#tickle dabble

[sunstone-smiles]

Could we have day 2 what lurks in the dark with Miguel & Peter B? I’m so excited for this year’s event!

Power Outage

Author’s note: Yaaaas!!! I’m excited too! Mayday is making a cameo in the picture below, but I threw in a cameo with Lyla in the fic because it felt right Lol! I hope you enjoy Day 2 of Tickletober: What Lurks in the Dark (from Crow’s Tickletober 2023 list)!

Series: Across the Spider-Verse

Characters: Miguel O'Hara, Peter B. Parker, and Lyla

Word count: 868

Summary: Miguel’s office lights are out. That might not seem so bad at first, but something, or perhaps someone, tries to mess with him in the darkness.

—

Strange…Why is his office so dark? Usually the lights turn on as soon as he walks in. Miguel pulls up a floating screen from his watch and taps on the digital surface. ERROR comes up in red letters with a restrictive buzzer-like sound.

Great, the power must be out. Not a problem. He can override the system manually when he gets to the main system at his desk.

…If he can find his desk, that is.

Miguel grumbles out a sigh and scrolls to find another setting on his watch. He clicks the small screen on his wrist and a light beams from the device. Flashlight mode comes in handy in the most unlikely circumstances. Miguel twists his wrist so it faces outward and he begins the darkened trek to his desk.

Miguel’s not afraid of the dark, but something is making him feel…uneasy. Perhaps it’s the way the floor feels as if it’s creaking at his feet, or the cold metal walls reflecting the light back at him. Or perhaps it’s the unknown of what lurks in the dark…

No, that’s silly. 

A few steps later, Miguel spots his desk with the light from his watch. He walks towards it as usual.

Woosh.

Miguel stops his approach. He turns his head around while the light from his wrist scans the room. What sounded, yet did not feel, like a windy breeze rushed behind him. Only the metal walls reflect the light back at him.

Miguel turns his head back towards the direction of his desk. He keeps moving as if the sound was a freak coincidence, but he’s smart enough to know that ‘coincidence’ can’t be the explanation. What would have caused that—

“Gahack!” Miguel echoes through the dark when he feels a sudden poke to his side. He stumbles forward and wraps his free hand around the spot, while his other wrist beams the flashlight against his surroundings. Nothing’s there.

Then another poke hits him, then another, alternating from one side to the other as if each poke was pushing him around, until the teasing pokes cease and he suddenly feels a clawing at the back of his ribs. 

Miguel arches his back with a yelp from the tickly feeling. He clamps his jaw shut, fangs bared as they barricade the army of giggles wanting to slam down the door. He tries to shine the light behind him, but he’s unable to identify his attacker. What was going on?

“S-Show yourself!” Miguel attempts to threaten through a shaky snarl. He twists on his heels and swipes in front of him, but the concealed culprit swoops behind him and squeezes his sides. Miguel yelps again and whips around at another attempt at attacking, but the mysterious culprit bests him once more and takes the chance to dig into his belly from behind. Miguel squeaks and immediately bursts into deep laughter that could make the metal walls rumble. He flails like a startled cat clawing at the air and jumps backwards as if he was yanked in that direction by an invisible rope. The force of his jump is so sudden that Miguel ends up toppling backwards. He lands with a crash on something other than the floor. 

In an instant, the lights of his office turn on like the stage lights of a theater. Lyla materializes in front of Miguel, yet she’s looking down at the floor instead of him. Her expression shows concern. 

Miguel looks down in the same direction. The “thing” that he landed on? Well, it was none other than Peter B; it’s the ghost of the darkness in the flesh. 

Peter takes the night vision goggles, that Lyla no doubt had given him, from his eyes and perches them on top of his head like sunglasses. Peter stares up at Miguel, smiling nervously. “H-Hey Miguel. How’s it going?” 

Of course, it all makes sense now. Lyla was the one controlling the lights, while Peter did the “dirty” work to play this trick on him.

After piecing this together, Miguel snarls above Peter; he’ll deal with Lyla later. Right now, it’s Peter’s cue to run.

The spiderman below scrambles to escape his trapped state between Miguel and the floor. Miguel shifts his weight off of him, but the leader quickly grabs the other man’s leg and yanks Peter towards him.

Peter claws at the floor before flipping onto his back. “M-Miguel!” Peter puts his hands in front of him to surrender, “Let’s talk about this!” Peter then darts his head in the direction of the AI, “Lyla! Say something!”

The AI shrugs, then smiles. “You’re on your own, Peter.” She swiftly dematerializes in a flash.

“Traitor!” Peter yells at the Lyla-less air before silencing himself when he sees Miguel extend his claws above him, like a hungry tiger ready to dig into their meal.

Peter’s eyes go wide and he nervously gulps. The next thing he knows after seeing a smirk on Miguel’s lips, that claw plunges right into his belly, vibrating viciously with tickly intent.

Peter screeches with laughter and kicks his legs while Miguel enacts his revenge. “Nohohoho! Nohoho! Wahahait!!! Miguehehehel!” One could say that Peter's laughter sure lights up a room.

[random-tickle-stuff]

so uhh I know that this isn't one of your Hyperfixations as of the list rn, but is Dandy's World Accepted?

(I understand if it's not especially cause of the fan base and it not being on your hyperfixation at the moment (still I love the Forsaken Tickle HC, they get my in a Lee Mood every time) but I did really wanted to see like Tickle HCs on Rudie, but again completely understand if you say no ^^;)

I am deeply sorry but no, I don't make any Dandys World content on here :[

I'm just not comfy doing so as I don't want to risk getting the wrong attention from certain types of fans- I myself once dabbled in the fandom and still enjoy the game itself, but after seeing and enduring the toxicity off it I've sworn off making content of it on all my blogs for my own comfort, just I case I accidentally anger the assholes who like to send death threats

This is no hate to you or any of the genuinely nice people in the fandom, and I'm fine with people within the fandom interacting as long as it's respectful!! I just won't ever be making any content of it, headcanons or otherwise, for my own sanity. I do NOT want to attract any toxic energy to what is MY comfort and support space. Again, nothing against you, it's just a comfort and anxiety thing!!! :[

[holeforzenin]

Inspired by this dabble

He’s out cold beside you— flat on his back, one massive arm thrown carelessly over your waist like you’re a teddy bear, lips parted lazily just enough for that fuckass awful snore to rip through the room like a chainsaw.

Toji Fushiguro sleeps like a man who’s never known stress. Like the minute his head hits the soft pillow, every care in the world ceases to exist. Which would be fine, if his snores weren’t fucking echoing through your skull.

You’ve been trying to sleep for some time now. You really have. But now your eyes are wide open, glued to the ceiling with your thighs pressed shamelessly tight together as you shift under the sheets. Because his snoring isn’t just loud— it’s deep and guttural. That raw, unconscious sound of a muscular grown man who works hard with his hands, eats like a caveman, and sleeps like a bear in winter.

It vibrates through your chest and sends something hot and shameful crawling low in your belly. Every time he exhales and that sound rumbles from his throat, it makes your core throb. You hate it. You hate him. You want to strangle him and beg him to do it again but inside your pussy all at once.

“Toji,” you whisper, nudging his hard chest. Nothing. He’s dead to the world, mouth slack and brows furrowed slightly like even in sleep he’s annoyed like a grumpy old man.

You shake him again. “Toji—babe, you’re snoring”. You say softly.

He finally groans, low and hoarse like it’s dragging straight from the depths of his chest. Then he shifts slightly, cracking one heavy-lidded eye open, voice thick with sleep when he murmurs, “The hell d’you want, baby?”

Fuck.

You nearly whimper.

The rasp in his voice is so rough, so slow and manly it should be illegal. It slinks straight down your spine, curls around your gut, and settles between your legs like heat. You’re soaking now—thighs clenched together as your pussy throbbed, fists balled into the sheets so you don't moan.

“You were snoring,” you mumble weakly, trying not to sound as flustered as you are. He exhales a short laugh, still half-asleep. “Yeah? You woke me up just for that?”

“Toji”

His hand finds your waist again, palm warm and heavy as it slides over your stomach and tugs you closer into his body. He rubs his face into your neck to get rid of the raven strands tickling his eyes, before burying his face further into your neck, his breath hot and uneven.

“Mmm…G’night, baby,” he mutters. Voice still deep. Still ragged and sleepy. He knows exactly what he's doing to you and you know he's fucking with you.

And now your panties are ruined. And on top of that, he's definitely still going to keep fucking snoring for the rest of the night.

[lolana101]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

⤷ EKKO: SWEET NOTHINGS

⤷ feat. ekko (arcane league of legends)

cw: 18+ , saliva, grinding, kissing, marking, fluff kinda

ekko kneads at your hips gently, humming into the crook of your neck his lips sucking softly onto the exposed skin. his hips are moving feverishly into you, the bath water aiding his movement making his hips glide into you like butter.

“mmnng.”

he’s not even hard anymore, half so, and still lazily drilling you in the tub. he just wants to be close to you in every way possible. your both already fucked out into just a state of drowsiness. his thrusts becomes weary as he just stops, now soft inside of you.

he’s kissing over your neck, rubbing your back and tracing your spine stopping at just the dip of your ass, smoothing it over and cupping a cheek. you giggle softly, your throat sore from previous activities. even in a tub your supposed to be relaxing in, his hands can’t stray away from you.

“ekko… aren’t you tired?”

you muttered with a sugary voice, grinding softly down onto his soft cock. your so warm, he likes that.

“i am. just wanna stay with you a little longer.”

he spoke for your ears only, peppering soothing kisses over your face and past love marks. his lips linger in every spot for just a second longer than the last, his tongue always slowly delving a little to taste your skin.

his kisses lead down, to kiss on the mound of your breasts, having you lean back, the ends of your hair tickling the bubbly water. gliding his tongue over your nipple to suckle at the perky nub, his calloused thumb flicking over the other.

he dabbles kisses back up to your neck with newfound eagerness to have his lips on your own his tongue riding up your neck to lead your lips into a slow syrupy kiss.

“i love you.”

he spoke quietly against your lips, bucking up a little into you. he’s slowly hardening again.

“i love you too.”

shorter than usual from my usual writings, hope you all enjoyed!! like and follow, and my request are open for any random :)

my past post here

my recent post here

[yasministration]

Ground rules - Remus Lupin

summary: Remus isn't used to having his dominance challenged, so he decides to dabble a bit with brat taming using the sassy slytherin. wc: 1.6k+

Remus was used to being the intimidating one. An irritated look on his face and the other marauders would be apologising profusely for something they didn't even do. But he wasn't used to this. Someone standing tall with their shoulders rolled back and a smug smile, staring straight back into Remus's unforgiving glare. Someone who challenged him. He guessed it was because you were a Slytherin: less easily frightened and more menacing, surrounded by friends who always questioned each other, never backing down from a good confrontation.

Remus felt threatened. Defied. He simply couldn't ruin his reputation of being Gryffindor's scariest student because of one conversation with you. A troublemaker with a charming smile, always waiting for the right moment to pounce. "I suggest you choose another day Lupin, otherwise you'll be doing this project alone." Stupid group projects and stupid Professor Slughorn who just had to randomly allocate partners. His jaw clenched, eyebrow raising curiously "Remind me of the reason you can't do Thursday?" Crossing your arms over your chest, you coolly announced "I have a date." Remus rolled his eyes, stepping closer to you and lowering his voice to condescendingly say "Now here's what you're gonna do sweetheart." He pointed a finger at you, poking you twice in the shoulder as he slowed the pace of his words.

"You're gonna cancel that date and we're gonna meet up in the library, because Thursday is the only day our academic schedules don't clash. Loverboy is gonna have to wait another day." You grinned at him, not bothering to give him a response before spinning on the balls of your feet and walking away.

Of course, you didn't listen to the taller boy's cute threat, strolling along to your date. You didn’t think he was anything special, but you were bored, and it would be way more fun than doing a silly project with Lupin. Besides, you liked seeing Lupin all riled up. You gasped as a hand curled around your bicep, harshly tugging you backwards. You tripped over your feet, only to be caught by arms snaking around your waist. Looking back to see who the culprit was, you rolled your eyes. “Library’s that way.” Remus said matter-of-factly, separating from you completely when you regained your footing. “Who said I was going to the library?” You challenged, watching as his hand travelled around your body to rest on the small of your back, and lead you in the other direction. “I did.” He whispered, hit warm breath hitting your ear.

Shivers ran down your spine at his words, and you were at a loss for words, letting the taller boy lead you towards the library. “Nothing to bite back with?” He asked with a cocky tone, and you quickly turned your gaze to meet his eyes, an unsatisfied gleam in them. You were not done yet, but no, you didn’t have anything to bite back with.

You huffed unhappily, letting Remus lead you all the way to the entrance of the library - willingly of course. If you didn’t want his hand on your back, fingertips tickling your skin, you’d have pushed him away. You tried walking through the library’s big double doors, chin turned upwards, but a hand around your wrist had you stopping in your tracks. “What is your problem?” You asked, spinning on your heels and taking a threatening step towards Remus. “Are you going to give me this attitude all day?” Remus snapped, leaning his head down to close some distance between you. You felt your heart pounding roughly against your ribcage, and you barely heard your next words slip out of your mouth.

“Are you going to give me a reason to?”

Remus’s hand moved from around your wrist to grip your bicep, tugging you in a completely new direction. You gasped, a question laying on the tip of your tongue, but you were too intimidated to ask him. As you travelled down the hallway, Remus slammed a door open, using his grip on you to push you into the abandoned classroom. A breath got caught in your throat as you inhaled sharply, taking a couple of steps away from the boy. You heard him mutter a locking charm, and your eyes widened, watching as he trudged over to you in two long strides. “Rem-” Your call of his name was interrupted by him slamming his lips against yours, causing a surprised mix between a gasp and a moan to rip out of your chest.

Your hands came up to rest on Remus’s chest, but his hands were quickly on top of yours, ripping them off his body. “Oh, you don’t get to touch.” He explained, breaking away from the kiss shortly. You whined, gasping when Remus gripped your hips to spin you around and push you against a table. Your hands slammed onto the flat surface of the desk, and a cool breeze flew past your ass when Remus flipped your skirt up.

You didn’t have time to react before a sharp slap was delivered to your ass, causing you to cry out “Fuck!” You heard Remus tut in disappointment, and he cupped your face in his hand from behind, squeezing your cheeks together so you couldn’t speak. “Oh no, none of this. I don’t want any words from you apart from a yes or no. Understood?” Remus let go of your cheeks, and for a moment the only thing heard in the room was your heavy breathing. “Yes.”

“Good girl.” Remus muttered, hooking his index fingers into the fabric of your panties. He pulled them down your legs in one fell swoop, letting them rest by your feet. Remus nosed at your neck, shutting his eyes as he let his hands wander over your body. “Is this okay?” He asked ever so politely, and you replied with a simple “Yes” as per his rules, attempting not to let your desperation shine through your words.

Remus cursed, and you heard a clutter behind you — a metal jingle from his belt, scratchy unzipping from his trousers, the shuffle of his trousers falling down his legs. You gasped at the feeling of Remus running his cock down your slit, catching the tip on your clit before running it back up to your entrance. One of Remus’s hands landed next to yours on the table, his second guiding his cock into you. You shuffled slightly, spreading your legs wider and pushing your hips back to meet Remus’s. Remus heard your initial whimper when he began pushing in, so he rocked back and forth without going any deeper, listening closely for your breathing to stabilise.

Remus repeated the process, going deeper and deeper until he was fully sheathed inside you. You bit your bottom lip, trying to hold back any comments you had to make. Unfortunately for you, when Remus snapped his hips into your experimentally, you couldn’t hold back the “Oh my God!” you let out, pushing your ass back to meet his pelvis. Your punishment came quick: another slap to the ass which you were sure would leave a painful and lasting hand mark on your skin. Both of Remus’s hands moved: the one on the table clutched your hip, pushing you closer to the table whilst the other travelled to your back, pushing your torso flat against the cold desk. You keened loudly, hands closing into fists whilst your eyes shut, hearing Remus’s gruff voice scold you. “Can’t agree to the ground rules?” “I’m sorry.” You apologised, feeling the tears build up in your eyes. You yelped when another spank was delivered to your backside, the stinging pain causing a tear to roll down your cheek. “We agreed on yes and no, didn’t we?”

“Yes.” You replied, inhaling sharply to swallow the pain. “Jesus, you’re such a fucking brat.” He growled again, making your jaw drop, a high-pitched moan escaping your parted lips. Remus bent down, snaking an arm in front of your shoulders to help pull you up so you stood with your back to his chest. He let go of your shoulders, using that same hand to tug your thigh up so your leg rested up on the table. The new angle was jaw dropping, making your back arch against Remus’s chest, letting your head drop back onto one of his shoulders. Remus dug his face in the crook of your neck, latching onto your soft skin to suck hickeys onto it. He groaned against your skin, trying his best not to cum from the way your pussy sucked his cock in.

“Please, please.” You begged, internally praying that Remus wouldn’t punish you for your pleas. He separated from your neck, a smirk forming on his face as he mumbled “Look who learned some manners.” But you couldn’t bask in his condescending praise, instead adding “Please, I’m so close.” Remus cursed, one hand blindly searching for your clit. Frustratedly, he huffed, listening closely to your breathing pattern until he heard your breath hitch, finally feeling your sensitive nub underneath his fingers. Alongside his hips, his fingers increased their pace on your clit, causing your hips to painfully buck against the edge of the desk. “Please? Can I please cum?” You asked, with a tone so sweet that Remus just couldn’t say no. It definitely had nothing to do with the way his balls were about to explode, emptying every last bit of cum into your pussy. The second Remus muttered a “Yes.” you were immediately coming with him, going dizzy and slumping against Remus, who protectively wrapped his arm around your torso so that you didn’t fall.

You panted deeply, letting Remus press final kisses to your neck before finally whispering in your ear. “Feeling modest enough to get some work done now?”

“Yes, sir.”

taglist:

@ravisinghs-wife, @amatoanima, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe

[nastyc2nt]

Dabble of Shoto that won the polls.

✦ ──────── ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ──────── ✦

Sho really doesn’t like to be a bother in your relationship and never acts on most things because he’s afraid of being too much for you. In bed it’s a completely separate matter, he’s taking what he wants but gives just as much as he takes. Fucking you is the only thing he’s selfish at.

“Sho?” You purr as your felt his arms sink around your waist, his breathing tickling your neck. You try and turn your neck as far as you can get a glimpse at his face. “What’s wrong?” you lean back into his hold like normal. Shoto really only holds you so close when he’s upset, not to say he doesn’t show affection — this is just is default behavior for being upset.

A tingly sensation swept your body while you felt him place wet kisses on your neck, you could hear his heavy breathing as he’s practicing trying to eat you up. The final straw was him jerk you back into him against his harden cock, he was unapologetic. He had been think of you so much today, so many hours away on patrol and bent up from just the slightest glimpse of your clothed sex this morning. He was needy.

“Can I fuck you?” before a rough fuck, soft or a quick oral session he’s always asking for consent. He was pleading in a voice you haven’t heard before, breathily and kinda…Pathetic in a away. Yet, it sent shives down to your core and you push back into him and grind down on his tent.

“That’s it—” his hands go up your shirt to feel the naked skin and straight to your perky nipples. “I have been waiting to sink deep inside.” He’s pushing you against the nearest surface to have you spread your legs, yanking your underwear down and doesn’t take his time to get is fingers inside you. The faster you’re stretched out, the faster he can fuck you.

While he’s fingering you, he makes you stroke his painfully harden cock and whining slightly at the release of pressure and how sensitive he is.

“Precious, you remember our safe word don’t you?” he nips at your shoulder as he alines himself with your aching and clinching hole, “Tell me to stop and I will, just try to endure it for me? I need to break you.”

¡!Don’t repost my posts on other websites, don’t translate them, theses are for me to publish on my own!!

Taglist: @sparklylanddetective @fvitos

[sunstone-smiles]

Wake up, Ingo! (Repost)

(Reposted from 2022 because the original was somehow deleted.)

Anon (paraphrased): “For the prompt thing with wake up, maybe your [sneasel twins want to go out and play with Ingo, but Ingo wants to sleep, so the twins use tickling to wake him up!]”

Author's note: Hello anon! Cute idea! I hope you enjoy Day 21 of Tickletober: Wake up!

Series: Pokemon Legends Arceus

Characters: Ingo and the Sneasel twins: Fern and Splatter

Word count: 607

Summary: Fern and Splatter want to go play, but Ingo wants to stay asleep, resulting in the twins using a playful tactic that’s guaranteed to wake him up. Enjoy!

—

The dawn of the sun emerges over the horizon of the Coronet Highlands and the light creeps into Lady Sneasler’s cave. The noble pokemon is already out and about gathering berries, but her two Sneasel children and the Pearl Clan Warden, Ingo, reside in the cave—some much more awake than others.

Although it's early in the morning, the twins are already raring to go out and play. They hop around Ingo and try to shake him out of his slumber so that he can come with them, but the warden wants to stay asleep in his warm blanket and thin rolled out mattress.

After shaking him provides no results, Fern and Splatter run over to the end of the mattress to tug off the covers. This time, the warden shows some kind of groggy movement, but only to fix the blanket that the twins had previously shifted.

"Just five more minutes you two…" Ingo pulls up the covers over his side and tries to fall back asleep. Usually he’s awake around this time, but more sleep sounds good right about now.

Fern huffs at the warden’s refusal to cooperate. Thinking of a new plan, she hops up onto Ingo and pulls back the sheets again to reveal his side. Splatter watches, having a feeling that he knows exactly what his sister is planning to do.

Seeing that Ingo is still asleep and unaware of her plan, Fern strikes. She wiggles her claws into the side of his uniform to tickle him, a smug little look on her face knowing that the warden is completely susceptible to this little tactic and won’t be able to stay asleep for long.

Right away, soft giggles start pouring from Ingo as he’s awoken from his slumber. He opens one eye and tries to gently nudge the little creature away from that spot on his side. “Fehern, nohohot right nohohow.”

Fern tries to fight him off, then chirps at Splatter to help her. The younger twin nods and positions himself near the sleepy warden’s middle, poking his claws directly into Ingo’s stomach. 

Ingo twitches. “Splahahatter, nohohot you too,” he uses a hand to now shield his tummy and gently push the small cat-like creature away. Although Ingo is more awake than he was a minute ago, he’s still not persuaded to jump out of bed just yet. It seems drastic measures will be need to be taken to get this sleepy warden to wake up!

Fern growls at his stubbornness and pulls out another trick in her book of playful tactics. She lifts the end of his uniform and quickly crawls under the fabric to start climbing around his torso. Immediately, Ingo sits up with a giggly gasp once he feels the furry creature roaming about his skin.

“Fehehern! Gehehet out of thehehere!” Ingo wraps his arms around himself to try and stop Fern’s ticklish exploration of his torso. Splatter thinks it looks like fun, so he jumps in to help too. He slips his little body under the other part of Ingo’s uniform, then skitters up and around the warden like he was scaling a mountain. 

Ingo squeezes his arms to his sides and wiggles around as the little sneasel twins persist with their sneak attack under his clothes. “Ohohokay! Okahay! I’m up!”

The two sneasels hop out as soon as they hear Ingo give in. They twist around to face the warden and cheerfully squeak with a smile. The day has only just begun, but even in their waking moments, the twins are already up to their usual shenanigans when it comes to playing and spending time with their warden.

[whizzing-fizzbee]

Tickle the Ivories

Ominis Gaunt x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit / MDNI (smut, language); all characters are adults Words: 4,473 Tags: second person POV, reader insert, no y/n, smut, aged up characters, adult characters, post-Hogwarts, friends to lovers

Summary: Ominis Gaunt needs some inspiration to finish writing his novel. You suggest he play some piano for inspiration; instead, he plays you.

Notes: I've always headcanoned Ominis as being an excellent pianist, which is mainly what inspired this — as well as that scene in the 1990 film "Pretty Woman." This is literally just shameless, silly smut.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Ominis Gaunt didn’t miss his eyesight — at least not most days. 

He’d lived like this for years and, like most aspects of his grim childhood, he had learned to adapt. 

The only times he truly missed his vision was when you came around. 

You stirred something special and secretive in Ominis. You always had. In fact, the first time he met you — the morning you wandered into the Slytherin Common Room to meet your housemates on the first day of fifth year — Ominis could feel the air change. 

The common room was always cool, the windows casting shadows from the Black Lake’s frigid waters across the floors. Even the spot in front of the fireplace felt abnormal, as if the crackling flames were fake.

So when you approached Ominis near his favorite spot near the far windows, his guard went up. The air became oppressive; heavy like morning dew but warm like steam bursting from a kettle. But Ominis greeted you with kindness. Despite the polished, poised demeanor that often made him appear pretentious, he was a soft person. He only became hardened with life reminded him of its cruel capabilities. But in spite of his own arduous memories, he preferred to give people the benefit of the doubt. 

Of course, that nearly changed when you befriended Sebastian Sallow. At first, Ominis thought it might be good to welcome a new friend to their severed trio. Sebastian hadn’t been the same since Anne was forced to leave Hogwarts. Ominis was hopeful you might distract him from his relentless research for Anne’s cure. He didn’t realize you’d be the one to encourage it. 

Still, something about your presence intrigued Ominis. You made his porcelain cheeks flush and the milky whites of his eyes glimmer. You took that pale, ghost of a boy and breathed new life into him. 

So even after Sebastian initiated you to the Undercroft, even after you elected to allow Sebastian to use Crucio on you in the Scriptorium, and even after Sebastian’s downward spiral led to Solomon’s demise, Ominis couldn’t shake the feeling that he should appreciate you despite all the agony that occurred since your arrival. 

He wanted to hate you; wanted to blame you for the ways his fifth year unraveled. But you weren’t perfect. You tried your best to reason with Sebastian, and that was your common thread to Ominis — you were both too good to know how to stop something so sinister. 

So despite the devastating manner in which you failed Sebastian, Ominis understood, and he did not blame you. Especially once he saw your efforts to help Sebastian resurrect himself. 

When Ominis had wanted to turn Sebastian in, you thought of Anne. And you reminded Ominis that Sebastian was still good; he had acted out of love that manifested into desperation. Neither you nor Ominis understood that. Your family abandoned you as an infant. Ominis’ family robbed him of any chance for affection. You were both strangers to the pull of unconditional love. 

You stuck by Sebastian and helped your misguided friend remember the person he really was. You showed him empathy and understanding, but you also inflicted him with tough love when he needed it. You made it clear he’d lose everything if he dared to ever dabble in dark magic again. 

Since then, Sebastian had returned to his former self. He graduated from Hogwarts and became an Auror. You and Ominis could not have been more proud of him. 

Meanwhile, you were a Healer at St. Mungo’s and Ominis became a novelist. The two men moved into a townhome together while you shared a flat with Natsai Onai. You spent more time at Ominis and Sebastian’s than you did your own home. The three of you liked it that way.

That was the case this evening, as you stopped by their townhome and let yourself in. You hadn’t planned to stay long — you were tired from work — but you wanted to hear how Ominis’ latest story was coming along. 

“Evening,” you greeted as you tossed your coat and bag on the kitchen table. You kicked your shoes off and settled onto the sofa as your eyes lingered on Ominis, who was seated at a desk pushed against the wall. Parchment was scattered over the desktop while a charmed quill hovered over an ink pot. 

“Evening,” Ominis sighed. You frowned as you shifted deeper into the sofa cushions to make yourself comfortable, your legs tucked beneath yourself. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked as you took in Ominis’ appearance. His eyes looked cloudier than usual, and even his skin appeared dull and parched. This wasn’t the man whose beauty could only be described as striking. This was a man who had been drained by life’s unrelenting demands. 

Still, he was stunning to you. You’d always been painfully attracted to him. At first, it was because you found him distinguished, albeit intimidating. You knew very little about the Gaunt lineage or its nefarious history when you met him. You merely wanted to learn more about the dignified boy who wore elegant robes and whose eyes swarmed with a thousand mysterious stories. 

Then you came to know Ominis on a much deeper level, beneath the pomp and propriety. You lifted his veil of assimilation and unmasked a boy who merely wanted nothing more than the chance to be good.

It made you love him even more.

Most people would have caved under Ominis’ circumstances. The other Gaunt children gave in and became just like their parents – cruel, conniving and driven by hatred. It would have been easier for Ominis to do the same.

Instead, he defied his family, and on his eighteenth birthday, he set himself free. You were thrilled for him – so much so, you and Sebastian threw him a celebration. It wasn’t Ominis’ style to party, but you’d never seen him smile so much as that night.

But now, Ominis looked exhausted. 

“It’s this damn fifth chapter,” he sighed. “I just can’t work my way through it.”

“Oh, come on now,” you encouraged, your lips curving in a knowing smile. “You always sort it out.”

Ominis’ writing also left you in awe. Perhaps you were a tad bit biased, but his prose was perfect in your opinion. He weaved sentences that sang off their pages. Every thought, every word was crafted with careful precision that only someone as perfectionist as Ominis could conjure.

It’s why you’d often commiserate over his work with him. You didn’t know why Ominis stressed so much – he’d already penned two wildly successful novels that catapulted him to the top of the wizarding world’s pyramid of esteemed writers. But you also knew Ominis cared so damn much about his craft that anything short of spectacular would be deemed an utter failure by him.

“Tell me, where are you at now? Last time we chatted, the main character was about to reveal the story of how he survived the drowning,” you recalled.

“Now I need to convey how that experience has shaped him to this point,” Ominis explained. You blinked. 

“Well, I imagine surviving something like that would be quite traumatic,” you mused. “And I surmise it might alter one’s outlook on life. You and I both know how surviving a perilous situation plays out.”

Ominis’ lips thinned. It was a combination of a grimace and smile you’d come to recognize often. 

“I just don’t want to be cliche about it,” he explained. “Everyone suffers trauma. Everyone deals with it differently. I don’t want to write another story about a bloke who survived something awful and used it to overcome whatever internal agony eats away at him.”

“But Ominis,” you said carefully. “Isn’t that what tends to happen? People survive, and then they grow from it? It’s what happened to me, to Seb, to you.”

“But doesn’t that feel a bit expected?” Ominis asked. You shrugged as your fingers toyed with the edge of a sofa cushion. 

“Perhaps it does,” you answered honestly. “But perhaps that’s what people want to read, Ominis. Sometimes it’s nice to relate to a character.”

Ominis considered your words carefully, but it was clear his mind remained at war. He groaned and pushed himself away from the desk, standing to pace the living room in search of answers.

“Where is Seb anyway?” you asked curiously.

“Still on assignment in Belfast,” Ominis answered absently. His shoes clunked against the wood floor as he paced lines, back and forth, with his wand guiding him in one hand.

“Maybe you should take a break,” you suggested as you studied Ominis’ manic state. This happened more often than he’d ever admit. He’d become frantic over his work, spiral until he was struck by some brilliant idea, and then all would be right in his world again.

“I can’t take a break,” Ominis sighed. “I need to get this done.”

“You need to preserve your sanity,” you laughed. “And mine. And probably Seb’s.”

Ominis pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers as if he were trying to squeeze the tension from his head. You gazed around the room, your eyes falling on the black piano tucked away in the corner. 

It was always a comical contrast to you – the sight of Ominis’ opulent grand piano positioned next to the old shelves that held Sebastian’s collection of faded, grubby books, strewn haphazardly with no sense or order. It was a fitting reflection of the two men and how their differences managed to coincide comfortably.

“Maybe you should play some piano,” you suggested. “You’ve always said it inspires you.”

Ominis stopped his pacing and turned toward the corner. His brows furrowed and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Yes, alright,” he sighed in agreement. “Perhaps that will help clear my head.”

You nodded in approval as Ominis paced to the piano bench to sit. Though he could not see them, your eyes sparkled with excitement.

You watched in silence as Ominis’ fingers hovered over the keys. He seemed to be quietly deciding on what to play until finally, the quiet ping of the first note rang throughout the room.

If writing didn’t work out for Ominis, you were certain a career in music would. He played beautifully, with a stunning command over the keys. They became an extension of his spirit; steadfast and smooth, yet peppered with intriguing obscurity. The notes started as slow chirps before they ascended toward a brisk pitter-patter that preceded a sweeping symphony that soared around you. 

Ominis sat at the edge of the bench, his back straight as a board, a sign of his classical training. But the piano portrayed his emotion with much more livelihood than someone merely moving in scripted patterns. The keys felt his every pulse and danced in response. 

Ominis played with his eyes closed. You typically listened to him with your own squeezed shut to savor the sound, but this time, you couldn't help but watch him.

The crescendo was clean and crisp, a dazzling declaration of drama that surged with rich power. Each note seemed to emphasize Ominis’ heartbeat. It raised goosebumps over your skin, and you wished he’d touch you with the same mastery as those piano keys.

When the song ended, the room stilled again. You smiled. Ominis remained stoic.

“That was beautiful,” you breathed softly. 

“Thank you.”

“What was it? I didn’t recognize it.”

“Just something that came to mind,” Ominis said quietly.

Maybe it was the way Ominis’ song had made your pulse race. Maybe it was the way he looked next to the piano – so handsome and refined – or maybe it was merely your waning self-control. Something made you rise to your feet and pace toward Ominis.

You slid carefully onto the bench next to him. It was built for one person, meaning you were far too close, the sides of your thighs pressing against his. Ominis inhaled sharply. You pretended you didn’t notice.

“Will you teach me to play?” you asked innocently. Ominis straightened as if he was holding his breath. 

“Of- of course,” he answered. You smiled at him, though he couldn’t detect it as his wand rested atop the piano. 

You reached for the keys, the pads of your fingers tracing gently over their cool, slick surface. “Show me,” you said softly. Ominis nodded and you were almost certain you could see the muscles of his throat constrict.

“Start here,” Ominis instructed, his fingers resting atop the keys at one end of the piano. He pressed down, drawing a faint clink. You reached across him to repeat the pattern and smirked as you felt him shift beside you. It triggered something much more sportive within you. 

“And what about this one?” you asked innocently, using your hand to guide Ominis’ over the ivory planks. You pressed his hand downward over a series of keys, though you couldn’t care less about the notes. Your palm was warm as it rested atop his. 

The contrast was nearly comical. Your hand was delicate, but covered in scars from the scrapes and scratches of your past; nails bitten down to the skin; cuticles dry and cracked from washing your hands so much at work. Ominis’ hands were smooth and elegant, unblemished except for ink stains on the pads of his fingertips.

Your hand controlled Ominis’ as you dragged it slowly across the key tops so that the piano sang an erratic scale. When you realized his hand was trembling, you released it. It clanged against the keys as you dipped your head.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, your eyes cast downward. A flush surged from the back of your neck to your cheeks as you contemplated a million different ways you could die. Your heart continued its assault inside your chest while your muscles seized in shame. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s alright,” Ominis said gently. “I just… you just…” He trailed off, leaving you both unsure what he intended to say. So you said nothing.

The silence seared within your skull and you scolded yourself for daring to believe Ominis might reciprocate even the faintest feelings for you. There was no mutual sexual tension, no unspoken declarations of desire. This delicate dance you dreamed up was exactly that – a figment of your own personal fantasies.

You rested your hands in your lap and remained rigid. 

“I’m sorry.” Ominis finally broke the silence and his flustered tone caught you off guard.

“No, it was my fault-” you started. 

“I didn’t mean for you to stop,” Ominis continued. 

You froze. Your fingertips pressed into the tops of your thighs while the temperature in the room spiked. Your brain began to fail you, all vocabulary vacating its Broca’s area.

“Oh,” was the best you could manage. You were desperate to look anywhere but at him. You couldn’t. This was your friend. This was Ominis Gaunt, the spitting image of virtue and sophistication. This was a man you admired and respected… and a man you wanted to ruin you.

When it became evident you were considering flinging yourself from the third-story window, Ominis sighed. 

“Give me your hand,” he said, holding out his own. 

You obliged, and your breath hitched as he guided it with a renewed quiet confidence. Once your hands were placed over the keys again, Ominis stood. You frowned in confusion until he shifted to stand behind you, his spine curving as he leaned over your right shoulder.

“Like this,” he said gently, his hands taking control of yours. The piano chirped beneath your hands, though it was clear Ominis had no particular song in mind. 

As he leaned in more to manipulate your hands over more keys, you could feel his breath against your neck. Your eyes fell shut at the warmth and your knees drifted closer together. Soon, you were clamping your thighs tight as you fought to steady your breathing. Your body was failing you.

“Ominis,” you breathed, your eyes still closed. His hands drifted slowly from yours, snaking their way over your forearms. His thumbs traced gentle circles across your skin as his lips brushed the notch between your neck and your collarbone. A traitorous whimper escaped your throat.

Ominis' hands were on you in an instant, pulling you to your feet. You spun around to face him and he knocked you backward against the piano. Its keys clanged against the backs of your thighs while Ominis stepped around the bench, moving past the remaining barrier – physical and metaphorical – between you.

You guided him toward yourself until you could wrangle your arms around him. It wasn’t the dignified first kiss you often envisioned with Ominis, but it was anything but ordinary. He didn’t seem to mind. 

His hands snapped to your waist like they were always meant to be there, and he kissed you until you had to crane your neck for air. He had you pinned against the piano, your ass pressed against the keys.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you whispered as Ominis’ teeth grazed your earlobe. You screamed at yourself in silence, wondering how you could be stupid enough to say such things. This was all you wanted to be doing. 

Ominis left a trail of kisses down your neck to the exposed skin of your chest as he ignored your performative protest. Though he couldn’t see your breasts, you knew they were next.

His hands flattened across your back and edged their way upward to the hook and eye closures of your dress. He kissed you with composure as you felt his hands fiddle with every brass clasp until the fabric slackened around your torso. Your dress fell to the floor and you kicked it away impatiently. Ominis smiled at the sound.

His hands explored the curves of your waist, thumbs dragging over the ridge of your hip bones with care. He couldn’t see you, but my god, could he read you.

You squirmed beneath his touch as his palms drifted to your bare breasts, index fingers reading the braille of your nipples. He dipped his head to kiss your shoulder as his fingers peeled away the fabric of your panties. They floated to the floor, leaving you completely bare.

Though Ominis couldn’t see you, you’d never felt so exposed. He seemed to sense your vulnerable state, because he shushed you as he leaned in to circle his arms around you.

“Relax,” he murmured into your ear. “I’ll take good care of you.”

One submissive nod from you was all it took for Ominis to lift you backward, the piano banging beneath you as you became seated atop it. He sank into a seated position on the bench, his head between your thighs as he pressed a trail of kisses between them.

Your chest heaved and your core contracted in anticipation. This was a scene that far exceeded any expectation or reverie you could have imagined. No mirage could conjure the blazing ache between your legs.

Ominis’ fingertips skimmed the tops of your thighs, as if seeking confirmation to continue. You gnawed at your bottom lip and whined in response. 

The moment his tongue made contact with your clit, you unleashed the moan you’d been fighting to quell. Ominis would have deemed anything less a disappointment. Arms hooked around your thighs, he pulled you to the edge of the piano top, your legs dangling against the key fronts.

It didn’t take long for your heavy panting to become sharp gasps at the way Ominis’ tongue devoured your cunt. It flattened against your clit and rolled in brisk patterns until he was coaxing a climax from you. Your hands fisted his hair, making him a sinful paradox. You’d tamed the heir of Slytherin and turned him into your pet snake. But like most predators, he needed his prey.

He continued to feast on you until you squirmed and squealed beneath him, your hips bucking and feet fidgeting in response to his mouth’s every movement. When he sucked against your clit, you cried out, fingers tugging his hair taut while you threatened to fall apart. He hummed his praises for you, refusing to break contact with your salty, slick flesh.

And when you finally snapped, your back arching off the piano and your strangled shriek signaling the spasms coursing through your nerve endings, Ominis didn’t relent.

He left you a whimpering, sensitive mess as he stood, calmly loosening his tie while he allowed you to recover. Ever the gentleman – for now.

His tie gone and his shirt unbuttoned, Ominis offered you his hand. He eased you from the piano to your feet, where you stood with a hazy head. But the vision of Ominis looming over you, chest exposed and hair now a tousled mess, made you lick your lips with lust.

Your hands raked over his torso and chest as you slid his shirt from his arms to the floor. His skin was fair and pale, dabbled with a scattering of beauty marks. You wanted to study them, memorize them until you could point them out as easily as Orion in the night sky. But not now. Now was the time for a different kind of intimacy, one that was much more unchaste.

Ominis stirred quietly as you fiddled with his belt buckle. It had barely clinked apart before you were shoving his pants and undergarments to the floor in haste. His smile told you he was enjoying your frantic state.

You weren’t quite the epitome of composure like he was, but he certainly had never seen you like this. He didn’t seem to mind, judging from the erection that was presently aching in your hand. Ominis’ chest caved as you stroked him, your eyes studying his every expression.

“Fuck,” he moaned as your thumb rolled tiny circles across his tip. “You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this.”

“Pretty sure I do,” you murmured into his ear.

“What kept you for so long then?” he groaned, his eyes squeezed shut. 

“You aren’t exactly the type to wear your heart on your sleeve,” you noted with a smirk, your hand pumping faster around his shaft.

“This house doesn’t need two emotional and impulsive men. One Sebastian is enough,” Ominis muttered. You grinned in response as you leaned in closer, your hand still tugging at his length. “You’re sure about this?” he asked gently.

“Never been more sure of anything in my life.”

“I’ve heard that too many times from you and Sebastian to be genuinely convinced,” Ominis noted. You smirked into his eyes, certain he could sense it.

“You know, with all this talking, you’re starting to sound like Seb.”

“You take that back right now.”

You laughed as you pulled Ominis into a long, slow kiss. His hands were everywhere, drinking in every bit of your skin available until his cock was twitching with greed. 

Soon, you were pinned against the piano again, this time with the keys digging into the fronts of your thighs. You gasped as Ominis fisted your hair with one hand, shoving your head forward. The piano clanked as you bent over, your hands catching your weight as they pressed against the piano top.

“I’ll show you what it means to really make some noise,” Ominis growled in your ear. Your arousal swelled instantly.

Ominis’ hands held your hips as you could feel the tip of his cock searching for your slick entrance. It nudged its way past your folds until Ominis sank his hips forward, filling you slowly as you held your breath.

“Shit,” Ominis hissed from behind you as he stretched you apart. Your eyes watered and your teeth clenched, your cunt already threatening to tremble at his mere intrusion. Once he reached the hilt, you could hear him sigh with satisfaction. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed. “You take me so perfectly.”

You bucked your hips backward in response. Ominis understood your message. His hips pulled back, drawing his cock from your passage until only its tip lingered in your entrance. When he rocked forward again, you moaned as he drove into your walls. 

The piano unleashed a barrage of scattered sound, an ode to the ongoing debauchery happening above. You paid no mind, your focus solely on the bliss that currently bewitched your body. Your fingertips pressed hard against the piano top, leaving fingerprints from your crime. 

Ominis’ cock found a steady rhythm that soon left the piano singing along with your sins. Its keys rang out with each slapping thrust while your moans provided the vocal component. Together, the two of you created a symphony for your seventh heaven. 

“Ominis,” you panted. “Ominis, please. Don’t stop.”

He wouldn’t dream of it. Not when you looked so fucking euphoric laid out before him, your bare backside curved over his precious piano while your skin rippled with its melodies. 

You squeezed yourself tight around his cock, the strain causing your walls to quake until you could feel your body reaching its own high note. You wailed Ominis’ name just before your rigid frame relaxed, your orgasm rolling within your walls until it left you flat across the piano top, your knees threatening to give out. 

Meanwhile, the surge from your core sent Ominis hurtling toward his own climax. He grunted as he slammed into you, spearing your core with his cock once more until he pulled your hips flush with his to fill you with his release. 

When it was over, he collapsed above you, his hands splayed against your back for support. 

“Alright?” he asked once he had the strength to straighten himself up. The moment he did, you missed the warmth of him pressed against your back. 

You nodded in confirmation and straightened, too. Your sweaty body left streaks on the dark piano top, one last imprint of what you’d done. As Ominis pulled himself from you to gather his clothes, your eyes lingered on the piano. 

A bashful blush crept across your cheeks as the reality of your act settled with clarity. You dressed in silence, averting your eyes from Ominis as you searched for the right words to fill the silence. 

Ominis appeared to be doing the same. Once you were both decent again, you decided the rug was the most fascinating thing you’d ever seen. 

But Ominis moved toward you, an act of reassurance and affection, one hand finding your waist as the other brushed your cheek with the backs of his knuckles. 

“Are you okay?” he asked so gently, you almost couldn’t believe this was the same man who had just defiled you on a piano. You smiled softly at him and reached for his hand to give it a gentle squeeze. 

“I’m fine,” you said reassuringly. “You?”

Ominis smiled, his eyes bright and clear now.

“Much better,” he said. “I’ve never been so inspired in my life.”

[lady-ashfade]

Abed

´*: ･ﾟ⋆˒ team green x hateful reader (slight Aegon x reader)

╰･ﾟ✧☽ dabble.

╰･ﾟ✧☽ warnings: reader hates cole so bad, uncanon events, targ-cest, had a thought for days and made it, team green defenders don’t come after me- because I’m not on their side doesn’t mean I am a bad person, or hate you. I understand you💜🫵

“I was abed, your Grace.”

Spinning your finger around the cup as Aegon questioned the man you hated for years and his response made a laugh rumble from your throat. Silent sweeps the room and all eyes turn to you while it goes unnoticed by yourself from the thoughts in your head. Mourning wasn’t a word to describe what you felt, anger and madness perhaps are the best words to use.

Aegon stepped back and glanced curiously at you while caught in a daze, “Sister?” his calling is enough to snap out of it. As his eyes found yours it was clear the single thread behind his eyes began to snap, “Care to share what is a jest to you at a moment like this?” all watch as he walks across the table.

“While my son is dead?” he stopped before you.

Alicent knew the hatred for Cole runs throughout your blood. Ever since you were a child you refused to listen to him, mocked him, even tried to stab him in training. Some of that hate was also for her as well but you loved her enough. Though, the way you looked at both of them with a sly smirk of what you had witnessed a few weeks before put it through doubt.

“I am just tickled, by the person who is really at fault her brother. Aegon you of course took the knights and some men to entertain last night, but I am sure there were more when I left helaens room last night?” fulling playing with them as you lean back in the chair, “If I recall our mothers hall happened to have all guards dismissed last night.”

Alicent looked frightened and wanted to beg you to keep silent as the men look at her, Cole by her side in disbelief. “Ser Criston Cole said he was abed,” looking into the dark haired mans eyes, you feel a power wash over you unlike anything you have felt. “But he did not say where.”

Aegon looked at the man who helped raise him and his jaw tighten, “tell the truth,” taking a deep breath before slamming his hands down onto the table, “Now.” He shouted and made all except you flinch.

“Forgive me, but the princess has no idea what-” pushing the chair out from beneath your legs in a haste movement and grabbing hold of the handle of your sword.

“He was bedding our mother,” the looks of shock are louder then words could say. leaning closer to your older brother, “he left his post at your child’s bed. But clearly what’s in between our mothers legs is more important.”

“That is enough,” Alicent raised up and looked at both of you in tearful eyes, “I am to blame. Punish me, we meant non of this to happen.”

“Is it true.”aegons head starts to shake, his eyes darkening.

One simple nod and cry from his mother and that’s all he needed and rushed forward to cole and start to shout and punch him. Of course cole is more skilled and managed to slip away. And as much as you enjoy some action be taking against him, you had to stop it.

“Strip him of his power, his armor but don’t kill him,” Aegon alway had a soft spot for you because you understood him, played along to his ways. “Let me handle him, and let our mother go unharmed.” Raising a hand to his cheek you stroke the skin, he was so easy to manipulate.

“He is yours, sister. Punish him however you see fit.”

I really hate coke so much. Like if i could just skip to his death i would, i couldn’t care about anything else. Idk if you are mad at that, he just pisses me off.

[millermouth]

𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥

Bitch!!! I ain’t even a series girl and there’s multiple in here!!! Who is she!!! And look at me tagging a fluff fic!! Turning a new leaf round here. If you see something you like please let these wonderful authors know by showing them some much deserved love Sorry this is late! I was traveling and literally haven’t touched my laptop in days

Bicep biting by @tinysunshine

Daryl Dixon x you one shot summary: you kiss daryl’s arms and have to explain what cuteness aggression is after you bite his bicep ♡ my thoughts: I feel like woodchuck todd from easy a when he’s gobblin’ on that wood log LET ME GET A BITE OF THAT BEEFY ARM, DIXON

literally anything by @cavillscurls

(bitch I’m such a fan we got a whole damn list to get thru)

daddy next door

joel miller x you ongoing series summary: It’s summer in Texas, and when the dashing Joel Miller moves in next door, your less than favorable life gets completely turned around. my thoughts: ohhhhh my heart. such a different version of joel than im used to (rich & fancy) but it really hits the spot. cute romance and I see you in so much of this!!!

ass man

joel miller x you drabble summary: joel miller is an ass man my thoughts: what I wouldn’t do for this man to put his hands all over my best ass(et). Mya showed me this after I went off about joel in fact being an ass man and I was eternally horny grateful

Inescapable 🕊️

clint (freaky tales) x you one shot summary: Clint always gets what he wants—this time, you’re going to give it to him. my thoughts: YES SIR YES SIRRRYYYYYYYY mya has already heard all my praise but we’re gonna say it again holy SHIT Clint smiling into my neck as he puts a baby in me?!?! SIR MAAM YES PLEASEEEEE this has been a fave trope of mine lately. Captive reader who used to scream and beg for him not to touch now loving every second of it sorry bit dark it’s giving “run” vibes which was rec’d on last month’s list!!! And that shit is one of my faves so I knew this would tickle my pickle in the same way. I wish I could be eloquent about this shit but my GOD it’s so good trust.

Joel in glasses by @mushgloomz

peepaw!joel x you drabble summary: what the title says my thoughts: I’ll just put this here and you tell ME you don’t feel some type of way: “ain’t i old enough to be your daddy, darlin’?”

of rage and ruin 🕊️ by @corazondebeskar-reads

werewolf/alpha!joel x you ongoing series summary: Joel Miller made it twelve years into the apocalypse without getting bit. He turns into a much different kind of monster than he expected, though. my thoughts: no no no you don’t understand. You don’t GET IT. Is this omegaverse? Yep. I’ve been dabbling. And the others just don’t do it like you do baby 😭 I read this way too fast and now I just wait for the updates but holy shit. No one puts my baby in a shock collar 😭😭😭😭

Idle Threats by @pearlessance

jackson!joel x you series summary: Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for. my thoughts: I’m so glad I didn’t post this fic rec on time because holy mother of god. I blew through this so quickly because of how fucking beautiful the writing is. Joel Miller feeling dirty about liking a younger woman? Check. Religious themes denouncing god for his one and only girl? Check. I’m sorry I’m so sorry I don’t usually add this but some of this dialogue is 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 “Because if anyone but me ever called you a slut an’ I heard about it?” He presses your clit harder, grinning when you start panting. “I’d have to kill ‘em, baby.” .....Like W H A A A A A a a a aaaa 😵���💫😵‍💫

[zweigsangel]

── ALL MINE ★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

(fratboy) hockeyplayer!chris x ballerina!reader.

you were never much of a party person; crowds and loud music weren't really your scene. but with chris’s hockey team winning so often, parties had become almost a routine. and chris always wanted you by his side. that night was no different. you found yourself at another teammate's house, the air thick with the smell of beer and the sound of laughter echoing through the rooms. your dress, a soft shade of pink, hugged your frame gently, the tiny bow at the front catching the light with every movement. as you entered, chris was already ahead of you, his tall figure cutting through the crowd effortlessly. he didn't look back, but you felt his touch as his pinky finger hooked around yours, guiding you through the throng of people.

and that’s how you found yourselves on a couch in a corner of the crowded room, the dim lighting casting a warm, hazy glow over everything. you were perched on his lap, as his arm was wrapped securely around your waist, holding you close. the smell of leather and faint cologne mixed with the scent of the joint he held in his free hand, the smoke curling lazily upward before dissipating into the air. his lips, warm and slightly chapped, would brush against your shoulder every few moments, leaving a trail of soft kisses and playful nips that made your skin tingle. as you glanced at him, you noticed how his eyes were tinged with a slight redness, glazed over with a calm that only deepened with each drag he took. the sweet, earthy aroma of the marijuana filled your senses, mingling with the low hum of music and muffled conversations around you.

you were well aware that chris smoked weed, and sometimes even dabbled on cocaine. at parties, it was almost a given. but you had always kept your distance from it, firmly set on the idea that it wasn’t for you. yet that night, something was different. your gaze kept drifting to the joint between his fingers, the way he held it so casually. the curiosity was subtle at first, a quiet tickle in the back of your mind, but it grew steadily, inching its way into your thoughts. chris noticed the shift immediately. of course— he always noticed everything about you. his lips curved into a slow, teasing smile. he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your neck as he whispered, “what’s on your mind, little angel?”

you bit your lower lip, a nervous habit that betrayed the uncertainty swirling inside you. “what if… i tried?” you asked as you nodded slightly toward the joint in his hand. his eyebrows shot up in surprise, clearly not expecting those words from you. the playful smirk on his lips was still plastered on his face. “oh, yeah? you sure?” he asked. his hand, which had been resting comfortably around your waist, moved up to your chin, gently grabbing it and tilting your face toward his.

you nodded slightly and chris hummed in response, a low sound that vibrated between you. “okay,” he murmured, lifting the joint and bringing it closer to your lips. you parted them without hesitation. “go on, inhale,” he encouraged softly, his voice a gentle push. you followed his instruction, drawing in a breath and feeling the smoke fill your lungs. it was strange, a mix of warmth and bitterness that you hadn’t anticipated. chris pulled the joint away from your lips, watching you closely as you held the smoke inside, unsure of how long to keep it there. the seconds stretched, and before you knew it, your chest tightened, and you started to cough, the smoke escaping in harsh bursts. he chuckled, patting your back gently. “you okay, angel?” you murmured a soft yes, just loud enough to be heard over the pulsing music in the background.

as the night wore on, chris would occasionally lift the joint to your lips, coaxing you to take another drag. each time, you complied, the initial hesitance slowly fading as the effects began to creep in. it started as a gentle warmth, spreading through your body, relaxing your muscles, and making everything around you feel just a bit softer, a bit hazier. the edges of the room seemed to blur, and the noise of the party became a distant hum.

soon, you found yourself craving the closeness of chris more than ever. your fingers tightened around his shirt, seeking his touch as a newfound neediness bubbled up inside you. you snuggled closer into his chest, nuzzling against his neck, the scent of him grounding you. your head felt light, almost dreamlike, and all you wanted was to stay wrapped up in this cocoon. he looked down at you, giggling softly as he noticed how clingy you had become. he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. “i’m right here, angel.”

he could feel your need for him in the way you clung to him, the warmth of your breath, scented with smoke, against his neck. your eyes, now large and slightly reddened, looked up at him, your pupils dilated. your soft sighs and the occasional murmur of his name only deepened his awareness. “okay, let’s go home,” he said after a while. he carefully lifted you off his lap, his hands steady on your hips the entire time. he exchanged quick goodbyes with his friends and he guided you through the bustling party, with a hand on your lower back. once you two were outside, he led you to his car, opening the door for you and helping you into the passenger seat.

“we’ll go to my place, alright?” he asked, glancing at you with a reassuring smile. you nodded in response, your head feeling heavy as you leaned back into the seat. it seemed like only seconds before you found yourself in chris’s bed, feeling the soft, familiar sheets against your skin. chris stood by the open wardrobe, tossing you one of his t-shirts. you pulled it on, letting your dress slip to the floor in a crumpled heap. chris, clad only in a pair of grey shorts, slid into bed next to you with a relaxed ease. you immediately curled up beside him.

“if i’d known you’d be this needy, i would have had you try it sooner,” he whispered jokingly, as his fingers plumped in n out of your tight heat, drawing soft whimpers from you, your body arching into his touch.

what a way to end the night.

[bellyaz]

Waiting for the day my blog turns someone tf out.

Like I can just imagine a tiny little thing who’s so fascinated with fat women and wouldn’t mind plumping up, but is hesitant. They secretly follow this blog and like my posts… like really like them.

& one day I write a prompt or story that gets her so aroused that she decides to dabble into her fantasy. Indulging one time won’t hurt.

Maybe intox tickles her fancy, so she takes a gummy/smokes, reads “1,000 mgs” and “follows the script” (up until the MC is interrupted of course), which is really just her stuffing her face and playing with her tummy.

But remember, this is their first time really indulging. So they’re feeling everything. The tightness of their stomach, the soreness in their back, just how far their gut sticks out with all the fool packed in there. This is probably her first time seeing her gut stick out past her tits.

She’s so infatuated with her baby bulge. She’s poking her taut belly and trying her best to keep her grip on the little fat roll she’s pinching, but she doesn’t really have enough to hold onto yet.

She fails to stand up the first time she tries to, and she finally realizes how much she’s eaten. She gets up to go to the bathroom and is stopped in her tracks when she notices herself in the mirror. Her jaw drops, her pussy is pulsing and soaked, and her hands are glued to her stomach now.

She sets her phone up to take a video, so she can go back and use it for later. She’s sure this is a one time thing, so she needs all the footage of this erotic experience as she can get.

She decides to send me an ask with proof of her endeavors while she’s still high, cause she needs someone else to see her in this state, but she only has the courage to do it while inebriated.

She gets back to her room and cums herself sleepy to her videos.

When she wakes up, she’s back to normal. Stomach is flat, head is clear. No more back pain or weight in her gut. And she’s… kinda bummed about it.

She checks my page for almost a week, looking to see if I replied to her picture. Until one night she’s scrolling and there she is, on her own timeline, with me replying to her ask. I say something about how hot her little bloat looks. I didn’t encourage her to do it again, but she felt that familiar throbbing sensation and now she has to do it again.

[sl4sh3rsub]

patrick bateman hcs (nsfw: mdni)

patrick bateman x reader (AFAB, AMAB, FtM, MtF)

warnings: overall pretty toxic, homophobic and misogynistic, there's a lot of infidelity/cheating and drug usage/alcohol too. there is also shaming of sex work - this is purely fictional and i do not condone this behavior in real life. i wrote in these elements because they appear in the original source material, not because i hold these opinions/views. mentions of extreme kink/fetish (knife play, blood play), p in v + anal (all unprotected - pls stay safe irl), oral sex (giving + receiving), handjobs, cockwarming, implied dom/sub dynamics (patrick is a top + sugar daddy/dom/slight sadist + is entitled, reader is more submissive + sweet), lots of cum + precum/arousal, reader sometimes treated as sex object, marking (bruises, bite marks, hickeys etc.), dubious consent? (overstimulation, he can be manipulative, reader flashes someone in afab section), reference to past rough sexual encounters, lots of sexual tension, patrick is sociopathic(?) + gets hard a lot + is possessive/slightly domestic but still rough, canon colleagues (schrödinger's judgement + they're horny), nipple play, voice kink/voicemail sex, threats/mentions of canon (?) violence (not towards reader), exhibitionism + public settings, consensual filming of sexual acts, gun play/fear play, cigar gets extinguished on reader (research risks properly before trying irl, please stay safe), hired sex worker, mentions of surgery in ftm + mtf sections, rip jean + evelyn's emotions

a/n: i'm a massive fan of the broadway musical (bootleg available on youtube) and i've seen the film twice, but i still need to read the book!! i've listened to this youtube audiobook (ai voice patrick reading it - part one) and it kinda goes hard. anyway, peeb ateman is soft with reader in this one, so it could potentially be a little ooc.

order: general hcs first then amab + afab then ftm + mtf, different sections = different content n tried not to repeat much

_ _ _ _ _

general hcs

patrick is already engaged to evelyn when he meets you. he's very well aware that she's seeing timothy price, so he might as well have his own fun - divorce isn't in fashion this year, so being prepared for that potential outcome might turn some heads and patrick hates judgmental attention

if you're already in a relationship with someone, he'll whisk you away immediately. you deserve so much better than some chump who can't afford to spoil you, he'll prove his superiority with his shiny silver card

show him genuine affection and take interest in his music taste!! if you listen to him and take time out of your day to participate in conversation, he'll abruptly stop mid-sentence to process that you're invested in his recap of his day :( you'll have no issues with him from then out - you respect him and he'll respect you. he's quietly thankful for how kind you are to him

if patrick has a yearning to dabble in a certain kink or fetish - such as knife play or extreme blood play - that you're not willing to participate in, he'll just find someone who can satiate his needs temporarily. no harm done, patrick just wants to make sure he's not taking complete advantage of you - he'll pay for you to have a delicious dinner and fancy hotel for the night, don't worry. he still wants to take care of you and reassure you that no one is taking your place, and that you'll still have him in the morning... he just needs to let out his extreme urges throughout the night

his way of showing affection is brushing his nose against you, whether it be your temple, ear or cheek as he whispers sweet nothings to you. he longs for subtle contact and the gentle warmth of your skin. he's also addicted to burying his face in your neck or pressing his lips against your crown when he fucks you from behind or squirming in his lap, the small puffs of hot air tickling your flushed skin and his lidded eyes rolling at your scent

he digs his fingers into your lower tummy while he fucks you, feeling his cock ram deep inside you - he's shamelessly using you as his own fucktoy, massaging his length to get himself off. the extra pressure against his tip has him shuddering at the delicious sensation

yeah sure, patrick might be a weirdo and a loser but he can fuck you like he loves you (maybe he does) and spare cash to dry-clean your cum off his expensive suits... fair trade, no?

he practically becomes your sugar daddy - you're his personal doll to dress, provide for and parade around proudly. he wouldn't trade the satisfied glint in your eyes, or the rhythm of your glistening arousal dripping on his wood paneled floors for anything. after a long day of spoiling you, he becomes a little selfish in the bedroom and chases his high with no regard for how overstimulated you might get :(

he is obsessed with dressing you to match his personal perception of you - that is to say, have you dressed in a manner that would make atheists reconsider and have the faithful herald you as their new deity. he wants to ensure that everyone know why he worships you the way he does. even if you don't feel confident in your skin, he quietly reassures you that your bashfulness only adds to your charm

you're his personal model and his precious doll - plaything, if you will. after you return to his place from perusing the designer shops, he lounges back with a whiskey in hand and patiently watches you show off your latest purchases on his card. he'll ask you to spin or swap shoes to match the outfit every so often, even asking you to bend down towards him just so he can adjust your collar or hairstyle. if he gets taken aback by how stunning you look in a certain outfit, expect him to get carried away and start panic rambling - he'll explain the specifics of the material, cut or brand as his fingers roam your body with devotion and his eyes greedily drink you in. his voice gets progressively huskier throughout the show until he gets to the expensive undergarments hidden in matte bags and tissue paper - he fucks you in front of the mirror, reveling in the way the material hugs your skin and how your skin shifts as your muscles clench with every thrust

after he warmed up to you, patrick slowly realized how emotionally taxing your early encounters were on you and that you were left feeling used and roughed up afterwards. if he still makes you feel that way after he first admits his affection, definitely let him know - he might want to leave physical marks on you that linger for a week or so after, but emotional damage is the last thing he wants marring your relationship

something that resembles quiet devotion lingers in his gaze, the glint of chandeliers flashing as he quickly shakes his head and denies he was ever staring :( sure, you might not be the stereotypical 'hardbody', but you're more worth his time than all of the other whores that his cock stirs for - you're leagues better than the sluts turning tricks and actually deserve a place in his home, his bed, unlike the simple chicks he picks up from clubs. he actually respects you (though, not enough to acknowledge your independence away from him) and his silent approval - pride, even - of your actions sometimes slips through his mask

whenever you're in the room with him, there is an invisible yet tangible tension that tugs you together. the warm, compressing feeling always hones your vision onto patrick - it drowns out all of the noises and movement around you, grounding you in the all-consuming gaze of your lover. his eyes snap to yours whenever you enter the room and he instinctively feels a bulge growing in his slacks, his pupils dilating as his tongue darts out to dampen his lips. no polite conversation or mundane styling drivel is worth his time when you are in his field of view

patrick genuinely feels his blood thunder in his ears whenever the men at the table make snide remarks about your appearance or belittle you. he is absolutely disgusted at their attitudes and lack of understanding - you are his darling and you deserve to be treated as his equal, at a minimum. however, if the table murmurs about how sexy you look, he's more than willing to show you off a bit - he's proud of what's his, obviously! just don't let the boys get too bold with their 'polite' touches or they won't have fingers in the morning :<

he'll buy you a ring. not to propose, oh god no - he doesn't want to do the whole evelyn debacle again. patrick wants to simply state his territory and claim so that others would be less inclined to approach you (plus, it helps that he doesn't have to vividly daydream about it anymore - it saves brain power)

if he rushes home with dirty, damp gloves and a missing button on his overcoat, he'll forever be indebted to you if you pour him a stiff drink and prepare to call jean to postpone all events the next day

your head gets all fuzzy when his tongue drags along the line of your collarbone and his soft lips ghost down your chest - circling your nipple and threatening you with the edge of his teeth makes the edge of his mouth twist into a smirk. if you meet his gaze, his lidded eyes give away how content he is in this position, with you on top of his lap. his lips sheened with spit and your buttoned shirt yanked open make for an arousing sight

patrick is a big fan of smoking his cigars while you sloppily take his cock down your throat - he gets some sadistic pleasure from putting them out on your spit-soaked thighs, the drool hissing under the scorching heat. it's coincidentally also one of his favourite things to reminisce, running his fingers over your thighs while replaying those memories during boring social events. the scent of his expensive smoke, wafting around him in a saloon, has him drifting back to the sight of his hefty cock resting on your face - the length throbbing with every heartbeat, pearls of salty precum seeping into your soft skin and trailing in thin rivulets down the contours of cheekbone

he is a fan of sneaking a dab of his yves saint lauren perfume onto all of your formal wear, a little mark of him and something to keep you company whenever you're out at functions he's not attending

he drags you out to clubs just to dress you up and show you off under the bright, colourful flashing lights. you have his eye the entire time you're feeling yourself on the dance floor, tempting him your sensual movements from across the room - don't expect him to act on it immediately though, he's more than content to hold your gaze and sip his glass from the bar. if some sleaze dares to get handsy with you, he'll step in and guide you towards the bathroom as his fingers glide down to your lower back - he needs a bump to loosen up and not hurt every single chump eyeing you up. you're his plaything, after all.

if you spend a night at patrick's place, he'll secretly love taking showers with you - only because you help him rub in his cleansers and soaps into his skin, no other reason. certainly not that your devoted, admiring gaze make him flush and whisper his timid thanks under the steady stream of water, the noise lost in the pounding around your ears. ignore his building arousal, it'll stay there and grow even harder when he pleasures you with his tongue on the counter of his stainless-steel kitchen. you're the only one he'll kneel for, and you bet that there's a steamed-up outline of your ass on the countertop when he's done :3

despite his incessant need to fit in, he's never going to blend in while you remain by his side. you bring out that rare smile of his and that soft chuckle in public settings. you far outshine all the other, dull plus-ones at the dinner parties

you are patrick's trump card - everyone he knows either wants to be you or fuck you, they'll do anything to impress (especially if there's false hope of ending the night in bed with one or both of you)

if you're confident enough, you could be his personal little pornstar!! it makes you so giddy, the knowledge that he could show the snippets of the videos to his coworkers (who dream about getting you naked) and make them jealous of the fact that you've cum numerous times with patrick's name on your lips. the video is recorded on the best equipment of course - he can't have you on video while looking anything less than godlike on camera

he orders your favourite dishes at every restaurant, combs and brushes out your hair when you arrive at his apartment, then fucks you roughly while whispering how thankful he is for you. his babbling pleas for you to stay and praise of your existence echo in your mind for hours after, especially as he rests next to you with steady breathing

patrick leaves hickeys and bite marks all over you and while he might apologise while handing you anti-bruise supplements, know that his mind's eye is stuck on the sigh of your skin blossoming under his lips - specifically, the feeling of his teething nipping your skin and the small hum of satisfaction as he pulls away to inspect his work. if you've been good lately, he'll let you leave a hickey or mark on his chest - it's only fair after he leaves you bruised and aching in his arms the next morning :( if you've behaved to his liking, he'll share some of his japanese pear and kiwi for breakfast. you need some sugar to recoup anyway

if he's been snappy or pent up all day, he'll guilt you into taking him with minimal prep - he will snap and go feral if he's had to rein it in at work, plus the stretch feels heavenly around his thick cock

patrick had once ordered a prostitute for the two of you to experiment with - making sure they were a fair balance between your ideal types, bodywise. this plan went a little off script after the foreplay when you and patrick ended up exploring your exhibitionist sides, passionately kissing and languidly exploring each other's bodies while the hire slowly touched themselves at the sight. that precious hour or so was the easiest pay that person had ever made (you and patrick were far from unattractive), plus that champagne that you poured out was heavenly

patrick has you suck him off during skincare routines in the morning and evening, making sure to cum all down your throat. he insists it's good protein for you!! kneeling in front of the bathroom countertop has become second nature to you, the divine sight of your rugged lover above you routinely making you feel at ease

you had better be friends with his secretary jean because you'll see her a lot. if she gets jealous and her failed attempts at sleeping with him affect her capabilities, patrick will simply hire a different secretary. sure, he'll love to flaunt you and taunt them about how they aren't fucking either of you, but that's just part of his fun. he might use the empty threat of fucking you in front of the secretary as a way to keep you from acting out, but he's too possessive to have someone in a different tax bracket see you laid bare

get him spa day gift cards!! you can both spend time in private saunas or pools simply enjoying each other's presence and use the time to caress each other's bodies. use the opportunity to get a full body massage - when patrick has had a rough week, you're more than likely going to end up with a couple bruises and a few sore muscles

while he's never been the most domestic man, the image of you flitting back and forth in his pristine kitchen flicks a switch in patrick's brain. your earnest efforts of making him his breakfast bran muffins and churning his apple butter has him daydreaming of keeping you in his apartment like a pet - at his beck and call constantly, dusting his expensive furniture and preparing his meals whenever he comes home... not to mention how you'd willingly bend over or drop to your knees in a heartbeat if he so desired

if patrick is riding an adrenaline (or cocaine) high when he returns to you, be very careful and tread lightly. he may have an itch to clean his axe or handguns, polishing them until the late hours of the night. when he's in a jittery and frantic state, he isn't above having you spread out on his polished floor as something nice to look at while assembling the firearms, and he's certainly not against fucking you roughly while holding the gun to your head or body. he's even aroused by the though of you sucking off his uzi, spit-slicked metal knocking your teeth as your glistening eyes widen in fear

when you sleep next to him, he might jolt awake at night before realizing your shifting movements pose no threat to him, especially when you're locked into his arms with your soft breath brushing against his skin. when he gazes at you in these dimly lit moments, his mask slips until he feels a semblance of happiness - there's no discomfort, jealousy or boredom, he's content with you against him like this. after a long while of his breathing filling the dark room, his mind forces his walls back up and reverts him back to his usual self just as he drifts to sleep. no one can ever see him like that, see what your presence does to him... not even you

he has a penchant for fucking you infront of his toshiba 30-inch television, a porno tape or horror movie often playing. he loves the way screams - either of ecstasy or pain - fill his ears as you moan beneath him, the colours of the screen dancing on your skin. his cock always pulses just that little bit more whenever you bite his thumb and take his dick deep inside you as the film plays in the background. red is suck a sexual and raw colour after all, why not have the bright screen fill your vision as you cum on his cock? the vibrance drowns out all other stimuli, forcing you to focus on his presence in and around you

imagine the shock on evelyn's face when she shows up unannounced at patrick's place one late afternoon- he's swaying to heuy louis and the news, hands on your hips as you giggle and pour him a glass. his silk shirt loosely buttoned just covers your modesty as he soothingly rubs circles on your thigh, soft grin fading as his gaze frosts over at the sight of his betrothed. she sniffs, scandalized at the sight infront of her, and tells patrick to not bother contacting her - tim price's phone will be unplugged the moment she arrives at his place. to be honest, patrick could not care less. you're in his arms and he knows for a fact that evelyn will be over it soon - if not, there's a more suitable marriage candidate right in front of him. if you feel bad or guilty after evelyn leaves, patrick will do his best with his hands, thick cock, tongue and credit card to soothe your worries

expect patrick to leave desperate and vaguely threatening voice mail messages - his heavy, stuttered breaths echoing in your ears as the slick sounds in the background get you more and more worked up. the depraved ramblings deepen and get hoarser with each passing minute, so you'd better pray jean doesn't walk in - she isn't worthy of seeing him in such a disheveled and flushed state

_ _ _ _ _

amab hcs

luis is the most understanding of patrick's work bunch - he isn't shy to defend you and be seen in public as your friend, once you are comfortable telling him your secret of course. just make sure everyone knows you're not a part of that yale thing and you'll be fine

although he isn't keen on being open about his relationship with you - for fear of his colleagues and fellow acquaintances of wall street making derogatory comments towards him, or worse, you - majority of the men already have some closeted urge to spend the night with you, yearning to take bateman's place in your bed. let's face it, the cocaine, competition and firm handshakes can only do so much to hide the growing homoerotic tensions between the coworkers. your appeal is wider than you realise, as the compliments and lingering gazes at events would have most outsiders questioning if carruthers was the only gay man present in the social circle

in large social gatherings - such as big dinner parties or company events - patrick is able to hide his hand under the table and keep a poker face while unbuttoning your fly, untucking your shirt and slowly palming you for his own amusement. his bragging of designer clothing, company roles and mentions of a nice house he procured - for you to move into, of course - easily distract the other people on the table from what's happening in their vicinity

if his j&b on the rocks isn't hitting the spot or the cigars his colleagues are smoking feel heavy in his lungs, he'll drag you into the men's room - assuming there's no one in the other stalls, of course. his fly is halfway undone by the time your knees and expensive slacks hit the tiles, his hands mussing your slicked back hair. you'd better take his cock down your throat to the best of your abilities - you don't want an audience to witness you choking and spluttering on bateman's length, do you? of course not, they'll ostracize you in a heartbeat (or so patrick says), so you had better not complain or splutter when he pinches your nose shut and shoots hot ropes down your throat

whenever patrick fucks your ass, he ensures that his mark is left on your supple skin for days later - whether it be a handprint-shaped bruise, crescent nail marks or scratches along your thighs, he needs to have you remembering how well he fucks you. as you sit down, adjust your pants or even just accidentally back into something, patrick is suddenly at the forefront of your mind

_ _ _ _ _

afab hcs

patrick buys you the finest jewelry and nicest accessories that money can buy - the deal is that you give him handjobs with the sparkling rings on and kisses with the expensive lipstick, luxurious material framing your figure like a dream. he is especially a fan of you wearing jewels that match your eye colour or makeup - when he lifts your hand to press a polite kiss on your fingers, the glittering in your eyes matching his gifts makes his heart skip a beat

when you cockwarm him, his length is so hefty and makes you feel so stretched - the weight grounds you as you struggle to gain friction against your poor neglected clit. you always feel so full when you're perched on his lap, the girth enough to turn off your brain and make you drool. sometimes when patrick is feeling bold, he prepares your outfit for the day and ensures that you're wearing a cute little skirt for easy access :( he can be selfish sometimes, on the occasion that he solely thinks with his dick

patrick loves pushing your knees up to your chest as he fucks you deeply in missionary - the feeling of your swollen pussy lips brushing against his veiny base and your clit grinding against his pubic bone gets him more worked up than he'll ever admit

it's fairly normal to have patrick's hand drift towards your chest in the back of a taxi, his face buried in the crook of your neck. keep your noises quiet or the driver might be curious about what's happening in the backseat. his cold fingers harshly pinching and tugging at your nipples make you abruptly moan into the brisk air in the back of the car, patrick subtly palming himself to the tortured whines leaving your lips. if you make eye contact with the driver, mouth that you're sorry for patrick's behaviour and try to save your dignity by biting your lip to avoid any loud noises. if they make direct eye contact with patrick first, however, expect him to pull a smug grin and flash your breasts to the angled rear-view mirror. he might even hike up your skirts to show off your soaked, borderline see-through panties. sneak the poor driver a tip on your way out because he nearly caused an accident, losing all brain function as his blood immediately drained from his head and rushed to his cock :<

patrick buys you two little platinum charms with a necklace chain, his initials engraved on the back of the heart shaped pendant. the other little shape is an axe, the edge of the blade set with tiny red garnets!! he is main motivation for having you wear it constantly is the fact that it makes a small clinking noise as you bounce on his cock, breasts swaying and your glimmering skin making the necklace a truly beautiful sight to patrick

_ _ _ _ _

ftm hcs

patrick will pay for any surgery you could every want - with the small caveat that he must be the first person to see and touch you once you're all healed. his lightly concealed wonder at your altered appearance and his admiring hums as he carefully traces the remaining swelling definitely help with your mood, breathlessly marveling at the miracle of modern medicine. he's praying you're happy with the outcome, it really was the best money could buy :(

if you're only just getting into wearing masculine clothing, you bet your ass that patrick is guiding you through the more expensive stores. no awkward phase, just the nicest clothing and most put together outfits to go out on the town!! as much as he understands how tough your body image issues can be, he's not having you look sloppy out in public - you're his man and you'll always be looking like you belong by his side

you're lucky his designer boxers are easy to clean! every time he catches sight of your muscles tensing, he's undoubtedly leaking into the material. when you're stretching and your shirt rides up, when you grab something from the top shelf or even when you crouch to tie your shoelace - his cock doesn't discriminate so you'd better expect a small, darkening patch. the musk at the end of the day has such a heady rush when you kneel in front of him, his sweaty underwear mere inches from your lips. patrick swears you give his dick a heartbeat whenever you make out with his bulge and especially when you sloppily give him head :3

bateman is a huge fan of quickies with you before meetings with your mutual colleagues - he's booked for lunch after, there's no other time in his schedule to empty his heavy, full balls into you :( his favourite way to spend those precious moments is with you bent over his polished desk, expensive pants crumpled at your ankles and your precum dripping onto the carpet. he is a massive fan of teasing you by pushing his cockhead into your slick boycunt and stroking his cock, edging his length until you're whimpering from the need to be filled. he mocks you for being needy and massages his balls when he finally fills your warm hole with thick, potent ropes of cum. he leaves you unsatisfied and leaking his load for the whole meeting :( splash your face with water and try not to squirm too much in your seat - patrick's classic shit-eating grin might give away the events that transpire mere moments before you both walked into the boardroom

mtf hcs

patrick will pay for any surgery you could every want - with the small caveat that he must be the first person to see and touch you once you're all healed. his lightly concealed wonder at your altered appearance and his hums as he carefully traces the remaining swelling definitely help with your mood, breathlessly marveling at the miracle of modern medicine. he's praying you're happy with the outcome, it really was the best money could buy :(

patrick keeps himself well put together and likes to treat you to manicures on shared days out. he'll ask his friend's girls for the best nail salon in the area and insists taking you. after he comes along to pick you up and pay after the set is finished, sometimes he'll immediately take your hands and hum his approval at the colour or design. other times, he'll give you his overcoat and hide your nails until you get in a private area, bathroom or the back of a car - the reveal of your new nails when you slowly stroke his cock, spit slicked hand glistening, makes his eyes roll back in pleasure. your heated gaze and slightly flushed face makes him grin, happy that you're willing to drool on his cock and flaunt his money proudly. the perfect girl, in his opinion :>

if you're only just getting into wearing feminine clothing, you bet your ass that patrick is guiding you through the more expensive stores. no awkward phase, just the nicest clothing and most put together outfits to go out on the town!! as much as he understands how tough your body image issues can be, he's not having you look sloppy out in public - you're his girl and you'll always be looking like you belong by his side

patrick's favourite evening activity is fucking you in a mating press - his cock filling you and hitting that deep spot inside you, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. he loves the sight of your girldick bouncing on your tummy and the shine of your dribbling arousal smearing on your skin. nothing beats a relaxed evening with your tight hole warming his throbbing length

_ _ _ _ _

thanks for reading. lmk if you liked it. if i got anything wrong, don't hesitate to tell me.

stay safe.

[sunstone-smiles]

Anticipation Over a Dish

Author’s note: Happy October everyone! And happy first day of Tickletober!!! Let’s kick this event off with a prompt from August’s Tickletober 2023 list with Day 1: Anticipation! I hope you enjoy!

Series: Fire Emblem Engage

Characters: Bunet, Chloé, Merrin

Word count: 935

Summary: Bunet gives his opinion on a new dish Chloé and Merrin created, although his answer wasn’t exactly what they were looking for. It seems like Chloé and Merrin have some persuading to do. 

—

He thought a single ‘no’ would be sufficient enough, but not for these persistent gals.

“No no no!” Bunet steps back with his hands up in defense. “Chloé! Merrin! Stand back!”

Chloé and Merrin approach him with smirks on their faces and their hands up in the air like wiggling claws. It doesn’t help that his two friends found out a secret about him when they were helping him cook the other day that they can easily use to their advantage.

“Come on Bunet!” Chloé says, “How could you not like our dish?”

“Yeah!” Merrin agrees, “We were so creative!”

“I politely disagree! The ingredients do not mix! It goes against the flavor profile and the voices of the ingredients!” Bunet exclaims. Before this chaos occurred, Chloé and Merrin asked him to come to the Somniel’s Café Terrace for the chef to taste test a dish they had made. The flavor was…unique, to say the least.

“I think they totally mix,” Chloé replies, “My pickled fish guts marinating a flame-cooked Solm roast. The tangy flavors just burst in your mouth. Folk food meets campfire comfort!”

“I was skeptical about it at first too, Bunet,” Merrin responds, “but it’s got potential! It’s like…a new version of surf and turf!”

“It’s no surf and turf dish I’ve ever heard of!” Bunet yells back.

Chloé fakes a gasp. “How rude!” she teases with a smile.

Merrin looks as if she’s about to pounce, a toothy smirk on her face and eyes staring him down. “You’ll pay for that!”

Chloé and Merrin rapidly approach him. He steps back and hits the arm of a couch, throwing a hand out behind him before he teeters over.

“Wait wait wait!” Bunet frantically exclaims with an arm out in defense. Bunet shirks back. He sucks in his chest and belly with a gasp of air when Chloé and Merrin’s fingers freeze in place right before they nearly graze him. He nervously giggles in anticipation while their hands are still hovering so close to his torso. “On s-second thought! Maybe there is some sort of flavoring that has potential!” he speaks quick, frantic.

The female retainers keep their hands in position, ready to strike at a moment's notice, keeping Bunet on edge. “So, you agree with us?” Chloé asks.

Bunet stays quiet. He can’t lie when it comes to food. His eyes dart to the side before giving a shy shrug and smile. “N-No?” he ends his statement like a question so that maybe they’ll have mercy on him.

Merrin grins, “Get him.”

“Oh no—” Bunet is cut off as Chloé and Merrin tackle him on the cushions of the couch. Their hands immediately leap to the task that Bunet has been dreading: their task of tickling him silly.

“Wahahahait! I’m sohohohory! Ahahaha!” Bunet’s voice immediately spills with laughter. He squirms and wriggles on the couch, trying to play-wrestle away the hands of his attackers while still trying to defend his ticklish spots. Although, two against one definitely isn’t easy.

“It’s too late for sorry now, Bunet!” Merrin smirks. She takes the advantage of his outstretched arms and digs into Bunet’s underarms, honing on his tickle spots like a wolf to prey. Bunet should be fortunate that Merrin doesn’t have her clawed gloves on, or his laughter would be spewing like an overboiled pot of noodles more so than it already is. The chef of Solm barks out another laugh and throws his arms down, allowing Chloé the chance to delicately scratch at his ticklish belly. She then moves her hands down and scribbles above his waist, causing Bunet to jolt with an explosion of giggles leaking out of him, like the chocolatey liquid of a lava cake when it’s sliced in two.

“Thahahahat’s a tickle spot! That’s a tickle spohohohot!” Bunet cackles and kicks out his legs. He attempts to shove Chloé’s wrists away, but the nimble pegasus knight fights back to keep on scribbling.

“Ooh, no wonder we found out you were ticklish by accident when I tied your apron around your waist the other day,” Chloé giggles. “This is why!”

Bunet curls himself like a packed ball of rice and extends a hand out to surrender while the other is clutched around his middle. “Ohohohokay! I gihihihive! I’m dohohone fohohor!”

Satisfied with their results, Chloé and Merrin pull their hands away to show mercy to Bunet and the chef collapses even further into the cushions. He turns onto his back with a hand placed on his rising and falling stomach. Chloé and Merrin help him to sit upright.

Chloé returns to a motherly, concerned tone. “Are you alright Bunet?” she asks by gently sitting beside him. “We were only playing around. It’s completely okay if you don't like our dish.”

Bunet shows them a warm smile, “I know you both were only having fun.” He pauses for a moment to think. “You’re right to say that I didn’t like the flavor of your dish, but…perhaps it does have potential.”

Chloé and Merrin are shocked. “Really?” they both say at once.

“Yes. I didn’t think so at first, but after observing your teamwork that you used to execute your effective tickle attack, I can see the same kind of teamwork you used in making that dish. Perhaps, with another member of the team, we can make the dish shine to reach great quality.”

Merrin clasps her hands in excitement. “You mean, you’ll help us? Haha, thanks Bunet!”

“Of course,” Bunet nods, smiling when he sees how happy he’s made his friends. “It’s the least I can do to offer my expertise.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Give and Take 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Steve Rogers

This AU is called Watcher Anonymous and will include different series for different characters. This is our introduction to Steve and Charity

Summary: the women’s shelter harbours a particularly suspicious character.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Another dull day. Steve’s tired. He never sleeps well, but lately, he’s been kept up not only by the pesky feline that shares his space, but its owner. His roommate is even more restless than him. He didn’t think it was possible for anyone to be more addled than himself. 

He yawns and pushes back a stray blond lock as it falls down his forehead. As he does, the tip tickles his too big nose. If only the rest of him had caught up to that beak. 

He mills by the fourteenth-century altar pieces and ponders a coffee. The break room pods give him heart burn and caffeine makes him jitter. Still, that cafe down the block is pretty popular. He hears a lot of patrons talking about it. 

The silence is punctuated by a steady cadence of steps. Little taps that pluck at his brain. He recognises the footfalls. As he turns, Charity sweeps around in a shade of yellow that would put a canary to shame. She wears it well; a wrap dress with a bow on one hip, a pair of white mary jane heels, and a white purse decorated with lilacs. 

He hesitates and thinks of hiding. His mind is racing. How did she get there? Why is she there? Is this some coincidence? He’s not stupid. It’s not for him. He’s not ready for her. 

“Steve!” She waves as she flits towards him, “hi. It’s me.” 

Her excitement startles him. He doesn’t know what to do. Did he fall asleep? Is this a dream? 

“Uh, h-hey, what are you doing here?” He clears his throat as his voice turns creaky. 

“You said you worked at the museum and it reminded me how I’ve been meaning to come down. I have the day off so...” she pauses and looks around. “Oh, gee, it’s so quiet around here.” She flutters her fingers along her chin bashfully, “I’ve just come in here squawking like a bird.” She glances down, “looking like one too.” 

She giggles. His cheeks burn. Can she see? 

“I-- I like the dress. Pretty colour. Pretty on you,” he stutters and swallows a cringe, giving a heavy blink. “Er. Uh. A tour?” 

“Oh, you are so nice. Thank you. Patti at work said the dress was like Sesame Street,” she trills. “And I would love a tour around. I have to be honest, I wandered into the dinosaur room.” 

He chuckles. She has a way of easing him even as she makes his heart pound. That’s what he likes about her. The way she talks to the women at the shelter, listens to them, and cheers up the kids with her finger puppets. She’s just a natural at everything. 

“I’ll try not to knock anything over,” she moves clear of triptych, pressing her skirt smooth to flatten the volume. It only enhances the curve of her hips. His mouth fills with saliva. He thinks of her sitting on the floor with him and how she didn’t realise her panties peeked out when she shifted around. 

“We’ll go slow,” he says and spins, shakily brushing his palms over his hair. 

“So, er, what’s your specialty? Do you have one of those?” She catches up to him, walking shoulder to shoulder. Like a friend. No, he wants more. “I don’t know much about the academ—academ-i-a,” she struggles with the word, “but I like to read about history.” 

“Hm, I my undergrad, I focused on art masters, I focused on revolutionary depictions...” he explains, “but I dabble around. Medieval stuff was always more interesting but oversaturated.” 

She does that. She makes you talk without thinking. And he knows what he’s talking about. That makes it easy. Even with her. 

“Oh, wow, I just got a book on the War of the Roses... Wars. Plural, I forget,” she chimes. “It was on sale. I’ve never read much about that.” 

“I think it’s interesting, as long as you can keep your kings straight,” he says. He pauses at the picture of a plump Venus. Her eyes stray over and she gasps. “Oh, she’s so pretty. Look... the way the paint is textured...” 

She steps closer to admire the strokes. He tends to focus on something else. He watches her eyes as she fawns over the centuries-old art. The delicate hours, days, weeks, even years of someone’s life. He glances at the Venus then at Charity. If she thinks the deity is gorgeous, she should look in the mirror. 

“Barely escaped the Bonfires,” he intones. “They burned art at the orders of the Pope. Blasphemy and all that. Strange how iconoclasm has such nuance.” 

She nods and turns to smile at him, “you’re so smart. You must know everything.” 

He gives a bashful grin. “Not really.” He doesn’t know how to talk to women. Especially her. He doesn’t know how to be taller, stronger, or handsome. He doesn’t even know what else to say. 

“You know, I’m getting such good ideas.” She says. 

“Ideas?” He wonders. 

“Oh, yes, I have some scarves,” she slithers her hand down her figure, “I could bring some draping back into style.” 

She giggles. He laughs at her joke. If she really wanted to recreate the paintings, he’d have them request a showing of The Sleeping Venus... 

“This one...” he distracts himself as he turns to another painting, “uses a sfumato. See how the shading is so soft--” 

She listens intently and marvels at the next piece. She nods along with his explanation as he goes on, pointing out the tiny little error he always fixated on. 

“I would’ve never noticed,” she tilts her head. “You have a good eye.” 

“Well, I could never paint something as nice as that, flaws and all,” he shrugs. 

“You paint?” She asks. 

He winces. He shrugs. “Sometimes. Just a hobby. I prefer pencil and paper.” 

“Wow. That’s so cool. They’re having painting classes down at this studio across town. I’ve done a bit of work for their promotions... which don’t launch until next week so don’t tell anyone.” She smiles guiltily. “But yeah, I was thinking of it.” 

“That’s... fun,” he says. “I’ll keep an eye out.” 

“Really? Well, let me know if you’re interested. I feel a bit ridiculous going alone.” She sweeps around to look at a statue of the archangel. “Wow, all these things... to think they’ve been around so long.” 

As she dotes over the art, he is transfixed by her. She is the art. She is made exactly for him.  

[yikesss-08]

—REVERIE!

───upcoming book preview

│“I've met many, seen so much. But... you? You are unlike any persons I've ever had the pleasure and displeasure of coming across…”

────────────────────────

pairing: pirate!satoru x princess!reader

summary: in which you run away from your broken marriage, hoping for a better life

‘Your meticulously fabricated facade had vanished. The long mane of hair, the full fluttering lashes, the ever so slightly parted lips, and oh—that offending scowl—it was silly to even to think he had mistaken you for a boy.

A finger flits to under your chin, coaxing it up enough to get a better look at you. "...Captain's intuition's never wrong, huh?" he murmurs, his blue eyes bright with new found fascination as they roamed your features, the slope of your nose, the furrow of your brows, the heat of your glare. This was a surprise.’

tags: 18+, eventual smut, angst, fluff, pirate au, protective!gojo, royal!reader, romance, past arranged marriage, alcohol abuse, angst, mentions of past trauma, grief/loss, early modern era, regency era, cross-dressing, adventure/world-building, new life, mutual pining

word count: 1,555

note: this is just a snippet, these tags encompass the whole book, not just this chapter <3

────────────────────────

"If I might inquire, where exactly are you taking me?" you question, yet you hadn't hesitated when he offered you his hand, leading you along an overgrown path.

"Patience is a virtue, doll. You'll see soon enough." Satoru glances over at you, bright eyes sparkling with anticipation. Like a little kid eager to show you their new drawing.

His words were met with a roll of your eyes, well-meaning but a reflection of your characteristic impatience.

As you both treaded through the trail and deeper into the heart of the forest, it was almost like stepping into another realm of its own. Serene and near ethereal. Your eyes snagged on every passing sight, weakening your effort to refrain from childishly pointing out everything you saw—like passing squirrels who scurried from the approaching footsteps or perched birds who seemed to observe you both curiously.

But the wide, girlish smile that fell upon your entranced face was enough of an amusing indication to Satoru. “Almost there.” he assured as you both encroached a small clearing.

The soft, passing breeze fluttered through your hair in consonance with the nearby abundance of trees; tall, full, and towering oaks. The scenery was so reminiscent of Ostorien, not so much of the familiar mountains that reached for the sun but rather a spread of verdant grassland and hills filled with a diverse collection of foliage.

The sun peaked through the gaps in the canopy, bathing the atmosphere with warm, almost translucent rays of dabbled light that scattered the grass in speckled splashes of golden luster. It was almost otherworldly.

Satoru grins, gesturing widely to the swath of green, hand still holding yours. His blue eyes danced with a gleam of expectancy, hoping you’d appreciate it as much as he did. After all, he hadn't shown anyone else. "Well? How about it?"

"How'd you even come about a place like this...?" You whisper, unsure of what was more pleasing to look at, the sight before you or his mirthful expression.

"I merely happened to stumble upon it. Pretty isn't it?"

You nodded. "It certainly is."

"White oaks, native to Solbergia." Satoru comments, pulling you out of your trance of fascination as he refers to a thick and sturdy tree nearby. "The bluebirds love making nests in them." he further informs, releasing your hand to stand before it as slips his boots off and puts them down and, in a fluid movement, sits down against the tree. “Makes the perfect place for shade as well.”

“Does it now?” you quip with an upward quirk of your lips. You mirrored his actions, the blades of lush grass tickling the soles of your feet.

Shoes off and aligned near his own, he pats the spot next to him as if it was reserved just for you, embellished with your name.

You obliged so you were sat right beside him against the rough bark of a large oak tree, the shade providing a reprieve from the sun's glare. Tucked against his side, your head rested on his shoulder and his arm snaked around your midsection to find rest on your hip.

Apart from the occasional chatter, the moment had gradually and surely turned quiet. So quiet that the periodic sound of you thumbing through the pages and gently soughing trees melded in the background. So quiet, it felt like all you ever needed was Satoru right next to you. Always.

"It's nice... isn't it?" he murmurs, his voice no louder than a hushed whisper. You, on the other hand, were utterly immersed in your novel, brows slightly furrowed in concentration and eyes skipping off every word, hanging in the suspense of anticipation—you hadn't even realized he was speaking to you.

"Doll?" Satoru tries again, looking at you for an extended moment. "Y/n." he leans in to align with your line of sight, his expression taking on a quizzical look. Just how interesting was that book of yours anyway? "Y/nnnn?" He presses a soft kiss to your temple, sending a rush of heat to your cheek, a devious attempt at getting your attention that worked a bit too well. "Look at me, will you?"

The steady stream of your concentration had halted to a dwindling drop and yet you couldn't find it in you to be mad in the face of his insistence. "...You're proving to be quite the distraction." you turn and face him, his eyes already fixed intently on yours, only aiding to fuel the warmth in your cheeks.

"Me or that book? I just long to have all your attention, my lady." he continues with his ceaselessly charming smile, his fingers playing an idle rhythm on your hip, gently thrumming.

"Well? You have it now." you let a huff of feigned reluctance as you close the book after marking the page you left on. As asked, you turned your attention to him, resisting the urge to break the suddenly intimate bind of eye contact.

"That's much better. Now I can clearly admire your enchanting countenance." he hums softly, an even softer smile on his face as he allows his free hand to reach up and brush a loose strand out your face with practiced ease. "Have I ever told you how utterly breathtaking you are, doll?"

"Yes. Often." you answer more bluntly than intended, his touch hot against your heated cheeks. What had gotten into him? "You seem to love to sing my praises."

"Oh, the woman you are, Y/n... any man with sense would do the same." he replies with more earnestness than you've seen from him as he takes your chin between his fingers, coaxing it up so you were facing him directly. No way for your hesitant eyes to evade his own. "And... I suppose I relish the way your face lights up whenever I do compliment you too. It's adorable."

"My face does not light up. What am I? A candle?" you rebuff, hoping your words sounded firm but they betrayed the spike of your heartbeat, wavering and unsure.

Satoru chuckles at your usual denial. "You think I don't see the way your eyes sparkle, the way your gaze eludes my own?" he leans a tad closer, his eyes lowering to fix on your lips. "...the way your lips try not to quirk into a smile?"

"You must be crazy..." you whisper, the placement of his eyes not missed by you, the aversion of your eyes only proving his point. Why were you letting such a simple action get to you?

And now it was his turn to be blunt. "The only thing I'm crazy about is you." The lack of playfulness or taunts stayed loyal to the point he was making—he meant it. "Whole-heartedly." he leans his head back against the trunk of the tree, though, his sincere-filled eyes never left yours. "I've met many, seen so much. But... you, Y/n? You are unlike any persons I've ever had the pleasure and displeasure of coming across."

Against the weight of his words, even your usual doubt couldn't chip against at the concreteness of his earnesty. You were for once at a loss of what to say.

His blue eyes flit away as the silence solidifies, an exhale leaving his nose. "You don't have to say anything, doll." he murmurs softly, his hand moving to rest over your own, his warmth seeping into your skin as he presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand like one would hold a promise to their hearts. Devotedly. “Simply... stay here with me.

There were no witty remarks on your part, no easily said insults, no scoffs or eye-rolls. Just a flustered woman whose heart seemed to pound against the very structure of her ribs. Your gaze softens and flees from his own, and yet your hand gave his hand a soft squeeze. A sign of your guard crumbling all from his doing. "I will... as long as you'll have me that is."

The usual banter and teasing was replaced with that feeling that'd come up every now and then in passing moments between repartee, in the nooks and crannies of your interactions together—a feeling that made your heart tickle, your stomach tingly. An unfamiliar one.

The solitude of the meadow only brought out what was already there left unsaid in the depths of both your minds. And that fact alone was as comforting as it was terrifying.

As you tried and failed to return your attention back to your book, your whole body protested. The lingering race of your heart, your sneaking glances, the fluttering feeling in your chest.

You turn your head back in his direction and take one glance at him you could see he was perhaps resting his eyes or nodding off, his tousled hair falling just above his heavy eyelids. It'd be a lie to say you didn't feel anything. Something. To try and ignore how your pulse quickened or how being stuck with him didn't seem so... bad.

Satoru was doing something to you.

Something you couldn't quite understand. Little by little, he was changing your perception of everything whether you wanted to admit it or not and the reality of it all was just as frightening as exhilarating.

What was this man doing to your heart?

.

.

.

thanks for reading if you made it this far <3

hopefully i’ll have the first chapter out by the end of this week on ao3 if my schedule allows! but criticism and comments are great appreciated, thanks!

my ao3 account: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikesss_08/pseuds/yikesss_08