#have a blast because its your special day

[notadreamurr]

Everybody go wish @justwantswafflefries a happy birthday RIGHT NOW because she is so awesome sauce!!!!!!!!!!!!

The amazing digital slasher by justwantswafflefries.......obviously

[gghostwriter]

Time Gave No Compass, Were There Clues?

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times fate brings you to cross paths with a certain handsome stranger and the one time he purposely crosses with yours Trope:It’s fluff in a meet cute type of way w.c: 5.6k+ a/n: this is connected to ‘One Single Thread of Gold’! This took forever to make simply because I had this fear that the second part wouldn’t come out as great as the first and I’ve been in a writing funk lately—not quite sure if my writing worsened or got better during this period but at this point, maybe I shouldn’t care that much anymore? That’s a lie so please comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The first encounter—a knight in a vintage blue vehicle

The drumming noise of the rain against the vinyl awning of the Japanese restaurant became the perfect soundtrack for watching countless strangers scurry to the nearest shelter.

It was the night that you have dubbed your unluckiest as a woman in Washington—up until he came along.

According to the morning weather forecast, there was little to no chance of rain. A radiant reprieve from the downpour of light rainfall the city had been experiencing three days in a row. A believer of facts you were, excitedly slipped on your new pair of heels and joined the outside world, sun shining up above the sky without a single speck of dark cloud lingering in its wake.

The work day was nothing special—jumping on video calls with your boss, answering international emails from the magazine’s sister branches abroad, and reviewing articles set to be published for next month’s print.

Nothing unusual. No sign that the day would roller coaster down and up again, before ending right before a drop, leaving you white knuckled with anticipation.

As you were exiting the diner with your freshly cooked to-go in one hand, the weather decided to beat the statistics presented by the news forecast. Rain poured down hard, effectively stranding you on the covered sidewalk.

“Oh,” you mumbled under your breath, forced to settle down on the empty outdoor seating. The gust of cold wind that caressed your cheeks to turn pink reminded you of comforting childhood memories—warm cocoa, blanket forts, and cuddles with your precious teddy bear. 

It brought a smile on your face, recalling the time when life was still simple.

Working as a writer for an established fashion magazine had its own ups and downs. You felt lucky enough to be given the opportunity to work with living and breathing artists, all the while having the flexibility to live anywhere in the country.

Your boss initially found it odd when you mentioned temporarily moving back to Washington. It wasn’t a state well-established in the industry after all. It was a city filled with starched pressed suits, neutral ties, and newly shined loafers—the epicenter for politics and everything serious. 

The ridiculous misconception about fashion and its frivolousness caused your nose to scrunch. It was the same idea that pushed newly graduate you to move to New York and burn the midnight oil to be where you were now, highly respected in the circle.

She understood your truth—the need for a change of scenery before jumping back in to the game with fresh new eyes. Jokingly, she wagered you’d only last two months away from the Big Apple before coming back. It had been six months since then and you were starting to believe the urge for the city that never sleeps will never cross your mind again.

As you mused about the trajectory of your career, the clouds started to let up, enough that you took the chance to open your compact umbrella and possibly ruin your heels to get to the nearest subway entrance just 10 minutes away.

A mistake that you realized halfway as a sudden blast of strong wind flipped your umbrella inside out, rending you vulnerable to the hasty returning rain.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath as water started to stain your light purple satin heels, turning them near black.

Definitely ruined.

The flickering light of the entrance and the still warm spot underneath the restaurant pulled you in two different directions. Should you just brave the weather already starting to look like a drowned animal or should you go back with your tail tucked between your legs?

As you debated your next move, being poorly protected by your broken umbrella and soaked by the tormenting weather no less, a blue vintage car came to a stop beside you and honked it’s horn.

“Um—do you need help? A ride, maybe?” a voice shouted out of the rolled down passenger window, barely heard against the torrential downpour.

A good Samaritan was rare this day and age. So uncommon that it made you immediately wary. You looked around, making sure it was you the stranger was addressing before uttering a reply.

“Depends on who’s asking,” your free hand clutching the ends of your spoiled umbrella. “Are you a serial killer by any chance?” 

He paused, caught off guard with your question, and chuckled. “What? No, no. Not at all, just a concerned citizen.”

You bit your lip, wavering between accepting his offer at the risk of your life, before reaching to open the passenger door. “Fair enough.”

The stranger promptly layered a black windbreaker on the tan leather seats. “Sorry, it’s just—did you know that wet leather can lead to discoloration?”

Your eyebrows raised, shuffling to get comfortable on the seat—mindful of your back not touching, before giving him a nod. “Yes, actually I did but it’s great to see someone else know about it too.”

He pressed his lips together into a tight smile and reached forward on the console, tinkering with the unlabeled knobs, turning up the heat. 

Your eyes tracked his every movement, curious as to any indication to who this mysterious gentleman was.

His nails were light pink in color, clean, and cut short—possibly for a desk office job. His fingers were long and bony, model length you’d surmise—a little calloused on one side of his middle finger possibly from holding a pen too tight. The back of his hand veined and wide in size, big enough to dwarf your dainty slim hands in comparison.

Your cheeks heated up, feeling guilty for gawking at a man’s hands before spilling your address without so much of a thought for your safety.

The stranger blanched, clearly caught off guard with your trusting nature. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to go with strangers willingly? Or provide vital information about yourself for that matter?”

You appraised his profile as his eyes trained on the road. 

Hazel colored hair that curled around his face. Sunken eyes framed by long, dark lashes that any woman could envy. A tall and straight nose bridge. Maroon pillowy lips and a sharp jawline perfectly matched with a five-o’clock shadow.

He was handsome.

Pretty even.

The type you’d see a casting agent and photographer fawn over.

Shoulders seemingly angular and wide, stretching his black knitted cardigan well. It’s arms pushed up to showcase his forearms lithe in form with muscles flexing underneath as he twists the wheel to take a right. His seat pushed the farthest it could go, highlighting how tall he could be.

Your handsome gentleman could rival male models that graced your magazine’s editorial pages.

“Well, you don’t look like a serial killer and I think I’d take my chances with you than out there—” a flash of lightning trailed on the darkened sky followed by a loud clap of thunder. “—yeah, I stand with my choice.”

His laughter mid-pitched, filled the confined space. “And how does a serial killer look like?”

“Sinister and not trustworthy. You look neither, by the way,” you shrugged.

“Actually, there’s a minor percentage of killers that don’t fit in your description. Ted Bundy is an example, he used his good looks to lure in unsuspecting women.”

You hummed in agreement. “You’re right and you could definitely use your looks too but I still doubt you’re one. Let’s call it intuition and if I had to guess, you work at a desk job. Finance or Human Resources, maybe?”

“Are you saying I look—” he cleared his throat, a wrinkle appearing between his well shaped brows. “—handsome?”

“Well, at the risk of sounding like I’m flirting with you—which I’m not, well, maybe. But yes, I think you’re good looking. Handsome.” 

The pink flush that slowly darkened to a cherry red started its descent to his exposed neck, making him look more endearing. His reaction made it quite obvious he was never one to receive such flattery about his appearance which made you question the eyes of the women around him.

He was utterly distinguished and dressed in this comforting nerdy fashion that added to the appeal.

“I take it you’re not used to compliments.”

The long lashes that framed his molten chocolate eyes fluttered, as if highlighting is naivety in dealing with the opposite sex.

It sent butterflies free in your stomach.

“Yeah, but thank you. And I’m really not a serial killer—I wouldn’t be using a memorable vehicle in picking up a victim in a crowded street with city cameras around. Not that, that information helps me state my case. In fact, it’s making it worse—” he rambled out, easing the car into a stop beside your apartment complex. “What I meant was, I-I think you’re good looking too, beautiful.”

You laughed at the absurdity of where your night has ended up.

The air trapped between two bodies crackled with an energy you couldn’t name. It was humming below the surface, making you feel hyper aware of the man who drove you home.

It was igniting.

Possibly the start of something.

In contrast, the outside was quiet and still. The rain had finally come and gone, leaving behind its comforting atmosphere.

The lamp posts reflecting off the puddles of water, tinting the streets a warm, honey gold color. Leaves dancing, like string puppets controlled by the forces of nature. The wind whispering and giggling—to what, you didn’t know but you felt it wasn’t important to dissect. No more important than the stranger who’s scent, aged books and cedar wood, intermingled with yours, vanilla and a hint of amber.

“Thank you for the ride,” quickly exiting the vehicle. Suddenly you felt shy as the last few minutes replayed in your head—how trusting you were to take his offer and how naive it was of you to let your guard down.

The sound of a subsequent car door opening echoed on the empty street. “You’re welcome and you’re wrong, by the way.”

“Wrong about what?” You twisted to look back.

The street lights hitting his face, casting a mysterious shadow on his handsome features.

“About me working in finance or human resources.”

Huh. 

Your steps faltered to a stop.

That was a first—people around you always did say you read people best.

He was an exception it seemed.

An anomaly.

A mystery you wouldn’t mind taking a second try in solving.

“Better luck next time then. I hope to see you around,” you waved as you opened the heavy metal gate behind you.

His hand mimicked your goodbye before promptly reaching down to open his car door, effectively disappearing from your gaze as you pushed the main door open to the lobby.

As you watched the remaining water droplets slide down your coat, waiting for the rickety elevator to descend, an all important question popped in your mind that you never uttered into the world.

His name.

You forgot to ask for his name.

Hurriedly running back to the entrance, your stained heels clacking on the stoned pathway, you opened the gate just to spy the gentleman’s memorable light blue vehicle rev forward to blend into the chilly city night. 

Damn.

**

The second—a shared cup of Joe between two no longer strangers

The sun peeking underneath the cotton candy white clouds did little to fight off the inevitable Autumn air. Weeks of sunny days from the past storm is nearing its end causing the city occupants to flood the streets and parks for their last soak of Summer. 

Weeks have gone since your enthralling encounter with the handsome stranger and his vintage blue car. You’ve spent days replaying the memory in hopes of finding any more clues on who he was or even how to run into him again. Nights lamenting over the missed opportunity and the bitter what-if that came with it. The thought, now hazy from time passed, seemed to be colored in this golden hue you couldn’t quite describe.

A sigh escaped from between your pale pink lips. 

The moment was captivating.

He was beguiling.

But until you run into him again, his very being in your mind lived rent free.

Hand adjusting the pale pink scarf wrapped around your neck, you stepped into the warm quaint bakery down by the office. The aroma of freshly baked bread and roasting coffee beans enveloped the otherwise packed store. It was still early on the day and otherwise sleep deprived workers were queuing up for their daily fix.

This had been your spot since renting a small office space to commute to. Given your need to separate home from work, you’ve opted to find a studio you could call your temporary ���work room’. It added extra expense, you’d agree but the comfort of being in a sea of strangers going to and from added a sense of productivity you’d never quite get if you created a makeshift office in your one bedroom apartment downtown.

You squeezed your way towards the front to view the pastry selection when you spotted him.

The gentleman in question at the counter, clearly holding up the line. 

He flashed Sarah, your usual fixer as you joked, a tight smile filled with apologies and embarrassment. 

Destiny seemed to have heard your calls and to that you were grateful.

Not wanting to let this second chance encounter go to waste, you excused yourself to the register and deftly slid your card on the white granite counter.

“Hey Sarah, do you mind adding my order with his? And a one of your buttery croissants would be much appreciated.”

Her eyebrows raised, clearly wondering the reason behind your surprising actions. Eyes flickered to the stranger beside you muttering his light disagreeing reaction before nodding towards you, as if agreeing with what she saw. “One long black and a flat white coming right up.”

“Hey stranger, fancy seeing you here,” you cocked your head to the side, loose tendrils escaping the confines of your loose bun.

The same blush that haunted you graced his face. “Hey—hi, it’s you! It’s nice to see you again,” his fingers proceeded to fiddle with his leather worn wallet. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. Pay for my coffee, I mean.”

“It’s no problem at all, just think of it as my payment for the ride the other day and also a thank you for, you know, not turning out to be a killer, like you kept bringing up.”

He chuckled, eyes crinkling close. “Well, I just wanted to instill some extra caution in you. It’s good to think well of people in general but it doesn’t hurt to be wary of them either. Especially the statistics of you—a young woman being targeted is quite high no matter how safe Washington seems to be.”

“I did get an earful from my friend about the reckless act I did. So, safe to say I’ve learned my lesson—” you paused, flashing Sarah a smile as your hands wrapped around the steaming cup of coffee and the bag containing the pastry. “But between you and me, I think she was more miffed about something I didn’t do.”

He mimicked your movements and proceeded to guide you to the nearest available standing table, his free hand hovering near the small of your back. 

“And what was it?”

“Not getting your name.”

His free hand wrapped around the strap of his satchel, pulling it towards the front of his body as if it was a shield that could hide away the blush that slowly crept down his neck.

“I, yeah—Spencer. Spencer Reid.” 

You introduced yourself with the same enthusiasm, finally at ease for knowing who he was.

“Well then, Spencer Reid, was I really wrong or was that just a lie to throw my deductive skills off course?” your hands pushing the packets of sugar towards his steaming open cup.

He thank you silently, counting at least 8 packets of sugar before returning the remaining ones in the jar. “What do you mean?”

“You not working in finance.”

“Well statistically speaking, more than 43% of the offices located here don’t belong in the finance section,” he grinned. 

With his eyes twinkling, he further continued. “21% of those are actually the government sector while the remaining are a mixture of publishing, business, and IT.”

“You sprouting off statistics doesn’t really sway me from my guess, you do know that?” You hummed, watching him dump and stir all the sugar into his dark cup of Joe. The idea of how sweet it would be sent a slight shiver down your spine. “If not finance then hmm—what about teaching?”

Appraising his get up for the day—a purple button down layered with a seemingly fraying cardigan and a black overcoat. He reminded of you of those quirky university professors that students would have no problem having a crush on. 

“You look like a young college professor with a couple degrees under your belt. Maybe literature? Or math?”

An airy laughter emitted between his lips. “Why is it always returning back to math?”

“I truly don’t know—” you shrugged. “You look smart and academic so that’s my best guess.”

“There’s actually a statistic on how many academically gifted people end up in the field of science rather than in math but I don’t know if you’d like to hear it.”

You leaned forward. “I actually do but that would cement my idea of you in maths.”

A ring from his pocket interrupted his reply. Spencer clambered to answer the call even before its’ third ring. 

“Yeah. Okay, got it. 5 minutes.” 

Any humor or lightheartedness the conversation brought had been erased from his face. It must have been work and the gravity of his responsibility must be heavy—definitely not finance and maybe not a professor then.

“I have to go—” Spencer tightly smiled, hands pulling the satchel and drink closer to his body. “It was really nice seeing you again.” 

You nodded, wordlessly walking out of the shop with him. As he started to step away from your presence, he turned back one last time to further throw you off course.

“You were right about one thing.”

Brows furrowing together, you shout back. “Which one?”

Spencer just smiled and shrugged his shoulders before turning forward, picking up his pace and leaving you further baffled about his mystery.

**

The third—a run- in during an otherwise idle day

The white noise the train against its tracks threatened to lull you into a daze. Its compartment surprisingly sparse with occupants during this otherwise tranquil Saturday. Everyone seemed to be at nearby parks, watching the leaves slowly turn this red-orange hue.

Your companion in hand—a book with its spine cracked and front cover folded backwards, sat idly on your denim lap. It was a tattered and worn copy of Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. When you were in your teens, it had been the gateway to your love of classic literature and it had been your favorite ever since.

The bench you were seated on shifted and with it, medium brown brogues registered in your periphery.

Inwardly, you scoffed at the stranger invading your space when there were a multitude of empty seats available in your section. Briefly you wondered if this was going to be another day of being picked up by men who didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘no’ which inevitably would ruin your day. 

As you were debating on nicely excusing yourself away, the man cleared his throat.

“Hey—hi,” he sheepishly greeted in this voice that had been replaying in your head since that rainy weekday night. 

You blinked away the surprise—the bafflement that fate had seemed to cross your path with his again and again and again. It always happened when you least expected it. After all, you spent numerous days craning your neck for even a small glimpse of Spencer Reid to no avail. Your eyes would subconsciously sweep the streets for a view of any suede coat matched with a purple pattern scarf. It had been your own version of Where’s Waldo—a past time that your friend joined as you forbade her (and by extension, yourself) from looking him up online. 

You wanted to keep the mystery and it seemed fate was rewarding you today.

“Hi-hey Spencer. This is a surprise,” your cheeks stretching wide from the grin you gave him. 

His fingers brushed a nonexistent stray of hair behind his ears. “Yeah, I couldn’t believe it was you. The odds of ever seeing you again—or anyone I’d know on the train is low, with how many people Virginia has.”

“Isn’t it fascinating?” your hands closing the book that no longer held your attention. “How we seemed to just run into each other? Funny how that works.”

“I mean, you could say that—not that I believe in destiny or fate with how abstract and little scientific studies it has. Maybe we just run in the same small schedule or circle.”

Your eyebrow raised, appraising his look. 

His hair looked unruly—with one side more flattened the the other, possibly slept on. His clothes, although free from any stains that would indicate it as yesterday’s, had crease marks that were reminiscent of its folding. They were clean but also not pressed—came from the satchel then. The very same bag laying on his lap, no doubt filled with dirty laundry and other necessities.

“I don’t think so,” you pondered on. “Are you just on your way back home from work, by any chance?”

“How’d you know that?” His voice cracking at the end.

You shrugged. “I pick up on things, small details and all that.”

“That’s really good. Must come in handy with your work as a journalist.”

Now it was your turn to be surprised. “How’d you know that? How’d—what gave it away?”

“It was an educated guess which—” he flashed you a grin. “—you just confirmed now.”

“Touche. Although that does seem unfair,” you pouted. “You know my occupation but I can’t even get yours right.”

He tilted his head to the right, eyes twinkling with life that keeps you pulled in. “You’re welcome to guess. In fact, I could give you a clue if you wanted—” he paused waiting for your agreement which you readily gave. “—alright you were right about one thing the last time: the one about me having multiple degrees.”

“You look young so I’m guessing a genius?”

“Well, my co-workers do like to tease me as one and it is true so yeah. I am a genius.”

The way his eyes shifted showed how bashful he was in admitting out loud he was one. You briefly wondered if there was ever a time where he felt embarrassed about it—probably in high school, you’d surmise. Teenagers, after all, had the tendency to ostracize anyone who doesn’t fit the rigid status quo they’ve collectively agreed upon.

“That’s amazing!” You gushed. “And it does narrow it quite down, actually. Do you happen to work for the government? I mean, I’m sure they try to collect the best minds our country has to offer, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do work for the government. And you’re right, they do tend to employ gifted adults as a way to also surveillance them—to make sure they don’t turn into anti-statists or anarchists.”

You pondered over every detail he presented. Freshly manicured nails tapping on your leg before finally guessing. “Okay so, I was first going to say NASA because—” you shrugged. “—it’s space but then that would be too stereotypical of me to assume. Plus, you’ve thrown off just about any deductions I’ve made during our first two meetings—”

Spencer nodded. He seemed proud to listen to you ramble your way through. 

“—I was also going to guess administrative work but it’s a weekend and you’re just on your way home so that’s a no—”

A small spread on his face.

A good sign that you were in the right direction.

“—it can’t be the judiciary too, right? I always imagined them to be wearing neutral suits and have this stoic air around them—”

He chuckled.

“—so I’m guessing law enforcement? Can’t be a regular cop, they have uniforms. So, for the FBI? Or am I just reaching?”

Spencer vigorously nodded his head, the wavy tendrils tucked behind his ears escaping their confines. 

“That’s right! Wow—you’re really good at this. Maybe you should have also been scouted!” He teased.

You giggled, the happiness from getting it right and the idea of you working with a gun seemed ludicrous. “Sadly, I may be too clumsy for that kind of work. With my type of luck, I’d probably trip over my feet and mess up a crime scene.”

The automated voice announcing the next station broke through the lighthearted conversation. Spencer’s eyes widened ever so slightly, indicating that this was his stop.

“I guess this is it, huh? See you soon then, Spencer?”

He sandwiched his lower lip between his pearly teeth. “Would you be interested in purposefully seeing each other next time? I would love to get to know you more—over dinner? Coffee? Any would be great—you don’t have to say yes of course but yeah.”

“Can I say yes to all of the above?” You teased. “I would love to.”

Spencer started to get up, hands pulling on his satchel to secure it. The train was coming to a stop and you could begin to see the stop come into view.

Your hand quickly reached out to tug on his rolled sleeve. “Wait—how do we contact each other?”

“It’s tucked in your book. My number, I mean,” he laughed. The sound coaxing you to release your own. “See you!”

Your eyes tracked him getting off the train and his would meet yours one last time, before disappearing towards the station’s nearest exit. Your hands hastily opened the front page to where a new object was slotted in between without you knowing.

His calling card.

Federal Bureau of Investigation - Behavioral Analysis Unit SSA Dr. Spencer Reid 1-761-xxx-xxxx

Giggling, you fished your phone from the confines of your wallet and quickly sent out a text.

Hey. Are you a magician too, by any chance? 

**

The fourth or better yet, the planned first—two strings interwoven by fate

Spencer hadn’t been able to explain the circumstances that led him here tonight—walking through a nearby park in the sparkly but cold weekend night with a beautiful woman right by his side. 

The dinner date had gone surprisingly well. So great in fact that he didn’t want it to end. Suggesting to walk you back home rather than use his blue well beaten vehicle left parked near the restaurant was his idea to prolong the night. 

He was well aware that you both could be exposing yourselves to a seasonal bout of cold but for the first time, it didn’t matter to his overactive and over-analytical brain. Nor did it seem to matter to you—given with how vigorously she accepted his suggestion to walk. 

Your dainty right hand was wrapped around the bouquet of flowers he personally selected. An array of daisies, daffodils, and sedums.

Joy from having to meet you, to new beginnings, and affection.

Spencer wanted to convey what he had been feeling since that run-in the coffee shop. Regardless if you knew what they meant.

This was all uncharted territory and the incidents that brought them into each other’s worlds was baffling to say the least. 

Was this the really the works of fate?

Does this prove that destiny is true and the notion of having free choice is a lie we tell ourselves?

He concluded it probably didn’t matter.

All that mattered was where he was now—with you.

“So you really took all those degrees all together?” you clarified, eyes widening from disbelief. “The amount of studying and writing you’ve done must have been massive.”

“Well, it did help that I could read fast—20,000 words per minute, but I could still remember my hands cramping from the amount I had to type down.”

“Of course you can still remember, with your eidetic memory and all. That must be nice—never forgetting any novel you’ve read.”

He shrugged. “It does have it’s perks but between you and me, there is a downside to it.”

You halted in her step, staring inquisitively up at him. 

Spencer found it cute—how even with yout heeled boots on, you could only reach up to his chest. It gave him this sense of protectiveness over you being. 

“Oh yeah, like what?”

He pondered. “Well, we did have this one vampire case and one of the victim’s laptop password was ‘Cullen’ and I didn’t get the reference—thought it was ‘colon’ actually. So I decided to read the first book and didn’t like it.”

“You actually read ‘Twilight’?” You giggled. It sounded like wind chimes echoing through the trees.

“I was curious!” His voice went up an octave. “Is that what teens are reading, really? What ever happened to reading ‘Lord of the Flies’ or Franz Kafka during high school, for that matter?” 

“The one where a group of boys are stranded on an island or the one where the protagonist turns into a cockroach? Doesn’t really read romance for teen girls, Spencer.”

He chuckled. “And a 104 year old vampire does?”

“It’s about the idea,” you continued on walking, free hand swinging in between you—all he had to do was reach out and intertwine it with his but could he do that? Should he? Would she want that? “How Bella is your average, teen next door and someone like Edward, mysterious and handsome, could fall for her. It’s about the premise—I mean which teenage girl didn’t dream of something like that?”

“Does that include you too?”

You laughed. “I mean—Edward isn’t really my type but sure, I guess.”

Spencer decided to do it. He tentatively reached out his pinky to yours, looping them together.

There, a small touch you could say no to.

He waited for the reaction. From himself, there was a lack of worry for germs (this surprised him) and from you, the possibility of rejecting his small advances. With a breath lodged in his throat, Spencer watched a shy smile grace your face and cheeks turn further pink. 

Empowered by the reaction, he reached out to intertwine the rest of his freezing hand with yours and proceeded to tuck both into his coat pocket. Spencer felt his cheeks emit warmth, wondering where his courage came from. If Morgan just saw him now, no doubt he’d get a pat at the back and a whispered ‘you’ve got serious game, kid.’

“It’s a good thing he isn’t my type at all, don’t you think so?” You whispered. “I mean, you don’t sparkle in the sun, do you?”

His laughter echoed through the otherwise empty streets. 

“Oh god—that was so so bad. Ignore my cheesy flirting, please.”

“No, no,” he shook his head, feeling lightheaded from your presence. “I don’t think I do, actually. We could check—” clearing his throat “—once the weather gives way to the sun.”

It seemed like you got what he was subtly stating. “That long, huh? I’ll hold you to that promise.”

“Please do.”

Both your steps slowed to a stop in front of your apartment complex.

Spencer sighed under his breath, he really didn’t want the night to end. There was still so much to talk about—anything and nothing at the same time. Is this what they meant when they said time flies when you’re having fun? 

“Well,” you squeezed his hand twice. “This is it. I had fun tonight, Spencer.”

He squeezed back in return. “I did too. Can I—call you again?”

You nodded, a single tendril of hair escaping from its' loose bun.

Mesmerized, Spencer reached forward and secured it behind your reddening ear. “Get home safe.”

“I doubt anything would happen between my way up from the elevator to my door but I will. Drive safe and let me know you got in safely, got it?”

He reluctantly let go of your hand, slowly backing away without turning his back on you. Each second seeing you bundled up in a coat with flowers still on hand was an image he never wanted to forget, never wanted to miss.

As he was a few steps away, the wind carried your sweet voice to his ears.

“Hey, Spencer. There’s one thing I think you forgot to take with you.” 

He patted his coat, unsure as to what you were pertaining to. Eyes scanning his being when the distinct sound of your heels against the pavement, getting closer and closer, made him look up.

A pair of soft warm lips met his cheeks. 

“Goodnight, Spencer.”

His jaw dropped. The act short circuited his otherwise intelligent brain. It felt like every thought had dropped away, turning insignificant, compared to the tensed silence between two individuals once considered strangers but now intertwined in a way he could not explain in any language he knew. 

Little white specks floated down from the sky, coloring the moment in the lightest color ever possible—a hue that symbolized new beginnings.

Before his mind could catch up, Spencer felt himself moving.

Towards you.

Closing in. 

Cupping your cheeks.

And meeting his own lips with the ones that short circuited his brain.

In that moment, all he could comprehend was the smell of you—like freshly cleaned laundry dried under the sun. The taste of you—cherries with a hint of the red wine you drank over dinner. And the feel of you—warm, hands grasping his coat tight, flowers dropped on the ground, momentarily forgotten.

These were details he willed to engrave in his eidetic memory. Observations he doesn’t want to forget.

And you, the single woman he hopes to never lose.

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[totalswag]

can you do something with singer!reader having a christmas special like sabrina and when she talks about her boyfriend it’s drew that comes out dressed as santa and everyone realizes immediately.

oh my santa drew ⎯ DREW STARKEY

authors note if you havent watched the nonsense christmas on Netflix you should hehe. thank you for the request lovie! its a great request since christmas is right around the corner. writing this was so much fun and adding my own little bits in there. there's a couple lines from the actual skit too.

taglist ⤕ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set to go.

summary drew coming in as a surprised guest on a nonsense christmas.

warning(s) none just funny humor and drew dressed as santa

A Nonsense Christmas. 

This thought occurred to me one day at the beginning of this year. Christmas is your favorite time to celebrate, it was ideal. You've had incredible artists join you to perform songs and special guests for comedy skits—Tyla, Kali Uchis, Chappell Roan, and so many other talented guests.

It's been an absolute blast filming everything. The whole vibe of this small series is unbelievably funny and gets you in the holiday spirit.

Drew, your boyfriend, dresses up as Santa Claus in this skit. You wanted him to participate in this experience with you. He insisted on being Santa after you told him the final idea. No one knows about it except for the people working on set. Fans and the audience will be surprised.

The past few weeks Drew’s been walking around the house acting like Santa and going into character with his lines—No joke.

It starts off with you sitting on the single chair in front of your two friends, Alice and Max, talking about your boyfriend they haven't met. The living room set is decked Christmas out with a tree decorated behind you along with everything magical. 

"I can't wait to finally meet your man, Debbie, you haven't been hanging out with us since getting into a relationship," Alice asks, giggling at the end of her sentence. 

You quickly chuckle sarcastically, and Max joins in.

"No, I understand. Because we are doing long distance, it's been difficult to mix friend groups," you explain, making a combing hand motion. "You get what I'm saying?" you ask, leaning in slightly, squinting your eyes.

"Girl, I completely understand," Max shrugs his shoulders, offering you a nice nod of understatement, “I promise we will love him” he smiles.

Your face softens, "Aw, thank you both. I promise you, he will not disappoint," you wink playfully. 

Just wait till they see who walks through that door.

Your voice appears promising to them at that point. 

Your phone rings out of nowhere, and you pick it up; a mysterious boyfriend is ready to make his official entrance. "Oh, speak of the devil, he's walking up now," you shriek with delight as you get up from your seat and dance over to the front door—your famous tippy toe dance

Drew walks through the door dressed head-to-toe in a Santa Claus outfit, strode in with a jolly demeanor. His red suit, black boots, and fluffy white beard were undeniably festive.

Max and Alice exchanged puzzled looks, their jaws almost touching the floor. "Uh, is this…?" Alice inquired, her eyes wide in shock.

Debbie please be so for real...

"Is that Santa in front of me, or am I seeing things?" Before taking a close look, Max emphasizes the word "that." He squints his eyes and then turns to face Alice. "Yep, that's definitely Santa," he adds swiftly after reaching his conclusion.

Alice's jaw instantly closes as she tries to contain her composure and confusion over your boyfriend's sudden appearance as Santa.

"Guys, everyone, this is my boyfriend, Nick!" you cheer as you let Nick pass in front of you. introducing him to friends with a broad smile on your face. 

Max's mouth falls open, too stunned to speak. As she raises her eyebrows in amusement, Alice is attempting to piece together how this might have happened.

“I’ve heard nothing but great things about you two, It’s great to meet you” Drew says in character, pointing at Alice and Max. He smiles underneath the white bread.

Drew puts his left arm around your shoulder as you sit on his lap, putting your hands on your knees and grinning. You subconsciously find the Santa impression impressive.

With a gesture between Alice and himself, Max says, "Aw, same, um, as us..." pausing for a quick moment looking around, "Would you like anything to drink or snack on by any chance?" Curious, Max asks

Nick looks at Max and says, "Oh, um, maybe a warm glass of milk with." He sits down right away. "And a huge chocolate chip cookie topped with shards of sprinkles?" Nick added, highlighting the final phrase. 

"Yuck," Alice responds hastily.

You quickly drop your smile, looking at her. What did she say about my man?

Max frowns slowly and says, "Uh oh, I think we are out of shards." He then slowly turns, side-eyeing Alice—still attempting to take everything in.

When Nick sees that his clothing is covered in soot, he excuses himself to go upstairs to the restroom, leaving the three of you below until he returns.

As he reaches the steps, you watch him closely until Alice says, "Hey, this is actually insane but, um, that's Santa Claus, right?" She points up the stairs while posing mocking questions.

You look shocked in a moment. You respond, "Oh my god," while gazing at her as though she were crazy. You inquire informally, "What kind of messed up thing is that to say?"

The two of them ask you whether you are serious about the relationship or if it's a trick.

Max interrupts, "Debbie, girl, it's not messed up. Think about it, big white scruffy beard?" He was making bread motions with his hands.

You roll your eyes, scoffing, “well he decided to do no shave November, for your information.”

“And he has the classic big belly?” Alice tries putting her point clear.

Dramatically gasping at her comment, “And there it is, the body shaming begins,” throwing your hands in the air, Alice and Max make eye contact with each other wondering if your delusions will come to an end—Max quietly scoffs. 

"What kind of Mean Girls situation is this? You say, "Can't believe this," in an attempt to come seem as offended by their critical remarks. 

Alice mumbles to herself, "Okay, relax," as she scratches the back of her head looking around the room. 

You begin detailing his character and making it quite clear that he is Santa without actually stating so. When Nick came down the stairs, your two friends decided to stop commenting.

Max and Alice thank him for giving them gifts, and Nick flicks his fingers when he realizes he left something in the car and will be right back. "So, how does he make enough money to buy us all these presents?" Max glances in your direction.

You keep telling them that he described his exact job, but you were too preoccupied to pay attention and found it dull at the time. "If I'm not mistaken, toy manufacturer," you shrug your shoulders.

“Uh, Deb, you won’t be happy from what I’m gonna say,” Alice leans in, “that’s what Santa does,” she explains speaking in a high-pitched voice.

"Like I said before, he's not Santa Claus, his job doesn't even pay, and I don't—" You were interrupted by the sound of footsteps on the rooftop.

Is this girl okay? Max thinks to himself.

"Is your boyfriend on the roof?" Alice asks you a suspicious inquiry.

You laugh uneasily, "He's probably fixing something up there, right? He would have noticed something," you explain, "my partner can actually make something," smiling sarcastically, "like a guy," you swiftly shift your head over at Max, making a remark about what his boyfriend does for a living.

We weren't expecting to hear those words from you.

"Besides, if he was Santa," you pause, "then why is he so good in bed?" You cross your arms together, lean back against the chair, and give them a peculiar look.

The two chuckle in their chairs. "Oh, well, I didn't read that in the text," Alice replies drastically as though your remark had upset her.

A little while later, Nick shows up at the house with two gift boxes for your two friends. Your face lights up when you see him giving your two pals thoughtful gifts. Your words, "How thoughtful of you, my love!"

They had no idea how to find their gifts in front of them when they opened them and saw what they had long yearned for. You wonder how Nick knew they desired those gifts as you point to them. 

Everyone on stage and in the crowd bursts out laughing when Owen, who portrays Max, unintentionally fires the soft nerf bullet, striking Megan, Alice's character, on the side of her face. It was more humorous—Megan was fine, too.

Max and Alice, becoming all sensual in the moment, said they wrote letters to Santa Claus and just wished for them. You sigh softly and stare down at your feet. "Well, if he's really Santa, he would know that the only thing I asked for as a little girl was singing a duet with Shania Twain," you pout.

Is she coming out?

Is it my turn yet?

Suddenly, Shaian Twain enters the home door dressed as Mrs. Claus and asks to see her husband. After figuring everything out, you exclaim, "You are married?!" As you rise from your chair, your voice is full of shock and sadness.

Nick and Shain Twain explain their relationship and being open in sharing. Everyone in the living room is in a state of shock, except for Alice and Max. You quickly point to Nick, “He’s not Santa!” you raise your voice—voice cracking a little.

The audience laughs as they clap once the skit ends.

You giggle as you follow Drew after everyone has left the stage. "You did such a good job doing the Santa impression baby," you say, giving him a playful sideways nudge. 

He replies nonchalantly, as like he didn't need to practice, "Oh you know, gotta show them who the real boss is but it comes naturally."

You laugh, "Dork."

You decide to snap a quick photo of Drew before he can do anything else while he's staring at you from the couch in the dressing room with his bogus beard still on. You suddenly say, "Say cheese, Santa!" and take him by surprise.

You take a close look at the image on your screen, thinking, "Perfect for our Christmas card this year."

✰ if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line across your name that means i couldn't find your account

@chenslucy @whorelaud @drewsephrry @runningfrom2am @diqldrunks @rosezza @rafeyslamb @mymultiveres @starkeyvhs @percysley @francislovergirl @kiiyomei @sukuna-wafiu @skyslowalking @kneelarmhstrung @inthelibrarybtw @liliumz @lovingsturniolo @xoxosblogsblog @yanna2coolz @stevesxwhore

[boypied]

THE COCKPIT

pairings: stefan salvatore x male reader x klaus mikaelson

summary: stefan and klaus go to a highly exclusive strip club where they catch the male reader on one of his working days, they pay upfront for his 'special treatment'

requested by: anonymous

word count: 1,597

warnings: smut, hair pulling, ass eating, cum swallowing.

Stefan's blindfold begins to slip off his face, revealing the street lights as Klaus speeds up. "Where are we actually going?" Stefan says cautiously as he doesn't like to be in the dark about something, Klaus just chuckles slightly, very obviously excited. "A stripclub," he says bluntly with a very serious tone so that Stefan doesn't think he's joking, he turns his head to face Stefan with a smirk on his face whereas Stefan's eyes widen as he realises he's not joking then he rolls his eyes, "why?" Stefan asks bluntly as he waits for Klaus stupid answer "because...I'm horny and you're just SUPER uptight, " he says with a smirk on his face before Stefan can even defend himself Klaus shouts out excitedly "WE ARE HERE!" He jumps out his car and drags Stefan out the other side.

"Do we have to?" Stefan pleads with Klaus as he practically drags him from the car towards the club, as they get closer and their eyes adjust to the bright neon lights, Stefan's eyes dart up to the sign. "The Cockpit," he says, dumbfounded, whereas Klaus bites his lip at the name basically bricked up just from the title. Once they manage to get past security and the metal detectors, they finally make it inside to where the music is blasting from, "Did they really need all that security?" Stefan says, turning to face Klaus, whose eyes are locked onto the male strippers who are dotted around the club.

The Cockpit's boys are always treated with respect by the customers unless a customer has paid to degrade one of the boys, which he would've fully consented to. A twink in a bunny costume walks over to the two men, "you guys must be new, I haven't seen you around here" he says with a smile on his face, Klaus smirks at him slightly as he checks him out "yeah we're new, heard about this place from one of my friends. They said its the best." He says, his huge smile not dropping off his face once. The bunny-twink chuckles as he adjusts the tray in his hand "well you heard right, you might wanna go get a seat. The new show is about to begin, and he's the club favourite. The music dies down as the male stripper on stage struts off as the dj begins to announce the new on-stage dancer.

"Give a round of applause to the club favourite..." The dj shouts out, getting all the men in the crowd excited. Once all the clapping quieted down, the dj continued; "Sweet Cheeks." The spotlight circles the curtains as you tease your leg through the curtains, making all the men hollar out excited you pull open the curtains to reveal yourself completely. "WOOO!" One group of men yell out, causing you to smirk as you get down on your knees and crawl down the stage as your cute bikini-cut briefs hug your ass perfectly. You have suspenders connected to your briefs as one falls down your shoulder as you crawl to the centre of the stage while your bunny ears wobble.

Klaus and Stefan's eyes widen as you crawl across the stage practically towards them, Stefan digs his nails into the clubs chairs as he stares at you with hungry eyes. Not hungry eyes as in he wants to eat you but hungry eyes because he wants to beat the shit out of your hole, Klaus bites his lip as he grips the imprint of his cock. You lean back on your knees and fall on your back having your cock imprint on display causing all the men to scream and throw dollar bills to you.

You throw your body forward onto the money and arch your back, showing off your bubble butt, I grip onto all the money, pulling it up against your body. Causing all the men hollering out to you saying lewd comments about what they would all do to you. Once you finally finish your performance, you scoop up some money and strut off stage and put all the money into a box for later, since you had finished your performance you had to strut around to see if any of the men wanted a lap dance or something more... sexual.

The moment you step out of that side curtain and onto the main floor, Klaus and Stefan are right in your face, asking you so many questions, practically drooling over you. You eat up every moment of it, you do a little spin for them showing off your full body, and you notice their dick prints twitch with excitement. Klaus hands you a wad of cash, and you flick through it, letting your eyes naturally dart up to meet their eager eyes. "Follow me boys" you say in a seductive tone as you walk into the private suits. The lights change from purple to deep red, leading them into one of the curtain rooms.

They take a seat on the black couch as you stand in front of them, "get naked for me boys. Don't take your eyes off of me" you say in a sultry tone as they stand up and eagerly strip off naked in front of you, while they're undressing you slowly pull down your boxer briefs revealing your black thong that perfectly hugs your ass and hips. Stefan and Klaus slowly sit down with their raging boners on display, you get down on your hands and knees and slowly crawl over to them. You get down on your knees inbetween Klaus and Stefan and take both of their cocks in each hand and you begin jerking them.

You've become a pro at this because of how often you do it, at first it was hard doing it was your less dominant hand but now it's like it was meant to be. Both their moans echo throughout the soundproof "love room" as some people call it. You quicken the pace making them feel the utmost pleasure, you pull away "who gets to be inside me first?" You say seductively. You get into doggy position having your hole on display as Stefan comes up behind you and places a condom on and uses that lube to slide in. "AH!" You gasp out in shock at his size, you've never had one that size before.

Klaus watches from the couch the way your eyes flutter back and your body bounces back and forth, He slowly wraps his hand around his cock and begins jerking it off to you. It's like a live porno, he thinks to himself. Stefan pounds away at your hole getting every penny he put into that wad, he grips onto your hips watching the way your ass jiggles with each thrust. His eyes look up at the way your cheap Halloween store bunny ears wobble with each thrust of his cock.

"H-Harder" you whimper out in pleasure as his cock hits your g-spot. Normally the boys at The Cockpit don't jerk off while being fucked but something about this felt necessary to jerk off to. "So tight!" Stefan groans out with each thrust of his cock edging closer and closer to meeting the end of his pleasure, you jerk off your cock while he pounds out, they become sloppier and sloppier until he shoots his load filling up the condom he put on, he thrusts a couple more times before pulling out and tying up the condom. He gently slaps your ass as he sits back down on the couch watching as Klaus gets up and walks over.

Klaus rips open a condom and rolls it onto his cock, the size condom is large so you know your in for a treat. He grips onto your hips and pushes himself into your gaping asshole, Klaus groans out as inch by inch your hole clings onto his cock. You bite your lip hearing his moans, Stefan pulls out his phone and begins recording this encounter "don't worry this is for his private collection" he says to you as Klaus grips onto your hair pulling it back as he pounds away into you. Your eyes roll back as his cock twitches with each thrust.

Klaus has been edging all day at the thought of fucking one of The Cockpit boys and he got the best one in the house, Klaus' grip in your hair tightens as he pounds faster and faster you jerk off your cock quicker and quicker matching the rhythm of the way he fucks you, Klaus gets closer and closer fucking you roughly like a slut until he comes undone and nuts inside the condom as he continues to pound his way through it, he pulls away and pulls off the condom throwing it onto the floor. You breath heavily as you smile at them "hot" is the only word you can get out as Stefan and Klaus chuckle while they get changed.

Stefan and Klaus both look at eachother until Klaus speaks up "we'll be coming here again that's for sure" you blush as you've just earned yourself a new customer. Stefan agrees with Klaus' remark watching the way your bunny ears wobble as they both say their goodbyes and they leave The Cockpit. You clean up the used condoms, put your bunny costume back on and you leave the love rooms, walking into the break room packing all your stuff up and leaving for the night.

"best fucking night ever" you mumble to yourself wondering if any guy will ever top what they done to you.

taglist ~ @starboye @mailmango @ghostking4m @kingchaospostsstuff @crispysoup318 @inhumanshadows @its-ares @gayaristocrat @cronaaaaaaa @irlsamcarpenter

[viperify]

Smutmas 2024 | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ᴍᴜɢɢʟᴇʙᴏʀɴ ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Celebrating Her.

Short summary: after spoiling you the entire day, Tom makes sure your special day ends in a blast.

Warnings: 18+ only! nipple play, fingering, slight degradation, choking, rough sex, unprotected p in v, ooc Tom but it’s okay because it’s my birthday.

A/N: leaving my teenage years behind. Today’s been super stressy, but I am happy to finally have time to post my birthday fic!!! Also happy birthday to my birthday twin, Severus Snape 🫶🏻

wordcount: 2,2k

celebrating him.

London. He has taken you to London. To your favourite restaurant to be exact, one that you have not visited ever since you moved to the wizarding world. Tom wasn’t the person to go to the muggle world, not if he didn’t have to at that. Too many bad memories have been made there, especially back in his orphanage days. So, for obvious reasons, you were surprised when he told you where you were headed to.

The clock strikes 9pm when he waves a waiter over and takes the courtesy to pay. Not that he would let you pay anyway, especially on your birthday, but you are still grateful. You feel people’s gaze on you as you both get up, your burgundy, crystal plated dress easily catching people’s attention as you stand out from the crowd on this seemingly so ordinary day. Ordinary for them, anyway.

Your eyes meet Tom’s, who is matching your attire with a black suit. The corner of his lips tugs up just the slightest bit at the attention you are receiving, and his arm wraps possessively around your waist. “Ready to leave?” he asks smoothly, and you nod, following him towards the exit.

However, he doesn’t take you back home like you had expected. No, instead, you are strolling through the city, finding your way through the crowd of people waiting to get home after another long Thursday. There are entire queues waiting for taxis, and suddenly you don’t miss your former, “normal” life in the slightest. London’s always been loud and busy, so when you received your letter for Hogwarts and got to know the most magical, hidden place in the Highlands of Scotland—you wish you could have lived there since your birth.

Being a muggle born isn’t easy. It’s come with its challenges, especially back in your first year at Hogwarts. It took time for you to find friends, to adjust to the change. And God, you missed your parents. Then, being exposed to all the hatred and bullying muggle borns had to endure definitely didn’t make it any better. Especially if you end up falling for your tormentor.

Being in love with Tom Riddle as a muggle born isn’t easy. But you two had somehow—after years of bickering and rivalry—made it work. It wasn’t until your seventh year that you got closer and essentially ended up being a couple. And no, you couldn’t believe it either. Not in your wildest dreams would you have thought the day would come that your strongest feeling for Tom would be love.

It’s always been hate, after all.

It was subtle at first, from stealing glances in classes to blatantly staring at each other, to—well. Him cornering you when you exited the girl's lavatory, whispering a soft “What are you doing to me?” as he leaned in. And before you could react, his lips were on yours, capturing you in a heartfelt kiss, pouring his feelings into it like he had to prove they really existed—firstly to you, but himself as well. Even when, in the end, of course you did love him too.

Tom’s love often is rough, distant. But you make it work, and when he does soften up—it’s like a plant sipping its first drop of water after an agonizingly long drought. You relish in it, your dynamics making you a perfect match for each other. And just like that, the boy you once hated with every cell in your body turned into your lover you wouldn’t even think about letting go.

That’s how you ended up spending your 20th birthday in London. Away from the wizarding world for once, back in your home city. You almost couldn’t believe when he apparated you both to the restaurant your parents used to take you to for birthdays. Tom Riddle, organizing a birthday dinner in the muggle world. A subtle smile brightens up your face at the thought. He leads you through the crowd, arms still around your waist. It’s not until he stops that you realize where you are headed.

One of the finest hotels in all of London, if you may. And he doesn’t just stop in front of it, no, you enter. Tom doesn’t respond when you ask him what you are doing here, instead withdraws a card from his pocket and leads you up the marble stairs. The setting feels special, too special to be true. It’s silent besides the clicking of your heels as you ascend the stairs, a chandelier dimly illuminating the hallway. There is no one around, no receptionist, no other guests. It seems as though you two are there alone, the property reserved for solely you two.

It’s not long until you arrive at door 464. As soon as he opens it, a smell of roses and lit candles floods your senses. The room, kept in an elegant vintage style, is illuminated by candles, the high ceilings decorated with baroque carvings. With you trying to take in the magic of the room, you don’t realize Tom stepping further into the room. Only when you hear muffled voices, followed by soft strains of classical music, your eyes flicker to where he is standing—adjusting a modern radio.

“Tom Riddle using a muggle device? This might be my best birthday present yet.” you snicker, walking towards the brunette. It’s then when he turns around, his deep brown eyes meeting yours.

“First and last time.” he answers, his voice low as his hands settle on your waist. Leaning in, he places a soft kiss on your lips. Without another word, Tom’s left hand intertwines with your right, the subtle notes of a violin and a piano resonating through the room as he guides you into a slow dance.

You can’t help but wonder how he’d learned to do that. At the two yule balls you experienced, he had never asked anyone for a dance. As you sway to the gentle tones, a memory plays in your head, taking you back four years to your 5th year at Hogwarts.

Being asked for a dance by one of the most popular boys in Gryffindor had its perks—you had been the center of attention the entire evening. Many people asked you for a dance, complimenting your looks as they took in your sapphire blue dress, adorned with tiny crystals.

In a brief moment of solitude, your eyes swayed around the hall, just for you to lock eyes with Tom. Merely a split second later, he averted his gaze, though the intensity of his eyes on yours lingered—and for the rest of the night, no one else asked you to dance again.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks you, and you are forced out of your thoughts, returning to the present. The dim candlelight casts a shadow on his sharp features, and you once again get lost in his eyes.

“Was it you? Back then, at the ball?” you murmur, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his lips at the question, and it’s almost as if you could see the memory replaying in his eyes.

“Nobody touches what is mine, darling.” Tom replies, and there is this familiar possessiveness in his voice, the one that you have grown to love. Another kiss later and he is tugging at your zipper as he leans in, his hot breath on the tender skin of your neck sending a shiver down your spine. “Let me take care of you now, just like you deserve.”

You don’t complain as he is leading you towards the bed, dress long discarded on the floor. Tom’s hand wanders, slipping under the waistband of your lace underwear as he settles down beside you. Finding your swollen bundle of nerves, the pad of his thumb rubs tight circles on it, having you take a sharp inhale at the sensation.

His other hand frees your breasts, pushing the dainty material of your bra to the side. His eyes wander up and down your almost entirely exposed form, muttering praises under his breath before he lowers his head to trail gentle kisses from your collarbone to your breast, gently wrapping his lips around the hardened peak.

“Oh— oh Merlin, Tom—“

His tongue flicks over the sensitive skin, drawing small whimpers and moans from you as your fingers thread through his silky brunette hair. You tug on it slightly, massaging his scalp as he continues his ministrations, nibbling and kissing your skin.

Your fingers dig into the sheets, firmly clenching around the fabric as two of his digits slip inside of your tight heat. “So wet for me,” he groans lowly, moving at an agonizingly slow pace as the heel of his hand rubs on your clit with every thrust of his hand. The sensations he is providing you with, fingertips massaging the one spot inside of you that has you grow dizzy with pleasure, the coil in your stomach winds tighter and tighter, and you are just there on the edge when—

“No, no please! I want to— want you to—“ you gasp, hand closing around his wrist, attempting to still his movements. His dark eyes lock with yours then, and he stops. “Use your words, sweetheart. What is it that you want?”

“Want you inside of me, please.” you murmur, and his lips curl into a knowing smirk at your words, shaking his head just slightly. He withdraws his fingers then, a small whimper falling over your lips at the loss. It doesn’t take long until he has undressed himself, parting your thighs before he positions himself between them, hovering over you.

“I really wanted to be nice to you today, darling.” he remarks, though his tip nudging at your entrance has all sane thoughts leave your mind at an instant.

“Merlin— you know I don’t want you to be. Please don’t be nice.”

Tom’s hand snakes around your throat at your response, mumbling something inaudible under his breath as he presses down on the sides of your throat, slowly splitting you apart on his hard length as you both groan. “This better? Want to be fucked like a whore even on your birthday?”

All you manage is a nod before he buries himself inside of you completely, not letting you adjust before he sets a harsh rhythm, his eyes darting down to his cock disappearing in your heat. Tom’s lips part slightly at the sight, a low growl rumbling in the back of his throat.

The classical music playing in the background is a stark contrast to how he is fucking you, hips snapping into yours from an angle that has you see stars, your nails digging into his toned shoulders, sure to leave behind crescent marks.

“So— good!” you cry out, hands holding onto his biceps as he thrusts into you from above, the sound of your combined moans echoing around the hotel room. It’s not long until your pleasure is building again, eyes rolling to the back of your head as his tip brushes against your sensitive cervix.

“Eyes on me, darling. Let me see how good I am making you feel. Let me see you come,” he demands, hand squeezing down tighter on your throat. You do as he says, eyes fluttering open just for you to meet his stern expression, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as his brunette curls stick to his damp forehead. His gaze burns into yours, the limited blood flow making you feel just slightly lightheaded, intensifying the feeling of his length slipping in and out of your sensitive walls.

You’re right at the edge, your cunt greedily clenching down on his thick cock. Tom seems to notice, his free hand reaching between you two, softly swiping over your needy clit with the pad of his thumb. “Tom— please!” you cry out, and he lowers his head, resting it in the crook of your neck. “Go on. Come for me,” he groans, and that is all you need to finally tumble over the edge, the intense feeling in your lower stomach leaving you a trembling and whimpering mess beneath him. Tom follows soon after, emptying himself deep inside of your warm, welcoming walls with a low grunt.

He collapses on top of you to catch his breath, though soon after pulling out of you, getting up to fetch a warm, damp towel to clean you up. It’s not long until he scoops you up in his arms, entering the bathroom where an already filled bathtub awaits you, lowering your spent body into the pleasantly warm water. He soon gets in as well, massaging circles into your shoulders as your head rests on his chest. It’s mostly quiet between you two, savouring the moment of intimacy you only rarely get to experience with him.

Before you drift off to sleep, he places a tender kiss on your head.

“Happy Birthday, love.”

[toysrguts]

can i request sally face relationship headcanons maybe??

sally face fandom is sooo dead:(

sally face realtionship hc's!!!!

i dont write this kind of stuff usually but i actually had a lot of fun with this ^___^ i hope its everything u hoped for 🙏🙏

sal:

•his love language is quality time, he loves spending time with you even if youre just doing nothing together

•your presence is very comforting to him

•isnt physically affectionate unless he knows youre 100% okay with it

•once he gets comfortable around you he will not let go he loves cuddling

•your dates are more lowkey like playing video games or having movie nights

•writes little songs for you and plays them on his guitar

•the best listener, you can yap all day and you will have his full undivided attention

•you can feel the shift in his behavior when hes in public with you vs being alone with you. he can let his guard down when its just the 2 of you

•communicating is hard for him but he is very understanding

•has a lot of deep conversations with you

•at night especially is when he opens up most, and you find it really endearing

•he has insomnia so sometimes you stay up all night talking or doing other things

•he loves how good you are with gizmo, hes basically your child

•gets so flustered when you make eye contact with him so naturally because hes insecure and sensitive about his face

•your acceptance of him means a lot to him

•literally melts when you play with his hair or scratch his head

•has abandonment issues and often worries hes not doing enough but you do your best to reassure him

•he can also be really clingy but he knows when to give you your space

•gives you really meaningful obscure compliments constantly, he finds all your “imperfections” beautiful

larry:

•very loving but also likes to mess with you and is such a tease

•will randomly come up behind you and pick you up when you least expect it

•he loves playing with your hair, especially when youre in bed together he’ll run his fingers through it until you fall asleep

•takes you to all of his secret hangout spots around nockfell for smoke seshes and picnics

•although he can be intense sometimes, hes really gentle with you and knows how to calm you down when youre overwhelmed

•loves getting you little gifts when you least expect it

•he frequently invites you over for painting dates

•also treehouse dates!!!!

•falling asleep up there and getting to watch the sunrise together

•PLEASE steal his clothes he loves that shit

•especially when you give them back and they smell like you

•taking you to concerts and shows is like his favorite thing ever

•not afraid to show affection with you in public

•you're his and everyone needs to know

•when he gets comfortable you get to see a different side of him

•hes usually loud and silly and annoying but he has an emotional and vulnerable side that only you really get to see

•acts of service are his love language fs, he cooks and cleans for you all the time

•hes definitely the jealous type

•someone complimenting you is fine, but if he catches someone flirting with you hes throwing hands

•sharing music with you is his favorite past time

•picking up cd’s from the music store and blasting them on his stereo together

•or on public transport where each of you has an earbud in

•lisa LOVES you and is always so welcoming whenever you come to stay with larry

•makes special burned cd mixes for you and labels them with sharpie and doodles little things on them

ash:

•you are her entire world she cannot be away from you for more than 5 minutes

•thinks your eyes are really pretty and you catch her staring into them every so often

•makes really heartfelt handmade gifts for you (like one of her “little dudes”)

•tries to make you laugh when youre sad

•it works like 99% of the time

•takes you everywhere on her motorcycle

•“hop on loser, we’re going to mcdonald's”

•takes a lot of pictures of you together and hangs them up on her wall

•can always sense when something is wrong and always knows how to make you feel better

•writes you little love letters every so often so you never forget how she feels about you

•will beg and pleade to let her do your makeup

•its mostly just an excuse to get close to you and get to sit on your lap :3

•also loves styling you in different outfits even if you dont wear them out, youre like her own personal model

•has like 20 different nicknames for you

todd:

•he smells sooooo good

•like pine and cedar wood 🤤🤤🤤🤤

•and dont get me started on his hair

•its so fluffy and smells amazing he loves when you run your fingers through his curls

•loves taking you out and spoiling you because you deserve it

•so chill and easy to communicate with, your comfort and happiness is his number one priority

•very protective over you but he tries not to be overbearing

•talks about you to literally everyone when youre not around

•remembers all the little details about you that you would expect him to forget

•the biggest nerd ever and loves yapping at things he likes, but he loves hearing you talk about your interests even more

•if you get obsessed with something like a video game or tv show he will not rest until you get him into it too

•if you crash at his place, expect breakfast in bed

•if youve had a bad day hes there to pamper you and give you everything you need

•“i got you this cuz it made me think of you” as he holds out a rock in his hand

•seems really serious and intimidating but youd be surprised

•hes such a dork when you get to know him

•drives you around literally everywhere, he loves traveling with you with the windows down and the radio blaring

[maevebabyy]

i would like manon gf thoughts next please ☝️☝️

MANON AS UR GF

a/n - i can’t believe it took me so long to write for manon…..

gf! manon who’s love language is words of affirmation. she never fails to shower you with sweet compliments and messages, always reminding you how perfect you are.

gf! manon who leaves you little notes in your bag or on the bathroom mirror because she has an early schedule, telling you how much she loves you and how much she hates that she can’t stay longer.

gf! manon who takes time to celebrate little wins, whether its acing a test or finishing a project, always cheering you on and making you feel special.

gf! manon who enjoys late-night drives, blasting your favourite playlists while being the best passenger princess there is.

“and finally you put me first!” manon sings out excitedly, her head bobbing along to beyoncé, her left hand intertwined with yours as you kept one hand on the wheel. “baby, it’s you!” she turns to look at you, her eyes sparkling, belting her heart out to the chorus, “you’re the one i love! you’re the one i need!”

gf! manon who appreciates the small things, like holding your hand during walks or stealing quick kisses when no one is looking.

gf! manon who wants to being you back to switzerland so bad with her because she loves enjoying the outdoors with you.

“just think about it,” she says softly, a smile tugging at her lips. “the mountains back in switzerland are so pretty. plus, think of all the cute cows!”

gf! manon who enjoys planning surprise dates, whether its a cozy night in playing board games or a trip to a local music café.

gf! manon who has an album dedicated specifically for the both of you saved in her photo gallery. often switching out her lockscreen wallpaper to a photo within the album to keep those memories close.

gf! manon who has a knack for making you laugh, whether it’s her goofy impressions or stupid dad jokes, always knowing how to brighten up your day.

“you know i’m basically a comedian, right?” she’ll tease, grinning.

gf! manon who loves when you play with her hair while you relax together, all cuddled up on her bed.

gf! manon who enjoys reflecting on your relationship. thinking fondly of how far you two have come and how grateful she is for every moment you two spend together.

[luvrodite]

ok wait i need to say something about the dick grayson thought i've been turning over in my head for a bit.

i unfortunately do like readers that are a bit tragic and don't get a happy ending. it's like poking at a bruise idk it's cathartic in its own way. anyway. i know the age difference between dick and jason isn't really that big but i think it's big enough for this to work?

anyway i'm thinking about the relationship you have with dick when he moves out of the manor. you guys fuck, sure, and sometimes you go out, but you're not his girlfriend. not really. it's casual, except it isn't at the same time because dick comes with a plethora of his own issues and for some reason you can't quite fathom, he's decided you're the only one that gets to see that side of him.

you see him like nobody else does. you get the good, the bad and the ugly. you hold him through his nightmares. you brush his hair back from his forehead when he stares at his phone a little too long. you come by when it's been a few weeks and you haven't heard from him.

somehow you kind of end up playing intermediary between him and the kid brother his dad/guardian/mentor/older brother picked up along the way. jason is sweet. and you can tell he longs for a relationship with dick but he's got so much going on. it doesn't matter. jason takes what he can get.

you wonder when you started getting involved in your hookups' lives. but then it feels reductive to call it that. what the two of you have spans beyond that. it's so much more than that. dick touches the lives of all that he meets and you aren't special for it, but you feel it. maybe to the others he knows, in their weird, dysfunctional world, it's normal.

but you're a regular citizen. you go to work. you come home and do the dishes. you cook, you clean, you curse out your landlord when he puts off fixing the heating for the nth time. dysfunctional relationships are alien to you – the weight of all dick gives you, it has to mean something. fuck the forehead kisses, it stopped being casual when he held your hand through a doctor's visit and the fibers in your pillowcase swallowed his tears after a run in with bruce.

you play intermediary. jason sees more and more of you than you think he should, but he doesn't complain. you even grow used to the little bugger. you don't have much in the way of your own family, and he becomes something like the kid brother you never had. you grow used to the inappropriate humour that shocked you the first time it came out of his mouth, blue eyes shining up at you mischievously.

his height gives off the impression he's more youthful than he is and sometimes you end up babying him a little more for it. sometimes, he lets you. you brush a hand over his curls like you do his brother and keep a hand on his shoulder when you go to the corner store. you tell him to pick out whatever he wants, and that it's on you. he looks up at you like you got him the moon when you toss him a copy of his favourite book after a while of not seeing him – yours is all beat up, kid, pretty soon you won't be able to read it anymore.

you don't know how to deal with it when he dies, not long after you and dick break things off.

15. only a baby.

it's violent. you get the news from the papers and the picture of the blast zone makes you stop breathing. dick doesn't pick up the phone – why would he? and you're not even sure if you're allowed to reach out.

the last you'd heard, he'd been pretty cosied up with a new co-worker of some sort. red hair, pretty eyes. more than you'd ever gotten from him. sure, you'd known dick – you knew him. you were the closest he'd ever been to anyone, but it had simply been because there was nothing to lose with you.

you hold his grief, hold his heart in your hands, but you are nobody and you will not ask for more because he sleeps in your bed and sometimes, he holds your hand in public when you're walking through a crowded street. you guys have good days and it's something.

but he’ll is not yours – will never be yours, not fully, not like he belongs to bruce and gotham and the titans and his team. you’re a girl who he comes to because you’re safe.

but his brother dies and he's gone and you're left with not only the heartbreak of losing something never named, but the grief of a real tangible friendship, the death of a brother.

you are nobody and nothing – you're not the one that gets the guy and you are not the one that gets to mourn. you see him at his lowest and love him at his worst but he is not yours, and neither is the little boy that dies much too young, alone and scared.

you fall between the cracks. nobody stops to think about the girl who'd sometimes been mentioned in passing at the dinner table, on the rare occasion dick ventured back home to the manor. how can they? not when bruce is driven near mad with grief, not when dick is god knows where and it's all that alfred pennyworth can do to keep his charge and himself together.

i don't know. i just think about how it takes you months to muster up the energy and courage to visit your friend's grave – because jason was your friend, too. the baby brother you'd never had, a kid you'd felt responsible for, like he was your own. the visit leaves you exhausted and it's of course then, that on your way out, you bump into the second half of your troubles.

dick stares at you like he's seen a ghost and all that happened between you lingers in the air, the weight of it oppressive in the cold winter air. frost in the air, frost clinging to your lashes, heartbreak colouring you blue.

you look at him and think of it – how much you had put up with from him. how dearly you'd loved him. stupid, to catch feelings, but you'd gone ahead and done it. worst of all, he'd known it, too.

there'd been a time, not so long ago, when you would have let him do anything he pleased. lay me down, strike me, hurt me, i will bear it because it is at your hand. and he'd known.

he'd known it was wrong but he was hurting and it’d been easy with you because you didn't ask for more than he’d give but you did hope. and he could see it in your eyes that you hoped he’d give himself wholly over to you but he just wasn't there. perhaps he never would be. and you deserved better but he couldn't let you go. his regret, one amongst many, is that he had not done it sooner. shielded you from more pain at his hand.

once, dick had something of a god to you. now he stands before you and you see him as he is, a mere man. a tired, grief-stricken, man.

the only mercy he grants you now, is to let you walk away.

blank blogs dni. minors dni. have your age in your bio otherwise you will be blocked!

[amjustagirl]

Chapter 3

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f! reader

genre: romance, angst

wc: 3.6k

summary: you've loved soshiro since you were seven. he will always place his duty above you.

chapt 1 / chapt 2 / chapt 3 / chapt 4 / chapt 5

The fight with Number 12 is exhausting, but Hoshina Soshiro emerges victorious. 

Not that he had any doubt (lies, what a fuckin’ lie, cos there was a point where he thought he’d drop dead from exhaustion, because Number 12 really was the new improved Number 10, who’d damn near run him into the ground), but other than the fact that he’d very much like to curl up in his bunk and sleep for the next week, he is pleased with himself. 

He wonders a little about the choice of location of Number 12’s appearance. Chofu airport is outside of central Tokyo, mostly suburban other than the circle of industrial Izumo Tech buildings a few streets down which he’s too familiar with (you come to mind, but he dismisses that thought immediately), but evacuation efforts seemed relatively complete, so he doesn’t pay any of this a second thought.

Because, of course, Number 9 tries to get its dirty paws on Captain Mina Ashiro. And, as everyone knows, if Captain Mina Ashiro is absorbed by Number 9, so too with her would be the rest of Japan’s hopes of withstanding the kaiju threat. 

Hoshina Soshiro therefore has no space in his mind to deal with anything but that.

By the end of the entire ordeal with Number 9, he can barely prop his eyelids up. He has reports to make, the casualties in his division to account for, troops to rally because the kaiju threat is never over, they’ll hit exactly when his back is turned. The Captain deserves a break with all that she’s gone through today, so it’s his time to step up and support her wherever he can. 

Still, he sneaks a look at his phone. 

 <stay safe>  <don’t be eaten by a kaiju>  <eat ‘em for brekkie instead>

He’s tempted to respond, but tells himself that he has no time to. It’s not that he’s avoiding you deliberately. Things have been hectic, and you wanted distance, hadn’t you, to give your friendship breathing space, let it recover from any awkwardness that lingers. It feels strange, being bereft of you these past few months. His fingers draft texts to you before his brain catches up to remind him that he needs to stay away from you. He wanders about the base on his days off, tracing an aimless circuit between his room, the gym and his desk, burying himself in paperwork and relentless training.

He tells himself this is how it should be. Duty never stops its call. 

“Okonogi san, report on any casualties in the area.”

“Mostly clear”, she reports. “Most civilians managed to clear out with the help of the Japan Ground Self Defense Force.” 

He closes his eyes in relief, though there’s still a prickling feeling of unease. “What about the Izumo Tech buildings?” 

He recalls blowing right through some of the buildings in the compound, blasting through concrete, leaving nothing but rubble behind. Surely no one remained in those buildings. 

“Mm”, Okonogi hesitates. “We can’t say for certain but rescue workers said they may have had some people trapped in the wreckage.’

It’s not his purview to concern himself with rescue efforts when his speciality is to fight and exterminate monsters. So he returns to base, doles out back slaps and hi fives to his officers, especially his baby ducklings, as he teasingly names his latest batch of recruits, swallows perfectly marbled beef courtesy of Izumo-kun, which reminds him - 

“I may have knocked down some of your family’s buildings in a fight”, he jokes. “Send the bill to Number 12 instead of me though, a vice captain’s paycheck won’t cut it.” 

Instead of laughing at his joke, Haruichi remains pensieve. “Last I heard, a couple of our employees were being dug out of those buildings”, he says somberly. 

Soshiro forgets how to breathe. 

“There were people in those buildings?” he demands. 

“Not everyone left when the evacuation signal went off”, Haruichi replies. “Apparently some people got trapped in the weapon forge -”

His body reacts before Haruichi has a chance to finish. He doesn’t bother if he makes a scene by shooting to his feet, racing outside the mess hall to punch your number into his phone. “Pick up, damnit”, he snarls, pacing outside, pinching his nose bridge because his calls go unanswered, your phone isn’t even connected to the network - 

Perhaps you just dropped your phone in the chaos. There’s no way you’re still stuck there. You should’ve been smart enough to run at the first sign of trouble -

“Vice Captain, do you want me to check -” 

He blurts out your name. Bless Izumo Haruichi who springs into action without asking questions. 

“Hey, nii-san - yeah, look, could you help me look into something?” 

He’s probably overreacting. For all he knows, you’re warm and snug in your bed in your cramped apartment, not buried beneath tons of burnt concrete and twisted pillars. Now, in the valley of despair, he admits what he’s always known - he misses you dearly, has felt the loss of your easy friendship over the last few months, mourned the absence of your laughter and smiles. 

It hurts enough to miss you. It’s unbearable to even consider he might never see you again. 

“Yeah”, Haruichi says, face dropping. “Thanks for letting me know.” 

His blood goes cold. 

“They pulled her out of the wreckage a while ago. She’s undergoing surgery right now.” 

For the first time in his life, he rails against his duty. He can’t leave his post, but the Captain orders him to go when she catches him harassing the hospital staff with endless calls throughout the night, asking only that he return before sunrise. It’s three quarters of an hour, maybe less if he floors the car he borrowed, weaving through kaiju decimated streets. 

He’s listed as one of your emergency contacts, probably because the rest of your family’s hours away in Osaka, so the doctors fill him in on your condition, even though he’s not family. 

Bones broken, by concrete crushing your body. Right side covered in burns, from a fire spread through the wreckage. Internal bleeding, probably a severe concussion, and they’re not sure your body will withstand the combined damage from all your injuries. 

“Too soon to tell”, the doctors shake their heads. “We’ll keep you updated.” 

Soshiro wants to punch the walls. Instead, he clenches his teeth. “Please do”, he replies tightly. 

There is nothing he can do but go back to base and wait. 

The hospital probably would put him on a blacklist if it weren’t the aftermath of a national emergency considering the way he bombards them every morning and night with calls to check on your status. You go through skin grafts for your burns, and he promptly loses his mind with worry when they tell him you’re on severe antibiotics to fight off the infections. Two nights ago, the doctors called him to say that they’re wheeling you back into surgery, having detected the source of bleeding in your stomach, and after another long sleepless night, all they can tell him is that they hope your condition should stabilise eventually. 

He’s on the verge of raising his voice to tell them to shove their half baked updates up their ass, when he remembers it’s not their fault you’re lying unmoving and broken in a narrow hospital bed. 

(it’s his) 

(he did this to you)

When they finally give him the okay to visit, he rushes to your side late at night with leave from the Captain, who merely reminds him not to break the speed limit. It’s past visiting hours but the nurses know better than to get in his way as he throws open the door to your room. 

You’re hooked up to machines which pump your lungs full of air, bruised and puffy and wholly unrecognisable under bone white bandages that wrap around most of your right side. You’re so still and unmoving that - if not for the beep of the machine registering your heart beat - 

He’s not going to finish that train of thought. He’s not. 

“Hey”, he breathes. He doesn’t dare touch you, lest you shatter. 

He stays by your bedside the entire night, slouched in one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs. “My week’s been awful”, he tells her. “It’s been hell trying to cobble together reports about what happened in the fight with Number 12. Plus, we have to rebuild our division and our base, so everyone’s running on fumes.” 

He talks and talks until the sun rises, and he gets up to go. 

“Don’t sleep for too long”, he says, and adds softly. “Stay safe, please.” 

The next day off he has, he returns, a large bouquet of flowers in tow. Your parents are there, finally able to make the trek from Osaka, almost impossible after the shinkansen schedules were disrupted and the highways unpassable. But they’re here, and though they look at him in askance, they quietly thank him for looking after you.

He wonders what they’ll say if they find out it was him who buried you deep in the ground. He’s too much of a coward to confess this to them when you might not wake up to see them again. 

He can’t quite put his finger on why, but he’s always been sure your mother dislikes him. Her smile, when directed at him, is too tight. She insists on you addressing him as the “young master” instead of his given name, which he prefers, and now, she laments the fact that it’s him who’s come to visit you instead of ‘that lovely Yamamoto-kun who sent those nice flowers’, when the door closes behind him. 

It’s a little petty, but he sends an even bigger bouquet of blooms a few days later, making sure to sign his name on an exceptionally large gift card. 

More information comes in on his fight with Number 12. He flips immediately to the section on civilian casualties, of which there are thankfully fewer than expected, though there’s a brief section on employees trapped in the Izumo Tech compound, of particular note because of its national security significance, though it states that several weapons technicians managed to retrieve a substantial amount of tech (specifically, blades) before the building came down on them. 

His stomach turns. He has to dash to the toilet, the taste of vomit burning acid in his mouth. 

The recruits all mutter why Vice Captain Hoshina’s in such a foul mood, forcing them to run laps for the most minor of infractions during training. He’s rude to the doctors when he calls them at night, claiming they still can’t be certain if you’re going to pull through, and even if you do, they also can’t say for sure that you’ll ever open your eyes again. 

Unable to sleep, he takes his frustration out on the training room. 

“Vice Captain.”

He snaps into a salute. “At ease, it’s after hours”, Mina Ashiro takes a seat beside him. “Staying up late to train?” 

“Yes, ma’am”, he replies. It’s the only thing that keeps his mind clear from worries. His sleep is marred by nightmares, his body unable to relax, anticipating the call from the hospital that he fears will inevitably come. 

“You were just doing your job”, she tells him. 

Despite the dark cloud he’s found himself trapped in this past week, his lips can’t help but quirk up at his Captain knowing exactly what’s on his mind. “I know”, he replies simply. “Still.” 

“Strictly off the record”, Mina says. “I’d behave exactly like you if it were Kafka in that hospital bed.” 

“Pretty sure it’ll take a nuclear bomb to take out Hibino-san but I’ll take your word for it.” 

“Hmm”, Mina hums. She’s a woman of few words, so it’s rare that she seeks him out for a conversation on anything that isn’t work related. “Do you ever wonder if we’re too focused on our jobs?”

“With due respect, Captain”, he replies. “That’s probably how we’ve managed to stay alive.” 

“Yes”, she says, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “But sometimes I think we forget what we do this all for.” 

 “And if I may be so bold”, he ventures. “What do you do this all for?” 

“When I was eight, a kaiju attacked my hometown. It wasn’t very large, now in hindsight, but it was large enough to destroy my childhood home, horrible enough to kill my cat.”

“So you resolved to grow up and be the best sniper the Defense Force had ever seen.” 

Mina chuckles. “I don’t think my eight year old self even knew how to be so ambitious.” Her expression sobers. “No, I just never wanted to see my parents cry again.” 

“It seems you’ve achieved your goal.” 

“Have I?” she asks, pulling at her hair absentmindedly. “I haven’t been back to visit my parents in years. I didn’t even keep in touch with Kafka despite us being close friends who grew up together. Yes, maybe in the grand scheme of things, I’ve kept the wider public safe - but that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve lost years of friendship, I’ve lost time I could’ve spent with the people I love.” 

“And you’re saying I’m the same?” 

Mina’s smile is serene. “It’s for you to decide that.”

She lets him ponder on her words in solitude, closing the door to the training room behind her. 

He still remembers the day he met you. 

You’re hiding behind a pillar, dressed in your kimono the same shade of blue as the hydrangeas that bloom in June. The presence of someone his age watching him spar spurs him on, makes him want to show off everything he’s got and give Sochiro a good fight. He’s convinced that the fight pushed Sochiro hard enough to grab you as a distraction from the fact that he’s actually being challenged by his younger brother. 

He doesn’t care if Sochiro’s bullying ways are directed at him. But when he makes you cry, he intervenes without thinking, even though it results in being beaten black and blue. 

But you look at him with stars in your eyes. “You’re amazing”, you tell him. For the first time in his life, Soshiro Hoshina believes that he is strong. 

It’s a cliche, but it’s easier to bear his older brother’s bullying and teasing if you’re there to spur him on with your cheerful words. You’ve always been in his corner, always happy to make a fuss over him, ooh and aah over every new move he learns, making him feel seen when everyone else’s attention is always focused on Sochiro, his more brilliant, gifted older brother

(to be seen is to be loved) 

You’ve supported him through every rainy day, every snowy day, every day of his life since his childhood, making it your life goal to craft the swords he wields. “I’ll make the sharpest blade so you can go be the best swordsman in the world!” you promised him, and so you have. You took up your family’s craft despite being but a slip of a girl, spending hours in the choking heat to learn a dying craft. You worked with an unerring focus in school, first to get into the country’s top engineering course, then graduating with flying colours to land a job at Izumo Tech, spending years subsisting on cup noodles and energy drinks. 

He’s never once even considered the toll it must’ve taken on you, the sacrifice of any semblance of a social life, the sacrifice of leaving Osaka, the comfortable cocoon of your family and friends to follow him to Tokyo. He’s ashamed to admit that he never gave any of this any thought, never really considered what it was like for you, only taking what you were too happy to give, your attention, your time. Every choice you’ve made, you’ve only made for him.  

And how has he repaid you? 

By running away when you admitted to feeling more than friendship for him. He convinced himself at the time with the excuse that he’s too busy, he really has no space in his life for anything but work and the art of the sword. It is all he’s lived and breathed for his entire life. 

But now - 

Now that he’s on the cusp of losing you, he thinks about the sun in your smile, the steel in your spine. He thinks about how much he admires your work ethic, your talent, your warmth and kindness. He remembers how much your friendship chased away the shadows of his self doubts, how you helped shoulder the burdens of chasing his dreams. 

Every rest day he gets to spend off-base, he chooses to spend it with you. Either at a cafe, which you always let him pick, allowing him to satisfy the cravings of his sweet tooth, or in the cramped apartment you call home, indulging in a fizzy can of beer as he talks your ear off about everything and nothing at once. With you, he can be Soshiro Hoshina without pretence, because there’s nothing about him that you haven’t seen. 

He’d ignored that twinge in his chest when you asked about getting yourself a boyfriend, fighting the urge to blurt out that he doesn’t think there’s a guy out there good enough to deserve you. So much so that he buries his relief when you admit that you’re not actually dating anyone by flippantly downplaying how much you mean to him, giving you instead the impression that you’re only worth as much as your usefulness to him. 

No wonder you’d been avoiding him. He didn’t even give you a chance to lick your wounds in private, cornering you, pressing you until you reveal your feelings for him. He’s so thrown by your confession that he reacts by running and hiding, doesn’t spend the time to unpack how he truly feels, doesn’t spare a thought for how you might feel, having your feelings thrown in your face so cruelly. 

How had he been this stupid? 

Worse yet, it’s his fault you’re fighting for your life in a narrow hospital bed. Collateral damage is unfortunately part and parcel of kaiju extermination, he knows that, but he was having fun swinging his sword, never thinking that he might be the cause of you never opening your eyes again. 

Fuck. 

He doesn’t deserve you, doesn’t deserve the chance to look you in the eye, never mind stand by your side. 

Your mother makes that clear the next time their paths cross that she’s of the same view. She’s stiffly polite, as if too painfully reminded that she has to be cordial to the second son of her husband’s longtime business associate, but after she pointedly asks him to shift his flowers to the side to make room for Yamamoto-san’s potted monstrosity, he goes in with a direct attack.   

“You don’t seem to like me very much.” 

To her credit, she doesn’t try to lie. “I care for my daughter”, she replies. 

“So do I”, he retorts without pause.  Because he does, even if he’s stupid enough to realise it a decade too late. 

“Hm”, she grunts, her doubt clear. 

“Since I was eight and she was seven”, he says, the words awkward in his mouth because it’s strange to admit how he feels about you to your mother who clearly disapproves of him, but it’s also a relief to put it to words. “I think I’ve always cared.” 

“I don’t think she knows that”, your mother says, the gentlest he’s ever heard her.  

“If she wakes up - ”, he corrects himself immediately, “when she wakes up -”, but even then his voice falters, because it’s been so long that you’ve been still and unmoving in this bed, swaddled in hospital sheets that too closely resemble a shroud. 

By the gods, what if it’s too late -

“When she wakes up”, your mother says without a tremble of uncertainty in her voice, “you should tell her that yourself.” 

He wishes he had an ounce of your mother’s unwavering faith in fate, because weeks later, your room remains colourless, white and sterile. He places yet another bouquet by your bedside, an array of blue and purple hydrangeas, the last of this year’s summer.

“Wake up”, he tells you. “Last chance for us to catch the fireworks festivals and eat shaved ice. I won’t have to steal your ice cream if we go.” 

You don’t move. 

“Your brother’s wedding’s been postponed because everyone’s waiting for you. Better get up soon, cos’ no one wants to get married in the winter.”

The room remains silent. 

The linoleum of the floor is so beige it makes him want to stomp a hole right through it, make it a little less bland and unappealing. He can’t bring himself to nod at the terrified nurse who squeaks at him to leave the room when it’s time to change your dressing. He’s not known to be emotional, but grief claws up his sternum, longing has his throat in a chokehold. 

“When you wake up, I’ve got a question to ask you. Don’t you wanna wake up to find out what it is?” 

He doesn’t know why he expects a response. 

“Stay safe.” A quiet sigh. Seeya soon.” 

It’s almost dawn by the time he pulls into the base.

Rain drums on the roof of the car, the morning a greyish, cloudy blue. He pulls on his combat jacket, the skin at the back of his neck prickling into goosebumps. His phone rings just as he gets out of the seat, thumb swipes right promptly when he sees the hospital’s number light up the screen. 

“Vice Captain Hoshina speaking.” 

“S-sir”, it must be that nervous nurse from earlier in the night. “You asked us to call if there’s any change in the patient’s condition -”

The beat of his heart grows thunderous in his ears. 

“Yes?” 

a/n: *dum dum dummmmm* another cliffhanger!!!

[86espresso]

💌 roommate!jack pt. 2

part 1. part 3

( ignore me yearning for an ounce of a healthy relationship. I got cheated on my junior year of high school )

absolutely entirely babies you. i’m talking cleaning up after you, feeding you (this is so underrated fr), wiping off your makeup when you get home, forehead pecks before either of you leaves in the morning, packing lunch, always comforting you when you get overwhelmed.

^ is so so in love with the way you scrunch your nose in disgust when you try a new smoothie and automatically hand it over to him, letting him deal with it because you’re so used to him

simple things that come with intertwined lives: communication is always there, but there’s a deeper more important sense of knowing exactly what’s going on with each other without ever communicating.

^ knowing telltale signs of the other when they’re overstimulated, stressed, upset, uneasy, etc. a special kind of love language jack has for you, and that makes you fall hard.

gifts you cds and vinyls of artists you blast in your room

cleaning up bottles with you on New Year’s Day!! after the party he throws at your shared space the previous night, he’s picking up trash and organizing everything back to its place while you wipe down the counters with whatever liquid that was on there. you collapse on the couch together and sleep the whole day, entangled in a mess of limbs but comfortable with eachother

softly knocks on your bedroom door one night, wondering why it was so quiet and sees you slumped over your desk and textbooks, fast asleep. his heart clenches at the sight; you look adorable but he doesn’t like how you overwork yourself and how you were still tense despite your unconscious state. he gently lifts you up from your desk and carries you over to your bed, laying you down. ^but he stops when you yank on the collar of his shirt, slowly opening your eyes. “thank you. stay?” you’ve stayed over in his room a few times but he’s never slept in yours. “sure, sweets.” he’d murmur in a low voice (🤭) and tuck himself in next to you, a safe distance away. ofc you wake up to his arm securely around your waist and it has you internally screeching.

lets out a indignant gasp when you approach him with eyebrow tweezers and tells you to ‘keep that torture device far away from him’ but a couple of pleases and a pout had him like putty in your hands as he begrudgingly accepted. he asks you to do his eyebrows often after that moment because he gets the opportunity to put his hands on your waist and stare at your face without making it weird.

^ also you when you accidentally let slip that you don’t take birth control pills he’s like wtf?? then you show him the implant in your upper arm. he screams, mortified, when he touches it and says “I thought that was for diabetes.”

the fear of telling eachother the strong feelings you both have grows everyday. when you’re put into a forced proximity like that and that person ultimately becomes your safe haven, literally lives with you, you just know there’s so much that could go wrong. you both toe the line carefully, trying not to harm the special bond you’ve grown over the years.

sleepovers in each others rooms !! pillow forts, romcoms on laptops, fingers brushing together when you reach for the popcorn bowl at the same time, huddling together for warmth (dear god when is it going to be my turn)

your first kiss would be slow and sweet. then you pull away breathless from the adrenaline and you look at him as if you don’t believe that just happened and his resolve crumbles. He wraps a strong arm around you body, pulling you close, and tangles the other through your hair, tilting your head. a year or two of pent up frustrations and raw love makes him pull your mouth to his roughly, him immediately going in with his tongue. He’s held you and hugged you before, but never like this. This was so much more passionate and intimate than anything he’d ever experienced.

def talks you through it 🙂‍↕️

his closet is yours!! he goes crazy seeing you in his big shirts and looking like you don’t have anything on underneath

whenever there’s blackouts through the building you both scramble around the place looking for candles with your phone lights. you bump into eachother a few times and there’s an unspoken rule to stick together while the lights are out. nothing but a scented candlelight illuminating your faces.

he declares a deep clean day which ends up in both of you soaked in bubbles after a soap fight

“we should shower together.. remember the water bill last month? :/”

roommates to lovers. goated trope.

i split this into two parts bc tumblr hates me. getting the other one out in a few mins :)

I want to talk about this more !! make it into a little series maybe?? send in what you think pleasee :)

[pedge-page]

Joel Dealing with Sarah: Super Woman, Super Wife

- - - -

Little Sarah having a blast today going to the park then meeting with friends then getting ice cream, just pure summer fun all day with Dad as her chauffeur. Until it's night time and she's in her car seat and suddenly remembers something, looks around desperately, and starts panicking:

She lost her favorite squishmellow.

Starts screaming and crying and kicking her feet, and Joel is freaking out because it's literally the only thing she sleeps with, carries around 24/7, in the mud and in the pool, to bed and to dinner, and if she lost it.... its all hell. And he knows it probably fell out of the car on the road at some point today as she got in and out of the back. The chances of finding it all torn up and squished into the asphalt are slim as is.

You get a frantic 3 calls from Joel. When you pick up, you hear uncontrolled wailing in the background.

"Joel I can't hear you! What's going on?"

"ITS ALL FUCKING HELL BREAKING LOOSE!" He shouts into the receiver, one finger plunged deep into his ear canal while pressing his phone into the other.

"Im coming home! Just wait for me!"

-

You rush through the door, a raucous of fat tears and inconsolable shrieks greeting you. Joel is literally burying Sarah in a mountain or her stuffed animals trying to calm her. He thinks youre gonna run towards them and give her a big hug and do SOMETHING Mommy Magical. Instead, you run upstairs without greeting them.

Joel keeps trying, his ears ringing, ready to just duct tape her mouth shut. Nothing is giving her any peace unless it's her one of a kind, super soft , special, best friend, s--

"SQUISHY!!!"

As Sarah reaches forward, smiling for the first time all afternoon, Joel sees you approaching excitedly, waving her pristine and glorious squishmellow. His daughter grasps it tightly and hugs it with all her might.

"How the hell did you find it?" Joel asks you. He's beyond fucking amazed. His superhuman, super hero, magician of a wife never once failing to deliver. He thinks you should write a book on your powers. "How did you get it so clean??"

As Sarah reunites with her Squishy, you take Joel upstairs to the back of your closet, in a high reach inconspicuous box labeled "for emergencies only". He always assumed it was an extra stash of bandaid, or maybe some special makeup in case you get a random case of acne.

You open the mysterious cover and reveal 10 vacuumed sealed, brand new, unopened squishmellows EXACTLY like the one Sarah has downstairs.

"You thought I just bought one the first time?" You chuckle at Joel's jaw dropped expression, probably marveling at what a fucking genius you are.

Though when you two return downstairs, your heart stops for a moment as Sarah suspiciously eyes her seemingly "rescued" plush from afar. Narrow eyes of distrust on its gleaming perfect unstained, brightly colored body, as if she can smell it's factory newness, false nose, and her scheming parents...

Thankfully, she shrugs and goes back to feeding it her dinner at the table. You and Joel let out a sigh of relief.

[genericpuff]

Public service reminder: I love y'all for your support in what I do here, but (a very gentle but) I want to make it clear that this isn't the way-

Names are censored for obv privacy reasons and I don't want to put any of my own readers on blast because I trust comments like these are made with good intention. I appreciate y'all for loving what I do here and putting it out there for others to read along, but I don't do it for this. As much as Rekindled is indeed a parody redraw of LO that's trying to "fix" a lot of the original comic's issues, at the end of the day it's still just a Tumblr project that I'm doing here for fun and I don't want to see it used as ammunition in the comments sections dedicated specifically to LO (for clarification, this was in the @webtoonofficial announcement post for LO winning its third Eisner).

Whether or not it's "better" than LO is subjective and irrelevant. I obviously can't pretend like I didn't have my own motivations to "fix" what I felt was broken, but the act of "fixing" was for those of us who saw it as broken, not for those who love LO as is.

I also can't reasonably ask anyone to keep their opinions about Rekindled to themselves, it's a piece of work that is publicly available and therefore that will put it under the lens of public opinion, but from me to you, this ain't the way. I host it on Tumblr and DH precisely to keep it out of the main view of the fans/stans, because this work isn't for them, it's for all of you who share my disappointment in the original series. I want to be able to run this space free of any extreme fandom discourse - this is also why you won't see me using general LO tags on Tumblr/IG - but the only way that can happen is if we all play nice and don't let the heat of the discourse get to us. Rest assured, I will always stand by my work and what I do here because I love it and have found my lost joy in what LO used to mean to me through it as well as a community of amazing writers and creators... but prevention is better than the cure and I don't want any of that heat getting thrown back my way through weaponizing of my work with or without my knowing in the first place.

Am I pissed about the comic's third win? Absolutely. And as much as I feel it isn't worth anyone's time or energy to get into bickering matches with the stans in these comment sections, those opinions regarding the comic pre-exist my participation in this fandom and would have, one way or another, hit that boiling point regardless (and it's been wild to watch that comment section go down, I can't lie lmao) But this is not the way. Rekindled is - to me, and hopefully to you, too - a reclaiming of the love and passion people like myself used to have for LO, and a celebration of Greek myth and transformative fiction as a genre, above everything else it stands for or could be interpreted as. It's not a weapon meant to be used in discourse. Let's please do our best to be mindful of that so we can keep having fun in this special little space we've carved for ourselves and not make ourselves into the monsters we're often made out to be just for critically discussing and transforming a piece of media that, in spite of all its flaws, brought us together in the way that it did. Let's keep being the best for each other instead of turning ourselves into the worst over others within this massive fandom who we were never going to agree with in the first place.

Thank you all, much love 💖 Do no harm, take no shit ✊️

[hacash]

The Terror at Christmas:

Crozier: Will endure an hour and a half (timed) of obligatory gift-giving, lunch eating and carol singing and then cannot be pried out of his room/study/garden shed for love nor money.

Fitzjames: Has control of the speaker and starts blasting Christmas bangers earlier than should be legally permitted by law. Gets pissy if you try to skip the obligatory Buble songs.

Sir John Franklin: There’s always one damn guy who insists on opening presents after lunch because ‘it’s tradition’, isn’t there?

Blanky: Already getting people on the Bucks Fizz before breakfast.

Dundy: By the time the turkey’s in the oven he’s passed the Bucks Fizz and is onto the shots. Has already used the term ‘Christmas bantz’ non-ironically, and been yelled at for it by Little.

Little: Crying in the corner over Its A Wonderful Life.

Goodsir: Just wants to have a chill day with a bit of fancy food, but somehow gets press-ganged into helping with the food, laying out the table, inviting the rest of the crew to dinner, organising timings, and planning out the TV schedule. Honestly, he just wants to watch the Doctor Who special.

Irving: You think he’s just going to be the guy getting enthusiastic about old carols and going to church early in the morning, and then someone whips out the Scrabble board and suddenly we see a whole different side to him. Blood is very nearly spilled.

Hodgson: Belts out the traditional carols loud. Is also the only one who Irving forgives for sneaking snacks into church because at least he shares it throughout the sermon.

Jopson: Get The Fuck Out Of His Kitchen.

Bridgens: The only one allowed in Jopson’s kitchen.

Hartnell: Gives the best presents and is very conscientious about recycling the wrapping paper afterwards.

Tozer: That one guy that insists on a post-lunch football match, then sulks when the lieutenants beat him at cards. Insists he’s never going to play with them ever again, then promptly demands another hand thirty seconds later.

McDonald: If you take off your paper hat before Christmas lunch is over, he’s telling you off.

Hickey: Despite being on the rota somehow gets out of both lunch prep and washing up, but spends the rest of the day napping on the sofa because ‘it’s such a long day, isn’t it?’

Silna: Doesn’t celebrate Christmas but wears the festive knitwear given to her by Goodsir on her nature walk of the day.

[red-riot-unbreakable-heart]

Stress Relief | Katsuki Bakugo x Reader

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Katsuki Bakugo x AFAB Reader 💋

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Romance, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: A quick unedited one shot where the reader is stressed and Katsuki decides to help her de-stress :) Nothing complicated here, just sexy vibes.

CW: MDNI!, A18+, kissing, romance, sexual tension, spicy scenes, fingering, lemon, Smut, Dirty Talk, Hurt/Comfort

It’s dark in your dorm when Katsuki Bakugo slips through the unlocked door. You’re starting to fall asleep when you see the door open a crack, the light from the hallway illuminating his pale features with its glow.

You’re exhausted and not in the mood to talk to him, not after the day you had. You glare at him from your bed as he quietly shuts the door behind you.

“Come on, babe. Don’t give me that look.” He groans, padding over to your bed and slipping beneath the covers beside you. “You know that I can’t take it easy on you when we spar. You don’t get special treatment in class just because you’re my girlfriend.”

You turn away from him to face the wall, ignoring him. Not only had Katsuki hit you with an over the top, uncalled for special move in training – it was a move you had never seen before. You had thought the two of you shared absolutely everything. You were almost at the end of your third year at UA, chasing graduation. For the past year and a half, you two had been daydreaming about starting a hero agency together. If Katsuki had hid an insane special move from you only to bring it out in a simple training match…what else was he hiding?

“I know that look.” He says as he wraps his arms around you. He’s so strong and sturdy you can’t help but melt into him. “I didn’t tell you about the move because I wanted it to be a surprise. I thought you would be more excited about it, honestly. Come on, babe. Don’t be mad.”

You sigh, your whole body sore from where he walloped you with his overenthusiastic explosion earlier that day. Finally, you acknowledge him. “I’ve showed you all of my special moves – even the secret ones. And yet…you kept this insane move a secret even from me. Sometimes I don’t think you trust me.”

He’s quiet for a moment, rolling your words around in his mind. When he does speak, there’s a tinge of hurt in his voice. A vulnerability that only a few people will ever hear form Katsuki Bakugo. “Babe…I didn’t realize I was keeping it a secret. I was really excited to show you. I don’t want you to feel like I don’t trust you. You’re the only person who knows absolutely all of me. You gotta believe that.” He squeezes his arms lightly around you, reinforcing the words.

You huff with frustration. “Yeah, I know, okay? I’m just really achy and pissed off that you decided to debut some flashy move while fighting me. Why couldn’t you unleash it on Kaminari or Kirishima?”

He buries his face in the back of your neck. “I was tryin’ to impress ya, is all.”

“I’d be a lot more impressed if you didn’t blast the hell out of me during a training exercise.” You try to scoot away from him and end up stretching out your muscles at an odd angle. You cry out softly at the pain.

“Did I hurt ya that bad?” He says, concern lacing his words. “You’re made of such tough stuff…but maybe I took things a little too far in the ring.” His hands run across your body soothingly, trying to rub out any aches and pains that he may have caused during your sparring.

“It’s fine. Honestly, it was a really stressful day and your new ‘special move’ was just the icing on top of the cake. I just need it to be the weekend already.” You sigh out. The past few weeks have been so stressful at school and at your work study. You’re tired and overworked, and you could really just use a break. Katsuki unleashing the full force of his explosion hell on you in class was definitely not something you were mentally or physically prepared for – all you want to do now is rest.

“I know you’ve been real stressed lately. Sorry if I added to it.” He mumbles into your shoulder, leaving light kisses along your skin. You shiver when you feel the tip of his tongue dart out to trace a shape on the sensitive skin of your clavicle.

“Hey…you know what we haven’t done in a while?” His voice suddenly brightens and his hand snakes down to grip your stomach lightly over your shirt. “I can think of a great way to give you a good dose of stress relief.” He smooths his hand down the plane of your stomach and finds the hem of your shirt, dipping underneath the thin fabric so that he can fan out his fingers across your delicate skin. “Let me take your stress away with my fingertips, sweetheart.” He begins to run his fingers back and forth under the waistband of your sweatpants. The sensual touch causes a sparking sensation to gather down in your core. Everywhere he touches, goose bumps pop up on your skin.

“…Kats.” You say, warningly. The walls of the dorm are notoriously thin, and you don’t want to be on the receiving end of one of Mr. Aizawa’s lectures about safe sex, creating a culture of respect, the dorm rules, etc.

“Just keep quiet. I’ll make it quick as I can. No one ever has to know.” He leans in and starts to plant slow, open mouthed kisses along your neck, his fingers dipping lower and into dangerous territory. He brings the palm of his hand to rest right above your panties and slowly starts to circle your clit from over the delicate cotton fabric.

“Oh.” You breathe out, your body coming back to life as Katsuki touches you. He’s always so direct, so sure of himself. His approach to sex is reflective of that – don’t beat around the bush, just get to the heart of the pleasure.

“Yeah?” He whispers wetly before nipping at your earlobe. “You like when I touch you here?”

“Duh.” You hiss through your teeth. Katsuki pulls his hand away from your pussy and you almost cry out at the loss of contact. He brings his ring and middle fingers to his mouth and sucks, coating them in a thick sheen of saliva. He then moves to touch you again, this time sliding his hand beneath your panties for better access. When his warm, wet fingers hit your clit – your body absolutely lights up. All aches and pains are gone – its just you, Katsuki, and his magical fingers.

He starts out slow, circling around your clit until your grinding your butt back into him. He loves this – spooning you while he gets you off. He loves a good power dynamic, and this is no exception. In this position, Katsuki has most of the control. He likes that you know it, too.

He circles your clit lazily for a while, letting you get a feel for it. As you start to buck into him, he decides to speed things up, dipping his fingers low so he can gather some slick from your entrance before sliding them back up to work more on your clit. Within seconds you’re begging for him to get inside you, and he obliges – slipping a single digit into you slowly while giving your clit the attention it deserves with his thumb. He lets you hump his hand, finding the angles that work best with your body and causing you to see stars.

It’s when he slips a second finger into you that you start to get close. You feel his cock harden against the curve of your ass, eager to please. He starts leaving a trail of hot hickies along your shoulder – sucking in your sensitive skin between his sharp teeth and then kissing over marks he leaves behind. The combination of sensations is far too much, and you feel yourself get closer and closer to falling off the edge. The way Katsuki's fingers are slipping, sliding, stretching...it's far too much. You want to groan in pleasure, but you keep your mouth shut as best you can.

His fingers pump in and out of you with practiced skill, and you clap a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from moaning out his name for all of the dorm to hear.

“Kats!” You say in a muffled voice from behind your hand. “Kats, I’m close.”

That’s all he needs to hear. He brings his fingers out of you to focus on your clit for a bit, drawing circles and triangles and figure eights and whatever other fuckin’ shapes he knows how to make around your sensitive bundle of nerves until your legs are shaking. Then, when he feels he’s gotten you hot and bothered enough, he slides two fingers deep into your cunt, flicking them in an attempt to hit your G spot.

And holy shit he does.

Katsuki hits that delicious spongy spot deep inside you and your body jerks with pleasure. He smirks at the reaction, proud of himself for figuring you out so quickly. He hits the spot again and again and again until your pussy tenses up and falls into one of the finest orgasms you’ve had in your life. You cum so easily, your whole body shaking as he takes you apart with nothing but his fingertips. The waves of the orgasm hit you full force, your body tingling and jerking in time with his targeted movements. He lets you ride out your orgasm, mumbling quiet praise into your ear as you grind through your high.

“That’s my good girl, so perfect for me. Cumming on my fingertips so nicely. Fuck babe. Fuck you’re gorgeous. Keep cumming for me please.”

His words are just as sexy as his hand down your pants, and you can’t believe how lucky you are to have landed someone as hot as Katsuki.

When you finally finish, he slides his hand out of your panties and pulls you close. He plants a hundred kisses across your neck and shoulder, happy to have been of service. You lay in silence for a moment – you catching your breath, him glowing with pride at a job well done.

“Did I manage to take away some of your stress?” He whispers cheekily. The damn idiot is so proud of himself, as always.

“S-sure.” You try to sound calm, cool and collected but the break in your voice is enough. Katsuki knows that he achieved exactly what he set out to do. You melt back into his chest and start to doze. What a day it's been! You're too tired to speak anymore, but you manage to squeak out: “Thanks babe. Love you.”

“Love ya, too.” He says, settling in under the covers and planting a last kiss on your back. “But I’m still not taking it easy on ya during training.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Is the last thing you say before drifting off into a sound sleep.

[elioslover]

Ray of Sunshine - Grumpy!Harry x Reader.

Premise: Harry has a tendency to be moody, but what happens when he meets his match? this one's especially for @harrysonlylover 💞

Other Writing

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: She/her pronouns. 3rd person.

⛅️

Harry’s car skids recklessly into the almost-full parking lot, dismissing the concept of carefulness in favour of confronting the driver behind the wheel of a sunshine-yellow ‘60s VW beetle, who had pulled into the lot moments before- which should have never happened because it had been behind him, to begin with. 

As if his mood hadn’t been less than pleasant for the past month, what really set him over the edge was the lack of apology from the said sunshine yellow driver, who only honked his way and proceeded to turn into the parking lot as they seemed to have always intended. 

With agitation, Harry neatly swerves into the nearest parking space, barely managing to stay in the lines as he reaches over and snatches his work satchel from the passenger seat, slinging it over his shoulder as he slides from the seat and exits his vehicle. 

In hot pursuit, his long legs help him catch up to the sunshine car just in time for the driver to exit, her back turned to him, leaning in through the open door to collect her items. 

By the time she turns around and lazily swings the door shut Harry is peering over her, wearing a black hoodie, brows furrowed, his body tense. 

She recognises him in an instant- it’s hard not to remember the face of a man who is scowling so sinfully as he hit the hooter for an unnecessary amount of time- all because he couldn't be bothered to indicate. 

“Did you not see my blinker?” He grumbles. 

“Clearly not.” She torts, her face still and expressionless. 

“You’re a moron. It was on.” Each word is more annunciated than the last. 

“It wasn’t.” She shrugs, slinging the straps of her bag over her shoulder. 

“You clearly need glasses.” Harry huffs in disbelief. 

“Maybe if you weren’t blasting your music so loud you would have heard that it wasn’t on.” 

Harry feels a wave of shame wash over him at the idea of her seeing him getting a little too into his playlist, in turn, his chest simmers with defensiveness and deflection, 

“Your driving fucking sucks…” He says, getting no response only encourages him to rant further, “And your car looks like it’s hanging on by its last thread, no wonder you’re a bad driver.” He gestures to her car with a look of distaste, “It’s a piece of junk.”

She adores her car, it is not only special but holds the heart of many fond times, adventures, people, and sometimes just conversation. The car sure has been through the wringer- in age alone- but she can hardly afford another, and she certainly doesn't want one. 

So, she tries not to find offence in this grumpy strangers declaration of her ‘piece of junk’ and does her best to take a deep breath before responding in concession- though her agitation has morphed into sarcasm and it seeps through your sentences,

“Okay, sorry Mister Mercedes. Guess I’ll be more careful next time.”

Harry didn't know what he wanted her to say, but it certainly wasn’t anything along those lines. So with an eye roll and the reminder that he’s close to being late for work, Harry starts to walk away and points out matter-of-factly, 

“Yeah fuckin right, you’re an accident waiting to happen.” 

“Asshole.”

“I heard that.” 

He turns on his heels to see her as calm as ever, an amused sparkle in her eyes, a smirk playing at her lips,

“What ya gonna do? Chew me out some more?”

Harry stared seethingly at the rude and reckless driver who couldn't care less about his mood, her focus was on gathering all the necessary items for whatever task she so desperately had to complete that she was willing to almost kill him. 

He meanly mutters, “Have a fantastic day," before walking off for good, dreading work and in a worse mood than ever. 

⛅️

Harry has an hour for lunch, grateful for the assortment of cafes and restaurants scattered within the city square, along with plenty of boutiques, art deco, and antiques to name a few. 

Most days, he is likely to grab a sandwich or coffee- or both- from the restaurant directly across from his office block, but that would be the third time this week and Harry can’t fathom facing any of the staff in fear of becoming a ‘regular.’ 

He meanders around the centre and stakes out the array of food options displayed in each glass window. 

Just when he thinks he may settle on some early afternoon sushi, Harry spots a bright object from the corner of his vision, his head snapping with such haste he must have strained a muscle. 

Parked directly in front of a shoe boutique is his notorious enemy; the sunshine car. And leaning back against a pillar just outside of the store is the bad driver from behind the wheel. She is halfway through smoking a cigarette, her other hand occupied by scrolling through her phone. 

As if his scowl was so strong that it was sent straight to her, causing her to sense his presence, she looked up from her phone and smiled mischievously at the realization of her new enemy's arrival. 

She tucks her phone into the pocket of her black slacks, taking a puff of her ciggie, a cloud of smoke mixing in with her greeting,  

“Ah, Mister Mercedes.” 

Harry nears but notices his frustration thicken with each step into her space. He crosses his arms across his chest, 

“I recognised your car.” 

“Oh, that old piece of junk?” She asks with nonchalance. 

“Yes.”

“Bothered you so much that you decided to come over here?” Her pout is melting with pure mischief. 

“I’m sorry, okay.” Harry concedes, but it doesn't come off as anything but frustrated so his tone softens in volume and intention, “It was a rough day.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” His brows furrow.

“Yeah, okay.” 

“Fucking insufferable.” He mutters.

His frustration slips over like that of water on a duck, her mood has been calm all day, and his attitude wasn’t likely to spoil it- right? With another puff, she ponders aloud, 

“Is there anything else I can help you with?”

There is a moment where Harry almost ponders the purity of his intentions, but dismisses it and chooses to interrogate her- he is far too invested in finding out more about his enemy,

“Do you work here?” 

“Obviously.” She shrugs with the softest of scoffs. 

“Hope you’re a better employee than a driver.” 

Now he’s starting to get under her skin. this is her hour for lunch, why can’t it be spent in peace? She does her damndest to maintain a cool demeanour as she asks again,

“Why are you still here?” 

“To apologize, Jesus.” Harry doesn't mean to snap, but neither of them is surprised when he does. His juxtaposition of words and tone render his sorry useless- they both know it.

He tries to reason with her, explaining his frustration, “And all you said was okay.”

She peers over at him incredulously, repeatedly intrigued by the attitude of this man who has gone out of his way to make an enemy out of her, 

“What do you want me to say,” her tone facetious and fiery, “I forgive you, we all have bad days, sometimes we take it out on strangers to avoid hurting those close to us, you’re probably actually a great guy?” 

“I- yes.” 

“Well now that I’ve said it, you can go on your way.” 

Harry feels stunned like she just let him walk out into the snow knowing that there was soon to be a blizzard, he can’t reason with her- nor does he care to at this point, 

“Jesus. I take back my apology.” He grumbles, hands raised in defeat, his head shaking as he scoffs sourly, “Such a mature little thing, huh?” 

She ignores everything but the last sentence, slowly enjoying the opportunities he’s giving her to indulge in going out of her way to increase his already extreme grumpiness. 

Once more, Harry curses out under his breath and with zero intent to say another word, begins to walk away from her. 

Pulling the phone from her pocket, ready to continue her prior activities, she chuckles and calls over his shoulder,

“Bye, Mister Mercedes.” 

⛅️

It has likely been less than a week since their last interaction and Harry’s enemy has decided to treat herself to a proper lunch- sitting down at an actual table in an actual restaurant for a change. 

However, she underestimated her fitness levels and loosely accounted for a good portion of the time her lunch break consisted of. By the time she arrived and got back to her own store, there would be less than twenty minutes left to sit at a table. 

Takeout would have to do, and once she has placed her order, she waits off to the side of the main counter, waiting to both pay and be gifted with grub. 

The food comes quicker than predicted and with excitement she thinks can't be topped, she reaches for her wallet, but the hostess stops her in her tracks and gestures to one of the tables scattered throughout the eatery and informs her, 

“The man at table four already paid for your order.”

It’s her sworn enemy, packing up the contents of his belongings before taking a final sip of his nearly-empty Americano. Harry doesn’t acknowledge her.

“What’s with this guy?” She ponders aloud before making the swift and frustrated decision to go over to his table.

He is already standing up to leave, still not looking her way, and with a bough of confusion, she finally speaks up, 

“What’s this about?” 

“Strange way of saying thank you, Sunshine.” 

Harry frowns and she doesn't enjoy the way it makes her feel, giddy and begging for more opportunities to bother him, 

“Thank you.”

“Whatever. You’re still a pest.” He grumbles, almost bumping his shoulder into her own as he slips past and hastily exits the restaurant.

⛅️

Harry walks into her store with a better attitude than he has in a long time. Things were starting to look up, but one little thing was still bothering him, and she was staring right at him with a scowl that gave him a run for his money. 

Anyhow, he’s here for a reason; an attempt to smooth over the rocky start that was more than likely his fault. And he hopes she’ll take his apology this time. 

Harry approaches, and with each step, he gets a better view of her distinct frown, lips turned down, eyes quickly turning to loathsome slits. She is no longer leaning across the front counter with laxation, her body stiffening to attention, her hand pressed firmly to her hip. 

She couldn’t fathom anything could have worsened her week, and here he was, presumably planning on sucking away whatever remained of her soul for his own sick gain. With a chest simmering with chaos, she asks with incredulity, 

“Seriously?” 

Harry blinks back, a little awestruck, ignoring the pang of disappointment that greets his heart when she seems to confirm her distaste for his presence, he embraces his mildly peppy mood and remarks playfully, 

“Well hello there, Sunshine.” 

“This is not the time.” She snaps.  

“Aw, is Miss Ray-of-Sunlight in a mood today?” He coos. 

“Mmph.” 

She huffs, hardly meeting his eyes, and Harry quite likes how well she emulates his usually grumpy demeanour, he wonders how similar they might be, decides to find out, 

“What happened?” He meets her at the counter, lazily resting his body against the counter courtesy of the elbow he balances on. He leans a tad nearer, a tantalizing smile playing at his lips as he teases,

“Did you almost crash into someone with your junkyard on wheels?” 

“I’d rather drive this than parade about like an absolute dick in an overpriced German car.” Her tone drips with what Harry feels is both disappointment and disgust. 

He feels frozen under her words like his Sunshine had just revealed herself to be Medusa, a sly Succubus. 

Now what does he do? His confidence sits on the floor with his converse, his sentences have turned to slosh in his skull and she is staring at him with such distaste that Harry certainly won’t be saying a word. 

Stunned to silence, he leans away from her, settling a safe space between their bodies as his features morph from friendly to confused. This only seems to increase her frustration and she fiery snaps, 

“Why won't you stop fucking pestering me?”

Harry subconsciously steps back, straightening up and stacking his defensiveness around his skin like a shield. He has no power to prevent a petty eye roll, 

“Oh, please. This is no treat for me either, Sunshine.”

“Are you kidding?” She gets ready to leave him standing alone in the middle of her own store. 

Harry panics and blurts, “Hear me out!” It comes off more desperate than he would have liked. But she has stopped and addresses him with crossed arms, waiting for his next words. Harry is in autopilot mode, more nonsense spilling from his lips, “I- want to make it up to you?” 

“Why, so you can clear your conscience?” She scoffs with sass. 

“Sure, whatever you say, smart mouth.” Harry has regressed and reflects her unpleasant temperament.

“Go away.” 

Their gazes are glued by the calamity of their conversation, tied together with frustration that feels impossible to unwind. 

Harry just wants to tell her why he’s here in the first place, but what’s the point? His presence is evidently worsening her day. 

And though the soft curiosity in him wants to know why she seems so down, Harry’s focus is returning to the ruin of his afternoon. So, in true fashion, he flails his arms in disappointed defeat and turns his back on her with a wonderful version of goodbye,

“Fine. Fuck it. Have a miserable one, Sunshine.” 

“Likewise, dickhead.” She dismisses, grateful his mood is now as miserable as her own. 

⛅️

When Harry finally exits the glass entrance to the bottom floor, relief rushing over him now that work is over, he’s hardly paying any attention to anything or anyone, already scanning his phone for notifications. But then he sees his cloudy sunshine leaning against a wall, arms crossed, no car in sight. 

He ponders pretending to not have noticed- walked away and gone about his eve. That would never happen though, he wants- needs to see her again- his stomach stays unsettled the deeper their discourse divulged. 

He heads over to her with unnecessary haste, scolding himself as he comes to a halt in front of her. She has been aware of him from the minute he exited the building, already prepared for his arrival. 

His body waits expectantly as she eyes him up and down, a cheeky glint in her eyes and when Harry understands that she is in no rush to speak up, his undying impatience rears its head, 

“What do you want?” 

“For you to stop being so grumpy.” She shrugs.

“Rich coming from you.” He mutters, but when she attempts to turn her back on him as they had done so many times before, more words rush out, “Okay, okay. What’s up?”

“I’ve decided to hear you out.” 

“Gee, how kind of you.” 

“I cannot imagine how anyone deals with you on a daily basis.” 

Harry doesn’t take it as an insult, he is fueled forward by the fact that she might be willing to listen,

“I’m actually very likeable.” 

“Do you want me to hear you out or not?” 

He thinks for a moment, leaving her to ponder what in her right mind caused her to take a walk to see him in the first place. 

But, he wants to do this as… right as their attitudes might approve of, so he bravely wraps his palm atop her own, gently gesturing for her to follow and she allows him to drag her along. He encourages, 

“C’mon.” 

“What?” She asks but proceeds to let him guide her. 

“It’s almost six, let’s go eat.” He informs, one step ahead of her as they take the short trip to his regular restaurant

“That is the last thing I want to do with you.” She grumbles. 

“I’ll pay.” He soothes. 

“Fine.” 

Harry keeps her hand cradled in his own, even as they enter the restaurant and he asks the waiter for a table for two. In fact, he only lets go to pull out a chair for her. 

He asks what drink she prefers and if she’d be open to splitting a plate of fries with him. 

But she has been eyeing him with suspicion, and once it’s clear that this won’t waver until she confronts it, the waiter leaves and allows her to question, 

“Why are you being nicer than usual?” 

“Can you stop being snarky for even a second?” He nearly snaps. 

“Ah, Mister Mercedes is back.” She nods as if it were what she had expected all along. 

“No,- Jesus fuck.” Harry feels desperate again, scooching his chair forward, his arms folded across the table, leaning in to ensure her unwavering attention,

 “I- almost got into another accident the day we met.” He sighs out with shame, ready to be met with warranted ridicule. Her expression has already turned to one of bemusement. But he’s not done yet,

“Turns out my left blinker bulb burned out... so...”

She tilts back and finally relaxes into her chair, a gleeful grin spreading to her sparkling eyes, 

“Sweet vindication.” 

“Brat.”

“Dick.” 

Harry has little confidence to spare, now that his confession is out in the open, he is in the dark. 

Her demeanour has slightly diverted swells of amusement and satisfaction dancing along the tabletop.

“Just wanted to try and make it up to you.” He shrugs earnestly, unfortunately having to rely on her newfound information to dictate her next reaction. 

“Make it up to me?” 

He can’t convince himself to meet her eyes, his lowering to study the rings donning his fingers, fearful of humiliation, but not enough to waste the opportunity sitting across from him, looking overjoyed with sweet satisfaction, and far too endearing for him to resist,

“Mm. I didn’t want you to think I was just a grump but…” Her face seems to soften and he feels it safe to continue, “Been tryna ask you out on a date. since.” 

“A date?” 

“Yeah, a date.” 

“Are you crazy?” Her features return to one of confusion, bewildered at his seemingly sudden turnaround, “I don’t like you.”

“Well, I like you.”

“Forgive me for finding that hard to believe.” 

It’s true- that he likes you, and that it’s hard to believe. He likes the surprise shifting his statement. 

“I do.” He nods as if it’s been obvious from the start, “And your attitude, and your silly yellow car.” He admits with bashful fondness, “Guess I hoped we could start over?” 

“Sunshine.” She says. 

“Hm?”

He ponders aloud and it’s her turn to lean forward, stretching her arms across the table. Her gaze has returned to one of sternness, 

“My car. Her name is Sunshine.” She allows Harry a moment to soak up the coincidental information. “She is a piece of junk, but I love her, so shut up about my baby.”

Harry’s head tilts back when a bough of laughter suddenly leaves his lips- amused and even more attracted than he thought possible, he nods along in agreement and chuckles, “Fair enough.” 

There is an elongated pause- at least Harry perceives it to be- as she thinks over the oddly pleasurable past few weeks of finding herself in the presence of a grumpy but playful man. 

So, she gives him one last good look over before deciding to openly give in, 

“You have been a consistent pain in my ass.” He pouts cutely, and she goes on, “Guess we’ll have to find out if there’s more to you.” 

He smiles at that, his head and heart finally settling at the promise of better nights of sleep to follow. Moreso, he’d like to find out more about this so-called Sunshine who seems to simultaneously rile him up and calm him down with ease, 

“‘M name’s Harry, by the way.” He extends a hand.

“Y/n.” Her palm meets his eagerly.

-

Here we go children, this one was really fun to write, I hope it meets your expectations! - Em. xo 💞 this one's especially for @harrysonlylover 💞

[sundrop-writes]

if George walked in on you changing...

Word Count: 990

Harry Potter Masterlist

Warnings: this is set during Deathly Hallows when everyone is preparing for Bill and Fleur's wedding; the reader and George are not in a relationship, but they are friends with a spark who have been flirty with each other for a long time; the reader is described as afab and is mentioned to be wearing a dress (changing into one); the general tone of this is steamy with no explicit smut; George stares at the reader while she is undressed but the reader likes it; mentions of George's injury (his ear being blasted off); mentions of sex; general flirtiness and sexual tension.

A/N: I saw a bunch of tiktoks using the prompt 'how the Harry Potter characters would react to accidentally walking in on you changing' and idk why that was such a thing on tiktok, but it made me think of this. Let me know if you want to see this trope done with other characters and I'll probably do it because it was really fun. Also I am trying out this new formatting style because this is such a short fic. Anyway, hope you guys like it!

...

“Oi! Is it time for-?” 

You heard the very distinct voice and felt a swish of air as the door was thrown open before you could shout at him to go away. 

Instinctively, you held the fabric of your dress against your body to cover yourself as much as possible. But it seemed that you didn’t have much luck. When you looked over your shoulder toward the doorway, you realised that you were almost entirely exposed - your back and your underwear completely on display, the makeshift cover only working to hide your breasts from prying eyes. 

You had been caught changing from one of your dress options into the other - absolutely indecisive as you were. Ginny had warned you that the lock on her bedroom door was ‘crap’ because everything in the house was so old and worn down. But you had been satisfied when it clicked, thinking that it was secure enough for you to strip down and get into your outfit for the wedding. 

But you were in so much of a rush that you didn’t notice the door drifting out of its frame due to the loose nature of the ‘lock’ - you were too busy thinking about everything you had to do that day, how you still had to put some finishing touches on the wedding cake and help Hermione with her hair. 

And now you were standing there - wearing nothing but your lacy, revealing underwear, barely covering your front with the fabric of your dress pressed against you while George stood in the doorway with his hand poised on the doorknob, staring you down entirely unabashed. He had not an ounce of shame as his eyes hungrily drank you in, and the longer he looked at you, the more attractive it made you feel. 

“Sorry.” George said quietly, not taking his eyes off you for a moment. 

Of course, he didn’t seem so sorry. 

“I thought Mum was in here. She - uh - she mentioned wanting to change my bandages before tonight.” He added on, gesturing toward the thick wad of cotton that was held to the side of his head with a headband made out of gauze. 

As much as Fred had joked about it - George was still definitely the better looking twin, even down one ear. 

Maybe it was because you had always thought that, a distinct attraction toward George always bubbling under the surface whenever you were around him. 

It was likely something about his quiet confidence. The fact that Fred was louder, always flirted with girls boldly even if he wasn’t necessarily interested in them. George was more reserved, and he could speak volumes with a single look and have you blushing with a few simple words. And from what you knew, he had only ever been that way with you. So feeling special in his eyes did add a lot to your attraction toward him. 

You loved the fact that he didn’t hide his attraction toward you or get shy when you flirted with him. Especially not in this moment, when his eyes raked over every detail of you, not trying in the slightest to hide his intentions as his lustful gaze looked you over. You became heated as you watched his eyes drink you in - from the side of your breast being accidentally squeezed by your arms while holding your dress against your body; to the gentle, natural curves of your side and the plushness of your stomach peeking out. 

His gaze definitely lingered around your ass. He almost couldn’t believe the fact that you were wearing black, lacy, see-through knickers - just like how he had imagined you in every single fantasy of his. (But this was so much better than a fantasy somehow. You were so much better.) 

“You could close the door anytime now.” You said, your voice light and cordial. 

You weren’t mad at him for staring. If anything, you were heavily resisting the urge to invite him in and push him down on the bed. (Which would have been intensely rude because it wasn’t even your bed, so that was one reason not to.) On top of the fact that anything you cooked up in your dirty mind would have massively derailed the packed, busy schedule for the day. You still had to help Hermione get ready and then go downstairs to help with some flower arrangements - unfortunately, fucking George Weasley’s brains out was not on that schedule. 

“Lacy knickers for a wedding?” He questioned, the usual laughter budding through his voice. “You aren’t… expecting anything, are you?” 

“My knickers are none of your business, George.” You told him with a chuckle. 

“Hmm. S’pose I’d like to make ‘em my business.” He replied, sticking his tongue out the corner of his mouth in a way that made you want to bite it - if simply to spite his cockiness. 

“Get out,” You chuckled quietly, knowing that you needed to get ready, that you didn’t have time to indulge any of this. “Go on, go!” 

To emphasise the point, you balled up the fabric of your dress and sharply threw it at him. He let out a bright laugh when it hit him in the middle of the chest and then fell at his feet, leaving you completely exposed to him. Of course, George then began ogling your tits with no more grace than a common caveman. 

“George!” You squealed, laughter evident in your voice, making no effort to cover yourself. 

You liked the attention too much - why try to hide from it? 

“Right, going,” He said, finally closing the door behind him with a wink. 

A warmth curled over you, and it made you flustered and dizzy as you moved to change into the outfit you had officially decided upon. You knew that it had very little to do with the August weather and everything to do with your attraction to that Weasley that had been plaguing you for a long time now.