#this is way longer than I thought it was gonna be

[snoopychris]

mermaid!reader and coastal grandson!chris' first meeting...

for as long as he could remember, chris and his brothers visited his grandparents at the beach every year. they always stayed for at least 3 weeks, and they never stayed for more than a month and a half. he wishes he could stay all year. he was always more attached to his grandmother than he was to his parents. it was an unusual connection simply due to the old lady being the exact opposite of chris. chris was quiet but confident. his grandmother, lisa, was loud but scared.

he was always more attached to the beach house than his brothers were. he looked forward to the trip every year. even after his accident he could never wait to go to the beach. the florida keys were home to him. more home to him than boston could ever be. matt and nick ridiculed him for it sometimes, but he truly didn’t care. he waited patiently. every single day. 

from a very young age, chris knew. he knew from the first time he visited the age and could comprehend what was going on around him that he’d be a marine biologist. when they were 14, matt nick and chris found a nest of sea turtles. chris refused to leave until they were all safe. his brothers didn’t speak to him for a week because of how long it took.

this trip to the florida keys was different. it was the first trip to the place without their grandfather. and this time chris would get to stay. his transfer to the college of the florida keys had finally gone through and he actually got to stay with his grandmother until he finished school. the only downside was that his brothers had to stay with him during his first semester while he settled in. 

his first week back was just… fine. in reality it was no different than what he usually experienced in the keys, but this time had such a unique feeling to it. he didn’t even know how to begin to describe it. he had been home a lot more than he usually was. by this time in a normal trip he’d have been to the beach at least 5 or 6 times. part of chris thinks it’s just cause he has so much more time here this time around. 

sitting in the room he was working on making his, completely, truly, utterly his, chris was pulled out of his thoughts when matt gently knocked on his door with two knuckles. “grandma gave me the keys to the bronco. nick and i are goin to the beach. y’comin?” matt asks, eyeing his younger brother up and down. matt knew that chris would be ready in less than 3 minutes after asking, but he also knew that after his accident he wouldn’t ever get into the ocean again. for some unknown reason, chris swallows slightly at the question. he had never been nervous about going to the beach. what was going on with him? 

“yeah just lemme change… i’ll meet you outside.” chris replies, bolting towards his closet. he grabs a pair of lululemon swim trunks his mom had gotten him and slips them on, throwing on a random tank top to match. he grabs his pre-prepped beach bag and makes his way outside, both of his brothers already waiting for him by their grandfathers beloved car. chris tosses his bag into the trunk and slides into the passenger seat, gripping onto the window sill. “which beach?” chris questions. the answer didn’t really matter to him. he wasn’t going swimming anyway.

“i… actually don’t know. i was just gonna drive.” matt replies, moving the car out of the long driveway and onto the road. chris shrugs in response and begins picking at his nails, his hair flying all over due to the wind. “y’goin swimming today?” matt mumbles even though he already knows the answer. he and nick both frown when chris shakes his head. they had worried about him for years. every time they thought it was getting better it somehow got worse. at least that’s what they gathered from the vague notes from chris’ psychiatry sessions. 

the drive to the beach was longer than chris expected. the drove something around 30 minutes, only crazy because they were surrounded by sand and water. chris could settle in with a good book anywhere on the soft beige substance. whatever, he thought. upon parking, matt and nick sprinted towards the sparkling blue water. chris settled down next to the bags his brothers had tossed under a random beach umbrella. he lays back, tucking his arms under his head. he takes nicks towel and throws it over his face in order to block out the sun just a little bit more.

he’s never felt more at peace, even with the weird feeling in his gut. it only lasts a few minutes before he hears screaming coming from his left. the towel flies off of his eyes and he looks for the source of the disturbance, and instead of seeing his brothers doing something stupid the way he expected, he sees one of the most beautiful girls he’s ever laid eyes on. butterflies. this entire time he’s been feeling butterflies. his feet carry him over before he can even process what’s happening.

chris grunts when your hand meets his chest, accidentally pushing him down to the sand. “no, stop it’s a sea turtle nest. they’re hatching. don’t touch them.” you speak sternly, meeting eyes with him shortly after. chris quickly stands up and nods, looking around for a big leaf or something big enough to help the small creatures. you’re in a state of shock when you process what he’s doing. you hadn’t realized that you weren’t the only person on the beach that knew how to help the turtles. you send him a small smile and grab one of the leaves he found, guarding the animals as much as you could. if matt and nick weren’t swimming they’d give him the silent treatment again, but he lucked out this time. 

chris glances up at you, noticing the way some of your hair sticks to your face despite the sea shell clips you have holding it back. “i’m chris.” he whispers, continuing the slow walk to the water. you look up at him and nod, licking your lips before speaking. “pearl.” you reply, smiling when the turtles make their way into the water. there’s a lot of small talk that comes naturally to chris on the journey. in the short time he learns that you’re from miami, that your dad owns a restaurant, and that your grandfather on your moms side was an olympic swimmer. 

it doesn’t go unnoticed by chris that you stay far enough from the shoreline that your feet never even touch the wet sand. the moment that chris was cherishing ends quicker than he’d like when nick emerges from the water, standing next to his brother. nick sends you a sweet smile that makes you giggle. there was two of them? when matt exits the water and stands next to you, you panic a little. not because there was now three of them, but he was dripping. you scoot away from him subtly, another action that doesn’t go unnoticed by chris. “chris who’s your friend?” matt asks, his voice laced with flirtatious intent. 

you smile over at the boy besides you, inching away from him again. the second a drop of water falls on you, there’s exactly 30 seconds for you to absolutely book it. you swallow anxiously as you eye the boy beside you, looking up to meet chris’ eyes. the same eyes that match the ocean. “i’ll see you soon, yeah?” you whisper, scrunching your face. chris sends you a nod, and as you begin to walk away you feel drops of water on your wrist. shit. 30…29…

“hey, maybe even i’ll see you again soon?” matt asks, raising an eyebrow at you. 26…25… you gulp but nod rapidly, searching around for some form of out. a big rock within running distance and an out to the ocean. 23… 22… you finally spot one and book it, finding relief when it looks like a maze of rocks. 12… 11… to an outsider, youre probably just a good hider or something. at least you hope. before you know it, your body is fully submerged in the water. the pastel yet fluorescent tail replaces your legs, and the matching top replaces the crop top you were previously wearing. you sigh to yourself but stay in place. nobody’s around anyway. 

when chris spots your seashell clip on the floor, he just knows he’s going to use it as an excuse to chase after you before matt does. he grips onto it swiftly and runs in the direction you just headed in, being met with nothing but confusion when you’re suddenly gone. you heard him running towards you just a few seconds ago and tucked behind one of the big rocks, hoping you were hidden enough. chris sighs as he throws the barrette on the ground, regretfully picking it up after a few seconds. you take the opportunity to duck under the water and swim away, scrunching your face in worry when your tail splashes louder than intended. chris looks up to find the source of the splash, seeing only the tip of your fins. dolphins? no. not this close to shore. he’s so intrigued that he’s just about to follow behind, daring so much as to swim. nick clearing his throat brings him back to reality, and he turns to his brothers. “what’d you see, kid?” nick asks, intrigued in his youngest brothers sudden interest in swimming. chris shrugs as he steps out of the few inches of water he was in, still gripping onto your hair accessory.

“you guys believe in mermaids?” chris mumbles, knowing the teasing about to ensue. matt laughs and shakes his head, patting his brothers back. “mermaids? you’re full of jokes, bud.”

a/n: i finally finally have my puter back! i hope you guys enjoy this au as much as i do. mermaids have always been something im drawn to. kiss kiss! -gen

dividers by @13hoax!!!

tags(reply or message to be added): @throatgoat4u @sturns-mermaid @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @sturniolotoast @mattsbrat @wastelandzella @le4hsblog @mattsd0llfac3 @st7rnioioss @isabellewhatt @sturnslutz @ayesha-eroticaa @freshhhloveee @courta13 @cockettechris

[endereies]

Giving Matt a blowjob after winning a race

“He’s so going to win.” Smoke blurred your vision as the girls vape was blown out her mouth when she smokes. As much as you told her to stop it, she never did.

It was hard to contain a smirk after seeing just which car her eyes following. “Conor? Hell no.” Her eyes stared you down as she took another drag from her vape. You had gone nose blind to the blue raspberry.

“Oh c’mon. Don’t kid yourself, angel. His car has been modified beyond belief; you can’t actually think that Matt is gonna win.” You just giggled at her words,

“Matt has only lost once since I’ve been here. I have m’own prize for him if he wins, I think that’s initiative enough to win.”

“The fuck did you tell him?” The look on her face was a sign enough that she knew what you meant. You nudged her with a wink and the pair of you giggled. “Y’know, I’d call you a slut if you weren’t my friend.”

“You’d do the same thing, don’t even.” You taunted her before it went silent again, the smoke brushing your face again.

Suddenly the roars of engines grew closer. Over the span of the conversation, you just had, 5 laps had gone by and the final lap was drawing to a close. The glowing blue was clearly in front, the LED’s blinding close spectators.

“Go celebrate the win, girl. Have funn…” Sultry tones passed through her voice, but you waved it off and pushed yourself off of the wall and towards the finish line.

You hoist your skirt a little bit higher up your hips and pull back the shirt to expose more of your chest. You weren’t hiding any inch of skin. After all, Matt, as earned it. His car slowly drove past the thick crowd, who celebrated his win. His car was tainted with sloppy, sweaty fingerprints. Once the clearing was made, he exited the vehicle. A streak of hair stuck to his forehead as he stood up, his mouth parted slightly. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he saw me approaching. "Well.. look what the cat dragged in"

"Sturniolo, congrats on the win. Conor is pissed." You lean over his shoulder to see a bitter man be confronted by a few girls already. The same would happen to Matt if you weren't there.

"Mm, I had a real good-looking prize to look forward to, didn't I?" Your gaze stayed on him as he inched closer, one foot in front of the other until he was face to face with you. "Speaking of which, you owe me that right about now?"

"Eager, aren't we?" You tried to hold out longer than you did, but you wanted this with Matt as much as he did. After time, away from each other, it was hard not to jump at the opportunity. Your hand naturally slipped into his, and you started to pull him away from his vehicle to a more secluded area. It wasn't much, just a wall behind an old blocked building, yet the pair of you had used it most times since they shut it off. Otherwise, it was his car.

He didn't argue with the way you pulled his body away from the crowd, he knew that feisty attitude would be gone soon regardless. Once alone, Matt let his weight fall to the brick wall behind him, his skin tightening against the cold. Your hand quickly brushed against his crotch and Matt chuckled at the boldness. It wasn't knew for either of you but he never got used to how it differed from most girls he'd been with before.

"You know what to do, don't you angel?" His voice dripped in faux kindness, the expression said it all. It didn't take long for your body to sink itself to its knees, the gravel embedded into your skin. It was hard not to smile at the effect you had on him, his arousal visible through his clothing. "Had me fucking thinking 'bout you throughout the race. Bet you get off on that."

You chuckled at his words, he wasn't wrong. Matt had only lost once since you had joined his equation a few months ago. The thought of you waiting there, dedicated to him in that moment made his brain fuzzy. "mm, you know me so well..."

By now the teasing of your hands drove him crazy, his hips thrusting upwards to indirectly tell you what he wanted. "Does Matt want his reward?" You hummed sweetly at him, he did too until he suddenly dropped any warmth. A hand wrapped into a bundle of your hair, tugging on it slightly.

"You're gonna be a good girl for me now, after all... I earned it." Now he was the confident one, staring down strongly, his way of subtly showing his control. With one hand in your hair, the other shifted to your cheek, cradling the skin. However, you obliged, toying with the fabric of his jeans and unbuckling the belt. Soon, you had hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers and dragged them down until they hit the floor.

The sudden cold made Matt hitch but the warmth of your palm dragged a new sound from his lips. You started slow, stroking at the base to get him hard. His head lolled back to meet the wall, a gracious smile upon his face. That was satisfaction enough to keep going. The other hand rested just above the other, twisting as you jerked him upwards and downwards.

Continuing the pattern, you tightened your grip on him slightly. Your mouth came dangerously close to where he really wanted it yet you let a ball of saliva drip off your tongue and onto the centre of his dick. A wet feeling covered the majority of his dick until you slid your hand over the slit for the first time. The precum made your hand move slightly quicker, causing stimulation to run through him.

"Such a fuckin' tease. Shiiiit..." The pace continued, torturously slow. Suddenly, your pace faltered and Matt brough his head back up so he could look at your actions. He barely got a look in before he saw your lips wrapped snugly around the tip of his cock. You sucked it carefully and ran your tongue directly over his slit. He wasn't shy about being vocal, even in public places and now was no exception. A low groan slipped past his lips as you took him in your mouth.

You pulled off, pumping him again in your hand, your fingers over his tip didn't give him the same feeling as your throat, the wet heat of your mouth felt heavenly. He huffed out a laugh, displaying his attitude towards your constant teasing. Before he got the chance to speak up, you took him in your mouth once more, deeper than the last. Both of you knew that you were planning your every move. You had done this far too many time to not know how to toy with him. "Does that feel good."

Matt grumbled at the idiocy of the question. "You just crave the validation don't y-" You cut him of by squeezing his tip with your hand, grinning at his sensitivity. "Fuuuuckk.." Matt's face flickered into one of pleasure, his head reeling at the state he was in.

Once he had regained himself enough, he tugged again on the strands of hair in his grip. "Let's put that pretty mouth to good use, shall we? C'mon, open your mouth - good giirrlll..." You shut up only to obey his words - opening your mouth and letting your tongue lie flat. That's when Matt took the opportunity to thrust half of his dick into your mouth. He moaned softly as he pushed himself further into your mouth, causing a weak gag from your throat.

You bobbed your head, matching his motions. Slowly but surely, you took more and more of him each time until he rammed what was left down your throat. Tears pricked at your eyes, clenching them shut at the air restriction. He held himself there before pulling away again. A sharp intake of air followed while a trail of saliva made its way down your chin. Your head bobbed slowly again, showing Matt you were ready for more. With permission, he jolted his hips deep into your mouth.

Matt was no longer bitching to you - groans and whimpers pushed into the air instead. Sensations enveloped all of him, your lips, swollen and plump with the constant friction against his dick. They were wet with precum and saliva, gathered like a lip-gloss. Your hands between his thighs for stabilization and the base of his dick, rubbing and jerking anything you couldn't fit inside. Finally, your eyes, maintaining such an innocent look to such a sinful activity.

"Feels s'good, taking me s'well." His words of praise slurred into one. M'close... wan' me to cum in that sweet mouth, angel? Would you like that?" You tried your best to nod to him and hummed in approval, moaning around his dick. He laughed quietly, a constant expression of bliss on his face. His thrusts grew deeper again, giving you minimal chances to take a deep breath of air. He knew you'd tap out if you needed it.

He let out a particualary loud moan as you traced your tongue over a prominent vein before sucking his tip relentlessly. He couldn't help the way his pelvis tapped your cheeks, the gagging sound doing no good for his brain.

"M'gonna cum! Shiiit.. you- you ready?" Speech was a weakened skill with his impending release and you could tell by the way he twitched inside of your mouth. By now, you knew just how long it would be until he came. So, about ten seconds later you took all of him, as much as you could. You suppressed the gagging feeling and replaced it with the feeling of his cock deep inside your throat, prodding at the skin.

He came with a low, sustained groan before they morphed into quiet whimpers. The substance was pumped into your mouth and you swallowed it with pride. Removing your mouth, you opened it to prove that every bit was gone. Your hand continued to pump him, milking him dry until he grew overstimulated.

His hand lay in abandon next to his torso, no longer in your hair. His chest heaved in exhaustion and you rose to your feet. Your hand finally pried itself away from his dick and landed on his jaw - pulling him in for a sloppy kiss only so that he could taste himself on your lips. He grinned tiredly into it, his tongue brushing against yours momentarily.

"I bet you really enjoy winning now." You helped him lift up his boxers and jeans, letting him buckle them back up.

"Your prizes are better than any trophy, angel." You nudged his side with your elbow. "Better than the money?"

"Don't push your luck."

[cloudyluun]

Office Hours | professor!harry

Summary: Harry's got a reputation on campus, and you're curious to find out if the rumors about the enigmatic literature professor are true. When a question about your essay turns into an unorthodox lesson, you realize Professor Styles might be able to teach you more than you bargained for.

A/N: This is my first fic / one shot, i'm don't really know yet if i'm gonna give it a part two, hope y'all enjoy!

Word Count: 2,5k

Warning: Smut (oral sex, rough sex, unprotected sex), praise kink, forbidden romance, power dynamic, fluff

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The classroom is bathed in warm afternoon light, the sun filtering through the tall, arched windows of the university’s historic building. The scent of old paper and the faint scratch of pen on paper fill the room as Professor Styles—Harry to his colleagues, but only “Professor” to his students—leans against the oak desk at the front. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing toned forearms etched with faint tattoos, an unorthodox sight in this bastion of academia.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” he calls, his voice a honeyed baritone that pulls your attention away from your open notebook. The way he says your name, deliberate and slow, sends a shiver down your spine. “Do you have any thoughts on the passage from ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ we just discussed?”

You’ve been half-distracted the entire lecture, tracing the curve of his jaw and the way his fingers tap idly against the desk. Caught off guard, you scramble to remember the last ten minutes of discussion. Clearing your throat, you respond, “I think... Wilde is emphasizing the moral corruption that accompanies vanity?” Your voice wavers slightly, but you hold his gaze.

Harry’s lips twitch into a faint smile. “Interesting interpretation,” he murmurs, eyes scanning you for a beat longer than necessary. “But I’d argue it’s more about the fear of aging and the lengths one goes to preserve youth.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. It’s not the first time he’s challenged you in class, though it always feels personal when he does. You’re not sure if it’s his teaching style or something more deliberate. Either way, the air between you has always felt charged.

Class ends shortly after, and as the other students trickle out, you linger, pretending to adjust the strap of your bag. You’ve been looking for an excuse to speak to him alone, though your intentions blur the longer you’re near him.

“Was there something else, Ms. Y/L/N?” Harry’s voice breaks your train of thought. He’s still leaning against the desk, arms crossed now, his stance casual but his gaze anything but.

“I just…” You hesitate, clutching the strap of your bag tighter. “I’m having a little trouble with the essay prompt. I was wondering if I could get some clarification?”

He tilts his head, regarding you thoughtfully. “Of course. Why don’t you stop by my office during office hours tomorrow? We’ll go over it in detail.”

Disappointment flickers in your chest. You were hoping for a conversation now. But then he adds, “Unless you’d prefer to discuss it now?” His voice dips lower, and there’s a glimmer of something in his eyes—something that makes your pulse quicken.

“Now works,” you say quickly.

He gestures for you to follow him out of the classroom, leading you down the hall to his office. It’s a cozy space, lined with shelves overflowing with books. The scent of leather and faint cologne lingers in the air. Harry moves behind his desk, unbuttoning his cuffs as he sits, rolling his sleeves further up his forearms. He gestures to the chair opposite him.

“Have a seat.”

You sit, your legs crossing nervously as you pull out your notebook. Harry watches you intently, the silence stretching until it feels heavy.

“So, what specifically are you struggling with?” he asks, leaning forward slightly. His tone is professional, but there’s an undercurrent of warmth that makes it impossible to focus.

“It’s the part about…” You trail off, struggling to articulate your thoughts. His presence is so overwhelming that the words tangle in your throat. “About how morality ties into aestheticism.”

Harry nods slowly, his gaze unwavering. “A complex question. But you’re more than capable of handling it.”

The compliment catches you off guard. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he says, and there’s a softness to his voice that makes your stomach flip. “You’re one of my most promising students, Ms. Y/L/N.”

The tension in the room shifts. His eyes hold yours, and for a moment, the space between professor and student feels dangerously thin. You shift in your chair, the leather creaking beneath you. Harry’s gaze flickers to the movement, then back to your face.

“Thank you,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

The air between you thickens. You’re acutely aware of every movement, every breath. Harry leans back in his chair, running a hand through his curls. “You have a lot of potential,” he says, his voice lower now. “I hope you realize that.”

Your heart pounds in your chest. The way he looks at you is no longer just that of a professor evaluating a student. It’s something else entirely.

“I… I appreciate that,” you say, though the words feel inadequate. Your gaze drops to your notebook, but you’re too flustered to concentrate.

Harry stands suddenly, the movement making you look up. He rounds the desk, leaning against its edge in front of you. The proximity is intoxicating.

“Tell me something,” he says, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Do you enjoy my class, Ms. Y/L/N?”

You nod quickly. “Yes. Very much.”

His lips curve into a small smile. “Good. I’d hate to think I’ve been wasting my time.”

The double meaning in his words isn’t lost on you. Your breath hitches as he steps closer, his knees brushing yours. The tension is electric now, the lines of propriety blurring with every passing second.

“Professor,” you start, your voice trembling, “I should…”

“Should you?” he interrupts softly, his eyes searching yours. “Or do you want to stay?”

Your resolve crumbles under his gaze. “I want to stay.”

His smile deepens, and he steps even closer, his hands resting on the arms of your chair, caging you in. The scent of his cologne is heady, making your thoughts swim.

“Then stay,” he murmurs.

Your heart is a wild drumbeat in your chest as he leans down, his lips brushing yours in the faintest, most tantalizing whisper of a kiss. You’re frozen, caught between disbelief and desire, until his hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up to his.

The kiss deepens, slow and deliberate, his lips soft but commanding. Your hands find their way to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. He pulls you to your feet, his arms wrapping around your waist as he backs you against the desk.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers against your lips, his voice ragged. “If this isn’t what you want, tell me now.”

But stopping is the last thing on your mind. You shake your head, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer.

His lips trail down your jaw, to the sensitive spot beneath your ear, as his hands roam your body. Every touch is purposeful, igniting a fire that burns hotter with each passing moment.

“Professor Styles,” you breathe, and he groans at the sound of his title on your lips.

“Harry,” he corrects, his voice a low rumble. “Call me Harry.”

You comply, his name falling from your lips like a prayer as he lifts you onto the desk, his body slotting perfectly between your thighs. His hands slip beneath your blouse, exploring the soft skin of your waist, and you arch into his touch.

The world outside his office fades away, leaving only the two of you tangled in a web of forbidden desire. You know the risks, the consequences, but the pull between you is undeniable, impossible to resist.

Harry’s hands hover at your waist, his hesitation palpable as his eyes search yours for reassurance. “We don’t have to do this,” he murmurs, his voice rough, almost pained. “You can tell me to stop.”

Instead of answering, you cup his jaw, your thumb brushing against the stubble on his cheek. “I don’t want you to stop.”

He exhales sharply, as if he’s been holding his breath, and then his lips capture yours again. This time, the kiss is slow, measured, as though he’s trying to savor every second. His hands grip your hips lightly, his fingers twitching as though he’s holding himself back. The weight of his restraint is intoxicating, the tension between you mounting with each tentative touch.

“You’re sure?” he asks, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

“I’m sure,” you whisper, your voice steady despite the wild beat of your heart.

That’s all it takes. Harry’s lips move with more urgency, his hands finally roaming your body with intent. He traces the curve of your waist, the small of your back, the soft skin of your arms, as if committing you to memory. Each touch ignites a spark, a slow burn that consumes you both.

When he lifts your blouse over your head, his movements are careful, reverent. He pauses, his gaze sweeping over your exposed skin, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

You’re not sure who moves first, but suddenly his shirt is gone, and your hands are exploring the taut muscles of his chest, the intricate tattoos that adorn his skin. He shudders under your touch, his breath hitching when your fingers trace the line of his collarbone.

He leans in, his mouth brushing over your collarbone, the curve of your shoulder, his lips pressing tender, lingering kisses to your skin. The slow pace is maddening, the anticipation coiling tighter with every moment.

“Harry,” you breathe, your hands gripping his shoulders. “I need…”

“I know,” he cuts you off, his voice low and thick with want. “I’ll get you there, love. Just… let me take my time.”

And he does. He maps your body with his lips and hands, his touch alternating between featherlight and firm. When his mouth finds your breast, his tongue teasing your nipple, you arch into him, a soft moan escaping your lips. His hand trails down, his fingers skimming the waistband of your jeans, hesitating again.

“Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice a strained whisper. “Say the words.”

“I want this,” you say, your voice unwavering. “I want you.”

The sound he makes is low, guttural, as he unbuttons your jeans and slides them down, taking your underwear with them. He stands back for a moment, his eyes dark as they rake over you. “You’re breathtaking,” he murmurs, almost as if in awe.

When he lowers himself to his knees, his hands grip your thighs with more force, his hesitation giving way to something more primal. He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, then slowly works his way up, his stubble grazing your sensitive skin. By the time his mouth reaches your center, you’re trembling with need.

His tongue flicks out tentatively at first, testing your response. When you gasp and tangle your fingers in his curls, he grows bolder, his tongue tracing deliberate patterns over your folds. He circles your clit slowly, his movements maddeningly precise.

“Harry,” you moan, your hips bucking against his mouth. He groans in response, the vibrations sending a jolt of pleasure through you. One of his hands slides up your thigh, his fingers teasing your entrance before pushing inside. The stretch is delicious, and you can’t help the way your body arches toward him.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he mutters against you, his voice muffled. His fingers curl inside you, finding that spot that makes you see stars. He alternates between thrusting his fingers and flicking his tongue over your clit, building you up slowly, methodically.

“Don’t stop,” you plead, your voice breathless.

“Never,” he promises, his pace quickening. The tension in your body builds and builds until it snaps, your orgasm crashing over you in waves. Your thighs tremble around his head, and he holds you through it, his movements gentle as he helps you come down.

But he’s not done. He rises to his feet, his lips glistening as he kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His hands are on your hips, lifting you onto the desk, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

“Tell me how you like it,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough.

“Hard,” you admit, your nails digging into his shoulders. “I like it rough.”

His eyes darken, and a wicked smile curves his lips. “Careful what you wish for, love.”

He unbuckles his belt and frees himself from his trousers, the sight of him making your breath catch. He’s thick, hard, and achingly ready, and the anticipation makes you clench around nothing.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, his voice soft despite the fire in his eyes.

“I can take it,” you assure him.

He pushes inside slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust. The stretch is intense, and you’re grateful for his patience. Once he’s fully seated, he stills, his forehead resting against yours as you both catch your breath.

“You feel incredible,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips. He starts to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate, each one pushing you closer to the edge.

As your moans grow louder, his restraint slips. His movements grow rougher, his pace unrelenting as he drives into you. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mingling with your cries and his grunts of pleasure.

“Look at you,” he growls, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you closer. “Taking me so well. So fucking perfect.”

You’re lost to the pleasure, your body meeting his thrusts eagerly. The desk creaks beneath you, the sharp edge digging into your back, but you don’t care. All that matters is the way he feels inside you, the way he’s unraveling you piece by piece.

“Harry, I’m so close,” you manage, your voice breaking.

“Come for me,” he commands, his voice rough. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing tight circles that push you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes through you, your body clenching around him as you cry out his name.

The sensation is too much for him, and with a guttural moan, he follows you over the edge. His thrusts grow erratic as he spills inside you, his head dropping to your shoulder as he pants against your skin.

For a long moment, neither of you move, the room filled with the sound of your ragged breaths. Finally, Harry lifts his head, his eyes soft as he looks at you.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” he says, though his tone lacks conviction.

You smile faintly, your fingers brushing through his curls. “But we did.”

He chuckles, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “And I’m not sure I can stop wanting you.”

“Then don’t,” you whisper, pulling him back in for another kiss.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Thank you so much for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like ❤️‍🔥

Part 2

taglist: (join it here)

[tobesolonely]

untitled angsty but then sweet piece...

hello guys!! it's been like over a year lol. I was going through my google doc and found this and I feel like I never posted it? so now I am posting it. maybe this can be a part 1 but also we know I'm great at starting multipart stories and not finishing them so lets see

૮₍ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ₎ა

warnings: none (~1.2k words)

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

“You're just gonna ignore me then, babe?”

Y/N continues silently puttering around in the kitchen, going out of her way to make sure her back remained turned on Harry. There weren't many ways to get under his skin, but throughout her years of being with him she learned that being on the receiving end of the silent treatment usually made him fold pretty quickly. She was annoyed with her husband and the fact that he seemed clueless as to why made her even more upset.  

“I take your silence as a yes?” 

More puttering. More re-wiping the already clean counters. Starting the tea kettle. Washing her hands. Anything to not acknowledge Harry, really.

“I can’t make it better if you don't tell me why you're so upset, love,” he takes a tentative step toward her. “I know we've been together for ages but I still can't read your mind. Think ‘m gettin’ real close, though.”

This is said jokingly, and she knows her husband is just trying to dissipate the tension that's thick in their kitchen, making the spacious room seem impossibly small. She doesn't acknowledge his joke, doesn't crack a smile because that would give him too much satisfaction. Nothing made Harry cockier than being the reason for Y/N’s laugh, a sound so sweet she’s pretty sure he’d forbid everyone on the planet except him from listening to it because he wanted it all to himself. He always told her it was music to his ears.

The fact that he doesn't even know what he did is what finally causes her to break, muttering about how fucking ridiculous he is under her breath. It's not lost on Harry. 

“Now you've moved on from ignoring me to cursing at me?” he sounds more curious than upset, taking another step toward her. She backs away, defensively crossing her arms over her chest and she doesn't miss the way Harry’s brow furrows at the action. “Can y’please tell me what I did, Y/N? Please?” When she looks down at the ground, ignoring his please, he begs some more. He’s not above groveling, really. 

“Please, angel? Lemme fix it,” his eyes are wide and wild as he wildly searches hers for some clue as to what he did wrong. “Tell me-”

“Am I always just gonna come second with you?” 

She can almost see the wheels in her husband’s head turning, knows he's choosing his words carefully before he speaks so as not to upset her any further. 

“Okay, love,” he runs a ringer hand through his hair. “Can you be a little bit more specific?”

“We had plans this afternoon, Harry. We were gonna try that new café that just opened. I was looking forward to it,” she doesn't care if this makes her sound selfish and childish. “I know you were working and I know you how much you love to do that, but sometimes I feel like-”

“Don’t even finish that thought,”  Harry cuts her off and his tone is sharp, calloused. “That’s not true.”

“You know, at first I was worried something happened when you didn't show,” Y/N continues like she didn't hear him. “But then I realized nope, you probably just forgot or couldn't get out of another meeting. Just like always.”

A look of sadness flashes across Harry’s face, which quickly transforms to indignant anger. “Don't throw this in my face, Y/N. You know how much I hate that.” 

“So I’m supposed to be mindful of the things you hate, but you can't be mindful of the things I hate?”

“You don't get it,” he mumbles under his breath, growing increasingly done with the conversation the longer it drags on. “You're not in the industry. I can't just always leave-” 

“Then blame it on me! Make me the bad guy, Harry,” she finally turns all the way around to face him completely. “The people you work with get to see you more than I do…the fans…” Y/N trails off, letting her unfinished thoughts hang limply in the air. 

It’s quiet between the couple for no more than thirty seconds, but it feels like a lifetime. Harry breaks it first - he always does. He inhaled a deep shaky breath, trying to call forward the breathing techniques his therapist taught him to use in high-stress situations. Right now counts as a high-stress situation. 

“You’re right, angel,” the pet name slips off his tongue easily which comforts Y/N. Harry’s not as upset as she thought he was. He’s still her Harry. “That’s not fair of me, is it?”

All Y/N can do is shake her head, lower lip jutted out. She knows if she tries speaking she’ll start crying, and she doesn't want to cry. All she wants is for Harry to understand. Harry however, knows her too well. He knows the look she gets on her face when she's trying really hard not to cry and he knows she goes silent because she doesn't trust her voice not to come out shakey. He decides to continue talking.

“I should've called you and let you know I’d be late- or told you we needed to reschedule. I’m sorry I left you hanging, darling.” He pauses, selecting his next words very wisely. Harry knows his wife is sensitive. The last thing he wants is for her to think he's blaming her for anything. “...but it seems like this is about more than me missing our lunch. Which, again, I'm very sorry about. I'm taking you wherever you want for dinner tonight and I'll make you dessert when we get home. Let's talk more about this though, yeah?”

“You also have to be in charge of picking up after Hershey for a month,” Y/N responds with a small smile on her face. Hershey was the couple’s tiny brown poodle who was the cutest puppy in the world. “Thank you.”

“Mmm,” Harry hums, knowing his wife was trying to keep the conversation lighthearted since she hated confrontation. Since being with Harry her communication skills have improved tremendously since he was so good at it and wanted to talk about everything, but healthy communication clearly still didn't come as easily to her. “Talk to me, angel. What’s this about?”

Harry’s in front of her now, arms wrapped limply around her waist. He walks her backward until the small of her back hits the counter then he tells her to, “jump” so he can lift her onto the counter. Once she's situated he settles himself in between her legs and places his arms back on their place on her waist. Harry looks intently into Y/N’s eyes and she knows she won’t be leaving that spot until she tells him what's bothering her, so she just says it.

“I want a baby.” 

Harry raises his eyebrows in quick surprise before breaking out in a wide grin- the kind that causes his nose to scrunch up and wrinkles to form around his eyes. 

“You want a baby? W’ me?”

Y/N doesn’t return his smile, which quickly makes Harry’s turn into a frown.

“Why don’t you look happy?”

Y/N sighs, her eyes avoiding Harry’s. He gently places his index finger under her chin and pushes it up, forcing her to look into his eyes. He’s desperately searching his wife’s eyes, trying to figure out why she isn’t more excited about coming to this big decision. Harry has been ready for years of course, but he never wanted her to feel pressured.

“You’re never here, Harry. I don’t want to feel like a single mom.” Y/N looks down again and Harry doesn’t lift her chin back up this time. In fact, he doesn’t say anything. It’s silent for what feels like a couple minutes but is actually maybe only twenty seconds, the faucet leaking being the only sound heard throughout the whole house.

“Y/N…love,” Harry inhales a shaky breath, removing one of his hands from her hip to run his fingers through his curls. “I never want to make you feel like you’re alone. Not just with this, but…with anything.” Harry gently knuckles away a stray tear falling down Y/N’s cheek. 

“I know you don’t mean to make me feel this way, H. I guess it’s just what I signed up for when I married a popstar, yeah?” Harry can tell Y/N is trying to lighten the mood, but he doesn’t like that he’s the reason for he feeling this way.

“You didn’t “sign up” for anything, love. I’m your husband and you’re my wife and we’re supposed to be there for each other through it all, good and bad.” Y/N opens her mouth to say something but Harry gently pinches her hip, muttering for her to let him finish. “I want a baby with you. I want everything with you, Y/N. I want to be here for everything. I’m going to be better about being here.”

“H…I love you and I know you’ll try, but you’ve said this before-”

“I’ll take a break, babe. Cancel everything,” Harry’s talking faster now, excitement about his plan evident in his voice. “We’ll focus on ourselves and start our family. Go out of the country and leave my bloody phone here, if you’d like.” Y/N giggles at that, which makes Harry give her a big, dimpled grin.

“Will it be okay? With Jeff and everyone?” Although Y/N’s sure people on Harry’s team won’t be happy with his sudden change in plans, she can’t deny how charming the idea sounds. She could already picture them at their favorite villa in Italy, the one Harry purchased as a wedding gift to her and where they spent their unforgettable honeymoon. In all honesty, she’s surprised they didn’t get a baby out of that trip.

“Let me worry about that. You just worry about buying yourself some new bikinis, yeah?” Harry places a lingering kiss to Y/N’s jawbone. “Perhaps a few things for me to rip off you too, hmm?”

✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿ … ✿°•∘ɷ∘•°✿

hooray for happy endings :')

[sosasturns]

doordashin (extended) - c. sturniolo

an epilogue to doordashin: sosa’s one month anni special !!!

it had been a few days since your unexpected “tip” situation with your ex-doordasher, chris, and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t replaying in your head. the guy had left an impression—one that lingered a little longer than you cared to admit. maybe it was the way he handled you like he’d done it a thousand times before, or maybe it was the smug grin he threw over his shoulder as he walked out your door. either way, he was stuck in your brain rent-free.

you weren’t expecting to hear from him again, so when a random text from an unknown number popped up while you were lounging on the couch, your heart skipped a beat.

unknown: u still hungry?

you stared at your phone, trying to process the text.

you: who’s this

you: ?

unknown: it’s chris. u still hungry or nah?

your lips twitched at the message, a mix of amusement and intrigue bubbling in your chest.

you: for food? or for something else?

unknown: idk u tell me.

you couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face.

you: depends. you deliverin’?

unknown: i might be. what’s the order?

you bit your lip, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. part of you wanted to keep it playful, but another part—the one that still remembered the way his hands felt on your body—wanted to see just how far this could go.

you: surprise me.

two hours later, your phone buzzed again.

chris: outside.

you put your phone down and headed for the door, your stomach doing a little flip as you opened it. there he was, leaning casually against the frame, a brown cvs paper bag in one hand and that same cocky grin on his face.

“miss me?” he asked, his voice smooth as ever.

“not even a little,” you teased, stepping aside to let him in.

“damn,” he said, shutting the door behind him. “thought i left more of an impression than that.”

“you left somethin’,” you admitted, crossing your arms. “but i’m not sure it was an impression.”

he chuckled, setting the bag on your counter. “got jokes, huh? we’ll see how funny you are in a minute.”

“what’s in the bag?” you asked, nodding toward it.

“a little bit of everything,” he said with a shrug. “figured you might be hungry for real this time.”

you smirked, leaning against the counter. “that’s cute.”

“i’m a thoughtful guy,” he said, stepping closer.

the space between you disappeared in an instant, his hands finding your waist as he pulled you flush against him. his blue eyes locked onto yours, a playful glint in them.

“so,” he murmured, his voice dropping, “you tryna tip me again, or what?”

you rolled your eyes, though the heat pooling in your stomach betrayed your disinterest. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re stallin’,” he shot back, his grip tightening.

“fine,” you said, pushing at his chest playfully. “but if you’re gonna keep comin’ around, i’m gonna need you to up your delivery game.”

“oh yeah?” he asked, his lips brushing against your ear. “what’s miss picky got in mind?”

"guess you'll find out," you whispered, fingers curling into his shirt as you leaned in, your lips brushing over his.

the grin on his face widened, smug as ever, but before he could say anything cocky, you reached up and tugged his fitted cap off, tossing it onto the couch. his shaggy hair stuck out in every direction, messy and perfectly him. his eyes darkened, the playful glint now mixed with something deeper as he slid his hands down the curve of your waist.

"you playin' games wit’ me, girl?" he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

"nah," you said, your fingers sliding into his hair, giving it a soft tug. "just wonderin' if you can back up your shit talk."

his lips twitched, but he didn't waste time with words. instead, his hands shifted to the backs of your thighs, gripping firmly as he lifted you effortlessly. a surprised gasp left your lips, but it melted into a laugh as he smirked up at you.

"we'll see who's talkin' shit in a minute," he muttered as he started walking. the direction he was going wasn't clear-at least not to him.

"where's your bedroom?" he asked, his tone casual, as if he wasn't currently carrying you like you weighed nothing.

you couldn't help but laugh, your arms wrapping tighter around his neck. "down the hall, second door on the right."

"got you," he said, adjusting his grip as he made his way down the hall.

when he reached your room, he nudged the door open with his foot, stepping inside before letting you down onto the edge of the bed. his hands lingered on your hips as you looked up at him, your heart racing in anticipation. his hair was messier now, the faint glow from your bedside lamp casting shadows across his sharp features.

"you good?" he asked, his voice soft but edged with mischief.

you nodded, your breath hitching as his hands slipped under the hem of your shirt, brushing over your bare skin.

"good," he murmured just before he got right into it.

it was fast. dirty. intense.

there was no slow build or soft touches. his hands gripped your thighs, pulling your legs over his shoulders as he worked you open with his mouth. his tongue was skilled-almost too skilled-drawing whimpers and moans from you like it was second nature.

"can't stay still, huh?" he teased, his fingers digging into your skin to keep you pinned. "relax, baby. let me take care of you."

you couldn't relax, not with the way he devoured you like it was his last meal. your head fell back against the mattress, a gasp escaping as his teeth grazed your inner thigh.

"chris," you choked out, your hips bucking against his face.

his grip tightened, one hand sliding up to press against your stomach, holding you in place. "mm-mm," he muttered, his voice muffled but firm. "stay still."

he didn't give you a chance to recover. before you could catch your breath, he was flipping you over, pulling your hips up so your knees dug into the mattress. his hand wrapped around your ankle, yanking you back against him.

"arch that back for me," he ordered, his tone low and commanding.

you obeyed, your body moving on instinct as his hand slid up your spine, pressing down to deepen your curve. the cool air hit your skin, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off him.

"good girl," he muttered, his fingers digging into your hips as he aligned himself with your opening.

the first thrust had your jaw dropping, a broken moan spilling out as he filled your pussy completely. there was no easing into it—he set a brutal pace, each snap of his hips driving you further into the mattress.

"look at you," he grunted, his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp slap, watching your pussy practically swallow him whole. "takin' this dick s’good."

his hands were everywhere.

one moment, his fingers were gripping your hips so tightly you were sure there'd be bruises. the next, they were wrapping around your throat, pulling you upright until your back was flush against his chest.

"keep that ass movin’," he murmured in your ear, his hand squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch.

your thighs trembled as you did your best to keep up, your body grinding back against him. the way he was handling you-manhandling you-had your head spinning. every touch, every word, every rough thrust sent shivers down your spine.

he wasn't just fucking you; he was fucking you. his hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "thought you said you could handle this shit," he teased, his voice dripping with cocky amusement.

"shut up," you managed to stammer, though your voice was barely a whisper.

he breathed out a breath of amusement sexily, his grip tightening as he pushed you closer to the edge. "nah, you like this shit," he said, his tone low and rough. "you love it."

you couldn't deny it—not with the way your body was reacting to him. every nerve was on fire, every thrust sending shockwaves through you.

"just like that," you gasped, your fingers clawing at the sheets as your body trembled.

he didn't stop. if anything, he went harder, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh, lifting your leg slightly to hit a new angle. the change had you crying out, your body convulsing as the pleasure became almost too much to handle.

you came hard, your body collapsing against the mattress as waves of ecstasy washed over you. ‘n he still didn't stop. his pace slowed slightly, but his movements were still deliberate, dragging out every last bit of your pleasure.

"c’mon, shawty," he murmured, his voice rough. "one more for me."

your body was already trembling, but the way he moved, the way he touched you—it was impossible to say no.

"chris-" you started, but your words were cut off by a sharp moan as he brought you right back to that same point.

"that's it," he said, his hand sliding down to grip your jaw, tilting your head back slightly. "come on this dick… come on, mamas."

you didn't know how long it lasted. by the time he finally pulled out, your body was spent, your limbs tired as you lay on the bed, trying to catch your breath.

"damn," he said, his voice filled with smug satisfaction. "y’lil’ ass is somethin' else."

you managed to glare at him, though the effect was ruined by the way your chest was still heaving. "fuck you."

he laughed, reaching for his clothes. "you already did, baby."

@ sosasturns

“sosa mafia” taglist: @submattenthusiast @sophand4n4 @secretlocket @mrsdillonx @ch6rm @sweetrelieef @gabri3la-sturns @allmylovc @sturn777 @et6rnalsun @faiyaz555 @whore4mattsturniolo

[southern-gothic-comic]

Page 92

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(Author's Notes)

Panel 1: At the mouth of the alleyway are the three riders from the beginning of the chapter: a dragonborn with a musket, a rogue, and a war cleric of the Raven Queen.

Cleric: burn the abomination cleanse the stain of the unholy Matron lend me your holy fire burn them both

Gunslinger: We'll give you one chance, purple girl. You can come back to Gelvaan peacefully, or in pieces. Up to you.

Imogen: You sure about that? Your righteous friend there seems to be thinkin' awful hard about settin' everything on fire.

Cleric: Witch! Begone from my thoughts!

Gunslinger: You're only wanted for questioning -- so far. And to be straight with you, you're worth more alive than dead. So I'd prefer to settle this the easy way, if it's all the same to you.

Panel 2: Imogen puts out her arm to shield Laudna. From an overhead perspective we can see there’s not another way out of the alley.

Imogen: If I come with you, what's gonna happen to Laudna?

Gunslinger: . . . You named your zombie? That's kinda messed up.

Imogen: She's not a zombie!

Cleric: The undead abomination is to be destroyed.

Imogen: No deal, then.

Gunslinger: what is even going on with this thrall she's got it dressed up all nice is this a kink thing ugh gross

Cleric: unclean unclean unclean

Rogue: haha what a freak

Panel 3: While Imogen tries to think Laudna starts cajoling her silently.

Laudna: Imogen, go. Please. Take the chance while you can.

Imogen: No!

Laudna: I'll be all right. I've gotten out of tighter spots than this before.

Imogen: Laudna, I am not leavin’ you.

Panel 4: Imogen grits her teeth, struggling to sort her own thoughts from the tangle of everyone else’s.

Rogue: What's it gonna be, sweetie pie? What do you wanna do?

Gunslinger: Might be easier to kill 'em both and figure it out later have to get 'em back to Gelvaan to collect the bounty though maybe just the hair?

Laudna: Imogen just go I'll be all right

Cleric: Matron of holy death, in your name shall I strike down this affront to the sanctity of the grave and destroy this monster

Rogue: Dibs on her coat

Imogen: I want --

Panel 5: Unable to stand it any longer, she presses her hands to her ears and screams, reflecting the cacophony back at everyone.

Imogen: -- everyone to just SHUT UP for a minute!

Panel 6: The unintended psychic onslaught of “witch, freak, monster” reverberates into the mind of the nearest person -- Laudna. She recoils in pain and fear, her eyes spilling over with inky tears as a trickle of blood starts from her nose.

[pandapetals]

hii!! i thought maybe you could do a little oneshot of logan giving reader a massage?? thanks :p

Hi! I love this. How could I not.

logan howlett x fem!reader - fluff, playful banter, logan giving a massage, no y/n used, no reader description

“I’m fine,” you said for what felt like the hundredth time, though the fifth roll of your shoulder betrayed you. The stiffness refused to let up, sending another sharp twinge of discomfort down your back. You winced but quickly masked it with a sigh. “I just slept wrong, that’s all.”

Logan cocked an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was debating whether to smirk or argue. “Uh-huh.”

You shot him a glare. 

“You don’t look great pretending you’re not in pain,” he shot back, his gravelly voice tinged with exasperation. Before you could protest, he was on his feet, crossing the room with that unhurried, predatory ease he always carried. He plucked the book you were holding right out of your hands and tossed it onto the coffee table, ignoring your indignant squeal.

“Logan—”

“Sit,” he commanded, his tone brooking no argument as he gently but firmly steered you toward the sofa. “And don’t start with the stubborn routine. You’ve been wincing all damn morning, and it’s startin’ to make me twitchy.”

“I wasn’t wincing!”

“You winced every time you reached for your coffee,” he deadpanned, nodding toward the mug on the table. “And don’t get me started on the sound you made when you dropped your phone. What was that, a squeak or a groan? Sounded like a distressed squirrel.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, though you tried to smother it with a scowl. “Fine, fine. You win. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” he said dryly, but his expression softened as he sat down behind you. His large hands settled on your shoulders, the weight of them warm and grounding. “Now relax, or this ain’t gonna work.”

You tried to relax, really, but the moment his thumbs pressed into the knot near your shoulder blade, your breath hitched. “Ow, okay, that’s—ow—Logan!”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he drawled, not sounding remotely sorry as his thumbs worked deeper into the knot. “Guess I’m not as gentle as a spa masseuse. But hey, they don’t come with claws, so you’re still gettin’ the better deal.”

“Debatable,” you muttered, though the tension in your voice softened as his hands moved with practiced precision. The roughness of his palms was offset by the surprising care in his touch, strong enough to work out the knots but never crossing into actual pain. The sharp sting melted into warm, almost pleasant. You exhaled slowly, letting your head tilt forward as he worked.

“See? Told ya you were wound up,” he said, his voice quieter, almost soothing. “What’d you do, sleep on a bed of rocks?”

“It’s called side-sleeping,” you mumbled. 

“Yeah, well, you ain’t meant to twist yourself into a pretzel while you sleep.” His hands shifted, his knuckles brushing against the back of your neck as he started working down the curve of your spine. “Next time, maybe don’t fight me when I tell ya to stretch after training.”

“Next time, maybe don’t spar like you’re trying to kill me.”

“That was me going easy on ya,” he teased, the low rumble of his laugh vibrating against your back. “Admit it, you’d miss me if I wasn’t around to kick your ass.”

You cracked a grin despite yourself. “I’d miss you if you didn’t know how to give a killer massage, that’s for sure.”

He snorted, his hands pausing as if to consider whether to keep going or make you regret the quip. Finally, he gave your shoulder one last firm squeeze, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“Good as new,” he said, leaning back and folding his arms over his chest. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

You rolled your shoulder experimentally, surprised at how much lighter it felt. “Okay, okay, fine. Thank you, Logan.”

“Damn right.” He grinned, leaning forward to ruffle your hair before you could stop him. “Now quit makin’ that face before it sticks, or I’ll really give ya somethin’ to wince about.”

[evoscancelled]

📣PLEASE LISTEN!!!!📣

I have a request

Okay so like Maddie Nolen ponytail orgin. Imagine reader always wears her hair (preferably longer than maddie's) in a ponytail and one day decided to put one in Maddie's hair and reader was gushing over how cute she thought it was and how it was like a bobcat tail. Maddie started wearing a ponytail ever since, just because her girlfriend loved it so much

Pretty please 🙏

of course anon!

men dni!

maddie nolan x reader

content: AFAB/fem!reader, fluff, reader is mentioned to have longer hair (hair type NOT mentioned), reader is briefly mentioned to be taller than maddie but not by much, established relationship, mentions of wanting to marry her

characters: maddie nolan

synopsis: waking up next to maddie and then getting ready in the morning, when reader wants to give her girlfriend a ponytail in her hair.

writers note: such a cute idea! I love her fuckass ponytail I NEED HER. I love women with accents.

—

maddie nolan x reader fluff

—

—

waking up next to maddie was so sweet, the way she clung to you, the way she nuzzled her face into the crook of ur neck. the little sounds she’d make was adorable, little moans and groans from the early and groggy morning feeling. she was practically ontop of you with her leg over your hip.

she is not a morning person, she doesn’t like the way that even if she is so comfortable, in her little hibernation, she’d have to leave your warmth each morning. she hated it.

when the alarm would go off, she’d groan, trying to stop it as fast as she can so you wouldn’t wake up— five more minutes was all she wanted. rolling back over into your arms as her eyes fluttered closed, squeezing you tightly

“mmmh…” you grumble, “goodmorning..”

you kiss her on her forehead and run your fingers through her hair, so soft, so pure.

“morning, love.” she kisses you back, but on your cheek.

“I can’t believe it’s time to wake up already, yeah?”

“I don’t wanna get up..” you smile, “few more minutes?”

“mmmmmmmmmh… let me think… yes.”

you giggle to eachother, getting comfortable once again and wrapping your arms around one another.

———————————————————————————

finally out of bed, you two brush your teeth next to eachother, chatting about what to pick up for breakfast on the way to work.

“love, you want tacobell for breakfast? that’s a lot for first thing in the morning, don’tcha think?”

“starbucks? they have good coffee— obviously, and they have some good sandwiches.”

you stand tall behind her, slouching down to put your head on her shoulder as you look at her in the mirror, wrapping your arms around her waist.

“starbucks sounds good. mhm!” she turns around and reaches up to put her arms around your neck

“your gonna make us late, aren’t you?”

“maybe, if I get lucky?”

she giggles at that, kissing your neck and then turning back around to continue her morning skincare routine.

“awh, dangit.”

you brush through your hair, grabbing a hair tie to put your hair in a ponytail,

“why don’t you ever do anything different with your hair, mads?”

“well I don’t have as much hair as you do, im not sure what I’d do with it anyway,”

“here, let me see.”

you stand behind her once again, gathering her hair back into a small little ponytail, giggling and kissing the skin on the back of her neck.

“now atleast some of it is out of your face?”

she looks in the mirror back at it not quite sure how to feel about it yet until you—

“ur so cute!!” you hold her face with both of your hands

“it’s like a little bobcat tail!!”

and with that she blushes, deciding that’s how she’d wear her hair for the rest of forever.

“now we’re matching, aren’t we?”

“ur like one of those crazy ginger cats.”

“I am not!” she giggled, guys her accent I can’t she’s so wife

“if that’s what you’d like to think, babes.” you give her a peck and get dressed into your work clothes as she does the same

she was so adorable with her new hairstyle, the way it was tied back, how soft it was, how pretty she looked with it, her natural color complimenting her skin tone.

god you loved her— no matter what ambessa says you don’t give a fuck if you are in a relationship with somebody you work with— you were marrying her.

“I think I like it, yeah?”

you pick her up, holding her by her hips while she wraps her legs around you,

“you sure are pretty.”

“you are so flirty this morning.”

“that a bad thing?”

“mm-mm, I like it.”

“yeah?”

————

01/12/25

@canontypicalgoblins — I hope you like it!

[sabsberries]

I love you, I'm sorry - h.s.

summary - Harry's ex girlfriend comes over to pick up her belongings after their breakup

w.c - 2.2k

warnings - swearing, angst, use of Y/N, lowkey didn't proofread, and lowkey rushed ending...

Harry couldn't decide which was worse: the breakup itself, or watching her walk around his house, barely digging below the surface of his belongings, and picking out anything that was hers.

"Do you want a drink? I've got tea, coffee, water.." His voice trailed off slightly as she looked at him, his train of thought slowing down and his throat tightening.

"I'm okay, thanks. Did you want to keep this?" She questioned, picking up a golden picture frame containing a photo of the first time Harry met her family. He was in the middle of the photo, a huge, dimpled smile on his face with her mum's arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind, her sister on his left, and Gemma on his right, a similar smile adoring her own face.

Harry looked at it for a few seconds, his eyes squinting in acknowledgment. "Better not," he mumbled. "You know.."

"Right." She whispered, placing the picture frame into a nearby box and standing up, cursing at the way her knee loudly clicked.

Harry chuckled, curling his lips inwards slightly. "You still haven't gotten that checked out?" He laughed.

"Shut up! I'll get around to it!" She giggled, moving her leg slightly.

"Please, you could barely finish our hike when we were last in LA! I heard more whining about your leg than I heard of them actually walking!"

"That doesn't even make sense!" She laughed, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise that he would even mention a memory of them from when they were dating. "And if I recall correctly, I finished that hike faster than you did!"

Harry smiled to himself, his hands twitching to stay by his side as they laughed. "I actually have your hiking boots upstairs, if you still want them."

Her smile dropped slightly, and Harry's heart twinged. Why would he bring that up when they were having such a good time together?

"Right. Well, I'll get round to it. I'm gonna go get my stuff from the kitchen." She smiled weakly, grabbing a slightly smaller box and making her way through the house and to the kitchen.

The living room looked like it had before she had moved in, and Harry didn't like that. He didn't like the way the fireplace no longer had her trinkets on top of it, or how the coffee table was now left empty, bar from the TV remote and a candle she insisted Harry should buy.

"Shit." He whispered, his eyes darting from corner to corner, analysing the loss of her items, the loss of her.

"Harry, was the bee mug yours or mine?" He heard her call out.

"We both had one. Take either." He replied, his eyes never leaving the box on the floor, half full with photos.

"Okay, I grabbed the pink one because I think the purple one was yours. I think all that's left is the bedroom and the bathrooms." Y/N sighed, walking back into the living room and putting the box down next to the others.

Harry stayed silent, his eyes focusing and unfocusing on the boxes that surrounded him.

"Harry?"

"Oh, right. Yeah," He cleared his throat and turned around. "Let's go do that."

The bathrooms were easy. Y/N grabbed a few shower products from the three with showers, and then the remaining skincare products, which she forgot to grab the night they broke up, from the ensuite.

The bedroom, however, was not.

Throughout the four year relationship, Harry and Y/N managed to muddle up just about every single item of clothing they owned. Graphic t-shirts once owned by Harry? Now Y/N wore them too. Hoodies Y/N had accumulated over the years? Harry owned them too. So, as Harry sat on the bed feeling as useless as ever whilst watching Y/N struggle to decipher whose clothing was whose, he felt the ache in his chest come back.

"I think most of the hoodies are yours, anyway." He called out after a good fifteen minutes of silence.

"Yeah?" She mumbled, throwing him a brief look over her shoulder before pulling a few more off of the hangers.

"Yeah," He whispered. "Well, everything on the right side is yours. Maybe some on the left too. I tried to organise them before you got here so it wouldn't be as hard."

That was a lie. He had spent the two hour notice he got from her muddling up as much of their things as possible so that she would spend more time with him.

"Thanks." She smiled.

"I washed a few of them too so you don't have to worry about that, either."

Another lie. In fact, he sprayed a couple with his cologne and put them over to his side of the wardrobe so they'd smell like him for longer.

"You really didn't have to, H."

"I know."

The silence came back, but this time, Harry's chest didn't hurt as much. Sure, his heart felt as heavy as ever, and he felt dizzy from how much pain was circulating his mind and body, but it wasn't as bad as before. That was a win in his eyes.

Y/N knew Harry. She knew him better than, as cliche as it is, she knew herself. She knew he had sprayed her clothes with his cologne, and that she hadn't put her moisturiser in with Harry's, or her favourite perfume under the sink with a significant amount missing. But who was she to judge? She had just broken up with him, and maybe if things had worked out differently, she would be sat on that bed with him, gossiping about some family drama and planning out future holidays together.

"Mum's thinking of adopting a new cat." Harry smiled.

"What- another one?"

"Well, that would be what the 'new cat' means." Harry laughed, crossing his right ankle over his left.

"Oh, piss off. How come?"

"Dunno. She called me this morning and told me about it. She said she couldn't wait for you two to discuss it over lunch."

"Really?" Y/N questioned, dropping the hoodie she was folding and turning around to face Harry. "Did you not tell her?"

Harry's face fell ever so slightly, and for a split second, she felt bad for bringing it up.

"Not yet. I think I'll let the joys of a possible new cat wear off before I tell her. Gemma knows though, and she's so fucking pissed." Harry breathed a laugh, tilting his head to the side slightly as he pictured the angry look on Gemma's face as he snatched her phone off of her to avoid an angry phone call to Y/N.

"Oh, I know. She called me on the drive here telling me I was making a mistake."

"What'd you say?"

"Not a lot, really. She's your family. I'm not going to use this as leverage to get her on my side." Y/N explained, and turned back around to continue folding and packing.

Harry stayed silent for a few more seconds before opening his mouth to speak. "Do you really think she'd even be on your side, even if you had told her it?" His tone was nothing short of bitter, a harsh contrast to the playful tone he was sporting prior.

Y/N didn't speak. Part of her felt like she didn't have the right to, and the other part was telling her to finish packing and leave.

The silence this time was worse. It was heavy, and painful, and now, her fault.

"Do you uhm-" She cleared her throat, "do you want this?" She asked, pulling out one of his t-shirts which she had been sleeping in since the first night she had ever slept over at his house. The collar had been stretched out, and shrunk too many times in the wash for Harry to even comfortably fit his biceps in, but she still felt as though she should ask.

Harry looked at her, taking a mental note at the way her eyebrows were furrowed, and the way her eyes were slightly hazy, and off focus. He felt his expression drop to mirror hers as he flickered between the t-shirt and her face as he tried to think of an answer.

"Harry just keep it, I need to get going." She mumbled, zipping up the duffle bag and standing up.

"Got somewhere to be?" He scoffed. Truth is, he didn't actually know where the anger was coming from. The breakup was civil for the most part, and both him and Y/N walked away happy with what they had left behind.

Y/N continued to stay quiet. The plan she had created in her head on the drive over didn't include even a hint of an argument, so she wasn't sure she'd have an idea of what to say if one did start.

The walk down the stairs was pure torture. It felt as though Harry scoffed with every step she took, and her heart was about to explode with embarrassment over how fast the situation turned on her. 

"I'm gonna put this in the car. I'll be back for the rest." She whispered, barely looking Harry in the eyes before darting out of the door.

Harry's eyes welled up with tears, and no matter how much swallowing and sniffling he did, the ache in his throat didn't seem to budge. "Okay, I- fuck." he whispered, covering his face with his hands and turning around to walk back to the kitchen, taking advantage of the dark kitchen and using it to cover his face.

"Harry?" Y/N called out.

He cleared his throat and pulled open the fridge, putting his head inside and using it to hide the way he was frantically wiping at his eyes.

"In the kitchen."

The patter of her footsteps was soothing, in a way. Harry hated that he found comfort in her being back in their, his, house again for the first time in God knows how long.

"I finished all the boxes." She whispered.

Harry turned around to face her. Her eyes were red and puffy, and the way that her lower lip was slightly quivering made him wish that their situation was different, and that he was still allowed to hug her, and tell her she was okay, and that he was there for her.

He nodded. He wasn't quite sure what to say in this situation. He had had serious relationships before, both of them had, but this was the only one that made Harry feel seen, and understood, and like he had really found the one.

The sun had set fully by now, and the only light in the room was the open fridge and the faint glow from the moon.

"Am I ever going to find out the real reason why you broke up with me? Or are you going to keep it to yourself for a year and then call me up and tell me on a random Tuesday? Because, Y/N, if we really were ‘growing apart’, don't you think I would have felt it too?" Harry spat at her, watching the way her eyebrows furrowed, and her mouth opened slightly to defend herself.

"Oh, please, Harry! Don't act like you're the victim in this!" She yelled back.

"What, and you are?"

"No! Neither of us are! Just because I'm the one who insinuated this doesn't mean the breakup itself wasn't mutual! Harry, how am I supposed to spend the rest of my life with someone when I can't even spend right now with them?"

Harry knew it was coming. Her reason for the breakup was that they were growing apart, arguing all the time, and were no longer the same people they were when they began dating all those years ago. Harry's reasoning for the breakup was, well, nothing. He didn't have a reason. If he had it his way, they'd be cuddled up in bed right now, Y/N showing him a video of someone falling over, and him searching Netflix for a movie for them to watch. But that’s the issue - you can’t force someone to be in a relationship that they so clearly don’t want to be in.

"Why couldn't you have figured this out before I planned out my whole life based on you being in it?" Harry muttered, staring at his feet as his eyes filled up with the tears he previously had tried to shun away.

The fridge began to beep before Y/N could answer, and, as painful as it was, she used that as her cue to leave. 

"Okay, Harry, I really need to go. I'm sorry. I'm really fucking sorry." Y/N said, wrapping her arms around her lower stomach and trying to control her rapid breathing.

She hesitated before leaving, and turned her head over her shoulder to look back at him. His face was emotionless, bar from the tears dripping down his cheeks, and his eyes were unfocused, staring at the kitchen floor. The fridge was still beeping, and Y/N knew that despite it annoying him, Harry only kept it going because it was better than the silence. The silence was the real killer.

"Call me if you ever need anything, okay?" She took a deep breath. "I love you, Harry. I'm sorry."

[sunsetsover]

of course! like i said to you already i think it's so interesting that they differ so strongly on these points considering how aligned our opinions on things have been so far!! and it's fun tbh !! and likewise i would never want to change your mind either, but i also i wanted to address the stuff you brought up just to see how vastly our opinions differ

like it's just so weird bc i don't see what you see at all. i've always got the impression bison is kinda just like 'urgh ok let's do this then' when it comes to killing. like it's a chore. like he's being put out every time they have to do it. even in ep 1 i got the immediate impression that he would've rather been literally anywhere else than in that hotel room w that guy, and was out of there literally as soon as he could be, and i just personally wouldn't think that he'd be so eager to get it over and done with and leave if he was getting any kind of joy or satisfaction out of it, yknow? like wouldn't he be radiating satisfaction after a job well done? wouldn't he wanna bask in the afterglow a bit?

and i'm definitely not gonna sit here and pretend that it's bc it bothers him and he's morally opposed to the killing !! i don't think it's that at all, he definitely dgaf abt killing ppl and wants out for purely selfish reasons, we agree there, but i've never thought 'oh he likes this' beyond that one moment in that first scene, and again, i don't think that was a killing thing but a power thing. bc he was relieved when fadel turned up and they could get it over and done with, and again, he was out of there at the first opportunity. to me there was never any satisfaction there, it was just a job to be done.

even in that gif i don't see what you see, though i CAN see how you see what you see, if that makes sense? like i get where you're coming from, there's definitely a contrast, but i personally look at that and think well. fadel's bigger and likely stronger, and the guy he's knocking out is already unconscious and no longer fighting. bison is smaller and the guy he's dealing with is putting up a fight. that face, to me, is literally just him struggling physically. so i think what you're reading as enthusiasm to me is just the contrast between fadel and bison as people: fadel is stoic, and bison is dynamic. fadel shuts up and gets on with the task at hand, bison struggles and complains and huffs. but that, as far as i'm concerned, is just their personalities and nothing more.

although, weirdly enough, i definitely get what you said abt the sadism thing. it's something i've gone back and forth abt myself, and i still haven't made my mind up yet - whether the two are separate in bison's mind or not. either way, i think to me there's a difference between taking pleasure in killing and taking pleasure in hurting people. i think if the two were conflated, we would see that manifested by now. like he'd be fucking with people a lot more during these hits if there was a connection i think. instead all he does is do his job and move on. i think if anything bison gets off on the psychological aspect of it all as opposed to anything physical, but that would go back to control and power, which is what i've always said is bison's thing. i don't think that really has anything to do with the actual killing part of the equation personally.

i also don't think bison views lilly as evil or disbelieves her! but i also don't think he's.... enthusiastic in his part in all of this? he's not like keen. but i think that leeway is necessary when it comes to bison. it's not bc she likes him more or treats him special bc she acc considers him special, i think it's bc lilly is clever and she knows the harder she tries to rein bison is the harder he's going to fight, so she gives him the illusion of power, of referential treatment. she lets him question her to her face with no real repercussions. but that's not bc she likes bison, it's bc she knows how to manipulate him. she knows how to manipulate fadel too. and while i said he's under her thumb, i didn't really mean it in the sense of him being on her side, but rather fadel - at least to me - is far more caught in her trap than bison is. yes fadel lies, but i don't think he's being strategic so much as he's doing everything he can to not rock the boat. probably bc he's already rocked it once and paid the price. if it wasn't for bison - and by extension kant and style - fadel would have been perfectly fine (maybe not fine but ygm) leaving everything exactly the way it was. he literally says that, both to style during his confession and to bison last ep. and ok he's definitely lying abt how happy he was w the way things were, but the point still remains that he had no intentions of changing anything. which is why i wouldn't say he's strategic at all, bc that to me implies he's planning something, and fadel clearly wasn't. he didn't even wanna let bison ask for a break.

and while i don't disagree that bison probably does trust her more than fadel given everything, i don't think the fact that he speaks up has anything to do w that personally. i think that's literally just a personality thing. i don't think being sneaky is bison's thing - it's why he struggled so much pretending to be in love with kant after he found out the truth while fadel seemingly had no problem w it at all. bison's outspoken bc that's literally just who it is. i don't think him going behind her back - or anyone's backs - is really an option for him, esp not for long periods of time. (also im just not sure what you mean abt fadel going behind her back? fadel lies to her abt the dating thing, but as far as i can remember any sneaking fadel is doing bison is also doing, so am i blanking? have i missed smth?)

i think it all boils down to what you view as enjoyment, i view as just fundamental personality differences between bison and fadel and how they express themselves. which is fun! i love the difference! it's what pushes us to expand our own views of these characters ! i just thought i'd expand on this bc obv i was limited in the tags and you know i loveeeee to talk 💞

just woke up in a cold sweat because i think i’ve realized exactly what all the fucking religious symbolism is actually pointing out and like hoooooly shit. holy shit.

the fact that bison wears a jesus shirt in his fantasies of killing kant has been nagging me since the moment i realized it and i think i’ve realized why it is - and the reason for all of the things pointing towards and symbolizing bison as jesus.

it’s because that’s how bison views himself. not as actually jesus and the second coming, no, but he views himself as righteous, as a reckoning for all these people that they kill. he believes their mother when he says they only kill bad people, and that’s why he gets so much enjoyment out of it, why he involves himself far more in it than fadel, who always detaches himself. it’s why he delights in the idea of killing kant now, fantasizes about it, because he thinks that’s what’s right. kant betrayed him, and he’s a good person. he’s righteous. so that means kant deserves to die for it.

and that’s why kant is judas the betrayer AND john the beloved. because when bison knows it’s coming and turns a blind eye, he views himself the same way as jesus turning a blind eye to judas’s betrayal. and he’s the one the makes kant into john the beloved finding the tomb empty first because he hides from him (notably after kant had confessed to not wanting to lie to bison anymore)!

bison views himself as righteous. as jesus.

but he’s not. because jesus would never take joy in killing anyone. jesus would never have fun with it, in the same way bison does. and even if he did, jesus wouldn’t want to stop to date.

but you know who doesn’t take joy in any of it? who detaches himself from it? who seems, in the very least, suspicious of their mother?

you know who’s birthday is on christmas?

fadel. and if fadel is jesus… then bison can’t be. actually, i think that might make bison far closer to judas the betrayer. and that’s just awfully poetic, isn’t it? because didn’t judas think he was doing the right thing, too, when he sold jesus out? when he took money in exchange for telling the soldiers which one jesus was? just like bison thought he was doing the right thing when he told kant to get fadel off his back. just like he exchanged his brother for a lover and took them both down in the process.

[izumkay]

~BETWEEN MISSIONS AND DESIRE~

—SATORU GOJO

Pairing- Satoru Gojo×Gn!Reader

Summary- After a grueling mission, you find yourself alone in a hotel room with Gojo. What starts as playful teasing quickly shifts to lingering stares and unspoken desires, the tension between you impossible to ignore. As the night deepens, the lines between banter and something far more intimate blur, leaving you questioning how much longer you can resist him.

Word count- 1.1k

Warnings- Flirty/Suggestive themes, Sexual tention, mild language, no explicit content (just kissing)

The hotel room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the soft rustling of sheets. The dim light from the bedside lamp flickered lazily, casting a warm glow over the two of you lying in bed. You had just finished a mission with Gojo—another one of those intense, action-packed days that left your muscles sore and your mind buzzing. But now, it was late, and all you wanted was to rest before heading back home in the morning.

Or at least, that's what you thought.

Gojo, as always, had other plans.

"Yo, you asleep?" His voice came from the other side of the bed, playful yet a little too loud for the silence of the room. He was lying on his back, one arm behind his head, the other resting on his chest, staring at the ceiling like he was waiting for something—waiting for you to respond.

You rolled over, one eye barely open, groaning in the dark. "No, not really," you muttered, your voice still thick with sleep. "You just woke me up."

Gojo chuckled lightly, his deep voice cutting through the quiet. "Ah, sorry. But you know I'm not gonna let you sleep that easy. I've got too much on my mind."

You raised an eyebrow, turning your body fully toward him, your eyes now wide awake despite the exhaustion still weighing on you. "You really can't sleep after everything we've been through today?"

A grin spread across his face, and you could just feel the mischief radiating from him, even in the dark. "I could," he said with a hint of teasing in his voice. "But I'm more curious about what's going on in your head. You know, after all this time... we never really talk about the serious stuff."

You blinked, unsure whether he was being serious or if he was just trying to keep you awake for no good reason. "What kind of 'serious stuff' are we talking about here, Gojo?"

His eyes shifted toward you, and you could feel his presence intensify, his usual playfulness suddenly replaced by something more... direct. "I mean, like... us," he said, the words slipping from his lips with ease, like he'd been thinking about them all day. "We've been through a lot together, but we never really talk about what this is. What we are."

You didn't know how to respond. The tension in the room shifted, subtle but unmistakable. You had always been close with Gojo—your friendship was solid, built over years of shared experiences—but this felt different. The way his voice softened, the way his gaze lingered a little longer than usual. It was like something was simmering just below the surface, waiting to boil over.

"Gojo, what are you talking about?" You shifted slightly, trying to act casual, but the tension was already in the air. You could feel the heat of his body beside yours, the slight shift in the way he moved.

"You know what I'm talking about," he said, his voice low now, almost a whisper. "I mean, it's not just me, right? You feel it too. The way we're always close. The way we can't seem to stop wanting to be near each other."

Your heart raced in your chest, your body instinctively shifting closer to his, despite your mind screaming at you to stay in control. "Gojo," you whispered, your voice barely audible, "You're really bringing this up right now?"

He let out a soft laugh, one that was equal parts teasing and genuine. "Why not? We're stuck in a hotel room, it's late, and neither of us are getting any sleep. Might as well talk about it."

You shifted again, now facing him fully. Your eyes locked in the dark, both of you silently acknowledging the tension that had been building between you for God knows how long. The playful banter, the constant flirting, the way your proximity always seemed to mean something more. It was like the lines between friendship and something more were blurring, and neither of you had ever had the courage to address it.

"Okay, fine," you said, voice steady despite the fire building inside you. "So, what do you want to talk about, Gojo? You wanna talk about the fact that you're driving me crazy?"

He smirked, his hand moving from behind his head to rest on your waist, his touch light but firm. "I think you know exactly what I want," he murmured, leaning closer. The heat of his body was undeniable now, and you could feel the rapid beat of his heart.

For a moment, you just stared at him, the silence thick between you two. And then, without another word, his lips crashed against yours, hot and demanding. It was like all the tension, all the unspoken words, had finally found their release. His hands moved to pull you closer, the kiss deepening as you melted into him, every inch of your body craving more.

But as much as you wanted to give into it completely, you managed to pull back, your breath coming in shallow gasps. "We... we can't just do this, Gojo," you said, your voice shaky but firm.

Gojo's lips curled into that signature smirk, even in the dim light. He didn't move, didn't pull away, but his tone was lighter now, a challenge in his voice. "Oh? So, you're telling me you don't want this?"

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing, but you kept your gaze steady. "I want to sleep. Do you want to be the reason I'm grumpy tomorrow?"

Gojo paused for a long moment, and then he let out a soft laugh, the heat between you two not yet gone but temporarily put on hold. "Fine," he said, leaning back into the pillows, his arm still around your waist. "But don't think this is over."

You smiled, breathless but satisfied. "I wouldn't dream of it."

And just like that, the night resumed, the mission, the heat, the tension—all put on pause for just a little longer as the two of you settled into the quiet comfort of the room. But neither of you could deny what had just started, and neither of you were in any hurry to stop.

A/n- hoped you like it! Sorry for ruining the fun, let's not ruin sleep!🤭

[melanchol1cs]

NO LONGER MINE TO HOLD.

leon kennedy x reader

word count: 1.1k summary: can a heart still break once it's stopped beating? masterlist | taglist | wips

no major warnings. mentions of death, greif, depression, not too explicit but descriptions of what it feels like to be in a coffin, kind of angsty(?)

a/n: i’m gonna cry i’m actually running out of lace dividers so don’t mind me reusing the old ones i’ve made </3 ANYWAY so sorry i forgot to post this, had alot going on this week but my schedule has pretty much cleared up

the engagement ring still sparkles on your finger, catching faint light that filters through the cracks, like stray beams breaking through the slats of a coffin. it shouldn’t. you shouldn’t see light anymore, not from this angle, not buried in this strange in-between.

it’s strange how death works—how the weight of the ring lingers, heavy and familiar, while everything else has faded. you can’t feel the warmth of leon’s hand, only the echo of it, as though it’s reaching for you through layers of earth, clawing at the emptiness where you used to be.

you thought death would be… cleaner. lights out, cue the credits, fade to black. you thought death meant silence—the cool weight of the dirt pressing you down into nothingness.

no one tells you it’s like this: stuck, suspended, neither above nor below. a ghost with nowhere to haunt. you can feel the world moving above you, every step leon takes a muffled tremor through the fabric of your absence. and you can’t dig your way out.

it’s cruel, honestly. you didn’t sign up to be an audience to your own absence. you didn’t sign up for any of it.

the first few weeks are agony. leon is a wreck. you’d try to comfort him if you could, but there’s no way to bridge the gap now. you’re here, and he’s there, and no matter how much you want to reach out, to brush his hair back from his face the way you used to, you can’t. so you watch.

the apartment becomes a kind of tomb, sealed off and stagnant.

he’s quiet now, quieter than you ever remember him being. no more humming while he brushes his teeth. no more off-key singing in the shower. no more dumb little jokes about how you take up the whole bed when you sleep, even though you knew he was worse.

your toothbrush still sits on the bathroom sink, your sweater still drapes over the chair, your mug is still in the sink, the laundry basket still smells like you, but he hasn’t touched it. not yet. he can’t.

instead, he sits in the dark most days, nursing half-empty beers he never finishes, staring at the wall like he’s waiting for it to speak.

he walks through the place like a man carrying his own casket, shoulders slumped, each step slow and heavy.

and his sobs come at night, muffled but raw, like they’re clawing their way out of him. you try to reach out, but there’s no breaking through.

you’re trapped beneath the weight of everything you left behind—his love, his sorrow, the life you didn’t get to finish.

it’s not that you expected him to bounce back right away—he loved you too much for that—but you didn’t think it would be this bad. it’s like he’s disappeared along with you, his laughter, his joy, his everything swallowed up by the void you left behind.

you thought this would be the worst part.

the grief. the silence. the way his hands shake when he turns the engagement photo face-down because he can’t stand to look at it anymore. you thought this was the hardest thing you’d ever have to endure.

you were wrong.

because time doesn’t stop for grief. it doesn’t stop for love, or for loss, or for you. it marches on, dragging everyone with it, no matter how much they resist. leon is no exception. slowly, almost imperceptibly, things start to change.

it’s the small things at first. the toothbrush disappears. your clothes get packed away, though he leaves your favorite sweater in the back of the closet.

he doesn’t sit by the window as much anymore, staring out at nothing. the framed photos of you slowly disappear from the walls, though the empty space it leaves behind feels louder than any picture ever was.

that one photo stays face-down for months, until one day it’s gone altogether. he starts going outside more, answering calls from friends, taking the time to breathe. it should make you happy. it’s what you always wanted for him.

and then, one day, he laughs.

you feel the shift like a crack in the foundation, a split in the earth above you.

it happens at the coffee shop you used to love, the one with the mismatched chairs and the too-sweet caramel lattes.

he’s sitting there, alone at first, until she shows up. she’s soft-looking, with kind eyes and a nervous smile, and she spills her drink all over his table.

you expect him to be annoyed, maybe even leave. but no. instead, he smiles. actually smiles. it’s small and hesitant and doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s there.

you feel something crack inside you. or maybe outside you. it’s hard to tell.

because here’s the thing: you wanted him to move on, didn’t you? you wanted him to heal, to find something good again, someone who could pull him out of the mess you left behind. but wanting that and watching it happen are two entirely different things.

she makes him happy. and that’s the worst part.

she’s kind to him, and he’s kind to her, and soon, they’re sharing the kind of warmth you once thought belonged only to you. it burns in a way the cold silence of death never did.

he smiles more now, even laughs sometimes, and there’s a lightness to him that hasn’t been there since… well, since you.

and you can’t leave. you’re bound here, like roots tangled too deep in the soil to ever be pulled free. you tell yourself it’s love, that you’re staying for him, to make sure he’s okay. but you know the truth. you’re here because you can’t let go. because even though his heart is piecing itself back together in someone else’s hands, it still feels like it should be yours.

they say you die twice: once when your heart stops beating, and again when someone says your name for the last time. but there's a third death, you think, when you watch the love of your life fall in love with someone else. it’s like death all over again, this time slower, piece by piece.

so yes, a heart can still break once it's stopped beating. yours does, every time he smiles at her the way he used to smile at you.

tags: @clitorphosis @withonly-sweetheart @fanilkychae @crowleyco

[treatbuckywkisses]

it's rainy and cold out so im in an angsty mood apparently 😭

"There are three suitcases packed by your front door. A letter sits on the kitchen counter, the envelope sealed. You had planned this for longer than you’d care to admit; walking out on your fiance under the cover of night. It’s better to do it this way. And yet here you are: sitting on the couch with your eyes transfixed on the door, incapable of moving an inch." - oh this is about to hurt me 

 "But he’d stopped offering it. Every time he came home with a busted lip and a haunted look in his eye, he’d told you not to worry. He wouldn’t show you himself anymore. And you couldn’t love him in the dark. Every day it felt like the gulf between you got a little bit wider, becoming an ocean that you couldn’t cross. He didn’t hold you in his sleep anymore. He didn’t kiss your forehead in the mornings while you made coffee. He didn’t look you in the eye when he told you he loved you." - this made my stomach hurt :( this one paragraph packs a fucking punch what do you mean. i can feel the love dissipate reading this paragraph :( this is so hurtful to imagine im gonna be sick "you couldn't love him in the dark" is so POWERFUL and the last line ?????? you are so incredible 

the thought that he would miss that you were gone completely is so evil of you :( 

"You can see it clear as day, the furrowed brow, the widening eyes. He’ll call your name and you won’t answer. He’ll panic. He’ll turn on the light." - i am sick to my stomach 

this is so fucking sad LMAO I'm crying at 4pm this hurt me so much but it was such a beautiful read anyway :( you have such a knack for writing pain and still making it so soft. i want to be a fly on the walk in this fic and read that note though!! 

Maybe You're My Snowflake ❄!!!

I can't love you in the dark/ It feels like we're oceans apart (Adele) + Bucky please! 💖

cruel to be kind

There are three suitcases packed by your front door. A letter sits on the kitchen counter, the envelope sealed. You had planned this for longer than you’d care to admit; walking out on your fiance under the cover of night. It’s better to do it this way. And yet here you are: sitting on the couch with your eyes transfixed on the door, incapable of moving an inch.

Bucky had been a charmer from the second you met him. He’d approached you at a bar, given you a mile-wide smile so bright you’d almost missed how guarded his eyes were. You should’ve known what was coming right there and then, when every flustered laugh he drew from you sent a victor’s grin across his face. But you’d fallen anyway. How could you not fall for this man, who was hard from experience, but still found time to crack jokes and let his lips curl around charming smiles? Whose shoulders slumped from the weight of the invisible coffin he dragged behind him, carrying bodies of long-gone friends and enemies made for him in every step? Every piece of information you learned about Bucky Barnes only made you want him more.

But he’d stopped offering it. Every time he came home with a busted lip and a haunted look in his eye, he’d told you not to worry. He wouldn’t show you himself anymore. And you couldn’t love him in the dark. Every day it felt like the gulf between you got a little bit wider, becoming an ocean that you couldn’t cross. He didn’t hold you in his sleep anymore. He didn’t kiss your forehead in the mornings while you made coffee. He didn’t look you in the eye when he told you he loved you.

And maybe that was a good thing, because you’re not sure that you mean it anymore, either.

You sigh, standing and walking over to the door. You’re staying with a friend, one of the ones Bucky never bothered to meet. The suitcases feel heavier than they are as you drag them out behind you, turning back only to lock the door.

You can picture what will happen when Bucky gets home. He’ll walk in covered in bruises and cuts at some ung-dly hour nobody should be awake for. He won’t notice anything at first. Just drop his bag by the front door and head to your shared bedroom. He might miss that you’re not in the bed, not realize that your things are gone in the darkened room. No, he won’t notice until after he showers, when he slides into your shared bed. That’s when he’ll realize there’s nobody sharing it.

You can see it clear as day, the furrowed brow, the widening eyes. He’ll call your name and you won’t answer. He’ll panic. He’ll turn on the light.

Bucky will assume that you’ve been taken, first. He’ll go back to the front door, look for signs of struggle, find nothing. Then he’ll check the kitchen, because if there was someone in the house you would’ve gone for a knife. And that’s when he’ll find the letter.

He’ll blame himself for it, in all the wrong ways. He’ll think you left because he’s broken, because he’s bad or undeserving of that.You hate him for that; the fact that you’ll become evidence. Just another name in the long list of people who’ve hurt Bucky Barnes. Just another reason nobody could possibly love him.

Bullshit. You love him so much that it’s killing you. You love him so much that you’re letting it. You love him enough to stay with him just to prove him wrong, to stay with him out of spite.

You love him enough to know that you can’t love him anymore, not like this. Bucky deserves better than the resentment that churns in your gut. You both do.

You load your luggage into your car, sighing as you close the trunk. You take one final look at your front door. Your eyes burn. You’re a coward, but you’ll never find the strength to walk out if you don’t do it now. You’re being cruel to be kind.

“Goodbye, Buck,” you whisper into the night.

Then you get in your car and drive away forever.

[lassofics]

Bloody Nightmares

Word count: 683

Timeline: Post Season 3

Warnings: None? Trauma, maybe.

Summary: Roy/Jamie. Jamie has a nightmare.

Notes: This fic was created and is being published as a part of #Whumpuary2025 !! I used the prompt Sleep !!

Watching Jamie Tartt sleep is one of Roy’s favorite things to do.

Okay, that sounds fucking creepy. Roy quickly shakes that thought out of his head. Not in a creepy way.

It’s just that Jamie looks so fucking peaceful, so fucking adorable, so fucking effortlessly beautiful when he sleeps. He’s curled up in Roy’s arms, his head resting on Roy’s chest, his breathing soft and gentle, his hair sprawled out carelessly. He’s got fucking long eyelashes, Roy notices.

Jamie stirs slightly, as if he can somehow hear Roy’s thoughts. Roy thinks nothing of it; people stir in their sleep all the time, don’t they? His hand comes up to rest on Jamie’s back, his thumb idly stroking the base of his spine.

Another stir, and a little noise. Roy realizes he might be doing more harm than good, and he doesn’t want to wake Jamie, so he stops the rubbing and keeps his hand still on the striker’s back.

Falling in love with him had been so easy. Roy isn’t even sure how it had happened; all he knows is that he never wants to sleep in a bed without this prick ever again.

His train of thought is cut off by a sudden whimper, and Jamie suddenly curls in on himself. Roy shifts to get a better look at his face. He freezes, because Jamie no longer looks peaceful.

He’s tempted to say something, but he doesn’t want to risk Jamie waking up if nothing’s wrong. So, instead, he starts to gently card his fingers through Jamie’s hair.

He doesn’t have his hand there for more than two seconds before Jamie jerks away from his touch, as if he’s been fucking electrocuted.

Roy removes his hand immediately, not wanting to cause Jamie any more distress than he’s already in. That sharp flinch combined with the look on his face tells Roy everything he needs to know: Jamie’s having a nightmare.

Roy doesn’t want to touch him if he’s gonna freak out again, so he just shifts on the bed, hoping his movement might rouse the younger man.

“Jamie?” he murmurs quietly. Jamie doesn’t respond.

“Jamie,” he repeats, a little louder this time. He’s tempted to just grab Jamie’s shoulder and shake him awake, but he’s too worried about Jamie’s mental state to do that right now. “Jamie, it’s Roy. Wake up.”

Jamie whimpers again, a little louder this time, and hugs his knees to his chest. His eyes are still closed, his face the picture of distress. He’s trembling.

Against his instincts, Roy finally reaches out with his hand, gently grabbing Jamie’s shoulder. “Jamie. Babe. It’s okay, you’re just dreaming. Wake up. I’ve got you.”

Jamie flinches again at the touch, which breaks Roy’s heart, but he doesn’t let go this time, softly beginning to shake him. “Jamie, it’s me. Please wake up.”

After about ten more seconds of this, Jamie opens his eyes, still trembling. Roy immediately stops shaking him, letting go of his shoulder, not wanting to push anything.

“Roy?” Jamie whispers, still curled in on himself like a scared child. Roy internally curses, but keeps a calm exterior.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Roy says softly, gazing down at Jamie. “You okay?”

Jamie doesn’t say a word. Instead, he just whimpers again. Only this time, he throws an arm around Roy’s waist and curls into him, seeking comfort.

“I’ve got you.” Roy immediately pulls Jamie into his chest, cradling the back of his head tenderly with one hand. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Jamie nods, breathing shakily but clearly starting to calm down. Once Roy’s arms are around him, it doesn’t take long for him to stop shaking.

“Bloody nightmares,” Jamie eventually mumbles, sounding almost… embarrassed. He buries his face in Roy’s chest.

Roy just cards his fingers gently through Jamie’s hair. “I know. But you’re safe. Mmkay?”

Jamie relaxes instantly. They both know damn well how relaxed he gets when Roy strokes his hair like that. With a soft sigh, Jamie closes his eyes once more.

“Yeah,” he replies quietly, practically already starting to drift off again. “Safe with you.”

[granulesofsand]

Therapy Catalyst

🗝️🏷️ allusions to child and animal abuse

The cat we were preparing for is no longer listed on the shelter’s available animals page. She’s also not listed on the adopted animals page, but it seems like they update that whenever they have the time.

It was almost a crisis for us. We took some time to examine our reaction, because it was situationally not appropriate. Things we connected:

We associate love with protection; if you love something, you have to be able to defend both yourself and this thing from people who actively mean you both harm. There will be sacrifices, mourning, and a terrifying chance of failure. Loving this thing makes you both more vulnerable. We were ready to assume that responsibility for this creature.

People have always been dangerous to us. This cat had been returned to the shelter in a sorry state, and had to have some of her tail amputated because of her last caregivers. People have been dangerous to her. That was a problem in human shelters we’ve been in, people coming round to rope residents into further exploitation or abuse. Saviors are not saviors in the light of day. This creature needs protection, and it is protection we needed in the past.

When things we agreed to protect suddenly disappear, this is not a good sign. It signifies a failure on our part to maintain the safety of a possession, and a failure that yields death or suffering.

It occurred to me that she might’ve died (after wondering if she was maybe pulled for a vet visit). I was entirely too comforted by this idea. We tend towards chronically suicidal, although much less now than in the past, because we believed death was the only way out. If she was dead, nobody could hurt her anymore.

So we were afraid that she was going back into an environment like what we barely survived, that we could have saved her if only we had been faster, and that we were personally responsible for any harm that could come to her if she was still breathing.

Having thought about it, we’re much more settled. Probably her next folks will treat her better, and even the ones who didn’t just didn’t have the resources to care for her. It’s on her paperwork now that she can’t be taken into another home with those conditions. We want her to have a loving (actually loving, not the amalgamation of painful concepts we called love) home where her needs will be met more than we want her to have that with only us.

We’ve personally interacted with this cat like five times, and she’s affectionate towards everyone we’ve seen her with. It shouldn’t be difficult for her to be adopted by somebody who will care for her.

She’s probably gonna be okay. We’ll still check for her profile in either page, and if she did find a home, great. There are other cats who also need homes and we will have the supplies to support them if we find another we get along with. If not, those supplies were meant for her to begin with. We’re sad, but it’s not the end of the world.

[autie-hobbit]

Some TUA Fic Recs!

These are some of my absolute favourite “Umbrella Academy” fanfics! All of these fics are finished, except for one. Please note that most of the tags I am including are not all of the tags on the fic, they are mostly the general ones and warning ones. Also, all of the word counts have been rounded. (all fics are on ao3)

“Against the Waves” by noodlerdoodler | Rated T | 3,200 Words | Main Relationship: Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves | Important Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Fluff, Nightmares | Synopsis: 

“Charming. Isn’t my company entertaining enough for you?” Dramatically, Klaus threw up a hand against his forehead and collapsed onto his bed as if he were wounded.

“Don’t be an ass,” His brother rolled his eyes but there was a fond expression on his face, “You know that some of us aren’t actually nocturnal?”

Klaus stuck his tongue out, “What are you doing up then?”

Instantly, his brother’s defences snapped back up and he scowled, “I t-t-t-tol-tol-told y-y-you th-“

Whatever his excuses were, Klaus couldn’t be bothered to hear them. As lowly as the others thought of him, he was actually pretty intuitive and it was obvious the real reason Diego was out of bed was because something was bothering him. He wasn’t one to just wander around after hours for no reason- that was more Klaus’s gig. Whatever it was had really gotten under his skin. Unfortunately, his brother was too emotionally constipated to say what was on his mind. 

| Comments: Very sweet. |

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26519572

“Business Man'' by Cate_Olivyn | Rated T | 6,800 Words | Main Relationship: Five Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves | Important Tags: Major Character Death, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Intoxication, Ghosts, Temporary Character Death | Synopsis: 

“Terminate David and Klaus Katz.”

Five ignored the pang of guilt that accompanied the name, because it was only a stranger with his brother’s name. He ignored the ugly feeling in his chest when he saw his mark, and he looked so much like the man he left to rot in the apocalypse.

But he can’t ignore the pain in his brother’s eyes when he talks about a love lost, and a life in another time. 

| Comments: Pain. |

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40455777

“Firestarter” by Melivian | Rated T | 8,900 Words | Main Relationship: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves | Important Tags: Minor Violence, Drug Addiction, Past Character Death, Deteriorating Relationships | Synopsis: 

"It's funny," Klaus said. "You start out with something so great. And you think it'll stay great forever, so you'll do anything to hang onto it, you know? But then one day you realize it's turned into something else when you weren't looking. And you don't know whose fault it is, or how to make it right again. All you know is that you're holding the same pieces, but suddenly they don't fit together anymore."

Ben said nothing.

"What happened to us, Ben?"

~~~

Ben, Klaus, and two very different Halloweens eight years apart. 

| Comments: Heartbreaking, but good. A character study of Klaus and Ben's relationship. |

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34527199

“I can die when I’m done” by Kaufmann | Rated T | 3,300 Words | Main Relationship: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves | Important Tags: Hurt No Comfort, Angst, Missing Scene, Panic Attacks, Flashbacks | Synopsis: 

Klaus breathed quickly through his nose, panting and panicking. At his side, Ben was muttering assurances of comfort, telling him to calm down. But Klaus couldn't calm down, because the closet was too small and dark and reminded him of the mausoleum and he would be locked in there, alone with ghosts and...

Klaus writhed violently, shouting as loud as he could with the tape in his mouth, looking at Blue and Pink in panic and fear. [...] Klaus shouted once again, choking on his breath and the tears that threatened to suffocate him, a chorus of no, no, no, no in his mind.

Or

In the show, after Klaus reveals the little information he knew to Hazel and Cha-Cha, we have a time jump and in the next scene, he's locked in a small closet in the motel room.

But what happened after he revealed the information? How did he end up in the closet? How did he handle the long hours locked up until Hazel and Cha-Cha came back late at night? How did he handle the guilt of telling about Five? How did he handle flashbacks and panic attacks? 

| Comments: More pain. |

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32148223

“Relics in Amber'' by bacondoughnut | Rated T | 8,400 Words | Main Relationship: Dave Katz/Klaus Hargreeves | Important Tags: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Past Rape/Non-Con, Hurt/Comfort, Klaus and Dave in Vietnam, Drug Use, Alcoholism, Angst, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse | Synopsis:

 "Klaus," Dave tries tentatively.                                     

He almost asks if Klaus is okay, but the answer's already clear enough, and that question dies on his tongue. He can't immediately think of anything else to say though, and the silence makes Klaus's quiet whimpering all but deafening.                                         

And Dave doesn't know how to handle this.                               

Or; the one where Klaus has a very bad night, and Dave is there to help. 

| Comments: One of the first Klaus/Dave fics I read. Quite sad, but very soft. I’ve read this fic multiple times, it just hits all the spots. (this fic is locked, so you can only read it if you’re logged in)|

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40237791

“Single Red Thread” by riverwrenwrites | Rated T | 38,000 Words | Main Relationship: Dave Katz/Klaus Hargreeves | Important Tags: Vampire AU, Soulmates, Reincarnation, Canon-Typical Violence, Mild Gore, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Hurt/Comfort | Synopsis: 

In 1716, Klaus has lost the love of his life in a horrible tragedy and found himself cursed with immortality. 

In 2019, Dave and his hunting partner Elliot are investigating a number of disappearances, and when they find themselves face to face with the vampire they think is behind it, Dave can't shake the feeling that he's met this man before... 

| Comments: I don’t usually read AUs, and especially not AUs like this, but I like this writer and I was going through all of their TUA stuff. Very cute. |

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28650759

“Sneaking Out for Snowmen” by MalecAcid | Rated G | 800 Words | Main Relationship: Ben Hargreeves & Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves | Important Tags: Fluff, Pre-Canon | Synopsis: 

"We should build a snowman." Diego said, excitedly clapping his cold hands together.

OR

Nothing but fluff ensues when Diego, Klaus, and Ben sneak out to build a snowman. 

| Comments: Cute. |

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28308621

“Someday (c’est la vie, c’est la vie)” by JaggedEmeraldsOfGold | Rated G | 5,200 Words | Main Relationship: Ben Hargreeves & Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves | Important Tags: Pre-Canon, Fluff, No Incest | Synopsis: 

“Because I don’t go memorizing locations of old board games, especially when they’re in a dumpster,” Ben says, and Klaus doesn’t deign that with a response, instead climbing the precariously balanced trash bag pile, one hand reaching for the top edge of the dumpster while the other clutches the thin cardboard box to his chest. He drops himself over the edge, and lets himself fall on his ass onto the cement, hoping there isn’t something he wouldn’t voluntarily sit in waiting for him. There isn’t, he finds, and he climbs to his feet as Ben appears next to him, all collected and unbothered and otherwise immaculate.

“Come come!” Klaus tells him, and starts down the alley, away from the dumpster, staggering a few steps until he regains his footing. “Diego will love this, we’ll have a bunch of fun, and he’ll thank me for the relaxing break from work.”

“He isn’t— he won’t,” Ben calls after him, but Klaus feels him follow him out of the alley and back to the McDonald’s anyways.

Or: 21 year old Klaus and Diego (and Ben) chilling in a car, and then a McDonald's. 

| Comments: Also cute. I’m a sucker for these three. |

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32896588

“Something Blue” by lemur_catta | Rated T | 2,200 Words | Main Relationship: Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves | Important Tags: Angst, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Childhood Trauma | Synopsis: 

Diego angsts his way through Allison's wedding to Patrick, unable to curb his growing disconnection from Klaus. (Takes place pre-season 1, 2013-ish.) 

| Comments: Sad. |

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41289621

“Ten Months” by Majure | Rated M | 150,000 Words | Main Relationship: Dave Katz/Klaus Hargreeves | Important Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Minor Character Death, Klaus and Dave during Vietnam, Period-Typical Homophobia, Drug Use, Alcoholism, Mutual Pining, Bed Sharing, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Explicit Sex, Ghosts | Synopsis: 

It makes him sad, sometimes, that in order to find acceptance, Klaus has to travel back fifty years into one of the bloodiest wars of American history. Most of the time, he doesn't care. His family probably doesn't even notice he's missing anyway.

---

Dave is looking at him, eyes soft and heavy lidded. “What did you say to that guy?” he asks, head resting on the wall, body turned towards Klaus.

“Ah,” Klaus laughs, dropping his hand to take a drink. “Just mouthed off. You know how I am.”

“That mouth will get you in trouble some day,” Dave says softly.

Klaus looks up, swallowing. “Some people like my mouth,” he says.

“I do.” 

| Comments: This fic is not finished, and has not been updated in 2 years, but it is well worth it, I promise! I read it twice in two months, and it gave me all the emotions. I had to stop at one point because I started crying (I don’t cry while reading fics very often). Very good fic. |

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18214736

“The Wedding That Never Was” by Cate_Olivyn | Rated T | 2,500 Words | Main Relationship: Allison Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves | Important Tags: Grief/Mourning, Intoxication, Missing Scene | Synopsis: 

Allison leaves the wedding after her argument with Viktor with a plan: take a bottle of booze and lock herself in her room where no one can bother her. This plan takes an unexpected turn when she finds Klaus half conscious in the upstairs hallway. 

| Comments: A little cathartic to be honest. |

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40268313

“The Zoo Is Better When It’s Not Dead” by sharkneto | Rated G | 11,000 Words | Main Relationship: Five Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves | Important Tags: Sibling Bonding | Synopsis: 

Klaus needs a distraction from missing Ben. Five needs a distraction from... well, everything. Somehow, that means a day at the zoo. 

| Comments: Actually acknowledges Five’s trauma, wow, a miracle. Very sweet, though a little disturbing at points. |

https://archiveofourown.org/works/32488858

“Things That We Got Wrong” by evesbeve | Rated T | 22,000 Words | Main Relationship: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves | Important Tags: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Pre-Canon, Drug Use, Overdose, No Incest, Hurt/Comfort, Angst | Synopsis: 

Ben suposes death isn't the weirdest thing that has happened to him. Becoming best friends with Klaus though? That he never would have guessed. 

| Comments: *cries* I love them, your honour! |

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19794943

“Trouble Child” by ToriAnne | Rated M | 65,000 Words | Main Relationship: Klaus Hargreeves & Everyone | Important Tags: Temporary Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post-Canon, Post-Season 3, Body Horror | Synopsis: 

The tentative peace between the Hargreeves siblings and their father is disrupted when Klaus returns from an unexpected trip to the afterlife with his powers restored. In the ensuing struggle, Klaus could be Five's greatest advantage, which turns him into Reginald's number one target.                    Hargreeves now remembers both his timelines, after all, and he is keenly aware that the most overlooked aspect of Klaus' abilities could lead to his downfall. 

| Comments: Very good. |

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41254302

“Who You Gonna Call..?” by riverwrenwrites | Rated T | 130,000 Words | Main Relationship: Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves | Important Tags: Buddy Cop AU, Murder Mystery, Fluff, Angst, Drug Use, Past Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Sibling Bonding, No Incest, Mild Gore | Synopsis: 

At the ripe old age of 25, Diego is still struggling with that age-old problem of balancing work and pleasure. Especially when, for him, work is being a desk-bound police detective, and pleasure is running around back alleys as a masked vigilante. Lucky for him, he may have just stumbled on the perfect unsolvable case that will finally have him taking his career seriously. Unlucky for him, the only hope he has of cracking said unsolvable case lies with his drug riddled, party going, fashion innovator of a brother. 

| Comments: First long fic I read! Very good, have read multiple times. |

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18371999

Honourable Mentions: These are some of the WIPs I’m reading.

“Chained” by Salvador_Daley | Rated M | Currently 50,000 Words | Main Relationship: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves | Important Tags: Pre-Canon, Murder Mystery, Angst, Drug Use, Blood and Injury | Synopsis: 

“Hey, er…” He’s forgotten the boy’s name. Something with a G. Was it Gavin? Or Garth? “Hey, buddy. I got somewhere to be, but if you wake up now we can go for round two before I have to leave.”

Twenty-two-year-old Klaus Hargreeves awakes following a one-night stand with an enigmatic young artist.

Apart from a stinking hangover, he now has two problems: he possesses almost no memory of the night before and there’s a gruesome surprise in the bed.

Accused of a horrific crime, and with the police watching his every move, he faces a race against time to clear his name.

If he can only stay sober long enough to patch together the memories of that night, he might just stand a chance. 

| Comments: Hasn’t updated in a few months, but I have hope. Has you on the edge of your seat and suspicious of everyone. |

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34364929

“Where You Gonna Run To?” by ToriAnne | Rated T | Currently 43,000 Words | Main Relationship: Just the Brellies with each other | Important Tags: No Paradox AU, Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Recreational Drug Use, Non-Linear Narrative, Domestic Violence, Past Child Abuse, Religious Abuse | Synopsis: 

Sparrow AU with no paradox. Ben uncovers a mystery in his father's office and won't rest until he has answers.

This is how the Umbrellas changed and remained the same as they lived separate lives, how they found each other even so, and what happened when they did. 

| Comment: Updates every Wednesday. Excited to see where this fic goes. |

https://archiveofourown.org/works/44881930