#and it feels like you strung me along that whole time in a way because I didn’t know what you wanted and didn’t think anything had changed

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[dreaisgrayte]

Off the Record | Muzan Kibutsuji x fem!reader

warnings: NSFW, MDNI, food play (with wine), fingering, squirting (first-time ayyyye), oral sex fem! receiving, raw sex, rough sex, reader gets that good stuff, cum on chest

word count: 2.4k

a/n: guys I may have an addiction to the Demon Slayer cast... will I seek help for it...? Absolutely not.

His eyes gleam with the soft glow of the light over your head. Behind him are massive windows that show the cityscape of modern-day Tokyo, the twinkling neon lights like stars you could touch. You’d always dreamed of coming into this building, but never had you thought you’d be sitting here – across from the biggest name in Japan and quite frankly, the world. 

It made your whole body buzz with child-like excitement. As an interviewer, you had to scrape by on nothing until the right opportunities presented themselves. When your boss specifically asked for you to hold the in-house interview, you knew this was your big break.

“So, Mr.Kibutsuji, the paparazzi have difficulty finding you.” He smirks, leaning back against the large couch he sat on across from you – only a table separating you from the mysterious man. 

He peers off to the side, studying a magnificent piece of artwork on his wall. “It’s because I don’t want them to.” He blinks the crimson of his eyes back on your sweet face. His answer is matter-of-fact and if he went on like this, the interview would surely be a bust. 

You laugh politely, looking down at your approved list of questions. The thumping in your chest tells you that this isn’t a good idea, but you set it firmly down on the table in front of you, grinning up at the worldwide star. “Is that so? Mind if I ask you some questions off the record?” You scoot to the edge of your seat, watching as the ravenette perks up at your question. 

It intrigued him. He asked for an inexperienced rookie to simply ask him the questions on the sheet and not pry into his carefully secluded life. Yet, here you were, the questionnaire already on the table with a perky smile on your lips. Muzan feels the corner of his mouth quirk into a grin. He blows out a breath, gesturing in a circular motion freely with one of his hands still strung across the back of the couch. “You’re going to no matter what, so why not give you what you want?” He hums, distracted by the way your knees part ever so slightly to position yourself more comfortably on his furniture. A jolt of electricity pulses through him, shocking him into meeting your intense gaze. 

Muzan Kibutsuji had spent a millennium disregarding the way women made him feel. Never had one interested him enough to break focus on his goals. Sex was something to break the silence of failure, not anything to spend his time on. But you… you were a carefully crafted complexity of sexual frustration. 

He runs his tongue along the inside of his mouth, suddenly parched for a taste of anything. The ringing of your laughter snaps him out of his daze momentarily. “Yes well, I’m known to be pushy when I want something.” 

Me too, Muzan thought. You open your mouth as if you’re about to start, but then you pause, screwing your lips shut. “Before we start, do you mind if we get something to drink? I’m dry as a mouse over here.” You mess with your fingers nervously wondering if that was the correct thing to ask. 

Muzan lifts a brow. “I was unaware mice got dry.” Nevertheless, he lifts himself off the couch. “But that is acceptable. If you’ll follow me to the kitchen?” He walks around the side of the table, offering you a hand. You gulp, tentatively putting your hand in his. 

He guides you to the kitchen island, pulling out a seat for you. You thank him with a nod of your head, gratefully climbing onto the stool. Setting down the tape recorder on the counter, you glance around the silver and white area. The kitchen is just as dim as the living room, the lack of light only making the slight brush of Muzan’s arm against your back send shivers down your spine. “I’ve always wanted to come into this building,” you blurt before cursing lightly under your breath. “Well, er, I mean to say… thank you. I’m grateful for this experience.” You ramble to cover up the embarrassing fact that you basically just admitted you’re poor. Muzan chuckles lowly, the sound rumbling around your head as he sets two wine glasses on the marble countertop. 

“Château Lafite 1869?” He lifts an expensive-looking bottle in the air. You catch a glimpse of the label, a detailed depiction of some sort of mansion with trees around it. He pours the red liquid into the cups, the noise filling the silence. When he’s done he picks both glasses up by the stem of their neck, setting one down in front of you. The aroma is divine. “My turn for a question.” Muzan leans against the lip of the island, staring into the pool of wine in his glass. He swirls it around, glancing up at you. “Just how thankful are you?” He questions.

You smile, bringing the glass to your lips and letting a bit of the wine fill your mouth. Muzan watches you with swept attention. The flavor is complex but you catch a hint of spiciness hit the back of your throat. You set the wine glass down, trying to think of a response. “You’ve done it all wrong,” Muzan’s brows are furrowed as he stalks toward you. He grabs hold of the glass, dipping his finger into it. Your eyes widen when he drags the pad of his finger along your lips. Subconsciously you part your lips, breathing shakily as you daringly dart your tongue out. 

His eyes light up like an inferno, capturing your chin his nostrils flare. “So thankful I’d do anything.” You sputter out against the hard grasp he has on your chin. He rolls his lips under his teeth, huffing out a laugh. 

His free hand grabs your ass, spinning you around on the stool so you’re straddling him. “Is that so darlin’?” He flings your head to the side, the motion making you fall against the back of the counter. “You figure you don’t have what it takes to succeed so you’ll suck my cock, is that it?” He mummers, dragging the back of his hand down your exposed neck. 

Your body heats as you narrow your eyes. “No, that not-” You shut your mouth when his gaze locks onto yours. 

His hands find their way to your thighs, pressing them apart and savoring how your skirt rids up the plush skin. “Oh come on, you even wore a skirt. You knew what you were doing. Off the record? Please, that’s so they won’t hear you screaming my name back at the office,” He squeezes the skin of your thigh, causing you to hiss out in pain. “But I can fix that.” He smirks, running his fingers over the bruised skin. 

You pant heavily as you watch him devour you with his gaze. “We,” You gasp as he somehow rips your shirt to shreds. You regard the fabric of the once nice shirt that covered your torso now falling to the floor – parts of it still clinging to your body. 

The man in front of you runs a hand through his hair, grinning at the sight before him. “That’s more like it,” He hums, plucking the clasp on your back apart, letting your bra slide down your shoulders. “By all means, if you were about to mention the interview, continue asking me questions.” He pushes further between your thighs, flicking your nipple. You groan, the sensitive bud growing stiff. Muzan scoffs. “Though I doubt you’ll be able to.” 

He gathers liquid on two of his fingers, shoving them into your mouth. You squeak at the rough plunge, but your tongue sucks around the earthy tones of the wine. “Hmm, I think I’d rather like the look of you on my counter. Up you go.” You’re being lifted suddenly onto the island. Your skirt is around your hips, the cold of the counter on your ass making you squirm around. “Spread your legs.” He instructs, inspecting how you shyly part your legs, revealing your naked pussy. He scoffs again, tilting his head with a smug expression. 

You turn your cheek against the counter, flushing with embarrassment. “Don’t laugh,” You whine, pouting as the heat of his hand traverses up your leg. 

Muzan’s fingers graze the area of your inner thigh with lecherous intent. “Don’t be embarrassed, I don’t blame you for wanting to fuck me.” Your eyes flutter shut as he draws circles around your mound, playing with your emotions like they were an appetizer. “Besides, I’m going to fuck you real good,” His fingers slide into your pussy, exploring the new area. You groan, squeezing your eyes shut at the sensation. “Hmph, already so wet. You sure did come hot and slick.” He muses, using his thumb to press into your swollen clit. 

A hand clamps over your mouth as you writhe against his ministrations. “Fuck, sir-” Muzan shoves his fingers deeper, aggressively reaching for your throat. His massive hand wraps around the span of your throat, squeezing your windpipes. 

“Call me that again,” He commands, the fire in his eyes now dark and blown out. You huff out tiny breaths, nodding your head. He removes his hand slowly dragging it down your navel, before gripping the side of your thigh. His fingers curl deeper inside of you and your eyes widen. 

A panted moan falls from your lips as he continues. “Just like that, yes, please sir,” He smirks, pushing down on your clit. A yelp echoes around the kitchen at the sudden pressure. 

Muzan lavishes in the way your throat has a red ring around it, marks from him spotting your body in a gorgeous display of possession. “Such a good girl for me,” He growls, slipping his fingers into his mouth to taste your arousal. You watch him with the swell of desire wrapping its claws into your core. “What a wonderful pairing with the Rothschild.” He mutters, grabbing one of the glasses and swigging the liquid into his mouth. 

A devious grin paints his face as he lowers the glass, meeting your gaze. He tips the glass against your stomach, letting the dark red wine trickle tributaries down your greedy cunt. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean you up.” Muzan’s mouth is hungrily lapping at your folds, delighted noises streaming from him as he savors the taste. “Intoxicating,” He huffs, swirling his tongue around your clit before sucking hard on the sensitive area. 

Your throat is sore from the way whimpering moans string together shakily. Your stomach is pulsing with a sensation unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. If he didn’t stop, you felt like you might explode. “M-Muzan,” You begin, huffing out his name. He hums against your folds but doesn’t stop. “Ah, ah,” You start to shake against him, the ravenette pumping his fingers inside of you while licking your clit savagely. “F-ck, m’gonna, hngh haaa ahhh,” 

Muzan’s mouth curls deliciously as your back arches off the counter. Then, with a few bucks of your hips, wetness sprays from your pussy. You shiver as the squirting continues, your body twitching with untouched pleasure. Breathing seems impossible as Muzan licks his lips. “What a wonderful show, but unfortunately we’re still not done.” He pulls you down the counter, lining the apex of your thighs against the bulge in his pants. 

Your eyes widen, he can’t be serious. You were barely conscious after whatever just happened. Did he expect you to go all night? What was this man made of? He frees his cock, the tip slapping against your sensitive cunt. You squeeze your eyes shut. How is it that big? It didn’t feel that big when it was pressed against your thigh. Holy shit. Was he going to put that thing in you? “You’re gonna take all of it,” he begins, pushing the head against your slick. You blink open your eyes, pushing yourself up on your elbows to observe his length disappear inside. A strained hiss slips past your lips, Muzan rolling his hips into yours. “Fuck, your pussy should do all our interviews from now on, damn,” He groans, digging the nails of his fingers into your flesh. “You’re gobbling me up,” He meets your gaze, a growing rhythm snapping his cock into you. You throw your head back, moaning his name like it was a prayer. He felt like he’d been doing this a lot longer than any person you’d ever been with. 

Muzan pushes his thick length further, humming in satisfaction as your walls flutter around him. You couldn’t think, all rational thought was flung out of his huge windows the moment he pulled out that bottle of wine. “Ngh, f’so good, mmmngah,” 

He finds it delightful the way your pussy grabs his cock like it wants more. You had a magnificently fucked out face, your eyes rolled back in your head as your mouth hung open. With each compression of your chest, a hoarse whine pushes back out. Frankly, it was music to his ears. So he grabs the recorder you’d set down earlier, pressing the little red button. He grins as the timer starts ticking again. “Such a good slut for me,” He muses, slapping his balls against your ass as he pounds your pretty pussy. “Your cunt is lovin’ this,” He thrusts deeper and deeper until all you can manage is mewling little noises. 

As you grow closer to your second climax, you rest your back on the counter, enjoying the way the cool stone feels against your sweaty back. “Come on darlin’, is that all you got? This why you wanted me off the record? To fuck you silent?” He chuckles, glancing at the recorder next to your trembling thighs. “What a sneaky vixen, is this how you treat all your clients mmm? Offering your pretty pussy with fluttering doe eyes?” He groans, nearing his own wash of pleasure. “Well, on the record, you belong to me now. Got it? You’re my whore whenever I want.” 

His thrusts grow rapid, burrowing his cock inside of you like his life depended on it. With this life of failure, he’d finally found something worth trying to succeed for. Muzan could feel the old vigor seeping into his veins. He pulls out, pumping his cock until a strangled moan escapes his lips, cum landing on your breasts. He’s a panting mess as he takes in what he’s done to you. A puddle of Rothschild and your arousal soaks the wood of the floor. He picks up the tape recorder, bringing it to his lips. “You hear that, Hashira scum? I made your bitch scream my name.” 

[artist-issues]

I Saw Wish

And it was the worst animated Disney movie I’ve ever seen. I have to watch it again before I can get into the nitty gritty details. But I don’t need details to sum it up, because my dad actually said it perfectly as we left the theater:

“It was like someone who didn’t really understand Disney movies tried to make a Disney movie.”

Both the form (the technical arts of filmmaking) and the content (the morals, values, and themes of the movie) were totally horrible.

I don’t know who’s fault it was. Jeremy Spears was in the storyboard room and Mark Henn and Eric Goldberg did some 2D animation. But they must have gotten outvoted, or they must not care anymore.

Because holy cow. Here’s some stuff that’s just off the top of my head.

SPOILERS. Not that it matters, because nothing interesting happens in this movie.

The writing? Terrible. Ninety percent of it feels like the characters are filling time with quirky one-liners that are trying too hard to be appealing, then failing, then taking you out of the movie. The jokes aren’t funny. The characters just respond to each other in conversation to check a one-liner box. The other twenty percent is whole conversations repeating tell-don’t-show exposition that has already been covered, usually twice, in previous scenes. Like if in Tangled, every scene had included some variation of Rapunzel saying to friends and enemies alike, “I have to see the floating lights so I’m sneaking to the castle with this thief who wants a mysterious tiara I hid from him. Don’t tell my mother, she’s a bit overprotective!” Over. And over. And over.

The character motivations are way too broad. Asha? Her dream is just “that everybody around me gets to be happy.” That’s it, in a nutshell. No deeper exploration of that. Nobody asks, “why do you care so much?” Nobody tries to convince her she should look out for herself, and then she proves she was right all along. The King? We are told (not shown) that he doesn’t want anyone else’s dreams to be “destroyed.” But he in no believable way expresses that that motivation is still what’s driving him during the movie—what’s driving him is just a plain old lust for power, no nuance.

By the way, the whole premise of the movie? Undercooked. Half-baked concepts strung together with no definitive meaning. Therefore, it’s not believable. Example: The characters act like the wishes are beautiful—well, actually, no, this movie doesn’t know how to show, so there’s not a lot of meaningful acting—the characters just tell us that wishes are “the most beautiful part of someone,” and that’s why it’s worth going through this adventure to give their wishes back to them. But there’s no proof of that in the movie. In fact, it directly kicks it’s own legs out from under that idea, because it has every character who gives up their wish forget that part of themselves. Asha’s grandfather has forgotten his wish, but that doesn’t make him any less “beautiful.” She, and everyone, still treats him like he’s this wonderful old man who deserves the world, who everyone loves…but why is he so appealing? If he “gave up the most beautiful part of him?” The only character who is changed by their lack-of-wish is the Sleepy-analogue character…who is just sleepy, which is described as “boring.” But nobody else who’s given up their wish in the whole kingdom acts like that. It’s just him. Also, the King acts like it’s so important to protect the wishes from destruction. But what does destroying a wish look like? That actually happens to Asha’s mom. Her wish-bubble is broken, literally, and she just says she feels grief. But like. Why? She never remembered it in the first place; it had been missing from her life for years. Also, what the heck is a wish?! It seems to range from broad concepts like “inspire people” to “fly.” Just “fly,” like a bird. The desire to levitate off the ground is the most important, beautiful essence of one background character. Like, what?! But no character ever has the why behind their wish to make us care.

I could go on and on about that point. Like, think about Disney movies that wrote the book on how to make movies about characters with wishes. If Ariel were in Wish, her bubble would look like “dancing and learning and exploring on the Surface with someone who understands her.” But we believe that that is her real, genuine wish, and that it matters to her, because we are shown why being understood is so important to her. Because it’s missing from her life. There’s a scene where she explores a boat alone, and even her best friend doesn’t get excited about it with her. Her dad won’t listen to her point of view. Her siblings don’t ask her about her life even when they think she’s in love. She wants what she wants because of pieces of her life that we are shown.

We are never shown why Asha’s grandfather is obsessed with inspiring people, so we have no reason to believe it, or care whether he gets it or not. We can’t feel disappointed when his wish is said to “never come true,” like we did when Quasimodo was abused by the people he wished to join. We can’t feel elated when he finally “gets” his wish, like we did when Simba smiles on Pride Rock remembering the same way he used to as a cub and claims the crown with a roar. We don’t have anything to hang on to, nothing to relate to, nothing to grasp and feel with the characters. So we don’t feel, because they didn’t put the work in to help us feel. They just say, “the mom’s feeling grief. Feel grief.” And expect us to do the work ourselves. I have to stop harping on this point and move on.

But The main point of the movie is very broad because of that lazy premise, and it’s barely reinforced by any kind of appealing storytelling. If I had to guess, the point would be “Keep wishing for more even when it’s hard.” But the story they told to communicate that meaning was so unimpactful. Asha doesn’t have a dream of her own that’s such hard work to accomplish! (Neither does her grandfather; his wish is “to inspire people.” And at the end, we’re supposed to see him strumming a guitar and believe it’s inspiring? We were never shown how he worked hard to learn how to play the instrument. Or that he carved it with his own hands, or anything like that. So there’s no meaningful demonstration of working hard for it or achieving your wish even if it’s far out of reach.) And nobody except the king is trying to take wishes away from anyone, and he just does it literally, after they voluntarily give them to him, so there’s not even any impactful demonstration of “don’t let anyone tell you your wishes are dumb or unachievable, or stop you from reaching them.” Even when he takes them away, it’s just because they…could, someday, be used to threaten his kingdom in a vague, really unlikely way. There are so many things you could do with “keep wishing for more even when it’s hard.” For instance; you could say the main character has always been afraid to dream (wish for more), because maybe when she was a kid something wonderful almost happened but ended in tragedy, so she keeps her head down and doesn’t want much because if you don’t dream you’ll never be disappointed. She takes no risks, and has to learn that sometimes trying and failing is worth more than slogging through life all self-protective. I mean, the pieces were right there. She has this line about her dad, and how she wished he would get better but then he died. She has lines about how nobody should have to live with grief?? Then that’s never addressed again! It’s just a throwaway emotion-moment with no buildup or follow-through to tie it to and support that main theme.

The compositions of too many shots were so terrible. Characters got cut off in weird places. One shot has Asha dead center, with her grandfather on the left side of the table and her mother on the right, having a family dinner with a super exposition-heavy conversation that is meant to be emotionally charged. But despite everything else being perfectly centered, half of her mother’s body is chopped off. The movie’s shot like someone’s mom who doesn’t understand technology tried to take a video with her phone.

The charm of the art “style” wears off basically immediately. I know what they were going for. I see the sketch lines and watercolor textures. This is maybe the first time Disney ever failed to accomplish a visual “look” that turned out good. Everything looks dull. Muted. De-saturated. Slightly out of focus, but not in a cool Spider-Verse way. The sets or backgrounds are lazy; at no point does the scenery look complete; big, empty, boring spaces that do not create any kind of “stage” for impactful moments. The rendering looks unfinished. When Asha’s hair moves during her belting of the “I Make This Wish” song, it’s bad. It’s unnatural. It flops in a way that doesn’t make sense for the weight of her hair. The most impactful visual moments come from the villain, and they’re moments when he looks way too unhinged for the kind of line he’s saying.

There is no interesting character development. Asha goes from believing everyone is basically good and their wishes deserve the chance to come true , to….that, again. That would be fine, she could be a static character, if she proved contrast-characters wrong, in a believable way. But she never does. Because no other characters argue with her except the King. And it goes no deeper than “everyone’s wishes are basically good and they deserve the chance to make them true” vs. “nuh-uh, because I get to decide what makes them deserving.” The King doesn’t have any kind of interesting development, either. They don’t expand on his tragic backstory—it consists of one drawing of him near a broken boat, and a few images of the corner burned off of his family taoestry. They never say “King Magnifico wished for _____ and it was taken away!” They literally never tell you what his wish or dreams were, or what motivated him to create the whole kingdom that the movie’s premise sits on. So there’s no convincing sense of progression, how he got this way, why he’ll keep going “so far.”

The pacing is weird. It undercuts every moment that could have any kind of emotion behind it. One minute Valentino is suavely bouncing around, then he’s given a two-second beat to blubber with badly-animated tears that he’ll miss Star—then he instantly gets to have another funny one-liner so we forget he might’ve been sad a second ago. We’re clearly supposed to believe that the King and his wife are devoted to each other, and his turning evil was such a big betrayal, but there’s no time and no impactful evidence for us to believe either of those things. And even if we did, the moment he’s defeated and trapped in a mirror, and begs to be let free, the Queen kind of shrugs it off, makes a forgettable one-liner, and tells them to throw him in the dungeon. And he doesn’t look remorseful. And we don’t even get to assume he’s embarrassed or emotionally devastated that he’s come to this—because the last thing he says is “nooo, the dungeon is so smellyyy!” Like this is a half-baked LEGO short that can’t get emotionally deeper than what an actual 3 year-old’s parents might be okay with.

And that’s the worst offense: The movie is not genuine. It works hard for nothing, and it has no vulnerability. It just uses old Disney standbys to pretend to be vulnerable. Have the music swell and the characters gasp and the songs drip emotion when characters are meant to be saying or doing something emotional.

But truthfully, think of all the Disney movies you’ve ever seen with the hardest emotional moments. The sheer joy of Genie when he realizes he’s free. The anguish when Elsa thinks Anna’s been frozen forever, or when Anna thinks she’s dead. The trauma when Simba loses Mufasa. The longing and dreaming of Ariel when she reaches up out of her grotto. The sense of foreboding when Mother Gothel says “fine, now I’m the bad guy” or the heartbreak in Rapunzel’s eyes when she thinks Flynn has abandoned her, or the shame on Aladdin’s face when Jafar reveals he’s a street-rat, or the horror of cruelty when the stepsisters rip up Cinderella’s dress, or Kala’s tears when Tarzan leaves her in the treehouse, or Sarabi’s tears when Simba comes back, or Mulan’s father tossing aside the sword and token of the Emperor to embrace Mulan, or heck, even just Lilo pushing Stitch in the woods and telling him “get out of here.” This movie has no moments like that. It has moments you can tell that the filmmakers wanted to hit like that—but they don’t.

Because no work is put into building them up. You know how much Simba loves Mufasa, because you’ve been watching their chemistry more than any other character all the way up till he dies. You know how much Mulan wants to please her family because she spends all of Act I desperately attempting to do that. You know Quasimodo believes the world below is beautiful and wants them to accept him because he has interesting things like—talking to gargoyles, convincing us that he’s lonely; building a scale model of the townspeople, convincing us that he sees them in a beautiful way and wishes he were beautiful in more ways than one like them, too.

Right down to the facial expressions, none of them are as anguished, happy, sad, excited, silly, in any convincing way like all of Disney’s other movies. Asha’s “low moment” when she’s afraid her “wish” hurt everyone else (still vague on what that wish ever was) lasts two seconds, she’s not crying, she’s barely sitting with slumped shoulders, and her family barely spend two seconds comforting her. They basically just say, “aw, no, it’s not y fault, it’s the king’s.” And she’s like, “yeah okay” and that’s that. It’s like the animators we’re afraid to animate really intimate emotions on the characters’ faces. The voice actors, too.

And the whole movie is peppered with Easter eggs to past Disney movies. But all that does, if you really know Disney beyond the visuals, is make you think of how hollow this movie is in comparison. How much you wish you were watching Cinderella or The Little Mermaid or something with depth and vulnerability instead of Wish.

[irisintheafterglow]

hey how do we feel about neighbor!bakugo on your first night in a new apartment complex

it was so much colder than you expected.

you already knew you needed to put in a work ticket to fix your ac unit because it seemed to be stuck at the lowest setting (and you weren't in the mood for such a high utility bill). for the time being, bundled up in your comfiest sweater, you finish unpacking the last of your things. the shower curtain is strung, the pots and pans are stored, and the sun is nearly gone by the time you arrange the last throw pillow in front of your headboard.

polaroid pictures of your friends dot your walls, reminders of home that should fill you with something other than sorrow. it was a different type of ache every time you moved back for school; you wanted simultaneously for everything to freeze in time so you wouldn't miss anything, but also for them to live and send you all the memories you weren't experiencing. yet here you were again, in a very cold, very echoey studio that seems too loud when you shut the kitchen cabinet and place a can of soup on the counter.

there's a knock at the door before you turn the knob to light a burner on the stove.

"hey." when you first open the door, you're bombarded with the smell of something incredible, savory and buttery with the slightest smokiness. it drifts down the hallway and you catch a door propped open with a case of plastic water bottles out of the corner of your eye. when you register the guy in front of you, you have to rewire your brain when it short-circuits. "i'm bakugo in 2281. if you smell smoke, don't call anyone. i just messed up trying to cook." he's the first person you've met that can make scowling look so handsome as he runs a hand through unruly blonde hair. you finally realize that you hadn't uttered a word since opening your door and you can imagine the jolt as your senses return to your body.

"i think it smells incredible, actually," you offer and he shrugs, a muscled shoulder lifting underneath a simple black tank. well, that is a...lovely view. "are you pan-frying something?"

"i'm not; my roommate is. i usually do the cooking, but he insisted when i accidentally burnt our shit on high heat."

"happens to the best of us," you agree sympathetically. "is it just the two of you in that unit?"

"nah, we've got two more with us too." a small smirk fights its way onto your face as he looks less-than-pleased with his living arrangements. "unfortunately."

"seems like you get along great with them," you tease lightly and he scoffs, rolling his eyes lightheartedly. "did you guys move in today too?"

"took seven fuckin' hours, but yeah. eventually." he answers and you snort, feeling a little more at ease and leaning against the doorframe. "you?"

"i just finished unpacking my things. i was about to make dinner when you knocked." you swear you watch his eyes, scarlet red, shoot down and over your body, but the interest is gone as soon as it appears. "well," you begin a little awkwardly, not really sure what else to say. "i hope whatever your roomie makes is delicious, and thank you for letting me know about the smoke. better luck next time, i guess."

"yeah." bakugo shifts uneasily on his feet, like he was trying to say something that wasn't coming out.

"i guess i'll see you around--"

"yo, bakugo! we have a problem!" before you shut the door, you glance down the hall in the direction of the amazing smell and see who you could only assume was bakugo's roommate sticking his face out of the front door. his hair was fiery red and held back by a simple sweatband, also red. bakugo swears under his breath and gives you an apologetic grimace. "oh, hello!" the red-head addresses you with a blindingly bright grin that reaches his ears, which don't seem to be working as he shouts loud enough to get your whole floor a noise complaint. "i'm kirishima! are you our new neighbor?"

"what the fuck happened, shitty hair? and stop fucking yelling!"

"no, we don't have watermelon!" kirishima shouts back incorrectly. bakugo drags his hand down his face with a groan.

"that's not what i asked, dumbass!"

"just fyi, denki didn't tell me he put one packet in until after i put my packet in, so we accidentally made, like, ten servings of food," kirishima yells.

"this is what happens when you dumbasses do the cooking," bakugo barks in response. a crashing THUD! and the distant sound of loud hip-hop leak from their unit and you can't help smiling a little bit. for all their chaos, it was a little endearing. it felt like light was seeping into your stale apartment and you suddenly felt the urge to keep the door ajar so long as they kept theirs the same. "do we have any room in the fridge?"

"you think a broom is a bitch?" kirishima mistakenly mishears again and you stifle a giggle into your hand. "look, we don't have room in the fridge for leftovers since sero bought 2 cases of energy drinks!"

"i am going to stuff all three of them in a box and ship them to a different continent," he mutters and you finally burst out laughing. his eyes flicker over to you and narrow slightly, an idea precipitating in his brain. "you say you didn't eat dinner yet?"

"that can of soup is my dinner." you gesture over your shoulder to the sad little can in the dull light of your apartment. "why?"

"you wanna come over? promise they're not shitheads that wanna poison you. they're just dumbasses that don't know how to cook," he explains, a light shade of pink growing on his ears. "we can leave the door open, too, so you can bolt if you feel uncomfortable or whatever. up to you." he rubs the back of his neck with his palm, exhibiting every possible indicator of embarrassment.

"are you cooking dessert too?"

"no," he replies. "but i can make a mean ice cream sundae. it'll be damn good since i'm the one making it."

"then i don't need anymore convincing. want me to bring my own plate?"

"no need, we have extras." the sound of shattering ceramics followed by screams of horror say otherwise. "on second thought, maybe you should bring your own plate."

"no worries. i'll be over in a second. save me a chair?"

"'course. thanks for helping us and our mess."

"i should be thanking you. stay here a sec," you say quickly before grabbing a plate faster than the speed of sound. before bakugo can inhale again, you're throwing open the door again with a plastic plate and a container in hand. "any chance you've seen that new action-drama on netflix?" you ask as he walks you over to his unit. with every step, the impending chaos nears, and you find yourself grateful for it.

"the guys've been meaning to watch it, i think. i didn't really care but i'll watch it with you, if you want."

"oh, i've already seen it. three times," you admit sheepishly and don't think too much on his suggestion of watching it with you. "i just need someone to talk about the franchise with, and--"

"you the new neighbor? kirishima's almost done cooking, so we should have food out in a sec." another head pokes out from the doorway as you're about to step through. "i'm sero, the hottest one in the house."

"yeah, maybe for blind people!" the final roommate calls from far inside the apartment.

"you can't be in conversations when you're taking a shit, denki!" sero shouts back and invites you inside. "ignore him. he has many, many problems."

"as do all of the people in this damn house," kirishima says in passing as he sets a pan of food on the kitchen table.

"you better have washed your hands, fuckin' weirdo," bakugo threatens when the last roommate appears from the hallway. "sorry about them. we've been friends since high school and i can't get rid of 'em," he whispers to you.

"aw, c'mon. you know you love us or you wouldn't be living with us," denki sings.

"like i had any choice when you asswipes forged my signature on the lease."

"we didn't forge it, we just took creative liberties since you were on patrol..."

when the roommates are finally done arguing, you introduce yourself and, with one last amused look toward bakugo, sit down for dinner.

and for the first time in what felt like days, you felt warm.

---

despite it being less than a hundred feet down the hallway, all four of your new friends insist on walking you to your front door. three of them conveniently dismiss themselves once they've said their goodbyes, leaving you with a very-flushed bakugo fumbling over his words as he asks if you want to come over again sometime.

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! commissions and nsfw requests can be sent through my fiverr! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi! Is it possible for you to write something about Tomas with a very blushy s/o? Like they tend to blush or fluster easily and he pokes fun at them even though he's lowkey the same way.

This was…something that kinda went off request. (Is this OOC Smoke? idk you tell me.)

Tomas didn’t mean to take advantage of how easily you fluster but how could he not when you looked so cute with wide doe eyes that adamantly avoided making contact with his, whilst your hands reached up to cover your heated cheeks out of embarrassment, your voice pleading with him to stop his constant teasing. However You never made it easy for Tomas even in the slightest as he would always end up reaching a hand out to lift your head up by the chin so you were forced to look him in the eyes, using his other hand to remove your own from your face, just to add onto the teasing fun by saying; ‘are you flustered?’ Whilst his eyes engaged in every reaction you gift him.

He’d then gasps, ‘oh you are!’ He coos. ‘Dear gods and here I thought you couldn’t get anymore adorable, you, my beloved always end up proving me wrong like always.’ He’d finish whilst receiving a huge power trip from how you’d weakly try to push against his strong chest to create some distance between the two of you, only for him to cage you in his strong arms and hold you against it instead, smiling dopily underneath his mask, a side effect you’ve had on him for a long while now but he wouldn’t want it any other way. ‘Tomas. Stop.’ You’d whine, burying your head into his chest to hide away from him, feeling all sheepish and squirmy beneath his gaze, cheeks still uncomfortably warm from the previous bouts of teasing.

‘Sorry sweetheart but no can do, you’re reactions only encourage me into teasing you even more.’ Tomas said cheekily as he nuzzles his face against your head, tightening his grip on you slightly when he felt you attempt an break out, wanting to keep you caged to his chest forever if possible. ‘You honestly have no idea what you do to me my love but,’ Tomas then moved his head to be level with your ear, you didn’t need to see his mouth to know there was a mischievous smirk because you could feel it through the mask, plus the way his eyes would reflect that same mischief didn’t make matter better either; ‘I’m sure we can find a more intimate way that’ll spell it out loud and clear for everyone to hear just how bad the effect you have on me.’ You felt your whole body heat up at the insinuation as you then smacked Tomas lightly on the bicep.

‘Behave yourself, we’re in public.’ You hissed as you looked at him, conscientious of the possibility that someone, god forbid that someone be Bi-Han, Kuai Liang or even worse both of them, overhearing this and making their own assumptions. Tomas on the other hand couldn’t help but find some form of humour in your furrowed brows and pouty lips; to him, you looked like a child on the verge of throwing a tantrum if he didn’t give you what you want. ‘I’m not the one who’s got their head in the gutter though am I?’ He retorts as your left once again huffing, you were staring to understand why he enjoyed poking fun at you from time to time, you fell into his traps so seamlessly that he didn’t have to do too much because you already did that for him and for that you condemn yourself.

‘It’s not my fault that you word certain phrases into making me think those types of things, and besides I’m very much aware of how…vocal you can be during our more intimate moments.’ You said with a suggestive smile, batting your eyes at him for added effect as it was you who watched as Tomas swallowed thickly and continued to watch as his eyes grew wide as your ears could pick up the distinct hitch in his breath, along with the way his hands gripped your waist tightly. It was entertaining in seeing how quickly Tomas went from cocky to flustered with a few purposely placed words strung together; When he didn’t responded after a while you reached your hands to hold his face, allowing for your thumbs to gently caresses the parts that his mask couldn’t quite cover.

‘What’s wrong Tomas, you seem a little speechless.’ You said with fake worry as you brought your face closer to his so he could see the smirk growing across your face. ‘Cat got your tongue, pretty boy?’ You added with a whisper, not bothering to hide your amusement at the sudden change of your dynamic as you the pulled yourself away from him and out of his grasp as you walked away, looking back to see him still frozen to the spot you’ve left him in, before rapidly blinking his eyes when they cast their gaze on you with a unfamiliar look, which resulted in your cheeks becoming warm once more but you managed to bypass it in order to give Tomas a warning for the future. ‘Two can play at this game my sweet and we can go at it all night if that’s what you wish.’ You finished with a wink.

[solarmorrigan]

Holding hands during a stressful situation, from the Physical Intimacy Prompts list

-

Eddie kills the engine, sending the interior of the van into silence.

Neither he nor Steve makes a move to get out.

He lets two minutes pass in excruciating silence before murmuring, “Appointment’s gonna start soon.”

Steve huffs, still staring out the windshield. “This is stupid,” he mutters.

“Steve,” Eddie sighs; he’d promised to stick with Steve through the whole thing, and he will, but Christ, he’s getting tired of this argument. “You have to go, you can’t–”

“I know that, Eddie,” Steve snaps. “I’m not actually that delusional. I know I need glasses, okay? What’s stupid is being afraid to go in to the goddamn eye doctor’s.”

He goes back to staring at the “Hawkins Optical” sign hanging above the door of the office they’ve parked across from, glaring like it’s issued a personal challenge.

And there isn’t much Eddie can do to help at the moment, he knows; he’d come along for moral support, but he can’t lean over and gather Steve up into a hug like he’d like to, or press a kiss to the side of his head. It’s broad daylight, and they’re fully visible in the front of the van, and Eddie didn’t escape persecution at the hands of one bigoted mob only to get them strung up by another.

He settles for reaching over and taking Steve’s hand from where it’s clenched into a fist on top of his thigh, and instead holds it in his own, carefully low near the gearshift.

“You wanna tell me why you’re afraid to go in?”

For a long minute, Steve is silent. He stares straight ahead, not even reacting to Eddie’s hand curled over his, and Eddie thinks for a moment that he’s going to refuse to elaborate and just go inside (and Eddie doesn’t doubt that he will go in; he and Robin had had a bitch of a time getting Steve to set up the appointment at all, but now that he’s promised to go, he’ll follow through – Eddie just wishes he knew why he was so reluctant at all).

Then, just when Eddie is wondering if they’re going to be late, Steve says softly, “It keeps taking things from me.”

Eddie doesn’t have to ask what it is. He squeezes Steve’s hand, and this time Steve turns his palm up so he can thread their fingers together.

“At first it was my ability to just… sleep through the night, then it was the migraines, and then – like, my left ear is a little screwed up and I know that might get worse one day and I’ll have to do something about that, too, but now it’s…” Steve sighs, pressing his free hand to his eyes and letting his head hang. “I knew it was a problem, but I just – if I actually did something about it, then it would be real, and I…”

Eddie squeezes Steve’s hand again, even though the gesture feels woefully inadequate. Steve takes a sharp breath in and sits up, uncovering his eyes and running his hand through his hair.

“Okay, we’re gonna be late, and I’m just being stupid, so–”

“You’re not,” Eddie says firmly. “It’s not stupid to be afraid, Steve.”

“Really?” Steve scoffs. “Because I had to practically be dragged kicking and screaming to the optometrist like a little kid.”

“It’s new. It’s different. That can be scary.” Eddie shrugs. “But I promise, this will be a change for the better.”

“You think so?” Steve asks, small this time, devoid of sarcasm and begging for reassurance.

“Positive, baby.” Eddie nods. “You’ll be able to drive without squinting, and I’m almost sure your headaches will get at least a little better.”

Steve nods along, lips pursed. “Yeah, I… I guess so.”

“And,” Eddie leans in close, holding their joined hands to his chest for a moment as he murmurs teasingly in Steve’s ear, “you’re gonna look pretty sexy in glasses.”

Rolling his eyes, Steve shakes his head. “Yeah, alright. Sure I will.”

“Are you doubting my judgement?” Eddie asks, as outraged as he can muster.

“Doubting your sanity, maybe,” Steve says.

“Uh, rude.” Eddie smirks over at him. “If you’re so sure, how about you get in there and prove me wrong, Harrington?”

“Easy. There’s no way I’m going to be sexy hiding behind a pair of glasses,” Steve says, but his smile is back, and that’s all Eddie had wanted.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Eddie decides, reaching for the handle of the driver’s side door. “C’mon.”

He loosens his grip on Steve’s hand, only for Steve to hold on tighter, pulling him back into his seat.

“Hey.” Eddie looks over in time to meet Steve’s eyes as he drops a quick kiss to the back of Eddie’s hand. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly. “Anytime.”

Judging by the look the receptionist gives him, he’s still grinning like an idiot when they walk into the office, but it’s fine – a quick glance over tells him that Steve looks exactly the same.

[wellofdean]

Thinking about @luckshiptoshore and her liveblog of watching Supernatural and how much I love following it and how great it is to watch someone just fucking ENJOY the show...

And then, there were a couple of people in my Discord who love the fic, but have never watched the show, and folks in there were trying to convince them that it was worth watching (duh!) and that knowing the show by heart makes the fic so much better and like yes, again... DUH! And then I was suddenly overcome with such a feeling of ENVY for all the people who still have the chance to watch Supernatural for the first time already knowing what happens in the end.

I mean, I watched 14 years of it in real time (after downloading and bingeing season 1) and at least I was clever enough not to be in the fandom trenches that whole time, and just enjoyed it for what it was, but the end broke my brain, and changed the whole show for me.

Because, like, here's what happens in Supernatural by the end: Dean and Cas are in love. It was not subtle. Dean can't say it because he never has a single moment of not being up to his pretty, pretty eyeballs in dealing with the ongoing and constantly multiplying trauma of being the man his father raised him to be, and god's specialest boy to boot, but in the end, Cas finally does just fucking say it. Not only that, he waits until he can use it to save Dean, and show him once and for all in an incontrovertible, undeniable way exactly how deeply and truly loved and SEEN he is.

When you watch it knowing that, knowing that the the whole story is going to end in that stupid bunker dungeon with Cas telling Dean who he is and dying to save him, the whole thing just HITS DIFFERENT, because the Dean of season one with his outcast liminality and pretty, pretty lips is the poor, lonely, weird boy who will one day be loved like that by Castiel, an angel of the lord -- an impossible Eldritch being who learned what love and selfhood are from closely observing Dean.

The consensus amongst most Supernatural fans is that it is trashy and bad and that its all evil queerbaiting, but I would contend that it's actually deeply entertaining, culturally rich and interesting (yes, even its flaws and missteps), often impressively well-written and acted, never puts on any airs about being prestige television or high art, but still manages to be ultimately epic and somehow sublime, and that it's a queer story, about queer love saving the universe, and it is so, so worth watching.

Like, my brainworms are not 'they strung me along all that time and then never let them make out', by brainworms are 'they told us so many times and in so many big and small ways, and now I need to watch every bit of it again and again and again so I can finally REVEL IN IT (and, friends, that is the Supernatural rewatch journey: realising it was ALWAYS THERE). My brainworms aren't 'but does Dean reciprocate??' they are: 'of course he loves Cas, and of course Cas knows that Dean loves him, and the one thing Cas can't have? That's just his chance at happiness and a soft epilogue with and for Dean, because Cas, impossible, cosmic, Eldritch being Cas, traded his chance at happiness for his family's lives and sacrificed himself for love of his son and Dean, because that is what you do when you love someone, and what he has watched Dean never stop doing for even a minute of his beleaguered life.'

And then, Dean dies (yes, it's stupid), and he cannot just go to heaven, drink a beer and hang out, he needs to climb into his magic soul vehicle, hit the axis mundi and tear the universe up looking for his angel and his happy ending in The Winchesters? Fuck me.

And like, it's the most romantic, and devastating story I have ever been told? And I love it so much?

[denim-devil]

Dauntless | D.W

Summary - A close call has Dean asking questions, hoping to gain some clarity of the current situation, the flames ignite bringing the butterflies that had once lay dormant, to life.

Warnings - Soft!Dean, Alcohol, Smut, M x M, P in A, Spanking (slightly), Dom!Dean, Dirty talk, Mentions of a certain white liquid I-, Kissing, FLUFFY DEAN-

“Not Proof read- sorry”

Dean hasn’t realised.

How could he? With each swig of whiskey that trickled down his chest with a certain wanting warmth brought his thoughts into a swirling mess.

His eyes grew slacker by the minute, focusing on the way you laughed at his stupid mindless jokes. At first he thought it was because you had as much alcohol as him to succumb to the euphoria that closely followed but no…he saw the way you glanced, eyeing up his fully clothed form.

Dean tried to let it go, with each passing moment his focus grew shorter and shorter. Watching the older hunter shuffle in his seat, you had guessed the wooden structure left nothing but an aching numbness that chimed like church bells, one of his legs crossing over the other.

Unphased by the sudden bodily manoeuvre, you go back to sipping on the bronze liquid Dean happily shared between the two of you.

“So…what was that back there? Did you have a plan?” Dean rasped, plump lips lingering on the edge of the smooth glass, ridges of detailed shapes littering the outside, his fingers delicately gripping the cold object.

You shrugged allowing the liquid courage to take control, mind empty and your tongue dozily laying still in your mouth as if words themselves were hard to form.

The room fell in silence, the bunkers structure stuttering, disputing low rumbles, you had guessed it was the age of the frame, bricks beginning to fade with time, it was easy to lose focus, especially with experienced hunter sat closely next to you.

“No…”

It was clearly painted across your expressionless face, his eyebrow cocks as if confused but also curious. The whole ordeal in itself costed the use of your left shoulder for the next couple of days, the stiffness still lingered but with each sip of the beverage at hand left you feeling limp and unbothered.

He could see it, how the whiskey melded your new form as if it gave you the strength to hold your lips closed before letting something carless slip past and into the open, into Dean’s ears.

“No? Why do I not believe you?”

The questions at hand left you sinking into the rickety chairs of the library. Each passing moment ticked with time itself as if in every possible outcome it would leave you cold and trapped.

The sudden crumpling of his shirt, each wrinkle shadowed by the dim light above growing as he reached over, his hand settling above your own as if was ment to, attached to the skin of your open palm, fingers dancing along the heated skin.

“Tell me”

He ordered, his tone stern and deep, wanting to uncover the factor that had lead you into a certain type of doom and gloom.

At first you had tried gaining some sort of control, tying each and every word into a sentence worth while but with each passing second it proved harder. The truth was almost hurtful but it was also showered in gold, a blinding sort of glimmer that rolled up in the back of your mouth and out into the open.

“I’m afraid, Dean I can’t”

Your words were like a dagger. Surely you would hold and place every inch of trust and respect into the man that had made something out of you. His fingers almost soothed the irradiating warmth with coolness that managed to settle you, his eyes slightly flinched knowing that he could be the reason.

“Try me”

His words were sharp like the same dagger that struck him moments ago, cutting into your skin harshly forcing the lump to unravel in your throat, bubbling up into a strung up sentence.

At first you tried, cheeks twitching as you shuffled to face him, fearful of what he would think, how careless it was of you to be distracted in such a dangerous job.

“I- It was you…at first I tried…I really did to ignore it”

You stopped, palm growing sweaty as Dean’s own covered yours, which instantly calmed you like a bedtime story, putting you in a trans-like state which inevitably forced you to speak nothing but the truth.

“I couldn’t function with you so close to me-“

Dean gripped onto you hard, hard enough to make you stop like a deer caught in headlights. The glass he held so tight onto was discarded before he pealed his crossed leg away, both planted securely onto the cemented floor beneath.

You could feel it, the change. The way he fumbled and lost control of his features, how he somehow had gotten closer, his breath fanning across your now crimson cheeks.

“I nearly costed you your own life?”

His mouth hung agape, brows again burying themselves lower slightly. Nodding, eye contact seemed to be the only comfort, followed by his calloused palm that clung to your own tightly.

“N-No, not you, but…you were so close to me-“

It clicked. Like train-tracks slotting into its own fitted journey, his heart beat wickedly picked up, ringing in his own ears clouding his judgement. It was obvious now, just as time itself, it was obvious.

He grew closer, lips almost searching for it’s perfect surface, your own. He held his own, awaiting a certain go-head before taking ownership of the situation, eyes dimming from a emerald green to a suggestive darkness that rocked your entire existence, a growing lust travelling from the pits of his stomach upwards.

“How about now…sweetheart?”

The nickname rolled from his tongue effortless, stilling, you can only keep focus on how his whole demeanour changes much like seasons but this one stayed, the concentration that plastered across his face only drew the two of you closer until the gap was no more, his lips attaching to your own fiercely.

Dean wanted you in more ways then one, away from here, riddled away in his sheets, touching and holding you in every way possible.

——

You had no plans on messing this up.

Despite how small and rickety Dean’s bed was, you still managed to both fit onto it, slotting above his now naked body, hands and legs moving against each other igniting the everlasting lust you kept locked away for years.

It was easy for Dean, he was protective in ways that could seem possessive, loving in ways that could seem down-right heavenly, he had you right where he desired.

“I’ve dreamed about this…”

His mumble was loud enough to send shockwaves throughout your body which splayed itself across his own, against his body, somehow you had both managed to find a position that suited the circumstances.

It’s everything you had imagined and more, back pressed closely to his chest, his hands soothe small circles into your thighs before picking them up, just enough so they were level with your ears, body now folding in half just how Dean wanted you.

“Me to…”

You shyly hiss once his thick, reddened tip lingers against your pucker, his smirk growing once you needily whine into the thin air of his room.

“You want it that bad? Why didn’t you say so-“

His tone was deep and lust-filled, distracting you enough to push himself upward and inside, grazing the velvet walls you claimed, writing his mark with each inch.

“Dean-“

It couldn’t have felt better, biting your lips to suppress the hungry moans threatening to expose the two of you hastily gripping onto strong biceps wrapped around your thighs, slightly grounding you enough to keep composure.

He was thick and long, each ridge, each vein easily felt against the disappearing muscle that pushed the limits you were use to already, feeling full had never felt so good.

“You know how many nights- fuck; that I stayed up…” finally bottoming out, he stills allowing you to utilise the stretched out feeling, his balls pressed firmly against the cleft of your ass, enough to send you into overdrive, you had finally acquired all of Dean.

“Jerking off over you and your pretty little ass-“

Guttural, loud, pornographic. Each word described the temptation that riddled you both and the moan that slipped from his open lips moments ago, it felt surreal to be in the warmth and grip of your teacher, and the best hunter the world had ever had.

“I- I can’t”

Mumbling incoherently, blubbering as the tears slip from your damp lashes. It gave Dean both the pride and confidence to carry on, pulling himself out until his tip lingered on your entrance.

“You can honey, i’ve got you”

Sinking back in with ease, he could feel it all, how soft and wet and pretty you were for him, how it all joined and created something unfathomable, something from a porno Dean was frequent with, but this, this was real and it had his emerald greens rolling back into his head and his hands trembling against your sweat-slicked skin.

“Oh fuck- sweetheart, so fucking good for me”

He was almost insatiable, from his confidence to the cocky attitude that had you a mess, cock weeping and twitching with every word and every touch.

“Dean, feel so full fuck-“

Smirking against your neck, he breaths, tonging at the spot that had you shaking in his grip. Ultimately his stamina had grown, fulfilling every need you had, like a bucket list, checking off every single damn thought you previously had of him.

In time, his speed grows to a certain speed that littered each corner of the room with loud slaps, his balls smashing against your cheeks with urgency, although lewd and slick, Dean had no plan of stopping, sliding in with each lap that had now moved to the shell of your ear.

“Wish I had you sooner, woulda stopped me from fucking the wrong one-“

He was vulgar to say the least, trapping you against his body, you had no escape but that was the dream you were once sold on, now, it was a reality you wanted to delve in for eternity, wrapped up in his body, entangled with nothing but the lust and drive to see stars.

“W-Wish I had you sooner-“

Dean didn’t think twice to turn your head slightly with his strong grip, his fingers scrunching up your hair, smashing your lips together, engulfed by the flames that surrounded you both.

It didn’t last long, but it was short and sweet, all tongue and love. You were mistaken if you thought Dean had any softness in his bones when he began to fuck up into you without remorse, holding your legs up and wide, hitting the bundle of nerves that had you limp against his front.

Doe-eyed and delirious from his affection, each thrust sending you into a blissful heaven, you let go, the walls crumbling around finally falling completely, you spray into the open air, each glop landing onto the manly forearms holding you still.

“That’s it- atta boy-“

With a swift slap to your glutes that rang out like a rusty spring snapping, Dean holds you down by the hips, slowly rolling, riding out his high. A few “fucks” had managed to escape him, voice now hoarse from the lingering tipsiness.

Each splatter painted your insides white, finally claiming what he had dreamed of forever, you.

Panting, breathing in the same air, your both left feeling weak and limp but better, it was almost as vivid as the dreams you had experienced in the past that involved the very man that had you cum hands free.

He chuckles, green eyes flicking up to meet yours. His glare was sincere, sweet almost overbearing if it hadn’t been for the soft pat he gave your ass, slowly enveloping your lips with his.

It lasted longer then before, more lips then anything else, deep and inviting. Pulling away for air, glancing down at him had never felt so intimate, his smile big and bright, blinding in every best way possible.

“Not the first time that’s happened”

He points to the mess dripping down your thighs and backside, chuckling in amusement as you blush, burying your head in his neck giving him the right amount of space to slip out of you, already you feel empty, yearning for the next time.

“That’s the first time it’s happened…”

Mumbling against his neck, breathing his scent in, the aftershave that spoke to his character invading your senses, delirium flooding back into your veins.

“It won’t be the last sweetheart, for a very long time-“

You laugh immediately before pecking him on the lips, returning to nuzzle in the crook of his neck.

It was if you were both lost in the darkness of the room, tangled together, damp and basking the afterglow of bliss, witnessing the relaxed smile he offered was your golden ticket to a happy every after, his arms holding you close, he had you now and you had him…

[demigoddessqueens]

flower power

Summary: inspired by a scene in the last season of TLOVM. TLOVM and the reader are fighting some enemy in the fae realm and the reader gets thrown off into a patch of strange flowers. Yes, the sex pollen trope!! The enemy vanquished, the team checks in with each other and the reader is unaccounted for. They find them struck with a high fever and in growing agony. All eyes turn to the guys of Vox but the whole team knows of Percy’s long burning rush for the reader. He reluctantly volunteers, reluctantly because he doesn’t want his first time with you to be like this, but he doesn’t want you to suffer/die, obvs.

Read also here ao3

A/n - a million “thank you’s” to @zombiesnips-blog for this request

You had led him away from the group before it got more excruciating than it already was.

When you both got a good ways distance away from the party, you let your inhibitions run wild. All you could see, taste and feel was Percy. You melted into his body as you ran your fingers through his hair.

The more you deepened your kisses, tore at his clothes, Percy felt at odds with himself entirely. He WANTED you, and had been lost in his pathetically yearning thoughts for a while now.

However, this was such unbecoming of a young man raised in such an environment! He already could feel his heart racing when all eyes turned to him about the decision he would make, but now it damn near felt like it would burst out of his chest.

"Nngh...,w-wait! Stop, puh-please! We can't go on like this!"

You stared up in confusion at Percy's outburst as he attempted to make himself seem of good standing and not as a man trying to hide his arousal. But it didn’t stop the guilt he felt when he saw your expression.

It felt distasteful to indulge in such an act, but he couldn’t do this to you! Just abandon you and leave you out to dry in such state.

”Wh-why? What? You don’t want me..?”

He gripped tightly onto your shoulders as you could see the intensity of

“Of course I wanted you! I have since I could remember! But this?! You, me, this, your ‘condition’, and how it’s supposed to—.”

He cut off his stammering with a sharp inhale before he continued.

Cupping his face with your own hand, you placed a gentle kiss along his cheek.

“You deserve better…”

Peppering more along his face, they grew more heated.

“It’s ok, Percy, I trust you…it’s ok with me…”

Your words offered him internal relief for now. If things were different once your….”condition” wore off, then perhaps he could do this in a more intimate setting. You deserved that much at least. He would make good on that promise, but for now, there was no time left but to indulge you.

Already slick from the Fey Wild's pollen, Percy gasped at your arousal. Keeping his hand against your crotch, he began to rub his fingers against you with his hand down your clothes.

The heavy petting didn’t last long before you had him on his back with a sharp “oof!”

Undoing your pants and his, you grabbed his member that was beginning to twitch in your grasp. Slipping inside of you was nothing he had experienced before. So wet and warm, and such a tight heated fit around him.

Even though you were the one compromised, Percy felt his back arch off the ground as he adjusted to you. You undid the front of your shirt as well, just enough to where your breasts were on display.

It was so easy for you to chase after your pleasure, rocking your hips fast and slow as you liked. Just as you achieved one orgasm, another quickly followed you again and again. Beneath you, Percy could feel you pulsating around him. Bless his heart he tried to keep the moans low but there were the rare times you pulled a loud yelp from him when the grip tightened.

The praises and moans were strung with curses, and even if it was so crude, you thought him as ever the considerate lover.

He was a man not used to such outward displays of affections, but even if some straying eyes from his own or the Fey saw you, he wouldn’t give a damn!

What had seemed as a few minutes felt like hours when it was you two together. One orgasm after the other shook both of your bodies until Percy could give no more. He looked entirely spent and was beginning to gather sweat on his brow.

Collapsing into his arms, you could feel the effects slowly diminish from your body. Grateful for the “assistance”, you let yourself relax into him. Percy had you in a weak embrace but still felt his burning infatuation for you.

You both would find your way back to the group, but for now, the quiet moments were enjoyable.

[aechii]

getting into a fight with jude then you break up w him , then months later he sees you at a party n still wants you back 🙏🏽🙏🏽

₍₍ SiX FEET UNDER ₎⁠₎

PAiRiNG ?! toxic!ex!jude x exgf!reader

GENRE ?! angst

C/W ?! she/her pronouns used, unhealthy relationship, something about writing toxic!jude that has me brainrotting, reader knows her worth, profanity, a small cameo of playboy!trent, drinking (sip responsibly ppl)

A/N ?! i love love love writing toxic!jude, fight me. other than that, plz do enjoy because for once in a while, im liking what i've written <3 [next fic will be a trent one, dwdw]

~°~

"you're not fucking getting me, jude!"

the heat she felt is all encompassing, red, burning fury for a man— boy, who timelessly strung her along with reins of faded promises and stagnant affection. a piling mountain of 'what could i have done better?' weighed like rocks and bricks, yet if her mother were here, she would've looked on with absent surprise.

she had warned her daughter, begged her even, that men— boys like jude had their words proclaimed as if in the finality of red ink, but their minds basked in a bath of sinful infidelity.

but [y/n] craved love. a feeling she had never encountered fully as it was more of a come and go, never marinating into her flesh and heart. but jude— god, jude, with his heightened charisma and intoxicating smile, had promised to love her from sunrise to sunset, from dusk till dawn.

yet, if those words held any truth, then they wouldn't have stood there, in an air of edged demise.

"listen," jude looked completely uncaring, dragging a hand down his face, "if you can't fucking tell, i'm trying, yeah? and it's not everyday i'm gonna be available."

"i never said i wanted you here everyday, jude," [y/n] cried, frustrated. her bones felt heavy, yet it was the hurt in her chest that blinded every sense of her's.

jude threw his arms in the air, scoffing, "then what the hell d'you want, [y/n]?" his voice resonated with exasperation.

"for you to be 100%, jude, it's not that hard! and if you can't handle a relationship— an exclusive relationship, then don't waste my time!"

they were tipping over at the edge of the cliff, and their fall was inevitable. frankly speaking, [y/n] should've known that their whole... involvement with each other was just a sprint to this foreshadowed end. it started off rocky, and no matter how insistent the red lights were, her eyes were glazed with blatant ignorance.

jude's presence then was like a toxin, accumulating in her muscles and causing every inch of movement to release pain. she needed to leave, with not a turn of her head back, and put jude in her first and only failed attempt of what could've been a blissful experience.

"you know what? i'm done— i can't stand here looking stupid for a boy who doesn't love me the same way," she scoffed, turning on her heel to climb the stairs.

she wished she hadn't had heard it. maybe it would've made her departure easier, that jude, truthfully, cared about her and just had the pieces of his mind misplaced and skewed. that maybe all they needed was space and time to seek and mend before they could try again.

but what she got was like a slap to the face, and the sickening truth that jude was never hers. and never wanted to be hers.

"since you can't understand where i'm coming from for shit, by all means, [y/n], leave."

+_-

the party had been, literally, timeless for jude. he hadn't known for how long he swirled the red cup of [spiked] punch pressed into his hand as he leaned against the door frame and observed the busy bodies that made him stick out like a sore thumb.

it had been months, 3 months, as jude'd been counting, since [y/n] bode her adieu to their relationship, or rather, whatever remnant of it remained. he felt like a disassociated body, existing for the mere fact that he had to, not because he wanted to, and part of him wanted to believe that it was all part of the 'life' experience.

it wasn't.

denial was a vile thing, and everyday, he woke up thinking that their end was her fault, and not his. that whatever they had was a lesson among others, and that he had to move on and find someone else that he could attach his data to.

but he knew, knew that [y/n] was a person that appeared like a blue moon, and soon enough, he found himself lost like a needle in a haystack and regretting. had no one but himself to blame, even his damn brother told him so.

his appearance externally, to those who didn't know what revved inside him, was a continuous ebb and flow from one party to another. whatever he had to do to make him forget was his priority, and if he had to get mind-numbingly drunk to do so, then it was welcomed to be his guest.

it was his 3rd one of the week, by approximation. more or less, he didn't care, nor did he want to know, because recklessness was what seemed more comfortable than guilt and shame, and he was so sure that his body was more alcohol than water. counted his lucky stars that it was the end of the season and so he could do whatever his heart urged him to do. his heart, keyword there.

his darkened mood seemed to have seeped into the room because after hours of remaining stagnant doing nothing, trent walked up to him, identical solo cup in one hand and the other weighing on his shoulder with concern.

"guilt is eating you up, eh?" trent chided, although not as cheerily as expected. jude grunted and took another sip as he huffed out a flippant, "shut up," that had trent throwing his hands up, as best as he could, in defence.

"look- i've been there, done that."

jude looked at him suspiciously, "you've had flings, trent."

"yeah," he shrugged, mellow yet firm, "to forget about her."

"never knew that," jude said with an air of surprise. trent wasn't necessarily the best person to come to in terms of... serious romance, per se.

just as trent went to retort, jude's eyes cast around the room, and zeroed entirely on one hovering figure, meddled with a group of more girls who looked far too merry compared to the one that caused jude's tunneled vision, and before he could stop himself, his mouth punched out a, "fuck."

trent caught whiff of jude's exasperated and frozen countenance, "what?"

it took a whole body and more for jude to respond, "she's here."

then trent's head whizzed around, seeking for the girl whose scarce presence had his friend in complete misery and his line of sight paralleled jude's, "i... did not know she was coming."

"me too," jude said automatically, and as if they had a mind of their own, his feet began to move. trent noticed immediately, and a tough grip wrenched around jude's bicep, "where do you think you're going?"

"to talk to her?" enunciated as if it were a question, but there was an undercurrent of certainty that made trent want to slap jude for his sheer stupidity.

"and do what? beg for her forgiveness as if you did not walk her out your home hand in hand?"

jude scowled at trent's bluntness, "it wasn't like that."

"well it fucking seemed like it," trent chastised.

jude was completely deaf to trent's words by then, as the second she was left alone by the bar, he had an aim. an aim to get her back by the end of the night, and if he didn't, he wouldn't walk out there with all pieces of him intact.

did he need her? yes. and it may have taken him too long to realise, but jude didn't care. it was all part of the 'life' experience.

he managed to slip out of trent's vice grip (who, at that point, had given up drilling pleads into jude. he had to plummet back to reality, one way or another), and by auto-pilot, walk towards [y/n] who has too busy ordering another round of shots to even notice his arrival until his words punctured the air, "hey."

[y/n] spun around. rapidly and in complete shock as her eyes were blown wide. she had wanted to utter everything and nothing at all, but her mouth seemed to malfunction, to both her dismay and relief, so she resolved to a questioning jut of her head forward.

jude nervously scratched the back of his neck, "i uh- how have you been?"

she thought for a few seconds then shook her head conclusively, "as best as i could be, jude."

it may have not been intentional- matter of fact, who had jude been kidding? it was intentional, the icy tinge in her tone and closed off-ness as she settled her stance and crossed her arms. a blank space, gaping and hollow, was left in silence as jude tried to find words to say.

"i'm sorry."

[y/n] looked at him incredulously, "you're sorry?"

jude nodded.

and then she laughed. jude would've blamed it on drunkeness if it hadn't been for the obvious, mocking sarcasm as she stopped and looked at him just as quickly as she started.

"you're funny jude, very funny," she chuckled, turning around to slide a shot glass from the counter, raising it in gratitude to the bartender who gave her a nod back, before patting jude's arm to walk away.

he was delirious by then. in absolute confusion, wondering what he had done to seem so... ridiculous to [y/n]. he had apologised, hadn't he? made sure to make it as geniune as he mouth could mold it and that was enough. it had to be.

he spluttered, reaching out to stop her by her wrist, but, as if his touch were hot, she slapped him away, "don't you fucking touch me, jude."

"i said i'm sorry-"

"and you think that's enough? to do what, jude? get me back?"

he nodded and she laughed again, chesty and completely deprecating.

"you know, let me give you advice jude," her expression submerged jude 6 feet under, it felt like it, "don't date. you're completely shit at it."

jude was definitely 6 feet under.

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[general-cyno]

I sort of rambled about this in the tags of a post, but I wanted to make a proper one myself since I find it very fascinating (law backstory flashback you will always be famous). so one of my favorite scenes is this one:

it is a very meaningful moment for these two, a very clear turning point to their dynamic at that time, and it's made even clearer by how law starts referring to rocinante as cora-san afterwards.

now, there are several instances throughout dressrosa arc where the similarities between doflamingo and law are mentioned, with the former going as far as to call them both birds of a feather. and as it's shown in the flashbacks, reading about flevance was enough to trigger doflamingo's traumatizing memories of his and rocinante's childhood, which seems to motivate him to bring law into the family. the way law seeks to lash out at everything then is reminiscent of doflamingo's own worldview and experiences, at least from his pov:

rocinante noticed those similarities as well and though he tried to (questionably) discourage all kids from joining the DQ pirates by scaring them away, law's case in particular prompted him to bring up the topic with sengoku at some point, as seen during sengoku's conversation with law.

sengoku repeats what everyone says about the amber lead disease, that it's incurable, and warns rocinante not to favor law much for it could jeopardize his mission. whether rocinante's agreement here was reluctant or not ig is up to each reader but learning of law's real/full name (his relation to the D clan) reignites his initial worries and some more, considering the historic opposition/threat the D represents wrt celestial dragons and how this could endanger him if doflamingo were to find out.

so there's even bigger reasons for rocinante to not want law to become doflamingo 2.0. though as he later admits amidst his drunken speech, the will of D no longer matters to him when it comes to saving law, as rocinante's journey to cure his disease ends up making him feel genuine sympathy for law beyond that. he's forced to witness first hand how much discrimination and dehumanization law's subjected to time and time again, because of his disease and ties to flevance. before all this, law's mentioned his imminent death more than a few times and does it after too. and during the first disastrous hospital visit, he tells rocinante: see? I'm not even human anymore!

which brings me to this bit of dialogue:

for all of law's similarities and/or parallels to doflamingo, it's worth noting that rocinante experienced the same things his brother did and due to his younger age probably understood even less of what was happening or why they were being targeted in the first place. compared to doflamingo, rocinante also has way less dialogue in their backstory but one he does have is this:

this happens in the part where rocinante, doflamingo and their father are strung up on a wall and shot at with arrows. the villagers all express their anger, grief, the violence and suffering they've gone through because of celestial dragons like the donquixotes. albeit different in nature, along with doflamingo, rocinante experienced a kind of dehumanization as well.

so, again: for all that law might resemble doflamingo the most, I do wonder... how much of himself did rocinante see in law, though subconsciously? a kid who lost his family, subjected to the kind of violence that led him to resign himself to death (seek it, even) and was treated by others as inhuman because of circumstances out of his control? it might've not been what rocinante believed to be his own motivations to help law, likely never actually saw or realized the similarities they shared, but imo it adds some more depth to his kindness and sympathy towards law.

this also marks a stark difference between the donquixote brothers. whereas doflamingo got caught up in a very vicious cycle (which traces back to the existence of celestial dragons as a whole and was further enabled by others like trebol) that he planned to continue with law, rocinante was able to see past law's rage and acknowledge the pain beneath. after all, rocinante knows too what it's like to be hurt by others who've been terribly hurt first and became someone who wasn't exactly keen on returning the sentiment, unlike doflamingo, regardless of whether it was in his nature to be so or if it's something that was nurtured as he grew up. that's not to say rocinante was an endlessly kind saint (he had his own biased views) or that he wasn't capable of violence (he did beat up all those medical staff and burn down hospitals for example), but those incidents weren't caused by a sense of entitlement on his part or such. he didn't blame law for stabbing him or in general for seeking revenge against the world, ultimately chose to protect and save him instead - which, indeed, changed law's life. as law presently insists, he owes cora not just that very life but his heart as well.

lastly - law himself might not disagree with doflamingo insisting they're of the same sort, but law is also the kid who couldn't fathom leaving his dying little sister behind. who softened and lowered his guard after receiving genuine kindness/love/sympathy for the first time in years. who saved a little mink and risked his own neck later on to save a boy who'd just lost his brother in the worst way possible. who didn't even consider putting his crew in danger when he knew (and expected) he might die and his whole revenge plan against doflamingo was rooted in love and grief to begin with, the same upon which the foundation of his crew was built and is a tribute to. last we saw of him, law orders bepo to go back in winner island because can't leave the crew behind, etc etc, so there's that too. how much of it is law's own nature and personality? how much is due to the impact cora had on him? both? would've doflamingo turned out differently or made different choices if his parents had tried harder to school him out of those CD views or if he'd had more positive influences aside from them, instead of the people he ended up surrounded by? would he have become the same kind of person he is rn no matter what? interesting stuff to think about.

[daffodildelight]

Animagus (Part One) | Ominis Gaunt x Reader

Title: Animagus (Part One)

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x fem!reader

Summary: The end of year ball is coming up and you have hidden feelings for Ominis

Themes/Warnings: fluff, mutual pining, insecurities

Word count: 2450sh

A/N: No spoilers for Hogwarts Legacy. The story line for Hogwarts Legacy doesn’t really exist in this one-shot.  

Growing up in a pure-blooded family is quite challenging when you have different political views compared to everyone else. Especially when it comes to blood status, having different beliefs and voicing them in front of a pureblooded family will give you a one-way ticket to abuse. Mentally and physically. I’ve seen it happen to my cousin first-hand, left for dead on an abandoned street corner then endlessly stalked and ridiculed for the rest of her life.

Luckily I learnt my lesson quickly after my parents used the crustaceous curse on me when I was 5 after I tried to make friends with the muggle kids at the end of the culdesac. Even with the worst pain of my life, I never changed my beliefs.

For the first 11 years of my life, I was completely alone. Anyone who comes into the Crouch house was of pure blood with the same ideologies as everyone else. The only friends I was allowed to make were ones from a prestigious line. Unfortunately for me, every child was stuck up so making friends was very hard. But once I had received my letter from Hogwarts I knew my life would change.

-

Along with everyone else in my family, I was sorted into Slytherin. I received a letter of praise from my parents after they found out about the news. But the only thoughts running through my head were ones of solemn because if I had to deal with blood ideologies at home I'd have to deal with them a whole lot more at school seeing as Slytherin house was mainly for pureblood students.

Heading to your new doom room you were introduced to your new roommates including your future best friend Anne Sallow. The two of you were like a house on fire, getting along so well. It surprised you to find out that Anne also held the same values as you and was also pureblooded. You and Anne got on so well that she introduced you to her twin brother Sebastian and his friend Ominis.

When you first met Ominis you fell for him, he was so handsome. Doesn’t matter that he couldn’t see all that mattered was the presence you felt from him. It looked like he could carry himself and wouldn’t let anything get in his way. You knew you had to be his friend at least.

But Ominis took a while to open up to you, Sebastian on the other hand took to you just as well as his sister did. It took months for you to connect with Ominis, you tried everything. But every time you tried to connect with him he would either walk away or look in another direction. It was only when you found out that Ominis was a Gaunt (descendant from Slytherin himself) and that you both hated your families for their views he began to trust you and consider you a friend. And just like that, you guys became a closed group.

-

7 years have passed and instead of liking Ominis, you have come to describe it closer to love. You would sit next to each other in classes, study together, and hang out every day how could you not? Sebastian and Anne both know I have a crush on Ominis and try push me to tell him my feelings but your overwhelming anxiety won’t let you. Because if you do tell him and he rejects you things will never be the same again. Plus he’s never given you any indication that he likes you in that way so you just leave it how it is. But Sebastian and Anne will not let it go.

“Come on (Y/N), he totally likes you back” Anne groans walking down the staircase with her book bag strung across her body she gives you a death glare “You’ll have to tell him sooner or later” she states with the same scowl on her face.

You speak up loudly so both Sebastian and Anne could hear “Over my dead body Anne, why ruin something when it’s already perfect?” colliding shoulders with Sebastian who is on your left. “Because (Y/N) we want to see both you and Ominis happy” Sebastian chimes in with his signature smile.

“But I am happy” you laughed. Swinging your arms around and jumping from the last few steps of stairs into the hallway of the great hall. “Okay now be quiet, Ominous is up ahead and he can hear very well” you whisper to both of them.

You walk up to him and touch his shoulder to grab his attention, he turns around to give you that winning smile that you love so much. “Good morning (Y/N) how was your sleep last night?” Ominis asks while making his way towards the potions classroom making sure to have his wand out and leave room for you to walk next to him. “Very good Ominis, I had a dream about animals last night” you replied with a jump in my step. You love it when Ominis talks to you about your dreams, it makes it seem like he cares about me. Sebastian and Anne follow us closely behind making small talk about the up coming N.E.W.T for charms class.

“That's good (Y/N), I’m happy that your finally getting sleep” Ominis states but before I could ask a question back Sebastian speaks from behind your shoulder. “I could’ve guessed that miles away (Y/N) you’re so predictable” Sebastian laughs before knocking your shoulder with his. You give a sinister giggle back before making your way down another long corridor and turning your head to face the twins, “I am not predictable Sebastian”.

Anne lets out a huge laugh before sliding in between you and Ominis “Oh yes you are (Y/N)! We know you so well, we could probably predict what your gonna have for dinner tonight and what results you’ll get for your N.E.W.T.s”.

You can’t help but think about all the things your best friends don't know about you. Starting off with the biggest secret which is that you're an illegal animagus. Yes, you became an illegal animagus for many reasons the main one being to get away from your crazy family during the Christmas holiday. The second is to explore my surroundings around Hogwarts without being caught and the third is to obviously spy on other people which is easy because your animagus is a tabby cat, which is a common house pet choice amongst others.

You decided to become an animagus after having a transfiguration lesson in your third year about it and became curious, So you read up on how to do it in the library every night for 3 months before you were sure how to do it. The process was painful to complete but in the end, it was worth it because I finally had my own freedom.

Now the reason I haven’t told anyone is that I wanted to keep it to myself. Yes I know if the Ministry of Magic finds out that I’m an illegal animagus I could be expelled or worse go to Azkaban but, to be frank, I couldn’t give a shit. That’s a lie I would care a little bit especially if I couldn’t meet up with my friends anymore.

Focusing back on the conversation you respond to Sebastian with a groan and a “whatever” muttered under your breath. Quickly look towards Ominis he has a small smirk showing and you can’t help but wonder if you could ever be able to have him more as a friend.

-

The day slowly finishes with you and the group eating dinner at the great hall. Sebastian and Anne sitting next to each other bickering about who gets the last chicken wing and opposite them are you and Ominis. Anne lets out a loud groan when Sebastian ends up taking the last wing into his mouth, which soon turns into glee when she remembers an important event happening in the upcoming month.

“Are you guys excited for the end-of-year ball after N.E.W.Ts?” she exclaims in her seat. Anne couldn’t contain her excitement which was proven when she starts pestering Sebastian on who he’s gonna take as a date. You can’t help but feel dread about the upcoming ball, because all you want is for Ominis to ask you but that’s not gonna happen because he doesn’t see you that way. It would hurt too much to see him with someone else on his arm as well and Anne isn’t making this any easier.

‘’Who are you gonna take to the ball Ominis? I know you have a few ladies eyeing you up!” Anne gives you a look and wiggles her eyebrows. You know she’s up to something. Ominis speaks up from his spot next to you “Well the person I want to ask will say no so I’m just gonna go by myself.”

Your heart breaks, of course, the person Ominis likes wouldn’t be you but the fact that he likes someone and thinks he doesn’t have a chance is ridiculous. All you want is for Ominis to be happy so the next set of words is like venom to say. “Don’t be stupid Ominis, anyone would be lucky to have you. I say just grit your teeth and ask them. If they decline tell me who they are and I’ll punch their lights out” you give a forced laugh.

You don’t want to know who this lucky person is because you’ll just end up self-deprecating and end up going into a deep depression. So to save yourself you decided to have a walk in the forbidden forest in your animagus. Just so you can take your mind off things. Before Ominis or the twins could say something you stand up from the table and announce yourself. “I’ve got some extra studying I gotta do before the charms N.E.W.Ts comes, I'll be in the library.” you sigh collecting your things from under the table. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow?” you give the best tone you possibly could before bolting out the doors without looking back.

Heading towards the edge of the forest was a bit difficult because you have to avoid all the teachers and prefects patrolling the castle but never the less you made it towards a clearing. Taking off your shoes and hiding them behind a familiar tree you were ready to transform. During the first times of transforming it was very painful but now you have grown accustomed to it, and there you were a brown tabby heading into the woods for a walk to keep your mind off things.

Minutes turned into an hour and slowly you started making your way back towards the castle. Taking long lonely stairs and corridors back towards the Slytherin common room until you come across the very thing that’s keeping your mind racing. Ominis sneaks around with his wand held high to avoid objects. My guess is he was just at the undercroft with Sebastian.

Now you know you shouldn’t have done this but every bit of your instinct told you to because you were feeling down and Ominis loves cats. Slyly you walk up to his right ankle you give him a bit of a nudge. This gains his attention and reaches down to scratch behind your ear perfectly, Ominis was actually the most perfect person ever. It felt like heaven and before you know it you rolled onto your back to let him give you some much-needed belly rubs. All of a sudden gravity changes and now Ominis is holding you in his arms with your head slotted into his neck. He smells so good and you never want to leave this moment but with all good things, it must come to an end when Sebastian is quietly yelling at Ominis.

“Hurry up Ominis! Professor Weasley is just around the corner!” Sebastian then runs past us down the last corridor door towards the Slytherin common rooms. Ominis follows him with me still in his arms and we make our way into his and Sebastian's door room. You’ve never once seen their dorm room before because of the protective enchantments from the professors but it was basically the same set-up.

“Ominis! Why are you still carrying the cat!” Sebastian stated loudly while Ominis puts me on his bed. “I don’t know, I panicked and just went straight for the dorms like you told me to?” Ominis replies nonchalantly while giving me more pats. I couldn’t be happier. “You know that’s someone's cat right? You’ll have to give them back” Sebastian ruins the mood.

“I know” Ominis sighs in defeat. “I'll keep them for another 5 minutes before I kick them out” he states in a sarcastic tone. Ominis moves his way around onto the bed to give me some more pats.

“I know who your gonna ask to the ball Ominis, she will say yes if you ask. I don’t understand why you won’t.” Sebastian brings up the topic. The one I didn’t want to be brought up while I was here, now I have to listen to Ominis talk about the girl of his dreams while I'm right here unable to leave. A dream turned into a nightmare.

“She’s never given me any indication that she likes me, I don’t want to ask and be rejected because it’ll ruin the flow of our friendship and I can’t risk that” Ominis states in a sad tone. Friendship? Ominis only has 3 friends, unless he’s made a friend without me knowing. Or worse he has feelings for Anne. Your heart struck a nerve just even thinking about it. You wouldn’t blame him for liking her, she’s so carefree and her personality is so attractive. How could he ever like me when she was right there?

“Ominis I know that you’re blind but how can you not see that she’s practically in love with you?” Sebastian sighs. The feeling of heartbreak is what’s going through you right now, you just feel like leaving. Hopping off of Ominis's bed you walk towards the door but not before a life-changing comment was made by Ominis.

“Gotta love those blind jokes Sebastian but (Y/N) could never see me in that way. She could have any witch or wizard she wanted. I mean why would she want a blind boyfriend when she could have anyone? Even then, she doesn’t see me in that context” Silence. Absolute silence. Silence from Ominis because he thinks he’ll never get a chance. Silence from Sebastian because I swore him to secrecy not to tell Ominis I have feelings for him. Silence from me because I think my heart stop.

You knew the one thing you had to do and nothing will get in your way this time.

[cybertron-after-dark]

You said you like megadac. Yap to me. I beg

Ohooohohohohooohohohhhhhhh my favorite terrible toxic human x robot ship. They are horrible in some of the best ways and their whole dynamic fascinates me because it's such a fucking mess, and not all of it is anyone's fault

(under the cut bc this is a LOT of yapping)

Sumdac never really understood how much he was hurting Megatron by poking around in his remains. How could he know? He never had any indication, he just found a severed robot head with unbelievably advanced tech in it. How could he have ever known that was a person? How could he know it's a person that would come back from the dead? He couldn't. But his lack of awareness doesn't negate how badly it clearly traumatized Megatron (regardless of whether megs would ever admit that, even to himself)

And of course, the extended, months-long ordeal of having to pretend to be an Autobot as Sumdac's unwilling roommate. God. The degree to which that complicates things is just fucking [chef's kiss] absolutely terrible. The nightmare of being completely immobile, completely vulnerable, near-helpless to defend himself, and his only consistent contact is the guy that strung up his guts and plugged it into the central computer of his factory, who happens to be up close and personal with the Autobots that killed him. Like girl that's nightmarish!!! One slip up and he gets sold out to the people that want to fucking execute him, or worse, and he can't even run away.

So he bides his time. Puts on a mask. Hopes to the Allspark he can keep up the charade, keep all his pride and rage and disgust shoved down. And it's miserable. And he hates it. But when something terrifying and sickening and hopeless is your normal for so long, with no place to escape to, it becomes kind of perversely mundane. Familiar. This godawful place is home. This creature that violated me is my only company.

It's just such a fucking tangled mess.

Honestly, if Megatron was at least a little more honest about his position, Sumdac probably wouldn't have sold him out. He likes Megatron, he doesn't really have any reason to distrust him, and he does want to make up for the position he put him in.

"The Autobots do not much care for my kind, me especially. If they were made aware of my location and the state I am in, it would be the end of me. Do you know what happens in Autobot stockades?"

But this is Megatron we're talking about. To him, banking on people's compassion is not an option. Vulnerability is not an option. Trust is not an option. He can't just reveal what he really is with no solid backup plan, it's too great a gamble, and, given Sumdac is the guy who took him apart, it's probably a little difficult to conceive of a reality where putting his life in his hands goes well.

And then, after Blitzwing restores his body, when he's finally free, of course Sumdac is angry. Of course he helps in the ensuing fight on the opposite side. He was right not to trust him, he was an enemy all along, this whole spark forsaken world is.

At least, that's what Megatron tells himself, because he doesn't want to believe all his cynicism was a self fulfilling prophecy he created, and not a deep understanding of the cosmos and the inherent cruelty of his fellow sentient beings.

And then of course, of COURSE, keeping Sumdac in that tank in the cave was all perfectly proportional revenge in his eyes. All that time vulnerable, miserable, hopeless, separated from his allies, exploited, afraid for his life, all of that gets paid back to Sumdac in full. It feels good to hurt him back. This is right, this is justice. This is what fate allows him to inflict back on him, so it must be right.

But Sumdac didn't know. How could he? How could he when Megatron never told him how much he was hurting. And how could Megatron ever tell him when Sumdac gave him so many reasons not to trust him?

It's the inherent tragedy of a missed connection, it's the self-sabotage, it's the fear and the mutual betrayal and the obliviousness and the utter lack of communication, it's the deep familiarity and intimacy (including physical) between them even with that giant chasm they could never bridge. It's wondering if Megatron only took Sumdac with him because he wanted revenge or because some part of him would have missed the only person he's consistently interacted with for the past 6ish months, even with all the horrible feelings attached. It's wondering what the fuck was up with Megs sticking Sumdac in a bondage harness up against his chest, like hey what the fuck? It's Sumdac thinking Megatron was just his Wacky Alien Roommate for the whole ordeal, his special, secret friend who helped him get to be as successful as he is (even if he was unaware at the time), who talks to him about not wanting his autobot friends to see him in such a sorry state, and made a birthday present for his daughter once. It's Megatron being Sumdac's "I can fix him" project gone horribly, horribly wrong. It's wondering if there was ever a reality where they could have had a happy ending. It's knowing they never could.

[bowieandqueen11]

Tobey!Peter Parker Dating A Plus Size Reader Would Include...

Request: Hello! I know I sent requests for "random request go!" so feel free to ignore me. I was just wondering - I was reading again your Spider-Man stuff (cause it is FANTASTIC <3 ) and I saw that in your note to "Andrew!Peter x Plus Size!Reader" you said that if anybody would ever want to, you'd be willing to write Tobey!Peter x Plus Size!Reader too. I was wondering if that's still the case. Cause if yes, I'd love to see it one day! No pressure of course, you can skip it if you want! Have a great day!

Oh my gosh lovely of course I will thank you so much, I didn't think anyone actually read those notes aha but I'm so happy you did!! Between Across the Spiderverse (which I still haven't seen yet I'm so slow!) and the Insomniac Spiderman trailer I am being well fed :)

Warning: mentions of blood/injury!

(I do not own Spider-Man or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @fmribeiro01.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

I'm not joking even THINKING about this as a concept is making me squeal because like?? Tobey Peter?? Omg. Absolutely adores you. 24/7, non stop heart eyes motherfcker. Be ready for him to give you looks of such gut wrenching love and vulnerability that you'll just want to squish his cheeks together and kiss his forehead like the puppy he is.

You were 100% Peter's childhood crush, no question asked. You were always invited around to Peter's birthday parties, where the two of you would be thick as thieves for the whole night. Even poor exasperated Harry would find it oddly adorable when it was time to give Petey his cake, and he would bashfully pull out the chair beside him at the table for you to scoot onto. He thought he was so slick, bless his heart, when he reached over to fix your wonky party hat with his tiny shaking fingers, or shyly looked over at the rim of uneven frosting towards you when Aunt May carried out the homemade cake and told him to make a wish. You were always the last one to be picked up, despite living right next door: Ben, the sly old fox, could see how enamoured Peter was. How he had the firmest grip he had ever seen his nephew squeeze out around your arm, and how Peter stood holding the present you had given him in his other hand, not even noticing it because he was too busy fervently nodding and being strung along by every word you would say.

Ben would stall your parents at the door, blocking the way in by pretending to lean on his elbow, and spouting off about whether he was going to paint the living room a periwinkle or an egg shell blue. When your parents finally started to get impatient, you kissed Peter on the side of his cheek and left with a big wave, not really noticing the way he was standing stock-still, his fingers tentatively touching the side of his face and his mouth agape, blubbering like a blow fish. May has never seen him run so fast up the staircase, but Peter's so desperate to curl up alone under his duvet and thank whatever he can think of for making his wish come true, touching the wet imprint of your lips with a revered awe. Eventually, his giggling gets so loud during the night, that Ben has to come out and close over his door so he and May can get at least a little sleep.

A lot of your teenage years is spent with you jumping over your chain link fence in the middle of the night to meet a very anxious looking Peter, whose face quickly grows into a bright smile when he pulls the latest edition of the comic series you've been share-reading out from behind his back. Sitting on the cold tile by his garage, the night would slowly weave diamond dust through the sky, and sparkling joy through the irises of Peter's eye as the two of you stuck your heads together and poured over the pages. Every so often he would have to blink away, pretending he was fixing his glasses because you would catch the side-eye look he was giving you.

By the end of the night, you've fallen asleep, slobbering onto Peter's shoulder. He hasn't moved an inch: as still as marble, and doing his best to hold his breath so he doesn't rustle you, and so he can memorise the way your gratifying weight feels against the side of his shoulder. So he can imprint into his mind how tender your skin feels against his burning neck. It's only when Aunt May comes out to shake the two of you awake from the school bus that he runs into the kitchen all flustered. He grabs his backpack, and says goodbye, but refuses to change his jumper because he can still feel your imprint against the coarse wool.

From time to time that day, you'll peer round the door of your locker to catch him leaning into his, so giddy he's almost vibrating on the spot, which is probably why he's so distracted he bangs his head on the metal top of his own locker door oops.

Lunch that afternoon is even worse! Sitting diagonal across from Peter, you slide into the table next to an already frustrated looking Harry, whose kicking Pete's feet under the table and making incredibly unsubtle raised eyebrow points your way. He's so sick of the way his best friend will spend every minute of his time with you just staring: peering over his fruit pot, blabbering incoherently to himself with ruddy cheeks when he passes you the salt and your pinkie fingers brush, looking at your reflection in his spoon, pretending to stretch his arms and yawn just so he can 'look around the room', which also just so happens to be only the part that you're sitting in. He just wants his friend to be happy, and honestly, he's kind of dumbstruck that the two of you aren't together already, considering his eyes light up like gold-struck dawn every time he sees you.

It's only when Flash Thompson passes by and knocks Peter's elbow out from under him that he finally stops staring over at you. Mainly because his eyes are too busy slamming into his lunch tray, and breaking the bridge of his glasses down hard against his nose. The spell you wisp around his heart is finally broken when the blood starts gushing down his nose, and you have to half-carry him to the medical office. He spends 50% of the time walking there apologising to you, and the other 50% of the time is spent trying to stop his fingers from clenching into your arm. You've tucked him into your side, holding half his torso against you so he can spend most of his effort on pinching his nose, but he doesn't even care that he's swallowing blood anymore, he's so focused on how close he's pressed up against you. The feeling only grows more fervent, more needy, until he's twitching his thighs against the nurse's table to try and get himself to calm down, when you stay with him for the rest of the period to try and wipe some of the blood away. The way you're so close to his lips, the way that your gentle fingers are dabbing so close to his mouth that he can feel his rushing breath brush against your hairs is making him go cross-eyed with how much he's trying to focus on you.

'You know...', you start after a minute, biting your bottom lip nervously as you continued to dab at peter's nostril. 'I have eyes, Petey.'

'I-I know that, silly', he says, his breath coming out in a confused gasp. 'Me too!'

'I- I know you've been looking at me. Because I've been looking at you, too.'

His heart seems to be slamming into the caged cavity of his ribs, and yet everything seems to simultaneously be standing still: caught in a hazy, gliding, wavering dream as you slowly... ever so slowly drop the cloth into the sink, and break through the few inches between the two of you to press your lips against his top one.

For a moment, Peter is so shocked all he can do is widen his eyes, not even processing that the thing he's spent every moment of his waking and sleeping life wishing for ever since he was a child was happening right now. He tries really hard to stop his whole body from shaking, as his silky lashes finally falter shut against the top of your cheeks and he tries to focus his whole attention on the way your plush lip seems to press so perfectly against his own. After a few seconds though, when he hears the clattering of trays fall to the floor and the darkness he was letting himself fall willingly down into seems a little harder to blink out of, he realises the sound was him.

You're worried you've upset him, or stepped too far, or misconstrued his intentions when Peter falls backwards off you, but that's quickly replaced by frantic concern when he starts sliding to the floor. Thankfully, your reflexes are almost as good as his, and you're quick to wrap your arm around his back and cradle his head against your breastbone before he can slam his head against the floor again. He has to spend the rest of the day lying in the office's bed waiting until Uncle Ben can pick him up, but it was completely worth it. As he gazes up at the inane, plastered ceiling, suddenly everything else in life seemed so silly and pointless. All he cared about was rubbing his pointer finger over the wet patch of your saliva still dotted against his bottom lip, his eyes filled with a million bursting stars as he saw beyond the ceiling and into the skies, thanking it for making his birthday wish come true.

The two of you move into his crumby apartment after high school, and honestly? It's the happiest time in Peter's life. Sure, it may be small, and the walls may be flaky and they may shake every time a train rolls past the tracks outside, but every time he comes home to them he's greeted by the memories of the two of you laying against them like when you were kids, falling asleep against each other's heads as you read into the night. Sure, Ditkovich may hound the two of you constantly for rent, and the afternoons may be drowned out by the sound of his friends playing poker a couple of doors over, but they were so easy to forget in the evenings when you turned on your slightly dented radio and made a flustered Peter dance with you across the room, not stopping until you had him held tightly in your arms and he was so embarrassed with his two left feet that he was hiding his head in the curve of your luscious neck.

And sure, you may have picked up pretty quickly that Peter was Spiderman, considering he keeps hopping out the balcony at random hours and leaves his suit sometimes crumpled at the bottom of the closet, but you love him. And he adores you more than anything any universe could throw at him. So life, for the most part, is good.

Honestly, it's so cosy living with him?? Peter literally has spider strength, so he adores it when you lie on top of him in your bed. After a while of just nattering peacefully to each other about your days, winding down by playing with each other's fingers and sneaking kisses through the brackets of your arms, he feels so at peace to feel your weight familiarly resting on top of him. This need increases tenfold after he loses Ben, I think there's something so comforting to him, to know and feel that you're still so close to him, that he can synch the anxious patter of his heart against your own. He's so sweet bless him. he gets so sleepy that his head keeps falling down on top of your own, but he's so quick to lift it up again. He blinks languidly, that honey-sweet, silvery smile shadowed only by the tempered glow of the warm moonlight drifting through the balcony as he tries desperately to keep himself awake, giving his full attention to you.

There's just something about drifting off to the sound of your voice, knowing that for once, he's safe. That he's wrapped up, looked after, comforted by the love of his life. It just feels really nice to be the one coddled from time to time.

Sometimes, you'll jolt awake in the dead of night by the sound of some strange, wistful whispering echoing from somewhere in the near empty room. It takes your brain a little whirring time to realise it's coming from the hand that's spooning your waist, and the nose that's pressed tightly against the back of your thigh. Turns out Peter spends a lot of his sleepless nights tracing over your stretch marks, nestling down your back and reverently dancing his fingers up and down the tiger stipes on your waist. Every so often, he would rub his nose against their aureate lines in a fond kiss, gingerly resting his cheek against your bare skin again as he tried not to wake you up. What really made your heart melt, though, was the way an awe-struck 'wow' would slip from his lips in such a reverential tone, that Peter became so overwhelmed and could do nothing else but leave a small kiss against the side of your leg, dotted by slick tears.

This man picks you up on his scooter after your shift at work, mainly because 1) you are a much better driver than him, and it actually gets home in one piece rather than being tangled under a car wheel somewhere, and 2) when he's super stressed he finds it so comforting to wrap his arms around your side and press his forehead tightly into your back, letting the whole world melt away until nothing but whirling air and the scent of you is left. He always arrives outside your office building ten minutes early, making your secretary laugh when she spots him straightening his best flowery tie in the reflection of the waste bin by the bench outside. He has his best suit on, freshly pressed, and is nervously stepping from foot to foot with a crumpled bouquet of roses in his hand, like a teenager waiting to ask his crush to prom.

Every. Single. Day. You honestly just wait for the secretary to buzz you so you can grab your coat and run outside; you know far too well that Peter either dumps his Spidey suit through the window, or just wears his proper suit underneath so he isn't late. Doesn't matter if he has to catch five buses from the Daily Bugle, or has to 'borrow' his moped from 'Joe's Pizza' to get there on time, he's always there. And he always wants to look his best for you, even though he's still so surprised that someone as ethereal as you would even bother to look his way that he has to shuffle a handkerchief out of his trouser pocket and dab at the sweat beading on his forehead.

It's either that, or Peter scaring the bejesus out of you by picking you up with his webs. You'll just be minding your own business, walking down the sidewalk on your way back from your lunch break, only to be hoisted, screaming into the air and past an equally petrified looking pigeon. Peter does feel bad the first time he did this, since you were screaming the whole time he swung you, but you've settled into a better routine now. You've found it easier to watch the scattered tiles of churches and the blurred crests of building whiz by while you're holding on tightly to his waist, and your feet are firmly pressed on top of his own so he can keep you steady against him. I mean, you might still bury your head into his shoulder blade in absolute terror, but he makes it up to you by landing you down gracefully on top of your office a couple of minutes before you go back in.

The adrenaline from swinging about New York makes the kisses far more heated, and it's always helpful to have a little privacy when you pull the edge of his latex mask harshly up past the bridge of his nose and nearly knock him flying over the cornerstones with how fervidly you smash your lips against him. His arms instinctively come to wrap around you, and even he's grown a little more emboldened by the knowledge that you actually do love him and this isn't some cruel villain trick or high school prank, to open his mouth and press his tongue lovingly against yours. He never wants to let you go, so before he lets you go back to your job he gives you a tight hug, and presses a million warm little kisses in a treasure trail down the pulse point in your neck.

This man literally has like... two outfits, so he's constantly wearing your clothes! Surprise! You come home to find him sitting criss-cross on the bed, face bruised and tired worn from his latest clash with Doc Ock, but your sweatshirt tucked over him and lifted up against his cheeks like a little hidden koala bear. Surprise! You plan a surprise birthday party for him with Aunt May, only for him to turn up after work wearing one of your jumpers! It's just so snug, and homey, and it reminds Peter of when he was ten years old; when you came round to sleepover, and the two of you would crash on his mat after spending so long pouring through and excitedly talking about the new quantum theories in the science magazines he used to buy with his pocket money, Peter would shuffle up beside you. With a sharp breath, he would tentatively turn on his side and pray he wouldn't wake you up, curling into the foetal position. With a smile like dawn breaking through the soft tufts of a cloud, he would press his nose into your shoulder and just breathe you in, hoping he would never forget it as long as he lived.

This man loves to take you out dancing, mainly so he can grin wildly and show you off to every other customer in the restaurant. Every time he passes the waiter, or the Maitre d', he points wildly at your back and mouths ecstatically 'that's my Y/n!'. He legitimately pools all the money he's made from the photography, and from the pizza delivery together so he can take you to a fancy restaurant uptown. He feels so nervous when he gets up with that breathless smile and offers you his hand, but all his troubles just immediately melt away once he feels your hand brush over the strands of hair at the nape of his neck. He falls against you, easily caught just like he was all those years ago. Your fingers feel so soft, so perfect as they slot between his own, although his left hand never stops rubbing over the supple skin of your waist as he sways the two of you back and forth in time to the dream-like lullaby of the string quartet.

[writing-for-marvel]

Cause That’s When I’ll See You Again

DBF!Ari Levinson x Fem!Reader

Summary: The one time of year your dad’s best friend is in town is during the holiday season - the perfect opportunity for some no strings attached, filthy sex with a man who actually knows what he’s doing, but year after year it becomes harder to convince yourself you’re only in it for the orgasms.

Festive prompt: a roaring fireplace

Warnings: strictly 18+, smut, oral sex (f receiving), daddy kink, praise kink, a little angst (cause it’s me and I can’t help myself), happy ending, fluff and soft feelings, age gap is implied although exact ages are never mentioned

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: Happy Holidays to my Thot Neighbourhood Secret Santa, the lovely, beautiful and talented @jobean12-blog. Jo thank you for being such a ray of positivity and love on this site. You are one of kindest souls with the warmest heart, thank you for being you. I hope you enjoy this and have a wonderful holiday season ♥️ also a HUGE thank you to @late-to-the-party-81 for putting so much time and effort into organising this Secret Santa - I love and appreciate you Jen 💜 banners by @vase-of-lilies and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Library

A sense of déjà vu washed over you as you laid a tartan blanket in front of your crackling fireplace.

It was that time of year again, where colourful festive lights were strung throughout your neighbourhood and flurries of snow dusted the town, the combination of which produced an intangible magical quality, one you wished you could forever encapsulate and preserve in a snow glow.

The festive season was finally upon you.

Despite the chilly temperatures, most people’s spirits were warmer than ever, including yours. This time of joyful celebration also happened to coincide with the one time of year your dad’s best friend, the beefy and dangerously handsome Ari Levinson, returned home from his almost year long stint working overseas.

And to ensure that he wouldn’t be spending the holidays by himself and celebrating Hanukkah alone, your friendly father invited Ari to spend the festive season with your family.

The first time you slept together had been accidental - well, if you can call finally giving in to the massive crush you had developed on the burly framed, sex god, who never failed to affectionately refer to you as ‘Toffee’ because the chewy confection had been stuck in your teeth the first time you met, an accident.

But once you kissed him, allowed his large, assertive hands to roam over your every curve, and let his tongue taste every drop of your arousal for him, you knew you were in trouble.

You swore you’d never cross that line and act on such feelings, but when said sex god, with eyes as blue and inviting as a warm summer sky, looked at you like a ten course meal he wanted to devour, well, all logical thinking and restraint flew out the window, along with your panties.

The entire following year, you wondered if your dalliance was fated to be one glorious night. Whether Ari considered it a moment of weakness on his behalf and if he regretted what the two of you did, or if he was as desperate for it to happen again as you were.

The following holiday period, your questions were answered almost immediately.

The first time you two were alone again, all it took was one quizzical glance and you knew he too was thinking back to the night a year ago.

Perhaps it should have concerned you just how easily you gave yourself up to him, but you were honestly so desperate for him to have his way with you, to utterly ruin you again, that the desire between your legs overruled any self-control your brain tried to exert.

From your experience, none of the men your age knew anything about how to satisfy a woman, but there was no doubt with Ari, by your third orgasm, when you were floating on a cloud of pure bliss, you were convinced your bodies were made for each other.

This particular year he had a whole two weeks at home before departing again, and you made use of all fourteen euphoric days.

“Fuck, Toffee, so wet and messy, just for me - your pretty pussy gonna cum on these fat fucking fingers again? You gonna make a mess all over daddy?” His low growling voice was already such a turn on, but when he talked to you like that, you couldn’t stop yourself from cumming right then and there.

“That’s it, pretty girl, doing such a good job for me. Look how beautiful you are bouncing on my cock.” His praise spurred you on, lifting yourself up and sinking down on him again so he filled you completely, but when he reached to where your bodies connected, strumming on your clit, the coil in your stomach tightened as he brought you closer to your orgasm. “Wanna feel you cum around me baby, can you do that for me?”

“Still can’t get enough of me, can you Toffee?” He spoke into your ear as he pinned your hands above your head, fingers interlocked with yours, his weight pinning you to your bed, hips rolling into your own filling the room with salacious sounds of skin slapping skin. “You’ll never get enough, will you? I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you either.”

As you laid beside Ari the day before he was due to leave, content listening to the crackling fireplace, head resting on his broad chest, his strong arm wrapped tenderly around your waist, pulling you back into him as if your touch itself sustained him, you couldn’t help your mind from wondering if you meant more to him than simply an easy fuck; someone he knew would be available to take his sexual frustrations out on for the couple weeks a year he was home.

You had never met someone who fucked you so rough, but also treated you with such tenderness, as if you were something worth taking care of.

There were moments throughout the past couple weeks, when his eyes weren’t consumed with just pure lust for you, there was something else swirling around those desire-blown pupils. But you told yourself it must be your imagination. Surely he couldn’t truly be looking at you with the devotion you wished he felt for you.

When time came for him to leave again, you didn’t have the words to express to him how you had treasured the past two weeks. You were fully aware that he was your fathers best friend, and even if that weren’t reason enough to prevent your heart from becoming attached to him, you knew his position which took him overseas for the majority of the year should be. Whatever this was between you two, it could never turn into something real.

But that didn’t stop you from wishing it could.

The following year was pure torture. When you had only hooked up just once, you could at least resign yourself to the thought that it was a one time thing that meant nothing to him.

But now, knowing you had both been so eager for it to happen again, and the expectation that come the next holiday season you would pick up right where you left off, made you miss his presence even more.

The thought itself was exciting, but also agony.

Because, even if you wouldn’t admit it aloud, you missed not only the toe curling orgasms, but the way his eyes softened when they looked at you, how your body fit so perfectly with his as he cradled you to sleep, and the tranquil happiness you seemed to only find in his company.

Unbeknownst to anyone else in his life, Ari had made the executive decision to have an additional two weeks at home this year, designed to be spent solely with you.

He knew he couldn’t offer you the life or relationship you deserved, but just in this one aspect of his life he wanted to be a little selfish.

He wanted his sweet Toffee all to himself for these next four weeks, watching as your face contort in the most exquisite way as pleasure washed through your entire body; he wanted to wake up beside you and spend the cold mornings bundled up with you, listening to your voice as you read chapters of your new favourite book; but more than anything, he wanted to kiss you every chance he got, roughly kiss you until you were completely out of breath, sweetly kiss you when you were in the middle of a sentence because he just couldn’t wait until you were finished, tenderly kiss you right before you fell asleep so you would dream about his lips on yours.

Being able to spend a whole month with Ari was like a dream come true.

He spent an entire day teaching you to make sufganiyot just as his mother had done every Hanukkah when he was growing up.

Promised to beat you at every board game you kept stored at your place, but you were also convinced he let you win every time.

You sat by the roaring fire, one blanket stretched to cover both your laps as you read in peace, simply enjoying being together, even if you were doing something separately.

Someone could be confused into thinking that given the intimate nature of how you spent your days together, the pure tenderness which softened your gaze and the doting, involuntary smile tugging at the corners of your lips whenever you gazed at him, your relationship was much more significant than occasional fuck buddies.

But you couldn’t allow yourself to think like that - not only did Ari live most of his life oceans away from where you did, but he was best friends with your father. There was no way the two of you could ever have something that sembled a real relationship.

However, it was undeniable that when the two of you were together, it was something even more magical than the holiday season itself. The sex was incredible, that was evident by the number of life shattering orgasms he could pull almost on demand from your body, but it wasn’t just the sex.

He could make you laugh like nobody else, helped you feel confident in your body, provided an environment where you were comfortable enough around him to divulge secrets you hadn’t even told some of your friends. He brought out the best version of you you didn't even realise existed before him.

After a particularly sensual and passionate night, you laid together by the roaring fire, however it was the warmth which came from snuggling beside Ari’s strapping naked form which you were most interested in. For the first time in your life you felt truly content, protected, but most of all, loved.

The way he looked at you, the way he touched you, he made you feel like the most beautiful woman in the world, he could so easily fool you into thinking you were the only one for him.

Saying your inevitable goodbye was excruciating. Each year it became progressively more painful, and you weren’t sure you could manage the searing heartbreak which would come next year when you were positive you were already in love with him.

You couldn’t keep living like this, wondering for close enough to an entire year if the man you loved would still want you next festive season, whether in the time you were apart he had found someone else to settle down with, or if he wouldn’t be able to make it home for the next holidays, or came to the realisation of any one of the numerous reasons he wouldn’t want to continue sleeping with his best friends daughter.

You made a pact to yourself that the next time you saw Ari you’d tell him. Tell him how insanely happy he made you, how all you could think about was if next holidays you would get to experience that feeling of pure rapture when you were together, and how it killed you to consider that might not be a possibility. Tell him how possessive you were over him and that the thought he satisfied his needs with anyone else over the period you were apart ripped your heart from your chest. Tell him how even though it was entirely impossible and beyond impractical, you wanted to spend every moment of your year laughing with him until your cheeks ached, learning every aspect of his passionate soul and making love to him every chance you got.

Tell him that you loved him.

A knock on your front door pulled you from your reverie as you straightened the corners of your tartan blanket. Butterflies bloomed in your stomach and your heart clenched with dread.

This was it.

When you opened the door Ari looked handsome as ever, broad and tanned as if he had spent far too long in the sun. But it was the twinkle in his striking eyes at the recognition that it was you behind the door that made your heart flutter in your chest.

He didn’t speak a single word as he dropped his bags inside the entrance and pulled you into a tight hug. His embrace was warm and familiar, and even though it was Ari who was technically returning home, in a way it felt like you had as well.

“Ari?” The inflection in your voice indicated it was a question. Ari pulled back and studied your face before answering.

“Yeah Toffee?” His features stiffened and all of a sudden he looked worried. You had never seen him look this anxious before, and you made the quick determination that you didn’t like it one bit.

“I’ve had something on my mind literally all year and I need to come out and say this before we pick up where we left off.” You nervously babbled, peering down at how your hands were shaking.

“You’re in a relationship?” His voice was filled with sorrow which tore your heart in two.

“What? No. Actually, it’s sort of the opposite.” You nervously giggled, the sound of which seemed to calm his nerves. You took a deep breath to summon the courage you needed to confess your secret when his gorgeous eyes looked at you so expectantly. “I’ve been so hung up on you the past year I haven’t been able to think straight - well if I’m honest it’s probably been longer than just this last year. And I know this might ruin everything, and that it probably puts you in an awkward situation because of my dad, but Ari I think I’m in love with you.”

He took that moment to finally kiss you, like he was a suffocating man and your lips were his air. Lord, you had missed the tickle of his beard and how he smelled warm and musky, with a hint of tobacco. Every intimate feeling you had left unsaid you poured into that kiss, finally feeling free to convey every last emotion into your expression of love for him and not have to hold back as you had previously.

When you finally pulled away, needing air, Ari rested his forehead against yours, scrunched his nose and affectionately rubbed the tip against your own.

“My darling Toffee, I know wholeheartedly that I am in love with you.” You had never seen Ari smile as much as when he confessed those words.

“You do?” You asked, and he responded with an ardent kiss to your lips.

“This moment right here, reuniting with you, that’s what got me through the whole year. You’re the person I come home for.”

This time it was you that kissed him, eager, luscious and downright possessive. His luggage long forgotten, you steered him towards your living room and the cosy space you had set up next to the fireplace for an occasion just like this one.

You’d already had some very memorable holidays with Ari, but you were certain none would compare to this year.