#((why can I draw other muses better than my fucking own))

[wttt-dirus-work]

Hii! I was wondering if I could request some Texas/Austin stuff with California headcanons? Your headcanons are always so much fun to read, thank you and have a lovely day/night! ^^

Aw thank you!

So, um, Texas an Cal.

I have to say they were my to go ship when i entered the fandom, but now i see them more as Enemy/tolerated friends?

Well, first they met when they were under Mexico. They were friends, until Texas became the republic of Texas and declared his independance from Mexico; whch initially broke their friendship (he never told Cal why, or even told him period). And Cal can hold a grudge.

When they both became part of the USA (bear with me, and sorry for any istorical inacuracity-im canadian not american lol) Cal was too high on the Gold rush to wanna be friend with that back stabber again.

Which lead to today, when they typically can't face eachother without hating each other.

BUT I think, that the states political views/values depends on how they let their politicians affect them.

Like. Texas himself doen't care about gay people, trans people, or abortion, but he has an image to share and his politicians wants him to do so (and piss off the dems). I think they both need to make their own mind about how they feel about that, and if the views they have currently of those political debates represent their population. Like, my aunt spend a week in San Antonio last summer, and she said they were so welcoming!

The media we see is not what the people are like! it's a generalisation,a nd i believe Texas isn't as bad as he looks! (Same for Cal, dude's an hypocrite, but if he could only recognized it, he could get better!)

So, for that long rant, I believe while I don't ship Texacali, it could be possible if they both do some introspection.

Now, to me, Austin is aware of Cal hypocrisy, and the fact that Cal has to represent over 40 millions of people (that's more than my fucking country, so cut him some slack). I believe Austin did some introspection and is the perfect person to help Texas to do some on his own (If Tex chose to at least hear him out). He's an amazing character who reflect the good and the bad of both side because he's stuck between them! He Got the majority of Texas who's red, and his own part who's blue! He's in the purple zone, and therefore can make them both (Cal and Tex) that they need to look at themselve and ask : Am I representing my people or the media verson of them?

So, I think Austin/Cal is more plausible than Tex/Cal on the romantic side.

But you didnt ask if i could see it, you asked for headcanons, so i apologize for getting sidetracked like that ^^

Now, couple headcanon!

Tex/Cal

Their favourite date is going horseback riding together! Texas got his own ranch, and Cal love gardening, so Tex has a greenhouse for California!

Cal can't make food to save his life, so Texas learned all his diet restriction and what kind of diet he's on at that time and makes food accordingly!

Cal adore using Texas as his muse when he draws/paint; I also headcanon that Texas can sew and do beading, and Cal can knit/crochet, so calm rainy night you can find them both working of gift for the other watching some old western.

Austin/Cal

Austin loves reading and camping, and Cal liked to do photography! They can spend a few days in the wild, be it the rockys or in plains; they like it. They're both swifties, and so goes to the concert when cal manage to get tickets; and days at the beach are awesome!

That's all for now, but asks are always open!^^

[laurenairay]

Prompts?!?! 😍😍

Can I request number 1 with my vampire boyfriend, Gravy, please? ❤️

5 – “Don’t make this weird.” – Ryan Graves

956 words.

Shifted your original request to this one as we discussed Jade – I hope you enjoy it!

*

Summer in Nova Scotia was only ever made better by one thing – the return home of one of your oldest friends, Ryan Graves. The two of you had been pretty inseparable outside of hockey while you grew up together, but eventually his hockey career had made the two of you grow apart like everyone always said it would. Instagram comments and weekly texts didn’t make up for hanging out in person, and although you now each had your own lives, his return home every summer settled that piece inside of you that always felt empty when he was away.

But he was just a friend, no matter what your other friends liked to think. Sure, he was remarkably attractive – you could admit that much – but there had never been anything between you like that, and you were more than happy with just being friends. He was important, and there was nothing you would do to risk that.

Being around him, at barbecues in your friend’s backyard like this, was more than enough.

“Here’s your burger! Extra cheese, no onions.”

You looked up at Ryan from where you were sitting, smiling at him as he passed you the plate of food. He really was such a sweetheart. “Thanks! I didn’t realise they were ready.”

Ryan just shrugged, smiling back at you. “I figured I’d save you the trip across the yard. Do you want a fresh drink too?”

He wiggled his own empty bottle, letting you know he’d be getting one for himself too, so you shrugged. This guy was just a thoughtful as he was pretty, wasn’t he?

“Sure, why not. Thanks!” you said happily.

Ryan sent you another blinding smile before heading across the yard. You turned back to your circle of friends with a smile on your face, only to see them all grinning at you, making you roll your eyes.

“Don’t make this weird,” you groaned.

“Weird? Oh yeah there’s nothing weird about him bringing you over a plate of food and then immediately leaving to get you a new drink,” your friend grinned, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Basically waiting on your hand and foot.”

“I haven’t even had that from my boyfriend and we’ve been together for five years now!”

“And you still think Ryan’s not interested in being more than friends?”

They all finished chiming in with grins on their faces, staring at you intensely, while all you could do was sit there in a stunned silence with your cheeks flaring with heat. Where was this coming from?

“Come on, you know it’s not like that,” you said weakly, wincing at their unimpressed expressions.

“Think about it, yeah? Really think about it. Because I promise you, what he’s doing isn’t just being friendly,” you friend pointed out.

“Speak of the Devil…”

You glanced to your left to see Ryan wandering back over, two drinks in hand, and looked back to your friends only for them to all stand up and walk away with incredibly unsubtle winks.

“Wow, was it something I said?” Ryan mused.

“It really wasn’t. They think they’re funny,” you sighed, taking the offered drink from his hand.

“Oh?” he prompted, sitting down in the chair next to you.

You lightly bit your bottom lip, drawing it inwards as you considered what your next words should be. Were your friends right? Was Ryan just being friendly or was it more? Was it even worth taking that chance?

“Is everything okay?” Ryan asked softly, forehead creasing slightly in worry.

Fuck it. Ryan wasn’t the type of guy to get offended easily, and you knew that even if it was just him being friendly, he wouldn’t make a big deal of you just being blunt with him. It was better to clear the air than have the wondering stewing up inside of you, right?

“The girls think that you getting my food and drinks isn’t just you being friendly,” you eventually said.

“Oh, well, I uh…”

Well, shit. There was your answer then. So why did it feel so disappointing?

“Hey, Ryan, it’s okay. Like I said, they think they’re funny,” you shrugged, smiling tightly.

“No, it’s not that. I just…they’re right? I just didn’t know you hadn’t realised it too,” Ryan winced.

Oh.

Oh.

“Wait, what? Really?” you said, more than a little stunned.

Ryan Graves, your Ryan, wasn’t just being friendly? He really did want to be more than friends?

“Really really,” he laughed, pale cheeks flushing slightly, “If I’d known you didn’t have a clue that I like you, then I would’ve tried to be more obvious about it.”

Now it was your turn for heat to rush to your cheeks. Had you really been that oblivious?

“Maybe if you’d told me with words rather than subtle actions…” you teased.

“That probably would’ve been the best way of going about it, sure,” Ryan grinned, nodding his head in agreement, “It was hard enough worrying if you were going to reject me.”

Reject him? Not a chance. Even if you hadn’t known or realised what he’d been subtly doing, there’s no way you would’ve turned him down. It’s Ryan, come on.

“You were really that worried?” you asked, frowning slightly.

He let out a shaky breath, before nodding, making you a frown a little more. No, that wouldn’t do. If he could be brave, then so could you.

“Maybe you should take me out to dinner, tell me all about those nerves,” you said simply, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah?” Ryan said, smile slowly returning, kicking off the butterflies in your stomach, “I think I can manage that. How does Friday night sound?”

“Sounds like a plan,” you said, smiling back at him.

What a summer this was going to be.

[cwarscars]

🤬

SEND 🤬 FOR MY MUSE TO GO ON A RANT ABOUT YOUR MUSE.

his heart is gripped by heat - a swell of flame that burns his insides. his chest swelled, breaths hasty. the deep inhales & exhales of a man, furious.

were he a sensitive sort, perhaps even a kinder man - he'd do his best to hide his disdain. lather lips with a crooked grin, gnaw fangs into the cushion of his tongue in the hopes he'd stop himself from shouting. perhaps his own coolness could quell the flame of his fury, deliver an icy edge to skin reddened with rage. unfortunately for anyone - heidegger is anything but kind.

the second indication of his anger is a balled fist that crashes into a nearby wall - moulded bricks battered by the scarred-ridge of his knuckles. a wince when pain brings forth blood atop his fingers. the general barely pays mind to the singe across his scars - his own anger, forever paired with pain. by now, he's made an old friend of them both. grown so used to his own fury that one would not be seen without the other. anger without pain. the two without heidegger.

hazel eyes look a murky sort beneath the furrow of his brow, his lips thin lines around fangs, a muscular face - gaunt with rage.

"how you're still alive escapes me-" his words taste venomous, spoken with the scowl of a man who only drinks poison "like a cockroach. you keep on going. keep on surviving..."

where is the honour-?! where is the pride - ?! godo fights as if he were in a movie ! fights less like a man and more like a poster boy !

hell, heidegger can still recall the events of that day - their battle. blood creeping from the corners of his lips, a hitch in his breath as the other stared down at him. the sharp edge of agony atop his chest, now a ragged dent forever unmoved.

that cheap motherfucker-! that goddamn, son-of-a-bitch!

"you had no idea! no idea at all-" his rage begins to best him, those clenched fists - nails bedding into palms, the draw of blood that softens skin "of what you did to me! what i lost!"

the top spot. the respect. salutes that meant something, scars that meant more.

before their battle, heidegger had been not only a man ( or poster boy, or movie star, or shinra lapdog ) but he'd been a warrior. more than propaganda, more than a word on another man's lips. he'd been a blade. a threat. no creaking joints, no daily medication, no furious anger wielded unarmed. the respect of others was worth something, the respect from himself - more.

but after his defeat; after godo's wrath...

how could a man feel any sort of pride? a lie bore by their battle; their duel a draw but both men know the truth, and fuck-

what stings more? his scars? godo's strength? or his lie-?

"all because you fought without honour - all because you cheated!" his rage has words spat through clenched teeth, the sharp beat of his heart enough pain now to have his head dropping and his steps weary. he hesitates on a breath, his anger seething through the pores of old scars and creased wrinkles. a moment's pause, anger turning tranquil because why bother with the lie when each man knows better. "...i hate you, godo-" a step forth has him close enough to the king to rest a hand atop his shoulder, fingers that fall along skin - that grow harsh as he speaks. their closeness, intimate - his hand, almost ready to choke the other. "despise you-"

because you were better than me. because you deserved to win.

"despise you because you should have-" his fingers are a clench around godo's neck - a threat that fails to act, a moment's closeness, raw. a heat between them, a fire that burns ( that has always burned ).

you should have killed me.

but he'll never say it. oh god no, he wouldn't.

instead, his other hand greets the stubble of godo's cheek - hands firm in their hold, a press of his mouth onto the other. hot and wet, his lips are harsh; a kiss that begs to bite. anger that keeps his hands, still & cruel.

"you should have died."

[orphanedwolfandfriends]

So fellers, I can't promise that this'll be the last post I make about them. They don't fucking listen when they're the reason why nothing's going their way. I may be petty, but blocking, reporting, and IP banning them with the handy dandy statcounter is STRONGLY recommended (if you can afford to anyway, statcounter has a monthly payment thing).

I personally suspect that they have an alt account that none of us are aware of, and I'll say with full confidence that I could be wrong.

I started knowing they existed on account of their dry writing and their godmodding, and after, they'd start to ask a mutual some intrusive and condescending messages on why they're so kind to me. Not my character apparently, me. They don't bother to learn character names and just use URLs to shit talk. They'd ask why there's fanart of my woof child and their muse, which lmao, why's that a fucking problem? Mind your own beezwax. They would also bombard that mutual with asks about their shadowban issue, why can the mutual see other people's asks instead of theirs, and the most the mutual could do was tell them what it means and how they can fix it (which they never did). And as you might've seen earlier, they said me drawing fanart of fictional characters was "weird" and talked about it like it was self insert art I was doing. Self insert art's not even an issue to begin with but yet they took it personally lmao. Perish. Also I wouldn't make my self insert be a fucking child, and the art wasn't even shippy in the slightest.

It got to the point where my mutual blocked them, and they moved onto a Vegeta blog, and really milked that cow dry for how long they'd keep messaging them and whining about them not jivin' with the godmodding, along with complaining to that Vegeta and someone else about everyone making bad comments about their oc. If you look into their blog, you'll see that this person does not have a bio what so ever. Not even in a separate post. So quite clearly they're just expecting everyone to submit to her Mary Sue powers despite the fact we know nothing about them. They even info dumped the same Vegeta through an ask which, dude. Limited text. Look it up.

And then, they would bombard a Raditz rper and bitch about how he's not submitting to their random stranger shit while Raditz accepted a fucking BLT from one of my adult muses, bombard an oc blog like "you're flirting with Raditz, I can tell, your oc's not any better than MINE", AND, try to act like they're such a hotshot at writing, which as you might've guessed, they're not. And they're actively painting themselves in a bad light instead of listening to people and accepting boundaries. They also bugged the shit out of a Beerus mutual, and another mutual who writes ocs, just 'cause the other's muse was just vibin' and giving Beerus food. There's literally nothing wrong with that, yet they'd keep bugging the other mutual with shit like "oh beerus is only keeping you around 'cause you're giving him food, beerus isn't nice blahblahblah".

Do you see a pattern here? They'll get pissy when they don't get any attention from all four of those characters, and send jealous, petty bitch-sounding messages over two friggin children that are just being nice. Imagine being jealous of a fucking child. Actually suck in that shame like a juice box, 'cause that is PATHETIC. Jealousy is legitimately not a healthy thing to have, especially over something like roleplay, and when you actively guilt trip or shit talk them just 'cause of that, that's even more pathetic. And hella possessive. Good luck being possessive when the muns aren't interested in your oc to begin with lmao.

They also chased off somebody after stalking them for a full on year, as I've been told, which from people saying "that explains a lot" when I said who they were, that's...unsettling. Not surprising, but unsettling. And they're suspected to be another individual named Skye. I dunno if that's true but that's why I say "suspected."

TLDR; Please for your own sanity, block @phoenixissims and report them for their harassment. Do whatever you can to keep them far away from you as possible. The Dragon Ball side of the RPC is not the only RPC they've harassed over the years, so it isn't their first rodeo with being annoying and creepy. Do not waste your time with a message.

Now with all that out of the way, phoenixissims, go fuck yourself with a pitchfork, and everyone else? Have a nice rest of the month. I'm going back to my usual tomfoolery.

[hotcocoaandstripedsweaters]

OC-tober Day 22: Kisser having a difficult conversation

Recently, I’ve been working on a Star Wars fic with a higher than usual number of OCs. The fic isn’t posted yet, but I thought I might put a few of these out there.

Once again under a cut, what can I say

The original post is here by @icannotreadcursive.

Day 1

~+~

“Oh vod’iiiiikaaaa,” Kisser sing-songed in the manner of annoying older brothers everywhere.

“What.” Melt snapped. Her voice was muffled by the pillow she was attempting to smother herself with.

“Is that any way to talk to your favorite batchmate?” Kisser clicked his tongue in faux disappointment.

“Go. Away.”

Kisser would have continued to pester her, but instead his gaze caught a PADD on the floor, clearly flung in a fit of pique. He picked it up to find it unlocked and opened to a dense bit of legalese. He sat on the bunk, dangerously within kicking range.

“Do you want to tell me about it and keep your place on the page or let me figure it out on my own and lose it?” he asked.

Melt grumbled, “It’s not even about that. You won’t get it.”

“Fair enough,” Kisser settled in, locking the PADD and setting it aside. “I still want to help.”

Melt threw the pillow at him, but sat up. She scowled, but her eyes were tellingly red-rimmed.

“How is it,” she bit out, “that there are seven sisters in the 501st, but somehow I’m the only one in the fucking 212th?” 

Kisser winced. “Bad luck?”

Melt scowled at him, but accepted it. “Intellectually, I know that.”

“But it doesn’t feel fair.”

“Nope.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Before Kisser could figure out what to say, Melt spoke again.

“It’s like…I hear stories about other sisters who came out and because they were visible, other sisters realized what was up with themselves or finally felt like there was a word for it and they found each other. That happened for like…four of the 501st’s? But here, I’m the only one as far as I know, and it gets lonely, cause none of the rest of you can really relate and I don’t have anyone I can talk to who just gets it without me needing to explain.”

Kisser frowned. “Sounds like it blows.”

Melt snorted, nudging his back with her knee. “Yeah, it blows.”

“You can’t even punch the problem,” he said.

That got a bark of laughter. “I dunno,” she mused, “punching a Kaminoan might make me feel better.”

“I can draw one on the punching bag at the gym?” Kisser offered.

Melt properly giggled at that. “I’d love to see you explain that to the Commander.”

“If it lasts long enough for the Commander to see it, you aren’t punching hard enough.”

They didn’t go to the gym, though. Instead, Melt picked the PADD back up off the desk. “Did you know the legal requirements for a species’ eligibility for citizenship–besides, you know, approval by two thirds of the Senate–are sentience and sapience?”

Kisser desperately reoriented himself to the new conversational track. “Nope.”

“Do you even know the difference?” Melt teased, slightly too sharp but not hurtful–to Kisser, at least.

“Nope.”

“Sentience is about having sensations and emotions, sentience is about thinking and learning, basically. That’s the short version, anyway.” Melt highlighted a portion of the legalese as she spoke, like that was going to help Kisser any. Maybe it was just to have something to do with her hands.

“Makes sense,” Kisser said, mostly just to confirm he was listening.

“But that means they have to test for these things without being obviously specist,” Melt handed over the PADD, which Kisser politely pretended to skim. “So one of the tests is about extant socio-cultural structures and the capacity to interrogate them–not whether it’s punished to the point where no one does, that actually helps to prove it’s possible but gets into Sophont Rights issues.”

Kisser blinked, “Is that why the Kaminoans are so convinced we’re not sentient? They think we can’t philosophize?”

Melt laughed, “Kind of seems that way, doesn’t it? Anyway, an example given of this type of interrogation is ‘individuals assigned socio-cultural roles questioning, rejecting, and/or otherwise changing their assigned designations.’”

Something clicked into place. “Like gender?”

“Like gender.”

“So, by their own rules, we’re sophonts. And you’re literally proof.”

“Yup,” she popped the ‘p,’ “Like, we both already knew, it’s not a surprise to literally any Vode ever, but–proof positive. I could be Exhibit A. Me!”

“Damn,” Kisser breathed. “I see why you got mad.”

“Yeah.”

~+~

Day 23

[cadavertrolls]

Who’s the most cursed or biggest *ssh*le troll here.

Anon... do you want a fucking LIST? (CW for sexual violence, abuse, drug abuse, murder, etc etc past the cut. mun does not equal muse, the regular disclamers.) 

Ok first off with just the plain assholes just to get us started on a high note

Beanie is a con artist who seduces men and then robs them blind, extremely shamelessly.

Anthus is just... a cunt. He’s hard to be around, nasty to others because he’s afraid of people getting too close. Abrasive. He also robs people sometimes but not often.

Dira’ui is an entitled ex heir. EXTREMELY hemoist and a dick to everyone who he perceives as lower than him. He hates lowbloods and mutants with a passion, the only redeeming quality is that he’s depressed enough about not being a heir anymore that he doesn’t actually put effort into culling them if they do something wrong. 

Kyupid is a contract killer and is a general sadomasochist, he’s nice to you until he wants to do more to you and then he is extremely ruthless.

Misery will do just about anything to stay on top. She’s the reason Csiga is addicted to meth, the reason Anthus has drug problems, and why Daphne is hesitant to let her quads in on what her job actually entails which is creating and trafficking drugs for Misery.

Lawren can be decent sometimes however he has a habit of manipulating trolls and using them for sex, then promptly breaking their hearts or more likely just killing them. He does have a couple quads he is legitimately nice to and has no ulterior motives with but that's 5 or 6 relationships out of HUNDREDS.

The whole Damask line is fucked up in the head. Vitelo will torture you and kill you with his matesprite most likely, Velvex has a mind control ability he keeps a whole harem of trolls around with, and he will Also kill you 9/10, Vitium will kill you if you get in his way and will generally treat you like garbage otherwise if you don’t give him a reason not to.

Ghoore, surprise, also kills people! He treats his workers like his own children, sure, but outside of that he’s incredibly violent and possessive to the point he cut off his matesprite’s limbs for having the audacity to make friends. He met Svedka after he kidnapped him and fucked him up so bad he still works for Ghoore willingly after sweeps of not being in a relationship with him and being given the option to leave.

Cretel... Cretel. He is also violent and possessive and regularly kills his matesprite because it’s fun for him. He kills other people out of paranoia and also for funsies.

Bastillle. We know Bastille. We hate Bastille. Bastille is the reason Cretel is the way that he is. Nasty! Her descendant Suture, who i have yet to draw, is not much better.

Rotten will kill you, maul you, and eat you but he’s not malicious about it he’s just a feral animal basically.. he’s getting better. I think OVERALL he’s my most cursed troll because he’s absurd and does cursed shit all the time but at least it’s sorta haha funny.

Vicera is cursed, he has a literal dead husband. as in his husband is a corpse. He is also apart of the group of my trolls who enjoys the frequent torture and murder of others.

There are so many others that I cant list them all but i hope this gave you an idea of how fucked my cast is!

[corvidyus]

Hello there. I’m Corvidyus. It’s a pretty sick name for myself in my opinion, but you can shorten it however you like - Corvid, Dyus, Crow, whatever you will.

They/them pronouns for me please. This crow’s a mystery indeed.

Please, if you ever so desire, send me an ask, a comment, a tag. I love them.

Find me on ao3.

Current obsession: Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Main fandom tags, for your blocking or browsing convenience: btvs (buffy the vampire slayer), st (stranger things), dn (death note), rotmnt (rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles)

Tags of my work: raven writing desk (writing), raven drawing desk (art), croaking (my general musings, thoughts, reviews)

current running tab of fic ideas

btvs

buffy getting her tattoo removed after 2x08 … just a funsy little fluff piece mostly focused on her and giles and maybe her mother as well

i really want to write a sort of spiritual continuation of buffy around the s3 ~ s4 time period, and make my own pseudo season. Particularly, I want to talk about her whole self sacrificial stuff and lack of direction in life (which I… heavily relate to)

Chosen 3 (Kendra, Faith, and Buffy) AU

More content with Kendra in it (set nebulously before her death / in an au she doesn’t die)

AU where angelus is even worse to Buffy; toys with her while pretending to have a soul and be Buffy’s BF for a bit

AU where Buffy comes back as a vamp at some point in the series, and struggles to keep herself under control (possibly after she was in heaven to add insult to injury?)

Some kind of fucked up animal reincarnation AU - buffy is cursed to live and reincarnate as many animals, all living at once. It’s hard to get back to Sunnydale (she has extremely bad luck the closer she gets), and hard for her friends to find any instance of her due to the amount

Some long and introspective s7 thing about Buffy and depression

Into the buffyverse (comics?)

some kind of thing where dawn and buffy have an introspective conversation after it’s discovered that she’s the key. I’m talking like, basically Buffy finds inconsistencies in her memories when she really looks; for example she can’t justify why she ran away over the summer between seasons 2 & 3 with Dawn in the mix, because none of her justifications or thoughts either way even involved her (even tho if she were “real” they def would’ve)

buffy sees a counselor (maybe au where that one guy doesnt die) but has trouble sharing her feelings so willow helps her open up with a spell focused on emotion sharing, which of course backfires as usual, and forces buffy to overshare

buffy heist fic. no reason. Purely vibes. Inspired by this edit

s4 rewrite (starting around hush, or within the next handful of eps) that does a better (read: more threatening and manipulative, and maybe not laughably easy to break into) initiative, with deeper parallels between adam riley and buffy

some kind of pre-chosen (possibly even pre-s5) original thing, involving like a slaypire big bad and maybe some magic ritual bs. Maybe i’d call it blackhole sun to be edgy 

Furry Buffy AU bc I’m giving into my terrible urges

stranger things

maybe a little introspective piece on steve. I don’t have much to add that others haven’t gone over… but I find him so neat

Arcane

vi hurt comfort sniff sniff sniff?

Death Note

Rather than kill L, Rem partners with him to take down Light … this one’s mostly finished, I’m just struggling with the end

[diadxrling]

rubbcrhose​:

A N all but familiar taste enters Mammon’s mouth, forcing him to swallow. Hard. Talking about these sort of things seem to have this effect on him, so he’s glad when Dia doesn’t press him to speak more of them. When he notices her beginning to cry, that only compels him to kneel down near the edge of the bed, arms settling down to have a finger gently wipe her cheek.

“W E L L it wouldn’t be my intention to do that– To purposely hurt you.” Honestly what would he even get out of that? Dia was already quite loyal to him and was working for him as well, entirely on her own violation. There was no need for his usual manipulating tactics. Not when she seem rather adamant to be around him quite often.

“I can’t undo what he’s done to you, but… I can try my best to.. to give you what you want and what you need as long as you… You stay here. With me.”

T H E Sin draws closer, lips pressing a faint kiss to a wet cheek. His head tilts to the side, sinking into the bed and for a moment he closes his eyes; tiredness beginning to set in.

“P E R H A P S I’m not as bad as him as I thought. I mean, I have you here, don’t I? And he probably wishes he could have you back, but I’m not going to give you over. Once I deem something as mine, I have a hard time letting go…” That encourages a small smirk to form, his eyes blinking open.

“Y O U seem to be a lot happier here with me and I… I suppose I have trouble understanding why. I don’t make others happy. I usually do the complete opposite so to see and hear I am is.. is weird.” His fingers rubs at his eyes as he sits back and lets out a small yawn. Smothering his face into the covers, Mammon chitters; a rare noise of his. He’s so tired that he can’t even feel embarrassed that he’s made such a noise. The rest of him soon follows and he’s back to laying on the bed, his face still hidden within the covers.

“D I A, Dia, Dia…” The Sin turns his head, a purr coating his every word, “My radiant ruby. I don’t think you know just how much… I love you.” His eyes shutter close as exhaustion finally settles in. He was so tired that he was unaware of the words that left his mouth but that would have to be a problem later him would have to deal with. Mammon was already starting to doze off.

She leaned into his touch, the safe feeling she was so used to when around the Sin returning once more. It was strange, in a way Dia thought she knew what had happened. She knew how busy minds could get and how sometimes when you can’t seem to quiet down those voices, you say things without thinking about them enough. 

“And that’s what I want, to just stay here, with you” Mammon already gave her what she wanted and needed. For the first time in maybe forever, the succubus had a save place to live, a work she enjoyed and company she... liked. She wouldn’t have been around so often if she didn’t want to be here, there had been nothing forcing her to be here for the longest time. If anything, it had been the other way around, with her being forced to leave. 

Not anymore though, now there was nothing making her leave the place she felt most comfortable at. Smiling softly seeing the Sin slowly give into exhaustion, his mind hopefully a little clearer now. “I would fucking hope you wouldn’t give me over to him” Dia said playing offended before chuckling, laying down in bed “You are so much better than him” she added softly looking at him as her own yawn escaped. 

Musing, his question over the succubus herself didn’t really have an answer as to why she was so happy here. Well that was a little lie, she knew one big reason for her happiness, but just thinking about putting that into words made her brain short circuit. Before she could find anything to say, Dia was caught off guard by the chitter which was the most adorable sound she had ever heard from the Sin. 

Moving closer to him trilling a little in responds being too tired to try and mimic his sound. Laying down by his side, opening her mouth to finally comment on what he had said but getting cut off by the Sin starting to talk. A light blush tinting her cheeks at the nickname, a tired smile on her face not thinking much more would be said. 

Dia was right about that Mammon not speaking many more words, but the ones he did make the succubi’s heart stop. Now staring at him, eyes as wide as they could be her whole body seemingly pausing for a few seconds. Tail starting to go crazy behind her before she managed to pin it down with her leg still just looking at the other waiting for something to happen. 

But nothing did happen, there was no reveal that this was a joke or her waking up from a dream... this was real. 

“I love you too...” her voice gentle and filled with more emotion then she sometimes showed in a whole conversation all packed into four little words. Words she repeated a few more times as she cuddled into Mammon, slowly falling asleep. 

This better not turn out to be a dream...

[stormkobra-5]

Hi! :) Congratulations with 1600 followers! 👍 I enjoy reading your fanfiction! 💖💖💖 If requests for the prompts are still open, please 20) receivers muse is touch starved and sender gives them affection they aren't used to. With Jake Lockley, please. Thank you! :)

I’m so sorry the prompts have taken me a ridiculous time to do, guys, I've been extremely sick recently. I’m feeling better but the exhaustion is lingering, but I’m trying to write again!

Prompt: 20) receivers muse is touch starved and sender gives them affection they aren't used to + Jake Lockley

Rating/Warnings: 18+, adult themes, parties, strip clubs, professional female entertainers, dance clubs, yes this is a gif of Blue for Jake, flustered!Jake, Jake doesn’t know what to do with himself, I’ve never been inside a club of any sort (especially a strip club) and it shows, I’ve been daydreaming about dancing with Jake for fucking DAYS

It was just supposed to be one dance.

The local club always requested Jake to drive their girls to their functions by name. His limo was aesthetically pleasing inside and out, working with the high-end air of the place, and they all knew how well he could drive— not to mention, he kept them safe. He kept himself presentable and professional, too. Nobody asked any questions if he disappeared for a week or two, although they always voiced their upset about him going missing. He always promised to return.

It got easier when Marc and Steven found out about him… well… easier to get to the job, not easier to do it. It was difficult to drive straight when he had twenty girls changing in the back of the limo while his alters were freaking out in their head about it.

Finally, he’d had enough. He put his foot down. Right there in the car (not literally, he wasn’t an idiot). “Mierda! This is my fucking job, and last I checked, it pays the fucking bills, doesn’t it?! So long as it does that, I don’t see why you’re fucking complaining!”

Luckily, he’d had the sense to put AirPods in so he could pretend to be on the phone before “hanging up.” “Perdonamé, señoras,” Jake said to the silence in the back, “I live with my brothers, and they’re being idiots. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.” They’d giggled at his predicament, of course asking if there was anything they could do to help— they’d always liked him.

And then you showed up.

The boss had introduced him to you on your first day, and Jake immediately wondered why you were there. The other girls could be cruel in order to keep their claws in a favorite client, but you? You were far too sweet for this kind of environment. You were all genuine smiles and sparkling eyes and excitement, which was not. Good. He saw the other girls eyeing you like hyenas and suddenly felt protective.

He knew what could happen to sweet girls like you.

“What are you doing in a job like this, señorita?”

You dropped your gaze, as if a little ashamed. “I needed the money. College is expensive.”

Jake only frowned. He knew the other girls would be possessive of their own clients and try to steal any new ones that came to see you. Maybe even violently so. He’d seen what those 8-inch heels can do. The fact that yours were significantly less long— and your outfit also significantly more modest— worried him. You weren’t prepared for a job like this.

Jake happened to be having a drink at the bar the first time you performed, and he was, for lack of a better word, hooked. You were different, singing and dancing for the sake of it rather than for however many dollars a man could throw at you— but, fuck, did they make it rain for you.

The other girls were instantly jealous. Without even realizing it, you’d captured the attention of every single man in the club, drawing a crowd; and you actually went shy under all the attention.

It was all a blur for Jake, but somehow he ended up on stage helping you thank the crowd, bid them goodnight, and was personally driving you home. “Thank you, Mr. Lockley,” You’d chirped as he walked you to your apartment door.

Jake had dipped his hat in response— as a courtesy, not to hide any sort of blush. “It’s just Jake for you, señorita.”

Your smile warmed his heart. “Okay. But you’ve gotta start calling me by my first name.”

Jake shook his head. “No, señorita; not yet. Maybe one day.” If he called you by your first name, he would know you. He can’t know you. He can’t. When you pecked his cheek, he swore his brain short-circuited. His whole face felt like it caught on fire, and the place of contact buzzed. He felt like he’d been thrown into anaphylactic shock or something, barely registering the fact that you went inside with a small smile on your face. He sat in his limo for a good twenty minutes, trying to compute what the fuck just happened.

And it happened every night.

Each night Jake felt like he was hurled headlong off the Empire State Building when you kissed his cheek. And yet he kept coming back for more. He couldn’t understand it. Why did he keep doing this to himself? He could just hurry and walk away before you had the chance to kiss him.

But that feeling was nothing compared to when you asked him to dance with you. Jake nearly spit out his drink. “¡¿Qué?!”

You started to nervously fiddle with your hands a bit. That little habit reminded him of Steven. The two of you would get along great, if your excited and passionate ramblings to him every night when he drove you home were anything to go by.

“It’s a Spanish number,” You admitted softly, unable to meet his gaze. “I chose it awhile ago, but, uh… my tutor bailed. I was never able to learn it; not to mention it’s a two-person number. So I figured—“

“I’d be happy to do it with you,” Marc spoke for him, a shit-eating grin on his face. You didn’t seem to notice the lapse into a Chicago accent, only erupting into a beaming grin that made him feel clammy.

It was Jake that you hugged, though, kissing all over his face gratefully. He felt like one of those flustered cartoon characters covered in lipstick marks. But… he couldn’t deny you.

Your little apartment was transformed into a dance studio. Jake came over every other night, when you weren’t working, and taught you the moves. If he thought your kisses gave him the chills, he’s not exactly sure what was happening to his body when it was moving with yours in tandem to fiesta music. When there were moments that felt frozen in time between you, moments where he wanted to close the distance between you but was too fucking scared to do it. What’s worse was he started to crave it. You were the first person that had ever touched him so gently when he expects a hit or a stab, and he yearned for it.

The night before your number, you gave Jake another kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Jake.”

Jake had returned it, before he even realized what was happening. The sensation of his lips on your skin felt like hot fire in his system. “De nada, señorita.” Your smile was worth whatever discomfort he felt.

He watched you leave with stars in his eyes and a distinctly British voice in his head, rather excited.

“Go for it, mate! We’ve got your back!”

Yes, it was only supposed to be one dance.

But it was the best one of his life when at the end, when everyone was cheering and demanding an encore, you kissed him. For real this time. His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. You. Kissed. Him. You were hugging him. You were all fucking over him and he felt like he was going to explode but he loved it.

And he called you by name.

Your number became the most in-demand in the city for being the most sexy, sensual dance with clothes on that ever happened in New York— not to mention for being the most sexy couple, apparently. You would have many more dances after that.

[soultattered-a]

//fun fact, I love @hoeinhoenn a lot and drew maple listening to beautiful girls on repeat

[fandom-puff]

Mating

Pairing: Remus Lupin X Reader

Requested by: anon

Summary: you’ve done a good enough job of covering up your attraction to your new colleague... that is until the moon cycle heightens his senses...

AN: I’m getting there with these requests! I’ve been going through them at my own pace- sorry if I’ve rejected your request though- id rather not write it if I don’t have the inspiration to do so 💖💖💖

Also I went to TOWN on this one, so feedback is greatly appreciated !!

Gif creds to owner as usual x

Warnings: rough, possessive sex, swearing, breeding kink , werewolf tricks (scents, mating, knotting)

Drawing your robe tighter around yourself, silently cursing Severus for putting people in detention. You had agreed to take over his patrols for the night, when in reality, you wanted nothing more than to go to bed. Sighing, you held your lit wand out in front of you, walking up the corridor, occasionally nodding at a passing ghost, telling Peeves to bugger off, greeting snoozing portraits...

The silence of the dark corridors allowed you to mull over your thoughts, figure out some lesson plans, what you would get people for christmas the next time you visited Hogsmeade, but as usual, your train of thought wandered, soon landing on a particular Professor. Smiling dumbly to yourself, you pictures him in your mind, from his grey-flecked hair to his shabby, patched robes; his kind, tired eyes to his light stubble and moustache; his trim chest to his long, elegant fingers...

Shuddering slightly, you tugged your lip between your teeth. What that man could do with his fingers, you mused, remembering at dinner earlier that evening, watching as he wrapped his hands around his goblet- you came to the conclusion that those fingers would look much better wrapped around your throat...

You were so lost in your thoughts that you bumped headlong into the object of your desires. How did you know it was him? Was it his gentle hands grasping your arms to stop you falling backwards? Was it the gentle words he uttered asking if you were okay? No. It was his scent, of all things, which lingered on his comfy knitted jumper- tea and books and... the forbidden forest... you couldn’t help but inhale a few gulps before mumbling your apology, making to move past him. Those hands grabbed your arm again, stopping you dead in your tracks.

“Why not walk with me, YN? Your patrol won’t be as lonely,” he said kindly, smiling down at you. You could see a slight glint of his white teeth in the wandlight as you nodded. Together and in relative silence, you strolled the corridors, occasionally murmuring to one another- yes the weather had been a bit rubbish lately, that book is excellent, no I didn’t know it’s the full moon in three days...

You knew about remus’s condition, as everyone on the staff did. Why was he bringing it up? Did he think you were scared? Did he think you would run away once it clicked? You didn’t care that he was a werewolf, of course you didn’t. If anything, it often made you wonder what he was like in bed before the Full moon. He seemed tired all the time, but you had read about mating- would mild-mannered Remus Lupin evolve into a primal beast? Would he dig his nails into your skin as he got carried away? Would he fuck you from behind like an animal? Did he have a deep-rooted urge to fill you with his seed and watch you swell with his pups...?

“YN? You aren’t listening to a word I’m saying, are you?” Remus’s voice shook you from your depraved thoughts.

“Hmm?” You asked, letting out a shaky breath. Your knees were wobbly and you could feel heat and wetness pooling in your knickers. You would most certainly be fucking yourself tonight thinking of him.

“I said we’re at my rooms. You’re very welcome to come in for a cup of tea if you like? Might have something stronger in a cupboard somewhere for a nightcap,” he said, smirking slightly. Were your eyes deceiving you or did he just lick his lips?

“I... Er... yes please?” You said, nibbling your lip. Your midnight masturbation would have to wait tonight it seemed. You took a seat on one of Lupin’s armchairs as he pottered about the kitchenette, fixing tea for you both. He soon carried it over and sat opposite you as you sipped at your drinks, once again silent. Remus inhaled deeply through his nose and leg out a soft sigh, before fixing you with a stare, his eyes flashing amber- or was that just the firelight playing tricks?

“God, I wish I was a legilimens,” he hummed. You frowned, cocking up your eye brow and setting your teacup down.

“Why’s that?” You asked, leaning forward, your lips slightly parted.

“Because I’d be able to figure out what’s got you so aroused,” he murmured. You gulped, biting your lip hard as you stared at one another before your lips were smashed together in a messy, desperate kiss. Your teeth clashed and you were both grabbing handfuls of the other’s hair as Remus pulled you into his lap, moaning lowly. “I guess that answers that question,” he grunted as you tipped your head back and sighed.

“H-how did you know?” You gasped as his teeth scraped right over your pulse point.

“Your eyes glaze over when you daydream,” he grinned, nibbling your earlobe. “And do you want to know a lesser-known fact about werewolves?” You nodded eagerly, your nails scraping over his scalp. “Around and on the full moon, our senses peak. Touch, hearing, sight, taste... smell... I could smell your arousal before we were even on the same corridor, YN... now tell me... was that all for me?”

You shuddered as his growl vibrates through your throat. “Yes!” You whimpered, trying to grind on him, but there were too many layers between you both and you whined out dejectedly. “A-all for you, Remus, f-for ages now!” Remus grunted and licked at the blood vessel at the side of your neck, you pulse throbbing against his tongue.

“I know, darling. Moony knows...” you sighed softly, eyes rolling back as you felt gentle hands on your waist, stilling your movements. “If we carry on, YN... Moony will take over. He will claim you as his mate, eternally. If that is what you want, I am more than happy to oblige, but if you are even a shred unsure, please leave my chambers. We can discuss this after the moon when it is safe-”

You pressed a tender kiss to his lips, pulling away and resting your forehead against his. “I want this. I’ve wanted this for ages... please, remus, I’m yours. I’ve felt... drawn to you since we met. It makes sense,”

He smiled weakly. “You understand what you are getting yourself into, this close to the moon? Our first coupling together will not be tender. Passionate, most certainly, but by no means gentle,” you could feel his hands trembling from the effort of keeping control.

“I’m yours, remus,” you whispered, bringing one of his hands down to cup your soaked, clothed heat, biting your lip hard. “I want this. Please, remus, mate with me,”

It was as if something snapped inside him. Without the aid of your hand, he pressed his hand into your heat, feeling how slick you were even through your knickers, attacking your neck with feverish kisses as you rutted against his hand, the heel of his palm mashing into your clit in the most deliciously searing way. Reluctantly, remus pulled his hand away, kissing away your whimpers of protest as he carried you to his bedroom, flinging you down on the bed and hovering over you, his thumb and forefinger tracing the hem of your shirt. “Take it off, remus,” you begged, and he was all too happy to oblige, soon stripping you to your underwear. Gulping, he looked you in the eye as he trailed one finger up your navel, grinning as you shivered and arched your back. “Need to feel you, Remus, please!” You pleaded. Normally, remus would be unwilling to undress fully, ashamed of his scars, but this close to the Moon, he had only one thing on his mind. Almost comically quickly, he tugged his jumper, shirt and trousers off, kicking them aside, practically pouncing on you to kiss you again. You pouted at not being quite able to see his erection straining at his boxers, but were quickly consoled when you felt it pressing hard against your thighs.

“Remus!” You moaned, trailing your hands up his strong back, your fingertips dancing over the silvery ridges of his scars, clutching onto him as though your life depended on it. You could feel the heat radiating off him, hear his pulse quickening just like your own, hear him panting above you. You were so close to him, yet so far, your underwear providing an unbearably wide wall between you both as you longed to feel him against your most sensitive parts. As if reading your mind, remus briefly pulled away and with a flick of his wand, you were both completely bare. Mouth ajar, you eyed up his cock, feeling your cunt clench around nothing at just the thought of accommodating his throbbing length and girth. Sensing your worry, remus nuzzled his face into your neck and kissed your pulse point gently. “I won’t hurt you, darling,” he whispered. “Nor will Moony,” nodding, you spread your legs. Remus groaned as he inhaled, already getting drunk off the scent of your soaked nether region. “Another time, my dear, I am going to drink from your cunt until you can’t come any more,”

You shivered and nodded, biting your lip. “That had best be a promise,” you moaned out, pushing his hair out of his face, breathy gasps and moans escaping you as you felt the bulbous head of his cock tapping against your throbbing clit. “Please, remus,” you begged, your legs moving instinctively to wrap around him.

Your begging was all he needed. He pushed his thick cock into you, stretching you out, grasping your hips to stop your wiggling as he revelled in the soaking heat of your clenching channel, soon moving his hands to grasp your thighs and hold them further apart. “I am going to mate with you, yn,” he growled. “I am going to claim you as mine, and I will be yours. I will fill you with my seed until your swollen with my pups. And when I come, you will feel my cock swell inside you to make sure my seed takes root,”

The filth spewing from his lips had your head reeling, and you bucked your hips up eagerly, begging him to do all of those things as he began fucking you relentlessly, the sounds of skin slapping and the wet noises of your coupling filling the small room as you gripped onto eachother. Remus’s lips found yours and you moaned loudly into his mouth as his tongue collided with yours before he sucked on it gently, sending jolts of pleasure sizzling through your every nerve. You had never felt more alive, more full, more worshiped than you did in that moment, your nails dug into remus’s arms as his thrusting became sloppy as he neared his end. “P-please don’t stop, Remus! Don’t pull out, please! Need to feel you fill me up properly!” You cried, your head resting on his shoulder. Remus grunted and nodded, his hips snapping hard against yours as he neared his peak.

“Bite my neck, YN, love!” He grunted. “Mark me as your mate while I do the same to- Ah! Fuck! Good girl!” You sunk your teeth into his pulse point, sucking harshly. Instinctively, you knew just where to bite, and you gently licked over the wound, moaning lowly as you felt the base of his cock begin to swell as he stilled inside you, the first spurt of cum painting your walls as his groaned out lowly. He basked in his orgasm for a brief moment, before leaning down to suck and bite your neck the same way you had.

You screamed.

The bite to your neck caused a white-hot surge of pleasure to rip through you as you felt your trembling body come undone, your stretched walls clenching tight around Remus’s swollen cock, milking every last drop out of him as you panted, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sobbed from the overwhelming pleasure and the rush of hormones your mating had caused.

Cooing gently, remus lowered you carefully onto your side, facing him, his cock still swollen inside you for the time being. The slight movement had you whimpering and Reaching up to kiss him messily. “I love you,” you moaned, hiding your face in his neck as your body relaxed.

Remus smiled gently and kissed your head and face over and over, pushing your hair out of your eyes. “I’m sorry it was so intense, darling. It’s not always like that, I promise,” he whispered.

“N-no... I loved that. The connection, both emotional and... physical,” you reached up and stroked the tender bite at your throat, shuddering as it twinged. “I am yours,” you murmured, reaching to kiss him gently.

“And I am yours,” he responded, stroking your hair. “My beautiful, beautiful mate, I love you,”

Soon, his cock softened enough to slip out of you, and you groaned softly, already very achey from your coupling. Remus smiled apologetically and spelled away the remnants of your pleasure, tugging the covers up around you. Instinctively, you massaged your lower belly, although you knew it was unlikely that he had knocked you up so soon, especially as you were on wizarding contraceptives. You frowned slightly, a sad twinge rattling your innermost instincts. Remus laughed gently.

“Soon, sweetheart. Soon you will swell with my pups. Just not quite yet,” he said gently, knowing that your mating would have unlocked something deep rooted in your instincts, something rather maternal. You pouted a little but nodded, curling into his side. He was right. There would be plenty of time for breeding later. Before then, you and your mate had some catching up to do before the full moon...

Tags: @a-hopeless-fan @lotsoffandomrecs @justanotherwildstar @rai-strangebr @zodiyack @haphazardhufflepuff @dumbfuckinslytherin @severuslovebot @darkthought15 @rabeccablake @sambucky8 @eleven-times-lively @talksoprettyjjx @extra-trash77 @rangerelik @dracosbbygorl

[seijorhi]

Patience of a Saint

An Ushijima x virgin reader commission for the wonderful @hearteyes-candyskies, I hope you enjoy it, bby! 💕

Ushijima Wakatoshi x female reader

TW non-con, nsfw, smut, virgin reader

“Wait, you’re kidding me, right?”

Ushijima simply shrugs, “Why would I joke about something like that?”

Semi and Tendou share a glance, the former hiding a smirk behind the glass rim of his beer bottle. Tendou had been the one to drag them both downtown for ramen in the middle of the night, an impromptu reunion of sorts, now that the volleyball season had wrapped up and Tendou was back in Sendai.

Perhaps his first mistake had been to allow his friend the option to stay with him instead of booking a hotel. Though, truth be told, Tendou would have undoubtedly monopolised his time regardless of where he was staying, and Ushijima would have allowed him to.

They were friends, after all, and that was what friends did. He was just glad that Semi had been roped in alongside him. 

When and how the conversation had steered towards his relationship with you, more specifically the details regarding your bedroom exploits together, Ushijima isn’t entirely sure, but he has no reason to lie to his friends.

The disbelieving look on Tendou’s face, however, makes him wonder if he’s said something wrong. “You mean to tell me that you’ve been dating this girl for how many months now, and you haven’t actually slept together yet?”

At that, Ushijima shakes his head. “We’ve slept together,” he corrects, taking a sip of his own beer. He likes sleeping with you, finds an odd sense of comfort he’s never felt before, waking up to find you curled against his side. 

Most mornings Ushijima has no trouble getting out of bed for an early start. He’s found that lately, at least on the nights you stay over, that’s no longer the case. 

The snort from his right is abruptly cut off into a choking cough as Semi tries and fails to mask his amusement. “He means sex, dude. You haven’t fucked her yet, have you?”

“No.”

The loud cackles from the ex-middle blocker are enough to draw the attention of several other patrons, but Tendou pays them no mind. “Why the hell not? Is she hideously ugly or something?”

“Nope,” Semi answers in his stead, a little too quickly for Ushijima’s liking. But he supposes he cannot blame his friend for noticing your attractiveness. You are, of course, beautiful - he’s told you many times.

A lone, red eyebrow quirks, glittering amusement dancing across Tendou’s face, “Are you… are you having trouble performing, big guy?”

Semi almost chokes on his mouthful, and even Ushijima feels the tips of his ears flush red. “No,” he asserts with a frown. “She…” he pauses, unsure for the first time whether this might be a line that he’s crossing to reveal something so personal between the two of you.

It’s not like he hasn’t discussed sex with them before. He has an almost uncomfortable amount of knowledge regarding the girls the redhead has been with, and Semi is no better.

(Semi was actually far, far worse.)

And truth be told he’s never been shy to share his own exploits with his friends, either. You might be the first girl that Ushijima’s ever loved, but love is not a necessary requirement for sex. He ensured that his partners left satisfied and so did he, there wasn’t anything more to it than that.

But you mean something to him. You mean everything. 

“She… wants to wait,” he says quietly. “She’s-”

Tendou’s red eyes widen, his face transforming into an expression of delighted surprise as he puts it all together. “She’s a virgin?!”

“Hey, dumbass,” Semi grunts, smacking his old friend over the back of his head, “you wanna say that a little louder? I don’t think the entire restaurant heard you.”

Tendou waves off his admonishment with a flick of his wrist, his attention firmly fixed on the ace. “So I was right then? You found yourself a cute, innocent little virgin for a girlfriend?”

Ushijima doesn’t reply, he doesn’t need to. 

He can still remember the scared look on your face the first time you stopped him, the way your hands shook and your pretty eyes filled with tears as you explained. Did you truly believe he would leave you over something as simple as that? 

While he might have been… somewhat disappointed, he understood. He loves you, he’s known that for a while. He could be patient, wait for you to become accustomed to him, wait for you to get over your fears and apprehension.

Not that you make it easy for him. He knows you aren’t teasing him on purpose with low cut dresses and too short skirts, cuddling close in bed at night just so you can grind your ass against the swell of his cock, you’re too innocent for such things.

But that doesn’t make it any easier to ignore the heat that pools in his gut, the stirrings of desire and twitch of his cock every time you bend over in front of him and he’s rewarded with a perfect view. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s had to excuse himself to the bathroom, bracing himself against the wall, bent over and fisting his cock to the mental image of you spread out naked, desperate and begging before him. 

“Wait, wait, hold up. I’m still a bit ticked off that you’ve been dating this girl for months and managed to hide her from me, your very best friend. I wanna see pics!”

Ushijima exhales, “You will meet her tomorrow-”

But it’s a fruitless endeavour, as Semi’s already scrolling through his phone to pull up your social media. Dutifully he passes it across the table, and Ushijima can only watch as Tendou’s eyes widen and a wicked grin creeps across his face. 

“You, my big, beautiful, brawny friend, have the patience of a saint. My condolences.”

—

He meets you the very next day, and there’s a strange feeling in Ushijima’s chest as he watches you collapse into a fit of giggles at Tendou’s joke, the redhead’s arm slung casually over your shoulders.

He’s pleased that you get along with his old friends, it’s not something he’s ever had to concern himself with with his previous partners. They were nothing more than blips on a radar - not necessarily one night stands, but hardly worth introducing to the people who matter most to Ushijima.

Yet he can’t help but linger on Tendou’s comment from the night before.

You hadn’t told him that you were waiting for marriage. It wasn’t a religious vow you’d taken. It was just that you weren’t ready for sex yet. You asked for time.

And he’d understood. Your relationship was new, and he supposed that for your first time he was perhaps intimidating. You were shy. Nervous.

It was to be expected.

But hasn’t he proven by now that he can be gentle? That he loves you, and he has absolutely no intention of leaving you? You’re the only one he wants to be with - the only one he’ll ever want to be with. If you’re waiting for the right ‘one’ to lose your virginity to, what more does he have to do to convince you that he’s it?

Which makes him consider, watching you smile at him as you duck into his kitchen to grab some more snacks, whether you might not be as invested in this relationship as he is.

He doesn’t doubt that you love him, but even as you sidle up beside him, letting him tuck you to his side where you belong, he can’t help but question whether the true reason you haven’t allowed him to take you as he wants is because you’re still under the assumption that your relationship has an expiration date.

The thought doesn’t sit well with him.

Sex is separate from love, Ushijima knows that, but he’s also firmly of the belief that it can be an act of intimacy, an expression of love deeper than words or other actions can convey. He wants to feel that with you. 

He wants to watch you writhing beneath him, your pussy squeezing around his cock, milking it for all it’s worth, lost in the ecstasy that only he can bring you. 

He wants to know what sounds you’ll make, what pretty moans and gasps he can draw out from you as he fucks you within an inch of your sanity. 

He wants to look in your eyes the first time he makes you cum, wants to take his time, to kiss you slowly, baptise you in pleasure and watch as you surrender yourself completely to the love he has for you. 

Ushijima doesn’t have time to waste on romantic flings and relationships that will go nowhere. You are his future, so it does not make sense for you to keep holding yourself back where sex is concerned. 

The sound of your laugh breaks through Ushijima’s musing and he’s pulled back to the present as you recount the story of how the two of you met to the redhead. He’s told Tendou before, but somehow the way you tell it made it sound better. You paint him in a better light, make yourself out to be the awkward one, stumbling over your apologies when it was his fault that you’d tripped in the first place. 

You don’t have a clue about the weeks leading up to that moment, but it hardly matters. He’s content merely just to listen as you speak, your cheeks warming, long lashes fluttering as you glance up at him with that gentle smile of yours.

He loves you. 

Across from the both of you, he catches the pointed look in Tendou’s eye- 

It will be good for the both of you.

-and comes to a decision.

Unsurprisingly, the redhead just grins brightly when Ushijima corners him shortly afterwards, telling him that he will have to find somewhere else to stay for the night.

“No worries, I can crash at Semisemi’s,” he sings, rocking up onto the balls of his feet. “You two need your space, I get that.”

Ushijima nods, turning to leave, only for Tendou to reach out and stop him. “Yes?”

“You know, I kinda like her, Ushiwaka. Think she’ll be good for you, so try not to break her in two tonight, yeah?”

He frowns at the comment, causing Tendou to break into a fit of laughter. 

By now, he should be used to his friend’s ribbing, but the thought of hurting you even as a joke doesn’t sit well with the ace. 

To his credit, Tendou plays his role well. You all but beg him to stay for dinner, but he just mournfully shakes his head, sighing about Eita twisting his arm and forcing him to go watch him and his band play at some local bar.

And then, it’s just the two of you.

In hindsight, perhaps he should have put more effort into making this romantic for you. He’s never had to try with things like that before. He should have cooked dinner, and maybe considered candles and roses, or even music.

Instead, you order takeout and eat it sprawled across Ushijima’s lap, and he cannot find it within himself to mind. The most mundane activities are made better simply for you being by his side, he’s found.

He waits, fingers casually stroking along your arm as you curl up to his side to watch something on TV. You seem to be enjoying it, if the giggles that spill from your lips are anything to go by, but Ushijima finds himself distracted by the gnawing feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, an eagerness that has him twitching to act.

It doesn’t help that he’s all too aware of the softness of your body pressing against his. 

But he won’t have your first time together be on his living room couch, of all places. He has enough patience to wait for weariness to set in, and when you yawn trying to muffle it against his shoulder, Ushijima almost smiles. “Why don’t we go to bed?”

You nod, and he presses a gentle kiss to your hair before helping you up. 

He knows that you like to shower before sleeping, and while there’s a voice in his head that whispers for him to go and join you, Ushijima simply strips out of his clothes, sits on the edge of his bed and waits.

When you emerge from the steam, smelling faintly of the vanilla and citrus body wash he’d bought after the first night you’d stayed over, he stiffens. Instead of your usual sleeping attire (an old tee-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts) you’re clad solely in one of his fluffy towels, hair still damp, skin glistening with stray droplets of water.

“Hey, sorry I forgot my-” you pause, words trailing off as you take in the sight of your boyfriend, utterly naked. For a split second, you freeze in place, eyes wide and lips softly parted, like a deer caught in headlights.

And then, just as Ushijima moves to stand, you snap out of it.

“Oh my god!” you cry, whirling around and clutching the knot of your towel, hiding yourself from his view and burying your face in your hands. “I-I’m sorry!” 

It’s rather adorable how flustered you get by something as natural as nakedness.

“Why wou- you know what, nevermind. I…uh, I forgot my clothes, they’re just on my bag I think, could you, um- could you please pass them to me?”

He spies them, folded neatly on the top of the overnight bag you’d packed. Instead, he reaches out to take your hand and gently tug you back towards him.

“Wakatoshi, what are you-” but your surprised protests are swallowed up as he leans down to kiss you. Yet instead of softening to his touch, allowing him to take the lead as he usually does, you stiffen in his arms, your hands finding their way to his bare chest, trying to push him away.

“Toshi, just- just stop for a second, please?” you gasp, managing to extricate yourself from the kiss.

That won’t do.

He has to be gentle with you, but with anticipation coiling in his gut, his cock stirring at the thought of your almost naked body pressed against his, it’s easy for him to forget his strength as he rids you of the offending material, bends down and hefts you up into his arms. 

“Shh, little one,” he says, ignoring your shouts as he takes the three steps over to his bed so he can lay you down. “I know you’re scared, but you have no need to be. I won’t hurt you. I’m going to make us both feel good, I promise.”

He bestows another kiss against your forehead as he climbs over your trembling frame. 

“Babe… Toshi, please- I-I’m not, I don’t-” your eyes are wide and filling with tears and you’re shaking your head - it fills him with a flicker of unease, but he knows deep down that this is just temporary.

You need this as much as he does, and once he shows you how wonderful he can make you feel, you’ll thank him. 

Cradling your cheek with one large hand, he tries to tell you as much.

But your breath is coming in quick pants, your terrified eyes darting past his broad frame as if you’re trying to look for an escape route while pleas and whimpers spill almost incoherently from your lips, and he realises that words won’t be enough.

He’ll just have to show you. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, kissing you once more before turning his attention to the rest of your body. It’s not the first time he’s seen you bared, of course, but it is the first time he’s been allowed the luxury of taking his time to enjoy it.

Your whimpers are soft and distressed as his lips trail down the column of your throat, resisting the urge to nip and suck at the tender skin, and you squirm under him when his mouth finds your breasts. The sounds you make for him, your choked little gasps only feed the pit of hunger deep inside of him. You must be able to feel his cock, big and thick, rutting up against your stomach, leaving a shining trail of oozing pre-cum across your skin as he busies himself playing with your tits.

They’re soft and pillowy, just the perfect size for his hands to grasp and knead, and the way that you keen for him, jerking a little when he sucks a nipple into his mouth and laves his tongue over the pebbling bud is utterly captivating. You’re so caught up in the attention he’s paying to your chest that you miss the hand that trails down your side, snaking between your trembling thighs.

At least until long, thick digits swipe along your folds. 

Like a frightened little rabbit, your eyes widen and you jolt into action. “Wakatoshi, stop!” you cry, hands finding his chest once more to try and push him off of you, your legs kicking out uselessly beneath him. 

His expression softens, his thumb sweeping against your thigh in what he hopes is a reassuring manner. “Shh, it’s okay. I need to prepare you to take me, otherwise it will hurt.”

If anything, your expression only becomes more panicked. “No, no, no, no-”

“Let me take care of my girl. You’ll feel good,” he murmurs, and already his fingers are sliding back to your pussy. You’re not as wet as he’d like, but it’s no matter, as his thumb finds your clit, his other fingers returning to tease at your entrance.

The soft little moan you try and fail to bite back as one finger slides inside of you sends a rush of blood straight to his cock. It twitches and throbs, aching for relief and perhaps if you were anybody else, he might throw caution to the wind and fuck you right then and there, regardless of whether you were ready or not.

But as you shiver, gasping as he curls the thick digit inside of you, he’s reminded that he needs to have patience. You are not worth rushing, and despite the feral beast inside of him that’s snapping and snarling to sink into your heat, he wants to savour this.

You only get one first time, and he’s determined to make yours unforgettable. 

“That’s just one finger,” he tells you, his thumb circling your clit in slow, steady movements. “You’re going to take three before I can fuck you properly, understand?”

He doesn’t want to break you in half, after all.

You still writhe beneath him, shaking and jolting as he teases your shining pearl and coaxes your pussy into accepting another finger, and when he lowers his mouth back to your tits to add to the pleasure building inside of you, a sob bursts free.

“Please- please, Toshi!”

A third finger prods at your entrance-

“Please don’t!”

He almost winces at the sharp hiss of pain that escapes you, but he reassures himself that it will only be for a moment. The stretch and burn will give way to pleasure as he fucks them into you slowly. Your pussy is so warm, so tight, sucking the digits in deeper and when rough fingertips brush against a particular spot on your walls and you cry out, Ushijima allows a small, adoring smile to cross his face.

“Good girl,” he purrs, quickening his pace. 

You’ve always been so beautiful to him, but when you cum for him that first time, face flushed and dewy, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you try not to scream in pleasure, he doesn’t think there’s anything on earth that could possibly compare.

The same could be said about the way you taste, he thinks, greedily sucking your juices off of his fingers. 

“Wakatoshi,” you beg, lying spent across his bed still reeling from the afterglow of your orgasm as he slides your thighs further apart so he can settle between them. He grunts a little as he wraps his hand around his flushed cock and guides it to your sopping entrance, marvelling at the way you shiver and mewl when he nudges it against your oversensitive clit.

Olive eyes find yours, and he cannot resist leaning down to claim your lips once more as he sinks slowly inside of you.

The sound that escapes him is deep and guttural, but the feel of your warm pussy clenching around his throbbing cock is simply heaven, and he almost - almost - loses control.

Forcing his eyes open, he watches your face as you take his cock, feeling every vein and ridge stretch you out, the pained whimpers that slip from behind clenched teeth. He knows that he’s bigger than average, that his girth is impressive and that even with his foreplay you’re still squeezing around him like a vice, but he forces himself to take it slow, to allow you the time to adjust. 

He almost starts when you reach out to grab him, fingers painfully sinking into the muscles of his forearm as you fight off another wave of tears, so he pauses for a beat, peppering your face with more kisses. “You’re doing so well for me, such a good girl.”

When your grip eases, he resumes moving, drawing his hips back and trying not to curse at the friction your slick walls are creating. 

“I love you,” he grunts, “so much.”

And then he rocks his hips forward - steadily, filling you up again, allowing you to get used to his girth. He kisses you, trails rough fingertips gently along your skin, teases you finding all the sensitive spots that make you moan for him.

Gradually, he feels you relax around him.

The obscene sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you, the rhythmic slap of skin against skin is drowned out by your soft whines and pants as Ushijima slowly picks up the pace. He fucks you deeply, but not roughly, taking care not to hurt you anymore than necessary.

It’s slow and sensual - your body can’t help but respond to his ministrations, and when you clench around him, sucking him deeper Ushijima can’t help but groan, feeling the tight coil of heat in his core burn as pleasure ripples through him.

He wants more. Needs it.

Ushijima’s hands wrap around your thighs, easing them back towards your chest so that your ankles fall over his broad shoulders. He kisses at your calf when confusion flickers across your face, but doesn’t offer any explanation as he snaps his hips forward once more. The choked scream that leaves your lips is beautiful, but he can barely focus on that when he finally bottoms out, his balls slapping against your ass as another hoarse groan leaves him. 

He promised himself that he would be gentle with you, but as your velvety walls quiver and convulse around him and your lips fall open in another soundless scream as your second orgasm hits, he’s not entirely sure that he’ll be able to keep that promise.

There’s a tightening in his balls and he can feel the tether he has on his control fraying little by little as you moan for him, your hips rocking up to meet his fervent thrusts. You’re beautiful, perfect, and he’s losing himself to the feeling of being buried inside of you. It’s indescribable, the way your pussy’s fluttering around him, clenching and pulsing, kissing his cock with sweltering heat - it feels like the very edges of his sanity are blurring as he fucks himself deeper inside of you, his cockhead hitting your cervix with every thrust. He wants to cum, wants to fill you up with his thick load again and again and again, wants you so full it’s leaking out of you-

It won’t be enough, it’ll never be enough.

He loves you, and Ushijima won’t ever be satisfied again without the feeling of your pussy wrapped around him, milking him for every drop that he’s worth.

[tomurasprincess]

Kinktober Day 09: Somnophilia (A Witches’ Brew)

Day 09: Somnophilia Title: A Witches’ Brew Pairing: Witch Shindou x F!Reader Word Count: 2k Warnings: noncon, somnophilia, mind control, manipulation, drugging via potion, quirk use, Stockholm-ish, yandere Note: I stayed up late to finish this and now I am very tired. Hope you guys like 😂

Kinktober Masterlist

The first thing you hear when you open the door to the shop is the ding of the bell hanging above the entrance. You glance around and see an absolutely enormous amount of magic supplies, some you know the purpose of and some you don’t. Along one wall are floor to ceiling bookshelves, and there’s also a wall of magic potions and artifacts.

As you’re looking around, you hear the voice of what you assume to be the owner call out to you. He’s tall, with a muscular build and dark black hair and a smile that could light up a room.

“Hello, welcome to my shop! Can I help you find anything?”

“Hi, yes, I - “ You can’t bring yourself to finish that sentence, too embarrassed by what you’re after to even be able to say it.

“It’s okay,” the man smiles at you, and it's so warm that you can’t help but return it. “There’s no judgment here, I promise.”

“Well in that case,” you say hesitantly, “I’m here for a love potion.”

“Oh, I can definitely help you with that.” He motions for you to follow him to the back of the store. “My name is Shindou, by the way”

“Nice to meet you, Shindou.” You tell him your name before explaining why you’re here. “The love potion - it’s not how you’re thinking,” you say quickly. “I don’t want to force someone. Just make it a bit easier, maybe?”

He laughs gently as he glances back at you. “I told you, no judgement from me.”

Finally you reach a door that he unlocks and opens for you to walk through. In this room is a large cauldron and a worktable full of various magic components. “Feel free to sit down, and we can talk about what you’re looking for.”

You choose a chair a respectful distance away from the worktable, but one where you can still see everything going on. Magic has always fascinated you, and you don’t want to miss the chance to watch it in action.

“Well, I’ve been having such bad luck lately. All of the guys I’ve tried to go out with have canceled, or dropped out of my life entirely. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Your voice takes on a slight tremble at the last sentence, the constant rejection finally getting to you.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you,” Shindou scoffs. “If someone doesn’t want you, then they’re idiots.”

“You really think so?” You give him a shy smile.

“Of course I think so.” He turns away from you as he picks out various vials and strange looking ingredients, laying them out in front of him. “You said you only wanted something to help you out a bit?”

“Yes, exactly! I don’t want to alter anyone’s mind or anything.”

His smile has a hint of a smirk, eyes darkening just enough that you can notice. But it vanishes in the next second, leaving you to wonder if you only imagined it. “You’re so good hearted.”

He takes a mortar and pestle, grinding something into a fine paste that he puts in a bowl. He also grabs a red liquid and a green liquid, measuring them out before adding them to the potion he’s creating.

“I’ll need a hair of yours,” he reaches out to you before pulling his hand back. “Assuming you don’t mind, of course.”

“No, go ahead, I don’t mind.”

His finger traces a line down your jaw, causing you to shiver a bit at his touch. He smiles at your reaction before grabbing a piece of hair around your face and pulling it out. It’s just a few small strands of hair, and you watch as he puts them into the bowl and stirs them up.

“Why do you need my hair?” You can’t help but ask. “I don’t mean any offense, just curious.”

“Oh, since you’re wanting a more general love spell, I’m adding yours so that you’re the focus of the spell.”

You give a quick nod at his explanation. You know nothing about magic, and his reasoning makes sense. The reason you went to Shindou above a handful of other witches was because he came highly recommended by everyone you talked to.

The smell of the potion quickly fills the room, almost overpoweringly strong. It doesn’t smell bad, but it quickly gives you a bit of a headache, causing you to stand up and walk just a short distance away in an attempt to find a bit of fresh air. You see his hands move quickly through finishing the potion, mixing it up thoroughly before handing a small vial to you.

“Thank you so much,” you whisper as you clutch the potion to your chest. “How much do I owe you?”

“We can discuss payment in a second,” he stares at you with a look of deep intensity. “Why don’t you drink the potion first?”

“Why, is there something that could go wrong?”

“Nothing bad, I assure you. But potions can have different effects for different people to begin with, and I just want to make sure you’re okay.” He steps a few paces closer, rubbing down your arm with one hand. “Please humor me?”

You laugh as you uncork the potion bottle. “How can I say no to that?” You throw back the vial, throat working as you drink the whole thing in one rush. It tastes much better than you would have thought, but once you finish the bottle, you feel yourself sway on your own feet as dizziness overtakes you.

The bottle slips through your fingers before shattering on the hard floor below, and your knees buckle. Shindou wraps an arm around you before lifting you gently, gazing down at you with a look you can’t place.

But you think it looks like victory.

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Shindou chuckles to himself as he carries you to his bedroom using a secret doorway that only he can see.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for you to come into my shop, sweetheart?” Shindou muses at your unconscious form. He lays you gently on his bed, trailing his hands down your body as he begins to undress you. “I was getting so impatient watching you look at everyone but me.”

He unbuttons your shirt and bra before throwing them over his shoulder, and then slips down your pants to reveal your lacy pink panties.  “They would have only hurt you. I did you a favor, sweetheart.” He trails a finger up your clothed slit, causing your body to jerk a bit. “They won’t treat you well as I will.”

He activates his quirk slightly, fingers vibrating against the sensitive skin of your clit through your panties and drawing a deep moan from your throat. “See how responsive you are? Your body already knows you belong to me.”

He wraps a hand around the back of your neck, pulling you in for a deep kiss. He massages your tongue with his own, easily dominating your mouth with no resistance. His hand cups your breast, tracing feather light touches along your nipple and causing it to harden.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs as he moves down to your neck, sucking hard at your pulse point and leaving a trail of bruises wherever he kisses. “And I know you can hear all of this.”

As a response, your body trembles a bit in his grasp, and his chuckle is dark and amused. “The potion is doing its job. You're going to be able to feel everything I do to you.”

“This needy little body of yours is going to crave me.” He moves your panties to the side as his finger dips below, grinning as he feels how wet you are for him already. “Or maybe it already does.”

Two fingers slip into your heat as he kneels down, placing small kitten licks along your entrance. You let out a soft whine as you buck your hips up towards his mouth. “Since you can hear all of this, I’m going to explain what this potion will do to you.”

He curls his fingers up as he searches around on your inner walls, smirking when he finds a spot that causes you to clench around him. “I wasn’t lying when I said I could help you with a love potion,” he says conversationally, as if he wasn’t indulging freely in your body. “I just added a lock of my own hair when you weren’t looking.”

He lashes his tongue along your slit, licking up the wetness that has begun to leak out of you and nudging your clit with his nose. “The potion will make sure that you fall madly, obsessively in love with me, and only me. As it should be.”

And at that, he begins to slam his fingers against the spot he found, causing you to moan and clamp down around his fingers. Your hips buck back with his thrusts, and he knows you’re close already. You’re overly sensitive from the spell he laced into the potion, and when he sucks your clit into his mouth, you cum hard on his tongue, liquid gushing out of you that he laps up eagerly.

He doesn’t stop until you’re twitching to get away, body overstimulated and throbbing. Finally, he pulls away as he unzips his pants, removing them quickly and guiding his thick length towards your still fluttering pussy.

He snaps his hips in one quick movement, burying himself in your pussy instantly. “Fuck, you’re so damned tight,” he grunts as he begins to move. “You’re squeezing my cock so much that it's hard to move.”

His eyes light up for a brief second as he withdraws from you completely, glancing down at his cock and confirming what he’s thinking. There’s a slight amount of blood on the tip of his cock, and the sight makes him throb as he realizes he was the one to take your virginity.

He enters you again, but this time he makes short shallow thrusts as he tries to loosen your walls up a bit. The entire time, he strokes your clit with two fingers, activating his quirk and causing your head to fall back in pleasure as the vibrations run through you.

Finally he can move a bit easier, and his thrusts become savage, hard enough that your breasts bounce with every movement. You let out a broken moan as you near another orgasm, tears running down your eyes nd drool running out the side of your mouth. He grunts when your walls begin to flutter around his cock, balls tightening up towards his body as he reaches his own orgasm.

Your tight pussy milks his cock for every drop of cum in his aching balls, and he makes sure that he doesn’t pull out until he’s completely empty. He looks down at your fucked out form, cum oozing out of your pussy, neck covered in bruises and hickies. He doesn’t think you’ve ever looked so beautiful.

He gets up to retrieve a warm washcloth, using it to clean your body before he puts you in a pair of pajamas that he bought for you.  After he’s done taking care of you, he goes to the bathroom and cleans himself up before climbing back into bed with you, pulling you tightly into his chest.

He holds you there, murmuring sweet nothings until you finally wake up, eyes fluttering open to see his face smiling down at you.

“Hey sweetheart,” Shindou murmurs as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

Your face twists briefly into a mask of confusion, glancing around the room and at Shindou as if you’re trying to figure something out. “You - you gave me a potion, right? Brought me here and - “

You blush as you refuse to meet Shindou’s eyes, and you feel the deep rumble of his laughter against you. “Yes, I did. Is there a problem with that, sweetheart?” He pushes just a bit, wanting to make sure that the potion is in full effect. “I only did it because I love you so much.”

The look of concern and alarm falls from your face instantly as you smile back, rolling over to burrow your face into his chest. “Of course not. I love you too, Shindou.”

✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧

Kinktober: @thewheezingwyvern​, @vixen-scribbles​, @katsukisprincess​, @hisoknen​, @trafalgar-temptress​, @leeswritingworld​, @burnedbyshoto​, @bakugotrashpanda​, @kittycatkrissa​, @reinawritesbnha​, @yanderart​, @dabilove27​, @fae-father​, @anxietyplusultra​, @flutterfalla​, @angmarwitch​, @nereida19​, @babayaga67​, @fromsunnywithlove​, @dabis-kitten​, @bakugos-cumsock​, @yumeneji​, @the-grimm-writer​, @iwaizumi-chan​, @slashersheart​, @cissiewrites​, @bunnyywritings​, @bakarinnie​, @angie-1306​, @emplosion22​​, @lalalemon101​​, @videogameboiwhowins​​, @armoredashley​​, @f4nficbaby​​, @tenkoshimmy​​, @baroque-baby​​, @bbyspiiice​​, @thirstyforthem2dmen​​

[angeli-marco-writes]

Harry Holland - Polaroids

A/N & WC - I do not know Harry or the other people mentioned in this fic, nor do I claim to; this is a work of fiction. 3.9k.

Warnings - Swearing, mention of food, smut: depictions of oral (m+f rec), penetrative sex, use of toys, bondage & bdsm, photos being taken in the act, mild exhibitionism and definite voyeurism (not Harry or reader) 18+.

Summary - You and Harry have an exciting intimate life to say the least, and he rather enjoys taking photos of the two of you in compromising positions. However, in his sex-addled mind, one vital fact is let slip when he allows Sam into his room unsupervised.

“BUD, WHERE ARE THOSE PHOTOS you took of my food the other day?” Sam asks.

The sizzling of pancakes overlaps the conversation, and you mussing up Harry’s hair distracts him, his attention drawn to more important matters than his brother. Harry barely swallows his giant mouthful of food before speaking.

“By my bed there’s a huge pile, they’ll be somewhere,” he answers flippantly.

Flippantly.

Usually so cautious and so organised Harry lets one thing slip his mind for five seconds, and his life is going to fall through the cracks. His reputation will be utterly destroyed. Just with his brother, but it still stands. Sam is… more innocent than Harry has ever been. And Sam will also tell the others, and likely their friends…

“Remembered something, baby?” you muse sardonically from beside him, your hand halting its movements as you cup his jaw, turning him to face you.

The second his green eyes meet yours, you watch the world crumble in his eyes. You’ve never seen him scramble up from his seat so quickly. His bare feet slap on the tiled floor violently, thudding sounds echoing through the house as he blunders around, swinging around the banister with the force and elegance of an elephant.

“Sam! FUCK— Wait!”

“Don’t look in that pile of photos,” you add in a feeble shout.

It’s not like what Sam’ll find there is any secret. You’ve been together a long time, you and Harry, and everyone knows full well that you’re shagging, but that doesn’t mean you necessarily want them to know exactly what happens in the bedroom, in your most intimate, secret moments together. That’s sacred, even if it seems like sacrilege to so many.

No matter how quickly you hear Harry legging it upstairs, his lean legs carrying him up the stairs perhaps three at a time, his curly hair even more unruly than before from the exertion, you know he won’t be fast enough, and that Sam is an insolent bastard when he wants to be. You’ve lived with them all long enough and have had more than your fair share of near misses: no chance will you not be found out, this time you’ll be caught. Better than the alternative and the other times, you suppose, as you cram one more syrup-drizzled and strawberry-covered pancake into your gob, reluctantly trudging your way upstairs to the hive of fun.

It’s chaos by the time you get there. Dozens of artfully-taken photos spilled out onto your duvet, Harry’s freckled face paler than you’ve ever seen it, his hands tugging at his pyjama shirt convulsively while Sam stands on the other side of the room, his dark eyes wide, his expression agog, his jaw unhinged, staring blankly and pointing at whatever the most incriminating thing is he sees next. You just hope he doesn’t go ferreting through your drawers, because then you’ll really be in trouble.

“What… the fuck.”

You come up to Harry’s side, and wrap an arm around his slim waist, lending a weak, “Surprise?”

It’s their fault if they haven’t guessed, frankly.

You can’t draw your eyes away from the pictures, so many of them, all displaying different aspects of your sex life at varying degrees of explicitness. You can even recount the minutes and hours of pleasure that led to the photos, each occasion etched into your mind. Sure, you and Harry go at it a lot, but you don’t always go the extra mile, hence why these commemorative photos of your special nights are so treasured. And private. Or, were.

The first one… oh boy, that takes you back to the most far-out, extreme experiment you tried—the most recent, as well: just this past weekend. You’re still covered in rope burn from it, though that could’ve been prevented if you hadn’t writhed or wriggled about so much while in those bonds. The amount of attempts it took, the sheer number of YouTube tutorials you had to watch, but it was definitely worth it. The intricate patterns the ropes formed all across your body, creating braids down your back, suspending you prone with little movement in your arms or legs. It was heaven to have Harry tugging on the ropes, contorting you into new and wonderful positions for his own delightful access to all of you. Perhaps it’s not something you’ll gravitate towards again, but it was fun while it lasted, and it’s another thing to tick off your list of fun, kinky bedroom experiments to try. To be fair, even though the swathes of soft, rose-coloured rope, intricately woven around you were a lot, you certainly wouldn’t be averse to trying something else with rope. Less shibari, perhaps just normal levels of bondage. You can feel the skin on your arms prickling with heat: Harry feels it too, winding his fingers into yours, holding on tight as he struggles to suppress a smirk.

The next set is interesting, and rather common. Harry’s freckled, ring-less hand is unmistakable in the dappled light as it grapples with the handle of a leather whip, or a paddle, even his belt, bringing them down harshly onto your ass cheeks, already reddened with hand prints, purple from bruises. In one of them, your skin is even glistening with his release, and another, your hands are suspended behind your back. Harry’s always been one for spanking, and the rest of them know it. Even before you were sleeping together he’d playfully smacked your bum, and he certainly hasn’t stopped even with the sexual connotations it now conveys between the two of you. As though he can read your mind, he snakes a hand down and pats you on the bum; his wink telling you it’s just for good measure. Cheeky shit.

One in the dead centre brings shivers throughout your body. Not because it wasn’t fun or pleasurable, but because of the way it made you feel afterwards. Yes, you’d talked through it in thorough details—as with everything the two of you do—how it made you feel going in, throughout, and you’d got a safe word sorted, but perhaps you hadn’t discussed all the long term risks of it. The pretty pink collar, the satin blindfold… The whole subservient thing is a big turn on for Harry, and you played into it, you always do and you naturally fall into a position of less power in your relationship because of the way you are, but being degraded in such a way isn’t for you. You can’t help but feel a sting of shame ricochet through your heart. Harry must feel it this considering how reactive he is: he leaps towards the bed and snatches it up, shredding it before your eyes, chucking it into the bin, and curling another protective arm around you.

“Look,” you whisper to Harry, turning his attention elsewhere as you point to the bottom few: your favourite photos of all.

Despite the disarray, they’re all together, and they remind you of an incredible night. Your anniversary, and what a special day it was. Butterflies swarm you at the sight of them again, but it feels strange for someone else to be looking at them. Not that you or Harry are exactly in a fit state to be proactive about preventative measures now Sam’s seen them all. His eyes bulge from his face, his mouth going dry as he swallows viciously, suddenly having to shift his already apparently tight shorts. Again.

“You’re so sexy in those, baby,” purrs Harry.

He’s damn right, you do look incredibly sexy. And though the first one in the chronological series is you mostly covered, you can remember how hard his dick was at the sight alone, salivating, clenching his fists to stop from ripping the lingerie from you piece by piece. You wanted to put on a show for him that day: who was he to deny you?

On top of your bra, panties and stockings was a nightgown, and above that, a dressing gown. Each image shows you in a further state of undress. It was a deep burgundy lace set of negligée with soft satin straps that pushed your boobs together, lifting them up, the lace hooked together with a single eyelet on your spine, whereas the panties, though half covering your cheeks with dustings of lace, hid nothing while they sat high on your hips, revealing your entire upper thigh where a matching satin garter sat with tiny lace bows. The entire thing cost a fortune. You forked out a damn arm and a leg for what you got, even with a discount included with a certain toy you bought.

First went the dressing gown, letting it fall from your shoulders, allowing it to pool around your feet as you showed off the skimpiness of the silk slip in a series of flourishing twirls, much to Harry’s delight. Next went the slip, and you honestly wish you’d taken a picture of his face utterly agog—as you stood there in stockings held up by garters, barely there panties and a push up bra. There’s one shot of his rough fingertips playing with the trim of the stockings delightedly, like a kid in a candy shop. Next went the feeble scrap of fabric that you dared to call a bra, barely covering your nipples, allowing your breasts free, spilling into Harry’s awaiting hand. You remember the next part vividly, because he was just about to peel the panties off when you laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve got a surprise for you, babe.” you cooed.

His twinkling eyes grew as wide as saucers, and you dared to card your fingers through his curls as you settled yourself over his lap, letting him keep his camera in one hand while leading the other down, down, a little further…

He’s never since made a sound quite like it, so visceral and animalistic, so ready to devour you, to come on sight. He’s never been as hard as he was in that instance.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he moaned, a deep groan released from him the second his fingers slipped through your folds to find dripping arousal all ready for him. “Just—wait a minute…”

You followed his every instruction for the next few moments, finding yourself standing up in a good lighting position, Harry strategically beneath you as he snapped a particularly incriminating (yet oh so sexy shot) of your bare pussy in crotchless panties. Harry’s never recovered. He’s already openly admitted that he uses those particular photos more than any others to get himself off whenever you’re away from him. However, the creases and folded corners of one particular photo can’t be blamed on him, since that’s the one you use when you're away, two of his fingers plunged knuckle-deep inside you in those exact panties, from that exact angle, desperately trying to replicate the irreplaceably pleasurable feeling of him within you. He took a good few more than had to be thrown away. Spillages are awfully unfortunate… He fucked you that night with the panties, stockings and garters still on. Twice. Then without the panties, then without the stockings, then nude at last at some ungodly hour of the morning when he took you at last as the sun rose. You didn’t sleep a wink.

There are more of you with lingerie on, nightgowns and matching sets, scraps of silk and strange one pieces that took you hours to get on, but they’re bound to make a sort of book, stowed away neatly (mercifully) beneath his bed.

Sam still hasn’t moved from his state of paralysed shock, and though you should probably clear the photos up from where they’re dumped, you feel a filthy swelling pride within your chest, a glean of risk as you watch Sam rove his eyes over some more, these all involving toys. If only he knew where you hid them. One his eyes focus on is you with a thick purple rubber dildo deep inside you, a rabbit vibrator stuck to your clit. Your body is but a blur, writhing around for Harry, your hands cuffed before you and not released no matter how much you moved. Harry wouldn’t let you stop coming for what felt like hours: it was the first time you squirted for him as a cry tore from your heaving chest, drenching the bed with your fifth orgasm of the night. Harry vowed he’d be the only one to make you squirt after that, no toys involved, and he’s stayed true to his word.

There’s a few more, and Sam seems to be furrowing his thick brows at the sight of the Polaroids. Glass wands, spreader bars, clit suctions (that admittedly look like they’d be used in a spa for a facial). Poor boy is being corrupted...

Good God, you need to get those toys out again.

With his twin's attention diverted, you snake your hand down the front of Baz’s shorts, wrapping your fingers around his already hard member through his boxers: he seems to be enjoying this as much as you are.

You point out one of your favourite pictures, a debauched mess that shouldn’t be viewed by anyone else, frankly. Harry was reluctant about hurting you or pushing you too far, but you begged to be gagged. You meant just by a tie, maybe his bandana—which features in many images in many different manners: as a bind for your hands, tying you to the bed, keeping your ankles together, even wrapped lightly around your neck, but never as a gag—but he went all out. When you got home, he was waiting in his room with a leather-bound ball gag.

“You begged, baby,” he said, and you couldn’t refute. You had begged, but this was above and beyond. You complied with his every wish that night, and though you’d do it again in a heartbeat, Harry wasn’t a fan of not being able to shove his fingers or cock down your throat at any given moment. He liked hearing your whines and moans and hushed curses, prayers of his name. He also liked hearing your bratty, belligerent rebuttals when he took on a dominant role. You enjoyed it more than a little, but only now can you see how much of a mess you were, messy hair and tears spouting from your eyes, drool down your chin...

Given the chance of the slightest spark of stimulation, you’ll be coming on the spot.

There’s a scattered pile of the two of you in just about every position under the sun, every shape in the karma sutra, fucking both inside and out, al fresco sex beneath the big oak in the garden, anyhow, anywhere and everywhere you could fuck safely and privately, you would, and you didn’t even realise Harry had snapped some of these shots after consenting to him taking them at any time. Your eyes squeezed shut as you peaked, Baz’s palm kneading your chest, your skirt hiked up around your stomach while your jaw was agape, your pussy exposed and glistening slick in the mirror, penetrated by Harry’s cock. That was a good day, mirror sex, and definitely something you’ll try again. This time with your own mirror... There are a few snapshots of oral, perfect Polaroids of Harry’s nose nuzzled into your pussy, his tongue deep in your core, his lips on your labia, all of them for your sake whenever he goes away.

“Gonna recreate that one tonight,” Harry husks, pointing towards one image in particular of you sucking him off.

His huge member down your throat, you’d trained yourself to breathe solely through your nose, but the neatly trimmed patch of hair there tickled your nostrils. Harry’s talent for photography reveals your doe eyes were red rimmed, saliva trickling from the corner of your mouth matching the mascara tracks down your cheeks. You’ve never looked so fucked out, and Harry couldn’t believe you remained in that innocent façade, rosy cheeks and a coy expression even with his dick rammed down your throat, making you gag.

However, the one you’d like to recreate is one he picks up on, surreptitiously moving a hand to your chest, his fingers hovering over your peaked nipple.

“Reckon we can go again the second Sam fucks off?”

“Yes,” he eagerly exhales.

You don’t blame him, especially not when both twins are staring at the same image of your tits, pushed together with Harry’s dick between them, fucking your chest despite the fact his come already painted your chest in hot white strips, a beautiful painting you’d always wish to frame. He certainly has an obsession with your boobs so there are a couple like that, his hands all over them, the tip of his member tapping them, but the debauched one is by far your favourite. Similarly, there’s one of you tied to the bed, completely spread eagle, his dick resting on your stomach while your belly is coated in his come once again.

It seems, however, that’s what snagged Sam’s attention and has his face a ghastly shade of grey because it's so pale, is the one photo Harry never wanted anyone to see. You leap and snatch it up in one fell swoop, and Harry draws you into a bear hug within his arms, kissing your temple affectionately in thanks as you stow it away for safekeeping. Though Harry naturally carries the more dominant title in your relationship, you always like to shake things up, hence why this photo (and a series of others he already has hidden) depict Harry as your submissive. You walked around as the picture perfect dominatrix in stilettos, carrying a whip while Harry lay there with his hands bound, a blindfold on in some photos (you took them so they’re not as great, but he still looks damn sexy) with a vibrating cock ring wrapped snugly around his girth. He’s never come so hard or so much after you finally removed it and cuffed his hands to the bedpost and began to ride him. You can still feel the warmth of him climaxing within you if you close your eyes and clench your thighs.

“I promise I’ll touch you later,” boy do you hope he sticks to that promise he whispers while nibbling on your earlobe, “but Sam’s coming out of his daze in 3... 2... 1...”

“OH MY GOD.”

“Okay, I didn’t see that coming,” he remarks breathily, hazel eyes wide as he pivots, met with two incredulous stares. Tom’s cry wakes Sam up right on cue.

“Harry! What the fuck?!” Sam demands, his voice a bellow, horror and disgust and... something unattainable just emanates from him. “Why do you have three porn mags worth of your girlfriend down here? That’s fucked, mate.”

“No it’s not. We just like to have photographic reminders of all our... sexcapades.”

Sam is, unsurprisingly, retching, now finally turning his head away from the pile without even bothering to pick up.

“This was cool until you called them sexcapades,” Tom chimes, smacking Harry upside the head as he swaggers over to the bed, fishing a few photos up before tossing them back down.

Sam's horrified attitude doesn’t seem to be spreading thankfully, but you and Harry are understandably rooted to the spot, stuck to the carpet, just biding your time until this is over. Then again, you can’t really tell, since no one is saying anything. You nor Harry want to be the ones to break the silence, though, and you can tell with the furtive and expressive stares you’re sharing that his anxiety is increasing the more people are seeing this.

Momentarily, you think someone may remark about your silent communication, your fixed glances and speechless conversation, but instead, Harrison comes up to you both, a sly smirk etched onto his pretty model face as he clasps a hand around one shoulder of yours and one of Harry’s.

“Harry Holland, you kinky fucker,” he praises.

You definitely feel a swell of pride at that. And the fact that Tom is trying desperately hard not to look at you while also trying to hide how flustered he is, somehow still abhorred by the sight. Harrison’s intrigue is palpable, gnawing on his lower lip as his lithe fingers trace you on the polaroid's, whereas Sam? He can’t decide whether to cry or scream. Harry huddles in closer and cuddles you, ensuring you feel every part of him, just how much he wants this lot to leave to finally have you at his mercy once more.

“So you two are shagging,” Tom observes.

You and Harry nod between kisses.

“Dangerously.”

You nod again, though this time a little reluctantly.

You expect Harry to nestle down with you again, but instead he detaches himself, unravelling his arms, and shoulders past Tom and Haz. He gives Sam a death glare as he piles up all the Polaroids and shoves them deep in a drawer for him to organise later, away from prying eyes and judgemental comments.

“Really, though?” Sam bursts out, flailing his arms before grasping Harry’s collar. “I thought you’d just handcuff her and give her a smack at most, very vanilla.”

As much as he tries to fight it, Harry’s face flushes bright red, leaving no visible distinction between his forehead and hairline. “I think those photos, erm, tell a different story.”

He rocks on the balls of his feet, tugging himself out of his brother's grasp, only to fall into another, saved by Harrison’s scowl at Tom.

“Can you lot bloody get out? Please? I’d like some alone time with my girlfriend after that sodding invasion.”

“If you’re having alone time, we’re leaving the house for a while,” Tom jokes, “how long?”

You smirk, striding over to meet Harry, eyes fixed on him as you press onto your tiptoes, wrapping your fingers around his shoulder before kissing his earlobe. He wilts into your touch.

“Two hours should be enough time. Scram.”

They do, gladly, and you slam the door shut as their scurrying footsteps down the stairs recede. Harry’s grip increases around your waist, a growl escaping him as he pushes you onto the bed. You gasp when your back hits the mattress, his lips instantly attacking your jaw.

“Which of those polaroid's do you wanna recreate first, baby?”

—

It’s hours later, and you're all around for your weekly dinner at the Holland house. You and Harry, having some ‘business’ to attend to before leaving the house, are the last to arrive, and Paddy, poor unfortunate Paddy, has the delightful job of letting you into the house.

“Sam asked me to give you this,” he says barely before you’ve entered the porch.

Harry’s face pales as he unravels the small piece of paper bundled into his hand by his younger brother, but you could swear all blood drains from him the second the words sink in.

‘You took them, you lost them, you collect them. What would mum and dad say, Harold?’

“Harry, what’s happening?”

“That utter wanker stole the polaroids as revenge for scarring him. He’s hidden them around the house. We have to find them before mum and dad go looking. You in for the ride?”

“Only if Haz can join us tonight,” you tease, and after calling a hello to Harry’s parents, you follow him around the house, detaching all the pinned photos.

Harry's learnt a solid lesson today: hide his damn Polaroids better from now on, away from the prying eyes of his bloody brothers. But, he thinks with a smirk, by no means will the two of you stop taking them.

[angryinternetduck]

Bet On It

HELLO i’m back again with not only another fic but another friends to lovers!!! here’s 5.9k on hotel mishaps, long-term bets, and falling in love. featuring harry styles x reader with just a few warnings of explicit language and alcohol consumption.

enjoy!!!

masterlist | ask

***

Five Years Ago

If you hadn’t met him an hour before in the bar of the hotel, you would’ve said no. Share a hotel room with a stranger just because the hotel fucked up and double booked a room? No. Absolutely not.

Except -

His name was Harry. He was very cute. And sweet. He complimented your shoes in the bar, dimpling at you all cutely before holding out his hand and introducing himself. He let you prattle on for way too long, laughing at all your jokes and nodding gravely when you started getting serious.

And surprisingly, when you said you had to go, he didn’t ask you out or try to kiss you. He just told you it was nice to meet you with a smile. Problem was that that wasn’t the last you saw of him; when you went up to the desk to get your key card, the receptionist informed you of the mistake.

“We’ve double booked it. You’ll have to work it out amongst yourselves,” they said. “We can suggest other places to stay, or you can sleep in the lobby. Or - of course, you can always share. He’s over there. Guy in the pink shirt.”

You looked over, and lo and behold…

“Harry.”

“We meet again.”

“Was this your doing?” you joked. “All that to get me in a room with you?”

Harry grinned. “I wish I were that smart.”

“So just coincidence?”

“Or perhaps fate,” Harry replied with a shrug.

“Did you know?” you asked. “When you, uh - introduced yourself?”

He shook his head and said, “Not that it was you.”

“Well, now that you do, what do you say? Share the room?”

Harry tilted his head from side to side, pondering. “Let’s prove it was fate,” he decided, meeting your gaze with a grin. Your brows furrowed, and he clarified. “Rock, paper, scissors. I win, we’ll share. You win, I’ll find somewhere else to stay.” He held out his fist.

“Won’t make me find somewhere else?” you asked, smiling a bit. “Would rather share?”

He shrugged.

“Alright, then.”

Both of you counted silently, in your heads -

Rock, paper, scissors…

Harry grinned, and you made a fist from your scissors to bump his rock.

“Fate it is,” you said.

Fate proved to be in your favor; that night, you had the most fun you’d ever had in your life. To your surprise, however, the fun didn’t involve sex. Just talking. You sat on the bed drinking booze from the minifridge and talking until dawn with this Harry Styles.

It came up at one point, sex - or at least kissing did - but neither ever happened.

It was around three, when the exhaustion had set in, when you were lying down, gazing into each other’s eyes, half asleep. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?” he’d whispered, and you grinned at him. “I should be asking you that, don’t you think?”

He looked confused. “Why’s that?”

“You’re the one in love with me,” you told him.

He giggled, rubbing his eyes. “And what makes you say that?”

“You wanted to share!” you exclaimed, like it was obvious, because it was.

“Sharing is caring.”

You bounced your brows. “Caring. Loving.”

Harry laughed and insisted, “Not the same!”

“I’d bet a million bucks you’re in love with me,” you murmured, tapping his nose.

“Then a million bucks you’d lose.”

“You will be,” you said, nodding slightly.

“Yeah?” Harry asked, a smile growing on his lips.

“Yeah.”

“Do you have a million bucks to give me on my deathbed when I still only care?” he said.

“Do you have a million bucks to give me when you confess?” you said back.

He stared at you for a second. His eyes were very green, his smile very wistful. “A kiss.”

“A kiss?” you echoed.

Harry nodded. “I will bet you one kiss that I will never fall in love with you.”

“You’re gonna want a lot more than one kiss when you inevitably do,” you whispered.

“At least one kiss,” he amended.

“At least one kiss,” you agreed.

“Shake on it?”

You both shifted around in the bed so you could shake hands without sitting up.

“It’s a bet,” Harry said.

And so it was.

***

Present Day

“Give it to me straight, Styles,” you greet Harry, plopping down at your table with a sigh.

He hesitates for a moment, drawing out the suspense, and then breathes, “Care.”

You shake your head disappointedly. “Unbelievable, how bad you are at lying, you -”

Harry interrupts, “What’s really unbelievable is your tardiness -”

Then you do: “Your annoyingness -”

He pouts and fires back, “Your vocabulary -”

“Your lack thereof -”

“That’s not proper English.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “You’re not proper English.”

“I promise you I am,” he replies with a smirk.

“I’ve always thought the accent was fake.”

“If it were, I’d be the greatest impersonator to walk the earth.”

“Impersonator?” you repeat. “And tell me, what is an impersonator but a talented liar?”

He gives you a grin. “I’ll take the compliment of talented, thank you.”

Leveling his gaze, you smile back and take a sip of your drink. “You know, I think that actually was proper English,” you muse. “Lack thereof. Your vocabulary - or lack thereof.” Harry bites his lip, eyes narrowed, staring at you, and you’re tempted to joke that his focus is lust when he replies, “It’s still wrong. I was saying your vocabulary is naive, and by saying I have none, you’re fundamentally saying the same. It’s redundant.”

Clearly satisfied with himself, he sits back, smiles smugly, and takes a sip of his coffee.

“Harry Styles,” you say, “I’m going to smack that smirk right off your pretty face.”

“Second compliment in a day!” Harry exclaims. “Someone alert the press.”

You roll your eyes, taking a sip of your own drink. “Why, they’d have a field day.”

The little cafe you’re in is absolutely adorable. It’s midway between your place and Harry’s, and after that fateful night in the hotel (during which you learned you live so close to each other), you began a tradition of meeting here once a week.

Tradition doesn’t end with just the location and time. Each meeting is almost exactly the same. You’re always late, and you always greet him the same way: some variation of “Have you fallen in love with me yet?”

And his reply is always the same: negative.

From there, the conversation wanders as much as it ever does, with one asking about the other’s week and the response being long and filled with complaints and woes and lamentations. The question is echoed back, and the response is - again - long, filled with complaints, woes, etc.

Despite the moaning and groaning, the mood never falls too low. It’s impossible to feel down around Harry Styles; just one look at those dimples makes a smile of your own appear on your face.

Your friendship with him has certainly blossomed. It’s a wonder he hasn’t fallen in love yet (or maybe he has, you’ll never know unless he says), and a greater wonder still that he hasn’t turned the question around on you.

Because the answer would be yes. You have, in fact, fallen in love with him.

Deeply, madly, in love.

But he’ll never know, because you’ll never say.

***

“I love you,” you tell Harry breathlessly, looking up at him lovingly. “Most ardently.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, no - I’m just a girl! I’m just a girl, standing in front of -”

“I’ll always be there for you!” you cut in excitedly. “All the love in my heart, Llo -”

“Michael, I love you!” Harry gushes. “Choose me, marry me, let me make you happy!”

You jump up and jut a finger at him dramatically. “We live in a cynical world!” you exclaim. “A cynical world, and we work in a business of tough competitors. I love you! You - you complete me!”

Harry jumps up to match you and begins, “I hate that -” then shakes his head and restarts, “I hate the way you’re always right, I hate it when you lie - I hate it when you make me laugh and - and - and even worse when you make me cry - I hate the way - I hate it when” - he’s grinning big now, jumping with excitement and passion - “you’re not around and the fact you didn’t call - but - but mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even a little bit, not even at all!”

It all came out in a rush of jumbled words and you’re so impressed you can’t help but sit back down and clap for him. Bright red, Harry takes a bow and collapses onto his couch next to you. “That took way too much effort,” he says, out of breath.

“It was worth it,” you tell him. “That was dazzling, really. You should go on the road.”

Harry nods. “One man show. Shakespeare. All of his long monologues, then bam - a poem better than all the others combined.” You giggle and fall into him, leaning against his chest with a sigh. “I’ll come with you,” you say. “Follow you to the ends of the earth and hold my breath to Pluto.”

“What’s that from?” Harry asks.

“That’s all me, baby.”

“Maybe the poem better than all the others combined could be yours.”

“Impossible,” you say immediately. “Nothing will ever beat Kat Stratford.”

“I’ll manage.”

You scoff. “You?”

“We.”

You shake your head. “There’s no ‘we’ in genius, Styles, but there is an I.”

“And a U!” Harry replies.

You look up at him.

“Wait.”

Snickering, you sit up and stretch your arms towards the ceiling. “Stick to memorization, maybe. Leave the heavy lifting to me. You need some practice on that speech, anyway - I counted at least three errors, not to mention the stuttering.”

“Practice makes perfect,” Harry sings. “What do you say, can I confess my love to you every night for the sake of practice?” You shake your head, standing up again and grabbing an empty container of food to throw away. “Not without losing the bet.”

Harry follows you, cleaning up as he goes. “Just for the one man show!”

“No exceptions.” You grin at him, grabbing your stuff and heading for the door. “Thanks for the food, Styles. I’ll see you Sunday?” Harry nods and blows you a kiss, which you catch and put in your pocket. “I’ll save that for when you lose the bet,” you tell him.

“Get outta here,” Harry laughs.

You stick your tongue out at him and stick a post it note on the door frame as you leave.

***

Harry usually wakes up to a few texts. Maybe a call every so often. Notifications from social media aren’t uncommon. The only days he wakes up to nearly a hundred texts are the nights you decide to go to the outlook.

Whether or not you like staying up late normally, you stay up until the wee hours of the morning to go to this place you found about three hours outside of the city. It’s a bit of a drive, but it’s completely worth it.

There’s a little woods out there, and a while ago you went a bit off path and found an outcropping of rocks that look out over the city. At night, stars are visible. There’s nothing you love more than lying for hours on the cool stone, gazing up at the heavens above.

The first time you took Harry to the outlook, you asked a question, and Harry’s answer to that question was one of the only lies he’s ever told you. You’d asked, “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

And Harry had said, “Of course not!” when in reality, he’d been looking for an opening to mention that very fear for the twenty minutes before, while you’d been climbing steadily uphill through the trees.

In his defense, there was no way he could’ve said anything different. You were just so happy, glowing with excitement and practically buzzing with energy. Plus, you’d grabbed his hand at the moment you asked to pull him up the last ridge and he was still a bit startled.

He never came to regret that lie. He grew out of the fear, anyway, so it wasn’t a huge deal. In fact, he’s almost come to love heights. He loves the thrill, the burst of happiness, the insane phenomenon of a racing heart and the feeling of being totally at peace all at the same time.

Incidentally, he also feels that way around you, whether the two of you are a hundred feet up or not. He’s always enjoyed spending time with you, and even just seeing you makes him happy. It’s what makes you a good friend.

Harry’s gone with you a few times to the outlook, but it’s usually pretty late by the time you want to go. Sometimes you’ll call him and he’ll pick up, and you’ll talk on the phone until one of you falls asleep.

You went last night, apparently, because Harry scrolls through seventy-two text messages this morning. It takes a while, since he reads all of them and then replies, but he woke up early anyway so it’s fine.

It’s Sunday, so he’s headed to the cafe to meet you. He has a cup of coffee even though he’ll get one at the cafe, too. There’s a sticky note on the coffee maker - Note to self: tell Harry there’s a snickers bar in his sweatshirt pocket - which you probably left a few days ago.

Harry smiles at the note, then frowns, sticking his hand in his pocket. There is, in fact, a Snickers bar in there, and Harry throws it out. It’s from almost a month ago, when you and him had an August Halloween. The sun is just a little too bright. Harry listens to music in the car, humming along and tapping his hands against the wheel in time.

You’re late, of course, so he orders his second cup of coffee and reads a newspaper on the shelf while he waits. Today it’s five minutes until you arrive, which is actually more on time than usual, and Harry throws you a large brimmed hat he found in his closet when you approach the table.

“What say you, Harry Styles,” you greet him, catching the hat and placing it on your head. “Make a jester laugh” - you form a heart with your fingers - “or make a jester cry?” Your heart cracks in two as you pout at him.

Breaking a finger-heart of his own, Harry grins. “Laughing clowns were always creepier to me,” he tells you. You trace a finger down your cheek like a tear and sit down across from him, sliding a menu from its place on the wall and beginning to read it over.

You look up at him, half smiling, a joke on your lips, and then -

Harry blinks.

Just like that, something’s changed.

You snap in front of his face. “Hello? Anything? You could at least pretend to laugh.”

“Christ, sorry,” Harry breathes. “What’d you say?”

Raising a brow, you lean forward and inspect him. “You alright, there, Styles?”

“If I were any better and it’d be obscene,” Harry answers easily, tapping your nose.

Grinning, you sit back. “Fantastic. Tell me, then, how it’s been. Fill me in.”

“It’s a lot better seeing you in that hat.”

“Oh, I forgot!” you exclaim, looking up at it.

Harry giggles and asks, “You wanna know what one hat said to the other?”

“Oh, boy.”

“I’ll see you on a-head!”

Groaning dramatically, you throw the hat at him and bury your face in your hands.

***

"This is getting embarrassing, Styles,” you say as you walk up to Harry.

He turns around, a smile already on his face, and begins, “What’s -”

He stops when he sees you, because you’re all dressed up. You look absolutely stunning, which was on purpose, because of course you want to see his reaction, whether he loves you or not. And it’s very satisfactory, this reaction.

“You look fantastic,” Harry says softly.

You clear your throat, a little put off by how serious he’s being. “That was the goal.”

His eyes float back up to meet yours, a small smile on his face. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome,” you chirp. “But don’t let your head get too big - I only came for the free food and movie.” Finally, the glaze over his eyes fades, and he grins at you. He takes your arm, and as you walk, he asks, “You started a thought, you know, about something embarrass-”

You scoff. “You asked me on a date, Styles!”

“I did not!” Harry insists. He shakes his head. “My date ducked out at the last second -”

Smirking, you cut in, “Wonder why, Mr. Pink Suit.”

“- we were going to match, thank you - but really, she ducked out, and I wasn’t about to waste two perfectly good tickets. Thus… here we are.” He nods, like he’s pleased with his answer, but you raise a brow at him. “That’s a terrible excuse. You can just say you love me. I’ll accept.”

You arrive at his car. “Not yet,” he says, and then he gets in.

He starts the car, and for a moment, you gaze out the window.

Then, breaking the silence, you say, “I like the suit.”

“I like the look.”

“Thanks, I came up with it all by myself.”

“Impressive.”

You wait a moment, and then ask, “What inspired the pink?”

“She said she wanted a pink rose.”

Frowning, you begin, “I thought you said pink roses are -”

“Yeah, they’re not my favorite,” he mumbles.

You snicker a little. “Oh, what a bad date in high school can get you…”

“Hey, don’t tease,” Harry whines with a pout.

“Sorry, sorry,” you murmur. “You’re nice to dress up anyway. No rose, though?”

Sheepishly, he tells you, “I… forgot.”

“You forgot?” you laugh.

“Yeah…”

“Well, um… well, it’s the thought that counts.”

Harry pulls into the parking lot and parks the car, then unlocks the doors. “Come on,” he says, but you frown at him, confused. “You know you pulled in the wrong way?” you ask, but he just beckons with his hand and opens the trunk.

You hadn’t even looked - there’s pillows back there, and candy, and blankets, and he flicks on little fairy lights. “Harry Styles, you romantic!” you gasp, enthralled. “Wow, I gotta meet this girl, if you’re doing all this for her…”

He sits down and pats the space next to him, then grabs a pack of candy - your favorite. He hands it to you, which you take with a slow smile. “Her favorite too?” you ask. “Nope,” Harry replies, shaking his head as he opens his own pack of candy. “Forgot to ask her, but when I called her in the store she wouldn’t pick up so I just… got yours.” He clears his throat and hands you a bag of popcorn. “There’s this, too.”

“Thanks, Styles.”

On the huge screen in front of you, the movie begins to roll. You take a risk, sliding a little on the seat so you’re leaning against Harry, head against his chest. You can feel him breathing, his heart beating, his arm around your waist, thumb gently moving back and forth over the fabric of your clothes.

You fall asleep for most of the movie.

When you wake up, you’re leaned against a pillow, not Harry. Frowning and out of sorts, you sit up and rub your eyes. He’s leaned against the car outside, on the phone, and you can just barely make out what he’s saying.

“... I know, it’s… Yeah, I - I’m sorry you couldn’t make it, love. I missed you…”

The familiar feeling of tears building behind your eyes horrifies you, and you have to turn your back to him as tears start slipping down your cheeks. You’d somehow managed to convince yourself that it was all a ruse, that he’d meant it to be you from the start, that there was no other girl, that all along it was -

“Hey,” Harry says.

You cough, palming away the tears on your face and yawning like you’d just woken up. “Oh, hey… How’s, um - how’s she doing? Or - whoever - I mean -” You squeeze your eyes shut, shaking your head. “Sorry,” you whisper.

“She’s fine,” Harry tells you. “How are you? Took a pretty long nap there…”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “I was… I’m tired.”

“C’mon, then, let’s get you home.” He smiles at you, dimpling adorably, and holds out his hand. You take it and slide off the back of his car. “Thanks,” you say. He nods and shuts the trunk while you get into the passenger seat.

You don’t say anything as he starts the car, as he backs out and heads for your place. He glances over at you, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, and eventually turns on the radio. You fold up a sticky note and covertly slide it into the center console.

“I’ll see you Sunday,” you tell him when he stops the car.

He nods. “See you then.”

You hold his gaze for a second, and then get out of the car. As you’re shutting the door, Harry says, “Hey!” and you stop. “Hey, er - thank you. For coming tonight. I know it was a little… It was a bit much.”

“Not too much at all,” you say softly. “Bye, Harry.”

You shut the door.

***

The sticky note business began about a year after Harry met you. He’d mentioned something about refrigerator magnets being the most charming form of communication ever invented, and the next day he found a sticky note on his mirror that said, Note to self: find a more charming form of communication than refrigerator magnets.

Harry doesn’t find the sticky note in his console until the next night, when he’s driving home after working late and he’s trying to find his phone. It’s ringing, and it’s your ringtone, which is really, really annoying because you set it to the worst song you could think of so he’d be motivated to pick it up fast.

It’s not in the center console. It’s actually in his pocket. He picks it up.

“Harry, you gotta tell me now,” you say immediately. “Do you love me?”

“I -”

“Love or care, Styles.” You sound breathless. “L or C. Lover or Cunt. Tell me now.”

“Cunt,” Harry says reflexively, and then shakes his head. “I mean -”

“You don’t love me.” You don’t sound upset at all. You’re just clarifying.

Harry frowns. “I… What’s going on?”

“Well, I think I love this guy, Styles, and I’m about to fuck him, so I’ll talk to you later.”

And then you hang up.

Harry stares at his phone for a moment. Then he puts it down, frowning at the street in front of him, and thinks for a while until he gets home. When he does, he’s shutting the center console, which he’d left open, and he sees the little post it note.

Note to self: buy a pink rose for h to make him like them bc they’re pretty

Sitting in his car, staring at the note, Harry can’t help but think he’s messed it all up.

***

Sunday. You don’t show up.

***

Another Sunday. Harry orders a coffee and reads the newspaper.

You don’t show up.

***

You answer a text.

He asks if you’re okay, and you say, Yup!

***

You send a text.

Hey, Styles? Can you bring me a flower?

***

He should’ve gone to your place first, Harry’s thinking. He should’ve checked there, and then gone here. But it’s too late now. He’s stepping out of his car, trekking through the forest, and he’s finally here, and -

You’re on your back, staring at the stars.

“You know, I really thought he was the one.”

Harry bites on his lip and fiddles with the flower in his hands. “Did you?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then you sigh and sit up. “No.”

“He didn’t - you’re not… You’re okay, right?”

“Nothing’s broken but my heart,” you murmur. “Physically, I’m fine, emotionally, I’m…”

You fade off, and Harry sits next to you and hands you the flower.

“Yellow,” you whisper. You look up at him, eyes wide in the moonlight. “Why yellow?”

“Color of your shirt the first time I met you.”

Smiling, you murmur, “Memory of an elephant.”

“I couldn’t remember her favorite candy,” Harry says impulsively. He shuts his eyes, exhaling softly. “Sorry. Wrong thing to say.” You shake your head, looking forward again. “It’s fine. How’s she doing?”

“Wouldn’t know.”

Surprised, you glance at him again. “You mean you -?”

Harry shrugs. “She said my priorities weren’t right. Then she said goodbye.”

“We’re just a coupla broken hearted fools, aren’t we?” you say quietly.

“Broken hearted, yes,” Harry replies, “but I’m not a fool. Don’t know about you.”

You scoff, hitting his chest with the back of your hand. “We’re having a moment here!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry says, but he’s laughing so the apology is moot.

There’s a beat of silence, and then you say, “I would’ve known about her if I hadn’t missed all our Sundays. I’m sorry.” Harry shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. Did you have fun, at least? With Mr. Heartbreak?”

You giggle. “So much fun.”

“Well… that’s good, at least.”

He looks at you, really looks, and for a moment, he forgets himself.

You’re looking up at the stars, your head tilted up, your lips curved upwards in a smile.

Harry’s expression matches yours. It’s one of quiet awe, of happiness and joy and adoration. He’s smiling, too, but it’s not as conscious. It’s more reflexive, something he can’t help but do whenever he catches sight of this view. He’s not looking at the stars, though - his gaze is focused on you.

“Come on!” you exclaim suddenly, jumping up. “This is the perfect excuse to watch The Notebook again.” Harry blinks, standing up and following you back to his car. “You took the words right out of my mouth,” he says.

***

Ideally, on the anniversary of your meeting Harry, you’d both rent a hotel room and get drunk on the minibar, talking nonsense until morning, to properly reenact that first night together. Problem with that is that hotel rooms cost money.

So instead, you have a sleepover. Last year it was at your place, so this year it’s at his. The good thing about not being in a hotel is that you can buy normal size bottles of booze, rather than the teeny ones from the minibar.

He’s grabbing everything from the kitchen while you’re queueing up the movie on the TV in his room. It’s not cooperating, though, and you’re rooting through all the wires in the back to try and find something that’s supposed to be connected.

“Harry, if you don’t get in here this second!” you shout at him.

“Did you get the other remote?” he shouts back.

You groan and whine, “Just come in here!”

“I haven’t gotten everything yet! Look for the second remote. It’s in one of the drawers.”

“Which drawers?” you yell.

He doesn’t reply.

So you ruffle through the drawers closest to the TV. Books, papers, chargers. No remotes. You go further and find his record collection. A few photo albums. You stick a sticky note on the top one that says, Note to self: go through these. There’s more books. A few DVDs.

And then - a folder. It has a yellow flower on it.

Frowning, you glance at the door behind you and then flip it open. What must be a hundred post it notes fall out. Your jaw drops, just slightly, because they’re all from you. Every sticky note you’ve ever left him is in this folder. He kept them all.

“Did you find it?” Harry shouts.

You ask, “Find what?” but your voice is too soft and he doesn’t hear you.

He shouts your name again, and you quickly shove the folder back where you got it. You clear your throat, then yell, “Harry, I can’t find it!” Finally, he comes in, arms full of food and drink, and tugs open the top drawer on his bedside table with his foot.

And there it is.

“Have I got to do everything around here or what?” he jokes.

You give him a laugh and set up the TV, which works just fine now that you have the right tools. Harry sets everything down and puts his hands on his hips, raising a brow at you. “You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, fine,” you tell him. “Just grew a few white hairs waiting for you to come back.”

He sticks his tongue out and tosses a bag of chips at you. “Ha, ha, very funny.”

Finally, the movie’s set up, and you lean against his bed, sighing in contentment as the opening credits start to play. Harry hands you a glass and holds his own out, which you knock against your own. “Cheers, Styles,” you say. “To five years.”

“And counting.”

Grinning, you drink up and then settle back to watch the film.

***

His voice is thick.

Like honey.

It drips off his tongue, catches on his lips, slides down the column of his throat and glistens in the dim light. It’s rich. Deep. It turns to crystal in the cool air around you as his words fade off. You want to reach out and feel it on your fingers, want to taste it on your tongue, want to feel it slide over your lips, down your throat…

“... and then, suddenly, I was flying out the window with the worst pain I’ve ever -”

“Harry,” you interrupt with a giggle, “this is the third time you’ve told this story tonight.”

“It’s a good story!”

“Lemme see,” you say, crawling forward, and you’re on his lap now but you can’t really bring yourself to care because this is for scientific purposes. Harry grins and puts his hands on your waist and you giggle again and put your fingers on his jaw. “Lemme see your tongue.”

“Wanna see it or touch it?”

You smirk and reply, “How ‘bout lick it?”

“That’s gross!” Harry exclaims with a delighted laugh.

“I know!” you exclaim back, equally delighted.

“It’s broken,” Harry says, but he’s opening his mouth so it comes out all warbled. “I’m broken, you know -” You peer at his tongue, but it doesn’t look very broken. “No, you’re not,” you tell him.

“On the inside,” Harry says, pouting at you.

You laugh and wrap your arms around his neck, nestling your head on his shoulder in a hug. “You’re warm,” you say, “that’s what you are.” Harry nods against you, running his hands up and down your back. “You fix me,” he slurs into your neck.

“That’s so romantic!” you giggle.

You sit there for a second, breathing him in, feeling happy, and then suddenly -

“I’m roasting,” Harry says, and it’s morning.

“I’m so hot,” you groan, “and my head hurts so bad…”

Harry grunts and pushes against you. “Get off me.”

You open your eyes, squinting in the sunlight, and fall off of him and onto the floor.

He stands up, moaning and groaning, and walks out. You may have fallen asleep again because when he comes back in and hands you a glass of water and some medicine you’re blinking back awake. “Thanks,” you mumble, downing both.

“That was something,” Harry says.

“Something for sure,” you say.

“I can’t move,” Harry says.

“Me neither.”

So you don’t. The day drags on, and when you’re both coherent enough for food you go to the kitchen. Harry cooks something up, and you eat it, sitting next to him at the kitchen island. You feel his foot against yours, and you play a half-delirious game of footsie as you finish eating.

Once you’re all done, Harry stands up and starts to wash the dishes. You watch him, watch his back and his arms and the way he moves, and stand up and stand next to him, grabbing a dish towel and holding out your hand. He hands you the plate, and you dry it.

It’s comfortable, the silence, and it’s more than peaceful, standing there drying dishes with Harry in the early afternoon. There aren’t many dishes, but you both take your time, and eventually he breaks the silence and the productivity to put on some music.

And then, suddenly, you’re dancing, a smile on your face that you can’t seem to get rid of curving your lips as you float around the kitchen with him. He’s bopping along to the song, hand in yours, dish towel over his shoulder after he stole it from you.

The dancing carries you to the living room, where he twirls you out so you can collapse onto the couch. He does the same, and you put your feet on his lap, head on the armrest, looking at him.

“You’re staring,” he says.

“You’re in front of me.”

“Excuses, excuses.”

You raise a brow, smiling and still holding his gaze, and then sit up. “Staring contest, go.”

Instantly, he blinks, and you laugh, “Fuck’s sake.”

“No, no, again,” he demands, grinning, and he blinks quickly a few times before declaring, “Go.” The staring begins. Your eyes begin to sting, and you bite your lip, trying to keep your eyes open.

“We should watch Bird Box,” Harry whispers.

“Saw it last week.”

“I saw it,” he corrects. “You hid behind your hands the entire time.”

“You were the one screaming like a baby.”

“I prefer rom-coms, you know that.”

“Sometimes you need a little variety in life.”

“I lost the bet.”

You blink.

“Victory,” Harry says, a bit weakly, blinking too.

Your brows furrow. “What?”

“Victory,” Harry repeats, smiling sheepishly.

“No, no, before that,” you insist, shaking your head.

“I lost the bet,” Harry repeats softly.

You swallow thickly. “What bet?”

Harry bites his lip, concentrating, and then stands up and walks away. You scoff, following him, and ask again. “What bet?” He shakes his head, quiet, and opens his refrigerator, looking for something.

“Harry, for the love of -”

He holds out a kiss. A chocolate kiss.

Your eyes widen.

He steps closer, holding the kiss out on his palm. “I lost the bet,” he says. “I fell in love with you.” Your breath catches in your throat. “I don’t know if you feel the same,” he goes on, “so I… I don’t want to kiss you. I mean - I do, but -”

He holds the kiss closer to you. “I lost,” he finishes quietly.

You can’t find the right words.

So instead, you close the distance and kiss him.

The chocolate kiss falls to the floor, and fireworks erupt behind your eyelids.

After a moment, the words come.

And then, when you pull away for a moment, you both speak at the same time -

“I love you.”

Laughter bubbles from your lips, and Harry grins, kissing you again.

“So I guess I didn’t lose after all,” he murmurs.

You smile against his lips. “Let’s call it a tie.”

***

AHHHH there it is!!!! i actually did write this in like . two days . which was ! great haha but i hope u liked it!!!! if u did, feedback and a reblog would be much appreciated 💜

thanks for reading!

masterlist | ask

[pinkteapotwriting]

Happy Birthday Remus!

Warning: Lol, this is literally just smut. Smutty smut smut. 

Female/male receiving, oral, edging, degradation, Fem!dom, Spitting, creampie, basically explicit sexual content. Minors DNI

Description : Remus wants something special for his birthday, something out of the norm.

Wolfstar x Fem!Reader

Word count : 1721

---

Here you were.

It was ridiculous really.

You always behaved, maybe needy, but never bratty. Yet Remus and Sirius always found a way to push you out of your comfort zone.

So here you were.

Straddling Sirius as his arms were bound by leather to the head board, only in his boxers. Normally it would be the other way around. Sirius was not submissive and quite the bratty bottom. Sirius smirked up at you, challenging you just knowing he could easily get his revenge. 

You see it was Remus’s birthday and you’ve always been very eager to please. You remember the day before asking what varying chocolate sweets Remus would want for his birthday. You knew he had a hard time accepting gifts, but you knew he’d appreciate some baking. So you wander into the living room to see Remus lying against Sirius as he read. Sirius was drawing lazy circles against Remus and you forgot why you weren’t settled there too, before you snapped out of it.

“Rem, darling?”

Rising up from his very comfortable seat, he walked towards you, gave you a quick peck before responding, “Yes love?”

“I know chocolate cake is your favorite, but is there anything else you want me to make? Just ask and I’ll do it. 

Remus smirked for a second, “anything?” he asked.

“Of course, silly.” You looked up at him questioningly. It’s his birthday, you weren’t likely to say no.

“I do want something for my birthday, but it’s not food.”

Sirius’s head popped up in surprise and as his eyes reached yours he found your reaction matched his own. Remus didn’t like people buying things for him. Before you could even ask what he wanted Remus was whispering something in your ear that made you shiver. Sirius arched his eyebrows at you in question and you just stared back, much too embarrassed to respond. Knowing how easy it was to get you flustered he turned to Remus for an answer. And that’s when Remus had the gull to laugh and say, 

“Oh, you’ll find out”

---

So here you were wearing a colour of lingerie that Remus adored on you, Straddling Sirius, not believing that Remus wanted you to dom him as he sat safely from a distance on a chair at the foot of the bed. It would be an easier task to make Remus the minister of magic than it would be to manage Sirius. You were a very gentle soul and that was one of the reasons the boys fell in love with you, but Remus had gained so much amusement at the prospect of you dominating the untameable, and it was his birthday, so you were forced to oblige. 

There was Sirius with that menacing grin, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

You turned back to Remus for some sort of moral support but he just stared back, palming his bulge clearly eager for you to get a move on. Then Sirius did something that would have gotten you punished ruthlessly (by him no less) and thrust upwards at your core and stated, “come on, I thought you were supposed to be paying attention to me?”

You glared down at him. The audacity to edge you for hours for not responding quick enough, or not begging enough for his liking and you turn your head for one second and he has the nerve to act like that. Your usual gentle tone was diminished and if the tone wasn’t warning enough your words definitely were. 

“I don’t remember giving you permission to move and let’s make one thing clear you fucking brat.” You didn’t see but you were sure Remus’s eyebrows were raised as Sirius returned your glare with ease “You are tied up for my pleasure right now, and through mine you’re tied up for Remus’s too. So if you can’t be a good boy I won’t hesitate to treat you with the same mercilessness that you treat me with. Are we understood?”

“Fine.” He grinned. 

“That’s a start at least. Open your mouth.” you commanded. 

When he didn’t do so you squeezed his jaw between your thumb and forefingers the same way he does, forcing his mouth open on your own. 

“I said to open your mouth, I knew you were useless, but I wasn’t expecting you to be so dumb.” 

It felt so good to use his words against him. Apparently slipping into a dom role would be easier than you thought. With your new surge of confidence you leaned forward and spat in his mouth. You clamped his jaw shut and plugged his nose quickly after.

“Swallow” you commanded.

And he did.

You started to grind down on him then earning a moan from Sirius.

“Aw you like that baby? Your cock is so hard right now, I bet it’s aching. Bet you want nothing more than to fuck me senseless. Too bad you’re such a brat. Do you wanna make it up to me?”

You continued grinding, but he said nothing. You slowed to a torturous pace, “I said do you wanna make it up to me”

“Yes” he said quietly.

“Speak up, Remus needs to hear you too love.”

“I said yes” and with that it was your turn to smirk.

You got up and removed your underwear and made your way to Sirius’s face to straddle that instead. Before you sank down you said, “I want you to make me cum with only your tongue before I even think about returning the favour.” Not bothering to wait for a response you sank down on him and surprisingly he was being obedient. As his tongue greedily lapped at your pussy you turned towards the chair at the end of the bed. Remus was jacking off, eyes hungrily watching. 

“See, now that you’re finally being a good boy Remus can feel good too. I can’t believe you would make him wait so long you selfish brat.”

Sirius knew it would be too dangerous to respond so he just continued tonging your clit.

You decided to give him a little treat since you were getting so close and leaned back to pull his throbbing length out of his boxers and stroke it. 

Remus was having the time of his life. He knew what potential you had. Especially seeing the slight defiance in your eyes when Sirius would make you call yourself a whore for them. You enjoyed making them feel good, but Sirius deserved a taste of his own medicine. He couldn’t wait to see what you would do next. 

As you ground down on Sirius’s face he finally brought you to your release. Sirius was close too, and as his hips rushed up to meet your strokes more and more desperately you released his dick. He groaned in frustration.

“Don’t be a baby, you do this to me all the time and besides if you think a plaything like you gets to cum before the birthday boy you are sorely mistaken.” She undid his bonds “Stand up.”

Sirius was very happy to be free but as soon as he was you were using the same bonds to restrain his hands behind his back. 

“On your knees, in front of Remus, now.”

Sirius eagerly obeyed, not wanted to risk the chance of not getting his release he needed so badly.

“Sirius I want you to beg for Remus’s cock.”

Sirius raised his eyes from Remus’s red, swollen member to Remus’s lustful gaze.

“Go on, what do you say? I'll give you a hint, you make me say it all the time.”

“Please.” Sirius quietly muttered. 

“Please what?” this time Remus spoke up.

“Please may I suck your cock?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely”

Soon enough Remus was fucking Sirius’s face as you were knelt beside him. Placing delicate, yet intense kisses across his shoulders and neck, while still whispering the odd dirty statement. Loving that Remus turned the tables for you and excited for when Sirius would turn them back. 

“Fuck, I’m coming.” Remus pulled out and watched intently as Sirius swallowed and as you cleaned up what Sirius missed.

“Please please I’ve been so good now can I please cum too?” Sirius asked looking at you.

“I don’t think so” Remus responded, “y/n has been much better than you so I think I’ll be making her cum again while you watch on the chair.” 

It was so much fun watching tears roll down Sirius’s cheeks as Remus fucked you from behind. 

Maybe it was your birthday instead you mused to yourself as Remus slammed his cock into you brutally, making sure you and Remus both would get to come for the second time that evening. Remus wrapped his arm around your neck and pressed your back to his chest, while his other one made his way to your clit mimicking the furious pace of his pounding. 

“Isn’t she so pretty? Pads, look at her all fucked out. This is what a good pet looks like. Fuck she’s so tight, bet you wish you could cum in her pussy like I’m bout to.”

You just whined at that, completely aware of the fact you could climax by Remus’s words alone. 

“You like that Pup? You like knowing you’re my good girl? Come on, be a good girl and make a mess on my cock.”

Your orgasm washed over you in a burst, Remus prolonged it by continuing to strive for his own high. Just before you were about to cry it was too much Remus was releasing his big load inside you. As you were both catching your breath you were interrupted by soft sniffles coming from the foot of the bed. 

“Don’t cry sweetheart” Remus cooed “You can have your turn now. y/n do you wanna help our Siri out”

You gathered your strength and clambered off the bed. On all fours you made your way to Sirius before nestling yourself between his legs on your knees. Finally Sirius sighed in relief as your lips wrapped around his cock. If tonight taught him anything, it taught him he was going to be praising you much more for what you put up with. 

“I love you y/n” 

He really meant it, and not only because he was cumming down your throat.

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Hey y’all I hope you liked this. Please feel free to let me know if you’d like to see other stuff like this in the future!

@thotbutpurple