#around here.' like absolutely go take a listen if you have the time.

[cloudyluun]

No Cameras Allowed | famous!harry

Summary: You and Harry have been secretly hooking up for months, but at a high-profile event—surrounded by cameras, fans, and industry people—you have to pretend like nothing is going on. The tension builds to an unbearable level, leading you to sneak away for a risky, reckless rendezvous.

A/N: Listen, I started writing this thinking, “Let’s make this classy and controlled,” and then Harry had a meltdown over a missing condom and suddenly we were all in too deep. 🤡 This fic is 90% tension, 5% absolute recklessness, and 5% me screaming into my pillow because these two cannot behave. Hydrate, take deep breaths, and maybe say a prayer, because I swear, I’m just the stressed-out typist here. If you need me, I’ll be in horny jail. 🚔🔒🔥

Word Count: 2,7k

Warnings: 

Explicit sexual content (Smut, NSFW, 18+)!!!

Jealousy & tension-filled interactions - Both are very jealous. I probably would be too. 

Mentions of alcohol consumption

Strong language & dirty talk

Mentions of an implied lack of protection (brief but relevant to the plot)

Secret relationship shenanigans – They’re sneaking around, and they’re GOOD at it… except for when they’re not.

Unholy levels of sexual tension – You will feel the need to take a deep breath and maybe fan yourself.

Public sex – Yes, they did it where they absolutely should not have. No regrets.

Desperation – The kind where you physically feel the ache in your soul (and elsewhere).

No condom moment – Highly irresponsible. Highly hot. They make choices, not necessarily good ones.

Hand over mouth trope – He’s gotta keep her quiet. You already know.

Neck-grabbing, wrist-holding, wall-pressing – He’s got control issues, and you like it.

Mutual corruption – Neither of them is innocent, and that’s exactly why this is happening.

Proceed at your own risk. But let’s be real—you’re already in too deep.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The hotel room is bathed in the warm glow of the bedside lamp, casting soft shadows across the sheets that are barely covering your tangled bodies. The air is thick with the remnants of earlier touches, the room still carrying the heat of whispered confessions and the slow, lingering movements that had left both of you breathless.

Harry’s fingers trace lazy circles on your bare back, his touch featherlight, almost absentminded. It’s a stark contrast to the way his hands had gripped you just an hour ago—possessive, desperate, leaving invisible marks on your skin. Now, he’s all slow affection, the pads of his fingertips skimming your shoulder blades as if he’s memorizing every inch of you.

Your head rests against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling the way it slows now that you’re here, settled, unrushed. His other hand is tucked behind his head, his bicep flexed just enough to make you roll your eyes at how effortlessly attractive he is, even in this sleepy, post-bliss state.

“I love how you think we’re subtle,” you murmur, a smirk pulling at your lips as you press a kiss to his warm skin.

Harry huffs out a laugh, shifting slightly so he can look down at you, his dimple peeking through as he grins. “No one suspects a thing.”

You tilt your head up, raising a brow. “Mitch literally asked me why I disappear at 2 a.m. all the time.”

Harry groans dramatically, rolling his eyes as he pulls you closer. “Mitch needs to mind his own business.”

You giggle against his chest, your fingers idly tracing over the swallows inked onto his skin. “I think he’s just concerned that I might be in some kind of secret underground fight club or something.”

Harry laughs, a full-bodied sound that shakes both of you. “Right. Because that’s the more likely scenario.”

“Exactly,” you tease, biting back a grin.

His laugh fades into something softer, more intimate, as his fingers slide down your back. Then, without warning, he shifts, rolling you onto your back so he’s hovering above you. His curls fall slightly into his face, his eyes darkening as he takes in the sight of you beneath him.

His voice is lower now, edged with something deeper. “Maybe I like knowing that no one else gets to see you like this.”

Your breath catches. It’s moments like this—when the teasing fades, when the weight of what’s between you presses against your ribs—that make your pulse stutter.

You reach up, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him hum in satisfaction. “You’re ridiculously possessive, you know that?”

He smirks, dipping his head so his lips hover just above yours. “And you love it.”

You don’t argue.

Instead, you let your lips brush against his in a slow, drawn-out kiss, savoring the way he melts into you. His body presses flush against yours, heat radiating between you, but it’s not rushed this time. It’s lazy and indulgent, like you have all the time in the world.

Which, of course, you don’t.

You sigh against his lips, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “So, the gala.”

Harry groans, dropping his head against your shoulder. “Way to ruin the mood.”

You laugh, running your fingers down his back. “I’m just saying—we’re really going to pretend we don’t even know each other all night?”

He exhales heavily, propping himself up on his elbows. “No flirting, no sneaky touches, no slipping away together,” he confirms, voice laced with mock seriousness.

You let out an exaggerated groan, throwing an arm over your face. “How am I supposed to act like I don’t want to drag you into a closet all night?”

Harry chuckles, but there’s something else in his expression now—something taut, restrained. “You don’t,” he says simply, leaning in so his lips brush the shell of your ear. “You pretend you don’t want me.” His breath is warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You shift beneath him, already feeling the weight of what tomorrow will bring—the distance, the careful avoidance, the act you’ll have to put on for the world.

Harry pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his green eyes flickering with something unreadable. “Think you can handle that?”

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry.

No, you think. Probably not.

But you don’t say that.

Instead, you force a smirk, pressing your palm against his chest. “Oh, absolutely,” you lie.

And Harry, the smug bastard, grins like he knows exactly how much of a lie that is.

Now you curse yourself for ever agreeing to this.

The flashing lights are blinding, the chaotic energy of the gala buzzing through the air as celebrities step out of sleek black cars, each one greeted by a wave of deafening screams. The photographers shout names, demanding poses, each snap of their cameras preserving fleeting moments for the world to analyze later. It’s all so polished, so orchestrated, yet it feels suffocating.

And Harry?

He’s already here.

You watch from the backseat of your car as he steps onto the carpet, buttoning his perfectly tailored suit jacket with the kind of effortless charm that makes the world swoon. His presence commands attention—broad shoulders, sharp jawline, a smirk so devastating it could be classified as a lethal weapon. His dimple makes an appearance as he waves to the screaming fans, his rings glinting under the camera flashes as he adjusts his cuffs.

He looks like he was born for this.

And the worst part? He looks completely unaffected.

Your fingers tighten around the fabric of your dress as you watch him. He’s talking to an interviewer now, flashing that coy, knowing grin that makes people hang onto his every word. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you don’t need to. It’s the same carefully controlled persona he always wears in public—charming, composed, a little bit playful.

The side of your lip twitches. Bastard.

You’re still sitting in the car, waiting for your cue to step out, when you see it.

The shift.

One second, Harry’s engaged in conversation, his body relaxed. The next, his entire demeanor changes—his grip tightening around the glass in his hand, his jaw locking ever so slightly.

It takes you half a second to realize why.

You’ve been spotted.

Even from across the carpet, you feel the weight of his stare the moment you step out of the car. The cool night air barely registers against your skin as you straighten your posture, your carefully curated expression slipping into place. You’re aware of the way the crowd reacts—how the screams spike in volume, how the cameras angle toward you, how the buzz of murmured conversations follows in your wake.

You can feel Harry’s eyes on you.

But you don’t look at him.

You won’t.

Instead, you let your lips curve into a soft, controlled smile, pretending not to notice the ripple of attention your arrival has caused. You let the cameras take their fill, pausing just long enough for the photographers to capture the moment. Your outfit—a masterpiece of elegance and barely-contained sensuality—hugs your body in all the right ways, a choice you made with full awareness of the effect it would have.

And judging by the way Harry is gripping his glass like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground, you were absolutely right.

The red carpet is a practiced dance, one you know how to navigate flawlessly. You answer questions with ease, your responses light but distant enough to keep them guessing. You pose for the cameras, move toward the fan section, offering them your full attention.

That’s when it happens.

“Are you and Harry friends?”

The question is innocent enough, asked by a girl barely containing her excitement as she clutches her phone, ready to record your reaction.

You keep your smile intact. You don’t falter. “Yeah, of course! He’s lovely.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you hear it.

A barely contained giggle. A whispered assumption.

“She totally blushed. They’re hiding something.”

You force yourself not to react, but the air shifts just slightly, your composure settling a little tighter around your frame. You laugh lightly, as if the idea is ridiculous, before moving along with the conversation.

But Harry?

Harry hears it.

From across the room, his fingers flex, resisting the urge to drain the rest of his drink. He watches the exchange with careful disinterest, his expression unreadable to the untrained eye. But you know him. You recognize the way his jaw tenses just slightly, the way his gaze darkens the moment your name is paired with his in that context.

Then, as if the universe is determined to push him closer to the edge, someone steps into your space.

It’s a man—some actor, charming and self-assured, the kind of person who knows exactly what effect he has. He leans in just slightly as he compliments your dress, his tone playful, his body language open. It’s harmless. Flirtatious, but harmless.

But from across the room?

Harry doesn’t look at it that way.

Your awareness of him sharpens. Even without turning your head, you know he’s watching. You can feel it in your bones, the heat of his stare like a brand against your skin.

You tilt your head, letting yourself laugh at something the actor says, just for good measure. Just to push back at the invisible tether Harry has wrapped around you.

Then you make the mistake of looking.

It’s quick. A glance. Barely a second.

But it’s enough.

Harry’s gaze locks onto yours, the weight of it nearly stealing the breath from your lungs. His fingers tap against the side of his glass, his lips pressing together in a way that tells you exactly what he’s thinking.

A silent challenge.

You swallow, looking away first.

Then, just when you think the tension has reached its peak, the night conspires against you once again.

The little moments start stacking up.

In passing, your hands brush—just a second too long. A lingering whisper of contact that shouldn’t mean anything. But it does.

Harry leans in to whisper something to a friend, but his lips nearly graze the edge of your ear as he passes. The warmth of his breath ghosts against your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

And then—because the universe has a twisted sense of humor—you witness the moment that nearly breaks your resolve.

She’s stunning, the actress who leans in too close to him, her laugh like honey as she touches his arm in a way that feels practiced. You don’t know what she’s saying, but it’s enough to make Harry smirk, enough to make his fingers flex slightly where they rest on his knee.

You grip your glass tighter.

“I swear to god…” you mutter under your breath, not even realizing you’d spoken aloud.

Then, without warning—without a sound—Harry is behind you.

His voice is a low, taunting whisper, barely audible over the noise of the party.

“If you keep looking at me like that, we’re not making it through the night.”

A shiver rolls down your spine.

Your pulse jumps.

But you don’t turn around.

Because you know exactly what will happen if you do.

You can feel him watching you, his presence a weight against your skin, a force pulling you in even when you’re trying to resist. It’s unbearable—the tension, the push and pull of this secret that has stretched between you for months. You grip your drink tighter, the condensation damp against your fingers, and force yourself to stay rooted in place.

You exhale slowly. Then, in a move that is as reckless as it is calculated, you turn on your heel and walk away.

You don’t look back.

Instead, you slip into the nearest group of people, throwing yourself into conversation like it’s effortless, like your pulse isn’t hammering against your ribs. You laugh—too loudly, too carelessly—letting the sound carry just far enough. Your fingers graze someone’s arm, your smile lingers for a second too long. You don’t even register what’s being said; the words mean nothing. The only thing that matters is what’s happening behind you.

What Harry is doing.

Or rather—what he’s about to do.

You feel it before you see it. The energy shifts. The air crackles with a new kind of charge.

And then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch him.

Harry is watching.

His jaw is tight, his fingers flexing around the glass in his hand. He looks calm to the untrained eye, but you know better. You know that slight clench in his jaw, the way his throat bobs when he swallows, the restless way his thumb drags along the rim of his glass.

You keep talking. You keep laughing.

And then Harry downs his drink in one swift motion, his throat moving as he swallows the last drop of whiskey. He sets the glass down with just a little too much force, and without a single word, he turns and walks away.

Your breath catches.

You don’t move. Not immediately.

You wait.

One second.

Two.

A full minute passes before you finally allow yourself to move.

You slip away, just as quietly as he did, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. The further you get from the main event, the quieter it becomes. The music fades into the background, the distant murmur of conversation growing softer. Your heels click against the polished marble floor as you move down an empty hallway, your heart pounding harder with every step.

You don’t have to look for him.

You already know where he is.

The moment you turn the corner into the restricted hallway near the VIP lounges, you barely have time to register anything before—

Strong hands grab your waist.

You gasp as you’re yanked back against the wall, the cool surface biting through the heat radiating off your skin. The shock of it barely registers before Harry is there, his body flush against yours, his scent wrapping around you—something deep and warm, laced with the remnants of whiskey and frustration.

His voice is low, rough, each word vibrating against your skin.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me all night?”

Your breath is uneven, your pulse a wild drumbeat beneath your skin.

You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, biting back a smirk. His eyes are dark, burning with barely contained hunger.

“I think I have a pretty good idea,” you murmur, resting your hands against his chest.

The muscle beneath his suit jacket is tense, coiled tight like he’s barely holding himself together.

And then—

He kisses you.

Hard.

The second your back hits the wall, Harry’s on you. There’s no hesitation, no space, no air left between you. His body presses into yours, solid and warm, and his grip on your waist is possessive, like he’s making sure you don’t slip away.

He kisses you like he’s starving, like he’s been thinking about this all night—which, knowing him, he has. His mouth moves over yours, hot, open-mouthed, desperate, his tongue sweeping against yours in slow, deep strokes that make your knees go weak.

You fist your hands in his shirt, yanking him closer, feeling the crisp fabric tighten under your grip. It’s unfair, really—how he gets to look so put-together while you’re already falling apart for him. His suit, all sharp lines and tailored edges, contrasts with the way your body melts against his, your dress already slipping up your thighs.

His hands wander, explore, claim—roaming down your sides, gripping your hips, guiding your body against his. He tugs at your dress, fingertips skimming beneath the hem, teasing the fabric higher—so high that his knuckles graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You shudder. He notices immediately.

A slow, knowing smirk curls his lips against yours, but he doesn’t say anything—just drags his hand higher, his fingertips just barely brushing the damp heat between your legs.

You gasp into his mouth, your fingers tightening in his shirt, and he chuckles—a low, dark sound that makes your stomach tighten.

“You’re already shaking for me, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, his breath warm and teasing.

You bite back a moan, refusing to give him the satisfaction just yet. Instead, you tilt your chin up slightly, meeting his eyes, and shift your hips forward—just the tiniest roll of your body against his.

The reaction is instant.

Harry groans—deep, rough, almost guttural—and his head drops to your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven against your neck. His fingers dig into your waist, tight, desperate, like he’s barely holding himself back.

“You’re trying to kill me,” he pants, his voice rough, vibrating against your skin.

You smirk, breathless but smug. “That’s dramatic.”

Harry lifts his head slowly, green eyes blazing with something dark and dangerous, and then—before you can blink—he rolls his hips into you, pressing his body flush against yours.

You feel everything—the solid heat of him, the hardness pressing against your core, the undeniable proof of just how much he wants you.

A gasp catches in your throat.

His lips brush against your jaw, and his voice drops lower, rougher, more strained.

“Am I?”

The hallway is too quiet, the distant sounds of the gala making this moment feel even riskier. Muted laughter, clinking glasses, the murmur of conversations—all of it feels like it’s happening in another world, one you’ve completely abandoned the second Harry pressed you against this wall.

It should be a warning. It should be a reason to stop.

But all you can focus on is him.

The way he’s crowding you, caging you in, body heat rolling off him in waves. The way his eyes stay locked on yours, pupils blown wide, like he’s daring you to tell him to stop. The way he’s breathing heavy, shoulders rising and falling, like he’s barely holding himself together.

Then his hands are moving.

Sliding up your thighs, pushing your dress higher, higher, bunching the fabric at your hips. His fingertips graze the damp heat between your legs, teasing, barely there, but enough.

You whimper.

A quiet, desperate little sound that you try to swallow down.

But he hears it. Of course, he hears it.

And it makes him lose his patience.

His palm presses against you through the lace of your underwear, applying just the barest amount of pressure—but it’s enough to make your stomach tighten, enough to send a bolt of pleasure straight through you.

His lips aren’t on your mouth anymore. They’re moving—hot and insistent—trailing along your jaw, then down to your throat, biting, sucking, his teeth scraping sensitive skin. He’s not careful, not like he normally is. He doesn’t care if he leaves a mark. Maybe he wants to.

Maybe he wants you to feel him long after this is over.

Your breath catches when his other hand finds your wrist and pins it to the wall beside your head. It’s not rough, but it’s firm. Controlling. Like he needs to keep you exactly where he wants you.

His voice is a murmur against your ear, low and wrecked.

"You’re already soaked."

Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you squirm against his hand, hips pushing toward his touch despite yourself.

"Wonder why," you breathe.

Harry chuckles darkly, a sound that sends a shiver down your spine. Then, without warning, his fingers slip under the lace, dragging through your slick folds. He groans—low, deep, almost pained—his forehead pressing against yours like he’s trying to hold himself together.

"Fuck."

His fingers find your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles that make your stomach tighten, your thighs clenching around his hand. It’s too much and not enough all at once, and your breath stutters, your fingers twisting in his shirt.

You bite your lip so hard it nearly hurts, trying to suppress the moan that’s threatening to spill out.

Harry watches you, studying every tiny reaction, his jaw clenched, his brows furrowed like he’s mesmerized by the way you come apart for him.

Then he slides one finger inside you—slow but deliberate—pushing in deep, stretching you open just enough to make you gasp.

And then he adds a second.

Your back arches off the wall, nails digging into his shoulders, your body desperate for more.

"Feel so good," Harry grits out, his voice thick with lust. His fingers work you open, slow and steady, curling just right, dragging against your walls until your thighs are shaking. His restraint is slipping—you can feel it.

"Always so fucking tight for me."

His words make your breath hitch, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You try to hold on, try to keep some kind of control, but his fingers are relentless, moving in and out of you, stroking your clit in slow, precise circles.

"Harry—" Your voice is barely a whisper, your eyes fluttering shut. "Someone’s gonna hear us—"

His free hand leaves your wrist, and before you can react, he covers your mouth, his palm warm against your lips, muffling the tiny sounds spilling out of you.

A smirk tugs at his lips, his breath ghosting over your cheek.

"Then you better be quiet, baby."

Harry’s fingers leave you, leaving behind nothing but an unbearable ache, an emptiness that makes your body tense with need. He doesn’t waste a second—his hands move fast, frantic, reaching for his belt, undoing the buckle with sharp, impatient movements.

You’re gasping, panting, your nails digging into his shoulders, hips rolling up to meet his, desperate for more. For him.

But then—he stops.

You barely notice at first, too caught up in the heat, too lost in the way his body presses into yours, how close you are to getting what you need. But then you feel it—the hesitation. The stiffness in his muscles. The way his forehead suddenly drops to your shoulder, his chest rising and falling with deep, frustrated breaths.

And then he curses.

"Shit. Fuck."

His voice is low, rough, like he’s physically forcing himself to stop. Like he’s just had the wind knocked out of him.

Your body stills, your mind foggy and desperate, your pulse hammering against your ribs.

"What?" you whisper, blinking up at him, confused, needing answers, needing him to keep going, needing him to fix whatever’s wrong.

Harry pulls back just enough to look at you, his jaw tight, his fingers threading through his curls in frustration. His pupils are blown wide, his lips swollen from kissing you, his whole body wrecked with restraint.

"I don’t have a condom."

The words hit like a slap of cold air against overheated skin.

Your stomach flips, pulse pounding in your ears. You should stop. You both should.

This is the moment.

The moment to take a breath, to come to your senses, to remember that this is a mistake. That it’s reckless, that it’s too risky, that there are a million reasons why you shouldn’t do this.

But none of them matter.

Because the heat between you is unbearable. Because your body is screaming for him, because the throbbing ache inside you is too strong to ignore, because stopping now would feel more painful than giving in.

Because you don’t care.

Your throat feels tight, your breath shaky as the words slip out before you can even think about them.

"I don’t care."

Harry’s head snaps up, his gaze locking onto yours so fast it makes you shiver.

His eyes—dark, intense, searching—burn into you, like he’s trying to see if you really mean it. Trying to find a reason to stop, a reason to be the responsible one.

But all he finds is desperation.

He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his breath uneven.

"Are you sure?" His voice is rough, raw, almost pained—like he wants this so fucking bad but needs to hear you say it again.

Your legs tighten around his waist, your arms looping around his neck, pulling him closer, needing him closer.

"Please," you whisper, the word barely audible, but it’s all it takes.

His control snaps.

Harry’s mouth crashes against yours—hot, messy, consuming—all teeth and tongue and raw need. His kiss is desperate, like he’s trying to devour you, trying to silence every thought, every doubt that should be pulling you both apart.

But there’s nothing else in this moment. Nothing but him.

His hands are greedy, impatient, everywhere all at once—roaming over your thighs, gripping your waist, tangling in your hair—taking, taking, taking, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you against him.

He drags your underwear to the side, not bothering to remove them, just getting them out of his way. The fabric is soaked, ruined, and he groans when he feels just how wet you are, just how ready.

There’s a shaky, fumbling urgency to the way he shoves his trousers down, just enough, just far enough to free himself, because there’s no time for anything else.

No time to think.

No time to stop.

His cock presses against you, hot and aching, the tip slick with need.

You tense in anticipation, body going rigid, your fingers digging into his back as you feel him right there—so close, too close, not close enough.

Then—he pushes in.

A sharp, deep stretch, the overwhelming burn of being filled so fast, so suddenly, so completely.

You can feel every inch of him—thick, hard, hot, pressing deep, stretching you open until it’s almost too much.

Your lips part on a gasp, a sharp, startled moan spilling from your throat before you can stop it—

But Harry is faster.

His hand clamps over your mouth, muffling your cry, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath shaky and uneven as he tries to hold himself together.

"Shhh," he rasps, his voice wrecked, strained, like he’s just barely keeping control.

His jaw is clenched so tight, his arms shaking from the effort of not losing himself completely. His fingers dig into the plush of your thigh, his other hand flexing against your mouth, making sure you stay quiet.

"Fuck," he groans, voice low and guttural, his breath hot against your lips.

"Fuck, you feel so good."

You clench around him, the pressure making your whole body arch, making your legs tighten around his waist, your nails biting into his biceps.

"So deep," you whisper against his palm, already breathless, already drowning in him.

Harry lets out a choked, strangled sound, his head dropping to your shoulder, his teeth scraping against the delicate skin of your neck.

He grips your hip tighter, yanks your thigh up higher, angling you just right—

Then he moves.

His first thrust is slow, deep, pulling out just enough before sinking back in, like he’s savoring it, like he’s relishing the way you stretch around him, the way your body grips him so perfectly.

Then—he snaps.

His hips slam into you, his movements turning frantic, punishing, wild, as if he’s been holding back for too long and can’t anymore.

It’s rough, raw, overwhelming, his cock dragging against every sensitive nerve, making you feel every inch, every inch, every inch.

The wall is solid behind you, but it does nothing to ground you, nothing to brace you against the way he’s pounding into you, forcing the breath from your lungs with every sharp, perfect thrust.

Your hands scramble for purchase, fingers clutching his shoulders, his hair, his back, anything to hold on to.

The contrast is unbearable—the cold marble against your back, the scorching heat of his body against yours, the wetness pooling between you, the rough press of his fingertips against your thigh, your hip, your waist.

"I can feel you squeezing me," he pants, voice deep, wrecked, laced with pure lust.

His teeth graze your jaw, his breath hot, heavy, uneven as he presses deeper, harder, better.

"You close, baby?"

You can’t even think.

All you can do is nod frantically, your nails scratching down his back, your voice breaking, muffled against his shoulder.

"So close—please don’t stop."

He lets out a low, throaty growl, his hands tightening, his hips slamming into you even harder, rougher, faster.

"I got you," he grits out, his voice tight, desperate.

"Let go for me."

And you do.

It hits you all at once—a blinding, earth-shattering pleasure that crashes through you so violently it nearly steals the breath from your lungs.

Your walls clench, pulse, flutter around him, drawing him in deeper, tighter, squeezing him so hard he lets out a wrecked, strangled moan.

Your whole body locks up, then shakes, trembles, collapses as your orgasm tears through you, leaving nothing behind but a pounding heartbeat and the echo of his name on your lips.

Harry doesn’t last long after that.

His rhythm stutters, his grip on your body tightens, his breath turning ragged, uneven, choked.

Then—he slams into you one last time, burying himself deep, so deep, as deep as he can go—and he lets go.

A deep, shaky groan rumbles from his chest as he spills into you, his fingers digging into your hips so tight it’s almost painful.

For a long moment, there’s nothing but harsh breaths, trembling limbs, the sound of racing hearts.

Your bodies are still pressed together, still locked in place, neither of you willing to move, to let go, to face what you’ve just done.

No space between you.

No words.

Just the wreckage of this moment, of the heat, of the mess you’ve made together.

The world around you is silent.

Or maybe your ears are still ringing from the intensity of it all—the overwhelming pleasure, the crash of your heartbeat in your skull, the way your body is still trembling from the aftershocks.

You’re breathless, boneless, your limbs heavy and warm, still wrapped around him, still feeling the echo of where he’s been, of where he still is.

Neither of you move.

Not yet.

Harry’s forehead presses against yours, his breath hot and unsteady, his chest rising and falling against yours in the same frantic, uneven rhythm.

His hands haven’t left your body—fingertips tracing over the dips of your waist, the curve of your thigh, like he can’t stop touching you, even now.

He should feel guilty.

He should regret this.

This was reckless, stupid, dangerous.

Someone could’ve caught you.

Someone still might.

But instead of guilt, instead of remorse, instead of the sinking weight of what the fuck have we done—

All he feels is satisfaction.

His lips twitch. The corner of his mouth quirks up, amusement flickering in his dark, lazy eyes, like he already knows what you’re about to say.

And sure enough—

"We’re so gonna get caught one day," you breathe, still a little dazed, still not sure you can feel your legs yet.

A smirk spreads across his face, slow and wicked, as his fingers brush damp hair from your forehead, his other hand still gripping your thigh, holding you in place, keeping you where he wants you.

He shifts slightly—just enough to remind you that he’s still inside you, still buried so deep it makes your breath hitch.

Then he whispers, low and deliberate, his lips brushing against yours—

"Worth it."

You leave first.

Your legs are still shaky, your breath uneven as you move quickly down the hallway, trying to compose yourself before stepping back into the crowd. The moment you’re back under the bright lights of the gala, surrounded by elegant chatter and the clinking of champagne glasses, it’s like stepping into a completely different reality.

You fight the urge to touch your lips, knowing they’re still kiss-bruised and swollen from Harry’s mouth on yours. Instead, you fish through your clutch with trembling fingers, pulling out your compact mirror and flipping it open, only to let out a quiet curse under your breath.

Your lipstick is completely ruined.

Smudged at the edges, faint traces of it smeared beyond the natural curve of your lips, a dead giveaway to what you’ve been doing.

And that’s not even the worst of it.

You tilt your chin slightly, angling the mirror lower—your neck burns with the ghost of his teeth, the imprint of his mouth. You squint at your reflection, but you don’t have to look closely to see the faint red bloom of a mark beginning to form just under your jaw.

Jesus. You need to fix this.

Your heart pounds as you swipe a fingertip over your lips, smoothing away the damage as best you can, trying to make yourself look normal, untouched, innocent. You pat at your flushed cheeks, inhale a steadying breath, and pull your dress back into place before making your way deeper into the room.

No one is paying attention to you.

Or at least—that’s what you tell yourself.

Because the truth is…some people are.

The ones who notice everything.

The ones who have been watching you both all night.

It’s only five minutes later when Harry returns.

And that’s when the whispers really start.

📱 Twitter Explodes:

@YNUpdates: "Harry and Y/N disappeared at the SAME TIME and now her lipstick is smudged??? Someone explain." 👀

@Hstylesfan88: "Tell me why Harry looks wrecked after being ‘away’ for 20 minutes???"

@Directioner_for_life: "LOOK AT THIS. WHY DOES HE LOOK LIKE HE JUST GOT LAID." [Attached: a blurry photo of Harry stepping back into the gala, tie loose, hair messy, jaw tight as he adjusts his suit.]

@StylinsonLover: "I swear to god if they’re secretly fucking and we don’t know I will RIOT."

It’s all so fast.

You don’t even realize how much people have picked up on until your phone vibrates in your clutch, a message from a friend—

"You might wanna check Twitter."

Your stomach flips as you glance around the room, trying not to be obvious as you spot him across the crowd.

And holy fuck, yeah—they’re right.

Harry looks wrecked.

His tie is loosened, the first two buttons of his shirt undone, the strands of his hair slightly tousled, like someone’s fingers had just been gripping at it.

You swallow hard.

You shouldn’t be staring at him, shouldn’t be biting your lip at the sight of him still looking a little ruined from fucking you against the wall.

And yet—

The way he carries himself so effortlessly, the way his expression is calm, unaffected—like he hasn’t just been inside you, like he hasn’t just come undone in the deepest parts of you—it’s infuriating.

Because you feel so obvious.

Like everyone in this goddamn room knows.

And the worst part?

Maybe they do.

--

The night is winding down, the music softens, the lights dim just slightly, and the energy in the room shifts from excitement to exhaustion.

People start to leave in waves—celebrities slipping out with their teams, photographers packing up their equipment, security guiding fans toward the exits.

You keep your distance.

You have to.

For months now, you and Harry have been careful—so careful.

Because if anyone found out, the questions wouldn’t stop.

Who made the first move? Who was the one who set the rules? Who got attached first? Who’s more obsessed? Is it real? Is it fake? When did it start? How will it end?

You already know what the media would say.

That you are just another girl Harry’s using.

That he is just another celebrity falling into a meaningless fling.

That this is just another story waiting to be ripped apart, twisted into something ugly, overanalyzed until there’s nothing left.

They wouldn’t understand that it’s not like that. That it’s never been like that.

So, you play your part.

You pretend.

You act like you’re just another guest in the room, sipping champagne and offering polite smiles and nods.

And you ignore the way your skin still burns where he touched you.

But every few minutes—you feel him.

A glance across the room.

A flick of his eyes down to your lips.

A tiny smirk when you press them together, nervous, flustered, still feeling him everywhere.

Your cheeks heat up, and you force yourself to look away, heart hammering.

You have to be careful.

But then—just as you think you’ve made it out without another close call—

A hand on your wrist.

Warm. Quick. Certain.

Your breath catches as you turn, only to find him there, impossibly close, standing just slightly behind you, tucked into the shadows where no one else can see.

Your stomach tightens.

You don’t even have time to react before his fingers slide down, trailing over your palm, catching your hand in his.

His grip is gentle but sure, fingers threading through yours like this isn’t just another secret touch. Like he’s holding on.

Your pulse jumps, and his thumb brushes over it, tracing the rapid rhythm.

When you meet his gaze, his eyes are dark, still hooded from everything you’ve done tonight, but there’s something else there now, too. Something deeper.

"See you later?" he murmurs, voice low, teasing, soft in a way that makes your chest ache.

You should let go.

You should be careful.

But instead, you lace your fingers through his.

Tighter. Certain.

You tilt your head, let a slow smile curve at your lips, and whisper back—

"Yeah."

A pause.

A flicker of something dangerous. Something real.

Then, his hand squeezes yours—a silent promise—before he finally lets go, slipping away into the crowd.

But this time, you don’t just feel his touch lingering on your skin.

You feel him everywhere.

And you already know—

This isn’t just some secret anymore.

It’s too much. Too intense, too deep, too important to be treated like something you can just hide forever.

You take a steadying breath, smoothing a hand over your dress, mentally preparing yourself to leave.

And that’s when you hear it.

A sharp click.

A hushed gasp.

A flicker of movement in your peripheral vision.

You turn your head—just in time to see a fan clutching their phone, eyes wide, staring straight at you.

The screen still glowing.

Still open to the camera app.

Your stomach drops.

The fan’s mouth parts like they might say something—might call out your name, might ask if what they just saw was real.

Your breath catches, a cold chill racing up your spine.

And then—

They take off.

Vanishing into the crowd.

With their phone.

With the photo.

With the secret you and Harry just lost.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

taglist:

@oscahpastry

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@watarmelon212

[hazelcuttlefish]

Millions of women were miserable and died for generations. Millions of men were miserable and died for generations. Millions of children died, many of them before they could really be miserable and more after. The nuclear family is a modern myth that barely functions. Divorce is high because divorce is now legal, before you just had to stay in your miserable marriage and take whatever abuse was given until one of you snapped or died. Children are really hard to take care of. Growing a family in a failing economy trying to rely on just one income is going to get harder wnd harder. Trying to do so with just two incomes is going to get harder and harder unless we fundamentally change the system. Trying to “go back to the good old time” is largely an because of an inaccurate portrayal of history.

Legit learn about the history of Russia, or Iran, or other regimes. Learn about the history of womens rights around the world and those nations which have had a massive backslide in womens rights. Remember that no, just because you are in (insert western/Christian/other distinction nation here) you are not exceptional to the trends that led that nation where they are. (Many I admit suffered under colonialism which can be a distinction, but trends to ultra conservatism/“traditionalism” lead to the same place).

Reach out. Build community. If you can, treat these young people like they are being indoctrinated into a cult-

- do not attack them. Correct misinformation, especially in public spaces. Do not belittle, demean, or name call.

- offer support. Ask them what’s stressing them out so much that this seems like a good option. Listen. Try to provide nonjudgmental feedback. Try to offer alternative, actually actionable solutions if possible. The root issue is they feel lost and without support and desperately want that.

- try to be an open line of communication for them and ready to support any move away from the group or ideology.

- build community. Both among those not influence and those influenced, and accept those who have left, are trying to leave, or are questioning.

All of those things can be very difficult if you don’t have all of that in you it’s ok. Do what you can when you can.

If you absolutely can not stand it focus effort elsewhere, ignore specific members. If you must confront it: Focus on leaders, focus on on the ideas and provide evidence to the contrary. Support those who are doing the above work.

The alt-right's foothold into Gen-Z is frustrating and I can see from over here how they're doing it.

You've got a generation of young-adults who are learning to be adults for the first time and for so many of them it sucks. It sucks to be in your first shitty apartment where things break, and to have your first shitty car that needs maintenance, and to be working a low-paying service or retail job where you get berated all day and barely scrape by. And you go home and you have taxes to figure out and electric bills to figure out and a screen on your phone to rot into to destress.

And this is men and women, equally, in this spot. But the alt-right messaging gets to tailor their approach to gender.

And hey women, yes you working a shitty job for shitty pay, overwhelmed by financial responsibilities and car repairs, what if you actually didn't need to do ANY of that? You don't need to. And you don't need to feel guilty about it. (You're not quitting, you're not being lazy), you actually are just embracing the chance to be exactly who an ideal woman should be. You should actually be beautiful, and demure, and barefoot in a sunny kitchen, glowing, pregnant, hearing the joyful sounds of your children while you bake a roast for your wonderful husband (strong, protective, loves you, handles the finances, handles the jobs, handles all the things you hate). OUR ancestors (don't mind the dogwhistle) did this for GENERATIONS, and modern society has failed you instead!

It's offering to break women out of all the parts of their real life that suck, and do it in a way that promises they're actually being better, being more admirable, more moral, more respectable, more correct, can feel good about, can feel proud about, as a Woman as Feminine as Mother as Goddess.

And the thing being promised does not need to actually reflect reality. It's a fantasy. It is not real. For every "beautiful demure barefoot" day, you'd be having another one covered in shit changing diapers of screaming infants with screaming children while your husband ignores you because it's Women's Work (take pride!) But that doesn't matter. It just needs to sound better than the reality they're living.

Then the men are targeted too. And it's the same in that it's getting to them by appealing to pride in their gender, but the messaging is different. It's "those finances are hard but ACTUALLY you're leveling up, you're grinding, you're finance maxing." It's hard but it's the kind of hard that is a challenge you can WIN at, boast about, post about, prove your manliness. Knowing cars, knowing home repairs, knowing taxes, that's your MAN pride, and you are so elite, you are so sigma, you are the envy of everyone, you are a masculine man. Women love you. Women will defer to you. Strong, respected, moral, loyal, unshakeable. Unlike those pansy men (mind the homophobic dogwhistling) who will whimper and cry like girls. You are better.

The shitty retail job is actually humble beginnings because you're minmaxing your way to financial success (bitcoin, crypto, investments). You can sleep with any woman you want as long as you're confident, and then you'll find one who understands how smart and confident and strong and protective you are and she will defer to you as her man. She will birth your children and teach them good morals and you will make it. Our ancestors lived this way for generations (dogwhistle) and modern society took it from you.

And with that messaging it makes it clear who the enemy in all this is - modern society that has convinced women to torture themselves with high education and terrible jobs, turned them Ugly with Ugly opinions and bad hair and nasty attitudes, yelping about "rights" and "equality" (pitting them against men! TAKING things from men!) All the while, society has been trying to emasculate men--replace them with women, make them soft and emotional, make them gay, make them WEAK. We've been made WEAK.

The naive women hearing this go "I'm not ugly! I don't hate men! I DO hate my job and my finances. I've been tricked. I'm actually rebelling by declaring my goal is to get a Perfect (White) (Christian) moral husband who will make all our decisions and protect me and our children." (And when she's financially trapped in an abusive marriage...? When she's suicidal with PPD but her husband won't touch that because it's Woman Hysteria...? And when her husband leaves her for someone who was as hot as she was 20 years ago and now she's figuring out finances, health care, taxes, bank accounts for the first time in her life...?)

And the men go "They've been TAKING things from us for too long! It's time to be men again! It's time to take pride! I am strong and confident. I am in charge! I never show weakness!" (And when he's got a gun to his head due to the depression he's never been allowed to talk about as Women Feelings...? And when he's financially ruined from a crypto scheme that stroked his ego and robbed him blind...? And when he's dead from alcohol poisoning and none of his adult children notice because no one's spoken to 'Dad' in 15 years...?)

And it's so hard to fight because you're arguing against a fantasy. How do you disprove their fantasy? It's so hard to explain to them, hey you're working a shitty job where you have no future because the rich bastards took it all from you. And now you're doing their work for them. You hate society because of what they've done to it and now you're doing their work. Now you're targeting groups who've never done anything to harm you and the guys responsible are laughing to the bank. How do you explain? How do you disprove fantasy?

[lilianne-tarot]

PICK A CARD: What's Your Future Spouse's Best Personality Trait? ✮⋆˙

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How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images above. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you—go ahead and read both!

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MY MASTERLIST🫶🏻

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⊹₊⟡ Pile I

Resilient & Emotional

Romantic & Deeply Intuitive

4 of Cups + 9 of Wands + 8 of Cups?! Babes, your future spouse has been through the wringer. they are a tough cookie. This is the kind of person who’s faced rejection, disappointments, and emotional letdowns that could make even a main character in a tragic romance novel say, "Damn, you good?" 😭 But instead of being bitter, they’ve built a fortress of emotional resilience around themselves. The 9 of Wands is telling me this person has been knocked down 100 times but got up 101—they don’t give up on life or love, even if they’ve been burned before. The 8 of Cups confirms that they’ve walked away from things that no longer serve them (toxic exes, dead-end jobs, situationships that made no sense—all of it). They’re not the type to dwell on "what could’ve been." Instead, they cut their losses and move forward.

This is someone you can depend on. When life gets tough, they’re not crumbling into a puddle of existential dread—they’re standing tall, supporting both of you. They know how to handle loss, hardship, and setbacks without bringing negativity into the relationship. Instead of complaining, they’ll problem-solve and protect your peace.

Okay, now let’s talk about the Knight of Cups—aka, the walking romance novel protagonist. This person is charm on legs, but in a deep, thoughtful way. They’re not love-bombing for funsies—they actually feel things intensely and express love with heartfelt actions and words. while they are romantic, they also have a depth that makes them super self-aware. They know real love isn’t about grand gestures alone—it’s about emotional connection. So while they might not be showering you with gifts every five seconds, best believe they’ll know exactly when you’re feeling off and how to comfort you without even being asked.

They’ll write you long-ass texts about how much they love and appreciate you🥺. They’re the type to listen to your late-night yapping and actually remember what you said. They have a poetic way of expressing love, even if they don’t try to be poetic, they just naturally speak in soft boy/girl energy. MY TYPE MY TYPE MY TYPE😭

This person doesn’t do "surface-level love." They love in a way that FEELS SAFE—like you can fully be yourself without judgment. No breadcrumbs, no mixed signals—just pure, heart-centered love. Your future spouse is giving "strong but soft" energy. They’re emotionally intelligent, resilient, and romantic, and they don’t play about their love life. They will love you deeply, protect your peace, and keep the romance alive—all while being a grounded, stable, and emotionally evolved partner. ✨ You won’t have to second-guess this connection. They’re mature, romantic, and strong-willed—a whole package deal. 🥹

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⊹₊⟡ Pile II

The "Master Strategist With 3000 IQ" Energy

The "Zen AF, But Knows When to Strike" Energy

Okay, listen—this person does NOT make impulsive decisions. The 2 of Wands + The Hanged Man combo? This is the chess master of life. They calculate everything, they analyze their next steps like they’re planning world domination, and they don’t move unless they’re absolutely 100% sure it’s the right decision.

They’re not the type to rush into things—whether it’s a relationship, a career move, or even a casual Friday night out ("What’s the vibe? Who all is gonna be there?"—yeah, they need to know first 💀). The Hanged Man energy tells me that they take their sweet time weighing all the options, and the 2 of Wands? That just screams "I’ve got a vision, and I’m making it happen."

They strategize, they plan, and when they commit, they COMMIT. They won’t be the type to rush into things, but the second they decide, "Yeah, this is my person," it’s game over for everyone else.

What this means for you? No confusion, no mixed signals – You will always know where you stand. They will plan your future together – And I mean, really plan it. This is the person who will randomly say, "Hey, do you want to move to Paris in five years? I’ve already looked into real estate options. They don’t do dumb drama – If problems come up, they handle them maturely and efficiently (and probably before you even notice). They are your safe place – Because their whole aura just screams "I got this, don’t worry."

This person is unbothered and calm 95% of the time. They have this aura of serenity and wisdom that makes you feel so at peace when you’re around them. But that 5%? That’s when they see someone messing with you, and suddenly, you realize... oh, they could actually destroy a person if they wanted to. 👀

You will feel SAFE and protected at all times – They’re not aggressive, but they are calculating AF. Anyone who disrespects you? They’re already mentally plotting the most strategic way to make that person regret their existence. You get the best of both worlds – A partner who is peaceful and chill, but also deadly if necessary. It’s like dating a hot mastermind who meditates but could also lead an army.

They will never embarrass you with childish fights – They know how to shut down drama with just one sentence ("That’s an interesting perspective. Too bad it’s wrong.") and keep it moving.

WHEW the most FICTIONAL PARTNER EVERRR. This is the type of love that makes people jealous because it’s just so stable, deep, and fulfilling. This person is smart, protective, emotionally intelligent, and devoted—honestly, what more could you ask for? 😭They are the calm before AND after the storm, the architect of your dream life, and the silent but deadly protector who will love you with the power of a thousand well-thought-out strategies. And let’s be real… dating them is basically winning at life.

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⊹₊⟡ Pile III

Hardworking & Devoted

Fearless in love

This pile is the MOST romantic of all three.

Ohhhh, you are about to marry someone who does NOT play when it comes to their goals.This is giving "I put in the time, I put in the effort, and I get RESULTS." Since they’re naturally hardworking and disciplined, they approach relationships with the same level of commitment and strategy they bring to their personal goals.

They’re not the kind of person who gets discouraged easily. If something takes time, they understand that’s just part of the process. They trust the grind, and they know that as long as they keep working, keep improving, and stay consistent, they will get to where they want to be. (The type to be in the gym every day, rain or shine, because discipline > motivation💀.) They’re insanely reliable—if they say they’ll do something, THEY WILL. They probably have a strong work ethic—career-driven, passionate, maybe even a little obsessed with self-improvement.You will never have to second-guess if they’re serious about you, because once they decide to invest in something (or someone 👀), they are in it for the long haul. This is the type of partner who builds an empire with you. This person has BIG main character energy—they embrace life with open arms and are always down for an adventure. They don’t get stuck in endless “what-ifs.” Instead, they’re like "Screw it, let’s do it."

Okay, so here’s the fun part—this person? Totally the type to act all logical and practical, but deep down? THEY ARE A SOFTIE. 😭

Hey do romantic things without realizing it – You’ll casually mention something you like once, and BOOM, two weeks later, they surprise you with it (and play it off like it’s no big deal). Sir/Ma’am, just admit you’re obsessed already.🤓 Their love language is thoughtful actions – Expect things like fixing something before you even ask, getting your coffee just the way you like it, or remembering the exact way you like your blanket tucked in at night. It’s the small details for them.

They have that “quiet but deep” love – They’re not the type to scream “I love you” in public, but the way they look at you, protect you, and always think of you first? UGH. Heart-melting levels of devotion. They are soft for YOU and YOU ONLY – The world sees them as chill, independent, and maybe even a little reserved… but the moment they’re with you? They turn into human teddy bear.

They’d never admit it, but you are their weakness, and honestly, That’s HOT.

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog—it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! If my reading resonated you, you may consider buying my paid reading as it would really help me out financially♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not fixedly predict the future. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[callsign-rogueone]

Going off your wingleader!Liam idea… Liam and reader are third-years and total couple goals. A first year comes in and starts flirting with reader every time he sees her. He doesn’t know she’s dating his wingleader. She’s polite but doesn’t mention Liam.

One day during training the new guy is watching reader and running his mouth about how hot she is, nudging other guys in his squad and making all kinds of remarks, even going so far as to make a comment to Liam. Liam just smirks, showing off those cute little dimples, as reader walks over and kisses him in front of everyone. New guy just stares in absolute shock (and horror when he realizes the woman he’s been objectifying is his wingleader’s girl.) Need a fic like this immediately 😭

I love this so much. I don't have the bandwidth to write this into a whole chapter but I DO have ideas. so here they are. (future Liz here… I got very carried away. but it’s Liam, so it’s fine.)

this guy clearly thinks he's hot shit. not even bonded yet, but his ego is bigger than Tairn's. so of course he goes after you, a third year with a leadership position at the top of your class. (because Liam's girl is as perfect as him.)

at this point you're used to these boys coming in and trying to flex on everyone. so you know how to brush it off. it's so routine that you don't even mention it to Liam, because you've got more important things to do / discuss.

anyway.

a couple weeks go by of the same thing, until one day, mister confidence is just in the wrong place at the wrong time. running his mouth without realizing who's around him, watching you demonstrate something and making comments to his friends instead of paying attention. Liam's about to elbow him and tell him to shut up, and then he realizes that they're talking about you.

immediately, he's upset — he's just itching to tell this guy off, both for talking when he's supposed to be listening to directions that could save his life, and also for saying those things about you, making comments on your body and how much he wants to... you know what I’m getting at here. anyway.

you can see Liam standing at the back of the gym, can see the visible frustration on his face and the way his jaw is clenched, his shoulders tight and tense... and you know it's hard to upset our sunshine boy, so something bad must have happened.

you wrap up the demonstration, get the youngins paired up to work, and then you slip away to Liam and give him a little kiss, because that’s your default greeting, that’s just automatic at this point when you see him, and take his hand and ask what’s wrong.

and then all the stress and tension just fades out of him, and he gives you a genuine smile, pulls you closer and holds you in a way that makes it clear that you’re a couple.

normally he isn’t one for PDA, so you’re a little surprised, but you don’t question it at all, just happy to cuddle up with him, resting your head on his shoulder and taking a moment to relax — his presence is always so soothing, and you don’t get moments like this very often in your very busy days as a wingleader and a section leader.

you don��t even notice the boy’s slack-jawed look as he realizes that you have a boyfriend. you’re too busy appreciating the moment you get to spend with Liam — but over your shoulder, he’s definitely smirking at the kid, like… get fucked, she’s mine. not that our boy would ever say that. he’s just thinking it really hard.

he gets a little pouty once you're behind closed doors, though, and tells you about it.

you laugh, and remind him that the first year boys can look all they want, but he's the only one who can touch, and if they do, they're going to get their nose broken. and that he's the only one who can set foot in your room, because you absolutely warded them like Xaden and Violet's.

that pacifies him, but he’s still thinking about it for the rest of the day.

he doesn’t consider himself particularly possessive, but he realizes that he just wants people to know that you’re his — or more so that you’re together and in love, and you’re it for each other.

the pair of you have always been focused on the present, the incredibly stressful lives that you lead here at this death trap of a school. but now he starts really thinking about the future.

you’ll be graduating soon, a pair of lieutenants headed off… somewhere. he hasn’t decided yet. he’ll get his choice, being a wingleader. but what about you? section leaders aren’t promised anything. there’s only one other way to guarantee that you’ll stay together… and damn, does he like the idea of you having matching name patches on your flight jackets.

but you deserve a real proposal, a romantic one, not something rushed, decided out of practicality. and when is too soon in your relationship to talk about that? you’ve been together since your threshing, but it feels like a lot longer than that — everything you’ve endured has brought you closer, he supposes.

you curl further into his side with a sleepy hum. “what’s on your mind?”

he’s about to tell you it’s nothing, but you know him better than that. “you have that look on your face,” you mumble, your eyes still closed. “know you’re thinkin' about something.”

“about you," he answers honestly, lifting the arm you have slung around his waist and finding your hand, taking it in his. it fits perfectly, your skin smooth against the callouses and scars decorating his hands from years of making his carvings. a dangerous hobby, you’d joked. you have a point. he’s amassed more tiny injuries from his own knives than from anything Basgiath has put him through. “about us.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” he answers, his thumb brushing over your ring finger, where a wedding band would go. “about the future.”

“two kids and a cat,” you murmur. “and trips to Morraine in the summer. rent a little house on the lake for a week or two, and just lay around.”

“sounds perfect.”

you just hum in reply, too tired to keep talking. Liam presses a kiss to your forehead, pulling the covers a little higher. “I love you.”

“Love y’too.”

[ssentimentals]

Hi Nini! Thank you for doing prompts again! I loved reading them and enjoyed getting notifications when you did the last one. 🩵

Can I please request Prompt 40: Arranged Marriage with Wonwoo x Reader. He absolutely hates the idea of marrying reader, his cold standoffish and doesn’t want to get to know her at all as he thinks she’s like all the other Chaebol daughters his encountered. (Snobby, high maintenance, just wants fame, etc..) but a situation happens and he finds out she’s the total opposite of what he thought she was.

Thank you!!!

hi lovely! ah, this is so nice, thank you so much 💜 of course you can request, thank you for doing so, hopefully you'll like it!

prompt: arranged marriage

wonwoo has no hope, sadly. future with arranged marriage never looked bright for him and the fact that he's supposed to meet his future bride in an hour makes him annoyed at best and angry at worst. he doesn't want to act all high and mighty, but he lived his whole life in the chaebol society and he knows exactly what kind of person his future wife is. she probably has a very nice smile but it's fake and there's nothing behind it. she probably is intelligent, snobby and has perfect manners. she probably spends money like there's no tomorrow and knows everything about new fashion trends and nothing about any economical/societal matter. she probably is ignorant and shallow - she probably is nothing wonwoo can possibly fall in love with. and yes, looking for love in an arranged marriage is a naive thing, but is it so bad to wish to at least not hate the person you're going to tie your life with?

there's a small playground not far from the designated place of meeting and wonwoo goes there. it's around noon on sunday, sun is shining bright and plenty of kids are there, but he finds himself a quiet corner on the nearby bench. annoyance swims in his mind and he tries to calm down, watching kids; their carefree spirits never failed to put him in a better mood. he tries not to think of his future bride, tries not to picture how miserable his life is about to get and instead focuses on looking around. some boys are building sand castles, others are playing tag and then he notices one little girl standing at the top of the slide. even from this distance wonwoo can see how tight she's holding the railings, can feel how nervous she is. before he knows it he's up on his feet with an aim to help little out but someone is quicker than him. wonwoo pauses, watches as girl who's probably around his age walks over. he comes closer and listens to the gentle conversation, smiling at sincere kindness display in front of him.

'it's alright, sweetheart, i'm going to be right here. i will catch you, you don't have to worry about it,' the girl says in a warm tone.

'i will help her catch you,' wonwoo steps closer, smiling to the little girl who still looks hesitant. 'so don't be scared.'

'or you can always turn back,' you offer after few seconds, when the girl doesn't reply. 'it's okay if you don't want to-'

'i want to,' little girl interrupts, puffing her cheeks in the cutest way.

wonwoo chuckles and turns to you right when you also turn to him. beautiful eyes, he thinks. beautiful smile. you take few steps back, standing now right at the end of the slide. wordlessly you reach out to wonwoo, who readily takes your offered hand and also moves to the end of the slide. you smile at wonwoo and then turn back to the girl: 'look, we are both here. we will catch you, darling. we will never let you fall.'

beautiful soul. in the end, you both cheer when you get an armful of a happy squealing girl. she does it again and again and all the times you both catch her, laughing along. it's the happiest wonwoo felt in months and when girl's mother comes to get her daughter, he's almost disappointed. time flew quickly too, he's got only ten minutes to not be late for the meeting and- he doesn't want to go. he also doesn't want to lose you just like that- 'um, sorry, wait,' he calls, when you turn to go. 'i just- i was wondering if we could maybe-'

'i'm so sorry but i can't,' you reply hurriedly, looking sad.

oh. of course someone like you is already taken, what was he thinking? wonwoo nods and wishes you well... only to walk in the same direction as you. when you enter the same building, he realizes that it looks like he's some freaking stalker. 'i promise i also need to be here,' he mutters, when you both enter the same elevator. 'i'm not, like, stalking you.'

you let out a nervous laugh. 'uh-huh. i hope so.'

god, you two are even going to the same floor. it's a rather popular business center so wonwoo doesn't think much off it but when you both turn in the same direction, he slowly realizes that-

'oh my god,' you pauses, looking at him with wide eyes. 'you're- you are jeon wonwoo. the one i'm-'

'supposed to marry? yeah.' wonwoo finishes, knowing that he is smiling like a fool. 'that's me.'

it's crazy. feels like a dream or something straight out of the movies. you both laugh in disblief and when wonwoo opens the door and holds it for you, when you both enter the room with your lawyers already present, when you smile at him timidly and blush, looking away- wonwoo realizes that this is not a dream. it's all real. and maybe future with arranged marriage can be bright if it will have you in it.

a/n: this trope truly is my kryptonite.. hopefully you liked it! - nini

request your own here

my other seventeen work is here

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Can I request Matt and Frank with a neurodivergent reader who rocks to self-soothe when they’re overstimulated/anxious

Hello darling! Absolutely you can. I’m sorry it took me so long to respond, it’s been a WEEK. Wayyyy too many thoughts below the cut.

Let me just say, I think both Matt and Frank would be fantastic partners to someone who is neurodivergent. They both understand the constant frustration and sense of injustice and all that.

Matt

It would take a few weeks for Matt to even realize what you were doing, I think. He can hear the movement, but it wouldn’t really seem off to him, given how much time he spends with Foggy–who never STOPS moving.

Because he doesn’t have much experience with people who are neurotypical and not stressed beyond belief, he’s sort of used to people fidgeting and doing what they can to calm themselves.

I don’t think he would bring it up without someone else prompting. Maybe Foggy or Karen says something offhandedly, catching you by surprise. You hadn’t even noticed you were doing it at the time, swaying your weight to your heels and back to the balls of your feet, your body rocking with the movement.

“Don’t worry, sport! We’re coming.” Foggy laughed, shoving his arms into the sleeves of his coat as the four of you prepared to grab lunch.

You froze, suddenly regaining your self-awareness and immediately choking on a wave of embarrassment.

“Ready to go?” Matt’s voice startled you out of your stupor, making you jump

“Uh yes. Sorry.” The apology was instinctive, habitual. A symptom of perpetually feeling like your innocuous stims were troublesome for others.

“Why are you sorry?” Head tilting in the signature way it always did when he was concerned, Matt’s hand came to rest on your arm as he scanned you for evidence of harm.

“Nothing. We should catch up.” You murmured, hurrying out of Matt’s office to follow his business partners out of the building.

He’d let you deflect, but he’d set the thought in a special corner of his mind, privately vowing to bring it up at a later time.

After Foggy and Karen had escaped the pile of paperwork in the conference room, hesitantly allowing you and Matt to sort through it without them, he’d leap on the opportunity.

“Out with it,” The command is tender but stern, very classic Matt.

“Out with what?” Playing dumb worked sometimes, easier than an outright lie in front of a breathing polygraph machine.

“You’ve been biting your tongue since before lunch.” Apparently your go-to strategy wasn’t going to work this time. “What happened? Did I say something?”

The fear simmering below his concern caught your attention immediately. You had to answer now. “No nothing like that, Matty. I just..got in my head.”

“About what?” His wandering gaze is so earnest, you cave immediately. You tell him everything. The way you always felt different from those around you. The confusion and constant frustration when you inevitably misunderstood people. The pile of issues you had with various sounds and textures. The need to rock back and forth in place when you were nervous or overwhelmed, and the shame that forced you to stop when someone laughed or criticized you.

As always, Matt listens. Asks a question here or there, to help himself understand, but he seems to get it. There’s no judgement in his eyes, only total acceptance and a blaze of protective fury.

Once he knows about the stim, he would fiercely defend you in public. Scold people for staring and encourage you to do whatever you needed to do to feel comfortable.

Frank on the other hand would notice it VERY quickly.

This man is capital O Observant so he spots the rocking before you’re even together.

He has weird fidgety things he does too so he’s not judging whatsoever. He’s not interested in dissecting the root cause if it’s not hurting you or anyone else. So he jots it down in his mental notes about you and moves on past.

I think he’d also pick up on the soothing nature of it, notice that you seem calmer when you allow yourself to stim. So when he catches you in a bad mood or in a stressful moment, he’d pull you flush against his chest, one hand cradling your back while the other cups your head, and he’d rock the two of you together. (If you need to rock alone, he’d absolutely let you. But this personally would be nice for me so I’m including it lol)

If anyone ever commented on it, they’d find themselves on the other side of a MURDEROUS stare, urging them to quickly apologize and move on with their day

[cursedhaglette]

listen to me very carefully. come close, huddle up. take my hand.

unless it's set to private, the fic you have posted on ao3, the fic that is indexed and searchable through google, has been scraped and has already been used to train AI.

i'm going to say that again.

your fic, whether you want to admit it or not, has already been fed to the AI monster at large. this is the reality of the internet we use and the age we live in. AI knows what's in every fic existing on the internet right now, and Gemini likely knows what is in most, if not all, of your WIPs.

that's reality. it sucks.

if you are so concerned about this reality that it is giving you horrible, mind breaking, earth shattering anxiety, causing you to lash out to the people on the internet around you - it's time to put your future works on private. it's time to stop clicking on chatgpt and saying "hi i'd like one fanfic about blorbo penis please" and pressing enter, then posting, because that is what is actually making use of that scraped content.

but if you're someone doing that, it's not actually about the anxiety or the AI or the wah wah wah of it all. it's not about concern for how AI is going to kill the rainforests and melt the icecaps, nor is it concern for the death of creativity at the hands of the techy elite. it's about lying and attention and fandom clout. it's about making a scene. it's about playing the wounded dog over and over and over again until people can't help but come and listening to your bleating and whining and say "aw puppy what happened" and ignore the sense put in front of them.

but just know, there is absolutely logic to this, whether some people want to see it or not. AI is going to be here for who knows how long, and it is not making content that will make your heart sing, regardless of how the beaten dogs cry. it will give you four snowball fights in ten chapters because it doesn't know better. it will give you the same metaphor repeated three times in three paragraphs because why shouldn't it? it's a computer. you're the person.

you're supposed to know better.

[shadow-work-toolkit]

Following on from my hidden pick-a-card reading (previous post on my page), here are the interpretations. Let me know if it resonates, I ADORE feedback.

PILE 1

The fulfilment you're looking for, either in your situation or just in life in general, is not gonna come until you detach from situations in which you're over-giving and under-receiving. You need that energy for yourself to put towards your own empowerment. You have so much potential to make the best of this situation and use it to propel yourself ever-upwards but a deficit of self-love makes you feel like you need to keep accepting second-best. You don't. The rewards are waiting for you as soon as you detach, and, tbqh, any people in your life draining you like that need you to detach too. There is a difference between enabling and genuine love. Everyone will benefit from genuine love in your life and/or situation, but no one is benefitting from the self-sacrifice you're engaging in rn. Put your energy towards developing your own skills and abilities, be persistent about standing up for what you know is right, and start listening to your gut feeling on things. It is correct. The other voices are not. Your intuition is the one that comes from nowhere and feels like gentle, loving advice.

PILE 2

If the minutiae of a situation is making you feel hopeless or overwhelmed, know that it is safe to let it go. Sometimes you need to hold tight to make something work but others that grip will only kill it or stop it growing, and this is one of those situations. The constant vigilance is preventing things from progressing. If you need a distraction, there is something you can focus your keen intellect on to pass the time until your other situation bears fruit, you just have to look up from your current thing long enough to see it. The outcome of the thing you're hyper-focused on either is up to or will feel like destiny when it manifests, it's out of your hands and possibly always was. Your fear of everything going to shit is not based on reality, just because it was that way in the past doesn't mean it will be this time. The path is quite literally blessed, just hidden to you at this time, but it will be made clear very soon. Possibly as soon as 8 days from now, but don't quote me on that lol. Just take a deep breath and try to look at it from above and not from in the thick of it and things will go a lot easier for you with it.

PILE 3

Someone's stubbornness is preventing you from moving forwards and is holding everything up. This could be a good time to meditate on it but I get the sense it's actually just getting in the way of you doing your work and knowing where to put your efforts. Try not to judge them too harshly, including if it's yourself being stubborn, coz the rebirth after this hold-up phase will be swift and powerful. Whether or not it's you being stubborn or holding things up, don't worry, there is plenty of other opportunity for advancement in this area (I'm sensing work but I'm tryna keep it general). And it's likely the situation is nearly over with. Once you've moved through the challenges, joy and happiness you haven't felt in a very long time is waiting for you. So don't rush, use this time wisely to take stock and plan your next moves, but be ready for things to change because that joy and happiness is soon and inevitable at this point. Expect full rebirth by May-June.

PILE 4

So looks like you're feeling pretty stuck and stagnant, something's got you indecisive to the point of inaction. You know what you want but you're not sure either how to get it or, potentially, don't feel good enough to receive it. But the truth is that you absolutely do deserve to receive what you want and actually more than that. You have the ability to get it too, don't worry for now about how stable it is in the beginning or if it's something that's going to be around for the long-haul. The universe is waiting for you to take the first step so it can lay down the path before you. The path only exists once you decide to take it. Idk I'm getting scattered energy a bit here so maybe work on your focus, use your intellect to rationalise it out a bit, and you'll see how to get around any obstacles you do genuinely face but tbh I'm getting that the biggest obstacle in your path is you, so just set your sights on where you want to go, let your feet start walking and you'll be amazed where you end up. You don't even think you're the Knight when in reality you are already the King.

PILE 5

Seems like you're in a bit of a transitional phase right now and feeing at a loss for where to start. You're not sure you can do it alone, but you're so full of impetus to begin. Start with healing and go from there, you have everything you need to get where you want to go but you won't get there if you keep focusing on what's missing or lost in the past. You're going to need to take life by the balls a bit but the rewards are so worth it. Everything you've dreamed can be reality if you balance the emotional/intuitive side and rational side of your brain. Overall it seems like you're in a way better position than you feel/think, or that there is not so much work needs doing as it seems from your perspective right now. You could be seeing real movement and change as soon as six weeks from now.

[morelikeravenbore]

Sebastian Sallow x f!oc (Aurélie Collins).

This scene will likely feature in my fifth year AU WIP but was written for a discord writing event with the theme 'Cupids arrow' (the theme is there if you squint really hard, I promise.) 

🍓 Content: Bickering is a love language. They're insufferably fifteen. Two orphans idiots insisting they're not in love with each other. His mouth says "I'm not in love" but his body language says "I burn for you". Aurélie would like it to be known that they absolutely did not go on a date and if anybody says otherwise, they're lying.

🍓 Warnings: some swearing? Otherwise sfw.

🍓 Word count: 1.3k

Preview: He gaped at her. For weeks she'd been begging him to take her out for stupid tea and stupid fucking cakes, and now she was storming out in a huff because the experience didn't live up to whatever unobtainable level of perfection she'd imagined it would be? Merlin's fucking beard, never ever ever so long as he lived would Sebastian ever befriend another French girl: the ordeal of knowing one was enough to send him to a premature grave. [A/N: plot twist that's your future wife Sebastian muaahahaahahahahaaha.]

🍓 Cross posted to [wattpad] and [ao3]

Jammed uncomfortably into a too-small table in the corner of the cramped tea shop, Sebastian Sallow wore a scowl as dark as his all-black outfit. As far as his meticulously crafted plans to save his sister went, taking a French girl to fucking Steeply & Son's for an outing that she repeatedly, with much tenacious finger-pointing and foot-stamping, insisted was "not a date!" wasn't something he'd ever thought to factor in. Now, instead of spending an otherwise productive Saturday afternoon sneaking into the Restricted Section to nick another book he'd been eyeing (“Hexes and Hiccups: An Unintentional Villain's Spellbook”), he was hunched over a doily-covered table while Aurélie cast a critical eye over the assortment of tiny cakes piled on a platter between them. 

Sebastian didn't have time for carefree forays into the village to sample cakes and sip tea; when September slipped quietly into October, Anne's condition had worsened. When Halloween ushered in November, she got worse still. And now that December had arrived with unrelenting sheets of snow, Sebastian could practically see his twin sister fading before his very eyes. 

Every moment he wasn't working towards a cure was a moment he didn't have to spare. Most days, it was all Sebastian could do to keep from screaming. Most nights, he did not sleep. More often than not, he was short-tempered and argumentative. But did nobody understand the gravity of the situation? — That if he lost his sister, he'd lose himself, too? That if he lost her, his heart would remain eternally homeless, adrift in a snowstorm of grief, frozen in place forever and ever? 

Sebastian's scowl darkened. All around him, happy couples made gooey eyes at each other. Opposite him, Aurélie held up a cake between her thumb and forefinger as if it were an active dungbomb and let out a long, drawn-out sigh. 

'But why are they so small?' she asked for the third time in a row. 

Sebastian squinted at the micro-dollop of buttercream and what he guessed was a sliver of strawberry atop the teeny cake and answered, for the third time in a row, 'I told you. To maximise their profits.'

Repeatedly he’d tried to warn her that Steeply & Son's was renowned for their overpriced, undersized pastries, and that if she was expecting a tea shop run by a woman with a hunchback in Hogsmeade village to be anything remotely close to her beloved boulangeries back in France, she was bound to be bitterly disappointed. But had she listened to him? No. And now here she was, disappointed by cake just as he'd predicted. 

“I told you so” burned so hot on his tongue he thought he'd combust if he didn't say it out loud. Somehow he managed to swallow it back, but it scorched all the way down to his stomach. 

Visibly sulking, Aurélie set the little cake back on the platter and stared at it for a long, mournful moment before declaring, 'I want to leave now.'

Sebastian spluttered. 'What? We just got here!' he argued, but the red-headed embodiment of moodiness was already on her feet, hastily gathering her coat, scarf, extra scarf, woolly gloves and fluffy blue hat with a pout that deepened by the moment. 

He gaped at her. For weeks she'd been begging him to take her out for stupid tea and stupid fucking cakes, and now she was storming out in a huff because the experience didn't live up to whatever unobtainable level of perfection she'd imagined it would be? Merlin's fucking beard, never ever ever so long as he lived would Sebastian ever befriend another French girl: the ordeal of knowing one was enough to send him to a premature grave. 

Flinging his own scarf around his neck (the thinnest one he owned, since she was wearing his best), he followed her out of the tea shop and into the snow-covered grounds of Hogsmeade square. 

‘Aurélie!’ Frustration forged a path through the ice as he called after her, his frozen breath puffing out like angry steam from a boiling kettle. ‘I'm sure they didn't bake them that small to offend you!’

Ahead of him, the over-swathed girl only made a distinctly French sound of derision and picked up her waddling pace across the village square. Sebastian caught up easily, far more sure-footed in the snow than she. 

‘What's wrong?’ he demanded, taking a firm hold of her elbow lest her angry stomping across the icy cobblestones result in a head injury. Snow was falling thick and fast now, settling atop her silly hat like icing sugar, dusting her hair like strawberries and cream. 

‘Nothing is wrong!’ she wailed, struggling to shove her right hand into the left glove. ‘It's snowing and I'm cold and I want to go home!’

Frustrated, Sebastian watched her trying to force her thumb into the pinky hole for as long as he could stand before snatching the glove away. 'It's the wrong hand!' he snapped. ‘And your scarves are all tangled! Why do you insist on wearing two?’ 

'I thought it would help,’ she moaned, allowing him to drag her under the icicled eaves of the nearby Post Office.

‘Wearing two scarves is ridiculous!’ he lectured, slipping her hands into the correct gloves before moving to untie the tangle of wool around her neck. ‘You're going to choke yourself! Wearing one thicker scarf would be a lot more helpful than tangling yourself in two!’

‘I wasn't talking about the scarves!’ she argued back. 

‘What then? If you're so desperate for cake, I'll ask the House Elves to bake you one the size of your head if it'll stop you whining—’

Aurélie stomped her foot in the snow. ‘Ohlala, are you the last baguette in the shop?’ she wailed. ‘I don't want cake, I want my maman!’ 

Well, now he was truly flamboozled. 

‘Your — mother?’ he said. Was a cake? he was glad he didn't add. 

‘I thought that if I did something that reminded me of her, it might make it go away!’

The pain in her voice iced the fire on Sebastian's tongue. ‘Make what go away?’ he asked, gently smoothing the ends of her freshly untangled scarves. 

‘The homesickness…’

Ah, that. The plight of the orphan, doomed to be eternally displaced, burdened with a pain that never went away. Shame wearied Sebastian's shoulders: once again, he'd been too caught up in his own problems to remember that she was suffering, too. For so long he'd been without his home that he'd forgotten how it felt to be newly bereft of it. 

Aurélie looked up at him. 'How stupid am I to think I could actually find her again in a bit of cake?' she said with a small, sad smile. A bit of snow fluttered from her hat and settled in her lashes. Without thinking, Sebastian wiped it gently away with his thumb.

'It's not stupid to look for your parents in familiar places,' he said, his breath curling warmly around their faces. 'Why do you think I read so much?' 

Many a night Sebastian had fallen asleep with his head on a book, some small, lonely part of him hoping his mother might find him and tuck him into bed as she'd done when he was little. She never did, of course — not even in his dreams, but it never stopped him from hoping. 

‘Do you ever find them?’ Aurélie sniffled. ‘In the books?’ 

The lie came out easily. ‘Sometimes,’ he nodded. ‘Sometimes I do, yeah.’

An hour or two later, aptly supplied with cakes from the kitchens and books from Sebastian's secret stash under his bed, the Undercroft offered them a warm reprieve. Side by side they sat, shoulders and legs pressed under a blanket, the old moth-eaten sofa the only soft place to sit. It wasn't the familiar comfort of his childhood home, with his parents in the next room and Anne annoying him relentlessly while he tried to read — and it certainly wasn't the South of France, but in all the years Sebastian had been searching for home, he was learning that traces of it could be found in even the most unlikely places.

SPECIAL THANKS to my wifey @mianeryh for making sure Aurélie's Frenchness is always on point 🤌 (especially when she yells at Sebastian hehehe) love youuu x

[mystarsohee]

fuzzy feeling (drabble)

genre: fluff, bestfriends to lovers hehe

nonidol!myungjae x f!reader

authors note: I'm just gonna type my brains away while listening to fuzzy feeling by grentperez and thinking of myungjae that freaking cutie pie... don't expect this to be good or anything..

you and myung jaehyun have been inseparable since elementary school. it was always you and myungjae, myungjae and you. the both of you did absolutely everything together, whether it was the movies, going to the mall, studying, etc. anyone who didn't know you personally would probably think you were dating him.

did he have feelings for you? absolutely he did.

would he ever do anything about it? thats a really good question.

you've known each other for how long now? and ever since the day myungjae met you, he knew he didn't want to leave your side. although, it took him a while to realize those feelings were romantic. I mean, every time you looked at him, he'd get those fuzzy feelings in his chest. is this what love is like? did myung jaehyun fall in love with you?

on the other hand, you were quite the oblivious one. it seemed everybody around you knew about his love, except the one it was directed towards. you don't have a clue about the butterflies he gets whenever you're together.

it got to a point, he couldn't handle it anymore. the two of you were sat on his couch, silently enjoying each other's company. it was a very spontaneous and unplanned confession.

"do you uh, wanna go on a date with me?" he said, suddenly.

you looked up at him, definitely confused. you two always went out together.. what did he mean?

"seriously. a date. like, ya'know, flowers and stuff.."

"what are you saying?" you were caught off-guard.

the both of you went back in forth, as he tried to convince you that he meant a true, genuine date.

"yes, i mean a date. i'll pick you up and we can go do whatever couples do, i mean, uh, what? ...yeah." oh he was so embarrassed.

you on the other hand, you didn't even think this was possible. of course at some point during your friendship, you fantasized about what it would be like if you were together for real. in fear you suppressed those feelings, and would take it to the grave.

"uh.. hello?" oh shit. he's still here. snap out of it.

"yes."

"i'll go on a date with you, myung jaehyun."

authors note ✍️:

HELLO HELLOOOO !!!! i dunno what caused me to suddenly write something... but.. whatever it was.. thank u🙏

i will probably make a part 2 to this, but i just wanted to get back into the feeling of writing fics again, because i miss ygs :c

no requests yet,,, i'm slowly easing into writing again! so like. if this drabble SUCKS. just.. ignore this ever happened!

also if anyone cares im seeing grentperez in april uhh yeah yippee woohoo!

[seokminfilm]

seventeen as my memorable school experiences

♫ pairing, seventeen x reader ♫ warnings, fluff, unserious/crack, non-idol au, very short, headcanons, debut/high school age seventeen, cliches, cursing, kind of dramatic, my personal stories

♫ author's note, hi everyone 😞 school and deadlines have been driving me insane so i'll be semi-active until further notice 🧍 ANYWAYS wanted something fun (slightly unserious) and quick, so i thought of this idea! these are all in good fun so don't worry 🤍 without further ado enjoy these headcanons (and tell me if you like them/want more of this format!)

seungcheol would definitely be the type of guy to hold the littlest things over you 😭 definitely one to pull the "I'm older than you" or "I'm stronger than you" card in literally every situation 🧍 you know the kid that was like "i'm so fast i can run here and back in three seconds"? seungcheol would be the one doing that, and trip over something and face-plant 💀 i would not take him seriously let me tell you that

jeonghan teacher's pet 100 percent LMAO definitely the type of person to tell on someone when they're not doing something they "should" be doing. has to be the teacher's helper, passing out papers and running errands for them. jeonghan would be the sly one that is actually one of the most unruly ass students but gets away because he sucks up to the teacher 😭

joshua he'd be the popular transfer student that everyone would be focused on for like a week. he's the talk of the school okay 😭 has that generic 2010 gelled/swooped to the side hair with a button-up for sureee joshua is the kid who's really polite and sweet and has the teacher singing his praises, but when he gets around the right people, he cannot be stopped

jun jun's the really quiet one you forget even exists sometimes 😭 your teacher is taking attendance and says "who are we missing" and you say someone jun, while everyone else is yelling another person 🧍like no jun's sitting right behind you, he's just really quiet. (part two of getting around the right people and being loud)

hoshi hoshi is that one kid that cannot be embarrassed by himself. he will do the most cringy things known to mankind, and still be able to walk away normally after it 💀 does not care about what he likes (definitely an anime kid i feel it in my soul), and makes references that no one gets. people are scared to have to be his class partner let me tell you 🧍

wonwoo not be overused or anything but i seriously do see wonwoo as a gamer boy 💀 my childhood best friend (who goes to school w me & is in my class) is an absolute dork when it comes to video games. wonwoo would be the person to bring a sketchbook skilled fo video game characters 🧍 would also be the person to listen to video game osts while doing homework/assignments

woozi part two of "the really quiet kid you forget even exists sometimes" LMAO woozi is definitely to be the one in the back of the classroom minding his business, doing his work, or sleeping. woozi can be funny, but just doesn't feel like trying 🤷 has great timing with the things he says and makes the whole class laugh

the8 did (or do) you know that one kid that would correct your grammar or pronounciation without your consent? the8 would SO be that kid omg 😭 lord forbid you stutter around him cause he'll go straight to mocking you for it. the8 would be such a stickler w that i fear (i can just imagine you having him read something you've written and there he is correcting your run-on sentences 💀)

mingyu there's this one kid i see walking around in the hallways of my school with a mop of curly hair shielding his eyes 🧍 that just screams mingyu to me LMAO idk he tries so hard to be cool and hip but it just doesn't work 😭 considered one of the more popular people of the class, even if it's just because he's "mysterious".

dk he's definitely the type of person to make you come undone with an "are you okay?" or bunches of compliments CHANGE MY MIND i have a friend who's so good at coaxing feelings & tears out of me w a simple "hey, are you okay?", and i feel like dk would be the same way 😭 gives you a hug every day when you're leaving, and texts you on school holidays/breaks because he "misses human interaction" ("i miss you so bad ☹" "seokmin it's been 2 hours since i last saw you")

seungkwan theatre kid or choir kid 🤷 also probably has his mom working as a teacher so has those privileges to where he can visit his mom's class and participate in a bunch of things since his mom is already at the school 🧍probably also a generic popular girl too LMAO hears things from other people and spreads it professionally (probably to the8: if you see them two conversing and looking at you, 9/10 you're being secretly roasted)

vernon debut vernon to me screams "random boy every girl in your grade liked with a windshield wiper laugh and thick, brown wavy hair" 🤷 had this one boy in 3rd grade that EVERY SINGULAR GIRL THOUGHT WAS CUTE. also probably says cringe things (ex: dude, bro, fire, lit, sike, etc) unironically because he has an image to uphold or something. please don't make him laugh really hard (you'll hear this squeaky grating sound that makes you want to stuff your head in your backpack)

dino dino is the popular boy by association 😭 he's not really popular on his own, but when with vernon/mingyu suddenly multiplies in popularity. he's actually a really chill, down-to-earth dude LMAO lord forbid he makes a terrible joke though 💀 he'll be so embarrassed he'll shut down and never come back. would friends with vernon and probably practices the windshield wiper laugh in his bathroom at home 🧍

a/n: lowkey very cliche and personal but still fun/comforting to write (speaking with experiencing most of these things firsthand LMAOAOOA!! tell me what you think about it LMAO

[witchthewriter]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒅 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒔

He’d carefully adjust his arm to support you better, making sure you were comfortable.

・At first, Boyd isn’t sure what to do. He’s so used to carrying the weight of everything that the idea of someone trusting him enough to fall asleep on him kind of breaks his heart.

・Because he knew that this was one of the ultimate tells of true trust. You were letting your guard down; vulnerable and helpless in sleep.

・Completely tense, Boyd could only look down at you with disbelief.

・Feeling your breath against him, he sighed. He wanted to hold you close, wind his fingers through your hair and lightly sing to you.

・But he knew that it would wake you up. And neither of you had told each other how either of you felt.

・So this is a moment where he can pretend:

That everything is normal

That you were together. Childish as it may seems.

Feeling old things that he hadn't felt in a long time...giddiness, butterflies, hope.

・Boyd has always felt so protective of you. But in this moment, that feeling is amplified.

・Stroking your hair, and planting one gentle kiss to your forehead.

・He stayed awake all night, staring at the horizon, his usual tension easing just a little. Maybe, for just a moment, he’d let himself believe that there were still peaceful moments left in this place.

𝑱𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝑯𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒓𝒂

・Oh god, Jade literally malfunctions the second you fall asleep on him.

・He'd start to say something sarcastic but stop - mouth closing and body tensing.

・Jade's eyes start darting around the room, trying to think of what the next thing is...should he lay you down on the bed? Should he wake you?

・Man is confused - awkward - but he decides to listen to something other than his head.

・Noticing how his heart was pounding, face blushing, he stays still, and takes his time to look down at you.

・When he does, he thinks, 'okay sure, I guess I live here now...'

・And if anyone even glances in his direction, he glares absolute daggers at them: 'Go ahead, wake them up and see what happens.'

・Leaning his head against the top of yours, he heard something. Thinking you might have woken up, he moved and peered down.

・Turns out ... you were mumbling his name in your sleep...

・Burying his face in his hands, he sighs and says, 'god this is torture.'

・When you wake up - hours later - you stretch and blink until you notice where you are.

・Suddenly you jump up and begin to apologise profusely. Some would describe you as manic.

・Jade only shook his head, and gave you a real smile.

𝑲𝒆𝒏𝒏𝒚 𝑳𝒊𝒖

・Kenny would immediately soften, his protective instincts kicking in the moment he felt your weight against him.

He’d probably wrap his jacket around you if you looked cold, a little blush creeping up his neck. And if you stirred in your sleep, murmuring his name? Oh, you just might kill him on the spot.

・There'd be such a caring look in his eye as he peered down at you; a small smile appearing.

・He'd also just slowly adjust his position so you were both comfortable (he decided you were both going to stay there for a while.)

・If there was anyone that walked by, Kenny would give them a look that obviously said: 'Don't you dare wake them up.'

・And while giving that look, he would gently place a hand on your head and stroke your hair - like you've been done this together countless times

・Every time he glances down at you, his expression becomes so soft. Kenny so wanted to do this every night for the rest of his life.

・And his brain kept replaying: 'they trust me, they feel safe with me'

・If it's cold - or even mildly chilly, Kenny would slowly and (awkwardly) shrug off his jacket and drape it over you.

・If you nuzzle into him or sigh in your sleep, he has to bite his lip to keep from smiling too hard.

・When you eventually wake up and apologise, Kenny just chuckles and nudges your forehead with his.

𝑽𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝑲𝒂𝒗𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉

・You didn't mean to - but you were relatively new in town and staying in Victor's outside shelters.

・When you laid your head against Victor's shoulder, falling asleep instantly, all he did was blink.

・Then he blinked again.

・He stared down at you and tried to process what was happening... and then he remembered something. People would do this when he was young - his mother would fall asleep on his father on the couch.

・Still peering at you, he notices the way your eyelashes flutter as you dream, the soft rise and fall of your breathing...it’s… nice. Unexpected, but nice.

・He may not understand a lot of people’s emotions, but he does understand how rare moments of peace are in this place.

・He stares at you for a long moment, tilting his head like he’s committing the image to memory.

・If he had a sketchbook nearby, he would start drawing you, quietly tracing your features with a kind of gentle awe.

・If you shift slightly in your sleep, nuzzling against him just the tiniest bit, he freezes for a second.

・When you wake up and realise where you are, you jump up; apologizing, feeling incredibly embarrassed.

・Victor would shock you with

𝑫𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝑹𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔

・Donna immediately goes into protective mode. She doesn't care how long you sleep; she's gonna make sure nothing disturbs you

・While you're alone, Donna lets out a quiet chuckle, and a fond shake of the head. She rests a hand lightly on your arm.

・Knowing how rare comfort was in this place, she would let you spend all day asleep on her.

・If anyone made a joke about it, she’d give them that look that meant 'speak or die.'

・Donna rests a hand lightly on your back, rubbing slow circles without even realizing it.

・Wiggling closer to her, the majority of your body atop her. All Donna does is shake her head and smile. She runs her fingers through your hair, gently brushes her thumb against your cheek.

・When you start to mumble in your sleep, it makes her laugh. You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?

・And if you woke up apologising? She’d just smirk, squeeze your hand, and say, It’s fine, sweetheart. You needed it.

𝑹𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝑲𝒊𝒓𝒌𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅

・Randall stiffens immediately when you lean on him, your eyes drifting closed.

・His brain does goes haywire, mind racing a million miles and yet completely blank at the same time.

・Randall slowly turns to you (very very slowly as to not wake you), and stares down at your now sleeping form.

・He has no idea what to do with his body - especially his hands. Does he just stay completely still until you wake up? He doesn't want to move. All Randall really wants to do is wrap an arm around you, and pull you close.

・Without making a decision, Randall just sat there, with a small smirk on his face.

・You had jumped on his bed at the hospital, well underneath the hospital where he now lived...

・You weren't going to stay the night, but you were so tired from your shenanigans throughout the day

・Randall smiled at the memories you two were making; even though neither of you had admitted your feelings for one another.

・Slowly moving his arm, he gently moved the hair from your face. But then you snuggled closer to him, wrapping an arm around his middle and laying your head on his chest

・Holy shit, he thought.

・In this hell hole, happiness was fleeting. It seemed as though the emotinon did not exist. But this moment proved that theory wrong.

・He finally allowed himself to rest his chin lightly atop your head.

・And if you wake up and shyly apologize? He grins and says, Nah, babe. I think you just found your new favorite pillow.

[kitthepurplepotato]

Chapter 24 - The boys are being sus (18+)

(ATTENTION: I’m writing the last chapter so if you have ANYTHING you want to see before this story ends, now it’s the time to speak up!!!! It’s now or never!)

Summary: You wake up to an empty bed and a distressed Eijirou is calling you, half-crying. What the actual f*ck are those two boys up to again?!

… oh, also, Melissa spills the tea about her plans to save Izuku’s career.

Warnings: Swear words, super cheeky smut which is absolutely skippable!

First Chapter Master List Support the potato

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Is it even possible?” Izuku mutters, to no one I particular, his legs bouncing up and down, filling the room with a really annoying background noise. You can see the vein in Katsuki’s temple popping with every bounce; Eijirou is trying his best to not laugh at the comedic scene in front of him. There is a fond little spark in his eyes as he looks up at the blonde, probably extremely proud of his partner for not finishing the villain’s job by murdering the poor soul.

“It’s actually easier than you think.” Melissa grins on the TV screen, because using a phone for a video call is “so last year”, apparently. “You are almost healed already; the only long-term problem is the damage on your chest and your arms.” She dissapears for a second and comes back with her iPad, showing Izuku’s X-rays. “As you can see, your ribs healed up relatively well, but your bones are probably brittle around this area, making this your weak point during a fight. An armor would be a great solution, but an old-school chest plate would make your movements restrained, which is a no-go for you or to anyone in your line of job, really. There is a reason why you don’t see heroes in full armor. It’s safe for you but it might cost a life when you can’t react quick enough due to the armor being in the way. It can also make sneaking, or crawling out of small places impossible, making you the perfect target for being taken hostage. The same goes to your arms really.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound too good.” Izuku sighs, his body leaning closer to you, probably waiting for a calming embrace. You give him what he needs right away.

“Wait until she finishes, baby. We are talking about Melissa here.” You leave a tiny kiss on your boyfriend’s forehead.

“Listen to your girlfriend, she’s smart.” Melissa winks at you and continues. “So my plan is to use the same thing I used for your arm brace back in I-Island but with a twist; support items improved a lot since, and I also want to lace the brace with this brand new material that hit the markets a few weeks ago, really expensive but completely affordable for you if you keep your spending on the low for the next few months.”

“What is this new material?” Katsuki geeks out, clearly interested to get his hands on it after Izuku’s suit is sorted.

“Hmm, it’s hard to explain but I’ll try my best.” Melissa giggles. “It’s basically an armor but it’s flexible, kind of like Best Jeanist’s quirk combined with Gentle Criminal’s; it’s a thick thread that’s flexible and it also bounces back when hit. If I put a really thin, but sturdy plate right where Izuku is the weakest and use this thread for the suit on top, the damage can’t get to his chest and it can also hit the attacker like a boomerang. Now this is a great thing but also quite problematic; you don’t really want things to bounce back from you when surrounded by civilians, so I asked Mei to look into it as well. I’m thinking about giving this thread artificial intelligence so it can act as a double shield by hardening itself when surrounded by civilians but loosen up and fight with you when given the space to do so. This will take a few more months for me to perfect but I can make a temporary suit for you this month to ease you back into hero work. You won’t be able to take on the big missions with it, but you’ll be more than capable to go on patrols and deal with 90% of the usual crimes in the country. But take it easy for now, start part time, get used to the grind and I’ll work on your new, super high-tech suit in the background. How does that sound?”

“Wow, that’s… so soon.” Izuku looks a little bit disappointed and weirdly stressed about the new revelation. You look down at Izuku, whose head is nicely cushioned by your chest; it doesn’t look like he’s really focusing on anything right now, probably too busy having a fight with the other people living in his head.

“I don’t think Izuku is mentally ready to go back.” Katsuki whispers into your ears. Fuck.

“Uhm, Melissa, so…” you try your best to fake nonchalance as you stare into Melissa’s eyes through the screen, trying to communicate through telepathy. “I thought you said one of the uhm… things for Izuku’s temporary suit only arrives next month and you will probably need a few weeks after that to put the suit together, right?”

Let’s hope Izuku doesn’t question where you got this info from.

“Uhm…”

“So the suit won’t be done this month. Next month, maybe. Like… 6 weeks?”

“That sounds about right.” Katsuki joins the staring contest while Izuku mutters to no one, or to be exact, to someone in his head.

“Oh!” You swear you see a lightbulb switch in Melissa’s brain. “Yes! That’s right! Haha, sorry, my mistake!” She giggles sweetly and you can see Izuku’s shoulders loosing the tenseness they’ve had just a few seconds before. “I’ll leave you guys now, have a lovely day and see you soon!”

“Thank you, Mel.” Izuku gives the screen a tired smile as she disappears from the screen.

Everyone sighs in unison.

~•🥦•~

“Hey, Kat is acting weird.” Eijirou calls you out of the blue one morning, a month after the whole shebang with Gran Torino and Melissa. You look next to you to make sure Izuku is still asleep, but you find no one on the other side of the bed. Weird. Izuku doesn’t get out of bed without getting his morning cuddles. “I’m a really positive person and I think we are going steady but… I’m a little bit concerned he’s tired of me or something. Should I give him space? Should I talk to him? Actually, I don’t even know where he is… fuck… “ Eijirou mutters into the phone, clearly distressed.

“Okay, Ei, take a deep breath and tell me what makes you think he’s bored of you.” You mutter back, trying your best to ignore the absence of your own partner.

“He was on his laptop the whole day yesterday and didn’t let me take a peek, then I asked him to come to bed but he told me to fuck off so I tried to… uhm… get his attention in another way but he yelled at me?”

Oh. Now that he said that, the same happened to you yesterday. Izuku was on his laptop the whole day but you had your own projects to do so you didn’t really think about it being a problem; you were quite happy you are able to finish something without a distraction for once. Izuku was also quite distant when it comes to… well… love making, but after the conversation you’ve had a few weeks ago, he probably just needed some time to think about the way he thinks about sex and you, so while you really miss being close to him that way, you were glad he took your advice and decided to think about it a bit more before he indulges in his desires again.

“I don’t think the problem is you, Ei.” You sigh, laughing to yourself. “My bozo is also gone and had done the same thing yesterday.”

“I’m coming over.” Eijirou ends the call and you can’t help but laugh at that.

You should be stressed but you don’t have any bad feelings about this; all you feel is that you are going to have a really fun day investigating with Eijirou in a good “jealous housewife” way.

It’s actually quite endearing to think about it; a year prior, if someone would have told you you are going to have a field day with Red Riot himself, snooping after your boyfriend, pro hero fucking Deku, you would have laughed and sent the person to get their brain checked because something is definitely wrong in there; and let’s not even get you started on Red Riot being a damsel in distress, a gay one at that. Red Riot is the most heterosexual-looking hero in the whole field, which is basically the only reason Kiribaku shippers are never taken seriously. You’ve been a shipper yourself, back when the hero world was so far away for you, but even then, you thought this is all just a daydream in your fujoshi head.

Your life is a fucking fanfiction.

~•🥦•~

“What the actual fuck is that.” You mumble as Eijirou comes in through the WINDOW in good Deku fashion, looking like a hacker in those over-dramatized Netflix movies. He has a bunch of cables in his hand and a laptop with explosions engraved into the back of it.

“We will break into this, then connect to his phone and see where he is.” Eijirou states, seriously.

“You don’t need all those cables to do that. You probably know his password anyway.” You deadpan, still in your pajamas. They are Deku-themed.

“Shut up, I wanted to be extra.” Eijirou grumbles and sits down at the table. “Also, I don’t know his password.”

“Try EiLovesMeat” you giggle, but Eijirou only rolls his eyes at that.

“You are so funny.” He grumbles, but tries the password anyway. The laptop logs in.

“You are shitting me.” You both say the same sentence at the same time. All Meowt meows in the background.

“I’m his password?! That’s so manly!” Eijirou cries happily, almost forgetting about the “mission”.

“Ei, focus.” You tell him off, already halfway in the kitchen.

“Tea or coffee?”

“Protein shake!” Eijirou yells back. You really want to point out how that wasn’t on the list, but you kinda enjoy the domesticity of the moment.

“Cookies?”

“Duh! Chocolate chip?”

“Yup.”

“That’s my girl.” … okay, your mind is going in the wrong direction. This is not the time to think about all the Red Riot x reader fanfictions where Eijirou said the same phrase in a REALLY DIFFERENT scenario. “That face is making me uncomfortable. I’ll tell Deku.”

“Please, for the love of god, don’t.” You mutter with a red face.

“I could, but knowing him, he would make the same face as you are. He sent me more Tumblr links of that sort than what I dare to admit.” Eijirou giggles to himself.

“Pro heroes, other than Izuku… read fanfictions?” You gawk at the redhead while you shake up Eijirou’s protein shake.

“Mostly on drunken nights, but yeah, we do.” He grins. “Shouto is the funniest with these, read him a fanfiction while he’s drunk and he’ll keep telling you how he would never do any of that stuff, then give him another pint and watch him try to do them, failing miserably. No one ever wrote an in character fanfiction of him. It breaks his little heart… ahh I can see Katsuki’s phone! He’s in… wait, what?”

Your interest is peaked; you go over to look at the screen and you can’t believe your eyes.

“Osaka?! That’s like… 6 hours away?!” You yelp.

“… or 1,5 hours by plane to Kansai and then 50 minutes to Osaka.” Eijirou states. “Heroes don’t need to go through the same security system as the common folk, so they’ve probably did the trip in less than 3 hours which checks out with Katsuki’s absence. Let’s take a closer look.” Eijirou zooms in on the map. “Is that a comic store?”

You take a closer look.

“Yup, that’s the biggest nerd store in Osaka. They are famous for selling rare figurines and hard-to-get comics, sometimes even before the release date.” You mutter to yourself, thinking hard about the current figurines available on pre-order. And then it clicks.

“There is a new All Might Figurine coming out in a few weeks, apparently people went berserk for it and it got sold out in the first five minutes. It was also limited to one figurine per person…”

“THAT’S IT!” Ei yells, scaring the shit out of All Meowth.

“They need two each!” You yell back, so excited that people might think you just won the lottery.

“One to put out and one in pristine condition, still in the box.” Eijirou adds.

“Ei, I have an idea.” You grin at the redhead. “Why don’t we help them out?”

“They went to Osaka, so clearly, Tokyo doesn’t have this figurine available.” Eijirou sighs. “We can’t ask All Might for it, because that’s cheating, or at least the boys think so.”

“We can’t ask him to get us the figurines, but he can tell us who the main manufacturer is.” You grin to yourself.

Eijirou grins back.

In just a few minutes, you get the phone number you needed; All Might laughed at your silly shenanigans and told you you’ve made his day brighter. He also asked you to call whenever you are lonely. He’s a fucking saint.

In an hour, Eijirou and you are on your way to the factory. You had to play a damsel in distress to get in; using your connections to All Might and Deku was a no go as the boys were clearly trying to get the figurine fair and square. You can only hope that the fact that you got the number from All Might won’t be a problem.

“What if they get the figurine in Osaka?” Eijirou asks the million dollar question.

“We will give it away for charity.”

“I thought Izuku needs all the money for his fancy suit?”

“He needs his own money, not mine.” You blush as you stare out of the window.

“That figurine costs a fortune, you can’t be serious!” Eijirou gawks at you.

“… I live in a luxury apartment for free. And his happiness is worth so much more than a super cool, limited All Might figurine with a sparkly finish!

“… so YOU want that figurine to be displayed instead of sitting in the box somewhere in Izuku’s office.” Eijirou giggles to himself.

“You know me too well.”

~•🥦•~

The boss of the company who sells the figurine was a surprisingly good sport; apparently, you are not the first person who managed to get to him to get a figurine; apparently he’s happy to help everyone who sounds utterly frightened in the phone out of respect for their bravery; you wouldn’t do something so out of your comfort-zone if it wouldn’t be extremely important to you.

He also had a good laugh when Eijirou came in after you managed to get two figurines. He told you how he respects you not using his name to get the figurines then his eyes fell out of his sockets when you told him these figurines are for the top 2 heroes of the country. He said your secret is safe with him and took a selfie with Red Riot, because apparently he’s also all about manliness and Red Riot is his favorite hero of all time. Eijirou left the building with a blush on his face; his heart might be someone else’s but his eyes are allowed to wander from time to time and there was a lot to see on that guy, let’s just say that.

After you two say goodbye by your door, you put down the figurine right on the dining table.

Izuku comes home, utterly disheveled; he goes right to his laptop without saying hi, clearly disappointed in something. He sits down right by the figurine and doesn’t even look at it. You really want to laugh, but there is one thing that bothers you…

“You know I don’t appreciate you going away for a full day without saying anything, then coming home looking like shit and not even telling me what’s going on.” You close the laptop screen on him, because… well… you are offended.

“… fuck. You are right. I’m sorry.” He sighs, looking at the closed laptop screen. “It just… felt so good… doing this secret mission with Kacchan… just the two us. I think I needed that. I needed… to be alone with my best friend and just… be stupid. Rebel against the world.” He sighs. “I’m sorry.”

“Izu, you can’t just disappear without leaving a note. Not because you NEED TO tell me where you are but because it’s not safe for you to just disappear.”

Izuku looks like he’s about to cry; he finds your fingers with his own, and strokes just the tip of them like he’s too scared to do anything more to you. You lace your fingers together with his and sit in his lap, making sure he understands you are not actually mad right now.

“Sweets…”

“It’s okay. You can rebel. Just tell me about it. Or tell Eijirou. Tell one of us so we know you guys are safe. Also…” You give your boyfriend a knowing smile. “I also need to apologize because I’m quite sure I just ruined your fun.” You push the figurine in front of him. Izuku looks like he can’t believe what’s in front of him.

“OH MY SAINT ALL MIGHT?! How?! Wait, how did you know?!”

Izuku doesn’t even wait for you to answer before he starts opening the box. You can’t help but laugh at his shenanigans.

“Are you happy, Izu-Izu?” You mumble with a fond smile on your face as you take in the lovely little blush on Izuku’s face.

“I’m really happy, Sweets. Thank you.” Izuku pulls you close and hides his face in your neck. The figurine is left half-open on the table. “I still feel like I want to rebel, though. Maybe I should get that nipple piercing I was talking about for real.” Izuku mutters into your neck then starts peppering kisses all over it. You can feel the blood going into your lower body, really fucking quickly. The kisses get deeper, wet streaks of saliva left in their wake as Izuku starts to work his way towards your collarbone. With only one swift move, Izuku manhandles you into a straddling position.

Warning; gets super cheeky here! This is only for the people who are into smut, please feel free to skip this, it’s actually really cheeky, I’m utterly ashamed of myself but Izuku was really happy and they’ve been a bit distant in the last few weeks and… you get it.

“You mean… you want a piercing… here?” Your hand moves under Izuku’s T-shirt, slowly snaking up towards his nipples, touching every single muscle on the way up. Izuku moans loudly as your two fingers pinch his nipple and plays with the bud. “I don’t like that someone else will touch you here but I would really like to see you with the piercing so… I’ll allow it this once.”

“You think you are the boss of me now, fangirl?”

“I mean… I’m the only person in the whole world who owns your heart, so…”

“Okay, I’ll allow it this once. But boss me around once again…” Izuku tries to sound threatening but the blush on his face ruins his facade.

“And what, you’re gonna stuff my mouth with something so I can’t boss you around?”

Izuku bites his lips so hard they start to bleed a bit. His hips perk up just enough to make you understand, he finds this conversation extremely appealing.

“Nah, I’m just going to make sure you don’t have any brain cells left to make a proper sentence. But I like your brain so it would be counter-productive. And I also like to be bossed around by you.”

“You are really bad at this dirty talk, you know that, right?” You giggle, fondness obvious in your eyes as you look at the love of your life.

“I’m bad at dirty talk but I’m quite good in playing dirty.” Izuku grins as he puts you on the table with one arm. You really want to tell him off for using his arm so much but hell if you didn’t find this scene extremely hot… well, your brain is clearly gone already. Sorry, Izu-Izu.

It takes him half a second to slowly peel your short off with one single finger, removing it inch by inch, slowly and sensually. His fingertip feels like fire as it strokes your lower belly on his way down. You can’t help but whimper. “Nothing to say, huh?” Izuku grumbles into your ears, low and deep. He’s definitely hanging out with Kacchan too much.

“Not in front of All Might, Mr. Deku!” You play the fan girl and by the disgusted look on Izuku’s face, he’s really not into that. It actually breaks your horny little heart when he moves away from you, your panties snapping back in place as he takes a step back.

“Sweets, for the love of god, do not roleplay a fangirl when we actually get uhm… into it. I can only make love to my Sweet Pea.” Izuku moves the figurine to the coffee table and hides his face with the shirt he just pulled over his head in the sexiest way possible. Damn it’s hot in here. “Now he’s not looking. So where were we?”

“I’m… Sweet Pea.” You parrot like a good girl. Izuku grins at you menacingly, or at least he tries but really, he just looks… in love. Oh, how much you love this man and his incapability to be rough.

“You sure smell like her.” Izuku hides his face in your hair and takes an obsessive, deep breath which makes the blood rush into your core. Izuku might be soft and pliant but one thing he’s good at is being a sexy, obsessive beast when he’s in the mood. And as much as you like Izuku on a normal day, you cherish the shit out of these small moments when Izuku forgets his manners. There is just something beautiful about seeing this shy man feel safe enough to be a little bit freaky.

“How do I smell like?” You mutter as Izuku leaves wet kisses all over your neck again, his hands traveling up to your breasts at the same time.

“Flowery, like your face cream.” Izuku pants, his breath hot and heavy on the tip of your ear. “Your skin smells like sandalwood, because you stole my shower gel again. I really like it when you smell like me.”

“I know.” You whimper as Izuku’s hands find your breasts. You can’t help but moan as his hands engulfs your sensitive parts.

“You did this on purpose.”

“Maybe?” You admit sheepishly.

“I thought you… want us to do less uhm… stuff.”

“I’ve never said that.” You sneak one finger into the hem of Izuku’s trousers. “I said I don’t want you to use sex as a tool to wind down when you are stressed.” You tug on the fabric impatiently.

“Well, I was stressed. But now you got me the figurine I was stressing about so…” Izuku mutters and honestly… it all makes sense now. “Will you tell me how did you know I was looking for this figurine or do I need to use my seduction techniques to get it out of you?” Izuku’s palms grasp your chest almost painfully, but just in the right way. You are quite sure there is a massive wet spot on your panties by now.

“You would never do that.” You mumble defiantly. Izuku laughs.

“True. I’m not into that. So tell me or I’ll walk away.” Izuku pinches your nipples then slowly moves his hands away; you grasp his hands and put it back where “they belong.”

“Okay okay, I’ll talk.” You mumble quickly. Izuku giggles at how desperate you sound right now. “Eijirou hacked into Katsuki’s laptop… well, I told him what the password might be and he checked his phone gps from there… then I remembered that article about the All Might figurine being one per person and I knew you are too pure to ask someone to order you another one and… then I came up with the idea of getting them for you as a token of our love and… oh saint jesus.” You moan as Izuku’s hand wanders down to your lower belly then barges right into your panties.

“I haven’t even touched you yet.” Izuku giggles into your hair, his voice sweet as honey. “I’ll never get used to you being so… perfect for me down here. It makes me so happy. You make me so happy. Fuck, I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You urge your boyfriend with a snap of your hips.

“It’s like I’m the fanboy… I can’t believe you are mine, that I can do this, touch you like this, be one with you whenever I desire, it’s like you are too good for me, too perfect, like a dream coming true…” Izuku, being unapologetically himself sniffles into your ear while his fingers find their way into your folds.

“I feel that way too, every time I wake up next to you. Every time you kiss me. Make love to me. Izuku, I love you so much it’s fucking ridiculous.” You move your hips once again and continue doing so until Izuku eases his first finger in. “I have no idea how I managed to stay away from you for so long.”

“We did a really shitty job at that, to be fair. I kissed you twice before we even got together. We slept in the same bed more times than we slept alone.” Izuku mutters with a fond smile on his face. Your hand sneaks towards Izuku’s trousers again, slowly opening the zipper, making some space for Izuku’s poor little friend, who’s clearly suffering inside his tight pants. Izuku uses his other hand to get rid of your panties, you doing your best to hop up from the table so the textile can get out of the way without an issue. Seeing the mess you’ve made already, you guys will need to get a new table before anyone comes over for a dinner party.

“Kiss me.” You pull Izuku close with one hand buried in his unruly hair while the other pulls on his trousers and boxers to finally free his gorgeous fucking dick, because you swear to god this thing between his legs is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen in your life except for all the other parts of Izuku. You take it into your hand greedily your hand moving up and down on his member, making Izuku moan sinfully as he devours your mouth in the most obsessive way possible. One finger becomes two, then three, your own hand losing rhythm as you get closer and closer to your climax. Without a single thought in your head you pull yourself closer to your boyfriend, slowly aiming towards your greedy folds with his member; Izuku whimpers as he feels your juices coating the end of it.

“Fuck.” Izuku moans and with one swift move, pulls you into him, grabbing you by your thighs so hard it will probably leave a mark.

You’ve never done this… this way. Without protection. It feels heavenly. You can feel his shape perfectly, his skin is so soft, it feels like silk inside you, it’s so different from all the other times, you can’t help but loose yourself in the feeling, sucking him in as much as you can while your arms reach for his neck to pull him closer, to kiss him stupid, he feels so good you are about to reach your climax after only a few seconds…

“Sweets, I need to get a condom, this is not safe.” Izuku mutters but his eyes say a different thing; they are full of lust, half- lidded from the pleasure, cheeks red from the restraint as he slows his pace to a steady, slow rhythm.

“Please…don’t.” You mumble, completely out of it; you are frustrated from being declined your climax, you are frustrated because you know he is right, you are frustrated because he feels so fucking good…

“We need to be sensible.” Izuku sighs, slowing his pace to almost nothing. You whimper. “I’m not ready for a baby yet. I need to heal and go back to my job, I want to marry you and enjoy each other for a bit longer, as selfish as it sounds… trust me, I’m frustrated to no end, because this is so fucking good, but Sweets… you worth so much more to me than these few minutes of pleasure. Thank you for your trust. Thank you for letting me do this. But let’s finish this safely so we can enjoy each other after without stressing about what we had done. Okay, Sweets?”

Your answer is a high pitched, offended whimper. Izuku rolls his eyes and pounds into you once more.

“Why don’t we move this to the bedroom? It’s really hard to kiss you everywhere in this position. Let me love you properly.” Izuku sweet-talks and it works; you pull yourself up to cling to his neck and Izuku pulls you up enough to free his member which you do not appreciate too much. “It’s okay, Sweets, just a few more steps.” Izuku leaves kisses all over your neck while his fingers find their way back inside you, even in this position. You calm down by the time you two get into the bedroom; he puts you down on the bed softly and gets a condom from the bedside drawer. He does a quick job with putting it on, but not without a grumpy sigh.

“You wanted it just as bad as I did, you liar!” You grumble, but Izuku only laughs.

“Of course I did, it felt otherworldly.” He rolls his eyes cheekily. “But this will feel otherworldly too… because it’s you.” Izuku slowly eases himself back, his whole body touching with yours; you are not sure when did you loose your own shirt but it doesn’t really matter.

Izuku loves you slowly and sensually for a really long time; and just as he promised, he made you feel better than ever. It was so romantic and so-so full of love, you kind of forgot how good it felt to have him inside you without the condom in the way. Izuku plops down next to you after you both had the biggest climax of your lives; he’s out of breath but smiles happily at you, pulling you close for a cuddle.

You are safe from here!

“I’ll never get bored of this.” Izuku mutters into the back of your neck. “And I’m so glad you talked to me about my bad habits. This… felt so much better, even though our time together was always good. Thank you.”

“Stop making me love you more and more every day.” You mumble as you leave a kiss on Izuku’s calloused palm.

“I’ll stop if you’ll stop.” Izuku sounds so happy and so carefree you kind of want to cry. This is the first time in so long he’s been able to sound like that. It fills you with pride; you’ve done that.

“Don’t you wanna open that All Might figurine? Because I really want to open that All Might figurine.” You snicker; Izuku jumps off the bed and takes you in his arms, bridal style.

“First we have a bath. Together. With bubbles.”

“Deal.” You leave a scorching hot kiss on your boyfriend’s mouth, who whimpers into the kiss.

“Behave yourself now. I have no stamina left for today.”

“Sorry, sir.” You snicker and let yourself be carried to the bathroom, half asleep in those perfect, muscly arms.

… to be continued!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato ramble:

- Last warning: I’m about to write the last chapter (chapter 27) so if you have anything you really want to see, please let me know! Once I start writing that chapter it’s over so I’ll try to put it aside for a week so you guys can tell me your wishes 🩷

- I posted this chapter earlier than I said I’ll but the next one will be a few days late as Wednesdays are usually my work and therapy days hence I won’t have time to edit it on time! Just a heads up! I hope this being posted before Saturday makes up for it!

- Find yourself a guy like Deku, dude *sighs dreamily* Also, stay safe. Don’t be like you in this chapter! 😂

- I absolutely love this chapter! I hope you love it too! We are getting to the time skip chapters, so hope you are ready!!

- So Deku and that nipple piercing… do you guys think he’ll have the balls to get it done? If he does have to balls to get it done, are you ready to see him? Because as I said, I do have a Vogue cover with Izuku half naked sitting in my art folder, ready to be posted… 😂

- I love Izuku’s innocent way of rebelling. He’s such a great guy 😭 dude I don’t want this ficc to be over, like EVER, I’ll literally cry when this is over 😭

- ALSO, are you guys interested to get an extra KiriBaku chapter which shows how they ended up as a couple? Because I have one, even though I want to re-write the whole thing, but it’s on my wish list so please, if you are interested, let me know! Seeing you guys excited about things motivate me a lot!

TL: @garfieldthomas @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo @aei-sedai-moiraine @aymasakusa @katsuari @kenzie-deadly @shiviwrites07 @lukerycyja-reblogs @cloroxisadelectabletreat @coffeent @kisskissshutmydoor @bobcar1 @yazminetrahan @cringefan @ronimacaroni77 @themultifandomgirl @dangerousluv1 @emperatris-rinaka @shotos-angelic-whore @angelsdemonsmonsters @norvacaine @rei165 @unofficialmuilover @yao-ai @happydragonfrog @eeerreehhh @vinivave @alyss-eiz @sleepisfortheweakpooh

[starry-bi-sky]

Hello Starry! I just had a thought about your Danyal al Ghul AU, and didn't have anyone else to share it with, so here we go:

If in this universe Bruce is Jewish, and Danny knows this(probably from a google search), he may wear a Star of David necklace to have a piece of his father with him at all times, since he knows he will never get to meet him. Or maybe the necklace sits in a box under a floorboard, because he can't stand the constant reminder of the father he'll never get to have. Maybe he observes Sam and her family celebrate Jewish holidays, or he learns how to by himself, but uses the time to mourn, instead of celebrate.

Anyways, hope all is well, and thank you for sharing your writing!

AAHHHH??? YOUR BRAIN??? Thank you!! I love sharing my writing, it soothes my need for attention lol. lmao, even. (Also how did you know i was thinking of my danyal al ghul au today -- i have an unfinished draft that i was thinking of delving into after my work meeting) also aahh!!!!!!!! im so happy that you wanted to share your thoughts with me about it <333

But dude BOTH of these ideas are soo?? GOOD and ANGSTY. I love angsty. Danny would for sure know if Bruce was Jewish, lil guy did an obsessive amount of research on his dad the moment he got his hands on a computer and figured out how they worked. Danny has like, a three inch thick folder almost on his father alone. Anything he could get his hands on, he's got it. That thickness is almost exclusively from his first like, six months in Amity Park. He keeps it in a box in his closet, along with his growing-folder on Damian and his achievements as Damian Wayne. He pages through it when he's feeling like mourning.

First off: him wearing a Star of David necklace to feel connected to Bruce. That is SO sad and I love it so much. He bought it with an allowance he'd been given when he first started living with the Fentons, he keeps it tucked under his shirt so nobody even knows he has it. Sam and Tucker don't until it slips out while he's hanging out with them and when they ask him about it, Danny very reluctantly tells them that his father is Jewish. When he's distracted, nervous, or sad, he fidgets with it. How this looks is that he looks like he's kinda rubbing his chest, like ungrasping and grasping something.

Second Off: him keeping it in a box under the floorboards. That is also so, so good. He's got it in the box along with a few other things that remind him of his father and Damian and his mother. He takes it out when he's feeling particularly lonely and homesick, it's a feeling that never really goes away even after five years of living in Amity Park. It's like a longing for something you'll never see again, but isn't that just how grief works? i can just imagine him sitting against the bed, late at night and back from patrol. He's still in his ghost form, his katana laid on the ground next to him, and his almost bird-like cape pooling down beside him as he cups the necklace in his hand like he's cradling an egg. Maybe he's bleeding from somewhere, and he's telling the necklace about patrol, murmured soft in Arabic.

When he finds out Sam is Jewish he probably, after much consideration, asks if he can observe their holidays -- after all, researching Jewish holidays only does so much. Sam agrees when he explains why, much to her parents chagrin, and he sometimes tags along. But once he gets an understanding of how they go, he starts doing it on his own. Somewhat. He celebrates with Sam for most of it, and then has some time to himself where he celebrates it on his own. So it's a little bit of both.

^^^ which brings me to thinking about my danyal snippet here where Sam is at a Wayne gala and tears into her parents over Danny in front of Bruce. And it's making me think of, with this idea in mind, Sam in a moment of emotional impulsivity, saying "I know that he wears a Star of David because his father is Jewish and he wants to be closer to him, because he loves him so very fucking much." And while saying that, briefly makes direct eye contact with Bruce as a way to tell him "I know you're his fucking dad. Look at the son you have left behind."

If only for the emotional gut punch that can leave Bruce with. 🥰

Thank you for the ask! I had a lot of fun responding to it, have a fantastic evening/day/night.

[daemonbrain]

Part 2

1.8k, cw: ghosts a pervert, smut, readers husband is piece of work, not proofread.

Simon Riley who first saw you at the butcher's shop on the phone. 

You were a pretty thing. Wearing a pink little yoga set, one arm holding your mat and the other holding your phone to your ear as you wait for the butcher to bring out your cut of meat.

Which was taking a long time

Simon would’ve had it chopped and packed to go by now. Though, he can’t complain with the view he has of your ass- you. The man was touch starved. He hadn’t been back home in a while, back-to-back deployments keeping him occupied. His only company being his calloused and scraped hands roughly jerking himself until he came, bordering on unpleasurable. Not what some could consider enjoyable, but try being in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere for weeks on end and see if you care so much about gentle.

The borderline perverted look you were blissfully unaware of was tracking down your form. He stared at the way the material tightly clung on to every bit of you in a welcoming way, a second skin. The sweat on you from your little session.

Just how flexible does yoga make a bird like you?

It was only when he heard a grating sound come from your phone that he snapped out of his trance. Even with his bad ears from all the bullets whizzing past him, bombs going off within meters of him, and the usual shit show he did for a living he could hear the voice which bled through your phone's speaker.

"Get me a steak this time. Nonna that nasty shit from last time!"

You hurriedly turned your volume down as it blasted in your ear, startled by the voice. Chewing on your lip you pivoted towards the counter to see if your order had been brought out; the motion to no avail as the employee continued chopping away in the back room.

It was only when your other hand came into full view from the motion he noticed the absolute rock on your finger.

"Honey, I thought the salmon was pretty good." That prick clearly firing something back as you winced away from your phone once again. Gritting your teeth as if biting back your arguments, looking around to occupy your time as the man on the phone continues to speak. "I know... I'm sorry. Don't worry, it'll be ready by 7." You placatingly cooed.

"Listen, I have to go. I love y-" You began, but the moment the words tumbled from your lips you pulled the phone fully from your cheek to see a blank screen with the time staring back on you. The asshole hung up!

What a fuckin tosser.

Simon hears the butcher finally call your name with familiarity and with a sigh you step towards the counter. 

He leaned on to the wall further as he had been the entire time. Silent. Unsettling. A stark contrast to your bright appearance in the shop, the larger man brooded in his corner waiting his turn.

“See ya’ next Friday!” You still managed a bright smile at the butcher who handed you your meat.

A mild thing like you really shouldn’t be talked to so thoughtlessly, some guys are fuckwits though. He never liked the type. Why lock a bird down with a ring if you were gonna be mean to her?

“S’cuse me sir, i’m just gonna push past you here” You asked. With widened eyes, Simon gruffly mumbled a “Yeah,” out before creating a stupidly small space.

Maybe he really did want you to push past him. Or just push up on him but oh well.

Sweeping past him, you give him a toothy smile as you had so sweetly done to the butcher, as if you hadn’t got yelled at less than five minutes ago. God you really have no common sense, beaming up at the lurker in the corner at least twice your size. A girl as pretty as you should really stick to herself.

From that interaction on, Simon found himself being guided by the memory of you back to the butcher shop the next Friday.

And the next…

And the next.

Every week progressively standing closer and closer to you as you picked up your usual order. One day you had taken the liberty of starting small talk with him after recognizing his unmistakable stature. After all, there were only so many people you had seen in this shop and none so… large.

You could not deny you found this mystery man disquieting. Always dressed in dark colours, not so much as a word coming from him. Like clockwork you would come in after hot yoga, greet the butcher, he would come in, silence would ensue as you both waited for your meat, and you would leave with a quick smile.

It was rude. He had never even said a simple hello to you! Though, you suppose that it could be due to your own curt exits. The thought of the unkindness you might’ve exhibited subconsciously sent your mind into a spiral, leading to your abrupt introduction.

After all, who were you to judge! Kindness is and should always be the response in your books.

At this kindness, Simon swore he had to take a breath in as you politely outstretched your hand and spoke your name casually. Tilting his head down to your face he raises a brow skeptically, and then firmly shakes your head.

He failed to hide the shudder which wracked his body. The way your hand effortlessly slipped into his. Soft and manicured engulfed in his.

“Simon.”

“Well it’s good to meet you Simon” With the twinkly little smile you would grace him as you hauled it out of the shop. He felt the shiver go down his spine a second time when you spoke his name for the first time.

And then- it happened.

You giggled. A soft thing, no doubt intended to be small. It wasn’t to Simon though. It reverberated throughout the room, rang so prettily in his ears. Fuck. He would remember that sound later on tonight.

“Are you cold? You keep shivering. It’s pretty harsh out there right now.”

“Nah. Not really.” His accent thick as he shrugged.

Letting out a little “mhm” you nod and look back to the counter.

“I was freezing outside! Usually I walk home-” Simon already knew that “-but today I called my husband to come grab me! Way too cold!”

That visibly made him stiffen. Of course. Perfectly normal that guy is coming to get you, he’d be an idiot to leave you walking home alone in the cold.

If you were his girl, Simon wouldn’t have let you out of his sight. Fuck sakes you practically had “come mess with me” written all over you. There were creeps all over the place nowadays, (thought the creep).

He would’ve carried everything for you, scarfed down whatever the hell you had taken the time to prepare him. That husband of yours doesn’t like your salmon? Simon would. Hell if he didn’t, he’d cram it down his throat with gratitude anyways. He doubted anything could be worse than some of the rations he’s eaten on duty. 

That train of thought is pretty redundant when he takes note of how you wouldn’t be able to leave the bed to make anything.

Maybe you’d cram something of his down your throat in gratitude.

Shaking his head subtly, he hears the bells of the store door opening. He watched your face fall as you step away from him and it’s when he sees your husband's look of complete irritation he understands why.

You had grabbed your order swiftly and with a quick wave goodbye you were on your way back to your husband. Simon could only register your husband's whisper-yell as he disapprovingly glared his way. “The fuck are you doin talking to him?”. And with that you were hurriedly ushered out.

You deigned it necessary to continue greeting Simon, have little chats about the weather, any plans he had for the weekend. Tossing in your stupid jokes that he would laugh at. You interpreted it as something closer to a breathy snort-hopefully positive- and it went on as such for weeks

And every time he returned home Friday night, he came home with only one thought after. You.

As he laid in bed the same thought persisted as he slipped his cock out of his boxers, red and weeping for some sort of stimulation. He took to his usual harsh pace. You’d be so much softer.

You’d be so nice to him wouldn’t you? Coo some compliment as he lets you tug at him. Fuck he wouldn’t know what to take first.

Would you give him a blowie or a hand job? 

No. You wouldn’t be on your knees- not yet. If you’d let him have you, you’d be on your back in an instant. He’d rip the stitches of those leggings right down the middle, your panties next.

“Fuuuuuck” he moaned into the quiet of his room. He’d stick it in slow, he’d try. It would be torture not to ram himself right up to the hilt, but he’d do it for such a good girl.

That’s what you were, weren’t you? Always a nice word for someone? What would you say to him when he began to rut into you like a madman. When you would feel the pummeling intrusion, his head knocking into the deepest parts of you.

He’d be able bend you into so many different positions that you’d better hope that yoga has taught you well. Split your legs open to accommodate his imposing body size as he’d take purchase between them. Then you better hope your cunny can accommodate his other size when he spears you open on his cock.

Would you take it smiling? Would your tears roll down your cheeks, the prodding bordering too much? You’d take it either way, he knew you could. He’d rub at your clit with such tenderness he never afforded himself (as gentle as he could anyway). He’d make sure you begged to stay on his cock forever, fuck himself so deep you would be too stupid to pull away unknowing of where he ended and you started. Not that you’d have to care.

He’d flip you on to all fours and rip away your clothes entirely, pounding you from the back and instead of just his own labored breaths, the sound of skin slapping together would ring out.

In silent stoicism, he feels his balls tighten up at the thought of your perfect face stuffed into the pillows screaming your thank you’s. You probably were just as nice with someone stuffing themselves into your pussy.

At both his ruthless ministrations and boundless imagination, his release spurted all over his hand with a breathy sigh. When you were here he’d make sure to slam his hips to yours and keep them flush against you, coat your insides in hot cum better than your limp-dick husband ever could. That man wouldn’t be able to fuck you the way Simon knew he could. You deserve someone who could make you go stupid on his dick, not cry of frustration like you probably did everytime that knob who thinks himself a man rolled over after finishing himself off.

Not that you’ll have to worry about that soon

…

He wouldn’t be around for much longer anyways.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤA 10/10ㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne.

☆⁠ HEADCANON : General thought about their d!ck.

☆⁠ NOTES : Minors DNI. Yes I'm ashame of myself... And for people that says "but Damian is 14-16" we literally have at least 5-6 version of him as an adult, so yeah. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

Let’s be real here—Bruce is packing. Not just in the Batmobile but in his pants too. You knew Gotham’s favorite billionaire had to be compensating for all the emotional repression somehow, right? Soft, he’s a solid 4.5 inches, but when he’s hard? This man is pushing 7.8 inches, and girthy enough that the first time you see it, your eyes might widen just a little (and he notices). Bruce is so well-kept it’s almost infuriating—clean-shaven, smooth, with a slight curve upwards that hits places you didn’t even know existed. The veins? Immaculate. He looks like something out of a sinful art gallery. And oh, he’s so smug about it. The type to whisper in your ear, “You’re taking me so well,” while his cock stretches you open in the most delicious way. His stamina is next level—he doesn’t cum quickly, but when he does? It’s thick, warm, and comes in heavy spurts. Not too salty either, with a clean taste (you’re welcome). He’s also quietly obsessed with how you react to him—it feeds his ego.

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

Alright, ladies, let’s talk about Dick. The first Robin, the golden boy—of course, he’s a damn gift in the bedroom too. Soft, he’s a respectable 4 inches, but when he’s fully hard that’s 7.5 inches, sleek and just slightly slimmer than Bruce’s (he jokes about being “aerodynamic”). Dick’s cock curves upward just right, a natural curve that always hits your G-spot perfectly, and his veins are prominent enough that you feel every ridge as he moves inside you. He’s smooth down there, neatly trimmed, and he has a little beauty mark just above his shaft (you discovered it while going down on him one day, and now you can’t stop kissing it). His tip is super sensitive—run your tongue along it, and he’s putty in your hands. And when Dick cums? It’s a lot. Like, a lot. He’s a messy boy—warm, thick, and he always gasps your name when he finishes, pressing his forehead to yours like it’s the most intimate thing in the world.

— JASON TODD ⋆

Jason’s cock matches his vibe: thick, heavy, and absolutely commanding. Soft? This man is 5 inches, and when he’s hard? He’s a beast at 8.5 inches with a girth that’ll make you question if you can handle it (spoiler: you’ll love it). He’s got a slight downward curve, which hits your walls just right when he’s thrusting deep. And god, the veins. Jason’s dick looks like it was carved by a lustful Greek god—thick, prominent veins that press against every inch of you in the most obscene way. He’s not as neatly trimmed as Bruce or Dick—just enough to stay presentable, but it’s Jason, so you’d expect a bit of ruggedness. His tip is flushed and sensitive, and when you wrap your lips around him, he curses low and filthy under his breath. Jason cums hard—his orgasms are so intense that he growls through them, his whole body trembling as he empties himself inside you. His cum is hot, thick, and just slightly salty, like he’s been drinking too much coffee (which, let’s be real, he has).

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

Listen, Damian might be the youngest of the bunch, but don’t underestimate him. His cock is a masterpiece. Soft, he’s around 4.2 inches, and when he’s hard? A respectable 7 inches—not as long as Jason or Bruce, but he’s thicker than Dick. Damian is proud of what he’s got, too, the type to smirk and tease you about how flustered you get every time he pulls it out. His tip is a little darker than the rest of his shaft, and the veins are subtle but enough to feel every time he slides into you. He’s meticulous about grooming, of course—everything is perfectly trimmed, and he smells so damn good it drives you wild. When Damian cums, it’s deliberate and controlled—he’s not the type to lose himself completely, but that just makes it hotter. His release is warm, thick, and there’s always a smug smirk on his face when he watches you struggle to catch your breath afterward. He’s the type to kiss you deeply and whisper, “You can take more, can’t you?” because he loves pushing your limits.

— MASTERLIST ☆

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