#MARS IN LOVE WITH THOSE TWO IDIOTS

[marsbutterfly]

getting my new hanji and zeke tattoos rn 😈😈

[spawksstuff]

The De Completionist Checklist Part 14

1964

Note on the dates: I will mostly be going by when a show/movie was shot rather than its release date. Variety Magazine will be given first priority.

My score: 2 / 3

Need To Find: Slattery’s People - Question: Which One Has The Privilege?

Favorite Movie: Town Tamer

Favorite TV Show:  N/A

Favorite Quote (Exchange):

Conder: You go tell him [Rosser] to look at that fancy horse of his in exactly 10 minutes.

Guy (De): I’m not an errand boy.

<Very next scene>

Guy (De) to Rosser: That horse of yours, better go take a look at it.

<Which is funny enough but then>:

Rosser: What’s wrong with him?

Guy (De): How do I know I’m no horse doctor.

[mortytheestallion]

let the light in

Word Count: 3.7k+

Warnings: Rick Sanchez x F!Reader, sex pollen, unprotected sex PIV, angst if you squint, cunnilingus, squirting, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), rick being kinda mean, this fic is 18+ minors dni

A/N: this was a fucking beast of a fic i've been trying to wrangle for months. based on this ask

>> Come over.

>> Emergency.

> real emergency? or morty didn’t like your vat of acid emergency?

>> I’m not gonna ask again.

Rick usually enjoys messing with you too much. He’ll beat around the bush as long as he can because it drives you insane. He loves to dangle the unknown in front of you for as long as possible, right up until you just can’t take it anymore. 

You don’t bother to rush over anymore. You used to fall all over your apartment, scrambling to find your keys amidst paperwork and weekly takeout. Cursing and throwing piles of clothes everywhere, just for them to be sitting nicely on the hook you never use. 

Only for Rick to need the screwdriver two feet to the left of him. 

“It’s important I don’t get distracted,” He would grumble at your obvious frustration, a self-important thank you as you hand it over and he sends you back on your way. 

Asshole. 

Or the time he’d let Morty’s ointment sit too long, and you had to help wrangle him back home. You seemed to be the only one who got bit, however, as Rick made it away unscathed. Typical. 

You let out a sigh, uneasiness settles like a stone deep within the pit of your stomach. 

You don’t have time to look up from your phone before a portal appears in the corner of your room. You pause for a moment, taking in the green glow and slight pulsing sound. It must really be an emergency if he couldn’t even wait for you to make the drive. It wasn’t long by any means, but you can’t ever remember a time he’s gone out of his way to portal you over. 

Slight annoyance runs through you at the convenience he’s withheld from you all this time, but you push it away. This must be urgent. That doesn’t stop you from lacing up your shoes, slowly rising to meet the portal before the familiar falling sensation hits. You still haven’t gotten used to it. 

The garage is dark, save for something that glows blue in the corner. It's not lost on you that the house’s defense barricades are currently in place. 

Rick’s sitting low on the chair he keeps at his workbench. Slouched as he braces his arms against his knees, long legs splayed open. 

His hair is even more unruly than normal. There’s a cut above his eyebrow, and dried blood that mars his lower lip. His usual look of boredom adorns his face, yet the slight twitch of his lips betrays his cool demeanor as he looks you up and down. 

Your instinct is to shrink away from him, but you hold Rick’s gaze. His signature lab coat is missing, his blue longsleeve is riddled with holes and burn marks. More dried blood makes it cling to his right side, but if it bothers him, he doesn’t show it. His long legs are spread wide as he casually lounges there, he looks much more broad than usual. 

“Are you okay?” Your breath catches, “I mean, is everything okay?” You curse yourself at the way your voice quivers under his unrelenting gaze. You hate that he has this effect on you. 

“I got hit on Gearworld-” Rick pauses, as if weighing whether or not to divulge more information, “Idiots are testing bioweapons on non-gear life forms.” His brow quicks at your panicked expression, he lazily holds one hand up to signal he’s going to continue. 

“I know this isn’t —uh, what you imagine when you slip those pretty little fingers into your pants at night, but I really need your help.” 

Your eyes go wide at his request. Sure you’ve helped him on all kinds of different planets in all different kinds of ways, but never anything like this. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck at the implications of what he’s asking. You can’t help but bite your lip, it doesn’t slip past you how Rick’s hips buck in response to the small action.

You can’t find the words. Why now? Why me?

“Now—now or never, baby,” His voice breaks your trance, “I got a fucking problem here and if you’re not into it don’t— I’m gonna take care of this myself.” 

“Why me?” You bite your lip, suddenly shy as you shift your weight. He lets out a groan, his spare hand dragging across his face in annoyance. Always the drama queen.

“Are you really gonna make me say it?” You’re locked in a stalemate. His chest is heaving from whatever they’ve injected him with, although you have a pretty good idea by now. He looks at you like he’s hungry. It makes you lose your train of thought. He lets out a groan and a soft fuck. Pleasure shoots down your back and settles down deep in your spine, it makes you shudder. 

““You didn’t think I wouldn’t notice the way you ogle me? I had to pull you out of an alien hole for god's sake, because you were too busy watching me instead of doing what I told you.” 

“You’re such a dick!” Embarrassment washes over you like a flood. The blood rushing through your ears is so loud as it carries the thump thump thump of your heart. 

It’s so Rick to have known about your feelings before you did. Part of you wishes you could crawl inside your apartment and never leave again. You’d just have to get used to the 24 DVDs piled against the TV, and apparently salisbury steaks are back. You could make that work.  

“Yeah I’m a dick with a problem so either get riding or get the fuck out.” 

Fuck he’s mean. You hate that it turns you on. You like to think that under different, less dire circumstances he’d be nicer. You know he cares for you, he wouldn’t keep you around if he didn’t. It’s so sick. You’re watching him get better, be better, and yet he seems to revert back just when you need him the most. 

You take a step toward him and he’s on you, instantly. His shoulders drop as rushes to get his hands on you. He huffs rucking your pants down your thighs. You kick your pants off the rest of the way, watching as he wastes no time to rip your lacy underwear off your body. 

“Fuck it feels good to do that for real,” you quirk an eyebrow at his statement, but he ignores you in favor of sucking a bruise where your hip meets your thigh. His other hand trails upward, tugging on your shirt to indicate he wants it off. You comply quickly, letting out a soft moan as he bites the tender flesh spot he’s been nursing below you. 

Rick always runs warm, handprints burning into your skin as he grips any piece of you he can get his hand on. You whine at the loss of contact as he uses his workbench you’re pressed against as leverage to bring himself back up to your level. 

You squirm underneath him, the press of the cool metal against your back combined with his rough clothes against your front proves overwhelming as he takes your face into his hands. 

He kisses you like you’re air and he’s drowning.

You go limp against him, allowing him to lick into the wet cup of your mouth. The metallic taste floods your mouth, he’s kissing you so hard his lip resplit. You can feel yourself clench around nothing as you bite it and he groans. 

His face is rougher, you realize, more than you imagined. Stubble rubbing against you as he makes his way down your neck sucking and biting. You can’t help the mewls coming from your mouth that he elicits, you can tell it’s fueling his ego as huffs below you. 

His sweater itches against you, but the burn only fuels the arousal as it pools within your core, you whimper as his hand brushes against your front. Your soft sounds egg him on as he returns to your mouth, he gives your lip a rough tug with his teeth before plunging back in with his tongue. 

Rick had always been rough with you, this was something else though. He shoves a knee between your thighs, groaning at how warm you feel against him. One hand reaches around to grip the back of your neck as the other catches the back of your thigh to bring your leg around his hip. 

He grinds against you this way, holding you so tight you worry you might break in half. You sigh against him, desperate for any contact that allows pleasure to ripple through you as the rough material of his pants continues to catch against your clit. 

Affection from Rick was so rare, you continue to drink in this feeling, relishing in being special enough to have him give you so much of his attention. 

You let out a whine as he breaks the kiss, upset at the loss of contact. He sucks air in through his teeth as he leans back, taking a moment as his eyes rake over your body. You take this as an opportunity to explore him with your hands, taught skin supported by firm muscle bounces back against your fingers. 

You don’t miss the way he’s straining against his pants, bulge prominent against the khaki adorning his legs. 

You take the natural pause as an opportunity to push his sweater up indicating you want it off, he wastes no time to fulfill your request as he rips it from his body in the blink of an eye. Goosebumps raise on his skin as his bare form meets the cool air, Rick presses himself back against you seeking your warmth. 

“Are you gonna fuck me, or-or are you just gonna—oh!” You squeal as he tweaks your nipple in warning, he gives into your request, nonetheless. You feel a slender finger drag down the length of your body. You lean forward to capture the corner of his jaw, biting softly to busy yourself as you wait for him to touch you. 

Your heart leaps, a shudder makes its way down your spine as his fingers catch on your clit, giving his attention to where you need it the most. You’re already wet and warm for him, a low groan escapes his throat as he feels you. 

He nudges a long finger between your folds, drinking in the sounds it pulls from you. He watches your expression intensely, the slightest indication of pleasure spurring him on as he seeks your validation. 

You can tell he’s holding himself back, sweat beads along his hairline as he’s lost deep in getting you off. You wish you could reach out and smooth his furrowed brow, but you’re cockdumb on his fingers alone. You always thought it would be good with Rick, but you didn’t know it would be this good. 

You buck into his hand as the arousal floods deep within the pit of your stomach, it's almost overwhelming how electric his touch feels. 

He shifts underneath you, attacking the soft spot above your collarbone as he sucks the flesh tender. He removes his finger from your clit, choosing to run it through your soft slit instead. You moan loudly at the sudden shift in contact, he grunts in response, releasing your shoulder from his bite. 

You open your eyes as he removes his hand, sucking in a breath as he brings it to his mouth and sucks. 

You gush as he moans around his fingers, the sound vibrating through his chest as you watch him savor you. He releases them with a pop, a strand of salvia linking them back to his mouth. He doesn’t hesitate as he pushes those fingers into you, and you jolt at the sudden contact. 

Your fingers are gripping the workbench so tight you’re sure if you looked down they’d be white. Your back arches as his fingers slide in easily to the knuckle. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He murmurs, but you know he wouldn’t hear the answer even if you had one to offer him, eyes half mast watching his fingers pump in and out of the tight channel of your pussy. He slips another finger into you, and your arms give out at the wave of pleasure that assaults your senses. 

Every muscle in your body tightens as he angles his hand so the flat edge of his palm can press against your clit. He continues to curl his fingers against the spongy piece inside you, focusing on how your cunt pulses slick and hot against him. 

“Fuck– Rick, I-I might, I’m gonna—” He can barely hear you, too distracted by the lewd he elicits out of you. There’s sweat beading along your hairline, he can feel your lowering muscles spasming as he twists and scissors his fingers. 

He picks up the pace, you can feel yourself dripping against his hand, clenching as your orgasm rapidly approaches. He moans as you grip his forearm, nails digging into the muscle. 

“Fuck!” You cry out as he fucks his fingers up, he twists his hand to press circles against your clit and you scream. You clench hard around him in soft, hurried spasms that make him choke on the groan he was about to let slip. He feels the rush of liquid that flows out of you as you burst across his knuckles. 

He watches as you arch off of his workbench, shuddering as he pulls pleasure out of you in waves. He thinks he could come in his pants from this alone, the pollen coursing through his veins making him lightheaded. His skin is too tight for his body, limbs feeling as though he’s moving through molasses. 

Every time you touch him feels like a douse of cool water. He shakes his head, trying to clear the fog of heat that makes his vision blur. He wants to bring you closer, he’d bury himself inside of you, carve himself deep within your chest if he could. Every cell within his body is screaming, urging him to lick and suck and devour you. 

“I can’t– I’m not gonna be able to be gentle with you,” you peer up at him, eyes wet from the intensity of your orgasm, “I won’t be able to take it slow.” 

You swallow, eyes flicking down to his crotch before meeting his gaze. 

“Do you think it’ll fit?” 

He barks out a laugh before curling his fingers you didn’t realize were still inside you. You cringe, at both the tender feeling and the loud squelch that emits from below you. 

“Yeah, yeah sweetie, it’s gonna fucking fit,” Rick wastes no time undoing his belt, wolfish grin ghosting his lips. He lets out a deep moan and fuck as he pulls himself out. 

You can’t help the noise you make at the sight of it, he’s thick and leaking. You wish you had more time, you’d love to take him in your mouth and make him see god. You take him in your hand instead, brushing your thumb along the top of his cock and humming when his body jerks with it. He thrusts into your grip impatiently, your fingertips catching every ridge and crevice along his length. 

You gasp as a calloused hand reaches up in one swift movement to grab your throat. 

He enters you with one swift movement, pushing your legs up to get a better angle, ignoring the way you groan as your back hits the wall.  

You ignore the pain, blooming for him—sucking him in with your molten heat that nearly blinds him. You want to make it good for him. You want him to know that you can be good for him. You want him to come back after a particularly rough day and bend you over his work bench, or call you in the middle of the night purring for you. 

“Fuck, Rick, oh my god,” your eyes roll back, cunt contracting around him. He responds with a heavy slap to your ass that lurches you backward, almost off of him before he slams back into you. His strokes are deliberate and powerful, he fucks you so hard he can hear it. 

He fucks and fucks you, every slam of his hips making your lashes flutter. You’re shuddering around him, walls spasming as you cross the line into overstimulation. You let out a strangled cry, your second orgasm hangs in front of your face and you start to push back against him, desperately seeking release. 

Rick’s jaw clenches, clicking from an old injury. He’s trying to control himself, but you’re burning hot and tight as all hell. He bites the inside of his cheek as you blossom around his length, throwing his head back as the loud slap slap slap of his hips keeps you dripping on his cock. 

You allow yourself to drink in Rick’s distracted state, dragging a soft hand up and down the side of his body, relishing in the way he shudders and gasps at your touch. The idea that he’ll discard you after this, making excuses about not being himself or reacting to the effects of pollen hits you like a truck. It almost sobers you out of your cock-drunk state. 

He draws you out of your spiraling with a strained gasp as your fingers find tender flesh, you hesitate before digging into the soft muscle with your nails. It pulls on your heartstrings to willingly inflict pain on him, but any remorse is instantly washed away at the way his dick twitches inside you. 

“Sh-shit, do that again,” Comes that dark, gritting baritone as he releases his grip on your legs, choosing instead to wrap a calloused hand around your neck, quickening his pace with sloppy thrusts. Rick lets out an honest to god moan and you clench around him. He pulls out abruptly, and you whine at the loss of contact. 

Hurt floods your features, anxiety clawing its way up your chest at the smallest sign of rejection. There's not enough time to ruminate before he’s back on you, sliding to the hilt. You hiss at the return of pressure, pain searing into you. Adjusting around him, you slide your nails down his back. He moans arching into your touch. 

“I don’t–,” He’s interrupted as a particularly deep thrust hits something spongy within you and you’re writhing under him. He captures your jaw in his firm grip forcing you to look up at him through hooded eyes. 

You look utterly fucked out. Tears leaking from the corners of your eyes make his cock twitch, he’s ready to come but he needs to tell you first. He needs you to know.

“I don’t think you understand just how fucking long— ” Your eyes go wide, “I’ve wanted to hit this hot fucking cunt.”

Each of his words is punctuated with a particularly hard thrust. Your breath hitches in your throat at his confession. 

“I know I’ve been a dick lately—” 

“Jesus, fuck, Rick, just shut up and fuck me!” You can’t take it anymore, god knows how he’s doing it in his state. Your outburst earns you a hard slap to your ass that he’s holding off the edge of the workbench, whimpering as his fingers dig into the burning flesh. Part of you wanted to hear what he had to say, but you need it to be from him. Not from the Rick with aphrodisiac poison coursing through his veins. 

The room is dense with the sound of wet flesh coming together again and again as he takes his thumb and rubs it over your clit in short, quick circles. His cock throbs inside you, you feel your pussy making room for him where you didn’t think possible, allowing him to carve you open and make you his. He grips your hips harder as you try to push away from him, the pleasure overwhelming. 

“Uh-uh, I’m not done with you. You–you wanted the Rick, baby, I’m gonna make sure it’s worth your while.”

His pace begins to chase something frantic, you writhe under him as he licks a hot stripe up the side of your neck. You’ve been reduced to nothing but high pitched moans, panting and shivering under him. Your pleasure crests until you feel you’ll explode.

And you do. Your vision goes black as your orgasm racks your body and you explode wet– nearly pushing him out of you as you shove the heels of your hands into your eyes because you cannot look at him right now. 

“Fuck,” He rasps, “Goddamn, did you— you just– you’re–,” it just melts into a pile of sounds before he’s groaning sinfully, a last, hard thrust before there is the telltale sprouting of warmth within you. 

You're drunk on him, absolutely fucked out as your walls still spasm around him. You yelp as he drops you back on the workbench before dropping down to his knees. 

He ducks his head to slide the flat of his tongue through your folds, tasting the slick that drips from you. You shudder, clumsy hands tugging his hair, pulling him off you. You manage to prop yourself up on one arm, looking down at him.

“God you’re fucking filthy.” “You like it.”

His chest is heaving, cock rehardening already from where it rests above the waistband of his unzipped pants. It makes you cringe, he must be in so much pain. 

If he is, he doesn’t let it show. It's something you’ve always noticed about him, the lengths he goes to hide himself from the world. From you.

He’s given you this, even in his own fucked up way he’s given you this. It makes your heart swell. Worry picks at you from deep in your subconscious, but you push it away for now. You want to give him something back, he knows how you feel but you need him to know. 

It’s why you’re sliding off the bench, sinking to your knees as he rises above you. 

“Damn, I would’ve fucking injected myself with that shit if I had known it would’ve gotten you here like this, for me,” He’s so fucking smug, stupid smirk gracing his lips as you take him in your mouth. You’ll wipe it off though, prove to him why he chose you. 

Make sure he’ll always want to choose you.

[fatesundress]

⭑ observations ii. tom riddle x reader

part i here.

summary. two weeks after your last encounter with tom shatters all of your previous observations, tensions are high, and eventually, something's gotta give. (it's tom. he’s giving head)

tags. smut (so. so much. minors BE GONE TO WHENCE YOU CAME!), fem anatomy + reader is referred to as a woman by someone, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, again implied tall!tom or short!reader (take it however you prefer), jealous tom does not understand friendship but then again neither does reader apparently, a little wine is had, the room of requirement is used shamelessly as a plot device, did i mention smut, i’ve lost my mind etc etc.

note. this is a part two, so go ahead and read the first part and come back if you'd like :) obligatory preface: it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also woahh was not expecting the love on my last post so thank you! i'm still trying to figure this whole acc out so support, questions, (requests? never done those before) anything is appreciated ♡

word count. 6.3k

The next two weeks are agony. You don’t, in fact, stop meeting with Godefrey to study, because you do, in fact, still need a good mark in Ancient Runes and for all his faults he can reach the tallest shelves and he’s a faster writer than you. Also, Tom Riddle is fantastic with his hands but this does not make him God.

You find pureblood politics a bit archaic. You find muggle courting a bit stifling. This leaves very little space for what took place between you and Tom in the middle of a corridor two weeks ago (you can’t stop wincing at how insane that sounds) and very little patience for his utterly original and not-at-all entitled request that you halt your studies with Godefrey. Godefrey doesn’t stick his hands up your skirts while the two of you are studying, doesn’t silence your gasps with a shush and a finger to your mouth, doesn’t — wouldn’t (you’re so imaginative when you want to be) — tell you to keep reading as his thumb draws circles between your legs, tell you to repeat the words that get caught in your throat, tell you how much he likes it when your eyes go dumb and glassy and all you can say is his name. So, really, Tom should have nothing to worry about.

“I swear,” Selwyn says, picking at a plate you don’t think she’s actually eaten anything off with how distracted she is, “he’s looked over here at least three times.”

You don’t dare glance at who you know she’s talking about. “You’re obsessed.”

Pot. Kettle. Whatever.

“Are you sure you didn’t do something to upset him in Potions? Didn’t botch something that might mar his perfect record?”

You flick her forehead and she scowls. “I’m not an idiot, Selwyn. I handle myself just as well in Potions as he does — he wouldn’t —” Wouldn’t have complimented your rapport if that weren’t true, wouldn’t have said you communicate efficiently, make a good pair, probably wouldn’t have — fingered you in the hallway? — yes, that too. Slipped your mind. So easy to forget.

You take a long exhale, and smile impassively at her. “I didn’t botch anything, trust me.”

She finally takes a bite of food. “Maybe I did something…”

And then she’s lost in thought again, eating now, at least, and you shake your head softly as you watch what are likely a million different theories flitting through her head.

“Morning,” Tom says to you when you enter Potions after breakfast, a delicate smile tugging at his lips.

You have, of course, trained for this. 

It’s your fifth — sixth? — time sharing a table with him since that night and it is somehow easier by nature and harder by anticipation (of what, you have no idea) every time. The first was terrible. Unsalvageable and without a silver lining. It had taken almost an hour that morning to charm the violent hues of red and purple spanning the column of your throat, and ultimately, the marks were so persistent you’d forgone the glamours and decided to just wear a turtleneck. You’d been fortunate it was completely inconspicuous to wear such a thing in December, but that was about all there’d been to be grateful for. You hadn’t been able to look at Tom all class and his hand had brushed yours once to take a phial from you and you’d flinched so sharply it would have shattered on the floor if he hadn’t caught it. And he’d smiled, like he’s smiling now, a soft, “Careful,” that honestly, for a short moment, made you want him dead.

Now you could speak just fine, look him in the eyes in practised intervals, and almost, impressively, make articulate conversation with him again. Make stupid comments about Slughorn and Lestrange and bear the weight of his grin knowing it was there for you.

His, he’d called you. A very funny thing.

“Morning,” you answer on a smiling sigh, sleepy but jovial all the same. 

You deserve applause for this.

“Tired?”

“Mhm — Essays for Ancient Runes are due Friday and it’s been keeping us up all night.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve yet to ascertain. Your research has been put temporarily on hold, scattered and splintered by the revelation that your first observation was, admittedly, a little bit off, and you have no means of figuring out a look like that when you can’t even begin to figure out anything else.

“Has it?” he asks, a tinge less friendly.

“Well,” you say, grinding the lacewing flies, “that’s commonplace, isn’t it? You take all sorts of advanced classes, I’m sure you understand the work it takes.”

“...Hm.”

That’s it. That’s all you get from him.

And if Selwyn’s concern over you botching your work in Potions wasn’t already, obviously dispelled, the glee on Slughorn’s face as he assesses your and Tom’s cauldron should do it.

“Brilliant! Just brilliant!” He claps a hand over Tom’s back, regarding you both with pride so thick it clouds his eyes, like he's drifted into a revery of the future (you and Tom, you expect, are his most prized graduates, making history under his name, proving his immense wisdom) before he appears to return to Earth. “Ten points between the two of you, hm? Very, very good — though, of course, no surprises there!”

He chuckles to himself as he evaluates the other students, and you catch a horrified wheeze of Godefrey’s name (bless his heart) as one of the cauldrons in the back begins to sputter and froth.

You look to Tom with some droll little comment at making it to the end of term with top marks, but his gaze is burning into Godefrey’s table in such a way you wouldn’t be surprised if it was what was causing his cauldron to boil.

Well. Perhaps not, then.

You and Godefrey hand in your essay that Friday with more relief than apprehension — you both decide it’s quite good — and you laugh loudly and breathlessly as he picks you up and thanks you a thousand times, spinning you until you’re dizzy. You refrain from making any promises to attend his Quidditch games, but he vows to let you have the snitch he catches.

And Slughorn, you come to find, was not exaggerating his elation at your skill. After trotting after you on your walk back from Ancient Runes to invite you to the last Slug Club dinner of the year, your spirits are high with the blissful satisfaction of a job well done and a night to celebrate it with.

You can breathe, finally, when it’s the last week of school before Christmas break and Selwyn’s zipping the back of a last-minute dress you purchased in Hogsmeade.

“Gorgeous,” Selwyn says with a grin. “Wish this school would have a bloody ball so I could really dress you up.”

“Buy a doll, Selwyn; you can dress them however you like.”

“You are such a —”

You burst into laugher, swatting her wand away as she pokes your side with it. 

“Just — go then, before I hex you.”

“All right, all right!” you concede, arms raised in surrender. “Don’t ruin all your hard work now.”

“Oh,” she calls on your way out the door. You turn and there’s a mischievous look in her eyes as she tucks her wand back in her pocket. “And do tell me before I leave tomorrow if Riddle stares at you all night.”

You groan as if it’s a truly abominable thing to imagine. Riddle, staring with those dark eyes of his? You, the centre of his attention? Ghastly. You daresay you’d never recover from the horror of it.

“Don’t leave before I tell you how remarkably uneventful a night it was,” you say with a sidelong glare, and leave before she can edge in the final word.

You have no idea what a Slug Club supper typically consists of, but you imagine for Christmas he’s gone a little further with his festivities. His office is glittering in hues of green and red and fleecy, snow-dappled gold. The lights overheard (some similar charm to the one in the Great Hall but a tad less complex, you think) drip and then vanish into the air like squeezed berries, and the berries — served with pastries and ice cream — taste like they must be enchanted with something.

Selwyn was right that the standard dress isn’t quite formal enough for a ball, but it’s… formal. The boys are in clean-cut dress robes and the girls are in fine gowns of different lengths. By the overwhelming number of them you recall being archetypes of Slytherin pureblood fanaticism, it makes sense how expensive they all look. You yourself brush up nicely, if not a bit more frugally, but you haven’t been to an event like this at the school yet, and that’s exciting on its own.

It’s another degree of training (is there going to be a marathon? Are you at war?), a step up from your preparations before Potions every other day, to be ready when Tom Riddle enters the room a respectable five minutes late with a gleam about him more captivating than any of the lights.

“Ah, Tom!” Slughorn exclaims, and ushers him into a seat you remark before Tom is even in it is discomfitingly near to yours. “We’re all here at last… Supper, then? Hope you aren’t too full already, I’ve got the House Elves running laps!”

You’re spared Tom’s closeness by a Ravenclaw couple sat in the chairs between you, their hands clasped under the table while they sip wine from their goblets, and you only realise the length of your observation when Tom glances at you from the spot over, and you startle yourself into reaching for your own goblet and pretending to enjoy Slughorn’s bitter wine.

You eat. You listen to cluttered, unending tales of Slughorn’s time at school and how he earned his post. You drink, and then you regret not drinking before eating because there’s only a very light, very nice buzz that warms you when you finish your cup, and the Ravenclaw couple is — oh, wait, it isn’t just them — they’re standing up to dance as a gramophone sparks to life and a low, dulcet instrumental begins to play. There are now two notably empty seats separating you from Tom.

What had you said this night would be? Blissful satisfaction? 

You couldn’t blame Selwyn for suggesting you’d blundered Potions — you didn’t feel exceptionally smart right now.

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Tom says, pulling the chair beside you.

Where is the bottle of wine? No. Nevermind. You behave regrettably enough sober.

You manage a simple, “And yet.”

“...And yet.” His lips quirk before he takes a drink from his goblet. 

You lament for a second that you’ve only actually kissed those lips once. They spent a great deal longer on your neck.

“Will you be here over break?” he asks, and it isn’t an unreasonable thing to ask, you suppose.

“I think so. Why?”

“I’d like to know whether to expect you or not.”

Expect you… No, yes — revert to observation two: unusual is not an apt enough word for him.

It takes you a moment to conjure a response befitting polite dinner conversation. That is, after all, still what this is.

“I suppose you can. I’ll be busy, of course.”

Well, you didn’t say you conjured something good. It’s a big fat lie. Placating, vague, empty. And you suspect Tom knows that.

“Pity.”

Yes, he knows. He’s all quiet amusement again.

You stare off, satisfied to be left alone —

"And what is it that'll be taking so much of your time?"

“Well, I'm —” And now you have to build the lie — “I’ve told Godefrey I’ll attend to his Quidditch practise. Since the pitch isn’t in use.”

God, it’s so stupid it’s almost impressive — you don’t even know if Godefrey will be here over break, and you could have chosen any number of excuses that would pique Tom’s interest less than it’s apparently consistently piqued by the mention of your study partner. 

There’s that strange, indecipherable look again. Riddle is a perfect surname for him, you decide then, and you almost laugh at yourself for it, but that would probably not go over well should he ask what’s so funny.

“Have you, now? That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s hardly charity.”

“Hm, it’s kind of you to think so.”

You huff, tipping your goblet back to swallow the last meagre dregs of your wine.

“You look lovely.”

It’s just a little bit — just a tiny, straggling little bit of elderflower that captures your throat — and you cough into your goblet. “Thank — thank you.”

And, well, he looks lovely too. Obviously. Sickeningly so. You know little about his personal life but you’re positive he’s at least a half-blood, if not muggle-born, and it makes you wonder the influence of his renownedly plain black suit in a crowd of neat, long robes.

He manages with little effort to look better than all of them at their best.

His eyes drift over you appreciatively, quick enough not to be rude but — enough. (Enough that you daresay you might never recover from the horror of it.) You adjust under his gaze even when it’s situated on your face, far too heavy a thing for you to carry. “Does Godefrey call you lovely?”

What?

You blink at him, your mouth is probably open and you probably look stupid but he’s so… irritating. Yes, of course Godefrey calls you lovely. Godefrey tells you you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met (after his mother), and he drowns you with sherbet lemons at no cost, and he writes at the speed of light to match the quickness with which you recite your textbook, and none of it means anything. Tom is just —

“Unbelievable…”

He quirks a brow. “What was that?”

“I said you’re unbelievable, Riddle. Is it impossible for you to comprehend that I might have friends? That Godefrey is my friend?”

“Well, memory serves me right that you seemed a bit confused on the conventions of friendship last you mentioned it. Do forgive my uncertainty.”

He — that was —

“Well, that’s because we are not friends.”

“No.” He leans in. “We are not.”

You push your chair from the table with all the grace you can manage for such an abrupt thing: a tight, impersonal smile on your face as you walk away and approach Slughorn, only realising when you get there that your empty goblet is clutched in your hand like you’re trying to strangle it.

Whatever he sees on your face, he isn’t drunk enough not to frown at. “Ah, our newest gem — hardly seen you all night! Not leaving already, are we?”

You glance at the clock. It isn’t as though you’re being impolite by abandoning his party in the middle of the event. It’s quite late, the servers are stuck to the walls with little to do, and most of the room has divided into waltzing pairs.

“I’m taking my friend to the train station tomorrow, sir. Unfortunately I need to be up quite early.”

Yes, yes, it’s all so tragic. You’re depressed to go.

“Such a shame,” Slughorn frets, wobbling a tad and balancing himself on the wall. “You’ll be all right getting back? Not at all dizzy, are you?” His laugh is cleaved by a loud hiccough, and then he laughs even more. “My, well, I myself will need to be carried!”

“...I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you.”

“Oh, no trouble at all — there’s — hm… ah, Tom!”

No, no — is it bad you almost reach over and slap your palm over your professor’s mouth? Is it at all impressive that you don’t? You should look on the bright side in moments like these. You should admire your restraint.

But of course, Slughorn’s eyes don’t fall upon Tom for nothing. He's halfway across the room already, and Slughorn must have spotted him approaching to achieve this brilliant solution. “Tom can escort you back, no?”

Tom (unforgivably) is beside you now, a very mean, very pretty smile on his face.

“Not too much to ask, I should think? You know the castle best. Head Boy — sometimes I still can’t believe it!”

You look up at Tom and your jaw is clenched where you’ve since put down your goblet. There is too much tension in you to know what to do with, and he looks positively thrilled.

“It’s hardly charity, sir.” He holds out his arm.

You wonder what spell would catch him most off-guard if you were to blast him in the face right now.

Slughorn claps his hands together. “Ha! Yes, well… perfect, then! Off now, the two of you, off now. Do have a good — ” He hiccoughs again — “rest!”

You don’t even bother the diplomacy of smiling at Slughorn as your arm loops through Tom’s and you’re exiting the party. 

Neither of you say a word on the journey, and that’s very well.

If you could just get back to bed without speaking to him you may still consider it a good night. You may be able to push his strangeness and his entitlement and the annoying way his hair falls to another day, when he pesters you about Godefrey’s nonexistent Quidditch practise, which — come to think of it — you do think he told you he'd be headed home for the holidays. You really fumbled that one.

And then Tom’s thumb is brushing the bare skin of your arm and your walk stutters a bit. But he doesn’t mention it, and so neither do you.

And then he’s drawing down your elbow to your forearm so softly it almost feels like he isn’t touching you at all. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you.

And then your arm, without really meaning for it to, is slipping from his and his hand is holding yours instead, feather-light as his fingers clasp yours and your breath is not the same as it was when you left.

He doesn’t mention it. He just keeps going.

His fingers work back up your arm and you shiver as they drag across your shoulder, gaze searing your neck as the soft digits find their way to your jaw, and you get the sense he’s remembering just how much he liked the taste of it, and you’re… you’re allowing it all again. You’re leaning in, you’re seeking him out, you want him flush against you and even that might not be satisfactory.

You are, in the end, a half-decent observer and a terrible liar.

You’re grabbing his hand with a small amount of direction and a great deal of meaning. You suppose it's because, historically, you’ve proven to have trouble with words in moments like these, and you don’t really know where you’re taking him but god, you know where you want him. Somewhere soft, this time, thick enough that you can fist your hands around it and melt. Somewhere he can hover over you, maybe hold you down a little, just until — maybe, miraculously — you might make him break a little too. Clamber over his lap. Make him yours.

“Tom,” you mouth, some question in the way your eyebrows knit.

The moment you say his name — the instant — he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours. And, ah, right, that’s what his lips feel like. You’d almost forgotten. 

This kiss is not chaste, hardly tender. It resists in that it asks you to push, to plead, to take this for yourself to prove how badly you want it, and he smiles into it when you do. And then, sated by your efforts, he lets you have him. You’re gripping the collar of his suit in your hands as his wander appreciatively over the back of your dress, pulling you into him as the kiss deepens. He’s savouring you like you’re something religious that’s been offered to him, and there’s the taste of wine on his tongue and you’re still here, aware enough that the symbolism isn’t lost on you.

“I've been thinking," he says between kisses, “about the way you felt when I touched you. I've been thinking about how long it might take before you need it again." 

You gasp at the sensation, and god, god, you've been wondering too, haven't you?

You’re pulling him impossibly closer and something hard is pressing into your hip and you clutch tighter onto his shirt as you moan into his mouth. You need it off, you think, and — has your dress been clinging to you like this all night? You need that off too. You need skin on skin. You careen him backwards without aim, your mind a muddled mess of all the many things your body is screaming it needs, like this is fucking imperative; to give it up would be catastrophic.

You suppose, based on what you’ve read, that that’s how the Room of Requirement works, but it’s still funny to think it would apply to this.

It hurts to remove yourself from him to watch in dumb awe as the door forms in the stone (to see the dark, languid shape of his eyes bearing down on you, the wet, stained pink of his lips), and Tom seems to recover from the revelation much faster than you.

His mouth is on yours once more, a hungry kiss; his free hand at your waist, guiding you through the door and shutting it carelessly behind him. 

He’s like fire against you, radiating as he presses down on you, his hand tangled in your hair and his hips flush against yours. You shiver as his mouth starts to move down (a cheap trick — he hasn’t forgotten how much you liked it the last time) from your jaw to your throat, as his lips trail down your chest and you're shivering into the warmth of him.

You’ve heard it said before, in some romantic sense, that it’s sometimes hard to tell where you end and someone else begins. 

This is not like that.

You've never been more aware of anything than the point where you and him meet.

You’re tugging at him blindly again, trusting in the nature of the Room like this isn't the first time you've been in it, and then you're stumbling down onto a bed you're quite sure wasn't there a moment ago (people say magic is a neutral force but evidently this is not the fucking case), fingers carding through Tom's hair as his body pins you into the mattress.

His mouth is molten hot as you squirm and pant beneath him, your breath coming faster than it ever has. Everything feels sharper and deeper and more intense under his touch, every sensation heightened until it's almost impossible to tell pleasure from pain, his tongue from his teeth.

How did it take you this long to do this again? To need him like this?

And his — you should really have the mind to see the mistake in all of this but perhaps that's for later — his fingers are pulling your sleeves down, propping your back to arch as he reaches under you to unzip your dress, apparently too impatient to sit you up and take it off properly so he just bunches it around your waist instead. There’s a moment where he stops to look at you, your chest exposed to him in the dim sconce-light, and then his mouth returns to circle your breast and you're biting down on a pillow to hold back the whimpering gasp that seeks to escape you. He hums around your flesh, and then he’s at your sternum, kissing a stripe to your belly button before pushing past the dress he's left ringed around your abdomen.

You shimmy under the weight of him to prop your head up — to see past the mass of silk that obscures his face from you as moves lower and lower, hands spanning your hips to keep you still.

His face hovers above your thighs, and he doesn’t move.

“Did you enjoy my fingers?" he asks. 

At that you freeze, thighs pressing together to bury the hand that's rising between them. 

Tom smiles. “Hm, you did." 

And then he spreads your legs apart, one hand pushing your underwear aside and regarding you with delicate, shameless appetite — something that might even be adoration: like this is all he ever wanted you to want.

“Do you think you'd enjoy my mouth, too?"

Words are gone. There's nothing left in you.

His head moves happily between your knees, holding them apart, pressing kisses to the base of your thighs. Your hands flail from the sheets, desperate to grip something else and you hold back a sound that feels like irritation and need at the same time. You need him closer, higher than this. He knows. You can feel his smile biting into your skin.

And then you manage a nod though you're not even sure he's looking at your face anymore (and what a picture to imagine he is) and you worry momentarily it won’t be enough for him — that he’ll ask you to be nice and say it out loud for him — but he hums with something merciful, and — his chin dips. You catch the smallest glimpse of his tongue before it’s on you, wet and slow and unrelenting and you say his name, but it’s a mewl; you choke on it. It sounds like a cry.

Pitiful, needy, undone. Just how he wants you.

You think all efforts to remain even remotely composed are thrown to the wind as soon as his tongue is lapping at you, fast and then slow, everything you want and not even remotely close. He sinks all his weight down as if he can predict the moment you'll writhe before you do — and you do. And with his grip he tells you to endure it. You only need him to say it with his hands and his mouth but he breathes back, licking his lips and he actually says it. “Be good.”

That makes your breath hitch and your cheeks swell impossibly hotter, and reality is a small glint in your peripheral where everything else is burning red. “Y-you’re—”

His mouth returns to you, tongue catching your clit in a drawn-out, agonising motion, and you gasp and lurch forward to inch through the sensation, craving more, more, more. Reason is lost on you, a throbbing familiarity forcing you to grind your teeth down on the pillow to stop yourself from telling him to — you don’t even know. Finish you. Abandon all reluctance. Just let you come as hard as you know he wants you to.

But he pauses, observant as he starts to work his fingers against you. Watching how your slick coats them like it’s the most enthralling sight he’s ever witnessed. Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to push one inside of you, hearing your breath catch above him and the moan that comes tumbling out of your throat, pillow be damned.

You do your best to breathe through it, and you know he knows how to make you unfold like this, so the meticulous lightness of his ministrations tells you he’s trying to keep it from you now. You’re almost embarrassed about the fact that you’re dripping onto his hand regardless; his lips puffy, his gaze unnervingly, dizzyingly carving you in two.

“Just,” you rasp, clutching desperately at his wrist. “Tom, please.” 

Your begging must be music to his ears. (It’s a rare, unplanned fifth observation: that you think he’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name like that.)

He adds a finger. It’s encircling you, first, and no amount of restraint can stop the harsh gasp that leaves you, but then it’s his tongue and two fingers and he’s pushing into you how you wanted, and he makes a pleased sound against you, gripping you tighter with his free hand, still not allowing you movement and fuck, are you trying. What you're feeling now — the need, the want, everything —  is more than rational thought. Your mind goes blank, and all that matters is this, him, right here and now; nothing else exists, not even for a second. You moan, a low, throaty noise that's a little too loud, a little too intense; you can't recall if anything has ever come from you quite like it and Tom devours you at the sound.

More, you agree; it's almost an obsession in you now; more, more, please, anything and everything.

It’s the precision of his touch — not some bored, hurried transgression — that brings your hands helplessly to his hair.

“Tom,” you whine, holding him tight, and the purr of his mouth finding you again is something destructive.

As soon as you feel another swell of something deep down, your mouth is dropping open.

His tongue is sliding through you, fingers curling, and then your clit is in his mouth, and he’s watching you between your thighs as your eyes clench shut, and you’re coming.

Your voice breaks somewhere in the catastrophe of it. Your body spasms, electric down to every atom, and he pins you down through it. He doesn’t grant you the reprieve of escaping the frenzied, glorious torture of it. His mouth still lingers. His tongue moves thankful and unrelenting. 

He takes all of you, and you think this is destruction — creation — both. How terrifyingly similar they suddenly feel.

His lips are swollen and slick when he finally detaches them from you and you want to kiss him, but he’s leaning back to admire his work. You swallow, unable to blame him for it because you look down at yourself and — this is something else. You’re dripping down his chin. You're shaking. Your legs are still clenching around his torso. They’re holding him so tight you can’t imagine it doesn’t hurt.

But he just rolls off of you. Adjusts his trousers and your abdomen flutters and you think, don’t.

You don’t even realise you’re reaching for him until your hand is around his wrist and you’re still fucking sighing through the come-down, panting into the hot air.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers damp on your chin as he holds you. You make a note that that’s the second time he’s done that. That you thought it was strangely intimate the first time and nothing’s changed other than how much more you like it.

And it doesn’t really feel like you can help it but crawl with gooey, trembling legs onto his lap. Doesn’t feel like you can help it when you lean in and capture his lips with yours, moan unabashedly into his mouth at the stiffness that presses against your core when you do, steal his tongue and the taste of you on it.

When he pulls away he’s looking at you like he doesn’t think you can actually do this. Like you’d just crumble the moment you tried.

A low, determined protest rises in your throat and you’re kissing him again. You’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, you’re trembling to reach for his trousers. 

When you can finally shrug his shirt off, press yourself against him, feel that skin on skin you wanted so badly, you find it somehow even more suffocating than its absence. You’re left wanting a more you aren’t able to even conceptualise, but you’re grinding involuntarily against him and his teeth are scraping your neck and he's hissing at the sensation, and — yes, there’s more.

Your breath is staggered when your hips stutter into a roll and you — fuck. You’re tugging desperately to remove his belt and he smiles against your throat as he takes your hands and guides them to him. You can feel his bulge against your thigh and you’re spreading your legs to usher him where you want, clawing at his chest without even meaning to.

Tom’s taking off his belt, and he’s pulling down his trousers just enough to bare himself to you, and maybe he’s right that you can’t manage it yourself but he stops his assistance like the intrigue of finding out is too good to resist. There's something both intimate and imperious, in a way, about the way he's looking at you now; it's a kind of focus and intensity and withheld hunger just for you; and you're more than happy to give yourself over to it, to let his hands and his eyes and his mouth claim you for his own. To claim him for yours, at last.

You do. You struggle for it. He’s very patient. 

But then it’s there — more — as you finally sink down on him and bite his shoulder and he shudders a low, pained exhale, his hands clutching your waist.

There’s a silent, suspended moment where neither of you move. The room feels entirely still. 

Your lips quiver over his pulse, and your stomach flips at the intensity of it, the undeniable rate of his desire beneath you. You smile against him now, like he always does to you, conscious enough to mumble into his neck, “Mine.”

Tom stutters inside you, fingers gripping you impossible tighter as you dare to think he even gasps. You dare to think he likes it.

And then one of his hands grabs your jaw and his kiss is searing. He thrusts upward and you cry into his mouth, searching to match his pace in a way that you appreciate, for once, he seems unlearned in. 

It’s all a bit messy, a bit new, palms in fists, in skin, in hair, digging for every part they haven’t already taken from. The sound in the back of Tom’s throat is divine, the feeling of him inside you as he slips his hand back between your legs — like he needs everything, like he knows you do too — it’s ineffable. It coils somewhere deep, touches something you didn’t know existed. Your hips are rotating, thighs still soft and slack from coming apart on his tongue, but you’re determined. It feels like finding even ground. It feels like something you deserve: to make him feel how you did.

Your head rolls back, eyes pinching shut in bliss, but Tom is there at your jaw again, forcing your blurry gaze back to him.

His hips are inching even further, the intensity of his pace as he adjusts to you making you dizzy. You think, realistically, there’s sound coming out of you, but you aren’t entirely sure when it’s so close to him, when your mouth is between his fingers and your ears are ringing and he’s looking at you like you’re made for him. 

“Mine.” And it isn’t a dismissal of your own claim but a confirmation that one will not be without the other. His voice is raw and breathy and something about the way he says it makes you contract inadvertently around him, hands swatting his chest like they don’t know what else to do. There’s just too much.

You recognize you’re trying to say something. Some plea, a moan, his name (is there anything else left?), but you’re just babbling into his mouth and he holds you there. He doesn’t kiss you. It’s your failing words against his lips. He swallows whatever syllables try to shape them.

It’s there again when you need it most; the heavy, swirling feeling inside you as he snaps his hips, his fingers returning to your waist with punishing firmness. His breathing accelerates, low in his throat, and you push harder against him. Your vision is gone again, head held in his hands to keep from rolling back so that, you suspect, he can watch defeat split you down the middle again — not over your shoulder, not with his head between your legs — with his eyes on yours, with every broken moan you let out so close to his face he can feel the breath of each one.

You’re grappling desperately at skin that doesn’t feel like enough, even though he’s rocking inside you, and you see the insanity of it, you see that it isn’t logical. Too much and not enough at once — you’re smart enough to know that doesn’t work, but it just is.

“Please,” you manage in a voice you don’t recognize. “Please, Tom, pleasepleaseplease —”

Had you said before it was foolish to call him forgiving? You take it back. He’s very eager to oblige you.

He finds some place inside of you and you don’t know quite what it is that he changes but it's new, uncharted, and you break there. You dissolve. You’re liquid in his hands as you sob, stuttering around him, trembling like you didn’t know was possible, and you swear — you swear you’re going to take him there with you. It isn’t that you could stop yourself if you tried but your body is gripping around him, fingers carving halved spheres into his skin, and you’re pushing down on him through the ecstasy — you’re forcing your eyes open so he can see you break, watch them flutter back all soft and pretty.

And you're sated by your ruin when it ruins him too.

The sound he makes is ragged. Undone. He can only bury it halfway with a kiss you think is actually more of a bite, twitching inside you as he fucks you through it.

You’re both lost in each other for a moment that feels detached from time, feeling his hips stutter to a halt, feeling your body soften. And he’s pulling out of you like it hurts, mouth falling open as he does. You wince at the loss, the sweet soreness between your legs, and you’re held only by the weight of him. You think — and you actually sway like the mere idea is too strong — that if it weren’t for his hands, you’d fall flat off the bed.

But he sort of lifts you off him, lays you down and watches you for a long time as if to decide something important before he's laying down beside you. You watch him too. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, and when there’s not a single curl left clinging to the sweat on your skin, he continues anyway. You let him trace your lips, your jaw, your nose, and somehow, a bit terrifyingly, your final observation: nothing about it feels unusual at all.

You did say he was yours.

[biteofcherry]

How would enforcer!Steve handle his girl that is a little weepy, emotional mess from her period? 🥺😭

No but the way I can burst into tears at the drop of a dime and at the most ridiculous thing when I’m on my blood fail lollll. 🫣

Okay, so I know you asked for enforcer!Steve reacting to sweet Cherry's period suffering. He would be the most doting, spoiling and caring. He probably at times would feel a little helpless, like when you cry from ice cream melting too fast, but overall he'd be quite amazing. However, my brain wanted to think more about a different Steve facing your emotional distress during period 🤷‍♀️

Which is why I bring you the dark mafia bastard versus your period tears, that no one asked for 😂 Sorry!

Touch The Darkness

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

warnings: Steve being a cocky bastard as usual; annoyingly perceptive too; some period emotional mess

The thing Steve's face does when you suddenly burst into tears over nothing is like a tiktok on acting.

He goes from shock (his eyes widening, nose scrunching slightly) to confusion (frown marring his forehead, corners of his mouth twitching), then through a process of putting together smallest pieces of information and observation.

Finally, he sighs as his face relaxes into this neutral, ridiculously handsome state.

You almost cry from it all over again, because you really like how handsome Steve is, all the while you're still convinced that you should be hating every fiber of his being for eternity.

But since he went after you to your little hiding place and demanded to know what's wrong, you tell him. You hiss the word period and give him a murderous look that suggests he is the one responsible for all women suffering monthly bleeding and pain.

A second later you almost cry again, because Steve doesn't look shocked anymore.

Steve doesn't even cringe when he says the word period. He doesn't look bothered or disgusted by it, which you find quite annoying.

It would be so much easier if the bastard was one of those idiot males, who can't even say the word and they run away at the thought of it.

Instead, Steve tilts his head slightly to the side, scans you from head to toe and back again.

"Then why the fuck are you curled up here and not in bed?" He nods at the old armchair in the library nook, which you never before used, even when reading. It's more of a decoration than comfortable to actually sit in it.

You don't answer him, only glare and pull the two layers of blankets up to your nose.

You're not going to tell him that you love the comfort of the pristine, expensive covers on your marital bed and that while you never minded it at your previous home, you were kind off scared of bleeding on them.

Which is what started this whole thing of you storming into the library - wrapped in two blankets that trailed after you like a train. Because you were about to hide in bed, most excited to find comfort and relax in the lovely soft, clean sheets, when a flash of image of your blood staining it had you bolting out.

It's ridiculous. You never normally cared for such things. Sheets could be washed and changed.

But somehow, this time, you ended up crying and leaving the bedroom.

Steve seems to read your like an open book, despite your complete silence.

"Princess," he sighs, "I've seen plenty of blood. I've been covered in blood an brain matter of my enemies more times than you imagine. Doesn't bother me. Especially not my wife's natural reason for it."

You're about to snap at him that his sensitivities weren't your concern at all, when he continues:

"And the sheets can be changed as many times as needed. I've already ordered three more sets in that cream and gold shade you like the most."

"You know nothing," you glower, but you can feel the heat filling your face.

How the hell did he know that? It's not like you said to him anything on the topic of something so silly like finding the covers pretty and lovely. Which you do.

Steve's mouth curls into a smirk as he leans forward and braces hands on the backrest of the armchair, on both sides of your head.

"Don't think I didn't notice how you curl into a cozy burrito when the cream covers are on and that you stay a little longer in bed. And-" his face inches closer, warm breath fanning your cheek- "that you more often provoke me to have sex outside of bed, so the sheets stay clean longer."

"I do not provoke you to have sex!" You burst, but Steve only laughs as if you told the funniest joke.

Next thing you know, he's scooping you up into his arms - bundled in blankets and all. He carries you effortlessly, not caring for the few protests that you hiss at him.

He takes you to the bedroom and slowly puts you down on your feet on the floor. He rips the blankets away from you then lifts you up again, placing you in bed. On those soft, fresh smelling sheets.

"Now, you want ice cream or something salty? Or maybe an orgasm or two to help with the cramps?"

[minranghae]

touch | 18+

》 pairing: c.jongho x f!reader

》 genre: hurt/comfort, smut, fluff

》 warnings: ceo!jongho, grumpy jongho, whiny reader, hurt/comfort, smut, piv, oral (f. receiving), fingering, piv, pet names (princess, baby, etc.), aftercare, makeup sex, age gap (not a major plot point)

》 wc: 4.2k

》 thank you so much for reading this, it's my first full fic that i've written on here!!!!! if i forgot any tags, please lmk :) reblogs are greatly appreciated <3 also, the main song i listened to when i wrote this was versace on the floor by bruno mars

“Jongho, sweetheart, don’t you think you should come to bed now? I think you deserve a break,” you whine as you enter his office, a pout forming on your lips seeing his still, working figure.

You take a moment to admire his features on your way in. His dark hair that perfectly framed his face, those piercing eyes that seemed to cut through you every time he looked at you, and those strong arms you just loved to be wrapped in whenever he hugged you.

Well, that was if he did decide to hug you. Just as strong as his arms is Jongho’s work ethic. Sure, any CEO is bound to be busy. When you’re busy it’s easy to get stressed, and when Jongho gets stressed, it’s as if you don’t exist. He was never super touchy to begin with, but every morning he retreats to his home office without even a hug or a kiss. Just a simple good morning, or sometimes, nothing at all. With Jongho’s already packed schedule and new business plans, it’s clear you weren’t going to get his attention any time soon. But, who would you be if you didn’t at least try to get some from him? 

Making your way to his desk, you prepared yourself to put on your cutest face; wide puppy-dog eyes and a sad lip bite at the ready, but with the way Jongho looked up at you, the only emotion present on your face was nervousness. You could see the dark bags forming under his eyes, seemingly becoming darker by the second, and paired with his furrowed eyebrows, you began to think maybe it would've been better to just cuddle with your teddy bear tonight.

“I-it’s just when you work so hard like this, you don’t seem happy at all, you know? I just want to see you smile again. I know, I know, work is busy and you have deadlines and all that, but can’t you just come sleep with me… just this once? I miss you holding me every night. I feel so lonely, Jongie,” You pleaded with him in your shakiest voice. Maybe that would convince him, if he just saw how desperate you were to spend some time with him. Fidgeting with your hands, you awaited his response. Too anxious to look up at him, you focused your sight on the floor beneath you.

“Y/n, you know I can’t do that right now. It’ll get better, but I really need some quiet right now. So…” He looked at you with pursed lips, then quickly looked back towards the door. A silent signal that it was your time to leave. You weren’t going to let him get rid of you that quickly though. No, he just had to see it your way.

“Jongie, are you sure?” You questioned him with a higher pitch, using the nickname you know he usually melts for. He just leaned forward in his chair, pushing his glasses further up on his nose, trying to regain his focus. He let out a soft hum, acknowledging you, but deciding not to indulge you. 

Soon, you find yourself sneaking behind him, your hands resting on his shoulders. You tried to press a kiss to his cheek, but he shrugged you off quickly with a huff of annoyance.

“Y/n, stop bothering me. I’ve got some really important stuff to catch up with here. Stop being so clingy.” Jongho breathed out, frustration evident in his words.

God, you’re such an idiot. Did you really expect this little plan of yours to work? Jongho is a busy man. You really shouldn’t bother him just because you’re feeling neglected. Sure, the bed is cold at night, but he does so much for you. You wouldn’t have the lifestyle you do without him. If you two hadn’t met that day two years ago, you'd still be a broke college student, struggling to make ends meet. Maybe instead of interrupting him, you should just be thankful for what you have. At the end of the day, at least he’s there.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you whispered, tears welling in your eyes, “I’m sorry for interrupting Jongho. Won’t happen again.”

And with that, you scurried out of the office and back into your shared bedroom. The shared bedroom that was slowly becoming just yours each and every day.

--------

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your eyes shot open. 

“God, what time is it?” You murmured to yourself, words slurring together. The bright light from your phone nearly blinded you as you checked the clock. It was 3 am. He’s just finishing now? I wish he would get some proper rest.

“Can I come in?” Jongho’s voice broke into the room. He sounded serious. What if he was getting ready to break up with you? After all, Jongho had always been one to cut out unnecessary distractions from his life. Normally you admired that; his determination and drive was nothing short of excellence. His maturity and guidance was what first attracted you to him. But it broke your heart knowing that you were next on his chopping block.

Truth is, Jongho heard you crying. Really, you’re not subtle when you’re upset. He went to check in on you a few hours ago, actually. But when he saw his t-shirt draped over the teddy bear he’d given you months ago, your puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks pressed into said teddy bear, he knew he fucked up. The past few weeks had just been so stressful for him. With a never ending to-do list, Jongho didn’t have much time to think of anything else. 

He did think of you though. He always did. The picture of you two on vacation that sat on his desk never went a day without being picked up to be examined. It was one of the first things you two did together as a couple, and god, he wished he could go back. Jongho normally didn’t show much affection in public, instead opting to keep his cold appearance up. But being there with you was too much for him. It’s like you two were connected at the hip on that vacation. Everywhere you went, Jongho had his hand on your hip or around your shoulders. You just make him so happy, and he loses himself around you. Not that that’s a bad thing.

He never wanted to make you upset. But, he lost track of himself. Of course, that wasn’t an excuse, but maybe if you saw it his way then you’d be able to forgive him. After checking in on you earlier, Jongho devised a plan. He quickly got to work in his office, this time solely focusing on you. He first made a call to an assistant of his, apologizing for the late notice of his request, and asked for a bouquet of flowers. He wanted something sweet and dainty- something that reminded him of you. Thirty minutes later, the assistant showed up with a bouquet of Lily of the Valley flowers, beautifully tied together with green and purple ribbon. Next, Jongho wrote a sweet note, apologizing for his treatment of you over the past couple of weeks. It was always hard for Jongho to express himself verbally, so this would be the best course of action for him. Finally, he had taken off of work for a week, allowing time for him to devote himself completely to you. He swore to himself that wasn’t going to let himself upset you anymore, and it was finally time to show you that.

You looked up at Jongho as he poked his head in from behind the door. His eyes softened as they met yours. He began walking towards you with his hands behind his back, hiding his surprise for you. But with the way you jumped up and just about sprinted to him, it seemed like he was the one in for a surprise.

“Look, I know I messed up Jongho. I’m sorry, I really am! Just, please don’t break up with me,” you looked up at him, guilt wracking every part of your body, “I promise it won’t happen again. I even cleaned up around here! I figured I’d get some of the more unimportant things out of here for you.”

Jongho looked around the room. He noticed the lack of knick knacks you always seemed to bring home with you after a day out. The sheets were changed from the pink floral set that you adored to a plain white set. Everything in the room seemed dull. The only semblance of normalcy left in the room was the teddy bear sitting on the bed.

“I-” Jongho started, not quite realizing what an effect he’d had on you. You were never one to change so easily; it was one of the things he loved about you. This only made him feel worse. Not only that, but the way your voice shook as you talked and the obvious tears swelling in your water lines, Jongho had to stop himself from crying. 

“Sweetheart, I would never break up with you. You know that, right?” he reassured you, pulling out the bouquet and note he’d prepared. Your eyes lit up upon seeing this, confusion and relief swelling in your features simultaneously. 

“Here,” he said, sitting down on the foot of your bed, beckoning you to join him. Just before you could sit next to him though, he patted his leg, signaling you to sit in lap. As you do, his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you in as close to him as possible. He hands you the bouquet and note, allowing you a moment to look at the gift and read the note. As you read it, tears begin to fall down both of your faces. Sure, you felt like you needed to be touched like this, but you didn’t expect it to be as emotional as it was. As for Jongho, the guilt of hurting you had really begun to sting. Seeing you so broken up over a few absent-minded words had confused him at first. But once he finally had you in his arms again, he realized it had been weeks of neglect leading up to this point. He was hurting not only you, but himself, too. He just didn’t know he was doing it.

“I’m so sorry, honey. I never meant to hurt you like this,” he explained, wiping the tears away from your face and simply letting his own soak into his skin. His hands raked through your hair gently while he admired your face. “Never gonna let it happen again. Can’t believe I let this go for so long.”

“S’okay, Jongie,” you stammered out between soft cries. You tightened your arms around his neck even more, fingers gripping at shirt, as if he was going to leave any second. “I understand you’ve got a lot on your plate.”

“Princess, you’ll always be number one on my list. You’re my top priority,” he said, finally regaining his composure and moving you to straddle him. Taking the gifts from your hands, he gently placed them to the side and took your face into his hands. He circled his thumbs on your cheeks, quietly asking you to stop crying. 

“I missed this, Jongho. I just love you so much. I’m sorry I’m such a burden sometimes-” but before you could continue, he cut you off.

“Don’t apologize. I’m the one that should be sorry,” he looked deep into your eyes, making sure you internalized each word he said, “and I am. I’m so sorry, baby. I know how much you care, and I want you to know how much I care, too. I love you so, so much, darling. I know I’m not the best with my words, so will you let me make it up to you another way?” Jongho questioned, his fingers tracing the edge of your pajama shorts, occasionally sneaking underneath the fabric. His eyes met yours, looking needier than ever. 

With your nod of approval, Jongho lifted your shirt off your body, exposing your bare chest. His hands were quick to touch you, rubbing and pulling lightly at each nipple. You leaned into him further with each touch, and soon, your lips connected in a sweet, tender kiss. Jongho only deepened the kiss as he let his hands run freely over your body, as if he were rediscovering a terrain that he had begun to forget. His hands snuck inside your shorts, past the band of your underwear, and began to rub soft circles into your clit. Occasionally, his fingers would briefly slip into your hole, gathering some of your slick to use as a lubricant, still circling your clit at a steady pace.

Jongho pressed his forehead against yours in order to catch your attention, “How do you want me, baby?”

“Doesn’t matter, just want you, Jongie,” you babbled, so desperate for him to go faster with his ministrations. Your hips bucked onto his fingers each time they left your clit, hoping he’d slip a finger fully in.

“Mm-mm,” he hummed, “It’s all about you tonight. Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he insisted. Awaiting a response, he pulled his hand from your shorts, eliciting a whine from you. He hooked his arms under your legs, picking you up and laying you down on the bed. Gently, he pulled your shorts and underwear off together in one go. You could almost see the sparkle in his eyes as they traversed your body. He leaned down leaving just inches between your faces, “You gonna answer me, baby?”

“I think I want your tongue-” you began, but before you could finish, Jongho had pulled you to the edge of the bed and kneeled down, coming face to face with your cunt. He lifted your bottom half up, placing one forearm under you and the other on top, letting your legs rest on top of his shoulders. He let one thumb come to your clit, picking up from where he left off earlier. It didn’t take him long to dive into your pussy. Lapping at it like a starved man, he’d drag his tongue up and down your soaked cunt, occasionally dipping his tongue into you. With each drag of his tongue, you could feel yourself getting closer to a release, but everytime Jongho heard an influx of moaning and felt your hips buck up, he’d slow down slightly, not wanting you to cum just yet.

“So pretty, princess,” He said, coming up for air. His mouth and chin glistened as he smiled up at you with nothing but affection. It was as if he were touching you for the first time all over again. He was trying to take things slow, wanting to solely focus on making you feel good, but he couldn’t help but rut himself into the mattress when he heard those sweet moans of yours. He removed his hand from your clit, bringing it down to your hole instead. He toyed at your entrance, not quite deciding if he should go in or not.

“Please Jongie, want your fingers, too.”

And his mind was made up. He plunged two fingers in, focusing his mouth on your clit now. Your pussy basically sucked his fingers in, a sloshing noise coming from it. Jongho watched your face contort in pleasure. Your eyebrows strung together and your cheeks stained with a light blush. What a sight to see. It only made him want to work you harder. Shoving his fingers in up to the knuckle this time, he pistoned in and out of you, occasionally twisting them upwards to press his fingertips into your most sensitive spots. He just couldn’t get enough of how amazing your pussy felt; so soft, warm, and wet. So perfect for him.

“Gonna cum, Jong…So close” you whined out, pleasure filling every inch of your body. It was like he was sent into overdrive, his soft licking at your clit turned into harsh sucking at it, lips surrounding the bud completely. His fingers fucked into you at a pace you’d yet to feel in your life. It was desperate on both ends, each of you melting completely into one another’s touch.

Jongho had almost missed it, too focused on getting you there to notice your quickly approaching orgasm. He lifted his head up to watch you cum, as it had always been one of his favorite sights. The way your head slammed back into the mattress and your back arched up, sending your tits into the air for him to admire made him swear up and down that you were an angel sent for him. Giving you time to come down, he listened to the warbled sounds coming from you and collected the slick that was slowly leaking out of you onto his fingers and pushed it back into you.

“Jesus Christ, I missed that,” Jongho said with a groan, standing up to hold you in his arms. He lifted your back up so you were now sitting on the edge of the bed with him still slotted in between your legs. He brushed some strands of hair out of your face, his hand coming down to trace your jawline. He brought your face up to his and stole a couple kisses from you. You nudged your face into his hand, hoping somehow it could stay there forever. Something about his touch was always so grounding.

“Still okay to keep going, sweetheart?” He looked down at you, hoping to get the greenlight from you. 

You don't answer verbally, instead choosing to undo the buckle of his belt, using it to bring him in closer to you. As you unzip his pants and pull them down, his cock springs out, nearly hitting you in the face. Your tongue poked out of your mouth, getting ready to devour him until you felt his hands on your shoulders.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes then. Lay back, baby. Gonna take such good care of you tonight.” He gently pushed you back, noticing a look of concern on your face. 

“What? What’s wrong?” He said, slightly panicked.

“Don’t you want me to… you know,” You said, making a blowjob motion towards him. 

God, you’re so cute.

“Darling, I’m making it up to you, aren’t I? You don’t have to do anything tonight, just let me make you feel good.” A smirk adorned his face, enamored with how sweet you are. His hands traced up and down your sides, a gentle, but steadying motion. 

You reached your arms up, looping them around his neck to pull him into a kiss. It was chaste, quick and simple, but so passionate. It was as if you were kissing him for the first time again. You let his tongue explore your mouth, enjoying the low groan he let out as he did so. Barely breaking away, you looked into his eyes, deep and glistening, and asked, “Can I have you inside me now? Want’ to feel you inside.”

That was all he needed to hear before he lined himself up with your entrance, pumping his cock a few times before he did so. He teasingly dragged the tip up and down your folds before sinking into you. It was slow, but languid. He wanted you to feel every part of him, every vein and curve on him, just to remind you that you’d never have to go without again. His voice was low and throaty as he bottomed out, letting soft moans fall from his lips. 

“Baby girl, you feel so good,” he stops, waiting for you to adjust to the size. Once ready, he pulls his hips back achingly slowly, almost pulling out all the way, just to force himself back in. Your fingers curled into his hair and your legs wrapped around his waist, begging for him to be deeper in you. 

“Love feeling you inside like this, Jongie,” you whine, “please keep going.” 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he assured you, “never gonna leave you alone again.” 

He took your face into his hands, planting kisses all over your face. His hips pick up their pace, hitting your sensitive spot repeatedly. While his pace was still slow, it was steady and deep. Jongho wasn’t fucking you to get himself off, he was fucking you to get you off. And god it felt so good. As his hips continued to snap into yours, the loud sound of skin on skin echoing in the room, you could feel yourself coming close to your climax. And you knew Jongho was almost there, too, based on the wince he let out each time he thrusted into you. 

“I’m so close, Jongie, are you?” You asked, the heat burning in your core only getting warmer. He nodded, unable to speak through his own groaning. He planted one hand by your head to steady himself while the other took yours into his, lacing your fingers together. Even though his orgasm was slowly approaching, he wanted you to cum first. He forgot how much he loved the way it felt when you came on him. 

Staring down at you, Jongho quickened his thrusts, making sure to hit that spot deep inside you that he knew felt so good. Over and over again, harder and harder. It sent a rush of electricity through your body, limbs shaking and back arching as your orgasm washed over you. He loved how your cunt clenched down on him, a warm rush of arousal pooling around the base of his cock. 

“That was so good, princess. Such a sweet girl,” Jongho barely let out, “Think I’m gonna come now, too.”

“Want it inside me, Jongho.” 

That was enough to send him over the edge. His hips rutted into yours desperately. Spilling his seed into you, he stopped thrusting and just sat there for a moment, basking in the warmth around him. His forehead pressed against yours, noses nudging together and eyes staring into each other with great affection. 

“You forgive me yet?” He pulled out, eliciting a whine from you. 

“I forgave you when I saw the flowers,” you chuckled, sitting up on your elbows. Jongho flopped down next to you. His chest rose and fell shallowly, trying to regain some of his breath. 

“I figured,” he looked at you, eyes gleaming with joy, “but it was still nice, right?” 

“Of course it was. I love it every time, you know that. And I missed it so much, you don’t even know.”

“Baby, I don’t even think I knew how much I needed it,” he pulled you into him, his hand massaging into the skin of your hip, “I know I said this, but I’m never gonna leave you like that again, got it?” You returned a simple nod, too tired to answer verbally. 

“Ready to get cleaned up?” You answered again with a nod, sleep already seeping into your bones. Jongho left the room, heading to the bathroom to clean himself up and fill up the tub. Not long after, he came back for you, pulling you up into his arms to carry you to the bathroom. Checking the water temperature and deciding it was alright, he placed you into the tub. It was silent between you two, but that’s what you liked about aftercare with him. You didn’t need words to bring you back to your normal mindset, his touch was always enough.

His hands massaged your shoulders, knocking every knot and tight spot out of your body. They moved down your body, working until he could confidently say you wouldn’t feel sore in the morning. He then went on to take a washcloth to your body, scrubbing the sweat and other body fluids off of you, paying extra attention to the insides of your thighs. During all of this, he gently hummed one of your favorite songs. It was a ritual for him to care for you like this. It made him feel good, like he protected you like no one else could. Sure, he was always working, but when he was working to please you, it made him feel so much more important. 

Once finished cleaning you off, he drained the tub. Turning his attention back to you, he planted a kiss to your forehead and helped you out of the tub. You purred as he wrapped a warm towel around you, pulling you in for a hug. The two of you stayed there for a moment, just swaying in each other’s arms. 

He didn’t want to say anything to ruin the quiet atmosphere in the bathroom, so instead he hooked a finger under your chin, pulling your face up to look at his. He placed a tender kiss to your lips, knowing that you’d understand just how much he cared for you in that moment. 

[anna-scribbles]

hey anna! the wait for kwami’s choice part 2 truly is abysmal and it’s so hard to navigate through the tag with all the leaks about, do you have any fic recs to tide us over until gloob puts us out of our misery?

not only do I have fic recs, I also have way too much to do rn and therefore will spend an inordinate amount of time crafting a detailed rec list for you 😘 (we can also just consider this my 2022 ao3 wrapped lol)

goes without saying perhaps, but ANYTHING by @peachcitt is gold and also uniquely devastating, some of my particular favorites being:

metamorphosis - 97k, enemies, sleepovers, you get it. i'm normal

those benevolent stars - 23k, ladrien thief/prince/soulmates au. what more do I even need to say

chat noir's white french man hit list for feminist purposes - 7k, hilarious and devastating, this fic is a child to me

double dare - 32k, ladrien, absolutely everything. cemented my friendship w/ peach bc I had to scream at her everyday abt it

I thought the plane was going down - 11k, attuned to my tastes specifically, adrinette having a History while on airplanes

@carpisuns also puts out banger after banger like it's her dayjob, specializing in understanding the ridiculous nature of the lovesquare to such a degree and also being the funniest person alive. some of my faves from her are:

tell me something I don't know - 120k, the marichat fic EVER, mar's dissertation on lovesquare and guess what she's right

pink - 14k wip, adrien loves marinette, SOFT

two idiots and a hamster (collab with @botherkupo) - 24k, adrinette roommates, makes me cry laugh

@picayunearts is a goddess on earth. she bends word and image flawlessly to her will. recently she has enraptured me with

final girl - 41k, marichat, au where marinette succeeds in giving up her miraculous to alya in origins. INCREDIBLE marinette character study

@rosekasa invented ladynoir and i'm not afraid to say it. check out everything on her ao3 but just note the following

when things were good - 15k wip, breakup fic/post hawkmoth takedown, has been ruining me in a SPECIAL way

new marinette 12k, post-guardianship memory loss marinette, a classic

like poles of a magnet - 12k, enemies au, hurts my feelings

ya'aburnee - 13k, ladynoir, HURTS ME VERY MUCH. I'VE NOT RECOVERED

@buggachat's fics always feel like i'm attending a course on adrien and marinette's true characterizations explained to me by someone with a PhD in lovesquare and I walk away enlightened. she has an incredible gift for storytelling and just Getting It. anyway read

maintaining a professional distance - 43k, ladynoir hotel room shenanigans, god-tier characterization

when you're near 10k, ladynoir dating but adrinette have never met, a classic

@sha-nwa should honestly quit her career and write lovesquare fanfiction for me full time. proof:

the way I loved you - 68k, marichat break up fic, will be cemented into my mind forever

photograph - 1k, sweet adrinette, abby loves making me cry

things WOULD be amiss if I did not mention @officialratprince (carolinaa on ao3) bc their fics derailed my homework schedule on several occasions last semester, though I'll be honest that their fics are not for the faint of heart or those who wish adrien agreste to have a good time. my faves are

I will take it / it can't go wrong series - 3 fics at 16k, 25k, and 39k, adrien's journey through experiencing child abuse and his friends being there for him, culminating in gabriel's court trial

home sick - 14k wip, adrien gets pneumonia and Everything Is Really Bad

other various fics I love for various reasons:

how hawkmoth got his groove back series by @agrestenoir - 2 fics at 3k and 1k, one of my favorite crack fics i read last year. had me crying laughing

1 step forward, 3 steps back by agnes writes - 10k, breaks my heart every time I read it. also makes me legitimately angry at adrien while still keeping him in character which is a feat in and of itself

the last day on earth by reiaji - 10k, chat blanc keeps happening as marinette gets older, I am incapable of not recommending this fic

okay now go forth and don't do your work<3

[pumpkinbxtch]

“unbearable?” ✿.｡*

— frank zhang x fem!reader

Summary: When Frank confesses his love to you, the reaction he gets from you is not what he expected, as you have always thought that he hated you. warnings: none, just language a/n: welcome to my first frank blurb, he's so fuckn cute. i love him. sorry if it's very weird.

— I like you— As soon as that sentence ended, your ears felt empty and your skin bristled. Your mind started working a thousand times faster, but all you managed was to let out a silly snort.

That was enough for Frank to take two steps back; he wished he could jump to another continent at that very moment, to a place where no one would ever see him again, especially you. All those nights he stayed awake practicing his confession seemed to have been in vain, even the talks with Piper on how to treat you. Everything seemed to have simply gone down the stupid toilet.

Unintentionally, both of you fell into silence. Each had an expression that the other would have mocked if not for the situation. Your tongue failed you, but you began to murmur and shake your head.

— Frank, this is not funny.

The boy opened his eyes and also started shaking his head, totally confused by your accusation. How could you think he was joking about his feelings? But above all, what gnawed at him inside was, what had Frank done to make you think that way? He had no fucking idea.

—Excuse me?— He whimpered. It wasn't his intention, but his heart was breaking, and you were rubbing it in the dust with every expression you made.

It surprised you; after your words, you expected him to give you that strange look and leave in silence with a mocking laugh. Why? Because that was practically what Frank always did.

From your perspective, the son of Mars always seemed tired of you. No matter what you tried, he always brushed you off with strange glances, furrowed brows, and a completely tense body.

Remember that time you bought him a bear-shaped ice pop because it reminded you of him? You recall how happy you were searching for him to give it to him, “he will love it,” you thought, “with this, I can get closer to him,” you believed, but when you could hand him the gift…

“Thank you,” he said, without any damn expression on his face. His shoulders completely stiff and his brow deeply furrowed. He quickly walked away from you after finishing the sentence, and you didn't see him again in the evening.

On that occasion and many more, you had no doubt, Frank couldn't stand you.

And how wrong you were. Frank was just holding back the urge to laugh like an idiot in front of you, to not sweat excessively or make any exaggerated movements that would give away his feelings for you. You misinterpreted everything, while he thought he was being gentle with you and slowly connecting the dots to be more than just your friend.

Frank had the best strategy in mind to win you over, but apparently, of all his plans and strategies, that one had not been successful other than making you think he hated you. Someone bury him alive!

— It's not funny — you repeated, popping your thoughts, and looked around. There were small arrangements in the park, some lights, and a blanket folded over a picnic basket. That made you doubt.

—I'm not joking —he took a step towards you. If you didn't reciprocate, it was fine, he would cry later, but he had to make it clear. He couldn't leave things like that.

— You are — you accused, and he started to despair.

— No! I like you! Isn't it obvious? 

You huffed.

— Well, it's not! You hate me! Wasn't that obvious? 

— No! —He complained exasperatedly.

Both sighed and looked at each other in silence with doubt. You started to tremble, the night was approaching, and the air was getting cold. You just wanted to go back to your cabin, but things weren't getting any better. You wished you could bite your tongue and not have reacted that way. What if Frank was serious, what chances did that leave you? Your stomach began to twist, and you let out a small groan.

— So do you like me? 

Frank's cheeks started to turn pink, and his stuttering made you feel guilty. Damn it, damn it, damn it. What were you missing out on?

— Frank— You called him, and he started stuttering even faster. You feared he might turn into a swarm of bees and run away. — FRANK

The boy felt a drop of sweat running down his back, his breathing quickened. He never thought things would turn out this way. He let out a groan, clenched his hands.

— YES, I LIKE YOU — Pop. And he turned into a bear. Typical.

You opened your eyes wide and let out a laugh, then two, which turned into a fit of laughter. Frank was dying of embarrassment, but he decided to stay in that form. Maybe you would leave, and he could hide for the rest of his life, but you kept laughing.

Things got complicated, turned strange, but you knew you had to talk about it no matter what. How did you feel about Frank? You weren't sure because you never had the chance to define it, but he seemed sweet, very attentive.

Maybe deep down you always wanted his attention, that's why you tried to connect with him so many times.

You inhaled and exhaled, after the last laughs, Frank had sat on his bear's hindquarters, and you sat on the grass. The lights he had apparently set up finally shone in the darkness, resembling fireflies. You looked at him in his brown fur.

— I thought you hated me… — you sighed. — I had no idea, Frank… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you with my reaction.

He let out a growl, you never wished so much to understand bear language. Without hesitation, you stroked his head.

— Frank… — You called him a bit more insistently, and the son of Mars transformed again. His pale face was illuminated by the small lights, shyness still evident in him. Your hand ended up on the boy's forearm, but you didn't remove it. On the contrary, you tightened your grip, catching his attention.

— I was very naive, I thought I was making it clear that I liked you — You let out another giggle and hugged yourself when another gust of wind blew against both of you. Frank didn't hesitate for two seconds and took off his jacket to drape it over your shoulders. You thanked him with a glance, and he smiled.

—That's one of the few smiles you've given me… I always saw you very tense or serious around me. I stopped trying to engage with you…

This caused a pang in Frank's chest, and he gently shook his head.

—I should have tried harder.— It was your turn to shake your head. You wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault or give him encouragement, but you saw a better opportunity.

You walked over to the basket and tightened the jacket around your shoulders to keep it from falling when you picked it up. You lifted it into the air.

— Did you have something planned? — You inquired with a raised eyebrow, making Frank blush. It made a knot form in your stomach, but this time with a better feeling. You weren't blind; you always knew he was terribly handsome.— We can mend this lack of communication. What better way than with something you created? 

Frank nodded and walked towards you. He crouched to pick up the blanket and took the basket from your hands.—Let me do it.

You let him. As he set up the picnic, you felt anxious.

— Frank, I didn't really answer you…— He looked up at you and shrugged it off, but you ignored it. — And I won't until you've set up enough picnics to convince me.

He noticed your smile and the way you swayed as you spoke, with your hair flowing and his jacket covering your body. Damn, Frank would become the best fucking picnic expert if it meant increasing his chances with you.

[dancingtotuyo]

Scathed 9 (Javier Peña)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: anxiety, trauma, self worth, smoking, idiot(s) in love?, references to the drug war and colombia, Narcos season 3 spoilers

Notes: shoutout to my forever beta reader @janaispunk for looking this bad boy over!

Words: 2923

Series Master List | Author Master List

Journal Entry August 4, 1994  Dear Javi,

There are things I can’t bring myself to say. Even out on the back patio under the safety of the stars, I can’t tell you how scared I am that you won’t come back. It terrifies me. I did life without you for so long, but I’m not sure how to go back to life without you in it. We’re going to miss you alot. 

You won’t ever see this, but please come back. 

This time would be different. It ran on repeat in Javier’s head as he stared out the large windows that overlooked the buzzing city. New position, new apartment, new drug cartel. This time had to be different; he couldn’t get lost in it like last time. He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself to start back at the DEA in the morning.

He unpacked his last suit case, having put it off since his arrival Friday night, the one that contained his few treasures in life. Framed photos from Chucho: the ranch, the two of them, an old family photo with his mom. A crayon drawing from Alejandra: both of them on horses. A bottle of whiskey from Jaime. A journal from Emily. 

“To write down all those thoughts racing through your mind. Even the ugly ones,” she had told him.

He set it on the end table next to the family photo with his mom. This time would be different. A silent oath. 

Alejandra’s drawing went on the fridge, the bottle of whisky on the counter, and the other pictures on the bookshelf. He looked around. It all felt scattered, empty, nothing like the apartment he’d made for himself last time. 

The familiar urge to go out, drink a couple of fingers of whiskey, and take a warm body home crept in. He fought against it. He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. This time had to be different. He’s promised himself over and over again it would be. He promised his dad he would call and write. He told Emily the same… 

Could he be here and not let it consume him? Could he be soaked in it all and still talk to her? Be worthy of her friendship? Being here, he felt the sins of his past marring his hands, so real and tangible. The same hands Emily allowed to touch her, what a privilege that was. The same hands she felt safe in. 

Javier thought about all the things he used to do when these thoughts raced through his mind when he couldn’t handle the big emotions: bars, cigarettes, sex. Too many times to count. His fingers itched at his side to grab his leather jacket and go. 

He paced the length of his apartment running a hand through his messy hair. Then it caught his eye: something sticking out of the journal. He pulled it out. 

A crisp envelope with his name written neatly in the middle: Emily’s handwriting. He popped it open. Polaroid pictures. He shook his head thinking about the grief he gave her for carrying that thing everywhere, but a smile appeared on his lips. There was one of him standing in the riding rink as Ale trotted around him on Hurricane. Another taken on the patio just last week: he and the kids eagerly chowing down on popsicles before they could melt in the Texas sun. He could see the red ring around Mateo’s mouth and drip down his chin as the sun beat him. One on the small dock next to the boys and his dad, lines cast into the pond Chucho stocked on the ranch. Javier smiled. Miguelito caught the biggest bass that day. Chucho had been dumbfounded. 

He sucked in as he flipped to the last one. It was the picture Alejandra had taken at the park just after he told her he was returning to Colombia. She leaned into him, an ease rarely seen in her. He’d caught a whiff of her shampoo, followed her lead, and leaned in. His thumb rubbed over the picture. He’d put an arm over her shoulder, her hand on his knee it all looked so… peaceful, domestic even, like they were- He cut the thought off, letting the picture fall to his coffee table. 

For so many reasons, that was a bad idea. 

He padded his pockets, finding the Nicorette gum. He popped the last piece into his mouth. He should grab more on his way to work in the morning. 

The Polaroid stared back at him. He looked happy, wrinkles cutting deep around his eyes. He picked the photo back up. He had been happy that day. Happier than he could remember even as he grappled with his decision to return to Colombia. Black ink on the back grabbed his attention. Don’t forget about us, okay? Her handwriting again. Her words to him that day.

He smiled to himself. That was his friend. He wasn’t sure he’d had one of those for a long time. Sure, he and Steve got along, but Steve was back in Miami. They still talked about once a month, but the bond he felt toward this woman was different. He and Steve had been forced together. They had to trust each other. Their lives had depended on it. Javier’s life sure didn’t depend on trusting Emily, but he did. She didn’t judge him. There were still things he hadn’t told her, and vice versa, but he knew when he was ready, he could. 

Javier slipped the photo of them into his wallet. This time was different.

He grabbed the phone off the end table and called his dad. The conversation was brief. The last thing he wanted to do was run up anyone’s phone bill, but he could tell his dad was happy to hear from him. He’d rarely received communications from Javier when he was in Colombia the first time. 

His fingers hovered over the buttons as he contemplated the second call. He told her he’d call. She told him to call. He pushed past the anxiety, pressing the buttons succinctly. He had it memorized. He checked his watch. It was bath night in the Kuykendall house. He knew that, but usually, the kids were bathed and in bed by now. 

Javier smiled as he thought about the few times he’d stumbled into bath night. It was true chaos and an event, but every single person wore larger-than-life grins. It was one of the times Javier felt like he was a part of something bigger than himself, like he’d been brought into something sacred. 

“Hello?” Anna answered. He could clearly hear the laughter of children and adults in the background. 

“Hey, it’s Javier… I can call back if this is-“

“Not at all.” He felt Anna’s welcoming presence through the phone. “Emily just came out of the bathroom.”

“Bath night.” Javier chuckled. 

“Exactly,” Anna called for her stepdaughter. Javier couldn’t hear their exchange over the shouts coming from the living room. 

“Javier?”

An ache in his chest eased. “Hey, sounds like a madhouse there.”

Emily laughed and the sounds muted as if she’d shut them behind a door. “Dad seems to have extra energy to chase the kids down tonight. How is it to be back?”

“Strange.” Javier glanced out the window. The city flowed like it always did, people rushing from place to place. “I’ve got a nicer apartment this time.”

“Of course you do, Mr. DEA attaché.”

Javier chuckled. “That sounds too fancy for me.”

“You said the same thing when you bought those suits and I gave you that snazzy new haircut.”

Javier grinned, resting against the countertop. His eyes fluttered shut as he remembered the feeling of her fingers through his hair. His shirt stretched and pulled across his chest as he inhaled. “Still sounds too fancy for me.”

“You ready for your first day?”

“No.”

Her laugh crackled through the line. “Then why’d you go back.”

At that moment, Javier wondered the same thing. He’d much rather be back in Laredo chasing the kids around the living room. “I’m askin myself that same thing.”

“Then do it. Tell the DEA where to shove it and come home.”

He smiled, low chuckle pulling from his chest. “You and I both know I have unfinished business here.”

“Yeah…” Silence sat between them. He could still hear the kids in the background. Javier wracked his brain for the right things to say, but everything he wanted to say he couldn’t. “Finish it quick, okay?”

“That’s the plan.”

“And stay safe. I can’t lose one of my only friends.”

“Oh?” Javier said. He felt an easiness take over him. “What about Lorraine? I thought she was your friend.”

“I said one of, and you’re my best friend anyway.” He can hear her eyes roll. “I mean it though, we all miss you already.”

“Tell the kids I said hi, okay? I’ll call another night when there’s time to talk to them.”

“Will do.”

“Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I should be saying that to you.”

“Em.”

“I will. I promise,” she said. “You too, Javi.”

Journal Entry August 8, 1994 Dear Javi,

I bet you spend all day behind a desk and hate every moment of it. It makes me laugh each time I think about it. It assures me that you’re okay too. Fancier job means a safer job, right?

As his first day back came to a close, Javier felt like he’d been there for a year. When he found the sticky note with the name of a nearby bar on his desk presumably left by Neil, he told himself one drink wouldn’t hurt. This time would be different. The mantra felt almost meaningless already. Similar things had been echoed in his meetings all day. This wouldn’t be like Escobar. There would be law and order and protocol. Politics were more important than ever. The world was watching now. 

One drink and then home. That was what he told himself as he sat down at the bar, ignoring his coworkers at the corner table. Pulling off his suit coat, he motioned the bartender ordering a whiskey. He turned down Neil’s invite to join the group. The guy was too eager to kiss his ass for Javier’s liking, put him up on a pedestal for taking down Escobar as if he hadn’t been suspended at the time. 

He swallowed the whiskey as soon as the glass was set in front of him. Then, he ordered another. Javier wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but it was too long. He rubbed his thumb over the crease of his forehead trying to talk himself out of the opportunity for stress relief sitting in front of him. The group in the corner had dwindled to two. A blonde he hadn’t met and the brunette he met at the beginning. Neil had introduced her. Karen? Katherine? Katie?… Katie sounded right. 

His staring wasn’t subtle, wasn’t flirtatious like he’d used to do it. If anything, it was creepy, staring at her while thoughts raced through his head. The mantra shortened until it was only a couple words as he tried to talk himself out of it. Different. Be different. It echoed over and over in his head. 

The bar was practically empty by now. She looked up and smiled at him like he wasn’t being a creep. He didn’t return it, still deep within his own mind. 

“Pretty girl.” Javier’s head snapped around to find fucking Bill Stechner of the CIA at his side. He slid onto the stool beside him. “Displays some shaky judgment in men though.” He looked at Javier.

Javier glanced away from Bill, looking over his shoulder as if to convey his annoyance with his whole body before turning back to him. He forced the briefest tip of his lips, the closest thing to pleasantries he could summon for the man. 

As most conversations with the CIA agent do, Javier was left with a sour taste in his mouth, the innate craving for a cigarette, and his failures thrown in his face. Then, Stechner laid it all out for him, the way things would go whether Javier liked it or not. Cali’s surrender. The facade of justice for the Cali Cartel. He didn’t like it, any of it, and he wasn’t sure why he came back in the first place, or why they even needed him. The DEA didn’t. He was just a pawn in Stechner’s game. 

“Cali will serve some time,” Bill said. He doesn’t look at Javier, keeping his eyes pinned to the bartop. “Technically speaking.”

“And that’s enough for you?” 

The look that crossed Stechner’s face is something akin to a blend of annoyance and patronizing as he met Javier’s eyes. “If there were any justice in this world, Javier, you’d be in jail.”

It was only half a second before Javier averted his eyes, the shame of what he did flooding him. He wasn’t the hero everyone acted like he was. Stechner knew that. Javier kept quiet. 

“I know your guys are running an operation on Cali tonight.” Bill stood, putting enough cash on the bar to cover his and Javier’s tabs. “I can tell you this, it’ll come up double zeros.” More silence. “These guys don’t make mistakes. You try and go after the Cali bosses, all you’ll get is more bodies.” 

Stechner finished off his drink, patted Javier’s shoulder, and walked out without another word, leaving Javier with a bigger stress headache than he came in with. Try as he might, Javier couldn’t push it out of his head. He needed something, a distraction. He wouldn’t survive without one. 

Javier finished off the whiskey in front of him. He rubbed his forehead, searching for any relief. Different. It seemed quieter now, further away like his resolve was slipping. He needed to be anywhere that wasn’t here, shut off his brain.

He stared straight ahead, eyes glazing over, shining in the dim bar light as he pinched his top lip between his thumb and forefinger. Different. It felt useless, like he was bound to fail. A whisper of an oath. Maybe there was no different for him.  

It was almost instinctual, the way he glanced over, eyes meeting hers. She offered him a soft small now sitting alone at the table, cigarette held between her middle and pointer finger, like she had been waiting for him.  

“This is Peña. Leave a message.” BEEP.

“Hi Mr. Javi! It’s me, Ale. I miss you already. You should call me soon.” 

“Alejandra, who are you on the phone with?”

“Mr. Javi’s voicemail.”

“Ale, it’s expensive to call Colombia. Hand me the phone.”

“Oops.” She giggled.

A long sigh crackled over the line followed by a pause. “Hey Jav… I guess I’ve paid for the next couple of minutes, I might as well use it. I suppose you’re already working late since it’s after eight. Don’t let them work you too hard, okay? And you should still return my call.” More dead air. “It feels silly to miss you as much as I do. I feel like I haven’t talked to you in days… Oh! I got into that class I was waitlisted for. Anne is willing to work with my school schedule so I still get my hours in at work.”

“Mommy!” A voice calls out in the background as a crashing sound follows it. 

“Shit” The machine clicked off. 

Javier woke up tangled in his navy sheets with the same stress headache and a greater hankering for a cigarette than he’d had in months. Katie slept soundly on her side next to him, back facing him. Her brown hair spread out over the pillow. She hadn’t tried to cuddle, and thank god she understood what last night had been. 

Without a second though, he reached for her purse, careful not to wake the naked woman next to him as he eased into a sitting position. Relief flooded him when his fingers glided over the pack of cigarettes and lighter. 

There was no hesitation as he put the cigarette to his lips and flicked the lighter to life. The nicotine flooded his body for the first time in months. Finally, he found some relief. 

Journal Entry  August 13th, 1994 Dear Javi,

I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m sure you’re okay. Dad said there were no reports of anything happening. You’re just busy, with your first week back and all… 

Alejandra asks every morning if you called her back. Mateo asks too. I think he’s hoping for stories of chasing down bad guys. Even Miguelito asked about you. 

We all miss you so much. 

Javier played the voicemail over and over, but he couldn’t bring himself to call back. He hadn’t lasted a day into the job without reverting to old habits. He’d fooled himself into thinking things could be different, into thinking if he did this the right way, if he brought down Cali the right way, he could be worthy of her one day. 

The whiskey burned on its way down. 

Journal Entry August 15th, 1994 Javier, 

I swear if you went and got yourself killed on your first week back, I’ll never forgive you. I won’t even say any nice words at your funeral. Imagine that, your best friend holding back all the nice things about you. The world can just remember you to be the asshole you showed them.

Seriously though, signs of life would be appreciated.

…………………………………………………………………..

Taglist: @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @burntheedges @southernbe @fanyyoouu @greengirlwurld

@mysterious-moonstruck-musings @weho2kcmo

[thedrarrylibrarian]

Dear Librarian, first thank you so much for your beautiful blog <3 I wanted to ask for a rec of fics hurt/comfort I love this trope and always brings to me warn feelings

Hello! Your holds have arrived!

First, let me thank you in return for your wonderful ask! I love hearing that you've enjoyed my blog! I had not realized how much I LOVE this trope before putting together this list. I could do several lists on this theme, but here I've picked just a few.

Hurt/Comfort

Sinking/Floating by @andithiel (966 words, rated T)

After the war, Harry once again dwells so much on dreams of the past and those he lost, that he forgets to live. Draco helps to remind him.

To Be Okay by @phoebe-delia (275 words, rated T)

When he was nine. “You’re okay, you’re safe, shhh sh sh,” Mother murmured as she held Draco close, wiping away his tears while the nightmare faded into wisps of a memory.

April by @toomuchplor (1,167 words, rated G)

Harry would never have expected it, before they started up together: that the angles and points of Malfoy could soften and coalesce into this gentle patient landing place.

Lay Your Hands by @shealwaysreads (3,022 words, rated E)

Sometimes saving a person is practical. Sometimes it’s something else altogether.

Just A Phone Call Away by @cavendishbutterfly (3,934 words, rated M)

Today’s the day: Harry’s getting over his ridiculous crush on Draco Malfoy. Even if Draco’s just invited himself over to wash Harry’s hair. In a very platonic way, obviously. Not intimate at all. They can just be friends, right?

As it was written by @cavendishbutterfly (4,772 words, rated E)

Harry keeps having nightmares after the war. Someone keeps saving him.

acts of service by @oknowkiss (5,638 words, rated E)

Harry's sick, and Draco just wants to take care of him, but they're two idiots in love, so it couldn't possibly be that easy.

ever-giving heart by @softlystarstruck (6,143 words, rated E)

Harry Potter doesn't ask for help, until he does– desperately, standing on Draco's doorstep.

Draco doesn't intend to get invested. Really.

Five Little Things by @bixgirl1 (6,197 words, rated T)

Harry was supposed to be good at this.

Still by alexmeg (7,388 words, not rated)

Dating Draco Malfoy, Harry thinks, will mean being at arms length outside of sex. No unnecessary physical contact or displays of affection. He wants him anyway, inexplicably. Perhaps that is exactly the kind of person he should be with, someone who will never need Harry to kiss him first, because Harry doesn't think he'll ever be that person.

The Exhale by spqr (7,506 words, rated T)

Hermione makes a soft, concerned sound. "Harry, look at this." She shows him an article with a photo, but the photo's not moving; it must be a Muggle newspaper. "NASA have just landed a rover on Mars. It's called Curiosity, and look, this is so--I don't know if it's sweet or sad, but--it's all alone out there, and they programmed it to sing itself Happy Birthday."

Nothing is wrong, but Harry starts crying.

but first, we fight by @nv-md (8,157 words, rated E)

Fighting with Draco Malfoy has never been quite this thrilling...or this frustrating. Harry's always horny, Draco's in denial, and there simply isn't enough time in the day to fight crime and watch your ex-archnemesis wash his arse.

Statues Crumble by @xanthippe74 and @fictional (13,683 words, rated T)

Between one war and the next, Draco has lost his parents, his home, and his menial Ministry job. All he has left is the secret (and anonymous) work he does to help Harry Potter overthrow another government—oh, and that statue he stole from the Ministry Atrium.

Counter-Curse by Justlikewriting (21,217 words, rated T)

When Harry took his first holiday in years, he decided to spend it house sitting Ron and Hermione’s flat in a Muggle part of London. It should have been easy enough - minding their plants, their Kneazle and their cat - and it would have been, if Harry hadn't seen someone blacking out in the flat opposite on his first day.

Of course, it was just his luck that the man in the other flat turned out to be none other than Draco Malfoy, Assistant Hotel Manager. Of a very Muggle hotel. Which also happened to serve the best cake. Ever.

And then there was this group called Counter-Curse, which was desperately trying to get Harry's attention as well.

Now I Know In Part by @dodgerkedavra (39,840 words, rated E)

Harry Potter is the savior of the Wizarding World. Draco Malfoy is a reformed Death Eater turned Ministry Curse-Breaker. Five years after the War, they're brought together by another mysterious curse.

Only this time, Harry's the one who needs saving.

It actually hurts by @parkkate (51,973 words, rated E)

For years, Draco has tried to avoid Harry Potter. He just knows he’ll make a fool out of himself if they spent more than five minutes in a room together. Unfortunately, Potter suddenly seems intent on becoming Draco’s friend, but neither of them are prepared for the inevitable consequences...

Your Soul Sat on My Lips by @m0srael (61,581 words, rated E)

Sometimes, two broken men can love one another whole again, and sometimes they can’t. That doesn’t mean they don’t deserve to try.

[prongsfish]

@jegulus-microfic / mar 2 / pool / 1,283 words - tiny nsfw warning, they're just horny idiots but they don't do shit lmao

James was trying really hard to be cool about it. Really, really hard.

He was not doing so well.

It was the first summer break since Regulus had started university, reunited with Sirius, and, eventually, started dating James. He was thrilled, full of so much love he could barely handle it, and if he could, he’d spend every second surrounded by all their friends. This meant, of course, that he had been making summer plans 3 months in advance. He wouldn’t spend a single day alone if it were up to him.

They were a week in, and Regulus had stayed with his friends that whole week. He’d been in a dorm with Barty and Evan the past year, but the moment they’d found a decent house to rent off campus, they’d done it. They had the money, so why not? The first week of break was dedicated to moving in and James and Sirius had offered to help, but Regulus insisted they’d only distract him. Today was the first day he was seeing Regulus again, so of course he’d made big plans to celebrate. 

This meant that he found himself running around in his ridiculously large backyard, surrounded by everyone he could think to invite to a day in the pool. Sirius had already dragged Remus into the water, where Peter had quickly followed, but James still had a few things to finish before he’d let himself fully relax. Marlene had nearly knocked him over running as he walked out with a jug of lemonade and a stack of glasses balanced precariously in his arms, quickly followed by Mary chasing after her, both girls holding water guns. Thankfully, he managed to keep everything safe in his grasp. After placing it gingerly down on the table, he’d looked up, seen Evan and Barty engaged in what seemed to be some sort of pool noodle battle, and immediately turned away. If it was anyone else he might’ve joined them, but knowing those two, it’d start out a degree too violent and end quite a few degrees too sexual. He wasn’t gonna get involved.

That was all fine, though. Just being surrounded by all his friends, all so joyful and free, made him feel like he was floating.

No, what he couldn’t deal with, what he could not be cool about, was turning away from Evan and Barty to see Regulus stretched across a sun lounge, his pale, bare skin glimmering in the sunlight, looking up at James with an expression that made his whole body tingle. His hair was pushed back by sunglasses on his forehead, and he was wearing only dark green swim shorts that ended halfway down his thighs. The worst part, though, was the piece of watermelon in his hand. He took a slow bite out of it, red juice spilling from his lips to drip down his chin. His gaze alternated between the piece of fruit and James with heavy eyelids, not making any movement to wipe his chin.

James thought he might die.

He’d missed Regulus all week- His friends were long past sick of hearing him wax poetic about him, along with his own despair and loneliness- but he’d been excited more than anything just to see him, talk to him, hold his hand.

Regulus was making it incredibly difficult to stick to thoughts as pure as those ones.

He simply stood, frozen, next to the lemonade. His face was blank and he stared as Regulus continued to eat, each bite leaving more juice dripping down his face and hand. James had picked a really, really good watermelon, and there it was, biting him in the ass. Regulus took his time eating, savouring every second of it, running his tongue along the edges whenever the juice began to pool. James could feel the heat across his cheeks and only hoped that it wasn’t as blatantly obvious to the eye as it felt, burning up his face. 

He hadn’t even spoken to Regulus properly, too busy setting up, and his friends had been quick to drag him outside and away from James. They’d only exchanged quick greetings, yet he already wanted nothing but to throw him over his shoulder and carry him upstairs to his bedroom. He was supposed to be hosting a party, for fuck’s sake, and Regulus knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn’t trying to fool anyone, eyes hazy with lust staring up and down James’ body, reminding him that he was also only wearing shorts. He knew how much his athlete’s build and happy trail affected his boyfriend, and it made him glad to know he wasn’t the only one struggling to keep his composure in that moment. He felt a little less ashamed that he was moments away from hard knowing that he wasn’t alone in it.

He was still pretty ashamed, though.

It couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes, but it felt like hours had passed when Regulus finally finished the slice of watermelon, sucking gently on the rind before placing it down. He pulled his hand back up and, where juice had dripped down between his pointer and thumb fingers, he ran his tongue along it. He closed his eyes as he did it, then smiled slightly with a hum, and that right there was James’ breaking point. He went from standing frozen by the table to leaning over Regulus at the side of the sun lounge before he could even open his eyes again, but when he did, the corner of his mouth twitched just barely before he adjusted his expression to one of false obliviousness.

“Hey, baby. You alright?”

James squinted at him. “You’re fucking evil.”

Regulus simply blinked, perfectly innocent and clueless. “What are you talking about, Jamie?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” James sputtered, even more than he would’ve before the rare nickname was used, “You, you-”

Regulus smiled up at him, genuine and pure. That bastard. James couldn’t form any words, so after a moment or two of stuttering, he gave up, dropped his knees on the edge of the lounge, and pulled Regulus into a deep kiss. He surged into it, grabbing James’ shoulders and kissing him back with a fire that matched the one building inside of James. He could taste the watermelon inside of Regulus’ mouth, even more so when he slipped his tongue out from inside his mouth to swipe it over his chin, finally cleaning it of the sticky juice. He groaned lowly at the sweet taste of it, and Regulus pushed even further into the kiss, both of them seeking more, more, more-

They were interrupted when a bright purple torpedo hit James in the side of his head, and he broke away from Regulus, cursing and rubbing the spot of impact.

“Stop devouring my little brother, you freak!” Sirius shouted while laughter came from all around them. Regulus stuck his middle finger off at his brother, who simply cackled from where he floated in the pool on a doughnut, and James sighed, forcing Regulus to shimmy over so he could lay on his side next to him. 

“Evil.” He repeated, and this time, Regulus’ smile was a lot less innocent.

“It didn’t seem like you minded that much, really.”

“No, I didn’t.” He admitted, grinning as he buried his head into his boyfriend’s neck, who only laughed. 

“Missed you.” He said after a minute of silence. It was muffled, and Regulus let his hands move from around his back to up in the back of his hair, running mindlessly through his curls as he kissed the top of his head. 

“Missed you too, baby.”

[lets-try-some-writing]

Is it just me or titans three remind me of Jasper trio in some way? Mars and Jack responsible and trying to avoid nonsense. Pluto and Miko triggerhappy small warriors. Raf and Moon full of love for the unknown?

Do they talk about the kids? I guess Unicron is being dramatic that Jack got tainted by Primus when that pesky Optimus made him honorary Prime

Honestly, that's a very solid comparison dear anon. They do mimic the three in a way. With that said, do they talk about the trio?

No not really.

At least not all three of them. Earth is a bit too busy to give much of anyone any real time of day. But Unicron and Moon? Those two idiots are bored out of their processors more often than not and have a ton of fun discussing the situations with the Bots and their wards. To Unicron and Moon, observing the trio is their version of watching football together on the weekend. Their rivalries vanish into smoke when they are presented with the shenanigans of the trio.

Unicron gives Moon running commentary and mental images of the things happening inside the base and Moon gives almost perfect action sequence pictures of battles where the kids are involved. They have a ton of fun rooting on the squishy little things as they scramble between the pedes of literal giants.

Moon has been betting on Jack somehow getting the Star Saber to react to him since he was made an honorary Prime. Unicron has ALL his metaphorical money on Miko. She got the Apex Armor to listen to her. She fears neither man nor god. He respects that.

[bullet-prooflove]

Give Me A Chance - EZ Reyes x Reader (feat: Michael 'Riz' Ariza)

Tagging: @annetje @infinity-mars @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @est1887 @the-wandering-lunatic @alwaysachorusgirl @anime-weeb-4-life @vannabanana1995 @multifandomloversworld @camelia35 @queeniesdiary @est1887 @justazzie

It was the briefest touch, a brush of fingertips across his when you handed him his beer and EZ was hooked. He didn’t know what it was at first. He’s felt love before, he thinks he had it with Emily but this thing with you, it’s different. It’s fathomless and deep, a compulsion he can’t seem to stop himself giving into, which is why he ends up at this bar night after night, talking shit with you in the quiet moments.

He watches out for you in the loud ones, when the game is on TV and your patrons are getting a little too rowdy, when two drunks knock into each other and cause a fight, when someone gets a little too handsy. He makes his presence known, sometimes all it takes is a glower before things begin to settle again. You don’t ask for it, you don’t need a knight in shining armour, at least that’s what you tell him, but you appreciate it none the less.

EZ’s read enough books to know what he’s feeling, to recognise the emotions that raise up inside of him whenever he’s in your presence. That surge of protectiveness when another man enters your personal space, the tenderness when you look at him with that smile on your face, the one that makes him feel like he’s the only one in the fucking room.

Once more he finds himself captivated by your motions as he perches on a stool at the bar beside Riz. There’s an elegance to your movements, a rhythm that he can’t hear. You move like a dancer; with a fluidity and grace he could never hope to accomplish. He wonders if that translates into your more intimate moments, if your thighs will fit as perfectly as he imagines above his hips, if your back bows, arching upwards as you come, taking him deeper. The thought of it makes his body flush with heat and his cock harden against the seam of his jeans. He’s thought about a thousand nights with you, about his hands running through your hair, the swell of your curves against him as he kisses you until you’re breathless. He wants to stare into those alluring eyes of yours as he loves you with slow languid touches that have his name rolling from your lips.

“Ezekiel…”

You tilt your head as you say his name, waving your hand in front of his face to get his attention and suddenly he’s brought back to the moment.

A busy bar on a Friday night, Riz’s girl up on stage, singing a song about how falling in love isn’t really about falling at all, it’s about finding that missing piece of yourself inside someone else. There’s an honesty in the words, one he feels resonating as he looks at you.

“Ezekiel.” You say again, tapping the back of his hand with your fingertips. It’s like a jolt of electricity underneath the surface of his skin, he wants to know if you feel it too. He almost asks you before he realises, he’s missed what you’ve just said to him. “I know you’re working some beautiful mind shit up in there but you still have to pay for your drink, just like everyone else.”

It takes a second for your words to filter through to his brain. When they do his cheeks flush because he’s been so fucking captivated by you that he hasn’t realised, his wallet is still sitting in his back pocket.

“Shit sorry.” His arm jerks, colliding with his beer glass, spilling the contents of it across the bar. Riz yelps as it soaks his elbow, twisting in his seat to assess the damage. “Fuck.”

You laugh off the spillage, snatching up a cloth from under the counter before wiping up the mess. Christ, even your laugh does something to him. It sets something alight inside of him, there’s a glimmer of joy in his chest and he finds himself grinning like a fucking idiot as he clutches his wallet in his hand.

“That one is going on your tab.” You tell him, holding up the empty glass to show him. “You still drinking what’s on tap?”

He nods his agreement before you turn your back to him. You’re wearing a black sheer shirt tonight with a high collar, he can see the etchings of floral tattoo creeping up your lower back and disappearing under the black vest top you are wearing underneath. He thinks about tracing it with his fingertips as you lay amongst his sheets, his lips trailing over each of the delicate petals.

“Jesus.” Riz utters taking his wallet from his grasp and removing one of the bills. “It’s like you and Angel aren’t even related.”

He removes a pen from inside his kutte and scribbles something along the outside of the bill. You’re already putting the fresh glass of beer down on the bar when Riz pushes the bill towards you, tapping the writing lightly with his finger.

“His phone number.” Riz tells you, jerking his head towards EZ. “In case the two of you decide you want to get together outside this place.”

You hold up the bill for a minute, examining it before sliding it across to EZ. “Is that a 9 or an 8?”

He leans in close, analysing the digits that Riz has scrawled block capitals on the note. The scent of your perfume floods his senses, a hint of jasmine and something that reminds him of spring. He’s never been great at differentiating; eidetic memory only works on a visual level, but he thinks he’ll remember that fragrance for the rest of his life.

“It’s an 8.” He finds himself saying.

You sigh and it feels like he’s been stabbed in the chest because he reads it as a rejection. He can feel himself withdrawing, he’s misread the situation clearly. He’s new to this, getting out of prison has fucked with his social skills, he’s pretty good with most situations but when it comes to romance, the only person he’s been with was Emily and that was almost a decade ago. He’s rusty at best.

Your hand comes to rest on his, thumb trailing over the scar on the back of his hand from a cut he’d gotten at the scrapyard in his first week working there.

“I like you.” You tell him truthfully, turning over his hand so you could follow the raised path of the scar. He inhales at the sensation of your fingertip caressing his palm. “I think you’re smart, funny and I think you have a kind heart…”

“But?” he questions.

“This bar takes up a lot of my time and a lot of my patience.” You tell him, your lips pursing together grimly. “The hours aren’t sociable; a lot of people think they can handle that…”

“…until they can’t.” He finishes for you. “You’ve been burned before.”

“Pretty much.” You summarise before meeting his gaze. “And I don’t do hook ups so that leaves with me pretty much with zero romantic prospects. I don’t have anything to give you to make this worth your while.”

Fuck those words hurt him. The fact you sound so listless, that you perceive your value to be based on what you can give other people. He wants to know who the fuck did that to you, who made you feel like you were worthless, like you have nothing to offer.

He entwines your fingers with his own before raising them to his mouth. His heated breath ghosts across your knuckles before his lips brush over the back of your hand, his umber eyes fixed on yours.

“I can handle it.” He tells you resolutely. “And you don’t have to give me anything. You finish up here and want to grab breakfast, I’m game. You wanna hangout somewhere and watch the sunrise, that works for me. You know what I do, you know my job isn’t linear. We’ll figure shit out, work around each other.”

“EZ…” You begin but he cuts you off.

“Just give me a chance.” He asks you, there’s a yearning in his voice, one that strikes a chord in your heart, because you want this with him. You want lazy mornings in the flat upstairs, him in your bed your fingertips ghosting over the shape of his tattoos as he sleeps. You want to see the sunrise from the water tower, the glow of it bathing the town in light with his arm slung around your shoulder. “Just give me one chance to prove I’m not like the others.”

He stares at you, and you stare back, you can see the honesty in his gaze, the resolution. He’d dedicated to this, dedicated to you and you want it to work so badly that you feel your resolve crack.

“Ok.” You tell him, covering his hand with both of your own. “Let’s get breakfast together.”

Love EZ? Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[courtingchaos]

Wooo I’m feeling some kind of way recently. Stress will do that to you.

A/N: this is fluff but seriously, no minors. I mean it.

But like, paint this picture with me.

Older Eddie (Professor Munson in my imaging), remembering all the things that make you happy. He notices you’re upset because job stuff and you’re having a hard time being in your 30’s and he gets it. It wasn’t that long ago he was there and he’s been watching you ghost around the townhouse for a week. Hair clipped up and the same pajamas you’ve had on for at least three days. He still trips over himself to see you though, even unwashed and snapping and sad. Every day he comes home and searches for you, and every day this week he’s found you in the spare room you’ve slowly turned into your space.

He’s told you he’ll clear it out and get you real office furniture but that makes you sink deeper into your depression. You talk about not being able to pay him back and he’s never once expected that.

You don’t have to. He doesn’t want you to. Let him do something for you. He just wants you to feel better.

And maybe that starts a fight because he’s already got his career and his friends and his money and his home. You’re floating in a job you hate and looking for another one to bide your time in because you actually hate the degree you spent 7 years getting. You only did it to prove to everyone else you could and now?

Now you live off of your boyfriend in his big, expensive brownstone. He’s 12 years into his field and settled and also 25 years older than you.

So what is it? You only like charity cases or something? Gotta rescue the idiot?

He knows you’re mad. He knows you lash out like this. He knows you’ll push so that everyone else leaves and you can feel like you got left instead. So maybe he snaps back at you for a second. Reminds you if he didn’t want you living with him and dating him he could find someone more age appropriate (he says with an eye roll). When you stomp up the stairs to your room he yells up to you that if he didn’t love you and was 20 years younger he’d be throwing your shit out onto the pavement outside, damn the old money next door.

Maybe you avoid him till the weekend when he’s home the whole time. You haven’t slept in the same bed and you haven’t answered a single knock or text or FaceTime. He sends you little flower emojis and a string of stars. He finds a tiktok about the Mars rover that he knows you’ll want to see and sends you some screen shots of the new menu for the whiskey bar you two like to go to. While you were sleeping he slid into your room and left your Sunday morning fancy coffee on the nightstand and when you finally wake up and notice it, you can hear him moving around in the kitchen.

You still feel like shit but at least you know he isn’t kicking you out. You know he wouldn’t, not over a stupid fight like that but still. It’s when you’re wrapped up in your robe and heading down stairs to finally speak to him you notice the bedroom door open. The bedroom you normally sleep in, with a sticky note on it. An arrow pointing in with a smiley face and crudely drawn horns. On the bed there’s a little paper bag from the expensive soap place you rarely buy from and it seems Eddie has outdone himself again. The rose shower melts and the lemon soap and that stupid body pouf you like so much that smells like candy. If you cry about it in the shower you don’t tell him and he doesn’t bring up your puffy face when you finally pad into the kitchen.

He’s baking something, it smells sweet and you spot the split packaging of the orange cinnamon pillsbury rolls in the trash and you have to swallow the lump in your throat. He hates those so you know he ran these errands yesterday when he left for those few hours. Probably ran by the grocery store first and then into that boutique that he always complains smells too much. He pauses when he see you staring into the trash can, silent and still. Doesn’t say anything, just tilts his head to try and catch your eye.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I don’t know what to do about anything and I’m panicking.

He just shrugs and smiles. He gets it. He always gets it. There’s something in him that always gets your mood swings and that deep seated anger. He’s never asked you to try and snuff that flame out, just helps you tend it.

It’s a controlled burn. You gotta let it get all the kindling out so new shit can grow.

Eddie pulls you into a hug and you lean into him. Breathe him in slow to try and get that lump to go away. You thank him for your shower and then gesture sadly behind you at the oven and thank him for the cinnamon rolls you know he hates. He laughs and it rumbles against you. He hums along to the music and you tuck your head into his neck and realize he’s got Neil Young on. There’s an old man joke on the tip of your tongue but then he starts singing along to Harvest Moon and you shut up. The tears you’ve been holding in since getting out of the shower push up and over and stain your cheeks and wet his old tshirt and he just shushes you. Sways you against him until the timer goes off and he sways you over to the stove and manages to get the round pan out without burning either of you.

Maybe it’s a rainy day and the drops patter against the windows. Eddie knows you like the rain and he dances you across the living room so he can crack the window so you can hear it coming down.

Because I’m still in love with you, I wanna see you dance again…

Sings quietly into your hair and tucks you up close and let’s you cry on his shoulder and when he feels you slowing down, taking those deep breaths to steady yourself, he pulls his phone out and replays the song so he can properly dance with you. He wants you to laugh so he holds your fingertip and first knuckle, acts like he’s playing a tiny harmonica. You giggle and he feels better, lighter. There’s color in your cheeks again and you’re looking him in the eye before you give him a kiss and drape back over him.

It’s cozy and it smells like cinnamon rolls and you’re swaying with him and you both are happy.

[quodekash]

PART 2 OF DANGEROUS ROMANCE EP4 COMMENTARY BC I HAVE TOO MANY THOUGHTS AND RAN OUT OF SCREENSHOTS

because of them, im now gonna start sobbing every time someone throws a peace sign at me

HELL YES

IM SO PROUD OF MY BOY

YUOU DID SO GOOD KANG

I KNEW YPU COULD DO IT

AIUOGHKJERPODHFKN

NOOOOOOO

FRICK

my boy is having many thoughts. none of them good.

I can hear his crisis and him blaming himself because now he thinks it's his fault that sailom's gonna get beat up, and he's sad for himself that he doesn't have a reason to spend time with sailom anymore, and now his grandma's gonna be disappointed in him for failing something, and there's definitely some thoughts in the mix there about his dad and the bike he bought him and kang is so certain he doesn't deserve the bike, I could go on but I wont because I would like to finish this episode before the sun rises and currently that doesnt seem all too likely

well DUH

YOU COULD SEE IT FROM MARS (and now im thinking about soundwin. frick.)

tell him

tellllll himmmmmm

tell him he lent the umbrella to youuuuu

and you've treasured it forever perhaps?

OMG HE'S TELLING HIM???

DUDE THEYRE ACTUALLY LISTENING TO ME SO MUCH THIS EPISODE THIS IS SO RARE

chances are either the bus or Kang's car is gonna show up before he'll get it out, bUT ONCE AGAIN, LET ME BASK IN THIS RARE MOMENT OF GLORY AND POWER

BOOM

CALLED IT

I know it's super cliche and everyone probably saw that coming but I dont care, im gonna let myself feel almighty powerful

I just. I will never understand why they dont just like quickly tell the person before leaving. or like yell at him while getting on the bus. OR EVEN text him while on the bus, immediately after getting on. that's what id do, cos if I dont tell them right then and there, I guarantee you I will forget to ever tell them, and then it'll keep me up at night for ages but never at a moment where I actually think about telling them, and then three or four years later ill finally tell them and it'll be so insignificant by then but it doesnt matter because I FINALLY TOLD THEM THE THING

I really hope he remembers to give at least one of those umbrellas back to kang

mans is not waterproof, he needs an umbrella

respect for auto just went down down prices are down

crypto? seriously honey?

IT'S SO CHEESY

IT'S SO CLICHE

AND IM CRYING ABOUT IT BECAUSE SOMEHOW I BOTH IRONICALLY AND UNIRONICALLY LOVE CHEESY AND CLICHE MOMENTS WITH ALL MY FRIKIN SOUL

EW

SPORTS

I hate sports days so much

thankfully id always be allowed to just not go to school instead of being forced to participate in athletics and swimming carnivals and cross country and stuff, and I will be forever grateful to my parents for that

they're in love btw

just in case anyone forgot

I didn't forget

I can't forget about them

my brain wont allow it

IT'S JUST

ITS JUST SO SWEET

I THINK IM GOING INSANE, THEY HATE EACH OTHER AND WANT TO KILL EACH OTHER SO BADLY THAT IT'S LITERALLY ROMANTIC

THIS IS PINING

HE IS PINING

PL E A SE CAN THEY KISS

NAWA'S HEAD TILT????? LIKE THEYRE LITERALLY ABOUT TO KISS IDK WHAT TO TELL YOU

two things to say here

one: view, please marry me

two: kang and sailom definitely have the same responsibilities

just KISS

I can't deal with the longing stares anymore

im like 80% certain they wont kiss this episode but I so badly want them to

NOOOO THEYRE NOT IN THE SAME GROUP THINGY

....but (hehe butt)

...maybe

...perhaps

I think kang might pull some strings to end up in the same department as sailom? maybe??

IM DYING, THERE'S A MARC AND A PAVIN (which sounded like pawin)

THEY GAVE UP THINKING OF NAMES FOR THE RANDOM CLASSMATES

ooooo he is listening to their conversationnnnnn

AND THEYRE GONNA INTERACT IN A FRIKIN BATHROOM??? I SWEAR, EVERYONE IN THIS SHOW IS SOUNDWIN CODED, IDK WHAT TO TELL YOU

5ER6CYVTGUOBHIOVTRC6DE5S4E57RCVYUBHUVTRDS3GTFD46F7GY8H

I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY

THEYRE JUST SO

HE'S SO GOUERGJND

LMAO YOU IDIOT

(we're getting so many cheesy cliches right after each other and I am so here for it, I love this so much)

now kiss

OH

OH THIS IS THIS PART???? DAMN

he needs money to pay off his debts, so... he's gonna take a job offer from the guy he pays his debts to? feels kinda pointless, right?

also in this series, pepper reminds me of tor, specifically in midnight museum, so part of my mind thinks hes gonna offer him a job at the museum

LMAO

'MYNAME6969'

I WANT TO KNOW WHO PUT THAT IN THERE AND GIVE THEM A HIGH FIVE BECAUSE THATS FRIKIN HILARIOUS, WHOEVER SNUCK THAT IN THERE

IM DYING I LOVE THAT SO MUCH

as someone who sprained an ankle a little over a month ago, I have some points to make

namely: saifah is right. the first 72 hours are the most important, as long as you're resting it, keeping it elevated, icing it, compressing it, you'll be all good to walk on it in no time. after that, you need to make sure you're still taking care of it, like by wearing a compression sock all the time, and not walking on it too much if it starts hurting, stuff like that. that's the part I didnt do. I took care of it for three days, then kept walking on it like nothing happened, and it's still really painful sometimes, it never properly healed, but like it's fine im surviving

OH I DO NOT LIKE THIS, I DO NOT LIKE THIS AT ALL

HE'S SO OLD

ICKY I FEEL ICKY

there's nothing wrong with the work he's doing, it's just the fact that he's still a kid and thats a 50 year old man

on another note, I ran out of bloody images AGAIN

AND ON ANOTHER NOTE, ITS NEARLY 2AM. IVE BEEN WATCHING FOR NEARLY 2 AND A HALF HOURS AND IM NOT EVEN THREE QUARTERS THROUGH THE EPISODE, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME

[betbeton]

✃ Slut for Pain

Kawata 'Smiley' Nahoya × Reader

Warning - Filming, Pain Play, Sexual Bullying, Safe Sex

18+ Minors DNI

·GN Reader·

·Gift·

・❥・ Masterlist

The bright flash of his phone camera was a stark reminder that every berating word spewing from his mouth was going to be captured on camera, as a lewd soundtrack to the soft gagging of him forcing you down harshly onto his cock determined to breach the confines of your throat despite the awkward angle. Stuffing a hand between your legs to toy with your own arousal you were stopped by a harsh slap to your cheek causing your teeth to scrape against the cock wedged between them. A lecherous moan, muffled by his cock, ricocheted within your chest the delicious pain of the stinging slap and his hand fisting into your hair harshly was almost enough to send you over the edge... almost. As your head was tugged back thick strings of spittle connecting your swollen lips to his flushed cock the sight dragging a whimper out of your panting mouth, resulting in a harsh chuckle ripping from his mouth devolving into a fot of laughter. Once his laughter had died down he squatted to shove his face into your own that ever present smile ominously taunting you before his words fully registered in your lust clouded mind. Though the moment he repeated himself with an angry lilt to his words you keened hips rocking against your hand wedged between your legs.

"Come on idiot, too cock drunk to listen properly? I said get on the bed or else I'm beating your hole up on the dirty floor."

With a little giggle he shoved your head away from his, the harsh grip on your head resulting in a pleasant sting before he full released you.

"I bet a freak like you would love that!"

Scrambling to stand on unsteady legs you debated internally whether or not to dink on your way to the bed that was only a little ways away. Though the pins and needles that had settled into your calves from the awkward position you had been in while he was fucking your face decided for you. Hobbling to the bed on unsteady legs you plopped down only to be met with another harsh slap, this time directed onto your thigh. The laughter that followed the blow was enough of a give away that he wasn't going to punish you for your hesitation moments earlier. As large hands grabbed your body manhandling you onto your stomach, a warm chest moved to press against your back as those perpetually smiling lips ghosted over your ear.

"Colour."

This was it. Finally things would be ramping up past the points you two previously would stop, finally you would be getting what you had wanted for so long.

"Green."

A soft 'good' was all you got before the warmth curling around your back was gone replaced by an open handed smack to your ass. The ring marring his ring finger leaving a new welt with each harsh slap of his hand ripping a laugh from him as loud moans spilled out into the air like a lewd symphony. There was a brief reprieve from the blows to your now welted skin as Nahoya grabbed his cock only to bully it into your warm hole with a pointed slap to the most painful welt, judging from the way he gently rubbed his fingers against it as he harshly pushed his cock against your tight walls the skin had probably broken. Though this was what you wanted for him to let go, release all that pent up irritation he no longer had an outlet for since opening the restaurant. And let it out he did the smack of his hard stomach against your bruising ass was enough to draw a squeal of pain from you, your body writhing to escape the pain only for him to harshly force you back into position. Keeping the brutal pace as he leaned back over you to whisper things that would normally bring you to tears over their severity, now though they only heightened you needy arousal as keening moans and squeals of pain left your mouth.

Your orgasm was almost as harsh as the treatment your partner was putting your body through, as was his if the harsh jerk of his hips with each dribble of cum filling your hole was any indication. Thrusting several times riding his pleasure into overstimulation Nahoya tugged his cock out from your now gaping hole with a satisfied groan, only to flop down onto the bed beside you. One of his rough hands rubbing at your back as he tried to catch his breath.

"Happy?"

Tear streaked face turning to face his perpetually grinning one you wiggled on your stomach over to plant a soft kiss on his nose.

"Very."