#it was my first time writing like that hehe

[lambilegs]

your best friends older sister!sevika fanfic had me gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. love the way you write her as a mean teasing flirt ☺️ may i suggest roommate!sevika who does everything she can to get reader worked up such as bringing home girls to purposefully fuck them loud as fuck to make reader jealous 🙂‍↕️ hehe

roommate!sevika headcanons

note to anon: OMGGGG thank you so much bae!! and right? I feel like if she found someone who got on her nerves, she'd enjoy being the rudest flirt alive, hehe. ALSO, YES, I LOVE THIS IDEA SOOOO MUCH. took me a while to write it out, but I hope you enjoy!! <33 contains: sfw and nsfw content (minors + ageless blogs dni), reader receiving oral and strap, porn-watching, kinda voyeuristic (reader gets horny from sevika having sex with other girls), throat-grabbing, smoking, reader's body is referred to with the terms "pussy," "g-spot" and "clit"

roommate!sevika who doesn't really bother talking to you at first, just keeping to herself. she's not a fan of sharing her living space with people, but money's tight, and this is what she can afford right now. she's not interested in friendship, or some sort of everlasting bond to form between the two of you. she just wants to live in amicable peace, and have her space to herself.

and so, the two of you barely talk. you try, at first, but it becomes clear three days in that she's utterly uninterested. which, you can't lie, is a pretty huge disappointment, considering that the prospect of living with an incredibly hot and stoic butch was one that had you thrilled initially. but, unfortunately, she seems anything but truly interested in any sort of connection with you.

roommate!sevika who remains in her bedroom most of the time, working on one contraption or the other, or watching videos on her laptop.

or gaming. because, yes, she games, and she does try her best to keep quiet, she really does. but, the idiots she plays with have her occasionally shouting, cursing loudly as they cause her team to lose yet again.

every now and then, she'll hang out in the living room, watching TV, but that's usually reserved to when you're not home, or locked up in your own bedroom. when you come out to cook in the kitchen, or sit on the love seat so that you can fold laundry, she'll usually linger for a few minutes, carefully observing, before standing up to head back to her bedroom.

it's not like she hates you or anything. you're pretty okay -- nice to her and not sloppy and disgusting like some of the other roommates she's had before. you even share the food you cook with her, and have always been cooperative about splitting chores with her. so, in sevika's books, you're not a person who she's keen on disliking, and she actually feels pretty damn lucky for having found your ad.

roommate!sevika who does nothing to quell the sexual frustration you've had for months due to the serious dry spell that's been plaguing you. walls are thin, and you can hear the loud ass girl she's brought home, moaning and whining as sevika's bed frame rocks against the wall. every now and then, her noises are met with sevika's hushed grunts and filthy words of, "tell me, who's a good girl?"

you twist and turn in bed, rolling over to glare at your phone. it's 2:03AM -- how does she still have the energy to be fucking at this time? you're exhausted, irritated, and insanely horny from what you're hearing. because horribly enough, this girl doesn't sound like she's faking -- no, she's truly enjoying herself. sevika is just that good of a lay, it seems. and that piece of knowledge has your pussy beginning to dampen, soaking through your panties.

if you shut your eyes, and drift into the hazy world of dream land, you can pretend that it's you and her making those noises. that she's the one fucking you right now. god, just the thought of that notion has your clit aching.

but, it also has you feeling a strike of insecurity. because the truth is, that probably won't be you and sevika anytime soon. she doesn't even give you the time of day. you don't know what it is you've done to her, but she avoids you like the plague, never returning any of your offers of kindness or bonding. and it's beginning to sting really bad. if she can canoodle with a stranger (and, yeah, you're painfully aware it's a stranger, since her text said, "Hey. I met a girl at the bar tonight, is it okay if I bring her over?") well enough to have sex with her that very night, why can she barely spare you attention as her roommate?

the thought is a cold wash over your horniness, and all it leaves is a bitter taste on your tongue.

roommate!sevika who's giving you the most bewildered stare as you shake the soaked thong of the girl she brought home last night, yelling about how you're convinced that said girl stole one of your underwear after this one got ruined.

"how would you even know that?" sevika snickers, eyeing you in disbelief. "are you that anal?"

"my drawer was half open, sevika! and I never leave it like that because I'd knock into it on my way in otherwise!" you snap, your eyes wide and glossy with anger. sevika's honestly a bit unnerved by the sight -- she's never seen you this pissed, but jesus, she thought it'd take more than a singular, flimsy piece of fabric to get you to this state.

"it's just one pair," she deadpans. "I'm sorry serena -- or, selena, I don't know -- took it, but it's not that big of a big deal."

"maybe not for you, but it is for me! listen, I don't care if you don't know the names of the girls you bring here, or anything about them -- but, just make sure they're not a thieving dumbass, okay? is that enough for you?"

sevika's jaw shifts, irritation beginning to sizzle in her from the condescension layering your words. you're talking to her like she's a fucking child, tone taking on a faux sense of guidance.

"okay, listen, I'm sorry she took your underwear, okay? I'll buy you a new pair if you're that bent out of shape over it. but, you don't need to be such a piss baby about it."

your head flinches back, eyes sharpening in clear anger. sevika feels a twinge of guilt. she knows she fucked up, since ensuring the girl from last night didn't do anything out of line was her responsibility. but, your anger has her own defenses kicking in automatically, and she's equal measures embarrassed and angered at being spoken to this way.

"I have every right to be pissed if you're gonna be stupid about the people you bring in our apartment."

well, that manages to snap her out of it. "because I could just magically anticipate that she'd steal your shit? I get it, she did something shitty, but I couldn't have known that. I've got lots of skills, but that's not one of them."

you scoff, the noise loud and unabashed. "oh, trust me, you made a great display of your skills last night. not that you seem to fucking spare any of that attention to someone unless you're gonna get a good lay out of it."

sevika immediately freezes at that, her brain running into overdrive. your tone has shifted into something biting, but lowered with what seems like -- frustration? frustration not just at that girl, but at sevika herself. and if you're frustrated about sevika possessing an attentiveness that she spares only to certain people, then that must mean--

sevika snickers softly. oh, yeah, you've definitely given her an opening in this argument. "what, you jealous?"

immediately, you're spluttering, broken words and half-gasps flinging from your mouth, sentences barely strung together. it only heightens sevika's newfound delight in having found something to hold above your head.

"you are, aren't you? what, haven't had a good fuck lately? need me to get one of my boys to come over and take care of you?"

sevika can see the way you work your teeth behind your pursed lips, and it only causes her flame of amusement to burn brighter.

"first of all, I'm not fucking pitiful, okay? I can handle getting fucked. second of all, I'm not into guys, something you'd know if you even spoke to me for two fucking seconds."

sevika's eyes widen at that. this interaction definitely had her suspecting it, but to hear you confirm it only sends another wave of satisfaction, mingled with surprise, through her. so, you're gay and bitter over having no attention, and specifically not hers? you're making it too easy.

"so, what, you're into me?" she asks, her voice twisted with snark. "been wanting me this whole time? mad I'm not giving you attention?"

she knows it's risky to be goading her own roommate like this, flirting and teasing. but, she can't help it -- not when your mouth is finally shut and she knows she has something on you.

she stalks up to you slowly, using her height to her advantage as she dips her head down, staring at you with a piercing smirk. "well?"

your eyes are wide, blinking rapidly like a pretty little butterfly. they flicker down to her mouth, and sevika feels something stir in her gut at the sight. she's always been neutral about you, but there's something undeniably attractive about seeing you like this -- seething, wanting, in need of someone to take care of you. as her gaze roves over your features, she finds herself struck for the first time that you're, frankly, pretty good-looking.

but, then, you draw in a sharp breath, and sevika reels back in surprise when you hiss, "no."

she's left baffled as you whirl on your heel, stomping to your room, muttering out, "perverted jackass."

sevika chuckles at that. perverted jackass, huh?

roommate!sevika whose noises are so bothersome that you cover your ears, gritting your teeth at the rattling-headboard noises that are running through the apartment for the fifth fucking time in these past two weeks. how sevika manages to get this many girls in her bed is beyond your human capabilities. all you know is that it was never this often in the past. no, this -- this is fucking personal. you can feel it in the way she shoots you a haughty smirk the next morning, and how she encourages the people she's with to moan louder, move back faster. it's gotten to the point where you can even hear the fucking skin smacks.

it makes you utterly enraged. and impossibly soaked. but, for your own sense of justice and determination, you refuse to get off to the noises. in fact, everytime she continues her habit of asking you politely if she can bring someone over, you ensure to respond in as chipper a tone as possible. you don't want her thinking she's having an impact on you. you want to convey the self-image of being unbothered, unfazed and completely okay with every little dig she's attempting with you.

what makes you snap is when you're on your way to work one morning, and from where she's seated on the couch, lip bitten in frustration as she does a crossword puzzle like a fucking nerd, she says, "enjoyed the show last night? I can pick someone else up tonight. thought I'd ask in case you need to charge your vibrator in advance."

stay calm. stay calm. don't attack her. don't sit on her face.

"well," you drawl with a forced smile, "you'd like that, wouldn't you? so, your next girl can steal it for herself."

she immediately bursts into a loud round of laughter, her gap revealing itself unabashedly. your eyes linger on it, struck with a sudden bolt of fondness. it's one part of her that is unarguably adorable.

you turn away before she can catch you, heading to the kettle to pour the boiling water into your tumblr.

"wait, no," sevika calls out from the couch, eyes still fixed on the newspaper. "the counter."

your eyes curiously travel to the wooden surface, gulping in surprise when you see a fresh pot already made. you know sevika always drinks coffee before her shift at the mechanic's, but that's usually just a single cup. never an entire pot like this. "did you, uh, make this for me?"

"don't flatter yourself. just take some."

her voice is a grunt and no-nonsense, not allowing for her meaning to be minced whatsoever. she wants you taking the coffee, and that's that.

with a bitten smile, you pour it into your tumblr, the pleasant scent of it wafting through your nostrils. it's the brand you always use, the one you've offered to sevika before that she's never actually taken you up on. at least until now.

she's at least half-redeemed to you until she says, "just needed some energy after last night, you know? wait, what am I saying? you were listening, won't you?"

your skin stretches over your knuckles as you tightly grip the doorknob.

jackass.

roommate!sevika who you try to get back at by watching obscenely loud porn. sometimes, you touch yourself to it, while other times, you just let it play in the background while folding your laundry, or wiping the dust from your furniture. you know it's immature as fuck, and will probably never equate to the personal touch of her being the one to incite those noises when trying to piss you off. but, hey, if it keeps her up at night and pisses her off, you're more than content. and judging from the glares she silently shoots you in the morning, you can tell you're succeeding.

at least, until one day, she leans in from behind when you're making eggs, her mouth lowered to your ear, and mutters, "c'mon, you're easy on the eyes. can't be so hard to find someone that you resort to porn, right?"

your nostrils flare, nearly slamming down the pan on the stove. "oh, fuck off."

"don't you mean 'fuck me'?"

your mouth cracks into an almost-smile. it's one thing to wanna fuck sevika, it's a whole other thing to have your stomach tighten up from how funny she is. makes it all the harder to deal with your current predicament. "no, I mean 'fuck you,' actually -- thanks for helping with that clarification."

"anytime," she huffs in amusement, lightly smacking your shoulder, which sends you nearly tumbling from her strength.

you glare at her back as she leaves. god, it's a good back. you hate that she has a good back.

roommate!sevika who's almost... thankful for this situation? because paying more attention to you, being in your way more often, ends up revealing to her that she was, admittedly, a damn fool for not having taken notice of you earlier.

because you're smart. like, wicked smart. what she suspects is mostly out of spite, you've started leaning over her shoulder, your scent flooding her senses as you spoil the answers to her crossword puzzles. at first, she rolled her eyes, grumbling that she would've gotten it without your help. but, now, she anticipates your stupid antics before you can even think about disrupting her mood with it. that translates to her raising the newspaper to you right as you meet her in the kitchen, an action which you first met with a disapproving glare.

but, in a matter of days, you're sitting right next to her, a pencil in hand, the two of you debating over answers together and groaning in frustration whenever you get something wrong.

when you bump her arm, whining, "c'mon, I told you it was wrong!" she can feel her face heat up like some fucking teenager.

and when you roll your eyes when her answer ends up being the right on, it only eggs her on, the motion usually followed with her murmuring, "sorry, what was that again?"

whenever you two finish, she always says, "thanks for ruining it," to which you singsong, "anytime, sevika."

and she hates to admit it, but you're funny, too. there've been several times where she's actually been rendered silent from just how good a comeback of yours was, or where you said something that caught her so off guard she nearly laughed in a moment where she was just annoyed.

and fuck her, you're so fine. so goddamn fine.

a notion that seizes at her when you come out of your bedroom one evening, dressed from head to toe in clothes she certainly has never seen you in before. clothes you'd surely never wear to work or when lounging at home.

she licks her lips, her mouth suddenly feeling very, very dry. "what-- where are you--?"

"putting myself out there." you shrug, idly stroking a palm along your head, smoothing your hair. "I mean, it always works for you. and, you're right, porn can only do so much. I think it's time for me to, you know, actually try to get with someone."

sevika's jaw clenches. like the fuck you will. "no."

"what do you mean 'no'?" you scoff, swinging your bag over your shoulder. "I can do whatever I want."

"well, I'm not letting you do this," she snaps, standing from her seat on the couch and rushing to block you from the door.

"why not?"

"because I--" she cuts herself off, teeth pressing in together as her mind is shaken with an influx of thoughts. because what can she even say? it's not just about wanting to fuck, not anymore. she's actually interested now. so interested that it's been weeks since she last brought a girl over. no point in doing so if her mind is filled with thoughts of you touching yourself to the noises, anyways.

you raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. "yes?"

she leans in closer, propping a hand next to where your shoulders rest along the door. there's an inexplicable urge tugging her forwards to you, and she doesn't have it in her to resist it. "because I," she rasps, her voice low and scratchy, "I want you safe."

jesus, is she an idiot?

your face is deadpan, not a twitch of expression in sight. "you do it all the time. besides, how will I learn unless I'm out there, doing it?" after a beat skips between you two, you add, "unless you wanna come with?"

sevika snorts. "you really think I'm gonna watch you fuck about with some other people who don't deserve you?"

you brace your head against the plane of the door, eyes tracing over her face, making sevika's skin tingle in response. "then, who does?" you mutter quietly.

your tone is no longer flat. it's raised in pitch a bit, almost sounding hopeful. sevika swallows hard, her own body beginning to tense in anticipation. she latches onto that audible sign, using it to propel her forward until her lips are ghosting yours.

"me, you idiot."

and with that, she cups your face, drawing you into a soft kiss, your chapstick-smeared lips thick and slippery against hers.

roommate!sevika who makes you come so many times that night that you lose track. first with her head between your thighs, mouthing at your clit, fingers pumping into your hole as she spreads you loose and open. her lips wrap around the stiffened bud, drawing it in in tight, sharp sucks, the pressure of the movements making your legs tremble around her head, pressing into her ears without relent.

"damn, you trying to suffocate me?" she murmurs against your clit, the vibrations of her words making you whimper.

"it's what you deserve," you chuckle once the fog has cleared a bit, the noise dissolving into a whine when her tongue darts out, flapping over your clit with hard presses up and down, up and down.

"you're right," she hums, pressing a soft kiss to the spot just as her fingers curl up and begin stroking your g-spot, making streams of pleasure pulse from your pussy into your tummy, which tightens in anticipation. "I've been a dick to you, huh? I'll make it up to you tonight."

and make it up she does, her strap plunging into you and stretching your hole into a dull ache as her strong fingers hook onto her headboard, raising herself over you as your hips smack together. the mix of lube and your juices send filthy little squelches flowing through the room, and the noise only adds to the whirlwind of pleasure she's throwing you into without pause.

when she kisses you hard, making you whine as her fingers wrap around your throat and her tongue shoves into you, you can't resist quipping through your moans, "gotta say -- those girls had a point."

she chuckles against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip. "and I was going easy on them. just wait till I'm done with you."

roommate!sevika who wraps her arm around you when smoking her cigarette afterwards. after lying together with nothing but some faded music playing in the background for a few minutes, she presses a tentative, slow kiss to your head, muttering, "I wish I had started talking to you earlier on."

you blink in surprise from the words, the tenderness of the moment sending a flood of emotions through you. you don't want to sound needy, but now that the topic has been brought up, a part of you aches for reassurance, wishing for the hollow part of you her initial avoidance had bore to be filled. "was it because I seemed uninteresting, or...?"

"no, no," she immediately cuts in, her voice hard. "I just wasn't interested in bonding with any roommate. never have been." her nails gently skim along your arm, and her voice lowers before confessing, "I thought you were sweet, though."

that sends satisfaction pumping through you, and you need to purse your lips together to halt a wide smile from breaking over your face. "yeah?"

"yeah, until you started being a little fucking menace," she whispers with a grin, her hand snaking down to squeeze your ass, a motion which nearly sends you moaning.

"hey, you started it with your panty-stealing girl."

"my panty-stealing girl?" she asks incredulously, her chin pointing down to shoot you a wide-eyed look. "you think I'm gonna call anyone mine except you now?"

feeling suddenly bashful from the bold declaration, you nuzzle into her neck, your face heating up. "I don't know."

"huh, you know, you're cute like this. docile, quiet--"

"oh, fuck off."

she laughs, lightly pinching your arm, which sends you squealing. "eh, I knew it only could've lasted so long."

"like you'd have it any other way."

she takes a drag, the corner of her lips curling up. "got a point there."

no sentences and/or parts of my writing are allowed to be reposted or reused without explicit permission or credits given.

[seraphivonne7]

aww thank you love, this just made my day <3

youre such a joy to be around, sososo silly. i love roleplaying with you, too, and youre very understanding when im going through a tough time,, ilysm asti/p <33!!

@beep-beep-beep-beep-beep : first mutual that pulled me into phighting and also the most silliest. YAOI 4LIFERS EHEHEH. youll always be the subkitten to my phreakykit/silly also thank you for keeping me in touch in reality when i spiral a little, exploding you with my mind >:]

@universeberrigarden : HI!!! ik we dont interact much on here but irl youre my lifesaver. ty for being one of my closest friends and a cult member, i have so many things to say to you but i think id trip on my face and get a concussion while trying to do so <//3 youre awesome and amazing at dancing and i love your art and you always help me and— hehe :]<3 thank you so much for being my friend, i dont know what id do without you or the cult eheh

@mothheart : YOURE SO COOL. i love your fanfics (if you couldnt tell) and youre an amazing person <3 im so happy when we became mutuals it felt like i died/silly i aspire to have your writing drive one day hehe. take breaks, take care of yourself, youre absolutely amazing and COILBOARD FOREVER‼️‼️

positivity train!

if you see this or are tagged in it, tag a couple of your favorite mutuals/blogs and let them know you appreciate seeing them on your dash!

@h0neysugarfree @blueberrylovv @bequiteanddriveeeeeee @cherri-bomb-bomb @eg0mechan1c @fatrexicisback

[woozinhos]

can u write nonidol yunho x reader finding out they’re expecting their first child together pls

Notes: made this one small and cute hehe please request more Ateez hehe I’m in my Ateez era fr

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.

You had been feeling off for a few weeks now, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it. You had a few symptoms, like nausea and fatigue, but you didn't think much of it. One day, as you were getting ready for work, you realized that you were late for your period. You had been keeping track for years, and this was the first time that you'd missed it. You took a test, and when the positive result appeared, you were stunned. You couldn't believe that you were pregnant.

You stared at the test for a few moments, trying to process the news. You were pregnant with Yunho's child. You knew that he had always wanted kids, and you were excited to tell him. You thought about how you would surprise him. You decided to make him breakfast in bed and slip the test in with the food. You woke up early the next morning and made your way to the kitchen. You knew that Yunho would be up soon, so you hurried to prepare breakfast.

As you cooked, you carefully tucked the test into a napkin. You placed the food on a tray and brought it to the bedroom. You set the tray down on the bedside table and crawled back into bed next to Yunho. He was still sleeping soundly, his chest rising and falling with each breath. You couldn't contain your excitement. You leaned over and gently shook him awake. "Hey, baby," you whispered. "Wake up. I have a surprise for you." He groaned and opened his eyes, still half-asleep. "What time is it?" he mumbled.

"Early," you replied, trying to keep your voice light and cheerful. "I made you breakfast in bed." He smiled, his eyes still bleary. "You didn't have to do that," he said, sitting up in bed. "But it smells amazing." He leaned over and kissed you on the cheek before noticing the tray on the bedside table.

"What's this?" he asked, reaching for the napkin. You held your breath as he unfolded it, revealing the pregnancy test inside. He stared at the test for a moment, his eyes wide with shock. "Is this...real?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, a huge smile spreading across your face. "It's real," you said. "We're going to have a baby." You were starting to worry. He wasn't saying anything, and he was just staring at the test. "Baby?" you asked, gently touching his arm. "Are you okay?" You could see the tears welling up in his eyes, and you felt a wave of relief wash over you. He was crying because he was happy, not because he was upset.

"We're going to be parents," he said, his voice cracking. "I can't believe it." He reached out and pulled you into a tight embrace. "I'm so happy," he whispered into your ear. "You've made me the happiest man in the world."

You wrapped your arms around him, feeling his body trembling with emotion. You knew that this was a big moment for both of you, and that everything was going to change. He stroked your hair, his fingers tangling in your locks as he kissed you deeply. The kiss was filled with passion and excitement, and you could feel his love for you in every movement. When the kiss ended, he pulled back slightly, still holding you close. "We're going to have a family," he said again, as if he was still in disbelief. "A real family."

[hayamie]

Word: 396

Feb.10.2025 [1:44am]

"Holy shit.” Was the first thing you said the moment you saw Lucifer in that outfit.

Starting from his black to blood red ombre boots that has both light red hearts on it, to his usual black pants that has a fish net on his hips to his oh so grabable waist, he wore a pastel red crop top with a black vest like on top. A black coat adorned with red and— He smirked at you the moment your eyes made contact with his.

He looks absolutely delicious right now.

“My king, you look ravishing tonight." Licking your lips as you looked at him with bedroom eyes.

He lowly chuckled, “why yes,” he glanced at the mirror beside him "I do indeed look.. rather handsome in red." He grinned, But you didn't miss the way he gulped when you slowly took his cane and set it aside somewhere all the while leaning towards him.

“Are you perhaps busy tonight, my King?" You fixed his how, buying your time as you eyed his lips.

He sighed, cupping your face in his gloved hand, “I'll always have time for you, my Queen."

You tilt your head, "No meetings that would require your immediate attention?” You gently pat the snake on his sleeve.

He grimaced, “As far as I know, no.”

You smirked leaning to where his ear is supposed to be, “that settles it then."

He glanced at you, confused. “What— WOAH!"

You suddenly lifted him up, “Hey! Wait honey—" you plopped the short king on his bed, making him yelp out of surprise.

Before he could say anything to protest, He giggled instead when he saw you immediately going in between his legs. Placing his hand on top of your head while continuing to giggle. “My Queen, that's my job!"

You simply smiled up at him, "let me give you my service just for tonight, my King.” Rubbing your cheek on his thigh while maintaining eye contact with him.

He sighed, staring down at you lovingly. “If that's what my beautiful Queen wants."

Your lips curled upward into a grin. Gingerly hooking your fingers on the band of his pants, slowly pulling it down,

“Good boy."

He shivered in delight, before watching his pants get tossed somewhere in the room. His grip on your hair tightened.

Welp, this is gonna be one hell of a night.

Feel free to write the smut part, Don't have enough braincells to write it yet. Tag me hehe

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ➨ Photos from PINTEREST

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ➥ Lucifer 1

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ➥ Heart

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ➥ Lucifer 2

[giggly-squiggily]

❤️ I love you with Bachira and Chigiri please?

Ooooo! I love this duo! They're so soft and sweet- I can never get enough of them! :D I've gotcha covered, anon!

I love you- "What a brave thing to say to someone so ticklish!"

“Hey.” Bachira had wormed his way into Chigiri’s view. Literally- he crawled like an inchworm as the redhead braided back his hair. “Smile.”

“No.” Automatically he forced his lips down into a frown. Bachira giggled.

“No?” He sat up, scooting closer until he was practically in Chigiri’s lap, all up in his business. “What a brave thing to say…for someone so ticklish!”

“Bach-” He didn’t stand a chance. The dribbler’s fingers sank into his armpits, making him yelp and fall backwards. “Nohohohohoho, cohohome ohohohon! I juhuhuhust sthahaharted my hahahahair!”

“Well, keep going then! Who’s stopping you?” Bachira giggled as he got comfortable, sitting on his hips and carrying on his armpit tickles. “Oh, right. Hehe.”

“Gehahahaha! Bahahhachira!” For the first time in forever, Chigiri decided to fight back. Abandoning his hair, he shot his hands out to Bachira’s sides, squeezing the way he saw Isagi do many times. “Tahahke this!”

“GAH!” The dribbler shouted, immediately retracting his hands. He fell face first into Chigiri’s chest, curling up loosely as he laughed and laughed. “Nohohohoh, Mihihihiissy!”

“Wow, you gave up fast.” Chigiri teased, spitting out a mouthful of Bachira’s hair as he flipped their positions. Once on top, he wormed his hands under his back and began pinching at his shoulderblades. “This is a terrible spot, yeah?”

“EHAHAHHA!” Bachira nearly took him out, spasming like he was being electrocuted at the touch. His laughter cranked up a notch, echoing around the room as he spazzed out like a bug. “CHHHIHIHIGIHIHIHI PLEHHAHAHASE!”

“Please what?”

“KEHEHEEP GOHOHOHOING! JUHUHUST SOHOOHMEWHERE EHEHEHLSE!” The redhead was surprised by the request- usually someone pleading was acting for it to end! “IT TIHIHICKLES!”

“Heh, okay. Whatever you want.” Giving in, he moved his fingers back to Bachira’s ribs, giggling softly at the snorts and hiccups he earned by doing so. “Here I come!”

Send Me a Prompt and I'll Write A Dabble For It!

[bellsluck]

☆ about me ☆

hii, i’m bells!

thought it was about time i made an introduction.

i’m 21, a capricorn sun, leo moon, cancer rising (astrology freak), my ethnicity is a little complicated but i’ll put it as half british and half portuguese. i can speak english and portuguese fluently and have a half-decent grasp of spanish. i’ve lived in the uk for most of my life. sexuality: no labels.

i’d say i’m new to tumblr as this is the first time in my life i’m actually using it regularly, i think I’ve got the hang of it now. i feel so at home on here and i love having new mutuals hehe. feel free to message about literally anything (save me from the “singles in your area looking for-” dms, i beg).

☆ interests ☆

i love writing and reading, fanfic, music and film, generally just immersing myself in other worlds tbh. kisses to pinterest, ao3 and wattpad. tumblr now too i guess.

seemingly never ending harry potter obsession. marauders era, hogwarts legacy era, etc. slytherin girly. i was part of hptok at its peak in like 2020/2021, my page was basically dedicated to it. it was so much fun.

also star wars, specifically the hayden christensen trilogy, but i love the ogs too and i thinkmy favourite spin-offs are the mandalorian and obi-wan kenobi. if i ever get married it will be at lake como, idc how many times it's been done. i was at one of the filming locations last summer (theed palace) and almost crying like a little biatch.

i like video games too (mostly play on switch), but i’m very picky when it comes to finding ones i actually like, then I will rack up hours on it like there's no tomorrow… we love hyperfixation over here. love love love stardew valley, animal crossing and games along those lines but atm i’ve been doing my rounds on the resident evil games (re2 og, re4 remake, re6, down bad for leon kennedy) and also hogwarts legacy, i’ve finished most of it, i just have to complete my field guide now (desperately want to replay for the sebastian quests, also the new mod stuff is so cool!).

music wise, i listen to lots of different stuff, constantly go through phases, but for my all timers, aka can quote their discography from start to finish, i’d probably say lana del rey, radiohead, the weeknd and nirvana. recently it’s been lots of david bowie, queen, beabadoobee, portishead, fleetwood mac, the beatles… i could go on.

always open to recommendations for songs, playlists, films, series, games, books, fanfics, or anything, i love it all.

☆ onto the topic of shifting... ☆

i am happy to announce i am free from the shackles of “shift-tok”. if yk, yk. 

i’ll take this as a chance to ask nicely for any antis to please, please, not interact from here on out. thank you.

so, i initially found out about shifting on hptok 2020 (huge surprise ik) and so obviously i wanted to go to hogwarts. like??

needless to say i got caught up in all the tiktok misinformation, blatant lies, complicated asf methods, self explanatory. sorry younger-me. i could explain more but all in all i was too impatient and clueless, didn't really know what i was doing at all, eventually got bored, busy with school, and assumed everyone was lying (a few were, it seems).

 i completely forgot about it all after that until i came across a shifting post on reddit a few weeks ago. my tiktok fyp started filling with shifting/manifestation videos too right after. i was coincidentally in between a rewatch of the harry potter films at this point too. you know where this is going. i started seeing tiktoks from smaller creators just answering people’s questions about shifting, and it was all so different from all the stuff i’d heard years ago, spoken about in a completely different way, which just made so much sense to me and was so intriguing. i decided to delve into it all once again. it was those same creators who also would mention tumblr, and i, who had just joined tumblr for writing related stuff not long ago, decided to start searching up things related to shifting.

 i eventually came across some great accounts and information, stories of experiences, motivation, help. i started reading “journeys out of the body” by robert monroe too, so interesting, btw, and have since began my own shifting/exploring consciousness journey (i try to be careful what words i use for things, for lots of reasons, and i understand everyone might use different terms, reminder that i haven’t been on here for that long). it’s been amazing so far. 

(i may have straight up searched shifting realities on google the other day. curiosity got the best of me. it was bad. don’t do it.)

to not mislead anyone, no, i haven’t actually had a full experience in my specific “dr” yet. however it’s only been a small amount of time and i’ve already had lots of different types of sensations and experiences that i’ve never had before and it’s all so beautiful and interesting to me. i definitely view things a lot differently than i did before. i have shiftblr to thank for it.

i adore finding new shifter blogs and reading everything on them, so if i’m giving stalker behaviour it just means i’m loving your stuff or you're all over my feed. 

idk what i’m even going to post about yet, if or when i do. maybe i’ll write a bit into my “journey” so far, any experiences or how and what i do to get into certain states, about my dr, or stuff i’m just nerdy about in general. 

fyi just because i write does not mean i will always use any grammatical skills at all when writing for blog. sorry ;)

if you ever have any questions i’ll love you forever i will answer as best as i can.

this wasn’t all that exciting but i just wanted a little intro because i’m always blank on my socials. 

 thanks for reading !!

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[mxltifxnd0m]

a book for every situation ── . ✶ i. lahey

summary: isaac loves that you're a bookworm, until you ignore him for a book

pairings: isaac lahey x bookworm!reader, isaac lahey x gn!reader warnings: none really, no use of 'y/n', fluff, slight humor, a mention of isaac's dad, reader is described as shorter than isaac, title is a lyric from carolina by harry styles, kinda edited; all mistakes are my own word count: 2.6K a/n: had the sudden idea to write bookworm!reader and wanted to write isaac, so combined the two ideas lol. this could have been a head canon but i was itching to write a one shot for my boy hehe <3 enjoy !! isaac lahey masterlist

YOU’VE ALWAYS LOVED books. You’ve been reading since the ripe old age of 6 when your mom brought you to the Beacon Hills library, and you discovered the Junie B. Jones series, and from there, you were hooked. Whenever you were asked what you wanted for your birthday, you always replied with books.

And you never really grew out of it. You loved getting lost within the pages of a well-written book, getting emotionally attached to the characters, and submerging yourself into the world of the book.

Stiles and Scott always teased you about having your nose stuck in a book, but they never failed to ask you for help with their book reports or essays for English. You didn’t mind helping them, but you never failed to have a smug grin on your face when correcting Stiles when he was being a smartass. 

They aptly gave you the nickname “bookworm,”—they were going to shorten it to ‘Wormy’, but after verbally threatening bodily harm, they never called you that nickname after the threats made by you (you still remember the fearful looks in their eyes).

You would have argued that Stiles could compete for the title of the biggest bookworm (it was more like who was the biggest nerd), but one mention of the overflowing bookshelves in your room proved you wrong very quickly.

However, when you were pulled into the world of the supernatural by your best friends, you perpetuated that stereotype to the extreme. When Scott was bitten and became a werewolf, you all but threw yourself into researching and reading whatever lore books you could find on werewolves.

Despite being human, you brought a lot of brain power to the pack (which is saying a lot since the only ‘brainiacs’ within the pack were two other people).  Your extensive knowledge of the supernatural and mythology came in handy. It helped the pack out when it came to the threats that loomed over Beacon Hills constantly. 

Isaac knew that you were smart, maybe too smart for your own good. He vividly remembers spotting you at the local library when he was younger, with your eyes rapidly moving across the page. You sat at one of the tables with books spread throughout the top of it, with one of the Percy Jackson books in your hands as you flipped through its pages.

You were someone that he noticed, but Isaac doubted that you would have noticed him with his quiet disposition and his preference to stay in the background. So when he became a werewolf and inadvertently joined Scott’s pack, he was slightly intimidated by you. Though you were cold to him at first, you eventually warmed up to him—Isaac wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he felt relief wash over him when you stopped acknowledging him with a slight frown on your face and a genuine smile. 

Once the two of you became friends, you guys naturally gravitated towards each other; whether it was sitting together at lunch or in times of danger, Isaac instinctively looked for you and tried to protect you. You remembered the day that Lydia pointed it out to you and just brushed it off as him being a good friend and not wanting you to get hurt since you were one of two humans in the pack. 

Lydia had a sly smirk on her face. “I don’t see Scott trying to protect Stiles at every turn.” 

You narrowed your eyes at the strawberry blonde—you were glad that she didn’t have super hearing because she would have heard your heart beat faster at her implication. You brushed her off and went back to studying, but Lydia didn’t miss your slightly flustered state. 

You had to admit to yourself that you found yourself falling for Isaac. His dry humor complimented your smartass remarks that you found snarking out to him in the moments of banter that the two of you had, and he was easy to talk to when it came to anything.

He’d let you ramble about the book you had just finished or rant about a plot line within a book that irked you to no end. Other than talking about books, you found that Isaac’s presence allowed you to tell him things that you found challenging to try and bring up with Stiles or Lydia. 

In turn, Isaac confided in you about his past with his father (which sparked a flame of anger inside of your chest but managed to keep it contained) and was significantly more vulnerable with you in general. 

You knew that your life wasn’t like one of the romance books you read—if anything, it was more like the horror murder mysteries that were on the bookshelf in your room.

You liked reading romance, they were a fun escape, getting swept up passionate love story between the two main characters, and wishing that your life was like the ones in the books. But you were realistic and didn’t delude yourself into thinking that you would have a love story like any of the heroines that were in these books, hence why you kept your burgeoning crush on Isaac to yourself. 

Little did you know that Isaac had felt the same way about you, and unbeknownst to you, Isaac had a feeling that you liked him back (he silently thanked the fact that he had super hearing and could hear your heartbeat). 

So, he decided that he would make a move during your weekly movie nights with the pack. After the movie was done, he stayed behind as the rest of the pack left to help you clean up (since this most recent one was held at your house). After the living room was cleaned up, the two of you were in the kitchen chatting about how kinda bad the movie was and how egregious the plot was. 

You were putting away some dishes back in the cupboards so your parents didn’t harp on you for not doing it, and you turned around to be face-to-face (more like face-to-chest) with Isaac. You didn’t realize how close he had gotten to you, and your breath caught in your throat. Isaac’s bright blue gaze froze you into place. 

Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest, and you knew that Isaac could hear it. Being this close to Isaac, in combination with the cologne he was wearing, was enough to make you dizzy. 

Isaac was smirking internally, hearing your rapid heartbeat, and let it show on his lips as he placed his hand on your cheek. His eyes flicked from your lips and back to meet your gaze. 

“Can I kiss you?”  

You wanted to regain some control over the situation and your heart rate. “What’s the magic word?” You quipped with a slightly nervous smile on your lips.  

Isaac huffed a laugh through his nose, his hand moving from your cheek to the back of your neck. 

“Can I please kiss you?” 

“There it is, ye-” The rest of your response was cut off by Isaac pulling you close to you by your neck and kissing you. 

The moment Isaac’s lips landed on yours, everything around you faded into oblivion, and all you could think about was how soft and warm his lips were against yours as they moved together. It was everything that you imagined kissing Isaac and more. This kiss felt like how they were described in the romance novels you read, fireworks and all. 

Now, you were lying in your bed, reading your worn copy of Little Women that your mom had gifted to you for your thirteenth birthday. Your room was dim but bright enough so your eyes weren’t strained when reading the black text on the page, and you had some tea on your bedside table that you occasionally sipped at as you read. 

Sunday was usually the day you carved out time to read recreationally if you didn’t have any homework to do over the weekend. Today was a gloomy day, making you want to bundle up. Which you did, clad in some fuzzy socks, a soft sweater (that you definitely didn’t steal from Isaac), and some sweatpants. 

You were so absorbed in your book that you didn’t realize that Isaac was leaning on the doorframe at the entrance of your room until you heard a loud cough pull you from the story and back to reality. 

You looked up and saw your boyfriend with a small but amused smile on his face. “Oh, hey! I thought you were coming over later?” 

“Babe, it’s later.” Isaac pointed to your alarm clock, and you saw that it was the time he had texted that he’d be over.

“Oh.” You said sheepishly. “Lost track of time.” You gestured to the book that was still open in your hands. 

Isaac chuckled lightly. He loved the fact that you were a bookworm; it was very endearing to him, and it was one of the many things that he loved about you. 

“I could tell. I was standing there for a good five minutes before I caught your attention.” Isaac kicked off of your door frame and made his way into your room, closing your door as he did. You noticed that he was dressed in a similar get-up to you—he was wearing a sweater and some sweatpants. 

“You were just standing there and watching me read?” You raised a curious brow at him. 

He nodded. “Yeah, you scrunch your eyebrows together when you’re really focused.” Isaac moved to sit right next to you on your bed and used his thumb to smooth out the wrinkle from between your brows. “Like that.” Isaac couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.

You didn’t realize you were doing it, and when you felt his warm hand on your face, you swatted it away, feeling yourself flush at the action. 

“Don’t worry, it’s cute.” Isaac grinned before leaning down and kissing your forehead. 

You rolled your eyes at him, but you couldn’t help the slight smile that grew on your face at the feeling of his lips against your skin. You shook your head at him before picking up your book again and picking up where you left off. 

Isaac couldn’t help the pout that formed on his lips as you began to read again, ignoring him for your book. There was a reason why he came over: to spend time with you and get your undivided attention. A sigh escaped him before he let his head fall back against your headboard with a slight ‘thunk,’ staring up at your ceiling. 

Another sigh left him, this one slightly louder than the first. And then he did it again, then one more time— this time being the most audible out of the four times he did it, making you cast a glance at him before you went back to reading. 

Isaac mentally groaned at your lack of response at his (poor) attempt to get your attention. He looked down at you, totally engrossed in your book. Isaac decided that it was time to bring out the big guns to get your attention. 

You felt Isaac poke your arm. You didn’t even flinch and kept your eyes on the page. He did it again, this time poking your thigh. You pressed your lips together as you reread the sentence you were trying to finish before Isaac was trying to get your attention. You quickly caught on to what Isaac was trying to do, but you wanted to finish this page before you could reprimand the boy sitting next to you.

The next time he poked you, he aimed for your side—making you jerk away from him. 

Isaac all but whined out your name. 

You finally looked up from the book. “What? Why are you poking at me and sighing?” 

“You’re supposed to be spending time with me,” Isaac said in a very matter-of-fact tone. 

You pursed your lips, trying not to laugh at your boyfriend’s tone. “But I am spending time with you.” 

Isaac rolled his eyes at your witty remark. “I meant that you’re not paying attention to me.” 

“When Lydia said I’d be practically dating a puppy, I didn’t think she’d be right.” You had a sly smile on your face as you teased Isaac. “Let me finish this page and then you can have my undivided attention, okay?” 

Isaac’s eyes narrowed at you before moving so fast that you barely registered what he did. He grabbed your book from your hands and threw it on the floor next to your bed. 

“Isaac!” You exclaimed indignantly. 

He smirked before climbing over you, his face hovering over yours. “You can finish the book after I leave, but right now I’d really like a kiss since I didn’t get one when I got here.” 

You shook your head at him. “You’re an idiot.” You looked deep into his cerulean gaze, finding it filled with mirth, love, and satisfaction at getting your attention. 

“You’re dating this idiot.” Isaac smirked before sweeping you up into a dizzying kiss. 

Your hands instinctively found themselves buried in his blonde curls as his soft lips moved against yours in a passionate kiss that filled your chest with warmth.  Kissing Isaac never failed to make you feel like you were the only person in the world as his lips made you forget anything else was happening. Isaac pulled away from you and chuckled when your lips followed his. 

“You happy now?” You asked him as you scratched at his scalp. 

“Very.” Isaac shot you a smug grin before lowering his body on top of yours, letting his head rest on your chest as you played with his hair. 

You welcomed his body weight on top of you like he was your own personal weighted blanket. The both of you let out contented breaths as you relaxed together. The room was filled with a comfortable silence as you played with Isaac’s hair. You could feel Isaac place a gentle kiss on your neck occasionally before nuzzling his nose in the crook of your neck, taking in your familiar scent—his body relaxing further as your ministrations almost lulled him to sleep. 

The two of you stayed like that for the rest of the night before your mom knocked on the door and let you know if you guys wanted to eat anything, dinner was made, and you could serve yourselves. 

You looked down at Isaac, who was nearly asleep on top of you. You brushed the hair from his forehead, making his eyes flutter open. 

“Are you hungry? My mom said that dinner is ready downstairs.” 

Isaac opened his mouth to respond, but his stomach growled loudly—making you giggle at the sound and at the red hue beginning to grow on Isaac’s face. 

“I think that answers my question.” You said with a smile. 

You went to move, but Isaac grunted and wrapped his arms around your waist, preventing you from moving further. 

“Five more minutes.” Isaac mumbled into your neck

“I don’t know if your stomach can handle five more minutes without eating.” You teased as you ran a hand through his hair. 

Isaac groaned before rolling off of you and onto his back on your bed. “Fine, but you owe me more cuddling time after we eat.” 

You laughed at Isaac before you nodded. “Yeah, yeah fine you big baby, let’s go down and eat.” You patted his thigh before getting up from your bed and taking your half-drunk cold tea to bring downstairs. 

Isaac got up from your bed and quickly grabbed your free hand, his fingers interlacing with yours—making you smile at the action before the two of you made your way out of your room and down the stairs to eat.  

[yamujiburo]

i frequently get asked what other ships are canon in this au and i haven't really thought about it much tbh?

james is aroace and happy and i think butch and cassidy eventually find each other again. these are the only ones im sure about LOL

the rest of the characters are all kids and wouldn't really be touched on anyways LOL. i feel like most people are curious about ash tho

i think ash and misty would date for a little bit as teens, but misty is a massive romantic and ash is very much NOT (probably where he realizes he's aroace). misty is also set being the gym leader at cerulean while ash wants to continue his travels. i could see them breaking up after finding they're not the most compatible but remain the best of friends.

in my head misty ends up with lana (lana like... clearly has a big crush on her idk). then ash i think would find a life bestie who'd be down to travel with him. i've tossed around the idea of goh and angie (who i think's underrated)

[smystermy]

#dw abt tagging my old blog its fine hehe!#I’m giggling like a madwoman at this tho 🤭#god its so sensually written too hnshskdks i love it#had me clenching the whole time 😮‍💨#he’s got being sensual in bed down pat no one can convince me otherwise#idk him and maybe nanami just scream “sensual” to me??#*claws nails down the chalkboard*#i need these men CARNALLY 🤤

Thank you so much, Kass my sweetheart!! 😌💖

You cannot imagine how terrified I was before posting this, because, like—first of all, I had not written smut for so many months, and second of all, I'm not that great nor comfortable at writing smut, especially when compared to fluff or angst. So to know you enjoyed reading it and that you found it sensual—I'm really happy to know that, babes!! And omg, YES—Geto and Nanami scream "sensual" to me as well. 🙂‍↕️🥰

𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐬

tags: geto suguru x you; canon-compliant (but it isn't important to this fic); set some time after his defection; you both co-parent nanako-mimiko; established relationship; Fluff with a capital F; Smut with a capital S; you both aren’t just down bad for each other—you’re down catastrophic.

warnings: mostly porn with minimal plot—vacation sex; mostly dom geto and mostly sub reader; oral sex (fem!receiving); p-in-v sex (unprotected); Vanilla with a capital V—the smut is pretty sweet and loving, besties.

word count: 3648.

oneshot, loosely related to 'peel your heart like a pomegranate'.

The night air is thick with salt, the distant lull of waves a gentle, rhythmic hush against the shore.

Inside the villa, moonlight spills softly through sheer curtains, casting silver across the pristine wooden floors. You’ve just tucked Nanako and Mimiko into bed, their steady breathing a comforting lullaby as you quietly close their door. Now, your own room beckons, promising a brief moment of quiet before sleep.

Yawning, you stretch your arms high above your head, the light fabric of your nightgown and overcoat lifting with the motion. The indulgent stretch feels like relief—until an awareness prickles down your spine, the hairs on the back of your neck standing. Lowering your arms, your gaze flicks toward the balcony, and there, already watching you, is Geto.

He leans against the railing, backlit by the moon, his face cast in shadow but the heat in his eyes unmistakable—slow-burning and certain. It sends a ripple through you, stirring something deep inside.

Wordlessly, you step forward.

The balcony doors whisper open as you move, the cool night air brushing against your skin. He doesn’t shift, doesn’t speak—just watches you come to stand beside him. The vast, endless ocean stretches before you, but your attention is fixed on the weight of his gaze.

“You okay?” you ask, your voice quieter than you expect.

Geto exhales a soft laugh, his gaze never leaving you. “Yeah,” he replies, his tone slow, considering. “Just enjoying the view.”

The way he says it wraps warmth around your chest, tightening with something unreadable. You look away, pretending to focus on the waves, but the heat lingers, creeping up your neck.

Neither of you speak for a while, the night quiet but for the whisper of the wind.

It tugs at your nightgown, cool against your skin, sending a shiver through you. Then, without a word, Geto shifts closer, his fingers barely grazing yours against the railing.

“You’re cold,” he murmurs, voice lowering.

You swallow, nodding. “A little.”

He turns to you fully then, closing the space between you until his body is pressed against yours. His hand lifts, tracing slowly down your arm—deliberate, testing the air between you. “Come here,” he says, barely above a whisper.

You do, or maybe he pulls you in—you can’t quite tell, because in the next instant, his mouth is on yours. The kiss starts slow, tender, but soon, he tilts his head, deepening it, and suddenly, you can’t breathe, can’t think beyond the way he holds you, the way his lips move against yours, warm and insistent.

A soft sound escapes you—a mix of a sigh and a whimper. Geto catches it with another kiss, then another, each one stealing more air from your lungs until you’re leaning into him for support.

He pulls away just enough to trail soft kisses along your jaw and the curve of your throat. Then, lifting his head, he presses his mouth just beneath your ear. You gasp, your fingers instinctively curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“Sensitive?” he murmurs, the smirk clear in his voice.

You can’t answer—not when he’s pressing open-mouthed kisses down your neck, slow, savoring, his breath warm against your skin.

A shudder racks through you, the sensation both heightened and interrupted as the night breeze brushes your bare arms. The overcoat slips from your shoulders, pooling soundlessly at your feet, leaving you in only the thin slip of your nightgown. Goosebumps rise in its wake, but Geto is quick to pull you closer, one arm wrapping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head.

“Senpai—” Your voice catches in a breathless whisper, swallowed by the sensation of his lips sucking gently at the tender skin of your neck. Your fingers tighten around the fabric of his shirt before they shift, pressing into his shoulders, your breath unsteady as warmth blooms in your chest, curling low in your stomach.

“Mm,” he hums against you, mouth curling at the mark he leaves. His tongue soothes the spot before he sucks again, and this time, a broken moan escapes you.

He exhales a quiet laugh, the sound low, pleased. “That’s cute.”

Your nails dig deeper into his shoulders, your breathing a frantic rhythm as he leans back just enough to admire his work. The cool night air nips at the new mark blooming on your neck, a sharp contrast to the heat thrumming through you.

His fingers slide down your spine, slow and deliberate, grounding you. When your eyes meet his, the gaze that locks with yours is dark, smoldering—familiar, yet unreadable.

“You should’ve told me you get this shy,” he teases, his voice low, warm, and amused. His hand moves from the curve of your back to your lips, his thumb brushing over them, tracing their shape like he’s committing it to memory.

You glare weakly, though it’s lost in the way your heart is pounding. “You talk too much.”

His grin spreads, slow and lazy. “Yeah?” he murmurs, eyes flicking to your lips again. “Guess I’ll have to do something about that.”

Before you can say anything, he pulls you back in, kissing you again—deeper this time—until all you can do is melt against him, palms trailing down his arms, breath hitching, heart hammering in your chest.

He pulls away just enough to give you a moment to breathe before his fingers gently tilt your chin, bringing your lips together again. Your hands find their way back to his shoulders, and the kiss is slow, deep, dizzying. When he pulls back, his lips hover just above yours.

“You okay?” he murmurs, his voice low, rough, his breath mingling with yours.

You swallow, nodding—but it’s a little useless when he presses another kiss to your jaw, his nose brushing your cheek.

Things blur after that.

You’re pressed close, mouths meeting over and over. His hands keep you steady when your knees weaken, and when his palms slide lower, gripping beneath your thighs, you gasp against his lips. Without warning, he lifts you, effortless, and the warmth of his body against yours sends a ripple of heat through you, unwavering even as your heart stutters.

“Wha—” Your breath catches.

His lips curve into a knowing smirk. “Taking you somewhere better.”

Before you can respond, you’re dropped onto the bed. The plush sheets catch you with a quiet bounce, and the air prickles at your skin. But it’s the way Geto looks at you—dark eyes trailing over you, slow and deliberate—that keeps the heat burning higher.

You shift, heart pounding in your chest. “…What?”

He blinks, his smirk widening. “Just looking.”

Your face burns hotter. “You’re staring.”

“Mhm.” He doesn’t deny it. Instead, he leans down, one forearm pressing into the mattress as his voice drops, smooth and slow, a hum beneath it. “What? Don’t like it?”

You can’t answer—not when he kisses you again, swallowing whatever remark you had into something softer, messier. His hand drags up your leg, fingertips pressing into your skin. You shudder, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, catching the small sound that slips from you.

It’s all warmth, all hands and mouths, and the steady press of him against you. The weight of your nightgown shifts, slipping higher as his hands wander, fingers brushing along bare skin, leaving heat in their wake. His mouth scarcely leaves yours as he tugs at the fabric, guiding it over your shoulders and letting it slip away. His hands move lower next, slipping beneath your panties and tugging them down without hesitation. You barely register either, too consumed by the feel of his lips on yours, the way his hands settle on your exposed skin—warm, firm, insistent.

Your breath hitches as he pulls back, dark eyes flickering over you—just for a moment, just enough for you to catch something deeper stirring behind them.

Then, without warning, he’s moving lower.

His lips press to your sternum, slow, deliberate, trailing downward as his fingers slide along your sides, slipping over the curve of your waist, the dip of your hips. His hands squeeze firmly before parting, thumbs tracing a path down, coaxing your legs further apart.

Your breath catches. His mouth follows, kisses pressing along the inside of your thigh—warm, unhurried, each one sending heat curling low in your stomach.

A small sound slips from you, shaky and fragile, and he exhales, the warmth of it spilling over your skin.

“Relax, love,” he murmurs, kissing just a little closer.

Another breathy sound escapes, half moan, half his name.

Geto chuckles darkly, pleased, and presses another kiss—slow, lingering, just at the edge of where you need him most.

His lips trail teasingly against your skin, lips tracing the spot in the slowest, most maddening way. His hands move to press firm against your hips, keeping you where he wants you, thumbs sweeping in slow, grounding circles.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, amused.

You don’t have the breath to respond—not when he leans in, his mouth pressing lower, heat and softness all at once. A sharp gasp escapes you, fingers twisting in the sheets as your back arches.

The first touch is featherlight—barely there, a tease, as though he’s savoring the anticipation more than anything else. The second is deliberate: his lips part, his tongue tracing slowly, precisely. You gasp again, your breath hitching into a broken moan.

“Oh—”

His grip on your hips tightens, a hum of satisfaction vibrating against your skin. He’s thorough, precise, but unhurried—taking his time, listening to the way your breath stutters, how your body tenses before melting into his touch.

“Senpai—” The word slips from your lips, breathless and soft, barely audible.

He doesn’t answer, only continues, slow and unrelenting. His tongue works its way over you, his mouth sealing around you with a heat that makes your stomach coil. The pleasure builds in waves, cresting higher, threatening to pull you under. Letting go of the sheets, your fingers tremble as they tangle into his dark hair, a silent, desperate plea escaping your lips. But he doesn’t ease up. If anything, he deepens his efforts, tightening the tension inside you until it feels like you might shatter.

It’s too much, too good—the sensation dizzying, your body taut and trembling beneath him. You whimper, a broken, breathless sound, and he hums in response, deep and satisfied, sending a fresh shiver through you.

“Mm,” he muses, his voice muffled against your core. “You taste so perfect, my love, I could stay here for hours, completely lost in you.”

The words barely register, lost in the haze of sensation, in the way he lingers, keeping you on the edge, refusing to let you fall just yet. Your breath hitches, your thighs trembling around him.

“Please—”

He chuckles softly, dark and pleased.

“So polite,” he murmurs, his voice deep with indulgence. “Go on, then.”

Geto’s final stroke is devastating. A sharp, precise flick of his tongue, a firm press of his mouth, and you’re gone—coming apart with a cry, pleasure crashing over you in waves that leave your breath ragged, your body trembling beneath him. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t ease up until you��re gasping his name in the aftermath, thighs weak, chest heaving.

Finally, he pulls away, pressing one last kiss to the inside of your thigh before dragging his mouth back up, slow and unhurried—savoring the wrecked state he’s left you in.

He hovers over you, smirk lazy, lips gleaming, brushing the backs of his fingers over your flushed cheek.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs, leaning down, his voice warm and thick with satisfaction. “Should let me do that more often.”

Your breath still uneven, fingers tangled in his hair, you let out a soft whine, cheeks flushed. “You—”

He silences you with a kiss, deep and unrepentant, stealing the rest of your words.

The kiss lingers just long enough to leave you aching for more, but before you can reach for it, Geto pulls away, his body shifting as he presses into yours—a slow, deliberate weight that has heat pooling low in your stomach again. He's warm against you, the steady rise and fall of his chest pressing closer, grounding you in a way that’s both dizzying and intoxicating.

Your fingers skim down his back, only to brush against the soft fabric of his t-shirt. Your brows furrow, a faint scowl tugging at the corners of your mouth, and you tug lightly at the waistband of his pajama pants, puffing out a little sigh.

“You’re still wearing these?”

Geto huffs a quiet laugh, voice rough at the edges. “Wasn’t exactly thinking about myself.”

His gaze flickers over you then, dark and heavy with something indulgent. He doesn’t move right away, taking a slow, deliberate moment to admire you, drinking in the way your body still trembles from his touch. But when you tug again, a quiet, pointed whine escaping your lips, he exhales, shaking his head fondly.

“Alright, alright.”

His hands move then, pushing his shirt up first, then pulling his pajama pants down, both garments falling away in one smooth motion. The moment feels weightier, more real, as he leans back over you, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your shoulder before meeting your gaze. “Better?”

You hum, letting your fingers trail over his ribs, down his stomach. “Much.”

The kiss that follows is slow at first, deep and unhurried, like he’s savoring every sigh, every little sound you make. But the heat between you intensifies with each movement, with every soft, shared breath. When he shifts again, guiding your legs around his waist, you gasp, the sheer intimacy sending a shiver through you.

There’s a brief pause—his forehead pressing to yours, a quiet inhale against your cheek—before he moves, sinking into you with aching, deliberate intensity.

A sharp, breathless moan escapes you as the air leaves your lungs. Your fingers clutch his shoulders, the sensation almost too much to bear. It’s not just the feeling itself—it’s him, the way he holds you, the way his breath shudders against your skin, the quiet groan he lets out as he settles fully against you.

“God—” Your voice trembles, lost between a gasp and a sigh.

Geto exhales harshly, tightening his grip on you. “I know.”

His first few movements are slow, teasing, as though he’s savoring the way you shiver beneath him. His hands wander, tracing deliberate paths down your sides, over your thighs, as though he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. But when your hips shift up to meet his, when your breath stutters into something more desperate, more pleading, his control slips.

The rhythm shifts, growing faster, each movement sending sparks of pleasure curling up your spine, fanning the flames of desire low in your belly. It’s steady and intoxicating—the kind of pace that has you trembling with need, burning to get closer. His breath shudders against your temple, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. You don’t know if you’re pulling him closer or if he’s holding you tighter, but in the haze of it all, it hardly matters. You're caught in the swell of it—

Caught in him, in the way he feels, in the way he moves, in the way every roll of his hips steals the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, and he groans—a low, rough sound like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Feels—” You try to speak, but the words disintegrate into a broken moan, your head tipping back into the pillows.

His mouth finds your throat, then your collarbone, kissing and nipping at every spot that makes you shiver. “Yeah?” His voice is strained, rough with restraint. “Tell me.”

You can’t—there are no words left, only the frantic way your body moves against his, the way your breath catches when his pace falters, just for a second. The groan that escapes him is deep and needy, and it pushes you closer, too close to the edge.

Everything tightens, spiraling higher, like a live wire straining for release.

The tension coils unrelentingly in your stomach, winding tighter with each movement, each press of his body against yours. Every breath, every touch, every lingering caress drags you closer, a dizzying drop just out of reach, and you can feel it—so close, just there, just—

“Geto—” His name escapes you in a desperate, breathless whimper, and that’s all it takes.

His hand slides between you, his fingers hot and insistent, guiding you closer, coaxing you over the edge—and the pleasure crashes into you. Fierce and unrelenting, all-consuming and devastating, it floods your senses, pulling you under with its overwhelming intensity. Your back arches, your throat opening with a sharp cry that’s torn from the deepest part of you, the sensation tearing you apart and rebuilding you in the same breath.

Geto groans against your skin, the sound desperate and raw, and then—he’s lost.

He follows you, his body jerking with the force of it, a deep, trembling moan escaping him as he presses against you, as if he wants to bury himself inside you completely. The warmth of his release floods through you, thick and overwhelming, making your breath hitch. You tighten instinctively around him, a soft gasp escaping as each pulse deepens the connection between you, the sensation of him inside you consuming every part of your being. It's all-encompassing—the heat, the pleasure, and him blending together until you’re not sure where you end and he begins.

For a moment, everything fades away—sound, breath, even time itself. Then, gently, the world tilts, slows, and steadies.

His breath, slow and uneven against your shoulder, is the first thing to bring you back to the present. His arms, still wrapped around you, don’t loosen, as though he has no intention of letting go anytime soon. A long, slow silence stretches between you, filled only by the sound of your breathing, the gentle rise and fall of your chests.

Then, finally, he exhales, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple. His voice is a quiet murmur against your skin.

“…Still cold?”

You let out a weak, breathless laugh, your fingers brushing lazily through his hair. “Shut up.”

His smirk returns, softer now, and he kisses you again—slow and deep, like he has all the time in the world. After a beat, he draws back just enough to meet your gaze.

“Tired?” he asks, his voice low and languid but filled with an unmistakable warmth.

You hum, neither confirming nor denying, just letting the sound slip out as you nuzzle closer. You feel the deep chuckle that rumbles through him more than you hear it.

His fingers brush the dip of your waist. “Too tired to move?”

Another hum, this one softer. You feel his lips curve against your temple.

“Guess that means I did a good job,” he murmurs, the teasing edge unmistakable.

You roll your eyes, but the huff of air you let out isn’t really exasperation. If anything, it’s closer to fond amusement. His hand roams a little lower now, tracing lazy, slow paths over your skin.

For a while, you let yourself sink into it, enjoying the quiet warmth of him, the steady comfort of his touch. But then his palm drags lower over the curve of your hip, his fingers pressing lightly into the soft skin of your thigh, and something stirs in you—something that never really left.

He must feel it, too—the way your breath catches, the slight tension in your muscles beneath his touch—because his hand stills for a moment before resuming its path, more deliberate now. His lips find your shoulder, pressing a kiss there, slow and thoughtful.

“You sure you’re tired?” His voice is quieter now, rougher.

You don’t hum this time.

Instead, you shift, stretching slightly beneath his touch, letting your leg slide over his with deliberate slowness. The movement is languid, but it’s enough.

Enough for him to feel the subtle pull of your body toward his, enough for the heat between you to reignite with a quiet spark.

Exhaling through his nose, a low, drawn-out breath that seems to linger in the quiet air between you, Geto’s grip tightens—firm, possessive, leaving a subtle mark of his intent on your skin. He shifts, like he’s about to roll you over, but before he can, you press a hand to his chest, your palm warm and steady against the solid breadth of him, gently holding him back against the mattress.

He stills.

Then, after a pause—

“…Oh?”

You push yourself up, slow and purposeful, shifting to straddle him, your weight settling into place with a quiet press of heat. His breath catches, his hands coming to rest at your hips—firm but unhurried, his touch waiting, not rushing. His eyes lock with yours in the dim light, dark and searching, like he’s trying to read you in that brief, pregnant silence.

The silence lingers for a moment, heavy with anticipation, before you tilt your head with a soft smile, your voice a gentle tease. “Now, it’s your turn to stay still.”

A soft chuckle rumbles from his chest, low and indulgent. His fingers flex against your skin, the touch not demanding, but sure.

“Is that so?”

You lean down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another just below his jaw, a quiet mark of affection. “Mmhm.” Another kiss, this one lower now. “I think I like you like this.”

His grip tightens, but just enough to remind you that he's holding back, allowing you to take the reins. “Guess I should let you have your fun, then.”

You smile adoringly against his skin, letting the warmth of the moment wrap around you both, the steady thrum of his presence anchoring you to the now, to this perfect moment.

And then—

The fire catches again, reigniting with a newfound intensity.

general masterlist || geto suguru masterlist

[seiwas]

sellllllll it's meeeeee. hehehehehehehehehhehe

so for ur writing exercises.... deku + light? please? pretty please?

:3c

heheh heheh hehe niku. this will be the death of me. me writing izuku for the first time 🥲 i will only do this for you </3

contains: established relationship, spoilers for the end of the manga, aged up deku but sometime in between the final outcome (he doesn't get the h*** s*** from bakugo yet), mentions of sex and scars

deku + light

izuku only sleeps with the lights off.

it isn't uncommon; many people you know can't sleep with even just a sliver of light turned on somewhere in the room. but the difference with izuku, you learn, is not that he's unable to stand the light―it's that he refuses to.

you quickly pick up on it the first few times he sleeps over.

he fidgets in bed, pretty badly, actually. the nightlight you sleep with glows a warm yellow, illuminating the side of your face and coating him in its afterglow. you chalk it up to nerves, how he pulls at his sleeves and adjusts his position constantly; he is, after all, one of the most anxious people you know.

and this relationship―it's new. heck, even you feel a little jittery with his arm wrapped around you.

the rhythmic tapping on your hip only increases pace. you don't think he realizes it, so your hand gently reaches for his, intertwining your fingers as you turn around in his arms.

he's close, nearly touching you nose-to-nose; the proximity leaves you fuzzy, a little ticklish, so you giggle, a soft "oops," as the freckles dusting his face almost glisten under the warm light.

"hi," you whisper, meeting his eyes; they stare back at you wide in surprise, "can't sleep?"

he looks almost guilty at your question, as if you’ve caught him with the one thing he's been trying to keep from you.

"just—" his voice comes out louder than intended, prompting him to chuckle nervously as he readjusts his volume, "just winding down, sorry."

you inch closer, nuzzling his nose lightly, "it's okay."

"did i wake you?" he asks, cheeks flushing pink as his eyebrows furrow in immediate concern. his expression is something caught between stifling a grin and feeling sorry.

you shake your head against the pillow you share, strands of your hair tangling with his. "just winding down," you tease, watching as his gaze turns softer, eyelids drooping heavier.

sometimes, you think, izuku holds the world in his eyes―a deep, dark green, the color of life. most times, they look at you with wonderment, bright and alive; photos from inko tell you they're the eyes of his inner child.

on nights like this one, however, they hide a depth in them weighted by what you can only assume is time, and all that has happened to him in such a short span of it.

you try your best to understand what lies beneath them, knowing full well he'll never tell you outright what truly bothers him.

"is it the light?" you bring up, some time after laying in silence.

"hm?" he clarifies.

"do you have a hard time sleeping with the nightlight?"

his eyes widen briefly once more, as if shocked that you've caught him again. these split second reactions are ones you've learned to be attentive to when it comes to izuku.

"no," he tries to lie, but you know better as you turn to your nightstand and reach for its switch, "you don't–"

"it was hurting my eyes," you quickly make up an excuse, tucking yourself closer under his chin as you cut off his attempt to deny it again.

finding out that the light was the problem was the easy part—

you'd begun to notice much earlier on that izuku was barely rested on the nights he'd spend at your place. it was only when your old nightlight broke that you began to notice him waking up much later than you did, groggily rousing from a deep sleep.

—what was hard, was figuring out why.

at first, you suspected it was his scars.

"s-sorry, it's not—" he'd warned you, right as your hands gripped the hem of his shirt the first time you were about to have sex, "—it's not nice."

you didn't care though; you still don't care, and you've made that abundantly clear to him since. you love izuku and all his parts―all the nicks and jaggedy pieces of skin that make up who he is.

when you eventually ask him about it, with a request that he be honest with you for once, he tells you that it is and it isn't―the reason why he exclusively sleeps with the lights off, that is.

it's an odd, comforting relationship he has with his body—that he is simultaneously grateful and sorry for how its become a canvas, both painted and marred to symbolize japan’s historic last stand.

you find out the real reason when you catch him staring at his hands.

he does it often, when he thinks you aren't looking—his fists bunched up in the same way he used to watch the power of one for all course through his fingertips; the same way he used to prepare them in battle.

there’s a faraway look in his eyes that lingers, you notice—a little wistful if anything.

“do you miss it?” you finally ask. he gives you the same shocked look he does every time, as if he’s been caught with a secret he’s been trying to hide.

he’s learned a fair bit about you now, too, though—lying to you is futile when you’ve perfected reading his truth. he stares at his fists again as you take a seat beside him, moving to give you space. you rest your head on his shoulder gently, waiting.

“sometimes,” he admits, but you know it’s an understatement.

“i think about the vestiges a lot. i miss them the most, i think,” he continues, clenching his fists tightly, “i always try to reach out to them, but i guess it doesn’t work that way.”

“i… i try to replicate the right conditions every night, but…” then he lets go, stretching his fingers out wide. the scars on the surface ripple through his skin, telling its own story.

you hum, acknowledging what he means. silence sits with the two of you as you take his hand in yours, slowly unfurling his fingers until his palm reveals itself to you. it’s rough to the touch, seasoned with hard work and all that he’s been through.

“is that why you prefer the dark?” you ask softly, after some time.

it's not often that you stay up later than izuku does. when you do though, you catch him shifting in bed, moving from side-to-side. you pretend you aren't awake, but you hear him mumble their names, dwindling in volume as he dozes off to sleep.

he stares at his palm for a moment before he admits quietly, "yeah." his brows furrow as if contemplating whether to say more, but he shakes his head, dark green strands swaying to the beat of his embarrassed chuckle, "nevermind, it's silly."

"it's not."

you intertwine your fingers, sandwiching his hand between yours. a slight sheen glosses over his eyes as he tilts his head up to look at you. he draws in a breath, before it spills over.

"it's..." he finds the words, and you squeeze his hand in comfort, "it's easier to believe it was all real when the lights are out, and that maybe it can happen again."

[chiropteracupola]

"What Grows on the Oak," 2024.

it's the time of year, once more, for an original spooky story!

The oak trees lie across the hills like low smoke, soft and near, and the road dips down into the valley, as inviting as any road has ever been, but the girl on the bench of the buggy on the hilltop makes no move to follow it.

Rose looks out down the road and over the hills, and taps her fingers beside her on the bench. It’s a quiet enough afternoon that there’s little other sound but the high thin sound of insects, and the wind in the long grass, and Rose’s fingers, tapping. The horse, still in harness, looks up and flicks its ear, as if in protest at the sound, and Rose sighs and forces her hand still.

There is a girl in the nearest tree, Rose notices — the fact of it is idly categorized, without true interest. All the same, the light is catching in her hair, dashing shadows over her face as she sits draped across the curve of a branch, and Rose cannot look away from her.

The Fosters, at whose door Rose waits, have no daughter — no children but the one still-toddling son, who Rose remembers as a colicky, twitchy boy. Besides, this girl looks nothing like Mr Foster and his wife, for her hair stands out about her head like a bundle of mistletoe, pale as sun-worn wood. She is, perhaps, their hired girl. Rose is struck by envy, suddenly, that the Fosters’ hired girl had the time to shinny up a tree in the last light of evening, and still would be paid for her work…

Rose sighs, leaning her chin on her hand. Perhaps it is enough for her to be her father’s driver, and to have bed and board in his house — perhaps some day there will be money for school again, in San Francisco or even out east. And perhaps it is not enough, and perhaps there will not ever be.

“Hello, doctor’s driver,” says a voice at Rose’s elbow. Rose yelps in surprise, then turns. It is the girl with the mistletoe hair — dry moss hair — hair like a cloudy day in August.

“No, you’re his daughter, are you not?” asks the Fosters’ hired girl, and Rose nods. “Miss del Llano, that’d make you.”

“Just Rose, please.” She’ll be Miss some other day — not now, in her too-short skirts and with her plait hanging over her shoulder.

“May I come up?” asks the girl.

“Surely,” says Rose, and the girl has swung herself into Rose’s father’s accustomed seat in a fluttering of pale skirts.

“Your father is the doctor — what does he do here? “He is a leech, then? A bloodletter?”

“Don’t be silly, he’s not medieval!”

“Hm-mm, I shall believe you when you prove it me,” says the girl, laughing, and leans her chin on her hand to make herself Rose’s mirror. Side by side they sit for a while, and the dark gathers in across the hills until oaks and grassland alike are made one mass of shadow. Somewhere in the trees beyond the road, a horned owl utters its deep, melancholy cry out into the dusk.

“If ghosts had telephones, I should think they’d sound rather like that,” says Rose, the early chill of after-sunset driving her quite easily to a morbid sort of cheer.

“How the times change,” says the girl, with an odd, but not entirely unhappy, look in her eyes. “No, my dear; ghosts use the same telephones as you and I, as you well know.” Rose does not know, well or otherwise, much at all about ghosts, so she nods, and feels a little more of the girl���s weight settle on her shoulder.

“You have very cold hands,” says Rose, and the girl from the oak tree smiles and taps at Rose’s cheek with clammy fingers.

“I always have, I’m afraid.”

“It’s no bother, really.” And so they sit and watch the sky, the falling-dusk and the distant fog that creeps over the hills, until there’s light, sharp as a door opening.

Rose turns, and it is only Dr del Llano, leaving his patient with his hat in his hand. She turns back, and the Fosters’ hired girl is gone.

“How is Mrs. Foster,” Rose asks, without any particular feeling in her voice, and her father shakes his head in reply. But the road down into the valley, where lies the town, is before them, and Rose is pleased enough at the journeying that she asks no further questions.

It’s in the hills and on the road that Rose meets, again, with the oak tree girl, the mistletoe girl, the girl with hands like marble in the shade. Once again, Rose is waiting for her father while he attends a patient, and, lazing in the sun, Rose has pushed the sleeves of her shirtwaist up to her elbows.

And then the girl is there again, with her shock of cobweb hair moving, ever so faintly, in a breeze that doesn’t seem to reach as far as the buggy-seat.

“Hello, my pretty-lovely,” says the girl, putting her hand out to the horse still in its traces. Though usually affectionate, the horse puts back its ears and pulls its head away.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into her,” says Rose, half-laughing. “Save your sweet words for someone who wants them, all the same.”

“Has she a name, then?”

“Other than Morgan, for what she is? Not at all,” Rose replies. Neither she nor her father have ever thought of one, for all that they’re fond of the hardworking little mare. “And have you a name, then?” For she’s remembered, now, that her oak-tree girl had never told her of it.

“I’m called Saro,” says the girl, and again swings herself up beside Rose. “What does your father do here, my Rose?”

“Oh, I oughtn’t say,” and Saro looks back at her with a stare of please? and Rose laughs and says anyway. She shouldn’t gossip, but she leans in close anyway, and whispers that “Old Man Lucas has got the clap, and him a widower these ten years!” Saro’s mouth twitches at the corners — she can’t hide her laugh for long, and it bursts, bright, out from her.

“I shall tell, I shall tell!” says she, and Rose coughs on her own laugh with a still-merry “Don’t!”

“You’ll have to catch me and make me, first!” and Saro leaps down from the buggy and runs, her skirts, her hair a flash of white in the golden-dry grass. And Rose, her spirits raised beyond what a grown girl such as herself should permit, follows. She’s less fleet-footed than Saro, earthbound still, stumbling on furrows in the land, catching her heels in ground-squirrel burrows.

Saro, she’s sure, is holding back for her benefit — letting herself be caught. And Rose does catch her, knocking her off her feet and into the grass. Saro’s laughing-merry still, her hair stuck full of grass-seed and foxtails. Close-to, Rose can see the freckles that dapple her cheeks and nose, the squint of her dark eyes when she smiles. Saro flicks Rose’s cheek, the snap of her fingers like a prickle of frost, and Rose lies there in the dusty field, entirely lost.

But Saro’s on her feet again before Rose can blink, before Rose can reach out to her, and Rose is standing, blinking in the sunlight, stumbling back to the buggy as she dusts bits of dry grass from her skirt. She buttons the sleeves of her shirtwaist again, the cuffs of which don’t quite come to her wrists anymore, and laughs when her father hands her up into her seat like a lady.

“The best whip I ever had,” he says, perfectly straight-faced.

“Gee-up!” says Rose, holding the reins in one hand and imagining herself perched atop a stagecoach. But even for all her imaginings, she’s as good a driver as her father says, and draws the horse into a gentle trot to see them home. It’s hill and dale down into the valley, hill and dale again like a song, and in the inner slopes lie trees in amid the dust-golden grasses of summer. Beneath the sparse, spreading branches, it is suddenly cooler, then warmer again, as the horse steps evenly onward and back into the sun.

“That’s mistletoe, you know,” says Dr del Llano, as he’s said a thousand times before, and points up at the gray-green mass that clings among the summer-sparse branches of an oak.

“Isn’t that for Christmastime?” asks Rose.

“It’s an odd thing we bring it in for the Nativity,” muses her father, still looking back at the tree as they pass it by. “Poison, that — and it chokes the life out of the oak tree, too. Not a kindly thing, mistletoe, but we hang it up with the flor de Nochebuena all the same…”

He doesn’t speak after that, but sings instead, an out-of-season hymn of sons newborn and deaths already foretold. If the verse telling of tombs ought to be grim, Dr del Llano doesn’t make it so, and so the story of gloom and gravity is nothing but a blithe eventuality, predicted all light-hearted by a man very certain of the truth of it.

Mrs. Foster dies soon after. Rose sits in the church as the priest says the first of the masses for her, the first of seven that her widower has paid for. She waits at the door while her father makes conversation — how she wishes he would hurry up! But the doctor in his black coat and the priest in his cassock are two crows alike, and so she is there in the doorway until her father says ‘good-by, Padre’ and comes to join her. Rose hardly has the time to shut her hymnal closed over the catalog tucked inside before he bustles past her, eager now to be on his way.

“Damned quiet place now that the mine’s shut up,” he says on the walk home, and Rose nods, though she does not remember the mine-town as her father does. She knows that there is no more coal to be had here and no more sand, and that with the mine has gone much of her father’s custom. Without black-lung and burns and broken bones, there is far less for a doctor to do in these hills.

But there is no other doctor than Juan Soto del Llano, with his limping step and his rosary about his neck and his rattletrap of a horse-drawn buggy with his only daughter to drive it, so he goes on as he has, and mends up broken bones and offers fever-cures to farmers and their wives, and to the valley townsfolk nearer home.

Henry Freeman is twenty-two, the bright young son of a new-money farmer. He is sickening for something, he is grey-faced and cold and his eyes do not focus.

Dr del Llano is at his door with hat in hand — money passes from the elder Mr. Freeman’s worn hand into his, and the doctor closes the older man’s hand over the coins. Out on the bench of the buggy, Rose scoffs and shakes her head. The fog-touched night is cold even through her coat, and she shivers involuntarily.

“He oughn’t to do such things,” she says, to no one but herself. But all the same, Rose turns her head, and Saro is there beside her, smiling.

“What oughtn’t he do?” asks Saro, with the questioning merriment in her voice that Rose has come to like so well.

“He doesn’t ask for payment, when it’s hill sickness,” and, seeing Saro’s quirk of the mouth, the way the question lurks in her well-dark eyes, Rose continues. “Father doesn’t know what it is, still, and he can’t mend it. It cannot be consumption, for it doesn’t settle in the lungs, but all the same — it is as if something is drawing out the life from them, every one.”

“So your Henry Freeman shall die, then,” says Saro, blunt.

“Don’t—“ says Rose, and stops, cold. “Who are you?” she asks, and looks Saro in the eyes, the brown of them so dark that Rose can barely find her own reflection. And the girl with the mistletoe hair reaches out, and pulls her hand across the golden curve of the hill as if she is stroking the grass that lies like dry cowhide on the ground.

“You know my name, doctor’s daughter, is that not enough?”

“Saro—“ Footsteps, and Rose’s head turns without her willing it. Doctor del Llano still has his sleeves rolled up, the edges wet from scrubbing. He doesn’t let them down again as he drags on his coat, hauling himself up to the buggy-seat as if held down by a great weight.

“Father—“ says Rose, and looks to Saro beside her, but even as she turns back, Saro is gone again.

“I’ll not talk of it,” he says, and hauls his bag into the buggy. It might well weigh as much as all the world. Rose huffs, and pulls her arms against her chest, and sets them on the road again.

And so it goes, over and over again — the Misses Hayward, unmarried, a few years older than Rose herself — Martin Foster, only three — the widow Ruiz, whose husband died down the mine before Rose was born. All of them greying, cold, dying quick. There is sickness in the hills, and it is sickness that the doctor cannot cure, and Rose — Rose finds that she barely cares. She stands in the church, once more, at Lillie Hayward’s funeral, and cannot look at the coffin, but only turns her head to search for wild light hair among the townsfolk in the pews.

But Saro doesn’t come to town; that’s not the place for her, Rose knows. How could she stay anywhere else but where the wind drags the points of oak leaves down the sky, where the tall grass parts under her hands like water?

So life goes on as it did before — the spiders building their webs across the age-grey clapboards of the doctor’s house by the old mine, the oak leaves stuck by their prickling edges to the drying wash, Rose’s father singing softly in his parents’ Spanish as he stocks his black bag at his desk in the front-room.

Rose leans against the desk, chipping at the varnish with her fingernails. In concession to the afternoon heat, the eastward window is flung open, and the thinnest breeze flicks at the pages of the last Sears catalog laid idly within her reach. She has begun to resent the sun — she closes her eyes, hunting darkness for darkness’s sake, and thinks of Saro in her white skirts, standing candle-slender in the dusk between the hills, Saro’s hands that are always cold, pressed softly against Rose’s face, her neck, her chest.

Telephone, its jangling sound sharp in the late-summer quiet — her father’s soft noises of questioning and assent — the practiced movements of putting harness to the horse. But for all that the interruption is sharp, there’s a pleased rise in Rose’s heart nonetheless, for if she is lucky, she will see Saro on the road.

She reins in the horse when her father tells her so, and hands him his bag as he jumps from the buggy — once he’s gone, Rose allows herself a secret smile. It’s early in the evening now, with the light all golden, her father’s horse with its dark mane a-gleaming in the last of the sun. Rose has a flask of coffee with her, brewed black as her father’s coat. She drinks most of it, hot and bitter, never mind that it had been meant to be shared. It doesn’t keep her awake — she drowses, head on her arms, and feels a breeze like soft hands stroke along her neck.

Today she has a headache. Her face is hot, even with her collar unbuttoned and her hat laid aside in her father’s seat. The day is warm, and the air tastes of dust, hot and dry in Rose’s throat. Saro’s hand on her cheek is as sweet and cold as anything Rose has ever snuck from the ice-house. Saro’s mouth against her neck is a cool draught.

“My dear sweet Rose,” says Saro, quiet, with only the barest hint of her usual merriment. “You’ve been ever so patient, even while I took my time with others.”

“Mm,” says Rose, and lets the weight of her body press up against Saro’s cold frame. Perhaps — perhaps that cold could leach the heavy heat from her head, the feverish blur from her eyes.

Saro’s fingers are at the buttons of Rose’s shirtwaist, now, the full breadth of her hand an ice-print on Rose’s chest. Saro from the oak tree, Saro with her hair like mistletoe. The hills rise golden around them, the wind rushing in Rose’s ears without touching her skin.

“May I?”

“Please,” says Rose, at the last, and lets Saro draw away the last of her living warmth.

[thedeadthree]

-ˋˏ .·:·. ⊱ 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐕𝐄𝐈𝐋𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐛𝐲 @pavus — day one: 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞.

— 𝐈𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐕𝐀𝐑 . 𝐕𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐈 𝐃𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀 . 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄.

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐃𝐀𝐒. 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐒.

— 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 (mutuals can opt in/out via 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 <3):

@loriane-elmuerto, @carrionsflower, @auricfog, @girliefailure, @sunsofdawn

@risingsh0t, @griffin-wood, @lilywatt, @full---ofstarlight, @grapecaseschoices

@tommyarashikage, @shadowsofrose, @shadowglens, @weisshaupts, @queennymeria

@deadrlngers, @d-esmond, @courtana, @gothimp, @wlwaerith

@unholymilf, @aezyrraeshh, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @shellibisshe, @florbelles

@celticwoman, @neonshrike, @cloudofbutterflies92, @adelaidedrubman, @carlosoliveiraa

@pinkfey, @spookyrares, @yharnams, @aceghosts, @confidentandgood

@theelderhazelnut, @leviiackrman, @ellierenae, @anoras, @lavampira

@dialdrunk, @full---ofstarlight, @imogenkol

[chrollogy]

step on me, fatui harbinger!yue 🙏🏼

[triglycercule]

horror is so BLESSED he's the only one out of the murder time trio that has actual good people trying to influence his story 💔💔 dust and killer were both driven to INSANITY because of the choices of their respective humans but horror??? every time without FAIL the polls for horrortale's plotline have always ended in a good place for aliza (either by bettering her relationships/reputation or for her to just. not DIE)

horrortale's potential alternate timelines my beLOVEd🙏🙏 they're SO lucky that we're being kind and benevolent hehe (≧ω≦) now where are the aus based off the possible different outcomes that could've happened in horrortale HUH???? (like how aliza couldve killed toriel or chosen horror's puzzle or gone with undyne to the core........)

[plistommy]

What do you think about omega!Steve who has a big falling out with his parents and moves in with his asshole, working class boyfriend who's gonna ruin his life (according to Steve's parents)- but meanwhile Steve and Billy are happily decorating their trailer and fucking like bunnies and talking about having kids once they've saved up some money. And once every couple of weeks Steve comes across his parents at the store or on the street and he just always looks soo happy🤭

”Oh my god, put it in already!” Steve whined as he arched his back, presenting himself to his alpha who was hurriedly opening his belt buckle after getting home from work.

Steve had been waiting for his boyfriend for hours, decorating their newly shared trailer cute and homey with their stuff. He still couldn’t believe he was actually away from his awful parents and living with Billy. His alpha.

He had gotten horny after he had tried to take a little nap, but smelled his alphas scent on their messy bed from the night before instead and soon enough he was fingering himself.

It was like his prayers were answered because he heard the door open and Billy’s heavy scent filled the place.

And now he was here, begging for the other’s knot as Billy finally got his dick out and pushed it into his waiting hole with one smooth thrust.

”Y-yes! Alphaaaa!” Steve’s eyes rolled back into his head as Billy started a brutal pace, grabbing the omega’s thick ass.

”Fuck, baby, was thinking about fucking you the whole day. Missed you, missed this ass…” Billy purred as he threw his head back, blond curls sticking to the back of his neck.

Billy slapped Steve’s ass, loving the way it jiggled whenever he thrusted in and out of the other’s perfect body.

”Ohmy…goddd, Billy! Breed me!” Steve cried, droll dripping to their covers as he couldn’t help how his tongue rolled out.

”Oh fuck fuck fuck!” The alpha cursed as he picked up the pace, moving his strong arms around Steve’s waist to get him closer, to get his dick deeper into the other’s tight body.

The knot started to tug into the omegas hole, making them both moan desperately and soon enough, it popped and filled the omega full.

Steve loved how it felt.

”Shit, Baby, you’re perfect.” Billy moaned, coming to kiss his omegas perfect lips as their bodies were tied now.

”Uh-huh…” was all Steve could get out and it made his alpha chuckle. He felt soft kisses on the back of his neck and soon teeth on his mating mark.

It made him shudder.

They laid there for a while, both coming down from their highs as they cuddled closely.

”How was work?” Steve got out and his hoarse voice got them both laughing.

”Good, pretty boy. But not as good as coming home to my beautiful omega.”

Steve blushed and rolled his eyes playfully.

”Yeah, yeah… I bet.” He grinned.

Billy smiled down at him, blue eyes so pretty and full with love as he pushed Steve’s sweaty bangs away.

”I see you decorated the place. I love it.” Billy looked around, eyes lingering on the picture of the two of them on their nightstand. ”You definitely have the eyes for a home.”

It made Steve smile, the omega in him purring with happiness that his alpha was happy with him.

”Even better for the future, for the pups…” he said, loving how Billy’s eyes grew a little wide.

”Yeah?” Billy moved closer ”Wanna have pups?”

Steve gave the other a small peck on the lips ”Definitely. Not yet, but, someday…”

Billy kissed him back, deepening it a little until he pulled away with Steve’s flushed face.

”Can’t wait to knock you up. Make you full of pups, so round and sexy…” Billy started and ooooh yeah.

They were going at it again.

—

”Steve?”

Steve turned around, big brown eyes focusing on his mother. She looked pretty, she always was, but tired as her hands were full of groceries Steve knew his asshole of a father never wanted to carry.

He was the worst alpha. But his mother wasn’t a good omega either.

They were not good people. They hated him the second they found out he was omega and that they couldn’t fix the ’problem’. Ever since then the loving parents he had for the first twelve years were gone.

Steve hated them.

He put down the magazine he had been looking at and turned to his mother fully, slowly looking her up and down.

”Mrs. Harrington”

He loved the way his mother’s eyes twitched.

They were silent for a while and Steve was already about to just walk off and leave her there to stand like an idiot, but then she opened her mouth.

”You look.. happy.” His mother stated.

Oh, really?

Steve wanted to laugh.

”Oh, I am. I’m so happy. I have a beautiful house, a beautiful boyfriend.” He grinned ”I’ve never been this happy. Everything’s perfect. My alpha is perfect.”

He didn’t miss the small frown on his mother's face at the mention of Billy. His parents never agreed with him about his alpha, always called him names and that he was going to ruin Steve’s life even more than it already was after he had presented as an omega.

Their words, not his.

But oh were they so wrong.

”Steven—”

”Don’t!” He snapped, shutting her up which even surprised him a little, but his confidence just grew.

”I have to go before my alpha comes back home. He misses me a lot.” Was all he said before walking away, leaving his mother behind.

He didn’t need to tell her what he was doing, but knowing how his mother never got that type of love from his father, he knew it was a low blow. And his mother deserved every bit of it.

Fuck her. Fuck his dad.

Steve was so happy.

And he knew he had made the right choice when he laid in his alphas strong arms later that night, talking about their future and how someday, they were gonna have a house full of little nuggets running around.

Steve had never felt so in love.

[whatudottu]

Honestly I’d love to see the Ben 10 fandom go more in-depth as to what the galactic audience’s thoughts regarding interspecies relationships and what dynamics formed between different species are like. Is dating To'kustars or Galvans when you’re not a To’kustar or Galvan frowned upon due to the severe height difference involved? Are there debates on whether it’s ethical to date a Vulpimancer or not? Is a Galvan dating a Galvanic Mechamorphs seen as a power imbalance? What would a romantic relationship between a Petrosapien and a Tetramand be like, or a queerplatonic one between an Ectonurite and a Lepidopterran be like, or even a platonic/familial one between a Kineceleran and a Pyronite?

Heheh, I really like thinking about the interplanetary community and it’s dynamics throughout the cosmos in the Ben 10 series, because I dunno it’s like rife with potential for worldbuilding and I guess political drama? Because apparently I like fictional political drama? I guess when it’s fictional it doesn’t affect anyone so it can be played around with in interesting ways.

Got some talking points down below hehe-

I have like SO MANY headcanons about how the interplanetary community treats vulpimancers, though to be fair I have like an unrefined list of notes about the chronology of Vulpin politics and ideologies that I haven’t neatened up yet, and one of those headcanons is the difficulties they face trying to prove themselves just as sapient as the other species; amongst all the bullshit that does bring, interspecies relationships are also affected by that bias. And the fact that you bring up the implied dynamic between creator (the galvan) and creation (galvanic mechamorphs) is interesting too because also, you can kinda also have debates about ‘is it ethical to date the first generation of a species’ especially in comparison to galvans who seem to have quite long lives, ‘is it ethical for a long living species to date a species by all means younger in their entirety than they are’ type questions-

It also isn’t just like the general interplanetary community though it’s also just the differing planetary communities (with their differing nations etc etc until we get to the individual) that also butt heads with each other- an ectonurite’s family really REALLY pushing for them to ‘get together’ with their queerplatonic lepidopterran partner before they have to host a funeral one day vs the lepidopterran having to explain to their hive that they’re happy with their ectonurite partner especially without the pressure of it being romantic there’s so many others that can and do *coughs into hand* ‘contribute’ to the hive population! Or or! The kineceleran not giving two shits about their pyronite sibling from another… pibling? Ah whatever- being so frickin’ slow because they can both bond over sports vs the pyronite wanting to share one of their thrill seeking traditions from back home with a race in their stunt car against their kineceleran cuz’ own personal wheels!

Lowkey I kinda made at least a concept for a tetramand/petrosapien couple which I based on a pseudo sumo wrestling match I saw at school once where one of the participants was slammed into the ground but they quickly switched their positions to roll the person on top so fast the crowd thought THEY were the one to win and not the person they flipped who won first- I mean! In my sphere of headcanons about petrosapiens and Petropia is that they barely got much chance to interact with the universe at large (being cracked open by the fulmini before Plumber intervention set them off plus doing something similar but… a little MORE to what they did on Revonnah) and so modern interplanetary discussions about any petrosapien relationship is ‘i thought they were extinct?’ and especially with tetramands intense courtship it may even skip straight to ‘oh they might as well be extinct’. Not exactly pleasant to hear, compounded by the rare potential someone happens to know - to put it in gross terms - a ‘suitable mate’ with the opposite sex of the petrosapien they’re pestering. At that point you’d better hope it wasn’t the tetramand/petrosapien pair because if the petrosapien doesn’t stab you over the offence, the tetramand would put you in your place, as legally able to as they’d can just to piss them off :P

Do you think if a galvan and a to’kustar were dating it’d be considered a ‘long distance relationship’ :P?