#his unwillingness to kiss

[terpia]

[This has been rotting in my drafts since early 2020. Thought I'd publish it for fun] I'm reading Maurice and oh my god, Clive suddenly becoming straight in the middle of the book is the biggest fucking plot twist.

[devourable]

yandere church boy x gn bottom reader smut ;; semi public/risky, sacrilege, religious imagery mentions (takes place in a church broom closet during service), unintentional edging

it was a miracle the two of you hadn't gotten caught yet. how many times have you ended up like this just this week alone?

despite abraham's attempts to keep you quiet, clasping his hands around your mouth and keeping his own whiny moans just soft enough that only you could hear them, he just couldn't keep himself from ramming into you. every thrust was so hard that it rattled the door you were pressed up against — anyone in the hall outside of the closet would easily figure out what was going on inside.

"you feel so good," abe whimpered in your ear, "s-so soft— oh, god..."

your breath hitched when he pulled you backwards and thrusted into you harder. thank god the sound of the choir picked up just then — abe's hands could do little to muffle your cries. he was way too deep, it felt like he was in your stomach at this angle! but your pushing at his hips did nothing to stop him from fucking into you even harder.

so many people, so nearby, just a few meters down the hall. the thought of getting caught fluttered through your mind. what would they think of of you, getting fucked by the pastor's boy when *** was surely watching?

abe's incoherent whimpering interrupted your thoughts. he was trying to say something to you, and though the words were unclear, you knew exactly what he was trying to say.

so you expected it when his thrusts came to a disappointing stop, his hands slipping from your mouth to grasp and plant your hips against his own. you felt his cock twitching in you, just as desperate for release as you were, despite abe's unwillingness to let himself have it.

you let out a whine of protest as he stammered out his apologies, planting messy kisses along your neck and shoulder. you knew he wouldn't leave you unsatisfied, but... how many times would he do this before you actually got to cum?

luckily, you didn't have time to wonder. within moments of stopping, abe was pulling you back against him and moving his hips again, the feeling of him fucking you again while you were already so sensitive driving thought from your mind.

[celestibabs]

Feyd Rautha would understand the gravity of impregnating a member of the Bene Gesserit. The promise of a powerful heir born with the voice and truthsaying abilities meant a stable driving force for House Harkonnen with ties to those closest to The Emperor. But when you grow a swollen stomach, round and full with his child, the political chess moves are far from his mind.

The Na-Baron is obsessed. At first you note his unwillingness to leave your side, refusing to take to the arena and slay Harkonnen prisoners while you are with child. His dual hunting blades gather dust, Feyd choosing instead to pose his aggression against any male Harkonnen that dares look your way.

Usually unaffectionate, Feyd lays claim to you by placing his hands on you often. His palm presses against the swell of your stomach, feeling the tiny kicks of the child inside. It almost makes him more protective, insisting he, alone, protect you.

Seperate from prying eyes, Feyd cannot keep his hands, his lips, off you.

“You witch,” he hisses between heavy kisses, his firm grip hoisting your thighs over his hips, “You have poisoned me— Bewitched me with your Gesserit powers.”

But when Feyd sinks his cock deep inside you, his palms splayed across your swollen stomach, he’s too busy growling out your name to accuse you of sorcery. In truth, Feyd Rautha would readily fill you with his seed again and again to watch you swell with more of his children.

dune masterlist

[stellar-skyy]

FAMILY (OF SORTS) — Platonic Fatui Harbingers & reader.

i. SUMMARY: The Fatui Harbingers have a soft spot for Arlecchino's child. ii. CONTENT WARNINGS: None! iii. NOTES: STRICTLY PLATONIC, headcanons, fluff, parent!arlecchino, house of the hearth!reader, all of the harbingers are reader's weird aunts and uncles, gn!reader, they/them pronouns used, 1.6k words. iv. A/N: the fatui are just a dysfunctional found family and i will die on this hill. shoutout to @romaritimeharbor for listening to my rambles about this idea 🫶🫶 also pierro and pulcinella aren't here because i could not think of anything to write for them :')

All of the harbingers knew about Arlecchino’s child; the one that appeared in Fatui Headquarters stuck to her side, eyes cast to the floor. They all saw the way that Arlecchino had held a soft grip on their shoulder, guiding them through the halls with the gentle touch of a parent from the gentle hands of a monster.

The Knave always swore she didn’t play favourites, but from an outside view it was clear that they held a special place separate from the rest. Anyone could see the way they appeared so much more frequently by her side. They were permitted to sit in on meetings, following her like a shadow. Some of the Harbingers guessed that she had picked them to be her successor; that their frequent shadowing was training them to take over once she was gone. Others joked about Arlecchino’s apparent soft side taking over. Whatever the reason, time went on, and the Fatui saw more and more of them.

All of them varied in their opinions of them—some indifferent, some fond—but the Harbingers all cared for them in their own ways.

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Columbina simply adores them. They’re just so small and cute, so tiny and fragile! Admittedly, her idea of ‘tiny’ is rather skewed—applying to anyone she deems weaker than her (notably, this label also gets given to Capitano and Tartaglia, despite their larger size and physical strength. The Damselette is truly an enigma.)

Whenever Arlecchino allows her to watch over them, she is delighted. She has a penchant for pet names, so ‘angel’, ‘my sweet’, and ‘lovely’ are all more commonly used than their name. Sometimes there’s a ‘baby’ or ‘bub’ if she’s feeling particularly affectionate, but no matter the name, it is always dripping with sweetness. She’ll sing to them too, to calm them down or get them to sleep. Her voice is gentle, laced with as much love as she would show her own child.

Some Fatui believe Columbina is a woman formed from hollow sweetness; that behind the lazy smile and soft voice, lies a callous and unfeeling heart, but her insistence on singing them to sleep comes from a place of genuine affection.

When they have to return home, she’ll kiss their cheeks and sweep them into a hug, making them promise to visit her soon.

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The fact that Arlecchino would tear out his throat with her bare hands if he dared to look at them the wrong way is the only thing stopping Dottore from roping [Name] into one of his experiments. Even then, he can’t help but investigate them a bit. Nothing extreme—please put the knife down, Knave—just some simple trials to see how they work. A quick strength assessment, a test of their reflexes, enough to judge the effectiveness of the House of the Hearth’s training.

The segments all had different opinions of them, varying from Prime’s general indifference to some of the younger segments fondness towards them. The latter were less likely to try to trick them into the lab—not that Arlecchino would allow them anywhere near it without strict supervision—and instead focused their efforts on convincing them to help mess with the rest of the Dottores. They proved to be an excellent partner in crime to thoroughly ruin the older segment’s day.

Despite his assertion that he won’t harm them, Dottore tends to be the one Arlecchino trusts least around her child. His unwillingness to get on her bad side doesn’t stop her from insisting Columbina or herself accompany them whenever they visit his lab.

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Tartaglia loves them. The days he gets to see his siblings are few and far between, so he’s always eager to play the older brother for them, and for any other House of the Heath kids that stop by. In fact, whenever any of the children visit, he makes sure to buy them plenty of sugary treats and candies before quickly sending them back to their Father.

(Arlecchino was not happy the first time this happened. It didn’t stop him from doing it every time, though.)

He was the first to convince them to call him Uncle, a feat that he bragged about to the rest of the Harbingers. This small incident would inadvertently lead to a petty competition to see who their favourite is, an event that would quickly spiral out of control with bribery and promises coming from all sides.

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Sandrone is very particular with who she allows in her workshop. When the rare guest was allowed inside, they had to follow three simple rules: do not touch anything, do not move unless I tell you to, and do not talk to me while I work. When [Name] first stumbled into the room, she was prepared to discourteously shoo them out the way she did whenever Tartaglia poked his head in to see what she was working on. But after some extensive begging, she relented and sat them down in a corner to watch her work. 

Even if she is far less fond of them as some of the other Harbingers, she still audibly squeaked the first time she was called Aunt Sandrone. This was covered up with a cough, but nothing could stop the warmth blooming in her chest. It was the first time a living creature had addressed her with such a familial title; some of her synthetic creations had a habit of calling her Mother, but this was a living, breathing person.

After they started calling her that, she quietly told them they were free to visit when she was working—provided they did not interfere with anything. 

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

As much as he denies it, Scaramouche has a big soft spot for kids. He’ll swear up and down that he doesn’t care for them at all, but he treats them noticeably gentler than he treats any other member of the Fatui. Arlecchino once caught them huddled against him, using his wide-brimmed hat to shelter from the rain. She never let him forget that moment—the fearsome Balladeer, who notoriously never let anyone close enough to touch him, allowing her child to use him as an umbrella.

They remind him a little too much of the young boy he once considered his family. Whenever he spends time with them, there is something inside that both urges him to protect them in the way he couldn’t protect that child, and warns keep them at arm’s length before they betray him too. But his endearment towards them prevailed, and he begrudgingly allowed them a place in his heart.

Unlike Columbina’s affectionate pet names, the only nicknames Scaramouche gives them are ‘kid’ and ‘brat’, depending on his mood. On good days, they might even get called by their name, though it is a rarity. He cares for them, truly. In his own, strange way.

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Capitano is the best at giving advice out of all the harbingers. He is much more down to earth than Columbina and Dottore, and far less cynical than Scaramouche and Sandrone. He’ll let them ramble about their frustrations freely before offering gentle suggestions on what they should do to help. Even if they aren’t looking for a solution, he’s patient enough to hear out their thoughts, however jumbled and incoherent they may be.

He also likes teaching them skills he deems important for a young person to know. These include cooking—Tartaglia is not allowed to join them in these lessons after he almost burnt down the kitchen trying to ‘help’—as well as sewing and mending clothes.  

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Pantalone never would describe himself as parental. He never cared too much for kids; he hadn’t enough patience to deal with constantly crying babies or needy toddlers. Arlecchino’s child was thankfully far above that age, so they were less unbearable to deal with.

He was quite happy to spoil them with extravagant gifts and treats to win their favour, but the most effective way he does so is simply spending time with them. Trips to luxurious restaurants for lunch, allowing them to shadow him while he works. He also likes to give them advice—completely unasked for—about life, and relationships. Unlike Capitano however, his advice is of a much less helpful; he has a habit of advocating for blackmail for solving problems.

In exchange for a box of the most expensive pastries in Teyvat, he got them to call him their favourite uncle in front of Tartaglia. The miniscule dent in his funds was worth the look of betrayal on the younger Harbinger’s face.

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Signora easily took the longest to warm up to them. When she first met them, it was easy enough to label them as Arlecchino’s brat and move them from her mind. But they kept appearing, in and around the headquarters. At first they were always glued to the Knave’s side, but eventually Signora began to see them wandering alone through the halls. She took note of them—not out of any attachment to them, only out of self-preservation knowing that if Arlecchino found out her child landed themself into trouble while she was close by, it would be her funeral soon.

The sense of obligation faltered when she started to grow fond of them. They were irritatingly innocent, a rarity within the Fatui. Something about the spark in their eyes reminded her of when she was young—when she still had warmth in her heart and blood in her veins. For the first time in centuries, her frozen heart began to thaw with care towards another person, and begrudgingly, she began to accept that they were not as unpleasant as she once believed.

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

[multiverse-sparkles]

Your kiss is burning to my skin — S. Rogers and B. Barnes.

summary: steve and bucky break up with you to focus on their relationship. at first, you took the breakup hard. then you took it worse.

pairings: steve x reader x bucky, stucky x reader.

warnings: angst, language, mentions of violence, poly.

chapter one

“it has nothing to do with you, doll.” bucky reiterates, tone mellowing into a small hesitant whisper as he sees you flinch at the endearment. “i mean you were wonderful and so lovely; always understanding us, being the pillar for support and providing us, always with positive reinforcements.” steve squeezes his hand as his form of support, as if willing bucky to take strenght from him to continue his words as he stutters.

the tender moment was not missed by your gaze that were intent on the supersoldiers who sat at the sofa infront of you. the parallels already evident; steve and bucky, leaning to eachother for comfort, sitting in one sofa. the only distance in the room were with you and them; sat in the lone one seater, listening with bated breath to their reasons on why they were breaking your heart.

you could guess several other scenarios happening when you returned from the three week mission requiring radio silence; a breakup was not one of them.

you were happy. the last time you saw either of them, you three went on a romantic date followed by a passionate night spent in eachother's loving arms. the next day was a tearful exchange of goodbye's and unwillingness to part; bucky had almost begged to be included, knowing what the mission entailed. steve inteded to be more diplomatic and barter with tony who refused to budge on his stance.

so with a heavy heart, you departed to cold and frigid terrorist base along with natasha and sam, throwing yourself into your duties in order to come home soonest. even with the support and extensive planning aswell as research, it still took a considerable amount of time.

but not enough for a drastic change of heart— or so you thought.

the steely and determined gaze to steve, the way bucky could look at you in the eyes despite shifting in his seat; they were fucking serious. and intent on expressing their disatisfaction with your current arrangement. one that was implicitly expressed as you trek to your floor, and sat you down after an almost hostile welcome.

“this hurts us more than you.” bucky exhales, looking at steve.

“i doubt it.” the first words you spoke amid all these crazy tirade sounded weak, from disuse and the emotions welling up in your throat. “but please, by all means, don't let me interrupt. why now?”

“we have been talking and spending time with eachother.. unconsciously, we thought about... how we missed it when it was just us.”

you flinch. again. in the field you were almost fearless, and not even a flying knife can make you swerve— you'd catch the weapon whizing to the air with precise movements. turns out, words indeed cut deeper.

but all the more of the implication that it had been them first; and the way it sounded, you were an unwelcomed participant into the special connection they shared.

“but this is not to say we don't value you.” steve intones. “we do. you have to know that. you're special in your own way, but bucky and i have something deeper than just flesh.”

you bite your tongue to refrain from lashing out. as a coping mechanism, you entertain the anger for his fucking audacity. letting the rage simmer under the blank farce you currently wear.

“we just hope, we can focus on eachother more.” steve elaborates, tensing the slightest at your emotionless response. to be frank, both men were ready for a fight, for you to scream and be hysterical. but you were surprisingly calm and collected. which made both uneasy.

“we just want to fall inlove again, without worrying about, others.” he refers you as others now. “could be permanent, could be a thought in passing.” bucky says. “the only thing we're certain about is a break.” he evasively looks away.

“i guess what bucky and i are trying to say is that, we want more from eachother, and there are certain deeper connections that we can't sustain in a three-way relationship.” steve informs you.

“i respect that.” you run your clammy hands on your tactical gear, they couldn't wait until you were dressed and atleast fed before shoving flowery words on your throat. “but if you're breaking up with me, say it bluntly; tell me honestly, tell it in words i understand- you were a good lay but it's actually eachother we love.” you enunciate the word slowly, “and don't delude me with kind words, when i know you're going to dangle the very statements you spewed over my head, most likely in days when you're fucked up or too lonely for eachother. i will not be tripped into your bed ever again.”

you despised the words as soon as they left your mouth; the statements only providing to fuel your deepest insecurity. and it was unfair to both of them, you knew it was.

steve and bucky looked visibly wretched by your words, yet you ignore it, telling yourself to get used to not caring about either of them.

“doll”

“darling”

“don't fucking call me that.” you hiss, both men still in their seat. “we're done.” gathering whatever was left of your dignity, you trudge to the doors and out of their lives.

the door closed behind you, your own apartment looking stale as opposed to the home you have built with steve and bucky; you barely stayed here anyways, but kept it for storage reasons. it still had stark's touch, feeling more like a hotel penthouse, appearing cold and detatched.

you slide down against the door weakly, losing the false bravado infront of your ex lovers. as if a child, you hug your knees to your chest, sobbing into it unbashedly.

three years all down the drain. and they talked about it as if it were a skin deep connection, downplaying every single moment; in tenderness, in affection, in tears and the joy.

you didn't lie down with them in their bed as an extension, as a woman that can be tossed in passing.

you didn't hold them gently in your arms, and provided the warmth the world has chosen to keep from them just to be a stranger.

you didn't whisper words of comfort in their ears, in the middle of the night when the nightmares became too much to handle, just to be someone shallow and unimportant in their lives.

most importantly, you didn't love them to be hurt like this.

the pain cuts deep in your heart, like a throbbing wound, one you feel physically; one that leaves you gasping for breath, a hand held above your heart, feeling as if you could die. your chest tight, your throat welling up, you struggle to remain above ground, eyes darting around the room to keep in the moment- fuck, you were having a panic attack.

you despised when that happens. hated the sheer fact that you would allow yourself to be vulnerable when there were things that needed to be done; people that need saving, reports to be made, meetings to attend. you led a remotely chaotic life and the only thing that truly anchored you in here, to the now, turned their backs to you.

they no longer want you.

you swallowed heavily, arms instinctively hugging yourself, eyes squinting in an an attempt at concentration; color, you looked at your surroundings, dizzily naming the grey of your couch, the ivory white lamp, the silver and gold of the chandelier. your forehead was beaded with perspiration, breath coming out in shorts despite your attempts at distracting yourself.

“agent y/n, your blood pressure is fluctuating; your heart rate is abnormal which can cause the brain and other ogans to become oxygen deprived. i concluded a physical scan and deduced your emotional distress," FRIDAY “i'm at liberty to ask if i should call captain rogers and sergeant barnes, as they are—”

“no!” you managed to shout between strangled breaths, patting your chest methodolically hoping whatever it was, seemingly dislodged into your airways be cleared.

“agent y/n, in accordance to the tower's protoccol, i am hardwired to inform your immediate contacts of your current state of distress.” her posh voice inserts. and despite yourself, you groan.

“i'm peachy, fri.” you lean your head back to the door, closing your eyes and focusing on your breathing. slowly, you were able to calm down enough, “it's probably the best time to change those emergency contacts, aswell. while you're at it, remove the captain and sergeant's access to this floor; both physically and even in information.”

“ofcourse, agent y/n. please state your official badge number and code.” when you answer her, FRIDAY appears to repeat your command before doing what was asked.

“i also elected the sensible decision of reinstating agent romanov as your primary emergency contact. that being said, ms. romanov is on the way to your floor.” FRIDAY disappears before you can scold her, which made you truly contemplate wether she was conscious and, in all actuality sensitive to human emotions.

perhaps, she does have an inkling of human relationships and intense emotions, but that was no longer your concern; considering you have a black widow shaped problem coming your way. and natasha romanov was nothing, if not immensely stubborn and perpetually perceptive. you were several times screwed over.

however, as she appeared in your doorway, the waterworks resumed ten times over, and you were sobbing pathetically in the red head's arms, lamenting your broken heart.

you couldn't remember for how long you've stayed immobile in your room, but it had been several days; perhaps a week or two that you cried your heart out, barely consuming meals unless for sustenance. that in itself seemed like a chore for your aching muscle, your tired and weary bones protesting with every single movements.

this morning though... this morning, it was sunny and bright. you'd opened the curtains with much effort, peering into the bustling city; the skyline providing you with displaced warmth. a few years ago, you'd only ever dreamt about being in new york; and you've lived it. becoming an avenger was also a dream you've worked hard in achieving, and here you are, fighting alongside the heroic and brave on normal tuesdays.

should you allow yourself to wither away in a dark room, heart terribly battered and bruised when the world was set for conquering? well, perhaps it would be insensitive to use the c word; cringing to yourself upon the remembrance of several otherplanetary creatures wreaking havoc on your home planet, like it were a free for all.

you enjoyed the warmth of the sun on your skin for a few moments, allowing yourself to finally, breathe. you bask in the first time upon weeks that you thought positively for a change; so wreaked from questioning every single thing wrong about you.

for the first time in many days, you took the longest shower in history, setting the temperature just a touch scalding. you cleaned your room, changed the sheets, and donned yourself in a decent jeans and a t-shirt combo. grabbing your purse, and stuffing your phone, wallet and keys along with you, you departed from your room.

on the way to the garage, you texted both wanda and natasha; who have been at your side with the outmost vigor, crying and cursing both the supersoldiers as you wept from your broken heart.

you: mall and galiani's at the grove? :)

wands: yes!! meet you there <3

natty: otw in my sensible shoes.

you smiled softly, thankful for your friends. it may have spread like wildfire among your colleagues in the tower, and the magic six may have taken sides and pointed fingers; but amongst all the drama, you were glad that you had people to count on.

it may take a while for you to feel like yourself again... but you were willing to make it work.

[ghvst-ing]

Simon is a light sleeper.

So it’s no surprise he wakes to even the smallest of noises, the quietest disturbances that wouldn’t bother most.

The soft creak of the door is what rouses him from his slumber this night, and as his eyes blink open tentatively, adjusting to the darkness within his bedroom, he could just barely notice the silhouette of his little girl.

He lifts his head from the pillow with slightly squinted eyes, watching as she makes her way towards his bed. Her feet padded softly against the floorboards, a stuffy you got her when she was just a newborn held tightly in her arms.

“What’s wrong, sweet’eart?”

The endearment tumbles from his lips easily, his voice gruff with sleep, yet complemented by a gentle undertone that was reserved only for his child, one filled with adoration.

“Nightmare…” She whispers, her bottom lip trembling into a frown.

Simon holds back a sigh as she stops by the foot of the bed. He shifts, the bed frame groaning quietly under his weight, and lifts up the comforter that covers him as an invitation.

He tried to give her a small smile. “C’mere,” he muttered in the most comforting tone he could muster.

He couldn’t quite see the red that rimmed her brown eyes, yet he could sense its presence from the shakiness in her voice, laced with sleepiness.

Without hesitation, she climbed into the spot beside him, curling into his chest with a sniffle. Her small body fit against his as a large arm circled around her, rubbing circles on her back over the material of her soft pink pajamas.

“Wanna talk ‘bout it, sweet?” He asked, his brow barely rising in question as he let her snuggle up to him.

His hand found its way to her cheek in the darkness, a calloused finger wiping away the dampness that remained on her supple skin. She shook her head, gripping the ghost plushie tighter.

Silence fell between them, and he rested his eyes for a brief moment, adjusting the comforter to rest snugly just under her chin. He understood her unwillingness to explain. He, too, never favored talking about the things his mind decided to make him relive.

“T’was ‘bout mum,” the seven year old uttered after a while, the words barely reaching his ears as she said them so quietly, tears welling in her eyes once again. Simon sunk his teeth into his bottom lip as he listened, and moved to hold her closer. “I miss her..”

He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, dipping his head slowly to press a small kiss to the top of his child’s head, her ruffled hair tickling his skin.

“I miss her, too.”

It has been hard since your passing, the loss so sudden. But it was the reality he had been given.

“So much..”

[palajae]

a day for you.

PAIRING... ni-ki x reader | GENRE... established relationship! au, fluff, comfort, romance, angst | WC... 0.4k | "how can my day be bad when i’m with you?"

it was pouring. the whole week had been gray and cloudy, all leading up to the outburst of rain today. the downpour of the world’s tears. 

maybe the weather had taken its effect on you, but you simply needed a break. you needed a break from life, the world, everything. 

your feet kick up dirtied puddles, leaving dark shadows in your footsteps. 

you had pulled up your hood, but somehow you still felt soaked through to the bone. your legs were dragging you on their own accord, and you had no energy to resist, only to follow. 

somehow you find yourself in front of a door, fist raised up to knock. 

it takes only two raps for the door to open, meeting surprised eyes that shift into welcome ones. 

“hi. i didn’t know you were coming over today.” 

it takes a moment for you to find your voice.

“sorry.”

“bad day?” 

you nod and that’s all it takes for your boyfriend to pull you into his comforting arms. you simply lie still in his embrace, soaking in all his warmth and comfort. 

perhaps you’re still in the doorway, but you don’t care. eventually, your arms sneak their way around his waist. 

he places a kiss on your head. you felt like a child again. 

“i wish i could make it better for you,” ni-ki’s voice comes out muffled due to his unwillingness to lift his lips from you. 

“you did,” you whisper into him, inhaling his scent. 

“how can my day be bad when i’m with you?”

“ditto.”

you raise your head, looking at him warily. “huh?”

ni-ki shrugs, “what?”

you stifle a laugh, “nothing. let’s just go in, you weirdo. i’ve been waiting for this all day.”

ni-ki fake salutes, eliciting a real laugh from you. “aye, aye, captain.” 

a/n ▸ bc niki deserves the best and the best is the entire wave to earth soundtrack (aka my national anthem)

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[lemonwrap]

Imagine: Omegaverse AU where Ghost had his scent gland cut out by Roba.

Ghost barely survived it, and now he doesn’t have a scent of his own. He’s never tried, but it’s a logical assumption that he won’t be able to sustain a mating bond, either. He can usually pass his lack of scent off as just using the scent suppressants military members almost always use on missions, but it’s harder during downtime when there’s not such a need for them.

Ghost is close to Soap, flirting and bantering with him constantly, *likes* him, but he never outright tells him. He likes Soap’s scent, too, an odd but alluring combination of citrus and a hint of gunpowder—one would think the two scents together would be disgusting, but when it’s Soap, it’s not.

Ghost keeps the mask on to hide, and doesn’t lift it even to eat when others are around. It’s kind of a pain sometimes, really, and he’s considered being done with all the bullshit and just taking it off, but then Soap would know. He wants the bond and affection between them to last. It’s fucked up to lie to him, but Soap won’t want him when he finds out Ghost can’t actually bond with him, and Soap is the closest he’s been to someone in years.

Soap, while slightly skeptical of Ghost’s unwillingness to take off the mask, doesn’t entirely connect the dots and just thinks Ghost’s scent suppressants work amazingly.

Until the day Ghost sustains a head injury on a mission, that is. He’s losing blood fast and Soap can’t see a thing with the mask on, and he just barely convinces Ghost to take it off so he can staunch the blood flow better. Soap gets him patched up enough that he won’t bleed out on the way to exfil, but with the danger now past, he notices the deep, unmistakable scar of a botched scent gland removal on Ghost’s neck.

After Ghost is treated in medical, he makes an effort to avoid Soap, simply not wanting to bother with his pity or disgust.

He knows Soap liked him back at one point, but if they had ever gotten that far, they’d never be able to actually bond. Soap deserves a real mate.

Soap catches on by the end of the first day that Ghost is avoiding him, but Ghost is elusive if he wants to be, and Soap doesn’t catch him in the man’s favorite smoking spot on the roof until a week later.

Ghost hears him coming, but doesn’t pull his mask back down. Soap’s seen the scar anyways, so it doesn’t really matter.

“Long time no see, Lt,” Soap says.

Ghost doesn’t reply and takes a drag from his cigarette. He shouldn’t have let himself get so close to Soap, because he knew it’d go to shit once he found out about the scar. People usually date to bond. Ghost can’t do that.

Soap stands next to Ghost.

“Care to share?” Soap asks. Ghost hums and gives the cigarette to Soap, and they silently pass it back and forth until it’s a stub.

“Gonna tell me why you were avoiding me?” Soap asks, blowing out the last puff of smoke. “Kinda rude to vanish on someone like that.”

“Figured you’d know that one,” Ghost replies.

“If it’s about—“

Ghost cuts him off. “It is.”

“So you’ve been flirting with me and didn’t think to mention it? I’ve been wanting to fuck you for the past six fuckin’ months,” Soap says, sounding irritated. “Kiss would’ve been nice, too.”

“I didn’t because I knew you’d act like this,” Ghost says, pointedly ignoring the fact that Soap just admitted that he likes Ghost—or that he did at one point, anyway.

“So you like me?”

“Yes,” Ghost says, “but I think you can find someone that’ll be able to keep a bond.”

“It doesn’t make a difference,” Soap says resolutely. “I want you anyway.”

Ghost doesn’t scoff, but he sort of wants to. Of course it makes a difference.

“Just drop it, Soap,” Ghost says.

Soap does, for about ten seconds. Then he grabs Ghost by the collar and kisses him hard, smashing their lips together and biting at Ghost’s lips. Ghost kisses back just as hard, savoring how their bodies feel pressed together, hands gripping at each other’s clothes and skin.

This won’t last, but Ghost will take what he can get.

[murdrdocs]

finally got around to watching 'kickass' and dave is such a munch like listen listen

he's the type to barely even care about any circumstances that could deter him from eating you out. he's such a pleaser, living for the taste of your cunt and the sounds of your moans. the fact that he's the one making you feel that way makes his pretty little head spin. it makes him a fucking addict. since that first time on that tuesday night, he literally can't get enough.

even on a record breaking heat day, when you spent the entirety of the daylight running errands in the city's scorching weather, and you still haven't even had the chance to take a moment for yourself much less shower, he couldn't care less. he's sneaking into your window (when he could've used the front door) and pushing his lips to yours once the pleasantries are out of the way. you're as pleased to see him as his is to see you, which is why you let him lead you back to your bed and lay you down. but when his hand itches towards your shorts, you hesitate, laying a hand over his.

he hums questioningly into your mouth. "haven't showered yet," a kiss breaks up the explanation, "spent the day running errands," another kiss, "in the heat".

when dave speaks, his words are garbled by his unwillingness to part from your lips. the sheer fact that his behavior is nothing new, and his response is curt, is the only reason why you're able to make out his words. "don't care".

and there isn't room for you to argue. not whenever dave's pulling your shorts and panties down together and laying between your legs. and certainly not whenever he has your legs bent at the knee and spread open for him, his tongue licking a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. and most definitely not whenever dave sighs gratefully at the initial taste, and lays his head on your thigh with his eyes fluttering shut, his glasses skewed, and his nostrils flaring with the deep, aromatic searching inhales he takes.

[euaphoric]

・ ゜ ʚɞ ゜ ・ ゜

✩‧₊˚ pairing — jungkook x f!reader (established relationship) ✩‧₊˚ warnings — fluff, very suggestive but no actual sm*t in this, cute kissing & cuddling hhh, oc is called “little girl” like once

another 4 am post, im on a roll w these hehe >:3 but i just wanted something to post for my bday (even tho this nothing to do w birthdays?? LMAO) and i can’t get this damn live out of my head like he’s fckung inssne sffdsgsh n e ways this is lowk corny but enjoy lol.

the faint sounds of birds chirping awoke you from your nightly slumber, eyes fluttering open to your wide awake boyfriend scrolling on his phone. he seemed to be very focused on whatever he was watching, wondering how long he’s been awake for. you prop yourself up slowly on your elbows, barely able to move a muscle from feeling sore by last night’s events. you two can go at it for hours at a time - you forgot how much of a real workout it is being on top. it’s impossible so hard to resist him though, you love that jungkook has just as much of an insanely high libido as you, literal match made in heaven.

waking up to him everyday already felt like a blessing in itself honestly. he was the epitome of perfection; in only a pair of boxers, staring at his chiseled figure, toned biceps, those muscles?? yeah you were beyond down bad for him. but he was just as down bad (debatably more) for you too. your raging hormones were really getting the best of you. your first thoughts were to violently make out with him but instead you settle for some sweet cuddles right now, coming closer to nuzzle in his bare chest. “g’mornin’ sleepyhead.” jungkook mumbles, averting his attention to you instead of the screen. “took you long enough to wake up!” his arms went to cage around your form. “what time is it babe?” you ask, a slight yawn slips out, still feeling groggy.

“7 am.” “wait- really?!” you were so confused, you weren’t expecting it to be this early since usually you don’t wake up until around 10 or 11. “yeah, i didn’t get much sleep though.” his soothing touch runs down your back, pressing delicate kisses to your forehead. this was home to you; feeling his warmth against you, listening to his hums as he cradles you, never wanting to leave his embrace. you were living rent free in your boyfriend’s arms 24/7.“hmm, what should we do today?” you ask, peeking your head out a bit. “dunno… why don’t we just stay in and watch some anime?” his lips proceed to attack your face, pecking kisses all over until you’re physically sick of it. unable to utter a single word out from all the smothering, you just let him do as he pleases.

“but we do that everyday already koob.” you finally get to say once he comes up for air. “and? i see no objection here.” god he can be so stubborn at times… “c’monn, we should go do something today..” you pout, feeling bratty over his unwillingness to be social. you love staying in bed and binge watching shows with him but for some unknown reason you wanted to be adventurous today. “actually, i know what i wanna do today.” he smirks, biting his lip at you. of course, he only wants to stay inside because he’s horny-_-

you let out a tiny scoff, “ugh, perv!” nothing he says should ever surprise you anymore but it’s still fun to tease him. “only for you though.” he chuckled, pulling you back in but this time plants a wet kiss to your lips, “truthfully i just want you all for myself.” his hand brings your leg over to wrap around his waist. “such a selfish boy.” you tease some more, combing the disheveled strands of his silky hair. “mhm mhmm, that’s me.” he proudly admits, he acts very territorial over what’s his and would def gatekeep you from everyone if he could, no one deserves to see his precious bb but him:( “i’m still hella sore from yesterday, i don’t know if i feel like doing anything right now.” you timidly reply, butterflies forming in your tummy as he casually traces circles to your thigh. his eyebrows furrowed, “who said you had to do anything?”

he catches you off guard when suddenly his body shifts underneath, positioning you to be below him while hovering over you. when leaning in he stops midway to stare and admire your pretty lips, wanting so badly for them to be on his. he closes the distance to finally kiss you, giving you a million more butterflies as your body sinks into the mattress. you can sense all the passion and longing from just kissing him, it’s desperate yet filled with fervor, you feel his love immensely. when he gnaws your lower lip as entry, it becomes more heated - a full-on make out sesh occurs. fingers all tangled up in his locks while he caresses your upper body, lips moving perfectly in sync with one another. soon as you wrapped your legs around him a switch goes off in his brain, he needs you, like expeditiously. jungkook sneaks his hands up to your arms when he breaks away, pinning them above your head, you don’t know why but your first reaction was to giggle which puzzles him. “what’s so funny hm? keep thinking i’m playing little girl, i’ll have you begging we stay in.” he remarks, eyes shading darker as he doesn’t find any of this to be a laughing matter. “koo i-” he quickly cuts you off with another breathless kiss.

“shh, just lay back and relax pretty, let me do all the work for you.”

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: smut, wet wet morning shower sex, nothing else, just sex.

Your alarm was always an unwelcome sound, it didn't matter that you'd programmed your phone to play The Weeknd's The Morning. It had been an attempt to make your unwillingness to get out of bed easier. You hadn't found it at all helpful and now you couldn't enjoy the song either.

Today wasn't different from any other, you hit snooze and roll over, hoping to find comfort in the warmth of Bucky’s side. But all you find is an empty bed and a cooling pillow. You pry open an eyelid to take a look around your bedroom, noticing the bathroom door ajar and swaying slightly. Assuming Bucky has decided to take a shower, you close your eye and settle back into your pillow in an attempt to snooze a little longer. It is still early, you always set your alarm earlier than needed so you have a chance to prepare for the ordeal of crawling out of the warmth of your bed.

For some reason, sleep seemed to have eluded you and the empty bed felt all too empty without Bucky beside you. So you decide to get up and get ready for work, maybe even convince your boyfriend to make you a pancake breakfast. The bathroom door is still ajar, so you decided to head in.

Just as you pull the door back, the shower starts up. A mischievous smile flickers across your face as you see Bucky’s shapely ass vanish into the already steaming shower. As silently as you can, you shed the oversized t-shirt and the old pair of boxers you like to wear in bed and slide in behind him.

He is expecting you.

You were hoping you would be able to surprise him by slipping your arms around his waist, but he is facing you, hair soaked and mouth smirking. Your lips part with surprise as you stand motionless at the magnificent sight before you. Your eyes focus on a droplet of water clinging desperately to a strand of his hair, watching avidly as it falls onto his cheek and slides down his unshaven jaw, finally landing on his bare chest.

Your gaze is naturally drawn downwards, but your vision barely has time to admire his chiseled abs before your head is being gently guided upwards by his large hand. His vibranium palm feels cold against your hip as he holds you a few inches away from his own skin clad form. 

He leans in. Close. Really close. Stopping just as the tip of his nose touches yours. He freezes right there. His gaze locked onto yours and his lips thinning as a sly grin spreads across his handsome features. It is too salacious to resist. You lift yourself up on your toes allowing your lips to meet his. You kiss. He captures your lower lip between his, sucking and nibbling gently. Slowly you open your mouth to allow his tongue to enter yours. He explores your mouth, starting off cautious, maybe even hesitant as he grazes your teeth, until he finds your tongue. The muscles meet with an explosion of ecstasy, every movement, every touch growing more urgent, pressured, hungry.

As your lips mingle, you allow your hands to reach up to his face and run your fingers through his wet hair. You massage his scalp, pressing your fingertips into his temples, making Bucky moan into your mouth. Without warning, he pulls his mouth away. Your eyes fly open, looking to see his intentions, but the building steam is obscuring your vision, but it doesn't take long for you to understand Bucky’s intent as his fingers tighten their grip on your waist and he has you pinned up against the tiled wall. The cold tiles on your back make you gasp, but the chill is short lived as the heat from Bucky’s body pressed against you warms you to your core. A small grunt escapes your lips at the feeling of Bucky’s growing erection pushing against your abdomen. His tip tickled your skin as Bucky leans in to attach his lips to your neck.

His actions are quickly becoming greedy, hands roaming freely across your waist, squeezing your ass, grinding his hips against yours. Your movements, however, are a little slower as you caress his shoulders and tug at the short strands of his hair. Your palms stroke his muscular pecs before you allow yourself the luxury of pushing your fingertips into his well defined abs. Just as you were ready to entertain his hips, Bucky steps back and a cold breeze makes your naked body shiver ever so slightly. He is blocking the shower head, obstructing the hot water and as you try to step towards him, his grip on your hips stops you and the frustrated whine that exudes from your lips only seems to entertain him.

Bucky doesn't use any words, which isn't unusual for him, you are well versed in his special language. His hands put pressure on your hips and you let him spin you around, steadying yourself by planting your palms up against the tiles. He wraps his flesh arm around your waist while his cold metal one cups your breast, groping, squeezing, tweaking your nipples until they feel harder than the vibranium in his fingers.

His breath is hot and heavy in your ear as his swollen member is pushed up against your ass, sliding up and down as he chases his own release. A wetness is dripping down your thigh, one that you were sure is not water from the shower. You want more, you need more. Taking a hand off the wall in front of you, you wrap your thumb and forefinger around his wrist and push it down towards your aching core. He redirects his hand down to your thigh, fingers crawling down the outside of your body, fondling the flesh on your thighs, inching agonizingly slowly inwards. Eventually he pushes his whole hand between your legs, pulling them apart slightly. A gasp escapes your lips as his long thick fingers delve between your slick folds, collecting the results of your arousal. He runs them back and forth over your clit in a slow rhythmic motion, pushing down now and again making you purr with pleasure.

The urgency inside you is rising, growing like a knot begging to be pulled undone. You want more, you want to feel him inside, deep between your legs, in the very core of your being. Bucky’s cock is tucked between your thighs, rubbing your pussy as he fingers your clit. Giving in to the urge to touch him, you reach around to cup his balls and roll them gently in your palm. He growls and bites down on the back of your shoulder, thrusting harder between your thighs. You whimper at the surprise of Bucky’s teeth pressing into your skin, he is sucking so hard that it will be bruised before you get to work.

With a grunt, you push back towards Bucky, stalling his movements. Turning in his arms, you pull him towards you, back up against the wall. He slips his hand behind your thigh, flexing your hip and bending your knee so that it curves around his hip. Then, with one swift, fluid, familiar motion, his whole length is inside you, fitting inside you perfectly. The sound that leaves your mouth is that of pure ecstasy.

He stills himself inside you as you dig your nails into his shoulders in an attempt to balance on your toes on one leg in the wet shower stall. His arms tighten, and you suspect that you aren't the one holding yourself upright anymore. You grab the bar of the adjustable shower head with one arm and drape the other across Bucky’s shoulders before nodding at him to continue. His towering height works as a lever as his thrusting hips lift you with each push. He tries to be slow at first, cautious of his strength and the damage he could wreak with his unbridled passion. But your bucking hips tell him how desperately you want him, willing and eager to take all of him. He fills your walls, stroking, stretching your inside until your screams echo off the porcelain walls. You are close to coming undone, your climax within reach.

He looks down into your eyes and you lean up to claim his lips. The move opens up your hips and the base of his cock swipes your swollen clit at the perfect angle to give you the most delectable sensation. His bottom lip is nestled firmly between yours and you bite down on it as you're overwhelmed by your orgasm, moaning wantonly into his mouth as your walls flutter and squeeze his throbbing length. He cums inside you with a series of grunts in your ear, his hot load into you until you can feel it running down your thigh.

He lets you down gently, panting in your ear, he bends down so you can plant a stable foot on the slippery shower tray. Slowly, Bucky pulls out of you, soft now, but still feeling sensitive. Your legs feel like jelly even though they are now both on the ground. You can tell he feels the same, his chest firmly pressed against yours, mouths barely inches apart and foreheads touching.

Bucky is the first to get his breath back. He smirks down at you. “Good morning.”

[raeofsunrise]

can you please make a fluff piece where the reader moves in to boyfriend!Mike’s house? I enjoy reading your work!

hey-o! and thank you! kind of back from the dead with this fic, but i really love this request so i had to do it. for all of those who have put in requests, i swear i’m getting to those! they’re cooking, promise. (also not a christmas fic but i love these christmas borders made by @saradika-graphics so i had to use them) enjoy!! ☆

moving day

words: 409 (short i know, sorryy)

pairing: boyfriend!mike schmidt x gn!reader

warnings: light cursing, and just some cute domestic fluff ❤️

————

“okay, i think that should do it.” mike says as he places the last of your boxes onto the bedroom floor.

“thank god.” you groan, exhaustedly. it had been a long day of moving, walking, and carrying for you both.

moving-in was exciting for you. when mike first extended the offer, you thought that he was kidding. but no. he actually wanted you to live with him, and that made you feel a myriad of happy little emotions.

“now, we just gotta unpack.” he states.

you let out an even more exhausted groan in response.

you had about half a dozen boxes, and unpacking them was not an option for you. due to major exhaustion—and let’s just be honest, unwillingness—you flopped down on his your bed in hopes that you’ll fall asleep and when you wake up, everything would be taken care of.

mike, on the other hand, was more amused than exhausted. yea, getting all the boxes from your car sucked, but this was certainly brightening up his day. actually, just you in general brightened up his day. he wasn’t the type of person to show his emotions, but the fact that he could call his bed “our bed” now made him want to do like, several mental backflips.

so he couldn’t really be mad at your childlike tantrum you were throwing just now. i mean, it was pretty funny. but he knew if you never unpacked today, those boxes would become part of the house, and he didn’t feel like navigating through a bunch of boxes for the next couple of years, so he decided to be a good boyfriend and help you get off the bed,

by pushing you off, like a good boyfriend would do.

you land on the ground with a loud thud, which emits an unusual giggle from mike.

“you motherfucker.” you say while laying face down on the ground.

he walks over to you and crouches down to get on your level. you open your eyes to find him smiling at you in your immature state. before he can react you kiss him and pull him down by his neck so now he’s on laying on the ground kissing you.

he’s quick to wrap his arm around your lower back and pull you, so you’re both on your sides. you put a hand up on his cheek and smile into the kiss.

yeah, you could definitely get used to this every day.

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

The Golden Ratio - Part Two

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Derogatory language, angst, smut, virginity loss. Word count: ~4.7k

Chapter summary: Her and Michael struggle with the social side of university, and with each other. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @assortedseaglass. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She is halfway through her second can of Carling, having downed the first as soon as Michael handed it to her, before she feels ready to speak.

In a rare display of empathy, he had handed her a lager the moment he’d opened his door to her, clearly having taken note of her miserable state. There isn’t a mirror in his room, so she has no idea of how puffy her eyes may still be from crying.

The beer is warm, but it’s doing its job and that’s all she really cares about right now. With every pass of the fizzy, amber liquid down her throat she feels lighter - she doesn’t normally drink, so it doesn’t take long.

“Go on then,” she says miserably, drink held in a loose grip between both hands as she perches on the edge of his bed. “You can say ‘I told you so’.”

“About what?” He says, eyeing her carefully, from where he is seated on his computer chair, turned away from his desk to face where she currently sits, the frame of it creaking slightly as he sits forward.

She exhales, keeping her gaze fixed on the ring pull of her beer. “Rich…he’s…he’s been cheating on me.”

“Oh.” 

Michael clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable, and for a moment she thinks he won’t say anything else. Her mouth turns downwards bitterly, thinking it’s best she just leaves.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, so quietly she almost doesn’t hear it.

Her head snaps up, eyes locking with his, and he leans back as though wary of her reaction.

“For what?” She asks, a mirthless smile tugging at her lips as she cocks her head.

He bows his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger. “I dunno,” he glances back up at her, “just something people say, isn’t it? When something bad happens…”

“I don’t want your empty words,” she tells him, setting her can down by her feet before resting back on her palms. “Tell me what you’re really thinking.”

“You’re already upset,” he states matter of factly, “I don’t think that’s wise.”

“Fuck what you think!” She exclaims, shifting back to the edge of the bed. “Tell me.”

“Alright, fine,” Michael sighs, “I think Rich is a fucking loser, and him cheating is the best thing that could have happened–”

“Wow, thanks–”

“No, let me finish. He’s reading art, for fuck’s sake! What could you possibly have in common? You can do better, you’ve got a brilliant mind.”

Brilliant. 

In two years, Rich had never once called her that. A feeling of warmth passes through her as her eyes meet the vibrant blue of Michael’s.

“You really believe that?”

“I know that.”

They stare at each other in silence for a few seconds, and she has no idea what possesses her, but suddenly she is leaning forward, pressing her lips to his. He is hesitant to respond, and when he does it’s chaste and uncertain, a marker of inexperience or unwillingness which she cannot decipher, so she pulls away.

But then he is chasing her, large hands cradling her head as he tugs her back, his mouth finding hers once more. This time the pressure is equal, their breathing heavy as the sticky sound of their saliva grows more significant. 

Moving from the bed, not breaking the kiss, she straddles his lap, ignoring the way the chair wheels back against the desk with a heavy thud. Her fingers thread into Michael’s short, sandy hair, as the embrace deepens, her tongue brushing against his. She grinds herself down upon the rapidly growing bulge she can feel beneath the zipper of his cargo shorts, causing a rumble of approval to vibrate from deep within his chest.

It feels good to feel wanted, but as their hands paw haphazardly at each other through their clothes, doubt creeps into her mind. If this is his first kiss, then it would be his first time too. He is her friend, her project partner, she has just broken up with her boyfriend. None of this is a good idea.

Reluctantly, she pulls away, sheepishly climbing from his lap. They’re both breathing heavily, and Michael gingerly adjusts his glasses as he looks up at her in silent question.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” she says breathlessly, running a hand through her hair, “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m a bit pissed and got carried away…”

“Oh,” his eyes widen, as he nods in understanding, subtly moving to adjust himself in his shorts, “of course. I wouldn’t want to take advantage.”

She reaches out a hand, not quite touching him, but wanting to placate him as she fervently shakes her head. “No, no, it’s me taking advantage. I don’t want to ruin things between us. We’re friends.”

“Friends?” The way his eyes light up as he says the word makes her smile, hopeful that she hasn’t caused irreparable damage between.

“Yeah, friends.”

She needs that more than anything right now.

“So, what are you hoping to do once you graduate?” Michael asks, glancing between her and their collective notes.

It’s the day before they are due to present back to Professor’s Byrne’s class, and they have met in the library to go over everything one final time.

In the days since their kiss they have grown closer; sitting next to each other in the remainder of their introductory lectures and meeting up to work on their project, though they both know it is complete and needs nothing else doing to it.

She has grown used to Michael’s intensity, would go as far as to say she is fond of it, and genuinely looks forward to seeing him each day. Oxford feels far less lonely with him by her side.

“Something in the field of medical research,” she says, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the delicate softness of the petals of the sunflower head they’d cut down a few days prior. I read Professor Byrne’s paper before I applied here. It inspired me.”

“The one on biomedical systems?”

Her eyes light up as she smiles at him. “You read it?”

“Hmm. An interesting read, though I much prefer mechanics.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

“Yes, I think so. I’ve been reading a lot about random matrix theory. I’d like to go into the field of statistical mechanics.”

“I look forward to reading one of your research papers one day.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, though she doesn’t miss the faintest of pink that tinges his cheeks.

It’s the day of the presentations, and just as she’d suspected, almost every group in the glass has presented back a table relating to how the Fibonacci sequence creates a spiral. Her and Michael share a knowing look, a smug smirk of satisfaction on each of their faces.

Aside from one presentation, which did in fact focus on rabbits, but delved too deeply into mating habits to be considered mathematical, theirs is entirely unique.

She beams with pride as she catches the impressed smile of Professor Byrne from the corner of her eye as they stand at the front of the lecture hall, talking through their findings.

“Very well done, both of you,” she tells them as they return to their seats.

The compliment makes her heart soar, providing her with a rush that lasts long after the class has been dismissed.

“Let’s go to the pub,” she says excitedly to Michael as they walk down Woodstock Road, away from the Mathematical Institute.

“You want to go to the pub? It’s the middle of the day.”

“There are no more lectures today, and I feel like celebrating. We really impressed Professor Byrne.”

Fifteen minutes later they’re sitting in the Lamb and Flag. A bright pink straw juts out of the neck of her bottle of Smirnoff Ice, and she rolls it between her fingers playfully as she watches Michael sip his pint.

The pub is half full with other students, all either skipping lectures or making the most of a free period.

“I told you that focusing on flowers would make us stand out,” she says, unable to suppress her grin.

Michael swallows his beer, wiping his mouth the back of his hand once he’s settled the pint glass back down on the beer mat. “Yeah, you did. We made the rest of the class look like losers,” he says with a chuckle.

“Yeah, we make quite the team, don’t we?”

He smiles, lowering his gaze and nods. There it is again, that adorable pink flush that dusts his cheeks.

“I’m gonna go to the loo. Will you watch my drink for me?”

He nods, watching as she stands and walks to the ladies.

Five minutes later, she can no longer see him at their table as she returns, though both their drinks are still there. She peers around the corner, seeing him standing before a larger group of students. A few she has seen around before, though they’re not on their course.

“So, is she your girlfriend then?” She overhears one of the guys ask Michael.

“No, not my girlfriend,” he responds, “but I’m helping her get over a break up, if you know what I mean.”

She swallows, feeling her heart lurch as she listens, unable to believe what she’s hearing.

“Oh yeah? Really helping her get over it, I bet,” the guy says, earning raucous laughter from the rest of the group.

She storms towards them, deciding she’s heard enough. Despite wanting to sound angry, her voice trembles as she speaks, betraying the tears she’s fighting to hold back. “I haven’t slept with you!” She shouts at Michael, meeting his shocked, wide eyed stare. “I would never sleep with you!”

Turning on her heel, the pub door swings open with a squeak of hinges as she pulls on it. She walks quickly down St. Giles’, swiping angrily at the tears that have begun to roll down her cheeks.

How could he? They were supposed to be friends and he’d talked about her as though she was something cheap. She had thought Michael was different to everyone else.

Back in her room, a hollow ache has burrowed its way into her chest, as she lays flat on her back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. The high of that morning’s presentation is long forgotten as her mind races with thoughts of what she’d overheard in the pub.

Why had he spoken about her like that? Had he been pretending to like her all this time just for the sake of the presentation?

Nausea swirls in her gut as she’s startled from her throughs by a soft knock at her door. She knows who it will be before she even answers it, and is half tempted to simply ignore it, she doesn’t want to see him. However, curiosity gets the better of her and before she can stop herself, she’s moving towards the door to open it.

Michael stands on the other side, posture not as straight as it usually is, as his shoulders slope and he looks at her imploringly. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he looked remorseful, but he is too self assured for such emotions.

“What do you want?” She asks tiredly.

“I’m sorry,” he says meekly, his voice softer than usual. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” she snaps. “So why did you?!”

“When you went to the toilet, that group called me over, started asking questions and I…I don’t know…I just wanted to feel what it would be like to be normal, just once. I–”

She feels anger run hot in her blood, nostrils flaring as he speaks and cuts him off. “I’m not here to act as your fucking cloak of normality, Michael! Fortunately, we’ve already given the presentation.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, brows pinching together with concern.

“I mean that the need for us to continue speaking to one another is over.”

She slams the door in his face, choking back a sob.

Fuck Michael Gavey. She is so incredibly angry with him, she wants nothing more to do with him. And yet she can’t understand why it hurts so much, somehow this feels worse than what Rich had done to her.

The next few days are torturous. She avoids Michael as much as she can, sitting away from him in lectures, looking away when she catches him staring at her. Seeing him online on MSN makes her heart ache, yet she can’t find it in herself to simply block and delete him. It feels too final somehow, worsened by the fact that she stares obsessively at his username, a part of her hoping a message will pop up from him. It never does.

Life goes back to feeling bland and lonely, with nothing to look forward to anymore. She goes about her days, alone, and then sits in her room, alone.

A week later and she is back in Professor Byrne’s class, only this time she seats herself as far away from Michael as she possibly can, trying not to think about how happy she’d felt to present beside him the last time she was in this room.

“So, I hope you all enjoyed your introductory project,” she begins, as she enters the room, setting her briefcase down upon the desk at the front. “It wasn’t just an exercise in presenting what you know about the Fibonacci sequence, it was a test of how well you work in pairs. That being said, the person you worked with will also be the person you are paired with for your upcoming tutorials with me.”

Her heart sinks.

No, no, no.

Chancing a glance over at Michael, she feels herself grow hot as she sees he’s already looking at her, and she quickly turns away. She had hoped to be able to avoid him, but now would have to spend an hour in close confines with him once a week for the remainder of first year.

Her heart races for the rest of the lecture and she finds herself unable to concentrate, hurriedly packing her bag and rushing to leave the room the moment they’re dismissed.

Unfortunately, Michael has beaten her to it and is waiting for her in the corridor. She bows her head, moving to step around him, but he blocks her path.

“I’ll ask for a different tutorial partner,” he says, “you needn’t worry about having to interact with me.”

She looks up at him, her eyes wide with shock. Her throat tightens as she’s met with the sight of his baby blues, boring a hole into her. “Don’t…don’t do that. It would look bad to Professor Byrne. We can both be mature about this.”

Silently she forces away the sadness she feels at him not wanting to be partnered with her. He’s in the wrong, not the other way around, she has to remind herself.

“As long as you’re sure?” He asks, shifting from one foot to the other, clearly feeling as uneasy as she does.

“I’m sure. I’ll see you around,” she tells him, finally stepping past and walking away.

“See you tomorrow,” he calls after her.

What?!

She rifles in her bag, pulling out her freshly printed timetable.

There it is. Tutorial - 9.05 - Prof. Byrne.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

She is filled with restless energy until the next morning. Her leg bounces involuntarily as she sits in the armchair next to Michael’s in the small, stuffy room of Professer Byrne’s office, who is seated opposite them.

Her eyes scan the shelves of books, the various notebooks that are fanned across the table, anything to avoid looking at Michael, until the older woman speaks.

“So, I hope you’ve both come with notes prepared to discuss the various ways of describing and displaying data, as discussed yesterday?”

Her face blanches. She’d been too distracted following the tutorial announcement to pay attention, and hadn’t heard her assign this. She has done no reading or note taking.

Michael glances over at her, taking in her worried expression. “Actually,” he interjects, “I think we may have misunderstood the instructions. We worked on this as a pair too, I hope you’ll forgive us just this once?”

The professor sighs, crossing her legs and tapping her pen against her pad. “Fine. Just this once. But I require individual work moving forward, you aren’t earning your degrees as a joint effort.”

“Understood,” Michael nods, rifling through his papers. “Here,” he says, leaning across and handing her a few sheets. “These are your notes.”

Slowly she takes them from him, her eyes scanning the pages, mostly graphs and tables of data, easy enough to understand and explain, without needing context.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, offering him a small smile.

The tutorial goes ahead without any further hiccups. Michael talks passionately and competently about what he’s read and the notes he’s taken, and she manages to talk through the data points he has provided her. If Professor Byrne suspects any unpreparedness, she doesn’t say.

Once it’s over and they step out into the hallway, she hands the papers back to him. “Why did you do that?” She asks quietly.

“You hadn’t prepared anything,” he says with a shrug.

“That was really nice of you.”

“It’s the least I owe you.”

“Thank you.”

He nods. “It won’t happen a second time. Come prepared next week. I want to hear what that brilliant mind of yours can come up with.”

There it is again. Brilliant mind.

She smiles at that, though her heart twists painfully in her chest as she watches him walk away. This is what she had wanted, she has to remind herself, he’d disrespected her.

Another two weeks go by, and though she is lonely it gets easier not having to avoid Michael. She finds their weekly tutorials are something she looks forward to, enraptured by how fervently he speaks about each topic, and preening with pride as he sits clearly impressed as she talks through her own notes and findings.

She misses him, though she is too proud to admit it. He had hurt her, and she’d told him to stay away. It would be humiliating to crawl back to him after that.

It’s Friday night and she’s in desperate need of a snack, so heads out of her room in the direction of the vending machines, running straight into a group of girls from her floor as they’re walking out.

Their giggles die down to silence as they see her, all offering her awkward, but obviously fake smiles.

“Not out tonight?” One of them asks, she’s fairly certain her name is Annabel, from what she’s heard in the corridors.

She shakes her head. “No, not tonight.”

“You could come out with us? We’re off to The Bull.”

She scans the faces of the other girls, all clearly less than enthusiastic about her presence, then shakes her head. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“Oh, darling, I wasn’t asking,” Annabel giggles, grabbing her arm.

Less than thirty minutes later she finds herself squashed around a table in The Bullingdon, next to Annabel. She recognises Felix and Farleigh as part of the group they’ve joined, all passing around Jägerbombs and cigarettes.

She feels out of place and underdressed, in jeans and a long sleeved shirt. The rest of the girls are all dressed up in colourful, sparkly eyeshadow and low cut tops.

Amidst the din of their laughter and seemingly endless chatter, set to a backdrop of ‘SOS’ by Rhianna, she can barely hear herself think. She sips anxiously at her coke, pressing her lips together and shaking her head when Annabel jiggles the 35cl bottle of vodka she’s produced from her bag, asking “want some voddy in that?”

Her focus is pulled away when she spots Michael tucked away in the corner. He’s sitting opposite the guy she saw him with on the first night, whose name she has since learned is Oliver.

Her and Michael lock eyes and he gives her a polite nod before returning his focus back to his own conversation. To be so close and yet so far from him makes her ache.

Try as she might, her gaze keeps wandering back to him, unable to focus on the people around her. She watches with keen interest as he rises from his table, headed towards the gents as Oliver makes his way to the bar.

“Olly! Olly! Over here!” Shouts Felix, and to her surprise, Oliver skulks over, with the body language of someone who’s about to ask them for spare change rather than join their group.

She raises an eyebrow as Felix shuffles over, making space for him to sit down and wonders if Michael will join them too.

Her question is answered when he returns from the toilets, giving Oliver an awkward wave which goes unanswered.

“Shit sorry,” Felix says, “are you here with your mate?”

“Nah, he’s just leaving,” Oliver says nonchalantly, accepting the shot he’s been passed.

From the way Michael bows his head and leaves the pub, she knows that’s the furthest thing from the truth, and shoots Oliver a pointed look.

“‘Scuse me,” she says quietly to Annabel, pushing out of her seat and following after Michael.

The chilly October air is biting against her skin in juxtaposition with the sticky warmth of the pub, as she attempts to follow his lanky gait.

“Michael, wait!” She calls after him, hurrying her steps to catch him up.

He stops, turning to her, a look of defeat on his face. “Go back to your mates.”

“They’re not my mates, and they’re not yours either,” she says softly. “I saw what Oliver did to you, that was out of order.”

“The closest thing I’ve felt to normal since coming here is hanging out with you,” he tells her. “The rest of them are all vapid cunts.”

“Then let’s go back to hanging out again,” she offers, stepping towards him.

“After what I did to you?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I miss my friend,” she says honestly, “come on, we’ll make our own fun, we don’t need those losers.”

He laughs softly, and for the first time in weeks she feels whole again.

There’s an odd sense of coming home as she steps inside of Michael’s room, the welcoming warmth wrapping itself around her like a familiar blanket.

“There’s beer under the desk,” he tells her, closing the door behind him.

She makes her way over towards it, pausing when she sees the papers on top of it.

A First Course in Random Matrix Theory for Physicists, Engineers and Data Scientists is printed in large font on the top page, she lifts it away, seeing that on the second is a simple dedication to her.

Her heart flutters as she draws in a shaky breath. “What’s this?”

“Fuck!” He exclaims, eyes going wide as he steps towards the desk. “I hadn’t expected you to come back here. I’d forgotten I’d left this out. You said in the library a few weeks ago that you’d be keen to read my first paper when I published it. It isn’t finished, but I wanted to dedicate it you, since you made my first week here so–”

She presses her lips to his, hands reaching up to cup his cheeks as she kisses him fiercely. Michael returns the gesture, long arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close.

“...so wonderful,” he finishes breathlessly, pressing his forehead to hers when they finally part for air.

“I look forward to reading it,” she grins up at him.

“Well, if you wanted, you could–”

“Do you really want me to read your paper right now?” She asks, gripping the front of his t-shirt and pulling him towards the bed.

“On second thoughts…”

He pulls her back in and their mouths meet again, desperate and needy as they topple onto the bed, tugging eagerly at each other’s clothing, quickly undressing each other.

Their pace slows once they are fully bare, and she runs her hands up and down the length of Michael’s sturdy back, enjoying the weight of his lithe body on top of hers.

“I missed you,” she whispers.

“I was an idiot,” he tells her, holding his weight up on his palms.

“Mmmm. The most stupid genius I know.”

He huffs a laugh. “I think I know just the thing that might cheer you up,” he tells her, moving down her body.

She props herself up on her elbows, watching with keen interest as he moves down her body, placing her legs over his shoulders once he reaches the juncture of her thighs.

He is hesitant at first, studying her closely, but then presses forward. She yelps at the sensation, all of his focus is on the bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex, and it feels electrifyingly intense with the motion in which the tip of his tongue moves against it. It’s too much.

She squirms, pushing him away with a squeal.

“Did you not like that?” He asks, seeming unsure of himself as he sits on his haunches, adjusting his glasses.

“It was a bit too much,” she admits, giggling slightly.

“Oh…sorry,” he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, “I read you’re supposed to shape out the letters of the alphabet when you do that. I’ve always been more of a numbers man, so I went for Pi instead.”

She laughs loudly, reaching for him when he bows his head in embarrassment. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Right now, I just want you.”

“Come here,” she says, leaning over to rummage in her purse for a condom. “May I?”

He nods, shuffling closer as she tears open the packet. He hisses through his teeth when she wraps her hand around him. He’s warm and thick, foreskin silky smooth as she gently rubs her hand up and down the length of him, feeling every ridge and vein.

“Is this your first time?” She asks softly, as she rolls the rubber from tip to base.

“Um…yeah…is that a problem?” He asks, reluctantly meeting her eye.

“Not if it isn’t for you,” she tells him earnestly, free hand stroking his cheek. “Do you want me to go on top?”

He shakes his head. “No…no, I want to feel you.”

She smiles in understanding, laying back and coaxing him to move over her, spreading her legs to accommodate him.

He feels heavy against her entrance and she fights to resist the urge to cant her hips forward, wanting to take things at a pace he’s comfortable with.

His jaw slackens as he pushes forward, and she sighs in pleasure at the slow stretch of him bottoming out inside of her. Their breaths are hot against each other's necks as he stills, adjusting to the new sensation.

When he eventually withdraws to slowly push back in again, she moves her hips in time with his, encouraging him, and he quickly finds a rhythm. They are a clash of teeth and tongues as their mouths meet messily, hands exploring each other as the bed creaks beneath the exertion of their movements.

“F–fuck…you feel good..” he mutters, causing her to moan and her toes to curl, as he nudges against her sweet spot.

She could come from this if he keeps it up, and she can feel herself clenching around him as the beginnings of her peak approach. Right as she teeters on the edge, he groans, pulsating and spilling into the sheath that separates them.

“Sorry..” he whispers, looking at her with fogged up lenses.

“It’s okay,” she reassures him, her fingers stroking through the hair at the side of his head, brushing over the temple of his glasses. “It felt good.”

“But you didn’t…you know…”

“Plenty of time for that,” she says, pecking his lips. “Like I said, we’ll make our own fun, won’t we?”

“Get another condom then,” he says, pulling out of her. “I’ve still got some making up to do.”

[loonylupinblack3]

Early Mornings

Pairing: Mark Webber x Reader

Warnings: none :)

Summary: just some short fluff with husband!markwebber

Word count: 0.6k

The sound of your husband's incessant alarm woke you up from your slumber. You groaned, opening your eyes groggily as the heavy weight around your waist disappeared, Mark's hand finding the alarm and turning the god awful sound off.

You felt his arm wrap around your waist again, Mark's stubble brushing against your cheek, pressing a kiss on your skin as he whispered in your ear.

"Morning," he murmured, voice gravelly.

You made a sound of complaint, closing your eyes and pressing your face into the pillow. Mark laughed, lazily stroking your bare arm with his finger.

"Come on Love," he urged quietly. "We've got to get up now."

You whined, rolling over into your husband's chest. His arms wrapped around your body on instinct, holding you close. "Five more minutes."

He laughed again, brushing your hair from your face. "I'm afraid not Darling. We've got the race today."

You groaned. "I thought you retiring meant I didn't have to wake up early for these things anymore."

Mark shook his head at your attitude, at your unwillingness to leave the comfort of your shared hotel room, the soft sheets and warmth of his embrace.

So he pulled away, removing his arms from you and leaving the bed. You whined again, pouting at him as you cracked your eyes open. Mark just grinned, moving forward to kiss you on the head before walking away, no doubt to get ready.

You closed your eyes again, savoring the short amount of rest you had left, even though knowing you'd regret it later when you were rushing to get ready on time.

What felt like seconds later but were no doubt minutes your husband was back, hands gently shaking your shoulders. "Now you really do need to get up."

You let out a huff but managed to sit upright, wincing as the bright lights assaulted your vision. Mark smiled and rewarded you with a chaste kiss, a hand going to the back of your head as he did so. His lips tasted fresh, minty, from brushing his teeth.

As he started leaning back you pulled him close, a hand going to his waist and tugging him forward until he lost his balance, falling on the mattress. You grinned and climbed on top of him before he could get back up.

"I vote we stay here," you said.

Mark sighed at your antics but he was smiling, staring at you with quiet adoration. "You know we can't. It's Oscar's home race. We have to be there for him."

At the mention of Oscar, your husbands protégé and what was a son like figure to you, your determination to stay in bed cracked slightly. Enough for Mark to slide you off him and coax you out of the sheets.

"Come on Darl, I promise I'll make it up to you."

You narrowed you eyes at Mark, wrapping your arms around his neck, his hands finding your waist like they always did. "You promise?"

He smiled. "I promise."

You deliberated for a moment longer, all the while your husband's hands roamed your back, trailing up and down your spine, following your curves, kneading your flesh, touching you in any way he could, one of Mark's favourite things to do, before you sighed.

"Fine. Let me get ready."

Mark smiled and kissed you on the cheek. "Knew you had it in you."

You grumbled as you untangled yourself from him, walking into you en-suite to finally start getting ready. "I'm holding you to that promise.

Mark smirked as you disappeared from view, murmuring under his breath, "I wouldn't expect anything different.

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Ultimatum" - Zoro x Reader

prompt sent in by the wonderful @maybe-a-bi-witch | Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

When you were a child, your parents took you to a circus. Among clowns, lions and contortionists, the one thing that stuck in your mind was a tightrope artist. She danced and tumbled 40 feet above the ground, a smile on her face. When she flew in the air, you kept wondering whether this time she would fall but your fear never came true - she didn't lose her footing, didn't lose her balance even once.

You find yourself thinking about the circus artist more often lately as you keep questioning your relationship with Zoro. On one hand, there are the lingering touches, stolen kisses and words filled with undeniable desire. But there's also his coldness and distance, the unwillingness to speak about his feelings. Whenever you're about to give up and cut your losses, accept that your little maybe-romance is purely opportunistic, Zoro pulls you right back in with seemingly no effort. He has you wrapped around his finger, no sense in denying that.

And just like that girl 40 feet in the air, you're also walking the tightrope. But contrary to the performer, you're not sure you can do it as skillfully as she did. As days turned into weeks and your relationship with the swordsman only became more confusing, you felt yourself losing balance. It feels like soon enough you'll be falling off the tightrope. And a 40-foot drop is enough to break, whether it's a bone or a heart.

The night fits your mood: cold, rain hanging in the air, wind tugging and nipping at exposed skin. The ocean and sky are in turmoil, giving you a sense of comfort - tonight, it's not only you who's fighting against themself. Does the sea also question her relationship with the shore? Does she also wonder if their fleeting, chaste kisses as waves wash the sandy beach are something more than opportunistic tenderness?

Your heart is beating out of your chest as you knock on the door to Zoro's bedroom. Shortly after, a welcoming grunt resounds on the other side.

The swordsman is lying in a hammock, staring at the ceiling above. With one hand underneath his head, he looks really comfortable. He bends his neck slightly to look at you but doesn't get up for now.

"I'm done, Zoro," you spit out a little faster than you planned. There's no point in pretending that you're not about to choke on your emotions.

The tightrope artist tumbles on the highwire.

He furrows his eyebrows. "With what?"

"With whatever it is we've got going on." It feels like a dam has broken and you find yourself unable to control the flood of words coming out of your mouth. Tears sting your eyes. "You clearly don't want anything serious and I've grown into accepting that I can't change your mind. I also can't just wait around to see if you maybe decide to settle for a relationship. I love you, Zoro, but I have too much self-respect to let myself remain just a convenience to you."

Only when you finish your monologue do you realize you're crying. Weeks of pent-up emotions, anxiety and pure, unrequited adoration you hold for that man have burst inside your chest. The sense of relief you're suddenly feeling is something of a silver lining.

She loses her balance. The audience falls silent.

But Zoro doesn't share your emotional turmoil. He returns to staring at the fascinatingly bland ceiling. "Fine, I'll do it. I'll be your boyfriend," he says in a disinterested voice.

Only static fills your mind. "What?" A question escapes you as you try to make sense of his words. "Zoro, you-"

"That's what you want, isn't it?" he cuts you off. Suddenly he sits up, legs hanging over the side of the hammock. The movement makes the cot swing slightly.

You stare at his face in search of the truth that hides behind his words. Does he really think superficially succumbing to you will fix everything? Or maybe there's something else on his mind - maybe he just doesn't care what you call him.

"What I want is something authentic, not just a fling to pass the time because we're both lonely," you continue. "I have feelings for you and I can't keep pretending that I'm casual about this," you point between him and you, "thing."

The performer waves her hands around, desperately trying to find her footing.

Zoro gets up from the hammock. In a few strides, he finds himself in front of you, closer than within an arm's reach. "You're not a fling," he says decisively. You almost believe him.

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. "I'm not a relationship either, it seems."

He lets out an exasperated sigh. This conversation is tiring him. Maybe you're tiring him.

Zoro's dark eyes are drilling into yours. You can't help but think that he's holding back from something.

"I don't care what you name it." His voice is stern. Suddenly, the air is too thick to breathe comfortably. "All I want is you. I'll do whatever it takes. If that means being a 'boyfriend'," the mocking tone is obvious, "then so be it. I'll gladly be your boyfriend."

Truthfully, you didn't know what you were expecting when you decided to confess your feelings to Zoro but it definitely wasn't this. Then, your previous anxiety blossoms into something unbearably sweet and tender. He doesn't care what you have as long as it's with you.

"Are you serious?" you whisper. This reality seems almost too good to be true.

"Dead," he murmurs back.

Zoro presses his lips against yours. The kiss is slow and heartfelt, unlike the kisses you're used to sharing with him. Strong, desperate hands grab at your waist and hips, forcing you to follow him as Zoro walks backwards. With a creak and a thud, the two of you fall on the hammock.

The crowd cheers loudly. The dancer has regained her balance and continues the routine with even more grace and glamour in her movements.

[gay-dorito-dust]

syzoth fluff hcs ? 😩😩 i love himmm

This is so ooc for him but fuck it. 🦦

Imagine if you will, you’ve been noticing that Syzoth was having trouble sleeping due to either his cold blooded nature and or nightmares that forced him to relive the trauma he’s suffered through. You’re heart broke for him and being the kindhearted and patient person that you were, you offered up the suggestion of being his personal heater but completely understood if this was too uncomfortable for him to do as of right now.

Syzoth, never use to such treatment from anyone -never less his own kind- decided one night, when everything was starting to take a toll on him, to take you up on your generous offer but he was so stiff and awkward in going about it that when he does get to your room. He either ends up dozing off across from you out of respect for your personal space or just straight up watches over you the entire night due to his unwillingness to wake you up from your slumber.

He’s such a sweetheart.

You’d wake up to see him slump over, fast asleep and you couldn’t help but smile at image of him standing/ sitting awkwardly in your room throughout the night as you would then scoot closer to him and drape your cover over him, immediately waking him up, making you freeze in place but upon realising that he wasn’t in any danger, Syzoth would close his eye again and instinctively cuddle up to you, basking on your warmth.

This soon becomes routine for the both of you as there wasn’t a single night where you weren’t cuddle up to one another with Syzoth leeched off of your bodily warmth by burying his head into the checks of your neck as he clings onto you like a lifeline, whilst you had finally felt that Syzoth had grown comfortable enough for you to rest your hand upon his back in order to keep him close. It melts your heart that whenever you go to pull yourself away, Syzoth immediately pulls you back down and practically caged you with his arms and legs as to keep you tethered to him because your warm and he doesn’t wanna let that go.

I wouldn’t be surprised if you woke up one day to him cuddling against you in his reptilian form. Give his snoot a lil kiss for me while your at it will you?

Upon hearing Johnny making Syzoth laugh one time, you’ve deemed then and there that he had to have the prettiest laugh that you’ve ever heard in your life. So much so that you try your damn hardest to make him let out a little chuckle or wholehearted laugh. All in order to hear the most prettiest sound to ever grace your ears.

Syzoth would be made aware of what you were doing after the first couple of tries by Johnny who was watching the whole thing from afar, finding your attempts humorous and the confused puppy dog look on Syzoth’s face even more humorous.

‘They’re trying to make you laugh dude.’ - johnny

‘Why? Why would they want to hear me laugh?’ -Syzoth

‘They think your laugh is cute.’ - johnny.

‘They find my laugh cute?’ - Syzoth, absentmindedly smiling at the thought.

‘They aren’t exactly subtle about it for starters.’ -Johnny, seeing you rummage through a beat up joke book, muttering ‘that’s jokes shit.’ Or ‘hehe, that’s a good one’ under your breath as you make a list of jokes to use for later.

So now whenever you try to syzoth laugh, he does so but not because the jokes are remotely funny, well some of them are with their straightforwardness but others go over his head, he’s laughing and smiling because of hard you’re trying to make him laugh and smile to the point the determined look on your face is enough wrangle a chuckle out of him. Syzoth thinks it’s very sweet that you adore his laughter, but finds you even sweeter when you do manage to make him laugh and he gets to see how your face just lights up from it in victory.

I genuinely don’t think that anyone has thought his laugh as amazing as you do, so needless to say you’re genuine comments towards him make his fucking day worthwhile. So he tries to reciprocate that kindness by adamantly sticking by your side and protect you from any and all danger, despite knowing that you could protect yourself but hey we all want to be protected by someone so we don’t always have to have our guard up 24/7. Which is exactly what you and Syzoth are to one another.

Johnny once teasingly called you both the others ‘emotional support buddy’ and it kinda just stuck from then on given how much time you spent together.

Will Syzoth use his power of invisibility to mess with you? The answer is always an defiant yes. He’s a secret menace. You can forget playing hide and seek - a game of which Syzoth knows next to nothing about- with this little cheat. For he wins by default because of his ability. Which you’d then have to explain to him how it goes against the rules because not everyone can do that and even if they did, it would only make the game unplayable. So a new rule would have to be implemented that Syzoth was prohibited from using invisibility to win.

It doesn’t matter whether your easily scared or not at all, Syzoth with use his invisibility to get ahead of you from time to time. So I wouldn’t put it past him to use his invisibility to sneak in some kisses upon your forehead, nose, cheeks and if he’s feeling particularly mischievous that day; you’re lips.

You could be looking for the bastard and he’s following behind you invisible, trying his hardest not to laugh whenever you look over your shoulder, not knowing your looking directly at him before looking forward, calling out his name once again. God forbid he ever steps on a creaky floorboard as it was a 50/50 toss up for him, it could either make you shit yourself or give you a hint as to where he is while you’re actively looking for him. However Syzoth trusts his ability enough to not make that vital mistake.

Will he use it to surprise you with back hugs? This goes without question but yes he absolutely would.

I think I’ve gone on long enough so I’ll end this here.