#along with the snark and disappointment

[queertealover]

When he has snarky asshole I'm better then you face with a dramatic flair, its always a treat.

[westviews-nosiest]

From Sasheer’s story (6/8/2025)

[writingsbychlo]

DECK THE HALLS | DRACO MALFOY

SUMMARY: Narcissa has big plans for her son's girlfriend this time of year, and you're determined to live up to her expectations. WORD COUNT: 7680 NOTES: The first fic of this year's Christmas series, and I think you guys will really love it! It's cute, it's sweet, and it's just the right amount of sassy-Draco.

The moment you sank into the seat beside him, Draco pushed a cup of your favourite herbal tea across to you, his lips brushing your cheek as he whispered a sleepy greeting. Opposite you, Mattheo was half-asleep above his bowl of cereal, his head tipping forward precariously — and a slight thrill shot through you at the idea of him dropping face-first into the milky bowl. 

“You’re evil for choosing a six am lecture, do you know that? And they think Matt’s father is the darkest wizard there is.” Daphne groaned as she shuffled into the kitchenette of your small, shared flat in her bunny-eared muggle slippers. Chancing a glance at Draco, you didn’t miss the disgraced twist to his lips as he eyed them. Just like always. 

“Nobody forced you to get up at this time, y’know.” You teased, blowing the steam away from your mug, and Mattheo’s head lulled forward just far enough to fall when the toast popped. He jerked his head back up, only inches from getting a face-full of milk and rice crispies, and you pouted in disappointment as he blinked himself back awake, and scooped some more into his mouth, chewing obnoxiously. “Why do you get up at this time every day?”

“Because Dray makes us all breakfast if we do!” Daphne chirped, adjusting far better to the early rise than your other roommate, who would be cranky until noon, even without face-planting his crackling snack. 

“Correction, I make my girlfriend breakfast, and you two just pilfer food that isn’t yours.” He snarked, buttering the toast, and kissing the top of your head a moment later as he placed it down in front of you. Moments later, a teapot, jam, a plate of only slightly too-crispy bacon and hashbrowns floated over too, laying themselves out on the table along with plates and cutlery. 

Since his insistence on moving into his own accommodation at the start of university, Draco had been practising his cooking skills. After setting off the fire alarms every day for the first two weeks and screaming every insult under the sun at the beeping box on the ceiling, he’d started to become quite adept at it. 

A harmony settled across the table as you all tucked into your food, only the scrape of butter on toast and the occasional squeak of metal on pottery sounded, the tea in your mug sinking dwindling as the clock on the wall ticked on. Finally, when it was time to leave, you floated all the dishes to the sink, and let Draco trail you to the door of your cramped apartment. Wrapping a thick scarf around your neck, he used it to pull you in for a kiss, smiling against your lips when you grumbled;

“I have to go, Dray.”

“I know.” He mused, licking across your lower lip in that same way that always made your legs tremble a little. 

“Stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything.” Your boyfriend teased, his hands sneaking around your waist to pull you in close. Your hand, that had been reaching for your coat, somehow found itself tangling into those soft blonde strands instead. 

“I’m going to be late.” Your murmur was swallowed by his mouth closing over your own, a wider kiss, covering your mouth and you sagged into him. He was practically radiating smugness, the squeeze of his arms around you, the arrogance in his breathy chuckle. “Dray…”

“Mmmh?”

“I—”

A tapping at the window cut you off, and Draco pulled back with an indignant sound, whipping his head around to look at the window. He sighed with agitation, “Do you think my mother simply does not care that our apartment building is Muggle, or does she still think Muggles use carrier pigeons?” 

You smothered a laugh as he made his way over to the window, taking a little more effort to open it as ice frosted the seals closed, but when he finally did, the tawny brown owl acknowledged him with a rather irritated hoot. The moment Draco had taken the letter, it was stretching its wings, flapping again and taking off into the murky dawn light. 

Tugging on your coat as he closed the window back up and shuddered, you shouldered your bag. Upon seeing your progress towards leaving, and another morning of failing to hinder your departure, Draco pouted. His attention turned to the letter in his hands as you opened the front door. “It’s for you.”

“What?”

“My mother, she sent the letter to you. Do you want me to leave it on your—”

“Give it here!” You squeaked, lunging for the letter, and letting the door fall back shut as you snatched it from his hands. Just like he said, elegantly scrawled across the front in Narcissa’s handwriting was your name, and a flush of nervous heat flooded your body. Suddenly, despite the ice and snow outside, you were wearing too many layers. 

“I thought you had to leave?”

“It’s a letter from your mother! I can’t leave this until later!” Turning it over and running a shaky finger under the seal with the Malfoy signet, you popped it open, the envelope falling open into a folded parchment with the same lovely handwriting contained inside.

Scanning your eyes over the words, seconds seemed to drag on into endless minutes, as you read it again and again. At last, you clutched the letter to your chest, peering up at your confused boyfriend with wide eyes. “So, what did she say?”

“She wants me to plan the annual Christmas Eve party this year.”

Your breathing was light and shallow as you sat inside the restaurant, smoothing down floo-rumpled hair that had taken Daphne almost an hour to style for you. Your dress was new, courtesy of a panicky shopping trip with Draco after insisting you had nothing appropriate to wear to eat dinner with his mother. Your lipstick was the perfect shade and you’d made sure your perfume was just on the right side of decorous, not the sultry date night scent you typically wore to places like this. 

And still, despite all your preparations, your hand trembled as you picked up your water glass and brought it to your lips. 

And then, the green flames at the front of the restaurant flashed once again, and out stepped Narcissa Malfoy. Sophistication incarnate, she smoothed her hand down the front of her dress, one that made your own feel like a burlap sack. Several members of staff flooded to her side before she’d even finished stepping down from the line of fireplaces, and she smiled politely as she handed over her coat. Inquisitive gaze flicking over the room, that smile became genuine as she set her sights on you sitting at the table already, and she walked through the room like she owned it as she made her way to you. 

Standing as she approached, she let out a regal scoff —how she managed to make a scoff sound so posh was beyond you— and waved a hand in the air. “No need for formalities, dear. Sit, please.”

She kissed both of your cheeks, before pointing to your chair, and you sank into it as she settled into hers. “It’s so lovely to see you, Narcissa. I was surprised you wanted to see me, alone. Draco is—”

“Draco is probably pacing in that little apartment you both live in that he insists upon. Why he forces you to live there when he could have much nicer accommodations is beyond me.”

“It’s a nice apartment. We bought some lovely throw blankets.” Hiding your smile in your glass, your laugh at her expression bubbled your water, and heat rushed to your cheeks as you lowered it and patted at your lip. “I’m so sorry.”

The woman before you only chuckled privately and raised her hand to a waiter. The young man hurried over, cracking open a bottle of white wine without even having to be told, and Narcissa smiled at your confusion. “I have the same wine every time I come, this quaint little place is a favourite of mine. Did you know Lucius attended this same university when he was your age?”

You tried not to hang on the word quaint, thanking the waiter as he poured you a glass too, before hurrying from the table once again. Instead, you moved on to something else, “Which university did you attend, Mrs Malfoy?”

“Oh, no. I didn’t attend university, dear. In my day, a woman was never supposed to be more intelligent than her husband. Educated, of course, but not too smart.” A fond look passed over her features, “Though, Lucius has never seemed to mind. I have read enough to possess multiple degrees by now, he is not intimidated by my curiosity for knowledge. It is one of the reasons I love my husband. But, enough about me.”

Your breathing hitched as her eyes sharpened on you once again. She toyed with the bracelet on her wrist and plucked off a small charm. Placing it on the table, with a single muttered incantation, a gorgeous, pure-leather briefcase with her initials embedded on the side in gold, filled the available space. The clasps popped open, and she peered at you over the lid. 

“Let’s skip the small talk, shall we, dear? We have much to discuss. You know what you’d like to eat, I presume?”

You did not, in fact, know what you wanted, but you nodded regardless, and picked the first thing from the menu that came to mind. When your order was given, Narcissa placed a delicate pair of reading glasses onto her nose and began to pull out papers and folders to stack beside her wine glass. 

“You shall host the Christmas Eve party this year, but despite it being loosely called a ‘party’, it is so much more. It is a social event, a business event, and one of the most desired gatherings of the year. It is exclusive, thousands of wizards globally vie for a spot on this guest list and most are disappointed year in and year out. It must be spectacular, splendid, and unique. Repeated themes are the death of any social event, as I’m sure you know.” Peering over the rim of her glasses at you, she raised a manicured eyebrow inquisitorially. “Are you taking notes?”

With a jump, you reached for your far less elegantly-stored bag on the back of your chair, and rooted through for your notebook and QuickQuill, setting it to work atop the table as she continued to speak. 

“I have brought my records for the last ten years, and a list of the themes dating back the last thirty, in order to help you. I have also included a copy of any and all documents I typically use, to help you out a little. Nobody helped me when I first began. Merlin, Lucius’ mother hated me until the wonderful day the old hag died, she wanted to see me fail. I do not want to see you fail.” She looked up as the scribbling of the quill on your paper stopped at her small rant. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I, uhh, I—” You stumbled over your words, clearing your throat as she closed the briefcase and linked her hands, setting them upon the tabletop with poise as she waited, “I’m just wondering why?”

“Why?” She sniffed, pushing her glasses further up her nose and raising one brow into a high arch. “Why what?”

“Why you’re giving this to me? It’s an honour, truly, but I’m just wondering why you would put something so important, your family’s name, into my hands?”

At that, Narcissa’s lips turned up into a fond smile, and her head tipped to the side. “My son loves you.”

After a moment’s pause, you nodded, throat feeling thick. “He does.”

“I am happy for him. He adores you, as he should. You are a wonderful girl, my dear. I do not want you to have the harsh break into this world that I did. I thought I had been prepared to become a wife, I was an heir of a Sacred Twenty-Eight family, but a union between the most noble House of Black and the most powerful House of Malfoy created something else entirely. You, you are clearly Draco’s one. The men in this family love wholly, powerfully, and obsessively. You will be a Malfoy one day, and I wish for you to be ready. I wish to guide you in a way nobody guided me.”

Words froze in your throat, and tears prickled behind your eyes are her words. “You really think that? You think Draco will marry me one day?”

“I’d be surprised if he wasn’t already thinking about it. He is, at the end of the day, still a high-society boy raised to find a suitable wife.” She left her statement short and succinct, and you sniffed lightly to hold back your feelings. “Do not cry.”

“Sorry, I—”

“I mean it. Do not start crying. We have work to do.” 

You nodded, but then she smiled fondly, and a small and emotional squeak escaped you.

The number of notes Narcissa had given you at dinner alone had required their own folder entirely to properly organise. So this morning, you’d braved yourself on a journey out in the ice and snow to a local stationary store to pick up two more. Surrounded by open folders, QuickQuills, and some coloured tabs and inky pens deemed highlighters that you’d noticed some Muggle girls picking up, you had set to work hours ago. 

Your neck ached, your back was sore, and two of your QuickQuills had broken while the notepad in your lap had more pages torn out in frustration than actually had useful ideas and notes. 

That, and Draco had been needy since the moment he’d gotten home, laying himself out dramatically on the floor in front of you and trading refills on your tea for kisses. Some time ago, he’d convinced you to take a break for dinner and to do your homework together at the table. 

Now, the sun had set, Mattheo had long since returned from his part-time job at the record store, and Daphne had come back from her weekend study group, gotten ready, and gone back out for a date, and you still felt like you hadn't quite done enough. If the stress of party planning didn’t kill you, it was certainly going to cripple you. 

Stretching your arms over your head from where you perched before the coffee table, you pushed your legs out into any space available. As you did, a relieved groan slipped free at the delicious pain of tight muscles unfurling in your back. Draco cupped your chin, tipping your head back to drop a kiss onto your lips as he passed by to go to the kitchen, leaving his book marked and closed on the side of the couch. 

You listened to him make another cup of tea, rubbing blurry eyes and attempting to focus once again. Just before you could re-enter the zone, tapping on glass broke your focus, and you heard Draco sigh. Cracking open a window, he retrieved whatever had been sent, feeding the bird a few treats before sending it on its way again and closing out the cold chill of the December night. 

He appeared moments later, his black and white Christmas-themed socks filling your peripherals. 

“Another letter for you, from my mother.” Draco drawled, passing the envelope to you as you glanced up from your folders. He waved it before your face, and you snatched it with a scowl, adding in a glare for emphasis when he only laughed. “You know, she writes to you more than she writes to me these days.”

“Yes, well, we complain to one another about the terrors of you Malfoy men and how we’re supposed to put up with you.” Your words were muttered amid distraction, skimming your gaze over the letter in your hands and frowning. “Word has already gotten out about this party, and now the Prophet wants to run an article on it.”

Your voice climbed higher and higher as you spoke, until your boyfriend winced at the shrill tone you had taken on. “I wouldn't worry too much about that.”

“Wouldn’t worry— it’s the party, Draco! And now the media wants a piece! If it’s a failure, the entire Wizarding World is going to know about it by eight the following morning!”

“More like six, if they hurry it though printing—”

“Draco!”

He rolled his eyes, flopping ungracefully down onto the couch and stretching his body long out on it. Holding his arms open, you collapsed into them with a whine, and he kissed your forehead as he wrapped you into a tight embrace. With the letter crumpled between you both, you pressed your face into his neck, taking in a deep breath of his cologne and letting it calm you slightly. 

“You’ll still love me even if I throw the worst party ever, right?”

“Yes, I’ll still love you!” He spoke through peels of sudden laughter, and the shake of his chest underneath you brought a smile to your face. Propping yourself up to peer down at him, he puckered his lips, a request for a kiss that you eagerly indulged. “And I meant it. This isn’t personal to you, this is just Skeeter trying to push a new weak point. I don’t even think she knows you’re the host yet, she does this every year. She tries to wrangle her way into an invitation through her job, and every year, my mother sneers at her letters and burns them.”

“Really?”

“Yes, my love.” Rubbing his hands up and down your back, Draco leaned up to press another loving, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Now, can you please put those folders away for the night? We haven’t set up our Christmas tree yet, and you haven’t given me proper cuddles all day.”

“Just five more minutes?” You bargained, and his lips tightened with annoyance for a fraction of a second. 

“Only as long as it takes me to make two hot chocolates.”

“Deal.”

“Hi, baby.” You whispered, leaning against the doorframe. Draco peered up at you from over the top of his reading glasses, folding his book silently and placing it down on the bedside table. He laced his fingers together, resting his hands across his stomach, and waited. “Whatcha’ reading?” 

“A thousand and one ways to ruin your girlfriend’s Christmas party.” He deadpanned, and your smile fell, arms crossing over your chest. Straightening up and stepping into the room a little more, Draco smirked at the glare you gave him. 

“If you would just help me out a little—”

“You’ve yet to apologise for what you said earlier.” He crosses his ankles casually, lounging on the bed. 

“Yes, well, earlier was—”

“That’s not how apologies start.” Draco chastised, clicking his tongue. With a strangled sigh, and a slightly childish stomp of your foot, you caved. Ignoring the urge to ask him what he knew about good apologies, you instead made your way closer to the side of the bed. As you approached, he reached out, wrapping his arm around the backs of your legs and looking up at you, waiting. 

“I’m sorry for shouting at you and calling you a bad boyfriend when you messed with my sticky notes. It really wasn’t that deep.” Your words were begrudging, certainly holding an underlying bitterness to them that wasn’t hidden, but Draco grinned nonetheless. “I’m just really stressed out.”

“You’re putting too much thought into this, darling. You need to relax. It’s just a party.”

“It’s not just a party! Do you realise that these people will—” Will be our wedding guests one day? Will be the people who pass judgment on my suitability to be your wife someday? Will remember this social event for the rest of their lives? It all sounded too shallow to say out loud, but somehow, it still meant something to you. “Will be so disappointed if it’s not good.”

Your boyfriend’s brows furrowed, he knew there was more you weren’t saying, but he didn’t push. Instead, he wrapped his arms more securely around you, tugging you down onto the bed, and you squealed as he rolled you over, your back in the blankets and his lips closing over your own in a slow kiss. 

Your fingers laced into his hair, nails dragging over his scalp and he hummed happily, lips pressing more insistently into your own. Every tug and drag, every beat of his heart onto his chest pressed to yours, helped to settle the raging nerves that were sending tremors through your body. 

“I know you don’t think it, love, but it’s going to be fantastic. You needn’t be so worried.”

Smoothing your hands along his cheeks, you unhooked his glasses, folding them away with a sweet kiss to his nose. Putting them down on top of his forgotten book, you decided to try your luck one more time. “Does this mean you’ll help me? Because I could really use a second opinion on—”

“Nuh-uh. My mother entrusted you with this job. And I know why.” 

At your gasp, he smirked. “You do?”

“Of course, I do. This party is a tradition for generations of Malfoy women, so if you’re going to be a Malfoy woman, you’d better learn now.” At your scoff, he pressed a kiss to your lips, chuckling when you puckered and attempted to steal more. 

“If you don’t help me, then you’d better find a new future woman.”

“Shan’t. Can’t. I’ve already chosen you, and the men never party plan. We’re terrible at it. Just ask my mother about when my father suggested a Weasley-orange banner for—”

“Alright, alright!” Your arms flung around his neck, pulling him in for more kisses, and leaving the conversation behind. For a little while, you were perfectly willing to let Draco help you forget your stresses. 

“My darling, what are you doing?” Draco’s groggy voice split the silence of the room, and you blinked as you refocused on him. Pyjamas pants low on his hips and no shirt, a spattering of pale hair trailing down his lower stomach and disappearing into his waistband… Some absent part of your exhausted brain sparked with excitement at the sight of him. “It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

“What? No, it’s not. I said I’d come to bed at—”

“At midnight?” Draco yawned, covering his mouth with one hand and pointing at the clock with the other. True to his word, it was actually past two, and a sigh slipped out. 

“Oh.” 

“Mhm.” Draco shuffled across the room, standing behind you and running his fingers through your hair. “This is what we’re doing now? We’re staying up all night?”

“No, no. I’ll pack away and come to bed now.” Stacking up your papers, you turned to look up at him with a smile. “I did it.”

“You did it?”

“Yes. I have officially finished the whole of my planning stage. Now, I just have to… y’know, actually put everything together and pull it off and hope it’s a success and—” His brows raised, and you took a deep breath, remembering all the steadying words he’d muttered to you over the last few weeks. “I’ll just put all this away, and come to bed, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll wait up for you.” Draco promised, dipping to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

He padded away silently through the room, and as you scooped up a pile of papers, they slipped out of your sleep-trembling hands, spilling across the floor. “Oh, crap.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” He grumbled, returning across the room and leaning down, smacking the papers out of your hands where you attempted to clear them up. Dipping down, he hooked an arm underneath your legs, lifting you swiftly up into the air and cradling you to his chest. “They’ll still be there in the morning. Sleep, now.”

An argument sat on the tip of your tongue, but he was right, and the moment your cheek touched his shoulder and your eyes slipped closed, you knew it too. You were half asleep before he’d even reached the bedroom, dropping you both onto the mattress, still warm from his body, and cradling you to his chest. A sweet kiss and a deep rumble in your ear were the last things you recalled, before curling into his chest and falling asleep. 

Shaking out your hand, you whimpered a little at the pain taking over. “I’m going to end up with my hand locking in this shape.” 

Daphne glared at you from across the table, clearly still unhappy about the fact that two hours ago you’d managed to rope her into helping you with this job as well. Your eyes were blurring, your hand was cramping, and you were still only halfway through writing out the invitations. You’d put Daphne on folder organisation, her voice was hoarse from reading out addresses, and creating a filing system for RSVP’s and replies for your records. 

If you had to hear any more dietary requirements, special requests, or seating demands, you were going to lose your mind. Only a few more envelopes had been completed, joining the pile of ones still waiting to be sealed with wax and sent on their way, before a shooting pain shot up your arm as cramps set in. 

Dropping the quill in your hand and messing up the letter before you, you cursed at the smeared ink. Rubbing your palm and digging your thumb into the tense muscles, you conceded that now was most definitely the time to take a break. 

Swaggering into the room, Mattheo peered over at the mess that had become the shared kitchen table, his brows shooting up his forehead. “You two look busy.”

“I’m being held against my will,” Daphne muttered, tucking away the pages into the folder and beginning to pack away, despite your protests. 

“You want some help?” Mattheo offered, and your gaze snapped to him.

“Oh, Matty, that’s so sweet…” Your lips pressed together, wincing a little bit as he eyed all of the stationary and neatly-arranged piles on the table. “It’s just…”

“Your handwriting is shocking and your organisational skills are even worse.” Daphne put bluntly, and you hid a laugh at the sulky expression on his face, even if he knew it was true. “Besides, don’t you have a date tonight?”

“Well, yes.” He spun to give you both his back as his cheeks flushed pink, opening and closing random drawers in an attempt to look busy. 

You gave an excited squeal as Daphne smirked at his bashfulness. “Is it with—”

“Yes!” He huffed, the tips of his ears now turning red too.

“You really like this girl, huh? You never see the same girl twice, and this is, what, your fourth date?” Your teasing made him relent, and he at last turned around. He was picking nervously at the sweater he must’ve bought just for this occasion, as you’d never seen it before. 

“Fifth, actually. We, uhh, bumped into each other last week after class and went for some impromptu coffee, and…” He scratched the back of his neck, a sweet smile taking over. “Do I look okay?”

“You look lovely, Mattheo.” Standing up, you fixed his collar for him, brushing off the shoulders of his sweater, and he preened into your touch. “Oh, wow, Daph. You have to come and see this. Is this… what I think it is?”

“What?” Mattheo panicked, turning his head to his shoulder as you rubbed the fabric between your fingers. Turning him around, he attempted to peer over his shoulder as you turned the inside of his collar out. “What is it?”

“It doesn’t say it on the label, but…”

“You know, I think you’re right,” Daphne said, feeling the fabric stretched across his shoulders. “No, no, it definitely is.”

“What? I don’t have time to change! My jumper is what?” Mattheo gasped anxiously.

“Boyfriend material.” You said, very seriously, and it took a moment for the fear to melt out of his eyes and be replaced by annoyance. 

“Oh, fuck off.” Mattheo pushed you both away from him, scowling as your laughter filled the room, and the pair of you made your way back over to the table. “You two are the worst.”

“You love us.”

“I don’t know why.” He mumbled, glancing at the clock, even as his cheeks stretched into a smile. “I have to go soon. But how about I make you both a snack before I do? I can at least make a good sandwich.”

“That’s… everything.” You mumble, staring in awe at the two —almost three, filled folders of notes, invitations, floor plans and more. “I can’t believe that’s it.”

“It is?” Draco asked, through a mouthful of fried rice as he fixated on the screen. Since Mattheo’s introduction of a Muggle television into the flat, Draco had been hooked on a ‘sitcom’ a half-blood in one of his classes had introduced him to. He had written to Theo three times this week alone to update him on ‘Ross and Rachel’. Theo had given up replying last week.

“Yes. Everything, it’s all done.”

“Mhm.”

“Draco!” You snapped, and he paused the show, wide eyes moving to you as he stared innocently. “I’m done.”

It took him a moment to process before his face split into a wide grin. “You finished the party planning?”

“I did!” He put down his container of food as you dove across the couch to cup his cheeks, smacking giggly kisses onto his mouth as you took him down into the cushions with you. Large hands gripped your waist, a smile on his face as he chuckled by your ear.

“So, does this mean I get my girlfriend back, at last?”

“Yes, I suppose.” You rolled your eyes through a smile, flattening yourself out against him on the couch, content to melt into his body as he pressed play on the show. He picked up a new box, hand-feeding you dumplings in turns as the episode played on, and you chuckled between jokes and comedic pauses as you finally allowed yourself to unwind. 

“Don’t you think Pansy is just like Monica?” Draco asked after a while, wincing as you screeched a laugh beside his ear at the impromptu comparison. “The need to control, that inherently irritating early-morning mentality, looking shockingly good in red—”

You pinched his side, just over his ribs, and he yelped but did not continue comparing how good other women looked in red. After a second or two of deliberation, you added, “Tom is Ross.”

“What? No. Tom is Chandler! Tom is smart and ridiculously awkward and incapable of talking to women!” Draco argued, and you sat up in his lap, shaking your head. 

“No! No. Tom is Ross, the complete obsession with one specific thing and also being a massive control freak, plus, the commitment! He was adorably committed to Carol, and Rachel, bar that whole cheating moment—”

“They were on a break—” You pressed your finger over Draco’s lips to silence him. 

“Anyway, I can totally see Tom accidentally getting someone knocked up, and also, you have to save Joey and Chandler for Theo and Matty!”

Draco mulled it over, “Okay. I’ll give you that.”

He pulled you back down onto his chest, and you snuggled in. Between the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree and the dulled tones of the easy-going TV show to send you off into a hazy place, with Draco’s fingers smoothing up and down your back. 

“You look perfect.” You smiled, hands clasped under your chin as you looked at Draco in his newly fitted dress robes. This was the first time he was seeing them, the look on his face unreadable as he took in the design, fit and patterns, but you thought it was just right. “Do you like it?”

Draco looked at himself in the mirror again, straightening out the sleeves and buttoning the rather modern front, tucking one hand into a pocket. At last, he turned to you and smiled. “Well, it’s nothing like what my mother normally makes me wear, but I love it. Are you finally going to tell me the theme?”

“No! You said you didn’t want to give any opinions, so now, it’s a surprise! Nobody knows, except me!” Smoothing your hands over his shoulders and down his arms, you admired the pretty picture he painted before you, even in the dim light of your bedroom so late at night. “I have a couple of handkerchief options for your pocket, and I was thinking we could pin a sprig of holly onto your—”

Your words died in your throat in a sudden rush as a thought crossed your mind, and Draco waited, brow furrowing the longer you remained silent. “What’s wrong, you don’t like it?”

“I forgot a dress.” You whispered to yourself, shock draining from your body as realisation set in. “I got so caught up with everything else that I never ordered a dress! It’s next week, Draco! How am I supposed to find something by then, between classes and—”

“You’re okay.”

“No, this is so not okay!”

“Darling, breathe.” Draco cupped your face, kissing your lips quietly, “I have something for you.”

Opening up the wardrobe dedicated to his clothes, Draco pulled out a garment bag. Embroidered on the front in sparkling gold was the name of his family tailor, and he hooked it onto the front of the door. Unzipping it slowly, beautiful waves of green silk and jewels filled your vision, a sparkling corset and a flowing skirt that spilled out of the bag the moment it was open. 

“I noticed a few days ago that you’d ordered me new robes, but not a dress for yourself. I asked my mother and Daphne, and you hadn't planned anything with either of them. So, I ordered you something.”

“Oh, Dray…” You whispered, stepping closer to admire the dress. Your fingers hovered just over the top of it, and Draco carefully lifted it out, laying it over his arm for you to better admire. “It’s perfect. How in Merlin’s name did you know?”

“Well, red, green and gold were some of the specified colours on the invitations, and I knew damn well you weren’t going to dare dress me in red, so green it was. Plus, I mentioned to my tailor that I needed a dress for you that matched whatever secret outfit you had planned for me.” He shrugged, like it was no big deal, and your cheeks flushed as you looked between him and the dress. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

“Good, because I already picked up some jewellery for you too.” You quirked a brow, smirking at him as he rolled his eyes. “Can’t have you pulling the same nonsense you did last year, so I fetched a couple of items from the vault.”

“Can I see?”

“No. It’s a surprise. Unless, of course, there’s anything you want to tell me?” He bargained, and your jaw dropped at his audacity, shaking your head. 

“I love you?”

“Hm. No. But I love you too.” Kissing the tip of your nose, he held the dress up for you. “Try this on, I want to see you in it, and see us both side by side.” 

Taking it from his hands, the soft material slipped through your fingers and floated like clouds as you held it up. “Draco, I…”

Words died in your throat, unable to properly convey just how much this meant to you. Despite his refusal to get involved with the ridiculously stressful planning of the party, Draco had made sure to dote on you and take care of you all the way through. He seemed to see right through you, his expression softening as he leaned down to press his forehead to yours. “Hey. You take care of everyone else, and I’ll take care of you.”

Straightening out Draco’s collar for the eighth time, you huffed anxiously when he batted away your hands. “Darling, my robes are fine. Tug on them anymore and you’re going to crease them.”

“I’m sorry. I’m just so nervous.”

“Don’t be. You planned a perfect party, and you worked so hard. Let yourself enjoy it now.” Draco took both of your hands in his as he chuckled, kissing your knuckles as you conceded to his point. He was right, this ridiculous batch of nerves was far more out of a need to impress his mother than it was to impress anyone else on that invitation list, but you couldn't shake the buzz of trepidation in your veins. “Let me distract you.”

“Distract me?”

“Yes. Let me distract you.” Draco grinned, tipping your chin up with a finger underneath your jaw, and dipping his head down. His lips encased your own, a soft sound of pleasure bubbling from inside you as the taste of mint and lingering wine from his drinks with Theo spread to your tongue. Two large hands wrapped around your waist, settling on your lower back. He tugged you closer to him again, until you were crushed to his chest, no doubt wrinkling his robes, as your arms looped around his neck. 

With every crush of his mouth against your own, your worries slipped further from you, letting the proximity and adoration of your boyfriend settle the unease brewing within you. Something cold brushed against your collarbones, the dipped neckline of the dress Draco had chosen for you showed goosebumps in its wake, and you pulled back with a gasp at a tug on your earlobe. 

You raised your hand, a simple but elegant charmed bracelet was wrapping itself around your wrist, as your fingers brushed your sternum to feel the pendant of a necklace perfectly setting itself on your chest. In your ears, a string of diamonds now swung lightly from each one, completing your look at last. 

“Perfect. Now you’re properly adorned, as Malfoy woman should be.”

“Don’t tell me this necklace is your family crest like a brand.” You teased, pinching it between your thumb and forefinger, but only the precise cuts of a perfectly-carved gem were felt beneath your finger pads, not a name or brand to be found. 

“Well, I was tempted, but no. I went a little subtler, instead, I chose a very recognisable piece from the Malfoy public collections.”

His smirk made a flush rush to your cheeks, but you didn’t have time to address it before one of the Manor’s house elves popped into the empty space before you, curling a finger around its ear as it bobbed excitedly where it stood. “Misses first guests be arriving, the floo has been opened and the guest’s carriages be coming through the gates. Does miss or sirs be needing anything else, or should Fip be starting pouring the drinks?”

“Pouring drinks would be excellent, thank you, Fip.” Draco murmured, sending the elf away with one final pat on your back as he stepped away, Draco smoothed a hand down the front of his robes. With the mere wave of a hand, the large wooden doors separating you both from the grand hall began to creak open, and Draco offered you an arm. “Shall we greet our guests, my love? I’m rather excited to see your party theme at last.”

You slid your arm through his, taking one more bracing deep breath, before at last turning to see the culmination of all your hard work. 

As the doors parted further, you were left breathless at the sight of the room before you. It had been transformed, from something you’d seen so many times before in so many luxurious visions, to the dream of your own making. The enchanted ceiling was that of swirling clouds and a dark, starry sky. Snow that could pass for real floated around the outside of the room in glittering flakes that disappeared into thin air before touching the floor, creating a wintery setting that was countered by the cosy and warm feel of the crackling fireplaces around the room. 

Floating around the dance floor were sparkling, swirling lights that would bob and weave between the guests, keeping the lighting low and romantic as candles flickered on the tables and gave the room a wonderfully golden glow. Tablecloths brushing the floors, centrepieces made of golden flowers, wreaths and holly berries. Snow-touched Christmas trees, twinkling lights and ornaments, red ribbons, green silk, accents of gold and silver, and it all came together so perfectly. Draco walked you slowly towards the centre of the room as he took it all in, his jaw dropped as he peered around the room. 

“Well, we’ve certainly never had anything like this before.” He whispered. “It feels so… cosy.”

“Do you think they’ll—”

‘Who cares what they think? Do you like it?” Draco pressed, cutting you off as the two of you stood squarely in the centre of the room, the spelled instruments in the corner starting to play classical versions of your favourite Christmas songs, and his lips flicked up at the corners. “Are you happy with it, my darling?”

“I love it.” You finally relented, pressing your lips together to quash nerves and choosing instead to revel in your masterpiece. “I wanted to tap into that old-fashioned, classical, comforting Christmas. I wanted to make my mark, I wanted something beautiful but simple, I wanted it to feel like an intimate gathering, not a social event.”

The doors at the other end of the hall opened slowly, voices from the other side filtering through, and your attention turned to that of your friends and their families. Theo whistled under his breath as he looked around, stopping abruptly at his father’s command, and he rolled his eyes when the older man wasn’t looking. Across the room, he caught your gaze, and gave an approving nod and a smirk. Pansy’s lips were curled into a smile as Daphne’s jaw dropped, admiring the enchanted sky-scene with her sister. 

You moved to greet them, accepting their approval and using the warmth their comfort offered to soothe the jagged feelings inside of you and put them to rest. 

The more the crowds piled in, the better you felt, slipping into polite chatter and breezy small talk as you greeted each guest to pass through. The drinks were flowing, the music was playing, and most of all, people were smiling. You’d only heard compliments, no whispered talk under anyone's breath of backhanded compliments, only genuine kindness. 

By the time Narcissa and Lucius came gliding into the hall, you’d almost been reassured enough to let your guard down. However, as the regal older lady greeted all her old friends and favoured guests on her way to you, the nerves all seemed to reappear. 

By the time she reached you, her hands had extended out and clutched your own as she smiled. “My, my, dear. What a party you threw, and to think you’ve been so worried. You had no need to be.”

Your jaw dropped, and you shook your head. “I-I wouldn't say worried, just a little concerned, that’s all—”

“Please, let us not hide things from one another. Draco has been writing to me, he told me you were panicking like a, what was that odd Muggle term you used, like a headless chicken?” Her nose wrinkled as you blushed, and Lucius rolled his eyes. Your glare turned to Draco, who only shrugged and sipped his drink, feigning innocence. “This is a marvellous party, I hope you’re proud of it.”

“I am. It was exhausting, though. I don’t know how you do it.” You sighed, and she smirked as she squeezed your hands before letting go. 

“Did it.”

“Hm?” You questioned, and her shoulders rose and fell delicately. 

“Oh, you did such a fantastic job here. You’re all anyone is talking about, and truly, I am so tired of planning these events. I think it’s due time you take over them now. The next one is February, I’ll be sure to send you all of the details.” Your jaw dropped open at her words and Draco choked a little on his champagne. His father scowled, poking him in the ribs with his cane and telling him to stop slouching and spluttering, as you tried to find words. 

“Oh, I’m not sure that—”

“Lucius, dear, I think I see Tauria Parkinson. Come, I must ask her about her gardens.” 

“Yes, dear.” He mumbled quietly, and she had whisked her husband away before you’d even finished your sentence and turned to Draco. With your jaw still dropped in horror and shock, he covered his snicker behind his hand. 

“I can’t believe this.”

“What? She’s right. You planned a great party, and you were going to have to take over all of this one day anyway—”

“Draco!”

“Yes, dear?” He drawled, and you smacked lightly at his chest with the back of your hand.

“You’re a menace. I hope you know that you will be helping with party planning. If we’re to proceed down this road, we’ll be a modern couple. None of your old-fashioned ways.” You scoffed, taking his drink from his hand and swirling the bubbly inside, before drinking the rest in a single gulp.

“None of them?” He pressed, an arm snaking around your waist as his lips brushed your neck. His lips moved to your neck, whispering some sweet, some slightly inappropriate things into your ear about honeymoon traditions, drawing a laugh from you. 

“Alright, maybe a few.” You caved, tipping your head up to him just in time to catch the growing sprig of mistletoe over your head. Snaking one hand around to cup the back of his neck, you pulled his lips down to yours, brushing your mouths together lovingly. “Happy Christmas, Draco.”

“Happy Christmas, my love.”

[mylove-iv]

⠀𐔌 . ⋮ red tiger balm .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

ʚ narumi gen x fem, physical therapist! reader ɞ

synopsis: during a joint training conference between the first and third divisions, many notice how captain narumi gen seems to have fallen head over heels for you but what they don't catch is that you both smell like spiced mint, cinnamon, and clove.

genres: fluff, romance.

content warnings: profane language (it's gen duh).

word count: 1.1k words.

author's note: inspired by my love for the warm scent of red tiger balm and how much i love narumi gen ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

‎‧₊ ─ masterlist .ᐟ ༘

Narumi Gen smells of spiced mint, cinnamon, and clove.

It’s a subtle warm medicinal smell that clears one’s nose when Narumi walks past or when one stands near him.

Some days, it’s faint and nearly indistinguishable but whenever Tuesday rolls around and their Captain returns from his off-base day off, the same spicy camphor scent never fails to make a full return subtly with its strong aroma sticking closely to Japan’s Strongest Anti-Kaiju Combatant.

It’s become a running gag within the first division that Narumi’s part-time job during the colder seasons where runny and stuffy noses are at an all time high is being everyone’s Vick’s vapor rub.

But one winter’s Monday morning, kaiju alarms ring throughout Tokyo and many bear witness to the palpable irritation on Narumi Gen’s face as he arrives on base.

Amid the smoke and ash lingering through the air, those working directly with the Captain note the unusual absence of the scent of spiced mint, cinnamon, and clove that Narumi normally smells of. 

Another thing many officers of the First Division also notice is that along with the aroma’s absence is that it goes hand in hand with Narumi’s intensified impatience and snark as he barked harsh order after harsh order.

Many are unsure on which cologne, balm, or hell, even perfume the First Division’s Captain uses to attain such a fresh and warm scent yet none dare ask their quick-tempered Captain.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

When the joint training conference between the First and Third Division rolls around at the Tachikawa base, it doesn’t take long for platoon leaders and a few officers of the First Division to catch onto how their Captain’s soft currant red eyes seems to latch onto you, the Third Division’s resident physical therapist.

Members of both divisions soon bear witness to how Narumi’s gaze always seems to be searching for you and how they soften whenever you enter the same room he was in. 

They also don’t miss how he always seems to be at a loss of words whenever you speak to him, a gentle yet sweet smile on your face as you ask him if his shoulder is still tight and how much adoration fills his usually tired eyes whenever he's in your presence.

It then clicks to many that Narumi Gen, Captain of the first Division and Japan’s strongest Anti-Kaiju Combatant, has a big fat crush on the Third Division’s physical therapist.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

With Narumi’s constant visits to you under the guise of tight muscles and achy limbs, it’s become routine for Hoshina to tease him relentlessly.

You’ve just finished sanitizing your therapy table when a soft knock rasps itself against the wood of your office door.

Humming a sweet ‘come in,’ your irises meet soft currant red ones and a honeyed smile is tugging at your lips when you see Captain Narumi in your doorway.

“Captain Narumi,” Your voice is a bit breathy due to your fumble of pausing at the sight of him but he’s entranced nonetheless. “How can I help you?”

It takes him an embarrassing moment to formulate a response to your question but he quickly rasps out, “My wrist is actin’ up again.”

Worry floods your eyes and Narumi savors how your eyes trail from his own down his body and to his right wrist.

It’s greedy of him to watch eagerly how your teeth sinks into your bottom lip in concern but a pang of disappointment tinges his chest as your eyes move off his body and to his left.

He follows your gaze silently and Narumi doesn’t bother hiding the pure indignation on his face when his eyes meet deep wine red ones.

Are you fucking kidding me?

“Narumi, what can I do for ya?” Hoshina’s grin widens as Narumi’s eyes stretches open when that bowl-cut jerk sits himself in front of you—infuriatingly close—on the therapy table.

Your eyes look apologetic enough to soothe the jealousy raging in Narumi, “I’m sorry Captain Narumi but Vice-Captain Hoshina has an appointment with me currently.”

Hoshina 1, Narumi 0.

He feels like a kicked puppy. “But please wait, I’ll take you in after treating Vice Captain Hoshina.” You words have him perking up, a small lovesick grin tugging at his face before he’s padding out your door, not before sparing a withering glare towards Hoshina whose grin becomes a bit more teasing.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

After a bit of waiting, your head pops out from your office and Narumi’s chest tightens when you smile oh so sweetly. “Sorry for the wait Cap, but come on in.”

He’s aching to be near you so when you disappear further into your office and Hoshina walks past him, the smell of mint and menthol wafts in his nose.

Narumi’s nose wrinkles at the scent, huffing in distaste causing Hoshina to snicker slightly before the former is shutting the door and seating himself onto your therapy table, thighs spreading slightly as you set yourself between them. 

“It’s your shoulder again, hm?” You murmur softly, fingers tweaking the muscle beneath his clavicle, feeling how tight they were before moving a bit further up, causing Narumi to wince gently.

“Mh.” Narumi hums as his eyes flutter to a close, basking in your warmth as he enjoys the the smell of spiced mint, cinnamon, and clove permeating through your office space.

┊ ੈ✩‧₊*°࿐ྂ。

The week-long joint training conference draws to a close and many, especially those of the First Division, have gotten sick and tired of the longing glances their Captain continuously throws at you.

He hasn’t even made a move on you yet for fuck’s sake! Many groan in their heads as both division Captains and Vice Captains salute to each other as a thanks.

You stand beside your division Captain, Ashiro Mina, with a gentle smile on your face and many hold their breath when Narumi takes a step towards you.

Please make a move! Officers of both divisions pray before they watch with a bated breath when Narumi takes your hand sweetly, placing a gentle kiss atop your knuckles as your cheeks tint pink.

Jaws then drop as Narumi’s other hand trails along your jaw before taking your chin and pulling you in for a sweet kiss.

It’s takes way too long before someone reacts. “Narumi, get yer damn lips off my pt!” Hoshina hollers, disbelief lining his features as his eyes are wide open in shock.

“What?” The mentioned captain grunts, eyes glaring at the said man as his next words leaves everyone speechless.

Cause who would've thought that Narumi Gen has the balls to-

“Is it so wrong to kiss my wife?” Narumi snarks causing an uproar between both divisions as you laugh sweetly, forcing his eyes to latch onto your pretty face as enamored expression settles itself on his face when you look up at him so lovingly.

Fuck, my wife is so pretty! Narumi finds himself thinking like the lovesick fool he is for you.

© 2024 𝐌𝐘𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆-𝐈𝐕. do not copy, repost, share, or translate any of my works to tiktok, instagram, and/or any other websites/platforms.

[ariestrxsh]

I'm gonna revamp my ask about "gf that's obsessed with cheetah/cow/tiger print and everything bright and pastel, totally not because I'm one of them myself"™

Can we pleaseee get a drabble where she has a innocent and cutesy demeanor which turns chris on because he knows that that's not all there is to her?

My life will be even more yours that it was beforehand

Thank you for being so patient. I'm sorry it took me so long to get to this. 💖

Chris isn't buying your innocent act...

"I'm a good girl, Chris. I don't do that, you crinkled your nose and squinted at your boyfriend when the subject of masturbation came up. The two of you were lying next to one another on your bed, both sinking into your fluffy, pastel pink comforter.

He side-eyed you, giving you a skeptical look and lightly scoffing at your lies. "What? It's true. I don't ever do anything naughty," you told him, biting back a smirk. "Oh yeah?" He snarked back, rolling over on top of you.

He sensually slid his long fingers down your smooth stomach, tickling you and giving you goosebumps. Your breath hitched in your throat as you prepared for him to stick his hand down your pants.

Instead, he stopped at your hip where your cheetah-print thong was peeking out of the waistband of your Juicy Couture track pants. He hooked his finger into the strap of your g-string and snapped it against your skin.

You let out a soft whine at the sensation that sounded halfway like a disappointed sigh. He smugly grinned at you. "What did you think I was gonna do, huh?" Chris asked, raising an eyebrow and watching a needy expression sneak into your facial features. "Nothing," you giggled softly.

"I don't think I'm buying your innocent act. I bet these are all soaked," Chris taunted you, playing with the strap of your panties again. "It's not an act. I am a good girl," you reiterated, trying to uphold your pure demeanor.

"I bet if I look in here.." Chris started to say, reaching over you to slide open the drawer to your nightstand. "I might just find something that proves I'm right about you."

"Chris!" You exclaimed, trying to stop him from reaching into your drawer, but it was too late. You heard a familiar hum as Chris smirked down at you. He presented your bright purple buzzing toy to you. "Then what's this, huh?" Chris teased you, running the toy along your exposed stomach.

You shivered, looking up at him with your innocent doe eyes and chewing on your lip, but you stayed silent. "Not gonna answer me, huh? I guess I'm gonna have to show you then," Chris seductively whispered before he started kissing your neck.

He slid the toy down the front of your pants, resting it against your clit. The feeling sent waves of pleasure through you, causing your eyes to roll back into your head. "Chris," you softly moaned, finally giving up the act. "That's it. Let go," he rasped into your ear, tickling your earlobe with his soft lips.

You gave into the sensation, lifting your hips off the bed and rolling them forward. He hit the button on your vibrator, changing it to your favorite setting. He loved knowing exactly what you liked, and he got off on knowing you weren't as naive as you pretended to be. He watched you fall apart on your toy as you trembled beneath him.

"You can try to act all sweet and innocent, but I know all your secrets, naughty girl."

[miley1442111]

(part 8) choices in hindsight- a.donaldson

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

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

summary: eleven years later.

(dw there are more parts after this :))

pairing: art donaldson x reader, patrick zweig x reader

warnings: angst, feelings of disappointment and depression, hurt, cheating, loneliness, etc.

PART 8 of 12

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

Eleven years later….

You sat beside the umpire, your opponent smashing her racket in frustration as tears fell down her face. You were tired. Every bone in your body ached, your muscles were tense, your skin felt too tight. 

Your mind was worse. Playing tennis since you were a little girl does that to someone. Being in the public eye does that to someone, being alone does that to someone.

“You fucking bitch!” She shouted. “You fucking bitch!”

You didn’t care about it, the match was done, and you’d won. As usual. 

You hated tennis. You hated your life. Your lonely, empty life. 

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

“How about a challenger? To boost your motivation?” Your manager, Michael, offered. 

“I’ll do whatever,” you shrugged. 

Michael stopped in front of you, stopping you from walking. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m fine,” you plastered on a fake smile. “Just tired.”

“In what sense?” He asked. He’d always been able to see right through you. You rolled your eyes. 

“In the sense that I’m completely alone and I’m sick of knowing that I’m a winner while I feel like a failure!” You exploded. “Tashi and Art got married. Patrick isn’t anywhere near as good as he was. I have no friends. I have no family. I have nothing but a bunch of cold, metal trophies, and a team who don’t care if I want to play anymore. All they care about is my game. And I fucking hate tennis!” 

Michael stared at you, face hardening. “You really had to do that in front of everyone?” He asked. You looked around. Your team was around you, but so was your next opponent.

“I’m not exactly worried,” you snarled. 

Michael rolled his eyes. “Go win the match, then we’ll let you have some alcohol and you can drown your sorrows.”

“Fuck yourself!” you shouted as he walked away. 

“How can I do that when you’re constantly fucking me over anyways!” He shouted back. 

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

Back on the court again. Another subpar player against you. 

HIT. You’re worthless. HIT. You’re awful. HIT. You’re nothing. HIT. You deserve to be lonely. HIT. You deserve to be alone. HIT. You deserve to feel worthless.

HIT. Be better. HIT. Be stronger. HIT. Be more. 

HIT. 

“We have a winner!” 

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

“Come on!” Lily shouted from beside him, her eyes on the court as you won, yet again. She’d seen her mother do it so much she was turning it into a catch-phrase. 

“She’s pretty good, right?” He chuckled, his eyes never leaving you. He didn't want to let himself admit it, but god you looked good. The white tennis outfit you had on was practically making him weak in the knees, as well as the 'I don't give a shit' attitude you carried with you. You were simply leaning in your chair, a drink in hand as your opponent screamed to her manager about how unfair playing against you was.

I mean she wasn't wrong. You were the top female tennis player and you were practically unbeatable. You were incredible.

“She’s amazing!” Lily smiled. “When does she play again?”

“Tomorrow,” he answered. He had your schedule memorised. 

“Can I meet her?” 

Art shook his head. “She and mom have a complicated history.” Also, I’m still madly in love with her.

“How so?” Lily asked as he walked with her, hand in hand to the concessions stand. 

“Well, back in college mom and her didn’t get along because mom couldn’t beat her-” he started but he felt Tashi beside him. 

“You’re lying to Lily now?” She snarked. 

Art felt his skin go cold. “No. It’s true-”

“I beat her,” Tashi nodded. “Dad used to date Y/n as well, isn’t that right?”

Art nodded and Lily looked up at him.

“That’s weird,” she confessed. “Why did you break up?”

“I was in love with mom,” Art lied and kissed Tashi on the cheek, the entire display looking awkward and rehearsed. His regret and resentment grew everyday. He’d never regret having Lily, but he regretted everything he did to you, and letting you get away. 

“That’s gross!” She squealed, shielding her eyes from her parents kissing.

“Alright peanut, what do you want?” He asked, moving up in the line and getting ready to order. 

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

HIT.  Train harder. HIT. Work harder. HIT. You deserve nothing. 

The ball hit into your side and you groaned out in pain. “Fuck!”

You let yourself rest on the ground, not even bothering to turn off the automatic ball-throwing machine. 

“Hi,” a familiar voice smiled at you. Your eyes opened to find Patrick Zweig over your head. 

“Hi,” you mumbled, getting up. 

“How are you?” he asked, following you as you began to hit the balls again. 

“Fine,” you grunted out. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he smirked, watching your figure as you bent to hit a ball. “Very good.”

“Your dad give you a job yet?” 

Patrick’s fantasy was broken. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “No, not yet.”

“Too bad. You’d make a much better corporate asshole than the piece-of-shit tennis player you are.”

“Tread easy,” he chuckled, a touch of pathetic begging in his plea. You just rolled your eyes and continued on your exercise. 

“How about you go fuck yourself, Patrick?” Tashi scoffed from the stands, Art beside her. 

“How can I go back to that when she fucks me so well?” He joked. HIT. 

“Leave her alone Pat,” Art sighed. HIT. 

“Why are you defending her?” Tashi questioned, turning to Art. HIT. 

“She is right here in case you don’t see her,” Pat defended. HIT. 

“Pat we fucking know-” Art started, but it just ended up in Tashi talking over him to the point that Patrick started talking over both of them in the argument. 

HIT. HIT. HIT. 

“All three of you can fuck off!” you screamed. “I never want to see your stupid face again Patrick, Tashi you can stop flaunting that you got the love of my life, and Art, go be a dad or something! I don’t care anymore!” 

All three of them turned to you with various faces. Patrick was smirking, happy he’d finally pushed your buttons to the extreme. Tashi looked awkward and caught, maybe even guilty. 

But Art. Art looked at you like you’d hung the stars just for him, then tore it all down in front of him. His beautiful blue eyes filling with tears as he finally got to hear you admit that he was the love of your life, only eleven years too late. 

“I’m content with being alone, as shit as it is. I suggest you all move on from me now,” you sighed, grabbing your bag and walking off to find you manager. 

“See you at the challenger!” Patrick called after you. The ATP Challenger Tour. 

The same one from eleven years ago. 

Where everything fell apart. 

You got that familiar sinking feeling in your stomach.

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

art donaldson masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games, challengers :)

people who asked to be tagged :)

@fkaams

@emily-b

@yourmommycallsmemommy

@hrtsj1m

@januarycolor

[amazinglyegg]

I haven't been on Tumblr or active with fallout for a long time, but I've always really loved how you write for the companions and I remember reading through your masterlists for comfort whenever I was boref or sad! I don't know if you still do requests, but,

How do you think the companions would be with a Sole Survivor with anger issues or a nasty temper? Especially if they're actively trying to work on it to be better with not lashing out?

Companions React: Sole working on their anger issues!

Cait:

She doesn't even bat an eye

I imagine anger is a very common defense mechanism in the wasteland, even more so with raiders that already have the "angry brutes" persona expected of them

Doesn't mean she's not the slightest bit disappointed, though

Not quite uncomfortable (or at least, not in a way she'd admit), but after being forced to both be full of rage and surrounded by unapologetically angry assholes for most of her life, she doesn't have a positive opinion of it.

So she'll actually be quite pleasently surprised if she sees Sole even express slight remorse. Actually making an effort to change? She's impressed

She knows how hard it is to control that anger. She sees, possibly better than anyone, how strong Sole is when they reign themselves in.

Curie:

As a Ms. Nanny I think she wouldn't appreciate anger from anyone. Not only does she think it's unecessary, but she can't really empathize - anger doesn't come often, if at all for her.

She gains a new perspective with her synth body, though.

Emotions aren't just mild and appropriate anymore, they're intense. Everything she feels becomes full-body sensations that throws her off her tracks.

(She might even burst into tears of Sole directs their anger to her)

I feel like she's very empathetic too. It won't take long for her to go from being annoyed by Sole to completely understanding them or even getting angry alongside them.

Sole working on their anger issues might become a team effort with Curie around, but she's more than happy to be along for the ride and keep them both accountable.

Codsworth:

Codsworth, forever loyal, will do everything in his power to support Sole

Breathing techniques, collecting broken bottles and dishes for Sole to smash, finds those little tabletop punching bags or stress balls for Sole. Just anything that comes to mind.

Knows when it's time to just give Sole their space, thankfully. If they want to go off and break a room in rage he'll patiently wait outside until they're done and offer to help clean up

Dare I say he might be a bit too hesitant to call Sole out on their behavior - he'll point out general snark when he sees it, but explosive, rightous, or grieving anger? He'll give them as much leeway as he can

He's very happy to see Sole work on themselves and will make sure to remind them he's proud when he notices them improve!

Danse:

Danse has seen this time and time again, so he's not at all phased by it

The second he clocks Sole's anger issues he's leading them towards exercising as an outlet. It works for him and for most soldiers he's trained.

I wouldn't be surprised of anger is the emotion he's most comfortable with dealing with. He's awkward as hell around someone crying, celebrating, feeling sick... but anger has a clear source and response. He can work with that.

That doesn't mean he'll put up with any sort of insubordination, however. Sole will still be getting strict punishments for acting out against a superior.

He will be proud of them for working on their anger issues, and will be more than happy to aid them in any way he can. He thinks very highly of people who can recognize disruptive behavior put in the effort to work on themselves.

Deacon:

He's been there, but that doesn't mean he's too thrilled with it.

Making a scene is the last thing a spy should be doing, and even if Sole can manage their anger while on the job, it still makes him uneasy when he does see them lash out.

But I feel like Deacon's too willing to bite his tongue to keep from rocking the boat. It'll probably take a lot for him to bring up Sole's anger issues, especially if it's clear they're actually working on it.

He'll take a more distanced approach overall. Maybe leading them away from triggering situations before they happen and whatnot

Won't indulge if Sole tries to turn their anger onto him. Like if they're the type of person to try and bait an argument to let off steam he can see right through it, and he really doesn't appreciate it. Might direct them towards a healthier outlet if he's feeling nice.

Gage:

Oh, Gage likes it. Of course he does. Half of being a raider is just one big dick measuring contest.

Sole working on their anger issues would be a double-edged sword to him. He wants Sole to be strategic about their anger, not get rid of it entirely. Only snap at people who deserve it, right?

(And a lot of people deserve it)

He'll always expect a certain amount of hostility from Sole, and may even prefer there to be a bit too much than a bit too little. Other than that, he's not too fussed about Sole's emotions.

At worst might tease them a bit, but he's smart enough to back off if he can tell they really don't appreciate it

Hancock:

I feel like Hancock's conquered anger as an emotion. He's got it under control, whether that be through mindfulness or copious amounts of drugs and alcohol.

So I think he'll actually be good at helping Sole get better if they ask for his help.

Won't put up with Sole snapping at him though. You can't deny being mayor has gotten to his head a bit, and being accused or questioned makes him feel like his position is being threatened.

Sole will have to go out of their way to apologize to him if they get in an argument, especially if they started it

Otherwise he doesn't take any of their issues to heart for the most part. It's like water off a ducks back, as long as they're not causing issues for Goodneighbor citizens, of course.

Maccready:

He begrudgingly puts up with them at first - he's dealt with a lot worse in the past and he needs the money

Once he sees how much Sole is putting in the effort to change, he really starts to appreciate them more

It's a breath of fresh air to see someone actually working on themselves instead of taking the easy road and embracing being an asshole

I don't think he'll comment on it too much unless it interferes with whatever work they're doing, he likes to stay in his own lane and let others work through their own problems

Nick:

He sees Sole's anger and is curious about the root cause. Is it grief? Were they wronged in some way? Are they trying to protect themself?

I imagine Nick's good at conflict resolution in general. If Sole snaps at him he'll almost always walk away and let them take a breather before revisiting the conversation. He doesn't take what they say to heart and he's willing to be as patient as it takes as long as they're making an effort to be better.

Nick definitely gets snappy if Sole lets out their anger on others, though. He won't hesitate to call out if they're overreacting on someone who doesn't deserve it.

He's good at reading the situation, at least. You know you've fucked up when Sole snaps at you and Nick just shrugs and lets it happen.

Piper:

I feel like Piper's a pretty passionate person, which can pead to her and Sole hyping each other up when something pisses them off

Like Sole would get in an argument with someone else and hours later Piper will be like "... I can't believe he said that to you!" and they'll start ranting all over again

Immediately loses her energy if Sole directs it at her though

She's used to being yelled at so it doesn't affect her much, but she doesn't like seeing Sole upset and will turn her attention to trying to help them feel better

In general more worried for Sole than annoyed by their behavior. She obviously doesn't approve of snapping at people who don't deserve it but she knows Sole already knows and doesn't need to be badgered about it.

Preston:

Preston's not exactly a stranger to anger. Irritability is a symptom of depression. The rage he feels towards what happened at Quincy almost scares him at times.

But I also feel like he's done a lot of unhealthy repression that makes him just a bit uncomfortable with seeing Sole's outbursts

Both because hey, that's not how the general should act, and because he knows how much he wants to do the same.

So he gets it, he's just not comfortable with it. He'll help Sole with whatever they need but he'll probably want them to tell him that, since his best advice would be like, alcoholism and crying yourself to sleep.

(And he doesn't want to admit he's been doing that for a while now)

Honestly probably annoying to get into an argument with him. He'll just blank stare 😐 at Sole and wait until they're done. Bro's not engaging until you use your inside voice.

Strong:

Yes!! YES!! FEEL YOUR RAGE!! KILL DESTORY MAIM!!

He's like a dog hearing the word "walk". He gets hyped.

The only time he won't be hyped is if Sole's more of a "four hour long screaming match" type of person. He doesn't care too much for talking.

Sole has Strong as the devil on their soulder telling them to smash peoples skulls in on a daily basis.

X6-88:

X6 isn't impressed.

Maybe it's all the trauma of being raised as a robot and having any undesirable emotion beat out of him, but he views anger as a weakness overall.

Loud, uncontrollable, and rude is the exact opposite of what the director of the Institute should be. He probably even goes as far as to think that they should keep their cool even during combat. No need to complicate things.

Honestly he probably has some deep set issues regarding emotions in general. Anything more than mild and situationally appropriate is annoying to him.

He'll put up with Sole as they get better, though. He knows better than to complain while Sole's actively taking steps to improve themself. Don't punish behavior you want to see and all.

[short-honey-badger]

Twas Beauty, who killed the Beast

Summary! Anyone who knew of Kuraigana Island knew to avoid the place at all costs, for if the raging ocean did not claim you, then the beast rumored to live within the castle would. Sailors and pirates alike had disappeared upon the shores of this island, never to be seen again. So, it came as a surprise to one Dracule Mihawk to see the body of a young woman lying in the black sands of the harbor. Pairings! Beast Dracule Mihawk x Female Reader

“What if she is the one, Mihawk?” Perona says softly, though there is still a subdued quality to her speech. The ghost had gotten spurned more often than not, having gotten her hopes up over a potential curse breaker only to be disappointed over and over again. However, there was just something about the woman who Mihawk carried further into the castle, and Perona couldn’t help but hope that this woman would be the one.

Mihawk scoffs as if the idea that this beautiful woman would want anything to do with such a beastly man like him. He was caustic and sarcastic, hard to get along with, and so held zero expectations that anything would come out of this woman being here. Not to mention the less-than-human features he possessed. She would want nothing to do with him, so why would he even try?

“Don’t be ridiculous, Perona,” Mihawk snarks and gently kicks open the door to the room he has chosen. It is lavishly furnaced with a large four-poster bed draped with deep green curtains. A fireplace is set into the west wall, and two plush armchairs are situated in front of it. A large, soft rug spans across the room, and a small dining table sits by the window showing off the view of the island, though one can’t see much with how thick the fog is.

Link to AO3 -> HERE

@mfreedomstuff i have finally started it! ❤️❤️

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

PAINT YOUR SKIN

KINKTOBER DAY 4 - WAX PLAY WITH JONATHAN CRANE

Pairing - Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

Summary - You fall into Scarecrow's hands and are forced to play along with his games.

Warnings - noncon, dubcon, bondage, wax play, candle insertion? lmao.

Word count - .6k

Notes - This was one of my favourites to write. Also I’m currently in my layover on my t w e n t y f o u r hour journey home so posting this one now.

The darkness was supposed to be your ally. Although, with your sight taken from you, clothing completely stripped and limbs restricted onto the leather medical bed, you were at your captor’s, Jonathan Crane’s mercy. The effects of the fear toxin still lingered throughout your mind. Whispers at the back of your head of what would occur. The natural sweet smells of candle wax did not ease your anxiety. 

You yelped out as another hot drip of candle wax splattered across your stomach. As you whined in sync of the trail of scorching liquid traveling up your body, your thighs attempted to press together, but failed to meet each other with the restraints keeping them apart, toes curling. 

“Please… No more” you whimpered, squirming in your tight restraints. 

When Jonathan’s fingertips brushed over your knee, you flinched with a whimper. There was a large smirk on Jonathan’s sinister lips as his hand explored up your leg. 

“Oh but Batgirl… I thought I was hearing moans of pleasure” Jonathan chuckled, his tone mocking at your alter ego, his hands trailing over the thickening wax on your thighs. 

“I- I- get it… I won’t get in the way anymore” you pledged, voice full of anguishment and frantic. 

Jonathan laughed slowly, loudly, condescendingly. His guffaw echoed throughout the walls of your brain and slipped down into your gut. 

“Oh so easily broken! The fun has hardly begun, my little bat…” Jonathan toyed, his hand squeezed your inner thigh. 

One of his fingers grazed closely to your bare cunt and you gasped out. As your body froze over, he did it again but through a slower movement. His tongue poked out to lick his lips as he observed your open pussy, already dripping with slick. 

“Jonathan please! Anything else” you begged, your lip trembling as his fingers continued to brush near your sensitive area. Your body squirmed like a fish out of water. 

“No, no… I want to play with you and your sensitive body… I fear you’d react more courageously to me beating you with a baseball bat” he sighed, seemingly disappointed. 

“Please!” You cried, voice thinning quickly of hope. 

“I haven't even touched your cunt yet darling” Jonathan franked, his fingers circling over your clit. “Oh, nevermind” he grinned, dragging his digits down your slippery folds. 

“No! Jonathan you can’t!” you wailed

“I can do whatever I want with you… You’re my little test subject now. This is what you get for pretending to be a big girl and snooping in the dark. Now you deal with the consequences” he proclaimed sternly. 

“Anything else!” you sobbed. 

Eagerly, his fingers pressed against your tight entrance. You hissed lightly in pain and fought off his filthy advances. 

“Get off me!” you snarled. 

“Yes Batgirl, put up a fight for me… I like a challenge” Jonathan snarked, slapping your side harshly, you hissed at him. 

“Fuck you” you barked out, attempting to lift your body towards as closely as possible. 

“In due time…” Jonathan assured. 

He walked over to the medical bench and picked up an unlit white candle, approximately six inches long. The stick twirled around in the air as he smiled to himself and spun his foot back towards you. 

You gasped out as he twisted the stick a couple of inches into your entrance. You tried to wiggle it out with your hips but Jonathan harshly slapped your inner thigh. With the flick of the wrist, the match roared alive as he brought it to the wick. 

“When this candle completely melts around your cunt and the wick burns out, I’ll copulate you” Jonathan promised, a menacing grin on his lips.

TAG LIST

[quixotickoi]

Knockout Round!!

boxer!sukuna x drummer!reader

Synopsis: You and Ryomen have never had the most cordial of relationships; however, something deep, deep inside your heart burned with a carnal desire to learn the landscape of his body. Your band sets you up for a dangerous rendezvous, and you learned a lot more than you thought you would.

Warnings: Implied sex, hickeys, biting, fingering

word count: 3.7k

------

The amps buzzed angrily, a deafening hornets’ nest of rage and defiance. The sound crackled out, leaving the faint rumble of inactive electricity. Yuji set his guitar against his amp, wringing his hands out. Maki rolled her shoulders out, and you set down your drumsticks. In front of you three, on the couch in the basement of Gojo Hall, Choso had set up a camcorder; Nobara was typing away intently on her phone, and Megumi was playing something on his raggedy PC. Even with his disgustingly loaded godfather, he never let that go. 

“Kamo, cut that,” said Maki. She tweaked her tuning pegs, frowning slightly.

“I thought you sounded good.” shrugged Choso. “Guess I don’t have the ear.” Megumi frowned at the computer, then at the man next to him.

“They sounded like a swamp. I couldn’t hear the bass from the guitar.”

“Hey!” Yuji shouted indignantly. “If Soundgarden did it, why can’t we?”

“You think you’re Chris Cornell?” 

“I assume you think you’re Pharrell; even your producer tag does the beat thing.” 

You and Maki exchanged glances at their bickering. Exasperatedly, you threw a drumstick at Yuji’s head; it bounced off before hitting the ground with a thunk. Nobara looked up, giggling behind her phone as Yuji threw it back ferociously. Catching it, you twirl it in your limber fingers. “We have to get our shit together, guys. It’s not our first gig, but it’s gonna be our last if Yuji won’t start singing worth a damn.”

“I’d like to see you try playing an instrument and singing at the same time.”

“Drums are actually hard, Yuji. Ya gotta use a thing called skill.”

“Didn’t know you used it. Our drumlines are so impossibly easy a million monkeys could do them by accident.” He messed with his dials, strumming over any retaliation. “Besides, we play in a week or so. We’ll have it down by then.”

“We could always play something old,” volunteered Maki. “It’s not like we’re popular enough to get people wanting more.”

“I’ll have you know a girl stopped me to tell me she knows our band!” said Yuji indignantly. 

“Likely from the ear-shattering music under the basement. I doubt she can tell us from the other bands that practice here.” Maki unplugged her bass, packing it into her coffin case, along with her pedal and wire. “I have to go now. Phys project in the works.” She shuffled up the stairs, strong-arming her bass on the way up. The door creaked behind her slightly. You stuffed your drumsticks in a ridiculously large pocket, stretching out your back. Yuji looked mildly disappointed. Smiling sympathetically, you help Nobara off the couch, and Choso turns off the camcorder.

“It’s, like, 2 A.M. right now,” Nobara mentioned callously. She had come with a full face and now was leaving fresh-faced, if you don’t count the smudging on her cheeks. “We should turn in anyway. Lord knows the dark circles I’m getting from these late nights.” She faked a yawn before resting her cheek on your shoulder, stroking your waist tenderly.

“You don’t even have to be here,” Megumi blurted, still working furiously. “All you do is use your TikTok and eat our DoorDash.” He slammed his computer down, to which it protested.

“I’m just here to steal some fame for when you guys get popular or whatever,” she smirked. “And it’s worth it for a chance to see Papa Fushiguro.” Megumi groaned. “Ain’t that right?” She tapped your cheek. Grinning, you look away.

“He is double our age. And then some.”

“Speak for yourself,” you snark.

“You’re barely a year older than us.” Megumi stuffed his computer in his backpack, stalking toward the door. “You guys comin’?” You shake your head at him. Grabbing your keys from your jacket pocket, you dangle them off your middle finger while Nobara follows you out. Choso and Yuji hang back, getting ready to go home on their own.

“If you’re going to be in a bitch mood,” The three of you walk toward your SUV. “At least get your license. Nothing more pathetic than waiting for the person you’re mad at.” You drive off-campus and into town, the path to Megumi’s shared apartment with his father clear in your mind. You park down the street, accompanying him, along with Nobara, to Room 408. 

Knocking on the door, Mr. Toji Fushiguro scans the three college kids at his doorstep. He had no shirt on and looked like he could barely keep his eyes open. “There’s my son,” he says groggily, yanking Megumi by the shoulder back into his apartment. Grunting his gratitude, he closes the door. On the way back to the car, Nobara is fully awake, fully excited. 

“Ugh, he wears being a hobo so well. It’s kinda insane he’s still single. Guess he still loves his wife,” she blurts when you start the engine. “All that man gotta be in there somewhere, waiting for me to find it. Do you think Megumi would be mad if I hooked up with his dad?”

You chuckled, gazing at the blurry lights in front of you. Blinking again, you persevere through the tiredness. Nobara’s now talking on the phone, tapping your shoulder. “Huh?”

“Choso’s car got towed. D’you think we can give them a ride?” she said. Apologetically, she added, “I know you’re tired, but I doubt you want them paying a 60 dollar Über at 3 A.M.” 

“It’s fine, I guess. But they owe me big time.” Turning around, you return to the barren parking lot by Gojo Hall. Choso and Yuji ran toward your car; more accurately, to your headlights. Inside they squeezed next to Nobara, and Yuji began his yammering about the towing.

“I swear Choso parked right! We don’t even know why it was towed. Sure, he sucks at parallel parking,” Choso coughed indignantly. “But that can’t be illegal, right? He didn’t even park in disabled parking or anything, they just took it!” He peered through the gap between the passenger seat and its headrest. “By the way, we need to get Ryomen.”

“Is his car towed too?”

“Nah, in the shop.” Yuji shrugged. “He loves his fender benders. Shocking, for a guy who loves his car more than his family.”

“I think he moonlights as a drag racer,” Choso added. You smiled despite the tiredness. “Also, I’ve sent you the address for where he told me he’d be. Chances are it’s a seedy ass place.” You followed the GPS instructions, passing by a handful of smoke shops, a nightclub, and a crowd of foul-smelling people, all clad in thick clothes, however unidentifiable they were from the darkness and the smog surrounding them. The GPS stopped in front of a stairwell, leading to whatever Sukuna partook in at night.

“Where is he?” you scanned the front, but no hulking, pink-haired man showed. “Can’t you text him or something?”

“Sukuna responds half a year later; we gotta find him ourselves.” 

“Nose goes!” shouted Yuji; he and Nobara held their nose, Choso following suit. You frowned at him. “Sorry babe, too slow.” he jested. You turned to Choso directly behind you, pleading silently.

“I’ll go with you, don’t worry about it.” Smiling gratefully, you hopped out of the car, with the help of Choso, who trailed behind you when you trodded down the stairwell. 

Inside, a rudimentary boxing ring surrounded by all kinds of people carrying drinks or doobies overwhelmed your senses. In the ring, a fight was well on its way to its conclusion; in one corner, a man with a zigzagging pattern in his hair sat, receiving water and getting patted down by an older man you assumed to be his coach. The other corner, the one facing the entrance, facing you, held Ryomen, or “Sukuna” in the circles he ran in. His onyx irises locked onto you, but by the time they had, you were talking to Choso. You didn’t particularly care for boxing, preferring the equally, if not more, chaotic world of underground music.

Choso bent his head down to your ear. “I think I see some friends; get me back when Ryomen’s all done.” Your eyes widened in response.

“The fuck? Choso, no. I don’t know anyone here!” But by then, he had moseyed his way toward a group of men, all tattooed and pierced. You were no stranger to the hardcore, but you preferred the stage, where the distance felt safer. While as a teen, you indulged in the scene, you never liked the people that it came with. You watched the people around you talk, receiving a couple inquisitive looks in response. No doubt you looked out of place; the conservative manner in which you bundled yourself up lended no air of confidence. 

Tentatively, you stepped through the crowd to sidle up to the boxing ring, where Ryomen and his opponent had resumed their fight. A rivulet of blood carved its way down his temple, and his opponent had a bruise blossoming on his eye. Next to you, a wave of men chanted, “S’kuna! S’kuna! S’kuna!” while booing at the other man’s jabs. Fascinated, you watched the men tussle, before you felt a hand slither around your shoulder. A man, sporting a hockey jersey and a row of ear piercings, leered at you.

“Have I seen you here before?” he smiled, barely concealing his sliminess. Stiffly, you tried to escape his grasp, which only became more vicelike the more you struggled. “Aw, hey, don’t be like that,” His scolding read like a veiled threat. A woman in front of you looked at you, sparing a glance at the man who closely resembled a deshelled hermit crab. Turning around, she pulled the man off you.

“I’m gonna need you to let her go, kid.” she warned. In the ring, meanwhile, Ryomen had totaled his opponent, earning a shout of glee from the supporting crowd. The harasser scampered off, and the woman smiled at you before turning to cheer at Ryomen.

 After the ref had confirmed the K.O, he raised Ryomen’s arm in triumph. Cajoling filled the stuffy room, and you scanned the state his body was in. His thick waist and chest heaved, bare and glistening. He tied his boxer shorts low, leaving the slightest prick of hair visible. His meaty thighs and calves flexed to support the sheer mass Ryomen boasted. When you had quite finished ogling the body of your bandmate’s older brother, his handsome, fear-inducing face was the dessert that crowned your eyes’ meal. His long, surprisingly straight nose and furrowed, bushy eyebrows gave him the appearance of a bird of prey. His cheekbones, while high-set, were still filled out with fat, preventing a skeletal appearance. His lips, while not plump, were full and parted by his maroon mouthguard, glistening with sweat. His eyes glowed in the flickering light, while still absorbing the energy around them, as if his gaze was an inescapable black hole.

You barely registered that those eyes were boring into you while you essentially feasted upon him with a desirous gaze. His head tilted up, and then you saw the warlike mind which consumed his being, which was reaching toward you with a need to conquer, to take. Even when he stopped to be led to the locker room, you felt his want burn your stomach, and you felt the unquestionable desire to vomit. But still, you trailed after him, along with his other fans. You fiddled with your phone, when Yuji had called you, asking when he would finish up. You sighed, told him five more minutes, and waited for Ryomen’s reemergence. 

When he came back, he clutched an envelope and towel around his neck, along with a duffle bag. He stopped in front of you, surveying you with an unreadable expression. “All alone, are we?” he grinned, and his oddly sharp canines winked at you. Your mouth immediately felt like it was stuffed with cotton.  “It’s rare to see you so scared, girl.” he teased. “You my driver?”

Behind you, Choso leaned an arm on your head. “Hey…Ryomen.” He gave him a dap before steering you to the exit/entrance. “We’re taking you home.”

“Sweet.” He pushed past you, dragging his shoulder deliberately. This somehow shook you out of your trance, and you tramped in front of them, trying not to appear as vulnerable as you felt.

In the car, Ryomen had parked his ass in the passenger seat before you could say a word about it. “Smelly hoes stay in the back, Ryomen.”

“Sukuna to you, baby.”

“Suck-on-a my dick.” you bit. Swerving off the avenue, you stopped at the Itadori brothers’ complex. All three hopped out; rather, Choso dragged a sleeping Yuji and hoisted him over his shoulder along with his guitar, and Ryomen hauled his gear and gloves to their home. With a parting grin, he slammed the car door shut. Nobara had fallen asleep in the backseat as well, and you silently drove home, snapping her awake to get inside.

***

We’re meeting at my house for a band meeting today :DD show up by 5pm pls and thank youuu.  Your phone buzzed as Yuji texted. It was Saturday morning, and you had barely opened your crusted-over eyes a quarter past two. Rays of late winter sunshine seared into your eyes; you didn’t even get under your covers, opting instead to scrunch the neatly laid out blankets between your fingers. Groggily, you peeled your eyes open and clambered to the kitchen, where Nobara had written a note: At mall. You toss it back on the counter and make yourself a late breakfast: two eggs and a slice of gouda in a bread roll. Squinting again, you checked your microwave clock.

 As you blinked, the two morphed into a five. It was 5:30? Shit! You cursed as you ran to your bathroom, quickly rubbing your full-body deodorant over yourself. You splashed your face with water before tugging on a bra you didn’t even look at and the first pair of panties you found in your drawers. A slip of your jeans past your hips, a tug of your shirt over your neck, and a slide into your slides led you out the door and speeding toward the Itadori brothers’ (and Choso’s) apartment. You chewed gum ravenously on your way there; you’d be damned if you let morning breath near your bandmates. You reached under the cactus that had the spare key for the home. Barging in, you braced yourself for the welcoming, although teasing yells. 

Instead, you saw a vacant couch, loveseat, and ottoman. The kitchen held no rumble of life, and everything was less sloppy than usual. Furiously, you text the group. Sorry!! Went to get food, hope you dont mind :P -Yuji. It’s not OUR fault you were late -Maki. Muttering indignancies under your breath, you plop onto the couch, picking at your nail beds. You felt bad for missing the time, but you were so tired from last night. Who’s even up that late, anyway? The 15-hour nap was well-needed. During the weekdays, you spent late nights trying to squeeze in band practice and the elephant-sized pile of work that graced your cheap IKEA desk. A lady needs her sleep, after all, and moonlighting (daylighting?) as a raccoon did nothing to help your confidence.

Sighing, you traipsed to the kitchen, doubting if the gang would bring you something to eat. While Nobara was usually your saving grace, she was off spending her next findom scheme victim’s couple grand. The fridge was unsurprisingly chock-full of leftovers; an old box of half-eaten chow mein, a lone bag of fries, cold pizza…a bum’s heaven. You doubted any actual ingredients existed in the house. The brothers cooked on occasion, likely so infrequently that they could run out of flour and not bat an eye. You settle for the chow mein, knowing you didn’t give a rat’s ass if it was Choso’s or Yuji’s. They frequently raided your fridge anyway. No, it was Ryomen you were worried about. However, a 66% chance of it not being his was all you cared about. Tossing it in the microwave for half a minute, you poured yourself a glass of water before standing at the counter, twirling the saucy noodles between the fork prongs. The chow mein wasn’t particularly hot, but it was suitable.

Behind you, a man loomed in the kitchen entryway. All six and a half feet of him. You ate happily, until you turned to see the presence you dreaded most. Swallowing thickly, you set the takeout down, hiding it from view. Ryomen stared you down, his heartstopping eyes pierced straight through yours and slid their effect through your body, straight to your stomach. You felt it drop, and your grip on the floor slid. His lip curled when he saw your eyebrows knit together in cowardice, before you shakily regain your composure. “You surprised me,” you blurted. 

“Likewise.” He motioned to the living room behind him. “Where’re your little friends?” Ryomen stepped closer; you stepped away. You tried not to gaze at the strong arm that pushed an island chair out of his way; the loose tee he wore did next to nothing to hide the contours of his bicep. He looked past you, at the opened chow mein container.

“They’re on their way here,” you bluffed; in actuality, you had no idea when they’d end their little excursion. Ryomen tilted his head in mockery. He had been inching closer every second, and he had finally gotten within arm’s reach. You, on the other hand, had nowhere else to go, unless you desired to become one with the countertop. “They’re getting food,” you muttered. The enclosing space made your stomach fall to the floor, surprisingly managing to be more anxious than you thought the human body could survive. Ryomen’s eyes gleamed predatorily; he had dreamt of cornering your cowering body. In a swift motion, he hooked a thick-knuckled finger through your belt loop, whisking you into his body. With an oomph! you felt your brow ridge hit his collarbone.

“Is that so?” Ryomen leered. His smooth rumble let you know you were so fucked. “Then you’d care to explain where my food went, I assume.” His hand snaked around your waist, sliding up and feeling the curve of your spine. It reached your jaw, where he tilted your face up to meet his.

“I only had a bite or two,” you say, wriggling in his grasp. He held your head firm, grinning devilishly when he squeezed your cheeks. 

“I’ll take a ‘bite or two’ outta you.” His hand let your face go. “It’s only fair.”

“Bite my dick, Ryomen,” you sneer, enjoying your burst of egoism. “I doubt an overlarge slob like you knows the first thing about being with women.” For that one, he squeezed your ass hard. You refused to break the stoicism you set yourself to five minutes ago. 

“Oh, woman, you have no clue what's going to happen to you.”

“A dog-and-pony show and a failed orgasm, I suppose.” Your eyes narrow. Ryomen’s expression shifts into something dangerous, a desire so primal, so base.

“Your friends can’t save you now, doll.” With nary a deep breath, Ryomen hoists you over his shoulder, bearing your weight like a sandbag. He opens the door to his bedroom, unceremoniously flinging you onto his messy bed sheets. You land near its edge, and you can’t take a breath before he’s upon you like a whirlwind, ramming his lips into yours and shoving his hands under your shirt. You screwed your eyes shut, trying to keep up with Ryomen’s neediness. You backed up onto the bed, hurriedly followed by Ryomen. Screaming internally, you watch his trail of kisses slide from your lips to your cheek, down your neck, and straight to your collarbone. His eyes lock onto your t-shirt. 

You hear a seam, or four, tear as he wrests it off of you and onto the waiting floor. Ryomen scrutinizes the bra you barely registered choosing; lucky you, the brute liked the lacy detailing on the pearly fabric. However, it comes off, along with half of your dignity. Ryomen kneads your nipple between his fingers slyly, watching them harden from contact. Before you can blink, he returns to sucking on your neck, working an obscene hickey onto your nape. Sharp canines meet your shoulder blade as he bites down. Hard. Your groan of pleasure gives him leeway to taunt you.

“Am I not a slob?” He ruts his clothed, extremely painful boner into your crotch. “Wasn’t I so unskilled? Answer me woman, or are you dumb from a little kiss?” Ryomen’s voice strained. You whimper and grab at his hair, tugging the black roots. Grinding and sucking his way down,  His starving demeanor sent a shot of pleasure through your veins. Oh, you were so fucked.

***

It hadn’t been more than a few hours. Ryomen, who you regrettably called Sukuna (while being fingered into oblivion), was dozing away on top of you, a comforting weight. The analog clock above his door frame read 7:38. Struggling, you push off him and hobble down to the living room, hastily putting on the first pair of pants you saw and your shirt; you had no clue how incredibly disheveled you looked, so covered in blotchy red hickeys and nail marks you appeared to have been pelted with overripe cherries. What a sight it was, then, when you ran into Yuji and Choso lounging in their own home.

“I always took him as a rough guy, but jeez. I’m surprised you got away,” Choso said between bites of his chicken wing. Blearily, you grunt an idea of a retort before stealing a wing. “Glad I didn’t have to hear the…yeah,” he finished lamely as you ate.

“Whuh? Choso,” you mumbled, mouth full. “Y’all knew?”

They both looked incredibly guilty. 

Right then, Ryomen walked in behind you, in his boxers. Before you asked where his pants were, you looked at yours, realizing they were hanging off your hips; you should’ve noticed when the fabric dragged against your ankle as you navigated the apartment. “Got any left for me? I’ve just been,” he glanced your way cheekily. “...exercising.” 

[millylotus]

Secret Son John Constantine

Inspired by @herbatahleb's funny little fanart

As the title says The Everlasting Trio have a child and his name is John “Hellblazer” Constantine

He’s making his parents proud

John was born of a kind of soul blood pact between the three, he got his blonde hair from Sam, his eyes from Tucker, and his overall appearance is a mix of the three of them

John grew up to follow in Tucker & Sam’s footsteps of magic, he’s a born sorcerer unlike them though

His relationship with his parents is generally good, but because of how he treats his soul his relationship with Danny has deteriorated

They argue about this alot, John’s soul is his own and what he does with it really isn’t any of Danny’s business, Danny has the concerned parent vibes of the parent of a sex worker, their fears are founded but they need to trust their kid to know how to take care of themselves

John hates visiting home because of it, Dani will sometimes drag him back home for holidays but he doesn’t stay long

Sam & Tucker try to get them to get along but it isn’t really working

Then one day Danny gets accidentally summoned by the Justice League

---

John doesn’t recognize the summoning circle as it buzzes to life, he doesn’t know what type of creature or being will pop out. If they’re good or bad, or even merciful but he knows they’re strong from the intricate design or the circle. So he recklessly jumps forward, pushing Hal out of the binding circle so the Lantern isn’t bound to the summoned being.

John takes the binding with a scream of pain, feeling electricity shoot up his spine.

He can hear the Leaguers shouting his name, he’s vaguely aware of Jordan supporting him. But what he hears clearest was the voice of a man he most despised in the world at the moment.

“Really John? You didn’t have to do that, he would have been fine.”

John closes his eyes tight and breaths deep, he looks up to the voice and looks into the toxic green eyes as they met his own brown ones.

“Good to see you too Father.”

The green eyed being rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, “Yes, hello Son. It’s great to see you again as well.”

The League had only heard a few things about John Constantine’s family. They knew he had three parents who’re polyamouros, that he has an older sister and an aunt. Besides that all they have are silent grumblings about “Father won’t like this” when he does something risky.

But to see a young filipino man probably no older than twenty, floating over John “Hellblazer” Constantine and looking down on him like a disappointed parent. It was jarring.

Wonder Woman was the first to say anything “John, could you perhaps explain what just happened?”

John and his father broke their intense eye contact to look at Diana, who barely flinched at the sudden attention, the others behind her weren’t so fearless.

Constantine sighed carefully stepping away from Hal, “This is my Father.”

Hal snorted, “Yeah we got that man.”

“Yes John, introduce me to your friends here.”

---

Danny is generally snarky when meeting the League, he makes some weird comments about John hanging out with superheroes, that could be construed as rude

The others are kinda pestering John about who his dad even is, while John is more focused on getting the fucking bind removed

He eventually has to ask Zatanna for help

Danny for the most part is hanging out with the League while John’s working

Someone calls him Mr.Constantine and Danny quickly corrects them saying that isn’t his last name

Which sparks a whole conversation of John’s last name, which Danny isn’t about to say cause real names have power and such

Danny sees John working closely with Zatanna and asks if he’s with her or not, John is beyond embarrassed and even worse is when Danny brings up King Shark, mentioning that Dani really liked him too

John snarks back that then King Shark should have just gone for her instead of him since Danny was so adamant about King Shark being such a great son-in-law

Things get awkward quick as the two snark back at each other while everyone else realizes where John gets it from

It almost becomes a screaming match before the League has to break it up before they go to far

John ends up just calling Sam & Tucker so they can just break the binding

It’s a tense few minutes before they get there, and the League just kinda has to sit there as father & son fume not looking at each other

When Tucker & Sam get there they see the two not wanting to talk to each other at all

Leaguers are not reeling at seeing John’s other parents who he also vaguely looks like but also not

As the two work on the binding John & Danny are being passive aggressive

The two decide that John & Danny need to spend some time together to get this shit figured out

---

Sam : Alright that’s it *Sam & Tucker stop working, Sam has her head in her hands and Tucker is leaning far back* Danny : What? John : I’m sorry? Tucker : You two have been fighting for far to long, you’ve probably forgotten why Danny : I know exactly why, it’s because John doesn’t know how to treat his soul right! John : By The Ancients! You’re still on about that Danny : Of course! Sam : Will you both just SHUT UP! *Silence* Sam : We’re not breaking the binding, you two are going to stay stuck together Danny : Sammy! John : Mama, Papa. Please don’t do this! Tucker : Nuh-uh, this happening, you two are getting a some father-son bonding time for the week! John *distressed*: Why! You can’t just– it’s not fair! *Sam & Tucker loosen up a bit, looking to John softly* Sam : Baby it’s alright, we’re not trying to punish you we just want you & your father to actually talk things through Danny : It feels like your punishing me Tucker : You are his father, you will be the civil one in this so don’t you fucking dare get any lip *Danny goes silent* Sam *sigh* : We’ll be leaving now Tucker : Good look you two The two leave, then silence Danny : Do you still have that demon house of yours? John *sigh* : Yeah I’ll show you a room for your stay

---

Most of the story is really just about John & Danny learning to get along again

Danny has to finally trust his kid to know what he’s doing with his own body

And John realising that his dad just wants to keep him safe & stuff

By the end of their basically grounding the two have begun to mend their relationship, Danny promises to come over and visit along with inviting John back home to the zone when he feels like

I've been meaning to post this for awhile now & it's just been sitting in my drafts until I finally remembered it.

Hope you liked is! :]

Main Story Index [It's kinda messy but it's got links to most everything]

[gds-daisy]

misery business

pairing: kang daesung x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT (DNI IF YOU’RE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH IT!), dom!reader, sub!daesung, thigh riding, teasing, dirty talk, degradation, praise, fluff.

You had never seen your sweet Dae like this. He was always so well behaved and now he was acting like a complete whore. He had no shame as it was taken over by his need for you. That’s how he ended up being completely shocked when you finally gave into his desires. But there was a tiny little catch.

"The only way you're getting off is on my thigh.”

“Wh-what?” he pathetically stuttered.

“You heard me, baby. I’m not gonna fuck you after how bad you’ve been for me,” you clarify in a mocking tone.

“I-I’m sorry… Just wanted your attention,” he whines.

“Well you’ve got it now, naughty boy,” you snark. “Could’ve just asked me instead of acting out.”

“Promise it won’t happen again,” he pleads.

“Oh I know baby,” you taunt.

Before he can protest or counter your claim, you suddenly latch your lips onto his neck before your guys’ hands are roaming each other’s bodies heatedly. You can feel him moan into the kiss and you can’t help but chuckle against his lips. The kiss was full of pent up desire and need. Both of you could feel it.

You sit down on the bed before taking him along with you and position him on your lap. As soon as he put some of his body weight on you, you could tell how hard he was from the strained bulge created in his pants, the black fabric showing it off perfectly.

“You’re hard already? God, you’re pathetic, Dae,” you scold.

“Yes…just for you,” he assures.

“My poor boy…has such a pretty cock with nowhere to put it,” you say with a fake pouty lip. “Gotta hump my thigh like the pathetic little thing you are,” you tut. Your hand finds its way to his clothed, swollen shaft and you can hear an undeniable gasp leave his swollen lips.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps with his head falling back due to the sensation he was given from your dainty but skillful hand. You pull your hand away just as quickly as you put it there and you can see the disappointment etched onto his rather ethereal face. His eyes had a puppy dog like gaze to them as he waited for you to do something. Anything.

“Prove how good you can be for me, pretty boy,” you coo. You can see the glimpse of embarrassment in his pretty eyes, but is resolved with his need to prove himself to you. “Ride it,” you sternly say. He wouldn’t get a second chance and didn’t want to disappoint you, so he shifted himself accordingly until his hard on was flush with your thigh and lace panties. He hesitates for a second, but only long enough before you could scold him for his behavior after practically begging for it all day.

He finally complies with your request and starts to slowly grind his erection onto your luscious and soft thighs that he always loved. “Fuck…” Daesung mutters rather hastily, already lost in your world.

“I know you can do better than that baby…Wouldn’t want to disappoint me, would you?” you rhetorically ask, already knowing what his answer would be.

“No I wanna be good for you,” he pleads.

“Then start going faster otherwise I’m going to have to seriously punish you,” you warn through gritted teeth.

Seriously punish him? Then what was this? He already thought this was harsh enough, but he could only imagine his consequences if he didn’t. You would leave him all smeared in precum with a hard on without any way to relieve it. This was more merciful than that.

Taking your orders, he bounces himself faster on your thigh and he can already feel the pleasure starting to form within him. “Feels so good, baby,” he says breathily, frantically looking for more friction between your guys’ bodies. You grant him this and start to bounce your thigh faster with each passing second. You take his hands off your waist and guide them toward your shoulders so he wouldn’t get fall and get hurt in the process.

You can feel him throbbing and twitching through the thin material of his pants, which you can’t help but savor. “Come on baby, don’t get shy with mommy now,” you tease.

Whatever last ounce of self control he has left is thrown out the window when you utter those words because before both of you know it, he starts humping your thigh as if the world would cease to exist tomorrow. He claws at your shoulders in an attempt to stay steady while bucking his hips and cock on your heavenly warm thigh. His movements are rougher and harder than they were mere seconds ago. His pretty whimpers are few seconds apart from each other and fuck, did he sound heavenly, along with the sound of skin hitting skin.

“Such a pathetic mess for me, Dae,” you coo, not expecting a response. Your words only spur him on even further to the point where you can see his eyes become blown out. All for you.

You can tell just from the way he’s breathing that he’s close and it turns you on more than you’d like to admit. “I’m gonna cum!” he yelps.

“Fucking cum on me pretty boy… Always love it when you do,” you praise. You bounce your thigh up and down at a faster pace to give him the extra push he needs. It proves to be successful when you feel his hot seed splash all over you, creating a rather sticky mess. He throws his head back in ecstasy while riding out his high for just a while longer.

“Thank you jagi, needed it so bad…” he confesses.

“Of course, sweetie,” you say while caressing his hair. “I’ll always take care of my boy,” you say with a smile as the two of you gazed into each other’s eyes with love. “Always.”

tag list: @topluvr @heartubeatusalon @breakmeoff

[mattsundaes]

STRESS RELIEF

♡ — atsumu miya x f!reader

Atsumu may be a legendary setter, but he’s also an incredibly sore loser. And all other forms of post-game slump stress relief pale in comparison to a particular one he shares with you.

18+ ONLY

wc — 2.4k

prompt — lactation kink

additional content — established relationship, fingering, squirting, coming in pants, coming untouched, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, cockwarming, questionable refractory periods, multiple orgasms, cum eating, insatiable Atsumu, Miya twin bickering, timeskip!Atsumu

╰┈➤ kinktober masterlist

“Is there a reason ya always call me to babysit after losin’ a game?” 

Atsumu can hear the exasperation in his brother’s voice on the other end of the line, dulled slightly by the hum of customers chattering away in the background. He ignores Osamu’s question, shifting slightly from where he’s seated on the bench in the locker room as he tugs at his sweat-soaked MSBY jersey, pulling the material free from its damp grip on his chest.

“Some godfather you are,” he snarks back, offering Bokuto a wave as he slaps him on the back while walking past him on his way to the showers. “And how’d ya know we lost anyway, ain’t ya at work?”

Osamu snorts, “Had the game on in the office while I was working on the books. You played like shit.”

“Bite me,” Atsumu huffs, running a hand through his haphazard blonde locks. 

“I’m leavin’ the restaurant in about an hour.”

“I’m droppin’ her off in forty-five.”

“Take a goddamn shower first, ya pig. I can smell you from here.”

“Fuck you, Samu.”

He can practically hear the middle finger that his brother proffers to the phone as Osamu laughs, hanging up on him. Atsumu trudges to the showers to wash away the grime from the court—and hopefully some of his sour mood in the process.

—

In the years that you’ve been together, Atsumu has always been a sore loser when it comes to his favorite sport, even more so once he went pro. He cycles through different ways of working through his disappointment with himself after tough games, ranging from forcing himself to run miles on end until he’s nearly throwing up when he regretfully calls you to come and pick him up halfway across town, to dragging Osamu out for impromptu boxing sessions (“Ya tryin’ to make yer face even more ugly?!”), to binge eating ice cream on the couch (until he’s then also throwing up). 

Sex, of course, is also one of his favorite (and least self-destructive) options, though his frustration-fuelled stamina is enough to leave you both fucked out beyond belief. 

However, following the birth of your daughter just over a year ago, Atsumu found…a new form of stress relief.

One where he’d prefer to have no interruptions. 

Hence the recruitment of Uncle Osamu, who probably just thinks his pouty, needy brother forces him into babysitting duties to have loud, raunchy sex with his wife all night. 

Not quite.

—

“You’re worse than our daughter,” you fondly groan at Atsumu when he immediately starts tugging off your jacket the moment you step in your front door after swinging by Osamu’s house, his impatient energy coming off of him in waves.

Atsumu’s sound of protest dies in his throat when he spins back around from hanging it up to watch you slip off your shoes, his pupils expanding from eager to lust-blown the moment his gaze falls on the two wet spots already soaking through the thin material of your sundress.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, his lips slotting tenderly against yours as he pushes you up against the wall, one hand coming up to cup your tender breasts.

His tongue dances along the seam of your lips, and you part them, sighing into your husband’s mouth as he deepens the kiss. You card your fingers through his still-damp hair, keening at the feeling of his thumb teasing your peaked nipples through the fabric. The arousal simmering in your gut sparks, pleasure seeping through your nerves with each deft sweep of his hands along your skin as he effortlessly unhooks your bra, tosses it to the ground, and pulls down the straps of your dress.

“Can’t even wait till we get to the bedroom?” You ask teasingly.

“Nope,” he replies, though the sound is muffled from where his mouth is now latched on to one of your engorged, leaking tits. 

Atsumu has never been one for patience. 

You haven’t pumped all day, and the soothing feeling of Atsumu needily lapping at your tender nipples, milk flowing into his mouth, has you whimpering in relief. Knees going weak with a flush of arousal, you start to slide to the floor, and Atsumu follows suit, his warm body slotted between your spread legs as he continues to drink from you. 

The house is quiet save for the wet, sucking sounds of Atsumu’s mouth slurping at your swollen tits, punctuated at intervals by his groans—the vibration of which makes you shiver—and the breathy, keening noises falling from your own lips.

You reach down, carding your fingers through his hair, running them from his messy, blonde strands to the soft, dark brown undercut beneath. He sucks harder, letting his teeth graze a pert nipple in the way he knows makes your toes curl, and you gasp, arching into his touch as you give his hair a rough tug in return. 

Atsumu moans, and you do it again, tipping his head back enough to take in the dazed look in his eyes, milk coating his lips and dripping down his chin. Suddenly, you become very aware of the way your arousal-soaked panties are clinging wetly to your folds, sticky and plastered against your eager, aching cunt. 

A knowing smirk teases its way across his full lips, and Atsumu snakes a hand up the skirt of your dress, running a finger down your slit. Separated from his deft touch by both your stockings and underwear, he teases you by pushing his fingertip firmly against the nylon and cotton where your fluttering entrance is. The material gives just enough, breaching your hole and scraping wetly against the tight walls of your cunt, and you whine, bucking into his touch as you plead for more. 

You can feel another spurt of milk dribbling from one of your tits, and Atsumu dips his head back down to catch it, tongue tracing a broad stroke from your belly to your nipple as he laps it all up. And just when he latches back on to milk you further, you hear a ripping sound as he tears a hole in your stockings, one large enough to slip his hand into. He then uses his thumb to pull your panties aside, swiftly plunging two fingers right into your damp pussy knuckle deep. 

“Atsumu,” you pant out, bucking up into him, the slick squelch of him finger fucking you warring with the sounds of his wet mouth fervently sucking on your breasts. 

He groans your name, drinking deeply from one tit as he massages and squeezes the other, pulling away for a moment to let milk squirt and spray against his lips. The feeling building inside of you burns its way down your throat and into the pit of your abdomen, your tightly coiled composure beginning to unfurl amid a slick, exhilarating thrum of pleasure. 

Feeling the way the muscles in your thighs have clenched, he swipes his thumb over your clit, stroking circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves as he firmly curls his fingers inside of you. The tidal wave of pleasure bursts, clear liquid spraying from your cunt as you come hard. 

Atsumu’s own steady sucking grows sloppy as he moans loudly when he feels you squirt all over him, smearing spit and milk across the swell of your tits. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he pauses in his ministrations for a moment to suck off the creamy results of your orgasm before returning to the streams of milk leaking down your chest. 

“Haaaaaah, oh f-fuck,” he groans as his entire body tenses and then goes entirely limp, arms wrapped loosely around your waist as he presses his forehead against your breasts, breathing hard. 

“Did you come in your pants again?” you ask, already knowing the answer. 

He nods, voice slightly muffled against your skin, “Ya know what you squirting does ta me.”

Playing with his hair, you smile, “Good thing we have all night.”

And Atsumu makes the most of it, both of you stumbling into the bedroom in your post-orgasmic bliss and collapsing against the mattress, slowly taking turns peeling off one another’s clothes until you’re both naked, his cum-soaked boxers left forgotten on the floor.

The thrum of anxiety and frustration from the game still lingers, and you know Atsumu hasn’t had his fill yet.

If this didn’t turn the both of you on so much, you know he’d otherwise latch on for hours on end without stopping once for air, suckling every last drop of milk from your swollen tits till the sun begins peeking over the horizon. And it’s not that you don’t spend hours with him lapping up your milk on nights like this, it’s just also always littered with copious amounts of orgasms, his normal refractory period taking a backseat to whatever milk-fuelled stamina keeps cum pumping from his cock far more times than either of you could ever hope to count. 

An hour later, you’re on your back, legs spread as Atsumu drags his tongue up your slit, lapping up a glob of his cum that’s leaking out of you. He leans in to kiss you, his filthy mouth slotting against yours tenderly, and you can feel as more cum from his last two climaxes drips out of you and onto the sheets below. 

He’s left your tits untouched for a bit, mouth otherwise occupied swallowing down your moans as he fucked you deep and slow. Milk dribbles down your body, and you arch your body up into his where he hovers over you, grabbing one of his hands and dragging it through the wet, sticky mess. 

“Here I thought I was the needy one,” he quips, a boyish grin on his face. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t act like you’re done.”

“Not even close.”

This time, when his hot lips latch onto your tits, there’s nothing slow or gentle about it. He’s greedy in the way he sucks and slurps, palming at your breasts and groping your ass and squeezing your thighs. Need courses through you as you wrap your legs around his waist, both of you moaning in unison as his thick cock sinks into your cunt again. 

The sound of him fucking his cum back inside of you is filthy, and you revel in it, nails digging into his shoulders and the heel of your foot pressing into his lower back as you urge him to go deeper. 

He bites and sucks at the sensitive skin of your breasts, the mattress creaking loudly beneath you as he begins to roughly fuck you into it, cum leaking onto his balls and dripping down your ass. Your chest heaves as pleasure snaps through you like a whip, drunk on the combined feeling of the downright feral way Atsumu’s drinking your milk and the relentless way he’s pounding into your tight cunt. 

When you come this time, it’s with a shout, vision going white as your pussy clenches down on his shaft. His orgasm follows in kind, Atsumu sucking on your nipple like his life depends on it while his cock pulses within the grip of your slick walls, once again filling you to the brim with another load of hot cum. 

Atsumu collapses on top of you afterward, both of your bodies limp with exhaustion, though not enough to stop him from keeping his mouth latched to one of your tits, idly sucking away. 

—

You don’t realize that the two of you fell asleep, not until you rouse to the soft morning light coming through your bedroom window and a round of knocks coming from your front door. When you go to shift, you find Atsumu’s head pillowed on chest, still unconsciously sucking on one of your nipples, even in his sleep. You roll your eyes fondly, stroking his hair. 

Atsumu hums, stirring slightly. Softened cock still lodged inside of you, he rolls his hips, and you moan softly at the combined pleasure from the feeling of him sliding through the copious amounts of cum he filled you with and the hypersensitivity of being touched when you’re still half asleep. His eyes open slightly, and he gives you a tired little smile as he groans, mouth falling open as he rocks into you again. 

His cock is quick to react, the feeling of his thick shaft hardening inside of the tight squeeze of your cunt leaving you breathless. 

There’s another series of knocks at the front door, followed by the buzz of a text message on his phone. 

Atsumu presses a kiss to your nipple before dragging his lips up the column of your throat, mouth capturing yours. 

Another knock. 

He pulls out and thrusts back into you deeply, languidly, cock dragging against your cum-soaked walls with ease. 

Your phone buzzes. 

Lazy, gentle kisses follow. 

His phone begins to ring. 

Atsumu reaches out in the direction of the nightstand, shoving his phone to the floor and ignoring everything but the way you keen and writhe beneath him as he fucks you through one more wet, tired, blissful orgasm. 

—

Osamu, fully dressed in his Onigiri Miya uniform, looks like he’s weighing the pros and cons of fratricide when Atsumu finally opens the front door in a robe, his hands and a brush no match for what an all-night marathon of sex and sucking on your tits has done to his hair. 

“I have a staff meetin’ in an hour, ya horny bastard,” he growls when he walks in, the malice a direct contrast to the way he then proceeds to coo over his sleeping niece when he sets her down in her carrier. 

“We slept in,” Atsumu says casually, though his air of nonchalance is thrown off by the way Osamu unceremoniously shoves the diaper bag into his arms. 

“Yer a shit liar.”

Exiting the  bathroom looking far more put together than your husband, you place a finger to your lips as you gesture to your child, who’s somehow conked out despite their raised voices. 

Osamu offers you an apologetic look, though he shoots his brother another glare when you make your way into the kitchen. 

“Thanks again, Samu. Want something for breakfast before you head to work?” you ask him. 

Atsumu pours himself a glass of orange juice in the meantime. 

“Toast would be great.”

“Thought ya were in a rush,” Atsumu snarks before rolling his eyes and taking a large sip from his cup. 

Rifling through the fridge, you brandish a hand in the direction of the myriad of beverages on the shelf. “Drink?”

“Milk’s fine.”

Atsumu chokes. 

— likes, comments, &/or reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[outivv]

That stupid doctor and his stupid favoritism. His idiocy causes for you to have twice the work that normal just to keep up with his schedule on top of your own! You’re already Dottore’s assistant, but now you also have to go along to all his meetings, supervise new clones with him, sometimes go on trips with him, and do your own research. He truly thinks you can do it all, and have no problem either- but you’re not like him. You can’t casually make a fake god out of some trans boy and a chess piece, you don’t even know why he hired you for this job, you were kicked out of the akademiya for… poor grades, and then Dottore just scooped you up and gave you a job here. It’s baffling, really- but… to be fair the job pays well, and Dottore gives you special treatment. “Don’t touch that. It’ll melt your face off.” Dottore warns sternly, because if you were anyone else- he wouldn’t warn you.

“But what if I wanna be an odd, oblong goo face?” You say, almost smug as you look at Dottore- who promptly looks… disgusted.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s foolish, and a waste of your time.”

“But anything that makes me happy isn’t a waste of time in my opinion.”

“Would that really make you happy?”

“I dunno, would it?”

Dottore looks unimpressed. He just looks at you, and you can feel his annoyed glare from under his mask- especially as you play with the vile of face melting liquid. He can’t help the sigh that comes out of his mouth, getting a headache from you… damn you, and being his favorite. “Must you always be so difficult?” Dottore grumbles, his sharp teeth showing off for just a moment as he returns to what he’s doing. “I think you quite like my difficult-ness.” Your smug attitude is not helping the situation. “I mean, I heard from Pantalone that you asked for quite a large sum of money for a ‘gift’ of some sorts. Course, he wouldn’t tell me the details.” Fuck you caught onto him. Dottore curses, and mumbles under his breath something about that ‘stupid banker and his stupid fat mouth that won’t shut up for two goddamn seconds’. Yes, well- Pantalone is known as quite the gossiper and chitchatter, and you have tea with him on the weekends. Unbeknownst to Dottore.

The sigh that escapes him again is one of defeat, and would put any other person into a coffin just at how frustrated he sounds too. “Yes? What if it?” Oh, now look at Dottore trying to be all nonchalant about it, well- luckily for you… you’re nosey. “I heard it’s a new creation, hm?” You say, examining your nails a bit, before your eyes flicker up to the doctor, and he just taps his fingers against the table in… such fucking annoyance. “Mhm. I usually go to Pantalone for funding. This time was no different.” Dottore says, acting like he’s not about to explode- but he could never do that to his favorite assistant. “Did you not hear me when I said that Pantalone specified that it was a gift?” Your snark is gonna get you nowhere yet… everywhere with Dottore, as he pushes away from the table he was standing at, and starts walking away. “Come now.” He beckons, not even looking back, but soon hearing the tap of your shoes following him. You simply go over to Dottore’s main workbench, and he sits down- pulls almost a billion little things out of drawers, and then… he assembles a box.

“What’s this?” You say, just curious, really. “Well you open it, and you look inside.” Oh, now he’s gonna be snarky back with you, huh? You roll your eyes, before gently lifting the lid of the box, and you’re disappointed to find a music box. How cliché of him. As if expending that, Dottore gently slides the box over to himself, simply twists the knob and then… a whole projection appears. The room, turns to an elegant ballroom, with figures dancing elegantly across the floor, and with you and Dottore in the middle. You’re stunned, shocked… other words for surprised- and you reach out to try and touch one of the projected people. Your fingers go right through them, until Dottore reaches out through the person, and grabs your hand.

“At the last… fatui event, I noticed you were rather… shaken up. I assumed it was because of the people, considering you seem most comfortable around the lab even when it’s just the two of us. No segments, no people, no distractions. And now, it’s the same in the ballroom…” Dottore says, taking his mask off, and nearly holding his breath as he looks down at you. Dottore has never been a man that you’ve known to be nervous, let alone reveal his thoughts to you in any way… he’s always been some kind of enigma, but that’s probably because he pretends to be this complicated man of extreme power and science. Now, he seems like something simpler, with his red eyes staring at you, as if begging for you to approve- and express some kind of gratitude. He’s arrogant, but even he needs validation.

“Dottore… this is fucking insane.” Is all you can say, you your hand ends up holding his, so… he’ll assume that it’s good? “That’s what people usually say to me.” He says, almost… playful?! Who the hell is this man and what has he done with Dottore who you one time saw eating straight up mayonnaise out of the container. “I mean, when you have elaborate ideas like this, I suppose I wouldn’t blame them.” You mumble, curiously looking at Dottore. What’s his aim here? What does he want from you? What is he trying to get. Before your mind can ask too many internal questions, Dottore clears his throat, and closes the music box, making the projection stop in the blink of an eye. “Well, there? Satisfied with knowing your gift before you were supposed to even get it? Brat.” Dottore says, almost angry, while he glares at you- and puts his mask back on. “Yeah, I appreciate it. Thank you, this is my favorite gift I’ve ever gotten…” you genuinely say, holding the box as Dottore practically shoves it into your arms and he starts dismissively walking off. He pretends to not hear you, but you can see the burning red of his ears. Damn him and his favoritism towards you.

[hitmewithsomebooks]

@jegulus-microfic Feb 12 - fireside

1331 words

~

James couldn't sleep. He'd tossed and turned for the past hour and a half, and he really wasn't good at laying there and waiting for nothing.

Frustrated, he got out of bed, deciding he’d go visit Regulus. He grabbed his wand, the map, and the invisibility cloak, throwing it over himself before descending the stairs. Just as he made it to the portrait hole, a voice rang out.

"Where are you off to so late at night, prongs?"

Fuck. Damn Moony and his werewolf senses.

James contemplated simply ignoring him and leaving, but he knew Remus would just bring it up later, possibly in front of Sirius. And he knew what this was really about. He sighed, removing the cloak and going over to the couch.

"Sit," Remus invited, patting the cushion next to him. "Let's have a little fireside chat".

James complied, plopping himself down at the other end.

"I'm going to get right to the point, James." Remus said, and James knew this was serious because they rarely used each other's real names.

"Are you dating Regulus?" He asked, looking a sheepish James in the eye. The other boy gulped, shifting in his seat. He knew there was no lying to Moony.

"Yes." He forced out, sweating under Remus's firm gaze. The werewolf let out a breath and closed his eyes.

"Really, James? Sirius's little brother?" James could hear the disappointment in his voice, and he felt almost like he was being scolded by his father.

"I didn't choose it, alright? It just kind of... happened. Trust me, moony, I tried not to give in. " James whined, and Remus shot him a disbelieving look.

"Yeah? For how long, exactly?"

"Well I don't know about exactly, but..."

"Prongs." 

"Maybe a week?" Remus rolled his eyes, groaning.

"C'mon, Remus, look how head-over-heels you are for Sirius! There's a certain charm around the Black brothers. You know it. They're both basically the heads of their houses because of it." James tried to reason, until Remus shot him a deadly look.

"So you're just dating him because he's alluring? Shiny?  What, are you going to drop him the moment he graduates and falls from Slytherin princehood?" Remus growled, and James realized his mistake.

"What?! No, no no no no no! It's not like that, Remus, I swear. I don't care about shit like that, you know that!" James insisted, his tone growing desperate.

"I do know that, James. But like you said, the Black brothers are alluring." Remus snarked, and now James was getting frustrated. This wasn't how he saw Regulus at all. How did Moony not know this? Is this really how Remus viewed him??

"Fuck, Remus, that's not what I meant!" James bellowed, and Remus's eyebrows raised. James huffed, settling down again before he woke up the whole of Gryffindor tower.

"Then what did you mean, prongs?" Remus pressed, still questioning, but his tone was slightly gentler now.

"I... I just... I was just trying to tell you deeply he affected me, Remus. How I truly couldn't resist. I feel like he used a fucking stupefy on me, I swear, he caught me so off guard. I don't see him as some shiny, popular object, Remus. He's so much more, he's everything..." James trailed off, looking distraught. He'd always struggled with putting his thoughts and feelings into words, and right now they really mattered. Thankfully for James, Remus understood. He could see the love the Gryffindor held for the younger boy.

"I believe you, prongs. You love him, don't you?" Remus queried softly, and James nodded his head, dropping it into his hands. "So much, Moony." He whispered, his voice cracking. Remus rubbed a hand along his back.

"You're going to have to tell him at some point." The werewolf told him, and James groaned.

"Which one?"

Remus let out a humorless chuckle.

"Both, at some point. You should probably tell Regulus first, though." He advised, patting his friend's back before standing up, wincing as his knees creaked. James looked up at him, eyes wide. Remus could see the wetness around them.

"Now?" He quavered, and Remus gave him a sympathetic look.

"Not necessarily right now, if you're not ready. But it should be sooner rather than later."

James worried his bottom lip between his teeth, looking to be at war.

"I... I think I'm gonna tell him now." He decided, though he looked scared.

"Yeah?"

"I... yeah. I need to." James confirmed, expression firmer now.

"I'm proud of you, prongs." Remus praised, and James gave him an appreciative, if slightly watery, smile, before slipping out the portrait hole.

*

When Regulus opened the door, he was met by nothing. He looked around, confused, before a head appeared from thin air. A gasp escaped him, and quickly and tanned hand appeared and landed over his mouth. James's eyes were imploring on his floating face, and he slowly lowered his hand, grasping Regulus's arm instead. The younger boy closed the dorm door as silently as possible, before following James out into the common room.

In the warm glow of the fireplace, Regulus could see James's matted eyelashes and glossy eyes, liked he'd been crying.

"What's wrong?" He asked, cradling the older boy's cheek, brows furrowed. James leaned into it, smiling, and Regulus relaxed slightly. Chocolate eyes opened again, meeting Regulus's, and James grasped one of his hands.

"Nothing, love. Just wanted to see you."

Regulus frowned, rubbing his thumb along James's cheek.

"You look like you were crying. What's wrong?" Regulus pushed, his voice growing unsteady. James made a soothing noise, pulling Regulus close and kissing his forehead.

"Just... Remus found out about us." James mentioned, like it was a very simple thing. It wasn't.

"What?!" Regulus whisper-yelled, lurching his head back and out of James's grasp. He was more aware of his volume than James, thankfully. 

"Don't worry, he won't tell Sirius! Everything's fine." The older boy promised, clasping Regulus's hands in his own.

"Then why are you here?" Regulus questioned, his voice slightly panicked. He felt his heartbeat racing.

"To tell you that I love you, Reggie." James answered softly, and now Regulus didn't feel his heart at all.

"You- you what." The boy wheezed, feeling as though he'd forgotten how to breathe properly.

"Hey, hey, don't worry, you don't have to say anything back, I just wanted you to know. C'mon, Reggie, shh, it's okay." James soothed as he pulled Regulus into his lap, cradling him. Regulus felt like there was cotton in his ears, James's voice coming through all fuzzy and muffled.

James loved him.

James loved him.

Was this real?

"I love you too." He managed, and even his own voice sounded cottony. The silence he was met with, though, was clear, like someone had poured a bucket of ice over him. He knew it. It wasn't real.

He struggled to escape James's grasp, who seemed to snap out of his trance.

"You love me?" His voice wondered, sounding nothing short of shocked. This made Regulus pause.

"Well of course I do, James." He whined, and suddenly warm brown eyes were staring into his own.

"Fuck, I love you, Reg." James beamed, his eyes crinkling with joy. Regulus gaped a moment, still blinking himself back into reality.

"I love you too?" He answered, still unsure. James chuckled, biting his lip.

"You sure?" It had to be, now. James's joy was too radiant not to feel, not to be absolutely real.

"Yes." Regulus gasped, leaning forward. Their foreheads pressed together. "Yes, I love you, James."

"I love you too, baby."

"I love you."

"I love you." James chuckled, eyes still crinkled, running a hand through Reggie's hair.

"I love you." Regulus said, amazed by the feel of his words on his tongue. Words he hadn't said in years. At least a decade. Now that he could say them, hear them, he never wanted to stop.

"Say it again, Jamie."

"I love you."

"I love you."

[acourtofthought]

Do you think if the next book is about gwynriel we will get some positive elucien scenes in the background?

I don't.

To me it wouldn't make much sense to see Elain softening towards Lucien before her book because we would have then skipped over the most angsty parts of their story.

Ever since the novella Elain has been ignoring Lucien but we don't know why. Why, when they ended ACOWAR on a hopeful note did things suddenly change? What's going on with her thoughts and emotions that caused it?

In SF we do see Lucien still longing for Elain while respectfully giving her space but we also see the first hints of frustration along with his disappointment.

That seems like the perfect jump off point for an Elucien book, giving the author the most interesting place to start their journey. It sets the characters up to engage in a bit of snarking, where Lucien finally shows a bit of exasperation towards Elain and her radio silence after a year and a half which would in turn bring out a little of her anger which was fun to see during her argument with Nesta. It then also sets them up to have a more heartfelt and emotional moment when Elain finally explains why she's been emotionally running away, in a similar way we saw Nesta have with Cassian where she tells him how much her draw to him terrified her from the first moment they met.

If Elain begins softening towards Lucien before she even has a pov, all that tension is broken too soon.

That's why I never understand the argument that Elain and Lucien haven't had enough development in their relationship to have a book. Personally I think they're in the perfect "Sarah J Maas preferred place" for a novel whereas Az and Gwyn have no tension at this point.

That's not to say Gwynriel can't be next but right now, there's nothing to overcome for their pairing. They're two people who have always had mutual respect for one another and who are set up to be convenient friends with their proximity to Nesta and Cassian as well as already being in each other's orbit for training. That is very opposite of how Sarah writes most of her couples. That doesn't mean she can't create tension for them in the next book if it is theirs, I'd just be surprised if she decided not to give them a bit more time to cook and to first throw some in drama by giving us an Elucien book and then dealing with the already established Gwynriel drama after.