#like it doesn’t matter that he got me into them. they can me mine too

[glynjohnsfurcoat]

i do think a lot of the reason i buried and rejected my love of the who is fully due to shame but we don’t have to go there let’s not even dig into that

[pissfizz]

I’m going to lose my mind oh my god I am so scared for this quincenera wtf

[saetoru]

imagine rich boy gojo finding out your name for him in his phone is just “satoru” or something 💀 and then from the side geto is like “mine’s got an emoji!”

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。NO HEART — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy! au)

rich boy! gojo, college au, fluff, established relationships, dramatic gojo which is consistent in every version of him no matter the au

studying with gojo satoru is the worst idea you could ever allow to happen—and yet, every time he asks, you let it happen.

“baby, aren’t you getting my texts?” gojo pouts. it earns him an unimpressed glare from you as you look up from your textbook, a glare that makes him wilt while geto snickers from the corner.

“satoru, if you don’t stop bothering me while we’re supposed to be studying, so help me—”

“but it’s funny, look,” he whines. and before you can stop him, he picks up the untouched phone beside you, tapping the screen to unlock it. except, he doesn’t make it that far.

suddenly the world stills. it stops spinning on its axis. and suddenly, gojo satoru’s face is the dictionary definition of devastation.

“satoru, what’s wrong,” you furrow your brows.

“satoru. satoru? satoru?” he repeats, each time in more disbelief than the last.

“that’s….your name, yes?” you raise a brow. and then realization strikes your features—or so he thinks. he’s soon to find out he’s mistaken. “oh, sorry,” you snort, “toru, is that better? toru, get to studying—”

“my name in your phone is just satoru?” he asks, cutting you off like you’ve genuinely wounded him—the betrayal on his face and the shock in his voice are all too real.

you blink for a moment before you realize the source of his tantrum seems to be the contact name you have for him in your phone. only gojo satoru would find a way to make a big deal out of his own name, you think.

“well, yeah,” you shrug, “it’s your name. plus i had it set when i first got your number from that project. i hated you back then.”

“you called me gojo back then,” he squints accusingly.

“yeah that’s because it was gojo satoru at first,” you nod. from the side, you hear geto snicker again about the full government name to himself—which earns him a pillow thrown at his direction by gojo. “i deleted the gojo part when we started dating,” you add.

“oh so you can delete my surname once we started dating but you couldn’t even add a heart?” he asks, jaw dropped and eyebrows furrowed in that dramatic way he does. it’s a bit cute, the way he’s worked up over something so small—but it’s also entirely theatric, making you roll your eyes.

“would a heart make you feel better, satoru?” you purse your lips.

“no! not if you don’t add it because you want to,” he huffs, “you might as well just say you don’t love me!”

“satoru,” you sigh in exasperation. maybe if you didn’t have physics 1302 problems to work through—a whole six of them due before midnight, in fact—you would humor him in his elaborately dramatized attempt at getting your attention. but you have classes to pass and gpa’s to maintain, so you purse your lips instead. “it’s just a contact name. what’s mine?”

“it’s baby <3. with a heart. see?” sure enough, when his phone is turned to face you, it’s baby <3. with a heart.

“i have an emoji in my contact,” geto adds from the side, ever the instigator, “maybe it’s because i’m cuter—”

“you gave suguru’s an emoji?” he asks in distress, staring at you like you’ve told him you’ve cheated. you think you might hurt his feelings less if you did, with the way his lips are curled in a genuine frown.

“suguru set his own contact,” you defend, shooting the nuisance in the corner a sharp glare. geto only offers you a sly wink in return. “i didn’t realize you cared that much about contact names,” you shrug, “i can change it—”

“no need,” gojo huffs, holding up a hand to silence you as he turns away and sticks his nose in the air in defiance. “i’ll just change yours to your full government name. see how you like it.”

“satoru—”

“and you’re not getting a heart either,” he glares, deleting the <3 slowly just for show, making eye contact with you so you know the severity of your actions.

you roll your eyes, snatching your phone back as you shake your head. “if i make your contact baby <3 with a heart because you’re my baby, will that cheer you up,” you sigh.

he ponders it for a moment, as if debating the offer. and then his arms cross in defiance once more. “no. make it baby boy 💋 with a kiss emoji.”

“gross,” geto twists his face in disgust.

gojo turns to him, face blank and serious as he shoots, “single people should not speak when it’s not their turn,” before turning back to you. “i’ll consider forgiving you if you make it baby boy 💋 with a kiss.”

“okay,” you sigh, “baby boy it is.”

“with a kiss!” he glares.

“with a kiss,” you assure, rolling your eyes.

“can i also get a kiss?” he asks hopefully, eyes wide and bright and earnest enough to warm your heart.

you smile, chuckling at the way he looks so cute, at the way he melts your heart and makes you forget you have physics homework for a moment—but only for a moment because then you mumble, “no. now do your homework.”

PLS THIS PROMPT KILLED ME

[bruisedboys]

jealous finnick?

jealous finnick will be the death of me!!!!!!

finnick odair x fem!reader

Breakfast in District 13 is an unusual affair. Nothing like you’re used to, being from District 4. It’s the same every morning — boring grey oatmeal with either honey or berries, depending on the day. It’s only as you take your seat next to Finnick that you realise you’ve forgotten the very crucial toppings.

“Oh no, I forgot to get berries,” you bemoan. They’re definitely all gone by now, seeing as they’re in popular demand — the oatmeal served in 13 tastes like cardboard without them.

“Here, have mine,” Gale says from across the table. You open your mouth to protest but he’s already spooning a big heap of berries into your bowl. They bleed red and purple into your otherwise plain oatmeal. “I don’t like ‘em, anyway. Too sour.”

“Oh.” You smile at him, flattered. Gale’s been nothing but kind to you since you arrived in District 13. You haven’t put it down to anything other than friendliness. Though it’s possible you’re too enamoured with the blonde next to you that you’re completely oblivious to other men’s advances. “Thanks, Gale.”

Gales smiles back and shrugs. “No problem, Y/N.”

Next to you and unbeknownst to you, Finnick scowls. He hates that Gale’s so nice to you. Loathes it. He knows it’s because you’re a ray of sunshine who draws even the coldest of people in (believe him, he’s experienced it), but the fact that Gale gave you his berries before Finnick could even offer his makes his blood boil. 

Who does he think he is? Everyone knows you’re Finnick’s girl, he’s made it very clear. It’s the whole reason you’re here, after all — Finnick specifically requested you be picked up from home before the Quarter Quell ended, to prevent anything from happening to you.

Breakfast passes without further incident. If you notice Finnick’s sour mood, you don’t mention it. You’re leaving the canteen with everyone else when Finnick grabs your waist and pulls you to the side, into an empty hallway. He peers over your shoulder to make sure Gale’s good and gone, watching the back of his head with a glare that could kill, before turning his attention to you.

“Finnick,” you say, clearly confused at his sudden manhandling. “What’s the matter with you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Finnick says shortly.

“You look mad.”

“I’m not.”

You squint at him. “You’re definitely mad. Why are you—?”

Finnick forgoes restraint and yanks you forward, pressing his mouth to yours before you can say anything else. His chest burns with molten hot jealousy, it climbs up his throat and pours into the kiss, hot and sticky. The heat ebbs though, when you kiss him back just as fervently, replaced by a fuzzy warmth only you can make him feel. It buzzes in his chest and down his arms, flares out his palm as he takes your face into one hot hand.

He pulls back just as suddenly as he’d drawn in. “You know Gale’s flirting with you, right?” He says abruptly, thumb pressed to your cheekbone.

You blink up at him, still dazed from his kissing. “What?” You ask, half laughing. “No, he’s not.”

“He is. He gave you his berries. I was going to give you mine.”

You raise both eyebrows. “He was just being nice to me.”

“Yeah, well, that’s my job.”

Finnick supposes he sounds quite pathetic. He doesn’t really care, not when your eyes go all gooey and you reach up on your tiptoes to push a curl from his forehead.

“Are you jealous?” You ask him softly, tucking his hair behind his ear. Your breath fans over his mouth and your hand lingers at his throat. “You sound jealous.”

Finnick rolls his eyes. “So what if I am? Just— have mine next time, okay?”

You smile at him, pretty as starlight. “Okay. But you don’t have to be jealous, you know? I only want you.”

Woah, Finnick thinks. “I know,” he says, too quick, his voice a notch too high.

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Do you though?” You ask, definitely teasing now. He supposes he got off lucky, you could’ve done much worse finding out he’s so sickeningly jealous over Gale, of all people.

Still, Finnick narrows his eyes at you. “Alright, that’s enough.”

Your answering giggle is smothered as Finnick swoops in to kiss you again.

-

thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if u enjoyed 🤍

[hintsofhoney]

Mine

Paring(s): Alpha!Dean Winchester x F!Omega!Reader

Summary: When Dean is forced to mark Y/N in order to not blow their cover on a case, it leads him to reveal a secret that he's been keeping since they met.

Square(s) Filled: biting for @anyfandomkinkbingo

Tags: 18+, true mates, smut, p in v, marking, a/b/o if that wasn't already obvious lmao, knotting

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Helloooo, it's been a minute. If I'm being honest, I have about 10-15 finished works just sitting in my "ready to post" folder, but posting is always such an ordeal, so they just stay there until I feel like dealing with Tumblr. But, this one I did write over the last two days after I finished reading Bride by Ali Hazelwood, which I loved so much that it made me want to dip my toes into the Omegaverse! That being said, I don't know how much in here is actually in line with A/B/O "rules", but I know I needed to twist some things to fit the story (e.g. in this specific A/B/O fic/universe, claiming marks will fade if they're not true mates). Huge thank you to my A/B/O girlies, @makeadealwithdean and @emoryhemsworth, for reading it over, I love you both to the moon and back! I hope you all enjoy!

You can also read me on Ao3!

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST |  SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST |  MAIN MASTERLIST

“We get in, find the knife, get out, got it?” Dean asks, looking between Sam in the front seat and Y/N in the back, making sure everyone is on the same page. They both nod once in understanding, before the three of them make their way out of the car, their doors slamming shut simultaneously. 

Y/N stares up at the mansion before them, the music loud, the party raging. It’s some charity event thrown by the wealthiest Alpha in the state, and he just happens to have the weapon they need to finish out this hunt. Y/N stumbles a bit, tripping over the cobblestone driveway in her heels, and she catches the sleeve of Dean’s suit to steady herself. He shoots her a glare that tells her to pull it together. They need to blend in.

“Sorry,” she whispers.

“Here,” Dean replies, grabbing her wrist and pulling it through the crook formed by his bent elbow, forcing them to walk arm-in-arm.

“I don’t need –”

“You are an Omega, Y/N. And there are upwards of a hundred Alphas here who can all smell it. So what you need to do is start acting like one. Just because I’m not some asshole Alpha who demands your respect doesn’t mean they aren’t, and we can’t risk drawing attention to ourselves.”

Y/N takes a deep breath and plasters on a fake smile as they move slowly up the driveway. “Anyone who demands my respect just because of some bullshit biological hierarchy doesn’t deserve it,” she grits out.

Dean stops, turning to face her, one of his hands on either side of her biceps. “Do you want to be on this case or not?” 

His voice is lower than usual, demanding and gruff. A voice he only uses when he wants to remind her that he is an Alpha, and bullshit biological hierarchy aside, her body is wired to listen to him. 

She gulps, and he tries not to focus on the bob in her throat, the pulse in her neck near her gland, the scent of her. The moment he met her he knew who she was, what they were. Are. He’s been taking scent blockers since before he met her, finding it far easier to interact with other Alphas when investigating cases if they couldn’t scent him out, but the moment he met her, he knew he had to start taking rut blockers too. Though, it feels like the longer he’s around her, the more immune he becomes to the pills. Like she’s going to send him into a rut any fucking second, and she has no idea. He’s thought about telling her so many times, but mates come with strings. Strings that aren’t conducive to the life of a hunter.

“Yes,” she answers his question meekly, almost submissively, and he nods to cover the hormones he forces himself to swallow down. Rejecting your biology is not easy, no matter how many pills you take.

“Then I’m going to need you to take my arm, put on a smile, and act like being an Omega is the greatest joy of your life. That means –”

“I know how to be a good little Omega, Dean,” she interrupts, dragging the words ‘good little Omega’ through a sarcastic tone.

He tenses slightly at her words, sarcastic or not. Good little Omega.

“I’m only bad for you,” she continues with a cheeky wink, and fuck, he might explode. Hell, he might take her into the bushes right now and mark her, claim her, before parading her around in front of this entire fucking party with his teeth marks on her neck. He’s rigid, trying to keep himself under control, and she gives him a playful pat on his shoulder. “Lighten up, Alpha,” she teases. “I’ll be a good girl.”

Jesus fucking Christ. He gives her biceps a squeeze that he hopes comes off as reassuring as he’s trying to make it seem, before linking his arm with hers once more and catching up to Sam at the front of the driveway.

The trio is greeted by the owner of the mansion himself, one Jim Myers, who welcomes them in with a smile on his face and a cigar in his hand. 

“How Gatsby-esque,” Y/N mutters under her breath, watching as Myers shakes Sam’s hand.

Dean nods in agreement. “You definitely wore the right outfit.”

Y/N blushes as she looks down at her dress; a black, semi body-hugging cocktail dress bedazzled with gold sequins in some sort of art deco pattern. All she’s missing is a cigarette holder and a feather in her hair. 

“Only because I read the invitation. Unlike some of us,” she mumbles in reply.

“Watch it, Omega,” Dean grits out, plastering on a smile as soon as Myers comes over to greet him.

“Jim Myers, pleasure,” he says, shaking Dean’s hand.

“Dean. And this is Y/N.”

She keeps the cordial smile on her face as Jim takes her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it gently before inhaling her scent. 

“Pleasure, Miss Y/N,” he says with a feral grin, his eyes darkening with unmistakable lust as he lets her hand fall back to her side. 

Dean takes a step forward, unable to stop himself. “Mine,” he practically growls, and Jim takes a step back, throwing his hands up in surrender. 

“My apologies. I didn’t see a mark, so I just assumed.”

Dean falters, clearing his throat, suddenly reminded of the reason they’re all here in the first place. “No, that’s alright. It’s my fault for not putting it in a visible place.” His eyes dart over to Y/N’s. “I think I’m gonna fix that.”

She ducks her head but can’t hide the red flush that creeps up into her cheeks, reminding herself that it’s just her biology, and that this is all for show anyway. They’re here to do a job, and sometimes those jobs involve… well, whatever the hell just happened. And clearly, Dean is a better actor than she gives him credit for.

Jim chuckles, clasping his hands together. “Well, you three have fun, the drinks are free, the food is good, and if you,” he points at Sam, “good sir, are in search of an Omega, there are plenty to choose from.”

Sam blushes. “Right.” He nods. “Thanks.”

And with that, Jim disappears into the crowd.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Sam says. “You two go. Upstairs, down the hall, third door on the right. If I got the right blueprints.”

“If you got the right blueprints?” Dean asks.

“Just go.” He taps his ear to indicate that he’ll drop in on Dean’s earpiece if anything goes wrong. 

Dean sighs, taking Y/N by the hand and leading her up the stairs. He weaves in and out of the crowd, the scents of everyone mixing together, making it impossible to decipher who is what. Y/N’s never been more glad to be on heat suppressors; knowing full well the scents of this many Alphas invading her nostrils would send her body into a major one.

Dean quickly finds the door, and they slip into the room unnoticed, closing the barrier and switching on the light. It’s a bedroom — the master, from the looks of it — and the knife is right in front of them in the middle of the room, across from the foot of the bed. It’s in a glass case, on display, and likely armed with a million alarms, but right in front of them nonetheless. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters, running a hand through his hair as he thinks about what the next move should be.

“We could find something that weighs the same? Lift the glass and replace it super fast?” Y/N offers.

“Unfortunately, I think it’s the glass that’s probably set to trip an alarm. But the fact that you’re applying Indiana Jones to real life scenarios is making me want to —” 

He stops himself, realizing what he was about to say. He needs to get himself under control but Y/N in that dress with her smart fucking mouth, with other Alphas eyeing her, he really shouldn’t be here, with her, alone, and —

“Making you want to what?” she asks.

Shit. “Making me want to… make you watch more of them,” he replies, opting to circle the display case, searching it for a way in to distract himself from her. 

“Oh, goody. Can’t wait.” She’s as monotone and sarcastic as ever, and every time something smart comes out of her mouth he has to resist the urge to bend her over and fuck her right then.

“Get out of there now,” Sam’s voice comes in on Dean’s earpiece. “Lost track of him for a few seconds, just found him again. He’s making his way upstairs.”

“Shit,” Dean says. “Shit, shit, shit.” He looks around the room frantically. If they go out the door, Myers will without a doubt see them leaving his room. “Myers is coming,” he explains to a confused-looking Y/N.

“Fucking — God dammit.” She looks around too, for a hiding spot, for a weapon, and then she spots herself in the mirror hanging on the wall and an idea comes to her. “Mark me,” she orders.

“What?” Dean snaps, his attention fully on her.

“Get over here and mark me. You told him you were going to make it visible.” She continues before Dean can protest. “Who knows if it’ll even stay, it’s not like we’re mates, right? And if it does, I don’t mind being bound to you for the rest of ever. It’s not like I’m having much luck in the relationship department anyway. But we need that knife, and we’re not going to get it if we don’t –”

“Fuck,” he says under his breath with a quick shake of his head, before he strides across the room and pushes her up against the wall just in time to hear the door click. He inhales her scent, his mouth trailing from the base of her jaw all the way down to her mating gland where it hovers as the door opens all the way. Then he bites down.

Y/N throws her head back, her fingers digging into Dean’s shoulders as his teeth sink into her, and none of it is for show. The pain is euphoric, and her senses heighten, and she suddenly wishes she hadn’t been so stringent on taking her fucking pills, because whatever this feeling is, coursing through her veins, settling in her core, she needs to feel it more. She can’t stand how dulled it is, how it just stays there, simmering underneath the surface. She wants to erupt. 

“Mm, fuck, Alpha!” she cries out, no trace of sarcasm in her voice, and Dean’s hands grip her hips tight enough to bruise them. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Jim exclaims. “Got an alert that someone was in here, there’s some very valuable things in here, you see, and I just wanted to make sure —”

Dean pulls away from her neck long enough to shoot him a glare that translates to “get out or I’m going to kill you”, and Jim gets the message, backing out the door and shutting it behind him. 

“Fuck,” Dean breathes, letting his forehead fall to Y/N’s shoulder. He shouldn’t be so close to her. He should back away, give himself some space to breathe. But her scent keeps him rooted in place. It’s her usual scent; something like freshly baked sugar cookies and vanilla, sweet and enticing, but there’s something else, something —

“Are you guys okay?” Sam’s voice in his damn ear again.

Dean lifts his head and presses the button on his earpiece to reply. “Fine, Sam. Give us a second.” Then he takes the earpiece out and tosses it over his shoulder, more agitated than he should be at his brother just trying to check in.

“Dean,” she breathes, and she sounds absolutely wrecked. She brings her hands to his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. “Are you okay?” 

He nods. Her touch is like fire on his skin. He needs her. 

Y/N squeezes her thighs together. She’s never been able to scent Dean before, but he’s never been this close for this long. He’s never marked her, either. Right now his scent is breaking through the suppressants, little by little. It’s bits of cedar and leather and whiskey, and she’s never smelt anything like it, yet it is so familiar somehow. It invades her senses, and if this is what he smells like with suppressants, she’s terrified of what would happen without them.

“Dean… your scent.” She closes her eyes and inhales deeply.

“Fuck, my pills must’ve worn off, I —”

She shakes her head. “It’s dulled but… but it’s there.” Her thighs clench together again, and she needs him back on her skin. “It’s there and it’s so fucking good.”

Dean’s eyes fall to the gland on her neck, and the severity of what he’s done comes crashing into him like a wrecking ball. It’s enough to force him to take a step away from her, panic rising in his chest. “I – fuck. I marked you. I fucking marked you.”

Y/N’s fingers come up to graze the indent on her neck, and she shudders at the touch. “I told you to.”

“No, you don’t understand, Y/N –”

“I know what happens when mates get marked, Dean,” she interrupts matter-of-factly. “I’m sure this’ll fade.”

“It won’t. I – I shouldn’t have done that. Fuck. Fuck!” He turns to the wall next to him, hitting it with the side of his closed fist. 

“Dean.” Her touch on his arm is gentle and comforting, but he doesn’t turn to face her. “You need to calm down. It’s really not a big deal, I –”

Dean takes a deep breath, both hands on the wall now as he collects himself. He can’t even bring himself to look at her when he says, “You’re my mate, Y/N.”

She takes a step back, and her fading scent is what makes him finally face her. She’s halfway across the room by the time he does. 

“W-what do you mean?”

“You’re my mate, Y/N,” he repeats.

She shakes her head, her hand coming to her neck again, the teeth marks seared into her skin. “N-no. H-how? When? How – how long have you known?”

Dean takes another long, deep breath. He could lose her tonight. She could run and never come back and he wouldn’t blame her. “Since we met.”

“THREE YEARS!?” she roars. “YOU’VE KNOWN FOR THREE FUCKING YEARS!?”

“Y/N, I –”

She stalks toward him, one finger outstretched, one fist clenched by her side. She points at him as she backs him into a wall, and he’s incredibly turned on and incredibly scared at the same time. 

“You’ve known that we’re fucking mates for three years, and you didn’t feel as though that was pertinent fucking information to tell me!?”

Dean swallows. “I – it’s – there are… strings with mates. You know that. I didn’t want to ball and chain you. I didn’t want to keep you anywhere you didn’t want to be. And if – fuck – we’re hunters, Y/N. If something had happened to me, and you knew… I didn’t want you to have to live with that. With the pain that comes with losing a true mate.”

Y/N stops half a foot away and drops her accusatory finger. “What did you say?” she whispers.

“True… mates,” Dean breathes.

“We’re…? But… We never – I don’t –”

“With me on my pills, and you on your pills, I think it was enough to… so we just never…”

“But you knew,” she says, closing the gap between them, her hand coming up to caress his cheek. “You knew for so long and you watched me go on dates, had to listen about the… things I did with other Alphas… if I had mated with one of them, you –”

“You deserved to have a choice. Regardless of what I wanted, you deserved to have a choice.” 

“My choice could’ve left you depressed and alone and celibate forever, you fucking dumbass.” 

He shrugs, and her hand falls to rest over his heart. She stares at it as she continues.

“When you… marked me… I felt… I don’t know what I felt. Nothing’s ever been so intense.”

She looks up at him through her eyelashes, and he smiles softly.

“That’s the bond,” he explains, his large palm coming to rest over the hand on his chest. 

“And if we weren’t on… our blockers?”

“If we weren’t on our blockers, there’s no fucking telling how many pups we’d have running around by now.”

Y/N shivers as the thought of being bred settles in her core, and for once she’s not cursing her biology. Dean chuckles faintly at her reaction, dropping his forehead to hers. 

“We can practice in the meantime. Until you decide you want off of them.”

She inhales deeply, taking in as much of his scent as she can. “Oh, I –” another deep breath, “I’m getting off of them for sure.”

Dean lets out a borderline animalistic growl, thinking about how many times he’ll get to fuck her through that first heat. “I’m gonna stop taking my pills, too,” he says breathily.

“Yeah?”

“I had to get on rut blockers when you moved into the Bunker because I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself. But now,” he says, spinning them both around and pinning Y/N against the wall, “now I don’t fuckin’ have to.”

“Dean,” she half gasps, half moans. He kisses the mark on her neck before licking all the way up to her jaw line and pulling back. 

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy, Omega.”

She meets his feral gaze with one of her own, a glint of mischief in her eyes. “Prove it.” 

And it might be an incredibly stupid thing to say to a horny Alpha, but it’s also Dean. And he’d never hurt her.

“Mm, fuck.” His voice is raspy and wrecked and they haven’t even done anything yet. Before Y/N can process what’s happening, he’s picking her up and throwing her onto the bed. He climbs over her, hovering for a moment, taking in her flushed cheeks, the warmth radiating off of her, her scent. “You’re beautiful,” he states plainly, like it’s the one fact in the world that he knows without a doubt to be true. 

Y/N blushes. “Thank you, Alpha.” She says it because she knows what it does to him. 

“You’re beautiful, and I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you.” 

A gasp leaves her lips as he pushes her dress up her hips and moves down her body to the foot of the mattress, his fingertips dancing along the hem of her panties before his eyes meet with hers. She gives him a nod, and it’s all the confirmation he needs before pulling them down her legs and tossing them aside. 

He watches hungrily as she spreads her thighs, her core damn near dripping with her wetness, and if this is what it’s like when she’s on heat blockers, he can’t even begin to imagine what it’ll look like covered in her slick. His cock grows hard in his slacks at the thought, and he has to step off the bed to take off his pants and boxers before the containment grows painful. He shrugs off his suit jacket and white dress shirt too, and when he’s standing in front of the bed, fully naked, Y/N is propping herself up on her elbows to take him in.

“Holy – fuck,” is all she can get out. 

Dean chuckles deeply, one knee coming up onto the mattress as he fists his cock. “Fuck, sweetheart.” He looks her over again, pussy glistening, nipples peaked through her dress. “Fuck, I want you to – would you present for me?”

A smirk spreads across her lips, but she doesn’t say anything before flipping over and assuming the position. Ass up, legs shoulder width apart, chest resting on the mattress. 

Dean lets out a low and guttural, “Fuuuuck,” and it’s enough to make her pussy clench around nothing. She feels the mattress dip behind her, and when his cock starts to move through her folds, she almost cums right then and there. 

“I know you you wish you weren’t an Omega,” he starts, “but you’re a fuckin’ perfect one, baby.” 

She shakes her head, soft whimpers escaping her as he continues to tease her with his dick. “I’m glad I’m an Omega, because I’m yours.” 

With that, Dean loses what little self control he has left. He lines himself up with her entrance and sinks into her heat, and she feels so fucking perfect, the way she molds around his cock. The noises leaving her throat spur him on as he thrusts into her, setting a bruising pace. He wraps his hand around her shoulder for leverage, his other gripping her ass.

“Oh my fuck!” she practically screams, and he can feel how close she is, can smell it. 

“You’re gonna be a good little Omega and cum for me, aren’t you baby?” he pants, and he couldn’t be thrusting deeper if he tried.

She nods frantically. “Yesyesyes, please, Alpha, I wanna to cum. I wanna — mm, fuck — on your —”

She’s too fucked out to even finish her sentence, and Dean can feel himself about to fall over the edge. “What’s that, sweetheart? Speak up.”

“I wanna cum — oh, God! — on your knot. Fucking fill me up, Dean, please.”

He barely manages another thrust before he buries himself to the hilt, the base of his cock swelling inside her as he pumps her full of his seed.

The feeling of him filling her sends her over the edge, her pussy clenching around his cock, his knot, and she feels so full and fucked and sated.

“Oh my fucking fuuuuck,” he groans, feeling her pulse around him. “Fuck, everyone and this fuckin’ party is gonna be able to smell me inside of you.”

She moans at his words.

“Gonna have me dripping down your thighs ‘til we get back home.” His hand squeezes the globe of her ass before he leans over, getting as close to her ear as he can. “And then I’m gonna fuck you again. And again. And again. Because we got three years to make up for.” He nips at her ear playfully. “And now you’re finally mine.”

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Dating Miguel O’Hara Would Include…

Warnings: Implied Smut, Domestic Miguel !!!, Possessive Miguel, Protective Miguel, Dominant Miguel, Slight Yandere Miguel (if you squint), Fluff, Mild Angst, Hurt/Comfort, No Pronouns used for Reader Except You’.

Miguel being stoic and militant around his associates, but melting into a massive softie when he gets to see you.

His eyes literally light up when he hears you coming. He has to resist the urge to scoop you up into his arms and cuddle you silly whenever he hears you call his name, your tones music to his ears, his heart thrumming – harpstrings.

Golden retriever boyfriend to the MAX.

He brings you breakfast in bed whenever he’s awake before you – which is often considering his vampiric nature. And he looks so proud of himself when he cooks a good meal, too. Literally just a beaming, teeth-filled, closed-eye smile when you tell him he’s “Done such a good job, Babe !”

Any kind of praise sends him absolutely wild, so use it sparingly. It can either get you out of or into a world of trouble; especially if you're trying to get Miguel hot under the collar.

Miguel’s love language is, simply put, everything.

The adoration that swells in his chest whenever he thinks of you manifests as him throwing himself into your service.

He does anything and everything you ask of him, no matter how extravagant or nominal the request is. And everything you don’t.

He isn’t stingy with his words, either; he tells you how much he loves you whenever you’re alone, often coming up behind you and sliding his arms around your front, resting his head on your shoulder and breathing deeply.

He presses soft, careful kisses into the crook of your neck, making sure to keep his fangs from pinching you, inhaling your warmth, your scent.

“I love you.” His heart drums into your back. His lips capture your skin again. “I love you,” And again. “I live for you.” And again.

He’s lived with a lifetime of regret for not being able to protect those he held dear; he won’t allow you to go without knowing the extent of his adoration for you. Not when he feels he never truly got to show his family – his ghosts – how much he loved them.

On a lighter note, Miguel LOVES having his hair played with; just card your fingers through his locks and he’s as good as incapacitated.

After a rough day, he crawls into bed and lays his head in your lap or on your chest, his body winding down in your soft embrace.

He lowkey moans when you catch his sensitive spot, his brows knotting together, his voice coming out as a rasped whisper.

He knows when you’re purposely trying to get him worked up, though. And he doesn’t stand for it.

“Careful Darling,” he glowers, the phantom sensation of you tugging his hair a half-weight on his senses. He cracks an eye open, his wine irises peaking out beneath heavy lids.

“Or I won’t be so gentle when it’s my turn to take care of you.”

Miguel prefers private displays of affection over public displays of affection; he doesn’t want his subordinates knowing he’s gone soft.

But, there are exceptions to this principle.

Like if Miguel’s feeling particularly hot and desperate, by which point he whisks you away to the bathroom and the two of you aren’t seen for a good hour or so. Usually longer.

The other exception is if he’s feeling jealous or possessive, by which point his sensibilities have vacated his mind and he’s right behind you, his hands on your waist, your shoulders – anywhere he can hold you. Or, he’s filling your mouth with his tongue and your ear with his words if the other party present doesn’t get the hint that you’re taken.

“You’re mine,” he rasps, his breath hot, prickling your skin, the tips of his fang drawing goosebumps. Miguel’s eyes shine an ocean red, dark and unknown. He has you caged, arms encompassing you entirely.

“And I’ll never let anyone take you from me.”

Speaking of; Miguel is incredibly possessive.

Years of rumination and a history of scattered failures make for a very territorial man. And it shows.

He keeps his hands on you whenever you’re together or in the presence of someone he thinks can steal you from him; someone better than him.

He stares down at them until they fumble or leave; whichever prevails first. After which point, when you’re alone, he turns you round to look at him and just stares at you like 🥺.

The epitome of ‘Babe you pushed my leg off you while you were asleep; do you still love me ???’

You have to reassure him when things like this occur. Take him by the face and hold him gently in your hands; press a soft kiss to his lips and call him your “One and only,”

Doing so is a one-way ticket to a very long night.

Possessive, heartfelt, grasping, gasping love-making.

Miguel can’t stop until your bottom half is numb and the only thing you’re capable of thinking and saying is his name.

Of course, he rewards you for your endurance after the fact.

Aftercare king right here <333

Treats you like you’re glass; he runs you a bath, brings you your favourite drink and changes the bedsheets.

And, when you’re fast asleep and curled up into his chest, his heart flutters, and, for the first time in his life, he feels that he has stability. Pure, unconditional, everlasting love.

And he’ll sooner dismantle the multiverse himself than let anyone or anything take that from him.

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[lale-txt]

❥ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒? ↳ 𝐰/ 𝐒𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐬𝐚, 𝐈𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐮𝐦𝐢, 𝐀𝐤𝐚𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢, 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐦𝐚, 𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮, 𝐁𝐨𝐤𝐮𝐭𝐨 & 𝐎𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚

a/n: reader is gn! back with my drabbles; i just love trying to convey a very specific mood or scene in 200 words or less, it's SO fun and challenging. i already have longer HQ fics drafted but those really help me getting a grasp of those chars (and i don't have to decide on only one boy because there's so many who have my whole heart heh). i hope you enjoy this boquet of sweets from me to you ♡ some additional thoughts at the end of this because apparently i have PLENTY ok bye

word count: 1.3k

𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐒𝐀 scoffs softly. Of course he got you flowers. He would have bought everything inside the damn florist shop if you had enough space for it in your tiny apartment. This bouquet of wildflowers must do for now; it’s so huge, it makes you vanish behind it completely when he shoves it into your hands the second you open the door for him. He can hear you laugh in surprise and that is enough for him. A few minutes later you watch him from where he sat you down on the kitchen counter, rummaging around the cabinets and searching for a vessel that can serve as a vase because the ones you have are way too small for the size of this bouquet. Under his breath he mumbles something about how you stubbornly refuse to let him buy you a house already, one with endless fields of flowers surrounding it; then he wouldn’t have to waste his time searching for a vase big enough and could just kiss you in a sea of petals. You both know that it’s only a matter of time till that happens.

𝐈𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐈 doesn’t fully remember when this tradition started. Years ago, it must have been in high school, when you were down with a cold and he brought you your favorite snacks and a bundle of flowers from the conbini after school. They were nothing special, wrapped in plastic and close to wilting soon, the price tag still on, but he can never forget the ways your eyes lit up when he put them down on your bedside table. Your voice had been so hoarse that day, you barely managed to get a Thank You out, and Iwaizumi didn’t know what else to say either, so he just sat on your bed and held your hand till you dozed off again shortly after, leaving him with all those buzzing feelings inside of his chest. How many flowers has he bought you ever since, week after week? It must have been hundreds. How many times has he kissed you somewhen between bouquet 84 and 931? Countless times. He won’t stop doing either of that in this lifetime.

𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈 is overthinking again. One finger rests on your doorbell, the other is nervously fidgeting with the wrapping paper. Should he have read more about the language of flowers before coming here? What if he accidentally picked some that actually say “let’s just be friends” or “I like you only mediocrely” and not “you’re the light and love of my life, and my heart has never been fuller ever since you claimed it as yours, please will you be mine forever–in this life and each one that comes after that, beloved”? His hand clenches around the bouquet and he’s one heartbeat away from turning around on the doorstep and walking back to the flower shop, when you open the door smiling, so bright that Akaashi thinks he must have walked into the burning sun. Your fingers brush over his when you reach for the flowers, and he doesn’t register the words coming out of his mouth at this moment, his mind clouded by the thought of what your future wedding bouquet will look like. He will do some research for that later tonight, after giving you a hundred kisses. 

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀 laughs quietly when he opens his mailbox in Animal Crossing. You sent him the Hello Kitty items, including the matching hat and dress for him to wear next time you stream together, paired with a sweet love note that he immediately saves to his favorites. Needless to say that he keeps all of them. Under the thick blanket you (wearing one of his sweaters) rub your cold feet against his, and giggle next to him when you unwrap the flowers he sent you in-game. Lying on top of both of you is your cat named Apple Pie, who purrs and makes biscuits, ensuring neither of you would be able to get up anytime soon. You mentioned once how you liked the in-game flowers better than real ones, because it made you sad to see cut flowers wilt and wither over time and the pixel ones would stay like this forever–just like the two of you, hopefully. Kenma leans down to press a kiss to the side of your neck and wonders briefly how he managed to get so lucky. If he had the magic power to freeze time, he would, but until he levels up he will keep you in his arms like this for a little longer. 

𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔 is looking proud of himself when he puts your plate on the counter and nudges it towards you. The three onigiri on it are decorated with tiny edible flowers, and your loud complaints about how they’re too pretty to be eaten make him laugh. So are you, and yet he still gets to devour you night after night. You look so ravishing, taking photos of your food from every possible angle to post them on your food blog later, with your tongue poking out between your lips like it always does when you’re focused. Osamu thinks that out of every person in the whole world, he must be the luckiest of them all because only he gets to call you his. He doesn’t have it in him to tell you to hurry and eat up already, knowing there’s some things you just can’t rush–food, love. The latter he learned from you and your incredible patience, and how you molded his heart into the shape of you with time, with gentle hands and stolen kisses, till he was all yours, only yours. 

𝐁𝐎𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐎 nearly drops the flowers in fist when he fumbles for his keys, his sports bag almost sliding off his shoulders, one shoe untied. It’s messy, but he can’t wait to see you. You’re probably asleep by now, sprawled out on the couch with the remote still in your hand, re-playing his game on repeat. Seeing you cry earlier because you couldn’t go to watch him play in person broke his heart a little; he simply hates seeing you upset like this (and maybe it was also on him for telling you the leftovers in the fridge were probably still good to eat). He doesn’t flick the lights on, just walks straight over to the couch, a big hand brushing strands of hair out of your sleeping face. No feeling in the world can compare to you nuzzling your face into his palm and mumbling out his name drowsily. Bokuto drops the bundle of dandelions he picked on his way home into your nearly empty water glass on the table before carefully scooping you up in his arms, carrying you back to bed. For once he’ll be the big spoon tonight, making sure you sleep safe and sound. 

𝐎𝐈𝐊𝐀𝐖𝐀 insists on facetiming you, even if it’s 2AM for him and you’re still jetlagged, being back in Japan after visiting him in Argentina. By now you’ve found all the little notes he left in your luggage, hidden between your shirts, souvenirs and in your toiletry bag, but there’s still one surprise left now that you’re back home (even though home is when you’re with him, but whatever). You’re busy complaining about the horrid traffic and your shitty boss and Oikawa barely listens, mesmerized by your face and the sound of your voice, and thinking about the ring he’s gonna put on your finger soon. On his screen you look up when your doorbell rings and the camera gets a little shaky when you rise to your feet, opening the door to the delivery of a bouquet of your favorite flowers, so big you struggle to grab it with one hand. For a bit all Oikawa can see is blossoms in the brightest colors and can only hear your surprised laughter, along with some curses because how dare he be so sweet when he’s an ocean apart where you can’t kiss him right now. Soon, he’ll be there again soon.

❥ 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭…

i REALLY like old money Omi who just wants to spend all his money on you but also kinda enjoys the cramped little apartment you live in. it feels like a bit of a cave and he likes that there's only room for both of you in there

Hajime childhood friends to lovers trope my beloved. how long it must have took you both to sort out your feelings for each other, one boquet at a time

i think Akaashi would write the best love letters

Kenma bullies ugly villagers off his AC island and he's really good at terraforming and will help you out with your island (this is based on me being terrible at terraforming and giving up after ten minutes)

Osamu and you started off as enemies to lovers because you left a bad review about Onigiri Miya once and so he invited you over to prove you wrong, and you fell in love one bite at a time (i really wanna write a SMAU on this but idk if i can pull this off, so if someone wants to grab this idea let me know so i can kiss you)

LITTLE SPOON BOKUTO AGENDA 🗣️ listen just imagine snuggling against this broad back, kissing the back of his neck, his butt wiggling as he gets comfy...

Oikawa idk what to say. i love him dearly but he feels the hardest to write to me

[ohimsummer]

...I CAN DO BETTER

— minors dni, jealous! satoru x virgin! reader, both of them came in their pants lol, dryhumping, consensual recording/photography, teasing because it's satoru gojo, degradation (use of slut), nipple play, biting/hickeys

sequel to “anything you can do…”

If there is one thing a Satoru Gojo will not allow, it is to be one-upped by Suguru, no matter what it was.

He had too much pride. It was so easy for Geto to bait him into a competition because Gojo would do anything if it meant being declared the winner. Shoko would warn him that his pride would be his downfall, and would land him in quite the unfavorable predicament if he kept it up. Judging from where he was now though, Satoru would beg to differ.

His smirk grows wider at your longing whine, pressing his bulge harder against the growing wet patch of your panties. He smoothes a hand over your bare thigh, pinches you out the blue and can’t help but giggle when you flinch and yelp. The camera app open on his phone, Gojo twists and turns the device to get the best angle of little ol’ you.

Satoru was, of course, quite unhappy at the dark spot on your neck. Because who did Suguru think he was marking you as if you belonged to him? And you, how dare you give Geto the privilege of seeing you so pathetic and desperate first? And, even worse, cumming on his thigh? Appalling. Sickening, even. Satoru’s headache got worse every time Suguru rubbed it in his face.

“She was so cute.”, he brags in a soft, nonchalant voice, dripping with delight. “Should’ve been there, Satoru, she came all over me.”

And Satoru doesn’t know that your display wasn’t as thrilling as Geto makes it out to be. You only came on his leg, fully clothed, but Geto can tell by the protruding veins along his friend’s forehead that Gojo assumes you were bent over the dresser and fucked silly. Unfortunately false, but where’s the fun in correcting him on that?

“S- Satoru–,” you whimper, fabric of your skirt bunched around your waist and between your fingers.” Please, please…”

Gojo steadily grinds into your core, and you think you might just fucking die. The firm tip of his dick rubs into your throbbing clit so nicely, though barely satiating the dull ache in your pussy. You clench around nothing, drunk and tense and so lost in such a simple pleasure as you messily rock your hips to meet his thrusts.

“So needy, sweetheart.” His mockery is relentless. “Actin’ like such a little slut. You always this desperate for some dick, baby, or is it just mine?”

The minute your head falls to one side and breaks his gaze, suddenly your cheeks are smushed between fingers and Gojo forces you to look at him again. “Answer me.”

A meek whisper trickles from your mouth, lips littered in indentations where you’ve sank your teeth into them. “Just yours…”

He lowers the phone a little and holds his hand up to his ear, then leans closer, all this while still massaging his stiff cock against your swollen clit. “A little louder, baby, so Suguru will hear.”

Before you can register his words, Gojo gives you a particularly sharp thrust that mashes his tip against your clit so perfectly and you can’t help crying out for him. “J-just yours, Satoru–!”

His free hand runs beneath your shirt, up to your bare breasts underneath, and Satoru carelessly thumbs a nipple beneath his finger. “Aww, Suguru will be so disappointed.”

There’s not a chance to protest, instead he’s mindlessly driving himself into your cunt again, low grunts and broken moans leaving him. Gojo props his phone up on your nightstand and, now that his other hand is free, begins leaving his touch all over your body. He looms over your weak, shivering form, mercilessly humping against you and eager to swallow the saccharine whines that escape your lips. Your legs, on either side of his waist, clench around him and it feels like your body has a mind of its own as you so desperately grind back against him.

“S-Sato-“, he lands another kiss on your lips, interrupting your plea. “Satoru..!”

It’s the way you’re so desperate and needy and so fucking endearing, no wonder Suguru couldn’t keep his hands off you. Gojo had to end this quick, too much longer and he’d be ripping these flimsy, cotton panties off (and they’re just so cute with a little blue bow in the center that’s calling for him) and having his way with you until Suguru’s name was completely erased from your mind, all on another video to add to his now-growing collection. But, he wouldn’t, not yet anyway. Not that he doesn’t want to, but really just out of bitterness because fuck Suguru for having his way with you and fuck you for letting him.

Before Satoru finishes up, he litters your neck in love bites; they’re spread across your collar, up your jaw, and especially over the previous mark Geto made as a big ‘fuck you’ to that man. And shit, why not, on your chest too. Signs of his possession all over your pretty tits, and the sight almost has him immediately cumming in his pants.

He realizes too late that you’ve gone silent, and looks up to see your head thrown back and bottom lip tucked right between your teeth. Your trembling form is enough to push Satoru closer to his own high, though in the back of his mind he refuses to believe that you deserve such a luxury after being naughty with Suguru.

Your little droplets of cum squirt onto his pants, and your release triggers his own before he can relish in knowing he got you to squirt for him and Suguru didn’t. Gojo dumps a hot load into his boxers, which in turn soaks all the way to the front of his trousers. Chest heaving, Satoru grabs his phone, ends the video, and again holds the device above your writhing figure. In all the excitement, he almost forgot what he was doing all this for.

“Up here, sweetheart.,” he sings at you, and he’s satisfied when your lids flutter open to look at the lens.

Satoru snaps a few pictures of your fucked-out form. Some with your soaked, cumstained pussy just cropped out the bottom, some exposing the marks on your tits, and even one where he uses your skirt to hide his cock, which he’s laid over your cunt. He didn’t actually do what the picture implies, but Gojo thinks the look on Suguru’s face when he assumes he fucked you senseless will be worth it. You certainly look the part, gasping and sweaty and quivering all from him just humping your little clit.

“Don’t you look perfect.”, Satoru grins as he taps around some more on his phone, and your eyes widen when he shows you the screen. “You make such a cute wallpaper, babe!”

[barbiiecams]

baby trapping bfb!rafe omg 😖. it would most definitely be an accident, but now you could finally claim him. you weren’t so opposed to the fact of getting pregnant with his baby beforehand, but because sarah was genuinely your friend, you made sure not to for the time being.

now rafe? he’d be so mad yet happy at the same time. he was very reluctant to even take off the condom off with you, and this seemed like the consequence to his actions.

“right there!” you moaned out as he hit the perfect spot inside of you.

“yea? right there?” he’d taunt, smirking down at the position he had you in. he pulled out for a second which almost made you cuss him out, but then lifted one of your legs in the air and held it by the back of your thigh, plowing his way back in again.

this made your eyes roll so far back you were almost positive they got stuck for a hot minute.

“that’s the spot, huh baby?” he’d lean over and say into your ear. not being able to form words, all you could do was nod. but there was something you desperately wanted from all this.

he’d been folding you up, throwing you around and switching positions all night. and he knew exactly how you liked it. it’s like he could seriously do no wrong. all though this whole situation was wrong, you still seemed to forget that this was your friends brother. someone who’s supposed to be off limits.

but we can’t help who we like, right?

he definitely didn’t care though, matter of fact, his dirty talk never stopped about it. “yea? that feel good being fucked by your friend’s brother? imagine if she saw us now. shit, i finally wouldn’t have to hide my girl.”

and he just continues.

“yea rub that clit baby. soak this cock.”

“keep taking it baby, know you can.”

“let go baby, cum all over it.”

as soon as he felt your release, his came up not too long after.

“shit, you feel too good. gonna make me blow mine soon.” this right here is when you ask for whatever, knowing how easy it is for them to say yes when they’re balls deep, seconds away from nutting.

“inside me? please!” you’d grab onto his shoulders, while his arms were now pressing your hip down into the bed.

his movement doesn’t slow, but his face says the answer as well as his words. “you know we can’t. convincing me to go raw wasn’t enough?”

“i just wanna feel you… all full inside me.” you’d say, almost choking on your words the way he’s still milking out your orgasm.

“i’ll cum in your ass. how about that?”

“s’not the same! please, rafe. just once?”

he doesn’t answer for a little bit, but the way his face starts to scrunch up, he was bound to cum in a few seconds.

“fine,” he finally says. “better fuckin take it all.”

right after that, his hot and heavy flow streams right into you, making your brain feel like complete mush.

after a few moments of just laying there, he pulls out and lays down next to you, pulling your head into his chest. “won’t be leaving you alone anytime soon with a pussy like that.” he chuckles, & you playfully hitting his chest.

—

the only thing that brought you was a world full of trouble. because here you are now, sitting on the toilet with a nauseous stomach, and positive stick in your hand to top it off. this most definitely was not supposed to happen, but you didn’t feel that bad about it either.

taking a picture of it in your hands, you sent it to rafe then put your phone down and held your stomach again. you didn’t even need that pregnancy test. the way you were throwing up buckets confirmed it by itself.

not even 5 minutes later, he texts you back.

“didn’t i tell you it was a bad idea? now how are you gonna tell sarah, cus im not.”

now that was definitely something you weren’t thinking about in the heat of the moment.

[pedrospatch]

more hearts than mine

Frankie Morales x Female Reader

summary: Frankie promises you he’s not going anywhere.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. no physical description of reader, no mention of her age, reader has both of her parents, reader has a little sister (15 and unnamed), reader has a close relationship with her family (cannot say i am writing this from experience oop), reader is from a small, unnamed town somewhere in the midwest (state not specified), established relationship, mention of ex-boyfriend, mentions of alcohol consumption, reassurance, fluff, smutty themes towards the end but no smut.

word count: 2k

a/n: this was not planned and very spur of the moment. i think i needed a palette cleanse from writing so much joel. it’s my first time writing for frankie but i like the way it turned out. <3 i it’s 3 am, i wrote this in an hour and it is not proofread, so please excuse any errors. this is based on a song called more hearts than mine by ingrid andress.

“It’s late,” you worry. “Where could they be?”

Amused, your mother watches you anxiously pace back and forth in front of the dining room table. “My darling, can you please relax? They probably hit some traffic on their way back home from the lake. I bet you anything those two will be walking through the front door any second now,” she assures you. At that precise moment, her cell phone vibrates on the table, the loud buzzing noise garnering her attention. She picks it up and raises her eyebrows in complete surprise. “Oh. Or maybe not. Your father just texted me and said they’re stopping for a couple of drinks at the bar. He says not to wait up for them.”

Halting mid pace, you whirl around and stare at her. 

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope.” She shows you the text. “See?”

“Jesus,” you mutter. Shaking your head, you drop down into the chair across from hers.

“That’s a pretty good sign. Don’t you think so, honey?”

It is because your father taking your boyfriend out on a fishing trip and then taking him to his favorite bar for drinks afterwards means that their time alone together has gone well. But, even though your father had clearly taken a liking to him, he won’t ever show it. Sure, he’ll buy him dinner and he’ll buy him drinks, he’ll check his tires and take a look underneath the hood of his pickup truck to make sure everything looks good, but he’ll do it with a scowl on his face and a standoffish attitude.

“He hates me, baby. Your old man hates me,” Frankie declared after his first dinner with your family. You had both arrived in your hometown that same evening after a gruelling, sixteen hour drive to the midwest. Despite being exhausted from the trip, he’d put his best foot forward for them—he’d charmed your mother and your little sister, had them both wrapped around his finger by the time dessert had been served. But your father, oh he had been much harder for him to win over. “He barely said two words to me all night.”

“My dad doesn’t hate you,” you swore to him, rubbing a soft, soothing circle into his broad back. “Do you want to know how I know that?”

“How?”

“Because he poured you a drink.”

He’d snorted. “What, and that means he likes me?”

“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves,” you joked with a giggle. “It’s still too early to tell if he likes you. But one thing is for sure, he doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t break out a bottle of whiskey for someone he hates, Frankie.”

Sighing, you lift your legs, pulling your knees up to your chest.

Poor Frankie. He’s probably spent the better part of the whole day just trying to figure him out.

“I like him,” your mother says after a minute. “I like him a lot.”

“What a coincidence,” you grin. “I like him a lot too.”

She laughs. “I’m serious! He’s incredible, darling. He is so handsome. He’s sweet. Seems like he’s got a really good head on his shoulders—”

“Are we talking about Francisco?” Your sister walks into the dining room with can of Dr. Pepper in one hand and her cell phone in the other.

“As a matter of fact, we are.” Your mother smiles. “Isn’t he great?”

“He’s kinda perfect, actually.” She takes a casual sip of her soda and raises an eyebrow at you. “I have to admit though, I’m afraid to get attached to Frankie. You know, after what happened with Jake—”

You wince at the mention of your ex-boyfriend’s name.

Your mother hisses her name, angrily.

“I’m just saying! When he broke up with you, it’s like he broke up with all of us. It sucked.” She shrugs, adding, “I mean, even dad was sad about it for months. Wasn’t he, mom?”

“Don’t you have a paper to write?” Your mother glares at her.

Your sister starts towards the staircase, but stops and glances over her shoulder. “I like Frankie,” she tells you, smiling wryly. “And I really hope he sticks around.” With that, she disappears upstairs.

Sighing heavily, your mom turns to you. “Don’t listen to her. She’s only fifteen, she doesn’t know any better. She doesn’t understand what happened—”

Pushing away from the table, you stand up. 

“I’m going to take a walk,” you murmur. “I need some fresh air.”

“Hermosa?”

You stir at the sound of Frankie’s voice.

“Baby. Hey. Wake up.”

“Mm?” you mumble sleepily. “Frankie, what are—ow!”

You groan when he switches on the lamp on the beside table. Rolling over, you bury your face into your pillow.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, chuckling softly. The twin sized mattress squeaks, dipping as he somehow squeezes himself beside you on your childhood bed. He’s staying in the guest room down the hallway—you parents, who were incredibly old school, had insisted the two of you sleep in separate bedrooms during your stay. Draping his arm around you, he leans down and nuzzles into the side of your face. Even with your nose buried in your pillow, you pick up the scent of sunscreen mingled with beer. “Just wanted to tell you I’m back home.”

Lifting your head, you blink furiously until your blurred vision stabilizes.

“What—what time is it?”

“Eleven.” Frankie’s cheeks and nose are red, sunburned from having been out on your dad’s boat all afternoon. You’re willing to bet he’d forgotten to put the sunscreen on his face. Even though you’d warned him a hundred times not to forget.

“What?” You sit up, prompting him to do the same. “It’s eleven and you only now just got back?”

“Your old man took me to Gordon’s,” Frankie explains, referring to one of the only few bars your small town had to offer. It was the place where you would meet with your old high school friends to catch up with each other whenever you were home visiting. At some point this week, you would be sitting in a booth at that old bar with them, introducing Frankie, and squirming when they began to tell him embarrassing stories of all those crazy nights from your senior year. “We went in with plans to have a couple beers before coming home, but then we ran into some of his buddies there. He introduced me, they bought us more drinks, and we played a game of pool. Your dad whooped my ass, of course.”

“How did fishing go?”

“Great. Y’know, once he stopped looking at me like he wanted to throw me overboard.”

You let out an amused huff. “He would never.”

“I don’t know. That man is pretty hard to read.” Frankie reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together. “One minute we’d be talking, shooting the shit while we waited for the fish to bite, and the next he would look at me like he was seriously thinking about pushing me off his boat and into the water.” He squeezes your hand, a deep laugh rumbling through his chest. “I spent all goddamn day with him and I still can’t tell if he likes me yet or not.”

Lifting his hand, you press a tender kiss to the back of it, a sweet token of affection.

“He likes you, Frankie,” you murmur against his skin. “I know it. My whole family likes you. Except my mom—”

He stiffens. “What?”

“She loves you.”

Frankie turns to you. Despite your smile, he can see the hint of concern in your eyes. “Baby, what’s the matter?”

You hesitate.

After what your sister had said earlier that evening, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d made a mistake and brought him home too soon. You and Frankie had been together for about six months now, and besides having a drawer of your things at his place for when you stayed overnight, you two hadn’t really sat down to talk about what the next step in your relationship would be—you and Frankie hadn’t discussed the possibility of a future together. Truth be told, you had never felt the need to question him about where this was heading. You’d been perfectly content in allowing things to unfold between you without putting any kind of pressure on yourself, or on him. At least, up until now, you had been content.

You’d been silly to think bringing Frankie home to meet your family wouldn’t be all that big of a deal, that it wouldn’t make you consider what came next. But you had forgotten how easily your mother falls in love, how quickly your little sister can form an attachment, and how your father, despite being rough around the edges, feels every heartache you go through as if it’s his own.

You think back to when your previous relationship went down in flames, you remember the helpless look on your father’s face whenever he would see you crying. “I never liked him,” he’d said, pouring himself a glass of whiskey over ice. But that had been a lie. He’d seen him as the son he never had. He lost something, too. Your whole family had to heal from that loss along with you.

Part of you is afraid that it could happen again.

“Amor?”

Frankie’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

You glance down at your hand in his. “Frankie, the last thing I want to do is scare you off,” you start to say, a nervous edge to your tone. “Or put any kind of pressure on you to give me anything more than what you have already given me. But now that you’ve met my family, I can’t help but worry a little bit.”

He frowns. “What are you worried about?”

Sighing, you confess, “My last relationship—it didn’t end very well, Frankie. My family loved him, adored him the way I can see they’re already starting to adore you. When he broke up with me, he broke more hearts than just mine.” You force yourself to look up, and meet his gaze with a wistful smile. “I guess there’s a part of me that’s scared it’ll happen again.”

Frankie’s dark brown eyes soften. “Oh baby, there’s no need to be scared. That’s never gonna happen.”

“How can you be so sure it’ll never happen?”

“Easy, because I love you. And I know you love me.” He reaches over with his free hand and he cups the side of your face, his thumb grazing over the soft skin of your cheekbone. “I’m in this for the long haul. I wouldn’t have driven sixteen hours across the country with you to come meet your family if I wasn’t. I’m serious about you—I’m serious about us, baby.”

Frankie leans in, gently pressing his mouth to yours in a chaste, but sweet kiss.

“Do you wanna know what I see when I look at you?” he mumbles against your lips.

“What do you see?”

“Mi futuro,” he tells you. “I see my future.”

Warmth blossoms in your chest. “You do?”

“I do. Believe me, I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me, and so is your family,” Frankie grins. “Your dad is gonna have plenty of opportunities to contemplate throwing me off his boat and into the lake.”

You giggle as he kisses you again before trailing his lips down to your neck. “Frankie,” you say his name warningly as he pushes you onto your back. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he says innocently, positioning himself on top of you. He plants his hands on either side of your head and dips his head, nipping lightly at the tender flesh over your pulse point. “How thin are these walls?”

“Francisco Morales, no, you are not fucking me in my parent’s house, not in my childhood bedroom—”

His bulge brushes against your thigh and you gasp.

“Guess I’ll head back to the guest room, then,” Frankie murmurs, feathering one last kiss onto your neck.

He starts to climb off of you and your hands shoot out, curling around fistfuls of his shirt to stop him.

“I can be quiet,” you whisper, biting your bottom lip. You take one of his hands and guide it underneath the hem of the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing to the apex of your thighs. “Can you?”

“Hermosa,” Frankie groans, running a finger along the damp cotton of your panties. He slips it beneath the fabric, his blood rushing south when he meets your slick folds. “God, I fucking hope so, or else I’ll actually end up at the bottom of that fucking lake.”

divider credit to @saradika 🤍

[shanastoryteller]

Happy holidays! Lady mo please?

a continuation of 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59

Jiang Yanli does not often feel old. Her golden core does not keep her eternally young like it does her brother, does not prevent the more persistent illnesses from plaguing her, but it does east the aches and pains non cultivators her age often complain of, does keep her skin youthful without the aid of strange poultices and she’ll probably never need dyes to keep her hair dark. But she feels old now, watching Xuanyu and Lan Wangji fumble around one another, watching her struggle for the affection of a husband who might care for her, but does not treat her with care.

At least by the time she married Zixuan, he’d told her that he loved her.

 “What was all the commotion about?” Zixuan asks, arms encircling her waist as he tugs her back against his chest now that they’re back in their own quarters.

“Your cousin got drunk and pissed off the wrong people. Again.”

He huffs, his breath warm against her neck. “Yanli. You know that’s not what I’m talking about. I know A-Yao thinks I’m stupid, but even I notice servants running about and clan leaders and their wives going missing. Especially when one of them is mine.”

“A-Yao doesn’t think you’re stupid,” Jiang Yanli says, even though he kind of does. He thinks most people are stupid and Zixuan has at least grown out of taking it personally. That doesn’t mean she has to rub it in. “Xuanyu was just – a little upset. About things.”

“Lan Xichen likes her. Lan Wangji’s kid adores her. And we all saw what Lan Wangji thinks,” he says. Defending is also not the same thing as caring, but she doesn’t say that. “A-Yao even calls her our sister. Do you remember how long it took him to call me brother? It seems like it’s going well.”

If it had gone a little less well, she’d be less distraught.

Jiang Yanli is debating how much she can say without revealing Xuanyu’s pregnancy – enough people know that it won’t stay a secret for long, but Zixuan is terrible at faking surprise – when there’s a loud, frantic knocking at their door.

Zixuan frowns and goes to open the door.

“Fuck off,” slurs a familiar, beloved voice.

Jiang Yanli hides a smile and goes to stand next to her husband.

A-Cheng is standing there, sort of, considering he’s mostly being supported but a long-suffering Li Jun. “Meimei said she won’t deal with him anymore.”

“Ah,” Zixuan says, already resigned.

A-Cheng stumbles forward, grabbing her wrist and tugging her towards the table. He blearily glares at Zixuan. “Go away.”

He sighs, leaning down to kiss her and then saying, “I suppose I’ll be in a guest room.” He makes a face, remembering that the tower is full of foreign disciples. “Somewhere.”

He’s going to end up sleeping in their son’s room and A-Ling is going to complain about it. Loudly.

“Good night,” she says, barely keeping from laughing as she closes the door on Li Jun side eyeing Zixuan. Her sect has never completely forgiven Zixuan for being a teenage boy, not matter that she’s spent over a decade in the Jin rather than the Jiang.

She lets A-Cheng pull her down beside him at the table, leaning his head on his arm while he stares at her. She pours him a cup of water that she hopes he’ll drink. “Are you all out of sorts because of Xuanyu too?”

His face goes blank then it creases and he’s turns to hide it in the bend of his elbow.

With the first stirrings of genuine alarm, Jiang Yanli realizes he’s crying.

“A-Cheng? A-Cheng, what’s wrong?” she asks, putter her arm over his back and pulling him into her side like she used to when they were kids.

The words come out muffled, but he says, “I hate him. How could he – I hate him.” Then, quieter, in a tone that doesn’t match the words at all, “I hate him.”

She runs through everyone who’s here, every cultivator she saw A-Cheng speak to, but it’s a fool’s errand. No one gets to him like this. No one but –

“Wei Wuxian came back.”

[after-witch]

With Your Heartbeat Next to Mine [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: With Your Heartbeat Next to Mine [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: You were lying to yourself if you claimed to think Mahito would be satisfied with kisses and late-night snuggles on the couch.

Word count: 1220ish

Notes: yandere, possessiveness, implied dubcon, talks of virginity, self-blame for unwanted advances, Mahito in general

Mahito steps forward, and you’re trapped between the unusual coolness of his body and your bedroom wall. One of your posters--some sun-faded thing leftover from your school years--crinkles against your back. You hope it doesn’t rip, and then you’re back to worrying about more important things.

Like the fact that Mahito wants you to have sex. Tonight. Today. Right now. 

“It’s just--I’m not ready,” you say, lips dry, stammering stupidly. “I’m a--I mean, I’ve never… I haven’t…”

Mahito quirks his head, and then grins, all teeth and salaciousness. “Oh-hh. You’re a virgin, then?” When you don’t answer, he pokes the end of your nose with a finger. “I read about it. It doesn’t matter to me. Humans attach importance to silly things, don’t they?”

Something like humiliation and hurt puffs up in you. He doesn’t take anything seriously, at least not when it comes to you. It’s never bothered you too much. It was part of the charm, the game, of being with someone like him.

But this is… different. Isn’t it? And it bothers you, deep down, even though you really forfeited all rights to any sort of normal relationship expectations the moment you willingly kissed a literal curse. 

“It’s not silly.” 

Your eyebrows furrow and you think back to fumbled romances from before Mahito. Awkward make-out sessions on the couch that always ended in you telling your dates that you weren’t ready to go that far, and they either smoothly accepted it and got their time’s worth with sloppy kisses and gropes or got the hell out of dodge, and you’re not sure which was more hurtful in the end. 

And then came Mahito. And he was different.  And a curse. And you were in something-like-a-relationship with him, but you didn’t know what to call it when the person you were seeing couldn’t be seen by anyone around you and he tortured people (to death, or not, and you definitely knew which one was worse in that case) for fun and “science” and you, sick and selfish thing, still loved the way he pressed kisses up your neck to feel your heartbeat or yanked your bottoms down to taste what was underneath or simply held you all night while you watched movies. 

And now he wants to push you down onto your bed and fuck you, and you don’t know what to do or say.  You don’t want it, but you knew it was coming, like it always does in any relationship. Was it any wonder that it came, too, in this one? 

Mahito puffs air in your face and you flinch, startled out of your thoughts. 

“Where’d you go, hmm?” You feel his fingers on your chin and you know what’s coming when one of them slides along your lips.  One of Mahito’s fingers hooks onto the side of your mouth, and if you weren’t used to him playing around with your body like it was a lump of clay, it would have bothered you. Instead you wonder when he last washed his hands, even as he stretches your lip upward, a mockery of a half-smile.

“Humans are silly. You’re silly,” he says, all matter-of-fact. Then he sighs, put-off or tired or just pretending to be in order to make himself more palatable, more humanesque, to you. You can never tell with him, and that’s part of the thrill. “Is it because you…” 

He releases your lips and taps his chin, putting on a show as he thinks for a moment, digging out information from whatever well of knowledge he stores things in. He normally pulls out trivia about humanity that would be better suited to some sort of criminology class. But today it’s something far less morbid, though hardly any less anxiety-inducing.

“Are you saving yourself for marriage? Is that why you don’t want to have sex?”

Your cheeks feel impossibly hot. 

You shake your head, looking down, unable to look at him. He never has a problem staring at you for what always feels like a terribly long time. Sometimes he does it so you’ll give him the answer he wants. Other times, it’s to study you--or that’s what you think, anyway. 

Mahito pouts. “Oh. Darn. I was thinking we might have a wedding, if that was the case. I’ve always admired those pretty dresses in the windows.” He sighs again. “Probably couldn’t invite him, though, anyway. He wouldn’t approve.” He smiles again, bright and peppy, all imitations of tiredness tossed aside like an old coat. “Did you know he wanted me to kill you the first time I brought you up?” 

You nod, because Mahito has had no problem telling you that his companions think he should have killed you a long time ago, and sometimes he thinks about it. But then he remembers how much fun you have together, so he puts it off for another day.

And the thought hits you like lead: If you won’t have sex with him, will he kill you? Will refusing make you too annoying or boring to put up with? Or is it better to say no and keep up the chase, make him fight for you? It was almost dizzying, the way relationship games became serious with Mahito around. A regular guy might just break up with you. Mahito might just break your neck.  

“Then… oh!” His expression brightens and he looks so sweet like this that you can almost forget what he is and what you’re doing with him. Almost. “You’re worried about the pain.” He nods, a mockery of sage wisdom. “I’ve read about that, too. He tilts his head back a little. “In novels. It’s cute…”

“You’re cute,” he says, and that’s a good sign--right?--because it means he still wants you. And you’re at least another step farther from being turned into some awful experiment in a sewer. 

His lips press against your ear, and his voice is too close and he’s too close, but you signed up for this when you let him in your life, didn’t you? You let him hold you and kiss you and if you didn’t think he’d eventually want more,  you were lying to yourself. 

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, and it does nothing but make you worry more. “I’ll be gentle.”

The most awful thing of all is that you can't tell if he's being genuine or not.

He grins, a sticky smile that oozes an awful dark pressure that makes your stomach clench. It would be better, you think, to do what he wants. Since he seems to want it so much. And… you should be flattered, if anything. Right? Be flattered. Be grateful. Appreciate that some all-powerful curse wants to press you into a mattress and have sex with your body and pull out your mewls and moans like he’s done before, albeit in a far less intimidating fashion. 

Mahito presses a chaste kiss to the end of your nose, then pulls back to examine your expression. 

“That’s what I’m supposed to say, isn’t it?” His fingers card through your hair up your scalp, scratching just a little too hard to feel nice. “So you don’t fight as much?”

You swallow, and your throat is so tight that your spit might as well be needles. 

Mahito, not wanting for an answer, presses his hands against your shoulder and pushes you harder against the wall as he moves in for a hungry kiss. Behind you, the poster rips. 

[anzulvr]

can you do a karma x reader but Korosensei just follows them around or he embarrasses Karma 🎀

Karma x Reader, where Korosensei embarrasses you both. Sorry for late replies as always & THANKS ALOT FOR REQUESTING THIS!! TELL ME IF U SEE TYPOS!!

— Korosensei has a lot of spare time on his hands tentacles. He can complete tasks that would take a regular person hours in a matter of seconds.

Which is why he often shoves his nose in other people’s business. He needs some way to keep himself entertained!

Unfortunately for him no matter how much he tries to set his students up together, none of them seem to make a move on their own accord!

Korosensei is 90% of the reason you and Karma are together.

You were too nervous to be honest about your feelings, confessing was out of the question.

Karma, he considered asking you out a few times but being inexperienced with romance (or any sort of affection ranging from friendships to his family life) , he didn’t know how to go about springing his emotions on you.

He planned it out himself a few times; ‘What am I supposed to do after I confess? High-five? Maybe a hug, nah I’m not a hug person.’

Karmas love language is mentally draining the people he likes, which is why he’s not the type to prepare huge romantic gestures all on his own.

He prefers pissing you off until you want to punch him. (He thinks it’s funny when you miss.)

Or getting his ears pulled when he’s saying something stupid and you’re trying to shut him up.

Korosensei knows you two won’t get anywhere without a push, he’s very observant with his students, he decided he could give you two the encouragement you needed.

Honestly what better self appointed wing man is there? Korosensei can pretty much make anything happen with his abilities! He does everything behind you and Karmas backs. He gets the students and his colleagues involved at times.

Karasuma has spoken against it, might’ve said something along the lines of “Stop poking your head into your students private lives.” But what would he know? Romance has to be pursued! Everyone knows if you can’t follow your heart Korosensei will follow it for you.

He can make the most random, insignificant moments about you two.

“Korosensei, do you have an eraser you could let me have?”

“Unfortunately I’m all out [Name]. Karma has plenty erasers you should ask him!”

Karma looks confused, his only eraser got stolen by Terasaka around 20 minutes ago when he asked to borrow it and never gave it back.

“I don’t? Terasaka has mine.”

“Nufufufu… check again!”

Within a second after you asked, Korosensei flew around the class and replaced everything in Karmas backpack with erasers.

Karma opens his backpack and erasers are the only thing in his backpack, he chucks a few at his teacher before giving you one.

Korosensei finds a way to preform extravagant romantic gestures on Karmas behalf.

That wouldn’t be so bad if Korosensei wasn’t so extra.

With his powers, he struggles not to get carried away with all the cool stunts he can pull!

Cue to him finding a way to write your names together in the sky (Like a sky writer) WITHOUT the airplane. Because he could probably find a way to do it himself. He’s faster than a plane and has nicer writing anyway.

As a teacher he can’t afford to hire [your Favorite music artist] to serenade you two. (Mostly because he’s horrible at budgeting and partly because Karma steals from him once in a while.) Any normal person would give up and maybe rent a boombox.

Korosensei doesn’t give in that easily, which is why he dressed up as the lead singer.

(imagine like his Karasuma Costume sort of situation) He had the rest of E class involved in the production.

Mimura on air guitar😭.

There’d be food catering and everything. The catering is Isogai who’s perfect for the job as he has experience and Maehara who keeps eating from the plates. (He gets fired and replaced with Meg.)

You and Karma both are pretty used to it at this point so it’s turned into something you poke fun at together. Free food is free food.

The most ironic thing is, Korosensei had nothing to do with the day you both started dating.

It was during the island trip when the guys were talking about the girls they like, when asked Karma said that he’d have to go with Okuda because she’s good at chemistry and she’d be helpful with his pranks.

You overheard as you were walking past the room, it made your heart ache. The following days he’d gotten the impression you were mad at him, but couldn’t figure out what he did to upset you. You distanced yourself out of hurt, feeling like he’d been leading you on this entire time. Eventually he pried it out of you (he’s annoyingly persistent not to mention really good at convincing you to go along with whatever he wants.) In this conversation he admits, he wasn’t being serious with his answer towards the guys, that she makes a good friend but he doesn’t like Okuda in that way. He tells you he can make it up to you if you agree to go out with him. Once you agree he goes in for an high-five like he had planned earlier, but you go in for a hug instead. He reciprocates after the initial surprise wears off. Maybe he is a hug person.

[pearlsinmyhair]

no labels.

slight nsfw. fem!reader. cursing! mdni. use of ‘my girl’. slightly (if you squint) possessive behavior (hobie calls you his)

hobie doesn’t believe in labels. they’re trite, used by society and the government to define you before you have the chance to. to manipulate you into being something that they want you to be. to make you controllable.

so he doesn’t bring them into his relationships. he’s a rockstar, so he’s had his far share of flings behind the stage. both boys and girls have gotten on their knees for him. even those who have chosen not to apply a gendered term to themselves have, too. but he never cared to call them anything before.

the ‘what are we?’ question has always made him want to keel over. commitment held him down. so he brushed it off, explaining how he didn’t believe in consistency and that he just needed to let off some steam.

he knew that it was a dick move, but he could never find it in himself to care.

and then he met you, and something in his brain switched.

he ignored it the first time he saw you, jumping amongst the crowd at one of his gigs. that draw, the pull that made him want to lean over the edge of the stage and kiss you.

for a few weeks after, you were all that was in his head. it didn’t matter how many cold showers he took, or how loud he blasted his music, or how hard he head banged. you were always there, dancing right behind his eyelids.

because he wanted you to be his, his and his alone. which was off, because this was him we were talking about. hobie brown, who swore off labels years ago.

if you hadn’t shown up to his next gig he would have been fine. maybe this was withdrawal and he could recover.

but there you were again, leaning against the guardrail front and center of the audience.

and he was fucked. so hard that he actually missed a few cues from his band mates. they nearly beat his ass for it after the show, but his drummer told him that a friend of a friend knew you, and he gave him your number.

and it was all history after that.

you never asked ‘what are we?’ you never had to. he assured you constantly, in his own hobie way, that you were loved, protected, and cared for.

hickies on your neck, his battle vest on your shoulders, his rings on your fingers. at some point you got a pretty little ‘h’ pendant to wear on a silver chain and he fucking lost it. seeing the letter of his name sittin pretty right between your breasts did something to him.

he never used the term ‘girlfriend’. that was a little too conformist for him. no, instead, he introduced you as ‘my girl’. to his band, to his fans, to his friends.

and alone, he was the same way. when you were tangled up in his sheets, squealing with each harsh snap of his hips, he grunted mine. when he couldnt make it to the bed after a hard mission, making love to you against the counter, humming your name like a prayer. when he gave you head, or you gave him head, and he was his noisy self whining his praise.

because you were his. and he was yours.

an- there’s more below the cut, but i’m actually pretty uncertain about how i wrote it. i don’t want to delete it, but i’m 50/50 about it so i’ll just hide it.

and with that change came more.

he hated valentine’s day. he hated how capitalistic that shit was, even refusing to turn on the tv just so he didn’t have to see the ads. and you laughed, because it was hobie.

so when the morning of the oh so wretched day came and he pressed a goodbye kiss to your forehead while you were still in bed, you thought it would be a normal day.

and when he knocked at your window with a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a bag of your favorite food you were more than surprised.

“had to show my girl some extra lovin.” he murmured against your neck when you let him in.

you hugged him close, mumbling “thank you, but are you high? what have you done to my hobie.”

and he just smirked against your skin. “what can i say, love, you make me forget myself sometimes.”

and hobie, who doesn’t believe in consistency, always kisses you goodbye, no matter who leaves first. one time he missed it and he knocked on the window of your college class. the whole class had snickered when you ran out the room to find him. he met you in a dark alleyway between buildings.

“had to get my goodbye kiss, sweets. can’t be lettin’ my girl feel lonely.”

or how he always, always texts you on long missions. your locations don’t exactly share across dimensions, so he settles for little ‘hey baby, i’m alright. found a place to calm down. all good.’ and you wait for him. and when he comes home he always rocks your world.

because you’re his girl. labels be damned. and he’s your boy.

and he doesn’t need anyone telling him how to love you.

want to check out more of my work? click here!

[mattitties]

sworn enemy - matt sturniolo

I don’t have many enemies in my life. I try to get along with most people, and even if I don’t like them, I do my best to be friendly no matter what. But there’s one person that I absolutely cannot stand: Matt Sturniolo.

I moved to LA about six months ago, and the triplets were some of the first people I met. I got close with Nick first, then Chris, and I attempted to get close with Matt, but he was so closed off and became outwardly rude to me every interaction we had. I have no idea why he hates me so much, but I will not tolerate him giving me that kind of attitude for no reason when I’ve tried to be his friend.

So I don’t try anymore. I’m over at their house more than I’m at mine, and I’ve gotten to the point of completely ignoring that asshole when he comes into the room. Is it rude to ignore someone in their own home? Sure, but none of this would be happening if he didn’t make it abundantly clear from day one that he has no interest in being my friend.

Nick and Chris invited me over tonight to watch a movie, so of course I accepted. Despite everything with Matt, I absolutely adore Nick and Chris and would never turn down an opportunity to spend time with them.

“Helloooo,” I say when I walk into the living room, where they’re already setting up the movie.

“Hey!” Nick smiles as he gives me a hug. “Movie’s almost ready, you wanna get some snacks?”

I nod and head to the kitchen, saying hello to Chris in the process. I’m so invested in rummaging through their fridge that I don’t even notice Matt walk into the room until he groans.

“Oh joy, look who’s here!” he says as I turn around.

“Don’t worry, I won’t bother you,” I tell him as I grab some drinks. “Just go back to your cave and it’ll be like I’m not even here!”

He rolls his eyes. “I can feel your presence even from there. Seriously, who invited her?”

“We did,” Chris says. “Come on dude, isn’t this getting a little old? It’s time to get over whatever dumb shit you have against her and grow up.”

Matt shakes his head as he takes a box of Goldfish to the couch. “Nah, I’m good. So what are we watching?”

“Oh, so now you wanna watch with us?” I ask. “Two seconds ago you were acting like it was the end of the world that I’m here.”

“Well, this is my house, and I should be able to watch a movie in my house even when little annoying creatures are sitting on my couch,” he smiles sarcastically at me.

I say nothing in response. He’s such a dick. 

“Oh, before I forget, do you want to come to TopGolf tomorrow night with us and our friends?” Chris asks me.

“I wish, but I’m going to a bar tomorrow night with my roommate,” I tell him.

“No worries, we’ll go another time. Matt’s not going either because he’s just too good for all of us, isn’t that right Matt?” Chris teases and pokes Matt’s stomach, earning a punch to his upper arm from Matt.

I roll my eyes at Matt’s clear inability to have any fun and sit back as the movie begins. 

I should not have gone out tonight. I’m having the worst night. I should have gone to TopGolf with Chris and Nick. All my life choices are being regretted. 

My roommate is currently in the bathroom probably sucking some random guy off, and I have somehow gotten in the middle of two drunk guys fighting over god knows what. The place is crowded and I’m being swallowed in a sea of people as I desperately try to get away from the fight before punches start being thrown. 

I’m unsuccessful. 

In the midst of the chaos, one of the guys accidentally nails me right in the eye as he goes to hit the other. He doesn’t even notice and continues going after him, but other people do notice. I really wish they hadn’t. I want nothing more than to just get out of there.

I push my way to the entrance and ignore the small crowd of people following me and asking if I’m okay.

“I’m fine,” I tell them, speeding up and breathing a sigh of relief when I make it outside.

The pain in my eye doesn’t even register until I open my camera and see it: red, bloody, and already starting to swell. I’m tearing up, and I can’t tell if it’s from the pain or from the disaster that is tonight. I need to go home, but there’s no way I’m going back inside to get my roommate, and she definitely won’t see if I text or call her. I could Uber, but I’m terrified of Ubering alone, especially in Los Angeles at 11 PM. I don’t want to bother Nick and Chris while they’re out, even though I know they would drop everything to get me. 

A pit in my stomach rises as I click Matt’s contact name and text him.

are you up? kind of in a situation here and need a ride

Bruh

Call someone else

i wouldn’t ask unless i really needed help

please

I hate how desperate I sound, especially to him, but I’m cold and scared and in pain, so at this point I really don’t care.

Jesus fine where are u

I send him my location and wait. He pulls up ten minutes later, and I do my best to hide my tear stained and bloody face as I get in the car.

“Thank you so much,” I tell him, trying to control my shaky voice. “I’m really sorry, I just–”

“Are you okay?” he asks. I’m barely looking at him, but I can feel him staring at me. 

“Yeah, why?”

He turns my face towards him with his thumb. His eyes widen when he sees my eye, which definitely looks worse than it did 10 minutes ago. “Dude! What the fuck happened???” 

“Nothing, I’m fine,” I tell him, my eyes starting to well up again. 

“You’re not fine. What happened? Who did this to you?”

“Nobody did anything, I swear. Two guys were just fighting and I couldn’t move fast enough and I got hit. It’s my fault, but I’m fine. It doesn’t even hurt,” I explain unconvincingly as I start to cry. 

“If it doesn’t hurt, why are you crying?”

“Because I just wanna go home, Matt! Can you just take me home?” I sob.

“Okay, okay,” he says gently as he switches gears to drive. “Can I take you to my house? We need to clean up that eye.”

I nod and look out the window as he drives us home. He is the absolute last person I want to see in this state. I know he’s going to use this against me in a few days and he’s never going to let me live it down. 

When we get to the triplets’ house, I make a beeline for Matt’s bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. 

“Oh my god,” I mumble. I look awful. My eye is completely swollen and it’s turning purple. I have a gash in my cheek. “Why the fuck did I go out tonight?” I say as Matt walks in behind me. “I have to go to work looking like this! I’m not gonna make any tips! People are gonna throw up looking at me!”

“Okay, calm down,” he tells me. “Sit on the toilet. I’m gonna clean it and get you some ice and then you can just chill here, okay?”

I nod and sit down on the toilet lid as he gets a cotton ball and some hydrogen peroxide. He tilts my chin up to look at him. “Little sting,” he mumbles. I scrunch my face at the feeling of the peroxide on the cut. “I know, I’m sorry, almost done.”

He dabs the cut a few times and throws the cotton ball out. “Come on,” he says, motioning me to get up. “Go lay down and I’ll get ice.”

I silently oblige and lay on his bed, giving him a small smile when he returns with some ice chunks in a ziplock bag covered in a paper towel. 

“It’s the best I could do,” he says when he hands it to me. “We don’t have any actual ice packs.”

“It’s great, thank you.”

He lays down next to me and turns on the TV. I’m not even paying attention. All I can think about is trying not to ask the one thing I desperately want to know. I almost keep myself from saying it, until it just comes out of my mouth like word vomit.

“Why don’t you like me?”

He looks at me, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. “What?”

I immediately regret everything, but I ask again. “Why don’t you like me? I mean, Nick and Chris both like me, so I would assume you would too, but like… did I do something to you?”

He sits up and turns the TV off. “I dropped everything tonight to come save you from a bar. Why don’t you think I like you?”

“You’re just so mean to me. You have been since the day we met. And I don’t understand what I did to deserve that. If you don’t like me, that’s fine, I just want to know why.”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I do like you. I never meant to make it seem like I don’t, I thought we were just playing around. Like friends tease each other, ya know?”

“Well yeah, but… you’ve never done anything to make me think we’re friends, so…”

“I’m sorry,” he says. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else, but then closes it.

“What?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Nothin. Do you want to stay here tonight? I can get you something to change into.”

“Oh,” I reply, completely taken aback by this. “Yeah… yeah, that would be nice. Thank you.”

He offers me a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt which I take into the bathroom and change into, discarding the ice pack in the process. I take another look in the mirror and sigh.

“God, I look fucking disgusting,” I say when I climb back into his bed.

“You look beautiful,” he says so quietly I have to double check if I even heard him correctly.

“Don’t tell me that just because you feel bad for me.”

“I’m not.” He turns on his side to face me. “You are beautiful.”

“Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?”

His eyes are moving between my eyes and my lips. I’m starting to put the pieces together, and it’s terrifying. 

“Because I’m tired of pushing my feelings down and making it your problem,” he says. I don’t say anything, I just give him time to explain. “I didn’t want to like you because you were Nick and Chris’ friend first, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. I thought being a dick would make my feelings go away. It didn’t.”

“I like you, Matt,” I whisper. “I have since I first met you. It made me so sad to think that you didn’t like me. And I’m sorry I’ve also been mean to you.”

“Don’t be sorry, I deserved it,” he says. “Do you still hurt?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

“Good,” he says before lightly holding my cheek and pressing a soft kiss to my lips. I freeze for a moment, not fully processing what’s happening, and then I hold his wrist and kiss him back, our lips moving perfectly together.

It’s clear that neither of us have any intention of taking it further tonight. We continue to kiss for just a couple minutes until we separate, doing nothing but staring into each others’ eyes. 

“Goodnight, Matt,” I say.

“Goodnight.”

[moutainrusing]

illness

987 words, @wolfstarmicrofic

Poking Sirius’s forehead was his mother’s wand. Running the length of Sirius’s body was his father’s wand. Tradition of the Black heir turning sixteen: make sure he had no disabilities. No setbacks, disadvantages, handicaps.

With stern frowns, they analysed the results. Then, “Get out.” They faced each other in shock, having said that simultaneously. He has both?

“What?” Sirius croaked.

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” Orion bellowed.

Walburga shoved Orion, caterwauling, “GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, YOU CRETIN!”

“NO SON OF MINE, YOU CRIPPLE!” Orion screamed.

“HE’S NOT MINE, EITHER!” Walburga roared. (Now she was yelling more at Orion than Sirius…?)

His parents’ faces had twisted, fury curling their lips, passion blotching their cheeks red, anxiety shaking their hands, regret furrowing their brows, sadness freezing their voices, sharpening them to ice. They blamed themselves for his disabilities. Their genes, their problem. Upset he turned out this way, riddled with issues. Bitter, because how could life do this to them? If word got out, eyes would turn to them. This is your invalid? Makes sense.

Sirius nodded slowly, eyes prickling. He didn’t want to be disabled. The first thing people saw about him: the fact that he was incapable, helpless, hopeless. They would judge him while pretending they weren’t. There was always stigma around it. He was weak, dumb, weird. “I— I’ll go. But… what’s wrong with me?” He looked at his parents pleadingly. Fix me.

“Mental illness and physical,” Walburga scoffed.

Orion snarled, “Won’t live past thirty, wretch.”

“Unstable in both mind and muscle. They’ll all give up on you, as they should. Immobile, paralysed.” Walburga laughed shrilly, “Get out.”

“While you can still walk,” Orion sneered.

Sirius nodded silently, a sob choked up in his throat. When he shut the door, he heard his parents break. He followed suit, in tears on the street.

- - -

“I DON’T GIVE A SHIT THAT YOU’RE A WEREWOLF, REMUS. I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU!” Sirius took a deep breath. “You,” he jabbed Remus’s chest. “Being. A. Werewolf. Doesn’t. Matter.”

“But it does.” Remus shoved Sirius’s hand away pitifully. “I’ll hinder your life. You can find love with someone worthy, live a beautiful life until you’re grey and old—”

“I’LL NEVER BE GREY AND OLD!” Sirius yelled, not catching the words before they left his mouth. His eyes widened.

“What?” Remus stammered.

Sirius laughed harshly. “I’ll probably die before you. In fact, I’m the one who’ll hinder you.” He bowed dramatically, “I’m sick.” He jabbed his chest, “I can already feel it. Y’know how you call me clumsy?” Sirius smirked depravedly. “Well, that’s my muscles spasming. Ain’t working properly. They’re giving up on me like my parents did. Like you’re doing. And I’m crazy?” Sirius cackled, “That’s my brain. Fucking disabled.”

“Sirius,” Remus whispered.

Sirius pointed frantically, “See?! Already scared of me!”

“No, Sirius,” Remus shook his head softly. “Whatever is going on is not a problem. Nothing’s wrong with you. You’re human.”

“Yeah, right, say that to yourself,” Sirius scoffed.

Remus sighed, “It’s different—”

“Is it though?” Sirius glared. “I’m gonna die early ‘cause of something I can’t control, something people still blame and judge me for. Their discrimination is more pointless than I am.”

“You’re not pointless,” Remus argued.

“And you?” Sirius returned, eyebrow raised.

“I’m not…” Remus winced, finishing pathetically, “Pointless.”

“Ha!” Sirius crowed victoriously. “You don’t believe it! How am I supposed to believe that being disabled isn’t a curse when you act like that?! When everyone acts like that?! You coo and reassure someone else it’s okay, but when it’s you?!”

“I…” Remus was at a loss for words.

Fine. Sirius had way too much for both of them. “Why do you add on to the discrimination already there?”

Remus shook his head helplessly.

Sirius prodded, “Why can’t people let us be? Everyone’s gonna die, so let us be happy. When I first found out, I hated myself. But then I realised that even with disabilities, I am still myself. I’m still brave, smart, whatever. I never stopped. And my parents’ve always been wrong. Of course they were wrong about disabilities, too. I dunno what’s gonna happen to me, but then, does anyone? You could get caught in an accident any day! We could die any day! You’re a werewolf, but you never stopped being Remus. You never stopped being thoughtful, beautiful, lovely, mine. My friend,” Sirius clarified, smiling gently.

Loud again, “But we should be more if we both want that. Let us want! Take all the love you get, because so many people will deny you the best life you deserve. So what if it doesn’t last? If it’s not always happy? Let yourself live.”

Remus was crying. While Sirius could still move his fingers, he brushed the tears away.

- - -

Sirius did make it to thirty. Wheelchair-bound, unable to move a muscle nor talk, brain functioning perfectly, heart beating a love song for Remus.

He could move a few muscles. His thumb: up and down, up and down as he pressed the button of a Muggle invention to form words on this screen.

He could write books on anything, all the knowledge of OWLs and NEWTs and beyond firmly stuck in the crevices of his brain.

Remus pulled a chair up next to him, having also made it to thirty: grey-haired, smiling, walking with a cane, tired, living, bones aching, thinking, dreaming, being.

Scanning over Sirius’s document, Remus’s eyes lit up, and he turned to Sirius with a grin. “You’re the smartest person I know.”

Sirius couldn’t say anything except stare at Remus in awe. But that was okay, because Remus had enough words for both of them.

Remus leaned towards Sirius, giving him enough time to roll away if necessary, before slotting their lips together. “You’re amazing. I love you,” Remus mumbled. Sirius put all his effort, energy, love towards smiling into the kiss. Nothing happened, but he knew Remus could feel it anyway.