#its time to c-c-c-c-c-COPE

[soupcanspecimen]

Going through the fandom today is going to be very depressing.

[martyrbat]

favorite things - batman: legends of the dark knight #79

[ID: The cover for the above mentioned comic. In it, Batman is framed to be in the center of a wreath as he screams in agony. Surrounding him is fire. Following it is the subtitle page where we see the story's name (Favorite Things) and the creative team that created the story. It's shown with a peek of Gotham's horizon; where snow is elegantly falling in front of towering golden skyscrapers and tall, blue buildings. It settles on the rooftops of the last layer of the city, which consists of older buildings and water towers. A single gargoyle stretches into the panel in front of them all. END ID]

entire comic with ID below cut!

We fall with the snow, bearing witness to several vertical panels of random Gothamites that are outside on this frigid night. An older man clenches his newspaper in shock. A young couple drops the toys they just bought in fright, staring at an approaching golden light. In an alleyway, we see a cat jumping to a new trash lid to get away from what disturbed its rest – a peek of the corrupt far in the background. A young child with their mother points excitedly as their mother is still turnt away.

Finally, we see the cause for such reactions – the speeding, iconically sculpted car that's swerving between traffic effortlessly: the Batmobile!

Bruce Wayne, dressed as Batman, speaks into the extended microphone that's built into the car. He asks, “How's the party, Alfred? Anyone ask why I disappeared?” Alfred Pennyworth is shown talking into a revolving phone, smiling with slight amusement as well-dressed people dance and socialize joyfully in the background. Alfred reports back, “I told them you had urgent business upstairs, Master Bruce.” Bruce asks, “blonde or brunette?” Alfred answers, “Blonde, sir – I gather ‘gentlemen’ prefer them.”

However Bruce is unable to keep his own masquerade, his facade falling instantly. He rhetorically questions, “How could this happen, Alfred? I can't believe it.” Alfred gazes at an overhead window, the glass still shattered from an earlier event. He bon mots, “I'm afraid burglary is not an uncommon problem in Gotham City, Master Bruce. Even with our security. Perhaps we should invest in a large dog with a taste for the criminal classes.” Bruce remains unamused as he presses down even more on the gas pedal. He argues, “This is no joking matter. You know what they took. And you know why I have to get it back.”

He eventually enters a club just to immediately intimidate the party-goers. Underneath the sharp eye of the pink neon lights and glistening disco ball, he threatens, “I've already been to several clubs in Gotham tonight – you may have heard the ambulances. Save yourself some grief. Hand over Eddie Mulligan.” The crowd stares on until Eddie pops out! He announces, “Hi, Bats! Lookin' for me, big guy?”

Batman quips back, “Let's step into your office, Mulligan!” while throwing him through the door for the filthy restroom. He snarls at the two men still at the urinal to leave now as Eddie pleads for them to not leave him with Batman. They leave anyways as Batman yanks Eddie into a dirty stall.

Batman holds him by the collar and his head, forcing his head to hover over a toilet that has surely broken multiple sanitation regulations. He warns, “Talk to me, Eddie! Half of Gotham’s low lives come to you to celebrate a score. I’m after a gang who specialize in robbing big houses. Fill in the blanks or you and that drug store in your jacket are down the toilet.” Eddie swears, “I don’t know nothin', man. On my mother’s life–”

Batman calls out his lie as he shoves his head into the toilet’s bowl. “Your mother died when you were four, Mulligan – try again!” He lifts Eddie’s head, who still insists that he doesn’t know anything. Deciding the waste of time isn’t worth losing the convict’s trail; the Dark Knight storms out of the restroom, leaving the now dirty man on the even dirtier floor as he still murmurs his swears that he doesn’t know who's to blame for the robberies.

Fire blazes around a black bat emblem. We pull from it, revealing the incendiary weapon set to destroy a museum. Police Captain Jim Gordon murmurs, “Madness. Fire-bombing a museum… to call attention to this.” He asks if there's any witnesses to the accompanying cop. He answers, “A woman thought she saw a couple of Joy Boys running away from the blast.”

Gordon turns from the roaring flames and questions, “Joy Boys?” The cop explains, “Weird kid gang, Captain… Crazy about the Joker. Like to show how they hate the Batman, pullin' stunts like this. Or maybe they’re just celebratin' the season. Christmas comin' an' all…” Gordon mutters, “Just when I thought this place couldn’t get any sicker. Madness.”

Snow continues to fall outside a building, glowing signs advertising an adult-only cabaret named ‘Eye Spy’ and the promise of a live stage show inside. A middle-aged blind woman is shown in a brown, thin jacket over a semi-sheer cover that's attached to her short, pink dress. She climbs into a taxi's backseat as the driver teases, “Nice flowers, Tabitha. Got a secret admirer?” She laughs at her friend and tells him, “Hahaha! Not for a long time, Arnie. These're from the Batman. Had them delivered after my show.” He recoils at the revelation! “He's real?! What's he after?” She coyly smiles and dips her nose to the bouquet of red roses. She reminds him, “I got no eyes but I got good ears, Arnie. Batman wants to know what I've heard about these organized break-ins at all the city's plush mansions.” Arnie scoffs, “Typical. Superheroes always look out for the rich g–”

The start of his unimpressed rant is interrupted by a Joy Boy slamming his hand against the window! He and the rest of the Joy Boys have a mask on of the Joker's grinning face and purple jacket with green pants to mimic the villain's suit. He demands for Arnie to get out of the car as more of the posse circle the car. Arnie flees, leaving Tabitha to the mercy of the gang! She calls for him before suddenly being jerked out of the vehicle! She asks in a panic, “Who are you? What have you done to Arnie?” The leader of the gang speaks, “Good evening, madame. I can’t help noticing you’re blind. Never mind, my dear –”. One of the men holding her suddenly punches her, causing her to collapse! The man continues, “there are some things in life it’s best not to see.”

Batman drops down promptly, sending the abusers down into the snow as he lands on them! He growls, “And one has just dropped in on you. Joy Boys… Your choice of role models stinks!” He decks another member as Tabitha asks repeatedly what’s happening. The leader taunts, “You won’t catch me, Bat-slime! I’ve got the fastest legs in Gotham City!” Batman speaks into a hidden voice commander and calls for the Batmobile before muttering the three magic words: finish the job!

The criminal is caught in the glaring headlights of the Batmobile before it automatically drives! The man lets out a blood curdling scream. Batman reassures Tabitha as he helps her up from the snow, “Scared senseless more than hurt. The car caught him at a glancing angle. Let's see if we can salvage any of your flowers.” He cordially keeps an arm wrapped around her upper back and tucks a red rose gently in her blonde hair. “There's one. Pretty as a picture.” She looks up, revealing her bruising eye. She asks, “D-do I really still look pretty, Batman? After all these years?” He smiles down at her. “More than pretty, Tabitha. You look beautiful…” He starts guiding her away from the scene of the attack as he softly prompts her to tell him what she knows about the break-ins.

Afterwards, Bruce is back in the Batmobile as he reports back, “I've got a name, Alfred. Not much else. The outfit's called ‘the Chessmen’. Their leader calls himself ‘King’, apparently.” Alfred comments, “Really? A bit obvious, wouldn't you say, sir?” Bruce snaps, “Everything about them is obvious… except where they are now, dammit!”

Alfred continues ironing Bruce's cape in the Batcave as he calmly notes, “You sound a little erratic, Master Bruce. Might I inquire when you last slept?” He dismisses his surrogate father's concern, promising, “I had a nap, old friend. I feel fine.” But Alfred presses, “Tell the truth and shame the devil!” Finally, Bruce reluctantly confesses, “Two or three days ago. You know I can't sleep, Alfred. Not 'til I get it back.”

He swings onto the roof of GCPD headquarters, where Jim Gordon is already waiting for him next to the Bat-Signal. Gordon informs, “We got an anonymous call. A direct lead to the gang who robbed half the town's mansions.” Batman exclaims, “The Chessmen! Where–?” Gordon sighs. “It's gotten… Complicated. The chief saw headlines. Insisted on a swat team. They messed up. What should have been a simple raid has ended as a hostage situation – Dammit! If he'd left it to my men or you…” Batman at once leaps off the building, having all the information he needs. His cape flares out as he vows, “Leave it to me now, Jim.”

At the scene, we see the SWAT team waiting outside in utility body armour and holding assault rifles. The chief speaks into a megaphone, “Listen up, Chessmen! This is Chief Yeats! Release my two officers and we can negotiate a deal!” The leader of the Chessmen, King, is standing in the window with a handgun pointed at a cop's head. He has the design of the king chess piece tattooed on his forehead and a purple mohawk. He shouts back, “No deals, pig! Take one more step and I blow a hole in this babe's head! I mean it, Yeats! We already wasted her partner!” The second cop lays dead at his feet.

One of the Chessmen with a rook tattoo apprehensively expresses, “This is too much, King. I thought we said no one was gonna get hurt.” King demands, “Shut up, Rook! Do what I say or we're dead men!" A voice from above booms, “You're worse than that – You're mine!” Suddenly Batman drops down while throwing a smoke bomb! He moves in stealth, avoiding the blind, erratic shooting from the panicked men that's trying to kill him and knocking them all unconscious as they scream, “He's on his own–!” “Rush him!” “Can't see him! Where'd he go?” “Over there!” “Blow his head off, Bishop!” He cries out, “He's moving too fast! Like an animal! A damn ani– ungh!” The Caped Crusader takes him down.

The smoke starts to clear, revealing that Batman is the only other man standing as King holds the hostage in front of him. He warns, “Stay back, Batman! We just wanted to rip off some rich guys! Give ourselves a little Christmas present! We didn’t want anyone to get hurt!” Batman growls, “Tell that to the officer down,” as he opens a small department on his belt and clicks a mysterious button.

Suddenly, screeching fills the air before a frenzy of bats burst into the building! King releases the hostage as he immediately gets swarmed by the bats. He screams, “Get them off me! I can’t stand– AAAA! Please! For the love of god! Get them off me!” The bats eventually flee, leaving King on his knees and the reveal that Batman and the hostage are nowhere to be found. He stammers out for his already defeated backup. “Ch-Chessmen? Where are you, Chessmen? K-King under attack.”

Batman suddenly appears, making the obvious pun in his triumphant, “Checkmate, King!” He continues to be unfunny as he shouts, “Game over!" and punches the man, knocking him back on the ground. Batman stands towering over the defeated criminal as he finally gets to demand, “I'm out of patience, King. The loot. Where is it stashed? Talk.”

The bellicostic police chief leads the SWAT men up to where the hostage situation was taking place, warning them to be very careful. They finally reach the floor and burst through the door, announcing, “Police! Freeze!” But to their dismay, they see the five Chessmen tied up on the floor as King hangs upside down above them. Chief Yeats yells, “The damn bat! That damn bat beat us again.”

One of the SWAT officers points out a note attached to King. It reads: ‘Act like a police chief, not a publicity hound, Yeats… or I'll have to act. I won't always have more urgent business like tonight. B.’ — The chief warns the men, “You didn't see this… Get me? But… uh… tell any news teams to throw focus on… uh… the heroic officer-hostages… Hey… It's the holidays, right?”

We join a single father sitting in a squalid apartment with his two little boys. The children sit on the floor in front of a plugged in space heater as they watch a small television that’s sitting on top of a cardboard box. A clothesline hangs over their head as the despondent man sits in front of the window, somberly waiting for the Dark Knight's arrival. Without turning, he addresses Batman. “I knew you’d come. I’ve been waiting here for two days. Thank god it’s over.” The children turn with a shout, pointing at Batman before running to be held by their father.

Batman asks, “You’ve been holding stolen goods. Where are they?” The man answers, “I already gave them back, Batman. Honest.” Batman queries, “You gave them back?” The father bows his head as he confesses, “Yeah. I was paid to stash them until the heat cooled off. But… I couldn’t keep those things. They didn’t belong to me. Don’t throw me in jail, Batman. It was me who tipped off the cops. It was me who told Gordon where they could find the Chessmen.”

Batman gently questions, “Any particular reason?” as the man starts to weep. “I'm not a thief, Batman. I just needed some money to feed my kids. Please, Batman! Please don't throw me in jail! The kids need me, Batman! Little boys shouldn't be left on their own.” The children start to cry and stare up at the Dark Knight as he looks at the cordolium scene. He agrees, “Okay. Just don't do it again.” And with a swoosh of his cape, he's out the door. The father looks up in shock at his agreement but the only evidence of Batman's presence being a roll of hundred dollar bills that's now sitting on top of the table.

At the Wayne Manor, we're in a child's bedroom. Dolls are perched serenely upon a chair. A toy house that'll never become a home lays next to a small rocking horse who's riding days are long gone. In the center of the room is a circular train track, where Bruce Wayne sits in thought. Still half dressed in his costume, he stares at a bright toy train. Alfred softly approaches. “I see you managed to recover it, Master.” Bruce murmurs, “My favorite thing. The last thing they ever gave me, Alfred. The last present from my mother and father… and I almost lost it.”

Alfred reassures him, “Not to worry, Sir. It's safe and sound in your old bedroom now.” Bruce continues to look at the little train. “You're right, old friend. Right as always.” Alfred gently prompts, “It's getting late, Master Bruce. Almost dawn. Time for bed, I think.” Bruce shifts to his knees, finally prying his eyes away from the toy and the memories it holds to look at his lifelong friend. He quietly agrees. “Yes, Alfred. Time for bed.”

We end on a distant view of the Wayne Manor, the ombré pink and purple sky casting a light on the pure white snow. A promise of peace after a restless, cold night.

END ID]

[luminouslotuses]

cwilbur has bad seasonal allergies<-projecting

[jaca3rys]

Me a month ago: I'm so in love! I want kids and four cats! Big house with me wife! Wind chimes and pretty dresses

Me now: blocking EVERY. SINGLE. happy WLW couple on my fyp. crying on my knees on my (concrete) floor. Unable to look at happy couples WLW or not without wanting to sob uncontrollably. Literally wanting to rip my fucking hair out whenever I see my brother in law kissing his girlfriend. PHYSICALLY unable to listen to certain songs.

[buntress]

anyways The Buntress has once again decided they are a bi lesbian. This label feels the best, as the attraction it feels towards men is inherently sapphic and also achillean in nature at the same time.

As my best friend put it, I am simply so butch4butch that I like men.

Go away if you are not alright with this, because I am not alright with you! Thank you 💖

[cosmic-waltz]

hrggmmm... 3 am rune thoughts.

[mejomonster]

Oh no guys I read about adhd symptoms to see if I had it and now I've made myself sad :c dang these things be affecting my life :c

[maligns]

❝ i know what i was in those days: vengeful, merciless." ( dmitri to sylvain)

@tempestflames / meme id. : sylvain gautier

he isn't wrong . dimitri states the fact like he's begging for comment ; for reassurance . it subsumes him in nostalgia . that summer haze , four children with hands muddied & cheeks pinkened , dimitri's wide blue eyes & effortless grin . sylvain remembers : he'd thought that even as his life spiralled out of his control , he could , at the very least , have this for himself . today , he wavers between ten & twenty , going on thirty . eyes meeting a pair of dulled sapphires over a council table . they are both tired .

" i know . " sylvain says , muted . he'd tried his best to deal with the fallout as he always did then , but his methods only pale as a distraction , for himself & for others -- he knows well . a tang of frustration wells up , like blood in a cut . the intended recipient isn't dimitri , nor himself -- it's the age old burn of anger in light of the shitty hand of cards dealt to them by lady luck . to hell with her . he tries to inject kindness in his tone , a jagged , broken boy with his endless masks . " i ... i know . but it doesn't matter . " is this what dimitri wants from him ? the words on his script don't quite align , wavering on the page . he could be wrong . " as long as you're here with us all now , your highness . i promise i'll stand by you . "

it's true ; he would follow dimitri to the ends of the earth , but not for the reason the man thinks . not out of loyalty / belief , or trust . it's something deeper than that . it's a desperation for dimitri to be alright , to be his constant ; lest he lose himself . dimitri , he wants to call out , but the syllables catch in his throat . he doesn't know how to be himself anymore , after pretending for so long . eventually , he settles for , " i'm glad you're doing better . " it's the most genuine thing he's said this whole conversation . he's trying .

[fluffyartbl0g]

FUCKED UP BEETLE

PROBLEM

So you're having a totally fine day by all accounts and then it instantly goes to shit just because you pass by a fucked up beetle hidden in the grass. You've seen bugs dead all the time, so what. So what if its torn up wings and cracked shell definitely mean that some random kids fucked it up before it died. So what if your dad was drunk and high all the time and screamed at you and you fucked C over and you fuck everything up. SO WHAT. No amount of therapy or 'healthy coping mechanisms' or 'unpacking of trauma' will ever erase the ultimate truth underneath. You are intrinsically, hopelessly fucked.

-3 Volition: Fucked in the head

SOLUTION

You're going to wake up the next morning totally fine again. In fact, Harry's probably going to put some extra effort into making breakfast nice to cheer you up--which will actually kind of annoy you, but in a way that makes you feel all fuzzy and warm. Sure, you still get stuck in your head sometimes about sad shit, but you're dealing with it better and better, and the days where you actually feel like someone are beginning to far outnumber the days you don't. For now, you hug him a little bit tighter. You're safe now.

-1 Composure: Permanently a little bit fucked

+2 Volition: You're going to be okay

_

transcript under read more

VARIOUS CANDY WRAPPERS SPLAYED OUT ON THE TABLE: The label reads 'BLUE DREAM'. Unlike what its colour may suggest, it is not flavoured a blueberry or bubblegum, but vanilla.

[A red orb appears above Harry's head]

SHIVERS [Impossible: Success] - The air has been shifted ever so slightly. He's trying to breathe correctly, but blurs of thought keep flickering through his mind. This continued for the entire thirteen minute trek home.

PERCEPTION [Medium: Success] - A loud thunk rattles across the room as Cuno closes the door, he looks out of breath

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - He's barely holding it together

CUNO - He looks up at you with a yelp, "Fuckin hell! Wasn't the pig supposed to be out investigating some shit?"

SUGGESTION [Medium: Success] - He didn't want you seeing him like this, answer his question, he'll leave if you ask him about it first.

1. "Did something happen?"

2. "You look like you ran a damn marathon kid, what's up?"

3. "I had to quickly come back to snag some important evidence for the case" (point to various candy wrappers)

CUNO - He scrunches his brow "That mean you're getting your ass outta Cuno's face soon?"

DRAMA [Easy: Fail] - Wow. He didn't even ask about the wrappers!

EMPATHY [Difficult: Success] - He doesn't want to be alone

1. "Did something happen?"

PERCEPTION [Difficult: Fail] - Cuno's hands tremble as he mumbles out a whisper of words you can't make out

1. Cuno?

[Harry reaches out to comfort him, but Cuno sees this and snaps at him]

CUNO - "NOTHING FUCKING HAPPENED ALRIGHT? THINGS HAVE BEEN FUUUCKIN PEACHY TODAY"

"CUNO GOT A FUCKIN A ON HIS ESSAY, ABSOLUTELY WENT DOWN ON A DELICIOUS FUCKIN KEBAB YA HEAR?

CUNO - He pauses. "Nothin fuckin happened today. It's all me. Cuno's the one thats all fucked up"

He starts choking up by the end of that,

(a yellow orb is seen above Harry's head as he looks at cuno breaking down [it's reaction speed])

Harry hugs him

CUNO - "Fuck"

KUUNO - He hugs back tightly

[corpsegold]

Typing that out has had me panicking and freaking out sweating for the past few hours. I've been miming to myself and rehearsing talking to the woman about it and the only way I can describe how overwhelming and intense this feels is that it's like when I came out to my mum. What the fuck does THAT say

[bunny584]

OBSESSED: YUTA (PT. II)

A/N: Special grade lover boy finally has you, his dream girl, in his hands. Surely he’ll be able to handle it…right?

S/N: This one is for the anon(s), the Yuuta girlies. I hope this means I get to rush Yuta Phi Alpha next year!! 🤭 (you can read part I here )

C/W: Yandere themes, aged up characters (21+), Mature, 18+

Any minute now.

You should be calling, any minute now.

Yuuta rolls his favorite pair of your underwear into a cylinder.

Even. Perfect.

He tucks it next to the 14 other perfectly even cylinders he’s taken from you.

An impressive collection, considering that it’s been only 3 months since he’s been back from Morocco.

3 months since you eviscerated the barrier between fantasy and reality.

You touched him. You kissed him. His building blocks came crashing down at your feet.

And yet, you still don’t see him.

It’s been torture.

Purgatory.

Falling back into the platonic, easy insteps of friendship. Breathy giggles. Air tight hugs. Feather light kisses.

On his cheek.

Friendly gestures as thin as the air on the summit of Mount Everest.

Leaving Yuuta the same way, every time.

Desperately tugging his cock.

Filling your stolen lingerie with his seed. Marking you. Branding you as his over and over again. In the confines of his quiet, sterile apartment.

Sullied by his lewd coping mechanisms. Babbling your praises day in and day out. The paintings on his walls know you by name.

Because you’re his.

Yuuta has chosen to love you every minute between sunrise and sunset and sunrise again. Ever since his cold met your warmth.

From afar. In the dark. Meticulously crafting the blueprint of your future together. Where you love him, freely. Openly. Without input from your friends or exes.

You need him.

Why else would he be the first person you call after every date?

Agonizing about whether you said the right thing. Or wore the right thing. Leaving a long list of people Yuuta has to take care of.

Not that he minds. He loves helping you.

Beautiful, silly girl.

Can’t you see?

He’s already created a gorgeous life for you two. He’ll give you the stars. The moon. A whole galaxy if you want it.

True, mutual love.

He just has to make you see it.

See him.

“There you are.” Your ringtone is his personal call bell.

Yuuta was starting to think you were going to use your girlfriend’s shoulder to cry on instead of him.

You were supposed to be out on a third date tonight. But you’re not. When it comes to picking up the pieces after your frivolous little flings — Yuuta is always your go to.

“Hey you.”

His palm caresses the heavy bulge in his pants. Tone is steady. Unassuming.

“Yuuta?” Soft sobs intertwine with his name, and it’s decadent.

“Hey. Hey.” Yuuta’s fingers impatiently tug down his zipper. Adams Apple sliding down the column of his neck, swallowing a moan.

You sound so pretty like this.

“What’s wrong, beautiful?”

“Can I…can I just come over?”

“Yes..of course you can.” Each word rolls off his tongue carefully. A stark contrast to the storm winds rattling his heart around its cage.

Broken, teary whines kiss his ears and glide down his spine. Yuuta pulls his cock free. Smearing pearly beads of pre cum around his swollen head. His body is so well trained for you. Primed to your voice. Your touch. Your gaze.

“You’re the best, Yuu.”

A satisfied grin blooms across Yuuta’s face. He uncurls his long fingers from around his base.

No more self indulgence. Not yet.

Tonight is about you.

“See you soon.”

—-

Is this wrong?

This is wrong.

…right?

Your fingers plait together. Shifting weight between your feet.

Staring at Yuuta’s door, knowing your dark-haired, sleepy-eyed friend is probably watching the clock. Anticipating your arrival.

Maybe you shouldn’t vent to him about other guys.

Maybe you shouldn’t use him to soothe your broken heart.

But he’s so soft with you.

Patient. With open ears, open arms. His capacity for you seems limitless.

Always peering at you with those deep set, graphite eyes. Opaque, winter fog. Quick to muddle your sense of direction if you look into them long enough.

Kind, but so, so unsettling.

Before you can reason yourself away from his apartment, Yuuta pulls open his front door.

“Hey pretty,” his mellow greeting is a warm weighted blanket around your shoulders.

“Hi Yuu,” your arms snake around his neck. Because it’s comfortable. He’s comfortable.

His toned arms sink into your lower back. As if your waist was tailored to the contour of his muscle. A low sigh breezes against your neck.

“Come in.”

Yuuta is hushed. He always is. Perpetually whispering secrets for your ears only.

You follow the gentle sorcerer into his apartment. Low lit. Shadows from the candle wicks dancing along his walls. Beckoning you into his lair.

“I made you some tea, is that okay?”

Yuuta’s lithe fingers fidget against his thighs. Almost 4 years of friendship and he still hasn’t shaken his nervous ticks around you.

Sweet boy.

“Yes please,” your smile is already less gloomy.

Yuuta mirrors you with a lopsided smile of his own. Small dimples dusting a boyish charm over his otherwise haunting features. He shuffles to the kitchen. And you take in his broad shoulders. Lean, muscular physique.

He really is handsome.

Eerily beautiful.

Effervescent porcelain skin, deepened from the Moroccan sun. Acute, angular jaw line. High cheekbones. Thick, raven hair that’s always a little storm-tossed.

A crescent moon against a clear night sky. Watching over souls trapped in their own personal graveyards.

There’s something about him that always seems…heavy.

Constantly balancing the weight of the world on his back.

Or something.

You settle in the couch just as Yuuta materializes into the living room. Stealthy, quiet footsteps. If he wasn’t the one who let you in you could be convinced that you’re alone in his apartment.

“Be careful, it’s still hot.” Yuuta warns. His eyes linger on your lips. Memorizing each pucker.

He’s so close.

Sweet steam kisses his face with each blow. And he sits there. Perfectly opposite of your mug.

Unphased. Unblinking. Still.

Close enough to take a sip of his own.

“Thank you for letting me come over on short notice, Yuu.”

Your thighs startle beneath his wintry touch. Both palms, larger than you remember, knead the fleshiest part of your hips.

“Don’t thank me. I’m here for you.” His tone descends. A deep drawl laced with conviction.

“I’ll always be here for you.” Yuuta repeats, pads of his fingers indent into your skin.

Your eyes metronome between his.

Slowly evanescing into his firm, glacial touch. Hazy from his half lidded gaze. There’s no time space continuum between you two.

“Yuuta—“

“Tell me what happened.” Shards of glass rain down his dry windpipe. Willing with every cell in his body to remain neutral.

The gates open.

You’re so animated. It’s captivating. How you feel so many things.

The way your eyes flutter while telling him about how you were stood up. A call came out of the blue. A short, unsatisfying cancellation of your dinner date.

And Yuuta leans in. Nodding. Petting your mouth-fucking-watering thighs. Forcing himself to remember to move his eyebrows. And blink. And look away from Aphrodite every so often.

He knows the story.

He wrote the story.

And for the record, gorgeous. Your crush sounds pathetic when he’s begging for mercy.

Weak.

A man like that is beneath you.

Yuuta’s jaw loses tone.

Pretty crystals line your eyes. Your bottom lip is swollen. Red like Merlot stains on a bottle cork. Your mini skirt rides up a quarter inch higher by the second. Mostly from his fingers. Every time you gesticulate he caresses just a bit higher.

White noise fills the space between Yuuta’s ears. He’s inebriated. Incapacitated by the honey that seeps from your mouth every time you speak.

And he can’t keep ignoring the way his cock is thrashing against its barrier. Begging. Pleading for reprieve.

The Apple in the Garden of Eden.

And the consequences of his inevitable bite mean nothing to him.

“Please,” Yuuta interrupts. Barely above a whisper.

Your eyebrows crawl together at the center of your barbie doll face. So oblivious. Blissfully unaware of how you fuck his brain to nothing but smooth, empty, mush.

“I’m sorry I’m rambling—“

“No. No.”

Yuuta’s body moves before his mind can catch up. He slides off the couch to his knees. Nudging his hips between your legs. His muscular arms hook beneath your legs at lightening speed.

You have no time to gather words when he pulls you to the edge of the couch.

“Yuuta?” Delicate hands fly to his shoulders. Steadying yourself in this new, sudden position.

You’re heady. Shocked. Glassy eyed. Fully flushed from your button nose to ears.

You have no idea how addicting you are. Working sticky heat out of Yuuta’s needy length without even touching him.

He presses his lips into your inner thigh. Instinctively gripping your hips forward when you reflexively jump back.

“So perfect,” Goosebumps cascade along where his moist mouth traces.

“Y-yuuta, we...we’re friends.”

Yuuta drags his drunken gaze to meet yours. Resting his head in your lap. Feathering his icy hands up your butter soft skin.

“You’re so pretty.” He murmurs. Purposefully evading your observations.

He has some observations of his own.

Yuuta doesn’t miss the way his praise affects you. How your breath hitches. And your nails dig into his shoulders. Pupils blown to a full moon.

And the slow growing damp spot at the apex of your pink cotton panties. Yuuta can’t bring himself to stare at your precious rose. Not yet. He’ll cum in his pants if he looks now.

His slender nose traces up your quivering leg. And you bloom. Thighs drifting further apart. Making space for him. Inviting him in. Rewarding him.

“I can make you feel better.”

You gift him a pitiful little whine in response. Timid fingers travel into his nape. Yuuta’s heavy eyelids curtain his vision.

The room is spinning.

And Yuuta is kneeling at the only alter he will worship at. The only alter that will ever receive his devotion.

Those years of waiting. Wanting. Watching. Unsent love letters. Saved texts. Practiced conversations in the mirror. Stolen trinkets. Pieces of you he’s kept along the way.

It was all worth it.

Because the love of his life is spread open for him. Vulnerable. Needy. Melting beneath his touch like your body knows it belongs to him.

Yuuta couldn’t hold back if he wanted to.

“D..do you know how perfect you are?” Yuuta asks the warm, sore flesh beneath his lips. Admiring the trail of bruises he’s left up your inner thigh.

“Yuu, you don’t mean that.” You mewl and squirm like a brand new kitten. Mousing his hair between your fingers.

“I mean it. Y..you’re so…” his voice trails off when his trembling, pale digits finally press into your wet heat.

“S-soft. You’re so soft.” Drool pooling in his mouth chips away at his coherence.

Yuuta’s stormy eyes find the meeting point of his hand and your sex. The sight alone bucks his diamond hard shaft off of his leg. The friction from his damp boxers and rigid jean blurs his vision.

“Oh pretty girl.”

“Mmghhhh Y-Yuu..ah god.”

Both of your husky musings collide. Yuuta drives his long two fingers into your accepting, driveling opening.

He immediately curls up into your pleasure point. Eliciting the most dreamy, listless curve to your back. Tossing your head into the pillows behind you. Gripping his roots into your hand.

“Y-yuu, I need…please.”

Whimpers wrap around Yuuta’s cock and jerks him out of his fucked out state.

He didn’t realize he was open-mouth staring at how your cunt squeezes and tugs on his fingers. Leaking your dew onto your thighs. His fingers. His couch. Saliva streams down the corner of his mouth like he’s a starved animal.

He blinks up at you. Debauched. Lusty. Filthy in the way your hips are undulating against him. Taking your pleasure right out of his hands.

“I need…I need to hear you say it baby.”

Yuuta swipes his tongue against your clothed pussy. And you nearly buck off the couch.

“Please, y-yuu,” diamonds line your eyes again. So much pleasure in the pain of being teased.

“Say it, baby.” His breath kisses your swollen clit. “T-tell me what you need.”

“Lick..please, suck…Yuu,” He’s never heard a more beautiful plea. And his restraint was already teetering on a hair string.

Yuuta’s other free hand rips your panties away from your dewy folds. And his spine is set on fire.

The dull ache in his pelvis crashes into him like he’s at the deadly meeting point of the Atlantic, Pacific and Southern oceans.

“So..so pre..god.” Nonsensical words. Unintelligible noises.

Then his tongue circles your bud and he is gifted a taste of your elixir.

Somewhere between his pathetic sobs into your pussy, your gorgeous melody filling the room and how you grind your pretty petals along the length of his tongue — Yuuta isn’t sure he’ll be able to survive this.

At some point he pulled his cock free from its restraint. Spearing high and heavy in the air. Constant needy dribbles of pre cum staining his shirt, rolling down the length of his shaft. One or two drops even escaping to the floor between his knees.

He hasn’t stroked his length once. And he is this close to release.

And it is infuriating.

Yuuta hates how closely he is riding his peak right now.

Because he is not nearly done with you yet.

He wants you on his tongue. On his cock. For hours. He needs to coax orgasm after orgasm out of his one true love.

“Y-yuuta,” your right hand pulls at his head with all your strength. Yuuta has to bite back a whine.

His murky gaze meets your darkened one.

“Inside.” A clear, high-pitched command.

And Yuuta couldn’t dream of denying you. Of saying no to you, ever.

“O-okay, yes baby.”

He stumbles to his feet. Shakily working his jeans and boxers into a pile around his feet.

Your wide eyes and oh shaped mouth stains his face cherry red.

Why are you looking at him like that?

Is he not enough?

Were your other lovers bigger?

He’ll get rid of them if—

“Yuuta…will it fit?”

You shatter his spiral to stardust. He can breathe again for the first time since you came over.

Yuuta eagerly chases you up the length of the couch. Until he’s nestled comfortably in your legs. Your heat kissing along his drenched rod. Mixing your arousal with his.

“It’ll fit, because you’re made for me”

Yuuta rasps through tight lips. Burying his head into the gentle slope of your neck.

How is everything going exactly right and completely wrong at the same time?

He is more disciplined than this.

He is supposed to be in control.

But your warm, sweet petals sheath his length.

And you begin to circle your hips underneath him. Rubbing your nectar along his cock like you are marking him as yours.

Yuuta loses his sense of reality.

Unrelenting waves of heat ram into his groin. His cock stutters and beats against your precious cunt. He can’t bring himself to look you in the eye. Because everything dampens.

“No…n—no no wait!”

Yuuta smears protests into your neck. Hips rutting against your opening. Pressing you deep within the cushions. Rabid, uncontrolled movements. Ascending in pace faster than you can keep up.

“Fuck, fuck..”

“Yuuta? Are you cu—“

You have your answer the moment his hips hover over yours. Cupping his thick, blushing tip.

He fails to contain his explosion. Yuuta is mortified when stark white globs contrast your black mini skirt.

Air settles thick between you.

Circulating breaths between his clipped and your shocked ones. Decades pass between you before silence is broken.

“Don’t worry, Yuu! This doesn’t change anything.” Your smile is light and playful. Kind in the way that makes him fall in love with you again.

But…what do you mean?

Of course this changes everything.

He can please you.

He knows that.

This was just…

This was just one time.

The first time.

Amidst the cyclone of thoughts decimating Yuuta's brain, you’ve managed to wiggle around him. Currently lacing up your strappy heels.

Yuuta’s mouth lolls open but words fail to materialize.

Once you’re satisfied with your appearance, you prance over to his side. Still frozen on the couch with a handful of his cum. In the messy remnants of his unwanted peak.

Your lips meet his cheek. And your next words run his blood subzero.

“We’re still friends! We’ll always be friends, Yuu.”

Yuuta’s steely eyes laser into your retreating figure with sniper precision.

Beautiful, silly girl.

You two will never be just friends.

[noxtivagus]

i'll just ramble a bit again in tags ><

[wosoamazing]

Abandoned?

Warnings: Injury, serious chest injury, ambulance, hospitals, parental abandonment, mentions of death. A/N: In this fic the most recent international break was friendlies… This was a request from someone on wattpad.

It was the 25th minute when Fox kicked a ball, unfortunately for you it came hurtling towards you and before you could move out of the way it crash into your chest, the sound of the ball connecting with your upper torso reverberated through the stadium as you collapsed to the ground from the force, you immediately grabbed your chest as you rolled around the pitch clearly in agony, medics from both teams were on the pitch before the game was paused, there was no time to waste. 

Your chest felt tight, it felt like someone squeezed your heart every time it beat, you could almost feel bubbles ‘pop’ in your chest, and your chest heaved with every breath as you struggled to get air in, whilst also feeling incredible pain every time you sucked in the slightest bit of air.

The stadium was dead silent, it was like there wasn’t a single soul there. And when the ref finally blew the whistle after what felt like hours, the ambo cart immediately raced its way across the pitch to where you laid, surrounded by medics. Sheets were quickly brought onto the pitch and held up around you by various training staff of both teams to provide some protection against the various cameras that surrounded you, an announcement was made informing all media to seize action of cameras however that wouldn’t have stopped the public from trying to get photos.

-

Leah felt time slow down when you hit the pitch, she felt her body freeze, she was standing there staring at the spot you laid surrounding my medics, and paramedics, she didn’t know what to feel, it was almost like her body had forgotten to feel. All your fellow teammates stood there watching her, not knowing whether they should go over to her or not, however when they saw the sheets being brought out they knew it was bad, it basically never happened. Lucy started to make her way over to their Skipper, Kiera and Georgia followed behind her, knowing Leah needed support in this moment. They watched her fall to her knees as announcement was made, leaning forward, burying her face into the grass, her shoulders shook harshly as sobs wracked her body. A circle was formed around them by the USWNT as they tried to comfort Leah. Leah had absolutely broken down, she didn't know how to feel, she was just hoping, praying for dear life that they weren't resuscitating you behind those sheets. You lived with Leah, spending almost every second of every day with her, she didn't know what would happen, how she would cope if you left her.

Diagonally across the pitch from the circle, stood Lotte, who had her arms around Fox, the American cried into her shoulder, he body shook as her fellow arsenal teammates tried to comfort her, reassuring her that this wasn't her fault and that it would be okay.

-

A paramedic was running over to the crowd and waved a man down who was brought onto the pitch, he was one of the Trauma Doctors at St Mary’s and just happened to watching the game with his family on his day off, “Update us” he said as he made his way through the sheets with the paramedic, “pulse is thready, bpm of 163, clear respiratory distress, muffled chest sounds, GCS score unattainable,” “c-spine collar,” you were placed into a neck brace, “prep for an on field thoracostomy,” someone said, before your jersey was cut off and the cold air hit your skin as they disinfected the area, “this is going to hurt, stabilise her,” you felt a knife cut into you and you moaned out in pain, before something was stuck in your chest, and an oxygen mask was placed over your face, you felt a pair of hands leave your body, and heard the sound of heavy boots crunch in the wet cool grass, indicating someone was running somewhere. 

—

“Ready for transfer,” there was a silence, “on my count, 1,2,3,” your body was held straight as you were tipped on your side, the movement causing you to feel slightly dizzy and you could almost hear bugs in your ears, something hard and cold was placed against your back “and 1,2,3,” you were tipped onto your back again, now lying on the backboard, as the foam blocks were placed next to your head and secured your world started to go a little hazy, as someone readjusted the tube that was stuck in your chest.

“Stay with us y/n,” you tried to open your eyes further but you couldn’t and suddenly everything went black.

________

“And the parents are on their way? Or so I’ve heard,” you faintly heard someone say as they stood outside your room. You had just woken up, and everything was still slightly hazy.

You quickly came to at those words, you eyes widened, and you felt your chest start to get tight again, your heart pounded, you were shaking, your breath was ragged, “I-I don’t want to see them,” you stammered out as you shook your head, and tears started to fall from your eyes, Leah didn’t know ones heart could break so many times in one day but here she was, feeling her heart break for at least the second time. She quickly got up so she could be closer to you, taking your hands in hers, “No baby,” she shook her head, face etched with pain, no matter how much you hated your parents, she knew this was going to hurt. “It’s not them anymore, they, they,” she let out a heavy sigh, “they gave you up, they signed away their rights. When they got the call, they said that it wasn’t their duty to make the decisions or to take care of you, they, they said they didn’t want to be associated with you, they came to the hospital, purely to sign the papers to give away their guardianship,” Leah watched as a range of emotions crossed your face, you couldn’t believe it, yes they had already kicked you out and you barely spoke. But this was different. This was something else. This was complete abandonment, they didn’t want anything to do with you anymore. “I’m sorry baby, I’m so so sorry, I-” Leah was cut off my the loud alarm sounding on the monitor, your panic had caused your heart rate to get to high and your oxygen levels too low, your chest heaved with every breath again, and you could feel it burn as oxygen entered your lungs, but that pain was nothing, nothing could ever compare to the feeling of being disowned legally by your parents. Knowing they travelled all the way to the hospital, just to sign a piece of paper to say they didn't love you anymore.

You had just finished facetiming Kyra, Steph and Caitlin, when you turned your head to face Leah, who was sitting in the chair near your bed, her face seemed serious as she read something on her phone.

“We aren’t playing Bristol City,” she suddenly announced “well obviously,” you rolled your eyes at her, “no like the club isn’t, they forfeited,” “oh,” you paused for a minute, “I want to see Emily,” you blurted out, the thought having been circling your mind for the last however long.

“I don’t think that is the best idea, B-” “But why? It’s not her fault, she did nothing wrong,” “That’s not the reason why bubs, Emily is struggling at the moment, she knows it wasn’t her fault, but she feels like it is, because she kicked the ball, she didn't mean to hit you, but she does feel guilty, she feels like she just shouldn’t have kicked the ball.” You nodded your head, and picked up your phone, scrolling through instagram, when you came across statements from both Arsenal and England.

An update from the England Lionesses: Y/N is in a stable condition, she is awake and talking. Her recovery will be in the hands of her club and we wish her all the best. We ask that out of respect for the players and those involved that no photos or videos taken during/after the incident are shared, these players are people too and deserve privacy. We are thankful for all our fans' support and apologise for the abandonment of the match, all tickets will be refunded. 

Arsenal WFC have released a statement: After discussions with our players, staff, Bristol City and the FA we have come to the decision that we will be forfeiting our next fixture in the WSL against Bristol City, we understand what this decision means and how it affects our position in the table however we must keep our players wellbeing at the forefront during this time period and in no way would it be fair or right of us to ask any of our players to play a match in the coming days. The incident involving y/n has affected every single one of our players deeply and we want to be able to take the next few days to focus on their wellbeing and health, something we could not do if we were to have a game. We would like to reassure the public that y/n is in safe hands and is in a stable condition. 

As you finished reading the statement from Arsenal you felt your bottom lip start to quiver, you looked over to Leah who was once again looking at her phone,  “I’m sorry,” “for what?” she softly asked, “for scaring everyone, I-I didn’t mean to,” you quietly spoke as soft tears fell from your eyes, “hey, hey, none of that, it wasn’t anyone's fault okay, we all just care about you and want to make sure you’re okay,” she reassured you as she moved to sit with you in the bed, “okay” you said as you moved to lean your head back on her shoulder, “I love you so much, we all do, never forget that,”

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

F*CK, KILL, MARRY — nsfw alphabet w john wick (&femreader)

[Warnings: NSFW, discussion of various sexual and kink topics that are 0% canon and 100% my fantasies opinions] gif cred: @lunaspacks & @gifpacklove

[A]ftercare

The literal king of aftercare. It does not matter what kind of sex you’re having with John—even if it’s of the slowest and sensualist variety—he’s making sure you’re clean, kissed, snuggled, and hydrated afterwards.

[B]ody Part

What part of your body does this man not consider his favorite part, is the better question? Seems like his goal in life is to get every little piece of your flesh—especially the batches you don’t like—into his mouth and hands so he can convince you how much he loves, craves, pines after all of you. Speaking of hands, of course you love his chunky, scarred, battle worn fingers. And, since that seems to be your favorite part of him, he’s happy to agree, and wiggle his digits in front of you every once in a while as a teasing reminder of just how much you like them.

[C]um

The only thing John Wick likes teasing more than you, is himself. He’s entirely too good at keeping you both up all night either cumming or just on the precipice of it, so, by the time you’re both spent, things tend to be sticky and soaked in more than just sweat and saliva.

[D]irty Secret

There’s nothing he keeps from you, really. If you’re into it, he’s into it, and vice versa. Look at those puppy dog eyes and tell me you’re gonna tell this man no if he wants to suck your toes.

[E]xperience

Might have been a bit of a whore in his younger days, when he was still trying different bad coping skills for dealing with his own self loathing. Present, John has to really have that emotional attraction for his pants to get tighter, but he absolutely knows his way around female anatomy—as evidenced by yours and his soaked sheets.

[F]avorite Position

Either his face tucked up inside your pussy so deep his hair gets wet (John Wick’s favorite activity is making you cum in his mouth), or your knees hooked over his shoulders so he can watch your eyes roll back in your head while he reaches screaming, teeth gnashing, hellishly pleasurable depths.

[G]oofy

This one very much depends on his mood, although he’s not opposed to play fights and chasing you around the house a little bit before bending you over the couch and fucking his winning prize. He’s more playful than not most of the time, always teasing and sly, grinning against your lips and nuzzling your thighs and starting tickle fights —which may just be the only sort of fight he actually loses (sometimes).

[H]air

This man is not shaving that often these days…Something(one) else is taking up his free time. Plus, he loves to see beard burn on your skin—it means you’re his. He truly does not care at all about your body hair; whether you shave or don’t, he’s still burying his face in your cunt.

[I]ntimacy

Loving and fucking go hand in hand for him; where there is no love, there is no fuck. If he’s fucking you, he’s loving you at the same time, sometimes so deeply and intensely that the emotion becomes more overwhelming than the actual sex, which is a feat of its own. Constantly saying the dirtiest, sweetest shit to you—commanding your attention again when you try to bury your head in a pillow or close your eyes for some reprieve from his attention.

[J]ack off

You’ve both made a maddening deal that you won’t cum unless you’re in the other’s presence. It gets exceedingly frustrating at times, especially when he decides to come home from a week-long contract and then edge you out of your fucking mind for a few hours before he sends you to heaven and back on his cock

[K]ink

Hide and seek — spoiler: you always lose. Topping from the bottom — whatever you’re into, he’s into. Whatever you want, he’ll give it a try with enthusiasm. He loves pleasing you, serving you, giving you everything that you ask for and then some. John Wick is a service sub at heart, even if he takes the dominant roll to prove it. Edging and overstimulating — Living a life of pain, agony, and heartbreak has made him appreciate the finer things in life, like his cock and your cunt aching so desperately it becomes painful. He can spend all day nibbling your ears, teasing you with dark promises, brushing against your little sensitive spots, and then all night kissing your swollen clit and tickling your gspot and fucking you slow and devastatingly softly. And then there’s his love for receiving edges, leaking pools of precum while you tease his cock and kiss his tummy and nibble his hipbones.

[L]ocation

Private. He wants you to himself. The thought of someone else seeing or touching you, unless it’s something you really crave, makes him want to break bones stuff. Besides some hand holding and light cheek pecks in public, he’s not one for PDA.

[M]otivation

You don’t have to try to turn John on, which is both a blessing and a curse. More than once have you purchased a pair of cute (not even that sexy underwear) that he has ripped in half so that his impatient mouth can latch onto your pussy. He also adores femininity in all its purest forms—pretty sundresses, little strappy heels and sandals, the curves and soft places on your body, your cute giggles and soft touch and adorable pouting. Even better if you’re naturally not feminine to begin with, and take on a more masculine role; he loves to bring the little lady out in you, and take care of her.

[N]o

John will get a little rough if you ask; spank you, fuck your soul into the next life, a little bit of facefucking, but all the while he’s checking in on you, making sure you’re okay, asking if you need anything, giving you little breaks. He’s just naturally so sweet to you, it’s hard for him to complete a rough session without constant reassurance from his babydoll. So, gags are a no. He wants to—likes to—hear you, and he doesn’t need something obstructing that.

[O]ral

There are two ways that this could go. 1) With Wick slurping between your squishy thighs until dawn, delaying one orgasm after another until you’re sobbing and thrashing, until he finally lets you cum with his pruned fingers fucking up inside and sore tongue on your massively swollen clit. 2) With Baba Yaga burying his face into your folds, still in the sweaty work suit and maybe even a little blood on his tie, and taking you to heaven and back until he thinks you’re wet and stretched enough—spoiler, you are both of those things as soon as you see him…as soon as he opens his mouth—to take his cock.

[P]ace

Quick, bruising fucks in the car. Weekends in his woodsy, romantic cabin where you spend more time on his dick than off. Slow tonguing on the kitchen counter. Riding him on the doorstep while he’s in his suit when he just wants to get you off one more time before he goes off on a long job.

[Q]uickie

He prefers slow and sensual and teasing, but sometimes his cock disagrees with all that. He’s a man, after all, has needs. When he gets that haunted, dark, narrowed, pussy hungry look in his eyes—you’re fucked. You don’t know this, and he might not either, but that’s the same look he gets when he’s hunting a target.

[R]isk

What is the need for it? You’re his, completely. He doesn’t require added adrenaline when you’re around—you are his high.

[S]tamina

Y/n: *slaps John Wick’s ass* trust me, this baby can go for miles. Wait no, no, John-JOhN! Listen!—

[T]oys

As familiar as he is with the world and how it runs, he himself is a bit old school. That means holding doors open and putting you on the opposite side of the sidewalk away from traffic, but it also means he prefers to get you off with himself rather than any plastics or silicones—that is until you showed him just how fun they could be. Now, he may be initially resistant to vibrators and dildos, but that doesn’t mean he’s not privy to other tools that aid in your undoing—feathers, belts, ties, rope, his gun (unloaded, of course, don’t worry).

[U]nfair

Sometimes you feel like all the stoic, broody, dark assassin does is tease you. Not that you’re complaining, as long as his tongue or his fingers or his teeth are on you.

[V]olume

John Wick is a man of focus, determination, and sheer will power—but, make no mistake, he whimpers for you just as often as he growls.

[W]ild card

John didn’t think he’d get much out of thigh riding, until he saw you completely bare grinding your soaked cunt against the tensed muscles of his leg while he remained full on suited in black. Your fingers wrapped around his tie, the thick Kevlar of his jacket, rumpling and dampening the pristine white shirt underneath, mouth open and panting, flushed and grinding, desperate to get yourself off, nipples plucked swollen and dark by his fingers.

[X]-ray

Big Wick Energy. And, surprisingly, something you love to bite and poke, a cute little permanent pudge on his lower tummy amongst the hard panes of ab and tendon and muscle.

[Y]earning

If you’re both in good health—alright, sometimes even if you’re not (see: bullet and stab wounds, period cramps, broken bones)—you’re fucking. Often and earnestly. Debauching every available surface as soon as you get through the doors of each other's dwellings. He’s spent a lifetime training to kill, honing his body into the perfect weapon, building his inhuman stamina, unsure of why he was doing all of it in the first place—until he realized it was the universe’s grand design to assist him with fucking you whenever and wherever he wants; even when you get tired and he has to use you past the point where you can’t move or speak or think. As you’ve come to learn, it doesn’t matter if you’re too cockdrunk to assist, because John can fuck for the both of you.

[Z]zzzzzz

When he’s actually done, he’s out immediately. Just one of those common manly traits you like to poke fun at him for. At least he sleeps, now.

[white-poppie]

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃 ⎯⎯⎯ Part II of the '𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇' series

SYNOPSIS: In the bleakest times of your life, there kindled a little ember in you. Tsukiko, moon child, you were coping, one way or another. But dark clouds claw at the litte light of hope in your life as you come face to face with Suguru again.

TW: crying, teen-pregnancy, panic attacks, lactation, depression-like symptoms, post-partum, adoption,, self-loathing, su!c!dal ideation, jealousy, mentions of suguru's twisted ideals of a perfect jujutsu society, big sad :(

A/N: Thank you for all the support to this series!! Ps! look out for the symbolism in objects, i used big brain power lol. Plus I am sooooo sorry for delaying this so much

NOTE: reader is in her last year so she'd be around 17-19 :) This big sad will build up to happiest happy in the last part so bear with me.

WC: 4k lmaooo

Series masterlist Pt1: 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐇 ⏮ ⏸ ⏭ Part 3 Now playing: Part 2

The child, a baby girl, lay giggling and cooing in your arms as you look down at her with warmth in your eyes. She's the spitting image of an angel with her wide and expressive eyes, her small nose, a sharp arch exactly like her father, pink flushed cheeks and a tuft of soft dark black hair on her head…She looks exactly like Suguru.

She is a talkative baby, her little pink lips opening and closing wit soft 'pops', thats quite literally talking, what even is the difference when you are holding a squishy 2 month old? Her hands and movements are disoriented, jerky, flailing her chubby little arms and legs without care.

Her tiny hand reaching up to grab at your strands of hair, her big eyes looking curiously at your hair, observing how it moves with her tiny wrist.

"Come on, sweetheart, let mama do shopping for you." you whisper to the tiny baby strapped to your chest as you go around picking the essentials

She looks up at your voice, her lips almost forming a little pout and you can't help but coo lightly at her cuteness. You resist the urge to snap another photo and send it to Shoko to which she would always reply with a boring thumbs up emoji, but you know well how she smiles after seeing her god-child.

"Let's see what we have... we got the diapers, baby oil, flour, we got the veggies and other stuff...ah pear, we should get some pears." you say to the baby. It was difficult to think singularly in singular pronouns, it was the two of you-- it was 'us', 'our' through and through.

You walk down to the fruit isle, looking for some pears. Eventually you find the last pack in the thin mesh. Your hands reach forward to grip it and so does another. Your heart ceases. There is no way you wouldn't recognise that hand. The faint tan under which lie a constellation of protruding green veins. Fingers with a naturally large nail bed, the skin around it slightly discoloured. Suguru. There was no doubt it was him, you didn't even need to look up or rather you didn't have the strength to.

You suddenly wanted to laugh. You felt like a tragic greek hero, comung across your beloved, a bit too late. Orpheus and Eurydice, Hyacinthus and Apollo. Achilles and Patroclus. But the real tragedy was, as the poets said, "I could recognise him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world."

"Suguru..." You whisper out breathlessly as you finally dare and look him in the eye.

His name leaving your lips like a plea tears straight through his chest, his heart aching at the sound of his beloved's voice again. He can't help but feel his heart racing as he looks at your face, drinking in the sight of your tired but radiant face. "Y/N," he murmurs out.

He feels sick, how instantly his sleep-deprived body finds solitude at the sight of you. Relief flooding into his lungs, spreading throughout his veins like a chasm. Its shattering, he feels like a man who was lost in a desert after having left his paradise for a mirage of an oasis.

His body is on fire, his muscles searing to envelop you, to somehow make you melt into him and never let go. His vision blurs, watery, and then suddenly, his breath stills, when his eyes fall onto the soft bundle safely strapped to you chest. An appearance uncanny similar to his, its alive, living. His ears buzz in trepidation. On one hand you stand in front of him and he wants to fall on his knees and tell you how miserable and lonely he was, how being the villain in everyone's story, including yours doesn't bother him anymore, but that child...

"Is that.." he murmurs, but his voice trembles more that he would have liked it to.

Your eyebrows etch into a small frown, you almost want to scream at him for even asking this question. "Obviously." You reply your eyes darting to the aisles in the mart.

His breath stutters and his palms turn cold. No, no, no, no, no. A soft gasp leaves his mouth. The revelation tumbling down him. he had thought of everything. He was ready to face anything, and every consequence, and yet somehow some way he had forgotten to calculate a variable. A variable that was a variable that you, a variable was his child.

He killed his parents without hesitation, left the walls of the quaint house he grew up in all sullied with but somehow the sight of you with his child brings him to his knees. He wants to sob, rest his head on your knee and shakily kiss you and the baby in forgiveness.

"That's my child..." he says, but it sounds more like a statement than a question. With his silken black hair and nose bridge, the same bright black eyes he had as a kid....that's his

You take in a deep breath and nod, your heart pounds in your chest till it aches. "Tsukiko." You whisper out, your voice hoarse as you look at the little girl

Suguru has to bite his lip just to keep himself sane, memories of that bittersweet night flooding in and he feels he would topple over the pear rack.

"Tsukiko...she's named Tsukiko..." He says out and his hand shakes. That's his blood, his daughter and yet he is the farthest thing from a father. Seeing her so close to you, the way you are fussing over her, it has his throat run dry by the intensity of a ground marred from rain, a rain that fell always but now doesn't fall in the courtyard of his heart, leaving all the plants of humane emotions, wilting and dry.

He can't help but murmur out, "A pretty name. It suits her." He whispers out softly, gently reaching out a hand towards the small child. "May I?"

You look at him as a strange anger wells up within. You want to refuse, yet you want to cry in his sturdy arms, for him to envelope you so hard that you can't breathe. You want to beg him to come back, and yet you want to slap him and tell him to never show his face.

You want him to stay, to apologise for letting some as young as you go through pregnancy alone. You want him to apologise for leaving you in a state where the shadows around you seemed to warp in oddly threatening shapes, where intrusive thoughts had you so scared you had to call Shoko or Satoru just to listen to their voice, so that you feel real and don't end up doing anything stupid.

You want him to go back to your dorm room in jujutsu high, where all of his belongings are untouched like the day he left.

You gently unclasp her from the carrier. “Support her neck, she’s only two months old.”

He swallows the lump in his throat as he gently takes the child into his arms, watching as you gently unclasp her from the carrier and gently place her into his arms. His heart hammers in his chest as he carefully and gently supports her small, fragile neck, feeling her small frame in his arms. Tsukiko blinks her wide eyes in confusion, staring up at him with wide, curious eyes.

You feel anguished, thinking of what life could have been if Suguru had never left for his goals. What if you hadn’t lost half of your soul that day.

His heart aches as he holds the small baby in his arms, thinking of all the moments he will lose out on seeing now. Never seeing her first steps, her first words, never reading her bedtime stories, never having her call him ‘daddy’. He will never get to see her experience the feeling of pure and unbridled joy for the first time, or seeing her face light up at all the small, everyday things that make children happy. He knows he has missed so much already, and the thought of missing more...

His heart aches and his breath catches in his throat as he feels the small child’s bottom lip tremble slightly, her head turning up to look at you with a conflicted look in her eyes. He can feel her small frame quiver slightly in his arms, probably still confused by the fact that she is in a stranger’s arms, but she isn’t crying to get away from him. The fact that she’s not crying to get back into your arms makes him want to laugh and sob all at the same time.

"Tsuki." You whisper out as you gently brush your fingers on her face. For some odd reason you don't want her to cry in his arms. After all the pain he has inflicted on me, Iyou still don't want him to be hurt by his girl crying to get away from him.

You take a sudden breath as your fingers brush against his arm accidentally, and suddenly you feel so small, so alone. With Tsuki away from your chest, even though she is right in front of you, you feel a strange fear of abandonment.

His heart races as he feels your fingers brush against his arm accidentally, your fingers leaving a scorching heat in their wake even though you’re only brushing against his arm. Your fingers are icy cold, and it’s just then that he realizes that you have tears streaming down your face, the droplets running down your chin and dripping onto the linoleum flooring of the grocery store. Your shoulders are trembling and you’re trying to hold back your sobs, but he can hear your strangled breaths.

"Give her back to me and leave." You whisper out as you bite your lips. Its not fair, It hurts so much. You have been so strong until now, taking care of everything, but now he is here and everything is rushing back like a riptide, knocking you off your feet, making you fall face-first onto the sand

He can feel his eyes widening in shock as your strangled words reach his ears, his heart aching painfully as he holds back the urge to cry out. He watches you struggle to stop tears from streaming down your face, watching the way your shoulders tremble as you try to hold back your sobs, watching as you fight back the urge to just hold the baby and run back to his arms.

"Geto." You murmur. Not Sugu, not Suguru. "Give me my child back," You whisper as you look at him, your hand clutching your chest as it aches so painfully. "Are you having fun seeing me make a spectacle of myself in the middle of a mart?" You croak out, but your voice doesn't waver.

His heart breaks as you call him ‘Geto’ in such a cold, detached voice. He gulps and hand the baby to you, his hands immediately feeling so empty, thats his daughter, his little girl. He wants to hold her, kiss her head, kiss the beautiful woman who brought her to life, but he is going to make a new world, and when all that is done, you would all be a family....

You gently tuck Tsukiko back in the carrier as he hands her to you and walk out of the mart, towards the exit. The groceries forgotten. You will buy them some other day. Each step is so difficult.

You wanna go back to him, cry in his arms, sob and hit his chest. Standing underneath a stop as you dial your phone to Satoru and he answers. "Satoru...can you pick us up?" you murmur tiredly, your voice hoarse

The moment he heard your voice over the phone, Satoru felt his heart dropping to his stomach. He can hear the way your voice is strained and hoarse, and he can sense the way that you are on the verge of tears. Satoru swallows the lump in his throat as he stands up from his desk and grabs the keys off his desk. “I’m on my way.”

You nod and cut the call, staring blankly at the clouds. You hear the automated door of the mart open and look at Suguru exiting the mart, three polybags in his hands as he walks up to you and keeps two of them on the ground. You look at the bag...its all the things in my cart and the pears.

Your lip trembles as I look up at him, eyes bleary. Tsukiko is now peacefully asleep against your chest. Her faint smell, that of baby powder and milk...It lingers from Suguru too, your head pounds.

He faintly smells like her too now and the way he looks at her, like he is aching, his eyes begging--- they are peading in the same way as they were on the night which lead to Tsuki. I wish I can have what I love, but to protect what I love, I must make a society where those I love ⎯ sorcerers: you, Tsuki, Satoru, Shoko ⎯ are safe

"Go, it's about to rain soon. You'll catch a cold if you get wet." You whisper out tiredly.

His heart aches as he watches you whisper out your words, the exhaustion plain on your face. He can’t bear to see you struggling and forcing yourself to be strong when he is the sole reason for your pain. And as he hears your tired voice, he just can’t help the way his hand reaches out to gently brush the tear away from your cheek. “Y/N…don’t cry,” he whispers.

You look at his hand caressing your cheek before a soft sob escapes your mouth. His touch making goosebumps rise all over your body. “Don’t do that, you have no right to when you decided to leave….” You say as you weakly push his hand away, but it’s so feeble and weary that it’s like a gentle nudge.

A fresh wave of tears builds in your eyes, and all he wants to do is draw you into his arms and hold you until your sobs fade away. It kills him how weak you are, how weak his leaving has made you. He wants to hold you and never let you suffer like this ever again. But how could he after he’s the one that caused this pain to begin with?

His phone rings, an unfamiliar contact name flashes on his screen. Mimiko with a little childish flower emoji next to it.

You feel your heart drop to your stomach; to the point that you feel as if you are having morning sickness all over again.

"That's your girlfriend?" you ask with a soft chuckle, as you don't feel this ugly cold wave wash over you, you feel your limbs stiffen, your teeth chattering at how cold I feel.

Its as if your heart has closed off, putting up a barrier around it and locking away all those painful emotion that he has inflicted on you. He looks down at his phone, seeing a picture of Mimiko and Nanako, the little girls he rescued and adopted 11 months ago, smiling in the caller ID. "Y/N..no..."

"You don't have to defend yourself y'know." you say with a fake breathy laugh as your hand supports Tsumiko's sleeping head to your chest. "Not that it matters anymore."

He bites his lip as he stares at your expression, his heart being "I’m not gonna defend myself but...those are my kids, not my girlfriends," he says softly.

Your eyebrows furrow as your grip on Tsukiko tightens instinctively. "...What?" Its too much. Its way too much for you to handle, your ears ring uncomfortably, yet you try to stand firm.

"Mimiko and Nanako..." He swallows nervously, trying to figure out the right words to say. "I-I found them, when I left you. They are sisters. Their parents were murdered, and they were in such horrendous conditions that I just had to rescue them," he stutters, feeling a sudden uncomfortable rush of warmth on his cheeks from his heart racing.

"I see, uhm thats very nice of you." You mutter with a little smile. "Having two daughters, must be nice. something positive amongst all that you are doing..." You say, but your throat runs dry. He has two daughters. That’s basically a family. He is raising them out of goodwill and love, it’s optimistic.

Your heart aches as you think about Tsukiko. Her mother still stuck to her past, clinging to her lover.

Most of the days you can't tell the date from start to finish. You blankly do all the work, function normally but trapped in this surreal dream that you can't snap out from, until your back hits the bed and you stare at a picture of you and Suguru on the bedside. Finally crying, showing some humane emotion after acting like a non-sentient being.

He has two daughters. Who first had happy lives with their parents until they tragically died, and were taken in by an equally loving caretaker.

Your expression turns from shock to something a little more painful, a sad half-smile that looks like it’s masking the emotional turmoil that he can see building up beneath it. He can see the way that your shoulders droop a little, your head bowing just a fraction more towards your chest. He can see your fingers tightening just slightly around Tsukiko, "Yeah..it is...” he murmurs out weakly.

“I am glad…every child deserves a home.” You mutter genuinely, but you feel so so terrible, like the worst person on earth that you am jealous of those little girls. Those little kids who get to live with their adoptive dad, a happy life. Full of joys and laughter. While Tsukiko was born in such despair. So much pain. Her mother, her godparents; everyone suffering in the tumultuous Jujutsu society. But what about Tsukiko, who's only fault was being born, why does she have to experience this tragedy?

Suguru's heart shatters as he watches you silently struggle and hold back your tears. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. He did this to you. He did this to you, and now his two adopted children are getting the life that he ripped from you. That he denied you. There’s so much you already hear from people, about your character. When your only crime was being in love

“I won’t tell her that you have kids when she grows up.” You say with smile. “Wouldn’t want her to think she’s not a good kid and that’s why her dad left her for other children who are better than her. She’ll think her daddy didn’t like her.” You mumur. “Kids can be particularly fragile…who would know better than a mother who’s a kid herself?”

His heart drops at your cold, quiet words, his breath catching in his throat, tears building in his eyes at the pure agony that he can feel in your words. The way you’re already resigning yourself to being a single parent all alone. The way you can only do this because you’re still a damn kid yourself. Suguru heaves breathlessly as he gulps, his bottom lip trembling. The words don't leave his mouth. He should just ask you to come with him, to live with him, to be together as a family, a big family.

“At least raise them well Suguru…the two of them should get a safe environment. You look down at Tsukiko, your fingers gently brushing the little hair on her hair. She’s so tiny, hasn’t even gotten hair on her head fully.

Suguru's hands shakes as he takes a step closer, just basking in the sight of his beloved and his daughter. "Yeah," he mutters. "They are good kids, my girls..." he says in a faint whisper as a soft smile graces his face at the sight of Tsukiko's pudgy cheeks.

What a mighty child, she can stop world wars, she has him stopped and he is the closest thing to be a cause of a war in near future.

My girls? Your knees buckle at the words. “Ah I see… they are your girls.” You can't help but be bitter at his phrasing as you look at our little Tsukiko. She looks so much like her daddy. From her eyes, nose, hair, skin…she is a replica of him and yet he’s never had the chance to call her his child. It’s so cruel.

He feels a sharp spike of pain shoot through his heart at your words. His girls…not our girls. His girls. He doesn’t have the right to have you call them our girls. They’re just his. All because of him.

“Will she ever be your daughter Suguru…?” You can’t help but mutter so shakily, your voice quivering like a child’s as tears roll down your eyes…you feel so small it’s embarrassing.

A soft breathy sob leaves Suguru, he can't do this, he is goddamn monster. The sound almost makes you flinch as you look up at him. He sucks in a deep breath and holds it in for a few seconds before exhaling. “How could I...she’s…” he struggles to get the words out. “She’s ours. She’s ours and she’ll always be ours.”

Suguru sakes his head as he runs his fingers through his hair, he so goddamn dizzy. "She is my daughter, Nanako and Mimiko are my kids." he says, the change of a synonym making such a huge difference in the meaning.

"And you- you are mine, you have no- no idea who difficult it has been, I can't even try to compare, but I've missed you so goddamn much." his voice cracks. "And its so lonely, the girls they see me staring at your picture everyday and I tell them that's their mother. When they ask where you are, I tell them how I messed up- left to protect you, because you do not agree with my ideas, I thought you would be better off without me, that you'd move on slowly. But there's my daughter and I feel so guilty. You cannot move on, not when she is a reminder of me, of us. Of our youth."

The tears don't drop, but they pain is etched on his face, deep frown and upturned brows. You breathe out and shake your head. "I can't-" you murmur and he bites his lip, his index finger lightly running on Tsukiko's palm.

"I know." he says, "I just wish- I just wish I had more time, with you and Tsukiko." he whispers in the same soft tone as he conflicted eyes look into yours as if to say. Come with me, leave the jujutsu society, just us, our family.

But leaving with Suguru meant betraying everyone. Satoru, Shoko, Yaga sensei and the entirety of the sorcerers who work day and night for the future. A safe future from people like Suguru. Who heedlessly killed thousands of innocents.

"Go," you whisper out. "the girls must be waiting." You pause, your fingers shakily finding his and his eyes widen. He firmly squeezes your hand, the warmth of his hand against yours rouses and inexplicable pain and fondness in you.

"Satoru must be arriving." you mutter.

He nods his head slowly as he steps away, his voice thick. “I love you." he whispers out. The same words he had denied you the privilege of last time as he leaves...

Moments later a panicked Gojo pulls over, alarmed by your call before his eyes widen as he senses the remnants of Suguru’s cursed energy. His best friend, the strongest along him. Gojo can feel a cold shudder wash down his spine as he senses the remnants of Suguru’s cursed energy in the air, his breath catching in his throat as recognition hits him instantly, realising what may have happened.

You are sitting on the seats on the bus-stand as he comes close.He steps closer to you, his heart breaking upon seeing the dried tear tracks that are on your cheeks and the look of brokenness and despair in your eyes. He kneels down in front of you and gently rests his hand on your knee, his eyes gentle as he looks at you. “Y/N....” he whispers.

“Satoru…” You whimper softly, your voice cracking out of desperation and relief.

He quickly reaches up to pull you into a tight hug, his heart aching at the small, whimpering whisper of his name from your lips and the way your breathing hitches and a choked sob escapes your lips, the rest of your body quivering in his arms from the force of your tears. His arms are locked tightly against your body, keeping you pulled firm against his chest as you cry into your hands and he gently strokes a hand up and down your back. “Hey…shh..it’s okay…I’m here.”

He mutters as he winces, closing his eyes while the remnants of his best friend's cursed energy remains...

A/N: I sincerely apologise for the pain, but I don't have enough money for everyone's therapy.

EXP: Pear symbolism: In Chinese, the word li means both pear and separation, so it's said that to avoid a separation, friends and lovers should not divide pears between themselves.

[watermelonlovershigh]

A Week in the Life with a Broken Foot {part. 17} (housemate!harry series) (FLUFF/SMUT)

A Trip to the ER {part. 16} (housemate!harry series)

AN: i'm really sorry this took so long. this is the longest chapter yet in this series and combine that and the passing of liam, it took longer than i intended. anyways, hope you enjoy and please leave your feedback. next chapter is gonna be very smutty.

This story contains: broken foot obviously, crying, fingering of vagina, brief implications of somnophilia, handjob, attempting sex (but failed), fluff, comfort

{ housemate!harry - boyfriendrry - soft!harry - teacher!harry - au!harry }

word count- 4,764

After breaking your foot on Monday, the first week of your recovery has its ups and downs, but Harry is with you every step of the way.

Harry has been an absolute saint ever since you broke your foot in the shower. When you arrived home Monday evening with a fresh cast on your foot, Harry carried you inside and sat you on the comfy sofa. You asked him when you were gonna have to use your crutches, but he said not very often when he's around. Meaning, he'll carry you wherever you need to go within the house. When you go out in public or when he's just not home, you may have to use your crutches on those occasions and he'll eventually teach you how to use them properly.

Having ensured that you were comfortable on the couch, Harry quickly went to change out of his work clothes, which he hadn't had the chance to change yet since leaving work earlier in the day. After changing his clothes, he went to the kitchen to find a small snack for you to eat until dinner was ready. Although you weren't particularly hungry, he explained that it was essential to eat something with the pain medication you had taken in the car to prevent an upset stomach.

While you munched on some cheese crackers with your foot propped up on a pillow, Pixie resting in your lap, and the tv on some rubbish reality show, Harry started making dinner for the both of you. He had to admit that, after a day filled with adrenaline, he wasn't particularly hungry himself. Still, he recognized the importance of eating something light before going to bed. Plus, any leftovers would be great for the next day when he might not be in the mood to prepare a meal.

Harry decided to prepare your favorite, chicken alfredo. You had gathered all the ingredients during your grocery shopping trip last week, which meant he could whip it up in no time. While cooking, he often glanced into the living room to ensure you were still okay. You eventually had to tell him that you appreciated his concern but would let him know if you needed any assistance. His attentiveness was becoming somewhat overbearing.

After dinner was completed, he prepared two plates and took them to the living room. Harry thought it would be far more practical for you to stay on the couch instead of trying to eat at the table with your large cast, and he was indeed right. Whenever your foot touched the floor, a jolt of pain traveled up your leg. You found yourself wondering how you'll cope when Harry leaves for work each day.

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As the night drew to a close and you finished your meal, Harry offered his assistance in helping you bathe before he entered the shower himself. Since your cast couldn't get wet, you sat on the closed toilet seat while he carefully washed your skin with a soapy cloth. He made every effort to rinse you off adequately from your position and dried you before helping you change into your sleepwear. Although he planned to carry you to bed before showering himself, you insisted on staying in the bathroom with him.

"You just want to see me naked!" Harry said as a snarky remark.

As he entered the shower, white bum facing you, you replied sarcastically, "No, I just don't want to be alone, but also..... maybe I enjoy the view of my naked housemate."

"Boyfriend!" Harry shouted from behind the opaque shower curtain, taken offence that you called him your housemate. Though you once were just housemates, you were well beyond that title now.

Harry finished his shower while you remained on the toilet, waiting with patience. You may have occasionally glanced at him as he washes his body, unable to help yourself due to how attractive he was. As he exited the shower, you watched as he dried off and slipped into a fresh pair of black briefs.

After completing that, you allowed Harry to carry you to bed for the night. He selected your room because, if you needed to use the bathroom during the night, it's conveniently located straight across the hall. In contrast, his room is next to the bathroom but requires a left turn, which could lead to a higher chance of you accidentally hitting your foot on the doorframe or wall.

When you were finally able to lie down for the night, you realized the discomfort that would accompany you trying to sleep with a hard, thick, cast on your foot and leg. Typically, you and Harry would cuddle throughout the night, but the cast presented certain challenges with that routine. On a brighter note, you realized that he could still spoon you, which was a positive.

Harry's gentle fingers glided through your hair, lulling you into a state of sleep. Yet, this night proved to be different; instead of the typical few hours of continuous rest, the pain in your foot, coupled with the discomfort of the cast, caused you to awaken every hour. Each time, the soothing sounds of Harry's soft breathing helped you return to sleep, until you awoke again, then repeat.

---------------------------

On Tuesday morning, Harry was up before you. Being aware of your lack of sleep the night prior, he allowed you to rest for as long as possible while he quietly got out of bed to take care of some business. After using the toilet and brushing his teeth, he went to the kitchen to start brewing coffee, followed by calling the school where he teaches at.

The headteacher (principal) answered the phone with a cheery tone, introducing himself and the schools name, not knowing it was Harry that was calling.

"Hi, Mr. Clarke, this is Harry Styles, a teacher there at ******* School. Yesterday I had to leave early because my girlfriend fell and broke her foot. Well she'll need someone to care for her for at least the first week of her recovery. So I was callin' to let you know I'll need to be out for a few days. I can stop by to give my substitute teacher instructions on what to do in my classroom if you'd like."

"Oh, hi, Harry!" Mr. Clarke spoke when he recognized one of his favorite teachers voices, "I'm sorry to hear that about your girlfriend. And yes, I'm sure we can figure something out with your class. Can you be here around eight? That'll give me an hour to find you a sub for the week and you can instruct them on what to do before your class arrives this morning."

Checking the clock on the stove, Harry replied, "Absolutely, eight sounds perfect. I'll see you then, Mr. Clarke." Following the conclusion of the call, he went about getting dressed for the quick trip to the school. His choice of clothing was not as formal as it would typically be for a teaching day, but it also didn't consist of his usual home attire, which included sweatpants and a t-shirt. Or just briefs if he's particularly hot.

After getting dressed in his own room, Harry decided to stop by your room across the hall prior to leaving and check on you. As he stepped into your bedroom, he noticed you sitting up in bed with a serious frown on your face and tears brimming your eyes. It dawned on Harry that you likely thought he was heading off to work for an ordinary full day.

"Don't want you to leave me." you muttered in a sad tone. You've yet to use your crutches and the idea of falling again while you're by yourself terrified you. Especially if your phone wasn't near.

Harry rounded the bed and gently sat beside you. "Baby, m'not goin' to work my normal shift today. M' just goin' to meet the substitute they're puttin' in my class for the week. Tellin' 'em what to do and all that. I'll be gone no longer then an hour, promise. Just keep your phone on you in case you need to call me for whatever reason."

"Wait, you called out of work? For me?"

Smiling gently, Harry cooed, "Well yeah, of course. You'll need someone to care for you for at least the first week. So m' gonna be out for about a week to stay home and take care of you. Until you can navigate somewhat on your own with that cast on your foot."

Tears welled up in your eyes again at his kindness. "I love you, Harry."

Harry giggled at your sweet confession before he leaned in to peck a kiss on your lips and responded back, "I love you too, Y/n. Do you need anythin' before I leave?"

"Yeah, can you carry me to the bathroom, please? Then take me to the living room to watch tv until you get back. And maybe.... um, give me one of my pain pills. My foot is killing me again." Harry nodded his head and carefully lifted you out of bed to bring you to the bathroom. While you sat on the toilet doing your business, he gave you privacy by getting the couch set up and placed a pill and a glass of water on the coffee table.

You ensured that you flushed the toilet before summoning Harry back into the bathroom to assist you in migrating to the living room. Once you were comfortably positioned on the cushions, with your foot elevated as per the doctor's orders, you took the pain medication. Harry offered you a granola bar to consume alongside your medicine. He then kissed you gently before departing, assuring you that he'd return soon.

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The remainder of Tuesday was relatively uneventful. You felt a growing sense of boredom from being cooped up indoors all day, but the recurring pain in your foot, which returned every few hours, made you reluctant to stray too far from home. Harry arrived back from school roughly an hour after he had left, just as he had promised. With it being a rainy day in London, he pulled the curtains shut and settled on the the couch next to you. You found a new series on Netflix and ultimately binge-watched the entire show by midnight.

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On Wednesday, a noticeable shift occurred. Although it wasn't necessarily bad, it was certainly an unfortunate development in your healing process. The shift in question? You found yourself becoming horny for the first time since your accident. Awakening to a throbbing sensation between your legs and you spent the first part of the day attempting to overlook it. In your efforts to ignore your horniness, you became more irritable, prompting Harry to believe that your mood was merely a result of the pain in your foot resurfacing.

When he asked what you wanted for breakfast, your initial thought was to say him. However, you chose to say oatmeal with fresh berries instead, all the while wearing a deep frown. After your meal, Harry wanted to know what you wished to do next. You considered saying something related to sex, but ultimately opted for watching another movie. The desire to alleviate the ache you felt between your legs was so strong, yet you were nervous about trying anything with your giant cast on, knowing it'll be in the way. Plus, you were afraid your cast might turn Harry off.

Mid afternoon is when Harry finally spoke up. For the past couple of hours he'd watched you toss and turn in your spot on the couch. He'd already asked several times if your foot was bothering you and you'd said no. So now he was genuinely confused as to why you couldn't keep still. "Baby, what's wrong? You sure it's not your foot? I can give you one last dose of your medicine tonight if you need some."

Exhaling in frustration, you came to the conclusion that it was finally time to confess, "Fine, I'm horny, Harry. That's why I keep fidgeting. I've felt this way since we woke up this morning." Your blatant honesty offers him comfort, knowing that your situation is one that he can easily fix.

Harry cackled out a loud laugh, startling Pixie who was sleeping on the arm of the couch. "Really? You've been actin' this way because you're horny? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I just.... not that I'm embarrassed to tell you I'm horny but um, I guess I'm just nervous to do anything with my cast on. I know you said there's many options that aren't actual sex but still..."

Harry turned serious now, seeing how you're actually nervous to get physical since your accident. But you shouldn't worry too much because he has a plan. "Alright, slide your shorts and panties down and spread your legs f'me."

"Hm, what?" you asked, confused on what he was planning to do. Maybe he was gonna eat you out. You'd never be opposed to that.

"Just do as I said." You compiled by lowering your shorts and underwear, which formed a small pile on the floor next to the couch. Harry helped you by gently spreading your legs while you remained seated upright. Your injured foot was elevated on the coffee table, and your other leg rested over his lap. Just as you were about to ask how he would proceed in this position, you were interrupted by the feeling of his hand making contact with your pussy instead.

"Ohh!" you inhaled sharply as his calloused fingers started to make circular motions on your needy clit. He then moved his fingers downward, parting your lower lips and allowing your wetness to serve as a natural lubricant before returning to your clit. The pleasure was overwhelming, as it had been a long day of longing for this very touch.

Harry gave your clit a break for a moment and decided to wedge his middle and ring finger inside your pulsing hole. The thickness of his fingers caused you to throw your head back on the couch and moan loudly as he basically started to finger fuck you. His fingers drove all the way in, then pulled out just to his fingertips before repeating. His palm patted against your clit with each thrust, also giving that attention in a non direct way. You're sure the way Harry had his wrist turned to finger fuck you was uncomfortable for him, but you couldn't care less. All you knew was he was making you feel so good.

Squelching sounds begun to echo in the living room from how wet you were, and that sound alone turned you on even more than you already were. Harry begun curling his fingers up and gently stroking your g-spot, which had you nearly jumping off the couch. The only thing that stopped you was your big ass cast wrapped around your foot and lower leg. "Oh, right there, right there, Harry!"

Grinning, Harry asked, already knowing the answer, "Yeah, that feel good, baby? M' I makin' your pussy feel good? Hm?"

You reached down and grabbed onto his wrist, helping him finger fuck you harder, but also to help you stay grounded. "Yes, fuck yes! Feels so good. I'm about to come."

While staying sat beside you, Harry continued to fuck you with his fingers while he purposely grinded his palm into your clit for added pleasure. That's what sent you over the edge. Just seconds later, you came so hard that Harry thought you might cut his fingers off with how hard you were clamping down on them. He continued to curl his fingers up, stroking your g-spot, and stimulating your clit with his palm, until you couldn't take it anymore and forced his hand away. You were left panting, trying to come back to earth after having been elevated in the clouds for so long.

"Better?" Harry questioned curiously, referring to your horniness.

Still catching your breath, you nodded, "So much better."

---------------------------

When Thursday morning came, you opened your eyes and felt some subtle pressure prodding against your thighs. Struggling slightly due to your cast, you shifted in bed and peeked under the covers, discovering that the object you felt poking you was Harry's morning wood. He seemed to be in a deep sleep, but you still wanted to help him out. Despite your physical constraints, you felt a strong urge to return the favor since he helped you out the day before.

Lying on your back, you reached out and gradually trailed your hand down Harry's soft tummy until it was met with the bulge in his briefs. You wouldn't have proceeded without prior consent; however, you and Harry have previously discussed your boundaries regarding sexual matters. Both of you agreed that it's okay to engage with one another while the other is asleep, knowing that neither would remain in a deep sleep for too long once the activities commenced. Therefore, it's not like you'd be completely unaware while the other person did as they pleased.

Your hand inched down and you proceeded to cup your hand over his hard cock, giving subtle pressure to help ease the discomfort you're sure Harry was in. You moved your hand in a gentle back-and-forth motion across the front of his briefs, observing as Harry slowly came to consciousness. The sensation that fully awoke him was your hand slipping into the elastic of his underwear, your hand making direct contact with his erection.

Harry jolted awake, momentarily taken aback by your touch, but quickly settled as you began to pump his cock in your hand. He raised the blankets to catch a glimpse of your actions. The sight of you jerking him off made his back arch off the mattress, his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. "Baby!"

"Does it feel good, Harry? Felt your boner against my thigh when I woke up and wanted to help you out."

Harry turned his head on the pillow to look at you. Through gritted teeth, he remarked in a slurred voice, "It feels amazin', m'love. Didn't 'ave to though. Would've been fine without this." Even while being pleasured, Harry's concerned about your well-being.

"Shush and let me make you feel good. Know we can't have sex right now but I hope this will do the trick." You retracted your hand to apply some saliva for lubrication, and while doing so, Harry removed his briefs and pushed the covers back. When you placed your wet hand back on his hard shaft, everything was visible now. Due to the bulkiness of your cast, you couldn't lie on your right side, but you turned your head to observe your actions and are very much aware of how your touch was affecting him. Seeings as he was falling apart from your slick strokes.

The rapid movement of your fist caused Harry's stomach to rise and fall with increasing speed, while his breathing became more ragged, accompanied by low moans that escaped from his parted mouth. This moment brought you back to the first time you gave him a handjob, when your relationship was still new and you were trying to take things slow.

You watched as precum started to seep from his flushed tip, prompting you to go faster with the movements of your hand, eager to lead him to his orgasm. Harry begun swearing, "Oh, fuck! Y/n, baby, shit! M' 'bout to come." He uttered a stream of curse words along with your name and terms of affection. You found it rather amusing to see Harry become so affected by your touch.

Abruptly, Harry's back lifted entirely from the mattress, his hands gripped the sheets tightly, toes curling, and a loud roar erupted from deep within his chest cavity. His cock pulsed in your hand before he finally came, releasing several thick streams of cum all over your hand and his stomach. Observing a man in such a raw and vulnerable state was, in your opinion, a remarkable sight, and you couldn't stop staring at him in awe.

Once the final drops of cum seeped from his sensitive tip, you carefully let go of his shaft and turned your attention to Harry's face. The tension in his facial muscles had diminished, contrasting sharply from the intensity he had shown during his orgasm, yet his eyes remained closed. His chest was still heaving, and his body trembled slightly. Given how hard Harry came, you didn't blame how his body was reacting.

After a few seconds, Harry became alert enough to speak. "Need to wake me up like that more often."

You tossed your head back with a chuckle. "We'll see, you eager boy. Let's get you cleaned up so we can eat. I'm starved." And by getting him cleaned up, you meant, he clean himself up because well, you can only do the bare - fucking - minimum in this stupid cast. You can't wait for it to be off.

Harry rose from his bed to retrieve a washcloth, intending to clean himself as well as your knuckles, which were stained with his jizz. He attended to his hygiene in the bathroom and brought a fresh cloth back to your bedroom, where he left you. Upon reaching the bed, he took your hand to wipe it clean, only to find that the cum on your fingers had vanished. "Um, where's the mess that was on your hand?"

You looked up at him, your eyelashes fluttered dramatically as you tried to come off as sweet and innocent. But when you licked your lips and softly said, "Mhm, I told you I was starving," you exuded anything but innocence. Harry might have wanted to be shocked by your act of licking his cum from your hand, but in reality, he's not. He was already aware that you have a dirty side to you.

"You nasty, nasty, girl."

---------------------------

Harry's objective for Friday was to assist you in mastering the use of your crutches for the first time. After your accident on Monday, he had taken on the responsibility of carrying you around the house, but he was only off of work for one week. Despite him being concerned about leaving you alone, he was confident that teaching you to use the crutches would allow you to be more independent. So after spending the majority of the day procrastinating, you made the decision after dinner that he could finally help you practice walking with your crutches.

With your crutches secured in his left arm, Harry reached out with his right arm to assist you in getting off the couch. "Ready?"

Upon standing from the cozy couch, you murmured, "No, but I suppose we need to get this done." You steadied yourself on one foot as Harry helped to place the crutches under your armpits. You immediately felt the discomfort they inflicted on your underarms. Although equipped with a rubber cushion, it offered hardly any relief from the pressure on your underarm bones.

Once the crutches were placed under your arms, Harry stood beside you for support and instructed, "Okay, now try and walk."

You went for the first step but was left clueless on how to even use those things. "Um, do I, how do I....?"

"Basically, move one crutch forward, followed by the other. After completin' that motion, propel your uninjured foot forward while ensurin' that your injured foot remains elevated above the floor." Although Harry's instructions were somewhat confusing, you decided to follow his advice. Your initial attempt nearly resulted in a fall, but fortunately, he was beside you for support, placing his hands on your hips. The second step you took was more successful. "See, you're gettin' better already."

As you kept practicing around the empty space in the living room and down the hall, you groaned, "Yeah, but it's so uncomfortable, under my arms and it's hard to use my strength like this."

"I know, baby. It's gonna be a bit uncomfortable, but remember it's only temporary. Soon enough, your foot will heal and you won't be in a cast anymore. Then we can actually get out the house and do things again."

You made it all the way to the back door at the end of the hall before stopping for a break. "Yeah, like that date you promised."

"Yep, the date where I'll have you in those little vibratin' panties, edgin' you all - night - long."

"Ugh, stop talking about that or you're gonna turn me on."

Harry grinned knowingly, "Who said that was a bad thing."

---------------------------

You practiced walking on your crutches a few additional times that evening before Harry helped you with your bath. In contrast to the first night after your accident, when he helped you bathe while you sat on the closed toilet, he has since used a waterproof covering for your cast, now allowing you to use the actual bath tub. Initially, you felt quite vulnerable having him take care of you like that, but as time passed, you grew more comfortable with his assistance. Plus truthfully, nothing could enhance your feeling of vulnerability more than when he walked in to see the aftermath of your slip that caused your foot injury. That was ten times worse than him casually bathing you.

After your bath and Harry's shower, you got into bed as you normally did. However, shortly after lying down, you voiced, "I wanna try having sex." The mention of that eagerly awaited date earlier in which Harry planned to tease and edge you all night, stirred your excitement, and you craved more than just hand or oral stimulation. You had not yet attempted having actual sex this week since having your cast on. Primarily because you believed it would be impossible, but then you realized you wouldn't know unless you tried.

Harry turned in bed to face you. "You sure? I don't want to hurt you."

You looked over at him and responded, "I mean, I wanna try. I don't know if it'll work or if it'll hurt, but we can see, if you want that is."

Harry agreed and begun getting you ready for sex, not knowing you were practically soaked already. He kissed and caressed your body until he made it to your panties. He had a sly grin from seeing how wet you were. Some of it was from the foreplay, but like you'd said, you'd been wet since this afternoon.

Once your panties were taken off and Harry's clothes were shed, you decided to attempt the classic missionary position, assuming it would be the easiest option. Unfortunately, that turned out to be wrong. The way Harry needed to position his knees was incompatible with the bulky cast on your leg. Each accidental bump resulted in sharp pains shooting through your foot. He wasn't even halfway in when you yelped in pain, having felt your casted leg being stretched beyond its limit.

Realizing that the current position wasn't going to work, Harry proposed, "Let's try spoonin'." He withdrew himself from your pussy and helped you lie down, positioning himself behind you. He made sure your injured foot was against the bed, rather than the foot and leg that needed to be raised over his hip. While he was able to penetrate you fully from this position, his legs kept accidentally bumping into your cast as he started thrusting, despite his attempts to avoid it, resulting in more pain in your foot.

"Ow, ow, please stop." Harry halted immediately, understanding that the discomfort was not stemming from the sex but rather from your foot, which was troubling you once more. Tears began to well up in your eyes as the realization dawned on you that sex just wasn't feasible with your cast on. "I'm sorry."

Pulling out for the second time, Harry sat up behind you and asked, "Why'r you apologizin'? Nothin' to be sorry for."

"Yeah but, I thought maybe we could have sex and obviously we can't. It's all my fault for breaking my foot."

Harry leaned down, hugging your upper body in his arms. "Shhh, it's okay. I told you the day you broke your foot, sex isn't our only option."

"I know and don't get me wrong, your fingers and mouth feel amazing, but is it so bad for a woman to miss her boyfriends cock inside her?"

Harry couldn't help but to giggle at your words. The next six weeks is gonna be hell on earth if you have to go without sex for that long. You just hoped by the end of it all, when you finally get to have sex again, it'll be ten times better after being deprived for so long.

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