#he splashes about so pathetically the water gets in his eyes and his nose he begs to be let out

[serethereal]

r learning how to swim is something that can be so personal

[pseudowho]

Full

Nanami Kento treats his pregnant wife like the goddess she is.

Warnings: 18+, relentlessly fluffy sex

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You were thoroughly fed-up. About as pregnant as you could possibly be, you spent your days in permanent tiredness; belly too heavy and round, and hips too sore to be comfortable in any position overnight, you knew your wonderful husband Kento would take the aches and pains from you if he could.

Lying in bed on your side, pillows wedged under your bump, between your legs, and behind your back, Kento reached a reassuring hand out to stroke your waist as you grumbled to yourself; a full hour in bed now and no chance at sleep. Holding your legs together to support your aching hips, you heaved yourself up sideways, feeling your bones and muscles creak in protest. With a lump in your throat and tears burning in your eyes, you sat on the side of the bed to gather yourself.

You heard the bed creak behind you, and soft footsteps padded round the bedroom towards you. Warm, large hands cupped your cheeks and temples, stroking you gently. You leaned forwards, resting your nose and lips against his lower tummy, nuzzling and planting soft kisses there.

"I'm sorry. You can't get any sleep with me thrashing around. I can go to the spare room if you like," you reassured Kento. You felt his disapproval rumble through his abdomen.

"Don't ever apologise. I'm sorry you're so uncomfortable. For what it's worth, you're doing an amazing job. Not long left, I'm sure. We can get you through it. I'll run you a bath."

You hummed your approval, his hand lingering in yours as he walked towards the bathroom. You heard various containers being clicked, and the bath water beginning to run, before Kento headed back to you, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. He grasped your hands and helped you to stand, before helping you to remove your pyjama bottoms.

You felt pathetic, useless, ugly, watching your gorgeous husband help you undress. As if reading your mind, he kissed his way playfully up your legs, blew a raspberry on your bump, and pulled you to him.

"You are just as lovely, if not lovelier than you've ever been. Watching you grow our baby has been a total delight and I want you to know that I still find you completely irresistible." You scoffed at him, dubious, puffy-ankled and tearful. He grasped your chin gently and pulled you to look up at him.

"I mean it," he said, voice low and so sincere you felt your eyes prick with tears. Sniffling, you rubbed your nose. "Come on. Your bath should be about ready."

Kento led you to the bath, and held your hands as you stepped in and lowered your body, sighing as the almost too hot water sank into your aching hips. Letting out a satisfied hum, you lay back in the scented water, looking at your swollen breasts and belly rising like islands out of the water. Kento watched you fondly for a moment, before slipping away to the kitchen. You faintly heard the click of the kettle, and the clinking of mugs.

Eyes closed, and slowly inhaling the steam, you watched your belly roll and jump, as your baby tumbled inside it. Stroking your tummy, you didn't notice Kento returning with a cup of tea for you. He knelt by the side of the bath, chin on one arm, as he gently splashed water over your moving bump. When his heavy hand rested atop your bump, fingers tip-tapping, your baby stopped as if listening. Kento chuckled.

"Only moving for mama again? Hello, sweetie. We can't wait to meet you." A moment of still, before Kento received a pronounced thump against his fingers. Kento continued to softly brush water over your belly and breasts, watching you intently, utterly besotted, believing with absolute certainty that he would walk through fire for you and your unborn baby.

You felt Kento's eyes bore into you, and you shifted uncomfortably, still feeling like a shadow of yourself, body taken over by something wholly undesirable. However, judging by Kento's gradually darkening eyes as he scanned your body, wet and full, he certainly did not feel the same. You felt your heart squeeze as his fingertips grazed ever so lightly against your nipples, which instantly tightened and pebbled. Kento's mouth watered.

It hadn't been his intention to become so aroused by you. His sole priority had been your comfort, to make you feel good in your body, but he felt his pyjamas growing tighter and tighter as he watched your body in the water, a Romantic-era goddess who deserved to be awash in flowers and adoration. Biting his lip, Kento mentally shook himself off, not at all wanting to bother you with his desire, knowing you were uncomfortable and exhausted, until--

"Kento, I...feel like as much as I want you right now, I just...I--" you hesitated, stumbling on your words as he frowned lightly at you. You reached a hand over the lip of the bath to stroke his bare chest as you continued, "All I mean is, in my current state, there is nothing I could possibly do to make...to make me...an attractive experience for you." You finished weakly, your words falling flat as Kento's dark eyes continued to stare you down, now hungry and, apparently, stubbornly determined to prove you wrong.

Kento hummed to himself again, remaining, as always, a man of few words. "I wish you could see yourself through my eyes," he mused, "because all I see is the love of my life, beautifully wet, carrying my baby, in a body I can taste in my dreams, telling me she's undesirable, while it's all I can do not to lift you out of this bath and sink my tongue and cock into you until you're too busy calling my name to continue thinking something so ridiculous."

You bit your lip, thighs squeezing together as you felt a familiar heat pool between your legs. Kento leaned into you, kissing you deeply, slipping his tongue into you and you gasped as he moaned at your taste. Without breaking contact with you, he reached down to the end of the bath, grabbing the shower head and adjusting its setting. You felt a warm water jet rush against your thighs, as he slowly raised it to the throbbing ache between your legs.

Your head fell back, mouth open in a silent cry and hands gripping the sides of the bath. The hot pulse of water on your aching clit hit you instantly and intensely, and Kento leaned half into the bath, taking your nipple between his teeth and holding your hips still with another hand. You whined and whimpered, hands tangling into Kento's hair, completely wordless with pleasure as he moved the shower head in small circles around your clit, licking your sore nipple.

Your tummy tightened almost painfully, as you felt your orgasm rapidly approaching, a violent one, overstimulated by the fierce rush of water and Kento's mouth on your sensitive nipples. Kento talked you through your pleasure, voice low and soft as velvet.

"Are you going to cum? I won't deny you. You've earned it. I'll make you fall apart a hundred times if that's what it takes for you to understand what you do to me." You gasped, hands furiously clutching his hair, his shoulders, his chest, your hip gripped tightly by him as you bucked and writhed in the water.

Kento pressed the showerhead firmly against your clit. "Cum," he ordered, and you shouted your pleasure as your orgasm hit you like a train, completely blinded by bliss, face screwed up and whimpering.

Throwing the showerhead aside and turning off the taps, Kento reached fully into the water and lifted you as if you weighed nothing, nose to nose with you before draping you onto your bed. Before you could protest about wet sheets, Kento dropped straight to his knees, bodily dragged your bum to the edge of the bed and placed your knees over his shoulders. You had barely a moment to gather your thoughts before Kento plunged his tongue between your folds and licked a fat stripe from entrance to clit.

You bucked, gasping, hypersensitive and senses on high alert. You craned your neck desperately as you felt Kento begin to suck on your clit, but were completely unable to see him past your bump. Your toes curled against his shoulder blades, hands reaching out, desperate to ground yourself with the pleasure overwhelming you, your second orgasm rapidly approaching, and you sobbed your pleasure into the dark warmth of your bedroom. As your hand reached down, Kento's hand reached up and his fingers laced with yours. You could have cried at the sweet intimacy of his thumb stroking your palm, as you came, crying out and twisting, calling Kento's name into the dark.

Kento lapped at you like a starving man, one hand already freeing his cock from the tight confines of his pyjamas. He couldn't help giving himself long strokes, squeezing at the tip and feeling pre-cum leak over his hand as his thumb swiped across his slit. He shivered, involuntarily groaning into your pussy, and he felt your thighs twitch around his head at the vibrations. By this point, he knew you could barely see straight, panting and gripping his hand, your anchor in the mist.

The thought of you writhing with pleasure above him spurred him on further, and, reluctantly letting go of his desperate length, he pressed two fingers deep inside your pussy, wet and fluttering, instantly able to locate the spongy spot inside you which would send you over the edge again.

You were a mess at this point, tears of overstimulation streaking down into your ears, gripping Kento's hand like a lifeline. You hadn't allowed him to pleasure you like this for weeks, feeling like your body didn't belong to you anymore, and guilty towards your unborn baby for feeling this way. So long had passed that you hadn't realised how desperately you had craved Kento while denying him and yourself.

"Please Kento I can't-- can't--" you babbled, completely incapable of stringing a sentence together. His hand squeezed yours reassuringly again, and you felt his fingers curl up inside you as his tongue flicked practiced circles over you.

Feeling your pussy clench around him again, and you whimpering weakly, thighs shaking around his head, Kento felt his thighs now sticky with his own precum. Squeezing the base of his cock as he gently brought you down from your high, he nuzzled at your thighs, planting light kisses and soft words of adoration. Kento tried to pant quietly, still unwilling to chase his own needs with your body, as long as you were sated and in full knowledge that he adored you still.

Kento felt his hand being tugged by you, insistently.

"Get up here. I'm not done with you." As Kento's face appeared above your bump, nose and chin glistening with your essence, you blushed at the mischievous look in his eyes. He crawled up the bed, hovering over you, caging you in, all broad planes of muscle and protection.

"Do you want to...I mean, I'm just happy if you're happy..." Kento stopped as you placed a finger on his lips.

"Just...help me flip over." Kento growled lowly in approval, and flipped you over onto your knees with ease. He reached up the bed to place pillows around and underneath you, until your bump was supported and your bum arched beautifully towards him. He ran his tongue languidly along the exaggerated 'S' of your back, before placing a playful nip on your bottom. You squeaked and waggled your bum at him, and he placed a firm slap on one cheek as you giggled. Warmth spread through him, delighted by your happiness.

Kento lazily fingered your folds, so wet and inviting, and you sighed, pressing back into his hands. He dipped one finger inside you again, using your wetness to lubricate his cock as he continued to pump himself at the view of you, so open and inviting before him. He leaned around you, caging you in again, now from behind, and you felt so deliciously vulnerable.

His voice, slow and sultry, rumbled through your ear; "let me know if I'm hurting you."

With no further warning, you felt every inch of Kento sheath within you, your swollen pussy sensitive and clenching instantly, and it took all of Kento's restraint not to cum right there. Holding your hips tightly against his, his head rolled back in bliss and he sighed deeply, grunting as he pulled out and sharply thrust back into you again, relishing your squeaks and gasps.

Kento wanted to hold himself back, but, desperate to show you exactly how desirable he found you, his hips took on a life of their own, slamming repeatedly into you. He groaned and panted, eyes fixed on where his cock sunk into you, watching your wetness coat his thighs until the room was filled with wet slaps and guttural moans. You had given yourself over to him completely, and lay prone, back arched and arse in the air, relishing in the deep aching pleasure of being utterly railed by the man who treated you like a captured goddess.

Kento felt so guilty that having only been pleasured by his own hand for weeks, through no fault of your own, he chased his orgasm like a needy virgin. Wordlessly, he arched over you like an animal, forearms caging your head. As you sank your teeth into one forearm, kissing, licking and mewling, he felt cum shoot through his cock with little warning, gasping and shaking as he came, feeling his seed drip out around your folds, so much after so long, and he was lost in a haze of pleasure for what felt like minutes.

Catching himself before he collapsed down onto your back, Kento gripped you to him and flopped sideways, still inside you as he spooned you, teeth sinking into your shoulder with unashamed worship. His lower arm snaked under your neck to rub lazy circles on your breast, while his upper arm cradled your bump, holding you, never wanting to let you go.

"I love, revere and adore you," Kento intoned into your neck, "even more so now you're sacrificing so much to give me everything I ever dreamed of." You felt tears prick in your eyes, completely awash with his sincerity. "So please, don't ever think you're ugly to me. I will love your body and mind with every change. I celebrate it."

Planting gentle kisses to your temple, Kento moaned as he slipped out of you. Lifting you into bed, he grabbed a soft cloth from his drawer and placed it lovingly between your legs before arranging your pillows with the skill of an expert, and covering you with a dry blanket.

You began to feel sleep roll over you as Kento replaced the wet sheets. As you began to drift, feeling your baby tumble within you, you knew without a shadow of a doubt that Kento would love you, and your baby, through any and every storm along the way.

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I post this fic in celebration of being blissfully married to my own Nanami, in advance of the birth of my 3rd and final baby ✌️ Every woman deserves a Kento to worship her.

[chiiyuuvv]

bathing with riize ★

boyfriend!riize 1k words

notes! rewriting this because i found my previous version very explicit :')

▸ 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺?

shotaro 🫧

you’re immediately dragged to the dinner table as soon as you return home later than usual

taro gives you his classic sweet smile as he pulls your chair open so you can sit and enjoy the warm meal he prepared for you while you were gone

a little disappointed when your boyfriend leaves you to eat dinner alone, but you know it isn’t in spite when you hear him running a bath in the background

carefully strips off your clothes because you’re his precious girl, then leads you to the warm tub so you can relax from your stressful day

thoroughly washes your body, stopping at certain areas to massage any sore spots as you ramble about your day

not to mention the random forehead kisses he gives you as you talk, receiving his full attention 

when you’re done, he dresses you in your favorite pajamas (an oversized shirt of his) and tucks you into bed <3

eunseok 🫧

the exact opposite as shotaro’s.. whoopsie

instead it’s you preparing his meal and bath

which he stares at you like 😐 because no no no! it’s supposed to be HIM giving you princess treatment, not the other way around

hates you so much because why does it feel so good being the center of attention? you’re hands lathering soap up and down his shoulders as you whisper sweet ‘you did so well today’’s in his ear

he’s falling for you so hard as if you aren’t already dating. you have no idea how whipped he is for you

because he’s such a brat that can’t have nice things, he splashes water in your face when you go to kiss him

about to burst out laughing when suddenly he’s drenched in water

water fight!!

sungchan 🫧

when sungchan invites you to the bathroom, you don’t like calling it a shower

it’s more so “chani hugging you so tightly you can barely move, so you just stand in the raining water”

don’t get me wrong,, you still enjoy it though!!

sungchan’s arms firmly wrapped around your waist as his nuzzles his wet hair against your neck, placing kisses on your skin from time to time

you like to talk about each other’s days during this time, or discuss future dates

loves loves loves to dry your body once you’re done “showering”, his eyes littered with adoration as he mumbles how pretty his girl looks

also loves when you return the favor <3 looks down at you as you dry his hair, his hands going back to hold your waist

looks at you like you hung the stars above your apartment roof, a soft smile tugging at his lips because he thinks you’re sooooooo cute it’s almost pathetic 

wonbin 🫧

i noticed male idols with longer hair always complain about how high maintenance their locks get

wonbin was that way too, until you suggested washing his hair for him

he’s so whipped from the feeling of your hands tangled in his curls that he would happily turn into rapunzel so he can return to that feeling every night (no pun intended hehe)

he looks so damn cute with his head resting against your lap when you’re washing him over the tub, his eyes closed as soft hums leave his lips when you scratch his scalp

leans into your warmth when you’re drying his hair, looking up at you like the happiest man in the world

seunghan 🫧

seunghan, being the observant boyfriend he is, always notices you use your sunday’s as your spa day

realizes how much you fancy spending hours in the bathroom lavishing yourself with sweet scents from your soaps / lotions, or shaving hairy body parts

seunghan loves how attentive you are to yourself, and he can’t help but want to accompany you during your special time

carefully spreads shaving cream all over your legs, tracing little hearts and stars into the foam before shaving it away

sometimes he feels mischievous, like giving you a bubble mustache or tickling your feet when he’s shaving you

his nose always scrunches when he hears your cute laughter, giggling like a lovesick boy internally 

honestly just happy to be there, the room filled with his sweet words as he watches you take care of yourself with hearts in his eyes

sohee 🫧

BUBBLE BATH !!

why sohee wanted one in the first place, the world will never know. but it did know how excited you got from the idea

while sohee’s busy running the bubbly bath water, you’re scurrying around the house to find bath bombs, rubber ducks, and literally anything else that could go in your tub

sohee makes himself a bubble hat and you’re busy making yourself a beard

if anyone walks in the bathroom y’all are cookeddd 💀🙏 but it doesn’t matter because they’re just haters that don’t know how to have fun 🤣

actually one of the reasons why you love sohee and his energy so much because he always entertains your inner child and encourages you to be a little silly for once

“who cares what other people think? nothing matters as long as i’m with you” and vise versa <3

anton 🫧

anton doesn’t partake in any washing, but it’s still cute so shush

wind down = doing everything together

that means eating dinner together, matching pj’s, heck even falling asleep at the same time

(which is a lie because anton likes to spend a couple extra minutes admiring your sleepy face)

loves to watch you brush your teeth at the same time, his eyes forming into small crescents as he wraps his arm around your shoulder to pull you closer to himself

also loves being dangerously close to your face to apply lotion and chapstick to your skin and lips so you don’t wake up feeling dry

(the chapstick part is useless because he always kisses it off of you)

instead of immediately going to bed, sometimes you like to have a small pillow fight which ends with him on top of you on the floor as he tickles your sides until you’re crying from laughter

other times you have soft makeout sessions because anton can’t keeps his hands and lips to himself

you still fall asleep with anton’s head nuzzled into your neck, his arms wrapped around your waist like a birthday bow as his breath fans your skin

that’s still a win in my book 🤷

︴bonus! planning to draft a xikers hc pretty soon .. schedule is slowly clearing up!

▸ taglist 📬 @cake1box , @wccycc , @babigriin , @soul-is-a-strange-kid , @riize119 ,

@mxlly143 , @yeosayang , @lecheugo , @hanajm , @addictedtohobi ,

@yuniniverse , @yoiiwonn , @bambisnc , @skyblue84

🎬 navi

@chiiyuuvv on tumblr . do not steal works/headers/line dividers

[stylesloveclub]

Prose (part 4)

In which Harry and y/n like going to used bookstores together and kissing (in secret).

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Harry’s coat is soaked, his curls matted to his forehead and his eyes squinting from how rainy it is. He barely had time to pack up his stuff, let alone grab his umbrella, before darting out of the Literature building. His boots splash loudly in the puddles, wetting the hems of his trousers as  he runs across the street.

“Y/n!” he calls out, his his chest rising and falling heavily. After two weeks of ditching his office hours and running away from him after lecture, he’s finally caught up with her, “come on, we need to talk.”

A quiet rumble of thunder shakes the air around them, and y/n reluctantly turns around. She’d been avoiding this conversation – didn’t want to be lectured by Harry about how bad of a decision it was and that it never should’ve happened. She knows that already, and she doesn’t need to hear it again from him. It would hurt even more, coming from the same lips that she’d been so excited to kiss. 

“What’s there to talk about,” she mumbles, her eyes downcast to the floor, watching the rain splatter against the pavement. Her hair is wet, drops of water dripping down her forehead, over the slope of her nose, and landing on her pretty lips. They get caught in the dip of her cupid's bow, and Harry watches painfully as she licks it away. 

It’s a painful experience, to have to remain so composed and put together, when he wants nothing more than to lean forward and kiss her again. His eyebrows are pinched, and his lips part as if he’s imagining what it’d be like to feel her lips between his again. He can’t help himself from staring down at her lips like a puppy yearning for a treat.

“We– we can’t just… ignore what happened,” he says, pushing his wet hair out of his face. He licks his lips nervously, and his fingers twitch at his side. 

“Yes we can,” she responds quickly. “Listen– I know it was a bad idea. You don’t have to like… lecture me about it. We can just move on."

“But– wait, no. I don’t want to just move on.” Harry blinks quickly, half because of the rain and half because he’s confused. 

“I’m not gonna tell anyone,” she says quietly, toeing at the ground and wishing it would open up and swallow her whole. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” She looks like she’s about to cry, and he doesn’t know what to do. He can’t lean forward and hug her the way he wants to, he can’t even rest a hand on her arm. He watches sadly as she just wraps her arms around herself, a pathetic cardigan wrapped around her frame – as if that would do anything to protect her from the rain. How could this girl be so smart when it comes to school, he thinks to himself, but so utterly stupid when it comes to rainy days. “Let me drive you home, and we can talk about it.”

She shakes her head, “I don’t think that’s a good idea–”

“Come on,” he pleads. “It’s pouring, and we’re both getting soaked. Just let me drive you. Please.” His eyes are wide, and his hands are lifted up halfway, resisting the urge to reach out to her.

Thunder crashes loudly again, and y/n gives a silent nod. She follows him quietly to his car.

+++

“Did you regret it?” Harry asks at a stoplight. 

Y/n shrugs quietly. Not really an answer, but she doesn’t have the heart to vocalize her feelings. Of course she doesn’t regret it– she’d had a crush on him since the very beginning of the semester. But she knows that he probably wishes it never happened. So a shrug suffices. 

He sighs heavily. Her reluctance to talk to him is eating away at him, and he doesn’t know how to handle the situation. “Well I don’t,” he announces loudly. “I think you’re pretty, and kind, and sweet – and I enjoyed kissing you.” He peaks over at her through the corner of his eye, but she shows no outright reaction to his declaration. She just stares down at her fingers, tangled in her lap.

Okay, well now he feels silly for saying all that. 

He turns back to face the road, and the two of them are suffocated in the silence. The rain patters against the roof of his car and the windshield wipers rhythmically clear the glass. Y/n watches a single raindrop’s path down her window, following as it slides down and collects all the other drops of water on its way. 

Then she asks quietly, “You aren’t worried about getting in trouble?”

His eyes flicker to her. “S’not as big of a deal as you think it is, bunny. S’not like I’m actually your professor. We’re both still students.”

She’s silent again. Harry pulls up in front of her apartment, but she hesitates to unbuckle her seatbelt. He looks at her quizzically.

“So it’s not against the rules?” she asks once more, nervously.

Harry shakes his head. “No school policies against it.”

Her voice is quiet. “...and you don’t regret it?”

“Not at all.”

Silence again. She sits in his passenger's seat thoughtfully. They are both still very much wet from the rain. 

“I’d invite you up–” she suddenly says. “But, I have a roommate. And, um… if anything else were to happen… I still wouldn’t want anyone to find out. Even if it’s not against the rules.” She turns, her eyes wide and glimmering hopefully. She’s suddenly filled with excitement and confidence.

Harry nods understandingly. “Nobody has to know.” 

She still doesn’t leave his car, staring at him. “So… if we were to do anything else, it’d have to be off campus. And not at my apartment.” 

Harry’s lips part, and he nods again, slower, “I see… so, if we wanted to do something else… we should probably go to my apartment instead…” 

Y/n only realizes how much she missed the dimple in Harry’s cheek when he smiles at her for the first time since that day in his office.

His tone is teasing, “And… if I wanted to kiss you… then I should probably wait until we get to my place?”

Her eyes sparkle, “exactly.”

+++

On the way to his apartment, he warns her that it may be messy, and he also warns her about his precious little cat (a pretty white haired kitty with piercing blue eyes named Princess, because that’s the name the shelter gave her and he didn’t have the heart to change it) who would probably be meowing at their feet as soon as they walk through the door. 

Y/n doesn’t have much time to look around his apartment and assess the messiness though. As soon as they get out of his car and into the elevator, she finds herself unable to stand more than three steps away from Harry. She follows closely behind him, grabs onto his firm bicep as he types in the code to his apartment. He turns to her with a smirk – it’s endearing how eager and affectionate she is, looking up at him with stars in her eyes. She’s got a look on her face, like a kid on her way to Disneyland for the first time – except Disneyland is actually just Harry’s bed, and the rides involve a lot less clothes than Splash Mountain. 

He tests the waters. He spends a few seconds staring in her eyes, reveling in the palpable tension between them, and then he flickers his gaze down to her pretty lips. He dances between her eyes and her lips for a bit, his hand still on the doorknob but too distracted by her to turn it all the way. Instead, he leans forward, his eyes fluttering shut and his lips pressing against hers. It’s so nice to kiss her again, it’s everything he could have ever wanted.

She’s ready for it this time, eager for his kiss and not caught off guard on the floor of his office. She leans up on her tippy toes immediately, puckering her lips against his and kissing that boyish smirk right off his face. Her hands hold onto his biceps, and slide up to his shoulders, and she tilts her chin upwards to kiss him properly. 

Harry lets his tongue slip out, sliding it between her soft lips and grazing it against hers, warm and slick in her mouth. It makes her breath catch in her throat – he’s just so hot, and his tongue is in her mouth right now, and it’s all just so perfect. Harry actually lets go of the doorknob, forgetting that they’re still in the middle of his hall, and turns his entire body towards her instead of just his head turned towards her. The hand that had been on the door makes its way to her hip, and he towers over her, leaning forward and backing her up against the wall right next to his door. It feels like he’s a foot taller than her when he’s kissing her like this, pressing her against the wall and sliding his fingers into her hair to manually tilt her head back. 

He bares her throat to himself and tilts her chin upwards, all so that he has easier access to her pretty little mouth. Sliding his tongue against hers erotically, nipping at her lip and squeezing her hip tightly. He’s so soft and gentle and romantic – but he’s also taken full control, leaving her at his mercy. He tilts her head whichever way he wants with his grip in her hair, scratching at her scalp so she’s weak in the knees. It makes her whimper and keel, her heart racing in her chest like an overexcited little bunny. 

Harry smiles into their kiss when she feels him pawing at her, her frigid fingers pressing against his firm abdomen and gripping the fabric of his shirt, still partially wet from the rain. If she’s getting handsy, he better open the door and get her into his bed. But he can’t bring himself to break their kiss – so with his eyes still shut and his lips still tangled with hers, he uses a hand to blindly twist the doorknob and push the door open. They stumble in uncoordinatedly, and y/n doesn’t even have the chance to see if Harry was lying about having a messy apartment. She’s just trying to kiss him as much as she can, get as close to him as physically possible. She’s forgotten about how uncomfortable her wet jeans are, or how cold her fingers are after spending so long in the pouring rain. All she wants is to get into Harry’s bed. 

He guides her towards his bedroom, and peeks a nervous eye open to make sure that his room isn’t a horrible, gross mess, a sigh of relief leaving him when he confirms that it’s in an acceptable state to show this pretty girl. He’s tugging off his coat and letting it plop wetly onto the floor and undoing the buttons of y/n’s cardigan, when his sweet little kitty finally makes an appearance. 

A simple quiet meow is all they hear, followed by the gentle scratch of her claws tugging and pulling on Harry’s trousers. Harry giggles, and pulls away from y/n to stare down at his cat, who’s sitting ever so politely at his feet with one paw raised to rest on his trouser. She’s the cutest little cock blocker and she’s also his little baby. “Hi princess,” he coos. 

Y/n, with swollen lips and bated breath, is honestly a little jealous of how this cat must get so much attention from Harry, and how sweetly he just bent down to pick her up. She wants Harry to do that with her – to coo at her and lift her up and press a kiss on her forehead. She then scolds herself for being jealous of a cat.

The kitty, all fluffy with hair as white as snow, gives a big yawn and a sudden shake of her head that makes her collar jingle prettily. Harry smiles. “Let me just go get her some food n’then she won’t bother us,” Harry says to y/n. The implications of not wanting to be bothered makes y/n’s heart flutter, and she nods eagerly with wide eyes. 

He runs back quickly, and shuts the door behind himself, so that even if Princess finishes her food, she won’t be able to wander in randomly. Then he’s pulling the cardigan off of her, throwing it on the floor, and unbuttoning her jeans, all while re-initiating their kiss. He walks them backwards slowly, until the backs of her legs meet his bed and she’s falling backwards with a soft laugh. He smiles into their kiss as he tugs her jeans off – a slight struggle considering that the denim is all wet and sticking to her thighs, but he just laughs with her at the awkwardness of having to peel off each other’s wet clothes. With her jeans also on the floor, she’s left in a basic and plain pair of light gray underwear, and the white baby tee that had been underneath her cardigan. Her shirt has ridden up, revealing her ribs and her soft stomach, and he wants to just lean down and kiss all over her body. Her thighs, her belly, her neck. He can see her pulse racing in her neck, and wants to rest his lips over her chest and feel her heart pounding right against his lips.

She pushes herself up on her elbows, her legs spread at the edge of the bed with Harry standing between them. He’s smirking down at her, taking his time as he undresses himself, making her ache. His hair that had been soaked in the rain has dried up a bit, his curls fluffier and messier than usual. It’s his natural hair, the curls that form when he’s straight out of the shower and hasn’t had the chance to style them with his curl cream. It’s endearing. His fingers, so thick and long and manly, are insanely slow as he finds the buckle of his belt and undoes it. The sound of the buckle clanking makes y/n swallow thickly, and the sight of him standing at the foot of the bed, towering over her with a belt in his hand is so arousing for some reason. Her eyes flutter, but she forces herself to keep her eyes open as he buttons his trousers and steps out of them smoothly. Neither of them are saying anything, despite there being so much they want to say to each other. They just take in the moment, take in each other. There’s a tattoo on Harry’s thigh that y/n never would have expected, a tiger that looks so intimidating and regal on him. His thighs are thick and strong – it’s head spinning to finally see him undressing in front of her when she’d accidentally done it in her head so many times in his office hours. It was never an intentional decision to sit in his office hours and imagine what it’d be like to see him undressed – to imagine what he’d look like if she ever got the chance to suck him off, or how he’d sound. But it always ended up happening… he was just too hot. 

His fingers now undo the buttons of his shirt, another white button up (his work uniform, apparently) that he slowly opens to reveal a broad chest, filled with tattoos. Y/n’s mouth drops open. Never in a million years did she expect her sweet, smart, and flirty TA to be covered in ink, a sleeve of black drawings lining his left arm and decorating his abs. It’s insane. He is so hot. Harry just smirks.

Her eyes are wide and she looks dumbstruck, mouth open as she just stares at him, her chest rising and falling heavily. She feels herself clenching, her eyes roaming all over his body… his chest and the swallows on his collarbones… the butterfly on top of his defined abdomen… the ferns on the hard lines that lead down into his briefs. Her eyes flicker up, and she flushes knowing that Harry’s been watching her drool over him for the past minute. She can’t be embarrassed about it though, and finds herself staring at the hem of his briefs… and then just a little lower at the bulge. Her mouth waters without her consent. His big hand cups the bulge and he squeezes himself. She nearly passes out. 

She sits up fully so that she’s no longer half lying on the couch, and instead she’s face to face with his cotton covered cock. Not even trying to be hot or sexy or minx-like, she looks up at him through her lashes, silently asking for permission. She’d never admit just how often the thought of sucking Harry off had crossed her mind. Sometimes when she was in his office hours, she’d zone out while he was talking to her and just stare at his big hands – dreaming about feeling them at the back of her head, pushing her down to get his cock further down her throat. And other times, in class, when Dr. Richmond was lecturing on and on about god knows what, she’d find herself staring at Harry, sitting politely in the corner of the room, his legs spread naturally. She’d feel so dirty in class, imagining what it’d be like to sit between those thighs, rest her cheek on his leg while pumping his cock, when he was doing nothing to prompt such sexual thoughts. All he’d do was sit there, and she’d be thinking about laving her tongue around his cock-head, tasting him as he’d cum down her throat. 

“Go on then,” Harry grunts, tucking a piece of y/n’s wet hair behind her ear. She’s eager, licking her lips like she’s about to have some dessert, her eyes glittering and darting all over his face. She tucks her fingers into the hem of his briefs and pulls them down, revealing the bottom half of the ferns and a dark tuft of hair. She pulls down further and further, exposing his shaft, and pulls some more until she frees the head and his cock comes bouncing out of its confines. It’s large and nearly smacks her in her face, and she’s like a confused little bunny staring at it swinging in front of her. He can’t help but smile down at her fondly, his hand cupping her jaw. “You want t’suck me off, bunny?”

She nods, hypnotized but unable to make a first move. She’s too intimidated by his size, and how he’s towering over her, speaking down to her with his low, raspy voice. She just stares up at him with wide eyes. 

He grabs a hold of himself, wrapping his fist around the base of his cock, and just the feeling of his own hand gets him twitching and leaking precum already. She’s the sweetest thing, looking up at him with those big eyes, nibbling at her lips nervously. He pumps himself a few times, spreading his slickness down his shaft and all over his head. She’ll be able to taste him all the way down, feel him coating her tongue and spurting down her throat. 

He guides the tip to her lips, muttering a soft, “open up.” She’s so eager and obedient, parting her lips without hesitation and even going so far as to stick her tongue out for him, the precious little thing. He’s grinning like the joker, dimple in his cheek at the erotic sight in front of him. Gripping himself, he taps his head against her tongue softly, and traces a circle with the tip of his cock around the flat of her tongue. He does this a few times, his own fist sliding his cockhead over her tongue, the rough texture of her tastebuds heavenly on his sensitive tip. He feels smooth and slick on her tongue, and she sits there like an angel, tongue out and staring up at him sweetly as he does whatever he pleases. His cockhead is ruddy and red, so incredibly sensitive to the touch, and he groans through his smirk. Do you know how attractive it is to see a man moaning with a smile on his face? Y/n feels her panties soaking, and worries that it might be seeping onto his bedsheets. 

It’s honestly been a while for Harry, since he’s hooked up with anyone. He hasn’t dated anyone in a while, and it’s hard to find someone that he trusts enough to be himself with. He wouldn’t feel comfortable enough to trace his cock on any random person’s tongue, wouldn’t be calling a stranger “bunny” or whispering for them to open wider so he can push himself further in. 

“Come on bunny, show me what you can do,” he murmurs, encouraging her to grab a hold of his cock herself. That little taste of him from when he traced himself over her tongue has made her insane – she’s addicted to how he tastes and wants him further in her mouth. With his encouragement, she circles her tongue around his head. Tentatively at first, but when he groans out and bucks closer to her, she starts swirling more and more eagerly. She’s drooling for him, her mouth filled with saliva and just watering for his taste. She’s breathing heavily and small little whines are leaving her chest as her tongue slides from his head down his shaft. God. It’s addictive. She wants to lick up and down his cock for ages, just feel him on her tastebuds, but she also wants to wrap her lips around him and feel his cock fill up her mouth, but then she also wants to just jerk him off with her hand while she sucks his pretty balls into her mouth and roams her tongue around each other – oh the options are all so enticing, she’s overwhelming herself. 

Spit is dripping down the side of her mouth from how drooly she is over him, and she stops licking up and down his shaft and all over his head for just a second to swallow thickly. And then she’s immediately back on his dick, this time closing her lips around his head and sliding herself down his length, feeling the underside of his shaft against her tongue and his head tickling the back part of her throat. She wants to take him further so badly, wants to feel him fill up her throat, make her throat bulge with his thickness, just suffocate on his length – but when she pushes herself forward she has a teensy little gag, and has to pull off to catch her breath. “Oh, bunny,” he groans, biting his lip, “fuck.” She looks up at him teary eyed, her lips slicked and her chin covered in her spit and the copious amount of cum he’s already leaked into her mouth. It’s a sight that he’ll be dreaming about for days, every single night with his fist wrapped around his cock before he goes to sleep or when he’s jerking off in the shower before going to class. She wraps her lips around his cock again and bobs up and down eagerly, pushing herself forward so that his cockhead reaches the back of her throat, and then pulling back quickly so that his cock almost falls out of her mouth. She does this over and over again, her  tongue still lick at him as much as she can, flickering her tongue at his pretty tip and trying to lap up as much cum as she can, steadily leaking out of his slit. He’s so yummy and hot and she just wants to taste him and swallow him and feel him filling her throat – she tries to deepthroat him again, but disappointingly fails again. He’s just too big for her. 

She pulls off with a cough, huffing upset. She looks up at him sadly and he hushes her, delicately tracing a finger on her face, “S’okay bunny,” ((her heart races and does a few backflips every time he calls her bunny)), “we’ll work on it.” And oh, she can’t wait for that. Can’t wait for him to train her throat, get her adjusted to his size so that he can push himself down, fuck her face and stuff himself down her throat until he’s spurting long streaks of white cum into her mouth. Or maybe she’d tell him to pull out just in time so that he could coat her face. Or maybe she’d make him wait until she got his cock inside of her hole and he could fuck into her and cum right inside of her, pressing his balls up to her ass so that he could get it as deep as humanly possible. 

If she can’t get him down her throat today though, then she makes up for it by wrapping her lips around his balls and stuffing her mouth full of them. Her tongue circles around them, tonguing at the spot right between the two, and she makes sure to give each one a bit of their own separate love as well – sucking their roundness into her mouth, feeling how full they are. All while tugging at his cock and looking up at his red face, his flushed neck and the veins bulging in them. 

“Sweetheart,” he cries out with a loud moan. His fingers ball up into fists at his sides and his abdomen is clenching and fluttering erratically, “gonna make me cum. Where d’you want it, hm?”

She pulls off of his balls with a loud pop. “In my mouth,” she whines, as if it’s obvious. She’s been lapping at his slit, suckling out the yummy precum so desperately – she wants it all now. 

Fondling his balls and sucking harshly at his tip, she pulls the final trigger. His hips thrust forward and he groans out, his hands tightening in her hair as long spurts of white cum shoot out of him, coating her tongue and trickling down her throat. Her mouth overflows, stuffed full of his cock without enough room for all the cum that he’s spurting out to fit – so it trickles down her chin instead. She takes it so well, swallowing it all and suckling at him gently until there’s nothing more for her to suck out, and his cock sits limply against her tongue, worn out and sucked dry. 

His chest is red and heaving, and he’s weak in the knees. His sweet little bunny, so quiet and gentle in class, was the dirtiest little minx he’s ever had. He saw stars when he came, his ears ringing and his vision going white. It was a trip to heaven. 

He’s gonna have fun with her, for sure. 

+++

The used bookstore that Harry and y/n walk into is a thirty minute drive from campus. The store is dimly lit, fairy lights lining the shelves and small tables filled with books from local authors between the rows of books. There’s a cafe next door where Harry and y/n each get a hot chocolate to warm their numb fingers (it’s raining outside, again), and the smell of roasted coffee beans lingers on their clothes and follows them into the book shop. 

It’s warm in the book store. Not as warm as the cafe, but still warm enough for y/n to shed her raincoat and for Harry to unwrap the big, fuzzy scarf that he’d tied around his neck. His oversized gray sweatshirt is lightly stained with raindrops, y/n having convinced him that they didn’t need an umbrella, that they could just race out of the car and into the bookstore and only get a little wet. Either that, or he’d have to carry around a wet umbrella all around the bookstore, which meant that he wouldn’t be able to hold her hand while they shopped. And that simply wouldn’t do. 

With her fingers laced with his, they walk around in the fiction aisle, saying nothing. Y/n’s eyes trail over the multitude of used books, the ones with the colorful covers and bubbly fonts standing out to her the most (it’s hard to not judge a book by its cover!). Harry sips quietly from his hot chocolate and stares at y/n every few seconds, before averting his eyes to the floor. Or to their joint hands. He suppresses a smile to himself. 

It’s hard for him to contain his excitement. Since they started their relationship, it’s all been very hush hush. The only time he ever gets to touch her is when they’re at his apartment. He’s not allowed to hold her hand when they’re walking around campus, not allowed to stare at her for too long in class, even though he wants nothing more than to just watch her read and write her notes. Sometimes on Friday nights, when campus is empty and everyone has gone home, she’ll close his windows and lock his office door and let him give her a few kisses in the privacy of his office – but other than that, no PDA. It’s too risky, too scary, she whispered to him the night that they made it official, under the shield of his comforter. She didn’t want to have any rumors or whispers circling around, even if their relationship wasn’t explicitly against the rules. He, of course, would do anything for her. 

He was good about it. Kept his eyes off of her, didn’t praise her too much in class, kept his hood up whenever he went to pick her up in the middle of the night. But he’s an affectionate kind of guy – he’s the kind of boyfriend who wants to wrap his arms around her when they’re standing in line at the coffee shop. He wants to put his hand on her thigh when he’s driving her home from school, send her off with a kiss everytime she leaves his office hours. So being able to come to a bookstore in another city, where they wouldn’t see any of her classmates, and hold her hand while she looks for books… it’s such a special thing for him.

Her hand is warm and soft, and she wears these delicate little rings that clank against his bigger, clunky rings. Her nails are painted a dark burgundy color (courtesy of him, who whipped out his stash of nail polish and painted her nails after she whined about her hands being too shaky to paint her nails herself), and he rubs his thumb over her painted fingers lovingly. 

She untangles their fingers to reach for a book, and Harry’s hand feels cold and lonely. He tries not to visibly pout, and stuffs his hand into his pocket to maybe recreate the feeling of being held by her hand … but it’s not the same. He takes a step forward so that his chest is pressed against her back, and rests his chin on her shoulder, looking over at the book in her hand. Y/n smiles to herself – her boyfriend is like a puppy that can’t go three seconds without being pet or loved on. She tilts her head towards him and gives him a little kiss on the cheek, right on the spot where a dimple forms three seconds after she kisses him. His nose wiggles as he slowly says, “I actually have that book, if you want to borrow it.”

“Oh, really?” she hums, putting the book back. “Was it any good?”

He nuzzles his face closer to hers so that their cheeks are touching, and he can feel the chub of her cheek as she smiles. “4.5 stars.” 

His hand not holding his hot chocolate finds her hip as she spins around to face him, and he stares down at her with stars in his eyes. His dimple softly pinches his cheek and his lips quirk up to one side in a lopsided smile. She looks soft and sweet and cozy, in a white long sleeved top, a lacy trim at her collar, and a bow pinning her hair back. A heart shaped pendant rests in the center of her chest, a gift from him, and her eyes are bright and wide as she stares back up at him. She puts a hand on his shoulder, and her fingers tangle in the back of his hair.

She giggles as Harry just stares down at her and says nothing. “What?” she laughs, not understanding why he’s looking at her like one of the stars in the sky.

“Just so pretty, bunny,” he murmurs quietly. He leans forward, his nose nudging against hers for a kiss. She struggles to kiss him back through her own smile, but her painted nails scratch at his scalp while his fingers dimple her hips. His lips are sweet like the hot chocolate he’d been drinking, and she wonders if she tastes just as yummy and chocolatey – or if he’s just licking into her mouth because of how lovey and affectionate he’s feeling today. Her back presses against the bookshelf and his hips press into her front subtly, but it’s not in an insanely horny way, and more of a desperate attempt to press his body as close to hers as possible. To feel her chest against her chest, and feel her stomach against his. 

He loves kissing her, loves her pretty lips and her pretty face, her warm cheeks and her soft eyes. He sucks and licks and nibbles on her lips with quiet hums, and pulls off only when her giggles get too strong and she’s not kissing him back anymore. “Stop laughing,” he huffs, skimming his lips against her jaw. 

She giggles some more. How can he just casually call her pretty and kiss her in between bookshelves and not expect her to burst into a fit of shy, love-struck giggles? It’s too much for her, and the only way she can rationally react when she’s so happy and giddy is to giggle it out! “Sorry,” she smiles bashfully, her giggles still prominent, though, as the stubble on his upper lip tickles her cheek. “More kisses, please.”

He can’t help but smile at how sweet and polite she is, asking for more kisses. He puckers her lips against hers again for a quick kiss and starts a path up her cheek and all over her face too, which just sends her into a fit of even more laughter. He huffs out a chuckle of his own, and shakes his head, checking around them to make sure that they’re still alone in this aisle of books. 

“Wanna go to the sci-fi section?” he whispers to her. (He’s a bit of a sci-fi nerd himself and has turned y/n onto a few of his favorites, so now they’re both sci-fi fans). 

“M’kay,” she hums, her fingers untangling from his hair and sliding down so that her hand hooks into his arms. “Maybe we can see if they have that Andy Weir book you were telling me about, and go read it together in the cafe? M’hot chocolate is almost done and I want a cheese danish.”

And nothing sounds better to Harry than that. 

+++

hope u guys looveddd it !!! such a fun story to write and i really loved this couple. thank u for reading and dont forget to send me an ask or rb so that i know u guys liked it and if u want blurbs and stuff!!!!

Prose Masterlist

[abiiors]

birthday surprise - matty x reader

part 2 of matty's birthday weekend a/n: this is scheduled. by the time this goes up, i will (hopefully🤞🏼) be on a beach somewhere, day drunk 😌 cw: vomit (because hungover), dramatic (because sad), once again vague descriptions of depression. some kissing and suggestive stuff. idiots friends to lovers wc: 3.1k

george’s massive hand rests on matty’s back while he retches into the toilet. 

his head pounds mercilessly, the sunlight streaming in through the window is barely helping and the soured wine churning in his stomach comes back up once again, leaving him gasping for air. a loud splash echoes in the bathroom and matty groans, gagging a bit more. 

george is a good friend. he lets matty lean on him and holds the glass of water so matty can slowly sip from it.

it barely works though. he feels like shit regardless, and none of it can be cured by water or food or painkillers. 

george helps him get back to bed once matty feels slightly better. the whole time neither of them say a word. matty doesn’t know how much of last night has been told to his friend—does he know the precise way in which matty fucked up? did he see matty in the act? overhear the conversation accidentally? 

george’s face looks completely blank. he does all the right things—sets a glass of water and a few painkillers next to matty, grabs him a bucket, draws the blackout curtains. he even offers to get breakfast.

“fry up from that small cafe down the street,” he says in a hushed voice. “come on, greasy food’s good for hangovers.”

matty mumbles something like a vague yes, if only so george would step out of the house for a bit. once he’s out, matty searches for his phone, wedged somewhere between the mattress and the headboard. the sudden brightness makes him wince but once he manages to open his eyes, he checks for messages and missed calls. 

apart from one missed call from george and one from jamie, there’s nothing. 

nothing from her. 

not one message. 

the last message he’s sent to her sits at read—it’s nothing special, just the address to the pub they were going to meet at. and then… yeah, matty remembers how well that went. 

he remembers the last look on her face before she stormed off. 

then it’s just a fog.

his throat feels clogged, his eyes sting but no tears come. matty just lays there, curled up like a pathetic worm, clutching his pillow until seconds or minutes or hours later george re-enters his room. 

“right, come on,” he flings the covers off matty, making him feel a sudden draft of cold air. “i’m not getting you breakfast in bed, mate. you’re hungover, not an invalid.”

“‘m not hungry,” matty mumbles. his voice is hoarse and his throat hurts—probably the vomiting—but it’s nothing in comparison to his head. a delayed realisation hits him that he never took the painkillers. 

george huffs. “don’t be a diva.” and if matty had any strength he would absolutely be offended by that. then again maybe george doesn’t know the full extent of last night. 

“seriously george—”

“matty. you’re going to get out of bed and come to the kitchen. we are going to eat and then we are going to talk about last night.”

well… there goes that. a stubborn side of him wants to be an absolute ass and dig his feet in. say all sorts of mean things to george just so he’d leave. but isn’t that what got him here in the first place? he really isn’t in the position to hurt more people in his life. 

like a small child matty drags his feet the entire way to the kitchen, turning his nose up at the food on the table. (even though it looks really good and his stomach does growl now that he can smell the food) george doesn’t egg him on any further. he just motions to the chair and slides a mug of coffee in front of him.

“you said what?” 

it’s the eerily calm edge to george’s voice that makes matty shrink in his seat. he does feel better with some food in his stomach, physically at least. but the way george stares at him—eyes cold, lips pressed in a thin line—makes him feel sick to his stomach all over again. 

“i said– i– i said it was the first of april, i told her it was a joke.” his voice is a pathetic whisper, words drowned by shame and guilt and self-hatred. matty wishes he could go back in time and undo it all. he won’t say any of it. 

he won’t even touch the wine in the first place. 

“right after you said i love you.”

“yeah.”

“huh.”

easy for george to say that. it’s not his love life blowing up in his face right now. matty stabs the tomato next to his half-eaten toast, watching it spill its guts onto the plate. red. just like last night. 

he remembers that part of it. 

“what happened after? how did i… get home?”

george goes a bit silent for a second, not meeting matty’s eyes which sets alarm bells ringing in his head. 

“do you really not remember?”

when matty shakes his head, george just sighs and then softly says her name. “she called charli, crying a lot and i figured something went down. i called you–don’t you remember that?” when matty’s blank face gives him the answer, george continues, “you sounded really awful like… you were gasping for breath. i could barely understand you. so i thought i’d pick you up and get you home. i’m glad i did.”

in all of this the only part matty focuses on is her. and that she called charli crying a lot. of course, he thanks george but it’s only half-hearted, distracted. he can’t get the image of it out of his mind—her sobbing on the other end of the phone, barely able to get a word out. it breaks his heart all over again. 

he did that. 

this is all his fault. 

“matty… you have to make it right.”

that’s the biggest problem of it all—he doesn’t know how. what is he supposed to do, call her up and say: hey, so you know how i drunkenly said i love after which i assumed you looked at me with disgust and then i said it was all a joke and you stormed off? well it was not a joke i am seriously in love with you and i don’t know what happens to our friendship after this. 

yeah. there’s no way to put it any better. 

so he just nods. at least, that way he doesn’t have to answer to george right now. he’s figure out a way to do it later, once he doesn’t feel like a raisin. he’ll figure out a proper plan, build up the courage to call her. 

for now matty can only swallow the rest of the now-lukewarm coffee and hope that he can just sleep the rest of the day off. 

for three days after that, his messages stay on delivered. 

it’s a harrowing process, to pick up his phone and dial her number only for it to go to voicemail after the second ring. almost like she’d stabbed her thumb on the glaring red reject button. 

all his messages went unanswered too. all the—

hey

can we talk please?

please!

i just want to say sorry 

just hear me out

—all of them ignored, like all his other efforts to reach her through her friends. 

day four charli shows up at his doorstep, face twisted in a scowl, eyes like embers ready to singe him if he stepped one toe out of line, mayhem in tow. 

the puppy is his last straw. the fact that she sent mayhem back with charli instead of dropping him off herself… matty doesn’t even want to think what that means for him. for them. 

he mumbles a quiet “thanks” to charli, afraid of speaking anything louder. 

“if it weren’t for george—” she starts and swallows, as if she’s literally swallowing her anger. “nevermind. forget about it.”

and then she leaves him standing at his doorstep like a loser, mayhem’s leash in hand. 

much later he realises that the collar is different now, it’s no longer the slightly frayed old brown collar from before. this one is new. 

this one is green. a green that matches her hair… 

the thought of it makes his throat clog up with tears once again. when had she even had the time to go buy him a new collar? one to match her hair so perfectly? was it before or after he fucked up? matty scratches mayhem behind his ears who lets out a soft little whine and nuzzles him in return. maybe the puppy is sad too, maybe mayhem prefers being with her instead of being with him. 

the next few days he spends like a pig in a pigsty, surrounded by his own filth of food cartons and cigarette butts and coke cans. he makes it a mission to call her once every day—all of them go unanswered anyway so what’s the point?

by the time the seventh of april rolls around, matty doesn’t even bother thinking about his birthday anymore—there’s no pointing in celebrating it, he’s not even in the mood right now. one failed celebration is enough.

his friends, of course, have a whole different plan in mind. 

jamie shows up at his house the evening of the seventh, not ready to take no for an answer. it’s just a small dinner, he says, only friends and family. (matty knows that’s not true, knows it’s going to be a whole surprise party) but every “no” is met with a gentle refusal to accept it and so ultimately, he gives in and dresses up in his cleanest, least sad shirt. the one that least screams “i took my first shower of the week today”. 

jamie, to his credit, tries engaging him in conversation. matty, to his credit, tries not to answer in one syllable words. it gets exhausting real quick though, so they end up spending the rest of the car ride in silence.

everything that happens after is a blur in his mind—the pub looks ordinary from the outside, inconspicuous. everyone yells “surprise!” much like he predicted. matty smiles, cheery and fake. someone hands him a drink, which he tries to refuse but the person is too far away to hear him over the music now. his stomach roils at the thought of being in another pub, in the middle of another birthday party. 

he just wants to go home and curl up onto his bed and never move again. 

except…

matty’s heart stops when he spots a green head. 

he blinks rapidly, about to rub his eyes to make sure he didn’t hallucinate. maybe there are drugs in the air, maybe the (untouched) drink in his hands is actually spiked. 

but the green head moves and she steps away from behind george, a glass of some dark cocktail in her hands and her eyes trained on him. matty staggers to a stop, about to drop the glass in his hands. 

“hey…” her voice is hesitant, unsure when she first walks up to him. from behind her, george throws matty a look, his brow raised as if to say one chance, matty. better make it right.

of all the things that have happened today, this… this is the real surprise. 

matty stands there like an idiot, tongue-tied and wide-eyed, unable to come up with a simple “hi”.

“should we… uh, head outside?” it’s when she points vaguely behind her, to the smoking area, that he realises just how loud it is inside. the consistent beat of the song thumps through his chest, making him feel more anxious than ever. in a daze, he nods and then dutifully follows her outside. 

as soon as the door to the smoking area closes behind him, she whirls around, arms crossed in front of her chest, brows knit in an indecipherable expression. “talk.”

oh.

well, that’s what he had said to her hadn’t he? in all the text messages he had sent. that he just wants to talk. he just wants one chance. and now that the chance is here, his mouth's as dry as a desert. 

“i was… an idiot, no forget that, i was a real cunt to you. just like you said, i’m so sorry for the awful shit i said, i…” his words come out stilted and awkward. he has no idea where he’s going with this, he only knows he needs to earn her forgiveness somehow. 

even if he has to get on his knees. 

“i got drunk an–and cruel and said things i didn’t mean—”

“what things?”

“w-what?” 

“the things you didn’t mean,” she clears her throat, “what things were they? the part where you said i love you or–or the part where you said it was all a joke?”

matty’s insides feel like jelly all over again. it’s like he’s back where he was a week ago—just a boy, standing in front of the girl he loves, about to say the stupidest thing in the world. 

“well?”

“i didn’t mean it as a j–joke.” his voice comes out as a cowardly whisper, high pitched and barely audible. that’s no way to say the things he really wants to say! 

gathering all his courage, matty steps closer to her. to his utter surprise, she doesn’t step away. 

“it wasn’t a joke, what i said to you. i—” he chokes, nervously running a hand through his hair, wondering what the slight widening of her eyes means out of the million possibilities his brain’s already conjured up. 

“i know i was drunk and barely making sense but i meant it… i meant all of it.”

slowly, she uncrosses her arms, letting them dangle at her sides. the crease between her brows relaxes too. suddenly, it’a her taking a step forward until they’re toe-to-toe and she has to tilt her chin up to look him in the eyes. the moonlight shines bright on her face, the glitter gleams on her eyelids, and for a moment matty is completely awestruck. 

how is he meant to find words when she leaves him so completely tongue-tied?

“and what’s ‘it’, huh?”

the faint ringing in his ears starts up all over again and music from inside the pub floats through the walls, mellowed and somehow peaceful. this is it, he thinks. he fucked it up once, he absolutely cannot do it again. 

“i meant i… i love you. not as a friend. i mean n-no, of course, i love you as a friend but i also meant it as something more. not that you have to reciprocate! i just–it’s just what i feel—”

the rest of his words die on his lips. get cut off by someone else’s lips more like it. her lips. against his. 

matty’s eyes resemble wide saucers until her arms wrap around him, fingers tangling into his hair. her nails brushing against his scalp is what makes his body relax and suddenly matty’s kissing her back. 

tenderly, he holds her cheek, tucking away stray hair behind her ear. his other hand rests on her waist, too hesitant to grip her tightly but too scared to just let go. as if once he lets go of her, she’ll float away, far away from him again, out of his reach. matty’s sure she can feel his heart hammering in his chest. he’s not super proud of it but the kiss makes him forget all about being embarrassed. 

the feel of her tongue lighting teasing his lips is all that matters. 

she makes a sound at the back of her throat, almost a… moan and pulls away abruptly, looking shy all of a sudden. 

matty touches his lips with trembling fingers. 

“was that too—”

“are you joking?!” if he though his voice was breathy before, it has nothing on what he sounds like now. the sound that comes out of him is hoarse, like he’s struggling to breathe and it’s making him feel dizzy. the good kind of dizzy. “so i fucked up, majorly, might i add! and i get rewarded with a kiss?!”

she giggles, all anger from before melting away right in front of his eyes. “it was more to shut you up honestly, you would have been here all night. rambling.”

for the first time in a week, matty can finally breathe, can finally feel the blood in his veins flow again. for the first time in a week, matty feels like a person again. “it wasn’t a reward. just because you’re pretty and a good kisser doesn’t mean i’ll forgive you so quickly.” 

matty grins, “you think i’m pretty?” and promptly gets punched in the arm.

it takes them a moment to stop giggling, but when they finally sober up, she turns serious again. “seriously though, matty, it hurt me a lot, what you did. i think… i think i can set it aside for tonight but i’m going to need some time to figure things out. 

matty nods. of course, he knows the impact his words must have had. shame and guilt blooms deep within him, strong and acrid. 

“don't forgive me yet, love. forgive me when i earn it. forgive me when you think i’m worthy of it.”

when she kisses him again, it’s deeper than the last time. her entire body is pressed against his, so warm and soft in arms, exactly like he’s imagined countless times before. he can’t stop himself—can’t stop him from finally holding onto her waist, hand sliding down to her ass. can’t stop himself from pushing her back till her back hits the wall and a soft gasp leaves her mouth. every nerve ending in his body is on hyperdrive. everywhere she touches, electricity zings through him. 

matty slides his tongue in her mouth, pulling on her bottom lip with his teeth and soothing the sting away with his tongue. every time he feels her shiver, matty presses further into her. he just wants more and more and more—more than he can do here and now on this balcony. 

all his friends are inside for fucks sake. 

“you can start now,” she teases, smiling roguishly against his mouth. “you’d look quite nice on your knees, i think.”

blood simmers under his skin, rushing south all at once and this time it’s matty who shivers, struggling to stand upright. 

“yeah? that what you want, sweetheart?”

“take me home, please,” she says. and matty agrees in a heartbeat. 

taglist: @scooby-doodoo @partoftheairforce @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855 @beachesgetpeaches @you-muppet @mcabister @alexmarie29 @at-her-very-foreign @hfkait @squishysoupy @sierraeslaprincesa @harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet @thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @theoriginalwhatsername @celestcies @sugarkane1001 @ari-turner @thewaywewereinsaigon @daphnesutton @beliefandsayingsomething @ros3chu @nothingrevealedeverythingdenied @zzzhealy @mattymybeloved @fck-off @indiaamars @sofaritsalrightt @k4tie75 @wondersecret @humptyhoran @indierockgirrl @hanbiior @moreyoulove-moreyouknow @rossgirly @if-my-heart-bleeds @little-lovely-darling @abriefnirvana @renitypoem @sinarainbows @lady-may-targaryen @love4agesss @angrylittlebaldman @oneluckygirl @sinarainbows @starvchaser @noacfapologyst @abouttofillhisshoes @tbhnotthatfunny

add yourself to the taglist

[youknowwho-mustnotbenamed]

November 24: The Black Lake | word count: 786 | @wolfstarmicrofic

Nearly the entire population of Hogwarts is enjoying the warm summer weather on the grounds. Most of them are crowded around the shores of the Black Lake, talking with friends, splashing in the water, or tossing a ball back and forth. It is entirely too loud, but Remus won’t turn for the castle while the warmth of the sun warms the chill in his bones and the clear air fills his lungs.

He sighs and shifts his back against the rough bark of the tree, abandoning his textbook for a moment to watch James and Sirius. They are on the shore of the lake, shirtless, and wrestling in the shallows. At one point, they had a frisbee, though Remus doesn’t see it anymore. Though he can hardly focus on anything else when Sirius is right there. Sirius, who has water droplets scattered across his torso, catching the light and drawing Remus’ eyes in, no matter how much he tries to pull them away.

He is helpless but to watch as Sirius’ head falls back in a laugh, exposing the pale column of his throat. There is a primal part of him that wants to burrow his nose into the crook of his neck and breathe in his scent. Remus desperately needs to know. Does he smell like the scent that always surrounds him, or is that just his cologne? He probably smells really good, like something earthy. Sandalwood maybe, or maybe even something smokey, like tobacco?

He feels heat rush to his cheeks, and forcefully tears his gaze away, burying his nose in his book instead. He’s being foolish. Sirius would never look twice at him that way. Not only is he dangerous halfblood werewolf, but he is a boy. Even on the off chance that Sirius did feel the same, Remus could never risk their friendship, one Sirius would probably be better off without anyway. So he will admire from afar, admonishing himself every step of the way. It’s better this way. It’s better than broken hearts and lonely nights. He doesn’t care how selfish it is. If he can’t have Sirius in the way he wants, he will take whatever he can get.

“Enjoying the view?” Lily asks, leaning against the tree next to him. He hadn’t even noticed her approach. See, this is a problem. There is a war going on. If he is too focused on his stupid crush on Sirius, he could compromise not only himself, but whoever he is working with.

“Bugger off.”

“Still?” She gasps. “Remus, it’s been years.” She slides down the tree until she is sitting next to him.

“I know, Lils. I’m pathetic.”

“Why don’t you just tell him how you feel?”

"We've had this conversation before, Lils. I know you are trying to be supportive, but he's straight."

“What if he isn’t?”

He scoffs. “Are we looking at the same person? Sirius is the straightest boy I know.”

“You said that about James.”

“Yeah, well, I’m right about this one.” He insists. She should know better than to get his hopes up like this. It will only lead to him crying alone in the middle of the night over an unrequited love. Like Echo and Narcissus, one forever forced to live in the shadow of the other who would never look twice and the former.

“Remus…”

“I’m not going to risk him looking at me like I’m repulsive. I’d rather live in ignorance.”

“You never chose ignorance.”

“This time I do.”

“Well, if we are jumping to conclusions today, I also have an unrequited crush.”

“You do?”

“Well, you see, I could ask her, but… you know, I might be disappointed by the results of doing so.”

“It’s different and you know it.”

“Really? How so?”

“She’s not your friend. And you’re not a werewolf.”

“Come on, Remus. You have to get over that.”

“Get over it?! I have to live with this forever Lily! I can’t just… just forget about it.”

“You may not be able to forget about it, but you can’t use it as an excuse. If I used being muggleborns as an excuse, I would hardly be the top of our class, would I? No, instead I used it to prove them wrong about their base assumptions toward me. You are more than a stereotype, Remus. And if Sirius can’t see that, then he isn’t the one for you.”

“Sometimes, you are a bit too perceptive, Lils.”

“That’s why I’m your best friend, because I don’t let you feed me the same lies you feed everybody else, including yourself. You have to stop hiding behind these walls, Remus, otherwise you will be stuck right here for the rest of your life.”

[glitterrosesnzz]

im so obsessed with set/hos/cara it's becoming a genuine problem. here's a tiny fic of the two of them.

-

It started raining. Out of nowhere, seemingly, just a sudden downpour. Not even the leaves of the tree who's branch the two of them were sitting on was enough to keep the rain from falling down upon them.

Sethos had jumped a little, before remaining completely still, letting the rain splash over him-

Up until the Wanderer had grabbed his arm and harshly yanked him close enough that Sethos was practically in the other's lap, almost completely protected from the rain by the Wanderer's hat.

"So, is this what your hat is for?" Sethos asked, "Protection from the rain?"

"Tch." The Wanderer didn't give him an answer, instead avoiding eye contact with him, seemingly somewhat annoyed by the question. Sethos smirked at him- and then sniffled a little, rubbing his nose with his sleeve, which didn't do much considering his sleeve was already damp from rain water. The Wanderer looked back at him with an expression that was almost aghast. "Surely such a brief moment in the rainfall didn't make you sick already. Are you really that weak?"

"Haha, no, no, it's just, the change in temperature is making my nose b-buzz... hH-hHAt'SHu!!" Sethos jolted, sneezing into his hand, tiny sparks of electricity making the Wanderer startle, and it was only through the Wanderer quickly adjusting his hold that they didn't both go tumbling off of the tree branch. Gripping the other's shoulder for stability, Sethos couldn't help but notice that the Wanderer had tensed, almost like he was holding his breath... before relaxing again.

"...Pathetic." The Wanderer said, "One single tiny change in temperature is enough to make you humans- h-hey, wait, don't do it again-"

"Hh- hAH- HATt'Chuu!!" Sethos wasn't going to really get much choice in the matter, but he was a little too preoccupied to tell the Wanderer that. "HhAH- AT'Chuh!!"

"Hh'nNxtii!!"

Sethos paused in rubbing his nose to glance at the Wanderer- who now had his own nose pinched in between his fingers, his cheeks flushed slightly pink. Sethos slowly started to smirk at him again.

"What were you saying before?" Sethos asked, "Something about it being pathetic for me to be affected by something like a temperature change-"

"It was not, the change in temperature." The Wanderer slowly stopped pinching his nose, almost hesitatingly, like he wasn't sure whether or not his need to sneeze had actually gone away. Sethos couldn't help but take note of that, even as the Wanderer glared at him. "...It was nothing."

"It sure didn't sound like nothing." Sethos readjusted himself, the Wanderer grabbing hold of the other's arms to make sure that he didn't fall as Sethos shifted to face him. "It sounded like a sneeze to me."

"It wasn't. I don't sneeze."

"Are you sure? Cause it looks to me like your nose is twitching."

"It's not-"

"You completely sure that the temperature change isn't making your nose itch? Making it buzz, like, zzzz-" Sethos paused mid-sound effect as he noticed the other's eyes get a little bit hazy. "Woah, wait, is just talking about it making you start to-"

"No." The Wanderer's grip on Sethos' arms tightened ever so slightly. "Stop talking about it."

"But what if I wanna hear you sneeze again, huh?" Sethos said, nearly laughing at the expression that immediately crossed the Wanderer's face in response. "I was a little preoccupied at the time, obviously, so I couldn't really tell, but I think it sounded cute-"

"Cu- what, I didn't-"

Sethos' rolled his eyes at the Wanderer's angry stammering, before flicking a tiny bit of electricity at him, the way he normally did to slightly annoy the other-

Only this time it had another effect.

"Hih- hH'shKiu!!" With his hands gripping Sethos' arms to keep him steady, the Wanderer couldn't stifle, a burst of anemo energy tussling Sethos' hair. The Wanderer's hat got knocked slightly off balance, and Sethos had to quickly reach up and grab hold of it with one hand to keep it from falling off and exposing the both of them to the rain.

"See?" Sethos said, "Your sneeze is cute."

The Wanderer glared at him.

"I could drop you." He said, "I could drop you out of this tree right now."

"But you won't~"

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating fear (III)

Instant Regret

Part One here // Continued from here // Masterpost

*~*~*~*~*

Kit jerked awake suddenly, letting out a sharp cry as he moved, the motion pulling on his arms without mercy. His feet almost slipped at the movement, but he caught himself before he fell. A shiver ran down his spine as his eyes met the concrete wall in front of him.

He didn’t even get a moment of blissful ignorance, couldn’t even pretend maybe this was all some bad dream and he’d wake up in his bed safe and sound.

The feeling of his power buzzing under his skin wasn’t even a familiar comfort. It was there, he could use it. If he needed to, he could use it. But, if he wanted to stay awake and alert, he couldn’t. He didn’t exactly enjoy frying himself with his own electricity.

It was cruel.

It would have been kinder if Omen had just put him in power dampeners. At least then he could pretend that he couldn’t do anything to save himself.

Kit shook his head. No. He refused to be defeated. He’d get out of here. Get away from Omen, somehow. Starting with the fucking water he was standing in.

Kit looked down to assess his situation while he had a moment of peace. His feet were fully submerged in the clear water up to his ankles. It was just a normal basin. Kit should be able to kick it over. Kit did just that. He kicked the edge of the basin, but it didn’t budge. Kit tried again. All it did was splash some water out. Kit frowned, leaned forward to get a better look then winced as his arms groaned in the chains.

The edges of the basin were bolted down into the ground, or, no, not the ground, some other heavy thing, like a wooden platform.

Fine. The water wasn’t going anywhere but that doesn’t mean Kit had to stay in it.

Kit looked down, lifted a foot, balancing it on the edge of the basin and tested putting weight on it. It slipped down the edges into the water with a weak thunk.

Alright. New plan.

Kit lifted his other foot and ran it down his rolled-up trousers, drying it off slightly before trying again. He got his foot up on the ledge and nearly cried as the weight in his arms lessened.

Okay. Okay. Now the other foot.

He could do this, Kit nodded to himself, bracing his shoulders as he held his weight on his arms above his head and lifted the other foot out of the water.

He got the second foot on the side of the basin, balancing on the first and the pressure on his arms felt as light as a feather.

Kit just stayed there, panting, still as a statue. Oh god that feels so good, he just needed to enjoy it. He was okay. This he could deal with. Kit closed his eyes and took deep breaths.

Slowly in through the nose, long and deep, expanding his chest and filling his lungs with sweet, stress-free air.

Holding it there for a moment.

Then a drawn-out exhale until his entire body deflated like a balloon.

And again.

And again.

He repeated this for another while before finally risking a glance up at his arms to see exactly how they were strung above his head. The metal cuffs were padlocked to a chain that ran up to a hook in the ceiling. The hook curved in and around and it was far too high for Kit to even think about trying to get the chain free.

So his arms were still stuck above his head. Okay. That’s okay… Kit felt the familiar flare of panic rear it’s mighty head in his gut, but he pushed it back down.

He was trapped. There was nothing he could do. Panicking right now wouldn’t help him. He just needed to pause and breathe…

Kit looked down to his feet again. He risked stepping a foot down onto the platform the basin was attached to but it stretched his arms awkwardly, so he stood on the side of the basin again and let out a quiet whine.

“I like that sound,” Omen purred behind them. Kit flinched but thankfully his balance kept him up on the side of the basin, arms relaxing slightly above him, still numb. “Make it for me again.”

“Let me go,” Kit said instead, his voice sounding even more pathetic than his whine.

“Hmm,” is all Omen replied. The sound of his shoes clacking against the concrete was the only thing Kit was focused on at that moment in time. The footsteps and how he got closer and closer, winding Kit’s nerves tighter and tighter until the footsteps stopped.

Kit’s breath hitched.

A hand bunched into the back of his shirt and Kit could barely let out a cry of protest before he was yanked backwards, his feet splashing into the water and his arms felt like they were ripped from his body.

“That sound was even better,” Omen said, a smile in his voice as he walked around to Kit’s front, so Kit could witness Omen in all his horrifying glory.

His face looked paler in the dim lighting, as if he were never touched by sunlight. His raven hair was half tied back so strands didn’t fall around his face, hiding all the sharp edges of Omen, his cheek bones, his jaw, the razor-sharp curve of his smile. He wore a black button up shirt today, the top button undone, no tie or suit jacket. He reached a hand up to Kit’s cheek and Kit flinched back, cursing himself silently for it.

“Ever heard of personal space?” Kit bit out with a huff. Omen smiled. He just kept smiling and Kit wanted so badly to just rip it from his face. Just once, to see it slip, but that would leave Kit in a worse off predicament. His body still ached from the last time Omen had got too close.

“Yeah, I know about personal space. I’m just not a fan of it with you. You know, it’s hard for me— this,” Omen said, gesturing between the two of them, grin getting wider. His bottomless black eyes were even smiling. “I’m not used to not using my powers on people. Y’know, knowing exactly what they’re thinking. It’s strange.”

Kit scoffed, “right. So, when you can’t invade somebody’s brain against their consent, you’ll just invade their personal space instead?”

“Hmm,” Omen hummed as he placed a hand on Kit’s throat and squeezed until Kit’s feet were splashing up water, and his face turned red. He finally let go and stepped back, his heels hitting the basin’s edge – gasping in air greedily, swallowing oxygen like it was a limited resource.

Well, with Omen’s mood swings it was.

“You put it very succinctly. I just need to know, need to see your fear you’re so desperately trying to hide from me. Need to feel it, do you know what I mean?”

“No, sorry,” Kit said, and even Omen raised a suspicious brow at Kit’s seemingly empathetic tone. “I’m not a sociopath so I recognise normal human emotion without having to be weird about it.”

Omen shrugged, unbothered. He began unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt and rolling up his sleeves slowly, black eyes focused on Kit’s the whole time.

“I imagine it’s not unlike your weirdness, Kit,” Ambrose said, his voice like liquid silver, charming and smooth. Kit understood the term silver tongue when Omen spoke. It’s like you wanted to hear everything he said, hang onto every word. Even without Omen using his power on Kit, his voice still affected him to some extent.

“Us heroes and villains, we’re all where we are today because we didn’t fit into the normal life. We didn’t get powers to squander them and sit in an office all day drinking coffee with normal humans. We’re all weird, even you and your sensitivity to electricity,” Omen said, unbuttoning his second cuff and starting on his other sleeve. He levelled Kit with his black eyes. “My guess is you can feel the electric currents in the environment around you. Am I right? In the air, in the water, in our bodies?”

Kit didn’t say anything, just stared at Omen as he spoke. “Static electricity doesn’t affect you? No?”

Kit must have given something away because Omen smiled.

“Hah, you’re lucky. It can be a real bitch, but I respect you want to keep your power private. My point is, that normal people are affected by static electricity, and you have a resistance to it. That little spark show you exhibited yesterday told me you don’t have full immunity, but a normal person would be dead if they had that much electricity coursing through their body.”

“What’s your point?” Kit snapped, tired with Omen’s villain monologue. He stepped up to Kit, grabbed Kit by the collar of his shirt and yanked him down, causing Kit to cry out.

“What did I say about being nice to me? Didn’t I say I could make things uncomfortable for you?”

Kit’s screams faded into loud groans of pain as he bit down on his tongue, but Ambrose pulled him down harder and Kit couldn’t bear the strain as he cried out.

He reacted on instinct.

He hadn’t meant to do it.

It just happened on reflex.

The strain on his arms, it felt like he was going to pop, and Kit just needed Omen to let go of them, to just stop—

His legs shot up and kicked Omen back. His foot planting squarely on Omen’s chest and knocking him back a couple steps. Omen’s dark eyes went wide with surprise, and he let go of Kit. Kit’s foot landed on the edge of the basin giving Kit some relief from the strain on his arms.

Nothing moved between them.

Not even a breath.

Kit was too scared to dare breathe, to blink, to do anything other than stare at Omen with wide eyes, too stunned to do anything.

Omen’s face cracked. A shocked laughter escaped him, filling the silence of the room. He clapped his hands wordlessly as his melodic laugh filled the air and the dread in Kit’s gut only increased when he should have been reassured.

Omen finally composed himself, and stood up taller than before, delight shining on his face. “You— are just full of surprises, Kit. Here I thought you were deathly afraid of me, and yet, if there was someone I was deathly afraid of… I know I wouldn’t have kicked them of all things.”

“No, no, Omen,” Kit pleaded as Omen advanced on Kit. “Please, I didn’t—”

“Oh, but you did, Kit,” Omen said, putting a hand on Kit’s shoulder, and shushing him as Kit flinched. “Ssh, Sssh, sweet Malyn, look at me…”

Kit was shaking his head, his eyes closed. “Look at me,” Ambrose commanded, and Kit opened his eyes, still shaking his head at the villain.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising,” Omen told Kit, putting a finger under Kit’s chin, stopping Kit from shaking his head. Kit couldn’t fight the shiver that ran under his skin at how close Omen was. What he could do to Kit… without touching him. He didn’t even need to touch Kit for his power, he could do it from across the room. He just wanted to show Kit that he could do whatever he wanted, and Kit would just have to deal with it. The fear came back with a jolt and Kit fought back tears at the overwhelming helplessness of his situation.

“Omen—”

“Hush. Let me bask in your fear, I haven’t seen it all day. It’s like nicotine, it makes the day a bit better, makes the air you breathe a bit cleaner. You’re practically shaking! Look at you, I have one question for you. Are you paying attention?”

Kit nodded because he couldn’t trust his voice.

“Good,” Omen praised, “very good. Now, tell me why you fear me so much.”

The chains above Kit were shaking, his teeth rattling in his skull. It was a cold fear that washed over him at the question, at what Omen could do to him.

What Omen could do to him…

And Kit was powerless to stop them, he had no chance.

“Omen… please,” Kit sniffed, fighting the tears back, but the villain heard his voice crack.

Omen sighed and stepped back, removing his hands from Kit. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head.

“You know, I really do hate to do this to you,” Omen said. That was all he said. He let Kit’s mind conjure up the rest. Then he felt the icy chill of Omen’s power tugging at his mind and Kit jerked forward in his chains.

Tears streaming freely now.

“No Omen! Omen! No, wait! Wait!”

“You’re just going to go for a little nap for me. Maybe you’ll be more agreeable when you wake.”

“Wait, no! Please!” Kit called into the darkness as Omen blocked Kit’s sight first. He struggled in his chains, trying to gain purchase on anything but he couldn’t hear Omen around him. He couldn’t hear.

Kit’s heartbeat thundered in his ears, blood rushing through like a tsunami’s unforgiving tide.

“Omen, wait!” Kit cried and gasped when he felt Omen’s hand on his hair, yanking his head back harshly.

This time when Omen spoke it was in Kit’s mind.

Nighty night, little Kit.

The last terrifying thought paralysed him as Kit was dragged into unconsciousness, kicking and screaming: how does he know my name?

Kit went still in his chains. Omen double checked his mind to make sure Kit was unconscious then he stepped back away from the hero, walking around to face him. He rubbed his chest from Kit’s kick, still stunned at him for having the audacity to try something like that.

Ambrose smiled to think of it.

He was right for taking Kit.

He was going to be so much fun to break.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Tag-list: @princess-bubble-blossom @nameless-beanie (lmk if you wanna be added or removed)

[the-writings-of-a-kiwi-bird]

Sorry, Reenie~

tags: angst/comfort, crack treated seriously maybe (not really taken seriously actually), medical inaccuracies probably (dont have the spoons to do research, im pretty vague though), kidnapping, referenced past drugging but in a lighthearted way and only once near the end

a little bit of Aventurine/Topaz at the end if you squint, but it can be interpretted as platonic, too

(i think thats it? idk)

this is 100% based on one of the numerous plotting/fic situations @silvercaptain24 and I think up/ping pong off each other in our DMs lol. im also only posting mainly this because its the easiest way to share with her XD

fic below cut (about 1400 words i thkn?)

Aventurine pushed his chair away from his desk and stood. 

I’ve been staring at these documents too long, I need a break. 

He exited his office, making sure to lock the door behind him, and began to make his way towards the end of the building where Topaz’s office is. 

Maybe I can talk her into lunch. It's been a while since I ate. 

He rounded a corner and was immediately grabbed and pulled into a janitorial closet. 

Before he could respond, a hand holding a cloth covered his nose and mouth. 

Aventurine held his breath and struggled, fighting to break free. 

“Oh come on, that’s taking too long!” An unfamiliar voice complained. 

Something hit his head hard, and the world turned black. 

~~ 

He awoke lying on his side. 

Everything hurt, and his mind was clouded with fog and pain. 

Aventurine tried to move his arms, only to painfully discover that they had been bound behind his back with rope, rather tightly. He did his best to remain silent and fought his eyes open. 

The floor he was laying on was dirt, which would explain the musty smell. It was dark, too dark to see much beyond the rusty iron bars in front of him. He could hear faint voices, but couldn't tell what they were saying or even what direction they came from. 

Panic fought to overtake his already limited mind, and he struggled to fight against it. 

I’m trapped. I can’t get free. Even if I could, those bars look strong. Everything hurts. What had I been doing? Where am I? I can move my feet. What good will that do? They’ve probably confiscated all my things. I can’t even call for help. I don't know if I’m even strong enough right now. I'm trapped. It’s so dark— 

His eyes threatened to close, and the room kept spinning. His wrists burned, the pain overpowering even the rest of the pain and making thoughts difficult. Painful memories threatened to surface, and he forced himself to focus on the pain instead. 

Aventurine’s whole body trembled, heart beating fast and loud. His neck burned, a phantom pain from memories long past resurfaced. 

Pistols fired somewhere in the distance, and the nearby voices turned to far away shouts. 

He was shaking, and not just from the cold. 

A familiar voice said something nearby. Or maybe far away? He wasn't sure. 

Panic swirled in his mind, drowning out all other thoughts besides the pain. 

He heard metal clangs, and the creaking of rusty hinges. That familiar yet unplaceable voice said something else he did not register, more insistent this time. 

Aventurine shut his eyes and struggled to try and get his breathing even. If they think he's asleep, they’ll leave him alone. Right?

The voice spoke again, definitely closer this time, and still not understandable. 

The pain in his wrists flared and he heard someone whimper pathetically. 

On second thought, that may have been him. 

The voice kept speaking to him, and he barely registered that a tension around his wrists had been broken. The searing pain lessened slightly. 

More speaking. He thinks. 

Icy cold water splashed Aventurine in the face, and he shot his eyes wide open with a gasp.  

“Geez, it’s ‘bout time!” A familiar metal hand waved in his face. “Are ya with me now, Fancy Pants?” 

Aventurine moved to sit up, but the pain in his wrists inhibited that. Someone lifted him into an upright position. 

Finally, he looked up. “… Boothill?” 

The space cowboy flashed a toothy grin. “Oh good, that little brain of yours is working again. C’mon kid, let's get you out of here.” 

Boothill lifted Aventurine with ease, one metal arm beneath his legs and the other supporting his back. Aventurine vaguely heard the space ranger mumble something about ‘muddle fudging son of nice ladies shirt bags ash voles’. 

Aventurine found himself relaxing somewhat, fighting to keep his eyes open as he bounced slightly with each step Boothill took. 

Boothill sighed. “Relax, kid, just get some sleep. You’re safe now. I’ll hold you for ransom when you wake up.” 

Aventurine relaxed fully, drifting off to sleep before the words had even fully registered. 

~~~

Aventurine awoke in a room he shouldn’t even recognize, much less be all too familiar with. 

“Ugh, so much for getting some work done today.” He groaned and stood, clutching his head with one hand as he waited for the room to stop spinning. He walked to the door and hesitated as he grabbed the handle, cherishing his last moments of peace before his headache inevitably gets much worse. 

~

“Well hello there, sleepyhead,” Boothill greeted. 

Two metal hands clasped each shoulder and not-no-gently steered him into a chair at the table, the biggest plate Aventurine had ever seen situated in front of him. It was overfilled with his favorite foods. 

He glanced back at Boothill, eyebrow raised skeptically. “There is absolutely no way I can eat all that. And I don't remember the ipc having any confidential files that list what my favorite foods are,” he added. 

Boothill smirked and simply shrugged. “Wow, favorite foods huh? What a coincidence! Anyways, Fancy Pants, you’d best get to eating, won’t know how much you can eat til you try!” 

Aventurine glared suspiciously at the food and drink in front of him. “Please tell me you didn’t drug it this time, i think i've had enough sleep for today.”

“Nah, you got plenty of sleep already, not necessary this time.” Boothill waved a hand dismissively, gaze never leaving Aventurine. “You should start eating though, I already sent the message to that Topaz lady and she’s usually pretty quick at sending the random money.” 

Aventurine began to eat, doing his best to refrain from wolfing it all down immediately. “You do know she transfers that from her personal account so she doesn’t have to go through Jade every time, right?” 

“It's okay, every time this happens that exact amount of money mysteriously disappears from the IPC’s bank account and appears in hers.” 

Aventurine froze, then turned his head slowly to look at Boothill. “You can do that. This whole time. What’s even the point of ransom then???” 

“More fun this way,” Boothill said with a toothy grin. “And it gives me the opportunity to make sure my Greatest Competition And Nemesis is Taking Care Of Himself well enough that we can be evenly matched still.” 

Aventurine rolled his eyes and continued eating. “I thought you were done with that ridiculous title.” 

Boothill chuckled. “Why would I be done with it, O Greatest Competition And Nemesis? It's the most fitting, after all.” 

Aventurine groaned, and Boothill watched closely to make sure he actually ate everything. 

~~ 

There was a knock at the ship’s door, and Boothill opened it to reveal a very exasperated Topaz. 

“Alright, Boothill, you’ve got the money. Can we have our dumbass back now?” 

“Hey!” Aventurine protested. Both ignored him. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure thing little lady.” Boothill patted Aventurine on the back forcefully, sending the man tumbling forward. 

Topaz calmly stepped aside and let him fall. 

“Thanks. I assume he’s been fed again?” 

“Obviously. Make sure the muddlefudger uses the healing ointment I gave him for his wrists, which were absolutely not my doing for the record.” 

Aventurine stood and dusted himself off, grumbling about loser friends who clearly hate him and not being a child who needs supervision. 

“Will do. See you next time, I unfortunately assume?” Topaz asked. 

“Yep!” Boothill replied cheerfully. “Nice doin’ business with ya.” 

Topaz nodded and turned, grabbing Aventurine’s arm. “Come on idiot, let's go.” 

She turned back to Boothill one last time, expression much softer for a split second. “…thanks for taking care of him.” 

She turned again, all but dragging Aventurine with her. 

“Hey, this time really wasn’t my fault,” he insisted defensively. 

Topaz glanced at him, a brief moment of concern on her face before she returned to that annoyed expression she always wore around him. “Yeah. I know.” She hesitated. “And… I’m glad you’re okay. I guess.” 

“You know,” she added quickly, “because I don’t want to be doing my and your workload. That's all. Definitely.” 

Aventurine smiled fondly. “Sure.” 

They took a few more steps before he paused. 

“Wait what do you mean you know? How?” 

Topaz groaned. “Mister Boothill demanded more credits than usual for, and I quote, ‘saving you shirt bags from having to rescue him from some forking muddle fudgers, and saving y’all the trouble of taking care of the ash voles.’” 

Aventurine smacked his forehead with his palm and sighed. “Of course he did. Why am I not surprised.”

Topaz shrugged. “That Galaxy Ranger really confuses me sometimes, you know.” 

“Only sometimes?” 

She smacked his arm. 

“Anyways, you owe me big time. Again.” 

“Yeah, yeah. The usual Lunch for a week I assume?” 

“Make it two this time.” 

“… fine, two.” 

~~~~~

[princelylove]

Time escapes Leone.

To say ‘escape’ is to say he once had a firm grip on it. Perhaps it would be better to say it evades him.

No, it vexes him. It hinders him, it goes out of its way to torture, no, to torment him. Leone feels time slip through his fingers- sand pools in his palms, and despite his efforts, it still finds a way to slip out. The sand never gets under his nails, never makes its home in the cracks of his hands, it only appears and disappears. 

He’s had that dream for as long as he can remember. The ending has never changed. He suffocates under the sand, and yet he clings to it- it’s better if he can just hold on, he thinks. 

Anything before his… ‘incident’ is blurry. He’s tried to go back, but Moody Blues plays nothing but static. Even his own stand hates him, it refuses to obey him, refuses to play anything he wants to see. 

Nobody wants to see the moment their beloved decided to leave them. Nobody wants to see how assured they were, how their shoulders released so much tension the second they got out. It’s all the damn thing will play.

Moody Blues whirs as the scene- the same fucking scene- plays. Leone’s always hated the lack of emotion in Moody Blues- its face is empty, without any distinct features besides from the ridge of its nose, and its soulless eyes. Of course Leone’s stand would look soulless. The only real feature is the screen on its forehead, the number is overkill at this point. Who cares about the time you left him? He doesn’t plan on making a countdown or celebrating the anniversary down to the millisecond. Yay, my darling left me in three, two, one, happy divorce! 

A better term would be ‘breakup’ but Leone thinks ‘divorce’ is less embarrassing, somehow. It’s more mature. ‘Breakup’ makes him feel like a teenager getting dumped for the first time. He’d drink about it then, he’d drink about it now.

You probably preferred me when I was gentle. That’s why you left. Because I was a brute that couldn’t keep it in his pants, couldn’t say the right things, couldn’t keep you happy… 

Leone takes another swig from the bottle on his lap, and instead of a familiar splash as he puts the bottle back, he’s met with silence. Two down, however much is left in the cabinet to go.

I thought you liked my voice. Thought you liked deep sounds because it reminded you of me. God, that’s moronic… 

He pops open his second- or maybe fourth, he’s not sure, bottle of wine. He’s been drinking water too, not that he deserves it, but wine has always been here when nothing else has. 

Are you claustrophobic…? It’s not like I kept you in my room, you could go anywhere but his room or the balcony.

The first sip is always the best, his lipstick often ruins the bottle- why he doesn’t just pour it out into a proper glass is obvious, a brute like him doesn’t deserve the privilege of a real glass. He doesn’t want to defile it like he’s done to you- although he’d use the word desecrate. 

Don’t you enjoy confinement? Don’t you enjoy not thinking all the time? I would’ve killed for a situation like that when I was younger.

He fumbles with the bottle, and drops it. The wine spills all over his legs and the nice rug under him. There’s a little left in the bottle- it’s salvageable, in Leone’s eyes, he immediately takes a sip of what’s left of it- but he gets off of his ass to clean it up. 

God. He’s not a good caretaker, can barely take care of himself. No wonder you didn’t wanna stick around. Stupid to think you’d want a guy like him to take care of you, to do the thinking, can barely stand up by himself without wobbling like an idiot.

It takes a while to clean up his mess. Leone takes the opportunity to wash his face- rinse, really, the makeup didn’t come off at all- and spends the next couple of minutes staring at himself in the mirror. Pathetic man…..

Once he’s done treating the rug, he goes into his kitchen, and just sort of stares at the wine cabinet. It’s empty. His last chance at relief, and he wasted it. God must think this is all just a big joke. 

[krikeymate]

Imagine: the core 4 is out on a hot day and they are just having fun around town

Mindy and chad are debating over something and sam doesn’t see tara anymore

She cant find her and eventually she hears crying

She finds tara crying and someone had made fun of taras scars since she was wearing a cropped shirt because of the weather. Her eyes look so sad

😟

Sam feels like she only turned around for a second, and then Tara was gone. That girl, she sighs. Maybe she should get the leash out after all. Tara likes crowds as little as she does, and she knows how anxious it makes her when she disappears like this, so she doesn't understand why she still does it.

She wanders back to The Twins splashing each other in the fountain, alongside several children, to let them know she's going off to search for their wayward companion. They wave her off, too busy in their water-based war. She hopes Chad will reign Mindy's competitiveness in. She's not getting involved if Mindy's caught publically feuding with a child again.

The sun beats down harshly, skin prickling under the heat. It's the kind of sensation Tara loves, but Sam can't stand it. She'd rather be inside lying in the dark, than out here, tanktop soaked with sweat and eyes burning even behind her sunglasses.

But she'd seen the way Tara looked longingly at the crowds outside enjoying the sun, and just known her plans for the day were ruined. So here she is, outside for Tara, and the girl is nowhere to be found.

If she went to get ice cream and didn't get one for Sam, she's going to be pretty upset.

She wanders past a couple of teenagers sniggering about... a girl with scars? She spins on her heel in an instant, slamming one of them against the tree they're leaning on. Turns out she doesn't have to worry about Mindy making a scene after all.

"The fuck did you just say," she growls at the kid, their feet barely touching the ground as she holds them aloft.

"Woah, hey-"

She ignores their companion.

"You think there's something ugly about scars? How about I give you a few of your own?!"

The boy is shaking like a leaf in her grip, spluttering.

"She got them fighting for her life, which is more than you'll ever achieve!"

She drops him to the floor, stepping her booted foot between his legs, a silent threat.

"Where the fuck is she?"

The boy points a quivering finger to the benches by the pond. Sam side-eyes the boys companion, a pathetic excuse for a friend given how easily he stood back with nary a word of protest. She makes a small lunge at him, enjoying the way he trips over his feet as he jumps backwards.

She finds her sister curled up on a bench, body hidden behind her legs and watching the ducks.

"I've been looking for you," she murmurs, plonking herself down beside her sister and throwing a sweaty arm over her shoulder.

Tara wrinkles her nose, trying to shake the arm off. "Sorry," she mutters, not looking her way.

"So, what're we doing over here? If you wanted to see the ducks, you could have just told me."

"I-" Tara bites her lip, glancing at Sam's feet. "It was just... a lot. More than I expected. Being..."

"Seen?"

Tara looks up, meeting Sam's eyes. She swallows.

"Some losers said something, huh?" Sam asks, the answer already known to her. She watches her sister blink back some tears, her head jolting forward in a nod.

Sam pulls her into her side. "They're just jealous they're not as pretty as you." Tara snorts, sniffling into Sam's shoulder.

"That's not-"

"True? Mmm, that's not an argument you're gonna win babygirl, don't try me." When Tara doesn't respond, Sam continues. "I set them straight anyway, and I'll beat up anyone who has something to say about your scars."

Tara sits up. "Wait, Sam, what did you-"

"So let's go get some ice cream," Sam says, loudly, speaking over her sister. She stands up, holding out a hand for her.

"Ice cream," she reiterates, brow twitching at Tara as if daring her to question her.

Tara squints at her, considering her options, but eventually, she reaches out and lets herself be pulled up from the bench.

Sam doesn't let go of her hand as she pulls them in the direction of the van.

"Should we get some for Mindy and Chad?"

"Nah, what they don't know won't hurt them," Sam jokes, knocking her shoulder against Tara's. The laugh she gets back makes braving the sun worth it. She'll do anything to keep hearing it.

[somedayonbroadway]

I love your writing! All of the angst is absolutely delicious. With the beautiful mood board you posted earlier, I had a thought. What if Tyler had a close call involving water, and once he and Jack are done freaking out, Tyler is like, I’m so glad that guy saved me, and Jack doesn’t know what he’s talking about but then Tyler describes Spencer perfectly? And Jack realizes his big brother is watching out for his kid. ❤️

Everything I Ever Wanted Masterlist

“He could still have water in his lungs, at least call a doctor, sir! Please, just call someone—!” The old man didn’t even care about the panic in Jack’s voice. The smack came out of habit and Snyder shook his head.

“You will shut your mouth right now,” he growled. “I don’t want a word of this coming up again. You turned your back on him and he fell in the water, this is why you couldn’t be a father!” Snyder scolded. “That boy would be dead if I let you take him! You pathetic little bitch!”

Jack leaned back against the wall as Snyder stalked up on him. They were nose to nose and Snyder had always been bigger than Jack. He shouldn’t be scared of him like he was, not anymore, but he was. Snyder held all the power. He could kill him and Tyler and no one would ever nail him for it. So Jack looked down, letting the old man loom over him. “Y-you’re right,” he breathed. “Th-thank you for taking care of my baby. F-for keeping him alive…”

Snyder nodded. “Good boy. You’re welcome.”

With a sniffle, Jack pressed his back further into the wall. “Can I check on my child please?” he asked.

Snyder walked even closer to Jack, so their chests were touching. Jack held his breath. “Make it quick.”

The young man couldn’t get out of there fast enough, sliding out of Snyder’s space and rushing up the stairs to find his son, curled up beneath a pile of blankets. He took a deep breath to calm himself and wipe at his tears before he closed the door, locking it behind him as he toed off his shoes and allowed himself to pull up the blankets and gather his son up in his arms, cradling him to his chest.

“Jackie?” Race breathed tiredly. His little six year old body was too stressed to stay awake.

Jack nodded. “Yeah, baby, it’s me. Just relax… are you breathing okay?”

The little boy nodded into his chest, wiping his nose on Jack’s shirt. “I’m ‘kay…” he whispered. “Can we say thank you ta that man?”

Too worried about his baby, the young man was ready to just say yes until he caught what the child had said. “What man?” he whispered back.

Race blinked his eyes up at Jack. “The one that saved me…” he explained before he coughed a bit. Jack shushed him. “He jumped into the water n’ pulled me up. He says he knew I can’t swim…”

Jack squinted. There was no one else at that lake. Just him panicking and splashing around like a fish while searching for his drowning son. “What did the man look like?”

Shrugging, Race looked down. “He had blond hair n’ blue eyes like mine,” he said. “He had little glasses. And a camera. He picked them up when he saved me. I liked him…”

Jack stared at the wall with wide eyes. There was nothing he could say. That was impossible. “Baby… what… what was he wearing?”

“I dunno… a white jacket, like the one you have…”

Jack paled. The white leather jacket. The one that was his brother’s. He looked down at Tyler and swallowed hard. “My god, Spencer…” he whispered.

Tyler smiled. “He says that was his name… but he couldn’t stay…”

Jack couldn’t breathe. He nodded. “Go ta sleep, baby, just rest,” he insisted, shaking his head and rocking the boy as tears rushed down his face. “Just relax… and… and I promise that your guardian angel is gonna take care of you…” he whispered.

Race did nothing but trust him, falling asleep while Jack looked up at the ceiling, wondering if Spencer was there watching over them at this moment.

[missmyluv]

why? (´；Д；` )

synopsis | miles left you read again for the third time this week with no apology or reason why he did, he makes it up to you.. i guess

cw : i quite literally can’t say anything about future chapters but, cursing, reader overthinking, no miles here (yet)

@bigbawdy-benzz

you roll your eyes at your phone, tapping your nail against the screen annoyingly. this has happened one times too many, with no excuse at that. your patience was running in thin — very thin.

‘he’s playin’ wit my last nerve.’ you massage your forehead to ease the pain from an incoming headache, flipping the water on and splashing the cold water on your face and sighing deeply.

you look up at yourself in the mirror, a mess. you couldn’t take more of this not communicating for any longer — with these thoughts come insecurity, hard thinking and irrational feelings.

you take a deep breath, trying to calm down your eyes from leaking, you place your phone down on your desk and start your skin care routine for bed, it was two am and miles was suppose to come over hours ago — at nine.

you sigh deep in thought, applying your acne cream before spots start poppin’ up because of how much you’re stressin’. you check your phone once again to see if you trippin.. oh your delusions were trying everything to make it seem like he didn’t do it on purpose.

even his mom had checked up on you, three times. she had already left for work, so you decided to leave as well.

does he think that you’re too attached and needs a break ? no, he loves you! has he gotten tired of you ? of course not. maybe he gots his eyes on another girl ???? maybe.. no. you have been clinging onto him lately.. you jus want quality time with him.

you coming?

read 8:57

you lean your head back, staring at the ceiling and reminiscing on the memories you made with him. you’ve always told yourself “don’t let a man be the reason for your acne.” which is basically saying “don’t let him take control of your emotions.” n’ you did, many times.

few minutes later your bonnet sat neatly on your head, jus getting off the phone w/ your gfs trying to reassure you — others saying ‘how much of a bitch he is’. well, those comments didn’t help, but you get where they’re coming from.

you place your phone on your nightstand, turning away from it. your soft cheek pressed against your silk tear-stained pillow. you were going through all of the stages of acceptance at this point.

you silently cried wiping your nose with your bedside tissue, wiping your face with another. ‘i miss him so much.’ god you were pathetic. finally choosing to stop crying you fall asleep soon after, thinking about him.

you left your window slightly open, maybe he’d drop by, just maybe.

[jade-parcels]

🐕 NAUGHTY GOROU STUFF UNDER THE CUT!! MINORS GET OUT!!!🐕 (f!reader, oral(receiving), panty stuff, scent stuff idk)

We have all collectively agreed that Go is sensitive to smells. And it’s well known that dogs like to steal (or eat) their owners clothes because it makes them feel safe and they like their owners smell!! Not that I’m saying that being in a relationship with Gorou is owning him just cause he’s part dog SHHH

It just has me thinking about how he loooves your scent so much!! You probably don’t even realize you smell so good to him! If you’re sweaty, on your period, freshly showered, anything- he looooooves your scent so much!! His little obsession with your scent started off small. When you came to visit before you officially got together, he’d lay blankets over his chairs or on the ground to sit on, claiming his chairs are uncomfortable or the floor is cold. Once you’re gone, he’d wrap himself in those blankets, tail wagging as he enveloped himself in your scent! But it was never enough, your smell faded from the fabric so fast :( too fast!! It was barely there by time morning rolled around :( and once he got home from work that day his blankets didn’t smell like you at all :(

Cut to when you two are actually together but not…living together…yet. He’s very cuddly, wanting to just curl up against you and breathe in your sweet smell!! He won’t admit that!! That’s wayyyy too embarrassing :0 so he takes subtle, deep breaths as you talk about your day, turning his head just the slightest bit in order to give your shirt a good sniff. You smell like you’ve been to the ocean today! And like you had eaten at a food stall! And of course, your underlying scent is still there…Sweet, warm, comforting…

When you’re officially living together you’ll definitely notice the way he loves your clothes. He’ll wear your shirts to bed, giving you his best puppy eyes when you try to say no :( you monster!! You can’t say no to him :( the mix of getting to wear your clothes, preferably a pajama shirt you wore the night before, and getting to cuddle close to you beneath the covers- it’s like a dream come true!! And now we’re past the cute stuff…

Once Go has caught a scent he reallly likes it’s hard for him to not immediately get hard and have to step away to fix his ‘problem’, having to bite his own hand in order to prevent his pathetic little whines from being heard by his comrades. Sometimes he can snap himself out of it, he can splash water in his face or hold crushed grass against his nose to drown out that delicious scent…But you…There’s no way he can do that, he’s tried but nothing works!! He’s tried everything!! Once he gets a whiff of your cunt he’s in trouble, he’s just gotta submit to his own horniness

He used to sneak away to shamefully jerk himself off, hiding in his tent where no one could see this pitiful display. The resistance’s top general brought to his knees, ears twitching as he pants your name out over and over, crying out as he coats his hand white. Poor puppy… Thats not how he is anymore though. Now that you’re together, he’ll pull you aside to ‘have a chat’ or ‘strategize’ when he needs to. He paws at your clothes, brain foggy as he’s overcome with lust. He can’t even get your shirt off, there’s too many buttons!! :( he cries as he humps your leg, so impatient!! He just can’t wait, your shirt just has to stay on cause his focus is shifting to your cunt

He craves your scent and taste, you’d think he’s been starving for a century with the way he acts. His hot tongue presses against your clothed sex and he moans as he gets a taste of you through your panties. He licks and sucks at the fabric, groaning and making a mess as he drools all over you. Soon enough he’s ripping the crotch out of your panties with his teeth, gripping your thighs as he hurriedly laps at your folds, so so so eager to taste you! To indulge in your scent this way. Pure animal instincts kicking in. The sounds he makes are almost gross, he’s slurping, smacking his lips, moaning, making squelching sounds with his tongue- so gross but who cares, it feels nice! Don’t hold back, cum on his face it’s what he wants!! He’ll even beg you to, whining about how he wants you to make a mess on his face

But that isn’t enough, even if he makes you cum a few times and he cums in his pants just from eating you out- he still isn’t done!! He can’t be done until he sinks his cock into your welcoming, wet pussy. He’s so excited, flipping you over and shoving himself into you, rutting into you like an animal. His thrusts are messy, there’s not an ounce of rhythm there, he’s just manhandling you. Go’s lost in his lust for you, your name spilling out of his mouth over and over, drool and your cum glistening on his chin and cheeks. He’s so loud, so rough, too much-

And when he finally cums, he’s shaking, panting and whimpering as he spills his hot, thick load into you finally… but once isn’t enough. You can handle another round, right?? Please?? For him??

(Babes…I’m begging you to ignore any spelling errors ;-; I’ll cry and barf <3)

[wolferine]

The Bet

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: When you return home bloody and bruised, Natasha is determined to find who hurt you.

Warnings: Violence, blood, language

Word count: 1282

AN: Random one-shot for you all to enjoy! 

You stagger back to Natasha’s and your shared room, leaving bloody handprints on the walls in your wake. Your right knee is scraped open so badly blood trickles all the way down to your sock and you can’t put a single pound of weight on it. The skin on your right arm is torn off from wrist to shoulder and you cradle your arm against your chest, fingers trembling in pain.

You’re not even sure what your face looks like, but judging from having to constantly blink blood out of your eyes and spitting out entire mouthfuls on the sidewalk earlier tells you it’s not pretty.

You open the door quietly, practically hopping on one foot. Natasha is already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed and putting her shoes on. She doesn’t look up at you right away, focused on knotting her laces, and you seize your opportunity to try and sneak past her to the bathroom.

“Good morning,” you mumble, turning your face away from Natasha in an attempt to hide the damage. “I’m just gonna hop into the shower really quick—”

Natasha looks up and sees the blood splashed across your white workout shirt. She sees your limp and the way you hold your right arm to your chest.  

“What happened?” she screams, causing you to jump at the volume of her voice. She rushes you and you cringe away, accidentally revealing your face. Your chin is split in the middle, the tip of your nose looks like it’s completely missing, and a scrape travels from your right cheek, over your right eyebrow, all the way up to your hairline.

“What did you do?” Natasha shouts.

“Nothing!” you say, in too much pain to realize how pathetic of a lie it is.

“Don’t lie to me!” she snaps.

“Stop worrying, Nat,” you say, your cheeks burning in embarrassment. “You should see the other guy.”

“Other guy? What other guy? What did he do to you?” Natasha questions you like she’s interrogating a suspect. You try to ignore her and keep walking, but she grabs your left shoulder and you flinch away.

“Ow, Nat, please don’t—”

“I’m sorry.” She lets you go and bites her lip worriedly. “I just want to make sure you’re okay—”

“I told you I’m fine.” You know she cares about you, but the last thing you want is to talk about what happened. “Just let me take a shower and I’ll explain everything after—”

“Why can’t you just explain it now?” Natasha begs.

“Because it’s not a big deal!”

“That’s bullshit, Y/N. At least tell me where it happened.”

You sigh, knowing she won’t let you go unless you give her some semblance of answer. “It was on the west side of the Compound,” you mutter.

“How long ago? Where did they go after?”

“Like, five minutes ago? And I wasn’t really paying attention.” She finally steps back and lets you walk into the bathroom. Your reflection takes you by surprise, and now you understand Natasha’s concern. You look like you jumped out of a moving car at 25 miles per hour. 

“I will be waiting right here when you get out!” Natasha calls from the other side of the door, already regretting let you go in alone.

“Okay, okay!” At least you’ll have some time to come up with a story. It takes a few minutes until you can get your bloody shirt off and get into the shower. The hot water feels awful on your wounds and you have to hold back a scream as you rinse off your face and brush gravel out of your arm and knee. Everything starts bleeding all over again and you stumble out of the shower, gingerly patting yourself dry with your towel.

Meanwhile, Natasha grabs her phone when she hears the water turn on. She calls Tony and it takes him a few rings to answer.

“Yes?” His voice is groggy.

“Are you awake?” Natasha asks.

“I am now.”

“Can you check me the security camera footage on the west side of the compound?” she says. “From like, 6:45 to 7:00 a.m.?”

“What for?”

“Y/N just came back from a jog all bloody and won’t tell me what happened.”

“Yeah, that sounds like something Y/N would do.” Tony clearly isn’t the least bit concerned about you and it annoys Natasha. “I guess I can have Jarvis go through the timeframe and see if we can find anything.”

“Tony, I need you to do it now—”

“I will,” he promises. “Besides, if it was a real emergency, I’m sure Y/N would’ve told you what happened.”

“You didn’t see—” Natasha doesn’t even want to describe your injuries to him.

“Twenty bucks that it’s something dumb.”

“Tony!”

“All right, all right. I’ll text you if Jarvis finds anything. Good night, Romanoff.” He hangs up and Natasha slumps on the bed. She hears the water turn off and waits for you to open the door. Your hair is matted and you hold a towel around your chest. With most of the blood scrubbed off, you don’t look as bad, but she still doesn’t like seeing you all scraped up.

Natasha finds some clothes for you and helps you put them on, being particularly careful with your right arm.

“You might have to go to the med bay for that,” she comments, inspecting the bright-red road rash that covers the length of your arm.

“Why can’t you just take care of me?” you pout.

“Because you won’t be honest with me.” Before you can answer, she goes into the bathroom and grabs the medical kit under the sink. Her phone buzzes in her back pocket and she takes it out to check the newest message.

From Tony: You owe me $20, Romanoff.

Attached to Tony’s text is a 15-second video clip. Natasha sighs and hesitantly opens it. When she’s done viewing it, she hangs her head in secondhand shame and walks back to you.

“What’s wrong?” you ask as she places the medical kit beside you on the bed.

“I will ask you one more time what happened,” she threatens.

But you’re too stubborn to admit the truth. “It wasn’t a big deal, Nat—”

“You’re damn right it wasn’t!” She lifts her phone and you see the still frame of the security footage from the west corner of the compound.

“Aw, man, I forgot about the security cameras,” you mutter.

Natasha presses play on the video.

A small black cat sits on the sidewalk, licking its paws. You come jogging up from behind, almost finished with your run, when you notice the cat. You start sprinting for it, but the cat jets off before you can catch up. Suddenly, your foot catches on a pothole and you go sprawling forward.

Your right arm grinds across the ground as you try to stop your fall, and your head whiplashes forward and you scrape your face off on the pavement. The cat disappears from the frame of the video. You slowly wobble to your feet, bleeding from your head, arm, and leg. You then limp off camera sheepishly.

“Uh…” you start.

“Why?” Natasha says, closing her eyes and preparing herself for your answer.

“I wanted to chase the cat.”

“Why?”

“So I could catch it—”

“WHY?”

“You’ve always said you wanted to get a cat!” you defend, hurt that she doesn’t support your decision.

“Yes, from the adoption center. Not one you just picked up outside the Compound!”

“Oh.”

Natasha swears she is dating a child. The other Avengers had told her she was dating the human equivalent of a Golden Retriever, and sometimes, she had to admit that they were right.

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Tags: @yeetus-thyself @phoenixofash @yeeterthekeeper @diaryoflife @norwaynatasharomanoff @lovelyy-moonlight @nightingalxxc-blog@supersourlemon13 @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @d14n4ol @whitelotus00 @happylittle-dillpickle-12 @ssa-shaylam @mjaudrey @jazromanoff @ryunniez @007giu @wandaslittlewhore @ymzki-haruki @ki33es @fayhar @m-zne237@kyalinsworld @bentleywolf29 @furys-eyepatch @kermy48 @awkward-and-indecisive @whofan88​ @alexxislex @marrymemcgrath @marvels-bitch-boy

AN: So, this actually happened to my uncle, and my aunt was so disappointed with him, lol. Let his legacy be immortalized on the Internet forever.

Click here to join my taglist for future stories!

Thanks for reading, and until next time...

[bloomyagi]

bleed me dry (m)

summary: where Itadori is your bottom-loving boyfriend and Sukuna reluctantly learns this vessel is the real curse. or: where seduction is a dangerous game, and the King of Curses loses.

pairings: itadori x f!reader, sukuna x f!reader

warnings: subby itadori, sub sukuna (yeah you read that right), light bondage, blindfolds, sukuna’s havin a whole ‘reconsidering life’s meaning’ moment, lotta swear cause u know sukuna things, coming untouched, he faints (yeah you also read that right) and is actually unabashed about it, all things considered

length: 1,432

notes: what? me? obsessed with jjk? that doesn’t sound like me at all! 

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.

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His vessel is in love.

The word curdles in his mouth, tastes like ash. He has never known such a thing. It is part of his nature, he muses absently. Hardened from centuries of death and decay. Of destruction and war. He revels in it. Feels the most alive amongst the chaos.

But that’s the point. Curses can feel. They can have emotional attachment. Can’t you see? In so many ways, they’re not so different from us. He thinks you’re too loud. Your thoughts and beliefs are too loud. They’re also pointless and naïve, and he likes to pop by just to drive it home.

Hello, Sukuna. Where is the fear? Where is the resentment, the anger? The disgust? He enjoys it. But you—you just sit there and coax him into conversation like he’s another one of your classmates. Like he can’t crush your windpipe with a single flick of his hand. Like he isn’t the slow bleed of a death sentence for your lover. Like he isn’t anything at all. Like his titles and powers are stripped. What is he beyond it all? Who is he?

You ask about him sometimes. He rarely gives any indication he’s listening, but he does. Of course he does. There’s not much to do, bound and locked in this pink-haired boy. He lounges on this throne and watches his vessel pine and blush.

Sukuna watches his vessel fuck his fist and mewl your name every night.

It’s sad. “Brat,” he hisses. “Grow some balls. This is just pathetic.”

Itadori swallows. “Oh. Can you—?”

Sukuna shoves him off the ledge. A faint yelp travels, followed by a large splash. “Fuck her already. All this sitting and plotting is making my ass itch. If you won’t, I will.”

“You wouldn’t.” Sukuna tilts his head to peer down. Itadori’s eyes are narrowed, uncharacteristically solemn.

His lips bare into a slow grin. “Try me.”

Itadori blinks once. And then vanishes.

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.

.

Fuck. It’s the only coherent thought his muddled mind can pierce together. He gazes down at his palm, opening and closing languidly. His vision is blurry, spine tingling. He raises the other hand, reaching for his palm.

Mmm. He shakes his head firmly. The sharp tinge of metallic and iron coating his tongue clears the fog a little. The pain fades quickly, muted from his years of conquest and ruin.

Every nerve is on fire. His skin, this flesh cage, burns, an unfamiliar heat curling in his lower stomach. Sukuna is no stranger to the pleasures of the flesh—is well-acquainted, spent much of the centuries indulging in his vast harems. In the haze of blood and carnage, there is the memory of writhing bodies, of soft thighs and breasts, of glazed eyes and cries of his name. Of women fucked into wanton abandon, bred and lost in the worship of his cock.

But this. This heat is foreign in every sense. In its strange intensity and all-encompassing hold. All his senses are heightened but laser focused on the other pair of hands mapping his body. On the addicting sensations they’re inducing.

Can you—? Yes. Yes, he fucking can. He can feel everything and he wants to wrap his hand around your throat and squeeze.

His eyes roll back. Ngh.

“Fucking wench,” he snarls. You’re a fuckin’ tease and if you edge him again, he is going to murder—

“Ah, ah. Watch your language, Sukuna. Ask nicely.”

He jolts. Finds his eyes cloaked in darkness, arms tied to his back and legs spread. Bare, save for a pair of briefs that’s slick and restricting. Kneeling. The sheets bunch beneath him. Every muscle in his body is tensed, body coated in a thin layer of sweat.

This position—!

“That brat—mmph!” Is that a fucking—gag? Did you just gag him? He struggles harder against the binds, but he feels your lips curl into a smile where you’re suckling against the column of his neck.

“You’re powerless here. The binds will restrict you for the next twenty-four hours … unless you can be good.” You trace the thick knots, smiling only growing at the way he lets out a muffled growl.

Every fucking sense is heightened tenfold. He’s on firefirefire. The flames consuming him inside out, like he’s being exorcised from within.  

It’s humiliating. It’s exhilarating. It feels—

“King of Curses. I want you to beg.” You’re a witch. You’re enthralling. Temptation incarnate. His head falls forward, chest heaving.

“Mmmmf!”

“What a dirty mouth,” you murmur, and his struggling is renewed when he feels your fingers dig into his thighs.

Oi, brat, he growls. What the hell is this?

His vessel is silent, but the back of his mind prickles. He’s watching. That freaky little shit.

“So stubborn. Let go. You’re good at that, aren’t you?” Fuckfuckfuck, you’re palming his cock over the thin fabric. Maybe it’s been a while, maybe there’s a little more truth lurking beneath it, but he vaguely notes he’s never been so hard before.

You—! You’re fuckin’ burning his briefs off. Ash tickles his nose. A small part of him thinks it’s hot. His cock throbs, and even without visual confirmation, he knows you’ve paused at the sheer size. His mouth curls into a lopsided smirk, dark pride making his chest swell. What was he so worked up for? You’ll just end being another one of his breeding bitches, fucked stupid by his thick, long cock.

But then you pinch his left nipple, twisting harshly. Electricity courses through him and a sound he’s never heard in his absurdly long life escape his lips, muffled by the gag. His back arcs, head hitting the mattress beneath him.

His mind blanks, eyes rolling back as white noise fills his ears.

.

.

.

He rouses slowly.

He blinks lethargically at the ceiling, gaze unfocused. Everything feels muted, limbs heavy like he’s swimming in a pool of ink. But he’s not restrained anymore. There’s a blur of movement in the corner of his eye.

He turns his head to peer at you, half-lidded.

“That’s a very nice expression,” you chuckle, moving to sit by his side. The mattress dips lightly. He lifts a hand to tug at the hem of your outfit, expression twisting at the staggering movement.

“That’s a very nice look on you,” he murmurs in response. You’re wearing one of his vessel’s dress shirts, the oversized fabric falling mid-thigh. It simultaneously swallows you and presses against your curves. Something inside him stirs. His throat feels shot, even though he knows he hasn’t had much of a chance to speak.

You help him sit up, propped against the headrest, before offering him a glass of water. His lips lift into a half-smirk and you sigh, shaking your head but acquiescing. You take a mouthful before kissing him. Water dribbles down his chin.

You wipe it away with a half-fond, half-exasperated expression. His chest tightens.

“How long—?” He tries to move, but you stop him with a firm hand. He’s conflicted at the way his body responds immediately to the touch. His temperature flares despite his obvious fatigue.

“A few hours. I asked if Yuuji would keep you out until you woke.”

There’s a pause, and the knowing look in your eye tells him you know he’s mulling it over.

And then—

He reaches for you, and you set the glass aside to climb on his lap.

He bares his fangs. “Then let’s make the most of it.”

As you press him into the bed, tongue stroking his in such a manner his brain is starting to haze over again quickly, he thinks, brat, we’re going to have a long talk after this.

Sukuna doesn’t expect an answer after his vessel’s continued vigil, so he starts when Itadori replies, she’s ours.

I don’t share, he slurs. He thinks he sees a flicker of Itadori’s grin.

You’re going to have to. Because you like her, too. And she’s the one in control, not either of us.

Dimly, Sukuna acknowledges he’s right. You might be the one bouncing on his cock, but he’s not the one fucking you, you’re the one fucking him.

Fine, he gasps as you run your nails down his abdomen. Deal.

Good, his vessel says. Because I’m next, and you better not get in the way.

He growls, eyebrows knitting.

Your smile only grows.