#i am far too sleepy to tag this

[navy-leader]

My little control freak, my special little bastard, my sadistic evil blorbo etc etc

[statichvm]

— PINTEREST TAG GAME.

i was tagged by @leviiackrman @moonmothers @gwynbleidd @kyber-infinitygems and @inafieldofdaisies to do this fun lil game… thanks y’all. 💜

rules: go on pinterest and share the first celeb, outfit, quote + aesthetic that appears on your dash

i mean. yeah. that gels with what i’ve been writing. (full disclosure i skipped over a few celeb gifs in the interest of not reposting someone else’s work.)

[youssefguedira]

i have like a million thoughts about this whole bit but i am too sleepy to articulate any of them rn so just know i am feeling really very 100% fine and normal about it

[targkso]

Not to condone Thomas Thorne but I Get it

[i-havenothingelsetopost]

I don't know why I thought this but-

Danny getting yeeted into DC and some how some way lands a gig as a Lounge Singer for Iceberg Lounge.

Could be reg adult danny, androgynous danny or fem danny. Idk. But some how Danny ends up known as the Siren of Iceberg Lounge. And Penguin isn't letting Bats scare his Best Act away! And he isn't letting those younger ones sniff around his little song bird either! There will be no BatCat reenactment here!

[burningivy]

2, 13, 21, 31, 32 for the ♡ asks!

2. Do you drink tea or coffee? How do you take it?

I've very recently (as in within the last weekend) started drinking both. I like flavored teas, and I take my tea with honey, and (because I hate plain coffee) I take my coffee with a little bit of milk and a giant glob of chocolate syrup

13. Fears?

spiders... (among other more intangible things)

21. How was your day today?

alright, I suppose. I was very tired, so I'm glad I didn't have to drive myself to work. I did, however, have some time to work on my current sewing project before I left, so that was nice! and I finished the math work I meant to get done today

overall, fairly average (which isn't too bad these days)

31. What are you looking forward to in the distant future?

in the more 'these are for sure a part of the plan' sense, moving out and starting T. in the more 'I really hope this happens' sense, getting to act professionally

32. If you could go anywhere right now, where would you go?

honestly, home. I'm at work right now and would much rather be in my bed. I suppose that's a slightly boring answer, but I really can't think of anywhere specific I desperately want to travel to, currently

Thanks for the ask!!

[leighsartworks216]

Pumpkin Patch

Sylus x gn!Reader

Inspired by my going to a pumpkin patch and carving pumpkins today and yesterday. I am soooo sore, BUT I made a kitty pumpkin and it's so fuckin cuteee

Warnings: pumpkin carving, fluff, cuddling, Halloween, sleepy Sylus, soft Sylus, established relationship

Word Count: 2,172

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Sylus normally doesn’t get up during the day. Usually, on any other day, he’d sleep all the way through from dawn until dusk. If he woke up at all, he’d use that time to check up on you, diurnal creature that you are.

This is “late” for him. It’s mid-morning, the sun is closer to its peak than the horizon, and you’re bouncing around like a 3-year-old that just raided a candy store.

You’d insisted on going to a pumpkin patch. The issue with that is the hours they’re usually open. As he turns into the lot, parking his nice (very expensive) car on the grass, watching you already starting to unbuckle your seatbelt, he thinks ruining his sleep schedule just a bit is worth it.

You hold his hand like a tether as you practically skip all the way down the driveway. At the end, on the left, is a big red barn, side doors open wide to welcome guests into a small shop. Cider, candles, donuts and more sit along wooden shelves, waiting to be bought. But to the right…

“Sy, look at them all!” You gape at the array of bright orange gourds in front of you. Big, medium, small - even a couple huge ones that he could sit inside of if they were hollowed. You suddenly look at him, a bright smile tearing at your face and stars dancing in your eyes. “I never asked! Have you ever carved a pumpkin before?”

It’s a miracle you’re not letting him go to run ahead into the field. Other couples trail along, searching for that one perfect pumpkin. A small family is taking photos of their dressed-up child among the hay bales. One person is looking at the huge ones with the eye of a sculpture artist.

He shakes his head, his own smile accompanying yours. “No. I don’t think we have anything like it in the N109 Zone.”

“Really? Do you have Halloween?”

He chuckles. “It would be a funny place if we started handing out free candy for one night of the year.” He tilted his head and raised a brow at you. “Besides, do you really want kids running around unsupervised?”

You huff, face wrinkling into a cute grimace. “Most kids who trick-or-treat aren’t unsupervised,” you retort. Your face softens as you reach the edge of the field. “But I guess you’re right. Oh!” You tug on his arm excitedly. “You should spend Halloween with me! We can watch scary movies and dress up and give out candy to the kids!”

A warmth seeps into his chest. You’d never allowed him to visit your apartment in Linkon City. You were always so scared of someone recognizing him, of being caught in this little game. To offer so freely now, and with this much enthusiasm, how can he refuse?

“Alright,” he agrees. “I’ll spend the holiday with you. Now pick out your pumpkin.”

“You gotta pick one out, too!”

“I will, sweetie.”

You let go of his hand to weave and wind your way through the patch. Pumpkins of all shapes surround him as he follows, scanning each gourd with a discerning eye. He vaguely understood the concept; pick a pumpkin, carve a face or design into it, and leave it out on the front step with lights inside. It was strange, to be sure. He couldn’t, as of yet, understand the appeal.

When he looks around at the people, they’re just like you: bouncing around, grinning from ear to ear just thinking about what they’ll carve. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think there was some reward or prize involved. But there wasn’t. As far as indulgences go, it’s one he can’t fully grasp yet.

You gasp as you run ahead toward a pumpkin. It was bright orange with shallow grooves, almost perfectly round, and with a stem twisting out of the top. You pick it up, turning it this way and that. “Look how perfect this one is, Sy! What do you think?” You turn to him, holding it for him to see.

“It’s a bit big for you, don’t you think, kitten?” he teases.

“Hush, I think it’s the perfect size for my design.” You swat at his chest, but he doesn’t even flinch at the contact. Instead, he holds out his arm so he can carry it for you. While it’s not the heaviest pumpkin in the patch, you do struggle with the heft. He doesn’t struggle at all as he cradles it in one arm.

“What are you going to carve into it?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” You smile mischievously up at him.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “I look forward to it.” He turns his attention back to the array before him. You hold his free hand as he continues his search.

It’s minutes later when his eyes catch sight of a smaller pumpkin. It’s gumdrop shaped, with a shorter stem. He isn’t sure what draws him to it, but he points it out to you and you pick it up.

“Awe, it’s so cute! I thought you’d go for one of the big ones for sure.” You spin it by its small stem to look at all its sides. The grooves are mostly shallow, with some running deeper than others. It’s also not perfectly orange like yours is. It’s instead more yellow toward the top.

“I should start small for my first pumpkin, no? I’m not an expert like you yet.”

You laugh, tucking the light-weight pumpkin into your own arm to carry as he leads you back towards the barn. “Maybe one day you’ll be as good as I, the Pumpkin Carving Master. I’ve had years of experience - you gotta lot of catching up to do.”

“You sound confident,” he says. “Maybe you’d like to put a little wager on whose pumpkin turns out better?”

“And who would be judging this competition?”

“Luke and Kieran, of course.”

“Ha! They’d give it to you in a heartbeat.”

“Do you know any other impartial judges?”

You think for a minute. All of your friends are hunters, and they’d probably feel bad choosing someone else’s work over yours, friendly competition or not. You shake your head. “Not anybody that wouldn’t turn you in.” You nudge him with your elbow. “We can always hold the competition next year. Oh! We can do us versus the twins! And then have the quote-unquote ‘impartial’ chef decide the winners.”

He chuckles warmly. “I like the way you think, kitten.”

“I know,” you chime back, grinning wickedly at your own devious little plan.

-

Sylus drives you back to the N109 Zone. It’s too risky to go back to your apartment right now, what with all the hunters that live there. It’ll be safer when it’s dark, perfect for Halloween night.

He helps you cover the coffee table in the living room with plastic trash bags to catch the guts and bits of pumpkin that will undoubtedly end up on the floor and couch anyway. You open up the cases of carving tools you got from the barn, setting out two scoops and a series of serrated knives for you both. He sets out a few toothpicks, telling you not to worry about them as he smirks all too knowingly. A familiar Halloween favorite plays on the large TV as you get started.

You show him how to cut open the pumpkin and gut it. He grimaces at the slippery, squishy innards as he pulls them out, causing you to laugh.

With a sharpie, you draw out the design you want to carve. You may or may not have found a reference for it online, while he seems to have gone in completely blind. You’re curious to know just what he’s making, but you hold back. It’ll be more fun to show them to each other after the fact.

Very few words are exchanged the longer you work. The movie fills up most of the quiet. Sometimes, you both make little jokes or commentary, but you become quite content to just sit in the moment with him. You can also understand that he’s not used to being awake at this hour. He might be too tired to keep up a conversation, so you don’t push.

“Sylus, what do you-” You quickly cut yourself off when you turn to see him.

He’s sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, resting deep in the couch cushions, head tilted back so his face is to the ceiling. His chest rises and falls slowly, quiet breaths you’d completely missed over the sound of the movie. You reach over and carefully turn it down a few ticks.

When you set the remote down, however, you notice his pumpkin sitting on the table. It seems finished, as far as you can tell. Unable to wait any longer for the reveal, you turn his pumpkin to face you.

Slanted triangle eyes with an upside down triangle nose, and a wide mouth with two little fangs. The triangles from the eyes have been repurposed with the help of the toothpicks to form ears at the top of the pumpkin. He’d even carefully cut away the orange outer layer of the pumpkin to accentuate the fangs. It was a cute little kitty. You can’t fight the smile that lights up your face as you take in Sylus’s first ever jack o'lantern.

“You’re making the same expression.”

You gasp and turn to see Sylus, no longer with his head leaned back, and with a sleep-softened smirk. You’d been so caught up in his pumpkin that you didn’t realize when he’d woken up. His red eyes shift from you to your own pumpkin. He chuckles.

“Is that me?”

Your own jack o’lantern was a classic: sharp eyes and a jagged smile full of pointed teeth. You laugh. “No, it’s not you.” You turn both of the pumpkin faces to look at you both, before leaning back into the couch next to him. His arm automatically wraps around your shoulder, pulling you in closer. “I don’t see you like that anymore.”

He hums noncommittally. How you two met remains an unspoken stain on your unusual relationship. He was scary and intense, so damn determined for you to Resonate with him that he hadn’t cared about anything else. He’s spent every day since making it up to you.

“Is that me?” you ask, pointing to his cat carving, steering you both away from that time.

He nods. “Of course it is, kitten. That’s the face you make when you’ve come up with a mischievous scheme. The resemblance is uncanny.”

You chuckle. “We can set them out later. But right now…” You pull away from his side, drawing a disappointed sigh from the man. He watches as you slide down to the other armrest, leaning your back against it and making sure the TV remote is within reach. You pat your chest. “C’mon, it’s past your bedtime.”

He huffs a soft laugh. “I wonder whose fault that is,” he teases. Still, he’s all too happy to accept your offer, stretching himself out like a sleepy cat until his body covers yours, his head resting on your chest. His arms slide between your body and the couch until they’re wrapped securely around you. You pull the blanket off the back of the couch - one of your own additions after coming and going so often - and drape it over the both of you.

“Comfy?” You comb your fingers gently through his hair. It’s always softer than you expect, gliding through your fingers easily as you scratch along his scalp.

He groans against your shirt. “It’s perfect, kitten,” he murmurs. His eyes are already shut. He’s certain now that they won’t open again until midnight. With his ear so close to your chest, he can hear your heart beating clearer than ever, mixing with the movie in the background to create a lullaby that eases all the pent up tension in his muscles. “This was fun,” he admits, voice so quiet you almost don’t hear him. “I look forward to the competition next year.”

Your fingers scrape along the nape of his neck, sending chills down his body. You grin at the power you hold. The way he so naturally responds to your touch is addicting, a power you will find a way to abuse when he wakes up. But for now, you use your newfound skills to massage the strain in his neck away and play with his hair. “I think yours won this time,” you comment.

He grins. “What do I win?”

You pretend to think. “A kiss.”

He chuckles, a darker twinge of possessiveness staining the sound. “Be careful when offering yourself up as a reward, kitten. You don’t know just how much I’ll collect.”

“Well, you can collect when you wake up. Deal?”

He squeezes you a smidge tighter in his embrace, pressing his face into your neck as he lets out a long sigh. “Deal.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44

[the-travelling-witch]

I’m gonna kiss Scaras neck tattoo <3

The whirring of the coffee machine rang through the tranquil morning air, filling your kitchen with the rich scent of ground coffee. Scara was leaning against the counter as he waited for the machine to finish its job, groaning as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

You approached him slowly, feet shuffling over the floor in a sleepy daze before you came to a halt behind your boyfriend. Without giving it much thought, you wrapped your arms around his waist, snuggling into his back as you draped your weight onto him.

“You’re heavy you know,” the man in front of you grumbled without actually meaning it. In return, you pinched the skin of his waist, making him flinch slightly. “Good morning to you too, you brat.”

Mumbling something akin to a ‘Morning’, you sighed as you inhaled the scent of his body wash before your eyes flicked up to see the collar of his sleep shirt had been pulled down in the back, revealing his inked up neck.

With an opportunity like this presenting itself on a silver platter, you needn’t think twice about brushing your lips over the mark, letting them linger there far longer than necessary. You trailed more kisses around it, following the flow of the ink before planting another one right in the centre.

Scara, who had just taken the first sip of coffee, almost dropped his mug when he felt the warmth of your lips against his skin. It was an area he normally kept well-hidden, the only people he let near there being you and Venti. The morning wasn’t chilly, yet he couldn’t help but shiver at your show of affection, the sensation racing down his spine and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“What are you doing?” His voice was breathless and still a little hoarse from the night. Few people ever treated him so gently, as if he was a doll that would break at the faintest pressure and normally he’d resent the notion of weakness. When you did it, however, he found he didn’t mind at all. Damn it, it was too early for him to be so affected by you, yet here he was, almost white-knuckling the countertop to keep his composure.

“Giving my boyfriend the affection he deserves,” you mused, a lot more awake by now, your voice vibrating against the sensitive hairs raising under your attention. “I’m still allowed to do that, am I not?”

“You’re such a pain sometimes,” he gritted out, keenly aware of his heart jumping against his chest. The coffee sat forgotten on the counter as he dropped his head forward, his midnight- blue hair parting to reveal even more of his nape.

You rolled your eyes in amusement at his antics. Leave it to your stubborn boyfriend to deny himself something he enjoyed. Good thing you knew him well enough to know which buttons to push to get the truth out of him.

“Well, if you hate it that much-“ Hardly a second passed between you peeling yourself away from him and his hand shooting out to wrap around your wrist and keep you in place.

“Who said you could stop? If you start something, make sure you finish it too.” Seriously, he was too cute like this.

[modern au series] || or click the tag ┊holly’s modern au ✩彡 to see all works and rambles!!

[jujutsubaby]

after hours (part 1)

☆ pairing: toji x afab!reader ☆ summary: toji, your objectively hot neighbor, needs a babysitter, and you need some cash. however, things are getting weird because he hasn't paid you in a week and rent is due... ☆ warnings: 18+. MINORS DNI. choking, oral sex (f!recieving), implied parent death, some public nudity, slight power dynamic ☆ tags: modernAU, babysittingAU ☆ a/n: lowkey wrote this with one hand if you catch my drift ꈍ .̮ ꈍ i'm thinking about doing more parts loosely based off of each other following y/n and a love triangle between gojo and toji. yes, they will be horny and yes i will *try* to have some plot let me LIVE okay (°◡°♡) let me know if that's something people are interested in :3 🖤🤍 series masterlist 🤍🖤

"megumiiii~", you sing lightly, "it's time for beeed". it's way past 9pm, and if toji finds out his son was 30 minutes past his bedtime, he'll never let you forget the next time you babysit. not that you have any issue babysitting for your extremely built, ripped, hot, dilf of a neighbor, that is.

megumi groans and tears start lining his little eyes. "but i don't wanna~" he cries out. "there's only 30 minutes left on this show...", he tries to beg. you pick up the candy wrappers you secretly gave megumi after dinner as a treat for eating his veggies.

"okay, first of all, i let you stay up way longer than i should have. second, there's no way in hell am i gonna let you stay up and watch...oh god. you're watching euphoria?!" you exclaim, eyes widening at the thought of megumi watching all the inappropriate content without you even realizing. you hope it's too late in the night and he's far too sleepy and tired to actually retain anything he just watched. you grab the tv remote and turn it off, and pick up megumi in your arms. "c'mon bubs, you've got school tomorrow, and your daddy will be home soon", you whisper softly in his ear.

megumi yawns and mumbles while slowly drifting off. "but i'm not even that sweepyy...". by the time you make it upstairs to his room, megumi is knocked out. you smile softly at him, before quitely closing the door and heading downstairs to the living room to clean up the mess megumi had made.

you look at the time again. 9:45...toji should be back soon, you think to yourself. you decide on reviewing some of your notes for a final next week while euphoria continues to play on the background. you've personally never watched the show, but your roommate, shoko, was obsessed with jacob elordi and loved euphoria, but there was far too much nudity in it for you.

as if right on cue, shoko shoots you a text.

shoko: pls tell me ur balls deep in toji rn babe me n utahime are bored as hell and we need something exciting this friday night 😭

you giggle. it was no secret between you and three that your next door neighbor was insanely hot. you guys always joke about sleeping with toji. you quickly type back:

y/n: stfu what if he was next to me and read this text huh? never gonna happen you know that 🙄

it’s not like you’re not not down for that. you just don’t want to be all over him like everyone else in the neighborhood. you and shoko have seen the way some of these girls did not know how to act on nextdoor whenever toji went on one of his shirtless runs or drove megumi to and from school.

it’s also not like you’re a total virgin either. you’ve had your fair share of ex-boyfriends in the past, but you won’t lie…it has been a while since you’ve been with someone. your thoughts are interrupted by a response from shoko.

shoko: riiiighttt, that's why you asked to borrow my shortest n sluttiest skirt to "babysit" tn 😏

you shake your head, scoffing at your cheeky roommate. you love her, but there's a final next week that isn't going to pass itself. muting the show and putting on your headphones, you get lost in your class notes, reviewing all the important key points and ideas before your final next week. you don’t even notice toji opening the door and his keys clanging on the table as he takes off his shoes and groans after a long day of…work? you’re not entirely sure what he does for a living but you never really bothered to ask. and it’s partially why you were feeling nervous to ask toji about your babysitting payment for the last week, as he hadn’t paid you at all for it. toji heads to the kitchen and opens a cold bottle of beer and saunters to the living room, only to be met with a pair of 4k hd bare titties on the 60 inch tv in his living room and you on the sofa.

toji clears his throat loudly. “whatcha watching, y/n?”, he says cheekily. you look up at toji, startled by his entrance, and you look at the tv, and squeal at what’s on display.

“oh my god, mr. fushiguro! i-i-i have no ideas w-what’s playing. ohmygodidon’tevenknowwhatshowisplaying-” you start rambling, looking around frantically for the remote to turn the tv off.

“relax, y/n-kun”, toji coos. “i’m not judging you. never known anyone to do their best studyin’ while there are a pair of tits on screen, but you always find a way to surprise me.” toji chuckles as you turn off the tv, and moves closer to you so he can sit across the sofa.

“stop teasing me, mr. fushiguro~”, you whine., crossing your arms and pouting. “you know i’d never-“

“c’mon y/n, how many times do i have to tell you to call me toji? i’m not that much older than you, you know that right?”, toji reminds you.

your pout slowly turns into a smile as you laugh slightly. “okay, whatever you say, boomer,” you tease. you and toji both laugh gingerly. you both stare at the blank tv screen, marinating in the comfortable silence you both were familiar with. toji was right when he said he wasn’t much older than you. he was, after all, your age when he had megumi and was somehow making ends meet as a single parent, although you would be lying if you said you hadn’t seen a few women here and there that toji brought home every so often. it was never the same girl more than once, but you definitely knew he had some game, whether you liked it or not. wait, do you not like that he brings girls over?

you shift uncomfortably on the couch as you recall the uncomfortable conversation you need to have with toji. he senses the change in your mood and how you body stiffened up instead of its usually relaxed posture. toji frowns. “hey, what’s on your mind, pumpkin?”

“umm…well, i hope you don’t mind me asking this but…well, i’ve got to pay my portion of rent soon. a-and i’ve noticed that i haven’t gotten paid for the last w-week yet. sorry, i know things are rough but…i was wondering…” you trail off, pleading inside that toji can fill in the blanks himself and can figure out what you’re asking.

toji shifts towards you and locks eyes with you. you don’t really know what you were expecting to see but it sure wasn’t him smirking. you swear you saw a twinkle of playfulness in his eyes as he inches closer and closer to you. almost instinctively, you clench your thighs together, trying really hard not to think about the effect locking eyes with toji has on you.

“aw, i’m sorry, pumpkin.” toji feigns sympathy to you. “you see, i was going to pay you last week. remember when you went to tuck megumi in after last thursday? i had an envelope with the cash i owed you, and i went to put it in your bag, when your laptop chimed with a new message.” your face immediately drops. this can’t be what you think it is. you’re not entirely sure what toji could’ve seen, but also, isn’t this a violation of your privacy? you hold your breath and gulp, daring not to let toji sense how nervous you are.

“oh god, y/n. i didn’t want to look but it’s hard to look away when there’s a message that says ‘so have you fucked your hot dilf neighbor yet?’ don’t tell me you were only babysitting for me because you wanted me?” toji asks, raising an eyebrow, the scar near his lip lifting up slightly in a teasing grin.

“i-i don’t know w-what you’re talking about, toji~ why were you looking at my messages!” you accuse, your face growing hotter by the second with embarrassment and…lust? wait what no, he’s your neighbor you can’t do this! you can feel your panties getting more soaked by the second and you cannot bear to look at toji’s stupid handsome face, so you look at his hands. the way his large fingers rest on the sofa. how would they look around your neck? oh my god, snap out of it!

“why are you telling everyone but me you think i’m hot?” he counters, pulling you from your thoughts. “that reallyyy hurts my feelings, y/n-kun”, toji says as he pretends to pout. wait, when did he get so close to you?

“it’s s-so unprofessional i didn’t want to-“ you start rambling. toji is right next to you, his knees touching your knees. he stops you mid sentence by using his hands that are practically the size of your face to grab your jaw and force you to face him, as you let out a pathetic little whine.

“cut the shit, pumpkin. it’s just babysitting, okay. it’s not that serious,” toji spits harshly. every muscle in your body is on fire, and you have to actively prevent your eyes from rolling back. you swear you had a fantasy dream like this once (oh god, was it with toji?).

“don’t think i don’t see you looking sooo disappointed when i bring yet another girl home with me. hell, it even makes me feel bad…” toji trails off, as he loosens his grip on your jaw, slowly using his fingers to trace your jawline. you shiver at his touch. “hell, even i feel bad when i see your sad sad face drop. my poor girl…”, toji feigns a frown as he starts to softly trace the outline of your lips.

instinctively, you let out a quite moan when his fingers touch your lips. “i do, toji. i feel so sad when i see you with those other girls. i can’t stand it when someone else has you.” you confess, almost embarrassingly easily. your wide bambi eyes look at toji’s, and you’re not sure if you want to cry or beeline back to your place and forget this ever happened. or perhaps a secret third option where you give in to the desires you’ve had all along?

toji groans deeply as he shifts slightly in his seat, but before you’re able to look down and see the hardening tent in his pants, toji shoves his index and middle fingers into your mouth, taking you by surprise. you stifle out a moan before toji sticks them deeper down your throat.

he doesn’t even have to ask you to suck on them as you instinctively start to do so, making a show of gagging on them for toji’s pleasure. you feel warm as you hear toji let out a groan as he slips in a third finger, making you choke on them. your moans vibrate against his fingers and he hums in approval of how well you’re doing with no instruction from him.

“you’re doing so well, pumpkin,” toji hums, a string of saliva connecting his fingers to your mouth as he slowly takes his fingers out of your mouth.

alright, fuck it. this sends you over the edge. your lips crash into toji’s, teeth hitting each as you both get to know the shape of each others mouths. you bite his lip and that’s all it takes for toji to pull you onto his lap and deepen the kiss with his tongue, exploring every inch of your mouth. you feel the vibrations of his groans and your hips grind into his thigh as you put your arms around his neck, pulling yourself as close as you can to him. your legs wrap around his torso as his hands grab your ass harshly. you let out a yelp into his mouth, daring not to end the kiss.

“oh you’ve been waiting for this haven’t you, pumpkin?” toji breaths against your neck after breaking the kiss. he begins to kiss your neck and you moan his name embarrassingly load.

“tojiiii~” you whine, “i need you, please~” you try to move your hips against him to feel some friction in the place you need it the most.

“shhh, you’re gonna wake m’gumi up,” he slurs in a low voice, already drunk off of your warmth. "not so fast, pumpkin", he says as he stills your hips, "i call the shots here." he grins and before you even know it, your back hits the sofa and he pulls your legs up on his shoulders.

you feel exposed, as shoko's pleated skirt does a poor job of leaving anything to the imagination, and all of a sudden, you really wish you wore your trusted boy shorts instead of your black lace thong under it. as he starts to kiss your ankles while looking deeply into your eyes, you see nothing but primal lust on his face. he lightly bites your ankle, making you slightly yelp before covering your mouth, remembering megumi upstairs.

toji's eyes wander to your sweet spot, and it's taking everything in you not to thrust your soaking core into his hungry face. "oh, is that where you want me to touch you?" he teases, his hands running down softly from your ankles to your inner thigh. your hips wiggle side to side, hoping his fingers end up grazing your aching core, but toji holds you hips down roughly. he scoots back and peppers your leg with kisses, slowly inching up and up until he's mere inches away from your panties.

he plants a wet kiss on your clothed mound and you let out a pathetic mewl as toji shoots his head up and stops dead in his tracks. "make another noise, pumpkin, and we end this right now and you go home frustrated and upset." he warns. unfortunately, this turns you on even more and your hands are over your mouth immediately, eyes shut closed, praying toji pities you and gives you some release.

you feel toji take off your panties agonizingly slowly, and your breath hitches. "oh, your panties are fully ruined. better get rid of them." toji says as he tosses them somewhere across the room.

"it's your fault..." you say, you voice a low whisper through your hands.

toji starts back at your mound again and moans into the kiss in agreement. his fingers lightly touch your core, and you shiver in anticipation. "oh, this is where your sensitive, right?" toji teases, as his fingers finally start circling the part of your delicate bud you've been aching for toji to touch. you bite your hand to prevent yourself from moaning loudly, and take deep breaths so to not make any noise.

toji starts circling your sensitive bud with his fingers, moving with your hips as you get to a rhythm that has you on cloud nine. you feel the familiar build up beginning, when toji abruptly takes his fingers away, leaving you breathless and practically whining from his lack of touch. "ohhh, don't worry, pumpkin. i just wanna taste you," he coos, before diving mouth first into your sensitive bud once more, tasting every inch of your delicate core.

this time, you're unable to hold back and your deep breaths are practically moans. you're laughing, whining, crying...you're not actually sure. you're mind is clouded by the pleasure toji's tongue is sending through your body.

toji's fingers start teasing your entrance as your hips buckle and you start grinding on his face. you're making a mess on his sofa but you don't even care, and neither does toji. "oh, toji, fuck~ that feels...soo good...fuck~" you whine. you're practically begging for his fingers inside you, and toji finally complies and inserts his finger inside you.

"please toji~", you whisper, "i need more, please, please."

"wow, someone's a bit greedy. one finger just isn't enough for a slut like you, huh?" toji chides, the vibrations of his voice going straight to your body. he inserts two more fingers, and you feel a pang of pain, which makes you yelp.

"toji~ it's too much," you cry out, unable to handle three of his large fingers inside you at once.

"oh, now it's a problem? you can take it, pumpkin." toji encourages, moving his fingers at a moderate pace while his mouth is still playing with your delicate bud. the pain slowly turns into pleasure, and the pleasure slowly turns into an inevitable build up that's starting to cloud your vision.

"toji~" you whine. "i'm getting so close, please..." you trail off, trying your hardest to lower your moans.

"please what?" toji asks, knowing full well what you wanted, and that he was the only person able to give it you. toji's member was practically begging for escape against his dark pants, but he was far too drunk on your sweet nectar. he doesn't remember the last time he tasted someone as addicting as you.

"please, can i...c-can i...?" you don't get to finish your sentence before toji groans a "yes" into your core, and the dam that had been building finally burst as you release all over toji's face.

you pant heavily as you finish, hoping you weren't too loud. toji lifts his head from between your legs and immediately darts to your lips, kissing you deeply before you can say anything. you moan into the kiss, still feeling the effects of your orgasm rippling through your sensitive body. you taste yourself in toji's kiss and you never want it to end. a whine escapes your mouth when toji's lips finally disconnect from yours, an unashamed smile playing on toji's face. "did you like that, pumpkin?" he asks.

you're still catching your breath as you nod and smile, gazing at him softly. you can't help but want to return the favor for toji, as you slowly get up and scan toji up and down. god, he's so fucking fit.

you scoot closer to toji, maintaining eye contact, and placing your hands on his upper thigh. oh my god, his legs are just pure rock hard muscle. your hands shake slightly as they make their way on top of toji's hard straining member. toji chuckles as you grasp him over his dark pants, stopping you in your tracks by grabbing your wrist and moving it away from him.

"woah, hold on there y/n. it's 11pm. a bit too late to start something now, dontcha think?" he inquires, raising his eyebrows at you.

heat rises to your cheeks and you feel so embarrassed you could combust. oh my god, wait, does he not want you to return the favor? the insecurity showed up immediately on your face, with your lips frowning and eyebrows scrunching. toji cups the side of your face endearingly and his thumb grazes your lower lip before letting it sit there.

"hey, don't give me that look. i want this. i want you but...it's late. megumi has school tomorrow and it's parent teacher night. i know you have class, too," he explains.

you pout, but not before sucking toji's thumb that was grazing your lower lip and giving it a wet kiss. "that's not fair~ i really want to return the favor toji..." your voice trails, as you already know this conversation is over. you sigh as you turn away from him and reach for your notebook and laptop on the coffee table. you get up and bend down to grab your bag and start packing your belongings and fishing out your keys.

you hear toji hum and turn around to see the gears twisting in his dark eyes that are fixated on you. wait, hold on. he's not looking at you. he's looking at your ass. and he's being so obvious and unashamed about it, too!

you blush and roll your eyes as you chide toji. "wow, so you don't want me to suck your dick but you're gonna look at my ass as i leave?"

toji laughs earnestly and the sound of his laughter makes you feel warm and relaxed inside. you could probably live the rest of your life hearing that laugh. wait, what? rest of your life?

"first off, i do want you to suck me off, pumpkin. second, am i not allowed to respectfully admire? anyway, i was thinking. maybe you come with us to the parent-teacher meeting tomorrow? you practically help the kid with his homework every other night, and i think he really sees you as someone he can trust." toji says, bringing you out of your thoughts. you notice the hidden solitude behind his eyes, and feel a pang of melancholy in your heart. you don't know much about toji and megumi's mom, and you never thought it appropriate to discuss with either one of them, so you always let it be. a part of you is curious and another part is afraid to touch such a vulnerable side to toji, fearing it may alter your relationship with him permanently.

"we can grab dinner before, too. my treat." toji winks, and you scoff. he never even makes sure there's food for you at home before he leaves, always leaving you to pay for your own dinner every night you babysit, let alone pay a meal for you.

you roll your eyes, trying to act upset, but a giggle breaks out anyway. "yeah, i'd love to." you respond genuinely.

you finish packing up your things before searching for your discarded panties in toji's living room. "looking for these?" toji teases, holding up your lacy black thong, still ruined with the mess you made earlier today.

"give 'em back, toji~" you say, trying to reach for the panties from toji, before he stuffs them in his pocket.

"i think i'll keep these actually. they need to go in the laundry anyway, might as well be here." he teases, as you pout. toji cracks an evil grin, knowing deep down you must love having to go back home without any panties in your short skirt.

and he was right, you kinda did love it. a blush creeps up to your cheeks as you shake your head in dismay. "you're so fuckin' annoying, y'know?" you say as toji interlaces his fingers with yours as he walks to you to the door.

"yeah, i know. let's see if you're still that mouthy after you choke on me tomorrow," toji says, giving you a playfully menacing look.

the cool air of the late night nips at your skin, making you shiver, but you know deep down that has more to do with thinking about all the things toji will do to your poor throat tomorrow evening. "hm, we'll see...," you say, as your breath hitches slightly. you stand up on your tippy toes to give a quick peck goodnight to toji.

you honestly should've known better because toji immediately leans forward and turns the quick kiss into a deep make out session in the chill yet humid night air. he's quick to grab your ass, and you're quick to regain your senses and break off the kiss. oh my god, what if someone saw us, you think, recalling all the girls in the neighborhood that fawn over toji and the fact that you weren't wearing panties thanks to toji.

"stop toji~ it's late like you said," you whine, wriggling out of his strong grasp. you turns you around, you back flush against him and he laughs into your neck, arms wrapping your hips tightly from behind.

he releases you but not before giving you one last squeeze. "goodnight, pumpkin."

"night, toji," you say softly as you turn around and head to your car in the driveway. you do a poor job of pulling your skirt down as low as it can possibly get without you looking incredibly stupid, and cross your arms in the cold breeze.

you hear the door close, and start up the car engine and back out, relying only on muscle memory to get you home, as you spend the entire five minute car ride thinking solely about everything that happened today. how were you ready for another release already? you make a mental note to charge your vibrator when you get back to your apartment.

just as you pulled into the drive way, you jaw fell and you remembered. oh shit wait, he still hasn't paid me.

[zevrra]

hii!! i hope your doing well, im not sure if your requests are open rn

but if they are open, can you please write for Gaara (naruto) x fem reader who’s love language is physical touch? (hand holding, hugs, etc)

🫶 thank you!!

A Shared Touch—

tags: anon request, 18+ characters, gaara x fem!reader, pure fluff, gaara’s love language is 100% physical touch, this is so sappy and lovey dovey jshshs

creator notes: thanks for requesting! hope this is what you had in mind (bc i had no idea what to do im so sorry i wrote this at 2 am kshssjh)!! but i also hope you are doing well and that you enjoy this! thanks again!! ❤️

Sunlight warms your face as you sit at a wooden table. You sit in silence with yourself. Accompanied only by the sound of a soft breeze and a few chirping birds. A range of flowers sits before you, ranging anything from chrysanthemum to peons. Besides the flowers sits a pair of scissors. Using them to cut stems off of a few flowers here and there as you put together a small bouquet.

“What are you doing?” A soft voice asks from inside the doorway to the greenhouse you sit inside of.

Turning to look at the source of the voice and you find your loving boyfriend. A smile as warm as the sun shines on his face and you can’t help but mimic it. “I couldn’t sleep. Came here to do some arranging.” You respond. Watching fondly as he makes his way to your side.

He still wears the clothes he had slept in. He must have just woken up and upon finding your side of the bed came straight out to look for you. The sleepy was still in his eyes even as they look upon you with love.

A chilly hand touches your shoulder, moving to soothe across your neck. His teal eyes glance at your project before looking back at you. “They look as beautiful as you do.” Gaara compliments you.

For the years you had been together it took him quite a while to willingly touch you. Skin on skin contact had been one of his biggest fears. For so long, anytime your hand would reach for his; you were met with a wall of sand. Any brush of skin would have him standing frozen in place. He had never done any of it on purpose though and you knew that. It was pure reflex for the deeply traumatized man. Now it almost felt like he never wanted to stop touching you. To never let you go so he would never have to fear being truly alone again.

You wave his compliment off with a smile. It was too early to be so sappy. You set down your scissors to fully turn and face Gaara. “What about you?” You ask curiously as you grab hold of his hand gently. “Off to some important kage meeting I assume?”

Gaara shakes his head, lifting your hand to his lips and placing a small kiss against your skin. “No, not yet anyway. Just missed you.” He admits with a shy look. Glancing from your pretty face to the flowers you had gotten up that morning to work on.

It was truly a miracle how far the two of you had come. Once, so long ago, he would never have reached for you first. Would have distanced himself as far as he could. But now he sought you out first. Missed you simply because you were not by his side the moment you both woke up. It made you feel wanted and loved. You could only hope he felt the same.

You stand with the help of your boyfriend. Leaning in to kiss him and he meets you halfway more than eagerly. After you two part, he guides you towards the door he had entered from as you two plan to return to your shared home.

“Let’s go make some breakfast.” You offer. Your fingers intertwine with his, giving his hand a tight squeeze. A reassuring gesture that you would never let him go either.

You’d have to return to your flowers later.

[euphoricfilter]

more silent love:

pairing: jungkook x reader

genre: fluff || non-idol au

summary: jungkook’s book of silent love

tags/ warnings: more fluff, they’re in love it’s kinda sickening, more silent ways to say i love you. i am once again sleepy and thinking of the cute kinda love

notes: part two of this fic, but can be read as a standalone :D

where you can find all my other work!!

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

The list of silent love is a forever growing one. 

A small notebook sits on the kitchen table, one you had never bothered to pick up. Though Jungkook likes to spend quiet evenings alone, handwriting far from legible as he scribbles down each of these precious moments.

Memories set in stone as the ink seeps into flimsy paper; perfect, beautiful, love tucked between pages like his own little secret. 

As of late, the both of you spend Sunday afternoons learning how to bake bread. A new type of loaf every week, flour clinging to clothes and smiles tugging at both your lips. It had become your own personal mission to never buy bread again, taking hours out the afternoon, simply basking in the company of one another as you learn something new. 

He finds himself associating the smell of fresh bread to you. Quirk of a smile tugging at his cheeks as he walks past bakeries, fleeting memory of you in the forefront of his mind. A permanent home you've burrowed.

Jungkook, of course, likes to make you sandwiches with your homemade bread. Some mornings waking up, quietly slipping out of bed before you wake to pack you lunch, sweet little note slipped into your bag before he hears your footsteps patter out the bedroom, sluggish as you wake up. 

And on those mornings your patience wears a little too thin, the world a little too much for you to take so early in the day; Jungkook will make sure to sit you down in front of the vanity. Where he detangles your hair ever so gently. Careful as he helps you put your earrings in– he’d gotten quite good over time, learning how to match your jewellery to what you were wearing. Observant in all your favorite pieces that he knew he could never go wrong with. 

Every night as he showers, you sit yourself up on the kitchen counter, reaching for Jungkook’s favorite herbal teas. And every night, as he dries his hair, slinking into the kitchen, there will always be a tea there waiting for him.

He wonders how you’d learnt to time it perfectly. Knowing when to pour the hot water with just enough time before he gets out of the shower where the temperature is perfect. So he can easily slip under a blanket with you, your cold feet warmed up between his thighs as he sips sleepy tea and you doze off beside him. 

He’d learnt you loved when he made you heart-shaped pancakes. And as much as he always eyes the cute little pancake pans online, there will always be something slightly more rewarding about his own hand-crafted hearts that have you giggling into his mouth– lips syrup sticky and sweet. That slight effort more just to see you smile forever lighting up his life. 

He likes to watch you smile as you re-read your favourite books. Where he’d taken time out of his lunch breaks to respond to all the annotations you’d made on your first read through.

He’d glance up at you from his phone as the pen glides across the page, your own mind conjuring up replies to his questions and comments. Like that in itself was its own love language. Silent words slipped between pages of stories that aren't your own, words that only the two of you will ever see. A glimpse into your mind and in return a peek into his.

Every time he is the cause of your smile, his chest goes warm and his heart feels fluttery and light. So gooey warm and raw and lovely and so many words, so many thoughts and feelings all at once he will never be able to truly explain it in words. And maybe that’s why he likes to write down all the precious moments you share. Because that is love. The epitome of love in every sense of the word and it's meaning and yet, it's more than that.

It is your shared love in words without fancy vocabulary and poems and unheard confessions of adoration that will never leave the corners of his mind. Simply unreadable gibberish to hold each of these moments in time, cradled against his beating heart, so that even when the both of you leave this world, part of your love will live forever between the pages of that book. 

Because that's what your love is. An eternal thing that will dance between the stars after death and kiss the both of you in your graves as you blossom into new life. Sure to meet one another again no matter where you end up.

You are Jungkook's forever, even if that means he has to scour the earth to find that little notebook, to relive those memories and learn to love you the right way again.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Hey babe, i love every Nathan fic that you wrote, and if you’re open to request and feeling fluffy would you do the honor to tell us what happen after Need You? I just want to snuggle up with Nathan so badddfdd, Thank You🥰

Awww <3 <3 <3 Of course!

Thank You

Nathan Bateman x gn!Reader • Rating: PG pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? • ask-travaganza masterlist •

Summary: Nathan is tired.

Warnings: Fluff, cuddles, Nathan being playfully grumpy, teasing, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 630

“Hurry the fuck up.” Nathan says from the doorway. He stares at you a little more intensely than he normally would because his glasses are already off and on the bedside table.

You snort and nearly choke to death swallowing toothpaste. You manage to spit it out into the sink. “I’m brushing my teeth?” 

“You’re taking hours.”

“It’s been two minutes.”

“Far too long,” he uncrosses his arms, “You’ll damage your gums, come on.” He moves towards you and you yelp and giggle, brandishing your toothbrush like a weapon.

He pauses and smiles. 

“Let me wash my mouth, then I’ll come to bed. I’m not having you drag me again.” 

“Why?” He grins, pretending to start to move closer. “You liked it last time.” 

“I did n-” You stop yourself, you’re not even going to try to argue with him when he’s in this kind of mood. No matter what you say he’ll throw something else back, playfully of course. And over the top. And incorrect. It wasn’t worth the energy. 

So you poke your tongue out at him quickly before you turn and rinse your mouth with water.

His hands around your waist make you laugh. “Nathan.” 

“What?” He leans his chest onto your back like a baby koala. “You're comfy.” 

“Oh my god.” You mutter, but there’s humour in your voice. “You big baby,”  you tease as you stand. 

“Yes.” He pauses, meeting your eyes in the bathroom mirror. “Don’t make me do the baby voice again.” 

“Okay! You win.” You grin, turning to hug him and he kisses your cheek. 

“Bedtime.” He whispers and you just about manage to jump out of his grasp before he tries to pull you to bed. “Hey.”

“I’m going to bed!” You laugh as you dance out of the room and get under the covers. 

He smiles, turning off the bedside lamp and quickly joining you. He pulls off his t-shirt as you both get comfortable. He quickly urges you onto your side, so he can hug you, being the big spoon. 

The second your head hits the pillow he’s tugging at your top. “Take this off.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Why do you want it off?” 

“Want to feel your skin.” He grumbles, “Instead all I can feel is this.” He pulls at your top again, snapping it back a little. 

“Ow.”

“Sorry, also that didn’t hurt.” 

“How do you know it didn’t hurt?” 

He shrugs. “Wasn’t that hard.” 

“You don’t know what it felt like to me.” You give him a look over your shoulder and he kisses your cheek. 

“I can tell you real ‘ow’, from that fake ‘ooowww’ any day of the week.” 

You poke your tongue out at him again.

“Very mature.” He grins, “If you don’t stop doing that I’m gonna give you something to put in your mouth.” 

“I thought you were tired.” 

“I am.” He pushes his hands up under the bottom of your shirt. “A goodnight blowjob, that sounds great.”

You shake your head and laugh, but help him to take your top off so that he can snuggle you to your back. “You really want a blowjob?” 

“Always, but I don’t think I’d get it up for a billion dollars at the moment,” he yawns, curling up closer to you. “You can try though.” You know his eyes are already shut and he’s just playing, but you still make a show of pretending to try to turn over and paw at his waistband. 

“Nooo,” he mutters softly, rubbing his face and beard into your back. “Sleepy time.” He kisses your skin and breathes deeply, finally able to relax. 

You chuckle and settle back down to go to sleep. 

“Thank you.” You hear him mumble just before he dozes off. “For coming to bed.” 

Thank you for reading!

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[dystopicjumpsuit]

Too Early

A/N: This is entirely the fault of @smw-on-kamino. We were chatting about Crosshair’s cuddling style (my personal HC: he’s very undemonstrative in public, but in private, he’s like Velcro), which led, inevitably, to thots.

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader (Fem, has hair and smaller hands than Crosshair)

Rating: M (mature contented intended for adult audiences; minors DNI)

Wordcount: 1.3k

Warnings and tags: fluff; SMUT; sleepy morning sex; fingering; nipple play; PIV; creampie; biting; no kissing on the mouth bc morning breath is a deadly thing, yo.

Summary: It's just smut. Soft, grumpy, morning smut. In the kitchen. Like you do.

Suggested Listening:

This fic smells like: ISO Gamma Super by Ellis Brooklyn (soft woods, crisp sheets, skin musk)

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Your eyes adjusted slowly to the soft light that filtered through the curtains. Outside the open window, the only sounds you could hear were the quiet rustle of wind in the leaves, the distant crash of waves on the beach, and the chattering of countless moon-yos as they frolicked through Pabu. 

It was early.

Too early to wake up on a Benduday, you thought.

You rolled over as silently as possible, trying not to disturb your bedmate: a task not easily accomplished, considering his tendency to sprawl across the entire bed, draping his long limbs over you like a blanket. A tiny smile tugged at the corner your lips as you watched him sleep, your gaze drifting over him in the dim light, taking in the contrast of the crisp white linens against his warm, brown skin. His silver curls were tousled and wild, and judging by the rumpled bedding tangled around him, he must have had another restless night.

The temptation to kiss him awake was almost overwhelming, but you didn’t want to rouse him now that he was finally getting some sleep, so after admiring him for a few moments, you slipped out of bed, pulled on some pajamas, and crept out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind you.

Far too early to wake up on a Benduday, you thought again as you ground your palms into your eyes, then headed to the kitchen. You began to assemble the makings for caf and immediately realized you’d need to grind fresh beans. Maybe he won’t hear it? From my lips to the Maker’s ears, I suppose.

You winced at the obnoxious grating of the caf grinder, but mercifully, it was over quickly, and you thought perhaps you’d managed it without disturbing him. The water heated at last, and as you poured it into the caf press, you heard a soft footfall behind you, and then he slid his arms around you from behind. He grumbled quietly, burying his face in your hair.

A smile crinkled the corners of your eyes as you leaned back against him, resting your hands on top of his. You should have known better than to try to escape your bed without paying the cuddle tax. Crosshair liked his routine, and that routine began every day with holding you.

“Good morning,” you murmured as he continued to nuzzle your hair and neck.

“Mm,” he grumbled again, apparently not yet capable of forming words.

He pulled you tighter against his lean body, and his hands began to wander over you, tracing down to your hips, up your belly, between your breasts to caress the side of your throat, and back down again. The nuzzles turned to kisses, and he worked his way down from your hair, to your ear, down your neck, and across your shoulder, slipping the strap of your top off your shoulder and out of the way.

“That feels nice,” you whispered, closing your eyes and tilting your head back to rest against his shoulder.

His only reply was a soft growl as his left hand teased beneath the waistband of your pajamas and his right hand slid beneath your top to cup your breast and brush his thumb over your nipple. As his fingertips grazed over your clit and dipped into your pussy to find you already heated and slick with desire, he inhaled sharply. You felt the heat of his lips and tongue on the nape of your neck, the soft graze of his teeth on your skin sending shivers through your body and making your nipples harden against his palm.

He sank his finger into you and pulled your body more firmly against himself so you could feel the hard length of his cock grinding against your ass. A tiny moan escaped your throat as his long, lovely fingers played with your cunt, sliding languidly into your body again and again as he worked you open with a patience and skill that made you wonder just how long he’d actually been awake. 

His breath was rough and warm against your skin; his kisses roamed over you, tasting and savoring with thorough and unhurried attention to detail. Your hands drifted back to slide up his thighs, and you eased his pajama pants down his narrow hips and wrapped your fingers loosely around his cock. He thrust subtly into your hand with a soft groan, and his hand on your breast tightened for a moment, then slid down your waist. A quick tug, and your pajamas slipped down to puddle around your ankles.

He traced his hand up your body to your shoulder, then down your arm, until he reached the hand you had wrapped around him. His hand closed around yours, and he guided you over his length with a slow, strong grip. He sighed quietly with pleasure, resting his forehead against your shoulder as he worked himself with your hand. You shuddered quietly, biting your lip at the thought of him using your hand like a toy, or an extension of himself, as his strong fingers wrapped around your much smaller hand. You could feel him growing harder, and his cock grazed against your ass, leaving a bead of thick precum on your skin.

“Please,” you whispered. “I need you.”

“Mhm.” The warmth of his breath ghosted on your back as he let out a quiet, lustful sound that sent chills racing across your skin. 

He pulled your hand away from his cock and lifted it to his face, pressing his lips against your wrist, then guiding it to brace against the countertop. His fingers slid out of you, his knee nudged your thighs apart, and he leaned you forward just enough to slide his cock into your slick, desperate cunt. You gasped, pressing your ass back against him to welcome him fully into your body. 

“Fuck—” he grunted against your shoulder.

He wrapped his arms around you again and hauled you upright against his body. He cupped your breasts in both hands, massaging and rolling your nipples between his fingers as he thrust deeper into you, over and over, each movement pushing the breath from your lungs and drawing soft whimpers and moans from your lips. 

“I need more—” you whispered.

His teeth sank lightly into your neck, and he slid his hand from your breast down your belly, pressing his palm flat against you as his fingers circled just over your clit, working insistently as he continued to thrust into you. Pleasure shot through you, and you felt the tension begin to build in your body.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he mumbled, kissing your ear. “Pretty fuckin’ girl.”

“Oh—” The sound tore raggedly from you, and his hips stuttered as he heard the note of desperation in your voice.

“Gonna come for me?”

You nodded, your eyes glazed and unfocused with arousal. “Yes, I’m close—FUCK!”

Your orgasm slammed into you, and your vision exploded into a thousand stars. When your body convulsed against him and your legs gave out, his arms tightened around you, holding you securely upright. With a few final, hard thrusts, he followed close behind you, grunting loudly as the hot spurt of his cum flooded deep inside your body. 

He slumped forward abruptly, catching himself against the countertop so he didn’t crush you. His body was warm and heavy against your back as he leaned on you, pressing kisses to your neck and hair.

“Morning,” he mumbled.

You let out a quiet laugh and turned to kiss his cheek. “I think the caf’s gone cold.”

“Mm,” he grunted. “Too early for caf. Let’s go back to bed.”

---

Want more Crosshair? Here’s some hurt comfort and some fluff.

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[358jours]

Yanqing x GN!Reader⎢But I’m so ‘eepy

Word Count⎢1300

Genre/Tags⎢SFW, fluff, Reader is a big introvert and is sleep deprived, shopping dates, PDA, written and posted before game launch⎢Crossposted on AO3

You stifle another yawn as Yanqing drags you around. You’re holding hands, fingers laced together. He walks ahead of you, loud joy in his steps. He’s almost always sporting a smile in public, but the happiness radiating off of him right now is something else. He forced you out of your room today, and though you love his presence, your social battery can only last so long. At this point, you’re practically dead weight he’s carrying on his own.

Yanqing is an energetic young man, extroverted, optimistic, though perhaps a bit naive. He enjoys anything that has to do with swords the most such as taking care of them, training, competitions. He’s also a big spender on his hobbies, always ending up begging his father –or even you– to finance his basic needs. Many people are aware of who he is due to all that, and also the fact he’s the lieutenant. 

You are the opposite. An introverted soul, sleep deprived, fond of staying inside. You tend to stay up far too late into the night, kept up by good video games, and bad decisions. “I can still play, like, fifteen minutes more”, cue three am beeping on your alarm clock after hours passed unnoticed. You could count on one hand those aware of who you are too. First General Jing Yuan, the leader of the Luofu himself, then an unnamed accountant, whose existence only matters for a single reason (your pay), and Yanqing himself. Perhaps Marshal Hua might count as well as she knows about everything, but you never met her personally. 

Yanqing is the only person able to drag you out of your room for more than an hour, and the only person able to drag you out outside at all. Perhaps ‘drag you out’ is too strong a word as you always consent to going out with him, but your mood is a bit sour from your dead social battery and the fatigue in your body. As far as you’re aware, everyone on the Luofu market street has dubbed you “Yanqing’s sleepy partner” (You can’t really blame them, it would be quite awkward to ask “so what’s your name?” while your self-proclaimed knight in shining armor is right by your side). You have a very “cat and dog” personality contrast that makes people laugh, opposites attract or so they say. 

.

Yanqing pulls you forward amidst the crowd. “Finally, we’ve arrived at the Artisanship Commission!”

You take a moment to take in the sight. The sun is high, barely two in the afternoon, and illuminates the red city radiantly, this shop as well. The view is beautiful, yes, but honestly your mind is so jaded, it’s hard to grasp reality. Hopefully this is the last stop for today, Aeons know you won’t survive if you don’t get your afternoon nap. You hear Yanqing's voice and– oh he’s talking to a vendor, nevermind. They seem to know each other, by the way they laugh at least. 

You look over to the swords on display. They’re all impressive, a vast range of different colors and sizes. The one you like best is mainly clear blue and has a yin-yang on its guard, it looks pretty though perhaps a bit heavy for Yanqing? The second one is thinner, it’s mainly black with white and blue accents. It would look good in his hands. The one beside it is ew full-gold yellow, and though the color is less than attractive, the details forged on it are stunning. 

You don’t notice the vendor handing Yanqing a sword. He lifts the hand you’re holding, and looks at you curiously. You let go sheepishly to which he only smiles. The vendor giggles. Ah, embarrassing. 

You space out once more while Yanqing listens with grand attention to the explanations about the ki-controlled attacks the sword can perform. You’re kind of staring at him as he tests the sword through different movements, touching the blade with the tip of his finger. It looks alright, but the swords on display are prettier. He hands it back, the vendor leaves for a moment, and comes back with another. The same happens, and again, and again, and you feel your legs more and more. Trying not to yawn becomes harder and harder.

Your interest is peaked when the vendor brings him the sword with the yin-yang guard. They talk about the features again, he moves it a bit. He hums, does bigger movements, it seems he likes this one too. You rest your head against his shoulder “I like this one.” 

He shifts his head slightly. “Really?” 

“Yeah. It’s pretty and it goes well with your outfit. You should take a dark gray scabbard to go with it.” 

Yanqing hums. He looks at the sword one last time before handing it back. “Alright, I’ll take two, and two dark gray scabbards.” 

The vendor looks very surprised, but happily obliges. They shuffle, occupied in preparing his purchases. Your partner sports a smile on his face, his happiness showing through his proud stance. You don’t fight your yawn this time, and close your eyes. You open them soon after at the sound of a pathetic whine and your name however. Yanqing’s face is contorted in dread. You’re a bit confused about what is wrong, your mind foggy— oh. 

.

His wallet is completely empty. 

You laugh loudly, which makes him even more embarrassed. “Hey, come on! How am I supposed to pay now? And I already said I was taking it home too…” But it only worsens your fit. You grip onto his arm to not fall. The vendor comes back, and Yanqing hastily hides the hollow pouch. He looks at the vendor worriedly as you continue laughing against him. 

“You two are adorable together. Mind repeating your joke?” The vendor smiles at you both. 

“Yeah, thank you. Uh.” Yanqing let out an embarrassed laugh as he scratched the back of his neck. 

You recover enough to hand your credit card to the vendor. “He forgot his money at home.” Yanqing stutters as the vendor snorts. You’re handed back your card, and your partner receives his new swords. He carries them with his left arm while his right hand is occupied, as he refuses not to hold hands with you whenever you are out. 

You walk together for a bit, saying nothing. He’s not dragging you everywhere like before anymore, thankfully. The sun is still high, but at least forty minutes have passed, if not more. Yanqing is the first to break the silence, “You should name it, the sword. But it’s important so you should think deeply about it, yeah?” 

You hum, your mind occupied by other priorities. You pull him in a direction. “Nap time.” 

“What?!” He’s taken aback, clearly confused and in shock. “No way I’ll let you name it that!”

You pull him again and— push him to sit on a bench? He’s still lost, looking at you for clarification. He’s by the far side while you go sit in the middle. He’s about to ask more when you suddenly lay down. Your head goes to rest on his lap. “Nap time, wake me up in one hour or if it starts raining.” 

Yanqing opens his mouth and closes it, still confused although now flustered. “Really? Right here, right now? I thought you disliked being in public.”

You hum a bit, shifting, making yourself comfortable on the hard bench. It would take longer than one hour before getting sunburned right? So this is probably fine. Between the sun high in the sky, the soft breeze, and the comfort of Yanqing, you don’t think you’ll have much trouble resting in public. “Bed is too far, and I’m so ‘eepy.”

He huffs, although there’s a smile on his face. “Alright.” 

[like-a-diamondinthesky]

used to this | l.m.h

-> the first i love you m.list

pairing... bf!minho x gn!reader tags... fluff, soft moment with minho 🥹, established relationship

the soft voices, the late-night cuddling, the sweet and fluttering affections you showed each other; man, minho could get used to this.

wc... 777 words a/n... look i know i said felix would be next but i rly liked how this turned out like it's just short and sooo sweet! which i think represents minho a lot HAHAHA,, i hope you enjoy <3 (also thank you so much for 700 followers ily guys so much istg)

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You and Minho have been seeing each other for a couple of months and it's been great. You just click, you fit together, you're a match! You even have a little tradition where he comes over to your place every week and the two of you watch a movie, show, anime, or whatever content interests you that night. Tonight, Minho chose to watch Spirited Away because, surprisingly, he'd never seen it before.

You've watched this movie many times before and it was one of your comfort films, but right now, you just weren't too invested in it—not when you already had all the comfort you needed from the person you were watching it with.

As the TV screen illuminated the dark living room, you sat on the couch, eyes unfocused and mind elsewhere. Minho was lying on his side with his head resting on your lap, an act of affection he had only recently made a habit of.

Absent-mindedly, you began playing with Minho's hair, running your fingers through the soft tufts. He made a sound—not so much a hum, but rather more akin to a purr—and leaned into your touch. "That feels nice," he remarked softly.

You giggled at his light, gentle voice, one that he only ever uses with you (and his beloved cats). As you continued petting his head, you pulled your phone out to capture your cute interaction. After taking several photos, you put your phone away, directing your eyes back to the screen in front of you.

No matter how hard he tried, Minho couldn't get himself to stay awake. He found his eyelids getting heavier and heavier, the feeling of your fingers in his hair lulling him to sleep.

When you noticed the absence of comments from your boyfriend, you leaned forward to check if he was awake. Upon seeing Minho sound asleep, eyelids closed and mouth slightly parted, your gaze softened and your previously furrowed brows fell. Only he could make you melt like that.

You paused the movie and turned off the TV. Carefully, you lifted Minho's head off your lap so that you could move to lay down properly next to him. Subconsciously, he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, causing a soft gasp to escape your mouth. ‘God, he's adorable,’ you thought as you wrapped one arm around his back, bringing your other hand to play with his hair once again. After a few minutes, you, too, fell asleep with your boyfriend in your arms.

A few hours later into the night, Minho opened his eyes to find you laying on top of his body, snuggled into him, as he had his arms wrapped around your waist. The only light in the room was from the street lamp outside the window, which cast tall shadows onto your sleeping face. He doesn't quite know how you both ended up in this position, but he didn't mind at all.

Curious about the time, Minho felt around his pocket for his phone but didn't find it. Craning his neck towards the coffee table, he saw it resting atop the surface, far from his reach. Patting his hand around your leg, he felt your phone in your pocket and took it out to check the time. The clock read 1:43 AM, answering Minho's concerns. Too sleepy to notice your new wallpaper, he returned your phone to your pocket. Perhaps he'll notice the image of your fingers threaded in his tousled hair that takes residence on your lock screen another time.

Minho leaned down to press a light kiss on your forehead, causing you to stir. You rubbed your head against his shoulder, tightening your grip around his torso. "That tickles," you whispered against his skin, eliciting a warm smile to appear on his face.

At that moment, Minho realized exactly how tightly you had him wrapped around your finger. He could get used to the weekly movie nights ending in snug cuddles on the couch, the soft and sleepy kisses you exchange when you wake up, and the hushed voices you use to speak to one another when curled up together. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with you, for as long as you'd let him.

"I love you," he whispered, so quietly that you would've thought it was your own imagination. You lifted your head and let your gaze track from his eyes to his lips, then back to his eyes. In the same soft tone, you whispered back, "I love you too, baby." You reached up and kissed Minho, earning a satisfied hum from him.

Yeah, he could definitely get used to this.

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taglist: @jinnixxn @elllisaaa

comments, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated! © like-a-diamondinthesky 2023

[fatesundress]

⭑ observations. tom riddle x reader

part ii here.

summary. you've been going to hogwarts for four months, and find this whole school-wide obsession with tom riddle a little bit ridiculous, and a little bit contrived. surely not all the rumours are true...

tags. smut (minors dni -_-), fem anatomy, fingering, reader who is soooo in denial, trying to worm into tom's brain like a parasite and failing miserably (me projecting), i think reader is implied to either be short or tom is implied to be tall, ooc tom because i am so far from the belief that he would ever just spontaneously hook up with someone but… it is what it is.

note. this is my first post so support is much appreciated!! god forgive me, i've never written smut in my life, and it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also, i tried my best to make reader fairly neutral, but it's late, and if i've fumbled over some description bc i'm sleepy i shall fix it in the morning ♡

word count. 5.1k

Your first observation is that nobody has Tom Riddle quite right.

He’s beautiful, yes (obvious, repetitive, shallow), and undeniably intelligent (being paired with him in Potions has proved that in a matter of weeks), untouchable (this one is a bit interesting), and, above all, unusual. The latter you like the most. It makes you feel unabashedly exceptional in all the very unexceptional gossip about him. No one ever uses that word to describe him. A rarity of charisma and charm — austere, refined, and clinically polite. Unusual has a negative curve to it that most people don’t attach to the elegant litheness of Tom Riddle, but your observations cannot be stated without the word.

It’s prompted and peddled by Selwyn’s much-too-enthusiastic vehemence in the wake of your first.

You narrow your eyes at her and say it again, no less certain than the first time. “Tom Riddle has not had sex with half the school.”

It’s a bit of a jump. Some necessary context is removed.

Riddle, once more, rarity of charisma and charm and austere blah blah blah, has been rumoured since you arrived this year from your last school to be some silent conqueror, oh-so nimble with his hands and nimbler even with his other appendages, and you — you’ve only been here four months and it’s laughable how many people believe it.

Backtrack to untouchable (this one everyone agrees is a primary characteristic of Tom Riddle, there’s no debate there) and the reason you find it interesting. Untouchable doesn’t exactly work if everyone in the bloody castle has been touching him this whole time. And it’s not as if he could hide it, not as if people wouldn’t be giddy to tell their friends of their exploits with the beautiful, revered Head Boy. And such exploits would be whispers among the halls in a matter of hours. You’ve considered this, with almost scientific determination, and it’s impossible. Tom studies all day, and when he isn’t studying he’s corralling Slytherin first-years away from forbidden corridors, attending to Dippet’s newest errand, escorting third-years to Hogsmeade, dining with the Slug Club, and — point is, someone would have noticed by now if he was disappearing into broom closets with a new lay every weekend.

But Selwyn shakes her head, because this rumour is such an integral part of Tom’s allure. He is, somehow, both untouchable and a master at touch. Distant until he isn’t, and then he can break you apart with practised, perfect hands. It’s all very mythical.

“Look,” she says, “maybe if I’d only been here four months, I’d think so too, but everyone else knows—”

“Maybe it’s because I’ve only been here four months that I have the objectivity to recognize how ridiculous you all are. He’s not a god, Selwyn, he’s a scholar, and an obsessed one at that — has it ever actually occurred to you he might not have had sex at all?”

This, now, is sacrilege. 

Selwyn gapes at you, and you shake your head in surrender before you burst out laughing at how offended she looks. “Fine, whatever. Consider the matter dropped. I give up.”

You don’t really give up. It’s very fun research.

Your second observation is that unusual is not an apt enough word for Tom, and maybe you don’t possess the vocabulary to think of one that is.

You’re in the Restricted Section. This is unrelated to your Tom research, and perfectly sanctioned, with a key granted by the librarian who you feel sorry to admit you have not remembered the name of, and the library, by all means, is still open. It’s a late Thursday night, but not past curfew. You’re there with a study partner you rather wish you weren’t — Gregory Godefrey, Gryffindor (the alliteration is nauseating), and the only half-decent fellow in your Ancient Runes class, but not especially bright. You feel more like his tutor than his partner. In short, the regular books on the topic you’re writing your end-of-term essay on are slim pickings, and thus — Restricted Section.

“So,” you say, “the scriptures might look the same, but they’re written in vastly different time periods, so the meaning has changed. If you were to charge a spell with one of Ashe’s runes now, there’s almost no doubt you’d get a completely different result.”

“I don’t get it,” Godefrey grumbles sleepily into his sleeve. “How’s anyone meant to use runes if they can just change like that?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Any magic can change, Godefrey. Half of the stuff we learn is based on intention and skill. Uagadou barely even uses wands — all of this is arbitrary.”

“My head hurts.”

“Then… just… just go to bed. I’ll finish up here and we’ll try again on the weekend.”

He grins with heavy eyes, lugging his bag over his shoulder and leaving you a packet of sherbet lemons you bitterly wish he’d pulled out sooner. “Wicked — you’re the best. See’ya.”

“See you…” you mumble, unwrapping one and popping it in your mouth.

You don’t stay for long, twirling the key to the Restricted Section around your finger as you tuck your books back into their shelves.

“It’s ten past curfew,” says a voice from behind you, all cool, measured authority, and you nearly collapse.

You stare up from where you’re grabbing onto your knees for balance, your heart halfway out of your chest.

Tom Riddle is there, his Head Boy badge somehow still glittering in the dim light of the library, and it’s only by the half-smile quirking at his lips that you can detect his words weren’t some sort of threat.

“Right, thanks.” You gather your breath. “I was just leaving.”

“Pity about Godefrey.”

You blink. Having worked with Tom in Potions since September, you’ve become perfectly adjusted to speaking to him… only about Potions. He indulges in polite small talk, he smiles freely, but your distance from him is the same as it is with everyone else, if only for the fact that, you suppose, you aren’t actively pursuing anything closer.

Oh. That is interesting — would he be so easily intrigued? It’s a bit cliché, but you suppose he is too.

You’re making an awful lot of assumptions from the words ‘pity about Godefrey,’ and then, you don’t actually have a damn clue what Tom could mean by that.

“Sorry?” you ask.

“Godefrey,” he repeats. “I assume you’re being made to tutor him.”

Right. He must have seen him on his way here. That would make sense.

“No, actually. It’s entirely voluntary — he’s my study partner for Ancient Runes.”

His chin lifts in some nearly imperceptible way, smiling still, and you know he’s a polished thing, an unusual thing, but it reads as an especially fake smile then. “Ah.”

… Oooookay?

“Well —” you start, a mechanical smile of your own forming — “curfew, then.”

The charm fixes onto his face like a damn ornament. You want to flick it away with your finger. “Of course. I’ll see you in Potions?”

You nod, leaving the key behind the librarian’s desk as you slink awkwardly away. Into the corridor. Off to bed. Yet another note to scrawl on the enigma of Tom Riddle.

You see him again first thing in the morning. You’re yawning into the archway of Slughorn’s stuffy classroom, eager to dump your bag over your table and empty the many contents necessary for today’s lesson. 

There’s one girl, the oldest of the Lestranges, who glares daggers into the back of your head every class. Tom is, as always, nonplussed, asking you about your morning as you both prepare your phials and ingredients. You can’t help but shake your head at him this once, a bemused smile on your lips as you glance between him and the Lestrange girl.

“Have I offended her somehow, or is it just that I’m paired with you?”

He laughs under his breath. “I daresay that is the offense.”

You can’t help it. You’re mumbling to yourself in amazement at the bizarre, borderline cultish devotion this school has to Tom Riddle. “Unattainable commodity that you are, Riddle…”

“Well," he begins, his smile small but his voice amused, “I hope you don’t think of me as quite that far outside your grasp."

You freeze.

Are you — have you missed something? Has your casual (really, very casual and not at all unwarranted or peculiar) research for the sake of dispelling Selwyn’s obsession skewed your memory of Tom? Has he always said things like this to you? Have you always read into them like this?

One of his eyebrows rises, and it might be his notorious flattery — but if so, he makes it sound like an obvious truth, and you stammer over the jar of foxglove in your hand. Then you look away, unscrew it, do well not to put too much weight on his words.

“Hm. I have no need for you to be within it, Riddle." You say it with all nonchalance you can muster. To spit it at him in some aggressive dismissal would be to treat it like a big thing. 

It isn’t a big thing. He’s talking to you like he talks to everyone else.

But you catch the barest flicker of disappointment on his face, a flash of something that might even be annoyance. Then, though, it’s gone, and he’s back to that same unshakable, confident smirk.

As the lesson proceeds,  he’s once again the sharpest thing in the room.

You watch for him in the library that weekend, a bit distracted while you and Godefrey study. Without your guidance, there isn’t much studying occurring at all. Godefrey is sort of skimming the pages of a textbook, yawning, as always, like he’s never had a good night’s sleep in his life, and you’re suckling sherbert lemons until the roof of your mouth feels raw.

“What was it you said about Calarook’s Method?”

Your eyes snap from the empty doorway to Godefrey’s face. “Huh?”

“Calarook’s Method.”

“Oh.” You sink boredly into your seat, twirling your quill between your fingers. “It revolutionised the usage of runes globally. She incorporated — um — a much simpler means of translating the scriptures for different methods of magic.”

“Ohhhh, I remember now. Did you write that down?”

“Yes, Godefrey, I wrote it down.”

The final hour before curfew dwells agonisingly longer than it should. It feels like three, at least, until you’re packing your things and bidding Godefrey goodnight, tired legs dragging you down the corridors.

And then you straighten. You stand tall. (You’re absolutely normal about the sight before you.)

Tom smiles at you as he turns the corridor to approach.

“On patrol?” you ask in a friendly tone.

You’re… friends, right? Being someone’s Potions partner for four months qualifies as some degree of friendship, does it not? After all, he did say not to think of him as too far outside your grasp. That was a line if you’d ever heard one, but — you could be Tom’s friend the way everyone is his friend: wholly detached until you were needed.

“Leaving detention,” he answers with a timbre to match.

Your eyebrows raise at that.

“Leaving the second-years I watched in detention, I should say.”

You shake your head. “I should have known.”

“And you?”

“Studying again.”

“Ancient Runes?”

“Mhm.”

“...With Godefrey?”

“That is the concept of a recurrent study partner, yes. It’s recurrent.”

He doesn’t look very much like he appreciates your sarcasm.

“So, then,” you mutter, clearing your throat. “Curfew, I suppose.”

“You performed well in Potions today,” he says after you. It feels like the sort of thing someone says when they don’t want someone to walk away.

You bite your cheek between your teeth — such assumptions will get the better of you. Such assumptions will lead you down a path of crude, obsessive analysis (though you suppose you’ve been doing that all this time, haven’t you?) where you think, in some unspooling knitwork, that there are really only a select few reasons he could want such a thing. Your mind draws to the irresponsible conclusion, as he walks toward you again, a new glint in his eyes, that it’s exactly the sort of thing someone says before rumour has it they disappear into the nearest broom closet with the one they approach. This, you’ve decided an observation ago, Tom Riddle does not do.

“Thank you,” you say carefully. “So did you.”

“We make for a good pair, don’t you think?”

Crude, obsessive analysis. “Slughorn certainly does.”

“And I am asking you.”

He stops a respectable, inviting space before you. His weekend attire is a grey jumper and black slacks, his dark hair in its regular, pristine waves, hands laced behind his back. Everything about him is a request to be met, and not to step forward and close the distance himself. Close the distance, pristine waves, inviting space — you’ve lost your damn mind. You sound like Selwyn. The sugar of a whole packet of sherbet lemons has rendered you imbecilic. You’ll be off to bed, then — sleep this absurdity off.

“Of course, Tom,” you say with a polite smile. “It’d be hard to disagree with the grades I get in that class.” You grab onto your bag to have something to do with your hands, to perhaps signify you’ll be making your exit now.

He seems a bit amused to have to contort himself through the specifics of his meaning. “I was referring to our… rapport.”

“Rapport?”

“We work well together. We communicate efficiently.”

We communicate efficiently? Damn if you couldn’t suddenly make sense of the rumour he’d be applying for the DADA post in the future — that one was definitely true.

“Yes, we do.”

He steps closer. “And I remain far outside your grasp.”

You blink, and there’s a stark, sinking feeling as your eyes drift over the unmarred ivory of his skin, his jaw, his throat, his — no, absolutely not his hands — and you let yourself wonder for the first time if the rumours, albeit exaggerated, have even a shred of truth to them. One exploit, perhaps, to satisfy his endless curiosity. Something academic, like — oh, God, like the way you’ve been studying him for weeks. His hands carving a path down someone’s body to etch it in his memory, another skill added to his arsenal, a new way to work his fingers without a wand, a new way to work his mouth without a word.

It’s only a moment that you wonder it. Some flash of pictures in your head. It is, nonetheless, a moment far too long, and one you don’t know that you can return from.

Tom looks at you from under his eyelashes with an expression that suggests he's the only one in on a very funny joke, and the air is… different. Thick like the Potions room but in a way that’s entirely unfamiliar, not cloudy with the steam of cauldrons but hazy with the proximity of him, cologne and quill ink and something you can’t catch because you’re trying too hard to breathe it all in at once.

But he steps forward again, and seems to say in the slow way he moves, that if you’ll let him, he'll place a hand on your shoulder, and if you’ll allow that — well — then he'll move that hand up to gently frame your cheek. And then, and you no longer consider yourself at all versed in the realm of Tom Riddle, but you think you know what’ll come next.

You allow all of it. You know very well in advance you’re going to allow all of it.

And still, like it’s a surprise, you shiver at the feeling of his hand on your cheek, at the gleaming, certain look in his eyes. Your gaze flickers to his lips for just a second (a fleeting, tiny second you pray fruitlessly he doesn't notice) but his lips curl into the barest of smiles. Something so like him, small but unrestrained, like it never had any hope of growing bigger, but then — you’ve seen the way he grins at you sometimes when you say something stupid in class — you know he’s capable.

“You know what I'm going to do, I assume," he says quietly. It's not a question, per se — more of a statement, and he keeps his eyes fixed firmly on yours as he says it. He's so close you can feel the warmth of his breath. And then he leans in so slightly it might be imperceptible if you weren’t staring, holding your damn breath. “Are you going to let me?"

“I..." You're humiliated to find you are actually struggling to speak. His lips are so close to yours you can feel the ghost of them, can imagine what they might feel like on you. Your mouth is very dry. “We’re… friends, right?”

His voice only wavers for a moment, even as his lips inch ever closer to yours. His voice is tauntingly low, and there's an intimate sort of smile there, a chastising, humorous gleam to his eyes. “Friends," he breathes, and then his lips do close that short distance, and you feel the barest trace of his mouth against yours — his lips, soft and supple against your skin. A moment's kiss. Gone as quickly as it came. “Should we be friends?”

You gape at him, breathing far too heavily for such a chaste kiss, and you imagine your eyes are blown wide, and you lick your lips for a reminder of his taste but it isn't enough. You don't think before standing on your toes to find his lips again. Of course, Tom is stood impeccably straight, his chin almost pointedly jutted so that he can look down at you, and you actually — it's horribly embarrassing — you groan, or whine, or make some sound of blatant discontent at the fact that your kiss doesn’t reach him.

To his credit, his laugh is a very small one. Had it been the other way around you would have been far less forgiving. “I suppose the answer is no, then?" he says, with the implication that the next move might be yours.

“Tom," you as good as hiss (really very foolish of you to use the word forgiving to describe Tom Riddle), “you're being... you're being mean." And you refuse to make the first effort again, even though you probably appear to be a train wreck, your chest is heaving, and you... you want him.

“Am I?" he asks, and he tilts his head to the other side, almost as if to get a better look at you. “How so?" You think he's enjoying himself far too much. But he remains where he is: close enough for you to reach him if you would just yank him toward you and be done with it, and far enough away that you can't take that step without giving him the win.

You stare at him for a long moment, and then with teeth gritted so tight you might chip one, turn to walk away. Tom makes some very hollow, annoyed sound at your stubbornness, and thank god you feel him behind you: soft, lulling, not so immovable as you. 

You stop. His fingers brush your hair to the side. His mouth hovers over the skin of your neck. You shudder.

“Tom..." you sigh, half-exasperated, half-sighed, half-surrendered, but he doesn't answer or stop or do so much as acknowledge your mumbling. He only presses forward, until his breath is right by your ear and his lips, soft, gentle, are against the junction of your exposed neck, and you feel his mouth, the gentle pressure of his lips against your skin... so tender, so light that it doesn’t feel at all like something merciful.

It feels singularly, purposefully cruel.

Your third observation (if you can manage the thought) is that Tom is driven by your reactions. Every little mewl, every shudder, every gasp, he wants more of. He wants whatever you're willing to give him, and you suspect it wouldn’t be hard for him to take it all. Every movement of his hands, his mouth, his — oh, oh no — his tongue, abide by whatever you respond to most. He draws in patterns. He stops. Appreciates the speed of your pulse on the curve of your throat for a moment and then tastes it again. It doesn't seem like he particularly cares what he gets out of it. The intrigue for him is having the proximity (he greatly enjoys that you’ve allowed him it) and capacity (that, you think, he’s always had) to make you fall apart.

He's spinning you then, so you're pressed facing the wall, his chest against your back, and the way he whispers against your skin makes you shiver. You dare to think he feels it, his chest heaving against your back, his breath warm and steady by your ear. And as he kisses you you can't help but imagine what might happen if he were just a few inches lower, if he were to sink to his knees, kissing the soft flesh of your chest, and down, and down, and down…

Your eyes flutter closed, and it's clear you like what he's doing by the sound that escapes you — something loud enough for him to stifle your mouth with his palm. Perhaps a little too much. Perhaps you’ll be embarrassed about it later. But right now his tongue is brushing against your skin again, and there’s something very dizzying and hot that starts with his mouth on your neck and works its way down until it's a challenge just to stay standing. You wonder if he can tell just how weak in the knees you are right now, whether that only makes him push forward, and —

And that must be it. He must know, because you think you're trying to say something but you can't form the words, and he has to feel the reverberations with his teeth bracketing little violets on your neck, he must feel the way your legs buckle, how you're held up only by the weight of him behind you.

He must know.

He pushes forward, his fingers bury in your hair, and he pulls your head back slowly — not necessarily to expose you further, but to better see your face. Your eyes lock with his over your shoulder, and there's that hunger there, lips swollen with the print of you... and his voice, when he speaks, is as if he's only barely stopping himself. “Do you want me to stop?"

You shake your head before you think he’s actually finished the question, swallowing the cotton-dry feeling in your throat. No, no — him stopping is the very last thing you want — you feel entirely rational and not at all melodramatic in saying you might just die if he stops. You want more, and he's looking at you like that’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

He bites down gently on your neck, and you gasp as your knees finally go out from under you (you almost think he planned for this with how quickly he catches you), and you wonder if he'll do something you can't bear; if you'll be reduced to a mewling, drooling mess before he's finished with you.

Your fourth observation — which really is the last one you can muster before it starts to melt into something else — is that you make him human in the only way he can understand: panting into him, fingers in his skin, white-hot and damp at the centre of his obsession. The object of his affection. You make him understand something more singular than ambition. 

Want.

And then his spare hand is dipping past your skirts, and you dig your fingers into his wrist — the combination of the hardness pressed against your back, his hands marking a path to forbidden territory, his finger curling into your mouth as his lips continue their assault on your neck — it's too much. It’s deliriously, disastrously not enough. Your vision is starting to blur.

His fingers stop at the curve where your thighs part and you bite gently down on him to quiet the noise that wants to escape you. He hums against your throat, continuing to kiss and lick and bruise you. You're dazedly aware of the cool air on your thighs as your skirts halo your waist, the heat inside, the shudder as his fingers find your core, and carefully begin to circle you. You feel self-consumed, immolated, devoured and spat out again. You feel like you're still falling, and Tom is the only force that keeps you standing.

He draws in slow, expert patterns — and you think, nonsensically, somewhere very distant where you still have sense, that they can’t be expert, he must have read something or observed some — oh. He’s pushing the thin fabric aside until his fingers are pressed directly against your flesh, and he makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat as the evidence of how much you need this soaks his fingers, as they begin to sink in without resistance. Oh. Right. You don’t remember exactly what you were saying. 

You gasp at the feeling of having him inside when they finally curl into you. 

His finger is pulled from your mouth with a small pop, and you can’t even really muster the capacity to be embarrassed by the lewd, wet sound of it. He watches you over your shoulder, at his fingers vanished between your legs, at the drool clinging to the digit he’d quieted you with. He’s smiling into your neck now, proud and grateful all the same.

“Mine,” you think he murmurs, but it’s more something you feel than hear, some vague, hazy consonants pressed to your throat. It would be very like him, so you decide that yes, that’s probably what he said. And there’s something funny about it — the idea of being his — about what it means for him to want you so badly that he says it out loud. It feels a little bit like he’s yours, too.

Tom’s breathing is harsh, the fingers inside you moving as if they have a will of their own. Every muscle in your body constricts and squeezes around them; every cell, every neuron, comes roaring to life; and you’re fucked. You’re so completely fucked. His teeth scrape against you again, wholeheartedly pleased. This is what he wanted to see — the utter loss of you — when you are nothing but sensation, barely aware of your limbs as they slump against him. Tom is it; Tom is the only thing you can think of.

Tom is, inexplicably, upsettingly good at this.

“Look at you," he says softly. And his touch changes; it becomes slower, more deliberate and careful.

You’re trembling hopelessly. The way you coil and collapse under his touch is just further encouragement. He doesn't even bother to speak anymore, only pants, his eyes half-lidded, his lips swollen and slick when they attach to your throat again. Your whole body is on fire, and he's the one setting you alight — there is not a single inch of you that is not alive with the feeling of him, and you can barely breathe through the slow, heavy rush of it. 

You think you cry at the divine curve of his fingers carving inside you, slow and soft and then intense — when you grip his arm for more friction, and one of his hands is coming up to wipe a tear away but the feeling flares in your abdomen and you're only half aware of it, really — you think your eyes have rolled back. You think you've gone somewhere else. 

He keeps you just on the precipice, just shy of losing control, just far enough to leave you craving for more.

“To—Tom," you sob, gasps cleaving his name in two — you're on the brink of something incomprehensible, building inside you to something you can't help but think is about to shatter, your eyes clenching shut as you grip him so hard you're certain your fingers will leave marks. “I'm gonna—"

“I know," he breathes against your neck, hands running a familiar path along your body; he's so very, very proud that he's made you like this. He just barely bites into the spot above your collar, curls his fingers, and then you’re falling — something unfurls inside you and can’t be collected, something hot and depthless that your hands can’t clutch at from where they’re clinging so desperately to him — and you think, coming down from it with trembling, debilitating ecstasy, that he looks very much like he’d be proud to make you like this over and over again.

You're flattened, and that triumph in his eyes — the absolute satisfaction of seeing you this way, of knowing that that he's the one that did it to you — that feeling fills your mind and makes you collapse even more, makes you want to melt and flow into liquid at his feet; to give in, do whatever he says, even if all he says is just be like this for him.

He slowly removes his fingers as you come down, and your eyes are blinking for focus when he turns you around, his thumb coming up to brush over your bottom lip and you sigh at the taste of yourself as he pushes it inside your mouth. His other hand brushes away the damp, stray hairs that have fallen across your face, almost reverently, a silent worship as he takes you in, appreciates everything you just gave him.

He smiles gently at your half-blinking, half-vacant expression, his thumb still in your mouth; he watches you for a long moment in silence. His eyes are heavy-lidded and he's got a small quirk at the corner of his mouth as he pulls his thumb away and swipes it once more over your lip.

You're still not quite sure you can find words. Still not sure they'd form right as your tongue darts over the residue of Tom's finger and you flush impossibly hotter at the feeling of your own arousal on your mouth. Tom fixes your hair behind your ears and it doesn't seem like he's ready to stop taking you in in this state — your hair wild,  lips swollen, throat bruised and dress askew — and he leans in so tenderly it startles you, pressing a faint, almost imperceptible kiss to your forehead.

“Tell Godefrey he’ll be needing a new study partner. I think you’ll find yourself committed elsewhere." And with that he turns on his heel, perfectly composed, and disappears into the darkness of the midnight corridor.

Oh God, you think, and you’re too stunned to even react as you watch him vanish. It takes you a moment before you regain your senses, and you can only just manage to sputter out a breathless, miserable sigh into the air before you.

You are so completely, utterly fucked.