#tiny ceramic pots

[gina025]

A miniature pottery vase

[mauratron]

Pergolas - Mediterranean Deck

[ilsanslut]

꒷♡꒷ STUCK!

♰ featuring: nagi seishiro + shidou ryusei (separate) [blue lock]

♰ note: thank you all so much for supporting my last work as much as you did. it really means so much to me that people genuinely enjoy my writing and my content! now, as my second-ever work, i would appreciate it greatly if you would continue to support my work by reading, liking, and reblogging! also, I tried to make their sections as even as possible, but i'm a ryusei simp so uhhh enjoy!

sypnosis: in which you find yourself stuck in a rather precarious position and your boyfriend decides to "help" you. not without proper payment first, though. wc: 3.4k content/trigger warning(s): 18+. SMUT. fem/fem-bodied reader. stuckage. shidou is a warning on his own. accidental choki abuse (nagi). dry humping. degradation. unprotected sex. rough sex. creampie/breeding. spanking. name-calling/dirty talk (ryusei). ꒷꒦

NAGI SEISHIRO.

It was a normal weekend, unlike any other. It was just before noon, and you were cleaning your and Seishiro’s shared apartment while he was at the gym with Reo. You were diligently working to remove the accumulated dust from your wooden dresser with a disinfectant wipe that had a coconut scent when, all of a sudden, your hand bumped into something rather hard.

“Choki!!”

You shrieked, watching in horror as your boyfriend’s beloved potted cactus flew off of the dresser and knocked into the wall behind it. Everything moved in slow motion, and you could only gawk in horror as the pot spun once, twice, and then tumbled behind the dresser. You grimaced inwardly, awaiting the sound of shattering ceramics and the dull shuffling of displaced dirt, but it never came. Instead, the sound of the pot sliding down the wall and "gracefully" hitting the floor was heard instead.

With baited breath, you grabbed your phone, turning it to flashlight mode. You used it as a visual aid as you peered behind the dresser to assess the damage, sighing with relief when you saw Choki, Seishiro’s child, lying almost undisturbed between the wall and the backboard of the dresser.

Now here comes the difficult part, moving the dresser.

Kicking off your fuzzy house slippers to give yourself some traction, you grabbed the back end of one side and mustered all of your strength to shove the heavy thing out of the way—slowly, of course. Choki’s life was at stake here. However, you were only able to move the heavy thing out of the way just enough so that you could slip part of your body inside to reach for the plant. It was still a very tight fit.

Getting on your knees, you maneuvered between the tiny space you created, squeezing your arms, shoulders, and ribcage between them until the tension finally gave way at your waist. Breathing out in relief, your fingertips finally managed to grace the pot’s edge, pulling it into your grasp.

“Got . . . cha . . !”

You tried to shuffle backward, but you couldn’t. Attempting once more, you would come to realize that the dresser and the wall had some sort of death grip on your hips, rooting you in place. You were stuck. Trapped. And Nagi wouldn’t be home for another 30 minu—

“Y/N, what are you doing?”

You breathed, overjoyed at your boyfriend’s sudden voice. He always had the habit of moving in complete silence, despite his massive size. You hadn’t even heard him come home.

“Sei, oh, thank god! C-Can you pull me out? I think I’m stuck!”

You could barely make out the sound of his soft footsteps padding against the wooden floor as he made his way over to you. You could feel the heat radiating off of his body as he stood behind you, yet he made no effort to save you just yet.

“How did you even manage to do something like this?”

His confused tone held an unamused lilt, one that made your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“I was cleaning the dresser, and I accidentally knocked Choki over. They’re fine! B-But I can’t get out . . .”

Still nothing.

Was he mad? Disappointed? Since you could not see him, you could not tell. You were aware, though, that his gaze was "burning" into you. You shifted, partially in discomfort, as you made a point to wiggle your hips so that he could focus on the task at hand. As a result, you could hear him drawing in a sharp breath through his teeth. Before you could ask him what he was doing, you felt him kneel behind you. His two strong hands came into contact with the exposed skin around your hips, where your shirt was rising. He did not pull, though. The opposite happened; you felt him pressing against you, his bulge delightfully nestling against your folds through your thin pajama shorts.

“Seishiro?!”

He effectively silenced your confused warble in exchange for a surprised squeal when his open palm placed a firm smack on one of your cheeks. All the while, he shamelessly ground himself against your core, stating, “That was for Choki." You swore that you could hear the pout in his voice when he spoke.

“Removing you would be a hassle. Besides, I’m tired.”

B-But what about me?!

You wanted to protest, however, you refrained. You felt his lithe fingers pinch the fabric just over your clit as he pulled it to the side, resting it against your ass and exposing your pretty folds to his prying eyes. You heard his hands rustling with his sweatpants and boxers before you felt him tapping the pretty pink-flushed tip of his cock, which you loved so much, against your sensitive bud causing you to keen and your toes to curl.

“Wish you could see how pretty you look right now.” He mumbled, teasingly pressing the head of his cock against your entrance a few times, but never pushing in fully.

“I-If you got me out, Sei, then maybe I could . .” Your voice was unsteady as your anticipation began to build in the form of your puffy folds beginning to leak for him, the lewd sounds of it squelching around his tip echoing in your quiet room.

He answered you with silence and actions rather than with words. In one swift motion, he pushed entirely into you, and without waiting for you to adjust, he began to thrust his hips into you at a steady pace. You clenched around him, nails scratching against the backboard of the dresser, the wall, the floor—anything to brace yourself from your boyfriend’s fervent pace. Once he got started, he wouldn’t stop until he spilled entirely inside of you, filling you to the brim with his cum.

“S-Sei, it’s too much!” You mewled, yet your body writhed with pleasure. You always said this, and yet, he knew you could take it. You've done it many times before. That’s why he reached further into the space you had created to bunch up the back of your his shirt and used it as leverage as though he were pulling your hair to pummel into you faster and deeper. Your ass rhythmically pounded on his pelvis, sending a lewd ringing through your own ears as it echoed off the bedroom walls. Something about this precarious situation you were in mixed with the feeling of Seishiro’s cock hitting those sweet spots inside of you, enthralled you more than usual. You were close and he could feel it.

“Gonna cum f’me, already?” He grunted as his other hands squeezed your hip, their blunt nails digging into your flesh. His moans were heavenly, a sound you longed to hear, as your walls fluttered around him. The hand that was on your hip pressed itself against the edge of the dresser, shoving it effortlessly to the side and thus freeing you from your confines. Although he appeared so unsuspecting, Seishiro’s strength, when he decided to use it, was frightening. Your lower half fell to the ground, your breasts and cheek smushing against the wooden floors as you felt his soft fingertips rubbing fast, furious circles around your clit.

“Oh my god, S-Sei, I-I’m gonna—”

“C’mon, make a mess for me, pretty.”

You did exactly that, creaming delightfully around his cock while mewing in ecstasy. Before long, you could feel Sei's hot seed bursting inside of you and filling up your pretty pussy to the brim, as well as his hips stuttering against you. Both of you were panting as he pulled out of you, your releases dribbling out of you and pooling beneath you onto the floor.

You finally managed to get off your sore knees and elbows as you turned to face your lover with trembling limbs. It was at this point that you noticed Seishiro's eyes, which were burning with something fierce and unknown, were boring into your own. His eyes resembled that hungry expression he would have when his ego started to rule him on the field.

“Let’s do it again, Y/N. On the bed this time.”

God, he was going to be the death of you someday.

SHIDOU RYUSEI.

You had a rather eventful day. Starting off leisurely in the morning, you and your boyfriend Ryusei enjoyed a pleasant brunch together before deciding to head out to the beach that day. You had to pick a spot with some privacy because Ryusei insisted he was only there to “freshen up his tan”, which required him to be in the nude, while you were there to enjoy his prescene, the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, and the sensation of sand between your toes. Only a short while ago, the two of you finally arrived home. Ryusei was currently taking his own shower, as you had already finished yours.

Relaxing on the couch in nothing more than an oversized shirt and your panties, you had decided to turn on some Netflix with the intention of finding either a good or a fun-bad horror flick to watch, when all of a sudden, the slippery lotion residue on your hands caused the remote to slip from your grasp and tumble onto the floor and skid beneath the coffee table. You groaned, head tossing back with exasperation, as this minor inconvenience was nearly enough to ruin your entire night and make you not even want to watch a movie anymore. Nonetheless, you sulked off the couch and sank to your knees, searching for the offending culprit beneath the coffee table. Somehow, it had managed to slide to the other side of the room, mocking you as it lay motionless between the walkway in the middle of the coffee table and the television. Any normal person would’ve simply gotten up and walked around the table to retrieve it, however, you were not like most people. I mean, look at your taste in men, for starters. Not to mention, you’re incredibly stubborn.

Instead, you crept beneath the table's glass top and between the second shelf, stretching your slender fingers as far as they could reach until they touched the black exterior of the remote. However, it was a little too far away for you to grasp, and your touch, combined with your wooden floors, only served to push it further away from you. You swore, glaring at the thing as though it had just offended your loved one, huffing in defeat as you decided to rise and walk to the remote.

But you couldn’t.

Your brow furrowed in perplexity as you placed one palm flat on the ground and the other on the surface beneath you, attempting but failing to push yourself back. You were wedged between the table's glass top and bottom shelves, flat on your chest. The more you wiggled, the further you seemed to wedge yourself in between the two surfaces that held you taut.

You stopped, dumbfounded. As much as you dreaded calling Ryusei for help because you knew he would taunt you endlessly instead of helping you . . . you did not have many other options.

“Ah, Ryu!!” Your voice carried through the hallways, hoping that he was out of the shower to hear you yell.

“. . . Yeah, babe?”

His voice made your heart lurch in your chest. You were already debating whether you should just say nevermind and try to wiggle out on your own, or put your pride aside and ask for his assistance. In the end, the latter would be victorious.

“Could . . . Could you come here for a second? . . . Please.” Your plea was quiet, your cheeks already burning with shame as you awaited your impending doom.

You raised your gaze towards the master bedroom, where he was currently. How cruel fate was to put you in a position where you would be forced to watch him approach. Each second felt like an eternity until you heard the soft padding of Shidou's feet leaving the carpeted bedroom to shuffle along the wooden floors, only to abruptly pause.

Sheepishly, you peeked up at him through your lashes to where he stood, chest bare, droplets of water dripping from his unstyled hair and body, a towel that he used for his hair wrapped around his shoulders, and a towel wrapped dangerously low around his waist. His face was expressionless, his fuchsia oculars taking in the scene before them in silence. Your shy, embarrassed gaze, the position of you between the coffee table, and the cursed remote only inches away from his own feet.

“—You’re stuck, aren’t you?”

How you wished you were facing the other way to avoid seeing the way that maniacal grin that nearly resembled the Joker's formed on his face and how his cat-like eyes narrowed at you in amusement at your misfortune.

“ . . Yes.”

He barked out a laugh at you, his head tossed back in sheer, unabashed mania, much to your chagrin. Even though you knew this would happen, your cheeks couldn’t help but burn with frustration and shame. “I know, very funny. Now, could you help me out here, please? My knees are getting sore.”

Despite your whines, his mockery would continue, his large hands grasping both ends of the towel that rested on his shoulders as he waltzed over to you leisurely. “Hmm, I dunno, babe~.” He continued walking until he crouched right before you, his legs spread wide enough for you to see that he was already semi-hard beneath the fabric. Of course, he would be aroused by your misfortune. Tearing your gaze away from his manhood, which was only inches away from your face, you peered up at him only to see him grinning mercilessly down at you with mischief twinkling in his eye. “I gotta admit, I like this view of you. How’d ya know doggy was my favorite position~?”

Probably because you’ve put me in it multiple times before, asshole. You wouldn’t say that, though. You didn’t want to prolong your torment any further.

“Ryuseii.” You whined, mustering your best pitiful glance in an attempt to draw even an ounce of sympathy from your demon of a lover. “Please?” You tried with a pout.

You couldn’t tell if your attempt worked, however, with the way Ryusei’s feral grin would reduce to a playful smirk, you figured that you have gotten through to him. He raised his hand, patting your head twice and making sure to tousle your hair while he was at it. “I’ll see what I can do, cutie.”

He made a move to rise to his feet but paused mid-squat, “No promises, though.”

You waited until he was out of your view to roll your eyes at him, hands bracing themselves against the floor as you awaited to be freed from this nightmare. Ryusei sank to his knees behind you, humming aloud as though he were trying to make a big play out of figuring out how to get you out—or how you got there to begin with. His slender digits grasped at your waist, tugging halfheartedly. You knew better than anyone that Ryusei was capable of hoisting you into the air and tossing you around as though you were nothing. That being said, it was beyond obvious to you that he was obviously making a poor attempt on purpose.

“Wow, I dunno, Y/N. You see pre-tty wedged in here . . Maybe this���ll help.”

You had no idea when he had the opportunity to do it, but he had dropped his towel somewhere along the way, and you could feel him rubbing his semi-hard on against your panty-clad ass and making your clothed folds the focal point of attack.

“Ryusei—!” In frustration and arousal, you laboriously dragged out the syllables of his name. As much as you wanted to be mad at him, you knew that something like this was coming.

“Mm, yeah, keep saying my name just like that, baby.” He sighed blissfully, shamelessly now humping himself onto you until he was full mast, his hardened shaft twitching excitedly between your pillowy ass cheeks while his blushed tip beaded with pre. “Hah, shit, that’s it. ‘Could cum right now, all over ya’. You want that, angel? Want me to paint this pretty ass—” He paused, raising his palm high into the air before bringing it down unforgivingly against your rear to accentuate his point. “Look at that. Ya want me to paint this pretty ass with my nut, hm?”

"Yes, please, Ryu . . ?" You said against your better judgment as your thighs pressed against one another and your teeth dug into your bottom lip.

He chuckled throatily, already pulling your panties down your plump thighs until they rested on the backs of your knees. He lined himself up with your already drooling cunt, not wasting any time to push into you with one single thrust. He bottomed out inside of you, drawing all of the breath from your lungs. His pelvis pressed flush against you, blunt nails biting into the flesh of your hips and ass as he greedily pulled you against him. It was almost as if he were trying to force himself further into you than he already could. You whimpered beneath your breath, clenching around his cock as you felt his balls pulsing against your sensitive clit. He had only just entered you, and already he was about to cum.

“Greedy fuckin’ pussy.” He snarled through clenched teeth, picking up his pace. “Grippin’ me so tight, suckin’ me in so good, ngh—s-so desperate to be stuffed with a cock.”

His thrusts were sloppy and uncoordinated, but he did everything he could to keep bullying his cock into you, drool dribbling over his parted lips. It should be illegal for you to feel this good. It wasn't fair. He wanted to ravish you—take his time turning your cunt into his personal little pocket pussy, his perfect fucktoy, already premolded to the shape of his dick. But damn, he was about to bust, and you were approaching your climax too.

His pace grew relentless, barely giving you time to breathe or even think as he forced your hips to fuck back onto him, drawing a helpless gasp or delighted moan from your pretty lips with each impassioned thrust. You squirmed in his hold, your breath coming out in hot tufts as your end grew near.

“R-Ryu, baby, hah, mphf!!” You could barely get the words out as he fucked you within an inch of your life. “I-I’m close! M-My clit, please! I c-can’t reach it; touch me, plea—”

“No.”

His response was curt—simple, snarled out in what could only be described as a ferocious growl. His movements grew sloppier, his hips faltering in their pace as his cock throbbed heartily inside of you, ready to burst. “You cum on my, ngh, fuckin’ cock or not at all. Ya hear me, y’little cock-lovin’ slut?”

You whined in protest, to which the forward brought his palm down heavily on your already reddening cheeks from just his grip on you alone. If he could’ve reached you, he would’ve had a vice grip on your hair by now. “Answer me, bitch.” He spat with false malice, “Y’gunna cream around my cock? Make this fat dick a mess, hm?”

“Yes, yes, yes!” Came your loud, unabashed chorus of unfiltered, unadulterated moans of sheer bliss.

Neither of you could hold back anymore. Ryusei spilled rope after rope of his hot, sticky seed into your abused cunt while your pretty folds creamed around his shaft in a way that could only be described as tantalizing. Silence, aside from both of your spent keens and blissed panting, filled the air around you. Once he was certain you were plugged full with his cum, Ryusei effortlessly snatched your body from between the coffee table, causing your exhausted body to collapse into his lap. As exhausted as he was, he made sure to cup your head so that it didn’t hit the ground too hard. He was always the sweetest when his post-nut clarity hit him. He took in your expression, noticing that your eyes were half-lidded and glassy with fat tears spilling from your waterline; your drool-covered lips were plump, red, and raw with the faintest of indentations along them from your pearly teeth; and your body convulsed and twitched ever so slightly from the sheer intensity of your orgasm. Not to mention the utterly fucked-out and euphoric look on your face.

. . . Ah, shit. He was hard again.

“Still with me, princess? . . Good. Come suck this cock clean and let me ruin that pretty face of yours even more~.♡”

ⓒ vampiie 2023 — all rights reserved. please do not repost my work outside of tumblr, modify, or translate my work in any form/means. please do not share my work to tiktok or any other site.

[justatypicalwizard]

Bakugo who eats you out because he lost a bet, smut

It all started with a bet. It was this specific chaotic type of bet that you throw over your shoulder when agitated. The one that comes pistoling out of your lips as soon as it comes to your mind, or even earlier, a fog of war limits your common sense.

This was often the case with Katsuki Bakugo who was world widely known as the most annoying person on earth.

Okay, maybe he stood on this podium only in your world (others deemed Denki as the most insufferable) but it was enough to fire the never ending quarrels.

The two of you were similar in many senses, none of which would ever admit. Despite you being way less aggressive, you had your ways of getting under other peoples’ skin when displeased. You had this fighting spirit and competitive nature that could tune well with Katsuki’s. Unfortunately it most often sang off-key.

It was hard to tell what he thought about you. On one hand you’d say he definitely disliked you, to some point maybe? If he did dislike you he wouldn’t keep you around the small circle of his friends. Katsuki proved that he could push away anyone he wished to, no matter the circumstances. That’s what happened with Deku.

So Katsuki Bakugo disliked the fact that he liked you. Or he liked to dislike you. Either way you fought, ebbed and always surged back. Oh, and bets?

I bet you won’t even make it halfway before the time is up. He throws when he passes you down the hallway, spotting you bending your back over a book, minutes before the exam.

I bet your lovely friend will come looking for you soon. You snicker leaving him in the kitchen of the house party you’re both at. He’s currently hiding from a bimbo who really tries to ask him out and doesn’t take no for an answer.

I bet your mum dropped you when you were little.

I bet Miruko will kick your ass over this.

I bet they’ll send this essay back. It’s shit.

I bet it’ll die in this sunlight.

“Huh.” He knit his brows together, throwing you a nasty look. “Old hag didn’t say anything. It looks like it needs light.”

You were currently in his dorm room, analysing a small plant his mother left him. It was tiny, in a small ceramic pot, with three juicy green leaves poking out of the fresh soil.

“Well, I bet it’ll die if you put it in this sun.” You threw, shrugging your shoulders.

“Okay. If I win you’ll shut the fuck up for a single day around me. No words, not even a squeak.”

With the eye of your imagination you could see Katsuki pestering you for a whole day while you’d be unable to fire back. Yet, you had nothing to worry about. The little dude on the windowsill will bear three of four days before wittering. It’s the type that needs more shade.

“Fine. And if I win you can eat my ass.”

He chuckled, throwing a not happening over his shoulder before ushering you to work you both had to do.

A week later you were back in his room. It was a pleasant place to work in - clean, quiet, and always stocked with tea and coffee. Unlike you, Katsuki had the luxury of a single room which always soured your mood when he rubbed it in your face.

You were resting in his desk chair, legs crossed and organising a bunch of sources you were about to use later in your dissertation. It was the least pleasant part of writing essays. Finding academic sources in the library or browsing for them on the internet was not half bad. One could get in the swing of it after some time. And it made you feel like a real student all book heavy bags in a spacious bibliotheca.

Organising them later though? A pain in the ass.

“-by the way.” You caught only the ending of his sentence.

“Huh?” Turning around you spotten Katsuki looking at something in the far end of his room.

There was a closet there, one that didn’t quite reach the ceiling but was massive in shape. Atop of it sat the little dude in his sweet ceramic pot. Unfortunately all that was left of his three juicy leaves was one stem fighting for its life.

You clapped your hands in satisfaction, cracking a victorious laugh.

“Told you.” Fake wiping a tear from your cheek, you turned back to the desk and searched for the box you were about to tick off the long list. “Give it some more water and time. It will be fine.”

“So.” You felt him standing behind you. His shadow disrupted your writing.

“So?” Once again you turned around in his chair, cocking your brow in question.

“You won.” He crossed his arms, tapping his foot on the soft carpet in irritation.

You nodded your head with a grin but still ruffled. “Yes, and?”

“And you told me I can eat your ass.”

“Oh yeah, stuff your stupid mouth full.” You laughed but he yanked you by the arm, standing you up.

He dropped to his knees, pushing your bottom into the rim of his desk. With a shit eating grin he slipped his fingers into the sides of your trousers, grazing the bare skin of your hips underneath them.

“What the fuck dude?” You cursed, grabbing his forehead like the one of a misbehaved dog, trying to pacify him.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” The grin never left his face as he waited for your words, digging his nails into your skin.

It would be a lie to say that you never ever thought of him that way. Of course he was pretty, with his naturally fair hair that gave him a punk kind of look. With his body carved out like a marble statue. With a grin that made people both want to slap him and fawn over him.

Yes, it did cross your mind that he would be a pleasant view in the bed. Who with a sound mind wouldn’t think of that. Maybe people who weren’t attracted to-

No, it was a normal thought to have, one that may occur when you’re alone under the shower or in bed. You just often appreciate the beauty of your friends. Mina’s also cute and Kirishima is bulked as hell. It was a rational train of thoughts.

So why wasn’t your rational mind telling your hand to push him away just now? Why were you looking at his face, so close to your clothed cunt and feeling excitement bubble in your veins.

Tell me to stop and I will.

And you never did. So he pushed you to sit on the desk, pulling both your trousers and pants down at the same time. You kicked the air a few times to get rid of them but they hung from one of your ankles. It didn’t matter because his face was at its place. God bless you showered before coming here because you could have second thoughts otherwise.

“Okay, whatever the fuck you want, psycho.” You breathed as he lapped at your clit, still looking up at you.

His fingers creeped towards the inner side of your tight and you slapped him over the head.

“Uh, uh. I told you you could eat me out, not finger me. Yesterday you didn’t seem like the one to take shortcuts.” You spat, drinking up his frustration and slight… shame? Like a kid who did something wrong and got caught red handed.

“Fine.” He muttered pushing his tongue inside you. “It won’t take long anyway.” The grin was back on his face.

It indeed didn’t take long as soon, your legs were shutting tightly around his face. You weren’t even looking down anymore, the sight was a turn on but you were already overdriven. Your competitive nature was in a bliss and your head played fucking Katsuki Bakugo, on his fucking knees, between my fucking legs over and over like a broken record. You didn’t want to spoil your fun by thinking he may be having a  merrier time than you.

Not now, not when you’re so close and his palms are grabbing your tights, fingers digging into your muscles so much it would hurt if not the tension. Edging your release, you grabbed his hair in a tight fist pushing him in more, crossing your legs like it would take an “open, sesame!” to undo them.

At last, with a final short breath you came chuckling and moaning. A Katsuki may have slipped past your lips but only once.

He tore your legs open, panting like he just finished a marathon. Looking down you covered your lips to hide the laugh. His face was wet, smeared all over with what was a mixture of you both. His cheeks were heavy with blood, an intense red cutting out on his pale face. Classically, his brows were knit together.

“Did you have to make such a mess?” The blonde stood up and went to his bathroom. You caught a glimpse of the bulge in his pants.

The sound of the faucet reached your ears.

“I’m not gonna say sorry. You asked for it.” And you were pretty good at it. No. Such praise would kill your ego.

The water stopped running and you heard him stomp back. You pulled your trousers on quickly, suddenly feeling awfully naked. What would happen now? Your casual friend just ate your pussy like it was his last meal before a death sentence, and you were supposed to go back to organising the sources.

You felt a hard push to the back of your head.

“Stop thinking about it and get back out.”

Eh?!

Time went on quickly and in a weird manner. A huge something was in the air but you couldn’t find a way to bring the topic up. Why did you eat my pussy out of the blue? Was it really just about the bet? Were you feeling horny and I just so happened to be there? Are we fwb now? Do you like me?

Scratch the last one. The man gave you a headache ever since his own head left your tights. Also, he was nowhere to be found. Katsuki didn’t respond to texts, he was absent from the gym during his usual hours, and his dorm room was closed. You couldn’t just go to Kirishima and say: hey, I’m trying to figure out why Katsuki gave me head, wanna help?

The moment you run into his fleeting ass, you're gonna squeeze out the answer.

An opportunity came soon when you spotted him sneaking into the laundry room. It was a cramped space with washing machines and dryers. Fortunately, you had little thieves around dorms so people usually left their washing while it was in progress. There was a big chance you’d be alone.

Running to the door you yanked them open and rushed inside. Indeed, it was only him crouched to the lowest washing machine, putting mostly black clothes inside.

“You’re here for round two?” He smirked and you gasped.

It took you by surprise, you expected yelling or awkwardness. Nevermind. You shook off your initial stumble.

“Can you explain what the fuck do you mean by all this?” You gestured in the air as if all this was a laundry basket and an empty bottle of washing liquid scattered on the floor.

Katsuki hummed, shrugging his shoulders. He dropped the halfway loaded laundry on the floor and crawled closer to you, gripping your hips in a familiar manner. This time, you were wearing a skirt. Your back hit the door.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” It fell from his lips as if he was asking whether you want vanilla or chocolate ice-cream.

Your mind ran in circles like a hamster in its ball. Start a fuss and possibly fight with Katsuki or let him do his thing and cum? Uhh.

He took your panties off completely, throwing them into his washing machine but left your skirt. Halfway in, when your chest was heaving and hips pushed further and further away from the door you heard a sound on the other side.

The doorknob shook and there was a mumble on the outside. You dug your feet into the ground and Katsuki put one of his hands to shut it closed. Yet, he didn’t stop what he was doing. Both of your palms also pushed into the thin wood making you unable to quiet the panting and loud gulps. You bit your lip and it would break if something wasn’t stuffed inside your mouth.

Taking a sharp breath through your nose, you smelled him. He stuffed your mouth with one of the shirts from his laundry. You threw him a dirty look from above to which he only smirked, going back down.

“It’s locked.” The muffled voice on the other side said.

“Maybe maintenance.” A different one answered.

When they were gone, you could finally cum, biting hard into Katsuki’s shirt. You steadied yourself on a drier afterwards while he wiped his mouth with a spare T-shirt before throwing all the leftover laundry inside the washing machine and starting it.

“My pants.” You breathed out, you were still coming back to earth.

“Ops.” He threw and with a single long stride, escaped the murder scene.

Your walk of shame in the short skirt, without panties on was long.

The third time you could talk to him happened only a day later.

You were studying with Kirishima, or more like tutoring him for free, in the library. Kirishima also had a single room in the dorms but his was far more trashy and you didn’t crave to spend time in that man cave. Instead you booked a private study room. It had a small round table, a few chairs and switches to plug in electric devices.

Halfway through your study Kirishima stated he needed to go to the bathroom. You nodded and the man left. Only after a minute did you hear the door open once more.

“A line in the mens’? Unbelievable.” You chuckled but upon looking up, you were met with a nasty grin.

“Kirishima told me you guys were studying.” He cornered you. “You know the deal.”

Katsuki slipped behind your chair as you whipped your head around to stop him. He placed both of his hands on your shoulders, surprisingly gentle.

“Just tell me to stop.”

Oh fuck you you pretty bastard. Is what you thought.

“Oh fuck you.” Is what you said and you wanted to add something but he pushed your upper half into the table simultaneously yanking the chair from under your butt.

It took a lick for your knees to get kinda soft and your morale to stumble between being a decent person or getting this unbelievably lucky chance for a third time.

“Can we at least do it after I finish with Kiri? I can come to your room as quickly as I am able to.” You whispered.

“Or you can call the dumbass and buy me a few minutes.” Katsuki muttered between your folds.

You cursed under your breath and grabbed your phone. Pick up, pick up, pick up, goddamn. Kirishima could be back any second. Although nothing terrible would happen if he came in on you, it would be embarrassing like hell. Finally, you heard his voice on the other side of the line.

“I’m just coming back, literally wait a second-”

“No!” You shouted into the device. “I mean.”

Katsuki seemed to slow down between your tights. Good, the bastard is not stupid and he cut you some slack this time.

“I’m sorry but I just really need a coffee, I thought you’d still be somewhere around the entrance.” You pieced together a makeshift excuse.

“I can go back. ‘Ts the least I can do for your help.” Kirishima laughed so genuinely it made you feel slightly bad for playing him like this.

“Yeah, uh, it really is boring like hell.” You laughed. The whole phone call made you unable to focus on Katsuki who was behind you and you really wanted to go back to minding him. “If I can be honest it would be lovely if you could bring me coffee from that cafe down and opposite of the library. You know which. I slept really bad and need their double espresso.” Kiri, please just say yes!

“Of course, anything for you.”

That sweetheart. Kirishima was really the perfect man, contrary to Katsuki who just now, at the very end of your call, decided to be an absolute asshole.

You felt two of his fingers push past your entrance and force your walls open. A breath got caught in your throat.

“Okay thanks, bye!” You smashed the end call button. “What the fuck are you do-”

But he was turning you around, lapping his tongue over your clit, moving his fingers in and out of your cunt all of which with closed eyes and a blissful look on his face. You gave in, because it felt so good.

After a while you finished all over his face, for the third time this week.

“I told you not to finger me.” You complained, dressing yourself in fear of Kirishima being too neat in his mission to get you coffee.

“I know and I didn’t like it. So I had to distract you.” He smirked, resting his hip on the table.

At that moment, Kirishima came inside with two paper cups, steam escaping the small opening in the lids.

“Oh, hi dude! I didn’t think you’d come here. I’d buy you coffee too.” Kirishima chirped.

“Forget about it, I was supposed to do something anyway. Just came in to say hi.” The blonde flicked his hand in the air. “Oh, and if you want-” He turned to you. “You can come to my room later and finish what we were talking about.” With that he slipped past the door leaving you with a grimace and Kirishima with a dumbfounded expression.

“What were you guys talking about?” The redhead asked.

“Nothing important, just about transplanting a small plant his mum gave him. I’ll help him later, he has already managed to nearly kill it.”

[erwinsvow]

𝐢 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮

summary: jj's made a bad habit of sneaking into your bedroom at midnight.

word count: 3.5k

now spinning: radio by lana del rey

author's note: finally some jayj!! <3 writing this felt like coming home. i hope i did him justice! tags: adorably in love jj and reader. smut but make it cute (heavy grinding/petting, jj calls you princess b/c duh<3, he uses a condom bc no breeding kink here! jj sucks your tits through your (his) shirt because..yah)

JJ makes his way into the window of your bedroom, trying to be as quiet and careful as he can.

You stand back a little, trying to give him enough room to get in, but just as he swings his other leg over, he stumbles and a small succulent in a ceramic pot on your windowsill goes flying.

You freeze, scared that the thud of his leg on the window frame was enough to wake up your parents—who unfortunately share the room right next to you. JJ’s hands stick out immediately to catch the little plant, and then somehow, he juggles it into place while steadying his feet. 

You let out a sigh of relief, and he places the little plant safely on your nightstand.

“That thing’s a troublemaker. It’s always the quiet ones, huh?” He whispers, already knowing from all the previous times how thin your walls are.

Time before last, he leaned back against the headboard too hard while you were riding him, and just the noise of it hitting the wall was enough to result in a knock on your bedroom door. He blames you for that one, though, and the next time your parents come in, they notice you’ve moved your bed across the room. 

“This one was your fault,” you reply, unsurprisingly giddy now that your boyfriend is here. 

“Nuh-uh, princess, that was all you. Why’d you leave the cactus there, huh? You tryna get me caught?” 

You shake your head but you can’t stop the smile from spreading across your face and the quiet laugh from escaping, trying to explain that it’s not a cactus, but the words melting on your tongue. You watch as JJ carefully closes the window—he’d prefer to leave it open so he can sneak back out without much noise, but you get cold, so he pushes it down as gently as he can.

You can’t help it—you always end up staring, eyes fixated on his arms and the way they stretch and flex while he adjusts your pink curtains and makes sure no one can see inside. You don’t care if the neighbors watch. Let them, you think, JJ and I will give them a show.

He turns around to really take a look at you, mind always going a mile a minute thinking about how deep of a slumber your parents might be in, if he remembered to grab a condom (he’d forgotten it earlier in the month and you’d been so disappointed, he had to eat you out for an hour just to apologize), and then he thinks he wouldn’t be so upset if he did forget it. Finally he wonders if you have any snacks in your bedroom, which you normally don’t, but he’s feeling hungry today. 

When he finally takes you in, you’re standing there with that pretty smile he loves so much, the sleep sets you used to wear every night forgone for one of his big t-shirts instead, the ones with tiny holes near the hem, one that’s probably been passed around between him, Pope, and John, but has now ended up in your closet as a permanent piece.

You told him a story a while back, about how your parents question why you never put on pajamas straight after dinner anymore, like you used to. It’s because JJ’s shirts are your pajamas now and you can’t let them see. 

“Why don’t you just, y’know, change after they go to bed?” He asks after hearing that story, rubbing the small of your back under the very same shirt, wondering how smart a girl as you are didn’t think of that idea first. 

You don’t answer straight away, instead pressing your face further into his chest and inhaling that scent which is so uniquely JJ—ocean and sand and that car smell since he was probably working on something before getting his favorite text of any night from you, from anyone, really—They just went to bed.

You mumble something into the skin of his sternum, unintelligible and quiet, and he has to use his other hand to move your head up.

“Sorry, princess, getting some static here. Repeat that for me?” He cups his ear to listen in, which makes you laugh.

“Just wanna feel close to you,” you repeat, even softer, immediately resting your face back on his chest once you finish. 

You’re sure he doesn’t understand what you mean, because it’s deeply rooted in you, that you hate the way your parents treat JJ. They’re not so rich or Kooky to judge him for not being so, and they’re overprotective of you, always have been, but they act so differently around him. They barely give him a chance, no matter how much you affirm that you’re so happy, that you’re only that way because you’re with JJ now. 

They look at the stuff that doesn’t matter—the motorcycle he rides, ignoring the pretty pink helmet he got for you sitting next to his own. They don’t know that he worries about keeping you safe, so much so that he borrows the Twinkie twice as much as he used to, because the idea of you getting hurt on his bike scares him. It scares him enough that he didn’t let you ride with him forever, that it took months of begging to even make him consider the idea. 

They look at his clothes and his shoes and don’t like that they can’t invite his parents over for dinner, don’t like the idea of you going to his place but don’t like him coming over either. When they do finally grant your permission to hang out with him at your home, you have to stay in the living room the whole time, television on and playing some stupid movie you could care less about—but at least JJ’s here, at least he’s holding you. 

You feel embarrassed, about the reason why you wear his shirt, about how your parents behave, about how you can’t do anything at your house but watch reruns and eat some snacks, your parents wafting in every now and then to make sure nothing’s changed. 

And he tries, he really does, which makes your heart thud and causes a warm, happy tingle to extend from your ears to your toes. He shows up with flowers for the house, a bottle of wine for your parents, a bone for your dog.

He’s trying to save up for a car so your parents don’t associate him with the roar of his bike taking off and the danger he’s putting their daughter in (you almost cry when he tells you this, partly because it’s so sweet, partly because you love that bike, love everything about that bike—your pink helmet, holding onto JJ’s stomach on a ride, the way he sometimes props you up on it and tells you he’ll reward you if you’ll be good for him—which you always are. 

Putting on other clothes—clothes that don’t belong to JJ—in front of your parents so they don’t feel uncomfortable at the sight of you in his shirt, is a sacrifice you refuse to make. It’s your way of rebelling, as insignificant and silly as it is, affirming that you’re not gonna cave and end your relationship because they don’t approve. It’s hard, for a people-pleaser like yourself, taking a stand against your parents. You don’t possibly expect him to understand, but you think he does that day, with the way he smothers you in kisses all night, and continues the affection on your sofa the next day, no matter who’s watching.

He snuck in that night too—pulling a pair of socks from his pocket for you. 

“Got you some more clothes of mine, so you can take your little stand without it being so obvious-” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because you leap into his arms to hug him so tightly, he can’t catch his breath for a minute.

That had been months ago. Since then, you and JJ spent nearly every other night together, trying as hard as possible to stay quiet and not get caught. He seems more worried about it than you do, like tonight. 

“Your dad doesn’t have any firepower in the house, right? Like any bazookas or something?” he asks, walking closer to you, away from the window. You shake your head, laughing silently. It’s harder and harder not to be all smiles around JJ anymore. “Good,” he says, not as quietly as before. He brings you in for a hug, arms tight on your back, face buried in your hair. “Missed you, baby.”

You hold on with your little grip for as long as you can, finding it even harder to let go after hearing him say those words—you’d seen him earlier today, briefly, but this was his first time sneaking in since yet another scare a few days ago.

You only pull away because he does, taking off his hat and setting it on your yellow quilt. He sits down, beckoning you over, and you respond immediately, crawling into his lap like you always do. You could sit like this forever.

“It should be illegal for us to go this long without seeing each other,” he murmurs against your shoulder, before pressing a gentle kiss to the skin. His shirt hangs off of you, giving him easy access. 

“I saw you this morning, silly,” you whisper, not moving, head buried into his neck.

“For like a minute,” his hands go to your hips, adjusting your position to get you more comfortable in his grip. His fingers press into the skin there, available since you were only wearing panties under his shirt, no shorts to get in the way. “Can’t do anything to you in a minute.”

“That’s not what I remember—” but before you can finish, he silences you with a kiss, soft and chaste. 

“Hey,” he starts, while you begin to giggle at the memory. “I thought we weren’t gonna bring that up anymore. S’your fault, anyways.” He trails off, kissing you again. “That sundress has magic in it, or something, not normal-” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, deepening the kiss, your whole face feeling hot now at the mention of the memory—the first time the two of you had done anything more than making out.

“Woah, woah,” he says, pulling away again, making you groan in frustration. “Did you lure me here under false pretenses? Are you tryna take advantage of me right now? Because I came here to cuddle-”

“Shut up, Jayj,” and you go back to finish your kiss, your hips moving by themselves. You don’t realize you’re doing it, you never do, until JJ tells you. His hands move down, grabbing the fat of your ass and squeezing while he makes you do all the work, for now, at least.

You work yourself up quickly, you always do when you’re with him, and you could finish just like this if he lets you, grinding your cunt against his hard-on, multiple layers of clothes between the two of you. 

He likes to see you get worked up, so he’ll let you do it for a little bit longer, lips still attached, his tongue in your mouth. He slides his hand around where your panties rest on your hip, knotting his fingers between the fabric, his other hand resting on your hip and loosely guiding your motions.

“Feel good, baby?” he finally asks, not loud but not as quiet as before, either. You don’t care much at the moment. 

“Uh-huh,” you whine, feeling yourself get closer, something in your stomach winding up tensely and making you want to increase your speed. You try, but JJ’s hand controls you, tightening up and squeezing like it’s a warning—slow down. 

“Can’t make a mess like this, remember, pretty girl?” he asks but you’re only half there, half paying attention. Your eyes are squeezed shut, skin feeling so ablaze that you’re sure there’s beads of sweat lining your neck and face, hands gripping the material of JJ’s shirt while you rock yourself back and forth. 

He watches carefully, eyes raking in your pretty face all twisted like this, your lips swollen and red from the biting since you can’t make any noise, your hardened nipples poking through the material of his shirt. He wants to wrap his mouth around one and play with it using his tongue, not even bothering to lift the shirt out of the way, but he refrains, since he knows you’ll cum in seconds if he does, and if you cum, he’ll cum.

“Don’t care,” you exhale, breathy and pitchy. He doesn’t even remember what you’re talking about. “I want your mess-” and your head tips forward, resting on his shoulder while he still moves you with his big hands. 

It’s all of it, all at once—the fact that you haven’t been able to do much of anything, but especially this, with JJ in days, how hard he is and how good it feels to rub your pussy against him instead of your pillow, the fact that despite his shorts and your underwear in the way, you can almost feel the veins of his pretty dick, the ridge that usually has him slapping a hand over your mouth because you can’t help the noises that come out when you feel it inside you. 

You’re so close—and you don’t care about the condom, about how everything’ll be sloppy and sticky after this, so you try to go even faster, until you feel the entirely too-strong hands of your boyfriend manhandling you, pulling you off and laying you flat onto the bed in one motion.

“Wha- Jayj,” you whine again, so much louder than you thought it would come out. Your heart’s thrumming in your ears, brain turned to mush and clit throbbing from the sudden lack of contact. 

“Shh, baby, you’re gonna get us both killed-” and you look up at him with wet eyes and your signature pout, the one that gets you anything you want—midnight trips for ice cream, convincing him to sleep over even when he knows your parents will pop in when it’s morning, going on a ride on his bike when he’d thought it was way too dangerous. “M’giving you what you want, okay, so settle down-”

You try to be as good as you can, watching patiently while your thighs tremble and an uncomfortable, hot wetness pools between your legs. JJ pulls off his shirt, frees his dick from the constraint of his shorts, and lets out a little hiss when he sees the wet spot on his clothes from where you were just having fun. 

“Dirty girl,” he says, but he’s smiling, not upset. “Made a mess already, even without me.” You let out more shaky breaths at his words, half-listening, eyes focused on the pink color of his thick cock, the way he strokes himself before putting the condom on. Your mind has turned off, every single thought except JJ leaving your head.

“Gonna be quiet this time?” he asks softly, lining himself up with your wet cunt, eyes almost rolling back into his head at the way you suck him in. You’re all tense, stomach in knots and pussy clamping just thinking about every inch he’s going to give you, the stretch he puts your tight hole through. You don’t mind much though.

“Your fault,” you mumble, in a daze. You love everything about JJ, the way his hair falls over his eyes when he’s hovering over you like this, when he licks his lip when he rakes his gaze across your body, how he smirks at you when you get like this.

He lowers his face close to yours and your eyelids flutter shut, expecting a kiss, but instead he buries his face into the crook of your neck, biting and sucking on the skin while you try to stay silent, and then he buries himself into you, all the way all at once, and you strangle a scream back so it dies in your throat. 

It’s like it’s the first time, every time, with the way he feels inside, the way you’ve never really gotten accustomed to how big JJ is.

“Sure, baby, my fault,” he finally agrees, letting go of the hold his teeth have on your skin. That'll leave a bruise tomorrow, and the rush he feels from that goes straight to his dick. “This one’s my fault too.”

You don’t pay attention to his words or the stinging sensation on your neck, because the entirely overwhelming feeling of JJ inside you, slamming in and out while you’re forced to stay silent, fogs your brain. JJ hovers over you, and your hands find their way around his neck, snaking into his hair, pulling gently while he lowers himself for another kiss—hot, wet, even messier. 

He keeps you this way often, so he can swallow your moans and let you be as loud as you need without much as much of a risk. Your bedroom fills with the slap of skin on skin, his hips ramming against yours.

You’d cry out because it hurts, but the way JJ fills you is anything but painful—it’s excruciatingly good, makes your toes curl while you feel that tense knot in your stomach beginning to unravel by itself, JJ hitting that sensitive part of you deep inside.

But it’s always more than that—it’s his the messy press of his fingers against your clit, the way he dips his head and takes your pert, clothed nipple into his mouth and swirls his tongue, and then when he hears you getting loud, he goes back to kissing you, quieting you. He thinks about everything so you don’t have to, heading tipping back onto the pillow and squeals leaving your mouth without a second thought. 

You knead your fingers into his hair, holding him in place so he doesn’t pull away from the kiss, because you know you’re about to get loud.

He does pull away—easily fighting your weak grip to bring his mouth to your neck, kissing the love-bites he already left there. You feel JJ’s hot breath on your ear, already a mess, already close, but you tip over the edge when he talks to you, as quiet as he can. 

“Come on pretty girl, make a mess for me-” and you follow his instructions without another moment’s hesitation, the walls of your pussy fluttering and then clamping tight around him, moans swallowed into his mouth as he kisses you again. You writhe around, toes curling, entire body tensing, staring up at your pretty boyfriend for as long as you can before your eyes shut, mind numb from pleasure. 

It doesn’t take much for JJ after that—the feel of your nails scratching his back, how your pussy clenches around him, the moans he wishes he could hear loud and clear. In a final lustful, selfish thought, he imagines you screaming under him, begging for more, not satisfied until he makes a mess inside your little cunt and fills you up. He spills into the condom seconds after, grunting into your neck and wishing the two of you were anywhere else but the bedroom next to where your parents are asleep. 

The room is silent again, save for the heavy breaths leaving both of you. JJ moves first, carefully settling next to you because the bed creaks on his side. He sits up against the headboard, safe because they’re on the opposite wall now, and moves your tired, languid body into his arms, head resting against his chest. 

“Well, you made a mess, alright. Hope you do your own laundry.” You giggle, hand coming up to rest above his heart, fingers tracing patterns into his soft skin.

He sighs quietly, a gentle sign he likes your touch. You could fall asleep in minutes like this, the heat from JJ keeping you warm, the content feeling in your heart making you smile dopily. JJ notices, leaning down to give you another kiss.

He stares into the distance with a hand stroking your back, under his shirt. He looks around your cute room—the overflowing bookshelf, the photos taped up on the walls (mostly of the two of you, he thinks with a touch of smugness), a pile of his shirts that are now your sleep clothes folded neatly in your hamper, freshly laundered. 

JJ thinks he’d do anything to stay like this, with you resting in his arms, forever. 

“I’m gonna do it, I swear,” he starts, not as quietly as before. It’s a gentle sentiment, like he’s reading you a vow. “I’ll do anything I have to, I’ll make ‘em like me. One day I’ll show up here and they’re gonna be happy to see me. I’m gonna get better.”

“You’re already perfect, Jayj,” you whisper back, eyes closed because you feel tears lining up. He presses a kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to do anything. I love you.” 

He smiles again, eyes closing. He’s about to say it back when there’s a sharp knock on your door, and the handle starts to turn.

[zoropookie]

HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter thirty-three — give it time (💋)

“I’ll admit, you made it look like a home.”

You looked around, enamored by the mutable blend of the other’s home. There was oddly a cozy charm that bled in the space, a mixture of contrasts that you wouldn’t have thought he would involve himself with.

There were soft shadows playing against the walls, promenaded by the warm and golden glow of the lamps. It was really elegant in here, yet, meticulously chosen to make you feel comfortable enough to sit down on the obviously expensive furniture.

“Didn’t know you had a…knack for interior design either.” You said hesitantly, looking at a very abstract tiny statue of a triangle on one of the shelves. Even thought you were interested, it still just felt like a painted on canvas for you. Kind of like...the idea that there can be paint on a canvas, but it doesn't make it a painting. "Learning a lot more about you everyday."

"It wasn't my idea," He sighed. "I told the interior designer 'not too many colors', and I guess she thought I was talking about completely mute."

"Feels like a sanctuary," you murmured.

Despite the dismissive words he gave you, the effort that was put into everything was clearly crafted and corroborated. You walked over to the books sitting on the coffee table, the only things out of place from the rest of the textures, reading the hard cover and smiling.

"You're really considering it?" You asked, to which Kuni turned towards you, "Taking care of the orchard outside."

He shrugged, his eyes moving back to making tea in the kitchen. "I don't have a choice. It's either me who does it, or it dies."

"That's not true, you can always pay someone to do it for you. I know there's a lot of people who may want it for themselves, it's completely healthy." You rambled, trying to see it through the long windows. "I take it that was a housewarming gift too?"

"From Furina. Came with the house, thought it'd be funny to see me struggle with something mundane."

"I heard," You grinned, not being able to keep your laugh in. "Love that for you, it's like a package deal! Did it work?"

He sighed again, running a hand through his hair at the thought. "I guess, I don't know," He started pour the tea once the pot began to steam. "I know her goal was to drive me insane. A constant reminder that no matter how far I try to distance myself from complications, they find a way to root themselves in my life."

"Hey, I wouldn't see it as that." You chuckled, the sound mixing with the soft clinking of the ceramic cups he was setting on the table. "It's probably just a way to keep you grounded after everything."

"I don't see the appeal in tending to trees."

"Maybe it's not even about that," You mused. "Maybe it's just about finding a healthy medium in your life, don't suppose you had that before, right?" You said, teasingly.

He rolled his eyes at you, a humored smile tugging at his lips. "You're one to preach about silver linings."

Your jaw dropped, a small scoff coming from your mouth. "I actually came here to truce, thank you very much. Even though you're the one who tried to run away from me — news flash, didn't work, genius. Still pissed off about that. I'm glad that Furina is looking to help you as much as she's looking to out you."

"Running away is my thing." He squinted playfully, "Like she's big help anyway. The only reason she's in on it is because she wants us to have this romance trope going on for real this time. It's stupid as fuck."

You paused at his words, feeling yourself swallow a big lump some of the tea nestled in your mouth. You shivered at the heat that washed on you, pursing your lips in thought as you let the conversation simmer. The two of you standing in a companionable silence. The trees outside rustled gently in the breeze, their leaves a vibrant contrast to the muted tones inside.

"I mean, I don't know," You paused, cringing as your fingers tightened on your cup. "I don't think it's stupid."

Kuni stiffened too, gaze flickering away for a moment before returning to meet yours. There was a certain look that you've never seen before from him. You couldn't decipher his actual feelings. "I figured."

Your cheeks flushed. "Holy shit, never mind if you were expecting it already." You hissed to yourself, trying to ebb how much embarrassment was on your skin. "Look, I need to check into my hotel soon—"

"Sit down." He cut you off, assertiveness in his tone enough to get you to immediately listen, plopping back down. There was an unexpected gravity that was with him, another departure from his nonchalant attitude.

Your heart hammered rapid fire in your chest, a mix of fear and total apprehension were doing a waltz on your general disposition. The more time you were here, the more you worried about the next time you'll make an absolute fucking fool of yourself. You fidgeted with your fingers.

"What really brought you here." He asked, expectantly. "First thing you give me is a hug, and some words of affirmation. You're not here just to catch up, especially after I blew you off."

"I wanted to see you again." You admitted, the weight of your own words pressing down on you. "You owned up to it, left your part of the Internet in a spiral, and then didn't bother to talk to me after that."

He was looking at you, you sensed it. And it wasn't like you could look at him back, otherwise you were going to melt. It was different seeing him from up close, it was an original experience to you if you could name it anything.

His eyes were searching you, despite all you said, as if trying to decipher if you were being genuine. His eyes bored into you like a tiny laser burning your skin. He nodded, a sliver of understanding crossing his face. "You gave me the impression that you were done. I left it at that."

"Yeah, well, I felt like the only one who could leave it at anything was me."

Despite how sticky and tense it was again, you felt relieved that he wasn't as malicious as he was behind the screen. You were relieved that at least the worst of it was over. But it didn't didn't help the burning in your chest, the aching of the bubble in your throat. "Ei really made you do all that stuff? It's not because you really do hate me, right?"

There was no more pretending anymore, no more hiding behind false bravado or dissing each other behind screens like pussies. It was only raw honesty, vulnerable and exposed.

"(Y/N)." His expression softened, a silent dilemma clear on his face. He gathered his own courage, squaring his shoulders a bit and looking at you again. "I'm sorry."

You felt dazed, electricity in the air around you, the world officially tilted on its axis to you. "What?" You accentuated snippier than you intended.

"You were collateral. Nothing that you did deserved what happened to you. Makes sense that you did what you did, you weren't the problem." He explained, shoulders slumped again. "I was behind what I did, at the end of the day; Ei just told me to do it. I'm sorry for being part of the reason you couldn't bounce back. I know if the situation were different, I'd leave you alone."

People kept saying that to you these days, that nothing that happened was because you deserved it. Maybe you never quite got the picture until Kuni said something along the lines of it. You never thought that him apologizing to you would garner the oddest reaction out of you.

Because why was it sexy..? Stop.

"And," He sighed, grabbing your attention lightspeed again. "I would consider liking you more if this all didn't happen. You're alright."

His admission of everything was catching you off guard left and right. You had no idea what to feel with the prominent knot in your stomach. "Do you like me?" "(Y/N), I don't want to—"

"I'm alright, in your words, but do you like me?" Your tone solidified with each word slowly jutting out, assertiveness hardening your composure. "Tell me. Look at me and tell me."

The uncertainly stretched on for what was practically indefinitely. He held his breath, as did you, waiting for his response. Your heart was ruthless against you, beating against your body. He sized you up, seeking an answer for himself.

"...Yeah?" He admitted, voice barely audible as he tried to find his own words. But everything he did think of was so unlike him, out of his personal way of handling things like this. "Yeah. I do."

You blinked, both of your eye contact filling a certain, more romantic space that neither of you even thought was there before today. But the more you realized it, the more you realized that maybe the sexual tension was always there.

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YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

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[infamous-light]

You Belong to Me Ch. 7

Alcina Dimitrescu x F! Reader

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6

AO3: You Belong to Me

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu's obsession knows no bounds as she becomes increasingly possessive over you. Will you succumb to her dark embrace, or find a way to break free before it's too late?

Word Count: 4K

Warnings: Yandere, possessive/obsessive behavior

You sat in front of an open hearth, trying to keep warm as the flames crackled and danced before your eyes.

The heat was a welcome relief against the evening chill that seemed to seep in through the floorboards. Winters were harsh in the village and the biting cold had a way of sneaking in, no matter how well you tried to insulate the house. Outside, the wind howled, rattling the windows and making the old timbers creak in protest. You pulled your blanket tighter around your shoulders, the soft wool scratching gently against your skin.

The thick smell of wheat porridge wafted through the air as your mother stirred the pot over the fire, the wooden spoon moving in slow, precise circles. The rhythmic motion of her hand was soothing to watch, each turn and swirl a gentle reminder of the care she put into everything she did.

The main door creaked open a second later and your father stepped in, bringing a gust of frigid air with him before closing the door behind him. He hung his scarf and jacket on the coat rack, the woolen fabric glistening with tiny crystals of frost. His face was dried out from the cold, and he brushed a few stray snowflakes from his hair, shaking them off like tiny diamonds that sparkled briefly in the firelight before melting away. He took his boots off next, placing them by the door to avoid tracking in the snow.

“It sure is getting chilly out there.” Your father said, walking over to you with a smile that conveyed both his relief at being inside and his joy at seeing you.

“Yeah, I can feel it from here.” You replied, grinning up at him.

He sat down next to you, stretching out his hands toward the fire to get warm. He sighed contentedly as the warmth seeped into his fingers, gradually thawing the stiffness brought on by the cold.

“The goats are finally resting in their barns,” he continued. “I’ve placed enough deep straw bedding to keep them warm overnight.”

“Good,” your mother said with a warm smile, not looking up from her stirring. She then placed the wooden spoon aside, tapping it lightly against the rim of the pot to shake off the excess. “Well, I’d say the porridge is pretty much done cooking.”

The aroma of the grain and spices grew stronger, mixing with the faint scent of burning wood and the earthy smell of your father's clothes.

She brought out some mismatched but well-loved bowls, their chipped edges and faded patterns revealing the many shared meals you all had together over the years. She started filling the steaming porridge into each bowl, the sound of the thick, hearty mixture pouring out and settling in bringing a sense of comfort and routine. As she handed the bowl over to you, the warmth from the food seeped through the ceramic, warming your hands and bringing a smile to your face. Your mother finally looked up, her eyes softening with affection as she saw your pleased expression, and in that moment, everything felt right in the world.

Suddenly, a loud, insistent knock on the door startled you all.

Your mother’s smile faltered, and she exchanged a quick, concerned glance with your father. He frowned and stood up, walking over to the door. As he opened it, the hinges creaked ominously, and you strained to catch a glimpse of the visitor. You heard a man's voice, though you couldn't quite make out what he was saying. The words were muffled and indistinct, but the tone carried a weight that made your stomach churn with unease.

Your father's body tensed, his shoulders stiffening. Your mother, noticing the change, got up and walked over to him, her movements quick and anxious.

“What's going on?” She asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Your father turned to her, his face ashen and drawn. “They've come for her.”

Your mother gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. “No, they can't have her.” She said, her voice cracking with desperation.

The sheer terror in your mother’s voice sent a cold shiver down your spine, a fear you had never seen in her before. She took a step back, her body shaking, and you could see the tears welling up in her eyes, threatening to spill over.

“What's wrong?” You asked, your voice trembling.

Your mother turned to you, her eyes wide with fright. “You are to be taken to Castle Dimitrescu,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “You are to become a servant there.”

Every muscle in your body froze.

The thought of leaving your home, your family, and everything you knew to serve in that oppressive castle was more than you could bear. The stories you had heard while growing up, whispered in hushed tones by the other villagers, had painted a picture of horror and despair. Each tale was laden with vivid, terrifying details that seemed to seep into the very fabric of your nightmares. They described how the matriarch of the castle – known as Lady Dimitrescu – and her daughters fed upon the blood and flesh of the women who were brought to them. How these women were consumed in grotesque rituals or used as experiments in the depths of the castle. And it was only women who were chosen for this fate, as Lady Dimitrescu had a perverse preference for their suffering.

The legends were so ingrained throughout the village that they seemed like an inescapable truth, a dark cloud looming over every woman who resided here.

The truth of the matter is: once taken to Castle Dimitrescu, there was no return.

“I don’t want to go.” Your voice wobbled.

The words seemed to catch in your throat, stifled by the heavy weight of fear. Your mother rushed over to you and hugged you. Her arms wrapped around you with a fierce, protective desperation, as though she could somehow keep you safe just by holding you close. You glanced over at the doorway and saw four men standing there, their expressions grim and resolute. They were clad in dark, somber attire that seemed to blend in with the night.

“Please, not my daughter,” your mother begged. “Don’t take her from us.”

Her voice was filled with anguish, a mother's final plea to protect her child.

The man at the front of the group grimaced, his eyes filled with reluctant sorrow. “I’m sorry,” he said, his gaze shifting downward as if he could not bear to meet your mother’s eyes. “Mother Miranda ordered five women from the surrounding villages to be brought to Lady Dimitrescu before the night ends.” 

You saw your father’s fists clench, his knuckles turning white against the strain. “What would it take to make you look the other way?”

The man’s eyes hardened, narrowing into cold slits that revealed nothing but a steely resolve. “You know we can’t take the risk of accepting a bribe.”

Your father's anger flared as he took a threatening step closer to them. “You know what they’ll do to her if you bring her to that cursed place!” He shouted, his voice rising in a desperate plea.

Your mother started to sob quietly.

“I don’t like it any more than you do but we don’t have a choice. This is Mother Miranda’s order.” The man said through gritted teeth, his voice strained and edged with frustration.

The men took a step forward just then. They advanced with a sense of purpose, the weight of their boots crunching ominously in the snow. Your father, however, remained unmoved, blocking the entryway with a defiant stance. His broad shoulders were squared, and his hands were clenched into fists at his sides. The man at the forefront held your father's gaze with a cold, unflinching stare.

“Please don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be.” The man's voice was a low, urgent plea, tinged with the barest hint of exasperation.

Your father’s response was immediate and resolute. “I won’t let you take my daughter.”

There was a tense silence between everyone.

Then, chaos erupted.

The men surged forward, their coordinated assault forcing their way past the doorway with brute force. Your father grappled with them, his movements desperate and frantic as he tried to hold them back. He fought with a mix of rage and terror; the strain etched deeply into his features.

Amid the struggle, one of the men seized your bicep with a rough grip, yanking you away from your mother’s tight hold. His fingers, rough and unyielding, dug in mercilessly, sending a jolt of pain through your arm. Your mother’s eyes widened in horror as she reached out, her fingers grasping at the empty air where you had been moments before.

“Please, stop!”

The sound of her voice – caught between a scream and a sob – was a heart-wrenching plea that echoed in the small space, mingling with the grunts and shouts of the men. Before your mother could take a step toward you, she was pulled back by another man, who held her in place with an iron grip. Your father, still battling fiercely against two of the men, was eventually subdued and forced onto the floor.

You cried out, your voice hoarse and ragged, as you were dragged outside toward a waiting carriage. The night air hits you like a freezing wave, its sharp bite cutting through your clothes and chilling you to the bone. In the distance, you could hear your mother and father calling out your name, their voices filled with anguish as you were shoved into the dark interior of the carriage. As the door slammed shut behind you, you startled at the sight of four women huddled inside, their faces pale and stricken with terror. Their fearful gazes met yours. A sorrowful cry from outside snapped your attention away from them, the sound of your parents’ despair cutting through you. You turned back around and peered out the small, grimy window of the carriage.

The last thing you saw was your parents, their outstretched arms reaching out desperately toward you. Their muffled cries of your name echoed in your ears, haunting and heart-wrenching, as the carriage rolled forward, carrying you further from everything you had ever known.

***

You woke up abruptly, your body drenched in sweat.

The sheets were twisted around you, damp from your perspiration, clinging uncomfortably to your skin like a second, suffocating layer. The air felt heavy and thick, making it difficult to breathe as your breaths came out in short, panicked bursts. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear the persistent fog from your mind and make sense of your surroundings.

The familiar bedroom of the Lady’s soon greeted you with an eerie calmness.

Slowly, you sat up, feeling a strange lightness in your limbs. They no longer felt like lead and there was a faint sense of strength returning to your muscles. The lingering effects of the drug must be lessening, you thought, as you felt it in your veins, a weightlessness, an inkling of the energy that used to be yours. Your head no longer throbbed with the same intensity, the pain receding to a dull ache. For the first time in what felt like ages, there was a glimmer of hope.

Perhaps the worst has passed.

The lightened mood inside of you shifted as the bathroom door swung open with a soft creak. Lady Dimitrescu emerged, wearing a thin bathrobe that hugged her hourglass figure, the damp fabric accentuating her curves. The robe's hem skimmed her mid-thigh, revealing her long, slender legs. The front of the robe also hung open loosely, offering a tantalizing glimpse of her smooth, porcelain skin, her large breasts almost on full display. Her hair, still damp from a recent bath, cascaded in dark, wet strands that clung to her neck and the side of her face, framing her features in a way that heightened her already natural beauty.

Lady Dimitrescu paused as she saw that you were sat up in bed and wide awake. Her eyes narrowed slightly. She seemed to take a moment to assess your condition. After a moment of silence, she spoke, her tone soft yet probing. 

“How are you feeling?” She asked, her voice deceptively gentle as she watched your every reaction.

You fiddled with the edges of the bedcover, glancing away before answering, “I feel a little better.”

Lady Dimitrescu hummed thoughtfully, as if she were considering your words carefully. She made her way over to you and you almost blushed as she leaned down, her ample bosom close to your face. She pressed her hand to your forehead, her touch cool and firm, yet unexpectedly soothing. A smile appeared on her face as she pulled away, a satisfied gleam in her eyes.

“I'm very pleased to see that you're feeling better,” she said. “You've been through quite an ordeal but you're recovering nicely.” She straightened up, towering over you once more. “However, you still need to regain your strength. I believe a bath would do wonders for you. Freshen up and prepare yourself for the day. Breakfast will be brought up shortly.”

“Yes, my Lady.” You murmured.

You gazed up at her expectantly, waiting for her to lift you up.

She smirked in response. “I trust you’ll be able to walk there on your own. Consider it a small test of your progress.”

“O-Okay.” You nodded weakly.

You moved your legs over the edge of the bed and hesitantly climbed down. Lady Dimitrescu's gaze lingered on you, her eyes tracking your every move with an intensity that made your skin prickle. Your legs wobbled as you took your first few tentative steps. Each small stride was a monumental effort that required all your concentration. You could feel the heat of her body and the soft rustle of her bathrobe with every step you took. You glanced back to see Lady Dimitrescu towering behind you, her expression unreadable yet undeniably predatory.

The corner of her lips twitched slightly as she glanced back at you. “Go on. You're almost there.” She purred.

The bathroom door loomed ahead like a distant finish line, each step feeling like a marathon. You took a few more big steps, legs trembling with the effort. With a final, strained push, you collapsed against the doorframe, steadying yourself.

“Well done, pet.” Lady Dimitrescu praised, her tone a mixture of amusement and approval. “It seems you can walk on your own again without any assistance.”

Her words sent a rush of heat to your cheeks, and you felt a bit embarrassed at her praise. You lowered your gaze, trying to hide your reaction, but you knew she could see the faint blush that had crept up your neck. Lady Dimitrescu turned away, seemingly satisfied, and sat down in front of her vanity. She picked up her hairbrush and began to comb it through her damp strands with long, slow strokes.

Turning away, you stepped into the bathroom, the tiles cool under your feet as you carefully walked over to the circular bathtub. You reached out and turned the faucets on, the metallic handles cold against your palm. The hiss of water starting to flow was a soothing sound, mingling with gentle splashes as it began to fill the large tub.

As the water reached the desired level, you dipped a hand in to test the temperature, letting the warm liquid swirl around your fingers. Satisfied, you began to undress. The soft fabric slipped smoothly from your shoulders, cascading down your body and pooling at your feet. You stepped out of them, feeling a slight shiver as the cool air brushed against your bare skin.

Carefully, you eased yourself into the bathtub, the water embracing you with a soothing warmth. You leaned back, allowing the water to envelop your body completely. The heat seeped into your muscles, easing the tension that had settled there. The sensation was calming and after a few minutes, you reached for the small shampoo bottle, the familiar floral scent wafting up as you opened it. Pouring a generous amount into your palm, you worked it into your hair, massaging your scalp with your fingertips.

After rinsing the shampoo out, you repeated the same action with the conditioner. You picked up a washcloth next and lathered it with your favorite soap. As you began to wash your body, you started with your arms and worked your way down, the soap forming a frothy layer across your skin.

Feeling thoroughly cleansed, you decided it was time to get out. You reached for the fluffy towel lying nearby and stood up, letting the water cascade off your body in shimmering droplets. Wrapping the towel around yourself, you stepped out of the tub. With each step away from the tub, you noticed how your muscles felt more invigorated. The simple act of moving your limbs felt easier and more fluid.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, steam fogging up the edges, and noticed how refreshed you looked. Despite the harrowing experience of the past few days, your complexion seemed clearer and the shadows under your eyes were less pronounced. It was a small comfort, but one that did little to alleviate the deeper anxiety of what became of your current life. As you turned away from the mirror, a stark realization hit you: there were no fresh clothes available.

Oh god, you had to leave the bathroom. Naked. In front of the Lady.

You wrapped the towel tightly around yourself and slowly opened the bathroom door. You were met with the sight of Lady Dimitrescu seated at her vanity; her tall frame elegantly poised as she applied a final touch of her signature red lipstick. Her eyes flickered toward you, a knowing smirk playing on her lips as she observed your state of undress.

The towel clung to you like a thin shield, providing minimal cover against her lingering gaze.

“Um-do you have any clothes I could change into?” You stammered.

“They're resting on the dresser nearby.” She replied, her tone casual yet edged with an undertone of amusement.

You nodded, eager to escape the uncomfortable intensity of her gaze, and made your way to the dresser. On it, the clothes were neatly folded, each item arranged with meticulous care. However, the attire looked distinctly more refined than the drab uniforms worn by the rest of the staff. A recent memory resurfaced, and you remembered that a few days ago you were being measured by Irina for some new clothes. Ones that would be of the highest quality, befitting your new role.

The outfit was a sheer white button-up blouse paired with a sleek black vest. The ensemble was complemented by black pleated pants and polished black dress shoes that gleamed with a mirror-like finish. You gathered the clothes and shoes and quickly made your way back into the bathroom, eager to get changed. As you closed the door behind you, a low, melodic chuckle from Lady Dimitrescu reached your ears, making you feel even more self-conscious.

It didn’t take you long to get dressed as you stepped back into the bedroom, feeling the smooth fabric settle comfortably against your skin. Each piece fits perfectly, hugging your body in all the right places.

Lady Dimitrescu let out a pleased hum as she observed you, her eyes appraising you from head to toe. “You look quite fetching.”

“Thank you, my Lady.” The words left your lips almost automatically.

Then, something between you two shifted. There was a deep-seated hunger in her eyes, an unsettling gleam that made you nervous. You couldn't shake the feeling of being prey under her gaze, every instinct urging you to run.

The moment ended when a firm knock on the door echoed throughout the room. Your attention snapped toward it, making you jump a little. Lady Dimitrescu turned her head slightly to the door, her expression shifting from predatory to mildly annoyed.

“Enter.” She commanded.

The door opened and a maid entered. You recognized her from the kitchens, where you had seen her in passing but you had never spoken to her before. She seemed to be one of the more reclusive staff members, avoiding interactions with anyone outside her immediate tasks. You can’t say you blame her. The maid kept her eyes lowered, her posture stiff with fear and respect. She rolled in a cart with breakfast on it, the dishes clinking softly against the tray.

“Set it on the table.” Lady Dimitrescu ordered.

“Yes, my Lady.”

The maid obeyed quickly, her hands trembling slightly as she arranged the meal on the table. You watched her, feeling a pang of sympathy. Living under Lady Dimitrescu's rule was clearly a nerve-wracking existence for everyone in the castle. Lady Dimitrescu's eyes returned to you once more, her gaze softer now, but still holding that unnerving intensity.

“You may get started on breakfast, darling. I still need to finish up.”

You gave a brief nod, feeling a strange mixture of relief and apprehension, and walked over to the two high-back chairs positioned by the coffee table. You settled into one of the chairs, your eyes still drawn to Lady Dimitrescu as she resumed her morning routine. The maid, with her eyes still cast downward, continued to unload several dishes laden with a variety of delicacies from the cart.

As she picked up an empty plate and set it down before you, you noticed the corner of what appeared to be a folded-up note tucked discreetly beneath it. Your heart skipped a beat. The sight of the note sent a surge of hope through you, but also a wave of fear. What if Lady Dimitrescu noticed the note? What if this was some kind of trap? The fear of imminent punishment or discovery tightened around you like a vise. But this could possibly be Catalina’s doing as well. She did say she would find a way to get you out.

You glanced up at the maid, her demeanor appearing almost composed as she moved with an air of indifference. She had her back turned to the Lady and with a quick, deliberate look, she directed your attention to the note before her gaze flickered back to you. Her eyes seemed to convey a silent message; a hint of encouragement mixed with an unspoken warning. You shifted your gaze over her shoulder and saw that Lady Dimitrescu was preoccupied with opening one of her face creams.

You reached out cautiously, your fingers brushing the edge of the plate to retrieve it, the note pressed firmly underneath. As you lifted the plate, you made sure the note remained hidden, held securely against the porcelain by your trembling fingers. With a quick, almost mechanical motion, you grabbed a vine of grapes and placed it on your plate, trying to appear nonchalant as your mind raced with what could possibly be written on the note.

The maid finished placing everything on the table and glanced at you one last time. After a final, measured look, she turned away from you.

“All done, my Lady.” She said, her tone smooth and respectful.

“Good. Now leave us.” Came Lady Dimitrescu’s cold reply.

The maid responded with a quick, respectful nod before curtsying again and retreating with measured steps. The sound of the cart gradually faded as she wheeled it out the door. You could almost hear the echo of her footsteps as she disappeared down the corridor, leaving you alone with the solitary note that now held your full attention.

Your pulse quickened, a jolt of anxiety mingling with anticipation as your fingertips twitched against the note. You needed to know what it said. With your eyes remaining fixed on the Lady, you slowly began to slide the note out from underneath the plate, careful not to make a single sound. With a careful touch, you thumbed the corner of the note open, your heart racing as you unfolded it. The words on the piece of paper came into view, stark and simple, and you could hardly suppress your widening eyes at the revelation.

Main house key

Miss Bela's bedchambers

[ansitru]

I found these tiny ceramic flower pots and now I'm having ✨ideas✨

[useless-catalanfacts]

There are some toys that children always love. One of them is tiny versions of cooking utensils and dishes. Here's some of them found in Catalonia from different moments of history.

Left: A tiny vase and/or lid (3.2 cm long) made of thick ceramic. Local production, 4th century BC. Museu d'Història de Barcelona.

Right: Little cup (6 cm), made of thick ceramic. Local production, 4th-3rd century BC. Museu d'Història de Barcelona.

Two pitches and a toy pitch (12 cm tall) found at the bottom of a well. This well was built in the 15th century and was stopped using when the city hall built a water fountain in 1636. The pitches had to be lowered with a string, sometimes the string would snap or the pitch would hit the well's walls and break. For this reason, archaeologists found 145 broken pitches at the bottom of the well, and this toy. Little pitches used by children to carry water have been found before in Catalonia, but this one is so little and would be able to carry such an insignificant quantity that it could only be a toy. Museu de Banyoles.

Left: Tiny dish (1.5 cm), imitating the common brown ceramics with green glaze that were common at the time. Local production, 16th century AD. Museu d'Història de Barcelona.

Right: Tiny bowl (1.7 cm). Local production, 16th century AD. Museu d'Història de Barcelona.

Tiny jar (4 cm). Ligurian maiolica ceramic of the series "a tappezzeria" with "tre nuvolette" decoration. In the base, it has the Savona coat of arms used as a workshop seal. Even though this was made in Liguria (Northern Italy), this was found in Barcelona. At the time, there was a lot of commerce between these two places, particularly for ceramic chinaware, with many upper class families in Barcelona buying imported Ligurian dishes, plates, bowls... It seems like they also did it for their children. 16-17th century AD. Museu d'Història de Barcelona.

Tiny reproductions of common ceramics of the Early Modern period found in el Born archaeological site, 17th century-1717. El Born CCM.

Picnic basket (17 cm long), 1952. Museu d'Història de Barcelona.

Cooking tools toys: pot (10.5 cm), heater (3.5 cm) and whisk (12 cm). Second half of the 20th century. Museu d'Història de Barcelona: 1, 2, 3.

And thinking of our own childhoods, I'm sure we can all remember some more.

[fruitcoops]

Opening your page always reminds me of Jules- and we haven't seen him in a while!! Can he come back in one of your fics soon ?

Jules <3 Always a legend, always beloved here. Character credit goes to @lumosinlove, Hattie belongs to me, and the cinnamon roll recipe is lifted directly from this video by Claire Saffitz on the NYT channel! Bon appetit!

“Hello MTV, and welcome to my crib.” Remus paused, then turned to Julian. “Do you understand that reference?”

“No.”

“That’s so depressing. Why are you so young?”

“Why are you so old?”

Remus wrinkled his nose and turned back to the camera. “Welcome to a new installment of Lion Pride’s baking series. I’m Remus Lupin, and I’m here today with my little brother to make everyone’s favorite breakfast food—”

“Pancakes.”

“—cinnamon rolls.” Remus frowned down at where his brother was kneeling on a stool and rocking gently back and forth. “You knew that. We practiced.”

Julian arched a brow at him. “My favorite breakfast food isn’t cinnamon rolls.”

“Not everything is about you.” A light poke to his forehead made Julian stick his tongue out. Remus stifled a smile. “You ready?”

“To eat a spoonful of icing? Duh.”

“We’ll get there eventually.” Remus pulled a large ceramic bowl from the collection of dishware to his left; the pattern was faded around the rim from years of use, but the bowl itself was shiny and clearly cared-for. “Alright,” he began. “I’m not a huge baker, but Jules and I grew up with Saturday cinnamon rolls, so this is a bit of a family recipe. Someone is probably going to type it up for you guys since my handwriting is iffy—”

“Literally unreadable,” Julian coughed.

“Shut up. The recipe will be somewhere on the Lion Pride website, or linked in the description below. In the meantime, we’re going to do a step-by-step demonstration for anyone who would like to try this at home. Milk?”

Julian passed the half-gallon over before looking to the camera. “This recipe is also going to be on our mom’s Instagram, if you look up ‘baking with Hope’. All one word, no caps.”

Remus snorted as he measured the milk into a pan waiting on the stovetop. “Nice. Love the shameless plug.”

“I made a bet with Dad that she’d have more followers than you by the end of the year.”

“Of course you did.” Remus shook his head, but it was more fond than anything. “We’re measuring a cup of milk into a pot on the stove, and then we’re going to warm it up until there are tiny bubbles on the sides.”

“That’s called a simmer, for anyone watching,” Julian informed the camera.

“It’s called bubbles, for the rest of us plebians.”

“What’s a plebian?”

“You.” Remus took a whisk from a small bowl on the side and stirred gently. “Timing for this step kind of depends on your stove, so just keep an eye out and make sure it doesn’t burn. We’re going to keep the milk at the small bubble stage—”

“Simmering.”

“—for….a minute? Ish?” He shrugged. “Until it steams. Then we’ll turn the heat off and measure out a third of a cup.”

Julian pushed his elbows onto the countertop, leaning over to watch. “You should tell the people we’re doing this at night.”

“What? Oh, yeah, this is an overnight thing. It’s currently…” Remus squinted to something off-screen. “Just before eight in the evening. We’re going to let the dough rest overnight, then finish in the morning.”

“We’re staying over for the P-L-A-Y-O-F-F’s,” Julian said. They reached down to knock on the cabinets in unison with near-identical grins.

“We deserve some cinnamon rolls.”

“Hell yeah.”

“Ew, don’t swear on camera.”

“That’s not swearing.”

Remus raised his eyebrows and gave a threatening shake of the whisk. “If you drop a swear word right now, I’m hitting you with this. That’s a promise.”

“You’re the one that taught me all the swear words!”

“So not true.” Remus stirred the milk once more, tapping the whisk gently on the side of the pot. “Dad is responsible for at least half. Okay, this has been bubbling for a little while, so I’m going to turn the heat off and pour about a third of a cup into the bowl over here. Then Jules is going to add some flour to the main pot and give it a stir.”

Julian took the whisk from him with unbridled glee and dumped the flour in; Remus held the pot handle for him while he mixed, still leaning on the countertop to adjust for height. “It’s getting thicker,” Julian noted with a glance at the camera. “It’s kinda like…paste? Or Nutella.”

Remus’ mouth twitched with a smile. “Nutella is a paste.”

“Nutella is a butter.”

“It’s literally hazelnut and chocolate paste.”

“Butter is just milk paste.”

“That’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me,” Remus laughed. “God. Okay. Once your milk and flour looks thick like this, you’re going to add it to the big bowl with the other milk in it and add some cold water so your rolls aren’t messed up.”

“That was so scientific,” Julian said dryly.

“This is a lot of criticism from a kid that doesn’t even like cinnamon rolls.”

“I like them. They’re just not my favorite.”

“Then you’re lame, and I don’t want to hear it.” Remus clapped his hands on either side of the bowl and looked into the lens. “Wow, this is going to take forever. I’m not a baker. Bear with me. We’re adding three eggs to the bowl and whisking that, which I’m going to do because I don’t trust people under the age of twelve with raw egg.”

Julian narrowed his eyes. “I’m coming back here in three days and cracking very egg you own.”

Remus smiled. “Happy almost-birthday. Anyway, the bowl is mostly cool now, so we’re going to add all that flour in here—yep, thanks, bud—and then a half-packet of yeast so it gets fluffy.”

“Why isn’t Sirius doing this? He’s better at baking than you are.”

“Wow.”

“He is!”

“You’re not getting a single bite of this frosting.”

“Don’t hide from the truth.”

Remus shook his head at the camera. “This was supposed to be a cute family bonding video. I’m going to mix this now, because apparently I suck at any kind of baking more complicated than that.”

“I didn’t say that, I just asked why Sirius isn’t doing the stuff he likes doing.”

Remus turned the hand-mixer to a lower, quieter setting and rested his hip against the edge of the counter. “How often does Sirius voluntarily get in front of a camera?”

Julian inhaled, then faltered with a grimace. “Hmm. Yeah. Never mind. He’s still better at it than you are.”

“You’re still not getting frosting.” Remus clicked the mixer a notch higher. “We’re keeping this at a pretty low setting so the dough stays soft, and we’re only going to let it run until the dough is one big lump. Now that that’s together, we’re turning the mixer off and covering the bowl with a towel for about five minutes while we get our sugar, salt, and softened butter ready.”

The camera cut briefly; when it returned, Julian was scraping fine crystals off the countertop into a towel Remus was holding over the edge. “Slight problem,” Julian said through a laugh. “Uh, we got a little bit excited about the sugar.”

“Oh, god, it’s getting all over the floor—” Remus straightened slightly and whistled. “Hattie! Treats!”

The house was silent for a moment before the sound of skittering paws reached the camera. Both Remus and Julian broke into wide grins, and Julian dusted his hands onto the floor so he could reach down and pet the pointed ears just barely visible over the counter edge. “Hi, baby,” he cooed, leaning over until he was mostly out of frame. “Aw, little vacuum cleaner. Is sugar bad for dogs?”

“She has eaten so much worse.” The inky tip of Hattie’s tail was the happiest metronome in the world while Remus dumped a small container of salt and sugar into the dough. “We’re going to blend this until the dough gets stretchy instead of lumpy, still on low speed, and—hi, honey, I don’t have anything in my pockets. I promise. No, you can’t eat my keys. There’s definitely still some stuff on the floor for you, though.”

A black nose appeared by Julian’s knee and he giggled as it wandered down the side of his pants, honing in on each pocket. Hattie sneezed when she reached his sock and gave the hem of his pantleg a light nibble. Julian beamed up at Remus. “Can I bring her home with me?”

“If you steal my dog, I’m donating you to Goodwill. Okay, this is going to go for about twenty minutes and they’re definitely going to speed that up in editing, so here’s the rundown: mix this for 20 minutes, add your butter in tablespoon chunks, mix it until the dough is soft, then let it sit on your counter for an hour before putting it in the fridge.”

“Why don’t we just put it right in the fridge?”

“Because the yeast would die.”

Julian’s eyes went wide. “Yeast is alive?”

--

The kitchen was much brighter when the video returned—the new camera angle allowed sunlight to stream in through the side window unhindered, as well as giving an unobstructed view of Hattie on the floor by Remus’ slipper-clad feet. Her yawn squeaked, pink tongue lolling, but her full attention was fixed on the activity above.

“It’s about eight in the morning now, hence the pajamas,” Remus informed the camera. “I took the dough out of the fridge about ten minutes ago, and you can see it’s close to doubled in size.”

Julian gave the bowl a mournful look. The cowlick on the side of his head matched Remus’ with frightening accuracy. “How long is this going to take?”

“You can go back to sleep once it goes in the oven. We’re going to do the filling right now, though.” Remus held a hand out; Julian passed him a crinkly plastic cracker sleeve. “These are airplane cookies. Or biscotti, or whatever the fancy name is. They have cinnamon roll spices in them because I’m too lazy to track down all the individual bottles from the spice cabinet this early. You can probably find them in the recipe. I don’t know. You can crush them in a food processor if you want to wake up your entire family, or you can just use a rolling pin.”

Remus set the sleeve of cookies on the countertop and handed over the rolling pin—one half-started “wait” and an enormous THUD later, both of them were frozen, staring at the ruptured end of the plastic sleeve where shards of cinnamon cookie had burst forth.

“Oops,” Julian whispered.

“Or,” Remus began. “You can give your little brother a rolling pin and kill two birds with one stone.”

“…my bad.”

Remus glanced at the ceiling. They were silent for a handful of seconds. “Honestly, dude, I don’t think anyone noticed.”

Julian muffled a laugh in the crook of his elbow and Remus turned away for a moment to compose himself, filling the kitchen with quiet snickering as Hattie cleaned up the few crumbs that had fallen onto the floor by her paws. Finally, Julian picked up the rolling pin and began gingerly crushing the rest of the cookies. “I’m gonna keep going until it’s kinda powdery, I think.”

“Good plan.” Remus shot a quick, small smile at the camera while he watched Julian work, brow creasing with the effort. “We’ve got a stick and a half of soft butter here when you’re ready.”

It didn’t take long; Julian carefully poured the crushed cookie into a bowl and folded the butter through with a faintly rainbow-tinted spatula. Remus took a pan from the ever-shrinking pile of dishes beside them and lined it with parchment paper, ripping the edges so they would fold nicely in the corners.

“Kay.” Julian tilted his head at the filling and nodded. “It’s smooth.”

“Sick. Scootch over, I’ll roll this out.” Remus tossed a small handful of flour onto the countertop before dumping the dough out, dropping a playful elbow to Julian’s side. “Ope, sorry.”

“You’re so mean to me.”

“Whatever. We’re going to make this into a rectangle so it’s easier, and it should be fine for rolling because it was in the fridge all night. I’m going to flatten this until it’ll fit in the pan. It’ll be…an inch thick? Half an inch, maybe? And then Jules, you’re gonna spread the filling over it.”

Julian frowned. “We’re cooking it flat?”

“What? Why would we do that?”

“You said it should be the length of the pan.”

“Yeah, so that all the pieces will fit.”

“Oh. That makes more sense.”

“We’re not making cinnamon pita.”

Julian tipped his head back and forth. “Doesn’t sound bad, actually.”

“You’re eleven, you’re basically a garbage disposal.”

“I’m basically twelve.”

“Three days.”

“Ugh, you’re so annoying.”

Despite the back-and-forth, Julian tucked himself close to Remus’ side while Remus rolled the dough into an even rectangle, and spread the filling across it with intense focus. “Leave a little space on the sides to roll it up,” Remus suggested gently. Julian’s tongue poked out at the corner as he scraped the edge clean and gave a last sweep with the spatula before leaning away.

“Good?”

“Perfect.” Remus loosened the edge closest to him and began to roll it up with steady, methodical hands. “You want to go slow with this part, or else it won’t spiral. And once we get it to the end here, we’re going make sure it’s all nice and even before cutting. Uh, I’m using unflavored dental floss right now because that’s what I have, but you can use string or whatever. If you use a knife, you might squish the inside and get a wonky shape.”

“Dad uses fishing line.”

“Mhmm.” Their concentrated frowns matched while Remus slid the floss beneath the roll and wrapped it around, allowing the floss to slice cleanly through the dough. Julian buried a yawn in Remus’ shoulder and gave a slow, sleepy blink. Once the rolls were cut, they filled the parchment-lined pan to the edges. Remus cracked his knuckles and looked up at the camera. “We’re going to take a quick breakfast break while these double in size, and I’ll put them in the oven at 350 degrees for 15 minutes after that. We’ll see you for the frosting!”

“Your TV voice is weird.”

“Your TV voice is weird,” Remus mimicked, prodding him until Julian hopped off his stool with a laugh. “Go eat your Cheerios.”

The video sped through their break—Remus collected a few items from the fridge and returned to the counter to mix a handful of ingredients into a bowl. The pan steamed, the coffeepot bubbled, and Hattie waited dutifully by his side for her allotted bits of ham, hand-fed alongside a few Cheerios from Julian. The rolls went in and came out without a fuss as Remus finished the scramble and smiled to someone off-screen.

“Frosting,” he announced when the video returned to normal speed. “Super easy. Cream cheese, powdered sugar, vanilla. Mix it up, then add a stick of butter, because this recipe is delicious and also personally clogs your arteries. Jules, touch the rolls for me.”

“Why?”

“To check if they’re cooled down.”

“But they might be hot.”

“Right, which is why I’m making you do it.”

Julian scrunched his nose at him, but gave the rolls a tentative poke. “They’re fine.”

“Sweet.” Remus tugged the pan to the middle of their workspace and scooped a lump of frosting into the center. Overall, it kept its shape as he slathered it to each edge and corner. Julian gave an expectant look; Remus paused, but scraped the last bits off the sides of the bowl and handed the laden spatula to him with an affectionate roll of his eyes. “Don’t tell mom.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jules said around a mouthful of thick sugar.

Remus pushed the rolls toward the camera with a smile that dimpled one cheek. “That’s all for today, folks. Hope you enjoyed making cinnamon rolls with us, or at least enjoyed seeing the real star of the show—”

“Me.”

“—Hattie. Make sure to tune in for our home game in Gryff tomorrow night!"

[missmeinyourbones]

SWEET NOTHING

cw: a direct nod to sweet nothing by taylor swift because @ghostbeam put this idea in my head in october and i haven't been able to shake it since >.<

Touya’s begun to realize that the hole long ago singed in his heart has slowly but surely been mended by you.

There’s something familiarly foreign about what he has with you, this selfless love that doesn’t cut corners or bury hatchets. He’s not used to a dynamic where he doesn't have to give any more than he wants to, let alone any more than he physically can. It's a breath of crisp air that swells in the hollowed confines of his blackened lungs.

He finds that the simplest of moments with you are what sticks with him the most.

Today, he idly watches you prance around the tiny kitchen, organizing spices and scrubbing stained dishes. A day filled with nothing that feels like a whole lot of something in his heart. He leans against the counter in a slump, fully content with watching you do nothing more than exist.

Amongst the silence and stolen glances, you finally catch his eye and the look you shoot him magnetically pulls him closer to you.

“Can we play?”

Even without context, he knows exactly what you're referring to by the twinkle in your eye. And though there’s no verbal response, his silence and raised eyebrows answer your question. 

You don’t bother containing your smile at how easily he gives in.

“I spy with my little eye, something…” you gaze around the room before deciding on a secret object, “green.”

The complete opposite of your giddy excitement, Touya unenthusiastically scans his surroundings.

His eyes lock onto the potted English Ivy that sits in the corner of your hallway. “The plant,” he deadpans. 

“Nope,” you childishly beam. 

He continues his guessing streak with every item in sight that slightly resembles an emerald hue. 

“The dishrag.”

“No.”

“The tree in the window.”

“No.”

“Your coat.”

“Nope.”

“Then, fuck if I know,” he huffs a bit obnoxiously.

The tiny tantrum has you turning your attention back to him. A smile breaks out across your face when you see his brows furrowed in slight agitation. Your finger instantly finds his forehead, caressing the wrinkled and stressed skin. 

“Do you give up?” you whisper into the softness of the touch. 

He doesn't say anything out loud, but the way he bites the inside of his cheek says otherwise.

With a hand softly cradling his jaw, you turn his head slightly to the side before pointing towards the front door. “The bowl.”

By the front door lives a tiny little ceramic bowl, washed out olive in color, that sits on a shelf as a home for your keys. Touya doesn't use it, but then again, Touya doesn't use his key. It's tiny, barely seen from the angle you’re at with the way it hides behind a pot of white lilies and in between your discarded wallet. 

When Touya sees the small dish, he disapprovingly tsks at your choice of item.

“Course, how’d I miss that,” sarcasm stings in his response as his jaw rests atop your head. “And that’s fuckin’ teal, not green.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, and his chin slightly falls and bumps against your forehead. 

“Don’t be a sore loser. Your turn.”

It's taken Touya a terribly long time to realize, let alone admit, that he’s not meant for the blood and armor and pain of it all. His core is liquid, like a melted honeycomb. He doesn’t have to be guarded and prickly around something as soft as you. 

His whole life, he's been pushed to his limits. Make more, do more, be more. And now, he’s enough for you. More than enough for you, just the way he is.

And sometimes, he feels the most worthy of it all in silly little moments like this, over a game of I Spy and his lover’s laughter dancing in his ear. 

With an exhale that's meant to be intimidating—but you both know holds nothing but patience—Touya's expression doesn't change as he scans the room for an object for you to seek. 

“Something red.”

He ignores the fire lit in his core when you pout and insist with a whine that he, “Say the whole thing.”

He takes a deep breath. 

“...I spy with my stupid little fucking eye, something red.”

“Red?” you perk up in interest. Almost nothing in your line of sight even resembles a shade of the scarlet warmth. You gaze around the apartment a few times, trying to find an inkling of crimson that could serve as a guess.

“Yup,” Touya smirks triumphantly, knowing he’s selected something foolproof to lead to victory, “red.” 

“The soap?” he hears you ask. His head turns to the sink where a peach-scented hand dispenser sits by the faucet.

“That’s pink, you moron.”

Unphased and determined to find his item, you turn to the garbage can where an orangey-tinted chocolate wrapper peeks out from the corner of the lid. 

“That candy wrapper?”

“You colorblind or something?”

“There's nothing red in here!” you defensively throw your hands up by your sides. 

Touya’s hand finds your waist as it soothingly trickles up and down your sides. 

“Give up?” he returns, leaning against your forehead. 

A frown pulls at your lips when you mumble out a tiny, “Yeah.”

Touya smiles to himself. He brings a calloused thumb to your lower lip and you think it's to make fun of your pout. But it’s not—he gently rubs over a tender spot on the sensitive skin that slightly stings where he brushes against it. 

“Your lip,” he states, before lightly pulling it and crinkling his eyes at the objection that slips from your throat. “S’all chapped.”

With a furrowed brow, you trot over to the nearest mirror as Touya trails behind you. He’s right. The tiny cut sitting on your lower lip is swollen with the slightest amount of dried blood embedded in its cavern. 

“Oh yeah,” you notice in the reflection, “guess I must’ve bit it in my sleep or something.”  

Touya hums behind you. At first, it's a noise of agreement, one that lets you know he’s listening. But as he continues to wrap himself around your frame and sway the two of you back and forth, he finds himself mindlessly humming a tune.

The melody doesn’t sound familiar, as in a song you’ve heard or a rhythm that he’s hummed before. But it feels familiar, like a comfort only he can bring you with the simple vibration of his voice. 

You let him hold you there for a while. It's peaceful, safe, until your perking up in his hold and turning to face him. 

“That's cheating,” you suddenly realize, referring to the silly little game and his choice of red object to seek. You point to your dried lip, “I can’t see that.”

He places a delicate kiss on the cut before cooing, “Don’t be a sore loser.”

[dietmountaindewbae]

xix. start to melt

alex turner x reader

word count: 7069

summary: A conflict arrived at the christmas dinner, feelings were served for dessert and a bitter taste of the past had to be swallowed down to prevent any heartaches, it's hard to see him (2014 Alex!) but even harder to resist him, now that he's there with his new girl, would it be easier to pretend that he was just some lover?

warnings: sp*t, ch*cking, hitt*ng, degr*ding

song recommendation: start to melt by peter bjorn

───── ୨୧ ─────

New York became a crazy town when December wooshed into the air, the stores had become empty shelves, restaurants were packed with people, and on every corner, a Santa was ringing his bell and singing. This year's Christmas was just like the others, just with some tiny changes you ignored.

You ran alongside your boyfriend into the building where your friend would host a Christmas dinner, packed with a big pot you wait for the elevator to take you up to the apartment, "James, help me with the pot, it's too heavy on me" Jack, your boyfriend that sometimes could be such an ass when he was annoyed, eyed you up and down, you were visibly struggling with the red heavy ceramic pot, and on his arms, he was holding the presents for everyone, yes they were a few but not so heavy.

"Honey, I can't just drop the boxes and grab the pot, you know how long it took you to wrap them up..."

"Maybe I wouldn't have if you had helped me-" He interrupts you by kissing your nose.

"Calm down.... we're almost there," He says to you, "And it's not even that heavy for you" Before you could blast off on him the bell dings and the doors open.

"Hi!" Your best friend's boyfriend Nick says, "Oops! That looks heavy, let me help you... oh smells nice" You look from the corner of your eye to Jack and he easily ignores what Nick said. You went running to Giselle in the kitchen, you were stoked to see her and she hugged you tightly, her arms wrapped around your shoulders to push you closer and whisper in your ear.

"Don't freak out, but he is here.... and he brought the girl with the red hair, and white dress comin' at ya" Your heart shrinks when you see her walking in slowly to the kitchen with a big merengue pie, a bright and sweet smile on her lips, you didn't know what to even say to her, her presence makes you feel uneasy.

"Nice to see you, I'm Ariel" You hug her like protocol and introduce yourself with the most fake smile, then from the back came in who you were expecting the least out of all, he hugs her close with his arm around her waist, he came inside wearing the same leather jacket you used to borrow, a stripped red, gold and silver shirt you used to wear around his bedroom, stiff vintage jeans and boots, he takes a look at you, from head to toes, slowly, taking a deep breath in, you wore a long sleeve black short dress with a chunky belt around your hips, and knee high boots his face showing nothing and everything at the same time while you stood confused and angry all at once "This is-"

"They already know me..." He said in a cocky and cold tone, you held your breath, you didn't know how to feel about his presence, or why had he even had the nerve to be here after counting ties with his for so long, you had stripped out of any feeling about him, you set a goal to treat him as a ghost and just focus on Jack.

Giselle sensed the tension, and knew what she had to do immediately, "Ariel, would you be so nice and help me set the table?" She added some needed social pressure to her, no one knew her, and she seemed like the type to love being loved, she grabbed Alex's hand pulling him to go with her but he released his hand and signed her to wait for him.

He walks two steps closer to you, breaking the meter barrier from one corner of the kitchen marble table to the other "How are you?" He asked almost whispering, you had no reply, you went to turn on the oven, and the giant pot went inside, "You've lost weight" He added as he searched for an answer from you in any sort of way.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" You spat back.

"We're going to play ghost, just like the ol' times aren't we?" He chuckles.

"No" That's all you said before you walked out of the kitchen, he squeezes your arm grabbing your attention.

"I'm here, and I'm real, don't act like I'm dead to you 'cause we both know that will never be the case," He said your name like a decease as he slowly let go of your arm, his intense gaze was locked on yours, "Who is that, huh? New boy toy?" He asks referring to Jack in the back as he puts order to the presents

You cross a foot in front of the other, running your tongue on your cheek, leaning against the table, speaking confidently "You have told her about me, haven't you? She walks in and somehow she's so happy to see me" You whisper to him, staring at him with a scowl when he stays silent, "That's low, and even for you Turner" You walk off, running to kiss Jack passionately by the christmas three, you didn't doubt that Alex had seen it. He had to see that you were better now, better off without him, or at least that's what you wanted things to be. You went to say hi to the rest, caressing the little face of Jamie's and Katie's kid, hugging them tightly because despite the separation they still messaged you from time to time, especially Katie and Bree, both of them came to visit your when they had the chance, attended to the fashion shows you walked in, you stayed in touch with Jamie, and Matt sometimes took pictures of you for his Instagram, he had some sort of thing for taking pictures of people's back.

After a massive heartbreak during the release of Suck It and See, you were at the hands of time and patience, Giselle stuck with you even though she was going to join the boys during the tour, Nick had told you several times how he was doing bad too, had lost weight, looked sick until he completely changed from night to day into a lady's man and a casanova, a total heartbreaker, a million dollar man. That's around the time when other girls came into his life, and began to date again, it seemed like he had gotten over you so quickly that it broke your heart even more, he had promised you marriage, but all of that fame, you simply couldn't make him surrender that part of his life to you even though you tried several times, you never told him to quit music, you just wanted him to let you into that part of his life that was sensitive, why was he so afraid of commitment?

For almost two years you had restored yourself and moved apartments since in yours you could still hear his boots walking around the place, and the sound of his guitar in your living room, he had left a few things in there that Nick was so kind to give back to him since you couldn't even see him on a picture, and the internet was flooded with them. After a while you returned to your job, as an editor for fashion magazines and a blogger as a hobby that soon turned into more than that, you had become famous, a model, a muse for many campaigns, and quickly into an it girl. People were writing articles about you but his name was written all over them.

At a party, you met Jack, and he was a prince charming at first, he was a barely recognized photographer and his career exploded when he began to take your photos, then those other girls came around... and you started to feel left out, but he promised you that nothing ever really happened, he had other priorities in his life now, and you didn't feel like the center of his universe anymore. Were you happy? That's a question that you ask yourself daily, and leaving Jack was always something that bothered you to think about. When you tried, you surrendered to him and felt guilty even to try to break up with someone who could do what Alex couldn't, and that was to get engaged with you, you weren't strong enough to break the engagement, you thought no one else would do it, just Jack. He asked you in the same place he had met you, in front of thousands of people, what else could you say but yes? You convinced yourself that was the right thing to do.

Time later his name echoed in the dark and appeared at 3 in the morning like a phantom, his name written all over your emails, and texts, you only once replayed, he visibly was struggling with alcohol and sometimes drugs, Nick had told you everything about it and had told him several times to leave you alone until he eventually did, but that peace only lasted for a few months and then, AM dropped like a bomb all over the world, you tried your best to fight thru the sound waves all over the news, radio, blogs, newspaper, magazines, his face was all over yours once more, rumors about his new girlfriend Ariel like his muse for AM. You were far away from Alex by living in New York while he lived in sunny Los Angeles and that kept you at peace, you thought someday the album and his name would die out, but it never did, not even to the day.

Now there you were, in front of him feeling like an orphan, filled with sadness with a cozy coat of rage, you all sat down to eat, Alex had chosen to sit in front of you, what was the reason for that? You were far to know, Giselle and Nick were well aware of it.

"Would you excuse us for a minute?" Giselle stood up and grabbed your hand, you whispered a sorry and she took you out to the balcony, and you grabbed your cigarettes and fur coat.

Once she closed the door, you put your hand on your head and lit up a cigarette that you craved more than the food itself, "Care to explain to me what the fuck is he doing here?"

"Woah! Don't get mad at me I didn't know he was coming either," She said, "He just tagged along with Jamie and Matt, he carried so many gifts for everyone, how could I say no to that? How could I say no in front of Jamie's kid?" She snatched a cigarette from your box, and you leaned over at the balcony and stared into the yellow lines of cabs and cars.

"Sorry for yelling at you like that, it's not your fault"

"No, I know it isn't, I'm sorry 'bout Ariel"

You rolled your eyes, "She's so lovely it makes me feel ill" She was a ray of sunlight and a fresh California breeze while you were the gloomy mornings and foggy air of New York. Ariel was the thing that he always needed, someone who always cheered him up, someone who enjoyed being out and about, someone who had no problem making conversation and meeting new people.

"I know..." She grunts, "She even has the name of a fucking-"

"Disney princess!" Both of you said in unison, making each other laugh hysterically, "I know!"

"You're a piece of shit" You whisper shouted to Giselle.

"Shut the fuck up or we're getting kicked out of my dinner" You both giggled to each other, hugging each other tightly, Giselle was more than your best friend, she was your sister, the type of friend you had never thought you would get, you were thankful for her. She grabbed your hand and walked you back to the table, you glanced at Katie's baby, at the diamond on her ring, how did the rest make it while Alex was still living the life, breaking hearts, dating models, hanging out, why was he like that, hell did he loved that life more than you?

Then Ariel mentioned your name dragging your attention back to her, Alex's arm was around her shoulders, looking at her looking at you, "I love all of your blogs! Have you got any words of wisdom for girls who are starting their own thing too?" God, what was that? an interview for Today?

"Let me have more wisdom juice and I'll give you some words" You elegantly finished your glass of wine while the rest laughed at your joke, you grabbed Jack's hand and kicked his foot under the table, Alex's chest raises as he takes a deep breath in, "Well, be brave and work hard, even if you think it's not paying off, it is, so just keep working on it, and choose someone that supports you thru it" You glanced at Alex, "Someone that you can trust, that makes you feel strong and loved" He squints his eyes at you, and you sit back with a smile.

She kissed Alex on the lips, cupping his cheek, Giselle was kind enough to serve you more wine and sneak a little bottle of vodka into your hands, she winked your eye at you, Alex seemed bothered by the words you chose to say, but you didn't care at this point, you saw Jacks head on his phone chatting with his stupid friends, and his hand had let go of yours, you grabbed it and his hand was holding yours loosely, and moments later he let go of it to type with both of his thumbs, you swallowed down a big lump, feeling lonelier than ever. Jack was well aware of Alex, but he felt nothing about it, he wasn't thinking about how you felt about it.

"What do you do for a living Ariel?" You poured yourself another drink.

"Oh well, I'm a content creator" You raised your eyebrows with a smirk on your face, "But I started just like you, I felt deeply inspired by the way that you started so I thought if you could do it... well, why not me?" You nodded your head slowly glancing at Alex from time to time, he was looking away or pretending to look at Ariel but he was without any doubt looking at you.

"Oh that's... amazin', isn't it?" You turned to look at him, and he smiled kissing Ariel's head.

"Yeah of course it is, we had fun makin' 'em vines things didn't we?" She smiled at him and giggled nodding with her luscious red hair.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you guys knew each other" Said Ariel with a little fainted smile.

"Oh! no, no, no, in fact, I don't even know his name" Giselle covered up her laugh with a cough.

"When is the wedding?" Katie jumped in to change the subject visibly feeling uncomfortable by the little confrontation, "Don't think I haven't seen that bling bling on your ring ring!" You put your hand up in the air, showing off the ring that Jack gave you, all of the girls were in awe while you saw in Alex's face every emotion going past him, he couldn't believe it, he had swallowed down the most bitter pill ever. He couldn't even see Jack's face without wanting to kick him off his chair.

"Congratulations!" Ariel said, "You guys make a lovely couple"

The rest of the evening everyone kept talking about Giselle and Nick's engagement, Matt and Bree's upcoming wedding day, Forest's birthday, and his Christmas gifts, a few asked Jack about his work but he didn't say much until he put your hand on your inner thigh after a while of being on his phone he had finally turned it off.

"Don't you wanna go upstairs, baby?" He whispers to you, "I'm getting bored," He caressed your thigh getting higher and higher, you were about to go off on him until his phone buzzed, and he directed his attention to his phone, his hand sliding off of your thigh but you quickly put your hand on his, and turned his face his eyes fixated on you.

"Ok, let's go" You both excused yourself, and he went to the bathroom while you went to the kitchen to clean some plates while the rest took their things to the living room, and sneakily you joined him in the bathroom, where he hungrily waited for you, he kissed you so passionately it almost made you feel like you were right at the beginning of your relationship, he was fast and giddy, sliding his hand in between your legs while his hand grabs on your ass tightly, he slides down your panties, putting his fingers inside you harshly, it hurts but you try to enjoy it, "Mmm, God you're so wet" You giggled and kissed him, taking out his dick from his jeans, he flipped you, back on his chest and you leaned over the sink as he slides his dick inside you, you don't really feel anything anymore, but maybe if you moan a little, touch yourself more, you'd like it more, but his stupid phone buzzed and buzzed, someone was calling him, "Wait like that, it'll be fast" You rolled your eyes, and pulled away from him

"You take longer in your phone than what you take in fucking me" You clean a little smudge from your lipstick, fixed your hair and belt. You left him inside the bathroom and returned to the kitchen, everyone was talking and drinking by the three, Alex glanced at you, and scanned you up and down, walking discreetly towards you.

"Blew some steam off?" You sighed, and poured yourself a glass of vodka, "You don't seem like you're having fun" He pulled the little hairs off your head, rolled your eyes, and fixed your hair.

"Go fuck yourself," You said, he laughed at you and smiled.

"You go fuck yourself darlin' you look like you need it" You scoffed and walked towards him, it was on.

"Go fuck myself? Right... don't think I don't see you staring at me you perv, I see behind your cockiness and smirks, you think you're better than me? go on and tell her about me... you fucking coward, you can't ever face things, you don't have the balls to" You smiled at him, feeling wildly satisfied, this was better than an orgasm.

"You think you're so fucking awesome with your piece of shit boyfriend, who can't even last five fucking minutes with you"

"Who are you to fucking judge?" You quickly backfired, he pulled himself closer to you, squeezing your shoulder.

"Oh really? Do you think he pleases you? I know more about pleasure than any of the other dickheads you could ever fuck" You chuckled and moved your head to the sides, "Say no all you want but I know that I just need my pinky to make you come in seconds than that asshole in an hour" You looked down to his veiny and strong rough hands, you remember how you fidget at night with his death ramps ring, you bot down on your lower lip.

"But that asshole had bigger balls to commit to me, and you will never be brave enough to do that" He looks down at you, starting to feel a bit sad, and he took a step closer to you.

"Is that why you're so mad at me? Because I didn't propose to you?" He said with a serious tone.

"I don't give a shit about that, and you know it, you never wanted anyone to screw up your rockstar life because you love it more than sex, you even loved it more than me, even more than her" He gets angrier by the mentioning of the relationship you and he had, he squeezes your shoulder harder, each time he was starting to feel more sensitive, you penetrated places beneath his thick skull that always made him feel weak, "Admit it" How could he admit to something so far from the truth? There was nothing that fueled him with anger more.

"That's a lie and you know it, there were so many things behind you couldn't have understood-"

"What couldn't I understand, huh? I loved you so much I opened up to you, but you just opened up a window and called it a door, tell me what couldn't I understand Alex? Because I'm here and after this, I will make sure that you never see my face again... I'm doing you a favor" You spat, it devastated you to say these words, "I never wanted to get engaged or to have kids, but I would have loved to have your kids and to be part of your life like the closed lock on the door of our backyard, but you never gave me that chance because the only thing that you loved more than me was you and your fucking life" You walked away leaving him speechless and you ran across Jack, your stupid man child boyfriend.

"Hi baby, sorry I had to attend that call, you know it's important, right?" 'What could be more important than you and your fucking friends talking about pussy and tits?

"I know, tell me what is it" He looked at you strangely, was he playing dumb or didn't he see how bad you felt? And you dealing with him was the last thing you wanted to do.

"Look" He put his hands on your lower waist and pulled you in closer to whisper to your ear, you could already imagine what was he going to say "I know you're upset because Alex is here" You hated to even hear his name and the worst part is that he knew it, "But my friends are also making a dinner, do you wanna ditch this one and go with me?" You put your hands on his chest pulling him away slowly, "Or can I go? I swear I'll be back before midnight"

"I'm not your mom Jack if you want to go just fucking go" You walked away to sit with everyone by the tree, Jamie had pulled out his guitar while Katie held Forest on his tiny and puffy feet to dance and wave his arms, he looked so tiny and cute, it truly made your heart melt because you knew, that would never be you, Giselle sat close to you, and watched you observe Ariel, clapping her hands and singing along, her smile bright as the sun, she was stunning in her white dress and golden jewelry, red lips the same color of her hair, you would never be like her, you were stuck in your skin, pushing everyone away after one single thing went wrong, Giselle saw you struggling and she discreetly grabbed your fingers squeezing them, you turn to look at her, she gives you a tender smile to warm up your insides, you squeezed her hand back and walked off to the balcony, you put on your coat and head outside.

New York was covered in fog and the light of the cars shone through the gloom, the cold breeze froze your hands but you managed to light up your cigarette and put your back against the wall, then you heard someone stepping outside, you glanced and it was Alex. He stood in front of you, staring at you up and down, he put the back of his hand against your cheek, just like he used to, you felt something weighing in your heart, "Do you do that to Ariel?"

"No" He answers quickly, caressing your bottom lip, and pulling it down, "I would never touch her or love her the same way I loved you"

"Then why are you with her?" You asked him.

"Why are you with him?" Both of you stare into each

"I was just trying to begin' again, you were with her, you had moved on... and I hadn't," You said with honesty, "I can't even say your name,"

"Meeting you was the worst thing that happened to me too, you showed me what true love was, but I was afraid to let you down, to not be what you wanted"

"You were what I needed," You said, your throat closed, and your cheeks became warm, and your eyes watery, your lips became a pout, you couldn't speak, so you stare at him, you both saw the mess that was behind all the scowls. He leaned in closer to you and you stepped back, and his lips rosed yours, it had been so long since you had felt something inside you sparked like that, you had lost it the day he left you, you kissed each other, he had longed for the taste of your mouth, of bitting down on your plump lips, of the smell of your perfume, nothing about your appearance was different but you felt different, and that foreign feeling of love was getting thru the tall wall you had built, more tears rolled down your cheeks warming up the kiss, he had yearned for this kiss for so long, the taste of your salty tears that he used to wipe away with the same love and tenderness.

"I only came here 'cause I knew you would be here, I needed to know if you still felt the same, I can't keep my feelings in disguise," You thought about it, yes, you felt the same way, but would it be worth to take the risk and maybe end up devastated like last time, would you handle another broken heart?

"I can't," You said.

"Do you love him?" He asked, and you only saw him straight in the eyes, "Do you love me still?"

"Would you hurt me again?" You asked, "I don't care if the rest says that you've changed, I need you to earn me back again because I'm not gonna let you destroy everything I build up just as easily" You cleaned up your tears and went back inside quickly fetching your bag and locking yourself up in the bathroom.

You sat down on the floor and curled into a little ball by the sink, you had that gut-destroying feeling of your limps turning inside out, you wanted to rip off everything away, and you silently cried holding in all the rage, and the need to tear the whole place down, and then you heard someone forcing themselves in with a key, Giselle wooshed inside the bathroom to hug you, you felt like a tiny deer being hunt.

"How I hate him... I hate to hate him, and I hate that I still want him even after everything he did to me" You cried so quietly in Giselle's arms because she understood everything so well, even during the times she went thru this, you were with her, "I wish that I had never seen him, everyone tells me that he has changed but I don't trust them, I only trust you, I hate everyone else," She slides down to the floor with you, handing you another tiny bottle of vodka, "And then he asks me if I love Jack..."

"Do you?" She asks, but not because she doesn't know, she wants you to admit the truth.

"I don't... he acts like fucking Mr. Brightside when he's with all of his friends, but I know how he's like when the party ends," You emptied the bottle down your throat, "I hate him too," You said under your breath.

"Me too" You both giggled at the irony, "I hate that you think you're in love when the only person I've seen you love more than me is him," She said, "You still love him and you can't say no, but I know how hard it must be to let him come back, you know I love you, and whatever you choose to do I'll always be by your side," You hug her tightly and she lets go of you to wipe down your face and your little bambi eyes, "I'm glad some of that black went away, your eyes were too smokey" You botch chuckled and nod, "Fix that makeup and go outside, I'll be waiting for you with a bigger bottle of these" She waved the little vodka bottles and you nod, doing your makeup all over again with the things you brought, you fixed your eyeliner and smudged it a little, reapplying your lipstick and blush.

As you headed out, you saw Alex singing to Forest while Jamie played with him, he kept laughing with his sweet baby voice, and Giselle handed you a glass and poured you a drink.

"Sing the new song you made on the plane," Ariel said, "He's been working on it with Miles" You paid genuine attention to what Ariel said, he's been working with Miles again? That must mean a new TLSP project or maybe just a new song for Miles.

"First impressions of the century..."

You were completely shocked when you heard him sing once more, flashbacks of you at your old house shacking the tambourine to the rhythm of the music while Alex sat with his little messy and shaggy hair, he looked just like a puppy, and now he looked like a real tough man with all of that muscle and his slick hair, he had grown up so much too, you missed his side profile and his tender voice, now it had gone deeper, and you could hear exactly what the song could be like the moment he began to play it, your eyes light up when he says.

"Used to be my girl"

Giselle turns to you slowly, and everyone else looks at each other, then Ariel, Alex, and back to you, you hated the feeling of Ariel being so blinded by his charm, she clapped her hands so excited by the song.

"Isn't it great?" She glanced at everyone and all of them smiled nodding their heads.

"Yeah.... it's g-great" Giselle stutters with a kind and pityful smile. Pour Ariel, you hated the fact you might be guilty for her broken heart. Would you risk that? She seemed excited and in love with him, you wouldn't have wished that ache in the heart of anyone.

The rest of the night was full of surprises, opening the gifts at midnight, Jack simply messaging you a late Merry Christmas.

"What a fucking asshole," You said showing the message to Giselle she sat crossed leg in her fancy white shiny dress with a big bow on her back, you loved it.

"Maybe you should say goodbye to him and hello to you know who" Giselle whispered to you. No one else but her would or could understand what kind of love Alex and you had, it was no ordinary love, no passenger love, she was certain it could be the real thing, but things happened, and she was there to stand by you because she also knew someday you would see him again, if he was meant for you, out of fate or out of will.

"What about Ariel?" You asked.

"Maybe Alex can work something out, you don't know anything about her and their relationship" She insists.

"But I do know him, and they've been together for a while-"

"I need to talk to you" You glanced at Ariel when he went up to you, she was busy on the couch watching The Grinch with Jamie, Katie, and Forest, you looked at him up and down, and he held out his hand for you. You simply stood up and went with him to the bathroom.

He shut the door with a lock, cupping your cheeks and kissing you with the same need and passion as the years before, as if nothing had changed between you, "Alex... don't... stop" You mumbled and pushed him away.

"Don't stop? that's what you mean?" He suggests, pulling away from your mouth, you open your eyes and his hand drops to the back of your head, "That's what I thought" He forces a kiss on your lips and his hands grip your hips and push them against him.

"No Alex, I'm being serious... what about her?" You asked him, sorrow in your eyes when you asked about her, even if you didn't know her you could picture how she felt, he could make you see heaven, drag the moon and the stars to your feet, and still break your heart into a million little pieces.

"I'll tell her after this, ok? You don't have to worry about it" He kissed you and then he pulled away deep in thought, "And Jack?"

"Don't worry about him either, I'll just text him" You bite down on your lower lip, "He gets what he deserves" You said with a smirk, finally, how hungry were you for the moment to dump a man by text.

"Can I trust you will drop that wanker?" You roll your eyes, he drops his gaze to lock your eyes on him, the wrinkles in his forehead making you smile.

"Can I trust you with her?" He nods his head.

"Yes, you can" You were losing yourself entirely on him, his smell, his face, his lips, the touch, the need, the gripping, pulling, and bitting, you were out, "I love you more than anything or anyone... I never meant to-"

"We're just making things worse Alex," You said to him.

"Why?" He asks with genuine innocence.

"By saying I love you when everything is about to crumble to pieces just because of us," You said, "And I don't know what you did to that girl or what you do to girls to get them and convince them, but this one... you're gonna fuck her up, and I don't wanna be-"

"You won't, I know her, she doesn't know the full story and she's not the type to judge a book by its cover, she will understand" You rolled your eyes, and he sighed out of annoyance and despair, like a little kid in a store. He insists that you trust what he's saying, he pinches your cheeks together and you push his face away before he can kiss you.

"How are you so fucking sure she will understand? No girl ever is like that, every girl wants to be the only one in a man's life, if not the first to come then the last to stay... Alex, she loves you"

"But I love you!" He shouts, and you shake, as the feeling of cold shivers running all over your body electrocute your skin, "If I'm not with you I don't think I'll ever be capable of loving someone else, I can't let you get away, not again... I was so afraid of what could happen if you got engaged to me, everyone in the media would find out things about you even the most superficial things, that might tear us down, and you'd eventually start to hate that, how they violate and expose your private life thanks to me, and then, you would eventually start to hate me too"

"Why would you ever think that?" You asked pulling him closer to you, "No, I wouldn't ever leave you for something that stupid, they won't ever know what we have, who I am and who you are, I know exactly who you are, and I love you, I truly do" He took the ring off your hand, and threw it away, "Let's start again, I trust you'll figure things out, just... please don't get anyone hurt"

"Oh, I won't... but I don't promise anything about that fucking jackass you're-" He smiled to himself, "Were dating" He grabbed your wrists, "How did you manage to spend all of that time with that asshole...?" He bit down on his lip, his thumb pressed against your chin exposing your neck and slowly kissing it, your skin filling up with shivers.

"Oh, fuck... the same thing I asked myself every fuckin' day" You sighed breathing against his shoulder, you loved hearing the sounds that his wet lips made whenever he pressed a subtle kiss on your cheek, the warmth, and the little tickles, "He just didn't have it, didn't have the attitude, the confidence... the size" Your hand went down to grab his cock tightly as you bite down on your lip, "Spit in my mouth baby, I know you miss it" You open your mouth for him to spit in, his warm saliva all over your tongue, his kisses your mouth erotically and hard, and he pulls away to slap you in the face.

"Oh... fuck you're just makin' me-" He groaned as he gripped your arms to the side, pushing you against the sink, ass pressed against his hard dick, "That dress, such a shame that asshole didn't see it like that..." Your dress crumbled up to your hips, exposing your thin black panties and your round ass he kneaded like dough.

"Let's make this quick, Alex, I know you can" You smirked, and he quickly undo the buckle of his jeans to pull out his pulsing red cock, it felt so warm inside you, both of you moaned at the feeling of your bodies, he felt so warm and big, filled you up to the point you swore you could come just as easy, and he felt that electric shocks running up his body, his cock slides inside you with ease, your walls immediately adjusting to the size of his cock and he loved feeling your muscles contracting, tensing and squeezing, your little peachy fuzzy hairs on your arms raising up when his fingertips traced over your flushed and tender skin, how your body moves when he thrusts inside you, your back bends and your neck nudges to the side, he pressed his lips against your sweet spot, he looks at you thru the mirror, such a fucking picture.

"Ugh... fuckin' christ, keep going please...!" He covers up your mouth some of your hair sticking to your lipstick.

"Do you want everyone to hear you fucking, you little perverted slut?" He smiled bitting down on his bottom lip, he looks at you thru the mirror, your pupils dilated, cheeks flushed, hair messy and ruined, "Maybe they should know how good I fuck you, no one else could fuck you just as good, just as deep... you hear me?" You hummed as a yes, "You love it, don't you? I bet you missed being degraded to the ground, being pushed to the limits, that khaki wearing little shit couldn't even get closer... this is what you needed, a good and deep fuck from a real man to get you to see who can really give you what you want" He smiled, kissing your cheek and speeding up spanking your ass, and chocking you with the hand that was on your mouth, he pulled your hair back and he smelled your hair, the smell of vanilla and your poisonous perfume stung that part of his brain that flashed so many memories, he had missed that smell, he had certain melancholy about it whenever he smelled something similar, you were everywhere and he couldn't get you out of his skin.

You face had gone red, all stained with your lipstick and your tears and he keeps pushing his hips harder and harder, he sees your face thru the mirror, enjoying the view of your pleasure, you felt every single thrust and contraction of your walls, his fingers rubbing your sensitive spot relentlessly, your mouth making out chocked moans only Alex could get off on, he never had seen you get this needy, and after years of forcing your own release out of your body you finally relaxed and felt every part of your creamy and juicy release running down your thighs, one more thrust and you had gone into oblivion, Alex closed his eyes and pulled out of you so quickly when he felt you had finished, he dropped you to your knees and pulled your head back, sticking out your tongue to taste his cum all over your tongue, running it thru your teeth with a big smile, you were like a work of art in his eyes, with all of that body paint on your legs, on your arms and on your face.

"My God... I missed you so much" He went down to his knees, running his hands down your hair and letting them sit on your nape, "When we go out I'll tell her, ok?" He sighed.

"What the fuck? It's christmas Alex!" You said to him, he smacked his lips and smiled at you.

"Sorry, I-I forgot, I just want us to begin again, as soon as possible," He held your hands together.

"Let's give ourselves some time before we do this, I need to talk to Jack's parents about the engagement-"

He puts your hand on his face, "Calm down, babe"

"We're gonna make things worse Al" He grunted and kissed your mouth tenderly.

"Woman, I promise I'll be with you when it all falls down"

"Fine" You kissed him once more, you both entered into each other's heart, making you smile from the inside out, teeth colliding, heart touching heart, wrapping each other in to never let go, kissing until your mouths were dry and your lungs were out of breath.

"Soon you'll be mine woman, all mine, even through you always were but this time I'll make sure it's for good"

A/N

Merry christmas everyone! thank you so much for reading and voting on my chapters, and sorry for the people that are called like the people in this chapter no bad intentions were put into choosing the names of the characters, it was easier to name a few people. I hope you have a lovely and cozy christmas.

love you! 💞

[jinns-anime-shit]

Imagine you’re one of Yuji’s cousins and you lived in the US until you found out his grandpa died and so you move back to Japan to become Yuji’s guardian but Choso is already taking care of him and won’t let him leave so you have to live with both of them

You and Choso hate each other and are hostile at first but after a night of shared secrets and deep life stories you end up falling asleep on each others shoulders on the couch

And after that Choso starts to do small cute gestures and he smiles his cute awkward smile at you whenever he can because he loves how it makes your cheeks warm and that sweet giggle slip from your lips

And one day Yuji can’t find either of you until he knocks on your door and finds Choso cuddled up on top of the sheet with you under them and his face is buried in your side because he had a nightmare but didn’t want to wake you so he just rested there. Yuji takes a picture and sneaks out before either of you notice

And then later when Megumi is over you hear Yuji giggling about something and showing Megumi his phone. Megumi is a lot more chill and discreet but he does give you a small knowing smirk and you furrow your brows because why is he looking at you like that?

And Choso can’t stop stuttering around you and being flustered. He’s very clumsy and apologizes when he “accidentally” touches your hand when you both reach for something in the fridge but then he asks if you would rather go get dinner at a restaurant

You agree and instead of staying at a restaurant Choso gets take out and walks with you to a park where a picnic blanket is set up with tiny battery-lit candles (because he doesn’t trust the wind)

He awkwardly runs off to a tree and steps behind it to grab a pot with your favorite plant/flower inside. The pot is a simple ceramic but it’s clearly been painted and it’s a sloppy picture of the two of you with a heart in the middle

Your smile is brighter than the moon as you take it and tell him it’s perfect and you love it. He blurts out that he’s in love with you and you giggle, saying that he should at least take you out on another date before deciding that he’s in love, but when his expression drops you immediately tell him you’re just teasing

He asks if you like him as well and you laugh, making him self conscious again, to which you quickly cover by saying “well duh I like you!” His cute and awkward smile bursts onto his face and you giggle while leaning over and kissing his cheek

Yuji and Megumi are hiding in some of the other trees and Yuji is taking pictures of you and Choso while Megumi struggles to hold him from falling. He debates dropping Yuji but decides he might get dumped if he does, and despite finding him absolutely annoying, he’s fallen for Yuji (not literally, he’s got good balance)

But eventually Megumi’s grip gets weak and he does end up dropping Yuji, but he soon follows after as a big gust of wind knocks him off of the branch. You and Choso look over and both run to the boys, only to find Yuji laughing as Megumi’s hair is covered with leaves and sticks. Choso makes sure Yuji is okay while you pluck the twigs from Megumi’s hair. You scold them and ask them what they were doing, only for Yuji to show you the pictures

You look at Choso with a smirk and ask if he knew they would be here, and he sheepishly scratches his neck and admits that yes, he asked them to help him with taking you out on a date. You just grin and wrap your arms around him in a hug, burying your face in his chest which makes his cheeks turn beet red. He smiles again and reciprocates the hug before you pull back and give him a proper kiss.

He’s stunned, gooped, and gagged. He’s frozen in place. He had his first kiss with the most amazing person to ever exist, and now he gets to take you home and hopefully make it under the sheets when cuddling this time, because he nearly froze the other night with your massive industrial sized fan blowing

You live happily ever after, unless Satoru and Suguru are around being the chaotic husbands that they are. At least Megumi can keep Yuji calm (most of the time, except for when Nobara is around)

[mosambilebu]

/And I'll keep planting little gardens wherever I can find a place for it. In my teacups, small pickle jars, ceramic pots, used coke cans, glass paint bottles, old whiskey glasses. Tiny world sprouting where wisps of memory hides/

[the-tropes-are-hungry]

4 - The Cat Laughs

I don’t have a clue how long this Cat – Worm – Lamb pattern will hold considering the story I want to tell but for now it’s a good frame to work from. Have a cat in a hat with a spider and a squid.

[First] / [Prev] / [Next]

Shamura was never kind to him. It took him years to understand their concept of kindness was something else entirely.

A crown did as much as its bearer allowed, but the spider forbade him from using his to curb hunger, or stay sleep, or anything else truly useful.

“You are not yet grown, therefore have no true grasp of your abilities.”

“Then let me use them.”

They looked at him with their too many eyes and his vision fizzed. The shadows of thoughts, the web of impenetrable life woven around Shamura like their black and gold armor, the unflinching stare. Narinder was a predator in his own right, but they were something else.

Shamura was seated at the low table in their tent, discarded maps and the remaining bones of their dinner resting next to candle stubs. Narinder stood in the doorway where he’d burst in, and the spider remained perfectly still as they regarded him.

“Why?” they asked.

He stared at them, clutching his young anger.

“What do you mean, why? Because we’re fighting a war— because we’re losing one!”

Shamura watched him, listened to him, and answered with: “Our standing in this conflict is my burden, as our supplies are Kallamar’s, and growing is yours. Why should I let you use your crown when I do not believe you are ready?”

Ears back, his words keened past his fangs. “Because it’s mine.”

“It is yours,” the spider agreed, holding one long hand over their tea and calling the tiny ceramic cup into their grasp. “But that is not a reason to use it.”

“I don’t need a better reason.”

“You do, if you want my permission.”

“I don’t need your permission!”

“You do,” they squeezed the cup and his ears popped at the pressure change, black ears pressed to his skull and half-sheathed claws now soft against his palm. Shamura blinked slowly, one eye at a time from left to right, then right to left. “You do, if you want to leave my web alive.”

The entire camp was their web. Narinder had felt it after waking up the first time, sensed it without really knowing what about the ground upset his fur, why his whiskers twitched at every tent door and post, why his vision doubled and the stars moved too much at night.

He’d experienced it the first time one of Shamura’s soldiers, a beetle of all carapace and no sense, threw their meal on the ground and declared they’d had enough of rancid flesh and deserved something better.

The beetle had spasmed as, from everywhere and nowhere, silk threads snapped tight and pulled their limbs back before they could curl into a protective ball. Their glossy chitin didn’t mean anything as Shamura’s slow steps made the beetle’s heart quicken, then race, then thunder in Narinder’s ears. The spider had walked as slowly as possible to give every onlooker time to find a place to witness their judgment. One blue finger had trailed up from trembling thorax to mandibles, and the slender demigod rose up on six legs to tower over their prey.

“Very well,” they’d said, and a silk wire lopped the beetle’s head off. Several more tightened around still-squirming limbs until they detached. All Shamura visibly did was wave a dismissive hand at the wrist, and their web deposited the open body on the fire, belly up, for the camp cook to decorate with salt and herb and oil and simmer with his own armor acting as pot and pan to serve him.

It had been, Narinder hated to admit, one of the best meals they’d had since his arrival.

Shamura’s threads were already in his fur. They touched his wrists, his ankles, trailed against his black robe and irritated his whiskers. There was no tension in them, just the ghostly presence holding his chest and winding around his tail.

The spider sipped their tea.

“You are not yet grown, Narinder. I do not mean this metaphorically: your kind do not come of age until they are ten and six years old, but the males do not reach their true strength until twenty and eight. If you will not tell me why you must rely on your crown before you are ready, will you heed my reasons why you shall not?”

Shamura had already made up their mind and even the best reason in the world would not sway them. Still, to stop the growing pain in his throat and the burning in his eyes and the pressure in his nose, he bared his teeth again.

“When my mother taught me the sword, she gave me a sword to practice with.” The mere mention of her hurt. Speaking of her was like licking glass, or breathing fire, or being forever in this world without her. “I’m not saying let me fight the Green-Eyed Queen myself, but you’ve got to let me learn!”

Shamura nodded, but he swore the wisps of web grew thicker.

“The words you are looking for are, ‘I am afraid, and believe a better weapon will keep me safer.’”

They stood up, four legs moving sinuously beneath their black robe, four arms folded politely in pairs as they drifted across the tent toward him. One set of hands parted and they rested one cold palm against his bristled cheek. They had too many eyes and he never knew which ones to look at.

“If I clothed you in the strongest armor and then struck you one hundred times a day for one hundred days, it is true that you will stop fearing my blows and focus on hitting back. But if there is one day, not of your choosing, where I would make those hundred strikes on you without your armor, what would happen?”

His vision was blurring again, this time with frustration. His throat was growing tighter and it wasn’t Shamura’s silk. His chest and arms were trembling and the spider hadn’t struck him once.

“I would die.”

Shamura nodded, and released his face.

“That is why I will not let you use your crown to hold back sleep, because already you do not sleep enough. And I will not let your crown suppress your hunger, because you do not eat enough. And I will not let the crown make you stronger, or faster, or anything else you desire, because this weakness is born of things no crown can fix. You must train your mind. You must grieve your loss. You must let your body grow, child. Return to your duties.”

Duties. All Shamura had him do was practice symbols in wax and ink, and read the same marks off paper and metal. He was to learn the stars by different names, and the plants in their times and properties, and the many lands by their rulers and laws. Narinder’s duties were to grow his mind and eat hearty off the army’s stew pot, as if he were some kind of pet in the spider’s keeping.

He left with rage pulsing under his skin, humiliation turning his fur up as the silk whispers of the camp kept sticking to him, thickening around his ankles until he could almost see the strands. He sped up, all but ready to begin dashing past soldiers, and barracks, and cook fires and—

“There you are.”

His body stopped. A shimmering blue light encircled him and his muscles couldn’t move, his momentum halted. A webbed hand pressed warm to his shoulder before Kallamar’s spell vanished, and the third crown-bearer in this camp steered Narinder off his path between another set of random tents and tables, the squid’s long face pulled in an affable smile.

“Bold of you, to challenge Shamura directly,” he chittered. Narinder was only half-grown, but Kallamar was only just taller than him, too long, too nothing beneath his robes. “I can see how that went by the look on your face. No—don’t stop, be mad. Get it out. You can’t close a wound with the knife still inside.”

“What do you want?” Narinder asked, teeth clenched, whiskers flared as he kept walking and Kallamar kept pushing.

“To stop you from ending up on a spit,” he said. “Shamura is unkind, but rarely unreasonable. Come, running off will get you in trouble, but I’ve prepared something for you.”

Shamura and Kallamar had journeyed together for two years now, amassing followers and striking out at the Green-Eyed Queen’s champions: the Seven Toed Oak, the Marble Tongue of Dawn, and Ashblight. Shamura’s real target was the Wrath-Bringer, for their own reasons. Kallamar had come from the white waters of the Serpent, and beyond Shamura’s trust in him that was all Narinder knew.

Most of the followers in this camp were the spider’s. Kallamar’s followers were weepy-eyed creatures that hissed at the sun and plied their master with even more miserable gurgles than what Kallamar paid the spider.

There was something the Green-Eyed Queen possessed that Shamura wanted before taking their campaign elsewhere.

The mobility of Shamura’s forces was crucial, as staying overlong in any one place cleared the trees, dirtied the water, and ate the land barren. Never-mind counter attacks from the Queen’s champions.

Narinder had been with them a month. During the four battles this army of two hundred followers had fought he’d sat at Shamura’s heels with clean claws and sheathed blades and a leash short enough to call a belt-loop. Every time he saw Kallamar, the Serpent’s exiled son was either flustered with the logistics of keeping this army fed, or impatiently keening at Shamura to send Narinder out of earshot so they could speak.

The cat and the squid had never been alone together before now.

“Hurry up! Hurry up! I think you’ll hate this until you learn to love it.”

Narinder’s tail kept lashing. “You have the worst way of saying things.”

“Do you know what’s more fun than having a shard of the Serpent’s power sitting on my head?” Kallamar asked, the membrane of their face bubbling with their words as they tapped their crown.

“Leaving me alone?”

“Having my own power to wield as I like.”

Kallamar brought him to a freshly cleared bit of forest at the edge of the encampment. Fresh stumps littered the ground like boils, sweet sap still bleeding from the saw-marks. The squid kept giggling to himself, but trying to hide it with his mouth closed. The hrm! Hrm-hrmhrm!! Was enough to make Narinder’s claws itch. He’d never eaten squid before.

“First! An exercise I’m sure you’ve done before!” Kallamar wiggled his way forward and called back to him. He shook out his robe sleeves, getting shorter and squatter as his upsettingly fluid physiology squirmed around under his bipedal guise. With a delighted gurgle, he rose up and spread three tentacles from each sleeve, raising his new arms up with a flash of white.

Ten liquid bubbles gathered from the sap and soil, hovering over the stumps. “Ten seconds to destroy them all! Have at ye, young demigod!”

Narinder stared. “What?”

“Ten! Nine!”

Oh, he meant it.

Narinder’s reflexes were sharp, his legs always half-wound springs that sent him flying at the first bubble with claws out. Its skin was tougher than expected and his lead claw curled past it, but the dew claw on his smallest finger snagged it right and tore the bubble open.

A grotesque sploosh of half-warm-too-cold gelatine that sluiced down his leg and stayed there.

“What is this!?” Narinder shrieked, his voice splitting like hairs as his tail bristled.

“Six!! Five!”

He spun with three darts in hand that burst three bubbles, and vaulted another log with a hand at his sword to tear another. That made five, with only—

“Three! Two!!”

“Kallamar!” he roared back, his sword coated in the same blue ick as his robe and hand.

“Ding-ding-ding!! You lose!” The squid trumpeted, throwing his head back with laughter.

Lost? He’d lost? Narinder never lost anything. He never failed anything.  He couldn’t lose a game like this—one of speed and reflexes and sharpness, no!

“Again!” he shouted.

The laughing stopped. “Again?”

“Start it again!” He stomped his foot, sword dripping, his leg and hand so cold they felt numb.

“Hmm!” the squid put four hands to his wide chin, pouting. “Maybe! But I want my prize for winning first.”

Narinder stiffened, ears swivelling, weight on his toes. “What prize?”

Kallamar’s face split with far too many teeth at far too many angles. Narinder was a predator in his own right, a killer and a hunter, but his fur went rigid at the sight.

“Here, kitty-kitty, dodge this!”

The first unpopped bubble sailed straight at him. Narinder twisted with a yelp, but another crashed the back of his head and erupted with cold slime down his shoulders. He screamed. It didn’t hurt—it was cold and slick and horrible but it didn’t burn or bind or harm him, and the lack of danger made his screaming worse when he took two steps and was slammed at the knees by another bubble that took out his legs.

The last two pelted his back, one and then the other, and left him in an inch-deep puddle of viscous blue slime.

He pushed his face up, spitting, the fur on his cheeks dragging down long, his whiskers coated so thick he could barely breathe, his ears dulled with gelatine.

He was so fucking cold.

Kallamar was laughing to the cloudy sky overhead, the drip-drip of his tentacles slithering over the trampled grass.

“Oh! What fun, your poor face!” he cackled, wiping one webbed hand under his eyes to stop the tears.

Narinder bared his fangs, felt the cold slick trickle into his nose, and sneezed so violently his back arched.

Kallamar doubled over, wheezing, his eyes bulging in delight.

Narinder was cold, he was embarrassed, he was sopping wet. He was a month without his mother and denied his own power. He was stuck in a puddle of slime on a bright spring day with the sun parting the overcast sky and birds were singing and Kallamar was laughing and they were too far away from the edge of camp for anyone to see or hear them.

Narinder grabbed the tentacle that counted as Kallamar’s ‘foot’and yanked it. The squid yelped and tumbled down in a glorp. Before he could think twice or Kallamar could get away, Narinder slapped a handful of muddy slime in the other demigod’s mouth.

The sound Kallamar made was worth the laughter that burst out of Narinder. His goopy tail coiled around his bent legs as the alien sound scared his ears back and he reigned it in quickly, afraid of—just afraid.

Of Shamura? Of dying? Of the Green-Eyed Queen? Yes.

As quickly as he’d laughed, tears cut through the frigid slime, like embers down his cheeks.

His mouth trembled, spit and slime on his lips. He couldn’t breathe.

He would never see Mother again. She would not groom this ick off his fur, or run her claws over his ears, or warm him with her purr. Her tail would never twine with his, and she would not pick up his blade and hand it back, and she would not be with him, and she would not come back.

And Narinder was her Lord of Lords but he was twelve years old and frightened and alone and he had never been frightened and he had never been alone and he had never had to decide what to do and he had never been told what he could not do and—

“Me too.”

Narinder was sitting in this puddle sobbing like a kitten, and he couldn’t close his mouth or stop the sounds or the tears from hiccupping out of him. When Narinder looked at Kallamar, he expected everything except the broken hinge of the squid’s mouth, or the thick-rolling green slime that counted as his tears.

“I miss everything too,” he said. “Everything from before… this.”

“W-what happened?” one lost little boy asked the other.

“The Serpent was afraid of something,” Kallamar explained, his own tears rolling into his mouth. “They called everyone in to their temple, but I got caught in the tide pool that morning and couldn’t answer the gong. I watched the waves turn red, and the sea boiled, and then everything went dark. By the time I got out there was nothing left at the seabed, just this—this hole. Like a storm beneath the sea. Everything was gone. The coral, the vents, the sand, the kelp. Just dark water too scary to swim through, so I didn’t. They’re still down there, I think. They keep pulling everything inside, and Shamura thinks one day they’ll swallow the whole world.”

And that, two small children in two large crowns decided, was too much for them to think about.

They cried until they couldn’t cry anymore. This left Narinder only wet and too cold, and Kallamar dry and too hot, so when the cat scraped one hand down his slimy sleeve he smeared it on the squid’s ugly face.

This made Kallamar laugh.

“Here,” he said, taking Narinder’s hand in two of his. “Let me show you what I brought you out here for.”

It was a spell. A little mote of magical light between his tentacles that drew the wet ick from the fur and fabric down his arm. He wasn’t quite clean, but he wasn’t wet either.

“Now you try. But not with this,” he pointed at the crown. “Just this.”

He tapped Narinder’s forehead, where the fizziness and shadows and double-vision kept coming from.

“This is where your magic will manifest. It means you aren’t like other cats, so even without your crown you’re still something different, something else.”

“What else?”

Kallamar shrugged. “Whatever Shamura and I are. Demigods, they say.”

They practiced the spell together. It was finicky, but only difficult until Kallamar talked him through the noise in his own mind. They pulled the slime off his fur and ears and tail and clothes, and with the last of it the squid gurgled shyly in his throat.

“There was one other thing,”

“You have more one other things than you do arms.”

“No, this is actually it,” he bubbled. “You’re something else. You’re something between Shamura and I. You see, their body is hard and spiny on the outside, protected even without the armor they wear. Then there’s you, who grows your bones inside your body with the soft parts outside—which is bad design, really. You’re very poorly made.”

Narinder showed his teeth. He flexed his claws too. “As poorly made as a bag of water?”

Kallamar held up another bubble of slime. “I’m not afraid to use this.”

The cat relented.

“My point is,” Kallamar continued, holding the bubble in their lap and slowly running their tendrils over and around it, peeling off slime to slick themselves after sitting so long on the prickly grass beneath the blazing sun. “Neither of us can fight like Shamura. But you don’t have your own magic, and I don’t… Well, I know lots of magic. I know spells, and enchantments, and incantations, and charms, and curses. And you…”

Narinder followed the squid’s eyes this time, and snatched up Mother’s sword from beside him.

“No,” he said.

Kallamar quickly folded himself on his ‘knees’, leaning forward. “I don’t mean give me your sword, just practice! Or your knives? I saw you practicing with a rope dart the other day and it was so fast! Imagine if you could sling spells the same way, and I could carry a sword—or a staff. Can you use a spear?”

This felt… not allowed. It felt like breaking one of Shamura’s rules. Kallamar had real duties to the war, counting food and provisioning armor and setting up where tents could go and tables set up.

But Mother had always protected him, and Narinder had never had someone boldly ask him about what she’d taught him. “I… can?”

“What about a javelin?” Kallamar asked, eyes now alight. “A glaive? Shamura has a glaive, you’ve seen it, with the gold blade and obsidian handle?”

“I have.” He had. And he’d also seen… “…their sickle chain is faster than my rope dart.”

“It is!”

On that day, two boys made a pact with each other. The older would teach the younger magic, and the younger would teach the older weapons. Through their web the spider heard all of this, even the part where they struck a bet to see who would get to hold their glaive first. It made them smile.

To Shamura’s surprise, it was Kallamar who won the bet.

Surprise became wonder, as Narinder’s Third Eye opened right as his oath-brother raised the gold blade.

Somehow, both these achievements mattered more to the Demigod of Victory than the fact that they had just been split open, mandible to abdomen, by Champion Ashblight.

“Shamura?!”

“Shamura!!”

It was a good day to die.

[First] / [Prev] / [Next]

:)

I HC Kallamar is like 15/16 at this point.

[more-better-words]

Red+Blue

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Monica set the little ceramic pot down in the windowsill, turning it this way and that, so the glossy leaves could best catch the pale Martian sun. "And what did you say it's called?" Karveth asked, peering over her shoulder at the plant.

"They're violets," she said. "Amira gave them to me as a housewarming present."

He looked around the apartment, antennae moving in slow consideration. "It's warm enough." She laughed.

"It's a figure of speech."

"I see." He looked at the violets again, their soft streaked petals velvety in the light. "You have at least three shirts this color," he noted. "I'd say that constitutes a preference." She gave a vaguely sheepish shrug.

"What can I say? I've always liked purple." She looked at him, extending a pale blue fingertip to delicately touch one of the flowers. "Though these days, I think I like blue better."

He looked at her sidelong, a little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "You know my policy on flattery," he said with faux sternness. She returned the look with studied innocence.

"It'll get me whatever I want?"

"Exactly."

They shared a teasing smile, and she reached for the pot, giving it another slight turn. There must have been a tiny chip on the rim; it caught on her finger and she hissed softly with pain. Karveth took her hand, turning it gently to reveal the thin line of bright red on her forefinger.

"Iron-based blood," he mused. "It makes for a lovely color as well." He pressed a soft kiss to the small wound. "But it's better when you keep it inside your skin."

"I try to." She looked down at her hand in his, pink human skin against Andorian blue. "Maybe this is why I've always liked purple," she said quietly.

"It is a blending," he remarked, equally soft. "Like us, perhaps?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling. "Yeah, I think so."