#it's an even more ridiculous deep cut AND it makes more sense

[kingofdoma]

saw deadpool and wolverine

enjoyed it a lot

still ticked that apparently peter is supposed to be PETE WISDOM

WHY PETE WISDOM

PETER CORBEAU WAS RIGHT THERE

[karinasbaby]

sim jaeyun — sense.

P. spiderman!jake x fem!reader (17+) | W. unprotected sex, sir kink, somewhat hard dom jake, tying up, pet names, making out, jake is desperate and needy, breeding kink, creampie, cursing, other filthy shit | WC. around 3k im assuming | A,N. wanted to write smth for spiderman jake so here we are ! pls read a,note at the end !

in which.. jake gets affected by an unknown aphrodisiac potion in the middle of a fight.

limping towards your apartment building at two am wasn’t the ideal situation jake was hoping to find himself just a few hours ago.

yet here he is. right hand pressed against the bleeding gash on the side of his waist while his left hand loosely wrapped around his red mask. an unfavourable situation really. seeing the friendly neighbourhood spiderman walking funnily down the streets of queens.

crimson red leaking between his fingertips and bleeding through his suit, multiple small cuts adorned his legs and angles, ripping apart the high-tech suit that was crafted by mr.stark for him only, weeks of hard work wasted down the drain in the matter of a few villains.

yet none of those tragedies were processed inside of jake’s foggy mind. as ridiculous as it sounded, he felt all the blood rushing from his body to the middle of his legs. adding more to his lightheartedness overall.

he couldn’t figure out what the fuck the stupid robber threw at him in that filthy glass bottle of his. the glass shattering right next to jake’s jaw letting the liquid seep into his suit and before he could even realise it, he had ingested way too much of the unknown liquid mid fight due to his stupid habit of licking his lips and heavy breathing.

tongue pressing against the dampened fabric that was soaked with what he assumed was a potion of some sort because it fucked him up entirely.

he was rock fucking hard. in the middle of the street. with multiple injuries. at two am.

to say that he was sexually frustrated would be an understatement. his body was aching in every way possible. his senses heightening further than they normally should be, hearing his heartbeat drumming loudly in his ear drums as he dragged himself closer and closer to the brick wall of his favourite building.

he almost moaned when he lifted his head upwards to face the windows of the apartment, throbbing, tortorous pain pulsing all throughout his veins and body. he could barely remember all the scenes from the unnecessary assault, from the stinging kicks to his abdomen to the tenderness he felt in his knuckles due to his calculated punches that had the guy knocked out on the floor after hours.

knowing your tendency of asking him countless questions from his fights and encounters with criminals, he tried to prepare himself to relief all your confusion. key word: tried. because he felt his legs beginning to shake under him. breaths turning heavier with each passing second.

he inhaled a deep breath to ground himself just for the next few minutes. eyes focusing on the sight of your window still open, you were still waiting for him. jake’s fingers loosened in relief before he lifted his right arm upwards to shoot a long, thin web. connected himself from the ground to the side of the brick wall.

the translucent web kept his weak figure balanced against the pull of the gravity, feet lightly pressed under the rough ridges and corners before he finally pressed his knee against your window sill.

jake’s half lidded eyes desperately searched for your presence, widening in complete delight when he spotted your figure laying on the bed. one hand wrapped around your favourite novel while the other adjusted the volume of your headphones. your fingers instinctively pressing against the negatively symbolised button before a blur caught your attention. the sight making your heart drop.

your gaze quickly met jake’s exhausted one. “jaeyun?” you whispered in surprise, taking in the appearance of his battered body. shit, how did he get hurt so bad when he left not even an hour ago?

before you could realise it your feet carried you away from your mattress and towards your lover who was now holding onto his stomach in pain. eyes closed and head lowered to swallow down the bile that rose in his throat at the pure anguish his body was going through.

he felt each nerve pulsing with white hot heat. ache circulating his body stemming from the cuts and punches along with his confusing boner that made his head spin in need.

“i’ll go get the first aid kit.” taking off your headphones, you rushed towards the door of your bedroom before disappearing. unaware of the way jake was desperately reaching forward to just stop you. to tell you that his cuts didn’t matter at the moment. and that if he didn’t have you under him in the next few minutes his mind might erupt.

his body ran on his impulse at this current second. head pushing away all his pain and burn from his small cuts and bruises (in comparison to his previous injuries) to focus on his leaking cock that pulsed between his unusually tight boxers.

he felt ridiculously hot and warm. it was uncomfortable to stay in his suit when his body ached to hold yours, he was struggling. so much.

“sit down on the bed, baby.” you walked back inside the room carrying the small box in your hands, attention caught on the ointment that was in the middle of the box surrounded by the multiple bandages that you mentally counted in your head, they seemed like a good amount.

“how did this even ha—?” your words got cut off when jake wrapped his arms around your waist and harshly pulled you against him, the sudden movement causing the first aid kit to fall out of your hands and clatter quietly on your carpet, “get on the bed right now.” jake practically whined into your ear, breath hot against your skin as his desperation was evident in every word.

you were confused, bewildered to say the least. how was he even able to move with such horrendous injuries that were probably excruciatingly painful for him right now? “baby wha—“ “please, baby. i’m begging you. please strip and get on the bed.” he groaned, hands loosening around you as they pushed you gently against the bed.

“but jake your inju—“ rip!

a punch of pieces of fabric just fell onto the ground as jake harshly ripped your clothes off. you didn’t even have the time to process what happened before he buried his face into your chest, hands cupping your breasts that were decorated in his favourite dark red lacey bra. he adored the sight of his favourite lingerie on you, but at this current second he loathed every fabric that was on both of your bodies.

“fuck— baby, i need you so bad. i-i don’t know what’s going on, i got hit with this random liquid by this stupid fucking— oh my god—“ he cut himself off when he felt you leaning closer to him, the slight brush of his dripping cock against your thigh made him almost cum in his suit. “i need you so fucking bad.” he whined before pressing his lips desperately against your lips, relief washing down his body when you reciprocated and stopped asking questions.

truth was you were more than confused at the moment. but with the way your lover was a few seconds away from getting on his knees to beg you so you allow him to fuck you was… an experience indeed.

you really loved seeing this side of jake. functioning on nothing but pure desire and need.

he quickly pushed you towards the bed, falling right after you on top of your soft mattress before he connected your lips again, sucking on your tongue needily while he humped your thighs. his breaths were heavy, soft whimpers of your name and how much he needed you left his pretty plump lips while you felt your panties growing wetter by the second.

you brushed your fingers through his fluffy hair while he tried to kiss you and hump you while simultaneously trying to remove his suit. the frustrated fucks and shits leaving his mouth when he would pull away to get a quick breath before kissing you again.

once his suit was off he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. pushing his body on top of yours, burning skin on skin as he felt countless beads of sweat roll down his body. his body was completely on fire. a depraved urge to fuck you till sunrise centered itself in his head. and before he knew it he was ripping your panties in half and spreading your legs wide open.

you moaned in pleasure when his dripping cock settled on top of your cunt, the precum running down his base almost like he had already came. he cursed under his breath before he used his strength to move you around to his liking.

“you know i’m not the type to do this, but today i just can’t baby. i’ll make it up to you.” he rushed out as he lifted your wrists up above your head, you confusedly look at him before he shot multiple webs around your wrists and the bed. trapping you under him entirely.

your heart dropped to your stomach as jake was the complete opposite of whoever was on top of you right now. he never truly fucked you, he made love to you every chance he got. wrapping himself around you and gently pleasuring you because your pleasure was his. he was so tender and loving. a drastic contrast from the man that used to kiss your wrists when you were coming down from your high to the man that just tied your wrists by using his web fluid. and you can’t say you weren’t excited.

he settled onto his knees, taking in the breathtaking sight of you sprawled out on the bed in front of him, legs spread widely with your cunt dripping. your hole practically begging him to fill you up. he slapped his cock against your soaked folds a few times. riling you up further as you squealed under him at the jolts of shock rushing throughout your body from your clit.

“look at you baby… you looking so beautiful. so pretty for me.” he breathed out dazedly, a soft smile carving its way onto his lips as your pretty eyes glossed over while your bottom lip got trapped between your teeth, “gonna be a good girl for me tonight, hm?” he teased as he brushed his pulsing length between your folds, dipping the tip just in slightly before pulling away and enjoying your mewls of his name.

“yes— yes, yes! i’ll always be your good girl, please.” you choked out, the need for him pulsing throughout your body. “please what?” he paused his movements as his eyes pierced into yours. “please, sir.”

“such a good girl for me.” he chuckled when he pushed his length in, you gasped as he thrusted in deeply, brushing against all of your sweet spots in one go. you were seeing stars at the way he filled you up, his thick length always stretching your walls out just right. he was perfect.

“fuck— baby, you feel so fucking good.” he moaned, his pace becoming completely out of control as he felt his need and desire becoming more intense, his emotions stirring with his thoughts while the only thing he knew his body needed was to release. to fill and stuff you full of his cum and hopefully the effects of the potion will come off.

you moaned his name so sweetly for him, hands struggling against the webs as he spread your legs wider against your bed, his eyes entranced on the way his length disappeared inside of your soaked cunt before it came out glistening, multiple threads of wetness connecting you both as the wet sounds began to echo in your room. “sir— i’m so s-so close.” you mewled out as he continued to pound into you.

at your words jake switched his position, from balancing himself on his knees on your mattress to hovering above you, placing your legs back atop his shoulder as he sank in deeper this time.

broken moans of his name left your mouth as his tip kept abusing your sweetest spots over and over again. eyes rolling to the back of your head when jake slipped his hand between the two of you and used his thumb to rub tantalising circles on your swollen clit, coaxing your orgasm out.

“wanna cum for me baby? cum all over my cock like a good girl?” teasing you, he leaned down to leave bite marks over every inch of skin he could access, his body jolting with electricity and excitement when you arched your back against him, jaw going slack as the coil in your abdomen tightened more and more.

jake felt his mind reeling when you finally tightened unbelievably around him to the point pulling out almost felt painful. he relished in the way your body convulsed while he switched from rubbing your clit to landing slaps against it. each wet slap resonating in the room accompanied by your desperate moans while you creamed around his cock so prettily.

he felt like he was floating through a cloud of euphoria at the view of you shaking beneath him, because of him. his hips continued to pound into you, dick pulsing in need inside of you as his own climax was right around the corner.

you desperately pulled at the webs, twitching under jaeyun as he continued to fuck you through and overstimulate you from your orgasm, your body felt like it was lit ablaze as he pleased you while he chased his own release. “feels good baby?” he asked as lowered himself this time to kiss along your chest, smiling against your skin when you nodded with a soft “mhm”. unable to produce any coherent response.

jake’s other hand came up to rip your bra off, swiftly and with ease the thin fabric landed on the floor next to the other garments while one of jaeyun’s hand came up to massage your breast as his lips wrapped around the other.

you threw your head back when his tongue and fingers played and pulled at your sensitive nipples teasingly. the sensation of him fucking himself so deep inside of you while he toyed with your breasts shocks of pleasure travel across your spine. every nerve ending blasting with ecstasy as jake overstimulated you.

“shit— baby i’m so close.” he moaned against your chest, swollen lips wrapped around your nipples while he absentmindedly thrusted his hips sloppily, his body running on his impulse to get him off as soon as possible, his own abdomen tightened in pleasure as he could taste his orgasm on the tip of his tongue

“please fill me up, please sir. i need you so much.” you moaned out in need, craving the feeling of his warm cum spilling inside of you. “yeah? how bad do you need me?” he breathed, littering kisses down the middle of your breasts as his mind spun continuously. “so fucking bad. i need you to breed me and stuff me full with your cum, sir. please please give it to me.” he groaned as your words seemed to push him right down the edge.

his body jerked above you while his cock twitched, spilling out rope after rope deep inside of you. you both moaned in euphoria at the feeling, so fulfilling and satisfying for both of you as jake began to grind against you, riding out his release before falling on top of your body.

the two of you were catching your breaths, basking in the blissful aftermath when you realised jake was unusually silent. “jake…?” no response.

“jake i swear to god if you fell asleep and left me in these fuckass webs i will chop—“ and then you heard him snoring.

.. on the brighter side atleast he’s no longer affected by a sex potion.

a,note. this is not proof read or edited and will 100% be rewritten when i have the time cuz i hate how it turned out its so fawking rushed like this came out from 30 mins but pls take this as i try my best to write my full heeseung fic im trying my best thank you !! ♡

[lady-ashfade]

so this one i stole again lol from your list. “Please go on a date with me.”

basically percy notices the reader and tries to impress her by doing crazy ridiculous things but she’s not interested because she thinks his ego is too big. finally she comes around when she sees he got hurt doing something for her to notice him. i hope that makes sense.

Falling for you- Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader

-£ words: 900 words

-£ Warnings: Short story, Simp Percy, cute crushes, reader being a bit mean to him, percy get it hurt, fluffy fic

-£ taglist: @kazurami14 @anonymouslyawesome25 @american-idiot21

the son of poseidon was persistent.

no matter how many times you told him off, or set him running with his head running, or you leaving him alone. he always kept coming back. Percy was often knocking his opponent down in training hoping you’d see him. he did everything to try and get your attention.

his back legs curled around a tree branch where you normally took your daily stroll, he was hanging down with a huge smile on his face and his cheeks glowing red. “percy.” you greeted with a uninterested tone. he just kept that annoying big smile, “lovely day isn’t it?” the only thing you did was roll your eyes and continue to walk down the dirt path. “And you’re ruining it.”

when he first arrived at camp, he already had some sort of glory after defeating a minotaur. he just kept finding his way in danger and saving the day, time after time. but his stupid smirk or smile told you he was too full of himself. he’d making the lake waves move, or make them a shape of something. no matter what, he was showing off.

and boy did you hate it.

somehow he find his way to you and that annoyed you, it was just too much. honestly you didn’t even realize he was trying to get your attention and just thought he was showing off to everyone. and certainly you didn’t know he had a crush on you. all you noticed was his ego.

but he noticed everything about you.

the way you walked, if you held your head up high or at the ground. how pretty your face shined when the sun shined on it, and how your smile shined even brighter. he was constantly chasing after you, he was craving to get your attention. most of the time he just did what popped up in his head which for someone like him, and you, was always dangerous and over the top. he lacked self control.

how someone could be so beautiful he couldn’t understand. even when you fought, he was entranced. you could be the worst fighter and he’d stare at you like the stars in the sky. his heart belonged to you.

but this time, he had gone to far.

“you’re a idiot,” you push his head under the water as you clothes get wetter by the second of sitting in the water. the bruising on his skin and the cuts going along with it only made your heart ache worse. his stunt didn’t go so well this time, hints his fracture wrist. he took a deep breath as he came back up even though he could breath under the water. he just wasn’t thinking straight.

sitting yourself back down on the sand you click your tongue. he had challenged you to a fight with that same attitude, the same smirk, the same slick tone. he got a little to distracted near the edge. he walked backwards with his sword held pointed at you, “look at us spending time together, we should do this more often.” he really should have watched his steps because his foot finally slipped and he took a tumble down onto the rocks. you watch him slide down, his grunts of pain and the way his body sounded made you cringe

lucky he landing on the shore line and only a few feet away from the water. which is were you two stay now catching your breath and thinking to yourself. why did you care if he was actually hurt or not? not like he would die or stay injured because he always got back up. why did his smile finally get to you back then?

and why was your stomach sick.

as you thought to yourself percy watched again like he always found himself doing. he loved the look on your face when you were deep in thought. and now that your face was wet and hair hanging down he couldn’t stop himself from falling deeper for you.

“please go on a date with me.” his words cut you out of thought.

your eyes grow bigger and look at him shocked and startled. you couldn’t believe your ears. he just asked you out on a date…percy jackson asked you out. the cocky, dumb, arrogant demigod was talking to you. Why, you hate his guts and always made fun of him. he jumped up from the water and you saw his teeth pinch the inside of his mouth anxiously.

“Sorry,” he sighed. “it just came out. I’ve been trying to ask you out for weeks but i couldn’t work up the courage to ask you out, I’m not good at this type of thing.” percy jackson lacking courage? that made you laugh. you looked up at him, the sun shining behind him as his hand now extended to you offering to help you up. any other time you would have smacked it away and cursed at him to leave you alone.

“I know you probably think I’m a total idiot which is true but, I really like you. If you really don’t want anything to do with me then I respect your wishes.”

but now you realize that you actually enjoyed his company. he made camp fun and exciting. and boy, was he handsome now that you really look at him. “alright, beach boy.” you grabbed ahold of his hand as he pulls you up. your body pressed into his and knocked him back a bit but his arm grabbed ahold of your waist to steady you.

inches away from his face your lips curled in a small smirk, “You got yourself a deal.”

[manikas-whims]

LADS men when you start dating someone, who later on mistreats you

got this idea and wanted to get it out of my system ♡

ZAYNE

❄️ He isn't thrilled by the revelation at all but he won't say it outright because its not his place to tell you who to date or not.

❄️ However, his dislike does show with the way his brows knit together, the flare of his nostrils with every sharp intake of breath or how his lips turn down just slightest every time you bring up this person’s name.

❄️ Every single praise for this person will arouse a sense of self-doubt in him. After all, it's better you date someone like them. Their evol will never put you in danger like Zayne's can. And they would never skip meetings due to their schedule. (Ofc if you could hear his thoughts, you'd immediately shun them from Zayne's mind.)

❄️ If this person ever hurts you emotionally or physically, then best believe he'll freeze hell itself if he has to in order to track this person down.

“How dare you do this to Y/N!?” Zayne’s voice is harsh, cold radiating off his arms in dangerous yet controlled wisps.

And it takes you hugging him from behind, your head resting on his back, tears from your eyes soaking into the fabric of his coat, to stop him.

“Zayne, stop. You don't need to hurt yourself.” You mumble into the fabric of his coat, your arms slipping down to entwine your fingers with his chilling ones. You can already see the hint of a fresh scar developing on the back of his hand, and you won't be able to live with yourself if you see him getting hurt because of you dating a horrible person.

The prickly sensation begins dissipating from his hands and despite the scars, the softness returns into his skin. He turns around, drawing you into a hug with one arm. You can still see his chest rising and falling due to how much he'd been exerting himself.

“Fine.” He lets out a deep breath and finally flashes you the rare warm smile he only keeps for you. “Let’s go.”

And the two of you leave together.

XAVIER

⭐ Not that you're supposed to stay in this “will they? won't they?” situationship with your apartment neighbor forever but Xavier is just so jealous. His eyes darken, and his mood becomes sullen at the mere mention of this person.

⭐ Every time you try praising them, Xavier is going to interrupt and nitpick on how "they're always late on dates", "don't even check up on you at work", "give off a shady vibe",...the more he shit-talks about this person, the more ridiculous his words get.

⭐ He definitely gets a little touchy. After all, seeing you with someone else makes him feel as if he isn't as close to you. He makes sure this person sees his hand casually around your waist. And petty as it may seem, he's also deliberately gonna leave his hoodie and his other stuff at your place to remind you of himself.

⭐ If this person ever hurts you emotionally or physically, then no amount of prayers will spare this person to see the light of another day.

Xavier happens to see this person trying to approach you once more outside the apartment complex with words that barely sound like an apology. Swift as ever, he steps in front of you.

“You got some nerve showing up here after what you did to Y/N.” He says to them, an edge in his usually gentle voice.

He is as silent and deadly as you've seen him in the throes of battle, cutting down the Wanderers without a hint of mercy in his strikes. And you gulp down the tension in the air.

You know what he's capable of. You can't let him unleash the power of his evol simply because of your ex-partner maltreating you.

You bring your hand out and place it upon his heart, just like you'd done on your first encounter with him. Only this time it's not to resonate your evol with his but to push him back.

You force a smile on your face despite the messy state of your emotions. “Xav, let's grab a bite. I'm craving hotpot.”

His eyes are unflinching, and for a moment you wonder if even the bait of some tasty meat will fail to lure him. But then, a moment later he scoffs at the person and looks down at you, his gaze softening as he does so. “Alright. If that’s what you want.”

He wraps his fingers around your hand– the same one that's still resting upon his chest– and pulls you along.

RAFAYEL

🌊 He's jealous but even more than that, he's disappointed in your choice. You can do way better than this. Actually, in his opinion, you are way out of this person's league, and deserve nothing but perfection when it comes to a partner.

🌊 He's quite vocal about his dislike, openly saying how suspicious he finds this person and how if you wanna indulge in wasting your precious time, you'd rather waste it on him.

🌊 He complains how you've changed. How you don't hang-out with him as much and pay less visits to his studio. Seeing you with someone else makes the ache in his heart more agonizing than ever. Rafayel wonders what you see in them? Do they cherish you more than him?

🌊 If this person ever hurts you emotionally or physically, then he won't hesitate from raising the tides of the Whitesand Bay in order to drown them.

You frantically chase after Rafayel as he corners this person. You've never seen this magnitude of fury in his beautiful eyes.

Rafayel grabs them by the front of their shirt, his voice scalding as he smirks in annoyance, “So you've finally shown your true colors to Y/N, huh?”

You can feel the temperature rising just a little, the atmosphere around feeling a lot warmer than before. Your nose catches the whiff of something burning and you realize there's smoke emanating from that person's collar.

It's scary.

Seeing someone who holds even a paintbrush so tenderly act like this. And no, you're not afraid of him for you know Rafayel will never hurt you. You're afraid for this person. You're afraid of what Rafayel is capable of becoming if you let him go on like this.

Cautiously, you wrap your hand around his wrist and free this person from his hold. The fabric of their shirt appears to be slightly charred but there's no harm done otherwise.

“Come on, Rafayel, ” You tug his wrist to pull him to you. “We shouldn't bother with the likes of them.”

He fixes his gaze on the person one last time. “Count yourself lucky Y/N is here! Or else..”

He pries his hand out of your grasp and pats your head. His smile returns, as does the warmth in his eyes and he puts an arm around your waist. “So, where are we going?”

SYLUS VERSION [HERE]

» MASTERLIST «

[radio-fmm]

One piece men react to your new haircut

ft. Law, Zoro and Sanji

fluff + gn reader with long hair

Masterlist

LAW

“Y/n-ya” Laws muffled voice ringed in your ears from outside your dorm, a tad softer tone coloring his words than he would usually use, a tone that always accompanied your name after it

He was met with silence

You had skipped breakfast, first red flag, and when you didn’t showed up for the monthly meeting at his office he knew something was up, he just didn’t know exactly what could be

“Go away” the doctors eyebrows curled in confusion, you sounded upset 

“Can you open the door please?”

“No”

Laws mind ran wild trying to think of a reason for your behavior changing one day to another, hiding away in your dorm

“Shambles”

The tall man appears in front of your door as he finds you underneath your bedsheets curled in a ball. Obviously what his mind zeroed in to immediately was that you may be feeling unwell, but as the tiniest softest sob left your mouth he realized it was a different kind of unwell he had not anticipated 

Feeling extremely unprepared, he sits at the end of your bed, immediately making you squirm and hide further in your bed

“Don’t look at me, I'm horrendous!” The captain cannot stop the snickers that scapes his mouth at your statement 

“Don’t be ridiculous” In a swift move Law removes the sheets, revealing your face hiding behind your hands

He noticed right away what you were referring to as apparently ‘horrendous’. Your locks were cut short too way above your shoulders, at the height of the frame of your face. He admires the new style, a smile tugging at his lips before he removes your hands from your regretful face, your eyes scan his expression in total terror

“I thought I could do it myself” a whisper could be heard louder than the words leaving you as you melt at Laws sweet touch “I look so bad”

Law runs his finger through your soft short strands before stroking your cheek “You look just fine y/n-ya… it quite suits you” 

Your face turns from his grasp but your Captain is quick to catch you “You’re gorgeous any day, any time, with long or short hair” Doe eyes met his as if you were relieved at his praise

“Promise?”

“Promise”

Your short hair was quick to become Laws favorite look on you

ZORO

“Don’t move” Zoro's tongue peeks at the side of his lips as he finds the perfect angle to cut your soft long strands of hair

“If you cut me in half…”

“Quit complaining I haven’t even started” He watches as your hands show him what length to cut for the third time, the swordsman takes a deep breath. A swift move from his strong arms followed by the sound of a cut near your ears is the last thing that fills your senses before a weight is lifted from your shoulders. Your eyes peek at the floor, a sea of your now old hair beneath you

“Perfect” you hear Zoro mutter, you run your hand through your hair, a grimace appearing on your face

"It's not straight” you sigh, defeated 

“What are you talking about?” Zoro appears in your field of vision and scans the way your hair sits at the sides of your frame, before you can even complain about it, another cut is heard disrupting the peace of The Sunny. 

Instantly you run to the bathroom mirror, it’s not perfect per se´, but he got the exact length you wanted to. You were a short hair kind of a person your whole life, but when you had started to sail through the sea, embarking alongside the future king of the pirates, it was hard to keep up a neat cut like the one you liked, so you resorted to a more easy way out. Another sigh escapes you, a different one this time, this one is a content one. You smile as you pose before the mirror, which reflects another figure outside the bathroom watching you intently

“Thank you Zoro” you offer him the softest and most thankful smile through your reflection, the swordsman shrugs, trying not to make a big deal out of it, truth was he was more than glad to help you, in anything you may need, it made him feel important. His eyes take on the new view of your appearance once more, his heart thrumbing in his ears and a blush sitting on his cheeks, he didn't know how you managed to look even more breathtaking 

“No problem” 

You wink at him at you may have broke him, the swordsman stays frozen in place as you run to show Nami and Robin your new look 

SANJI

The cook stays in a trance as he watches you braid your long beautiful locks in a fish braid before bed, as you tie it you watch your reflection for a while, a hesitant look appearing making your nose scrunch, the antic making his heart jump in his chest. Sanji bites his tongue, wanting to comment on this action, curious as to what could possibly be bothering you, because last time he checked, your reflection was nothing to frown about. 

"What's wrong, my love?" He asks ever so gently, you stay silent before walking to your shared bed, sighing as you lay beside him

“I want to cut my hair, it’s really hard work keeping it off my face, and it takes ages to wash and style” another frown sits on your lips as your eyes advert from his face

The reality was that you were planning on cutting your hair for a while now, but the thought of Sanji disliking your new look haunted you, but you were not gonna admit that to him

One of his delicate hands reach for your braid, then travel upwards to cup your face, he smiles in pure adoration pulling at your heart strings in the most intimate melody

“I know whatever you do to your hair is gonna look smashing” a dark red creeps from your neck and warms up your face at the blonde’s touch

After Sanji’s sweet reassurance, you missed no time and that morning reached for the scissors in your drawer and just went for it. As half your braid fell to the floor you felt the biggest weight being lift from your shoulders, your locks dancing free with the ocean’s breeze

The cook walked outside the kitchen in the middle of his breakfast prep for a smoke, but his cigarette hit the floor the instant he spotted you leaning on the railing of The Sunny, he was left stunted, heart eyes following your beautiful silhouette as he rushed your way

“Stunning” his hands immediately landing on your strands, brushing them slowly and lovingly

“You were right” you smiled at him content written all over your face

“Of course I was darling, I know an angel when I see one”

Luffy’s whines of annoyance could be heard all over the ship when he found his plate empty in the kitchen and Sanji nowhere to be found, he just had to stay to admire you all morning, it was a must 

[moonmaiden1996]

Bound by Fate

Shank's inhales some Devil Fruit Pollen unleashing some primal urges deep within him and revealing a potent and alluring scent pulling you directly into his path.

Chapter Two

Shanks had always believed he was in control—of his crew, his ship, his destiny. A man as powerful as he was couldn’t afford to lose himself, not to anything, especially not to something as ridiculous as Devil Fruit blossom. Yet, there he was, his mind consumed by the effects of a pollen he hadn’t even noticed until it was too late.

It started with a strange, floral scent, subtle but maddening, swirling in the air of the marketplace. The merchant’s stand had been covered in bright red flowers, their pollen drifting through the wind. The fool of a merchant. Greedy and stupid. The plants that grew Devil Fruits were rare, especially since when an eater dies, their fruit reappears somewhere in the world. It didn’t mean that the flowers didn't appear, and when they did, stupid merchants would not hesitate to cut them down and sell them to the highest bidder. The flower and leaves could be dried and mashed up to make all sorts of powders, tinctures, and oils for a skilled physician, at least, but for an idiot with a pestle and mortar it was dangerous. Even for a Yonko like himself

When that pollen hit his face, he knew the trouble it would cause he was at least thankful the small gust didn't hit anyone else.

The change was slow at first. A warmth spread through his chest, making his pulse race, though he chalked it up to the tropical heat. But then came the scent—your scent. Faint at first, like a whisper on the breeze, but with each passing day, it grew stronger, more intoxicating. It was unlike anything he had ever felt. It called to him, pulling him in a direction he didn’t fully understand.

Days passed, and the more he fought it, the stronger the urge became. Beckman and Hongo are watching over him constantly.  Every breath he took was painful. Every breath seemed to be filled with you, and a painful reminder that you were not there somewhere beyond his reach, waiting to be found. And Shanks, despite his easygoing nature, couldn’t ignore it any longer. The need was burning when he gave Snake his new destination and Beckman his orders.

xxx

The festival on the island of Tansora was in full swing when the Red Force docked. Music filled the air, laughter echoing through the streets. Shanks, with his usual grin and swagger, led his crew into town, but beneath his confident exterior, that strange hunger gnawed at him.

Despite the dizzying array of smell and sound and copious amounts of ale and rum being passed around it was not hard to find you, winding himself through the winding passages and hoards of writhing bodies. Your scent was not easily overpowered.

You were on stage, dancing with a grace that made the crowd sway in rhythm. But it wasn’t just your movements that captivated him—it was the power you radiated. You didn’t know it, but your very presence was laced with Haki. It was subtle, woven into every turn and every motion of your dance, commanding attention and respect without you needing to speak a word.

Shanks’ heart raced, the scent of you overwhelming his senses, and for a moment, he felt as if the world had narrowed to just you and him. He watched, entranced, the pull growing stronger, primal.

"Captain," Benn Beckman’s voice cut through the haze. "You good? you haven't had a drop of rum since we left the ship."

Shanks tore his eyes away from you, blinking as if waking from a dream. "Yeah," he said, though his voice was rougher than usual. "I’m fine. Pass me a tankard, let's celebrate, we just have one small thing to do." Shanks roared, followed by his crew, clattering of cups sloshing the amber coloured liquid. But not once did his eyes leave your performance.

He wasn’t fine. Not at all.

xxx

When your music finished, you slipped off the stage and away from the crowd, seeking a moment of quiet in the alley behind the festival grounds. The air was hot, stifling, a thin sheen of sweat glimmered in the night. Your heart was still pounding from the dance, the energy of the evening lingering in your body like an aftershock. But there was something else, too—an uneasy feeling that you couldn’t shake, like you were being watched. The cold air felt good on your calling skin as you settled against the rough slates of the building that surrounded the square. Closing your eyes, you took a few steady pants of breath to steady your racing heart. The sound of shuffling stirred you from your moment's respite. 

That’s when you saw him.

A man stood in the shadows, leaning casually against the wall, an arm crossed over his chest. He was tall, with messy red hair that framed his face in a wild, untamed way. His grin was cocky, but there was something in his eyes that set you on edge—something dark and intense. a black cloak blocked most of his form, but you didn't need to see it. He was tall and strong built. No man could be up to any good, lurking on the fringes of the festival. Not when whatever pleasure they wanted could be filled in the main square. 

"Didn’t mean to scare you," he said, his voice smooth, almost teasing. "You’re quite the dancer. I didn't expect that, aren't I a lucky man." he smiled. 

You narrowed your eyes, taking a step back. "Who are you?"

He straightened up, walking toward you with a swagger. "Shanks," he said simply, as if that was all the explanation you needed.

When you didn’t respond, he let out a soft chuckle. "You really don’t know, do you? I thought it would work on you too, hm."

"Know what?" You snapped, your body tensing as the unease grew. There was something about him, something in the way he looked at you, like he knew more than he was letting on.

Shanks’ grin faded slightly, replaced by something more serious. "There’s a connection between us," he said, his voice low. "I don’t know how or why, but I can feel it. And I know you can too."

Your heart skipped a beat. His words sent a chill down your spine. The closer he got the more impressive his form seemed, thick muscles strained against his skin, bronzed by hours outside in the hot sun, a body that had left the tale-tell signs of a fighter, the three jagged scars that drew down across his right eye and a missing left arm. Not that would hinder him, he did seem like he would need another arm to do some serious damage.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you said, keeping your voice steady. "And I don’t care. Whatever you think is happening here, it’s not."

Shanks stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, but there was a softness in his gaze, a sweetness beneath the authority. "I wish it was that simple," he murmured, his voice almost tender. His fingers twitching as his reached his hand out before pulling in back to his check settling in back to his side, but you did miss the clench of his hand and his fingernails pressing in to the callous flesh on his palm ‘’I haven’t been able to think about anything but you. The scent of you, the pull of you... it’s driving me mad."

You stared at him, your pulse racing. "You are drunk or insane," you said, though your voice wavered. ‘’and I don't have time for either"

"I didn’t want this," he admitted, ignoring you words, his expression pained. "But it’s not about what I want anymore. It’s about what we are. You are mine."

You took a step back, shaking your head. "So you're definitely drunk and insane then," your voice wobbled as you skirted back, but every move you made back forward, he moved forward, his eyes forever moving, devouring you. 

Shanks sighed, his usual cocky smile slipping for a moment, replaced by something darker, more conflicted. "I know it’s a lot to take in, but I can’t fight it anymore. I need you with me."

Your stomach twisted. You have been an entertainer long enough to know how to deal with the pervy patrons that crowd round every corner after a performance, and you have lived in Tonsona long enough to know a pirate when you see one. Grabby and rude, pushing their intimation on anything they thought they could get away with, This however was different, this pirate presence seemed to dominate the space, he was by no means a giant but there was something oddly menacing about this one. And you really did not have the energy to deal with this, a overfriendly pirate too drunk and stupid to make a real pass at you.

"I’m not going anywhere with you," you said, your voice firm. ‘’Go back to the festival.’’

Shanks’ eyes flashed with frustration, but he didn’t push. Instead, he took a deep breath as if steadying himself. "I didn’t want it to come to this," he said softly, almost as if he were speaking to himself. "But I don’t have a choice."

Before you could react, there was movement behind you—strong hands grabbing your arms, pulling you back. You struggled, but it was no use. The men holding you were skilled, their grips firm yet careful, as if they didn’t want to hurt you.

"Let me go!" you shouted, panic rising in your chest.

Benn Beckman appeared beside Shanks, his expression calm but unreadable. "We need to take her, Captain," he said quietly. "It’s the only way."

Shanks clenched his jaw, his fists tightening at his sides. "I know," he muttered, his voice thick with self-loathing. "But that doesn’t mean I like it."

‘’Hongo will make sure she isn't harmed.’’ Benn's gruff voice soothing his captain as he marched him toward the dock, back to you as you were pulled along with them.  

You fought against the hands of the crew, but they were unyielding, your heart pounding in your chest, but they were too strong. They lifted you off your feet, carrying you toward the docks where the Red Force awaited. No matter how much you twisted and struggled, they did not budge. Their eyes are determined and hard.

You screamed, your voice filled with fury and desperation. "You don’t have to do this!"

Shanks winced, his face tight with guilt. "I’m sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. With his back to you, you could barely hear him. "But I need you with me. I can’t let you go."

Despite the firm set of his jaw and the confidence in his stance, there was pain in his eyes, a battle raging within him. He hated himself for this, for taking you against your will, but the primal need inside him—the need for his—overpowered his conscience. He couldn’t walk away, not now.

"Let me go!" you shouted, panic rising in your chest.

Your eyes darted between Shanks and Beckman, the reality of the situation crashing down on you like a wave. You were trapped.

"Why are you doing this?" you demanded, fear creeping into your voice, tears welling up in your eyes as you tugged hopelessly at the hands that caged you.

Shank's didn’t turn to you, only glanced at you over his shoulder, the pleading of his tone making you freeze in the hands of your captives. "Because I need you. We need each other. You’ll understand soon enough, but you have to trust me."

You swallowed hard, every instinct screaming at you to run, to escape. But the way he looked at you, with a mix of desperation and longing, kept you rooted in place.

"I won’t be your captive," you shot back defiantly but quietly.

"You’re not a captive," Shanks replied, his voice softening. "You’ll be mine."

Even as you fought against the ropes that bound you, you could not quell a deepening feeling in the pit of your stomach to submit, to give in. A feeling that you pushed down with every fiber of your body even though every cell in your body screamed for you to not fight.

xxxxx

Once aboard the Red Force, they brought you to a cabin, locking the door behind you. You paced the small room, your mind racing, trying to make sense of what had just happened. but you didn't miss the soft creak of the ship, and it swayed into motion. You were sailing. On a ship. Abducted by a crew and what you can only assume was their deranged captain. Your best hope was they were going to sell you, the worse… you shivered, it doesn't bear thinking about it.  

After what seemed an eternity, the door creaked open, and Shanks stepped inside. His cocky grin was gone, replaced by a sombre expression in this light. You could see him clearly now. The red locks framed his face, and chocolate eyes stared out at you from a canvas of gold skin. His feature was well weathered but handsome as he leaned against the doorframe, his arm crossed.

"I didn’t want it to go like this," he said quietly, his voice soft. "I didn’t want to force you."

You glared at him, your anger flaring. "Then why did you? Why kidnap me?"

Shanks ran a hand through his hair, and down his face, his stubble made him look tired, frustration etched into his features. "Because if I didn’t, I’d lose myself." His eyes met yours, raw and unguarded. "That damn pollen, it’s turned me into something I never wanted to be.’’ he muttered more to himself than to you. ‘’But now, I need you more than anything. And I hate myself for it but for now you need to stay."

The honesty in his voice caught you off guard. You could see the conflict in him—the cocky, confident pirate who always had control now fighting against something far deeper, something primal and unavoidable.

"I don’t expect you to forgive me," Shanks continued, his voice quiet. "But I promise you this—I’ll keep you safe. Always."

You didn’t know what to say. Part of you wanted to scream at him, to fight back, to demand your freedom. But another part of you—it wasn't sure. 

‘’What do you want from me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your anger giving way to confusion.

"To make you mine," Shanks said simply, his gaze unwavering. "I can’t fight it, and neither should you. Whatever this is between us,  it is not something I have the power to ignore."

Your breath caught in your throat. The intensity of his gaze burned into you, but you couldn’t let yourself be swayed by his words. You took a step back, desperately trying to regain some semblance of control.

"Let me go!" you shouted again, this time more forcefully.

"Can’t do that," he replied, though his tone was almost apologetic. "Not until we figure this out. Until I know you’re safe. I’m not just a pirate; I’m a Yonko. I won’t let anyone hurt you."

 "What’s wrong with you? I don’t need you to protect me! I don’t need anything from you!"

"You’re wrong," Shanks said, his voice steady, but the weight of his words hung heavy in the air. "You need me. You will see in time."

Your eyes narrowed, but you couldn’t deny the flicker of uncertainty in your gut. Shanks straightened, his confident demeanour slowly returning as he gave you a small, apologetic smile. "For what it’s worth," he said softly, "I’ll make this right. One way or another. You never know you might like life as a pirate. You strike me as the cutthroat type. Now get some rest."

And with that, he turned and left, leaving you alone in the cabin as the Red Force sailed away into the night, carrying you toward an uncertain future.

I have wanted to write One Piece Fanfic for ages, and this has been stuck in my mind for the longest time. Might write a second part and more pollen fiction for the other members of the Straw Hats. Please like, leave a comment or make a review.

[stervrucht]

🧠🪱 Wiggly Wednesday 🧠 🪱

Thank you for the tag @just-my-latest-hyperfixation 🧡

Today I’m thinking about this ridiculous story of a friend of mine, who, after she thought she’d been ghosted, proceeded to hold a cremation by burning the guy’s picture, only to receive a text right after.

“Where are we going, Eddie?”

Dustin’s tone is starting to grate on his nerves and Eddie needs to take a deep breath to calm his voice before responding. 

“I told you, a small detour.”

“Through the woods? What about the guitar lessons?”

“Yes, through the woods," Eddie snaps. 

He doesn’t even have to look to his side to know Dustin is pouting. Despite that, the little guy still follows him, ducking underneath the brush as they make their way to Skull Rock. 

He didn’t tell Dustin—doesn’t think there’s an adequate way to explain that this was what he did whenever he was dealing with a serious bout of heartbreak. That—because Steve Harrington hadn’t been answering his phone and clearly dumped Eddie without the courage to say so to his face—Eddie now needed to initiate the Cremation Stage. 

Yeah, you heard that right.

It first happened three years ago, after Stacy Morgan landed on him during a game of spin-the-bottle and cried after kissing him. That one kinda stung. 

After a bit of dumb back and forth, he and Gareth decided to cut her picture from the yearbook and held a stupid little funeral—speeches and all. After they were done and said their goodbyes, they burned the picture. It made him feel better. So much so, that it became a dumb little habit.

One he hadn’t executed that often, really.

Which is why it sucks so much he is off to Skull Rock, the place he first kissed Steve Harrington against the expectations of everyone ever, to burn his stupid picture.

When they finally reach Skull Rock, Eddie digs through his pockets and pulls out his Zippo and Steve’s picture. Dustin leans over his shoulder, knees digging into the back of Eddie’s arm as he leans over to watch.

“Why do you have a picture of Steve?”

“Because.” Eddie strikes the Zippo, trying to make it catch flame, but the old thing is protesting.

“Because why?”

The stupid thing still won’t catch. Eddie strikes his thumb over the wheel with a little more aggression—pulls his lips into a thin line, frustration pulling at his gut. “Because I need to burn it.”

“Why?”

Eddie throws his hands. “Because I have to okay! Because—”

Because Steve’s finally realized Eddie was a mistake. And Eddie knew the day would come. He was just pushing his head in the sand like a fucking ostrich, hoping he could enjoy what little time Steve was willing to give him. He just hoped Steve would have had the guts to actually say so to his face.

He can’t tell Dustin any of that though. 

Finally, the Zippo produces flame and Eddie holds the corner of Steve’s yearbook picture near it. It takes a few seconds, but soon enough the picture engulfs into flames and Eddie has to drop it between the twigs and dried leaves. He allows it to burn for a few seconds until the leaves around it start to smolder. He quickly kills the flame with his shoes and once he removes his feet, only ash is left of what was once an image of Senior Steve.

Eddie pulls himself into a standing position and slips the Zippo back into his pocket.

“All done.”

“Dude, that was so weird.”

“No, it wasn’t. And don’t tell Steve about this.” 

Dustin raises an eyebrow at him but probably senses it’s best to not push it.

“Can we go play guitar now?”

“Yeah, man, whatever. Let’s go.”

A little while later, Eddie sits in Dustin’s bedroom, his guitar in his lap as he shows Dustin some chords to Metallica. The little dude learns fast, last week's chords already dexterously mastered. A little more and he’ll be playing his first full song. Now, just to get a feeling for it, he makes Dustin play the same five chords as base while Eddie plays the more complex parts of the song. 

He’s actually starting to get into it when the doorbell to the Henderson residence rings.

“Really, now?” Dustin lets out a frustrated sigh and puts his guitar down on his bed. “I’ll be right back.”

Eddie hums and continues picking at the snares. Mumbles along to the song until he hears Dustin return to the room.

“Oh, hey Eddie.”

Eddie looks up. That didn’t sound like Dustin. That sounded like—

“Steve.” Eddie is staring at Steve standing in Dustin’s doorframe. Can’t do anything else than stare because an hour ago, he cremated Steve. 

And now he’s here.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Steve lets out a little laugh. And it’s not the ‘oh shit I ran into my ex’ kind. It’s the genuine kind. The fond kind.

Dustin pushes himself past Steve into his bedroom. “I told you, I’d give it back to you on Monday,” he complains.

Steve rolls his eyes, watching with amusement as Dustin digs through his closet.

“W—where have you been?” Eddie hardly dares to ask. He tries to keep the tremble out of his voice.

“Ugh, my parents man. They took me on some campus visits to fancy universities. Didn’t give me any warning either. It sucked balls.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, not great. How have you been holding up with this asshat the past few days.” Steve looks back to where Dustin is now clearing the lower levels of his closet. 

“I heard that!” he calls back. 

“I…I’ve been doing just dandy.” Eddie shoots Steve a little smile, and yes, that’s definitely fondness in Steve’s face. God, he’s such an idiot.

A total overreaction. 

When Dustin rears his head from the closet, proudly holding a cassette tape, Eddie thinks he needs to make sure Dustin takes this little Skull Rock detour to the grave. 

---

No pressure tags for @sleepy-steve @spectrum-spectre @runninriot @wheneverfeasible @eddiethebrave

[i-drop-level-one-loot]

Overprotective!Yandere X GN!Reader

Women in the office gawked at Theo as he walked by, shamelessly refusing to peel their eyes from the Adonis who walked among them. With dark wavy hair that framed his beauty mark speckled face and droopy emerald eyes always set into a warm smile, he was model material, yet refused to believe it. Theo was kind to everyone he spoke to, but no one could gain his full attention, and affection. That was reserved for his one and only best friend ❤️

❤️ Theo who was Reader's best friend since kindergarten

💀 Every life path Reader took, Theo took as well. They were his best friend, he just happened to have the same interests as Reader!

❤️ Besides, he didn't go to the same college as them and got into the same company in the same sales department just because he was good at numbers like Reader... he also needed to protect them!

💀 Reader was always a hard worker, they would often forget to eat meals while working overtime and would only sleep two hours a night if Theo wasn't there to gently keep them on track

❤️ And despite everyone referring to Reader as a cynical workaholic, Theo knew deep down that they were far too trusting

💀 Remember that girl in grade four who confessed to Reader at recess? Reader turned her down far too kindly! They made her think it was actually okay to be friends! Thank goodness Theo was there to threaten the kid to stay away protect his best friend from that weirdo

❤️ People often mistook the pair of besties for a couple, and that was just ridiculous!

💀 Yeah, the idea of Reader calling Theo their husband, kissing Reader's forehead each and every night, and instead of just tucking them into bed joining them in their shared bed made his heart clench in a funny way... they were just friends!

❤️ Just friends that were also roommates. The economy is terrible right now, just because they make enough money to live alone, didn't it make more sense to live together and save money?

💀 And Theo enjoyed cooking nutritional meals for his best friend! No instant ramen for Reader while Theo's around!

❤️ No, it wasn't jealousy whenever someone started hitting on Reader, he was just worried for them!

"Don't you think Jackson's a bit... creepy?" Theo asked his buddy while prepping dinner one night. Reader glanced up from their work laptop only briefly.

"Why do you say that?"

"Ah, I don't mean to sound rude! I'm sorry.. I just overheard him saying something pretty gross about Mrs. Kim.."

Jackson had asked Reader to grab a drink with him sometime just the other day, and he seemed like a genuinely kind dude. But Reader trusted Theo with their life, and wouldn't question anything he ever said, believing their best friend was simply incapable of lying. Reader grunted and went back to work, and Theo knew by that sound his bestie wasn't going out with Jackson anytime soon.

💀 Theo who could never admit to anyone, not even himself, that his relationship with Reader wasn't a healthy "friendship"

❤️ Convincing himself that his actions were completely normal things for friends to do was almost a full time job

💀 Sometimes he watched Reader sleep, admiring how their eyelashes fluttered as they dreamt ensuring that they were actually sleeping and not sneaking onto their computer

❤️ And breaking down into full blown hysterics when Reader doesn't text him back is just because he's so worried for them

💀 Reader always saw the error in their ways though, apologizing profusely when they finally came home from grocery shopping and seeing the results of forgetting to charge their phone

❤️ It was an especially hard day when Theo had to cut off his own mother. She said Theo was codependent on Reader! Reader doesn't know this though, they just heard that Theo's mother was criticizing their friendship

Reader was stopped at the front door, Theo draping his large frame over his best friend, his large eyes watering. "Please don't leave, (Reader)."

They sighed, wriggling an arm free to mess with Theo's hair. "The fridge is almost empty, dude."

"But it's raining outside!" Theo raised is voice unintentionally as he began to panic, spiraling into an anxiety attack. "What if you get sick? Please just stay home, I can order take out. Let's go shopping tomorrow!"

"Theo.."

"Please!" A sob choked out of the man as he seemingly lost his strength, collapsing against Reader as he stained their jacket with his tears. "I just want to keep you safe!"

Reader gave in, as they always did, guilt stabbing at their heart until they could calm Theo down and convince him they weren't leaving.

Even if Reader never fell in love with Theo, the man would be content just to be by Reader's side, forever being their one and only best friend. As long as he could continue protecting them, from bad dates conspiring to ruin Reader's life, from management that continuously accepted Reader's overtime volunteering, and from Reader's own silly bad choices... Theo was happy.

[drak3n]

THE LOST LOVE

ꨄ. SYNOPSIS: two lovers who went seperate ways years ago… one of the cases we love most!

ꨄ. CONTENT WARNINGS: exes to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, age gap (reader was in college & toji in his thirties when they met), dad!toji, breakup, implied divorce, insecurities, smut, unprotected sex

bold italic quotes = letter excerpts

PROLOGUE. | SERIES MASTERLIST.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“i like to think that meeting each other was like a breath of fresh air. for both of us. wouldn’t you agree?”

wake up. go to work. get home. eat. sleep. repeat.

toji’s life was a vicious cycle, one of a middle age man with no goals in life. it was funny to him how people would actually call that a life.

the only times he truly felt like he was alive was when he was seated on the bleachers watching a good old horse race. or a boat race. or whatever it was that he had bet money on.

no one understood him.

toji knew that life rarely gifted him anything. he was no lucky man. in the many years of betting and gambling, he seldomly won. and the money he had won those few times was enough to cover the ticket and perhaps a nice dinner.

and although knowing he was probably going to leave empty-handed, he did it for the thrill. it made him feel youthful again. like he hadn’t wasted his years on useless things that aged him faster than he had hoped to. like he was still the same old teenager he had been years ago.

it wasn’t until one fated day that he found out that there were other things that could bring him back to his youth, other than doing useless crap that only burned a hole in his pocket.

said thing being you.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“the way we met wasn’t really romantic. it wasn’t like a scene out of a movie or a novel. looking back, it was quite comedic, even. i’m sure you felt the same way.”

there were a lot of terrible things that came with being a busy person, one of which you were facing right now. standing in front of a ridiculously long line at the grocery store.

you ran out of basic ingredients for cooking, it was a saturday evening, and you really did not want to order takeout again for a third time this week.

standing in front of you was a group of drunken kids — by kids you meant they were around your age, maybe in college like you — but they were different. they seemed carefree. they used their time to have fun and laugh instead of constantly grumping and punishing you with more work than you had.

you wished you could be like them, too. at least sometimes.

what made you get out of your train of thoughts was the sound of an item being placed on the conveyor belt, the rattling sounding too familiar for your liking. another person who hated cooking, so it seemed. and another person who barely had enough change to get a cup of instant noodles.

it was a man — you heard from the occasional sighs and grunts leaving his lips, and the way his cologne wafted over to invade your senses.

why did you suddenly have the urge to turn around and bond with this random stranger? perhaps hit him up with something like ‘heck, youngsters these days, right?’

absolutely not. that would be goofy as hell. and judging by how slowly the like progressed, you were likely going to stand here for at least ten more minutes. you would rather die than make a fool of yourself and then proceed to stand here for even longer afterwards.

oddly enough, the huffing stranger beat you to it. your breath hitched in your throat at the gruff voice sounding.

“s’cuse me, little lady.”

a bulky arm shot forward from behind you, making you step aside to grant him access to the side of the conveyor. you cleared your throat, turning around with an apologetic smile— and damn was he hot.

he looked quite a bit older than you, and he looked quite… distraught. sleepless, deep green eyes, unruly jet black hair that looked like he hadn’t gotten cut in a while, and a stubble gracing his jaw and chin.

you hated romanticizing people who weren’t feeling their best. so, you quickly snapped out of it.

“sorry for hogging the conveyor.” you chuckled, trying to lighten up the tense atmosphere as everyone else in the line was quite angry. the man gave you a halfhearted smile, scar on the right side of his mouth stretching. you wondered how he’d gotten that scar.

“don’t worry ‘bout it,” he waved your apology off, slightly motioning at the impatient woman huffing and puffing behind him. “someone’s just very fuckin’ annoying.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at his words. then, your eyes wandered to the conveyor, staring up to meet his again. “you can get in front of me, sir.” you offered kindly, already moving to make some space in front of you, “don’t have to wait even longer for a single item.”

the surprise in his eyes was a dead giveaway that no one had been polite or nice to him in a long time. before he could make it obvious, he shook his head, uttering, “s’fine. thanks.”

but you insisted, for some reason. it wasn’t until he was standing in front of you, cup of ramen placed in front of your groceries, and the seething woman now standing right behind you, that you were happily smiling.

the man walked off after paying for his noodles when the line finally progressed what felt like years later, not even sparing you a glance. you were barely able to contain your disappointment as you bagged your groceries and shuffled outside of the store, ready to take the train back home with full hands.

just to see the man from the line in the grocery store thumbing at the instant noodle cup’s lid, lit cigarette dangling from his lips.

his hands wordlessly approached yours to take your bags of groceries, not even frowning at the heaviness of them, as he let out a puff of cigarette smoke.

“i’ll drop ya off, little lady.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“our love was fierce. characterized by sleepless nights, stolen breaths and undying passion.”

ragged breaths filled the air of your small bedroom. it was dark, perhaps around nighttime, and the air was thick with sweat, arousals and the sinful smell of sex.

a lazy kiss was exchanged between you two with swollen, trembling lips as you settled down in each other’s arms. your eyes were shut as toji moved a little to light a cigarette.

your fingertips traced over his bare, built chest, post-orgasmic glow making his handsome face look even prettier. you were convinced he was the prettiest man you’d ever seen in your life.

“are you staying for dinner?” you asked, voice hoarse and quiet from how he had formerly railed you into your mattress. toji wasn’t a gentle lover. the word soft was very foreign to him. but you didn’t mind that. you didn’t mind him squeezing your hand too tightly whenever he held it. he didn’t know any better.

he exhaled the cigarette smoke away from you, large palm settling on the tender, bruised flesh on your hips. his thick, rough fingers traced over the softness of your skin that he had grabbed and kneaded mere minutes ago while manhandling you.

“sorry, baby,” he mumbled into your hair as you already knew what was coming, “gotta go. i’ll stay over next time, promise.”

you wanted him to stay, you really did, but with a sigh, you watched as he got dressed and left — not without pulling you into another kiss. missing the way his eyes twisted with a hint of guilt as he shut the door to your apartment behind himself.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“you weren’t a man of many words. you didn’t like talking too much about yourself. but you’d always listen to whatever i’d say. and whenever i wasn’t up to talk, we’d relish in each other’s silence. it was calming.”

“how many girlfriends have you had before me?”

the silence surrounding the air on your balcony after your question made you reconsider if it was a smart thing to ask.

it wasn’t. since when was it okay to talk about exes? you remembered it as one of the most off-putting conversation topics to ever come up with.

toji’s bare arms were propped up against the metal railing, gaze wandering from the unspectacular sight below him that consisted of old, run down buildings and sketchy streets, to you.

he knew it was too late to tell you the truth. he pressed his scarred lips together in regret, before opening his mouth to respond to your question.

“many.”

he saw the way your nose scrunched up at the ugly word — he wished it had been the truth. much better than hurting you with a fucking lie. made him wonder how you’d react to the truth.

“c’mere.” when you didn’t make a move to approach toji, he pulled you into him, dwarfing your body in his form. “you’re not mad, are you?”

“how could i ever be mad at you?”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

“there was just one thing i wish you had just told me from the beginning. you know, i actually knew the entire time. i was just waiting for you to tell me.”

“dad, the show’s about to start.”

toji was now a couple of years older, about to celebrate his fourth decade of living in a few weeks. he wouldn’t admit that he was getting older. he had just plucked another gray hair from his scalp this morning, but no one had to know that.

sock-clad feet padded from the kitchen to the living room, bowl of salted popcorn in his hand as he placed it in front of his college-aged kid. toji was in awe at how the brat was becoming more of a carbon copy of himself the more years passed.

the only difference being his spiky, wild hair and blue eyes he had gotten from his mother.

“we’re not watching a match today?” toji sounded rather bored as he leaned back on the couch with a can of soda in his hand, legs finding the surface of the living room table as the younger man munched on sweets.

megumi shook his head, eyes focused on the screen that was still playing some shampoo commercial. “have you ever heard of TATMYLB?” the green-eyed man beside him narrowed his eyes at the obnoxiously long abbreviation, .

“kid. i don’t understand your language,” he grunted, “i’m headin’ out if it’s another high school rom com.” said boy only snorted as he pointed at the tv that happened to be playing a trailer of what was going to be playing next.

“reading today… TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE’s 26th letter!” toji kissed his teeth. of course it was going to be some sappy ass show. why was it so popular anyway?

he raised from the couch, scratching his belly lazily under his sweater as he pointed to the door with his thumb. “gonna check the mail,” he uttered, “we haven’t emptied our mailbox in days.”

megumi hummed, too immersed in what today’s live episode was going to be about. just as toji approached the door, curiosity got the best of him, and he found himself listening.

“unfortunately, she won’t be joining us today, but we have received a beautifully written letter by her! what a lucky man to have been loved like this.” the host spoke gleefully as the audience erupted into cheers and applause.

“our writer is a 29 year old lady from tokyo, a journalist for a very popular newspaper, which explains her splendid writing,” the co-host added, “she has met a man she refers to as her LOST LOVE nine whole years ago.”

toji set his keys down on the shoerack and walked back to the living room. megumi took notice of his dad walking back and smirked. “caught your attention, old man?” he only scowled at his son and placed his hands on the back of the couch.

the stage was beautifully built, and one could tell how much budged was spent on it all. it was a hell lot of pink, too much for toji’s liking — then again, any amount of pink was too much for his liking. the hosts were dolled up to the max, host dressed in a baby pink, frilly dress with her hair done up while the co-host was dressed in a pink suit.

“adding on to that… we have not received an answer or a reaction from the recipient.” a glum round of oh’s echoed across the studio, which made toji snort. “which doesn’t have to mean anything, of course! perhaps he’s just terrible at checking his mail.”

megumi stopped mid-chew as he side-eyed his father, who shot him a look. “old man, you don’t think—” megumi might have been young, but he had a very good memory of his father’s past lovers. especially that one woman who had changed him forever. you.

although he had never met you, he could tell it was you who had a huge impact on his father. and he figured that toji never opened up about having had a son.

“don’t be silly, bud,” toji laughed, reaching over to steal a handful of popcorn from the bowl in his son’s lap. he didn’t even like popcorn, why the hell was he eating it? it had to be the most annoying snack in the world with how the shell of the kernels always got stuck in one’s gums or throat.

you must have moved on years ago. it’s been almost a decade, for fuck’s sake. perhaps you were married already. had kids. he hated how the thought made his jaw clench. it was none of his business anymore, after all.

“mistakes. we all make them. so far, we have had a lot of letters speaking about wrongdoings,” the host clapped her hands together, “but how about keeping secrets? crucial ones?”

of course they were going to drag it on. what a bunch of clowns the audience was for eating it up. he totally wasn’t, not with the way he was clutching the couch cushions in anticipation.

he just wanted to know it wasn’t you, so he could move on in peace. because if you have moved on, then he shall do the same.

the audience was then asked to talk about their experiences with secrets in a relationship, before they started guessing what the person might have done.

eventually, an elderly woman received the mic and laughed. “it wasn’t another woman, so,” she paused, “i’d say hiding a child.”

the two hosts opened their mouths before knowingly looking at the audience, and toji cleared his throat. by now, megumi was fully facing his father, a look of disbelief on his face. before he could speak, toji raised a palm.

“i said don’t be silly,” he warned megumi, “it’s not me. jesus.” megumi shook his head before raising his palm to invite his father to a handshake, challenging him to a bet, “fifty bucks if it’s you, then.”

toji could never say no to bets. maybe he should have checked his mailbox first, though.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

the show was halfway through, currently on a commercial break as you found yourself in the kitchen to prepare yourself a cup of instant noodles. the sight of the cup still brought you back to day you had met toji.

before you could open the lid of the cup, you were halted by the sound of your doorbell ringing. leaving behind the sounds of your kettle whistling, you approached tye door to look through the—

your hand immediately flew to the handle to fling the door open. to stare right at the man you hadn’t seen in over seven years.

there was a lot both of you wanted to say. he wanted to apologize for having disappeared out of nowhere, for having abandoned you when things had been going so well between both of you; while you wanted to slap him, cuss him out and scream at him.

alas, all that came out was a choked sob on your behalf. a sound forced out of your throat, displaying the despair you had felt out of the lack of closure.

toji watched with wide eyes as you broke down in front of him. he wanted to make you happy. or get yelled at. anything but you crying. fuck, he was terrible at this.

toji was only ever good at leaving. that’s what he had done back then when his family no longer served him; that’s what megumi’s mother had spat at him before she left.

screw the past. screw all of his fears. he had waited far too long to come clean. you didn’t deserve this at all.

“i’m sorry.” he breathed, taking a step closer, now partially surrounded by the warmth of your place that hadn’t changed in the slightest. “i hid him from you because—”

you shook your head, trembling hands raising to wipe at your reddened eyes, “i don’t give a damn, toji.” he shut his mouth, because respectfully, you had all the right to be angry.

what he didn’t expect was for you to chuckle through tears. “stop looking at me like that,” you pointed at his lips, “that stupid pout of yours…” he had a habit of pursing his lips whenever he was distressed. you hadn’t forgotten about it.

when you stepped aside to welcome toji inside, he was baffled. “‘course you didn’t read the letter,” you sneered, which made him look down grimly, “if you had, you’d know that i could never be mad at you.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

you didn’t ask toji to, but he told you everything. how he had just gotten divorced when he met you, and who had fought for split custody the entire time. who couldn’t have you over at his place because of the child’s room he had.

it wasn’t like he was ashamed to have had megumi. he considered him one of the very few good things in his life. but, he couldn’t risk scaring you off. not when he had found someone as perfect for him as you.

and when things got serious, he did what he knew best. which was to bolt.

it wasn’t a surprise to him that you already knew. he had the wrong idea of you by thinking you’d push him away just because he had a son. now he knew that you could have been the best stepmother megumi could have asked for.

if he hadn’t blown it all.

“so he’s in college now?” you were smiling as you were both situated on your couch. toji feld oddly calm looking at you. you hadn’t changed much.

“this was us at his high school graduation,” he couldn’t help but smile too as he showed you his phone wallpaper. the thought that you could have been on that picture too made your smile fade for a second before you found yourself melting at how proudly he glanced down at his son in his crinkled button-down shirt, one arm lazily slung over the boy who looked at the camera with an irritated, forced smile.

you wondered if megumi would have liked you and already accepted you as his stepmother if toji hadn’t left. wondered if you two would have been married by now—

thoughts like those were useless now.

it happened so fast. like the force of two magnets attracting each other, it felt like you were pulled towards each other. a mumbled ‘i missed you’ left your lips before they planted themselves on his, both of you getting lost in the sensation of the other’s lips.

toji’s lips tasted like salt and popcorn, whereas yours tasted of the peace of candy you had popped into your mouth while waiting for the water to boil.

ah… right. the water. the kettle had stopped whistling a while ago. but both of you were busy sucking each other’s faces to notice that.

you were sat prettily on toji’s lap, hands running across his muscles hidden by his clothes. the only sign of him having aged were the tiny wrinkles on the corners of his eyes. other than that, he still looked like the 31 year-old toji you had met in the line of the grocery store.

he was the same man you had given your heart to. and you were eager to do it all again.

your clothing was shedded in a matter of minutes, hastily and in a rush. it felt like you were being intimate with each other for the first time all over again with wide eyes and shaky hands.

toji pressed you into his chest as he slid inside of you, and it seemed like the world stopped for a while. toji didn’t do soft, he wasn’t gentle. but you could swear you saw nothing but softness and adoration in his eyes in this very moment.

once he started thrusting up into you, your hands straddled his face, fingers digging into his skin as if afraid to let go. toji saw and felt the fear in your eyes, and he took both of your hands to place soft kisses on them.

“‘m not leaving again,” he grunted, relishing in the tightness and warmth he was buried inside of, “promise.”

you whimpered, nodding as you pulled him into yet another sensual, messy kiss while you worked each other through your releases. out of all the times you and toji had sex, this had to be the rawest, most intimate time.

it wasn’t fucking. it was love-making. the kind you’d never expect from a man like toji.

he stayed inside of you after both of you came, buff arms trapping you as you listened to his slowing heartbeat as both of you trembled. neither of you wanted to move, if you could, you’d stay like this forever.

toji’s lips against your temple pulled you back from your daze, and you reached for your underwear to avoid a mess, sighing softly when he pulled out of you. “shower?” he asked, to which you nodded lazily.

before he could lift and throw you over his shoulder, you placed a kiss on his collarbone.

“let’s eat instant noodles and rewatch the episode after that. since you haven’t read the letter—”

oh, toji was never going to hear the end of this.

but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

[mysicklove-main]

Tanjiro Kamado hates your new perfume.

He watched Tengen’s three wives gift you the small bottle with confusion. It smelled nice, whatever the fragrance was exactly. Maybe it was air freshener or maybe it was just meant to be smelled straight out of the bottle.

But to the strong smelling boy’s horror, you sprayed it upon your skin. That recognizable, comforting scent he looks for when stuck in a crowd is now gone. Tarnished by that potent smelling liquid. He hates it immediately.

He even watched the way Nezuko, who also had a keen sense of smell due to her demon state, let out strange soft growls in confusion. It seemed to him that she also preferred your natural scent.

But how could he say anything when you look so happy spraying it on every morning. How you have a soft grateful smile on your face, while you take a deep breathe of the sweet smelling concoction.

So, for now he sits there with a strained smile on his face, waiting for it to slowly wear off throughout the day so he can be greeted with your familiar scent. He even goes as far to mention how strong and nice smelling your perfume is later in the day so you don’t feel the need to apply more. He does feel a little bad for lying.

“Isn’t this so much better, Tanjiro? I know you got a dogs nose, don’t you like it? Now you don’t have to smell me all sweaty after battle!” What is he supposed to say to that? That he likes what you smell like after harsh training? Yeah, and admit to being more of a pervert than Zenitsu. He’d rather not.

“Yep! Smells great, Y/N! Like flowers. And don’t worry about the sweat, I’m used to it!” He gives you that familiar bright smile and you kiss him on the cheek before heading out the door.

He stays in the room for a second longer, staring at the small bottle. He might as well be glaring at it. It makes him feel guilty, this was a present, and you liked it. He should have no right to feel so annoyed at the perfume.

But still, couldn’t this be a safety hazard? If your scent was covered how would he be able to find you as quickly as he does? What if it’s stronger than the smell of your blood? What if he doesn’t smell a demon because he is so distracted by how annoyed he is that your perfect scent is now ruined!

He has got to get rid of it. For the sake of his sanity and your protection.

He turns toward Nezuko who recently joined him in your room. “It’s a safety hazard, right Nezuko? I have to do something.”

She nods with a small huff and Tanjiro makes a decision. He is going to get rid of it. Cut the bottle into pieces if he must. It would be a lot more satisfying that way.

He pulls out his blade and points it to thinner part at the top where the spritzer is at. Just like a demon, he will cut the neck off and then it won’t hurt anyone anymore. He pulls his sword back to land the blow. “Tanjiro, I can make a promise that my perfume is not a demon.” You call, watching the whole situation take place as you lean against the wall with a grin.

He jumps out of his skin and turns to you with a guilt ridden face. “Y-Y/N what are you doing in here?” He asks meakly, his face flushed from embarrassment.

He catches a glance at Nezuko leaving the room. Betrayal.

“Looking for you. Heard you mention something about a safety hazard,” You hum, smug smirk on your mouth as you look toward the boy ahead of you.

“You see as someone apart of the Demon Slayer Corps it’s my sacred duty to protect you and everyone else from danger!” He reasons, knowing how ridiculous he sounds in the moment, but trying not to let it get to him.

You blink, raising your eyebrows. “My perfume is dangerous?”

He stumbles, mouth open to try to find any sort of reasoning. He fails. “Uh yes?”

“Why?”

“Because it’s you know…Distracting. Cant focus on killing demons with that smell around.”

You cock your head to the side in confusion. “Because it smells so good?”

“No! Because now I won’t be able to pick up your scent! What happens if you get lost or something and I can’t find you?”

“Alright, that makes sense. I’ll stop wearing it.”

He continues in a ramble, “And it ruins your scent! You smell way better without it. Seriously you can even ask Nezuko!” You raise your eyebrows at him. “How am i supposed to recognize if it’s you near me or some random person if you smell—Wait. You’ll stop wearing it?”

“Of course, if it makes you uncomfortable.” You respond and he feels his body deflate in relief. He was expecting that to be a lot harder considering how much you liked the perfume. He barely had to state his case.

He sighs and brings his sword back up to the neck of the bottle. “Okay good. Shall I behead it?”

You roll your eyes with a smile. “I have a better idea.” You say, before grabbing the bottle and dropping it in the nearest trash bin. You turn back to him with a cheery grin.

He lowers his sword with a slight blush realizing how he looked. “That was a tough one. Definitely a higher rank demon. So glad I had my dog nosed boyfriend to protect me,” You tease and he looks down and puts his sword away. You wrap your arms around his neck and smile at his embarrassed face.

He glances down at you. “Let’s run you a bath”

You frown. “Why?”

“I miss your scent,” He replies with that familiar loving expression. You almost laugh at how ridiculous he sounded, but held back knowing that he was being a hundred percent serious.

[estapa-edwards]

GRUMPY - C. BEDARD

paring: Connor Bedard x fem! reader

word count: 2.4k

requested? yes - connor falling in love with a grumpy girl and trying to get her to go out with him

warnings: use of y/n.

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I never really understood the appeal of hockey. The cold rinks, the aggressive players, the constant sound of blades cutting through ice—it all seemed like chaos to me. Yet here I was, surrounded by it day in and day out, working for the Blackhawks. It was a job, nothing more, nothing less.

I'm not exactly known for my sunny disposition. Some might even call me grumpy, but I prefer to think of myself as practical. After all, there's no room for sentimentality in a world as ruthless as professional sports. 

That's why, when Connor Bedard first sauntered into the locker room with that boyish grin of his, I rolled my eyes and went about my business. He was just another cocky player, another name to remember, another ego to manage.

But Connor, he was persistent. He made it his personal mission to break through my tough exterior, to chip away at the walls I had carefully built around myself. He'd bring me coffee in the mornings, cracking jokes that were admittedly funny despite my best efforts to remain unimpressed.

"You know, Y/N," he'd say with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "you're not as intimidating as you think you are."

And I'd scoff, brushing off his attempts at charm like they were nothing. But deep down, I couldn't deny the flutter in my chest whenever he flashed that smile of his.

As days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, Connor's relentless pursuit began to wear me down. He'd find any excuse to strike up a conversation, lingering in the locker room long after his teammates had gone home.

"I bet I can make you smile," he declared one evening, leaning against the doorframe with a confidence that was both infuriating and undeniably attractive.

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest. "Is that a challenge?"

He grinned, stepping closer until there was barely an inch of space between us. "You could say that."

And before I could protest, he launched into a series of ridiculous anecdotes, each one more absurd than the last. And much to my dismay, I found myself laughing despite my best efforts to resist.

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Connor's antics became a regular occurrence, each interaction more endearing than the last. Whether it was stealing my pen during team meetings or leaving a trail of sticky notes with cheesy jokes on my desk, he seemed determined to brighten even my darkest days.

One particularly dreary afternoon, he appeared at my desk with a mischievous glint in his eyes and a paper bag in hand.

"Got something for you," he announced with a grin, placing the bag on my desk.

I eyed him warily, wondering what new scheme he had cooked up this time. "And what might that be?"

"Open it and find out," he urged, practically vibrating with excitement.

Sighing, I reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of fuzzy socks, adorned with cartoon penguins. Despite myself, a small smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

"Thought you could use some warmth," he explained sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

I couldn't help but feel a warmth of a different kind blossoming in my chest as I thanked him, tucking the socks away in my drawer.

But it wasn't just the grand gestures that made my heart skip a beat—it was the quiet moments too, like the way he'd reach for my hand during team meetings or offer a reassuring smile when the pressure became too much to bear.

One evening, after a particularly grueling practice, I found myself lingering in the locker room, lost in thought. Sensing my solitude, Connor sidled up beside me, his presence a comforting anchor in the midst of chaos.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice cutting through the silence like a lifeline.

I turned to face him, offering a small smile in return.

"Rough day?" he asked, his tone gentle.

I nodded, unable to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me.

Without hesitation, he pulled me into a warm embrace, holding me close as if to shield me from the world outside.

"You're not alone, you know," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear.

And in that moment, with Connor's arms wrapped around me, I realized that maybe, just maybe, I didn't have to be.

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Connor's presence became a constant source of light in my life, his unwavering support a beacon of hope in the darkest of times.

During late nights at the rink, when exhaustion threatened to overwhelm me, he'd materialize out of nowhere with a goofy grin and a bag of my favorite snacks in hand.

"Thought you might need some fuel," he'd say with a wink, plopping down beside me as if he had nowhere else to be.

As I reached for a bag of chips from the assortment he'd brought, curiosity got the better of me. "How did you know to get all my favorite snacks?" I asked, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips despite myself.

Connor chuckled, leaning back against the cold metal bleachers. "Well, let's just say I have my ways," he replied, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

I raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced by his vague answer. "You mean you went through my desk again, didn't you?"

He feigned innocence, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. "Me? Never," he said, his grin widening into a full-blown smirk.

I rolled my eyes, unable to suppress a laugh. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"

But as I reached for another snack, a warmth spread through me—a warmth that had little to do with the chips in my hand and everything to do with the boy sitting beside me.

Connor shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. "Hey, a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do to make sure his favorite grumpy girl doesn't starve, right?"

I couldn't help but chuckle at his audacity. "Favorite grumpy girl, huh? Is that what I am now?"

He flashed me a boyish grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Absolutely. You're my number one source of entertainment around here."

I nudged him playfully with my elbow, a smile tugging at my lips despite my efforts to maintain a stern facade. "Well, I'll try not to let it go to my head."

But deep down, I couldn't deny the warmth spreading through me at his words. In a world as chaotic and unpredictable as professional sports, Connor's unwavering presence was a comfort—a reminder that even in the midst of the madness, there was still room for laughter and friendship.

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Despite the joy Connor brought into my life, a lingering doubt nagged at the back of my mind like a persistent shadow. What if his relentless pursuit was nothing more than a game? What if I allowed myself to open up, only to be left with a shattered heart in the end?

I couldn't shake the fear, no matter how hard I tried to bury it beneath layers of laughter and camaraderie. Every whispered compliment, every tender gesture, only served to fuel my uncertainty.

Was I just another conquest to him, another challenge to conquer before moving on to the next? Or was there something more genuine lurking beneath his playful facade?

As much as I longed to believe in the sincerity of his affections, I couldn't ignore the voice of doubt that whispered in the depths of my mind, urging me to tread cautiously, to protect myself from potential heartache.

But despite my reservations, despite the walls I had built around my heart, I couldn't deny the pull he had on me, the way he made me feel alive in ways I never thought possible.

And so, as I grappled with my conflicting emotions, I found myself torn between the desire to take a chance on love and the fear of getting hurt in the process.

But perhaps, just perhaps, the risk was worth the reward

Connor's presence in my life was undeniably intoxicating, his warmth and affection a balm to my weary soul. Yet, beneath the surface, doubts lingered like shadows in the corners of my mind.

Was I merely a conquest in his game of pursuit, a challenge to conquer before moving on to the next? Or could there truly be something genuine blooming amidst the laughter and tender gestures?

I longed to believe in the sincerity of his affections, to cast aside the doubts and surrender to the possibility of love. But the scars of past heartaches served as a reminder to tread cautiously, to protect myself from the pain of shattered dreams.

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Despite the walls I had built around my heart, I couldn't deny the undeniable pull he had on me. His presence made me feel alive in ways I never thought possible, igniting a fire within me that I had long thought extinguished.

As I wrestled with my conflicting emotions, I knew that the decision lay solely in my hands. Would I succumb to the allure of his charm, risking everything for the chance at love? Or would I retreat into the safety of solitude, shielding myself from the potential pain of a broken heart?

But as each day passed, and Connor's presence continued to brighten my life, I found myself leaning more towards taking that leap of faith. Despite the uncertainty and the fear, there was something about him that felt different, something that whispered of authenticity amidst the chaos of my doubts.

I couldn't deny the depth of our connection, the way his laughter echoed in my heart long after he'd gone, or the way his touch sent shivers down my spine. And deep down, I knew that hiding behind my walls wouldn't protect me from the inevitable—the risk of heartache was an inherent part of love, but so too was the potential for joy and fulfillment.

So, with a hesitant yet determined heart, I made a choice—to open myself up to the possibility of love, to embrace the vulnerability that came with it, and to trust in the belief that sometimes, the greatest rewards in life were found in taking the biggest risks.

As the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, my resolve only grew stronger. Connor's presence in my life had become a constant source of joy and comfort, his unwavering support a steady anchor in the storm of uncertainty that raged within me.

Yet, despite the warmth of his affection and the undeniable connection that simmered between us, the words remained unspoken, lingering on the tip of my tongue like a forbidden secret.

But as the air grew colder and the days grew shorter, I knew that I couldn't keep hiding behind the safety of my doubts forever. If I wanted to truly embrace the possibility of love, I needed to take a leap of faith—a leap that would require me to bare my soul and lay my heart on the line.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

And so, on a crisp winter evening, with the gentle glow of the moon overhead and the soft whisper of snowflakes dancing in the air, I found myself standing outside Connor's apartment, my heart pounding in my chest as I prepared to take that leap into the unknown.

Summoning every ounce of courage within me, I raised my hand and knocked on the door, the sound echoing through the silent night like a drumbeat of anticipation.

Seconds stretched into eternity as I waited, my nerves on edge as I wondered if I had made a mistake—if I had misread the signs and allowed myself to hope for something that could never be.

But then, just as doubt threatened to consume me whole, the door swung open, revealing Connor's familiar silhouette against the warm glow of the lamplight.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves.

"Hey," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper as I met his gaze, searching for any sign of rejection or reluctance.

But instead of turning me away or offering empty platitudes, Connor simply stepped aside, inviting me into his world with a silent gesture of welcome.

And as I crossed the threshold into his apartment, leaving behind the chill of the winter night for the warmth of his embrace, I knew that this was it—this was the moment I had been waiting for, the moment when I would finally lay bare the depths of my heart and confess my love to the one who had captured it so completely.

Taking a deep breath to steady my racing pulse, I turned to face Connor, my eyes locked on his as I prepared to speak the words that had been swirling in my mind for so long.

"Connor," I began, my voice trembling with emotion as I reached out to grasp his hand in mine. "There's something I need to tell you—something I've been wanting to say for a long time now."

He listened in silence, his gaze never wavering as he waited patiently for me to continue.

"I know I've been hesitant to open myself up to the possibility of love, to embrace the vulnerability that comes with it," I confessed, my heart laid bare before him. "But being with you, it's shown me that sometimes, the greatest rewards in life are found in taking the biggest risks."

A soft smile tugged at the corners of Connor's lips, his eyes sparkling with understanding as he squeezed my hand reassuringly.

"I know I've been afraid to admit it, to acknowledge the depth of my feelings for you," I continued, my voice growing stronger with each word. "But the truth is, Connor, I'm in love with you. Completely and utterly, with every fiber of my being."

And as the weight of my confession hung in the air between us, I held my breath, waiting for his response, hoping against hope that my words hadn't come too late—that they hadn't shattered the fragile bond we had worked so hard to build.

But then, in the quiet stillness of that moment, Connor's expression softened, his eyes alight with a warmth that mirrored my own as he reached out to cup my cheek in his hand.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper as he leaned in close, his breath warm against my skin. "I've been in love with you from the moment I first laid eyes on you. You've brought light into my life in ways I never thought possible, and I can't imagine facing the future without you by my side."

And in that moment, as our lips met in a tender kiss that spoke volumes more than words ever could, I knew that I had finally found my home—in Connor's arms, where I belonged.

[borbygorlinbbqworld]

It had been a long time since your girlfriend and you went on a romantic date, so you were both very excited to have been able to book a decently fancy restaurant.

Waiting in line to be seated, you couldn't help but admire her. She had gone with a fairly modest look--a knee-length skirt and a white button-up blouse--but per usual, her curvy body made the clothes look so, so much better. Her wide hips and butt made that skirt skin tight, and that shirt? The buttons around her massive breasts were struggling to stay closed.

Giant gaps between the buttons made looking through her shirt even easier, and that's when you spotted the overflow of her 36Js.

"Are you full again?" you whispered to her, nodding toward her breasts.

She nodded, which only made them jiggle. "Yeah, but I pumped before we got here so I should maybe be okay."

A flash of blue vein from the gap in her shirt made me question her reply.

The waiter led you to the table. When she plopped down in her seat, a pang rang out; one of the buttons on her shirt had popped and shot across the table to my plate.

Her cheeks flushed, and she mumbled an apology to the waiter; as to be expected, his eyes were glued to the pair of massive breasts that caused the whole commotion in the first place.

"We need a chance to look at the menu," you tell him.

"Oh right, menus." He sounded just about as distracted as you felt the first time you saw the crease where your girlfriend's already huge bras were cutting into her expanding mammaries.

You watched the waiter adjusting himself as he left.

"So you pumped before we left, huh babe?" An accusing but playful smile crossed your lips. "How much?"

"W-Well, I fed the boys first." She tried pulling the edges of her dress shirt to cover her deep cleavage, but there was absolutely no hope. "But after, I guess..."

She murmured something, avoiding your eyes.

"What?" you asked.

"I said," she replied in a soft whisper, "just under a gallon."

A gallon?!

Good God it was hard not to stare at her again. No doubt, in an attempt to relieve some of the weight off her shoulders, she had rested her massive milkers on the table and let out a sigh. Despite the bra--which looked ridiculously small on her at the moment--her nipples were starting to poke through. She really hadn't been joking when she said her supply had increased. As it was, your chest freezer at home was stocked so full extra milk she hadn't needed, and there was only so many places accepting donations.

How her body had decided she needed to make even more, you weren't sure. But this girl looked so close to bursting, which made your dick twitch with urge.

After an hour of waiting for the waiter to come back, you notice your girlfriend shifting in her seat a bit. The blue veins that usually indicate how full she is really started to make an appearance.

The last time you touched those veins when she was this full... you shift in your chair, very aware of your erection pressing against the bottom on the table.

She places a hand atop her left breast and frowns.

"Everything okay?" you ask her.

"Uhh... maybe?" She feels the right one in the same manner, her expression getting increasingly more worried.

"Maybe?"

"My pump broke mid-session," she confessed, staring down at her breasts. She hoisted them up, her fingers sinking deeply into the flesh as she checked how full she really felt, sloshing around the milk. Precum dampened your tip. "They're still pretty full, but I think I should be okay until we get home."

That made more sense, but it only riled you up more. Despite feeding your twins and pumping out a near gallon, she was still making so much milk. Even getting home didn't necessarily mean relief; she could overstuff our kids with as much milk as they could guzzle, but she would still probably leak and fill a bucket with this new supply increase if she didn't have a pump.

They already looked so, so full... would she really last an hour?

Twenty minutes and another button bursting open later, the waiter still hadn't returned.

Guy's probably jerking himself silly over those tits, you thought. If it were you, you'd probably have done the same.

A baby started crying behind you. Your girlfriend looked over at it as its mother tried to stop its fussing, but to no avail.

"I hope he's okay," she whispered.

"He'll be fine."

She nodded, but still didn't take her eyes off them. The baby continued crying, and after a minute, the fourth button on her shirt popped. She barely noticed it, or the fact that the table on which she was resting her breasts had started to tip.

More than that though, two wet spots appeared where her hard nipples were soaking through the shirt. They started as tiny little specs, making you think something had splashed on her at home point, but it only took a few minutes of the damp spots spreading quickly for you to realize what was going on.

"Thought you said you'd be fine," you teased.

"Hmm?" Her motion of looking back at you only sloshes her breasts around more. How could she look so innocent on her face but have such full breasts, begging to be sucked on?

You nodded down to them, and that was when she jumped up and saw the pre-dinner plate had a pool of milk in it already.

Hot in and of itself, but her action had popped the final button off her shirt. If her tits had seemed large before, she was absolutely massive now that there was no shirt to keep them contained. The bra that was supposed to support them basically looked like a tiny string bikini top now, essentially useless as a steady stream of milk ran down her breasts, and both nipples were letting out spurts.

Embarrassed, she tried to wrap her arms around them to cover herself up, but there was only so much she could do.

Your member throbbed, begging to take even just a tiny lick of the stream.

All that milk in her, and you guys were an hour away from home with a broken pump.

Licking your lips, you couldn't help but revel in what you knew would be the answer to what she needed.

You couldn't wait to drink her dry.

---

🐮

[tobiasdrake]

Ranma 1/2 reboot episode 4 opens with a deep cut.

Yeah, we're opening on the Ranma 1/2 SNES fighting games they used to have. Because fandom's like that sometimes.

(Now release a modern one.)

I was wondering if it'd be Ryoga or Shampoo introduced next.

(Because I don't actually remember the order they introduce characters in. XD)

Was hoping for Shampoo but I'll gladly take Ryoga. I hope we get to Ukyo before the end of the season. I don't expect we will. But I hope so.

IT BEGINS

Ryoga's legendary inability to find his way. This is a character who can be justified for crossovers by just wandering by. How did he get to Middle Earth? He's just that fucking lost, that's how.

My very first Ranma 1/2 experience, before I knew what the anime was, came from my cousin cosplaying Ryoga at an anime con. He rode an elevator up and down for like an hour just screaming, "Where's the door!?"

I need y'all to properly appreciate the route Ryoga took to Furinkan High School in Nerima.

Do you see that black circle? That is Tokyo. That is where he is trying to go.

The red circle is Shikoku. When he stops the boar and asks for directions to Furinkan High, this is where he is. He's got a long way to go.

The blue circle is Hokkaido, the second place where he stops to ask directions. He has made a complete journey from one end of Japan to the other without ever running into Tokyo.

He's just. So much fun.

"RANMA OUR TIME FOR DESTINED BATTLE HAS COME"

"...who are you again?"

Is pretty much the story of his life from here on out.

Ryoga is kind of a big deal. Of all of Ranma's rivals, he's the rival. He's the guy. Kuno's really more of a recurring nuisance and Mousse is more quirky than anything. Ryoga is the guy who really keeps Ranma on his toes.

Together, these two boys have a very long journey ahead.

...

Which only makes it more amazing that their rivalry is founded in something so petty and ridiculous, but that is the way of Ranma 1/2. Ryoga is homicidally furious because he was supposed to fight Ranma, but Ranma only waited three days for him to arrive at the vacant lot behind Ryoga's house rather than giving him the four days it took him. Ranma stood him up. The coward.

And all over a curry bun.

This is the magic of Ryoga Hibiki. He is an utterly absurd buffoon of a man who takes himself deathly serious. Blissfully oblivious to how entirely ridiculous he is.

He is the Tom to Ranma's Jerry but he thinks he's Vegeta.

Technically, it's his curse that he's so furious about. But. Like. He was already mad enough to follow Ranma to China. With his sense of direction. So pinning it on the curse is deflecting. Ryoga has a longstanding enmity towards Ranma born of a million micro-aggressions compounding into a spongey hatred that can't be easily untangled.

You can't just give him a bunch of week-old bread and then it's all good.

He doesn't even remember he's mad about that. Longstanding hatred eventually loses sight of why it ever started to begin with.

(And besides, Ryoga has more recent things to be upset about.)

I like the subtle build-up they lay out to the revelation that Ryoga too has a Jusenkyo curse. Starting when he says this.

It's interesting that he knows that. He should only know that Ranma stood him up and then left town. But he knows Genma took Ranma to China.

There's also his primary weapon that he fights with for most of the episode.

The story lingers on the fact that Ryoga's umbrella is ridiculously heavy. Even Akane can't lift it. The intense weight of the umbrella serves as a yardstick to show how incredibly strong Ryoga is.

And, later, how strong and determined to protect Akane Ranma is.

But there is one more interesting fact about Ryoga's umbrella that the narrative lets slip past without remarking on it: The fact that it's an umbrella. It's almost as if he's afraid of something in particular.

Something you might use an umbrella, specifically, to protect yourself from.

(Again, the way Ranma 1/2 integrates the malevolent effects of something so universal and ever-present as water into its storytelling, comedy, and action is so much fun.)

And it's in the way he takes personal offense at Ranma's comparatively benign curse.

Like. Yeah, Ranma has to suffer gender dysphoria sometimes but he did get off easy. At least he stays human. Other curse-bearers face a variety of drawbacks that Ranma doesn't have to deal with.

Nobody is going to try to cook and eat Ranma.

Of course, human misery is not judged on a curve. Ranma can be miserable with his gender dysphoria and be better off than other curse-bearers. Both of those things can be true.

But the way Ryoga loses his shit over Ranma's curse is another piece of well-placed foreshadowing about the true nature of his grudge.

Lastly, something I find... interesting... is this moment.

I need to unpack this. Ryoga's razor-sharp belt comes spinning down and slices off Akane's hair, with the implication that if she hadn't turned around to yell at Ranma just now, it would have been her head.

Ranma fucked up yet again in the middle of their argument and hurt Akane's feelings with the stupid-ass shit he says. Leading to Akane storming around, then whipping around to argue with Ranma right at a critical moment that saved her life.

But what really makes this fascinating is that it wasn't Ryoga that almost killed her by accident just now.

It wasn't not Ryoga. But it wasn't just Ryoga.

Ryoga brought the razor belt. But it was Ranma who kicked the belt out of Ryoga's hand. Ranma who sent it up into the air, and nearly brought it down on Akane's neck by accident.

It wasn't Ryoga that nearly killed her. And it wasn't Ranma either. It was the fight. And it was, specifically, a kick that was meant to end the fight, an attack Ranma threw in self-defense because the realization that he hurt Akane's feelings made everything Ryoga's about right now stop mattering.

When Ranma threw that kick, he no longer cared about whatever this shit is. He was trying to fix what he'd just screwed up with Akane, only for the unforeseeable consequences of choices he didn't realize in the heat of the moment that he was even making to suddenly come down on her like a razor blade.

It was his cruel words that put her in that spot and his shortsighted reflex that sent the blade into the air. But it was also his attempt to apologize that made her turn around and saved her from a much more grievous injury.

I don't.

Really.

Know what to do with that.

It's just. Interesting.

[deconstructthesoup]

Thinking about it now, I think the thing that was kind of a curveball for me about Nerdy Prudes that's obvious in hindsight is that... Grace and her parents have a very loving relationship.

Don't get me wrong, Karen and Mark are still exactly the type of people who I wouldn't want to meet in real life. They're super conservative, they're ridiculously set in their ways, they think that seeing PG movies and carrying each other's books is scandalous, and the lessons that they've instilled in her daughter have clearly messed her up---she thinks that touching herself and lying to the police is the worst thing that she could've done even after she unintentionally gets Max killed and then covers it up, and something as inane and subjective as her virginity is what she cherishes above her family, which is insane. But honestly, I did expect Karen and Mark to be unbelievably strict towards Grace, and for her to be visibly tired with all the pressure.

Instead, Karen and Mark think that Grace is their little angel who can do no wrong. They're clearly worried about her once she starts acting off, and Mark actually seems vaguely easygoing for the Chastity standards in terms of letting her off. Even though their values are messed up, and they're pretty much the reason why Grace is the way she is, they're sweet and supportive.

Which makes so much sense for Grace. Obviously she wouldn't be so high-strung and uptight if she resented her parents. Obviously she wouldn't parrot everything they say if they were horrible to her. She has to have a great relationship with her parents, or she wouldn't be Grace Chastity, Nerdy Prude. Beyond that, that gives the relationship nuance! Karen and Mark can have unhealthy values that messed Grace up and made her go off the deep end over one sexual fantasy, and they can also absolutely adore their daughter and implicitly trust that she's doing what they think is right! It doesn't have to be a clear-cut "they're bad parents" dynamic! They can be good parents to Grace while also having failed her in some very key ways! This is fascinating!

And maybe this is just because they're played by Curt and Kim, who just make every relationship they play better, but it works. It really works. It makes the entire Chastity family so much more fascinating, because it's even more compelling imagining a scenario where Grace goes through positive character development and has to tell her parents that what they taught her is wrong. Can you imagine how hard that would be? Telling your parents, who have been nothing but loving and supportive to you for your whole life, that you're having doubts about what they taught you---and dealing with the very real possibility that all of that love and support could go away once that's out in the open? After years of having an open and honest relationship with them?

Would Karen and Mark not love Grace anymore if she was no longer her teacher's pet, straight-laced, prudish self? Would they kick her out? Would they try and change her? Or would they listen to her, and take the time to be better?

We don't know, because they're complicated. On the surface, they're stereotypical, but peel back the uber-Christian jargon and the 1950's sitcom attitude, and you have two individuals who clearly love each other, and their daughter, very much. Is that love conditional? Who the hell knows? Until Nick and Matt answer us, all we have is speculation!

And that's so! Damn! Fun!

[callistoscope]

a healthy venture

Summary: As most know, sexual experimentation is all apart of a healthy relationship! It just so happens to coincide with a very awkward relationship for a couple like Harvey and Clarice, however.

Pairing: Cringefail(Clarice) x Harvey. (if you know you know.)

Word Count: 7.4k. I know, it’s ridiculous.

Warnings: Smut, smut, smut. AWKWARD smut. Takes a hot minute to get there, but when it’s there, it is THERE. The sexual experimentation in question is PEGGING with not much else, so….

a/n: this is silly and very crackfic-adjacent but also So Serious to me. also, yeah I guess they’re in a relationship, but early stages? probably had sex before this? Idk, whatever makes the most sense. sorry if the writing style comes off kinda cringe sometimes!!! I really tried to connect the writing style to what I imagine cringefail’s thought process would be like. and it might generally come off more amateurish since it’s been a hot minute since I’ve written. have mercy pls I swear I was so much better at writing like a year ago I’m getting back into the swing of things </3. If you have no idea who cringefail is or why’s she being paired with Harvey, she’s from @clarisinne ‘s comic!!! check it out!!!!!!(peer pressuring you). also @cowboyweevil since u asked me to tag u!

——

Clarice will be the first to admit that her life is consistently in tatters, and more often than not, it's her own hand that tears up that life the most. She had never been the type to have a sturdy head atop her unsteady shoulders— more the type to awkwardly headbutt into every problem and success that dared to beseech her. Both intentionally and unintentionally, sometimes simultaneously.

One thing she does know, a tidbit of information carved so deep into the recesses of her mind that even dementia wouldn't rob her of this simple fact— her sister was a fucking menace.

Clarice could have given her sister some semblance of underserved grace, could have said she wasn't so bad, if only that's where her bad qualities stopped. But Mars's abhorrent behavior was made all the more pesky by how relentless she was.

Her sister was as relentless as the damn splinter still wedged into Clarice's foot, a recent injury she had been careful to make sure Harvey wasn't privy to.

Harvey.

This was all his fault, really. For such a highly respected doctor, for whom which his town had only the most upstanding of opinions of him, beholding him as kind and responsible, Clarice feels safe in saying that her health had went down a steep decline since the moment. . . this happened. Since the moment this strikingly warm, gooey feeling coagulated in her heart, not unlike that of a fatal blood clot. Her life is effectively cut in half from the amount of stress she's experience since moving to this town. Her life force is visibly draining away, day by day, she's sure.

And her darling sister has the nerve to kick her while she's already down. Escalating the gradual deterioration of Clarice's health like the terminal illness only Mars can be like.

Even now, her sister giggles behind her hand in midst the autumn wind, brimming with an audacity that makes Clarice seethe. She has to bite back the urge to chuck her full watering can at her.

Casually, her sister leans down to pluck a pumpkin from the ground, holding it proudly in her arms. A smile plays on her face, one Clarice does not like one bit. "You know... I've been thinking—"

"Stop doing that."

"I've been thinking—" she trots along, happy as a clam. Content as a mischievous cat might be more apt. "If Harvey doesn't step up more, you might really have to take the reins. In a way you don't expect."

Stubbornly, Clarice stays off to the side. She crosses her arms, clutching the watering can high up in protest. Her job this morning was to water whatever crops weren't already covered by their sprinklers, and she was feeling like her labor wasn't deserved the more this conversation carried on. Nothing of substance had been said yet, but Clarice's ears pick up on the lilt in her little sister's voice.

Said sister finally shoots her a cursory glance over her shoulder. "Really! I'm just trying to help you out!" The laughter in her voice says otherwise. "Because, honest to God, the more I think about it— the more plausible it becomes."

Clarice's eyes narrow, body tense in anticipation for the nearing punchline. "... What?" However hesitant, the word ebbs out all the same.

Clarice can see her sister's figure trembling already, frame wracked with inexplicable mirth, and she already wants to sink into the dirt. "Because—" she starts, unhelpfully, voice warbling, "I'm sorry, but that is the exact kind of man who'd wanna get pegged."

Mars's voice grows high-pitched, wavering, and the cackle she lets out would rival a witch. Clarice can hardly focus on that sound, her ears ringing so loud it blocks everything else. Pegging. What the fuck?

Her face grows hot, and it takes conscious effort to not pass out right onto the dirt ground. Whether it be from the thought alone or merely from the fact that her younger sister thought this made for acceptable conversation, Clarice can't be sure. Before Clarice can even hope to respond, the other is rattling off like she's finally been given an excuse to.

"And— and listen! I'm not judging! Good for Harvey! Good for you! As long as everything is safe, sane, and consensual, right?" She bites the words out a bit, trying not to laugh too hard, nearly dropping the pumpkin.

"Stop." Clarice chokes, half plea half threat, blood rushing through her ears. Her mind is fraying at the edges, her brain rotting in record time. She's just starting to stomp her way over to her bastard sister.

"All I'm saying is— I know an online shop that'll ship here, yeah? Sells strap-ons, and has good variety. Pretty quick, too! Poor Harvey won't have to wait very long."

Clarice's free hand just reaches up to claw at her scalp in mortified agony, freezing for one sickening moment. She's on the path to getting her bearings and cursing Mars out like she never has before. Her mind is just on the verge of rewiring itself into proper working order. Like most things in her life, however, Clarice's life never stops at one bad thing.

"Um."

Harvey's voice is small, but the effect it has on her body is not. Clarice's body goes stiff as a rod, and the awkwardly loud clearing of his throat finally coaxes her into snapping her head back to look at him. So hard that one of her braids whips against her throat. Harvey stays where he is, loitering around the entrance of the farm with an odd rigidity to his face.

Clarice's body proves untrustworthy, and the hand holding the watering can goes limp. It's the moment after the tepid metal slips from her fingers that the gravity of her mistake hits her.

It really does hit her— the hefty watering swishes loudly as it lands straight on her foot with the accuracy of an Olympic gymnast.

"Fuck!" Clarice all but howls, stumbling back and promptly tipping back onto the dirt with an equally pained shout. It's a hard fall that ends with her gaze blearily aimed up at the blue sky, her ears picking up the sounds of two pairs of shoes scuttling up their respective pathways.

Of course. Of course it was the foot she had the splinter in.

——

Of all the sexual escapades both her waking and unconscious mind liked to torture herself with by envisioning… Clarice will admit that pegging isn't one of them. Not to say that her thoughts are incapable of running along the more adventurous paths she catches herself pointedly trying to ignore, but it simply had never come up.

Until now, at the violation of her coveted free will, at her sister's hands. She wishes all the terrible things for Mars, sometimes.

And she really shouldn't be mulling over her sister's words seriously, but her mind is deliberately caught on the thought.

... How does Clarice even feel about the concept? Even vaguely, if she just distantly ponders over what exactly that would entail? Maybe she feels some sexual curiosity she'll get to sating one of these days, should Harvey give it the okay?

If Clarice lets her mind do more than skim over the topic, however... the honest reality of what such an activity would bring is enough for her to be content to shelf it out of sheer mortification, never to see the light of day. Harvey, as always, is a different case. Adds integers into the equation that forces Clarice to reconsider everything, to reach for a different conclusion she otherwise never would have. She's forced into growth with him, sickeningly enough.

More annoyingly, she's forced into tending to herself in areas where she usually would shrug and walk it off. As soon as the hard, metal, heavy watering can had crashed onto her foot, the strange tension dispersed throughout the farm had vaporized on Harvey's part. Harvey had been painfully normal to her for those few minutes. Fussing over her, taking her carefully by the arm and coaxing her into her own house, insisting he check her foot for any major damage.

Mars had the social grace to stay outside, and Clarice prays she has enough to feel ashamed. She's knocked out of that thought when Harvey cautiously presses down on the top of her foot, and she promptly hisses.

"Sorry, sorry," he says, mouth flitting to a little frown. Harvey looks up at her from where he's taken a knee in front of her to closely inspect her foot, those brown eyes of his more like puppy dog eyes. "Just want to make sure nothing's fractured." Despite his words, he presses down at a different area of her foot, and Clarice's leg twitches with the instinct to kick him.

Her mind continues to fluctuate between nauseating panic and increasing irritation at Harvey's continued poking and prodding. It all culminates when he leans back, seeming satisfied with his work, meeting her eyes another time.

Abruptly, his eyes widen and his gaze scatters back to the floor, and that's all the confirmation Clarice needs to know exactly what place Harvey's mind goes back to. She'd had hope he'd forgotten about it, but that hope is thoroughly dashed and thrown back to drown in the river.

"So. Um..." he trails back into silence just as rapidly as he starts to speak, a palpable tension fracturing any temporary peace that had settled. Harvey shuffles, a stiffness settling over his body that she notices. It's the soft blush that peeks over his ears that does Clarice in, an innocent seashell pink that makes her eyes dart to the opposite direction of the room in deflection. Her hands claw shakily at the leather of the couch.

"Listen... I know it's technically none of my business, and it wasn't exactly meant for my ears—" Harvey lets out a labored breath. From the corner of her eye, Clarice can see his head tilt up, before hesitantly bobbling back down. He seems torn on where he should be looking. "And, uh— I didn't exactly hear everything? So, uh..." he says, voice wavering at the end. Clarice chances a glance, only to see a bright red blooming over the slopes of his cheeks, hands clenching at the pant leg of the knee he's supporting his weight on.

"I'm really sorry if I'm misunderstanding, but... how exactly did that topic come up?" He squirms a little from where he's kneeling, as if even just saying such vague words wired a shot of adrenaline straight through his nervous system. Clarice can relate, even if she knows what he's feeling is infinitesimal compared to the amount of adrenaline coursing through her.

Steam might start coming out through her ears if her mind ponders on any of this any longer. "... My sister brought it up." she mumbles, voice strained. Clarice brings her hands up, rubbing her temples, her cheeks nearly scorching her palms. Apologies, insults directed at her sister, humiliated blubbering, all sit at the tip of her tongue, but she just can't manage it. It's more like there's a stone in her mouth, on the verge of suffocating her, and her lips feel dementedly stitched together. "She thought you'd— I don't know. You know." It feels like flames lick up her cheeks then, and she winces with grief at the bitter loss of normalcy regarding their relationship. Who is she kidding? That ship had long since passed.

"Ah," Harvey actually scratches at the back of his neck, and something about that makes her want to scream in pain. It's such a stereotypical display of anxiety, and it makes those gooey feelings spring up like unwanted weeds along the sidewalk of her heart. It's endearing, damn him. "So, you're not...?"

Harvey eyes trail back up, she can feel them on her body before she can see them. Her eyes meet his in quick succession, and she feels herself jolt as if she's touched a live wire. He himself seems a bit frozen in comparison, but there's a glint in his eyes. Eyebrows furrowed, looking uncertain yet decidedly... curious. Flustered and nervous, but not disgusted.

Clarice jolts again, eyes going wide, hands falling from her head. She probably tears a few red hairs out in the process, but doesn't have the presence of mind to care when her mind is racing a mile a minute. "Oh God, you are into it." she blurts, bewildered for a multitude of reasons.

Any bravado Harvey seems to have procured promptly breaks from under him, his head bowing down as he's left to pick up the pieces. "I didn't say that!" he insists shakily, sweeping a hand through his hair.

"It's just— if that was something you were into, I wanted to..." Harvey's voice dies, swiftly fishing his hand out of his hair. "I... didn't want you to feel ashamed about it, is all. Or like you couldn't talk to me about it." he finishes with an exhale, his face brimming with a vibrant red.

Clarice swallows, shifting on the couch with an antsy energy. "... How do you feel about it?" she forces out, more stiffly than she'd like. Her methods of communication were never as smooth or clear-cut as she envisioned. Moments like these only exacerbated that flaw. "You can... talk to me, too." She cringes. She sounds a little robotic.

Yet, Clarice had promised herself to try and be more... open, about any such topics with Harvey. To be considerate and hold his feelings with higher priority than following through on her track record and waving them away. Instead of regressing into the skittish fawn she is at heart and dashing away.

Harvey fidgets before slowly rising to his feet, face still red as a rose. "I haven't thought about it much, until now. But honestly, I don't feel negatively about it." Something shifts in his expression, fills his face with unyielding tension, and his eyes shyly flit to the other side of the room.

"Morbid curiosity is probably the most accurate emotion for what I'm feeling." It's said with a weight, as though he's confessing some grand sin to a noble higher priest. "It was clearly just meant to all be jokes, though, so the last thing I'd do is expect anything out of it! Not to say I even really want anything out of it."

She sucks in a deep, steadying breath.

"It's okay if you do." Clarice's face flames as soon as she dares to utter such words. She gestures awkwardly with her hands, body more akin to lifeless metal than flesh and blood. "Haha! Sex—" she chokes, abruptly restarting the sentence.

"Sexual— Sexual experimentation is just a part of a healthy relationship! And we're healthy!" Smiling tightly, the inflection of her voice comes out more manic, a little frantic. She bumps her elbow against him, harder than she means if the wince that stretches over Harvey's face has anything to say about it.

"And it's normal! We're normal, and we can do this! Right, doctor?" Clarice grits her teeth a little, elbowing him again, desperate.

"Y- Yeah! Hah, definitely!" Harvey laughs nervously, rubbing the side of his stomach. "But, we should probably discuss this more, if you're really being serious—"

"— Harvey," Her face is promptly buried in her hands, unable to even cast a glance in his direction. "I'm at my limit. Please."

Another anxious little laugh bubbles out of him, pulling at a loose thread hanging from his coat. "Of course. Yes, that's, whatever makes you comfortable. We can talk about this later."

——

The simple fact of the matter is that they do. It's a verbal scuttle that seesaws back into Clarice conversationally dragging her feet, as most conversation between them winds up being on her end. How Harvey puts up with it is beyond her— hell, Harvey himself is beyond her.

Kind, wonderful Harvey mystifies her as much as he begrudgingly enchants. He is some strange, glittering galaxy that perplexes her with his intent to be swept into her chaotic gravity. Terrifyingly considerate, practically falling over himself with every other word when he insists that they don't have to do this, he wants her to be comfortable, he only wants what she wants—

And... What does Clarice want? The question echoes in her mind, the answer echoing in kind.

To be sated.

This curiosity, it stifles her in its attempt to persuade her. It sits in her chest, leaves residue when it attempts to glue itself in her head. Clarice had waved it off, tried to ignore it, but the remains fester there. The rot of the idea is only fertilizer, and ultimately, it only grows. She's curious, and she's always been one to explore what springs that emotion in her. For the most part.

And when she finally wrings out that honesty out of herself, Harvey flusters, but moves with the natural pull that such a confession swings a conversation into: what now? What's the plan?

There's a list of questions that are steadily answered, ticked off the mental list she's sure Harvey had conjured up in his head. Where? Definitely your apartment, I'd kill you and myself if my sister heard. Okay. Uh, how would we get the... equipment? Ship it to your apartment. My sister would never let me live it down if she got even a hint of it.

Many similar questions and answers filtered out amongst them. Harvey makes some timid remark about doing his own personal research regarding how he should prepare himself, and the conversation is effectively capped off for a few weeks. It's the persistent elephant in the room, one that grows inexplicably bigger one day in later Autumn. Finally, after some surface level digging that more exposed how deeply it burdened Harvey's mind rather than exposed any real concern from Clarice, he admitted that that the equipment came. 'It,' he'd referred to it so aptly.

It. It came. There wasn't much more to plan than the main event itself. Not much more to do other than biting the bullet and doing it. With the grand exception being thinking about it, a crime which Clarice finds herself exuberantly guilty of. The last few weeks had given her heartburn, her thoughts becoming expertly nomadic in the way they traveled from normal and innocent to salient and crude. Stray thoughts that clustered rapidly in one great moment of imagination before popping and deflating like a balloon. Leaving her flustered in midst her daily chores, normalcy strained for the rest of the day.

What would Harvey say? What would he sound like, how would it feel? How would Clarice feel, really, to be the one giving in such a way?

She didn't have to wonder much longer. Even still, her curiosities still ring so loud in her head as she stands at the door of the clinic, heart running at such a magnitude that a hummingbird's would pale in comparison. She clutches her to go bag in an iron grip, the reason why she had a to go bag making her body all the hotter.

Clarice's mind whirrs when the door opens, and it doesn't stop until they reach Harvey's humble apartment towards the top, and even then, it only dulls. She isn't even sure what sort of pleasantries they exchanged, too strung up in her thoughts to be in anything other than on autopilot.

"We don't have to do this," Harvey drills the notion yet again into her head as he is bending down at the side of his bed, hand grasping blindly at the space under the bed frame. "Really. We could just sit in for a normal night. I wouldn't mind any."

Clarice gathers herself, though her efforts are futile when it's like trying to keep water in her hands. "I would." she bites out, sucking in a breath through her teeth with a whistling sound as she gracelessly lets her bag drop to the floor. "I want to. We're doing this." she says, surprising herself with the shaky, albeit no less sincere, conviction in her voice.

"... As long as, you know, you're still down with it." she falters, twiddling with the sleeve of her jacket absently. Her gaze returns to Harvey when she hears a sliding sound, like something being dragged across the floor.

"I am!" Harvey breathes, voice wavering. He isn't looking at her, instead looking at the box he'd apparently stashed under his bed. "... I just like to be sure about these sorts of things." He stands back up with the box in tow, presenting it to her as he steps closer and closer. His face is already flushing, though it's a soft dainty pink that she finds all too fitting on him.

As her gaze roves over the box, it is not a dainty pink that seizes her face. On the white box is an understandably crude picture of a dildo, a strap-on she thinks belatedly, with words in varying fonts spewed around it. Reviews, the technical name of this model, the brand. Interestingly enough, it seems Harvey bought a set, her eyes pick up. A strap-on and a harness.

It hits her all at once, and she makes a sound that is part laugh and part cry. She's incredulous, unable to conceive everything that is happening, the things that click into place. "God, you hid it? Under your bed?" she mumbles, the humor of the situation washing over her as she lets out a raspy laugh. Harvey, the highly respected doctor of Pelican Town, hiding a strap-on under his bed.

Harvey makes an affronted noise, though his voice trembles a little with laughter when he weakly replies, "Yes. It— I didn't have room for it in my drawer." Bashfully, he gestures to said drawer, the one next to his colossal bookcase.

Clarice snorts, and the tension eases. Where this is all going, where the current is taking them, doesn't seem so scary for a moment. Harvey smiles, still a little timid, and starts to open up one of the flaps of the box. "Is it really that funny?"

"I don't know. Probably not." Clarice admits in a weak voice of her own, swallowing as he moves back the layers of the box. It's one of those types, weirdly shiny and like plastic more than the traditional brown box. That tension fills back in slightly when her eyes catch sight of it. Well, not yet, it's in a protective pouch— but nothing can really hide the distinct shape that the fabric really only enhances.

It only takes a moment for Harvey to grasp it, holding it in a limp grip as he pointedly looks at the other contents of the box, ears tipped in red. "And, ah, hm," Awkwardly, he moves the pouch into the curve of his elbow, the back of his arm holding it against his body. His free arm fishes out the harness more preparedly, touching it less like a dead fish. "Here's... the harness."

It takes a moment to realize that he's holding it out to her, waiting for her to take it. Clarice shuffles with nervous energy, taking it and holding it stiffly away from her body. As if any making any further contact with it will scorch her. She already burns, and it's in the most humiliating way. An uncomfortable heat bread-crumbing its way lower and lower, with plenty of pauses. "Should I... put it on?"

Harvey makes a sound, lips parting as if to say something. They only close again, and she can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. He only nods, abruptly turning around. Only then does he find his voice. "Probably, yes."

Respectively, both parties begin to disrobe, Clarice starting with her shoes and socks and whittling away at the rest. A part of her tries to be neat about it, wants to be, but quickly loses that train of thought as soon as she has it. Anxiety gnaws at her the whole way through, until there's a messy pile of clothes sitting next to her and a weight in her chest. And the harness tightly in her grasp. Clarice rubs the fabric between thumb and forefinger curiously, sighing as she starts to journey of putting it on.

And a journey it is, anxiety quickly becoming secondary to the frustration that shuffles to the forefront of her mind. Trying to figure out what could be adjusted, how to hold certain parts of the harness while she slides it further up her body, it was a bit of a nightmare. Clarice adjusts the position of the O-ring when she's decently certain it's secure enough, pulling the adjustable straps against her body tighter afterwards just for extra security.

Clarice exhales a slow breath as she turns, wiping sweat from her brow. Only to find Harvey watching, naked from the waist down, his dark eyes a little wide and glazed, clutching the hem of his shirt. He jolts, hand fidgeting with the hem, as if unable to decide if he should take it off or not. "I'm so sorry, I just—"

"Were you staring at me?" Clarice asks, mortification budding at every nerve in her body in hot sparks.

"I wanted to make sure you weren't struggling with the harness!" Harvey says defensively, slipping his shirt off in one bold movement. "Because, if you were, I did look into it. I... should have mentioned that." His voice grows calm again, face ripening to more of a raspberry pink. Predictably, he folds his shirt up with practiced ease, almost more of a nervous tic than him actively wanting to.

Her eyes absently wander over his body, only to trail down harshly even at something as simple as the look of his bare chest. Clarice catches blurry snapshots at every other part of his body, but her mind is too scrambled to attempt to study the details.

"Should I..." she hears Harvey swallow this time, him almost making a gurgling noise at the back of his throat. "Should I get onto my back?" he continues, voice edging on squeaky.

"No," she blurts, shaking her head frenetically. She can't. There's many things she can do right now, is willing to, wants to do, but having Harvey on his back under her during this, helpless and pliant... she just can't do that right now. It stirs something in her, sure, something she may want to get to know more intimately in due time. Maybe. But not now. "I'm getting on my back. You're going to have to just— figure it out."

She hugs her body, wobbling over to his bed with the intention to plop down in a show of dominance, only to pause. The pouch lays on his bed, the fabric still doing absolutely nothing to disfigure the phallic shape. That's all it takes to make her sweat again, that anxiety of hers rising from its grave as she picks it up much like he had carried it previously. Underlining it all is that tailspin of anticipation, lying snugly under any negative emotions that threaten to impede the event.

"I mean you can just, you know," she stammers, eyes bulging at her own thoughts. "You know." Her eyes avoid him, digging her fingers into the opening and tugging it open, looking away when she grasps at the flared base. Clarice has no hope of keeping her eyes open as she slides it out of the silk, immediately fluttering closed just upon seeing purple. Prying her eyes back open, she forces a study session of sorts, discerning any texture she can make out by sight. It seems... smooth, not sculpted to be very indicative of an actual dick besides the base shape. More like an artist's under drawing.

Harvey is staring at it just as intently, with bated breath, hands clenching into fists. "That's okay, I can do that. I just, before that, I'll need to... prep myself. I can't just—" His hand lurches up to adjust his glasses shakily, that scarlet Harvey has been valiantly fighting off spilling on his cheeks like paint. "I-I need to use my fingers first."

Clarice's eyes aren't beckoned away from the toy at that, but her brain fizzles. It flickers and flames, a part of her screaming to watch and another pleading to cover her face the whole time. You'll never survive if you watch, it pleads.

"... Okay." she chokes, because what other response is there? "I'm also going to... prepare." Her voice sounds so small, even to her own ears. With a trembling hand, Clarice twists the toy in her grip, carefully holding the flared base awkwardly to her pelvis, trying to figure out how to thread the base into the O-ring. Harvey tries to pipe up helpfully, blabbering nervously about what to do, but shuts up when Clarice begs out, "Please shut up."

Harvey is fumbling with something, and once Clarice ensures the strap-on is slotted in correctly, she turns to see him drawing out a little bottle of what she can only assume is lube. He opens it in a diligent twist, coating his fingers quickly and wincing. She notes how he seems to focus on covering two fingers above all else, and that flame stirs again. More like a spark, hesitant but hungry for a chance to ignite.

She stiffly sits and lays on the bed, in such a way that her legs splay out over the side of the bed, soles of her feet touching the wood. Harvey passes the lube to her, pressing it to her stomach. "You're... You should probably use this, too." he says, face flushing a red that Clarice's own rushes to imitate. Harvey sits, but does not lay, in the same way she does. Except he props a leg up on the bed, spreading himself open, pressing that knee to his stomach as he settles next to her. She decides to be grateful she can't see anything from this angle, only his back, everything else too far in her peripheral to make anything particularly lewd out.

That gratitude is a fleeting present, for she is suddenly made intimately aware of the moment he must edge a finger into himself by the way his breath hitches. Clarice can't not notice, it's such a sharp sound that resonates in her ears— the leg up on the bed twitches. The bed creaks, and the spark ignites like a firework.

She brings a hand up to her mouth as her eyes betray her, her own thighs twitching with want for relief as she scours his back. Sees his shoulder blades flex when he must push in deep, loosen when he pulls out shallow. Harvey's very breath is trembling, his hips attempting to buck, but only succeeding in a meek roll with the way he's scrunched up.

"I'm so sorry if this is weird," he says, voice muffled and breathy. He must be covering his mouth with his free hand, too. Clarice can't say anything, especially not when he sighs as a tremor wracks through his body. His hips give another pitiful roll, his head lolling back for a brief second.

"H-Have you done this before?" she asks, perhaps too banally. It's just too practiced, he falls into each motion with too much ease. Experience. Her ears are reacting that way to sound again, any noise muted, as if underwater.

Harvey whines quietly, though the sound reeks more of humiliation than bliss. Clarice's body reacts the same regardless, shifting on the bed fruitlessly. She can feel herself pulsing, and she thinks she's gonna pass out if she focuses on that facet of this situation any more than she needs to.

"... Not before any of this came up. Just over the past few weeks." he manages shakily, "Just... just to see what I thought. To see if I liked it."

The bed creaks particularly loud with one swipe of his pelvis, and the sound he makes does sound more pleased. "Didn't want to make you go through any of this if I didn't even like it."

"... And you like it?"

Clarice buries her face in her hand then, when the silence stretches out a bit too long. Every part of her burns. Every nerve is roaring fire, and it's suffocating. What could even relieve her, she doesn't know.

"... Yeah. It was— it's nice." Harvey gasps out, a flurry of panicked breaths escaping him. He's trying to catch his breath, body going tense as wood. He tries to exhale, some other noise laden in it. "I think— I think I'm ready."

Harvey's arm looks disfigured as he moves it from this angle, the movement sputtering to a quickness that slows just as soon. His head tilts as he wipes sweat from his forehead with his free hand, seeming to completely pause. it's confirmed when he rests the other hand on his leg.

Her mind is caught in a constant loop of What do I do? and I don't know for a few seconds. For once, Clarice's body is dependable and rational, a hand grabbing for the small plastic bottle on her stomach. It's like all sentience has seeped out of her ears, her mind going blank as she pumps the strap-on absently, making the toy nice and slick. Apparently, she’s already poured it out on her hand.

The blankness in her head abruptly swirls into color, thoughts, visions, when Harvey turns his body. He gets onto his knees, ushering himself closer to her body, but not bridging any actual distance. His warm skin and body sit plainly out of reach.

Harvey hums plaintively, and Clarice can't even begin to explore what that could mean.

"You're really sure you're okay with this?"

A deep sigh reverberates throughout the room. Clarice leans back on the bed, pressing her hand harder against her face. "Yes," she groans out, agonized. "I'll tell you if I'm not feeling it."

Harvey lets out another heavy breath, though it sounds less burdened. "Alright. In that case then, I'll, uh, I need to..."

"Okay." Clarice says, high pitched, pulling her hand quickly away from the strap-on. It's weird, wearing this thing. She can feel the phantom sensations of where it tilts, now that her hand isn't there to direct it straight.

"Okay," Harvey echoes her, similar down straight to the tone, the almost squeaky way he says it. "I'll... try not to put too much of my weight on you."

"Thanks." Clarice merely whines, wilting into the mattress.

Harvey shuffles over, bed creaking with every new placement of his knees jutting into the bed. There's a moment where the anticipation builds, becomes something tangible and unbearably thick. The tension squeezes against itself, then loosens, like a heartbeat. Like it's a real, pulsing thing.

Harvey places a hand on the bed, around her side, gripping his covers tight as he murmurs apologies. Throws a leg over her waist as his other hand braces near the other side of her, releasing a shaky breath. He keeps himself up on his knees, looking down at himself and grasping at the strap-on feverishly by the base, holding it more in a line. Clarice doesn't know what expression he's making, what expression she's making, all too busy covering her face. Risking glances through the spaces of her fingers. It's all happening simultaneously too fast and tortuously slow.

"Alright," Harvey exhales, adjusting his knees one more time, face wrought with anticipation. "... Alright."

With a steady gaze downwards, Harvey slowly lowers his body down. He jolts as if struck with electricity when the tip presses against his rim, lips parting with a slow breath as he inches down further after a pause. There's a start of a whine in the back of his throat every time the strap-on slides in deeper, but he always staves it off. Always sucks in more air, and keeps going dutifully.

Harvey keeps to his promise and carefully holds himself up even as the strap-on fills him, an occasional shake winding from his face to his legs. Those dance aerobics classes seem to be paying off, in any case.

This seems to be one of the rare circumstances where Harvey is considerate of his boundaries and limits, hips undulating up and down with a careful air. It's a process he treats delicately, gives himself plenty of time to relax in between motions, and Clarice can appreciate that solely because he deserves to be treated gently. Even if she's horrible at doing it, he deserves that much. That sort of growth is something she owes him, one of these days.

That day will come, but today is a different one, a different milestone. Harvey doesn't contest these thoughts of hers, moaning softly once the gentle treatment becomes unnecessary. Unwanted, if the gradually increasing speed of his rhythm could have any thoughts on the matter.

Through the slits of trembling fingers, Clarice watches. Everything is magnified, all the emotions breaking some impossibly high dam despite the odds. There's shifts in Harvey's expression every time he effectively bounces, lips twitching with effort to keep himself quiet. Sweat glistens along his forehead and neck— he shines in the low lamplight that sits glowing only about a foot away.

The heat between her legs is unbearable. Clarice can't remember the last time she had gotten so wet and hadn't tended to herself. Hadn't been able to. It's humiliating, but that emotion is so weak and malleable in the current of pure arousal her body is getting lost in. Her head is foggy, yet her vision is vibrant with clarity, with Harvey.

Harvey, who's working himself down harder with every passing second. Instead of that lost, cloudy look catching in his eyes, he only looks all the more searching. Harvey sits back further on his heels, letting out a moan that sounds frustrated. Unthinkingly, Clarice's eyes glance downward at the dick between his legs. Straining and flushed against his abdomen, with him close enough that she can see the pearl of pre-cum beading at the very tip. It moves with every motion he makes. The bead drips over, trailing over every bump and ridge.

"... What's wrong?" Clarice dares to speak, voice containing a rasp that floors her.

"... I can't," Harvey whines, back arching as he sculpts his hips into a particular rocking motion. "I-I can't, I need—" he chokes, leaning far enough that he has to grind his hips forward and back more than up and down for the strap-on to stay inside.

Then he jolts at a particular thrust he implores, gasping sharply. His brown eyes go wide, glasses jumping with every movement that he makes, suddenly speeding up. "Oh! Oh, please, please—"

His thighs tremble with effort, and suddenly he's sliding right down. Harvey's weight presses right into her as he essentially sits on her lap, making her let out a grunt of surprise rather than one of any meaningful discomfort. He's straddling her completely, and the whimper he lets out is downright pitiful.

Harvey blinks with wet eyes, his eyes searching for hers, face twisted with embarrassment. Need laces it, need seems nestled into every frantic little movement Harvey attempts to make. Only for Harvey's body to slump back down, clearly too exhausted to keep doing all the work. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I can't— can you—?"

He suffers through the moment for air, face red as a strawberry, thighs still shaking even as he's seated. ".... Help me," he breathes, air whistling through his teeth a little. "Please."

The blood in her body is torn between two places. Clarice feels light-headed, her chest heaving for air she hadn't realized had dissipated. She's sweating before she's even doing anything, before she warily places her spare hand on his hip for support. Harvey groans with relief before she even properly helps him out. "Thank you, thank you." he chants.

He starts to move up again, more uninhibited thanks to the added momentum of Clarice's hand moving with him. Harvey lets out a hoarse cry when Clarice gathers enough courage to start rolling her hips up, meeting in a messy pace where neither is sure who should follow who.

Clarice shudders at the sudden increase in sounds, and more importantly, the volume. Face flaming, her mind wails to reprimand him in some way, to remind him of his neighbors who know him, but more importantly her. It's here where input and output scramble uselessly in the recesses of her brain. "Harvey! You— You need to quiet down." she hisses from her hand, on the cusp of a grand mistake. Her mind aims for swatting at his arm, but seeing as both hands are busy with equally important tasks, an easy pair of dots are connected.

Clarice raises her hand for a brief moment, smacking his ass lightly. Absently.

Harvey downright squeaks with shock, jerking on her lap. "I'm— I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

She could die right that moment, but thankfully, Harvey seems too out of it to make a comment on it. She cowers further into her hand all the same, body as hot as a furnace, eyes watering.

Clarice is just as quick to look through her fingers again, her other hand gripping his hip tightly, heart stopping in her chest when Harvey bites into his palm, muffling yet another cry. His eyes are lidded behind his glasses, breathing unsteady against his palm.

Harvey shakes his head, babbling around his hand as his body starts to tense up. "Clarice. Clarice. Feels good." His voice catches, bed creaking. An embarrassed pride stings her chest, hand clawing into his hip with her nails.

Despite the strain her voice, she forces what she knows he needs out. "You're doing so good, Harvey."

Harvey trembles, eyes squeezing shut, head tipping back. "... Clarice, 'm gonna..." he's nearly incoherent, too weak to keep riding the strap-on even with Clarice's guidance. Her moving hips seem to be enough to suffice, his teeth visibly digging deeper into his skin.

He blinks, once, then twice, then again, each one more rapid than the last. Harvey's body seizes, Clarice can feel it down to his thighs, his head bolting back forward. To her surprise, his other hand goes to cover the one holding his hip, his hips rolling in sporadic little bursts.

Harvey holds her hand to him tightly, dragging in one more ragged breath as the tension crests and drops with an abruptness entirely expected. He wheezes a little, sounding almost pained as his body quakes through the orgasm, cock twitching with little spurts.

All Clarice can do is watch with wide eyes, hiding them behind her hand again when it gets too much. All of this has been too much, really, but the feeling really implodes in the aftermath.

Soon enough, Harvey manages to haul his body to the spot next to her, sluggish and sated when he lets his body collapse. The bed squeaks in protest. Clarice's eyes burn more and more with unshed tears by the second, face hotter than the sun. She is half convinced that when she pulls her hand away, there will be burns staining her fingers and palm.

"Do you..." Harvey suddenly pipes up, lungs still audibly fighting for oxygen. "... want me to return the favor?" he asks, managing to sound as timid as he was breathless. "I mean, I know you didn't... finish." he coughs as quiet as a mouse.

Clarice makes a strangled sound, rolling on the side that turned her back to him. Tears spill out of her eyes, though she can't say any part of her regrets the experience. She's just... overwhelmed, mortified, and irritatingly horny. "No."

"Are you crying?" The bed dips as Harvey's voice pitches higher up in panic. "Oh, I'm so—"

"Harvey, it was hot," she sputters through tears, not giving him the chance to piss her off through his relentless apologies yet again. "Shut up. I'm just overwhelmed."

A hand tentatively reaches for her shoulder, Clarice's body tensing when she feels him stroke her shoulder assuringly. She hates him a little for it, hates it more when she actually relaxes.

It takes a moment of deliberate silence until the feeling soothes in her chest. Wiping away a few tears, she reluctantly rolls onto her other side, facing Harvey. “… Hi.” she says, voice a little muted.

“Hi.” The sentiment is mimicked easily, breathlessly, though he tacks a hesitant smile onto his flushed face. Clarice bursts into a giddy giggle for a reason she can’t quite pin down, giving him a watery smile. Harvey’s smile brightens, looking relieved. Some sexual exploration is healthy in the long run, she supposes, if it feels this freeing at the end.

[bibibbon]

Considering everything...MHA never left chapter 1. One thing I heard and I agree is how Izu is a static, stagnant character. He wanted to be a hero...why?

I always ask this. We can agree he wanted to help and deep down be part of a group, which yeah I can see this as a dream for a lonely abused kid.

But what was his plan? He didn't have a quirk...well, entering in UA was impossible? He could work as a quirk analyst (or is that a job which lives only in fanon?)

Assuming he has no means to enter in UA without a quirk....well, why linger on an impossible dream?

He got a quirk...by sheer luck.

He never own it in the sense we never saw Izu use 100% of ofa. We never saw him reach the max. We never saw Izu as a shonen hero fighting the big baddie.

He lost the quirk...

And spends 8 years alone working as a teacher...

Did he wanted to have a suit?

His "friends" cut contact with him for 8 years (saw people especulating how the last part, the iron suit, could be Izu delulu...I agree) and there more heroes than villains, why are they so busy they can send a hi, how are you? To the guy who lost his arms to stop shig?

I digress.

So for 8 years...he was alone, quirkless and forgetten. Then boom iron suit than only BK and am chip in.

Did he wanted the suit?

Are him and Am even closer? Bc why am made this a secret for 8 years.

Also to conclude...no, Izu couldn't have start this story as a quirkless hero (he is not Batman or Tony Stark)

Izu is still on chap 1.

The author is just end the story and move on.

Hi @mikeellee 👋

I have said this for quite a while but yeah Izuku is a pretty static character and doesn't change at all actually a lot of his change includes his character regressing to a much more bland and unlikable version of him which annoys me to no end.

I have always thought that izuku wanted to be a hero to 1) fit in and 2) to help people however, I do wish that canon would explore that a lot more and why Izuku even looked up to all might in the first place.

One of my problems with MHA is that izuku doesn't actually plan to do much or doesn't have the steps to complete his goals in the beginning. What I mean by this is if izuku was aiming for the hero course then why did he not train himself physically? It makes no sense at all why he didn't do that (Izuku is smart that should of been one of the first things in his mind) and I still think that izuku didn't train because the narrative was waiting for all might to come along and whip him into shape or something of the sort.

Quirk analysis and being a quirk analyst seems to only be something in fanon MHA as any character that does quirk analysis in canon ie izuku and shigaraki are looked at weirdly by others which doesn't make sense. I do think that with the development of quirks and the quirk singularity theory that izuku could of entered a career surrounding quirk analysis and production of support items.

I think that a part of izuku didn't truly believe in himself and the fact that he could become a hero so he may of relied on his intelligence to at least get him to general studies which means he would still be able to get into UA.

We did see izuku use 100% of OFA during the overhaul arc (no he used 100% of OFA not the other users quirks) but it wasn't without harming himself and the last arc also proved that izuku never made OFA his own quirk since he still thought of it as a precious gift all might gave him that he had trouble of letting go (this just further shows how underdeveloped izuku is)

What bugs me the most is that izuku never tries again he simply is defeated and accepts defeat by fate but when he does teach in UA he still goes by his hero name as they call him "deku sensei" so I do think a part of him wanted to grasp on to any sense of identity he had that was just fading away.

Heck Izuku also ends up looking like he doesn't actually exercise anymore meaning that he simply gave up which I still find ridiculous. So I think he gave up and was simply mourning the fact that he can't be a hero so when given the chance he simply takes it and doesn't look back.

Izuku and all might were never close in canon and with the knowledge that all might lives abroad now I think they have definitely lost contact as Izuku was surprised that all might even came to Japan in the first place so yeah their relationship seems pretty nonexistent at this point to me.

You know me I personally do think that izuku could be a quirkless hero whether that be him getting into the support course and making his own gadgets to use (UA can support him they have a lot of money) or that be him literally changing the definition of what it means to be a hero. I have also talked about it in another posts but I do think our opinions are quite different when it comes to the idea of quirkless heroes