#instant lift with threads

[thesongoficeandfir3]

The coronation

Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Wife!reader

AU where the blacks won

Warnings: none, just Jace and his wife reader being cute before his coronation

You make your way down the long corridor of the Red Keep’s ancient castle halls, your steps echoes loudly off the stone walls and floor. You soon approach heavy oak door where two knights stand and upon seeing you they immediately pull the large doors open. When you walk in you are met with a scene that takes your breath away. There in the center of the room your husband Jacaerys stands, dressed in a long, heavy, and expensive red and black regalia, fit for a king.

When you entered the room you were met with the back of him standing still. He was surrounded by several maidservants who are busy adjusting and fastening every piece of his attire, ensuring they fit perfectly for this very crucial day. There are large glass windows in the room and the bright morning light cast a glow on Jacaerys who stands in the center as if the gods themselves are casting their blessings on him for this important day.

His red and black robes are a vision of opulence and power. The material is thick and heavy, a velvety red silk that drapes him gracefully. Sewn into the sleeves, are subtle but intricate designs of sea horses and dragons, to represent both of his houses, each carefully crafted out of shimmering black thread. The back of the robe is longer than the front, pooling on the ground behind him in a dramatic train.

Your own gown had matched Jace’s, something Jace was very insistent on when it came to the designs of them. You are not sure when it started, but sometime during the first year of your marriage you found a lot of your and Jace’s outfits subtly match whether it was a big occasion or not. Your gown though less elaborate than your husband's, it still a vision of beauty fitted perfectly for a queen.

As you silently stand behind him, he meets your eyes in the reflection of the mirror he’s standing in front. A small smile dances across his lips and his dark eyes glitter with affection. It's the same look he gives you every morning when he kisses you awake.

Jacaerys holds up a hand, the gesture causing the maidservants to stop their movements in an instant. "That's enough," he says, his deep voice firm and commanding. "You may leave us."

They curtsey quickly and walk away, shutting the door behind them. Once they are gone, keeping your back straight as much as you could and your head bowing low you curtsey.

“My king.” you say with a teasing grin.

“Stop that.” he playfully rolls his eyes walking over to you. He places a hand on your chin with a tender touch, lifting your head and gesturing for you to stand.

“You look ethereal.” you whisper out, looking into his dark brown eyes with nothing but love and admiration.

“As do you my issa prūmia.” he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Are you nervous?” you ask.

He moves his hands down from your face to holding your hands squeezing them slightly.

“Just a little.” he answers, his shoulder dropping not realizing he was tense the entire time.

You notice this and move one of your hands to caress his cheek to help calm him.

“You should not be, your grandsire and mother were wonderful rulers and they passed everything they know on to you, so I have no doubt you will be just as good.”

He nods leaning into your touch, the warmth of your words and touch calming him a little, but still a small part of him is nervous.

“So does this mean from now on I have to bow when I enter every room you are in.” you tease hoping to lighten the mood.

“Hmm,” he pauses for a moment pretending to think. He then leans in slightly. “Yes, I think you will have to bow before me….Every…..Single……..Time. He says each word deliberately slow meeting your teasing banter

“Oh?“ you quirk and eyebrow feigning surprise. “Does that mean I must always call you my king as well?” you lean in closer causing your lips to be mere inches apart.

“Of course my darling,” he says reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear being very careful not to mess with the elaborate hair do, his fingers then trail along your jawline “I am your king, after all.” He smirks down at you.

“And I am your queen” your eyes had yet to leave his during your entire conversation.

“And a beautiful queen you are.” he presses his lips to yours lingering for a few moments before pulling away.

“And your child and rightful heir.“ you take his hand pressing it to your growing pregnant belly.

Jaceaeyrs feels a rush of emotion at the feeling of your belly under his palm, his eyes drifting down to where your hands meet before looking back up at you, His expression softens further. “Our child” he corrects a protective hand still resting on your stomach.

Your heart swells, though such a small gesture you can’t help but feel emotional that he said ‘our’ instead of his.

He suddenly kneels before you his fingers splaying on the swell of your stomach gently kissing it before resting his forehead on it.

“Our future king or queen.” He whispers out.

Your breath hitches at his unexpected action.

“J-Jace,” you stutter out. “This is unbecoming you are to be king” you say feeling extremely flustered.

He chuckles the sound deep and rich.

“Out there I am, but in here with you I am just a man who loves his wife and unborn child dearly” he plants one more kiss on your bump before standing. He places his hands on your hips bringing you close once more.

You reach out and grab the livery collar, each piece being one of the kingdom’s house sigil. You carefully place it over his shoulder before fastening the last button of the robe and smoothing a hand over his chest.

“Now then, let us get you to your coronation.” You smile

“As you command my queen.”

[thesuperiorrobin]

𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝~

❥Pairing: Damian Al Ghul x Wife!Reader

❥Word count: 1.0k

❥Warning: mentions of blood but very brief, mentions of killing, mentions of kidnapping

❥S: Damian worst fear is losing his beloved wife (I wrote this in an hour. It’s 3:20 am rn☹️)

“This is so unlike you” Damian grumbles under his breath as he lies on a bed, a green silk robe hanging off his shoulder as you tend to a deep wound on his midsection with a needle and thick thread in hand. There’s sweat dripping down his forehead. A part of you feels bad but at the same time, he decided to have you tend to all his wounds after coming home from a mission his mother or grandfather sent him on.

Some days he’ll come home with a scratch or none and other days he’ll come back with gashes and marks that’ll stay permanent on his tan skin. As the needle in your hand digs into his skin once more—it hits a nerve that has him griping your wrist tightly and hissing loudly. Despite being an assassin, despite going through every single hard training process there was, a torture process, he still feels his pain.

“I’m sorry” you watch as Damian lets out a heavy sigh, letting go of your writs and gripping a metal handle beside the bed. “Just a few more so please bear with me” Minutes had felt like hours to Damian once you finished. And with your help, he sits up straight, groaning as we do so. One last step was to wrap the now stitched-up wound with bandages. His arms are up slightly as you reach over his back with the long white strips and bring them back to his front repeating the same process a few more times.

Once done, you help with his robe, gently as ever. You pat away any dust that drapes his shoulders. There’s still anger that clouds his eyes when he looks down at you “What happened?” Your hand grazes his cheek softly before placing your cold palm up against his warm cheek.

“It’s nothing, Zawjati. Come let’s go to bed” Your heart throbs at the sudden name. His hand reaches up to your hand, the sliver hand on his finger shining brightly as you gently peel it off his face, kissing it softly before he places it back down at your side. A visible frown finds its way on your lips as he walks past you with his head down.

“It’s clearly nothing. I can see it in your eyes” It’s a mumble but Damian can hear it loud in clear. Your eyes connect for a moment before you sigh—averting your eyes away from his “Let me clean up first, I’ll head back in a bit”

Damian leaves without saying a word to you. It takes a bit longer, mostly because you take your time cleaning and sanitizing. It takes thirty minutes before you’re heading back to your shared bedroom. You expect him to be asleep after being away for so long, but he’s wide awake when you enter the room, sitting upright on the bed rob long gone and with a book in his hand waiting for you. He places it down, on the nightstand beside him.

“You should be asleep” You shake your head, making your way to your side of the king-size bed.

“I can never sleep peacefully knowing you aren’t by my side” he lifts the silk blanket from your side—waiting for you to get in the covers.

You waste zero time as you jump in, head landing on the soft pillows. A sigh of relief leaves your lips once he throws the blanket over your shoulder. He watches as you snuggle closer, eyes closing. Damian’s arm reaches for the small lamp on his nightstand. The once-dim room turns dark within an instant as he turns it off. The wound on his midsection has Damian getting under the covers carefully. The shuffling stops and the room goes quiet. Damian thinks you are fast asleep, but when he feels your fingers tracing gentle shapes on his biceps he thinks otherwise.

Goosebumps cover his body. He can’t sleep either, not because of you tracing his skin, but because his mission early has him thinking. His target threatened you, threatening to take you from his side permanently. The assassin can handle petty little threats, but when they’re about his wife, all he sees is red. His wound was just the aftermath of his outburst. They’re all dead—every single one of them.

He has nothing to worry about—so why is he still worrying about it?

How many others, how many of his enemies feel the need to target you just so they can take him and the rest of the league down?

How much more does he need to paint his hands red just to keep you safe and sound, far away from harm's way? Damian would never say it out loud, out of fear and out of his reputation, you are the most saint and innocent thing to ever happen to him in his life. Someone so innocent and pure belongs to him, someone who’s the exact opposite—someone who can paint an entire city red with his bare hands if he needed to— have you sound asleep beside him—acting like he can’t break you with just his thumb.

When he looks at you—all his worries disappear just like that. Your breathing clams him down. Why worry, when he has you safe and sound right beside him? He takes one glance at your sleeping figure beside him, so peaceful and beautiful, curled up against his arm. His other arm reaches over to brush a few strands of your hair out of your face. He lets out a small breath as he watches you snuggle closer. He moves a bit, arm sneaking its way under your neck and over your shoulders, head on top of his arm using it as a pillow.

“I promise I would never let anything happen to you, beloved. Not now nor ever” A single kiss goodnight on your forehead and he closes his eyes, the darkness following soon after.

[helios-sol]

hmm…had a ghost thought..take this.

“you broke his nose.”

simon flinches when your needle breaks the tender skin of his brow. he’s lucky it’s not too deep, less chance for a nasty scar.

“he slapped your ass.” is his only reply.

your sigh is heavy, the puff of air ruffling the bangs that hang in his face.

“i’m an adult,” your fingers work quickly, “i can take care of myself.”

the statement has simon quirking his brow and you’re cursing him.

“stay still-“

“what were you saying last night,” he interrupts you, “ ‘s-sir, please, need you so bad’ was it?”

your mouth goes dry, face flushing in an instant. the smug, satisfied grin on simon’s face makes you physically angry. you want nothing more than to rid him of it, render him just as speechless as you are. unfortunately, he’s far quicker to the draw than you.

“where’s all the bite from earlier?” he questions and he’s lucky you don’t make his stitches any more painful than they need to be.

“fuck you.” you grit out, lips pulling into a thin line. you don’t want to entertain him any further but he’s got other plans.

“plenty of that later sweetheart.”

you pretend to gag.

“you’re not as smooth as you think you are.”

simon huffs a laugh at that, face aching at the pull of his lips into a smile.

“still gets you hot under the collar.”

you frown, tying your thread into a knot before snipping the loose end. he’s not wrong but you don’t think you could live with him having that satisfaction.

“you’re insufferable.”

simon lifts your chin up towards him with a bloodied knuckle.

“you love it.”

you roll your eyes.

“yeah, sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“would you kick me out if i said it was you..?” he asks, tugging a clean shirt over his head. you stare at the way the material stretches across his back before meeting his glance from over his shoulder.

“no, but i would tell you you’re getting a bit soft.”

that makes him scoff and roll his eyes, lips ticked up in a slight smile.

“maybe, maybe not. i think i just like a warm bed and a nice ass.”

“SIMON! you’re such a jackass!” you cry out, cheeks warm with embarrassment.

He flashes you an apologetic grin, arms raised in defense.

“okay, okay. maybe i am getting soft,” he tugs you towards him by your wrist, “but i only have you to blame.”

[goldenstring6123]

helloooo! i’d like to request a short fic with this glorious prompt i thought about last night 🤭

let’s say reader gets a tattoo of xavier’s sword (like the design behind his latest promise outfit) all the way down their back ;) i would die to see how he would react to this nyehehehe

it can be either fluff, suggestive, smut, up to you with whatever you’re comfy with <3 tysm hehe

Xavier: Ink & sword

Warning: Very suggestive! 16+ only, showering together, nudity, kissing, sensual touching, fem!reader, reader is not the mc but works as a hunter

Author's note: :>

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"I'm sorry—I knocked you back too hard," Xavier's hand reached down towards yours, and you, on the other hand, were buried underneath some plastic crates at the corner of the training room. He waited for you to take his hand. "Are you alright?"

You took his hand and used him to hoist yourself back to your feet, a tinge of pain and ache flowering from different parts of your back. You dropped the sword that you were holding, and it immediately dissipated into thin air. You looked at Xavier and patted his chest, trying to ease out that slight frown on his face.

"I'm alright. We deal with worse stuff on the battlefield."

Right above the entrance, a big digital clock projected the time in neon blue colors: 23:03. You and Xavier had been training for over three hours, and now the training grounds had been rid of people except for the two of you. Well, it couldn't be helped; Xavier's training regimen requires more time to perform, considering the complexity of his fighting style and condition.

Still, the fact that you can keep up is very noteworthy even in the eyes of others, though the only thing you were doing was defending and keeping your stance. The only worrying thing is that sometimes, Xavier forgets that you're just a normal hunter and tends to exert a bit more force when sparring.

You let out a small groan while you moved towards the shower room, and Xavier was walking right beside you, ready to reach out in case you toppled over. The frown was still on his face as if he regretted showing you that magnificent finishing blow. "Do you need help?"

You glanced at the shower room and hooked your index finger under his chin, turning his head slightly, the cheeky little teasing mood suddenly erupting from within you. "Are you offering to help me bathe? How daring of you."

"Uh...I didn't—" Xavier's doe eyes went wider than the moon, his nose and ears turning pink upon realizing your words.

You just loved finding the opportunity to fluster this little man.

Unbeknownst to Xavier, you knew how he has a little ongoing crush on you—credits to Tara for having that habit of snitching when drunk. And for a strong fighter, it feeds your ego to have him wrapped around your fingers.

"Can you just hand me the menthol patches in the kit?" you pointed at a small box nearby, one attached to the metal post. It was a first aid kit reserved for them. Xavier strode to the said post while you entered the washroom.

You opened your locker with your thumbprint and undid the brown leather support. Swiftly, you unbuttoned your blouse, picked at how it clung to your body, damp and riddled with dust and sweat. Finally, the stuffy bathroom air brushed against your sweat-ridden back.

"I got the patches..." Xavier entered the bathroom, the white menthol patches in his grasp. When he lifted his head to look at you, his eyes trailed from the curve of your form—eyes landing on the intricate tapestry of dark blue and white ink tattoo carved onto your back.

The shame of walking in on you naked disappeared in an instant.

You stared as Xavier slowly stepped beyond the room's threshold. You kept your blouse pressed against your chest, and even if you were nearly topless, Xavier's eyes never broke contact from your back. Why would he? The image of his very own sword was on your back.

"Is this why you wanted to take a picture of my sword?" His cold fingers slid down the dip of your spine, his eyes absorbing every bit of nitty-gritty detail about the tattoo. As much as he admires his real pristine sword, the image of it on your back is simply...breathtaking.

"Maybe? Do you like it?" You kept still, facing the locker. At that moment, every touch he made on your body was amplified beyond normal. The coolness of his fingers felt good against your warm back.

"It's beautiful," he uttered. The thin saber was positioned perfectly downwards to your spine, ending just above where your pants began, curving whenever you moved. The handle was positioned just between your shoulder blades. Feathers littered the rest of the space, some in blue and some in white. The intricate carvings on the side of his sword were perfectly captured. "Why did you choose my sword?"

"Well," your hand chucked the blouse in the locker. You glanced over your shoulder, the silver-haired man anticipating your answer. "It's because it was beautiful; I can't get my mind off of it." It just so happens that the man wielding it is beautiful as well. A beauty beyond the stars.

You turned back to face the locker, folding your blouse, thinking that Xavier had had enough of seeing the tattoo. Your lips opened, prepared to ask him to leave as you were nearly topless, if not for that low-back bra you're wearing, but before you could blurt a single word, Xavier pressed his lips on your shoulders.

It was as if his kiss had flicked a switch within you. You stiffened, leaning over while your hands hung at the edge of the locker. "Xavier? Did you just—"

The man placed another kiss lower. You could feel his tongue graze the surface of your skin. "Mhm, your skin is salty."

His words sobered you up; it wasn't exactly an insult, but that made you think. You stood up straight and faced him, your eyes coated with a sheen of lust and desperation. "I'm full of sweat. Do you really intend on having..." You held yourself back from spouting such vulgar words. "Never mind. Wait for me. I'm going to take a shower."

You took the towel and ran to the shower areas. It was dead silent. You pondered. Was Xavier really doing what you think he was going to do? Did the sword on your back push him to the edge?

All the thoughts crept at the back of your neck, but the softness of Xavier's lips remained. The hot water drizzled all over your body, releasing you from the stickiness of the fluids. You combed back your hair and looked up at the shower head, relishing the comfort of the rain-like sensation—for a few seconds at least.

The shower curtain shifted, and Xavier took a step in. His bare chest pressed against your back, and you spun quickly at the contact. Your eyes widened at the sight of his bare body—it's not the first time you saw it, but still—"Why are you here?"

"Let's take a shower together. Turn around, I'll wash your back."

"Do all training partners do this? Bathe together? Is this new?" You panicked, instinctively covering your areas while backing up against the cold porcelain wall. You stared up at him, the soft eyes no longer there. He looked intimidating now that he was towering over you.

"Do training partners sleep with each other when they get stuck in the mountains?" he uttered.

At that moment, the hazy memory of that stormy night flashed inside your head—the warmth of his touch, the flickering of the makeshift fireplace, his skin against yours, and his mouth exploring your body. Your face began to grow red at that memory.

Xavier's hands crawled to your hips, gently nudging you to turn. You didn't want to go against him, and at the same time, you were expecting something to happen because you would admit that Xavier was good. He felt good. His taste, his skill, and his size—what you didn't expect was that it wasn't going to be a one-time thing.

His hands were gliding on your back, and his burning stare trailed down to your ass. You bit your lip at the embarrassment. His hands, which were on your waist, found themselves holding on to your love handles, and gently, Xavier pulled your hips backward, coming into contact with his semi-hard-on.

"Shit," you uttered under your breath. Even if it wasn't fully hard, you could still clearly feel it. A million thoughts raced through your head, but there was one emotion that was prevalent: Erotic desire.

Xavier's lips came into contact with your back again, but this time, you couldn't help but flinch at every contact because his tongue and teeth grazed and gritted, intentionally leaving marks at Xavier's whims. Just by that, you were gasping for air, anticipating where he would bite next.

His fingernails scraped at your skin, tracing every curve and line of the tattoo; his touch was electrifying, but you craved more. How can he be so gentle but leave you feeling unexplainable things?

He peppered your back with light kisses from the dip of your back slowly, slowly crawling back up to your exposed nape. "Don't leave marks on my neck," you uttered between breaths. A loud pop of Xavier's kiss bounced off the shower room.

"Turn around, please. I want to see you," Xavier whispered. You looked over your shoulder, and you could see him stepping back a little bit, eager to see your body.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned to him, still covering your body. Admittedly, he was a little perplexed at seeing you acting all shy when it was you who was provoking him earlier, but poking fun at you wasn't right for the moment.

He brushed a stray hair that stuck onto your cheek and smiled, looking into your eyes fondly. "There's no need to hide," he said, taking a step closer. "You're beautiful."

His big hands caressed your elbows and slid up to your biceps, nudging you to loosen up. Your hands dropped from your body, but instead of letting them fall completely, you wrapped your hands around his neck.

You pressed your lips together, but all of a sudden, footsteps erupted.

"Is anyone in here?" the lady guard called. "Security!"

You covered Xavier's mouth and stared into his eyes, saying: 'Don't make a sound.'

"Oh, yes! I just finished training!" you yelled back.

"Alright, but please leave after 5 minutes. We're about to turn down the power for the entire floor."

"Sure! I'll be out in a minute," you replied. You and Xavier waited for a solid minute before moving. You let go of the breath you were holding, took the bar of soap from the holder, and gave it to Xavier. "Let's continue that at your apartment when we get home."

Author footnotes: Cockblocked by me, the author. Layout by me, using canva premium | Do not repost |

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[moonsandmobilityaids]

Secrets Revealed

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: Sometimes it's easier to walk. One problem-your boyfriends don't know you can. Warnings: Chronic pain, mentions of ableism (both internalised and external) Series Masterlist

The late afternoon sunlight filters into your room, casting a warm, golden hue over everything it touches. You're perched by the window, gazing out at the dwindling light, while James, Sirius, and Remus occupy various corners of your sanctuary.

James is sprawled on your bed, a book open before him. His glasses rest low on his nose, catching the glint of the dying sun as he flips through the pages nonchalantly, his ruffled hair fanning out across the pillow like a dark halo.

Sirius, meanwhile, has claimed the armchair by the fireplace, his long legs draped over one arm, hands clasped behind his head. His eyes are half-closed, the flickering flames reflecting in their depths, and there's a sense of contentment about him that seems almost tangible.

Remus sits at your desk, bent over his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook, a quill poised between his fingers. Every so often, he makes a note in the margin, his brow furrowed in concentration.

The room is filled with the soft crackle of the fire, the rustle of turning pages, and the shared silence of companionship. This is your haven, and they are your pillars—each one a fixture in the landscape of your life.

Normally, their presence brings a sense of calm, a gentle reprieve from the storm of your thoughts. But tonight, the ache in your legs is louder than usual, the pain echoing through the silence between their words. The prospect of shifting from armchair to wheelchair, from wheelchair to bed, the clumsy dance of limbs and reliance on others, feels more daunting than ever.

Your gaze flickers to the sturdy frame of the bed—a few steps away, yet a chasm wide and deep in reality. And in that moment, you make a decision.

You will walk.

The distance is short. You've traversed it often when left alone with your thoughts and the stubbornness that threads through your veins. Yet each step is a battle, fought against the protests of your body and the remnants of pride clinging to your heart. It's a war you wage in private, away from prying eyes.

Until now.

Without a word, you lean forward, your muscles coiling like springs beneath your skin. Your hands grip the armrests, knuckles white as you push yourself upward. Pain flares up your legs, a stark reminder of the invisible chains that bind you. But you fight it, focusing on the strength in your arms, the determination fuelling each ragged breath.

The transition is slow, agonising. For a moment, you hover between two worlds—seated and standing, dependence and autonomy. Then, with a final surge of effort, you are upright. Your body sways, unsteady but defiant.

James's book falls from his hands, his eyes round with surprise as he surges upright. "What—Y/N, what are you doing?"

Sirius stiffens, the ease in his posture evaporating as he swings his legs off the bed and onto the floor. "Bloody hell, babe, sit down! You don't have to—"

"I'm fine," you interrupt, voice strained but steady. A step forward shrinks the distance between you and the bed. It's slow, shaky, but you trust in the familiarity of your own body's resilience. "I do this all the time."

"You what?" Remus is on his feet in an instant, moving toward you with a grace born of decades spent anticipating danger. His eyes are wide, the worry lines etched deeper into his forehead. He hovers, hands outstretched but not touching, as if afraid any contact might shatter the illusion of control you're so desperately clinging to. "Y/N, you've never—"

"Not in front of people," you clarify, your words punctuated by the effort it takes to lift your body another inch off the cold stone floor. Pain blossoms in your side, a reminder of the damage done, but you push past it, focusing on the familiar burn of used muscles and the steady rhythm of your heartbeat. "It's easier when I'm alone. Less... fuss."

"Less fuss?" James echoes, his voice threaded with disbelief. "If you need help, you can just—"

"I'm not going to fall," you assure them, even as your breath hitches from the effort. One final push and you're sitting on the edge of the bed, relief flooding through you as the soft mattress gives way beneath you. But even then, you can feel their eyes on you—watchful, wary, a mix of concern and curiosity.

Sirius's hand rakes through his hair as he paces in front of you, his expression etched with worry. "Why didn't you tell us you could walk, even if it was just a little?"

James sits at your side, one hand resting over yours, warm and grounding. "We've been friends for years, Y/N," he says, his voice gentler than you've ever heard it. "And now we're more than that. You never mentioned anything about this—we could've helped."

You look from one face to another, seeing the concern etched on each one, feeling the weight of the moment press down on you. These aren't strangers who will judge or ridicule; these are the people who have come to mean everything to you. They look back at you now, eyes filled not only with affection but also confusion, a slight sting of betrayal.

Remus is there too, perched on the edge of your bed, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back. "Why hide it from us?" His voice is soft, almost a whisper against the heavy silence. "You know we'd never think less of you, don't you?"

"It's not that," you say, your own voice just as quiet, your gaze shifting to Sirius who has stopped pacing and now stands with his arms crossed, his grey eyes burning into yours. "It's the way people look at me when they see me walking. Like I've been lying about needing the wheelchair. Like I'm some sort of... fraud."

James's grip on your hand tightens, not in anger but in silent solidarity. His brow furrows as he takes in your words, the implications hanging heavy in the air between you. "But we're not 'people,' sweetheart. You don't have to put up a front with us."

You nod, the heat of his hand seeping into yours, the rhythm of his thumb tracing small circles over your knuckles offering a strange sense of comfort. "I know, but it's easier this way. Easier not to have to explain or deal with the questions. And by the time I'm comfortable enough with someone to talk about it, it feels too late to bring up."

Sirius drops to a crouch in front of you, his hands resting lightly on your knees, his gaze searching your face for something only he knows. "You shouldn't have to explain yourself to anyone," he murmurs, "especially not to us. If you need the chair, you use the bloody chair. If you can walk, even just a bit, that's fine, too. We care about you, not what you can or can't do."

The corners of your mouth twitch upwards, just a fraction, at the sincerity in Sirius' voice. "I don't do it often," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "My balance is... off. I stumble more than I'd like. But I haven't fallen in years."

Remus' hand stills on your back, his brow furrowing as he looks at you, a new understanding dawning in his eyes. "You're saying you stumble but don't fall? How often does this happen?"

"More than I'd like to admit," you say, eyes dropping to your legs again. You flex your fingers, watching as the muscles in your arms respond to your command. "But I know my limits."

James exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "You've been facing this alone for so long... Why didn't you say something? We would've helped, just like we help Moony every month."

"But that's just it," you reply, voice barely above a whisper. "This isn't once a month. It's every day. I didn't want to worry you, or make you feel like you had to watch me constantly."

The laugh that escapes Sirius is soft, almost lost amid the rustle of fabric as he shifts closer. "We already watch you," he says, his tone light but the emotion behind it heavy with sincerity. "Not in a creepy way, mind you, but because we care. If you stumble, we're there. If you need help walking across a room, we've got you."

Remus tilts his head, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your forehead, the warmth of his lips seeping through your skin and into your bones. "We're your partners," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against the harsh reality of your circumstances. "We face this together. You don't have to do anything alone anymore."

A shiver runs down your spine as James presses a kiss to your shoulder, his lips warm even through the thin fabric of your shirt. Sirius nestles his head against your knees, anchoring you, his presence a solid reminder that you are not alone—not now, not ever again. You feel cocooned in their warmth, the tension in your muscles beginning to ease under their careful ministrations.

"Alright," you concede, your voice barely above a whisper. You take a moment to meet each pair of eyes, holding their gazes, finding strength in their shared determination. "I'll try... to be more open with you. But seriously—no panicking if I so much as stand up to cross the room."

James chuckles, a soft sound that brings a flicker of normalcy back into the room. He leans over and plants a quick kiss on your cheek, his stubble grazing your skin. "Deal," he says, pulling back just enough to flash you a lopsided grin. "But we reserve the right to keep a close eye on you."

Sirius's smirk is a faint echo of his usual cockiness, tempered by the gravity of the situation. "Or catch you when you fall," he adds, resting his chin on your knee and looking up at you with an intensity that makes your heart flutter.

Remus's hand never leaves yours, his thumb tracing comforting circles over your knuckles. The lines around his eyes deepen as he smiles, a gentle expression that holds more warmth than the sun. "We love you, all of you. We're here for you—however you need us."

The swell of tears does not come from sadness this time, but rather the immense relief of being seen, truly seen, for who you are. You lean forward, placing a soft kiss on James's cheek, Sirius's forehead, and Remus's shoulder. Their arms tighten around you just a fraction, returning the sentiment without words. Warmth radiates from each touch, filling the spaces within you that have been cold for far too long.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice barely audible even in the silence of the room. But they hear it, and their hold on you strengthens, anchoring you in this moment of acceptance and understanding.

You close your eyes, allowing yourself to sink into the comfort they provide. The walls you've spent years building around yourself begin to crumble, bit by bit, under the weight of their unwavering support. For the first time in what feels like forever, you don't feel the need to hide, to pretend, to be anything other than yourself.

[lazyevaluationranch]

nominative determinism

05/05/2023 It seemed like a good idea at the time.

When we have chicks, we give them descriptive nicknames based on their transient baby spots and stripes. As they grow up, they earn real names based on their devotion to a particular teaching of the mystic arts of Galline Derangement.

One of the batch of chicks eight months ago was yellow, except for a white face and black marks around the eyes. She looked like she was wearing clown makeup.

I didn't want to nickname her "Clown" or "Mime." I wanted to Be Clever About It. So her hatchling nickname became "Homestuck" because I was on tumblr a decade ago when everyone was posting fanart of Homestuck characters with clown makeup.

Today the chickens were making a terrible racket in the henhouse, and I ran out to investigate, and discovered that one of the hens had gotten inside the henhouse wall somehow and couldn't get out.

She was, uh, you know. She was... stuck. In her ... home. Guess who it was. Guess.

I got my arm into the wall and tried to support her, which calmed her. I tried lifting her up and out, but there was a crossbeam in the way. I tried guiding her downwards, but she panicked and kicked her feet the instant I wasn't holding her up.

After half an hour of trying to manually thread individual chicken atoms (all of which were screaming) between the wood atoms of the wall, I went to fetch a hacksaw. When I returned, she was standing innocently on the floor of the henhouse, eating a moth she apparently found in the wall.

As she apparently took her hatchling name as a suggestion, she gets to keep it. Presenting the newly christened Homestuck Q. Clipping-Error the Chicken.

[cece693]

Pretend (Hannibal Lecter x M! Reader)

It's not full smut (fairly new to writing it still.)

Summary: You faked being attracted to Alana to gain insight into the FBI, never knowing that it would set off your boyfriend's possessiveness.

tags: mentions of sex, Hannibal and reader are in a secret relationship, Alana is killed, possessiveness, unraveled Hannibal

“Beautiful as ever, Alana.” you whispered, bringing her hand to your lips. Her cheeks flushed with pleasure and shyness as she looked up at you through her lashes. But as soon as you dropped her hand and guided her through the house, the smile faded from your face. Your relationship with her was purely a matter of convenience—a calculated scheme proposed by Hannibal to keep tabs on the FBI’s investigations. You just never anticipated it would drag on for this long.

The table had already been set, thanks to Hannibal, who was busy in the kitchen. The plan for tonight was clear—dispose of another loose thread under the guise of a friendly dinner.

You played your part well, smiling at Alana as if you genuinely enjoyed her company. Then, as you responded to one of her comments, Alana’s hand reached across the table to rest on yours. It was an innocent enough gesture, one that Hannibal could have overlooked. But as her fingers gently traced your skin, something in the atmosphere shifted. You noticed it in the way Hannibal’s gaze darkened ever so slightly, though he remained outwardly composed.

Then, Alana’s hand moved from yours to your thigh, a more intimate touch that lingered too long. The action was bold, and the implications were clear.

You kept your expression neutral, but a quick glance at Hannibal told you everything you needed to know. His grip on the wine glass had tightened, his knuckles white against the deep red liquid inside.

"Alana." Hannibal's voice was smooth, betraying none of the anger simmering beneath the surface. "Would you care for more wine?"

She looked up at him, smiling, oblivious to the danger. “I’d love some, thank you.”

Hannibal rose to refill her glass—his movements fluid, almost graceful—until, in one swift motion, his hand wrapped around Alana’s neck. Her eyes widened in shock, a strangled gasp escaping her lips as her hands scrambled to pry his fingers away. But he didn’t let go until her struggles ceased and her body went limp in his grasp.

For a moment, the room was eerily silent, save for the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. Hannibal let her lifeless body slump back into the chair, his eyes were blazing with unrestrained fury.

You should have been horrified, or at least cautious, but instead, something dark and primal surged within you. The sight of Hannibal’s anger, the sheer power he wielded, sent a jolt through your body, and before you knew it, you were on your feet, crossing the space between you in an instant.

Without a word, you pounced on him, your hands grabbing his face as you pressed your lips to his in a fierce, bruising kiss. Hannibal barely had time to react before you were ripping at his clothes, your fingers desperate and rough, tearing at the fabric in a frantic need to feel the heat of his skin against yours.

Hannibal responded in kind, his hands gripping your waist with a possessive strength that sent a thrill through you. Then, without warning, Hannibal’s teeth grazed your lower lip before he bit down, the sharp sting of pain mixing with pleasure. A loud moan escaped your lips. Eyes closed, you felt Hannibal lift you up and ascend the stairs toward your shared bedroom. Alana is all but forgotten on the ground.

[nayziiz]

Drunken Confessions | CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader (you/her/she)

Author's note: I'm trying something a little bit different with shorter form fics, so please send through any requests or feedback. These one shots will likely not have a second part unless it really speaks to me to continue with it. Thank you!

Masterlist

As Charles and his friends stepped out of the racing circuit, their spirits soared high on the wings of triumph. The air buzzed with excitement, the taste of victory still lingering on their lips. Amidst the chorus of cheers and the flash of cameras capturing his podium moment, Charles couldn't contain the surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

With his latest podium finish secured and a stellar second-place ranking in the season's standings, the world seemed to spin in kaleidoscopic hues of success. The night beckoned with promises of revelry and camaraderie, pulling them into its embrace with irresistible allure.

Their destination: a vibrant club pulsating with life, a sanctuary where jubilation knew no bounds. Stepping through the threshold, they were enveloped by a symphony of beats, the rhythm of the music mingling with the laughter of fellow celebrants. Neon lights cast a kaleidoscope of colours across the dance floor, a dazzling display that mirrored the euphoria in Charles' heart.

In the midst of the thronging crowd, Charles felt like a king among subjects, his triumph celebrated by friends and strangers alike. The air crackled with anticipation, each moment pregnant with the promise of unforgettable memories waiting to be made.

For Charles, the night was a tapestry woven with threads of exhilaration and joy. With a glass in hand, he toasted to his success, the effervescence of champagne mingling with the echoes of his laughter. In that fleeting moment, time seemed to stand still, the worries of tomorrow melting away beneath the glow of the present.

As the night unfolded in a whirlwind of celebration, Charles, swept up in the euphoria of his success, found himself in the midst of a lively exchange of drinks. Glasses clinked and laughter bubbled like champagne, as friends and well-wishers toasted to his latest triumph.

Unbeknownst to Charles, amidst the flurry of activity, a fateful mistake occurred. In the dimly lit ambiance of the club, a tray of drinks made its rounds, each glass brimming with tantalising refreshment. Among them, nestled innocuously amidst the array of beverages, were vodka cranberries, their crimson hue indistinguishable from the innocuous cranberry juice that Charles favoured.

With the carefree abandon of someone riding high on the wave of success, Charles reached for a glass, the promise of refreshment beckoning like a siren's call. Oblivious to the subtle nuances that distinguished one drink from another, he took a sip, expecting the familiar tartness of cranberry juice to greet his palate.

Yet, as the liquid trickled down his throat, a jolt of recognition shot through his senses. The sharp bite of vodka cut through the sweetness, sending a shockwave of realisation coursing through his veins. In that instant, the veil of ignorance was lifted, replaced by the stark clarity of consequence.

The potent concoction worked its magic with ruthless efficiency, weaving its intoxicating spell around Charles' senses. Gradually, the walls of inhibition crumbled, and he found himself enveloped in a state of cheerful inebriation, the world spinning in a kaleidoscope of colours and laughter.

With each passing moment, Charles surrendered himself to the whims of the night, his laughter ringing out like a melody amidst the cacophony of revelry. Yet, beneath the veneer of merriment, a sense of disorientation gnawed at the edges of his consciousness, a reminder of the precarious balance between euphoria and excess.

As the night wore on, Charles danced on the precipice of intoxication, his every movement a testament to the heady cocktail of jubilation and recklessness. Unaware of the storm brewing within him, he surrendered himself to the whims of the night, a willing participant in the dance of celebration and excess.

As the night at the club reached its crescendo, Pierre, ever vigilant and attuned to his friend's well-being, noticed the subtle signs of Charles' intoxication. Concern etched lines of worry onto Pierre's face as he observed Charles' increasingly erratic behaviour. Sensing the need for intervention, Pierre sprang into action, his unwavering loyalty propelling him into motion.

With practised ease, Pierre withdrew his phone, his fingers navigating the familiar terrain of contacts until he found the number he sought: Charles' girlfriend. Aware of her decision to remain at the hotel, Pierre hesitated for a moment, his mind racing with the urgency of the situation. Despite her absence from the festivities, Pierre knew that her presence, even over the phone, could provide the grounding force needed to steer Charles away from the brink of recklessness.

With a deep breath, Pierre pressed the call button, his heart drumming a staccato rhythm of anticipation. As the phone rang, he silently prayed for her swift response, knowing that every passing second carried the risk of escalation.

Meanwhile, in the quiet confines of their hotel room, Charles' girlfriend sat in solitude, the echo of the night's festivities a distant murmur in her mind. Despite her initial plans to join Charles and his friends at the club, a wave of fatigue had washed over her, leaving her drained and in need of respite.

As the phone beside her stirred to life with Pierre's call, she hesitated for a moment, her thoughts a whirlwind of uncertainty. Yet, beneath the layers of exhaustion, a flicker of concern for Charles ignited, propelling her into action. With a sense of urgency, she answered Pierre's call, her voice a soothing balm against the chaos of the night.

In the midst of the bustling club, Pierre's relief was palpable as he heard her voice on the other end of the line. With a rush of gratitude, he relayed the situation to her, his words infused with urgency and concern. Though separated by physical distance, their shared commitment to Charles bound them together in a common purpose: to ensure his safety and well-being.

As she stepped through the doors of the club, the pulsating beat of the music washed over her, mingling with the heady mix of emotions swirling within her heart. Concern for Charles warred with anticipation, each step forward a testament to her unwavering commitment to his well-being.

Amidst the sea of faces illuminated by the neon glow of the club, her eyes sought out Charles, her heart skipping a beat as she spotted him amidst the throng. His usually composed demeanour had been replaced by a charming vulnerability, his laughter echoing like a melody in the crowded room.

As she approached him, a wave of relief washed over her at the sight of his endearing smile, despite the telltale signs of his tipsy state. Beneath the veneer of intoxication, she glimpsed the essence of the man she had come to love, his warmth and charisma shining through even in the midst of chaos.

In that fleeting moment, Charles seized a rare moment of clarity, his gaze locking with hers in a silent exchange that spoke volumes. Emotions, amplified by the alcohol coursing through his veins, danced in his eyes, a kaleidoscope of longing and affection.

“My love, you're here!” Charles exclaimed, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and delight as he caught sight of his girlfriend weaving her way through the crowd toward him. Amidst the pulsating rhythm of the music and the swirling chaos of the club, her presence was a beacon of warmth and comfort, grounding him in the midst of his intoxicated haze.

With outstretched arms, he enveloped her in a tender embrace, his heart overflowing with love and gratitude.

“I came to fetch you, Charles,” she informed him, her voice a gentle reassurance amidst the clamour of the club. With a tender smile, she reached out to him, her touch a soothing balm against the tumult of his intoxicated state.

For Charles, her words were a lifeline, grounding him in the midst of the swirling chaos. With a grateful nod, he took her hand, intertwining their fingers as they navigated through the crowd together.

“I thought you said you weren't going to be drinking?” she wondered, her voice tinged with a hint of concern as they entered their hotel room. The dim light cast a soft glow across the space, illuminating the weariness etched into her features.

Charles felt a pang of guilt tug at his heart as he met her gaze, the weight of her disappointment settling heavily upon him. With a sheepish smile, he struggled to find the right words to explain his lapse in judgement, his mind clouded by the lingering effects of alcohol.

“I... I didn't plan on it,” he began, his voice faltering as he searched for an excuse. “But, you know how it is... the celebration, the excitement... it just got away from me.”

As the words fell from his lips, Charles could see the hurt reflected in her eyes, a silent reproach that cut deeper than any words could. In that moment, he realised the gravity of his actions, the impact they had on her and their relationship.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, the weight of his remorse hanging heavy in the air. “I didn't mean to disappoint you.”

“It's not about disappointment, Charles. I just want you to be safe, and heaven knows what can happen out there,” she expressed softly, her words carrying a weight of genuine concern.

As they stood in the quiet intimacy of their hotel room, her sincerity washed over him like a gentle tide, soothing the turmoil within his heart. Charles felt a lump form in his throat as he absorbed her words, the depth of her care resonating deeply within him. In that moment, he realised the magnitude of her love, a love that transcended mere disappointment and embraced the essence of protection and security.

With a sense of humility, Charles nodded in understanding, his gaze locked with hers in silent affirmation. Her words echoed in his mind, a poignant reminder of the fragility of life and the importance of cherishing every moment they shared together.

“I know,” he murmured, his voice laced with gratitude. “And I promise, I'll do better. For you. Because I love you.”

His confession caught her off guard as he stumbled over to the bed. Did he really love her? Doubt crept into her mind, fueled by the uncertainty of the moment and the lingering effects of Charles' intoxication. However, the haze of intoxication clouded his memory, leaving him blissfully unaware of the heartfelt confession that had escaped his lips for the very first time.

As she watched him, sprawled out on the bed in a state of blissful oblivion, she couldn't help but wonder if his words had been merely a product of the alcohol-fueled euphoria, a fleeting expression of affection that would evaporate with the light of day.

Yet, amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her, a flicker of hope remained. Beneath the haze of intoxication, she had glimpsed the sincerity in Charles' eyes, the raw honesty of his confession resonating deep within her soul.

With a heavy sigh, she approached him, her heart heavy with uncertainty yet yearning for reassurance. Gently, she brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, her touch soft and tender against his skin.

As Charles awoke to the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, he noticed her sitting on the edge of the bed, her demeanour distant and sombre.

“Hey,” he greeted her, his voice laced with concern, “what's wrong?”

She turned to him, her expression a mix of sadness and frustration.

"Do you remember anything from last night?" she asked, her voice tinged with disappointment. Confusion knitted Charles' brows together as he struggled to recall the events of the previous evening.

“I... I remember bits and pieces,” he admitted hesitantly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “But I'm not sure…”

“Wonderful.” She muttered as she got up and started rummaging through her suitcase.

“I must have been really drunk…” he admitted. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember, so it’s fine.” She countered.

“Baby, come on. What happened?” He implored.

“I’m confused about what to believe, Charles, honestly. I don’t know if you meant it or if you simply said it because you were drunk.” She continued.

“Baby…” He paused. His girlfriend's frustration boiled over, her words cutting through the air like a knife.

“You confessed your love for me, Charles,” she stated bluntly, her tone tinged with hurt. “And  you can’t even remember it.”

“I... I didn't realise…” he stammered, at a loss for words.

“So, you didn’t mean it then?” his girlfriend retorted, her voice trembling with emotion.

“No, no, of course, I mean it,” Charles insisted, his voice tinged with desperation. “I love you, I really do. I just... I messed up, okay? I didn't mean to hurt you.”

His girlfriend's eyes softened slightly at his words, but the hurt still lingered.

“I want to believe you, Charles. But how can I trust your words when you don't even remember saying them?” she admitted softly. Charles reached out to her, his hand hovering in the air before faltering.

“I'll do better, I promise. I'll show you, every day, how much you mean to me. I do love you, so much,” he vowed earnestly. As Charles watched the tears welling up in his girlfriend's eyes, he felt a pang of remorse tighten in his chest. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, baby.”

His girlfriend's gaze softened, her defences crumbling in the face of his sincerity.

“I know you didn't. But it still hurts, Charles. It hurts a lot,” she admitted softly, her voice trembling with emotion.

“I promise, I'll do everything in my power to make it right.” Charles murmured, reaching out to gently wipe away her tears.

There was a moment of silence as they sat together, enveloped in the weight of their shared emotions. Then, with a hesitant sigh, she spoke up.

“I... I love you too, Charles” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. The words hung in the air, charged with vulnerability and raw emotion. Charles felt his heart swell with a mixture of relief and gratitude.

“You do?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart. His girlfriend nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“Yeah,”  she replied, her gaze meeting his with unwavering honesty. "I do."

In that moment, the tension that had gripped them both melted away, replaced by a sense of profound connection and understanding. Charles pulled her into his arms, holding her close as if afraid she might disappear if he let go and placed several soft kisses on her forehead.

"I can be so stupid sometimes," he whispered against her hair.

"You don’t say," she whispered back, causing them both to break out in a fit of laughter.

[mangostarjam]

stress relief — jjk, sukuna x f!reader, no curses au, sukuna is yuuji's older brother au, established fwb, straight up smut no plot here, unprotected sex, creampie, 700ish words

You're so full.

Sukuna is laid out beneath you, naked and glistening with a light sheen of sweat, hands tucked behind his head and a smug grin sharp on his handsome face as you bounce on his cock.

"F-fuck, Su-Sukunnghh —" your nails dig into his firm chest as the ache in your gut intensifies. You're so close, and Sukuna's half lidded gaze is only making you hotter, tightening the thick bundle of lightning gathering in your core as he watches you intently. You can feel his heart jackhammering beneath your palms, but he makes no move to help or touch you as you collapse forward to grind on his cock.

The change in angle makes you moan into his neck, helplessly moving your hips to chase the pleasure as your clit catches against him and sparks jump into your veins. You kiss his neck and shoulder and squeeze your eyes shut.

He's so tense — so hard and solid, miles of dense muscle laid out for you, and now that you're laying skin to skin you can feel the tension in his body as a muscle jumps in his clenched jaw.

"Fuck, baby, I think I'm gonna — I'm gonna cum —"

Sukuna hisses through his teeth at your confession. Your moans are so sweet in his ear, your body so warm and soft and tight. He can feel the fraying edges of his self control snap the instant you cry out and clamp down around his cock.

Oh — Sukuna hears something like his name in your strangled cry. His cock throbs concerningly as you squeeze him, balls twitching as he finally, finally releases his hands to grab at your hips. He forces you to rock against him as the pleasure washes through you, huffing into your hair as he tries to stave off his own orgasm with a few well placed thrusts, but — fuck.

The twist in his gut is sharp. "Needed that, huh?" he grunts out, keeping one hand on your hip to hold you steady as he fucks into your pliant body. His other hand goes up to squeeze at your chest, pinching a hard nipple as you rock against him. "You're so — you feel so — shit, I'm gonna cum —"

"Inside please you've gotta I want you inside please —"

Oh fucking hell. Have you forgotten he isn't wearing a condom? He can feel every hot pulse of your warmth locked tight around his cock, every bump and ridge and soft spongy part of you catching on his leaky tip.

"Hah you fucking — well since you — nghh — asked so nicely —"

You're mouthing at his neck, licking along his tattoos as he yanks you down by the hips and plants his feet on the mattress to shove himself as deep as he can possibly go. Your moans and whines get higher and breathier as he fucks you through your overstimulation, but it isn't until you shove your hand into his hair and bite his shoulder and oh fuck you're cumming again —

The sting of pain from your bite barely registers as his body locks up and he groans deep in his chest. His cock jumps and kicks inside you as he unloads his cum, pumping you full as he thrusts weakly. It feels like he's taken a taser to his brain stem, the pleasure so intense it takes a moment for him to find consciousness again.

You're pressing kisses to his jaw and neck and the spot below his ear. "Sorry, I definitely left some marks," you murmur. Sukuna snorts.

"Good."

He can feel your smile against his skin and it stirs something warm in his chest. He keeps an arm heavy around your waist but lifts the other hand to thread through your hair. You oblige him easily, kissing him back languidly as his pulse hammers and slows.

"D'you always let people cum inside?" he asks after a moment. Your face warms beneath his palm and he swipes his thumb along your cheekbone soothingly. You're glowing, breathless and so pretty.

"No," you say, trying to duck your head away. His red eyes catch yours and you wrinkle your nose at him.

Sukuna laughs, but it isn't mean. "Guess I'm just special then, huh?"

[anna-hawk]

Good Boy

Frank Castle x Matt Murdock

Summary: Frank loves giving Matt nicknames and wonders which one he likes best. There's one that Matt definitely likes particularly much.

Explicit 🔞 • WC: 2,7k

Tags and warnings: smut, light Dom/sub undertones, praise kink, pet names, come eating + sharing, bj

A/N: Based on this small comic. The second I saw it, I knew I needed to put it in writing and give it an end. I really hope you like it @kuriusagiart. Thank you for allowing me to write for you 🧡

Read it on AO3

As soon as he was through his apartment door, Matt heaved a giant sigh of relief at being back home after a long, very long day. The days had gradually gotten warmer, which did nothing for the fact that he had to wear a suit to work. Whichever suit or work it might be, too. He put the jacket that he’d been carrying over his arm on a coat hanger next to the entrance door and untied the already loose knot of his tie until he could take it off. While he walked further into the apartment and towards the bedroom, the entrance door closed before heavy footsteps sounded from behind him. Inside the bedroom, Matt put the tie on a dresser, where Frank joined him without a word and pressed his chest to Matt’s back. It always amazed Matt how much Frank seemed to need to touch Matt after a tiring day, trying to get to skin as quick as possible. Frank never let anything on outside, but as soon as they were out of the public eye, he was all up in Matt’s personal space. Not that Matt could complain, as he smiled to himself when barely a second later, Frank slid his hands under Matt’s arms to reach for the buttons of his shirt, his lips mouthing over the back of Matt’s neck. 

“Frank, you’re gonna ruin my shirt,” Matt grumbled at the hurried way Frank was dealing with the buttons, the threads holding on for dear life under his rough fingers. 

The only downside to all of it was that a few of his dress shirts had suffered from Frank’s hastiness; buttons flying, a rip there. 

“Altar boy,” Frank grunted back, not stopping his assault on the shirt whatsoever and instead lifting it over Matt’s stomach to get to the last buttons. 

While Matt undid his pants at a slower pace, he rolled his eyes good-naturedly at Frank’s use of that nickname. 

“You are such a nickname freak.”  

Frank snorted. An instant later, Matt could feel the grin against the side of his neck.

“What’s your favorite?” Frank wondered after uttering a satisfied sound at finally getting Matt’s shirt fully open and pulling at it to expose more of Matt’s neck to him. “Choir boy?” He kissed his way along Matt’s shoulder as he tugged a bit more at the shirt to pull it down one arm now. 

Matt didn’t reply and instead turned his head to the side to give Frank more access to his skin, which rose with each of Frank’s touches. 

“Red?” Frank continued without missing a beat, while keeping his attention on Matt’s neck and shoulder, leaving a trail of small marks over it. 

Again, Matt chose to ignore him in favor of enjoying what Frank was doing with his mouth and hands. 

“Babe?” Frank intoned with an audible smirk now, the term getting a grimace of disgust out of Matt. “Sweetie?” 

This time, Matt had had enough. 

“Ah, shut up. Ew!” he groaned on a shudder, and pushed Frank’s face away from him with a hand against the man’s cheek. 

Frank laughed heartily, the sound vibrating against Matt’s hand and through his body before he caught Matt’s wrist. There was a sudden shift in Frank’s whole body language, as well as in the rhythm of his heartbeat and breathing, which had Matt stilling as a shiver ran through him. 

“Or…” Frank drew out the word as he gently tugged at Matt’s wrist, his voice lowering a few octaves before he slowly licked his way between two of Matt’s fingers, teasing at the center, which got a small gasp out of Matt. “Good boy,” Frank rasped in a low and gravelly voice, right against Matt’s cheek and ear as he wrapped his arms around Matt’s chest.

The name hit Matt like a ball of heat that spread through his whole body and located itself in his chest and groin. He felt his face heating, while his mouth went slack and let a soft moan escape. Until Frank had called him that for the first time, Matt never would have believed that he could respond that way to being called that particular pet name. Or the idea that he could crave the satisfaction of being good for someone, being praised. The first time Frank had called him that, Matt had felt deeply embarrassed by his reaction, coming so hard that night that he’d gone dizzy with it. Frank’s own reaction to how Matt had responded had been enough to soothe that feeling, however. He’d come just as hard as Matt, a feeling of surprise and awe rushing over to Matt from the other man. They hadn’t gone down that path anymore, until tonight, but Matt had known that first night that this only worked for him because it had been Frank.   

Frank made a pleased sound and curled his fingers under Matt’s chin to bring his face towards his. Using his thumb, Frank rubbed along Matt’s bottom lip and slightly pulled it down. 

“Yeah?” Frank whispered against Matt’s lips. “Wanna be a good boy?” he continued, and slid his other hand down to slip it inside Matt’s boxers. 

Matt’s entire body jerked at the feeling of Frank’s warm and callused fingers wrapping around his length, which had gone from interested in the proceedings to fully hard at Frank’s last pet name. He moaned as Frank pulled him out of his boxers to give him a few perfunctory pumps.

“Please,” he sighed, and parted his lips further to let Frank’s thumb into his mouth. 

Frank groaned deeply as Matt sucked and nipped at his thumb, his own cock pressing more insistently against Matt’s ass. 

“Only got started, and you’re already beggin’?” Frank hummed appreciatively, swirling his other thumb over Matt’s slit that was starting to leak pre-come. “Gonna make it real good for ya.”

Matt’s hips bucked forward as Frank tightened his fist and twisted it over the head to coat his palm with Matt’s pre-come, before sliding back down all the way to the base. Matt had to reach for Frank’s thighs to anchor himself as Frank began jerking him off with a rhythm that only quickened with each downward stroke. He tilted his head back over Frank’s shoulder as he gasped and moaned, his hips twitching and thrusting forward on each particularly sharp pass over the sensitive head. 

“Not gonna hold out long, huh?” Frank rumbled against Matt’s throat that he was kissing and sucking on anew, while his other hand kept Matt’s body steady against his own, the palm resting over Matt’s chest.  

He certainly knew Matt’s body and its tells perfectly, since Matt was indeed only a few strokes away from coming. Nodding jerkily with a tiny whine as his breaths came at a quicker speed, Matt’s grip on Frank’s jeans tightened as his orgasm began to rise, his whole body going slowly taught in anticipation. 

That's when Frank took his hand away. 

Matt's entire body pitched forward at the sudden lack of contact on his cock, the delicious tightness gone. 

“Frank!” he gasped, as out of breath as if he'd run a marathon, his fingers scrabbling at Frank's arm over his chest in despair. “Please, don't — I — please.” He had a hard time focusing on his words, Frank's earlier use of the pet name and his need to come taking up his every thought. “You said — you said you'd make it good. You said-”

He cried out hoarsely as Frank's fingers abruptly returned to his cock, even his heightened senses having not warned him of the impending contact. Matt went up on his toes for a brief moment as his head flew back over Frank's shoulder, his fingers digging into Frank's arm as Frank's hand flew over his length. 

“Sh, sh, 'm sorry… Just couldn’t help myself,” Frank admitted in a rough voice right against Matt's ear. “Needed to hear you beg again… Fuckin' beautiful when you let go, Red.” He thrust his hips against Matt's ass, letting Matt feel the way Frank’s cock was straining against the fly, as well as smelling Frank's own pre-come through the barriers of fabric. “But you can come now. Been so good for me… Such a good boy for me.”

Between the wild pulls on his cock, the scent of Frank and the heat of his body taking over Matt’s every sense, the use of those two words again had Matt suddenly flying over the edge with a loud shout of bliss. His cock spurted long lines of pearlescent come all over the side of the dresser, until the last, weaker shots poured over Frank's fingers. 

Matt slumped against Frank’s chest as the pressure of the entire day suddenly eased off him. Grinning, probably dopily, Matt turned his face towards Frank’s with a satisfied hum, until he felt Frank’s lips meeting his. Frank chuckled into the slow kiss, and squeezed Matt’s chest lightly. Reaching down, Matt caught Frank’s wrist and pulled the hand away from his spent dick, only to bring it to his face. Ending the kiss, Matt turned his head forward again to lick over Frank’s fingers, cleaning away the traces of his own come. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Frank grunted, before he was using the hand that Matt was so carefully cleaning to grab the side of Matt’s face and turn it to him to crush their mouths together again. 

Matt groaned and turned in Frank’s embrace, opening his mouth for Frank’s insistent tongue, which was focused on getting its share of Matt’s release. The hunger in Frank’s actions had them stumbling against the dresser, Matt’s ass colliding with the wood as he caught their fall. He grinned to himself at Frank’s reaction, his senses taking in Frank’s spiking lust and rise in body heat, his dick hard against Matt’s hip. With a quick move, Matt had their positions reversed, with Frank now leaning against the dresser, his chest rising and falling quickly as he held himself up with his hands on the wood. Without another word, Matt sank to his knees in front of him and made quick work of taking care of the belt, buttons, and zipper. Even before he pulled Frank’s jeans down, Matt’s senses could make out the hot outline of Frank’s length. As soon as it was out of the confines of Frank’s clothes, Matt curled his fingers around it and leaned forward. He slowly licked and sucked over the head with the barest pressure, running the tip of his tongue along the frenulum and the slit at intervals. 

“Shit, Red,” Frank rasped, sliding the fingers of one hand through Matt’s messy hair to gently grip it. 

He might have been about to say something more, but Matt slid his mouth down to the base to suck there while he cupped Frank’s balls and stroked a thumb over them, cutting off any further words and transforming them into a long groan of pleasure. The sound reverberated through Matt, who moaned in turn at the knowledge that Frank was enjoying what Matt was doing to him. While he jerked Frank off, Matt’s mouth went further until he was tonguing and sucking at Frank’s balls. The fingers in his hair tightened, and Frank grunted as his hips bucked faintly. As Matt made his way back up to the head, Frank finally pulled Matt’s mouth away and tilted his head up. 

“Open up.” 

Matt obeyed immediately at the need in Frank’s rough voice, his jaw slackening and his mouth opening wider. A second later, Frank slowly pushed between Matt’s lips, sinking in until he barely grazed the back of Matt’s throat. Sliding back out, he did it again a few more times, until Matt moved in until Frank’s tip was pressing against his throat. He moaned throatily as he pushed forward, relishing in the small tremors of pleasure running through Frank at the stimulation, the fingers tugging at his hair, and the scent of Frank’s arousal sharping all the more. 

“Fuckin’ Christ, the way you go off on that,” Frank rumbled in awe, as he did as Matt requested and thrust in and out of his mouth while getting deeper every time. 

Matt only groaned and whined around Frank, his cock slick with Matt’s drool and making wet squelching noises each time Frank slid further down Matt’s throat. As he contracted his throat around Frank, Matt felt a rush of satisfaction at the cry of pleasure, followed by a sling of half formed curses that fell from Frank’s mouth. He moaned and redoubled his efforts as he could feel Frank getting closer, his sole focus on bringing Frank pleasure. However, Frank clearly had other ideas, since he pulled Matt off all the way by his hair but kept him close. 

“Open up,” Frank repeated, his voice having gone to its deepest timber yet. 

A shiver ran through Matt at the command and just like earlier, Matt did as he was told. He kept his hands on Frank’s thighs as he stuck his tongue out as well, giving Frank the opportunity to place the head on it as he stroked himself hard and fast. The bitter taste of new droplets of pre-come hitting his tongue had Matt groaning again, a shudder of anticipation running through him at what was to come. 

“You’re fuckin’ perfect like that, Red. Gonna take my come like the good boy you are, right?” Frank gritted out between his teeth. 

As tired as Matt might be from the long day and the very recent, spectacular orgasm he’d just had, his dick still jerked at the praise. He nodded enthusiastically and made a sound of fervent agreement, never taking his tongue away from Frank’s cock as he let his senses take in the way Frank’s body began to go rigid, how his breathing shortened and heat culminated in his groin. A few more passes of his hand over his dick later and Frank was coming, his hips jerking as he moaned and shot all over Matt’s awaiting tongue. Matt groaned at the sweet and tangy taste coating his whole tongue, not moving until he was sure he’d gotten all of it. He slid his lips around the head once Frank was done and sucked the last traces away, the act having Frank sighing and stroking his fingers through Matt’s hair. Satisfied that he’d gotten it all, Matt stood and cupped the back of Frank’s head to pull him into a kiss. Frank made a sound of surprise, as he was still reeling from his orgasm, only to wrap his arms around Matt’s back and growl into his mouth as Matt slid his still come-covered tongue along Frank’s. They only stopped kissing once every lingering taste of come was gone, and ended with their foreheads touching, breathing deeply and smiling lopsidedly. 

As Matt put a hand on the dresser to pull away from Frank, it landed right into the little puddle of come that he'd made on the furniture. He grimaced and sighed. 

“You really need to stop breaking or dirtying up my stuff, Frank,” Matt muttered with a pointed wave of his hand. It might have been Matt's come, but he blamed Frank for where it landed. 

Frank snorted. “Didn’t hear ya complain, Choir boy.” 

“Nope, not doing this again.” Matt shook his head with a roll of his eyes, but huffed out an amused laugh all the same as he cleaned his hand on the shirt he'd just taken off while he headed for the bathroom this time. 

Frank followed again with a loud laugh and caught up with him at the shower stall. 

“Nah, no need. Now I know which one’s your favorite,” he whispered into Matt’s neck. 

Despite the tiredness, a frisson of arousal still went through Matt. Frank’s voice just had this effect on him when he was using that low tone. He was still too tired for anything more, however. 

“Don’t you go wearing it out now,” he smiled with one side of his mouth pulling up, as he turned to face Frank. 

Frank chuckled and made a noise of understanding, kissing Matt briefly. 

“I can always try finding new ones you like.” 

But the way Frank said those words told Matt that Frank was about to go for another round of silly nicknames, so he pushed him away. 

“That’s it. I’m showering on my own.” 

Frank laughed, but thankfully remained quiet, which granted him access to the shower in the end.

[harrysdaydreams]

Unsatiated

Summary- Reader finds herself in a low place and has shut out the one person she should know wants to help more than anything. Harry is more than happy to take care of her regardless, which leads to revelations on both parts

Slight angst that ends with fluff that turns suggestive

Or

-Harrys hands gently tug at the hair tie that is somehow still hanging loosely in your hair, letting the tangled strands fall against your back.

He lets out a low whistle, to which you nudge him in the ribs with your elbow causing him to laugh quietly as he tries to separate the matted sections of your hair.

His fingers are soft and careful with your strands, and his use of the brush is even gentler, taking his time to properly ensure every piece of hair is free from knots. The delicate touch of his fingers brushing the back of your neck causes you to let out a gentle sigh, and you unintentionally sink back into his touch.

Word count- 4.3k

Tuesday. Even the word itself sounded mundane and miserable. Throw in some grey skies accompanied by pouring rain, it was a recipe for a shitty day.

Normally you’d crack open a window, light a candle and bask in the fresh sounds of the raindrops hitting the floor of the balcony to your flat.

But it was more than a bad day- the past week you’d been feeling at your lowest, with no real pinpoint as to why. It was hard to find motivation for anything, cooking a nice meal, going outside, reaching out to your friends- several who had messages in your phone left unread- it all just seemed too much.

So here you lay in bed at 1pm, the same place you’d been all day, minus bathroom trips and the tremendous effort it had seemed to have taken to make some instant noodles that still sat on your nightstand uneaten.

You turn over onto your front and sigh into your pillow, having lost count of how many times you’d done the same thing all morning.

Why did everything feel so heavy? This isn’t how you usually responded to feeling low, always opting for surrounding yourself with the people you knew could lift you out of any place, no matter the situation.

Being with people now was the last thing you wanted, especially in your home, with piles of laundry waiting to be washed and dishes to be cleaned.

Uncomfortable on your front, you opt to turn back onto your side, reaching for your phone on the nightstand with the intention of putting on some music to drown out the rain. Hopefully you’d find something that could pull you out of your mood- that or something that further fuelled your angsty state and could maybe push you to finally release the pent-up tears you were too frustrated to shed.

As you scroll through your playlists contemplating what tone to set as you continue rotting in bed for the rest of the day, a text notification pops at the top of your phone.

Harry.

You assume he’s probably double texting you with some sort of snarky message for not replying to your beloved best friend for over two days. Your heart sinks a little as you think of him, his contagious smile and warm personality.

You miss him, and thinking of him is enough to momentarily make you smile as you pull down the notification to read the contents of his message.

Harry- You really gonna leave all four of my messages on delivered? I’m hurt Bitsy, deeply hurt.

You smile at his obvious sarcasm and the stupid nickname he came up with 4 years ago after finding out you were exactly one year, one month and one day apart in age, him being the eldest. He played on the fact that you’re younger than him and ran away with it completely, always making jokes of how small and ‘young’ you are.

 Another text notification brings you back from your reminiscing, a new message directly under the one you’d just read.

Harry- Really though, are you ok? The radio silence isn’t normal for you.

Your heart sinks again and you feel bad for leaving your closest friend worrying about you.

Harry- Usually I have to mute our text thread just for some peace..

For the first time in days, you laugh out loud, a genuine smile spreading on your face that crinkles the corner of your eyes.

You- Uhh, RUDE!

Harry- Ahhh she lives!

Fuck, the way he can change your sour demeanour in just a few short messages. You instantly feel stupid for shutting everyone out, especially him.

You- Alive and kickin’! Specifically, your ass for being so rude. I’m okay though, promise old man. Sorry if I made you worry!

Harry- I’ll await my ass kicking whilst shaking in fear. Miss you though. Want me to come over? We missed pizza night on Sunday because someone... lost her phone? Fell off the face of the earth?

The suggestion of him coming over fills you with dread and takes away all of the momentary relief and lift in mood you’d felt just from texting with him.

You could pretend you were okay to a degree over text, but if he came over, he’d take one look at you, or around your flat and know something was wrong. And you wouldn’t even be able to give him a definitive answer why.

You tap the back of your phone with your nails anxiously trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t make him worry more, seeing as you rarely turned down an opportunity to hang out together.

You- Miss you too, H. Raincheck? I feel a migraine coming on. Love you!

Harry- Love you too, Bitsy. Feel better

Feeling guilty, you lock your phone and place it back on the nightstand and try to ignore the new ache in your chest.

Despite your efforts, you scrunch your eyes closed and finally feel the hot sting of tears trail slowly down your cheeks.

You feel terrible for lying to your closest friend, the catalyst to finally unleashing the breakdown that had been sitting inside of you for the past few days as nothing but frustration and restlessness.

Now though, full blown sobs wreck your body as you hug your pillow whilst simultaneously burying your face into it, muffling the sound of your whimpering. You lay like that for a while, your chest rising and falling with every whine and sorry moan.  

Finally, you take a series of deep inhales and long exhales to steady your breathing in a vain attempt to calm down.

What the fuck is wrong with me? you think as you wipe the leftover tears from your cheeks, sitting up against the headboard of your bed. 

You take a long sip of water from your nightstand to wash away the disgusting taste left in your mouth from your dramatic sobbing.

The ache in your chest feels duller and somewhat lighter after releasing the supressed tears that had previously left you feeling so suffocated.

Now though, the lesser anguish in your chest brings your attention to a new source of pain in your neck, and you curse yourself mentally for laying in bed all day to the point it resulted in making your body sore.

After giving in to the fact you really should move, you stretch your arms above your head and then lift away the duvet from your body, swinging your legs over the side of the bed to sit up properly before sliding on your slippers sat on the floor beside you.

As you go to stand up, you hear a key in the lock of your door and your heart jumps into your throat. You listen for moment longer as the hairs on the back of your neck stand up before realisation dawns on you.

“That fucker!” you whisper, discarding your slippers and leaping back under the duvet to feign being asleep.

Harry was the only person you’d ever given a spare key, so you could only assume his kind natured, stupid, perfect self, had gone out to buy you supplies to get you through your migraine and come to check on you. You should have known better than to lie to him about being sick.

The sound of the door softly closing tells you he’s now inside the flat, followed by him gently calling out your name. You squeeze your eyes shut tighter as your heart beats fast in your chest, trying helplessly to ignore your panic and relax your body in the hope to pass off as being genuinely asleep.

He knocks lightly on your bedroom door which is already propped open with a doorstop, and you hear the rustling of a bag that must contain the supplies he so thoughtfully brought to you. Your eyes sting with tears again, why does he have to be so good?

“Hey love, I’ve brought you some strong ass painkillers and some anti-sickness tablets. How are you feeling?” he asks in a quiet voice; you can detect concern in his tone and that alone makes you want to cry all over again.

You’re in half a mind to ignore him and pretend you’re in a deep sleep so he’ll leave but with the knowledge that he’s right there... that he’s in reach and he could hold you… maybe he could make it okay.

You breathe a shaky sigh and reluctantly open your eyes and sit up, sliding back against the headboard again as you look at him, a new kind of concern immediately washing over his features.

He rushes over to perch on the bed beside you, his pretty face painted with worry as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’ve been crying... is it that bad? Or...” he trails off, looking between your red, puffy eyes as if doing so would decode what was wrong. “Love, what is it? Talk to me”

He can see through your lie now, something you never do, which fills his own heart with heaviness. Ignoring the sting of knowing you lied to him, he awaits your answer, knowing not to press you if something was so wrong to the point you felt the need to mislead him.

So, he doesn’t prompt and push, instead he rubs your shoulder softly as he waits for a reply, his soft green eyes on yours, hopeful you’ll meet his gaze.

“M’not good, Har” you reply shakily, biting your lip to keep it from quivering because the last thing you wanted was to become a sobbing mess in front of him. You shake your head as you continue to look down, more damned tears dropping into your lap despite you willing them to stay away, your finger now absently trailing the wet droplets they leave on your leg.

“Hey, hey look at me.. look at me” he soothes gently, both of his hands now on your shoulders urging you to lift your head to meet his gaze again. You do so reluctantly, and he lifts one hand to cup your face and brush away the hot tears on your cheek.

He offers you a pained smile, one that clearly shows his care for you, but the warmth in his eyes as he scans over your face pushes you to wrap your arms around him, gentle sobs immediately leaving your body again.

He pulls you gladly into a tight hug as his hand reaches up to the back of your head and moves in soft strokes over your hair as you breathe in the scent that is so Harry, so... home.

His eyebrows knit together in response to the twist in his heart upon hearing you cry, feeling your body shake softly as the tears escape. He continues his soft stroking to the back of your head, wanting so badly to take whatever it is away, to make everything better.

“Shhh, I got you. M’not going anywhere. I got you” he soothes, squeezing his own eyes shut to try pull himself together so he can be there for you how you need him. “Wanna talk about it?” he asks, his voice soft in your ear and his hold on you still tight.

You shake your head as much as you can in his vice like grip.

“Wouldn’t even know what to say. Truly. I don’t know why I’m in such a rut.” you say honestly between sniffles. That was the most frustrating thing about the past week. There was no trigger, no cause.

Foolishly you shut yourself away, the answer to your problem being so obvious now you were in his company- in his arms. Your eyes prick again at the thought, that dull throb in your chest again making itself present.

“Feel better because you’re with me though- I shouldn’t have lied to you- I should’ve let you- shouldn’t have told you- I-” your rambling is cut off by Harry quietly shushing you and resuming his careful stroking of your hair. God, how does he make everything okay?

“Shh, I get it, s’okay… it’s okay. I got you, yeah? M’right here, always right here” he coos in your ear, and you nod your head fervently because of course you know.

Right here felt like the only place on earth. The best place on earth.

You both remain in silence like that for a while longer until Harry slowly pulls himself away from you, leaning back but keeping his hand firmly on your thigh, making a point of keeping some physical contact with you.

At last, you finally look at him properly, smiling awkwardly, a smile that he returns with that boyish, one-sided smirk of his that you’ve grown to love so much.

The comfortable silence between you both is complimented by the rain still hammering down outside.

You turn your head to glance out of the window at the thick droplets bouncing off the glass, then turn back to Harry, who has an amused expression on his face.

He’s the one giving you an awkward smile now, to which you return a puzzled look.

“What?” you ask suspiciously.

He brings his hand up to cover his smile, which is growing bigger by the second. He’s clearly trying not to laugh, but refusing to let you in on the joke, so you poke his ribs to further prompt him to answer.

“S’nothing” he laughs, to which you raise an eyebrow disbelievingly, causing him to laugh again.

You cross your arms whilst feigning an annoyed look, stubbornly waiting for him to kindly share whatever it is that he’s seemingly finding so funny.

“It’s just uhh, when- when was the last time you brushed your hair?” he asks sheepishly, clearly not wanting to embarrass you but finding your lack of effort appearance wise humorous.

Your hand instantly lifts to the messy bun that had initially been propped on the top of your head two days ago. By now it was hanging low at the back of your head, probably a matted mess.

You groan and hit him softly with the pillow behind you, and he raises his arms to defend himself, resuming his laughter as a reluctant smile makes its way onto your face.

“I mean, you look great, but uhh, hairbrushes… great inventions” he taunts, but you can hear his smile so clearly in his voice that it sends warmth through your chest.

“Funny.” you quip, kicking his knee with your socked foot. “please, continue making fun of my misery” you joke, and he holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“Okay, okay, I take it back” he laughs musically, and you purse your lips in a bashful pout, eyeing him fondly as he readjusts his position on the bed to sit cross legged in front of you.

The comfortable silence resumes, Harrys fingers absentmindedly rubbing soothing circles at your ankle.

“Seriously though, want me to brush your hair?” he asks, your heart fluttering at the gesture.

Honestly, the idea of having to brush your hair over the past two days was a task that had seemed entirely overwhelming, hence the state of your bun. And now that it was probably a matted mess, it was a job you were happy to give to someone else- someone who seemed to understand entirely instead of sitting here judging you.

You look down at your hands in your lap, half embarrassed before nodding your head.

“If you don’t mind.. thank you, H” you reply, giving him a grateful smile.

He returns it knowingly, standing to grab the hairbrush from your vanity and sitting back down. He motions with his hand for you to turn around with your back to him, which you do so obediently, feeling pre-emptively better knowing one basic self-care need was being taken care of.

Harrys hands gently tug at the hair tie that is somehow still hanging loosely in your hair, letting the tangled strands fall against your back.

He lets out a low whistle, to which you nudge him in the ribs with your elbow causing him to laugh quietly as he tries to separate the matted sections of your hair.

His fingers are soft and careful with your strands, and his use of the brush is even gentler, taking his time to properly ensure every piece of hair is free from knots. The delicate touch of his fingers brushing the back of your neck causes you to let  out a gentle sigh, and you unintentionally sink back into his touch, contentedly.

By the time Harry has completely detangled your hair you’re pressed flush against his back, not noticing he’d finished as he continues to stroke and run his hands through your hair. He observes you warmly, noting how your eyes have softly closed and your breathing has shallowed.

As much as Harry was loving the entire situation, mainly the fact he’d seemingly managed to calm you down and help you relax, his legs were going numb as hell and he needed to move you from your position that had you practically seated in his lap.

With a small squeeze to your shoulder, he breathes gently in your ear “M’done love. All done.”

You open your eyes, not even realising they’d closed, running your hand through your hair and revelling in how soft the stands now felt. You move away from Harry rather reluctantly, turning back to face him as he stands up from the bed.

“Thank you, Har. I- honestly I feel so much better, really.. thank you” you smile gratefully, your heart warm in your chest and full of such tenderness for your best friend.

You would never get over how truly wonderful he is.

“S’nothing, promise. I like helping you relax. Makes me feel good too” he confesses, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

You both exchange a look of fondness for each other, your eyes locking for an extended period of time. The exchange is warm, with a weight that is full of unsaid things but it’s also a look that needs no words- you both have a profound care for each other, that much has always been clear, but the longer you’re looking at him, the more your own gaze becomes one of longing.

Harry notices it too, his own eyes seeming to look deeper into yours as the warmth in them turns to something more heated.

You see it, you feel it, its thick in the air and you have to look away.

In return, Harry drops his eyes from your face and clears his throat as he fumbles with the hairbrush still in his hand.

He reaches to put it on the nightstand next to your forgotten pot of instant noodles which he picks up with a sigh. The mood instantly shifts back into one of playful friendliness as he holds them out to you with one eyebrow raised.

“This is what you’ve been eating?” he asks. “or not eating I should say. No wonder you’re so depressed” he jokes before walking out of the bedroom and into the open plan kitchen-living room, instant noodles in hand.

With him out of the room you place your head in your hands trying to calm down your thoughts and steady your heart rate. When did it start beating so quickly?

You’re brought out of your thoughts before you can even begin to overthink the look you’d both shared by the sound of the tap running from the bathroom down the hall from your room.

You step out of your bed and walk towards the source of the noise and are greeted by the sight of Harry running you a bath.

He notices you standing in the doorway and gives you a soft smile before walking over to you and gripping the sides of your arms gently.

“I’m gonna go get some real food while you take a bath, okay? I wont be long” he promises, pressing a parting kiss to your cheek before leaving, your heart quickening and heat rushing to your face.

You watch after him mindlessly, your fingers lifting to the spot he’d just kissed so casually, the feeling of his lips still lingering beneath your touch.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment, your hearing dulled, and sense of touch heightened, before a panicked instinct to check the running taps pulls you from your yearning trance.

You turn them off quickly, before removing your clothing and sinking into the soothing warmth of the water and willing it to wash you of these muddled feelings and flustered responses to Harry’s demeanour and affections.

You urge yourself not to overthink his kiss to your cheek, remembering all the times he’d kissed the top of your head whilst hugging you goodbye, usually always followed with some kind of joke about how he can only reach the top of your head so easily because you’re so much smaller than him.

“See ya later Bitsy” you recall his voice and think of how most of those situations ended. Warm but only friendly.

You sink beneath the water to wet your hair, dragging your hands over your face to wash away the grime from your face and along with it any thoughts of Harrys kiss being anything more than a friendly parting.

What you refuse to fully acknowledge is the way your heart leaps at the idea of it being more.

You finish bathing, before wrapping yourself in a towel, feeling so much better for being forced into taking care of yourself.

By the time you’re dressed in a fresh set of pyjama shorts and an oversized t-shirt, you leave your room to see Harry dishing up the food he left to retrieve.

He looks up from portioning a steaming bowl of ramen and gives you a warm, happy smile.

“You look like you’re feeling a little better?” he asks hopefully, to which you nod, returning his smile shyly.

“Much better, thank you. Mmmh, food smells amazing.” You sigh, reaching to grab the bowl he holds out for you before sitting side by side on the sofa.

You eat together in a relaxed silence, one that offers tender glances at each other and periodic laughs as you both try hopelessly to eat ramen noodles gracefully.

Harry finishes first, and you follow not far behind him before setting your bowl on the coffee table in front of you both.

You feel his eyes, on you but can’t force yourself to move your eyes from your hands in your lap. The silence suddenly feels heavy, you don’t even have to look at him to know his stare holds so much weight.

Its impossible to ignore. You feel it.

Your stomach is fluttering under his gaze and your mind is racing.

In an attempt to take the newly tense and awkward edge out of the silence that had now settled, you clear your throat, but it only draws attention to the tension that hangs thick in the air between you both.

You chance a look at him, his green eyes fixed on you with an expression you can’t read.

“Stop it” you whisper, not chancing your voice cracking.

His face is soft, but his brow is tense, his eye contact unwavering.

“Stop what?” he speaks softly.

You inhale slowly, your eyes closing before releasing a shaky exhale.

“Stop looking at me like that. I don’t know what it means” you say.

He leans closer, only slightly, but the growing intimacy of your proximity is enough to quicken your heart rate all over again.

“Looking at you like what, love?” he feigns innocence, his expression still just as achingly warm.

You can barely bring yourself to answer, still trying to convince yourself you must be misreading the entire situation, that he can’t be looking at you with this intense desire, so gently, so.. so..

“Longingly...” you whisper.

His expression softens, his eyes leaving yours to delicately trail over the features of your face, a soft sigh leaving his mouth as his focus stops at your lips before cupping his hand at your cheek.

“I can’t, love. Because I can’t tell you how long I have longed for this.” he whispers.

Your eyes shut tight at his confession, that familiar warmth radiating through your whole chest as the entire world seems to stop spinning again.

When you open your eyes, they threaten to spill over with tears, and Harry knowingly caresses the side of your cheek with his thumb.

You can’t breathe.

“Me too” you utter almost silently.

Your admission sparks the most beautiful, genuine smile you’ve ever seen Harry wear, and he touches his forehead to yours with his hand gently cradling the back of your head.

“Well, thank fuck for that” he jokes, and you laugh breathily before pulling back to finally meet his eyes with a new confidence.

He looks between each of your eyes before refocusing his gaze on your lips. Before you can even acknowledge the excitement blooming in your chest, his mouth is on yours.

And it’s soft. It’s slow. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

He pulls you into his lap and deepens the kiss, causing you to whimper into his mouth as your hands fist into his t-shirt, desperately trying to anchor yourself to him, not wanting to lose him now that you finally have him.

His hand moves from the back of your head, trailing down your back to gently cup your ass, your core clenching in utter desire in response.

He pulls away from the kiss breathlessly, his hand gliding softly beneath your t-shirt, caressing the skin of your stomach, up towards your ribs suggestively.

“I know you’ve spent all day in bed, love.” he breathes. “But would you mind if I took you back there?”

Your head dizzies with a new lust. You scan over his face as he pulls you down against his lap almost desperately, his expression showing nothing but his adoration and unsatiated need for you.

And now, you can think of anywhere else you’d rather be.

“..yes please.”

[sashi-ya]

THE JAKDF VANS hibino kafka x f! reader. +18. explicit

⋆ requested by: @southside-otaku Hiya lovey, I saw your slots were filled on the Kn8 event but was wondering if you could open one more for a fem reader and Kafka using a praise kink (it goes both ways and they just praise each other through the whole thing)? Thank you so much for all your writings! ~South ⋆ tw: mdni. explicit smut. oral. car (van :P) sex. nipple sucking. praising both, loving each other so much, expressing their love through sex. ⋆ wc: 2.5K // event masterlist // tagging: @kpopluvr95

A soft smile flies his way. A big smirk reaches you from the other side. With Kafka is always that way; his presence is enough to make you happy.

A chill night has fallen and covered the sky with its dark mantle. Little shiny dots blink on it, as embroidered with silver cosmic thread. Sore muscles, sleepy eyelids; still some energy to rest with your squad comrades.

It’s become a habit of you all, to hang on the hills until dinner time. The little vans of the JAKDF bring you to the top of the hills within the Tachikawa base, and they are often used for your sweaty anti kaiju suits to rest aside. Sometimes, even, allowing you to prepare some food in case you decide to have some little picnic after training. Tonight, however, one of those little vans, will be useful for yet another purpose…

When most of the crew has left for comforting baths and a so needed bed, two of you have decided to stay for a little longer.

“The night looks beautiful…” Kafka says, coming closer to you once the last van except yours have parted.

“Indeed ~” you purr, crawling on him. You’ve been waiting for this, for your frame to be finally surrounded by Kafka’s. You’ve been waiting for your nose to bury on the crook of his neck, and for your palm to slid under his black compression shirt. He got the habit of wearing them from Soshiro, and you are happy he did.

“But not as beautiful as you, (Name)” Kafka continues, laughing like a silly boy right after.

Oh, you dumb, big, huggable, kissable, biteable man… 

You nuzzle on him, inhaling the scent of his skin. Delicious traces of manly effort, to become the best, to be a good soldier, reaches your nose. A desperate need to bite invades you, and so you do.

“Nom” you joke, carving your teeth on his flesh.

An instant growl ripped out of his throat came with your biting. His hands squeezing your waist, pulling you closer to him; shortening the distance -if there is any at all- in between your hips and his crotch.

“What a naughty kitty…” he whispers, sliding his hands down your buttocks until your thighs. Seconds after you are lifted up, surrounding his hips with your legs, clamped at him as he helps you not to fall.

“I can’t help it, even sweaty you smell and taste so good, Kafka-kun” you murmur, biting and kissing more and more. 

A shiver runs through the Kaiju hybrid; those words… the praising, the love, the adoration he is only used to show, it is now being shown at him, by a woman as beautiful as you, as strong and amazing as you.

Kafka needs you, right now, completely naked, all for him. Feral instinct taking over, that’s not exactly from his Kaiju side, but from his most inner, deep, dark desires.

He turns around with you still in arms and kicks open the back door of the van. Absolutely amazed, you realized he has not only became stronger than before in his human form, but the way he acts right now has nothing to do with his usual funny, cute ways.

“Listen, I know you deserve a king-sized bed with every possible luxury in this world. And I promise you’ll have it, but now, love… allow me to make love to you”

“There is no bigger luxury than being yours, Kafka~”

He sighs, loudly and needy, and your lips seal one with the other’s. A passionate kiss, that’s the type of those being censored on movies, takes over. Tongues dancing, wet playing… so lustful, so needy.

Out of breath, he puts you down for some seconds so that he is able to close the doors of the van. Now, both of you are safe to let your inhibitions go free.

Kafka invites you to sit on the van seats, he is aware there isn’t much space, but it is better than the dusty back used for storage. He sits first on the passenger seat and then extends his arms to help you sit on his lap.

“There we go…” he murmurs, sitting you comfortably on top of his crotch, allowing your core to experience how hard he is.

You squirm a little bit on top of him, making him painfully grunt. The way your leggings graze his trousers must be considered both a torture and a pleasure.

You reach for his face, placing each palm on each of his cheeks. Squeezing just a little you pull him closer to your mouth as you bend to reach for his lips.

“Aren’t you the hottest? Aren’t you the best?” you whisper playfully, allowing that man to breath those words in before attacking your lips.

“That’s just a little bit of everything you are, baby” he answers back, praising everything you are. His goddess; the woman he doesn’t even think of standing right by, but always under to kiss her feet.

Surely and dominantly, he pulls down the zipper of your boiler suit. Obsessed, Kafka smirks; how comes you are wearing nothing underneath? You took the anti-kaiju suit and only slipped inside the coveralls?!

“You like what you see?” you purr, brushing his hair back as you watch him get lost into the turgor of your chest.

“Ngh… more than that, babe… I’m obsessed” he grunts, cupping your breasts into his hands to play with them, to take them to his lips, to squeeze them with precise pressure.

Your muscles tense as he begins sucking on your nipples; little bites on one of them while his fingers pinch the free one.

Every window, every glass surface on that van, gets steamed by the heat of your needy bodies. An extra hint of privacy you both didn’t notice for being so into each other’s bodies.

Your muscles tense, and so your hips do as well. You begin jumping, grazing, going back and forth over Kafka’s lap. Over Kafka’s hardness.

His fingers bury on your thighs and ass, helping you go up and specially down; he wants your sex pushed against his sex, as lust blurs his mind and leads the way.

You can feel the twitching underneath you; how desperately those pants get wet, precum stained, probably a mess. You wonder if it’s difficult for him to tame his inner beast, to stop his wild secret to be revealed, to take over the situation… to make you a victim, to be eaten by the monster he hides inside.

And you are getting eaten, but not exactly but his kaiju side. It is him, his humanity that’s desperate…

“Come here, allow me… ngh” his words cut short by unstoppable moaning coming from your continuous humping.

Kafka wants every piece of clothing off your body; like a butterfly gaining his wings, a metamorphosis to turn you into his nymph… naked, exposed, flesh ready to be ripped, tasted, devoured… no! bitten, softly! Think straight Kafka, this is you… not Number 8.

As the suit gets stuck on your hips, your feral lover lifts you up from his lap and deposits you next to him; it is a blessing those vans have one chunky seat joined for both the driver and the passenger side.

Turned to face him, he finally rips the legs part off. Spread wide opened by his big hands, he finally gets ready to taste your dripping core. Soft moonlight filters through steamed windows, shining silvery reflections on your smeared juices.

“Just… how can you be that perfect, love?” he asks, kissing your inner thigh with more than care; Kafka is moved by pure adoration, by pure devotion.

“I’m desperate for you, Kafka…” you moan, curling a chunk of his black hair in between your fingers.

He comes closer, more and more to your hot core. Inhaling your perfume, already gloating at what he is about to feast on.

Your right heel falls on his waist, as he is bent on the seat, to lift your hip enough for him to be comfortable. And you to be, exactly, on a silver platter.

Kafka slides his index from your clit to your entrance, as his lips purse and fall on your whole core. He sucks; using his tongue while he does to wander the ups and downs of your sexual lands.

Gripped to the steering wheel, your nails carve marks on the leather material as your hips lift even further. His mouth gets glued to your femininity; getting his chin completely messed up with your juices, and probably the tip of his nose as well.

His index, that soon also gets accompanied by his middle finger, are also inside you. Pumping, going in and out, in beckoning motions hitting your inner walls.

“I’m gonna… I’m gonna mess the van- you- Kafka you do it so well- ngh…” you moan, pulling his hair to lift his face off your sex.

“Do it; I’ll clean it up” he mutters, cleaning from your arousal elixirs the commissure of his mouth with the tip of his tongue.  

You giggle; pulling him to top you completely.

“Shush, I want your dick inside of me…” you whisper, reaching for his now aching, desperate, about to burst bulge. “But first, I’d like to taste it… I’d like to feel the heat of it on my throat”

Detrimental for his mental health, those words were. If he still had some self-control, he had now lost it.

It was enough with your skilful hands to unbuckle the belt holding his pants up; a single swift motion freed him from that clothing jail. Toes to the rim of a completely messed up underwear, also enough to pull it down until strong thighs.

The perfect anatomy this man holds; the slight bump of his belly, so kissable, so deliciously tempting you to fall for deep maternal instincts… because he looks so much like the man you would love to give a child to.

“Let me give you pleasure, love. I – don’-“ he wants to argue, perhaps, on who deserves more than him. But you aren’t allowing it; if there is someone in this world who deserves to be praised and bathed in the most exquisite delights is none but him.

“Shh…” you giggle, surrounding his sex with your palm. There is something special on touching a man from underneath, with pumping motions coming in and out towards you; Kafka’s thighs begin to tremble, muscles spasming as your jerking off delight goes faster, increasing rhythm, increasing pleasure.

Slowly, but surely, you help him to sit back again. His forearm landing on top of his eyes, covering them, while his head gets thrown back.

You keep on pumping, up and down, with a palm coated in precum; with fingers drizzled as well. Kafka’s grunts and moans are like music to your ears, and now the tip of his dick is also a delight for your lips.

A stream of clear arousal forms in between the tip of your tongue and his purplish sex; Kafka’s eyes fix on it as you take some air to get ready to swallow his shaft entirely again.

“Babe… I won’t be able to hold…. Much longer” he grunts, trying to resist the urge to bury your head against his crotch.

Your eyes, teary from the many thrusts against your throat, meet his turquoise ones. Concupiscent look in yours, a frown tinted in depravity; like a demon, like a succubus, inviting that pure heart to sin.

“No, fuck it. Come here” he exclaims, taking the reins back again. He detaches you from his sex, helping you to straddle on top of him once again.

He hugs you, close enough to trap his hardness in between him and against your lower belly. A mess creating on your stomach, anticipating how warm it will feel once deep inside.

“I love you, my goddess” “I love you more, babe”

Almost without even trying and with a simple motion, his tip is already penetrating you. His chin, resting on your chest, right in the middle of your breasts. Pleading, and still dominant, he looks up at you. Your arms, pinned on the small of your back, held by one of his hands.

You begin to move, up and down, desperate. His hips wont let you do all the work by yourself, however. Thrusts destroying your insides, deliciously forcing your walls to spasm and milk his shaft.

Kafka attacks your nipples, out of control fucking you with no mercy. He doesn’t care if half Tachikawa hears your whines. In fact, he actually wants you to scream louder.

“God, you were made for me” he grunts, giving you the last few strikes. He can feel that indeed, your insides, were made for his sex.

You, about to lose control, can barely mumble syllables; Kafka is right, you feel like your insides were made exactly for him…

“Fill me up, love…” “Your wishes are orders, my sweet goddess”

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Playbook: How To Look More Expensive & Elevate Your Aura

Looking expensive or 'rich' is all about investing in yourself, your appearance, how you carry yourself, and not shying away from signature details or indulgences. Here are some tips to level up your look and demeanor to feel high-class in your daily life – no matter how much money you want to spend in these life arenas.

Appearance:

Prioritize Proper Grooming: Always looking clean and put-together is the ultimate sign of class. Shower daily. Brush, and take care of your teeth. Wash your hair on a regular schedule. Never allow your hair to look greasy – brush and blow dry it regularly. Cleanse, exfoliate, and moisturize every inch of your face and body. Perform your skincare routine religiously. Apply sunscreen daily.

Tailor & Steam Your Clothes: Freshly-pressed and well-fitting clothes always look infinitely more expensive – no matter their price point. Looking rich and expensive is about high self-regard and paying attention to the little details. Ensure your garments look crisp and clean – no wrinkles, pet hairs, loose threads, lint pieces, or fabric bulges highlighting an improper fit.

Create A Classic & Streamlined Capsule Wardrobe: Simplicity radiates a chic sophistication. Go back to the basics with timeless pieces – like a button-down blouse, a classic crewneck sweater, black trousers or straight-leg jeans, leather pants, a leather jacket, a trench or wool coat, a well-fitting cami or tee shirt, a simple slip dress, or a knit set. Focus on a neutral color palette – black, champagne, dark grey, chocolate brown, camel, or crisp white shades. Seek out elevated fabrics – such as Pima cotton, cashmere, washable silk, and buttery vegan or recycled leather.

Invest In Signature Pieces: Spend on "outer shell' items – coats, jackets, heavyweight knits, handbags, and shoes – that directly interact with the outside world and can be worn repeatedly with almost every outfit. Save on items like tee shirts or more simple jewelry pieces that can be found for less while still being fairly high-quality. I recommend Everlane, Lilysilk, and Naadam for affordable basics (Frankie Shop, Skims, and Norma Kamali for moderately priced pieces) and Catbird and Oma The Label for well-priced accessories. Here are all the everyday essentials you need to build the ultimate Femme Fatale Wardrobe.

Simplify Your Beauty Routine: Fresh, clear, and glowy skin radiates rich girl energy. A well-curated skincare routine should do half the heavy lifting. However, you will probably want to include a shade-matched foundation, concealer, and powder into your makeup routine along with a bronze contour, a rosy blush, and a subtle highlighter. Shape and fill in your brows for a polished look. Apply a deep black mascara to your lashes and luscious black eyeliner to your top lid, waterline, and tight line – keep the strokes thin and crisp (create a subtle wing if desired). Finish your face with a deep pink nude, red, or deep wine lipstick/gloss/lip tint. Here's a guide to the ultimate Femme Fatale Beauty Routine for a completely elevated (and sensual) look.

Eat Healthfully & Workout: Health is wealth. Taking care of your body shows self-respect – your most priceless asset. So, incorporate whole, plant-based foods into your daily diet and make it a priority to find movement you love that you can incorporate into your routine multiple times a week.

Lifestyle:

Streamline The Details: The rich girl aesthetic is all about refinement and looking put together at all times. Always have a set of matching pens with coordinating notepads on your desk, a uniform set of coffee mugs on the counter, coasters, glassware, sheets, pillowcases, cold-weather accessories, etc. This attention to detail instant makes your environment look more expensive.

Have Personalized Stationery: A high-value woman isn't shy about leaving her signature touch. Have personalized stationery (thank you notes, greeting cards, business cards, etc.) monogrammed and on hand for anytime you need to send a note or gift to a friend, coworker, boss, client, etc. This addition shows your attention to detail, leaves the recipient something small to remember you by, and adds a human touch to any gift or gesture. Try gold lettering on cream cards for an elegant, expensive look.

Keep Prosecco & Sparkling Water On Hand: Bubbly on a budget feels just as expensive as champagne (and tastes great too). Sparkling water elevates your daily H20 – add some lemon, lime, orange wedges, or frozen berries for a fancy, fruity twist.

Have Proper Place Settings: Neat, thoughtful presentation exudes class and rich energy. Whenever hosting any type of sit-down event or cocktail party, have the plates stacked, glasses and cutlery arranged correctly. Have all of the appropriate utensils readily available. Again, it's all about the details.

Stay Informed & Well-Read: A thirst for knowledge, learning and having the ability to engage in thoughtful, informed, and intellectual imbues a high-class radiance into any room. Read books, learn about different cultures and current events, and invest in studying different industries, and interests. Explore your hobbies. A rich mindset translates and generates an overall elevated aura.

Demeanor:

Learn Proper Etiquette: Address people by name, and offer a firm handshake. Maintain eye contact. Say "please" and "thank you." RSVP promptly. Communicate clearly and compassionately.

Maintain Good Posture: Shoulders back and relaxed. Open your chest. Keep your back straight and your head held high. Take up space. Command presence.

Master The Art of Engaging Conversation: Prioritizing self-presentation, learning how to listen, holding your own, and encouraging others to feel relaxed are the secrets to becoming magnetic in any social situation. Read more of my tips HERE.

Embrace An Abundant Mindset: Free your mind of limiting beliefs and notions of scarcity. There are plenty of opportunities, experiences, and emotions to go around. Another person's success doesn't take away from your potential. Focus on expansion, not envy.

Remain Confident & Unbothered: Believe in yourself. Invest in your well-being. Prioritize your goals and block out the noise from anyone trying to tear you down or criticize you for your ambition, goals, or desires. Stay in your own lane. Allow others to do the same. This is how you level up to elevate into your queen energy to create a rich life and design your dream reality.

[thorias]

SEASON 2 WISH LIST:

-Madelyne is resurrected as a Horseman along with Gambit: I think there's a better story to tell with Madelyne being brought back (at least temporarily) than staying dead. The X-men having to fight her too would give Cyclops and Cable a more personal stake in this Apocalypse storyline, not that they really needed one, but still...

I said in another post that I wouldn't want to dilute the "Saving Gambit" story by making a bunch of other X-men Horsemen as well, but if it's just Madelyne, then I think it's okay. And I wouldn't expect Madelyne to survive this story anyway, since, aside from tying up a couple loose threads with the Summers family, her arc is basically finished now.

Plus, I just kind of like the idea of giving Deathbit a buddy in the spurned lover department; that could be fun.

-----

-Sabretooth returns. Logan (sans adamantium) has to fight him... and loses: I've always liked the idea that Sabretooth would probably beat Wolverine in a fair fight, (dude is like 3x Logan's size after all) but it's never been a fair fight since the adamantium basically made Logan unstoppable. But take the adamantium away and suddenly Wolverine is the underdog for a change, which makes the match-up a lot more interesting. And what's even the point of doing the bone claws story if it's not to see how Logan deals with being in a weakened state like this?

Granted, I want to see this for selfish reasons since Sabretooth is one of my favorite villains, but come on! Victor is long overdue for a W against Wolverine, and if he can't get it now, then I'm calling BS lol.

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-Mystique returns, working for Apocalypse: I think Demayo shot down the Val-Cooper-is-Mystique-in-disguise theory, (correct me if I'm wrong about that) but it would be pretty ridiculous if we didn't see her in season 2 since she worked with Apocalypse in XTAS on multiple occasions.

Plus, there's a ready-made story there with her and Rogue. In the 90s cartoon, Mystique wanted to get Rogue back as her daughter so badly that she was even willing to turn Rogue into a Horseman to do it. So just imagine if Mystique had a hand in convincing Apocalypse to resurrect Remy as Deathbit, or at least helped him pull it off, because she saw this as a way to get back into Rogue's good graces. That would add some really interesting pathos to a story that's already super emotionally charged.

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-Costume changes: I get that Marvel has toys to sell, but the different suits the team got in season 1 ain't it. Sorry, they're just not. The only one who pulled it off was Storm. Everyone else got a serious glow down. I actually felt low key embarrassed for Scott and Jean trying to make those retro costumes from the 60s/80s eras work; there's a reason those designs stayed in the past, you guys.

And I even like Rogue's green & white suit in the comics, but in the show it just looked awkward with the gloves being a different shade of green than the rest of it. I'd take just about any of her other costumes over this one.

Either change the suits again or go back to the old versions because I'm not feeling these current ones at all.

-----

-Magneto has a reunion with his kids... and it doesn't go the way he wants: We saw in the season 1 finale that Mags' separation from his children is something that's at least been bothering him, (though not enough for him to lift a finger to save them from being killed along with everyone else on Earth if he succeeded in destroying the planet's electromagnetic field, but I guess we're blaming that on bad writing) so I want him to meet his kids in season 2... only for it to go as horribly as it possibly could.

It would be both ironic and hilarious if Magneto is hoping to patch things up with his kids, only for Pietro and Lorna to try to fight and arrest him the instant they see him (X-Factor doesn't seem to be a thing anymore, but let's say they're still government employees and have the authority to arrest criminals/terrorists) because he did after all murder millions of innocent people with that EMP AND try to murder every other living thing on the planet, including them.

I mean, let's not kid ourselves, there's no way this family reunion is going to be a happy one after what he did. SOMEBODY has to hold Magneto accountable for that, and his own children doing it is about the most fitting thing that I can think of.

-----

-A big story arc for Gambit: Romy fans got gipped in season 1, and even if you're just a Gambit fan, you still had to settle for scraps with him only playing a major role in one episode, which coincidentally was the one where he got killed off. Yes, the stage is set for Deathbit to have a really compelling story in season 2, but that's going to depend on how it's done and frankly, after I got burned so many times in the first season, I'm skeptical that the writers will give this the care and attention it deserves.

Demayo said it was "key" that Remy died thinking he didn't deserve to be a hero and that Rogue had chosen Magneto instead of him. These things have gone unaddressed in the show since then, so I'm going to assume they're being saved for the Deathbit story and THE PAYOFF FOR THIS BETTER BE DAMN GOOD.

I want to see all of Remy's low self-esteem, self-loathing and resentment over the Rogneto debacle get twisted into a dark rage that Deathbit throws back in everyone's faces. AJ himself said that Remy didn't feel valued by the X-men or Rogue when he died, so use that! Make it part of the story! Make them own up to it. Force Rogue to confront her own feelings about how she handled that situation, (so far, she's been avoiding doing this) so it can factor into how they bring him back.

I know a lot of us assume that freeing Remy from Apocalypse's influence is going to come down to Rogue finally telling him that she loves him. And, yeah, that should be a big part of it, but it shouldn't be the only part. That's fine as far as Rogue is concerned, but Remy needs an arc too, and I just want it to be worth the wait after they put us through all this.

-----

-Deathbit vs Magneto: This needs to happen. Aside from the fact that Romy fans will have been clamoring for it for a long time, frankly, both characters are going to want it too. Mags will no doubt view Deathbit as the reason why he can't get Rogue back, and Deathbit... well, we all know what his reasons are; he'll likely want to take Magneto apart just for the pure satisfaction of it.

Now since Magneto's so OP, Gambit wouldn't stand much of a chance in a straight fight under normal conditions, but we know Apocalypse evolves/enhances mutants' powers when they become Horsemen, so imagine if he unlocked Gambit's Omega potential, so Remy has his New Son powers now, or at least a heightened version of what he had before. So Magneto goes in brimming with confidence that he's going to wipe the floor with his rival for Rogue's affections, but then in a shocking twist, Deathbit breaks out his newly enhanced power set and turns the tables on him.

Do I really want to see Mags get taken down a peg and humbled by Gambit? Sure. But narratively, this makes a ton of sense to do. Since Demayo loves Magneto so much, I highly doubt it will happen, (certainly not with this outcome at least) but I think it would be super satisfying for fans.

[b0r3dtod3ath]

@naughtyboydamon ty for the request and sorry you had to wait so long!

(any era damon)

Damon knocked on your door, a warm smile on his face. You opened the door, looking tired but surprised to see him.

"Damon, hey! What brings you here?" you asked, stepping aside to let him in.

"I was in the area and thought I'd drop by. You seemed a bit off when we talked on the phone earlier," Damon explained, stepping into the apartment.

You nodded, letting out a weary sigh. "Yeah, it's been a bit though lately. But it's alright."

Damon's gaze softened as he noticed mess everywhere and tired expression on his friend's face. "Are you sure? Want to talk about it?"

You hesitated for a moment before you eyes filled with water. You gently nodded avoiding eye contact with him. "Yeah.."

As you poured out you frustrations, Damon listened intently, offering words of comfort and support. He could see the weight lifting off your shoulders with each shared burden. You went on a rant about everything that has made you feel so overwhelmed and stressed during the past few weeks.

"You know, Y/N," Damon began, his voice gentle, "you're always there for everyone else. It's okay to lean on others too, especially on days like today."

You looked up at him, grateful for his understanding. Thankful that in his eyes you are not even a bit weaker than you were before. "Thanks, Damon. It means a lot."

You sat in silence for a while, eyes locking in silent understanding. In that moment, Damon realized just how much you meant to him.

"I've been meaning to tell you something," Damon said, his voice hesitant.

He had captured your curiosity. "What is it?"

"I... I care about you, Y/N. More than I've anyone ever," Damon confessed, his heart pounding in his chest.

You puffy eyes widened in surprise, but a warmth spread through you at Damon's words. "I care about you too, Damon. More than you know."

In that instant, the air crackled with possibility, their unspoken feelings hanging between them like a delicate thread. Without another word, he leaned in, his soft lips met the skin of your hand and gave it a gentle kiss. In no time he started covering you up in kisses as to lift your mood up.

As he pulled away, chuckling and smiling, he spoke again. "How about I stay over tonight? We can order some food, watch a movie, and just relax."

Your tired eyes brightened at the suggestion. "I'd like that. Thank you, Damon."

And so, you spent the night wrapped in each other's company, finding solace and comfort in the simple act of being together. As you drifted off to sleep, tangled in blankets on the couch, you knew that no matter what tomorrow brought, you would face it together.

April 22 2024