#i have extremely dry skin so i can’t use anything too drying.

[ultimaid]

an update; i’ve been regularly washing my face for just a few days now and already i’ve noticed a drop in my acne. it works, folks.

does washing your face daily actually work to prevent breakouts or am i doing this for no reason?

[undergaunts]

A Long Time Coming

Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Summary: aka three times Sebastian is a flirt, one time he gets called out on it, and one time he finally does something about it.

Rating: Teen & up (very light suggestive moment but nothing extreme)

Word count: 5.4k

Read on AO3 or below the cut <3

I.

The Library is almost silent - unusually quiet for a Wednesday afternoon. Only the subtle sound of a ticking clock, and the occasional turn of a page breaks through the quiet. Somewhere amongst the bookshelves, Madam Scribner is ensuring the books are in the correct places, and a couple of first years had run off, upstairs undoubtedly, in an attempt to find a book that doesn’t exist, tricked by second years into believing it does.

In the centre of the room, seated at a wooden bench, heads buried in their homework, were the Slytherin trio, who these days seemed to never leave each others sides.

She’s focused on writing what seems to be a remarkably boring essay for Potions, hair tucked behind her ears as she scribbles away, quill rough against the parchment, cursive writing adorning the tanned sheet.

Ominis is tracing the shapes of words in his book with his finger, frowning every so often when he comes across something so ridiculous that he wonders if throwing it across the room would help him understand it more.

And Sebastian is - well, Sebastian has decidedly given up, doodling various patterns into the margins of his Herbology book. Only when his quill runs out of ink does he groan, rather too loudly, dropping his head onto the page in frustration.

“I’m bored,” he informs his friends, and Ominis immediately shushes him. “Sorry, but this is so boring!”

“I don’t care if you are bored,” Ominis almost hisses, his milky eyes searching in Sebastian’s direction, finger never once leaving the page of his book. “We are busy. I’m sure there’s something for you to do elsewhere.”

Sebastian has been used to Ominis’, what he would call ‘soft rage’ for a long time (he often gets angry at varying things, but he’d never do anything physical about it), but he still flinches a little, lifting his head from the book, before turning his focus to the girl next to him.

She’s still writing, evidently not as bothered by Sebastian as Ominis is. He watches her for a minute or so, marvelling at how quickly she glides the quill across the paper, brows furrowed in concentration.

“I can feel your eyes burning a hole into my skin, Sebastian,” she whispers, momentarily glancing at him, before continuing to write.

He smiles, still watching, as she finally comes to the end of the page, and, thankfully, the end of her essay.

She places the quill down, quickly scanning over the parchment for any mistakes, before pushing it to the side to dry. She lets out a long, deep breath, stretching her neck from side to side, and flexes her hands, shaking out the stress and the aches from the day.

She’s got small hands, Sebastian thinks, even Anne’s hands are bigger than hers.

“My hands aren’t small,” she frowns at him - Ominis shoots them an angered look - and Sebastian realises his thoughts were not contained in his head, but actually said out loud. He’d blame it on his tiredness from studying, but he hadn’t really been studying. He was just an idiot.

“Well,” he straightens his back, coughing a little in an attempt to cover up for the light blush covering his freckled cheeks. “I just mean…no, you do have small hands.”

She scoffs. “They’re not small. They can’t be that much smaller than yours or Ominis’.”

“Ominis’ hands are freakishly large,” Sebastian retorts. It is not entirely true - Ominis’ fingers are long and slender, making them seem a lot bigger than they are, but they’re not freakish. Just a tad strange.

Ominis rolls his eyes, then uses one of those hands to cover an ear so he can continue to read.

“Then they are not much smaller than yours.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, then a hand, palm pointing towards her. “Look. My hands are big,” he says, proudly. “Compare yours to mine.”

She lifts her hand, pressing her palm against his in a quick motion, fingers splaying to rest against his. He can feel the pink on his cheeks spreading further and deepening in colour, so he coughs again.

“Oh,” she laughs. It’s rather obvious - the size difference. Sebastian’s hands are bigger. Not hugely - not in a weird way like Ominis’! - but definitely. He could cover her hand with his, easily. Her fingers could interlock with his, rather comfortably.

“I told you, did I not?” Sebastian smiles. He’s glad he was right, and takes joy in proving her wrong - possibly for the first time.

“You did,” she sighs, dropping her hand from his. “You are correct, Sebastian Sallow. For once.”

He’s grinning, oh so proud, and she laughs at him, shaking her head. “Let me just,” he says, grabbing her wrist and pressing her hand against his again, confirming what they already knew. He’d never deny he was a gloater. “You see this, Ominis?”

Across the table, Ominis is glaring, fires almost burning through the white snow of his eyes.

“No, of course I don’t see.” Ominis responds, and this time, the entirety of Sebastian’s face turns bright red.

II.

Sebastian has been watching the door all evening. First, it was the Undercroft gate, then the Slytherin common room door, and now the Great Hall. None of the doors had opened, to reveal the girl he was waiting to see.

Damned doors, and their constant closure.

She’d been gone all day, from the very moment the sun had started to rise, til now, as it was setting. She was undoubtedly doing some good deed for someone she’d never met before, in a hamlet she’d never been to casting spells she’d hardly practised.

Curse her, and her kindness.

Sebastian had had the brilliant idea to save her a portion of the roast dinner they’d been served, but it was getting cold now, and he was getting increasingly worried as the minutes went by. Had she been eaten by an Acromantula? Kidnapped by poachers? Mauled by a pack of dark mongrels?

“I can feel your worry from over here,” Ominis says. He’s sitting across from Sebastian, putting his last pieces of potato into his mouth. “It’s souring my supper.”

“Sorry,” Sebastian responds. He’s not really sorry, but he prefers to sate Ominis’ frustration. “She’s been gone since this morning. She’s usually not gone for more than a few hours at a time.”

“But she is often gone for a long time,” Ominis places his knife and fork, parallel in the centre of his plate, before picking his napkin up to wipe his mouth. “She is the hero of Hogwarts, after all. And a rather busy hero at that.”

Almost as if to cut them off, the dirty plates and empty trays of food suddenly disappear, and then reappear, replaced by dishes of apple pie, sticky toffee pudding and custard. Most of the students hurriedly scramble for their dessert - it’s always the most popular part of the meal.

Sebastian quickly reaches for a portion of the sticky toffee pudding, which is snatched away by Imelda with a sneer. He shoots her daggers, before quickly grabbing another portion, this time successfully. He tries to grab another - to set it aside for his friend when she finally gets back - but it is taken by a third year, before he could even start to reach.

With a wave of his wand, Ominis manages to grab himself a portion of pie, before every plate of dessert has been spoken for.

Sebastian huffs, realising she now only has a cold plate of roast dinner to come back to.

If she ever does.

He returns to the previous conversation, a frown on his face.

“No, she…she should’ve been back by now, she should be-“

It is, at that moment, ironically, that the large doors to the Great Hall open, and she walks through them, perfectly alive. A little windswept, to be sure, a slight rip at the bottom of her skirt, and a tiny cut on her lower lip. But alive.

Sebastian stands up. She spots him in the crowd of people, and immediately smiles, running over to squeeze herself into the spot on the bench next to him.

He can feel his heart go from aching, to relief, to almost beating out of his chest within seconds.

“What a day!” She laughs, sighing as she sits down, Sebastian soon following her. There’s a small smile pulling at Ominis’ lips, and Sebastian allows himself to smile too.

“Sebastian was rather worried about you,” Ominis says, and in that moment, Sebastian wonders, if he leapt across the table, would his hands accurately find Ominis’ neck so he could choke him?

“Only Sebastian?” She asks, and Ominis, this time, smiles a little wider, a slight glint of white teeth showing past his lips

“I was worried too, I am not afraid to admit. But he wouldn’t stop worrying aloud,” Ominis brings a spoon of his pie to his mouth. “It was rather irritating.”

“Oh,” she laughs, side-eyeing Sebastian, who blushes (annoyingly, he’s been blushing far too much lately). He nudges her, in a ‘please-redirect-your-attention-away-from-my-red-face’ kind of way, pointing her to the dinner he’d saved her.

“It’s a bit cold but…”

“Oh marvellous!” She grins, pulling the plate toward her and grabbing a fork, which she stabs into a piece of carrot. “I’ve not eaten all day!”

In the least weird way he can possibly muster (which is still extremely weird, he must admit), he watches her eat, enjoying that she is enjoying her food, glad she is safe and sound. He sighs, softly, allowing himself to relax before taking his spoon and slowly starting to eat his dessert.

Once she finishes her food (which doesn’t take her all that long to eat, clearly hungry from an exhausting day, she takes a long drink of the glass of lemonade that had poured itself for her, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

She takes a moment to breathe, pushing a piece of hair out of her face. Sebastian sees her look around a little, at the other students still picking away at their puddings.

“I did try to save you a portion,” Sebastian says, and she looks at him, shaking her head.

“It’s alright. I was very late. And some people,” she glares across the room at Leander, who has two plates of desserts in front of him, alternating bites between the two. “Always take too much.”

But he can see it in her face. She’s a little disappointed. It’s only a silly thing; a dessert, for Merlin’s sake, but he feels guilty.

So he drops his spoon, and slides the rest of his pudding to her. “Here. Have mine.”

She rolls her eyes at him, and pushes it back. “Honestly, you’ve done enough, Sebastian. I could’ve not eaten at all.”

He pushes it back to her. “Please.”

Again, she slides it. “No.”

“I’m not arguing,” Sebastian again pushes the bowl, and holds it there, picking the spoon up and offering it to her. “Just have it. It’ll make me happy.”

“Sebastian-“

“Merlin’s beard,” Ominis mutters. “Just eat the damned pudding, would you? Or I think he might explode.”

She laughs. Sebastian laughs. Ominis glares. Just the way it should be.

Thank the Gods she’s fine.

III.

The weekend Sebastian had spent in Feldcroft was lovely. Perfect, even. Spending time with Anne was rare these days, so to be with her, uninterrupted for forty-eight straight hours was joyous. He really did miss her.

Yet, returning to Hogwarts didn’t make him feel sad. He actually felt excited, for the first time in a long time, to get back. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but he just knew, as he entered the school grounds, that the butterflies in his stomach weren’t just for his return to Transfiguration class.

As he walked the school, he realised he’d missed supper, it seemed, from the hordes of students gathered throughout the corridors near the Great Hall.

Sebastian desperately tried to find a familiar face (or at least one he wanted to see - Leander and Gareth were easily seen with their red heads, but he didn’t fancy talking to Idiot One or Idiot Two).

It took a little while of searching, before he found a group gathered in a more secluded area. He noted Natsai, Poppy, Amit, Ominis, and her.

Sebastian grinned. He hadn’t noticed the smile creeping onto his face at all really. He simply let his feet do the walking, striding over to his friends, and without warning, snaking his arms around her waist and pulling her into a bear hug from behind.

“Oh!” She jumped, but laughed almost immediately, as if she knew it was him just from his touch.

Surely not.

“Hi,” Sebastian smiles, pulling her close to him, resting his chin in the dip of her shoulder, and looking at the group in front of him. “Hi guys.”

For a moment, they all look stunned. Weird, Sebastian thinks, perhaps they didn’t expect me back so soon

“Hello Sebastian,” Natty is the first to speak, breaking what was starting to feel like an awkward silence. “We had just been speaking about you.”

“Oh?” Sebastian raises an eyebrow, glancing between each persons face, all looking a different level of uncomfortable

“We were just discussing how we think you should-“ Poppy starts to say.

“We,” she chimes in, her hands tugging at Sebastian’s arm, pulling him off of her. He’d be offended, but she quickly redirects him, pulling his arm around her shoulders, and tucking him into her side. He feels her arm wrap around his waist, and decides this is possibly better. “We’re thinking you should spend more weekends in Feldcroft.”

“Ah, dying to get rid of me?”

“Always,” she smiles. Sebastian has a hard time tearing his eyes away, wondering how she often looks like she’s glowing. Like sun is emanating from her very soul. It’s addictive.

“We should probably return to our common rooms and rest for a bright and early start in the morning!” Amit chimes in, and Natty and Poppy nod, agreeing.

“Alright,” Sebastian shrugs. He notices Natty tilt her head a little, and before he knows it, his arm is being pushed away, and his side is left cold and empty.

“We’re just trying to work out a charm,” she says, stepping over to Natty. “I’ll see you two in the common room a little later?” She gestures to Sebastian and Ominis.

“Of course,” Ominis finally speaks up. The group disperses, and Sebastian finds himself having to jog to catch up to Ominis, who seems like a man on a mission to get to bed.

“Wait!” Sebastian finds himself laughing as he finally catches up to his best friend. Ominis huffs, which causes Sebastian to reach out, grabbing his arm and stopping him mid stride. “Is something wrong?”

“With me? Oh, no. But I do believe something is wrong with you, Sebastian,” Ominis shakes his head. His brows are furrowed, almost angry, yet he seems more frustrated than anything. “It is almost aggravating. I cannot understand how you are yet to see the issue at hand.”

He’s speaking in riddles, Sebastian is sure of it. The blond was always one to be mysterious, but this is taking it to whole other level.

Sebastian doesn’t respond, which, in itself, is clearly a response enough for Ominis, who turns on his heel, and with a small flick of his wand, is on his way, leaving Sebastian standing in the hallway to ponder whatever in Merlin’s name is going on

IV.

“Sebastian!”

His head whips around, trying to see who or what called his name, but there’s a few too many people outside the Bell Tower to actually see. He stands on the tips of his toes, before he finally sees the culprit - Poppy, who is heading towards him, determination on her face and…a Slytherin scarf in hand?

He frowns - his scarf is definitely back in the dorm, and it’s rare for Ominis to wear his anyway, so…

“Could you-“ Poppy starts.

“Is that-“ Sebastian questions.

“She left it in Beasts class earlier,” Poppy confirms. She’s come to a stop in front of Sebastian, and hands him the scarf, which he takes, gladly. “Could you return it to her? I’m afraid she’ll get cold without it.”

“No problem,” Sebastian nods, and Poppy smiles. She thanks him quickly, before scurrying off. Poppy was weird, always had been, really, but Sebastian guessed they were friends by association, so tried not to judge too much.

He’s left, standing there, holding a scarf. Her scarf. It’s strange, but for a moment he doesn’t know what to do. It’s like his legs won’t move, too focused on this object in his left hand.

He can’t quite understand why.

But luckily he shakes it off, and starts to head for the Slytherin common room. Poppy was right, she might get cold without her scarf. She’s got more, yes, but…well, she probably preferred this one. It’s certainly keeping his hand warm, so it probably good at keeping her warm, and…

It feels like he’s been walking for hours. He’s got a death grip on the scarf, like he couldn’t it bear the thought of dropping it. Losing it. Damaging it. He could buy her a new one if he did. But it wouldn’t be the same, would it? It wouldn’t be hers, it wouldn’t have her name written in ink on the inside, it wouldn’t smell like her…

Before he even knows it, he’s standing in his dorm room, back pressed against the door, keeping it closed. The room is empty, thank the Gods, because he’s still holding the scarf. He can see his, dangling over the end of his bed, and it might seem weird if he had two.

His breathlessness and warm face and open mouth might also be weird.

He steps away from the door, certain it’s closed, then moved toward his bed, where he sits down at the edge, eyes desperately trying to avoid the scarf, but he just can’t do it. He wets his lips, nervous, double, triple checking the room, ensuring no one is there once again.

And, finally, he lifts the scarf to his nose, and inhales deeply.

It smells just like her. Of course it does, it’s hers, but it’s unmistakably so. The scent of lavender and honey, probably from the soap she uses. A little of mallowsweet, and fresh air. It’s intoxicating, and he can’t bring himself to put it down. Even if he suffocates in the wool, it would be a wonderful way to die.

There’s a feeling, that starts in his stomach, that he’s trying so hard to ignore, but it’s getting lower and lower, and his head is spinning. He inhales again, and his eyes roll back a little. His breath hitches in his throat, and he can’t stop himself, he moves his right hand, over the side of his thigh, straight towards-

“What are you doing?”

Sebastian’s head whips round to the door, where Ominis is standing, deadly still, wand in hand, staring straight at him. Surely not? He surely can’t see, can he? No, what a ridiculous notion. He can’t see what Sebastian is doing.

Hopefully he can’t see what Sebastian is doing.

He realises he’s said nothing for an awfully long time, and stutters over his words as he tries to get a coherent sentence out.

“I-I, uh, was just,” he glances around himself, trying to find another object - anything but the scarf - to use as a distraction. His eyes settle on a spell book, he’d left next to his bed. He drops the scarf onto the bed next to him, and quickly reaches for the book. “I w-was reading! Homework, you know.”

“No,” Ominis flicks his wand, ever so slightly, the tip glowing read, as he steps over to Sebastian. “I heard you. You were…smelling something. In a very…odd fashion.”

“N-no,” Sebastian counters. “I…wasn’t.”

Great, that’ll show him!

Ominis scoffs. “What were you-“ he waves his wand again, and the scarf suddenly levitates, floating through the air and landing in Ominis’ hand. Damn him, and his stupidly intelligent wand. “Is this-“

“Ominis-“

“It’s her scarf. Was this what you were smelling? It must be.”

Sebastian shuts his mouth. The two of them are quiet for a moment. Ominis just standing there, and Sebastian sitting, feeling increasingly guilty.

“Don’t tell her.”

Ominis frowns a little. “Tell her what?”

“That I was…doing that.”

“I will not tell her,” Ominis says. Sebastian feels relief for a moment, but then Ominis speaks again. “You will.”

“What?” Sebastian squeaks. His voice has never been that high-pitched before. He’d be embarrassed if he wasn’t in this situation.

“Are you a fool, Sebastian Sallow?” This time, Sebastian is the one to frown. That wasn’t what he was expecting Ominis to say. Admittedly, he was expecting some extortion, maybe a promise of some kind, but not an insult. “You must be the only wizard alive unaware of your feelings for her.”

He’s suddenly taken aback. He tries to form words, but quickly gives up. His mind is racing, trying to comprehend what Ominis had just said to him.

Because, Merlin’s beard, was he right?

Surely not. She was his best friend. They had fun, broke rules together. They spent hours at Hogsmeade together. They studied together. They visited Anne together. They…they did everything together. Because he couldn’t bear not doing things together.

And of the times she wasn’t there, he just thought about her, wishing she was there. He hadn’t had a class with her since that morning, and all day he’d thought about getting back to the common room and seeing her.

Then there was the butterflies he got when he saw her. How beautiful he thought she was. How he’d often find an excuse to touch her. How he’d look for her in crowds. How he just never stopped thinking about her, because…

Because he had feelings for her.

“Merlin,” Sebastian mutters, the realisation hitting him like a tonne of bricks. It’s all he can say, because how had he not seen it sooner? It was glaringly obvious, and if Ominis was correct, was he the only one who hadn’t realised?

“It’s taken you far too long to realise,” Ominis sits down on the bed, a few inches from Sebastian, placing the scarf in between them. “We’ve been talking about this for weeks.”

“You’ve been talking about me?”

“We’ve been talking about how painfully clear your feelings are, and how idiotic that you have not said or done anything about it sooner.”

“Who is ‘we’?”

Ominis pauses, contemplating whether he should say or not. But everything is out in the open, so why not?

“The usual suspects. Myself, Poppy, Amit, Natsai,” Sebastian nods, and starts to speak, but Ominis continues. “Gareth, Leander, Imelda, I believe Everett knows as well. Possibly some others.”

“Gods,” Sebastian sighs. He’s half tempted to laugh, but he’s still too shocked. “Does she know?”

Ominis blinks. He squeezes his lips together in thought, and then nods his head. “She took some convincing - couldn’t quite believe you’d ever feel that way for her, and I’m still half-convinced she isn’t entirely sure.”

“And does she-“

“She has feelings for you too. Of course she does. Don’t continue to be foolish, Sebastian. Would she let you carry on the way you do, if she didn’t? I certainly wouldn’t.”

Sebastian laughs - a sudden, chesty laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of it all, which in turn makes Ominis laugh - a rare sight.

“Am I truly that oblivious?” Sebastian asks through his laughter. “I mean, I’ve never felt like this before, so I just assumed it would be clear when I liked someone.”

“Not everything is clear,” Ominis reassures him, then, “But you are simply an idiot.”

The two of them laugh again. Sebastian looks at the scarf next to him, before sighing loudly.

“I’m going to have to tell her, aren’t I?”

There’s a gentle touch on his shoulder. Ominis nods (he’s not one for touching others, but he clearly feels Sebastian needs reassuring). “And sooner rather than later, hm? We’re all dying to see the two of you together.”

V.

He’s been avoiding her, like she was the Black Death, and he curses himself for doing so. He’d managed to return her scarf (thankfully, because he was certain he’d do something he’d regret if he didn’t), but for the rest of the week that was it. He’d eaten early, returned to his dorm early, pretended to be engrossed in conversations during classes and very busy after them.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see her. Quite the opposite, in fact, but he was still trying to wrap his head around the whole thing, and come up with a beautiful string of words that would explain how madly in love with her he was, and why exactly she should be with him.

And it was proving to be a lot more difficult than expected.

Ominis, may the Gods bless him, had agreed to keep their conversation a secret - at least for the time being. Sebastian was sure that the others had noticed that something was up, though, as they seemed much more concerned about him than they usually did. But he didn’t allow himself to be perceived by them for too long. He would dodge conversation, and keep to himself. Every waking moment seemed to be consumed by thinking of how exactly he would confess.

Ominis had said she felt the same, but was he sure? He’d said he was sure, yes, but was he truly sure? Sebastian was not sure, about any of it. He also wasn’t sure that sure was a real word anymore

The following Friday, he’d been invited to Hogsmeade for Butterbeers, but made a big fuss of how much homework he had to do. It was true, he did have a lot of homework, but his mind was not on that now.

Instead, taking advantage of a mostly empty common room, as most students had headed out for the evening, he sat himself in front of the fireplace, legs stretched outward, arms crossed against his chest. It would be the perfect opportunity to just think. Staring into the fire, he hoped an answer would appear. And he stared, for a long time, trying to decipher something in the flames.

“Sebastian?”

He almost jumps out of his skin, scrambling a little to sit up straighter. Because there she is, standing beside him, a gentle smile on her face.

“Hi,” he looks up at her. She looks extra pretty this evening, he thinks. Hair pulled back with just a few pieces framing her face, a gorgeous, flowing teal dress framing her figure perfectly. “I thought everyone was heading to Hogsmeade?”

“We were,” she says. She sounds sad, as she sits down on the armchair next to him. “But then Ominis said you weren’t coming, so I came back.”

There’s a flutter in his stomach, and a little voice in his head, that says see, she does like you.

But he can’t let her spoil her fun, and most definitely not for him

“Go,” he tilts his head towards the stairs. “I’m sure you can catch up with them. I’m quite alright on my own.”

He watches her glance over to the stairs, and ponder for a moment, before she shakes her head. “You’ve hardly spoken to anyone all week. I’d rather know you’re well and not moping about alone.”

“Not moping,” he chuckles. “Just…been thinking.”

She studies him for a second, then places her elbow on the arm of the chair, and rests her chin in her hand. “A knut for your thoughts?”

Sebastian turns his attention back to the fire. It eats away at the logs, just like his thoughts had been eating away at him. Ominis’ words ring in his ears: She has feelings for you too. Of course she does.

He tries to form some words. But they still evade him. Still run from his tongue and his mind, teasing him with the very possibility of being with her, yet being unable to, due to the annoying fact that he just cannot speak.

Her voice is almost a whisper, but he can see the way her face crumples a little. “Have I done something to upset you?”

“Hey, no,” he says. “I’ve just been…in my own head, that’s all. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

She nods, but looks like she doesn’t quite believe him. She joins him in looking at the fire, and they sit in silence for a few moments.

He steals a glance at her, and she looks like she wants to speak, but she’s holding back. Their silences are not often awkward, but there’s a tension in the air, and he wants to cure it, somehow.

It’s only when he decides he must say something, that she clears her throat, and stands up from her chair.

“I’ll let you get back to your thoughts,” she smiles ever-so-slightly at him. It’s half-hearted and almost makes him wince. “Good night, Sebastian.”

He’ll see her in the morning. She’ll go to bed, as will he, and he’ll see her over breakfast, or catch her in the hallway.

He’ll see her, so why do his feet carry him, following her, as if he won’t?

“Wait,” he says, only a step behind her. They’ve stopped in the middle of the common room, looking each other, her body in an awkward half-turn, from where she’d been leaving. “I think I should probably tell you my thoughts.”

She frowns. “You should?”

“Yes,” he confirms. “It’s been plaguing me all week. And I’ve been putting it off but-“ a deep breath. “I should probably get it off my chest.”

She looks beautiful in the shimmering moonlight and rippling waves of the common room. He traces her with his eyes, taking her in. If he hadn’t been certain about how he felt up, he most definitely was now.

But he had been certain. It had just taken a while for him to see it.

“Look, I,” he starts, eyes dropping to the floor. This time, without realising, he lets his heart do the talking. He doesn’t hope his brain will find the words, instead he lets all of his heart and soul spill from his mouth. “I haven’t told you the truth. Mostly because I didn’t know the truth, until quite recently, and it seems everyone but I knew. But now that I do know, and I’m entirely sure it is the truth…”

She’s frowning. So is he, a little. He’s not really making sense, so he tries again.

“All my life, I assumed love - I mean, having feelings for someone - would be obvious, glaring, and heart wrenching. I never realised it could be subtle, or slow, or easy. I also was never sure I’d actually find it. I thought I’d be waiting my whole life, if ever, to find it. It’s why I didn’t realise, for a long time, until now, that…I have feelings,” he pauses, then clarifies. “For you, I mean.”

She looks shocked. Her eyes wide, mouth open, trying to search him for some kind of proof he’s just jesting. Just toying with her emotions.

But he’s not. He’s not one to cry, but his eyes well a little. He wants to step forward, to envelop her into a hug, to hold her in his arms, finally, in the way he’s always wanted.

“Are you,” she eventually speaks. “Are you quite serious?”

He can’t help but laugh. Her brows knit together, concerned at his joking manner.

“More than serious,” he confirms. “Deadly.”

She gasps, very softly. It is her that steps forward, closing the large gap between them. Only a few inches apart. So close he could reach for her, if he wanted.

So he does.

He reaches for her hand - which are just the right size for his, as he’d previously confirmed - and brings it closer to him, squeezing it gently.

“Sebastian,” her bottom lip quivers. “I also,” she pauses, to find her words. “Feel…feelings. For you.”

Their eyes lock. He doesn’t think he’s seen eyes as pretty as hers. Merlin, he doesn’t think he’s seen anyone as pretty as her. And here she is, standing in front of him, hand in his and heart open, ready for him to take care of it.

It’s almost silent, aside from the crackle of the fire and the patter of their hearts.

Sebastian does not think he can take this longing for one more second, so does what he has always wanted to.

He kisses her, and in that moment, finds all he has ever wanted.

[cult-of-husbandos]

yandere!shigaraki tomura - until he met you

🖐🏻 ━ Shigaraki is not a people person. His childhood should already be a big enough indicator of that.

🖐🏻 ━ His quirk always kept others miles away and his appearance didn’t help much.

🖐🏻 ━ He always saw love as a fatal flaw that could bring to the downfall of the strongest heroes and he’s witnessed it firsthand how true that sentiment is.

🖐🏻 ━ Until he found you.

🖐🏻 ━ Shigaraki would become fixated on you, constantly thinking about you to the point where it affects his judgment.

🖐🏻 ━ The LOV would be caught off guard when they walked into the bar area and saw a random civilian sitting, smiling, and drinking with their crusty, dusty leader.

🖐🏻 ━ This is clearly a date. Right?

🖐🏻 ━ Noticing their presence first and oblivious to their flabbergasted faces, you introduced yourself first.

🖐🏻 ━ Or at least you tried to.

🖐🏻 ━ “Oh! Hi!”

🖐🏻 ━ “Um… hello…?” Twice would be the first to greet back, albeit confused.

🖐🏻 ━ “Wow! You’re really pretty! Who are you? Are you new?” Toga rattled off, excited for a fresh cute face.

🖐🏻 ━ “Aw thank you! My name is–”

🖐🏻 ━ Shigaraki cuts you off by pulling your arm forcefully, pulling you off the stool and into his arms.

🖐🏻 ━ “Don’t waste your breath on these insignificant morons.” he snarled.

🖐🏻 ━ Toga and Twice gasped loudly and shouted back to their offensive leader.

🖐🏻 ━ Shigaraki drags you away from the bar, careful not to grip your wrist with all five fingers but still maintain an intense grasp on you.

🖐🏻 ━ “Oh, um! Bye guys! It was nice meeting you! And you’re really cute too!” you yell back, still smiling as if you weren’t being dragged away.

🖐🏻 ━ As soon as you both reached his room, he slammed the door and flung you onto his bed.

🖐🏻 ━ He flopped on top of you and immediately buried his face in your neck.

🖐🏻 ━ “Why’d you talk to them?” he grumbled.

🖐🏻 ━ You softly rubbed his back and giggled when you felt his dry lips graze your skin as he talked.

🖐🏻 ━ “I was just being nice.” you answer.

🖐🏻 ━ “Don’t be nice,” he snapped. “Don’t talk to them. Don’t look at them. Don’t smile at them. Don’t breathe around them.”

🖐🏻 ━ You laugh. “That last one might be hard.”

🖐🏻 ━ He gripped your waist tightly and growled harsher into your neck.

🖐🏻 ━ “I don’t care. I’d rather soon dust this entire league than have them so much as be in the same room as you.”

🖐🏻 ━ “But that would be rude. I can’t deliberately ignore a person when they talk to me.”

🖐🏻 ━ You spoke very calmly.

🖐🏻 ━ “And I want to get to know your friends.”

🖐🏻 ━ “They’re not my friends!”

🖐🏻 ━ You laughed and peppered his face with kisses.

🖐🏻 ━ “Please Shiggy~?”

🖐🏻 ━ Shigaraki fought with himself. As much as he wanted to say no and keep you locked in his room, he couldn’t resist your soft pouting lips.

🖐🏻 ━ “Ugh! Fine!” He finally gave in.

🖐🏻 ━ “But listen to me (Y/N). You’re mine now. No one else gets to have you, understand? If anyone tries to come between us, especially those worthless rejects out there, I’ll make them disappear… right in front of your eyes.”

🖐🏻 ━ “Lmao OK.”

🖐🏻 ━ He won’t tolerate anyone getting close to you. If he perceived someone as a threat, he’d remove them, either by intimidation or more extreme means.

🖐🏻 ━ The only person he’d trust you around is Kurogiri.

🖐🏻 ━ But, that wouldn’t really matter since he’s forbidden you from leaving the hideout. Which you didn’t mind as much since Shigaraki would cater to your every need.

🖐🏻 ━ Before getting together, he would stalk you. Always needing to know where you were and who you were with. You didn’t have a quirk so his need to “protect” you from anything and anyone would be overwhelming to everyone around him but you.

🖐🏻 ━ You find his overbearing attitude towards you to be endearing and sign that he really cares for you in a way you’ve never felt before.

🖐🏻 ━ “You don’t need anyone else. I’ll protect you from everything… even from those “heroes” that would love nothing more than to rip you away from me. And even if a hero could take you away, I’d kill them before they could lay a finger on you. Remember that. No one can save you from me. So don’t even think about leaving me. Because if you do… I’ll destroy you, and I’ll destroy myself so I could follow you.”

🖐🏻 ━ “But if you destroy yourself… I wouldn’t be able to hold and kiss you anymore…”

🖐🏻 ━ He uses his influence and power as leader of the league to isolate you even further from the outside world. Wherever you were living before would be cleaned out of your stuff and moved into the hideout. Your job would try to contact you, but to no avail. Friends and family would reach out to the community to ask where you went and search for you, but with no luck. To everyone from the outside, you no longer existed. You had seemingly disappeared without a trace.

🖐🏻 ━ He also makes the others go on errands for anything you needed, no matter the time or how busy they were. If they didn’t want to be dust, they’d be your loyal servant.

🖐🏻 ━ However, one day after waking up from a nap, he would feel around the bed after not feeling you in his arms and when he opened his eyes… you were nowhere to be found.

🖐🏻 ━ No one, not even Kurogiri, could stop the rampage that followed after Toga, Twice, Dabi, and Mr. Compress told him that they had no idea where you were. They had just gotten back from a mission. They had no text from you and Kurogiri also admitted that he saw you in the bar area for a while, but when he went to check on something for a minute, you were gone and he assumed you went back to his room.

🖐🏻 ━ This began the ultimate decay storm. He screamed, he threw punches and furniture. The members were awestruck by the insane scene happening before them. Over you. A quirkless random. There was nowhere to go.

🖐🏻 ━ When Spinner walks in, he barely manages to dodge a half-dusted stool hurling towards his head.

🖐🏻 ━ “What the fuck?!”

🖐🏻 ━ “WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON���T KNOW WHERE THEY WENT?! WHERE THE FUCK IS MY (Y/N)?!”

🖐🏻 ━ “(Y/N)?! They’re fine! They went to go get something to eat like 15 minutes ago!”

🖐🏻 ━ Suddenly, the raging storm turned silent. The other members took this as a chance to make a run for it.

🖐🏻 ━ “Outside?”

🖐🏻 ━ Spinner gulped anxiously, feeling a chill run down his spine.

🖐🏻 ━ “You let. MY (Y/N)! GO OUTSIDE?!”

🖐🏻 ━ The remaining stools in his hands quickly turned to dust as he gradually trudged towards the green lizard with heavy, ominous steps.

🖐🏻 ━ Spinner froze, unable to move an inch.

🖐🏻 ━ “I-I was busy! I was getting information and there was no food in the fridge. The others weren’t here and (Y/N) said they were hungry so I gave them the keys–”

🖐🏻 ━ Spinner could tell Shigaraki wasn’t listening. All his excuses were falling on deaf ears.

🖐🏻 ━ Just as Shigaraki’s hand was mere mere inches away from Spinner’s face, he knew what would get him to stop.

🖐🏻 ━ “I KNOW WHERE THEY WENT!!”

🖐🏻 ━ Shigaraki stopped in his tracks and pulled his hand away as he stared down at the shaking heteromorph.

🖐🏻 ━ Spinner is Shigaraki’s loyal right-hand man. The first person he met when all hell seemed to be on them. The first ones to bring together this league. To bring down the heroes. Spinner would never lie to Shigaraki. And he knows that.

🖐🏻 ━ “Tell me where they went… please…”

🖐🏻 ━ Spinner and Shigaraki have always had a soft spot for each other.

🖐🏻 ━ When you first came into the picture, Spinner saw this as just a passing fling – mere puppy love – and soon Shigaraki would get bored of you and throw you away.

🖐🏻 ━ Looking at the nearly destroyed common area and how close he came to being dust himself, he was obviously wrong. He realized that Shigaraki would destroy everyone and everything around him if he were to lose you.

🖐🏻 ━ Meanwhile, you are having a great time. You’re sitting in a restaurant waiting for your to-go order and scrolling on your phone.

🖐🏻 ━ It was pretty peaceful despite the busy lunch rush. The only thing on your mind is getting the food and going home. You were honestly starting to get sick being around others and their loud conversations. Shigaraki really spoiled you by keeping you inside all the time and having others get food for you. You honestly wonder how you put up with this in the past. You cursed under your breath when you felt your pockets and forgot your headphones.

🖐🏻 ━ You checked the time again for the fifth time when a huge crash rattled the entire store.

🖐🏻 ━ Customers started to scream as bodies flew across the restaurant slamming against the floor and walls. Customers and staff that weren’t blocked by debris ran from any exit they could find, trampling over bodies and others trying to flee as a white unmarked van skidded into the entrance, the bumper and blood covered in blood.

🖐🏻 ━ You were about to make a run for it too when you heard a familiar voice.

🖐🏻 ━ “(Y/N)!”

🖐🏻 ━ You whipped your head back and immediately smiled at the familiar face emerging from the van.

🖐🏻 ━ “Shiggy!”

🖐🏻 ━ You ran towards Shigaraki, nearly tripping over the broken glass and concrete debris blocking the way.

🖐🏻 ━ As soon as Shigaraki felt your arms wrap around him and your body press against him, he nearly forgot how mad he was.

🖐🏻 ━ Nearly.

🖐🏻 ━ “I warned you. Did you really think you could leave me (Y/N)? I told you that I’d kill everyone around you if you ran away from me.”

🖐🏻 ━ The leftover customers and staff stood shell-shocked at the scene playing out before them. A few are already on the phone with the police.

🖐🏻 ━ You tilted your head quizzically.

🖐🏻 ━ “But I didn’t run away.”

🖐🏻 ━ You said it so calmly. Like you weren’t afraid of him or perturbed by his words.

🖐🏻 ━ “You disobeyed me! You went outside! You left me!”

🖐🏻 ━ “Shiggy, I told you I was going to get food. Don’t you remember?”

🖐🏻 ━ “Don’t lie to me, (Y/N).” He stared you down intensely and gripped you tighter like you were going to fade away right before his eyes.

🖐🏻 ━ “I’m not, babe! During our nap together, I went to the kitchen to get a snack and the fridge was empty. Toga, Dabi, and Twice weren’t there and I didn’t want to disturb them because they’ve been so busy lately so I asked Spinner if he could pick up some food for us.”

🖐🏻 ━ Spinner, still sitting in the driver’s seat, halted his breath wondering if you were going to throw him under the bus since he didn’t get the chance to fully explain the situation.

🖐🏻 ━ “But Spinner was also really busy so I asked him if I could borrow one of the cars to go get some food. He said he would only allow it if you approved.”

🖐🏻 ━ “I don’t remember you asking me anything…” Shigaraki remembers falling asleep in your arms, but nothing else.

🖐🏻 ━ “Awww~! Was someone half asleep?” you teased. “That’s so adorable~!”

🖐🏻 ━ Shigaraki couldn’t stop the blush that spread to his face. If Shigaraki was really awake, there would be no way in hell he’d approve any of this.

🖐🏻 ━ You stood on your tiptoes and gave Shigaraki a gentle kiss on the lips. Surprising everyone including Spinner and Shigaraki.

🖐🏻 ━ You’d only given him cheek and forehead kisses. This is officially his first kiss. You pulled away and smiled at him lovingly.

🖐🏻 ━ “I’m sorry for worrying you. I won’t do it again.” you apologized. “Honestly, being outside sucks. I just want to be back home with you.”

🖐🏻 ━ Shigaraki felt a warmth in his chest enveloping his heart. Without a doubt he knew what this feeling was. He hadn’t felt it in a long time.

🖐🏻 ━ “U-Um…”

🖐🏻 ━ Shigaraki’s eyes turned sharp as he glared at the vile creature ruining the moment.

🖐🏻 ━ “Oh! Is the food ready!” You smiled at the stunlocked worker covered in the building’s dust holding two large plastic bags trembling in his hands.

🖐🏻 ━ You took the bags from their hands and gave it a quick lookover. You hated it when workers gave you your food and left out important utensils or missing items.

🖐🏻 ━ “Yep! This is it! Thank you–”

🖐🏻 ━ “Didn’t I tell you not to be nice to others?” He grabs your face to look only at him as he glared at the worker you were freely giving your smiles to.

🖐🏻 ━ “Look! I got the league and us ramen! And look at this! They also have ohagi! Your favorite! I had a feeling you’d want something sweet after your nap.” You raised the bags and turned around to face him.

🖐🏻 ━ Shigaraki felt even more confirmation about this feeling than he thought possible.

🖐🏻 ━ This is love.

🖐🏻 ━ He wants to snatch you away from this place, away from the leering and perverted eyes of the disgusting NPCS walking this earth, but…

🖐🏻 ━ A honk cut clear through the tension.

🖐🏻 ━ “Okay, lovebirds! We gotta go unless we want to get some heroes to-go too!” Spinner called from the car.

🖐🏻 ━ Shigaraki led you by the waist and carefully placed you into the backseat of the van like you were made of porcelain.

🖐🏻 ━ Before he got in himself, he turned to the dazed customers and staff one last time.

🖐🏻 ━ “I guess I won’t blow this place up… Maybe I’ll decide after eating.”

🖐🏻 ━ As Spinner drove off, he kept glancing at the backseat as you and Shigaraki continued talking light-heartedly like they hadn’t committed domestic terrorism in a search for you.

🖐🏻 ━ Spinner sighed in relief as the storm finally blew over.

🖐🏻 ━ Call it true love or obsession, Shigaraki had no intention of letting you go.

🖤🖤🖤

a/n: my first reaction post for mr. hands aka crusty dusty. my love for him out weighs my love for sleeping. so i turned him into a yandere. pls enjoy!

[coalswriting]

being protective of reader in the wilderness + subtle demonstrations of affection headcanons - natalie scatorccio

a/n - my ass got a lil carried away with it but SURE WHATEVER lol. i also tried to play off natalie's over-protective nature as 'subtle' because i feel like she's way too hard-headed to be simping like crazy

(approx 1.1k words)

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

the two of you had first kissed at the party the day before the flight for nationals.

you decided to put your romance on hold until after so that you could focus on the match.

when the plane first crashes, the first thing nat does is look for you.

she finds you a few metres outside the plane, groaning in pain; you were shot out during the initial crash.

you have a concussion and a few gashes but surprisingly, no breaks or anything that requires misty’s surgical skill (thankfully!)

natalie is already naturally a stand-offish person, but after the disaster that unfolds, she closes off even more.  

you try to talk to her but she keeps giving you reasons why she can’t.

“sorry (y/n), i have to go hunting with travis.”

everybody notices the way you look at her longingly as she leaves every morning.

you’re always sitting by the fire, sharpening the knives when you catch her eye. it’s part of your routine at this point, and you swear you can see a remorseful look in her gaze.

eventually, natalie, overcome with guilt, tries to be more attentive to you.

one day she invites you out hunting.

“uhhh, look, (y/n). i know i haven’t been great but do you want to come with me? hunting? just the two of us…?”

you say yes almost immediately, longing to talk to her about unspoken things.

natalie is a bit awkward as it’s been a while since you’ve properly talked. you fall into a tense silence.

however, things brighten up a little when you trip on a fallen log. before you can hit the ground, natalie snakes a sturdy arm around your waist, holding you close to her.

“careful,” is all she says, her warm breath hitting your neck.

both of you blush hard and you cough as she lets go of you.

hunting with natalie becomes a normal occurrence (which travis hates because he thinks she’s totally into him).

one day, natalie gives you a wildflower. it’s half dead and looks like shit, barely able to survive on the coarse, dry ground, but your cheeks grow rosy, and you melt.

you give her a tight hug, to which she instantly stiffens up. after you apologise, she brushes the awkwardness off, but you swear you can see a small smile on her warm face.

natalie likes to give you lingering touches. she hates to be one of those ‘obnoxiously in love’ people, so this is her way of showing that she likes you. you notice the touches and appreciate them a lot.

for example, she might have her arm touching yours when you sit together eating or link your pinkies together when you’re standing/sitting next to each other.

she touches her foot against yours as you sleep, but after it starts to get a little colder, you wake up with her arms wrapped around you.

she denies it at first, extremely flustered, but starts to own it after the other girls tease you about it.

natalie never admits it, but she’s a little spoon. despite this, she will try to big spoon you even though she always ends up curled into your side, your arm draped over her securely.  

she’s honestly a bit of a radiator and her warm breath against your skin is one of your favourite feelings when you’re sleeping.

being the competitive girl she is, natalie has a lot of competitions with you; think competitions about who can find food the fastest.

she always coincidentally gets ‘distracted’ when there’s a deer around the corner. you know she just loves to see your joy when you think you’ve gotten her beaten.  

when winter hits, natalie is reluctant to let you hunt with her because of the terrain. however, you convince her with your very innocent puppy dog eyes.

cue natalie tightening the strings of your hood before you go out every morning – it’s such a subtle caring moment but you love it. you always smile at her when she does it, and she grins back.

another thing she does is rub her palms together while blowing her breath on them, and then putting them on your cheeks to keep you cozy. it really doesn’t work when you’re in freezing temperatures, but you appreciate the sentiment.

she also loves snowball fights. you’d be blabbering on about something and she’ll suddenly assault you.

“yeah, mrs stevenson was so damn strict, right? but i think she was going to go on maternity leave right before we left for nat- ooph! did you just fucking throw something at me?”

natalie’s face is red as she laughs her ass off, nearly losing balance.

“you should’ve seen your face, (y/n)! you were all like ‘arugh!’” she’d exclaim breathily, mimicking your shocked expression.

her face changes to faux fear the moment she sees you sprinting her way.

you tackle her into a snowbank, knocking the breath out of her lungs and the both of you wrestle, giggling as if you’re just two teenage girls with no fears in the world – no plane crash, no death, nothing.

natalie suddenly sobers up and you stop laughing, noticing.

“you okay, nat?” you ask, before she grabs your cheeks and pulls you in for a kiss.

ah, yeah. the whole romance thing you never ended up talking about.

you both discuss it as you walk back to the cabin, and that night, natalie seems a bit more obvious with her romantic advances.

one day, you get split up while hunting and as it grows darker, natalie can’t find you.

she returns back to the cabin hastily, begging for you to be there waiting for her.

but you’re not.

tears streaming down her face, she tries to leave to find you again. anything can get you; the cold, wolves, your clumsy ass could even trip and fall down a cliff or something.

tai and van have to physically hold her down to stop her from pursuing you. after all, she’s too much of a skilled hunter to die.

the next morning, she looks for you. she thinks that she’s out of luck and starts heading back to the cabin at the end of the day until she sees a flash of green in the snow. your jacket.

she runs over and starts digging, finding you, cold and barely responsive.

with a newfound adrenaline, nat brings you back all by herself. the girls are shocked to see you and after you’re warmed up, she talks to you.

she can’t stop crying the whole time and you hold her face with trembling, weak hands, giving her a kiss.

this is the first time natalie ever tells you she loves you.

and god, does your weak heart swell with adoration.

that night, she’s the big spoon and she traces shapes into your back while breathing on your nape.

she’ll warm you up as a thank you for all the time’s you’ve warmed her cold heart up.

she just loves you so much, and you love her too.

[satorqn]

needle through his heart

geto is such a luvrboy he would do anything for u // hs time bc im in love

“yo, can i pierce your ears?” you peer over your book to meet suguru’s gaze, he too peering over his own book from the opposite side of the bed. 

“hmm,” he hums in contemplation as he notes the page he’s on before closing his book, setting it in his lap. “sure.” 

suguru would never in a million years, admit to anyone how tightly you have him wrapped around your finger; he’s like a puppet and with your every smile, laugh, plea and beg has him jerked and pulled into your grasp. he’ll also never admit how much he also enjoys your stupid ideas. because seriously, what the hell are you going to pierce his ears with? he doesn’t even own a pair of earrings! but his book was getting extremely dry and while he cherishes even the quietest, most mundane moments with you, he was getting bored. but if he were to ever give more than a deadpan “yeah, sure, i guess.” it would only enable more antics and that’s pushing it. 

suguru watches as you shuffle around his room, looking for god knows what. you kick aside a dirty t-shirt, making room to pull out the chair tucked into his desk. “what’re you looking for?” he continues watching as you pull through drawer after drawer, pushing aside pencils, paper-clips, stray post-it notes and paper scraps. 

“you got a thumbtack?” 

“oooh hell no,” 

you swivel around on the chair, a wide smile plastered on your face. in your hand, a small, bright pink thumbtack, no doubt stolen from ieiri. “ohh hell yeah.” 

you giggle your way over back to the bed, the thumbtack pinched and held like some sort of trophy. even suguru can’t fend off the growing smile on his face, watching you prance over to him. 

taking the book off his lap, you replace its spot. “hey.” suguru smiles up at you, his hands perched on your hips, thumbs absentmindedly tracing circles into your warm skin. 

“i’m gonna wing this.” you declare, free hand coming up to cradle suguru’s face. he, ever so slightly, leans into your touch. you can feel him hum of satisfaction as your finger traces a line from his cheek, down his jaw, and finally his ear lobe. his gaze never leaves your face, you can feel it, as you note an imaginary dot on the center of his lobe and bring the sharp tip of the thumbtack to it. 

“go for it, baby.” it’s almost like a purr, from deep within his chest and it makes all the blood in your body rush to your own cheeks and ears. 

even your hands start shaking. suguru’s always got a way to make you flustered, no matter how long you’ve been dating. your hands drop from his ears and into your lap as you try to hide your face in the crook of his neck in an attempt to hide the blush blooming across your cheeks. “don’t call me that.” it’s muffled into his sweater. “i’m the one with the weapon here.” you weakly hold up the bubblegum pink thumbtack, the short needle shining, catching the sunlight just right. you get a 2/10 on the menacing scale (+1 for effort,  honorary +1 because he loves you). 

you feel him chuckle against you, his hands moving to rest on your thighs. “sorry, won’t happen again baby.” 

“not after i stab you, it wont.” 

“yeah, yeah...”

you bring your attention back to the thumbtack and suguru’s ear, bringing the needle against his skin. “can i use your book to catch the back?” you’re already eyeing the book resting besides you, the hardcover shiny and brand new. he just bought it the other day, for full price. 

“yeah, go ahead.” 

needle in place, book behind his ear, you meet eyes with suguru. “you sure?”

“so sure.” 

“you ready?”

“so ready.” 

under the early morning light, suguru looks ethereal. long, dark hair splayed all around him, soft, steady breaths as he sleeps peacefully. it’s as if you trained your internal clock to wake up before your lover, just so you can steal a few quiet moments to just admire; admire the rise of his cheekbones, the fullness of his cheeks, the dip of his jaw. you gently run your fingers along his features before slowly combing through his hair, working out the knots. 

a particularly harsh tug elicits a deep groan from suguru, waking him from his slumber. he mutters a groggy “good morning” as his arms snake around you to pull you impossible close into his chest and you can’t help but to smile. you continue to play with his hair, before the glimmer of his earring catches your attention. 

you trace the dark jewelry, twisting it in the process. “did it hurt, when i stabbed you?” 

suguru is nearly curled into you, face tucked against your collarbone. he shakes his head, “i’ve felt worse.” 

an: ragagagag many thoughts rn || i’ve had this idea forever, initially for yoshida (csm) bc he has hella piercings but tbh not many ppl know him so </3 || inspired by that one super old dolan twins video where they literally stab hella thumbtacks into their ears lmfaoo || ik this is kinda shit but im just procrastinating studying for chem even tho i should bc im def gonna fail hehe || i was also going to say dont pierce your ears by yourself but thats what i do so just dont do it with a thumbtack lol

[thetorturedbuckydepartment]

bonus - chapter eleven: he better lock it down*

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!reader

summary: Six months ago, you were appointed to be Head Nurse to the Avengers by Tony Stark. Every day, you count your lucky stars, knowing the horrible past you quickly ditched back in England. It holds you back, restrains you, from getting close to anyone when on your new job.

That's until you met and fell in love with Bucky Barnes. The supposed assassin with a heart of gold, who seems to be eager to get to know you. To peel back your layers piece by piece, but could you trust him once you're laid before him raw and vulnerable?

masterlist

PREVIOUS PART -- CHAPTER TEN: I DON'T WANT YOU LIKE A BEST FRIEND

warnings: smut(18+ PLEASE: thigh riding, one orgasm, dry humping, softdom!Bucky, praise(good girl), just soft smut tbh), feelings

word count: 3.5k

Taglist: @scott-loki-barnes @cjand10 @blackwidownat2814 @blackbirdwitch22 @laughterafter  @blackhawkfanatic @mcira @bxckybxrnes24 @rachellovesloki @toffeacademia @bean-bean2000 @lana525 @selella @lalalalokii

A/N: my first time publishing smut I wrote lol...hope it's not too bad?? idk I've never had an orgasm bc im sexually dysfunctional (yay hormones!) so im sorry if its wrong? my source is literally other smut fics! hope u enjoy the bonus chapter!! so excited for you guys to read

“Buck, I’m being serious, get closer.” You’re already shivering in bed, and Bucky just won’t budge the way you need him to. He’s helped you put on fuzzy socks, got out the extra thick duvet and has stuck to you like a second skin, and you’re still freezing.

“Doll, I can’t physically do that.” At this point, the sun’s begun to rise, the both of you still wide awake after catching approximately one hour of sleep, and you feel like you’re beginning to annoy Bucky. He kisses your hair lovingly, chuckling at how cold you are, even when you’re tightly pressed with your back to his chest. You just grumble, the past few days leaving you overly exhausted, and the subzero temperature truly isn’t helping. You’d think, having lived all your life in England you’d get used to it.

But you fear there’s no force on Earth that could’ve prepared you for the New York cold. 

“I have one idea. Do you trust me, doll? I promise, I won’t do anything you don’t want.” You grab his forearm with your free hand, the other encased in his metal one, your head resting against its bicep. The near silent whirs are extremely calming, and you find yourself wishing and praying that all of your responsibilities disappear, just so you can lay here with him. 

“Of course, Buck. Go ahead.” 

“Can I touch you?” His voice is a near whisper, a brand new edge to it that you had been teased with a few hours ago, when his thumb has pressed against your teeth as he commanded you to moan for him. 

“Yes.” After a moment’s pause, your voice comes out more breathy than expected, your heart already racing. He misinterprets it.

“Hey, don’t worry doll. It’s just me.” He rubs at your hip, kissing the shell of your ear. 

“I know. I…please, Buck. Touch me. Make me feel warm.” You feel your eyes close at he gently traces his hand down your thigh and grabbing the inside of it, almost missing the way he groans at the touch of your soft skin. You’re wearing nothing but his oversized T-shirt he all but begged you to wear, along with your panties, and dear God he’s been trying his best to act like it’s not driving him crazy for the past couple of hours. His fingers are so warm, your entire body shivers at the change in temperature. 

“Spread your legs for me, pretty baby. That’s it, good girl.” You can’t stop the whine that slips past your lips as you comply. You don’t know how you’ve gotten here, but in this state of mind you would do anything he asks, anything at all. 

He slips his thigh between the both of your legs, pressing it against right where they meet, and you suppose that’s the benefit of being a super soldier. Bucky’s body is like a warm furnace that is now attached to more of you than ever before, and you let out a sigh of relief and let your body fully relax against the mattress.

“That feel better, pretty girl?” God, his voice is so sexy, you could listen to it for hours and hours on end. 

“Uh huh. Much. Thanks, Buck. I’m so sorry I kept you up so late, I’m sure you must have so much work to do and I just wasted all of your precious sleeping time.” You pout, even though he can’t see you. 

He kisses the back of your neck again. “Not a single moment with you is wasted, doll. Plus I have the day off. I have this really sexy nurse taking care of me, right now. And she’s advised me to take a break today because of all of my injuries.”

“Mm, I think she also has a holiday. The last few shifts have been…rough, to say the least.”

It’s quiet for a while, and so you let your eyes close, finally ready to give in to the temptress of sleep, whispering so sweetly against your eyelids to just give in. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice is hard, unsteady. Heavy with the burden of guilt.

“Hey, what are you apologising for? It’s not your fault I was whisked away on a mission and then had to work a double shift the second I came back because Denise suddenly got food poisoning. Unless…you didn’t feed her that chicken did you?”

“Oh, God no. I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot barge pole with the way she’s treated you.” 

The both of you giggle at that, eyes still closed. You shuffle, ever so slightly to try and get more comfy against your personal radiator, and subconsciously grind your hips down. The friction is just right, and it makes you gasp. “S—Sorry, I’m just trying to—.”

“Do it again.” His voice is dark in a way that has your mouth parting, and your hips comply for you, before you can even think of a single word to move past your lips. You turn to bury your face in his arm, to stifle any noise you might make as you give in. Eager to please, eager to be pleased. 

He shudders, hand on your hip gripping tightly, almost making sure to leave a pretty bruise behind, a mark he was ever here, with you like this.

“Don’t hide your face baby. Let me hear you, let me hear all those pretty noises you make.” You’re already panting, eyes fluttering closed at his rough voice and sweet praise. 

“S—Sorry, I’m just a little shy, I think.” You don’t really know why you’re acting like this, so shy like you’ve never been touched. With a man who desires you as thoroughly as Bucky, it might as well be the case. You didn’t know that kissing him earlier tonight could feel like that, like the man is starved for your very soul. You didn’t know that even the slightest friction against where your legs meet could feel so delicious, leave you wide and aching for more. 

Even in such little touch and exploration, Bucky has made you feel a million times better that any previous partner ever could. At this point, you’re convinced he’s fucking magical, especially when he kisses the shell of your ear so sweetly, hand drifting to trace across your stomach. Fear temporarily seizes you, at the thought of what he might think as he touches you, and learns every nook and cranny of your body, the one that has been shunned and tolerated a million times over, so deeply ingrained that you almost can’t believe the next words to leave his lips.

“Don’t apologise for anything, beautiful. God, you feel so good under my hands, do you have any idea how long I’ve fucking waited to have you like this?” He ends the question with a rasp, the passion in his voice overtaking any rational thought he might want to have. His hands are practically shaking from holding back from you, knowing he wants to do nothing more than to turn you around and watch you as you make yourself cum all over his sweatpants, and finally find out which fantasies of his are true. 

“How long?” He guides your hips over his thigh yet again, and this time, your ass brushes up against something hard, and you can’t conceal the moan that tumbles out of your mouth, squeezing your eyes shut at the proof. That he wants this, that what he’s saying is true.

“Since the very first moment I saw you, balancing for dear life on that damn ladder.” He’s trying his best to control his own breath, but the sounds your making are just so beautiful, that he can barely contain himself. He’s heard these sounds before, through a paper thin wall and with heightened senses like a downright pervert, but to know that you trust him enough to lay with him, like this, and make those sounds right in front of him? He’s definitely losing his mind. Maybe he died on that last mission, maybe the Hydromanias had gotten to him and he’s dead. And somehow, somewhere, someone has granted him passage to heaven. His bed, with you.

He can’t bear it, he needs to look into your pretty eyes, to see your pupils dilate as you notice the lovestruck look on his face, to taste your moans and your lips just seconds after you’ve cum all over him. “Really?” Leaves you in a breath, as he turns the both of you around in a flash, so you’re facing him with his leg still pressed up against you.

“Yes. Why do you think I cooked you an entire meal to make sure you’d like me? If you were anyone else, I wouldn’t give a single shit.” Your hand reaches out, caressing his cheek as you stare into his eyes and wondering if another colour even exists aside from lust-hazed, love-tinged cobalt. There is no hesitation to his words, and you can’t help yourself. You shuffle in closer, your entire upper body pressed against his, and you kiss him. Softly, sweetly, like one would enjoy ice-cream on a scorching summer’s day. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve had a crush on you the second you didn’t let me fall off of it and break my arm.” You whisper against his lips and he closes his eyes, relishing in the feeling of you. 

“It does. You have no idea.” He kisses you again, this time it’s more passionate. You wind your fingers into his hair, softly scratching the nape of it as he moans shamelessly into your mouth, spurring you on. Maybe you don’t have to be shy.

“Take what you want from me. Please doll, I can’t take it any more. Fuck, please.” He moans against your lips and your lower body moves again, grinding against his thigh. How can you deny him when he begs so prettily? When he’s so clearly desperate for a taste, a touch of you? He pulls you in closer, cementing your chests together as he helps guide you.

It doesn’t take more than a minute for you to struggle to kiss him back, mouth hanging open as you let out a litany of sounds he wants nothing more than to absorb, for it to be the only song he ever hears for the rest of your life.

“Bucky…” When his name slips past your lips, he groans.

“Look at me, gorgeous.” He asks you to open your eyes, and you comply, grinding your hips faster and faster as the pressure builds so perfectly against your clit. 

Luckily, you and Bucky are the only two people to inhabit your floor, and so you forget to be quiet, using your voice so that he knows who it’s all for, who’s making you feel like this.

But it isn’t enough. As the hot pressure builds in your stomach and you feel yourself so close to the edge you want to cry, you just can’t do it. He mutters praises and kisses every part of you he can reach as you continue your salacious ministrations against his adored sweatpants. But still, you can’t cum, something keeps pulling you back the very second you find yourself on the precipice. 

“Bucky…please help. Please make me cum, I can’t do it by myself. Please…” Your moans get louder and louder as he smirks, abandoning the bruises he was planning to leave on your neck.

“Yeah, pretty girl? Does my pretty baby need help to make her cum?” His grin has your eyes rolling in the back of your head, being tipped back at his very words. You nod, trying your best to speed up. 

“My poor baby, so worked up…so needy…” He snakes a hand between the both of you, gently tracing your clit over your underwear. And you are so worked up in a frenzy, you’d do anything to feel his bare skin on yours, giving and taking whatever the fuck he needs. Whatever the fuck he wants. 

“Yes, yeah, all for you Buck—Only for you.” He takes you in for a brief moment, cheeks flushed and hair sticking to your forehead, yet eyes feral with a lust for only him, in a way that makes him feel like the most perfect man in the entire world. And he doesn’t even know that’s exactly what he is to you, because you can’t push it past your bruised throat from his hungry teeth or swollen lips from the way he desires you. 

And then he acts, pushing your panties to the side and finally giving you what you need, and you let out the loudest moan you’ve probably ever mustered in your entire life, as your back arches, pressing those perfect tits he’s dreamed about against his chest, his dog tags. His vibranium hand is so cold as he touches your frenzied heat, but you can’t ask him to switch, not when it feels so good. You begin to rut against his hand instead, coating it thoroughly with your arousal as he draws the most perfect circles on your clit. Your eyes gaze downward, eager to watch him as he gives you everything you’ve ever needed, eager to watch the way your thigh nudges against his erection. 

“You want me to keep going, baby?”

“Yes, don’t stop, please don’t stop, it feels so good, James, please.” You’re too focused on the glimmering gold and black dancing between your legs in the moonlight to register what you’ve just called him. 

“Fuck, say my name again, and look me in the eye this time, pretty girl.” You immediately obey, eyes flitting up to his as he rests his forehead against yours. “Your hand feels so fucking good, James. Much better than anything I’ve ever—oh.” He rubs even harder and faster, eliciting the most filthy sounds you’ve ever heard from your cunt, a wet squelching that brings heat to your cheeks. God, how does he do it? 

You watch his pupils dilate, his breath quicken as he never slows, watching you give in to your desires, ones you’ve denied yourself of for the longest time, as he too can’t hold himself back from grinding against your thigh in turn, content with just the look on your face as you’re mere seconds away from coming undone. “That’s it, pretty baby. You look so beautiful riding my hand like this.” And that’s all it takes to send your hurtling over the edge, clamping down on his wrist and still never looking away from him as your orgasm washes over you, bathing you in the most pleasure you’ve ever experienced and leaving your entire body trembling with the aftershocks.

 Maybe it’s the intimacy of having him care, of having him look into your eyes, entranced by the sight, by the person staring back at him. He swears he’s never seen anything prettier, never seen anyone look as beautiful as you do in this moment. When you come back to, he’ll tell you. For now, he’ll enjoy the way you seek more of his touch and squirm away from it at the same time as everything becomes too sensitive, but never breaking eye contact once.

That’s all it takes for him to cum as well, repeating your name over and over again like it’s his favourite prayer, his flesh hand coming up to caress your cheek gently, as it’s now your turn to watch him lose himself, staring at you like you’re the reason he can’t help but cum in his pants like a goddamn teenager. Your opal eyes are all he can think of, joining you to him in the most intimate way. He’s dreamed about this for so long, it almost doesn’t feel real. 

When a dopey grin overtakes his features and his head slumps back against the pillow, you kiss him. Gently, sweetly, like you have all the time in the world.

“I liked that.” You don’t know what else to say, burying your face in his neck. He chuckles, tugging at your hair ever so gently, an attempt to get you to look at him. 

Your eyes take him in, from his sweat-mussed hair to his parted and swollen lips. He looks ethereal. How is he not a figment of your imagination? You run your hand along the curve of his jaw, as he turns to press breathless kisses to your palm. 

You must be dreaming.

“I liked it too, pretty girl. More than you know.” You’re staring at his mouth, unable to stop the question from flying past your lips as you swipe your thumb over his.

“What are we, now?” His eyes widen, unsure how you’ve managed to miss that you’re his everything and that he’d die for you. He’d kill for you.

“Whatever you want us to be, doll.” Your eyes drift back up to their familiar resting place and you offer him a gentle smile. His heart stops at the look in them, cumdrunk and lovestruck. It’s all he wants to see for the rest of his days, until they lower him into the ground. 

Bucky suddenly finds himself wishing he were an artist, just so he could paint you exactly the way you look in the darkest before dawn, with hot cheeks and a beautiful smile, and the promise of light coming to illuminate your figure at any moment. He would paint you a million times over, from memory, in every single medium that exists as a way of wordlessly expressing his love for you. And then, he would scribble I LOVE YOU in large red letters on every blank inch of canvas, to really drive the point home. But alas, he can barely remember how to hold something that isn’t a weapon. But he knows how to hold you, soft and warm underneath his callous hands, and that’s a start.

“I must admit…I’m quite a traditional woman, James. I like being taken out on dates and being publicly acknowledged, and respected and desired. If I feel something for you, I want you to be my boyfriend. I want to be your girlfriend, even if it might sound silly to say at our big age. But I want exclusive and absolute. If…If you want something casual, it’s best that we nip this whole thing in the bud. I can’t deal with the emotional fallout of that again, you—.”

His mouth claims yours, and you relax into him, forgoing the muscles that temporarily tightened at the thought of him not feeling the same. Oh, how quickly he quells the torrid fears that wrench your soul apart.

“I want that too. Absolutes, exclusivity, you. I want you, above all else. I’d die to have you, I’d kill to have you. I want you either way, even if tomorrow you wake up and tell me you’d rather spit on my grave than spend another single second in my presence. I want you, doll. Only you. I want to be your boyfriend, I want to take you on the most cliche dates, and I want to kiss you in the rain. I want to make you laugh at all of my lame jokes all night, and most of all, I want you to know that through it all, I am absolutely enamoured by you. I wouldn’t have it, have you any other way.” 

You kiss him again. And again and again, and you just can’t stop because his lips are so soft and his words are so sweet and his desires are so tangible, laid before you raw and awaiting. You hands find his wondrous hair again, pulling him closer to you, pulling him on top. 

Not in a sexual way, but you need his weight on you. You need to feel him close, skin to skin, no barriers, in a way that transcends sex and spirituality and religion, praying to the ideation of his affections and worshipping at the altar of his lips. Finding the sacred temple in the small dips in his back, reciting the familiar hymns of love and lust and everything in between. The sun is rising, yes, but you are so entirely lost in the devotion of him, of his mouth and soul, that when the light hits, you don’t even break apart. 

And the best part? He is searching right back, for the Holy Water laced in your fingers, washing him over in colours of purity and affection. You don’t know it, but he swears you’re God when you wrap your legs around his waist, an angel when you touch him and all of his scars without hesitancy or remorse. You are pulling him apart and stitching him back together, moulding him on top of you like you are Prometheus. He swears that you are ordained, sent to save him, to fill all of his cracks with molten gold and kiss it all better if it should ever burn.

He is passion, you are devotion.

He is on fire and you are the flames.

Nobody gets him like you.

Nobody gets you like him.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

BONUS PART

[siancore]

SamBucky | E | 2.3k | AO3

Summary: While taking down alien bio-weapon arms dealers in Madripoor, Sam is hit with a dart containing a weaponized aphrodisiac substance. Bucky takes Sam to Wakanda for help even though he risks arrest by General Ayo if he shows his face there. But, Bucky would do anything for Sam, and considering Sam's dire situation, Bucky just might have to.

Content: Fuck or Die; Mildly Dubious Consent; Hand Jobs; Explicit Sexual Content; Porn with Feelings

A/N: My first time writing a Fuck or Die fic. I hope it's good. Thanks for reading.

“We were tracking targets who’ve been making bioweapons and selling them on the black market in Madripoor. We got intel that they were making a large sale, so we went to apprehend them,” says Torres in way of explaining what had happened and why he, and the rest of the New Avengers are standing before General Ayo pleading their case. “We went in to incapacitate the targets and then Cap was hit with a dart that injected him with something. Initial scans detected alien tech was used, so Barnes pulled rank and said we had to come here.”

Ayo raises her eyebrow, looks at Bucky, and says, “You were told to stay away from Wakanda for the time being, James.”

Bucky steps forward and gives her a pleading look as he says, “Ayo, please. It’s not me asking another favor. It’s Sam. He needs help. He needs the best and the brightest to fgure this out, and they’re here in the Golden City. Please, General. For Sam.”

“Very well,” Ayo replies. “Captain Wilson can stay, but the rest of you must leave.”

“No,” says Bucky. “I can’t. I won’t – I won’t leave Sam right now.”

“You are yet again testing my patience, James.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, but I can’t leave him on his own, Ayo. I just can’t,” says Bucky solemnly, and Ayo sees a look in his eyes that she knows all too well herself: Love. 

xXx

Sam and Bucky are waiting in a private room at the Royal Medical Facility. The doctors in Birnin Zana have run numerous tests and the pair are awaiting the results. 

“I feel okay,” says Sam as Bucky paces the floor. “Sure, a little warm, and maybe kinda hazy. But I – oh. Oh.”

“What is it?” asks Bucky as he comes to a halt and looks down at Sam. 

The other man looks equal parts sheepish and mortified.

“Nothing,” says Sam. 

“Come on,” Bucky urges as he takes up a seat next to Sam. “The Doc said to let her know if there’re any changes in how you feel. What is it, Sam?”

It is in that moment that Sam begins to present with symptoms. He is suddenly feverish and restless. His mouth goes dry, and his throat feels somewhat tight. His skin feels like it is burning, and his heart is racing. He is also, to his surprise and dismay, growing sexually aroused. Sam can feel the heat pooling below as an erection begins to swell.

“I just – I feel kinda hot,” says Sam.

Bucky instinctively reaches his hand over to test Sam’s temperature, Sam leans into the touch.

“You’re burning, Sam!” says Bucky as he gets to his feet. “I’m goin’ to get the Doc.”

Before Sam can say anything in protest, Bucky rushes out of the room in search of someone to help.

xXx

“It’s a weaponized aphrodisiac,” says Doctor Shem’ka

“A what?” asks a confused Bucky as he knits his brow and looks between Sam and the doctor.

“An aphrodisiac is something that causes sexual arousal –” 

“I know what that means, Doc,” Bucky supplies. “But weaponized? How? Why?”

“I’ve heard of alien bio-technology similar to this, but no one is quite sure of how it works,” she says.  “Basically, it is an aphrodisiac that, once injected into the target’s bloodstream, ingested, or inhaled, it remains there and works against their whole system.”

“How?”

“It makes the target experience extreme sexual arousal.”

“Okay, and that’s dangerous?”

“Yes, in this case because unless the extreme sexual arousal is relieved, and therefore expelled from their system, the patient can suffer a number of fatal side effects.”

“Fatal?” both Sam and Bucky ask at the same time.

“Yes, these cases can end in the patient dying if untreated.”

“So, how do we treat it? How do we stop it from attacking his system?” asks Bucky before Sam can even form a sentence. 

“The patient has to engage in sexual activity. Like I said before, we have heard of these types of weaponized aphrodisiacs, mostly in the form of sex pollen. It attacks the victim from the inside out and can only be treated by the patient engaging in sexual activity.”

“Okay,” says Sam, processing the information he is being told while trying not to ogle Bucky.

“Will he live?” Bucky chokes out, as he places a hand to Sam’s shoulder; Sam wants to press his whole body against Bucky’s and almost moans from the thought of it. 

“If he’s able to receive treatment.”

xXx

“So, it really is fuck or die?” asks Sam, trying to lighten the mood before he flinches from pain once more.

“That’s how they explained it,” Bucky replies, trying to avert his gaze. 

Sam looks so uncomfortable. He is in the private room while being monitored remotely. His face looks flushed and pained at the same time. He is trying to hide his straining erection while steadying his breathing. He really, really wants Bucky. He can smell Bucky. He bets Bucky’s cock will taste better than he smells. He bets Bucky’s cock can split him –

“Cap?” asks Bucky after a moment of silence from Sam. “How you doin’?”

Sam is drawn from his lascivious thoughts from the sound of Bucky’s voice. 

“Hmm, I’m okay,” Sam lies.

“Sam?”

“What?”

“How’re you doin’?”

“Well, I’m so hard that it hurts,” Sam says flatly. “And it feels like my skin is burning me alive.”

Bucky moves to the bedside table and pours Sam another glass of water. He brings it around and hands it to him. Sam takes it, gulps it down, and then stares up into Bucky’s eyes. There’s a fire behind his gaze as he looks up through his pretty lashes. Bucky’s dick twitches at the sight before he reminds himself that Sam is in a dire situation and Bucky’s little crush on him should not be causing him distraction right now. 

“Buck?”

“Yeah? You need me to get someone?”

“No. No, I need. I need you to touch me.”

“Sam.”

“Please, Buck. I’m so hot for it. I need you. Your hand or your mouth. Please, just touch me.”

Sam looks down to his own lap covered by the hospital gown and Bucky sees how hard he is through the flimsy material. Bucky is ashamed that his own erection grows at the sight of Sam’s dripping cock soaking the fabric. He looks away.

“I’ll be back.”

“Buck?”

“Just wait here, please,” says Bucky as he makes his way toward the door. “I gotta check something with the Doc.”

Bucky’s heart clenches at the sounds of Sam pleading with him as he slips out of the door. When Bucky finds the doctor, he gets right to the point.

“What if Sam relieves himself?” asks Bucky, not wanting to do anything unless they explore all of the available options. 

“Captain Wilson has already masturbated while you went to make the call to update your team,” Doctor Shem’ka answers. “It relieved his symptoms marginally.”

“Really? That’s umm, that’s. Shit. Umm. What if – what if I touched him?”

The doctor contemplates what Bucky is asking.  

“Maybe masturbation by someone else would work. Sergeant Barnes, if you do not want to, we can get one of our medical staff to —“

“No!” Bucky says quickly. “No, I can — I’ll do it. Sam’s my partner. If he needs help, I’ll be the one to help him.”

“Very well,” the doctor replies. “We will continue to monitor his vitals from here, but you and he will have complete privacy while engaging in the act.”

Bucky’s face flushes hot, but he has no time to think about his modesty. He turns to leave, but then says, “I don’t know what this substance has done to Sam. Not entirely. But does he know what he’s askin’ me for? Does he want this? The sex, I mean?”

“It’s difficult to tell for certain,” Doctor Shem’ka answers honestly. 

“So, he might not really want me touching him and it’s just the drug talking?”

“It is a possibility.”

Bucky looks sick a moment as the realization sets in. 

“But I can tell you this with certainty, Sergeant Barnes. If Captain Wilson doesn’t find relief and treatment soon, he will not survive.”

xXx

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” says Sam when Bucky steps back into the room. “I just really need you right now. I need you.”

Sam sounds so out of it. He is reclined on the bed, sweat covers his body, and his eyes are so dilated Bucky can scarcely see the amber in them.

“Hey, come here,” says Bucky as he sits and then lies on the bed next to Sam. “I know. It’s gonna be okay. I’m gonna help you. It’s gonna be okay.”

Sam makes a pleased sound as he shifts closer to Bucky and reaches his hand out to take Bucky’s. He guides it up under the hem of his gown and places it to his hardness. Sam moans and Bucky almost gasps out loud. Sam is so hard. So, so hard and his taut skin feels as if it’s on fire. His cock feels heavy in Bucky’s hand and Bucky finds himself wrapping his fist around Sam’s girth. Sam covers his hand and tries to guide him up and down.

“Hold on,” Bucky whispers. 

“Buck-eeeeeee,” Sam pleads moving closer to the other man. “Please. Please.”

“Shh,” Bucky soothes as he turns to grab the bottle of lube he brought back into the room. “I don’t want our first time doing this to be uncomfortable for you.”

Sam moans something unintelligible and closes his eyes as Bucky squeezes lube into his fist and coats Sam’s hardness. 

“Bucky,” Sam breathes out. “Oh, God. Bucky.” 

Before the man whose name is falling so deliciously from Sam’s perfect lips can say anything, Sam is reaching up and pulling him in for a kiss. Bucky is stunned a moment, and a little disoriented by the feeling of Sam’s lips claiming his. He had dreamed of this moment more times than he would care to admit. He imagined sharing their first kiss after Sam’s first mission as Captain America. He imagined it happening down on the dock in Delacroix as the sun hung lazily in the Louisiana sky. He imagined them sharing their first kiss on a quiet Sunday afternoon on Sam’s couch. He never imagined it would have happened like this. With Sam being drugged by a substance that has him burning with desire. In a moment of clarity, that little voice inside of Bucky’s head reminds him that Sam, in this state, would desire the touch of anyone, not just Bucky. Even though, as Bucky strummed at Sam’s gorgeous cock, Sam was calling his name. 

A clever slide of Sam’s tongue to deepen their kiss brings Bucky back to the present moment. Sam’s kisses are better than Bucky imagined, and he instantly feels guilty for thinking so. Sam doesn’t want this, what is transpiring between them. Sam doesn’t want him. 

Sam breaks the kiss and moans into Bucky’s mouth as Bucky continues to stroke his hardness. Sam’s breath is hot on Bucky’s lips. Bucky opens his eyes and catches Sam’s lidded gaze. He looks out of it; delirious. He looks beautiful like this. So fucking beautiful as Bucky catches his lips in another kiss. He draws Sam closer, one hand holding Sam safely, the other sliding up and down Sam’s dripping, veiny dick. 

He knows this feels more intimate than it should be. He knows he just needs to get Sam off, and hopefully the drug will be flushed from his system. But it all feels so intense for Bucky, lying there drawing pleasure from Sam; soothing Sam; healing Sam. Saving Sam. That’s all he wants to do. And if this is how it has to happen so that Sam can live, well Bucky will do it a thousand times over. 

Sam pulls back a little as his eyes clench shut and his body goes rigid. Bucky keeps strumming him as Sam finally finds his release and comes hot in Bucky’s fist. Sam moans as his orgasm ripples through his body. Bucky strokes him through it and holds him, peppering soft kisses to Sam’s sweat drenched brow as he fights to catch his breath. Sam seems dozy as he basks in the afterglow of his climax. Bucky keeps an eye on him as he falls into slumber. 

He doesn’t want to move and leave Sam there, but he needs to check in with the medical staff to see if the drug has been expelled. He watches as Sam’s chest rises and falls languidly as sleep takes him a little deeper. 

Bucky manages to disentangle himself from Sam and amble toward the door. Just as he is about to make his exit, he hears Sam stir behind him. 

“Bucky?”

“I’m here,” he replies before turning to face Sam; what he sees almost tears his heart out. 

Sam is lying there, feverish and sweating once more, and sporting another painful erection. It didn’t work. Fuck. It did not work. 

“Bucky, please,” Sam begs as tears fill his eyes. “It hurts. It hurts. I need you.”

“Oh, Honey. I’m sorry,” says Bucky wetly. “I’ll try again, okay? Whatever you need, I’ll give you.”

 “I want you. I want you so bad, Buck. Please.”

Bucky knows it’s the drug talking. He knows Sam wouldn’t really truly want this from him. Would never want this with him. But something about the desperation in Sam’s voice makes Bucky’s resolve shatter, even though he knows better. 

“I – I want you, too, Sammy,” Bucky finds himself admitting. “I want you so fucking much it hurts. I’d do anything for you. Just tell me what you need.”

“Bucky, please. Please. Fuck me. I need you to fuck me. I’ll be so good for you, Buck. I’ll be so good, I promise.”

“Shhh. I know. I know,” Bucky soothes as he climbs back into the bed and kisses Sam’s temple. “I’ll help you. It’ll work this time. I’m gonna fix this. I’m gonna make you feel better. You’re gonna feel so, so good, Baby. I promise.”

[kekaki-cupcakes]

I dare you - Leo V x gn child of Nike/Reader

part five

┈┈┈┈┈◦•✩•◦┈┈┈┈┈

“You promise?”

“I pinkie promise,” they muttered back with a little smirk, rolling their eyes and flopping back onto their bed with a ‘oof’. 

Leo smirked back at them, “because you’re super dooper whooper good at-”

They dry retched, getting comfortable on their bed, which had a lot of fluffy pillows and and a poster of a musical he didn’t recognise pinned next to it. The other two beds in the room had lots more decorations, including a few spots that looked like a bedazzler had exploded. “I actually said that?”

“You were drugged up,” he shrugged, and sat next to them. “But you promise?”

“I promise that if you stink of sawdust and make me sneeze, I’ll kick you out.” They extended their left pinkie, and narrowed their eyes sharply. “You better not stink of sawdust and make me sneeze.”

Leo shook on it triumphantly. “I had three showers.”

“Well, you might need another one if I start bleeding again,” they muttered, and started to unwrap the bandage encasing their hand. The cast had come off a few days ago, but Kayla had redone the bandage and told them to wait another few days before doing anything extreme. 

They got out of dishes, but were also banned from most other activities, which the entire camp got to hear them complain about. Leo peered at their hand hesitantly, “is it supposed to look like that?”

“To be fair, it hasn’t seen the sun in at least a week,” they mumbled, and stared at it with wide eyes as well. Their three remaining fingers were squashed to one side, which should straighten out after a while [hopefully] and the old and new scars were oddly discolored, a stark contrast from the normal tone to their skin. THe skin that rounded off into little numbs where a pinky and a ring finger should sit. 

They extended it to him with pleading eyes. “Please fix it.”

“That’s my job, silly,” he replied, and took their hand in his, trying not to go red as their shaking fingers curled around his. 

They rolled their eyes, settling back onto their mound of pillows as Leo took a few thick shards of celestial bronze and started molding it. “Well I ain’t paying you.”

“You don’t need to.” Leo said simply, heating his hands enough to work the metal smoothly into a general finger shape, but not hot enough to burn what was left of their two fingers.

They looked away, scrunching their shoulders a little and grinning. “Stop being stupid.”

“Impossible.”

Leo sanded down the edges and used a screwdriver to carve the dips around where their fingernails should sit, so that grooves were the same. When he pulled the leather straps that connected to a strap around their wrist, holding the shiny golden fingers in place, he was afraid he’d cut off their blood. “Does that hurt?” 

“Nah,” they grinned. “You can’t hurt me.”

He squinted for a moment, “is that a challenge? I don’t wanna hurt you!”

They gave him a deadpan glare as they wiggled the three attached fingers on their right hand, which only made the guilt seep back into his veins and crawl up his throat. Leo shook his head quickly. “You shouldn’t have grabbed it, why-”

“I wasn’t about to let you be decapitated.” They mutter with a raised eyebrow, like they were thinking ‘how could Leo be so stupid?’. “I like you being alive too much.”

Leo chuckled and finished sanding the leather straps down so they wouldn’t cut into their hands. “Aw, you like me!”

When he looked up, putting the sandpaper away and the screwdriver, his heart decided to clamber into his throat and stay there. They were watching him with soft eyes, sitting close enough that Leo was scared they’d hear his breath catch. 

Part of him was tensed up and ready to look away, but the rest of him screamed to not move, be quiet and stay still so that the thick bubble of something between tension and tenderness wouldn’t pop. He tried for a little smile, but then the fingers he had just built were curling around his own in a way that made his smile stretch wider.

Apparently in the split second he’d taken to glance at his shaky hands, they had made a decision, because his head was tilted and then pushed back a little when their lips were pressed to his.

His eyes fluttered shut as warmth danced across his cheeks, probably making him as red as a strawberry. 

That wasn’t a problem though, because there were hands on his hips and his own flew up to their jaw a second later as he smiled into the kiss. The kiss, they were kissing him! Leo resisted the urge to grin too much, he didn’t want to pull away, even as his lungs argued with his emotions.

There was a muffled shriek, and he was pushed backwards, laying on their doona as they held themselves above him with their elbows, a surprised look on their thoroughly kissed face. “Uh,” they gulped, a hazy look over their eyes. “Sorry, I shoulda-”

Leo’s brain finally caught up with him, and he pushed the internal exclamation points aside for a moment, keeping his hands on their face. They were so warm and breathtaking, he never wanted to stop staring at them. He cocked his head. “Why are you apologizing? Don’t say sorry, I really wanted you to-”

“I shoulda asked,” they mumbled but their eyes drifted, as Leo noticed his lips seemed more appealing than the conversation at hand. He couldn’t relate more. 

“Okay,” he said back, pulling them down a little bit and closing the gap. He smiled when he pulled away, savoring the taste of them. “Ask, then.” 

They only kissed his cheek with a grin, their hands tangling around his dark curls that he’d been planning on cutting shorter soon. The feeling of their hands in his hair got rid of that thought quickly. 

“Ask,” he kissed them again, short and sweet. “I dare you.”

[Title drop! And also the last chapter. Thanks to everyone that loved this fic!]

[skinnipinni]

Things that helped me survive:

Don’t exclude things. It is scary, like wtf crisps are caloric af. But it will help you to not binge. You feel like eating some crisp? Eat some, count it into your daily intake. Maybe eat them tomorrow too. That way you wont fill yourself with unsatisfying food and still end up binging on whole bag…

Protein is the most important thing. Buy everything wit “protein” on its label

Celebrate Christmas and Easter with your family. This one day won’t change anything. Really. Your family doesn’t deserve to worry on Christmas Eve and you can eat food that only occurs at special occasions.

Take vitamin D

DON’T CHEW GUM. Research shows that actually it makes you more hungry.

Water is mandatory. 2 litres have to be drank daily.

You can drink cola 0 on ketosis while fasting. Somebody once told me that I can’t. You can drink it because it doesn’t have carbs so your ketosis is safe <3.

If you binge, don’t fast right after it. After your fast you will just binge again. Come back to normal restriction and try fasting in 2-3 days.

Buy good skin care and hair care products. You will need that. Your skin might start being grey and dry and hair will just fall out. Buy good brush, use masks, conditioners and hair growth products. Use t-shirt/special silk towel to dry it. Don’t bleach it. It will only make it worse.

VOLUME EATING - a real lifesaver, it will make you soooo satisfied. You can make whole bowls of low cal protein and veggies. Your stomach will feel full and you will have no space to eat something “forbidden”

Go for a walk. Really, that’s enough, thats how I lost 40kg. Unless you want to be toned walking is enough and you won’t faint and over exercise yourself.

Dieting can be cheap, but you have to plan for whole week.

If you live with someone, don’t even say a word about dieting. I had situations at home when I fasted for 3 days and my mom yelled at me for getting close to the fridge because she didn’t know I haven’t eaten anything for long time. Be normal about it. Hide the scale after using it. Make a password for your computer, phone, tablet. Have your own bin in your room and empty it regularly. Don’t do too much lax because they will notice you occupy bathroom for too long. Eat something high cal once in a while in front of them.

My friends are always going out to eat. If you have a boyfriend just give him some of your portion, if you are single order something lower in calories than other options and start with eating low cal ingredients. Don’t waste money on food at restaurants, buy something cheap, you are not going to eat all of it anyways. You are supposed to get skinnier, not your wallet.

If your friends want to drink, try drinking non alcoholic beer. It’s not so high in calories and you can find excuse for drinking it. If you really want to drink alcohol divide it into two portions and drink it with 0 cal cola. 0.5 shot of vodka and rest of the cup is cola, then repeat and you will appear normal.

Don’t buy konjac, I know its tempting but believe me it won’t help you with your toilet visits.

Don’t overuse lax. It took me 2 years to start sh*ting without problems and extreme pain again.

You can watch fat mukbangers or 600lb life. It makes me motivated. BUT DON’T POST FATSPO OF RANDOM PEOPLE. IT IS JUST EVIL. IF YOU DO THAT JUST STFU AND GET OUT, UR HUMAN PIECE OF TRASH. People on those shows were there voluntarily and they know they will get critique but random girls on social media don’t deserve it…

Find manual hobby that requires a lot of concentration. It will take your mind of fasting and will relax you <3

Remember ED is not pretty or cute or delicate dainty fairycore sh*t. It is pain and tears and mental damage. It’s not glamorous as we want it to be.

[jasontoddspussy]

AO3 Tag game!

Get to know your fave writers through their fanfic lore..

Fave tropes to write about?

hmmm. I love killing characters and giving everyone else consuequences. i love turning someone into a creature and making everyone choose to side with them. i love forced proximity. i love blood, cannibalism, death, accidental incest.... I just love angsty things with secrets, expositions and potential for extreme consequences. I like it when bad things happen, when they do the unspeakeable and yet they're still loved by someone. they still deserve to be happy.

im not gonna further psychoanalyse why<3

and also. monster cock hot

Last WIP you worked on and what it's about?:

At the moment it's just titled "Mephala's blessing" which is a sequel to my fic "Weakness and Lust", it's about Jason dealing with a pregnancy and ultimately Dick and Tim deciding to support him, leading to domestic times. For once, nothing angsty::)

Other WIPs you want to work on?:

Ooof, there's many. I really wanna work on like a time-displacement? fic I've written a bit of, where Robin Jason and Hood Jason switch places. Aside from that, I have a hate-fucker oneshot, I have my Death! AU, my bodyswap Au, a vampire AU... Yeahhhh.

Do you listen to anything while you write?

Sometimes. Usually like, non-talking asmr things with a lot of clicky sounds, complete silence distracts me.

Open your last 1-5 WIPS and choose your favourite parts and paste them below:

From "Mehpala's blessing"

So no. Jason didn’t go to Talia expecting her to somehow undo his pregnancy. She’s powerful, and has many connections - but even she wouldn’t be able to remove a deity’s blessing. His pregnancy is going to happen, this child will be birthed, because Mephala has willed it so.

But he also knows that if Talia did have a way to undo it, she would. Night-Mother or not.

And that’s.. Really why he’s here. He’s scared. Of what this child will do to his life.

He’s spent years creating a system, building a community in Crime Alley. He’s their protector.

But now he’s forced to, for at least a while, go on break.

He doesn’t want to give up on Hood. He can’t.

Switching places:

He could call Bruce, but their dad’s on a business trip, a legit one for once, with Alfred accompanying him. Dick was supposed to be babysitting (which, he didn’t need a babysitter, he’s 13!) for the week while they’re gone. He’s pretty sure they’re not even in the US, right now. So even if he did call Bruce…

Well, it wouldn’t do him much good. And since Dick’s number isn’t working right now...

Loke's Rhapsody:

He’s very, very happy no-one who knows him is here to see this and make any are you hitting yourself jokes. Dick spares his hand a glare at this betrayal.

Then utterly freezes.

The hand staring at him is tan, but nowhere near Dick’s level. Its fingers are crooked, as if they’d been broken and re-broken without proper care too many times. Nails are short, clipped, but the skin around them is bitten and dry. Scars are painted all around his fingers, his palm and on the back of his hand, some smaller, newer and barely there. Others looking like skin had been flayed off. It was abundant.

And, for some reason, slightly familiar.

His gaze travels up a long forearm and yep, more scars speckled upon tanned, freckled skin. He frowns as his mind automatically catalogues knife-wounds, gun-wounds, blunt force trauma, burns. Dick would be the first to admit he’s not perfect, but he’s good at dodging. Has he been injured before? Of course, but with proper care, and sometimes beauty manipulation (thanks rich-guy money), he and every other mask in his family’s been able to keep scarring to a minimum on visible areas such as arms and legs and face.

His eyes settle on the long scars starting by the wrist, ending by the crook of the elbow. It looks like someone had taken their nails and forced it into the flesh, and then, as if unsatisfied with the damage, gone over it in a single line with a knife.

And Dick’s fucked up in a plethora of ways.

But he’s not suicidal.

This can’t be right.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

My first one shot was an Ao No Exorcist dead dove fic. My first multi-chaptered fic was a Homestuck fic.

Last book you read?

Nicole Angemi's anatomy book on interesting pathology.

Next book you want to read?

Probably either "Forensics" or "Death, dissection and the destitute"

Least favourite thing to write and why?

Romance. I *suck* at writing romance. I base a lot of emotions and sometimes experiences on personal things, which is why I suck at writing romance - It doesn't interest me, nor can I relate to it lol

Fics you regret writing?

Hmmm. Honestly, I sorta regret writing this werewolf BTS fic i wrote back in 2018. I deleted it years later.

I also.. Well, maybe not regret writing it, but sharing it, a One Piece fic i wrote that was essentially just. Trauma dumping. it involved a lot of personal experiences, and I get that at the time of writing it, it was probably cathartic to just talk about what I went through but... i sorta regret sharing it because it was quite personal.

I've since then also deleted that one.

First bookmark on ao3, First fic in your ao3 history and first fic on you marked for later?

First bookmark: made in july 2014. "Locked Up" byorderofwords, a supernatural fic with demon dean locking sam in the bunker.

First fic in ao3 history: "honeyboy" by dollylux. also a supernatural fic, last visited june 26 2014 lmao. is it obvious what fandom brought me to ao3?

First marked for later: "medical procedure", an ao no exorcist fic, by Denshi_alpha, marked for later on january 15th 2017.

technically, there are other works before that marked for later but they've all been deleted it seems.

This or that;

Enemies to Lovers vs Friends to Lovers?

Enemies to lovers no question.

Mutual pining vs Developing feelings?

Developing feelings.

There was only one bed vs Clothes sharing ?

Hnnng..... This one is hard for me to choose. I love both. I'm gonna say.... Only one bed. Bcs sleepy cuddles.

Fix it vs Time Loop?

Depends. I'm not the biggest fan of either tbh. If I had to choose, probs fix-it?

Friends with benefits vs Idiots in love?

Friend with benefits, duh.

Fake/pretend relationship vs Accidental marriage:

Fake/pretend relationship. Gimme the forced proximated bbyyyyyy

Dark vs Fluffy?

Dark lol

Fuck-or-die vs Sex pollen:

....Both.

[x] made them do it vs Omegaverse:

Hmmm... Omegaverse.. But I like both.

Sci-fi/android AU vs Vampire/Werewolves/monsters AU:

Monsters. No question. I don't really like scifi or robots, it's boring to me, sorry.

Slow Burn vs Established relationship?

Slow burn, no question. I don't think I've ever shipped a shit where I've been like 'oh yeah they're in love and together already'. To me, slow-burn is developing feelings and relationships, not pre-existing feelings.

Non-pressure tagging:

@godmodebeginswithlesbians @cheetahleopard @xamaxenta @ragnarokhound @autpunk-arsonist @glitter-stained @sandy-writing

And anyone else who wanna do it! If I forgot your name sorry, my memory is swiss cheese ☆

[jasdiary]

“This really doesn’t seem like a good idea….Okay well wait for me!”

Full Name : Sinan Aspen Keene

Nicknames : S.K, Sinner, Princey (Meryl @rosietrace ), Lord Sinan/Mr. Sinan (Gwen @starry-night-rose ), Sinny/Sinnamon/Princley (Ellis), Nana (Gemma), Si (Nyla)

Jp Va : Kengo Kawanishi

En Va : Howard Wang / John Cusack

Age : 17-18

Height : 177 cm (5’9)

Homeland : Gale Empire

Birthday : 11/25 November 25th

Zodiac sign : Sagittarius

Species : Ice Fae/quarter Wind Fae

Hair Color : Navy Blue

Eye Color : Caramel Brown

Gender : Male (He/Him)

Sexuality : Demiromantic Pansexual

Family : Boreas Keene, Gale Keene(Mother)†, Nevin Keene (Older brother)

Occupation : Student at Scepter Hall Institute, Prince of the Gale Empire

Twisted From : Spike from Tinkerbell

!Neka.cc is just a placeholder until i have the time to draw him!

School Information

Dorm : Forêt Gelée

School Year : 2nd (Sophomore)

Class : 2-B

Best Subject : Incantations / Wing Study (Wingology)

Worst Class : Physical Education

Club : Ice Skating

Dominant Hand : Right

Favorite Food : Summer Salad Bowls

Least Favorite Food : Corn

Likes : Relaxing, Not doing anything, Teasing people, Naps, Babysitting Meryl, Spending time with his father and brother, Talking about his mother, Daydreaming, Decently done work, Skincare, Windy weather, hand holding

Dislikes : Extremely hot temperatures, Not being taken seriously, Being bored, His sleeping habits, Dry skin, Getting a low grade, Being unnecessarily provoked, Large Crowds, Not having physical interaction

Hobbies : Ice Skating, Sledding, Sleeping, Slight of Hand tricks, Coin tricks, Playing with snowflakes, Messing with Nyla, Fashion

Personality : Sinan comes off as lazy, blunt and a little sly. Which is 100% correct! No one knows if his half-lidded, smirking stare intimidates or attracts them. Sinan’s very straightforward with his words, but is still playful nonetheless. He’s an unintentional flirt. The way he speaks and presents himself gives others the impression of the bad boy(which he really isn’t ☠️) you can’t resist. Despite all of that, Sinan is very well liked for his cool, go with the flow attitude.

Unique Magic : ‘Secret Of The Wings’

“Why don’t you try a little harder? Y’never know, you MAY succeed. Emphasis on the may~ Secret Of The Wings!”

Sinan summons a flutter of butterflies formed from sparkling ice that surrounds him as an impenetrable shield. The shield protects Sinan from both physical and magic attacks. Coming into contact with the shield will freeze or frost whatever it touches. Despite being mostly winter fae, using Secret Of The Wings too much will cause his wings to crack ever so slightly. It may not be noticeable, but it is definitely felt.

Backstory :

Sinan Keene is the youngest son of the late Queen Gale Keene, who was a beloved ruler of the small fae dominated empire that bore her name. Sinan's mother was known for her kindness and compassion, and she instilled those same values in her children. The small prince grew up surrounded by love and support, and he always knew that he wanted to follow in his mother's footsteps and become a leader in his own right.

Despite his royal status and the expectations that came with it, Sinan was always a laid-back and chill individual. He had a tendency to be lazy and procrastinate, but he was also a natural jokester and had a way of making those around him feel at ease. Sinan was approachable and easy to talk to, and he made friends easily.

Sinan’s attitude comes from his heart that cracked from a young age when his mother passed away. He was very much a mama’s boy, always clinging to her. His mother was his best friend. Gale Keene wasn’t violently taken from this world, she was just ill. It didn’t hurt the Keene family any less however. The energetic, hard working boy that Sinan Aspen Keene once was had vanished. For a while, not even his older brother he looked up to so much could motivate him. It took Sinan months before he decided to just…let things happen. He’ll let life take the wheel for now. He’ll take control again one day. He just doesn’t know when.

For now, Sinan hides those sad and dark parts of himself deep inside and shows only what he wants others to see. There are certain people who get to see these sides of Sinan, but you wouldn’t believe them if they told you.

Random Trivia!

His first friend at SHI was Gemma Phaedra. It wasn’t that Sinan couldn’t approach people, Gemma just beat him to it! From then on, they became attached at the hip.

Sinan knows Nyla is scared of ice-skating, even if she denies it.

Sinan makes Mercury want to murder him whenever he makes a snarky comment ; it's a bloodbath when it comes to them.

Admittedly, Sinan became Meryl's new crush after Porter got expelled! She's always so flustered whenever he speaks to her, and she's practically clinging to him like a koala.

Sinan is.... Apprehensive about Eclair and how she treats Meryl. He can tell that Eclair adores her daughter, but with the way she essentially locked her up in SHI for all of her life is.... Disturbing to Sinan.

Sinan takes after his mother the most. When she passed away, it was hard for Sinan’s father to look at him for too long because he looked *too* much like her.

Sinan’s mother was half ice fae and half wind fae, making Sinan a quarter wind fae.

Sinan wants to be a professional ice skater.

Sinan may be on the sillier side, but he’s smarter than he lets on. He’s always one of the top students in his classes.

Sinan tends to twirl his hair. He usually does it when he’s nervous.

[a-bucket-of-trash]

The Mercy of the Golden Mask- Kelvin x Neutral Reader – One shot.

Prompt: * sobs * RIP

Tag: Angst af

Your time on that island, despite the mutants and cannibals, the extreme weather and other inconveniences, hadn't been entirely hellish, thanks to Kelvin, your mate and lover. Alone, as the sole survivors of the helicopter, you had quickly grown fond of each other. The sporadic glances had grown, the touches, the plans, the tasks, the chats with signs and writing that became verbal when his damaged ears began to recover minimally their hearing, the extra closeness you had to have on cold nights, everything had fostered the basis for your relationship to stop being merely friendly.

Now you were both against everything, shoulder to shoulder, always close to each other, sleeping intertwined, hands always in contact with each other, with tender caresses there when there was a bit of peace, gushing love.

But the island was relentless, the enemies endless, and your own energies could not keep up with the wave of cannibals that seemed to rise from the bowels of the earth like ants escaping a flood.

Eventually, they were too many for the two of you. There wasn't the amount of bullets, traps, arrows and axes to deal with them, despite the fact that Kelvin now fought with the same violence as you, tireless and accurate.

The battle was frantic and exhaustingly long, but at least all the cannibals in that contest were dead, half-dead, dismembered, or unconscious on the ground. You were exhausted, somewhat injured, several parts of your body ached, but you were still breathing, so you looked around, looking for your partner, whom you had seen fight by your side several times, when one of those monsters had wanted to cut off your head.

You saw him on the ground and you hurried to go to him. You knew that he was very good at fighting, although he used to stay on the floor for a while after finishing a fight, since that kind of thing made his head ache like a thousand demons. But as you knelt beside him, you felt your heart freeze and clench, seeing his bulletproof vest barely hanging from his left shoulder, and a deep gash running diagonally across his torso, from his shoulder to his groin, drenched in blood.

“K-kelvin…H-hold on…” You tried to calculate where to put pressure, but it was a wound too long for placing your hands on one spot to work.

You were getting desperate, you weren't remotely close to the base you had built, and even there you didn't have anything to deal with such a cut. You saw his brown eyes fix on you, full of pity and resignation. He was a soldier, painfully aware of his situation. And you too.

"No... D-don't even think about it!" You exclaimed, taking the piece of bulletproof vest and resting it firmly on his torso, trying to stop some of the bleeding “You p-promised to teach m-me how to ski in winter, remember? You c-can't go back on your promise… I'm g-going to get really mad i-if you do it…”

Distraught, you saw him hardly take off his gloves to tenderly touch your face, while your eyes clouded with tears.

“Kel… Kel… p-please…” You begged, sobbing, not wanting to acknowledge what was about to happen.

"F-forgive me... h-honey..." He murmured, barely, feeling your anguish as his own "I don't want... to leave you a-alone..."

"Don't leave me alone then! S-silly!" You cried more when you felt his hands on your cheeks, gently rubbing your skin "Stay!"

"You know v-very well... that this cut... will not heal..." He tried to dry your cheeks with his trembling hands, watching the torrent of tears fall non-stop like the waterfalls of the island "H-honey..."

"It's my fault... It's a-all my fault..." You despaired even more, seeing the pool of blood growing under him "Forgive me... K-kel... I s-should have fought more... I should have w-watched you..."

“Stop it…” He half sobbed, wanting to hide the fear he was feeling growing inside “I love you… it wasn't your fault…”

"But…"

Kelvin gently pulled your face, so that you crouch down enough to be able to kiss you, long and anguished, in a kiss with a farewell flavor, noticing his own body weigh him down and stop aching, numb and cold.

You stared at his face, his eyes, repeating him an "I love you" over and over again, between tears, caressing his hair and cheek, feeling your own soul leave as you saw his skin slowly pale and his hands stay still on his damp stomach.

You heard him say a couple of “I love you”, almost without a voice, like the whisper of the wind in the leaves, and you remained static, almost breathless, noticing how his breathing stopped in a short exhalation.

The scream that came from your throat crossed the island and you hugged his head tightly, crying heartbreakingly, calling him, begging him to come back, even knowing that it was not possible, even knowing that he was gone.

After everything he had been through, even after surviving a brain injury, your beloved Kelvin was gone like sand between your fingers.

You stayed there, crying for him, kissing his head, for a long time, until you noticed something, so you gently closed his eyelids with your hand and cupped his cheeks with all the love you had left in your shattered soul.

"Wait for me, my love..." You smiled sadly, between tears, listening to the heavy footsteps approaching behind you "I'm going with you..."

You closed your eyes in resignation laden with relief and leaned your forehead against his, knowing that the huge cannibal behind you was going to, unknowingly, do an act of mercy.

[searidings]

You’re my favorite writer so I just wanted to send a small prompt of SC finally getting together because Kara can’t stop looking at Lena in her look from 6x16 (certainly understandable). I hope you have a great day!

(also on ao3)

It's something Eliza had taught her.

Or maybe even Jeremiah, way back in the beginning. A way to cope with the overwhelming, broadening her stimuli response to prevent overload. For anything that became too much – a crowded mall, a car backfiring in a cavernous parking garage, even a loud sneeze – she learned to employ each one of her five senses with deliberate precision, grounding herself in all incoming sensations to prevent any one individually from taking over.

It had helped with the bad and, over time, had also helped her to appreciate the good. Centring herself, focusing not just on the sight or sound in front of her but also on the feel, the taste, the smell— it brings her clarity. Enhances her appreciation, allows for more comprehensive enjoyment.

She hasn't needed these skills for years, has used them only in moments of extreme joy or pleasure that she wishes to capture and remember as thoroughly as possible. But, Kara realises, it's a good thing she has these tools in her arsenal because right now in this moment there is—

i. sight

—and Rao, what a sight it is.

She'd landed on the Tower's balcony just like any other day, walked into the main control centre just like any other day. And then her eyes had fallen on the lone figure seated on a high stool at the work bench, and suddenly it is no longer any other day.

Today, Lena is not wearing her typical boardroom outfit from her L-Corp days, the soft jeans-and-sweater combos reserved for game nights and sleepovers, or even the slacks-and-blouse ensemble she's frequented since her move to the Tower.

No. Today, Lena has pulled the dark wave of her hair up into a big, messy bun, flyaway hairs framing her face that flicker like molten amber in the sharp morning sun. The style accentuates the cut glass line of her jaw, the regal column of her throat where it disappears into a soft black turtleneck. Kara's eyes track the skintight material down, down, down to the leather belt at her waist, the skirt that hugs the curve of her hips and legs save for the slit cut to mid-thigh, the tantalising peek of creamy skin beneath. Her eyes fall lower still to the black suede of her boots, rising relaxedly to cover her knees, no—

Kara's mouth runs dry. Rising to cover her thighs.

Even if only one is visible, and even if only in part, it's still enough to make Kara's head spin. The whole look is finished off by a smudge of dark plum that draws attention to the full curve of her lips, a striking companion to the dark sweep of her brows, her lashes above the crystalline green of her eyes.

This is very decidedly not just any other day.

Kara doesn't move, doesn't breathe, for a solid ninety seconds while her brain tries to compute the image Lena makes before her eyes. Her heart has migrated up into the Sahara of her bone-dry throat, stomach dropping out her ass as her pulse thuds like a bass drum somewhere deep in the cradle of her hips.

Lena— Lena is always gorgeous. Always, in every shade and hue and state of undress and disarray. But this, this, is something else altogether.

Lena notices her at last, glancing up from the book she'd been perusing, one long elegant finger extended to mark her place. Kara's eyes trace her hands, the slender tug of tendons and the delicate lines of bone, the way the contrast of the faded page beneath her palm makes her skin appear to glow alabaster in the sunlight.

“Hi?”

It sounds like a question, one perfect brow arching as plum lips split into an expectant smile.

Kara, narrowly resisting the urge to check her own chin for evidence of drool, snaps herself out of her daze with single-minded determination. She clears her throat, licks her dry lips. “Hi.”

“Everything alright?” Lena asks when Kara still doesn't move, feet rooted to the same spot from which she'd first caught sight of her best friend. “You're, uh. You're staring.”

She certainly is. “Oh. Oh, uh.” Kara shuffles her feet, unsticking them from the floorboards and forcing them to walk without trembling to the workbench in the centre of the room. “You, um. You look really nice today.”

Lena's cheeks flush the palest pink, the first dusting of sunrise on a snowy morning. Kara's eyes catch on the pulse thrumming at her throat, the near-indetectable flicker beneath the hinge of her jaw.

She wonders what it feels like. That blush, that heartbeat. She wonders what it tastes like.

"Thanks,” Lena whispers, ducking her head, twin arcs of dark lashes fluttering. She motions to the pages before her, clearing her throat. “I, uh, I think I might have found a spell that could help us.”

Kara rounds the table to stand beside her, making a show of focusing her gaze on the page before them as Lena explains something about energy transfers and containment spells and varying interpretations of third century classical Latin.

This focus lasts all of half a heartbeat before her eyes begin to wander, insatiably drawn to the myriad details revealed by her new proximity. Her visual receptors are overwhelmed, gaze bouncing erratically between each new discovery like a ping pong ball in a vacuum.

Kara swallows hard. Her eyes lock upon the fingertip Lena's tapping against the incantation at the bottom of the page and she finds herself transfixed once more by how long Lena's fingers are, how broad her palms, how the blunt edges of her short nails round against the smooth canvass of her skin.

Next, her field of vision hones in on the soft curls at the nape of Lena's neck, half-trapped beneath the high turtleneck collar where they've escaped from her bun. This is followed by a brief sojourn on the near-translucent shell of her ear, shot through with morning sunlight, then by a rapt fascination with the fine baby hairs that skirt her temple to the arch of her cheekbone, the downy curve of her jaw.

Lena is still talking, and Kara hasn't heard a word she's said. She's just been staring at her best friend like a dumbstruck fool, and she needs to snap out of it before Lena catches on. Resolved, she sucks in a breath so deep it's almost painful, a misstep on her part that ultimately proves fatal because then in addition to sight there is—

ii. smell

—and any hope she had of regaining her composure dies a quick and painless death.

The lungful of Lena she's just inhaled is intoxicating and before she knows what she's doing she's pressing a half-step closer, eager to breathe her in again.

Lena's hair smells bright, fresh and clean like the expensive sea mineral shampoo Kara has taken to stocking in her own shower of late. There's the cloying chemicals of her makeup and the waxy sweetness of her lipstick, the worn leather of her boots and the musky blush of the perfume at her wrists. The nape of her neck and the soft skin behind her ear smell smoky and rich, the warm base scent of her accentuated by the ever-lingering tang of chemical explosions, propane and molten solder.

Unbidden, Kara's mouth begins to water. She sucks in another eager lungful just as her half-addled brain registers the sudden silence between them, snapping her back to herself with a start.

Lena has turned to stare up at her pointedly. Kara finds herself lost once more in the lush curve of her arched brow, the way the movement sends up another heady cloud of samphire-scented conditioner.

"Kara?” the object of her fascination asks, pulling her so sharply from her enthralled haze that she actually jumps. Lena's brow quirks a quarter-inch higher. “Have you been listening to a word I've said?”

“Of, of course I have,” she manages, breathing pointedly through her mouth so as to avoid another assault on her olfactory senses. “You've found a spell that might help us.”

Lena looks as thoroughly unconvinced as the weak cover warrants, but Kara doesn't have the mental capacity to worry about that in this moment. She's too busy trying and failing to focus on anything other than the utterly overwhelming amalgamation of sight and scent that is her best friend right now.

Blessedly, her Kara Danvers phone vibrates in her boot a split second later and she's shooting off to Catco with a hasty apology before anyone can start asking uncomfortable questions about her behaviour. She doesn't relax, doesn't even breathe again until she's hovering in the empty air high above National City, confident she can manage it without losing her mind.

If the crisp scent of Lena's shampoo lingers on the back of her tongue, that's nobody's business but her own.

-

The afternoon at Catco helps to push some of the lingering enthrallment from her mind and by the time her interview prep is complete and the call comes through that she's needed back at the Tower, Kara feels like she might even be able to face Lena without completely losing her shit.

The thing is, she's an expert at this. A seasoned pro at blocking out overwhelming sensations, at diversifying her sensory input in order to moderate her own response. She thinks back to her first years on Earth, to the soft knit blanket she'd squeeze to ground herself through the maelstrom of untempered superhearing and the scented dryer sheets Eliza would hold to her cheek when her x ray vision became too much to handle. Thinks of the slew of coping strategies she's been forced to acquire throughout her time on this planet, of how they might be repurposed now.

Because, okay, the sight of Lena today – in that shirt with that lipstick and that slit up the length of her thigh – might in fact be too much to handle. May have quite possibly fried her brain, just a little.

But, she reasons, all she has to do is ground herself, focus on her other senses, and keep it together.

After all, this is Lena. Kara's been practicing the essential art of blocking out the more distracting facets of her best friend since the day they first met.

And so, maybe smell isn't the way to go, given the hard reboot her mind had involuntarily undergone when she'd caught a whiff of Lena that morning. But that's okay, that's fine, because Kara has three other senses that she's going to use to remain centred and stop making a fool out of herself.

This is fine, she's fine. She's a seasoned pro. She's got this.

-

It takes all of three seconds for her to lose it again.

The main room of the Tower is deserted when she touches down, but she doesn't even have time for confusion or worry because then there is—

iii. sound

—and every iota of her previous infatuation comes rushing back full force.

Lena's heels click across the worn boards of the control centre, syncopated perfectly with the white-hot thud of Kara's heart. The material of her skirt swishes against soft suede, cotton stretching and contracting around her arms and shoulders as she sets her notebook down on the workbench.

She turns her head to smile at Kara's arrival and her superhearing picks up the gentle clink of the double sets of gold hoops adorning each of Lena's ears, the near-inaudible whisper of stray hairs against the collar of her shirt. Now that she's focusing on it, Lena is a symphony, from her steady heartbeat to her rhythmic breaths to the quiet knock of her belt buckle against the edge of the desk.

“Hey.”

And there, the sweetest sound of all, the melodic lilt of Lena's voice tripping across the space between them, hitting Kara's ears like the light tinkle of windchimes on a summer's day.

“Hey yourself,” she manages, pulling herself out of her slack jawed stupor and crossing the space to join Lena at the bench. “You called? How's it going?”

Because, yes, maybe her eyes and nose and ears are being assaulted by such a whirlwind of stimuli from this woman that she feels a little lightheaded, but there's a limit to how weird she can be around Lena in the span of twenty-four hours without drawing attention to herself, and she has a feeling she's already hit it.

She breathes through her mouth to avoid Lena's perfume, recites the Prayer of Rao backwards in Old Kryptonian in her mind to drown out the beacon of her heartbeat, keeps her eyes on the lines of the spell book so they don't wander off to any nearby curves, and tries her best to get a grip.

She actually manages to focus – albeit briefly – on what her best friend is saying; a rundown of the afternoon she'd spent in the lab, her progress on tracking Nyxly, the revised translation of that morning's spell. Kara's nodding along, mentally congratulating herself on her iron-clad concentration, when Lena reaches out once more to trace her fingertip along the lines of the hexagram on the page.

Kara's watching her, watching the muscles and ligaments shift beneath delicate skin, and then suddenly she's reaching out too and then there is—

iv. touch

—and a bolt of incandescent electricity shoots from the top of her skull to the tips of her toes.

Her hand lands atop Lena's, stilling it against the page and she can feel the confusion in the other woman's gaze, hear the question already forming on her lips.

Her skin is tingling where it touches Lena's, palm moulding to the mountain range of her knuckles, the knocked arrow of her finger and she only has a second to salvage this before it gets really weird. Her brain is still stuck, wheels spinning somewhere between the scent of the lavender soap clinging to Lena's hands and the sounds of her heels shifting against the floorboards, thus executing no oversight of the words that fall out of her mouth.

“Sorry, I just— I missed you today,” she finds herself saying, not untruthfully. “How about, um. A hello hug?”

As soon as she says it her entire being is screaming for it, for an amplification of the feeling of their hands stacked together and the chance to take Lena into her arms.

Lena, to her credit, takes the odd request in stride, which probably says more about her years of experience with Kara's weirdness than it does about anything else. There's an incredulous slant to her brow and an uncertain tilt to her mouth but after a moment, she nods.

There's an awkward second that feels like a suspended eternity as they slot together, angling arms and tilting heads but then they click, the circuit completes, and pleasure courses through Kara's veins like wildfire.

Lena's arms slide around her neck, bobbing up on her tiptoes even in her heeled boots to rest her chin on Kara's shoulder. She anchors her own arms at Lena's waist in return, squeezing lightly as they settle into the embrace.

Lena is so soft, so warm and tactile and pliable to the touch and the sum total of it all, the way she looks and smells and sounds and feels is so glorious Kara struggles to remember why she ever lets her go.

She decides to take advantage of the granted proximity, fingertips playing across the brushed fabric of Lena's skirt, the smooth juncture of her belt and up to the ribbed cotton of that goddamn turtleneck. She charts the ladder of Lena's ribs, meets the straps of her bra through the sheer fabric, up and up until her fingers trip against the folded neckline, playing through the escaped curls at the base of her skull.

She scratches her nails gently against Lena's scalp beneath the tug of her bun and Lena lets out a quiet sigh that hits Kara square between her legs.

It starts to make sense, then.

Her obsession with every minute detail of Lena's existence, her need to employ grounding techniques just to avoid being completely overloaded by her best friend's mere presence, every time over the course of their relationship that she's carefully turned her focus away from the finer points of the woman before her in order to keep a level head— it all starts to sharpen into a picture she's been ignoring for far too long.

This particular outfit, the boots and the bun and that motherfucking turtleneck may have been the tipping point, but the effect Lena has on her is nothing new.

Emboldened by her own crisis of clarity she continues her gentle exploration, knuckles brushing the side of Lena's throat as her other hand thumbs sure circles at the small of her back. Touching her is enthralling, addicting, wonderful, made even more so when Lena shivers against her chest.

"Kara?” she whispers and it's another inundation of the senses; the breathy sound of her voice, the tangible hitch of her breathing, the faintest hint of mint tea on her breath. "What are you doing?"

“You feel so good,” Kara hums before she's fully decided to, tightening her arms a fraction.

Lena pulls back, just enough that they're face to face without breaking the circle of their embrace. Her gaze is searching, eyes roving Kara's face intently as though seeking an answer to a question long buried. “Yeah?”

She looks at Lena then, the sum total of her; the purse of her lips and the skate of her jaw and the flyaway wisps of ebony hair, the viridian crystal of her eyes.

She wants to touch her. Wants to listen to her and gaze at her and breathe her in for as long as she possibly can. She wants to put her mouth on her. Wants to press her lips to the pulse fluttering hummingbird-quick at her throat, feel the bright metallic tang of her earrings on her tongue, paint her own mouth with the glossy wax of her lipstick.

Because, she realises, there's one of her five senses left as yet untested.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, meeting Lena's gaze with a steady kind of surety. She tugs her closer still, tracing paths of worship up and down her sides, squeezing as tight as she dares. “I don't want to let you go.”

Lena's gaze on her face, so heavy, so penetrating, softens at last. A breath sighs out of her, her own grip on Kara's neck strengthening. “Then don't.”

For a moment they watch each other, breathing the same air. She thinks of the question they've been skirting for six long years; sees the answer she'd never dared to dream of etched into each beloved line of Lena's face. She hopes her own answer is reflecting back the same.

She thinks that maybe it is, because in the next moment the tension pulling taught between them snaps with all the heraldry of a divine chorus and then she's leaning in, and maybe Lena is too, and there's one more moment of heady, blissful anticipation and then there is—

v. taste

—and the warm press of lips and the slick slide of tongues, the flavour of mingled panting breath and the faintest hint of fresh mint tea as they come together again and again in the most overwhelming, pleasurable, joyous moment of Kara's life and there's not a single shred of doubt in her mind that this woman, this kiss, is the sweetest thing she'll ever know.

[bbsmuts]

Like OOH-AHH Feat. TWICE Sana

Sana x male reader smut

A/N: I’ve been on vacation with my family in Gwangju and haven’t had time to write, so I’ll catch up with this Sana quickie. Enjoy!

Length: 1.26k

“Oppa, do you know where the screwdriver is? I can’t find it and one of our floorboards is loose.”  Sana’s voice rang across the house to where I was sitting. This took me by surprise. She knew perfectly well that she could have just asked me to fix it and I would have done it before you could say ‘chore’. Although it wasn’t a chore. Anything for her. 

I got up, grabbed the screwdriver from the bar and walked to where she was.  “You do realize you could have just asked right?” I asked, observing her lower half sticking out from under the bed. “Why would I do that?”  “Because I’d do it.”  “Yes Sung-min, but you’re busy with-”    “Since when?” I asked, laughing. “I haven’t got plans today. Here’s the screwdriver anyway, though.”  “Thanks.”  “No problem.” I replied. I still didn’t get why she wanted to do things herself. Maybe it was because she had an independent personality, but asking a favor of your boyfriend wasn’t being dependent.  Technically, I had lied - I did have plans - just not without her. She was the other end of the task at hand, but all of that came later.  It was about three in the afternoon, a perfect time for swimming. I got right back up and walked back into the room, where Sana was emerging from the underside of the bed frame.  “Want to go swimming oppa?”  “That’s literally what I was coming in here to ask.”  She chuckled. “Brilliant minds think alike, I suppose.”  After quickly changing into swimsuits, we headed to our apartment’s outdoor pool. It was mid-November, in other words much too cold for swimming, but I had loved the cold my entire life (Real-life fact, by the way) and Sana didn’t mind it much either.  After a not-so-quick swim in the enormous pool, I got out of the water and saw Sana drying up and sunbathing on a sun chair. I paused for a moment to survey her gorgeous body, put on display by the fairly revealing bikini she was wearing. “You ready to go inside?” I asked.  “Are we in a hurry?”  “Why would we be in a hurry? I’ve got literally nothing to do with the rest of the day. Except…” I smiled.  “Except what?” Sana asked, not seeing the smile on my face that normally would let her know my desire. “I mean, I think I know, because you’re fairly predictable when it comes to our ‘activities’.” She took off her sunglasses. “I should think you’ve guessed correctly.” I said, taking her hand and leading her into our building. 1392 was ours.  I unlocked the door and stepped over the threshold, not even bothering to hang up my key but just slapping it down on the counter.  The two of us headed into the bedroom together but parted ways when she went to the bathroom to change. I didn’t bother, taking off my wet swimsuit and tossing it into my laundry hamper.  I laid myself down on the bed and waited for less than a minute before something stunningly sexy walked out of the bathroom. Completely bereft of any sort of clothing, Sana sauntered sexily out of the bathroom. The very sight was enough to send a rush of blood to my quickly hardening shaft and turn me on to an extreme. I took a moment to take in the fabulous form of her walking towards me. Her skin was pale and entirely flawless, her breasts were just… irresistible. She, desiring as ever, practically leapt onto the bed. In one smooth motion, she lowered herself and sank onto my cock in its entirety, causing a moan to leave both of our mouths. Her toes curled at the sudden burst of pleasure. She began to grind herself on me, soft moans leaving her lips. Those quickly became loud squeals after a couple of minutes as she picked up the pace a little. All I was physically capable of at the moment was just laying my head back and groaning, the feeling of her walls squeezing me starting to have serious effect. She herself was getting close to orgasm, I could tell. Instead of waiting for that time to come around, I decided to hurry the process along a little. I started with the classic trick of pulling back your hips and then thrusting upward, and this did the trick.  “Ah yes oppa, fuck!” Her back arched into a curve and her walls pulsated and contracted randomly as her juices ran freely over me. This sensation was simply too much, and with a loud moan I started cumming inside Sana. Lost for words at the pleasure, Sana just closed her eyes and rode her own orgasm out. Tired out for the moment, she set herself down next to me.  “That was nice, wasn’t it oppa?”  “It was fucking amazing.”  “Same difference.”  Even in a pleasure-addled state she was still capable of a smart response. Classic Sana.  “And to think,” I said, caressing her body as she snuggled up to my chest, “we might not have ever gotten to do this if my boss hadn’t let me off work today…”        “Oh believe me, he would have gotten a piece of my mind.” Sana stated. “No one ruins our fun and gets away with it. But,” she added, eyes glittering with desire and arousal, “we shouldn’t waste our time sitting here.”  “I agree.” I said, disentangling her limbs from mine and getting up. She knew what was coming. She propped herself up on her elbows and readily spread her legs, providing a view that was matched by no other. With not a drop of hesitation I plunged back into her squeezing warmth, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from her. It was her turn to be on the receiving end.  “Ooh…” she moaned as I jabbed into her. “Ahh oppa…”        “You do realize what you just said?” I managed through the pleasure. “You literally just said OOH-AHH.”  “Oh, hilarious.” She said sarcastically. This was followed by an involuntary and quite sexy sigh and her head dropping back.  “Enjoying it?”  “Mmm yes…”     This only fueled me on, spurring my primal instinct into action. Enough messing around, I was going to fuck her properly. I set the pace at medium speed but went for power. Power rather than speed.  Her legs curled around my torso and held fast, keeping me locked in, refusing to let go. Eventually she relaxed her legs and settled down under me, perfectly ready to just receive. I was ready to give, so it worked out well. After a little bit, during which a lot of hot sounds came from her, I felt her legs tighten around me and her pussy contract and squeeze crazily as she orgasmed, sending her cum flowing once more. All she was capable of was just gasping, moaning, and finally falling limp as I laid myself down. Her eyes half-open, she haphazardly tossed an arm over my side and scooted closer. Thoroughly satisfied, both of us settled down to take a nap before dinner.    A/N #2: Don’t be expecting a story very often, because I only write in my spare time, and I don’t have a lot of that. And I only write quickies. Sorry for any inconveniences, and requests are always open but might not be granted. Hope you enjoyed the story.

[elysianslove]

please use this ask to elaborate on mattsun’s dick <33

AH YES THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING gotta do this before i start fasting lmfao.  this ended up being sadder than i thought, but it just ends up being kinda sweet and sorta hot. also this was way longer than i intended. post in reference.  

warnings; big dick mattsun, throwing up, pain kink (?), painful sex, insecurities, consensual taping  

okay remember when i mentioned the insecurity thing? let’s dive deeper into that; third years and mattsun are at some sleepover thing. it’s a little before graduation, and they don’t when they’ll see each other next, so they’re trying to make most of the time that’s left. the conversation progresses to sex, as it naturally does, and each of them admits some horrifying or embarrassing sex story. 

iwaizumi had sex with a girl who was extremely kinky and asked him to slap her, but— they don’t call him ace for no reason. 

oikawa lost his virginity to this girl and she started her period halfway through, but he was really young and didn’t realize that was something that could just happen? it wasn’t that he was immature about it. it was more that he fainted. 

hanamaki found out he was allergic to flavored condoms when he lost his virginity, and it was not fun. 

but then it was mattsun’s turn, and they’re all waiting for his embarrassing sex story, till he hits them with, “i’ve never had sex though,” and each and every one of their eyes bulge out of their heads. it’s the last thing they’d been expecting from him, from cool, suave, charming mattsun, but he continues to swear by it. and when they demand the reason — surely you’ve gotten the chance to before? — he admits it to them: “apparently my dick is too big.” and it’s comical to say out loud, because he’s only gotten with a handful of girls, barely any for it to be firm hypothesis. he thinks he’ll one day meet someone that doesn’t think it’s too big, it won’t fit, um i can give you a handjob, if that’s okay? 

all that evidently leads to a dick comparison, because how big can it really be? and once mattsun sees his best friends’ eyes widen at his hardened dick, it sinks in. shit, he really is big, isn’t he? 

“holy shit, mattsun,” makki says, and he’s bashful as he stares at his best friend’s dick. “how would that fit inside anyone?” and mattsun’s already growing soft, tucking his dick back in his pants and moving to wash his hands after kicking makki rightfully in the chest. 

college comes around, and he passes by a thousand girls crying about how the boy from last night’s dick was so small, ugh i wish i had an 8 inch, and the things i’d do to have my guts rearranged. he sees a little light in this tunnel of endless blue balling, and meets a girl, takes her back to his dorm with his lips biting at her neck and her hands fumbling with his belt. as soon as he falls onto the bed, as soon as she straddles him, naked, and moves to slip off his trousers, anxiety meets him halfway again, and he holds in a breath as she pulls at the hem of his pants and takes his boxers with her.

the gasp his half hardening cock pulls out of her is confusing. he can’t tell what to make out of it, but she spits on her palm and grips his hefty cock in her small palm, unable to have her fingertips meet. her eyes are wide, but she seems determined, even tilts her hips forward, but she resorts to, “can i just suck you off?” 

and mattsun thinks alright, that’s an upgrade. 

when she ends up throwing up because she underestimates his size and overestimates herself, mattsun offers her his bathroom to clean up, and grabs her a bottle of water as she leaves. 

he ends up losing his virginity to some masochist, and it’s not very memorable or anything he’d ever imagined it be. it sits high on his list of regrets: he cums way too early, and hurts the masochist too much for it to be enjoyable in any way. but he texts the old third year groupchat and types in “i lost my virginity 😎” and receives the praise he had expected. 

for months to come, he fucks his fist every other night to amateur porn and watches as some camgirls’ cunts swallow inches and inches of plastic cock. he hooks up with some girls only to have them sit on his face and kitten lick at the head of his cock. some swallow a little bit of his cock, some fondle at his balls, but none ever let him fuck them. oikawa sends him links for sex toys, and mattsun feels as pathetic as ever, but he buys a fleshlight anyways and finds purchase in how tight it feels around his cock, how wet and slippery it is, how it properly milks him dry. makki meets him during a break and offers to suck his dick for him, but mattsun flips him off and kicks at his stomach again. 

it’s during his third year that he meets you. 

you’re sweet and charming, , and you have pretty hair, and he likes your style, and you laugh at his stupid jokes. you call him handsome, and you call him pretty, and you compliment his hair when it’s at its curliest. you send him the weirdest memes and tell him it reminds you of him, and you pick him up at obscure times because you’re craving nuggets or ice cream or ramen or licorice. he asks you to be his girlfriend and when you say yes, he blushes so forcefully that he has to scrunch up his face to try and hide it. he lets you meet his friends through a screen, and he buys you matching rings because he enjoys the subtlety of it all, and he orders donuts to be sent to your place  during your exam week. 

being with you is a dream, so much that when he hovers above you, kissing at your lips like he always does and sucking at your neck the way you love, and you murmur that you want him, want all of him, his hands fumble and shake. he tries to hide it, but his breath is shakier and his chest is flushed, his eyes a little hazy. you’re so gentle with him, and he hadn’t known he needed it until you’re straddling him and slowly smoothing your hands down his chest, palming him through his too tight briefs, squeezing softly. 

when your hands reach for his briefs, his own snap to your wrist, and he dares to beg, “please stay,” and you kiss him in response. your breath hitches at the sight of him, and your hand shakes when you spit on it and grip at his cock, but despite your initial hesitance you don’t falter. 

you stroke tentatively at his cock, squeezing him tightly, and fall closer to him, hovering your lips by his as you ask of him, “stretch me— stretch me for you.” 

there’s only one word to describe everything mattsun had been feeling in that moment, and it’s overwhelmed, but it’s somehow in the most positive way. he sits up straight, keeping you on his lap. his fingers find your dripping cunt and he pushes one, two, three, four fingers inside of you. he makes you cum twice, fingers curled and rapidly thrusting into you, other hand occupied with your sloppy clit and mouth latched onto your nipple. you praise him and thank him and cry for him and writhe in his hold as he pleasures you, and when you’re breathless and limp in his arms, he waits for the ball to drop, for you to give into your anxiety and hesitance. 

except you don’t. 

you lift yourself up on trembling knees, hands settled on and gripping his shoulders, and with teary eyes, you say, no, you beg, “make it fit.” 

he has stars in his eyes as he grips his cock tightly with one hand, the other holding you to him by your waist. it’s slow, it’s painfully slow, but mattsun has never treasured time as much as in that moment. he takes in everything, from the way your body tenses at the first intrusion when his tip presses against your hole, to the small gasps and moans as you take more and more of him in, at the sweat that beads at your temple and that rolls between your breasts. he marvels at the heave of your chest and the roll of your tummy as you curve in yourself, and he revels in the press of your lips to his, in the pull your arms looping around his neck and pressing his chest flush to yours. 

he does cum too early, but you don’t chastise him. you only continue to ride his soft cock, his cum messily dribbling out, and he ignores the sting from his sensitivity in favor of rubbing at your clit, sending you over the edge eventually. 

he texts the old third years groupchat that night again, with you sleeping soundly by his side, comfortable beneath his blankets, “why didn’t you guys tell me sex was this good? fake friends,” and sends a picture of him shirtless, sweaty, and with a post-sex flush to his cheeks and messy curls, with the middle finger. 

maybe you shouldn’t have let him have a taste of you, because he fucks you in bed the next morning, sleep still settled deep in your bones, and then he fucks you in the shower, and then he eats you out splayed out on his dinner table. he videotapes you sucking him off, with your permission, and watches it when you’re too far out of reach. he sends you pictures after a shower, gripping his cock through the briefs he’d quickly slipped in, hair wet and curly and matted to his forehead, skin damp and glistening. and when you react so positively, he blushes, to his dismay. you meet his friends and they joke about how you’re still alive, but you brush them off and tell them you’ve never felt more satisfied. 

with every single time he watches his cock sink into your warm, tight, sloppy cunt, and every time he watches you swallow around him, and every time he makes you cry and leaves you braindead, leaves you mindless and begging for more, his confidence grows. so much until he learns to be cocky about it, so much that when he barely preps you and pushes into you, he shivers at the way you whine and tense up, at the way you flinch and lightly thrash. because you’re a good girl, aren’t you? always take my cock so well, don’t you? nobody but you, nobody like you. 

and it’s true; it’s nobody but you for him. in every single way.

hello what the fuck am i doing. i did not think this was gonna escalate like this hfskjfns but anyways, big dick mattsun for the win <3 

[write-and-buried]

The Thirteenth Step

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Summary; The first time you meet Frankie, he trades you Xanax for cocaine Word Count; ~2.2k Content & Warnings; DEAD DOVE. DO NOT EAT. heavy drug use, illicit drug use, graphic description of an overdose, Reader & Frankie are in active addiction, co-dependent relationship, explicit sexual content, heavy angst, takes place before TF, ambiguous, unsatisfying ending. Author Note; I've had this idea kicking around in my head for a while. It's extremely angsty, and I feel the need to stress that if you are at all triggered by the content listed above, skip this work and i'll see you on the next one

This work contains explicit adult content and is intended for audiences over the age of eighteen. By continuing to read you agree that you are 18 or older, have read the content and warnings and wish to proceed

The first time you meet Frankie, he trades you Xanax for cocaine. You trade pills for powder in the corner of a Wal-Mart parking lot and try not to blurt out an explanation of why you’re there. He doesn’t ask, you don’t offer. But you see him around, cap pulled low over his hair, curling over his ears.

He’s at the bar you frequent, laughing loudly with a group of just as rowdy men. They don’t notice him slipping to the bathroom, returning with eyes rimmed red. Nobody notices you slip two more beneath your tongue and feel the acrid taste dissolve into a warmth across your skin.

He catches up to you in the carpark, asks if he can drive you home. It’s an offer you refuse, you give him a knowing look when he asks why. The way he scrubs a hand across his jaw makes your chest ache. Instead, he buys you a cab, crawls in beside you and never leaves.

It’s easy, easier than you would have thought, to have him near you. He’s so soft, his voice so low and soothing it reminds you of the pills you spend half your paycheck on, just as addicting as the smile that creases the corner of his eyes. He makes you laugh until it hurts, that wicked sense of humor delivered almost deadpan. You like the way he looks at you when your laughing, like the sun lit his face in the winter.

He likes that you don’t judge him. That there are mirrors and razors on your coffee table, and you don’t say anything. He smokes a joint with you before you go to bed. You suppose you are friends. A part of you wonders if it’s just because you’re both addicted. A bigger part knows it’s because you won’t ask him why.

He tells you.

It takes too many lines, so many that he can’t sit still and you’re watching him through a hazy cloud of Valium and Xanax and something that might have been Oxy. You’re past the pride of calling yourself a junkie. The claws are in to deep now, mornings too shaky, stomach rolling like the tide as he explains.

It chases the nightmares for him. It’s a shield against the memory of bullets, the click of razor on mirror the sound of weapons dropping useless to the desert floor. It’s the quiet roar of a helicopter, beating heavy inside his head. It’s making his heart race in a way he can control, because his life is out of control, and this is something he has power over.

That makes you laugh, syrup and slow as you hold your hand out to him. Explain that none of it is in your control, none of it is in his. You pull him into an embrace, let his head rest on your shoulder as you try and gift him some of the quiet the pills have gifted you.

You gain weight, then lose it. He becomes wiry muscle and paper skin. You still think he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. You’re already ignoring calls from friends and family when he starts to copy you, switching his phone to silent when he sees the name Miller or Garcia on the screen. He silences them to do another line, to stay in this bubble with you.

It’s the worst kind of day when it turns. You’re both dry, barely coping, smoking weed and staying quiet, each locked in your own misery as you watch something neither of you can focus on, a nature documentary, maybe. Something that’s supposed to soothe your itching skin, calm his shaking nerves, make you both feel like you can lie about how deep you’re in a little longer.

He says it’s for work, you tell yourself it’s just to function, that the active prescription is enough of a justification for buying Oxy off the street, picking up bags of cocaine for him at the same time. Your dealer gives you a two-for-one special and that’s something that makes you both laugh over day old pizza.

You watch the curve of his chest instead of the tv. Watch the way he breathes through the ache in his skin and realize he’s never gotten angry with you. It’s been weeks of this now, some kind of hazy cloud of companionship, of take-out and wrapping yourself inside a nest with someone who wouldn’t judge you. He’s never tried anything, sleeping on your couch when he crashes, calling a cab home. He’s your friend. He’s your friend in the same fucked up mess you’re in and for that you love him.

It feels like the abyss is getting closer. Like one of these days, you’ll have to admit you have a problem. That you need help. But there’s still food in your belly, there’s still money in your bank account, and you wonder from time to time what you’ll do when those both run empty. If that hunger will come close to comparing to what you’re feeling right now.

He’s surprised when you kiss him. His eyebrows raise to disappear beneath the hat you’ve never seen him without. You straddle his waist without thinking as his hands move to your hips. Its empty pizza boxes being kicked to the floor, the soft drone of a voice telling you about the ocean as soundtrack as you take off his shirt, he takes off your pants, his hat knocked loose so you can finger the curls of his hair.

It's fast and messy and matches the chaos you feel inside your skin, spit slicked fingers opening you for him, the blunt press of his hard cock inside you, a desperate mewl escaping your lips as he bites your neck with a groan. He finds the time to clasp your hands together, squeeze your knuckles in a rhythm that matches the insect wings of your lungs and makes you shatter around him. Follows you into oblivion with a hushed cry of your name.

Distraction, that’s what you call it. When you’re both bored or both low or both too fucked up to know better. You wake up cradled in his arms more often than not now. You’re high more often than your sober now. So is he.

You lose your job first. A random drug test that makes your cheeks pink when you realize it’s not that random. That they know, and this is their reason. You’re out without an offer of help, not that you would have accepted it.

You fuck Frankie in the back of his truck in that same Wal-Mart you met him. It sends shivers up your spine; makes you feel some kind of alive.

It takes eight weeks for it to change again. You’re living in rooms with blacked out windows. Your house smells fetid, like rotting from the inside. You’re half convinced that smell is your soul, blacked out and wasting away. You’re not willing to face it yet.

Frankie maintains your supply. He stretches his paycheck to cover both of you and a large pizza most nights and you sit on your couch and watch TV in some fucked up painting of romance. You love him. It’s easier and simpler than you would have thought to admit it. That his smile is a source of comfort, his huffed breathing at your back a safety blanket. That he’s warm and strong and everything you were looking for in little white pills.

That he fills gaps you were already trying to plug with prescriptions long before you knew him. You keep that part a secret. You whisper it to him when he falls asleep, his body winning out over chemicals for the first time in days, sweaty on your sheets as he paws for you in dreams.

It’s toxic. You can’t untangle him from the fantasy life you’ve created. Technicolor wonderings of a future together, kids and a white picket fence that’s not overgrown, flowers blooming in the spring that he would pick, and you would scold, and you’d laugh anyway as he tucked one behind your ear.

You’re drowning in it, drowning in the scent of him. Motor oil and sugar free gum and sweet words he whispers into your neck. He says them in the morning. He doesn’t say them when you’re high. When you ask him, he says it’s because it means more sober. It’s the first hint you get he feels it too.

It’s seven months and everything gets worse. It’s night shift and you miss him, so you keep taking pills to cope with the loneliness until everything goes white at the edges. He shakes you conscious in a puddle of vomit, stale bread and undigested pills sticky on your cheek. He gets you in the shower and trembles as he holds you. The clean sheets on the bed are a band aid.

He makes lazy, slow love to you in the days coming, hands cradling your hips like you’re something precious, like you have this luxury, like you’re not both taming a snarling beast in your gut that’s ripping you open from the inside. He kisses you slow, syrup thick words on his tongue as he tells you how much he loves you.

“You’re the only good thing in my life” he whispers into your neck.

There’s pills and liquor on the nightstand. The room smells like weed and sex and the rot of human misery.

You leave two days later. He understands. Frankie understands when you cut contact, sitting in a white bedroom of a clinic your sister got you into. But you think about him enough that it’s like needles in your skin. Like each session is a love letter written just for him. That you’re going to get better, and he’s going to get better and you’re doing it for each other, because Frankie deserves the best of you.

It takes months. Its painful, like flaying bits of skin. But those little chips of plastic that show your progress start to mean more than him. He feels like a dream now, like something you imagined. You move out of state. You find a new job; you go to meetings. When that beast scratches at your insides, you have people you can call. And you call them.

You’d call it easy, but it isn’t. Each day feels like a battle, but you’re winning most of the time.

Its eighteen months before you head home. The house you own has changed renters; you need to clean it out. The town feels itchy under your skin, like it’s watching you. You drive past the Wal-Mart with white knuckles on the steering wheel and wonder if this town is still in the Opioid death grip. You wonder how you were possibly one of the lucky ones.

You stay in a shitty motel. It takes you a day and a phone call before you seek them out, the notices tacked on a public library corkboard, advertising the meeting taking place at a community center. They always smell like the same cheap coffee and sugary doughnuts and the minute you walk in you feel better. There’s nobody here that will judge you.

You leave the meeting in better spirits, a leash on your beast for the time being and debate walking to the all-night pizza place a few blocks down. You used to order from there with Frankie, the grease making your lips slippery when he kissed you breathless.

“Hey sunshine” You jump.

He looks better than you’ve ever seen him. Thicker and stronger, his beard grown in patchy, his hair long enough to curl around his ears, begging to be tucked away. The word unlocks a memory of a sober Sunday, laying in your backyard in summer, itchy from the grass with him, stains on both your knees.

“Hey”

He gives you a smile that makes your insides melt. It makes your skin hum in a way pills didn’t, its kinder, its edges rounder and softer. He shows you his chip as he walks with you to the pizza place. He got a year after you did. His cheeks pink when he shows you a photo of the fat cheeked baby in his wallet, he thumbs its edge with a grin.

He looks happy, he sounds happy. He tells you half a story about the guys whose calls he used to ignore and your heart sings for him. He’s still got that tinge of sadness. It makes you want to kiss him.

You share a slice of pepperoni, and you tell him about your new job. You both skirt the eight months neither of you remember well enough. It’s still easy, it’s still familiar. It takes you half an hour to work up the courage to ask him, knowing the answers going to hurt.

“Frankie? Was it real?”

He sucks a lip between his teeth and nods. Scratches the back of his neck and meets your eyes.

“Course it was, sunshine. Chasing you and chasing high became the same thing after a while. Woulda sold my soul to the devil just to make you laugh”

“Didn’t you?” you ask.

Frankie doesn’t answer.