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mythiccheroacademia · 4 years

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—lunch box

A/N: just another cute idea i had because i’m obsessed with barbarian/dragon king!bakugo and fantasy shit in general. some context: you and bakugo are betrothed—although, sometimes you wish you weren’t bc he can be a real asshole. luckily for you, he’s willing to work on it bc he likes loves you just that much. a litte angst (it wouldn’t be a mtha story without it) but it ends in fluff <3

Warnings: cursing

Your friends looked at their food with heart eyes and dug into the neatly wrapped box with fever.

“Ahh! Thank you for making this, Y/N!” one of them exclaimed. The other could only nod in agreement, too into your cooking to speak.

You smiled and waved them off. “It was nothing. Consider it a thank you for letting me copy the homework last night,” you chuckled.

“Did you cook one for Prince Bakugo? I’d imagine he’d love it! If there’s anyone’s cooking he loves more than his own, it’s yours!”

At the mention of his name, your expression fell. You looked down at the case of food you had prepared for him as an apology.

Four days ago, you two were hanging around his residence. You managed to get him to dance around with you. Well, it more like you were dancing and he was doing his best not to combust in embarrassment. Katsuki warned you that you shouldn’t be too reckless otherwise you’d break something.

Of course, you paid him no mind, too enthralled with your fun to notice your proximity to a nearby statue—one of the Bakugo family’s treasures.

One thing led to another, and you knocked it over, shattering it before either of you could even react. Your rich skin lost its glow and your boyfriend cursed something nasty.

Least to say, his parents were not happy. But instead of being rightfully scolded, Bakugo had taken the blame for it.

They found him attempting to clean it up and assumed it was his fault. You wanted to correct them, but he threw you a nasty glare, sealing your mouth shut. He was now under punishment until they deemed fit and from then on, he hadn't spoken a friendly word to you.

A little sigh escaped your lips. Your two friends looked at each other before offering you encouraging smiles.

“Hey,” one spoke, placing a hand on your knee. You met her gaze. “You should go give it to him. He’d love it.”

There was a moment of silence before you decided to act. Taking the spur of confidence, you stood up and briskly made your way to the other classroom. Just before you entered, you heard his voice and felt your heart waver with anxiousness.

However, now wasn’t the time to let doubt consume you. Things wouldn’t get better until something was done.

You took a deep breath, calming your nerves, before opening the door and walking in. Your eyes scanned the room and found the young dragon prince amongst his group of friends.

Jaw set, you walked over to them, hands firmly around the packaged food.

Kirishima saw you first and gave you a friendly wave.

“Hey Princess L/N!”

“Hi boys! How’re ya doing?” you politely asked, putting on your best smile.

They gave you an upbeat answer that lifted your spirits.

Despite that, you hadn't heard a response from Bakugo. In fact, he hadn't even looked at you—but you wouldn’t be disheartened. You fueled herself with faux confidence and held out the dish to your betrothed.

“I-I made you something small yesterday, as an apology,” you stuttered.

Katsuki finally looked up, indifference in his stare. Ruby eyes flickered down to the box filled with rice, chicken, vegetables, and a small pastry on the side. His favorite kind. For a moment, he seemed like considered your offer, but you suffered the low blow of humiliation when he turned away to look through the window.

“Thanks, but I’ve already eaten. Should’ve given it to me earlier.”

Something in your stomach fell. Crushing rejection blossomed up your throat with each passing second. His words were cold, harsh, and unforgiving. It might’ve been stupid, overdramatic even, but it hurt.

Heartbroken wasn’t even the word.

Your nose burned, eyes blurring before you could stop it. Your chest tightened with embarrassment. Luckily, you mustered enough strength to hold in whatever was threatening to crumble you.

“Oh,” you dumbly responded.

“I’ll take it!” Kaminari excitedly said.

“No, I will! I’m still starving!” Kirishima chided.

You placed the box down, struggling to keep up your act.

“Split it between the both of you. I hope it’s good!” You internally winced over how high your voice had become. “I’m gonna to get going now. I’ll see you guys after school, yeah?”

And before anything else was said, you bolted straight out of the room. You hadn’t bothered to look at Katsuki. Knowing him, he probably hadn't noticed the strain in your voice.

As soon as you were out of sight, the tears flooded. You held your hands against your mouth, desperate to muffle your cries. You quickly took you into the nearest bathroom and you prayed no one had seen you lest there be questions. If you went to your friends, it’d cause a commotion. Your parents would eventually find out and you didn’t want any more problems.

So, you cried your eyes raw and eventually willed yourself to stop when it was time to return to class.

…

The week had gone by without another interaction. The weekend brought you some relief since you wouldn’t be forced to see Katsuki’s face for the time being. Or so you thought.

All you wanted to do was run some errands for your parents and then go back home and continue sulking. Yet the universe would not let you rest.

The moment you caught Bakugo’s eyes, you pivoted on your heel and booked it the other way. You assumed his anger with you would force him to keep his distance.

But you were thoroughly surprised to find he was following after you.

“Y/N,” he called.

Irritation and hurt filled your chest. You only walked faster, clutching the purse against her chest.

“Y/N, stop,” he demanded to which you promptly ignored.

This went on for a good thirty seconds until Bakugo decided he had enough. Without much noise, he ran up to you, grabbing you by the shoulder.

You weren’t having it.

You harshly shrugged off his hand. “Don’t touch me,” you snapped, keeping your eyes forward.

“I need to talk to you,” Katsuki grumbled.

“Well I don’t want to talk to you. So maybe some other time.”

Truthfully, the crowned prince found himself shocked at your coldness. Despite your innate boldness, he wasn’t used to such an icy tone. Especially directed at him.

His father warned him to never attack in these situations, but Bakugo let his temper get the best of him. His first reaction was to frown and deal back harsher words.

“What’s your fucking problem, dumbass? When I say stop, stop!”

A spike of anger flooded your veins. You whirled around on your heel and glared at him with frosty eyes. You felt compelled to drop your papers and slap him, but instead, you settled for a finger in his face.

“First of all, I’m not some dog you can just order around, you jerk! And just because we’re betrothed doesn’t mean I’m some girl you can treat like dirt whenever you feel like it! Until you apologize, leave me alone because my only problem right now is you. Bye.”

And just as quickly as you came, you turned to leave.

Now Bakugo was actually stunned. Forget, cold, this was a side of you he hadn't ever experienced. Admittedly, he hadn’t been spoken to like that from anyone besides his mother—and she only got away with it because she was not only the queen…but he was his mom.

Katsuki honestly didn’t know how to handle it. It was only then that he concentrated back on his father’s advice. Whenever his mother was upset with his dad, his father would fight back, but never with emotional anger. Always with humbleness and an understanding tongue.

It usually did the trick considering his mother could never stay upset with him for more than a night. It always struck the teen with hidden awe. Sometimes, Katsuki thought his dad was an angel.

Bakugo was no angel, but he hoped it’d have the same affect on you.

The blonde teen softened his face and walked up behind you. He stopped you, wrapping his arms around your waist to lie his forehead against the decorated braids the fell down your back.

“Damn it. I’m sorry okay?” he lowly said, face burning from such a public display of affection. “Just hear me out.”

You didn’t speak and he clenched his jaw.

“Please.”

You inwardly cursed your rapidly beating heart. If it weren’t for how stupidly nice being in his arms was (he was definitely working out more), and the fact that you found him kinda cute begging for your permission, maybe you wouldn’t have caved in so easily.

For now, you’d blame it on the fact that you two were destined to wed. It was better to start dealing with fights now so, hopefully, the future held less of them.

You heaved a sigh, unwillingly ignoring your body’s urge to curl in his arms. Instead, you pulled away and turned to face him. You peered into unsure crimson eyes with as much harshness you could conjure.

“Fine. Speak,” you permitted.

There was a small pause as he gathered his thoughts. When he opened his mouth, you instantly regretted it.

“I’m still mad at you for being dumb and breaking one of family’s treasures. And I’m still fucking pissed that my old hag is on my ass about it,” he started and noticed how your eyes narrowed in contempt.

You were about to turn away, thinking this was a waste of time. However, Bakugo took a hold of your wrist before you could leave.

“Leave me alone! If you didn’t want to get in trouble, you should’ve just let me take the blame. I can't believe I thought you’d apologize—“

“Let me finish, princess.”

It was your title, yet you felt your stomach flip when it came from his lips. You refused to let it influence you…but you’d give him another chance.

Bakugo stepped closer to you. “I’m upset, but I took the punishment because I wanted to. You didn’t mean to break it. Accidents happen, I understand that.”

There was a pregnant pause. Then, you softened your gaze a bit, eyes still lit with inquiry. “Why? Why would you do that if it meant getting in trouble? I could’ve taken the blame just fine.”

“Y/N, you freak the fuck out whenever you don’t get a perfect score on an exam. You try not to mess up and when you do, it’s like the world is ending,” he explained with a teasing smirk. You ungracefully snorted. He had a point. “When you broke the vase, I could hear your heart drop. You were two seconds away from crying. And when I saw how scared you looked I just—I don’t know.”

The look on your face was something between shock, surprise, and wonder. You blinked, thick lips parting slightly in awe.

“Katsuki…” you breathed to which the boy heavily blushed. Realizing how sappy he sounded, his mind screamed at him to cut it out.

Bakugo looked down and noticed he was still holding your wrist. He quickly let go and instinctively rubbed the nape of his neck.

“D-don’t be dramatic. I just didn’t wanna see you moping around or some shit. My father said that it wasn’t that important anyway…the vase I mean,” he mumbled.

Sure it wasn’t, you thought. What were you gonna do with this boy?

You supposed an apology was a good start.

“That was very nice and admirable of you Katsuki. Thank you,” you eventually said. “I’m still really sorry about the vase, and for being mean to you just now.”

He shook his head. “I know, but I’m the one that should be apologizing. I ain’t hafta treat you the way I did. I was being an ass for not accepting the food you made for me earlier.”

“Yeah you were, ya bastard.”

He chuckled at that. “The two idiots wouldn’t stop raving over how good it was.”

“Well, I had the best teacher in the kingdom,” you grinned.

“And I had an even better student,” he winked.

Your smile widened. Maybe marrying him wouldn’t be so bad.

You couldn’t help yourself when you heartily embraced him, enjoying how his arms slowly slithered around the small of your back. Your eyes met and you kissed him on the lips, leaving him with a little gasp. You pulled away and giggled under your breath.

“You know, you're a sweet guy underneath all that false bravado.”

“False brav—what the hell are you going on about!?”

Ignoring his explosive behavior, you readjusted the straps on your shoulder before turning on your heel.

“Don’t bring anything for lunch on Monday, okay? I’ll see you later, blondie.”

Despite his little tantrum, Bakugo still watched you disappear into the store with a gentle expression. You gave him more headaches than he cared for, but you were worth it. Besides, he was sure you could say the same for him.

Bakugo turned to leave and passed his fingertips over where your lips touched his own.

He’d never admit to the giddiness in his chest. He’d take that shit to the grave.

#mha #bnha fics #bakugo x black reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski #bakugo x poc!reader #mha fics #bakugo brain rot activated #barbarian bakugou #dragon king bakugo #mha x poc!reader #mha x black reader #bnha x black!reader #bnha x poc!reader #bnha x reader

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echo-of-sounds · 4 years

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daddy dom pt.2

Headcanons on the types of Daddy Dom Toshinori, Hizashi, and Fatgum are.

All three of these men are underappreciated.

Warnings: Daddy Dom relationship, (the rest is only mentioned, there’s no real detail) punishments, slapping, spanking (with and without a paddle), anal play, ball gags, handcuffs, and rough sex

Yagi Toshinori

Toshinori’s been exposed to dominant play in sex, but it’s never captured his interest. Sex to him is sensitive, sensual, and intimate. The harsher side, slapping, choking, and anything close to rough, he is more than unenthusiastic towards. He can’t find pleasure in pain, even if the pain gives you pleasure. It’s caused so much heartache in his life, and he truly can’t bring himself to incorporate it during a time that’s supposed to be passionate and loving.

However, he isn’t opposed to being a Daddy. When you bring it up, he reads about and talks to you about it in detail before making a decision. He doesn’t mind being dominant. In fact, he quite enjoys being your protector, someone who you can confide in, who you can snuggle up against, sheltered in his arms while he pets and kneads your body. He’s your number one supporter and shields you from the stress of the world.

Toshi is the sweetest Daddy. You’re his sweetie, his sweetheart, and his sweet girl. Whatever catches your eye, he keeps in mind to buy for a present because he overindulges your every whim. He has money. He has the necessities. He rarely buys himself expensive, lavish things, which means he has plenty of money to spoil you with: books and movies you’re interested in, new clothing and jewelry, that adorable stuffed animal you reluctantly walked past, board, card, and video games, lotion, blankets, etc…

He dislikes punishment and so very rarely uses it. It’s at most a light spanking to get your attention. Daddy prefers positive reinforcement and talking to you about your misbehavior. That way, you can understand who important listening is, especially when it comes to his rules. You shouldn’t eat too many cookies because it’ll upset your stomach. You shouldn’t leave clothes and books strewn across the floor because someone could slip and fall. You shouldn’t cum before he permits because he is your Daddy and listening to him is important. The second you apologize, he’s back to caressing and kissing you.

You should always try to wear Daddy’s favorite colors. It gets you more cuddles and compliments. Anything in lilac, baby pink, and soft cream draws his hands towards you like a magnet. Panties with cute, little bows are a cherry on top. Wear a cream dress at home. Your lavender panties can be seen through the thin material. From across the room, you can feel his eyes. He’ll eventually tell you to come and sit on his lap. He massages your sides as you rest on his shoulder. If you want, start grinding. Your gradually wetting underwear informs him of your arousal. Don’t worry, he’ll take care of it for you.

For bedtime, he has a soft spot for cock warming. He absolutely loves falling asleep when you’re connected. He’ll lay down. You just have to straddle him and slip him inside. Don’t move. Simply lay on his chest, kissing his collarbones and neck, drowsily mumbling how and why you love him. His hums of love warm your body. His breath warms your skin. As you start to drift off, his arms cushion you safe and sound- your own little safe haven.

Soft sex is the norm. Daddy’s respectful, attentive, devoted, and eager to feel the heat of your body. Each easy thrust pushes deep, stretching you to fit him perfectly. Don’t hide your face or moans. They urge his hips to forage for more. When you’re fussing because you’re right there, he speeds up, kissing you profoundly, fiercely, whispering in his amorous, baritone voice, “It’s okay, Sweetie. Let yourself cum. Daddy’s right here. Daddy’s right here.”

Because of Toshi’s physical health, he isn’t able to have sex as frequently as the other guys. But he still pampers you plenty. He’ll buy you a pink vibrator to circle your clit with. You can ride his bare thigh, spreading your wetness over him as he guides your hips. He’ll watch you hump a pillow and cry out for your Daddy. He’ll finger you till you’re satisfied. He just wishes you to be pleased however, and whenever you need it.

Rough sex isn’t exactly rough sex. But you do get to ride Daddy however you want. You can bounce excitedly or grind hastily or buck in sheer, vulgar heat. His compliments mix into groans the more you ride. He sucks your breasts. He spanks your ass. He grips your thighs until his nails nearly cut skin. It’s the time for you to have your fun and make Daddy feel pleasured like he always does for you.

Yamada Hizashi

Straightaway, Hizashi knew dominance was something he wanted. He likes leading and commanding someone under him, probing, inspecting, and licking every part of them. When you start a relationship, he opens up to you, wanting to know what you do and don’t like, and his interests are shared back.

You’re his one and only baby girl. No one else gets that name but you. You’re his teddy bear, snuggling you at bedtime. He shows you new places, feeds you new foods, and gives you new experiences you’ve never had before. Your joy and delight is the epitome of beauty. He strives to see it in your eyes and smile as much as possible.

On top of being his baby, you’re also his little experiment. He does everything to you, in whatever way he wants: fingering your ass, slowly spreading you wider and wider, praising your patience; having you ride two dildos at once as he watches your breasts and expressions; forcing you to stand still with a vibrator deep within you, unable to cum or whine or even move until he’s completely and utterly satisfied. No matter what it is, he just likes having fun and thinking of new ways to make you squirm.

When he’s out and about, go onto his laptop and search for whatever you want. Do those panties look incredibly comfortable? Add it to his cart. Is that necklace calling your name? Add it to his cart. Is that cute glass wand something you want to play with? Add it to his cart. He’ll buy them all. And the second they arrive, you better use them. Wear only the panties and necklace. Lick and rub yourself with the dildo. Show him just how much you enjoy the presents.

One thing you can do to help your Daddy relax is to let him suck your breasts. Hizashi hides his stress well. When he’s abnormally snugly, burrowing his head into your chest, hibernating under the blankets with you, it’s stress. Take off your shirt, and he’ll attach to your nipple. It’s not sexual. Something to nurse on is soothing for him. Daddies need comfort too!

Hizashi is super playful when he’s in his Daddy mode (not that different from his usual self, but he’s more hyperfocused on you). Keep in mind that that doesn’t mean he won’t discipline you after any mischief. If you don’t follow the list of rules on the fridge, fun Daddy goes away and it’s punishment time. His go-tos are timeouts, no phone, no Tv, early bedtime and, as much as it pains him, no cuddling.

When you’re being really disobedient, his voice lowers, grating his throat, vibrating his chest. It’s definitely provoking. His spankings even more so. As he stuffs you full of anal beads, you begin to think it isn’t even a punishment. But then he blindfolds and ties you up. You’re left all alone in the bedroom, in the cold air, can’t see, can’t move, only able to feel the toys gorged deep inside you for hours. If you fuss, he comes and puts a ball gag in your mouth. It’s best to wait it out until he’s convinced you’ve been appropriately disciplined.

Punishments often transition into rough, fast, dominating sex. You’re still bound and gagged and stuffed as his thrusts start. Let him hear your helpless whimpers. Let him listen to your drenched, lewd sex every time he sinks deep. He spreads you wide open and fondles you however he wants. Don’t be a bad girl. Grant him ownership of your body. It frequently ends with him cumming in your ass and plugging it with a butt plug. Keep it inside because the punishment isn’t over.

While he does enjoy the rough and tough, Daddy also values slowing down, kissing your body, and gifting you with plenty of loyal, loving rapture. You can choose the position: do you want to ride him as he kisses you? Or do you want Daddy to draw out his time on top of you, thrusting deep and intensely, giving you all the pleasure in the world? Either way, he makes do, nuzzling your neck, squeezing your thighs, praising his baby girl for everything she is.

Taishiro Toyomitsu

Taishiro is naturally so playful and so willing to experiment. The way he unconsciously praises his partner is a hint to his inner Daddy just waiting to come out. He sighs, ‘that’s a good girl’ as you blow him. He groans, ‘good job, baby’ as you cum. He grunts, ‘you’re taking me perfectly’ as he releases, thick and heavy, inside you. All you have to do is whimper for your Daddy and from then on out, that’s exactly who he is.

Baby, baby girl, little girl, good girl, Daddy uses them all. You’re his major weakness. He’s your biggest cheerleader, your safest space, your confidant, the one you can run to when you’re upset, overwhelmed, excited, and scared. He never wants you to feel alone. It’s a Daddy’s responsibility to ensure his little girl feels respected and heard, and he always assures you’re loved.

Daddy loves bathing you. He sits beside the tub and washes your back. He’ll coo loving praises as he cleans your body thoroughly. The plush washcloth and soothing soap brushes feather-light across your shoulders, down your back, and between your legs, making sure you’re neat (and cute) as a button. After you’re wrapped in a huge, fluffy towel and carried to bed where you’re slowly patted dry. Then he bundles you to his chest for sleep.

Compliments your ‘pretty pussy’ all the time. It’s Daddy’s and it’s beautiful. When he’s watching TV and the mood strikes, he slowly lays you down, lifts your dress, takes off your panties, and fingers and stretches and strokes you to his heart’s content. But he won’t let you orgasm. And you can’t complain or touch yourself. You can only lay open for his pleasure. He delights in your tongue sticking out, searching for something to suck on, and your glazed-over eyes silently begging for him to give you so much more.

Tai is definitely the type of Daddy who likes to be comforted now and then. He tries to hide his insecurities so you don’t worry. But he deserves the care and attention he’s always showing you. When he’s fidgeting with his clothes, ask him for some skin-to-skin cuddling. Kiss his stretch marks. Sigh or sing for him. Just woo his beautiful, handsome heart.

Cock warming is one of his favorites. It can be a punishment when you’re back talking or not listening. He makes you sit there for hours, your wet, swollen lips around his cock as you squirm, trying not to touch yourself. Then when he finally finishes, that’s it. You don’t get any gratification for misbehaving. It pleases the dom part of Daddy Dom. He also uses it whenever he misses you and your body. You sit on him and relax against his tummy, softly kissing, gently stroking him as both your arousals drip and mix together.

Rough sex means you’re going to get controlled. Cute, pink nipple clamps go on, handcuffs restrain your wrists behind your back, and a paddle will spank your ass raw. The paddle has little hearts in it, imprinting the designs onto your sore skin. Every thrust jerks your body, bearing his weight brutally into you. Every clit slap arches your back, harsher and higher. Every little sound you make will be praised, earning you more and more spankings. As you cum, the thrusts keep on coming, fully intent on making you orgasm until the sheets are soaked.

But when you finally collapse, Daddy tenderly releases your hands, gently lifts you, then carries you off for a warm bubble bath. If you ask, he’ll most certainly join. Arms will cradle you perfectly to his chest. Lips kiss all over your shoulders and chest, cherishing your scars, idolizing blemishes, worshiping every inch. He wants you to know and feel how much he treasures you, especially after particularly rough sex.

To start soft sex, Daddy expects you to sit on his face. Grind as his tongue tastes all of you. You have to cum on his face at least once before proceeding. That’s his one rule during lovemaking. Other than that, you can ask for anything, and he’ll oblige. Holding you close, he walks you through every orgasm, asking, ‘how much do you love Daddy?’ With how highly he coddles and comforts you, it’s indescribable.

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cinnamonest · 3 years

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please spare more crumbs for the sex slave au with diluc and kaeya's meimei,,

Thank you for giving me permission to be more depraved this is from forever ago but I'm slowly getting the "forever ago" stuff done lol

I love the concept tho, especially Crepus buying a lil qt and having to teach them how to be good masters bc they’re both dumb clueless boys, bless.

TWs: slavery, implied incest or pseudo-incest, could give vibes as under//age (nothing is specified but I guess it could strike some people that way so I wanna be cautious), noncon/dubcon, mentions of anal, misogynistic, awful depraved and nasty -------------------------------------

God. The arguing. The rivalry. The chaos. Like, with some poly yanderes/owner/master relationships, the two work *together* and focus attention on controlling *you,* but these two are... not like that. They have a lot of rivalry going on half the time.

Now, this could be Crepus buying a slave and basically indoctrinating her as a meimei, but of course, if you actually are one of the boys' bio sis, the one is gonna claim some authenticity - you know, the whole "well she's my real sister, not yours, so I get to fuck her more" kind of thing. The other appeals to "well she's your real sister which makes you worse," and it devolves into arguing back and forth about whether or not the blood relation makes them more or less justified in sticking their dick in you and claiming more rights to meimei's time and attention. Not just to each other either, it's also directed at you -- the whole "hey, I'm your real big brother, so you should spend more time with me than him" kind of thing. It actually can get pretty annoying over time, you have to constantly be soothing not one but TWO egos in desperate need of affirmation. But here I’m going more with the idea of Crepus just buying them a sweet meimei. Diluc's more... patient. He teaches you "touch commands" -- little learned gestures, like a dog. Just the lightest touch on your spine and you know it's a clear message to arch your back, a hand under your chin and thumb pressed against it has you instinctively opening your mouth, a tap to the back of your neck and you kneel. Little gestures that can bend your body and mind with minimal effort. Despite that though, Kaeya is actually the master of The Look™ - the kind that can make you go quiet and apologize in a mere instant when given. But because you know it, expect him to be even harsher if you defy it. Sometimes in your little tantrums you get so mad that you'll have the audacity to ignore that look and keep whining or being a brat which does not end well.

Meimei is what you call free use - any time, anywhere. One of the most important lessons Crepus told you when he first got you/when you were old enough is that you are never to deny the boys any of your holes if they want it. This is just as important for the boys to learn as it is you, he's a big believer in the whole, "if you act like a good proper master, the slave will naturally fall into their role too" sort of thing, so he teaches them to be forceful and dominating, not hesitant to do what they want -- if they're clear on what they want and make known their expectation of your obedience (and the subtle implication of threat of punishments if not complied with), you'll fall into the submissive role you're meant for and naturally want to submit to them like a good little wife-sister-slave.

So, whenever one of them beckons you over, you smile and ask them how you can help. Your brothers work so hard, and it's the least you can do to take care of their needs. Sometimes they just want you to sit on their lap, wrap your arms around them, sit there a while in silence when they're sad, sometimes they want to vent to you about things when they're frustrated, sometimes they want to use you. Of course, the former two usually leads to the last anyway. You're... emotional support pussy. There's important rules and practices to be followed, it's actually rules for all three of you, several apply to them, actually, as Crepus taught you before he died, and it's become second nature for the boys (it works in their benefit, after all). #1. You can never be left alone. There's a lot of reasons for this, but primarily it's in your instinct to get fucked, all you know how to do is take cock, so if you were left alone you may very well go running off and jump onto the first thing with a dick, and they can't have that. So basically you either have to be with one of them, within their sight, or accounted for in some way - there's a couple of installed tethering hooks and the like on the walls in several areas of the house you can be attached to. But, really, they're not usually necessary, with two very horny males running around you're busy most of the time, even if it's a more passive task. You spend a lot of time sitting on someone's lap, sometimes taking naps throughout the day with whoever decides they're tired at the moment. So, you spend more or less every waking moment with one or both -- well, every sleeping moment too, of course you don't have you own room. You alternate nights between the two just like you were told to. There's not really any task you do alone. Bathing? It's always gotta be with one or the other. Sleeping? Always with one or the other. Even when you're cooking -- because obviously you do that, they wouldn't even know how to, since you've always done it -- one is always standing beside you, talking to you, or sitting a ways over in a chair as they vent about their day. Oh, speaking of that, as aforementioned, you're there for emotional burdens too. When one has had a long day, what would they do if meimei wasn't there for them to vent and whine and complain to? You've always been taught to be a good listener. Don't interrupt. Listen to everything and don't zone out. Don't oppose their actions when they're telling you about their problems, always tell them they were in the right and comfort them. Smile while you listen. That's how you were trained to respond when one of them has some burden to unload on you. Always offer your body to make them happy. That's the last part, and they've never not taken you up on the offer. That being said, sometimes you have to... motivate them. Push a little bit. You see, you're just so sweet that sometimes your brothers might want to just spend the entire day in bed with you. So you have to motivate them to do their actual work. Tell them that if they don't go to work, if they stay in bed all day inside you, how are you supposed to clean the house and make dinner for them? So they sigh and accept you're right and go off to work after all. And, again, the rule is important for them too. You can never run off on your own, but they're also vigilant not to ever leave you alone. When you're first bought, Crepus had to constantly pull them back inside the house when they'd go to another room for something because see, you're leaving her all alone and she's going to go running off and it'll be your fault. So they had to be conditioned to communicate and make sure you were always accounted for, taught how to restrain you properly. If you were left in a room, Crepus would come by to make sure they remembered to lock you inside, would test the tightness of your leash if you were tethered to something, and sigh and chastise if one of them neglected to do it right. #2. No getting off on your own, this is a rule they have to help enforce. It's a waste - you have TWO big brothers, surely one of them is always going to be available and eager, so really, getting yours without either of them involved is pretty selfish, and worthy of punishment if found doing so. If for whatever reason they're all too busy, you have the option of asking permission to ride and grind on their thigh, but no cumming until they're done with their task and are available to properly handle it. Crepus is particularly adamant about this rule, as well as enforcing the same mentality in them, doesn't think it's appropriate for a girl to be so selfishly absorbed with pleasure when she should be giving it to the men that own her. For one, a girl should be spending all of her time dedicated to serving her masters in some way, and two, they're both needy boys that would be eager to fuck you at any time. So really, masturbating is an act of defiance and will be dealt with as such. #3. No favoritism! There will be times where you may feel mad at one or the other, and sure you have different levels of how much you can tolerate certain behaviors... But, you have to train yourself against that. Meimei should have no limits of what she can tolerate - that's part of your whole purpose. So even when you're mad at one, you can't try to avoid that one and go to the other, you still need to divide your time, energy, and body equally. Don't talk bad about one to the other, don't try to spend more time with one or the other at any time. This also includes pitting them against each other through jealousy, it's a huge no-no. Don't try to make one jealous of the other. If they catch you doing that, sooner or later they'll realize what you're doing, and deal with it, usually harshly, since it's seen as a high-ranking offense. In fact, you really shouldn't be mad, ever. Your big brothers know what's best for you, so if you're mad over a disagreement, you just need to accept that they're right and you're wrong and that you need to submit to their will. Outwardly showing you're upset is bratty behavior, things like pouting or giving them the cold shoulder are punishable offenses. #4. You're also a peacekeeper. Diffuse fights. Both of your big brothers can be... stubborn, prideful individuals. This leads to pretty regular conflict over this and that. It's meimei's job to help with that, calm them down with a smile on your face. Or, if it works better, with some tears and a quivering lip. Please don't fight, you say with watery eyes, sniffling, and well, they can't help but feel bad, they both turn their attention to you rather than to each other and apologize for making you upset. And if they're having one if their regular it's my turn kind of arguments, your job is to propose the easy solution of sharing. You have more than one hole to fuck, and can easily cuddle one on each side. It should be an obvious solution. Oh, and they fight sometimes over who gets to do what, who spends time with you, but doing different things rather than both wanting to do the same thing. One is sitting at his desk to work and he can't be expected to focus on work without meimei sitting on his lap and cockwarming him of course, but the other says he wants to take a nap and how is he supposed to sleep if he can't rest his head on meimei's tits? There is only so much of her to go around! But they will legit adjust their schedules to make sure they get alone time. And are very nitpicky about it -- wait why do *you* get an extra hour on Tuesday?? If you get that I deserve an extra hour on Thursday -- that sort of thing. You're supposed to be able to propose such ideas. It's your job to come up with solutions that make everyone happy. You can cockwarm one brother while he works and tell the other that hey, if he postpones the nap, you can just ride him until he cums and can sleep right? Things like that. #5 Actually isn't for you, it's for them, regarding punishment. When Crepus got you, the poor boys didn't really know how to go about doing it, so they had to be taught. It's important to be a good master and know how to do so adequately, you know? To not let anger get the better of them and go too far, since sometimes they might get too mad about something. In fact, a good trick, he teaches them, is to just tie you up, and go blow off some steam before coming back to punish you. That way they won't go too far, and you'll have to wait around in fear for a while, which just helps the punishment sink in better. But at the same time, don't go too light. No matter how much you whimper, he says, don't feel pity for her and go lax. It's intentional, it's just your nature to try and fake-cry to try and get out of it. You did something bad, so they shouldn't feel bad about it, even if you cry and squeal. It's the right thing to do. You're supposed to cry, you're supposed to say it hurts and whimper, that just means they're doing it right. But of course, there's some sensitivities to be taught. If they have you bent over a knee, they have to make sure to only hit your ass and the back of your thighs, make sure not to go up too high and hit your back, since that could cause injury. If they're gonna fuck your ass as punishment, make sure to use a certain amount of lube. Things like that, it's important to be good masters, just as much as it is your job to be a good little slave.

And to remember, of course, that meimei is... an inferior little creature. Don't get mad at her just because she's stupid and doesn't understand this or that, that's not her fault. She can't be expected to be smart or responsible, that's their job. But also, don't feel pressured to give her what she wants just because she wants it or anything. And, most importantly, don't start having self-doubt and ever think she might be right about something while they're wrong, because obviously that can't be the case. You might get defiant and try to insist you know better than them, act like you're just as capable of something as they are, or think your opinions matter or something, but in that case, they have a responsibility to remind you of your place.

#tw: incest #tw: misogyny #lena's asks #atml #.meimei

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papers4me · 3 years

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Fruits Basket Manga Review, ch (92-93)

That was painful & so well-written! This analysis will focus on kyokyo mainly & faintly on her effect on kyo. Although, her story affects tohru’s life immensely, I won’t analyze tohru’s part & will wait until it’s a tohru’s chapter to use the knowledge of kyoko’s past to better read tohru’s mind & understand her decisions! Can’t wait! after all, that’s why I’ve read the manga to begin with!

-Kyoko’s Atonement: (the weight of words):

Kyoko breaks down after she learns she’s expecting. Why? cuz she hurt her mom. The notion that “yeah my parents caused me emotional trauma & so I’mma hurt them as well” is toxic & burdening as it starts a cycle of pain. Kyoko was right. She had no idea how her mom felt seeing her rebel, or follow violence or hear her harsh words. I’m not cleansing the mom from guilt nor responsibility. I’m just saying since the mom’s pov is blocked from us, assuming shes similar to the dad is wrong. kyoko’s fear of being punished with a child similar to herself is genuine, realistic & refreshing to see expressed in anime! usually character like kyoko are cool & brave, but here she’s humanly weak & doubtful. LOVE IT!

Moreover, in furuba words weigh on ppl & have consequences. We see this with kyo. His dad destroyed him verbally with words “ not my fault, it’s yours” that kyo echoes back to yuki! meaning the consequences of the dad’s words cause harm to his wife, kyo & even yuki!. Kyo was tormented with his own words for long time & clung to them even more in order not to resort to suicide! “ not my fault, it’s the rat’s” . Words can crush you down so bad if you hear them from loved ones, & worse if you utter them back to other loved ones! here kyoko learned that just the mere thought of her future child echoing her words back to her would torment her to death! Excellent writing!

-Katsuya invented Furuba’s vision (Accepting weakness & moving on):

The teachings of kyoko & tohru were really katsuya’s after all. I’m fne with that. These teachings are the core of Furuba’s vision. He tells kyoko to accept that she’s weak, afraid & doubtful. it’s okay. But gives her tools to move on. Your kid isn’t you. They’re an individual person. As parents all we can do is give love/hugs (sth kyoko’s parents didnt do), listen to them (sth yuki’s parents didnt do) & if they do sth wrong will explain it & teach them well (sth kyo’s parents didn’t do, his wrong deed was being born a cat spirit & he was hated for it with no explanation, mom gave lots of “fake” love & escaped by death, dad became a raging monster). Accepting weakness & moving on is what the cursed sohmnas needed to do to heal & what tohru taught them. Off course, tohru herself struggled to follow her own teachings & that’s amazingly realistic!

-Kyoko’s guilt (punishment brings ease):

Kyoko wanted to be punished so harsh for her husband’s death. The gossip got to her. She failed him as a life’s companion. Taking care of our loved ones is a duty we carry with much love & care. Them slipping away is perceived as us failing by none than ourselves. The thing is, death comes with no warning at times. It was his time to leave. Accepting it or not, wont bring him back, but accepting it will help kyoko deal with pain while not accepting will cause more pain for her & tohru.

One of the most painful things abt grief is that it’s personal. Life continues around you. Only you feel it. “didn’t the world end when katsuya died”. No kyoko. Only you died emotionally. Only him died physically. Kyo once said “ mom why didn’t you kill me instead”. A different reaction to grief, guilt & pain, but same conclusion: neither katsuya nor kyo’s mom are coming back no matter how much pain kyo or kyoko felt.

Kyoko found ease in emotional death, neglecting & refusing life, punishing herself for staying after him.

kyo found ease in rage & blaming others as he his father did, later he’ll escape to emotional & physical slow death “ cat cage/confinement”.

tohru... found ease in pretending "I’m okay” & her mom is alive.. but not physically.. emotionally, so she’ll ignore the truth & live only for her.

Didn’t I say grief is harsh, weird & very very personal. It’s hard to explain, deal with & heal. The mere words of consolation hurt cuz the grieving ones dont want to accept loved one are really gone. Her dad’s harsh words cemented the “emotional death” that kyoko felt. I’m not needed. neither katsuya. nor parents in general. depression. misery. sadness. emptiness.

-The tv show helped to trigger kyoko’s desire to “meet” katsuya. She has already reached the conclusion that she isnt needed. So, the tv show with their words of the deceased wanting you to be happy. triggered her into misinterpreting the words as to mean her death NOT fuel her to live in his memory as intended.

- “Loosing your way first before finding your answer” is okay & so human!:

Ironically..Tohru... was the person Kyoko was punishing NOT herself: By being emotionally dead, kyoko neglected her daughter. Her world shouldnt be just one person. There are others. Katsuya himself gave her a person to love. Tohru. Kyoko chose death & unintentionally set tohru into a world of loneliness 10 times harsher thsn what kyoko faced. She was about to do, but was saved by a nameless child who reminded her of tohru. She chose wrong first but later saw her answer. Kyo chose death by accepting the confinement & he, too, unintentionally set tohru into a world of loneliness 10 times harsher if he wasnt with her. He chose wrong first but later saw his answer. Off course kyo’s story is more developed & complicated as he dealt with bigger issues than just tohru & his answer wasn't just loving tohru alone but also loving himself & choosing to live for them both: himself & tohru.

-Kyo’s guilt is a concussion thought eating him alive:

Part of why kyo’s story was one of the most human & complex is due him loosing his way first, failing, repeating mistakes “ I always though that hurting ppl was the only thing I was good at, after all, isnt that why mom died?” Kyo’s nightmare being a conscious effect of hearing tohru’s talk abt “ videos & memories of loved ones” is 1000 times stronger & more human than a cliche effect of seeing a “ hat” & to revive a a blocked memory... What the hell!! truly disgusting how the emotional weigh is reduced for stupid cliche drama !!!!!! ..

Anyway, kyo actively & consciously wanted punishment .He was sure that kyoko blamed him” I wont forgive you” can only mean what it literally means. The purpose of the nightmare is to cause kyo to seek “ emotional death” like kyoko & to loose his path more. It is meant to prepare kyo to refuse tohru even more. Therefore, the pay off at the climax will be better & stronger.

Reading kyo’s inner thoughts will never not be refreshing!!! Also, the slow burn is cooked on low , hot fire , so the pay off will be the most delicious there is!

Side Notes:

I’ve stated my feelings regarding the age gap between kyoko & katsuya in last chapter’s preview post. I’m done with it & won’t let it interfere with my analysis of kyoko nor tohru.

The idea of just being together as a fun hanging out activity without being bothered much of where reminds ms so much of kyo & tohru!! we see them being happy together in the anime in kazuma’s house, shigure’s rooftop, cooking pancake in the kitchen! I really like this domestic feel of romance! it contradicts the notion of expensive restaurant with the girl wearing a breathtaking dress to woo the guy for it to be utterly romantic as we see in movies, & other stories.

NGL, katsuya looked sexy waiting home.. damn it! >_<

I cried watching tohru between her parents, how they acted & how loved she was! T_T. it reminded me of my niece How her dad’s death affected her! She was the apple of his eyes.. T_T.

Tohru is indeed a rice ball! her dad gave her a masculine name while tohru is so feminine! his reasoning is “finding salty taste in sweet things make the taste better & stronger, kinda giving it a hidden flavour”, the rice ball has a pickle inside it & it’s what makes the taste so savory & delicious!

Grandpa’s “ chance meetings could lead to variety of outcomes, good or bad” YES! kyo/tohru/yuki meeting each other by chance. Fiction make it look weird, but trust me, real life has those by dozens!

“ i wonder how lost you’ll be, how much time you’ll need to get your answer”. He will screw up so bad, kyoko! it will be so good! one of the best screw up’s I’ve seen! so painful for him & tohru & amazingly written!

Kyo’s nightmare being connected to him remembering/dreaming of kyoko’s story is bigger effect than opening the ep with it & having the cause be sth that happened last ep, a week ago... the effect is NOT the same.

Momiji is so cute!!! did his curse break here or not yet? he seemed as tall as tohru.

Writing tohru worried abt kyo after seeing him pale is the tohru I know!! Not that stupid girl who watches the guy she loves have a panic attach in se3, ep6, then goes in ep 7...” dahhhh.. Jeez.. I duno why kyo is sleeping until now.. better laugh & make cute rice cakes” giggle giggle...That scene got me so furious even when I first saw it!! THIS IS NOT TOHRU! tohru cried for a stupid story that haru told abt puppets!! she’ll forget the person she challenges herself for is sick?! ugh!

I love seeing yuki & kyo chill & cool around each other.

Kyoko being fully dependent on katsuya can be a factor in her grief, but I’ve seen cases where both partners are independent but still be completely broken after the others’ death. Grief isn’t logical at all & is extremely personal.

#Fruits Basket #fruits basket manga #ch 92 #ch 93 #sad paper #Anime Only #manga spoilers

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athenawasamerf · 4 years

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Feminism in Egypt, Part 2

FGM

FGM has a long, bloody history with African and Arab women. Some people say it originated in Ancient Egypt; others lean more towards it being a Bedouin Arab tradition. I’m not here to discuss the origin story of one of the most horrific human rights infarctions on earth. I’m here to talk about the current feminist struggle against it.

FGM was outlawed in Egypt in June of 2008, and a 2014 survey showed that a whopping 92% of married women and girls between 15 and 49 years old have been subjected to FGM (I will talk more about the inclusion of 15 year olds in official surveys of married women in a post about child brides), and that 72% of these crimes were carried out by doctors. In 2008, a DHS survey of women and girls in the same age range showed that 63% of them were in support of FGM as a practice. Of those 63%, 60% cited husband preference for ‘cleaned’ girls, and 39% cited religious reasons. All of these are easily googleable facts, but these things always sound so clinical when they’re presented like this. Cold, sterile, detached. So, let’s get a little deeper into it, shall we?

Girls in Egypt are mutilated anywhere between birth and marriage, but mostly before the age of 15. These are children. Every single year, we have cases of babies, toddlers, children, young women dying from botched mutilations and infections, especially after the 2016 criminalisation of FGM practitioners. Parents will take their daughters to backwater clinics, or have ‘doula’s who have no medical experience of any kind visit them at home, and cut into the flesh of their young daughters with non-sterile equipment, often without anaesthesia.

I’ve heard and read first-hand accounts of girls who got topical anaesthesia that wore out halfway through. I’ve heard and read first-hand accounts of girls who were dragged, kicking and screaming, and held down by family and neighbours forcefully as their bodies were torn into. Of girls who bled for days, of girls who had to have their legs bound to each other for weeks, of girls who couldn’t stop screaming in pain every time they went to the bathroom, to complete apathy and even disgust and anger from their families, of girls who were snarled at for making noise while their bodies were being torn away on their own beds, of girls who still have constant pain over a decade later, of girls who hate themselves and hate their vulvas, and hate their lives. Of girls who are suicidal, of girls who are terrified of marriage, who have trust issues, who can’t handle the thought of anyone touching them there again, after the first time being so traumatic and painful and horrifying. All of this is done while the family, and even friends and neighbours, celebrate in joy. It’s even tradition in some rural areas to take all the female children of the family to get ‘fixed’ together, dressed in pretty dresses and fancy shoes.

I’ve also heard of women who are asexual due to trauma, whose husbands rape them continuously, who are abused for refusing sex, whose families disown them for being such a disgrace, whose husbands divorce them and leave them for dead, whose husbands marry multiple women besides them, and they are left to fend for themselves, unable to get a divorce and move on, and completely abandoned by the people they trusted the most. They’re told the angels will curse them all night for refusing sex, but what about their trauma? What about their feelings? What about them, as people? Nobody cares.

So, how did we get here? There are 3 main reasons.

The ’’religious’’ folk will cite a (weak) hadith as their proof that FGM is a good, healthy practice. It goes that the prophet saw a woman going to get her daughter cut, and he told her to ‘not cut severely, as that is better for the woman and more preferable to the husband’. Apart from any implications of misogyny in this hadith, it has been disputed multiple times, along with a couple others in support of FGM. You can read more about that here.

Regardless of the truth of FGM having Islamic support, the reality of the matter is that a huge amount of actual, real life Muslim people cite these hadiths as their reasoning to mutilate their daughters, and everyone sees that as completely justified. The truth of the matter is this: Someone put these hadiths into the public conscience knowing full well they will be used to abuse, maim, hurt, kill women for centuries. Whether that someone was prophet Muhammed himself or later scholars, no one can actually ever know.

The second, more indirectly religious and directly misogynistic reason, is to ensure ‘purity’. You see, as I’ve talked about before and as many of you already know, women in Islam and in MENA in general are seen and treated as property. The family’s honour lies between a woman’s thighs. A young girl who speaks to boys her age in the most innocent context possible can be subjected to house arrest, beatings, forced stopping of her education, even death, for daring to put the family’s honour in jeopardy. A girl who has a boyfriend, well...

In a society that places so much value not only on women’s virginity, but also on their complete removal and separation from the male sex at any cost, it’s not very surprising that tips and tricks like using FGM to ‘cull a woman’s sexual desire’ spread like wildfire. Girls are mutilated to make sure they don’t become wh**es. This is said frankly, openly, it’s common knowledge. If you refuse to hurt your child in this way, you will be met with disdain and disgust, and even wails of despair, with shock, with animosity. “Do you want her to become like a prostitute and ruin your family name? Do you want her to walk around uncontrolled? Don’t you know what shame she will bring on you?” These statements are directed at girls as young as... in the womb, if you show your dissent early enough.

And the final reason is the least of them to hide under religious pretences, and the most misogynistic: Because this is how men prefer their wives to be.

You might think when I say preference here, I mean it in the way I mean, “Oh, I personally prefer brunette hair,” but you would be sorely mistaken. By prefer here, I mean demand. I mean a man could force his grown wife, through physical force or through abuse, to mutilate her body for his satisfaction. I mean that men will sneer at un-mutilated women. I mean that men will beat their wives on their wedding night to within an inch of her life for ‘cheating’ them if the wives are not mutilated. I mean men will suspect their wives of adultery and murder them, which carries a reduced sentence of ‘time served during investigation’, just for the simple act of having intact genitals. I mean men will divorce their wives on their wedding night for being unharmed, for being whole. I mean men will act so entitled to women’s bodies that they will always have the assumption that the ‘product’ they are ‘buying’ is cut to taste, and they will become violent and aggressive and murderous if they find out this is not the case.

I personally don’t know whether or not I’ve been mutilated. With such high numbers in Egypt, the likely answer is yes, but I genuinely have no clue. I am not allowed to ask about these things, or I’ll be seen as a loose wh**re. My parents would beat me up and they still wouldn’t allow me the dignity of knowing whether my own body has been altered against my will. I don’t know if I’ll ever find out.

The feminists fighting constantly for tighter regulations, for harsher punishments, for longer sentences; these women are seen as the spawn of the devil. Accusations of loose morals are thrown their way day in and day out. Death threats and rape threats (’that’s what you want anyway isn’t it?’) are hurled at them from every direction. They are silenced. They are ridiculed. But they are prevailing. This year, the Egyptian president has decided to alter the FGM laws to cover loopholes, and possibly to increase enforcement. He has also altered the charge set to doctors who perform FGM which results in death from manslaughter to first or second degree murder.

The problem, however, remains in lack of reporting. Ever since the criminalisation of performing FGM in 2008, and the setting of punishments in 2016 as a minimum of three months’ jail time, to a maximum of 2 years, or a minimum of 1000EGP to a maximum of 5000EGP fines (63.71 to 318.53 USD), and until 2018, and possibly until today, not a single mutilator had been convicted.

Imagine being fined as little as 60 dollars for the permanent mutilation of a little girl’s body. And even that is not happening.

People refuse to report the monsters who do perform this, despite a 2012 gynaecology convention condemning the practice, and calling it an inhumane act, and stating quite forcefully that it is not a medical procedure, and that it is an infringement on the human rights of women and girls, which medicine and medical ethics do not condone. And yet, the public opinion remains the same: this is their business, it is not our place to intervene. It is not our place to get this fine young man thrown in jail, or fined, for performing a ‘cleaning’ procedure, and besides, wouldn’t you rather they had a medical professional perform it, rather than an uneducated woman, or a barber, or a butcher? It is not our place to report this family and tear them apart - what did they ever do to us that we may hurt them like this?

No one ever asks what little girls have ever done for us to fail them like this.

#egyptian feminism #radical feminism #RadFem #fgm #female genital mutilation #tw: violence #tw: rape #tw: abuse #tw: mentions of death #tw: misogynistic slurs #tw: fgm #feminism #anti-fgm #islam critical

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socketz · 4 years

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Charlie Dalton x Female!Reader

Angels of the Night.

Type : Fluff and Smut! (with a little Angst at the beginning)

Warnings : Very sexual at certain parts & particularly detailed, talks of death (in general, not Neil, don’t worry), crying I suppose, but that’s about it.

Word Count : 10.4K (roughly) I got a little carried away, oopsies

Request : Anonymous: So for the request, I was wondering if you could do something soft and smutty with Charlie (Dalton)? Like his and a fem reader’s first time together or smth?

Summary : Essentially the request but they go out to make snow angels after, and there’s a little bit more plot :)

Authors Note : Plsss🥺🥺🥺 I love this so much and the idea was so sweet, Charlie is my BABY. I love him fodjdjdbfi. Thank you for this request! And my other requested fics will be put up as soon as I’ve finished them <3

Angels of the Night, Charlie Dalton x Female!Reader

Perhaps it were the midst of Winter engulfing my complexion, rupturing me cold and abnormally behaved, or maybe I was simply being overdramatic. My nose cold, stained with the shiver of a scarlet hue - eyes something of a similar shade, glossy and leaking. Pathetic, my mind spat, utterly pathetic. The sobs escaping my throat were hardly stifled by the wool of my knitted scarf, eyebrows furrowed and blush - I presumed - something of a terrible crimson. I found myself choking on my laboured breaths, feet crunching upon the delicate, unscathed, snow below.

He could hardly love you, my mind seemed to snear, something icier than the wind whipping through my locks. You are too difficult to adore.

Another stifled cry whimpered between the ruffle of my lips, moist and troubling, and I simply hoped - my vision blurred, incompetent - that my direction were a honest path, and I should discover the courtyard of the infamous Hell-ton (a place often discouraged and avoided by my conscience, for girls were surely not prohibited, and Charlie would be oh-so-severly punished, should I find myself caught.) in no time at all.

But, oh, it were true. A wreck, I was, and impossible to love. Charlie; a man with such incredible charm, a certain warmth to his gaze, and the intelligence of someone wonderful. Everything a dream could give, embodied - real. Perhaps he was the kind of guy, the kind of face, that poetry was bound from. The kind of person the Gods found pride within - a joyously great boy.

My footsteps found a rhythm, falling within the tough scale of such icy blankets; fingers but limbs of solid numbness, fumbling within the depth of my pockets; a gentle pulse to racket the edges of my brain. Thump, thump, thump, it said; Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.

What was I even to do? To approach him, to mortify him - though undoubtedly far more myself - before his friends, his closest companions, and express my excessive need for clarification? Was I going to whine for his adoration, for a smitten smile - the kind I’d always read about, always heard in folk-talk about the town - and the attention I found myself so desperate for? It was all so absurd, and, as I glanced with a blurred sense upon the harsh white all around, I found myself wanting to burrow beneath it all, and await the part of death to crawl within my veins, to freeze until I perished. Dramatic, perhaps, though valid nonetheless.

I suddenly felt warm, doused in the flush of embarrassed scarlet, a hue so easily identifiable - especially among the fleet of snow, draped upon the landscape for miles, and miles, to stretch. Heavens, I felt ill. Sick with stupidity - my own, all the same.

How could I possibly fall so low as to beg a man for adoration? My cheeks were a furious red, stricken with frustration. I felt a fool, storming over to his school - his strict, unapologetic, pro-punishment, school - with tear-stained cheeks, a lump in my throat and a pensive anxiety through the roof - all as though my implored desire were of anything important, anything meaningful. Charlie was a man of great confidence, and surely - by now, at least - his true feelings for me, if any at all, would have confessed their way to me, somehow - anyhow.

And yet, despite our many months of close friendship, our continuous flirting, and the pet names - though only to be revealed when swarmed with the comfort of desolation -, with the dates (he had assured me that they were, in fact, dates, and not just a friendly accommodation) - despite it all, he had not once confessed to his true feelings. And I suppose that I struggled to believe whether he held anything romantic for me at all, anymore. Perhaps he was excited, in the beginning, and thus he felt something then, and now - now that we had never quite ventured within the sexually active side of things - I supposed that he were growing bored, and those feelings - whichever he may have obtained - were diminished, unimportant, and-

“Y/N?” The delirious notion of my attention snapped up, grasping the direction of the calling - a familiar tone. Knox. I found myself spinning, undoubtedly a natural reaction, to turn away from his curious gaze. I wiped my eyes, a harsher manner than intended, with my numb digits digging a little deeper upon the flushed complexion than comfortable. “What are you doing here?” There was a breathy laugh, and I suppose he hadn’t noticed my watery expression, his crunching footsteps achingly close.

“I- uh-” Turning to face him once more, I fluttered a kind smile upon my features - hoped he wouldn’t notice. “I came to visit Charlie.” I said.

“Oh.” He said, dismissive, with another curious gaze and a tilted head. “He’s in a meeting-” He caught himself, glancing with something worried, “You okay?” He asked. Through his furrowed eyebrows and his genuine eyes - always gentle, always dreaming - I found comfort among the softness of his stare. Knox was a good friend - hopelessly in love with Chris, of course - and utterly tender. It was no wonder he and Charlie were the closest of companions. Both irresistible, both dependent upon each other - brothers, soulmates, a match for angelic enigma.

I hardly had a chance to catch my movement, shoulders falling and descending to a slouch, a sigh breaching my lips. “I’ve worried myself ill.” I said, and true it surely was. He smiled, a humorous smile, and shook his head.

“Always a worrier.” He spoke, fondly, taking me beneath his arm, and pulling me to the direction of the entry door. I almost thanked the warmth he radiated, had it not been for his words interrupting my decision, “You’ve been crying, I can see.” He said, and I nodded something silent. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Charlie.” I sighed, unable to pause the way it slipped, so easily, through my teeth. I tried to bite it back, but it begged for release and I could fool myself no longer. I needed to talk about the issue, I needed advice. “I feel as though I bore him - as if he doesn’t like me - like that - anymore.”

He let out a laugh, full and plentiful, as we walked through the waft of warmth, basked by the golden-lit entrance. His stare was wary, cautious, and he - in his height, with that uniformed jacket clung around a part of myself - buried me within his hold, ushering us through the walkway with a slight urgency. “Why the hell not?” He said, amused and slightly riddled with disbelief.

“I-” I paused, a kind of summary attempting to congregate within the depth of my mind, every anxiety rushing to the front in a large blur of nothingness, “I just do.” I said, a deep puff of air to follow. “We’re nothing official, and I know that - of course I do! I just…” A moment of silence followed, we wandered up the staircase, feet echoing simultaneously as our tones found hushed whispers. To be caught was simply not an option “I suppose I need to know.”

I found a gentle ache to sprout, deeply, within the base of my throat, a roundly stinging sensation to my eyes, and I knew - Oh, I knew it well, my jaw clenched, and orbs rolling to the sky - that tonight was a night for honesty, and for feeling morose. Charlie liked that word - morose - for it reminded him of things pleasant - ironically - and thus he used it in the incorrect context. ‘I am morose, tonight, Dear,’ he would say, a grin and faux British accent, all the while proceeding to play his cheeriest Saxophone pieces, all so wonderful and joyful. Nothing morose about it, but that was just Charlie. That was Just Charlie, and Charlie was the man I loved.

The tears began to fall - a first, and then a second, and then there was simply no stopping them after that. Knox hummed, and we entered the hallway. “Need to know what?” He said, our footsteps echoing upon the wooden flooring in a patterned, mismatched, rhythm.

“How he feels.” I said, a gentle sob to fall from my tongue. “How he feels about me - and him. Together - us.” We paraded through the course of the rooms, an occasional curious eye from a bystander - usually a boy with books, or perhaps a recognizable face - and landed before a familiar door.

“Ah,” He said, “So that’s why you’re here? To confess your feelings and hope that he reciprocates?” I found myself pausing in the doorway, Knox almost diving upon the neatly made bed - upon Charlie’s neatly made bed - that anxiety riddled within my head all over again. Thump, thump, thump, it said. Hope, hope, hope.

“Hope?” I said, “What do you mean, hope?”

He furrowed his eyebrows, dismissive to my worries, and picked up the small clock - slightly battered and a little broken - from upon the side table, stacked with loose paper and a few poorly handled novels, and said: “I worded that wrong.” With a reassuring smile to soften his expression. “You’re worried over nothing, Y/N.” He chuckled, gentle and kind.

But what if I wasn’t? “And if I’m not?”

“Then it would seem I don’t know Charlie at all.” He said. And, oh, how honest he seemed, so undeniably truthful, but that little voice - that fester of illness, sprouted within my gut - found my eyebrows pinched, and my frame collapsed within the chair of Charlie’s desk. I removed the wool of my scarf, a sigh slipping the brace of my gritted teeth, gentle moisture collecting upon my complexion, flushed with the sudden gust of warmth, and similarly cold by the retraction of heat.

“I hope those shoes are clean, Overstreet.” I said, breathless to my thoughts. He snorted a laugh, and my lip quivered at the corner. Perhaps I was worrying over nothing - yes, yes, nothing at all. Though my tears seemed to occupy my anxieties, and such a thought did little to diffuse my worry. “But what if he doesn’t have feelings for me?” I said, exasperated. Knox sighed, a pointed look from his direction. “I mean, how embarrassing! I’d surely never recover.”

Another scoff breached his throat, “Are you kidding me?” He said, rolling his eyes with a subtle fondness about him. “He practically worships you.”

“And you’re sure he likes me? Romantically?”

“Smitten.” He said, toying with the ill-treated clock as it lay within his hands, tossing it from one hand, to the other, up and down, left and right. I watched with a glimmer of amusement as the contraption fell from his grasp, landing heavily upon the wooden flooring. The mechanisms simply fell apart - meat from the bone - and a light wince sounded out from his direction. “Damn.” He mumbled. A soft laugh fluttered from my lips, and his rose to a tender smile, soft and kind - always so kind.

The door billowed open, a gentle slam against the opposing wall a thunder upon the scene. A waft of cologne, a roll of the eyes from Knox, and I found my smile broadening a little, broadening enough. Always the kind for an entrance, I thought, as the wooden plank poised between the man himself, and I. “Knoxious.” Charlie called, a tone of thick amusement and mischief to coax his smirk - a factor so notoriously him, I could hear it through his speech.

Knox grinned, a furtherly boyish kind than the ones he shared with me, and avoided the shattered clock altogether, as it lay, pathetically, upon the ground. “How’d it go?” He asked, lying pointedly within the comfort of Charlie’s bed, making a fact of wiggling upon the comforter.

“Not so bad.” Charlie said, blissfully ignoring his teasing. “Meeks agreed to help. Study group and all that.”

Knox nodded, glancing once in my direction, as I found myself merely grinning - for whichever reason, I had no particular clue. Perhaps it were his voice, or his smile - the way it conveyed within his speech. I didn’t know, and I found, as he spoke once again, that I didn’t care to find out.

“How was the Danbury’s future wife?” He teased, “Seen her naked, yet?” His tone of humour were almost overbearing, as he strode forward - in front of myself, my presence consequently unknown - and kicked the door shut, the thud another echo throughout the almost silent corridor.

He rolled his eyes, the ghost of a smile to be present, and spoke gently, “Shut up, Dalton.” He said, motioning effortlessly in my direction, “Your girl’s here to see you.”

As though an elastic band, he swiveled upon his toes, eyes precariously enlarged with a sense of surprise. My grin remained, and his gaze seemed to soften somewhat upon noticing my hunched posture, curled within that chair of his fabulous desk. His expression eloped with something wide, his smile crawling instantaneously, as he strode to rest himself behind me, engulfing my shoulders in a two-armed-cradle. His chin rested upon the dip in my neck, breath warm; close. “Hi.” He said, tone soft with a joyous grin.

“Hello.” I mumbled, resting the side of my cheek upon his head. Serenity, peace - I had almost forgotten the moisture to lie upon my rosy complexion. “What was the meeting about?” I asked.

“It’s nothing, just-” “He’s flunking trig.” Knox interrupted, a flutter of buried snickers to follow.

My eyebrows furrowed, knitted tightly as I positioned myself to face Charlie furtherly forward. “You’re flunking trig?” I asked. He shrugged slightly, tightening his embrace

with a sharp inhale to his nose.

“Only a little.” He said, gaze roaming upon my expression. Two digits, curled to the softness of his palm, graced the damp flush of my cheek, recoiling with a scowl of fond woe displaced upon his furrowed brows. “What’s the matter?” He asked, something mellow.

As though dancing to their own accord, the tears found themselves heavier than before, trickling upon my features as they found a subtle scrunch, and his frown drew deeper. “Hey,” He whispered, brushing - almost nervously, dare I say - a few strands of hair away from my face, tucking them behind an ear, with a glance of thorough concern.

I stared, albeit tried to, with such blurry gaze, into his eyes. So warm, so amiable - hot chocolate, topped with sweetened whipped cream and marshmallows on a chilly Wednesday afternoon - Home, his eyes, they looked like home. He felt like home. And, oh, how dearly I loved him. “What happened?” He mumbled, “Knoxious,” he said, turned to face the boy who glanced something somber, “What did you do?”

I could care to notice the smile upon Charlie’s expression, and from the reciprocated grin festered within the boy across the room, I understood, a teary smile and a gentle laugh, that he was doing what he did best - he was going to cheer me up. “Overstreet.” He said, standing with a sudden gust of wind.

Knox stood, a scramble to his feet, a mischievous grin eloped upon his expression. “Dalton?” He said, a tilt of his head - a nod, I suppose, though something mocking.

“Grab me a bowl.” Charlie ordered.

His smile fell, and he said: “A bowl?”

“Yeah, of food.” He said, “I’m hungry. Whatever’s for Dinner, alright?”

He nodded, somewhat dazzled, and the smirk crawled back upon his expression. “Yes, Sir.” He said, “What about the others?”

“The others?”

“The Dead Poets?” Knox said, “What’ll I tell ‘em?”

Charlie shrugged, he glanced once to myself as I sniffled, and I wiped my eyes with my hands once more. “Tell ‘em I’m busy.” He said, a smile. Knox knew - he knew better than anyone - just how deeply controlling love could feel, how gut-wrenchingly wonderful it tended to grow, and thus he left without another word, merely a smirk, and a gentle wave to I.

The door remained cracked, though only a slither, and before a moment's silence had passed between us, Charlie planted his lips upon the cold complexion of my snow-kissed cheek. A retraction, “God,” He said, “you’re freezing.” I didn’t feel particularly cold - not anymore, at least -- not after the weight of his tightly woven arms upon my shoulders. It should seem, however, that the glisten of moisture upon my cheeks were enough to remind my complexion of it’s shiver, Charlie - without hesitation - ripping into the array of clothing, shoved messily at the pit of his closet. “Here.” He mumbled, a thick, woolen, jumper extended from his slightly pink cheeks. “Put this on, you’ll get sick.”

I have fallen sick already, I almost scoffed - sick with the worries of my own foolish mind. But I grabbed the soft material nonetheless - a favorite of mine, one I thought he wore so very well - and removed my jacket, peeling the cold material from my bare arms. I placed it on, woozy with the intoxicating smell that was him, engulfing my frame in a combustion of warmth, of safety, and I smiled. A toothy, poorly contained, smile.

That smirk fell upon his lips, a signature twist of features. I watched his supple gaze, drifting upon my figure from across the room, and those butterflies - the ones I’d so anxiously murdered a while ago, when such intrusive thoughts seemed too dangerous to express fondly - found themselves utterly contempt, dazzling themselves drunk with romance. Eyes darkened slightly, though soft, as though glancing to something delicate, and his hands fumbled within his pockets. How pretty he was, I found myself thinking, and I adored him all the same.

He smiled, a shake of the head, and said: “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“Oh, yeah…” I said, another sniffle, contained and hardly morose at all. My expression seemed to falter, though only marginally - enough for Charlie to notice, his gaze scowling something gentle, something worried - and I presumed, as he motioned for me to join him, himself clambering upon the mattress and lying upon the cover, that I would simply have to let it all out. “I wanted to talk to you about something.” I began, sitting at the edge of the bed. He kicked off his shoes, allowing them to clatter upon the ground with a careless sense, attentive and glancing warily to myself.

He frowned, subliminally displeased by the distance I had placed between us. “Are you mad at me?” He asked, confusion to bind between his features.

It was my turn to furrow my eyebrows, a rather quick shake of the head. “No, no, nothing like that.” I said, “No, quite the opposite, really.” I kicked off my own shoes, not nearly as eager to ruin his bedding as Knox had seemed to be, and placed them side by side, a neat sort of line. The tears, they had stopped - or paused, perhaps - though the dampness of my blush was something rather frustrating, as I harshly wiped upon the irritated skin, attempting to rid of the lightly tangy moisture.

“Alright.” He hummed, an arm to lock upon the soft of my stomach, drawing me closer in a swift kind of movement. I laid back, his chest moving something rhythmical, my head falling within the crook of his neck, glancing up to the side of his face. He was surely the prettiest boy I had ever known. And as his thumb stroked the skin of my knuckles, his eyes glancing down to meet my own, I found myself thoughtless. Blank - nothing. He smiled. “Well?”

I rolled my eyes half heartedly, for I was so filled with something fuzzy, something fond, I was unable to spark any kind of annoyance. “So impatient.” I grinned, shuffling lightly to tangle my feet beneath his own. Oh, how cold my toes were. He hissed lightly at the contact, though allowed it nonetheless, and I found myself unable to dismiss the gentle grin as it slipped upon my lips. “I- Well, I-“ I coughed, an ache to my throat. Feelings, themselves, were particularly frustrating - difficult things to understand - and yet confessing them were so much harder. “God,” I sighed, closing my eyes with a light groan. Carpe diem - it was all Charlie used to say, before he’d do something risky; before he asked me on a date for the first time; before he inevitably did a thing he’d surely regret, or, perhaps, receive a kind of punishment for. Carpe diem. “Do you like me?” I asked. It was timid, shy.

A moment of silence graced us by, the soft hum of his breathing mingled with that of my own the only disruptive notion. I peered through my lashes, cautious as to my findings, and gazed upon his beautifully carved features. Glancing to his lightly flushed expression, his smile, and his subtle laughter, I suppose that I gathered I had been worrying about nothing, after all. Stretched within his grin, he said: “What’s the matter with you?”, a gentle laugh soon followed . “Of course I like you.” He said. “Why’d I keep you around if I didn’t?”

I felt myself bubble with a lightly humiliated laugh, trickling from my tongue like treacle - not honey, far too thick, too sticky. Unpleasant - it was a frustrated and false kind. “I don’t know.” I muttered. “I thought you did it all out of pity.”

A snort escaped him, “Fucking pity?” He echoed, bemused as before. “You think I’d deliberately risk getting my ass kicked by my Father, for bringing a girl to school, if it was out of pity?” I shrugged something small - utterly humiliated. Though, in a way, I suppose I kind of enjoyed this humiliation. I found a certain warmth in his mocking, for I knew it was his dote of affection. I knew that although his commentary were merely humorous, I could find a sense of adoration between the lines, a sense of truth. There always seemed to be such things.

And so, as though a strike of courage had flourished within the depth of my bones, I found myself speaking thoughtlessly. “You just never…” I paused, hesitation riddled within such courage. “You’ve never told me that.” I sighed, glancing away with such an inflammation to my cheeks, I simply thought I’d explode into a ball of flames.

“Oh,” He muttered, a tinge of disheartenment to his tone. I flickered my stare to fixate upon his expression once more, crossed handsomely with a frown. He didn’t meet my gaze, “Well, what do you want me to say?” He said, a little thickly, with a hint of discomfort.

Tell me you love me, I wanted to say, confess your adoration! Though instead, there was a: “Nothing.” and an: “I’m sorry, I’m being dramatic.”

“No, no,” He said, a stroke to my side; up and down, up and down, so gentle, so soft. “No, you’re right.” A curt pause followed, a tense thing. He drew in a sharp breath, “I just thought that…” He trailed, marinating his words, as though deciphering how to piece them together. “I thought you could tell.” He smiled fondly, shook his head, “The Dead Poets… All they do is tease me. They see it.” He glanced toward me, a curious glance, and said: “Why can’t you?”

I paused, the gentle stammer to exit my mouth, “I-” but caught myself before mine own excuses. There was a furrow to my brows, one that rose a single of his own, and surely, he were right.

Between the gentle dotes of affection - often an arm burrowed around my waist, or my shoulders, or a kiss to my cheek, hand holding (though usually interlocked pinkies) - the long, - dare I say - intimate stares; the softness of each glance, of every expression; the subtle compliments, followed with a fond kind of joke, or a faux insult; the adoration, spilled between every moment we spent together, that I were simply too worried to notice. Damn, I almost sighed, though bit it back (barely) - I felt bitterly foolish.

Heavens, how could I not have noticed?

There was an overwhelming kind of heat washing over me, and oh, I truly wanted to hide - to run, and to hide, far, far, away. What a fool, an incompetent fool. The flutter of a laugh slipped between his lips, a lullaby to my fixated embarrassment, and - before long - I found myself reciprocating a gentle giggle, too.

“Idiot.” He teased, another snort of laughter, though only quiet - a fond mocking, one could say. I rolled my eyes, unbearably aware for the scarlet flush upon my cheeks, and swatted his chest gently. His digits wrapped around my own, drawing the back of my hand to his smile, as he peppered a loving kiss upon the complexion. “‘Looks good.” He grinned, “My clothes - they suit you.” And there I was, blushing all over again.

“Shut up.” I mumbled, burning something violent.

He smiled, that toothy, mischievous, and utterly him, smile. “Never.” He whispered, a wink, and a closing gap.

His eyes, those beautifully entrancing eyes - gorgeously brown, amorous in shade - glanced, feverishly, upon my lips, slightly agape - drying. The space between our mingled breaths seemed to lessen, the scent of his cologne an overwhelming disorientation to my unmoving self. I found my frame utterly frozen - we had never kissed before. I gulped, our gazes entangling once again, and his expression found a subtle pinch.

Is this okay? It seemed to ask, and oh, how I melted. I nodded, soft and hesitant - merely within my own - or, rather, lack there of - experience. His digits ran smoothly upon my side, trickling their way upon my tingling complexion, and weighted a supple grip upon my jaw, thumb tracing the flush of my cheek.

And then, the space between two such lovers diminished.

Molded so wondrously, an aubade of something perfect. My eyes found a restful close, the pressure of his lips, so tender and gentle - passionately loving - upon mine, a soulful clash of dreamy nights, and explicit daydreams, embodied. The digits upon my cheek failed to release, momentarily squeezing, as the barricade upon my lower back embraced my frame, warm and comforting, and his strength lulled me closer.

I tilted my head, only slightly to the left, as to deepen such affection, and the simple way in which my nose brushed upon his, found my heart slurry with a combustion I could hardly contain. My hands trailed upon his chest, pathing a certain comfort upon his clothed complexion, winding to a settlement along his jaw, cupping his face in a brisk motion of adoration. This was real, I found such a touch reminding me, he was truly within my hands, and his lips were smitten upon my own. Oh, how long I had dreamed such a night.

It seemed almost strange, that such a new found discovery could feel so dearly like home - like comfort, fed upon a delectably silver spoon.

Sweeter than any honey infused dessert, delighted with the bitterness of inexperience and unveiled expressions, my awareness a haze of muddled infatuation. For although my fingertips caressed the smooth complexion of his jaw, and my frame lay, entangled, within his own, it seemed that my feel, my sense of attention, was something of a great lack. Everything seemed so out of focus, so ill-tuned. All but the pressure of the fiery ignition, between the kiss of an epilogue I dreaded immensely.

My breaths fell short, something deep and ravenous, and I found yourself withdrawing gently, engulfing the sudden gulp of oxygen with a slight pant to accompany it. Charlie’s glance was warm; every kind of affection intertwined within one honey glaze; mouth agape, clawing to the fresh air with a timid smirk, reddened and slightly swollen - kissable. His thumb caressed the complexion of my rosy cheek, a falter nowhere to be seen, and his grip on my lower back trailed up, grasping the base of my neck in a sloppily tender hold. He pulled me nearer, a soft guidance, as his breath fanned my expression, gorged with a timid and delightful smile, and the gingerly peppered peck followed. "I love you." He mumbled, eyes fluttered shut.

He loved me - He loved me! Oh, how I had longed to hear such a confession! I truly pondered the sincerity to his words, though decided that perhaps a paranoid ponderous session was in fact unnecessary, and, in due time, such doubts could trail my conscience. After all, he had confessed that he loved me, and, well, that was just enough for my satisfaction.

Tugging upon the hem of his jawline, a subtle smile traced the hue of his expression - peacefully quiet, with his orbs still hidden to a close - and my lips descended, something brash and seemingly passionate, upon his own. His response trailed suit, the grip upon my neck squeezing momentarily - an embrace I found alluringly entrancing, with a tingle between my thighs - and a gape to mold within his mouth. Craning his neck, once more, Charlie tilted his head to the right, in a consequent attempt to deepen the kiss. And perhaps it were foolish of me to notice such simplicity, but I found it captivating, the way in which our eyelashes freckled upon each other's cheeks, and our noses clashed so gently, brushing a blushed complexion with no morsel of objection.

His tongue ran along the moisturized flesh of my flushed lower lip, a subtle nip between his front teeth igniting the heated warmth, oozing between my own frustrations, and - although I had, for arguments unbeknownst to myself, never before used my tongue in a passionate manner - I found my lips parting subconsciously, and welcoming the sloppy warmth of an entity my dreams could hardly fathom such experience of.

A gentle invasion, something utterly welcome and wondrous; his tongue ran along the edge of my own, myself mimicking the soft touch with slight hesitance. His thumb caressed the complexion of my cheek once more, lightly gripping upon the side of my face and tilting it such, himself adjusting to furtherly explore the depth of my intertwined lips. I were surely rendered breathless, a slight ache beginning to accumulate within the pit of my lungs - I hardly knew how to breathe through such intimacy. Charlie sighed something gentle, the puff of air to tickle my upper lip, and it seemed the recollection of my nose fluttered on back to me, as I gulped a large inhale through the deprived nostrils, a subtle blush encasing my cheeks, flourished with the tinge of thickening embarrassment. That was a bit fucking stupid, I scolded, shamed by my bitter inexperience.

I wondered if I were... Well, if I were any good, to put it simply. Never before had I truly made out with a boy, and every time they tried, it seemed to - somehow, somewhere - go wrong. Of course, I had shared subtle kisses with pretty boys, and my virginity was long gone - many moons ago, was it taken, by a man unbelievably unworthy of the title - but it was never anything emotional. Nothing riddled with mutual feelings, and adoration spilling from every passing moment. It was different - Charlie was different.

And as my grip slithered upon the roots of his hair, planted along his lower cranium, and entangled with a gentle tug, I understood that perhaps he thought I was different, too. For the sound he made was heavenly, as the groan slipped between his lips, and vibrated upon my tongue, and oh, did I crave to hear it again. His smile was a radiance of arrogant pleasure, tattered against my lips, as his teeth nibbled something tender upon my swollen flesh, and, Heavens, how the shuddered sigh mortified me. I had little time to control myself, as his grip tightened upon the base of my neck, and the other hand slunk itself upon my clothing, wriggling the base of my shirt, and planting a firm grip upon my bare waist.

I wondered, merely a moment of passing thought, whether my skin were as smooth as his own, or that of the other girls he had bedded, before myself. At least, I assumed such a happening would unfold within the shared company, as my lips began to shimmer a light sting, something barbarically pleasing. Another nibble ran upon my lower lip, a slightly harsher endeavor, as a sharp flourish of pain cursed through my mouth, eloping the pleasurable chafe in a reactive heat. My fist clenched, tightly engaged, within the roots of those chocolate, brown, locks, yet another groan to interrupt the blurry silence, and a sudden flavor - something unusual, unknown - infiltrated the bliss, and... Metallic? I frowned subtly, decidedly unknowing as to just what it could be, and - Blood.

Heavens, I was bleeding! I felt myself gasp something light, his smirk merely amplifying to such a bemusing reaction, and his tongue softly grazed the small wound with great humor, before slithering within the gaped part of my inflamed mouth.

His hand squeezed, momentarily, upon the rear of my neck, it's warmth surely missed, as it trailed an affable motion along my back, and his digits curled upon the hem of my shirt. One subtle tug, and a second shortly followed, his permission permitted clearly, and his grip maneuvered such clothing from upon my heated frame, hands lightly brushing the shivered complexion of my bare sides, with deliberate teasing, as he went. The shirt was thrown somewhere unbeknownst to myself, the knitted jumper a deduced accomplice, and I simply hoped it wouldn't land upon Richards bed - that kind of commentary I would surely never live down - as my hands slithered their way beneath his own clothing, resting upon the warm complexion of his softly animated chest, rising and deflating rhythmically beneath my grip.

A supple grasp of his warm touch, cupping upon the thinly laced fabric of my forgettable bra, found delightful swarms of shivers, crawling with great animation, to scuttle upon my spine. The gentle arc of my back, a soft pressure of my chest upon his own, allowed our mingled affection to deepen, be it only slight, as his tongue slithered endearingly alongside mine. Once more, I hoped that my actions were at least satisfactory, as the persistence of the surprisingly wondrous invasion, sultry within my mouth, peppered on. His breath was short, gentle, yet utterly irrational, a certain tinge of warmth to radiate from the subtlety of his glamorously expensive cologne.

And, despite my growing adoration for the way in which our bodies found a perfect kind of mold, so effortlessly, the tender reminder that Charlie was still... Well, he was still bothersome in clothing, his attire entirely intact, as he lay responsive below my trembling self, found a certain nerve within the depth of my hidden anxieties. Perhaps I had read too far into such a night, and it would not quite end the way I had hoped - perhaps he was simply going along with everything through courtesy. He was a rather gentlemanly man, I could agree. I found a timid blush crawling the complexion of my expression - oh, how foolish I felt! My mind rendered itself bitterly clouded - maybe my crowing insecurities would, in fact, not wait - and my hesitant touch seemed to lightly drift, no longer positioned upon the warmth of his beautiful skin. He didn't even want this, I was almost certain. After all, it was me lying flat upon his frame - not him. I had control - idiotically so - and therefore, he did not want me. Not in that way, at least.

The distance forced itself between such entanglement far before I found a moment to conceal the concerns, myself positioned to a particularly uncomfortable straddle, perched lightly upon his pelvis with my hands palmed upon his erratically pulsating chest. His eyebrows furrowed ever-so-slightly, toppled with a mantra of concern, lips bruised an almost impressive tinge of inflamed scarlet. "What's wrong?" He muttered, albeit breathless and slightly dumbfounded. His darkened gaze pinned me silent, a flicker of uncomfortability to reside within my mind. I could hardly see just why he would want me, in any kind of way, never mind the sexual kind.

I glanced to my hands, toying subtly with the fabric of his clothing, and my stomach spiked with some kind of nervous gip. Fucking hell, I scolded, what is wrong with you? His digits encased my own, plush lips a delicacy upon the soft complexion, as he traced my palm with a gentle touch, and peppered affection among my knuckles. "Y/N..." He sighed, a sudden softness about his expression. My eyes danced reluctantly, cautious and riddled with my cock-blocking, frustrating, anxieties, and met his gaze with a shy tinge. "What's with the nerves, all of a sudden?" A lovable flutter of laughter slipped his throat, engulfing his expression in that wide grin I found myself adoring so deeply, and another blush drooped upon my smile, small and timid in itself.

"Sorry." I mumbled, somewhat awkwardly, as I lightly shifted my positioning.

A slight hiss escaped the gape of his reddened lips, "Oh, God," He said, "please - God, fuck - don't do that." He groaned, a strong grip and swift maneuvering moment of furrowed expression and concerning grumbles to follow, and I discovered a position of swandled helplessness, upon my back, himself a display of further dominance, as he hung above my confused person. A slither of arrogance spilled within his smirk, particularly delighted with the shift in positioning.

Perhaps he did want me, after all, I dared to ponder. Heavens - he surely looked Godly, struck above, a slight strain to his muscles, and a shimmer of reddened blush to coax his complexion. Two digits maneuvered upon my cheek, another pinch smitten within his expression, and he stroked my features, as he said: “We don’t have to do it, you know.” And he smiled something gentle, reassuring.

I found myself silly with a grin, shaking my head subtly. “No,” I said, “No, I want to.” I brushed away the fringe of fallen hair, tucking it away from his forehead. Truly the most beautiful boy I had ever known. “I want to, I just-” I paused, sighed, “I want to make sure you do, as well.” I said, quieter, with a furrow to my brows.

That similarly contagious smile only seemed to brighten, the breath of a laugh a whisper to the quiet. “Me?” He somewhat scoffed, “Sweetheart, tonight is about you.”

Contorted with a sense of confusion, I said, “Are you sure?” And wrapped his warm expression within the palms of my hands. “I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to do, Charlie.” I said.

His grin something soft, he shook his head. “Dammit, Y/N, the name is Nuwanda.” He said, with not a moment's hesitation. His lips found mine own once more, eloped within that same enigma of beautiful, gratifying, expression. And, oh, if this were the love I had read about, that I had heard the stories of, perhaps I could dare to allow myself to fall.

Mouth a hot trail, lingering with a sloppy kind of warmth, trickled - like honey, sweet, addictive - upon the flush of my complexion, gently peppered along my neck, a rough trail to the crane of my breast, parting through the middle, and a pause at my stomach. The tips of his fingers wound little circles within my pale flesh, a tickle embraced delightfully, and I found myself flustered and warm - dampening, perhaps, in an area more than one.

The gentle, almost trembling, I cared to notice, graze of his fingertips, caressing the sensitivity of the skin most unscathed, perched above the button of my waistband, found a fluttered breath to fall from my tongue. A sigh, one could admit. And, as he maneuvered such digits to undo the subtle mechanisms of the button, and of the zipper, I found my gaze interlocking with his own, a dirty kind of smile to pepper his expression.

“Wait-” I breathed, a little sultry - too sultry for my liking, though his grin only widened upon such a shaky tone.

“Yes, Dear?” He said, a grip to my waist - something squeezed, something utterly distracting - and crawled his way to hover above me, our gazes interlocked and level. A sharp inhale found my throat, and I paused, albeit disorientated, and that intense expression of his dimmed somewhat. I found myself blushing, flustered idiotically, and I tugged upon the lower creases of his shirt. He glanced down, a breathy laugh to follow.

He sat back slightly, resting mostly upon his legs, straddled either side of myself, as I lie, watching - no doubt looking a mess, with disgruntled hair, and half a naked body - and he began to unbutton the cotton of his creased, white, shirt.

Pasty, toned - oh, I were surely thankful to Nolan for such persistent rowing training - and utterly divine. The shirt found the floor, and I subconsciously began trailing patterns, gently, upon the muscled complexion of his abdominal region. His smile was infectious, dazed, as though swarmed with consuming bliss, and his slow descent was something teasing, patient.

I leaned up, unable to pause myself, and caught his lips with my own, furtherly passionate than previously seemed - harsher, dripping with an uncanny tinge of desperation. He slipped his way back down, continual pressures of feathered kisses, slobbered messily upon the heated skin of my neck, my breast, and the lower fraction of my stomach. My hands wove between the gloriously soft strands of his hair, clenching upon the roots with a great anticipation. I surely wanted him - needed him.

Picking off from where he had found himself interrupted, Charlie made a point to daringly drag the material from upon my limbs - slow, deliberate - and peel them unto the floor. That smile - that damned smile - bled me something mushy, utterly submissive to every which occurrence seemed to take place henceforth. His mouth, hot, entirely entrancing - dreamy, perhaps - pressed, a ragged breath to accompany, upon the flesh of my thigh, trailing up, further, further, until they grazed the cloth of my lacy waistband.

Naturally - with somewhat an embarrassing notion - my hips seemed to rise, to buck up, and follow his retreating mouth. The gaze in which he dared to share, - oh - it ached me. My stomach pooling - almost, as it seemed, distributing elsewhere, in a mantra of pleasure, and of need. And the sound that escaped the gape of my mouth were something utterly mortifying.

He breathed a gentle chuckle, crawling up once more, his thumbs brushing lightly upon the fabricated hip, and allowed his forehead to rest upon my cheek, a deep breath - in, and out, in, and out - with a number of peppered affection to burn the complexion of my jaw. My grip remained, gentler, within the roots of his hair, rummaging among such luscious locks, and his breathing feathered, wavering with a soft tremble.

Charlie snuffed his way, knocking my nose with his own, and smiled something tender, a to lock our gaze. “I love you.” He mumbled, the gentle ghost of a kiss to slither upon my lips.

I hardly awaited a moment’s hesitation, “I love you,” I said, and I surely meant it.

There was a moment of shuffling, himself withdrawing the belt - a clink, and a burning fire between the ache of my thighs - and the rustle of descending cloth. Our lips a tangle of blissful abundance, daydreams, passion, all that seemed so wonderful - all that life seemed to be understood for - wrapped within such a sweetened, musky scent. And then, as he parted my legs, something gentle, and particularly kind, and the lace of my dampened panties were discarded to the side, I found, for a heightened moment, I understood the root of all poetry.

For the breeze was nippy, but he was a kind of warmth - a slow, graceful, entrance. He shuddered a breath, his member fulfilling the absence of a warm embrace, and I found myself a wholly consumed fool. “Charlie,” I breathed, a gentle tug to his hair. He groaned something heavenly, vibrating among the thickening air - sticky, almost, with such a sweet sensation, and then he began to move.

Gradual, as he dug further, a greatly whole sensation washing over my pleasured shudder, until he paused, entirely consumed by his depth. Breathing deepened, ravenously implored by my tender whimpers, he captured my moans in a grunt of his own, “Shhh,” he muttered, a strained kind of speech. “You’ve got to be quiet.” He muttered, a whisper of a breath upon my lips.

He retracted, slow, daring, from within me, movement slick and utterly dangerous. “We don’t-” A muffled groan fell from his lips, pausing with a noticeable withdrawal, his smirk something bitterly infused with desperation, with longing. “We don’t wanna get caught, do we?”

I shook my head, far too engrossed within the bask of delight and satisfaction to pay my embarrassment any kind of interest. “No,” I breathed, my hips rising once more and grazing the moisture of his hardened self. A subtle moan escaped the rumble of his throat, a bastardly smile embracing his daring expression, lips crashing to connect with my own once more.

His digits encased my own, hardly noticed and utterly trusted, and he withheld such grip above my head, smitten upon the pillows, and the headrest, and he entered me once more. I found a muffled moan escaping my throat, digested with the greedy tongue of his own, as he withdrew his frame, and began to find a kind of rhythm. He ground something gentle into me, a tender type of jive, and allowed the rhythm something slow, something gradual. It were a mere mumble upon the flush of my lips, though I smiled nonetheless, as he said - breathed -: “Is this-” A pause, a shuddered inhale, “Is this alright?”

I nodded, unable - quite - to express such simplicity in any which way. “Perfect,” I muttered, allowing my head to fall comfortably, resting with my gaze locked upon the ceiling.

Ragged breaths, furtherly accompanied by the feathering pepper of his sprinkled kisses, planted sparsely along my jaw; an embodiment of all the wonders, every kind of lyric, every stanza, every momentary pleasure; the warmth of a gradually increasing rhythm, so comfortingly blissful, my lower stomach contracting with a pleasurably unfamiliar sense of tightness; that musky scent, so beautifully him, so perfectly raw.

He found a lightly harsher stroke, breath an uneven hymn, a prayer the angels seemed to cry, and I found my moan something - soberly - mortifying, drunk with a combustion of thickening lust, of adoration, of love. He heaved a breath, somewhat a laugh, and tilted my chin to level our gaze, his lips capturing my whimpers in a silencing kind of manner. He reached to my hips, their slow slipping of something unsatisfactory to his heavy grip, and he tugged me down upon his thrusts. A cry - a moan - slipped between our mingled breaths, and he seemed to pick up such speed, delicately embracing my complexion in a gentle manner, a loveable motion, and pulling me into his stroke.

A knot, something unfamiliar with the burden of time, tightened somewhere deeply, warmth emitting between the slick moisture between my thighs, and igniting a rich kind of fire within the enigma of my lower stomach, and Oh-

A moan slipped the gape of my lips, his member discovering a kind of depth I had hardly realized accessible, and I- “Charlie,” I breathed, a pathetic taunt within the front of my conscience. His groan was something reciprocal, strokes strong, deepening, and undoubtedly a kind of heavenly descent.

He muttered my name, a breath I found myself entirely enthralled by, and found his rhythm to a slower pace, retracting gradually and entering - deeper, oh, far deeper - with a furtherly slow invitation. A shuddered, heightened, moan slipped the grasp of my throat, coarser and far more depthful, and that knot - Heavens, that damn knot - tightened; it tightened and it squeezed, and it ached the course of my thighs. “Charlie-” I whispered, almost certain for the fiery warmth, engulfing the towering pull among my abdomen.

He nodded, a breath to trickle his expression, “Yeah,” He said, “Yeah, me too.”

The knot rose, a consuming tug among my dizzying conscience, and it lulled my limbs into a distracted, sedated, kind of manner, blissfully encased with a pleasure enamoured. Another moan found my throat, and his rhythm remained something increasingly shaky, strong and utterly defying.

His breath fell to something unstable, gradually embracing an elated sense of ragged unevenness, as he captured our lips once more. A series of whimpers found the depth of my throat, my attempt to bite them back insufficient to his rhythmic thrusts, member far deeper than it seemed I could reach, myself. “Charlie,” I mumbled, almost finding myself warning as to the upcoming occurrence, himself smirking thickly against the gasp of my lips.

“Go ahead, Baby,” he shuddered, “I’ve got you.” And then, I found myself unable to hold on any longer.

A tremble of muffled cries - once, twice, copious times again, until my throat lay wretched with not a sound but the mere whimpers of pleasure. The knot, it combusted in a matter of electrical warmth, flushing through the gape of my parted, shuddering, legs. “Charlie,” I cried, like a song upon the dry whimper of my throat, “Charlie, Charlie,” until his name seemed nothing more than a word upon my tongue. Such a wave, engulfing me in a sensational kind of suffocation, an infectious kind of entrapment. I ached, another moan to fall from my lightly gasped mouth, and I found the knot, the gentle tug, no longer there - diminishing, one may say.

I had hardly noticed the withdrawal of his softening member, stomach glistened with the tone of his undoing, his breaths ragged - deepened - though upon meeting his glance with that of my own, I understood that this - this man whom I loved, whom I adored - were someone I could most certainly Carpe Diem with every goddamn day. He smiled, something tender, something soft, and draped his lips upon my own, a sweet, kind, peck.

“I love you,” He muttered upon the swollen flesh.

A smile, “I love you,” I said.

There was a moment of nothingness, filled by the still of ragged breathing, and his tone came teasing, came blissfully characteristic. “I’ll never hear my name fall from your lips innocently again.” He said, the light trickle of laughter to drabble by. “But, oh,” He closed his eyes, head tilted dramatically, “Oh, it was the sweetest song I ever heard.” I rang with a short giggle, a roll to my eyes, and muttered a gentle curse for his mortifying dictation.

“Fuck you, Dalton.” I mumbled.

His lips caught mine, once more, with a sloppy sense of warmth, and he said: “I’m afraid you already have, Dear.” With a wink and a poke to my naked side.

His withdrawal were something quick, a suddenly cold departure, as he picked up the discarded shirt from upon the floor. He pinched his expression, a conflicting frown, and I maneuvered to rest upon my forearms, a furrow to my brows. “What are you doing?” I asked, a dopey smile unnoticed yet utterly welcome.

He breathed a laugh, “I’m not sure if this is my last shirt.” He mumbled, scratching the base of his neck with another little chuckle. I let out a short snort, shaking my head, and spoke teasingly, unable to help the way it fell from my tongue.

“To say I’m surprised would simply be a lie. Grab mine.” I said, motioning to the entanglement of woolen jumper and cheap t-shirt.

He passed such fabric to myself, and I made an effort to scrape the slick moisture, puddled upon my stomach, a slight sigh to escape my mouth. The click of a lighter, and the rustle of an almost empty cigarette carton caught my attention, gaze drifting to watch as Charlie inhaled a deep breath, the chemicals of the darkened smoke disrupturing to his toughened throat, hands fondling the clasp of his belt.

I found my underwear, sliding into the small item of clothing, rising to a standing position as I did so, and the cigarette fell between my lips, a wink to follow his retreat.

“Let’s make some snow angels.” He said, a glimmer of something bright to sprinkle within his gaze. The laugh coughed from my chest, deep and humorous - oh, how I loved him. “Hey,” he scoffed, taking back the cigarette and handing me his woolen jumper, “I’m serious!” An inhale, a smirk, and a darkened gaze, watching with great intent as I wrapped my frame within the loose fabric of his favourite jumper.

I smiled, “Of course we can, Charlie.” I said, unable to stop the slip of the giggle that found its way out. He grinned, a final toke of the cigarette, before stubbing it out upon the bedpost, tossing the end through the window he slid open, and basked within the cool breeze for a moment or two.

Scoping my pants, I threw the material upon my legs, doing up the mechanisms, and simply watching his relaxed frame, gazing through the gape of the window. A pale complexion, littered with small, yet noticeable, moles, and bodily freckles. Athletically lean, though not particularly tall, and ridden with just enough muscle - wondrously divine architecture, I could dare to admit.

“Come on,” He grinned, whipping around and wriggling his eyebrows something childish. Another snicker escaped me, though I placed on my shoes, and I tugged on my jacket nonetheless, awaiting his restless dressing. He threw on the shirt, hardly bothering to button the majority of the buttons, and his shoes, tying them scruffily in a manner I were sure would simply undo in a moment’s notice, his hand encasing my own in a youthful taste of blissful excitement, dragging me to the door as he collected his coat, and found his way into the hallway.

Desolate, empty - entirely surprising.

In truth, I had expected a kind of congregation to fall through the entrance as Charlie swung open the door, and yet, not but a whispered sound was to be heard. Admittedly, such a discovery were something welcomed and serene - I doubted I would ever live down such humiliation. It occured to me, as I glanced upon the solitude of the hallway, that Knox had not returned, either. Perhaps he had heard the… the happenings, from behind the door, and decided simply to take a hint. I adored that boy, his heart of gold, I thought, a gentle graze of a smile upon my lips.

Charlie barreled into the limbs of the woolen coat, buttoning only a few of the gloriously expensive pegs, as he interlinked our pinkies - much the same as he had always done - and dragged me through the hall.

“Charlie-” I attempted to whisper, anxious as to his dismay of cautious rationality, though instead of a useful kind of attention, I found his lips crashed upon my own. Against my better judgement, I melted within the warmth, a sigh to exit my mouth, and allowed his silencer to work its wonder. He pulled away, a wink and a peck to my nose, and continued with his fast paced march.

I followed, helpless, and slightly anticipated, riddled with nerves, as we hurriedly descended the stairs, our light feet echoing gently among the silence around, and we entered the main entrance-way. The trophy case, lined with achievements, with pictures of men no one truly knew, nor particularly cared for, passed us by in a whir of rushed blur. A subtle laugh fell from my tongue as Charlie broke out in an increasingly paced run.

He took off, dragging myself along merely a few steps behind, with an incredibly fast kind of speed, unable to halt the laugh that stifled passed his lips. The wind were of something bitterly cold, whipping our laughter from the left, to the right, though such a stinging sensation of sour change did little to defy the warmth within my blood, my chest.

And then, myself undoubtedly following behind, he seemed to tumble. The groan of the thud, where his frame collapsed to the ground, ached within the air, his grip unwavering upon that of myself, as I, too, clattered within the snow. Upon my layers, and the soft of the whitened blanket, I felt little to nothing, as I lay, a little dizzy, with a loud laugh to accompany Charlie’s own.

“Shit,” he chuckled, “You alright?”

My laughter rang loud, free, and it should seem that everything felt better with Charlie at my side. “Perfect.” I smiled, albeit winded from such a clatter of clouded descent. Somewhere within the beat of silenced laughter, air thick - sweet - with an indescribable sense of contentment, Charlie had shuffled to embrace my frame in a hold, an arm around my shoulders, as he toyed with the ends of my hair. We stared to the pattern of gentle snow, cascading so beautifully - tender, soft - upon our stoic position, a natural entrancement, as the dark hue of the sky loomed above. The moon, hardly peeking behind the thick array of winter clouding, seemed to smile - to sigh, with a great sense of complacency. It seemed to twinkle with a kind of reserved joy, saved just for us - just for us, and our blooming love.

“O’ me, o’ life,” Charlie muttered, “of the questions of these recurring.” He paused, as though contemplating his words, and spoke gently, “Carpe diem.” He said, with a smile upon his face. “You know what it means?”

I raised an eyebrow, almost lost within the perpetual tranquility that was the nigh. “No.” I said, and I basked in his warmth.

“Seize the day.” He said; “Seize the day, boys, make your lives extraordinary.” The gentle mumble of his tone were almost lost within the vast quiet, though I caught it all the same. “Captain - Mr K -” He said, “He’s crazy.”

I found myself smiling, “You like him, though.” I said.

He grinned, “He makes it difficult not to.” He said. “Seize the day - Carpe diem - O’ Captain, my Captain - I mean, who teaches the idea of free thought? Of freedom? Passion? He’s crazy.”

“He sounds wonderful.” I said. And to which I had not lied. “What was the first bit?” I asked, “The ‘Oh me, oh life,’ one.”

“The question, O’ me! So sad, recurring - What good amid these, O’ me, O’ life?” He recited, the bite of a classically brightening smile to his tone. “The answer? That you are here - that life exists and identity. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.”

That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

“Puts things into perspective.” I mumbled, awashed beneath Charlie’s gorgeously muttered recital, and the prospect of the pattering snowflakes. “That we, as humans, mean nothing. What may affect us today, has no say on tomorrow.” I said. I hardly knew the words as they fell from my lips, though I allowed them nonetheless. “And no matter how greatly we fear the inevitable, life will throw us away and be done with us, when our time comes around.”

There was a gentle pause, softly laboured breaths, and he said: “Yeah.” With a light, breathy, chuckle. “We’ll all die, someday.” He said. “And that’s alright. Seize the day while you can, live and don’t just exist, and things will be alright.”

I smiled, and said: “Yeah.” With not a word more.

A moment, perhaps a few, of silence graced us by, mingled in comfortability and unspoken adoration, and I marvelled in the way his breathing deepened, tinged with an entanglement of a rough-nights-sleep. He was tired - exhausted - and I certainly hadn’t helped - of such, I was certain.

“Charlie,” I muttered, adoring the softly responsive hum to fall from his breath. “Char, it’s getting real late.” I mentioned, a gentle stroke to his knuckles, as they dwindled within the ends of my locks. Another hum followed, and light shuffling was to be heard.

“Can you get home alright?” He mumbled, thick, with a sense of tiredness.

“Yeah.” I nodded, truly feeling the absence of warmth, as he shuffled to displace his entanglement next to myself. I frowned slightly, glancing to face the boy.

His eyes had found a restful close, timid with a tender smirk, and his limbs began to brush - up, and down, up and down - once, twice, three times more, with a deepening indent upon the snow. A smile drooped upon my features, and I allowed my frame to excerpt the similar movement, ridden with a light shiver as the material at my legs found something damp, seeping slightly.

“You have to go?” He whispered, a gentle frown upon such expression.

I smiled; how beautiful he was. “Yes, Charlie.” I said, “You’ll be expelled if we’re caught.”

A quiet sigh vibrated through the air, and I knew of his compliance. He sat up, glancing to myself with a smile of utter tenderness. “I suppose I’d best let you go, then.” He said. I grinned, and he continued. “I’ll watch you leave, though. Not risking some creep snatching you up in the bushes, alright?”

I laughed something gentle, “Okay, Char.” I said, and we rose to our feet.

His digits were cold, numbingly cold, and a furious pink, as he lay his palms upon my face, and drew me a little closer, our noses to brush upon each other’s. “I love you, y’know.” He said, and I found myself smiling with a roll of the eyes.

“Yes,” I said, “I know. And I love you, too.”

His grin was radiant, peppered with the scarlet hue of all things wondrously cold. “Good.” He said, a subtly trailed glance to the subtle indents of our motioned frames, trailed within the soft blanket of snow. “We make good Angels, huh?” He smiled.

A laugh rumbled through me, “Yeah,” I said, resting my forehead upon the cold complexion of his flushed cheek. “We make wonderful Angels.”

“Angels of the night.” He mused, turning back to face me. I merely smiled, engulfed in the way the shadows loomed across his expression, lowering with a light glimmer of something morose. “Take a cab, please.” He sighed, “And be safe.” He fluttered a tender peck upon the very tip of my nose, before capturing my lips in the swoon of a honey dripped kiss. It lasted hardly a moment, for we were numb with the cold, and bitterly exhausted. He laughed, pulled away, and said: “Sorry.”

I smiled, “No.” I mumbled, “Don’t be.”

“Okay.” He said, thumb brushing lightly upon the flushed complexion of my cheekbone. “I’ll see you later, then?”

“Of course.” I said, a curtly peppered peck to his coldly chapped lips, before smiling something warm, and beginning mine own retreat.

Footsteps echoing among the plush of the winter snow, sinking with every passing stride, I found my grin something silly - something foolishly reciprocant for my adoration. And, upon glancing behind me slightly, approaching the hardly open gate, I noticed the swarm of familiar faces, each bounding over to a stoic Charlie, perched with his hands in his pockets, and a lovesick smile upon his face. They crowded him around, yelling and cheering things incoherent, and yet, still, he smiled on, merely widening with the attention of their supportive company.

A laugh rippled through me, and I waved something curt, receiving a soft repeat from the Lover-Boy himself, and a particularly exaggerated, full-arm, wave from Knox, as he bellowed a loud; “YAWP!” And tackled Charlie in a boyish embrace.

Idiots, I thought, though I’d have it no other way.

#charlie dalton #charlie dalton x reader #dead poets society #nuwanda fluff #nuwanda #hes so cute pls #knox overstreet #charlie dalton fanfic #nuwanda fanfic #fanfiction

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soyouareandrewdobson · 4 years

Text

…the ugly. SYAC: The Master Review 4

Last post I covered much of what I consider the good or passable strips of SYAC of the pre-Dobbear era. What I have admittedly not covered yet, were three certain characters of the strip that exist beside Dobson.

Persistent Pam

Curmudgeonly Carl

And… this guy I am not even sure has a name.

No, seriously. He shows up in like the 61th strip of the series for the first time and yet I never see his name mentioned once

All I know is that he is an accountant, who pities Dobson (for good reason)

And despite Dobson not liking alcohol, they regularly meet up in a bar as if they are some late 80s comedy duo

Funnily enough, he shows up way before Pam, who would have her premiere in these strips

And despite only showing up in a few strips after her premiere (mostly to make “fun” of overbearing and snarky commissioners I suppose…)

She actually managed something no other character or series by Dobson managed to get: A fanclub

Not that she would really be of any major importance afterwards.

As for Carl, he is supposed to be something like an antagonistic embodiment of Dobson’s “old” art teachers and people being stuck in old ways, who shows up for the following strips forming a sort of arc.

In addition, it is very obvious, that Carl is supposed to be a mockery of people flaming Dobson. Not helped by the fact that THIS character sheet of him made by Dobson assures us, that there were quite a few even less “endorsing” things he wanted to name the character.

Yet funnily enough, Carl turned into such a popular character with readers, Dobson was essentially “forced” to make him reappear in other strips. Not of the “classical” SYAC strips, but he showed up as the “antagonist” to Tenku in the storydriven multi pagers. Though even antagonist is a strong word, as he is essentially more of a jerkish art teacher and college advisor who is harsh on Tenku, but actually has his best interests in mind. To the point he even offers him to be his “harsher” art critic in the years till he enters college, because he wants to see him grow artistically.

However, Carl was also more of an “accident”. Cause when it came otherwise to tackling criticism or things that irked Dobson (and were not anime related) he would end up more or less creating strips that painted him in a manner where he would supposedly always look like “the better” compared to his opposition or mock it. Which is where a lot of the irk Dobson would earn over the years eventually comes from.

Now to be fair, I do not want to call every comic in that regard “strawmanning”, nor do I want to say that Dobson doesn’t have the right to also mock to a certain extend the mentality of certain “snobs” and so on. For example…

On one hand, I know there are people out there who think they are “special” by having the best tools at their disposal. When in reality you can achieve good results also with less expensive stuff. So mocking that sort of attitude is fine to me to some extend

BUT, when you also make down the line a comic like this…

… essentially making yourself come off as a “better” artist or person than others because you have “chosen” the better mass produced crap (btw, that is coming from someone who types this review on a Mac that runs Windows) , then the hypocrisy ends up to be rather strong with you.

Which is also essentially the biggest issue with the strips I am about to show. The hypocrisy of Andrew Dobson. And no, I do not mean the tumblr blog by that. I mean the simple fact, that the content of some of the soon to follow strips gets kinda muddled when you take into consideration some of the things real life Dobson had said and done either at the time or in the years to come. Well that and the way how he tries to mock issues people have with his work, not realizing how he is essentially just reassuring those “silly critics” in their opinions while making his flaws more obvious to people that may have been previously unaware of them.

But enough talk, let me just show you in quick succession examples to confirm said point.

Considering Dobson’s longterm disdain for DnD you have to wonder what the joke really is outside of him portraying DnD players as ugly nerds, supposedly too geeky even for him. Which is hilarious in hindsight as he would years later become a fan of TAZ among other things.

Less hypocritical but the set up is kinda flawed. Like, you are obviously at a convention trying to sell stuff. Why would some old dude not interested in “kids crap” be at the convention anyway? Is he just bringing someone there and just wants to go, but first needs time to belittle your life choices?

Rather hilarious in hindsight to me. Cause for someone claiming he has ideas that last for a life time and who seems rather distraught on the idea of others giving their input, he turned out to be so in need of ideas. Alex ze Pirate e.g. became from 2015 onward only defined by Dobson talking about the sexualities of his characters (and not even in comic as by that point it was discontinued, but rather in tweets and so on). Formera, which ran heavily on cheap shonen anime tropes ended up cancelled after two volumes, Cabin Rest was a failure after 20 strips, 2019 he relied primarily on cheap comics about Miraculous Ladybug and his understanding of certain genres is so bad, he can’t even think up the most basic ideas for a magical girl story.

Weirdly enough, that pitch of a garbage truck driver who fights crime? I think that could make for an enjoyable short story about a vigilante a la the Punisher or Sin-City.

The way Dobson perceives criticism, while also essentially giving a quick rundown how he appreciated criticism in his childhood way better than in adulthood. Yeah, because criticism by your parents as a kid was always VERY constructive. (looks back at certain drawings from own childhood) brrr. And sorry Dobson, but sometimes criticism by strangers is better than criticism from friends. Cause friends may mince their words. Plus people have over time given you quite some insightful criticism aside “U SUX” when it comes to comics. You were just never willing to listen

Hey Dobson, you hear that? That is the sound of your career, dying and no one caring.

Yeah, I think someone who made such “brilliant” comedy as in these comics, totally has the right not to listen to what seems to be solid theoretical advice.

BTW, that Talus comic… I swear to god the worst “joke” Dobson ever told.

Wow. You essentially make a point why you suck at drawing. While still not trying to change.

And as someone else once said: Don’t play with fire if you can’t deal with the heat, BLOCK-son!

This is not how I perceived your shit over the years. See, on one hand it is true that Alex ze Pirate e.g. has its own webpage to read the comic for free. HOWEVER most of his comics Dobson would hide from the start behind a paywall. The idea being that he would e.g. put a small reading sample of 10-15 pages up somewhere and then expect people to buy his comic for full price to get the rest. And you know, if you are e.g. a professionally published writer, that is fine. But when your average art output looks like THIS

And you expect people to pay more than 10 dollars for something that is only around 70 pages long while most people can get 200+ pages for the same amount of money that look like this…

You can frankly go and screw yourself.

On one hand I get that the joke is meant to be, that as an independent content creator you may find yourself in a weird spot where your “child friendly” work may be put in a palace between edgier stuff other creators sell at conventions. On the other hand, I find it rather insulting in hindsight, that self declared feminist Andrew Dobson portrays such competition as either psychopathic murderers or stereotypical cartoon bimbos. If modern day Dobson saw the same strip by any other person, he would be insulted on behalf of the female that she is portrayed as a bimbo, when she could also be a very smart and attractive woman who knows how to tell brave and sexy stories.

Also, I have read your “child friendly” stuff, Dobson. I would call Atea or Alex abusive bitches who like to bully orphans but child friendly? Not to forget that your work is so basic and shallow in depth, it’s like the someone tried to create a chimera out of some of the worst traits associated with Dora the Explorer, 80s toodler cartoons and the Fairly Oddparents.

I frankly hate this theory on comedy. It is true, a lot of comedy can be deprived from conflict, misunderstandings etc. Looney Tunes, Tom and Jerry and other cartoons as well as screwball comedies such as Rat Race can depend on it. Heck, one of my favorite comedians of all time is Christopher Titus, who based his entire career on the misery and absurdity of his life.

But comedy is not just defined by misery and conflict.

There are for example also the following theories when it comes to comedy…

And to get back e.g. to Titus, yes, he has build a lot of his comedy on the bad stuff that happened in his life. But he is also someone who in his comedy has build a lot of punchlines on the absurdity of certain situations he has been in life but which in a way have enriched his life positively.

What I am trying to say is, comedy (and entertainment in that regard) does not just have to be defined by misery. And all things considered Dobson, you could have really tried to also just make comics wherein either you or your characters are just happy with their situation in life.

For example, this page from an Owl House fancomic?

I think it holds more entertainment value than your “joke” right here, despite not even telling a joke.

Simply because as a page overall, it tries to convey a positive emotion. Which is more than I can say about the strip.

Because of a lack of different level of thickness regarding your lines, which would trick people into perceiving depth, the fact that the fill bucket and shade layers can only do so much to cover for the rather monochromatic dull nature of your comic, the fact that your characters are not really all that complex and look rather simplicstic even compared to stuff from a comic like this…

And that is just coming from the top of my head as someone who never studied art. If any reader has something to add, I am willing to listen

And considering you could in later years never keep up to any release schedule, which among other things resulted in only three SYAC strips in total being released in 2016, I say go fuck yourself. Not to forget that even some of the worst newspaper comic strips out there tend to actually find a decent following and good jokes eventually, otherwise they would not manage to stay popular for years, if not even decades.

As someone who has worked internships a lot in life, I just want to say fuck you in all our names. Glad to see you having just as much respect for interns than any other scumbag on the planet. Probably even less respect, cause you know, in some places interns tend to get paid.

Also, there is supposedly an entire real world story going on about Dobson having worked at his former university at the time the comic came out and Chaz is based on a fellow intern.

Things are unfortunately rather vague in that regard and only hold up by demonstrative evidence such as the name of Chaz showing up in certain pages of the university and Dobson’s internship being mentioned somewhere.

Well, would you look at that: People have different opinions on your stuff.

There are ways to draw memes funny and then there are ways to fail at them

You failed.

Funnily enough, that comic rings a lot truer to text than you expect. Considering how Dobson would often emulate certain aesthetics in his comics of shows that were rather passee by the time he published his stuff, plus how he will obsess over certain trends and games for years to come (like Skyrim or his Quiet Hate Boner) while also being unaware about current trends (how do you e.g. not have heard of My Hero Academia by 2018 at least once by accident?) Dobson has always been kinda late to the party. Missing the “zeitgeist” of nerd culture and as such never quite finding an audience.

Yeah, what Pam says. Not helped by the fact that yes, the floating eyebrows are real. Look at some earlier sketches or “professionally published” comics by his and you will see that each time characters get excited, their eyebrows will suddenly split into sets of three and float higher than Pennywise’s victims.

Ironically, that fits real life Dobson at the time and later on even more so than this comic version did. Sorry, but what am I supposed to call a person who has an hate boner on anime for years for superfluous reasons, made Danny and Spot a “gaming webcomic” deliberately to piss on non Nintendo fans and has admitted in some by now deleted youtube video, that he kept a list of usernames from an old forum just to remember even years later the people that were mean to him online?

Fuck both of you. I do not expect the Sixtin Chapel in the background, but something to filll up the empty space behind you is at times needed.

The comic here is actually called politics. … ironic how things changed once a certain reality show host turned president.

Jesus Christ. I am not even that much of a Transformers fan (Prime fan for life however) but even I know that this is not supposed to be what you design the head of a Transformer like. Not even if they ever produce the Transformers equivalent of Teen Titans Go.

Too bad you still can’t stand the heat, otherwise you wouldn’t have completely disappeared last year.

When you know you are in a no win situation, and still manage to choose an even dumber option to escape. I really don’t get it. I just think the Portal reference makes the comic dated and Dobsn’s attempt at a smug face looks so stupid. Like his cheeks are falling in and his mouth is about ready to get raped by a garden hose or something.

Yeah, considering Dobson’s later constant need for safe spaces and to be in control of a situation and the narrative, which led to so many blocks over the years… if you know anything about Dobson, how this comic becomes harsher in hindsight is rather self explanatory. I just want to say one thing: There is a difference between genuine agoraphobia and just wanting to be by yourself. And I think Dobson just prefers the later on average. Which is okay, but humans still need to interact with other human beings in one form or another, even just for the sake of keeping their mental health stable. Why do you think are so many people getting depressed in times of covid lockdowns, despite many having all sorts of technical gimmicks at their disposal to at least keep boredom at bay?

And by putting himself into a bubble like that, I think Dobson has deprived himself of some of the most basic human interaction, which was likely a severe factor in his mental degeneration over the last years.

It is still a valid suggestion! Just draw some cartoon characters or a nice fantasy scenario on a mural and earn yourself some bucks. Just be sure they are not by Disney or the Mouse will tear down the school!

… Just google up the words Andrew Dobson and Samus Aran commission by ED and you will see how this comic just further shows how much Dobson seems to actually be proud of being an unproductive asshole.

And by the way, I know that any form of artistic work takes time. Just writing these review posts takes a lot of time for me. But that doesn’t change the fact that people should post and create stuff in a timely fashion, especially when there are e.g. deadlines to hold up too. And by the way, Sloth’s don’t have fingers, they have claws!

And that is it.

Sorry if I missed anything folks, but I just saw how many pages in word this is already filling up, so I call quits for this part here right now. I think I made my point about how Dobson trying to badly deflect arguments people may make against his art and work ethics via jokes clear enough, while also showing some posts that are either harsher or hilarious in hindsight.

Next time we will however address one certain issue about our main character, that has been not directly addressed here. In the meantime, have a little fun video that shows hopefully how entertainment and a certain amount of comedy can be gained NOT via misery.

youtube

#adobsoncomic #Andrew Dobson #Tom Preston #comic #webcomics #syac #so...you are a cartoonist #review #master review

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fanficflaneuse · 4 years

Text

Hardly A Date

Index

A/N: Hello lovelies! I’m sorry this took me so long. This has been a very awkward week. I was sad and I tried to dump my feelings into writing, but sometimes it’s not that easy...ugh I’m sorry. I hope you like this one. It was requested a while ago. Sorry for any grammatical mistakes. Also, I gave reader the physical characteristics of Lily Potters for (insert some good reasons). So, I am sorry if it’s not as immersive as it could have been.

Dearest anon requester, I’m sorry this took me so long. Let me know if you read it and like it (I really wish you do).

Draco x Potter! Reader (she/her) Word count: 2735 Summary: Draco has a crush on Harry’s twin sister, who resembles Lily Potter.

Enjoy!

Harry sulked all the way to potions class. It was the first day of fifth year and his twin sister, (Y/N), was getting too much attention for his liking. He had always thought his sister was beautiful, but now every boy in school seemed to have realized it as well. Over the summer, she had grown taller and curvier. Her red hair had darkened a bit more. She wore it long, which framed her face delightfully. The resemblances to their mother was such that not even aunt Petunia could deny it. It made her harsher towards (Y/N), but not even that dampened the girl’s spirits.

(Y/N) felt confident as she walked by her brother. Since they set foot on Hogwarts, she had been the more popular twin thanks to her kindness and vivaciousness. She paid no mind to the looks and laughed at her brother’s overprotectiveness. As the Fab Four sat at the very front, as per Hermione’s request, (Y/N) felt something hit her in the head. Her hands searched the back of her hair and grabbed the paper crane that landed on her head. She turned around to find the one and only Draco Malfoy staring at her wide-eyed. He had sent the bird as a taunt to her twin brother and in no way had intended for it to hit her. The thought of her seeing the cruel drawing inside the bird made his stomach churn.

Draco was transfixed. It was the first time he saw her since last year and her striking green eyes were doing wicked tricks to his heart. Since year one, he had a crush on her. He thought those who didn’t acknowledge her beauty should be burned at the stake. A year before, the blond had simmered in jealousy when he saw her at the Yule Ball with her brother, but that image paled in comparison to seeing her now. He cringed as she turned around, opening the paper crane.

Just as she did, Snape came in to the classroom. He was not in a good mood and it only got worse when he saw (Y/N) Potter sitting on the front row. She was scribbling something on a piece of parchment. She was the spitting image of Lily Evans during her schooldays, back when they were still friends and he clang to the sliver of hope that she’d love him like he did. It was almost painful to see his student. Her presence soured his mood even more, so he decided he was not putting up with it.

“Eva– I mean, Potter,” he said, motioning to (Y/N), “change places with Goyle.”

(Y/N)’s gaze went back, once again, to the back of the room, where the Slytherins sat. Gregory Goyle was sitting just besides Draco. She stood up silently and put her things in her bag. Harry groaned lowly.

“I’m definitely failing now,” he murmured.

(Y/N) gave him an encouraging smile. “It’s going to be alright, Harry. You’re good at this.”

“Never as good as you, sis,” he countered, “And if that prick does something to you I am going to kill him.”

She rolled her eyes in response and dramatically bid her brother goodbye. She walked all the way to the back of the room, where a very embarrassed Draco Malfoy waited for her. She greeted him cordially as she took her place. Draco and (Y/N) hadn’t crossed more than ten words at a time. She was not a hothead like Harry, so she hardly gave in to the taunting. At times, when he said something particularly nasty, she’d snap. Her comebacks were intelligent and sharp and often than not he’d be to flustered to answer. So, they were not on good terms, but not on a “I want to burn you alive and dance over your ashes” basis.

“I believe this is yours, Malfoy,” she said coolly after handing him the paper crane.

The Slytherin swallowed hard and took the bird from her hands without saying a word. He listened intently as Snape gave the instructions. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed her flipping through the pages in her book until she settled on the one with the recipe for the draught of peace.

They brewed the potion in silence. Draco was enamoured by (Y/N)’s gentleness and the way she’d handle everything with the utmost care. She was also unnaturally kind, as she didn’t seem bitter at him for the paper crane or anything, really. It was a relief.

“Are you sure we have to powder the unicorn horn?” He didn’t intend for it to come out as mean, but it sure sounded like that.

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow, as if challenging him, and theatrically put more pressure on her mortar. Her lips turned into a mischievous smirk and Draco had to stop what himself from putting too much powdered moonstone into the cauldron.

“I recall you saw me read the instructions,” she answered matter-of-factly.

Draco scratched the back of his neck. He took a deep breath and nodded at her sheepishly. “Just checking,” he murmured.

“You should check your hands before adding the ingredients,” she teased as she pointed at the moonstone.

He smiled and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Are you suggesting that I don’t know what I’m doing?”

“I suggest nothing, Malfoy. I affirm.”

Draco was about to answer, finding the playful banter amusing, when Snape scolded them from his desk. Assuming they had been bickering, Harry turned around, shooting daggers at the blond and giving her sister encouragement she didn’t need. (Y/N) shrugged and, after her twin turned around, smiled kindly at Draco. After that, they worked mechanically. As their potion turned into the desired turquoise blue colour, (Y/N) even concluded that they were a good team.

As Snape approached to their desk, (Y/N) noticed how he didn’t even spare her a glance. He talked to Draco and asked him questions about the process. And when he gave them their well-deserved O, it was Draco he congratulated. (Y/N) said nothing of it, but found it frustrating. When he walked away, she released the breath she always held when he graded her and started packing.

Before she left, she flashed her classmate yet another impish grin. “I exhort you to open that paper crane.”

Once she was gone, the Slytherin opened the folded bird to find her intervention to his work. He had drawn Harry being hit by a thunder and falling off his broom. She had altered it for it to be him, falling and hitting the ground wrapped in a cloud of dust. It was so well done, Draco couldn’t be offended.

…

For the next two months, (Y/N) and Draco worked together in potions. Every time, they’d engage in small talk and friendly banter. He marvelled at her wittiness and her sense of humour. He loved it when she got dramatic and made theatrical gestures or used aristocratic language just because. Draco was falling hard and fast for the redhaired Potter.

It actually made him wonder over the nature of his hatred for her twin brother. He found her funny and charming. He felt so at peace when they spent time together. And then there was Harry Potter, who he found utterly irritating, brash and self-righteous. He didn’t understand how they could possibly be related. She was amazing in absolutely every way he was faulty.

Maybe he didn’t particularly hate Harry? And why didn’t he ‘hate’ (Y/N) anyways? She was just as self-righteous as her brother. They were practically joined at the hip and she was always involved in the same shenanigans as Harry was. They had the same eyes. Why hate them in one and love them in the other? What was the real reason for him to go out of his way to torment (Y/N)’s twin and friends?

Deep down he knew.

These thoughts consumed him as he did his rounds for the inquisitorial squad. At first, he had joined Umbridge’s team because he wanted the authority and for a while he enjoyed it. Then, (Y/N) and Harry got punished by their sadistic teacher and he no longer wore his badge with pride. He knew they were up to something, but seeing (Y/N)’s swollen hand during their next potion class was enough to feel ashamed of his position.

Draco was just about to go to his common room, when somebody collided with him. He was too deep in his thoughts to feel the rush of getting someone in trouble. And then noticed the deep red hair and the scared green eyes. His heart started beating hard on his chest.

(Y/N) was absolutely terrified. She hadn’t realized it was Draco at first; she was running as fast as she could from the room of requirement. Usually, she left D.A. meetings with Harry, but today he was playing Don Juan with Cho Chang and everyone else was gone. She was good at sneaking around. She was halfway there when she saw Peeves and decided to make a run for it before he saw her and woke the whole castle.

That’s how she had ended practically in Draco’s arms. She was sweaty and out of breath and now she had to deal with the Slytherin prince. He was nice to her in potions, but she wasn’t sure that was enough to get her off the hook. (Y/N) imagined herself getting another detention with Umbridge and it made her want to cry.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said as he grabbed her face tenderly.

For a second there, she thought she was hallucinating. She looked at him, eyes still teary, but also full of confusion. He smiled awkwardly, suddenly self-conscious of their position.

“A-Are you alright?”

“Just a bit agitated.” She tried to be as casual as possible.

“Let me walk you to your common room. That way nobody else will get you in trouble,” he said, offering her arm to her.

Draco knew that she was up to something. If he wanted to, he could’ve gotten all the dirt on their little secret society. She would’ve been in a lot of trouble and he’d be the hero of the school. He said nothing, though, especially because she was holding onto his arm for dear life. They walked peacefully towards the Gryffindor common room and with every step he could only think about the idea that had been brewing in his mind for a while.

(Y/N) thought she was in the most ridiculous situation. She was a member of Dumbledore’s Army and he was Umbridge’s minion. He could’ve gotten her, her brother and friends in trouble, which was what he had wanted to do since their first day in Hogwarts. And here they were, arms linked as he escorted her to safety.

Suddenly, they stood in front of the Fat Lady’s portrait. (Y/N) looked at Draco with gratitude. He nodded and offered her a smile. With trembling fingers, he tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Draco noticed (Y/N) blushing a little.

“(Y/N)…there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said, the sudden rush of confidence making him lightheaded.

“Yes?”

“Would you go to the next Hogsmeade trip with me? On a date?”

(Y/N) was speechless. She didn’t know Draco thought of her that way, but suddenly the fact that he didn’t rat her out made sense. Of course, he wouldn’t be as lenient had he found Harry or Hermione. She thought about it for a second and smiled when she noticed him getting uncomfortable.

“Let’s make a deal, Draco. The next Hogsmeade trip is a week from tomorrow. If you don’t bully anybody during the week, I’ll go out with you,” she proposed.

She noticed his eyebrows knitting in confusion. “What does that have to do with anything?” he groaned.

(Y/N) crossed her arms, amusedly. “Why would I want to go out with somebody that messes with my brother and my friends?”

He considered her for a while and then sighed in defeat.

…

“Is it true that you agreed to go out on a date with Malfoy?” Ron asked in alarm the next morning.

“I didn’t agree,” (Y/N) shot back as she put food on her plate.

Harry was looking at her disapprovingly and she was doing her best to avoid his gaze.

“You agreed to go out with him if he went a week without bullying us,” Hermione interjected with a reproving tone.

“That I did.”

“(Y/N)!” Harry roared.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to not be bullied for a change?” she asked him innocently.

“If the cost is that git snogging my sister then no, it wouldn’t be nice.”

(Y/N) gave him a stern look.

“What? That is what happens on dates, (Y/N).”

“Then you should hurry up and ask Cho Chang to one as well.”

She tried to be humorous, but it clearly didn’t work, so she tried to reason with him instead.

“Come on, Harry. It would hardly be a date,” she said while holding her twin’s hands, “besides, I know Draco can be a nice person if he tries. He has been to me in potions. Why not give him a second chance?”

Harry scoffed. “Why would I ever give that tosser a second chance? He has been messing with us since our first day here!”

They looked at each other and for a moment they had one of their silent conversations. Hermione and Ron stared as Harry failed to be stern and (Y/N) conveyed compassion in her eyes. As always, Harry gave in.

“You’re too kind for your own good, you know that?” he sighed, “and I mean it this time, if that prick does something to you I am going to kill him.”

…

“Which one’s better, ‘Mione?” (Y/N) asked as she held one dress in each hand.

Hermione helped her best friend get ready for her date. As much as she disliked Draco, the week events had made her realize he truly wanted to go out with (Y/N). Throughout the week, Harry and Ron taunted the Slytherin in hopes that he snapped at them, thus ruining the date before it even took place. Hermione had frowned upon their Machiavellian plan, but had not intervened nor rat them out. As the days went by, though, she noticed how hard he was trying to be good. He looked the other way as the Gryffindor boys laughed and teased. He avoided making snarky remarks in class. Once, he even helped Hermione when she tripped and fell.

It had been a very hard week, but he had succeeded. Now he waited awkwardly by the portrait for (Y/N), who arrived a few minutes later. She looked as beautiful as ever with a pretty floral dress. They smiled at each other and walked out of the castle, this time with the regulatory distance according to Umbridge’s decree.

As they made their way to Hogsmeade, (Y/N) thought this could possibly be the most awkward date of her life. It didn’t help that it would probably her first real date ever. What could they have in common apart from their shared space in potions? What would they talk about? Then, she noticed how Draco was fidgeting with his fingers. She found that cute and it made her instantly relax.

As they sat at the Three Broomsticks, all of their collective fears of a bad date were soon proved wrong. They had a great time together. They talked about their favourite candies, their favourite pastimes, quidditch. Draco asked about her life as a muggle with genuine curiosity. She was actually very blunt about her situation at home, something that both marvelled and unsettled him. They laughed and made jokes and got theatrical together.

They walked back to the castle hand in hand. Once they reached the school, Draco dragged (Y/N) through some less frequented corridors. Engrossed in their conversation as they were, they failed to notice the Gryffindor trio following them. Harry and Ron were absolutely enraged as they saw the couple stop behind a column. Hermione had to restrain them when Draco put his hand on (Y/N)’s cheek. She squeezed their arms as the blond boy leaned in and gave (Y/N) a kiss she happily corresponded.

Harry was livid. His baby sister had her arms around that slimy git’s neck. He wanted to rip his head off.

“Hardly a date my arse,” he muttered under his breath.

tags: @cleopatera @okaydraco @naomi02hook @the--queen-of-hell @honeymarvel @the-hufflefluffwriter

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ramen-rambles · 5 years

Text

Study Session

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader x Kirishima Eijirou

Warnings: 18+, threesome, pillow humping, double penetration

Word Count: 4.0K

Summary: You need help studying and Bakugou and Kirishima were having a study session in their dorms. However, upon entering, you see that they’re up to something else.

A/N: First real post on here! Just pure filth. I did this instead of working on my essay. Also, I have no idea why this turned out to be so fucking long. Anyways, enjoy?

♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。. ♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。. ♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。.

Finals season was fast approaching UA. Given that you were in your third year of university, you couldn’t really afford to fuck up. That being said, you had been studying all day in the library with Bakugou and Kirishima. Most of the time, you were off doing your own thing but Bakugou kept on getting frustrated at Kirishima’s incompetence and lack of understanding. Their constant bickering made it impossible to focus so you started gathering your things, wanting nothing more than the peace and quiet of your dorm.

“H-hey! Where are you going? I thought we were supposed to be studying together…” Kirishima said with a pout on his face.

“Well, I tried. But with you and Anger Issues over there never shutting up, I can’t fucking focus on anything else.”

Your tone sounded harsher than normal and Kirishima couldn’t help but notice. Bakugou’s words didn’t make the situation any better either.

“If you fucking fail the final next week, don’t come crying to me, you fucking dumbass.”

You were going to come up with some snarky response to counter him but Kirishima ended up easing the tension instead.

“Um, okay then, but just make sure you actually study! But if you still don’t get it, Bakugou and I are going to probably pull an all nighter tonight or something in my dorm. I still seriously don’t get anything and I don’t think I have any other option except to cram.” He said, nervously scratching the back of his neck.

“Whatever. You better not fucking fail either, Shitty Hair.” huffed Bakugou with a light smack to Kirishima’s head.

“Alright, well you two have fun. I actually think I get it a little so I’ll just do some practice tests or something. But thanks for inviting me anyways! Good luck.”

While you weren’t particularly worried, you couldn’t deny the fact that math had always been your weakest subject. The night had dragged on and it’s been hours since you made it up to your room. You were breezing through the notes and you felt confident enough to do a practice quiz.

However, with the problems set in front of you, you realized that you, in fact, knew nothing.

“Man, what the fuck? This shit doesn’t make any fucking sense! This literally can’t even be the same fucking thing.” You cursed to yourself. You started losing hope, but then, you suddenly remembered what Kirishima had said to you earlier that day. Glancing at the clock, “Fuck, it’s like 3am already. Goddamn. I mean… They did say they’re pulling an all nighter, right?” You muttered in defeat.

Feeling frustrated and without many options left, you decided to take up the redhead’s offer and started making your way up to the fourth floor.

“It is kind of late, I hope they’re still awake...“ You thought to yourself.

Walking down the hallway, you stopped dead in your tracks as you heard a particularly loud moan come through Kirishima’s door.

Did you hear that right? Did your ears deceive you? What was going on in there?

Confused, you pressed your ear against his door and sure enough, there was that sinful moan again.

Your thoughts started to wander and you leaned in closer, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together at the lewd noises coming from the other side of the door.

“F-fuck Eiji. Just get on with it already!” Bakugou cried, voice dripping with need.

“You like that, baby? Tell me all the naughty things you want me to do to you, Katsuki.” Kirishima breathed out through teasing pants.

Initially, like any sane person, your first thought was, “What the actual fuck. Weren’t they supposed to be studying? Why does it sound like a fucking porn video in there?” You felt dirty, to say the least. But you couldn’t deny that you started getting hot and bothered. “No, this is wrong. I shouldn’t be listening to whatever the fuck they’re doing.” You shook your head and snapped yourself back to reality and just as you were about to make a break towards the elevator, you heard that sweet moan again.

Now, you definitely knew you weren’t dreaming.

Face blushing profusely, you felt a familiar heat begin to pool in your stomach as you continued to listen to the sinful sounds coming from the two boys on the other side of the wall. “Oh, fuck it.” You mumbled.

You couldn’t resist yourself from dipping your hands underneath the hem of your shorts as you began rubbing soft circles on your clit, a wet patch slowly forming in the middle of your underwear. Careful not to make a sound, you turned around and slowly slid down to the floor, pressing your knees against your chest, allowing easier access to your soaking wet sex.

“I want you to fuck me, Eiji. Make me feel good. I want you to fucking pound me until I can’t fucking walk anymore. I need you to make me cum.” God, Bakugou sounded so sexy. You could only imagine what he looked like.

What was Kirishima doing to him? Was he sucking his dick? Was he eating his ass? What could Kirishima possibly be doing; that made Bakugou fucking Katsuki moan like a such a horny little bitch?

His submissiveness lit a fire within Kirishima, who merely responded by obviously pleasuring the needy boy, desperate to hear more of his moans “Get on all fours, babe.”

You brought two of your fingers into your mouth and allowed your spit to collect around it before you swiftly moved your panties the side and teased your pussy, dragging your finger along your slit, wincing a bit as you slowly pushed them inside yourself, desperate for some sort of relief. You closed your eyes shut as soft pants escaped your mouth and you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to control your sounds of pleasure. Anyone could have seen you touching yourself to your friends’ moans but you didn’t really care at this point.

You were becoming more and more flustered as you imagined what those two were doing to each other. You trailed your cold hand under your shirt, reaching up to rub your nipple, the difference in temperature only adding more pleasure as you continued pumping your fingers in and out of your needy cunt.

So engrossed with your own dirty thoughts, you failed to realize that the boys could also hear you from the other side of the door. Your fingers curled and brushed against your g-spot, accidentally letting out a loud moan.

Fuck.

Before you could react, the door swung open and you fell onto your back. You looked up and saw a naked Bakugou and a half-naked Kirishima staring down at your body, fingers still knuckle deep in your cunt. After you register what had happened, you immediately pulled out and shoved your shirt down, looking away from the two boys. How embarrassing.

“I-it’s not what you think! I was having a hard time understanding the formulas and I remembered what you said and I just wanted help but then I heard you guys moaning and I couldn’t help but listen in--” Your sorry excuse of an explanation was cut short as Bakugou slammed the door shut behind you while Kirishima crouched down to grab you by the waist and throw you onto the bed, legs spread apart for them to see all your shame.

“You’re such a dirty slut, you know that? Touching yourself while we were about to fuck,” Bakugou looked down at the very visible wet spot on your shorts and scoffed “just look at how fucking wet you are.” He said as his fingers teased around your cunt, collecting your slick between them. The sudden contact causing a jolt of pleasure to run down your spine.

“Damn baby, you’re fucking dripping.” Kirishima groaned at the sight laid before him, palming his erection through his boxers.

Bakugou brought his fingers up to Kirishima’s mouth, who licked them clean. “You taste so fucking good, princess.” He said teasingly.

“Y-you’re one to talk, Bakugou! You sounded so fucking needy!” You weakly retorted, an attempt to salvage the remains of your pride.

Bakugou roughly grabbed Kirishima by the back of his neck and pulled him into a deep kiss, wanting to have a taste of your sweetness. You couldn’t deny how hot they looked and your hips bucked up at the sight, to create some much needed friction as you continued to watch them swap spit with each other.

“Says the bitch who was touching herself in the fucking hallway.” Bakugou snapped back. “I bet you wanted us to catch you, didn’t you? Fucking slut. You should be punished, you know.”

“C’mon, Katsuki, no need to be so harsh with her.” Kirishima coaxed. “Look at how desperate she is. She practically came just by hearing how good I made you feel.” Playfully running his hands over Bakugou’s back and down to his ass, giving it a loud slap. He looked down at your flustered state, almost taking pity on how sexually frustrated you were. Keyword; almost.

“But you know what? I think you’re right. Naughty girls have to be disciplined after all.”

And with that, he stripped himself of his boxers, you quickly following suit. Kirishima then grabbed his uniform belt off the floor. “Don’t worry, baby girl. We’ll make you feel good. Just listen to us first, okay? Now, put your hands behind your back.” You sat up on the bed and did as you were told, anticipation clouding your thoughts. He tightened the belt around your wrists, the leather biting into your soft skin. You tugged at the makeshift restraint, trying to loosen it a bit, but the pain you felt quickly morphed into pleasure as you realized how dirty this was all playing out to be, your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Now, where were we, Katsuki?” Kirishima taunted with a devilish grin on his face. He roughly pushed Bakugou onto his knees with his ass up in the air, hands spreading his cheeks apart and proceeded to teasingly swipe his tongue over his puckered hole. Bakugou shuddered as Kirishima continued his assault, drool gathering in his mouth and letting it drip down Bakugou’s ass. Kirishima circled his tongue around the rim and slowly pressed in, barely licking inside the tight hole. His hands snaked around Bakugou’s ass and in between his thighs and began stroking Bakugou’s cock, the tip seeping with precum. Bakugou’s hands were fisted in the sheets and his head was buried into the mattress. “F-fuck Eiji! Oh my god, don’t fucking stop.” Bakugou bucked his ass back into Kirishima’s face and that sight alone was to die for.

Unashamedly, you started rubbing your thighs together and lucky for you, you were able to slip one of the pillows in between your legs and began rocking back and forth against it to get some much needed relief. You slowly began grinding on the pillow and continued to hump it as you watched the two boys in front of you get down and dirty. The rough fabric of the pillow was rubbing deliciously against your clit and you only bounced on it with more vigor.

“Look Katsuki-” Bakugou turned his head towards your flustered body and marveled at the fact that you began to resort to such desperate measures in an attempt to get yourself off.

“Fuck! Please touch me… or take the belt off so I can do it myself… just do something already…” The neediness in your voice compelled the two boys to help you out. Kirishima undid the belt and you immediately pulled him into a passionate kiss, quickly thanking him in between breathy moans. Feeling left out, Bakugou made his way up to your lips and tore you away from the redhead, sucking on your tongue and roughly biting anywhere he could reach, leaving dark purple hickeys in his wake. Kirishima began trailing his lips down your shoulder blades, your chest, and stopped at your tits, taking your hard bud into his mouth while his free hand made its way down to your throbbing cunt, burying his digits into your hole while rubbing messy circles into your sensitive clit. “Ah, fuck! Kiri don’t stop, go faster” You pulled away from your heated makeout session to focus on the pleasure that the redhead was giving you, bringing you closer and closer to the orgasm you craved so much.

“Your pussy is so fucking tight” He stuffed a third finger into your cunt, pushing them deeper into your hole, nails digging into your slick walls, bending down to replace his thumb with his tongue, loudly sucking on your clit. “I am so, so close” Determined to bring you to an orgasm, Bakugou soon started sucking on your nipples while Kirishima only pumped his fingers in and out of you with more vigor. “Cum for us, baby” The oversensitivity paired with the dirty talk and the attention you were receiving from your top and bottom half caused your cunt to clench around Kirishima’s fingers and send you over the edge. Helping you ride out your orgasm, Kirishima kept grinding his finger against your pussy before slowly pulling out, making you feel empty.

“I want you both in my mouth, please” Wanting to return the favor, you motioned for the two boys to stand up while you sank down to your knees, taking both of their fat cocks in your hands. Spitting on your palms, you quickly pumped their lengths before taking Bakugou into your mouth and sucking down on his cock. “Fuck, you’re so good at sucking cock. You must do this a lot, don’t you? Filthy slut” His words caused your cunt to clench while he fisted your hair and pushed you back on his cock and setting a fast pace, making you gag, only fueling his already inflated ego. All the while, your hand never left Kirishima’s length, who seemed to be growing more impatient as he so desperately wanted to be in the position Bakugou was in. “C’mon princess, it’s my turn now. I want to see those pretty lips of yours around my dick too” He pulled you off the blonde’s length and put his own cock in your mouth. Kirishima’s pace was more gentle but the sheer size of him in your mouth made it difficult to keep up. With you giving Bakugou a handjob and Kirishima face fucking you, it seemed like they were also reaching their end. Giving the same attention to both men, you looked up to see them exchange a knowing glance to one another.

“As much as I want to cum inside that pretty mouth, I’d rather fill up that tight little asshole of yours, sweetheart” Before you could say anything, Kirishima pulled out of your mouth and sank down to pull apart your plush cheeks, making you arch your back in surprise at the suddenness. He began to lick long stripes up and down your pert hole, slowly dipping his nimble fingers inside your tightness, stretching you out in preparation for his cock. On the other hand, Bakugou shoved himself back inside your mouth and continued to maintain his rough pace, not that you were complaining. To try and take some control, you grabbed onto his pale thighs to give yourself a chance to catch your breath. You licked up and down the prominent vein on his cock, paying special attention to his balls, cupping and groping them as his precum and your saliva painted the bottom of your chin. Feeling his hips stutter, you knew he was close. “I’m going to cum all over your pretty fucking face, princess” He held a tighter grip into your hair and just as you were preparing to swallow his hot load, he pulled out and threw a smirk your way. “Fuck this, I’d rather cum inside your tight pussy. We’re going to pound you so hard you won’t be able to breathe without thinking about our cocks inside you” His words sent chills down your spine as you thought about the two boys deliciously hitting all the right spots and filling you to the brim with their cum, branding you as their own personal cocksleeve.

Kirishima moved to stand behind you while Bakugou laid down on the bed and adjusted himself to move towards the edge of the mattress. “Fuck yourself on my cock, you slut, and Eiji’s gonna fuck that fat ass of yours” The redhead went to the bedside drawer to grab a bottle of lube as your fingers went down to fist Bakugou’s erection, positioning your tight hole against the tip of his cock. You were so wet that your cunt was literally drooling, your juices dripping down your plush thighs and onto the base of Bakugou’s pelvis. “Holy fuck, you got that wet just from sucking dick and having your ass ate? You are so fucking filthy” Noticing this, Kirishima decided to ditch the lube and instead, he wrapped his hand around to dip two fingers into your cunt and scoop out your wetness, string it in between his fingers, and spread it all over your asshole. Bakugou let out a breathy laugh and proceeded to grab the sides of your hips to slam you down on his thick fucking cock. You let out a loud moan as you began a sensual pace against his length, grinding down on him and allowing yourself to adjust to his size.

Kirishima’s hands went up to fondle your tits, tugging at your nipples, and placing sloppy kisses against your neck, only adding to the pleasure you felt as Bakugou bottomed inside of you.

“Holy fuuuck. That feels so fucking good. Kiri, please, I want you inside me too-”

He didn’t have to be told twice. He eased you down towards Bakugou’s chest to give himself easier access, and gathering saliva in his mouth, he spit and let it drip down your tight hole allowing the tip of his cock to press against your backside. “You okay, baby? Just relax for me, I promise it’ll feel good in a second” Guiding his tip inside, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you felt him stretch you out in a way you’ve never been before. Bakugou’s hands went down to where you two were connected and rubbed gentle circles on your clit, a feeble attempt to distract you from the pain of being stretched; a feeling he seemed to have been familiar with.

The three of you let out a collective whine as Kirishima fully sheathed himself inside you, the two boys feeling their cocks brush against each other between the thin wall of flesh that was separating them. After allowing yourself time to adjust to their lengths, you announced that you were ready for the fucking of a lifetime.

Encouraging them to move, you ground your hips against the two, to which Bakugou responded by quickly thrusting up into you while Kirishima smacked your ass and snapped his hips forward, the pain only elevating your pleasure. It took them a moment to find their rhythm, starting steady at first, then quickly becoming more and more animalistic.

“God fuck, go faster hnnngh” You whined, so close to your release. You pulled Bakugou into a sloppy kiss while your hands found purchase in his blonde locks. Kirishima then gripped the base of your chin to move your head to the side, as he took Bakugou’s lips into a spit swapping makeout session, your mouth moving onto Bakugou’s neck, happily biting and returning the same dark bruises he so generously gave you earlier.

“Look at you- getting off to having your ass and pussy filled by two different cocks. You really are a filthy fucking whore” spat the man underneath you, four fingers dipping back down to rub fast circles into your sensitive clit. Their rough pace caused your tits to bounce with each thrust and Kirishima took this as an opportunity to tweak and tug at your hardened nipples while placing small kisses on the nape of your neck. “God, you’re so tight, sweetheart. I’m gonna gape this fucking asshole of yours”

The filthy name calling and constant praising only adding more bliss as you continued to get pounded into mercilessly. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum” You cried, eyes screwed shut and mouth wide open as you came with a loud cry. Body convulsing, the two men never stopped their thrusting, quickly trying to chase their own release.

“Please, please I want you both to cum inside me, make me your dirty fucking cumslut, fill me up already please, I need it so badly” you panted, leaning back down towards Bakugou’s chest, your hands coming up behind to spread your cheeks apart, yet another mindblowing orgasm so dangerously close. Your holes clenched tightly around their cocks, squeezing them in between your tight walls, furthering chastising their release. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum again” you whined.

“C’mon baby, cum for us, I know you’ve got another one in there for us, don’t you?” Kirishima cooed, grabbing the sides of your hips to pound into you even harder than before. “Do it again bitch, cum for us like the fucking slut you really are” snapped Bakugou. You couldn’t hold it in much longer and you came again with a loud moan, juices squirting out of your glistening pussy. The way you clamped down on their lengths caused Bakugou to cum first, his rough thrusting coming to a stop as his cum shot deep into you in hot spurts, a little bit dripping out of your sopping wet cunt as you milked his cock for all it was worth. Seeing you and Bakugou reach your orgasms meant that Kirishima was not that far behind. “Fuck, you are so perfect, I’m gonna fill you up to the brim, baby.” He landed a harsh slap to your ass cheek as you continued squeezing around his cock, roughly thrusting a few more times before he came inside you with a low groan.

You were so spent that you practically passed out on top of Bakugou’s chest. Panting heavily, you tried to catch your breath as you were so utterly fucked out that it was hard to not just collapse with their dicks still inside you. After coming down from your highs, they both pulled out of your abused holes, cum seeping out of you, making you feel incredibly empty.

Bakugou pulled you off of him as Kirishima gingerly placed gentle kisses across your back and shoulders, grabbing a nearby cloth to wipe away the mess the three of you made together. After you were all cleaned up, Kirishima wrapped his arms around your torso while you let your head lay on Bakugou’s chest, fitting perfectly in between the two of them. Kirishima pulled the covers over yourselves so you all could finally get some much needed rest, and then it hit you. The whole reason you came up to their room in the first place.

“You know, I still need help with the math. Can we actually study, please?” you complained.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that too…” Kirishima said nervously.

“Whatever, I’ll help you two idiots study later, just shut up and go the fuck to sleep already.” Bakugou grumbled before the three of you began dozing off.

♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。. ♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。. ♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。.

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