#how to fix your wool

[callmegallifreya]

I shall tell you a secret about your wool, your cashmere, the delicate fainting fabrics two whom heat is a death knell.

Necromancy is real.

Also, your dead wool may be better for it.

Also-also nobody here has actually said how to clean it without killing it so I'll add that too.

So - within reason, the doll's jumper is not going back to an adult, but hear me out here.

If you have washed your jumper a tad too warm, or on a normal wash setting, and perhaps it is now of a more suitable size for a child, a lot of the shrinkage may be caused by felting.

Felting is when the wet fibres, with the scales that make up the outer layer lifted by detergent and heat, lock to each other like tangled christmas lights. The more you agitate them, the more felted they get. This is why the delicate cycle on your machine doesn't so much churn up your woolens as it does let them soak and gently wavepool side to side occasionally to circulate the water.

Felted or boiled wool has no gaps. When all of the fibres have locked together it is windproof, nearly waterproof, and will never unravel. You can cut a hole in felt and it will only get bigger if you tear it bigger. Depending on the degree of felting it may be thicker now too.

With that out of the way, what is the necromancy side of this?

Well, if you get it wet again, depending on the level of felting, your wool will stretch right back out.

If you see a new wool garment, you'll see the washing instructions say "reshape when wet". This is because just like your hair, if you let it dry in a funny position it'll stay that way. We've all accidentally let one dry on a radiator or over a corner and ended up with a very odd shaped bit of fabric.

Felting is just a very funny position for wool. It's basically matted, wet hair.

I've seen recommendations for using hair conditioner and other products here to help loosen it up, which I haven't tried - certainly give it a go, especially if your jumper is more delicate or only a little felted. It may come back to life with no/very little further intervention. I've had great results with sheer brute force.

Disclaimer: I am a limp noodle and my idea of "pull hard" is not the same as everyone's.

Get that jumper absolutely drenched in your solution of choice (I do it after a wash so woolite, there are lots of guides and recommendations online for best results), grab it on opposite sides and pull. Enlist a friend for even better (and more even) results. Pull in the direction of the knit and across the knit but not diagonally if you can avoid it.

There will probably be concerning ripping noises if there's any more than a tiny bit of felting, like velcro pulling apart. It's fine. Keep pulling. (Steady pressure, don't yank)

Don't forget to do the arms in both directions too, you want them wide enough to get your own arm back inside them.

Stop when your clothing is the size and shape you want it to be. You can even try it on to be sure and wear it like shrink-to-fit jeans since wool is marvelously insulating and will be warm even when wet once you get over the problem of putting on a cold wet jumper.

Now, this is not a total fix - if you only a little shrunk it, it'll be good as new. If you shrunk it a lot it's probably gone down a couple of sizes even after you've stretched it back out like you're trying to tear it in half. You also need to remember to do this after every time you wash that particular garment. But hopefully some of you will save and wear some beloved items that you thought were gone forever.

Have fun!

Oh, and to clean your wool: -Pick up a wool-specific detergent (I use Woolite, there's lots) - and either

a) bung it in your machine on a delicates/wool cycle and be done with it, reshaping whilst wet and drying flat so the weight of it doesn't stretch it in funny ways over your airer (do not tumble dry, see felting above) or

b) hand-wash, which is a whole lot of swishing and squishing it about in a sink or bucket with the detergent and water at a comfortable temperature for you to stick your hands in. Avoid scrubbing on or with anything (no brushes, no stain remover balls, none of that) and if you have a stubborn spot grab two sections of the fabric and rub on each other like you're charging a defibrillator - as little as you can manage until spot is gone or you start to worry about the texture changing (felting again). A scrub with your hand from the inside can also sometimes get a stain loose by forcing the detergent up behind it and if you do felt it it's not as visible. Rinse a lot and wring out hard, then reshape and air dry it flat.

Here, a cheater course on caring for natural fibers!

1. Wool. Treat it like it has the delicate constitution of a Victorian lady and the conviction that baths are evil of a 17th century noble. (If I get in WATER my PORES will OPEN and I will CATCH ILL AND DIE.)

2. Cotton; easygoing. Will shrink a bit if washed and dried hot.

3. Silk; people think it’s like wool and has the constitution of a fashionably dying of consumption Victorian lady, but actually it’s quite tough. Can be washed in an ordinary washer, and either tumbled dry without heat or hung to dry.

4. Linen; it doesn’t give a shit. Beat the hell out of it. Historically was laundered by dousing it in lye and beating the shit out of it with wooden paddles, which only makes it look better. The masochist of the natural fiber world. Beat the fuck out of it linen doesn’t care. Considerably stronger than cotton. Linen sheet sets can last literal decades in more or less pristine shape because of that strength.The most likely natural fiber to own a ball gag.

[luminni]

Simon has a favorite jumper. It's simple, black wool, fits him well, and he wears it all the time. Only problem is, he wears the thing all the time. He's had the thing for years and it's practically all he wears when he's on leave. By this point, the poor thing is threadbare, little holes around the armpits, the neckline, and the cuffs. It's pilling everywhere and it's covered with dog hair (from where, he has no clue).

You loved the jumper on him, he looked fantastic in it, but even you could see the thing was in a dire situation.

"Simon?" You questioned, holding up the jumper in your arms, folding it after its last round in the wash (which it mercifully survived).

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever...thought about getting this thing dry cleaners?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Don't trust 'em, they'll ruin it."

It was a simple answer, one that told you the subject wasn't up for debate. But just because he didn't trust the dry cleaners with his jumper didn't mean he wouldn't trust anyone with it. And there was no one he trusted more than you.

...

Simon came home from his last deployment late into the night, trudging through the front door and setting his bag down as gently as possible as to not wake you. Toeing his shoes off and finally being able to tug off his mask, he couldn't wait to get out of the rest of his gear.

Stepping lightly through the house, dodging the floor boards he knew were going to be squeaky on his journey to the bedroom. Ready to join you in bed the moment he got into a pair of sweat pants.

When he opened the bedroom door however, he did not find you tucked away in the covers. You were crouched on the floor, humming along to quiet music playing on a small speaker. And you were bowed over that black jumper of his.

"Love?"

"Oh! Simon you're home!" You squealed, jumping up and throwing yourself into his arms, snuggling your face into his chest and drinking in the scent you had been without for so long like you could get drunk off it, and in many ways you could.

"Hey there sweet'art" he cooed, practically purring it into your ear and enclosing you in a big bear hug. "What'er ya' up to?"

"Oh just..." you turned back around, anxiety lacing your voice, "doing a little repair work." You handed him his black jumper, folding it into his hands.

He could believe his eyes, it was smooth like it was new, no pills of fabric clinging to it. The tiny, threadbare areas and holes were patched up. Now, perfectly matched black wool was weaved in to fix it. He stared at you, wide eyed, in disbelief while you just grinned nervously. He brought it up to his face, no dog hair to be seen and it smelt like you had just picked it up off the shelves.

He kept on staring at you "how..?"

"I just," you turned back around, grabbing the sweater trimmer, the replacement wool, the sweater scent spray, and the lint roller, all in your hands. "Used a couple things" You grinned

Simon could have sworn he never felt this way before. There was this weird tightness in his chest, it felt like it was going to explode. He had owned that sweater when he Tommy was still alive, that sweater had seen the first pub crawl with the 141 boys, he wore it on your first date. The sweater was more than just something he wore often, it was his good memories wrapped up into one piece of soft and comfortable wool. His arms moved before he could stop them and he buried you in another hug, squeezing you (and his jumper) into him.

"Oh- Simon!" You giggled, dropping your supplies.

He buried his nose into you shoulder, lifting you up into him, off your feet.

"Thank you," he murmured, voice cracking a bit, "thank you."

[screampied]

JJK men reaction to us saying it’s impossible to make us orgasm/cummm? 🥹

໒꒱ ₊˚ ‘ SLUT STRETCH ME OUT ! ’﹒⺡

gojo & geto, toji, sukuna, choso

𐚁̸ warnings. fem! reader, unprotected, backshots, praise, dirty talk, spanking, hair pulling, gojo and geto eating you out at the same time, choking, overstim, squìrting, daddy kink, díck slipping, mdni.

✰ TOJI FUSHIGURO

“fuck are you even talkin’ about.” toji scratches his head, watching as you straddle his lap. you had a mere pout go against your lips before struggling to get your words out. his voice pitches, a deep and rough low. needless to say it turned you on, quite more than you thought it would. “speak up. don’t like when ya mumble.”

“i’m serious,” you chastise, eyebrows sweetly furrowing. “no guy’s ever made me um— finish.”

toji had an unreadable expression, your breath hitches once he grips your hips before giving you an intimidating stare. “riiiiiight,” and he’s clearly not taking you serious. if anything, toji finds it insulting. you nearly moan, scooting up against his lap just to feel his bulge prod underneath your shorts. “and i’m a virgin,” he scoffs underneath his breath—you gasp, watching as he makes you turn around, facing the opposite way. your chest hits against the soft padded mattress before he trails a hand up your ass. “we can fix that problem right now, princess. just watch me.”

“how?”

“how?” he mocks your tone. “don’t ask stupid questions,” he spanks your ass, and you moan from the sheer recoil. for a split second, it tickles. yet that’s when he softly caresses the palm of his hand against his skin and you bite your lip once you suddenly feel the plump tip of his dick graze against your slick entrance. “now now, bend that ass over ‘n i’ll show ya how. how ‘bout that, girl.”

he was so mean, so sassy too. the air around you grew so thick. it made your toes curl, just knowing toji’s eyes was leering towards your rear the entire time. “good girl. like that. ass up ‘n face fuckin’ down,” and embarrassingly enough, you were already so soaked. sopping right through your pretty panties. he gets ahold of your ass, making it scoot up high before seconds later he’s deepening himself into you. “mhmm,” he grunts, feeling your warmth swallow him whole. toji’s cock was so thick, the hefty girth— you could feel your tongue start to shamelessly salivate. “no one’s really made ya orgasm, princess?”

“n— no,” you whine, feeling your slick coat him from all the way down to his base. your legs spread just a bit, and he’s just about halfway in before your lips part, forming into a cute 'o'. “think it’s some kind of scientific—”

“okay girl don’t piss me off,” toji grits, and once he’s finally in, a single thrust was just enough to send you straight over the edge. you kneeled on the bed, the right sight of your cheek presses against the sheets before you moan. “ain’t nothing scientific about this. y’er gonna have an orgasm. just trust me.”

you mewl each time he gives you a spank, a mean spank that merely rings throughout your ears. toji’s thick cock brushes against your entrance, and once he starts up a pace— it’s over.

toji’s pace, his movements . . it was simply delicious.

such sloppy rude hips smacking into you, you’re barely even clinging onto the bed by this point. your back is arched and by this point you’re being fucked against your own mattress. it was always known, whenever toji fucked… he fucked hard.

he loved you, but his striking disrespectful hips always said otherwise. this entire angle was purely amorous. this was always his favorite point of view, you with your ass all up, face being pummeled into the whitened silky sheets. everytime, you start to whine once you felt toji deepen his hits just a bit further. so good that he leans up directly close to you. the back of his foot prods against your neck and you feel his sock rub further down against your skin— the cottony wool that runs behind the back of your head sends you chills.

“t-tojiiiii, fuckkk,” you’d whimper, feeling him literally fuck you with his foot just resting against the back of your head. he was so lazy.. so lazy and yet you never failed to throb from it everytime.

“that’s not my name when ‘m deep inside this nasty cunt, girl. let’s try that again.” he gruffs lowly.

“fucking..” you grumble, cutting yourself off. he always found your attitude to be so amusing. toji leans up close, a hand wrapping around your neck as he’s still pounding such thick inches into you, ruthlessly. “daddy, think ‘m gonna cum. i—i feel it.” you spat, cutely wriggling your hips against him.

such a cute whiney voice, his length stretches so deep within you that it makes your eyes roll and roam everywhere. he’s just gifting you with hit after hit. your jaw just drops down the moment your left leg starts to profusely twitch.

once a sudden wave of nerves bundle and brew up inside you, you whine out a sweet, “oh my g-godddd,” whilst he’s still maneuvering plenty of circles against your pussy. you’re just here, arched over, bent over for toji fushiguro like some slut. his slut.

“good girl,” he huffs out, slowing down a bit. “relax for me, yeah. shut that mouth ‘n listen to how sloppy this pussy gets just for me. all for me.”

those two weak legs of yours, they felt like mush. shakey and just utterly useless. he spanks your ass a final time before he rubs tender circles against your throbbing sopping pussy that’s just barely getting over its recent euphoric release.

“she’s got so much to fuckin’ say, listen to her with me,” he whispers, using the entirety of his wrist to rub between your legs— he’s still plugged into your cunt with his shaft, yet he’s multitasking by playing with your pussy. you whine, your legs trembling in arousal and he just lowly chortles.

“awww. no back talk now, huh?” he purrs before playfully tugging your hair back, leaning to lick a long stripe down your neck. “exactly what i thought. can’t fuckin’ orgasm my ass.”

✰ SUKUNA RYŌMEN

“hm? never orgasmed before huh? greedy fuckin’ girl. ‘n here i’m thinking my fingers was just enough for you.” sukuna teases and you’re just speechless. he’s holding them up for you with the most cunning grin plastered on his face.

you moan, feeling him sink two thick pairs of digits into your slick heat. he sneaks a chaste kiss near your inner thigh before leaning in to press his lips against your pussy, savoring the sweetened taste. “kuna that’s not what i mean— i just, i want you to make me finish.”

“nah. don’t try ‘n correct me, little girl,” he grouses. “you are greedy,” he grunts, giving your cunt a swift spank to make your thighs twitch, “but fine. if you wanna orgasm that bad, i’ll give it to ya.” he mutters, warm minty breath going against your clit.

your sheeny lips part and part from the way he’s fingering you and eating you out, lapping you up so sloppy like— his lips latch and lock against your folds and your eyes just roll all the way back, wayyyyy back into the depths of darkness that your skull provided. he was so filthy, he just couldn’t help it.

you kiss your teeth freely, feeling his two fingers vigorously insert deeply. in and out, in and out. he’s prodding against that spot repeatedly again and again. it was nothing but a mere sight, all of the stimulation combined had you tongue tied and cross eyed.

“f-fuckkk, ‘kuna— sukuna.”

“shut the fuck up ‘n give me that orgasm, woman,” and your head gets all fuzzy— he’s so mean, giving your cunt even more various spanks, the palm of his hand is coated in nothing but your wet arousal and it’s so cute. “i gotta spank again ‘n again just to have you finish on me?”

“don’t tell me what to d— do.” you protest.

“last time i checked, i know how to make myself cum…. unlike someone,” he grunts with a menacing glare. it was so unintentionally sexy.

his cruel eyes stare right into yours before he sits up, spitting right on your pussy. a wet long glob trickles down and it’s so messy, he’s so messy.

he runs his middle finger down your slit and his eyes never once leaves your cunt— not even for a moment, a split second even. you meet eye contact again and as you hold the bottom of his chin, his fangs poke out. sukuna’s entire chin was covered with nothing but your sweet wetness. he laps it up slowly with his tongue, making sure you watch his every move before going back to plant a kiss against your throbbing entrance.

your were so close, never once staying still. you just squirm and squirm. gradually, you felt something start to unhurriedly build up—you couldn’t exactly pinpoint the feeling…. however, both of your ears started to burn up hot, electricity’s pulsing through you all at once. “i feel something s-sukuna.”

“course ya are” he hums cockily with a low raspy laugh following shortly after. once you wrap a hand around his length, you moan once he smears his throbbing leaky pre-swollen tip against your pulsating entrance. “messy little girl. so eager ‘n all just for me. can’t help but be nasty for me, huh.” and within quick moments, he already feels himself starting to bottom out. sukuna groans, feeling you selfishly swallow him up and it’s so warm. immensely, your walls grip around him tightly and you feel yourself reaching a specific shock waving peak. “let this pussy make a mess on me, don’t gotta be shy,” he hums. “it’s just you ‘n me here, girl.”

not only do you orgasm— you end up squirting all over him too. it comes out in a quick spray, and it’s so much that your maw drops and your eyes become insignificantly droopy.

it’s so adorable, at least in the curses eyes. sukuna barely gave you a few of his rigorous thrusts before you’re already losing yourself, your hearing turns into complete white noise. “o—oh my goddd.” you’d sob out, and he smirks.

sukuna gives you a chaste kiss, only to quickly pull away to teasingly lick against your bottom lip. “nasty little girl. didn’t no one tell you to fuckin’ squirt on me.”

“s— sorry,” you moan, feeling yourself still continuously throb. your orgasm took nearly everything out of you, you were panting and you watch him kiss you again and again, tasting the own flavor of yourself on his tongue. he pulls away, his pearly white fangs playfully biting near your lip before he brushes a thumb against your lip.

“that’s not what i wanted you to say, girl.” he rasps.

your body felt so tingly, for a moment you’re confused before you slump forward into his chest. “i— thank you?”

“and?”

“i love you, sukuna.”

“i love you too, brat,” he breathes, and as a thumb of his strums against the top of your lip, he snarls lowly, staring right into your eyes before squeezing your lips together. “now open your mouth. i want you to be more of a messy girl ‘n taste yourself some more. say ah.”

✰ SATORU GOJO & SUGURU GETO

“guys i’m not joking,” you protest between your words two best friends. you lie against between the two of them, basically sandwiched them both before a cute pout forms against your spit-glossed lips. “i literally can’t orgasm. i read somewhere ‘n think it’s genetic or something.”

geto chuckles. “genetic, hm?”

gojo leans near you to press a kiss against your neck.

“mmm. maybe you just haven’t found the right guy to do it right,” and you moan once gojo trails a hand down to part between your legs. “ooh i know. how ‘bout you let me ‘n sugu try to fix that with our tongues? maybe that’ll help.”

“for once, satoru doesn’t have a dumb idea.”

“shut up, man.”

once you tell them to go ahead, you suddenly found yourself being laid flat.

you mewl out a sweetened whimper, your ass raised all up in the air. geto runs a thumb down the slick part of your entrance before lapping his tongue against your cunt. his technique was always so filthy, eating you out like a starved man.

his tongue, it was so lengthy—you felt it skim all throughout your folds, occasionally sucking against your clit. your entire body tremors before you feel gojo lean in to slide his tongue against your puckering neglected hole. “so greedy. takin’ us both, right pretty girl?”

you whine at geto’s words, feeling the sensations of both of them eating you out— at the same time too, one focusing their attention towards your clit, another towards your ass. gojo moans, warm breath fanning against you before he repeatedly delves his tongue inside. he was so sloppy, breaking his lips away on occasion to spit before lapping it up for a final time. over and over, geto’s flicking his tongue against your sensitive nub for the umpteenth time and your body immediately starts to quaver. it felt too good, extremely. your mouth starts to grow dry and your toes just curl up with such quickness.

“f— fuckkk,” you’d sob out, wriggling your ass against geto’s face and he just snickers. he kisses the fat of your ass with a smack from his palm, and you moan. pretty soon, your thighs start to ache and you were merely drooling. “don’t s-stop, keep going pleaseeee.”

“taste so sweet,” gojo huffs out in frantic breaths, still running his pink tongue against your rim. you don’t think you’ve ever experienced something as lewd as this before—especially with the two of your best friends. the three of you fooled around a bit, practically inseparable, maybe occasionally eating you out every once and a while … but this? not by a mile.

geto smiles, already so pussy-drunk. your slick coats near the very bottom of chin—gifting it with your sweet wetness. how generous, as his tongue mindlessly hovers against your cunt, he gives it another long suck. each flick against your nub made you start to see stars— it was apparent, you were practically numb, although, you started to feel it. a sudden incoming wave approaching at a high chasing speed. you weren’t sure what it was but it was oddly unfamiliar.

“you’re being stingy, sugu,” gojo grumbles, shoving his best friend aside before rolling his tongue against your cunt also— you were just soaked, you heard a single slurp from gojo’s mouth and you had just about had it. a rippling tingle emerges, and static just pours right out of your hot-tempered ears. your orgasm was so cute, it was a mere squeak.

whilst you dissolve into pleasure, succumbing to whatever lewd voice that had you in a tight chokehold— geto’s still dragging his tongue against your clit before he turns toward gojo. “i’m the stingy one?” and right before gojo could reply with something snarky, he leans in and kisses gojo.

he moans, kissing back right away. the pure taste of your honeyed slick that ran down both of their chins, they tasted it. geto snickers, watching gojo suddenly form into a puddle, such an easy pushover. while they kissed, he pulls away before going back towards your cunt, spitting on it before pulling gojo’s head close to make out with him again— they both lock lips while fighting over over your cunt.

“s-suguru, ‘toru—” you’d moan, the arch in your back never subsiding.

“kiss me again, sugu—”

“no, satoru. this is about out girl. not you.”

“hmph, don’t gotta be so rude.”

✰ CHOSO KAMO

“you—you can’t orgasm either?” choso says with a sweet look of surprise. he has a genuine reaction, dark pools of eyes staring into you as you’re just barely hovering over his leaky tip. “thought it was just me.”

“really?” you murmur, not expecting that to be his reaction. choso had the cutest expression plastered on his face. he was sweating, a plethora of sweat droplets race down his bare chest before he clings onto your waist. with a nod, he skims his eyes down towards your body before shyly darting away. “you’ve never had a orgasm?”

choso replies in a timid tone, a weak grin forming on his lips. “no. that’s … kinda why i was gonna ask if we could make each other finish together,” and his face turns completely flushed—it’s adorable. “of course i-if you want to. i just … just wanna make sure you’re feeling good too ‘n not just me.”

you lean in to kiss near his cheek and he moans just from the simple touch. a sweet mewl departs from his lips, and once you gradually make your way onto his hardened length, he sighs deeply.

“let’s do it together then, baby,” and choso’s droopy eyes stare at you once more. it’s cute, he swallows thickly before feeling you slowly bury his cock right into your gripping walls. you lean in to plant a wet kiss near the crook of his neck before you started to move. “hey, look at me.”

“i— i don’t like when you call me baby,” he pouts, feeling you start to create a rhythmic pace. your hips moved so slow against him, pretty soon choso’s dark irises started to roll swiftly in harmony. “it’s embarrassing.”

“it’s cute,” you tease, rocking back and forth. everything felt like an illusion—just being engulfed in your wet heat, it was a dream. choso couldn’t even try to suppress the lewd moan that leaves his lips each and every single time. “you’re even more louder than me, baby.”

“shut up, ‘s not t-trueee,” and his words briefly drag before you quicken the movement of your hips by default. choso’s sat manspread, and he’s just about to lose it. your pussy grips against him tightly, and it’s so good that he’s huffing out white breaths of air each time. “y—you’re such a,” and he pauses before groaning. his left thigh starts to bounce, a cute attempt at trying to keep up with your pace and that’s when he feels his dick pound into you again and again. thwacking, it became repetitive, he’s captured in a hypnotic trance all because of your hips. “love how you fuck me s-so good, pretty girl.”

you continue to pepper his twitching mouth with kisses, and his hands roam up your waist before pulling you back against him.

“c—chosooo,” you’d hum out, although in comes out sounding like a soft purr. you were perfect in his eyes, even your smell. it was simply enchanting, so sweet. your perfume wafts against his noise before within seconds later the crown of his cock meets that particular spot. “do you— do you feel it too?”

“i feel it baby, ‘m gonna cum i— i think,” and he sounds unsure, his voice was so shaky and he holds you right into his arms. his warm embrace, choso’s breathing patterns became quaky, it was so cute. how his naturally low voice pitched, a fiery pools into the lower depths of your abdomen as you grind against him at a much more fast tempo.

choso’s jaw then abruptly tightens once his dick ends up slipping out of your cunt — he pouts, his tip now smearing against your cunt before he freezes and before he realizes, he’s already cumming, hard. “o-oh shit.”

even his swears were cute, choso grunts the moment his now flaccid dick sprays the entrance of your pussy with stringy ropes of his cum. velvety ropes, he’s feeling a spring coil tightly and you ended up following shortly afterward.

you moan, grinding against his now soft shaft that was just laid underneath, not even plugging you inside anymore—you shut his moans up with a simple candied kiss. choso trembles, parting his lips before gripping your ass. each moan that escapes from his lips sounded even more pretty and melodic.

once choso breaks away, a pretty sheeny cobweb of spit departs from his lips and yours. you watch as he brings a hand between your thighs.

“s-so much,” he pants, smearing the tips of his fingers with his own seed. he liked admiring his own mess he always created inside of you. it was lewd, yet he wanted more. more of you.

“let’s .. let’s do it again. please? i— i wanna be dirty for you, please. this time i… i wanna see how a human squirts, princess. teach me?”

[temporarytemporal]

cling to me

I know I said I was going to distance myself from this piece of media because of all of its terrible connections, but these two characters seem to have taken root in a permanent place in my heart, and I can't let them go.

Anyway, here's some character design notes below the cut for the one person out there who's obsessed with these characters as much as me.

Early DSMP: the era of childhood innocence

Bandanas: They sport each other’s bandana’s (they’re hidden in the design for every era). I love character designs with complementary colors (and I love how red and green are also cranboo’s colors)

Disks: Early on, cat and mellohi represent the peaceful moments ctommy shared with his favorite people, but they went on to be a symbol of victory and independence from the people who have hurt him.

Flowers: Ctubbo collects flowers and tries to memorize the meanings and symbolism tied to each type of flower. He also collects them for his bees.

L’manberg: the era where children became soldiers

Horns: Ctubbo’s horns start to grow in here.

Pogtopia: the era of an exile and a secretary of state / spy

You can tell I joined the fandom at the end of this era because I don’t have many notes here or for the l’manberg era.

Exile: the era of an exile once again and and a president too young

Hair: Ctommy’s hair starts to grow longer as he neglects taking care of himself.

Clothes: Ctommy’s clothes are tattered; one shoe is destroyed and he took to wearing cw-lbur’s (f-ck ccw-lbur btw!!) trench coat.

Bandages: Ctubbo’s wrapped in bandages from his recently earned firework burns. He’s gone blind in his right eye, and he’s missing the ring and pinkie finger on his right hand.

Compasses: They share their matching ‘your tommy’ and ‘your tubbo’ compasses

Hog Hunt: the era where one sought to kill the blood god while the other sought refuge there

Stolen goods: Ctommy’s has his antarctic empire outfit plus all the goods he stole from ctechno like the turtle helmet, golden apples, and the axe of peace.

Bedrock: Ctommy wears his counterpart piece matching techno’s from his ear.

Prosthetic: Ctommy’s right foot had to be amputated after he loses it to frostbite in the trek to cemeraldduo’s cabin. Ctechno gives him a simple prosthetic.

Disc Finale: the era of mended relationships and a final stand

Headband: Ctommy begins to wear a devil headband to fit in more, as he’s one of the few humans on the server. The devil horns were chosen to resemble ceryn’s real ones.

Patchwork: Ctommy learns to sew, and he fixes his tattered clothes from exile.

Post Revival:

Devil horns: Ctommy’s devil horns (plus a tail) become real after revival, and he gets a white streak in his hair.

Prime cross: The bad things that have happened to them both that they survived strengthen ctommy’s faith in prime, whereas they weaken ctubbo’s faith.

Sweater: Ctommy makes himself a sweater from friend’s wool.

Mechanical inventions: Ctubbo pursues his passion for engineering more as he makes mechanical bee drones and studies nuclear physics. He also makes himself prosthetic fingers, and he upgrades ctommy’s prosthetic foot.

Marriage ring: Ctubbo marries cranboo platonically and wears the ring on his horn. He also founds snowchester so he can have a place to protect his loved ones and raise his son. He grows out his hair to avoid eye contact for cranboo and to cover his scars.

Body type: Ctubbo gets chubbier and gains some muscle as he gets a bit happier in life.

Post DSMP:

The prison break and everything after it never happened. These are my OCs, and I make the rules because every actor/writer who played a part in their creation either abandoned them or turned out to be a terrible person. Cbenchtrio live happily ever after and begin their journey of healing while cdream rots in prison forever.

[lintwriting]

I think the fact that Binghe has curly hair in the Fanart design of him is PEAK. For one, the ideal standard of beauty that you’d expect out of a harem protagonist is silky straight hair!

It’s the beauty ideal in China. I have naturally curly hair inherited from my mother, and instead of being taught how to bring out my curls at the hairdresser, my hair is “frizzy,” and I get pushed into getting a straight perm.

My mom, likewise, has always hated her curly hair and was dismayed (dismayed!) when my hormones caused my hair texture to change from straight to her curls.

For two, the idea of Shen Qingqiu adoring it would fix me, I’m sure.

Your insecurity is something he adores about you. He makes poetry likening it to sheep’s wool, he runs his hands through it and helps you maintain it. Something most people consider a flaw, and that doesn’t even occur to him.

It’s so radical. It comes naturally to him!

No wonder Binghe is insane about that old man.

[darlingkikki]

Soldier Distribution System (Screw Your 3rd Amendment Rights)

You come home to find a man on your couch.

He has a sewing needle and a mask similar to the one hiding most of his face in his hands. A hot cup of tea sits in the middle of your coffee table. The rolling steam from the mug (the one you bought at a souvenir shop a few years ago) carries the smell of Earl Grey into the air. He doesn’t look up at you. Spares you no acknowledgement at all. He’s humming a lazy melody in a low timbre as he plunges the needle into the fabric and pulls the thread taut. Fabric ripped by who knows what brought back together by careful hands.

You’re left gaping. 

He’s in a stripped-down version of a uniform. You can tell from the bold font of an official-looking acronym plastered over his broad chest, the corners of said letters slightly stretched outwards. A soldier has chosen your home as the perfect place to settle down. You don’t know how to react.

He looks up at you once it’s clear you're not slipping into your role. Playing along. Pretending that you know who he is and that he's always been here and none of this is out of the ordinary. You’re not as scared as you should be, thankfully, but you're surprised enough that your feet remain starkly planted on the wool carpet. 

That won’t do at all. Not for him. He craves an ounce of normalcy, even in these unconventional circumstances. You need to go about your business without a hiccup. Make him feel a sense of belonging.

“Fixed yer shower head," he says gruffly, "pressure was shite." A show of his usefulness. He's a black cat leaving a dead rat on your ‘Welcome’ mat and sticking out its neck for a well-earned scratch. 

You sputter out a “What?” and his hands twitch. He sets the mask down, draping it over one of his thighs as he reclines against the cushions. Your cushions. Enigmatic pools flicker to the dark corridor behind you and he tilts his head to the side.

“Shower,” he repeats. Chewing each syllable, like it’s a chore to explain to you. “Fixed it. Heater too, some idiot put the filter in upside-down.”

His gaze crawls up your body and you think you can make out his brows raising under his mask. 

“And yer out of milk.”

[nanamiscocksleeve]

When The Snow Melts

Warnings: MDNI, soft sex, virginity loss, angst, and some spoilers for those who aren't familiar with Zayne's lore. A/n: Curiosity got the best of me. I wasn't playing LaDS when the Master of Fate card came out so I went to YouTube and immediately regretted it. Like can this man not catch a break? He sacrifices himself again? I couldn't leave it, so this me, correcting the wrong. A fix-it fic if you will. Because I need Zayne to win, at least once. Also, since Zayne appears according to how MC perceives him, I do believe he will have aged exactly as she has.

The night is bright, and the small cobbled lane you walk on is lit with lamps. The streets are bustling with life. The feeling of excitement, togetherness, and aromatic food graces the air as you wander closer to the town square. Another festival, similar, yet not similar, to the countless ones you’ve seen with your keen eyes. 

You’d wanted to be in company, maybe see the world when you were young, and the curse that was also a blessing was granted. Your body, now wispy and weathered from the years spent wandering cannot move as quickly as you used to, the ever-reminding aches in your joints, the beginning of arthritis weighing down in your bones. Yet you still had a zest for life. Because what else could you do but seek, and take in everything that life had to offer? How could you not? Because it was the grace of the god that allowed it and the terrible price that was paid for you to experience it.

It had been decades since you had last seen the god. You had traversed as far as you could, carrying your umbrella with the everlasting snow coating it like wool on a freshly birthed lamb. The things you had witnessed! Ships with sails as tall as oak trees, strangely flavored meats and delectable sweets, festivals where people had danced, music from instruments brought in from faraway strange lands. You had eaten, traveled, danced, and sung, picking up small jobs to afford simple pleasures. You were a quick learner. Once you were a seamstress helping a small garment shop, another time a jewel polisher. You had even worked as an errand maid for an elderly couple who were profuse with their thanks and offered you a roof over your head for a short while. But staying in one place wasn’t an option. You had to keep looking after all. How else would you find him again?

As your feet carried you into the square, a burst of light and color filled your vision. It’s so lively, as the people flock to the different food carts, admiring the small handicraft booths, and singing folk songs well known to all those who grew up in this region. Children joyfully chased each other, dressed warmly in bright clothes. A hint of winter was already in the air. Based on what you had observed, this festival was celebrating the end of the harvest season, probably one of the last for this year until the harsh snowfall of winter faded. The breeze, not quite chilly enough to make you shiver, felt comforting on your face. 

You supposed you could work as a midwife again. Midwifery was good work, reliable since winter did not stop the delivery of children into the world. It could also guarantee a place to stay if you played your cards right, though you hated staying in one place. The nomadic lifestyle you had adopted suited you. And the winters made you nostalgic. 

It made you long for those days before you had picked up this umbrella and set off to see the world. Of amber eyes flecked with green, like the jars of whiskey at the inns when the early morning sunlight brushes against them, bringing forth colors hidden in the dark glass. Or of soft hands, covered in scars, and whispers in your ear of sleep, of priestesses calling gods down to earth to make love to them. Sometimes the memories consume you to the point of anger.  How dare he leave you? With no explanation as to what his blessing was. 

You vaguely recall those days, back when your fingers weren’t gnarled and wrinkled, your face unblemished by the years in the sun. All spells have limitations, he had said. But he also said he had taken care to make the spell extra strong since you were particularly clumsy. The snow had to melt sometime…didn’t it?

A drum begins to pound in the distance, and the crowd gathers around the stage that had been set up at the far end of the square. You halt at one of the carts to buy some fried chicken skewers. The vendor looks curiously at your umbrella, something you have grown accustomed to over the years. After all, snow that doesn’t melt was bound to bring questions. You had woven a different story for each city you had passed through, sometimes recycling them when you didn’t have the creativity to spin a new one. Initially hesitant to reveal how the umbrella with the everlasting snow had come into your possession, you had tried to pass it off as a novelty accessory, crafting tales of snowy mountains and how it was all the rage in those areas.

As the years passed by, your tongue had loosened. Or perhaps the indignation of him disappearing had made you reckless. Although you still hadn’t said the full story, you’d managed to finally say it was a blessing from a god, shocking the non-believers by letting them touch the snow, their gasps of awe as the cold, wet, powder clung to their fingers falling satisfyingly on your ears. Tonight, however, you were in no mood to entertain strangers. You smile politely as you hand over your coins to the vendor, take the food, and walk away towards the stage. 

The sounds of a flute and an erhu accompany the drum. Elaborately dressed dancers are swirling in coordinated grace on the stage, enacting a scene from an old tale; the common man sending off the goddess of harvest, thanking her for her blessings that year, and praying to the god of winter, that he be merciful to them and allow them to live to see another spring.

You were skeptical if these rituals really worked. The first autumn after you had been gifted the umbrella when the air started to show signs of change, you had danced, danced amongst the trees that were close to shedding their vividly colored leaves of red, mustard, and yellow. You had prayed your heart out, prayed so hard, danced so long that the soles of your shoes had almost worn out. You had danced till you had collapsed with exhaustion, falling asleep on the leafy floor. You had been so sure that it would work, that he would show himself, and when you awoke, it was with a heartrending pang that you realized you were alone. It hadn’t worked. Wherever he was, the god of the snow wasn’t visible to your eyes. It was the first time you had allowed yourself to cry in all those months. Had he really believed this was the better choice? That to leave you behind without telling you what was going to happen to him would make you happier? That was the worst part; not knowing if he was alive, existing somewhere you couldn’t journey to, or if he had given all his power into making the snow that had fueled your existence, and lost himself with it. 

The music becomes faster and the dancers move until the stage is a blur of color. The audience claps as their movements become sharp, with an artistic precision that only years of practice could hone. The last note quavers from the flute and rises into the night air. Cheers and whistles erupt all around you. It was a beautiful performance no doubt, but despite finding it captivating, it also left you feeling hollow. Finishing the last of your fried chicken, you begin to wander amongst the townspeople, enquiring about work that could be had for the winter.

By the time the square had cleared up, and the last of the festival-goers had returned home, you had secured a job; a bakery was in desperate need of an extra set of hands. The pay wasn’t much but the woman had offered food and board and you had accepted graciously. As you sit on the stone steps of your latest lodgings, you gaze at the moon. 

You want to not blame him, to not feel this heavy weight that you’ve carried inside your chest. You know you should be grateful for his sacrifice which enabled you to see so much of the world, and at the least, you weren’t alone. The incident with the people in your village was a distant memory, replaced with so many more pleasant rememberings. Plucking apples from an orchard with trees growing as far as the eyes could see. The feeling of a newborn baby, screaming with the rage of life and the mother wiping tears of joy while offering you her thanks. The herbalist with his toothless smile as he showed you which plants were medicinal and which were poison as you plucked various flowers and leaves and dug the earth for rhizomes of turmeric and ginger. 

You were a well-traveled woman, knowledgeable in all aspects, a rare luxury during this time, you knew. Yet for each memory that stayed clearly in your mind, there was a sense of loss. Everything tied back to him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to forget him, even in your old age, and even with the passage of time. 

The spicy bun the baker had offered you was good. You savored its flavor on your tongue, naming the constellations visible in the sky as you did so, the short astronomy lesson from a young scholar in some past time proving useful. It must be close to midnight based on how still the night is, the whispering rustle of dead leaves as they skitter across the ground audible in the background. With a sigh, you carefully get to your feet, your joints creaking as you rise. As you reach for your umbrella, you pause, fingertips hovering over the handle.

Surely you were imagining it? It must be a trick of the moonlight. The last of the lamps were dying, the faint light casting shadows across the walls of the dwellings. Yet your aged eyes couldn’t shake off the feeling. You stare intently at the umbrella, more so, at the snow perched on its upper slope. A fine sheen of condensation coated the umbrella, surrounding the powdery snow. Had you somehow gotten the umbrella wet? You kneel, observing with fascination as some of the condensation gathers, becoming fat droplets of precipitation, and rolling off the sides.

You’re awestruck. In all your years, the snow had never melted. It had never lessened nor increased but always stayed the same. But now you can see how the powder was turning watery, steadily dripping down into the cold ground. You trace a fingertip on the trails of moisture along the sides of the umbrella, and that’s when you hear it; the unmistakable twang of a guqin. 

You had never encountered a guqin again, not since the night he had played one while you danced for him. The unmistakable notes now begin to form a melody. You look out into the empty street and see nothing. But the song was filling your body like the warmth of a fireplace. Your limbs involuntarily stretch out as your eyes close, remembering the movements you had learned so long ago and sworn to never repeat after the failed attempt to call down the god. Your legs feel unsteady, your hands clumsy, a far cry from the controlled accuracy of the stage dancers. Your joints begin to sear as you move, unable to stop the actions. Oh how sweetly the instrument sang to you!

There’s a sharp pain in your heart, not from the ache of moving your tired extremities, but from the grief bottled up, adding on year after year. There’s resentment, but underneath it all, there’s a strong yearning you’re unable to put into words. How do you describe it? The loss of the only person who seemed to understand you, who helped you control your power?

You knew he did something when he placed his spell because, since that day, you hadn’t been able to harness your powers ever again. He had ensured you could live your life as a normal human being. Before knowing him you would have done anything to not have the power. But the cost that came with it was too much to bear. You weren’t alone, yet you were alone. So of all the days, why was the guqin playing now?

Tears roll down your cheeks as you dance, letting loose your sorrow to the crisp night breeze. You feel like each nerve in your body is frayed, all consumed with the bits of memories you had of him. It takes you a moment to realize you’re not dancing anymore. The guqin has stopped playing. You’re standing in a pose, your head lowered, facing the steps you had been sitting on, and the umbrella leaning against them. Shock passes through you. 

The umbrella was completely devoid of snow. The only evidence it was there was the puddle of water that had gathered beneath it, muddying the grass. 

“Why are you so surprised?”

Your heart skips a beat, then begins to hammer in your chest like a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The deep baritone voice tinged with a hint of sarcasm calls out to you gently. You can’t seem to be able to move. 

“It can’t be.” You murmur, gripping your elbows, trying to calm yourself. “It can’t be. I’m dreaming.”

“What are dreams if not another reality?”

It takes all the effort in your body to not collapse to the ground as a sobbing mess. You turn slowly, as though giving the voice a chance to admit it was a figment of your imagination but it doesn’t happen. Your breath catches in your throat as you see him, at last.

His dark hair has tinges of gray in it, and crow’s feet are visible near the corners of his eyes, but the gentle upwards curve of his lips, the broad shoulders, and his pointed chin are all recognizably familiar. 

“Zayne?” You let his name fall from your lips, sounding like a strange word, lost to your vocabulary from the years of disuse. 

He nods, then stretches out a hand to you. At first, you’re at a loss about what you should do, then, with as much speed as your wizened knees allow, you run to him. He’s solid and grounding, his arms wrapping around you tightly. A brief lick of rage crosses through you, but when you open your mouth to let loose your diatribe, all that comes out is a sob. Your tears flow freely, staining his robes, and you feel his gloved hands gently combing through your hair.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, his chin resting on top of your head.

“Why not tell me?” Your words are choked, your body shivering as you cry. 

Zayne leads you to the steps and helps you sit before occupying the space next to you. He leans you against him, your head resting comfortably on his shoulder as he takes one of your hands between both of his. He sighs deeply and his voice, though calm, is filled with regret as he speaks. 

“How could I tell you? What would I have said? How do you tell someone special to you that their life was in danger?”

You blink back tears. “Danger?”

“There was a powerful entity after you. I did what I needed to do to protect you.”

“Why was it after me?”

Zayne pauses, as though considering how to word his response. “It was convinced you would bring about a cataclysm, and the only way to prevent it was to take your life.”

“But… I don’t understand. How did your spell prevent this? Now that it’s worn off, won’t it come after me again?”

“No.” Zayne wraps his arms around you, his body bringing warmth into yours. “Even cataclysms go away if given enough time. But the harder part was figuring out how to suppress your abilities until that time passed.” He sighs deeply, gathering you close. “The spell on the umbrella was the only solution I could think of, without restricting your freedom. Regrettably, sealing your power meant taking away your ability to perceive me. I never intended to make it permanent.”

“Why not tell me?” You repeat the question. Zayne raises an eyebrow.

“If I had told you the spell would wear off, would you have left the mountain?” He brushes your cheek with his thumb as he takes in your face, his eyes softening as he looks at you. “I know you. You would have spent all these years in isolation, waiting for me. I didn’t want you to miss the opportunity to live. A normal life seemed like the best option I could give you until enough time had passed.”

You’re silent as you let his words sink into you. After a gap, you whisper, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” His thumb caresses each of your fingertips in turn. “But know that I watched over you every day. I saw the world through your eyes and felt your sense of wonderment in my heart. The day you danced so hard for me that you almost fainted from exhaustion-” Zayne draws in a breath and his voice quivers as he continues. “I was in tears. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and comfort you. I was there, separated by a veil, but I felt your pain.”

“That was the year the frost came early.” You recall the memory. 

“Indeed. I couldn’t control my grief. I didn’t know how else to let you know I was there, except to cover the world with snow.”

You glance over at the umbrella. “Will you disappear again?”

“Not unless you want me to.” One of his large hands rests on your knee. “I understand I’ve angered you by acting without telling you everything. Is it enough that you don’t want me around?”

You shake your head no. Your momentary anger with him had faded, like the night giving way to the sunrise. “There’s nothing that could keep me from wanting you. I made many acquaintances throughout my life, but the one person’s companionship I yearned for was yours.”

“My beloved snowflake.” Zayne embraces you tenderly. “It was fate that led you to me on the mountain that day. And It was fate that finally broke the spell. We’re all bound by it, even me.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. Otherwise, do you think I would have kept you sealed for so long? Even gods must play by fate’s rules.”

Silence falls between you both,  the breeze ruffling your clothes. You become acutely aware that he’s gazing at you, and when you turn to look at him, there’s such tenderness in his eyes that it makes you blush, even at this age. 

“You’re beautiful,” he utters, tucking strands of stray hair behind your ears. The amber in his eyes glows as you stare back, captivated by how handsome he is. Your memory didn’t do him justice. You cup his cheek. 

“Is this our happily ever after?”

“It can be if we choose it to be.”

“I do. Wholeheartedly.”

Sparks fly between you and almost as if the both of you are following a rhythm, your lips find each other in the darkness. It’s odd because, in the passing years, you hadn’t imagined what his lips would feel like against yours. You had fantasized about lying next to him, listening to his heartbeat, about taking long, leisurely strolls while holding hands, and about the possibility of letting him rest on your lap while you played with his thick locks of hair.

Now you’re glad you hadn’t tried to imagine it because the reality was sweeter than any dream you could have conjured, the warmth and softness of his mouth, the taste of his tongue as it slips past your lips, the possessiveness in his grip as he molds your body against his, as though silently claiming you. There wasn’t an inch of you that didn’t ache for him. When he pulls away, there’s desire flickering in the depths of his eyes.

Wordlessly, you take his hands and get to your feet, quietly pulling him inside your new quarters. You’re careful to not wake the baker; it was quite improper to invite a man into your room, but you didn’t care. You lock the door and allow Zayne to sweep you away.

Clothes slide to the floor, a whisper lost to the dark. There’s no shame as you reach for each other, hands relishing the feeling of skin, enjoying the contact between your bodies as he gently pulls you onto the bed. His lips leave trailing kisses on your skin, no longer supple like the young woman you once were, but worthy of being worshipped irrespective. You wonder if this moment would have felt different if you had consummated this relationship when you were younger but realized you had little choice in it. If the Master of Fate couldn’t control when things happened, then what good was it to think about what could have been?

Instead, you focus on him, on his skin flushed with vitality as you nibble his ear, shyly running your tongue down his neck. He suckles at your nipple, and pleasure, unlike anything you’ve ever experienced radiates into every part of your being. You feel his erection graze your belly as he patiently kisses you, moaning into his mouth as his fingers stroke your sex, finding the little knot of nerves that makes you close your eyes in ecstasy.

It’s all slow and unhurried, and when you finally gasp out your climax, he eases his body into yours. There’s pain, but only for the briefest moment, then as your body stretches around him, you feel a powerful sense of intimacy as he thrusts, his movements passionate and loving. He gathers you tightly against him whispering the same thing over and over as he empties himself. 

“I love you. I love you I love you I love you.”

A weak ray of sunlight peeks through the window when you wake up, and you panic for a moment when you see the bed is empty. 

“I’m here my love.” Zayne’s voice immediately reassures you and you see him stoking the fireplace. The small flames crackle merrily as he makes his way back to bed, pulling you against him and stroking your skin. It had snowed overnight, and the landscape was now unrecognizable, covered in a fresh coat of it. 

“It appears grief isn’t the only thing that can cause the god of winter to make it snow,” you tease and Zayne good-naturedly smirks at you. 

“Indeed. All thanks to you.” 

You giggle, a soft sound that fills him with joy. 

“I suppose we’re stuck in this village until winter ends. Makes no sense to wander for now.”

“Agreed. I suppose I can set up shop as a fortune-teller, or maybe as a herbalist.”

“We’ll decide what to do when spring comes.” You settle against his chest, finding comfort in the scent of his skin. 

“The snow has to melt sometime. But we’ll survive. Together.”

“Together.” You agree, and lay your lips over his. 

© nanamiscocksleeve original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating support banner by @/ cafekitsune

@theimmortalbuns @otomegamesforlife @sweets-kozume @supernaturalbaesduh @ladyparamount

[twistyfish]

Your writing is so good whaaatt!! Could you do another comfort fic with the lad boys? Maybe like they come home and the reader is crying for whatever reason and so onnn. I love comfort fics 🤧🤧

thank you very much! here you are. i’m in a bit of a writing slump honestly 🥲, but i tried. also, some of you are requesting, which i’m very grateful for! if I don’t respond immediately it’s because i’m working on something else at the moment.

prompt~ they come home to you crying.

𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴 𖣴

Zayne

You were so exhausted. You woke up with a horrible headache and did badly in training today because of that. Captain Jenna snapped at you over your simple errors, which made you feel worse.

You wordlessly picked a mug out of the cupboard and filled it with water. You brought it to your lips and drank, each gulp sounding against the metronomic headache that wouldn’t let you rest. A trickle of blood dripped down your philtrum, making a small splash in your cup. Sniffing, you wiped your nose.

Each drop of blood that ran from your nose overwhelmed you more and more until you were scrubbing your nose with your sweater sleeve, the wool fibers catching the liquid. You pulled your arm away and it looked like a surgeon’s rags.

Speaking of surgeons, your boyfriend chose that unaesthetic moment of you messily wiping your nose to walk into the kitchen. You put your arm by your side and tried to act normal as he fixed himself a cup of juice.

You kept your back turned to him as he asked, “How was training today?”

“Training was pretty standard. Tara told me she’s thinking of getting a tattoo.”

“Really? Did she tell you what kind of tattoo?”

“A pair of cherries.” You were just making stuff up, trying to find an exit from the conversation so you could clean up. “I’m going to go change into pajamas.” You quickly walked up the stairs before he could say anything.

Lip quivering, you picked out a set of pajamas and put it on the bed. You stripped out of your sweater, and the red patch on the sleeve caught your eye. Shit. Why did you wipe your nose on it? It would definitely stain. You really liked this sweater, too.

You felt your eyes burn, a fun contrast to the other sensations of your throbbing head and leaky nose. Tears slipped from your eyes, and you held back the sobs for a few beats before giving up and muffling your face in the already stained sweater.

You must have been like that for a while, because Zayne meandered upstairs without you hearing and peeked inside the bedroom door. “You’ve been up here for a while. What are you-,” he stopped, eyes widening. “Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?”

He quickly walked over and put a hand on your back, peering down at you. “Is that blood?”

You wiped your face on the sweater before letting it plop to the floor. “Yeah,” you said tearily.

“Why are you bleeding? And why are you crying?” Came his calm response.

“I had a bloody nose, and… I don’t know.” You dissolved into sobs again. He looked at you sadly, his hazel eyes big and worried. He pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly for a few minutes until you calmed down. He rubbed your bare back, feeling the goosebumps and pulling your pajama shirt over your head.

“You don’t have to run away. From me, or your feelings,” he whispered.

𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖 𐦖

Sylus

The air was too heavy. There was too much to dwell on, too many morbid and sickening atrocities that made you feel sour. You couldn’t comprehend how the world was still spinning with so many terrible people weighing it down. You certainly felt like you had been kicked off your axis.

It was more than anyone could take. One too many cases of something horrible on the news, and your stomach was churning. The reporter had described the event so plainly, with a grim resignation. The world was so advanced, and yet….

You didn’t feel the remote slip from your hand. You didn’t hear it clatter on the floor. You didn’t feel the tears swim down your face. You only registered that you were crying when your throat produced a strangled sound, and you finally clapped your hands to your eyes and just bawled.

You cried until you were dehydrated and numb and the garage door opened with a muted whirring. Your large boyfriend entered a few moments later, and you heard a quiet gasp as he took in the sight of you sobbing on the couch.

Sylus seemed less like a fiend and more like a fairy with the way he flitted around you, uncharacteristically lacking composure while trying to figure out what was wrong. By that point, the news had changed to some other story, and he looked confusedly at the TV.

“Darling, are you crying about inflation?”

That didn’t even get a smile from you, so he just picked you up from under the armpits and rocked you slowly, like a baby. You continued to cry softly as he shushed you and whispered comforting words in your ear.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” He asked gently.

“There are so many bad people in the world,” you managed to say through weak hiccups.

“I know. You’re dating one of them.”

“You’re different,” you mumbled. “

“Oh? How am I different?”

“You’re an evil bastard, but I love you.”

He laughed throatily at that, and you felt a little better.

𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝 𓆝

Rafayel

You were in a nice hotel, lying amidst silky duvets and plush, fat pillows. The moonlight snuck through the gaps between the ivory curtains and created beautiful spectral patterns on the walls.

Your darling fiancé was sleeping with his arm wrapped around you, so why were your shoulders shaking? Why were soft, choked sobs escaping your lips? Why the hell were you crying on vacation?

You didn’t know. All you did know was that Rafayel was stirring, surely awoken by your movement.

“Are you crying?” He murmured sleepily, propping himself up.

You willed yourself to stop shaking, stop being weak and just shut up. But it wasn’t working. The misery and self pity was eating you alive.

“Oh, sweetie,” he said, gently turning you around and cupping your head, kissing your wet cheek. “Don’t cry. You’ll get dehydrated.”

More tears ran down your face, and he continued to brush them away with soft fingers. “What’s wrong, my gorgeous girl?”

“I don’t know,” you choked out. “I just feel bad.”

“Oh, my love….” Rafayel kissed you again with sweetness and compassion. He combed through your hair with his fingers and rubbed your cheek with his thumb. He didn’t know how to soothe you, so he did the only thing he could think to do. He distracted you.

He brought his lips to yours and gently showed you his love for you. Whatever you were feeling, he would overpower it with all his heart.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Xavier

The clash of metal exploded in the air as your swords collided yet again, and you dodged another attack. Your eyes were burning. There was absolutely no way you were about to cry while sparring with Xavier.

But the next time your swords collided and you met Xavier’s soft, focused gaze, you failed to hold it back. You stared intently into his eyes as both of you struggled, and while straining against his sword, tears began falling from your eyes. His own eyes widened, and he stepped back, pulling his mask down.

“Are you injured?” He asked worriedly. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head, lip trembling. You let out a shaky sob, and that was enough to concern him further.

“__….” He was at a loss for words. He had never seen you cry, and now….

“What happened?” He bent down, trying to assess your expression. You were trying not to let the tears win, but they definitely were. You finally gave up trying to hold it in and let your sword drop to the floor with a soft clink, now crying openly.

Xavier reached out hesitantly and pulled you into his embrace. Both of you were hot and stinky from sparring, but that didn’t matter. Not while you were crying.

You let out muffled sobs into his neck, letting him hold you as the two of you sank to the floor. Your tears mingled with the sweat on his shoulder, and he rubbed your back soothingly as you cried. He held you like that for a while.

“I’m sorry,” you said once the sobs had died down.

“It’s okay. I just want to know where this came from,” he replied in that sweet, soft voice.

“I’m tired,” came your plain response. He didn’t question you further, and gently patted your head.

He helped you pick up your things and walked you to the locker room, and you stopped to take a drink at the water fountain. His gaze was fixed on you as you drank, eyes tracing the curvature of your lips. He was so engrossed in watching you drink that you couldn’t help but feel shy.

You finished drinking and said bye to Xavier, still thinking about the interaction. He was always soft spoken, but you didn’t know he could be this gentle. Maybe you should talk to him more outside of sparring.

[beansprean]

introducing Katya Zamolodchikova as Nancy the Relentless!!! a concept @vampireshmampire and i braindumped about like a year ago lmao. far before the rumors about Trixie Mattel being in s6 came out owo!

My Familiar’s Ghost part 80

Masterpost Masterpost 2

See the latest pages on Patreon!

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1a. Small panel, waist up of Nandor and Guillermo on a vague grayish-blue background. Nandor has one hand on his hip and the other pointing upwards as he leans toward Guillermo sternly and says 'Now I will show you how to call long distance.' Guillermo looks up at him, rubbing his arm awkwardly, still flushed from the previous page, and responds 'Ok...' 1b. Chest up of Nandor on a brighter blue background with his eyes closed in concentration, palms held up and out. He clears his throat and says, in a wispy bright blue speech bubble, 'I, Nandor the Relentless, am calling out to the etherrrr to inquire about available familiarsssss...' 1c. Shoulders up of Nandor and Guillermo lurching to one side in shock, Nandor's hands flying up, shoulder crashing into Guillermo's, as a glowing blue bubble suddenly shoves into their panel. Inside the bubble is a thin white vampire in drag with long white-blonde hair styled half up in a high ponytail by a sparkly red scrunchie. She is wearing a thin red dress with a black leather corset, a red-violet leopard fur capelet with gold coins dangling from the hem, a red jabot at her neck with a bat shaped gold brooch decorated with rubies, and shoulder length red gloves with ruby-encrusted gold caps shaped like claws on each finger. She lurches into frame with a huge, devious grin, shouting, 'Nandor, babygirl! Is that you?!' 1d. Repeat of Nandor and Guillermo standing side by side, Guillermo now having moved to stand slightly behind. Nandor slumps and scowls, already looking exhausted by this encounter, and greets poisonously 'Hello, Nancy the Relentless.' Guillermo frowns up at Nancy but stays quiet. From offscreen, Nancy coos, 'Heyy, mama! Still shopping in Turkish Cryptkeeper Kohls? I love that for you.' Nandor replies, irritated, 'This kaftan is not coal, it is made of wool from the sheeps of Al Q-' Nancy interrupts and asks, 'So, you're looking for a familiar?'

2a. Waist up of Nancy in her ether bubble, right arm crossed over her chest to rest on her left bicep, left hand reaching up to tap a jaunty claw on her cheek. She raises a brow and grins, tongue curling around one fang, and asks teasingly, 'Does that mean your scrumptious little slayer-boy is finally availableeee? 2b. Chest up of Nandor and Guillermo side by side. Glare fixed on Nancy, Nandor throws an arm out in front of Guillermo and shouts, 'No!! I have told you before, he is mine!' Guillermo startles, a green glow beginning to creep up behind him as goosebumps skitter up and down his shoulders. Nancy replies to Nandor, 'And your title is mine, Nandor the Plagiarist!' Nandor snaps back, 'I have been called Relentless since before you were born, Nancy the- the Pretender!' 2c. Repeat. Guillermo blushes and looks away, lips pursing as if attempting to whistle nonchalantly as his hand reaches up to grip the arm Nandor is holding in front of him and move it away from his body. Nandor's eyes flit over to him curiously, color rising to his cheeks. Nancy continues, 'Ooh, baby, you know how I feel about older men yelling at me. You should call more often.' 2d. Close up of Nandor in profile in the foreground, Nancy's bubble beyond. He glares at her and asks sharply, 'Do you know of any familiars looking for work or not?' Nancy, full body visible now as she perches on the edge of a table and leans back on one arm, legs crossed at the knee to reveal the high slit in her dress, fishnets, and thigh high black leather boots. She closes her eyes haughtily and stretches her free arm outward in a clearly rehearsed pose, replying, 'Well, gorgeous, effortless, beloved vampires usually receive applications directly...' 2e. Repeat. Nandor arches his eyebrows and turns his head away from Nancy toward the viewer, muttering, 'Then you must alert me if you find such a vampire.' Nancy wheezes with shocked laughter, kicking her legs wildly and flapping her arms, delighted rather than offended by the dig. Through her laughs, she declares, 'Read!!' 2f. Chest up of Nandor and Guillermo, the latter standing just behind and gripping the edge of Nandor's sleeve. Offscreen, Nancy recovers from her fit and says, 'Well, since I'm nice, I'll forward you a few. But- hello! Is that the slayer behind you? Did you turn him?! You bitch!! Guillermo, call m-!' Nandor scowls and interrupts, saying quickly, 'YesthankyouNancygoodbye.' He then flaps his hand in the air, dispersing Nancy's bubble and ending the call. Behind him, Guillermo frowns, flustered and blushing. 2g. Repeat. Nandor lowers his hand and glares where Nancy once appeared, sneering, 'Yeesh, why could you not have slain her?' Guillermo aims an unimpressed glance toward him, still purple in the cheeks. /end ID

[pricegouge]

ugh i was at a hotel last night and something happened and all i could think of was ‘i HAVE to tell gouge!’

essentially i was in the hottub sipping a little cocktail by myself until i was joined by two older men. they kept their distance and kept to themselves (i assume to avoid scaring little afab me on my own) but ALL i could think of was Nik and Price finding cute little reader alone in a hotel hottub and doing the absolute opposite.

like each of them taking a place on either side and continuing their conversation as if reader isn’t there but squishing the poor lamb between them.

eventually they get handsy, maybe feed the sweetheart a few more drinks than they can handle. and of course they can’t leave the sweet little thing drunk and all on their own! the only responsible thing to do would to be take the little lamb back to their room with them😵‍💫

anyway i might be insane.

~💉

got yourself in hot soup :/

honestly, you should have known better, taking your third drink for a walk. you would have been fine - really- it's just, well, who are you to say no when a handsome man with a devastatingly hot accent offers you another?

he says his name's nik. he hadn't had his leg against yours at the time, borderline indecently cut shorts letting the fine threads of his copious leg hair grate against your thigh. you'd flinch away, but the man on your other side is almost worse. nik calls him john, but he introduces himself as price. where nik's soft, price is made of steel wool. denser. a little bit meaner, too.

not that either of them are rude, exactly. they're plenty charitable. in a sense; share their drinks with you when you run out. fix the straps of your top when they slump. it's just that you hadn't planned to drink with two strange men tonight, and they're a little bit too insistent, price's gruff bark just a bit too teasing whenever you try to pull yourself to your feet.

'nough already?

yeah, kinda.

you've had enough of their hands, at least, but weren't sure how to stop that, either - not now that you've let it go on so long, each touch more innocent than the one that followed until you're not even sure where it began. maybe when nik had first handed you that drink, blunt fingers lingering. maybe later, when he'd laid his arm across the back of the tub. ostensibly, it was an excuse to dig strong fingers into the tense belt of muscle that blanketed his mate's shoulder, but the crook of his elbow sat just a bit too snug against your neck to be an accident.

or maybe you were looking too far into it. there was no way two grown men who'd clearly come together were hitting on you, after all. not when their big hands kept churning the water, reaching across you to pet at one another. even if it kept you incidentally locked in their strong arms.

'just keepin' ya upright,' john winks, and you've half a mind to tell him off for thinking you need it, but next thing you know your tops come untied and you're clutching your chest, embarrassment boiling worse than the tub. sloppy. maybe you do need their help.

they're nice enough not to laugh, at least. nik tuts as he gathers your ties, big hands surprisingly gentle, matching his voice when he leans in close and asks if you think you're ready for bed yet. you don't trust yourself to speak so you just nod, hide your face in price's shoulder as he helps you to your feet with a warm hand spread across your back. you're so busy why your skin already feels familiar with his touch there that you barely notice as they corral you into an elevator, nik confidently selecting the top floor without asking for you input.

you're not sure why you apologize but you do, meek when you tell them you're actually staying on the fourth floor. nik says that's nice. john says it sounds like a good place to grab breakfast. neither of them select it.

"where are we going?" you try again, stomach falling out beneath you as the lift rockets up without it.

"our room, of course," john scoffs as if it should all be very obvious. his fingers toy with the strings of your top again. again?

nik's tone is final when he speaks again, a low rumble you can barely hear over the whirl of machinery. "said you were ready for bed, milaya," he reminds you, just as john gives one last tug to your strings.

nik is not as nice about helping you retie it this time. good thing they've got the whole top floor.

[coterieofroses]

scent of embers and amber

Declan O’hara x Reader

Summary: Declan gets a phone call from London, one that leaves him brooding. When his secretary happens upon him at home, she shows him just how far she would go to prove how much he means to her… in a way.

Warnings: 18+, angst, pet names, kissing, cheating(?), drinking, fingering, praise kink, sex

w/c: 2.7k

also on AO3

You had grown used to the smell of the man who seemed to occupy every moment of your waking life. Cigarettes and whiskey, permeate the air, seeping into the wool of his sweaters, and his suits. You knew when the bite of whiskey was stronger, things usually were worse with his wife. He knew that when he’d been researching a critical guest, a reek of tobacco would sit in the natural fibers of his clothes, sometimes even staining the sleeves. The antiseptic of his particular brand of aftershave even became familiar. Declan was a passionate man, and the rhythm of his artistic temperament was something you grew to dance easily around. And for that he was always generous and kind, working as his secretary was rewarding, if there was a world where you had no bills to pay, you may have worked for his praise alone.

It made sense when you followed him when he left Corinium. Knowing full well work might be hard to find again if he should fail. Then when Maud stepped out, following after where her own heart took her, you braced for the fallout. Knowing the coming days would be hard on a man who’d you’d had such a growing affection for. You tried to dismiss it as a schoolgirl crush, but there was so much more affection for this mentor, more than any fleeting feelings for past teachers.

You returned to the Priory late one night, a thick folder in hand, knowing he would be up. His office was the only illumination left in the vast residence. That and the porch light he always left on. You had wondered a few times if it was for you but never grew the courage to ask. Instead of knocking and waking the dog or Taggie, you quietly let yourself in the front door and made your way to his office. Your hand was raised to knock but the shattering of glass you heard caused you to abruptly stop, and pause. You could hear Declan on the other side of the door, a gentle, lightly intoxicated ‘Fuck’, leaving his lips before you pushed inside, and shut the door behind you.

A whiskey glass was in pieces on the floor, and the bottle on his desk was, rather thankfully, only half gone. He sat at his desk brushing the glass aside with his slippered foot. Without a word you approached, setting the folder on his desk. As you turned to move for the dustpan, Declan reached for your wrist. His firm holds causing you to turn and face him.

You’d been polite enough several times before not to look when he’d worked himself up like this. The flannel he wore was loose and had a few more undone buttons than was fit for the company. His undereyes were darkened with a lack of sleep. But he fixed you with the same kind, sad gaze he almost always did, despite his stupor.

“Why?” he asked you simply. His voice was a deep grunt.

“Why, what, Mr. O’hara?” you replied, your brow knitting together with confusion.

“Don’t call me that, you never call me that,” he grumbled softly, uncomfortable with your choice for propriety at this time. “Why bother with me? I’m sure you’d be better paid, better suited, with a better man. Maybe any other man. Probably in London,” he drawled, clarifying his question.

“I don’t want another man, Declan,” you sighed at him, and his hold on your wrist relaxed slightly. Seeming to cling to you for comfort loosely. You were telling the truth, your last boyfriend had broken up with you due to your dedication to the job. You’d hardly sought out another. You had even less ambition to abandon him for another boss.

“You’d be the only one,” he gruffed, ignoring the subtext of your words, or missing them, you couldn’t quite tell. “I got a phone call from London,” he offered. The frown you replied with letting him leave it at that. You knew it was Maud already. Knew it was attention from another man. As the silence lingered he sniffed and looked pointedly away toward the darkened windows that acted more like mirrors in the dim glow of the desk lamp in the room. His hand dropped limply from your wrist, falling to his knee. If you’d looked out the window, you’d notice he was looking at your reflection, standing close to his.

A gentle sigh left you as you lifted your hand. You hesitated a moment before placing it gently on one of his broad shoulders. “You’re good to me Declan. You deserve the loyalty you inspire,” you attempted to soothe him softly. Your words had struck an off chord, causing his jaw to clench and a disgruntled frown to form under his mustache.

“Loyalty,” he refrained, looking back at you with simmering anger. The kind you’d seen directed mostly at Rupert or Tony. Never you, the look alone made your skin crawl, your hand slip off his shoulder as you swallowed back any pride you had left.

“I’ll just leave that here, and come back another time…” you attempted hurriedly, all while Declan rose to his feet. Before you could scurry out, or even take a step back he’d let his fingers comb into your hair, grasping you perhaps not so gently by the nape of your neck and tilting your head to look up at him. Your eyes met his gaze that looked much more sober than you’d expected, and still far too intense.

“Have you thought how far you’d go for me? What you’d endure?” he questioned, hard, unreadable.

“I’d do anything you needed me to, Declan.” you attempted confidence, but it came out in more of a whisper. The answer seemed to make him let out a soft laugh, or perhaps a scoff.

“So I’d have to need it then?” he replied, clearly rhetorically. He let out a soft sigh, gently shaking his head from side to side.

“Anything you wanted, Declan,” you admitted softly in return, eyes wide and earnest. You felt the fingers in your hair tense, a soft pulling at the root that pulled a gasp from you.

“Shouldn’t say things like that,” he warned you softly, the anger in his gaze seeming to melt into something else. “Y’don't mean it,” he grumbled, mostly to himself before you attempted to shake your head in disagreement, leading to effectively only tugging your hair and loosening his grip.

“Of course I do,” you attempted, but further protests were silenced by Declan leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. Suddenly your senses were flooded with the taste of the scent you’d memorized. The taste of whiskey and tobacco on your tongue, mixed with the sharpness of the menthol in his aftershave. It made your head spin and give in to him. A culmination of thoughts you’d let wander far too many times. When your thoughts came back, your hands planted firmly on his chest, the coarse feeling of his flannel on your palms as you pushed him back.

“You’re drunk,” you offer softly, attempting to give him an out and let him decide it was a mistake he could forget.

“I’m not,” he replies bluntly, confirming what you knew, but letting you get away if you wanted. “Sorry, love,” he mumbled, beginning to part from you, detangling himself from his hold on you before you grasped his collar and pulled his lips back to yours.

When it hits him that you’re just as eager to kiss him back, he’s like a man possessed. Hands move to your waist as he holds you close for a moment, lips searching yours hungrily. The prickle of his unshaven cheeks chafed your skin slightly. He groans into your mouth before lifting you up and setting you to sit on the edge of his desk, using a forearm to shove more papers out of the way.

His haste causes him to break the kiss, and for a soft giggle to leave you. It’s clear he’s desperate for you. Once he’s satisfied, he gently cups your face, savoring looking down at you, his pupils blown wide with lust as you look up to him, lips slightly agape.

“Need you…” he admits softly, broken and wanting. When you nod it’s enough for him to rush to begin helping you undress.

“Take me then, Declan.” you encourage him as you slip your trousers down your legs, your panties along with them as you sit bare now on his desk’s surface. Your words elicit a feral growl from his throat as he nudges between your knees, spreading them slightly. A soft hiss when he gets sight of your slick petals.

“Pretty girl.” he coos the praise, aimed more at your cunt, than you, causing a blush to flood your cheeks. He traces his index and middle fingers on your lips until you open your mouth further, and then he wets them on your tongue. All until you wrap your lips around his thick fingers and suckle around him. Your eyes meet as he lets out a soft groan. “‘another time,” he grunts, a promise at your suckling before pulling his fingers free from your mouth and tracing them down your body to play along your slit. The heat and texture of his calloused fingers causes you to squirm involuntarily under his touch.

“It’s alright darlin’, just need to be good to you first,” he rumbles soft praise to you before stepping closer. You’re engulfed by him as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, fingers slipping through your folds to gently prod at your entrance, sinking slowly in. A soft growl leaves him when you give in and shift so your sensitive pearl brushes against his palm. Needy gasps leaving you as you press yourself harder against him, seeking the friction as he eases his fingers into you, filling you gently, starting to curve and work them into you in earnest.

“Always good to me, Declan,” you whined back, high and needy before you pressed your face into the crook of his neck, taking deep breaths, the scent of him filling your lungs and making your head swim. “So tight…” he grumbled in reply, continuing to lavish you with praise as your walls fluttered around his fingers, adjusting to their thickness. Your hands on his chest grasp onto him greedily, pawing at his shirt as you whimper into the meat of his shoulder.

“God, please Declan,” you began to beg. At first, he only answered with a groan of his own, fingers picking up their pace as his palm dragged against your clit.

“I know, I know, but I gotta get you ready first,” he replied, pleading with you. It seemed to go on deaf ears though, your nails digging into the cotton of his shirt and barely dulling the sharpness as you whimpered little aimless pleas as he worked you up until you began to sob out in pleasure. Noises of release were only muffled by his bulk as he used his free hand to gently stroke your hair. Your hips bucked against the hand buried into you. All the while he soothed you through your climax.

As you came down from your high Declan slowly pulled his fingers from your slick walls. He eased you to sit up as he put them to his lips, suckling your slick clean off them. Leaving you to gaze over his face, dazed with lust and the culmination of your tamped-down affections, your hand that’s been clawing at his chest drifted down to reach for the bulge tenting his trousers. Grasping at his hardened length, and getting a clear idea of the size of him, big, but more so thick. His insistence on warming you up is more than warranted.

A grunt left him as his hand fell from his mouth at your groping. “Not gonna be able to stay sweet about it if you keep that up,” he warned, thick and gravely. Hands come to rest at your hips and scoot you to the very edge of the desk.

“Don’t want you to,” you breathed, head still spinning. “-want you to take what you need,” you reminded him, kneading once more over his bulge as you sat up slightly to press kisses to his stubble-covered jaw.

You think you heard him curse under his breath at your continued pleading with him. It seemed your encouragement was enough to cause him to snap, unzipping his trousers and relieving his hard length from his boxers. Taking your chance your hand slid down his chest, popping the snaps of his flannel shirt to leave his broad, hairy chest bare to you, the garment loosely hanging over his shoulders.

He grasped the base of his cock, reddened and already leaking with evidence of arousal. Lining himself up with your entrance he let out a soft hiss as he bullied his way into your tight heat, your inner walls fluttering as they struggled to content with his size. Even considering his attempt to warm you up. By the time he bottomed out you’d been left breathless, your arms moving rest at the back of his neck as you held him close. Once fully seated he eased you back further onto his desk, taking each of your thighs in hand and pressing them back as you were laid open and exposed to him. It gave you just enough time for you to be able to catch a few shallow breaths before he took you in earnest.

He draws his hips back just to snap them back into yours, filling you somehow deeper than before. It rips a sharp gasp from you, a desperate whine breaking from your throat, you’d know if you weren’t so impossibly wet the stretch would sting.

“Bein’ such a good girl for me,” he praised, “Takin’ it so well, darling,” he continued between grunts, building up a brutal pace as his hips pumped into yours, any resolve to hold back or be gentle melting as he had you effectively pinned down on his desk.

You laid back, over the piles of papers and envelopes, ignoring them entirely as he leaned forward, pinning his hands down on the surface, and trapping you with your legs draped over his forearms. When you met his gaze you could barely see the warm brown of his eyes, too filled with lust as he dragged his length through you with every thrust. The whimpering moans that left you only spurring him on, every few pleasured whimpers being answered with a throaty grunt of his own pleasure, becoming more beast than man.

“I’m gonna,” you warned softly between wrecked-sounding moans, your voice broke and crackling as you neared another peak. “Don’t stop,” you begged, a broken whimper as you locked your arms around his neck.

Holding Declan close was hardly a struggle; he tucked his face into the crook of your neck and let out a growl into your skin as your walls fluttered around his length. Your thighs shivering with the intensity of the pleasure that overtook you, you were left gasping out, eyes rolling back as the searing heat overwhelmed you. Declan’s thrusts stuttered as you clamped down hard around him, his pace faltering as he hit his own peak. He attempted to lean back and pull out, but with you clamping down around him, and holding his face into your chest he spilled his release into your eager cunt.

“Shit,” he grunted in a mix of satisfaction and frustration under his breath, finally snapping from your daze enough to let go of your hold. He took his chance to lean back up, let you lower your legs, and pull out. His spend dripping out of your twitching walls in his wake.

“It’s okay,” you only offered softly in reply. “L-like it, even,” you admitted before using your forearms to prop yourself up slightly, and watch the maddened glint in Declan’s eyes only be fueled by your admission. A soft sigh left him before he leaned in and cupped your face, his thumbs running over your cheeks.

“Perfect, darlin’,” he practically cooed before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

[becausebuckley]

michelle's buddie fic recs: week 50!

another lovely round of fics for you all <3 full disclosure i did not double check this with my masterlist of recs so while i doubt it, it's possible that i've recced some of these before... i guess that could just be a sign that they're extra good lol.

this is a mix of fics with all ratings, so some include NSFW content. please take a look at both the ratings and the fic tags before reading! some might also contain spoilers for season 8.

if you come across something you like in this list, remember to show some love to the author by leaving kudos and a comment!

75 best knitting puns that will have you hooked | iphigenias/@oatflatwhite | 4.1k | GA

Buck—Buck is knitting. Eddie blinks, rubs his eyes. Yeah, Buck is knitting: thick fingers a little clumsy as Bobby shows him how to purl stitch with a soft-looking ball of pink ombre wool.  softest most domestic little fic <3

all the lights are coming on | sharpbutsoft/@sharpbutsoft | 1.2k | GA

What good is having a key to your best friend’s house if you can’t use it to spread a little holiday magic? spreading the holiday magic <3<3 this was everything i needed and wanted and i love it so very much

any other bodily sense | kiwiibiird/@buckevanley | 10.2k | GA

Post-s2 sickfic. Buck is stuck with a broke leg and a bad cold. Maddie and Eddie help him out. forehead kisses and maddie and buddie and hurt/comfort... literally what else could a girl (me) need? the answer is nothing because this fic is everything!!

born with a weak heart | foxwatson/@eddiediazes | 7.5k | T

the one where eddie won't touch buck once he wakes up in the hospital, and buck goes absolutely bonkers bananas about it. is it truly a michelle rec list if there's no touch-starved fic on there? i don't think it is lol. i've reread this several times now and it's just the absolute loveliest <3

don't break | odysseus_calls | 2.4k | T

5 times the 118 is tired of Buck and Eddie acting like a couple, and the time they find out they've been dating the whole time. i LOVE hijinks and shenanigans <3 this captures them so perfectly!!

hooker | mansikka | 3.9k | T

When Eddie's life turns to hell, he turns to hooking. Crochet hooking. i've been attempting to crochet again (made a little cat today!) and it's only half because i want to be cool and crafty and half because people make it sound so cool and crafty in fics. anyway point is this was brilliant and so eddie and i loved it v v much!!

i sleep so i can see you ('cause i hate to wait so long) | turquoiseviolet/@turquoisevioiet | 25.7k | T

eddie’s not sleeping and buck’s worried. after all, he’s supposed to be the one who fixes everything, isn’t he? platonic cuddling! homoerotic friendship! getting together! if buddie fic had a bingo card, this would tick all of the boxes <3 so good!!

loves a game, wanna play? | 42hrb/@exhuastedpigeon | 57.5k | M

In the aftermath of Chris leaving for the summer, Buck convinces Eddie they should apply for Love Island together. okay so admittedly all my big plans to read my marked for later list this week failed miserably, cause this is the only fic from there that i actually read... on the other hand, what a brilliant one it is!! it's so funny and so good and i loved the social media elements in there. also, maya and maria <3

sub drop city, population: eddie diaz | peaktotheocean/@peaktotheocean | 4k | T

It takes Eddie longer than he cares to admit to realize that Buck has been giving him aftercare on the sly. i'm such a sucker for aftercare and this has SUCH a lovely buddie dynamic <3

swinging there, in the corner of our haven | anti_romantic_cherub | 1.6k | GA

Eddie bought Buck a hammock, and now he's reaping the rewards (Buck napping in his backyard). buck napping in eddie's backyard <3 such a lovely image and this is executed so so well, i love it!!

the city is a jungle and i'm a beast | putanauhere/@putanauhere | 42.8k | M

Eddie has enough on his plate this summer – a newly empty nest, a terrible new captain, and a new mustache – without adding a new werewolf to the mix. the most fascinating werewolf au <3 i love the buddie dynamic here and how they approach the werewolfism with such different attitudes. so good!!

toss up | saucerfulofsins/@saucerfulofsins | 3.5k | E

Eddie is caught browsing bad gay porn, and Buck takes it upon himself to show Eddie the good stuff. most glorious brilliant fic concept to ever fic <3 this is fantastic!!

trivial pursuit of love | niemi | 6.2k | T

Buck attends Tommy’s trivia night with Eddie, his newfound feelings for his best friend bottled up and ready to burst. As it turns out, he’s not the only one with a secret. buddie at trivia night!! i loved this fic so much, it was a real highlight on a rainy morning bus ride <3

weaving in our loose ends | PretentiousSwanQueen/@hotcinnamonsunset | 8.6k | T

Eddie is a knitter with the Loose Ends Project and he's assigned to finish the project of a loved one of Buck's. the gasp i let out when i realised what buck's project is... gorgeous fic!!

white sheets, you and me start to lay close | effervescentwolf/@effervescentwolf | 1.5k | T

He thinks of his empty bed at home, and his chest feels tight. It’s just that—it’s okay if it’s Buck. He can let Buck catch him. give me all the bed-sharing fics, please and thank you <3 this is one of the best uses of the trope i've seen in a long time, it's so lovely <3

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Just Perfect | Yandere Illumi Zoldyck

The heat underneath your turtle neck collar was sweltering. The coolness of the kitchen counter was unable to reach you through your jeans, only felt when you briefly let your hands brace yourself on it. The cutting board and toaster pressing against your back served as a minor obstacle, shoved to the side by the man enraptured by you. For you, it was a reminder of where exactly you were and the time of your ‘lonesome’ afternoon coming to an end.

“W-we have to stop soon.”

Your neighbor didn’t answer, instead busy himself with harshly biting your lip. Probing deeper into your mouth as he pulled at the loops of your jeans in an unspoken request. Your hands previously tangled in his hair were grabbing fistfuls of his tracksuit; passionately pulling as you felt the burning heat in your lungs as your kissing continued.  The haze upon your mind was addictive, thinking only of the way his mouth never stopped sucking–your tongue, your jaw, your neck. Barely registering his pale and masterful hands slipping under the form-fitting wool to squeeze at the fat of your waist. His hands are trailing upwards speedily making their way to your chest, it was almost enough to put all your worries to rest. 

The jingling of keys just outside the door stopped that immediately. 

With unimaginable haste, you unlatched and shoved the man away. Hopping down from the counter to pull your sweater back down and your pants up. Turning around to fix up the appliances on the counter. You quickly ran to the decorative mirror on the wall pulled the neck of your sweater up and inspected the marks on your face. Specifically on your lips while you sucked at the bloodied part of your lip. Lightly dabbing at it you sucking your teeth, cursing yourself before turning to the door swinging open.

“Welcome home Akaza!”

The black-haired boy didn’t look surprised to see you. Instead, he looked surprised at your state even though you felt like you fixed most of it. Watching him scrutinize your appearance, stopping at your bottom lips. You curled your lips in as though it would hide what was already seen. 

“What happened to your lip?!”

You chuckled nervously,” I bit it–on accident. Is it that bad?”

Adding the extra question you hoped would dissuade him from asking more. Instead, the second year marched further inside the home nonchalantly dropping his bag at the door; leaving it to you to pick up. After setting it nicely on a hook you came into the kitchen where your adoptive son was clutching at the tracksuit of your long-haired neighbor, practically growling in his face.

“How’d I know this parasite would be here?! Oi oi, you listening to me punk?! What’re you doing here!?”

You held the bridge of your nose. That twisted face and tensed posture matched the reports made by so many teachers. You knew this wouldn’t end like those situations in the past. Not if you had any say about it. Not that Illumi was going to let you.

“I think you know why.”

“GGRRRR!”

Akaza quickly reeled back to punch him only for your neighbor to dodge, and swiftly unlatched Akaza’s hand maneuvering him into the perfect position for a headlock. You figured it’d be best to end this now before one of them actually hurts the other.

“Akaza. Illumi. Break it up.”

The teen growled again reeling his fist in an awkward position. Illumi didn’t release him, anticipating the punch.

“Now, Akaza!”

The teen shook his head as he stomped away, avoiding eye contact with you. He headed up the stairs occasionally sneering as he made eye contact with the man standing unharmed and defiantly in the kitchen. Letting out a sigh you let your neighbor come in close as you apologized. 

“I’m sorry about him. I’m sure you know how he feels about you.”

Illumi didn’t bother sharing your worried gaze at the steps. Only intensely staring at you. As he usually did.

“Is that where you’re going this afternoon? To the principal’s office, again?”

Crossing your arms, you already recognized the annoyance in his voice.

“Yes again.”

“You’ve had 6 meetings this month alone. And they all happen on the evenings that are usually dedicated to us.”

You shrugged. “Yes well, that’s just the reality of it.”

“Isn’t there a seaside school you–”

The glare on your face made Illumi quiet himself. Clearly, the mention of that option was entirely off-limits. It’s exactly what he feared.

“Sorry. Maybe a meeting at the end of the month can be negotiated?”

“Unless you can convince Akaza to keep his confrontations to the end of the month, then I don’t see that happening.”

Illumi didn’t groan because he doesn’t groan. Instead, he crossed his arms to stare off to the side. He waited for you to hug his waist, shoving yourself through his locked arms to hold him tight. You enticed him to look at you, smiling when he finally did. 

“Depending on how this meeting goes you can come with us during our victory meal.”

“As if!”

No longer in his uniform, Akaza had returned. Looking disgusted at the affection you two displayed, he donned his shoes again and stood impatiently near the door. The teenager had you swallowing laughter, how could a little delinquent (as he portrayed himself to be) still be so polite? Despite his words, he was waiting patiently for you and he hadn’t gotten physical since he returned downstairs. You’d consider that progress.

“Well maybe during our consolation dessert?”

“Nuh Uh! Your boy toy is just awkward maybe if he didn’t stare at you like you were his dinner I wouldn’t mind.”

You couldn’t hold back your laughter at his assessment, letting a cheeky smile spread on your face. Hugging Illumi tightly you kick up your foot to playfully bat your eyes at Akaza, delighting in the little twitch his nose makes when he’s angry.

“Awww~are you jealous?”

“Blegh! Get a room you creeps!”

“Hahaha.”

Releasing your boyfriend you went over to your son, scratching his hair affectionately before reaching for your coat and shoes. You smile at Illumi encouraging him to leave with you two as you pull out your keys.

“Well then maybe we’ll go see a movie together instead.”

Looking down to lock the outside of the door, you’re vaguely aware that the two of them are speaking. But you don’t pay any mind, you figure it’s a thing they feel like must be done. Talking about territory, counseling books would usually reprimand this kind of thing but Akaza was no doormat and neither was Illumi. It was actually emboldening to think you’d find someone capable of going head to head with your self-proclaimed bodyguard. And even better he was just next door. 

“Yeah, get running track boy.” 

“Don’t call me boy, boy.”

“Yeah yeah get off our lawn!”

You didn’t bother fighting them—this was a peaceful interaction more so than the others they’ve had and you could focus on starting the car while you waited. A few more insults were thrown back and forth between the two of them; finally ending when Akaza slammed the side of the door into the passenger's seat. Only then did you send him a look that had him reopening and closing the door—softly this time. Smiling at him you rolled your window to shout to Illumi,” I’ll text you afterward about what we’re doing.”

Illumi only nodded, watching still as you smiled and waved then you were speeding off. Didn’t want to keep the principal waiting any longer. 

_____________________________________________________

“Aka, don’t you think this is a little…excessive.” You finally allowed yourself to speak normally, now that you both were leaving the empty school. Your son also seemed to relax, putting his hands behind his head as he walked alongside you.

“No. I’m doing it for her. Those bullies made her transfer, it is all their fault.”

He skipped ahead to open the driver’s side for you. Ever so polite you shoo him away back to the passenger side. Back in the car, you sent a wave to the principal who stood concerned while watching you drive off. 

“I know but you couldn’t have a witness or someone recording you defending her?”

Akaza sunk into his seat, sulking a little. You weren’t trying to bring him down but you figured if you offered some playful jabs he’d get your point.

“Like that blonde kid! What’s–his–name is clearly high all the time, I’m sure you could pay him off to back you up.”

You spared a glance from the road, catching the laugh he tries to hide. He rolls down the window letting his hand get pushed by the wind being cut through by your speeding car. 

“Douma is too popular for that kind of thing.”

“But he seems to like you enough.”

“He’s just a masochistic freak. Totally get’s off on the way I hate him.”

“Well don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m serious–”

You two continued to talk as you’ve always done. When you first met him, he was some flea-ridden kid who you’d caught breaking into a neighbor’s house across the way. Come to find he was trying to pawn off what he stole to afford medicine for his father. You’d seen this kid get caught by the police before and to say they weren’t fond of him was an understatement. In an impulsive rush of good will you decided to be a an anchor for them–coming over with food and necessities. Soon you were paying for school supplies and signing for field trips. You were more than happy when the state offered for you to tak him in. Ever since you’ve been the guardian to a troublesome boy with an inclination for using his fighting spirit to solve all his problems. 

While you had no regrets about taking Akaza there was a glaring issue of your dying social life. Being in a small district for the school, meant familiar faces and a lasting reputation. While no one seemed to hate you for your son’s…unconventional problem-solving, they weren’t eager to get to know you. Those that were–usually romantically—would also start running because of some unknown force your son.

They were scared. 

You understood but it didn’t make anything better. Both you and Akaza only had each other and the few people who were crazy enough to interact with you. One of those being your new neighbor. 

“So icecream or churros?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

_____________________________________________________________

Watching the familiar car drive away from the entrance of the school parking lot, from his phone Illumi clicked it off. Looking back up at the blubbering woman and their teen, expecting something. 

“You stopped.”

The woman nervously brought her hands to smooth over dyed hair, hiding the silver strands that imminently began to appear. 

Shakily coughing she continued, “Right, well as a major donor to the school I’m sure they value me and my son’s opinion quite a lot. It’s nothing personal really—in fact we can make a donation in your name to support such a…troubled kid.”

Illumi didn’t care what she had to say. He has listened to hundreds of seedy or innocent targets try and rationalize their lives. Those in particular, that were lucky enough to get the chance to bargain. Just as usual nothing they offered was worth the pay. 

“Alright I heard you out.”

Unsheathing the needles from his cashmere classic coat, unbothered by the screaming family in front of him. Now he was thinking about who’d he’d kill first? Who was he kidding, he’d been trained to kill them all at the same time. He briefly thought of how inefficient he was when he hadn’t gotten his fill of his fiance. 

“WAIT! What if I got you a new principal!? Someone that could wipe his record! That’d be good ri—!?”

Illumi wasted no time flinging the needles into their necks. Their tied forms going limp on  the floor. That was a great idea, it’d be easier to orchestrate the vacancy of the principal than convincing his fiance to depart with their misfit boy. It’d be even better if the newly appointed  principal could avoid scheduling meeting on the days dedicated to pampering his fiance. 

Wordlessly the corpse of the woman rose like the undead. Standing, twitching occasionally the  corpse moved past Illumi with a mission. 

Illumi turned to join, stopping at a rock song coming from his phone. Letting his puppet unlock their phone, following through with their prior promises; he busied himself with the realization of his phone’s latest feature. The icon of a locator app took up his screen, his fiance’s face adorably holding up a piece sign above the car moving through the map. 

Illumi wasn’t aware that his love had, organized this app on his phone. Let alone made the . ringtone an obnoxiously inappropriate song. Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to undo the effect. It was like his gifts. 

Secret and made for surveillance.

Recognizing the route, he sent a message to his contact there. Illumi texted his fiance, reminding them of their prior offer. Perhaps this evening would still be salvageable; that is if that child would allow it. 

______________________________________________________________

Akaza was planning a murder. 

He’d done his best to keep chatting with his guardian, distracting them from their vibrating phone. No doubt the leech trying to get their attention Long enough for him to silence their phone when they got gas. He’d hope that’d be the end of it. Have his churro–icecream-monstrosity while watching the latest movie for him to laugh at with the only person in his corner. 

But no. 

He couldn’t have that. 

Not with the leech, conveniently being at the theater after they got their tickets. Pulling his guardian into his side while he collects the ticket for the open seat next them. Instead of his parent already turned to snark to him throughout the movie, they were whispering in the ear of the neighbor. Whispering and laughing with the man who was staring blankly at the screen, probably not even watching. The frozen section of the dessert in his hands, melting was just an omen to the night ahead. 

Instead of raving about the movie and they’re parent talking about their favorite parts, Akaza was forced to listen to the flirting of the two adults. Watching his parent pull at the man’s hands asking all the questions that usually would be asked of him.

“What do you mean you weren’t watching?”

“I was too busy looking at you. I didn’t care for the movie, really.”

“Don’t say that, there’s got to be something you like-”

“You.”

“Illumi, I’m serious!”

It wasn’t so bad when they relented to Illumi taking everyone out to eat. It was worth it to see the apathetic man silently accept the addition of Akaza to a restaurant of his choosing. Part of what Akaza hated about Illumi was his lack of emotions or rather the lack of displaying his emotions. Those wide black eyes bigger than olives always staring at his parent with insanity. The man’s strange movements that made him look like a puppet. The very rare smile that has people screaming in public. 

He didn’t know what his guardian saw in him.

Or why Illumi was so dedicated to dating them in turn. Akaza knew he was intimidating enough to scare the people not worthy for his parent but nothing was working. When it came to Illumi the doll-like man seemed all together unphased. More often then not he was making his own veiled threats. 

Akaza knew this angle, well. Others have tried to slink their way, whispering grand ideas of sending him to boarding or military school. But everytime his parent had shut them down, usually sending them away the minute they pushed the point. Illumi was much closer, literally and emotionally. Too many times had he found the neighbor making his parent bashful or stare at their phone in anticipation for a call from him. 

Unfortunately it doesn’t seem like he’s going away any time soon so it was better to lay the law down now. He waited until (Y/n) had left the table, waving over their shoulder as they left for the bathroom. 

“Look stalker, what’s your end goal? Sex, half their estate, you might as well come clean now.”

The pale man’s face showed no indication that he was alarmed or that he was listening at all. It wasn’t until his small lips curved and twisted into something wide and frightening. People around were whispering and a child was crying somewhere. This man was like nothing he’d dealt with before.

“What I want,” Illumi laughed, “has been clear from the start. I have nothing but the best intentions for (Y/n).”

Akaza sneered,”Yeah right. I find it funny you consider…getting rid of everyone they occasionally mention as a problem.”

Illumi cocked his head to the side. The leak of information makes him wary of keeping the boy alive at all. Instead he’ll make a note to handle those listening later.

“You know of my occupation?”

Akaza sighed,”Anyone who lives next to you knows. The thriving garden, the burner phones, and the way you talk about anatomy it’s just too weird.”

“I told you I was a docter, did I not?”

“I looked for your name in the medical registery, there is no Illumi Reldyck. I checked. There is another identity with your name but there’s no online footprint and I’m guessing you paid someone off for the fake certificate.”

The teen had him cornered. He did decide to lighten up considering the man’s hands reaching under the table for something. The thought of him reaching for a weapon did cross Akaza’s mind and he was glad for the pocket in his bubble jacket. Flashing it’s insides, and the insurance he carried as he brought his arms to rest on the back of the booth. 

Illumi was no longer smiling, “I believe I underestimated you.”

Nothing more needed to be said as their food was finally brought by a shaking waiter. The glares exchanged across the table dissipating as (Y/n) finally returned. 

“Glad you two didn’t bite each others heads off!”

Illumi leaned into them, “You told me you would hate it if I did that so I didn’t.”

Akaza sighed,”And I know you’d prefer it if I didn’t beat your boyfriend to a pulp in public. I know better.”

(Y/n) shook their head at the both of them before digging into their meal. For now Illumi and Akaza would be civil, it wouldn’t help anyone to fight in public with all these witnesses around. They’d wait until later to sort one another out. 

Where they wouldn’t be held back by the person they were fighting over. Or the police. Or investigative hunters. Or the organization of slayers.

Yeah they’d have to wait. 

________________________________________________________________

Illumi treated his wounds with the precision an assassin should have. Using his trained eyes to properly stitch at the gash in his leg. He was far removed from the process, after all it’s been years since he allowed himself to agonize over the searing feeling of pain. Instead he preferred to let his mind wander (as it often did ) to the one he endured these very wounds for. 

Despite their inadvertent hand in creating more strain on his body for his next mission, he couldn’t help but let his obsession with them consume even more. To think even a child they hadn’t birthed themself was already strong enough to be an obstacle to a trained assassin. It only proved how perfect (Y/n) was just for him. 

He’d long ago gotten the approval from his parents and eventually the entire family. Sharing a fraction of his extensive dossier about his fiance. They retracted their interest after the 50th page but Illumi didn’t mind. For once he valued the private appreciation he discovered when he first happened upon them. 

It was a minor interaction. One that Illumi would have ignored on the route to a mission. They had smiled while passing by; a nice gesture they did on an especially good days. The assassin didn’t mind at the time. Many very observational citizens might notice him but very few actually acted on it. He didn’t care…at least not at the time. He did care when he found his mind flashing the image of their smiling face while he stabbed the needle into the subject’s heart. 

At first it aggravated him that his attention was divided because of some random person. From a distance he could tell they weren’t particularly strong or highly intelligent. Yet he found himself in a department store’s camera room going through the footage of the sidewalk. Taking the seconds of the meeting on the recorded tape, he began his investigation. His…colleague often spoke about getting enjoyment from his time with people of interest. That’s all he’d call his growing interest at the time. That’s what he’d call it. Even if his investigation had been going on for five years now—he was convinced it was just for an experiment about enjoyment. Escalating from their route to work, to their home, to their room. He watched the raggedy child become a member of their home. Watched them send the delinquent to school. Watched them cut their hair. Watched them crash their car. Watched them go to physical therapy.

Watched them get farther with a lover they’d ever had. He hated that part.

That was when Illumi felt the desire to get involved. To finally introduce himself. To show them the love none of their past flings could properly pretend to show. After a talk with his parents he stationed himself in (Y/n)’s neighborhood. It took a short while to rid the house next to theirs but when he did, everything just fell into place. 

Well almost everything. 

“Thank you for the new job. I was told you had a request for me?”

The voice coming from the burner was calm—the tone of a fellow killer. It was reassuring. 

“The student I informed you about shouldn’t need any guidance. No meetings with them or their guardian unless you confirm it with me.”

The silent static permeating from the phone filled the room. A great background to the alluring  sight through the window. Right across the way was the silhouette of his beloved fiancé, oblivious of his watchful gaze. He couldn’t wait to offer the ring.

“Perhaps I can do more…with the boy…keep him away for awhile longer. Would that satisfy our agreement?”

Illumi let a smile spread on his face as that obnoxious song play on his other phone. The blue light from the window across shining through the sheer curtains. 

“That would be perfect.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just Friends: Double Date

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes

masterlist

Summary: you and Bucky go on a double date.

It’s giving

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You come up to the restaurant, shivering as the cold permeates your wool coat. The nights are chilly, meanwhile the days can’t seem to mellow between sweltering and gloomy. You clack in your thick-heeled boots as Bucky drags his feet beside you. 

“This is the place?” He asks. “Thought you’d cash in on your work discount.” 

“Don’t start,” you warn him and check your phone. 

“Did they cancel? Can I go home?” Bucky asks. 

You hush him as you read the message. Charlize says she’s inside and your date-- 

“Hey, Bucky, look at you,” Sam’s voice cuts through the air. “Like a prize poodle, all washed and brushed.” 

Bucky sighs, “what the hell are you doing here?” He sneers. 

“I never say no to a free meal. It’s date night,” Sam chortles as he fixes his tie.  

“Date?” Bucky scowls and turns to you, “him? You asked him? How did you even--” 

“Well, Bucky, I’m a great tipper. After you took to that restaurant, I made sure my gratuity was received,” Sam chirps. “I knew you were too friendly with the waitress. I knew it. I know you.” 

“Whatever,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “You really had to do this to me?” He turns on you. “He gets to witness this mess?” 

“Mess? The night’s not even begun,” you argue. 

“That’s right, Buckaroo. Take a little advice from your friend. I have to admit, I was pretty surprised to hear you even had friends. Well, outside of yours truly.” 

“Come on,” Bucky grumbles and spins on his heel, “let’s just get this over with.” 

He marches forward as you linger behind. Sam sends you a look and you shrug. You don’t get it. You’re just trying to do something nice and you thought having two friends would help bolster Bucky’s courage. 

You follow and as you enter, the hostess only seems to add to Bucky’s chagrin. He reluctantly hands over his jacket as you do the same. You wait for the hostess to take them to the coatroom and feel a gentle nudge. 

“Hey, you look nice. It’s a cute dress,” Sam says. 

You smile at him, “thanks, Bucky didn’t seem to think so.” 

“I didn’t say it was ugly,” Bucky snips. 

“Trust me, it’s not what you say, Buck, it’s how you say it.” Sam scoffs. 

“Did you just come to be a pain in my ass?” Bucky snarls. 

“Woah, come on. It’s gonna be a fun night,” you insist. “Please. Charlize is waiting for us.” 

He sighs and shakes his head, “fine.”��

The hostess reappears and shows you into the dining room. You’re taken to a table where Charlize waits. She’s even more gorgeous in the halter dress in a beautiful indigo velvet. She stands to give you a hug and you turn to introduce everyone. 

“Bucky, this is Charlize, and this is Sam,” you gesture between everybody. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Charlize says in her smoky voice. It’s sultry even without trying. If you were a bit older, you might just swoon. 

You sit and a server comes to take your drink orders. Your nerves are buzzing as you sit beside Charlize. Bucky’s just next to Sam and you all settle in. You look around and clear your throat. 

“So, Charlize, uh, Bucky has a motorcycle too. It’s really cool. Vintage, right?” You prompt Bucky as a thick strand of his hair falls forward. 

“Uh, yeah. Nothing special,” he answers curtly. 

Your furrow your brow, “well, uh, Charlize rides motorcycles too. She even races.” 

“Oh, I used to race,” Charlize says. “I’ve aged out unfortunately. But I like to get out of town, find a nice back road...” 

“Right,” Bucky nods, staring at his fingertips as he taps them on the table top. 

“Not me, I hate motorcycles,” you announce. 

“Hm, yeah,” Bucky snorts, “she won’t even sit on it when it’s parked. Convinced she’s going to fly off like a cartoon.” 

“You never know,” you retort. “Um, er,” you squirm and realise the conversation is bouncing back at you. “Sam, do you ride?” 

“Nah, I got the wings. Much more fun. Maybe you can come for a ride one day. Not as loud and doesn’t smell like gas,” he winks. 

“Oh, she doesn’t do heights,” Bucky clucks. “Put some ear plugs in if you do.” 

You pause as the server brings the drinks. You thank him with a beaming smile. From one service worker to another. 

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes. “Charlize,” you turn to the elegant woman, “um, you’re from New York, right? So is Bucky.” 

“I am. Harlem,” she answers. “I live in Manhattan now but I do some pro bono work back home. So, Bucky, you’re from Brooklyn? I’ve done some cases there as well.” 

“I’m from Indiana,” Bucky says dully. “But yeah, we moved to Brooklyn. A hundred years ago.” 

You don’t like his tone. Why isn’t he gushing over Charlize? She’s amazing. She’s everything you want to be in twenty years. 

“So you’ve both been here a while,” you say. “And you both work in law...” 

“Doesn’t matter how long Dreamy’s been here, she’ll always find a way to get lost,” he snickers. “Isn’t that right?” 

“Er, uh, maybe, but Charlize...” 

“Bucky’s a hell of a guy,” Sam intones and you shoot him a thankful smile. “Always gets the job done. We were down in Harlem just the other week. You must’ve heard.” 

“I recall. I was at the press conference,” Charlize says. 

“Just work,” Bucky mutters. 

“Well, what do you do in your spare time?” Charlize prompts gently. 

“Not much. Usually just hang out. Oh, we went to a going out of business sale for a bookstore. Found a copy of Grapes of Wrath I’m pretty sure was in my high school library. Oh, but then Dreamy ripped a page in a Dickens early edition.” 

“It was an accident,” you squeak. 

“Always an accident,” he chortles. “That’s the thing about this one, always wandering into trouble.” 

“Explains how she met you,” Sam comments. In return he gets a sneer. 

“She’s a nice girl. She helped a lot down at the practice last summer. Did some volunteer work when he had to relocate.” Charlize explains. 

“She is nice. She took a chance on some old geezer like me. Puts up with me too.” 

“So do I,” Sam says. 

“Sounds like you’re really good friends,” Charlize sniffs. 

You glance over at her. She doesn’t look very happy. You peek around the table. Everyone is looking at you. Charlize looks stone sober and grim, Sam looks doubtful, and Bucky is cloudy-eyed. Why is he staring at you like that? 

“I gotta use the toilet,” you say abruptly and get up. 

You’re on fire. You don’t understand what’s going on. You’re doing double duty trying to juggle the table and Bucky seems to want to undermine everything you say. He won’t talk about himself and when he does, it’s a contradiction. And Sam is no help, he just keeps teasing him. 

You burst into the bathroom and look at your reflection. This was a mistake. You should’ve let Bucky do this by himself. He’s grown. You don’t want to ruin this for him. He deserves a woman like Charlize. 

You shake of your frustration and go back out. As you get to the table, you slow down. The seat beside yours is empty. Bucky sits with his arms crossed defiantly as Sam yammers at him. 

“Bro, you’re totally screwed,” Sam says. 

“Hey, did Charlize go to the restroom? I didn’t see her?” You ask. 

Sam turns and his eyebrows rise. He lets out an exasperated puff as Bucky lowers his chin and stares at the table. Why won’t he look at you? 

“Charlize left. She said sorry,” Sam explains at last. 

“She left? What happened?” You bluster. 

Sam looks at Bucky. He won’t look at you. 

“I don’t think they mesh,” Sam shrugs, “but hey, we can still enjoy dinner, right?” 

You purse your lips and take your seat. You watch Bucky as he twiddles his fingers next to his glass. You know it’s more than they’re saying but you’ve been so stressed about it all, you don’t even care what ruined it. It didn’t work out. All that effort for nothing. 

[ashs-cardboard-box]

Clumsy and frantic

~ Harvey/GN!Reader

~ Romantic

~ 1.1k words

ib: @the-spookington

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“What were you THINKING, Y/N?? I- I told you not to go in there..! It- it’s dangerous and- and I can’t–” Harvey speaks frantically, practically stumbling over his words as he gently holds your face in his hands. His eyes were blown wide underneath his glasses as they rapidly dart across your face. Frowning as you lie in one of his hospital beds.

He wasn’t at all trying to be mean, he was just terrified for your safety. He was always hyper-conscious of other people’s health, but especially you. He was so overwhelmed with a mixture of anxiousness and exhaustion that his words left his mouth before he could grab ahold of them.

Truthfully, you were fine..at least, you felt so anyway. You had collapsed on your way back to your farm from Elliott’s shack on the beach, needing to deliver him something on Leah’s behalf. Only to be found by Linus shortly after and dragged down to the hospital before leaving again. 

It was a little past two am, a few hours after his usual bedtime at ten. Upon seeing you get dragged in, he had no time at all to get properly dressed before his anxiety hit him like a Joja train. His hair was disheveled from its usual combed down state, similar to it’s unkempt state after a rough shift at the end of a long day. Wearing a white shirt with a small front pocket, underneath a long, forest green, wool cardigan. The fibers of the thick fabric frayed and standing up every which way. His legs only covered by his green, pinstripe briefs, yet he had hardly noticed. He was too worried about you to care about his own shame.

“I’m fine, Harvey.. Really..” You try to say, only for Harvey to shake his head quickly. Muttering nervous plans to himself as he steps away from you, his cardigan swaying behind him. His sleep addled brain pushing into overdrive to make sure you’re one hundred-ten percent okay.

His hands scanning over his cabinets before his eyes ever properly read anything. Knowing his place of work like the back of your hand, not his. He pulls out a large variety of items of which you’re unsure on how most of them are supposed to be used.

“What hurts?” Harvey asks, but it comes out as more of a concerned demand. Setting his various equipment down on a metal cart next to your bed. You can’t help but feel at least a little guilty for making him so worried, but at the end of the day, you knew it was probably inevitable. You have a small bruise on your shin after tripping over a shovel earlier and a sore spot on your head from hitting the ground.

Instead of responding, you carefully sit up and take both of his hands in your own. Your thumbs gently caressing over his knuckles as you look into his worried brown eyes. “Deep breath..” you say quietly, taking a few deep breaths yourself as an example. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

The Adam’s apple in Harvey’s throat bobbing as he swallows thickly with a slow nod, following your breathing pattern to calm his rapidly beating heart. His hands slowly tighten around yours as he sighs heavily. A sad smile crossing over his lips before he leans down and places a small kiss onto your forehead. The coarse hairs of his mustache tickling your skin, though you pay it no mind.

“Thank you, honey. I- I’m sorry.. I just– you scare me sometimes..” Harvey murmurs, pulling away to look down at you with the same concern. It’s obvious he’s still looking for any sort of damage he could fix.

“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” You whisper, pulling his hands to your lips and kissing the back of both, right on the knuckle of his middle fingers. Your eyes still up on his own as you shift on your hospital bed again, slinging your feet over the edge to put your muddy boots down on the clean floor. “I promise- I’m fine. Just a small headache is all”

Harvey nods slowly in acknowledgement, feeling his cheeks turn a rosy pink at your gentle treatment. Leaning down again to place a peck onto your lips before he parts from you once more. Calmer this time, he pulls his cart back over to his cabinets, putting away all of his unnecessary equipment he grabbed in his freakout.

“I’ll have to make sure you didn’t sustain a concussion with your fall, but otherwise, I can provide you an ice pack for any soreness. Anything else feel wrong? Headache, nauseous, confused…” He trails off, just giving examples on things you could be feeling. Finishing up putting away his supplies, he glances back over towards you, tugging his cardigan closed.

You slowly shake your head with a light chuckle. “No- no.. nothing like that.” you deny honestly, interlacing your fingers with one another and setting your hands in your lap. Your eyes practically glued to the doctor.

He heads right back to the side of your bed with a mere penlight in hand. Putting the tips of his middle and index fingers underneath your chin, he lifts your head up to be able to see you entirely. He takes in your features appreciatively for a long moment before snapping himself back into his work.

“Just a small light..” Harvey murmurs in clarification, showing you the penlight before clicking it on. You keep your eyes straight into his own to allow him to check up on you. He slowly brings the light to the edges of your eyes, watching the way your already dilated pupils expand and contract without issue. 

While he doesn’t comment on it, he finds it incredibly adorable. The knowledge that oxytocin and dopamine are making your pupils expand when you see him makes his heart swell with affection. Clicking the penlight off and setting it into the front pocket of his plain, white shirt.

“You’re all good, honey. Do you want an ice pack?” Harvey asks gently, to which you shake your head, prompting more confusion from him. “Just another kiss from you.” you grin cheekily. Harvey feels his cheeks burn as he leans down and places another kiss onto your forehead.

“I feel better already.” you remark sarcastically, though there was a hint of truth in your words. Even without doing any sort of medical procedures, Harvey always manages to make you feel better, with the added trait of getting all giddy like a schoolgirl.

Harvey laughs softly as he carefully helps you up from your hospital bed, treating you as if you’re glass. “Then I suppose you’ll feel even better when we go upstairs.” he teases, knowing good and well he’s just going to bear hug you until the two of you fall asleep. He’d be crazy to send you home tonight.

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he's so real

(Thank you to Spooki for the idea !!! again !!)

[emeritusemeritus]

Hi love! If it's not too much to ask, could you maybe do a Fred fic with a bit of an insecure reader? As in, she hears some people say nasty things about her (mainly about appearance like weight) and her relationship with Fred, and she distances herself from him until one day she really can't handle staying away from him anymore? Sweet sweet fluff with a bit of making out by the end, maybe?

Hi Anon, I’m sorry this took so long! I tried to write it as if it was an insecure monologue, a little jumpy and janky like how the reader’s thought process would be. I hope you like it! 🖤

Warnings: Insecure reader, self-deprecating thoughts, bullying, verbal abuse, taunting, talks of breakups, appearance and other issues, negative mentions of weight. Kissing, implied sexual references. Happy ending I promise!

Word count: 2.7k

Fire and Ice

It wasn't easy being Fred Weasley's girlfriend.

Being with Fred, falling in love with him- that part was easy; but having such an extroverted, popular joker for a boyfriend was at times, not so easy.

You were quieter by nature, a little more introverted and a lot more insecure than Fred but you seemed to balance each other out well most of the time, ying and yang, fire and ice. Fred was always quick to silence your hateful internal monologue whenever it presented itself, reminding you that you were beautiful, important, loved- all the things he wanted you to feel, the way that he saw you. But sometimes the insecurities were too much, the voices in your head too loud that you began to believe them again.

Fred had been busy, the tri-wizard tournament had been announced and him and George were trying everything they could to work around the age restriction but upon the application. They’d been virtually locked in their dorm for days researching different ideas and brewing potions that would age them up, though you doubted it would work, they always surprised you in the end.

Their reclusion could not have come at a worse time for you, though of course you would never mention anything. You’d been stood in front of Fred when the students had gathered to watch the regal, horse-drawn carriage fly over the tips of the trees in the forbidden forest and across the Great Lake led by the majestic white winged horses that made it look effortless and well, magical. You’d stood with pure excitement as you watched the magnificent ship emerge from underneath the water and sail towards the bank until you’d all be called away for the feast.

Your excitement had dwindled almost immediately when the girls of Beauxbatons glided through the door in a whimsical and captivating display, grabbing everyone’s attention for their beauty and elegance- including Fred. You’d seen Ron look flabbergasted, a fresh pink hue on his cheeks as he looked upon the girls with mouth agape and a glazed look in his eye and couldn’t help but avert your eyes slightly to see Fred looking at them in a much tamer way, but seeing his eyes fixed upon them nontheless. It pulled at every single one of your heartstrings, that familiar sinking feeling in your gut instantly making you nauseated by the food in front of you.

Their uniforms were delicate and beautiful, tailored perfectly of the finest satin in such a rich colour that it was both feminine and powerful all in one. You couldn’t help but look away from Fred, from anything and began to pick at the edge of your frumpy school cardigan, suddenly disgusted by its mere existence.

When Dumbledore announced the entrance of Durmstrang, you didn’t even look up, already too consumed by your own self-deprecating thoughts. The uniform you’d once been so proud to wear now felt like a potato sack in comparison, shapeless and bland from head to toe. You suddenly wanted to get away, to do anything you could to get out of the shapeless mess and to prove to yourself and to others around you that you weren’t just a blob of blended wool and scruffy hair that had been haphazardly thrown into a high pony ahead of your long day of travelling back to school. But there was nothing you could do, forced to sit there in a mass of unflattering garments next to your boyfriend who had been looking at much more attractive females and pretend to be fine. Thankfully the arrival of professor Moody was enough to prompt serious discussion around you and you could blend into the background without notice, eating only tiny bits and slipping away before the end of the meal.

It continued for days, the stab in your side whenever you’d see the Beauxbatons girls in their pretty uniforms looking so sweet and dainty, often followed around by drooling boys that quivered with their every move. You were jealous, but you wouldn’t admit it, choosing instead to be disgusted by it all and very much wanting it all to be over and for them to be gone. You couldn’t forget the expression on Fred’s face when they made their grand entrance and the pain that it brought when you did remember. You’d never doubted his love for you, not really, though of course you doubted why he chose you in the first place- did he now regret that decision?

It had been days since you’d seen him and the messages he’d initially sent through Lee had dwindled to none, meaning that you were so out of communication that you felt that stinging dread all over again- was he preparing to break up? Had he found someone else? Someone undoubtedly prettier in a powder blue satin uniform?

So when you finally caught sight of that gorgeous red head in the hallway, you lit up, excited to finally get the chance to talk to him. You heard his laugh and smiled to yourself, feeling relieved already- until you noticed he was laughing with one of them. She was pretty, brown hair tucked perfectly into her blue hat and her satin cape bellowing perfectly around her.

Something inside you felt out of place all of a sudden, enraged by the injustice and the inevitable ending to your relationship. You were angry at everything, most notably Fred, the Beauxbatons, the whole stupid competition. It left a sour taste in your mouth and you realised that if Fred wanted out, he could have one of the stupid French girls.

You were sat in the great hall with Hermione quietly reading when you heard a group of people moving excitedly towards the cup which broke your concentration. You watched as Cedric Diggory placed his name in the cup and his friends cheered for him, smacking him on the back in a hearty well done when he suddenly stopped upon making eye contact with you and sent you a little smile of recognition. You smiled back with a little head nod and watched as his friends dragged him away, leaving the room in relative peace once again.

That was until Fred and George came barrelling into the room, their distinctive blend of voices crying out and echoing through the hall as they high five students across the benches, proudly clutching hold of something in their hands, professing that ‘they’d done it’.

You could barely look at them, for the first time not caring in the slightest about what they had created.

“It’s not going to work,” Hermione says from beside you and immediately you are met with their bodies either side of Hermione. You feel Fred’s hand on your shoulder, a little touch that should have given you hope but actually felt repulsive to you. You didn’t even look up from your page, nor acknowledge their arrival and if Fred noticed, he didn’t say anything- though you could feel his eyes in you. The second the Triwizard cup fought back against their tricks, propelling them into the air and forcing them back into the ground with a definitive thud, you were gone. You walked back towards the common room without so much as a glance, not caring to find out the predicted result of their attempt.

“I would just die if I had to wear their uniforms!” You heard from around the corner in a thick French accent that had you rolling your eyes. The stupid little French cackles reached your ears and it was all that you could do not to petrify them on the spot as you attempted to walk straight past them.

“Oh” one of them said, spotting you emerging from around the corner. Another small fit of laughter that was hardly concealed, upon seeing someone in the exact uniform they were mocking.

“Does it feel as frumpy as it looks?” Another one said, her accent almost indecipherable. You shot daggers at the group of four witches and tried to get past but they blocked you in.

“You’re with the tall redhead yes? I’ve seen you,” the blonde one says, making your stomach lurch at her mention of Fred. “He’s cute.”

You don’t retaliate, though you can think of many choice words you wish to say to her, presuming you didn’t reach for your wand first. Their words cut into you like a knife, though you try to block out the harsher things they say about your appearance, your weight, your ugly uniform. Only when they bright up Fred again do your barricades fall, their words tearing you apart.

“It’s funny actually, that he chose you. You look more of a girl he’d want to be friends with, definitely not one to be in love with.”

The final nail in the coffin for you was the round of laughter that echoed throughout the corridor, following you in your mind straight back to the common room until the second you passed out that night, still sobbing into your pillow.

The next morning, your eyes were virtually swollen shut from all the tears shed the night before. You felt retched, all of your fears coming true as the beautiful girls laughed at you, hitting every one of your insecurities. They may as well have called you fat, ugly, all the other things you knew about yourself but never said out loud.

You didn’t go to classes that day, never even attempting to step foot out of the dormitory or even your bed until you were certain everyone had left. You looked an ungodly mess with red puffy eyes and a mass of tangled hair that felt like a limp weight on top of your head. The tears started again within seconds of reaching the bathroom mirror, silently falling down your cheeks and landing in little droplets into the sink. You sobbed for your sorry appearance, for the loss of Fred and for the unfairness in life. Why couldn’t you just be pretty?

You eventually crawled back into bed, not even bothering to sort out the disastrous mess upon your head and forced yourself to go back to sleep, pushing all thoughts of him and them out of your head.

Three days you’d been confined to your bedroom, feigning a migraine that had managed to convince even Mcgonagall and Hermione. Ginny had tried to relay multiple messages from Fred, both verbally and in writing but you’d feigned a worsening headache, nausea and other ailments and asked her politely but definitively to leave, rendering the message unheard. You’d heard all about Harry’s selection from Hermione and how he and Ron were fighting but you’d barely listened to any of it, too consumed by your own issues.

The fourth day, you made it out of bed only to remember that it was a Saturday. You considered slipping back into bed and ignoring the sun completely but your bladder disagreed with your plan vehemently. You wandered to the bathroom and for the first time in days, looked in the mirror.

You looked so sad, so broken that it made your heart constrict a little, seeing a sad little girl staring back at you. You look younger somehow, like a first year all over again. Memories flash beneath your eyes, memories of meeting Fred for the first time, of being young and falling in love, of being the girl that he fell in love with.

Ignoring the vague rumbling of your food deprived stomach, you rush into the showers and attempt to untangle your hair using every product you can find. You shave, condition, lotion up your entire body and make a start on magically fixing your puffy face. You’re on a mission to look your best, to show those petty and judgemental bitches that you were just as worthy as them and more importantly, that you were definitely someone that Fred would- and did- love.

You dried your hair and curled it using a spell you’d found in an old teen magazine that worked surprisingly well and stood back to look at the result, feeling pleased. You looked like yourself again but better, happier.

You dressed in a nicer than usual outfit that was still casual but actually highlighted your curves rather than hiding them, something you knew that Fred liked after years of compliments on your curves. You momentarily considered grabbing a cardigan incase your confidence weakened but thought against it, instead grabbing a jumper than you’d stolen from Fred a year ago. You felt feminine and pretty for the first time in ages and actually smiled when you look in the mirror one last time.

“Well don’t you look nice,” Ginny said as you stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door from where she had walked back into the dorm, realising that everyone else was now awake. “Feeling better?”

“Much,” you replied honestly, smiling and nodding a little.Want to get breakfast?”

“I was going to have a shower, Fred’s down there though, he’ll go with you I bet,” Ginny says, grabbing a towel and her bathing stuff. You pursed your lips, not letting the glow fade as you nodded at her, butterflies starting to flutter about in your belly.

Walking down to the common room, your nerves were already starting to build as you scanned the room with your eyes, searching for the one person you hoped to see. The guilt of hiding from him, of pushing away was eating you up and you wanted nothing more than to just make it right. You spot George and Lee in one of the corners, Harry and Hermione on one of the sofas and a few more people dotted around but no Fred.

“Blimey,” you heard to your left but instead of seeing the boy you’d hoped to find, instead you found Ron. His mouth was slightly parted and he was looking at you with an expression he’d never looked at you with before, focusing uncomfortably on a piece of your chest never wished to have his eyes.

You flinched as you watched Ron get smacked in the back of the head unexpectedly, making him wince and rub his head but you didn’t see anymore after his initial reaction, instead focusing your attention on his assailant. Fred.

“Look at my girl like that again and I’ll transfigure every piece of furniture in your room into a spider,” he says gruffly as he walks past Ron, keeping his eyes on you and moves to stand directly in front of you, reaching for your hand.

“Are you feeling better?” He says carefully, eyeing you with slight trepidation, making you frown.

“Much better,” you reply carefully, watching his reaction.

“Good, then I won’t feel guilty for this,” he says, pulling you forcibly by the hand until you bump into his chest, his lips finding yours almost immediately as he kisses you with a fiery passion.

“You look so hot,” he mumbles against your lips, hands finding your synched waist and bordering on inappropriately low as one hand tucks into your back pocket. You kiss back with just as much passion, happy that all the doubts and the insecurity had been wiped away, though you still felt guilty for pushing him away. “You’re never hiding from me again.”

He begins to tug at your side and you realise he’s pulling you away, towards the stairs to the dorms.

“But Freddie, breakfast,” you weakly protest.

“Can wait,” he mumbles, the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips as he barely parts from you, only enough to push you up the stairs towards his empty dorm, giving you a teasing smack on the ass as you ascend, for good luck. You never doubted his love for you again, especially not for the next hour.