel like I'm on the menu, man. Barbeque all day. I pretty much live in my shower when I get back home that I might have to start paying rent for it", Robin comments on the heat.

"Shit, me too. Nights are the worst though", you reply, using a leaflet someone had handed you out on the street to fan yourself.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Sometimes I don't even towel off and that's how I get to sleep. No clothes, no covers. Just praying it doesn't get hotter. And that I don't wake up in a pool of my own sweat in the morning, you know?"

Oh fuck oh god no.

Steve stares down at his sweats, horrified to find the very evident outline of his cock tenting between his legs. And what's worse, he knows all too well that it won't go down on its own unless he takes care of it himself. It's always been this way. His dick is anything if not persistent.

He looks around your room in panic, surveying carefully. He knows he can't finish the way he usually does, messy streaks splattered on his soft belly. He needs something to clean up the mess without you finding out. That's when his eyes land on the dirty laundry hamper you'd used not even fifteen minutes ago.

Steve scrambles off the bed, approaching your hamper of dirty laundry. He can still hear the shower running inside, letting him know that he probably still has a little more time left.

Looking thoroughly, Steve figures you must have done your laundry recently because all that's there is a couple of t-shirts and...

He picks up one of your socks as it lays at the very top of the little pile, slightly damp but still plush and soft, a little sprig of lavender embroidered near the top by the Nike logo.

Just knowing you'd worn it makes his dick twitch and though it's a couple of sizes smaller than some of the socks Steve's used for the very same purpose, he guessed it'll be a tight fit but possible.

Quietly shuffling back into your your bed, Steve's quick to pull the waistband of his sweats below his cock and his ass.

He spits into his hand to slick it up and down his length, finding even more embroidered items neatly spread in every corner of your room -- a row of sunflowers running up your curtains, fuchsia colored tulips on your blanket, daisies on the robe you've left folded over your desk chair.

He thinks himself rotten for doing this. Using something of yours to help get him off. Especially something of yours which you'd gone through the trouble of making look nicer.

Although, if he's being completely honest, knowing that kind of makes him want to do it so much more.

To corrupt. To taint. To claim.

Steve gently, but with a sense of urgency, pulls your sock over his length. Groaning, he guessed right about it being a tight fit but that just makes the sensation all the better.

The slippery slick fibers makes him think of your mouth - your pretty lips when you're both outside, trying to beat the heat with a couple of cherry popsicles. Your red tongue always wrapped around the sweet treat in a way that Steve could never do but watching you suck at it and take it in inch by inch down to the bottom was just as good to watch too.

There was no dry chafing as he kept at it, precum soaking into the cotton too to help keep things wet and glide his cock through. Looking up at the ceiling he thinks of you on top of him. What he'd give to watch your tits bounce in front of his face, to hear the springs beneath your mattress groan and strain the harder you bounced on his cock.

"Oh Jesus, fuck", eyes squeezing shut. At this point he knows he's getting close, and all wants to think about before he cums is you coming out of your bathroom, draped in your bathrobe. The black satin one, although if you were emerge in that thick baby blue one you seem to favor you'd get no complaints from Steve about it.

His hand pumps harder and harder, picturing you undoing the sash from around your waist, pulling it open and letting it fall to the floor and pile there. The little pink Dahlia you'd stitched into it still visible where it sits on the floor.

"No clothes, no covers", Steve recalls you saying and that's exactly how he pictures you, draping himself over your nude body, touching and kissing you all over. Surrounded by the scent of you, pressing his nose to your pillow. He wants to know what you smell like if you were to let him bring his face between your legs. The soft scratch of your bush tickling his nose, the warm tangy slick collecting on his tongue as he runs it up between your folds, never forgetting to kiss your clit before he sucks it.

And that's what does it. Hips twitching, toes curling, eyes so close to rolling back into his head. Steve empties himself into the sock, filling it with the thick, sticky cum he'd much rather pump into you if you'd ever let him.

"Well, thanks for cleaning up Stevie"

He shoots up in your bed, horrified at being found out like this -- for fuck sake he's even still got your soiled sock fitted over his cock.

"I didn't hear the door open..." he wants to crawl out of his own skin and slip into somebody else'. Literally anyone else who isn't him would do.

"Oh don't worry about that. I caught an eyeful peeping through the keyhole." you walk over in your cotton shorts and t-shirt.

"So, what were you thinking about"? you cock your head to the side all inquisitive.

something about the way you're composing yourself tells Steve that you're neither mad nor trying to embarrass him. So there's no point lying at this stage is there?

"You", he admits shamefully. Like a puppy who'd chewed up the furniture.

"Oh yeah?", you inch closer to him, eyes dropping for a second to get a look at his limp cock still stuffed to the brim inside your sock.

"Would you like to feel the real thing? if your friend isn't too tired to come out and play that is", you wink at Steve who can only look back at you with his mouth agape.

"Yea-Ye-sur-yup. Yeah, I can do that", he sputters, cock already turning stiff again.

"Good, now lets get this thing off", you carefully peel the sticky sock off of his cock, stringy blobs of cum left behind.

"Wow, that's a lot. Have you always cum this much?", you ask with amazement, collecting some of it onto the pad of you index finger before rubbing it against your thumb. So slippery. still warm. so tempting to suck it right off your fingers.

"Only when I think of you", Steve confesses with a smile and it makes you feel ecstatic to hear it.

"Okay. Prove it", you grin, challenging him. Jumping on to Steve's lap where you can feel his dick already springing up again.

"Oh, you're really in for it now", he grins back, determined to leave you so sticky that you'll both need another shower to wash it all off again.

---

Morning comes, sunlight pouring in from between the curtains and he finds himself alone in your bed, alarm bells about to ring when he sits up to find you busy at your desk.

"Morning", You smile at him and it makes Steve feel a little silly for thinking you might have walked out on him.

"What you got there?" he tries to peer at the desk and you swivel your chair towards him, holding up a black t-shirt Steve recognizes as his own.

"Like it?" you look at him hopefully, finger tapping at the pocket on the left.

His heart begins to cartwheel, doing all kinds of gymnastics in his ribcage when we sees it. A bunch of powdery blue hydrangeas looking like they're emerging from inside his pocket.

"it's beautiful", he tells you honestly, pulling on his boxers to join you at your desk, running his thumb along the pretty stitching.

"So...would you mind if I made one to match?" you ponder cautiously, afraid it's too soon. Afraid of scaring him off.

"Yeah? you want everyone to know you're my girl?", he grins right in your face, his nose brushing yours. Exactly the opposite of what you'd feared.

The butterflies in your stomach delight in being referred to as his girl, a whirlwind of them fluttering their wings wildly.

"Mm...maybe I'll just stitch your mouth closed instead", you sass him just for fun rather than inflate his ego.

"Hm...but then I wouldn't be able to eat your pussy the way you like it", he counters easily.

That makes your face feels warmer and warmer, like you'd been standing out in a sunbeam without an umbrella.

"Fine. Wouldn't want a perfectly good mouth go to waste", you shrug.

"But one wrong move and it's the needle for you, Harrington", you point the sharp end at him, blue thread still looped through the other end. Your threat merely jest and nothing more.

"I'd be happy even if one day you decide you'd like to stitch us together". he says plainly. Not at all like the other remarks when it was more than clear that he was joking with you.

It shakes you for a fraction of a moment but the corners of your mouth pick up into an enamored smile. There's a big difference between wanting to be with someone and wanting to be attached to someone. You know he doesn't mean it in the literal sense but fucking hell, do you love the sound of it. To share the same blood coursing through your veins, to share the same flesh, to share the same scars once the stitches dissolve away.

No one without the other.

"Okay", you lean forward to press your lips to his. "That can be arranged".

[nottsluvv]

⌦ sip of heaven ｡ ⌞ potions master!tom riddle ⌝ navigation ꕀ masterlists ꕀ rules ꕀ anons ꕀ aus ꕀ readers

pairing ꕀ potions master!tom riddle x reader

summary ꕀ you "accidentally" take a lust potion... and who better to please than the potion maker himself?

warnings ꕀ mdni, smut 18+, plot if you squint, oral(m! receiving), degradation, brat!reader??ish, intoxication, dubcon??, petnames(darling, doll, etc), dry humping, hair pulling, dirty talk, unprotected sex, making out, fingering, creampie

a/n ꕀ 3k words, unedited

the windchimes you gave to tom tinkle as you step into his shop, your gaze raking across the empty room. as you glide past the endless shelves of organized potions, elixirs and tonics, your eyes catch onto a small, unlabeled bottle tucked in the corner of tom’s desk.

you pick it up, turning the bottle between your fingers as you watch the dark red liquid slosh around within the delicate glass.

“we’re closed,” tom’s voice rings out behind you and you turn to face him. his eyes narrow under his gently tousled curls as he turns his attention to the little bottle in your hands.

“that’s not for sale, either,” he starts flatly, reaching out to grab your wrist and return the bottle to his desk but you step back quickly, evading his touch. you dangle the bottle between two fingers, holding it up and moving just out of the way every time tom steps forward, his eyes darkening.

he reaches for his wand tucked in his robes, holding it loosely between his fingers as he holds it up.

“now, riddle, that’s not playing very fair,” you retort as you step back again, a small pout playing on your lips.

tom raises a brow as he steps forward, his eyes flickering to behind you, and he strategically plans his approach to you, eventually cornering you against a wall. a devious smirk plays on his lips as he leans in, the tip of his wand poking against your throat as he whispers, “darling, you know i don’t play fair. now give that back.”

your eyes widen as tom’s wand pushes harder against your throat, forcing you to lean your head back, and your body goes limp against the wall as you contemplate giving in. you purse your lips, staring into his eyes before uncorking the bottle with your thumb and pouring the liquid down your throat.

it burns as you swallow, tom’s wand pressing harder against your skin as your throat bobs. the glass bottle falls to the ground with a soft clink.

you blink, a sudden fuzziness taking over your senses. as your sight unblurs, your eyes catching onto details you never noticed: the way tom’s shirt hugs his chest, how his adam’s apple bobs whenever he’s angry, the way his veins pop as he grips his wand to your throat, or the way his body is pressed right up against you, his hot breath feathering across your cheeks.

“oops,” you giggle, your knees shaking a little. tom scowls, and he leans in closer, close enough for you to touch those soft lips—

“do you have any idea what you just consumed?” tom growls as he stares down at you. you let out a soft laugh.

“you wish you could consume me,” you sigh dreamily, eyes trailing down to his hips, and your hand reaches out tentatively.

tom slaps your hand down, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he pins it to the wall next to your head. “look at what you’ve done, darling, the effects are already sinking in.”

you blink wildly, your pulse skittering as he pins your hand to the wall, his face inches away from yours. if he just leans in to kiss you, and slip his hand under your shirt, and let you grind your hips against his—

fuck, you are horny. 

it comes out as a whimper, a plea, before you even could register the words that left your mouth. “tom, please.”

tom tsks, his eyes flashing. “please, what, darling? i don’t know what you want.”

you whine, your common sense thrown out the window and smashed into a million shards as you push yourself onto him, letting your aching core rub against his thigh. your brain hurt, and you couldn’t think clearly, the only thoughts in your head were tom, tom, tom.

tom smirks as you hump his thigh, rubbing your clothed pussy against his pants, his fingers tightening around your wrist. “is the doll in pain?” he asks with mock-concern, his brows raised. his thighs tighten up at the sight and feeling of you getting off on his leg, and tom feels his dick swell up against the fabric of his pants.

he pushes you off suddenly, a frown furrowing his brow as he adjusts his robes. wordlessly, he turns and walks to his desk, sitting down firmly on his chair, his legs spread, before beckoning to you.

“come here, darling,” tom says smoothly, all signs of the man he was when you first walked in gone. “on your knees.”

you quickly come to him, falling promptly to your knees when you approach. you rest your chin on his knee, looking up at him with those pretty little eyes, your core aching with need. tom takes your chin in one hand, tilting your head up and making you bat your lashes. he curses, feeling himself throb and strain against his pants.

you try to keep your eyes trained on his face but they still trail down to the tent in his pants, making warmth pool down to your stomach at the sight.

“didn’t know you were such a slut for me every time you came in here,” tom growls as his fingers dig into your skin as he grips your jaw. you let out a muffled whimper, and he chuckles, a dark, thirsty sound.

tom’s other hand comes down to his crotch, and he pulls down his fly and unbuttons his pants, pulling them down to his knees, revealing the large bulge under his boxers. he tugs at your jaw, pulling you in closer between his legs.

he raises a brow, dipping his chin down expectantly. with eager fingers, you pull down the waistband of his boxers just enough to let his erection spring free from the confines of his clothing.

you feel a slick wet your underwear, your pussy burning and aching at the sight of his cock. tom lazily wraps his free hand around the base, jerking himself off slowly as pre-cum glistens from the tip.

tom jerks your head closer to his cock, his eyes darkening with lust as he watches your tongue flick out to wet your lips. fuck. he feels his member swell up in his hand at your face, so ready for him, so fuckable.

“such a pretty little mouth for a fucking slut, hm?” tom coos, his thumb running across your wet lips. you nod breathlessly, your pulse quickening and your core dripping at his words. how could such dirty words come from such a proper… gentleman?

“suck,” tom orders as he leans back against his chair, widening his legs slightly as you scoot yourself closer to him.

you close your eyes as your tongue flicks out to lick the tip of his length, tasting the saltiness of his pre-cum. your lips pepper kisses on his tip, slowly taking in more of him in your mouth as you reach up to wrap one hand around his base. you ease him in, muffling whimpers and whines until his cock hits the back of your throat, making you gag.

tom reaches down to grab your hair, forcing your eyelids to open up and look up at him, tears prickling the corners of your eyes. he smirks as you gag around his cock, a shiver of pleasure rushing down his spine.

“you look so much better when that slut mouth of yours is filled up,” tom observes, his fingers tightening around your hair, pulling your head up. he groans as your hand wraps around him, and you ease him out a little, letting your tongue swirl around his cockhead. “this cockslut is finally fucking quiet and doing what she’s told.”

his member stifles a soft moan from your lips, and as your lashes brush against your cheeks, tom tugs at your hair, forcing your eyes open again.

“no. keep your eyes on me, doll,” tom orders sharply, leaning in slightly. his cock throbs in your mouth as you bob your head up and down, almost a nod.

you continue to bob your head, moving your hand in time with your head, and tom throws his head back, his mouth open in a soundless groan. you finally let him out with a pop, gasping for air as you moved closer to him, letting him close his legs around you.

your clit burns against your clothes as you moved, and you shift to sit on tom’s foot, rubbing your pussy against the top of his shoe. you place kitten licks across the tip of his cock as you grind against his foot, your core’s burning appeasing slightly at the friction.

tom looks down at you with narrowed eyes, a dark smirk playing on his lips. “who said you could ride me?” he demands, his hand tangled in your hair moving down to your chin. he sneers as you whimper around his cock, your ministrations on his foot ceasing immediately.

“please—please, tom, please—” you whine, your mouth full of his member. 

“does it hurt, darling?” tom inquires, his eyes glittering under his curls. “does the doll need something to ride because her pussy hurts?”

you nod wildly, your lips parting around his cock as you silently plead him. tom smirks, and he prods his foot against your core.

“fine, fucking slut,” he hisses as you gratefully suck him, sitting back down on him and rubbing against his shoe.

your pussy burns at the friction, slick coating your underwear as your hips bucked against tom’s foot. you feel tom’s fingers entangle themselves back into your hair as your throat bobs around his long cock, his cockhead hitting the back of your throat again.

tom grunts, his thighs clenching as he sees your soft lips around his member, your clothed pussy rocking against his foot, your pretty eyes watering as you gagged around his length. his hips buck involuntarily in your face, making you gasp out, a broken moan falling from your lips as you greedily continue to suck him off.

“fuck. look at that pretty mouth sucking off my cock like candy,” tom growls, his fingers tightening around your hair as he pulls you closer. you whine softly, your hips rocking faster and harder against his foot.

tom’s cock twitches inside your mouth and you can see his balls tighten. you moan, lifting your hips to grind against his leg, your pussy aching as you rub hard against his pants. he lifts your head up by tugging at your hair, his eyes searching yours. you suck his cock harder, taking him in deeper as he groans, feeling his release build up in his lower stomach. 

his member swells up in your mouth and you let out a small whimper at the sensation. fuck, you dreamt of this. tom pulls at your hair again, this time more desperate and needing. tom throws his head back, all his muscles tensing as his cock expands inside your mouth.

he groans and you feel his hot cum in your mouth before you taste it. tom fills your mouth up with warm jets of his load and you moan around his member, ceasing your grinding against his leg to greedily swallow up every last drop of his cum.

“take it all. swallow it, fuckdoll,” tom breathes out, his fingers tugging at your hair. another moan escapes your lips and he sneers, bucking his hips forward, forcing his cock deeper into your mouth.

you gulp the last of his load and pull him out slowly, the salty taste of his cum still lingering on your tongue. your tongue glides over your lips, lapping up any drops of tom’s cum left on your face.

his cock slaps up to his abdomen once released from your mouth, and tom grunts as he feels himself harden again, at the sight of you licking up his cum from your lips. “tastes good, doesn’t it?” he growls as he pulls you up by your hair, forcing you onto his lap.

“yes tom yes, tastes so good,” you mumble as tom’s hands push you up to his desk next to him, and he stands up, sliding his pants and boxers down to the ground, placing himself in between your legs. you watch him shrug off his robe and unbutton his shirt, revealing his toned and bare torso to you.

your swollen lips part, and you’re already salivating at the sight of tom riddle, standing in front of you, naked.

he pushes you down and grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head on his desk as his other hand starts taking off your clothes. tom’s mouth crashes down on yours and you feel his tongue immediately claim your mouth, swirling and exploring every inch of it.

he helps you take off your blouse, and essentially rips off your skirt, leaving you with nothing but your panties.

tom hums into your mouth. “no bra, darling?” he tsks. “how naughty of you. as if you were begging to get fucked by me.” he pulls away from your mouth and you whine, your hands struggling against his.

tom’s free hand brushes against your panties, and he chuckles as his fingertips brush against the slick-soaked fabric of you underwear. “so fucking soaked for me.” he hooks his fingers around the hem and tears them off, leaving your pussy bare and wet to him.

he pushes his fingers up your entrance and you bite your lip, stifling a whimper as slick coats his fingertips and he barely touched you. tom hisses with satisfaction, dipping two of his fingers deeper into your pussy, and you arch your back off his desk at the sudden penetration, a low moan escaping your lips.

he grunts, his cock throbbing as he fingerfucks you on his desk, his fingers curling and thrusting and pushing into your pussy. tom fixes his gaze on your face, the way your cheeks are flushed and you’re gasping out every time he plunges his fingers into your hole.

“why didn’t i fuck you sooner?” he asks himself aloud. he wonders when the potion’s effects will wear off and you’ll run away from him.

“tom!” you moan out, your tits shaking as your whole body shudders and arches off his desk. tom smirks and leans back in to kiss you, swallowing your moans and silencing your whimpers. he moves his tongue inside your mouth in time with his fingers, dragging his fingers against your tight hole before pushing them right back in roughly.

tom pulls his fingers out of your dripping pussy, pressing his fingers against your lips. you open your mouth eagerly, obediently as he shoves his fingers onto your tongue.

“that’s right. taste yourself, you slut. so fucking eager to get fucked by me, aren’t you, doll?” tom hisses as he watches you suck and lick your own juices off his fingers. his lips twist into a smirk as you nod slowly, and he lets you focus on his fingers as he aims his hips at yours, letting his cockhead rub against your clit.

you gasp, releasing his fingers from your mouth as you feel tom’s hot cockhead prod against your wet folds. he teases you, pushing in an inch and pulling out, watching you shudder and hear your soft, breathy moans escape your lips.

tom shallow-fucks you, grunting as he restrains himself from pounding into you until he’s balls deep, letting his cockhead dip into your sweet pussy and pulling out, before he lets your cunt swallow his cock whole.

his grip on your wrists tightens as he clenches his jaw, not being able to take it anymore. without warning, tom slams his hips into you, drilling his cock deep into you with a grunt.

you arch your back immediately, a loud moan leaving your throat as tom begins to pound your pussy. “moan like the whore you are for my cock,” tom growls into your ear as he thrusts his cock into you, letting it drag against your walls slowly before shoving himself back in.

he fucks you hard against his desk, making it move with every thrust of his hips. you moan loudly, the pleasure of his cock buried inside you making you see stars. tom shifts your legs, pulling them up to his shoulders to give him a better angle. he drives into you, the head of his cock pushing up against your g-spot, forcing a moan out of your lips and making you clench around his length.

a sweet pressure builds up in your lower stomach as tom ravages your pussy, his pace unforgiving. every time his cock hits your sweet spot, your vision goes dark and all you can hear are your moans and his grunts.

“so fucking tight,” tom groans as his hips slam against you, filling you up balls deep in one stroke. you shatter around him, moans falling breathlessly from your lips as you cum around him, your body shaking underneath him.

the pressure inside of you is so good, the way he stretches you out and fills you up. your pussy clenches around him forcefully as he continues to thrust into you, fucking your orgasm out of you.

tom swears, his cock twitching inside of you as his movements become sloppy and quicker. his hand tightens around your wrists, his fingers digging into your skin as he feels his own orgasm approaching.

his breathing becomes ragged and he pushes himself into you with one last thrust, burying himself deep inside of your tight pussy. you let out a breathy moan as tom releases his load inside of you, long jets of cum filling you up as he groans into your mouth, messily kissing your wet, swollen lips. “mine. all fucking mine,” he hisses as he rocks his hips against yours, riding out his high. “i don’t care if that was a lust potion, you’re my fucking cockslut now, is that clear?” tom breathes into your ear, making your heart skip a beat.

you kiss him, and his grip on your wrists loosen, finally letting you cup his face as you murmur, “i didn’t actually drink the potion, tom.”

taglist ꕀ

© nottsluvv.tumblr 2025. do not copy, translate or claim any of my works as your own. reblogs + comments are greatly appreciated + motivating!

[rs-hawk]

What Are We? Beauty and the Beast Commission

Beast x Belle

Word Count: 1,872

Commissioner: @zoeloveconvers99

Contains: knotting

A beauty and the beast commission where belle and beast after a private moment they ended up stuck because animal biology and size difference (also beast's bed looks like a nest) so they stay there for several hours,it’s an awkward yet kinda cuddly moment cause they can just hold together and probably talk about stuff and the servitude probably guess what actually happened and why the master is asking to be served in his room. I like to imagine it during a stormy night and the weather wing is full of candle lights (no sentient candles). I like imagining the west wing has a lot of candles cause it makes Adam feel calm and relaxed and big contrast from the dark,cold,gloomy and destroyed room that it is.

Beast’s hips snapped forward, pushing himself as deeply as he could into Belle. She was trembling under him, her face flushed, his lips parted in a silent moan that could no longer escape from how raw her throat was from screaming and moaning. After one more thrust, his knot began to expand, locking him inside of her as he finally filled her.

Belle shuddered, digging her fingers into his mane as she buried her face agaisnt his furry neck. Her body was sore and spent, but there was no denying that she was almsot pliant with pleasure. Beast caught his breath as he carefully adjusted his weight, resting most of it on his forearms so that way he wouldn’t fall and crush her.

The warm candle light basked the room in the soft glow. It made the mood feel more intimate than either of them cared to admit, but for Beast, it also made him feel safe. The night was dark, with clouds scattered across the sky, blocking out any semblance of a chance of moonlight. The candles were what let the night at bay, and between that and Belle’s warm body under him, he felt safe enough to be honest.

“Belle?” he muttered, cradling her head as she kept her face buried in his neck.

She pulled back just enough to peek up at him, er long lashes casting shadows over her cheeks as she asked, “What?”

The corners of his lips upturned slightly, hinting at a smile that he was almsot afraid to share with her. Swallowing hard, he finally decided that this was the time that he needed to talk to her, to let how he felt be known properly. “You know, I really enjoy having. you here. In the castle.”

A tinkling sound that sounded almost like the ringing of bells escaped her lips. The way that her mouth was upturned reached her eyes, making her even more beautiful. Beast couldn’t remember ever hearing a sound that was more musical, more precious. How long had it been since he had heard any kind of genuine laughter? How long had it been since he had genuinely laughed?

“I had gotten that impression,” she grinned at him, her brown eyes bright still with the genuine way it lit up her face.

Beast grumbled something, and if it was possible, he would have blushed. “Even beyond this. You brought life back to the castle.”

”I didn’t bring life back. I just reminded everyone that there still was life here,” she said softly, running her fingers through the fur on his cheeks.

He leaned into her touch, his heart pounding in his ears. “No, you gave us hope. I… I think I forgot that I could be anything besides a beast.”

Her face softened, all of the previous amusement from it gone. “Beast…”

“Adam,” he corrected, his voice slightly harsher than he intended for it to be, his knot still pulsing dully inside of her, making it hard for him to focus on the conversation but wanting it to be had.

Belle’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, looking at him with a moment of confusion before saying. “What?”

“Adam. My real name is Adam,” he said, his voice low, as if this was a dire secret that he shouldn’t be telling her.

”Adam,” she repeated, rolling the name off her tongue. The candle light that soothed the room, as if to mask the carnage that ravaged it, made him seem softer as well to Belle. Like in the low lighting, he was something other than the monster that kept her prisoner that she had begun to have affection for.

He groaned softly at the way she said his name, his hips unconsciously bucking against her, pushing his cock and knot further into her for a moment. Belle let out a soft gasp, and he buried his face in her neck as a response. He was breathing hard, struggling with wanting to slam into her again or focus on the conversation at hand. It had been so long since he had felt like anything under than a beast, but with her smile, her kind eyes, he wanted to at least try. He wanted to know if he was capable of still being human.

”I think… never mind,” he sighed as he relaxed slightly against her, his massive body pinning her even more to the bed.

“Is everything okay?” Belle asked softly, wrapping her delicate arms around his neck. She had never seen him like this before, almost vulnerable. It was like he was someone else, or, she realized, maybe for the first time she was seeing who he really was. Maybe, just maybe, he was being truthful with who he was. After all, he had told her his real name. This could be a step in the right direction. A step for this to be something real.

”Are you hungry? Thirsty?” he asked suddenly, as if trying to break the tension.

A tiny laugh escaped Belle’s lips as she nodded against his fur. She had come to expect this kind of thing from him. When things became too serious, he would always try to change the topic or try to steer them into something else. “I am a bit thirsty, but aren’t we stuck?”

”I could have Mrs. Potts bring us something,” he said gruffly, his claws curling around her waist, trying to keep her in place when she shifted.

”What? No! She can’t see us like this,” Belle vehemently denies the offer, her face flushed even darker than it had been from the intensity of their love making.

He chuckled, nuzzling her neck for a moment before pulling away to look down at her. The way the glow of the candle light dances across her fair skin made his heart race. He had never thought she could be more beautiful than when she laughed, or when she was content, wrapped up in a book, but he realized he might have been wrong. Laying under him, her skin tinged a hue of somewhere between yellow and orange in the candle light, a graceful, kind smile on her face as her eyes held even a hint of affection, he had never seen anything so beautiful. So precious. So pure.

“I can cover you up. The nest is always a mess anyway. I doubt she would notice, and I’ll tell her to leave a cup. There are a few that aren’t alive.”

Belle hesitated, but finally nodded. After all, Beast had warned her that there’s a chance that they could be stuck like this for hours, and there was no way that she was going to be able to deal with the thirst for all that time. While it wasn’t that bad at the time ,Beast was furry, and hot. She knew that it would only intensify when she began to sweat from being under him.

Beast reached over, snatching up a blanket to help cover her up before calling for Cogsworth. He barked out orders to send in Mrs. Potts, but only to leave a cup. He insisted he didn’t want her to stay. Cogsworth, ever the loyal servant, agreed, but no one in the castle was stupid. Everyone had seen Belle wander up the stairs, and while the Master was never one for letting anyone in his chambers, this direction was odd. The few times he had requested tea or snacks in there, he had always allowed Mrs. Potts to stay.

After Mrs. Potts came, leaving not the one requested cup, but two, Belle peeked out from under the blanket, hearing the wheels of the tea tray rolling away. “Is everyone gone?” she asked in a whisper.

Beast nodded, adjusting himself, rolling, so he’s on his back. Because the knot was still locking them together, Belle was pulled on top of him. He wrapped his arms around her, cradling her to his body even more.

”So, you weren’t always… this,” she finally said. It’s an observation, a statement, not a question.

”No,” he admitted, swallowing hard. He felt his body stiffen as he remembered his original life. The one where he was a spoiled Prince, a human.

”What happened?” she asked, her voice softer, more tender now, as if she knew that she was stepping into territory that might be dangerous. She way he looked in the candle light made him seem more vulnerable, and it tugged at her heart. The idea of getting to actually know something real about him was too appealing for her to forego.

”I think… that is a story for another time,” he finally says, pressing his face against her neck as he runs his large paws up and down her back, trailing her spine with a single claw.

Belle nodded, resting her face against his chest. While curiosity was gnawing at her, she didn’t want to push him away or to make things awkward, especially considering that his knot was still locking them in place, and the growing affection brewing in her chest.

Beast nestled even more down, wrapping his large arms around Belle. His bed was destroyed, torn apart and reformed into almost a nest of torn fabric and broken wooden beams. They talked about nothing when he finally sat up to hand Belle one of the cups of tea. Belle let out a soft gasp when he sat up, because she was pulled even further down on his cock. A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he saw the way that she reacted to being pulled down on his cock and knot. It stirred something final in him, knowing that even just a slight movement could incite such a reaction from her.

“What is it?” he asked in an almost playfully mocking tone as his knot pulsed dully inside of her tight heat.

Belle shot him a glare as she sipped from the cup, her face flushing slightly as she tried to adjust on his lap, trying to more comfortably and easily keep his knot nestled inside of her. Beast laughed, wrapping both of his arms around her again as he nuzzled her neck, his horns catching her hair for a moment as he did. Belle couldn’t keep her glare up, and ended up smiling. The affection she had he felt for him was only growing, especially with moments like this. It made her feel like maybe there was hope that he was more. That they could be more.

”Belle?” he said in a soft voice as he kept his massive head pressed against her neck.

“Yes?” she said softly, now running her fingers through his fur as if to keep him more pressed against her, her legs lazily wrapped around his waist. Well, as much as she was able to with his massive form.

He pulled back, a flash of vulnerability on his face. For a moment, he broke eye contact, making Belle’s lips turn down, but then he met her eyes again. They seemed softer than Belle had ever seen them. He looked at her for another moment before saying, “I really care for you.”

Belle’s face flushed, the rosy color warming her cheeks. “I… I care for you too. Very much so.”

[kiyawritesforf1]

TINKLING TEMPTATIONS

Pairing: Lando Norris x Indian!Reader

Words: 4k

1. The Nose Ring That Started It All

Monaco’s McLaren Technology Centre buzzed with pre-season prep, engineers darting between laptops and car parts. Lando Norris, fresh from a sim session, was meant to be focusing on telemetry data, but his eyes were elsewhere—on Y/n, the new PR manager, briefing the media team across the room. She was a vision: tailored blazer, high-waisted trousers, hair in a sleek ponytail, and a tiny silver nose ring with a diamond stud that caught the fluorescent lights like a flirtatious wink.

Lando’s coffee cup froze halfway to his mouth. He’d seen nose rings before, sure, but on her? It was… different. A nod to her Punjabi roots, subtle but bold, sitting perfectly on her flawless skin. His brain short-circuited, imagining her picking it out in some vibrant Delhi market, her laugh echoing as she tried it on. Bloody hell, Norris, focus.

“You alright, mate?” Oscar Piastri, his teammate, nudged him, smirking. “You’re staring like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Lando snapped out of it, cheeks pink. “I’m not staring,” he mumbled, spilling coffee on his hoodie. “Just… her nose ring. It’s… shiny.”

Oscar snorted. “Shiny? Mate, you’re gone. That’s Y/n, the PR wizard. Good luck—she’s way out of your league.”

Lando groaned, wiping the spill, but his eyes drifted back to Y/n. She caught his gaze, raising an eyebrow, the stud glinting again. “Lando, you need something?” she called, her voice teasing but professional.

“Uh, no! Just… nice… ring!” he stammered, face flaming as the media team chuckled. Y/n’s lips twitched, amused, and Lando sank into his chair, muttering, “Kill me now.” Oscar clapped his back, laughing, but Lando was already planning how to accidentally-on-purpose bump into her later.

2. The Spicy Lunch Surprise

The Bahrain Grand Prix was a scorcher, and the McLaren garage was a sweaty hive of activity. Lando, between practice sessions, was starving, his stomach growling louder than the V6 engines. Y/n was at her usual post, managing press queries with cool efficiency, her sundress a bright contrast to the grease-stained chaos. She’d been with the team a few months now, and Lando’s crush had only worsened—especially since he’d overheard her joking in Punjabi on a call, her voice melodic, confident, hot.

He was rummaging through the catering table—same old sandwiches—when Y/n walked over, a Tupperware in hand. “Hungry, Norris?” she asked, popping the lid to reveal a steaming pile of chana masala, the spicy chickpea dish wafting cumin and chili.

Lando’s mouth watered, but not just for food. She was eating this herself, a little piece of home in the desert, and the casual way she offered him some—like it was nothing—made his heart skip. “Is that… Indian?” he asked, voice a pitch too high.

“Yup,” she said, handing him a spoon. “Punjabi soul food. Careful, it’s got a kick.”

He took a bite, and whoa. The flavors exploded—tangy, spicy, warm—and he grinned, eyes wide. “This is unreal,” he said, then, without thinking, “You’re unreal. Like, how do you just… make this? And look like that?”

Y/n blinked, caught off guard, then laughed, a sound that hit him harder than the chili. “Easy, tiger. It’s just chickpeas, not a love potion.”

His face burned, spoon halfway to his mouth. “I didn’t mean—well, I did, but—” He stopped, noticing Daniel Ricciardo nearby, eavesdropping with a grin.

“Go on, Norris, dig that hole deeper,” Daniel called, winking at Y/n, who smirked and handed him a spoonful too. Lando watched, jealous of the spoon, muttering, “Mate, get your own.” Y/n’s eyes sparkled, oblivious to his inner meltdown, and Lando swore he’d learn to cook chana masala if it meant eating with her again.

3. The Bangle Blunder

Silverstone was home turf, and Lando’s family joined him for the weekend, turning the McLaren hospitality suite into a Norris family reunion. His mum, Cisca, was fussing over his hydration, while his dad, Adam, and siblings, Flo and Oliver, teased him about his P4 qualifying. Y/n was in her element, managing media chaos with a clipboard and a smile, her floral skirt and blouse combo hugging her curves in a way that made Lando’s focus slip.

Then he heard it—a soft jingle, like tiny bells. Y/n was wearing bangles, a stack of thin silver ones on her wrist, a nod to her Punjabi heritage that clinked as she gestured, explaining something to a journalist. The sound was hypnotic, tying her modern vibe to something timeless, and Lando was gone, imagining her dancing at some vibrant Indian wedding, bangles flashing.

“Lando, you’re up for interviews,” she said, walking over, the bangles jingling louder. He stared, mouth dry, brain stuck on jingle-jingle-hot.

“Uh… yeah, cool,” he managed, tripping over a chair as he stood, earning a laugh from Flo. “Your… bracelets. They’re… loud.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, shaking her wrist to make them clink more. “Loud? You mean musical. It’s a Punjabi thing—keeps the vibes festive.”

“They’re… really festive,” he said, cheeks pink, scratching his neck. “Like, distracting. In a good way.”

Cisca, watching, whispered to Adam, “He’s smitten,” and Adam chuckled, nodding. Y/n tilted her head, amused but clueless, and said, “Focus, Norris. You’ve got Sky Sports in five.” She walked off, bangles singing, and Lando groaned, muttering, “I’m doomed.”

Carlos Sainz, grabbing a coffee nearby, smirked. “Mate, just ask her out. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Shut it,” Lando hissed, but he was already daydreaming about those bangles, wondering how they’d sound if he held her hand.

4. The Holi Havoc

McLaren hosted a pre-season team-bonding event in Monaco, and Y/n, ever the creative PR genius, suggested a Holi-inspired party—color powders, water balloons, and music to celebrate her culture’s festival of spring. The paddock was transformed into a rainbow riot, drivers and staff laughing, covered in pinks and blues. Y/n was in a white crop top and jeans, modern but ready for the mess, her nose ring sparkling as she tossed a handful of yellow powder at Oscar.

Lando, in a white tee, was meant to be strategizing with Zak Brown, but his eyes were on Y/n, laughing like a kid, her skin dusted with color, her energy infectious. When she grabbed a water balloon and lobbed it at him, soaking his shirt, he yelped, then chased her, grabbing a fistful of red powder.

“Gotcha!” he shouted, smearing it across her cheek, his fingers lingering a second too long. Her laugh was electric, her face glowing under the color, and Lando’s heart did a double take. She’s a bloody masterpiece.

“You’re dead, Norris!” she teased, tossing more powder, her Punjabi spirit shining through in her playfulness. He caught her wrist, pulling her close, their faces inches apart, colors swirling around them.

“You’re… so pretty,” he blurted, voice soft, face redder than the powder. Her eyes widened, a smile tugging her lips, but before she could respond, Max Verstappen doused them both with a water gun, cackling.

“Oi, lovebirds, save it for later!” Max yelled, and Lando groaned, letting her go, his shirt clinging to his chest, his crush painfully obvious. Y/n laughed, brushing powder from her hair, and Lando muttered to himself, “I need to stop saying stupid things.” But he was already planning to steal another balloon fight with her.

5. The Diwali Glow

It was November, and Y/n invited the McLaren team to her Monaco apartment for a low-key Diwali celebration—her way of sharing her roots without making it a big PR stunt. Lando jumped at the chance, dragging Oscar and Daniel along, his nerves jangling worse than race day. Her place was warm, lit with diyas, a small rangoli at the door, and the smell of sweets—gulab jamun, barfi—filling the air.

Y/n wore a simple anarkali dress, gold and peach, not heavy like a traditional outfit but flowing, modern, hugging her just right. Her hair was loose, her nose ring catching the candlelight, and Lando nearly walked into a wall when she opened the door.

“Welcome!” she said, handing him a diya to light. “It’s for good vibes—don’t burn my place down, Norris.”

“No promises,” he joked, but his hands shook as he lit the lamp, his brain screaming she’s unreal. She explained Diwali—light over darkness, family, hope—and he hung on every word, charmed by her passion, her ease blending cultures.

When she offered him a gulab jamun, her fingers brushing his, he took a bite and groaned, loud enough for Daniel to snicker. “Mate, it’s a sweet, not a proposal,” Daniel teased, but Lando’s face was flaming.

“It’s amazing,” he said, eyes on Y/n. “You’re amazing. Like, this whole… Indian thing. It’s… wow.” He cringed, words tumbling out wrong, but Y/n smiled, soft, oblivious to his heart doing cartwheels.

“Thanks, Lando,” she said, passing him another sweet. “You’re sweet too.” He choked on the jamun, Oscar thumping his back, laughing, and Lando swore he’d die of embarrassment—or love—before the night was over.

+1. The Confrontation and the Date

The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix was the season finale, and McLaren was riding a high—Lando had clinched P3 in the championship, a career best. The team party was at a beach club, fairy lights twinkling, music pulsing. Y/n was in a navy dress, sleek and elegant, her nose ring glinting as she laughed with the media team, coordinating last-minute posts. Lando, in a rare suit, couldn’t stop glancing at her, his crush no longer a secret to anyone—drivers, his family, probably the entire paddock.

His mum, Cisca, was there, visiting, and nudged him. “Lando, love, just tell her. You’ve been mooning over her all year.”

“Mum,” he groaned, cheeks pink, “she doesn’t even notice. I’m a mess around her.”

Cisca smiled, patting his arm. “She notices more than you think.”

He wasn’t so sure. Every time Y/n’s bangles jingled, or she cooked something spicy, or her nose ring caught the light, he fell harder, babbling like an idiot—yet she stayed cool, professional, friendly. Untouchable. But tonight, with the season done and champagne in his veins, he was done hiding.

Y/n was by the bar, sipping a mocktail, when he approached, heart pounding. “Hey,” he said, voice shaky, “can we… talk?”

She turned, smiling, that damn stud sparkling. “Sure, Norris. What’s up?”

He swallowed, noticing Daniel and Charles lurking nearby, pretending not to eavesdrop. “I, uh… you’re amazing,” he started, then winced. “Not like, work-amazing—though you are—but… you. Your nose ring, your food, your bangles, the Holi thing, Diwali… all of it. I’m kind of obsessed with you.”

Her eyes widened, lips parting, and for once, she looked flustered. “Wait—obsessed? Lando, are you saying…?”

“I’m a disaster,” he rushed on, face red, “but yeah, I fancy you. Like, a lot. Every time you do something… Indian, I lose it. The jingly bracelets, the spicy stuff—it’s all so you, and I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to take you out. Like, a proper date. If you’ll let me.”

Silence. His stomach dropped, expecting rejection, but then she laughed—not mocking, but warm, delighted. “Lando Norris,” she said, stepping closer, her voice teasing, “have you been blushing over my nose ring this whole time?”

“Maybe,” he mumbled, scratching his neck, the drivers snickering behind him. Charles gave a thumbs-up, Daniel mouthed “Go for it,” and Cisca watched, beaming.

Y/n tilted her head, studying him, her smile softening. “I noticed, you know. The way you stare when I wear bangles, or when I brought that dal to the paddock. I thought it was cute, but I didn’t realize it was this.” She gestured at his flustered self, grinning. “You’re adorable when you’re nervous.”

“Adorable?” he groaned, but his heart lifted, hope sparking. “So… is that a yes?”

She nodded, eyes sparkling. “Yes, Lando. Take me out. But—” she leaned in, whispering, “you’re gonna have to handle spicier food than you think.”

He laughed, relief flooding him, and grabbed her hand, the crowd cheering—Daniel loudest, yelling, “Finally!” Lando pulled her close, not caring who saw, his grin wide.

“First date,” he said, voice low, “I’m picking somewhere with curry. And you’re wearing those bangles.”

“Deal,” she whispered, squeezing his hand, her nose ring catching the light, sealing his fate.

END

P.S. I am liking these 5+1 fics

[myseungsunglove]

NDA | Ksm

Pairing: Seungmin x reader

Warnings: fluff, language

Word Count: 1.3k

𖠫Summary: Scrolling through tik tok brings forth some questions for the reader that really only Kim Seungmin can answer.

✎A/N✎: I saw a tik tok about someone talk about signing an NDA and this popped into my head. Who even knows why. I’m always partial to the friends to lovers trope myself. It’s my comfort zone. So, here. Enjoy it with me! Also, I’m extremely rusty, so this might just be trash. Be nice please. 😭

◠ ◡ ◠᭚ιαᵕ̈

「© August 24, 2024 by myseungsunglove」

You’re scrolling through Tik Tok when you come across yet another interaction of Seungmin with a fan at Lolla. Reading through the comments, they are rife with fans giggling and commenting about the op missing an opportunity to sign an NDA.

One comment read, “Girl. The way he smiled at you. His eyes were so bright and kind. That right there was your chance at an NDA. You fumbled that. *crying emoji*”

You stifle a laugh, but the sound is a little louder than you mean for it to be.

“What?” Seungmin asks from beside you, not even looking up from writing in his journal beside you.

You turn to look at him, taking in his profile. He is handsome, anyone would be blind not to see that, but the fascination and determination of some fans to sign an NDA with an idol is baffling to you.

Seungmin swallows, and you follow the curve of his neck and adam’s apple, finding yourself a little lost in a trance.

“You’re staring,” he comments.

“I am,” you agree, but you don’t look away. Instead you set down your phone and scoot closer to him on the bed. “Explain something to me,” you start picking up your phone again, opening it up to share the video with him.

“There it is,” he chuckles fondly, placing his pencil in his notebook, closing it and setting it safely on the bedside table. “How may I enlighten my best friend today?” he turns to look at you, brown eyes bright and sparkling and for a brief moment your heart jumps in your chest. Okay, maybe you get what those comments are talking about, but still. He is Seungmin. He is your best friend.

You open up your phone and show him the video. He smiles softly, and it’s evident on his face that he is remembering the interaction. The video ends and he looks at you, puzzled, his eyebrows furrowed slightly before he raises one at you questioningly.

“What is there to explain?” he asks.

You laugh and take the phone from him and open up the comments. You hand the phone back to him and say, “That. Help me understand.”

He reads carefully, taking a little longer than you really expect.

Then he laughs his short little laugh, the sound tinkling out of him like a song and you want to smack him upside the head. However, you find yourself laughing with him instead.

“Y/N, do I really need to explain to you what an NDA is?” he asks, his voice holding a light and teasing lilt to it.

“Ha!” you burst out, punching him in the shoulder and tearing your phone from his slender hand. “I know what a fucking NDA is, asshat.”

He chuckles again, still staring at you. There is a playful smirk on his face as he waits for you to provide context.

“What I mean,” you sigh exaggeratedly, “What’s with the fascination of some fans to sign an NDA with an idol? Is that like the goal of fans?”

He narrows his eyes at you then, taking in what you asked. He seems to be genuinely considering your question. You turn on the bed to face him, legs crossed in front you and hands resting in your lap as you watch him think.

“I suppose its because they have this ideal of the idol built up in there head,” he starts before meeting your eyes. “An NDA would give them the opportunity to find out if that ideal is true or not.”

You hum in response. It makes sense, you guess, but you can’t completely fathom wanting to spend time with a complete stranger. At the end of the day, that’s really what they are.

“And,” he starts and you look back at him brought out of your thoughts. “They hope that one meeting will help them form a bond that they think is there,” he says frankly.

“Does it?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never signed one,” he admits.

“Never?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

“Come on, Y/N. You know me better than that. At least I would think you do,” he responds, a tiny bit of hurt flashing across his face before its replaced with something you can’t quite name.

“I do, sorry,” you apologize, looking down at your hands. “I just, I don’t know. The idea seems so strange to me, I guess. I’m glad you’re already my best friend. Our bond is already built. I don’t need an NDA to confirm that,” you smile fondly before looking back at him.

“You know,” he says, moving closer to your legs, “NDA’s are signed for a lot of reasons. Usually not the reason we’re talking about.” He stares into your eyes, it’s piercing look and it’s like you’re caught there, unable to move. Unable to breathe.

“Oh?” is all you can manage.

His eyes flick down to your lips, lingering there then purposefully meeting your eyes again. His brown boba eyes widen with the unspoken question causing you to lick your lips unconsciously. Instead of an answer, you lean forward slowly, hesitantly. That seems to be the only answer he needs before he presses his mouth against yours. His lips are soft. You wouldn’t say softer than you imagined because you had really never considered them. Not until now. Now, they’re moving against yours and your entire body is warm. They’re soft, almost pillowy and comforting. He reaches his hand out to cup your jaw as he deepens the kiss and you feel like you’ve been ignited from the inside. Just when your lungs are ready to scream, he pulls away his eyes fluttering open and meeting yours.

“Can we sign that NDA now?” you joke with a nervous chuckle.

His arms wrap around your waist and pull you into his lap, his lips crashing against yours again without warning. The kiss is fierce and desperate this time as you lean into him and run your fingers through the tiny hairs at the base of his neck. You hold him against you as he licks into your mouth hungrily, like he has wanted you for a long time.

“Fuck,” he breathes as you pull apart again. “I can’t believe we just did that,” he admits, his head falling back against his headboard with a thud.

“I think I’d like to keep doing that,” you admit.

“Yeah?” he asks, his head snapping back up, his eyes meeting yours.

“Definitely,” you chuckle, your hand coming to his face as you run your thumb along his jawline. “Better get that NDA written up,” you tease.

He growls playfully and flips you on your back, looking down at you. The air is punched out of you when you land and he is hovering over you, a new look across his face. A look of admiration and love, but also hunger and desire.

“Shut the fuck up about the NDA,” he grits out, but the playful glint in his eyes tells you there is no malice in his words. “It’s just me and you. My best friend. I wouldn’t want to hide that,” he admits, capturing your lips in a soft kiss as he cages you in beneath him, his body just hovering over you as if he is waiting for that last bit of the dam to break. “I love you,” he barely whispers against your lips and your world is thrown off kilter. Kim Seungmin loves you. And you realize just how much you love him. How you always have.

Your hands run along his sides and glide up his lean back as you pull him down completely on you, his lips finding yours again.

Funny how talking about an NDA can make two best friends realize they're madly in love with each other.

[ninibeingdelulu]

A kid’s dream ✧

Plot: You find 5 years old Bachira playing alone, so you decide to join him.

A/N: Can I say im proud of this post ? Cause I am. Oh and if you didn’t understand you’re a kid too, like the same age as him.

The late afternoon light cast a warm, honeyed glow across the empty sandbox, creating wispy shadows that danced and flickered playfully with the faintest breeze.

A chubby-cheeked little boy with a tousled mop of messy black curls bounded around the sun-dappled area, kicking a battered soccer ball in exaggerated, uncoordinated motions.

Despite his cherubic features and bright sapphire eyes sparkling with pure glee, something melancholic emanated from the small figure.

A cloud of perpetual isolation, as if the tiny boy orbited on a plane just adjacent to all his peers - forever the outsider peering in.

"Haha! Did you see that shot?!"

Meguru shouted to no one in particular, tiny chest heaving from exertion as he beamed proudly at the ball now rolling to a stop several feet away.

Before he could race after it again, a soft voice piped up from behind causing the young boy to pivot with those big doe eyes blown wide.

"Whatcha doin'?"

You toddled across the sandy pit, downy hair ruffled by the balmly zephyrs tickling your round cheeks.

Despite the cherubic picture of innocence you painted, Meguru immediately bristled - shoulders hunching as if bracing for the inevitable round of mockery that always accompanied any overtures at friendly interaction.

He lifted a chubby arm to vigorously rub at his button nose, regarding you with open suspicion laced through those crystal azure pools.

"Um...playin' soccer?"

A puzzled nose-wrinkle creased your brow at Meguru's inexplicable wariness to so simple an inquiry.

"All by yourself?"

The little boy merely nodded, muddy cleats scuffing the sand as he shuffled in place - clearly prepared for the teasing jabs that typically followed such observations from other kids.

Realizing he wasn't going to supply any additional details unprompted, you simply traipsed nearer, wide-eyed with youthful curiosity.

"But that seems lonely..." You cocked your head to one side, round features scrunched in consternation.

"Do you wanna play together? I'm not very good yet, but I can try!"

Meguru froze, mouth parting with unspoken surprise at your words - so averse to the ugly responses long imprinted on his young psyche.

Was this some cruel joke? A setup to deliver an even more brutal punchline mocking his desires for friendship?

Frantically his gaze searched yours for any trace of trickery or meanness, finding only the most openly earnest and disarmingly sweet expression mirrored back at him.

You simply waited, clumsily fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as minutes ticked by suspended in breathless hope.

That strange, untapped warmth began radiating through Meguru's tiny chest as the reality cemented in his mind. Not only did you wish to play with him...but there was no scorn or malice in your proposition whatsoever!

Within seconds, his whole demeanor transformed in a blinding shift as happiness and disbelieving joy erased all lingering uncertainty.

Scrambling closer to you, the little boy's sun-kissed features split in a megawatt grin of purest elation so overflowing, it seemed to eclipse his entire miniature frame.

Those big sapphire eyes sparkled like crystalline dewdrops, all radiant hope and heart-bursting affection.

Eagerly Meguru reached for your hand, bouncing on the balls of his tiny feet with infectious enthusiasm.

"Yeah!! Yeah, I wanna play together!!"

He squeezed your fingers tight, as if trying to fuse your joined souls into an adamant tether even at this tender age.

Giggling at his exuberance, you gave a reciprocating squeeze as the two of you tumbled onto the sand in a whirl of kicking legs and peals of carefree, tinkling laughter.

Any apprehension evaporated in the golden warmth of this newly-forged comradeship encircling you both in its glow.

For Meguru, it was as if the universe itself had rewarded his earnest desires with the ultimate miracle - a friend, one who could see the boundless depths of his spirit beyond cold, callous judgements.

In those fleeting moments, the young striker felt buoyantly weightless and complete, untethered by solitude for the first time in his short life so far.

His whole world shifted onto an exciting new axis the instant you graced it with simple, radiant innocence and acceptance. In that moment, nothing else in existence could touch him but the breathtaking potential for adventure and belonging stretching into the horizon...

[wtf-tfw]

THE BIBBLE PART 1

On the first day, God made zest. From that zest he was able to bless. From those bless he did his best to create the chest of the best of the best. And on the second day, God decided to stop rhyming because he wasn't very good at that. From there his productivity skyrocketed, what with all the free time generated from not having to come up with rhymes, his sister was right, it was a stupud gimmick anyways. Next he invented the tree, the bouncy ball, flowers and rabbits, cookies and cream, eggs and telephones, unmanned machine guns, rapid growth boyfriend capsules, and classical music. His army of little gay sky babies worked day in and day out to fabricate the Things for the world. It was God's world and he was going to decorate it however he wanted. On the third day, God had hot girl artist burnout and was like "UGHHHH I really already exhausted all my best ideas this suckkssss" so he phoned his sister and she said "Well why don't you make people?"

"People?" God said.

"Yeah, you know, people! Three legs, little genital things, weird skin, all 'bleaghh i have to go to work!' and all that" said God's sister.

And God thanked his sister for the idea and hung up, only to shortly thereafter roll his eyes because three legs?? What was she thinking, that was clearly overkill. But he got to work anyways cauze his sister was prety cool overall she knew what she was talking about.

---

in the GARDEN of PEEDEN,

Peeve, the woman-type and Tinkle-Adam the man-bug. They explored the GARDEN and found it to be full of swag. They said "I love this- thanks God, its just like America should be: one man and one woman!"

God tutted at this and set down his shrimp poke bowl. Why were they already being weird little conservatives instead of freaking that shit nasty style. Its like he got this party goin for nothign?! And he begged and begged for them to eat the fruit of the Freak Tree so that theyd eat the Freak Fruit and become nasty little freaks who like sloppy style makeouts and smoking clove cigarettes in caves but they were always like "No. No God, we aren't into that kind of thing" And God was so disappointed. So he called his sister and she was like "You have to assert your dominance man, you can't let those little tightasses control you okay. Let them know who's boss." And God said okay.

Peeve shouted and cried as God took her rib from her. Tinkle-Adam screeched in pain as a testicle was taken from him (now he only had two) Using the rib and the testicle, God made the third Human, Gobbler. Gobbler was going to fix everything, so the punishment of pain and the blessing of Gobbler was really a two in one. Gobbler was a nasty little freak who liked beer and humping things and God thought he was Awesome with a capital A.

Gobbler was releaseed into the Garden of Peeden. And immediately he was like "OH this is the releast, Bruv!" (He called God 'Bruv' because he was made that way) Gobbler taught Tinkle-Adam the joys of beef-eating and Peeve the joys of rump-roasting. The three enjoyed a number of beef-related hobbies together. Take that as you will.

But one day, the Regular Devil from a book known as the Bible became real in the world and said "No, no no! You are doing this so very wrong! You are raising a bunch of imbecilic hoodlums! Stop this nonsense immediately!" And the Regular Devil blasted the creatures with Shame and suddenly they all became aware of their weird penises.

God used his Authority though, and shooed the Regular Devil out of his work of fiction. What a prick! But it was too late, the humans had already noticed their weird penises and they no longer could enjoy the beautiful snails and shrimps and sailboats and mosquitoes and acoustic guitars and bonfires and magic erasers and tattoo parlors and hamburger patties of the Garden of Peeden anymore. They were just too ashamed of their weird penises.

And God was like "I'm--I'm so sorry about that you guys. Tinkle-Adam, Peeve, Gobbler, are you guys like...good?" And Tinkle-Adam scratched his neck and looked to the side. Peeve wouldn't make eye contact with him anymore. These two were back to their old stick-up-their-ass-but-not-in-the-fun-way ways again. "S-Surely not you too, Gobbler!" But Gobbler did not look at God. He simply looked at his weird penis. He sat down, and was absorbed into the Earth, never to be seen again.

It was so over. It was so astronomically over. God's sister wasn't answering his calls. He was so fucked, dude. Peeve made the big decision to leave the Garden of Peeden, and Tinkle-Adam followed with her. Hoping that maybe the rest of the crazy world God had created would help to reunite that spark of joy they had time with Gobbler in the Garden.

Eventually they found it in themselves to get freaky again a couple more times....but that's a story for part TWO!

---

[peggyao3]

Pt. 14 - Collaring

A/N: I've been so mushy brained as of late, it's not even funny 😩

TAGS: she/her AFAB FMC, stubborn sub!Feyd, feet are involved but only a little, collars and leashes

WORD COUNT: 350

"I will make you pay for this, woman."

"No, you won't," she snickers, adding another loop of the tinkling leash around her palm. "You will beg me to do it again."

Feyd-Rautha grits his teeth in a snarl, forced to bring his hands and knees forwards, inching closer towards his woman who has bewitched him enough to make him crawl like a dog to her alluring shape seated on the edge of the bed.

How he hates himself. How he hates the heat that swells low in his stomach when she tugs on the leash and the leather around his neck presses against his skin. The tiles are cold beneath his palms and knees and he swears he can smell her when she shifts her thighs on the silken sheets. His Adam's apple jumps against the taut collar.

"There he is," she purrs. "My good boy."

Feyd brings his fingers to her knees, eager to part them and find a feast for his salivating mouth.

"Ah-ah-ah!" Raising her foot, she presses her toes against the na-Baron's sharp clavicle, forcing him to halt with a little grunt and a scathing glare. "Show me your collar first."

"You're mocking me," he spits and one might think he would reach for his woman's neck any second, snap it with one brutal hand. But he only sits back on his haunches, allowing her to cup his jaws and lightly press her fingertips into the soft flesh of his cheeks, puckering his lips as she softly tilts his head about.

"I just want to appreciate it."

"You placed it around my neck, no need to appreciate it," Feyd-Rautha grates out, though his head does roll back with subservience. The broad leather digs into the back of his head and the muscles and tendons of his taut neck strain against the material with every huffed breath.

"And now your tongue."

"I'm not your dog."

Sharp nails press harder into his cheeks and his mouth opens at once, tongue lolling out, spit-dripping and eager to serve. For the right master, Feyd-Rautha can be such a good dog.

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring

[noxnightingales]

A short story about Aziraphale thinking that it was his fault that Crowley fell, and Crowley assuring him that was completely untrue.

It was a late Sunday afternoon and winter was breathing it's last gasps. Trees had buds and daffodils bloomed everywhere, Aziraphale's favorite color. Crowley was putting away the wine as he lay draped over the sofa, while Aziraphale nervously drank his tea. You could tell he was ruminating by the sound of his teacup tinkling against the saucer due to the angel's unsettled hands. Eventually, Crowley let out a long sigh.

"Angel, you are fidgeting over something, I can hear you making that teacup sound!" Crowley turned his head and looked over at his distressed angel and he gave a small smile. "Trying to act normal like I don't know you?" Crowley hissed a bit, showing annoyance.

"N-not at all, I just have quite a lot on my mind." He tried desperately to be still but failed.

"Like what? You are not affiliated with Heaven and I certainly am not with Heaven or Hell. We only have each other and daffodils to think about." Crowley gave Aziraphale a genuine smile and sat up. "Come sit by me, or even on me!" The ex-demon raised an eyebrow and looked at his angel coyly.

Aziraphale quietly got up and then sat down next to Crowley. He rested his head on his shoulder, and Crowley wrapped his arm around his back, curling his long fingers over the angel's arm.

"Now, tell me what is eating at you, because I only want to be the one doing that." His smile had turned into a smirk.

"W-well, I know you won't like it and I know you will hate me if I tell you, so… I've held on to this for th-thousands of y-years." Aziraphale sniffed and got out his hanky to blot at his nose.

"Wot?" Crowley was all he could manage to enunciate.

"Wot, you going on about angel? We are here and we are fine, what ever you think happened thousands of years is old news, like yesterdays news even." He really didn't understand what was happening.

"Look, I've held onto this and I have to tell you, it affects who you are and our whole life!" Aziraphale was adamant as he nearly slammed his teacup and saucer on the side table. The same place that Crowley had set his wine. He had no glass. Crowley's eyes grew large and he thought I'd better let his angel get what he had on his chest off.

"All right, spill. What happened thousands of years ago that I don't even remember?" He sat ready to be told.

"It's my fault you fell. It's my fault you ended up in Hell, Crowley!" Aziraphale turned his head in and started to ball into Crowley's blazer. The ex-demon opened his mouth and then shut it. He did not remember that at all. In fact, he could not recall if he spoke to Aziraphale or not. He didn't even remember his angel name. What Crowley did remember was working in the Serpens constellation on the Eagle nebula, finding out god was going to shut down the project and continuously asking god, or actually, Metatron why that was going to be the plan. He wasn't sure exactly how, but he did remember his fall and Hell.

"Aziraphale, you did not cause my fall, I did, as I was upset about god wanting to end the universe as we were still making it. You know how I love to know everything?" Crowley knew himself too well.

"Who do you think told you they were shutting down the universe?" Aziraphale cried.

"Dunno, stuff gets around, just like every where else." Crowley squeezed Aziraphale and tried to reassure him.

"It was me who told you, don't you remember?" Aziraphale raised his voice as he spoke.

"No, I don't. We were all wearing the same gowns from the same fashion designer and on top of that, When I fell, most of my memories were wiped. It's almost as if they were stored in my halo." For all he knew they were, but after all this time, Crowley really didn't care.

Aziraphale folded his arms, and let tears stream down his cheeks. "All this time I…and that you knew but never brought it up!" Aziraphale almost seemed disappointed that Crowley didn't remember.

"Look, if you have something you are worried about, do not hang onto it that long. We survived so much, and we are here and now. If we live in the past we will miss out. Why you think I don't fool with time, though I can. Eternity is not enough time for us." Crowley whispered in Aziraphale's ear. The angel sighed.

"That is the most romantic thing you have ever said." Aziraphale clutched at his heart, and Crowley kissed his cheek.

"Does it put you in the mood, angel? If it does, you know I'd write you a whole book…" Crowley whispered again.

"It does!" and with that Aziraphale stood up and grabbed Crowley's hand to lead him into their bedroom.

[sunnyrealist]

Chapter 15: The Garden of Her Heart

The Sun, the Moon, and All Our Stars (rewritten!)

Previous Chapter Recap/Context: Sebastian and Kate met for the first time in weeks. He had hoped that she would be willing to try out a relationship again, but it didn’t quite go as he thought. Kate explained that she was still interested in him but that she was afraid of getting hurt again and wanted to build trust through friendship first. He was willing to accept that and continued to flirt with her the rest of the evening. Eventually, Sebastian walked Kate home, and they agreed to get together soon.

Tags: Friends or Lovers?, Friendzone, Torn Feelings, Longing, Flirting, Banter, Physical Attraction, Kissing

Content Warnings: Torn Feelings, AI Image (thank you to @newbienewness 😘)

Chapter Music: “No One Else Like You” - Adam Levine (Begin Again soundtrack), “The Greenhouse” - J. Scott Rakozy (Hogwarts Legacy soundtrack), “Fallin’ for You” - Colbie Caillat

Word Count: ~2,850

Link to Wattpad Link to AO3

<- Previous Chapter

Chapter 15: The Garden of Her Heart

Taking the brown bag from the grocer, Kate nods appreciatively and then continues speaking to Pearl. “And then on Sunday, we went to the old broom racing courses - you know, the ones that are near Hogwarts, in the hamlets - the ones they never took down even after Quidditch came back when we were in school.” They exit the shop, a bell tinkling as the door opens and closes. “It had been so long since I had done anything like that! I felt like a kid again. Remember when we snuck out after curfew to fly the courses?”

Pearl laughs. “I could never forget! And when Professor Sharp caught us, you took the fall. It was so sweet of you!” Her giggles dying down, she simply smiles. “Soooooo - important question - who won?”

“Well, Sebastian was victorious on the first course. Merlin, I was rusty! But then, after I warmed up, I was fastest on the second and third courses… but not by much. He could not believe I won!” Kate smugly grins, elbowing her best friend playfully. “He thought that since he had once played Quidditch that he would be faster, more agile, more skilled, but I taught him who was boss.”

Pearl nods, smirking back. “Of course you did. Was he a sore loser?”

“No, actually! Not at all!” Kate replies with a laugh. “He seemed rather surprised, but he accepted it right away and congratulated me. He said I was ‘full of surprises’ and hugged me as soon as we touched down. And then he had to treat me to lunch since we had made a bet. Meat pies always taste better when they’re free!” She chuckles.

“I don’t remember any rules about competitors needing to hug after racing,” Pearl teases, raising her eyebrows.

Kate rolls her eyes and shoves Pearl. “Oh, shut it!”

“Was it part of the rules to kiss as well?” Pearl continues, smiling cheekily.

“No, Pearl! We did not kiss! And anyway, I told him a couple of weeks ago that we are only friends. He knows it.”

“Yeah, sure,” Pearl replies in a tone of disbelief. “Sure doesn’t seem like he wants that, though, based on what you told me.”

Kate sighs. “No, Sebastian doesn’t want to just be friends. He finds a way to remind me every time we meet - subtly, of course, because he knows my boundaries now. But… if he wants more, he has to earn it. He has to earn my full trust.”

There’s a short pause as Kate rearranges the bags in her hands. 

With a wicked expression, Pearl breaks the silence and asks, “So, when are you finally going to just… give in?” 

“PEARL!” Kate screeches, laughing. Her friend merely shrugs with a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

As much as Kate doesn’t want to answer, it is a fair question - more than fair, truly. The more she sees Sebastian, the more she wants him, and it’s spiraling out of control. Her head and heart have been arguing nonstop. 

Now that Kate is being teased, though, she certainly won’t give up the truth, and the truth is that they almost kissed. She blushes at the memory.

Sebastian had just landed after flying back towards Hogsmeade, with Kate following close behind. When she moved to touch down, a gust of wind came out of nowhere, throwing her straight into him. It was as if Mother Nature herself wanted them together. Kate had tried to catch herself before crashing, but it happened too quickly. Toppling onto him, Sebastian almost fell down, but he righted himself with a few hasty steps backwards. Placing his steadying hands on her arms, he had asked so gently if she was okay. His touch was so soothing and warm, his eyes so concerned, his lips so inviting… She felt as though she was under a spell. He had leaned in, his eyes on her mouth, his fingers carefully sliding up her left shoulder and then caressing her chin and cheek. He was so close that she could feel his breath fanning over her face, but at the very last second, she pulled back. Kate couldn’t make eye contact with him for a while, and afterwards, both of them pretended it hadn’t happened.

Until she was home alone, of course, and needed to relieve herself. It provided the perfect fuel for that night’s - and other nights’ - fantasy. Her imagination generated the rest of what could have been.

What might have actually happened had she allowed him to kiss her? Would it have been a single brush of their lips, followed with a half-hearted apology? Or would it have escalated? Might they have ended up in her bed that night? The two of them would have had to go right back to square one… or just end things altogether… if she couldn’t stop herself.

It all depended on her - because she sure couldn’t trust that Sebastian had restraint. He certainly was persistent.

Despite her true desire, she was still furious with herself for her own lack of self-control at that moment. And Sebastian should have known better than to push his luck.

Over the past two weeks, their hangouts had toed the delicate line between friendship and courtship. They had met up for butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks twice, went for a midday stroll in Upper Hogsfield, and picnicked in the Forbidden Forest. There, Sebastian directed her to an area in which he knew unicorns frequented. They were able to watch a mother and its foal grazing in a little clearing, and while she had been distracted by the astonishing sight before her, he had taken her hand without her even noticing - until it was too late. Each meet-up had ended with a kiss on the cheek and a hug; each time, the kiss and embrace had lasted just a bit longer - any observer would have assumed the two were courting.

And, gods, how she wishes they were.

“Well, if there’s any real question of his intentions, you should see if he agrees to do something he doesn’t enjoy with you,” Pearl suggests, derailing Kate’s train of thought. “I don’t know what that might be, but I’m sure you can come up with something. You’re devious enough.” 

Kate smirks. “You know I am. I’ll devise a plan.”

A week later, Sebastian knocks and waits patiently at Kate’s front door, clearing his throat. 

She had advised him to dress comfortably; he has absolutely no idea why, but he agreed and is wearing a simple white collared shirt with brown slacks.

When Kate answers the door, he is shocked to see her in more casual clothes. She had put on trousers for the first time in front of him. They’re dark blue and straight through the leg; he can’t help but notice how they show off her ass, but he tries not to stare too obviously. She is also wearing a blue collared blouse with slightly puffed sleeves. He’s never seen her wear anything so unfussy and homely, and it’s jarring - though not at all in a bad way. Sebastian is equally astonished and delighted as she beckons him inside. This is the first time in about a month that he has been allowed to enter her cottage. Progress.

He isn’t displeased when he sees - and smells - some of the bouquets he sent her, still alive and quite fragrant, scattered around her plant- and book-filled living room.

Kate ushers him to the kitchen, gesturing for him to sit down at her small wooden table. She has poured a cup of tea for both of them, and some small sandwiches are set out on a plate. He notices more of the flowers in this room as well. 

How could they still be alive? It’s been weeks since I sent them… he wonders.

Getting to the point rather quickly, she says, “I was hoping you might help me with something. I’ll reward you - I swear it - if you do.”

Sebastian glances at her in confusion, then grins warmly. “Of course. I’ll help with whatever you need.” 

Kate inhales, then exhales, as if hesitating. “I could use some help… in my garden. That’s why I didn’t want you to dress up too much today.”

“Oh,” Sebastian replies, his eyebrows furrowing. Kate is reading his reaction carefully. He takes a sip of the tea, then puts on a smile. “Kate, I meant what I said. I’ll help with anything you need.”

Kate laughs and blushes. “Alright. If you say so.”

Once they’ve finished their tea, Kate strolls outside with Sebastian, bringing him to her large garden filled with bark, dark soil, and a variety of plants organized into different sections.

“This year, I want to plant more. I need to expand the garden, but it’s hard work for me to do it on my own,” she explains.

Sebastian examines the area. “It’s already a decently sized garden. Are you sure you’re able to tend to something larger all on your own?”

Kate narrows her eyes in challenge. “Are you doubting me, Sebastian?” she asks playfully, putting her hands on her hips.

He laughs softly. “No - no. You’re right. It’s clear you are quite adept - at least I know you are with your indoor plants. And this is organized so efficiently…” Sebastian’s eyes roam over the little plant markers all over her garden - strawberries, carrots, potatoes, onions, tomatoes, turnips, broccoli, various herbs… “But what do you do with all of this anyway? You couldn’t possibly use all of this yourself…”

“Actually, I do! Nothing goes to waste. I make sure of it. I cook with all of my own vegetables and herbs - they’re fresher than what I could buy from a store. And anything I can’t use in time gets canned for later.” Kate smiles proudly. “I would actually like to plant some additional herbs. And just for my enjoyment, some pretty flowers." She hands him a pair of worn, yellow gardening gloves. “I’ll cook a meal for you in exchange for your help. I’ll even use items from the garden so you can see how they’re put to use. Please?” Putting her hands together, she gives him doe eyes.

Sebastian can’t resist her. “Anything for you, sunshine,” he replies sweetly, pulling on the gloves. 

“Thank you!!!” she exclaims, practically jumping in excitement. He laughs at her antics.

After expanding the plot, Sebastian offers to stay on even longer. He doesn’t actually enjoy gardening, but he’ll do just about anything to extend his time with Kate, and he likes seeing her in her element. 

Being in the sun all afternoon, though, has taken its toll. He wipes his perspiring brow repeatedly and marvels at how she doesn’t seem all that affected by the heat, though her cheeks and nose are becoming rather pink.

Kate can’t help but stare when Sebastian rolls up his sleeves and unfastens two of the buttons at the top of his shirt. His freckles have become more prominent with his new tan, and with his forearms exposed, she can clearly see his muscles and veins bulging from the hard work. His chest hair peeks out along with his newly exposed skin, and she has to tear her eyes away to avoid being caught. 

If I were to pour a water can over him, his white shirt would be see-through…

KATE. 

Stop it. NO. 

Sebastian chuckles quietly, noticing her growing flush as she watches him work. “What is it, sunshine? Like something you see?” He flexes his arm.

Kate chokes out a nervous laugh. “W- what? I don’t know what you mean…” 

He smiles smugly as he bends over on all fours to wrestle with a particularly stubborn weed. “Sure. Whatever you say, love.”

Her flush becomes scarlet, and she becomes very interested in a weed next to one of her strawberry plants.

An hour later, Kate realizes they will soon finish all of the weeding. 

She frowns at the thought, wanting him to stay even longer but knowing all the while that she shouldn’t. 

Or should she? 

Sebastian had stuck with her practically the entire afternoon, spending time doing dirty, repetitive, hard work simply because she asked. 

He even offered to do more than she asked.

Kate glances over at him, sighing and hoping to at least end it all on a more fun note. It would be rather anticlimactic if she sent him on his way immediately after they finished. Playfully, she gathers a clump of soil from the new part of the garden. 

“Sebastian!” she chirps out with a cheeky grin, watching his face turn up to her. “Catch!” 

She throws it to him, and although it lands in his hands, it explodes upon impact, showering him in dirt. He blinks slowly in disbelief, still holding his hand out as if he had caught it, then shakes the soil out of his hair. He narrows his eyes and grins in mock annoyance.

“Is this the thanks I get? I see how it is! Well, two can play this game!” he cries out playfully, creating a dirt ball himself, then tosses it over at Kate, who squeals when it hits her.

She returns fire, and then Sebastian changes tactics. He makes his way over to her on his hands and knees, his clothes and face and hair positively filthy. 

“That’s quite enough, I say!” he yells out, grabbing Kate and pushing her down into the earth, picking up a handful of dirt and tossing it over her body. 

Kate screams out, then laughs. She begins to sit back up, but he crawls over her, pinning her down. She cries out, struggling and giggling uncontrollably, as he continues throwing the earth over her. Then, she somehow manages to flip him over, essentially reversing their positions. She finds herself on top of him. 

Suddenly, they are both quiet and staring at each other.

Sebastian reaches up, weaving his fingers into Kate’s hair, pulling her gently down to him. Kate can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything other than willingly close the distance and press her lips to his. Willingly.

It’s sweet and gentle, and for a moment, Kate loses herself in it. 

Then, her brain kicks back into gear, and she stands up quickly, looking at him in shock, touching her lips. 

“Oh, gods,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t– I didn’t mean to–”

Sebastian isn’t moving a muscle, watching her in adoration.

“Fuck,” Kate mutters under her breath, then speaks up again. “I really shouldn’t have done that. I apologize.”

“Why?” Sebastian asks, smiling from ear to ear, very pleased with himself. “Why are you sorry? I’m not. I’m not sorry at all. I’m glad.” He chuckles quietly.

Kate glances around, as if searching for an escape route. “I… I got caught up in the moment. I certainly… I didn’t intend to - to do that. Sebastian, I–”

He can’t possibly listen to her stammer for a moment more. “Kate. Come on. Really?” He frowns now, shaking his head. “Couldn’t you just let the moment be? We both… we both wanted that. Don’t deny it. You’ve been wanting to. I know it.”

She shivers, crossing her arms across her torso. “It doesn’t matter what I want… It–”

“Of course it matters. It’s the only thing that matters.” Sebastian finally stands, approaching her slowly, as if she’s a startled animal that might run away at any moment. “What you want - it’s all that matters to me. Kate, sunshine, please…” He takes her hands gently in his. “Just let it be. Please don’t tell me you would take it back.”

Kate exhales softly. She averts her eyes, then finally replies, “Alright, Seb. But… we are not doing anything more. I won’t.” Her heart is beating so quickly she is afraid it might explode. “I… erm… Anyway, I think we’ve done… everything.” She gestures to the garden, trying to change the subject before she falls victim to her whims once more. “That’s… all for today.”

Sebastian nods, maintaining a mostly neutral face despite the wild range of emotions swirling deep below the surface. It’s clear to him that Kate is terrified of her feelings, but he feels as though he has plucked the last weed from the garden of her heart. Now, he just needs to give her some time to grow the sweetest fruit imaginable for him to harvest.

“So… when should I expect my reward?” Sebastian asks calmly. There's silence, and when he looks at Kate, she seems confused, as if he is asking for something more. He realizes he needs to clarify. “Erm… my reward – the home-cooked meal?”

She exhales sharply, realizing he isn’t being suggestive. “Oh! I see. How about… how about Wednesday night? 6:30?”

Sebastian smiles brightly. “I’ll be there.”

He wants to kiss her cheek - and do far more - but he decides to leave without argument. She still isn’t ready for their relationship to change, but he has gotten so much closer. 

“Goodbye for now, sunshine,” he murmurs, still grinning, taking a step back and fixing her image in his mind. “See you soon.” He waves and then apparates away.

[handeaux]

For Most Of Cincinnati’s History Rats Outnumbered People, And We Fed Them Well

By 1920, the residents of Mount Adams had exhausted whatever was left of their patience. The storied hilltop community was overrun with rats and the residents blamed an unregulated dump underneath the rickety old Ida Street Bridge. The Mount Adams Welfare Association decided drastic measures were in order. They decided to kill them with fire.

Under the gaze of newspaper and motion-picture cameramen, the Welfare Association saturated the festering midden with more than 150 gallons of fuel oil and posted a brigade of club-wielding Boy Scouts on the perimeter. Shortly before 9:00 a.m. on Sunday, June 27, Ed Steinway, chief of the city’s Fire Prevention Bureau, signaled to his torch-bearing lieutenants, and the conflagration erupted. Despite audible squeaking, and the overpowering stench of burning flesh, few rats emerged from the blazing trash heap, although thousands of roaches scrambled for safety. Despite the few documented fatalities, the Association declared victory.

Rats came to Cincinnati with the European settlers and thrived in the nascent town. Charles Theodore Greve, in his 1904 “Centennial History of Cincinnati” describes an infestation during the 1830s:

“Another prominent merchant of early Main street was S. S. Smith, whose store in the late ‘thirties’ and early ‘forties’ was at the corner of Ninth and Main. He was a brother of the well known Sol Smith the comedian. He is credited with having surpassed the feat of St. Patrick in clearing the snakes from Ireland for he is said to have cleared the rats from Main street. These pestiferous animals had become a great pest and destroyed much property of the merchants. Finally Smith succeeded in capturing an enormous rat to whose neck after much labor and considerable excitement a small bell was attached by a chain. This was turning the tables on the rats who had once thought of belling the cat. The rest of the rats did not receive their old comer when he was let loose with favor and as he approached, fearing perhaps that some one had succeeded in belling the cat, they retired precipitately. After a short time no rats were seen or heard. Once in a while with a gentle tinkling of the bell the public were admonished that one at least was left. Finally this sound ceased and one day some workmen found the skeleton of the unfortunate rat with the bell still about its neck lying behind some barrels. It was suggested that it had died of grief from lack of companionship. The story is told that not a rat has been seen on Main street since, although the writer does not vouch for the truth of this tale.”

The estimable Charles Cist, in his 1845 book, “Cincinnati Miscellany, or Antiquities of the West,” relates the tale of a farmer who attempted an unsavory and underhanded method for disposing of his barnyard rodents:

“I am reminded of the circumstance by a rumpus kicked up in the 5th street market a few days since. It seems that a farmer from Colerain township brought in a lot of rats which he sold for squirrels a few market days since. They brought him five cents each. The affair leaked out in the neighborhood, and a man of the same name being accused with it, it almost occasioned a fight. I should like to know who bought these squirrels; that the problem might be solved whether public prejudice deprives us of an addition to the existing luxuries of our Cincinnati markets.”

Although we can blame our ancestors for encouraging rats through unsanitary practices, we must remember just how animal-dependent Cincinnati was back in the day. The city couldn’t function at all without thousands of horses dropping tons of manure and uneaten grain. Throughout the downtown basin, dairies housing hundreds of cows, breweries with mountains of grain, slaughterhouses spewing blood and offal and outdoor markets groaning under wagonloads of vegetables offered a banquet for vermin of all sorts. Cincinnati didn’t get its garbage collection act together until well into the Twentieth Century. Until then, rats were just part of daily life. The Cincinnati Enquirer [2 October 1909] reported the plight of a Corryville family:

“From R.H. Stuempel, of 2823 Euclid avenue, came a complaint to the Health Department yesterday that his house, which is next door to a stable, is overrun with rats, and that he and his family fear for their lives. ‘We have no official rat-catcher,’ said Clerk [Joseph M.] Ray, of the Health Department, ‘and I do not know what we will do in the matter.’”

Even eminent institutions like the City Hospital were confronted by rodent problems. According to the uncharacteristically poetic Cincinnati Commercial Tribune [8 April 1903]:

“Four members of the august Board of the City Hospital Trustees yesterday consumed much of the afternoon discussing rats. The report of the Superintendent handed them implied that the institution has rats in the garret, rats in the cellar, rats that are brown and rats that are yellow – they run through the wards, the patients annoy, and resist every effort their lives to destroy.”

The hospital attempted to evict the rodents by bringing in a nationally noted rat-catcher, “Professor” Louis Hirsch, who had earned a reputation by banishing rats from the White House. The Cincinnati Times-Star [27 March 1890] interviewed a local rat-catcher who boasted about capturing 34 rats from one of the local hotels. He planned to sell them to sportsmen, who trained dogs, particularly terriers, to kill rats. That was the solution adopted by the County Jail, according to the Cincinnati Post [26 April 1901]:

“Nellie, a fox terrier member of Jailer [Lewis] Kushman’s band of seven dogs, established a new rat-killing record at the jail Wednesday night, killing nine.”

That paled in comparison to Reuben Adams, a young boy employed as rat-catcher at the Cincinnati Abattoir Company, who, according to The Union newspaper [4 December 1920] had dispatched anywhere from 25 to 30 rats every day for five months.

Killing rats was a common sport in Cincinnati for many years. The Enquirer [12 February 1888] described Sunday morning hunts at a dump on Eighth Street out near the Millcreek. A local resident, a molder by the name of Mike Daly, watched the neighborhood dogs chase vermin for several weeks and decided to challenge the canines.

“His plan is to run after the frightened rat, and by a sudden swoop gather it up, catching it by the back of the neck. A swing of the arm and the rodent is dashed on the frozen ground to die of a badly broken up system within a minute. In one exhibition, lasting about two hours, he caught thirty-one rats.”

Well into the Twentieth Century, Cincinnati mayors would declare occasional “Rat-Killing Days” to enlist city residents in the effort to rid the city of the feral pests, but only a total change in lifestyle served to reduce the rodent population.