#you have something wrong with you if you think that's odd

[caitlynwithalyn]

I was gonna stay in the tags but! Ya know what! No!

As an OCD sufferer (and y'all better start taking notes RIGHT NOW, NOBODY WITH OCD ENJOYS HAVING OCD (so stop glorifying it pls)), it took me several years of odd behaviors that ended up building up into an explosion of moral crisis after moral crisis before I realized something may or may not be seriously wrong with my brain.

I still, after multiple diagnoses and treatments from different care providers, struggle to avoid doing the following without feeling crippling anxiety:

- Wash my hands for an exaggerated amount of time, going all the way up to my elbows

- Pick the "correct" pair of socks to wear, and then pick the "correct" sock to go on each "correct" foot

- Pray when an ambulance passes or when someone is sick or injured or in danger (lest the person die and it be My Fault™)

- End prayers """correctly""" (this usually means I say "In Jesus' name, amen" a bunch of times in a bunch of different ways until it Feels Right™ and it has lasted as long as SIX HOURS and I ended up LAUGHING HYSTERICALLY AND SOBBING)

- Eat food. That's it. Just eating food. I hate most food because I believe it to be poison or that it's going to make me sick. Some foods I can't even smell or hear the name of without wanting to vomit.

- Write emails or texts without checking the message a gajillion times just in case I accidentally call someone a slur or something. This has resulted in a fear of instant messaging and basically ruined many of my friendships.

In addition to the wonderful resources listed above, I want to specifically highlight one that I believe to be of great value to believers in Christ who suffer with religious compulsions. The website is Scrupulosity Solutions, and they have countless blog posts available for free that have seriously helped me in my healing journey and figuring out the difference between OCD and what God actually wants from me. Learning the truth about God's word and what he actually asks of us and prying OCD's lies away from my brain has honestly been so freaking freeing. Highly suggest.

But yes! Definitely, if you think something might be wrong and you've kinda been relating to this post then please please please do yourself a favor and research OCD. Wishing you all the best out there.

i genuinely think ocd is incredibly underdiagnosed bc i will see people posting what are obvious rituals, compulsions, intrusive thoughts, spiralling, hyper morality, etc and its like Have You Considered This Might Be An Issue

[foxy-eva]

Escort

Summary: Spencer was supposed to meet an escort in a bar. When you start flirting with him, he’s completely unaware that you're not the woman he hired. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Fluff, Smut

Content Warnings: (18+, minors DNI) misunderstanding, miscommunication, awkwardness, mentions of sex work, heavy make-out, allusions to sex, fade to black sex

Word count: 1.3k

Author’s Note: I wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins Wrong Recipient challenge (I know I’m super late whoops)

Masterlist

The hotel bar still seemed quiet when you stepped in and took a look around. A lonely feeling had overcome you on this business trip, so you decided you wanted to meet someone new today. 

Lucky for you, the handsome man sitting at the bar looked like he wanted some company, too. With an unusual surge of confidence you approached him, relieved when you found him smiling at you. 

With a saccharine smile painted over your face, you sat down beside him and cooed, “Hi stranger.”

“Hi,” he almost whispered. “I have been expecting you.” 

That certainly was a pick-up line you hadn't heard before. You decided to play along. 

“Yeah? I’m glad we finally met. I was looking forward to spending time with someone so handsome.” 

A wonderful rosy shade spread over his cheeks at your words and it let your heart jump. It was almost unreal how beautiful this man was and he seemed to be completely unaware of that. 

For just a split second your eyes glanced over his hands, expecting to find a wedding ring but there was none. 

“I’m obviously not married,” he said, completely catching you by surprise. You hadn’t expected him to notice. “Or seeing anyone, for that matter,” he added.

“I don't think that was obvious but it’s good to know.”

He raised his eyebrows at your words. “Yeah no, I’m not like that.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I know other men do it but I personally would not talk to uhm… a woman like you if I was in a relationship.”

“A woman like me?” His choice of words was a little odd.

He cleared his voice and shifted in his seat, making his discomfort obvious. “Yeah uhm.. I mean someone…”

“Someone as beautiful and radiant as me?” You laughed as you attempted to save this poor man from embarrassing himself any further. 

“Exactly,” he chuckled as the pink color on his cheeks turned a shade darker. 

Conversation between the two of you flowed easily after that as you began telling him a little bit about yourself and he let you in on some details about his life. 

“So, Spencer, if you live in DC, what brings you all the way here?” 

“My cousin’s wedding tomorrow. That’s actually why I’m here, in this bar I mean. I know it sounds pathetic but when I responded to the invite a few months ago, I checked the box for plus one. I was really optimistic that I would have someone to go to the wedding with by now,” he sighed as his sight dropped down to his glass. 

“That didn’t work out, huh?” 

Spencer shook his head. His whole demeanor gave away a certain feeling of loneliness you were very familiar with. Instinctively you reached for his hand and gently brushed over his skin. 

His eyes found yours once more. Then, after a short moment of silence, he said something you didn’t expect. “I would really like it if you went to the wedding with me.” 

His words were bold, almost contradicting his entire demeanor. You felt surprised yet flattered by his invitation. 

“I love weddings,” you chirped. “And I don’t have any other plans tomorrow.” 

A wonderful smile spread over his face. “Then it’s a date.”

The straightforwardness of his invitation boosted your confidence, too. There was an undeniable connection between you two and the more you talked, the more attracted you became to him. You were sure that this aching inside your chest could only be soothed by his nearness. 

The soft curve of his lips looked so kissable. His smirk gave away that he must have noticed you staring at his mouth. You found his eyes again and almost drowned in the wild honey of his irises. 

“So, profiler,” you playfully purred as you leaned closer. “What does my body language tell you?”

You watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed and his tongue darted out of his mouth to lick his lips. “I’m not entirely sure,” he muttered. 

Taking his hand in yours, you got up from your seat and snickered, “Why don’t you follow me and find out?” 

There was no resistance from him when you led him to the elevator. As soon as the door opened, you stepped in, leaned against a wall and pulled him closer. He stared at you with pupils blown wide and his mouth agape. He stood close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body. 

“I’m not a profiler but I’m pretty sure you’d like to kiss me right now,” you cooed as you pushed your chest against his. 

“You’re right,” he breathed as he leaned down. “Can I?”

Right when you wanted to close the gap, the elevator got to your floor and interrupted you with a loud ding. Spencer almost jumped at the sound. You grabbed his hand once more and dragged him all the way down the hall to your room. 

There was no time to be wasted once you stepped inside your hotel room. His lips were on yours in an instant while he pushed you against the closest wall, making you gasp into the kiss. He deepened the kiss as his tongue met yours, melting into you as if you had done that a million times before. When he pressed his body against yours, you noticed his hardness straining against the confines of his pants. 

“Someone’s excited,” you whispered as you let your hand wander down his body with a clear goal in mind. Once you reached his belt, Spencer suddenly stepped back. 

“No, wait,” he mumbled and looked at you almost in shock.

“I’m very sorry if I overstepped,” you sincerely apologized. 

“No, no, that’s not it. We just uh… should talk about this before,” he said. 

Not entirely sure what he meant, you said, “Okay?”

“You uhm… only agreed to go to the wedding with me. So I’m not sure about the uh.. conditions of this… encounter,” Spencer stuttered. 

His words only confused you more. With raised eyebrows you looked at him. “What conditions?”

“Your uhm… rate and what that includes exactly.”

It took you a few seconds to understand what he was talking about. Suddenly the things he said earlier made a lot more sense. 

Your voice was laced with disbelief when you said, “Wait, you think I’m a hooker?”

This situation was so absurd that you weren’t entirely sure if you should laugh or cry about it. 

“I mean… I think the website used the word ‘escort’?”

It was still hard to believe what was happening. You decided to give him the benefit of the doubt instead of getting angry at him. “Spencer, I’m not an escort. How could you think that?” 

Spencer stepped back until his legs hit the bed. He sat down and shook his head, clearly unable to fully grasp what was happening. “Why else would you want to have sex with me?”

His words made you laugh. “Because you’re cute and sweet and very attractive!”

“And apparently very stupid,” he sighed. Regret was written all over his face when he said, “I’m very sorry I offended you. I really thought you were the woman I hired for the wedding tomorrow. We were supposed to meet in the bar to talk about the details.” 

“That wasn’t me,” you clarified.

“Yeah, clearly.” 

“I’ll still go to the wedding with you, if you want,” you said as you sat down beside him. “And you don’t even have to pay me.” 

Your words made him smile. “Yeah?” 

Nodding your head, you climbed into his lap. He seemed a little caught off guard but welcomed you on top of him nonetheless. Your mouth gently brushed over his neck when you breathed, “And guess what?”

“Hm?” You felt his throat rumble under your lips. 

“You don’t have to pay for this either.” 

Thank you for reading! Please like, reblog and leave a comment to show your support and help me stay motivated to write more stories!

Taglist: @adoredfromafar @grumpyy-bearr @frickin-bats @pleasantwitchgarden @cynbx @xserenax-13 @alexxavicry @samuel-de-champagne-problems @evvy96 @reidsbookclub @lover-of-books-and-tea @sebs-oxygen @nomajdetective @kobaltdragon @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @castiels-majestic-wings @hits-different-cause-its-you @spensreid @silversprings-mp3 @person-005 @kittyisick @siriuslyval03 @sleepysongbirdsings @brownbunnyb

[bernardsbendystraws]

⋆𖦹.ೃ࿔*:･ Snow .ᐟ Reader x FWB .ᐟ Matt

How it all began.

⤷ cw: smut, angst, p n v, toxic ex, fem!recieving, troubles?cumming, not proofread

au masterlist

Matt knew you were having troubles with your boyfriend, but he didn’t realize to what extent. 

It hurt when he saw you rush in, crying to Nick and spilling all the details. Your now ex was pathetic. He cheated on you, claiming he didn’t actually cheat—whatever the fuck that meant. 

Although you’re technically Nick’s friend, Matt’s always considered you to be someone he cares about. A lot of small conversation, jokes, and awkward tension led him to grow fond of you over the past couple months. A little too fond. 

Everything your boyfriend did pissed him off. Hearing the entire truth while you cried to Nick made him angry. You deserved better than that, you deserved a lot fucking better than that. 

And he showed you. 

He stepped up as a friend, lingering on crossed lines as boundaries became blurred. Honestly, you started hanging around a lot more, even when Nick had traveled internationally for over a month. 

You swore he wasn’t a rebound, and you really didn’t think he was, but you couldn’t really make any sort of coherent inference anymore. 

That relationship meant everything to you. Three years down the drain, a completely new perspective on who your ex truly was, and a terrifying realization that you didn’t know how to live without being someone’s girlfriend. 

Crossing lines should be wrong, but it didn’t necessarily feel wrong. It started with a simple touch, Matt grasping onto your waist when you both woke up from a nap in his bed. 

Gazing into each other’s eyes, you both got lost—hypnotized, even. 

Before either of you could comprehend the gravity of the situation, all clothes had been removed, his lips hungry and desperate as he showed you what actual pleasure was supposed to be like. 

Pleasure used to be confusing, it still kinda is, but Matt put his fingers inside of you, finding nooks and crannies no one has ever touched the same way. 

You thought something was wrong with you. Maybe it was all the brainwashing from your ex, but you truly thought you couldn’t cum. 

Matt proved you very wrong. 

The first time, he made you finish twice. 

Your thighs were collapsing around his head, his tongue swiveling and circling around your hooded clit as it became puffier with each motion. 

His fingers dove into you carefully, prodding with precision as he stimulated a spot that made your inner thighs quiver and tense. 

Once feeling that wave of euphoria, you begged him to give you more, and Matt was more than happy to do so. 

He was enthralled to fuck you into pure bliss. 

Your eyes were rolled back, the heels of your feet digging into his back as he fucked you into his bed. 

The ring of milky cum around the base of his dick was loud. You could hear how good he was fucking you, you could feel nothing but hazy euphoria as he gave you everything you could’ve ever wanted and more. 

There was no stopping once it started. 

Lingering stares led to hesitant touches. Any gentle caress pursued your lips to touch, and that was a point of no return. 

It’s something about the way he kisses you. You’ve never felt so intimate—not even with your ex who you dated for years. 

But he’s been long forgotten. 

Matt’s treated you way better regardless of the lack of an actual title. He buys you food, takes you on mini-dates, always making sure to let you pour all your worries or frustration out to him, comforting you in every way possible. 

It started small—it started so miniscule that it could be excused as friendly gestures, but now it’s odd. He’s not your boyfriend, but everything he does screams otherwise. 

Especially when he tells you he would marry you. 

Part of you plunders to think of a future with him. You kinda like it—more than you would ever want to admit, but you’re scared. 

You need to be alone, you need to feel like your own person without someone else consuming your energy and love. 

Matt knows this. 

He laughs when he talks about your future together, pretending he’s joking, but deep down there’s something hidden in plain sight.

A/N: This is their backstory. I'm sorry for making your heart hurt and your pussy throb at the same time prolly.

With love and big tits, Rose

[wowzerwyrm]

Okay, I'd like to start an open discussion here of some sort. Main problem being, I'm not really sure the best way to do that. Reblogs aren't really great for a discussion, comments are a little janky, and a direct message seems rude for multiple reasons and also isn't really open, since what I want to do is to get these thoughts out there for anyone to read if they want. So I guess what I'm settling on is I'm going to have an open discussion with myself here, directed at no one in particular but reblogged from this post since this is the thing that sparked it, and if anyone wants to comment on my thoughts with their own, either criticism consideration that would be neat (though I can't guarantee I'll have the energy/attention span later to actually respond, even if I'll do my best to) All that out of the way, this post makes me feel bad. Why does it make me feel bad? Let me figure that out, because my emotions are not what determines the morality of a situation, just what I'm already predisposed to think. I'm not an AI artist, I don't use GenAI for my own art or writing. But I also don't personally see GenAI as inherently a bad thing. Is it simply my proximity to the idea, so I feel as if I'm being called a nazi supporter? Maybe, it could be as simple as that. So, it's probably a good idea to analyze my understandings about GenAI art and the claims being made to see if I feel bad just because it sucks to be unfairly compared to something bad, or if it's because I'm feeling some cognitive dissonance that I don't like. (Ergo, am I a nazi supporter?) Regarding the claims in the post, how do my understandings and beliefs line up?

AI art is a great tool for people who think art's only purpose is to look good

Okay, so... this is objectively true, yeah. AI art is a great tool for people who think art's only purpose is to look good. But for some reason, it still feels inaccurate even though it is true. Let me break down the idea and look at some of the implied and inverse statements this one creates. 'People who think art's only purpose is to look good' definitely has a lot to unpack in it. As an artist, I'm familiar enough with the idea that art is so much more than just the end-product visual medium and how technically proficient it is. Along with the fact that 'good' is a distinctly difficult idea to nail down. Given the reblog about nazi art ideals, I think it's okay to assume that 'good' in this case is along the lines of 'good vs evil', black and white thinking, and the fascist view of cleanliness and purity. Something that decries art that doesn't meet the same specific stylization and standards as not just different, but 'wrong' and 'bad.' And is AI art a good tool for people who think like that? Yeah, sure. (though also I'm starting to think No, after getting into more of the comments and tags on this post and similar ones, but I can get into that later.)

But it will create very smooth, clean, 'sterilized' pieces of art, for sure, and that is definitely something that fascists want.

It's a neat sort of post, where a fairly straightforward statement is also a clever turnaround idea that is supposed to help you get the idea of what is really going on. I do tend to like those kinds of posts, where it's a statement that doesn't quite fit the mold of what you assume (in this case, as an artist that frequently expresses distaste and disgust for GenAI (along with just being in the general zeitgeist of anti-AI sentiment), it's odd for her to post something about AI being a good tool in any way, and that oddity makes you think, and the careful phrasing of the post draws your eye to the 'only', which reminds you that art's purpose isn't only to look good, which then puts the first half of the sentence in a different light.) If, for example, she had posted that "AI art is a great tool for people who think art is supposed to look good." That would have much different implications, as would just posting. "AI art is a great tool for people who want to make art that looks good." Which leads to another interpretation of the post

AI art is [only] a great tool for people who think art's only purpose is to look good

This is, objectively, not what the post is saying. It literally does not say this. OP even said in another post that there's nothing inherently fascist about wanting to create better art. But I think it's a reasonable assumption to make that this was the idea a reader was supposed to land on, and the implication the OP was trying to make. (I could be wrong, and please let me know if that is the case.) And I think this is where the post started feeling bad to me, because that specifically is something I disagree with. Sure, it absolutely can and has been used to make sterilized, clean, 'good' art for people who don't see any other purpose or understanding in why and how people create. But I also truly think that that is not it's only or best use. I think it can and often is used to create powerful, interesting, thoughtful and clever pieces of art. It takes it's own process to do, much like how hand-drawn art or photoshop takes practice and knowledge to create the thing you want to see in your head. A lack of skill in any of these will produce something uncanny and unsatisfying, just in different ways. (But it's still worth doing, because practice is good and art isn't just about how it looks and is also about the process and about your experience with it.) Is it being used for terrible, annoying, and fascist things right now? Yeah, absolutely. But pencils and paint and chisels and cameras and brushes and digital art programs are also great tools for people who don't think art has any purpose but to look good. Terrible, annoying and fascist movements are going to create terrible, annoying and fascist products using whatever tools they can, and that doesn't make the block of marble itself fascist. And the biggest thing, in the end, is that Fascism and nazis are bad because they destroy things they don't like. The problem wasn't that everyone all of a sudden started just creating the same bland, clean, sterilized style of art because it was easy or fun. The problem was that powerful people decided that this one specific type of art (and person) was 'correct' and then outlawed, destroyed, and slaughtered everything and everyone who thought otherwise.

AI art is... not doing that. Companies and industry were already paying as little as possible for bland and simple art to use for their marketing and using people in other countries with looser labor laws for their call centers, because that's what companies do, because art in marketing is only about what looks good. I remember countless ads with all the same artstyle not because it was created by AI but because it was created by an artist who was being paid to create something bland and simple and sterilized for the purpose of advertising and drawing in customers. AI may have been the next tool that made it even easier, but that was the same of each iteration of increasingly user-friendly art programs, all the way from cameras to Clip Studio. Fascism may be on the rise in the US, but even right now GenAI art itself is not forcing other people to only do that one sterilized art style any more than the brush forced people to create nazi propoganda. And, in the end, AI isn't even doing that good of a job for them. It's too good at doing exactly what it's told. Previously, little pieces of humor and 'soul' and interesting design would sneak into those bland pieces of advertising because the artists they would hire like to create, they would go do a little extra or experiment a little and occasionally that wouldn't get stomped out by the executives and so it would make it through. Now, the executives skip out on the practiced artist and create something themselves. In the past they didn't do that because actually putting pen to paper for the first time is a frustrating experience that shows you don't really know what you're doing yet. But because GenAI can create something that looks how they imagine something is supposed to look, what they want, they don't question it, and they send it out as is. But that's not the AI's fault, that's the fault of a lack of experience. It's the equivalent to a CEO firing their artist, then picking up that artists pencil/paintbrush/digital pen and slapping together a hasty sign that says 'buy my product' with a smiley face on it. And the public can tell that this is the case, and so they don't buy the product, and so it backfires on them. When an experienced artist uses a tool, it can create something interesting and thoughtful and purposeful. No matter the tool, paint, photoshop, or GenAI. (Of course, this doesn't go over how LLMs have been used in marketing and for google searches and pre-installed on every computer, or the biases and racism present in a lot of currently-created LLMS, and that's kind of a completely different conversation and is totally fucked because they don't look up facts they just make stuff up. It's also not a conversation about whether or not AI is theft, which I don't believe it is, but am willing to chat about.)

AI art is a great tool for people who think art's only purpose is to look good

[fixated-cookies]

Imagine pv and shmilk competing to be the one who fills us up with their babies...

this one is a long one! i've been working on this for two days now.

Warning- pregnancy talk, double penetration

Smut ahead

“This is unacceptable,” Shadow Milk growled, throwing his hands up dramatically. “How dare you think you get to be the one to—to get them pregnant!”

Pure Vanilla, as calm as ever, turned his head just enough to glance at him. “What are you on about now, Shadow Milk?” All he did was subtly bring up how cute you'd look with his kids.

“Oh, you know exactly what I’m on about,” Shadow Milk sneered, his voice turning into a mockery of sweetness. “You think you’re entitled to that privilege? Meant to be the one who gets them pregnant?” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “No, no, no. You’ve got it all wrong, Vanilla. You’re too… gentle for that. Too sweet. The world isn’t gentle enough for what’s required.” He wagged a finger at him, his voice turning to a purr of superiority. “You wouldn’t even know what to do, would you?”

Pure Vanilla’s smile never faltered. “I’m sure our dear one would appreciate my gentleness far more than your… showy theatrics.” He said this with a calm certainty that only made Shadow Milk’s frustration grow. “No, no, no!” Shadow Milk snapped, throwing his arms out wide. “I’ve worked for this! You think it’s just about being gentle? You have to know how to excite them, to keep them wanting more, to make them feel like they need you!” He looked Pure Vanilla up and down with a smug grin. “You wouldn’t even know what to do when they get desperate, would you? Hmm? All you do is offer sweet words and soft touches, Vanilla. You have to demand attention! You have to claim them!”

Pure Vanilla simply chuckled, not at all fazed by the outburst. “Oh, I’m aware of what they need,” he said softly, the warmth of his voice undercut by a steely edge. “And I believe our dear one appreciates the way I give it to them… with patience and care.” He stood up slowly, placing his hands on his chest. “I am their protector. The one they can always rely on. They don’t need your… chaotic displays.”

Shadow Milk’s eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a sinister grin. “Chaotic? You call this chaotic?” He gestured to himself dramatically. “I’m the one who can give them excitement—who can challenge them!” He leaned in closer to Pure Vanilla, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “I can make them beg for me. Beg to have my child.”

Pure Vanilla’s smile faltered for just a second, and a flicker of something more intense passed over his face. But then he straightened up, his calm persona returning. “You think that’s what they need? Something as trivial as excitement? No, Shadow Milk, they need stability. They need someone who can give them what they truly desire, long-term.” His gaze turned almost predatory for a moment, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “And I’m more than happy to give it to them… again and again.”

For a moment, the two stood locked in a silent battle, their personalities at odds, but both resolute in their beliefs. But then, in an unexpected twist, Shadow Milk broke the silence with a sharp laugh, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Fine, Vanilla. You think you’ve got it all figured out? You really think you can win this? Go ahead, try. But just know, I’ll be right there watching, ready to take the crown when you falter.” He grinned wickedly. Pure Vanilla’s smile remained, though there was something dangerously sharp about it now. “If you insist.”

....

The atmosphere in the room was suffocatingly warm—not from discomfort, but from the sheer attention radiating from both sides. You were seated between them on the couch, one on either side, caged in by their devotion. They weren’t holding you down, and yet, somehow, you felt trapped, as if the weight of their unspoken desires pinned you in place.

"You've been so quiet, my dear," Pure Vanilla murmured, his breath warm against your temple. "So shy… yet, I can feel it. Your heart—" his lips brushed your hairline in the faintest of kisses, "—it races when we're close, doesn't it?"The heat in your cheeks was unbearable. He always spoke so sweetly, so full of love, yet there was something weighty underneath it all.

From the other side, Shadow Milk Cookie smirked at the scene unfolding before him. His eyes gleamed with amusement, but there was an unmistakable glint of longing behind them. He draped an arm over the back of the couch, his posture lazy, but his presence was anything but. "Poor thing," he purred, shifting even closer, his lips almost dangerously close to your ear. "Are we overwhelming you? Hmm? You can tell us, darling. Or better yet—" his hand ghosted lower, his fingertips grazing the fabric of your clothing just above your stomach so faintly it was almost like he wasn’t touching you at all, "show us." Your breath hitched and the air changed.

The teasing was still there, the playful light in Shadow Milk’s eyes, the soft, unwavering patience in Pure Vanilla’s touch. But there was something else now.

Shadow Milk’s fingers stilled just over your lower stomach, barely pressing, almost as if he was imagining something there. His grin turned into something softer, more contemplative, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper. "Wouldn't it be funny?" he murmured, a chuckle escaping his lips, but this time it lacked its usual sharpness. "A little version of you… of us?"

Pure Vanilla Cookie exhaled softly, his hand shifting, hesitating for only a fraction of a second before he let his palm rest just below your navel, overlapping Shadow Milk’s touch. His fingers were warm, comforting. "How sweet it would be," he sighed, voice almost dreamy. "A child—our child." His thumb traced absent circles, his voice low, reverent. "A little one… with your eyes." He let the words linger, watching for your reaction. Shadow Milk huffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Of course, you'd say something all soft and poetic," he muttered rolling his eyes, though his fingers still hadn’t moved. "Come on, my dear," he cooed, leaning in once more. "I bet you'd look so cute, round and full, carrying something so precious."

Pure Vanilla smiled sweetly, a soft hum vibrating in his chest. "It’s just a thought, my love," he assured, but his touch lingered, warm and achingly affectionate. "One I can’t seem to let go of."

Shadow Milk, never one to be outdone, grinned. "Come now, darling," he crooned. "You know you want to imagine it too."

They were closing in on you, pressing their love, their desires, their devotion against you with every soft word, every lingering touch. The intensity of it all was suffocating, yet... somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away."

One moment, they were simply talking, coaxing you, murmuring things they knew would fluster you beyond belief. The next? You had two pairs of lips pressed against your skin, hot, needy, desperate, peppering kisses across every inch of your face like they were starving.

Pure vanilla kisses were slow yet powerful. his lips hot against your skin as if he were consuming you.

"Ah, ah, Pure Vanilla," Shadow Milk chuckled between kisses, pressing his lips against your jaw before trailing them up toward your cheek, grinning when he felt you squirm. "You’re being so slow. If you hesitate, I might just take all these sweet little kisses for myself." Pure Vanilla barely spared him a glance, too focused on you, your warmth, your scent, pressing tender, melting kisses along your forehead, your temple, your fluttering lashes. His lips trembled against your skin, his breath ragged—he wasn’t just kissing you, he was soaking you in, indulging like a man deprived.

"You're so impatient," he finally murmured, voice breathy, thick with longing. His fingers brushed against your jaw, tilting your face toward him, forcing Shadow Milk to relinquish you for just a moment. "Slow down. Let them breathe." Shadow Milk scoffed, rolling his eyes as he stubbornly kissed down the column of your neck instead.

"Oh, please," he taunted, voice syrupy, mocking, but low with want. His fingers gripped at your waist, almost kneading, thumbs brushing over your ribs as if he needed to keep touching you. "You want them just as much as I do, don’t pretend otherwise."

Pure Vanilla let out a soft, wavering breath against your lips before pressing the sweetest, deepest kiss there. His lips lingered, molding against yours in a way that felt more like a plea than a kiss. He was desperate. He wanted you to feel it. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he exhaled a shaky sigh.

"You belong with me," he murmured, voice dreamy, honeyed, but possessive. "With us."

Shadow Milk scoffed. "There you go again," he muttered, pressing a final kiss to your shoulder before his hungry gaze flickered back to Pure Vanilla. "Us? How polite of you. You should just say what you really mean." His eyes darkened. His smirk widened.

"You want them to be yours," he purred, tracing the shell of your ear with his lips before nipping ever so slightly. His breath was hot against your skin, his voice dipping into something dangerously intoxicating. "You want them so badly you can barely breathe, don’t you?" Pure Vanilla shuddered, his grip on you tightening. His fingers curled against your waist, clutching, trembling slightly.

He was always the composed one. The tender one. But right now? Right now, his voice was breathy, heated, slipping into something messy.

"Of course, I do," he admitted, his lips pressing against the corner of your mouth, lingering, as if he could barely pull himself away. "And so do you."

Shadow Milk chuckled, nuzzling into the crook of your neck, his hands squeezing at your sides just to hear you gasp. "At least I’m truthful about it," he teased, voice muffled against your skin.

perhaps the couch gets too stiffening, too restrictive.

"Enough of this—if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right." only to get snatched away by shadow milk

Before you can even blink, Shadow Milk Cookie's arms are around you, and the next thing you know? The world flips. A startled gasp escapes your lips as your stomach presses against his broad shoulder, his grip tight around your waist, holding you in place like some kidnapped damsel in a stage play.

You wriggle, hands gripping at his back, your legs kicking in protest. Not that it matters. He only chuckles, adjusting his hold like you’re nothing more than a prized possession—which, to him, you are.

"Relax, sugar drop~ I’m just making this comfortable for us."

From the couch, Pure Vanilla Cookie watches with an expression of pure disbelief, before standing up to follow. "Shadow Milk! That is not how you treat someone."

"Oh? Would you rather I tie them up with a bow and hand them to you? Tch—boring."Vanilla’s soft gasp of horror is priceless. A slight pout forming on his lips as he quickly rises to his feet.

"You could at least be gentle with them—"

"Pfft. I am gentle! Just… direct."

You kick again, yelping when his hold tightens, keeping you securely against him as he finally reaches the bed.

Without an ounce of hesitation—he drops you.You land on the soft sheets with a huff, wide-eyed, body bouncing slightly from the impact. And then, Pure Vanilla is there, immediately kneeling beside you, his warm hands cupping your face with such tender concern that the contrast from Shadow Milk’s carelessness is almost comical.

"Are you alright, my love? Did he—did he hurt you?" His voice is so soft, so worried, like Shadow Milk had just tossed you off a cliff instead of onto a plush bed."Ugh, gag me. You’re so dramatic." He tilts your chin up with one finger, his mixmatched-slit pupils gleaming with mischief.

When useless unnecessary fabrics are off and thrown to an unknown corner of the room you may find yourself facing two sentimental beings. One who devotes himself to you eternally;

"You are… beautiful," he whispers, voice breathless with awe. His lips brush against your forehead, trailing soft, fluttering kisses down to your temple, your cheek. "Are you sure, my love? You must be certain. I won’t let you regret this." And the other who's desires are an engima; "I want to hear you, sugar drop~" his voice drops, a low purr against your skin. "I want to feel you tremble. Give me that, and I’ll be so good to you."

But oh, the moment you give them that tiny nod? The air shifts.

And there’s no turning back.

But of course...right when things are at their most heated—your body trembling beneath their touches, their breaths fanning against your skin—Shadow Milk Cookie just has to ruin the moment.

"Tsk, move aside, Sunshine. I’ll take it from here~" he purrs, already reaching to pull you closer. Pure Vanilla Cookie's hand shoots out, pressing against Shadow Milk’s chest with just enough force to halt him. His smile is gentle—his tone? Firm.

"Patience, Shadow Milk. You always rush into things," he chides, fingers brushing your cheek, voice achingly tender. "I’ll go first—" "Ohhh, no you don’t!" Shadow Milk interrupts, scoffing. "Why should you go first? Just because you’re the goody-goody doesn’t mean you get priority! If anything, I should—"

"Because," Pure Vanilla cuts in, his voice so sweetly unwavering it drives Shadow Milk crazy, "I will treat them with care. Unlike you, who turns everything into a performance."

Shadow Milk clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes. "Ugh, there you go again—acting like you’re any better than me! Admit it, you’re just as desperate. Maybe even worse~." Pure Vanilla’s ears tint pink. But he does not deny it.

But the situation doesn't last long , they definitely come to a solution—just not one that benefits you.

After all, why take turns when they can simply share?

"Hah… see? Now this is fair~," Shadow Milk practically purrs, his grip tightening against your waist from being seated in between you. His voice is a syrupy, taunting thing, drinking in your trembling frame as if it’s the most satisfying sight he’s ever witnessed. "You’re just greedy, Sunshine. Didn’t wanna admit you’d rather keep them all to yourself, huh?"

Underneath you, Pure Vanilla exhales softly—a sound too serene for the situation, but his hold on you tells an entirely different story. His fingers ghost along your skin tenderly, his lips brushing close to your ear. "You’re the one who refused to wait," he murmurs, warm and breathless. His touch lingers, pressing, needy. "But… I suppose this is fine. So long as they can handle it." his breath tickles you "Can you handle it, my dear?"

Handle it?

Their cocks lay against your sopping cunt basically dripping onto them with your essence. Shadow milk grinds slightly in a teasing motion with a little sigh, his countless eyes within his strands of hair focused on you...waiting for your answer.

"Y-yes..." Then you see a smile

Feeling the both of them trying to make room inside you makes your nerves catch on fire, little gasp of strain falls through. Pure Vanilla is slow, deliberate—he treats you like something precious, something to be worshiped. Every touch, every movement is wrapped in devotion, as though he’s memorizing every shift in your expression, every tiny gasp you make. "Breathe, my love," he murmurs, voice barely above a sigh. "You’re doing so well… Just hold on..."

Shadow Milk? Oh, he’s nothing like that. He’s still teasing, still watching you with that insufferable, knowing smirk—but there’s something different this time. His voice is lower, his words lacking the usual sharp bite. He doesn’t just want you to feel this—he wants you to know he’s the one making you feel this."You’re trembling, dear" he croons, his breath hot against your skin, his hold firm while sliding deeper into your warmth. There’s a hunger in the way he moves, an unspoken urgency that makes his usual playfulness feel… something else. Something almost tender. He chuckles, low and throaty, fingers tracing over your form. "C’mon now, don’t go shy on me—I wanna hear you." he notices you holding in your whimpers.

Pure vanilla beneath you shudders "There’s no need to hide from us, my love—ah… Don’t hold back." he borderline whispers into your ear, laying his chin beside your neck feeling you tense around him. He pushed his cock deeper inside you experimentally coaxing the tiniest whimper from you lips. Shadow Milk chuckles "Hah, there we go..." trailing his hands up your sides.

Soon a pace is set in motion from them. dragging out countless moans and mewls for them to enjoy. Shadow milk outpaces pure vanilla in his thrust, his dick hitting the sensitive spot inside you quickly. While pure vanilla ever the tender lover he is, hits deep and with a slower pace, mushing the tip of his cock against your cervix every time.

"Hah... just imagine it, sugar drop~" Shadow Milk purrs against your ear, his breath warm, teasing. His fingers slide down to your stomach, pressing there with an almost possessive touch. "You’d look so cute carrying my kid." Pure Vanilla stiffens. His entire rhythm falters for a second before he exhales, slow and measured. "Excuse me?"

Shadow Milk, ever the instigator, only grins. "What? Just saying how sweet it’d be. You, glowing, full—ngh of my little bundle of mischief—" "Yours?" Pure Vanilla’s voice is dangerously soft. His hand moves to cover Shadow Milk’s, fingers pressing firmly against your stomach in direct opposition. "What makes you think you have the right to claim something so precious?" Shadow Milk groans, rolling his eyes. "Oh, here we go—‘precious, sacred, blah, blah.’ You’re so dramatic. Face it, old man, I’d make a way more fun dad." Pure Vanilla sighs "Oh really? Last time I checked, you're older than me" They continue to bicker clueless as to what pleasure they were tormenting you with, cocks sliding in and out of your hole as if their lives depended on it.

Shadow Milk scoffs, shifting against you with an infuriatingly lazy roll of his hips. "Please, like you could even handle them the way I can." Pure Vanilla huffs, his hands gripping your waist with just a bit more possession than before. "Handle them? Don't be ridiculous" They ignore your moans of passion "this is about love, about cherishing—"

"Ohhh, here we go again~" Shadow Milk groans theatrically, throwing his head back. "‘Cherishing,’ ‘reverence’—Vanilla, I hate to break it to you, but they’re already melting for me."

"Shadow Milk, stop saying such things in front of them!"

In front of them?! As if you weren’t right here, suffering from every unintended thrust and every careless, possessive touch they kept throwing into their heated debate.

"Oh, I’m sorry~" Shadow Milk drawls, voice dripping with mischief. "Should I whisper it instead?" He leans in close, lips grazing your burning ear. "You like this, don’t you? All helpless between us~?" coaxing another sweet mewl out of you, causing him to groan lowly.

Pure vanilla realizes, his breathing halts for just a second. Then, his arms tighten trying to cradle you towards him, his hands suddenly stroking up and down your sides in the gentlest, most adoring motions.

"Oh, my love…" he buries his face into the back of your neck, pressing soft kisses feeling you flutter around him. "Are we… overwhelming you?" His tone is sweet, so sweet, but there’s an undeniable strain to it now, like he’s barely keeping himself together.

of course! cocks pressed in at nearly every angle of you, tormenting, torturing, grinding into your cunt like dogs. you hear them speak more but your mind barely registers it.

"My love… if this keeps up, you’ll be carrying my child before long," he murmurs, voice low and reverent, like it’s an inevitable truth. He cast a strange glance at shadow milk. Shadow Milk only smirks, tilting his head with mock sympathy. "Aww, feeling threatened, are we? Face it, Vanilla—our sweet thing’s gonna be full with my kid first."

"oh? We’ll see about that."

--

guess who's back? i can't get over these two they have my heart.

Especially pure vanilla he's so hypocritical in the softest way possible sometimes hahaha

'Don't say that!" he says as he later says the same thing with poise

@_@

I really need them to fill me up with their babies sigh

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hello could you write one where the reader is basically buckys kid and they get hurt and try to hide it from him but he notices something is up and it isn’t until it’s really bad he finds out? I know very odd sorry

Didn’t Want To Worry You » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Adopted Teen Daughter!Reader

Summary: You didn’t want to worry Bucky when you tell him you hurt yourself at school, but he somehow finds out.

Warnings: Fluff, language, crying, nicknames

Age of reader: 15 years old

A/N: Thank you for the request @parasitichamster14-blog 🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

You were hoping that your dad wasn’t home yet. You didn’t want him to know that you hurt yourself at school today. In gym class, you guys played basketball and you got knocked down and fell onto your wrist. Now, it won’t stop hurting. You should’ve went to the nurse’s office for an ice pack, but you had a feeling that she was going to call your dad.

You looked around the apartment when you got home from school, wondering if your dad was home or not. You didn’t see him and assumed you were in the clear. Or so you thought. He came home shortly after you did.

“Hey, doll. How was school?” Bucky asks as he hugs you.

“Good.” You replied.

Bucky noticed the way you were holding your left wrist against your stomach. He was hoping that you weren’t getting sick or something.

“Do you have a stomach ache or something?” He asks, referring to the way your wrist was against your stomach.

“No. I hurt myself at school is all.” You say.

“How?” He asks.

“We were playing basketball in gym today and I got knocked down and I fell onto my wrist wrong.” You tell him.

“Be careful next time, kiddo. I don’t want you to end up with a broken wrist or something.” He says.

“I will.” You say.

You went to your bedroom and closed the door behind you, sighing to yourself. You hate that you didn’t tell your dad that your wrist hurts really bad, but you didn’t want to worry him. He’s a worrier when you’re sick or hurt. You took an aspirin for the pain and did your homework. The pain subsided till you were almost done with your Geometry homework.

“Doll?” Bucky knocks on your bedroom door. “Are you finished with your homework? I was thinking that we could go out for dinner.” He says.

“Almost.” You say with a smile.

Bucky nods and smiles, closing your bedroom door so you can finish your homework. Your smile fades away. You winced in pain, holding your wrist. You finished your homework, trying not to let the pain get to you. You put your homework back in your backpack when you were done. Bucky was watching TV when you walked in the living room.

“I’m done with my homework.” You say.

“Where do you want to go eat?” Bucky asks, shutting the TV off.

“What about that diner we like?” You suggested.

“Good choice, kiddo.” He smiles.

On the way to the diner and during dinner, Bucky watched you wince in pain every time you moved your left wrist. It was starting to get worried.

“Are you sure your wrist is ok?” Bucky asks.

“It’s fine, dad. It’s probably going to have a bruise on it tomorrow or something.” You say.

Bucky took that as an answer. He kept his eyes on you. On the way home from the diner, Bucky could tell you were holding back tears due to the pain you have in your left wrist. He pulled over into a random parking lot and put the car in park.

“Show me your wrist.” Bucky says.

“Dad, I’m fine.” You say.

“You’re clearly not. I can tell you’re in pain.” He says.

You stared at your dad for a second before rolling the sleeve of your sweatshirt up. Bucky took a look at your wrist.

“I hate to say it, doll, but I think your wrist might be sprained.” Bucky says.

You whined, your eyes filling with tears.

“You’re going to be fine, doll. Let get you checked out in the emergency room and then we’ll go home, ok?” He says softly.

“Ok.” You almost whispered.

Bucky took you to the emergency room to get your wrist checked out. Your anxiety was through the roof. You didn’t want to be there. Lucky for you, your dad stayed by your side the whole time.

“I want to go home.” You whined.

“We’ll go home in a little bit.” Bucky says softly.

You pouted and slouched in the chair. You sat up straight when the doctor walked in the room.

“Good news is your wrist isn’t broken. Bad news is it’s fractured and you have to wear a wrist brace for a few weeks.” The doctor says.

Bucky felt relieved to hear that you don’t have any broken bones. He is curious to know why you didn’t tell him that your wrist was hurting earlier.

You got a wrist brace and then you finally went home. You were set up in the living room and watching your favorite movie.

“Doll, I want to talk to you for a moment.” Bucky says, sitting down next to you.

“Am I in trouble?” You asked, pausing the movie.

“No. I want to know why you didn’t tell me you were hurt earlier.” He says.

“You worry about me a lot and I didn’t want to worry you.” You say, feeling bad.

“I worry about you, because I love you and I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He says softly.

Your eyes teared up. Sometimes you forget how much Bucky cares about you like you’re his own child. That’s why he adopted you shortly after he saved you from HYDRA a few years ago.

“Don’t cry, doll. I’m not mad at you.” Bucky almost whispers, pulling you into a hug.

“I’m sorry for worrying you.” You apologized.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. I understand.” He says softly.

“Yes I do. Sometimes I forget how much you care about me.” You say, your voice cracking.

“Oh babydoll…” He whispers. “You don’t need to apologize for that.” He whispers again, kissing the top of your head.

Soft sobs slipped past your lips. Bucky held you, his hand rubbing your back to comfort you. Your crying stops after a few minutes.

“I’ll always worry about you, doll. You’re my kid and I love you.” He murmurs softly, kissing the side of your head.

“I love you too, dad.” You smiled up at him.

You pressed play, picking up where you left off on the movie. Bucky watched the movie with you. You learned that you shouldn’t hide any kind of injury from your dad.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[vinylfoxbooks]

March 26 - Skeptic | @into-the-jeggyverse | wc: 899

“I don’t like Regulus’ new partner.” Sirius mutters low to his boyfriend. They’re settled on the couch, mugs of tea in hand with Remus reading and Sirius curled around his partner, lost in his own thoughts. Said Regulus and partner have just left for the night, tucking into Regulus’ room. He says it only when he can’t hear them shuffling around between the bathroom and Regulus’ room anymore. 

Remus hums, putting a thumb on his line, “What about them?” 

“I don’t know, they're just… weird.” 

“I’m a werewolf, love, I don’t think you can be talking about dating someone a bit ‘weird’. I’m sure Regulus thought the same thing of me when we first met.” 

“That’s a lie,” he shakes his head, “He liked you from the beginning. I think it was all the nerdy book talk.” 

Remus gives him a flat look, “We both know that’s not true, I may have placated him with the ‘book talk’ but he was on edge around me for months after we first met.” Then, after a couple seconds he bookmarks his book and settles it on his lap, “What about them is weird to you?” 

Sirius sighs and takes a moment to formulate his words, “They… came in here strong in an… odd way. Wearing odd, hand-me-down-looking clothes that were all dirty, the way they talked was… it was like they weren’t really present.” 

“What are you trying to say?” Remus sighs, seemingly getting frustrated with his boyfriend, “And it better not be you stuck up family beliefs trying to prevent you from seeing your brother happy.” 

“I don’t think that’s it.” 

“Don’t you?” Remus hums, “I came walking into your house for the first time in a similar state, so what makes you so skeptical about Regulus’ partner?” 

“I just-”

“Listen, Sirius.” Remus sighs once more, turning to lake eye contact with him, “Your brother is clearly happy with James, it’s obvious with the way that they look at each other. They’ve also seemingly been dating long enough that Regulus would have been turned away by them if something was wrong. James clearly cared about Regulus.”

“But-”

“No, Sirius. Your brother can take care of himself, in fact we both know that he prefers to. Whether James is ‘weird’ or not, they’re nice and they seem to treat Regulus well and that’s all that matters. It should be obvious that Regulus introducing them to us was just a courtesy.” 

Sirius sighs, “I know…” 

“Excuse me,” A voice says behind them, making them both turn to it. James stands politely in the entrance to the hallway, gazing at them with the most present look in their eyes that SIrius has seen from them all day, “Where do you keep the tea that Regulus likes?” Sirius takes them in while Remus answers for him, noting their threadbare sleep clothes and lack of as many charms and jewelry pieces as they were wearing before. There are still a couple bracelets on their wrist, blue and with little eyes on the beads, and a couple pieces of jewelry in their piercings, but they’re much less decorated than they were before. 

Remus hums and watches them for a moment, “In the cabinet opposite the sink, we just had the kettle boiling so it shouldn’t take long. Mugs are in the cabinet to the left of the sink.” 

James smiles at him, “Thank you.” And with that, they sweep into the kitchen and the couple can hear the telltale signs of someone preparing some tea. Remus gives his boyfriend a look, Sirius just shakes his head and lays it on the taller’s shoulder, smiling when a hand comes up to pet through his hair. 

When they come back out a couple minutes later, Remus hums, “James?” After making sure he has their attention, he starts, “Can you tell me about how to care for the basil you got us?” 

James nods, making their way over to the couch chair and settling in it, muttering something as they put the mug of tea on the coffee table, “Basil is a bit persnickety about its care. It needs lots of sunlight, so putting it in your sunniest window is best, and it’s demanding on water. Keep the soil moist at all times. Watering it every couple of days would be best.” They gaze over at the beautiful, hand painted pot that holds the half-started basil that Sirius and Remus put on the coffee table when James handed it to them, “Once it starts consistent leaf growth, then you can start cutting off the leaves and using it for things like cooking, I’ve found that homegrown basil is extra flavourful. It’s also spiritually protective, believed to bring luck, wealth, and health to a household so take care of it and it’ll take care of you.” 

Remus seems a bit taken aback by the last part, but he collects himself after a moment and nods, “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you James.”

James smiles at him, moving to stand up, “Of course, have a good night you two.”

“You as well.” And with that, James makes their way down the hallway and into Regulus’ room once more. The interaction leaves Sirius conflicted, but he doesn’t comment on it anymore. Remus picks up his book and continues reading, shooting a glance at their new plant every once in a while.

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

“support needs labels not fluctuate (day to day)” “you not low support needs one day n high support needs immediate day after” conversation in autism community not mean say your experience of need more help one day than other days not real. it never mean that n if you think that you either be misled, told wrong thing, accident misread, or on purpose misinterpret.

it IS short hand quick catchy phrase to say that support needs labels be descriptor of your average support needs on average, okay, boring, not extremely good not extremely bad day, type of days you spend most time have.

it IS response against often low support needs (LSN) people leveraging their “well am low support one day n high support another day”-ness to say they understand what it like be mid & high support needs (MSN & HSN) so they get guilt free pass for not have to listen to M/HSN people

it IS response against, again, often lower support needs on accident or on purpose deny M/HSN people same range of humanity they highlight emphasize bold italicize in themselves, forgetting that just like them we also have good days where we need less support than usual, n very bad days where we need LOT more support than usual.

& but that even in our very good days we not “low support needs” because many of us even in best days not meet amount of relative independence & abilities need for our support needs be see as low enough, n we never be give same amount grace n freedom n opportunity as someone there all the time, n we also not able understand type of struggle n difficulty people there face all the time. n, for many of us M/HSN who depend on our level support meet to literally physically survive, it be dangerous for us not carry what it mean be M/HSN with us all time, even on good days. we depend on it. many of us not have speech language communication abilities that more often LSN have that allow us do extra explaining of nuances and long lists of what n how we need help in (it’s long) all the time, so we need our term stay where it is, how it is.

it IS response against what, again, often lower support needs people often misunderstand about be M/HSN. that they take what they think M/HSN mean, the incomplete most easy-to-see parts at first glance that may or may not even mean M/HSN (when you not know what is juice every colored liquid be juice), n then put self as adjacent n next to, n by do that then accidentally or on purpose redefine what M/HSN mean to be closer to them n farther from us. missing the things that be center of M/HSN that others not see at first glance, the important but less obvious, the things you only see if you listen closely, the things we only know by living it.

it IS way say that, experience something sometimes, for it be anomaly (odd one out), different experiences than be something all time, for it be norm (every day).

[harrywavycurly]

Almost Bumble Fumble: Ordinary

Masterlist: Here

CW: None

A/N: I have gotten asked for more of these two and I was very inspired by the song Ordinary by Alex Warren, it for some reason made me think of these two so 10/10 recommend listening to it! Enjoy!✨

Tag List: @georgiarose94 @maiajadestyles @fandomfreak404 @likea-silhouette @obsessiveenthusiast @thegr8estpuff @triski73 @amarenonamari @cloudyluun @umadirectioner @styleswithaseaview @sunflower-tia @tulips4harry @gmikaelson @fangirl509east @howling-wolf97 @outofthisworl-d @namoreno

Summary: Harry says something that causes a change in your relationship✨

You can feel his eyes on you as you stand at the sink washing the plates the two of you just ate dinner on, it’s a feeling you’ve gotten used to over the last few months ever since you ended up in front of his house during a mid morning walk. The two of you finding it just a bit odd that he just so happens to live only a fifteen minute walk away from you and yet you haven’t bumped into each other before but in true Harry fashion he chalked it up to the universe knowing just the right time to make the two of you come across each other’s paths, or dating profiles. You bite back a smile as you remember the first time Harry knocked on your door one Friday evening with a box of pizza and a bottle of wine, wanting to switch from your usual FaceTime hangout to an actual in person hangout and it’s as if the two of you haven’t stopped hanging out since. No words have been spoken about what exactly the two of you are doing, but at the same time you don’t think either of you need to explain it.

Harry while he was a little shy at first and needed you to be the one to reach over and grab his hand on one of your evening strolls around the neighborhood, now has no problem subtly showing his affection towards you with kisses to your forehead and a hand on you at all times if you’re within arms reach, he even holds your hand in public now and not just in the confines of the neighborhood and sometimes like now he will just stare at you with this far off look in his eyes that has the underlying hint of fondness that makes your heart want to burst. You on the other hand aren’t shy and have Harry laughing when you nearly cause him to fall over with how aggressive your hugs can be when you haven’t seen him in a day or two. Harry doesn’t ever have to wonder if you want him around because you simply drag him back to your side by his belt loop when he gets too far ahead of you while out at the shops or sometimes you just come up behind him and wrap yourself around him and rest your head between his shoulders and the sigh he hears you let out tells him you need his comfort just as much as he needs yours, the two of you just show it in different ways.

To the outside world the two of you might seem like an odd pairing, Harry being seen as somewhat quiet and reserved while you’re more on the vibrant and only slightly loud side and by loud it’s really just your laugh but Harry doesn’t mind because he adores the sound of it. Another thing is that Harry isn’t really online as much as someone his age is assumed to be, he prefers to have his head in a book and while you do enjoy reading you’re also more in tune with social media trends and quoting viral phrases to him that make him laugh or feel as if you’re playing a joke on him when he doesn’t quite get it but he tries and you appreciate his efforts every time he uses one of his newly learned phrases, even if it’s in the totally wrong context.

“I think it’s clean love.” Harry’s voice brings you out of your thoughts making the plate slip out of your hands and into the soapy water. “You okay?” You hear the smallest hint of concern in his voice as he slides a bit closer to you from him spot next to the sink where his drying station is set up.

“I’m fine.” You answer with a smile and you want to laugh at the faintest sound of what you know is a sigh of relief you hear come from Harry that without a doubt he tried to keep to himself but he can’t keep much from you given how close he managed to inch himself towards you while you were lost in your own little world.

“I just feel a little concerned.” You tell him with a slight purse of your lips as you reach for the plate that just fell back into the sink. Harry quirks an eyebrow at you as he watches you turn your head and look at the stack of dishes he’s already dried. “I mean honestly Harry have you never been on drying duty before? You can’t stack them.”

“I beg your pardon? You can absolutely stack dry dishes. How else are you meant to put them back on the shelf?”

“You can stack them after they dry overnight but not right after you run a rag over them. You’re going to make them all gross.”

“All gross? Really? The woman who has been using the same soapy water and nasty sponge to clean all the dishes is now worried my drying capabilities will be the reason they get all gross?”

“For someone who was standing there watching me like a hawk you clearly weren’t paying attention to what I was-”

“I always pay attention to what you’re doing.” It’s the softness of his voice that has you turning to face him. He has a hand on his hip while the other is down by his side holding the rag he was using to dry the dishes and his face has a genuinely sincere look on it as his green eyes stare into yours.

“That’s cheating.” You say with a huff making Harry let out a chuckle as he tosses the rag onto the counter before turning and placing his hands on your hips. “You can’t say things like that in the middle of a fake argument it’s-it’s rude Harry.” He just nods along while you speak as he pulls you closer until you’re resting your forehead on his chest and let out a dramatic sigh.

“I’d say sorry but I’m not.” He admits as his hands slide to your lower back. “And I know how you feel about lying and all that.”

“I appreciate the honesty.” Harry smiles when you lift your head off his chest so he can get a good look at your face. Your eyes have a sleepy little droop to them that could either be from the wine you had at dinner or the fact it’s nearing eleven at night, your cheeks have a faint pink tint to them that he feels happy to be the cause of and honestly Harry thinks you look adorable as you stare up at him.

“You’re pretty.” You say with a sigh as you bring a hand up and place it on the soft fabric of Harry’s t shirt and with that Harry has his answer that your little sleepy looking eyes are probably from a mixture of the wine along with the time of night.

“Thanks love.” He says with a chuckle as he leans down and places a kiss to your forehead. “But you’re the pretty one.” He argues making you roll your eyes as you reach up on your tiptoes so you can grab both sides of his face and pull him into a kiss that has his hand on your lower back tightening around you and pulling you closer into his chest.

“I still can’t believe you’re real.” You mumble once you pull away and turn to go back to washing the plates in the sink making Harry shake his head while dropping his hands from around you.

As he stands in front of the stack of dry plates he has to hold back a laugh because that little phrase is something he hears you mumble quite a bit to yourself or sometimes like now you let it slip out while still in front of him. He knows that you’re referring to him being real as in not some fictional human you’ve made up in your mind, it no longer holds the same meaning it did when you first saw him when you didn’t believe he was real as in the real Harry Styles.

“Harry?”

“Yes love?”

“You’re not really going to leave the plates stacked right?” You question as Harry turns his head just to see you looking at him with a look of minor concern etched on your face as you hold out a clean plate for him to take and dry off.

He can’t help but give you a reassuring smile to ease your worry since he can tell this is just one of those things you clearly like done a specific way. And since Harry isn’t a stranger to having certain ways of doing things he won’t argue with you this time, even though a small part of him does love the effortless way the two of you can go back and fourth without actually crossing any lines and turning silly bickering into a full blown argument.

“I’ll put them on the drying rack don’t worry.” You smile and give him a small nod of approval as he takes the plate from you.

“God we’re so domestic.” The statement makes a warm feeling wash over Harry because it’s true, the two of you often end up doing very ordinary and basic things such as grocery shopping and dishes together and now that he thinks about it, those moments are the ones filled with the most meaning for him. Because if he can have fun and enjoy every moment of doing everyday things with you that are usually a bit boring and feel more like a chore, than that has to mean he’s found something special with this relationship and with you.

“I’m not so sure about that one love.” You look down at the photo of the flower arrangement on your phone as Harry rests his chin on top of your shoulder. “S’a bit too orange.” He explains when you let out a huff and begin sliding through other examples the florist you’ve chosen for a party you’re hosting next week has on their website.

“Too orange? That’s not a thing.” You bite back making Harry chuckle as his hand on your waist gives you a little pinch. “It’s just for a little garden party oh-what about this one?” You hold your phone out so he can get a good look at the small yellow and pink arrangement, you feel him smile against your neck making a shiver run down your spine.

“That one’s nice.” He answers before lifting his head off your shoulder and reaching out towards your phone screen with his free hand so he can use two fingers and zoom in on the photo. “I like the pinks and the bits of green.” You smile as you briefly let your eyes glance up to check if your order has been placed on the little counter of the small cafe the two of you have become regulars at. A place that has Harry feeling more comfortable with showing his affectionate side while tucked away near the back with his back against the wall and you standing in front of him between his spread legs so your back can rest against his chest.

“I think I like it.” Harry notes the excitement in your voice as his hand drops away from your phone screen and lands on your waist.

“I love you-I mean it.” Harry’s words are a jumbled mess swirling around in his brain as he feels his face get hot and his hands suddenly begin to get all sweaty at his slip up. “I love it.” He reiterates as you slide your phone into your pocket and turn around so you’re facing him, his grip on your waist loosening ever so slightly as if he’s giving you wiggle room to run away and never speak to him again.

“Yeah? You love it?” Your voice is like a soothing tonic to Harry’s mind that’s running a mile a minute with things he should say to clear the air but when he meets your stare suddenly all those thoughts are gone. Leaving him with a pile of muddled words that only barely scratch the surface of how truly beautiful he thinks you are, especially when you’re looking at him like he’s the only person on the planet that means anything to you.

“Yeah.” Is all he can manage to get out and he feels a ball of anxiety form in the pit of his stomach as the thought of potentially just ruining everything with his stupid one word response but to his surprise, it earns him a grin as you reach up and place a hand on the side of his face.

“Good. I love it too.” His brain doesn’t have time to register what that means exactly, if you’re talking about the flowers or something else before you’re reaching up and placing a very quick kiss to his lips.

“Edward? Edward your order is ready!” You laugh and turn around as you hear the name you gave the barista for your order while Harry is still mentally stuck in the fog of not knowing if the two of you just told each other you loved each other in some weirdly yet very you type of way.

“I’ll go get our drinks.” You tell him over your shoulder and Harry just watches you walk away making his hands slip off your waist as you head towards the counter, leaving him standing there in a confused bubble while you’re just acting completely normal. But he’s brought back to reality when he looks up and finds you heading his way with your coffee in one hand and his tea in the other and a very sweet smile on your face.

“You think I should get two? Of the arrangements? One for each table?” You question casually as you hand him his tea. Harry can’t do much besides nod his head making you smile and reach up to place a kiss to his cheek. “Perfect.” You say with a smile as you reach for his hand and begin heading towards the door so the two of you can leave the cafe and continue on your morning walk that will eventually end at one of your houses just in time for a snack and some cuddles on the couch.

“Just focus on running Harry.” He thinks to himself as he rounds the corner at the end of his street.

It’s been two days since the cafe incident and ever since then something has been bugging him about this situation he’s in with you and this morning when he woke up he officially felt as if he’s going insane with not knowing where the two of you stand with each other so to clear his head he laced up his running shoes and hit the sidewalk. Normally this type of relationship is exactly what he likes, one that doesn’t need defining and the label of being exclusive because how could either of you really be seeing anyone else when all your free time is spent with him or your girlfriends and for him he doesn’t think a day has gone by in the last three or four months that he doesn’t either want to make plans with you or already has plans with you. But something about you has all of a sudden changed everything because he doesn’t think he would be able to handle it if you told him you wanted to see someone else while also seeing him, it would crush him.

“Oh those are nice. Are those roses? She likes roses.” He wonders as he runs past a front yard that has an impeccable garden with vibrant flowers and lush bushes.

As he continues down the sidewalk Harry begins to go back to the look on your face when he accidentally let those three little words fall out of his mouth. You didn’t look surprised or scared, you almost looked as if in that moment you were letting Harry decide on if he wanted to repeat them or not and whatever came out of his mouth you were ready to go along with. That realization makes Harry stop in his tracks.

“She loves me?” He pants as he tries to catch his breath in front of a random house in his neighborhood he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. “That’s what that means right? She-she was ready to say it back?” He mumbles to himself as he brings a hand up to his forehead while the other rests on his hip as he looks up towards the sky for a moment before a grin slowly begins to form on his face. “She loves me.” And with that he’s off running again but this time with a destination in mind, no longer needing to clear his head because he knows exactly what he needs to do or say in this very moment.

You’re standing in your kitchen holding a mug of coffee when you hear your front door open and then close, you don’t bother to check who it is because only two people have keys to your house and one of them is you and the other just so happens to be the flustered looking man standing before you in maroon running shorts and a black tank top. You silently watch as Harry slides his sunglasses off and tosses them onto the kitchen table behind him, he then puts both hands on his hips while taking in a few deep breaths and you wonder if he ran here on purpose or if he is just stopping by while on one of his more longer runs. When you set your mug down on your counter and open your mouth to speak Harry holds a hand up to you as if to tell you not to say anything just yet so you just close your mouth and give him the floor to say whatever it is he needs a moment to prepare himself to say.

“Are you my girlfriend?” His words come out rushed as if he’s still trying to catch his breath as he looks at you with bright green eyes and flushed cheeks. “Because if you’re not then I’d like you to be if that’s okay?” You rub your lips together as he nervously rubs at the back of his neck. “Because m’not sure I can go on without knowing how-”

“Three words.” Your voice is sweet yet serious as you cut him off mid sentence. Harry’s arms drop to his sides and his eyes to go a bit wide as he watches you take a step towards him.

“Three words?” He repeats with a quirked brow while running a hand through his hair.

“Three words. Eight letters.” You can’t fight the smile that wants to take over your face as you stand right in front of him, his face is a mixture of confused but also relieved that you’re not telling him to get lost or something worst. “Say them and I’m yours.” Harry tries to shuffle through all the random quotes he’s heard you say over the course of knowing each other as the last sentence hits his ears, he knows he’s heard it before and when he realizes where it’s from he can’t stop the chuckle that escapes him.

“I love you.” You have your hands on his face pulling him down towards you for a kiss before the last syllable leaves his lips. Harry’s arms instinctively wrap around your waist so he can pull you closer not wanting the kiss to end just yet.

“I love you too.” You mumble against his lips before capturing them in another kiss that leaves Harry feeling as if he’s floating on cloud nine when you finally pull away.

“Gossip girl? Really?” He asks with a breathy laugh that makes a grin spread across your face.

“I couldn’t just let the moment pass me by I mean how many times does someone get to say that quote? And it actually be perfectly timed? Besides,” Your hands travel down to Harry’s chest as you look up at him while his arms tighten their hold around you. “You know you love me.” Your voice is lower and more sultry than normal as you do your best gossip girl impression but it’s the wink you give him that sends the both of you over the edge and into a full fit of laughter

“I do yeah-I love you.” Harry placed a kiss to the top of your head as you rest your cheek against the fabric of his tank top. “So does this mean you’re my girlfriend then?”

“Yes Harry I’m your girlfriend.”

[bluebutterflytattooed]

Loser Lesbian Ellie Williams x Mean Girl Reader pt 4

CHAPTER FOUR

Ellie’s home is the complete opposite to yours. Where you live in a trailer park without a front or back yard, neighbors on every side of you, the whole place a mess except for your sanctuary of a room, Ellie lives on a ranch. It’s cozy, the house itself is older, brick, and painted in warm, deep red colors, and the acres of land surrounding it are green, heavily wooded, and covered in wild flowers. You spot a little brood of chickens around a light blue coop (the same blue as Ellie’s eyes), and a reddish horse is roaming around the fields.

Your heart aches with jealousy over this life Ellie fucking Williams gets to live.

You took an Uber here, even though Dina gave you the option about getting a ride in her car. It’s odd how nice she is to you despite the dozens of times you’ve made mean quips about her dumb skinny jeans. The drive was a slow, torturous session filled with both dread and anticipation. You want to see what Ellie’s life is like, the insider edition on this absolute nerd and who has raised her to be so… unique, to put it nicely. You are at her house afterall, you’ve got to be kinder than usual. The walk up to her front porch is even longer than the drive you took to get here. Your stomach has stayed sunken down into a pit, your head feels light.

All of this because of Ellie?

You quickly decide that you can’t let her get to you this much, to the point that your skin feels hot, which is what leads you to slamming your fist against the front door a few times in rapid succession, closing your eyes tightly as you wait for someone to answer. Will it be Dina? Riley? Ellie? Whatever parent she lives with? You really hope it’s not a parent, that would just send you and your anxiety about this whole situation over the edge.

Thankfully, it's not a parent that opens the great big oak door for you. But it is in fact Ellie. You step back, looking at her as she stands in the doorway, staring at you. Her eyes are wide, as if she’s surprised that you showed up despite being invited. Since school, she’s taken off her grey flannel and is just in her jeans and t-shirt, which unfortunately has revealed her toned arms. She’s not grossly muscular or anything, she’s strong from heavy labor on the farm, the kind of work that makes someone sweat and groan with the stress of having dozens of pounds held in their arms. The very thought of Ellie doing that makes you feel strange. Maybe it’s because she’s so weird that the image of her doing something like that seems wrong. Maybe it’s because you have a thing for muscular arms.

You won’t allow yourself to think it’s for the second reason.

“Um, hi,” Ellie says softly, looking right at you. You look her up and down quickly, trying to make it unnoticeable. It becomes obvious though when your eyes still on her feet which are clad in Marvel socks that look like they’re from the little boys section at Target.

“Nice socks, Williams. Never in a million years would I have guessed that you’re a Marvel fan,” You drawl at her, your tone dripping with intense sarcasm. Duh, she’s a Marvel fan. All it takes is one look at her to figure that out.

“Shut up,” She says, stepping out of the doorway and letting me into the house. “Dina picked up milk shakes. I hope you like vanilla, cause that’s what’s left of them.” She shuts the door behind you, loudly, as you look around her house. It’s large, open. The limited walls make the home feel so welcoming, like it was made to be filled with people for Saturday dinner parties that make the house smell like chili and cinnamon. There’s windows everywhere, and leather couches lining the walls of a massive living room. Despite the pure size of the place, it still feels cozy.

“I’m more of a strawberry girl,” You shrug at her back as you follow her down a hallway. The house is ranch-style, so there’s no stairs. At least there’s one similarity between the place she lives and where you live.

Ellie sighs. “Of course you are,” She pads down the hallway like a cat, and you watch her lazy, calm strides. She walks differently here than she does at school. She just exudes more confident energy, almost like she’s not the same person. But no, she’s still and always will be Ellie to you. Nerdy, unfortunately funny, oddly talented Ellie.

Her bedroom is almost exactly the way you’d pictured it before. Not that you’ve pictured her bedroom. There’s posters covering every inch of the dark blue walls. They all picture obscure movies only she watches, or her ‘underground’ bands, there’s a few anime posters which makes you laugh under your breath, and some little sketches of her own. You can tell because you’ve spent all of high school teasing her about the action comics she draws in class. They’re not bad, you’ll give her that much. Her bed is a complete mess of blankets and sheets and pillows, even stuffed animals. From your spot in her doorway, you can make out a duck, a tiger, and a moose. They all look well-loved and old, like she’s kept them from her childhood. Your eyes travel upwards towards the TV mounted on the wall, right over a dresser which holds many controllers and a PlayStation. Typical. Tucked in the corner of her rather large bedroom next to a record player is an acoustic guitar, and based on your limited musical knowledge, it's a nice one. Seated next to each other on the floor, staring up at you, is Dina and Riley. You wave hello to them, mustering up your sweetest smile.

“Hey Y/N,” Dina smiles back. “Milkshake? Hope you don’t mind vanilla.” She holds up a milkshake in a Dairy Queen cup for you, which you take with a mumbled ‘thank you so much’. You usually eat and drink very healthy in order to maintain your picture-perfect self, but you’re a sucker for anything that has ice cream in it.

Riley doesn’t acknowledge your presence, which is odd since you’ve barely made any remarks about her.

You and Ellie end up sitting next to each other, sipping milkshakes (hers is chocolate) and discussing plans for the film. You end up agreeing to be the actress for the film, but very begrudgingly after lots of convincing from all three girls. The film in question is now officially about an apocalypse that has been caused by a weird mushroom infection that you don’t fully understand. It’s a nerdy concept, and you are not the target audience for it.

You watch Ellie animatedly discussing the virus, occasionally scribbling words and images down in her torn up, overfilled notebook with a mechanical pencil. She gets so overexcited about the concept that her arm flings outwards, in your direction, and it slams into the remainder of your milkshake. With the thought of saving your over-expensive clothes from sticky ice cream, you fall backwards to escape her misdirected arm, and in her rush to grab the milkshake before it falls-

Ellie ends up tumbling right on top of you.

You both grunt as she collides into you, her weight resting completely on your body, which is not exactly comfortable. But she’s warm, her skin is soft, and her eyes are staring directly into yours. You stare back, entranced by the pure blue of them. Your chest rises and falls against hers, hearts beating much too close together. Your legs are locked with hers somehow, despite how un-dramatic the fall was. You are still completely and totally entwined with Ellie Williams.

“Um, I…” She trails off and slowly lifts herself off your body with her frustratingly toned and tanned arms that you can’t seem to tear your gaze away from.

Suddenly, you both snap out of whatever trance you had gotten into. Ellie coughs, a fake cough, and rolls off you, ending up on her back, gazing at the ceiling. You sit up and brush off your clothes eliminating all traces of the girl.

“That was awkward as fuck,” Riley says, pointing out the extremely obvious.

“Wow, thanks for the observation,” Dina laughs at her. Ellie says nothing, her eyes remained trained on the ceiling. And your eyes remain glued to her.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Everyone got tired of planning for the film pretty quickly, and you’ve all fallen into comfortable conversation. Even you have joined in, cracking a few jokes as if you have been friends with these three girls for years. Ellie has remained quieter, but she’s spoken to you multiple times.

You’re enjoying spending time with her, which is something you didn’t know was possible.

Currently, Dina is begging Ellie to play the guitar. “Please Els! You’re so good, everyone has to know how talented you are!” She pleads.

“Um, no. Not everyone,” Ellie mumbles, glancing at the instrument.

“Yes everyone!” Dina clasps her hands together and kneels before her best friend. “Please!”

“Yeah, come on,” I tilt my head at her, smiling a real smile. “I want to hear you play. Els.” When the nickname falls from my lips, Ellie’s cheeks turn a deep, dark maroon shade of red. I keep smiling at her. I can see the panic in her face.

“I- um, I guess that I could. If you, like, really want me to,” She says, staring at me with a breathless expression on her face.

“Mhm. I really do want you to.”

“Fuck,” She mutters, but nevertheless, she grabs her guitar and tunes it quickly with nimble, long fingers. I find my gaze lingering on them for a little too long. Whatever nerdy girlfriend she’s managed to get in the past must’ve been very happy with those hands.

You want to slap yourself for even thinking that.

Still, you watch in awe as Ellie begins to play something on her guitar, her brow furrowed in focus. Your lips fall open into a little ‘o’ shape, shocked that Ellie has been withholding this talent from you. Why would she have it to you in the past, though, knowing that you would probably just make fun of her and call her a wanna-be-John-Denver or something.

But now? After having genuine conversations with her and getting a little too close for comfort, the only thing that falls from your mouth is: “Woah, Ellie. You’re really good.”

She blushes a little and mumbles a thank you, too focused to respond. You watch her fingers skillfully strum the strings of her guitar, and you swallow hard, still thinking about what other things she might be good at with hands like those. You don’t mean to think about that, but you just can’t help it!

The rest of the song is a blur of pretty music, your gaze lingering on her hands, and a few more praises from you about how talented she is.

“I told you!” Dina says, grinning once Ellie is done.

“Good job Els,” Riley says. She’s been the most hostile to you today, and you don’t quite understand why. You’ve been nothing but nice to her today! But you divert your attention back to Ellie, who you want to focus on anyways.

“Yeah that was… it was really amazing,” You tell her, your face feeling hot. You stare at her, and she stares back, her blue eyes blinking at you as she looks at you with confusion at why you're being so kind to her.

The truth is, you’re being kind to her because you no longer feel the need to be cruel.

Saldy, the night must come to an end and you have to leave. Ellie walks you to the door, only looking up at you to bid you goodbye. “Bye, Y/N, thanks for coming over. It was… it was really nice, actually.” She looks happy to be speaking to you.

“Yeah, your house is amazing and, well, so are you I guess,” The compliment slips out and you both freeze. You? Calling her amazing? “Okay I’m leaving! See you tomorrow!” You squeak out and hop into your Uber so fast that you stumble on the gravel driveway of the property, which Ellie notices and giggles about. Your face is hot with embarrassment.

In the Uber, you have a very uncomfortable realization: Just like how your legs were tangled together when she fell on top of you, you and Ellie Williams are becoming much more tangled together than you ever wanted to be, and you don’t know if you’re ever going to escape the feelings starting to grow inside of you.

——————————————————————————

hiiii cuties! chapter four is so fun and exciting to me i hope you love it!!

omg chapter 4 already? yes! i have gone from reading fics until midnight to writing them until midnight.

a few things:

the relationship between the two is actually going to progress from now on, so don’t worry about things being super slow

the support from you all is making me so happy thank you! 💗

tags:

@vahnilla @elliesngirl @naniiiii12 @liztreez @macaroni676

[darthwhorecrux]

This fic was inspired by @pinguwuuuu 's ABSOLUTELY SCRUMPTIOUS Shinji art. As evidenced by the below, it sent me into quite the h*rny spiral...

Check it out here and GO SHOW IT THE LOVE AND HYPE IT DESERVES !!!

Without further ado - TW: smut! alcohol! and Shinji himself!

You had thought a night out would be the perfect way to de-stress, but were quickly proven wrong. The alcohol didn't loosen you up in the way you intended, having the opposite effect and only winding you tighter, bringing the worst to the surface. No matter how many drinks you downed, you dwelled on the same worries, increasingly fussed over the same insecurities, and grew more and more miserable with each passing moment. If anything, the negative thoughts got louder, more pressing, drowning out any chance you had of enjoying the evening.

On top of your already awful state of mind, it seemed everything else had to go wrong as well. One of your friend's left early after getting into a fight with her boyfriend, and the other met someone who she wanted to leave with, and who were you to drag her down with you? She didn't ask twice when you told her to go on ahead, you'd be fine. You hadn't been fine the whole night, and now you waited impatiently for the bartender, who seemed keen on ignoring you, so that you could close your tab. At least this would be the end, you attempted to console yourself with that thought. No matter how long it took, this would be it, and you could try again tomorrow.

Along the wall, neon pink lights beckoned, shaped into the words, "Stay awhile." You felt mocked by them. No, I don't think I will. You were getting antsy, the snobby crowd, shitty music, and dim lighting making you dizzy and irritable. You pulled at the bottom of your tight dress, a fashion choice you now regretted in a room full of stuck-up assholes, shifting from foot to foot, eyes darting about nervously, knowing realistically that nobody was paying attention to you but simultaneously feeling as if all eyes in the room were on your lonely self. You were hoping not to have to raise your voice over all of the noise to get the bartender's attention, but this was getting ridiculous.

Just when you were working up the courage to assert yourself, there was a presence at your side, uttering such an incredibly corny pickup line, you almost thought you were hallucinating.

“Hey Doll, are ya tired? Cuz’ you’ve been runnin’ through my mind all day."

You snapped your neck towards the unsuspecting victim, ready to tell him to get lost.

Or not?

Your body betrayed your mind, coming alive at the sight of him, heart fluttering, throat going dry, and an odd churning of heat in your stomach. He looked like trouble, this stranger, unlike any other man in this bar, adorned in a satin, animal-print, button-down, belted dress pants, and a wolfish smirk. Even his sunshine blonde hair was styled into an odd cut with angled bangs that fell around his face with the way he tilted his head at you.

Pairing his eccentric looks with his equally strange and humorous greeting, you were curious about him, to say the least, curious enough to forget about looking for a bartender and to forget that you were supposed to be dejected, not captivated, ready to leave, not ready to stay. The "Stay Awhile" sign glowed brighter, pulsing, like it was laughing at you. You both loved and hated that whatever he had going on was working on you. He'd easily ensnared you, and you had to give him bonus points for being able to do so when you were in such a sour mood too.

Still, you weren't going to let him off that easy, not with how smug he looked.

"Doll?" You challenged, raising your eyebrows at him. "And how could I have been on your mind all day? We've just met."

He straightened at your stiff tone, lifting his elbow off of the bar, cheeks reddening ever so slightly under your cold gaze. "Would you prefer I call you something else?"

Cute. You almost decided to go easy on him, with how unnerved he looked.

"Buy me a drink." Now it was your turn to grin, suppressing laughter at the panic in his dark, glazed-over eyes. "Then you can call me whatever you want."

His lips broke out into another smirk, his confidence returning. "Careful," he crooned. "What can I get ya?"

You told him your usual, and he waved the bartender over smoothly. Had you not been distracted by something glinting inside of this mystery man's mouth, you would've glared at the guy behind the bar who had refused to acknowledge you this whole time but eagerly came running over to him. After he ordered himself and you another round, you interjected, asking to close your tab. Surely there was no need for you to keep it open now.

"Wish I'd've found ya earlier." He moved in closer, practically sliding towards you. "You wouldn't have had a tab to pay."

You smiled cheekily, too distracted by the glimpses of silver you were catching each time he opened his mouth. "Is that...?" You bit your lip, shyly pointing at his lips. "Is that a tongue piercing?"

"Sure is." He stuck his tongue out for your viewing pleasure, making you gasp and giggle excitedly. "Ya like it, doll? Can I call ya that now that your drink's being made, or do I have to wait till it's in front of you?"

"I do like it," you complimented flirtatiously. "I think the bartender hates me, so it may be awhile," you added, laughing sheepishly. "So I suppose it's fine to call me that now."

"Hates you?" He laughed with you. "What'd ya do for him to do that?"

"Existed. I don't know." You rolled your eyes. "I've been waiting here forever trying to close out my tab so I could go."

"He's an idiot." He downed the rest of his drink before continuing, pushing it forward along the bar. "Don't know how he, or any guy here for that matter, could ignore a pretty thing like you. Guess I should be glad I was the one to catch ya before you left, though." He smiled lazily, unabashedly letting his eyes drift up and down your figure.

You shivered under his sultry eyes, interrupted when the rude bartender returned, sliding your drinks across the bar and letting your receipt clatter down in front of you without so much as looking your way, already off to service the next stuck-up-looking schmuck. The man at your side scoffed, puffing his chest up, looking ready to say something, but you quickly signed your receipt and grabbed his attention again before he could start any sort of confrontation.

"So, are you going to ask me for my name or will I always just be doll?" You batted your lashes at him, enjoying the attention you were receiving after the shitty night you had.

You were sure that had any other man in this bar approached you the way he did, it wouldn't work out in their favor. His unconventional looks and ways were wildly attractive and made you feel special to have reeled him in without even meaning to. The girl you were now seemed entirely different from the one you were just before he came over. He hadn't even known that he had completely flipped your night upside down. You had been ready to bite someone's head off, and now, you were relaxed again, easing into your soft and feminine side when he naturally made you feel like you were the only woman in the room.

"What's your name, pretty?" He asked, clearly having a thing for all the classic pet names, though you certainly didn't mind.

"(Y/N). What's yours?"

"Shinji."

"Shinji." You nodded to yourself. "Do you use goofy pick up lines on all the girls, Shinji?" You teased.

"Only the cute ones in sexy little dresses," he teased back.

"I was actually just thinking this dress was a bit much," you confessed, subconsciously reaching to tug it down again.

"And you were trying to leave." Shinji narrowed his eyes at you. "You weren't having a good time tonight?"

"Not really." You shrugged, anxiously chugging your drink.

"How come?" He asked softly, frowning and seemingly genuinely concerned about you, this stranger.

"I've just been really stressed lately," you explained. He nodded in understanding, and you hesitated before opening up to him more, giving him a few more personal details about what's been on your mind. You avoided looking at him, taking more sips of your drink, a little embarrassed about drunkenly oversharing to him, but he was the first person to truly listen to you all night.

"Come on," he said, extending a hand.

"Where?"

"To de-stress." He smirked.

It was vague, possibly dangerous, and still, you slipped your hand into his, letting him drag you away from the bar and along the floor, heading to a back room where there were more bodies, more bass, more noise. As the space got more crowded, you released his hand, grabbing onto his bicep instead and tucking into his side. You felt him laugh against you and curl his arm slightly to squeeze you in closer.

"You're gonna make me dance?!" You yelled to him over the music, nervously observing the people near you, some with friends, others with lovers, flailing about chaotically or grinding against one another.

Your eyes widened as a girl nearby was bent over, face down, ass up, a man behind her looking all too proud. Shinji followed your gaze and chuckled.

He leaned in, inches away from your face. "Do you want to dance?"

His scent, expensive and comforting, flooded your senses. As appealing as moving your body against his sounded, it wasn't exactly what you had in mind, at least not here right now in front of everybody. You'd rather be tucked away somewhere, having to stay close to hear each other, so close where you could let that scent of his infiltrate your mind and make you forget all your worries.

"No," you said into his ear. "I just want to be close to you."

A look of surprise ghosted over his features before settling into relaxed confidence once more. "I've got ya."

He pulled you along the dance floor, through the sweaty bodies and drunk patrons, not stopping until he found a small booth tucked away in a dark corner, precisely the kind of spot for the pair of you. You shimmied your way in and he settled in next to you, thighs bumping together and feet tangling under the small table.

"So did it hurt?" You asked, resuming conversation up close so that you could hear one another, greedily inhaling his cologne.

"When I fell from heaven?" He snickered.

"We're done with the pickup lines," you scolded playfully. "I'm asking about your tongue piercing." You took a sip from your drink, eyeing him.

He shrugged. "Sure. It hurt initially, and then a little soreness after. Nothing I can't handle."

Like a pervert, you silently wondered if he had a complex, a sort of thing for pain. Maybe you'd find out. Maybe you wouldn't.

"Do you have any piercings?" He asked, nudging you, interrupting your unseemly thoughts. The tiniest bit of contact from him only had more unseemly thoughts flooding in to replace the others.

"Just my ears." You pulled your hair away from your neck to show him the couple of jewels poked through your lobes. "When I was in college, I actually went with a few of my friends to get my nipples pierced," you giggled to yourself. "My friend went first and freaked out so bad, it freaked me out. There was no way I was gonna do it after that."

"So ya bailed on her?!" He laughed at you.

"I wasn't the only one doing it with her!" You defended. "There was a third of us, and she actually went through with it and took it like a champ. It's better I didn't get them pierced. I don't think I'm that kind of girl." You blushed hard, thankful for the minimal lighting.

"And what kind are you?" Shinji looked you up and down, as if already making his own assessment.

"The kind who plays it safe," you admitted, albeit with a little bit of shame. "I'm very good at chickening out."

"You're a good girl," he said it in a way to compliment you, erasing your shame. "I like good girls."

"Wouldn't you get bored with someone like me?" You gulped your drink, a bit of your insecurity still leaking through.

"I don't get bored, no," he said seriously and finitely, taking a generous sip from his own glass. "Besides," he leaned in closer, "good girls are more fun in that way. They usually have a lot to hide, and it's quite the opposite of boring getting to find all that stuff out."

You smiled coyly, appreciating the way he was reading you, slithering in and making bold assumptions like that, bold assumptions that made you feel desirable. You needed him to know that the desire was mutual.

"You smell good," you finally told him, looking down at his lips and back up at his sharp, perceptive eyes, if you were being bold with each other now.

"So do you." He tilted his head, letting his nose just barely brush against your ear, his breath hitting your neck as he inhaled and exhaled. "Like a picnic."

"A picnic?" You laughed.

"In a field of flowers with lots of sweets," he explained, lightly brushing his lips against your neck. "Cakes, cookies, peaches, cherries...just wanna take a bite."

The wind was knocked out of you.

"Should we go?" You practically panted. "I - I mean after we finish our drinks?"

"We'll have to pay the jackass at the other bar one last visit so I can close out my tab," he sighed, "but yeah," and then smiled seductively. "Let's get out of here."

Prancing out of the bar with your hand wrapped around his bicep again felt like an act of rebellion, a resistance against the previous grievances of the night, and a defiance against your usual proper and modest ways. Maybe the alcohol was finally working in your favor, or maybe it was just that Shinji had a way of bringing out your carefree, playful, and humorous nature, your very best. You felt happiest when you were laughing, and now, as he whispered silly remarks about random passerby's in your ear and tripped over nothing and kept saying and doing stupid things just to make you grin, your face hurt from smiling so much. You didn't care where you were going, as long as it was with him, and the night that you were so desperate to leave behind had turned into one that you never wanted to end.

As expected, you ended up at his place. Like him, the inside was both suave and eccentric. He kicked off his shoes, flicked on dim lights and moved through the kitchen, going to get himself another drink as he asked your distracted self if you were hungry or thirsty, ever the gracious host.

"Water's fine," you mumbled haphazardly, discarding your heels at the door and taking in your surroundings.

He had an artfully messy collection of vinyl records, a desk with both organized and scattered papers and files, bookshelves full of fiction, history, and magazines. The furniture was dark and refined, like it was straight from an old speakeasy where they played nothing but smooth jazz and made strong, pretty cocktails. The space was a comforting combination of carefully arranged pieces and evidence that it was truly lived in. It was homey, and it was so him, spontaneous yet calculated, different yet beautiful.

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting guests tonight, much less a pretty lady such as yourself," he commented self-consciously as he handed you a glass of water. "I haven't cleaned."

"No," you shook your head at him, "it's beautiful. I'm sorry for snooping around, I just really like it." You beamed.

"Yeah?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Mhmm," you hummed contentedly, wondering what his bedroom looked like.

He must've been a mind reader, draping his arm around your shoulder to pull you in that direction. "Well in that case, let me show you more of it."

Your mouth parted. Dark silk sheets and a large mirror on the wall, right in front of the bed, had you clenching your thighs together. His scent was everywhere in the room, like an aphrodisiac, hypnotizing you. He left your side to set his glass on the nightstand before leaping into his bed, posing on his side with his head propped up on his hand. "So, what do ya think, doll?"

You guffawed at him and clapped your hand over your mouth. "I think you're a real piece of work." You shook your head at him, suppressing a grin. "Your bed's nicer than mine is."

He was wearing a crooked, devilish smile, knowing that he was a piece of work, and you still wanted to fuck him. "Well? You coming in here with me or not?" He patted the mattress.

You bit your lip to contain your excitement, taking your time to carefully place your glass of water on the nightstand and toss your purse into a chair in the corner, just to tease him. You crawled onto the soft sheets, mirroring him and propping yourself up on your side. His eyes followed the curve of your figure, all the way down and back up, landing on your cleavage.

"Perv," you taunted.

"You love it," he practically growled.

"And what if I do?" You purred back.

"Then that makes you one too." He winked.

You fell into silence with him, eye-fucking each other.

And then the bed shifted as he moved toward you, coming to place his hands on either side of you, caging you in beneath him before dipping his head, taking your lips into his.

Shinji tasted like liquor and risky choices. You eagerly opened your mouth, taking that risk, letting him violate your mouth with that tongue of his that you were so enthralled with, curiously searching for his piercing to see what it would feel like. His knowing laugh vibrated through you, making you whine with embarrassment. He pulled away to kiss along your jaw and neck, surprising you with a lick to your throat, the jewel scraping against your tender skin and making you gasp. While he kissed and licked and sucked lower and lower, devouring you, his hand drifted up your thigh, dangerously close to where the bottom of your dress crinkled, just over your panties.

You squirmed and fussed. He was doing this purposely, dragging his piercing in between your breasts, massaging circles into your thighs but refusing to go any higher. You were not-so-subtly rubbing them together, both trying to hint to him that you needed to be touched and to create some sort of friction in the meantime. He continued to taunt you, chuckling into your chest before pulling his hand away completely, sitting up to pridefully take in your defeated state beneath him.

"You look so cute right now," he said, squishing your cheeks in his large hand. "You should see yourself."

You could hardly think of what you must've looked like right now, too infatuated with him towering over you, his pants tightening around his cock. With your face cupped in his hand, eyes glassy with carnal desire, he was giggling quietly to himself as you stared. You hadn't properly been touched yet, and you were already melting into his silky sheets.

"Come here." He released your face and beckoned with his finger.

Confused, you slowly sat up, watching him spin around to sit at the edge of the bed and nod towards his lap. You furrowed your brows before catching sight of that damned full-length mirror. You had almost forgotten about it, and how could you?! Crawling over to him, he helped you get seated into his lap, one arm wrapped around your upper abdomen, and the other above your hip, a hand resting on your stomach and another just below your boob. With your dress bunched up and almost exposing yourself, your bum was seated comfortably atop the bulge in his tight dress pants. The hand beneath your breast reached up to grab your cheeks again, directing your gaze forward where your wide-eyed reflection looked back at you. You throbbed at the sight, his manspread and the places his protective hands were positioned, your skimpy dress and cleavage littered with love bites.

"See?" He nipped at your ear. "So cute."

You sighed softly as heat simultaneously flooded into your nether regions and your plush cheeks, squished under his delicate fingers. Being forced to watch yourself get played with, it was equal parts sexy and humiliating. You were burning up in his hold, painfully aware of his erection pressing so near to your dampening panties. You dared to spread your legs a little wider, making yourself moan as you moved against him.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" He feigned concern.

"Please," you begged him pathetically. "How much longer are you going to tease me?"

"If ya want something from me, all ya gotta do is ask," he baited you.

You huffed. "Touch me! Please!"

"I am touching you," he murmured into your neck, squeezing your cheeks and pressing his hand into your stomach for emphasis.

"No!" You pouted, clawing at his arm wrapped around you. You grabbed his hand and put it high on your thigh. "Pleeeease," you slurred.

"You have to say it." He grinned.

You sobbed, embarrassed. "Fine! Touch my pussy!" You winced at your own words.

"Atta girl," he chuckled, amused by your discomfort. He reached for your panties under your dress. Pressing a kiss to your glowing cheeks. "Don't be so afraid to tell me what ya want. I want to hear that pretty little mouth of yours say nasty things."

You lifted your hips to help him as he dragged the fabric over your hips and down your thighs. You shook them off of your legs, watching in the mirror as they fell to the floor.

"Spread your legs," Shinji demanded.

Whiny sounds of struggle escaped your mouth as you opened them over his lap, gasping at the sight of yourself in the mirror, and at the way he was watching too. Now that he'd had you flustered enough, he didn't waste any more time, wrapping an arm back around your waist to hold you up while he reached in between your legs with the other, running a finger through your weeping slit. You squeaked at the contact, reaching up to wrap an arm around his neck for support.

"Fuck," Shinji cursed under his breath as he pushed a finger inside of your walls. "You're so wet." He groaned as he started to slowly push it in and out of you, watching your lips part and chest heave with shaky breaths. "This is why I like good girls," he reminded you. "Acting so sweet and obedient while your pussy was drooling over me this whole time, huh?"

His filthy words made you cry out. "Oh, God, yes!" You confessed. "It was so wet. I needed you so bad."

"Shit, keep talking like that, sweetheart," he panted, positioning his hand to better curl his finger in and out of you while his thumb massaged your clit.

You tangled your fingers into his hair, tugging on the blonde strands as you made a mess on his slacks, rotating your hips into his palm. He hissed as your ass grinded down onto his crotch, involuntarily bucking up into you as he gripped your torso with fervor, trying to hold you into place.

"You're gonna make me cum in my pants, baby," he whimpered. "Squirming against me like that."

"Are these good pants?" You asked dazedly, squeezing your eyes shut.

"Does it matter?" He laughed viciously. "You don't need to worry about that, just keep fucking yourself on my fingers, sweetheart."

You moaned and mewled sweetly while you obeyed him, eyes fluttering open and closed as you observed your shuddering body in the mirror. Shinji continued looking too, going back and forth between watching your flushed face and his soaked fingers moving in and out of you, your reflections making intense, intimate eye contact a few times. Each time you met his eyes, you thought you may explode right then and there. You were dripping so much that there were squelching noises coming from between your thighs, growing louder than your shared pants and moans. The way he moved his fingers and the pace he adopted had you thinking he was doing it on purpose, trying to embarrass you again with how sloppy your pussy sounded while you locked eyes with him.

"You look so pretty," he whispered as your eyes met again. "All blushy and vulnerable and messy in my lap."

"I feel so pretty with you. You're so hot," you wailed, hardly able to finish your sentence, but you knew it'd drive him crazy, hearing you spew filth. "Wanna see how pretty I look when I'm taking your dick?"

"Oh, fuck," Shinji groaned, the pace of his fingers on you and in you faltering. "Alright." He pulled his fingers from you, making you pout and protest at the sudden loss of contact, though it was your words that brought this upon yourself. "I'm about to fucking burst. Will you be a doll and lay back so I can get us out of these clothes?"

You didn't want to move, but listened anyway, clambering off of him and onto the sheets beside him. You watched him with longing and impatience, an ache growing between your legs where he was working you up only to abandon you. He unbuttoned his shirt with shaky fingers before undoing his belt, tearing it loudly through the loops of his pants. He hurried out of them, ignoring the damp patch of your juices at the groin to focus on getting out of his socks and boxers as well.

While you witnessed him undressing, his long, pretty cock springing free, your hand had mindlessly wandered back down to your heat, finding your clit to give yourself some sort of satisfaction while he made you wait. The minute he caught you, he was wrenching your hand away and ripping your dress off of you so roughly you were getting whiplash, not that you minded.

"So fucking beautiful," he muttered, allowing himself a moment to admire your nude form before manhandling you into position in front of the mirror again, on all fours where you could watch him take you from behind.

Anticipation made your legs twitch as he nudged them apart slightly, opening you up a little further to take him. "Ready, cutie?" He ran a hand down your spine, grabbing your hips.

"Yes," you moaned, before looking back at him and cheekily wiggling your hips. "Please fuck me."

"Not such a good girl now." He slapped your ass, looking pleased.

Already painfully hard and leaking, Shinji grabbed himself and entered you, starting slowly but not giving it much time before he began thrusting into you at an animalistic pace, cursing and grunting and groaning. You thought you'd be fine to take him with how much he had already prepped you, but pain tore through you as he snapped his hips against yours. Each time he speared into you at this angle, you felt as though you were being ripped apart, a swell of pressure too intense to be pleasurable repeatedly plunging into your core. You bit your tongue and squeezed your eyes shut, attempting to take the pain in hopes that it would soon turn to pleasure, but he was too big to be going this fast already.

Unable to stand it any longer, you released a yelp of pain, gripping the sheets in your fists and looking away from the mirror. "Wait! Hurts! It hurts!" You cried.

"Shit." Shinji pulled out immediately, lifting you into his arms and holding you tightly in a sort of protective bear hug. "I hurt you, baby? Tell me what I did, was I too rough?"

In his embrace, your pain faded away, only to be replaced with guilt. You knew you hadn't done anything wrong, but that insufferable, tiny voice in your head was yelling at you for ruining the mood.

"I'm sorry," you panted, looking away from his concerned gaze shamefully. "It's not your fault. It just hurts from the back sometimes."

"No, it is my fault," he said sternly, petting your hair. Speaking more gently now, "I got carried away and was way too rough with you. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," you promised him, able to face him now. "Maybe we can try from this angle?" You suggested, still wanting him to pound you, especially after seeing how gentle he could be with you. "And a little slower, at least to start?"

"You sure?" His brown eyes were full of worry. "You don't need me to work you open a little more?"

"No, I still want your cock. Now," you said eagerly, gripping his arms.

"Alright." He smiled sweetly, kissing your temple with care. "Slower."

He wrapped an arm around you, using his free hand to reposition himself at your entrance for the second time. Your thighs quivered once more as you felt the tip prod your entrance, rubbing through your folds before he gently pushed back into you, filling you halfway before dragging out. He was much more cautious now, afraid to break you, and it was blissful and torture at the same time. You needed more.

"You can go deeper," you encouraged him, knowing that he was trying to be soft with you.

"Tell me if I hurt you again," he commanded before filling you up further. "You promise you will?"

"I promise," you assured.

With your word, he sunk deeper into your cunt, and at this new angle, you found it easier to take him, leaning your head back against his shoulder and whimpering into the air. You remembered the mirror and opened your eyes, watching his length glide in and out of you and your ass and thighs rippled with each gentle thrust. He whined into the crook of your neck, starting to increase his pace little by little, scanning your face for any signs of discomfort all the while. You kept nodding to him and letting him know to keep going, more, more, more, faster, harder. You let your sobs of pleasure grow louder and more shrill, struggling to hold yourself upwards as he fucked into you.

"Shinji," you whined for him.

"What's wrong?" He fretted.

"Can I," you were falling apart, finding it increasingly difficult to get the words out. "Can I suck on your fingers?"

He groaned in response, bringing his hand to your mouth and watching in the mirror as he shoved two fingers past your lips, letting you drool and swirl your tongue around them.

"Shit." He shut his eyes, tucking his nose into your neck, breathing in nothing but you. "I'm gonna cum."

You hummed with approval around his fingers. He pressed them against your tongue as he thrusted into you with more vigor now, chasing his high. Your eyes were fluttering closed over and over again, but you forced them open, wanting to watch him as he came, his hips stuttering against yours and his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he moaned and groaned and took staggered breaths.

He pulled his fingers and his cock out of you, collapsing back to shoot white spurts of his seed onto his stomach, working himself empty with his hand. You crawled to his side, watching in awe as his dick twitched as if having a mind of its own. You waited until he was finished to dip your head and bring your tongue to his stomach, licking up the remains.

He made a high-pitched sound of surprise that made you giggle. Watching with wide eyes and an almost pained expression as you licked him clean.

"I think I'm in love with you," he announced breathlessly. "Lay down." Despite how exhausted he looked, he forced himself to sit up, that sunshine hair dancing around his flushed face. "It's your turn."

"I don't need to, Shinji, really." You shook your head, clamping your thighs together.

"No, fuck that." He mindlessly pushed you down into the mattress. "I'm eating your pussy until you're cumming on my face, so do as you're told and lay back."

You squeaked, head spinning as he yanked your legs apart and buried his face into your already ruined pussy. He meant business, finding your clit and sucking on it, lapping his pierced tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips were bucking wildly, already having endured so much stimulation, he had to pin you down, pressing a hand to your stomach to prevent you from lifting your hips.

It was the quietest he had been all night, aside from the lewd slurping noises, so determined to make you see stars. He didn't care how long it took, or how tired he was at having his own orgasm ripped through him. He wasn't going to stop until you'd had your fair share, pumping and curling his fingers in and out of you again.

"I - I think I'm close!" You cried to him, still twitching and squirming about in his silk sheets, at least as much as you could with him pinning you down.

He groaned against you in reply, sucking on your clit hard and twisting his fingers in and out of you at an impossible pace. Moments later, your senses exploded, ceasing to function properly. You saw white and heard static, floating in another realm until you landed back in this one, with Shinji brushing your sweaty hair from your face and caressing your cheek. He sounded distant at first, laughing quietly and kissing away tears from overstimulation.

Then you heard him clearly again. "You okay, doll?" Doll. The damned pet name that started this whole mess, Shinji's favorite thing to call you, it seemed.

"Yeah, I'm okay." Your body was cold, like all the energy you had stored had been expended. Without realizing, you were curling into him, seeking his warmth. "I'm so sleepy."

"Yeah?" He chuckled affectionately at you, his voice hoarse. It was a sound you wish you could store in a jar and take with you everywhere you went, to listen to whenever you wanted. "Me too. Ya wanna go to bed with me?"

"Shouldn't I clean myself up a bit?" You croaked, though as you uttered the words, you weren't sure how you were going to get your limp body into motion. "Wouldn't want to ruin your fancy sheets." You smiled lazily.

"Don't you worry about that," he cooed. "I'll go get a warm cloth so you can feel nice."

You watched his skinny figure half-saunter half-stagger from the bed and to the bathroom, missing his warmth already. As you lay atop his fine sheets, you had the thought that you never wanted to leave. This stranger's home had become your new favorite place, this stranger your new favorite person. Goofy, witty, protective, unique, easygoing, and definitely good in bed...you were so damn glad he used that stupid pickup line on you at the bar.

At the sound of the distant running water, you let your eyes shut, stirring only when you heard him come back, the bed shifting under his weight. He gently pulled your legs apart and cleaned up the sticky mess the both of you left behind, grinning a tad when you flinched and twitched, still sensitive and slightly sore.

He hurried away to toss the cloth in the hamper, coming back to hit the lights and throw the sheets over your naked bodies. You wasted no time finding him in the dark, snaking an arm around his chest and lifting your leg to drape across his waist. He sighed contentedly, pulling you into him and running his fingers along your side.

The gesture must've reminded him of where his fingers had been earlier. "What was that fingers in the mouth business about? You like sucking on stuff?"

"I thought we were going to bed?" You pouted, avoiding his question.

"Alright, alright," he laughed, falling back into silence momentarily.

But Shinji didn't know how to shut up for long. "Looks like my pickup line was pretty effective," he muttered pridefully.

You giggled tiredly at him. "I guess it was, dork."

"It will be a great story to tell our kids in the future," he said.

"What?"

"What?"

Shinji's wifey tag: @tomitsulikeslemons :P

[ephemeralinstance]

Why is Rook so uncurious?

I've seen people complain that Veilguard changes Solas' motivations. And that's sort of true, but really it doesn't so much change them as just try really hard not to look at them. All of the things we were shown in previous games about the ongoing and serious harm done by the Veil still remain completely true, it's just that Rook is never allowed to ask or think about any of this stuff. Which is frustrating because it significantly weakens Rook's character: they end up coming off as determinedly ignorant and uncurious.

Take the information we're given about why taking down the Veil is bad - which seems entirely limited to Varric's claim that it would 'drown the world in demons.' Rook is constantly parroting this line, treating Varric as the ultimate authority on the matter. But this claim makes very little sense, because it surely cannot be the case that Solas wants to create a world filled with nothing but demons. From Inquisition we know he's greatly distressed every time a spirit becomes a demon, so that can't possibly be the outcome that he's expecting.

Of course, Solas could be wrong; he's certainly been wrong about many things before and he's not thinking very clearly. But even so, why on earth would we take Varric's word over Solas' here? Solas is an ancient and knowledgeable mage, the only person around who lived before the Veil, and he literally made the Veil. Whereas Varric is not a mage, has never studied magic or spirits, and is canonically frightened of the Fade and spirits: in the Lighthouse he mentions several times that he finds this 'Fade shit' weird. How could he possibly be in a position to know better than Solas about what would happen if the Veil came down?

Maybe I as a player can just accept that because Varric is The Narrator he must be right about all this. But Rook doesn't know that Varric is The Narrator. So it just feels like Rook is either incredibly ignorant or so devoted to Varric that their ability to think for themself has completely shut down. It's such an odd, anti-intellectual, anti-expert framing: don't do research or talk to anyone who has knowledge on the matter, just accept unquestioningly what your friend says.

Equally frustrating is the absence of any critical thinking about Solas' reasons for doing what he's doing. The only thing Varric and Harding tell Rook about this is that Solas is doing it because the ancient world was beautiful, but what does that mean? And is it really plausible that Solas is doing all this just because of aesthetics?

Rook hears Solas say 'The Veil is a wound on the world,' and never once thinks to ask - what did he mean by that? A wound is something that causes harm, that causes pain. What is the Veil harming? What pain is it responsible for? (From previous games we know the answer, of course. It's harming spirits, mages, and perhaps elves. But Rook never bothers to ask Solas, or to ask anyone else, or even to try to think about for themself about it.).

There's a moment right at the very end, where Solas is finally permitted to mention that he's doing this partly for the spirits. But in a perfect encapsulation of their whole dynamic, Rook immediately interrupts him. Doesn't even let him finish his sentence. Rook is so completely confident that they know best for the spirits and that this person who literally was once a spirit couldn't possibly have any insight into the matter.

At the beginning of the game Varric comments that he chose the name 'Rook' because Rook tends to think in straight lines. Which struck me as odd at the time, because 'thinks in straight lines' sounds like Varric is saying Rook isn't very smart. I thought I must have misinterpreted it, because why on earth would you choose to impose as a requirement on all players that their pc must lack critical thinking? But looking back I can see that's kinda exactly what they did, which - maybe they thought it would be more relatable? Still, if you're going to impose a fixed personality on the main character of a game, it's baffling to me that you would pick 'absence of critical thinking' as one of their main features.

[1thesewordsaremyown1]

So, while I know the buddie fans were crowing over Tommy thinking of Eddie as "competition" as well as some bucktommy fans being worried what Tommy meant by that, looking at what we know about Tommy's character and what we've seen happening on the show in the last two seasons, I have another interpretation (and I'm sure others have had similar thoughts).

The root cause of Tommy thinking of Eddie as competition wasn't that he thought Buck might be in love with Eddie - it was the fact that Eddie is a major part of Buck's life and basically had all of his attention.

Let me back track for a second. Let's look at what we know of Tommy as a character. We know he can be jealous - he has admitted as much himself. In 7x04 he told Buck that he saw what the 118 had and wanted that for himself, and in 8x05 he brought it up again how great it must be to have a support network like that. We know he had a "Gerrard-like" father who he doesn't really talk to, and that unlike Buck who was oblivious to the fact that he liked men, Tommy very much knew that he was gay, but couldn't find the courage to come out until his early 30's. This very much sounds like a guy who has never been able to form close bonds with anyone, platonic or otherwise. And to top it off, we've seen that Tommy is very much a caregiver - odds are, he has spent the majority of his life putting the effort into making others feel wanted and prioritised yet not receiving the same in return. It could be why he has a tendency to run when things get hard, because he has given his all before only to be burned time and time again.

Now let's look at what we've seen on the show. Tommy knew that Buck and Eddie were close - he knew before they started dating. He knew that this was a guy that Eddie's son couldn't stop raving about. He had seen how close the 118 were and he would have seen the same in Buck and Eddie's friendship (much like Hen and Chim are each other's "ride or die"). And while I'm sure there was probably some stirrings of jealousy over something that he had been missing in his own life, he would have also hoped that maybe he could be brought into the fold and have that too.

And then about two months into their relationship, Eddie's life implodes. And Buck, being the type of guy who also gives and gives to those he loves, would have wanted to be there for his friend. Which there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. But how many times did that desire to be there for his friend override time with Tommy? We saw it in 7x09 - at the end of his shift, Buck was heading over to Tommy's. He was packing an overnight bag so we can assume he was heading straight there. But then he runs into Kim and immediately heads to Eddie's to confront him and talk it out. How late was Buck when he finally rocked up to Tommy's place? And when Chris wanted to leave, Buck was the one Eddie called to get him to try to stay. How many times did Eddie call on Buck to try and open a line of communication with Chris when he wasn't speaking to him?

I know Tim said in an interview something along the lines of "Eddie was going to be feeling a bit alone because he won't have Buck around as much to lean on" as he was busy with his new relationship, but the thing is, that isn't what we saw on screen. For us bucktommy shippers, a fair few of us were a bit frustrated about the fact that, with what little screen time Buck and Tommy had together, Eddie was often involved. (And I'm not saying I hated it - I loved seeing the Eddie/Tommy friendship, it just would have been nice if there had been more solo Buck and Tommy scenes to balance it out.) And if we extrapolate what we saw on screen to how their relationship was during the hiatus, you can understand why Tommy might be thinking "can I just have some alone time with my boyfriend here?" Especially as it was at the start of the relationship too, a time when they should be getting to know each other. And for Tommy, someone with obvious self-worth issues, you can imagine that there might have been a few doubts starting to emerge. Is the reason Buck keeps prioritising Eddie because he's actually in love with him? Or worse - he's NOT in love with him, and Tommy just isn't worth it enough to compete with Buck's best friend?

And the thing is, I think Buck knows that this is the real issue. Or at least he has an inkling that it's not so much the "Buck might be in love with Eddie" that has been the problem for Tommy, but the whole "Eddie and Buck are extremely close and Eddie takes up a huge part in Buck's life". We see that in his conversation with Maddie at the end of 8x11. One line I think that often gets overlooked in that talk is when Buck says, "I understand him feeling threatened by what me and Eddie have". Now I'm sure buddies would see this as an admission of love towards Eddie, except for one small thing - only thirty seconds earlier, Buck had told Maddie that he was NOT in love with Eddie. So, either Buck blatantly lied to his sister only moments before, or he was telling the truth - he doesn't love Eddie but recognises that what he and Eddie share is a unique friendship, one that takes up a lot of his time and that those on the outside would find it hard to compare, or compete, with.

So yes, while I'm sure there may have been moments where Tommy wondered if Buck may have had feelings for Eddie - after all, Buck had just realised he was bisexual and he was extremely close to his good-looking best friend; it would only be human nature for doubts to creep in. But at the end of the day, I don't think it was Buck's feelings towards Eddie that Tommy felt he was in competition with, but his time and attention. For once in his life, he wanted to be seen as a priority by someone he cared for, and when he heard that Eddie was gone, he figured he finally had that chance.

[idekkkjja]

Glorious blood,, (PART ONE) ˖⋆࿐໋ Ningning x fem!reader

♱ Warm liquid crawls down to your exposed skin, lazily painting it a shimmering deep red, it wasn't so beautiful. The sight, of her imprinted fingerprints left a mark upon you in its temporary possessiveness, reminding you and others of your status with her. Ning Yizhou, it all started with you purely handing out flyers to troubled people, an invite to the church. To those in need. And now you're on the harsh ground, helplessly shaking in dire of help, in her arms. You kept your promise. If she dies, you die. If you die, she dies. She kept her promise.

Heads-up: eng isn't my first language, mistakes gonna happen and sorry for that. Blood is obviously mentioned, very angst, toxic stuff... Ningning is a bad person, and you somehow are too. Wrong person, wrong time. Slight fluff, but there will be a happy ending they won't die.. dw. Got inspiration from a few fics and Sophia's recent cover in Katseye's booth. AND VIOLENCE AND BLOOD GONNA BE OBV MENTIONED.

Oh and this is just a sample of what I’m thinking of this series, consider this just an intro atp by how short this is than an actual part one. The real story gonna start from part 2. Hope u guys like it!!

𓂃⋆.˚ Confident invisible within your hesitant steps towards the area most were advised to not spare a thought for, your fingers clutched too tightly on your flyers in a reassuring gesture to your disturbed soul, it crumbled slightly. Somehow, the homeless you offered the papers out, willingly cooperated and looked forward to the welcoming warmth of the church.

Many warned not to even have a mere thought of casting a longing upon the devasted area, your fiery spirit held strong and stubborn, too determined on this task. Although, the confidence wasn’t visible in your demeanour, your steps were hesitant as you approached the streets with the papers huddled against your pounding chest.

Somehow, it was going well so far. Some of the others were arrogant yet not too unwilling to accept the tempting offer from your extended hands.

There were strange occurrences and incidents people could vividly recall here in a bad way, did it deter you? No, it just fueled you to continue your tasks.

Old ladies and men, groups of judgemental boys and snarky girls and such were common bypassers here. It was clear you were the odd one out in the dull crowds.

Sauntering upon the mud staining your old sneakers, you dragged yourself to places you could assume many people would be by, and you were right. The muffled commotion was heard, and your ears perked up in curiosity and concern. Cautiously, you changed the direction and went where the noises grew louder and louder, revealing pained whimpers and strained groans. Something obviously horrible was going on, your instinctive screaming to interfere in the ominous situation.

You stumbled upon a corner hidden away from the rest, groups of blurred bodies splayed around, raw screams piercing through the fog. Hidden in the grey shadows, you suppressed your impulses and watched from afar, the horrific scene making you hesitate. One that you never saw before; only displayed in the comics some weird children so eagerly yearn for in the forgotten parts of the local library, even if the pastor warns them not to, to avoid the 'prohibited' content. Or in unknown shows that are viewed in private, and are avoided from discussion in daily conversations.

But in a place you were familiar with, there was a guarantee that you would never behold a sight straight out of fiction in front of your eyes. Except you defied it, in an area without promise of what would happen, the danger remains ominous. No authorities could justify it, nor the locals, and only the victim was to blame.

Raw pain ripped through the man’s aching throat, the noises doing nothing but emphasize the knife digging in his ribs mercilessly, drawing bloodied knives as if writing a message using a pen.

He was used as an example, a warning to daring others. A living being—rather than treated as such—he was reduced to nothing but a man printed out in newspapers most unbothered to read, another work done by Ning Yizhou.

In this place, you knew it was taboo to read books or articles of news, deemed ‘uncool’. But in your area, nearly everyone you knew except for some, read religiously. Especially newspapers, so you did familiarise yourself with the infamous woman that often appears in it, known for her horrendous crimes yet never in trouble from the corruption of the authorities here. Was it unfair? Definitely.

You weren’t one to judge, you wanted to understand people, instead, you hid by the safety of your hands suppressing the muffled gossip naturally flying out of your lips to your friends’ impatient ears.

Hypocrite.

The poorly carved words on the unconscious body, had the knife deep in his stomach to finish it off, and the blood spurting out from the gash messily trickled down to your polished shoes.

An audible gasp barely made out of your parted lips in fear, instinctively stepping back from the mess reaching you. You couldn’t be involved in this atrocity, not even be a witness.

Snickers and cackles slowly went to a buzzing mute, their curious eyes setting upon you. By your attire itself, it was obvious you weren’t from here. Fortunately, nothing happened to an ‘innocent’ bystander like you.

But the woman amongst them all, the silence uncharacteristic to be associated with the rest of the crowd emerged as they parted for her to interrogate you.

The display itself was enough for you to nearly piss your pants.

“Who’re you?” Never in your life have you predicted to hear that woman’s voice, it was harsh with a heavy accent suggesting English is definitely not her first language, nor practised enough. Innocence feigned upon her face, mockingly so, contrasted it.

Loss of words, the graphic scene kept replaying in your mind, pausing your actions. "...I'm no harm, I was passing by." You clarified awkwardly, caught red-handed like a deer on the streets.

A lazy hum buzzed from her lips and she tilted her head in curiosity. “You don’t seem to be.”

Was that an insult disguised as ridiculing reassurance? You weren't sure.

Her eyes study you briefly— the way you're dressed, the fear visible in every inch of your body—slowly focusing on the fliers in your hands protectively, like a pathetic shield from her.

"You know how this would go, don't you?" An interrogation of some sort, not a serious one since were you significant to them? No, to the point there was no benefit of having one in the first place.

Before it could start, before your life had a slim possibility of being crushed into a ruined cigarette; she snatched the papers from your grasp, reading it intently.

"Church." Snorting in disbelief, an acidic and biting taste infected her tongue from uttering the word, she sucked in a breath in discomfort, the unintentional memories swarming in her fuzzy brain.

"You're one of 'em." A plain statement, an obvious observation. Messily her fingers entangled in her rough hair strands, ruffling it slightly in thought momentarily affecting the amount of speech.

"Ah... you're desperate if you're hanging around here, wanting criminals to join." She breathed out, her hands instinctively shoving in the pockets of her baggy pants that were on the verge of sagging down for warmth in the chilly weather, now the heat of burning adrenaline coursing in her veins cooled down.

Surprisingly, a defensive side came out, despite having a clue of who you're dealing with. "So? They are people."

"Shitty people, dogs, to be honest." She added lazily, a twitch appearing on the corners of her lips.

"People." Firmly, you asserted, stretching out the word to emphasise your point.

So stubborn, she was. Curiosity, as she claimed to be, she continued to observe you in the transient silence shared between.

"You're persistent, a very persistent one. Havin' criminals in the church would do only harm, especially these lot from around here.” She tsked, shaking her head slowly in disbelief, or rather taunting your efforts to persuadee further.

“That is like saying sick people shouldn’t be in a hospital, fat people shouldn’t be in a gym—” You got cut off abruptly with a chilling request from one of the scarred men lurking cautiously behind her but keeping a safe distance.

His eyes, the pupils were dilated and its darkness consumed the other colour completely except the whites of the eye, his gaze a story to be told itself. Just like the rest of the people here, their eyes all the same including this woman’s, though hers held a fierce glint of defiance against the norms expected on everybody.

“Boss, this girl talks too much… can’t I just make her shut up permanently?” A warning glance by her keen, sharp eyes made his words manifest towards him instead of what he hoped for.

“Shut the fuck up, instead of yappin’, get me a cigarette real quick.” She said flatly and her attention adverts to you immediately, her eyes lingering longer than expected until landing on the concrete floor smudged with crushed glass hazardously or rubbish.

“Hm, call me Ning, alright? Come ‘round more often, and I can consider. Probably not, but what is harmful about having a cute friend around?” A heavy hand slams against your shoulder making you flinch, she wraps her arms around your shoulder and in a non-verbal apology, she rubs the stinging part soothingly so it wouldn’t hurt so much.

The pain that you had right now was nothing to what she had before.

“Ning.” You murmured with a defeated grunt.

[noisyalmonddreamer]

Abstract (Psychopomp)

A/n: This is my first fic genuinely in years. It's kinda bad I think but I'm getting back into it y'know. Maybe I'll make a part 2. Sorry if this sucks LOL

Finnick Odair x fem! district 8! reader

Finnick Odair didn’t make it a habit to meet other tributes, he couldn’t shoulder the guilt. If he never spoke to them he wouldn’t have to imagine the voice of someone he advised his tributes how to kill. They’d be another faceless body.

Despite everything you had said to yourself, every night you spent preparing yourself for this moment, the real feeling of your name leaving the escort's lips was something you never could have replicated. It was as if a cold bucket of water had been dumped on you.

The others around you turned and could only stare. A look of pity in their eyes. God you hated pity. It was as if they already knew you were dead. You were no longer yourself, just a walking corpse.

Your feet felt like lead as you walked to what essentially is your execution, it couldn’t have been longer than twenty seconds, yet it felt as though time stopped. Perhaps the universe wanted you to suffer as long as possible.

Standing in front of your whole district was surreal. Faces of people you’ve known all your life, of people you haven’t ever seen, they all looked at you and you knew what they were thinking. They were all breathing a sigh of relief, glad they could live to the next reaping day.

“Now for the boys!” The escort's high pitched voice barely broke you from your thoughts. What was her name? You glance over for a moment. Cassandra. That was it. You could recall it from the other years you stood for the reaping.

The way to the Capitol was a blur. It was as if your head was under water, you could see everything, you could tell people were speaking to you, yet not a word stuck.

What would happen if you threw yourself off the train now? Just get it over with? As tempting as the idea was there could be some unforeseen consequences. The idea was quickly slashed.

The Capitol was bright. Unnaturally so. After only an hour you had realized everything in the Capitol was unnatural, even the people. Odd enhancements crowded your vision as the train continued to push towards the tribute center. Perhaps there you’d had an actual moment of silence.

Oh how the universe loves to prove you wrong. A man was standing on the balcony, leaning his arms on the railing and staring off into the city.

“I don’t think this is your floor” your voice was dry and flat as it came out.

The man turned and smirked “is it an issue I’m here?” He asked, smugness coating his words.

You shrugged, “I don’t know.” You answered quietly, “I don’t really know the rules.” The man, who you now recognized as Finnick Odair, chuckled.

A beat passed by before he spoke “my co-mentor is handling some business with Woof. I just wanted some air.” He said, before sticking out his hand “I’m-“

“Finnick Odair. I know.” You retort “most people know you.” Finnick chuckled at your comment “fair enough.”

Another pause. “So…” he began “…you nervous?” Slowly you turned your head to face him. Your brows furrowed, if you were less polite you’d ask him if he was fucking stupid.

Finnick let out an awkward laugh “right…bad question.” Awkward? The idea seemed almost absurd. He was Finnick Odair, you’ve seen his charming smile and his cool visage during capitol broadcasting many times. You felt as though you were more familiar with his face than your own.

Finnick broke you from your thoughts “Well…what do you think of the capitol?” He turned towards you and tilted his head, a subtle smirk on his face. You looked at him for a moment then your gaze trailed towards the city skyline. “It’s…bright? I think this is the most amount of lights I've seen in my life” you answered honestly. It felt as though every building was glowing, and the buildings were already nauseatingly tall. If you looked up at them for too long it felt like they’d collapse. Maybe that would be a blessing.

A proper hearty chuckle left his chest as he shook his head “that it is. You get used to it…kinda.” You hummed at his assessment. You doubted you’d get used to it. Mostly because you’d probably die during the games. District eight didn’t often win.

A pregnant pause grew between you two. Should you ask him something? He asked you two questions so wouldn’t it be impolite to say nothing? You didn’t wanna just sit next to him in silence. You chanced a glance over at him, you knew Finnick Odair was attractive, from what you heard he was supposed to be some hot playboy. However, as he stared across the skyline you realized how pretty he was. Almost delicately so.

You swallowed a nervous lump in your throat “shouldn’t at least one mentor be with your tributes?” Finnick turned to look at you again and shrugged “they’re both asleep, and they’ll be fine. I just wanted a break from Scylla.” He said, his voice was tired and worn out, yet was still playful and self assured.

You tilted your head “Scylla?”

“District fours escort.” He answered politely. “She’s…nice. She's just a lot.”

You nodded, fidgeting with your hands. You couldn’t exactly think of anything else to say, at least not anything that wouldn’t be considered rude.

Finnick leaned his weight against the railing as he stared at you “do you like your district partner?” He asked. You thought for a moment. Did you like him? The boy was a little older than you, bigger as well, from what you knew he was from the whole other side of district eight. “I guess?” You answered slowly “he’s nice. He works in the mill.”

Finnick smiled softly, “have you worked with him?” You shook your head “no, no, I work different places depending on the season.” You explain.

Finnick tilted his head “different places?” You nodded “yeah. Right before summer wool gets imported so I’ll help with cleaning it, then you gotta dye it, then you can work with it”

Finnick watched you as you described your work. He seemed genuinely interested, as if he truly wanted to understand “so you use those…” he made an odd back and forth movement with his hands movement with his hands “to make clothes and stuff?” You tilted your head in confusion “...loom?” You guessed.

Finnick nodded “yeah, yeah, loom.” You chuckled “I don’t use them by myself, they’re pretty heavy. I mostly work with, like, sewing machines.”

Without realizing it Finnick had caused your guard to go down, at least enough to be able to smile. After around an hour of talking and laughing a knock was heard on the balcony door. You both turned to look and see who had interrupted your conversation. The sight of an older woman, perhaps a little older than Woof, greeted you and you realized it was Finnick’s co-mentor. Oh. It was time for him to leave.

Finnick sighed as he stood up “I guess it’s quitting time.” He stuck out his hand “It was nice to talk to you. Well. Good luck.”

You chuckled and shook his hand “thanks. I hope your tributes don’t kill me. And if they do I hope it’s quick.”

A slight…perhaps grave? look crossed Finnicks face for a moment before he slapped a smile back across his mouth. “I’ll let them know your request.”

A sinking feeling coats you. You manage a small solemn smile "I appreciate that."

Finnick nods then turns away, leaving you alone with the night sky.

[roanofarcc]

A FLOWER FOR YOU (GENDERBENT MARVEL AU)

pairing:  male natasta romanoff x bubbly!reader ~ requested

summary: to thank nat for helping you best a pushy car salesman, you bring him a bouquet of flowers.

warnings: male natasha is still referred to as nat. fem!reader. reader struggles with being a push over bc she’s a bit too nice sometimes.

word count. 1.2k || masterlist

a/n:  I honestly didn’t expect people to want fics with my silly little marvel au, but I’m really excited!! this was lots of fun!

You always arrived unexpectedly, a bubble of brightness that strode into any room with a purpose. What your purpose always was, Nat never had a clue. He disliked that. Being in the Widow Program, Nat had been trained to read people and understand them at a glance from an early age. And sure, there were glaringly obvious things he knew about you. You always looked on the bright side of things, no matter how bleak the situation. You had a hard time standing still, and it sometimes looked like it physically pained you not to smile. 

What Nat couldn’t figure out were your bad parts. He’d never seen you in a bad mood or even brush someone off. A weakness, something that made you seem human and less like a glittery light of goodness, he couldn't find but needed to. Why? Because everyone had one, he had learned that very early in his life too. 

“Good morning!” you chirped, approaching the kitchen with a smile. 

He greeted you back before sipping a mug of black coffee. He expected you to pass by the kitchen and onto whatever work you’d been assigned to for the day, but you stopped in front of him. 

“I need your help,” you said. With a tilt of his head, he asked why, and you replied, “Well, it’s a bit of an odd situation. This may come as a surprise, but I can be a bit of a pushover from time to time.” 

Nat let out a small laugh. Everyone who has ever met you could have guessed that. It wasn’t because you were naive; you were just wired in a way that made you see the good in everything and everyone. Nat didn’t consider that a weakness necessarily; it was more of just a simple hindrance. It may have humanized you a bit, but that wasn’t what he was looking for. 

“Surprising for sure,” he replied, and you playfully rolled your eyes. There was never any malice or annoyance in anything you did. 

“But,” you continued. “You don’t strike me as the kind of person to be a pushover, right?” His reflex was to say something snarky in reply, keep in place that wall he had built between himself and each member of the team. Nat didn’t give his teammates the cold shoulder, but he didn’t want them to get too friendly with him either. Friendly wasn’t something he was good at, and it often came with other expectations. He wanted to control what everyone saw and thought of him; it was a lot easier that way. 

Instead, he nodded in response. 

“Good, that’s exactly what I need! I’ve been trying to buy a new car for weeks now, and I finally found one that’s perfect, but the salesman is giving me the runaround. No matter what I say, he thinks he can pull a fast one on me. And I…” you sighed, a small frown replacing the usual upturn of your lips. 

He wasn’t sure why that startled him. He feared he thought your frown into existence. It looked wrong on your face, misplaced. Nat straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“It’s ridiculous, really, but he just won’t listen to me. I thought if I brought someone else with me, someone who’s less of a pushover, he’ll stop. But if you’re busy, that’s okay, I just thought I’d ask.” 

Nat wasn’t sure why he felt a surge of anger in his chest. People were either monsters or asshole, with very few in between who were either pretending not to be, or, well, you, who he hadn’t figured out yet. It shouldn’t have surprised him that some car salesman was giving you a hard time, but it pissed him off. 

“I’m not busy,” he said. 

Then there it was, that smile. It appeared back on your face, as natural as the sun rising every morning. It washed away some of his anger. 

One look at Nat, his cold gaze and intimidating presence, was enough for the salesman to stop his routine and close the sale with some money knocked off the price. You were ecstatic, leaving the place with a new car and a grin. Nat noticed you practically skipped out of there, swinging the keys around your finger. 

It was oddly contagious, your brightness. He fought it like a tickle in his throat, nagging him to just give in and cough, or smile. You also had a habit of lingering, not physically, but it was like the air in any room you had been in was sweeter. Nat couldn’t shake you, your smile, or warmth. It clung to his mind comfortably. 

He tried to distract himself, spending the next day in the training room, sparring with a training dummy. Sweat beaded his forehead as he landed perfect hit after perfect hit. He continued until there was a dull ache in his hand and the start of a stitch on his side. He’d been going for hours, pushing himself to be better at every turn and ignoring the thoughts of you in his head. 

But it was hard to ignore you when you entered the training room, empty aside from him. He blinked in confusion, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a towel as he stood beside the bench. 

“Hello!” you greeted, waving with one hand while the other was hidden behind your back. 

He tossed the towel over his shoulder and looked around the room, thinking someone else had entered and that was who you were talking to, but no one else was there. 

“Hi?” His greeting came out as more of a question, but that didn’t seem to throw you off as you approached him. 

“Having fun?” you asked, peering at the beat-up dummy. 

He ignored your question and asked his own. “What’re you doing here?” 

You just smiled, practically bouncing on your feet. “I wanted to properly thank you for helping me yesterday.” Nat furrowed his brows. You had thanked him repeatedly afterwards; anything else seemed like overkill. Yet, you removed your hand from behind your back, revealing a small bouquet of assorted flowers. 

That only confused him more. You confused him endlessly. 

“What?” was all he could get out. 

You held out the bouquet, and when he didn’t take them, you laughed and pressed them to his chest, forcing him to grab them. They were wrapped in brown paper and smelled like a greenhouse. 

“I wasn’t sure what kind of flowers you liked, so I got a bit of everything.” 

Nat didn’t even know if he liked flowers at all. He had never received them before, nor had he ever thought too deeply about them. Yet, as he gazed at the bouquet, he felt odd. Not a bad odd, like he hated them or something. In fact, it was more of the opposite. He liked them, he was just confused as to why you were giving them to him. 

“Thank you, again,” you said, unfazed by his silence. “Make sure to get those in some water soon, or they’ll wilt.” 

That was it. That was all you said before bounding out of the training room, leaving Nat with a bouquet of flowers and a dumbfounded look upon his face. He was glad the room was empty; any teasing would have soured the sweetness you brought in with you. All he could do was stare at the flowers and think of you. You and the flowers. 

Shaking his head, he gathered his things and gave up on his training for the remainder of the day. Instead, he found a tall glass in the kitchen, filled it with water, and placed your gift on the windowsill in his bedroom, bathed in a stream of sunlight.